#she is a twelve year old child who just had her life turned upside down

[moonlarked]

want to write a whole thing on “an elf started this. so that means an elf should fix it.” from book one because I have Feelings about it

#on the one hand she’s recognizing her species is capable of horrible things and taking action and responsibility for it #which is more than most elves can do #on the other hand she shouldn’t HAVE to take responsibility #she is a twelve year old child who just had her life turned upside down #the government should be the one fixing it #not her #and the fact that she is sorta plays into the black swan’s idea #on why she is necessary #but still #she shouldn’t have to #kotlc #keeper of the lost cities #sophie foster

[theoriginalsapphic]

disproving the mlvn bingo

“I want El to grow on her own”

This is a bad thing because…? El is a child that grew up the first twelve years of her life locked up in a lab and used for her powers. Then she got out and spent a week helping a group of kids to find their missing friend, almost died, survived in the wilderness by herself for approximately a month, and was forced in isolation in a cabin in the woods for another year.

The first time she got to actually go to the outside world to have fun like a girl her age should was at the snowball dance, in December of 1984 / January of 1985, and even she would still spend most of her time hiding from the world in the cabin. The only other time she got to live like a normal girl was when she went out shopping with Max. After that, she got involved again with the Upside Down, lost her father-figure, and moved to the other side of the country with people she barely knew.

As of canon, she has only been living in the real world for, and I’m being extremely generous with this estimate, fifteen months. Most people her age need time to grow on their own and focus on themselves, and they lived in relatively normal circumstances and in a society their whole lives. Saying that El may need some time to get to know herself first isn’t misogynistic, or ableist, it’s just common sense.

Ableist to El, Mocks El’s speech

Connected to the previous point. El is a fourteen year girl that spent twelve of those years locked away and being dehumanized and never getting the chance to properly socialize. It’s a reasonable thing to say that it will take her time to catch up to people her age who have lived in society their whole lives. It’s not ableist to point out this. In fact, completely ignoring this aspect of her character means ignoring the influence that it has on her character, which brings a whole layer of complexity to her.

Also, anyone who is ableist to El (or to anyone for that matter) sucks! I’m glad we can agree on that! But I’m not okay with mlvns crying out ableism any time someone criticizes the ship only to turn around and be ableist to Max or Dustin (and Gaten by default).

“El doesn’t understand being in a relationship”

Maybe she has an understanding of what being in a relationship means at the end of season four, but she should have never been put in a relationship so early on. Fresh-out-of-the-lab twelve-year-old El shouldn’t have been kissed and later put on a relationship with the first age-appropriate boy who showed her kindness and who had to explain her basic concepts like friendship and privacy. Those are concepts that are supposed to be taught by your parents— not your boyfriend.

May I need to remind people that this is a canon scene from season 3?

Mind you; she has been dating Mike for around six months already at this point.

Part of El learning to understand what being in a relationship means is also learning what kind of things she wants and can accept in a relationship, which, she spends most of season 3 doing.

Mike lied in the monologue

Well, sorry to tell you this, but… he did!

and El knows it.

MiIeven cheating trope!!

As someone who hates cheating and has been personally harmed by the actions of a cheater… let people write whatever they want in their fics. If someone wants to explore that in fiction then they should be able to do it. (Also, I doubt the Duffers would ever write Mike cheating on El, so you can relax about that).

Blames Millie for miIeven

I don’t associate myself often with her fandom because although she seems like a lovely person her fandom is absolutely rancid, but she seems someone who likes to play the audience and have fun. She had said she ships miIeven and wants a wedding for them. She had said she ships byler and wants a love triangle with them. Whether Millie actually means it, is pandering to the fandom, or it’s just straight up trolling and having fun… it doesn’t matter, and I doubt she actually cares as much as people want her to care.

Neither Millie nor any of the actors have any power over whatever decisions the Duffers end up choosing in their writing. If anyone blames any of the actors for whatever happens to their characters, they are fucking idiots; simple as that.

Sexist to El

And yet, mlvn shippers are the ones I often see saying how much El needs Mike, of how she would kill Will if Mike left her, of how she was capable of fighting Vecna only because Mike told her he loves her, of how the only person that actually cares about her is Mike, completely disregarding her family and friends that love her deeply.

I don’t know about you, but I think that reducing El to be this needy girl who is dependent on her boyfriend and makes her to seem that her boyfriend is the only thing she cares about and should care about is… really sexist.

El is a character who consists of two main parts: of trying to create her own identity and of wanting a family, which are both interconnected with how she was stripped of her autonomy since birth and how she wants to belong somewhere.

El grew for the first twelve years of her life with the understanding that love is transactional and conditional on what she can do for others. This is seen mostly in season 1, with El being used for Brenner’s experiments, and when she exerts herself to the point she almost dies for a group of kids that wanted to find their missing friend.

With every season, there is something new that she leans about herself that helps her become a person. Because that is an aspect that people rarely talk about El; she wasn’t even treated like a human being for 85% of her life, but rather just a lab rat.

In season 2, she embarks on a journey all by herself to find out about her mother, and later, her sister Kali. This remarks what El has been wanting her whole life— a family.

In season 3, she explores her identity and her likes and dislikes through fashion and hobbies for the first in her life with Max (I have a whole post about how El’s development of regaining her autonomy is shown through her clothes).

In season 4, she outright says that she doesn’t belong anywhere, and is struggling with the dichotomy that her powers bring: is she a monster or a superhero? At the end of the season, she has come to terms with the complexity of who she is, determining that she is both and neither, and she has finally found a family. She doesn’t belong to a specific place, but to people. Hawkins isn’t her home; her friends and family are. She belongs with them.

So, tell me: who is being sexist to El? You, who reduces her to her romantic relationship… or me? And yes, female characters can be in romantic relationships and still be their own characters, but El isn’t like most of female characters in the sense that she never got the chance to figure out her identity and what she wants before getting in a relationship.

Ships El with a random party member so Mike will be free

miIeven wishes they had what elmax has

“MiIeven is unhealthily and codepent”, “Mike pays too much attention to El, he doesn’t make time for his friends!”

I mean… I’m not the one saying it, blame the Duffers for that one.

Mike looks he is about to sneeze but he’s looking in Will’s directions so it’s heart eyes

If Mike looked at El the way he looks Will you wouldn’t shut the fuck up about it.

cr: @/mvltibyers

Taking the monologue and replacing El with Will and suddenly it’s peak romance

Why would I want byler to have that poorly lighted and directed, and badly written monologue when I already have this one?

Calls El bald and think they did something

I agree! It’s wrong to make fun of El being bald when that fact is tightly connected with how she was stripped off of her femininity as a form of dehumanization and it’s one of the most visible signs of the abuse that was inflicted on her.

However, may I need to remind you that those ‘jokes’ are usually in response with you calling Will literally homophobic slurs or are you going to play coy and innocent?

Compares Mike to Brenner

Blame the Duffers for this one, not us for noticing it.

Hates on Mike but wants him with their fave

You're so right! I don't see the point of shipping a couple if you hate half of it, especially because it would mean to reduce his character to be only a love interest and nothing else. Anyway, what character arc do you think Mike is going to go through in season 5?

Bring ups miIeven break up

They really couldn’t have made it more obvious that’s where they headed so, yes; I want them to break up and I think it will benefit both of their characters. Sorry for following the story, ig.

Says miIeven wasn’t together for s4

Don’t forget to mention how they also weren’t together for season 2 and most of season 3! In fact, it almost seems like after they shared the first kiss, they were never allowed to share a significant amount of screen time together again.

Also, Mike and El aren’t real people; if the Duffers don’t write them to share screen time together it’s because they don’t want to.

The Duffers wrote it so El spent most of season 2 searching for her mom and her sister and longing for freedom. The Duffers wrote it so El spent most of season 3 with Max learning about what she likes and trying to create her own identity away from male influence. The Duffers wrote it so El spent most of season 4 in NINA, which was probably the most important part of her character arc in the show so far.

The Duffers also wrote it so Mike spent most of season 2 with Will. The Duffers wrote it so the fight between Mike and Will was more emotionally charged than his breakup with El, and they wrote it so Mike and Will have a one-on-one goodbye scene just like miIeven and jvncy.

The Duffers wrote it in season 4 so Will is revealed as gay and in love with Mike in the same season that Mike can’t say ‘I love you’ to El, has a fight that, in his words, “can’t come back from”, for Mike to nod when Wills says: “what if they don’t like the truth?”, and needs to get backrubs and compliments from his bff so he can finally say that ‘I love you’ to his girlfriend while she in on the brink of dying. Oh, and also they spend the whole season together.

Go figure.

Calls El “Jane” or “Eleven”

Like everyone in the show does?

I think the only person that has never called her ‘Eleven’ is Hopper.

“You don’t understand Mike/El like I do!”

And I’m so glad I don’t.

#byler #elmike #mike wheeler #el hopper #i need to step out of the fandom most often #because when i was taking screenshots from the show for this post it reminded me i actually love these characters #and it's being in the fandom that ruins them for me

[alwayswasagoodthief]

Abigail Marston RP Bio

Main blog here. Basics here: Background:

Abigail was born May 11, 1877 in the Virginia area. Her mother, Adelle, passed from puerperal fever after giving birth to her. Her father, Henry, was a kindly woodworker. Her family was always destitute due to her father’s unfortunate luck with repaying loans. They were poor in money but rich in love. Abigail had to fend for herself during the day as her father worked himself to the bone, causing many nights where she went to bed without food.  As a child, she was always musically gifted.  Later in life, she used to sing on street corners or perform in places of ill repute in order to bring in extra income. Unsurprisingly, her dream was to be a singer. Her father provided for her the best he could and taught her a few basics of music, but he passed when she was seven. She was then sent to an orphanage but escaped at around eight years old to escape the abuse and take her chances on the street, eventually falling into hiding out in saloons. She continued to sing and beg for money for years. She eventually fell in love with a traveling musician and begged the woman to take her as well. She agreed, but the managers didn’t want a street rat like Abigail to join, so they called the local orphanage to drag her back while the troupe left in the night, leaving Abigail heartbroken. Abigail broke out once more and began focusing on her craft as a con woman and thief. She accidentally killed her first man at twelve after a man tried to get handsy.

Abigail was eventually scammed by a madam who promised she could kick start her career and make Abigail famous. She foolishly believed the woman. At first, she did make a name for herself by singing, but eventually, she was requested to perform “private shows,” mostly for men. Eventually, she realized that was conned into becoming a working girl. Even worse, the Madam forced her to discreetly kill on occasions, teaching her to become a manipulator, seductress, and actress. Abigail had no choice but to kill whomever the Madam needed to have killed - something many ruthless madams required their girls to do. This lifestyle hardened her. It wasn’t long until Abigail was one of the most gifted con artists and working girls in the Madam’s business. She met Uncle from the gang by chance. The Madam held a grudge against Dutch van der Linde due to unspecified reasons. The Madam wanted Dutch murdered but was disappointed that Uncle showed up instead. She told Abigail to befriend Uncle and assist the gang in whatever ways were needed so she could gain the gang’s trust.

Unfortunately for the Madam, Abigail had enough. Uncle was kind, fair, and protective of her, something she had lacked for years. Uncle was savvy enough to recognize the Madam’s scam. He offered Abigail a better life - turn on the Madam and join the gang. Abigail and Uncle then murdered the Madam so they could safely escape. Uncle told Dutch the entire tale of how he met Abigail, the Madam’s plans, and what Abigail’s skills were. It was then that she would do whatever the gang required of her - she did it out of a sense of duty, and she felt the need to repay them for saving her. (Contrary to popular belief, she did NOT sleep with the entire gang, likely 2 or 3 at the most. ) 

It didn’t take her long to become accepted as one of their own. The gang quickly realized how efficient of a con woman, thief, and occasional killer she was. She was the most active and successful female member after Bessie and Miss Grimshaw. 

Then John Marston happened.

 She fell for the raspy-voiced, gangly man at first sight. She didn’t mean to, but he brought out a whole new side of her. She found herself horrified by how quickly and deeply she fell for John. Fortunately for her, John Marston was just as enamored by her. However, they always had a tumultuous relationship. When they loved, it was intense, but the fighting was also fervent. 

Her world was turned upside down when she discovered she was pregnant with John’s child. She was horrified. She wanted a family, but not like this. She enjoyed being an active gang member. Even worse, when she told John, he refused to believe her despite the fact that they were exclusive for well over a year. He attempted to stay with her out of fear of Dutch, Hosea, and Susan’s wrath. However, when a son, baby Jack Marston, was born, John couldn’t handle it. He abandoned her and their newborn son.

Now, Abigail witnessed the loss of her status in the gang and was saddled with a screaming boy and no husband. Arthur, Hosea, and the others helped Abigail pick up the pieces, but Abigail was a shell of a woman for

quite some time. Some would argue she is still a shell of what she used to be.

When John returned, he acted as though nothing had happened. He completely ignored Jack’s presence and mostly ignored her as well. She was furious and envious that he could come and go as he pleased. Their relationship returned to its tumultuous cadence and is where it is today. At this point, she cares more for John acknowledging Jack than her romantic relationship with him.

Now, after the failed Blackwater heist, she is becoming increasingly concerned about where the gang is headed. All she knows is that Jack and the rest of the gang are hungry and suffering. Abigail is done sitting around waiting for things to happen. While she will never become a working girl again, she will provide for her family no matter the cost. It’s time to return to work.

#abigail roberts #van der linde gang #abigail marston #john marston #jack marston #rdr 2 #hosea matthews #red dead redemption 1 #arthur morgan

[wolffoxnation2]

Wine Child Chp 2

Percy: I don't go on a picnic.

I figured after fighting gods, monsters and titans since I was twelve and fighting in a war, the fates would let me chill out and have a semi-ordinary life for a while. I personally think I deserve some semblance of a vacation.

Unfortunately, the fates seem to disagree with that.

So here I am, instead of being on my way to go out on a nice romantic picnic with my girlfriend, Annabeth (gods, I love saying that); I'm at the archery range staring at Chiron having a casual conversation with the goddess of youth, Hebe about how our camp director, and the god of wine, Mr D ticked her off.

Did I mention that she's holding a very alive-looking, violently squirming gym bag?

"Well, it's a funny story, really." She said, which meant in god language: It was very much not funny, but you better laugh or I vaporize you. "Dio had said some extremely offensive words to me about youth, and I simply couldn't let that slide. So, I decided to teach him a lesson about the value of youth."

She twirled the gym bag in her hand as she talked, pulling it up by the straps and tipping it upside down like a very angry yoyo.

Whatever was in the bag really didn't like that, which to be fair, I'd be pretty cranky if some goddess shoved me in a gym bag and then started playing with the bag like a yoyo.

"What I didn't account for was how whiney he was. So then I thought, hmm, where was the best place where he could learn to appreciate youth? Nowhere else but summer camp!" 

The bag, like me, did not like that idea and started to squirm more violently. I shifted my weight uneasily, my hand instinctively reaching for Riptide. I have a feeling one way or another, that bag was gonna be opened.

I glanced at Annabeth, who also was staring at the bag with piercing grey eyes like she was trying to see through it. Is X-ray vision an Athena power?

Lucky — rather unlucky — for us we didn't have to wait long to find out.

"Welp, I must love you and leave you, demigods!" Hebe said, unzipping the bag and disappearing laughing.

As soon as the bag unzipped, I uncapped Riptide, ready to fight whatever cranky monster tumbled out of it.

Yeah, that did not happen.

Instead of a cranky, snarling monster, a lump of curly, black, untamed hair fell out of the bag and before anyone could react, flung itself at the closest person.

Which happened to be me. Because it's always me. I swear I have a giant sign only visible to monsters and gods that says:

Please attack Percy. We don't like his face.

"No more monsters!" It shrieked, trying to impale me with a sword that was way too big for it. Which, first of all, rude. You're already shrieking and trying to impale me with a sword; you don't need to insult my appearance as well.

I sidestepped out of its way, causing it to stumble as it tried to regain its balance. I had a good look at it now.

It wasn't an it at all.

It was a kid, a little girl that looked no older than 8. She had weirdly familiar purple eyes that looked like they saw something horrifying. The sword she was holding was far too big for her, and she stumbled as she waved the sword at the crowd wildly.

"Get away!" She screamed, stumbling as she swung her sword at an Ares kid who dared get too close. "No more!".

She looked barely 8 years old and downright terrified, and the Ares kids trying to surround her and take the sword weren't helping. In fact, they were making it a lot worse.

Then something worse happened.

The girl caught sight of something, "you!" she yelled, pointing at me before charging. Abandoning her sword on the grass to...run faster. Oh great.

"Hey!" I put my hands up in surrender, "I'm not gonna hurt you!" 

She either didn't hear me or just ignored me and continued charging. "Hey!" I said again, taking a step back as she got in kicking distance....for her to kick me, not the other way around, I'm not kicking the little girl.

Surprisingly, it turned out she wasn't going for me.

I stumbled as she shoved past me with too much strength a child her age should have. 

She headed straight for Will Solace, a son of Apollo and before any of us could react, she delivered a swift kick to his crotch, causing him to double over in pain.

Every guy in the camp simultaneously winced, and there was a chorus of oohs and ouches.

Even as Will doubled over in pain on the floor, the girl wasn't finished. She yelled extremely colourful Greek insults and accusations that didn't make much sense to me.

"You were supposed to protect us! You were supposed to care!" She screamed, pummeling him with her tiny fists.

"Woah! Hey! Calm down!" I yelled, rushing over to pull her off him. I tried my best to hold her back, but it was like trying to wrangle a wildcat. She continued to struggle against me, her eyes blazing with fury as she yelled at Will. 

"You! Kourotrophos! You should have protected us! You should have protected me from her! I prayed for you!" 

I don't know what a Kourotrophos is, but she said it with so much venom I almost expected her to start spitting acid at him. She also put emphasis on her, like it was the worst word she could think of. Which, from the kind of swears she was throwing at him, would have to be horrible.

And what did she mean that she prayed for Will? What did she pray for: 

Dear god of crotch kicking, please guide my foot and make Will Solace wish he was never born.

"Let me go!" she shrieked, clawing at my arms furiously as she tried to escape. Will soon recovered and scrambled away into the crowd.

"No, we're not monsters. We're—ow!" Ever been bitten by a demigod? It freaking hurts, and from the feel of it on my arm; this one had sharp teeth.

Annabeth rushed over, her expression unreadable. "Let him go, Percy!" she said firmly.

Now, if anyone else told me to release the feral screaming, biting, scratching child into a crowd of people after she has already injured one. I would be seriously questioning their mental state. 

But this was Annabeth. And when Annabeth tells you to do something, you do it. No questions asked. She probably had a plan, and if she didn't?

Well, the situation would have been hopeless anyway, and at that point, any idea would have been helpful.

So, I reluctantly put the child down.

She didn't attack, probably all tuckered out from using my arm as a scratching post and a chew toy. Instead, she stumbled, shivering slightly. Annabeth kneeled to her level. Which I personally would not be doing; that kid looked like she'd go for the eyes.

"Monsters!" the kid wailed.

"No." Annabeth promised, using her gentle 'I am completely harmless, and you can trust me' voice. That is usually reserved for young campers and Hades' dog Cerberus that one time. It was always weird hearing Annabeth change so quickly. "It's all right. We're not going to hurt you."

The kid trembled, all the wildness draining out of her. She had dark eyebags under her eyes, a deep cut on her cheek that looked slightly infected, and her limbs were stick thin like she hadn't eaten in days. How the Hades she had enough energy to swing that sword, attack Will, and use me as a chew toy and scratching post, all while screaming her lungs off, was beyond me.

"Monsters?" she whispered, her eyes swivelling to look at the still-growing crowd around us.

I could understand her hesitation. The Mist could even fool demigods like us and make a Chimera look like a Chihuahua (not that Chihuahuas weren't already little monsters), and the fact that she'd been shoved into a bag and then cornered by Ares kids probably wasn't giving her a good first impression of us.

"No, not monsters," Annabeth said, "We're...." She hesitated. The kid might not know what demigods even were. That happened alot. Kids these days clearly never watched Hercules (the Disney show, not the guy). "...Well, it's hard to explain, but we fight monsters just like you."

"You're like me?" The kid asked, still suspicious, but she sounded slightly hopeful, too.

"Yes," I promised, and the kid scowled at me with her big purple eyes. I was slightly afraid she was going to kick me, too. There was something familiar about her scowl, though, like I've seen it before. "Why were you in Hebe's bag?"

Her scowl deepened, but thankfully she didn't kick me, "I don't know. I just woke up."

Maybe that's why she was so murderous; I'd be cranky, too if someone woke me up from a nap by shoving me in a bag and dumping me in a Summer Camp without a word.

In fact, that kinda sounds exactly like something that would happen to me.

"I'm Annabeth, and that's Percy," Annabeth said, "You can trust us. We have a friend, Chiron. He can help you."

Speaking of Chiron, where did he go? He was there when Hebe opened the bag. Did he just go to the Big House to play Pinochle with Mr D and leave us to deal with little Miss Crotch-Kicker on our own?

The little girl nodded, "Okay...I'll go with you."

"So..." I whispered to Annabeth, "Any clue who little Miss Crotch-Kicker is?" I figured if anyone knew who this kid was, it was Annabeth. 

"I have a vague idea, but I need proof first." She replied cryptically

"Wanna share with the class your idea?"

"Not yet."

"You know I can hear you, right?" The kid crossed her arms and scowled at us, keeping her distance at the back of the group. She had been silent the entire walk.

Annabeth and I sheepishly apologized. The last thing we needed was to upset the already untrusting and wild kid.

We walked in awkward silence until we got to the Big House.

Chiron was alone on the porch. Mr D was nowhere in sight. Which was good. Because if I have to listen to his sarcasm while dealing with this situation. I'm setting the kid on him.

The little girl stopped the moment she saw Chiron.

"Kentauros! Monster!" She shrieked, and I was afraid that was her form of a battle cry.

Chiron smiled at her kindly, "Yes, Dionysus, I am a kentauroi, but you have nothing to worry about. I'm not like my brothers."

"What—?" 

Then I saw how tense the kid suddenly got.

'Dio said some extremely offensive words about youth, so I decided to teach him a lesson about the value of youth,' Hebe had said.

That's where I recognized the kid's scowl. That's why her purple eyes were so familiar. That's why Mr D wasn't with Chiron.

This kid was the Wine Dude himself.

"H..how do you know my name?" Dionysus said, already on guard. Which was fair, she—or he? Why was Mr D a girl?

Chiron just smiled at them, "We have a lot to talk about inside." Then he turned to us, "Percy, Annabeth, will you please alert the rest of the head counsellours and tell them there is to be a very important meeting."

Annabeth nodded, frowning, "Come on, Percy."

I sighed and followed her.

I guess we arent going on our picnic any time soon.

-----

Chapter one on tumblr

And thats the last chapter of this I will be posting here. When i post the third chapter it will be going on Ao3

#Prefered this chapter tbh #percy jackson #pjo #My writng #Mr D #mr d pjo #pjo dionysus #Traumatize the fuker #pjo chiron

[nashvillehq]

name: Wyatt Madden gender & pronouns: Cis Man | He/Him age & date of birth: 35 years old | May 30th 1988 neighborhood: Downtown time in nashville: 35 years (whole life/native) occupation: High School Math Teacher

BACKGROUND.

TW: alcohol mention

Wyatt Madden is the oldest child of the Madden family with one younger sister, Emilia. Their family was your typical average family: a mother, a father, and a younger sister who lived in a modest house in a modest part of town. They didn’t struggle but they weren’t luxurious, the parents were good to their children and each other and everything was just so. 

Wyatt had always been one to beat to his own drum though. He had always been witty and bright, his tongue getting him in plenty of trouble for speaking out when he shouldn’t. Of course, he’d never do it to be mean or hurtful, at least not intentionally. And while he was disruptive and loud, he was also loveable and fun and endearing. Even if there was a group of people that couldn’t stand Wyatt at first, he grew on them. He always grew on them. Well-known as the class clown, a popular guy, and the life of the party, Wyatt thrived in every group setting, making friends everywhere he went. He just had to remind himself to stop blurting out the first thing that came to mind, especially in school. Wyatt was the guy that never grew up, always looking back at high school or even college as the prime of his life, even if it was partly because he was surrounded by the people in it.

And while a lot of people knew Wyatt, he’d yet to meet the most important person of them all. Brenna Cabrera came into Wyatt’s life in his junior year of high school. Despite not knowing much of one another before the night of the bonfire, they spent all night talking under the stars, and by the end of it, he felt like he never knew himself either. His whole world turned upside down for that girl. Years later Wyatt still remembers that night as one of the best in his life. Those ‘best of’ moments he treasured from his days in high school and college would all still have Brenna in them— it was just inevitable when you looked at someone the way Wyatt looked at Brenna.

The universe had plans for Brenna and Wyatt— big dreams, at least that’s what he continued to tell himself, despite her parents’ hatred of him. The universe had sent them to the same college, bringing them closer despite the long nights and loud parties. Even as graduation came closer, Wyatt felt like he had nothing to fear. They were in love. He was going to be a math teacher and she was going to be brilliant at whatever she decided to do. That’s why he ended up buying the ring and proposing to her not long after their graduation. It just made sense. Everything in the universe was telling him that Brenna was the one, so he got down on one knee and asked her for forever. 

What a sad sight it must’ve been a year later when Wyatt’s world crashed down around him. Sitting cross-legged in the dark street, one hand holding his beer and the other holding his cell phone, wishing she would call. Brenna had left him standing in front of their families, their friends, their future—  never coming down the aisle. Their future had been so close he could practically hold it in his hands. After all, he’d come this close to having her in his hands forever. 

People who knew Wyatt would say that it was Brenna’s fault, that she’d never been the right girl for his free spirit. They were opposites, it could never work. She was too driven, too harsh, too much. People that preferred Brenna would say that it was Wyatt’s fault, that they had never been a good match anyway. They were opposites, it could never work. He was too poor, too unambitious, and too much. In the end, he’d left the venue drunk and woke up the next morning to head to work like nothing ever happened.

Ten years later and not much has changed for Wyatt since that day. He’s still a math teacher at the high school he was hired at twelve years ago. He’s not married nor is he dating anyone, he’s still cracking the same jokes and he’s still playing his sad songs for small crowds, wondering if any of them might make their way into her ear. There are just some things that will never change. The new things in his life only amount to the signs of aging, a motorcycle, and an inability to move from the space in time that Brenna Cabrera left him a decade ago.

#a. #m. #d. #casey deidrick #wyatt madden

[ficsforeren]

The Last Song - Chapter 4

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Eren Jaeger X Female Reader

Genre: Rockstar AU, Friends with Benefits, Angst, Smut, Fluff, Romance, Hurt/Comfort, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn

Series Summary: Eren Jaeger has two personas, a charismatic lead vocal who has lost himself in fame, and a boy who struggles with depression, seeking for someone to bring him back to where he was twelve years ago. Where he only knew love in the form of your name.

Chapter Summary: After the heated moment you spent with him in the car, Eren pays you a visit the next morning, desperate and anxious for answers. How do you feel about him exactly?

