#my first Beatles post in a while lol

[httpknjoon]

her majesty | jjk

plot | This is how the rumors began between a princess and a rockstar.

words | 615

genres | fluff, humor/crack, modern royalty!au, celebrity!au

pairing | rockstar!jungkook x princess!reader

note | this one happened months after my last update!! enjoy reading <3

main masterlist | drabble series

Sweet September’s Jungkook Posts His Cover of The Beatles’ Song, Her Majesty

Spoiler alert: It might be dedicated to someone *royal*

Last night, the lead vocalist of Sweet September shared a thirty-second song cover on his Instagram account. The said video only shows Jungkook wearing a white button-up while playing an acoustic guitar in what his fans claim is his kitchen. Within just twelve hours, the video reached almost twenty million views and was posted on various social media sites by his supporters. Some fans claimed that the song was meant for someone *royal*.

In the clip captioned with a crown and yellow heart emojis, Jungkook sang The Beatles’ Her Majesty. The song was a hidden track in the band’s eleventh album, Abbey Road. 

Earlier this year, fans noticed the attendance Princess YN of Zafiro made at two of Sweet September’s concerts during their Denim Jungle tour. In the first one, she was seen with her sister, Princess Astrid. For the second one, the crown princess was spotted by a few fans in the band’s performance in New York just a day after the Met Gala. She was said to be seen wearing a particular ID only given to staff and special guests.

Many sources told E! News that there are sightings of the princess and the rockstar together in various places.

“I saw Jungkook approach Princess YN during the Met Gala.” an anonymous Twitter user posted. “He stayed and chatted with her until she left with her assistant.”

Another source stated, “Although Princess YN and Jungkook are both busy with their different lives, they really try to make time for each other. He (Jungkook) liked the princess before he even met her, That’s why he really took the chance when he saw it.”

It’s no secret to Sweet September fans that the lead vocalist has his eyes set on Princess YN. It was revealed years ago when each band member was asked about their ideal type and celebrity crushes.

“Oh, mine is totally not from the entertainment industry.” a nineteen-year-old Jungkook answered.

“Yeah, JK. We all know it’s Princess YN–” Mingyu was then cut off by Jungkook’s forced coughs.

Back to the song cover, Jungkook can be seen smiling as he sang the lyrics. He even smiled wider while singing the last line,

“Someday I'm gonna make her mine, oh yeah. Someday I'm gonna make her mine.”

The rumor between you and Jungkook was still new and growing when the song cover was posted. Various articles were later posted from numerous media sites with the same rumor topic. It’s a piece of surprising news for everyone since it involves a royal princess and a famous rockstar. With this, supporters of Jungkook’s and yours had mixed reactions to the ongoing rumor.

@/DENIMBLUE: so they are really dating?????

@/ynandastridslay: lol this rumor going around abt princess yn is just impossible.

@/jeonswatch: i just know jungkook is kicking his feet giggling twirling his hair when he heard that song before

@/sweeties09: omg so maybe my sister is not lying when she said she served jk and that princess in a mcdonalds drive thru 🤠

Replying to @/sweeties09

- @/carminwoojung: EXCUSE ME WHAT???

– @/gigglysun: abi when did she told u that???!?

— @/sweeties09: it was like after the band’s performance in new york months ago

@/ZafiroPrincessesFan: The King and Queen would never let the Princess date a rockstar. It’s just totally against the tradition. #.FakeNews

@/goldencrown: wth are these rumors??? Jungkook is dating louise right?

@/PopCrave: Netizens spotted Princess YN’s official Instagram account liking Jungkook’s latest Instagram post before unliking it an hour later.

Replying to @/PopCrave

- @/user90249853: someone’s finger slipped lmao

– @/bluemoon04: not her forgetting to switch accounts 😭✊

taglist rules

THE PRINCESS AND THE ROCKSTAR TAGLIST

@heartjiminie @rbrm094 @rjsmochii @jjkreblog @sugaslittlekookies @saintsugar @alpha-mommy69 @natalia-rmnva @stupendouscookiehumanmug @yoonjinhusbands @lilliankoo @gxtwllsn @snkyuv @canyon-lwt @hiii-priestess @jksgirlhere @bbtsficrecs @jnk-pop @jjeonjjk7 @tokkiggukie @kooliv @oopscoop @hani0407 @taebae19 @yunki-yunki-yunki @hellbornsworld 

PERMANENT TAGLIST

@dunixxd @cixrosie @jksjx @embrace-themagic @buttvi @starbtslove @missseoulite @vanntaesworld @kenqki @imajinthis @stopeatread @seolaquotes @greyrain23 @chimchimmarie @petalsofink @jayhope88 @moonchild1 @laylasbunbunny @nikkiordonez12 @misshale21

[crepesuzette2023]

I know this is a broad question, but if you had to pick, what is the most angsty Mclennon fic you’ve read so far ? You have some amazing recommendations and I’m looking to hurt my own feelings lol

Hi st-john!

Thank you for the ask! This made me think about some of my angsty forever-faves in general, sorted from subtle to savage. (Under the cut.)

If you want to skip straight (do we use this word around here?!) to the fics I personally find the most angsty: they're at the bottom of this post. I also included some dark/angsty stories here, but I didn't want to repeat any recommendations.

Your ask helped me understand what it is I find the most angst-filled in mclennon, so thank you for that. I was surprised to see so many canon-adjacent stories on my list, and I think it shows that, to me, the most potent angst doesn't come from outside threat but from their minds, as evidenced by events that actually happened. The two of them being scared of (and turned on by) the big fat x they mark on their shared psychosexual map is one of the most attractive aspects of mclennon for me—followed by the two of them taking x for granted, and being permanently damaged once they realize they lost it forever. I also like stories that show their mutual resentment, even as they're into each other (sometimes literally). Anyway, under the cut are some of my favorite angsty fics in three handy categories:

1.) Carry That Weight/Love is Strange: Their relationship is deep and doomed and addictive. These stories are all set during the Beatle-years. I'M GONNA HAUNT YOU (sexysadie): 1968. John and Paul talk about women, but really, they talk about each other. A brief story about longing in the absence of hope. WALKING CLOSE AT HAND (harmonising): John and Paul as pair of broken mirrors, haunted by death in all things. Their love as beautiful magic-turned-curse. LET ME ROLL IT (@downtothe-lastdrop): The 1968 NYC Apple Launch Divorcemoon from Paul's POV. Lively and detailed, and drenched in what it must feel like to drown in unspoken words. I THINK OF THINGS WE DID (J_deandra_j): 1965. John and Paul fuck in Austria during the filming of Help! There is something intangibly upsetting about this story: anger and frustration; lust and sex with little room for softness—but it's so good and real and raw while it lasts. This one is impossible to forget! John POV. HOW YOU WERE DIVERTED (candle_beck): Paul handles John. This is about sex as one of the things that is "just them"—an urgent and rough emergency intervention. 2.) Tributes to the Canonical Breakup. To me, the break-up is an angst-filled nightmare. Not to mention the looming day of John's murder. I love stories that explore the break-up and its aftermath with compassion. And, as painful as it is, I especially love stories that make me feel that the love was there, always (even though it wasn't enough). THROW THE WINE (@savageandwise). This one is such a classic I imagine everyone must have read it, but I can't not mention it. It was one of the first fics I read—arrow through me, and such. The more painful it gets, the more it slows down. That takes courage. YOU'RE A DREAM LOVER (@dailyhowl). John and Paul share dreams and love each other in their dreams—gloriously so—but in the end, the dream is over. The most brutal aspect of this one is seeing Paul in the end, alone. I STILL MISS SOMEONE & CLOSE THE DOOR LIGHTLY WHEN YOU GO (RosalindBeatrice). Paul and John become lovers in the 70's, but their encounters are few and far between—and in the end, darkness falls. But there's also the mercy of honesty, tears, and, yes: sex. Beautifully melancholy story about the vast distance between bright stars. ONE NIGHT IN BANGKOK (@backbenttulips). Apologies to the writer in case my "angsty" reading of this one misses the mark! Above all, this is a hot hot hot story about John and Paul hooking up in Bangkok and fucking every which way, remembering the past and seizing the present. But it's also a story about a relationship that no longer exists: their musical partnership. They destroyed the one place where their love had a home. Now, faraway hotel rooms will have to do—and there are no goodbyes or plans for a next time. (I must repeat how hot this is though.)

3.) "A day may come when the courage of Men fails, when we forsake our friends and break all bonds of fellowship, but it is not this day."—Except it's exactly this day. Deep pain and sadness: the break-up is final; no one was saved. [Writers mentioned here: this is meant as a compliment. All of these stories are so good. It's not for nothing that I was never able to forget some lines from these stories, even though I read them very early on.]

HEAR ME, MY LOVER by @savageandwise. (Unfinished, but feels finished.) At the time the Beatles break up, Paul attempts to kill himself. He lives, but much else is destroyed. No one is wrong or right—their love and fracturing cut all possible ways. I read this as a literal translation of what the loss of the band (and John) meant for Paul, for a while.

FOUR LAST SONGS by @celebratorypenguin. This AU (four parts) explores what would have happened to the Beatles if John hadn't been the one to die first. Sentences from this one still live in my brain. The story is both sweeping and deep, and covers the POV of all four Beatles. Its truly an alternate history of the band, and it's very sad. But so, so beautiful, too.

Bonus Materials: John and Paul never became John&Paul. Everyone comes at this differently, but to me, the idea of them meeting, and falling in love, and turning away from it, is as angst-filled as the worst of the the break-up. That's why I think these two are among the best, most courageous, but also most angst-filled, of all mclennon fics: ALL THE BOYS ARE SINGING LOVE SONGS. (@dailyhowl): Paul settles down with Dot and they start a family. He and John meet again, and the spark is still there, but after a night together, the fear of starting over is greater. This magnificently written story fucked me up, and I've yet to pick up the courage to read it a second time. To quote the writer: this is a story about "the angst of living in the prison of society-approved masculinity." Yes. "Happy ending seekers need not apply." That is fair. As a happy ending seeker, I comfort my tender shipper's heart with the exhilarating fact that the real John and Paul did, in fact, become lovers become famous with the Beatles and formed a close musical partnership. THERE ARE ALWAYS FLOWERS (tarenas). This is a story I mentioned in my overall favorites post, and it's not, strictly speaking, all angst (to quote the writer: "this is about being sad and middle-aged, but it's also about being so happy and middle-aged!") It's not even J/P: it's mostly Paul/George, and their relationship is beautiful and real. Still, as a reader I was aching for the other life that could have been, and that is woven through the events of this story with incredible artistry: the Beatles, which everyone misses without knowing why. The great love between John and Paul that ended when John chose someone else. This is the magic of RPF: reality is the shadow event included for free. (Unfinished, with have all four n on-Beatles POV's. So far: George and Ringo.)

[kylesvariouslistsandstuff]

The Subtle British Pop Culture/Timeline In CHICKEN RUN

On occasion, I've pointed out when the original CHICKEN RUN is set.

It's often been written that CHICKEN RUN was "set in the '50s", a sort of vague descriptor of its rather dreary post-war England setting. One could assume that from the technology present in the movie, and the homages to 1950s prisoner-of-war films. The obvious ones being STALAG 17 (the number 17 is on the main hut that the chickens all plot in) and THE GREAT ESCAPE. The character Fowler was of the mascot division of the Royal Air Force during World War II. All that talk about his medals. Chocks away!

The easiest way to pinpoint when CHICKEN RUN is set, at the earliest, is knowing what the songs are.

The chickens, in a hut, dance to a cover of Joe Turner's 'Flip, Flop and Fly', Turner's original was released in 1955, an early example of a rock n' roll song. Britain certainly had rock n' roll in a pre-Beatles era, but it doesn't seem as well-known to the average American as American rockers - you know, Elvis, Little Richard, etc. - are to Brits.

Later in the film, Rocky the rooster is jamming out to 'The Wanderer' by Dion.

The song first appeared in North America in November of 1961 - both as a single and as an album track on RUNAROUND SUE (the title track another big hit for him), and if you look in the opening credits sequence, Mrs. Tweedy works with a calendar that says "November"... However, 'The Wanderer' was first released in the UK in January of 1962. And it doesn't seem like much time has passed since the opening credits and the end of the movie...

'The Wanderer' reached #10 in the UK, which was great for an American rock/pop song over there... If anything, the movie is likely set in November/December 1962, so that was plenty of time for 'The Wanderer' to climb the charts, and then be played on the radio every once in a while. Things took a little while in a pre-streaming age, ya know? *waves cane* *I'm actually not that old, nowhere near lol I just love this kinda pop culture history*

So CHICKEN RUN is still kind of a post-war/pre-Beatles England, and it's set in a secluded location inhabited by a middle-aged couple who likely wouldn't have had any idea what was going in the teen beat scene. The Beatles' 'Love Me Do', the single that really put them on the map in the UK, was released in early October of 1962. Being their first true single (not the 'My Bonnie' recording they did in Germany with Tony Sheridan), it charted at a great #17 in the UK... Which of course was nothing compared to what was to come, the strings of #1s, or at least close to that. 'Please Please Me' was the second single, released in January 1963, it hit #2 in the UK. Beatlemania pretty much becomes a thing in the UK by the middle of 1963... It would take a little while for us yanks to catch the fever...

Anyways, CHICKEN RUN is set in November/December 1962. Or maybe it's 1963, who knows, but I think it's pre-Beatlemania rural England. Yorkshire to be exact.

