#you have no concept of the depths of desperation i have reached over the years

[shellofhappiness]

The general dialogue between Eric and that AOL girl regarding his philosophy on love has always stood out to me. It's one of the very few moments of vulnerability we've been given / able to find on his character over the past twenty years.

Eric always had his guard up. We all mostly know this from his own writings, no one acts like how he portrayed himself naturally. But, also including the accounts given about him from other people in his life, important or not, before and after passing. Mostly commonly described as aggressive and irritable, yet closed-off and restrained.

Alongside that online exchange, the only other times I can think of were when he called out of work to be there for his sick dog, or the innocent adoration he held toward his older brother, alongside sincere respect for his mother, of course, Reb's "I wish I were a fucking sociopath" Tape, and (arguably) his undisclosed email to his childhood best friend.

He talked about love like he was an outsider. A still figure watching it & whatever shape it may take maneuver around him, but not having the ability to engage. Let alone even acknowledge the fact it could be something of his own as well if he reached his hand out to touch it, but that wasn't even a possibility for him at that moment. Feeling comfortable enough to bring it up, but never to address it directly. Mentioning what he believed, but never outright saying it, afraid to cross a boundary. Though, he was still very careful with his wording despite not feeling confident enough to state his opinion in full. Being just general enough so he didn't risk the girl disagreeing with his words because he didn't give her an opening to do so, but still baring just a bit of his self to her through his ego because it was just the two of them.

Everyone talks about the concept of "love" relating to the case in reference to DK, because it was something that openly consumed him in private, but in a way, I feel the same just might have applied to Eric as well. But, like many other things relating to him, he hid it all away inside of himself. To live is to be vulnerable, and the times Eric was, never ended in his favor. Hence why he conditioned himself to be so isolated from everyone else, emotionally independent.

When Eric did openly talk about his doctrine on love, it was that degenerate & exploitative journal passage in which he wrote in depth about the idea of forcing himself onto certain women in his life alongside gaudy band lyrics. Considering how hesitant he was to directly speak to another girl about love, even under the context they were both being open with each other, the passage was likely written out of some kind of complex frustration. To compensate for how he felt like such a stranger in the face of it, but remarkably knowledgeable when speaking objectively. He wasn't being honest with himself, but still desperately needed some kind of liberation as an attempt to stop whatever feeling of desire he harbored from further stirring inside him.

The passion that stems from hatred is something I'm sure we all know Eric was well acquainted with. I think the hate inside of him masked the love, being overshadowed and making it appear small. It was definitely there, but seldom did it get a voice to speak in comparison to the amount of steam he let out on a general basis.

Eric cared a lot. When you look past the ego he presented to the whole world, he wasn't an individual with ASPD by any stretch of the means. He wanted not to be independent, but his life made him feel that was the only option he could truly rely on with the social instability he faced growing up. He wanted to be seen. I'm sure many people have voiced this before, but it's truly heart-wrenching to think he was doing this big finale act with his best friend, maybe because he had his best friend there to do it with him, only to find out post-mortem that DK didn't hold him to the same high regard. Maybe close, but not at all on the exact same level.

Putting the fact aside both of them expressed fantasies of doing NBK with their own respective "dream girl," DK wanted other options for someone to go through with the date, other actual people in his life, but from Eric's point-of-view, it had to be Dylan. Dylan was one of the very few people in his life, the only one still present with him, that aided his desire not to be alone. To be seen as an individual. To be vulnerable. Under the impression Dylan felt the same way he did, or at least something similar ... and while I won't deny it was there, it just wasn't as significant to the other party.

"What one person calls true love (EH) can be just another cheap thrill to another (DK)."

I'd like to specify that my goal with this post isn't to send the message that they were "gay," nor point out any form of "romantic chemistry," but rather to emphasize how languished love was overall in Eric's life. Also, I think there's an absurdist humor that comes from the irony of him saying this with what we know would follow half at his hands (you know who the other half is).

They both loved each other as friends, without a doubt, but it's so tragic to think that Eric's closest bond, a connection of love so intimate yet unrelated to direct societal romance, which created a strength so abundant that it started a ripple effect worldwide that still persists to this very day, wasn't quite requited the way he thought it was. Just like every other published bond of his, in his sad little existence.

[buttermander]

So i envisioned an animatic depicting the origins of the ichor operation in my head despite having no idea how to make one

So i discovered Scylla from EPIC: the musical and my mind somehow devised a possible animatic idea for it, even though I don't how to make animatics. Bascially it has the very start of Dandy's little ichor operation and stuff with a few toons surviving. I can describe what I saw

So Dandy has called all the toons to a lower floor but didn't tell them the reason for it, but they all went with it since he's the defacto leader after Gardenview closed. Astro is uneasy as his psychic abilities seem to have given him visions in his sleep of something bad happening. When everyone gets to the spot they find a strange closed door before the intercom comes on , with Dandy's voice greeting them ( represented by the " Hello... " ). Suddenly the door begins to burst open before something builds up behind it, until a massive literal flood of ichor emerges, Astro tells everyone to run for their lives ( " ROW FOR YOUR LIVES!! ") .. running back to the elevator based on his premonition, but the others misinterpret the warning at first, instead moving to climb on top of objects to avoid the flood. Several toons get caught ( Sprout, Finn, Pebble, etc ) as the tide pulls them under. A few other toons ( Boxten . Poppy , Vee , Goob , Scraps , Rodger, Toodles) notice Astro running to the elevator and quickly leave the high ground to follow, unknowingly saving themselves.

Here shots would lime up to a different line

" Drown in your sorrow and fears " , - Sprout is caught in the flood and he and Cosmo desperately reach for each other, only for Sprout to sink under

" Choke on your blood and your tears " - Finn manages to stay afloat with his life jacket trying to swim to the others, only for the ichor to form into hands to push him under

" Bleed till you run out of years " - The other toons watch Pebble and a few others sinking in the tide unable to save the rock, the aformented toons notice Astro running and move to follow.

" We must do what it takes to Survive " - The group fleeing to the elevator keeps running and then it cuts to Cosmo finding Sprout's scarf in the tide, approaching trying to save his best friend only for a massive black claw to reach from the depths and grab him

Now the second verse reveals why Astro ran to the elevator based on his vision. Those caught in the tide are now twisteds attacking those on the high ground with their backs turned to a wall. Again the different lines correlate to a shot

" Give up your honor and faith " - Twisted Sprout grabs Cosmo , holding him by his neck before plunging him into the ichor

" Live out your life as a wraith " - Twisted Finn moves through the tide of ichor like a shark on the hunt before leaping out and grabbing Shrimpo , pulling him under.

" Die in the blood where you bathe " - Twisted Pebble stands over a pile of victims in the tide, currently carrying Scraps in his teeth who sacrificed herself to save Goob. Other twisteds are attacking remaining survivors in the background.

" We must do what it takes to survive " - the others continue running only for Rodger to have to let himself get grabbed to prevent the beasts that were once fellow toons from harming Toodles, the survivors ( Astro , Boxten, Poppy , Toodles , Goob , Vee ) make it into the elevator at the last minute before the residual flood or the twisteds, both the initial ones and the victims reanimated by the ichor can manage to claim them. ( The six survivors parallel the 6 deaths that occur in the actual musical during the song )

The animatic ends with the others mourning as Astro begins to feel guilt that he could have warned everyone else far earlier and stopped this from happening. Vee moves over and tries to reassure the fellow main toon as the group is left to descend to another floor as the song ends

Yeah I thought this entire concept in my dang head without being capable of making it.... what is wrong with me?!?! If this post does inspire you and try and make the concept for yourself than go hecking ahead, this song works too well for the beginning of the ichor operation.

[id-kneel-for-loki]

loki show slander (and fic recs to heal your soul)

has anyone else watched the loki series and been left with a very weird, negative feeling? almost like you’re out of place or that something is wrong? because when I first watched the show, it made me feel super weird, but in a bad way. 

I couldn’t understand why at first because when I looked on twitter to see what other people thought about the show, every opinion I came across was super positive, praising the show for “showing Loki’s vulnerability” and “showing depth to the character”. 

this made me feel super terrible because loki is literally my favorite character, and yet I couldn’t understand why the show left such a bad taste in my mouth. I also felt really guilty because as a loki-stan, I felt like I was obligated to like the show, and yet I didn’t. 

but recently I started to come across other opinions that are similar to mine and suddenly so much things make sense. and better yet, I’m so relieved that I’m not the only one who thinks they screwed up the character and botched a show that had so much potential.

anyway if the show makes you feel like you want to bleach your eyes, here are some Loki fanfiction recommendations because most fans have a better characterization and more respect for the character than the actual writers of the show: 

Frostbite (by Maiden_of_Asgard)

“Iceland is nice - sure, you probably should’ve picked a time of year when the weather was a little warmer, but it isn’t too bad, and at least you’re away from your desk job, right? It’s a pretty big adventure.

You’ve always said that you wanted more adventure in your life.”

this is the best loki fic I’ve EVER read, and the one that started in all. I absolutely love his character in this, he’s so badass. 10000% recommended.

Aftermath (by Infinite_Monkeys)

“Thanos is dead. The world is saved, time is put to rights, and Earth has a team of capable defenders to, in theory, keep the planet safe from any further threats.

Fury thinks that his newly formed team might just drive him to an early retirement, if they don't give him a heart attack first.”

a crack fic to heal your soul

With One More Try (Can We Start Again) (by Infinite_Monkeys)

“Loki's attempt to conquer Earth has, to his great dismay, succeeded spectacularly. When Thanos sends him to collect the Time Stone, he strikes a deal with the Stone's keeper: he'll be sent back to the beginning of the invasion, and this time, armed with knowledge about his opponents, he can lose properly.

Or: a time loop fic in which Loki does increasingly desperate things to try and get the Avengers to defeat him already.”

The Undercover Boogie (by amcw117)

“In which Coulson's argumentation on behalf of the human race proves highly effective and gains S.H.I.E.L.D. a new agent with an interesting concept of covert operations. Naturally, things go awry pretty fast. Written for this prompt @ avengerkink on LJ.”

absolutely hilarious fic, love it

Throw Me (A Helping Hand) (by Quarra, RemingtonFae)

“Ok. Fuck. Here’s the plan.” Barnes casually stood up and leaned over to wrap an arm around Loki, careful to keep his back to those voices. 

“What are you---” Loki looked at Barnes in confusion, and pressed back a little, pushing him away. 

“You can illusion yourself, right? You should do that. And then I’ll throw you at them as a distraction.” Barnes tugged Loki closer and fought down the panic that clawed up his back. 

“What?! No! No, I do not like this plan. I object. Strenuously,” Loki babbled at him, and put a little more effort into shoving Barnes away.

Steve was right behind them. Right there. Within reach. 

Barnes couldn’t deal with that.

Could.

Not.

“It’s a great plan. Guaranteed to work. They won’t know it’s you, and I’ll be gone by the time they look up.” With his left arm secure in its grip on Loki’s shoulder, Barnes grabbed Loki’s belt with his right. “Better get ready.”

“Barnes. Barnes!”

--

Or, where Loki is an absolute troll for the Powers of Mostly-Sometimes-Good, Bucky is having the worst century ever, and everything still manages to turn out mostly okay.

please read this I beg you it will heal your soul

That Boy Next Door (He’s a Real Hit) (by STARSdidathing)

“Tony Stark made a terrible mistake years ago. He married a horrible woman. Oriana Stane was the daughter of his father's business partner; the man who ran Stark Industries into the ground and left him in debt.

Now, Tony's living in Canada with a wife who hates his guts. And frankly, the feeling is very mutual.

His life is a mess and he can't find the escape route. He's honestly stopped trying. But then a new neighbour moves in. The guy is hot and funny but his name is really familiar. It takes one conversation for the penny to drop.

Loki Odinson is a contract killer in hiding from the Norwegian mob and if that isn't dangerous enough, what happens next might just end up with Tony knee deep in multiple murders and forming an attraction to a man who is known for never keeping witnesses alive. Whole Nine Yards AU”

also an amazing fic

Stormbreaker (by ladylapislazuli)

“With a shock, Thor realises Loki is flirting with him. Ineptly, true enough, testing his charms without the verbal skill to dazzle, every bit an awkward youth, but he is flirting.

Thor… is not sure what to make of that.

- - -

In which an attempt to destroy the Infinity Gauntlet sends Thor back in time, and a young Loki appears to be falling for him.”

this one is a thorki wip so I get if it’s not your cup of tea BUT the characterization and depth of both Thor and Loki are absolutely amazing in this fic

[fishyfishyfishtimes]

Overview of mermaids

Many people who’ve been my followers for a while will already be familiar with Prince Ahti II. To those who don’t, here he is! The silly man in my profile picture:

Ahti II is one of my characters, and a merman. He’s a part of a bigger urban fantasy universe, one which I don’t talk about very often. Until now! I like reading others’ ideas and concepts and there must be others like me, so I have faith that perhaps my writings will entertain or inspire others. Here I’ve compiled my various thoughts and ideas about the merfolk of Ahti’s world, an overview of sorts! I try to summarise everything the best I can, but as you’ll see it is a bit hard, I have many thoughts and I’ll have to delve further into history and biology at a later date. 

Memaids, mermen, mersons, or collectively merfolk or merple are humans whose ancestors were transformed into half-animal people some 10 000 years ago by a race of nonphysical beings. On the surface they’re half human upper body, ~three-quarters aquatic animal lower body, and are held together by a whooole lot of magic! Any biological weirdness is explained by the fact that they’re two incompatible parts desperately trying to make it work with compromises that are sometimes unpredictable — functionally they are a human shaped like another thing, with all-human DNA.

Merfolk have organs in both their human and animal halves. The heart and lungs are located in the upper chest cavity (the human chest) and are larger than in the average human. The esophagus is greatly elongated, and leads to the animal half where the rest of the digestive system, and the urinary and reproductive systems, is located in. The lower chest cavity contains a pseudo-heart that helps pump blood into a larger body. All merfolk have an internal skeleton throughout their whole body, even invertebrate-based merfolk. As an adaptation to the dim light of their environment, the eyes of merfolk are more sensitive to light and their pupils can grow and shrink very drastically.

Near the mid-back, aka just about where the two sides join together, fish and (many) crustacean merple have gills, and cetacean merple have a blowhole. What for? For second lungs! These lungs are connected to the upper chest lungs and allow cetacean merfolk to hold their breath for extended periods of time. Merfolk that take after fishes with swim bladders also have a similar lung-swim bladder connection, which is mostly used to control buoyancy — moving air to the upper lungs aids a merson in floating upright, for one. Sorry other aquatic tetrapod merfolk, you don’t have second lungs (…as far as I’ve decided) but I’m sure you can make do!

Due to their adaptations and limitations, merfolk tend to live underwater, in fresh, brackish, and saltwater environments. Merfolk settlements tend to be built in shallower water: most settlements are built in the first 50 meters from the surface, and their frequency dwindles down significantly after a 100 meters of depth. Merfolk prefer the warmth and light of the surface, humans as they are! Some merfolk-found, mostly underwater nations exist, all of them in shallow seas and in and around large archipelagos, but a good portion of merfolk live on the coastal areas of mostly terrestrial nations and in inland waters. In the open ocean, many nomadic merfolk communities exist too: they tend to migrate with fish schools and herd their own aquatic livestock, like fishes, krill and squids. 

Underwater merfolk homes are large to account for their large size, and often very tall. In places where the surface of the water freezes over at some point in the year, many homes have one or a few topmost rooms that reach above water and function as a secondary exit and as a way to reoxygenate the water. Some merfolk homes are suspended above the water on stilts or on the shore with an underwater entrance, but the homes themselves are fully or half dry inside. These homes tend to be very low and wide instead! These are common in merfolk that need air to breathe. Between these solutions are homes that are partly submerged and partly dry at different ratios, common in so-called hybrid living conditions! 

Merfolk as a whole are one of the most magical of all humans, having a lot of magic in their DNA and using a lot of magic in their daily lives. This is in part from necessity, as life underwater is very different from life on land. Contemporary merfolk tend to know at least four spells: waterspeak, lungspeak, return to form, and two-legs spell. Waterspeak allows a person to speak clearly with their vocal cords underwater, without needing to waste air from their lungs. Waterspeak is of valuable use underwater, but makes a person’s voice inaudible in the air! This is why there’s lungspeak, which creates the opposite effect and lets a person.. well, audibly speak like a in real life person lmao

The two-legs spell rearranges the organs of the merson and transforms their lower body from the human waist down into a pair of human legs. The upper body doesn’t really change in any significant way (…besides the lungs and heart becoming smaller and gaining new organs and bones and muscles) so the eyes are still tuned to see better in darkness etc. Return to original form reverses any physical transformation to the way a person was born, merfolk use it to go back to their tailed form! 

The most glaring issue in the life of a merson is the fact that your body is adapted to swimming and diving, but the majority of people live on land. Even semiaquatic merfolk tend to have trouble walking great distances! Fortunately, there are solutions besides staying in your underwater or amphibious living community for your entire life (because that’s not a solution at all). One is the aforementioned two-legs spell! A major pro is that you gain two fine long distance walking legs, two cons however are the drastic transformation that must take place to become two-legged, and then learning to walk, run, crawl, jump, sit, anything and everything. Two-legs isn’t a painful spell, or even physically uncomfortable to bear. It’s just that… well. The merfolk body isn’t built as simply as head-arms-torso-tail, it’s really head-arms-torso-pectoral fins-torso-pelvic fins-tail, all parts working together and important with movement, expression and item manipulation. When a merson loses so much of their body and way of interacting with the world it is emotionally and mentally draining! Many merfolk do not want to go through the trouble of losing a big part of themselves. 