Content Warnings:  explicit sex (cunnilingus, blow job, fingering, hand job, car sex, dry humping, drunk sex, public sex, unprotected sex, one night stand, choking, treating women like objects, dub-con, corruption, face-sitting, sex toys, daddy kink, praise kink, slight degradation, etc), substance abuse (use of drugs, alcohol, tobacco), severe abandonment issues, childhood trauma, anxiety attacks, depression, adultery, physical abuse towards men and women, family issues, abusive parents, crude words, dark humor, mention of sexual assault/rape, harassment, car accident and child abuse.

Poster art by the most talented @rainbuniart (follow her on Twitter)

When twenty-one-year-old Eren Jaeger asked you whether he could visit your parents’ home the following weekend, you didn’t think that he’d show up at your house at ten in the morning with his hair slicked back, the end of his locks brushing against his nape, and his piercing off. Dressed sharply in a pair of black pants, he wore a white buttoned-up shirt placed underneath a fit black blazer that showcased his broad shoulders.

He was… too dapper to be visiting a friend’s house and honestly? You weren’t sure what to say. Or to feel, for that matter. He had already made you feel things you shouldn’t have felt when you got reunited with him in your first week in college. And now he looked like he was about to ask your parents’ permission to take your hand in marriage and—

“Why are you so dressed up?” You asked him with a frown before your mind started to wander somewhere else, forgetting to offer him a friendly greeting. Unlike him, you were simply dressed in your sweatpants and shirt, hair all tousled from laying around in bed all morning with your phone in hand, scrolling through Pinterest.

“I’m not dressed up,” Eren stated, nervous fingers playing with the button on his collar. “This is how I dress every day.”

“You’ve never worn a blazer in your life before, have you?”

Eren sighed, half-glaring at you. “Look, I’m meeting your parents. I’m just being respectful.”

“You’re meeting my parents as my friend, not my boyfriend. They’re gonna get the wrong idea, dumbass.” But you opened your door wider, letting him in anyway. “Well, it’s gonna be fine once I tell them your name, I’m sure.”

“But how do I look?” Eren was noticeably nervous and you wondered why. This was a friend visiting another friend’s home. There was no reason for him to be so nervous.

You held back a yawn. “You look so handsome, it’s making me nauseous.”

“Honey, who is it—” Your mother appeared from the kitchen, head peeking through the doorframe. She gasped once her eyes landed on the boy standing next to you. “Oh my God!” She quickly spun around to shout loud enough for your father who was sipping coffee in the living room to hear, “Darling, come quick! Our daughter has finally brought home a man!”

“Jesus Christ,” you muttered, sending him a look. “See? They’re getting the wrong idea.”

Eren’s mouth turned upside down, seemingly impressed at himself. “I look like a man now.”

“Shut up.” You rolled your eyes, drawing your attention back to your mother. “Mom, this is Eren. Remember? Eren Jaeger from junior high?”

She had her eyebrows furrowed, still shamelessly gawking at him as she walked closer to where you were standing. “Eren? That Eren?” She asked, eyes widening once the memories of thirteen-year-old boy Eren resurfaced. “Oh my dear God, look how much you’ve grown up! Well done, puberty!”

While you were busily palming your face in shame, Eren let out a soft chuckle, performing a bow. “Hello. It’s been a while. You still look as beautiful as always.”

“Oh my,” she fanned her face, looking all gleeful as she slapped your father by the shoulder when the man finally joined you in the hallway. “Are you dating anyone right now?”

“Mom, Dad is literally standing next to you.”

Your father flashed a smile, hand rising mid-air in such an awkward way, it nearly made you cringe in pain. He was most likely embarrassed at how your mother was reacting, just like you. “Hi,” he greeted and Eren nodded his head politely in response.

“I’m not asking for me, silly,” your mother scolded, “I’m asking for you.”

“Wha—” You choked, face heating. “Why would you—Eren and I are just friends! We’re not gonna date, mom, it will feel weird!”

“Yeah,” Eren chimed in quietly, looking away. “Weird…”

What’s weird was how he behaved at the question, but maybe you were just thinking too much about it. He was probably just abashed by it as you were. “Besides,” you added, “Eren’s not interested in girls.”

“Oh, I see,” your mother said, looking unnecessarily sympathetic before she clapped her hands together. “Well, it’s all fine, honey. I have a nephew that’s just about your age who will be perfect for you—”

“I mean,” you could feel your patience wearing thin. “He’s not interested in dating girls because he has a lot of things going on in his life right now. He’s in a band. He just signed a deal with a record label.”

“Oh, wow, that’s such great news!” Without warning, she leaped forward to give him a hug and Eren just stood there, frozen. When she broke away, she pouted at him. “Eren, honestly, you should’ve paid us a visit sooner.”

“I’m sorry…” He smiled back, eyes turning soft like how a little boy regarded his mother. “I couldn’t keep in touch before but now that I’m going to the same college as your daughter, I’m sure I could visit more often.”

“As you should!” She poked him square in the chest. “When you were gone, all my daughter could do was just talk about how she missed you every day—”

“OKAY!” You quickly interrupted, latching your hands on Eren’s shoulders as you pushed him from behind. “We’re gonna head to my room now, bye.”

But as you walked up the stairs, your mother said, “Honey, leave the door open.”

“Mom! It’s just Eren!”

“Yes, but he looks like that now.” She emphasized a certain word that caused Eren’s ears to grow bright red. “And you’re both still young. You got all that hormones going inside—”

“Oh my God, I’m not talking to you ever again,” you said, pushing him harder. “Let’s go.”

Eren waved a hand, looking slightly apologetic on your behalf. “Bye.”

“Stay as long as you want, Eren. You can spend the rest of your life with us too if you marry—”

“JESUS, MOM!”

***

“Welcome to my humble lair,” you muttered to him as you dragged open your door. The morning sunlight was still warm on your cheeks, seeping through your window and yet you already felt mentally drained as if you had been awake for days. You threw yourself on your bed, half-groaning half-sighing to your pillow.

Eren closed the door behind him, pressing his back against it. “So, umm…” He placed both hands inside his pockets, head leaning against the surface. “You missed me?”

“Kill me,” you mumbled into your pillow, not even bothering to look up as you knew your cheeks must be turning scarlet. “If you’re gonna tease me about it, just kill me.”

“Right, sorry.” Eren was biting his lip, trying to hold back his grin. “Talked about me every day, huh?”

“Eren.”

“Okay, I’ll stop.” He chuckled and in the silence that stretched between you, you sat up on your bed, feet dangling around the edge. You stole a glance at him, noticing that he was observing you with his beautiful jade green eyes, a smirk painting his face.

You squinted your eyes at him, warning him. “What?”

“Nothing.” He shrugged nonchalantly but the twinkle in his eyes still shone mischievously. “I was just wondering whether you cried when you thought about me—”

“Oh my God, I’m gonna kill you.”

Eren dodged your little punches so effortlessly as he laughed like a little boy, chortling in the way that was so contagious, it made you—who was flustered all the way down to your toes—smile as well. By the time you tried to land your fourth punch, Eren grabbed you by the waist with one hand, with his other one holding your hand mid-air.

The sudden proximity made you nervous. “Eren—let go—”

“I missed you too, you know,” he confessed, so softly as if he was whispering. His lean fingers curling around yours, holding your hand in his larger one. “I missed you every day.”

He was so close, his lips were still smiling but they didn’t do it out of amusement. His gaze turned affectionate, his minty breath caressed your cheek. The hand he kept on your waist slid up your body, now filling the space between your shoulder and your neck, his fingertips caressing your jawline. “Did you miss me?” He quietly asked, both his eyes and his voice were hypnotizing.

You swallowed hard. “You already know how I felt.”

“I want to hear you say it.”

“I…” As if you were under his spell, your eyes were drawn to his lips, entranced and captivated. “I, uhh…”

A sudden knock on the door startled you both, leaving you stunned. Eren was quick to land back on reality, pushing you away by the shoulders. The moment—whatever it was between you—ended so abruptly that you stumbled on your feet, feeling lightheaded as if you just got woken up from a dream. “Yes, Mom?” You croaked out.

“I brought you guys some snacks.”

You and Eren exchanged glances, couldn’t maintain eye contact for even a second before you both blushed and kept yourself busy doing anything else. You answered the door while he went deeper into your room, choosing to go through the pictures you framed on the wall.

“Honey,” your mother warned you again. “Keep the door open.”

“Yes.” And this time, you wholeheartedly obliged.

“Holy shit,” Eren said, gathering your focus back on him. He had taken off his blazer, now working on rolling up his sleeves to his elbows as he stared at an old picture of you and him—the one that you took during a summer festival on your second year of junior high. “I can’t believe I used to have that haircut,” he commented, grimacing at the sight of his choppy bangs. “Jesus, I was so ugly back then.”

“I think you looked cute.” It came out so naturally from you that it surprised you both, making the tension ten times more awkward than it already was. Thankfully for you, Eren had stopped being a smartass, knowing how his previous antic led to—

What was about to happen before? You thought, heart racing fast. It was such a bad idea, you noticed, to be with him alone in your room like this. It felt different than having him in your dorm—usually because Petra was always around to interrupt. Right now it just felt… intimate. And you were more conscious about the fact that you had a man in your room, instead of your best friend—someone who you had known for years.

“Oh, there it is!” Eren chirped, snapping you out of your reverie. He had his eyes on the acoustic guitar you bought for him after graduation—the one that he told you to keep until he came back and played it for you again. He had a wide smile attached to his lips, face glowing excitedly as he took a seat in your swivel chair, placing the instrument on his lap.

“Sorry if it’s a bit dusty,” you said, “I forgot to put it back in the case before I moved out. I wanted to take it with me to the dorm but…”

“It’s all right.” Eren thanked you more with his eyes than his smile. “Thank you for keeping it for me.”

Your chest felt warm, joy running underneath your skin. “You’re welcome.”

“Now, please, have a seat, Princess.” He gestured toward the bed. Scrunching your nose at his unusual pet name, you took a seat at the edge of your bed. “I have promised you that I’d play this guitar for you again and I’m keeping that promise. So, what song shall I serenade you with today, Your Majesty?”

“Anything,” you reply as you leaned forward to rest your elbows on your thighs. “I don’t care what it is. I just want to see you play. I want to hear you sing.”

The sudden seriousness in your voice caught him off guard and Eren had to clear his throat to regain his earlier confidence. “Well then, uhh…” He paused, taking a moment to think. His heart palpitated, his mind running wild. Somehow, sitting in front of you right now felt more pressuring than standing on a stage, in front of hundreds of pairs of eyes judging him for his talent. And the reason for that was simple.

He didn’t care about the audience. He cared about you.

He loved you.

And this… was a way to show you how much.

He took a deep breath, resting his shaky fingers on the steel strings. Here goes nothing, he thought, eyes closed but once he separated his lips, melodies echoed to your ears. Soft and beautiful, it reminded you of the trickle of raindrops on your window after a long day of being surrounded by boisterous conversations, or the small waves hitting your feet as you basked in the glow of the sunset.

(Click here if you want to hear Eren's song as you read)

“My love goes out of my heart and into the wind. Out my guitar and under your skin.” He slowly opened his eyes, catching yours, and kept them locked. “Into your house and out of your headphones. That's where my love goes.”

He played his guitar, plucking on the strings, steady and gentle. The melody was heartwarming, somewhat bright, and happy compared to the stuff he wrote recently. Both the music and the lyrics reminded you of young, innocent love. And it was the first time you ever heard him sing something about love too.

“Wherever you go, I'll follow,” Eren sang, a corner of his lips curving upward as he stole glances at you. But it wasn’t his usual impish, cocky smirk. It was sheepish and playful—like the little smile he showed when he was young. “Don’t worry about tomorrow. I will be in your shadow, walking right beside you every day.”

When he sang, it created a memory and reminding you of one at the same time—a memory that was so sweet, so soothing, one that you would replay over and over again behind closed eyelids before your exhaustion took you away to another state. You were thrown back to the past where you found yourself sitting next to him on the grass, with him holding a guitar in his lap and with you leaning your head on his shoulder.

“I'll be the one to save ya. When I put my pen to paper. Feels like it brings us closer. Even when you're so far away.”

You could imagine fourteen-year-old Eren singing this to you. Could imagine the way he would sneak glances at you but avert his eyes away the second you caught his eyes. Could imagine the rosy shade on his beautiful sun-kissed cheeks. Could imagine the little smile he’d keep to himself when he saw you bobbing your head to the song.

“You will never be lonely. Just relax and listen to me.” He sent you a wink, more playful than seductive, but it didn’t fail to make you blush. “I breathe the air that you breathe. I am always with you in disguise.” His face was so open, so relaxed, and you thought that this was probably the happiest he had ever looked as he played his music.

He reminded you of the ice cream cones you shared in the summer. Of the taste of chlorine on your tongue when he splashed water to your face, legs kicking each other inside the pool. He reminded you of the old days, the precious old memories, the laughter he gave you, and the love you gave him.

“That's where my love goes.” The notes went higher and Eren had his eyebrows sewn together as he strummed his guitar harder. He was no longer telling a story, he was pouring out his feelings. “Tell me, can you hear me now. I’m screaming out so loud. It goes out of my heart and into the wind. Out my guitar and under your skin.”

You could feel goosebumps breaking on your skin, completely forgot how to blink or even breathe as the world dissolved into blur except for him. Eren, with his captivating green eyes. Eren, with his passion for music. Eren, laying his soul bare before your eyes.

“My love goes out of your door and into the street,” his voice gradually turned quieter as it reached the end of the song. “Down through the floor and up through your feet.” His eyes still never left yours. “Into your car and out of your radio. That’s where my love goes.”

He let his guitar rang its final note into the air, smiling tenderly at you before it turned sheepish and he broke eye contact. Clearing his throat, he brought the guitar down from his lap, settling it in an upright position between his knees. “So, uh, what do you think?”

“Umm…” Your throat felt parched. “It was…” Beautiful. Amazing. You got me so drawn into the song, I could barely think about anything else but you. “Good.”

“Good?” He raised an eyebrow, shaking his head in amusement. “Well, aren’t you hard to impress, Princess.”

You wanted to correct your words, wanted to tell him how you felt but you couldn’t. Your heart was beating so fast now that you realized the lyrics were about love—about confession. And with the way he was gazing at you as he sang—

Stop. You’re just thinking way over your head now.

“Is it, uhh,” Keep yourself together! “Is it one of your songs? I mean—did you write it?”

Eren took a few seconds before answering, making you ponder, head swirling from all the possibilities.

The truth was, yes. He wrote it. He wrote it years ago as a promise. He wrote it for you and no one else. It was the song he wanted to perform for you as a graduation gift, along with the love letter he spent hours trying to come up with the right words. It was the song—one that he never got to give.

But now that he had sung it to you, he wasn’t brave enough to admit it.

“No,” he confirmed, standing up from his seat. “It’s just… a song from this band I liked back in high school.” He placed the guitar back inside the case, face turning pensive.

“Oh…” You felt uneasy. Doubtful, too. Deep down, you knew he was lying. You just weren’t sure whether you should trust your guts. Because if this song was indeed his, then how should you react? How should you take it? Was this a love confession? Was this his way of telling you how he felt about you?

That’s ridiculous, you thought to yourself. As if he had feelings for me.

“It’s a beautiful song,” you commented, smiling at him more naturally once you had let the thoughts go. “Whose song is it?”

“I don’t remember,” he said, shutting the guitar case. He took a deep breath, keeping himself composed. Once he was sure he could lie better, he turned around to face you properly.

“I’m starving.” He forced himself to smile. “Let’s go get some burgers.”

***

You’re waking up to the sound of your alarm, eyelashes feeling like they’re glued together from how desperate you still crave for sleep. It’s seven am and your work starts in two hours, and yet, all you can do right now is just sprawl there on your bed, eyes locked to your ceilings, wondering what the fuck just happened?

It feels like you just had the longest dream. The longest, sweetest, most thrilling dream you’ve ever had in years. One that you wish could go on forever. But now that you���ve woken up and realized that you need to face the consequences of your actions sooner or later, it feels more of a nightmare instead of one.

Whenever you close your eyes, the memories play like an old movie behind your eyelids.

The memory of Eren drawing near, tongue peeking out nervously from behind his teeth to wet his lower lip before it twirled around yours.

The memory of Eren pushing two fingers inside his mouth, coating them with saliva before he slithered one hand between your legs and slid them inside you.

The memory of Eren, his crimson cheeks and parted lips as he breathily chanted your name, desperate for release but was afraid to beg when you curled your fingers around him.

Fuck, my head hurts.

With wobbly knees, you drag yourself to the bathroom, turning on the shower knob, and let yourself be drenched by scalding hot water as if it could wash the taste of Eren’s bruising kisses on your skin. It doesn’t. Nothing will.

Wiping the steam off your mirror with your bare hand, you stand there, observing your reflection. Angry, purplish marks are forming on the skin above your collarbones, a solid proof that, yes, you did not just dream about your best friend sucking bruises on your neck as he rubbed his cock over you. He did that. And he would’ve probably done a lot more than that if he hadn’t been such a gentleman. You were begging for him to fuck you, for God’s sake.

“What is wrong with me?” You question yourself in disgust, pushing a toothbrush inside your mouth. He’s like a brother to you!

But did you ever really think of him as one? Siblings do not think about shoving their tongues down each other’s throats like you did the entire night after you witnessed him kissing Historia. You weren’t even slightly drunk when you thought about wanting him that way. Or is it just curiosity? A mere physical attraction?

But enough about you, what about Eren? Why did he kiss you back? Why didn’t he stop you?

“So beautiful,” you remembered him say, “So fucking beautiful.”

You shut your eyes, splashing cold water to your face. Does he have feelings for you? If so, why did he never act on it before? Was he ever planning to? He probably wouldn’t have kissed you if you didn’t start it in the first place. Perhaps he was just getting carried away by the moment?

Shit, I don’t get it.

The sound of your front door being unlocked made you gasp, hastily putting on the nearest sweater and jeans you can reach. He’s here, you’re screaming the words in your head, knowing that he’s the only person who owns the key to your apartment beside you. He’s here. Eren’s here. Fuck. Fuck!

You stumble into your living room, almost tripping over your feet before you stop, eyes shaking at the sight of Eren placing his card key on the kitchen counter while carrying a paper bag in one hand. “I brought you, uhh, breakfast,” he stiffly says, teal eyes glossing over your appearance but unable to maintain eye contact. “You were so wasted last night so I got you some aspirin too, just in case.”

It’s seven in the morning and he’s already here bringing everything you didn’t ask him to, but certainly what you need. It’s clear that he’s worried about you when he should’ve been worrying about himself, judging from how heavy his eyebags are from lacking sleep.

And there you are, on the verge of running away, planning to avoid him for as long as you can.

You’re the worst.

“How are you feeling?” He questions. Eren is dressed casually in a pair of navy blue jeans and a white shirt with sleeves rolled up until they reached just a few inches below his shoulders. He’s fresh out of the shower too, seeing how damp his locks are as they brush against his shoulders. You catch a whiff of soap and mint that fills the air once you get closer to retrieve the bag from his hand.

“I’m okay. And thanks for this.” You manage not to stutter your word but can barely do anything about the quiver in your voice. “Last night, uhh—”

“Oh, you fell asleep in the car,” he hastily interrupts. “I didn’t have the heart to wake you up so I just carried you to the bed.”

Your face heats up at the thought of him carrying you protectively in his arms, taking off your shoes, even going as far as covering you up with your quilt. “T-thank you. Why didn’t you just crash the night here?”

“I couldn’t. Not after…” His head spins as he tries to find the right term without making the situation more awkward than it already is. With a flush blooming on his cheeks, Eren averts his gaze. “Well, you know.”

Fuck, I shouldn’t have asked. “So, what did you bring me, some donuts?” It’s terrible the way you suddenly change the topic but you’re desperate and your brain isn’t functioning well as you can barely think about anything else but the way he touched you just a few hours ago.

Eren holds his ground but his heart is sinking heavily to his stomach. He chews on his lip as you rummage through the paper bag with shaky hands. It kills him to see how jittery you act around him. Wanting the tension to stop suffocating you both, he firmly states, “I think we should talk.”

Your movements gradually come into a halt, looking back at him with weary eyes, a timid smile, and a throbbing heart. “Yeah, I think we should.”

***

A minute—or maybe two? An hour? Honestly, it feels like forever—has passed in silence with you sitting on one corner of your couch and Eren being perched on the other end. You secretly wish that your couch is five meters long so you won’t accidentally brush your finger against his or something else that will feel just as awkward.

You both know what you need to talk about. It’s just… None of you wants to do it.

“Last night—“ You both end up saying at the same time—or shouting, more likely, from being too pressured by the tension that stretches between you. "Sorry..." You clear your throat. “You go first.”

Eren keeps his eyes on his lap as he rubs the back of his neck with one hand. “Do you, umm… Do you remember what happened last night?”

Truth is, you do but not in detail. Instead of what, you remember more about how you felt during that time. “A bit,” you answer, fiddling with your fingers. “You?”

Eren memorizes everything vividly and he’s not planning to forget it for the rest of his life. He recalls every little sound you made, every little expression that you unveiled, both sweet and sensual, enough to make his heart soar whenever it crosses his mind. But he doesn’t want to sound so attached, doesn’t want to make this appear like a big deal in case that will freak you out. If what keeps you around is him pretending that this doesn’t mean anything, then he’ll do just that. Even when it means everything to him, he’ll pretend for your sake. He’s been pretending in front of everyone else. He’s sure he can do it in front of you too.

But that doesn’t mean he’s not hurt. And if his facade breaks, even for a little, then the pain will show. “Guess it didn’t mean anything to you, huh?”

Your ears perk up at the sound of him mumbling under his breath. “What?”

“A bit,” he promptly corrects, imitating your answer, a little too cold but fortunately for him, you fail to notice. “I remember a bit of what happened. We were pretty drunk last night.” It’s a complete lie because Eren was nowhere near that state. He had two glasses of Gin and Tonic, true, but for someone who could drink an entire bottle of it without experiencing a hangover on the next day, two glasses meant nothing. But if you want to blame everything on the alcohol, then he will too. “How much do you remember from last night?”

“I…” You scratch your cheek, feeling like your face is in flames. You wish there was a way to hide how absolutely mortified you feel. “I remember that I kissed you first. And that, uhh… Y-you kissed me back.”

Eren doesn’t seem as flustered as you are. If anything, he only grows solemn. “What else?”

“I don’t… I’m not sure.” You sigh into your hands. “It all happened too fast, I could only catch glimpses of it. But I remember how it felt… good.”

Only at that, does he blush—eyes turning wide and quivering before he conceals them with his bangs. “Oh…”

His little oh makes your heart race a million times faster than it already is. “Did—did it feel good to you?”

“It felt great.”

“Oh,” you feel both relieved and even more embarrassed at the same time. “Yeah, it was—amazing.”

“Yeah.” Eren leans back on the couch, head lolling to the side as he peeks from underneath his bangs. “We shouldn’t do it again, though.”

“Totally, yeah.” You’re not hyperventilating but it feels like you are. “That would be, uhh, that would be wrong.”

“That would be so wrong.”

“Yeah.”

And silence comes to hang around once more. You keep glancing at the door, knowing that it’s still there if you want to escape. You just can’t seem to muster enough strength to stand on your feet.

“Can I ask you something?” Eren voices and you nod your head, a few times more than necessary. “How do you feel about me?”

Thank God you weren’t drinking your coffee. Otherwise, you would have choked on it. Even right now, you feel like you already are choking. “F-feel?”

Seeing how you’re fidgeting on your seat, fingers fisting against the hem of your sweater, Eren hunches forward, propping his elbows on his knees, eyes deeply peering into yours. “Do you love me?” He asks, voice so delicate accompanied by a pair of green eyes that feel more piercing than ever.

There are thousands of voices screaming inside your head, some providing excuses, some telling you to say the truth, but what is the truth?

“Be honest,” he demands. “Be honest and tell me how you really feel about me.”

“Okay…” You’re running out of breath even when you haven’t done anything but sit and talk. “I’ll be honest.” You owe him this much, tell him the truth. “I love you. I do. But—”

“But,” he chuckles but it’s dark and deep, like something he’s doing out of spite. Seeing you freeze, he smiles, as sweet as it is fake. “Sorry. Go on.”

If you hadn’t cared so much about him, you would’ve escaped right then. Having this conversation is painful. You just wish you could go back to where you were before. “What did you expect me to say, Eren?”

“I didn’t expect anything,” he flatly responds. “I just want to know how you feel.”

“Well, I love you more than anyone else I’ve ever cared about but I never thought of you as a boyfriend. That’s the truth.” You confess everything in one breath. “You’re like a brother to me. But I do have to admit that after I saw you and Historia together, I—“ You tarry, fumbling with your words. “I think a part of me wants you to be something more. I just—fuck, how do I say this?” The intensity of his gaze makes it almost impossible for you to keep up with your thoughts. “I want you. There, I said it.” You’re panting at this point. “I think you’re really attractive—I’ve always thought you were attractive. I don’t know since when I stopped seeing you as the little boy you were when we first met and more as a… As a man. And I want to kiss you. I want to feel you. I want to—” You wish you were still drunk enough to be completely honest just how much your body wants him. But right now, with your heart beating so loudly in your ears you could barely hear anything else, that’s just as far as you can go.

You’re drowning so deep in your thoughts that you forget to take a glimpse at what Eren is doing beside you. He’s looking down, elbows still propped on his lap with one palm hovering above his mouth, hiding half of his face. Every second that passes with him not saying anything feels like you’re sinking an inch deeper into quicksand.

“Eren, please say something. I’m going crazy over here.”

“Right, umm,” he inhales sharply, clasping his hands together. “So… You’re just physically attracted to me.”

Whether it was a statement or a question, you don’t feel like you have to confirm it twice. Instead, you ask, “I’m guessing you are too?”

Eren’s jaw clenches, and with a heavy sigh, he moves on to another topic. “So, where do we stand now?”

“What do you mean?”

“Like… Do you want us to date? Have a relationship?”

But you recall almost every word that he said in the car, about how he didn’t want to be tied up to one person. How he couldn’t afford to be with someone. How he couldn’t trust them enough that they wouldn’t abandon him in the future. And you’re not gonna force him to do that for you, not when you’re still not entirely sure on how you feel about him.

“No,” you say and he’s so appalled, he doesn’t appear like he’s breathing. “No. I want us to stay like this.” I don’t want to put our friendship in jeopardy just because we think we have to take responsibility for what happened last night.

“As friends?”

“Yeah.”

The air is so heavy that it feels like you’re being crushed, slowly but steady. And Eren never utters a word. It’s until he feels his phone vibrating in his pocket that he decides to make a move.

“Well, I gotta go.” You nearly jump in your seat when Eren suddenly makes a sound. “I’m supposed to have an interview in two hours.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be on a break?”

“Yeah, but it’s an offer from a well-known company, so…”

“Right,” you shakily nod, rising from your seat to mirror his action. “Sure. I have to get ready for work too anyway.”