It's kinda funny how the Disney animated ONE HUNDRED AND ONE DALMATIANS shares some similarities in this regard. That film was released in January 1961, and is set in both London and rural England. Its second half during the late fall/early winter no less. The puppies arrive in October, as stated in the film, and the film ends during Christmastime. Snow everywhere, dreary atmosphere, etc.... And then you have the Tweedys in CHICKEN RUN. Mrs. Tweedy is kind of a combination of Cruella de Vil *and* Jasper. She's got the contempt for animals like Cruella, and is taller and the brains like Jasper. Horace, the shorter, pudgier one in the equation - who is onto what the animals are doing but isn't believed, is totally Mr. Tweedy.

That brings us to the recently-released CHICKEN RUN: DAWN OF THE NUGGET... The sequel swaps prisoner-of-war movies and World War II imagery for James Bond and MISSION: IMPOSSIBLE. Spy movies in general.

One look at Mrs. Tweedy's high-tech new factory shows that in *spades*. But the folks at Aardman Animations did their homework, a lot of the details and background design and such, it legitimately looks like the lair of a supervillain in a '60s spy movie. Much like how Nomanisan Island does in THE INCREDIBLES, another very midcentury modern-inspired movie and franchise. There's also that charming UPA-esque cartoon on how the chickens are processed into nuggets, great stuff there. I also kind of get a bit of a Gerry Anderson vibe here, too. He was known for marionette shows - done in a process called "Supermarionation" - like THUNDERBIRDS and CAPTAIN SCARLET AND THE MYSTERONS. I assume most of the crew behind these movies grew up watching those shows.

And of course, a big indicator... Towards the end of the film, all the chickens - brainwashed by mind-control collars that make them all happy-go-lucky - are being forced up an escalator to a popcorn chicken death. In this pretty creepy sequence, they're all doing this while Cliff Richard's 'Summer Holiday' plays in the background. The bright, pastel-colored set adorned with simplistic countryside-looking hills that these chickens are brainwashed in before they are to be ground into fast food is reminiscent of vintage British and European children's programs. I was thinking of stuff like THE MAGIC ROUNDABOUT and such, which was also a stop-motion production.

Oh yeah, 'Summer Holiday'. That song came out in January 1963, it was the title song for a movie that was *huge* in England when it first came out. Cliff Richard is the prime example of a pre-Beatles British pop/rock star, I feel he's almost synonymous with that period of British pop music before John, Paul, George, and Ringo showed up. So, CHICKEN RUN 2 is set *after* January 1963. Plus, Ginger and Rocky's daughter Molly needed some time to grow up a bit.

Either this was intentional or not, but it strangely adds up. It's pretty chronological, either by accident or they made sure they didn't have too many anachronisms... Other than the cartoonishly high tech of Mrs. Tweedy's Fun-Land Farms, but then again, the pie machine in the original CHICKEN RUN was kind of improbable too. But that's the fun of the CHICKEN RUN movies, so it's a staple.

And even in other Aardman works, there are fun nods to British pop culture and media. For example, in WALLACE & GROMIT: THE CURSE OF THE WERE-RABBIT, Art Garfunkel's 'Bright Eyes' can be heard on the car radio in one scene. Garfunkel is American, yes, but 'Bright Eyes' was composed and recorded for the soundtrack of the British animated classic WATERSHIP DOWN. Just in case you've never seen or even heard of that movie. WATERSHIP DOWN is about rabbits, and in the WALLACE & GROMIT movie, they're dealing with rabbits! Quite clever.

Another favorite of mine is in FARMAGEDDON: A SHAUN THE SHEEP MOVIE. Of course, Shaun the Sheep is spun off from WALLACE & GROMIT, he appeared in the short film A CLOSE SHAVE. The second SHAUN THE SHEEP movie brings in science fiction and aliens, a real 180 from the small-scale first film. At the end of the film, the Farmer accidentally gets onto the UFO and is not on Earth anymore! Before they get him back, a song called 'Forever Autumn' can be heard playing on a radio.

'Forever Autumn' is a rewrite of a Lego commercial jingle composed by Jeff Wayne in 1969, with lyrics by Gary Osborne and Paul Vigrass. The two lyricists recorded the first version of that song in 1972 for an album called QUEUES. A couple years later, Jeff Wayne got the idea to do a musical version of H. G. Wells' THE WAR OF THE WORLDS. A musical album, bringing in several mostly British talents to retell - through story and song - the British sci-fi staple. 'Forever Autumn' was covered for the album, with lead vocals sung by Justin Hayward of The Moody Blues. Of course, another British group... all for the section of the album in which the protagonist - a journalist - fears his wife had been killed in the Martian invasion. "'Cause you're not here." Which is the lyric heard in FARMAGEDDON when they realize that the Farmer went to outer space!

(It takes a special kind of skill to take such a depressing song and make it FUNNY in any context.)

Anyways, those are just a couple examples off the top of my head. Aardman's work is distinctly British, to the core. And the CHICKEN RUN movies give me a fascinating idea of when they are set, a very cartoon British '60s.

[vivi-in-the-sky-with-diamonds]

My Heart Went Boom (or how The Beatles would react to an s/o who loves their heartbeat)

(Image source is I honestly don't know, I found it on Pinterest- if you know the source, lemme know and I'll add it c: )

This is my first attempt at writing something for all four Beatles (I usually just write Paul ;A;) so please bear with me (and let me know if I've messed up someone's personality) c: also this was written by me specifically for me so it's incredibly niche and I'm honestly only posting in case someone else wants it lol (I'm sorry if it's super weird)

John:

John is a little shit

Anyway

He knows about your habit but refuses to tell you he knows, instead opting to aggravate the shit out of you in the most loving way possible

Most days, he'd come home, out of breath from outrunning fans and reporters, but still with a cheeky smile about his face

"Oh, my little birdie, my heart is beating so fast! Come listen?~"

You'd turn bright red bc how the fuck does he know about that

The day would pass with no other mention of it until you're lying in bed together

"You know I love you, Y/N" he says it almost like an apology

"I know, Johnny"

Paul:

Paul noticed you had a habit of lying on top of him, particularly on days when you were sad

It wasn't until he realized you also tapped his arm in a particular rhythm that he realized exactly what you were doing

After that, he'd make a note to always ask if you were okay or needed anything and to take some deep breaths to slow down his heart rate

Sometimes, if he senses that you're upset but you're not lying on top of him, he'll say, "Come listen to my heart?" (You never felt the need to verbally confess to him, as you had an unspoken understanding)

One time, his mouth got ahead of his brain, and out came, "Come listen, my heart?"

And thus, a new nickname was born

At some point, "my heart" becomes "mon coeur"

Sometimes, he'll ask completely in French and it makes your own heart flutter

George:

With George, it began as morbid curiosity

After all, he's such a skinny thing, if you look closely enough at any of his pulse points, you can see the rhythm

At some point, it turned into a comfort thing, knowing his heart beats only for you, even if it does sound like a bird fluttering half the time

One day, you're lying on the couch, watching the telly, head on his chest

"Are ye listenin' to my heart, Y/N?"

You blush at first, caught completely off-guard, but manage to say, "Yes"

He asks why and you explain

He's silent at first, not knowing what to think, but then his mouth turns up in a smile and his chest puffs with pride

It makes him feel strong knowing you feel comfort in him

Ringo:

You'd had the habit of listening to Ringo for a while, even before you started dating

You'd relish in the moments where you'd simply have a "friend cuddle", as the two of you called them, as you'd press your ear gently above his heart, hoping he wouldn't notice the ever-so delicate touch on his chest

After he'd gotten tonsillitis, though, your habit increased

He was oblivious, thinking you just wanted to hug or cuddle, but for you, it was almost like you needed to hear him to make sure he was alive and well

Sometimes, you'd find yourself pressed against him in the middle of the night, the spaces between beats agonizingly slow (even if it was an average 75 bpm)

At some point, he finally catches on. "Y/N, you know I'm alright now, right?"

You sigh. "I know, Ritchie, it's just-"

He'd cut you off by holding you tight and whispering reassurances in your ear

[hollytanaka]

I’m mostly typing this for myself to help process and organize my thoughts but… feel free to read if you want, especially if you have been annoyed lately too.

I’m cutting my ties with Call of Duty as a fan of the games.

Prepare for my unsolicited thoughts under the cut:

This game has always had shady politics and racial discourses. This is known, lol. It has always depicted Arabs, Eastern Europeans, and Latin Americans as caricatures, even if sometimes they sometimes succeeded in portraying their countries as being the victims of European and U.S. imperialism. But in light of the rapid intensification of violence toward Palestinians with the genocide in Gaza, this tendency just leaves a worse taste in my mouth. While the gameplay and plot structure for the new BO game next year will probably be better than MWIII, I have low hopes with how they’ll portray the goddamn Gulf War. The fact they've added an Israeli operator called "Doc" to MWIII in this particular moment in history tells me all I have to know about where Activision stands as a company.

Furthermore, the last Modern Warfare campaign was so bad, it just signaled to me once and for all that Activision does not care about the future of their games or the legacy of any of their previous good games. I’ve mostly been playing Zombies, not even traditional MP / Warzone. But even then, it’s easy for me to get burnt out playing Zombies. And Zombies is not worth the 100 dollars I paid thinking the campaign would be more enjoyable. And season’s 1 battle pass that came with the 100-dollar edition of the game is awful in my opinion.

Not to mention, the voice actors of both the Modern Warfare and Black Ops series have been either totally racist or highly indifferent about the genocide in Gaza. First, Barry Sloane's tone-deaf Beatles post about "peace" he posted on October that he quickly deleted was more insensitive than I think he even realizes. Samuel Roukin liking a racist article that equates calls decolonization as a "false narrative" was despicable. Of course, that article targets Palestine specifically in its racism, but it also indirectly charges all Third World countries with its accusation of their independence and claims to sovereignty as being "a false narrative." As someone who is of both Latin American and Asian descent and whose countries of origins had to fight for independence more than twice (!!), I cannot accept that.

Then Claudia—a woman of Lebanese descent—and Elliot—a queer black man—encouraging and offering condolences to an ex-IOF soldier was downright evil. The IOF actively bombs Lebanon as part of their current genocidal campaign. It has waged brutal wars against the Lebanese people in the 1980s & 2000s [x] [x]. And it has carried out both anti-Black violence [x] and sexual violence—including against Palestinian men and women [x] [x], and it engages in its frequently-exposed pinkwashing [x]. Rather than allying with Lebanese, queer, and Black people who have been victims of Israeli/Zionist violence, Claudia & Elliot as people with major platforms instead are disappointingly choosing to legitimize Zionist propaganda.

I don't know a lot about Julian, Warren, Neil or Alain's stances on this genocide, but I never take silence in the face of genocide or war to be a good sign. Lastly, since Oct 7, María Elisa Camargo (more like caga'o) posted her support for Israel, equating Palestinian existence and resistance with "terrorism." I already did not like her for engaging in indigenista discourses and tropes and for seemingly being very nonchalant about playing the role of a narco-terrorist, trying to girl-bossify a very real source of fear & terror to contemporary Latin American and Mexican people's lives. This was not surprising for her, but it's still worth highlighting.

In terms of Black Ops actors, the former actor for Frank Woods also made incredibly shitty comments in a live stream about the genocide, talking about a so-called "Middle Eastern mentality," (essentializing all Middle Easterners, really), practically equating all Palestinians with Hamas, and roughly stating that people keep on going further back in history to justify their acts of violence—and I'm sure he was not just referring to Israelis weaponizing the Holocaust to commit atrocities against Palestinians. Like many other people, he gives the impression that he dismisses Palestinians and Arabs as incapable of producing a coherent political thought, and that they only resort to violence out of instinct or because of their religion (which is a gross idea—Islam is not a religion of violence at all!)

Again, I didn't have much expectations for Call of Duty to be anti-Zionist, let's be real. But I see these actors as creatives whose literal jobs are to empathize with other people's stories and experiences as part of their work. The fact that they're trained to put themselves in another person's shoes but are incapable of putting themselves in the shoes of Palestinian people right now, when nearly 20,000 have been recorded as killed—and many more injured or displaced—is very telling.

Anyone who knows this blog knows I have formed a lot of beef with other COD blogs for stuff like fanfic tropes, sexual politics, and about the idea of watching playthroughs vs. playing the game. For once, I'm actually relieved and oddly glad most of this fandom has rallied around the idea that Palestine is not the villain, and that we almost all understand that what Israel's doing is unacceptable, and that these actors and creative industry workers have a duty as humans to stand with victims of genocide and to call out crimes against humanity. For this, I actually have to commend this fandom. We're so trivial about shit like fanfic tropes and headcanons, but I'm glad we have our heads on straight for things that truly matter—like real life war and mass violence.

Honestly, the last straw today—although much minor in its gravity compared to genocide apologism—was Barry's childish behavior toward COD fans on twitter who expressed that they agreed with Christopher Judge's joke at The Game Awards last night that the MWIII campaign was too short. You do not get to talk down, mock, or be childish to your fans when they give you feedback on a public platform as an actor. Judge did not even attack the quality of the game or the VAs' performances—he only joked about the game's super short length. Yet, Barry chooses to act out on Twitter because of these harmless jokes. He seems to care more about protecting his ego as "Captain Price's actor" than about the quality of the game or story that fans are receiving and sometimes paying upwards of 100 dollars for.

I thought to myself, okay, this is just one actor letting his ego get to him. That's not that extraordinary. But the fact that COD devs on Twitter today also starting getting defensive about the jokes and trying to excuse the shitty game they produced? That truly showed me that the horrible launch of the campaign and of MP that happened with MWIII was not a learning opportunity for these studios or devs, but rather only made them stick their heads further up their own asses.

