#it's the greens i think of the left window/building which makes it feel like it's an actual lived in place

[ghost-bxrd]

“This is where you live?”

Jason drops the duffle bag on the counter, “Yeah. It’s no manor, kid. I told you.”

He’s not self conscious. He’s not. This apartment is fuckin’ nice ok? He spent a lot of money on decor and proper kitchenware and furniture and shit.

But Jason also knows that, objectively speaking, it doesn’t hold a candle to Wayne manor and its fifty-something bedrooms. That place is basically its own country.

Bruce nods.

“I like it,” he says solemnly, walking over towards the window to peek through the blinds. The view from up here isn’t exactly panorama level but the building is one of the tallest in Crime Alley and Jason’s apartment is on the top floor, so it does provide a pretty good view of a good portion of the Alley. “It doesn’t feel as empty.”

Jason pauses where he’s resetting the traps and alarms by the door, glancing over his shoulder to where Bruce is starting to tentatively explore the living space and is struck by how violently out of place the boy looks with his rigid posture and elegantly curved eyebrows. Even the plain hoodie, faded hand-me-down jeans and ridiculous wool cap aren’t enough to hide how utterly not Crime Alley born-and-bred he is. Everything about Bruce is basically screaming rich-Bristol-trust-fund-kid.

Which, yeah. Checks out.

Jason clears his throat and clicks the security on, waiting for the small light at the side to switch from green to red.

“Your room’s the one down the hall to the left. Right one is mine. Door at the end of the hall is the bathroom.”

Bruce hikes his backpack up higher on his shoulder, eyes eerily vacant as always, but Jason wants to think that there’s a sliver of curiosity behind that steely gaze anyways as he inclines his head and makes his way down the hall.

As soon as the kid vanishes around the corner Jason allows himself a moment to exhale and run a hand down his face tiredly.

Jesus fucking Christ.

What was he thinking.

How the fuck is he supposed to raise a tiny Bruce Wayne with his older furry counterpart running around Gotham at night hunting criminals? Criminals like Jason?

Nothing. He was thinking nothing. And it’s about to bite him in the ass.

No way can he build a criminal empire and take over the drugs and weapons trade with a traumatized nine year old dependent on him.

God dammit.

[wynnyfryd]

Trailer park Steve AU pt. 55 (12.2)

part 1 | part 54 | ao3

A cop picks him up just outside Dinwiddie, two and a half miles from where he left his car on the side of the road. She’s plump and squat, with red hair and a midwestern accent, like Mrs. Henderson if she grew up in Minnesota.

“Wisconsin,” she corrects. “Hop in, I’ll take you to Lorraine’s.”

“Thanks, Officer…?”

“Greene.”

Steve accepts the offer because his fingertips are so cold they’re starting to burn through his leather gloves, and as she drives them to the diner in town he explains the flat tire — debris flying off an eighteen wheeler, a crazy loud clang followed by a flapping thud-thud-thud, the smell of burnt rubber as he eased onto the shoulder only to remember that he never replaced his busted tire jack.

“Coulda been worse,” Officer Greene shrugs, looking at him with a small grin and tapping a gloved finger against her temple. “Coulda hit ya in the noggin.”

“True," Steve chuckles, "could’ve gone four for four on the concussions.” He has to cover his laugh with a fake cough because he gets a flash of concerned crazy eyes in response, which is pretty fair, actually. Sometimes he forgets the details of his life all sound insane. “Uh. Sports," he amends. "I play— yeah.”

The rest of the drive is quiet. Steve watches the woods, the shadows reaching like blunt fingers over the hills, and the snow turns to freezing rain and pools in all the potholes as they splash down the sad main street, past a junkyard and an old schoolhouse, past boarded-up windows and short, stubby buildings full of failing small businesses. Lorraine’s is a hole in the wall at the end of a neglected strip, half the bulbs on the sign blown out so it just reads Rain’s in flickering yellow light, and Steve thinks that's fitting because this place is shit. This place is shit, and he feels like shit, and he’s going to have to drive home to his shitty trailer and see Eddie’s van parked across the street or maybe it still won't be there at all and he— he fucking—

"Easy," Officer Greene says. "You'll chew a hole through your lip doin' that." She parks the car and turns to him, squinting. "You okay?"

Steve pinches the end of his nose.

In the diner, she slides into the booth opposite him and insists on buying him coffee and a short stack, because, "Well, no offense, young man, but you seem like you may be goin' through it a bit."

Steve winces over his coffee, cradling the warm cup with both hands. “Yeah, well,” he sniffs, “my, uh…" Your what, exactly? "I got dumped.”

He doesn’t know why he gives her the details — the empty bed, the sticky note. Sorry. Something in her eyes makes him feel like he can trust her, and when they finish their meal she reaches over and lays a hand over his. Tells him it sounds like he’s got a lot of other people who love him; tells him he should think about giving one of them a call.

With a lump in his throat and fresh tears in his lashes, he fishes quarters from his pocket and trudges over to the phone. Dials one of the few numbers he knows by heart.

“Hello,” Claudia greets, “Henderson residence.”

A truly ugly noise escapes him, wet and thick with phlegm.

“Hello?” she tries again. "Dusty, is that you? Are you okay?"

Steve’s not about to cry where all the waitresses can see. “Hey, Ma,” he croaks when he feels like he can breathe. “It's Steve. Can I... do you mind if I stay with you for a bit?” 

—

part 56

tag list in separate reblogs under '#trailer park steve au taglist' if you'd like to filter that content. if you want to be added please comment and let me know (must be over 21; please either verify in the comment or have your age visible on your blog)

[heartpascal]

the world is brighter

▹— joel miller x platonic!f!reader

▹— summary: joel is trying to be someone he’s not.

▹— a/n: so this is meant to be the reluctant daughter fic…. and it didn’t turn out exactly the way i planned :( not sure that i like it at all honestly, but i wanna put smth out for y’all and this is 13K words that i cba to rewrite so… love you.

▹— warnings: references to suicide attempt, familial loss, previous good relationship with (assumed) biological dad, blood, so much blood, murder (you kill someone), fighting, i think you could class this as dissociation/blackouts but i’m not sure (pls tell me if it’s something different), fighting, canon-typical violence, angst — please tell me if there’s more, ive been trying to keep up to date but i’ve written this fic over so many days. be mindful, this one might be kinda heavy.

▹— tags: @auggiesolovey @just-kaylaa @evyiione @lemonlaides @fariylixie0915 @erensloveinterest @dazedshoon @faceache111 @randomhoex @canpillowscry @sleepygraves @pedropascalsrealgf @star-wars-lover @coolchick333 @soobsdior @ilybbg @rvjaa @oliest19xx @pedropepsi @sunflowersdrop @truthfuleeyours (if you’ve been tagged it’s because you requested to be on my general taglist! if you want your tag removed, drop me a message! <3)

masterlist

howl’s song associations!

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Living in Boston QZ hadn’t been your idea. No — you never would have chosen the so-called safety of the walls, which were only filled with bad people and worse authority, but you had been left with no other choice.

Pronounced an orphan on your way to the QZ, you didn’t know what else to do. With nobody to guide you or advise you, you had gone ahead with the original plan, walking the final twenty-something miles alone, in some sort of absent state.

The journey was a blur, and so was the arrival, you only really remember seeing the green flash of the cordyceps tester, reminding you of all you had lost. Every time you closed your eyes after that, the shade of green haunted you.

They had put you up in a FEDRA school, and so you began your training to become an officer. You hated it, hated the FEDRA organisation as a whole, and hated being in Boston when the person who had wanted to be there didn’t make it.

You tried not to make a habit of sneaking out after the first time, but you couldn’t help yourself. Most days, you were so exhausted from your nightly adventures through the QZ that you got everybody into doing more drills. Not many people were a big fan of you, but that was the way you preferred it.

You liked being alone, really. Enjoyed the silence that echoed through your room, the absence of other people letting you simmer in your own feelings. Your father had always reprimanded you for wallowing in your own self-pity, but he was no longer around to do such a thing. So, you wallowed.

Between climbing out of your bedroom window, jumping across rooftops to reach a particular apartment building with an actual view outside of the wall, you spent your time disconnected from the hellscape you lived in. Everything felt so far away, so out of touch, and the only moments you blinked back to reality, you were dripping in blood. Down your face, your hands, so much of it that you didn’t know where it started or ended. Or if it was your own.

Everything coming back into focus at once was dizzying enough, and sometimes that feeling was so closely related to blood loss that you had been sure somebody must’ve stabbed you, must’ve finally managed to get past your survival instincts, must’ve brought you to your end, at last.

But then you’d wake up, blood dried, no sign of the looming figure of death in front of you. There was only one occasion where the blood must’ve been mostly your own, and that was a broken nose. You pretended not to be disappointed, each and every time. Despite everything you had done to survive, everything you still do, there was a darker part of you that hated yourself for it. That blamed you.

It was one of those times yet again, where one moment you swore you were paying attention in your FEDRA classroom, and the next you blinked, eyes opening to the sight of bloodied hands in front of you.

It was everywhere, you would swear on it, underneath your fingernails, between each digit on your hand, even dripping down your wrist. It was warm and clung to your skin, even when you wiped your hands against the jeans on your legs. You blinked again, finally moving your eyes away from your sticky hands, and you gulped down a lump in your throat at the sight in front of you.

You recognised the man — a snarky guard at FEDRA, one who always had it out for you. You could see a slither of the face that always glared over at you underneath all of the red blood.

It didn’t take much realising to know that you wouldn’t get away with this thing, that this would be something that killed you. If they found out, if, then you were dead.

You needed to know, had to be sure, if this was going to be the final thing, your final action, if you had actually killed a FEDRA guard. But despite that, despite knowing that you didn’t have another option than to look if his chest was rising and falling, you couldn’t draw your eyes in the direction. Even when you tried, your chin fell to your chest, eyes back on the hands that were cradling one another in your lap, feeling far too heavy for your arms.

With the sharp way your breath was coming into your chest, you were starting to realise that your hearing hadn’t returned with your sight, and you jumped when the realisation brought it back, a rush of sound hitting you all at once.

The distant sound of gunfire, the whirring of a generator nearby, the sound of your own hyperventilating breaths, it all echoed too loudly, far too much going on for you to comprehend it all. So much so that you missed the footsteps heading your way, missed the sound of crunching stone as somebody else stepped foot on the rooftop.

A hand against your shoulder had you rearing around, fists drawn back and pushing forward until they hit the person, hard, and the hand was immediately withdrawn. You continued forward, eyes blinking closed in a flinch as the hand grabbed your wrists, holding tight until you stopped trying to pull them away.

“Jesus Christ— Tess, get on out here!” The voice belonging to the person holding on to you yelled out, about as loudly as he dared, and you bared your teeth with clenched fists at the woman who pulled herself up from the fire escape on the apartment building.

“Jesus,” She echoed, looking between you and the FEDRA agent with raised eyebrows, a slight grimace, marring her features. She looked over at the man who was grasping your wrists in a bruising grip with a questioning gaze. “What the fuck went on here?”

“Get your fucking hands off of me!” You spat out, tugging your arms, trying to get out of the man’s grip as you grit your teeth, your mind still reeling with everything that was going on.

He stared sternly at you, “You gonna calm down?” When you responded with a more than angered nod, he nodded, releasing your wrists and stepping away, leaning to look at the FEDRA guard still lay at your side. He kicked the guy in the side, and there was no hint of a reaction. “Dead.” He told the woman, Tess, with an odd look on his face.

“Well, shit, kid.” Tess sighed, hands on her hips as she looked at the situation before her. She shook her head with a tut, and approached to have a look at the guard herself. “What happened?”

You just continued baring your teeth, metaphorical hackles raised high, and Tess just responded with a blank look on her face, a dismissive purse to her lips as she moved her gaze over to the man.

He tilted his head, looking between you and the body, “Could’ve been anyone.” He suggested to Tess, rocking his head from side to side in something like deliberation. You stared hard at the two of them, confusion still buzzing through your head.

“Could’ve been.” She agreed.

They shared a look, communicating between only their eyes, and they had no reaction to the way your hands clenched, your head snapping between them. You didn’t know what had happened, couldn’t understand what was going on, and you had no idea who these people were. It really didn't provide any reassurance, and your eyebrows lowered over your eyes, a glare prominent on your features as Tess huffed.

“C’mon, kid.” The man said to you, offering a hand to help you up from the ground. When you stared at him, that glare on your face, he raised his eyebrows in annoyance. “It’s either you come with us, or you’re found here with him and hung. Your choice.” He told you, hand still offered out, and you grit your teeth as you took it, letting him pull you to your feet, and steady you when you stumbled, everything feeling a bit too real.

You focused on where you were going, rather than who was leading you there, as the two of them took you down the fire escape, hurrying you into an open window on the second flight down from the top. You didn’t take any notice of the bloody handprint Tess wiped away after you had managed to get yourself through the gap, instead looking for the doors.

“You can calm down, kid, we ain’t gonna hurt you.” Tess said, sounding snarky as she moved past you to their kitchen, where she helped herself to a glass of illegal alcohol. You raised your eyebrows, knowing that wasn’t a FEDRA-supplied bottle.

You huffed, watching the man look around the area before he shut the window, flicking the lock into place. “Can never be too careful.” You murmured in response.

“Ain’t that the truth.” Tess said, somewhat amused. “I mean if anybody here’s showed some aggression, that’d be you. Gonna tell us what went on up there?” She asked between careful sips from her glass, measured, or maybe, savouring sips.

At her question, your eyebrows furrowed once more, and you pulled your bloodied hands close to your chest, jaw clenched.

“No?” She asked, leaning forward with an expectant expression, and she opened her mouth to ask some more questions, say something else, but the man cut her off.

“Tess,” He warned, eyebrows raised, “Take it easy.” He glanced back to you, to the hands you held close to yourself, and frowned. With a nod of his head, clearly expecting you to follow, he headed down the hallway. You looked at Tess, hesitantly following the man as she nodded with an exasperated scoff.

He opened a door, revealing their bathroom, which had certainly seen better days. You wouldn’t exactly cheer for the bathrooms at FEDRA school, but jesus — at least it was better than what the general public got. “Head on in, clean yourself up. Don’t want anybody seein’ that on you.”

With some reluctance, you kept a hostile expression plastered on your face as you stepped into the bathroom, flicking on the tap in the sink and running your hands under it. Up until that point, you had remained ignorant to the way the blood clung to your skin, sticky and not quite cold, but now there was the opportunity to be rid of it, you became desperate.

The water helped, slightly, but not fast enough for your liking, resorting to the scraping of your dull nails against the drying blood, up until flakes of red started to melt away, colouring the water as it drained.

Their mirror was broken, and you couldn’t have been more glad. You were sure that if it had been there when you glanced up, if you had to look yourself in the face, you would be sick. You didn’t want to face the fact that all of this was real. You had just killed a FEDRA guard.

“Alright, that’s enough of that, now.” The man said, reaching into the sink and pulling your hands away from the stream of water when you ignored him. He shut the tap off, staring at you with that same strange expression, only glancing away to grab the towel that hung over the door. You took it, drying your hands hastily before you shoved it back towards him.

You were shoving past him before he could get another word out, barely even able to grab the towel as you passed it back. He blinked, a frown forming a deeper crease than usual between his brows.

“Listen, I—I really need to get back. Curfew is going to be over soon, I think.” You fumbled around the words, hurrying down the hallway you came from and spinning around in the room to try and reorient yourself. You finally saw the door you believed to be the exit, and headed towards it.

“Well, hold up,” Tess said, frowning and reaching out to you, stepping back with a slight scoff when you moved away from the reaching arms. “Daylight’s gonna break any second, you’d be better off waiting for curfew to be over with. And,” She added, tilting her head at you with a stern look, “You still haven’t told us what went on. We’re covering your ass, right now. If anything goes to shit it’ll be us keeping you safe. You realise that?”

You did realise something — and that was the kind of people you were dealing with. You’d heard from them, and not from the FEDRA teachers, but from other trainees, other students.

When the world went up in flames, FEDRA had been the first to seize onto power, and they held on to the pretence that they had never let go. But the world was still burning, and the people had begun rioting, and there was another opportunity for a power-grab. It was people like this who had taken that opportunity, who had made something of themselves in a world on fire.

You knew then that the way she had likely gotten that bottle of alcohol was through her own network. She was a manipulator, clearly, a blackmailer. She used the resources she had, and she definitely made the most of them. She wasn’t bluffing.

“So, what? I don’t tell you and you sell me out?” You ask, despite knowing the answer. Part of you wants to hear her say it, though, wants to hear the admission of being a bad person. Then again, maybe she was the good guy, you thought, after remembering the blurry image of that guard, lay still on the roof above where you stood.

Tess tilted her head, “Pretty much.”

“Well, fine. Be my guest. As much as I would love to comply with your blackmail, I couldn’t tell you. Don’t have a fucking clue what happened up there. I’d say try asking him, but…” You snarked in response, another bare of your teeth, another raising of your hackles. Tess was looking more frustrated by the moment, if the slight twitch of the skin of her brows said anything. She held herself together pretty well. If it weren’t for the stark difference between times like now and the times of blacked out memories, blurred images, you likely wouldn’t have even noticed. But it was like everything was so clear when you actually looked, and you noticed details that most people wouldn’t.

“Joel,” Tess sighed out, and even the cadence of her voice revealed the annoyance that was growing within her. “Help me out, here?” She asked, because despite every front that the man put up, he was still better with kids than she was. There was something about him, an authority, she wondered, that just made people fess up.

You looked over to the man, to Joel, to see his eyes looking at you with more recognition by the second, a pull to the frown on his lips that suggested he knew something that you didn’t. You weren’t a fan of the look.

He gritted his teeth at the whole situation, his chest aching with familiarity. Joel knew, probably better than anyone, that look in your eye. “I believe her,” Joel answered Tess, hesitantly, rolling his eyes when the two of you immediately looked at him with dumbfounded expressions. “Look, Tess is right. You’re better off sticking ‘round here ‘til curfew drops.” He told you then, his voice gruff as he leaned to look out of the window, seeing the light outside growing brighter each passing minute.

You huffed, but crossed your arms in defeat, shoulders slouching where you stood.

“But remember, you owe us.” Tess said scathingly, a crease running along her forehead before she turned away, heading down the hallway. She pretended that she didn’t hear the way you scoffed at her words.

You and Joel stood opposite each other, the room tense. He cleared his throat, uncrossing his arms so the two of you didn’t mirror each other quite so accurately, and he turned to grab his own glass of booze. “So, uh, you go to school? FEDRA?” He asked, talking over the sound of liquid being poured into his glass.

“Yeah.” You responded lamely, tapping a foot against the floorboards of their apartment, avoiding looking at the man.

“You know the guy, then?” He questioned, eyebrows raised as he turned back around to look at you.

The look you gave him was scathing, but you gritted your teeth and responded anyway, seeing no other choice. “I guess. Gives me— gave me a hard time for dumb things. Don’t know what happened last night, before you ask.” You said, correcting your words to the past tense, and your chest felt hauntingly empty, despite what you had done.

Joel shrugged at you, “Wasn’t goin’ to.” He responded, mouth set in a thin line before he took a long sip from his drink. “Get some rest, kid. Got an hour or so, yet.” He told you, seeing your exhaustion before you had even felt it, apparently.

You blinked at him, surprised. The idea was tempting, you could admit, but it didn’t feel like a good idea to go to sleep around two strangers. At any moment, they could have a change of heart. It was best to stay on guard, to be ready to run at a moment’s notice. That was the way you always played these type of things, and it worked out.

He drained his glass, shrugging at you when you didn’t move to head towards the sofa he had vaguely gestured at, and said, “Suit yourself.” Before he walked down the hallway, following Tess.

You waited there for more than a few minutes, so still, making sure you didn’t make a sound, waiting to hear when one of them would come back to keep an eye on you. You had never felt more confused when they didn’t.

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Ever since then, the world seemed to blur around you even more. And despite getting out in the hold at school after getting caught trying to sneak back in, it didn’t deter you, and they didn’t seem to suspect you of anything. You had heard the whispers about the dead FEDRA guard, though.

You tried not to listen.

Instead, you spent even more of your time sneaking out, but allowed that haze to fall over you with even less of a fight each time you went out. It was easier, that way, to let the world fall away and leave you with memories smudged in blood, that you certainly didn’t remember acquiring. Nothing in them was clear, and the cycle of waking up covered in blood didn’t stop.

More often than not, though, it was beginning to be your own blood. Apparently, your hazed self had become terrible at picking the battles you fought, and you’d blinked back to reality more than once when sparring at school, the jolt of pain when somebody caught an injury bringing you back faster than anything else had.

When you blinked back into reality this time, however, it was with warm blood dripping down your face, a hand gripping onto your head and keeping it upright when it began to fall to one side. You didn’t expect to see a familiar face, that was for sure.

“Joel?” You asked, incredulous, your voice slurred as you spoke through blood in your teeth.

“Well, she’s alive.” He said, not to you, barely even acknowledging your questioning tone as he glanced behind him to somebody you couldn’t see. Tess, presumably. “What have you gotten yourself into this time, kid?” He grumbled, voice gruff as he looked over your head for injuries, a grimace on his face at the amount of blood dripping down your temple.

His hand left your head a moment later, and you just about caught the weight of it before your chin could hit your chest, leaning back and settling the crown of your head against what felt like a brick wall.

A hand against your shoulder caught your attention when your eyes had been drifting closed, without you knowing they had even begun to do so, and you blinked them back open. “Jesus, how many times are we gonna have to save your ass?” Tess asked rhetorically, a grimace that matched Joel’s on her face as she looked at the state of you.

“‘M fine.” You grumbled, moving to try and push her hand away but only pulling your hand back with a hiss at the sudden throbbing pain that bloomed in your fingers.

Tess smiled sarcastically, “Yeah, sure you are. Those are broken, by the way.” She said, nodding down to the fingers on your hand which were bloodied and bruised, swollen and now so painful you had to grind your teeth together. Your knuckles were split, and you looked around, seeing no sign of a body, but you couldn’t help wondering what the other guy must look like.

You didn’t say anything else to her, just focusing on keeping your eyes open and attempting to remember whatever had happened to lead you to such a state. Nothing came up.

Even when Joel lifted your arm, hand gripping your wrist tightly as he pulled your elbow around his neck until he was holding most of your weight. He stumbled slightly when you did, and let out a gruff comment about you handling some of your own weight.

You did your best, but he ended up practically carrying you all the way back to their apartment, which was a couple of blocks. You vaguely wondered how they had even come across you, but figured you were in no place to ask questions.

“Remember what happened this time?” Tess asked, opening the door to their shared apartment so Joel could pull you through it, his arms straining to keep you upright. It was a much harder task when you were conscious but barely in control of your own limbs. He had thought about carrying you, but decided that was much too strange.

You shook your head, but realised she was facing away from you, and you hoped Joel hadn’t noticed your mistake. “Not a fucking clue.” You slurred out, tongue feeling heavy in your mouth as it tried to spell out the words.

Joel huffed out a breath through his nose as he set you down against their couch, his shoulders slouching as he finally relaxed his muscles, feeling a distant ache in his arm from being so tensed. He went down the hallway a second later, disappearing from your view.

“You are one lucky kid.” Tess drawled, the scene so familiar to the first time you met the two of them, as she held a glass of alcohol loosely in her hand. Distantly, you wondered if they had a glass every day, and if that meant they had shitloads of the stuff stored away somewhere, but decided you probably shouldn’t be thinking about it.

You scoffed, brows furrowed in aggravation despite the fact they had probably saved your lives. “Yeah, lucky. Sure.” You said, likely the clearest you had been able to speak since you’d woken up. Or become aware. You weren’t really sure which was more accurate.

Tess smiled, a sarcastic one that was full of humour and annoyance, “Oh, you don’t think so? Should we think about what could’ve happened if somebody else had found you there?” She asked, eyebrows raised, and you grit your teeth to stay silent.

You, better than anyone, knew what could’ve happened. You knew what people in this QZ — hell, in this world, — were capable of. So maybe you were lucky that Joel and Tess had found you, considering that they hadn’t ratted you in to FEDRA just yet, but you knew that the one thing this world would never generate is trust. They could be just as bad, or worse, as anyone else who might have discovered you there, bloody, injured, and completely unaware.

After all, you were at their apartment, with no idea why.

“She knows, Tess,” Joel grumbled, reappearing from the hallway and looking just as unhappy as ever. He sighed, drawn out and heavier than you had expected, and held up a wet cloth. “Come on, kid, get yourself cleaned up.” He handed it over to you, and ushered Tess to follow him back down the hallway, where they spoke in harshly whispered voices.

You wiped the side of your face, getting rid of the sticky blood that was coming from the side of your head. It was kind of difficult to do with no mirror, but you wiped as much of it off as you could get to before you stopped, breathing through the pain in your head, your fingers, the left side of your chest. You grimaced as you tried to wipe blood away from your split knuckles, your broken fingers. It hurt, and it was too real of a pain.