“Yeah.” There’s a pause filled with hesitation before, “So, I guess, we’re back to where we are then,” Eren says, focusing on the little spot between your eyebrows so it only seems like he’s making eye contact when all he’s trying to do right now is the opposite. “This—what happened last night—we’re not gonna act on it.”

“Yes, of course,” you quickly reply, forcing out a laugh. “Why would you think this would change anything—this was just us being drunk and stupid. It doesn’t mean anything.”

“Yeah,” he echoes, fingers curling against the side of his jeans. “Doesn’t mean anything.”

But he’s doing it again, you think. That little gesture and expression he always makes when he says one thing but means a completely different thing. You’re just not sure why he does it.

“It doesn’t… Right…?” You try to confirm, eyebrows furrowed as you try to decipher his expression. “Eren?”

But Eren is a coward, that’s what he is. That’s what he’s always been. He’s too afraid to tell you the truth. That all these years, he’s been wanting—no, needing you more than anyone else. That he’s been loving you as hard as he can in secrets, afraid that you will push him away if you don’t feel the same. And even if you do love him back, what’s next? Be in a relationship where you have two different jobs, living two different lives? What happens when he goes away on tour? What happens when you see him being surrounded by girls? What happens if time and space decide to mess with your relationship?

What happens if he ruins it?

With the way he is now, it’s bound to happen.

Eren can never be able to trust himself to be with someone. He feels like you’re better off without him. Anyone is better off without him. He’s a liability. He’s an empty shell. He doesn’t deserve to be loved, not when his own mother, who was supposed to love him when nobody else did, abandoned him without even a gentle kiss of goodbye. She left with angry tears in her eyes, she left with her palm reddening from making contact with his cheek, she left with his name tumbling off her lips in sheer disgust.

“Eren.”

Your hesitant yet soothing voice brings him back but now that his thoughts are in the past, Eren can finally lie better. “It doesn’t mean anything,” he confirms with a smile, one that matches his empty eyes. Landing a hand on your head, he strokes your hair once. “I gotta go.”

You keep yourself reticent as you escort him to your front door. Your steps feel heavy as if you’re doing something wrong. It felt way easier to kiss him last night instead of bidding him goodbye after your conversation ended so vaguely like this.

“I’m not sure when I’ll be able to visit again,” Eren says, facing you as you stand between the door frame. “I have—I need to work on some new songs. We’re gonna release a new single soon, so…”

“Oh, that’s—That’s great.” You force yourself to smile. “Yeah, just—do what you gotta do. We can hang out when you’re not busy. You already have my number so you can just… call.” You’re seconds away from slapping yourself in the face. It’s so terribly awkward, the way you’re behaving around him, but even then, Eren never comments on it.

“Okay.” His green eyes don’t have the usual spark that makes them beautiful. The color is still stunning, but they only evoke sadness from you. “Well, goodbye.”

“Bye, Eren.”

You usually share a hug with him pecking your cheek in that laidback, playful manner of his every time you part but right now? It feels like it’s already snatching all of your strength to just stay there and maintain eye contact with him. But Eren doesn’t want to make this feel any weirder than it already is. It doesn’t mean anything, right? Then he has to act like it. Be natural.

So he bends his head down and leans in to kiss your cheek. Your eyes nearly flutter close in reflex but you’re too distracted with the way your heart is thrashing wildly inside your chest. His lips are on your skin, and they feel familiar now in a way they’re not supposed to. You suddenly remember how they felt against your own five hours ago. Remember how they’re the ones who’re responsible for the bruises that bloom underneath your turtleneck sweater. Remember how they taste.

And God, did they taste wonderful.

Maybe Eren feels the same way too because he stops, his face hovering close, sharing the minty scent of your breath. As you tilt your head to the side, your lips brush his very faintly but it’s enough to send a zap of electricity coursing through your veins. You’re not sure who leans in first but your lips are reunited once in a chaste kiss. Tentative and slow, testing the water. Once you break away, you both lock gaze and—

Fuck this.

Eren lifts you by the waist and you tangle your legs around him, parting your lips while begging him to do the same. His kisses aren’t gentle, they’re rough and bruising—demanding, just like how he is as a person. He’s consuming you again, every caress of his lips causes your skin to tingle, burned by his passion. He’s carrying you inside your apartment, using your body to close the door, and releases you back to your feet just so he can yank his shirt above his head. The second he tosses the cloth haphazardly to the floor, you’re in his arms again, hands circling his neck, tongue sliding in to taste the roof of his mouth.

“One more time?” He breathes out, rushed and hazy as he leads you to your bedroom.

“One more time,” you agree, even when you’re not sure whether he’s talking about the kiss or something more. The answer is still the same. You let his hand sneak underneath your shirt, his palm flittering above your bra. You topple down to the bed with him crawling on top, his frantic hands undoing his belt while you focus on taking off your sweater, pulling it harshly even when a few strands of hair get caught around the button.

“Wait,” you say between gasps when Eren pins you down to the bed, his mouth zealously tasting the skin of your neck. “What—what about your interview?”

“Unlike me,” he answers, standing on his knees to unzip his jeans, lust-filled eyes staring down at you. “They can wait.”

Eren’s voice is so deep and rough, unfamiliar and dirty in your ears. When he leans in to whisper the question he’s been yearning to ask for years, you can feel shivers running down your spine.

“Can I have you?”

He’s most likely referring to sex but the way he asks it—the way he chooses his words—makes you feel like he’s saying something much more intimate. Like he’s asking for your heart, for your time, for your love, and everything else instead of your body.

“Yeah, just—” You swallow hard, can’t seem to be able to stop touching him. “Just take me, Eren. I’m all yours.”

And that will be the first and last time he’s going to ask for your permission. From now on, it’s settled. You’re his, and he is yours. Even if it’s just physical, you belong to each other.

Before long, your clothes are discarded on the floor, the silky fabric of your panties probably a little torn from how rough he tried to tear it away from your body. You’re bare and exposed, tiny hairs on your skin standing up. You want to blame it on the air conditioner that’s blasting in your room but you know that it doesn’t hold as much effect on you as the way his eyes are running up and down your body.

“You’re beautiful,” he says, heavy with need. It’s like he’s undressing you once again, exposing yourself for the first time and you can’t stop your hands from going to your face.

“I’m—I’m not—” you stammer, line unfinished the second he pries your fingers away. He’s not giving you a chance to react when he suddenly pushes you up the bed, your hair brushing against the headboard.

Bringing your hand above your head, Eren speaks his words like he’s taking a vow. “You are,” his attention is focused on you unwaveringly. “You’re so fucking beautiful, you’re driving me insane.”

As his lips glide further down your body, he can feel your pulse rampantly beating beneath him. His mouth is on your breast, tongue swirling around your nipple before he takes a little nip and soothes the pain with a gentle suck.

You’re a moaning mess, fingers slipping between his strands, tugging at his roots. “Eren—” you choke out, flinching in pleasure when he slides a hand underneath your thigh, raising your leg until you have no choice but to wrap it around his body. He presses his hips down, his clothed hardness grazing against your heat as he moans lowly against your mouth.

If you could just take a peek of what’s going on inside his head, you’d know just how much he’s been wanting this to happen, and yet, now that he has you where he wanted you to be, he feels afraid. Afraid that you might just want him for your pleasure and nothing more. Afraid that once you get a taste of him, you’ll realize that he’s nothing special. That he’s just a man who wants you, who loves you this much, but is never brave enough to act on his feelings.

That he’s a coward and nothing more.

“I need it,” you beg, lifting your hips, desperate for friction. “Eren, please, I want you.”

Eren doesn’t really have enough self-control to begin with but what you’re doing to him right now is just pushing him past his limits. And thousands of voices in his head are screaming for him to seize the opportunity.

So what if she only wants you for sex? They say. She’s giving you her attention. That’s as far as you are worthy to accept.

And with another moan of his name escaping your lips, Eren decides to give up and give in.

“Fuck, I can’t wait—” He reaches one hand to the back pocket of his jeans, grabbing his wallet and snatching a condom out of it. There’s a part of you that’s curious enough to ask why he carries it in his wallet but knowing how he behaves around Historia, even if it was just an act, you’re sure that he must have been going places.

Unlike you. You’ve never done this before. Ever.

“Eren, umm—” You’re not sure what you want to say—maybe something about him to be gentle about it, but you can’t seem to form the words when you see him tucking the package between his teeth, tearing it open. He pushes his jeans and his boxer down just enough to let his cock spring to life, stroking it with one hand before he puts on the rubber so effortlessly as if it’s something he can do with his eyes closed.

You swallow thickly. The previous excitement and adrenaline that were pumping through your veins gradually turn to fear. “Eren…”

He’s spreading you wide open, hands on your knees before he moves one to hold himself and align his cock to your entrance. “I’m putting it in,” he tells you but before you can let the thought sink in, he’s pushing inside.

“Fuck, wait—” You’re clutching tightly to his shoulders, both for support and a weak attempt to push him away, “Eren—”

It hurts. It hurts so badly, tears are forming in your eyes. It’s the kind of pain that you’ve never experienced before, and one that you don’t want to repeat ever again until you die. It feels like he’s tearing you apart little by little, excruciatingly so. You cry out his name again, but Eren is drowning too deep in pleasure to notice.

“God, you’re so tight,” he hisses, thick eyebrows furrowing as he drives himself to the hilt, only stopping once he’s fully inside. Breathing heavily, Eren drags his eyes back to your face and once he witnesses the tears that are threatening to fall, he panics. “Oh shit, did I hurt you?” His hand frames your cheek, eyes running back and forth frantically to check on your face, analyzing your expression. “Are you okay? I’m sorry—I’m so sorry, I—”

“It’s okay,” you tell him, assuring him with a timid smile as you try your best to relax. “I just… Just give me a minute.”

The guilt does not falter away from his face but he nods. “Of course, yeah. As long as you need.” Eren leans in to tenderly kiss your temple as a form of apology before he goes back to search your face. He can finally breathe properly once he sees you relaxing a little bit. “I’m such an idiot,” he murmurs, his thumb rubbing comforting circles along your cheekbone as he holds you in his hand. “I’m sorry… I got too excited.”

You chuckle, gently raking your nails down his back. “It’s okay.” You speak in whispers. “It’s just… I was surprised.”

He gathers you in his arms, embracing you tightly while being careful not to crush you with his weight. His lips brush against your ear as he breathily confesses, “You don’t know how much you’re driving me crazy. I can hardly think when I’m with you.”

The butterflies in your stomach come alive, more from his tone than his words. It’s so soft and genuine, the way he speaks, like an adoring father to his sleeping child. You can tell that he’s still panicking inside, so worried that he might have hurt you badly. Stroking his cheek, you guide him back to your lips. “Kiss me again.”

And he does, doing it so gently as if you’re going to break if he adds even the slightest pressure on it.

“Eren,” you reprimand him once he breaks away. “Kiss me like before.”

“Like what?”

“Like you want to tear me apart.”

He noticeably gulps, eyes hazy with lust from the effect of your words and he does just that, kissing you like he wants to make you his and his only. He tastes like mint and toothpaste, and yours probably the same, but once this ends, he’s just going to taste like you.

At your signal, Eren’s hips begin to move, the fabric of his jeans grazing your thigh as he starts with shallow thrusts, checking on your expression every two seconds. “Does it feel good?” He questions, nervous and uncertain despite his experience.

“It feels great,” you respond between smiles. The pain is still there, but it gradually lessens. “You?”

“Honestly?” He buries himself deeper, causing you to muffle your moan against the skin of his shoulder as you wrap your legs tighter around his hips. Eren’s hot breath fans the skin below your earlobe as he speaks, “Feels like I’m in heaven.”

His words and his soft, deep moans are a dangerous combination, and you find yourself curling your toes, squeezing tighter around him until he shudders. “Goddamn,” his moan only becomes breathier as he tugs the shell of your ear between his teeth. “Baby, you feel so good.”

Baby. You almost shudder at the little pet name that came so naturally from his mouth. Funny how he’s called you that plenty of times before but not once did he ever elicit such a reaction out of you. He sounds so sexy when he says it, so obscene—like how a boyfriend calls his lover in bed. And it makes you feel special, makes you feel like you’re the only one, like you’re the only girl that he wants who can satisfy him this way.

“Hey,” Eren’s gentle call brings your attention back to him. He cups your cheek, glassy eyes staring deep into yours. “Keep your eyes on me.”

Your breathing tatters. “W-why?”

Because you don’t know how long I’ve been waiting to have you in my arms like this, Eren silently answers, because you don’t know just how much I’ve been aching to have you. To see your face. To kiss you. He presses a chaste kiss to your lips. To taste you. You can feel his tongue sliding against your lower lip, begging for entrance and once you grant him, he sighs in content, moaning audibly into your mouth. To be with you like this.

“Can I…” He lets his words caress your cheek, the tip of his nose brushing against the supple skin. “Can I try something?”

“Y-yeah—” Eren switches position and the new angle hits you a little deeper, his pelvis grazing against your clit. “Oh—”

You don’t know how much I’ve been wanting to hear you make that sound, Eren thinks as he leans back to sits on his heels. He brings one of your legs in the air, resting it on his shoulder. His fingers are kneading the skin of your thigh, hugging your leg close to his chest as he rocks his hips slowly, savoring every moment. You feel so good, better than any dream—better than any girl I’ve done this with.

You nibble at your lip, reeling in the sensation. From where you lay on the bed, you can take a good look at Eren’s jade green eyes—the way they droop slightly, clouded with both affection and infatuation every time they meet yours. How the muscles in his abdomens are flexing with every movement. The sinful, obscene sway of his hips. “Eren, that feels so good…”

“Fuck, I love the way you say my name.” I want more. I want to hear it more. Please say my name again, he pleads in his mind, kissing the side of your leg. “I want to make you come,” Eren says, desperate and yearning, “Baby, I need to make you come.”

I want to be the only one who can please you. I want to hear you moan my name again. I want—fuck, I want you—I want all of you—you’re the only one—

“There,” you choke out, arching your back with your eyes shut tightly in pleasure. “You’re hitting—” Another moan escapes your lips, louder, uncontrolled. “—the right spot—”

You’re beautiful. So beautiful like this. Eren holds his position, hips rocking faster as he feels his own orgasm closing in. I want to kiss you. Want to have you moan my name against my mouth—

“Eren,” you sob, fingers twisting against the sheets. “I think I’m close—”

He snaps, moving to hover above you once more as he crushes your mouths together. He’s so deep inside, the movement of his hips becoming erratic. “Come for me,” he begs, “Come for me, baby, please.”

I love you. I love you. I’m so in love with you. If only I could tell you this.

If only I could be brave enough to tell you this.

You crash over with the cry of his name, muffled by the skin of his shoulder. Hearing and feeling you come apart around him has his hips stuttering and his voice caught. It only takes a few more thrusts before he follows, body shaking as he embraces you, nose buried in the crook of your neck. He’s panting out your name but you’re faintly aware of your surrounding, buried too deeply in your own bliss.

Eren leans back to draw wet kisses on your throat as you try to catch your breath, body relaxing against the sheets. When he sees you slowly opening your eyes, he smiles, emitting the softest of giggles. “Hey.”

“Hi,” you reply, tired and satisfied.

He swats the bangs out of your eyes, gentle fingertips sliding against sweaty skin. “You okay?”

“Yeah, just…” Now that your adrenaline is slowly dissipating from your body, you can’t handle the embarrassment that follows. “Just feeling a bit fucked out, that’s all.”

“Figures,” he chuckles, kissing your nose. “I’d love to let you rest, but don’t you have to go to work?”

Work?

You immediately sit up, bumping your forehead against his chin in the process, eyes widening in horror.

“Fuck.”

***

“Your story isn’t going to write on its own, you know.”

Pieck Finger’s melodious voice snaps you out of your daydream and you blink twice to see that, yes, you’ve been working on an article and only managed to write not more than three hundred words in the past—you take a glimpse at your watch—forty-eight minutes. You exhale wearily, rubbing a hand over your face. “I can’t concentrate.”

Sinking into her swivel chair, Pieck drags herself closer until she has her head peeking into your cubicle. “What’s wrong? Guy problem?”

“No,” you automatically respond, but once the words sink in, you say, “I mean, yes. But not like, relationship problems. You know what, at this point, I don’t even know.”

She closes her MacBook, tossing her raven strands off her shoulder before she slides into your spot, bringing her full attention to you with her coffee in her hands. “Spill, babe.”

You’re doing the same with your laptop, knowing that you won’t be getting any work done. Besides, the lunch break is in eight minutes so it won’t hurt to talk. “Okay,” you pause, unsure where to start. “So I just had sex.”

“Best sex of your life?”

“First sex of my life.”

“Wow, sounds serious,” Pieck’s mouth turns upside-down, nodding her head. “Good for you, sister. Who’s the lucky guy? I didn’t know you were dating someone.”

“He’s, umm,” you loosen up your collar, awkward and kind of worried of being judged. But Pieck has always been your ally from day one you’ve stepped into the company. And knowing her relationship with Porco Galliard, another co-worker of yours, she’s actually the best person out there you can talk to about this. “He’s just a friend.”

As expected, she doesn’t even bat an eyelash at the term, even when you still feel guilty about it. “Which friend?” She queries, thick eyebrows adjoined in the middle as if she’s in the middle of serious interrogation. “The dorky one who keeps making googly eyes at you?”

“You mean, Moblit? Oh no, we’re not even that close. He’s not from work.”

“Not from work? Who, then?”

A bit flustered, your drag your eyes away only to have them accidentally land on a stack of magazines that have been sitting on your desk for references purposes. One of them is The Rolling Stone’s last February issue when Empire became their cover artist for the month. With rosy cheeks, you rummage through the stack. Once you’ve attained the magazine in your hand, you slide it down the table for Pieck to see.

“What?” She asks, frowning.

“The one standing in the middle.”

She grabs the magazine, eyes moving back and forth as she reads the text, and stops when they land on a certain man. She squints her eyes at you. “What is this, a joke?”

You shake your head.

“You’re dating—”

“We’re not dating,” you quickly correct her, “We just had sex.”

“You just had sex with Eren Jaeger, the lead vocal of Empire?”

“Y-yeah.” You fidget in your seat, anxiously playing with your fingers. “But to me, he’s just a friend.”

“Just a fri—” she catches herself, knowing that she’s been quite loud about it. She has garnered quite an attention from co-workers that are walking past your cubicle. Pieck rolls the magazine in one hand and slams it harshly against your shoulder, only repeating it once more when you yelp. “Why didn’t you tell me you were friends with a celebrity?!”

You try to dodge her next attempt. “I didn’t know you were a fan!”

“I’m not a fan of him, but I might be a fan of his cute friends.”

“Can we go back to my problem first, please?”

“Fine.” She huffs, tossing the magazine away to the table. “Okay, so what happened?”

You’re not sure how to begin but you tell her about how you started to feel a certain way about him once you saw him kissing and flirting with Historia—which Pieck responds bitterly with, “If you say you’re friends now with Historia Reiss, I’m actually going to fucking kill you,” and when you wince as an attempt to display a grin, she hits you four times in a row with the same magazine, right on your head this time. Thankfully enough, she becomes more supportive at lending you her ears once you tell her about what happened with Eren in the car and your apartment.

“And now I’m not sure what to tell him,” you finish your story. “I was going to talk about it but I had to go to work so…”

“And now you’re here.”

“And now I’m here.”

“Fucked by your best friend, both mentally and physically.”

“I—” Your face nearly explodes. “Yeah.”

“Can’t even finish a 2k article before lunch break. Frieda is going to have you strangled, you know that, right?”

You sink your face deeper in your hands. “I know. But I can’t stop thinking about him.”

Pieck taps her pen to her lips, thinking. “Was the sex any good?”

“Oh my God, Pieck.” You hold her hand between yours, squeezing it as your eyes sparkle with joy. “It was the best.”

“You just had sex for the first time, idiot.” She flicks your forehead, merciless as always. “How would you know it was the best?”

“Fair point, but it felt so, so good.” You almost moan just by recalling the memory. “You know how they always said first-time sex could be painful and awful and just, ugh,” you stick out your tongue. “But it wasn’t like that for me at all! I mean, it did hurt. It hurt a lot but after that it was…” With your head thrown back and your hands hanging mid-air, you desperately try to find the perfect words to describe your experience. “I don’t know how else to say this but oh my God.”

“Goodbye.” Pieck is already halfway standing from her seat when you beg her to stay. “Okay, so the sex is great and you want to continue, obviously.” You nod your head too fast and too many, that you’re starting to feel dizzy. “And seems like he wants to do the same too, so what’s the problem?”

“The problem is that he doesn’t wanna be in a relationship.” You exhale heavily, tired and lost. “He said, and I quote, ‘I just think relationships and commitments can be messy and I already have enough mess in my life to take care of.’”

“Sheesh,” Pieck mutters, making a face. “Sounds like he has issues. Not my type. Went through a bad breakup?”

“I don’t think he did. He said he never had a relationship before.”

“But he’s not a virgin.”

“Doesn’t seem like one to me.”

“Well yeah, he’s popular. He goes on tours. Men have needs. Of course, he fucks all the time.” Pieck yawns while you turn pale as mental images of him sleeping with his female staff and groupies flood your head. “Do you want to date him?”

The question makes you freeze. “I think…” You nibble on your lip. “I don’t know, I never thought about being with him in that way.”

“So start thinking now.”

You send her a glare before you sigh in defeat, massaging your temple. “I feel like he’s on a whole another level, you know?” You ponder. “I mean, he works in the entertainment industry. He’s popular, girls will be chasing after him non-stop. He kisses another artist for fanservice—I don’t think I can ever be okay with that, even if it’s just an act.”

“And so you’re worried that you’d get constantly jealous.”

“Yes, exactly!” But admitting that out loud, only makes you ten times more worried about what to do. “I don’t want to act like a possessive girlfriend but I know myself enough that I’ll be doing exactly that once I see him being surrounded by girls. I’m… Even if he stays loyal to me, I know I’d still get jealous all the time and that won’t be fair to him.”

“True. Especially when he’s surrounded by girls as pretty as Historia Reiss.” Pieck retrieves the magazine back to her lap, flipping through the pages. “Oh, look. Mikasa Ackerman.” She taps her pencil to the picture of the beautiful young model carrying a bottle of perfume in her hand. “She’s pretty.”

“She calls because she wants me to fuck her. Satisfied?”

“Oh God,” your voice is muffled by the skin of your palm as Eren’s words ring through your ears. “You know what? Yeah. Dating him would be a terrible idea.”

“Then don’t date him.”

She’s not helping you at all, is she? “But…” You pout. “I don’t want to stop doing… well, you know.”

“Then just do what I do with Porco,” Pieck says, and not two seconds later, Porco Galliard, dressed handsomely in a white buttoned-up shirt with his golden hair slicked back as always, pops out behind her.

“Talking about me?” He asks, landing a hand on her shoulder. “Hey, Pieck, I’m gonna go grab some lunch. You wanna come?”

Pieck tilts her head up, tossing him a sweet smile. “Can you just buy something for me? I don’t feel like going.”

“What day is it today? Monday? So…” Porco takes a few moments to remember. “Avocado chicken salad?”

“Perfect, you’re the best.” She tugs him down by his tie and presses a light kiss on his cheek. “Thank you, Pokko. I can’t believe you’ve memorized my diet list already. I’m impressed.”

“Pieck, at this point, I even know when your next period is going to start.”

They have completely forgotten that you also exist in the room. With a blank stare, you comment, “You two are just as cute as you are gross. Are you guys sure you’re not dating?”

“No,” they both say so casually and naturally at the same time. At Porco’s permission, Pieck elaborates some more. “We’re just fuck buddies.”

“Well,” Porco tries to correct, “I prefer the term Friends with Benefits but okay.”

“It’s the same kind, Pokko, get used to it.”

“It just sounds more elegant.”

“Honey, all we do is fuck. There’s nothing elegant about that. We’re fuck buddies.”

“Jesus, Fine,” Porco sighs, giving you a flat stare. “We’re fuck buddies. We’re buddies and we fuck. Hence, fuck buddies.”

“Yeah, I get that, thanks.” You mirror his expression. “But why is that?” You ask with knitted eyebrows. “You two seem like you’re perfect for each other.”

“‘Cause I’m in love with Zeke Fritz,” Pieck says. “And he already has a wife so…”

“And I’m not into commitments,” Porco follows. And when you shoot him a glare, silently asking why do men do this? He just shrugs and says, “I’m still young, and I like having sex without having to deal with relationships. ‘Cause, you know, relationships can be me—”

“Messy, yes.” You’re literally having a headache right now. “So, you guys just, what, call each other late at night to have sex?”

“Sometimes in the morning,” Porco says and Pieck nods, completely missing the fact that you’re just being cynical about it. “At night, we’re usually too busy binging new series—”

“How the hell have you guys not fallen for each other yet?” You’re crossing way too far into their personal territories but you don’t care. Their relationship just sounds so absurd to you. “You guys sleep together in like, what, once a week?”

They actually have to take a moment to discuss before Pieck can firmly state, “Once every three days in average. We used to do it three times a day but then we realized we weren’t bunnies.” They share a laugh, giving each other high fives and you’re just sitting there, looking utterly disgusted at their inside jokes.

“Okay, but on a serious note,” Porco states, before he turns to his partner in crime, “We’ve laid out some ground rules, right?

With a nod, Pieck explains further. “We’ve made a deal in the beginning to make sure that this is just going to be about sex and nothing more. To make sure there are no feelings involved. I can give you a list, actually, you want it?”

“I’m not gonna ask you for—“ But you grab the nearest pen and paper, folding your legs and keep your ears ready. “Okay, so, number one?”

***

Ten minutes have passed with you standing in front of your front door with your key card lying between your fingers. Your bottom lip is almost bruised from how often you’ve been chewing at it to help reduce your stress.

Okay, he said he had an interview, you think inwardly. He might not be here. Even if he is, then what’s the problem? Just say hi, be natural. If he wants to talk about it, give him the list. If he doesn’t, then… You’re not sure how to finish the thought. What if he pretends like nothing happened? God, you don’t want him to pretend like nothing happened.

Taking a deep breath, you slide in your key and enter your apartment.

You’re met by the silence. A few lights in the room are on—Eren must have switched them on before he left—but no matter how many times you scan your eyes to your surroundings, there’s nobody else in the room.

Your shoulders sag in disappointment. Placing your handbag on the counter, you take a moment to process. Should I call? Will it make me sound desperate? You’re staring at your phone screen, noticing the clock that it’s a little past 9 pm. Where is he right now?

You shake your head and slap your cheeks with both palms. When was the last time you thought about a boy this much? Never. You seriously need to pull yourself together.

You nearly jump out of your skin when your phone rings, clattering against the marbled surface. Eren’s name is written on your screen, along with a picture of him grinning as he playfully ruffled your hair. Okay, fuck, calm down, you take a deep breath, repeating it twice, and slide your thumb along the screen.

“H-hello?” You curse inwardly. You’ve gone through all those rituals, and you still ended up stuttering one word.

“Where are you right now?”

“I’m—my apartment—“ Jesus Christ, calm down, me! “I just got back from work.”

“Great. Change into something comfortable.”

“Why?”