Fortunately going on land as they are isn’t impossible! The upper chest cavity lungs are big enough to support merfolk just by themselves, and merple rarely, if ever, grow too heavy to exist on land. Fishy merfolk tend to have a slime coat, but on land as the slime coat dries and flakes off, the skin begins producing similar oils to the ones human skin has. Rapidly moving from water to air to water to air can cause damage overtime (eg. cracks and wounds in the skin, loss of scales), but effects can be lessened with moisturiser. Getting around on land is as easy as having a merson-fit wheelchair!

…The cons are just about the same as they would be having a wheelchair in our contemporary world, sadly. Most spaces are big enough for even a long merson in a wheelchair to pass through as humans on average are just bigger, but that doesn’t fix every other issue. Merfolk have a lot of societal pressure to change their form into a two-legged one instead of using wheelchairs, since it’s viewed as more convenient and less expensive — even transforming and using a wheelchair fitted for two-legged human is viewed as a better option. A good bit of merfolk are taught to walk on legs from an early age “just in case”, because they might just need it. 

Enough of merfolk tragedies. Let’s talk merfolk joys! Traditional merfolk art is heavy on sculptures, dance and singing, three-dimensional art so to speak. Traditional merfolk cuisine meanwhile provides a diverse selection of meat from finfishes, shellfishes, cephalopods and aquatic mammals, supplemented with algae, fruits and underwater domesticated crops. Merfolk never stopped cooking and frying foods when they turned, but a lot of "bonkers" old meals can be served raw. Traditional celebrations vary a lot based on location and the seasons, but they encompass similar themes to terrestrial celebrations, like harvest. Ice covers melting in the spring to let in light and warmth is a big thing in the northern hemisphere, and fish schools seasonally migrating to a community's home area also calls for a great feast.

As magical and technological advancements have changed the world they live in, painting, drawing, and the use of instruments have gotten more common in the arts, and terrestrial cereals and vegetables in food. The gradual introduction of terrestrial delights into the aquatic world has birthed its own unique cultural quirks. One example is a niche genre of music where a merson plays a wind instrument with only the air in their lungs as long as they can, birthing a whole new form of short folk tunes when instruments started becoming common. Just about anything has been waterproofed physically or through magical means, so in the modern day there is very little difference in a terrestrial and aquatic person's quality of life.

[doktordismemberment]

Roundup #4: Albums of the year II: Supersize Me Edition

Oh, I'm sorry, did you think all these stupid fucking albums were ever gonna fit into just one list?

As before, these are in no particular order.

-

Sigh - Shiki - I feel like Sigh are one of those bands like Merciful Fate/ King Diamond where you either just "get it" or the entire concept is totally alien and off-putting to you. As for me? I like it.

-

Strigoi - Viscera - Terrifying blackened doom with slight hints of crust and grind via ex Paradise Lost, The Secret, Extreme Noise Terror personnel.

-

Sumerlands - Dreamkiller - These guys sound like a modern era version of my favorite Ozzy album, to the point I find myself really wishing they'd cover Secret Loser.

-

Astronoid - Radiant Bloom - Soaring ambient-pop-metal from Lowell MA. If you reimagined Mew's "And the Glass Handed Kites" as a thrash album it would probably sound a lot like Radiant Bloom.

-

Aeternam - Heir of the Rising Sun - Avenger/ Crusher era Amon Amarth meets Blind Guardian with lyrics about the crusades.

-

Wilderun - Epigone - I have never been the biggest "symphonic metal" guy but for whatever reason this album works for me, probably because I'm a gigantic prog nerd and vast swaths of this album remind me of Genesis/ Yes/ Van Der Graaf Generator... I have to assume at least one of these guys is a BCOM student 'cos it sounds like a lot of the arrangements here are coming out of a "classically trained" headspace.

-

Cult Of Luna - The Long Road North - Isis are long dead and Scott Kelly pretty much shit all over any chance of there ever being a new Neurosis album, so it is in Cult of Luna that we must place our hopes.

Luckily, "The Long Road North" carries the apocalyptically heaving quiet/ loud post-metal torch admirably.

-

KEN Mode - Null - I feel like KEN Mode have been getting progressively more brutal and terrifying for the past 20 years with the end result being NULL... An album that sounds like the nightmare bastard child of My War era Black Flag and early Swans. God help us all if they ever top this.

-

Otoboke Beaver - Super Champon - Splattery Japanese chick-punk that gets stuck in my head mercilessly. I feel like almost any track on this album could be subbed in for the theme song to Dorohedoro if that's any indication of the level of derangement happening here.

-

Ereb Altor - Vargtimman - I stumbled across this album while I was in the depths of a months long Bathory kick and wound up really enjoying it. Total Twilight of the Gods/ Hammerheart/ Nordland vibes.

I've heard that Vargtimman is a bit disappointing compared to some of their older albums but it's honestly the only one I've bothered to check out so I can neither confirm or deny that statement.

-

Chrome Ghost - House of Falling Ashes - Massive sludge/ grunge/ doom from California. Packs kind of a Floor meets Yob punch.

-

Freedom of Fear - Fairly straightforward 90s style melodeath/ melodic black metal with a touch of proggy technicality and killer vocals. My friend Jessie (RIP) would have absolutely loved this band.

-

Mordant Arrow - Rhythmic industrial crunch, icy washes of noise, and impeccable synth design combine with a rugged crust punk energy to create one of my favorite electronic albums in ages. A perfect soundtrack to the vast and inescapable surveillance state where we're all currently serving time.

-

40 Watt Sun - Achingly sad. Achingly beautiful. And oozing with a palpable sense of loss and desperately reaching for something as it slowly falls away from you.

"Wherever you are, the light will reach."

-

Major Parkinson - If Nick Cave's recent forays into electronic music had been a whole lot more successful they probably would have sounded something like Major Parkinson. YMMV but I really enjoy this album. This has kind of a Bowie vibe happening too, for whatever that's worth to anyone...

-

The Sawtooth Grin - Imagine Pg.99's Document #8 reconfigured as a Discordance Axis album and that's sorta the ballpark you're in with The Sawtooth grin. The lyrics to "What's Cremation?" fuck me up.

-

Grand Harvest - 90's Peaceville style doom 'n' gloom via mud-caked Bolt Thrower style death stomp and more than a slight hint of blackened snarl. More "At Last Light" than first light... A fitting soundtrack to a world that seems to be mostly on fire these days.

-

Lament Cityscape - Jesus christ why am I still writing? Anyway, I feel like this new Lament Cityscape is slightly more electronic sounding than some of the older stuff maybe? And the tracks are shorter. But it hits hard and gets out before you have time to get your bearings which is an approach I always appreciate.

-

Ok, I was gonna do Video Games too but seriously fuck that (for now)... Writing even this much has taken literal days and I haven't even copied the links yet.

I'm sure I forgot a ton of stuff I liked, and missed a ton of stuff you liked because how dare I, but realistically I can only make one of us happy so I'm gonna say fuck it and go hang out with my wife.

[hotgirllectorium]

i am BEGGING. B E G G I N G for more x6-88/m!sosu content. i am this 👌 close to just manually changing pronouns in already existing fanfiction

[talentedtrait]

I’m going to go off on a squid game rant so don’t read if you haven’t watched it.

Something that I keep thinking about is how this show would never have the success it does if it was American. The concept of the show is taking children’s games and giving them a deadly twist for a cash prize. But years ago I watched a movie called truth or dare and it still feels like that movie is something random that goes on Netflix to get more people to watch it. The idea of the movie is the same as squid game: people sit around a table and play truth or dare for money but the stakes are increased to the point of being lethal. If the show were American it wouldn’t have the same messages, it wouldn’t be as detailed and crafty (sorry but it’s true). And something American movies does is single out one person as the chosen one or give some other reason. At the end, the concept of squid game was made very clear, and an American movie never would have done that.

I think what makes squid game so good and intriguing is the complexity of it? There are so many different stories but all of the characters want money. In truth or dare, you knew they needed the money but squid game shows you the desperation. It physically shows you that while they have a choice to leave the game, they stay because they believe that staying in the game is better than being outside in society. It’s what a lot of people think when they leave prison. Being in prison is a lot more preferable than living the life they had and for them and squid game participants, the odds are against them in a way that makes them feel like they have no choice because honestly, they don’t. The game gives a little bit and takes a lot. But what it does give is enough for people to know that that need it. It’s the only outstretched hand before midnight.

So when we see all the participants come back, even the ones that screamed to get out, we know that they have no choice. This begins the desperation they have. It gets worse with each episode, they go against each other and form alliances but those are broken as well. Every single character has depth and a story without even needing to tell it. The acting is raw and real and it feels like you’re watching a security camera. It’s believable and some characters are a bit dramatic but it works because they’re going insane being in there. Trauma is eating away at them.

That’s not even mentioning the details within the show that give away every game, the show hands the ending to you, and what the games will be, and we all missed it. You want a way out and you want to know what the next game is but the struggle is only seeing what’s right in front of you, not everything around, that’s why no one noticed the walls.

The giant globe holding the money showed what they would win when the first game was done. And the board showing the amount and how many people were left. It was purposely put there to show the players that every single life taken means that more money is given to them. That’s where the desperation comes in again. Not only do you want the money for yourself and you don’t want to share it, but killing somebody with no consequence and you get a reward of 100,000 won. They’re killing to survive and get the cash prize but also to make the cash prize bigger. Towards the end it wasn’t about making the amount bigger, it became I need it more than you.

The characters as well, you have an older man, young girls, middle aged people, a couple, a desperate man, a young father, a college graduate. There are so many different stories and that’s REAL. It isn’t a show about 20 somethings needing to handle debts. It’s people from every age and financial background showing that they’re all struggling and desperate. It’s personal. They can be mean or nice, or an asshole but they all need money. Every single person there needs money.

The glass bridge game showed everyone watching that they don’t care about the players, it’s just for entertainment. When the glass maker moved on because he saw the difference, they shut the lights off because he was using strategy. It needed to be left up to chance. With four people left, there was nothing entertaining about them getting through so he had to die. It genuinely seems like they didn’t want to have a winner but they had to because that was the point of the game. There can be only one. 456 people went in and only one was going to come out. That scene where we saw the supply room. The binders filled with names and years. Squid game only lasts a week but the game has been going on for over 20 years.

We’re shown characters outside of the game with their families and issues because we need to root for them and see why they’re doing this. They don’t get the money and 455 different people all owe money which could be BILLIONS of won all together. The families are going to be destroyed more, and they don’t even know where their loved one is.

The idea of being equal in this show is thrown around a lot to explain a lot of the behavior. During the marble game, one of the guys was clearly winning, but making it fair meant that the game could change, and he ended up losing his life. They preach being fair and equal but how much of it is?

Squid game is a masterpiece and we need to acknowledge that those financial situations can and will happen to anybody of any age. Everything is set up against people so they will never get out. It doesn’t even have to be a financial problem, people who are struggling are never given the resources to fix that, so they will become desperate for any means of escape, even if it means losing that 455.

I know I did all of this but I have one more thing to say: he did this for his mother, he did it for his daughter. But his mother still died and he never touched the money because it was all for her, that was the point. He did the game to get money for her treatment and yes he won the game but he still lost her. He completed the game alone and even outside he’s still alone. His daughter still went to America, and on his way to go see her, the game still got to him, he still lost her in a way. He knew that when he left that game he would be alone and he didn’t want that so he reached his hand out, but ultimately still left alone. He doesn’t use the money because he doesn’t have a reason for it anymore and it means nothing if 455 people were lost because of it. The loss of those in the game is bigger than the gain if winning. He still asks for 10,000 won and he never moves because he feels as though he deserves to be miserable after what happened. Even with 45 million won, he still lost everything.

Did you notice how at the end of the game, they all wore suits? Women were never intended to win.

[d6rkroom]

— ‘𝗻𝗼𝗯𝗼𝗱𝘆 𝗱𝗼𝗲𝘀 𝗶𝘁 𝗹𝗶𝗸𝗲 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗱𝗼.’

finn mcnamara x top!male reader. (wc; 1.7k)

#a/n: this took way longer than it should've, my apologies fer’ that! BUT THANK YOU ELIAN FOR GIVIN’ ME THE GENERAL IDEA FOR THIS, I HAD A TON OF FUN WRITIN’ IT! YER’ BIG BRAIN AS HELL!

warnings. forced breeding, dubcon, mentions of cheating, possessive behavior, degrading k., dumbification, brat taming, sex infront of a mirror, manhandling, belly bulge, cum inflation, implied mpreg.

it was expected, it was only a matter of time before his olden behavior caved in on him and he relapsed right back into those sickly habits from nothing more than a year prior.

finn mcnamara was a slut. a dirty, good for nothing cheater. you knew his loyalty was short lived— his drive for exploration and choas secured that lucid notion in your brain ever since the two of you had started your dating journey.

how naive were you to untrust your heart with him, so utterly idiotic.

there you were, fingers curled around the doorknob as you lay in wait for your boyfriend to take note of the new presence clouding the room. your face was sheathed in coats of not shock, nor distaste— just inflicted with an expressionless disappointment. whatever bit of rage that fogged your mind swiftly dissolved along with his sexual mate that accompanied your spot on the bed.

nonchalant as ever, he sent a sloppy smile your direction; probably as a result of whatever poor pounding he just received from the rather small looking guy who was just in your room. pathetic, he couldn't even wait a few hours for your attention so he tossed aside his pride and let his greedy hole get creamed by someone at least half your size.

“satisfied with yourself, whore?” a satirical snear contorted your lips. one he knew a little to well, one he could tell apart from your usual one. the one you would often flicker as the two of you conversed. he knew you loved him, as did he; yet, the outcome of pushing your buttons was one he couldn't shake the craving for.

“hah, as satisfied as ever— sweetheart.” his first mistake was underestimating your tolerance for his bullshit. the second was letting that sour chuckle rip past his throat.

he was already exposed, clothes abandoned along side his dignity. letting such a inexperienced and second option hook-up ruin his beautifully stretched hole was baffling to you. was he really that desperate to have his ass filled and feel full for the remainder of the evening? you already knew the answer to your own inquiry.

he sputtered out a few words that glazed past your ears and straight out the back of your head. you had no care to hear any other soft attempts to convey how what he committed was mistake or how his body was now yours for the night. you had tunnel-vision set on his spend, plump ass that was already wiggling in the air— contrast from his cheek, which was pressed into the matress.

you give a harsh smack on the milky flesh, making finn’s lower half jolt in retaliation; halting his train of thought and stopping his tongue mid monologue. his hands instinctively sink into the pillow beneath his neck. you shift your weight, prying his thighs apart and spreading his cheeks wide open; the perfect view. the head of your cock, flushed red and throbbing gives a few pokes at his pulsating rim which is already venting around nothing.

you give his hole a few, firm slaps from the length of your shaft. beckoning that bratty inclination from out from beneath him— you wanted to hear those lips bark out your name. persuading you to rock in and out of his useless body.

“you want that? my cock to just slip right inside you without need for an apology? without regard for what i just caught you doing in, our bed?”

you almost give in, but you're smarter than to let finn get what he so desperately wants, that easily. rubbing your palm into his hips, small pats connecting with the side of his abdomen insinuate he fetches the mirror from the corner of the bedroom. no words were required in the exchange, he knew his place— plain and simple. and he sure as hell knew what you silently commanded he do.

an exasperated groan grumbles from the depths of his chest, his tongue clicked in annoyance at the sudden expectation for him to remove himself from his lewd position. so stupid, he throws away your years of love to get fucked by some stranger and then complains as you whisk him away from the sheets. he had driven you to your witt's end.

“excuse you, cunt? did i just hear you protest, after cheating in my bed, in my house? don't forget who owns you.”

his blood ran cold and the hairs on the back of his neck sprung to life with an accompanying chill that relished up his spine. his shoulders visibly cringed at your tone as he wasted no time flipping over and hoisting the mirror slowly to the foot of the bed. with the reflective piece of glass now fitted nicely as it leaned against the bedframe— finn crawled atop the messy array of sheets.

“y/n look.. m’sorry don't-” he wasn't allowed to finish, at least not anymore he wasn't. you weren't going to let him disrespect your authority under your roof any longer.

without thinking your hand reaches to unbuckle your belt, fingers toying with the zipper and button respectively. tugging your pants and boxers down without caution— you carded a few free fingers into his messy, mop of hair. digging into and only making it a much more noticable mess than before as you yanked his face to meet yours.

you felt a guley glob of spit collect under your tongue, shooting the wad right between his eyes; saliva leaking down the bridge of his nose and bleeding onto his upperlip. you knew how he adorded being tossed around like trash, better yet, treated as such. he was getting off to this, his eyes pooling wide with lust everytime a vulgar insult leaped from behind your teeth.

he tries not to let his words slur as you play with his still, very tender asshole. breath hitching every step of the way as you spin him to face the direction of the mirror. his hole was still lubed and wet from his previous visitor, giving you very easy access with little push or resistance.

his eyes roll back, you keep your gaze attentive on his decoy on the other side of the glass. your fat cock streaching him out has his lips parting to release a squeal of appreciation, a lavish burn following close suit as you sink deeper inside of him. he's not regretting his choice to unturn his devotion towards you; not yet at least.