You paused when you heard Tess’s voice raise, “She’s going to get us caught, or killed, Joel!” She said, before her tone lowered once more, further discussion happening between them. You wondered what they could be talking about — they held no obligation to pick you up off of the streets. They didn’t owe you anything. As far as you were concerned, you didn’t owe them anything, either. Everything they had done was of their own volition, meaning you hadn’t forced them into anything.

For whatever reason, they felt the need to help you. You couldn’t pretend to understand it, but you did know that this couch was much more comfortable than the stones of whatever street you had been lay on were.

Joel came down the hall soon enough, a crease between his brows, and he grunted when he saw the poor job you had done of cleaning yourself up. “Get to the bathroom, kid. We’ll patch you up there.”

“Why?” You asked, before you could help yourself. They didn’t need to be doing this, so why were they? Tess was right, you were only a danger to whatever operation they had going on, so why?

“It’s either that or you carry on bleeding out on our couch.” Tess called out, rustling through something as soon as she emerged from the hallway, busying herself in drawers and cupboards.

You figured it’d be in your best interest to not bleed out on their couch.

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Weirdly, it was the fourth time you ran into Joel and Tess that everything seemed to fall into place. Except this time, it was you doing just that, running into them. Or more accurately, him.

You had hit against shoulders in your fast pace, sending various people tumbling backwards or stepping out of your path. Helpful for you, yes, but also helpful for the group chasing you. You tried not to look back, but the footsteps chasing you were growing louder and you had to know how close they were.

One look over your shoulder led to you colliding with somebody, and you cursed as it sent you spilling to the floor at their side. With a scathing glare on your face, your heart going a mile a minute, you looked up to see none other than Joel fucking Miller.

“You’ve gotta be kiddin’ me.” Joel murmured, eyes wide as he looked to where you had fallen after running into him. The alarm in your eyes made him move to face where you were looking, and there were three of Robert’s goons. He noticed, quickly, the knife that one of them was holding.

Without a second thought, he stepped between you and the group approaching, his hands clenching into fists as he grit his teeth. He wasn’t good at negotiating, at talking — that was more of Tess’s side of the deal. If it came to it, though, he could take on these fools. And he could play it off as if he was defending himself from the knife they were carrying, if need be.

They sputtered to a stop in front of him, a wary look exchanged between the two men, as the woman behind glared daggers at him. “Come on, Miller, move outta the way.” The man holding the knife said, tilting his head to one side as if that was going to make Joel listen to his directions.

Joel’s eyebrows set lower on his face as he looked back to you, with your wide eyes, and the way you scrambled up to stand just behind him. He huffed, a tired sigh leaving him, and turned back to the goons.

“Not happening.”

The three of them scoffed, incredulous, and the woman stepped forward with a sneer on her face. “What? You some kinda saviour now, Miller? Gonna start defending all the helpless little girls?” She said, voice venomous, but she stepped back when Joel went to move forward.

You, however, were not having that.

“Helpless?” You questioned, a scathing heat burning its way down your throat, “I’d like to see you go and ask your boss how helpless I am.”

Joel’s hand blocking your path stopped you from stepping towards the woman, your teeth bared at her, but you remained behind the man. You may not like listening to him, but he seemed to know what he was doing far more than you did.

“You bitch,” The final man said, no weapon held in his hand, but there was something dark about him that even Joel could see. Joel pushed against you, putting you further behind him as the man stepped forward. “When I—”

Joel’s eyes darkened considerably, and he knew from the expressions on the group’s faces that they had seen his face harden. “When you what?” He asked, looking down at the group before him, something violent in his words, as if daring the man to finish his sentence, to say something that Joel didn’t like, to give him the excuse.

“Can’t you just mind your own goddamn business, Miller?” The one with the knife asked, his lips drawn back in what was almost a snarl as he tried to catch a good look at you from around Joel’s shoulder.

“This is my goddamn business. Now run yourselves back to Robert before this gets out of hand.” Joel said, the threat in his words clear despite him having said nothing particularly violent. It was explicit in his tone, apparently. His gruff words were somewhat of a comfort to you, though, a slight relief that you could stop running, for now. You were also hoping that this meant your messed up shoulder would be your only injury of the day.

“Are you having a fucking laugh?” The woman asked, incredulous, as she stared at where Joel stood tall in front of you.

“Do I look like I’m laughing?” Joel asked, being met with nothing but deadly silence. You peeked around his arm to see the three of them looking like fools in front of him, their cocky, entitled attitudes falling apart under the weight of his words. The three of them shared a glance, gritted teeth and angered glares, and looked to Joel with a more than annoyed expression.

The man with no weapon caught sight of you looking around Joel, and pointed his hand at you, “Just you fucking wait.” He threatened, putting his hand down when Joel’s shoulders straightened, his legs moving to take a step towards the man, who quickly backed away alongside his two companions. They left without another word, throwing angry looks over their shoulders until they disappeared out of sight, at which point Joel turned to you.

“How is it that I always find myself savin’ your ass?” Joel asked, mostly to himself, as he looked at where you stood, a hand holding your other and close to your chest. He sighed, heavily, “You hurt?”

“I’ve been worse.” You admitted, though Joel knew better than anyone. He could see on your face that the swelling from around your black eye hadn’t long faded to almost normal, he could see the stitched cut along the back of your forearm, could see the way you winced as you attempted to shrug, give up halfway.

Joel nodded, studying you for a moment, his eyes drawn to the way your clothes had been ripped after your fall to the ground. He frowned. It was getting colder as the days went on, and he was already sceptical about the lack of layers you wore. He huffed out another sigh, a frown pinched between his eyebrows, and looked back down the street to ensure the goons hadn’t decided to come back. When the coast was clear, he turned back to you where you stood almost nervously, and he realised this was the first time he had seen you out during the day time. Every other time he had discovered you it had been the midst of the night.

“C’mon, let’s get back.” He murmured, keeping the mean look on his face in case anybody else came after you. For once, you didn’t say anything, just following along at Joel’s side, wincing every time you moved your arm.

“I remember what happened this time,” You offered, when the two of you finally reached Joel and Tess’s shared apartment, with you taking your seat on their couch with a half-repressed sigh. Your feet were aching, and your shoulder was killing, but at least you could rest here for a while.

Joel looked up from his rummaging at that, surprised by not only what you said, but the fact that you had said it at all. Each time, one of them prompted you for information, and you never remembered. Or you weren’t willing to share the small details you did recall. It was strange for you to offer such information to him. “Yeah?” He prompted absently, continuing to look through drawers after his slight pause.

“Yeah,” You answered as you raised an eyebrow at his actions, wondering what he could be searching for. Before you could lose your nerve, you continued, “Got into some stupid business with some guy called Robert, and then he tried to rip me off. I got kicked outta school trying to get what he needed, too.” You scoffed as you spoke, paying less attention to Joel’s reaction and focusing more on your annoyance at the whole situation. “I just… got angry, started hittin’ the guy. Then ran away, and they started chasing me.”

“What were you goin’ into business with him for?” Joel asked after you had finished, his eyebrows creased together. Robert had a way of getting to old world stuff, but everyone knew he was dodgy. Often times, it was double-sold, or broken. He was a scammer, and that was coming from Joel, who had upped prices to ridiculous amounts on the shit he and Tess smuggled in, per her order, of course.

You huffed, “I dunno, just wanted something. Doesn’t matter, anyway. He didn’t have it.”

“Well, you tell me what it is and I’ll see what I can do.” Joel offered, unsure as to why. He hated himself for doing this, for letting you in, for feeling some inexplicable reason to help you each time you were hurt. He couldn’t understand it. Perhaps, he could say you reminded him of someone who’s name he refused to speak, but that wasn’t right. You shared very few similarities with her, in fact, Joel would argue that you looked more like him. That lost look in your eyes, the blurred vision you saw through when he found you covered in blood, the memories lost to bloodshed… it was like looking in a mirror.

He felt some sort of responsibility towards you — as if helping you could heal his own wounds. Joel figured he should’ve known by now that something like that would never work.

Perhaps, he just wished that someone could’ve pulled him out of that state, when he was in it. He couldn’t say your reasons for being like this, hell, it could just be a product of the apocalyptic world you lived in, but he figured that one day, you’d grow to be like him. And god, he was hoping that you could avoid it. So if him helping you could do that, could steer your path away from seeing him in your reflection, he’d do it.

“I said it didn’t matter.” You responded, snappily. Clearly whatever you had been after was personal, held close to your chest. He couldn’t blame you for not wanting to reveal it.

Joel said nothing for a moment, but looked at you from where he stood across the room. “You got kicked outta school?” He asked, instead of pressing the subject. He saw a weight lift off of your shoulder at the change in topic.

“Yeah, got caught sneaking out too many times. Said I must have some place else to go, and that I’m old enough to know what the fuck I’m doing.” You said, rolling your eyes at the memory. You weren’t all too bothered about it. Learning about the world through a government’s perception wasn’t all that mind blowing, and you hated drills. You didn’t want to be a FEDRA soldier. So, in reality, it was quite the gift.

You had to think that way, too stubborn to remember how your father had always talked about you going to those kind of schools, about you getting an education that was more than him just pointing out words and teaching you basic math. He had never quite understood that you learned more from him than you would from anybody else.

Joel’s eyebrows pinched, a look that was almost concern shining through his eyes. “You’re just a kid.” He said, having no reaction to the way you glared at him.

“I can take care of myself.” You told him, firmly, trying your best not to think about how many times he and Tess had pulled you out of shit, likely saving your life. It didn’t matter. At the end of the day, all you had was yourself.

“Where are you staying?” He asked, eyebrows raised at you, as if he was proving his point by asking it, especially when you didn’t answer immediately. All orphans went to FEDRA school, until they were old enough to get sent to a position as a guard or they were kicked back out to the street. He knew you weren’t old enough to be put in that position just yet. After all, FEDRA didn’t allocate housing to people of your age.

You looked to your hand in your lap, picking at the blood still stuck underneath your nails. “Not important.”

“No?” Joel asked, just a hint away from mockingly. You furrowed your brows at him, a frown pulling at your lips in defence.

“No.” You answered.

∘₊✧───── ───── ───── ─────✧₊∘

You think now, that you would have never been in this situation if you hadn’t accepted Joel’s insistence that you stay with him and Tess. It had gotten to a point of normalcy, something so close to domestic that it had you sneaking out of their apartment, up the fire escape back to the roof where it all began to unravel, all those nights ago.

The stain of blood on the ground is still there, and you had been staring at it long enough that you were starting to miss where it began and ended. You still couldn’t pull the memories from that night from your skull, and you were starting to think they weren’t in there at all.

It had all led you to here, to where you sat, legs swinging over the edge of the air-conditioning unit on the roof of the building. Or at least, that’s what Joel told you these things were. You frowned at the memory.

You hated the way you had let all of this happen, had let yourself get closer to the people who seemed to always be there. They were more present in your life than any other figure, even before you moved in with them. It had seemed as if you only woke up from your haze when they pulled you out of it. You couldn’t begin to understand why, and honestly, you didn’t really want to.

All you knew was that this was exhausting. You had been present for the longest time you could remember since before your father had… well, since before everything changed. And it was all because there was a ball of anxiety in your chest, hammering loudly within the beat of your heart.

Maybe it was selfish, or foolish, maybe it was both, to feel so dejected over something that should be good. But it was all feeling too familial for your liking, and it was like a constant waiting game, constantly wondering when the other shoe would drop. There had to be some sort of catch, something would surely go wrong, because life with Joel and Tess was becoming too comfortable. You should’ve been happy for it. Perhaps any other kid your age would have been, but all you could think of was the time before Boston.

Images of a house, a father who cared about you, who bought you paints and brushes even when that would have been better spent on new boots for himself. You could remember the way the sole had been peeling away when you had last seen him, remember the way he had yelled at you, begged you to leave him behind.

Sure, you had listened, had walked away from him slumped against the wall of a decrepit convenience store, but you had never truly left him behind. All the times you had spent in Boston, in a subconscious state, there had been no more memories. Before Tess and Joel, the most vivid thing you could recall was your dad.

If you closed your eyes, shut out the image of the blood staining concrete, and focused hard enough, you could hear his laugh. Reluctant laughter was something you had often drawn out of him, because he found the only joy he had left in the world within you. But there was always that nagging worry, at the very back of his mind, reminding him that things weren’t okay.

Hell, the whole reason he had insisted upon leaving the house where you had spent most of your life was because he believed you would be safer in Boston, in a QZ rather than a small community with not enough firepower to cope with any hordes.

He’d been a firm man, with a furrow between his brows that you could now see in Joel’s face, and you hated it. Your dad had given up everything for you. Why were you seeing similarities between him and Joel?

“Come on, it’s time to get going!” Tess called to you, dragging you from where you were trying to conjure up an image of your dad that wasn’t his last moments. You huffed, pushing off of the air conditioning unit, and headed down the fire escape, taking your backpack from Tess where she held it out to you.

It hadn’t been your choice to go along with Joel and Tess, more of an order, given that they didn’t want to leave you alone at their apartment. They were running low on ration cards, not enough for you to survive alone, especially if anything went wrong. That was the whole purpose of their trip, they had told you, to get something they could trade for more cards. The two of them hadn’t explained to you the radio and music catalogue that sat in their apartment, but you had figured out that it must’ve been some sort of communication system. If you were going to go off of the way Joel’s head had snapped up when some song you didn’t recognise came on.

The three of you were setting off the next day, so it must’ve meant something to them.

Joel had said something about you being in for some kind of treat, assuring you that the trip would be worth it, despite the way you remained unconvinced. You didn't want to leave the QZ again, but part of you, that stupid childish part, was curious.

So you followed them.

You were quiet most of the trip, despite Joel trying to encourage conversation with you, a crease of concern to his face the more checked out you became.

In your own defence, you seemed to be on guard well enough when you retreated to that state where it wasn’t really you, and the whole trip was too familiar. If you didn’t focus hard enough on your surroundings, you would wake up and be with your father again, or you’d lack attention and hear that gunshot as you walked away.

It was easier this way. Safer.

You also didn’t expect for Joel or Tess to notice anything different, but then you were blinking back into reality some time later, though you couldn’t tell how much. Joel’s face was in front of your own, his eyebrows furrowed, expression angrier than you had seen it in a while.

Looking around the area, over Joel’s shoulder, you saw a burning building some ways behind him, and your eyebrows raised in surprise. “What happened there?” You asked, your throat sore as you said it, your chest aching, and you were more confused than anything else at the sensation.

“What were you thinking?” Joel seethed, seemingly becoming angrier at your question, and you tried not to pay the emotion any mind. You looked around again, squinting your eyes and catching sight of Tess stood before the building, her gun raised to the doorway as if expecting something to come out of the blaze. “Huh?” He questioned, drawing your attention back.

“What are you talking about?” You asked, getting more confused by the second. You looked down to where your fingers were apparently covered in soot, and slowly connected that with the burning building across the way. “Wait, did I—”

“You can’t check out like that! You’re gonna get yourself killed.” Joel said, and you felt his hand squeeze your shoulder far more gently than the way he was speaking. He seemed… frantic, almost. You frowned, because nobody had ever really noticed you blanking out before, or at least, nobody had ever said anything to you about it.

Your awareness came back to you fully then, and you could feel the heat from the fire even all the way over here, so you couldn’t imagine the heat Tess was feeling. With a huffed breath, you pulled yourself to your feet, shrugging Joel’s hand off when he tried to help you as you stumbled slightly. Your bag felt lighter than it had before, but at least you still had it.

Joel grumbled, his hard expression unchanging as he turned away from you to go and grab Tess, nodding at you to follow them as you hurried away from the burning building, blinking as you tried to remember what had happened.

∘₊✧───── ───── ───── ─────✧₊∘

Arriving at Bill and Frank’s compound was… overwhelming. Which was probably the biggest understatement ever.

Tess and Joel didn’t think it pertinent to tell you where you were headed before leaving Boston, and you weren’t all that well versed in where smugglers got their items to smuggle. You figured it would be some run down place, that was mostly untouched by the outbreak.

You didn’t expect this.

Initially, it reminded you of the small community you had lived in with your father, all that time ago. Though this place was guarded much better, with that electric fence that Joel warned you away from. The houses looked good, and there was one down the street, with a wide porch and old kids toys piled in the garden, which made your heart clench.

You wanted to retreat back into yourself, to hide in that haze, to let the blanket of emptiness cover you, but then Frank was emerging from the doorway of their house, his grip tight on a walking stick, but his smile was wide. He was tailed by Bill, whose hands hovered hesitantly as he followed Frank.

“Tess! Joel!” Frank called, and held his arms out for Tess when she approached, sharing a hug like they were family. You were pretty sure that they were just friends, had no connection before the outbreak. It was strange, really, to think of hugging someone that wasn’t a relation. Or perhaps it was the caring part of it that had your brows creased. “And who’s this?” He asked, smiling at you.

With a nod from Joel, you introduced yourself to the man, trying not to shrink into yourself at his cheerful demeanour, and the suspicious glances of Bill from beside him.

“Bill, it’s fine,” Frank sighed, a roll of his eyes as he turned to the man. “Go get started on dinner! We’re going to sit out here, while the weather is nice.”

Bill grumbled, eyes darting between the three of you and the man he loved, but he turned with a resigned sigh. Frank grinned, a fond look on his face.

Tess busied herself setting the table, ignoring the way Frank scolded her for doing his job, only shooting him an exasperated smile. After a moment, Frank realised there were only four chairs set around the small garden table.

“Oh, I think there’s another in my art room.” He said, as he looked between you and the four chairs.

Unable to help yourself, “You have an art room?” You asked, which was probably the most you had spoken for the past few days. You ignored the way Joel seemed to perk up at your words, a glance going between him and Tess.

Frank smiled. He seemed to do a lot of that. “You wanna have a look?” He asked kindly, nodding his head and starting towards the house.

“Go on.” Joel encouraged with his monotone murmur. You hesitantly followed Frank into the house.

You didn’t look around much, instead opting to focus on keeping close to the man in front of you. If you looked to closely, you think you might see similarities to the home you had with your dad, and after already shutting down once on this journey, you figured that Joel wouldn’t be too pleased if you did it again.

It was wracking your nerves, the closer you got to Frank’s art room. You wouldn’t have admitted it to anyone, not even your father, had he been here, but you were scared. You had gotten so good at removing yourself from a multitude of situations, but the concept of art had you grounded in place no matter how much you might have wanted to fade back into your mind. You can remember nights spent staying up late, dipping brushes in colours that resembled the world around you almost too accurately. The gentle swipe of paint across paper, canvas, walls, wood — whatever your father could give you, at the time.

It was the best thing you had.

You realise, now, that you had been escaping from the world for your whole life. Only back then, it had been to nicer lands, beauty put down on different mediums so you could physically touch it, could know it was true, it was real. The only thing that had changed was your method of escaping, really. Where you had once clambered for colours and depictions of the world in a different light, you now escaped to the very depths of your mind, hidden deep under sadness and fear and loneliness. Somewhere that you couldn’t be disturbed, wouldn’t have to think about the world and what it had taken from you.

You’re scared of wanting that old method of escape back.

When you enter the art room, you know your fear is valid. You know that the longing you have for paints and pencils and whatever supplies your father could get his hands on was back, or perhaps it was just the longing for your father returning full force from where you had buried it. Whatever it might have been, it was overwhelming.

It made everything feel like it meant more. Like the careful brushes of meticulously selected colours on white canvases was personal to you.

Frank’s art was covering the entire room, a stack of empty canvases in one corner, dwarfed by the amount of wooden frames that had sketched or painted pictures stretched over them. It was bright in here, the colours seemingly glowing from the light that was shining through the large windows, looking out on parts of the garden.

“This one isn’t finished,” Frank said, his voice quiet, and you looked to where you had forgotten he was standing. He leant heavily on his walking stick, gesturing with his free hand toward a canvas stood upon an easel — the first easel you had seen. When your dad first encouraged your interest in art, he had told you all about what his time in art class at school had been like. He’d told you about the easels, the shitty school paints — which were heavenly compared to what yours had been like — and his own art teacher. But easels weren’t the most common thing, and so you had never used one.

The painting that stood upon the strange-looking three legged stand looked like the beginnings of Bill’s face, blue eyes surrounded by carefully mixed colours to bring about the contours of the man’s skin. It was much better than anything you had ever painted.

“Have you ever painted?” Frank asked, after a few moments of hesitation. He’d lived in the apocalyptic world, too, but he hadn’t grown up in it. The man had more awareness than you expected, given his presence in such a protected home, but you supposed that if he knew Tess and Joel, it made sense that he would be sensitive of the world’s horrors.

You looked at the paintbrushes set out to dry beside an open window, and quickly drew your gaze away. “Yeah,” You responded, voice uncharacteristically gentle. You cleared your throat, annoyed at your own involuntary vulnerability. “My dad used to get paints, before I got to Boston.”

If Frank noticed your choice of pronoun ‘I’ and not ‘we’, he didn’t comment on it. He let your words settle for a moment, and you realised this was probably the most open you had been, the most you had spoken of your life before Boston. It was almost… sad. You think your dad would’ve loved Bill and Frank’s home, and the knowledge that nobody else would ever be able to consider what he would like was a painful admission.

“Well, I’m sure you could take some back with you.” Frank offered, a gentle smile on his face. He seemed to know more than he let on, even when your words were limited and he didn’t know you, hadn’t even met you before today.

You tried to brush your discomfort away, tried to unwind the stiffness to your shoulders. “That’s okay.” You said, fiddling with a button on your jacket as you took one more glance around the room, an uncomfortable tightening in your throat. “We’d better get back.” You prompted, walking to the chair in front of the easel and picking it up, gesturing for Frank to lead the way back to the garden.

“You alright?” Joel asked quietly as you set the chair down by his side, taking a seat in it a moment after as Frank and Tess began chatting away.

“I’m fine.” You snapped.

∘₊✧───── ───── ───── ─────✧₊∘

It was on the way back from Bill and Frank’s that everything seemed to go wrong. For this portion of the journey, you made sure to cling on to every slither of awareness you had, digging your claws into consciousness and not letting go. You wouldn’t admit it, but the whole situation on the way there had shaken you.

You supposed it was different to the way blanking out in the QZ had been. After all, there was a certain amount of control in the QZ, much less of a wild factor than there was in the outside world. You could anticipate everything that you might come into contact with at the QZ, and each time, nothing was scary enough for you to even consider holding on to consciousness. Out in the real world, that was very different.

Despite travelling in it to the Quarantine Zone, there wasn’t a whole lot of that you could remember after the incident with your father. Everything was unpredictable, out here, and you were foolish to forget that. Especially after what it cost you the first time.

There may have been something else, though, something that had your fingers grasping onto reality so tightly you didn’t think you would ever let go. And that was the fact that it wasn’t just yourself that you were putting in danger, anymore, but Tess and Joel, too. And would you ever be able to forgive yourself if you came to awareness, just to see their blood on your hands? To find their bodies lay still? To be at fault once again for killing the only people left in the world that would see you safe? You could pretty confidently say no, you would never be able to forgive such a thing.

Even with your best attempts to cling on to your own awareness, it was clear that Joel and Tess didn’t quite trust your efforts. Given the fact that they refused to let you take a watch when night fell early, stopping to wait the darkness out just over halfway back to the Zone. Tess had already taken first watch, shaking Joel awake despite your offer to watch the area for him, so it was just you and Joel, Tess’s breaths long-since evened out.

“You can get some rest, y’know.” Joel said, his voice low to avoid waking Tess. You were well aware that she was a light sleeper, though you couldn’t blame her. It was the apocalypse, after all. Besides, it wasn’t like you were able to catch much sleep, too hyper focused on staying present to drift even into slumber, fearing you wouldn’t become conscious afterwards, fearing you would just wake.

“‘M fine, Joel.” You grumbled in response, eyes flitting around the rustling grass surrounding you, as if something was going to jump out at any moment.

Joel huffed, something between exasperation and vague amusement in it, and shook his head. “Sure, you are, kid.” He responded, adjusting his grip on the gun and resigning himself to the fact that you were going to stay up, no matter what he said. “Not gonna let anythin’ hurt you, you do know that, right?” He asked, after a long pause, and ignored the unpleasant way your face twisted.

“Why do you two help me? I don’t get it. Not done anything to help you, so why?” You questioned, instead of answering his question, too desperate to know to avoid the opening in the conversation. Joel sighed, a roll of his eyes, a deflection, as always.

“So impossible to believe that we could just be good people?” Joel replied, after your expectant silence lingered on uncomfortably. He shuffled, pausing when Tess moved, but only turned in her sleep.

You huffed, and Joel tried to ignore the way he was sure it sounded just like him. “Yes, it is impossible to believe that. You found me after I…” You paused, unsure how to go about admitting something you didn’t even remember. “After that FEDRA guard. Good people wouldn’t help me, after seeing that.”