“‘Cause I’m already waiting for you downstairs and I’m craving for chicken wings.”

You nearly lose grip of your phone. “I—what, like, now?”

“Tomorrow. I’ll just make a tent here and wait for you until then.” You can actually picture him rolling his eyes. “Yes, Genius. Now come on, I’m starving.”

“But—” You swallow thickly. “Okay. Give me ten minutes.”

“I’ll give you five.”

The call ends with a beep.

***

It takes you approximately twenty-seven minutes before you can finally head downstairs to your lobby in your favorite sleek, skinny jeans, your most comfortable black ankle boots, and an off-the-shoulder top with long sleeves that brings out the color of your eyes. You’re way too over-dressed for a quick drive to grab some chicken wings, as he said, but you can’t help it. It feels like you’re going on a date, especially with him waiting downstairs for you instead of barging through your door like he always is. You weren’t even confident enough to go out without taking a shower, so instead of just dousing yourself with cologne like how you usually did to mask the scent of your sweat, you ended up tripping yourself to the bathroom, taking the quickest, yet very thorough shower in the history of mankind—seriously, you might have broken a new record or something—and re-did your make-up and hair all over again. You were aiming for a natural look but decided to apply bright red lipstick in the end, in hopes to get him to notice your lips more than he usually did (but you’re too embarrassed to even admit this to yourself).

“Eren,” you call out once you step outside the building, approaching his spot with hasty steps and palpitating heart. Eren, dressed in a pair of ripped jeans, combat boots, and a black shirt, is leaning against his motorbike—the same all-black Royal Enfield 350 he used to drive in college—with a phone in his hand. At the sound of your voice, he looks up with a scowl, his tongue ready to form harsh words to scold you for making him wait so long but once he sees you, his words vanish instantly.

And now he’s just staring at you with unblinking eyes and parted lips.

“Umm,” you become even more conscious about your appearance, blushing madly as you tuck a few strands of loose hair behind your ear. “S-sorry for making you wait. I was—I reeked of sweat so I had to take a shower.”

“Oh, uhh—” He clears his throat, bringing his eyes back to his phone just so you won’t notice his burning cheeks. “Yeah, it’s fine.”

You walk closer, unconsciously pouting to yourself when he just simply turns around to grab a jacket for you to wear, not taking a few seconds to comment on your look. Well, it’s not a date and he’s not your boyfriend so he’s not obliged to do all of that, true, but you can’t stop yourself from being disappointed.

“Here,” he says, handing you his leather jacket while he takes a denim one for himself. “‘Cause you’re as sensitive to cold as—”

“—A newborn pug,” you finish the line for him, displaying a little smile. “Yeah, I remember.”

He mirrors yours with a boyish grin. “Good. Now hop on.”

Putting on your helmet, you take a seat behind him and without waiting for his order, you circle both arms around his waist, causing his body to stiffen. “What?” You ask, a bit embarrassed by it too. “I’m not gonna argue about this with you again.”

He doesn’t answer, sliding down his visor before he turns on the engine. Faintly, you can hear him murmuring words that you can’t catch. “What did you say?”

“I said you look beautiful!” Eren shouts, and before you can react, he shifts gears and slams on the gas until all you can do is just holding onto him like you’re holding on to your dear life.

And you’re not complaining, not like back then. Not when he feels this warm.

***

“Oh my God, it’s been years,” you mutter in awe as you step inside a diner where you used to spend hours with Eren during your college days. The place’s pretty unique as it preserves its Googie architecture, with an irregular-shaped roof, distinctive neon sign, and retro interior. Their sandwiches are top-notch, but for you and Eren, it’s all about their chicken wings. There’s no need for the two of you to argue which table you should take, knowing that the last one at the back, right beside the window, has always been your favorite spot. But before you can take a seat, a rough, masculine voice echoes through the room.

“Holy shit, Jaeger?”

Eren’s smile is bright and young, just like how he used to smile back in college. “Mr. Hannes!” He leaves your side before you can reach the table, giving a firm handshake to Hannes—a tall, well-built man with short blond hair, a thin dark mustache, and golden hazel eyes. He’s the owner of the diner who spends a lot of his time chit-chatting with his customers—and flirting with the ladies—instead of making sure that his business is going well.

“Damn son, you’re looking fine as hell now,” Hannes says, words thick with his distinctive accent. “I heard you’ve become quite a celeb now too.”

“That’s not true,” Eren says, smiling sheepishly to himself. His body language is so humble, a stark contrast to how he appears on stage, drenched with confidence and unmatched charisma. They’re engaged naturally in a conversation, chatting about the old days and you wait with a tiny smile on your face until Hannes drags his eyes toward you. “Is she your girl? Can’t believe you’re already bringing pretty chicks to my diner,” Hannes lands a punch on Eren’s shoulder. “You used to hang out with that girl all the time—what was her name again? The one who always carried beers inside her hoodie.”

“That was me,” you raise a hand, awkwardly grinning as you blush. “Hi, Mr. Hannes, it’s been a while.”

The old man’s jaw hangs slack on his face. “You’re—” He’s even more bewildered looking at you compared to when he first spotted Eren Jaeger, the popular new artist, entering his diner. “Shit, you two are turning into good-looking kids and I’m here getting fatter and fatter each day.”

You both laugh, and you lean over the table to give Hannes a hug. It’s not hard to miss him. He’s always been like a fun uncle that you always love to hang out with during family gatherings. “Can we have some chicken wings?” Eren asks, which you quickly add with, “Oh, I’ll just have a tuna melt sandwich.”

Eren gives you a look, staring blankly at you. “You’re gonna betray me like this?”

“I only agreed to go out with you.” You roll your eyes. “Not about eating chicken wings.”

“I drove for almost an hour to get here and you’re ordering a freaking sandwich?”

“It’s a tuna melt sandwich, mind you,” you retort as if it makes a huge difference. “Also, I’m on a diet.

“You just ordered a strawberry milkshake!” Eren protests, groaning. “This is going to be included in my Top Ten Betrayal Moments when I decide to open up my own YouTube channel. You’ll see.”

“You guys are too cute,” Hannes says, giggling in a way a forty years old man shouldn’t have giggled. “Don’t forget to invite me to your future wedding.”

Face aflame, you both shout, “WE’RE NOT DATING!”

Two huge plates filled with chicken wings slathered by barbecue sauce are delivered to your table before you can take a second sip of your drink. “I’m gonna go wash my hands,” Eren says, pulling back his chair to stand back on his feet. “They always taste better when you eat them with bare hands.”

Once he leaves, you realize just how much your heart has been pounding when he’s around. No matter how you look at it, this really feels like a date. Well, of course, the conversations could’ve been more romantic—you doubt any couple would talk about how to survive a zombie apocalypse during their first date—but then again, this is supposed to be just two best friends hanging out, isn’t it? So why can’t you keep calm about it?

Why can’t you stop taking glances at his face, silently admiring the shape of his nose or his pretty eyelashes?

Why can’t you stop thinking about the way his hand was lying on the table, so near to yours yet felt not close enough?

And why can’t you stop thinking about kissing those pretty, plump lips?

“You won’t believe this,” Eren says as he sinks back into his chair. “But they just renovated the bathroom and it looks pretty sick.”

“Ah… Yeah.” This is definitely not a date. Eren doesn’t act like it. Maybe you’re just overthinking everything?

What if, for him, it’s a one-time thing? He had sex with you once, his curiosity has been answered, and it probably wasn’t a very good experience for someone who’s been going around like him. So, what then? What if that’s it? Here you are, sitting with your eyes staring blankly at your sandwich, thinking about kissing him and he’s there, munching on his chicken wings like he’s been starved for years, not even paying a glance at you.

“What?” Eren asks, once he finally notices you’ve been staring at him. “Something on my face?”

“No,” you automatically answer before you realize that, yes, he does have something on his face. “Well, you’ve got some ketchup on your cheek.”

He swallows a big chunk of his chicken wings. “Can you get it for me? My hands are dipped in barbecue sauce if you haven’t noticed.”

You pause, uncertain if you should do it with all these dirty thoughts running in your head. Eventually, you heave a sigh and reach out a hand. Eren leans closer, meeting you halfway, and you brush your thumb over the speck that taints his cheek.

“Thanks—” He’s distracted with the way your fingers linger on his skin, hovering a little too close to the corner of his mouth, and once he sees your eyes droop, gaze fixated on the shape of his mouth, he gulps.

Eren has ketchup smeared on his lips and yet, there you are, rising from your seat, leaning halfway across the table, and pressing your lips against his. You’re so swept by your emotions, your body moving instinctively without thinking. Fortunately enough, your brain manages to tell you to keep it quick and you break away from him after only three seconds have passed.

“What are you doing?” Eren asks, eyes moving back and forth from your glassy ones to your lips.

“I just…” Your breathing tatters. “I just felt like kissing you.”

Eren’s cheeks are almost the same color as the tomato ketchup that stained his cheek earlier and before you can say anything more, he raises one hand. “Waiter!” Turning around on his seat to talk to a waitress, he asks a favor in a hurry, “Can you get me the bill? Also, can you wrap this up to go, please?”

“But—” You interrupt. “I haven’t even touched my sandwich—”

“Yeah, hers too,” he says and the waitress nods, taking away your plate before you can protest.

“Wait, Eren—“

“We can eat later.”

“Why?”

“Because,” Eren firmly states, eyes catching yours. “All I can think about right now is bending you over the table and fuck you until you scream my name.”

Your fork clatters against the floor as it slipped away from between your fingers. “Oh…” You’re having a heart attack, you’re almost a hundred percent sure you are, because how else can you explain this pressure, squeezing, fullness in your chest?

You raise a hand. “Waiter! I’d also like to have my milkshake to go!”

***

Eren kicks the door close with one foot as he pushes you deeper into the motel room that heavily smells like dust with an aftertaste of cigarettes filling the air. “You’re—” Eren cut your sentence short with his lips, unable to stop kissing you even when you are both breathless. “You’re being much more aggressive,” you comment, lifting your hands in the air as Eren yanks your top over your head. The second it’s off, his mouth is chasing after yours again, his fingers working on your bra. “Did my kiss turn you on that much?”

“Well,” he breathes out, hand sliding down to caress the curve of your ass before he goes to your front, unbuttoning your jeans. “I’ve been thinking about doing this to you again ever since we had sex this morning, so—” he groans lowly when you grind your teeth along the sensitive skin of his neck. “And when I saw you looking all dressed up tonight—so fucking pretty for me—“ He slips his hand between your strands, gently tugging your head back so he can slot your mouths together. “You’re so goddamn beautiful, I can’t help but want to have you for myself.”

Truth is, he never stops wanting you but he wasn’t sure if it was okay for him to make a move after your first intercourse. He was worried that maybe you weren’t satisfied with him, worried that he might have hurt you in some way and you wanted him to stop. That was the reason why he tried to keep everything casual, didn’t even bring up the topic back at the restaurant.

So when you kissed him again, you were giving him the green light to fulfill his desire.

And he decides he’s not going to stop anymore.

“That makes both of us then,” you utter, bringing him down to you again by landing a hand on his nape. “So go on and fuck me ‘cause I can’t wait.”

He growls, hauling you up by the waist and tosses you down to the bed. Your body is pressed against the sheets, legs still dangling over the edge as you wait with your heart thrumming loud at the sight of Eren yanking his shirt over his head.

“Like what you see?” He teases, noticing the way you’re raking your eyes over every muscle he has in his body as he takes off your boots.

“Yeah.” You can’t even lie, not with the sight of his jeans hanging low on his hips, showcasing two prominent v-lines and packs of abs that ripple with every little move he makes. “How often do you work out?”

“You’re really asking me that now?” He snorts, hovering above you once he’s taken your jeans off your legs. “Don’t you have something better to do?” You can feel his lips curving upwards as he slants them on yours. “Or rather, someone?”

You want to complain about how it’s not fucking fair that he looks this goddamn sexy while you’re… well, just you. Average. Nothing special. Nothing if being compared to him.

But that’s where you’re wrong. Because right now, despite his nonchalant attitude, Eren is a thousand times crazier about you than you’re about him. He’s losing his mind, wanting nothing but to be tangled in your arms, mixing his scent with yours, mixing his everything with yours.

“Fucking hell,” he curses under his breath. “I don’t think I’ve ever felt this turned on in my life.”

You grind your hips against him again, loving his reaction though you are just as intoxicated as he is. The little grunts he makes are low and guttural, running straight from your ear down to where you’re aching to be touched. “Yeah, you’re so hard down there.” You giggle. Somehow, as this isn’t the first time you’ve been in this position with him, it’s not as unbearably embarrassing as it was before. “Guess we gotta do something about that.”

“You think?” He asks with a smirk. “I’m not sure what you have in mind.”

“Ah, so you’re a little shit in bed,” you playfully scold him, running your hand down his abs until you can reach him underneath his boxer. He twitches in your hand, another curse tumbling down his mouth. “I think I can be into that,” you tease as you curl your fingers around him, stroking him in a way that you know will leave him unsatisfied.

There’s no room for foreplay, you decide. Not now when you’re both so desperate for each other’s touch that you couldn’t handle an hour drive back to your apartment, settling for a cheap motel room—one that was closest to the restaurant you were in. And you don’t care. It doesn’t matter. You just want him now. You need him now.

And Eren’s more than happy to oblige.

***

“Oh my God…” You’ve been staring at the ceiling of a motel room for a whole minute, dazed eyes blinking slowly as you try to catch your breath. You can still feel trembles creeping along your thighs, unable to even lift a muscle as you lie on the bed, still dressed in nothing but your birthday suit.

Eren titters, tossing his used condom to the nearest trashcan before he slips back underneath the duvet. He crawls up your body, placing idle kisses on your navel, the valley between your breasts and further upward until he stops on your lips. “Hey,” he coos. “Did I make you feel good?”

You can only respond with “You think?” Which he returns with that deep, signature chuckle of his.

He lays his body down on yours, sighing as he presses his ear against your heart. “Your heart’s still pounding.”

“Yeah.” You slip your fingers between his strands, carding through his long silky hair. “Someone nearly split me in half five minutes ago, so…”

“I didn’t know you were that flexible.” He nuzzles his nose against your skin. “Guess being friends for more than a decade doesn’t mean you know everything about a person.”

“You were supposed to never know about that.” You giggle when his hair brushes against your chest. “Eren, it tickles.” So he replaces it with his mouth, warm tongue circling your nipple until you sigh, cradling his head in your arms.

It’s both frightening and exciting how fast you’re progressing. Last night, Eren’s fingers were buried deep inside you. This morning, you lost your virginity to him. And just around six minutes ago, he just gave you your second orgasm and it was ten times more intense than before—which you thought wouldn’t be possible.

“Eren.”

“Hmm?”

“We can’t keep getting swept by the moment like this,” you mention as you grab him by the chin to stop him from marking yet another bruise on your skin. You quickly elaborate more before he misunderstands your intention. “I mean, this is nice. Really nice. But we gotta lay down some, uhh, some ground rules.”

Eren breaks away, propping his elbows on each side of your body. “What do you mean?”

“I have an offer,” you answer, “Excuse me for a sec.” Pushing him away slightly, you reach out to grab your purse that’s been sitting on the nightstand, snatching a piece of paper with a handwritten note that you did with Pieck earlier today. “Okay, so I’ve got some rules we can use.”

Eren, as easy as taking a lollipop from a baby, steals the paper away from you. He scans through your handwriting, eyes moving back and forth rapidly before he sends you a look, judging and condescending. “Seriously? Rules on ‘How to Become Perfect Fuck Buddies?’”

You fidget, sinking into the covers. “I kept telling Pieck to not use a title but—”

“That’s not the point, you idiot.” He sighs, growing impatient. “You want us to be fuck buddies now?”

You raise an eyebrow. “Do—do you want us to stop doing this?”

“Well, no, but—” And as you wait for him to explain, his cheeks redden. “You know what, yeah. Okay. Being fuck buddies sounds great.” He goes through the notes again. “Sorry, but I can’t help thinking. Do you just carry this around with you? How many times have you done this before?”

“Wha—” You nearly choke, face burning bright. “Of course not! I brought that ‘cause I wanted to talk about it with you today and—and—” You panic. “I’ve never done this before, Eren—You’re my first!”

“Your first fuck buddy?” He snorts. “What a privilege.”

“No, you’re my first…” You can’t finish as your words die on your tongue. You look away, turning around to face the wall instead of facing the curiosity burning in his eyes. “Never mind.”

“Your first what?” He urges, crawling closer so he can shake you by the shoulder. “I’m your first what? Hey—”

“Oh my God,” you blurt out. “You’re my first, Eren. Don’t you get that?!”

“I’m—” Once the realization hits him like the storm, his jaw instantly hangs slack on his face. “I’m your—” He sits back down on the bed, eyes wide open. “Oh my God,” he says as if he was a moment away from bursting into bubbles. “Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck—”

“Eren?” You raise both hands in the air. “Eren, it’s just sex. No need to panic—it’s not like I’m asking you to take responsibility or anything—”

“It’s just sex?!” His voice turns thunderous and you flinch in surprise. “It’s just—it’s not just sex—that was your first time! Fuck, no wonder you cried when I—God, you should’ve told me!”

“Yeah, right,” you scoff, trying your best to appear nonchalant. “You expect me to do what? Tell my best friend to be gentle with me because I’m gonna give my virginity to him?”

“YES!”

You blankly stare. “Eren, I was just being sarcastic.”

“Well, I’m not!” He lands both hands on your shoulders, squeezing them tightly as if that can make his point sinks faster in your head. “Look, you really should’ve told me. Your first time should’ve been special, should’ve been with someone that you��“ He sighs, giving up mid-sentence.

“Someone that I—what?” You urge him. “Tell me.”

“Someone that’s not me,” he finishes, much quieter than before. “I’m sorry. I wouldn’t have done it if I had known it was your first time.”

You could see his regret and guilt written clearly on his face. It’s endearing, the fact that he cares about you a lot—cares more about your first time more than you do—but this has got to stop. Why does he have to feel guilty about it when you feel like giving him your virginity was one of the best choices you’ve ever made in your life?

“Eren.” You gather his face into your hands, cupping both of his cheeks, knowing that if you don’t, he’ll try his best to avoid your gaze. “I’m so, so glad, that you’re my first. You are kind, you are caring, you know me better than anyone else and—no, look at me—“ you warn him when he tries to break away from your hold, crimson painting his cheeks. “And you were gentle. You weren’t aware that it was my first time but I could tell how much you were holding yourself back. If I could turn back time and choose my partner, I would choose you again in a heartbeat.”

He’s blushing. He’s blushing so hard from head to toe and now you’re blushing. “Umm…” he starts awkwardly. “Okay.”

“Okay.” You pat his cheeks, feeling like your face is about to explode. “So, uh, can we do something else now? It’s getting too sappy and I feel like I’m about to throw up.”

“Right, yeah,” he looks around, awkward hands trying to retrieve your notes. “Well, we still have this to talk about, I guess.”

“Oh yeah, about that.” Thank God, you think inwardly. Not once did you ever think in your life that a note you made about being perfect fuck buddies would save you from this situation. “So, as you can see here. Rule number one, we have to—” Your lips parted in shock at the sight of Eren tearing the paper apart without warning. “Hey! What are you doing—”

“You didn’t make these rules, did you?” He guesses, curling the torn papers into a ball before he tosses it over his shoulder.

“Well, no, but—” With a gasp, you land back on the bed with his hand pushing you down by the shoulder, your head sinking deep into the pillow. Eren hovers above you, hooded eyes glinting dangerously in the dimness of the room. “E-Eren?”

“I say we make our own rules,” he offers, smirking. “That will work better for us, don’t you think?

“But—” You’re distracted with the way his tongue peeks out to wet his lips. “How do we come up with the rules? Have you done this before with anyone else?”

“No,” he says, breath fanning your neck. “I guess we’ll have to figure that out as we go.”

And as he slips one hand between your legs, fingertips rubbing against your folds, you might have to start inventing rule number one, which is, “T-thirty minutes break before round two?” You offer, but you can’t help but arch your back in pleasure when he grinds his hips against yours, his throbbing member noticeably pressing against your thigh.

You can feel his smirk growing larger on your lips. “Rejected.”

***

Next Chapter

Thank you so much @justasketch for reading this twice for me lol I tried to fix the timeline like you told me to but this was as far as I could do I'm sorry 😭😭😭

Tagging: @tasteless @l6ffys @vivi-et @halparkebitch @fwess @littlemochi @thebeardedmoon @luvtaromilktea @didiyogo @xximthefoolxx-blog thanks so much for reading, lovelies! ❤️❤️❤️

#eren smut #eren yeager smut #eren jaeger smut #eren x you #eren x reader #eren yeager x reader #eren jaeger x reader #eren fluff #eren headcanons #eren x reader smut #eren x reader fluff #eren x y/n #eren angst #eren jaeger x reader smut #eren yeager x reader fluff #eren yeager x reader smut #aot smut #snk smut

[zintranslations]

Kaleidoscope of Death, Ch. 71

Kaleidoscope of Death by Xi Zixu Link to Chinese / Link to ongoing Taida Translations

Chapter 71: The Eighth Door

Very soon, regarding Ruan Nanzhu's offer, Lin Qiushi had an answer—he decided to enter Cheng Yixie's ninth door together with Ruan Nanzhu.

About Lin Qiushi's decision, Ruan Nanzhu wasn't surprised. He only asked Lin Qiushi once more: "You've thought it through?"

Lin Qiushi nodded: "I've thought it through."

"The ninth door will be much more difficult. Even I can't guarantee you'll make it out safely," Ruan Nanzhu spoke bluntly. "This door may be your last."

Lin Qiushi said, "that's fine."

Ruan Nanzhu watched Lin Qiushi's face in silence for a moment, before nodding in acceptance.

Lin Qiushi thought there was something he wanted to say, but in the end, Ruan Nanzhu said nothing more.

After confirming Lin Qiushi was going with them, Ruan Nanzhu told Lin Qiushi the ninth door's hint. When he got it, Lin Qiushi read it over, and took on a look of shock: "This is a hint?"

Ruan Nanzhu, "mh."

There was a line on the paper: with bronze as mirror, one can right their apparel; with history as mirror, one can understand the tides of fortune; with people as mirror, one can gain from loss.

"What does this mean?" Lin Qiushi recalled this was a famous quote from Li Shimin of the Tang Dynasty, something that was even taught in textbooks. But placed within the world of the doors, a hint like this was basically no hint at all.

"I don't know," Ruan Nanzhu said. "The hints for latter doors are all more abstract. They no longer have clear indications like the ones before. So what the situation will actually be like, we can only say once inside the door."

Hint slip pinched in hand, Lin Qiushi stared at it for a long time, before saying okay.

Their time of entry was, specifically, the fifteenth of the next month. Cheng Yixie was the one who told Lin Qiushi. When he learned Lin Qiushi was going into the door with them he seemed quite calm, like he'd already predicted Ruan Nanzhu would be bringing Lin Qiushi along.

Cheng Yixie was likely the quietest person inside the mansion. He was silent all the time, except to scold his brother.

Though Cheng Qianli and Cheng Yixie were twins, their personalities were complete opposites. Cheng Qianli went about his day like an air-headed child, while Cheng Yixie was very mature.

There was still some time before they were to enter the door. Lin Qiushi continued to rest in the mansion.

In the interim Tan Zaozao and that movie legend Zhang Yiqing also came around, together with the man taking Zhang Yiqing through his doors.

That person's name was Bai Ming. In both looks and disposition he was very sunny, with his hair in light, natural curls and a cute dimple on his cheek when he smiled.

To be honest, Lin Qiushi was having a hard time linking a person like this to a major player on the inside. He was quite curious how this Bai Ming appeared inside the doors.

The question felt a bit invasive however, so Lin Qiushi didn't ask.

Zhang Yiqing's condition seemed better than before. At least he didn't look on the verge of a breakdown.

Bai Ming was very interested in Lin Qiushi as well, though he didn't dare express too much of this interest in front of Ruan Nanzhu. Lin Qiushi still noticed, though, the occasional looks of assessment.

"Yiqing's movie's premiering in May, you guys have to go see it." The first thing Bai Ming did upon arriving at the mansion was pass out Zhang Yiqing's premier tickets. "I've already seen the uncut version, it's amazing."

Sitting on the side watching Bai Ming toot his horn, Zhang Yiqing's expression didn't look too good. Lin Qiushi guessed it was a look of humiliation…

"Yiqing is absolutely incredible, I like him so much." Bai Ming professed his love looking like a whole star-chasing fanatic. Which was fine on the regular, but now that he was complimenting the man to his face, it was rather hard to bear. Lin Qiushi clearly saw that despite Zhang Yiqing's severe expression, his ears had gone completely red. Zhang Yiqing stood up, feigning calm, and said he was going out onto the balcony for a smoke.

Lin Qiushi privately thought it was really pretty funny, that this Bai Ming had Zhang Yiqing completely contained.

Tan Zaozao started loudly guffawing without holding back at all.

"Zaozao, are you going in again?" Lin Qiushi quickly calculated the time, and felt Tan Zaozao's next door ought to be soon.

"Mh," Tan Zaozao nodded. "Chen Fei's bringing me this time… How about you? Which door are you on?"

Lin Qiushi said, "still my sixth." He didn't mention that he was going into the ninth door with Ruan Nanzhu.

"Oh…" Tan Zaozao's attention seemed to wander, like she was thinking of something.

Lin Qiushi asked, "what is it?"

"Nothing," Tan Zaozao sighed. "Just wondering what to do about the doors after this." She couldn't completely drop her real life job like Ruan Nanzhu and Lin Qiushi to focus on passing the doors, and she didn't have the courage to train. This meant that for higher level doors, she'd likely have more poor fortune than good, not to mention that even Ruan Nanzhu basically didn't take on doors after the sixth.

Because people said that after the sixth door, the level of difficulty thoroughly changed. As for how it changed, Tan Zaozao wasn't sure. All she knew was that it would be tough.

The group chatted for a while over lunch. Lin Qiushi learned, through Ruan Nanzhu and Bai Ming's conversation, that the two had known each other for about four years, and counted as old friends.

Bai Ming had already passed his ninth door, and was waiting for his tenth.

After eating, Bai Ming and Ruan Nanzhu went to the study. The two seemed to have something to discuss in private.

Tan Zaozao brought Lin Qiushi and Zhang Yiqing downstairs to play games.

What the two discussed Lin Qiushi didn't know, but when they came back downstairs, both their gazes were fixed on him.

Lin Qiushi, vaguely startled, asked, "what is it?"

"Nothing," Bai Ming grinned. "Just a bit curious about you."

Lin Qiushi, "curious?"

Bai Ming asked, "don't you think there's something special about yourself?"

Lin Qiushi gave it a thought, before murmuring, "I especially like cats?" As he said this, he was poking subtly at Chestnut's toe beans, all while Chestnut side-eyed him in displeasure.

Ruan Nanzhu, "…" Sure, that could be considered a type of special.

Hearing this, Bai Ming laughed. "You really are interesting." He didn't mention anymore about Lin Qiushi though, and after sitting for another while, left with Zhang Yiqing and Tan Zaozao.

