#technically content for [In the Borderline] because of stuff but it can be for anything tbh

[youngyoo-apologist]

Pro tip if you are Basen and Lock; do not pair up together and win five rounds of a board game against Lily Ohn and Hong because they will be out to get you after the fifth round

[seth-the-giggle-fish]

wow

I sure do love signing into a class and getting a video from my instructor aggressively insinuating that myself and my classmates are idiots because he was using a very specific definition of the word teamwork, that was not ever in the book we're reading from, for our last assignment. So far the course has been us independently reading parts of the book, uploading our presentations that are based on a bare-bones rubric then the instructor boomer yelling at us in a video about how we're idiots for not understanding the exact and unspecified definitions he has for things (oh and it all has the underlying flavor of that kids these days need to be more independent and to stop being 'soft' ignoring that this course is supposed to be teaching us things rather than confirming that we know things)

[sizzlingpatrolfox]

https://www.tumblr.com/sizzlingpatrolfox/726879534274789376/do-you-think-jk-views-jm-as-a-competition-like?source=share

idk why other ppl haven't noticed this but jk always had a short fuse. he's also dismissive and noncommittal. just rewatch run bts and yall can see so many examples of these things. when it comes to jimin i think jk has an admiration-borderline-envy towards him. jk is competitive and jm will always be a competition regardless of them being friends and bandmates. sure jk's timid but come on he's been in this business for so long he should know how to clearly speak his mind now. but nah he's still awkward and constipated when it comes to jimin.

this is also why sometimes i cringe so hard when i see jimin seek advice from him because although it's in good nature, i've always considered jm to be so much better than jk in a lot of things

Run BTS, bon voyage, literally all their content. He used to get annoyed at anyone and anything.

Jimin is technically better. I don't know why people are surprised or disappointed with Jungkook's music because it's literally always been there... They've just been ignoring the signs all along. There was a weverse interview where he said he wants to write a song that's like "yeah yeah yeah yeah, the same word repeated all the time". Meanwhile in the same edition of the magazine, Jimin for his interview was saying stuff like "I want to show off everything I’m capable of at the highest possible proficiency."

You know how I'm a teacher, I teach both kids and adults, and sometimes one of them might do so-so in an exam but we can be not so harsh while grading them if we know they're consistent and responsible and do well in class. Because everyone has a bad day or gets nervous for an exam (or performance/song). But the day-to-day of the school year says so much more.

I didn't realize it until now, but I've been unconsciously using the same logic. Jimin has a perfect track record in the sense that he's been consistent in his efforts and interest in being a better Jimin each comeback, and that in itself is respectable.

[jeanmoreaux]

It might just be me but, while I understand a lot of people enjoy ‘fanon’ for a reason, I think when it’s pushed down people’s throats it’s very annoying and borderline delusional

I know it’s an old discussion that will never be resolved but for example: gender of a character

‘To me this character is xyz’ — like ok. But I still find it strange when it’s prefaced like that because the author/creator wrote a woman or man, or whatever. And people like to say they’re something else.

Obviously for fan fiction or HCs that’s totally fine that’s why these things exist. But to say it like it’s a fact that character A is gay when they’re not, and character A is clearly a woman (or man or whatever human) as the creator made them—I just. It’s annoying and it feels disrespectful to the author who made this character in the first place

Listen, as an example, Renee and Allison from aftg are straight. But a lot of fans ship them as a lesbian couple. And it’s whatever. But then someone starts attacking other fans for simply enjoying and saying what’s actually canon and not every damn character has to be queer just to satisfy the audience.

This rant came out of nowhere I just thought of this blog as it’s always discussing so many character thoughts and meta and I 💀

well we love to discussing character thoughts and meta on on this blog for sure!! i see your point, but i think fanon is unavoidable and the best thing i found to kind of not get riled by discussion like this is just disengage from fandom at large and focusing on groups of people who share your interpretation of a media or are chill about their headcanons.

you already brought up aftg and ngl i tend to struggle a lot with some fanon aspects while embracing others. it’s really just a matter of curating your experience. i think with aftg in particular canon is super lose if you don’t include the extra content (because it’s not directly tied to the books like in an addendum or anything). sooo if you look at it like this, technically renee and allison aren’t canonical straight or queer. in canon, their sexualities remain undefined which is probably why a lot of the fandom headcanons them as queer. so canon basically says nothing about that topic.… so who is right now? you see what i mean?? sooo much room for different fanons that all aren’t really canon. ofc you can take nora’s extra content into account, but i don’t think what’s outside of the book has to count for the canon text. it can if you want, but it doesn’t have to??? does that makes sense?? i also don’t think fanon is necessarily disrespectful to the author and their vision, but in extreme casea it might be… and some authors might be bothered while others couldn’t care less. but i think when you create something and put it out into the world people will always interact with it in a way that might sometimes be removed from that original vision.

it’s really just kind of on you to remove yourself from that if you don’t vibe with it. fanon will always be there one way or another…. you do you and find the people who do as you do and you’ll forget some fanon stuff even exist.

[miekasa]

NICE.

+ pairings: eren yeager + (fem) reader

+ genres: rich kid au, college au, friends to lovers au, fluff, light-ish angst, smut/nsfw content (everybody gets a piece)!

+ warnings: mentions of depression/anxiety, mentions and use of drugs and alcohol, some of the smut happens under the influence so be cautious if that’s something you don’t like, i swear this is all more idiots in love than angst tho i just wanna disclose everything fairly

+ notes: this is alternatively titled super rich kids and you can probably figure out why. some of this is based off of real life, some of it is straight out of gossip girl and i challenge you to separate the facts from the fiction :’) anyways, i hope we all remember the lyrics to in my feelings

+ more notes: one quick reference for ages in this fic—all the vets are older but not by that much, think various stages of grad school. armin, connie, sasha, annie, and bertholdt are all college sophomores. eren, the reader, and pretty much everybody else are college seniors, so they’re about a year or two older. also here is a playlist for your reading pleasures, shoutout to ryn for letting me mooch of their spotify account :’)

+ word count: 19k. i’m sorry.

+ summary: fuck you, fuck you, you’re cool, fuck you.; or the story of notorious rich kid and self-proclaimed bad boy eren yeager, and his not so goody two-shoes best friend.

“So you’re saying that you don’t love me? That you’re not riding? That you’ll actually leave from beside me?”

“I’m saying that it’s ass o’clock in the morning and I’m not driving in the rain to Brooklyn to pick your sorry ass up.”

“But… but I want you, and I need you, and I’m down for you.”

You check the time on your phone screen and groan. 3:57am. Far too early to be dealing with the likes of Eren Jaeger. “Just get an Uber or something. I don’t know what you and your idiot friends were up to this time, but I don’t want any part of it.”

“First, they’re our idiot friends. Second, I don’t think they let you take Ubers from jail, and even if they did, it’s, like, four in the morning, so I don’t think there are any Ubers driving around, so could you pretty please come pick me up? I promise I’ll make it up to—”

“From where?” you cut him off, slowly sitting upright in your bed. You hold your phone closer to your ear, ready to listen again; because, certainly, you must have misheard him the first time. You wait, but the line is silent, save for Eren’s awkward chuckling. “Eren Asher Jaeger, tell me that that was another stupid lyric from that stupid song, and that you are not in prison right now.”

Eren makes a sad attempt at laughing. “Technically, it’s a holding cell, not really prison… and I would leave, but they suspended my license for a month, and Min can’t drive yet, so we kind of need you,” he explains, “Uh, no pun intended.”

“Min?” you pull your eyebrows together at the mention of the younger’s name, “Is Armin with you?”

“Uh, yeah.”

With a frown and a heavy sigh, you push yourself out of bed, wedging your phone between your shoulder and your ear as you grab the nearest pair of sweatpants.

“Why did you get him caught up in whatever stupid shit you were doing tonight?” you complain, scanning your dark bedroom for a shirt to wear, “Erwin’s going to castrate you when he finds out.”

You curse as you stub your toe against the edge of your bed on your way out of the room. Given the time, weather, and the fact that you have several exams to start studying for, hanging up and leaving Eren in the middle of god knows where Brooklyn doesn’t seem like such a bad idea, but you couldn’t go back to sleep knowing that Armin would have to suffer with him.

“Relax,” Eren breathes in a tone all too nonchalant for the situation at hand, “He didn’t get charged with anything, and nothing’s going on his record.”

“You don’t know that,” you retort, sliding your raincoat over your free arm, as you paddle down the stairs of your apartment, “The NYPD suck.”

“True,” he hums, “But I paid off the cop, so it’ll be fine.”

You pause in your steps, but really, you shouldn’t be surprised. “Of course you did,” you mumble, moving again and grabbing your car keys off of the kitchen island.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he questions. His tone is actually genuine and it tempts you to roll your eyes.

“What it always means, Eren,” you sigh, stepping into the elevator, “I’ll be there in thirty minutes.”

“Thank you, baby. I love you.”

“Eren?”

“Yeah?”

“Get off my line.”

He doesn’t have time to throw in another pitiful “I love you” before the line goes dead and he’s met with static silence. He hangs up the station telephone with a silent chuckle, turning around to face Armin and Officer Hannes.

“Someone’s coming to pick us up,” he says, trying to focus on Armin’s sigh of relief and not the warmth creeping up his neck and into his cheeks, “I’ll, uh, call a tow for the car in the morning.”

The cop, too tired to care, only shrugs, and pays them no further attention. He hands Eren a plastic bag with his car keys and newly suspended license, escorts him back into the cell, and returns to his desk. Eren gives Hannes the finger while his back is turned.

Beside him, Armin is still quivering; bouncing his leg up and down, fiddling with his fingers, gnawing on his bottom lip. Eren frowns, a heavy wave of guilt washing over him as he takes in the younger’s anxiety ridden state. It wasn’t fair that Armin could have potentially suffered legal consequences because of his stupidity.

Eren’s lucky that Hannes was sleazy enough to accept his bribe and let him off with minimal punishment. With that they were doing, things could have ended up far worse for the both of them tonight.

“I’m sorry, man,” he apologizes, hands stuffed in his front pockets, “About tonight, I mean. We—I shouldn’t have done that, not with you there.”

Armin looks up at him with sparkling, doe eyes and Eren wants to punch himself in the gut for making him go through all of this, even if it didn’t amount to an actual arrest. “You couldn’t have known this was going to happen.”

“I could have prevented it,” he says. Because it’s what you would have said, too.

“It’s not your fault, I wanted to come, remember?” Armin tells him, redirecting his gaze to the grey floor of the precinct cell. He takes a deep breath, almost calming down completely when a sudden thought reignites his nervous ticks, “You… they’re not gonna tell my parents, right?”

“No, no—of course not.”

Armin was legally an adult; he, nor Eren, nor the police had to tell his parents anything. Sure, Hannes could rat them out, but honestly that sounded like way more work than he was cut out for; not to mention he’d be bound to reveal that he let them off easy for a couple thousand bucks.

Armin nods, “And… that wasn’t Erwin on the phone, right?”

“Are you kidding me? He’d murder me on the spot,” Eren says. He pauses before tacking on, “I, uh… I called (_____).”

“Oh,” the younger gapes, “She’ll kill you, too.”

“Yeah,” Eren sighs, scratching the back of his neck in nervous anticipation, “Trust me, I know.”

“You have your access card on you, right, Armin?” you ask. He nods sheepishly, hand on the car door handle.

“Thanks again for coming to get us,” he says meekly, “I’m sorry about waking you up and everything.”

You offer him a warm smile through the rear view mirror, “Don’t worry about it, I’m just glad you’re safe. Text me when you get up tomorrow, okay? We can get brunch, my treat.”

His face lights up at the prospect of free food, and he nods once more, enthusiastically, but his expression falls again when he speaks, “Okay, and I’ll, um, pay you back for the tickets and stuff as soon as I can—”

“It’s fine, really, don’t worry about it,” you repeat.

“It was almost three thou—”

“You forget who you’re friends with,” you cut him off with a smile, “Don’t worry about it, okay? It wasn’t your fault.”

Armin’s eyes dart to Eren quickly, before clearing his throat, a light pink tint to his cheeks. You know that the prospect of money can be a sensitive subject for Armin, one easily triggered by his very environment, but this wasn’t negotiable on your end. You know that Armin doesn’t like the feeling of owing anyone anything, but he knows he won’t get you to budge; so, he quietly nods, appreciative of your generosity, before bidding you and Eren a final goodnight and sprinting towards the dorm. Once you see that he’s safely inside, you wave one last time, and wait for the door to shut behind him.

Slowly, Eren turns to the driver’s seat to look at you. You were eerily calm when you came to pick him and Armin up from the station. You didn’t yell, cuss, or punch him in the face like he expected. You politely talked to the officer, thanked him for his service, paid their fees, and up until now, you’ve shown no signs of being angry with him at all.

The two of you drive back to your shared apartment in complete silence, Eren too confused, and borderline scared, of initiating a conversation. He wonders if you’re too tired, or if you really don’t give a damn anymore, but when you pull into the underground lot of your building and put the car in park, he finds out the silence was simply the calm before the storm.

You take your hand off of the gear shift and turn towards him. It’s a quiet stare down for nearly a full minute before you break the mime act with a slap to his thigh.

“Drag racing? Are you out of your fucking mind? Of all the stupid shit you’ve done—and you’ve done a lot of stupid shit—this has got to take the cake. Just what the actual fuck were you thinking?”

“Ouch!” he inhales sharply, rubbing over where you’d hit him, “We were just having fun! Then these other guys showed up and started talking shit so—”

“Having fun?” you echo, “You couldn’t think of anything fun to do that’s not illegal in every borough of New York City?”

Eren feels his cheek flush, but he only huffs with the illusion of disinterest, “I don’t know why you’re freaking out so bad. I’m a good driver, it was those other squids that got us into shit, I’m telling you. They showed up looking for a fight, then ran like a bunch of pussies when the cops came.”

You exhale slowly, shaking your head in disbelief. You seem to have no other words to say to him, choosing to step out of the car and slam the door behind you. Eren quickly follows, slamming his door equally as hard, and hot on your trail as you march towards the elevator.

“(_____), come on, enough with the silent treatment,” he whines when you stick yourself in a corner of the elevator after pushing the button to the penthouse, “I told you I didn’t start shit, Armin and I got ratted on.”

“I couldn’t give a rat’s ass about whether or not they started it, Eren. You’re still the problem here.”

“Me? How am I the problem?” he pulls back, eyebrows drawn together in genuine confusion, “I just told you I didn’t do shit.”

You scoff, crossing your arms and shifting your left leg, “I’m not doing this with you right now.”

“Doing what with me?” he presses, tone growing icy.

“This, Eren!” you reiterate, “I’m too tired to hear your bullshit right now.”

The elevator dings and opens into your apartment. You push past him, continuing your deliberate strides through the living area, and to the stairs, but Eren catches you with a hand on your wrist before you can go any further.

“Will you fucking stop that,” he growls, “If you’ve got something to say, then stop running away from me, and just say it.”

“Funny,” you sneer, pulling your wrist away from him and settling both your feet on the bottom step, “You’re one to talk about running away from things.”

He takes a step back, standing just a notch below you, perfectly frozen in place. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means your little drag racing episode was not only dangerous and immature, it was you running away from your problems like a spoiled child, yet again.”

Eren’s features narrow at your accusations; eyes fading into hooded slits, lips curving downwards, and voice bobbing low, “I’m not running away from anything.”

“Oh, please, Eren,” you roll your eyes, arms retreating to their crossed position in front of your chest, “Cut the bullshit.”

“I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.” But he bets that even in the dim lighting of the apartment, you can see the tips of his ears growing red, just like they always do when he’s lying.

“Oh, really?” you ask, eyes widening in mock surprise, “You don’t think I don’t know this whole thing has something to do with the fact that your mom came home on Friday?”

Another pause. “Who told you that?” He asks, but it comes out more like a statement.

“Nobody had to,” you snap, “Jean said he caught you with a sack of coke over the weekend, and I knew something was up.”

“It wasn’t mine, I was—”

“I said cut the shit, Eren. If I went up into your room right now I bet your ass I’d find more than enough of it in a shoebox somewhere.”

He retreats, almost bashful, but unapologetic all the same. “Fine, whatever, I did a few lines. Big deal.”

“The big deal is that you think this is fucking normal, and now you’ve upgraded from coke to getting yourself arrested! It’d be one thing if you were acting like a misfit on your own, but to drag Armin into it because you—”

“Drag him into it?” he echoes with the snare of sarcasm dripping from each syllable, “You talk about Armin like he’s six. I don’t know why you think he’s some helpless little baby, but you have no goddamn responsibility over him. He’s not your fucking charity case.”

“I never fucking said he’s my charity case—don’t you ever fucking say that,” you say, “Having some basic respect and concern for my friends isn’t charity.”

“Wake the fuck up! You baby Armin when he’s a grown ass man. I didn’t force him into the fucking car to get sympathy points from you.”

“Grown? Armin is barely nineteen, disowned by his parents, is on a full fucking ride to an insanely expensive university, and you got him arrested tonight! Do you know what could happen if NYU found out? They could fucking kick him out, take his scholarship away—and then what, huh? Or were you just gonna buy off the headmaster, too?”

“You’re acting like I fucking planned for it!”

He’s screaming now, voice bellowing throughout the apartment, face red—and he doesn’t mean to, he doesn’t mean it at all; but it’s late, and he’s tired, and those shouldn’t be excuses, but he’s too prideful to back down.

“Of course you didn’t! You didn’t plan for anything, you were just being a reckless, irresponsible asshole like always,” you tell him, too blind-sighted by anger and the need to chide him that you miss the teary undertones in his words.

“And what’s it matter to you?”

“It fucking matters to me when you call at some godforsaken hour asking me to pick you up from prison!”

He takes a step forward, right leg elevated by the same step that both your feet rest on. “Well, what else am I supposed to fucking do!” He shouts even though he’s mere inches from your face, “Tell me just what the fuck I’m supposed to do instead!”

“You’re supposed to act like an adult and fucking talk to someone!”

“Who the hell am I supposed to talk to, huh?” he presses, taking a step forward and forcing you to retreat backwards, and up a step, “My mother who’s never home or her bastard boyfriend?”—another step forward for him, another step backwards for you—“The step-brother I can’t get in contact with?”—one step forward; one step backwards—“Or maybe the dad I never had, right?”

“Me, Eren!” you yell back with equal vigor, throwing your hands up at your sides, and planting your feet firmly. “Armin, Mikasa, Jean—anyone! You have people who fucking care about you! Stop treating us like correction officers, we’re your fucking friends!”

There’s silence for a while, just you and Eren staring at each other, heavy breathing, waiting for the other to make the next move. He opens his mouth, but when he tries to speak, his resolve washes away, his throat tightens and the words get sucked back in.

It would be easy to keep yelling, screaming, blaming you for blowing up on him. He used to think the scolding he got from you after pulling some stupid stunt was the worst part; but now, he thinks it might be his favorite part. He hates to hear you scream, and it hurts to see you cry, but if you’re yelling, you’re angry that he hurt himself; you care that he’s okay.

“I—” he stutters, words quiet and broken, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for it to get like this tonight, it was an accident I—”

“You never mean for any of it to happen, yet it always does,” you interrupt, voice soft yet strained, “I know you have your own shit to deal with, but so does everybody else.”

“(_____), please, you’re right, okay? I should have said something before,” he admits, mouth small as he voices his confessions, “I should have talked to you or one of the boys, but I—I don’t know what else you want me to say.”

He’s groveling now. Mouth in pout, eyes wide, voice small, and honestly, he thinks he might cry. At this point he doesn’t care if he does.

“I want you to mean it,” you finally say, and when he looks up, he hates the look he sees in your eyes. It’s something between sad and hurt and empty and it’s awful. Someone like you shouldn’t feel that way. He shouldn’t make you feel that way.

“I—”

“When you’re ready to tell me exactly what’s going on with you—what’s happening that made you think going to jail would be better than facing your issues—I’ll be here to talk,” you continue, eyes watering, “But until then, goodnight, Eren.”

Eren winces when you turn around and ascend up the remaining stairs. He flirts with the idea of following you, going to your room to finish talking, but you’re probably angry enough to have it locked. His room is up there, too, but he opts for part of the sectional, laying down with the palms of his hands kneading against his closed eyelids.

For as long as he can remember, you’ve been there for him. Your friendship, at times, was like a game of tag—Eren always on the run with you loyally chasing after him; he’d always run amuck, and you’d always be there to catch him in the act. Now, it’s five in the morning, there’s no more yelling, no more chasing, no more racing, but he’s still running.

The following morning, you take Armin out to brunch, as promised. Jean tags along too, something about hanging out with the two of you being infinitely more entertaining than his genetics lecture. It doesn’t seem like Jean knows anything about Armin and Eren’s late night antics, so you don’t bring it up yourself.

Oblivious, Jean chats your ears off as if nothing is awry. Whether he knows it or not, he does a great job of distracting Armin from his own thoughts. They both eat to their heart’s content when you remind them you’ll foot the bill; and you don’t bat an eye when Jean convinces Armin to order his third round of pancakes. He deserves it.

Afterwards, Jean convinces the three of you to go window shopping with him in SoHo, claiming that he needed inspiration for his latest fashion assignment (you don’t question why he’s taking a fashion class as a biology major, but you suspect it has something to do with Mikasa). Window shopping soon turns into actual shopping, so almost completely unprompted, and with little effort on his part, Armin gets a few pieces of clothing on your behalf, while you try to ignore Eren’s words itching at the back of your mind.

Armin’s not a baby, but he certainly is a kid with a rough past and rough relationship with his parents at a time in his life where he arguably needs them the most. A little extra support from his friends wouldn’t harm him.

It’s nearing six when the three of you are wedged in a small booth inside a café, indulging in overpriced hot chocolate. Three sips into his second cup, Jean excuses himself to the bathroom, leaving you sitting across from Armin.

“You know, you don’t have to keep buying me stuff to make up for Eren,” Armin says, a small smile playing on his lips.

“I’m not trying to make up for him,” you sputter, careful not to spill your drink over your lap, “You had a rough night. Just accept my gifts, don’t be a brat.”

“I do accept them. Erwin’s been eyeing that Off White sweater for, like, three weeks now. He’s gonna have a hissy fit when he sees me wearing it.” You chuckle, and he continues, “But you know, as much I love spending time with you, you can’t use me to avoid Eren forever.”

“I’m not avoiding him,” you frown.

“You said you were going to take us to brunch, and then spent the whole day with us.”

“Funny, I recall you saying something about how much you love my company about thirty seconds ago.”

“He’s called you at least ten times today.”

“I was spending the day with my favorite NYU student… and Jean,” you bat your lashes, “I see you maybe once a week. I live with Eren, I have to see him every day.”

Armin calls your name with a pout, “He’s sorry, you know.”

“Not sorry enough,” you mumble. Armin opens his mouth to say something again, but then Jean’s sliding back into the booth, chatting about how he’s finally come up with the perfect anniversary date for Mikasa.

Armin doesn’t notice your sigh of relief, but he does take note of the way you wipe away your notifications when a text rings through. If Eren could spend his days running away from his problems, then you could, too.

Despite being arguably the greediest of you all, Jean loves company, so he doesn’t hesitate to say yes when you ask to crash at his place after your shopping escapades. You expect to be welcomed with sounds of screaming, laughter, and loud music, but to your surprise his apartment is completely silent upon your entering.

“Bertholdt has class and Marco has a meeting,” he prompts, as if he could read your thoughts. He shimmies his coat off his shoulders and tosses it over the bar in the foyer.

Their apartment has the same amount of rooms as yours and Eren’s, but is all stretched along a single floor. It’s more of a maze, really, with intricate turns, and hallways, that all more or less open up into the expanse of the foyer and bar. Their living room is your favorite part. A dark, brown leather sectional wraps around the back three walls and an oversized flatscreen encased in an ebony frame takes center stage. A collection of vinyl records litters the walls above the couch; each of the boys contributing their favorite discs as décor.

“If he has class, shouldn’t you have class?” you question, fingers dragging over the ridges of the closest record.

“I’ve had class all day, but that doesn’t mean I go,” Jean shrugs, walking up behind you and taking your jacket off your shoulders and your bag from your hand, “Besides, Bertholdt will probably cut half-way to go see Reiner, if he can even stay awake that long. Going with him is just as productive as staying home.”

“You’re all a mess,” you scoff, turning around as a cheesy grin grows on Jean’s lips. His smile is infectious, and soon you catch yourself grinning just because.

“You want something to drink?” he offers, throwing your coat over his elbow and tilting his head in the direction of the bar.

“You’re bad at mixing drinks,” you remind him, but follow him anyway.  

Jean laughs, not bothering to deny the jab. He doesn’t try his hand at anything mixed or complicated this time; simply offering you a glass of your favorite red, and pouring himself a smaller amount.

He puts the album you were gawking at earlier on the record player, the two of you sinking into the couch as lovely melodies radiate throughout the apartment.

He spends the first hour bitching about how Marco’s supposed to become a CEO in less than a year, yet has the attention span of a squirrel; but the playful lilt in the brunette’s voice, and the begrudging smile on his face lets you know that it’s all love. He gushes about Mikasa for a good half hour, cramming you with stories about his girlfriend’s talent for sewing and fashion. You also learn that Bertholdt’s been busier than usual these days, and Jean suspects it has something to do with a secret lover.

You pinch your eyebrows at his hunch. Bertholdt’s never been one for dating. He’s had many friends with benefits in the past, but they weren’t relationships, nor were they secrets. In fact, you don’t think that he could keep a secret to save his life.

“Why would he be hiding it if he were seeing someone?” you question, swirling your newly refilled glass.

“Dunno,” Jean shrugs, “But it’s sus, I’m telling you. He’s been oddly busy for someone with a 2.3 GPA. Either way, I’ll pry it out of him eventually.”

“You’re so fucking nosey,” you chuckle, watching the mischievous, satisfied grin settle onto his features.

“I kinda think it’s Armin,” Jean says after a while, downing the remaining wine in his cup, while you choke on your own drink.

“Why on Earth do you think if Bertholdt had a secret lover that it’d be Armin?”

“Because he was in love with him for, like, two years in high school,” Jean says, as if the information should be painfully obvious.