“Been in your shoes, kid.” Joel said, at last, and you furrowed your brows at his answer. And the nickname he had taken to calling you. Joel didn’t exactly want to talk about it, both for the unpleasantness he had experienced and the worry that you’d retreat if he was honest. He could barely even explain the why to himself, so he had no idea how he could formulate it into words to tell you. “Not a good place to be, even worse if you’re alone.” He admitted, though he hadn’t been alone for as long as he could remember. There had always been Tommy, and after Tommy there was Sarah, and then his brother returned, but even then — he had Tess. But despite all that company, Joel knew exactly how it felt to be isolated, to be alone in your situation, to feel no other option than to retreat into yourself to get through the day.

He wouldn’t wish it upon anyone, let alone you.

You wanted to deny it, to tell Joel that you weren’t alone. That you already had a family you loved, that you already had a dad who cared about you, but what could you say? The truth was, he was gone.

“Get some sleep.” Joel said, dismissing the conversation before you could figure out anything to say. You just frowned at him, staring at him like his expression held all the answers, but as always, Joel revealed nothing. No reasoning, no answers, nothing. Finally, you turned away from him, resting your head against your backpack, eyes remaining open so you could keep an eye on the forest ahead of you for the last few hours of the night.

When the light finally a swept the last of the darkness away, the three of you set off again. Now, you were at the final stretch of your journey — so close to the QZ you could almost smell the pungent scent of fire and unrest. You never thought you’d be glad to see the decimated land around the Boston zone, but here you were, five steps ahead of Tess and Joel, who shared secret glances, communicating in a language you couldn’t understand.

They joined your side when you paused, waiting for them, just along the edge of where FEDRA usually patrolled. You looked to the two adults expectantly, not sure where you’d be entering the Zone, and figuring you must’ve been out of it if they had ever actually told you that part.

Now this, this was where it all went downhill.

“On your knees.” A voice from behind the three of you said, and you recognised the sound of a familiar FEDRA officer, from your time spent as a trainee. You just hoped he wouldn’t remember you. “I said, get on your knees!” He repeated, when the three of you had hesitated a moment too long, stepping forward and jabbing the end of his gun into the back of your knee. You grit your teeth as your knees buckled from the hit, dropping to the ground with your hands raised. You watched Joel and Tess follow when the guard moved towards them. Joel’s jaw was clenched.

“We’re just lookin’ to get to the QZ, man, that’s all.” Tess said, keeping her hands in the air and her head tilted as she tried to negotiate, as usual.

“Just a precaution, ma’am.” The guard responded, a snark to his voice. Despite what he said, when you first arrived to the QZ, there was no precautions this far out. In fact, it was only when you stalked towards the gate that guns were trained on you, your wrists bound until they got you through the main gate to test you.

He was patting down Tess, and you would’ve sworn you could hear Joel grinding his teeth together, clenching his jaw shut so tightly you wouldn’t have been surprised if it had broken. Meanwhile, you focused on trying to remember the name of the guard, trying to recall his temperament, whether he was easily swayed. You blinked your eyes shut, trying to see through the haze that clouded your memories as the guy moved on to Joel, but without seeing the guy’s face, it was too difficult.

“What kinda QZ has precautions this far out?” Joel grumbled as the guard moved along, checking the distance towards the gate with squinted eyes, and trying his best not to clench his fists as the guard moved towards you.

“You born yesterday, man? World’s fucked.” The guard answered, stepping away from you and moving to go around to see the front of the three of you. “Well, I never.” He chuckled, catching sight of your face as it fell, finally putting the voice to the face as you looked at him. “Don’t recall seeing your name on the exist list, trainee.” FEDRA had a bunch of awful guards, but this guy… Jerry, you were pretty fucking sure, was amongst the worst of them.

“Not a trainee, anymore.” You bit out in response, practically feeling the two adults beside you tensing up at the FEDRA guard’s recognition of you. “You even know my name, Jerry?” You asked, tilting your head upwards with your best reinvention of the careless expression that used to rile the man up so much.

He smiled, a grin full of rotten teeth and breath that stung your eyes as he leaned towards you. You resisted the urge to throw up over his shoes as he said your name, proving your hopeful taunt incorrect.

“Alright, now, no need for trouble.” Joel said placatingly, trying to keep the grimace off of his face in exchange for a more… reasonable expression. “We ain’t Infected, just a couple of folks tryin’ to be on their way.”

“Shut your mouth, and mind your business, fella.” Jerry spat towards Joel, before he looked back to you, a grin on that ugly face. “I’ve been trying to get the dirt to have you hung for months, now. Unauthorised exit? Well, that ought’a do it.” He said, morbid amusement dancing across his face. You just bared your teeth at him, a sarcastic expression donning your features.

“Careful, Jerry. You’re soundin’ awfully obsessed. Didn’t they out you for that, once already?” You asked, sarcastically, recalling the way he had been shamed outright by a higher up for getting on the trainee’s cases too much. FEDRA was strict already, so if he was getting publicly scolded for his obsessive behaviour, you figured it must’ve been bad.

You saw the way Joel was tensed up out of the corner of your eye, but didn’t dare turn to look at him, or even attempt to see how Tess was fairing.

It was when Jerry reared back, his rotten teeth bared, a sneer pulling at his features, that you saw Joel move. He’d noticed a second before you did, the way that the FEDRA guard was reaching for his smaller weapon, his handgun, barely getting it out of the holster before Joel was launching up and forwards, pushing Jerry and falling alongside him as they rolled down the slight slope to go towards the QZ gate.

“Joel!” Tess yelled out, a curse falling from her lips as she grabbed the stuff that Jerry had been attempting to confiscate before realising who you were. She dug through her bag, looking for her own gun, too risky to have it on her person this close to the QZ for this goddamn reason. You glanced between her searching frantically and the duo fighting slightly below you, before you caught a glint of metal in one of their hands. Did Joel have a knife? Did he have a knife, or was that Jerry’s? Was Jerry about to fucking stab Joel, who had tackled him to protect you?

You stumbled down the slight decline after the two of them, just as Jerry was catching the upper hand, something red trickling down his sleeve. You pulled the very gun he had tried to pull on you from its holster at his side, before he could even react to you having moved from where you were. He was slow, this guy, but that didn’t mean he was incapable. He was freakishly strong, and he bared bloody teeth at you as he moved to swing the blade in his hands down.

A crack interrupted his movements, blood dancing a crimson path down the side of his forehead.

Jerry’s body slumped backwards, falling away from where he had been about to fucking kill Joel Miller, all for what? His helmet made a dull thunk against the ground as it connected, and Joel was groaning, shoving the deadweight off of him with a bit of a struggle.

“The fuck were you thinking?” Tess asked, grasping onto Joel’s shoulders to help him up, only for him to hiss and pull away, and you vaguely saw Tess’s hand covered in a sticky sheen of blood that had leaked through the material of Joel’s jacket. “Jesus, Joel, you could’ve gotten yourself killed.” She scolded, pulling the jacket away and unbuttoning the top few buttons of his shirt to look at the wound. She dug through her bag to pull a few rags out of it, pressing the material against the fucking stab wound, and waiting for Joel’s steady hand to take over before she moved away. “Come on, we can’t wait around. If they’re patrolling this far out, something must’ve gone down, and I doubt anyone’s far enough to have not heard that.” She said, nodding pointedly towards the gun gripped tightly in your fingers.

At her reminder, you shivered, taking the knife from Jerry’s limp hand and replacing it with the gun. You wiped the blood — Joel’s blood — off of the blade onto the side of your jacket, before shoving it back in its place on Jerry’s vest, which you hadn’t even realised was there. You wondered if Joel knew, before he decided to attack him.

∘₊✧───── ───── ───── ─────✧₊∘

You blinked, and realised you were already back at the apartment you stayed in with Joel and Tess.

Joel was sat at the table, med kit set out open in front of him, with Tess being nowhere in sight. He barely spared you a glance as you stood up from the sofa you didn’t remember sitting on, your brows furrowed as you looked around the room, as if the answers—the memories—you wanted would be revealed.

“She went to trade what we managed to get from Bill and Frank’s.” Joel told you, not even looking in your direction as he focused on fixing himself up. He had the rag in his hand once again, wiping at the blood still trickling from his wound. You wondered if Tess didn’t tell you where she was going, or if Joel just knew you weren’t present if she did.

You didn’t even know what had sent you back to the depths of your mind, this time. Was it shooting Jerry? Killing somebody whilst actually being fully responsible for your actions? Was it his threats about getting you hung? Or was it that very wound that Joel was tending to right now? The fact that once again, somebody got hurt, and it was your fault?

“Can you hand me the, uh…” Joel trailed off, gesturing over towards the counter where amber liquid sat in a glass bottle. You went over and grabbed it, placing it down on the table in front of Joel far harsher than you realised you were going to. You hadn’t quite noticed the way anger, or something defensive at least, had settled in your chest, stirring that brimming pot of guilt until it was almost flowing over the edges. “Thanks.” Joel said gruffly, splashing some of the booze onto the rag and pressing it to his shoulder.

You stared at him, waiting for him to say something, to explain himself, but he made no move to do so.

“What is wrong with you?” You said, finally, your voice loud and echoing around the barely furnished room, like it had burst from your chest, like you had no choice in the matter.

“Got stabbed, in case you didn’t notice.” Joel quipped, which seemed even further out of character for him. You vaguely wondered if you had just lost your mind, if this was all some made up scenario playing out in your head.

“Why did you attack him? He didn’t attack you, I—I don’t understand!” You told him, gritting your teeth when Joel just continued tending to his wound, not acknowledging your questioning. Part of you wished Tess was here so she could dismiss you before you could continue, but she was clearly nowhere nearby, given that she hadn’t burst into the room to stop any conflict. “Joel, answer me.”

He finally looked up, shaking his head. “What do you want me to say, huh? Somebody’s gotta protect you! Lord knows you don’t do it yourself! Rilin’ that guard up— it was reckless. He could’ve killed you, kid, and what would I have done then?” Joel questioned, his voice louder than your own, a booming thing that had you wanting to retreat. You refused, pushing it down in favour of the confrontation that you’d been putting off for months, by now.

“I can take care of myself.” You answered, spitting the words out like there was a semblance of truth to them. “I’m not your goddamn kid, Joel, there are plenty of other strays you could help out if I had died.” You continued, throwing the nickname back in his face, watching the way he recoiled, something unfamiliar flashing in his eyes.

“Now, you listen—”

He tried to say, only to be interrupted by you continuing on. “No! You’re not my dad, Joel! I already had a dad, okay? I had a dad, and he’s dead, and that’s on me. I won’t go through that again. You gotta stop puttin’ your life on the line for me!”

“Kid…” Joel trailed, the confession not exactly surprising him, but he felt a twinge in his chest nonetheless. He had figured all of this was catalysed by some kind of loss, just going by his own experience with the matter, but he had never known for sure. You were closed off — another way you were just so similar to him, and you’d never spoken about any family.

You closed your eyes, tears brimming in the edges, slipping down your face, and you wiped them away with a rough swipe of your sleeve against your skin. “You don’t understand. It was my fault. If it weren’t for me, he’d—… Every day I’ve been here, I’ve just been wishing we could’ve swapped places, wishing that he was here instead of me, because I can’t do this without my dad. But—But he could’ve, without me.”

“When my Sarah died,” Joel started, gritting his teeth against the pain in his chest that just her name brought. “I gave up. I—I lost any will to live, I prayed that it wasn’t real, prayed for God to switch our places, to trade her life for mine. Tried to end it, and when that failed, I got numb. Got lost in my head, ended up fightin’ anybody I crossed paths with, usin’ any excuse to hurt people, even while I was with Tess. Barely even remember it,” Joel continued, a strained laugh falling from his lips, his hand held to his chest in hopes of soothing some of the ache that originated there. “Just remember wakin’ up, covered in—in blood, not knowing who the hell I hurt. So, when I saw you, not even present in your own goddamn head, I figured that wherever you came from, whatever family you might’ve had, they wouldn’t want you ending up like me.”

That pot of guilt in your chest felt like it would explode, even as you blinked back tears, only getting harder the longer Joel spoke, the more he told you. You had never taken him for a religious man, but you supposed you could relate to that, that desperation to just save your family’s life.

“I’ve got too much blood on my hands, kid,” Joel told you, the words going past the literal sense of his own blood, spilled across his palms from that wound that you had caused. It was deeper than that, it was something you related to, like he knew that sensation of fresh blood that plagued you, like it was dripping over your hands all the time. “You gotta wipe yours clean.”

Clearly, that wound on his shoulder wasn’t his only open one. It was there, gaping in his chest, weeping waves of guilt and suffering that hit you with such familiarity. My Sarah. You couldn’t help but think about your dad, couldn’t help wondering if this was how he’d feel, if your places had of swapped.

“He was my dad,” You said desperately, like it could explain everything, like the simple statement could convey everything you couldn’t put into other words. That’s not something you can replace, something you can change, something you can forget. You opened your mouth to continue, but all that happened was the tears stinging your eyes fell, and you turned your head to the side, hoping Joel wouldn’t see the way your lip was trembling.

Joel’s arms were warm when he wrapped them around you, blood still tacky on his shirt where it pressed to your jacket, but you barely noticed it. “She was my daughter.” He said in response, and suddenly it made sense.

If anything about your relationship with Joel was true, it was that you were mirror images. Reflections. Two sides of the same coin, two sides of the same story, one that told of grief and loss and pain that would never go away. His response was the answer you didn’t even realise you had been waiting for. He was my dad, and she was my daughter. Not replacements, not something to try and fill the gaps. The acknowledgment was everything you needed to wrap your arms around Joel, to squeeze his shirt between your fists and cry, to cry for the dad that you lost, for the daughter he lost, for everything the two of you would never have again.

You weren’t Joel’s daughter, and he wasn’t your dad.

That much was true, and you knew it, because you had each other. And maybe, come morning, you would still leave the apartment like you had been considering doing all along, or maybe you would stay. Maybe, you’d let yourself have this, this little family made up of torn apart pieces, of members too damaged to fit just right, of a dad who lost his daughter, and a daughter who lost her dad.

[seeingivy]

style

actor!eren x f!reader

**part of my method acting series

previous part linked here

an: this is 10k. I decided to leave the what am I to you scene for the next chapter bc of it...apologies....also I jsut wanted to post it bc I promised this at the beginning of the week and yday and now its been a long time coming

songs mentioned: style by taylor swift and glimpse of us by joji (minor mention of peace by taylor swift too)

--

--

“Wait, so. I don’t get it. You’re basically…acting like a couple on purpose?” Zeke asks. 

Eren spares a weary glance to his parents, matching apprehensive looks in their eyes, as he slides the salt and pepper shakers towards Zeke. 

Leave it to him to bring up the elephant in the room. 

One mention of attending an award show or a red-carpet event had the three of them dropping everything to come to New York at the drop of the hat. Especially when Scott Clarkson was going to be attending. 

Levi was more than happy to oblige them at the hotel they were all staying at, much to Eren’s dismay, which left him in his current predicament. 

That unlike his friends, who were secretly letting him indulge in something he probably shouldn’t and turning a blind eye, the three of them were never going to let it go. 

Eren knew that part of what he was doing was wrong. That he was walking a very fragile line and that their concerns, in some sense, were very valid. 

He had promised you a show. The problem was that it wasn’t just a show for him. It wasn’t even the slightest bit difficult for him to give the public exactly what they wanted to see – to go above and beyond to prove that the two of you were better than ever. 

He wanted that deeply – for it to be true. Fervently, desperately. It wasn’t hard to pretend when Eren had spent a majority of his life thinking about you, about what this would be like, anyways. 

It started out simple. Eren offered to accompany you on your first walk out in public that morning – after watching you stare at the people through the window the entire morning. There was a big crowd lingering outdoors, supplied by rumors that the group of them were staying in the hotel, and he was positive that some part of it was making you feel green. 

That and the fact that as much as you could front, some part of this had to be some level of nerve wracking to you. You had put on a brave face very well, but Eren’s deep rooted fear is that this’ll just send you deeper into that cave you retreated into last time – and that you’ll leave him waiting outside again. 

So he offered to do your first paparazzi walk with you. Cited that it would have been the perfect thing to build up more publicity, give them a greater chance of stealing the morning headlines about how today was Hyla’s birthday and the buzz around what she was going to wear tonight. 

It gave him an excuse to make sure you didn’t run off this time – that he’d be able to catch you if something happened. 

Except Eren took it too far. He had given you the permission to pump the brakes whenever you felt like it was too much and the fact that you almost never did made it impossible for him to stop. So he pulled you close whenever the paparazzi were near, brushing his nose against yours as the two of you smiled sunshine into each other’s faces. 

It was a disaster waiting to happen. Though from Eren’s expert point of view, he couldn’t fall any more than he already had. 

The problem would come later – when it would just become another memory that he cherished, had to relive after he was finally denied the promise of your company and friendship for good. 

When the show ended in two months and when you would have no reason to talk to each other again. 

Eren shakes the thought from his head as he looks back up at them. 

“Yeah. But trust me, it’s actually working. The record label dropped Ricky James and now that Y/N promised them her new album, they’re going to sever ties all together.” Eren states. 

“I just don’t see what that has to do with pretending to date. You know, especially when you’re still in love with the girl.” Carla states. 

“It’s sadistic. Even for you.” Zeke states. 

Eren shoves him in the side. With his parents' eyes averted, he takes the chance to knee Zeke this time to catch his attention. 

Could you just back me up? Eren mouths. 

Zeke rolls his eyes, before quietly mouthing his response back. 

Okay, fine! Just relax. 

Eren turns back to the two of them, mustering his best smile. And hoped that deep down, that fleeting flare of hope that’s been burning in his chest won’t go to waste this time – that there are real grounds behind actually bringing Scott Clarkson down. 

“There’s a certain publicity that you can’t buy with people who have…such a drama filled history like us. We’re aiming for a solidified deal with Ethan Cole by the end of the Met Gala.” Eren states. 

He flinches when his dad drops the fork against the ceramic of the plate. 

“Ethan Cole? Are you crazy, Eren? He’s never going to agree to a deal with you guys.” 

“Maybe a little. But I think that we could do it. I spent years being played by idiots like Scott Clarkson – it’s not hard to tell that’s how he keeps people around. And…we have an idea of exactly how to do it.” Eren states. 

“I don’t know, Eren. I don’t exactly like this idea. I wouldn’t exactly put your hopes on this.” Carla murmurs. 

Eren gives her a smile, reaching to tangle his ankle with hers under the table. 

He gets it. Deep down, he does. Because the last time Eren did this – with the court case and Connie and Lana at his side – Eren was downtrodden when Scott Clarkson’s life virtually stayed the same. Almost everyone knew, or had some semblance of an idea, that Eren had sued him, that Scott had terribly wronged him. 

He had gone through the lengths of an entire court case, just for it to amount to nothing. 

He still had his career. He still had the movies, a beloved producing company, and the godawful tabloids that ruined Eren’s life. People continued to work with him despite everything that had happened. 

“I won’t be like last time. It…it almost feels better this time around. I have everyone around me and I don’t feel alone, so.” Eren adds. 

“Well, you weren’t exactly alone the last time.” Carla states. 

“You know what he meant. It’s different.” Grisha murmurs.” 

“I do think she can do it. These people only care about what makes them money or…or moves their business forward. No one can do that for them like her. And even besides that, she’s really earnest in the way she moves. I feel like people could even become more aware of this type of thing if she spoke out about it.” Eren finishes. 

Eren looks over, looking to his mom’s brown eyes hoping for her approval. He doesn’t exactly find it, but there’s a nod. He understands it all the same – that he’s the one who gets to make the calls here, regardless. 

“Oh, let’s all relax! If Eren wants to kiss her and run around doing god knows what, that’s his business! He’s a grown man.” Zeke adds, sliding one hand around his shoulder and using his free one to pinch his cheek. 

Eren seethes, stomping hard on his foot under the table. 

“I don’t kiss her.” Eren defends. 

“Not yet, you don’t. That’s for next month, right?” Zeke responds, with a wink. 

Is this what Zeke thought backing him up was? 

Eren can feel his cheeks burn. Leave for the empty spots in the script – that Levi had stated he had some special plan for – the last part of the show was almost finished. And much to Eren’s dismay, Hange and Levi overrode his opinion in the writers room and included a kiss in the script. 

He’s just hoping for his own sake that they end up cutting it before the day comes like they did the first time. There were only so many things that he could stomach. 

“That’s filming, Zeke. That’s different.” 

Zeke rolls his eyes. 

“Right.” 

Eren’s thrown out of the loop when the door swings open, with Connie and Mikasa barging in with you at their heels. The three of you look particularly disheveled – sopping wet from the rain outside, giggly smiles on your faces – as Connie and Mikasa shake their hands at the group of them. 

“We ran out of toothpaste over there, Eren. We’re just gonna take some.” Mikasa states. 

“You needed three people to get one tube of toothpaste?” Eren asks. 

“Well, I was going to come. Then, Connie decided he wanted to accompany me. And then Y/N realized we were going to get it from your room, then decided to come.” Mikasa responds, dragging Connie off to the little bathroom at the side. 

Eren lifts his head to find you standing at the door, with…an almost awkward look on your face. The big smile that he saw seconds ago was virtually gone. 

“You know what! I think Falco’s actually calling me…so I’m just going to…” 

“You should sit. Eat breakfast with us.” Carla states, gesturing to the empty seat at her side. 

That’s when Eren realizes it – and it sends an overwhelming amount of relief through him. That you didn’t feel awkward around him but around his family instead. 

Eren racks his mind trying to remember it – when you were with them last. And if his memory isn’t deceiving him, it was the last Thanksgiving that you guys were together, a snowy November years ago. 

And he gets it, the immediate nervousness. God knows he felt the same way around Falco and Colt when they arrived – after Levi hadn’t listened to his advice to not cast the two of them in the show. Just to spare him some torture. 

Levi, obviously, refused to listen. 

You always had your guard up around Zeke and if he knew you half as well as he thought he did, he knows for a fact that you must feel embarrassed to show your face around his parents now after everything that happened. 

“Mom, it’s okay. You can go see if Falco’s good, Y/N.” Eren affirms. 

Eren watches as your eyes meet his, slightly faltering before you shake your head and drag yourself to the table. From his peripheral, he can see that Zeke’s already too delighted for his own good as Zeke quickly offers you the seat at Eren’s side and sits directly across from the two of you. 

“Thank you for inviting me, Mrs. Jaeger. I appreciate it.” you respond, smoothing the little cloth over your lap as you knit your fingers into knots. 

Eren busies himself with filling your plate, carefully sectioning small amounts of each dish, before he puts his hand in between yours. You welcome the touch, linking your fingers in with Eren’s under the table, as you shoot them all a smile. And Zeke’s godawful delighted smile back almost makes you sweat. 

“Eren. You should go check on Falco, since he was calling Y/N.” Carla states. 

“Huh? Oh, I-I’m sure he’s fine. Colt’s here and Gabi too, you know.” you mumble. 

There’s no way you’re sitting alone with his family. 

“I think Eren should check on him. That way, it won’t be in the back of your head while we talk.” Carla responds. 

Eren shoots you a questioning look at your side, as you release his hand, and give him a nod. You can tell that he’s hesitating, his movements painstakingly slow as he exits the room and closes the door behind him, leaving you with the three of them. 

“I apologize for that. He wasn’t going to leave unless you gave your approval.” Carla murmurs, as the three of them relax with his presence missing. 

Zeke takes the opportunity to take the seat at your side, filling the empty space Eren left. He leans closer, voice quiet as he whispers and nearly makes your heart drop in your chest. 

“Don’t worry. I’ve got your back. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to hold your hand under the table like he did.” 

You fight the urge to spit the water in your mouth straight into the glass – but swallow the shock and battery acid sensation down as you spare the two of them a glance ahead of you. 

There’s a twinge of regret – that at one point, you used to be like their chosen family and now it feels like you’ve allocated a lifetime of hurt to their son. 

“I want to start by apologizing.” you state. 

The two of them look up at you confused. 

“For?” Grisha asks. 

“Everything I did to Eren. I…I care for your son an awful lot, though it may not seem like that at times. And I hope that you know that even causing the smallest bit of pain is something that I have to carry with me everyday. Something I’ll spend a lifetime trying to rectify.” you state. 

Carla sighs, setting her fork down in her plate and crossing her arms against her forearms. You can tell that Zeke’s priming some sort of response against her just from the almost enraged look in his face and you make it a point to spare him a warning glance not to. 

Whatever wrath she had prepared for you was what you deserved. And just like Eren and Mikasa, you’d spend your entire life fixing it till it was better with her too. 

“I’m not going to pretend to understand what it was that happened between you and Eren. I can read news articles and watch interviews and documentaries but…it doesn’t exactly make sense to me. I can admit that. I don’t know why you broke up with him and…and I surely don’t know why Eren thought it was okay to say everything that he did to you.” 

“Oh. That’s nothing, really-” 

“I don’t understand how you guys can make these big, love confessions without even confronting each other in the first place. Because…you’re not together, right?” Carla asks. 

You bite down on your cheek. 