Lin Qiushi glanced at Ruan Nanzhu, seated beside him, and quietly asked, "is there something special about me?"

Ruan Nanzhu eyed him back. "What do you think?"

Lin Qiushi shook his head, uncomprehending.

Ruan Nanzhu, "you really don't feel like there's anything weird about you?"

Lin Qiushi, "no."

Ruan Nanzhu stood up. "If not then forget it." At this, he turned and left, leaving Lin Qiushi no further opportunity to ask. For some reason, Lin Qiushi felt that Ruan Nanzhu's mood had soured…

Cheng Qianli learned they were entering the ninth door as well. He was very worried; he even set up an altar in his room and began to seriously pray.

Lin Qiushi was even dragged over to light three incense sticks of his own.

"Please bless them to return safely." Cheng Qianli's manners seemed wholly pious.

Lin Qiushi didn't use to believe in such things. But the world inside the doors had completely turned his worldview upside down, so he didn't say anything disrespectful before the incense altar.

"I'm so scared." After the incense, Cheng Qianli sat on his bed, muttering to Lin Qiushi. "I'm just really, really scared."

"Don't be scared, it'll be alright." Lin Qiushi petted his head. Cheng Qianli was only sixteen; he was still half a kid. "Your Ruan-ge will be there."

"Mh," Cheng Qianli said. "I want to be stronger, so then, then I can…" At this point, he seemed a bit embarrassed.

Lin Qiushi asked, "so then you can what?"

Cheng Qianli said, "so then I can be the one protecting my brother for a change!" He puffed up his chest, looking proud.

Lin Qiushi smiled. "Mh, then you gotta work hard." Sometimes, Cheng Qianli could be so foolishly adorable.

Cheng Qianli said, "even though he has a bad temper, and he gives me the cold-shoulder all the time, he's my brother in the end, right?" He lied down on the bed, muttering to himself. "He looks exactly like me, after all…"

Lin Qiushi just sat silently listening on the side.

He honestly didn't quite understand the brotherly love Cheng Qianli spoke of. Even in his youth he'd not encountered much of a familial atmosphere, nor did he have any brothers or sisters. At twenty-six, he didn't even have a person he liked. As Lin Qiushi thought this, he suddenly found his life a bit regretful. If he died inside this door, there seemed to be a lot that he hadn't experienced.

The day of Cheng Yixie's door opening got closer and closer.

The atmosphere inside the mansion began to tense as well.

Besides Ruan Nanzhu, Cheng Yixie had the highest level door. Lin Qiushi roughly calculated Cheng Yixie's time in the doors, and discovered he would've been entering doors since he was eleven or twelve. To have survived so many doors at such a young age, Cheng Yixie really was incredible.

And his younger brother Cheng Qianli was only on door six; there must have been years between each of their first doors.

This time, Ruan Nanzhu didn't put Lin Qiushi in drag. While he was glad, there was, Lin Qiushi discovered, a thin thread of disappointment deep in his heart. When he noticed this disappointment he scared himself. He hadn't thought drag could be addictive.

Of course, Lin Qiushi very quickly processed and got rid of these disappointed feelings, since he really was glad he didn't have to pretend to be mute anymore. As for the matter of a fake voice—he still had not figured that out.

Days flew by, and soon, it was nearly time to enter the door.

The weather had also gradually gotten hot. After dinner, Lin Qiushi sat on the balcony cooling off, and saw Cheng Yixie standing in the garden downstairs. Cheng Yixie's expression was solemn, and there was a cigarette in his hand slowly being smoked.

Lin Qiushi watched him from high above, and after a while's thought, called out: "Cheng Yixie!"

Cheng Yixie looked up.

Lin Qiushi declared loudly, "minors shouldn't smoke."

Cheng Yixie furrowed his brow. He and Cheng Qianli were almost entirely identical, with the exception of that cold aura he gave off. Though he was young, that aura clearly let people know that this wasn't a person to be messed with. He listened to Lin Qiushi though, and really did put out the cigarette.

Lin Qiushi fished out a fistful of candy, and tossed them down from the second floor. "Eat these."

Colorful candies fell on the green grass like fireworks going off. They were actually quite pretty.

Cheng Yixie bent down. He picked one up, unwrapped it, and popped it into his mouth.

Lin Qiushi watched him, grinning. "Is it good? The purple one is grape flavored—" These were hard candies he ordered online, made from fruit juice. They tasted pretty good.

Cheng Yixie glanced once at him and didn't speak. He did carefully pick up all the candies however, and pocket them before walking away.

Watching him go, Lin Qiushi was pretty happy. Though Cheng Yixie entered the doors before he did, Cheng Yixie was also still a kid in his eyes, not even eighteen yet.

The day before going in, Ruan Nanzhu put on his dress. The three all wore that special bracelet, and began waiting for the door to come.

Cheng Qianli grew anxious, pacing laps up and down the house.

In the end Cheng Yixie couldn't take it anymore, frowning as he said, "quit circling, I'm going dizzy just looking at you."

Cheng Qianli, wounded, "I can't even circle around?"

Cheng Yixie, "no."

Cheng Qianli, "…hmph. Well no, I'm gonna circle." Though he said that, he still obediently took a seat back on the sofa, picking up Toast nearby to viciously rub at.

Dizzy with the rubbing, Toast blinked its big black eyes, howling in woe.

"Stop torturing it," Cheng Yixie spoke again.

Cheng Qianli, "ah, you're too much! You won't let me do this, you won't let me do that—"

Cheng Yixie didn't make a single sound in reply, just stared expressionlessly back at Cheng Qianli. And so the two faced off for ten, eleven seconds, before Cheng Qianli fell unerringly to defeat once more. With tragic eyes he released Toast's round little butt and watched the dog run away.

Cheng Yixie looked at his watch.

Cheng Qianli saw this, and only grew more agitated. His lips moved soundlessly for a bit, until, almost inaudibly, he squeezed out, "you have to come back."

Cheng Yixie glanced up once at him.

"Hey, I'm talking to you here!" Cheng Yixie said. "Are you listening to me, Cheng Yixie, you have to come back." It seemed to have taken him a while to work up the courage to say this. "You have to come back!"

Cheng Yixie made a single, faint sound of agreement.

And so Cheng Qianli was satisfied, murmuring some other fussy orders.

As the two brothers interacted, Lin Qiushi was seated right beside them. He saw with his own eyes the corners of Cheng Yixie's mouth tick up as Cheng Qianli mumbled, though the motion was faint and only momentary, easily taken as an illusion.

The door came the next evening.

After eating, Lin Qiushi had gone back to his room.

He sat in front of his computer, and was just about to press the on button, when a very peculiar feeling came over his body. It was a feeling he was familiar with—the door had opened.

Lin Qiushi got up and opened his bedroom door. He wasn't surprised at all to see that the twelve metal doors had appeared in the hallway. Of them, eight were sealed off. The other three could not be opened.

The only one that could open was Cheng Yixie's ninth door.

Lin Qiushi came to the door, and tugged it open—the scenery around him twisted, and Lin Qiushi appeared on a wide paved road.

As he took in his surroundings, he looked a bit shocked, because it wasn't some desolate wilderness about him, but a full commercial street. Colorful signs hung from either side of the road, and though it was currently late and most of the shops were closed, it was still easy to picture the bustling street by day.

The path beneath his feet was very smooth. Lin Qiushi followed it, and saw a high rise that stretched into the clouds. A special coating covered the building's exterior, making it look like it was built out of mirrors; it absorbed all the light from around it, and was attention-catching even in the dimming night.

For some reason, as he looked at this high rise, a term came to Lin Qiushi's mind: phototaxis.

Phototaxis was a type of biological habit observed in both animals and plants. The most obvious one was how insects rush at a light source at night, even if that light was a flame that would incinerate them.

Humans were animals too, Lin Qiushi thought. In the dark of night, they would always walk toward the light source they see. With no consideration for what awaited them at the other end.

The doors to the high rise were open. Lin Qiushi slowly entered, and saw eight or nine people standing in the lobby. These people had already split into groups. Seeing Lin Qiushi walk in, most took on assessing expressions.

This time, Lin Qiushi saw no newbies out of their depths.

Considering the ninth door's difficulty, if there really was a newbie, then Lin Qiushi suspected they’d been dragged into this door literally seconds before their death.

Looking about, Lin Qiushi didn't find whom he was looking for. So he took a seat on a random sofa and began observing the situation around him.

Plus him, there were nine. Five men and four women, split into roughly three groups. They were likely all old hands at this; no one was pretending not to recognize the others. Instead they were all whispering, quietly discussing the matter of this door.

Lin Qiushi sat on the sofa for a while, until he saw two people come in. One was tall and one was short. The tall one was a woman in a long skirt, the short one was a cool-faced young man.

Though their faces were completely different, Lin Qiushi could still recognize them by their clothing and looks—it was Ruan Nanzhu and Cheng Yixie.

The two also saw Lin Qiushi on the sofa and approached.

"Everyone's here?" Lin Qiushi asked.

"Not yet, I don't think." Ruan Nanzhu sat down next to Lin Qiushi. "There are still some people looking around outside. They're probably waiting for their teammates."

At this, Lin Qiushi couldn't help but be impressed by Ruan Nanzhu's skills of observation. It seemed that not minutes after coming here, he'd already collected pretty much all the information they needed on the people around them.

Indeed, after about three minutes, two more people came in from the outside, also a man and a woman. The moment they came in, they headed straight for a corner.

When Lin Qiushi saw where they went he was surprised. "They… have five to one team?"

Ruan Nanzhu, "most likely."

"Is there advantage in numbers inside the doors?" Lin Qiushi tried to think this through, but something felt off.

"To some extent, yes," Ruan Nanzhu said, leaning back on the sofa. "The more people you bring, the more death conditions you can cross out, right?"

Lin Qiushi, "…"

Ruan Nanzhu eyed the corner, and laughed something cold. "Some people will do anything to survive."

Some people, in order to rule out death conditions, purposely brought a lot of newbies into the doors. The newbies didn't understand anything, and were very easily met with accidents inside. Of course, accidents happening to them was fine. To those who'd brought them in, it was even a good thing—they filled up the daily death quotas, after all. According to the rules inside, the number of people who could die each day was limited, so those people were actually safer like this.

Lin Qiushi hadn't thought things could be done this way. "And those newbies are still willing to come in?"

"Why wouldn't they be willing?" Ruan Nanzhu replied lazily. "There are always people who want to strike it rich in a single bite."

Who didn't want to forgo everything in the middle and jump straight through the ninth door? Risk and reward were usually in equal balance; to gain something, you had to give up something.

Such was living.

The group was finally all assembled. There were seventeen people in total, split into roughly five or six groups. The largest group among them was the one with five people. Lin Qiushi had a clear feeling that, of the five, their leader was the woman with the unkind expression.

With everybody gathered in the lobby, the hubbub grew louder.

At this moment, a person in a bellhop's uniform came over from the elevator. In his hand was a stack of keycards, and he smiled at the group in the lobby.

"I do beg your pardon, we've kept everybody waiting," the bellhop said. "These are the key cards to your rooms."

He began passing out the keycards.

Someone in the group asked, "how many per room? Are these single or standard rooms?"

"They're standard rooms," the bellhop said, and smiled. "Red card rooms have one large bed, white card rooms are doubles, and green card rooms can fit three, though one will have to sleep on the sofa." His was was soft and gentle. "Welcome to your vacation here, I hope all of you have a great time."

So they were supposed to be tourists. Lin Qiushi's heart jumped a beat.

"When does our vacation end?" the leader of the five-person group suddenly spoke. "Are there any tourist destinations nearby?"

The bellhop smiled. "I will give everyone a travel guide tomorrow, and on it, all the travel destinations will be marked." He finished passing out the keycards. "Please rest well tonight, everyone."

Lin Qiushi got up and fetched them a green card. The bellhop said green card rooms could fit three. It was perfect for their trio.

The room cards gradually traded hands, and the crowd dispersed on their own.

Lin Qiushi, Ruan Nanzhu, and Cheng Yixie's room was on the thirty-fourth floor. The floor was thickly carpeted, and from the hallways exuded a thick scent of burnt incense.

The lights were very dim. When they got to the room and stuck the keycard into the power slot, all the lights inside came on.

Lin Qiushi went to the window and looked out from the glass. He saw a darkened city, all of it swathed in dead silence. Not even a streetlight could be seen—though when he came in from the outside, Lin Qiushi had seen the streetlights turned on.

Ruan Nanzhu said, "this room is very interesting."

Lin Qiushi turned around. "Hm?"

Ruan Nanzhu, "there are mirrors everywhere."

Taking a look around, Lin Qiushi discovered there were indeed many mirrors inside the room. Most unbelievable was the one on the floor.

At the sight of the mirrors, Lin Qiushi couldn't help but think of that "with bronze as mirror" line in the hint. He sensed that the key had to do with the mirrors, but the hint wasn't enough, and he couldn't yet concretely capture it.

Cheng Yixie stared at the mirror beneath his feet, and was silent for a long time. Only when Lin Qiushi was about to walk away did he suddenly and quietly say: "This is a two-way mirror."

Lin Qiushi's face froze.

Cheng Yixie spoke very slowly: "People downstairs can see into our room."

At this, Ruan Nanzhu suddenly looked down at his skirt. "Then haven't I been exposed?"

Cheng Yixie, "…"

Lin Qiushi, "…"

Ruan Nanzhu, "upon closer thought, I'm actually a bit embarrassed."

Lin Qiushi, "…" If you're so embarrassed why are you pulling your skirt up higher…

Author's Note:

Hello everyone, I'm Xi Zixu's draft folder. For the next few days I'll be bringing folks new chapters. As for Xi Zixu, she got her hand chewed off when she washed her cat yesterday.

[Ch. 70] | [Ch. 72]

#kaleidoscope of death #xi zixu #cnovel #chinese translation #死亡萬花筒 #i'm gonna try to catch up skdjnfksd #it's not that this isn't a fun door it's just #I WANNA DO HAKO ONNA

[qqueenofhades]

Modern AU Heartrender Husbands gives me the vibes of like they'll watch eurovision bc Fedyor wanted to and Ivan only begrudgingly agreed but in the end it's him who's standing really close to the TV with a bottle of beer loudly criticising the jury vote

Anon, your Mind. As 100% ever, I am so very easy to enable. As before, this is set in Phantom!Verse, and serves as a sequel of sorts to this (and as a further prequel to PEL).

Brighton Beach, 2014

It’s their first spring in their new home – they arrived in America in August 2013 and got this place, fittingly, right around Orthodox Christmas in January 2014 – and that means many things to them. Their apartment is in a formerly rent-controlled brownstone tenement right off the boardwalk, but prior to their arrival, it was occupied for fifty years by an old bat from Krasnodar Krai who apparently never, ever, threw anything away. (Fedyor is too scared to ask if she actually died in this apartment and her mummified corpse is lurking at the bottom of all the junk.) That is why he and Ivan were able to afford it, at least, but now that the weather is warmer, they have been spending all day cleaning, hauling boxes of crap to the dumpster, and trying in vain to get the smell of pickled cabbage out of the kitchen. It looks exactly like your Great Aunt Masha’s house, the one that traumatized you as a child and has never left your nightmares since. Home sweet home.

The upside is that the location is great, the apartment is surprisingly spacious and lovely – a big bedroom, a bathroom with two sinks and a deep claw-footed tub, a living room with high windows that let in lots of light, original crown molding and hardwood floors – and if it was located in the really chic parts of Brooklyn and inhabited by a tech-startup hipster rather than a Russian émigré spinster with definite hoarding tendencies, it would rent for some astronomical monthly sum. Fedyor has a three-ring binder full of paint swatches, sketches, furniture samples, and other plans to give it a total overhaul (he’s thinking a nice pale green for the living room?) But the one thing that spring definitely means is Eurovision, and it is just the ticket to relax from their grueling schedule of throwing boxes of junk away and hoping they don’t stumble upon a withered hand in a glass jar. He likes America and he’s excited for their new life, for all that they had no choice but to leave Russia in a hurry, but Eurovision is Eurovision.

Actually watching it, of course, is easier said than done. For one thing, Fedyor can’t find a blasted station that is airing it, when he could have just switched on the TV and found it right away back home. For another, Ivan is deeply dubious of the whole endeavor, having watched five minutes of it once when he was eighteen and turning it off in disgust, never to return. Fedyor spends a lot of time wheedling him to give it another chance. “Come on, Vanya. It’s fun!”

“It is a lot of homosexuals gyrating in leather to very bad music,” Ivan snaps. “They look ridiculous. And sound even worse.”

Fedyor glances at them – the fact that they’re sitting on the couch, he’s on Ivan’s lap with his legs draped over Ivan’s thigh, and Ivan’s arms wrapped around his waist – and coughs. “I’m not sure how to break this to you, darling,” he says, “but you are also a homosexual.”

“Maybe, but you would never catch me dead up there.”

“Of course not.” Fedyor rolls his eyes. “You might actually have to smile.”

Ivan makes a scoffing noise. Then he notices the full-on puppy-dog face that Fedyor is now giving him, and says, “Oh no. Oh no, Fedya. Do not look at me like that.”

“Why not?” Fedyor shamelessly snuggles closer. “Is it working?”

The predictable outcome is that Ivan grudgingly agrees to watch it with him, though they’re on American time now and Eurovision Song Contest 2014, held in Copenhagen, Denmark, is six hours ahead of them. Ivan thinks that it’s stupid to sit down and watch a lot of gyrating homosexuals in the middle of the day, when there’s still so much work to do, and tries to demand that they just watch the recording later. Fedyor says this is nonsense, you simply cannot watch a recording of Eurovision, and after a lot of investigation, finds the online streaming channel on his laptop and hooks it up to the TV so they can watch it there. Then he prepares his popcorn, his alcoholic beverages, and his glitter glasses, corrals his recalcitrant husband, and readies himself to experience pure joy. No wonder Ivan doesn’t get it.

However, the effect is both swift and remarkable. By the end of the first semi-final, Ivan is put out about the fact that Russia came seventh in the popular vote but was knocked down to eleven by the jury (this is evidence of an anti-Russian conspiracy, according to him) and when only Moldova, a tiny no-name non-EU former Soviet state, deigns to award them the full twelve points, he is openly incredulous. “Moldova?! That is all we get?! MOLDOVA?!”

“Well,” Fedyor says delicately. “There is that little situation in Ukraine, so I’m afraid we are not that popular right now.”

“That is bullshit,” Ivan grouses. “This is a song contest. The Tolmachevy Sisters are not Vladimir Putin. I am sure they have worked very hard to be here.”

Fedyor glances at him and wisely decides not to say anything. He is likewise a little peeved when the Russian contestants get booed by the Danish audience, but Ivan looks like he’s about to leap through the screen and throttle every single one of them. He thrusts out a hand. “Give me a drink, Fedya. I need it to suffer this indignity.”

Fedyor cracks the lid off a cold one and hands it over – there is the Brighton Bazaar just a few blocks away, stocked with Russian goods, so they are spared the ordeal of drinking Yankee beer – and Ivan takes a long slug. He thinks they can skip watching the second semi-final two nights later, since Russia isn’t in it, but Fedyor puts it on anyway. They both like Austria and “Rise Like a Phoenix,” sung by the bearded drag queen Conchita Wurst (there have been a few dumb comments about her from the usual suspects), but Ivan hits a fist on the arm of the sofa. “She was not better than the Russian girls,” he says loyally. “I still think that they should be the ones to win.”

“Right, well,” Fedyor says. “I think the only ones less likely to win are the Brits, and they never win, so we might be waiting a while.”

The grand finale, on May tenth, is an inadvertently hysterical exercise. They get up early and put on the pregame show, like the Americans do with their bewildering fixation on the Super Bowl, and Ivan gets even more furious when the Tolmachevy Sisters are booed again. “Are they not supposed to love everyone at this glitter bacchanalia? So much for the Scandinavians being tolerant and accepting people! The song is nice! They are nice girls! What is wrong with them?!”

“Come over here and give me a cuddle, Vanya,” Fedyor suggests. “Otherwise you will blow a blood vessel long before the show starts.”

Ivan growls like an escaped tiger from the zoo, but consents to sit down next to Fedyor. They both drink copiously once the festivities get underway, singing along loudly (and not that melodiously) to the various entries, Fedyor’s arm draped around Ivan’s neck as he sits on his lap and critically judges the acts before the official results pop up. Once again, the only twelve-point awards Russia gets are from former Soviet countries (Azerbaijan and Belarus) and Ivan looks like he’s going to have a conniption before Fedyor kisses him and he gets distracted for the next three minutes. “This is disgraceful,” he mutters, when they break away. “Not you, Fedya. Just the horrible way they have clearly rigged this show against us.”

“You know,” Fedyor says. “That’s Eurovision. You declare war on your neighbors when they don’t give you twelve points. Now they have the EU, they’re not supposed to fight anymore, this is the only way they can get all those old rivalries out. Just be glad that Australia isn’t in this year. You might have really blown a gasket.”

“Australia?!” Ivan shifts Fedyor to a more comfortable position on his lap and grabs for his third bottle of beer. “AUSTRALIA IS NOT IN EUROPE! It is not even anywhere NEAR Europe! WHY DOES AUSTRALIA GET TO BE IN EUROVISION!?!”

Fedyor laughs out loud. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too,” Ivan says. ��But this is still the stupidest thing I have ever seen.”

“Shh.” Fedyor nuzzles him. “Just give in, Vanya. Just give in.”

Ivan consents to turn his grumbling down to a simmer, and is somewhat mollified that Russia comes in sixth overall, which is better than even Fedyor thought they were going to do. Austria takes the champion’s crown, they can both agree that Conchita Wurst deserves it, and get up and dance around their still-junk-cluttered living room as she gives her bravissima performance. A few things have been thrown during the judging, but they can’t add much to the existing mess, and in Brighton Beach, “damage caused to the apartment because Russia got shafted during Eurovision finals” might actually be a legitimate excuse. As he leans against Ivan’s chest and grins into his neck, Fedyor has to admit that this place may just feel like home yet.

#ivan x fedyor #heartrender husbands #fivan #pel asks #henchmen deserve happiness too okay #anonymous #ask #fivan ff

[sparklingchan]

Prologue|| Stormbringer- Stray Kids Demigod AU

Pairing : Reader(fem.) X Felix

Word count : 1.2k+

Warnings : Family issues, mentions of mythological monsters, not edited.

Genre : Romance, Demigod AU, fluff, angst.

Description: Two twelve year olds kids with apparently normal lives find themselves in a rather uncomfortable position when they are told the truth about their not-so-normal parentage.  

A/N : FINALLY I managed to post this!! I haven’t been feeling well lately so hope I didn’t keep anyone waiting too long. This prologue doesn’t necessarily connect with the main plot of the story but it does lay the backdrop for it so this part might come off as plain. 

Hope everyone’s been keeping well, given the current situations. If you need anyone to talk to, I’m right here!

SERIES MASTERLIST ||  Click here for introduction to the story and glossary and here for the Stray Kids demigod diaries!

Lighting in the Sky

"Before the world existed, there was nothing. Only a primary void, a nothingness and ..chaos. "

Your glazed, intrigued eyes follow every word from the new book your mother reads out from, your curiosity unable to handle the wonderful way your mother always turns every story into a mystery.

The bright green cover of the book looks attractive, and smooth like glass. Instinctively, you hold your finger up to its surface.

Its cold.

" 'Famous tales from Greek Mythology ' " you read out its title, now no longer paying attention to your mother's words, "Mum, do you think the people in these stories are real?"

Your mother stops mid sentence, not really surprised when a rather familiar memory finds its way back to her. Thunderstorms, a handsome young man, rapid heartbeats, a little baby girl.

"I'd like to think so," she runs her fingers through your hair, "But not all of them are as heroic as they're made to be in these books."

You wondered what her words had meant for a long time after that. For a 12 year old girl, you'd been way too curious, way too hard to deceive. But truth is something that cannot be hidden for too long.

You remember that day as clearly as if it were yesterday.

It was your 13th birthday , a joyous day for a young girl who'd always wanted to experience the so called 'exciting' teen years. Your mum had prepared an amazing celebration for you- a small picnic by the seaside, a chocolate cake (your absolute favorite), the second edition of 'Famous tales from Greek Mythology ' as a gift. It was almost perfect.

Almost.

While on your way to the parking lot, a dog pounces at you. Except it wasn't just a dog. It was a Hell Hound.

You'd only seen the likes of it before in your story books and in your nightmares that were as vivid as memories. But you know exactly what a hellhound really is. Hellhounds are dogs that guard the Underworld - world of the dead .

"Get off of me, you dog!" You scream as the monster claws at your face.

Viscious creatures and brilliant killers these dogs are and if it weren't for two boys showing up to your rescue, you are sure you'd have become the hellhound 's food that day.

"Are you okay, y/n?" The boys ask you.

"H-how do you know my name? Who are you people?" You pant, on the verge of tears, "What was that thing?"

The taller of the two boys - Hyunjin, as he would introduce himself to you later sends a look of confusion over at the shorter boy - who also introduces himself as Minho later. "We have a lot of talking to do, y/n. Where's your mom?"

Your mom is not one bit fazed when she drives the three of you back to your small apartment. It's almost as if she'd been expecting it all along.

Once you reach your house, your mom who's usually extremely cheerful and loud, sits you down quietly on the couch and tells you the truth. Of who you are, what you are capable of.

"Sweetie, your father is not the book author you think he is. I'm so sorry I lied to you. " she sucks in a deep breath, almost scared, "Honey, your dad is...a God. A Greek God. The ones we read about."

And that one sentence turns your entire world upside down. Everything you've ever known just changes.

But sometimes changes are for the best, you'd like to think.

Minho and Hyunjin reveal that they come from a place called Camp Levanter - a home for kids like you, demigods is what they're apparently called.

"A-are you like me too?"

"Yes, y/n. We're like you." Minho says, "I'm the son of the Greek God Dionysus and Hyunjin over here is the son of the Greek goddess Aphrodite."

Hyunjin pats your head ever so gently and in an alluring voice says, "Do you want to come with? We could be your friend. How does that sound?"

You find yourself nodding almost immediately.

And just before you walk out of the door, you give your mom the tightest hug, assuring her that you'd do just fine.

"By the way, mum, what's dad's name? You never told me."

You mom sighs, as the skies outside rumble with thunder, "Your father is Zeus - the God of sky and lightning. "

*

The symbol of Love

"Are we going to die tonight, Nana?"

Felix shivers into the embrace and pulls his greying, old grandmother closer, her weak body already completely corrupted by the cold and snow.

"N-not you, Lixie. You have things to do." She mumbles, holding the 13 year old kid to her chest, hoping to find some kind of warmth in this freezing cold weather, "I-its not your time yet. You will go back to your father, you hear me? You didn't have to come with me anyway!"

Felix's father wasn't the nicest person - to put it decently. He didn't so as much bat an eye towards him. Perhaps he was ashamed of having a child out of wedlock or worse, he was reminded of Felix's gorgeous mother he so dearly missed everytime he saw Felix.