“Yeah, and Bert also hooked up with a million different people in high school.”

“That doesn’t mean he wasn’t still in love with Armin.”

“I don’t think Armin’s kissed another human, let alone is in a secret relationship with one.”

“Hm, true. I forget he’s still a virgin.”

“Hey—there’s nothing wrong with Armin being a virgin, leave him be.”

“I know there’s nothing wrong with it,” Jean whines, “But it’s so—he doesn’t have to be. Armin’s cute! And very attractive—dare I even say sexy. He could go outside and get laid right now if he just tried.”

“Stay humble, Jean boy. If I remember correctly, you only started breaking hearts a year ago,” you tut. Jean’s nose goes pink as he shoves you away when you continue, “But, if you’re so concerned with Armin’s virginity, why don’t you go help him out with it.”

“Actually, if I remember correctly, I think that’s more your gig,” he shoots back, a smug smile tugging on his lips. “Not to mention, I’m not trying to get beat up by Annie. Though, I wonder how much longer it’ll take before she finally snaps. Hey, maybe the both of you can tag team him, I’m sure Annie wouldn’t mind, and it might even make Armin less nervous to have you—”

It’s your turn to shove him now, throwing in an extra punch when his head bobs back with laughter. You’re very certain Annie would mind; you would mind if someone inserted themself in your kind of, sort of, not really relationship, and ruined your four years of pining.

“Speaking of lovers,” Jean prompts, once his laughter dies down, bending his knee and turning closer to you. “Why are you and lover boy fighting? Trouble in paradise?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you hum, sipping your drink in between words. Jean’s eyes pinch together. “Marco and I would never fight.”

“My god, will you let your Marco fantasies go already? You’ve already caused him one sexuality crisis,” Jean groans, “You know I mean Eren.”

You sigh, lowering your glass and reaching forward to pinch his cheek. “It’s nothing you have to worry your pretty little head over.”

“Please,” he scoffs, flicking your offending hand back, “He’s been texting us nonstop since this morning at, like, nine. I didn’t even know he was capable of waking up before noon.”

It’s your turn to roll your eyes, but Jean continues, “Why he would ask us for advice on you is beyond me. He knows you better than all of us combined.”

“And why you’re saying all of this is beyond me.”

“Oh, come on, what’d he do,” Jean pushes, borderline whines, as he puts his empty glass down in a cup holder embedded in the couch. He’s always been the most prone to gossip, but you forget that wine makes him even more of a nosey prick. “Must have been pretty bad. Or stupid.”

“Try both,” you mumble, “Well—I don’t know, it wasn’t… the worst thing anyone could do, but it was really fucking reckless—and why he did it, I couldn’t even tell you. I don’t know what goes through his mind half the time, but I swear he must have been on crack last night.”

“He probably was. On crack, I mean. I told you, I took an ounce from him over the weekend, but that was after Eren and Ymir did, like, five lines.”

“Do they really do that regularly?” you nearly cry, a hand massaging your temple, “Fucking Christ, if he really was high while driving, I’ll kill him myself.”

“Well, I don’t know if regular is the right word,” Jean ponders, “Maybe for Ymir, but god knows what she’s on half the time, anyways. Besides, coke isn’t the worst thing they could do.”

“You sound like you speak from personal experience.”

“Maybe,” he shrugs, pausing when you shoot him a disapproving look, “Oh, come on! You’re no angel, either—if memory serves, you were high as shit at Moblit’s birthday party, and kept singing the star spangled banner all night.”

“Yeah, on weed! One time! It was on a rooftop and the stars were out and it has the same rhythm as the happy birthday song, cut me some slack!”

He finds laughing at your expense to be much more fun, however, as he continues to chuckle while you throw a fit. He’s also not one to let a topic of gossip go undiscussed, and has no problem bringing the conversation back to Eren.

“It’s because you two don’t talk, you know,” Jean tuts, “That’s why you fight like this.”

For the second time, the younger’s words have your eyebrows growing close together. “I mean, I guess—but it’s more than that. Eren and I live together, we obviously talk, but—”

“I know, I know, but just hear me out, okay? You and Eren talk about a lot of things, yeah, but you also… don’t. And sometimes you don’t have to, because you guys, like… get each other.”

“Wow. What a way with words you have, Jean Kirstein. You should write a self-help book.”

“What I mean,” he sneers, unhappy with the sarcasm being thrown his way, “Is that you guys understand each other in weird ways. It’s actually kind of cute—sometimes a little freaky, in all honesty. It’s why you don’t always have to talk about serious things. But you take it for granted and let shit bottle up, and then get in denial about it until you blow up in each other’s faces.”

“Please, you barely passed one philosophy class and now you think you’re Plato.”

“You’re doing the in denial thing right now!” he taunts, “Come one, when you two fight like this, what’s it usually about?”

You sigh, sinking back into the plush leather of the couch, and wrapping your hands around a fluffy throw pillow. Thinking about arguing with Eren isn’t particularly something you like to do, and truthfully, you don’t really get pissed at each other that often. Not to the point of ignoring each other, at least.

“I don’t know,” you drawl, “Drugs, me forgetting things, him doing stupid shit, him thinking Mikasa could do better than you, school, drinking, the fact that he leaves his big ass shoes at the top of the stairs for me to trip over and fall to my death every morning, when—”

“His parents?” Jean cuts you off.

“I—we don’t really… it’s not so much fighting over his parents, it’s all the stuff he does to deal with his parents. He never gives his mom’s boyfriends a chance, and he never really talks about why, either. I know he’s secretly just angry and insecure about his dad, but… I don’t know. That doesn’t really make it better.”

“True,” he nods, “See—he doesn’t talk about it.”

“I know, and I told him that last night, too, but… it’s a sensitive subject for him—his dad, I mean,” you sigh, “And you’re right, he shouldn’t bottle his feelings up, but, on the other hand he’s watched his mom get married five times. I don’t always blame him for not wanting to talk about it.”

“Yeah, but just because it’s hard to talk about doesn’t mean he shouldn’t,” Jean lolls, “Wouldn’t you have rather he said something than have done whatever stupid shit he did to make you want to sleep here tonight?”

“Okay, Socrates, I get it,” you lighten up, “I’ll talk to him—or get him to talk to me. Are you happy?”

“Quite,” he says, annoyingly chipper as he rises from the couch. “I hate seeing my favorite power couple fighting.”

Jean knows his words would elicit a slap to his arm, so he takes off just before you can reach him, prompting you to chase him out of the living room and down the hall. The brunette cackles ridiculously loudly as you scream his name with profanities sprinkled in-between. You catch a hold of the bottom of his shirt and pull him back, finally flicking him on the forehead.

He accepts his punishment with pride, offering you a signature smile in return while you both catch your breaths. It’s a sweet moment, the two of you looking at each other with stupid smiles on your face, exhalations tickling your cheeks.

Jean’s eyes break the gaze first, as he looks down the remainder of your face, and back up to your eyes again. His words could get caught in his throat, but he doesn’t let them—he shakes his head, and swiftly turns around, beckoning for you to follow him.

“Come on, we can steal Marco’s clothes for your pajamas this time.”

Jean spends all of three minutes pulling apart Marco’s dresser before swiping a t-shirt and Christmas themed pajama bottoms from his room. He tosses them in your direction before leading you back down the hall and to the left, opening the door to the guest bedroom for you, before leaving you to change.

They have more than one guest bedroom, but this one is unofficially yours. Little pieces of you can be found littered throughout the room, from spare jewelry to mismatched makeup. You spot a single, gold, teardrop shaped earring on the vanity and sigh as you run your fingers over it.

You swear you’d lost it a few months ago. Trust Jean to put it away for safekeeping without telling you he’d found it. The boy in question returns moments later, knocking while walking through the door with your purse in hand.

“How’d you know I was about to ask you to get that?” you question, a smile on your face as you retrieve the small bag from his hands.

Jean offers you a cocky grin, “Cause I’m the best.”

“Don’t go getting a big head, now,” you tease, “Or, well, an even bigger head.”

Jean ignores your insult, as you take a seat at the edge of the bed, fishing through your bag for your phone to plug it in for the night. He’s about to turn around and bid you goodnight, when the flash of something orange peeping out of your purse prompts his next thought.

“Hey, you picked up your refill, right?” he asks innocently, “It should have been ready last Thursday.”

You sigh, head falling slightly when you close your bag and place it on the vanity. “Uh… no.”

Jean’s mouth is already open, ready with equally friendly and scolding words, but you cut him off before he can talk. “I was going to on Thursday, but I had class late, and then I forgot on Friday and I haven’t really had time since then. But I have a few left-overs from the last two months, so I’ve been taking those!”

Jean’s mouth closes, but his eyes narrow as he begins to walk towards you. You know he’s putting two and two together, so you speak ahead of him again.

“I know, I know, I shouldn’t have any left over, but it’s only five, I promise! I’ve been really good, lately.”

Jean’s eyes remain in concentrated slits, but his resolve is waning when he reads over your expression. His facade fades as he takes the final steps towards you to stand directly in front of your body.

“Okay,” he says, voice soft through his smile, “I’ll go with you to pick them up tomorrow before I drop you home, yeah?”

It elates him more than it should to see the smile you flash his way. Unfortunately, it’s short-lived, as his next question leaves your face twisted with guilt.

“Have you… told Eren yet?”

You consider lying and saying yes, but something tells you Jean won’t buy it. Your silence seems to speak loud enough, as his shoulders drop with a quiet sigh.

“I want to, I just… well I’m mad at him right now, and even when I’m not… I don’t know why it’s so hard,” you confess.

“He’d wanna know, you know,” Jean says, and it’s not the first time he’s said it to you, either. “You know he wouldn’t judge you or anything.”

“I know that. But, truthfully, if I had things my way, not even you would know, Jean.”

It was an accident that Jean found out that you’d been taking anxiety medication.

It was at somebody’s house party where the majority of your friends and their guests had gotten piss drunk. Reiner’s date had suggested mixing their alcohol with molly she’d supposedly had in her bag. In her drunken stupor, she’d mistaken your purse for her own, but luckily, a not so drunk Jean had noticed the label didn’t match her name, and snagged the bottle before the worst could happen.

They ended up not finding her molly, anyway, but it’s a moot point. Jean had cornered you about the bottle later in the week with honest intentions; he’d been concerned that might be another kind of drug disguised by a prescription veil. However, you’d assured him that it was indeed your prescribed Lexapro, and not a shady mixture of black market substances.

And, he’d been more than understanding in the aftermath. Quite frankly, he had somewhat made it his business to ensure that you got and took your medication on time and felt comfortable getting to and from your therapy appointments.

It’s endearing in a way that made you pause and count your blessings sometimes. Jean had been nothing but unequivocally supportive in his understanding about anxiety and had gone the extra mile to comfort you where need be. It made you wonder why you hesitated to tell Eren on several occasions.

It was probably the very nature of anxiety itself that had you doubting your trust in Eren. You wanted to tell him—of course you did—but, you couldn’t. You know that Eren would do everything in his power to make it better, even if that was just being. You know that he’d want to know and he’d kill to understand. But you couldn’t possibly burden him with your problems, not when he has a million of his own.

The one person in the world you wanted to tell, you were terrified of talking to. And you know it’s irrational to be afraid of him, but you can’t seem to control those thoughts. It’s a tiring, consuming, endless cycle.

Jean watches the way your gaze lowers to the floor. He knows exactly what you’re thinking, and, god, he swears if he could take that train of thought away from you, he’d do it in a heartbeat.

With a heavy heart and tired eyes, he takes a final step forward and wraps his arms around your body. He counts three, four seconds before you hug him back. He raises a hand to the back to your head, cradling your face into his shoulder and squeezing you tightly.

“Hey, I’m proud of you, you know that,” he speaks, just a notch above a whisper, “I know you’ll tell him when you’re ready.”

“I will,” you murmur into the fabric of his shirt. You hug him back a little tighter and close your eyes, “Thank you, Jean.”

And Jean holds on, and hopes you know that he wouldn’t let you go, “You’re welcome, (_____).”

You come home to find your entire apartment littered with flowers; in the hallway, on the sectional, atop the counter, up the stairs.

There are several boxes of your favorite macarons stacked in a small pyramid on the kitchen island, and you wouldn’t be surprised if you checked the labels to find that they were shipped straight from the south of France this morning. There’s too many bottles of Ace on the coffee table, sparkling next to a basket of what looks like your regular skincare products. A pretty, gold bow rests atop an even prettier pair of red-bottomed heels, and if you’re not mistaken, that’s a limited edition, vintage YSL clutch on the sectional, resting against your favorite throw pillow.

You sigh, making your way to the couch to pick up the orange envelope sticking out of the handbag. Just as you’re about to open it, you hear footsteps, and a voice that follows.

“You’re back,” Eren chirps from mid-way on the staircase, “I, uh, there’s catering coming from Butter coming soon. I know it’s your favorite,” he continues as he descends the stairs.

He has his hand on the back of his neck and there’s a faint, pink tint to his cheeks as he slowly makes his way towards you. You cross your arms, looking him up and down when he stands in front of you.

He’s wearing dark jeans and a tweed sweater with patches at the elbow. His hair is split down the middle, longer than usual, so the ends of sweep over his eyelashes; and there are telltale signs that he’d been toying with it.

“Eren, what is all of this?” you finally ask, shifting your weight to your right leg.

“Part one of my apology and explanation,” he replies, a hopeful timbre to his voice. You roll your eyes, but he continues anyway, “Actually, part two is in that envelope.”

Skeptical, you unfold your arms and open the envelope. You don’t know what you were expecting—a card, maybe tickets to a musical or something; but what you definitely weren’t expecting were two tickets to Paris.

“France?” you look up, tickets in hand, “You don’t get it do you? You can’t just buy all of this shit, jet us off to Europe and expect everything to be okay.”

“No, no it’s not like that—I swear!” he interjects, hands moving sporadically, “It’s just, well… Can we sit? Then I can explain everything.”

Eren looks at you with those big green eyes and that sad pout to his lips, and you find yourself sighing and taking a seat on the couch against your better judgement. There’s a small smile to his lips when you do—a little victory—and he sits next to you, your knees resting against each other as you face him.

He’s shaking, and your resolve to punish him with whatever solid exterior and half-assed silent treatment dissolves as you take his left hand in your right, and recall your conversation with Jean. “Hey, it’s okay. It’s me, Eren. You can talk to me.”

When he feels your smaller hand envelop his, the shaking stops, and for a moment, it feels like he can do this, like everything is okay. He smiles, and takes a deep breath.

“The other night, you were right, about my mom and her boyfriend coming home,” he starts, words slow and heavy, “I didn’t even know she was coming—I knew she was visiting this month, but she didn’t tell me when, and I thought it was going to be just her, you know? But then she showed up with him, and, well, I don’t know. I was upset. She’s been home for a week now, and we haven’t even gone to dinner or anything.”

He pauses, and you squeeze his hand for reassurance, “We were supposed to get lunch on Thursday, but she cancelled. Had some meeting or something, I don’t know, I don’t care. Friday comes and she says she wants to have dinner, right?”

You nod, he continues. “I thought it was just going to be us, but he was there. That’s when she told me that… that they’re…” he squeezes his eyes shut, “They’re engaged.”

Your mouth falls into a small o-shape. Everything made perfect sense now.

It’s not that Eren didn’t love his mother, quite the opposite actually. He’s a mama’s boy through and through; she’s his role model, his everything, he adores her. Her career as a designer often takes her on long business trips, most frequently as prolonged stays in Paris, so much so that she relocated her primary office there shortly after Eren graduated high school.

Now, she only visits home for one or two weeks at a time, sometimes only for the weekend. Upon her decision to permanently relocate, she planned to leave Eren under the unofficial supervision of Mikasa. Instead, Eren bought Mikasa her own three-bedroom apartment in Midtown (according to his logic, it was better for her to have her own place than to move in with Jean), and a shared two-story penthouse for the both of you that overlooks Central Park.

Eren misses her more than he cares to admit, but he puts on the same facade every time she comes home because he hates the company she brings.

Paris is where she met her newest boyfriend, Mitchell, and Eren swears he hates that man with every fiber of his being. It’s not saying much, though, not when Eren’s hated every single one of his mother’s past romantic partners, right down to his own father.

“Is… is that why you—”

“Rented a brand new Corvette and went drag racing at one in the morning?” he chuckles, “Yeah. It was stupid, I know, but I was just angry, I guess. I dunno what I was feeling, but it wasn’t good.”

You nod, wrapping both of your hands around his now and offering him a warm smile. He smiles back, just for a moment. “That’s what the tickets are for, actually. The wedding.”

“They’re getting married in France?” you question, to which he nods, “On the first? Isn’t that a little short notice to plan a wedding?”

“I think you’re underestimating the power of Carla Jaeger,” he chuckles, “Apparently, it’s been in the works for a few months now. He proposed with fireworks or some shit. Said she wanted to tell me in person, though.”

“This ticket is for next week,” you say, rereading the dates on the papers. “The wedding is three weeks from now.”

“Well, I kind of figured we could take a little vacation before then,” he grins, “I texted most of the boys earlier, and they can probably come to the wedding, but I want to spend some time with you before it gets hectic, you know? Consider it an end of the semester present.”

Your eyes flicker down to your hand, still wrapped around Eren’s, when he starts to trace circles into your skin, “I thought I just told you, you can’t jet us off to Europe to fix things.”

“You did,” he hums, “And I know I can’t—I’m not trying to, I just… Truthfully, I reserved the plane and the hotel a few weeks back and it really was just going to be a surprise for us—well, more like a gift for you because I know you’ve been busting your ass in chem—but then… everything else happened, and I think a break sounds perfect before I watch my mom get married for the sixth time.”

You watch him continue to toy with your hands for a while, processing your conversation. It was typical of Eren to surprise you like this, so you can’t figure out why this particular present leaves you feeling warmer than usual.

“You sure you don’t need a break from me?”

Eren beams and takes the opportunity to lace your fingers together. “Nah, you’re annoying, but not Jean level annoying.”

You scoff, “I’m telling him you said that.”

“It’ll sound better coming from you, anyway,” he shrugs, “Besides, I might just murder Mitchell if you’re not there with me.”

You chuckle, on the verge of accepting his proposal, but the mention of Jean prompts another thought to cross through your mind. “I’d love to, but I… I don’t know. I don’t want Armin to spend the first few weeks of winter break here all alone.”

This Christmas would mark one year since Armin had seen, or even talked to, any of his immediate family members, with the exception of Erwin.

Last year, you all tried to salvage the damage by sticking around so, at the very least, he didn’t have to feel alone. You and your friends decided that Armin ought to be celebrated, not ostracized for any aspect of himself, so you all chipped in for a cute, impromptu trip to the Catskills so that everyone could be together and close to home.

This year, however, there seemed to be quite a few conflicts of interest. Even if Armin was one of the boys who was planning on attending the wedding, you doubt he had plans leading up to it. You know that Marco, Bertholdt, Mikasa, and Jean had invited him to go to Aspen with them, but Armin declined the offer. Similarly, Connie, Sasha, Annie, Reiner, and Ymir would be off to Dubai as soon as classes ended; an invitation Armin had also turned down.

You weren’t sure what Erwin’s plans were, though you’re certain they involved his own friends in some way or another. At the very least, it was unlikely that he would leave his younger brother completely stranded over the break; but you didn’t want to make plans without knowing Armin wouldn’t be alone.

“He won’t, actually he’ll be closer than you think,” Eren reassures you, “Hange and Moblit wanted to go skiing anyways, so Erwin is taking all of them to the Alps instead of Aspen. Armin doesn’t know yet, but he’s going with them.”

“Shouldn’t Erwin spend his break campaigning, and not skiing? Last I checked, he wasn’t too popular in Queens”

“Ah, you know Erwin,” Eren shrugs, “He has a way of making people devote themselves to him. He’ll win the election with or without campaigning, trust me—the point is, that little baby Armin will be safe and sound under Erwin’s protection, and you don’t have to worry about him.”

“How come you get to call him a baby?”

“Because I’m a hypocritical asshole who doesn’t deserve you, but is hoping you’ll come with me anyway.”

Eren smirks, but there’s a genuine undertone to his words as he moves his fingers to toy with the ring around your pointer finger. The same one he gave to you two Christmases ago. Well, kind of.

The ring he originally gifted you was a Harry Winston piece, with an encrusted band that wrapped into two sunflowers, both made of classic, white diamonds with emeralds sparkling in the center. After seeing the design, and the price tag, you demanded that he take it back, or at the very least, get it sized to fit on your index finger or thumb so that people didn’t get the wrong idea.

Instead, he came back with a simple, silver chain for the original ring to hang from, and the current ring on your finger; a rose gold band with tiny diamonds studded around it. Likely equally as expensive, but more appropriate according to you.

“Fine. But you have to be on your best behavior,” you agree, paying no mind to Eren’s thumb twirling your jewelry, “Do you promise me no drag racing or antics of any sort while we’re there?”

Eren shakes his head at the memory, eyeing the first ring that sits against your chest.

He smiles. “I do.”

The afternoon after your last exam, you bid the remainder of your friends goodbye, grab your bags, and hop on a plane with Eren. It arrives in Paris, but you’re rerouted off to Nice before you can so much as blink at the Eiffel tower; you’d be staying there for the two and half weeks leading up to the wedding, in a small villa.

You had to hand it to him, Eren really outdid himself. It’s dark and nearing three in the morning when you arrive, but even in your sleepy stupor you can admire your accommodations. The villa is secluded, the perfect distance from the water, and decorated lavishly almost to your exact liking. You wouldn’t be surprised if Eren sprung it on you that he’d bought the place, and wasn’t merely renting it for this vacation.

Every day after that, Eren proves he was honest in his intentions of this being a getaway gift to you. He’s planned every activity under the sun—from hot air balloon rides, to helicopter tours, to jet-skiing. The days are certainly fun and filled with beautiful memories, but there’s something special about Nice at sunset; something about the sound of gentle waves brushing up against the beach, and the spotlights carved from sun-cast shadows on the buildings.

It’s just after dinner time, bordering on your eighth night here, when you and Eren are walking along the cobblestone streets that border the beach, the length of your sundress flowing every which way with the breeze, and the tail of Eren’s blazer flailing like a cape behind him.

He looks nice tonight, but, truthfully, he always does. He claimed he hadn’t put on the casual green suit because of your outfit, but you swear he was wearing khakis before he saw your dress. The tips of his ears go red when you tease him about it at dinner, but it doesn’t really matter to you; he would have looked good, regardless. Those suits are made for him, after all; tailored to fit perfectly, and designed by his own mother.

The streets tend to settle down after six, locals and tourists retreating indoors or heading to the beach to relax and draw in the evening. Tonight, however, there’s much more commotion than usual on your route.

“Maybe we should take the long way,” you suggest. On the tips of your toes, you realize that there’s some kind of special event happening in the square, filled with lights and music that grows louder with every step you take.

But the crowd and the lights and the smell of food only piques Eren’s interest. “No way—let’s check it out!”

You don’t have the time to refute before his long legs surpass your own stride, headfirst into the sea of people. You can only follow with a smile and a shake of your head. The soft green of his suit jacket serves as your guide as he navigates through the crowd, but the closer you get to the center, the more people there are.

You can feel palms of your hands growing uncomfortably warm as you become hyperaware of just how many people there are. You clutch the end of your dress in your hand, for both practicality and as a sort of comfort mechanism, as you try your best to calm the anxious wave threatening to crash against you.

With a deep breath, you begin to walk again, unaware of Eren’s actions until you physically walk into his hand, long fingers poking at your belly. You hadn’t realized he stopped walking, or that you’d caught up with him, and your eyebrows crinkle when you look down to see Eren’s left hand extended behind him and towards you, palm facing upwards.

He doesn’t say anything, or look back at you at all. Only wraps his larger fingers around yours when he feels the weight of your hand in his, and continues to guide you through the crowd, his pace slower, and hand firm around yours.

The mass of people becomes more spread out when you approach what appears to be the center of the event; and it looks like a party, maybe a wedding of some sort. There’s food and champagne galore, and more than enough happy guests dancing along to upbeat music in the streets.

Eren’s eyes light up as he takes in the scene, “You wanna dance?”

“What—Eren, no!” you refuse, “We cannot crash these people’s party!”

“Why not?” he counters, without a care in the world, “Seems like an open invitation to me! Come on!”

And for the second time that evening, you find yourself being pulled into his schemes; this time in the direction of the open space dubbed dance floor.

You’re both terrible and ostentatious and people start to watch, but it doesn’t matter because you’re smiling too wide and laughing too hard to care. Eren has a way of moving both with and against the music, forcing your body to follow his lead.

He shouts something over the noise, but you don’t have time to register his words before he laces your right hand with his left, and places his right hand on your waist. There’s a blink of confusion for a moment before you’re being swept off your feet and into a dramatic dip. You don’t have time to secure yourself against his shoulders, but Eren does a fine job of supporting you with a single arm against your back.

From what you can tell the song is far from over and the dramatic pose is completely unwarranted, but you and the crowd alike are victim to his charm. You indulge yourself, looking up at him with eyes too fond to memorize every feature of his face in this moment; the way he’s laughing with that big, dumb, wide smile of his that makes his nose crinkle and his eyes light up.

You’re too busy looking at him to hear Eren’s voice calling out to you, or even realize that he’s moved you from your pose to standing back upright. He’s equal parts amused and concerned at the glazed over look in your eyes.

“Hello? Anybody home up there?” he teases, elongating the vowels and squeezing your waist to alert you.

The reminder of his hands on your hips pulls you back to reality, your eyes fluttering down to his arms, then back to his face. It feels stuffy suddenly, too close to function.

“Yea—yeah! Do you wanna get a drink? Yeah, let’s get a drink!” you exclaim, haphazardly pointing and walking towards the food.

You don’t see it, but Eren looks on with glittering eyes, his verbal agreement heard only by himself as you veer towards the buffet. He can still feel your body in his grip, still see the specks of gold in your pupils as he lingers on the back of your silhouette lovingly. And before you can realize, he snaps himself out of it—an out of body experience similar to yours a few moments ago—before catching up with you.

You end up socializing for much longer than intended. Eren makes friends with everyone, to no surprise, and, uncharacteristically, you feel influenced by his actions, and converse with a few people yourself. You let him take the lead, though. Partially because he’s better at it, and partially because you just like listening to him speak French.