“That’s right. It’s just for the paparazzi, trying to build up the hype around-” 

“No, I get that part. But the interview, the documentary. You guys did that for each other, on some level. So I’ll ask again. You’re really not together?” Carla asks. 

You sigh. 

“No. I’m sorry. I…I haven’t thought much about that because I want everything settled before I even consider it. Being careless ruined everything last time…and I can’t afford to do that again. I want to be careful with his feelings this time around.” you state. 

Carla pauses, before standing up and joining you at your side. And you’re caught completely off guard when she wraps her arms around you, pulling you up until you’re nestled in her arms and she’s rubbing at the sides of your biceps. 

You forgot – she used to do this to you all the time.

“You…you’re a good girl. We’ve always loved you, always loved how Eren was around you, but…just be careful with our son, okay? I don’t want him to be hurt again and he’s sensitive, if that much wasn’t obvious at this point.” 

“I appreciate that. Really, I…I don’t think you guys understand what it means to me. And I won’t, I’m making my sincerest promise that I’ll try not to. He’s….he means the world to me. He’s been my best friend as long as I can remember and…no one is going to be who Eren is to me.” 

And for the first time, the two of them spare you a glimmering smile. 

“He feels the same way.” Grisha states. 

You sigh, offering the two of them a smile. And right on cue, Eren barges right through the door, the worry on his face melting as the two of you offer him a smile. You can tell that he’s a little confused – as he settles back into his seat and gives a questioning look to Zeke. 

The two of them return to eating, as you dig your own fork into the food and push it around. That’s when Zeke slides his arm around the back of your chair, leaning forward as he gives you a smirk. 

You can’t help but feel annoyed. Not in the genuine, hatred way, but in the same way you did when Colt used to tease you when you were a kid. 

“So…family that I chose now that I see your brother as my brother? That is about me, right?” 

You roll your eyes, sparing him a laugh, as you elbow him in the side. 

“I’m so sorry to break your heart here, Zeke, but that line in peace was about Eren and Falco. Not about you and me.” you state.

“Yeah, dumbass. She doesn’t even like you.” Eren mutters. 

Zeke feigns hurt as he clutches his right hand to his chest and groans. You watch as Grisha rolls his eyes in front of you and Carla fights the urge to smile at his theatrics. 

“You’re a bitch.” 

“Language, Zeke! God.” the two of them cry, rolling their eyes at Zeke. Eren rolls his eyes as he stands up, stacking all the plates and placing them at the island as you turn back to look at the group of them. 

You shake your head, laughing, as you thank your lucky stars at how comfortable it is, that you’ve floated right back into the ease that you always seemed to be in when you were around them. And Zeke too, for the first time. 

Zeke spares you a genuine smile this time, as he gets closer to you. 

“I think that you and I could be really good friends. We both love Eren and…and maybe we haven’t always done right by him but…” 

You can tell that he’s getting tripped up by the words, that the sentiment that’s underlying is something the two of you have never really shared before. A closeness that brings you together. Because for you, Zeke was always something you needed to protect Eren from and for him, you were positive now, knowing what you did now, that maybe Zeke felt robbed of some part of that. 

Getting to meet his little brother’s first girlfriend. Tease him about it, give him some brotherly advice – the way Colt did with you. That maybe he wanted the relationship that Eren and Falco had with each other with you, if things were different. 

“Yeah. But…we’re going to do right by him this time. We’ll make sure of it.” you whisper back, averting your eyes to where he’s standing. 

Zeke breaks out into a smile, extending his closed fist out to you as you push your own against his. 

“One thing?” Zeke states. 

“What’s that?” 

Zeke has a nearly murderous glint in his eye when he says it. And it fills you up with a searing feeling of warmth. 

“You give that asshole Scott Clarkson hell. For all of our sake.” 

You give him a smile back. 

“That’s a promise, Zeke.” 

--

Eren can feel himself sweating on the opposite side of the red carpet. The stickiness of the hairspray is sitting heavy in his hair, the collar digging into his neck, and palms embarrassingly sweaty as he stares at the group of people around him. 

Lana and Sukuna are fussing over fixing Connie’s outfit, Jean and Mikasa are taking shots at his side, and you can tell that Suguru Getou is truly cutting his losses at this point. 

Satoru’s wearing an outfit with literal, raw meat on it. 

“It’s camp!” Satoru whines. 

“That was the theme last year, dumbass. And it’s not camp, you’re just a nuisance.” Megumi grumbles, pinching his nose as he joins Eren at his side. 

Eren gives him a nod in acknowledgement, as he watches Yuuji at Satoru’s side, snapping excited pictures of Satoru’s meat hat and pokes his fingers into the red flesh. 

“Can you believe you’re dating that guy?” Eren asks. 

“Everyday I question my sanity.” Megumi mumbles. 

“Could be worse. You could be married to Satoru.” 

“Don’t remind me.” Suguru groans at his side, the two of them sparing a laugh. 

Megumi chooses to keep the comment to himself. He swallows, pointing out that you had said the same thing to the pair of them when Satoru dressed up like that godawful cat years prior. Megumi figures that he’ll keep this thread of your invisible string to himself, for the time being – that it might not exactly be productive for right now. 

Eren catches Levi’s head shifting towards him in the peripheral, as he looks over and tries to follow Levi’s line of vision. And feels his throat constrict as Ricky and Hyla walk past, the two of them sparing him and Lana a sickly sweet smile, and take their spots at the end of the line. 

Eren notes that despite the fact that you had side-swept all of her designers to work with you, naturally she still put together an outfit. He was hoping that it would be worse than it actually ended up being. Though he supposed the birthday girl would always get what she wanted in the end. 

“I’m ready to wipe that smug smile off of their fucking faces and I’m so serious.” 

Eren nearly jumps as he realizes you’re now standing at his side, your eye nearly twitching as you watch the two of them. But all he can feel now is his own throat itching, Ricky and Hyla the least of his problems as his skin ignites at the sight of you so close to him. Your flowery perfume is invading his senses, as he fights the urge to ogle your dress full on. 

“Y/N.” he whispers. 

“Do I look stupid? The underslip they had for the dress didn’t fit me because Hyla’s so much taller that they just…told me to wear this matching set. I feel like I’m going to be flashing everyone.” you mumble. 

“Better for you. You look fucking hot. And apparently, Hyla stole her dress from a piece that was already in the museum. I’m sure she’ll ruin it by the end of the night.” Lana states, as Sukuna joins her at the side and links his arm through hers. 

The two of them have matching stitching on their outfits, wedding rings sparkling on their fingers. Eren clears his throat, your eyes expectant as you wait for a response, and his head nearly spinning from the overstimulation. 

“She’s right. You’re beautiful.” 

“You can say she's hot, Eren. It won’t kill you.” Sukuna complains. 

Eren watches as your eyes widen, a soft pink blush running up your neck, as you avert your eyes. And Sukuna, naturally, ruins the moment by making gagging noises only to get smacked by Lana after the fact. 

The two of them shuffle off, giving you a thumbs up behind their backs, as you turn to each other. Eren links his hands in with yours, giving you three squeezes, as he looks down at the dark makeup smeared around your eyes, making your eyes appear even bigger and brighter. 

Eren gestures his head to the left, snaking his hand around your bare skin in the dress, and lines up directly behind Ricky and Hyla. And the two of you wait for them to walk out and follow directly after. 

It goes exactly how it thought you would. You haven’t walked a red carpet since the last awards show – and from what Eren told you – it had been years since he had too. 

It was simple. 

Seeing Hyla and Ricky at a carpet together was almost a given, almost too predictable. It would hardly spare a headline in comparison to you two – together. Years after the fact, with Eren’s documentary behind you. 

The clicking and the flashing immediately throws you off your guard, coupled with the screaming of your name, that you almost fall off the stiletto of your heels. But Eren’s quick with it, hands looped around your waist as he held you up against him. 

“Thanks. I-” 

“Don’t look at them. Just look at me.” Eren whispers, voice almost gravelly. 

“What?” 

“It’s better that way. Just act like you’re above them. Like you and I are the only people in the room.” Eren murmurs. 

You give him a nod, catching his drift as you follow his lead. And it almost works too well – easing your red carpet nerves when you literally don’t have to acknowledge them and just have to hold hands with Eren all the way down the carpet. 

Eren stops dead center, right before the steps, as you spare a glance over your shoulder. The group of them are following – Satoru’s raw meat causing a commotion at the start – and you turn back to him. 

“Ready?” 

“Yeah.” 

“I know you just asked me to get you a necklace for the Ricky thing, but I actually did ask them to design a custom one for you.” 

You smile. You had made it a point – that you were going to stick it to Ricky for that stupid night that he left you drenched in the rain – but you failed to consider that this would happen. Though in hindsight, you should have expected it. 

Eren was always thoughtful when it came to things like this.

“Really?” you ask. 

Eren nods, as he reaches into his pocket, pulling out the little charm necklace. You take it in his hands, admiring the little charm at the center, of the planet Saturn. You frown, turning it over in your fingers. 

“Does Saturn have some connection to Uranus that I don’t know about? I thought that I was supposed to be the moon.” you mumble. 

Eren laughs, as he shakes his head and gestures for you to spin around. You oblige, moving your hair to the side and feeling your cheeks heat up as the paparazzi snap what feels like hundreds of pictures – of Eren clasping the necklace and then pressing a kiss to the nape of your neck. His voice comes out as a whisper on your skin as he pulls you closer to him, the two of you posing for the picture. 

“I mean, Marco was always a big fan of immature jokes. So I guess it does?” Eren states. 

You widen your eyes as you press your fingers to the charm, realizing what it means. 

Your braids like a pattern, love you to the moon and to Saturn. 

The last time that you were at the Met Gala was when you performed with Marco. You can feel warm tears accumulating in your eyes as Eren cups the side of your cheek, a soft smile on his face. He taps the little pin on the lapel of his jacket, a matching little saturn charm as you bite down on your cheeks and smile back. 

“He’s here with us. Haunting us from his grave like he promised.” Eren jokes. 

You give Eren a teary laugh. 

“Yeah. I think he is too.” 

You lean your head against Eren’s shoulder, as the two of you walk straight up the stairs into the venue. There’s a glimmering chandelier hanging from the ceiling, the stage decorated a sparkling silver. 

“Do you have a Maya Angelou quote for me? She always was Marco’s favorite.” 

Eren smiles. 

“I can be changed by what happens to me. But I refused to be reduced by it.” Eren states. 

--

Falco and Colt are the ones by your side backstage. You can feel your hands shaking, throwing the mic from one hand to the other, as the two of them lean their heads against yours. 

You’re performing for the first time in years. Since you performed the grudge, at that godawful awards show years ago. 

You choose to use the wall of pictures as a distraction. One of your favorite things about performing at the Met was that they took pictures of each of the performers and pasted them to the big walls behind the curtains. People would sign the walls, the pictures themselves – to mark that they had performed here, to immortalize themselves on the wall. 

And it takes a few seconds, but you find the picture dead center. Of you and Marco. The two of you are hugging each other, cheeks pressed together with pink, teary eyes, with your names scribbled in Marco’s loopy handwriting underneath. 

seven by y/n l/n ft marco bodt 

And directly next to it, is a picture you’ve never seen before. Of Eren and Marco – their hands clasped together – and the same loopy handwriting underneath with the song. 

“He didn’t want to take that picture. He…he made me do it. Said he should still remember the moment, even if he wasn’t at his best.” Armin states. 

“Oh. Hey, what are you doing here?” 

“Just checking you’re okay. First time performing and all that. And I was back here with you the last time this happened too.” Armin murmurs. 

You smile, lacing your hand through his as you both stare at the pictures of Marco and you wrap your arms around Armin at the first sound of his sniffling. 

“Well, this is hardly about me performing, Armin.” you mumble. 

Armin gives you a watery laugh, before pulling back and wiping the wetness on his face away. 

You frown as you lightly dig your elbow into his side, trying to gesture him into talking. 

You were a little harsh when you talked to him last – when you had to convince him to finally forgive Eren. You regretted it after, being so rigid and forcing him into it, but you figured direction was what Armin needed at the time. 

“Marco said that even though that moment was bad for Eren, that even though he felt like he was never going to recover, there would be a day that he looked back on it and would relish in the fact that it was never going to be like that again. I hate the fact that Eren’s probably having that moment right now and shit is still so awkward between us that I can’t even tell him that I’m happy for him.” Armin murmurs. 

You stare at the pictures. 

“I didn’t realize you were…with Eren that day.” 

“Yeah. Yeah, I was. I called him a lot after the whole Girlfriend thing, he was kind of convinced that we all hated him. And I did the same when the whole Satellite Port thing happened too.” 

Armin pauses. 

“I was always there for him, until I wasn’t. And I feel like I’m fucking groveling but things still won’t be the same between us.” 

“Well, don’t lose hope about that. Mikasa and I-” 

“You and Mikasa are different. You’re…you overlook things easier than we do. Mikasa wanted you to be her maid of honor again after you said you wanted to sleep in her room – just because she realized you still loved her. Even if Eren knew I loved him, I doubt that would fix what happened with us.” 

You lean your head against your shoulder. 

“Did you finish the script yet, Armin?” you whisper. 

“What?” 

“Did you finish it?” 

“Yeah.” 

You look over at him and smile. 

“That last conversation? Between your character and his? He wrote that all on his own. It’s obviously a little bit more dramatic than he intends it but…the premise is still there. You and him, still best friends at the end of it.” 

Armin looks back at the pictures, running his hands through his hair, and ruining any semblance of styling in his golden locks. 

“You think Marco would be pissed at us? All of us?” Armin mumbles. 

“No. I know he would have loved to seen us all reconcile. That he would have been really happy for us.” 

Falco and Colt give you a gesture over your shoulder, as you shoo Armin back to his seat, and readjust the feathers on the sleeves of your dress. You give Colt a smile as he hands you the last piece of the outfit, the glittery garter belt that you wrap over your thigh as you take your cue. 

--

Eren gives you props for hundreds of things, but this one specifically. It was hard to find something that you were bad at, since it felt that you were naturally skilled at everything, but when he watched you, like this, he couldn’t help but feel like you were born for it. 

You really knew how to put on a performance. 

It’s pitch black, leave for your purple silhouette against the back of the stage. Of your fingers running across the neck of the guitar, playing the opening notes to the song Maki requested days prior – that you named Style. 

Midnight You come and pick me up, no headlights Long drive Could end in burning flames or paradise Fade into view, oh It's been a while since I have even heard from you (heard from you)

And I should just tell you to leave 'cause I Know exactly where it leads, but I Watch us go 'round and 'round each time 

Eren watches as you pause, the entire backtrack and music stopping, as the entire crowd jumps to his feet and starts hollering for you when they finally shine the lights on you. Eren watches as you give everyone a little wave, pressing your hands to your cheeks unable to contain your smile before you gesture for everyone to be quiet so you can keep singing.

And feels his chest fill with immense pride as you walk all the way down the stage, fingers fast and smiling from ear to ear as you sing again. He can’t help but feel embarrassed as the group of them – Connie, Reiner, and Jean – start smacking him on the back, screaming about how crazy his girl was. 

You got that James Dean daydream look in your eye And I got that red lip classic thing that you like And when we go crashing down, we come back every time 'Cause we never go out of style, we never go out of style You got that long hair, slicked back, white T-shirt And I got that good girl faith and a tight little skirt And when we go crashing down, we come back every time 'Cause we never go out of style, we never go out of style

When you reach the end of the stage, Eren watches as you slightly trip on your steps, before averting your eyes down to your leg. In the mess of walking and the notches on the guitar, a part of your stockings had ripped. 

Eren was impressed that you were still singing, as you reached down and took the halves of the garter belt in your hands, before you started looking out in the audience. And Eren can’t help but feel like in that moment, that some divine power might actually be real. 

Because three years ago, it was Hyla’s birthday and he was stuck at a dinner table thinking about you. About how he’d never feel that rush, that thrilling electricity that seemed to thrum in his veins whenever you looked at him. 

And he knows for a fact that really, it almost has to be real – a higher power that was looking out for him the entire time. Because years after the fact, he’s sitting here, blushing profusely as you throw the garter belt to him to catch, before you like down on the stage and scream your heart out. 

To a song that you wrote about him. 

Take me home Just take me home Yeah, just take me home Oh, whoa, oh (Out of style)

Oh, you got that James Dean daydream look in your eye And I got that red lip classic thing that you like And when we go crashing down (now we go), we come back every time  'Cause we never go out of style, we never go out of style 

--

--

“Ethan Cole! You’re just the person I wanted to see.” you state. 

Fresh off of the performance, with the little note card tucked in your hand, he’s the first person that you beeline towards. 

On first impression, he’s younger than Scott Clarkson by a landslide – beachy, golden hair as he stands from his share to take your extended hand. 

“Y/N L/N! Quite the performance up there, my daughter is a huge fan. To what do I owe the pleasure?” Ethan asks. 

You give the girl at his side a warm smile, the girl barely above the age of fifteen, as you turn back to him. 

“You know, I’ve really missed doing romantic comedies. I’ve heard that’s your forté,” you state. 

“Is that right?” 

“As fun as Attack on Titan can be, the drama can…be a little draining. I would love to get behind you if you produced a romantic comedy that I could star in.” 

You watch as he pinches his smile, eyes strained as he looks around the room. 

“I’m not sure how keen…some people at the company would be about that.” Ethan murmurs. 

“Who said you had to do it with them?” you state. 

“Huh?” 

You give him the best, most sickly sweet smile that you muster. “Who said…you have to do it with him?” 

You pull the little note card out of your backpocket, with your phone number scribbled over the top, and hand it to him. 

“You could easily produce it on your own. And if it was a star studded movie, you could avoid the risks of being associated as a start-up all together.” you state. 

Ethan pauses, for a while. 

“My own company?” 

“That’s right. You’re young, younger than your competition, and with how things have been going lately…I’m doubt they’ll stay afloat longer. If I were you, I’d capitalize on the fact that your own competition is about to be eliminated.” you state. 

You can tell that he almost doesn’t believe you. 

“I’ll have to think about it.” Ethan states. 

“Sure thing, Ethan. If the situation was right, I could even be persuaded to get some of my….friends to join. And I know you’re a smart guy – there’s some publicity that other people couldn’t even dream of buying.” 

You spare a glance over your shoulder to Eren at the stage with Lana, as she takes her seat at the piano and Eren begins adjusting the microphone at the stand. 

“I look forward to talking to you, Ethan.” 

And you give him a sickly sweet smile before you walk away. You settle back into your seat next to Levi and Connie – who had decided to take Eren’s open seat while he performed. 

“How did it go?” Levi asks. 

“He didn’t buy it.” you state. 

Levi gives you a terse nod, as you shake your head and readjust your seat to face the stage. Connie pulls his seat up right next to yours, the two of you giving each other a smile as you link your arms together and lean your head against his shoulder. 

“It’s your song!” you whisper. 

Connie leans his head on top of yours, voice quiet as Lana starts playing the piano. 

“It’s actually not. It’s even worse.” 

“Huh?” 

You lift your head off of his shoulder to eye him, and he only smiles, deviously, in return. 

“Let’s just say if it was my birthday today, I’d commit a murder after this.” 

You turn back to the stage, eyeing the little star decals hanging from the little ceiling, and watch as Eren nervously shakes his hands, before placing them on the mic stand. He turns to his left, giving the group of you a smile, before he starts. 

“I wrote this song exactly five years ago today when I was twenty. I was stuck at a birthday party, with a bunch of people I hated, and all I could think about was how I just wished that I was somewhere else. And really, I was hoping that the person that I really wanted beside me, had some semblance of that feeling about me too. This is my new song, it’s called Glimpse of Us.” 

When you're out of sight In my mind

'Cause sometimes I look in her eyes And that's where I find a glimpse of us And I try to fall for her touch But I'm thinking of the way it was Said I'm fine and said I moved on I'm only here passing time in her arms Hoping I'll find A glimpse of us

Eren always claimed that singing was never his forté and even from the way he moved – you could tell that he clearly felt more comfortable when he was acting. That he most definitely believed that his talents lied on a set rather than on a stage. 

And for maybe the hundredth time, it’s clear that Eren’s own visions of himself have clearly limited him. 

Because he’s beautiful. 

The stage design makes it look like he’s suspended in the sky, in between the moon and the stars, and the lack of production to the song – the fact that it’s just his voice and Lana’s fingers on the piano is chilling. 

It reminds you of that song that he wrote for you on the beach. 

Eren dislodges the microphone from the stand, tossing Lana a smile over his shoulder, before he walks directly to the edge of the stage that’s closest to you and Connie. And uses his hand to gesture for you to come closer, as he takes a seat and dangles his legs off the edge of the stage. 

You can feel the butterflies erupting in your stomach as you pull your chair closer to the stage, right until you’re looking up at Eren from your little seat and he’s looking down at you. And as he sings, he reaches down and places one of his hands on your cheek – the biting cold of the rings on his fingers cooling the warmth on your cheek – but doing nothing to help the burning in your chest from his dark green eyes, filled with such warmth and sincerity that it makes your heart race. 

You bring your own hand up to where his is on your cheek and he gives you a dimpled smile in return. 

'Cause sometimes I look in her eyes And that's where I find a glimpse of us And I try to fall for her touch But I'm thinking of the way it was Said I'm fine and said I moved on I'm only here passing time in her arms Hoping I'll find A glimpse of us

When he finishes, you press a kiss to the top of his knuckles and try to memorize the way the smile spreads across his face.  

--

Your last chance to convince this cowardly idiot Ethan Cole to agree with you guys is at the afterparty for the Met Gala, which coincidentally, you’ve never attended. 

The last time you were here, the entire ordeal was so draining – considering it was the first time that you had seen Eren since you broke up and you were here with Ricky – that you just skipped the party afterwards and went home. And you would have done the same thing now, since your hair was feeling sticky and your legs felt like lead from the heels, but you had to give it one last shot before you left. 

You had taken Mikasa and Jean’s lead, and decided to take four shots with them, by the time the party was in full swing. And right before the fifth, Eren suddenly materialized after being missing for the first half of the party and slipped it away from your nimble fingers and downed it himself. 

“Are you drinking?” he asks, shaking his head from the burn, before handing the glass back to Jean. 

“Well, obviously not if you’re taking my glass.” 

Eren reaches forward, fingers on the little ribbon around your neck, before you smack his hand off. 

“I like the outfit. It’s like the scarf from the show.” 

“That’s the point.” you state. 

Eren rolls his eyes as you both lean back against the wall, eyeing the crowd of people in front of you. 

“You should have told me. I would have matched.” Eren states. 

“How are you supposed to match? Your costume on set doesn’t have something as…obvious like the scarf.” 

“I would have just done the titan marks and called it a day.” Eren mumbles back. 

You nod, mulling over the idea, as you reach for the back hanging around your shoulder. And luckily for you, your lipstick is still in the bag – though most of the time, the bags that you have on red carpets have literally nothing on them – and instruct him to crouch so you can reach. He obliges, flashing you a smile, as you intently focus on drawing the lines under his eyes. 

Eren takes the distraction – the focus that you have from drawing on his face – and uses it to observe you. 

“Did you like my song?” Eren asks. 

“You’re insane. Did you really write that five years ago or did you make that up?” you whisper. 

“Nope. I wrote it after the last Met Gala, I think Hyla’s birthday was like a week or two after that.” he mumbles back. 

“Well, if it’s any consolation, what you were hoping was actually true. When I was at that Met Gala, I really just wished that I was with you, sitting with the rest of the cast.” 

Eren laughs. 

“Who said the song was about you?” Eren jokes. 

You pause, only to look up to glare at him, before you lightly shove him. And you can tell that he’s joking but it’s still irritating. 

“You’re such a dick, sometimes.” 

“You were thinking about me?” Eren responds, closing his hand around yours and snatching the little tube of lipstick from your hand. 

He lifts his phone up, looking at the reflection from the screen of his phone, as he messily finishes off the marks on the other side, more messy and jagged. And as annoying as he is, it’s extremely attractive when he does it – capping the lipstick and curling it back into the palm of your hand. 

“You wish.” you respond. 

Eren leans against the wall and you join him at his side, the two of you eyeing Ethan Cole at the end of the hall, with Ricky and Hyla posted up on the other side. You can’t help but seethe with anger as you watch the two of them together, curling your hands into little fists at your side. 

“I saw that video that was going around on Twitter a little while ago. Of you and Ricky, last time you were here.” Eren responds. 

“What video?” 

“It was on the red carpet. He like…grabbed your arm and shoved you.” Eren clarifies. 

“Oh! That’s right. He was trying to introduce me to John and I said some crap about him to Historia. Then, he got all pissed saying that I had to be nice to him or whatever since he was nice to you guys.” you respond. 

Levi and Hange walk up to the pair of you, arms linked together, as you straighten up. The two of them had weary eyes, focused on Eren, as they look around. 

“Eren. He’s here.” 

“Who’s here?” you ask. 

“Scott Clarkson. He just walked in – guess he’s not deciding to skip after all.” Hange responds. 