“getting off to this slut? look at yourself, i haven't even started to really fuck you yet. pathetic.”

finn’s eyes are trained on his reflection, the look of tragedy curling over his spit-slicked lips. he could feel how deep you were, reaching spots he didn't even know were there. he can also make out the veins on your cock dragging along his walls and you're right; he is getting off to this. it felt so good— he felt so good— it all was good.

you rut into his ass like a feral animal, grunting cocktailed with sour remarks to keep the tension rising. instinctively he clings onto the fabric beneath him for dear life, knuckles fading from bright red to a pale white. through the fog of pleasure clogging his mind, he can only keen out an audible ‘yes’ to all of the questions and words that jumbled from your mouth.

with your eyes fixated on the way his skin ripples and jiggles against your hips, the fat riding up onto yer’ waist with the brutal pace you keep. he attempts to protest with how close he feels himself getting, only to be cut off by one hard slam after another— cock drilling into his tight little hole with intentions to impregnate him.

concepts of his usualy flat tummy growing round and bloated as you fucked it full of your little swimmers now press into your mind. each seed racing to see which will be the one to knock up your boyfriend; rendering him yours forever. your vigor prevails, motivated by the sole image of your slut giving birth to one, maybe two of your genetic creations. your offspring.

finn wonders if the cheating scandal really has your stamina skyrocketing, that is until through the intoxication of your speed— he realizes. fuck, you don't have a condom. he can't get pregnant, as much as he'd want to settle down with you he has way to many jobs that would release him from employment if they found out he had a baby in his belly. you wouldn't do that to him, would you? you knew how near and dear traveling from place to place, job to job was to him. was this punishment?

“sweeti- ah! y/n c-condom!”

even with his tongue tripping over ever other word, you could decipher the clutter of gibberish all too well. he had figured out your plan to breed his tiny body.

“oh? that silly thing? i gotta make you my wife, remember? just a stupid little whore who can only work from home. nobody wants to fuck a pregnant bitch. maybe that'll teach you to keep it in your pants.”

“n-no— ah-! fuck..”

your words sent tingles over his scalp, squelching noises resonate through the air mingled with your bitter laughter. drool starts to seep from the corners of his mouth and tears begin to well up in his eyes as he watches his mirror double get impailed by the outline of your cock. he knows soon that a small child will fill the roll of your shaft, he can't do anything but try to resist as the idea of your warm, stick love flooding his womb only grows on him.

at this point, all finn is doing is whimpering on your cock, degrading making the pressure behind his thighs hotter and his ass tighter. that familiar knot twisting in his lower stomach begging to snap as you roll into his prostate with a hunger glistening in your eyes. you flip finn on his back and catch his bottom, wet lip between your teeth and tug with the push of your hips. eye contact is never broken as your hot load spurts long and sticky ropes through his ass and into his belly. so full, he's so positively full as he feels your genes enter his boy womb— effectively impregnating and painting his gummy walls with white fluid.

soon a bunch of mini you’s will roam the empty spaces in your home and you'll start the perfect family together. you had planned to make him your bitch for quite some time, but the cheating only sped up the inevitable. finn sobbed into the crook of your neck; protruding tummy poking at your abdomen as he loosely attached to you.

the whole ordeal would be burned into his brain and yours, the mirror serving his eyes a sick reminder that he was now tasked with carrying your kid. forever.

[ddarker-dreams]

A concept from a dream I had: Hisoka wants Chrollo's darling for himself and tries to steal her from him. Darling gets injured in the ensuing fight and has to get patched up afterwards by Machi. Then, a bit of fluff, darling seeks out Chrollo and hugs him for comfort because the whole thing has her a bit shaken. (Love your writing btw, it's super well written and captivating!)

Tunnel Vision. Yan Chrollo x Reader

Warnings: Implied amnesia.  Word count: 2.2k. Note: thank you very much!! i made some minor changes, where darling is a member of the phantom troupe, and not yet aware of chrollo’s obsession. i hope you enjoy! i’ve had a lot of ideas for this specific darling with nen abilities and this idea seemed to fit her very well...

Sharp, pointed nails digging into your skin. The sickeningly sweet fragrance of bubblegum blended with metallic blood. Black dots obscuring your vision, the world growing further away with each miserable second. Through labored breathing, a tense dialogue is exchanged between both parties, the ringing from your ears making it impossible to know for sure what they’re saying. Falling in and out of consciousness, you pick up on a few phrases. 

“Just admit it, you’re no worse than I am. Look what you did to the poor girl. ♥” 

“Maybe so, but that’s inconsequential. Your judgment means nothing.” 

...

“Ah… what… a shame, that I didn’t... get to play with her as much as you did--” 

“Hmm… to think your voice has never bothered me this much until now. This should silence you permanently.”

“--So you shouldn’t move around much until it fully heals,” Machi instructs, her voice clear and direct. At your lack of immediate response, she frowns, snapping her fingers to pull you from your trance-like state. “Oi, [First]. Are you even listening?” 

You blink, her voice cutting through your clouded mind like a knife. “My bad, I wasn’t paying attention.” 

Machi sighs and places a hand on her hip. Sapphire eyes glance over your person, not even bothering to hide her intentions, stopping every time she reaches your healed wounds. Even though your inebriated state, you can tell she’s deep in thought. You doubt she’d tell you what’s on her mind if you asked. So you sit there in silence, politely waiting for her to repeat what you missed. 

“I could tell. Just take it easy, you’re going to need a few days of rest.” Machi walks to her bag, rustling through its contents. She picks up a bottle of pills and places it on your nightstand. The same medicine that she had given you before treatment, to dull the pain. You fight back the urge to smile at the small gesture. Had you been any other customer of Machi’s, she would’ve left by now without a word, indifferent to your condition. Despite your best efforts, she catches onto your softened expression and clicks her tongue.

“Don’t look at me like that,” she deadpans, shooting you a glare. You give an apologetic smile. “Take one a day until it’s gone.”

“Thank you, Machi. I appreciate it.” 

“As you should,” Machi throws her bag over her shoulder and goes to the door. Before she can turn the nob, she turns back at you. “I forgot to mention, but you have a visitor. The boss has been waiting here since he brought you in.” 

An unknown emotion stirs in the depths of your soul. Any playful retaliation you had for Machi’s previous comment dies on your tongue, your eyebrows furrowing. Why do you feel troubled by this revelation? You fight back the anxiety that bubbles up in your stomach. There’s no time to linger on this newfound unease, as Chrollo enters the room after exchanging pleasantries with Machi. Despite your efforts to suppress your discomfort, your body does as it pleases, heart palpitating and throat feeling tight.

He shuts the door behind him quietly and leans against the wall.

Chrollo Lucilfer. You consider your relationship to be a strictly professional one -- maybe a touch of reverence on your behalf -- never feeling as friendly with him as with the other members. He stands before you now in casual attire. Jet black hair frames his face, loose and fine, proudly showcasing the unusual tattoo on his forehead. It’s strange to see him without his trademark leather coat. Instead, he wears jeans and a navy blue undershirt. Immediately, you pick up on the bloodstains on his shirt, assuming he had shed his coat before coming in.

He smiles at your staring, not commenting as you glance away. “How are you feeling?” 

“The medicine hasn’t worn off, so not too bad,” you struggle to exhale, your breathing ragged. Why does it feel so warm in here all of a sudden? “Machi told me you, uh, carried me here. Thank you. I’m sorry about your shirt… I’ll buy you a replacement.” 

Chrollo puts a hand up to stop you. “There’s no need.” 

Being one on one with your mysterious boss is as awkward as you imagined it would be. You still don’t know why he’s here. In between jobs, Chrollo would disappear into thin air, untraceable until calling the Troupe back together. So him being the one to find you on the verge of death hasn’t made sense. Machi gave noncommittal answers whenever you brought this up or told you to ask him yourself. Which you intended to at the time, but now that you’re in his intimidating presence, the words die on your tongue before they can begin. 

He pushes himself off the wall and sits on the edge of your bed. The proximity feels strangely intimate, your face flushing at how familiar the act seems to him. Chrollo’s close enough now where you can pick up on his rich cologne. Dry wood with hints of leather. The scent increases your heart rate, anxiety at a new peak. You bite your lip and ball your hands into a fist to try and cope with the all-encompassing unease. To appear weak in front of him would be an insult to your tattered pride. 

“Machi informed me about your memory,” Chrollo leans forward as if to inspect you. Grey eyes bore deep into your soul, searching for something. “She said you thought it was July when you regained consciousness.” 

You swallow thickly at his questioning. How humiliating is this? Whatever it was that had happened to injure you already felt degrading enough. your pride as a competent Nen user in shambles. The most plausible explanation is that Chrollo discovered you after you had lost a fight, but the remaining details are fuzzy at best. Theorizing is all you can do. The unexplained amnesia is frustrating, but it’s only a few months, so you figure it could’ve been worse. 

“That’s correct.”

Chrollo closes his eyes, as if in deep reflection. “So that’s how it is. I’m sorry to disturb you while you’re trying to recover, but can I ask a few questions?” 

“Ah, of course. I’m sorry if I’m forgetting something important…” 

This catches his attention, his posture tensing ever so slightly. You notice how his jaw tightens and assume your guess was correct. Your desire for answers on these missing four months strengthens and you feel hopeful that Chrollo holds some of the answers. It’s frustrating how both Machi and Chrollo seem to know more than you do but are refusing to give solid answers. Maybe they’re being considerate of your health? You’re not so fragile that you need to be coddled by your fellow Troupe members. 

Chrollo looks down at you through thick eyelashes. “Do you think that you are?” 

“I… I think so, yes.” 

He sits silently for a moment, running a hand through his hair and giving a bittersweet smile. “We’re in a relationship.” 

Wait, what? This would explain why Chrollo was with you at a time when the Troupe wasn’t gathered and his casual demeanor. Your expression must not be as schooled as you intended, as he gives a humorless chuckle to your wide eyes and parted lips.  You… were in a relationship with The Phantom Troupe’s boss? Your boss? When did that happen? How did that happen? Did the others know? Ah, the teasing that would come with that. It’s not that you don’t find him attractive, your eyes work just fine, but the revelation still takes you back. Cheeks burning, you break eye contact and play with your hair. Feeling overwhelmingly self-conscious, you pull your blanket up further to cover your bare shoulders. 

“There’s no need to be so embarrassed, [First],” Chrollo chastises with a playful tilt of his head. “I’ve seen all of it many times before.” 

He’s not making this easier on you. You’re desperate to move on from the subject and decide to bring up another troublesome topic. Though you have an idea of what the answer will be, you’d still prefer that he’d confirm it for peace of mind. 

“I was wondering, boss--” you cut yourself off with an apologetic smile when he furrows his eyebrows, “--I mean, Chrollo, about my Hatsu. I can tell I don’t have it now. Are you ‘borrowing’ it?” 

There’s no other plausible explanation. In what other scenarios would you lose a fight that horrendously? You can’t picture anything else, your abilities have been enough to earn you Chrollo’s recognition and subsequent invitation to the Troupe years ago. It’s not uncommon that your boss will ask to borrow other Troupe member’s abilities. Sometime during the months that you’ve forgotten, this must’ve happened, or so you assume. 

Chrollo nods his head. “I am, yes. Why do you ask? Would you like it back?” 

“It does feel like a part of me is missing,” you admit sheepishly, scratching your cheek. “So, if it isn’t too much trouble…” 

“I had to delay the job I borrowed it for due to what happened to you. Is it alright if I hold onto it for just a bit longer?” He’s moving even closer to you now than before. The bed shifts underneath his weight, Chrollo delicately taking your face into his hands. Your mind has trouble scrounging together a comprehensible response. How can you focus when the pads of his thumbs rub soothing circles against your cheek, his deep eyes hypnotizing. You swallow thickly when his pointer finger drags slowly against your bottom lip. Chrollo told you that you’re together, you remind yourself, assuming he has just missed touching you. It’s impossible to not notice the hungry gleam in his eyes.

“Oh, well, in that case, it’s fine.” You only manage to relax when he pulls away from you, content with your response. This has been a draining series of events. Chrollo’s one-sided familiarity isn’t easy to keep up with, you still view him as your boss and he views you as a lover. Sensing your apprehension, he takes your hand in his and places it over your pounding heart. 

“Do you feel this?” He hums, to which you nod, speechless at the bold action. “Even if you don’t remember your love for me, your body hasn’t forgotten a thing from our time together.” 

Is that what this feeling is? Love? You want to trust him, to take his word for it, but something still doesn’t feel right. Chrollo’s presence has kept you on edge ever since he entered your room. Even now, your skin is covered in goosebumps, hair standing on the back of your neck. What else are you forgetting? This is the question that reverberates in your mind, threatening to consume you entirely. Softly, as not to offend him, you take his hand off you. Chrollo’s expression is unreadable as you do so.

“I’m sorry, Chrollo, I’m just not sure I’m ready for... this yet.” You admit in truth, guilt washing over you at how his flirtatious demeanor changes to a calculating one. This is the version of Chrollo that you’re most familiar with. Your mysterious boss, who coldly issues orders and relishes in thrill of thievery, someone not as personal as he’s been acting like. Chrollo moves back and you’re grateful for the room to gather your bearings.

“Of course,” his aloof tone sends shivers down your spine, a distant gleam in his eyes. “I hope you don’t mind, but I have every intention of watching over you until you recover. It wouldn’t sit well with me otherwise.” 

Chrollo motions to your closet door, which is slightly ajar. Inside you recognize some of his clothes that are hanging next to yours. “And I do live here, but I’ll sleep on the couch for tonight. How does that sound?” 

So the two of you were so close that you had invited him to move in? How fast was this relationship going, anyway? It doesn’t feel like you to get that intimate with someone else in such a short time. The way Chrollo phrased it makes it sound like you used to sleep in the same bed too, how embarrassing… God, his comments are going to be the end of you. You need time to think. To let all this information that’s been thrust onto you sink in. 

“If it’s not too much for an inconvenience. I feel awful… about forgetting as much as I have. Machi said she didn’t see any notable head injuries, so I can only assume it was a Nen ability.” 

“That could be it,” Chrollo responds more flippantly than you expected, standing from your bed. You thought he’d be eager to explore the avenues of returning your memory. Maybe it’s too painful to think about? “You haven’t eaten since this morning, so I’ll get us some dinner. Keep resting up.” 

“Thank you. I’m sorry for all this trouble.” 

Chrollo waves away your apology without concern. He does, however, acknowledge you before leaving your shared bedroom. There’s a smile on his face that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. You hope you’re imagining it. 

“By the way, [First]... I want you to know this. I’ll have you fall in love with me again. That’s a promise.” 

Then he’s gone without another word.

[the-lone-witch-and-secret-room]

I'm currently working on a fic that's set a few years after Amity breaks away from her parents' grip and is forced to ask her father for help with repairing something. Would it be accurate to portray him as more apathetic to everything around him, like a more cynical Rick Sanchez?

Anon, I feel a bit bad interfering in your creative process, but… please don’t write that. I’m sure you have good intentions, but this whole concept is extremely harmful, as you’re putting Amity into a very dangerous situation.

Amity is canonically a victim of emotional abuse from both of her parents. (Maybe I’ll cover their separate roles in the abuse their children suffer more in-depth at some point, but for now, in short: emotional abuse often works via words, sometimes actions, but it can also be the lack of action that’s abusive—the former of which is Odalia, the latter Alador falls under, for the most part.)

Having Amity break away from her parents grip is a healthy, important step for her. DON’T have her reach out to her father again, especially not because she needs something from him. That’s super, super dangerous. Their power dynamic has always been heavily imbalanced towards her father. Having her crawl back to him because she needs something from him gives him power to hold over her. That she needs something so desperately she’s forced to interact with him, as you said, means he has a lot of power to hold over her in this situation. Alador’s whole thing is that he pays little to no attention to Amity outside of how she can be useful to him, p.e. using her to network when she’s six, and recognizing her potential to become coven leader and therefore an access to more power for his family. As far as we know, he’s never been there for her when she needed him, and I don’t see how this would be different—unless he finds a way to benefit from it somehow, which would be even more dangerous.

Considering how much her parents have hurt her, and the implication that Amity has recognized that hurt rather than continued to accept her parents’ excuses of calling the abuse “tough love” since she’s emancipated herself and essentially cut contact with them, there’s nothing that could break that could be important enough for Amity to force herself to interact with her father again. She’d exhaust every other possibility to fix whatever it is, but she wouldn’t over her dead body go back to her abuser to ask for help, especially not because as a neglecting parent, Alador is specifically someone she could never rely on for help.

That’s a behavior she might be at risk of falling into right after cutting contact, but if it’s been years, she’s had a lot of time to put everything she suffered through as a child into a different perspective. She has a healthier environment in Luz and her friends and potentially other mentor figures that aren’t parental, depending on whether for example Lilith is in her life at that point—Eda and Camila probably would be through Luz. She knows which people she can rely on, and which she can’t and doesn’t want to rely on.

From how the ask is worded I’m guessing you didn’t plan for the whole incident to go over very well (even though that’s a little hard to tell without more context), but even so, I’m asking you to please rethink the general concept.

If something is somehow important enough for her to ask her abusers of all people for help, there’s no telling how much she’d let them get away with in regards to how they treat her if she really needs their help that much. She might even have to force herself to walk on eggshells around her abusers, since she can’t risk pissing them off while she needs them. You can probably see how that’s an issue.

If you really want to write a fic about emancipated Amity interacting with her parents, put her in a situation where she is in control, rather than her parents. If it’s Alador and Odalia that need/want something from Amity instead of the other way around, Amity can refuse their request, and even if she doesn’t initially, she can cut them back out of her life at any given point during the story. She doesn’t have to put up with any bad behavior from her parents. The second they overstep a line she drew, she can cut them off again, and the whole thing is over. There’s still dangers to this situation, of course (it’s important to keep in mind that it’s not uncommon for abusers to pretend to be better people for a time, only to fall back into their usual behavior as soon as they have the victim back in their control), but giving Amity control over the situation and hence the means to end it whenever she wants to is an entirely different setup than her going to her parents for help, and essentially giving them back the means to control her.

I highly recommend checking out the story Make My Home Inside Your Heart by @whatisurowlpolicy regarding how to handle adult Amity around her parents, but the main takeaway from me here would be, plain and simple: Do not put an emancipated abuse victim into a situation where she’s forced to rely on her abusers for help.

Edit: I am not saying abuse victims can’t write about their experiences, I’m sorry if that came across that way. Longer explanation in my reblog but essentially just if you write something like this without personal experience, especially as a beginner writer, there’s a high chance you’ll accidentally end up causing more harm than good. This is one of the topics that I firmly believe you shouldn’t be covered at all if it can’t be covered respectfully.