“Hey, we should probably get out of here,” he whispers into your ear after waving goodbye to a lovely couple you’d just met, “Before the host of this party realizes we’re miles better than his actual guests.”

You nod with a smile, more than happy to play by his rules for the evening. He offers you his hand again, that same, dopey smile on his face when you take it.

He leads you out of the crowd and back on to the path to your villa, the smell of warm food and sounds of vibrant music growing dull as you venture further from the celebration. It’s much darker than it was when you began your trek back from the restaurant, but beautiful all the same.

Your sandals pad against the wooden dock that leads up the villa, and Eren unlocks the door silently, ushering you inside before entering behind you.

“I know I said I wanted to leave, but I’m not really tired yet,” Eren confesses, pulling his blazer off of his shoulders.

“Me neither,” you say, placing your small wristlet on the table with a shrug, “What do you wanna do though, I’m not—”

“Great!” he cuts you off, smile too big. You narrow your own in suspicion. That tone of voice with that look on his face usually meant something mischievous, at best. “Remember when you said the first time you’d smoke would be with me, and then pranced away and took a bowl from Hange and got high as shit at Moblit’s party?”

“Why does everyone remember Moblit’s party but me!”

“Don’t worry about it,” he chuckles, waving the topic away, “Anyway… Do you wanna smoke now?”

You blink. “I… did you… smuggle weed all the way to France?”

“No, of course not!” he refutes, “…I got it here.”

You scoff, but don’t have the time to question him further before Eren’s tugging on your wrist and pulling you into the bedroom. You take to sitting on your bed while he rummages through his suitcase to retrieve a small, clear jar with several rolled joints inside and a lighter to match.

He shuffles next to you in the bed, mindlessly handing you the lighter while he unscrews the top off the jar. He takes out two of the joints, places one next to the jar on the nightstand, and tucks the other between his teeth. He asks you to hand him the lighter, and you do so wordlessly, distracted by the sight of Eren’s gaze and the blunt poking out his mouth.

“This’ll be fun, yeah?” He reassures you, “Technically, you let Hange take your weed virginity, but I’ll be better.”

“Can you not phrase it like that,” you roll your eyes, “You already took my virginity virginity, don’t be bitter.”

An all too smug grin settles on his features as he recounts the fact. “Besides,” you tack on, “I’ve never done it like this before. So, it’s still a first, kind of.”

Eren cups one hand around the joint, sparking the lighter with the other until it catches fire. He inhales, slow and deliberate, as if he were putting on a show, or a lesson, of sorts, taking the smoke into his lungs and out through his mouth.

You’d gravely miscalculated how attractive Eren would look doing this. Sure, he’s hot, you knew that, but the pronunciation of his jawline when he exhales, and the confidence with which he drags on the blunt is a stark reminder to you. He takes a few more hits, just as slow and sensual as the first, and the room begins to feel warmer.

“Come closer,” be beckons, smoke rolling off of his tongue with every syllable.

You snap yourself out of the haze of your imagination and scoot closer to him. He silently hands you the joint, and it feels heavy between your fingers. At the distance, you take in the smell—pungent and off-putting, but too familiar.

Eventually, you bring it to your lips, careful not to let your tongue press against the tip, and inhale slowly, like you’d seen Eren do before. You do your best to hold the smoke in your lungs for a bit, but seeing as the last time you did this you were amped up on adrenaline and drunk off your ass, the task proves to be much more difficult. It tickles before becoming uncomfortable and you exhale ungracefully, puffs of smoke punctuating your coughs.

Eren watches with a grin, amused at the sight of you fanning the excess smoke away with your nose scrunched in distaste. “You should have warned me you were gonna cough like a bitch.”

“Oh, fuck off,” you whine, trying to hide the hint of a smile creeping onto your face. You hand the blunt back to him, “You’re supposed to teach me, not tease me, asshole.”

Eren pauses his laughter, unsure of what to make of your tone; rushed, a bit embarrassed, but testy. It’s quiet while he stares at you, trying not to let the implication of your words run wild in his mind; but it’s futile when you’re pouting like that, the room is growing foggier, and he’s been semi-hard since you accepted his offer.

“Fine. Watch and learn,” he breathes, words coming out more jagged than he’d intended.

This time, he completely exaggerates every motion; he inhales at a tantalizing pace and flutters his eyes closed while he lets the smoke swish in his mouth, down his throat, and expand into his lungs. He cranes his neck upwards, and purses his lips to let the clouds exit in the streamline that follows the slope of his jaw.

Maybe it’s the drugs getting to you, but your mind is filled with nothing but sheer clouds that aren’t thick enough to block out thoughts of Eren. The weed is unattractive, potent in smell, and all kinds of wrong; yet, everything about him is soft, sultry, and pulls you in.

“Wanna try again, or do you need another lesson?”

You faintly mutter a profanity under your breath. His words end with giggles, a sign the drugs have already begun to take their effect on him, his expression is still smug. You forget Eren knows just how attractive he is. Motherfucker.

“Actually,” he cuts your train of thought, “I have a better idea, come ‘ere.”

Eren beckons you forward again, closing the gap between your legs so that your knees graze each other under the fabric of your clothing while you’re sat next to each other. He leans over, far too close into your personal space, as if to test something; he freezes when his nose is mere inches from your face, a dissatisfied scrunch taking over his features.

He reinstates his hold on your wrist, motioning your body backwards until your back is against the frame of the bed. He hums in approval, positioning himself next to you again, equally as close, but far more comfortable for what he has planned next.

“I’m—I’m gonna try somethin’, okay?” he stutters, the first word mistakenly coming out in broken German, “Just, don’t freak out on me. It’ll be good, promise.”

You nod, unsure of what you’ve just signed off on, but you don’t have time to ask questions. Eren takes another hit, then passes the blunt to his non-dominant hand. He turns to face you, leans forward, and places his free hand on the back of your neck to pull you closer; the expanse of his palm leaving room for his thumb to venture over the bottom half of your cheek.

Eren pulls you in until your lips are millimeters apart, and he can see the pattern of your eyes in beautiful detail. He shifts his hand now so that the majority of it covers your face, the pad of his thumb running across your bottom lip. He applies the perfect amount of pressure to pry your willing mouth open, and then, finally, exhales.

This time, you can taste it. It’s woodsy, and bitter, but the sweet undertones dance on your tongue. This time, there’s more to think about than just the smoke in your lungs; like the burn of Eren’s hand on your neck; the pressure of his thumb against your bottom lip; the proximity of his lips to yours; the look in his eyes.

“Feel good?” he doesn’t bother to pull away before asking, and the words ghost over your lips with the remaining smoke. You nod; he smiles. “Wanna try again?”

You let out a breathy note of affirmation, and then he’s inhaling and exhaling into you, and you welcome him with pried lips and a heavy thumping in your chest. The confidence with which he maneuvers his body and the drugs is nerve-wracking, yet comforting at the same time; he has an expertise and power that intimidates, but compels you to follow.

Together, you finish the first blunt, and Eren lights the second without missing a beat. His hands are more demanding this around; they guide you into submission, and he’s pleased to find that you’re willing to listen.

After the third exhale, you stop focusing on his hands, and more on his lips. After the fourth, you think you might be high—not to the stars as you infamously were during Moblit’s party—but with a comfortable, dull buzz in your head. Everything feels a little fuzzy, out of touch, but you host a burning want for something more, something tangible.

You don’t know it, but Eren feels the same.

After the fifth exhale, Eren pulls away, the blunt a simple stub as he flicks it away onto the night stand, and you miss him being too close. You miss his hands, you miss his warmth, you crave his touch.

“Eren,” you call, unable to think of or see anything but him in the haze. He answers with a strained, “Yeah?” keening towards the sound of your voice, wide eyes flitting all over your face.

It’s too much, too close, too hot. That’s when you cup his jaw, pull him forward, and meld your lips together.

Kissing Eren is painfully familiar, and unnervingly satisfying. It’s certainly not your first kiss with him; and, yet he has a way of making you feel like it is while reminding you of your history. His lips are soft, and they taste like smoke and the chapstick you swear by because he refuses to buy or test out his own.

You pull away too soon, gauging his reaction with blown-out eyes, before dipping forward to have him against you again. Then again, and again, and again, until Eren is tired of your leaving, and his hands are back on your neck.

This kiss is deeper, Eren searching to satisfy the hunger aching inside of him, and you’re happy to comply when his thumb is pressing at your lower lip again. You open your mouth for him and he doesn’t waste a moment, brushing his tongue against yours experimentally, and then flush into your mouth.

He groans when you rake your fingers into his hair, and pulls back with a hissing noise when you scratch at his nape. Large hands move to grip at your waist, and he pulls you into his lap with a concentrated gaze—a brief second for him to admire the sight of you on top of him, before he resumes kissing you. He sucks on your tongue, rolls his past your teeth, and bites on your bottom lip.

You know he relishes in the sounds he elicits from you, and under any normal circumstance, you’re willing to put up a fight with him, but not now. Now, you let him unzip the back of your dress and snake his hands beneath the fabric. The rubbing motions of his hands turn into gripping, gripping into grinding, and eventually, an unfiltered moan slips past your lips when you feel Eren’s erection roll against you.

“Fuck,” he pulls back with a suck of your swollen lip, “You’re so hot.”

Eren quickly switches your positions so that he’s hovering over you. You chuckle lightly underneath him, taking the opportunity to run both your hands through his hair and cradle his head in your hold, “Haven’t done anything yet.”

“I know,” Eren murmurs, dipping his head down to press kisses into your neck, “Still so sexy. So pretty, always.”

Eren bites a hickey into your collar bone, and everywhere he can touch; your neck, your ears, your cheeks, your lips. Your moaning serves as the spark to keep him going, but he’s barely coherent himself the way you keep pulling at his hair and grinding yourself against him. Even through his clothes, you can feel how painfully hard he is.

He barely catches your tongue between his lips when you moan again, sucking harshly before bruising his lips over yours again. His hands are grabby again, finally pulling your dress completely off of your body, leaving it to form a puddle on the ground. They’re back on your as soon as possible, massaging over your tits, and running his index finger over your nipples.

“Eren... Eren, please,” you whimper, chest heaving as you look down at him. He rolls his index finger over your right nipple, with his left hand teasing the other with his thumb. You can’t tell if the look in his eyes is a product of the weed, or just his glassy, borderline predatory stare, but it makes you shiver with pleasure when he wraps his mouth around your nipple and sucks.

“I want you.”

“Want you, too,” Eren hums, pulling back with a thin trail of spit from your breast, before moving to give your left nipple the same treatment, “More than you know.”

You keen to him when he teases his teeth against you, finally having had enough you force him off of you with a tug of his hair. “Then take off your clothes.”

Eren blinks, wide-eyed but glazed all the same. He chuckles lightly, a blush spreading over his cheeks as he nods. He sits back on his knees, pulling his shirt over his head, forgoing undoing the buttons, and pauses briefly with his hands over the zipper of his pants.

“Please tell me you’re not that gone that you forgot how to undo your zipper,” you tease him, chest still heaving from his previous ministrations. Eren smiles, doe-eyed and hazy, and shakes his head.

“No,” he reassures you, finally undoing his zipper and shimmying his pants off his legs, “Was trying to remember what underwear I was wearing. Didn't want it to be embarrassing.”

His honesty makes you laugh, and Eren pauses for a moment to soak it in. Even like this, even with him stumbling over the steps to undress himself, and you almost completely naked in front of him, he can make you smile. There’s something equally sexy and endearing about your giggles; a juxtaposition that makes him want to hug you or kiss you or something in between. And you—you like the look in his eyes even through your giggling; the way he smiles back and blushes and tells you exactly what he’s thinking.

“It’s okay,” you tell him, “Don’t think mine are particularly sexy either.”

Eren hums, shuffling back on to the bed so that he’s between your legs, and leans forward to kiss you again. He still can’t seem to keep his hands off of you, his fingers immediately flying to your underwear and peeling them off your legs, pulling you closer despite the lack of space between your bodies.

“Yeah, doesn’t matter,” Eren echos, tossing the offending item to the side, before cupping your face in his hands, “I’d still wanna fuck you in your granny panties.”

“You wanna fuck me?” you question, eyes sparkling and hopeful.

“Yeah, I do,” Eren can’t help but to smile again, happy and high and drunk on you, too, “Will you let me?”

Your feverish nodding is all it takes for Eren’s mind to go hazy again; clouded with you, you, you. You pull him into a kiss, arching your body into his, and running your hands down the sides of his back. He moans at the feeling, punishing you by nipping at your lower lip and pressing your stomach back to the mattress with his palm.

Your eyes meet his as Eren lines himself up with your cunt, teasing your folds with the head; but it doesn’t take long before he finally pushes in, sheathing himself inside you completely without movement. He waits a minute, whether it’s to make you comfortable, or to gather his own bearings, you’re not sure; but when he’s ready, he flashes you a smile and waits for one in return, before he starts thrusting.

You know Eren’s not gentle; rough whether or not he intends to be by virtue of his size in comparison to you, but you seem to have forgotten just how capable he is of making you lose your senses. He has you gasping, grasping at him at him unintelligibly, feeling full with his cock inside of you.

Eren groans, borderline growls, when he feels you clench around him, when he sees you shaking beneath him. He could do this all; could watch you all day.

“So pretty, the prettiest. Prettiest girl, my favorite girl,” Eren praises, eyes raking up and down your thrashing body, “My favorite fucking girl.”

“You—you, too.”

“Yeah? I’m your favorite, too?” Eren coos, reaching out to guide your arms over your head, the force of his body pinning your hands down; you can hardly gasp before he lacess your fingers together, and gives you a reassuring squeeze.

“Promised you, didn’t I? That I’d be good to you, be on my best behavior,” Eren reminds you, leaning forward.

He eyes your necklace—eyes glued to ring around it—bouncing with your body. He bends his head down to kiss it, bites at the skin near it; a possessive streak overcoming him as the diamonds shine against you. “I said I’d treat you good, always. Meant it.”

He stutters, when you squeeze him back; fingers tightening around his hold, your pussy clenching around his cock. Your whining is insistent, and mixes with Eren’s low moans and guttural noises. Eren doesn’t let up his pace, fucking you fast and deep, and it’s only a matter of time before you feel a knot twisting in your belly.

You attempt to move your arms, searching for a release of the feeling building up inside of you but Eren is strong; stronger than you, and he keeps you in your place. Keeps your arms pinned above you, keeps his palms pressed into yours, keeps his lips hovering above yours, just out of reach.

“Eren,” you call his name through shaky moans.

“Yeah? What, baby?”

“Kiss me.”

And so he does, his lips needy and hungry over yours. Eren fucks you and kisses you through your orgasm, tasting your moans on his tongue in timing with him cumming inside of you. You don’t let up; kissing him lewdly while you both come down from your highs.

“So good,” Eren croons against your lips, down your jaw, into your skin, “So good for me.”

You both moan in chorus when he finally pulls out, Eren’s head laying on your collar, nose nuzzling into your neck. He lets your hands free, and immediately you wrap them around his back, holding him close as you both attempt to catch your breaths.

You don’t know how long you lay there like that, with Eren on top of you, and your thumb rubbing circles into his cheek while he sleeps soundly. Maybe an hour, maybe more, maybe less; but the euphoria of your sex doesn’t quiet seem to fade.

It might last all night, maybe even for the rest of your trip but you don’t mind. You think back to earlier in the evening, when you’d caught his gaze after your dance. The feeling isn’t all that different; warm, and fuzzy, and too much and not enough all at once. It feels good, it feels like Eren.

You hum softly to yourself, careful not to wake up the sleeping boy on your chest, when you realize exactly what these two moments have in common: a rare event in which Eren is still in front of you, steady and stagnant, no running or chasing; and you don’t want to let him go.

Sometimes Eren thinks you act oblivious on purpose just to fuck with him, because there’s absolutely no way you—or any human with a functioning nervous system and social cues—can’t tell that he’s completely, stupidly, and embarrassingly in love with you.

Long gone are his days of trying to deny it or get over it. He realized that sophomore year of high school—almost eight years ago—that no matter where he went, what kind of drug he inhaled, or how hard he tried, you’d be permanently etched into his heart. That doesn’t make it any less exhausting, and, in fact, only makes it more astounding that you haven’t caught on yet. Honestly, Eren’s considered hiring a private psychiatrist just to make nothing’s wrong with you.

Amazingly, the remainder of your vacation continues just like the former half. The only exception being that now you’re in Paris. And that he’s shamelessly coerced you into letting him fuck your brains out on several occasions. But besides that, everything’s chill.

Just two best friends traveling through France together and stopping to fuck in any semi-private location they can find. Just two peas in a pod walking along the Champs Elysées at damn near midnight. Just two best buds with linked arms tasting (see: feeding each other) every macaron flavor they come across while violinists play stupidly romantic, classical music in the background.

He knows he should probably talk to you about it, but for some reason he can’t. Like telling you would make it all too real, and give it a meaning that could so easily be taken away from him; give you a reason to want to leave him. Right now, it’s just a fantasy, and he’s free to keep dreaming, believing that he’s special and worth enough for the affection you’ve shown him.

He doesn’t want to be one in a list of your boyfriends, or fiances, or husbands; he wants to be your only one, and if he can’t be, then he’d rather be stuck to your side as your best friend. At least that way, in someway, he could remain special to you; not a forgotten, ordinary ex of your past.

Though, a best friend who he’s sleeping with regularly and he’s in love with and will always be in love with is starting to sound a lot like a husband to him. At least, the kind of husband he would like to be to you.

You call his name, asking him if he wants to try another sweet. Eren rolls his eyes. What he wants is to fuck you, and marry you, and have you bless his stupid little existence with two runts for kids that look like him but act like you so his life savings don’t run out by the time they’re twelve. But sure, he’ll settle for having you feed him another macaron in the meantime.

“This one tastes just like the coconut one,” he mumbles, chewing his way through the pastry you’d stuffed into his mouth whole.

It’s the seventh bakery you’ve stopped at tonight, and even though Eren’s growing pretty sick of the sugary treats, he’ll walk with you to every damn bakery in Paris tonight if that’s what you want.

He blinks at the thought. He’s so lovesick it’s disgusting. And he wouldn’t do a damn thing to change it.

“That’s probably because it’s almond and coconut flavored,” you say, wiping the stickiness from your fingers onto a napkin.

“I didn’t taste any almonds.”

“I don’t even think you could spell almond, much less tell me what they taste like.”

Eren simply pouts in refute, leaving you giggling at his expression. He doesn’t know if it’s possible, but you seem even prettier in Paris than in Nice. But, that’s probably his rose-colored glasses speaking.

“You think there’ll be macarons at the reception?” you question, biting into yet another pistachio flavored treat, “And if not, would it be rude to bring my own?”

He chuckles. “Yes, babe, I’m sure there will be macarons there.”

He’s always loved Paris, even when his mom moved away here and left him in New York, and he’d always loved it more when you’re with him. He feared that having to attend another, what he considered to be wasteful, wedding in arguably one of his favorite places in the world would leave a bitter taste in his mouth; but, thankfully, he’s only fallen deeper in love since being here.

“You sure you won’t be sick of them by tomorrow?” he asks, watching you debate between taste testing another variation of vanilla bean or rosé.

“How could I get sick of them?” you answer offhandedly, not sparing him a glance away as you choose the pink snack. How could he get sick of you.

“By the time we get back to New York you’ll have forgotten all about them,” he scoffs.

“Don’t worry I’ll quit it soon. I’ll have to eat something solid if I wanna take my meds and go to bed,” you spew with a smile, unaware of what you’ve actually just said, “But they are delicious and I have no regrets.”

Eren pauses. Then so do you, mouth stuffed with sickly sweet.

“I mean—”

“I know, you know,” he cuts you off, “About the meds and stuff.”

You look like you could pass out, or scream, or cry, or everything in between. Eren figures saying more is better than saying less, so he continues.

“I saw a bottle in the bathroom a few months ago,” he admits shyly, but careful about his tone, “Didn’t understand half the words on the label, but it had your name on it so I just, uh… Googled it.”

Of course he knows. Eren’s always kind of known, just never had the words to express it. He imagines that’s what you’re feeling right now.

“Oh,” you finally gape, “Why didn’t you, um… you know, like, say… anything?”

“It seemed like your secret to tell,” Eren shrugs, features softening out, “Besides, I figured you’d tell me when you wanted to.”

Eren’s always been better at showing than saying, anyway. He hopes that his actions, small as they may seem, might have provided you with any sort of comfort in the past few months. Maybe even before that, too.

“Oh,” you repeat, continually blinking at him, “That’s… that’s it? You’re cool with it?”

Now it’s Eren’s turn to blink. “What do you mean am I cool with it? They’re your meds.”

“Yeah, but like… you’re not mad I didn’t tell—”

“Of course I’m not mad,” he cuts you off with a soft smile, “It’s not really my business. I mean, like, you’re my business because I care about you, but you have your own private stuff, too, which is cool. Besides, when I was, uh, researching it, I learned that it can be hard to tell people stuff like that even if—”

Eren shuts up when he feels your weight against him and your arms wrapped around him. Shell shocked, he takes a moment to hug you back, and slowly comes to rest his chin atop your head after leaving a flurry of kisses.

“You didn’t have to look it up or do any kind of research, you know,” you mumble softly into his jacket. Eren borderline chortles, but only hugs you more tightly.

“Of course I did. If not for you, then for myself, because I meant it when I said I’d never seen half the words on the prescription before in my life,” he replies, heart glowing at the sound of your small chuckles.

He’s expecting an equally witty response, but you surprise him when you pull back just enough to face him, a hazy smile on your face. “You’re amazing, Eren.”

Don’t blush, fool. Don’t blush, fool. Don’t blush—fucking idiot.

“Yeah, I’m pretty great,” he boasts, leaning back into the coolest pose he could muster up while ignoring the growing heat creeping up his neck. It’s all in vain as you reach over to playfully tug at one of his ears.

He thinks you’re pretty like this. All the time, but most notably when he has you in his arms. So pretty, that he has to lean forward to kiss you; you don’t seem to mind, if the way you smile into the kiss is any indication of your feelings. Eren finds himself mirroring your grin; moving his arms from around your waist to the sides of your face.

The workers in this poor little café probably hate the two of you, but he doesn’t fucking care. He’s got his favorite girl in his arms right now, and you taste like almonds and coconuts and like the love of his life.

And he should tell you. Eren wants to tell you, and he finds himself wondering if those same intrusive, fearful thoughts were part of the driving force behind your own reason to keep your secrets from him.

You pull away from him, hands lightly draped around his neck, and you smile like you’re shy—like he hasn’t known you your whole life. Still, Eren finds himself smiling back; and thinks that if you were brave enough to tell him how you were feeling, then he should do the same.

“(_____), I… I gotta tell you something,” he starts, voice soft as his fingers curl around your waist a little more tightly, “Though, I’m kind of hoping you already know.”

You blink at him, almost innocently. Eren bites the inside of his jaw; you’re going to have to stop doing that before he jumps you again.

Better now than never, he supposes. He tries to shake his nerves when he takes your hands in his, completely covering them with his palms, and closes his eyes. Despite that, you try to offer him comfort, squeezing his fingers as best you can; and Eren takes that moment to thank his lucky stars for whoever decided to put you in his life. Because he knows that no matter what, even if he royally fucks this up, you’ll find some way to be there for him.

He slowly blinks his eyes open again, gaze resting on the ring around your neck. A faded chuckle escapes his lips when looks at it. The only one who got the wrong idea about his gift was you. But, he supposes that’s his fault; he never did explain it, after all.

“It’s nothing… It’s just that, I’m in—”

But Eren’s startled by a voice that makes him freeze. He almost wants to believe he misheard it, but he can hear the telltale clacking of vintage heels on the floor of the bakery and he knows that he didn’t mishear a thing.

Eren turns his head, and sure enough, there is his mother, in all her five foot glory, adorned in designer clothing from her beret to her shoes. With a fucking street urchin on her arm.

“Well, well, well, what a lovely surprise,” Carla beams, red lipstick perfectly in place even after a long day of wear.

Eren’s eyebrows draw together, as he takes in his mother and her fiancé standing in front of him. He can just barely register you calling out towards her, carefully maneuvering yourself off of his lap, and into the neighboring chair; but still keeping your right hand wrapped around his left. He can feel you squeeze it—whether to give him comfort, or warning, he’s not sure yet; probably both.

“It’s so good to see you!” you beam, excitedly offering her and Mitchell a seat across from the two of you at the table. Eren opens his mouth to refute, but you squeeze his hand again; a warning.

Carla leans forward to encase you in a hug, exchanging cheek kisses, and leaving Eren to stare at the street rat across from him. Mitchell seems to know better than to make eye contact with him, irises scattering from Carla’s back to the décor of the bakery while the two girls catch up.

“We missed you at the rehearsal dinner on Sunday,” Carla recounts, eyes fluttering to Eren’s briefly. One look into her son’s eyes, and she understands why; one look into his mother’s eyes, and Eren knows she has him all figured out. “I was worried you might not show at all.”

Eren strategically averts your gaze when you turn your head towards him, choosing to look at his mother instead.

“I didn’t even know there was a rehearsal dinner,” you tell her, tone polite, but Eren can hear the clear jab directed towards him, “I’m sorry, I—we would have gone, otherwise.”

“No need to apologize, darling,” Carla smiles, “I’m sure you two were very busy.”

“We were,” Eren cuts in, words definite. He sees a hint of surprise flash in his mother’s eyes briefly, expertly covered up with her sweet demeanor. She only nods in understanding, sitting back a bit to wrap her arm around Mitchell’s.

“What are you even doing here, Ma?” Eren questions, even as you do the same with his hands under the table, “Isn’t it bad luck to see the groom before the wedding.”

“After the third or fourth wedding, you grow tired of pleasantries and superstitions, my love,” she replies, “This place makes Mitchell’s favorite macarons, we thought we’d share a few before the big day. Maybe get some tea as a pre-celebration.”

The topic of sweets has you speaking up once again, engaging both his mother and Mitchell in a discussion about them, and your other findings from bakery hopping earlier. If Eren didn’t love you to pieces, he would have left the table a long time ago.