Eren leans forward, angling his head over the crowd of the people, towards the opening at the front of the hallway and feels his throat turn to sandpaper. Eren clenching his fists so hard that he’s sure he’s drawing blood, the entirety of the conversation almost lost to him as he feels himself nearly losing balance on his legs. 

“You’re free to leave, Eren. We have a car ready for you. If you want to stay, we’re here with you.” Hange states. 

You look around to the other side of the room to find Connie talking to a group of people, none of which you knew. Mikasa and Jean are a few feet away – but clearly drunk out of their mind – and you can’t seem to find anyone else who could stay with him. You jerk your head back, to the two of them. 

“Listen. I’ve got Eren. Could you guys check that Connie’s going to be fine?” 

Hange and Levi turn their heads to the side, giving you a nod, as they speed walk to the other side of the room and you link your arm in with Eren’s. He’s still staring at the other side of the room and you lightly tug on his arm to catch his attention, his eyes almost dazed when he looks at you. 

“Sorry. Did Hange and Levi say something?” 

“Just wanted to make sure you were okay. We can leave if you want to, there’s a car and everything.” 

“No…no, we didn’t talk to Ethan Cole yet. And, it’s fine.” Eren responds, shaking his head. 

It’s not that Eren’s exactly scared of Scott Clarkson, though there was a point in time that he most certainly would be. It’s more that he’s intimidated by what could go down, because while Eren knows that he isn’t exactly being swayed by him anymore, it’s a debilitating reminder every time he makes a comment that sends Eren tumbling back down. 

“Lana and Sukuna are together. I sent Hange and Levi to check on Connie. And I’m here with you, so…so all the bases are covered.” you respond. 

Eren smiles. 

“You’re here with me? What are you going to do?” 

“Punch him in the face.” you respond. 

Eren laughs. 

“Are you crazy?” 

“Do I look like a comedian to you?” you ask Eren. 

“You look more like a clown to me.” 

You feel your eyes widen, as you turn to your side and find Hyla and Ricky standing right to the left of you and Eren. You’re not sure what it is, but Eren suddenly squared his shoulders back, muscles tense at the sight of them. 

“Do you need something?” Eren asks. 

Hyla rolls her eyes as she looks at Eren, before turning back to you. And her eyes flicker to the necklace around your neck, before she looks back up at you and smiles. 

“Cute necklace!” 

Eren grins at your side. They took the bait. 

“Do you like it, Ricky? It’s custom Tiffany. I had it made special for Y/N myself.” Eren asks. 

You watch as Ricky furrows his brow, slightly clenching his jaw and nearly pink in the face, as he rolls his eyes in response – very clearly understanding the reference. 

“I don’t know where the fuck you think you get off, Eren. Need I remind you, that while I was at the top of my fucking career you were cleaning up a baby’s diapers.” 

You watch as Eren’s eye twitches, knuckles white at his side as he doesn’t respond. And it only gets more agitating since Ricky clearly gets off on the fact that Eren refuses to fight back, and takes it as an invitation to keep going. 

“Seriously, dude. You started at the fucking top of the food chain – your parents are literally Grisha and Carla Jaeger – and yet you’re slumming it with Lana and Sukuna. Lana’s quite literally the biggest bitch I’ve ever met in my life. Don’t pretend like you’re both not trying to get your five minutes of fame by talking about me. And don’t even get me started on how pathetic Sukuna is for what he said in that dumbass documentary the two of you made. Donating to sexual assault victims won’t fix a lack of talent.” 

“Where do you get-” 

“Y/N.” Eren states, silencing you all together. 

“That’s right, Eren. You better keep my sloppy seconds-” 

Ricky doesn’t get to finish the statement, because Eren’s punched him in the face. Not once, not twice, but three times to the point where he’s tackled him onto the floor, a bright red decorating his knuckles. 

“Y/N. What the fuck? Get him to stop!” 

You know that it’s petty. That maybe if you were a little bit of a better person, you actually would have asked Eren to stop. But Ricky James was quite literally the worst person you had ever met and deep down, there wasn’t even a single part of him that didn’t deserve what he was getting right now. 

You crouch down on your knees, Eren momentarily stopping to look at you, before you shake your head and look down at him. 

“I’m so sorry, Ricky. I don’t think I can do that right now.” 

Eren smiles, as he lands one more punch, before a very drunk Jean and Reiner are able to pull him off – Maki and Pieck at your sides as they rub into the softness of your arms. You shake your head, signaling to them that you were fine, as Eren looks over at you over the accumulating crowd of people, and gives you a gesture. You nod, as Eren extends his hand out to you, and the two of you walk to the other side of the room. You eye the blood on Eren’s hand, all Ricky’s you’re sure, as Eren stops at the table and starts filling the cups with the lemonade. 

“We need a drink.” Eren states. 

“That’s what got you pissed off, Eren? When he started talking bad on my name?” you mumble. 

“I love your name.” Eren defends. 

You smile. 

“Though, I always felt like it’s missing something.” Eren adds. 

You roll your eyes. 

“And what’s that, huh?” 

“My last name.” Eren responds. 

Eren watches as a blush creeps over your cheeks and try not to laugh when you mutter something that sounds an awful lot like fuck you under your breath as he passes you one of the glasses of lemonade. Which is right when Lana comes up and snatches the glass from his hand and slams it down on the table. 

“Are you a fucking idiot, Eren?” Lana seethes. 

“What?” Eren responds, giving her an annoyed shrug back as he takes the glass back and hands you one. 

“You promised, Eren.” Sukuna responds. 

“You two can get your panties out of a twist. I didn’t break any promises.” 

“Do you think I’m blind, Eren?” Lana asks. 

Eren rolls his eyes, as he leans down, bringing his face closer to Lana’s. It’s the same thing that Colt does to you – on the rare occasions that he’s able to prove you wrong. 

“You made me promise that if Ricky said anything about Teddy or you, I wouldn’t say anything. And Sukuna made me promise that if Ricky said anything about him, I wouldn’t do anything, because it would upset you.” Eren states. 

That’s why he didn’t say anything. 

“Our princess over here didn’t force me to make any promises like that. So the second he called her sloppy seconds, I did what I had to do.” Eren responds. 

Lana’s eyes widen, as she turns her head to you. 

“What a dick. Are you okay?” Lana asks. 

“I’m fine. He said worse about you guys, I wanted to punch him myself.” 

Eren smiles, as he leans down to look at you. 

“Too bad. He’s getting escorted out on his ass now, so you lost your chance.” Eren responds, pointing towards the door. 

And surely enough, the security are taking him out with his hands secured behind his back – no thanks to the obscene screaming he’s doing – while Hyla looks maybe the most irritated you’ve ever seen before. She spares you one last glance, to which you and Eren respond with glimmering smiles, before she walks out. 

Lana gestures towards the bathrooms as Eren follows, presumably to wash his hands, leaving you and Sukuna by the table, nursing the little glasses of lemonade in your hands. And wordlessly, you extend your glass out to Sukuna – and thank your lucky stars that he understands – as he pulls the little flask from the pocket and pours it into your drink and then his. 

“Eren’s been waiting for that one.” Sukuna states. 

“I’m shocked you haven’t.” you respond. 

“Maybe before. But you know, with the kid, you have to be a good role model and all that. Plus, I hate when Lana lectures me because she gets really mean.” 

You snort. 

“I’d be scared of her too.” you respond. 

“Speaking of scared, how many drinks until he falls off?” Sukuna asks, pointing to the left. 

You follow his line of vision to find Yuuji standing on top of the bar, tie loosely hanging around his neck and pink in the face with Satoru, as he sings along to the music playing from the speakers. 

“Which one are you talking about? I think they’re both well past that point.” you respond. 

“Yuuji, obviously. I’m going to stop him before he ends up on a headline.” Sukuna responds. 

“You have fun with that. I’ll watch from over here.” you respond, as Sukuna walks away. 

When you scan the room for Ethan Cole, you find that he’s already looking at you. You give him a polite wave, positive that whatever Eren just did with Ricky James must have swayed him some type of way, as you lean back against the edge of the table. And the table dips slightly under you, nearly making you spill the glass of lemonade, when you find Scott Clarkson leaning against at your side, his beady eyes fixed on you. 

“Y/N. It’s nice to see you.” 

“I’m so glad you were finally able to learn my name.” you respond.  

Scott clicks his tongue in his cheek, before extending his hand out to shake it at you. You begrudgingly oblige, skin curling with disgust as he presses a kiss to your knuckles, and leans back. 

“I’ll admit, I had you pegged all wrong in the beginning. But I’m sure that you can understand, it can be so hard to trust new and upcoming talent like that when you run a big company.” 

“Yeah, I’m sure.” you deadpan. 

“I think we should let bygones be bygones. I even think that we could be useful to one another. If you really wanted full ownership of your albums back, I could get it for you. Just a few movies, here and there, and they’d be back in your hands.” 

You feel your throat dry. 

“What did you just say to me?” 

“I’m sure you know I am well acquainted with Danny and Sareen. I’m sure I could persuade them, after a little give and take.” 

You thank the heavens that the stylists had stacked each of your fingers with a perfect set of silver rings. You sure it made it hurt even more when you slapped him across the face. 

“You have some nerve, you asshole. Don’t even think about-” 

You feel a set of arms on your biceps, squeezing hard, as you turn your head to find Levi at your side. You shake your head, turning back to Scott, who no whas a group of people around him, inspecting the red mark you’ve left on his cheek. 

“Levi. Fucking, get off.” 

“This is not the time for this. You and Eren are leaving, you’ve had too much to drink.” Levi responds, pushing you out into the cold air outside the hall and near the taxi. 

Eren’s leaning against the car door and he quickly jumps up at the sound of your voice, meeting Levi at your side. 

“Did you hit him, Y/N? They’re saying that you hit him.” 

“I slapped him.” 

Eren pinches his mouth into a line. 

“Did he hit back?” Eren asks. 

“What? No. Levi started yanking me off of him before I could get another one in.” 

Eren passes Levi a thankful smile, before ducking your head into the taxi, and tuning back into your rambling. 

“He’s such a dick. He fucking had that coming, trying to offer me a career like I don’t know who he is and what he fucking does. Like really, even down to being an opportunist, does he really think I care about my album that was already stolen from me over all of my friends? Over you? I think he’s a psychopath and we didn’t even get to solidify the deal with Ethan Cole or-” 

“Okay, Y/N. Relax. It’s-” 

“We have to do something to get his attention. Something crazy. I have an idea but…you have to follow my lead, okay?” 

Eren’s slightly hesitant. Only because he can tell that you really are tipsy from the light pink tint in your cheeks and the way that you’re shaking your legs. But he hates to tell you no, especially when you’re staring at him so expectantly, waiting for an answer. 

And when you drag Eren into a sweaty tattoo parlor, Eren realizes that maybe you’re well past tipsy. 

“I technically picked what we did last time, Eren. So it’s your turn. Just make sure it’s something like…fucking crazy. Like iconic.” 

Eren has an idea. But he can’t say it. Because you can’t possibly get that tattooed. And he’s sure that it’s showing on his face, because now you’re giving him an excited smile, jumping up and down on your feet waiting for him to tell. 

“Oh my god. What is it? Tell me right now.” 

“Uh. The moon and the ocean.” Eren responds. 

You frown. 

“We already basically have that as a tattoo, Eren. With the fish? And I can tell that’s not what you were going to say.” you respond. 

Eren sighs. 

“Y/N. It’s too much.” 

“Nothing’s too much! Come on, it’s you and me that we’re talking about. We got fucking matching tattoos when we were like eighteen and released songs about quite literally fucking each other on the same day! We can get a crazy tattoo!” 

“You’re so crass when you’re drunk, Y/N.” 

“The word Levi used was homicidal.” you respond. 

Eren sighs, as he tells you his idea, and watches your face light up. And after the fact, Eren can’t help but feel like he’s on top of the world.

Because for a second time now – the two of you are running down the streets, bathed in the dim lamplight and laughing into the night. Matching tattoos of each other’s names on the inside of your lips, a confession on the tips of your tongues like you were two soulmates destined to be together.

That’s the moment you’re able to coin it. 

You’re head over heels in love with Eren Jaeger. Again. Maybe even worse, more desperately than the first time.

And as the perfect cherry on top, Ethan Cole sends you a message confirming the deal the following morning.

--

--

next part linked here

an: are you catching my hint for the songs in our next chapter.....which is an AWARDS SHOW CHAPTER ARE WE READY. and don't worry....scott clarkson and danny/sareen welcome to your tape...this next chapter is for you

(pls tell me someone gets the pussy joke that megumi made and that im not just horrendously chronically online)

taglist: @k0z3me @kayleegomez @yihona-san06  @bsenpai @sweetenertea @mykyoon @violetmatcha  @rebeccawinters @cutiejg @bokutosthings @bookwrmm @mblrrr @wheredidmycrowngo @somethinginyoureyes7 @chilichopsticks @okaystopwhore @you-always-made-me-blush @itzmeme @firelordazulaaa @whoami-72 @g-ghostly @intimacywithceline @erensmoodygf @cocomellxn @princess-ackerman @jaegerfiles @cacapeepee @rui-0836 @moonmalice @invisible-mori @sofiasber @bbybeeb @timetobegone @tee4str @ttokki2 @leave-rae-alone @ec3lipsy @officialsimpp @gojojang @yookayyo @lordbugs @multiplefandomthings @iobeyfandoms @camilo-uwu @justanotherkpopstanlol @mel-star636

[serafilms]

song 13! about you (the 1975) + jason todd requested by @harleycao (spotify wrapped event)

there was something ‘bout you that now i can’t remember, it’s the same damn thing that made my heart surrender

Jason’s memories of you have gotten fuzzier since coming back from the dead. This is strange, alarming almost, considering that when he first woke from his eternal slumber, the only word he could remember from his past was your name.

Y/N.

He had the faintest memory of your face, the smile that curved, but nothing more. When he took up a new life as the Red Hood, his past had returned to him, and with it all the details of you. Your name, face, aspirations, favourite book, the way you smelled. But as his anger grew, as he leaned further into his life as a vigilante, further into his resentment of Batman, his thoughts of you became less clear.

The image of your face seems distorted now. Your smile has twisted into nothing. He can no longer remember why you liked the things you did, nor can he pinpoint the scent he once knew so well.

He loved you. He knows that much. But why?

The snow on his shoulders is shaken off as he uses his grappling hook to launch himself atop a building. He crouches on top of it and tries to ignore the memory of Batman perching by his side. Old habits die hard, he supposes. But he's not the boy he used to be.

Still, some part of his old self lingers beneath the surface, in that fuzzy echo of you. And he's determined to find out the reason, even if it crushes every ounce of his soul. It can't get much worse, anyway, he thinks.

He's already done his research. He knows your address, license plate number, university and major. He knows that at this time of night, you'll have gotten back from work and probably be making dinner in your apartment. In the building that he's sitting across from right now.

He counts out the windows. Seventh floor, third from the left. One, two, three. He can see light from some of the windows of the building, but his angle provides no view to the apartments inside. he'll have to go over. He stands.

Then, he hesitates. Because for as much time as he's spent thinking about you and trying to find you, he never planned what to do when he has. What even is his goal? To ruin your life by bringing up bad memories? To ruin his own life by seeing the one you've built without him? Something digs into the crevices of his chest painfully.

No, he thinks, I just want to see how you are.

He steels himself and swings across to the building. He counts as he goes – one, two, three. The curtains are shut so he can only see his reflection, but the fourth window, where your living room would be, is ajar, light streaming out into the dark of the night.

Glancing into the window next to him (your bedroom, he thinks), He almost flinches. He'll never get used to the glowing green of his eyes, which serves as yet another reminder that he's not the same boy he used to be, because that boy is as good as dead. He wonders for a moment if you would recognise him. He pushes the thought aside.

He inches closer to the open window until he's right beside the opening. His breath turns shallow knowing that you're so close, and he feels his heart hammering in his chest, so quickly and painfully that he's sure it's going to burst out.

He hears feet shuffling inside the room and freezes. His heart hammers in his chest and he wills himself to stay silent.

The footsteps grow nearer and he sees a shadow forming on the windowsill until he knows you're standing at it. So close. You're so close.

He tries to move away a little so you won't see him, but as his foot makes contact with the side of the building, there's a scuffling sort of knock against the brick. He watches with bated breath as your shadow wavers.

Then, he hears it.

"Jason?"

Your question comes out as a whisper, but he hears it and it's so clearly you, and his stomach lurches.

Something tugs at his heart, and he feels himself moving towards you, as if he's being pulled along by some invisible string.

Then, he's at your window, pulling it open higher and looking at you.

He sees your face, more defined than he remembers. Your hair is less messy, and your eyes are more tired. But he knows it's you and all of a sudden his heart is clenching and contracting like it hasn't known what it's like to beat properly until it saw you. It's been stagnant all these years, he knows, and as he rakes his eyes over your face, he can't help but climb through the window urgently, taking off his helmet and mask as he does. He's afraid that you were never real, and that you'll slip from his mind again; he's afraid because his heart is finally remembering what it feels like to love you.

The shock on your face isn't as profound as he thought it would be. Your expression twists, as if you're going through a range of emotions. Surprise, confusion, recognition, grief, contemplation.

"Jason," you say. It's no longer a question.

He nods.

You stare at him for a moment, then you step closer and your arms wrap around him.

Jason's heart feels tender in his chest, as he wraps his arms hesitantly around you as well. You fit well together, and it feels more natural than he expected, to slot his head in the space next to yours. He inhales slowly and a tear slides down his cheek.

"You remember me," he mutters.

You hold him closer and Jason feels warm, alive for the first time since his death. "How could I forget?"

something of a sequel to my hope ur ok drabble!!! loosely inspired by percy only remembering annabeth in the lost hero

[auteurdelabre]

Code Broken (4/5) SERIES dark!Joel x f!reader

Summary: After your last horrible interaction with Joel you run into him months later. Things don't go as expected.

Rating: 18+ (

Word Count: 3.2

Warnings: This is a very dark!Joel fic with lots of dubious consent. Yes, the f!reader gets into it eventually but I believe y'all can see how its dubious. Unprotected p in v sex, coming on v, semi-public sex, desk sex, rough sex.

---------------------

Chapter 4: I will Survive

You barely make it through the night. 

You've begun packing, throwing your clothes into a duffel before the sun cracks through the sky.

For the next two months you stay at Trish's. In her guest room that will soon become the babies room. It's decorated in blues and greens and feels peaceful.

You tell her that your home needs repairs. That you need somewhere to stay. Cliff is so kind to you, never making you feel like a burden. 

"When do you think the repairs will be done?" Trish asks you one morning, sounding strained and you can tell your visit is rapidly becoming overstayed. 

"Funny you mention that, because it's actually finished tomorrow," you chirp happily. "Just found out." 

Despite the community's size you haven't run into Joel. You overheard rumors that he has left for a few months on some mission with Tommy, but you never care to check the veracity. 

You don't care. You never want to see Joel Miller again. 

///

It's April before you do.

He's returned after months away. He looks leaner, his hair longer, it curls at the back. You catch him leaving his house just as your walking up to yours. 

You both lock eyes and go still. He blinks rapidly, his mouth parting slightly when all of a sudden you hear Tess call your name and you flinch. 

She gives you a short wave which you return weakly before she walks up to Joel with a strained smile. 

You dart into the house, feeling Joel's eyes on you the whole time. 

////

When you have Trish over one night and she sees Joel walking into his house she tells you that Tess and Joel aren't together anymore. 

"She's with some guy across town," Trish tells you as she strokes her swollen belly one night over at your place. "Has been for a while. Does patrols with him."

You realize it only took so long to notice because you willed yourself not to think about that house or its inhabitants. 

"Makes more sense to me than grumpy ever did," Trish says with a wave towards his place. 

You nod but Trish has adopted a frown and her eyeline is wet. Ever since she's been pregnant she's been more emotional. 

"But now he's all alone again."

'"Maybe he deserves it," you answer tightly.  

///

In early June there's an unexpected heat wave that has all sorts of insects popping up. 

You talk with your coworkers and they tell you the horses will need blankets to keep them protected. Midges, one of the women tell you. Midges are horrible for those baby foals.

You're in charge of delivering them that warm afternoon, your hair sticking to your temples as you round the barn. 

Markus is there tethering some of the horses. He smiles when he sees you arrive, waving and ushering you into the large office to cool down.

It’s nice in here, a large desk and window with chairs that smell like fresh pine. They must have been carved here because they are so ornate, so delicate to have been moved from place to place.

"I like your dress," Markus offers with a shy smile as he passes you the metal water bottle he carries everywhere. You take a grateful sip before pushing it back to him.

"Oh," you thank him, fingering the skirt of the dress with its warm butter yellow color and sweet hand embroidered daisies. You motion to the blankets in your arms. 

"Just dropping these off before I head home."

"Perfect," Markus takes some of the pile from you gratefully. "The new babies are gonna love 'em. The midges are brutal this year."

"Happy to help."

Another figure strides into the building, shaking the bag his shoulder as he enters, speaking gruffly. 

"Fucking hot out there. Gonna need extra water for the foals. And something to cover 'em with."

It's Joel Miller. 

Of course it is. 

"Good timing," Markus laughs in Joel's direction before motioning to you standing there with the blankets in your arms. "She just brought a bunch of blankets for them."

Joel stills as his focus moves to include you. He holds himself stiffly, trying not to draw attention to his sudden behavioral anomaly. You're hidden behind Markus, not wanting to be seen by Joel. 

"Uh, Nightshade needs to be tied up," Joel finishes lamely, his words drifting off when he sees how close you are to Markus. 

"Already done."

Joel glances at the bundle of blankets that are still in your arms then casts a sharp look at your face. You drag your eyes away, forcing them to Markus.

“Thanks for the water.”

Joel moves into the cramped office in the back of the building, his wide shoulders flexing under his t-shirt as he goes. You do your best not to follow his frame as it leaves. 

"It's nice to talk to ya,' Markus says, turning back to face you. "Feels like it's been a while. Miss us all hangin' out."

You see Joel stopping at the door of the office, reaching to grab something on the wall. You try your best to ignore him.

Despite the fact that Markus and you aren't dating, you realize it must not look that way to Joel. 

"Same here." You feel your pulse picking up a bit. "I'm happy the baby is here safe and healthy. Just not happy that it came so early we didn't have a proper send off party."

"There's always the wedding next month," Markus suggests. "You better save me a dance."

You can feel Joel's glare from here. 

"Only if you don't mind being seen in public with the worst dancer in Jackson City," you laugh. Your voice is cheery and you're smiling warmly, but the chill of Joel's glare is going through you. 

You make a move to leave, anxious to be away from him. But Markus taps you gently on the wrist, forcing your attention back.

"I wanted to know if you were around for a drink tonight." Markus says abruptly, his voice lowered so Joel can't hear. 

He winds rope around his palm and bicep, looking to you expectantly. You're confused at the intensity in Markus' face.

"Should we invite -"

"Just you and me."

His reply surprises you. After the incident in your bedroom with Markus back in December you two haven't been alone together. Haven't spoken about it and that's suited you just fine. 

You'd just thought about it as a onetime fling for the both of you. But judging by the way Markus' gaze is drifting down your body he's hoping for a repeat performance. And why not? You're both single, both attractive. Why shouldn't you give into those carnal desires? 

"I thought maybe we could hang out at your place after," Markus says softly. "Only if you want."

You feel your cheeks pink at the confirmation. You can see Joel in your peripherals busying himself. You wonder how much he's heard and then decide you hope he's heard it all. Fuck him. 

"Sure. I'd love to." 

"Yeah?" Markus looks both relieved and excited. "Pick you up at eight?"

"Sounds great."

"Markus!" Joel barks sharply from inside his office. "Last time I checked animals die when they're dehydrated."

Markus ducks his head bashfully. "Sorry Joel! On it!"

You watch him give a pleased smile that rouges his cheeks as be begins filling up the water pails. Markus moves past you out into the stables, the door shutting behind him. 

Then it's just you and Joel. He's in the office writing, you can hear the scratch of the old ballpoint. You consider just leaving but you hate how he just treated Markus. And if you don't stop it now, it'll just continue. 

You march into his office with the bundle of blankets. 

"Couldn't give them water yourself?"

"It's his job," Joel replies. 

"You know what I mean." Your tone is cool and even. "Shouting at him like that? Ordering him around?"

"I wasn't. You must be reading into things. You're good at that." He lets the pen fall onto the desk at that. "You're not actually going out with him are you?"

"Why do you care?" 

Any amusement in Joel's eyes is gone. "Gonna let him fuck you?" 

You bite back a scathing comment and instead you throw the bundle of blankets you've been holding onto his desk. His notes go fluttering everywhere. 

"Tell the group if you need more," you spit. "I'll get Mary to drop them off next time."

Joel's cheeks have gone red, his jaw ticking at her clenches his teeth. You knew messing up his desk would piss him off and you're pleased. But his eyes aren't hard, they're impossibly heated and they're trailing over your dress, exposed now that you've dropped the fabric onto his desk. 