[sarahjkl82-blog]

Sarah! I have a request <3 A meet-cute with Frankie in a supermarket <3 That's it, that's the request

For you @bison-writes

Warning: language and tooth rotting fluff ❤️❤️❤️

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No more being a vampire with the rest of the undead and their missing shadows, patrolling supermarket aisles with aching knees and thoughts of murdering Karen from HR for stealing their last Diet Coke from the shared fridge at work. Nope. Not you. No siree. You are currently at the barrier of a Foo Fighters gig - close enough to be blessed by the sweat of the god that is Dave Grohl. Gliding on the back of your trolley handles, singing along tunelessly to Everlong as you reach for another bag of Italian bistro salad that’ll more than likely go brown in the depths of your salad drawer - but hey, it’s good to pretend you can make grown up choices, right? Maybe for being such a sensible adult, you could treat yourself to a little something with more sugar than sense?

*****

Frankie is tired. So very, very tired.

There are days the tiredness inside comes in both forms, seeping through both the physical and mental - where his body needs to rest yet his mind needs it desperately to move, to help burn the anxiety right out - extinguishing it like a candle flame. Without physical exercise to get his blood pumping or mental exertion to keep him sharp, his mind will keep him up all night long, not allowing him any rest. He once thought his old man weak for falling into alcohol like he did, but, Frankie now gets it. Three years sober from the little twists of white powder - mostly thanks to the large, searching brown eyes of his little girl.

With her arrival imminent from her mom’s tomorrow, he needed to ensure that he had something to offer her with a little more nutritional value than endless bowls of Captain Crunch. He was there with a fixed list of ingredients. Breakfast would be eggs, milk and flour for airy pancakes that he layers with a mountain of blueberries and endless syrup. Lunches needed to be something that could be packed with snackable bits ready for building dens in the forest together but dinners would be taken care of via whatever diner he hit on the way home from their adventures - praying she didn’t fall asleep before he got something solid in her tummy.

As he winds his way through the aisles, he ticks off items from his hastily scribbled list. Hmmm. Dinner. Shit. He hasn’t thought of anything to feed himself tonight so he stands there in front of the half-emptied fridge stacked with microwaveable meals for one, wondering which would fill the emptiness inside him tonight. One hand rubs his bleary eyes - trying to get them to focus on something - as the other rubs out a knot in his lower back when a swoosh of wind whips behind him making him snap his head in the direction of your rapidly disappearing presence.

God, when was the last time he scooted on the back of a trolley?

Having left him with a pang of jealousy that he’d only grabbed a basket, he turns back to the food. Previously being utterly uninspired by the corporation’s offerings until your momentary presence, he spots a battered package towards the back of the fridge - hidden behind some fluorescently coloured Mac n Cheese. Hauling out a pack of Singapore noodles, a small smile twitches at the corner of his mouth. You - the supermarket witch, gliding down aisles as if on a broomstick - have blessed him with something he feels a pique of excitement about eating.

That is until tomorrow when he has a reason to cook again when his amor de vida will come to fill his heart with her giggles and cuddles.

*****

The Foos have now turned into the Pixies, with Black Francis and Kim Deal forcing you to bob your head and sway by the loo rolls, instead of moshing in between the fruit juice and milk. Grabbing all the essentials on your way through the shop, out of the corner of your eye, you catch the warmly illuminated display of bakery goods. Ooooh! You’ve been such a good girl with your sensible salads and proteins - you totally deserve something sugary to celebrate reaching the end of your first week teaching at a new school.

Not finding it too hard to convince yourself of how much you definitely need a treat, you kick off from the floor, press your tummy against the handles, gliding back through the supermarket as if you had wings. Just as you close in on the cabinet filled with sticky deliciousness, a tall, broad expanse of a man steps out in front of your trolley, causing you to slam on the emergency brake that is your sneakered foot.

“Holy shit! I am so sorry- I need to grow the fuck up and stop pretending I’m five! Are you ok?” hoiking the headphones from your ears, you question the poor almost victim of your cart as the tinny beats spew forth.

“That was impressive braking,” the man lifts his baseball cap to attempt to flatten the dark, unruly curls by dragging his fingers through the fluffy mess, “Not hurt - and a lot of adults could learn from pretending to be a bit more kid-like.”

“Braking by the baking - shit, I’m sorry, that was terrible,” you inwardly sigh at your awful dad joke as you drink in the details of the deep dimple in his right cheek that has revealed itself as his shoulders and soft tummy shake with laughter at your comment, “I’m sorry- it’s been a week of thirty 5 year olds all demanding me at once so I’m a little excited at the prospect of eating something entirely formed from sugar and fat!”

“Hah! You must be exhausted,” the stranger continues as he fiddles with the edges of his brushed cotton plaid shirt, “I just have one three year old half the week and that is pretty full on. What are you thinking of choosing?”

“Not sure - what would you choose?”

“Can’t go wrong with a doughnut,” he says, furrowing his brow and pouting his lips at the selection on offer.

Sucking in a short breath through your teeth, you nod your head in agreement, “Good thinking, Batman! Mmm, raspberry jam doughnut, it is.”

“Oh you’ve gone down in my estimations.”

“What?” You squeak through the giggles, “I go down in your estimations due to my doughnut preferences rather than the fact I almost ran you over?”

“Yeah,” he shakes his head teasingly, “Always go for the custard filling, never the jelly! I am sorry but ...kinda feel we should part ways now…”

“Ah, that’s a shame - I was just about to buy you an apology doughnut for stealing one of your nine lives this evening,” you bat back at him, your eyebrows arched up by your hairline.

“Apology doughnut? Ah - should be more of those in the world,” the handsome man gravely ponders the concept before concluding, “Well, I may have a solution to this disagreement- how about you get two jelly and I buy two custard and then we can compare over a coffee?”

“Deal. What’s your name, custard doughnut man?”

“Francisco Morales - Frankie,” he offers with his hand shyly outstretched.

“Ok, Frankie - let’s go get that coffee and I can prove just how wrong you are,” you grin with a wink - completely ignoring his palm to place a kiss on his flushed cheek before spinning on your heels to head to the checkout, “I might even let you have a spin on my trolley but watch out for sneak attacks from handsome men, who jump out in front of you.”

[cyokie]

Jack Vessalius as a Symbol for Depression

Ever since I first read PandoraHearts, I have interpreted Jack Vessalius as at least a partial symbolic representation of depression, especially in his relationship with Oz. 

(Skip to “keep reading” to go straight to the analysis; this beginning portion is little more than a disclaimer.)

Jack is a complex, fascinating character, and it is precisely due to this that I believe any number of interpretations regarding him contain merit. Whether you view Jack as an abuser, a manifestation of mental illness, or an extraordinarily-written character that does not require a figurative understanding to be interesting, I think this is valid. 

I am saying this first and foremost because I want to be clear: this is not a persuasive essay. I am not trying to change anybody’s minds about liking or disliking Jack Vessalius, nor am I trying to devalue any other interpretations of this extremely nuanced character. Some points may be a bit vague and connections disjointed, though I attempted to minimize this. Any discussion of mental illness and abuse is based on either my personal experiences or those of people I know. I do not intend to offend anybody. 

This post is simply the product of years of disorganized yet in-depth thoughts about this concept. I hope some of you will be interested.

Major spoilers for the entire manga below the cut. Manga panels are from the Fallen Syndicate fan translation. This...is going to get very long.

Emotional Abuse

Jack exists within Oz’s mind. When these two interact, it almost always occurs within Oz’s head, providing every conversation with an inherently emotional and symbolic element. 

Jack initially appears to Oz as an unknown but crucial figure. Whether he is trustworthy or even harmful remains to be seen, but his input is necessary. He is the only insight Oz has into his lost memories; he knows something Oz does not. Oz is suffering an identity crisis, realizing he has endured something he does not completely understand, something that could potentially change his entire life once he does understand it. And yet, this mysterious voice within his head understands it.  

This desperation makes it almost irrelevant whether Jack is credible, whether his advice is well-intentioned. Normally a rather cynical and distrusting young man, Oz follows Jack from the beginning despite wanting answers. He does indeed receive answers, but they are perhaps not quite what he bargained for, in more ways than one.

Once Jack’s true nature is revealed, the extent to which he has used Oz’s memories and emotions against him becomes apparent. Jack does present Oz with new insights into his experiences, but he only ever provides Oz with enough information to convince him to act a certain way. He never willingly gives a fair, all-encompassing portrayal of an event from Oz’s past. He manipulates Oz’s perceptions of his memories to fit a particular emotional narrative, one that is inevitably perplexing and demeaning to Oz. 

This bears a resemblance to the way depression warps how we view past events. When we look back at our experiences, we don’t see the entire picture--though we are convinced that we may. We see a skewed version of an incident that actually occurred. Perhaps this incident proves little to nothing about ourselves in reality, but viewed through the lens of depression, everything about it seems to scream that we are useless. And it is nearly impossible to try and perceive these events any differently, because when depression overtakes our minds, this perspective appears to be the only one through which it is possible to examine any of our pasts. 

By the time Jack’s intentions have been exposed, he is also explicitly emotionally abusive towards Oz. It is easy to recognize Jack’s statements as not only psychologically damaging, but disturbingly similar to what we hear in our own heads when suffering depression. Think about these assertions without the very literal plot elements that support them: Jack declares Oz less than human, insists that nobody loves him, and claims that he has no future because the only thing he’s good for is hurting those around him. He convinces Oz that he is useless, hopeless, and worthless. 

Jack drills these ideas into Oz’s head when he is at his most vulnerable. This is when Oz breaks down and becomes convinced that all of Jack’s statements are true. He is not who he thought he was; he never has been, and so his life is meaningless. 

This is arguably when Oz reaches his all-time emotional low. While it was already addressed that he had been struggling intensely with his mental health and was probably suicidal, up to this point, he always retained some level of self-preservation (however slight). Now, he silently accepts that the world would be better off without him and offers no physical or emotional resistance to his own execution. Jack’s words worm their way into his heart and corrupt his self-image to the point where his only reaction to Oswald’s sword swinging towards him is a blank, unflinching stare. 

Trauma Response

It’s not uncommon for Jack to manifest during catastrophic moments--that is, whenever a situation triggers (or comes close to triggering) overwhelming memories of Oz’s trauma. When Oz is losing control over his emotional and physical faculties, Jack often encourages him to make the trigger disappear using the quickest and easiest method available. Unsurprisingly, this method generally takes advantage of Oz’s extraordinary powers. In other words, the “tactic” Jack advises Oz to use is simply mindless destruction.

In the second half of the manga, Oz is at his least emotionally stable. It is not a coincidence that this is also the point during which Jack gains the ability to completely hijack Oz’s body. This development allows Jack to commit impulsive acts of aggression through Oz, while Oz himself retains little to no control.

Jack overwhelms Oz with unnecessary flashbacks to traumatic events and makes an excess of harmful connections between past and present circumstances. Oz’s panicked, distressed responses to this are tools he uses to further coax Oz into acting in a self-destructive manner. These tendencies may not only connect Jack to the concept of depression, but the concept of post-traumatic stress disorder as well. 

Identity Crisis

Although Jack is introduced extremely early in the manga, one of the story’s main mysteries is the exact nature of his connection to Oz. This relationship shifts several times, especially with regards to who is “in control” and who is the true “owner” of the physical body. 

Once it becomes public knowledge that Jack is “within” Oz, the identity of the former overcomes the identity of the latter in the eyes of the general populace. Figures who never before gave Oz a second glance begin to pay incredibly close attention to him; many directly address him through his connection to Jack rather than as a separate entity. 

Oz is deeply troubled by the way others ignore him in favor of an aspect of his identity that he feels does not truly represent him--an aspect of his identity that is at least partially out of his control. However, he is also relatively resigned to being judged in this manner. He lacks knowledge of how to change this circumstance because even he does not truly understand the extent to which he and Jack are connected. 

It is true that at this point in the story, Jack is practically worshipped. His destructive actions and devastatingly selfish nature have not yet been exposed. Because of this, Oz as Jack’s “vessel” is typically viewed through a positive lens. Still, this situation reflects how people with depression are sometimes reduced to nothing more than a mental illness by their peers. Because others do not understand (and mental illness is stigmatized), they start to see us as “different” in some indefinable but undeniable way, and our existence becomes that particular part of ourselves in their eyes. 

As time passes, the line between Jack and Oz becomes more and more blurred. Questions are raised about whether they are the same person or, on the contrary, whether they are similar at all. At what is arguably the climax of the manga, Jack declares that Oz’s body is, was, and will always be his possession; he claims that in reality, there is no “Oz,” only “Jack.” 

This thought haunts Oz intensely and sends him into a rapid downward spiral. Like the sentiments expressed near the end of the “emotional abuse” section of this analysis, the idea that Oz’s body belongs to Jack is backed up by rigid, literal plot elements. However, if we view this emotional catastrophe using a symbolic perspective, it is a representation of yet another common struggle endured by those with depression.

We come to ask ourselves who we really are. Was there truly a time when we weren’t “like this?” Could we truly escape this misery in the future? Who would we be if we were to stop feeling this way? Do we even exist without depression? Does Oz even exist without Jack?

Visual Symbolism

It is a classic literary device to represent hope through light and despair through darkness. The manga is rife with this exact type of symbolism, utilizing it to describe how the Abyss has changed throughout time, Break’s dwindling eyesight, and the oscillating emotional states of various characters. 

As I stated previously, Jack and Oz interact almost exclusively within the latter’s mind. The landscape drawn in the background of these conversations initially possesses a watery, clear appearance. However, as it becomes increasingly clear that Jack’s presence is deeply damaging to Oz’s psyche, this same landscape becomes overwhelmingly tainted by dark, ink-like shadows. 

Closer examination reveals that this “pollution” originates directly from Jack--and it reaches its peak once Jack’s intentions have been fully disclosed. Not only is Oz’s mind visibly corrupted by darkness, but Jack himself appears as an almost inhuman figure composed of these shadows. 

There is another level of visual symbolism as well--namely, the fact that Jack becomes increasingly physically aggressive and disrespectful towards Oz. In the first half of the manga, he primarily speaks to Oz from a distance, occasionally reaching out a hand in his direction. This is clearly not so in the second half of the manga, at which point Oz begins to defy his influence and it becomes vital that he subjugate him as quickly as possible.

By this time, Jack is almost always seen either restraining or caressing Oz. Even in the latter situation, when his touches are lingering and vaguely affectionate, they are possessive and constraining. In other words, though they appear different on the surface, both actions are ultimately methods of forcing Oz’s submission. It can be said that this represents his desire to gain complete control over all aspects of Oz’s being, as well as his total lack of respect for Oz’s physical and emotional autonomy.

It can be argued that both of these aspects of symbolism reach their pinnacle even before this point. Oz realizes his own worth when Oscar says he loves him and reveals that his greatest desire is for him to be happy. When Oz is at last able to grasp that he is loved and there is hope within his life, Jack immediately reaches out to grab him. And in one of the manga’s subtlest but most poignant moments, his hand crumbles to dust upon touching Oz. 

What follows is an extremely impactful display of Oz’s character development. He recalls Jack’s previous statements declaring his achievements worthless, denouncing the love he received from others as fake, and degrading his worth. Then he furiously rejects all of them, thrusting out a hand to push Jack away from him and consuming Jack in an explosion of light. 

The conclusion to be drawn from this is that Jack essentially lives off Oz’s misery. When Oz understands and is able to accept that he is not worthless, Jack is suddenly rendered utterly powerless. 

The manga culminates in a scene that coincides with this symbolism. This late into the story, Oz has succeeded in transcending Jack’s influence almost entirely, but Jack is not quite ready to let go. Though they stand together within a void, glimmers of light linger around Oz--despite everything, his life has come to be surrounded by hope and love. 

As Oz floats towards the path of light above, Jack reaches out and takes hold of his wrist. But his grip is feeble and hesitant, representing how little control he truly holds over Oz at this point. Perhaps attempting to provoke guilt or regret, Jack asks Oz if he is certain that he is prepared to move on without him, but Oz has grown too much to succumb to this manipulation. 

Without delay, Oz replies that there is no reason for him to stay, and Jack finally releases him. He escapes into the light--into a world full of people who care about him, into a life where he is happy to be alive. 

[ohheyitsokay]

Oooooooooo I'm excited! I love a good soulmate AU and I love your writing!!! Here's what I'm feeling - choose your own adventure.

-The first time you touch your soulmate, you have to relive both the best and worst day of their life with Ezra

-Soulmates are rare/special with Ezra

-Marcus Moreno and sharing a heartbeat

❤❤❤❤❤

V, absolute light of my life, you're really going to give me 3 great ideas and expect me to choose just 1? Cruel

Thank you, really, and I hope you enjoy!! (And thank you for your patience!)

wordcount: 1.4k

warnings: mentions of trauma and violence (Ezra's arm, it's a rough life okay?), a little yearning, mostly massive quantities of fluff.

>>

Once, when he was on one of the more populated planets, Erza had seen an ad for a game wealthy children played on their monitors. There was a flash of a scene where he could see a man-like creature displaying tools and resources and gems for the hero, and he'd been dumbfounded. When he had expressed his bewilderment to his companion at the time, they had been mockingly amused. They told him that it was a side character’s job to bend down and peddle away the best of their lives to the hero for cheap return, to further the good of a greater, more interesting life.

Ezra had scoffed and scowled and swallowed hard before pushing the concept to the back of his mind. Because in truth, when he was young, he had always fancied himself the hero of his story, one of the few adventurers who still saw beauty and excitement in the gathering and the travel. His upbringing was mediocre at best, but he knew he was skilled on a number of fronts, and that alone should have set him up for grandness. Maybe his sense of justice was balanced out by his need of survival, but with his flare for drama, he hoped at least he would be one of the few the universe would bless with a soulmate. It just felt right, like a bird singing from the a branch at the top of a tree or a flower that bloomed without puffing poison into the atmosphere - beautiful.