I have little faith in this franchise and honestly am not enjoying it, both in terms of game play and the political discourses coming from its creators. After the Season 1 BP is completed (because I fucking paid for it—sadly), I will be planning to uninstall and shelf the game. If I ever play a COD game in the future, it'll be after it goes on a sale because I won't be paying full price. But the thought of giving this company any more money turns me the fuck off right now.

I also realize I'm co-admin for @dailycallofduty and I will still be participating in running it. I'll be promoting the actors' signings less and promoting the game's new content less. Nonetheless, I'll still be reblogging posts that dailycallofduty is tagged in, like art, graphics, and gifs. On my personal blog, I'll still be reblogging COD gifs that I'm tagged in by friends & mutuals. Just don't be expecting more gifs from me. Not that there were many great scenes to make gifs from this new game anyway.

If you made it this far, thanks for reading.

Here are some useful ways to advocate for Palestinians:

Donate to Doctors Without Borders, where in Gaza they are providing medical and psychological assistance to people affected by the ongoing conflict.

Tell Congress: Support the Ceasefire Now Resolution (call now w/ a script)

Donate to Palestine Legal, an org dedicated to defending and advancing the civil rights and liberties of people in the US who speak out for Palestinian freedom.

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[ilesui]

what music would the TWST boys listen to ?

— yay first post! i’ve thought about this question a lot, especially as someone with a varied taste in music. i look up character playlists and… honestly, most of them have the same songs in them. which isn’t a bad thing at all! but i think if we’re going to look at this realistically, it’s good to have a variety. anyways, enough yapping!

heartslabyul — 🃏

riddle would most likely listen to classical music starting off. considering his mom, it’s very possible he wasn’t allowed to listen to a lot of modern music. as time goes on though, i like to think he listens to songs with soft acoustics and catchy hooks. what i’m thinking specifically is “i will follow you into the dark” by death cab for cutie. it would help him calm down for his anger issues and feel like he’s loved, even for a moment.

ace’s music taste is a little more basic. he’s a pretty simple guy! i think he’d listen to minnesotan hip hop, maybe even meme rap. something catchy, modern, but with a layer of irony behind it. i have a feeling he’d really like Brother Ali. maybe something less calm from him, though. he wants to be hyped up!

deuce wants to change. he has a whole moment in book 5 on how he wants to find himself and stop changing himself for the sake of other people. so, he tried listening to classical music. but he just couldn’t get into it. i think it’s more likely he listens to gangster rap / west coast rap. no one post modern, but instead artists like eazy-e and n.w.a. he’s mildly aware of newer artists but he doesn’t necessarily understand them. he’s a sucker for the classics!

cater canonically listens to the top 100 songs. but also cater is a pretty deep character. he doesn’t have a lot of trust in people so it’s very unlikely he’s honest about a lot of things, including his music taste. while cater SAYS he listens to popular songs, i think he’s a sucker for pop punk. waterparks and fall out boy are is jam! he would listen to them while skating!

trey gave me a bit of trouble. when i first made my headcanons, i joked around with my friends on how it’s more likely he’d listen to asmr than music. i still think that’s a bit true but when i asked around for other people’s opinions on what he listens to, i got another joke answer saying “british people music”. that’s when it hit me. classic rock! artists like the beatles, led zeppelin, and david bowie! he’s kind of a family guy so he probably listened to these songs growing up and he’s never quite ventured any further. it’s a little unconventional for the modern day world of pop but i think it suits him!

savanaclaw — 🏜

i think leona is a little more of a romantic than he’s willing to admit. it obviously wouldn’t show in the game but it bleeds a lot more into his tastes. the man may not know how to dress but he can treat a lady well! so i think he listens to classic jazz. he would definitely dance in the kitchen with you while listening to “somethin’ stupid” by frank sinatra! it maybe be hard to believe but underneath all that rough fur is a good person who wants to love as much as he wants to live.

ruggie’s felt a little too obvious to me. golden age hip hop! again, nothing too new but i like the idea that he somehow stumbles upon the most under appreciate artists ever and goes to their live shows! live shows that are mostly basement concerts lol. i can see him growing up on MF DOOM, though. his grandma probably subjected him to a lot of The Jackson 5 too! grammy don’t need fancy!

jack was another one that gave me a hard time. ok, honestly, i had a hard time with 3 other characters on this list but i did some more thinking and i’m content on my stances now! anyways, jack isn’t a very hardcore guy. in fact, i think he’s pretty classy. i think he listens to jazz pop. im specifically thinking of michael bublé. fun fact, it’s a popular headcanon that jack is canadian and michael bublé is listened as canadian pop lol. i didnt even realize that until i looked up what genre he was

octavinelle — 🪸

azul was another one that gave me trouble. im joking when i say this but i think he’d listen to those alpha bro podcasts and says that music is a waste of time. but as a serious answer? jazz blues. maybe even soul blues if he’s feeling like listening to something with lyrics. duke ellington feels like it would be a good fit!

floyd listens to vocaloid and i will refuse to elaborate on this.

…

oh still here?

ok im joking, of course. gotta have a little fun on this blog and keep you on your toes. but hes pretty unpredictable and loses interest in things very easily. i think there’s no one genre that he gravitates towards. he just finds specific songs he likes and listens to them until he gets bored. his playlist is awful because he goes from musicals, to pop, to Debussy in one sitting. it’s genuine whiplash to give jaxe the aux because you don’t know what you’re gonna get when he hits shuffle.

i’m still right though. this man would listen to vocaloid.

jade is interesting because not a lot of things can keep his interest. it’s easy to say he’s like floyd and has a wide taste in music but that’s way too easy. plus, he has a genuine system going on in his head. while there is no pattern in chaos, there needs to be some semblance of pleasure. so i think he’s a fan of noise rock and hardcore. jesus piece is a definitive. you never know what’ll happen in those songs. each moment is filled to the brim with noise that doesn’t even leave you a moment to think. jade would be a fan of that.

scarabia — 🏝

it’s pretty canon that kalim prefers folk party music. he’s seen in multiple vignettes hosting parties where there’s live music that he plays in. but i wanna add something. the whole reason why he joined the pop music club was because of lillia’s performance where he had his little screamo moment, right? i don’t think it’d be that much of a stretch to think he’d be into that music wise. so i think kalim could really be into industrial and hyperpop! but really, he can be into anything just as long as it’s loud and amps him up. rob zombie, most likely. nothing more violent than that! he’ll feel bad :(

jamil is the one i’ve thought about the most. he IS my oshi, after all. i think he listens to a mixture of dance pop, disco pop, and a bit of female oriented rap. jamil is a munchkin and proud. he wants something to make him feel hot because his only coping mechanism is how he maintains himself. its easier to feel hot by yourself when youre listening to music than to deal with the idea of being perceived! :D

pomefiore — 🍏

vil definitely listens to pop. i think that’s a given for any influencer. but i also think he has a secret love for musicals! he’s most likely a classically trained actor, after all. all pomefiore kids give me the vibe of theater kids, especially because theyre actors. ride the cyclone is probably a favorite among him. and wicked. especially wicked.

rook is the one that gave me the hardest time. i didnt exactly know what he’d like to listen to because… frankly he doesnt share next to anything about himself so its near impossible to do a reading on him. like, genuinely, what the fuck. but yk. he IS a fanboy of neige. it isnt hard to imagine he likes k-pop and j-pop (or the twst equivalent). honestly, the idea that he’s a stan is so funny to me that i cant imagine him listening to much of anything else. that man writes fanfiction can poetry be considered fanfiction? about his classmates!!! he can be considered a stan!!!!!!! just an extremely eccentric one

ngl i dont know a lot about asian pop but uh… i like MAMAMOO and MOMOLAND???? literally cannot give you recommendations for this one soz

epel’s music taste came to me the moment i played chapter 5. country rap that’s a little misogynistic. yes epel is one of those kids who went thru a “i hate women” phase when he was younger because he didnt know how to grapple with his own ideas of how to be comfortable with his masculinity and femininity and wanted to uphold traditional gender roles due to a lack of fundamental misunderstanding of feminist theory and how the patriarchy includes men and a general insecurity of his body. i cannot give you recommendations because i am not a misogynist and the only country rapper i like is girliepop

ignihyde — 🎧

idia’s music taste is already confirmed. premo is said to be a hardcore metal idol group that has concerts until everyone passes out. i get a lot of people think he listens to vocaloid and other internet famous genres but tbh i think he thinks that hes too good for that shit. idia is a hipster before he is a nerd. idia would listen to PassCode, a heavy metal idol group. the only difference between it and premo is that PassCode has a more eletronica feel to it. itd fit right at home with our resident leet speak gamer. this is my PassCode propaganda post. listen to PassCode.

i cant say what orthro’s music taste is because i havent played through chapter 6 yet (im trying to upgrade all my srs to level 30 first). but i dont think he’d listen to music. this can be amended tho when i play thru it and i feel like my position has changed

diasomnia — 🪡

malleus was not hard for me at all. to be fair, i originally wrote all of these down on an instagram post and by the end, i was a little delirious. or just in tune with my creativity. either way, i was on a roll. i think malleus would listen to a mixture of musicals, opera, and ballet. it very specifically needs to be classical music that has a performance with it. considering that malleus is kind of a gamer, i think his attention span is a little short to stand an hour of pure music. plus, theyre things you can be invited to and experience with friends / family. imo, he’s a fan of swan lake and the phantom of the opera. something so hauntingly beautiful you cant look away with the added bonus of being able to peer into the tragedy of mortality and the human condition.

lilia listens to screamo and i have nothing to elaborate on that. i pray everyday that he listens to be your own pet. he probably has and legally that means i must sacrifice my life for him

silver would listen to bedroom pop. get it? ehhh? wow tough crowd. but i think he’d listen to bedroom pop because despite everyone’s attempts to get him into metal as an attempt to keep him awake, the slow and sleepy melodies of mxmtoon singing about simple joys in life is just too enchanting to turn away. hes a human first before hes a retainer. humans cant help but indulge in the simple pleasures

sebek was only tricky because i do not care for his character. for everyone else, i have some sort of interest in them but diasomnia just… doesnt exactly appeal to me for some reason. anyways, i think he’d listen to new age jazz. new age jazz is pretty easy to understand and can be as loud or as soft as one wants. probably something with instrumentals because he wants to focus on whatever hes doing rather than the music. new age and not the classics because he is still 16 and like… not as old as malleus lol

— thanks for reading ~

[hughungrybear]

Get to Know Me Tag :)

I was tagged by @telomeke in their post here. Thanks for the tag! 🥰

do you make your bed?

Yes. To be fair though, I am not a messy sleeper 😅. Let's just say that, in less than a minute, I can make the bed I slept in look like it hadn't been slept in lol 🤣🤣🤣

what's your favourite number?

I was born on the 9th day of the 9th month. Imagine how obnoxious I was back in '99 lol. 😁

what is your job?

Let's just say I'm fortunate enough to have an occupation that lets me do experiments, mix nefarious things, obtain spectacular (fail) results, and get paid while I'm at it 😅

if you could go back to school, would you?

I often describe myself as an infinite learner. So, while it's true that I can learn things outside of uni, there are still some things that I want to comprehend in an academic setting. I mean, how else can I get my hands on a Scanning Electron Microscope, spectrophotometer, and the like?? 😅

can you parallel park?

Yes. Curiously, my parallel park is better than my reverse parking lol.

a job you had that would surprise people?

Not a job, but most people are surprised when I tell them that I used to be a competitive cheerleader/dancer 😅😅😅 Apparently, I don't look "perky" enough lol. Another thing that also surprises other people is when I tell them I used to do theatre and even played the Virgin Mary in a school play back in high school. Again, my resting bitch face is working against me 🤣🤣🤣

do you think aliens are real?

I'll believe when there is definitive proof that there are. And before I get dragged into the mud, the same goes with religious stuff. I might have played the role of the Virgin Mary in a school theatre, but I am agnostic, at best lol.

can you drive a manual car?

Yes. I actually prefer driving manual cars to automatic because I tend to get bored easily and shifting gears helps me focus lol.

what's your guilty pleasure?

I usually drink unlimited amounts of long black coffee during the day and drink beer mixed with vodka before bedtime. But I will prolly live happily ever after if somebody gives me unlimited access to some tasty chicken nuggets lol

tattoos?

I would want some but I don't like needles lol

favorite color?

I like reds, yellows, and blues.

favorite type of music?

Depends on my mood. There are times I like heavy metal. Other times I would prefer classical music. However, I do like The Beatles so their music is always somewhere in my Spotify playlists.

do you like puzzles?

Yes. I used to do cryptograms and logic puzzles while commuting to my uni.

any phobias?

Does fear itself count? 😅 No, the worst that I feel is anxiety. However, I could always convince myself to face whatever it is that is giving me anxiety. For example, I might not like needles, but I can still get my vaccination with little fuss lol.

favorite childhood sport?

Running. I just like getting from one place to another as fast as my legs could carry.

do you talk to yourself?

If I am alone, yes. I even address myself in the third person 😅

what movies do you adore?

I listed some of my faves in a different tag game here.

coffee or tea?

Definitely coffee but my GP is on my ass for having low blood pressure so I am slowly migrating to green tea 😅 😅 😅

first thing you wanted to be growing up?

Pretty sure I wanted to be a librarian because (1) I'll be surrounded by books, (2) I will be able to hear myself think since libraries are quiet, and (3) it's almost guaranteed that I will be (mostly) left alone 😅 😅 😅

Whew. Tagging @dribs-and-drabbles, @lost-my-sanity1, @imlivingformyselfdontmindme, @waitmyturtles and everybody who sees this and wants to play this game 😊

[prettyoddfever]

hii sorry to be a bother but i could've sworn at some point you'd posted an audio clip of the band playing she's so heavy by the beatles in between songs live and i cannot for the life of me find it (thanks tumblr's nonfunctional search feature lol) - could u drop a link to that post if u get the chance? thank you so much for all the stuff you post, btw, it's such a delight and an invaluable resource for people like me who weren't around and in the trenches in the heydays of the 2000s lmao

I think this is the post you're talking about!