Anyhow, parental love never made it into Felix's life from his father's side so instead he grew up under the warmth of his grandmother's love.

On his 13th birthday, Felix receives his first and last gift from his father; a step mother. That fall, his father marries an old colleague in a small ceremony. And Felix would later go on to hate himself for ever thinking that this new addition to the family might fill up the blank space his birth mother had left behind.

Not ten days after the wedding, his new step mother 'accuses' his grandmother of being rude and unwelcoming and begs his father to throw her out of the house.

Which all comes down to this moment, where his grandmother is freezing to death and he cannot do anything but watch silently.

"Hey, do you need help?" When Felix hears that voice, his first instinct is to brush it off as a hallucination, for who would help two homeless people in this bone chilling weather?

"Felix, do you need help?" A few rapid footsteps and two boys present themselves in front of him, panting as if they'd been running all the while.

"W-who are you?" He stutters, hugging his grandmother closer, "How do you know my name?"

One of the two boys reply gently, "I'm sure you have a lot of questions, Felix. How about we go to my place? Your grandmother might like a warm cup of tea, don't you think?"

And so he agrees to go with the two boys.

Once they'd warmed his Nana up and fed her, Felix gently tucks her into the bed of the guest room they'd been given. As scared as Felix was to accept their help, he knew he had no option. His grandmother meant the world to him and he couldn't watch her succumb right in front of his eyes.

The two boys are very careful in approaching Felix, making sure to not scare him more than he already is.

"What are your names? How do you know me?" They let a whole hour pass by as the three boys sit on the dining table, occupied with plates of untouched food and full bottles of water, letting Felix be the one to start conversation. And when he finally does, Changbin breathes a sigh of relief. Really, he was starving but he didn't want to seem rude in front of their new friend.

"I'm Chan," Chan introduces himself, and then Changbin speaks, "I'm Changbin. And why do we know you, you ask - well the three of us have quite a lot in common, you see. More than what meets the mortal eye."

Mortal eye? What's this all about? Felix finds himself more confused than he already was.

"We're the children of Greek gods, Felix. " Chan sighs, " You, me and Changbin. Is it hard to believe?"

Felix is about to say 'yes' out of pure impulse but he holds his tongue this time ; these guys don't seem like the kind to make such obnoxious claims, even as a joke. All his life, Felix had spent as an outcast, among his friends, among his cousins, among his classmates. His father had treated him like he were a monster. And his estranged mother who his father never said anything about? Felix finds suspicion knocking at his door.

Whilst its still extremely hard to believe, Felix responds,

"I want to believe you."

Chan and Changbin exchange a look of surprise, complete astonishment since none of them had expected Felix to even listen to them. And now that they have his attention, they find themselves a tad bit pressured as well.

"But don't disappoint me," Felix mutters, more to himself than to the boys, "Don't give me hope just to snatch it away."

And much to his surprise, he isn't left disappointed this time. These two boys manage to change his life completely, and now when Felix goes to bed at night, he finds a rather foreign feeling of fulfillment in his heart.

and for the first time in forever, he lets himself hope. Hope for a new family who would make up for the love his father could never offer. Hope for better days to come now that he's finally found a new identity and a new life.

****

Taglist: @chogiwow​@ctrlaltfangirl​@blueprint-han​@whattaweeb​@bigskzz​@judewalid​@kpopssuregi​@crispy-chan​

Note: Please DM or send an ask if you wish to be added to the taglist!

#skz #skz au #stray kids au #stray kids scenario #skz imagines #skz fics #stray kids fics #skz felix #lee felix #stray kids imagines #skz felix x reader #skz x reader #stray kids ff #stray kids felix #stray kids felix fic #stray kids fantasy au #skz fluff #skz angst #skz smut #stray kids fluff #stray kids angst #skz felix au #felix au #demigod au #kpop au #kpop icons #kpop fluff #kpop scenarios

[ithebookhoarder]

Hey! I love your story the gangsters daughter SO much and I was wondering if I could request something based on it?

Where it’s the night before Evie’s wedding and she goes to Tommy’s office to talk as she’s nervous and they have a fluffy moment where he doesn’t think he’s ready for her to get married! ☺️

Cold Feet (Parent!Tommy Shelby x Evie)

A/N: Ok ok ok. First of all anon, how dare you be so fluffing cute?! And second, OF COURSE YOU CAN! I love Evie and I’m always looking for excuses to write for my baby. Also, I’m totally not crying at the thought of Tommy having to let his little girl go and get married and just wanting her to be happy... I just have something in my eye. 

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of alcohol, mentions of smoking. Let me know if I missed anything. 

Masterlist:

Tommy had always known this day would come. 

It was as inevitable as death was for every single living thing on this planet. 

No matter how hard he’d prayed that he’d have just a little more time left, his luck had finally run out. There was no delaying it any longer now that the day was almost upon him when his life would change in a way that would alter his world forever. 

It was tomorrow, in fact, that Tommy would see Evie shed the Shelby name for another. 

True, he could not have chosen a more worthy candidate, and knew Toby would love Evie as she deserved to be loved. That didn't lessen the sting it caused though, to know his days as the only male in her life were now over. Soon, she would no longer be his, no longer living in the same house as him. She would be a married woman, and that filled Tommy with incredible joy, and incredible sorrow at the same time.

This was the curse of fathers. 

It seemed only yesterday that she was small enough to not even care about boys, let alone marriage. He remembered a particular conversation with fondness, when Evie had only been with them a few months or so. 

It had been in the wake of a row over Ada’s most recent conquest at the time. An annoying boy, Liam had only lasted three dates before being scared off by Arthur, John, and Tommy.  Despite being nothing particularly special, Ada had been incredibly enraged, yelling about how she wanted to marry him and that she’d never find love again. 

Of course, Evie had found the whole thing hilarious, if not a little confusing. Hence, when she’d sat up in bed that night, as Tommy passed by her room one final time, he couldn’t help but smile at her quizzical expression. 

“But, Dad. If she loves him what’s wrong with that? Besides, Mum had a baby on her own… if Ada did end up pregnant would it really be so horrible? She’d have a child, like me, and you all warmed up to me pretty quickly.”

“Well,” Tommy had begun, trying not to laugh at the absurdity of this discussion with his only recently recovered twelve-year old daughter. Polly was always far better at talking about this kind of stuff. “It’s… you see… people tend to only have children when they’re married.”

“Why?”

“It’s just how things are done.”

“Well, that’s stupid.”

Tommy smirked. “Most people would agree with you, but a lot don’t. They can be horrible and cruel, even to women who were in love but weren’t married when they had a kid. So, we’re trying to spare Ada from that. It’s fucking complicated, but at the end of the day, she deserves to be happy, doesn’t she?” 

“Yes,” Evie sighed, suddenly staring down at her bedsheets nervously. “But… does that mean Auntie Martha was right? That I have to get married when I grow up? But Dad, the only boys I like are you… and my uncles… I don’t suppose I could marry one of them?”

Tommy immediately bit back his laughter as he shook his head and held her close. “I’m afraid Martha would object to you marrying our John. Besides, you don’t want one of us old men when you can find someone young and handsome who you love very much.”

“But how will I know who that is? Or if they’re good or not?” she asked innocently. 

“I’ll help you,” Tommy offered, not without a little hesitation. To even think such a time would exist, when he would have to part with his daughter, when he’d only just found her again… “You can depend on it. Any unworthy bastards will be driven away by me, and the hounds.”

At that Evie spluttered into laughter, before pressing a kiss to her father’s cheek. “Now that, I would pay to see.”

Well, that day had come and gone and Tommy hadn’t released any hounds. No. The only hound in sight was Cyril, and he’d warmed incredibly quickly to the new member of the family. 

He hadn’t been the only one either. In fact, Tommy had rolled out the red fucking carpet, welcoming the man into the family. Sure, it hadn’t been without its challenges along the way, but as much as Tommy hated to admit it, Toby was a good man. More than that, he’d proved his loyalty to the family, and to Evie, over and over again. 

If he had to part with Evie to anyone, then at least it was to someone as decent as Toby. It made the whole ordeal hurt just a little less as he sipped his whiskey and stared out of the study window. 

Despite the late hour, there were still faint laughs and shrieks of delight echoing from upstairs. Ada, Lara, Polly and Lizzie were most likely to blame, having taken charge of Evie’s so called ‘last night of freedom’. Tommy didn’t know what that entailed exactly and he didn’t even want to try and guess. Not given how much champagne they’d lugged upstairs with them earlier, having returned from a busy evening dancing at a local club. 

If they weren’t all hungover as hell in the morning it would be a minor miracle. 

Still, as long as they got their asses to church on time and didn’t throw up on the minister, then everything would be fine. No. It would be perfect. Tommy had promised Evie that much and he’d be damned before he failed to deliver a promise as solemn as this one. 

She’d done the same for him, twice in fact, even if his union to Lizzie had been a far simpler affair than his first marriage to Grace. 

At least Evie hadn’t insisted on there being a ‘father of the bride’ toast - even if Ada had… Somehow, Tommy knew his would never be anywhere as good as the ones his daughter had given. 

She always had had a way with words.  

“Dad?”

Tommy froze. 

Speak of the devil and she shall appear. 

He was startled by the sound of her voice, echoing from the open doorway, as if summoned by his worry. He’d almost thought he’d imagined it until he turned and saw her standing there, looking a little worse for wear in her finery. 

Apparently he’d been right; she’d had a very fun evening.  

“Evie?” he blinked, clearing his throat as he tried to compose himself. “What are you doing down here? It’s late and I thought you’d be upstairs celebrating a bit longer. Big day tomorrow.”

Evie smiled, shrugging as she stepped into the office and closed the door behind her. She knew she never needed an invitation, having given up knocking long ago. 

“I was but… I don’t know. I just wanted to come and see you, if that’s alright?”

It would always be alright. Tommy hoped she knew that, even if the anxiety in her eyes said otherwise. Then again, he suspected the nervous energy wasn’t directly aimed at him.  

Over a decade later, he knew his daughter better than he knew himself. It was why he nodded, gesturing to the seat next to him in a clear invitation. “Of course it is, but won’t the others miss you?” 

“Oh, they’re all too busy finishing the last of the wine to miss me right away and… I don’t know why but I needed a minute away from everything. It was all a bit… much.”

“Yeah, well, welcome to my world. This family has always been a bit much,” Tommy teased. That was why they both loved them though. The Shelby spirit was strong and made them who they were. They wouldn’t change it for the world, even if it did drive them nuts on occasion. 

And Toby was willingly entering this family, why? 

“I’m almost scared to ask what’s being going on up there.”

“Probably wise, Dad. No one should see thing things I have tonight.” 

“I thought so.”

A laugh escaped Evie’s lips as she sat beside him, accepting the glass of whiskey he handed her without a second thought. It was simply routine by this point, the two of them caught in a silent routine on nights like this when they needed to simply clear their heads and think. 

It was an unwritten agreement between the pair of them. As was the somewhat confessional nature this room had taken on in its time under the Shelby household. So much had happened since they’d first moved in to Arrow House, from Charles and Ruby being born, to losing Grace, to Evie falling in love, Tommy’s ascension to Parliament, losing John and Esme, Lizzie and Tommy’s wedding… 

Only a decade or so, and yet Evie felt like a whole novel would never be enough to capture her family’s history or the almost surreal events that had taken place.

“Besides, it’s been a while since we had a talk like this, Dad,” Evie continued, shrugging as she sipped her drink and stared at the room. “Everything’s been happening so fast since Toby proposed. It feels like we haven’t had a moment to breathe, really. You’ve been so helpful, agreeing to everything and allowing us to turn this place upside down. I can’t thank you enough for that, by the way. I half expected you to be like Arthur yelling at the florist earlier.”

“It’s the least I can do, Evie. It’s not every day my daughter gets married - and he yelled so I didn’t have to. Fucking trying to sneak carnations in when the order clearly said Clematis with the centrepieces.”

Evie snorted, failing to hide the fact hearing Tommy Shelby raging about flowers was possibly the funniest thing to have ever happened. Ever. Good thing he hadn’t been there when someone had accidentally delivered the wrong amount of chairs for the tent erected out on the lawn. She could only imagine the carnage that would have occurred.  

“My knight in shining armour.” 

“Always. No ring changes that, Evie. I’ll always be there for you, whether it be to fend off blind florists or worse.” 

Despite the fact he acted as if he was merely joking, Evie knew her father meant each and every word. He always had. Even with their ups and downs, he had never abandoned her, always trying to do what was best for her, even if he went about it the wrong way from time to time. 

When she thought back now, to the day she’d first met him in that graveyard, on what had been one of the darkest days of her life, she wished she could tell her younger self not to be afraid. To not be angry or scared of the future before her and the wondrous people that would be in it, thanks to the wonderful man she got to call her father. 

“Dad, can… can I ask you a question? About tomorrow?” 

Tommy hummed softly. “I don’t know what I can tell you about weddings, but fine. Of course.”

“It’s not about the wedding per say, more the bit after. I just… I’m scared, Dad. I don’t know why but I am.”

The words made Tommy’s heart plummet before he’d even realised what she’d said. It took everything in him not to panic or try and express the pain he felt at the idea his daughter was scared about what was supposed to be a happy day - a happy and expensive one, even if Tobias had money enough to cover a lot of the costs. 

“Of what?” 

“I don’t know,” Evie whispered, almost as if ashamed to confess it. “I’m so happy and excited to start the life together Toby and I have talked about for years but, now that it’s here? I don’t know. I just … I feel like I’m going to throw up or pass out and I don’t know why. Is something wrong with me? Who gets terrified of their own wedding?”

“Every fucking sane person on the planet,” Tommy countered swiftly, a hand reaching out to take hers. “As someone with experience here, you can trust me when I say everyone gets scared, Evie. Everyone. No matter how certain you are that you love the person or that this is the right next step.”  

“But why?” 

“Because it’s a big commitment,” Tommy continued, “and it’s a new chapter in your life. That’s exciting but also terrifying. To know you have a chance to start a family of your own? To choose your own path? That’s nothing to take lightly, and if I didn’t think you wanted this, or that you weren’t ready, I would have said something before now. You can count on that.” 

He had a point.  

“And I know you, Evelyn Shelby. You have never let anything or anyone stop you from going after what you want, even if it’s scary or someone says no. If being with Tobias is what you want, then so be it. You’re a grown woman, as much as I fucking hate to admit it. I think you’ve proven over and over again that you’re the bravest one out of the lot of us, and I’m so proud of you. Your Mother would be too. She’d want you to be happy and to enjoy tomorrow for what it is: the start of another chapter in your incredible life.” 

The thought of her absence was enough to make Evie’s eyes sting with tears, as was the conviction with which her father spoke about her. The pride was clear, even if he looked a little scared himself at what tomorrow would bring for them all. 

“Thank you.”

Tommy nodded, knowing better than to argue as she threw herself at him, coiling herself around him as she often did. Ever since the first time she’d done it, he’d been unable to resist it. So what? His daughter’s embrace was one of the few in the world that made him feel loved. It was as if her presence alone was enough to restore him, to banish whatever was troubling him. 

The thought he wouldn’t just be able to have such hugs so frequently made his heart ache even more. 

He didn’t want her to go. 

In his eyes, she was still the twelve-year-old girl he’d first met. She always would be, no matter how much she insisted on growing up and being a so called ‘adult’. It was why he planned on keeping her room upstairs exactly as it was now, just in the case she ever needed or even wanted it. 

That, and because he physically couldn’t bear to erase any remaining traces of her from his home. Of course, Lizzie had teased him rotten about it, even if she understood. Still young, Lizzie hated the thought of Ruby ever growing up and leaving her for anyone - let alone a husband. 

At least they had some time left before that would be happening. Tommy didn’t know if he could survive anymore heartache so soon.

“I love you, so much, Evie,” Tommy whispered, pressing a kiss to the top of her head and holding her close. “You’ll always be my little girl, and you’ll always be welcome here. Anytime, day or night. This will still be your home, and we’ll still be your family. If anything, we’re simply gaining more members, not losing any. Understand?”

“Yes,” Evie nodded, wiping her eyes as she shot him a watery smile. “I love you too, Dad, even if I swear I’m supposed to be the one telling you all this. Isn’t it normally the father of the bride who’s supposed to get all teary eyed and jittery the night before?”

“We’ve never been conventional, Evie. In case you forgot, we have politicians, the Lee branch of the family, and Alfie fucking Solomons all coming tomorrow, for fucks sake. Why should we start worrying about tradition now?” 

Evie’s laughter was infectious at the picture of the eclectic scene awaiting them, especially considering how excited Alfie had been at the prospect of attending a Shelby wedding. Oh, Arthur was going to explode at the sight of the Jewish gangster sat in all his finery. That, and when he saw the huge gift he had been promising her for weeks now.  

She couldn’t wait.  

“True. Well, traditional or not, I’m so grateful for the life we have, Dad. I’ll never be able to tell you how grateful I am that you were the person who showed up at that graveyard,” she confessed. “There’s no one else in the whole world I want to be my side tomorrow. You’ll still walk me down the aisle, right?”

Tommy beamed. “How can you ask that, Evelyn Shelby? I’ve always been right beside you and tomorrow is no different. Wild horses couldn’t stop me.” 

“Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me,” Tommy whispered, “simply enjoy yourself and let me and the others take care of the rest. That’s all the thanks we need… and maybe call once in a while, just so I know you’re alright.”

Evie laughed, knowing she would probably still end up here most of the time anyway after she was married. But she agreed, pleased to put his mind at rest as well as he’d put her own. “I really do love you, Dad.” 

“And I love you too, Evie. Always.” 

#ithebookhoarder #Tommy Shelby #Peaky Blinders #peaky blinder #PeakyBlinders #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinder fanfic #peaky blinder imagine #peaky blinder headcanon #tommy #parent tommy shelby #thegangster'sdaughter #masterlist #request #prompt #answered #Arthur Shelby #alfie solomons #lizzie stark

[hanbintms]

            it  is  eye  ,  kofi  ,  back  on  your  dash  with  my  newest  child  !  as  a  reminder  :  i’m  twenty4  ,  prefer  she / her  or  they / them  pronouns  ,  and  i  reside  in  the  est  timezone  !  the  muse  that  i  have  flowing  for  hanbin  is  truly  unmatched  even  though  i  literally  came  up  with  him  within  like  . . .  three  hours  ,  no  kidding  .  that  being  said  ,  he’s  a  brand  new  muse  and  i  can’t  wait  to  plot  with  everyone  once  again  (  or  for  the  first  time  !  )  i  won’t  talk  your  ears  off  as  i  know  this  intro  might  get  a  little  long  ,  but  aside  from  that  ,  can’t  wait  to  write  hanbin  with  ya’ll  !

            (  SONG  KANG , THIRTY , CIS  MAN , HE / HIM  )  *  hey  ,  i’m  looking  for  the  office  of  HANBIN  KOO  .  they’re  the  EMPLOYEE  /  IN - HOUSE  CHEF  who’s  known  around  the  office  as  THE  EPICURE  ,  if  that  helps  ?  not  to  be  a  gossip  ,  but  i’ve  heard  that  they’re  AFFABLE  but  UNCOUTH  ,  is  that  true  ?  i  also  heard  that  they’re  the  one  who  THREW  ICED  TEA  AT  HIS  EX  IN  THE  LOBBY  .  anyways  ,  here’s  the  coffee  they  ordered  .

statistics.

            name  :  koo  hanbin  .  nicknames  :  han  ,  hannie  ,  hanbinie  ,  +  binnie  .  age  +  date  of  birth  :  thirty  +  january  9th,  1991  .  zodiac  :  capricorn  .  moral  alignment  :  true  neutral  .  gender  +  pronouns  :  cis  man  +  he / him / his .  place  of  birth  :  busan  ,  south  korea  .  place  of  residence  :  west  village  ,  new  york  city  ,  new  york  .  orientation  :  bisexual  biromantic  .  occupation  :  in  house  chef  and  internet  personality  .  nationality  :  korean  (  holds  american  citizenship  )  .  ethnicity  :  korean  .  language(s)  spoken  :  korean  ,  english  ,  conversational  italian  ,  and  conversational  japanese  .

background.

            koo  hanbin’s  life  was  relatively  normal  when  he  was  born  .  his  mom  ,  koo  seonghwa  ,  worked  as  a  nurse  in  the  pediatric  department  of  a  local  hospital  in  busan  while  his  father  ,  koo  kyuchul  ,  was  an  office  worker  .  they  weren’t  the  richest  family  ,  nowhere  near  it  ,  but  the  koo  family  made  it  work  .  hanbin  has  more  memories  of  being  with  his  grandparents  more  often  than  his  parents  simply  because  of  their  demanding  careers ,  but  that’s  not  to  say  that  they  weren’t  loving  and  attentive  parents  when  they  had  time  to  be  with  their  only  son  .  

             however  ,  life  began  to  change  for  him  when  was  six  years  old  .  suddenly  ,  the  money  began  to  dwindle  as  quickly  as  it  was  brought  in  .  the  refrigerator  wasn’t  full  unless  seonghwa’s  mother  would  make  some  things  for  them  ,  and  kyuchul  was  coming  home  later  and  later  .  seonghwa  began  to  work  harder  in  an  attempt  to  break  even  ,  but  she  never  seemed  to  get  her  head  above  water  .  she’d  confront  her  husband  about  the  large  sums  of  money  that  would  disappear  from  their  account  ,  but  he  always  blamed  it  on  higher  bills  ,  raised  rent  ,  or  sudden  payments  that  he  had  to  make  .  it  never  made  any  sense  ,  but  seonghwa  started  a  separate  account  to  ensure  their  son  could  at  least  have  food  on  the  table  and  clothes  for  school  .

            the  next  couple  of  years  go  by  and  the  money  situation  worsens  ,  with  seonghwa  getting  to  her  wits  end  .  she  spends  more  time  with  hanbin  at  her  parents’  place  ,  sleeping  with  her  son  in  her  old  bedroom  and  hoping  he  doesn’t  hear  her  cry  at  night  .  she  struggles  to  understand  why  her  husband  is  keeping  secrets  from  her  ,  especially  as  they’ve  been  married  happily  for  the  last  eleven  years  ,  but  it  takes  some  tough  love  from  her  mother  to  get  seonghwa  to  pick  herself  up  .  so  ,  she  decides  to  confront  her  husband  one  night  when  she  finds  out  his  location  from  one  of  his  co - workers  ,  and  she’s  devastated  .  seonghwa  finds  kyuchul  with  a  younger  woman  ,  gambling  away  her  hard  earned  money  .  like  a  scene  out  of  a  drama  ,  seonghwa  kicks  her  husband  where  the  sun  doesn’t  shine  and  promptly  dragged  the  other  woman  outside  to  wack  her  upside  the  head  with  her  purse  .  seonghwa  was  hurt  ,  but  she  had  finally  gotten  answers  ,  and  she  wasn’t  going  to  be  embarrassed  like  this  ever  again  .

            so  ,  seonghwa  and  hanbin  permanently  move  in  with  her  parents  ,  and  it  takes  some  time  for  seonghwa  to  get  over  kyuchul  .  she  focuses  on  her  child  and  her  job  .  from  the  age  of  ten  ,  hanbin  began  spending  more  time  with  his  grandparents  in  their  small  ,  but  popular  barbecue  meat  restaurant  .  when  he  finishes  his  homework  ,  he  helps  his  grandparents  take  orders  ,  and  he  slowly  begins  to  work  the  kitchen  as  he  gets  older  .  his  grandparents  soon  leave  the  kitchen  work  to  him  as  they  get  up  in  age  ,  and  hanbin  runs  the  kitchen  as  if  he’d  been  doing  it  for  over  twenty  years  .  however  ,  when  he  graduates  from  high  school  ,  hanbin  decides  to  spread  his  wings  .  over  the  last  twelve  years  or  so  ,  hanbin  honed  his  cooking  skills  from  his  grandfather  and  spent  most  of  his  childhood  in  the  kitchen  ,  so  his  grandparents  passed  their  restaurant  down  to  seonghwa’s  brother  ,  and  hanbin  left  for  new  york  .

            eighteen  years  old  and  with  only  enough  money  to  get  a  small  sublet  ,  he  knew  he  needed  to  find  a  job  pronto  .  without  formal  kitchen  training  ,  hanbin  would  often  get  turned  away  from  jobs  (  because  he  was  better  than  a  busboy  !  )  and  eventually  ,  the  fates  was  on  his  side  .  he  forced  his  way  into  the  kitchen  of  a  popular  italian  restaurant  ,  immediately  snagging  the  title  of  junior  chef  .  hanbin  ,  a  fast  learner  with  even  faster  knife  skills  ,  easily  works  his  way  up  the  ranks  within  the  restaurant  .  within  six  years  ,  hanbin  becomes  head  chef  and  is  a  force  to  be  reckoned  with  in  the  kitchen  .  although  his  income  changes  significantly  ,  hanbin  starts  a  youtube  channel  in  hopes  of  sharing  his  love  for  food  and  cooking  .  within  a  year  ,  his  following  grows  substantially  ,  and  he’s  approached  to  broaden  his  efforts  by  working  at  masters  international  .

at masters.

hanbin  has  been  at  masters  for  five  years  .  he  started  working  here  after  his  youtube  channel  expanded  ,  and  he  was  approached  to  create  his  own  cooking  content  for  masters’  youtube  channel  .  

basically  ,  he  has  his  own  version  of  test  kitchen  ,  but  it’s  not  really  the  same  thing  .  he  makes  recipes  for  holidays  ,  celebrations  ,  and  is  constantly  showing  how  to  make  traditional  korean  dishes  (  would  not  be  surprised  if  he  has  a  ‘  cooking  with  my  mom  !  ’  type  series  )  .

gives  food  tips  too  like  which  wines  pair  best  with  certain  foods  or  how  to  make  the  most  out  of  your  first  hosting  gig  .  probably  has  a  video  where  he  shares  his  cooking  playlist  because  he  wants  you  to  get  in  the  mood  😌  .

probably  came  up  with  the  special  lunch  for  Daddy  Masters™  but  gets  ticked  when  he’s  asked  to  cook  it  because  does  that  man  know  a  schedule  ?  probably  not  .  [  ‘  we  were  on  a  break  !  ’  specifically  ,  hanbin2   was  on  his  lunch  break  .  ] 

is  it  true  that  he  threw  an  iced  tea  in  his  ex’s  face  ?  absolutely  ,  and  he  has  no  problem  admitting  it  lmao  .  who  was  said  ex  ?  i  guess  we’ll  never  know  [  this  a  number  one  champion  sound  ]  .

probably  well  received  around  the  office  but  i  wouldn’t  be  surprised  if  people  disliked  him  .  it  could  be  his  off  putting  persona  or  honestly  the  simple  fact  that  he’s  got  a  lot  of  sass  and  no  ass  .

headcanons.

you  can  read  a  full  list  of  headcanons  HERE  ;  below  is  an  abridged  version  .

has  a  gyeongsang  dialect  from  living  in  busan  ,  and  honestly  . . .  that’s  hot  .  so  ,  when  he  speaks  in  korean  it’s  rather  strong  and  aggressive  /  pitch  is  vastly  different  from  other  parts  of  korea  .  

i  literally  have  no  idea  how  to  explain  his  personality  other  than  by  using  his  moral  alignment  :  true  neutral  .  he’s  kinda  that  guy  who  knows  everything  but  won’t  tell  you  that  he  does  ?  did  he  eavesdrop  ?  maybe  ,  but  he  won’t  tell  you  that  .  he’s  largely  indifferent  to  a  lot  of  what  happens  around  masters  and  maybe  it’s  because  he’s  been  here  for  half  a  decade  ;  he’ll  just  make  sure  you  drink  water  if  you’re  drunk  and  crying  .

a  Dog  Father™  to  a  little  re:  big  goldendoodle  named  duri  .  he  is  most  definitely  judging  you  and  can  often  be  found  sunbathing  in  that  solarium  .  

a  very  simple  man  when  it  comes  to  his  coffee  :  caffè  americano  or  an  espresso  macchiato  please  .  and  don’t  forget  the  butter  croissant  !

mostly  expressionless  . . .  like  i  really  have  no  idea  how  to  explain  how  he  looks  at  people  because  i  feel  that  stoic  is  too  harsh  of  a  word  .  if  you  wanna  know  how  he  feels  though  ,  he  has  extremely  expressive  eyes  .

he  won’t  admit  it  but  he  loves  hosting  .  office  potluck  ?  he’s  your  guy  .  having  a  conference  ?  he’ll  make  your  snacks  .  if  you’re  coming  over  he’ll  make  a  charcuterie  board  and  will  lie  saying  he  made  it  with  some  stuff  he  had  on  hand  (  but  that’s  a  lie  ,  he  went  to  the  grocery  store  and  obsessed  over  it  for  a  solid  three  hours  )  .

finds  joy  in  the  mundane  .  some  people  might  think  he’s  weird  because  he  loves  grocery  shopping  ,  and  heavily  judges  people’s  carts  because  processed  food  ?  yuck  !  he  won’t  say  that  to  your  face  though  he’ll  just  be  like  ‘  are  you  sure  you  wanna  buy  that  ?  ’  and  will  sneakily  replace  your  frozen  pizza  with  pizza  ingredients  hehe  .

that  being  said  don’t  take  him  grocery  shopping  with  you  NFUDNSFDS  .  he  gets  ticked  about  food  waste  ,  and  those  who  don’t  use  reusable  bags  .   probably  has  a  lil  garden  at  his  place  and  composts  !  is  angry  about  people  calling  a  chunk  of  cauliflower  a  steak  (  in  other  words  ,  don’t  to  it  )  !

wanted connections.