It carries on much longer than he can bear to endure; almost an hour of you, and his mother, and Mitchell making pleasant conversation while he tries his best not to brood beside you, but it’s futile. He feels like a little kid again. Stuck at the dinner table with his mother and a man he was being forced to get to know, only for him to become a stranger to him in a matter of months.

Eren grinds his teeth into each other when you laugh at something Mitchell says. He’s not going to sit through his any longer; or ever again.

“Well, this has been fun,” Eren says, voice blatantly monotonous as his cuts through the conversation, “But we should all probably head back go to bed. Big day tomorrow.”

“Eren, we should—” but, he stands up quickly, hand wrapping around yours to force you upwards too.

He doesn’t care to look at you, knowing the dissatisfied expression he’ll be met with. He fishes for his wallet and pulls out too many Euros, neatly tucking them under an unused knife to pay for the meal.

Eren’s steps out from between his chair and the table. “We’ll see you guys tomorr—” But is stopped before he can take three steps away.

His mother’s hand wrapped around his wrist. She stands, significantly shorter than Eren’s full height. “Actually, Eren, could I borrow you for a bit?”

And he doesn’t want to, because he knows exactly the conversation waiting for him. But he looks down at her, lets his eyes flicker to you, and back to her, and he knows he doesn’t have the heart to walk away. Not even if he tried.

He sighs with a shallow nod. He can feel your hand on his shoulder, the proud smile on your lips when you tell him that you’ll meet him back at your hotel. Mitchell ensures him and Carla that he’ll make sure you get back safely, and Eren still can’t stand the guy, but he’s grateful that he can at least be of use for something.

Eren kisses you on the forehead briefly, a promise to you and himself that he’ll finish his confession later. After all, he probably should come to terms with the woman who taught him what love is before he vowed to love you for the rest of his life.

The walk to his mother’s hotel is silent, Eren choosing to keep to himself, hands stuffed in his pockets to prevent his mom from holding them. He’s probably acting like a child, but isn’t that what he is to her; isn’t that she treats him as.

“Look, Ma, you don’t need my approval to marry him,” Eren grumbles, when they finally exit the elevator into the hotel room, “It doesn’t matter to me.”

“Of course I don’t,” Carla offers him a small grin, even if he won’t look at her directly, “But it matters to me.”

“Why does it matter now? It didn’t matter with Keith, or Henry, or Henri with an I, or any of the others,” Eren mumbles, reluctantly taking a seat on the stool opposite the vanity.

His mother tracks his movements with soft eyes and an amused grin as Eren absentmindedly bends a knee and begins to fiddle with the hem of his pants. Just like he used to when he was upset as a child.

“It mattered then, too, Eren,” she tells him, sitting on the stool and facing him.

He’s surprised by her words, his wide eyes giving him away even if he attempts to act unfazed. “It didn’t seem like it.”

Carla opens her mouth to speak, but closes it, words stuck in her throat. She watches Eren’s hunched figure, her tall son not even bothering to look her in the eyes. She exhales slowly; if he were five feet smaller, he’d have tucked himself under her arm, still refusing to look at her, but he’d have snuggled his head into her side while he pouted anyway.

“I suppose it didn’t,” she admits, “In the end, the love wasn’t enough to make it last, then.”

Eren is quiet for a bit at that, pulling at his pants leg. “And… and you love him enough, now?”

“It’s more than love, Eren. It’s... happiness—for yourself and another person—it’s being okay with somebody knowing you now, and forever. Whichever version of you that is.”

“Then why did you marry them before?” Eren asks, “If you knew it wasn’t enough, if you knew it was just going to end up as another big mistake.”

“Maybe the marriages were a mistake, and some of what came with them, but I don’t think the feelings were,” Carla muses, “Love is never wasted.”

“How can you say that?” Eren questions, disbelief and exasperation painted on his face, “Of course it is—you wasted your time, and your money, and your—your everything on those people who couldn’t care less about you now!”

“Eren—”

“You let them into our house,” Eren speaks over her, “You let them into your life, and they left. They always left—”

“Eren—”

“—And you even let some of them come back! Everyone, you let everyone have another chance, another anniversary, another wedding,” He’s ranting, crying, hot, irrational tears streaming down his face; hiccups interrupting his speech, “So—so, so if it’s not wasted and everyone gets another chance and another chance and another chance—why didn’t he come back, huh? For his?”

Eren’s standing now, arms flailing every which way during his breakdown, but his mother doesn’t try to stop him. She lets him continue, hears him out.

“If it’s love—if it’s not wasted, and it’s real—then why didn’t he come back? Why didn’t he want to? Why—why didn’t he want me? Why did I end up the bastard?”

Eren looks his mother in the eyes for the first time in the duration of their conversation with that final question; with his vision blurry, and chest heaving, and cheeks wet. Carla has no words to say; can only carefully open her arms, and wait for her son to come crashing into them. And he does; and it rains and pours, and Eren holds onto his mother for dear life, and onto the pieces of her breaking heart.

“Am I not good enough to have that kind of love?” Eren asks through tears, “Am I not special enough to want to know?”

“Eren,” she finally speaks, moving to cradle his head in her hands, “You don’t have to be special or good, to be known or loved. It’s enough that you were born. That’s enough to make you deserving of love.”

She doesn’t mind the tears against her palms or the hiccups of Eren’s breathing, “And you already have it.”

And Eren looks at her with eyes wide and wild like a child, staring at the first person to have ever loved someone as messed up, and plain, and ordinary as him; and he can feel more tears bubbling at his eyes.

“Ma, I’m—I’m so sorry,” he chokes out, wrapping his arms around her even tighter, chin resting on her shoulder while his shake through his tears, “I’m so fucking sorry.”

Carla hugs her son as close as she can, like he’s five years old and the apple of her eye and she can take all his pain away. “You don’t have to be. You’re my son, and I’ll love you always.”

It feels like they have all the time in the world like that, to hug and cry and apologize; but Carla hopes Eren knows that he was always forgiven; that he never had anything to apologize for in the first place.

“She loves you, too, baby,” she coos, holding Eren as tight as possible, “But you have to let her know that. That you accept it.”

“Do you think she knows?” Eren asks, words muffled into the fabric of her clothing, “That I love her, too?”

“I do,” Carla confirms, pulling away to look at Eren in the eyes; his beautiful, shining, green eyes, “But I don’t think that either of you really realized it. I mean, you did give her an engagement ring, darling.”

Eren huffs at the memory, “She thought it was a gift.”

“Because you gave it to her as a gift.”

“I thought it was pretty obvious.”

“Love has a way of making people blind,” Carla muses, “Especially two lovesick semi-adults with too much money on their hands.”

Eren’s cheeks grow pink at the accusation, “It’s your money!”

“Yes, and I’m very happy to have it,” Carla chuckles, motioning for Eren to stand up. He does, and she looks up at him with glimmering, proud eyes. “Now, go, shoo. You have a girl to propose to, don’t you? There might be two Jaeger weddings this weekend.”

Eren nods, certain of himself for the first time in a while. He turns on his heel with a vigor igniting his footsteps, but pauses when he reaches the elevator. He makes a sharp turn, running back to his mom one last time, and squeezing her suddenly, and tightly against him.

“I love you, mom,” he says; the words too foreign on his tongue, and he vows to not let them be a stranger to his vocabulary from here on out.

“I love, you, too, Eren,” Carla calmly wraps her arms around her son one last time, “And I always will.”

You half-expected your walk back to your hotel with Mitchell to be painfully awkward, but he proves to be a pleasant conversationalist, even in Carla’s absence.

You know that Eren isn’t fond of him, but you wish that he would at least give him a chance. There’s no way to know if a marriage—if any relationship—will last forever, but, sometimes, you think it’s not about knowing about forever; but, rather about wanting it to make it there; about willing to go the distance with that person.

You can see that want, that willingness that works alongside love in Mitchell and Carla’s relationship, that stands out from her past marriages. You get the feeling they’re going to last; and that, most importantly, they both want it to, too.

It’s quiet out as you both walk the streets of Paris, Mitchell taking the time to point out small notes in architecture that interest you. You readjust your jacket as a gust of wind washes over you, careful to make sure your necklace doesn’t snag against your clothing.

“That’s a beautiful ring,” he calls to you gently.

“Thank you,” Surprised, you quickly let out an embarrassed cough, looking down to your left hand resting atop the uppermost button on your coat. “It was a gift.”

“I meant that one,” Mitchell corrects, carefully gesturing to his own neck to indicate that he was talking about the ring on your necklace, and not the one on your finger.

“Oh, thank you,” you repeat, “That one was actually a gift, too.”

The older man hums, continuing your walk to your hotel. “Must have been one hell of a gift. I don’t know many people who give out engagement rings as presents.”

“Oh, no, no, no, it wasn’t—it’s not an engagement ring,” you tell him, feeling a warmth creep up your cheeks even in the chilly atmosphere of the night, “Eren gave it to me, actually, a few years ago—it was a Christmas gift.”

“Eren, huh?” Mitchell smiles fondly, “That makes sense. Carla tells me how much he cares about you.”

“You—she does?” you stutter. Mitchell nods. “I—I mean, I care about him, too.”

“Enough to accept an engagement ring from him, it seems,” Mitchell taunts, “I’m no specialist, but I know a Harry Winston piece when I see it. They’re not cheap.”

“Trust me, I know,” you scoff, “I almost killed him when I saw how much he spent on it.”

“And you took it, anyway?”

“Well, he—he was supposed to return it,” you defend yourself, “Because I didn’t want anyone to get the wrong idea! But he just, well, he gave me the other one instead, so I wear that one on my hand.”

Mitchell pauses, just as you both stand to the entrance of your hotel. “And what was the wrong idea you didn’t want people getting.”

“That... that...,” you pause, thinking back to that Christmas day.

Even though Eren is known for spending ludacris amounts of money, the ring came as a genuine surprise to you. A couple thousand on shoes, sure—you’re victim to that yourself; a couple hundred thousand on a lavish vacation wasn’t out of the ordinary, either; but a million, maybe even more, on a ring that you could have only ever asked of him in your dreams was another thing completely.

And, sure, even a few million didn’t mean much to you or Eren at the end of the day, but it wasn’t just the price; it was the object of the money, too. To accept a house, or a car, or a jet for that amount is something you could rationalize; but a ring seemed foreign, and far out of your league.

Then there was the display and value it held beyond money. It’s beautiful, gorgeous, but more than that, it’s tailored to your exact liking. The synthesis of your aesthetic and everything you could ask for, garnished with the memory of Eren in the very design; the diamonds you love, the flowers that remind him of you, and the way they stems wrap around each other and the petals meet in the middle.

A small gasp leaves your lips and instinctively, you reach to clutch the ring in your hold. There was no way this was an engagement ring... Eren hadn’t proposed to you when he gave it to you—in fact, he was so casual about it, that it had you stunned that he hadn’t thought to consider that other people might think it meant something more than what he intended it to be.

But, looking back, it seems like you’re the only one who didn’t understand what was going on. Because Eren told you, even then, that he’d wanted you forever; you didn’t know how to hear him. It was all right there—not just in the ring, but in all his gifts, in the entirety of your friendship.

Eren loves you, more than you could ever know.

“It’s an engagement ring,” you say aloud, but more to yourself than to Mitchell, “Oh my god, it’s an engagement ring.”

Mitchell can’t do anything but smile at your revelation. You’re practically bouncing off the walls, connecting the puzzle pieces of your relationship in the middle of the street at damn near midnight, but you don’t care; because it finally feels right, and it finally, finally all makes sense.

“He, but he never pro—oh my fucking god, I’m going to kill him.”

You feel elated and confused and happy and murderous all at once. Eren wanted to marry you; Eren loved you. He wants you for the rest of his life, and you’ve been too blind to see it this entire time.

Still, you think that maybe a verbal proposal might have helped to open your eyes a bit.

“Mitchell, I have to—”

You’re cut off by the echo of your name coming from the opposite end of the street, and you can just barely make out of Eren’s figure in the faded lights of the street lamps. His name falls from your lips like a whisper, and you hardly register Mitchell’s amused, soft laughter from beside you.

“I think that’s my cue,” he says, patting you on the shoulder, “I better get back to Carla. Something tells me you two have a bit to talk about.”

You can barely nod at him, eye still wide and stunned, but a smile on your face even in your fearful anticipation. You don’t have time to thank him before he turns away, bidding you goodnight; and then you have something else to focus on, as Eren’s footsteps grow louder, and his silhouette grows sharper the closer he gets to you.

He practically crashes into you, chest heaving, hair wind-swept and wild from his running. He puts his hands on your shoulders, to steady himself physically and mentally, labored breaths ghosting over the top of your head.

“Hi,” he finally squeaks; and that stupid, big, dopey grin is on his face.

It’s ridiculous, so utterly ridiculous that you can’t help but greet him back. The two of you stand there, smiling like fools for god knows how long, before the realization strikes you for a second time.

Eren opens his mouth to finally speak, but a pained squeal leaves his lips instead as he feels the back of your hand slap his chest. “Ouch—hey, what was that for!”

“What the hell do you think you were doing proposing to me without telling me?” you screech, packing another punch to his chest for good measure, but it’s a poor barrier and does nothing to stop your tears from falling, “You’re an idiot, I should kill you for this, you know that, Eren Jaeger?”

Eren laughs softly, only to be heard by you in close proximity. He takes your offending hand in his, and reaches for your other, pulling both of them between your bodies. He can feel tears welling in his own eyes, as he looks down at the necklace, glimmering perfectly under the moonlight.  

“In my defense, the first thing you told me to do when I gave it to you was to return it.”

“I might not have said that if you told me what it meant,” you can hardly choke out a laugh through your tears; and Eren can’t stop his from falling either, “It’s insane, you know. This whole thing—to ask me to marry you at 19. For me to not realize until we’re 21.”

“I know,” Eren agrees, inching closer even though there’s barely any room between you, “I know. But I know I love you, every version of you. I always have, I always will.”

You close your eyes as Eren’s hands move to your face, gingerly sweeping your tears away from your cheeks. He feels too close, it feels like too much; but you don’t want him to move.

“You know... if you had asked me, then,” you start, blinking your eyes open with a sniffle; you’re met with Eren’s emerald greens one with far too much hope and love glimmering in them, “I—I don’t even know what I would have said.”

“And if I asked you now?”

You pull your bottom lip between your teeth, slowly raising your hands to wrap around Eren’s wrist, and lower them to your neck, before looking at him again, “Ask me.”

Eren blinks, carefully trailing his hands up and around your neck, nimble fingers undoing the clasp of your necklace. He hardly lets the chain pool into his hand before it’s tossed aside, and the ring is still between his thumbs and index fingers as he lowers himself on to one knee.

“You are the love of my life, and there’s not a single version of life—a single version of you, or me—where I don’t want to be with you forever,” Eren says, “And you know how shit I am with my words, but I fucking mean it. I swear to you, that I’ll do my best every day to show you how much you mean to me; marry me, and I’ll prove it to you, I swear, I will.”  

Your lips are wobbling at Eren’s confession below you, and you can just barely beckon him upwards in your state. He’s hardly back on two feet before you’re pulling him against you, ghosting the word “yes” on his lips before you kiss him.

You both melt into the kiss, Eren’s hands skillfully cupping your cheeks, while he keeps the ring in his hold and bruises your lips together.

“You don’t have to prove it to me, Eren,” you assure him, hand shaking when you pull apart and let him slip the ring onto your finger—where it belongs, “You already have.”

For his first birthday as a married man, Eren requested something intimate. He wanted just a small celebration with all of your mutual friends, some good food, alcohol, and lots of fun.

Supposedly simple and intimate for him entailed renting out the top floor of the Whitney, which was currently encasing an exhibit portraying some kind of abstract modern art that allowed for a very drunk Eren and Armin have to entertain themselves by trying their best to recreate the paintings using very flawed couples aerial yoga.

The art, paired with the dimmed lighting, Jean’s choice selection of overtly sexual music, and Eren’s pick of overpriced champagne also meant that Marco, Bertholdt, Connie, and Sasha found everything ten times funnier than they were—which meant they were a million times louder than usual.

Jean stands next to you by the bar, watching as Eren attempts to hold Armin above his head by holding on to just his waist. They’re unsuccessful, of course, resulting in both boys toppling onto the ground as the majority of their older friends laugh along.

“Lucky me, I get to take him home at the end of the night,” you drawl, turning to the bartender to order another drink.

She smiles, easily preparing your martini and sliding it you with an inquiry. “That’s your boyfriend? The tall one with the brown hair?”

“No,” you sigh, eyes closed for a moment before taking the glass between your fingers. “That’s my husband, unfortunately.”

× even more notes: this fic. is my baby. it’s been a draft of mine for over two years at this point. it’s gone through various fandoms but i’ve never quite been able to complete and post it, so i’m very happy that it’s finally here! i hope you all enjoyed, and i just wanted to say that i’m glad to finally have been able to share this with you all!

[stellocchia]

Alright, now that I got some sleep, time for an overly long analysis on Tommy’s second prison visit!

I’m only talking about character in the rp from here on out, not the cc’s unless explicitly stating otherwise

-

First of all, a clarification is in order: was it Dream’s plan from the very start to get put in prison to end up in this situation? No. Does this mean he couldn’t have caused this to turn things in his favour? Also no.

Dream has proven before that he’s a rather flexible character (kinda has to be with a nemesis like Tommy), he’s been put multiple times in unexpected situations and managed to come out of top. We don’t know if he expected L’Manburg to be reborn after the 16th, and yet he managed to have the whole cabinet wrapped around his fingers. He didn’t expect Tommy to threaten him with Spirit, and yet he spun it around on him. We also know he didn’t expect Tommy to leave Logsteshire (he was talking about it with Punz, it’s the reason he went to check on him shortly after because he realized he may have stepped too far and broken Tommy out of his manipulation there) which offered him the opportunity to frame him for the community house disaster later on.

He is nothing if not resorceful.

Another thing we have to discuss when talking about the visit is the themes of their relationship:

- Dream’s possessiveness/obsession

- The whole Dream finding Tommy “fun”

- Their “game”

More under the cut

- For the first point, when I say “possessivness” I mean that Dream literally regards himself almost as Tommy’s owner. Don’t believe me? Let’s talk about how he treats Tommy’s canon life then!

Remember all the way back during exile? To keep Tommy in line Dream consistently threatened to take his last life, implying that he would have been fine with Tommy dying, yet, as soon as Tommy showed signs of wanting to take his own life, Dream bust out the line “it’s not your time to die yet”, 2 times in fact. Why? Well, Dream wants control in all things, not only that, but he clearly thinks he’s in the right in wanting it. Of course the life of his favourite toy is no exception. Also let’s not forget about the terrifying scene on top of the obsidian grid where, when Tommy said that their story would be over soon, Dream immediately took control again assuring him it would never be over.

There is also Tommy explicitly stating that Dream was “borderline his owner”, in case we needed an additional affirmation, in the stream where Mexican Dream made an appearance in exile. 

Also, I have to mention that during the first Prison visit Dream, when talking about what he missed, grouped Tommy together with “his stuff”... can’t get much clearer then that

- Dream’s describing Tommy as “Fun” has been a reoccurring creepy theme between them. But is it soley done out of manipulation or does Dream actually feel that way in his twisted world view? I’d say a bit of both to be honest. 

Clearly there is a level of gaslighting with it were he used to say it at the very start of Tommy’s exile to get him in the frame of mind of considering Dream his friend and trying to convince him that they always had fun together (trying to get him to switch his anger from being directed at Dream to being directed at his old friends), but that’s not all. 

Dream, in cutting all his known attachments, is left with only Tommy as an attachment, Jack is right on that one, which is the rason why his obsession seems so extreme. That said, it’s pretty obvious that he does sort of find his relationship with Tommy “fun”. It’s the reson why literally everyone else is a replaceable pawn, but Tommy isn’t. Don’t get me wrong here: he doesn’t see him as a human and, despite him “caring” in his twisted way, there is NOTHING healthy about their relationship. But it is still important to point out that Tommy is extremely important to Dream.

- Their game is something we’re all well aware of. They are regarded by so many people as the hero and the villain of the server, even though neither of them accepts their assigned role. That said they both view the other in the role assigned to them. Dream doesn’t see himself as a villain, but he does see Tommy as a hero and vice-versa. And, just like that, the stage for their “game” is set.

Only problem? Only one of them is playing the game. We know this from the season 2 finale: the reason Dream kept coming down and trusting Tommy was because he thought Tommy was as attached to their “game” as he was, but he was wrong. Tommy HAS other attachments, plenty of them, he’s not dependent on Dream and that’s also probably why Dream is so obsessed with him in the first place: everyone else is predictable, easy to use. They aren’t surprising, they aren’t “fun” (remember that? Remember Dream goning “Tubbo isn’t fun” when Tommy said he had as much value as himself? Because I sure do) they are boring pawns. 

You’d think he may think differently of someone like Techno but, despite him acknowledging his strenght, he has no reason to think he won’t be able to use him every time at the smallest promise of violence as it worked every time before. George and Sapnap? When’s the last time Dream showed them he cared in any way? He used them time and time again and then left them behind when the relationships required work on his side to mantain. He didn’t even speak to Sapnap during his visit! He regards Quackity as barely an annoyance (remember what history left on him in the Lost City of Mizu? Just a Fool). Punz and Sam were both people he paid, only means to an end. They ALL played his game and followed his rules, which is what made them predictable. It's what makes them so replaceable.

-

Now that the themes are established, let’s move on to the analysis of the visit itself!

First of all: big foreshadowing from Sam with the missing books (which Tommy admitted to not remembering the content of) and from Tommy saying how much he trusted and appreciated Sam. It doesn’t have much to do with the analysis, but we all pointed it out.

That said, what was Tommy’s objective with this visit? Closure. Tommy wanted to make their game finally stop for good, he wanted to reclaim the control over his life that he hasn’t had for a while now. Not over his literal last life nor over hid day to day life. Both used to be controlled by Dream. 

Dream “loosing” his clock is the first information we learn. But, remember during Bad’s visit when Bad convinced Sam to give Dream one last chance to get his clock back if he behaved? And then again with Sapnap? Dream wanted the clock to go, that’s why he kept burning it despite the warnings. Why? Could it be that he was planning to get someone to stay with him in there? Isolation affects you much harder when you’re not aware of the passage of time after all...

“That’s the Tommy I know!” from the start of the visit Dream is trying to re-establish their “bond” and get Tommy in the mindset of them being “friends” again. I mean, it’s not a coincidence that he’s never been this talkative or friendly in any of the visits from other people. 

Other point in favour of Dream having planned this long stay is the sheer number of potatoes he had stored. Also, may I add that he immediately started giving them to Tommy? He started before the tnt and explosions, before he should have known Tommy was gonna stay. He never did this before during any of the visits we’ve seen. Establishing his role as provider again like back in exile I see...

Dream also started immediately demanding for Tommy to visit him more, but Tommy does turn it down just as quickly by explaining that that would be the last visit (if Dream wasn’t planning to act this time, he changed his mind in this moment. He’s very adaptable remember? And his main accomplice was online...). Of course, Dream isn’t happy about it. 

We already established that Tommy is the only one he finds “fun” (as far as we know), having him stopping visitations entirely wouldn’t be good for Dream. There is also the fact that Tommy is deciding to move on on his own. It’s Tommy’s choice under Tommy’s complete control and Dream has already shown he’s not too kin on that being a thing.

“Anything you want to say to me now, you have to say to me now, because I’m not visiting you again” “Why?” I’m highlighting this piece of dialogue because I think it’s pretty indicative of Dream still being convinced that they’re both still playing the game. Sure, Tommy outplayed him for now, but the game is not over, is it? Tommy can’t just decide to drop him can he? They both have so much “fun” after all... 

Of course though, to Tommy the “why” should be obvious. Because of Dream he’s struggling with severe ptsd. He’s afraid of plains biomes, of lava, of heights to a certain degree, of black stone (both because of the Attachments vault and the Final Control Room on this one), of tnt, of small holes (big enough to drop your items in as he said), of giving up his stuff and of Dream acting Friendly. Dream hurt him a great deal to the point were he’s not managing to settle down even now, he’s still afraid. How can Dream not see how he hurt him? How can he not understand? In Tommy's mind it just doesn't make sense.

TECHNICAL DIFFICULTIES (had to add this because it was just funny... why are there always bloopers with this 2?)

Potatoes again. Again the tnt had not started to go off yet. And Tommy eats them again immediately, of course. I can’t stress this enough, but this is done again to re-establish the dependency tommy had on Drem during exile. While he didn’t entirely depend on dream for food (he barely ate and he had Mushroom Henry), he used to be entirely dependent on him for protection, getting to the point where he would hardly defend himself from the mobs when they attacked him even when Dream wasn't around. Of course Dream can’t provide “safety” while he’s in prison, so he has to find something else.

“You had all this shit coming” “I did but... you know... maybe one day” “No! Have you seen this prison? It’s kind of the most secure thing ever” They are talking about two different things here. Dream is implying that, maybe, they’ll let him out in the future while Tommy, having already decided to move on and not worry about Dream anymore, is implying that the only way Dream is getting out is if he manages to escape, which he won’t. Quite different from the first visit were Tommy showed quite a bit of hesitance when asked if he would ever let Dream out.

“Unless you have extreme therapy” Tommy recognizing the importance of therapy I see! No, but, more importantly, this goes to show that Tommy is moving on from his exclusively vengful mindset he had at the start (which was more then understandable, btw). At the start of this visit he said he didn’t think that Dream deserved to die anymore and now he’s recognizing that he needs help, Tommy however also knows he’s not the one who should be helping him, he can’t. Still, he’s empathizing with him, because he can’t help doing so. Despite everything, Tommy always tends to see others as their own individuals, even when the same is often not true in reverse. 

“I mean exile wasn’t that bad... right? I mean, we hung out” again, tying it back to the themes in their relationship, this fits so well. Of course exile wasn’t that bad, right? After all: why would Tommy have needed anyone else when he had his Best Pal Dream? And here’s the thing: we can’t know how much of what Dream says is just manipulation and how much of it he believes, but Dream has shown enough signs of being dependent on Tommy as his only attachment that we can assume there is, at the very least, some level of truth in this. I mean, if you remember back when he blew up Logstedshire, he didn’t even wanna believe that Tommy was suicidal. Tommy told him directly, but was dismissed. Why? Not because Dream wasn’t extremely opposed to him taking his own life, he’d already shown that not to be the case. Perhaps because he actually didn’t think it was that bad? Maybe he didn't want to admit he pushed him too far? Did he actually view himself and Tommy to be Dream’s own twisted version of “friends”? It’s a possibility and it’s what this visit seems to imply. 