And then here are some video highlights of when Panic did their neat Beatles-inspired transition at a handful of shows in fall 2008 by using part of I Want You (She's So Heavy) to connect BIBIYD & IWSNT:

I loved this for SO many reasons, but I think my favorite aspect was how it reminded me of a fun season in late spring 2006. Panic added some interludes between their songs for their first headlining tour in April 2006 and then carried those into the May festivals (here's one example). Then they took that even further while they were preparing for their first national headlining tour that summer. Brendon, Spencer, and Ryan talked a lot about their love for Counting Crows during the Fever era and all of the different ways they were each influenced by them. Spencer would get so passionate while talking about how Counting Crows had transformed one single song into a lengthy live piece with transitions, and how that had inspired Panic to weave the first 4 songs of their summer headlining tour into one continuous piece with new interludes. I hoped Spencer had fun with the transition in the video above too :)

[inkofamethyst]

February 25, 2024

I met up with my family in NYC this weekend to explore and see Hadestown to celebrate my birthday and it was fantastic. I feel so rejuvenated after the quick jaunt (less than 24 hours in the city!). I'm not really a huge fan of NYC compared to my current city, but I can recognize its beauty and appeal (even though it gives me an awful experience of some sort every time I enter lol). We went to the New York Public Library and it was amazing. I wish we had hours to spend in there rather than minutes, but we had a show to get to.

Hadestown was... I don't really have words to express how much I enjoyed the show. I mean, it broke me, wrecked me, body mind and soul, but I'd see it again in a heartbeat. I'd heard about it from a friend of my dnd-friend way back in 2019 during or after a game of, you guessed it, DnD, and I'd wanted to see it ever since. I knew the story of Orpheus and Eurydice; one of my favorite tumblr posts of all time discusses the varied interpretations of the myth, and I honestly go back and read it once and a while because the story has always always always been beautifully tragic to me. So I knew how it ended (but I hadn't listened to the soundtrack--I'd refused all these years). And yet. I cried silently at intermission, knowing that Orpheus' quest would be in vain. I cried silently as Eurydice slowly dropped at the end. I cried during bows, I cried on the way out of the theater, I cried while expressing to my family how beautiful it all was. Why tell a story you know is doomed over and over and over again? And every single time, we hope they get it right, though we know they never will.

The music was excellent, the storytelling excellent, the actors (named and ensemble (even with just five they sounded so powerful)!!!!!), the choreography, the set design, the musicians, the lighting design (!!! (as a once-former lights person I'm keenly aware of the effect lighting can have on a story and whew they certainly used it))... All phenomenal. There was a choreographed bit in "Wait for me" with the lights swinging on beat and, just, wow. WOWWWWW. All involved should contribute to my next therapy bill lol.

My mother said she never realized I was such a romantic and, frankly, I didn't either. I mean I knew I was a crier. If there's one thing Imma do, it's cry. And cry ugly. But I think I'm drawn to stories about what love makes us do. Stories that show us how love can destroy, but we still do it anyway, again and again. We seek it out. We risk destruction for the chance at being known, truly and fully.* There was a line in act one from Eurydice, something like "All my life I've only held my own, now I just want you to hold me," and that knocked me out.

Y'all I think Hadestown might be my new favorite musical, surpassing Aida after, oh, six years?

I also had my first ever migraine during my trip lol. I'd braided my hair very very tightly, so it was pulling on my scalp, slowly forming a headache. That combined with the plethora of street smells, the greasy ham and pineapple pizza (which was so so so so good though, place called Carve), and two nights in a row of less than six hours of sleep (braiding lol) resulted in headache + nausea and I wanted to die. But it was nothing an Exedrin and some rest couldn't fix.

During my braiding marathon (a week and a half because I was so busy ugh (but they look gorgeous!!!!)) I watched Blue Beatle finally and thought it had a lot of heart. Regret not seeing it in theaters, but I think it came out during a period where I was just tired of it all ("it" being superhero movies). Also watched The Flash and thought it was very compelling. Flashpoint is not an uncommon means of exploration for the character, so I've seen at least a couple iterations of the same story, but I think this version was done quite well. It was interesting, well-paced, had a nice ending, and was a graceful way to get rid of Ben Affleck lol (also loved the old Batman theme <3 (ALSO also love Is She With You because that is a banger every single time)). I think Ezra Miller plays a really endearing Flash, shame he's crazy :/

Also watched a lot of animated movies on Max! I watched Belle (another with some "la-la-la"'s hehe) which was odd in many ways but was also cute and beautiful, compelling and full of heart. Then I did a bit of a Ghibli marathon of movies I'd never seen before: Tales of Earthsea, Princess Mononoke, Nausicaa, Arietty. All beautiful in their own ways. Very unique storytelling, gorgeous art, powerful messages. There are still several I want to see!

I finished Batman Beyond and the ending was dumb anticlimactic lol. The least they could've done was a two-parter that built to something satisfactory. Honestly the epilogue episode in JL (JLU?) was more compelling. Batman Beyond: Return of the Joker was pretty solid though. I think I'm going to give the DCAU a rest now hehe. Gotta catch up on the MCU, frankly. They've got some interesting things coming up...

*ReesaTeesa's "Who tf did I marry" series was something else. That was another thing I watched while braiding. Finished in two days. Was watching while making figures in the office and someone recognized her face lol. Three things. 1. I did not know a person could be tortured in the way that she was. What happened to her was awful, and it was only because she put herself in the vulnerable position of seeking love. 2. I can't say I fear a pathological liar specifically, but one of my romantic fears is wanting someone's affection so badly that I overlook red flags. Wouldn't be the first time. 3. I know how the internet works, so I shouldn't be surprised, but imo finding her ex's facebook and flaunting it in her comments was a breach of the social contract between ReesaTeesa and her audience, and it should not have been done. She does not want to be associated with that man. I fear for her peace and hope that he does not attempt to make a single penny off her. Was I curious too? Yes. But a person's privacy is more important than my curiosity, always.

Today I'm thankful for the time I got to spend with my family. I'm so thankful to have a family I enjoy spending time with. Teared up while saying goodbye :') We're considering making this a yearly thing while I'm in school here. That would be lovely. Also thankful that things are looking up for my sister, it's been a rough school year so far, but things are shifting toward the positive rapidly! Lastly, lowkey thankful that the subway was out of order today on my way back to my apartment. Forced me to take a shuttle which drove through parts of the city I'd not been to yet. Excited for spring and summer treks there, though!

[genderlessginger]

Buckle up: “Coming Up” music video insanity

This all began with this post on “Coming Up” by @thecoleopterawithana​ 

EDIT: This has been updated with new photos and extra info (w/in an hour of posting)

Read that post for a wonderful and in-depth song analysis that draws ties with the lyrics, but for me, I’m analyzing the music video alone. With a shit ton of screenshots.

I’m aware this video had a director and Paul isn’t T-Swift with the Easter eggs. This is reaching, a stupid opinion with lighthearted spin, this should be taken with a handful of salt. We’re just having fun here. Please don’t set me on fire.

…plus you guys told me to go insane so here we are.

The “Coming Up” music video was directed by Keith McMillain and features Paul McCartney dressed in ten roles and Linda McCartney playing two roles (herself singing as both a man and a woman). The video premiered in the UK on The Kenny Everett Video Show on 14 April 1980 and in the US on Saturday Night Live on 17 May 1980.

Refresh your memory

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g5nzLQ63c9E

Paul’s Ten Characters

In the video edition of 2007′s “The McCartney Years” audio commentary, Paul named inspiration for some of the characters.

1. Paul as himself, 1979 

2. Paul as himself, 1964 (in the most ill-fitting suit, what the hell?)

3. Hank Marvin (guitarist from the Shadows)

Or Buddy Holly

Which could be an homage to John. BTW, what did they have to do to get John to fuckin’ pose for this??? 

And here’s Paul talking about John and Buddy Holly. 

4. Ron Mael of Sparks, keyboards

5. John Bonham of Led Zeppelin, drums

6. “Rock Star” (his words in that audio commentary lol)

You mean Yoko? The shirt literally has Japanese on it. Paul also makes that face ^^ as that character the whole time. It’s definitely a Yoko thing. So while this is a pro-John situation, he’s still throwing shade. 

7, 8, 9, 10. Brass Section 

The breakdown, conspiracy to conspiracy, or noteworthy moment to noteworthy moment: 

1. The Plastic Macs 

This is Paul’s self-admitted take on the Plastic Ono Band, which is too obvious to deny anyway. I believe Paul chose the satirical version of John Bonham to lighten it up so it would clearly be a joke. 

It could also be an overture of peace between the Macs and Onos, so to speak. Not sure John would see it that way. 

2. “Like a flower” “Your Mother Should Know” 

It kept nagging at me, “What is this reminding me of??” And it was this. 

Not just the flower, but the suit. It’s a long blazer and he’s wearing a standard collared shirt but it’s kind of like the late-70s, relaxed, “I recorded this in a Scotland barn in a weekend,” vibe. But still, there’s the stairs, the production, the drama, the camp of Paul McCartney. And he’s playing (almost) all of the parts. 

3. “You want a friend you can rely on. One that will never fade away.” (:58) 

(this one is so stupid) 

Paul is kind of known for being the smiley, bop-y, bouncy bug. Take this still of him singing “Yesterday” with the same energy as “She Loves You.”

 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SOpcwYwDxR4&ab_channel=Rinc%C3%B3nBeatleman%C3%ADaco

:52 But for this specific line, in a verified bop-of-a-song, Paul puts an emphasis on “never fade away.” It felt significant. He also does this in the first verse on “never” but it’s not *quite* the same. Sorry you guys asked for this. 

4. “And if you’re searchin’ for an answer” (:57)

As soon as I heard this line, I knew it was a reference to the old Cavern Club days, the good ‘ol days together. 

And here’s one of my favorites: “Sing Searchin’, Paul.” 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=55He9B2TsXc&ab_channel=IsabeldeBorja

5. Beatle Paul is so happy

Ill-fitting jacket aside (I honestly can’t forgive it), out of all the characters, Paul is very, very happy as Beatle Paul. If he didn’t try to do it on purpose, he could have been just acting like he did during The Beatles’ times and he was happy then... so here’s happy here. Idk it’s an obvious one but it’s cute. 

6. “You want some peace and understanding.” (1:38)

I don’t need to explain this one, right? 

7. “You want some peace and understanding so everybody can be free.” (1:39)

I’mk gonna puke typing this up

In this bizarro world, Paul is saying, “John, you want peace, you want me to understand you and you want us all to be free (to be ourselves).” 

The immediate next shot is the first (and ONLY) shot of Paul’s hands close up on his bass or guitar, prominently showing his wedding ring. In this bizarro world, could this mean, “We can still be free, regardless of the rings?” ??? 

8. I mean I shouldn’t do our boy dirty like this but... (1:45)

It’s just the face. There’s nothing else here. 

9. “I feel it in my bones. Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah.” 

This one is stupid too. 

There’s something to the way he sings this and the way he performs it in the video, idk. I’m taking the stills but it’s good to go watch it. It always feels like he’s saying, “I feel it in my bones. We’re getting back together. It’s gonna happen.” 

10. “You want a better future, one that everyone can share.” (3:07)

Is this an open relationship thing???? Hey man, it’s all good. We can have a better future, we can all share. 

The camera cuts to Linda shortly after this and her face is crazy. In this bizarro world, she could be like, “hint, hint.” 

Yo is Linda good with an open relationship??? 

Well, let’s refer to genius @mclennonlgbt​ for that one. Linda might be more open than you’d think. 

11. Fuck a pig! That’s Paul! 

We all know “Coming Up” is the song that inspired John to get back into the studio, which is peak McLennon rivalry shit.

https://www.salon.com/2020/03/14/fk-a-pig-its-paul-this-mccartney-song-reignited-john-lennons-competitive-songwriting-drive/

I considered doing a ton of research but I thought it’d be funnier this way. I hope you enjoyed me spiraling. I’m sure it’ll help you feel normal.

[girlinthebrightbluejeans]

I'm barely even a Beatles fan, but I stumbled upon an instagram repost of your "psychosexual George Harrison x God fic" and it intrigued me so much it gave me motivation after a whole month of writer's block. Idk how old that post is but I'm so curious, PLEASE give me some context or the thought process behind that 😭

Omg first PLEASE send me this post, I’m so scared!

Ok this is making me deep dive back to last July (when I posted it). I think the impetus was the song Something, and the anecdote I read somewhere that said it was originally written with a male religious figure in mind (“something in the way he moves attracts me like no other lover”). This interested me as a type of relationship that transcends typical sexual categorization, and in how it may have affected his relationship with the band and Pattie.

This was also around the time I was starting to actually get into fics after going back and forth on it for a while. I searched ao3 without any luck (honestly the George x anyone who isn’t a beatle selection is poor) and then made the post, half in earnest and half joking.

I’ve since decided to write my own psychosexual george fic (lol). I haven’t worked on it in a while since I’ve been busy writing for other things.

But like seriously, thank you for telling me. If I had seen it on instagram myself I would have died.

I’m glad at least my no-notes post inspired you!

[shinygoku]

With the Beatles (1963)

Time for part 2 of CutCat Reviews Beatles Albums now it's February!