He would dream of who you would be, how you’d find each other and he spent extra hours prospecting, hoping to save up to give you the life you'd surely deserve.

That was years ago.

He wasn’t sure at which point he became a side character in his own life, but it certainly happened at some point. Exciting things in his life always seemed to be more on the unfortunate end of the spectrum, rather than the heroic and fantastical. Cee was a main character, he thought, she certainly had as much adventure as he did, the little spitfire, and still had both arms and her youth, to boot. But him? Ezra? Not so much.

Maybe he could've been content with it, happy to live and even thrive, at times, if it weren’t for you.

Because stars, moon, and heavens above, you were beautiful.

The first time he'd seen you his mind had only supplied a single word: enchanting. Which was strange because he could barely see your form through the lumpy suit you wore, and the glass over your head was smudged with mud. Actually, all of you was smudged with mud. And you were pointing a thrower at his head.

But still, you were enchanting.

Ezra could help himself - he told you so, wondering if it would be his last gift before you took your shot. He thanked the stars Cee was off on her next chapter, because your clear, beautiful eyes might be the last thing he ever saw.

Instead, you had laughed, and his heart sung. Old books described the laugh of heroines like bells or music but yours was hearty and rich and genuine and it made him want to whisk you away to a safe, dreamy planet. Your thrower lowered and beyond all his reasoning you decided to trust him.

Traveling with you was like a dream. Plenty of things went wrong, as they always did, but you worked well together, playing off each other like you actually cared about him, which was new. And you let him talk, more often than not, and would even talk with him, sharing stories of your own and stringing words together in ways he'd never thought of. He adored it, adored you, and made it his mission to stay by you as long as you’d let him. It wasn’t an easy task, especially on so hostile a planet, but quite worth the effort.

The sound of you alone could keep him going for days, the tilt of your smile when he'd been particularly clever at least a few weeks. Ezra liked your brain, the thoughtfulness of your conversation, and the way your mouth formed the words he so cherished. Maybe the universe didn’t give him a soulmate, and maybe he couldn’t really do heroic things for you, but when your eyes were on him, did he want to.

So his personal mission became being the most outstanding partner you’d ever had, like a knight slaying dragons, he wanted to show you he was worthy of your hand. It was crucial to make his intentions clear - it wasn't about confidence or carnal needs, although both were present, he wanted you to know how seriously he considered the gift of you in his once work-a-day life. This was achieved, or at least attempted through filling the lulls with declarations of your beauty. What more romantic way to show you how magical he thought you were, than to compare the hue of your cheeks to foliage and the depths of your eyes to precious gems?

He didn't mind that you called him a liar, at first, he was used to that. But when he filed through the piles of poems in his brain to pick the ones he thought fit you, he didn't like that you brushed them aside. It made him worry, initially that you weren't impressed by him, and then frightened that you actually didn't see how ethereal you were.

When you explained, that it was hard to see when you were decked head to toe in the blandest, most frumpy survival gear, he thought he understood, though he still didn't like it. The conversation did provide a wonderful opportunity for him to press close to you, and tell you sometime he'd just have to see you without it, and enjoy the flush on your face. But it bothered him that you wouldn't just let him adore you.

The mission evolved, which was more work than he'd expected. It was hard, to slow himself down, to keep himself in the balancing act between ‘clearly interested’ and ‘respectfully trustworthy’. Less flowery language, more heartfelt explanations. More acceptance of your expertise, less showing off.

And it paid off, when you finally, finally allowed him to enter your pod, bashful and excited, and allowed him to enter your story, for real.

He all but begged you to help him take off his suit first, so he could behold your unfiltered form, and you obliged, laughing a little at his logic.

When you sloughed off your outer layer for the first time in his presence, he thought he would soak in your form with his eyes for hours. Instead, his body moved of it's own accord, his heart singing again as you reached for him as well. Ezra's hand found your cheek, touching you at long last, and for a moment, he thought he had died.

But no, he was seeing your first day prospecting, feeling your despair as you gasped for breath with a broken filter, and his hand clung to yours, confused, but wanting desperately to save you. The universe was sharing something of yours, with him, and it was strange - overwhelming. Then he was reliving the day Cee cut of his arm and as he turned his head away from the pain, he saw you next to him, tears in your beautiful eyes. You were experiencing his worst, day, as well, and he understood that such a jarringly beautiful phenomena could only mean one thing. 

In the present moment, his forehead was pressed against yours, his arm wrapping around your head, holding you to him. Your hands were gripping his wrist, and clinging to his shirt and you were whispering that he was your soulmate and that you knew it. Ezra’s mind was reeling, grasping for his words to respond to you, desperate to tell you more than just yes, yes you were soulmates. Of course you were. He didn't find them, but the universe provided another gift.

The best day of your lives was the same moment, seeing each other caked in mud as you pointed your thrower at him. Eyes holding each others, abruptly, blissfully in love.

Ezra saw in that moment that he was wrong. The best of his life was coming, now, and he need not peddle it away. You were sharing with him a greater and more interesting life.

<<

taglist:

@fangirl-316 @scribbledghost @writeforfandoms @princess76179  @mrsbentallmadge

[ererokii]

Is there Time? || Eren Jaeger

Eren Jaeger x Fem! Reader

Warnings: contains spoilers from manga, tw: death, fluff, angst, blood, 

Word Count: 11,422

Synopsis: I may have changed it just a bit but the concept is still there! Italics mean flashback

Taglist (message to be added): @shoutosteakettle @kingtamakimurder @pixxiesdust @sacro---sainte @miinaashido @z-iridest @freckledoriya @tspice283​

Tears of pain streamed down your face–the blood, sweat, and dirt sticking on your skin like glue. The atmosphere was thick and the air in your lungs was scarce as you tried your best to move through the debris. The smell of smoke carried throughout the air as screams of terror from innocent men, women, and children traveled through the once peaceful district.

The ground beneath you shook that made the core of the earth tremble in fear. Each step from the monstrous creatures made a spark of fear ignite inside of you. Fighting the creatures that kept you caged years ago was nothing compared to the trepidation you felt. Nausea formed in the pit of your stomach until you could feel the burning sensation eating away at the back of your throat. Despite knowing the area like the back of your hand, you had no idea where you should be  going. Your eyes constantly flickered through the fumes to find any escape route. 

After the transformations of the new abnormals and Commander Pyxis's death, you were forced to transport yourself to the dock by foot, on the lookout for any injured civilians trying to find shelter, just like you. Keith Shadis, your instructor from your years in training, helped you and the rest of the Levi Squad fend off the creatures. 

Seagulls let out their cries as they flocked towards the dock, each soaring away from the mess and the horizon. You refused to look behind you. A sigh of relief left your lips as the boat came into view. Finally, your shelter was near.

As you ran up the steps to reach the dock, familiar figures caught your eye as you gasped, waving your arm. “Jean!!”

The man who now had longer hair turned around in shock, his eyes widening at your form. “Y/N!”

A small sob wracked your body as you collapsed into his arms, finally giving up its last will to fight. His arms tightened around your weakened form as he held you close. Your frail body trembled in his grasp as your fingers curled against his once white shirt that was ripped in places, covered in the red substance of his blood and dirt from the chaos. You wheezed into his arms as you wracked your lungs for clear air to intake. 

“H-He—”

Jean shushed you as he pushed your head into his chest as he held you close, closing his eyes as he heard your sobs of agony. He was in the dark just as much as you were. Even his comrades were clueless. Here they were, awaiting the departure of their ship as enormous creatures started their slow march to Paradis, their leader standing behind them with the cages of its ribs digging into the ground, resembling the structure of a dinosaur. This form sent him high above the air. Standing at 60 meters tall, this creature was superior to everyone else. The nape of its neck was all bone. Straight hair was covering the face of the holder, their head facing down. Steam emitted from the openings of bones, the fumes carrying through the air. 

“What are we going to do, Jean?” you whispered, pulling away from his vice-like grip as you stared up at him, your lashes wet with your tears. “What about Eren?”

“I—” he choked up as he kept his eyes trained on the creatures in the far distance. He couldn’t answer you. He couldn’t lie either. Lying would give you false hope, and that was something he did not want to do. Honesty was one of Jean’s best qualities, and he knew that as well as you did. “— I don’t know what we’re going to do,” he whispered, looking down at you, the strands of his hair flowing in the hot air. “I don’t even know who Eren is anymore…”

You grew quiet as you dug your nails into the center of your palm, applying as much pressure as you could. The amount of pain you physically felt couldn’t compete with the pain that strangled your heart. You oh so desperately wanted to see the vast amounts of blue in his eyes, the small sparkle they had whenever he was looking at you. The way his lips quirked up when he laughed at your dumb jokes. His calloused hand with ridges and calluses that managed to fit against yours perfectly. 

A hand placed on your shoulder kicked you out of your thoughts. A small hand gripped your muscle as a little sigh left your lips. “Y/N,” Mikasa started as she looked at you, her black orbs staring intently into yours. “We have to keep moving. If we stay here any longer, we’ll get crushed.”

You gulped as you saw Annie, Armin, Connie, and Jean, waiting for you and Mikasa to join aboard. “You have to trust Eren. After all, you love him, don’t you? So trust him,” she demanded, letting go of you as she placed a hand on your back, shoving you forward. “Don’t look back anymore. Only forward, Y/N.”

And she was right.

As everyone got settled on the ship, you walked over to the far end of the vessel. Your hands rested on the railing, fingers curling around the steel handling. Your eyelids fluttered shut as you tried your best to calm the frantic beating of your heart, inhaling as much air as you could before exhaling the stress. The smell of the saltwater filled you with a sense of uncertainty and fear. Your face felt clammy with your sweat and dried up blood stuck on your skin like glue. You desperately wanted to sleep and forget about the moments leading up to this hell hole. 

A tear or two trailed down the side of your face, tracing the underline of your jaw before letting go of its hold and dripping onto your hand. 

You longed to smile. You longed for laughter to erupt from the depths of your throat as you felt the wind carry through your hair, shivers running down your back. You longed to feel happy again. You longed for him.

Eren. 

☽✧ ✦ ✧☾

It seemed like just yesterday you were admitted into the safety of Wall Rose, the only shelter you could obtain after the vicious attack on Wall Maria. You couldn’t find your parents anywhere in the foreign area. You assumed they either got eaten or had no other way to get into Wall Rose on the boats that carried countless of injured civilians. You decided on the latter, not wanting to think of the horrible fate your parents could have gone through. 

You were just a mere, helpless ten year old, wandering the streets of the second wall. As you passed by some of the garrison soldiers, they muttered to themselves and called you a street rat. Your clothes looked more like worn-out rags, dirt splotches covering the once white material. Your feet felt heavier than you last remembered. You were always dragging your feet now, something your mother never failed to reprimand you of. 

A bed.

What was that again? What did it feel like? Was it as warm as you remembered? Were the blankets still as comforting as they protected you from the harsh winters of hail and snow? Did it feel like your mother’s arms around you? Singing softly to you that everything was going to be okay?

Voices filled your ears as you turned around, noticing the commotion of a boy no older than you, yelling up at the superior officers. Your eyes widened as a hand was lifted in the air and came down to strike the boy across his face, sending him to the floor. Your eyes trained on a blond boy who came running in, standing in front of what you assumed was his friend in a protective stance, his smaller arms opening wide.

Their voices were inaudible to you. You could only see their angry expressions. Their eyebrows caved in, moving their hands as their mouths opened and closed frantically. A crowd of commoners gather by the stands to watch the scene at hand. The blond boy nodded his head eagerly, a forced smile on his round face as his sky blue eyes scanned the older men as they left.

Curiosity took over you as you continued to watch the boys interact. A girl with jet black long hair ran up to them, immediately checking up on the brunette boy. Must be their friend as well. 

You quietly chewed on your bread as the brunette got off the floor, slapping the girl's hand, whose hand was near his head. He looked angry. He had a bruise forming on his left cheek, a small scratch on his forehead as he yelled at them, his little hand clenching into a fist. His turquoise eyes held so much sorrow and defeat. He stopped his yelling as he looked over his shoulder, his eyes locking with your orbs. 

Your eyes widened as your cheeks heated up in embarrassment at being caught. Yet, the boy didn’t seem to break eye contact with you as he panted softly through his mouth, his shoulders heaving with every breath he took. You refused to look away as well, forming what some would have called a staring contest. 

He growled before turning on his heel and made his way away from you. His friends behind him called out his name. You didn’t quite catch what they were saying. It looked like he was stomping with each step he took to get away from the area.

He didn’t look familiar at all. Maybe he was from the other districts? But perhaps you could have seen him before. 

☽✧ ✦ ✧☾

The past two years were the hardest to endure if you had to be honest with yourself. Living on the streets was one thing, but making it without parents? Without your role models, you felt relatively small. Yet, you overcame obstacles and took refuge in a shelter they had for kids just like you. You were hoping to see that boy again, maybe go up to him and become his friend. But after that show, you felt like he had no intention of doing the same with you.

Military sign-ups were yesterday. As soon as the head director told the district you resided in about sign-ups, you were first to enlist. 

You and many other children your age stood in lines, some facing each other, some with their backs turned to others. You stood up straight, keeping your shoulders back as you stared forward. Deep down, you hoped for the instructor to pass by you. 

Luck was on your side as he walked past you. Even his presence was enough to make you cringe in your shoes. His boots hit against the dirt, the small particles crunching underneath his steps.

You could feel yourself grow small when he lifted one boy, headbutted him, and dropped him to the floor. Another boy did the salute wrong and ended up getting his temples rubbed hard with the instructor's knuckles. One girl was brave enough to be eating a potato and even had the audacity and ‘share half’ with him, but kept the more significant piece for herself in reality. She ended up having to run until she passed out.

In front of you was a brunette boy, his hard eyes trained on the spot above your shoulder. Your eyes lit up faintly at the sight of him. The view was quickly disturbed as the instructor stood in front of him.

“...Eren Jaeger!”

Eren, huh? That’s a nice name.

“Shinganshina District!”

Weren’t they hit hardest? Was the rest of his family okay?

“Kill them all!!”

He’s got drive. Kill them all? Sounds almost impossible at this rate. Maybe he’s an optimistic one.

Now you stood outside, in your ordinary clothes of black pants that were a bit too big and a white loose long sleeve with the sleeves scrunched up to your elbows. You watched as the girl continued her laps. ‘Potato Girl’ is what the rest of your class called her, although Sasha Blouse was her actual name. Your elbows touched the worn-out wood of the patio, and you were surprised that you haden’t received any splinters. 

It was hot. Even from under the shade, you could feel the sun beating down on you. Thankfully, training was shortly cut after a few minutes of hand to hand combat. You were paired up with one of the boys, Armin Arlert. He was sweet, almost too precious to be here in the military. He was an easy opponent to go against. You took him out in less than eight minutes. You felt bad for him after. 

“She’s still running, huh?”

You hummed in response as you looked over your shoulder. Your orbs locked with bright water eyes, the boy in front of you looking down at you from his height. He wore an olive green loose fitted shirt, a small dip by his collarbones with strings attached to either side, almost in a cross-stitch fashion. His shirt was tucked into the brown pants that seemed to fit him well with matching color shoes. “Yeah, she still is.”

☽✧ ✦ ✧☾

“Eren Jaeger!”

A proud moment for the said boy. The brunette walked up and stood in line beside his female comrade, Annie Leonhart. Having placed fifth in the top ten of his class was an accomplishment. Not only was he getting closer to fulfill his dreams of becoming a member of the Survey Corps, but he was also getting closer to being outside. To see what the books always stated. The books that Armin made him swear that he wouldn’t tell a soul. 

Was it vast amounts of salt that it was endless? Ice that seemed never to melt? Huge marks of land that grew beneath the earth and wouldn’t move in their lifetime? The greenery, was it as beautiful as the drawings?

He couldn’t help but let those thoughts swarm his mind as he stayed still, not paying attention. His eyes trained on the lit-up torches, their flames dancing with their embers popping off, and the wind immediately blowing them out. Each crack of the orange flames kept his attention away from the graduation at hand.

“Christa Lenz!”

At the name of the petite blonde, Eren blinked in shock. Christa? She made it? Was she the last one? Who else made it? God, he was so invested in his thoughts that he didn’t hear who made it past Jean, who was ranked sixth in the 104th cadet corp.

“These are the top of your class!”

With a turn of their heel, each newly graduated soldiers faced the rest of their class, each letting out a cry in unison as they saluted. His heart was racing. He could burst. A newfound look was glinting in his eyes as the fire’s light reflected off of his orbs. His blood was pumping as he itched to be able to choose his regiment finally. He waited for this moment since his father told him about the people who risk their lives for humanity. 

He was ready.

A face in the crowd caught his attention. He could see a face with a bright smile from the corner of his eye, like a light shined on them and singled them out. He looked over and made eye contact with you. You greeted him. Out of everyone, you chose to look his way. He caught sight of your lips moving before you shot him a thumbs up.

‘I’m proud.’

His lips curled up in a faint smile as he mouthed something back to you, enjoying the way your smile seemed to brighten and the way you looked back down at your feet. He felt his cheeks warm up in the slightest as he felt more relaxed than he was before.

☽✧ ✦ ✧☾

No, no, no, this wasn’t supposed to happen. They were out of the oven and ready to face anything. Titans weren’t supposed to infiltrate Wall Rose. The Colossal Titan shouldn’t have reappeared again. He should have been gone! What was worse was that he shouldn’t even have this type of power. The one thing he despised most in this world, and he was now one of them. 

A monster.

Everyone now targeted him. Everyone now hated him. Everyone wanted him dead. 

“Eren isn’t a monster!”