“When I’m around you I feel like my brain is conditioned to be your friend, but also when I have a knife I wanna just plunge it into your heart... you don’t make me a good person!” This seems to be a rather recurrent theme with Tommy and the mentor figures in his life. Wilbur trying to convince him (albeit not managing to) to just blow it all up and give in to his aggressive nature. Techno wanting to “bring him to the side of evil” and making him more violent in the process. Now we have confirmation that Dream himself makes him lash out more (though we could see this already when he was in exile in how he lashed out at Jack Manifold without the latter having done anything to deserve it). There is also the confusion to point out. While Tommy is trying to move on he’s clearly in no way “healed”, he’s still very much suffering from the consequences of Dream’s abuse and manipulation. He still doesn’t know exactly how to feel about him because, despite everything, he feels compelled not to hate him entirely. 

“You’re a bad guy” “Well I did bad things, but everyone thinks they’re right from their perspective” “That’s not true” I haven’t seen almost anyone talk about this exchange, but it’s such an important one! As we said, Tommy views Dream as a villain, Dream doesn’t (he admits to having done bad things, but not to being bad because of them). Dream also sees Tommy as a hero, but Tommy doesn’t (Tommy doesn’t even view himself as “the good guy” in his own story, which ties in to his big self worth problems). It’s an interesting dynamic to be sure. 

“Well I think I’m right. I did bad things, but I did them for good reasons” “What good reasons?” “I wanted to bring the server together you know? Make it a big happy family” This is the second time Dream brings up unity as his ultimate goal (the first being with Punz). Of course we know that the “unity” he wants it’s under his complete control. It’s not an objective that we can see as positive, but he does, or, at least, if he’s telling the truth about it, he may actually believe in it. Now, while this is the second time he brought up “unity” directly he did also strongly imply in the season 2 finale that that was his intention when explaining he was doing everything to get the server to “how it used to be”, back in the idealized past with no conflicts that never existed. Dream is deluded in the literal sense of the word, I would say it’s pretty probable there is at least some truth in his declared objective (truth in the form of him actually believing the bs he spews).

At this point Tommy is done. He’s drawing an end to the visit and Dream started getting more frantic. He started insisting on how he’s “changing” and insisting for Tommy to go visit him again. Ngl, I think this was probably to buy time for his accomplice (who is very possibly enderwalk!Ranboo) to get there. Because, if he let Tommy go, their game would truly be over, and Dream can’t stand that.

And cue the explosions! 

So: Dream managed to buy enough time and, by the prison's protocols, Tommy is now stuck with him up to 7 days. He can’t leave which means Dream gets another chance to force him into continuing their game. 

Quite a few people pointed it out, but, from this point onwards, Dream gets much more assertive and controlling in his demeanor. He drops the whole “insecure” act that he had going on in his enunciation and general behaviour and goes back to being like the old Dream (you would almost think that all that talk about “having changed” was just absolute bs, though he keeps insisting on it throughout) 

Tommy’s behaviour also changes. He gets much more paniked (no doubt a combination of way too many of his triggers being present at once) and pliant. He starts calling out for Sam and asking to be let out but, of course, that doesn’t happen as Sam has to take care of the security breach first and foremost. 

Dream starts immediately harping on Tommy being stuck there (probably to increase his panic, as he's easier to influence when he's distressed), first pointing out how “Sam can’t hear him” and then that the tnt must indicate a “security problem” (which he then explains he knows the consequences of because he wrote the book). By now he’s dropped his meek act entirely and he’s showing to be much more smug and self assured (a big contrast with Tommy having a very obvious panic attack). As we already said: he got what he wanted, he basically won already. All he needs to do now is get Tommy back to how he used to be in exile (”when they had fun” in Dream’s words...). 

At this point there is only one question left to be answered: Why did he do all of this? How does this benefits dream?

Clearly this didn’t help him to get out. The security may actually increase because of it. Right? Well...

“I mean... if you want a way to get out, let’s get out together! We can work it out, we can-” “Fuck off” “Then there is no way out” I’m going out on a limb here and saying that, perhaps, Dream may know a way to get out provided 2 people cooperate on it. Tommy wouldn’t help him yet, but, who knows what he may do after spending way too much time locked in a small room, with a lava fall on the side and Dream to top off the list of his worst nightmares... 

“Are you trying to get out?” “I’m not trying to get out, I’m not trying to get out!” a bit of a contradiction here, considering he proposed getting out together like 2 minutes before (coupled with his insistence on “one day...”)... however “I’m not trying to get out (yet)” may be a way to interpret his words more truthfully. If he just needed an accomplice to get out, he would have probably used Ranboo, but there is something else he wants as well... 

(btw, potatoes AGAIN multiple times, especially every time Tommy is particularly distressed, and Dream also brings up Tommy being on his last canon life again in the context of this being “just like exile”... man do be trying hard with those parallels...)

You see, he already told us that he still sees his objective as good. He still wants control. He still wants his game to go on. And there is one person he elected to be the key to everything...

“I’m telling you you’re stuck in here for a little while with me, were we can bond, we can talk, just like old times, right? You know... just like exile” “Tommy this is the best thing that’s happened to me since I got in this prison, because now we can be company, we can stay together!” “Fine, fine, you’re done with me in a couple days, when you get out of here” “Tommy it’s not that bad! We can- we have lot’s of time to bond” Ngl... something tells me his other objective is very obvious... and we talked about it to death by now. But, in case it wasn't clear to someone, he wants to get back what (or who in his case) he considers to be his most cherished possession (again, do NOT interpret this as a "good" thing. It isn't. Dream literally treats Tommy as his toy, it isn't healthy and I've seen way too many people in chat trying to imply otherwise and calling it "cute". It's not cute, it's abuse)

“Tommy you’re stuck in here with me wether you like it or not, ok?! Wether you like it or not you’re in here with me for a WHILE, we’re gonna talk, we’re gonna have lot’s of fun” I just wanted to point out again how much Dream’s demeanor changed from the start now that he’s back in control. He’s not asking Tommy to talk to him, he’s not giving him a choice in it. Tommy already said how he doesn’t wanna talk and “get to know him better”, but that doesn’t matter. He has no power anymore. He doesn’t have the power to leave NOR the power to ignore Dream, as much as he wants to. Also, after this, Dream seriously ramps up the whole “We’re gonna have so much fun!” shtick...

And you want to know the saddest part of the ending? Tommy is already cracking (honestly, not surprising. He’s been through WAY too much by now...) 

He started asking Dream for confirmation of whether all of this was “serious” (just like he needed to ask if things were real back in exile... or generally Dream’s opinion on everything). He also asked for more potatoes in a dejected tone (I know it may not seem that serious, but, as I said, it is just another way to create the dependency that Dream wants), showing a beginning of acceptance for Dream’s role as provider once again. Together with the very obvious “I can’t do this” and the black screen right after it creates a very worrying picture.

In conclusion: Dream is already dependant on Tommy, but the opposite not being true was a big part of his downfall. So, before he can get out, he has to work on getting Tommy back to exile!Tommy only this time he’ll be even more careful not to do some dumb mistake probably... 

-

As anxious as I am to see how this will develop I do also think it’s one of the most interesting outcomes they could have had!

Also can we please take a moment to appreciate how WELL cc!Dream anc cc!Tommy manage to handle this incredibly serious scenes? Like, they bounce off of each other perfectly and, as someone who’s done theater themselves, I cannot commend them for managing to do so well in IMPROV enough!

They are honestly so great! Let’s get some serious love and appreciation for them to close on a positive note!

Also @mysweatymakerstudentworld

[ja-khajay]

Stuff I read (and liked) this year

As promised, here’s a list of the novels, comics, manga, etc... I read this year, focusing on the ones I enjoyed and would recommend to people. Under a cut, this is going to be a little long.

-------- Books --------

Favorite book of the year: Stranger in the Woods, by Michael Finkel

Non-fiction. Based on the interviews of the man himself by the author, it is about a man who felt so unfit for society he decided one day to leave it, and spent the next 28 years as a hidden hermit in forest in Maine. The book details how he survived there, how he was eventually found, and some of his reasons for doing so. It’s a great reflection on the nature of loneliness.

Indian creek, by Pete Fromm

...Yet another detailed tale of living alone in the woods. This time, the diary of a student who spent a winter in the mountains to help tend for salmon hatchlings, and how he spent the rest of his days hiking, hunting, meeting the locals. It’s a fun little book who, being set almost the whole world away from where I live, was a nice way to travel.

Howl’s Moving Castle, by Diana Wynne Jones

I don’t feel the need to explain this one since everyone and their mom has seen the movie adapted from it. The book, that I first read a decade ago before I actually watched the film, is a less romantized, more spirited telling of the same story. The writing is absolutely delightful and so is the world it paints, and it’s the first time in ages a book had me laughing out loud during my entire read.

-------- Comics (BD) --------

Favorite comic of the year: Monsieur Désire?, by Hubert and Virginie Augustin

A discreet young woman becomes a maid for a decadent, unbearable, byronesque young lord. Caked in the rigid and oppressive social hierarchy of the victorian era, you follow a mental and verbal joust between the two, as the lord tries his best to offend and corrupt his new unrelenting servant, to little success. The writing and especially the dialogues were stellar, drawing me into the tense atmosphere, watching this trainwreck of a character flamboyantly destroy himself. While there’s no precise content warnings that I can give, this is a mature and heavy story.

World of Edena, by Moebius

Anyone who’s followed this blog for over a month knows how much of a Moebius fan I am. Edena combines the vague, dreamlike, wordless storytelling from stuff like Arzach or The cat’s eyes with an actual plot. While I haven’t completly finished the story, the evolution of the main characters and how the story is told have been great to read through, and as always the art is beyond gorgeous. Unfortunately suffers from some good old sexism in the writing that even if minimal, tasted sour

Le roman de Renart, by Joan Sfar (book 1)

Sfar’s work always has a signature vibe of being dreamy and light without being light hearted, of being down to earth but drifting in the fantastical, and this one is no exception. It’s an adaption of a series of medieval folk tales I grew up with, who uses the same characters to tell an original story. If you’re familiar with icons like Renart as well as other mythological big boys like Merlin you’ll fit right in. There is something special in how the dialogues are written, who feel natural in a way that you’d overhear in a street corner and is very special to me.

The mercenary, by VIncente Segrelles

Another one I post about a lot on this blog. The mercenary is a king on the throne of fantasy cheese. The worldbuilding is interesting at times but the writing is a pretty pathetic display of glorious old time sword and sorcery sci-fantasy 10 years too late for it’s prime (warning for ye old sexism and orientalism that plagues the genre, cranked very high...) but you come and stay for the art. The entire thing is drawn in a series of hyper detailed oil paintings with an insane eye for technical detail, from the engineering of the weaponry, to the architecture and weather, to the anatomy of the fantasy creatures... Each panel stands out as it’s own painting which makes even flipping through it without reading the scenario a treat. Click here to see more of the art, in my Segrelles tag.

The ice maurauder, by Jacques Tardi

A short story about mad scientists entirely drawn like a 19th century engraving. In great Tardi tradition everyone is ugly and mean, it ends terribly, it’s both a hommage to the genre of late 19th cent. to early 1900s dramatic adventure novels and a critical eye on it, and it’s morbidly funny. Most people I saw online hated the way this was written but I’m not them and I really recommend this book. Die mad

-------- Manga --------

Favorite manga of the year: it’s a tie between the following two.

Cats of the Louvre, by Taiyo Matsumoto

Most wonderful comic I have read in ages. The story follows a bunch of semi-feral cats secretly living in the Louvre museum’s attic, and the small group of humans who share their life, walking through the museum as the night watch. When the cats are together, they are represented in a humanoid way, but still act like animals, and “become” cats again when a human is nearby. The plot is a sort of supernatural mystery centered around a kitten who walks around paintings. It’s a love letter to art, sincere and beautiful, with a unique art style and great characters.

Memoirs of amorous Gentlemen, by Moyoco Anno

A sex worker in early 20th century paris starts writing down a diary of the clients she meets, in a quest to cope with the troubles of her life. You follow her, her colleagues, and her bittersweet relationship with an abusive lover. I don’t have much words about this comic, but the art and writing both are amazing, it’s the perfect length and drew me in like little series had before. Obvious content warnings as this is an adult story that talks about sexuality, but also depicts both mental and physical abuse.

Hana, also by Taiyo Matsumoto 

A very short story, this was not made to be read as a comic originally, but served as storyboarding and visual development for a play, and the way it is written follows that. Hana is a slice of life story set in a fantasy world, of a young boy, his family, his village. Despite the setting being an original one, the character interactions are refreshingly... normal, and there is no huge plot to speak of, just a bit of the life of these characters. The art is beautiful, entirely black and white, with a scratchy style and an emphasis on contrast. Matsumoto is on a speedy road to becoming my favorite manga artist haha

Delicious in Dungeon, by Ryoko Kui

While not marked as my year’s favorite, I still consider this series among my favorite manga ever. The art and writing are amazing, and it’s both heartfelt, well concieved and plain hilarious. The story follows several parties of dungeon diving adventurers each on their little quests with a premise of our protagonists, on a panic rescue mission, surviving in the dungeon by cooking and eating the monsters they come across. From a DnD party turned cooking manual dinner of the week beginning, the plot creeps up on you and slowly thickens. I don’t want to spoil anything about the overarching story of this because it was a delight to discover for myself. While everything about DinD rules, I am especially fond of the design philosophy of the author, who puts great detail in the practicality and biology of what she draws, as well as the character writing. Everyone even side characters has so much charm and depth to them, the cast is so diverse and entertaining...! Each character is just a bit lame enough but endearing, and has their own little backstory that shows in the way they exist. It’s a delight

Chainsaw man, by Tatsuki Fujimoto

I went into CSM expecting a borderline campy hyperviolent dumb fun thing to read and was very surprised to find an uncomfortably well written story about a teenager being groomed. The hyperviolent dumb fun fights are here nonetheless and the series still qualifies as shonen for some reason, but the more mature character writing as well as some truly outlandish visuals make it something very special. If you can’t stand shonen, not sure you will like it, but if you don’t mind it, worth trying.

Witch hat atelier, by Kamome Shirahama

The oh so elegant fantasy seinen every cool kid started posting about this year, who I also succumbed to and fast. Witch hat is hard to explain, as most of it’s plot revolves around the rules of the world it’s set in, specifically the regulations around it’s magic and the social and historical reasons for them. It’s about growing up, learning, disability, making art. You follow a little girl taken in by a witch as an apprentice, her magical education, and learn little by little why her lovely teacher is so willing to break a lot of rules... While a bit too gentle and pretty for my taste at times, Witch hat has great worldbuilding and explores sensitive themes I rarely see in manga, much less in fantasy. And Berserk wishes it had art this good

[hopelesshawks]

Physical Fatality Part 5- Proud

18+ Hawks x fem, pro hero!reader

Summary: You’re a rising star in All Might’s agency. Hawks is the darling of Endeavor’s. By virtue of your job descriptions, the two of you are supposed to hate each other, or at the very least be cautiously neutral. For a long time that’s exactly what the two of you did. You stayed out of each other’s way and formed little opinion of the other. One fateful night at an HPSC gala changes all that. Based on the album Hopeless Fountain Kingdom by Halsey.

If you don’t want to see Physical Fatality content blacklist #hopelesspf

This story will have multiple NSFW parts so it is 18+ ONLY minors dni

Warnings for minor manga spoilers, oral sex (giving and receiving), facefucking, dom/sub themes

Masterlist

“You need better concealer Katsuki, whatever brand you’re using now is shit,” you comment by way of greeting as you meet Bakugo in front of the agency for patrol.

“The fuck are you on about idiot?” Bakugo scowls. “I can still see the hickeys Red Riot left on your neck,” you grin as you begin walking. His face goes bright red as he catches up to you. “These aren’t-“ he begins but you cut him off rolling your eyes. “Don’t bother, we both know whatever lie you try to come up with won’t be a good one. May I suggest trying Fenty brand concealer out before you have your next rendezvous.” “Whatever, keep talking shit if you wanna keep living on Deku’s couch forever.” “What does your shitty job at covering up hickeys have to do with my technically being homeless?” “I might’ve found you a new place but the more you open your trap the less inclined I am to tell you about it.” “Have I ever told you you’re my best friend in the whole wide world and I love you so much?” Bakugo rolls his eyes so hard it’s a wonder they don’t fall out or get stuck. “Look Kirishima’s got a friend who went to high school with us, Mina Ashido. If you paid any attention to the charts you might recognize her as the acid hero Pinky,” he explains. “Ohh I know her! I follow her on Insta,” you say. “I… y’know what? Sure. Great. Well, her roommate is moving out and Kiri says she’s looking for a new one.” “Aww, so he’s Kiri now?” “I swear to god (y/n) do you want the room or not?” “Right! Yes, I totally want the room! Thanks so much Katsuki!” you beam at him. “You’re lucky I find you entertaining dumbass. Here’s Mina’s number,” he sighs as he pulls out his phone and texts over her contact details. “Seriously though, I owe you one. I’ll give her a call later today,” you tell him. “Whatever, let’s just get on with patrol,” Bakugo scoffs. You know he appreciates your thanks anyway.

You love patrolling with Bakugo because the two of you are equally competitive. Sure, on bigger takedowns you both know how to reign it in and focus, but on days like today where all you get is a small time robbery or two both of you let yourselves go a little bit. It’s all about who can round up the most villains in the least amount of time. These competitions were a large part in why you earned Bakugo’s respect and had been the beginning of a beautiful friendship, not that he would ever call it that. Your favorite tradition of you and Bakugo’s patrols, however, was the race back. Once you guys neared the end of your route, you would pause, do a short countdown and then you were off. First one back to the agency wins, the only rule was that you couldn’t do anything that could draw a bad headline i.e. destroying property or getting civilians caught in the crossfire. It was such a staple of the two of you’s patrol that many people had come to know them and you’d get the occasional group of spectators to watch you and the explosive blonde racing. The current record is 112-113 in Bakugo’s favor but you’re determined to fix that now. The two of you finally reach your usual starting point and both of you get a grin of anticipation. “Ready to watch me widen that lead?” Bakugo asks. “No way in hell, I’m tying it back up,” you fire back. You both look at each other and together countdown

3…

2…

1…

Go!

You’re both sprinting forward careful to avoid any pedestrians. You see a clear path starting to open up ahead of Bakugo and quickly scan for an obstacle you can throw in his way last minute. Your eyes land on a mailbox so you reach out with your quirk and then wait to time it until just before he’s about to blast himself forward. Right as he’s surging forward, the finish line in sight and his hands sparking, you jerk the mailbox in front of him so he barrels directly into it. You give him a wink before sprinting the last bit inside, using your quirk to shove the doors open and slide into home as he is just getting back up off the ground. He runs inside shortly after you and you crow out your victory. “Eat shit, Katsuki! It’s 113 all now,” you laugh out of breath, panting as you bend over with your hands on your knees. “Can’t believe you hit me with a fucking mailbox,” he huffs back. “It’s not destruction of property so it’s valid,” you point out. You stand back up straight, chest still heaving with exertion and sweaty from the run only to look towards the elevators and see Hawks staring at you. You belatedly realize that Shoto is with him and also giving you a curious look and it only occurs to you then what an odd picture you and Bakugo must’ve made rushing into the agency like that. “We, uh, we race,” you pant out by way of explanation as you and Bakugo finally start to catch your breath and make your way towards the elevators.

As the four of you get into the elevator Bakugo asks “What brings you guys here?” “Apparently All Might and Father want us to get started on the investigation into the attempted terror attack at the gala last week. We finally got access to security camera footage, personnel interviews, stuff like that, so we should be able to make at least a little head way. Tokoyami and Midoriya are already upstairs getting started,” Shoto explains. Hawks is still fucking staring at you and you can’t figure out why but it’s borderline making you sweat again. Since that night in Shoto’s basement Hawks had been doing his best to woo you. He had sent not-so-anonymous notes and flowers to your desk signed off only as “From your mystery man” to avoid the potential scandal of you having a fling from the enemy agency. Even still you could tell that the lower ranking heroes were starting to whisper and wonder about who your new suitor is.

As the elevator reaches your floor and everyone steps out you’re keenly aware that you need to change back into your civilian clothes if you’re about to comb through security data and interviews for hours. “I’m gonna take a shower then I’ll join you guys,” you explain, jerking a finger towards the women’s locker room, before using your quirk to grab a duffel bag from your desk. “We’ll fill you in on anything we find,” Bakugo assures you and you nod before heading to the locker room. Once you’ve disappeared into the locker room Bakugo turns to Hawks and asks “Well? Aren’t you going to go after her?” “What?” Hawks asks as he’s finally snapped out of the trance you’d put him in from the moment he’d seen you sweaty and laughing, looking impossibly sexy in your hero costume. Shoto rolls his eyes. “You weren’t subtle. Something tells me you’d be too distracted to help right now anyway,” Shoto adds in.

Hawks tries not to look too eager as he follows after you but fails. He rushes to the locker room and locks the door behind him. It seems as if the top floor is pretty much reserved to you, Bakugo, and Midoriya but better safe than sorry. You’re already in the shower by the time Hawks arrives, the hot water rinsing away the sweat you’d worked up on patrol and any muscle aches that had been threatening to make an appearance. You hear footsteps approaching and immediately have a pretty good guess for who it is. “So that’s what all the staring was about,” you tease as you turn around to find Hawks leaning against the boundary between the showers and the drier part of the room where the actual lockers are. “How else did you expect me to react when you were looking so hot all sweaty and with that bright, beautiful smile of yours?” Hawks flirts. “Do you have an off button or?” you ask. “Aren’t you going to invite me in? We are a little pressed for time you know,” Hawks replies by way of an answer. You pretend to think for a moment but the reality is you knew and were hoping for this exact outcome the moment you heard the door open again. “Well, hurry up and get in here then,” you tell him. He’s all too eager to oblige.

He quickly strips out of his hero costume before coming to join you under the shower’s warm spray. He’s already half hard, and getting harder by the moment, as he presses you close to him and draws you in for a kiss. It’s slow and needy and addicting because he kisses you like you’re something precious. His hands slowly skate up your rib cage before moving to massage your breasts. You’re about to wrap a hand around his now achingly hard dick but before you can he’s pulling away from your kiss and giving you a devilish look. You’re about to ask why when suddenly he’s sinking to his knees in front of you and you wonder if there’s ever been a hotter sight. “Spread those legs for me Artemis.” There’s something about the way he says your hero name that makes it sound like absolute sin. So you do as told and spread your legs as his hands find their home at your waist but he doesn’t go straight to the main attraction. No, first he leaves open mouthed kisses along your inner thighs. So close to what you truly want but not quite. “What happened to being short on time?” you groan, desperate to have his mouth on you. He chuckles and you can feel his breath ghost against your sex. The feeling makes you shudder. “So impatient little dove,” he smirks but regardless he finally licks along the folds of your labia. You have to grab the wall for balance as his tongue begins to circle your clit before he pulls the nub into his mouth to gently suck on it. “Oh god,” you cry out as one hand instinctively goes to tangle in his hair and you can feel him smirk against you, the cocky bastard, but can’t find it in you to really care when his tongue is now sliding inside you. He eats you out like it’s his job and Christ does he deserve a promotion. He slides one hand down from your waist to provide extra stimulation to your sensitive clit and that’s all it takes to send you over the edge with a cry of his name. His real name.

He stands with a self-satisfied look on his face as you reel him in for a kiss. “Job well done I take it?” he asks. “Very well done. I think I ought to return the favor,” you reply and now it’s Hawks’ turn to watch in wonder as you sink to your knees in front of him. He curses above you just at the sight alone but then you’re taking him into your mouth and he already knows this isn’t going to last long. You take him in slowly, inch by aching inch, until you can feel the head of his cock kiss the back of your throat and the moan he makes as you hollow out your cheeks is music to your ears. You pull back enough so he sits more comfortably in your mouth and use your hand to work the remaining length as you begin to bob your head up and down along his shaft. You feel his hand tangle into your hair and hold on for dear life and he’s trying so hard to resist the urge to move his hips. You pull off and smirk up at him and he almost whines at the loss. “You’re being so good trying not to fuck into my mouth Keigo,” you say and while he wants to be indignant about the tone you’re using there’s no denying it makes his dick twitch. “So good I think you’ve earned a reward,” you continue and god Keigo just knows you’re going to be the death of him at this rate. “You want to fuck my face Kei?” you ask and it’s a miracle he doesn’t explode right there. “Fuck (y/n), yes. God, yes,” he pants out. “Then do it, I give you permission,” you grin before taking him back in. You don’t have to tell him twice. He fucks into the wet heat of your mouth like his life depends on it, tightly gripping your hair to hold you in place as he chases his orgasm. He tugs on your hair in warning that he’s close, so close. You tighten your grip on his hips to let him know it’s ok. Soon after his hips stutter as he begins spilling his seed down your throat with a groan. You take it all, swallowing every drop until he’s finally spent.

As you stand back up Keigo immediately pulls you in for a bruising kiss, still able to taste himself on your tongue, and it’s so possessive and demanding that in any other situation you may have gone another round. But you both have already been gone from the meeting too long so instead he pulls away and practically growls, “I’ll get you back for that mouth of yours later.” “Promise?” you tease. “Tonight. I’ll take you somewhere proper with no reporters,” he tells you before pressing a quick but rough kiss to your lips and then exiting the shower to go dry off and get redressed. Fuck, he’s going to be the death of you. You take another few moments in the shower before you step out to get dressed as well and find Hawks has already left the locker room, presumably to join the others in the meeting. After putting back on your civilian clothes you exit the locker room and head over to the conference room designated for the task force. Bakugo gives you a smirk as you walk in and you flip him off in return. Finally you take your seat and tune into the conversation, fully shifting into work mode.