An iconic picture to be sure, but I'm not wild on it. Maybe it reminds me too much of trying to fit pictures into a small MS Paint Canvas? lol

Like with Please Please Me, I think there's some songs that slipped under the osmosis radar and that I ain't heard in full. Though I think the only albums I've listened to from start to finish all in order are the 1 CD, Revolver and Sgt Pepper, so I'll stop mentioning it on these early and the later ones... We're also still in "a fair few Covers" country, so will I be as mild on them as I was on the Non-Boys of PPM?

SIDE ONE

It Won't Be Long: I first heard this fairly recently, on the radio that was playing in another room. My thoughts weren't that strong, other than that "She Loves You" does the Yeah! repetition better lmao. Having been able to it properly since, though, I'm a lot warmer to it! It's optimistic and energetic, and the even higher amount of Yeahs is funny (though I maintain that SLY easily wins the Yeah Battle... but more on that when I reach it~). Yeah, Yeah, Yeah, Yeah, Yeah, Yeah!!

All I've Got To Do: This one seems to get slept on a lot... it's pretty solid, but it doesn't really offer any particular Iconic moments. The chorus shakes things up in a nice way but it seems Sticking Power ain't something it has. It's one of many songs that go to show how amazing this band was, as this isn't bad, but it's been left far behind by the other songs they've blessed us with, innit?

All My Loving: Now THIS is a memorable song! Such a jaunty guitar with the direct words! A real narrative is being laid out, albeit as an assertion of future things being promised~ Ah nuts, it blasted my memory of the previous song outta my head... XD - Seems this is the only one that got Red Album'd in this list? Wild that it's only the 1, but I think the right choice was made.

Don't Bother Me: George time! I'm not clear on if the narrative here is a post-breakup or if he's being dramatic about a spell away from the GF, but the main crux is that he doesn't want non-GF contact at that point in time. It's much moodier than most'a their stuff from this time, and there's more damn nice instrumental work.

Little Child: The title on it's own has me somewhat 8(, and the lyrics unfortunately confirm this [albeit Dancing on it's own ain't that bad, but one knows Dancing is often a euphemism in songs like this, or a precursor to more]... I'm sorry for such a negative, potentially pearl-clutching response. But also the music isn't charming me enough to coax me into softening my view. The first real Dud of this album, imo.

Till There Was You: Now THIS, I like! I was baffled why this seems to fly under the radar of Iconic Beatles Songs, but I since found out it's a cover, so that's probably the explanation. The lyrics are decent but the real appeal is that absolutely gorgeous guitar work and bongos, they provide such a warm feel~ It's also giving me strong "Anime Ending Credits Sequence" vibes, which I'm quite partial to ^w^ ...Issit just me or does Paul gain a slight Irish accent when he says "no, I never heard (them/it) at all" :0c

Please Mr. Postman: This I DID know was a cover from the start, haha! It's a very catchy song, but even with my sizable Beatle Bias, I can't really commit to declaring this one as the best... it's very good and very listen-able, but it may be that the definitive Mr Postman is somewhere else...

SIDE TWO

Roll Over Beethoven: Again, it's a cover, but I've not heard Chuck Berry's OG take at the time of writing. The song is pretty groovy, George's vocals ring nicely. I'm not dazzled, but I like it well enough :>

Hold Me Tight: Another Beatles original, another one that tends to get omitted from Mentions...! It's nice, but a lot plainer than most'a the stuff, lacks a certain Pizazz

You Really Got a Hold on Me: Another cover, one I've prolly heard before by a non-Beatles act, while this one is another Fine, Inoffensive romp that I lack strong feelings for lol

I Wanna Be Your Man: Now I know this one was somewhat famously given to The Rolling Stones, and I even heard that played on the radio too. When it was their version, I wasn't impressed. Sung by Ringo, as it had been intended initially? ....I'm still not that impressed. Mostly in the lyrics, it's real repetitive! But my Ringo bias keeps it afloat, and it's odd Mid-ness makes it more memorable than others on this album.

Devil In Her Heart: A good cover, this! George doing nice vocals and the candance to the title is catchy, and ooooh the instruments in the background are also fun, are those maracas I hear? It gets bonus points for the harmonies disagreeing with the lead too, hehe

Not A Second Time: The last original of this album, and it's not really doing it for me. Something about it kinda blurs into itself. Their later betrayal type numbers are more my bag, baby

Money (That's What I Want): And we're closing the experience with one more cover. I dig the instruments, most notably the piano, but the song itself is just, like, whatever lmao, Maybe it's too overtly materialistic and a bit listless? Man oh man does the Pink Floyd Money blow this outta the water lmaooo

CONCLUSION

Best 3: It Won't Be Long, All My Loving, Till There Was You

Blurst 3: Little Child, Not A Second Time, Money (That's What I Want)

Overall Quality?: An improvement over Please Please Me, though in a way it's more level quality makes it a bit harder to pick the best at least best songs in it. Most of the covers are again decent but not amazing, and the originals are hit and miss. Unfortunately it seems side 1 got the Lion's Share of memorable, fun numbers, leaving side 2 with also-rans, though in that is Devil in Her Heart at least!

🪲🪲🪲🪲

On the next part, it shall have been (?) A Hard Day's Night and its all-original song lineup! Just the Album though, if I'm looking at the Film it'll be another, separate instalment ^w^;

[vivi-in-the-sky-with-diamonds]

George's SFW Alphabet

(Source)

Like I said last post, I am so sorry for my absence. Again, mental health said, "no post today lol" and I couldn't argue with that. Anyway, this is the second post for today, and the third in the SFW Alphabet series. Sequel to this post.

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

The ever-stoic George is actually much more affectionate than he appears. Loves holding hands.

B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

I imagine you and George have been friends since school. A lot of your time is spent trying new foods together.

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

George is very middle ground on cuddling. Sometimes, getting into a comfortable position can just be too much, but other times, it doesn’t matter to him. Likes to “cradle” you.

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

Quite keen on settling down. Not so much as certain other Beatles, but definitely more than John. I have an image of George in a maid dress with a feather duster in my mind.

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

Would break the news extremely gently. Gives them a goodbye kiss on the top of the head.

F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

Keen on the idea of marriage. One of the most likely people to suggest elopement.

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

Gentler than one would expect. Very in touch with your and his feelings.

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

George enjoys hugs, to a degree. He’s not always keen on super tight hugs, unless the mood calls for it.

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

Says it quite quickly, probably on the third date. He’s sort of joking at first, but at some point, you both realize he means it.

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

I don’t imagine George as the jealous type. He might have qualms over certain things, but usually he just keeps quiet and lets you handle it.

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

Teeth are usually involved in George’s kisses. He loves biting your lip, ever so slightly. Loves to be kissed on his jaw and shoulders.

L = Little ones (How are they around children?)

Again, quite middle ground. He’s not always quite sure what to do with them.

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

Most mornings are lazy. George tends to sleep late, and that habit eventually rubs off on you.

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)

George’s late nights are the reason for his late awakenings every morning. Usually likes to dance or watch telly in the evenings.

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

Similarly to John, he’s quite closed. He might eventually open up slightly, but there are things he would never say.

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

I’m not really sure on this one. On one hand, I can see George with a fuse similar in length to John’s. On the other, I see him as extremely patient. Choose your own adventure?

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

George tends to remember big things more easily, but does remember a few random little things.

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

The first time you kissed, or when you finally said “I love you”.

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

Overprotective to the max, almost more than John. Doesn’t like to keep weapons but will bite and punch.

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

George puts a good amount of effort into everything he does. You’ll never catch him half-assing anything.

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

Smokes like a chimney. Also leaves crumbs in the bed.

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

Like most things, George is middle ground on this too. Always makes sure he looks tidy before going out, but not one to spend several hours on an outfit.

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

Definitely. I mean, he has his days where he’d rather be the only person in existence, but who doesn’t?

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)

George actually doesn’t like nicknames. You and the lads are the only ones he’s okay with using them.

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

George is not particularly fond of some bland food.

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habits of theirs?)

Medium sleeper. Some loud noises wake him up, but quieter sounds don’t. Has never heard of wearing a shirt to bed.

[levmada]

First Times Anthology ch.8: endlessly, forever

work summary » Intimate, vulnerable, gentle. Concepts Levi is a stranger to, until you.

ch.summary: You and Levi take a retreat. After your relationship comes to a natural conclusion, he makes peace with the future.

content/warnings: light references/descriptions for PTSD, flustering Levi, highly domestic, highly horny, oral (f!receiving), edging (f!receiving), Levi’s birthday, creampie (f!receiving), very brief rimming (f!receiving), soft dom!Levi, heavy themes of self hatred at one part, getting Levi drunk and also fucking him to sleep, alcohol consumption, complete fluff overdose, Hange being chaotic (again)

wc: 17.5k

a/n: WOW HERE WE ARE!! i may or may not have worked extra hard for the personal satisfaction of posting the last chapter exactly six months since the first one.

i am horrified i may not have made the last scene justice, but i have also never finished a longfic ever in my entire many years of writing fanfic LMAO😅

i never thought this fic would ever be. a favorite for me, but then it was, and then other ppl read it, and they liked it too :( im simply very thankful + proud of myself for this.

v fitting i end it with an obscenely long chappy lol right?

THAT BEING SAID! a while ago i began to write some... side stories to this series. i just never posted them bc they are farther into canon. i dont plan on writing a sequel to this fic, so imma be posting those (3 rn) periodically to fill in the blanks for fun. think of them like one-off oneshots that fill in the universe lol.

anyway here we go!!

ps: i never project myself onto levi ackerman

previous part・work masterpost

Listened to while writing:

taglist: @peace-for-levi | @sckerman | @jayteacups | @levi-my-beloved | @alominum | @mwuah | @midtwenties-angst | @ackermandick | @halloweenmedic | @katty | @notgoodforlife | @chaotic-nick | @b-o-n-e-daddy | @levisbrat25 + link to sign up

It happens, as acts of fate often do, by surprise. 

Today, the sky is awash with that crisp, clean blue that autumn does so well, but clouds are forming and the air is breezy, the first warnings of the coming winter.

You (by Levi’s request, unsurprisingly) have half a dozen seasoned soldiers raking the burnt gold, crimson, and brown leaves, tossing them beyond the fences, and finally scrubbing the gutters until they turn silver.

Meanwhile, fresh-blooded Scouts—those who graduated just last spring, but also lived through the summer expeditions—are on their third or fourth lap now, showing only subtle signs of slowing. 

That’s because Levi is running with them.

He has always preferred the hands-on approach.

With a clipboard clasped in your hands, you smile slightly to yourself. It’s no crime to watch him frighten the others into shape while you add up some numbers.

The turn of the season calls for quality checks of all equipment before the Corps more or less enters hibernation for the winter. Besides, mice always find a way into the food stores time of year.

You turn your head as a Scout—a slim, doe-eyed man whose name you don’t know—thumps a fist to his chest in salute.

“There’s a situation at the gate that requires Captain Levi’s attention, Lieutenant.”

“At ease,” you reply with a nod, and he relaxes. Everyone knows about you and Levi, but most assume you both to share the same attitude.

You wave your hand in the direction of the field, but Levi is already on his way over, having noticed the scene. Under one arm is his uniform jacket, along with the padded weights he sometimes likes to strap on for the “extra challenge” when he trains.

Twenty damn kilos.

“What’s so important that you didn’t think to go to the Commander first?” Levi is asking, eyes narrowed.

As it turns out, a man waits at the front gates who wants to have a word with Levi specifically. He claims he knows him, and he hasn’t taken no for an answer.

Didn’t give a name, either—not to a bunch of screwy soldiers, anyway.

You shoot Levi an inquisitive look, but he has nothing in terms of explanation. He might as well go and see who it is, but no, “don’t waste your time escorting me. Get back to your duties.”

The messenger takes his leave.

You nod curtly at Levi with a promise to watch over the training (and the yard upkeep) until he returns, a task you take upon yourself without him needing to say a word. Just for that, a small feeling, like fear but sweeter, blooms in his chest.

During his short walk, Levi wracks his mind of any civilian men he knows with the audacity to show up to the Scouts’ headquarters just to “have a word” with him. It doesn’t feel right. 

The Survey Corps aren’t taken seriously, everybody and their mother knows that, but they aren’t protested against outside of the returns from expeditions—usually because of grief, but always convenience. 

He can’t think of anyone.

Out in front of Trost HQ stands a wrought iron gate of spear where another pair of Scouts acknowledge Levi with brief salutes.

He waves them away, revealing a scruffy mouse of a man standing outside, defiantly toeing the loose dirt with his shoe. A cigarette dangles from the side of his mouth.

An onslaught of memories rush through Levi’s mind, in sharp contrast to the slow smoke drifting up into the air.

Levi blinks, then blinks again. “Yan?”

A coy grin crawls over Yan’s cheeks, showing teeth. “Yo, Levi…! Good thing you remember me. Was afraid your comrades woulda arrested me soon otherwise.”

He shakes his head. Is he dreaming? “They wouldn’t have.”

“Sorry,” he says. “I guess I’m used to the MP’s way of doing things.”

Yan is as sheepish as ever, and as skinny, too. The last time Levi saw him, he was suffering atrophy in his legs, as lots of people Underground did. His treatment was the down payment on the job that got Levi in the Scouts in the first place.

Gripping one of the spears, he scrutinizes Yan with his eyes. “There are other ways to get my attention if you wanted us to chat. Why’re you here?”

Yan kicks at the dirt some more. He doesn’t seem peeved that Levi doesn’t bridge the gap between them by opening the gate just yet. It’s been years, not that Levi was ever the trusting type to begin with.

“You never liked small talk. I just don’t like owing people my life, you know?”

Levi’s lips press into a thin line. He means coin. “You’re not serious.”

Yan shrugs around another puff of tobacco. “I am.” He peers over Levi’s shoulder. “Your friends are being really nosy.”