DISCLAIMER  :  i  will  not  be  plotting  anything  romantic  with  characters  under  the  age  of  twenty - five  due  to  his  age  !

ONE  TRUE  LOVE  :  this  is  open  to  literally  anyone  ,  preferably  like  ,  28  to  30  but  we  can  talk  details  .  truly  ,  they’re  his  one  true  love  as  the  title  states  ,  and  i  like  to  believe  that  they  were  a  really  happy  couple  who  had  a  meet - cute  .  they  moved  in  together  and  things  were  great  ,  but  they  broke  up  when  they  felt  a  mutual  dissolve  in  their  relationship  .  that  being  said  ,  they’re  good  friends  now  !

BEST  FRIEND  :  who  wouldn’t  love  a  best  friend  .  basically  ,  they  get  along  well  ,  and  they  are  used  to  sung’s  non - verbal  communication  NVJCNXJV  .  it’d  be  really  fun  if  they  had  totally  different  personalities  but  somehow  they  managed  to  click  .  TAKEN  BY  GRIFFIN  OLSON  .

TASTE  TESTER  :  someone  who  he  calls  on  to  often  try  his  food  at  the  office  .  they  possibly  will  appear  in  his  videos  on  masters’  youtube  channel  ,  so  i  think  a  relationship  based  around  food  would  be  really  fun  !  TAKEN  BY  KENNEDY  CRAWFORD  /  SORAYA  HATHAWAY  .

HORN  DOGS  (  DEROGATORY  )  :  i  have  no  other  name  for  this  plot  but  i’m  thinking  two  people  who  cannot  keep  their  hands  off  of  one  another  .  i’m  talking  sneaky  touches  in  the  elevator  ,  secret  hook  ups  in  the  seventh  floor  bathroom  ,  quick  makeouts  and  nearly  getting  caught  .  bonus  points  if  people  around  the  office  don’t  believe  they’re  Banging™  because  their  personalities  are  so  different  .  

CRUSH  :  also  known  as  ,  someone  having  a  crush  on  him  ,  but  he  sees  them  as  a  friend  (  or  even  worse  ,  like  a  younger  sibling  )  .  TAKEN  BY  AYLIN  SAHIN  .

PLATONIC  SOULMATE  :  best  friends  ,  but  make  it  sentimental  .  they  are  thicker  than  thieves  ,  get  on  each  other’s  nerves  ,  but  they  don’t  know  what  they’d  do  without  the  other  .  finish  each  other’s  sentences  (  and  sandwiches  .  sung  will  finish  it  )  and  are  borderline  like  an  old  married  couple  with  the  way  they  act  .

that’s  all  i  got  now  but  i’ve  reblogged  some  posts  that  can  be  found  HERE  and  i’m  down  to  fill  any  wcs  that  you  may  have  as  well  !

#masters.intro #this is really long MVJCNXVC sorry ya'll

[lluvguts]

“...secrets?” // byler

pairing: eleven / mike wheeler & will byers / mike wheeler

warnings: none!

word count: 2693

summary: Where Eleven snoops around Mike's house and finds a peculiar journal entry.

Eleven grew tired of sitting in the blanket fort, waiting for Mike’s watch to say the three numbers he told her earlier— ”When this read 3:15. Three, one, five. Got that, El?” Mike adjusted the digital watch to her wrist with soft, sweaty fingers— and letting her stomach settle the burnt Eggos he snuck back from breakfast.

“Just stay here in the basement, Eleven. So it’s a secret. And eat these waffles, understand?” Mike was staring at her with intense eyes, ones Eleven knew were filled with curiosity at her; those deep brown eyes; they were fixed on her face, on her puzzled stare, only belonging to the boy who saved her. Her friend. But Mike’s eyes led her to believe that maybe he found something more than a friend there, in her gaze. His looks were too deliberate and his gestures too sudden and eager—of the three boys who had rescued her, Mike was the only one willing to communicate, make her feel at home—and even if the other two thought she was stupid, Eleven knew better than to assume this boy sitting next to her thought of her as only a friend.

She herself was unsure what she felt, what she thought of him. No words came to her aid. A blank, soundless mind.

Eleven understood his words. Stay. Eat. It was but the one sentence that made the bite of waffle she had chewed off cling to the back of her throat.

“Secret?” She asked, letting the packaged Eggo return to her lap. Mike’s expression changed, once kind and assertive; now confused. It was a look Eleven had often recalled on the many faces of those around her—before. Especially her Papa, the white-haired man that occupied every vacant space in her mind, breeding intrusive thoughts of other places and nightmares she had no way of forgetting. A gentleness painted on the man that was quickly met with irritation when she did not comprehend a task.

But these new people, new faces, were different. Mike was different, she was sure of it. His thoughts and emotions were obvious for anyone to see. Sensitive and on display.

Too exposed.

“What?” Mike’s voice broke her from the memory. He leaned forward, just barely. From this close Eleven could discern every one of his freckles, on those pale cheeks tinged with blush, lashes dark and just as visible as the straight, raven-colored hair that framed his face.

“What is secret?” Eleven repeated the question, the word was familiar on her tongue, but had no meaning, no flavor. Dull and lifeless like the many things she found herself unable to remember.

Mike’s legs shifted on the blanket, searching the wall for an answer, as if it had one.

"A secret is something that no one else can know about,” he replied slowly, making sure she caught everything.

“I am a secret?”

“No! Of course not. Well, not exactly—” He assumed a body posture she did not like: too quickly did his shoulders rise to shrug, his face a notch above where it should be—looking at her—and mind clearly elsewhere. It made her feel unwanted—a weirdo, a stray dog—and that she was wasting his time with her questions. Did Mike not want to explain? Why must she stay in the blanket fort? Eleven wondered with hidden frustration. The bad men couldn’t infiltrate the confines of this house, the stability that Eleven needed it to have. Not even the other things, the screams she heard in her sleep from the Upside Down. Not yet.

All of her questions were lost past communication: so many words and phrases and meanings entirely taken from her, unable to speak them aloud.

“Michael! You better be up here right now if you don’t want to be late for school!” A voice shouted from upstairs, making Eleven flinch and cast wide, frightened eyes at the ceiling.

Mike set a hand on her sleeve to reassure her—and she paid careful attention to the fact that he did not touch her. Was he afraid of her abilities, that could stun an entire room? Like everyone else was?

“It’s just my mom. I’ll see you later, okay? Remember: three, one, five, El.” And with that he was gone, only leaving Eleven to reflect on his words—even the unsaid ones—and finish her breakfast.

But by that time Eleven was no longer hungry. More sounds echoed from above, she listened intently under the cover of blankets to every thud of footsteps and pinging clatter of dishes until the house settled into a comforting silence when the watch read one-zero. The only thing that stilled her racing heart was the repetitive blink of that watch, its numbers flashing in red light. A color that made Eleven’s eyes burn when she stared at it for too long, too closely, her pounding vision ringed in scarlet.

She didn’t want to stay in the basement, even if Mike said so. She wanted to discover other foreign things in the house, like whose voice accompanied what room, what his family looked like, where Mike slept. The image she constructed of his face shrouded in sleep—innocent features undisturbed, not a sign of worry or a frown—made her blush. Eleven smiled down at the Eggo’s crinkly plastic in her hands, surrounded by the speckled grey of someone else’s sweatpants; her shirtsleeve crusted with a coppery red from the ghost of old blood.

Not now. She couldn’t allow herself to dwell on it, her “superpowers.” A term the boys often used for it—either in amazement or fear she did not know. Eleven shook her head, if only they knew it was anything but a gift. They were right to be afraid.

Out of habit, she checked the numbers again: 12:37. Too early to leave out the back door, but just enough time to creep upstairs with no one home yet. The stairs were carpeted, mysterious blue steps that led her up into the house, soothing her bare feet. Once above ground, Eleven stood at the base of the kitchen’s hard tile and stared in awe. Many things reminded her of Mike, and possibly the other voices she heard during her stay: dirtied dishes, a child’s plaything, an old house phone suspended on the kitchen wall and backed by creamy floral wallpaper. Signs of life. Family.

Home was a far off place, invisible to her reach. She searched her mind for a taste of it, trying to force the past out of her, but the emptiness was inescapable; it only brought a blistering headache and the all-too-familiar faint feeling Eleven often adapted to for the past twelve years.

Somewhere in the living room a clock trilled the time: 1:00. How long had she been standing there? Eleven wiped her face, her sleeve returned wet with tears she did not know where there and the speckled dots of a nosebleed. The smell of blood burned in her nostrils, salty and pungent. It made her sick.

She spun on her heels and went to the staircase, hoping Mike’s room was somewhere up there. It felt wrong in some ways, like a burglar stepping into a stranger’s house; her stomach twisted with guilt but still she climbed up the stairs until she reached the landing, it’s walls covered with photographs. Mike’s face popped up in random ones, surrounded by people Eleven did not recognize. His smile was etched into the lips of other people, an older woman with thin brown hair she assumed was his mother. Sister with her arms around a much younger mike. Her pretty face, her prettier body. The final photograph stopped Eleven dead: the three boys, all standing around a podium, joined by a fourth.

Chestnut brown hair that curved around a kind face. Shy, expressive eyes stared back at Eleven. In a sudden moment of realization the face of the boy matched his voice, his shrieks of pain. The remnants of her time in the Upside Down were already fading but even still the sounds of his screams resonated with her, weeks after. The boy trapped in the other world. Will Byers.

It all began to make sense. This was who went missing, who the others were searching for. Eleven shuddered with emotion, with empathy for this boy: having to survive with the torment of the monsters in the Upside Down, the constant disillusionment, fearful frustration of not being seen. Completely alone.

Eleven’s finger landed on Will’s face in the photo, covering it.

“Hide,” she whispered.

Across the gallery was a series of bedroom doors, mostly shut but some left open. One final look at Will was enough; Eleven left the memories suspended in time, and headed towards the hallway.

Mike’s room was first, it's door left cracked. She knew this mainly because of its assortment of comic books and small figurines that matched the ones in the basement—and partially due to the smell: Mike had given Eleven his navy blue crew neck to wear that first day, it filled her blood-caked nostrils with his boyish scent. Again she caught her cheeks flame, standing at the threshold of his room, on the outside looking in.

With a cautious step she set a foot on the carpet. Apart from the mess the room was very intriguing to Eleven, with the exciting posters tacked on every available space, school books left in a haphazard pile by the bed, clothes strewn about, a lone mirror leaning against the wall. She crept inside the room completely and stood at the mirror’s length.

What was peering back left her speechless. A thin, androgynous figure with slouched shoulders stared ahead, hair shaved, a look of horror and alarm crossing its face. Eleven knew it was her—the borrowed clothes, the grime of tears and blood. It was her own eyes that startled her: dark and off-balance, like she did not trust herself. Like she was staring into the soul of a stranger.

She let her eyes trail across the glass until they landed on something tucked at an odd angle under Mike’s bed. Turning around, she knelt  beside the bed frame and touched the corner of the object—cool leather met her curious fingers, inviting her—until she found herself holding the item. It was a notebook. Eleven flipped the pages, poring over every passage undeniably in Mike’s handwriting. Although she was incapable of understanding some of the phrases, the entries were easily read until Eleven’s fingers stopped on the final page.

The latest entry, dated a few days ago. She read carefully, tracing the letters with the pad of her finger to feel them as she went, fascinated by the indents in his disorganized scrawl.

I won’t let myself believe he’s gone. Gone as in dead. He isn’t dead. He can’t be. But why is everyone acting like he is? Are they searching for Will because they feel bad? It’s the only excitement this town has had in years? That’s pretty shitty.

On the way to find Will, to find answers, we met a girl. I thought she was a boy at first. Her hair was cut really short. It was pouring buckets and Dustin was still arguing about turning back when we found her. Damn, did she look scared. Shaking like crazy. We took her back to my house, even though Lucas and Dustin didn’t want to. They said she was a freak, a weirdo. I wasn’t sure. She seemed nice enough for a girl who doesn’t talk. Eleven. That was her name. How weird? Who names their kid some number? Even more reason for the guys to be worried. I didn’t think it mattered, when she was cleaned up she looked really pretty. What’s that word on the vocab test in English? Stunning.

I tried to tell them she just needed a place to stay but they said I was crazy, that Eleven was crazy too. Just because Will’s gone and everything, now I have someone else to obsess over, they said. That isn’t true. I don’t obsess over him. It’s not like that.

But maybe I did? That day after school, when it was just him and I. Will was telling me about how the older kids were pushing him to the ground, calling him names. Faggot. Queer. He hated them for it. I almost said, ‘But Will, you aren’t a queer’ but as I started to talk he turned on his bike to stare at me. It made my stomach flip, why did it do that? Like stupid butterflies and crap. He looked at me like he knew I was lying. Like maybe I was lying too. To myself. But that’s a secret Will couldn’t tell, not to anyone except for me.

And now Eleven’s here. She’s asleep down in the basement. As I write this I don’t know what to think. I miss him in a way I didn’t think I could. Like a piece of mt is gone. God, that sounds sappy, huh? Great, now the kids are gonna call me names worse than Frogface. Say I like one of my best friends, the boy who might be dead.

But do I stop them? Are they wrong? I can’t get his face out of my head and it’s messing me up. I wish I could have said something that last night, when it was just Will and I. He was keeping a secret too.

The words ended there, but Eleven reread the page to make sure she didn’t miss what she thought she read. Mike Wheeler, the boy who found her in the rain, had secrets? Elven thought they were friends.

“Friends don’t lie,” she told herself, and the pages that said Mike liked Will. They also said that Mike liked Eleven too, and her heart hammered out a disjointed beat at that. Could you like your friends? In a way that was more? Eleven squeezed her eyes shut in concentration, trying to form the words that would make sense of it all. Mike was friends with Will, but there was something to his journal that was laden with different emotion too foggy for Eleven to fully grasp.

She opened her eyes. It was the same way she felt for Mike, that distant feeling. She relished in the fact that she knew something no one else did, but was shocked as well: are friends allowed to hide things like this? Keep locked away the shy smiles, the stares at one another, the rapid hearts? Friends but different.

A echoey toll sounded from downstairs, and for a shaky moment Eleven forgot about the time; she jumped at the noise and the notebook fell from her hands. It clattered to the floor with a soft thud and a rustle of paper. Eleven stared down at the black notebook for a long while, pondering over what she had read. Was it a secret she had snuck upstairs? No one had to know she was up here at all. But an outside grumble of a motor rolling up the driveway sent Eleven frantically back down the stairs, jumping the last few steps, and dashing into the basement. She retreated into the blanket fort and wrapped the sheets over her body. Her heart pounded with dread at the opening of a door, the preceding footsteps. A lively voice on the phone.

“Oh no, I don’t have to pick up Michael today. Stop by anytime. Yes, he’s with his friends,” the woman chattered. Eleven was trapped.

The numbers read: 3:08. It was too late now. She found herself once again stuck with her thoughts, staring at the same Eggo waffle wrapper. Wondering how she got stuck in a house she didn’t belong in, reading things that weren’t for her, feelings she couldn’t put into words.

Now Eleven knew two things: friend feelings, but ones that can be twisted into something else. An old word, with new meaning.

Maybe, Eleven thoughts, Mike hiding her in the basement was a secret, and Mike liking the boy in the other world was one, too.

#stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #byler #byler fanfic #soft angst #eleven stranger things #fanfiction #some fluff

[modern-inheritance]

Modern Inheritance: The Promise

(A/N: Way way WAAAAY Pre-Eragon. It’s rough and a majority of it was lurking in my drive folder for weeks. I wanted MIC!Brom and MIC!Arya interacting alone (aka without Izzy hovering and smothering Arya’s personality) together for the first time. The ending is shit and makes no sense, but I literally just wrote it and I’m having a hard time switching off the Japanese sentence structures (Japanese Sub-Obj-Verb vs English SVO) and whatnot and it’s just…a to-be-cleaned-later mess. But y’all gettin’ it anyway!!

Oh, also. I wanted Post-Fall Brom to be an angry jackass. Donno if that came across enough.)

{Secondary A/N: Ever go back read your stuff and thing ‘damn that feels clunky?’ Posting all these to the new side blog has me really thinking that way too often. As I’m literally doing this as a way to avoid an end of semester presentation project, I don’t have time to rewrite at the moment, but maybe one day....} 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“You’re leaving already?”

Brom’s head snapped back, eyes narrowed as he searched the trees for the source of the voice. So the person– or thing, as you could never be sure in the heart of Du Weldonvarden– that had been following him for the past week was finally ready to reveal itself.

Keen as he was, the Rider couldn’t pick out his second shadow from the mottled greens and browns above. They seemed content for him to answer before speaking again.

No way around it then. Brom shifted his pack on his shoulders, and dropped a hand to the pommel of his borrowed sword. His pistol and rifle were dismantled in their cases tied to his backpack, a precaution Oromis and Glaedr had insisted on ever since their former student nearly attacked Rhunön more than a decade ago. “I have things to do.”

“Well, yeah.” There was the scuff of dried outer bark crackling as it was compressed. Brom whirled to the sound, blade halfway out of its sheath before he stayed his hand, now more annoyed than ever. “But it’s not like you’re finished here, are you?”

Crouched upside down with her bare feet planted on the bottom of a pine branch and fingertips digging into the bark, was an elf. She cocked her head at him, dark hair waving as she observed his nearly threatening stance and foot of naked steel that was still exposed at his side.

And she gave him a sly smirk.

“Are you going to draw on me, ebrithil shur’tugal?”

Brom felt his blood pressure jolt up several levels. “What do you want? Either say your piece or go away. I don’t have time for this.” He slammed his sword back into the sheath, locking the hilt in place.

“Fine, fine.” The elf let go of the branch and twisted in the air, landing deftly on her feet. “I wanted to talk to you but couldn’t with everyone else around.”

He wanted to say that the time for talk was over. That he was done playing politics in this damned forest and he was going to back to fix the problems the elves had abandoned when they retreated there.

But his voice died in his throat as the elf came closer. No, not a full grown elf. An elfling, a child. He could see the faint silver of her skin now that she was not haloed by the dappled sunlight dripping down the tree.  

She bowed slightly, hand twisted over her heart in the elvish greeting before straightening and hesitantly held out her hand, almost appearing unfamiliar with the second gesture. “Stars watch over you. I’m–”

“Oh, I know exactly who you are, girl.” Brom ignored the offered hand and stepped around the elfling. Now that she was on the ground, she didn’t even reach his shoulder. “Does your mother know you’re here?”

There was a sudden snap in the air. Brom felt the hair on the back of his neck rise but refused to turn as the girl jogged to his side, obviously piqued. So she was still young enough to be bleeding uncontrolled magic into the world. “I was going to say, I’m Arya and my mother is not me and does not get to introduce me.” There was venom in her tone, something that the Rider had honestly not expected. What he had seen of Arya before was only a glimpse, usually several strides behind the Queen and watching the goings on quietly with wide, dark eyes. “And I want to talk to you.”

“Go home.”

“No. I’m not letting you leave without talking to me.”

“We’ve talked. A conversation with several back and forth utterances has taken place. You can go.”

“Master Glaedr was right about you. Look, just take me with you.”

Brom stopped. Now that was something he had not expected. The request, that is, not the comment about Glaedr. He turned slightly, one eyebrow raised in question. “What?”

“You heard me.” Arya crossed her arms, firmed her stance and glared at him with brilliant fire in her dark green eyes. “Take me with you.”

For a moment, Brom saw Evandar again. The elvish king’s rage at Galbatorix’s mindless slaughter of the dragons and innocents was something that was not easily forgotten.

For the briefest flicker of time, Brom saw that rage again, barely contained within the small, half grown elfling planted defiantly before him. It was simmering just beneath the surface, threaded through with the innate defiance of youth and stubbornness that all but screamed Islanzadi’s name.

There was conviction there as well. That, it seemed, was Arya’s claim alone.

He turned to face her fully. “You want to go out there and fight?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m sick of hearing about people dying.” Despite having to tilt her head back to keep steady eye contact with the Rider, Arya stepped forward into Brom’s personal space. “It’s time someone in this forest did something to fix the problems we brought about instead of moaning about the how Golden Age is gone while people out there die! So make no mistake, ebrithil shur’tugal. I’m going to help you stop this war so that no one else has to die for it.

“I’m going to help kill the Forsworn and Galbatorix, and help to end this war.”

Unlike any other who could have heard them, Brom did not laugh at the young elf’s words. He searched her face, letting the ring of the bond in her last statement, forged in her switch the Ancient Language, cool in the air. In all that time Arya did not flinch. She did not back down nor show any flicker of doubt on her face or in her eyes.

The elfing still did not move when Brom nodded slowly and rubbed at the stubble that patched his face. “Alright then. Seeing as how you just royally screwed yourself at…what, eight years old?”

Another snap of static flicked the air, this time pinging Brom on the neck as Arya’s eyes flashed. “I’m twelve.”

“Right, right. Royally screwed yourself and your entire life by magically forcing yourself to join a war and probably get yourself killed, then fine.” Brom put his finger up to halt the growing excitement he could see rising in the little elf. “But. Not now. Give it a few years. Ten, maybe twenty or so…and I’ll see if you’re ready to start working on your promise.”

The near feral grin that split Arya’s face startled him. This was something he had not seen before in Islanzadi nor Evandar. The wild, vibrant spirit waiting to be unleashed on the world was all Arya’s own. He shook hands with the elfling to seal their agreement.

“Tell the Forsworn I’m coming for them, yeah?”

Brom grinned despite himself. He knew that the girl had likely signed her own death warrant this day. But something about that half crazed smile she wore told him otherwise.

#Modern Inheritance #inheritance cycle #eragon #modern inheritance stories #the cyclists #Ket's Modern Inheritance Cycle #brom #pre-eragon modern inheritance #arya #arya drottningu #scrawny little wild elf child #brom always gets stuck with kids how does this happen WHY does it happen #and thus started a beautiful friendship of PURE CHAOS

[soulmate-game]

I might make this a tumblr only mini-series of connected oneshots, and I might or might not put them up on AO3 when they are all done. We’ll see how I feel.

I know I submitted this AU to Multifandomscribette, but this is my take on the prompts I gave them. This is not the same AU, and I am not using their headcanons. Just the same basic premise of Marinette being Stephen Strange’s biological daughter.

You know Doctor Strange, Sorcerer Supreme, but this story is about

Lady Strange, the Grand Guardian.

What is with this family and alliteration?!

—*—*—*—*—*

Stephen Strange was a narcissistic, emotionally constipated bastard. But he was rich, well known, and handsome, which counted for a lot when he decided he needed some time to relax, unwind, maybe with another human.

And when Sabine Cheng realized what had happened, that night she had catered for a high society medical conference gala in the States, she vowed to never drink again.

She also vowed to never tell Strange about the child growing in her womb. The only person she ever told about her child’s true origin was Tom Dupain, the man she started dating a month after her chance encounter with Doctor Stephen Strange. Nine months after that, when Marinette was almost a month old, she would propose to Tom in blatant disregard of tradition. She would be waiting for years if she wanted Tom to get up the courage to ask her, and even though it hadn’t been a full year yet Sabine knew what she wanted. Seeing the gentle way Tom held her daughter, their daughter, seeing the way he looked at the little baby as if she hung the stars for him, well that only solidified the little Chinese woman’s love for the french man.

Marinette Dupain-Cheng would not know about her true father’s origin until she was twelve, when a science lecture at school had her asking Sabine who had blue eyes in each of their blood lines.

When Sabine hesitated, Marinette knew instantly that something was wrong. Sabine never hesitated. She was a whirlwind of decisiveness, always knowing what to say and how to act. Hesitation wasn’t a part of her.

Sabine told her everything. How her biological father was someone she only met once, how he was a successful surgeon who had won many medical awards. How he didn’t know she existed.

Of course, Marinette was immediately obsessed. Hurt by her mother’s secrecy, she turned her feelings of betrayal into curiosity and researched everything that there was to research about Stephen Strange. Apparently blue eyes ran on his side of the family. His own were more icy than hers, closer to a blue-gray, but familiar all the same. Both his parents were already dead though, so there went her hope of having another set of grandparents.

Marinette even went so far as to read the research papers he had written, and did follow-up research until she understood as much of it as she could. It helped that Professor Mendeleiev was more than willing to sit down and go over the medical papers with her so they could try to understand it all together.

One day, while Marinette was sewing a new dress, she paused with her needle in the air and stared at her fingers. After that day, she took much more pride than before in how steady her hands were. Her father was a surgeon, it must have been a biological trait. She clung onto anything that connected her to the oh-so mysterious Stephen Strange.

And then came Marinette’s thirteenth birthday. The same day that Stephen Strange was in a car accident and deemed in critical condition.