You can almost hear the sound of his brain buffering when he realizes what you're wearing. 

The yellow sundress with embroidered daisies. And you’re taken back to months ago, standing outside the Tipsy Bison with Joel looking uncharacteristically earnest as he spoke.

“Do you remember what you were wearin’ that night?”

“No”

“Dress. Yellow with little flowers. You could see your tits through the fabric, hard nipples 'n all. You kept bumping into me, your skin all smooth. I couldn't stay there beside you the whole movie. Not when you looked like that. Not when all I could think about was fucking you.”

You don't have enough time to react. He rises up from behind his desk, stalking in your direction before he kicks the door behind you closed.  

"Joel what-"

He large hands go to your shoulders and he brings down the straps of your dress harshly, tugging the top down and freeing your naked breasts to the air. You gasp.

"I was mad at myself for wantin' you so bad. Wanted to punish you for makin’ me want you.”

Your nipples crinkle under his tongue, his hands cupping your breasts, kneading them between licks and sucks to those straining nubs. 

Anything you were about to say is erased. Gone from your mind and replaced with the sensation of Joel's mouth on you. He sucks, tongue laving at you as shots of electricity pull through your body, tugging at your navel.

Your hand is at the back of his neck, tangled in his curls, urging him to take more. To suck and taste and lick. You tilt your head back, exposing the column of your throat. 

But then he stretches and takes you by the elbow, whirling you around to face away from him. With a sharp movement he clears his desk completely, sending blankets and paper and pens sailing to the ground before bending you over it. 

He bunches your dress up to your hips before tugging down your panties. 

"You're fucking cruel," Joel grunts and you can hear him fumbling with his belt buckle and zipper. You know he's not going to be patient when you feel his cock being slotted against the seam of your cunt. 

"You knew what you were doing," he grunts as he thrusts up into you causing your body to jolt. "You knew the minute you put on that dress."

You moan by way of reply because right now he feels so fucking good. He's got one hand braced between your shoulder blades, holding you down and propping your ass at an angle so you can best take his cock through your swollen and dripping folds. 

He feels so right between your thighs and you never want him to stop. You don't care that he's a bastard. You want him, you need him. 

"Tried to make me feel bad all those months," Joel is mumbling through hisses of pleasure. "Acted like you didn't want me."

"I didn’t"

"Well she did," Joel growls, sliding his fingers over your clit. Tingles shoot their way through your entire body. 

You moan at the desire clouding his voice like smoke. You’re nodding, gasping "Yes" over and over like a prayer. 

"You let me taste paradise and took it away," Joel growls as he fucks you. "Ignored me. Let me believe you didn't want me."

"I don't want you," you gasp, your cheek biting into the wood of the table.

“Yeah you do," Joel says as he licks his lips. "Otherwise you wouldn't be here letting me fuck you on my desk with a pussy so wet she's already left a puddle."

"I'm not --"

"If you hated this you wouldn't be tryin' to keep quiet so your little boyfriend doesn't hear me fucking you."

"Not my b-boyfriend," you argue without power behind your words. You don't care about Markus. All you care about is coming on Joel's cock. 

"Good ,"Joel rasps, pulling at your hair and causing you to arch back off the table. "Cuz he hasn't been fucking you right. Maybe he needs some lessons on satisfying you because I know how much you love taking cock." 

You're trying to formulate a reply but you're boneless, your body jolting with every thrust. He feels so good, his fingers working your clit as he slams into you. He's nudging your feet apart with his boots so he can fuck you deeper. 

"Or maybe I'll just get you to make deliveries here every week," Joel grunts into your ear, his hips slapping into your ass loudly. "Then I'll make you suck my cock under my desk while I have a meeting with your boyfriend. How does that sound?"

You're moaning at the thought of it. You hate that this taboo acknowledgement is turning you on so much. 

"You like that?" Joel is pounding you harder now, his movements severe. His hips snack against your bare ass as you take his cock deeper. The desk jumps a little with each thrust. 

"You like the idea of bein' fucked in secret, pretty eyes? My dirty little secret?"

The pleasure of his words and his cock is rolling you over the edge. He feels so perfectly there filling you so wonderfully. He’s jerked you back to him, his tongue licking at the pulse of your neck.

"You locked your window," Joel rasps, nipping your chin. "Why’d you keep it locked?"

"I was mad at you," you answer through grunts. 

"Liar," Joel hisses at you, his cock thrusting in and out, grazing your clit. He forces you back over the desk, bending and accommodating his girth as his hips shifts against the meat of your ass. "Tell the truth."

"I was . .. scared."

"Of what."

"Of you."

A swift palm comes to strike your ass cheek. Not hard, not painful, but surprising. 

"Truth," is all he says before his palm rubs over where he slapped. He's pulling you back against his cock, fucking you still. 

"I was afraid Tess-"

Another smack to your ass. "Try again."

"People breaking in -"

Another smack. And another one when you try another lie. 

"Cuz if I left it unlocked I knew you were gonna use it," you finally admit, your face flushed and your eyes wet. "And I wasn't gonna be able to say no."

"There we go," Joel soothes, rubbing his palm along your flanks. His thumb comes to your chin, tilting your head back so your eyes are on him. "You want me to use it, don't you?"

"No," you lie, your hips moving in tandem with his. You're close, so close to that bliss.. 

"Fucking liar," Joel growls lowly. 

Then he pulls from you viciously and you cry out, immediately missing the sensation. He whirls you around to face him before shoving you up onto the desk. He steps between your parted thighs with your legs on either side of his hips and his cock is slipping into you again. You hold his shoulders, bouncing against him and biting your lip to keep from moaning. 

"You walk around in this fucking dress, throwing yourself anyone but me?" Joel is panting as he glares down at you, his thumb circling the pearl of your clit as you arch against him. "I already told you this cunt is mine. No one fucks it but me."

"Not yours-" you're slurring. 

"She's mine, baby" Joel assures you, pulling out savagely and then realigning himself up at you entrance. "Just look how she takes me."

You hate yourself for looking, but you do. You look down the length of your body and watch as Joel's beautiful cock slides into you. Its wet and thick and so fucking gorgeous. But it's Joel's eyes, his big beautiful blackened eyes half-lidded and smirking down at you that has you squirming with pleasure.

"Joel," you whimper. "Feels..."

"Feels good, doesn't it?"

His voice so soft and smooth. You nod, your body jerking with every deep thrust.

"Cuz this cunt is mine, isn't she, pretty eyes?"

You nod again. 

"You gonna let that boy touch my cunt?"

You shake your head. 

"Gonna let him fuck your mouth?"

Another shake of your head.

"Use your words."

"Only you."

He smiles serenely at you, his hips shifting and circling. He extends this pleasure, watching your face as you groan out his name, your eyes rolling into the back of your head. 

"Atta girl," Joel coos. 

Your body is tingling as your orgasm hits through you like a warm bath, spreading through every part of your body, making you tremble and whimper, making a mess where the two of you remained joined, Joel’s cock still. 

"Oh yes, baby," Joel croons as he watches you spasm on his cock. "Feels so good doesn't it? I always know how to make you feel good."

When you come down he pulls himself out with a long grunt and begins to stroke himself in earnest. 

"Where do you want it?"

Still panting you look up at Joel with a dazed smile. He watches you lean back until you're laying with your spine flush on the desk. You spread your legs for him there, putting yourself on full display for him. 

He makes a low groaning noise, murmuring about her can't wait to taste you again as you're sliding your palm down your abdomen, your second and middle finger coming to part the glistening lips of your pussy to him. You look up at him through your lashes, smiling. 

"There?" Joel chokes out, his eyes fixed on the delicious sight of your soaking cunt exposed lascivious for him. 

"Yeah," you say with a sigh, tilting back. "Right there."

"F-fuck-k," he chokes out, his eyes fixed between your legs. "She wants my come."

"She does," you whimper, parting your thighs further.  

Joel's hand is a blur, pumping and circling. 

"Mark my pussy with your come, Joel." You beg, your hands pressing your thighs open to the desk. "She's yours."

He gives out a garbled grunt as he comes, thick ropes hitting your thighs and cunt, decorating you with his spend as you murmur your desire for more and more.

He's panting above you, one hand still braced on the desk. He watches you laying there looking up at the ceiling with a small smile on your face. 

With one of the blankets he cleans you up the best he can, tucking himself away and then he grins, reaching for you and pulling you to sit atop the desk. He's still in the vee of your legs but he brings your dress down, covering you. 

You look at him questioningly. This is usually the part where he leaves. The silence. Instead his eyes are warm and one of his hands comes to cup your cheek.

"So perfect," he says moving his face towards yours. You know he's about to kiss you and you tilt away from him. You two don’t kiss. Not really. He looks irritated until he sees the tears gathered along your lash line. 

Joel's other hand goes to cup your other cheek and he gently cranes your face towards his. 

“What’s the matter?”

“I’m horrible,” you whisper, sniffling.

"How are you horrible?"

"Because I don't do things like this," you explain through sniffling. "I don't have sex with perfectly nice guys in windows so other guys can jerk off to it. I don't let strangers fuck my mouth and come on me and then have them go down on me and act don't care if I see them again. I don’t hate someone and then let them fuck me like this. I don't fuck men in relationships."

"I'm not with-"

"But you were and we did."

"It was my fuck up," Joel tells you in a rumble. "Not yours. You went along with it but I never shoulda done it. Not when I was with Tess, not when I knew how I felt about y-"

He stops abruptly seeing that you’re shaking your head, tears beginning in earnest. 

"Pretty eyes don't cry, please."

It's the first time he's used the nickname outside of a sexual activity between the two of you and it startles you to staring up at him. 

"Please," he all but whispers. He's so close you could count the freckles along his lean neck. 

"Stop," you insist, wrenching from him.

Joel stumbles back as you push him from you. You throw yourself from the table and stride from the room out into the barn, slamming the door before he can say another word.

[mika-no-sekai-blog]

Word count: 2400+

Warnings: language, mentions of trauma

I noticed that most of you aren't Tamlin's fans, but give him a chance😉

Part I | Part III

One day you woke up into gloomy morning, heavy rain drumming on the leaves behind the windows. You couldn't go out, so you cuddled down with a blanket into your favourite armchair in front of the fireplace with cracking wood in it. Slowly sipping fragrant tea you dived into a book laid on your lap.

After the beast was gone your life returned to its normal. You spent your days taking walks in the forest, picking up herbs, fishing and collecting berries and mushrooms to eat. You still thought about the beast, of course you did, but after all it was his decision to leave. All you could do was hope that there's somebody who would check on his wound, making sure it healed properly.

Suddenly front door burst open harshly and the beast broke in. He was soaked, water dripping on the floor. But the sudden invasion wasn't what scared you the most. It was the beast's expression. He looked so wild, so dangerous, so angry, the rows of sharp fangs bared, his angry eyes sizing you. Huge body filled small space of cottage, sucking out all the air.

Your fingers clenching tighter around the mug, was the only sign of fear you allowed yourself. Maybe after all, they were right saying the High Lord went crazy. There's no other explanation to this. You looked straight into the green eyes with gold flecks waiting, leaving the first move to him.

He growled, the sound full of rage and pain shook the walls. He began to pad around, the dagger-like claws had left scratches on the wooden floor. You were watching him with bated breath.

After few minutes he came to you, sitting down he pressed his wolf's head to your knees and exhaled deeply.

"I'm sorry," he muttered. "I didn't know where else to go."

"It's okay," you breathed out swallowing hard. You could still feel his rage seeping from his body.

"And I'm sorry for the door. I'll repair it." You looked to the remains of what used to be the front door. The spicy smell of magic filled the air and the debris disappeared immediately replaced by new door.

"Thank you," you whispered still clenching the mug. Even thought he seemed to be calmer now, you could sense bad mood hadn't left him yet. Your eyes fell to the side where he had been wounded. "I see you healed."

"Yes, all thanks to you and that tea you gave me." He didn't offer any explanation of why he disappeared without a word, so you wouldn't ask more about it. You sat silently in that strange position for a while, not sure which topic was safe to take out.

"Is.. everything alright?" you tried your luck, hoping he wouldn't bite your head off.

"No," he answered simply and you could sense new surge of anger building in him. "She looked so satisfied..so happy next to that bastard. As if she was laughing right in my face and saying: he fucks me better than you. He even made me his.." He abruptly halted, probably thinking he said too much.

But you already knew who he really was. You suspected it before and today his words just made you sure of it. You swallowed hard. There wasn't much you could say to that without revealing you knew his true identity. So you decided it's better to remain silent.

The beast exhaled deeply and closed his eyes. "Would you mind if we stay like this for a while?" he asked, voice full of pain and resignation.

"No, I don't mind it," you offered small smile. And so you sat there in silence with beast's head rested on your legs. The fire in the hearth crackled, raindrops drummed on windows and roof and the wind blew through the treetops.

Lost in your thoughts you watched beast's slowly drying fur while sipping your tea. Reaching out your fingers gently ran over the soft fur. The beast tensed under your touch and holding breathe cracked his eyes open. Only then you realized what you had done.

"I'm so sorry," you quickly untangled fingers from fur. "I didn't mean.."

"It's okay," he interrupted you. "I.. like..it.."

It's so surprising, you weren't sure what to do. Was it permission to continue? Hesitantly you touched him, gently scratching soft fur between the antlers. He purred lowly and shut eyes closed. Heat consumed your cheeks. Treating High Lord as some pet. How rude. You couldn't believe your own audacity. Thankfully nobody else saw that. Your fingers slid down behind his ear.

Shiver ran down his spine and startled he sat up, breaking off contact. His unusual green eyes locked with yours. Some strange energy surged between you and then he blinked and it was gone.

Turning his gaze to the fire, he cleared his throat. "Don't you...have more of the tea? It smells nice."

"Oh, sure," you babbled, accepting the way out he'd offered you so generously.

While you were pouring tea to the bowl, you could feel his intensive gaze. He didn't stop even when you returned back and offered him the tea.

"Thank you," he mumbled. Both of you sat and drank your teas, silence was stretching. When it was clear he didn't want to talk anymore, you picked up your book, found where you left off and started to read.

It was almost dinner time. The beast was lying in front of the fireplace fast asleep. His gentle snoring and unceasing rain were the only sounds in the darkening room. You put the book aside. Lighting candles along the way you stalked to the kitchen to prepare something to eat.

The beast didn't make even slightest move, but you knew he's awake. When food was on the table you hesitantly stepped to his side and touched his shoulder. He looked up at you.

"Come and eat something," you invited him. Obediently he followed you to table and sat down across from you. Sitting on the floor he was still taller than you. Looking down on you he watched as you took first bite. Only then he started to eat too. He finished in no time and liking his muzzle looked at plates on the table.

"Would you like some more?" you asked him.

He stiffened slowly looking up at you. "No, I'm fine." Lie. You could not only see, but also hear his hunger. You smirked, took his plate and put another portion of food on it.

"Don't be shy to tell you are hungry." He hesitantly nodded and started to eat.

When you finished, you began to clean table and dishes while he watched you with interest. "I wonder why you don't use your magic. It could be done in no time."

"I have no powers," you snorted amused.

"But you do have some," he insisted. "I can feel it. Especially when you make tea, medicines or cook."

"You must be wrong," you tried to laugh it off nervously. "I don't—can't.."

"Believe me. I can sense quite great power from you. Even now. It's suppressed, but it's there. You're on the same level as any High Fae."

"Can we just stop talking about it?" you asked him. You felt uneasy. Any mention of your magic made you feel so since you could remember. You didn't know why, anything that happened before you started to live in this cottage, was blurred. You didn't know where you came from, who you were or who your parents were. You only knew you didn't want to find out. All this magic talk made you feel nauseous. "I'm going to take some logs for fire," you announced, needing to get out of there. You didn't wait for his reaction. You needed fresh chilly air immediately.

His eyes narrowed as you rushed out into the dark. He noticed your pale face, but decided not to mention this topic anymore. Obviously there was something about it that bothered you. You didn't push him about his inner wounds, you didn't demand any explanations and he would do the same.

You didn't know how long you were sitting under the tree in the dark cold forest pressing your hands to ears, rocking back and forth. Screaming female's voice echoed in your mind. No doubt it was something you witnessed in the past, some lost memory, but you didn't want to know what it meant. You only wanted it to stop.

When you finally regained your usual composure, you took few logs and returned to cottage. The beast was again lying in front of the hearth. He looked up at you. "Everything okay?"

"Perfectly fine," you put logs away and sat down to your armchair. Suddenly realising how cold you were, you pulled up the blanket. The beast watched as you settled into the armchair and then put his head on the paws. The rest of the night you two spent in silence.

Three days passed since that day. You lived just as before. Only one thing changed - you weren't alone anymore.

The first day the beast stayed inside while you went on your regular walk, picking up herbs, mushrooms and berries, and fishing. He was probably bored all alone, because next day he joined you and went out with you. He was rather quiet companion, mostly just looking out for you while basking in the sun or helping you to carry the basket.

He was often lost in thoughts. Something bothered him, but he wouldn't say a single word. You didn't ask about it either. You just made sure he knew you were there if he needed.

Today wasn't different. You were sitting on the bank of small lake fishing while the beast was lying on large rock nearby, watching you out of habit.

"Don't you hunt?" he asked you suddenly.

You shook head. "I don't. I couldn't possibly kill an animal. I feel sick to even think about hurting small mouse."

He made a sound that remotely resembled the laughter. "You are really a vicious witch."

You frowned at him. "There's nothing wrong with it."

"No, it isn't," he agreed, his voice playful. It was the first time he had such good mood since you met him. For some reason it warmed your heart and you smiled too. "Have you ever eaten meat except of fish?"

"To be honest I don't know. I don't remember my life before I came to this forest," you admitted.

"Why?" he asked carefully.

"I don't know," you shrugged.

"Did you try to remember or search for someone to help you?"

You bit on your lower lip and shook your head. "I feel that it's better not to know."

"I see," he turned back to the lake, putting this conversation to the end. He wanted to know more, but it seemed to be dangerous topic. You were already pale enough.

For the rest of the day he stayed silent seemingly thinking about something. His good mood disappeared which was a pity. You quite liked that change and his teasing.

After the dinner he sat down in front of you, resolution in his green eyes.

"There's—there's something I should tell you.."

You patiently waited for his next words, giving him an encouraging smile.

"I..I'm not beast," he breathed out, watching you carefully, waiting for your reaction.

"I know. You have human eyes," you said calmly and took a sip of tea.

"You are really special," his mouth widened into something similar to the smile, but more wild, eyes shined brightly.

He looked at you, jaw tightening. "There is more.."

He inhaled deeply, those gleaming green eyes never leaving yours. His features started to change. You just sat there and watched. It took mere seconds, a flash of light and there was a young male kneeling in front of you only in ragged brown breeches. His golden hair were long, tangled and as dirty as the rest of his muscular body. Big silver scar on his ribs was the only proof he was the injured beast you saved.

On the first look he was High Fae, there's no doubt about it. His magic was so powerful your insides shivered. You couldn't take eyes off of him, lips slightly parted. Even under the layers of dirt he was still attractive. You'd already seen all kinds of fae males, but no one like him. Nobody was so handsome, so graceful. Nobody made your heart jump to your throat. You realized you were staring at him. Ashamed you looked down on your hands.

He nervously cleared his throat. "I'm.. Tamlin.." No titles. Okay, you could play along.

"Ehm, nice to meet you," you mumbled.

"I'm sorry for my messy appearance. It's quite some time since I.. you know.. I've spent several days in my animal form.."

"It's okay," you shyly took another sip of tea, so you didn't have to look at his broad chest.

He shakily inhaled. "Listen.. I know this is sudden, but.. the war is approaching. I had a peaceful time here to think things over, which I'm really grateful for.. but you have to go.. flee to another Court or maybe even to continent. This place won't be safe. If Prythian looses, this Court will be destroyed as first.."

Tamlin wanted to continue, but you stopped him. All feelings aside you found your balance once again and he could see why other Fae had avoided you. You were empty.

"I will not go anywhere," you stated coldly.

"It wasn't request," he matched your tone, anger building up in his voice, sharp claws slid out.

"You have no right to command me around. It's up to me if I want to leave or no." You spoke calmly, it wasn't in your nature to shout at others.

"Actually I.." Tamlin halted, biting down on his lower lip. "Do as you wish, you stubborn little thing. I warned you," he growled, stood up swiftly and without another word left.

You remained seated in your armchair grasping mug in your fingers. You understood his concern, but high lord or no he had no right to order you to leave your cottage, the only home you had ever known. This was your comfort zone and you couldn't even imagine life behind the borders of this forest.

You closed your eyes trying to calm down. You almost started to like him and his silent company. You didn't want to be angry at him. You didn't want to feel anything at all. Feelings were just troubles and troubles hadn't place in your life. And so you pushed and pushed until all of the feelings disappeared and you again felt yourself.

[eruden-writes]

Room & Board - Part 20 (Vampire x Reader x Werewolf)

paranormal fantasy vampire x human eventual triad (x werewolf)

Anonymous asked:

For the prompt submissions a vampire that feels guilty after feeding/attacking someone so they leave obscenely valuable ancient artifacts as payment/an apology?

Links under cut!

x x x x x

First | Previous | Masterlist | Next

x x x x x

In the end, Jemma’s location spell does the trick. Well, kind of. The enchantment leads you through paranormal markets under the city, finding the right people to interrogate. It turns out vampires have few friends in your city. People who seek out vampires are either signing their own death warrant or ready to stake a few of the arrogant bloodsuckers.

Either way, it wasn’t anyone else’s business. One lead turns into a dead end. Another has no substantial foundation. Yet another tries to extort money and goods out of you, which led to Jemma actually turning that informant into a toad. With each new bit of information, you’re all led further and further out of the city.

Eventually, weeks after Tabaeus left, a tip finally strikes solid and true.

Two states away from home, you sit in a rental car with Jemma, Ewan, Liuva and Bjarka at a late-night diner. Despite the time of night and the fact the building is shuttered up, the mall across the way from the diner is seemingly popular.

Even when you ask the waitress - Tess, she/her - if there’s an event going on over at the mall, she shoots you a puzzled look. When her eyes flick up to the window, you spot a glaze tinting her gaze as she informs you, “Nothing’s supposed to be happening over there. The old mall is about as dead as it ever is.”

Even as the waitress stares, you watch one group head into the allegedly abandoned building as others leave. Some are elegant, others are crude and punkish. Yet it seems Tess does not see or notice them.

As the waitress falls into her rehearsed spiel, you share a look with Ewan and Jemma. Tess doesn’t seem to acknowledge the dense air settling around your group as you all realize she - and likely the rest of the diner’s staff - is under some vampiric sway. You push the discomfort away before ordering.

Something burns in your chest. Tabaeus has to be nearby. This feels like the right place, but you have no reason beyond the smoldering in your chest. You never felt like this with any other lead before. Or maybe you’re just tired of searching, sick of getting your hopes up.

After you’ve finished your meal - saying nothing further of the mall to the staff - the three of you trudge to the parking lot.

“What’s the plan?” Ewan takes out his phone, swiping through random apps. It’s only when he points vaguely toward the highway that you realize he’s putting on a front for anyone potentially spying on you. His green eyes tilt toward you, uncharacteristic seriousness making his words sobering, “Are we heading in now or biding time?”

“We should bust in, magic blazing.” From the backseat, Jemma leans forward, her own phone in hand. She, too, has taken up Ewan��s ruse.

Unlike the other two, you don’t bother with a phone. Shaking your head, you fight the urge to flick your gaze back toward the mall. “I think we should be subtle.”

Silence settles over the car as Jemma and Ewan continue to look at their phones, their hands, you. Anywhere but directly at the mall. If anyone watched your little crew, they’d believe it wasn’t even on your radar, you think.

Finally, something glints in Jemma’s eyes as she meets your gaze, raising her eyebrows. “Don’t malls usually have skylights or vents on the roof?”

“They’ll hear us coming.” Another shake of your head. Besides, how would the three of you get up there without causing a commotion?

Ewan nods to the back where the imps-turned-sugar gliders sit with ethereal intelligence gleaming in their eyes. The two have been silent as potential plans have bounced around the car. Upon them being noticed, Bjarka and Liuvia exchange a look. Wordless communication flies between them until Bjarka nods and says, “We will do it for a pie.”

You frown at their little demand. “I thought you wanted Tabaeus back.”

“We do,” Liuvia says, but they smile in a way that reminds you they are supernatural, “But we also want pie. A strawberry rhubarb one.”

With a heavy sigh, you glance from the imps to Jemma and Ewan. They both return your look with mild amusement and shrug.

“Ugh fine,” you sigh as you open your door. “You could’ve said something when we were still inside.”

“You didn’t ask,” chirrups one of the imps, though you’re not sure which as the door closes. You trek back to the diner, still fighting the urge to look toward the mall. Despite your efforts to remain realistic, you can’t help but feel a little lighter. As if you were one step closer to a conclusion.