A cursory look behind him proves Yan right. More than a few are now clustered around the entrance to HQ, curious as to what the Captain is up to, and more curiously, what some civilian wants with him.

Levi glares in their direction, causing them to quickly disband. “Caution is a positive quality around here.”

Levi doesn’t doubt Yan has honest intentions; he never was cut out for life in a gang. Any job he, or sometimes Farlan, ever gave him that was bigger than petty thieving made him go bright red in the face.

He was just a kid, like most of them were. Isabel’s nickname for Yan was ‘peep’.

Levi crosses through the gate, shutting it behind him. They end up strolling a few paces for guaranteed privacy despite the new clouds gathering above, threatening a drizzle. What few that are out and about on the streets are bartering coins for supper. Dew sticks to the grass.

Levi has a right to be wary. “I wasn’t the one who slipped you all that cash with your pay, back then. I didn’t even contact Lovof first. None of us could’ve afforded your treatment.”

“Hm.”

Levi crosses his arms. He can spew excuses all day. 

“Still.”

He scoffs. “What’d you do, then? Steal the King’s purse?”

Yan smiles toothily. “That'd be breaking the law… I would never,” he drawls dramatically. “I just seduced my doctor after she fixed my legs.”

He isn’t impressed.

It doesn’t take long to get an honest answer out of Yan, though. Apparently, he has been saving up for a long time now—some well-paying factory job in one of Sina’s booming industrial districts.

“Believe me, Lev’,” Yan tosses the cigarette away. “I know—"

“You better throw that litter away where it belongs.”

A throaty chuckle leaves the man, and he crouches down. “And here I thought military life might’ve made you go soft.”

“Are you a comedian now, too?”

Yan laughs again, but the light mood doesn’t last long. It dampens as the crooked smile on his face dissolves.

Levi braces himself in case Yan says their names. Out of everyone, he must’ve been the last to hear that they were gone.

“I don’t care about some slimy noble,” Yan says. “And about the extra pay, I know you didn’t know. You never would’ve okay’d it. You were a real penny-pincher when you wanted to be.”

Levi thinks back. His years in darkness feel like a recurring nightmare he one day stopped having. He says nothing.

But he can admit it feels good, seeing Yan again—like coming upon a keepsake that you were sure you lost years before. Levi has known loss all his life, and people born down there seldom ever get out, let alone live through the atrophy.

“Glad you’re doing well for yourself,” Levi tells him, and he is. “But you don’t owe me. Buy a house or something.”

“I got all I need,” he tells him, as serious as death. “C’mon, Levi. Don’t make me beg.”

The look on Yan’s face is pitiful.

Levi gets it. Just like the only reason Levi would even consider taking the money, Yan definitely came with Isabel and Farlan in mind. Not just him.

“You’re a fool,” Levi sighs.

“Well then,” you huff fiercely. “Hm, I have an idea. Let’s go over the reasons again.”

Levi’s tight hold on his reins tightens a little more, making Sweetie snuffle. He’s been dealing with two brats since you left this morning.

A shame that he checked out an ordinary scouting horse rather than taking Nibbles, his horse, but you made a good argument at the time, and besides, you liked her name.

“No.”

Mildly, you shake your head, smirking to yourself. “Well then. Are you gonna keep complaining about being given all that coin? Think very carefully about your answer.”

“Your only joy in life is embarrassing me,” he replies. No hesitation.

“It is not,” you laugh. “Anyway, let me remind you.”

He glances over his shoulder, past your connected wagon neatly packed in with enough belongings to last you this winter. That tree hollow doesn’t look any farther away than it was ten minutes ago.

Dammit, how much longer?

“First of all, HQ is dead in winter. Not even you can find a way to run yourself into the ground. Two: It’s money! It’d be a shame not to spend what’s left since you apparently don’t need it.”

He doesn’t. A week earlier, on the same day that he requested Erwin’s permission that he didn’t need to take a leave of absence (Erwin actually laughed at him), Levi had that recurring nightmare once again. He took a trip back Underground to deliver half of the “debt” to an old, trusted contact. A lot of good will be done with it.

“You’re right so far,” he says.

But he knows what’s coming next. With your horses lugging along the wooden wagon, he can’t gallop away to avoid a repeat of the reasons you gave him to do all this.

It’s not that you’re that serious, nor does he have anything to vehemently disagree with—it’s simply that embarrassing.

He locks his gaze straight ahead, focusing in on a single tree branch that looks like it would collapse if someone blew on it a little. He can’t wait to pass it by.

“Besides the fact that it would be good to take a holiday for once,” you go on, “unfortunately—”

“Stop.”

“—our headboard is cracked! And you didn’t want to be at HQ while it got fixed for some reason.” You smirk. “So there. And how could I forget reason number four?”

He drags your name out in warning, but apparently, you have become deaf. The crunch of thin snow beneath your horses hooves has no chance of drowning you out.

“Let me set the scene for you,” you cackle. You’re enjoying yourself. “There we were, in the privacy of our own quarters, in quite a compromising position, don’t you remember?”

He crushes the pathetic tree branch with his glare. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Your high little laughs litter every word now. “S-Sure you do! It was the third time that month, Lev’, and it was the same culprit—”

“Hange is a fucking pervert, even worse than you, I know. Are you done?”

You spot the utter contempt on his red face and take pity on him. It’s only as much fun to tease Levi as readily as he plays along.

“Yeah,” you relent with a light sigh, fog puffing out.

He relents too. “Finally.” 

“I know this is a big deal for you,” you say, a touch more seriously. “I can’t even remember the last time I slept in my own bed back home.”

He, who doesn’t have a tangible home to speak of, feels as pained as you sound. He nods, knowing.

You bring up your family a little more often than he does, which is never. But the thing is, in preparation for this trip, you were both passing through Utopia District and decided to pay them a visit since you find yourselves that far north so rarely.

It isn’t that some tragedy struck home in the meantime and you weren’t informed. No one got laid off or went broke, no one was even sick.

The exact opposite. Your mother and father were happier than ever, actually. Retired. What reconnecting you did came down to a slew of joyful nothings, which made it impossible to talk about your own life—except for one Levi-shaped piece of news.

Your mother practically launched through the ceiling, crying out in glee. It was mortifying for him, but up to then, he had only allowed two people in his life to ever hug him: his own mother, and you. Yours really knew how to squeeze the life out of someone.

But then, there were the nothings. How the cold snaps back in August were worrying, but December has been surprisingly warm, so the Chrysanthemums were miraculously still in bloom. Your mother’s old garden—“You started a garden?” you had asked—was flourishing. And now that he was retired, your father had nothing to say about the scar of resentment whose fresh wound had propelled you into military life in the first place. His biggest concern these days was watering your mother’s plants.

They were older. You told him that that part put it all in perspective for you. “I should be thrilled they’re doing well. I mean, I am, but…I’m too different now. They don’t feel like my family anymore—like we’re two different species. You know what I mean?”

After hearing that, Levi took you to your favorite bookstore in Sina to buy you something (as it turned out, somethings) to make you feel better.

Afterwards, he even let you kiss him on a crowded street despite his crippling embarrassment of showing affection in public. For that reason, you asked first.

Without saying anything, your cloth sack of books hooked under one of his arms, he turned towards you and scooped up your chin. That peck really seemed to make you happy.

In truth, he hadn’t known what to say at the time. Sure, he doesn’t know what Kenny’s up to, if he’s still breathing enough to be up to anything at all, but if he is, Levi dreads the day he finds out about it for many reasons. One being that Kenny’s dearest joys in life differed from most people’s, to say the very least.

“What’re you looking at me for?”

Your eyes stay on him. “I just like looking at you.” 

Face pinched, he turns the other way. An image invades his mind of himself from a third person perspective, and he inwardly recoils.

“Well, stop,” he complains mildly, blushing. Since this morning this has been happening, because he just can’t get away, which you have been taking full advantage of.

“I can’t.”

He makes a sour face. “I mean stop looking.”

You grin. “Give me an hour to gather the strength.”

“We’ll be there in an hour.”

“That’s right!”

Levi doesn’t have a passion for decorating as long as things are in perfect order. This is why you tell him what you want where, down to exact inch, and he can do it all without a single margin of error.

He isn’t perfect of course, but he’s always determined to be.

The biggest thing you brought along (that wasn’t already here) was a mattress, and you don’t have a speck of dust in terms of decorations, but still.

Now that the wagon is empty (the largest piece of furniture you brought was a mattress, but still), your horses are secured in their stalls, and you’re done spending the better part of the late afternoon cleaning the cabin from ceiling to floor together, it’s time to breathe.

Levi leans back against the kitchen bar with his cravat undone around his neck. Seeing how he sweat through his shirt long ago, he has three whole buttons undone below his collar.

What are breaks, anyway?

He takes in the finished product and decides he’s pleased, but it still feels like a blank sheet to him, it being so new, so unused. What to do next?

That’s how you find him the next time you pop your head in from outside, dabbing your forehead of sweat with a handkerchief as white as the snow on the ground. You whistle.

He crosses his arms and looks away, looking unbearably coy. “What’s next?”

The possibilities have you rocking in the doorway. You simply can’t contain your energy.

“Well, it’s the golden hour, ‘Vi. Are you hungry?”

You both set up in the kitchen and get to work, however—odd cooking of all things soon becomes in his mind. Time isn’t counting down before work, and you have so many options, for once excluding watered down stew and bland military provisions.

He frowns as he sparks a match for the wood underneath the stove. The thunk of a knife on a cutting board, that’s you.

It hits him, sudden and severe, that he will be enjoying your cooking every day, at least when he wasn’t doing it. You always say he has a knack for making something out of nothing.

Earlier, you made fun of him for hopping back onto the counter in order to reach for a can of broth you had placed in the highest cabinet.

Whenever he pointed this out, you offered to get it for him, to which he scoffed: no, he obviously doesn’t need help. It was just a can.

An odd feeling turns over inside him.

Despite your earlier transgression, he still wanted to follow your recipe tonight. However, for as long as the cabin has sat empty before now, parsley, rosemary, and all manner of spices were overgrown beyond the clearing outside. While you were busy picking those, it was up to him to chop the lettuce.

Which quickly turns into a much more arduous task than he expected. 

His personal dagger that followed him up from Underground had finally breathed its last years before, but he has always kept a collection (a habit that has followed him since childhood), including kitchen knives. Any weapon he can hold is an extension of himself.

Which is why it is frustrating him to no end that he can’t cut this damned lettuce right. Suddenly, he feels like a novice.

Brow puckered in irritation, he stops and measures the mass of filleted greens with one hand. With his other, he flips the blade backwards absentmindedly as he reconsiders his approach.

This isn’t flesh, and it most certainly isn’t a threat. The kitchen air is dense with steam from the wood burning under the stove, screwing with his head.

Come to think of it, he can’t remember the last time he took all this preparation into cooking. Maybe he’s been killing things for too long.  

This is how you find him, asking, “How’s it coming?” to which he grunts noncommittally. It’s not coming along at all, which makes him even more determined to make some progress.

So, he lines the thin pointed edge up, and tries again with a flurry of quick chops. What results is a murder scene on the lettuce’s part.

After a long moment, he senses you watching over his shoulder, so he stops, waiting for your judgment.

“Baby, you’re stabbing them.���

“Tch.” He flicks the blade around once more, and shaves the cracked, brown pieces off the board and onto the napkin. “No, I’m cutting. There’s a difference.”

Then you’re closing in on him from behind, and loosely taking his hand that he grips the handle with. “Well, you’re cutting like it’s going to attack you,” you say softly. “There’s not gonna be that much resistance, either. Hold it looser, like this.”

Without thinking much of it, he slowly relaxes against you, tilting his head a tad to make room.

“I would’ve figured it out eventually,” he argues weakly. His chest flips in embarrassment.

“I know,” you reply. “But I’m already here, right?”

A nod. He decides to follow your direction if you insist on giving it, it’s just unthinkable that he would require help with a task like this. It’s a surprise, how complacent he has become.

From behind, he hears your breath hitch. The steam. Neither of you say anything, but you’re hasty in lowering the flames after that.

It takes two weeks to adjust when this vacation was to last five. By mid-January, the frost will have melted away enough for there to be work to do again. In the meantime, there is only the two of you.

No matter what environment he’s in, Levi pours his energy into a clean environment, but suddenly the environment started begging for his attention even more, like the loose gutter leaking due to melting snow.

What about the mess of leaves plastered to the roof, too? And all the damn weeds crawling up the side of the cabin closest to the forest like leafy tendrils?

So this is what average people get fussy over? he thinks. These are their worries? Their priorities?

Either way, they are yours to share.

Most things you do, you do together. You pull the weeds and rake the leaves, he fixes that dangly gutter on the roof, and while he was at it, replaces the rotted bricks in the chimney, and cleans soot out of the fireplace, and also—

Surprisingly, he begins to find immense satisfaction in getting these simple, but crucial tasks done.

The problems that sometimes erupt are even simpler, and even at those rare times where they aren’t, they’re still child’s play in comparison to the more hellish ones he’s used to. 

Like the acorns. Levi got it into his head that he would clear the entire yard of anything but grass, including acorns. You started snatching up each and every one he tossed aside, plopped them in a wicker basket, and threw them back to the squirrels.

By their nature, however, the acorns never stop coming. It infuriated him. He only came to enjoy this chore once it became a routine each morning, following slow blinks and easy yawns.

To such an extent that he constructs a simple wooden bench for the rear side of the cabin. Most of the squirrels live in the forest, so you could throw your acorns out all you want without tiring yourself out.

It was a surprise, too.