Why did you defend him? Didn’t you think he was a monster as well?

“He can save us!”

A hero? Is that what you thought about him?

He was shocked by the number of screams and shouts in the courtroom that day. The Garrison wanted nothing to do with him. The Military Police wanted to use his body for science. The Survey Corps wanted to use his newfound ability to take back the land that the Titans took from them.  

Out of all the screams there, yours was the only one he could hear. Your tearful expression gave him a pain he didn’t want ever to feel again. Your fingers curled around the iron railings that separated you from him. Your body racked with each shout of his name, begging for them to let him go. Weren’t you scared of him? He almost killed Mikasa. He could quickly lose control and possibly kill you. Just thinking about that outcome sent shivers down his spine.

In his cell, it was dark and smelled a bit off. The guards watching him didn’t spare him another glance, making snide comments about him. No matter how many times Eren begged, they refused to listen.

The sound of footsteps caught his attention as the voice of a female filled his ears.

“I’m here on visit! Captain Levi and Squad Leader Hanji permitted me too!”

Y/N? You came to visit him?

“Why would you visit him, huh?”

“Because I want to, sir! So please, if you excuse us!”

He could hear the faint sounds of curse words from his cell and the shoes' soles hitting the damp floor as their footsteps decreased in noise. 

He was still confused deep down. Why did you come?

“Eren?”

“Y-Y/N.”

You walked closer to his cell, the flames of the torches illuminating your way as your face shone through the darkness, your smile never faltering. 

“Why did you come..?”

“I wanted to visit you, Eren. Especially after the trial,” you whispered and wrapped your fingers around the iron bars. “Mikasa and Armin are worried sick about you. But I wanted to come and see you myself. Luckily I got permission from our superiors.”

Eren gaped at you. His mouth parted as the insides felt incredibly dry all of a sudden. He moved his hand and felt a weight resting on his wrists. The chains' heavy metal kept him restrained, keeping him from doing something that could get him killed. 

“Why would you want to see a monster like me?” he growled and leaned forward, gritting his teeth to the point where there was a small ache in his gums. 

“A monster?” you whispered, your eyes glazing with confusion. “Is that what you think of yourself as?”

There was a moment of silence before you continued. “I don’t think you’re a monster, Eren. You’re far from a monster. That’s out of the question. You saved us in Trost! A monster could never do that!”

“Yeah, but—”

“No,” you interrupted, shaking your head. “A monster kills and creates fear in others. I’m not scared of you. You don’t scare me. You give me hope, Eren. You’re our savior, or at least my savior.”

Eren could feel his heart flutter at your statement. Is that what you thought of him? As your savior? Was that too much to consider? No. It wasn’t.

He licked his lower lip and looked up, locking eyes with your own. He could feel a new set of tears form slowly as he blinked away quickly. He opened his mouth, speaking with determination and courage. “Y/N, I'll be your savior.“

☽✧ ✦ ✧☾

These were the days Eren enjoyed the most. The times where he was finally let out of his cell and able to wander around, of course, with an officer or a comrade with him. 

As soon as he stepped out into the outside, he immediately let out a sigh of relief as the fresh air filled his lungs. A pleased hum rumbled in his chest as he opened his eyes. As he waited by the doors, he watched the leaves of the tree sway in the breeze. It brought a small smile to his face, knowing that he was still alive. 

Today, Eren had some plans. He wanted to lounge around in the grass as he stared up at the sky, and wanted to go into the districts. He was more cautious about the latter, not wanting anyone to yell at him for any past actions or the fact he was a Titan. 

“Eren!”

He looked over his shoulder and smiled, waving slightly. “Hey! Are you coming with me?”

With a skip to your step, you nodded as you approached him. “That I am! Captain Levi thought it would be good to let me come instead of someone else! Or him, I should say, but he said he had business to take care of with Commander Erwin!”

“Oh? I wonder what it is. Must be something important.”

You hummed in response as you started to walk with him. “What did you want to do?”

He looked down at you before training his eyes back forward. “Just want to enjoy the day.”

And that he did. 

The trip to the districts deep in Wall Rose went well, minus the small groups of people calling him out and saying he was a monster. That part wasn’t fun. Who knew you knew how to cuss someone out. 

You guys didn’t buy much, only the things that would help get you through the day. Some small snacks that Eren remembered eating as a child. It brought some memories to him, something he thought he had forgotten as the years went by. 

On the other hand, you talked for most of the trip, not that he was complaining, of course. He loved to hear you talk. If anything, he would rather hear your voice the rest of his life than his other comrades. Your voice soothed him. Like you were the medicine to heal his aching wounds that needed to be fixed. 

You both lay quietly in an open field of grass, the Survey Corps headquarters in view. Your fingers picked at the soft blades of green, mindlessly running through the patches of dirt. 

You quietly stared up at the sky, humming softly. Eren matched your position as he quietly listened to the humming you produced. Both of you had taken your shoes off, your feet sore from the walking you did through town today. He wiggled his toes in the tall blades, letting out a sigh of content.

Eren took a glance at you before looking back up at the sky then did a double-take. Your eyes were closed, eyelashes resting against the upper swell of your cheeks. Your chest shifted up and down slowly, your hands resting by your sides. The rays of the sunlight shone against your complexion, your hair sprawled underneath your head in a way that made you look ethereal. An angel. An angel in this hell. 

He preferred seeing you like this instead of covered in blood and tears. Your black long sleeved shirt hugged your curves. Your light brown ankle-length skirt somehow brought out an angelic yet simplistic look on you. Eren felt his cheeks heat up as he scooted over slowly, his hand brushing against yours.

You opened your eyes, making eye contact with his orbs. Your neck heated up, the warmth radiating to your face. Oh, he was so close. 

Small puffs of air exerted from your lips as you glanced at his lips before looking into his eyes.

Eren gulped lowly before slowly leaning in. You mimicked his movement as your lips met in a sweet kiss, both of your eyes closed, ignoring the rest of the world as you only focused on the person beside you. You laced your fingers with his, feeling his calloused palm rub against yours. 

☽✧ ✦ ✧☾

The 57th expedition was a disaster. Too many casualties, too many to be counted, and too many unnamed soldiers. 

The Survey Corps were dealing with so much already. Not only was the mission a failure, the Military Police was requesting Eren’s presence. For what? To dissect him and experiment on his titan capabilities. 

Even during the escort by Annie, his friends, including you, were there. Commander Erwin Smith came up with the conclusion that the identity of the female titan was none other than Annie Leonhart. Of course, Eren was in utter shock. How could someone he has known for three years be the ultimate traitor? It just didn’t make sense. 

And as always, the Commander’s suspicions were correct. In the flesh, the female titan appeared, and Eren had no choice but to stay behind as you and Mikasa tried pursuing her. With the help of Jean and Armin, he was able to transform fully. 

He still couldn’t come to terms with it. Here she was, a full-blown murderer standing in front of him. He had no choice but to defeat her right now. As always, Eren doubted his abilities until he froze, noticing you on the floor, passed out as Jean quickly lifted you. That’s where he lost it. Streaks of orange covered his body as he let red hot anger take over his senses. 

That was the last thing he remembered before he fluttered his eyes open, his brown tresses swaying slightly from the open-air that flowed in from the window. His turquoise eyes studied the ceiling before he slowly turned his head to the side, noticing your figure standing by the opening. 

“Y/N?”

At the sound of his voice, he watched you whip your head around as a sigh of relief exerted from your lips. “You’re awake, thank goodness.” A small, sad smile graces your features as you walk over to him, bandages reaching from your shoulder to your forearm. Eren took notice as his lips turned down, sitting up from his previous position. 

“You’re hurt.”

“Yeah.” You averted your eyes and sat by the foot of his bed. “It’s okay, though. I’m fine. What about you? How are you feeling?”

“I’m…” he trailed off and brought a hand to his bronze cup, curling his fingers around the metal, grunting softly. “I’m fine. Where is everyone else?”

You reached for his hand, lacing your fingers with his as you squeezed gently. “Mikasa was just here. Armin and Jean got called in before her.”

“What do they need you for?”

“I don’t know.” You sighed softly, brushing his hair out of his face. “I haven’t got called in yet. I’m not sure if I will.” 

“That was her..? What happened?”

You stayed silent as you looked down at your lap. “She’s frozen.”

“Frozen? What do you mean?”

“She’s in a crystal. We can’t break through, no matter how hard we try. She’s underground. Hanji is there right now with Captain Levi.”

“She got away?”

“...yes.”

☽✧ ✦ ✧☾

Traitors. Enemies of humanity. Murders. Warriors.

His friends in training, his comrades, his motivators.

They were not who they said they were.

Reiner and Bertolt, the Armored and Colossal Titan. 

It happened way too fast. The Beast titan came running in and destroying Wall Rose. His friends getting stuck at Utgard Castle with all the superior officers dead. Ymir was their only source of protection as she used her titan capabilities that no one knew about, not even Christa. With the help of the Survey Corp, everyone was able to reach safety.

Or so they thought. 

Eren thought Reiner wanted to have a simple conversation with him.

“I’m the Armored Titan. Bertolt here is the Colossal.”

What kind of sick joke was that?

Eren tried laughing it off but felt sick to his stomach. Something was telling him that he was dead serious. “Come on, cut the crap. That’s not even funny. Let’s just get back.”

There was yelling on Reiner’s end as he removed his makeshift cast, dropping it on the wall. Bertolt yelled for his blonde friend to stop, asking if it was the right time now. Mikasa charged at them as she slashed Reiner’s arm and stabbed Bertolt through his neck.

“Mikasa!!” you yelled in anger as you ran towards them with Hanji and Armin on your tail. 

Too quick. In a flash, the two boys Eren thought he knew were in the flesh of their titan forms. Having to fight not only Annie but Reiner as well was making Eren doubt those around him. How many other traitors were there? Were you one?

No. You weren’t. Eren trusted you with his life. He trusted your word no matter what.

Their former comrades kidnapped Ymir and Eren. Getting them back would have to be the most challenging mission you will have to accomplish. 

It was brutal fighting against Reiner. He was throwing titans everywhere, with Bertolt clinging onto him with dear life. Mikasa was with Eren. She was injured but would be alright. A sudden strike of lightning sent all of the Titans in the direction of the one that ate Hannes. It was like a change of time, a shift of reality as the two managed to escape from the hell they had to witness, once again. 

As everyone gathered up on the wall, you rushed towards Eren, tears welling up in your eyes. “Eren!”

The brunette boy turns around as his eyes soften, bracing for impact as your body collides with his. His arms wrap around your shaking body, burying his head in the crook of your neck. Small sobs escaped your lips as you tried quieting yourself down. “I’m not leaving you, Y/N,” Eren whispers into your ear, placing a gentle kiss on the crown of your head. 

You still didn’t lose any hope. You were an angel in this world, always giving him the reassurance he needed. 

☽✧ ✦ ✧☾

Every time Eren closed his eyes, he relived life through his father’s view. He could hear the screams and shouts as he begged the royal family to end this nightmare. 

Frieda, the rightful owner of the Founding Titan, went against Grisha, Eren’s father. He could see the blood splattering against the crystal walls. He could feel the bodies smashing against his hands. Each ghost-like touch sent shivers down his spine. 

“Stop this!! Why won’t you?!”

Eren’s eyes fluttered open, his orbs adjusting to the brightness of the sun. Where was he?

A hand running through his hair broke him out of his train of thought. Finger pads rubbed his scalp softly, a humming melody filling his ears. “You’re awake.”

“Huh?” He looked up at you, bringing a hand up to his eyes and rubbed them softly, wiping off the remnants of sleep. “How long was I out for?”

“Maybe an hour or so,” you replied, flipping the next page in your book as you took in every word the paper had to offer. “You look...very tired, though.”

“I feel drained,” Eren confessed as he relished the way your fingers soothe him. “It’s hard for me to get complete rest without seeing them.”

“Them?” you asked, puzzled by his word choice. “Who are they?”

“The royal family,” he muttered and closed his eyes only to reopen them once more. “How my dad murdered them only for power. They wouldn’t listen to him. He kept saying they should stop this, that they could end it.”

“What else happened?”

“They refused. The girl...Frieda was her name, I think. She was Historia’s half-sister. She fought my dad instead of fixing anything, and in return, he ate her. Then later that day, he came by and picked me up, taking me to a forest. He told me I could end it, saying I have to reach the basement. And he injected me with fluid, and I ended up eating him.”

You stayed silent as you listened to him speak. You knew some things went on in Eren’s head, but you weren’t expecting something like this. 

“Do you—“ you paused before continuing, “—wish he didn’t do that?”

“I don’t know,” he whispered, clenching his fists as he stared up in the blue sky, watching birds fly off into freedom. “Things would have been way different if he hadn’t. Trost would have never been repaired.”

“Well...” you trailed off and grabbed his face in your hand, forcing him to face you. “If things weren’t the way they were, everything would be off. Trost would have been different...maybe the situation with Annie would have been different. Reiner and Bertolt..we would have never found out who they were. Be proud of who you are, Eren. Cause, in the end, you’re the only one who can save us,” you whisper, stroking his cheek with the pad of your thumb. “You’re our savior.”

He doesn’t respond, only closes his eyes and feels the feathery touch of your lips brushing against his. He leaned up slightly, wrapping his arm around your waist to bring you close to him, rubbing small circles on your back. Eren could feel your lips tug up somewhat in a small smile as your fingers curled around the material of his olive green shirt.

☽✧ ✦ ✧☾

The Beast Titan arrived with its minion in a line. The Armored Titan and the Colossal Titan were suspected to make an entry somehow. 

Armin was put in charge of finding them. There was an open cavity in the wall as Reiner emerged from the inside, killing the soldier who found him in the process. 

A shrill scream filled the air as Levi made his way down the wall at top speed, stabbing the blond male right through the neck. Reiner’s eyes rolled back before coming back to normal position. 

Smoke covered the area as a shadow came to position. The soldiers drew back as they watched the Armored Titan lying on the floor. 

“Blades ready!!” The commander’s voice rang through the air, each soldier listening to his command. 

This was the mission that they would take back to Wall Maria, where Eren could finally reach the basement in his home, where everything started. 

Two squads were separated. One would be joining Captain Levi to fight against the Beast Titan. The other would be dealing with Reiner and the possible appearance of the Colossal titan. 

“We need a plan!” you yelled over the commotion of Eren fighting against the Armored. “There has to be a way we can defeat Reiner using our thunder spears!” You looked over your shoulder and moved out of the way, a boulder landing where you were just at. 

Before anything could happen, it got worse. A barrel was sent above the air, which only meant one thing. 

“Everyone, get on Eren!” Armin yelled as everyone kept a firm grip on Eren’s long locks as he ran away from the vicinity. 

Eren growled as he hid behind a home, far away from both titans. 

“We still need that plan! Before we know it, he can kill us all right here if he wants too!” Connie cries out, looking over his shoulder constantly at the 60-meter creature of pure flesh. 

Jean took command. You were to run beside Mikasa and get the back of the knees while Connie and Sasha would aim for the corner of his lips, allowing access for you to come up as fast as you could and throw the spear into his mouth that would hit the back of his throat. 

Of course, Eren went head-on and latched himself onto the Colossal’s foot that only sent him flying and collided with the top of the wall, temporarily paralyzing him. 

“I’ll go after Eren! I know a way we can defeat Bertolt! Trust me!” Armin yells, his eyes frantically searching over everyone. “You can do this! Belief in yourself!” And with that, Armin made a detour around both titans and on top of the wall where Eren was currently at. 

It didn’t go as planned. Sasha had missed her target on his lip. Your eyes widened as it began to explode. “Sasha!” you yelled, pushing her out of harm’s way. 

A cry of pain emitted from your lips as the explosions caught half of your body. You already knew burns would take its place as your figure shot backward, colliding with a house and fell. A crack was heard underneath as your leg was bent in a way it shouldn’t have. 

Eren was stuck. He couldn’t move his body no matter how hard he tried. His eyes were open as he groaned inside the body's heat, desperately trying to move an arm or anything. He had to move. 

He probably looked pathetic. A pathetic excuse of a savior for those around him. He couldn’t even control the limp body. He could feel his eyes roll back into his skull. What were you doing? Were you safe? Were you disappointed? 

He missed you already. He missed your bright smile that could make him feel better in an instant. 

He hated them. He hates them. Traitors. He wished they weren’t real. Because of them, his mother was dead, his father as well. If only they hadn’t come and destroyed everything, maybe everything would be better. 

“Eren!”

Armin? He came? How did he make it past Reiner and Bertolt?

“I know a way we can defeat Bertolt! But you have to trust me!”

Trust was a big word. But Eren trusted him. He trusted Armin’s every word. 

If only he knew the actual outcome, he would have never agreed to this. Here Eren was, in front of the hole of Wall Maria as he sealed it, concentrating at the task at hand while Armin was being burned alive on his own free will.

Why would he sacrifice himself like that? Didn’t he want to see the outside? 

Course he did. Armin was a genius. He knew what he had to do to take both traitors down. 

It seemed to happen in slow motion but happened so quickly. Eren was able to harden up and shield a barrier in Wall Maria and sliced Bertolt out of the nape. 

A man with blonde hair and a beard was tied up to what seemed like a new breed of a titan. His arms were chopped off as steam emitted from his wounds. Was this the Beast Titan?

“You’re a victim of your father.”

Dad? No. Who was he? He didn’t know this man at all. How did he know about his dad? Were they old friends from years ago? Was he a coworker? 

None of that mattered. 

The fight over the serum was the biggest thing that day. Eren yelled and got in his captain’s face, begging for him to pick Armin instead of the commander. Levi had no choice but to kick him out of his way, which caused Mikasa to attack and almost kill him. 

Levi was right. They were letting their emotions get the best of them. He knew his decision off the bat.

From afar, the scouts could hear Bertolt’s screams at the top of his lungs, begging for another chance, begging for the trust that he had lost. 