By the end of the meeting you’ve managed to rule out the league of villains and most of the remaining yakuza groups out there but haven’t got much else. “There’s some similarities with a case I’ve been looking into from a month or so back. It was kicked lower down the food chain but I still have notes and I can probably get the files I’ll just have to swing back by Endeavor’s,” Hawks sighs. “Let’s deal with those tomorrow morning. Meet back here same time?” Midoriya asks. Everyone nods their agreement before rising to leave the conference room. “I should probably still grab those files tonight,” Hawks admits as you all walk out. “That’s cool, I’ll just roll with. No worries,” you shrug. “You’re the best you know that?” he grins. “Stop it, you’re embarrassing. Let me grab my shit real quick and then we can head out,” you tell him before running off to do just that. Shortly afterward Tokoyami walks up to Hawks. “I’m proud of you, Hawks,” he says and Hawks gives him an odd look. “What’re you talking about?” Hawks asks. “I was worried you’d freak out when you found out she worked for All Might. You know how Endeavor gets, still buying into the whole dumb feud thing. I’m glad you didn’t let that stop you though,” Tokoyami explains. “I mean yea Endeavor’s no fan of the guy, but he wouldn’t actually care about me seeing someone from All Might’s agency... right?” Hawks replies. Tokoyami’s eyes widen briefly but he coughs to cover up his reaction. “No, no, yea you’re probably right. Anyway, she’s good for you I feel like. I’m glad you two found each other,” Tokoyami finally says. Before Hawks can press any further you reappear in front of him and ask “Ready to go?” “Yea, I’m ready,” he says, throwing one last look at Tokoyami before shaking it off and following you back to the elevator.

Hawks is sort of quiet on the way over to Endeavor’s agency but you figure he must be thinking over the case still. It’s late so when you arrive at the office building the lobby is all but deserted except for one woman standing off to the side looking uncomfortable and lost. She’s older with thick hair and looks to have had a rough go of life if you had to guess. You notice her before Hawks does so you walk over to see if she’s ok. After all if she’s hanging out in the lobby of a hero agency this late at night she must be in trouble right? “Excuse me ma’am are you ok?” you ask the woman gently. She turns to you and the look in her eyes is almost distant. “I’m looking for my son,” she says mildly. You’re about to ask for more information on her son, like a physical description or where she’d lost him, when suddenly Hawks is right behind you. “What are you doing here?” he asks and his voice is cold in a way you’ve never heard before. You’re about to chastise him but stop short. You look from his face back to the woman’s. It can’t be. Can it? “Is that anyway to talk to your mother?” the woman asks and you have to resist the temptation to gasp audibly. Hawks grits his teeth, looking frustrated and you can’t help but let your eyes wander to the agency doors that any number of heroes could walk through at any second. You’re not sure Hawks would appreciate you showing him any kind of physical affection in front of his mom so you instead reach out with your quirk, giving his wrist a quick, hopefully reassuring squeeze. “Why don’t we take this upstairs, yeah? Hawks you can get that file you need and you two can talk with a little more privacy,” you suggest. The woman gives you an almost detached look but nods and Hawks sighs “yea sure,” before turning to go up the elevator.

The top floor is blissfully empty. You wish you could appreciate being in Endeavor’s agency a bit more but you’re more concerned for Keigo and the woman who is apparently his mother. She goes to take a seat at one of the desks and sits there quietly. “I’m sorry. I promised you a proper night out,” Keigo sighs and it breaks your heart a little seeing him like this. “It’s ok Kei, we can take a rain check,” you promise giving him a small smile before turning to leave and give him privacy. “Wait,” he says suddenly as he lurches forward to grab hold of your wrist. You turn back to look at him and find desperation so clear in his golden eyes.

“Stay?”

“Of course.”

He gives a relieved sigh before steeling himself and turning back to face his mother. “What do you need?” he asks, and the simple act of asking seems to be draining for him. “The commission money is running out. I didn’t know how to contact you so I waited until everyone had gone and came here. I figure being number two and all you could help me out?” she asks. “How much?” “Just enough to last me until I get a job.” “You’re not even looking for a job.” “I am.” “Stop lying.” “Fine then I just need enough to pay for food for awhile. You and the HPSC got me in that big, fancy house, the food is all I really need.” Hawks somehow doubts that’s true. “Fine, I’ll deposit some money into your account. Here’s my number too. Just call next time,” he tells her as one of his feathers unearths a business card from his desk and puts it on the desk she’s sitting at. For a moment she stares at the little card as if unable to register what it is, but eventually she does take it off the desk hesitantly, as if afraid it may disappear. “Thank you. Goodbye Keigo,” she says before standing and heading to the elevator. She’s about to walk out when she suddenly stops. “I am proud of you by the way,” she confesses but before Keigo can respond she steps into the elevator and then she’s gone. “I’m sorry you had to see that,” Keigo sighs. “Don’t apologize,” you assure him. “I ruined our evening. I think that warrants an apology,” he scoffs and you hate the self deprecating undertone you can hear in it. “Tell you what, why don’t you grab that file we need and then I’ll take you some place,” you offer. He gives you an odd look but nods all the same. You try to convince yourself this isn’t a horrible idea.

A cemetery. The place you had taken him was a cemetery. Hawks isn’t sure what to think but he can tell this isn’t necessarily easy for you as you lead him through the tombstones. You finally stop at a marker and sit down in front of it. Hawks joins you, eyes scanning your face before finally drifting to the tombstone. He freezes when he recognizes your last name at the top. There’s one name engraved below that, a woman’s, and Keigo finally puts the pieces together. “My dad was a big gambler,” you start to explain, “but he wasn’t very good at it. He was constantly betting big and losing it all. My mom would work long hours all day every day just trying to get food on the table and he would blow it all in a night or two. It wasn’t sustainable, obviously, so he started getting into shady shit to make up the extra funds. I guess eventually he screwed over the wrong person, they came to the house to settle the score so to speak but he was gone so my mom paid the price for him. I was on my way home from school at the time so, um, I ended up being the one to find her.” Keigo reaches over to gently take your hand but doesn’t say a word. He doesn’t need to. “My dad was arrested about a year or so after my debut as a hero, just when I was starting to gain momentum at All Might’s. The press ate that shit up, it was all over the news. I think that’s why they’re so hard on me now. They’re just waiting for me to prove I’m no better than the situation I grew up in,” you finish. “Maybe your dad and mine are sharing a cell,” Keigo offers and it’s far more than you ever expected from him. “That’s why your real name is a secret.” Keigo nods. “It was a deal my mother struck with the HPSC. She gave them me, they gave her a fuck ton of money and both of us a fresh start. The Takami name was wiped from both our records,” he explains. “How old were you?” “Six or seven.” “That’s hard.” “Yea.” The two of you briefly lapse back into silence before you finally clear your throat, forcing back any tears that were threatening to fall. “Anyway, I didn’t bring you here to tell you how shit my dad was. I, um, like to come here sometimes to talk to her. I figured it was only fair that you meet my mom since I met yours,” you explain, “if you’re comfortable with it, that is.” “I’d love to meet your mom,” Keigo says, giving your hand a tight squeeze. You respond with a watery smile before turning back to the tombstone. “Hey Mom. I know it’s been a minute since my last visit, work has been kinda crazy. Midoriya and Bakugo are doing well! I think Midoriya is going to propose soon and Bakugo finally got his act together with Kirishima. That’s Red Riot’s real name. I don’t remember if I told you that last time. Anyway, there’s someone here I want you to meet,” you say before turning expectantly to Keigo. “Hey Mrs. (y/l/n), it’s really great to meet you. I’m Keigo, your daughter’s new friend,” he introduces himself and it warms your heart to hear him do it with his real name and not his hero one. “You raised a pretty amazing woman ma’am. I hope you’re proud of her,” he finishes.

The two of you stay at the gravestone trading stories with each other and to your mom late into the night. There’s something freeing about it and when the two of you finally do take your leave, one thought sticks out to you amongst the rest: Against all odds, you’re in love with Keigo Takami.

Author’s Note: THIS CHAPTER WOW. First of all I really be hurtin my own damn feelings 🥲 but also as y’all can tell I very much was inspired by the backstory we got from the latest manga chapter. I’m sure the FBI agent monitoring me was very confused why I was googling what Japanese cemeteries look like but here we are. This is one of very few parts in this series that isn’t directly linked to a song off the album so it was a little harder to write but we finally got there

Taglist [open]: @akkaso @cathy8taffy @eeppff @iikillerkitteh

[k7l4d4]

Midnight Striga: Fairy Tail/Owl House Cross Fic Episode 4 Part 1

Hello all, once again, k7l4d4 is here with another piece of Midnight Striga! Everybody clap your hands!!

“Ugh! I can’t believe you’re going to be working for Bump!” Eda groans, irritably sorting through the Lacrimas she had accumulated over the years. She placed her palm against the wall, turning a tired eye onto Luz. “Seriously, what could’ve possibly made you think working at a site of,” She shudders, “Institutional learning, could be a good idea? I mean, you live with a criminal.” She finishes, pointing her thumb at herself.

Luz snorted, looking up in thought. “Hey, it’s better than the education I got.”

Eda cocked her hips, a considering look on her face. “Oh? How so.”

“Well, my first teacher was very much a believer of the “trial by fire” method of teaching,” Luz mused nostalgically. “One of his favorite ways of seeing if I actually understood a lesson was to put me in a situation where I’d have to prove it.” She gave a sigh of content. “Ah, those were the days, when my biggest worries were if I would be chucked off a roof to see if my reinforcement was functioning.”

Eda and King froze from their work, looking shocked. Clearing her throat, Eda spoke up. “Uh,  you maybe want to clarify that a little? Because it sounds like your ‘teacher,’” She gave air-quotes around the word, ”was basically just torturing you.”

“Yeah!” King shouted. “Nobody harms my followers without my permission!”

Luz laughed. “Nah, he wasn’t that bad.” She paused for a moment. “Okay, he could be that bad. But he was mostly a pretty great guy all around. He only really did that sort of thing with practical stuff, and he usually scaled it to wherever I was supposed to be at in my training, so even if I screwed up, I wouldn’t be too badly hurt.”

Eda gave a disbelieving look. “Uh huh, right.” Knowing she wasn’t gonna get anywhere with this, Eda sighed, deciding to change the topic. “Well, speaking of teaching, just what are you gonna be teaching those kids, anyway?”

King through in his own two-cents. “The King of Demons demands to know as well!”

“Well, I’m not technically going to be a teacher, more of a Counselor honestly.” Luz mused. “But I will be helping kids find more flexible ways of thinking and doing in regards to their magic, particularly those who have hit some kind of block. And, if anyone’s interested,” She patted the stack of texts next to her. “I’ve got some Human Style Magic they can take a peak at.” She finished, giving Eda a cheeky wink.

Eda blinked, before bursting into laughter. “Ohohohoho my Titan Kid! You are planning on using your job to subvert the Coven System!?” Eda incredulously asked, feeling genuinely impressed at the gall of the girl before her.

Luz impishly shrugged. “Hmm… maybe I am, Maybe I ain’t. It’s not like I’m gonna say anything.” She leaned forward, fluttering her eyes. “And besides, who would possibly believe a weak, magicless Human was working to subvert the borderline indoctrinative methods of the ruler’s system of power?”

The three paused, before bursting into laughter. Luz, powerless? The idea was hilariously inaccurate. True, Luz may not be the toughest on the Isles, but she was canny, experienced, and had access to abilities never seen before.

“Still,” Luz said, stretching herself out as she pulled to her feet. “I really do gotta figure out how I’m actually gonna teach these kids magic, you know?” Luz took a thinking pose, hands clasped under her chin, before snapping her fingers. “Hey, King.” She called out.

“Weh? What do you need?” King asked, perplexed as to why he was being singled out. “If this is about the snacks missing from the cabinets, it wasn’t me!”

Luz coughed, trying to not laugh at his slight panic. “Nah, that’s not it.” She reassured the small demon. “I’m trying to see if I can make this work. I’ve got to figure out how to teach people on the Isles magic like I use, but to do that, I’ll need a test subject.” She leaned forward, sporting a devious grin. “And you’re it.”

“Me?” King asked, pointing to himself. His eyes widened as realization struck. “You mean you’re gonna teach me magic!?” He demanded in an excited tone.

“Bingo!” Luz cheered.

Eda gave a thoughtful look. “And just how exactly are you going to teach King magic?” Her words caused King to slump over in dejection.

“She’s right. I don’t even have a bile sack.” King muttered, despondent.

“Upupup! None of that.” Luz said sternly. She gave a King a smirk. “Trust me, I know what I’m doing. And hey, the worst I can do is fail, right?” She peered down at King, who visibly perked up at her words.

“Yeah… yeah!” King cheered, feeling reinvigorated. “Whether you succeed or fail, I will still be the King of Demons!”

“That’s the spirit!” Luz said, ruffling his head, much to King’s slight annoyance (and some enjoyment). Raising back her hand, she allowed a potent glow to suffuse it, before staring intently at King. “I got to ask, are you okay with this? I know I said I’d use you as a Test Case, but you can back out.”

“Ha!” King barked, head tilted back imperiously. “The mighty King of Demons is prepared for anything! Go ahead, I can take it!”

“Okay,” Luz said, sounding slightly unsure. “But remember, you asked for this.”

“Asked for wha-?” King asked, or rather, started to ask, only to be cut off… by the brutal Karate Chop Luz had delivered to his skull. The glow infused into her hand swiftly transferred down the point of impact, now flowing into and throughout King’s body. It would’ve been glorious… if it wasn’t so painful!

“YYYEEEEEEEOOOOOOOWWWWWW!!!!” King absolutely howled in pain, clutching his pounding skull in response to the intense ache surging through it. Eda could only stare in shock as Luz looked on in worry as King frantically rolled across the floor, trying to calm the raging pain in his cranium. “WHAT IN THE TITAN’S NAME DID YOU DO!?!?”

Luz chuckled sheepishly. “Sorry, I basically just shoved raw magic into your body so you could learn to manipulate it.” She awkwardly rubbed the back of her head. “That was what my teacher used to call “the quick and dirty method.” I was basically trying to jump start the usual process most humans use to learn magic; most humans, when they try to learn magic, find magical energy and allow themselves to grow attuned to it, and let it infuse their bodies, allowing them to gradually grow more and more comfortable with manipulating it, and storing it.” With her little explanation done, she bent down level with King, a concerned look in her eyes. “Sorry King, I just don’t have the time to teach these kids the usual way, so I needed to find out if this method would work. Sorry I used you to test it out. Are you okay?”

Grumbling, King rubbed at his head, sighing as the ache finally subsided. “Yeah, I’m okay. It was still painful though.”

Eda snorted, nonplussed at what had just happened. “I’ll bet.” Moving quickly, she joined the small huddle, giving King an appraising look. “So, do you think it worked?” She asked, looking at Luz.

Luz shrugged. “I really couldn’t say. Can you feel anything, King?” She asked.

King held up a finger, focusing. “I think I can feel something.” He said, honing in as best he could on the sensation; it was bizarre, to say the least, as it felt like energy was pouring through him, circulating through his body, before pooling and condensing in his chest. Was this anything like Eda felt when she used magic? “Yeah, I think I can feel it!” He cheered lightly, before gaining a confused look. “But… Now what do I do with it?”

Eda gave a slight shrug. “The heck if I know. I’m just as you are when it comes to Magic like this. You got any ideas, kid?” Eda turned, looking towards Luz, who seemed to be pondering the situation.

“I think I’ve got something that can get King started.” Luz mused confidently. Walking over to her assorted texts, Luz rummaged for a moment, before pulling out the book she was looking for. “Here it is!”

Walking back, she presented it to King. As he grasped it, he read the title out loud. “Here Me Roar: A Comprehensive Guide to Sound Magic?” He glanced up at a preening Luz. “Not that I don’t appreciate this and all, but where’d you get it?” Luz suddenly became very still.

“Uh, you know, I just picked it up on my travels! Yup, that’s totally what happened!!” Luz shakily laughed, glancing back and forth. King and Eda shared dubious looks.

“Yeah.” Eda drawled. She clapped her hands together firmly. “So! Now that we’ve gotten this all out of the way, I’ve got to take care of the barrier before the rain hits.”

“Barrier?” Luz wondered. “Why do we need a barrier? It’s just rain- the rain’s weird here, isn’t it?” She started to ask, before facepalming in realization.

“I guess it’d be weird by human standards.” Eda admitted. “But yeah, the weather around here is more like plagues.” She started counting off her fingers. “Shale hail, Gore-Nados, Painbows,” (“Those are rainbows that turn you inside out when you look at them!” King added)

“And, of course, Boiling Rain.” Eda finished. She opened the door, showing the encroaching clouds in the distance, and the frantic panic of everything under the falling water.

“Huh, you learn something new every day.” Luz muttered, watching Eda get to work putting up the barrier. She gave the barrier a critical look as it went up; by the standards of the Isles, it was most likely a pretty advanced one, for its job anyway, but Luz thought she saw some flaws in it that could be patched up later, at least once the rain passed.

Sighing, Luz plopped herself down on the couch, flipping through the encyclopedia of demons King regularly poured over; she wasn’t sure how much of this book was accurate, and several of these demons just flat out sounded ridiculous. “Smoochie Pie?” Seriously? But still, some of them gave her a vibe that had her hackles up, just in case they actually were real. Like this Snaggleback thing; a prowling beast that stalks through the otherwise lethal rain and preys on anyone who’s stuck in it or whose shelter is isolated? Yeah, if she saw the thing, she was squashing it, no way was she going to let something that deadly run around.

Tearing herself from her potentially murderous thoughts, Luz glanced at King, his eyes devouring the text in front of him. She smirked. She just had a feeling that sound magic would be a good fit for him, with how much he wanted to be heard and respected. It made sense, a magic that would let himself always be heard, she just hoped he would be able to learn it. 

Boscha’s fist crashed against the tree. With a huff, she pulled back, flexing her hand, staring at the scar that decorated it.

“Miss Boscha, due to the extenuating circumstances, you will not be officially punished for your recent conduct.” Bump said gravely.

“Thank you, sir.” Boscha stated as politely as she could.

“However.” Bump started, causing Boscha to become alert. “Due to the condition of your magical abilities, as well as your reported history of abusing your status as a top Grudgby player, whereas the services of our new Counselor are nominally voluntary for others, for you they will be mandatory. If you allow yourself to lose control again, or have another incident of abusing your influence within the school, there will be steeper consequences. Am I understood?”

Boscha nodded, feeling hollow. “Perfectly, sir.”

With a snort at the memory, Boscha went back to punching the tree, taking careful note of the dents and breakage in the wood in response to her attacks. As she picked up the pacing of her blows, Boscha carefully measured how much damage she was doing and, when it looked like it would fall, Boscha jumped clear, letting the tree collapse before her.

She sighed. “First test down.”

With a deep breath, she walked up to a nearby boulder, and without preamble, slammed her skull against it as hard as she could. As she reeled back in pain, she carefully started feeling the sight of impact, noting that nothing felt broken, and nothing was out of place.

“Second test down.”

Turning her gaze to a nearby stake set into the ground, she kicked it loose. As the stake popped free, the rope affixed to it slipped off, whipping away into the brush. A whistling sound built up behind her. Whirling, she reached out, snagging the spear before it could impale her. As she took a closer look at her handiwork, she revised her opinion. She had snagged it before it could strike her. The spear was blunt, literally just a piece of wood she crudely shaped together.

“Third test down.” She breathed out. “Now, just have to test that.”

With a trepidation that was painfully unfamiliar to the girl well-known for her brashness, she carefully traced out a circle in the air, glowing a painfully deep red. She held her breath, waiting to see. As the circle slowly started to glow, Boscha allowed a small grin to build on her face. Maybe, this time it wouldn’t…

The circle flickered. Boscha’s eyes widened. With an almost panicked shout, Boscha ran for cover, the spell detonating behind her. With a groan, Boscha slammed into the ground, a wave of heat passing overhead.

She blew a strand of hair out of her face. “And, once again, I failed.” Grumbling, she slowly stretched herself out, surveying the clearing she had recently made her new training grounds; secluded in the woods, within walking distance of Bonesburough, albeit one that meant putting in some time, and surrounded by trees and boulders to practice on. “Ugh!” She groaned, cracking her back. With a huff, she slung the pack she brought with her, complete with water and snacks to stay hydrated and energized, she got ready to leave. “Another day, another failure.” She bitterly remarked.

As she trudged along, Boscha’s ears picked up an all-too-familiar rumbling. She paled. Looking back in trepidation, her fears were validated; Boiling Rain Clouds were building overhead, and had already encircled Bonesburough.

“Dammit!” With a curse, Boscha took off running. She absolutely could not be caught in the rain. Her family had shown her pictures of those that had, and she certainly did not want that happening to her. As the sound of rain falling crept in closer, Boscha forced herself to move faster. Her legs burned. Her lungs screamed. “I can’t die here, not yet!”

With a growl, Boscha leapt through the trees, dodging the rain as best she could as the storm picked up speed. Suddenly, she slipped flying forward as she lost her footing. As she slammed into the ground, she caught sight of an odd-looking house situated behind a glowing barrier in the clearing ahead of her. She genuinely didn’t know if she could make it in time.

“I’m not giving up.” She muttered. With a force of effort, she hauled herself to her feet, taking off, only for a crash of thunder to draw her attention. Looking back, Boscha’s eyes widened in horror as the rain finally caught up to her in full, clouds encircling her. “NO!”

King was really enjoying the book Luz had gifted him, a worthy tribute to her ruler! While the book was pretty wordy, it had lots of cool illustrations on how to practice sound magic, specifically sound magic based on the user’s voice. While he wasn’t sure if he should attempt it quite yet, the knowledge locked away in this tome would become the stepping stone he needed to regain his power and glory!! King was interrupted from his musings by the frantic pounding at the front door. Who was crazy enough to be out in a Boiling Rainstorm?!?

He glanced around, hoping to find someone who could get the door. Luz had retreated into the other rooms, muttering something about a “teaching plan” or whatever. Eda was just groaning away on the couch. Realizing that no one else was gonna, and that Hooty was probably just chatting away with whoever it was, King, groaning all the while made his way to the door.

As he slammed the door open, cutting off Hooty’s chatter with a squawk of protest, King blinked up at the sight of the three-eyed girl who had humiliated him before.

The girl cleared her throat. “Well, this is awkward.”

[autisticpeterparkerheadcanons]

They say if you can’t find content for something, then make it yourself, so here’s autistic!Peter Parker headcanons that literally no one asked for. I’ve seen some, but they all seem to be very similar, and I need MORE and also I have a different take on it, SO. (My brain that needs Categories for Things doesn’t know what to do with this exactly because it seems that a lot of people think the common labels are too ableist and I don’t disagree, so I’m calling this stealth!autism because it’s Not Obvious And Undiagnosed But Still Relevant, AKA me, lol.)

Under a cut because this monster weighs in at just over 2k words. Oops.

Also, ya know, a little bit AU because I hate that Tony sold the Tower. :P

Tony was the first to realize anything was different about the kid, after he started spending more time actively mentoring him after the Vulture fiasco.

It was small things at first. He didn’t think much about it. The first couple of months, most sarcasm went completely over the kid’s head (which, okay, Tony’s brand of humor isn’t really mainstream anymore, he thinks -- he doesn’t speak meme -- and maybe that was the problem because the kid does slowly catch on to it, and fewer and fewer awkward moments ensue as time passes). He stuttered and didn’t often make eye contact, but he wrote that off as more nerves than anything. He rambled about one topic non-stop sometimes, but he wrote it off as anxiety -- a need to fill the silence. His hands were always busy, if not with anything productive, then a constant fidgeting. Once again, probably just nerves.

But as time passed and Peter became decidedly more comfortable around him, none of those things disappeared. Maybe he stutters a little less, but nothing about his mannerisms changed. And the longer he knows Peter, the more little things come to his attention.

Peter has a hard time taking verbal instructions. It’s not that he’s not listening or focusing. It’s more like he just doesn’t...comprehend? process? It just doesn’t always stick. And that’s okay. Tony can work with that. He makes Peter repeat instructions to make sure he’s got it, or he writes it down if he can’t just show the kid himself. Everybody learns differently, after all. (Tony would know.)

Peter often stayed for dinner when he came to the Tower, and Tony noticed the things he liked to eat and the things he wouldn’t. “You don’t like mushrooms? Uncultured!” -- A shrug. “I don’t mind the taste, but I can’t stand the texture. Same goes for shrimp.”

(He files that information away for safe keeping. Do Not Make Shrimp.)

And, really that was just the start. The seemingly ‘little things’ piled up.

One night, after Peter had left, Tony was puzzling everything over. Trying to figure this oddly eccentric kid out. Pepper offered a listening ear.

“It sounds like he could be on the spectrum? It’s a lot of little things, but they add up. It fits.”

And, oh. That made sense actually. But... “Why would he not tell me that?”

“You’re still his hero. He probably doesn’t want you to think any differently of him.”

So Tony doesn’t say anything. There’s no tactful way to ask something like that, after all. Peter will tell him when he’s ready to -- if he ever is -- Tony figures. But until then, he’ll just keep adjusting. Life is probably hard enough to navigate, no need to make the workshop that way, too.

Peter doesn’t know. He’s always been aware that he’s different, sure, but he has Ned and -- more recently -- MJ as friends and (most of) the Decathlon team, so it’s okay. He doesn’t mind, not really.

(He didn’t present in the ‘normal’ ways when he was little, so, just like Tony, all the adults in his life wrote off the ‘little things’ as something else.)

And then everything happens and suddenly he’s spending a lot of time with the Tony Stark and getting to work in his lab with him, and if the Tony Stark does’t mind that he’s kind of weird and awkward, then he must not be that weird or awkward. Tony doesn’t interrupt his rambles or look annoyed by them. He doesn’t comment on the fidgeting or stuttering. Peter doesn’t know when the hero worship ended, but he thinks it probably had something to do with the sheer amount of patience the man has for him and his oddities.

(And, don’t get him wrong, Tony is still his hero, but it’s different now.)

Besides his aunt and Ned, he thinks Tony might just be the most comfortable person to be around.