You weren’t done thanking him even as you were shaving it down and polishing it, having been an apprentice to a woodworker in your youth. The result was more elegant than Levi could ever have dreamed of doing himself.

The best part of all however, was waking up together. You can always wake up together. Every morning carries a slow, gradual rise to awareness, and your warm lump under the blankets is always there for him to reach for. Plus, he can always, always grant your request for “five more minutes”.

The mornings are his favorite, to say the least.

The bedroom is simple, but larger than you’re both used to (despite your ranks, especially Levi’s, luxury simply doesn’t exist in the Corps). The perpetual smell of ceder, laundry, and more faintly, old paper always sits inside. The folded curtains, hued like thick cream, stay closed in the mornings to block out enough sunlight for you two to sleep in.

But Levi can never bring himself to. Instinct, or habit, always wakes him around dawn, and at dawn he still trains. It was unthinkable that he would allow himself to grow soft, so there was no argument.

In fact, you join him more often than not for the same stringent exercise routines you’re used to back at HQ. Sometimes you spar, and at others you hike into the forest while the sun is still creeping up into the sky, flooding the morning with purpley pinks. Even the birds are just waking up.

It’s not yet that time when you jolt awake this morning, or rather, late enough for it to be considered that.

Why? A freezing hand is brushing over your bare belly where your blouse fails to cover. An arm curls around your waist.

You whine sleepily and knock away the ice cube. “Hand’s cold,” you groan, eyes stubbornly sticking shut. “S’wrong, Lev’?”

No reply. You toss a look back to be greeted by what you can make out to be a blank look on his tired face.

He blinks, and then you blink, long and slow. “Was I not touching you anymore?”

“Didn’t mean to wake you,” he mutters. 

Levi doesn’t deny it, which means yes. In response, you tug his hand back around you, causing him to grunt.

Sometimes, one of you rolls away from the other during sleep, causing him to always snap awake shortly thereafter.

There is nothing else he’s still embarrassed over more than that.

“Hm. C’mere,” you whisper, and squirm over to face him. He tangles your legs together and puts his arm around you, even clinging—but not without another choked grunt.

Now that you’re more awake, you delicately tuck a piece of hair behind his ear. You’re close enough to feel his warm breath on your face. 

“Is it your hand again?” you ask.

He huffs through his nose. “Go back to sleep.”

Ever since he had quite literally fixed the cabin’s every conceivable flaw, he has been floundering for more projects to complete.

He’s definitely compensating, but you don’t point this out.

You kind of expected it, which is why you approved at the beginning, but only as long as the land’s beauty didn’t cost his health.

“Levi.” you chuckle a little, blinking in the dark. “Don’t make me ask you to take a break for your break. The roof won’t leak for another hundred years ‘cause of you.”

“Hm. You’re welcome.”

“I mean it.” You brush your noses together in an eskimo kiss. A lazy peck on the side of his mouth, however, has your brow wrinkling. His skin feels rougher than usual, even scraped.

With another kiss, this one to his sharp jaw, he huffs again. “Not now. Sleep.”

“I’m not trying to start anything,” you huff back in pretend-offense. “I never see you with facial hair. I think it’s cute.”

“…I don’t think so.”

“Have you ever tried growing more? Like… a curly mustache.”

He snorts loudly. “Go back to sleep.”

“So that’s a no.”

His scoff is muffled by the pillow he buries his face into. “I just, haven’t had the time to shave it.”

You scrub the sleepiness from your eyes and sit up a little to peek down at him. With what little side-eye you’re given, you can tell he’s giving you attitude.

You lay your hand over his jaw, and lo and behold, rough hairs scrape your palm.

“‘Haven’t had the time’ my ass,” you grumble quietly. “I’ll do you one better than that.”

He buries his face deeper into the pillow. The most you can do now is scratch gently at where his undercut lays, stuck up in places.

What must be the sheer agony he feels from your offer makes him groan a little. “You do enough.”

“Never,” you say.

“Always.”

“Never.”

You go back and forth more and more insistently. He, just on principle, quits the game first, but doesn’t compromise, either.

So neither do you. You climb belly-down on top of his back so you’re stacked on top of each other like pancakes.

“Ngh.”

“Levi,” you whisper in his ear, but no response. His eyes are closed.

You gape softly. “Are you actually pretending to be asleep right now?”

Nothing.

You’re at your wit’s end. “Let me,” you whine into the curve of his shoulder.

Huffing, you bully your hands under his lean sides. “Or else.”

“You’re a brat,” he mutters fondly.

Your lips quirk, but that isn’t the response you wanted, so you scrape your fingers all over an infamous tickle-spot of his: right below his ribs where his belly muscles properly begin, and a huffy laugh immediately bursts from him.

Even though he could easily throw you off, he bullies a hand under himself to bat you away as his chest wracks with contained snickering. His squirming is neverending.

Not on your watch. In a frenzy, you wiggle your fingers all over his ribs. 

Levi makes lots of grabs, but it’s too sensitive, and his hand feels like a broken paperweight. He scrambles for the sheets instead, airy, earnest laughing sounding from the pillow. You burst into a fit of your own to hear it.

“You brat,” he gasps, and in one solid movement finally throws you off, like a bull. On your side of the bed, thighs land on either side of your waist, his bony knees digging into your hands to keep you still.

Your laughter quickly dies out. New tension eats at the air as you stare up at each other through the darkness, at a stalemate. The only sounds are your rough breathing.

“Never,” you pant, and you mean that. “You never let me do anything for you.”

His sigh has a touch of defeat in it, which is what makes you cry out so loud to feel his freezing palms snake up under your shirt. You didn’t expect that.

Reflexively, your back bows away from him, until a small gasp is pulled from you. The way his hands slot up underneath your breasts makes his thumbs dangerously close your nipples.

“Fine,” he relents, and casually begins to roll his hips down into yours. “But let me do one more thing for you first.”

You do.

Levi has never allowed (or needed, really) you to do something as personal as shave his face. The fact that this is happening in the first place is a testament to how much he loathes the “rat shit” on his face, and how hard he’s been working lately.

“You not going to return the favor,” you tried to explain to him. “We’re not bartering.”

“That depends on whether you cut me or not,” he said, not inspiring a wave of anxiety to wash over you.

To accommodate for his height, you decided on taking the cushioned chair from the sitting room whose color could be easily mistaken for rotten plums. Sitting on his lap was just an added benefit, which is the only reason he told you, “Good idea,” instead of rolling his eyes and retrieving the chair anyway.

The basin you’re using is clean, white porcelain, in sharp contrast to the sick-looking state of the water once you’ve gotten started.

For good luck, because you’ll be prettified just to knick him on accident, you tap the side of the basin (ting-ting-ting) with each pass of the small blade—which also helps in case of stray hairs.

He looks personally insulted every time you do this. 

“Don’t ruin the blade by tapping it with the edge, and you’ll chip the—”

“Shh,” you soothe. 

The straight edge falling down around his mouth abruptly quiets him, but he always has plenty enough attitude for all hours of the day, in all situations.

He glares at you.

Ignoring him, you cradle his chin and sweep it downwards in long, fragile motions. With a soaked cloth, you dab away all stray hairs and cream.

Just a little longer. 

So another hour, he likes to retort, all because you’re taking this job seriously—a grave statement considering you perform any and all tasks with care already.

“You just like to complain,” you quip lightly, although his scowl dissolved about a half-hour ago. As some point, he just started to watch you, and hasn’t averted his eyes since.

It’s a titillating feeling, his eyes like soft silver, always in your vision. The air feels like a fuse, eternally waiting for sudden ignition.

He traces the knobs of your spine beneath your shirt. “If I praise you, you’ll lower your guard, and there’s a higher chance you’ll make a mistake.”

Ting-ting-ting.

“My Levi just gets sweeter by the day, hm?”

He glares, just barely.

“Don’t clench your jaw like that, honey.”

He obeys. 

You know he has a point, however, which motivates you to imagine this as more of a battle. A real fight leaves no room for mistakes, let alone praise.

He is sweet, but he gets clingier and clingier these days, which never fails to make you a little smug, warmly so. If things were different, you would enjoy it even more, the way he holds onto you (right now, literally).

Another fifteen minutes pass after you reach a perfect rhythm: a continuous loop of slow swipes, tap-tap-tapping the basin, then sweeping the rag over the spot you just completed. Only sometimes, you lather on some extra shaving cream.

With your thumb and forefinger, you hold the nape of his neck, not unlike in those moments you want to comfort him. 

You’re in your own little world, and so is he, for his gaze hasn’t left yours since you don’t know when anymore. One moment, he was glancing in the mirror, but before you knew it, you couldn’t remember a time when he wasn’t looking at you.

Your hold the same, you raise the razor once more, and the dream is shattered.

Just before the edge could brush down below his chin, Levi’s eyes snap wide. He seizes your wrist at once, causing you to jerk back.

To your shock, he still doesn’t let go; his shoulders rise and fall with his breaths, his grip so tight that you feel your bones grind.

“Levi,” you wince, “Stop! Too tight.”

His hand pulls backwards as if stung, and he retreats back in the seat, eyes wide and blank. 

Sitting very still, he swallows as he rubs the bridge of his nose. “…Sorry. I’m sorry. You surprised me.”

You lean back as well, your heart pounding in your throat. After how hurt his hands seemed the night before, you underestimated his real strength.

You should know by now. He’s just always so kind to you.

Despite rubbing your smarting wrist, you shake your head frantically. “It’s okay.” 

He blinks back into reality, still looking somewhere past you. “What did you say?”

Once upon a time, he couldn’t even stand being kissed on his neck. You should’ve known putting the razor anywhere near there without a warning would upset him.

“It’s okay,” you repeat. “I’m sorry, you’re safe. I didn’t mean to freak you out. I wasn’t thinking.”

He’s watching you with as much space put between you as possible. “Did I hurt you?”

“It’s okay.”

His eyes dart down to your wrist, which seems to answer for him. With his knuckles a peachy white on the armrests, he takes a swift breath through his nose. “Get up.”

“What?”

“You heard me.”

You shake your head, your hands slapping down over both his hands. “No, I’m not hurt! It wasn’t anyone’s fault. It was an accident.” 

Levi doesn’t doesn’t so much as twitch to shoo you off, but he looks devastated, as if he injured you within an inch of your life.

“Here,” you say, voice high with pleading, and set your wrist in front of him.

You shake it a little. “Levi, please, look. I’m okay.”

“Okay…” He drags the word out skeptically, but you don’t move, and with some more time, he eventually reaches out to touch your wrist.

You don’t stop swearing up and down that this isn’t the catastrophe like he thinks it is. Even though it feels like a bruise is waiting to rise to your skin’s surface (which you don’t voice), you know you startled him. It was as accidental as an accident can get. He didn’t break you.

“I don’t wanna stop before I’m finished,” you tell him gently. “And if it makes you feel better, I know you won’t let it happen again.”

His chest rises with a long, even breath. “Forgive me,” he speaks against your wrist. He’s been kissing it.

In response, you glide it over his soft cheek, shaking your head. “Why? There’s nothing to forgive.”

He swallows heavily, his adam’s apple rising and falling with it. He does feel fine for you to continue, but he feels like a sitting safety hazard, too. Handling a razor shouldn’t be as dangerous as it usually is.

“Is it okay?” you ask.

“Worry about yourself.”

“I’m okay,” you tell him again, real close.

He sighs.

“Honey.”

“...I believe you.”

A tiny thrill moves your stomach. Your brows raise. “You’ll let me?”

“Are you asking me to repeat myself?” he retorts, but sheepishly. Turning his head, he presses a chaste kiss to your palm.

This warms your heart. The blade was left on the counter at some point, but you lift its handle now, and settle back in.

You take your sweet time lathering on the perfect amount of shaving cream below his chin. For all the agonizing, he needs very little work done here.

“You’re stalling,” he comments quietly, and bears his throat a little. He doesn’t sound annoyed, which means he’s nervous

Over the act itself or hurting you again, you don’t know, but he’s no longer looking at you.

You begin.

Once again holding his nape, you tip his chin where you need it, and eye the dark hairs that trail below one of his sideburns. Easy.

“Good,” you will say every so often. You don’t care that Levi isn’t a child, whether he needs to be praised or not. At least he won’t make a mistake for lowering his guard, not here. “Good job staying still for me.”

He shifts. Now you guide the razorblade downwards, over where his pulse thuds beneath his skin.

You pause when he takes your forearm. If he changed his mind, it’s not clear; he simply clicks his tongue and looks the other way.

“Lev’?”

“Keeping you steady.”

You are steady. He on the other hand could double for a wooden board.

His lips tug down. “It’s not you. You should know that.”

“I do,” you say, and you mean it.

Nothing but your breaths and the scrape of the blade’s thin edge breaks the air anymore. Other than the bump in his throat bobbing when he swallows, frightening you into pausing, you don’t hit any more obstacles.

His steady hold on your arm never completely leaves you. Eventually, he moves further to caress your bicep, the bare minimum of holding it, and near the end, it floats down to your waist.

“Done,” you murmur, scratching a little at his nape. You’re proud, and not only of him: your hand didn’t waver the whole time.

He glances towards the mirror, rubbing his face.

You hold your breath.

“You did well.”

Your heart leaps. Sighing evenly, you finally lean back and trace your thumb across his sharp jaw, ignoring the ache in your back for your efforts—even moreso, your wrist.

He looks perfect, skin soft and smooth again.

“So… Trust me now?” you quip lightly.

He shoots you a small, pinched look, and glances back at the mirror, now feeling his neck as well.

“I don’t know what you mean,” he says quietly. “I told you, it was—”

“Joke, honey.” You scratch his undercut, then lean in to kiss his cheek. “Just a dumb joke.”