Now that everything seemed to be okay, the soldiers were resting on top of the wall, each checking up on their injuries or catching up with a friend. 

You laid limply as your eyes were shut, burn marks, and bruises forming on your face's right side. Your leg wasn’t properly put back in place, but Hanji moved it into a correct position while you were unconscious, even if broken. A green cape was draped over your chest. Your once white pants were littered with your blood and debris. 

You’ve been unconscious for a while now, and you didn’t show any signs of waking up soon, but your chest's steady movement brought relief to your comrades. 

Eren was beside you, his hand holding your left hand as he squeezed gently, watching any expressions you could make. A bandage covered your head that reached below your ear. How could this happen? You were safe one minute and then injured the next. He was supposed to protect you. He was supposed to be your hero. Your savior. 

Armin had woken up slowly as his friends bombarded him, Levi standing behind the both of them. The shorter male forced the brunette to tell him what happened. When he wasn’t pleased, he kicked Eren in his back, enough to hurt him. 

“I said everything, you brat.”

“You guys talk...loud…” You groaned in pain, moving your head as your eyes fluttered open, adjusting to the blue sky above you. Eren gasped as he quickly crawled over to you, not that far to begin with. 

“You’re awake!”

“Please, Eren, don’t scream so loud,” you whisper, a small smile curling at your lips. “But yeah, I’m awake.”

Eren teared up as he grabbed your hand, bringing it to his chest. “I thought I lost you.”

“Come on, don’t be silly. You can’t get rid of me that easily.”

He looked away as he felt the warmth of your hand radiating into his enclosed one. All of his worries could be forgotten now. You were still here, breathing in front of him. You were alive. You weren’t dead. 

“We still have to go to the basement, Eren,” Mikasa reminded him, placing a hand on his shoulder. The brunette shook his head stubbornly.

“I can’t. Not without Y/N.”

Mikasa opened her mouth but then closed, glancing over to her superior, who was unamused. All of this work, just for him to say no. 

“Listen, Jaeger. We have to go whether you like it or not. We came all this way for that basement. We are going.”

“B-But Captain—“

“Eren,” you whispered, and weakly lifted a hand, cradling the side of his face in a gentle hold. It took all of your might to lift a limb. “Go.”

“I can’t go without y—“

“Go, Eren. You have to. This was what everything was for, right?” you said softly, squeezing his cheek gently. “I’ll be here waiting for you. When you get back, you can tell me everything.” 

☽✧ ✦ ✧☾

Fall turned to Winter. Winter turned to Spring. The snow melted off the ground as a new season of life began. Citizens were now allowed to move back into Wall Maria, the titans eradicated during the harsh winters. With the help of Eren’s hardening skills, they could make a gadget that allows them to smash a titan’s nape open without losing any more soldiers. 

A year from where they were, the Scouts ventured off into the open area once more, a sense of relief flooding each of them, as no titans were in sight except for one. 

Eren placed his hand on it. His comrades were wary of his actions.

“This one was sent to Paradis. This means it’s a fellow patriot,” he whispered, as his longer hair swayed in the wind. He pulled away from the creature as he walked back to his horse. “We should be getting closer now.”

Red hot sand floated into the air as the horses ran across, itching to reach their destination. You were beside Eren. Your injuries healed miraculously;  the only reminder was a slash across your right cheek. There was a small frown on your lips as you kept your eyes forward. 

Sometimes he wondered how you were still here. Not in that way, but by his side after all this time. Was he indeed the savior you thought of him as?

“This is it,” Eren whispered as they rode past a grey cement wall, at least 25 meters high. “I remember this from my old man’s memories. On the other side, that should be it.”

As in his father’s memories, it was true. The horses slowed to a stop at the sand base, each soldier in awe as they stared at the waters. 

Bluer than the sky, the ocean rippled as waves crashed against the shore. The sun’s rays reflected off of the waters as the smell of salt filled their noses. This was it. This was the moment. 

Your eyes widened with shock, your mouth utterly open as you stared in wonder. You lost the ability to speak. The air felt weird; you weren’t used to being in the open like this. You felt like a baby deer, being let out into the wild for the first time without its mother. 

A choked noise left your throat as you looked over at Eren, who didn’t look amused at all. He was frowning, his eyebrows furrowed as he stared ahead. To you, it didn’t look like he was happy. 

It was like every soldier suddenly turned to little kids. Sasha, Connie, and Jean immediately ran into the water, boots off and pants rolled up to their knees. The trio splashed water into each other’s eyes, pushing each other and even drinking it, to which Jean yelled out about how salty it was. 

You let out a shriek as you jumped up, the cold waters hitting your shins. The feeling of it splattering on you was something you didn’t expect. You let out a laugh as you kicked at the water, throwing your arms up in happiness. 

You remember the endless nights where Eren would recall random memories from his father. You still couldn’t get the thought of a delicious cold treat called ice cream out of your head. Just the way he described it made you crave it. 

This one was the most significant memory Eren had ever told you. Vast amounts of sea creatures living in the salty oceans, trinkets, and jewels buried deep in the depths of darkness. The dullness on his voice whenever he spoke broke your heart. Where was the loud boy you knew three years ago?

“Y/N! Look!” Armin called out as he ran over to you, holding something in his enclosed hands. “I found a shell! Not just any! A conch!”

“Ooo.” You looked over as his hands opened, revealing a blue china like shell, the ridges at the top shining with the soft light of the sun beating down on everyone. “That’s pretty! Have you shown Eren yet?”

“I haven’t! Hey Eren! Look!” he yelled as he followed you to where your boyfriend was at. He stood there, unfazed as the water crashed against his shins in slow waves. His long-sleeve was rolled up to his elbows, his neck craned as he stared at the sky. The cries of the seagulls flying up above started to make Eren grow anxious. 

He despised them. He hated how they could grow a pair of wings and fly free from any worries that humans have. They had their freedoms; Eren didn’t. The brunette shifter took a step forward, kicking the water as he stopped moving, lowering his head as his bangs covered his eyes.

“Eren?” you asked softly as you placed a hand on his shoulder, immediately recoiling as you felt how tense he was. “What’s wrong? Aren’t you happy to see the ocean?”

“Yeah,” he whispered as he looked ahead yet again, his turquoise eyes looking over the horizon as if he was searching for something. “Just on the other side...”

“What did you say?” you ask, taking a small step back.

“On the other side...are our real enemies.” He lifted his hand slowly, sticking his index finger out. “If we cross this ocean, and kill our enemies, will we finally be free?”

He couldn���t stop. He had come this far; he had to keep on pushing forward. He knew the outcome. He knew he had to keep on fighting. Eren knew what he had to do, the mission. The task his dad told him to do before his son ate him. Deep down, he knew it wouldn’t end well. But if it meant freedom for you and his friends, he would do it. 

☽✧ ✦ ✧☾

Eren’s demeanor changed drastically as he witnessed his friend enjoying the outside world firsthand. All of them were dressed up in fancy clothing to blend in with the citizens outside Paradis. The Scouts managed to infiltrate Marley with no problems at all. 

Eren watched you from his peripheral vision, a small smile curling on his lips at the reaction of ice cream hitting your lips for the first time. A squeal emitted from your cold mouth as you gasped in excitement, holding the treat to his lips. “You have to try some! It’s so good!!”

“I bet it is,” he hummed as he took his top hat off, placing it against his chest as he leaned against the railings.

“What’s wrong? You don’t seem excited about being here.”

“I’ve seen it all already from my dad’s memories. It’s cool to see it first hand, but the excitement of living the moment is gone.”

You move over beside him, your shoulders touching as you lick the white goodness off the cone, humming softly. “What else do you know about?”

He stayed silent as he listened to the kids' constant cries behind him, parents yelling at them to calm down. “Not much,” There is much. “It’s pretty boring,” It's life or death. “Nothing too big to know about,” It’s big, and it's coming soon. You have to be ready.

You pout as you grab his hand, squeezing it gently, tracing his knuckles with the pad of your thumb, enjoying the ridges of his skin underneath yours. “Sounds pretty boring. Your dad must have been a lame man.”

“Yeah, that’s one way to put it,” he hummed as he wrapped an arm around your waist, bringing you close to his side as his lips pressed gently on your temple.

The meeting didn’t go well. A representative spoke to all of you about Historia, the rightful queen now sitting on the throne. As soon as she was brought up, you noticed Eren stand up and walk out of the meeting. You frown as you watch the door swing shut, Eren’s footsteps retracting as he walks down the hall. 

Eren ventured outside of the place, his veins filling with dread and agony. He hated it. He hated that this place will be covered in red, dirt, and bones in a couple of months. Debris upon debris resting on innocent citizens, the stomping of giant creatures marching across the earth. 

He knew this had to be done. There was no other option. He had to do it. He had to end them. 

He walked with a stern look in his eyes. His hands shoved in the front pocket of his coat. His body had changed over the years. Now he was 19 years old, and his hair reached the top of his shoulder. He’s gotten taller as his shoulders broadened. He was different from who he used to be. He doesn’t have much longer, and everyone knews it. Eren only had four years of life left until he passed on, giving his power to the next successor of the Attack Titan and the Founding Titan. 

He heard adults yelling at children who stole, begging for anyone to stop them. Eren would do it, but stopped himself in mid-motion. He could help them all he wanted now, but he couldn’t help them later. It was useless. In time, they would be nothing but blood and a pile of rotten bodies. 

He walked down the streets of the town, taking in each random detail they had to offer. The houses looked nice for now. The ground was more gravel than cement. He’s not a fan of gravel floors. Stands were put up for random things, which was cool for the owners. He wondered how much time they all have. 

Day turned into night as Eren made his way back to his friends, entering a tent that a family was friendly enough to let them stay for a bit. He found it amusing that they were all able to get along quite well.

He couldn’t remember how it happened. One minute they were all fine, laughing and smiling. Then the next, the conversation fell dark to the point that Eren walked himself out again, a single tear trailing down his face. 

He couldn’t stare at their faces, knowing the outcome. Whenever he stared at the young boy from earlier, he saw dirt. How futile it was to try and help him when the boy was going to die soon.

You too, he couldn’t stand to see your smiling face, unaware of the destruction he was going to cause. Your laugh only tightened the strings around his dull heart. 

“Eren?” you called out, emerging out from the tent. “What happened?”

“Huh?” He lifted a hand and wiped his tears with the pad of his finger. “Nothing. I just wanted to come outside. I needed a break from that.”

“Are you okay? You’ve been acting strange ever since we got here. What’s going on?” You walked over to him, your bare feet hitting the ground as you stopped beside him, grabbing his hand. 

He stayed silent as he stared at the night sky, his eyes reflecting the moon’s light as it brightened your path. Mountains were in the distance. You could make out their silhouette from where you stood. There was a chilly breeze that made goosebumps form on your arm. The trees surrounding the area created a barrier from the outside world, the leaves falling from the branches as they swayed with the swishes of air. Eren let out a puff of air, the fumes blending in. 

He had been more distant. He knew that  he had. He needed to keep it this way. He was going to ask you, and he knew your response. Yet, he needed to hear it up close. Maybe you could change his mind. Possibly, there would be a look in your eyes that will make up his mind. He didn’t want to kill innocent civilians. He wanted to get away from this mess and live the rest of his life that he has left. Yet, his calling of freedom was knocking at his door, and could only wait for so much longer. 

“Something will happen, Y/N,” Eren whispered into the cold air, turning on his heel to face you. “I don’t want it to.”

“What do you mean something is going to happen? Is it something with your father’s memories?” you asked, placing a hand on his arm.

“No, it’s not. It’s me. They are my memories. It can’t be stopped.”

“What are you talking about, Eren? You aren’t making sense.”

“Y/N,” he said and looked down at you. His eyes were sad. They held a thousand mysteries, puzzles that were begging to be put together for someone to understand the story behind it genuinely. “What am I to you..?”

“Huh?” you searched his eyes, only getting the sense of defeat and sorrow. His eyes weren’t bright anymore. They’re not as bright as they used to be. His drive was still there, but not the same. He didn’t show it anymore to anyone. He became reserved as he refused to tell anyone but yourself or maybe Armin. That was it.

“What am I to you, Y/N?”

“You’re my boyfriend,” you finally answered him, your mouth going dry. “Why are you asking me that question, Eren..?”

“Of course..” he muttered, ignoring your question as he grabbed both of your hands in his, holding them to his chest. “Do you trust me?”

“You didn’t an-”

“Do you trust me,” he demanded, his own eyes welling up with tears. “Do you?”

“Course I do,” you breathed out, your voice cracking as your tone pitched up. “Why wouldn’t I..?”

“I just needed to hear you say that. Promise me, that even after, you’ll still put your faith in me.”

“I- I promise, Eren. B-But, what is going to happen? Will you be okay? Will we be okay…?”

“Don’t ask such silly questions,” he muttered and brought you closer to him, enveloping you in his warmth. “I have something I want to show you. I saw it when I went out earlier.”

And with that, he did. Hand in hand as he walked you to a secluded area. A blanket was spread out in front of a pond. He led you to it as you both laid down on it, star gazing as he let you ramble about mindless things, pointing up at the constellations. The nagging voice in the back of his head kept reminding him of his plan, but he had better things to focus on.

You.

Laying here with you reminded him of the first time you ventured into town with him, the moment he knew he wanted you by his side out of everyone. Now, at 19, you had matured a lot since then. Your skirt hugged your curves as your jacket clung onto you in the cold. The moon illuminated your complexion but mostly brought out your award-winning smile. He couldn’t help but let out a hum as he leaned over you, bringing a hand to cradle your face, lowering his head as his lips captured yours in a sweet kiss.

The evening was spent with breathless words of love and sweet confessions between the both of you. One final moment of tranquility and serenity for him, for you. One last kiss, one last touch, one last gasp of the others name. One last time, before he leaves. 

☽✧ ✦ ✧☾

Eren’s eyes opened slowly as he took in his surroundings. His eyes drooped as he watched the houses below burn up and explode from the fires. In front of him were massive creatures, marching slowly to their destination. 

How long had it been since he was dreaming?

Where was everyone?

Where were you? God, were you safe? Were you on high ground? Please be safe, please, please.

Ever since he got into his form, his eyes fluttered shut as he went into a slumber like a mode as his memories played like a movie that he had no control of. He remembers how he first got into this mess, his training years. Those years inspired him to do better, to be better than the rest. To show everyone that his goal of eradicating the titans will come true. 

Trost showed him that not everyone would be on his side. That some could turn on you quickly at any sign of danger. You had to be ready for people to switch sides regarding the situation. 

Not everyone was who they say they are. Reiner, Annie, Bertolt. The warriors that caused Eren’s story to have a beginning. The ones who started this cursed cycle of death upon death. 

Eren slowly lifted his head, his long brown hair covering his whole face. He could feel the marks ingraining into his skin, how he hated them. 

He heard children screaming from below before there was silence, signifying their death. He internally hated himself for what had happened, for the monster he had become. If his father stopped it back then when the Colossal and the Armored first broke down Wall Maria, would this have happened? Was there a sign he didn’t notice? Were there warnings that he could have taken notice of the future? What was out there?

He knew he only had little time left on this earth, four years to be exact. He wanted to spend it in peace with you. In a small place away from all this mess, away from everyone. He only wanted you.

You.

The blood sticking to your face made you feel disgusted. Your lungs ached as all you inhaled was the fumes of the smoke. You desperately needed food and water, but those weren’t on your priority list. You fluttered your eyes open and blinked in surprise. 

The sky was no longer an ashy grey but was replaced with the night time sky, thousands of stars twinkling in the heavens as white streaks mixed with greens and purple were painted across. Your eyes followed it until it stopped at a beacon of light, the branches shooting out from above that made it look like a tree with the bottom symbolizing the roots. 

In front of the beacon, a person stood there with their back facing you. Curiosity got the best of you as you stepped forward, taking notice of the sand underneath your barefoot. You wiggled your toes as you ventured forward, wary of who it was. “Hello..?”

The person lifted their head but didn’t dare to look behind their shoulder. You observed their movements as their long hair swayed with no breeze around. They wore a jacket with a hood that went to the curve of their behind, matching brown pants. They looked stiff, were they okay?

“Y/N...”

You tensed up at the voice, a choked noise leaving your mouth as you stumbled forward, using your hands to catch yourself on the floor as you fell to your knees. “You—”

Eren turned around, a small smile playing on his lips. “You’re safe..”

“But- How?! I saw you from the sky and you—”

He shook his head as he walked over to you, kneeling in front of you. A strand fell in front of his face as he lifted a hand, cupping your cheek. His thumb reached out as he stroked the swell gently, taking notice of the scraps and dried up blood on your features. “...I’m sorry.”

“W-why, are you sorry..?” you ask softly, leaning into his touch. This was what you wanted. You wanted him again to be here with you. “You’re here, aren’t you?”

“I’m not here. I’m communicating with you through this,” he motions with his hand to the tree-like beacon of light. “This is what I’m able to connect with all Eldians. Subjects of Ymir, you’re all connected to this. You, Jean, Mikasa, Armin, and everyone else.”

Your eyes widened at the news, looking over his shoulder. You took in the blinding colors of white and light blue. It was beautiful, almost too beautiful. It swirled as the colors contrast yet complement each other. It was like it was drawing you closer and closer. 

“Then...where am I?”

“Don’t worry about that. I need you to listen to me, my love,” he said seriously as he suddenly held your face in his hands. His face was so much closer to yours. “I don’t have much longer, and you know that.”

“Course I know that.” You placed your hands to rest over his, curling your fingers around it. “Why would you bring that up..?”

“Do you trust me?”

“Course I do,” you breathed out. “I always have, I always will.” This time, you said it with confidence. You replayed the memories of him asking you weird questions from that night that seemed so long ago. “I put my faith into you, Eren..”