Second semester starts, and he finds out he needs to take an elective instead of a free period in order to stay on track to graduate. Unfortunately there’s only one class that’ll fit in his schedule as is and he doesn’t really want to mess around with the placements of his other classes, so he ends up taking some sort of health class, but not the fun home-ec ones where you get to cook and eat the stuff you make. He’s not exactly dreading it, but he’s not looking forward to it either.

Instead of having an exam for midterms, they have a project, the topics assigned at random, things like depression and anxiety and ADHD. Peter’s topic is Autism Spectrum Disorder. Like most people his age, he has a vague idea of what that is, but he thinks it’ll be interesting to learn more about, so he’s at least not dreading doing research.

He starts with the basics, what it is and how it works and the ‘markers’ of how you can tell if someone is. Which leaves him vaguely confused. Because some of these things sound like him? But he’s not, so.

He ends up in forums, because he knows that the strictly medical side of things often doesn’t actually do it justice with how it is to actually live with something. On every forum he slogs though there’s always at least one thread about not being formally diagnosed at all or not until adulthood. And he always reads those because how could something like that get missed? But he quickly finds out it’s really pretty common (or, at least, more common than he thinks it should be).

He goes to blogs, too. Between the two, he finds a million and one things that people on the spectrum deal with that ‘official’ sites don’t tell you. Actual people relate what it’s actually like, and suddenly there’s this seed planted in his mind because holy crap does he identify with this and suddenly a lot of things make more sense.

He’s not sure how he gets there, but he ends up on an online AQ test and he takes it. He doesn’t technically score high enough, but he’s borderline (and the higher end of that, even, barely missing the lowest number, and if he’s honest, a couple questions he wasn’t entirely sure how to answer and that may have made a difference), and the site itself says, “89% of those who fall in the borderline category are diagnosed” and...

He doesn’t really know what to do with this information. He’s almost 16 and he’s old enough to understand this kind of stuff so surely if May knew she would have told him. But how the heck do you even ask about something like this? “Hey, May, am I autistic?” just wasn’t going to cut it. And if she didn’t know, that would be even more awkward. So he doesn’t. He buries the thought and ignores it the best he can.

But Tony notices because of course he does. He asks if Peter is alright and spends an awful lot of time staring at him with that expression no matter how many times he says he’s fine. Eventually, Tony does drop it with a quick “I’m always here to listen if you need to talk -- no judgment” and Peter appreciates that more than he’d like to admit, but just like with May, how the heck do you start a conversation like this one? So he still doesn’t.

For a while after, everything is fine. He turns in his project, gets an A on it, and he puts it out of his mind.

Finals pass, and summer vacation starts, which means he has more time to swing around Queens and more time to spend with Tony in the lab. This is going to be the best summer ever he’s pretty darn sure.

It’s late June, and Peter is staying the weekend because May is out of town and any excuse is a good one. AC/DC is playing over the lab’s speakers, just like normal, and he’s rambling about something when he suddenly becomes very aware that that’s what he’s doing, that he’s actually info-dumping, and -- he cuts off mid-sentence. Because he hasn’t thought about this in months, but it’s back again. What if...?

He zones out, he’s not sure for how long, but the music clicks off and suddenly Tony is sitting directly in front him, obviously concerned. Very concerned, because he’s not even trying to hide it. “Peter? What’s wrong?” No nickname? Tony is definitely on to him, and he’s not going to get away with saying ‘nothing’ this time. He stares down at his hands, and he can’t help but rub his fingers together (he doesn’t really have anything else to fidget with at the current moment so).

He’s very aware of the silence and that Tony is still waiting for an answer. But he doesn’t know what to say, so he doesn’t say anything.

(To Tony’s credit, he doesn’t so much as shift or sigh. He just...sits and waits. He’s not usually such a patient man, but Peter is different. He can be endlessly patient with Peter. Pepper says it’s because Peter is practically his kid, and he’s not so sure about that, but whatever.)

The silence is uncomfortable and he can feel himself starting to panic, but he forces himself to breathe and try to unscramble his thoughts. Because whatever he says, he’s determined to not say it bluntly. There has to be a subtle way of asking...maybe...right? He’s determined to try, anyway.

In the end, he settles on a mumbled, “Mr Stark? Do you think I’m... different?”

(And Tony has to steel himself because he’s known for more than six months at this point and he’s just been waiting for this conversation so you’d better not mess this up, Stark.) “Maybe. But that’s not a bad thing. Normal people don’t accomplish things worth remembering.”

“You don’t think I’m...weird? or awkward?”

“You’re a teenager. ‘Weird’ and ‘awkward’ are kinda part of the job description.”

Peter almost smiles. He knows Tony is joking with him, but... “No, I mean....” He cuts off. He doesn’t know what he means, really, and trying to figure it out is exhausting. “I don’t know. Never mind. It’s not important.”

“If something is bothering you, that makes it important to me.”

Peter isn’t sure what to think of that, and silence drags on again.

For a hot minute, Tony thinks he blew it. But then Peter speaks up again, and when he finally starts, he rambles it all out and doesn’t even try to sort it out. He just...wants it out. “I just... I don’t fit in, Mr Stark, and I’ve always known that and I’ve been okay with that because I’m just me, ya know? And if other people don’t like me, that’s on them not me, or at least that’s what I’ve always been taught and everything, it’s just I’m weird and I know it, and I’m just...” There’s a pause, and he’s not sure Tony even hears what he ends with, “I think there’s something wrong with me.”

(At this point, Tony realizes that Peter probably didn’t have any idea until a couple of months ago. Oh. Well.)

When Tony replies, it’s not how Peter thinks he will. “Does this have something to do with that mid-term project you had to do?” He finally meets Tony’s gaze again, and Tony adds with a smile, “You were acting kinda like this then, too, kid.”

He looks back down at his hands and mumbles. “Autism. That’s what my project was on.”

“And you think you are?”

Peter can’t even find it in him to nod. He just...keeps staring at his hands and waits for the other shoe to drop because surely this is it, this’ll be the thing that’s too much on top of everything else, and Tony will boot him out because he doesn’t want to deal with it.

It’s only quiet for a moment before Tony says casually, “You wanna know who else is on the spectrum? Einstein. Or, I guess I should say was, but that’s irrelevant.”

Peter is looking at him again, because What???

Tony smiles at the look on Peter’s face. “I’m serious. People who know far more about it than I do say he probably was.” He shrugs. “So your brain works a little differently. So what? It just means that you’ll see answers no one else will. So the way I see it, that just means you’re gonna change the world, kid.”

Peter decides maybe he can live with this after all.

(They go back to work, the music clicks back on, and it’s a solid ten minutes before it dawns on Peter. His head snaps up and over to where Tony is working a few feet away, and says, “You already knew, didn’t you?”

Tony just laughs and says, “Pep guessed before I did really, but I guess you could say that. I’ve had a hunch since around Christmastime.”

And that puts him more at ease than anything yet. Tony knew and still treated him exactly the same as before. He decides maybe this is okay.)

(Not a week later, when Peter shows up at the Tower to work on stuff, he finds a box on his workbench. Inside are various fidget toys. All he can do is stare as Tony comes up beside him.

“Try ‘em out. Let me know what you like. That way I can have a stash because God knows you lose things like no one I’ve ever known.” It’s all said with a fond smile, and Peter knows it’s true -- he does lose things like crazy.

Peter decides he likes the cubes, and Tony is true to his word. “This one stays here, on your table. Here’s another one that stays on your desk at home. This one is a spare for your backpack, and this one is to carry around wherever. I also have three more in the drawer over there for when you inevitably lose one.”

They’re all superhero-themed, and he’s pretty sure Tony commissioned the designs especially for him, though he can’t prove it.

At some point a weighted blanket appears in his room in the Tower after a movie night where Tony pulls out his and Peter comments how AMAZING it is. He gets another one for home for his birthday. Both are also custom-made superhero-themed colors.)

[ayakashiramblings]

The Dawn and Twilight with a Vampire AND Assassin MC

I’m going to clear up somethings that had plagued me while writing this because it really made them both hard to do unless addressed.

General 

The only people technically worthy of being assassinated would be Toichiro and Koga, the only nobles/super-rich men in the faction. 

The rest are otherwise just leading a supremely normal job/jobless existence 

(Squints at Kuya, Yura and Oji). 

Even if we could say that they could be targeted for their Ayakashi nature, it wouldn’t make sense for it to be super sneaky when the whole government is against their very beings but doesn’t want to alert the citizens. 

Too many of them disappearing all at once would just set the whole Capital in a state of unrest. 

I’m going to stick to Asian vampires but admittedly, some Western traces are going to be found. 

Out of all of them, Oji is going to be the most OCC I believe.

I’m going to be honest and say that I have been getting kind of tired of doing these headcanons especially after receiving a few... messages that were a bit insulting. So that’s why I closed the ask box. That said, Nonnie who sent this request, if this is unsatisfactory, do feel free to PM me. I’m really sorry if I sound irritable, I’m just really upset at some of the things in my inbox. 

Ginnojo

Honestly, this could be the start of something new.

A relationship fraught with sexual tension. 

Yes, even for this blushing Dragon.

No, seriously, imagine this. 

During the events of Book 1, and amidst all the chaos of being an Onmyoji…

On top of your other supernatural powers AND… unique job, you find yourself in the alleys, securing a target of yours. 

His scrutinizing gaze settled on your lips, which were pulled up with a teasing smirk.

Finally, a challenge.

He stood like stone, barely eroding even when you had started to show off your floating powers. You had to give it to him, he really was a warrior defending the Capital. 

And apparently, your best opponent. You may have easily snatched away his daggers, but he had easily grabbed your wrist and targeted the vein that should have been pumping with blood if you were alive. 

So why did you suddenly crumple to the ground?

The number of smokescreens between you two was seriously enough to choke everyone in the room. 

You did try to make sure though it did not affect any of the factions, and surprisingly, it had worked.

Seemed that there was an unspoken agreement that you were both looking out for the Capital, except his was more of a freestyle form while yours was conscripted. 

He could respect that. 

What was really hard was completely forgetting your beliefs and loyalties.

Suddenly gravitates towards the Mythology section of his bookshop.

And then... you talk. 

It’s a long talk. It may or may not have been about life, someone’s life you had to take, and everything about order. 

You guys end up working together to bring down a lot of opponents or threats and wow, what a tag team you both are.

Aoi

Finally, a gun-wielding AND sharp-tongued senpai!

… I’m joking, please don’t teach him any more violent/sassy stuff. 

And yes, technically, you’re not sharp-tongued, that’s more of your fangs just gleaming.

You, despite having been in this service and becoming a literal creature of the night, had made the most rookie mistake ever. 

Leaving. Your. Papers.

With all of your bloody targets.

Pun intended because the few red splotches scattered across the parchment certainly wasn’t just a teacher’s pen.

The thing is, Aoi at first hadn’t bothered looking at the content when he had first spotted them. 

He was only focused on just returning your ‘homework’ for Finishing School.

Even though he usually refused to look into anyone, his Seer powers couldn’t exactly tune out the presence of a heart. 

Except, apparently, you did not have one. 

Honestly, you were surprised he never called you out for it. He could have easily unravelled the whole situation.

"Trust me, I know you don’t have one. But you still feel. How can I hate someone who’s always considering her actions every time?”

Now, how to respond to a man so understanding as him?

Why by showing that you were JUST as tsundere as him.

Koga Kitamikado

He feels that he has no right to judge you for killing because at least you have determined if your intended victim was worth spilling blood over. 

He didn’t with Masanobu’s brother.

Honestly, you were always just the slightest bit worried that one day he would pay you to kill him should he ever submit to carnage. 

You and Kuya both want to shake this man so hard.

But for now, you stay. 

Sometimes, you even make sure the area is vacated if it looks like the illness is acting up again. 

For that, he is grateful and makes sure that you are properly covered as well. 

And I don’t mean just hiding your tracks from the public eye. 

This man will get you equipped to deal with ANYTHING.

Heck, even if you had turned human all of a sudden, you could fight an army in the sun thanks to the umbrellas, sunscreens and whatnot. 

It helps that thanks to your line of work, you HAVE to go to parties so while he finally has a companion to secretly diss the questionable crowd, you can gather intel on your next target and see if they were worth it, with inside info from him as well.

You both spend as much time together as you can, even if it’s just sitting in his office doing different things.

Ironically, he never says what you are aloud through it all.

Because the only thing that mattered was who was living at that moment.

Kuya

The boy is smart. He can tell something… 

That you were a bit too familiar with flying. 

At first, he had chalked it up to you being nervous about heights but with how you waved your wand around and almost seemed to be stabbing enemies mid-air, he knew something was… up. 

And he just confronts you the most easily out of everyone here. 

“So, are you a vampire who kills for literally and figuratively a living?”

A bit too morbidly fascinated with it. He’s already obsessed with wraiths, he needs to know how someone like you could battle it all. 

And now he knew.

Don’t expect him to read up. He WILL ask questions that are borderline uncomfortable and really make you question the nature of what you were doing and if there were really no alternatives. 

Always touching your dagger when you’re not looking and then looks like a startled crow when you catch him… before just outrightly asking to touch your fangs. 

Sweet goodness, Kuya, why?

Essentially, imagine him with Koga. 

Because he feels that you torturing yourself to kill just to survive was really not worth it. 

Yura

How he finds out is even more stupid than Aoi. 

You had smiled. 

Like, really smiled because how can you not smile at this pure jelly bean… 

Oh shoot, your fangs had been fully retracted. 

Again, one of those who feels that he is in no position to question your actions.

You even take pity on him by quickly removing all of the animals that he is forced to kill. 

Somehow, not seeing their carcasses alleviates his pain. 

Barely. 

What really made him relieved was that they also acted as a sort of substitute to 

At one point, you had wondered if there was any cure to you being a vampire.

Unfortunately, like with Koga, the most he can produce is a sort of potion to reduce your bloodlust. 

It does help you lower your hit list, thank god.

Maybe one day, the two of you will actually have time to clean those bloodstained hands.

Gaku

Are you here to harm his brother? 

What, you found his scent to be too saccharine? 

How Bloody Dare You. 

You better get diabetes. 

Gaku, not the point.

He found out thanks to Yura confessing. 

Sure, it had taken sheer effort to finally corner the both of you, especially since Yura knew more hiding spots in the forest than Gaku. 

When he did though, the first thing he did was to raise his drums for an attack.

Not surprisingly, he was more concerned with how you would be either against Yura rather than himself. 

Surprisingly though, he is the one giving you weapons much later. 

And I mean much, much later. Yura needed time to work his brotherly magic, after all.

He would rather you not even be doing this at all, it reminded him too much of the path Yura was forced to take. 

Only somehow worse because yours was directly related to your newfound nature. 

Still, if it helped you, he would make sure the kill is at least clean-cut and efficient.

Toichiro Yuri

Good, more resources for the Kitsune clan. 

Seriously, you don’t think there’s a bit of dirty work involved in ruling a bunch of Ayakashi, no?

He already knew of your kind thanks to not just his Western connections, but also because most vampires were related to ancient nobles. 

You had to be bloody pathetic to have not accumulated SOME form of wealth after 100 years.

Especially since your diet was literally JUST blood.

It would be no stretch to assume that Toichiro made use of his silver tongue to inveigle his questionable business partners.

That you were about to become a part of. 

And somehow even more well-hidden than the rest.

Will bug you at night on purpose just because he knows you will be up.

Asshole. 

Truly though, he does value your opinion, especially if whoever he needs info on is a potential victim.

Shizuki

Well, you could have at least told him of your dietary preferences before he had brewed up that pot of milk tea. 

And why you always seemed to struggle with meeting him on the midnight patrols. His schedule was literally thrown up thanks to YOUR secret one.

He somehow isn’t so thrown off at the fact you’re a vampire. It’s what you’re doing that gets him on guard. 

You’re going to have to work to prove that you are NOT a threat to Toichiro. 

So... good luck. 

You may even have to literally swallow your pride... in the form of milk tea. 

Low-key salty he is one of the few who didn’t figure it out and had to be told by Toichiro. 

And yet, you still did. You even tolerated his master’s jokes with an almost inhuman level of patience.

Oh, wait...

Sometimes wonder if freezing blood would help you keep it so that you won’t have to constantly hunt. 

Although you better do whatever Toichiro does ask you to do still.

Just that... he may or may not be slightly concerned with the other non-human in the manor.

Kuro 

Honestly, he is disappointed. 

It’s not about you being a vampire.

He’s probably thought his species was the worst and shameful enough not to reveal at all. 

No, it was the fact you had to murder people. 

Yes, he was glad that you had some sort of say in deciding who to kill.

The thing is, he already has one loose ex-Shinsengumi member risking everything for a few servings of justice.

He was hoping not to have a chance to lose you too.

Did try to accompany you the first few times but you were a bit too fond of the dark. 

For obvious reasons. 

Begins to stock up on random medicine he uses for physical training as an acrobat before wondering if they would even work on a vampiric body.

Still better than you not going to a hospital just because you would be tempted by the blood donors.

Hugs you tight before every mission that he knows he can’t take part in.

Someone’s gotta look after Nachi.

Oji 

For the first time, you will hear what Aoi calls ‘The Dead Voice’. 

For the longest time, you thought it was just one of his ways of covering up his affectionate slip up of calling Oji a ‘Dad’.

Now, you know. You heard right.

Strangely, he is the most aggressive. But remember, he has to consider someone. 

While Aoi may technically accept you, Oji has seen him completely vulnerable after losing all faith in humanity. 

He can’t imagine the state his ward would be in if you were to ever take it too far. 

Not only that, the resurgence of Asian Vampires started around his era so he had to grow up with the worst lot. 

Not the best memory to look back on. And he knows you can’t represent a whole species. 

Doesn’t stop him from having one or three eyes peeled open.

It takes some convincing from Koga to finally Aoi himself to reassure him that you wouldn’t do anything to harm the rest. 

And finally, you get back the adorkable manager(?) who is a bit too busy coming up with vampire puns, always offering a ‘bite’ for you.

Epilogue

After parting with your beloved, you flew. 

“Good job, my doll. I’m proud that you told him.”

With that, you smiled at the one who had turned your blood to one that lusted after another’s. Your daggers met not as an attack, but a sworn oath.

“Yes, Professor.”

[miraculouscontent]

Also, MC Gina and Roland Dupain. I'm curious about them now and how Tom's childhood and family dynamic would be like with them. Bakerix is likely to happen differently, I'm sure. Finally, this is more of a statement than anything, but I loved how Onichan not only took Ladybug's lucky charm but even used it against her. Sure, it proved to disadvantageous for Onichan in the end but I was still impressed. And it made me laugh, too. It was just so unexpected

How MC Gina and MC Rolland will go kinda sorta depends on how Sabine’s parents are as people but WE DON’T KNOW SO I’M JUST SPECULATING HERE.

I’d actually just keep both as either borderline or straight-up bad parents.

MC Gina is a wild woman, wanting nothing more than to travel all over the world, climb mountains, and live dangerously. She likes doing things that she’s never done before.

MC Rolland is the exact opposite. He’s safe, rigid, follows tradition, and likes staying right where he is at all times.

Gina met Rolland on one of her trips when she had a craving for French bread and practically broke into his house to get some, as the scent could be smelled from blocks away. Rolland was a little put off by this crazy woman, but he wasn’t complaining if someone wanted his “traditional, authentic French bread.”

Tom was technically an accident, hence why both Gina and Rolland aren’t overly fond of him. Having a baby meant that Gina couldn’t travel all over like she wanted, and Roland knew that Gina–in no way–fell into “traditional mom” tropes, leaving him to do a lot of the serious stuff.

So, they reluctantly got married and tried to take care of Tom. There was an obvious split in the family dynamic, but Tom honestly didn’t notice, as Rolland had passed down a fondness for baking and Tom was often in the kitchen, oblivious to his parents’ disagreements.

Against Rolland’s wishes, Gina often whisked Tom away to go on trips, hoping to at least get Tom to see the thrill of adventuring.

Tom doesn’t. He likes other culture but he doesn’t care for traveling. He can, but he doesn’t like to.

Is Gina concerned about Tom when it comes to language barriers? Bah! Surely she can just give him a crash course on their way to wherever! It’ll be fiiiine!

It’s not, though Sabine has fond memories of Tom trying to greet her in broken Chinese. This man tried so hard.

By the time Tom is old enough to move out on his own, he starts rebelling. He resists Gina’s attempts to drag him on trips, insisting that he’ll go if he wants to. With Rolland, Tom says that he’ll use rice flour for how own bread if he wants because screw you, Dad, even keeping packets of rice flour in his pocket whenever Rolland tried to confiscate the giant bags that Tom would buy.

When Tom and Sabine are officially dating, Gina is excited because she sees it as a sign that Tom wants to go places again. Plus, she likes Sabine because Sabine usually tries to meet her halfway (Tom doesn’t because he knows that Gina takes more than is offered to her), and also because Sabine is foreign (Gina is honestly a little tired of France and French people since she’s been in France for so long while raising Tom).

Rolland is exasperated by all the traditions Tom’s breaking (ignoring the fact that he married someone who’s Italian) and keeps buckling down, refusing to even go to Tom’s wedding. Sabine is nice, but Rolland is basically not in Tom’s life anymore.

Once Tom and Sabine get married, Tom puts his foot down and makes it clear to Gina that they don’t have any plans to go traveling every single week. He and Sabine just wanted to settle down in their bakery (with all the RICE FLOUR THEY COULD POSSIBLY BUY, DAD) and live a content life.

Thus, Gina leaves to continue traveling and Rolland cuts all ties with Tom.

And Tom… doesn’t care. He honestly doesn’t. He’s thankful that Gina allowed him to meet Sabine and that Rolland gave him his love of baking, but that didn’t make them great parents.

Gina sees family as a convenience (someone to drop in on–uninvited–whenever she remembers them, to brag about her trips to, and to drop off gifts that her foreign friends gave her that she doesn’t have room for), while Rolland just sees them as an inconvenience (particularly if they don’t share his views).

Sabine is always worried about it, concerned that Tom is hiding some sort of deep pain, but Tom insists that he’s not every time she presses him. He’s a happy guy living a happy life where it’s just him and his wife. His wife never questioned his choices or tried to change his mind or was offended when he tried to talk to her about something.

However, Tom also added that there was one little thing on his mind concerning family.

If they ever had a child, Tom swore that he would shower them with acceptance. He didn’t know if he could be a good father, but he swore that he would try. He would accept his child’s choices as long as they were healthy choices, even if he would’ve preferred them to pursue business in the bakery.

So, maybe his parents deserved one extra thank you for giving him that perspective, but… well, they didn’t stick around long enough to hear it.

Oh well. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

[aibidil]

Author Meme

Thanks for the tag @coriesocks!!!

Author Name: aibidil

Fandoms You Write For: Harry Potter, I’ve written tons of ships, mostly drarry (I wrote half a YOI fic, unpublished, and am currently co-authoring a Good Omens fic)

Where You Post: AO3

Most Popular One-Shot: By far it’s Back to You (T, drarry, 9k), but since that’s co-authored with @gracie137blogs, my most popular single authored is Dating for Dads in Denial (T, drarry, 25k)

Most Popular Multi-Chapter Story: when by now and tree by leaf (E, drarry, 46k)

Favourite Story You Wrote:  I find this so hard to answer because I have so much fun with each of them and I’m proud of them in different ways, but I’m going to go with Calamity’s Child (E, wolfstar & jeddy, 43k)

Story You Were Nervous to Post: For the most part I don’t get nervous posting, but there are sometimes fic-specific things I worry about. I worried people would hate when by now because it has so many tags people hate (infidelity, mpreg, lost time, death), and it ended up being my most popular multi-chaptered. I worried about getting the theory behind consent right (and thorough and thoughtful) in Cauldron Full of Hot, Strong Love (E, drarry & romione, 80k). I was a little nervous to post Guess I’ll Die (E, scorbus, 20k) because someone yelled at me for writing underage (even though it was properly tagged with a major archive warning). My nerves tend to be more about worrying I handle the content responsibly—like, I can’t help whether people like my stuff (not my problem), but it is my problem whether I get the politics/issues/stance right. I worry about accidentally writing something racist or transphobic or with bad politics or body-negative or sex-negative, or with incorrect information about like, safe sex or something (I realize this is borderline ridiculous, but what can I say? #ravenclaw) 

How Do You Choose Your Titles: Really depends on the fic, I have some song lyrics, I have some lines from poetry, I have some descriptive ones. Sometimes I know the title from almost the beginning of writing and other times it’s the last thing I figure out!

Do You Outline: For anything over 8-10k-ish, yes!

Complete: 49

In-Progress: I have so many started that I’ll never finish, but three in active progress. One is a Good Omens fic with @frnklymrshnkly and the second is a drarry fic I started months ago but picked back up, the premise of which is that Hermione and Draco are auror partners and decide to protest the Ministry’s new problematic dress code. The third I’ll list next...

Coming Soon/Not Yet Started: I’ve technically written like 6k of this but it’s going to be super long so it feels like it fits here. It’s a drarry political fic featuring middle-aged Harry and Draco getting a marriage of convenience and having to conduct a years-long fake relationship. 😏😏😏

Do You Accept Prompts: Anyone could always throw a prompt at me, but truthfully I probably won’t write any because I’m trying to finish original projects and I only write fic these days when fully ensnared by the muse. Then again I recently wrote a fic about anal fingering to cure hiccups on the basis of a tumblr post, so never say never

Upcoming Story You Are Most Excited to Write: See above. And my original books!

Tagging @gracie137blogs @violetclarity @lol-zeitgeistic @carpemermaidtales @whiskyandwildflowers @restlessandordinary and anyone else!

[37h4n0l]

would you please go on an excessive rant about kawoshin? i got a pack of popcorn to microwave i got time

Alright, there’s a whole variety of topics to address here. I think I’ll just make a long bulletpoint list. I’m trying to be reasonable in my saltiness but I’ve lost my patience with the anti-kawoshin stuff. Though if I’m wrong about anything I say on a technical level, I apologize.