—

It’s early morning, just as the sun half climbs above the horizon line, when you decide to put your plan into action. Through a scrying mirror conjured up by Jemma, you watch as Bjarka and Liuvia embark toward the mall from the nearby woods you deposited them in the night previous. The two dart along the dwindling shadows as dawn rises. As squirrels, they easily scale the building and prance along the roof with light steps. They duck and bounce around, taking stock of their options as far as vents, grates, and skylights go.

As the imps decide their next course of action, the rest of you wait. Liuvia and Bjarka eventually pry a grate off a vent and clatter into the metal tunnel. The image on the mirror follows as they scurry through the twisty ventilation. The motion and lighting makes your stomach cramp, so you turn away.

You sit in the backseat with Jemma, who continues to watch the mirror, eyebrows furrowed. In the front, Ewan drives. Last night, after leaving the imps behind, the rest of you drove off and found a clearing to hunker down in for the night. Sleep hadn’t been easy and, now, exhaustion battles in your veins with mounting adrenaline as you near the mall again.

Your plan banks on the fact Lachlan and Tabaeus are different - older, stronger, more powerful - than the average vampire. That should make walking into the mall-turned-vampire-nest easier. Well, as long as Bjarka and Liuvia managed to unlock a door for you.

As Ewan pulls the car into the mall’s parking lot and settles the car in a spot close to the door, he turns to Jemma. “How’re the smallfries doing?”

“They can see us and they’re unlocking the door now,” Jemma answers and, with a wave of her hand, the scrying mirror fizzles off. She’s already climbing out of the car, stowing the mirror in her bag. Despite long conversations last night, Ewan and yourself weren’t able to dissuade the witch from coming along.

“Ready?” Ewan pops his door open, though he’s still turned toward you. Concern etches into his features, as if he’s on the brink of saying you didn’t have to come along. He could handle this, he could save Tabaeus in your place.

But he can’t. Something in you knows this. With a swallow, you nod and open your own door.

The trek into the mall is short and blessedly uneventful. There don’t appear to be any vampiric thralls or familiars standing guard. Perhaps it is hubris on Lachlan’s part, but you don’t dismiss the possibilities of guards or problems deeper inside the building.

Liuvia and Bjarka hitch a ride in Jemma’s bag as Ewan leads your group, with you smack in the middle. He tilts his face up, nose twitching. The barest of a transformation touches Ewan’s features. Some thicker hair, a slew of stubble, the vaguest shift of a nose becoming a snout. He’s delaying the transformation to keep the vampires from sensing him, but you’re sure he’s nervous.

Hell, you’re nervous. You strain to hear the smallest sound, nearly holding your breath the farther you wander into the mall. For the most part, it’s silent. You don’t see or sense anyone else around, other than your group. Though that’s not saying much, considering you’re just a human. With a glance to Jemma, then to Ewan, you confirm nothing seems immediately suspicious.

Though their features are pinched as they focus, neither says or indicates a danger is nearby.

Faintly, you wonder how long he can hold a semi-shift as your eyes take in the corridor. Illumination surprisingly spills in from the sunlights. The stores appear chained and locked, the windows blacked out. Squinting at the locks and darkness, you wonder if there’s more beyond. Is each store a vampire’s personal territory? Is it like a hotel here? Or are they all lower in the building?

All five of you remain as silent as possible as you journey deeper and deeper. Past stores, through the food court, to a stairwell. Jemma conjures up a ball of light without further instruction, lighting the stairs. The aesthetic of the mall holds firm with tiled walls as you descend to the underground section of the mall. A vague chill creeps along your limbs, realizing you’re now underground.

Apparently, the basement is still a commercial area, you realized as the stairs open up to another floor of storefronts. Here, however, the stores are larger and, if you squint, you realize there’s faded signs like ‘bowling alley’ and ‘community development’ hanging over the entryways. No light manages to filter this far down, though. You try not to think about that as you follow Ewan, who keeps close to the walls.

Along with the faint chill, the silence of the area weighs heavily in your ears. It’s too quiet, even as your group scuttles over the expanse of tiled floor.

Quickly enough, you’re led down a slightly obscured hall, before Ewan finds another door. Pushing it open reveals a second set of stairs. This time, the stairwell feels industrial. There’s no happy white-and-blue tiled designs. Just stark metal and industrial grey that devolves into shadows as you peer down into the stairwell.

There’s a brief moment when you look at Ewan and Jemma. Their gaze seeks yours as well, checking to see if you’re still determined to continue. As one, the three of you nod. Jemma hoists the light a fraction higher and it glows a little more intently as you all descend.

The atmosphere grows colder, now raking across any bare skin. Dankness tinges the air as you notice thick gatherings of cobwebs and dead rats on the stairs. Eventually, you come to a landing that leads to a heavy door. The air is locked in your lungs as Ewan slowly shoulders the door open, obscuring your view as he peers around the other side.

After a beat, he opens the door further and the scent of damp and mildew overpowers the air around you. You choke down a cough as Ewan motions for you to follow him into a darkened hall.

If possible, it’s even harder to discern your surroundings now as you follow the werewolf. The shadows seem deeper, darker, more dangerous. The chill in the air bites at your throat. From the light of Jemma’s magic orb, your gaze follows various pipes and catches on rusted, industrial machinery. You have no clue what this all is. Elevator and escalator mechanisms? Gas piping for the food court? Long-abandoned generators?

Whatever is down here, you feel the vague sensation of continuing to go downward, on a gentle slope.

A startle rocks through you as you freeze, hearing something skitter on the concrete floor and echo in the distance. The other two pause. In the span of a breath, fur sprouts from Ewan and his face elongates further, his limbs and muscles growing. A crackle of energy hisses behind you, but you can’t bring yourself to turn and see what Jemma has conjured.

A low rumble of a growl catches in Ewan’s throat as you all wait.

Nothing and no one makes itself known. Slowly, you all carry on in the darkness.

You’re not sure how far you walk when Ewan stops and turns suddenly. You follow as he stalks down an adjacent hall - one you barely even saw - and stops at a wrought-iron door. This time, he doesn’t look at you and Jemma.

Ewan reaches for the large handle, yanking it open so fast your heart trips.

Soft, warm light spills over you from the room on the other side of the door. Rapidly, you blink to dispel the blots of blurry color. The room slowly takes shape in front of your eyes.

Lanterns hang around a large circular room, glowing low and vague. The room is as industrial as the rest of the underground hell, with large pipes and metal and machines. At odds with the metal, however, are mountains of cushions and fabrics draped haphazardly around the room. The pillows and fabrics - of all colors and styles and sheerness levels - bring some color to the deary grey, but somehow that makes the room worse. It sends agitation scraping down your spine.

Then your gaze lights on Tabaeus.

They are chained to a hulking system of pipes, lounging on a smaller hill of pillows. They’re naked, covered only in bruises and fresh bite marks. Their head lolls back, their hair a tangled waterfall. Your heart cracks at the sight, the rest of the world melting away as you step closer to them.

“You’re free to try and take Tabaeus, but… Well, they likely won’t go. This is what they know, this is home.” Lachlan’s voice shocks you from your thoughts. Your attention jerks to Ewan and Jemma, both looking as startled as you feel. Their attention doesn’t snap to the door you just entered from - nor any other dark crevice on your level.

No, you realize their attention is tilted upward. You follow the angle of their gazes and dread curdles in your guts. Lachlan is positioned overhead, on some sort of walkway that snakes through the pipes. He sits on a railing, draped in a way that screams egotistical ease and surety. Others linger behind him, ranging in muted hues and wearing clothing from an array of eras. More pallid vampires start to poke their attention out from the dark shadows of the room, all watching you with red eyes.

Mounting dismay fills your chest before you see Lachlan’s smile twists into something smug. In an instant, rage flares in your chest. Your hands fist at your sides, your shoulders straightening as you glare up at Lachlan. Somehow, through the sick sensations in your stomach, you manage to bite out, “Let Tabaeus be the judge of that.”

Lachlan’s answering chuckle makes your blood boil as he languidly motions toward Tabaeus. “Be my guest.”

[roarriita]

the chick from apartment 512 - ellie williams (1)

au

femreader!xelliewilliams!

content warning: explicit language, mentions of drugs and alcohol, sexual thoughts

// summary: moving into your new apartment was fairly easy. you left ‘home’ with just your government papers, banking cards and whatever clothes you could find at your parents crampet and cold house. although the neighborhood was a bit shady and the apartment elevator made an eerie sound whenever it'd start up, it was all you could afford, and it beat crashing another night at your friend's house. move in day proved to be better than expected when you catch sight of your new neighbor. her auburn hair and green eyes seemed to be all the proof that you needed, to know that this new chapter of your life would be worth paying attention to and not just skimming over. //

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you walked around your new place and sighed in satisfaction. "this will do, for now." you spoke out loud. your best friends since high school, turned to you, one holding a worried expression and the other smiling from ear to ear.

"i'm so proud of you!" jesse came up from beside you and gave you a tight side hug.

"now are you saying that because you're genuinely proud of me for getting my own place or because i won't be in the way of you and dina's sexy time."

"(y/n), why can't it be both?" jesse asked. you scoffed but couldn't help but smile at his response. you escaped from his grasp and stood in front of the perfect couple.

"i still don't know how to feel about this." dina admitted. "this building isn’t really up to code, i mean, a rat literally corned jesse in the elevator when he was on his way up with your new microwave."

"babe, what the hell." jesse said, embarrassingly. "you said you wouldn't tell anyone."

"it'll be fine, d." you crossed your arms, looking around the floor in uncertainty before looking back at dina. "yeah, yeah, it’ll be fine! i'll just make sure to keep the place extra tidy."

your voice was not convincing at all. "oh, come on (y/n), it's not even just about the rats, the hallways reek of marijuana and booze."

"you smoke weed all the time?" you immediately retorted.

"well, that's different. i'm a homeowner, i can smoke however much i want without having to take into consideration how my neighbor from 3 feet away would react." dina said.

"i'm not even reacting dina. being friends with you guys for the past six years has built up my tolerance." you remarked.

dina groaned, storming over to the window. jesse, who was still thinking about the way dina put his business out there, spoke again. "i am never telling you anything again." he then went to the kitchen area, to look for a snack.

"look, there’s blood right there on the sidewalk." dina pointed. you sighed, annoyingly as you walked over. "and it looks fresh."

you examined the splotch to where she pointed at and rolled your eyes. "what are you? a detective?"

"no, i'm a journalist, which is almost the same thing." dina responded before turning her body back to you. "but back to the point, i don't think this place is right for you. i feel like you rushed into this. why don't you just come back with jesse and i until you find somewhere else..." glancing outside and then back at you, she finished. "preferably with less crime."

"no, no!" jesse said, with his mouth stuffed of hot cheetos. "i will not listen to another true crime podcast at 2 in the morning. i'm still so confused as to why you choose to listen to that stuff at 2 in the damn morning?"

"i get bored." you shrugged.

"ugh, enough with the getting off topic. (y/n), you're coming back home with us." dina stated.

"no, i am not." you replied. "i am staying here. i signed the lease, i got the apartment keys and i've already moved in all my stuff, plus the new furniture i had to buy to make this place look less sad. i am staying." after a moment of complete silence, you then added. "i'll also lose my deposit if i break the lease and i will need my 400 dollars back eventually."

"oh my god, if this is what having children is like, i don't want them." dina wrapped her arms around you. "i just want you to be safe."

you embraced dina back. "i’ll be safe, d. i'm a big girl who can take care of herself and if i do see a rat, i'll just call jesse over to coward in the corner again until it goes away." you then mouthed for him to stop eating your cheetos.

"asshole." jesse cursed under his breath as he turned around to put your chips back.

dina chuckled with tears in her eyes. she pulled away but held onto your shoulders. "promise you'll text me everyday and call at least twice a week?"

"promise." you responded with a small smile. dina hugged you again, this time holding on for a few seconds longer before pulling away. "okay, i guess we better go and let you get adjusted."

jesse gave you another hug and placed a sincere kiss on top of your head. "stay safe, weirdo."

"you too." you said as you walked them to the door. once they got on the elevator, you went back inside your small apartment and double locked your door.

you decided to spend the rest of your day unpacking and decorating. for the first time in your life, you were officially on your own. you were terrified of course, but a part of you felt exhilarated. you were the type of girl who went about life on the side lines. you were always there, physically but mentally, you were somewhere else. somewhere far away from the pain and humiliation being in your present-self caused you. and so, you skimmed through life. only taking notice of the big things, the things that were hard to miss and ignoring whatever didn't stand out. it was sad but it was how you survived.

a knock on your door pulled you out of your thoughts. you slowly made your way up to the front door and looked in the peephole. it was a delivery man. you hesitantly opened your door. "can i help you?'

"is this apartment 511 where a miss.williams resides in?" the man asked.

"you got the first half right." you tell him. "i literally just moved in today so i don't even know if that package belongs to one of my neighb-"

you stopped talking when the apartment across from you and a few feet over, opened the door. "sorry, that's me!"

"you're ellie williams?" the guy asked.

"no, i'm her- her-" the girl who didn't even know what she was, said. "her friend. i can take it for her."

"that's nice and all but i really need the owner of this package to sign a form first." he told her as he walked over to her.

the girl groaned annoyingly before calling out for her friend. "babe! he needs your signature!" as she went back inside the apartment, you felt the urge to do the same. the problem was resolved and your assistance was no longer needed, not like you helped much, if any, to begin with.

right as you were about to turn away, your new neighbor approached her doorway. you couldn't resist the urge to stare at her. she had dark green eyes, short, auburn hair and freckles all around her nose and cheeks. you could've sworn dina was the prettiest girl you've ever seen until now. she also wore a black tank top with grey sweatpants. "hey." her voice held a bit of rasp to it. "you need me to sign?"

"yeah." the guy responded as he held out his clipboard. you watched as her toned arms reached for it. your eyes then lingered over her long fingers as she signed the paper, and you could also detect some ink on the sleeve of her arm. your brain itched with the curiosity of what her tattoo was. once she was done, she handed the guy the clipboard back and took her package. "thanks."

"no problem." the guy responded, before walking away. your eyes were still on her arm since you didn't even realize the delivery guy had left. your new neighbor with the pretty eyes and cute freckles noticed you standing there as your eyes bored into her arm.

she coughed in order to get your attention. when your eyes met hers, your cheeks flushed. "it's nice right? it hurt like a son of a bitch to get but it does well with the girls." a playful smirk laid on her lips.

your voice was caught in your throat. you didn't know how to respond or what to think. you were already horrible with human interactions but even worst with girls who looked like that. "i- uh- i- um-" you stuttered like an idiot making the girl across from you lightly laugh.

absolutely hating the feeling of someone teasing you like this, you tried gathering up your composure and coming up with something to respond with. you smiled as it was in your nature to, it was like a reflex for the times in which you were lost for words. "cocky is not a good look on pretty girls." you scoffed before heading inside your apartment and shutting the door.

ellie genuinely smiled at your response and even let out a small chuckle before heading back inside. when you heard her door close, you pushed your back up against your own door and slid to the floor. with your knees pulled up to your chest, you cupped your warm cheeks and tried focusing on getting your heartbeat to slow down. first day, at your new place and you've already embarrassed yourself, how lovely... just so lovely...

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part two, here

// a/n: yes, this was inspired by an amazing song from selena quintanilla!! i’m not sure if i want to make this an official long-fanfic or just a one-shot but i really just wanted to write something new before starting chapter 6 of roommates. i really enjoyed it, especially writing dina and jesse. i’m definitely going to write more of them in my other series. anyway, thanks for reading and i hope your having an amazing day and if not i am sending wishes for that to change immediately <3 //

[humanpurposes]

(Teaser) It Will Come Back

Chapter 3, Broken Bonds

Series Masterlist // Main Masterlist

A/n: I feel bad that it's been forever since this series had an update, and I'm just feeling silly today so I thought I'd share a lil something of what I've been working on (to hopefully motivate me to finish the chapter lmao).

Now…

The heat is relentless this summer. Light bleeds through the ancient stained glass windows of the Red Keep in beams of red, green, blue and gold, only to be lost to the dark wood floors, furniture and panelled walls. It is Aemond’s least favourite time of year, when the weather makes him irritable and the harsh light gives him a headache, when business tends to be busy and everyone is preoccupied with holidays and garden parties. He’s less inclined to distract himself with frivolity. 

His sleeves are rolled up, his long silver hair pulled into a ponytail, sweat starting to pool underneath the eyepatch over the left side of his face. He’s leaning over Aegon, one hand on the back of his chair, staring down at his laptop and they check over some details for next week’s event.

It’s not often Aemond finds himself in his brother’s office. Technically Aegon is his superior, ‘deputy operations manager’ according to the golden plaque on the door. This is more of a courtesy title because he couldn’t get a respectable job anywhere else, and it would be far worse for their father’s image to have a layabout son.

That’s the funny thing about the family business. It’s no secret that Viserys Targaryen didn’t want his sons involved in Dragon Bank, but his influence is not as all encompassing as he would like to believe, not since the Hightowers got a foot in the door thirty or so years ago… then another… then another. Viserys can make his demands and shout when he’s angry enough, but there is one truth he cannot deny; he needs them. He needs Otto. He needs Alicent. He needs Helaena and Daeron to stay perfect. He needs Aegon to not be a fuck up and that’s enough. And he needs Aemond because he’s good at his job. No one has an eye for detail like him, no one can make sense out of figures or persuade clients and investors like he can.

Why their grandfather wants him to look over PR and marketing nonsense is understandable, but irritating nonetheless.

Their father has been planninging this event for years, Dragon Bank’s fifth centenary gala, with all the pomp and grandeur of a bygone era, held at their ancestral seat of Dragonstone Castle, just outside the city. Five hundred years since one of their ancestors forged a throne for himself in King’s Landing, building an empire that still has most of the country under their family’s thumb. Viserys intends to use the occasion as a reminder to every individual and family in Westeros who thinks they are even slightly important that they cannot compare to the might of the Targaryens. 

There can be no oversights. Everything has to be perfect.

His eye scans over the diagram on the screen, circles surrounded boxes with names; the seating plan in the main ballroom. Then a name catches his eye and it makes his heart stop. He doesn’t want to believe what he sees but there it is on the screen, in Times New fucking Roman: Jaya Velaryon.

He’s hardly heard that name, read it, or heard it in six years. He can already feel a dull ache creeping into his skull, which he knows will catch like kindling and soon become a burning, blinding pain behind his eyes and in the crevices of his scar.

Aegon, completely oblivious, huffs a little laugh to himself. “Shit, yeah, I meant to say there was an update with the seating. So this could turn out to be quite interesting– fuck, are you alright?” 

“Fine!” Aemond snaps, staggering back from the chair. His head feels like it’s been run through with a knife and his fingers fumble to get his eyepatch off. “Fine– fuck! I’m fine.”

“Sit,” Aegon orders, quickly standing and guiding Aemond over to one of the leather sofas on the other side of the room, where the sunlight isn’t so direct.

The pain is often like this, striking suddenly, spreading quickly like a forest fire, eating away at him like a disease, and he has no choice but to endure it.

He feels the eyepatch slip from his face before something cold presses against the worst of his scar. He reaches up to clasp his hands around it: a glass water bottle, one Aegon is holding. His brother is useless most of the time but he does have his moments.

“Fuck it’s all red,” Aegon mutters. “Have you got meds with you?”

When Aemond opens his mouth to speak his jaw is trembling. “Office,” he says, gritting his teeth together, trying to control his breath and the extent of the pain. “It’s in the office.” He can see where the packet is in the first draw under his desk.

“I can go and grab some–”

“No,” Aemond says, grabbing Aegon’s arm so he won’t move. 

He can handle this. Every time this kind of pain flares up he thinks of how much it hurt that night, how terrified he was as he felt the blood gushing from the gash in his eye, slipping through his fingers. The pain had been so great he thought it might kill him. If he can get through that night, the first few hours in the hospital, the months of recovery or the years since, then he can get through a fucking headache. 

He closes his eye and breathes in counts of three. In through the nose, hold, and out. Between that and the bottle against his face the pain starts to feel a little duller and the room doesn’t feel so close.

“Is it… you know,”

Did seeing Jaya’s name shock him so severely that his body went into meltdown? Is his heart still pounding in his chest at the thought of reading her name and the possibility of seeing her again? 

Aemond exhales irritably against the back of his throat, defeated, but always stubborn.

[liyawritesss]

ᖴᒪOᗯEᖇᔕ Iᑎ ᗷᒪOOᗰ - ᐯᗩᒪEᑎTIᑎEᔕ ᗪᖇᗩᗷᗷᒪEᔕ

Ｄａｙ ２０ － Ｃｏｎｆｅｓｓｉｏｎｓ

－ Eastside - Insomniac!Miles Morales - Insomniac's Spiderman 2

－ In which Miles is usually the one to flake out on plans; so he's curious as to why all of a sudden it's so hard to get you on the phone.

－ Check out more prompts and other activities on the Flowers In Bloom Event Masterlist!

“We’re sorry, but the person you have called is unavailable at the moment. Please leave a message after the tone-”

Miles sucks his teeth after hearing the same automated message for the umpteenth time. Though he tried to keep the look of disappointment from gracing his face, the huff that left his lips was enough for Ganke to determine something was wrong.

“Did they answer?”

Miles shakes his head, “No dice.”

It’s been like that the past few weeks - plans would be made, but without warning, you’d go no contact with no prior reason as to why. At first, the gang just chalked it up to stress from school - it was very possible considering Visions wasn’t your average STEM highschool in Brooklyn. But the more it happened, the more Miles had begun to question that conclusion.

“What’s this, like, the third time in the past month?” Ganke sighs. “Should we, like, check up on them?”

Miles pockets his phone, nodding in response to Ganke’s suggestion. “Yeah, I’ll swing by.”

And swing by he did, after changing out of his red hoodie and green jacket and into his black and red Spider Suit. It didn’t take long for him to arrive at your apartment building on the Eastside, hanging just outside your window adjacent to the fire escape. He had made a move to knock on the glass, asking for entry, but he stopped mid-way when he saw what you were doing.

You sat at your desk, laptop open and phone propped up, apparently on a video call with Hailey. Though the window muffled your voice, he could make out what was being signed through the glass barrier.

“I wanted to go today, I really did, but I just couldn’t.”

‘Did you at least give them an excuse this time?’

“No, I wasn’t even thinking about that.”

‘Girl! When are you gonna tell him? This slow-burn is getting to be a bit agonizing over here!’

Slow-burn? What did Hailey mean by that? Your laugh breaks him from his thoughts, as he squints a bit harder to get a better look at the words your hands are formulating.

“What would I even say? ‘Hey Miles, sorry I’ve been bailing on you and the gang lately, I just have this massive crush on you that prevents me from even looking at you without feeling like I’ll die’?”

‘Well…that’s one way to say it.’

Crush. The word rang in his head like a loud bell, so harshly it almost made his head hurt. Miles’ body grew hot with an unknown emotion; was it anxiety? Embarrassment? Suddenly a lot of your actions made sense. Not answering calls, being exceptionally late to answering texts, the inability to make eye contact…

So caught up in his head, the young hero began to lose grip in his fingers that attached him to the brick building. Before he could reinstate the touch, Miles lost his handling and fell onto the metal fire escape, the loud thud ringing out with a loud hum for what felt like forever. A dull ache spread throughout back, a low groan leaving his lips in the process.

When he’d opened his eyes, the first thing he saw was you, surprised, with a hint of disbelief in your face; “Miles, what the hell?”

Shit, he thought. Despite his side-gig as Spiderman, he couldn’t seem to come up with a lie quick enough to cover up the fact that he had, in fact, been low-key spying on you.

“Are you okay?”

“I- uh-”

“How long have you been out here?”

“No! I- uh…was just swinging by…?”

Because what else do you say when you find out your good friend for years has a crush on you?

If you enjoyed, please leave a like, comment, and reblog for others to see! And don’t be shy to send in a request!

[artiststarme]

Van Vandalism

The not-so-long-awaited van vandalism fic based on this snippet! I hope you guys enjoy it and if you have any title ideas, please let me know in the comments!

~*~*~*~

Eddie was having a rough time. While the events of Spring Break were in his rearview, he was still facing the consequences of being branded a freak murderer by the police in a small town. The overzealous Christian townsfolk, now aware of his glaring differences and eccentricities, seemed to make it a goal to make his life as hard as possible. Eddie could hardly leave his trailer without being chased with metaphorical pitchforks. Whether it be by threatening to kick his ass at school or vandalizing his van in the grocery store parking lot, the people of Hawkins were relentless. Eddie didn’t really care about the threats to his own safety or even some minor beatings, he’d gotten used to it through his years of high school. 

However, when the townsfolk started to come after Wayne is when Eddie got concerned. Wayne had lived in Hawkins his entire life and now the people that he grew up with, the people he was friends with, were turning on him because of Eddie. They were spray painting nasty words on the trailer, slashing the tires on the van, and smashing the windows on Wayne’s truck. And Eddie and Wayne? They were losing their patience. They didn’t have the extra money to fix the windows or keep replacing tires. Wayne was pulling doubles at the plant to try to bring in some more money and Eddie was picking up shifts at the garage but they still weren’t bringing in enough to cover for the damages. 