If Marinette kept an app for American news sources on her phone and set them to alert her if the name of her biological father was mentioned in any reports? Well, her parents didn’t need to know.

She didn’t tell her parents about the reason she was so morose for the rest of the day. She didn’t tell anyone.

She cried herself to sleep when Doctor Stephen Strange was declared to have irreversible nerve damage in his hands, and again when he went missing on a mysterious “vacation” that no media sites seemed to have any information on. She didn’t know why she felt so much connection and pain for someone she had never met, but she couldn’t help it. She would keep researching, keeping her eyes out for any mention of the man online without any luck.

That is, until Master Fu and the Miraculous entered her life. Slowly, she began to neglect her obsession with her biological father. Her passing crush on Adrien Agreste even faded away, never having much traction to begin with because of her overlying concern for the father that didn’t even know he had a daughter.

When Marinette was fourteen, the city of Paris was flooded and she had to swim through the quickly bloating bodies of the dead in order to defeat an Akuma. She reversed the damage and everyone who died was resurrected with no memory of their demise, but Marinette would never forget. All it took was a glimpse of the wrong face on the streets and she would be overcome with a panic attack, with the sight of glassy eyes and blue faces.

That was when Hawkmoth’s attacks picked up in intensity. When people began to die during Akuma attacks more frequently. When Marinette stopped sleeping in quite so much.

Her obsession over her father was a mere footnote by then, something she would idly look into on her ever increasingly rare free time with no success.

When Marinette was fifteen years, six months, two weeks, and two days old, Master Fu died. Marinette assumed the alias of Lady Strange, alongside her identity of Ladybug, so that the Miraculous wielders could contact her and know she was the new Guardian without knowing that she was also their leader in the field.

On the one year anniversary of Lady Strange being the Grand Guardian of the Miraculous, there was a worldwide magical disturbance.

Unlike Fu, Marinette did not limit herself to reacting to Miraculous problems.

—*—*—*—*—*

When Stephen glided back down from the equivalent of thousands of years bargaining and dying with Dormammu, he expected Hong Kong to be in a mess. It had been, from what he remembered of the scene before he created the time loop.

But it wasn’t. Instead, the streets looked as if no damage at all had been created. Kaecilius and his remaining zealots were tied up, quite literally, in what looked like string and hung upside down from a lamp post. Sitting down on the curb of the sidewalk and giving him a dangerously sharp glare was a young woman in a spotted costume, a mask over her face. When Strange realized he could not get any of her features to stick in his memory, he realized what she was.

Another magic user, but different from a Sorcerer. Her Neptune blue eyes bore into him with an intensity he was wholly unprepared for, but had no problem baring. After dying almost a million times, a guy tends to grow a backbone of vibranium.

Wong and Mordo stood on either side of the girl, both at a respectful distance. Wong had this wide-eyed look on his face, so much more expressive than usual that it caught the new Sorcerer Supreme off guard. Wong looked… awed?

Mordo, on the other hand, was regarding the girl with a look of barely disguised disdain and distrust. That was in character though, so Stephen didn’t pay it much mind. Instead, he walked over even as his bargain with Dormammu kicked in and Kaecilius’s cult was banished to the Dark Dimension.

“You reversed the damage, then?” He asked without beating around the bush, glancing down briefly to assure that the Eye was, indeed, still on him. It was. The girl stood up, her eyes continuing to blaze with an unknown soup of emotion.

“I did,” she confirmed easily. It wasn’t until he stopped only a few feet away from her that the sorcerer noticed how small she was. The only detail his mind allowed to stick with him besides that fact was that she also looked young. Too young to have to deal with a mess like this. “You might not know of me. The Temple Of Guardians made a deal centuries ago that all records of their existence and our own magic be removed from any Sorcerer sanctums.”

“The temple that appeared in Tibet out of nowhere more than a year ago?” Strange asked, eyebrow raised. “I remember the Ancient One briefly mentioning how much of a hassle it was to hide their reappearance and teleport the temple’s location somewhere new. I was under the impression that all the members of that temple have been in a pocket dimension separate from this reality for almost two hundred years.”

“They have,” the girl confirmed with a nod. “But before that, one of the Guardians escaped that fate. He became the Grand Guardian, and was my teacher until he passed last year. He named me the new Grand Guardian to take his place,” she turned, looking at something that Stephen couldn’t see. “I have illusions keeping us from being seen by the crowd, but it would be better if we took this inside the sanctum,” she said, nodding her head to the Hong Kong Sanctum’s door behind them. Strange simply nodded, more than willing to distract himself from his immeasurably long torture by indulging his curiosity. If this girl showed up and went out of her way to repair the damage the sorcerers and Kaecilius caused, then he wanted to know why.

“Wait,” Mordo barked, walking up to have a heated discussion with Strange that ended in the former storming off. Stephen knew he should be concerned about his former friend’s desertion, but he couldn’t muster up the energy for it yet. Focusing on the mysterious girl in a ladybug suit was an easier topic for his exhausted mind to latch onto.

When they got inside, the Sorcerer Supreme saw that she had even reversed the damage in the building. He saw a few scattered disciples rubbing their heads and looking around in confusion from their spots crouched on the floor. Stephen was almost certain he had seen those same people as corpses before.

The ladybug-spotted girl had scarcely removed her gaze from him for even a second, and easily picked up on the older man’s train of thought.

“My powers reversed all the damage I could handle, including physical wounds and death,” she told him. Strange blinked.

“That explains why I thought you all looked odd. Your clothes are spotless and you don’t look like you’ve fought at all,” he directed that comment to Wong, who merely nodded. “But that doesn’t explain how you can do such a thing. I’ve been intensely studying magic and magic theory for the past almost three and a half years, and I haven’t come across any healing spell that can be this effective without the subject of the healing themselves helping to work the power through their body. I know you are not a sorcerer like we are, but what exactly is your magic? Who are the Guardians? And who exactly are you?”

The girl pursed her lips, waiting until the two older men led her to the still-wrecked tea room. Her power hadn’t been able to reach that far when she had to focus on reviving so many people without the regular Cure. That only worked on victims of Miraculous magic, what she used on the Hong Kong streets and the Sorcerers was a more advanced usage of Tikki’s powers that she learned from both Fu and her periodic visits to the Tibet temple.

“The Guardians are a group of monks dedicated to the protection and distribution of Miraculous, which is essentially magic jewelry. I would normally go on to say how this might sound unbelievable, but you have a very similar pendant around your neck right now,” she pointed out once they all sat and Wong conjured some tea for them all. Stephen tensed at her mention of the Eye of Agamotto, his eyes narrowing. Did she..?

“I know what is inside the Eye,” she confirmed his silent thought, her voice soft but firm. “And I don’t care about it in the slightest. It is probably a good reference point for my explanation though. At the birth of the universe—“

“The Stones came into existence, each one representing and controlling a core aspect of reality,” Strange interrupted impatiently. “I am the Sorcerer Supreme, girl, I already know that.”

The young female rolled her eyes, huffing. “If you listened patiently, you would know that the story you were told is only partially true,” she snapped back with false patience. “The Stones were not the only things of great power to be created during the birth of the universe. Kwami, the first living beings to be born, were also created. They are each living representations of abstract concepts, some of which overlap with the powers of the Stones. The first to be born is the Kwami of Creation. She is essentially the goddess of creation itself, the living embodiment of that very term in every way. She is the source of my abilities, she lends me her power as I am her chosen Wielder. It is that same power of creation that allowed me to essentially counteract the destruction that was caused today, by having a condensed form of her power combat the direct source of the destruction and nullify it. The second Kwami to come into existence is her counterpart and the only one equal to her in power, the Kwami of destruction. There are a lot more, including the Kwami of illusion that used her power to keep us from being seen outside. And the Kwami Of time, which allowed me to experience the time loop you created,” the girl’s eyes sharpened again, boring into his own. “I left it after the equivalent of a few weeks, when I realized I couldn’t join you and do anything to help. The Kwami Of Time is about two-thirds as powerful as the Stone by itself, and there are more than double the amount of Kwamis as there are Infinity Stones,” she took a deep breath. “My job as Grand Guardian is protecting all of them, and distributing the jewelry they are bound to as necessary to combat world or reality threatening events.”

Strange remained quiet after that, drinking in the information and doing his best to wrap his head around it. Perhaps this young woman wouldn’t mind telling him more at a later date, especially seeing as they held equivalent ranking in two separate secret magical organizations. His eyes trailed down to a necklace she was wearing.

“How many of these pieces of jewelry—“

“Miraculous,” She corrected. “That is what they are called.”

“... Miraculous, then. How many are you capable of wielding at once, if they are so similar in strength to a Stone?” Wond asked, crossing his arms. The pigtailed girl leaned back from her spot sitting on the ground with them, humming in thought for a second as she decided what to tell them. A glance at Stephen seemed to make up her mind.

“Creation and Destruction hold equal power to a Stone. The Miraculous one stage lower than that hold four-fifths the power of a Stone. The last tier, where the Time Miraculous sits, is two-thirds,” she told them from memory. “I can wield Illusion, which is on the second tier, along with two third-their, and both Creation and Destruction at the same time,” she admitted. “But it saps a lot of my energy and I rather not ever do that again, if you don’t mind. I can wield all of the Miraculous though, since all of the Kwamis like me and are loyal. I can wear any three at a time, and I can switch between them as quickly as I need to.”

Strange really needed some sleep. Five thousand year’s worth of sleep would be nice. He ran a hand over his forehead, wondering who in the world gave this much responsibility and power to a child.

“One last question, and then you can spend the night if you wish, we’ll begin reconstruction of all the Sanctums in the morning,” Stephen spoke, forcing his back to straighten and his eyes to meet the girl’s. “You never answered it, actually. Who are you?”

The girl's mouth twitched in the first semblance of a smile he had seen on her yet.

“When I am in this transformation, I am Ladybug the hero of Paris,” she said with a grin. “Spots off.”

A soft pink glow ran down her body, very similar to the ring of power that sling rings produced to make portals. It left behind an adorable teenage girl with blue-black hair pulled back into pigtails, and striking blue eyes. She was clearly of Asian descent, but there was something else very familiar about the sharpness of her jaw or the stubbornness in her lip.

“My real name is Marinette Dupain-Cheng. However, I go by an alias whenever I act as Grand Guardian, so that there is an extra layer of secrecy to protect me and my loved ones. I created that alias based on my biological father, who was never told that I was even conceived,” she said meaningfully, never losing eye contact with Stephen. His eyebrows furrowed.

“That’s pitiful, but what does—“

“My alias is Lady Strange.”

Wong barked out a short laugh before he forcibly covered his mouth, his eyes filled with sadistic amusement as he watched Strange’s reaction. The elder Strange, that is.

The new leader of the Sorcerers opened and closed his mouth like a fish, completely caught off guard. He looked over to Wong.

“Is there a spell to test paternity?” He asked warily. Marinette’s smile fell a bit, but Wong nodded.

A few flashes of orange light and two green ‘99% Match’ results later, Strange let his head fall into his hands.

“Alright, Marinette,” he finally managed to mumble through the slightly trembling appendages still covering his face. “I just spent thousands of years in a time loop with the Lord of Chaos, my back aches, my head aches, I will deal with this in the morning. Or whenever I wake up. Figures my own blood relation would end up in a position of extreme magical power, must be genetic. I still have questions, but sleep comes first. Don’t expect me to be a good parent. I really need sleep.”

Marinette just giggled, standing up and helping her father to his feet with surprising ease. “Just tell me where to go and I can drop you off in your room. No more magic for the rest of the day, you’re clearly spent. And as long as you make an effort, I’ll be fine. But don’t expect to ignore me and I’ll just go away, I have ways to track you to the ends of the universe and across the multiverse and time itself, and I will not hesitate.”

“Yep, she’s your daughter alright.”

“Sleep, Wong. It’s good for the brain.”

#mlb x marvel #doctor stephen strange #marinette dupain cheng #miraculous ladybug #doctor strange #no romantic pairing yet #Only familial pairing right now

[carewyncromwell]

[HPHL] Robert Harker/Loretta Gallagher-Harker Moodboard

“Do you remember, back in the spring, Every morning birds would sing? Do you remember those special times? They'll just go on and on in the back of my mind... Do you remember the time when we fell in love? Do you remember the time when we first met, girl?”

~“Remember the Time,” by Michael Jackson

x~x~x~x

In the late 18th century, before Bat Varney became a vampire known by the students of Hogwarts for his extensive knowledge on every subject, he was a poor Muggle-born wizard from Sheffield, South Yorkshire, named Robert Harker. When Robert was a boy, a wealthy Irish family moved into the estate down the road from his family’s rundown old cottage. Nine-year-old Robert didn’t think much of it until their daughter -- twelve-year-old Loretta Gallagher -- sat down under one of his favorite apple trees one day to read. As Bat told the story to Atticus Grimsley @cursebreakerfarrier over a hundred years later:

"There was a very pretty girl who'd just come to town. She was a few years older than me and a lot of people didn't talk to her due to her ancestry...but one day I'd been picking apples when she came over to sit under my tree so she could read. She hadn't seen me. I hadn't wanted to startle her, but I just had to know what she was reading -- so I dangled upside down over her to ask. But I ended up just a bit too close, so when she looked up -- bam. Lips locked. We were so shocked that I fell right out of the tree and she bolted. It took me another three years to approach her again." 

Robert met Loretta again at a summer ball, right before he headed back to Hogwarts for his second year. Now that he knew the truth behind his “oddities” (namely, his magical talent), had made friends for the first time in his life at school, and had a better sense of who he was, he felt a bit more confident in approaching the young lady, properly apologizing for their horrible first meeting, and inviting her to dance. Dancing in those days was a social ritual that facilitated casual conversation, so as Loretta and Robert danced, they bantered back-and-forth, the older girl lightly poking fun at Robert’s “professor-like” tendency to go on long tangents on different topics. Despite this, she was charmed by the younger boy’s intelligence and passion, and even more so by how Robert treated her more like a friend and equal than some romantic or sexual conquest. As Robert explained at the time, he would be away at school for nearly all of the year, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t socialize and visit at parties when he was in the area. And so they did. Every summer, both Robert and Loretta looked forward to reconnecting at the local summer balls, so they could take a few turns around the dance floor together and have spirited conversations about science, history, politics, and religion. Despite being the black daughter of a wealthy white Irishman, Loretta had received an extensive education with tutors at home and had also taught herself about five different languages, including Egyptian hieroglyphics, so there was never a shortage of things for the two to talk about.

When Robert graduated and returned home to Sheffield more permanently, he took an apprenticeship at the local apothecary, covertly using some of his Potions expertise from Hogwarts to help “spruce up” the store’s herbal remedies. Robert’s return gave Loretta and him more of a chance to spend time together, with Loretta visiting the apothecary to pick up medicine for her infirm father, Robert colliding with Loretta at more of the town’s local balls, and the two accompanying each other around town as they did their errands. Robert even -- despite being raised Protestant in a town that looked down their collective nose at Irish Catholics -- asked to accompany Loretta to some of her church masses around Christmas, Epiphany, and Easter, so that he could compare and experience the different traditions. It didn’t take long for Loretta to become very enamored with the poor young wizard, and only a little longer for Robert to realize how truly in love he was with the young Muggle lady too. They married at the Cathedral Church of St. Marie in spring 1780, with Robert wearing a handsome suit his best friends from school, the new Bartholomew and Cecelia Varney, paid for and Loretta holding a ribbon-decorated bouquet of purple irises, the flower Robert gave her most often while they were courting, which symbolizes both wisdom and admiration.

Given Loretta’s status as an illegitimate child, she wasn’t set to inherit a lot of money from her parents’ estate, at least in comparison to her older half-siblings, and Robert’s employment at the apothecary alone would not be enough to support them financially as a couple, let alone any family they wished to build together. So Robert, looking to his own father’s example, made the difficult and courageous decision to join the British army, which was currently attending to the “disorder” in the American colonies. When Robert told Bartholomew and Cecelia, Barty made a selfless choice of his own and enlisted too, so that he could stay by his friend’s side, both for his own sake and for his wife’s, since she -- as a woman -- wouldn’t be able to go herself.

Six months after Robert left for the colonies, Loretta gave birth to their first and only child: a little girl who the two decided through letters to name Irene. The name meant “peace” -- a symbol of what the two Harkers prayed for most, in their future. Unfortunately, as anyone who knows the rest of Bat Varney’s history knows, that was never to be. Robert never got to meet Irene in person, nor did he ever get to reunite with Loretta again before her death -- instead he was condemned to watch them live from afar without him and without even knowing that he still existed. Fortunately, despite the heartache Bat feels of never knowing what could’ve been, he takes comfort in the fact that Loretta was strong enough to live well and happily without him and that Irene was able to live a full and successful life and raise a happy family of her own in the Wizarding World he loves so much and yearned so dearly to share with his wife from the very beginning.

#bartholomew varney #loretta harker #aesthetic #moodboard #hphl #hogwarts legacy #my writing #cecelia crouch varney #atticus grimsley #had robert had his way he would've stayed with the army until irene was old enough to receive her letter #then he would've come home and found more stable work in the wizarding world preferably as a professor #he had greatly esteemed the idea of teaching his own daughter at hogwarts one day #most likely in potions history of magic or flying #but yeah cecelia you see what adorableness you broke up?!? #it's no wonder bat was so pissed at you!! #loretta's favorite subject in the whole world was languages #her passion was studying the evolution of written and spoken languages over time #hence her passion for egyptian hieroglyphics #she also was fluent in latin greek old english middle english and welsh #if she'd lived in the modern era she likely could've taught several languages at the college level herself #she was an absolute friggin' genius #it's no wonder ravenclaw!robert admired her so much #oh yeah and this song? #I used to bob up and down and sway to this as a wittle one I loved it so much XD

[onewfantaesy]

so keep in mind i wrote this story in 2014 when i was still in high school lmao so it’s definitely not the best. not the worst thing i’ve ever written, and probably better than some stuff just bc it’s actually finished lmao (but i’m gonna upload it as the 4 separate chapters) but don’t expect too much. anyways it’s called:

His Mother’s Son (1/4)

Taemin's never done anything illegal, so why is he sitting in an interrogation room at the police station staring at a one-way mirror? His name is not his name. His brother is not his brother. His parents are not his parents. And his whole life has just been turned upside down.

Taemin’s been an idol for almost a year now. The 15 year old, for his entire almost-year of fame, has never done anything illegal, so he wracks his brain for why he’s sitting in an interrogation room at the police station. His manager said he had something he needed to do by himself, and Taemin thought it was an interview or something. This is definitely not the type of interview he had in mind.

The room was well lit, but the cold metal table and the one way mirror on the far left wall made him unbelievably frightened. He could only hear his rapid heartbeat in his ears and his shaky breaths. This had to be some sort of mistake, he hadn’t done anything wrong.

“Lee Taemin?” The door creaked open loudly, and the female cop entered the room.

“Yes?” Taemin tried to appear calm, but his rapid blinking gave him away. He internally cursed himself when the nervous habit decided to show itself.

“I’m Officer Shin. There are some things I need to discuss with you,” she said, and she smiled kindly at Taemin, but it only made him blink even more.

“What - What did I do?” Taemin’s voice shakes, and the room suddenly feels very cold.

“You didn’t do anything wrong, Taemin, but there are some things you need to know.” 

Officer Shin took two photos out from the yellow manila folder held in her hands. She lays photos of his parents down on the table, and Taemin feels his throat close up when he realizes they’re mug shots. She speaks their names and asks if they are Taemin’s parents.

“Yes, ma’am,” Taemin says. It’s only then he realize she asked if his parents go by those names. “What do you mean, ‘go by’?”

The officer sighs, putting on a sympathetic gaze that Taemin’s multiple years of idol training and experience can tell is genuine.

“Taemin, they’re not your parents, they’re your kidnappers.”

Taemin feels like the walls are closing in on him, and the air isn’t making its way to Taemin’s lungs and he feels like he’s suffocating. Suddenly, Taemin starts laughing, looking over at the one way mirror before looking back at Officer Shin.

“This is a secret camera, right? This is for a show? Ha ha, very funny.” Taemin’s laughter feels forced, and his hands are shaking. He turns back to the one way mirror, “This isn’t funny anymore, hyung! I wanna go back to the dorm!” Taemin hopes his manager is on the other side of the glass.

“Taemin, this is not a joke, this is very real,” Officer Shin tries to calm him down, and Taemin is running his fingers through his hair in distress.

“W-What about my brother? What about Taesun?” Taemin takes in a shaky breath.

“He isn’t your brother. He was kidnapped as well,” she informs him slowly, not wanting to upset the boy any further.

“What do you mean he’s not my brother? He’s Taesun and I’m Taemin! We’re brothers!” Taemin shouts.

“His name is not Taesun, and your name is not Taemin,” she says calmly.

“My name is Taemin! I’m Lee Taemin! My brother is Lee Taesun! I’m the lead dancer of SHINee! I wasn’t kidnapped!” Taemin feels a pressure build up behind his eyes, and he fights back the urge to cry.

“Please, I want to go home,” Taemin begs the officer; he wants to back to the dorm and pretend this never happened.

“We found out because of SHINee, Taemin. Your real parents saw your picture and they knew it was you. Taemin, you are going to go home, but to different parents, and different brothers,” she put her hands on his shoulders, telling him to calm down.

“What about SHINee? And those are my real parents, and he’s my real brother!” Taemin points at the pictures of the table.

“Your parents will decide whether or not you can continue with SHINee, but right now, we need to take you home,” Officer Shin tells him.

“How do you know these people are really my parents, huh? I don’t remember ever being kidnapped!” Taemin’s voice is shaking and he’s scared.

“This is a picture of you now,” she pulls a recent SHINee photo of him out of her folder and places it on the table, “and this is you from before you were kidnapped.”

“How do you know that’s me? That could be anyone!” Taemin tells her, shaking his head.

“The fingerprints we took when you first came in, we matched them to the ones we had on file of Kim Jaehyun. Now, let’s go get your things,” Officer Shin leads him out of the room, and he sees his manager sitting down with his head in his hands.

“Hyung, hyung please tell me this is a secret camera, please!” Taemin feels the tears roll down his cheeks as he begs his manager.

“I’m so sorry, Taemin, I’m so sorry,” he shakes his head, his face full of guilt, “Let’s go get your stuff, okay?”

“No. No! They’re my parents! He’s my brother! This is a mistake!” Taemin sobs as his manager leads him back to the van, Officer Shin following behind them.

Taemin feels numb as he sits in the back of the van. He stares out the window, watching as the cars pass by and the world around him moves in one big blur. This isn’t happening. This is a bad dream; a nightmare.

“Jaehyun. Jaehyun, we’re here.”

Taemin glares at the officer, telling her, “My name is Taemin.” 

His eyes stay narrow, and she only sighs at him.

“Let’s go pack your things.” 

Taemin follows after her only when his manager talks to him, telling him everything is going to be okay.

When they arrive at SHINee’s dorm, Taemin is annoyed that the officer keeps calling him by that other name, and he runs to Jinki the second he sees the older boy standing in the living room.

“Hyung!” Taemin wraps his arms around the leader, and suddenly it once again feels like his whole world is crumbling around him. “Hyung, tell her my name is Taemin! Tell me this is a joke!” Taemin feels the tears start to spill over his eyes again, and he can tell that Jinki is confused by the slow way the older wraps his arms around him.

“What’s going on?” Jinki asks slowly, and soon the other members are gathered around because of the noise.

“Jaehyun, you need to calm down,” officer Shin tells him, but Taemin only shakes his head.

“My name is Taemin!” he nearly shouts at her, and he can tell his members are getting worried.

She sends his manager to pack his things, and the members ask if Taemin is going to prison or something.

“What did you do?” Kibum asks, his eyes wide as he looks at the youngest clinging to the eldest.

“I didn’t do anything!” Taemin sobs. “And neither did my parents!”

“They are not your real parents,” Officer Shin says in that infuriatingly calm voice.

“Yes they are!” Taemin feels like he can’t breathe, and he feels Jinki sitting down with him on the couch and he wants to wake up from this horrible nightmare.

“You’re right, your parents didn’t do anything. Your kidnappers, however, abducted you and another boy thirteen years ago. Kim Jaehyun went missing twelve years ago when he was two years old, and he was finally found when his parents spotted him on an idol poster.” Officer Shin’s patience was growing thin with the boy.

“Then that makes Kim Jaehyun fourteen years old! I’m fifteen, you have the wrong person!” Taemin argued.

“Your kidnappers changed your birthday, now we’re going to take you to your biological parents for you to meet your family. Say goodbye to your friends, because we’re leaving.” 

She motioned to the manager to get the boy and follow her, and was annoyed when instead the manger came over to her and spoke to her in a hushed voice.

“Has it not occurred to you that his entire life just got turned upside down less than two hours ago? Yelling at him like that is not going to help.” 

The man couldn’t stand to see one of the boy’s he protects be treated so poorly.

“I have given him time to accept what is happening. Now, I suggest you put his things in the van and take us back to the police station so another officer and I can take him to his family, who, might I add, have been waiting for their child to return for twelve years.” She narrows her eyes at the man before turning on her heel and walking down to the parking garage.

When they arrived back at the station, Taemin’s things were moved into the back of a cop car, and Taemin was told Officer Shin and Officer An would take him to his family.

“Hyung?” Taemin looks over at his manager, “Hyung, please don’t leave me.”

“I’m sorry, Taemin, but I can’t go.” He hugs the young boy close. “If you need anything at all, you call me, okay?”

Taemin nods, staring at his manager until the station is no longer in sight. He looks out the window his entire trip, the numb feeling in his chest coming back. He pinches his arm, and is depressed when he finds that it does in fact hurt. He was really hoping this was some crazy dream.

“Where’s my brother?” Taemin asks, wondering if Taesun is okay.

“He is with his own family.” Officer Shin sighs, rubbing his head from the headache this case is giving her.

“I wanna talk to him,” Taemin says quietly, hoping they’ll let him call him or something.

“Your family has said you are not allowed any contact,” Shin says in a tight voice, and Taemin narrows his eyes at the back of her head.

“Why not?” Taemin growls, unable to believe that his so called family would not allow him to talk to his own brother.

“Because he is not really your brother, now keep quiet,” Shin snaps, and Taemin goes back to staring out the window.

“He isn’t a prisoner, so I suggest you stop treating him as such,” An tells her, and Taemin smirks at the scolding.

When they pull up in front of a house, and Shin is getting out to remove his bags from the trunk, Taemin doesn’t move; he only continues to stare out the window at the house looming in front of him.

“Please, take me back home,” Taemin chokes out, unable to believe that this is reality.

“You are home,” An says softly, and Taemin looks over at the male officer.

“How can this be home if I don’t even know what street we’re on?” Taemin asks, and the officer sighs.

“Come, we’ll go introduce you to your family.” An holds his hand out, and Taemin puts his shaky one in his, and he’s being pulled out of the car and walking toward the front door.

The door opens revealing a woman who looked almost exactly like Taemin.

#taemin #shinee #his mothers son au #another kidnapping au! bc that's something i've always been into apparently