[[MORE]]

I’m not surprised by the presence of dudebro fans per se. I’ve never been in a fandom with some level of mass appeal where they didn’t appear. What I’m baffled by is that they don’t just hate Eva considering that, for all the debate around whether ep24 was gay, it’ certainly something they would find gay for two guys to do and the mental gymnastics to no homo kawoshin are way more convoluted. I guess I’m becoming tired of this type of person. And of the fact that every meta community requires one to never say the word ‘gay’ even once, or everything else will be instantly dismissed. Eva is where I officially lost it regarding this topic because it’s so very obviously gay that denying it sounds like straight-up satire. But what do I know, they’re the Serious Fans and I’m just some delusional fangirl, I guess. Let them keep being smug, because clearly, “realism” is acting like lgbt people don’t exist, they got us, it was all a conspiracy to fuck with them.

What is up with the wiki’s editing? Don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful for the work that went into compiling all the information but the ep24 first draft’s wiki page? The exaggerated emphasis placed on it being ‘Just a draft that was rejected!!!!’ And the added commentary on how a lot of draft materials are ‘ABSOLUTELY NOT ANNO’S AUTHORIAL INTENT’ which begins to diverge from the article’s topic itself. They went as far as bolding the phrase. All of this, after explaining that Satsukawa’s drafts are written based on a general outline Anno gives him... Question of the day: what outline did Anno give Satsukawa that led to him writing that draft? The 1-2 episodes’ worth of homoeroticism, you know. Not to mention the actual ep24, the one that was okayed by Anno, which is still, frankly, really gay. Truly, whoever edited that article was the shining star of intellect. Congratulations!

And, about the quest to prove Shinji’s straight, I find it intriguing that every. single. person. brings up the fact that he jacked off to comatose Asuka. Because any normal display of being attracted to women or any of his erotic mental imagery couldn’t have done, you had to pick that as the typical behaviour to represent straight people. Interesting. I don’t understand their rituals, unfortunately. I figure they just wank to unconscious people on the regular since they love talking about it so much.

Meanwhile bisexual people let out a soft sigh at this whole discussion.

My favourite phenomenon, and the one I was originally going to complain about, is the group of people who took the step of admitting kawoshin is canon, but because they’re sore losers they’re trying to demonstrate how it’s unhealthy. I don’t like having to say all of this because some of the analysts on board with this, I actually like a fair amount. But sorry, if it’s a stupid idea, then it’s a stupid fucking idea and I can’t act like it’s not. So, apparently, Kaworu=bad because he’s too idealized and conforms too perfectly with what Shinji wants, and that’s impossible for human beings so that’s — allegedly — why he turns out to be an angel and has to die. I think the second half of this interpretation has elements that make sense. Maybe. In that I agree that having to kill Kaworu was relevant to the plot and Shinji’s character development (‘unraveling’ might be a more accurate word...). But it’s not because there was any problem with kawoshin as a relationship; it’s because Shinji has to learn not to rely on outside factors for self-worth. That doesn’t say anything about how good those outside factors are for him in themselves, just that he has a tendency of making his own value depend on them whether they’re healthy things or not. Declaring Kaworu to be a negative influence because he’s ‘not a Real Person’ is akin to saying Shinji would be better off hanging out with the ‘Real People’ in his life. The choices for healthy bonds are then: 1) Misato, who has issues with drinking and sex and has made moves on Shinji while being twice his age 2) Rei, who is debatably even a single entity and is a clone of Shinji’s mother that he occasionally sees as a substitute for her 3) Asuka, who continuously talks shit to him, beats him up, expects him to fulfill her desires for precocious sexual maturity and is completely insensitive to anything bad happening to him, including the time he almost died 4) Gendo. I’m being harsh. I appreciate all of these characters and it’s independently from their individual complexity that I observe how they keep trying to dump their own issues on Shinji. I don’t know if it’s about gender. I’m never quite sure.

I can’t say much about the Netflix dub that hasn’t been said already. For one thing, changing ‘love’ to ‘like’ makes no sense in terms of the plot. For another, I agree that phrasing means little to nothing with the visuals on screen. But, just to add something to it, the next time I see someone piggybacking on this discourse to express their “sympathy for how the translators are being treated”, I want them to know that it’s really transparent. Also that anyone from the staff could have said “I did this because it’s my job but I don’t think it was a good choice to translate it like that” at any point. But, for all I know, maybe Netflix is some kind of corporate dictatorship where you can’t express mild disagreement with your colleague’s work or you get instantly fired. I don’t quite care what emotional state translators are in because of the backlash. With this attitude, we’d be obligated to suck it up with any divisive higher decision, lest we hurt someone’s feelings by disliking it. It would have been so easy to keep the phrase in. Absolutely no effort. This was done, I believe, intentionally to pander to dudebros because a lot of people involved probably had no clear understanding of what Eva is and which people it attracts, so they went with ‘eh, it’s probably the average mecha fans’. Companies like this want you to sit back and stay comfortable and amoebic, never being exposed to anything that pokes at your sensitivities — so lgbt content needs to be in a segregated place, available for The Gays while everyone else can peacefully avoid it. And we’ll all be content and appeased and really fucking dopamine-hooked on online streaming. It’s gonna be really, really funny when everyone finds out Eva is centered around subversion with or without the homosexual undertones.

To make it clear, I have no way of knowing what goes on in Anno’s head and I would never blame him for anything considering he created kawoshin and Eva as a whole, things that had a positive effect on me. It needs to be said though; are we sure that and only that which he says publicly is an accurate canon fact about the show? Do we really think his public statements don’t go through any filters, especially when it’s about topics like homosexuality? He already got so many death threats over the tv ending that he got pissed and made EoE. Can you imagine what would happen if he declared kawoshin to be canon? Just ponder on this before taking it for granted that him not saying there was a romantic relationship between them means there wasn’t.

Tangentially related; Anno’s “it wasn’t carnal” as well as the draft rejection seems more related to how the ep24 draft would have, according to the staff, looked like borderline porn. I think our perspective on how far Eva goes is a bit skewed by the clusterfuck in EoE. None of the kids really had carnal desires in the original series — no, not even Asuka, she thought she did because of her issues but it’s fairly clear from her introspection and breakdown that she likes only the idea of being physically intimate but is kind of disgusted by the reality of it (washing her mouth after just kissing Shinji), as people normally are at fourteen. I take Anno’s statement more as “Shinji wasn’t blushing because he was turned on”, not that he didn’t like Kaworu romantically.

I find a lot of discussion around representation formulaic and word salad-ish. The same niche terms with no distinct meaning thrown together in random combinations. But I think I understand it somewhat now, to a small degree. I was so happy about kawoshin. I was genuinely so, so happy. Granted, my expectations for canon lgbt are so low they’re approaching the Earth’s core, but this ship gives me so many positive feelings that I don’t want it taken away from me. I don’t have it in me to engage in anyone’s intricate debates on whether it’s canon or not and I have absolutely no time or care for straight fans’ gaslighting on the issue.

[anything-advice-blog]

There's something seriously wrong with me (and my friend.

A little background first. I’ve been verbally and sometimes physically abused by my mother for my whole life. It’ll be so ironic if people here say the abuse contributed to my actions, cause everyone I have ever told didn’t take the abuse seriously and tried to downplay it since it was mostly verbal.

It’s only now occurring to me that this issue started when I was very young. Even when I was 8 years old the pretend play with my animal toys sometimes included torture, death and violence. Some really vivid memories involve a plastic lion torturing and killing an equally plastic fawn and a rat plushie that I stabbed with a needle. It never occurred to me I was doing anything wrong. And at that age I had never been exposed to any media that wasn’t appropriate for my age.

Like every other kid I was scared of PG13 horror movies and had a borderline phobia of human skeletons for most of my early childhood. Then at 10 something really disturbing began to happen. I started having fantasies about fictional characters I made up in my head being tortured via drowning and suffocation. I remember the characters were inspired from the gladiator movies I watched with my grandparents but inspiration for the torture didn’t come from anything I had witnessed. And I didn’t think it was disturbing cause I was young and it didn’t take up so much of my alone time.

At 11 those fantasies had largely dissipated and I of course was less affected by PG 13 horror movies, but another disturbing thing came up. It all started as I was researching something for history homework. With the related results I came upon some articles on Middle Ages torture devices and I read everything there was to read about them because I found it fascinating. I didn’t think I was doing anything wrong because I reasoned it was part of history. Then, through the related results that came with the searches for medieval torture devices, I stumbled into the world of porn. Since it came up as a related search the porn was medieval themed (duh) but also torture themed. They were pics and illustrated comics (not real life people or actors) featuring naked women being tied up, raped and tortured. It was at that moment that I started to suspect I was doing something wrong and that something was wrong with me.

Then at 12 I got my first phone and I was able to browse the internet unsupervised and for longer times. Of course I kept seeing these comics and images and I even went to the websites. On these websites the adds claimed the comics were technically illegal but I don’t know if it’s true. The people on the website forums were atrocious and obviously men who had really sick fantasies about raping women. I often entertained the thought of signing up on one of the websites, going undercover as a guy and asking the men if what they were saying were just fantasies.

And so till the age of 16 I kept seeing these comics, I didn’t masturbate to them (I’ve never masturbated) and I thought the people who did were really disgusting. To me, my behaviour was exactly how someone would be fascinated with horror movies, nothing erotic. Though the fact of the comics being banned still worries me. Then again many horror movies were banned by entire countries…..

From 16 I also regularly checked out a shock website that features many real torture, suicide, crime and execution videos from people like ISIS and drug lords. From what I gather the videos are either submitted directly to the website or they’re quickly snatched from other internet platforms like youtube before they get taken down for their graphic content. The website gets into legal battles constantly and is holding on to the identity of ‘legal’ by a thread. Like the porn websites, the people there are sick. There’s no indication that they get off to the stuff but they are pessimistic, heartless, white supremacist conspiracy theorists with no compassion. Some of them I would say seriously have the potential to be the next mass shooter. And it is at this point that I wonder if I’m the only sane person in the world who’s interested in this stuff? I mean one good thing the website did is give me a better idea of what goes on in the world that the cops don’t release to the public.

At 17 I actually stopped seeing any illustrated porn and moved on to real porn. It took me a while to get over the disgust and even longer to turn on the sound. My tastes in real life porn don’t seem to be anything out of the ordinary, and when I stumble upon something that is clearly rape or abuse it disgusts me.

I’ve never really watched/viewed porn regularly. Sometimes I went months without seeing it and only went back to it when I was bored. Now I’ve decided I want to quit porn because of the amount of damage it does to viewers and participants.

Anyways, my porn preferences never translated into real life. I never wanted to rape or torture anyone.

Within the past year I admitted my ‘interests’ to my best friend who reacted surprisingly well and in turn revealed her own twisted fantasies. She had loving parents but had to undergo many surgeries and hospital stays throughout her life because of a medical condition. She told me when she was only 6 years old she fantasized about herself being raped with surgical instruments on an operating table. She swears she was never sexually or physically abused.

I mean on top of all this I realized I was bisexual within the past year. I’m immune to homophobia coming from religion because I’m an atheist and so it’s the people who actually attempt a scientific discussion that get me down. Like there’s the common idea that messed up childhoods create lgbt people and that most of them have perverted, twisted minds, and even though I never see statistics supporting it, it does make me wonder.

At this point in time I’m paranoid about my search history. Cause I’ve come across all types of porn be it intentional or accidentally. I even searched on illustrated child porn to see if it even was real. Of course when I saw it was real I was disgusted and never searched on it again. I’ve even gone to blogs that people were reporting for pedophilia and bestiality just to see if what people were saying was true. I’m scared that some time in my life I’ll get arrested for this. In fact I’ll never consider telling any of this to a councillor or therapist or help line because I’m scared they’ll be obliged to tell the authorities.

Sometimes I wonder if my lifelong abuse has contributed to this twisted side of me. I hope it has, because if it hasn’t then that means perfectly normal people would have this possibility. I don’t even know how to classify my actions. Twisted? Immoral? Uncommon? A relatively common thing that many people aren’t willing to admit?

More than being scared for myself though I’m scared of what effect the porn I’ve seen is having on other people and impressionable tweens who might not be so rational and sane. I marvel at how the severity of my actions didn’t enter my head until I turned 15. I guess I should be glad that I didn’t turn into a dangerous person.

I think I’m a good person, I know the difference between right and wrong, I have empathy for people and I’m one of the kindest people I know. And ever since I first viewed porn I developed a critical attitude to sex, relationships and porn usage that I still carry with me. I don’t know man, I guess I just want someone to tell me that I’m not the only sane person who has these preferences and experiences.

Hello,

First of all, I want to say that we’re not professionals here so we can’t diagnose or even speculate about whether the abuse you’ve suffered has contributed to this situation. In order to get that type of advice or information, you would have to visit a professional. So let’s tackle that part first. I’m not sure where you live or what the laws are there but for the most part, the basic rule when it comes to psychologists is that everything remains confidential unless you’re a risk to yourself or someone else. Or, if you’re a minor and there is abuse taking place. In this case, you explicitly state that you’re repulsed by the idea of acting on any of these desires or fantasies, meaning that a psychologist wouldn’t have grounds for breaking confidentiality. But again, check the laws specific to where you live. If you do wish to seek help, my best advice to you is to look for someone whose area of expertise is in trauma or sex and meet with them to discuss your needs. If you have to change professionals a few times to find the right one, don’t get discouraged. Sometimes it takes a little trial and error to find the right person.

I can’t really comment on the normalcy of your behaviour or interests because again, I’m not a professional. However, I can say that it’s a good sign that you don’t have any interest in participating in any violent events. Do you search these things out of interest or are you aroused by them? Because those are two very different motivations that can indicate different things. In terms of helping yourself, I would suggest blocking all of the websites that you would normally visit and perhaps even consider turning on the safe search option on your internet to limit the type of things that you can search for. These are just some preliminary steps that you can take but I would highly recommend visiting a professional to seek some help, especially if this is something that you’re concerned about and wish to address.

-Livia

[psychobender]

The Principles of Excelence - PREME

       Also known as 20 principles (Because you need to have the 10 basic ones for these to have some significant effect), these were designed and perfected to make you a sort of a genius. Not really an Einstein but definately standing out from 99% of the population if not more (Results are really inconclusive here because there are so few people who reach these milestones I can’t even research them correctly. Results here are solely based on logic reasoning and evidence from what I observe from me and 3 other friends of mine). Also valid to anyone but most useful to people who love their work.

1 - Self Learner at his/her favorite specific area (Inside Science, Arts and Philosophy)

About 20% of the people researched had an area in which they liked to study by themselves, but keep in mind... I’m talking about borderline self learner. Most people had hobbies and things they enjoyed doing and knew a bit more than the average person but few of them grasped a professional level of the skill. Also, keep in mind that no one had all the basic principles, which hurts a lot the use of the principles of excelence(The ones presented here).

To acquire this one, you must take the first step into becoming a self learner. Studying at least through wikipedia, youtube and using at least 6 of the 9 types of teachers (Refering to the types of teacher’s theory here). This is also about conditioning. Training yourself to be, at the very least, the best and using different tools to measure your progress (Even if it’s done subjectively) such as competing internally with someone you know or admire from afar. Do this until you map everything there is to know in the area. For instance, in Education I need to understand Neurology, Pedagogy, Andragogy, Geragogy, Heutagogy, Epistemology and the art of teaching on a very deep level to consider myself a well travelled educator.

If you fail this one, everything else is going to be either useless or just mildly helpful, as it’s not gonna give you the individuality enough to detach yourself from other people who just don’t study.

2 - Impossible to break your self esteem (Insults, constant failures, hard situations...)

Out of 68 people, only 2 had an actual unbreakable self-esteem. It’s understandable because of the dificulties you can find on this one such as depression, bullying and traumas. These can all make your climb a little rougher than it is for someone who doesn’t have these problems.

To be capable of having AND maintaining an unbreakable self esteem you need to look at your problems from a perspective of “How can I absolutely obliterate this problem to the point on negative existence?”. You must see every single problem you have as an obstacle to be demolished and turned into pasta by your own self, but of course, that also requires training and conditioning. To train that you’re going to need to tackle problems in every possibility and make sure you’re eating, sleeping and thinking well to actually muster the energy to do so in such intensity.

If you fail this one, your learning is going to suffer as depression creeps in, axiety feeds itself on your problems and people around you start to demoralize you away from your goals. It’s a horrible thing to see something like this happen when you don’t have any of these principles, imagine a full blown self learner giving in to such events. Tragic at the very least.

3 - Scientifically active

This is by far the most common on this list because the research has been done in people generally in their college years. 61% of people are in constant contact with some area of science. But then again, it’s College “Science” mostly. I admit defeat on the formulation of this question but if it serves of any cleansing, from my observations (I litterally asked everyone about every single item after the research was finished) I can remember of 20-ish people who are into some kind of science but none of them are actively going for it. Just sort of absorbing easy content. Not really critically thinking about every scientific article they read... in many cases not really thinking about any article they read. Most of them don’t read beyond the headline, oh my god humanity is doomed D:

To be properly active in regards to science you need to plan your studying or at least have a plan being followed intuitively. Not intuitively watching stuff.. Having. A plan. Being. Followed. Intuitively. Pay very close attention to those words because I mean it in every tiny technicality. Now this is also something that requires a bit of love and conditioning to what you’re doing. You need to look at every article as if they were trying to mislead you from the actual truth. Not only because this is often (Very often) the case but because this is going to make your argumentaation skills and reasoning skills a bit more robust when it comes to criticizing your own fallible brain. Once your realize how much and how often scientific articles lead us to the wrong or very questionable conclusions, it’s easy to be skeptical of all of them.

If you fail this, you will be ever more prone into falling for something such as Reike (Which claims to be quantum phisics but BOY AIN’T THAT A BLATANT LIE). Also, your knowledge is not really going to progress in terms of knowing what happens in fact. You might be great at applying techniques or intuitively applying what you already know but without your constant re-evaluation, these skills only leave you at a mediocre pro level.

4 - Has a plan where the worst case scenarios always happen and you are still fine.

10 out of 68 of the researched people said they knew exactly what to do in case everything goes wrong. Once again. None of those have got here without failing at least 5 principles. But to be perfectly fair and honest I do not know how true this is. I just imagine that if people don’t have their lives planned, they’re not going to have the worst case scenario planned. That would exclude 64 out of the 68 people. This plan is about considering the worst case and planning a way to make the worst case scenario be lucrative (Libertarian meaning of lucrative here).

To acquire that you only need meditation and rational planning. Think about your job opportunities, how much money you’re going to make (Worst case) and how much you need to survive and get by without losing any of the principles or losing yourself to desperate measures. You only get to live once, so it’s better to plan each charted course and each careful step along the byway.....If you caught that reference, please message me. To condition yourself to plan you gotta see your life as batman sees the fate of the planet. He has a plan to kill/neutralize every member of the justice league in case they go rogue. That is why I informally call this principle the “batman vaccine”. Because you plan your life just like batman plans his missions. Always 10 steps ahead.

If you fail this principle there’s no telling if your plans are going to be realized any time soon. Are you going to leave it on the hands of lady luck and pray for everything to work? News for you buddy, god doesn’t care about your plan. Make sure you remember that.

5 - Has a lucrative plan to follow (Open a business, plan a big shot at success or anything of the sort)

Nobody did this one. But realistically speaking, this is the hardest of them all. Preparing a plan in case you hit success and be prepared for it? Not even successful people are ready once it hits them. But there’s a saying that you need to remember for this one. “Luck is when opportunity meets preparation”. 

To acquire this one you have to plan, test, research and plan again until you polish everything. Ask opinions from experts and non-experts to know what they think about it, your family, etc... Every opinion helps and if you manage to get a specialized one, perfect. But that requires more than just dedication and conditioning. It also requires a metric fuckton of time to study all the probabilities and come up with something that is realistically very good. This means that when people are just chilling you MUST be studying or at least meditating on your opportunities to come up with a better plan. Then you have to polish it a lot. I, for instance, spent 10 hours of my day doing that for some solid 5 years give or take. So, again. This is not easy but it’s something that needs to be done in order to produce wealth (Not money).

If you fail this one, everything you worked for so far is going to feel underused. It’s going to help a lot and it’s certainly going to take you places but nothing is going to make you more proud than a good carefully planned...plan...This sort of motivation is going to be lacking. Also, it’s a good amount of dopamine each time you get a positive answer from someone who you asked the opinion on it.

6 - Free of jealousy, hatred, possessiveness, authoritharianism and social constructs that lead to limiting the freedom of others in any way.

No one passes this one. The majority of people passed possessiveness, less people passed hatred, even less people passed authoritarianism but no one could beat jealousy. Although Jealousy varies from person to person and 2 people can live with jealousy all their lives, it would be unwise of me to cut it out since it is something that limits your your freedom as well. Also it makes you feel bad.

To acquire this one you need tons of conditioning because social constructs are not easy to get rid of due to the amount of positive reinforcement we receive everytime we do them (Even possessiveness has a niche where it is acceptable and welcome). First you need to rationally look at each one and ask yourself: “What does this do to me and the people around me?”. If you have freedom as a principle of yours it should be easy to reach the conclusion that they are all bad. Some worse, some less worse, but in the end all bad. And everytime someone recompensates you for a toxic behaviour you need to either stop yourself at the moment and think about it or take it to the bed and meditate on why you did it before sleeping. (Only do the second one if you have good control of your sleep, otherwise you might lose some sleeping hours.

If you fail this, you’re probably not gonna be a very good person to be around because of all the things you push into people. Some people can take it no problem, but it’s always better not to. You may even become the classic utilitarianist villain who wishes well to the world but does absolute harm. (Thanos is a good recent example of it)

7 - Able to use the Non-Violent Comunication from Mashall Rosemberg.

Surprisingly, 5 people out of 68 knew about it, but it’s understandable for people not to have or be able to use because of how specific it is but in reality, some people do it naturally because it’s something that we evolved to do well. Marshall Rosemberg explains the dynamic of it very well. It’s a way to solve personal conflicts. The objective is to understand what a judgment is, avoid it and express exclusively needs and feelings while taking responsability for your own feelings.

To acquire that, you’re gonna need to watch the man or ask someone who already knows how it works (Maybe a psychologist). After that you’re gonna be looking at everything and extracting the feeling and the need behind the judgment which really helps you become a more peaceful person. Train that skill so that you never get into a personal conflict again. Doesn’t require so much time in fact. A few days of practice should be more than enough, but it gets perfected with time.

If you fail this one, aside from still having personal behavioral conflicts bursting here and there, you might use judgmental words to describe things or people and that takes away the responsability you need to have towards your own feelings. Also it’s going to hurt your descriptions of anything cause you won’t be 100% accurate when differentiating subjective, judgmental and objective words and affirmations.

8 - Is always looking for the truth, not confirmations to one’s own beliefs.

Alright, so how can I even tell if someone is looking for confirmation, not the truth? Simple, it’s on how they start a debate or discussion. Whenever you start a discussion with certainty, it shows the lack of your questioning. For example: We want to discuss weather we should allow people to buy guns or not. If the person starts the conversation with an affirmation saying “I think we should because (...) Don’t you think?” This person is looking for confirmation. If the person starts the debate with something along the lines of “Why should we ban it?” it means the person is willing to listen the other’s opinions and evidences. This looks like a given but very few people actually approach a problem looking at it with an investigative mindset. The scientific mindset, to be specific.

To acquire this you just need to rationalize it. Most people are very accepting to the idea of being convinced to the other side, at least on the discourse. You can just start every discussion with a question, instead of an affirmation. A question is gonna give you much more information. Always confirm what you understood with the person like “Let me see if I got it right, (say what you understood)”. Do it everytime you wanna debate something and you should be conditioned in a few months.

If you fail this one, what is to say that your ideas are true? What if you’re believing in a lie? A misunderstanding? Misinformation? Indoctrination? It is one of the most crucial skills and one of the few who pay off really well regardless of what other principles you have. Of course, if you have the other principles, your studies are going to be of absolute quality.

9 - Pushes the boundaries between what is known, not known and misknown subjectively (Be it in art, science or philosophy)

This is a privilege of very few people but it’s actually the core lesson of properly learning. You have to look at everything with a grain of salt. What usually happens is people try to learn something and they go to the most respected people in the area but this is NOT the first step you should be taking. Doubt is an essential part of learning.

To be able to do that, you gotta deconstruct the idea that your teacher/professor is telling you the truth (Which, from my personal experience, is rarely the case). Humans are fallible and so are your teachers, besides, his views are probably shadowed by his own beliefs and values. He doesn’t come into class asking what you think of something, nor starts the class with an investigative mindset. (If he does, he’s a good teacher going very much against what he is supposed to in our current common educational system). You’re the one who has to go after it. Don’t trust opinions. Don’t trust facts! Instead, investigate how someone reached a certain conclusion and see if that is enough for you to reach the same conclusion, if it’s not, make an argument against it, present to other people, debate and discuss, look for more evidence. If you learned by trusting facts because the academia or someone respected said so, start from scratch and do all of this one time. Whenever you feel like it, do it again. Do it enough times and you’ll be thriving of your own education.

If you fuck this up............................BOI. You’ll be just like everyone who’s attending college, only a little more knowledgeable about things, but since you won’t be able to say how you reached every single one of your conclusions, they will be effectively worthless if you want to make any progress. They will add up to the fallacy of appeal to authority once you leave college though..

10 - Understands and speaks the world most spoken language (Currently english)

Now, people are very familiar with english, at least in Brazil. They can mostly understand it really well, speaking is the real problem. It’s important to understand english nowadays because most of what the planet has to offer in terms of information is written in english.

To learn that you’re gonna need to change your mindset of studying because unless you’re studying something specifically for one Brazilian or your native country’s region such as in the cases of studying the history of a specific place but then again, how important is that when compared the the whole fucking planet? Basically you need to understand that everything you look for is going to be better in english. From youtube to wikipedia to google, people from all around the globe produce english content. So change your research habits to english, your cultural preference to english (Be honest they already are) and get some friends from around the globe. Facebook, omegle, even habbo counts... Reddit would be the best choice though.

If you don’t learn english you’re going to be missing out 90% of what science, arts and philosophy have to offer to you and I believe that is bad enough.

Now let’s say you worked your ass off and got everything rationalized, conditioned and tested. How can one go beyond that? First of all, my goddamn congratulations for you cause that is definately not an easy or fast task. Now besides having access to all of that information, knowing how to learn properly and learning how to live life to the fullest in every sense... Go specialize yourself even further. Try to be the best at something. Now, enjoy your life, start your carreer and wait for the principles of the specialist to be posted here. At least there are just 8 of them.