One day after school, Eddie came out of the building to find all four of his tires slashed. He couldn’t even safely walk home either because old Herbert Green and his son had threatened to jump him the day before. So, he stood on the curb staring at his van for three minutes before tears started to drip down his face. 

He didn’t deserve any of this. He didn’t hurt anyone. All he’d ever done was try to create a safe space for outsiders, the people that couldn’t feel safe anywhere else, and now he was paying the price. He wasn’t a murderer! He was just a gay metalhead kid who liked nerdy shit and couldn’t focus in school. But in the minds of all the townspeople, everything about him was grounds for a lifetime in prison. 

He was still staring at his van when he felt a hand wrap around his upper arm. Eddie didn’t even think before spinning around with a fist in the air. 

“Woah,” Steve said as he ducked out of the way of the punch. “Jesus Christ, Munson! I can’t get another concussion, do you even know what Robin would do to me?” 

Eddie sighed in response and sagged against his van, Steve’s hand still wrapped around his bicep. “Sorry dude, you scared me. I wasn’t expecting Sir Steve to be back at his abandoned castle. Which quest hast summoned you to return to your former dwelling?”

Steve’s eyes squinted like they always did when he tried to translate Eddie’s language into modern English. God, it was one of Eddie’s favorite things about him. After a moment, the squint left his eyes and his mouth opened in understanding.

“You, man. The kids called and said the basketball team fucked up your tires. Thought you could use a ride,” Steve said and shrugged. He was still wearing the ugly Family Video vest over a gray polo that hugged his shoulders in all of the right places. “Eddie?”

He shook his head to snap out of it. No straight guy wanted their gay, albeit still in the closet, friend checking them out when they’re trying to do them a favor. Or so Eddie would imagine. 

“Um, yeah. Yes please. I do need a ride. This is the third time they’ve pulled this shit and I won’t be able to afford new tires for a good three weeks. Fuck, how am I going to get to work now?”

Steve hummed before lightly smacking Eddie’s shoulder and ignoring his affronted glare. “I know! You can use my car! I mean, you’ll have to drop me off at work before school and pick me up after but other than that, I don’t really go anywhere anyways. You can just take the Beemer to work, school, and wherever else you go.”

Eddie was absolutely dumbfounded. Sure, he and Steve had become good friends after Spring Break but he was going to inconvenience himself by letting him take his car? “Stevie, I can’t take your car. What if you need it? It’s too much-”

“Eddie. Look man, you can use it for however long you need to. If I need it back, I’ll call you for the keys, okay? Just give me rides to work and pick up the kids if they need to go somewhere. The little shits aren’t riding their bikes anymore.” Steve told him and pressed his keys into the palm of Eddie’s hand. “Now, leave the van for now and give me a ride back to the video store, I still have 6 hours left on my shift and if I’m not back by the end of my break, Keith is going to lose his shit.”

Eddie just smiled and shook his head. He still couldn’t believe that Steve “The Hair” Harrington was actually a good dude. He’d dragged his sorry ass out of hell, lied to the cops to be his alibi, and now was loaning him his car just to make Eddie’s life easier. How’d he get so lucky as to have Steve in his life? Now if only he could get him to switch from the Tears for Fears moaning from the speakers to Metallica. 

When they pulled up to Family Video, Eddie made a move to get out but Steve just grabbed his arm with a, “hey, wait. Where are you going? Your shift at the garage starts in 20 minutes.”

“Yeah so I have to go. If I start running now, I can make it before my lungs give out and kill me.” Eddie said, shaking him off.

“Dude. I was serious about you taking my car, I wasn’t just going to have you go out of your way to drive me to work in my own car. Take it and be back to pick me up at 11:30, okay? Have a good shift,” Steve murmured, patting Eddie’s hand and running into the store. 

And then Eddie was left in the car alone, utterly bewildered and still reeling at Steve’s generosity. But he did have to go to work so off he went. Driving in the Beemer was a lot different than driving in the van. Firstly, there were no weird banging sounds coming from underneath the hood or any screeching noises of the brakes. The ride was silent aside from the horrendous pop music squealing from the radio station Steve had left on low. Next, the ride went smoother. Eddie didn’t have any jocks tailgating him or blonde-haired mothers glaring at him from the curb. He did receive a couple of double takes when other drivers realized it wasn’t Steve Harrington driving his signature Beemer but Eddie enjoyed the looks of shocked befuddlement. Huh, maybe Steve was onto something.  

(What Eddie didn’t know is that everyone that took a double-take wasn’t wondering why Eddie Munson was driving his car but instead, when had Steve gotten back together with Nancy Wheeler?)

When Eddie finished his shift at the garage though and made his way to pick up Steve from work, goddamn Officer Callahan pulled him over. He hated this fucking guy. He especially hated how cocky he looked as he strolled up to the driver’s side window and leaned against it. 

Eddie could only glare at him completely unimpressed as he asked, “can I help you, Officer?”

“Why, as a matter of fact, I think you can! You see, all day we’ve been getting calls of a curly-haired imposter joy-riding around in Steve Harrington’s BMW. Can you explain that?” Officer Callahan was smirking as he explained himself, obviously finding joy in interrupting Eddie’s peaceful night. 

“I’m not joyriding, I went to work and now I’m picking him up from work. Steve lent me his car because someone slashed my tires for the third time this month. You’d know about that though, right? You know, considering I’ve tried to file a report each time. You ever going to do anything about that by the way?” Eddie rebutted. 

“You expect me to believe that Steve Harrington let you, Eddie Munson, borrow his car? How much grass have you smoked?” 

Eddie just sighed in frustration. “Look Callahan, I’ve tried to be nice but you’re pissing me off. Here I am, a law-abiding citizen, and you’re just accusing me of these heinous crimes? Grand theft auto, drug use, what’s next… murder? Oh wait! We’ve been there and I was found innocent of that too! Let me leave or next time I see the Chief, I’m going to tell him that his least favorite deputy was harassing me. Do you want Hopper mad at you? Is that what you need in your life?”

“What… um no. You don’t have to do that. Just, just get where you’re going and make sure Harrington gives us a call at the station about his car. Um, have a good uh night,” Officer Callahan said while awkwardly ambling back to his car. 

Then, Eddie was off again. This time with heavy metal blasting through the Beemer speakers and through the open windows into the wind. He was going to pick up Stevie and treat him to a night full of movies, weed, and junk food like he deserved.

@doubleb11 @nburkhardt @zerokrox-blog @newtstabber @i-less-than-three-you @carlyv @trippypancakes @straight4joekeery

(@anzelsilver you're the only person who reblogged the snippet so here's a tag to the whole fic!)

[mattodore]

a little update on what i've been doing in the sims lately! don't mind the huge walls of text for once i'm saying things in the post instead of the tags lmao

matthias's scars are very slowly coming along! i really love his left leg scar but can't really show all of it because i'd have to get him naked for that and it also wraps around his leg. um, but it starts at the side of his hip and carves down at an angle before abruptly following a steep line to the back of his calf. it looks gnarly which is exactly what i'm trying to achieve with matthias's scars! i'm also pretty pleased with the scars on his wrists and side, but the scar he has on the back of his right leg is... a little too crunchy? i don't know, it just looks weird. it's kind of hard to get the scars i'm making to look good on matthias's body. especially scars that're smaller or delicate... like the instant loss of quality makes me want to chew on exposed wires. but that's where i've left off on them! his arms and back are where he has the most damage but my god... it's SO difficult trying to get scars to look nice over his biceps and back muscles. also the hair ties i made for him look nice on his wrist <3

theo's apartment is also finally in the works. i've got the base layout finished and a general idea of what all the rooms are for. building and decorating isn't actually that daunting to me, surprisingly—instead, what's actually causing me a lot of grief is the realization that this is too big for theo to really be comfortable in. so, i was thinking, okay, that's fine, just get rid of three of the rooms and scale down the living area. only to pause and take into account the fact that theo's parents pay for this. they're controlling and also very big on appearance so i'm not sure they'd be fine with their son living in a shoebox—i mean, what would people say if word got to them that he doesn't even have a walk-in closet? like... that's the kind of people they are. but i wanted theo to feel comfortable in his apartment so now i'm feeling conflicted on how i want it to look. i'm definitely going to scale down the bedrooms and the living area... but it'll still feel too big to theo. there are just too many corners for him to ever fully let his guard down... which, hm... well, maybe that fits the story more anyway.

this is his general aesthetic for the interior btw... i want it to be brown, cream, and green all throughout the apartment with splashes of orange (this mix between his old dorm and his childhood home but with something new blending it together). i really wanted him to have stained glass windows in his kitchen and bathroom but couldn't find any </3 so sadly that's not happening. and i need to find a nice curio cabinet for his collection of bells... along with bells too lmao. but that's where i'm at so far! i'm seriously going to just sit here in build mode for hours just... trying to figure out how to make this place more comfortable for theo. like it's supposed to be where he feels safe but it's just too much rn.

[selarina]

TW angst, infidelity

You walk in slowly, your pace faltering as you place your bag on the couch, followed by your blazer, which you ensure to neatly fold and place.

You hear some metal clinks as you make your way deeper into the house. "Hey," you call out, only to spot Gojo Satoru in the heart of the kitchen, swishing a pan full of pasta with a graceful ease. The same sense of graceful ease you've tried to become accustomed to over the past few months.

"You're cooking?" you ask hesitantly, despite the evidence being right in front of your eyes.

"I make one thing, and I make it good. And since it's our quarter anniversary, I figured I'd do something special," he says. "You know especially since a car isn't enough for you," he quips, his attention shifting from the pan to your face, accompanied by a sly wink.

You draw closer, trying to maintain a squint on your face but you're finding that every muscle on your skeleton is rejecting humour, you don't have time for it. You don't deserve it.

"Every guy thinks his pasta sauce is expceptio—"

Your words dissolve as he inserts a spoonful of the concoction into your mouth. You feel notes of garlic, infused with a rich, savoury tomato sauce and then with a swallow you taste another hint of basil and oregano on your taste buds.

You're left with an admission: "This is... good," you say, your surprise echoing in your tone and expression.

"Well, you know me. Can't help it." Gojo grins triumphantly, his confident smile seemingly well-placed.

"I do," you respond, gaze fixed on the kitchen window. "You're incredible."

"Well," he grins again, leaning down to place a soft peck on your cheek. "I have to be when I'm with someone as incredible as you."

You chuckle, admittedly half-heartedly. Everything he's saying and doing this evening is making you want to crawl out of your skin and scream. "So, our quarter anniversary, huh?" you say, trying to shift the focus away from the pasta, and away from you.

"Uh huh," he nods, attention still focused on the sizzling pan.

"I didn't know," you say, dejectedly. You're still staring at the kitchen window, you never truly realised how much of a space you've made in this house. You notice your plant sitting outside in the evening air, admittedly a little neglected but still living a green life. You wonder if God made you truly lay your eyes on it as part of some cruel cruel symbolism.

"Hey," his arm encircles your waist, drawing you nearer to his side. "It's okay. I only used it as an excuse to make you this meal anyway."

"Why?"

"What do you mean?"

"Why did you want to make me food?" you clarify.

"I don't know. Felt like it," he says, his hand coming up to cup your cheek. "Is something wrong?"

"Yeah," you say, tears reaching it's brim, tears you've been holding in since you walked into this building. "Yeah, I don't—"

"What?" His voice softens, barely audible amidst the sizzling melody of the dish.

"I don't deserve this," you murmur, tears tracing a path down your cheeks. "I don't deserve you."

Gojo's grip loosens momentarily before tightening once more, "What? What are you talking about? That's stupid talk."

"I don't deserve you. It's true, everyone already says it. They're right, you know. You should listen—"

"That is stupid talk. Don't say shit like that," he says. "Please," his voice softens — it comes out as a desperate plea this time, "Please don't say that."

You've come to realize that's Gojo Satoru's heart is a soft little thing, easy to squish but protected by layers and layers of hard skin, layers and layers of distance, but for you — for you he laid his heart bare, held it in his hand for you to take, and all you managed to do was drop it with a splash.

"I'm sorry. It's just— I can't continue like this," you say, another slew of tears following down your cheeks and falling to the ground.

"What?"

"I said I can't do this—" you repeat.

"I heard you," he says firmly. "Why now?"

"I'm sorry," you say.

"Why now?" he asks, his eyes clearing up, a sort of neutral storm settling in them. You wonder if you should commit this moment to memory, the very last picture of Gojo Satoru.

"I'm sorry," you say again, not knowing what to say really.

"Why now?" He says again, firmly as his hands loosen from around you.

A beat passes and you don't say anything.

"I kissed a co-worker," you admit, and his hands leave you almost immediately. It's off your body and there's an immediate distance between the two of you. "It didn't mean anything."

"Was it Mike?" he inquires.

You don't say anything.

"It was him, wasn't it? Mike," he says, with a chuckle that held nothing but malice.

"I'm sorry," you repeat, empty words for an empty shell of a person.

"I have to leave," and just like that he takes off, and you don't even feel him leave. One minute he's here and the next minute you're standing in an empty kitchen.

You turn to the pan as you hear a sizzle — the food's burning to black. You chuckle echoes across the room, a delirious sense of unease settling where you stand.

[thecasualauthor]

@jilymicro-oops March Prompts Day 14: Enthralled

A continuation of yesterday's micro. This will one day make it to AO3 once my internet company decides the website isn't trying to steal my banking information.

The word enthralled is in here somewhere I promise

Here's where we left off:

"Please," he says, "come to my place. You'll be safer there." Lily softens and takes his hand in hers, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "James," she begins soothingly, but her friend interrupts her. "Please." Lily stares at him, registering the real fear and terror in his eyes, and she opens her mouth. "I-" But she doesn't finish, because several loud cracks break through the air around them.

And the continuation is below the cut!!

James counts five Death Eaters surrounding them, three of which he recognizes. Lucius Malfoy is one of them, standing with an air of superiority, his aristocratic features contorted in surprise as he takes in the sight in front of him.

“Didn’t expect to see you here, Potter.” Mulciber says, voice dripping with contempt. James meets his eyes, feeling a surge of revulsion at the look of triumph on the seventh year Slytherin’s face. 

“What do you want?” Lily asks loudly, and James has to give her credit for not sounding the least bit scared. 

A feminine laugh echoes behind them, and James doesn’t need to turn to recognize it as Bellatrix Lestrange's. "We're here to take care of a problem," she says lightly, her voice dripping with malice. Anger surges through James' veins at her words. He casts a quick glance around, noting the five wands pointed at him and Lily, and his mind races for a solution.

"We have to disapparate," Lily breathes urgently. "I don't have my license, but—" James understands. They can't afford to engage in combat. They’ll lose, and do so spectacularly. There seems to be no way out, not when they're surrounded by so many adversaries. Here they are, two sixth-year Hogwarts students pitted against five Death Eaters, all of whom seem intent on their destruction.

But when he turns to disapparate, grasping Lily's hand tightly, nothing happens.

Laughter surrounds them, and Bellatrix gives a disappointed sigh. 

“You didn’t think we’d give Miss Evans an escape route, did you?” She sounds almost bored. “The wards went up the second we arrived.” 

James’ heart sinks right to the ground, and he exchanges a glance with Lily. They’re well and truly trapped, then.

“You can go, Potter,” Malfoy drawls suddenly. “We aren’t here for you. Leave the girl to us and you’ll be unharmed.”

“Go to hell,” James snarls at once, and Malfoy shrugs. 

“Pity,” he says. “We could have used you on our side. But if you have a death wish like Miss Evans here, who am I to stop you?”

James and Lily have only a moment to spare before the first curse erupts from Malfoy’s wand. The green light misses Lily by mere inches, making contact with Lily’s house instead. The building bursts into hot flames, melting the snow around them. Lily shrieks as glass rains around them from the broken windows, and James casts a shield charm as another beam of light flies towards them. 

“Your family!” James yells over the roaring flames, and Lily calls back, firing a jet of red light that hits one of the unrecognizable Death Eaters in the face.

“They’re out! Tuney’s moved in with Vernon and Mum and Dad are in– Expulso!” Lily cries, and the pavement underneath Mulciber explodes, sending him flying through the air. James and Lily stand back to back, spells erupting from their wands, but they’re outmatched. So outmatched. And out of nowhere, Lily screams in pain, crumples to the ground, and James whirls, sees the red light surrounding her and then to Bellatrix’s wand sourcing the cruciatus curse. The woman looks at Lily, enthralled, fascinated and elated at the pain she’s causing her.

His other targets forgotten, James whips his wand to Bellatrix and cries out the first spell that comes to his mind.

"Expelliarmus!" It flies from his wand with a fierce determination, aiming to knock Bellatrix's wand out of her hand. The Death Eater is caught off guard by James's sudden attack, her focus momentarily diverted from torturing Lily. Miraculously, the spell connects, sending Bellatrix and her wand flying across the snowy landscape, the cruciatus curse abruptly stopping. Lily lies on the ground, trembling from the residual pain of the curse, but now free from its grasp.

“Are you alright?” James cries, casting another shield charm as more streaks of light overwhelm them.

“Fine,” Lily grits out, forcing herself upward onto her knees. “I’m fine.” 

She’s not fine, James can tell, but at least she’s conscious. She uses him to help her stand, and while she’s shaking, she holds her wand determinedly.

“We can’t fight them like this!” Lily shouts over the roaring of the burning house behind them and the cacophony of spells as they continue to fight. The two of them duck and whirl around each other, firing curse after curse, but there’s still three Death Eaters on their feet, and Lily’s weakened. “We’ve got to break through their– move!”

James reacts a second too late, and a searing pain makes him double over. When he pulls his hand away from his side, it’s coated in scarlet blood. 

“Brilliant,” he mutters. “Just brilliant.” Despite the searing pain coursing through his body, James grits his teeth and forces himself to stand upright. "We need to find a way out of here," James says, his voice strained but determined. 

“Do you have any ideas?” Lily asks, forcing them both down behind the stone wall surrounding the porch as three green bursts of light streak towards them. James racks his brains, and the idea comes to him through a haze of pain. 

“I do,” he says. “But it involves your house being completely destroyed.”

“More so than it already is?”

“I’m sorry about your valuables,” James just says, and when he meets Lily’s green eyes, they’re full of determination. Something about that look sends his will into overdrive and before he can stop himself, he says. “I really do love you, you know. Like, actually.” Lily blinks several times before she responds. 

“I love you too,” she says, “but I don’t think now is the best time for a love confession.” James shrugs.

 “Might be the only time.” 

“Don’t say that,” Lily snaps, firing a curse between the stone they’re cowering behind. “We’re getting out of this.”

“Right. Okay.” James swallows. “I really am sorry about destroying your house though.”

As James and Lily huddle behind the stone wall, spells continue to rain down around them, each explosion sending debris flying in all directions. James feels the weight of his injuries pressing down on him. Blood still pours from the gash in his side, but he pushes through the pain, his mind focused on their escape.

“Now?” Lily asks, and her eyes shine with unshed tears. 

“Now,” James agrees, and points his wand at the building. Lily does the same, and in seconds, the building shakes and moans in the night air and begins to collapse, sending flames in the air. The Death Eaters, momentarily distracted by the sudden chaos, falter in their attack, giving James and Lily the opening they need. Without a moment's hesitation, they break cover and sprint away from the crumbling remains of the house.

James guesses they have about five seconds to get as far as they can before the Death Eaters recover from the sudden act of destruction, and he’s right. Behind them, they hear shouts and curses as the Death Eaters recover, 

"We need to find somewhere to disapparate," James gasps as they run, his breath coming in ragged bursts. 

“The trees,” Lily wheezes, pointing just ahead of them. “The ones at the park.” 

The Death Eaters are only a few meters behind them now, James can hear them, and his fears are confirmed as a sudden burst of purple light streaks through the air, hitting Lily squarely in the back. She cries out in agony, her body convulsing as waves of pain wash over her. James skids to a halt, horror flooding through him as he watches Lily struggle to remain standing.

"Lily!" James shouts, his voice raw with fear and desperation. He rushes to her side, keeps her from falling to the ground, wrapping his arms around her trembling form as if he can shield her from further harm.

But then another spell comes hurtling towards them, this time aimed at James. He barely has time to react as the curse strikes his arm, tearing through flesh and bone with vicious force. Agony shoots through him, and he staggers, his arm going numb as blood pours from the wound.

“We’ve got to get moving,” He says, using his good arm to steady Lily as she stumbles.

“My legs, James,” she says breathlessly. “I can’t–” 

“I know,” James replies. “We’re almost there.” They can see the trees. They’re close. “Come on!” James encourages, half carrying Lily as they make for the other side of the street into the park. 

They aren’t fast enough, James thinks desperately as the voices of the Death Eaters get closer. What with his mangled arm and Lily being able to barely walk, they won’t reach the grove of trees in time. Curses fly over and around them, bouncing off the shield charm Lily’s holding fast and strong, despite her near inability to walk. 

“Just a little farther, Evans,” James says. “Just–” He can tell the second they’ve moved past the wards’ boundaries. It’s like a fog is lifted, like he can finally breathe again. 

“Now, James,” Lily croaks, and James doesn’t waste a second. As he falls from sheer exhaustion, James spins on his heel, and the two of them turn into darkness. 

They materialize in the quiet, peaceful garden behindJames' home, but there's nothing peaceful about their arrival. They collapse to the ground immediately, the pristine snow around them rapidly staining crimson. Gasping for breath, they kneel in front of each other amidst the chilling air. Lily coughs, her face a mask of soot, blood, and snow, features contorted in pain and exhaustion. Each exhale is a struggle, and the gravity of what has just happened to them settles over the two of them like a weight. 

“I think you’ll p–pass your apparition test,” Lily wheezes finally. 

James laughs, and it’s the last thing he does before he blacks out.

[gender-trash]

you know the tumblr aesthetic houses/aesthetic interiors blogs? the ones that post exclusively unsourced images usually ganked from instagram or pinterest?

ai image generation has taken over that entire corner of tumblr like a parasite, and because i content tag for ai generated images i need to zoom in and squint every fucking time -- but i follow a lot of blogs who talk a big game about being anti-"AI art" and seem to, like. not realize? when they are in fact reblogging ai generated images (i suspect because they look more like photos than like digital paintings or w/e).

anyway here's my set of tips for recognizing ai generated aesthetic house photos on tumblr. we're gonna use this post as an example:

check the source: on posts by this species of aesthetic photo aggregation blog, there may be some kind of text that purports to be "a source" (in days of yore, sometimes if you googled this you would find some kind of instagram page that itself aggregated stolen image content; occasionally it was even the actual photographer). in our example post the text is "Thierrynuchanant", which might be a street name or a photographer's mononym or an instagram or all manner of other things, but the entire first page of google results was exclusively this tumblr post or reblogs of it, so i feel pretty confident in assuming it's completely made-up.

(this by itself is a weak signal that the image is also completely made-up, but, like... if it ISN'T, it's still a blatantly stolen unsourced photo. but if you're active in this corner of Aesthetic Tumblr i guess you've already made your peace with that.)

inspect the architecture: this particular house makes it tricky because it's purposefully artsy and asymmetric, and how the hell do i know the architect didn't make all the window frames different on purpose? so instead of asymmetry, keep an eye out for misalignments, things that don't make physical sense, or things that are mismatched but look similar from a distance (typically if you are doing something purposefully mismatched, you want to draw attention to the contrast -- so, an all-black outfit with one black sock and one bright green sock is purposeful, but an all-black outfit with one black sock and one dark gray sock looks like you made some sort of laundry error).

what the fuck is this pointy archway thing that's only on one half of the window? where does it attach?

these lit-up yellow windows look like really fancy and decorative leaded glass (i mean, i *think*; the image is blurry enough that it's hard to tell), so it's weird that they look similar in color but the left one has a diamond-ish pattern and the right one has vaguely gothic arching tracery that is replicated NOWHERE else in the house

the windowsill looks lumpy and, uh, irradiated, and the planterboxes are at two different heights. also come to mention it how are the planterboxes even attached to the thick stone sill?

why are there two slightly different styles of lamp thing at two different heights

windowpanes crooked??? also if you squint the stonework on the window frame doesn't actually make sense or depict anything

this mostly-hidden rectangular architectural mass seems to switch from modern with rectangular windowpanes on the left to elaborate tracery on the right, and the angles don't quite match up either. (i also spent a while squinting at that inverted nipple thing to the right of the round window but like, i don't know a hell of a lot about french art nouveau vernacular architecture, maybe it's... a disused utility hookup???)

plants that aren't in pots: this is the dead giveaway. ai generated images LOVE to have non-climbing plants just vibing on the side of a building.

this is not a fucking epiphyte it needs DIRT SOMEWHERE

okay now i gotta hunt down another example image so i can provide examples of mangled text and maybe mismatched architectural details in other styles. brb