He stared down at you with sad eyes as he leaned down, pressing a kiss to your forehead, lingering his lips there and not caring of the salty taste of sweat and the horrid smell of dirt. “Promise me that you’ll stay safe no matter what. nd when the time comes, you know what to do.”

“I promise you, Eren.”

“And when the time comes, you’ll do it.”

“T-Time..? What else is coming?! Eren, what aren’t you telling me?!”

“I can’t,” he said as he stood up, bringing you with him. “There isn’t enough time for me to say it.”

“Yes, there is!” you cried out as you curled your fingers around his jacket. “There’s always time! Why are you leaving me in the dark?! I thought you trusted me?!”

“I do trust you! I can’t tell you! You have to keep trusting me!” he snapped and suddenly held you close to his chest, his arms wrapped around your protectively. “No one else but you. I promise it’ll be okay.”

A choked sob left your mouth as you snapped your eyes open, gasping for air as you looked around suddenly. The murky sky was back, the smoke of fire mixing within the clouds. Your hands clawed at your throat, scratching and feeling for anything out of the ordinary. “What happened?!” you cried out as you fell back on your ass, feeling the ship’s deck underneath. “Where did you go?!”

“Y/N!” Jean yelled as he comes into your hindsight, shaking you with his hands. “Snap out of it!! We can’t lose you here! What’s going on?!”

“E-Eren,” you whispered and look up at him with wide eyes, tears flowing freely. “I s-saw Eren..”

“You saw Eren..? How did you see him?”

“I don’t know,” you choked up and brought a hand to your head, panting softly. “I opened my eyes, and I was in this place, it was dark with the night sky. There was a beacon of light, i-it looked like tree branches, and Eren was standing in front of it! He kept saying I had to trust him over and over and told me it would be okay, and... I had to do it when the time came to it.”

“Did you ask what he meant?”

“He kept saying there wasn’t time. He wouldn’t answer me. He held me close, and I opened my eyes and now... I’m somehow back here again.”

You were glad Jean didn’t look down at you like you were crazy. He nodded slowly as he looked above, yelling out words to someone you didn’t know. You didn’t bother to listen to him. You were still confused about how Eren managed to pop right in and out as nothing happened. 

“I’ll be back, okay?” Jean muttered as he walked off quickly to whoever needs him.

You brought a hand to your face, tracing the outline of your scar. “Eren..where are you..?” you whispered as you shut your eyes, desperately trying to go back to the place you were just at. “Come on!” you yelled in frustration as you tried again.

‘It won’t work. Only I can do it.’

You froze as you looked around quickly, no sight of anyone near you. Everyone was at the head of the ship. “Huh?”

‘I can bring you, Y/N. Wishing yourself there won’t happen.’

You let out a small sigh as you rubbed your temple in a circle. “I’m going crazy, I guess. Eren isn’t even here..”

‘I am. I’m only speaking to you.’

“Where are you then..?”

‘I’m nowhere near you. You guys are safe, but not forever.’

“What did you mean when you said, I have to do it. What are you talking about, Eren?”

‘Like I said, I can’t tell you,” his voice rang through your head, almost leaving an aching feeling in your heart. 

“Is there time…?” you asked softly, bringing your hands to your chest. You wanted him to say yes, there was time and that this hell was a dream. You wanted to wake up in his arms, in his cell that he was kept in even after all these years. 

You wanted to see him smile. You wanted to see him run around with your children with the amount of years he has left. You want to hear his melodic laugh again. You want to see his ears go red when he tells a small white lie to protect himself for whatever reasons.

You want time to reverse itself.

‘There isn’t enough time, my love. I love you. You better remember that. Don’t be afraid about it. Nothing will happen to you nor anyone else. I’m protecting you. Just remember, trust me.’

“Eren.” you whimpered and looked up at the sky, a tear falling off the curve of your face. “I love you, Eren. I promise. I’ll do it. I trust you. I fucking trust you! You hear me?!” you sob out as you placed a hand to your heart, the silver band resting on your left hand shining from the sun's rays. You trusted him. You put your faith in him.

Now it was time for you to stay true to your word.

[my-bated-breath]

On Ideals and Idealization

OR: My-Bated-Breath’s interpretation of Aang and Katara’s relationship in The Southern Raiders

When Bryke said that Kataang was in the DNA of ATLA, it was not a complete lie - Katara and Aang, in many ways, are each other’s anchors. For Katara, Aang is hope revived, the Avatar that has come to restore balance to the world. Meanwhile, for Aang, Katara is his guide in a cruel and unfamiliar 100-year war, loving him unconditionally in a world that hates him for abandoning it. As a result, Aang naturally loves her in return.

The narrative itself suggests that Aang’s love for Katara is nearly divine (and it suggests that it’s a love so blinding that it becomes his most selfish attachment). But for a love that appears so pure and untouchable on the surface, the episode “The Southern Raiders” reveals countless fractures lying underneath the surface.

Aang loves Katara, yes, but he is in love with an idealized version of her. In his mind, he holds close the idea of a gentle Katara, a smiling Katara, a compassionate and all-loving Katara. Even though he has seen her darkest moments when she bloodbends Hama - arms bent in disjointed angles, fingers curled as if manipulating puppet strings -  it does not tarnish his image of her because, at this moment, she is not the persecutor, but the persecuted.

After her experience with Hama, Aang is there to comfort her and help her come to terms with the terrifying power she now possesses. With her face streaked with tears and eyes widened with horror, it is clear that this is a power that Katara does not want, that it has been thrust onto her against her own will.

The conclusion that Aang draws from this is that Katara’s inner darkness is a separate entity from her inner light, and he perceives this acquired part of her as a blemish on her inherent goodness. As such, in “the Southern Raiders,” when he witnesses how Katara’s anger and grief drive her to hunt down her mother’s killer, he equates Katara seeking closure to Katara succumbing to darkness, tainting her purity and compassion in the process.

Dialogue from The Southern Raiders

Katara: Ugh, I knew you wouldn't understand.

Aang: Wait! Stop! I do understand. You're feeling unbelievable pain and rage. How do think I felt about the sandbenders when they stole Appa? How do you think I felt about the Fire Nation when I found out what happened to my people?

Many have stated valid reasons why Aang cannot possibly understand Katara’s pain in this scenario - he was not there to witness his people’s genocide or the theft of Appa; he has no way of confronting those who were responsible for his loss - but perhaps the reason why Aang thinks that he understands Katara’s pain should be expanded upon as well. As stated before, Aang has seen how bloodbending is a power Hama forced Katara to learn and how “bloodbender” is an identity unwillingly pushed onto her.

Maybe, in the same way that Aang believes that he knows Katara’s pain, he believes that he knows Katara’s inner conflict as well. After all, to take on an unwanted power and identity is something he knows all too well.

Dialogue from The Avatar Returns

Katara: Why didn’t you tell us you were the Avatar?”

Aang: Because… I never wanted to be.

When the sandbenders stole Appa, Aang succumbed to the Avatar state. When he found out what the Fire Nation did to his people, Aang succumbed to the Avatar state. In the Avatar State, Aang forfeits control over himself, loses sight of his pacifistic nature, and in return, he gains the power to hurt the people he cares about.

Aang enters the Avatar State in times of desperation and, as he alludes to in his dialogue, in times of anger. So to see Katara express her rage in The Southern Raiders scares Aang - no, it terrifies Aang - because he is seeing Katara is “giving in” to her own Avatar State, one where she has no control over herself and loses sight of her compassionate nature. 

Dialogue from The Southern Raiders

Zuko: She needs this, Aang. This is about getting closure and justice.

Aang: I don't think so. I think it's about getting revenge.

Katara: Fine, maybe it is! Maybe that's what I need! Maybe that's what he deserves!

Aang: Katara, you sound like Jet.

To be impassioned in her search for her mother’s killers is to be impassioned in her search for revenge, and to want revenge against a war criminal is to want to attack the innocent. As soon as Katara descends into violence, she will slide down the slippery slope where she will become Jet, where she will become Hama.

Only morality is not quite as black and white as Aang depicts it to be, and Katara’s psychology is not as similar to Aang’s as he believes to be. While Aang views Katara’s compassion and rage as a dichotomy in her character (meaning that they are mutually exclusive) or as an internal conflict of good versus evil, in truth Katara’s compassion and rage can often be described as a reciprocatory relationship where one drives the other. I expand upon this concept in much more detail in this meta, but here I will simply quote an excerpt and summarize:

Excerpt from “Rage, Compassion, and the Bridge in Between” (give this a read if you want an analysis on how Katara’s rage and compassion embody the complexity of human emotion) 

“…Katara’s anger and compassion do not simply split themselves into two identities. Instead, they coexist and coalesce into one. They drive each other; they feed into each other; they are two sides of the same coin.”

Katara’s rage fuels her compassion because her relationship with grief and anger is what allows her to sympathize with other people’s grief and anger, which is why she shares the story of her mother’s death with Aang, Haru, and Jet. Then, to quote again from my meta, “Katara’s compassion is what grants her a protective instinct, and her protective instinct is what moves her anger and violence.” To clarify, Katara’s protective violence describes her frightening Fire Nation soldiers in order to protect the Jang Hui village in “The Painted Lady” and her threatening Zuko in order to protect Aang in “The Western Air Temple.”

Thus, to Katara, rage is not always an emotion that causes her to lose sight of herself. Instead, it’s one that incites her to act on her ideals of justice and protection.

Dialogue from the Southern Raiders

Katara: It's not the same! Jet attacked the innocent. This man, he's a monster.

Of course, that is not to say that Katara’s anger does not lead her to violate her morals since she bloodbends the captain of the Southern Raiders despite her previously swearing to never bloodbend again. But while the Southern Raiders shows Katara coming to terms (or at least beginning to come to terms) with the idea of good and bad, justice and revenge, and right and wrong, Aang stalwartly clings onto the notion of two separate “Katara”s - the good and evil, the compassionate and the rage-driven - and unfairly takes on a position of moral authority against the “dark” Katara in hopes of reviving the “light” one.

Excerpt from “On an Immensely Popular Post” (most of the analysis in this one is about platonic-romantic relationships, but I dissect the Aang-Sokka-Katara dialogue from TSR in-depth here):

“While I believe that Aang’s principles of forgiveness are morally sound, the way he pushes his beliefs onto Katara undermines much of her grief. At first, Aang tries to relate to Katara’s experiences by comparing them to his own, but there is a forceful connotation to his dialogue that suggests that Aang considers himself to be the moral authority compared to Katara. Hence, Aang judges Katara (“I think it’s about getting revenge”) without trying to reach out and understand her, forgoing the empathetic common ground in favor of taking on the moral high ground.”

Aang forgoes the common ground because he believes Katara’s morality to be as black and white as his own, and then he takes on the high ground because he thinks he understands Katara’s internal conflict. Except he doesn’t, since what rage means to Aang is vastly different from what rage means to Katara. What he understands as Katara’s ideals stem from his idealization of her, and this crack in their relationship, this masquerade of misunderstandings and attachment and “falling in love” - it all comes to a breaking point in the Southern Raiders where the truth finally makes itself known:

Aang idealizes Katara by rendering her into a dichotomy. Katara draws the agency to act on her ideals from her duality.

[quillquiver]

no more watchers on the wall

Musings on Cas and love. 15x18 kind of coda.  read on ao3

Love—the concept of it, the feeling—had never been a difficult thing to grasp. Castiel was, after all, willed into being by love. What was he if not an agent of such feeling? What was his grace if not the divine manifestation of it? Castiel understood that love was in listening. In following. In obeying. It was steadfast and absolute.

And so Castiel was steadfast. Castiel was absolute.

He painted stars across the black, empty skies of his Father’s Universe and imbued joy into each one; closed his eyes and smiled as he nudged Pluto into place. Castiel dipped his wings in the stardust of Saturn’s rings and left behind nebulas of startling colour. He meditated between binary stars. Overwhelmed by the hunger and emptiness of the first black hole, he opened his mouth and sang with it.

It was not a burden, to love the Universe his Father created. Castiel walked along the sulphurous, scorched shores of the primordial beach and loved the creature of flesh that hauled itself onto the coarse black sand. He leaned over the very edge of heaven and watched pterodactyls fly and felt his own wings twitch. When God sent a meteor for the dinosaurs, Castiel reassured himself that the subsequent genocide must have been borne of love, too.

Privately, he wondered at this; his insatiable curiosity to know all God’s creatures, to fly to the farthest reaches of the Universe—just to see, to know. His passion outmatched that of his siblings, and among the closest of his kin, he became known for it. Though Castiel was not a Watcher, Uriel joked that he may as well have been—but to be teased by his brother was a privilege, and Castiel loved him, too.

The Neanderthals were poets, and Castiel would spend hours reciting their words of love to himself, over and over, marveling at them. Certainly, there were other creatures who loved and loved deeply, but there was something about homo neanderthalensis—their appreciation for beauty, their seriousness in all things—that Castiel saw reflected in his own self.

But the Neanderthals died, and so Castiel turned to humanity with the rest of Heaven. Waiting. Watching. There were rumours that humanity was the Father’s chosen people, and Castiel wondered briefly, treasonously, at all the creatures who had been casualties His divine search. But Castiel was a being of duty, of purpose—and so he set himself to the task of loving them, too.

God created the Garden.

The Lightbringer became jealous and in his hatred, offered Eve a pomegranate. Her own curiosity was too large to bear. This desire—for knowledge, for knowing—Castiel understood, though he kept his thoughts to himself. And as he fought for Michael, as he remained steadfast and absolute, he wondered at the ability of love to twist into something so volatile. Twisted. Wrong. He wondered if perhaps both sides weren’t wrong, in that neither cared about the creatures on Earth and the happenings of their little lives; that two brothers were fighting there, too. That one killed the other and was doomed to a life of wandering.

War waged on. Castiel found he was good at killing, when it was in defense of people he loved. Over time, he even began to see it as a mercy; that to take a life was to save his kin from eternal damnation as well as to protect the glory of the Father’s creation. Here, death and love were intertwined. Both righteous. Both absolute. Castiel’s knowledge of all things—the defense strategies of the parasaurolophus, the hunting behaviours of the sabre-toothed tiger—propelled him through the ranks until he became Anna’s right-hand. There was no doubt that, had the war continued, he would have had been named a leader in his own right.

But the war did end, and by the time it had, Earth had flooded for forty days and forty nights.

Castiel watched, despaired, at how the world had changed while he’d been gone. At the violence. The despair. By the time Moses was desperately hidden in a basket and pushed downriver, Castiel turned away from Earth and refused to look upon it again, heartbroken; so much had changed since he’d flown carefree among newborn stars.

Castiel was one of three called upon to slay every Egyptian first born. He was told to take a vessel and protect a boy named David. He’d heard rumours of the Father’s son—born to a human woman named Mary—and grief and joy echoed across Heaven upon Christ’s death at the hands of the Romans. Castiel remained steadfast throughout—dutiful, loyal, with a love for all things humming a baseline in the depths of his heart. He was devotion incarnate; the Father’s will was good and righteous, and he wielded his first children as instruments of love and light. If he couldn’t see the plan right now, it was because he merely did not understand it. Besides, understanding was beyond his purview. Castiel’s only purpose was love of the highest order. Steadfast. Absolute.

Or so he’d thought.

The angels laid siege to Hell for forty years. It was by happenstance that Castiel was the one to find the Righteous Man; twisted and smirking in front of his rack, his soul still shone with the power of a thousand suns. Be not afraid, Castiel had said, reaching out to touch the hurting thing. Like an injured animal, Dean Winchester shied away, and Castiel felt something within himself, something long-since tightened, unravel. I mean you no harm.

And he’d laid a hand upon the soul of the Righteous Man.

They lost precious time in the single moment of that act—one that lasted a second, an hour, a lifetime. Castiel had no need for breath, and yet he felt breathless in touching this human, this person whose warmth and light, palpable from a distance, was blinding so close. God had lied. Beautiful words about angels as the bringers of love and light—all falsehoods at the feet of his one human being, this righteous man, whose love was so… so steadfast, so absolute it led him to the deepest, darkest hole in the Pit. It had been no hardship to hold Dean Winchester close and fly him out of Hell, to sing for the first time in eons, so loud and clear and joyous it was heard in the Ninth Sphere: Dean Winchester is saved.

Castiel stitched Dean’s soul back into a body of flesh and bone with all the love he possessed, himself. He’d wanted to be his equal. His kin. He’d wanted to understand how such a man came to be, living in the world as it was today. And so Castiel remade his heart and hands and wondered at how one person could possibly embody so much goodness and grace. So much beauty. For Dean Winchester was comely for a human and that was right, too; that the Righteous Man’s love shone through his skin to make him golden and great.

How laughable that even then, Castiel had known nothing.

He understands, now.

Now, Cas has known heartbreak and elation. He has known despair and joy. And he understands that all of that—the good, the bad, the ugly—all of it is love. That love is not steadfast in itself, but a riot of emotion, and it is the ability to remain steadfast in spite of that that makes it sacred and glorious. That hope and love are irrevocably entwined, and it is in this intersection that humans find true strength. True dignity. That they become something greater than themselves when they are true to themselves.

And so, in a concrete room under the ground, Cas speaks his own truth. He pulls the words from deep within his own heart and lays himself bare not because he must, but because there is strength in it. Happiness in it. Because it is a privilege and an honor and this vulnerability, too, is sacred. For the first time in all the eons of history, an angel confesses to a human man—not because he has doubts, but because he is sure. Because he is certain. Because he—a being known for its sameness—has been forever changed by one imperfect, loving human. Because Dean Winchester is love incarnate.

“Cas—”

It’s funny; for all that he has been told he is an abomination, Cas has never felt more holy.

“Goodbye, Dean.”

Cas pushes Dean out of harm’s way and meets the Empty head-on. Ready. Proud.  

And his love is steadfast.

And it is absolute.