After you coerced him into letting you trim his hair too (to be fair, he had been complaining about it for a while; it had gotten to the point of him pinning up his bangs in the front as well as that fucking rat’s tail in the back), he coerced you into doing your hair. 

“This is what you get,” he retorted, “if you’re gonna be such a saint.”

It wasn’t even his birthday yet. He expected, as usual, that you were concocting some secret plan in order to celebrate, so he wasn’t about to take all your pampering lying down. 

So he used everything he knows about hair on you, and everything he knows about hair, he learned as a kid.

The tips of his ears burned when he saw your lips part, then your eyes sparkle in the mirror’s reflection.

“Wow, you made me look so beautiful.”

To which he flicked your ear. “Don’t insult yourself like that.”

Your beauty isn’t conditional.

Mercifully, the stakes didn’t rise any higher than that, no matter how you pounced on him twice later—first when he was coming upstairs after locking up the cabin, and then as he left the bathroom—to squeeze and rub all over his shoulders. 

He won that one. A repeat of that night a few months ago—your magical hands lathering that fiery-cold lotion into every inch of his aching muscles—was cruelly appealing, but this amount of pampering was overwhelming all the same. You did enough without him asking.

So he didn’t need one, not today.

Now, the bedroom is full of darkness. He can’t see you; he can only listen to your slow breathing and feel you there, comfy and pliant in his arms.

Tonight is one of those nights when his mind refuses to slow down, let alone stop. Sleep is stubborn and far away, but at least relevant thoughts sit there for him to chew on to pass the time.

There is no other area in Levi’s life left where he doubts himself, besides here. It is crippling at the worst of times and a murmur at the back of his mind at the best. The worry of the hour tonight revolves around showing you how thankful he is, and how grateful.

He doesn’t doubt you: your resolve is strong, and it doesn’t falter, doesn’t drift, day by week by month by year. If you ever have a concern, he has utmost confidence that you will voice it, but this issue is firmly between Levi and himself. 

He knows your feelings, but he doesn’t believe you understand the true gravity of his own. A wave washes over his chest when your soft, sleepy face crinkles into a smile when he’s the first thing you see upon waking up, and his throat tightens in moments of fleeting peace. Casual kisses at the most random of moments jolt him with electricity, and he knows now that he would risk too much if the worst of circumstances demanded it.

Earlier today, he meant what he told you: if what you did hadn’t especially caught him off guard—hurling his mind to a different time, place, and feeling—he wouldn’t have doubted pressing his throat against your blade, not for a moment.

But funnily enough, after all this time he still isn’t good at knowing when you’re joking.

There are words to convey his feelings when actions fail—of course there are. His word is his bond; they’re promises (even if not explicitly said), but he frowns deeply, because that isn’t the problem. Caring for you more than he has ever cared for another is a promise he can keep.

Sometimes, he feels real jealousy with the ease with which you annihilate him with your random compliments. Using words is important to you, but he struggles so deeply.

Could he? He gets the distinct feeling the world will end—that the sky will rain fire, or the ground will crack open the ground’s foundations—if he so much as parts his lips, but at the same time, he has never been more confident. Words stick to his tongue.

He whispers your name.

No reply. You don’t even stir. All you are is a warm, sleepy lump cradled back against his chest.

He presses his lips to your clean hair. You sleep as if you have hundreds of years at your disposal to do so, even though that couldn’t be further from the truth. 

Frowning under a sudden sense of nausea, he turns his head to cool his face with the deep navy pillow. His lips part, then shut, then part, like a fish moments away from suffocation.

Thunder is in his chest. Could he?

“I… love you,” he whispers.

But the world doesn’t end, it just feels like it does. Why?

It presses down on him so much he could shout, so, after holding his breath until his lungs burn, just in case, he shuffles away from you. The mountain of blankets are yours.

He turns over onto his other side, facing the curtained window. 

Why does he have to catch his breath? Why is it so terrifying to let someone in? 

Despite the thick veil of curtains, he knows what vast night exists beyond it. It is easier to believe that you both exist in a void where no one and nothing exists beyond it, than to take enough air into his lungs. He feels that same terrifying freedom as if he were just passing under the gate that divides the cage from the sky.

Words are binding, and as such, sometimes prisons. But you aren’t shackles, and this skip in his heartbeat isn’t chains. It took him so long to come to terms with that.

Even when he shuts his eyes, the world spins. If he was ever in range of sleep before, he’s certainly wide awake now.

Now, all he can think about is whether he locked the window before you both laid down to sleep.

It’s nearing the turn of the winter season when nature is the most dull, discolored muck it’ll ever be, with a sky like wet cottonballs. The chill day by day is so ferocious it bites through layers of wool and cotton.

Fittingly, you and Levi share an unspoken conversation, and come to an unspoken fact: the two of you can’t stay here annually. You communicate in little looks—the way Levi visibly grows more antsy, or the pinch in your expression when looking out into the fog in the mornings. Neither of you comment on fixing up the house anymore, and his sleeping patterns have worsened again.

Whether you can or can’t becomes a moot point when the cabin is indeed heaven, but all the while, hell waits beyond the mouth of the forest. 

Your duty (especially his) waits, freedom waits, and the turbulent future waits as well. Your responsibilities are a burden you could, and would not, give away. 

The way things used to be, Levi’s duty was his sole cause for living. While he’s never stated it outright, you’re confident you’re important to him—but more severe matters take precedent without question.

Like a weed, even guilt has been growing in you, not just for Levi alone. You’ve spent more years as a soldier now than you’ve been alive (the consequence of entering the Cadet Corps as young as you did ). 

Neither of you can live in good conscience in this bubble for long, where no fighting, blood, or death exists. You understand the way Levi has always felt now, if to a lighter extent—how it all feels too good.

You feel, you know that while you’re away, you will yearn for this the rest of the year just as much as your very first day without it. 

Worst of all, neither of you—even you—can’t promise that you one day will return. There are many promises you wish you could speak into existence, but you must keep in mind that they’ll never come to pass.

For instance… you love him. So much as glancing over at him on the sun-speckled porch after supper, his knees folded up to his chest in what has come to be his chair (when you’re alone, he doesn’t feel the need to appear so prim and proper), makes you overcome with adoration. That’s all it takes.

Levi has taught you that you don’t need to speak a word to hear it loud and clear, but you want to.

The yearning to make sure he knows worms around in your chest madly, but you’re confident he’d never hear of it. Seeing how you’ve never heard it before, and the pressure he feels where normal people wouldn’t, you fear endlessly how he would react. 

Your cuticles are swollen from picking at them in all your nervousness.

You came to this conclusion about staying at the cabin at the end of December, near his birthday (his supposed birthday, anyway). 

The day itself turns out to be the perfect distraction. You couldn’t get away with stealthily keeping awake until the sun crawled above the horizon so you could surprise him with breakfast, nor could you sneak away before he woke. Impossible in any circumstance, really, so either way he was out of bed before you could even surprise him a different way.

Infamously, Levi loathes celebrating his birthday—”What’s so special about the day I was born?” he likes to retort. “It’s just another day.”—but that has never mattered to you.

Last night, you prepared in advance. As soon as you shoot awake in bed, you dash downstairs while still half-asleep to slam the apple fritter in the oven, and put away the tea he already brewed in favor of the more precious tea leaves you had saved for him. 

You take great care in everything you do, especially the tea (down to counting down the seconds it needed to steep in your head), then a hearty breakfast of scrambled eggs, buttery toast, avocado from the closest market, and even sliced ham. Ham! 

It’s going overboard for sure, even for you, but he deserves it.

Levi’s footfalls abruptly pause upon the sound of the back door shuttering closed.

You can’t help but grin. The sweet, greasy smell of cooking meat must have spread throughout the whole downstairs at this point.

Then, rapid clicks of his boots against the creaky wood erupt until he appears in the doorway.

“Good morning,” you chirp over your shoulder. “You know what day it is?”

Scoffing, he marches right over and crushes you in his embrace from behind.

You laugh despite the ache in your knees; you’ve been stooped over a hot stove for the better part of the morning.

His lips make a trail of kisses from your jaw to your shoulder, saying, “You didn’t have to do all this.”

“I thought I had to?” You touch his hair. “That’s news to me.”

He blinks down at the counter, then abruptly lays down wetter kisses. “How broke did you go?”

You melt against him and make more room for his teeth, making you shiver. “Levi.”

“Tell me, sweetheart.”

“No.”

His hands slip beneath your top, humming softly in satisfaction to find you aren’t wearing a bra.

“Levi,” you say, softer.

He massages your soft breasts into his palms, pushing, then squeezing them together.

Your eyes flutter as heat pools down below your waist. “Honey, I’m not done.”

“I’m thankful,” he murmurs, ignoring you, and rolls your nipples under his rough thumbs.

You swallow a whine. “Don’t you want to eat?” you ask thinly.

No answer. He’s busy suckling a reddish mark into your neck.

He’s very convincing. Maybe letting breakfast cool isn’t such a terrible idea.

Delicately bracing the center of your chest, one of his hands slips down. Its rough callouses feel immensely satisfying against your belly.

Just when it (surprisingly) looks like he’s going to go along with eating after all, his palm follows a path down between your thighs. 

You gasp softly. One fingertip sweeps continuously through your slit, beneath your panties. 

“All this is for me, isn’t it?” he says conversationally into your ear. “Of course I want to eat.”

“Fuck,” you whisper, taking support from the counter to rock into the fingers just lightly circling your clit. “Fuck, Levi.”

With no hesitation, he cages you in against the counter so you feel a hint of hardness pressed against your backside from behind. Heavier, hot breaths puff against your neck.

Suddenly, you don’t care if everything is ice cold by the time he’s finished with you. He can take you anywhere, and the idea of it happening right here, makes your heartbeat throb in your clit.

“Let me—”

“Yes.”

With an amused huff, he rubs you with practiced fingers and pulls away, making you whine.

Now turned to face him, his middle finger lands on your bottom lip, tugging it down slightly. You feel it’s wet.

Maybe you should’ve worn lipstick.

Levi’s eyes gleam as your tongue darts out for a taste. “You’re so messy,” he comments, guiding you towards the dining table. “C’mere. Let me clean you up.”

Shocked by his forwardness, your stomach jumps as you’re bent over the wooden table—which you already set with placemats and silverware. Your bottom half is in flames. 

“Thought you were eating,” you hear yourself say.

“That too.”

As your shirt comes off, “Real funny, Captain.”

He ignores you. The moment you sense him dropping to his knees, taking your sticky panties down along with him, your breath jumps.

“Exactly.”

A tiny whine is stolen from you as his hot breath hits your pussy, constructing sharply from the cool air.

He kisses the backs of your spread thighs. Lithe hands spread you open. “If you’re gonna make us celebrate, I wanna celebrate my way, and not hear you complain about it.”

He doesn’t bother teasing. His lips press to your fluttering hole, before he begins lapping at your cunt.

Levi, not teasing you.

“Ah!” you gasp from the bottom of your lungs. A hot, wet tongue pushes through your slit, which is now properly soaked. 

You grope for something—anything to steady yourself. You manage his soft hair, and a groan of approval vibrates your clit.

Bright pleasure vibrates through you, and doesn’t stop. Hell if you know where his sudden confidence is coming from, because while sex with Levi never fails to blow you away, he’s making you go cross-eyed.

The sound of slurping sounds from below, made louder by the way he holds you completely open.

You jolt from the overstimulation, your hole twitching around nothing.

You shudder, begging, “Please, please,”—you feel so empty.

You want to ask what’s gotten into him, but the words evaporate as soon as his heavy tongue pushes into your tight cunt.

Instinctively, you tighten with a soft cry, which only encourages him to start fucking you with it. 

He keeps your twitching thighs spread, and moans deep into you. Even more instinctively, you pull him by his hair, forcing his tongue. The sound that results has you gaping into the polished oak table. Something clatters to the floor.

Levi’s hips twitch forward into nothing but his zipper. He’s forced so close he’s halfway suffocated, but he loves it—he loves to be used for you to feel good.

It’s a mystery to him how you really believed he wouldn’t want to fuck you with his tongue, especially on his birthday.

His favorite part is your sweet, heavy taste—he simply can’t get enough—or how you cough out a cry in surprise when three fingers sweep your clit up and down in swift c’mere motions. Maybe it’s your warm, pillowy cunt squeezing his tongue, or the way two of his fingers easily bury inside next to it. He curls them up snug against your favorite spot.

“Right there,” you gasp. “Fuck, don’t stop!”

Breathing hard, he smacks a kiss to your swollen pink clit before giving you his mouth again. He loves you like this, and he loves you. His heart skips a beat.

“I’m already…” You moan, your tone a warning. 

It sets him on fire, the way you need him. 

“Ca-Captain, I’m not gonna last if you don’t stop.”

His cock gives a hard, heavy throb. He moans loudly and pulls his mouth off, but his fingers stay curled inside. They piston in and out slowly, but deep enough for your pussy to swallow in his second knuckles.

With his free hand he takes a handful of your ass, and spreads you open.

“You don’t wanna come, pretty girl?” he asks, thick with that teasing tone you know so well. 

“No!” you cry, and realize what you just said. “Wait, yes, please please—”

His balls ache. He wets his swollen lips before leaving forward, swiping over your much tighter hole. 

You wail, “Levi!”

“Oh, yeah. It’s not up to you, is it?”

His fingers slow, then stop, making you keen into the wood. Your pink cunt is drooling for him.

It’s—It’s your birthday,” you whimper, feeling betrayed by yourself. “You can do anything you want to me.”

Working your soft thighs and ass in his palms, he hums, “Uh-huh.”

Once again he rises to his feet, wiping his chin with the back of his hand.

His hand lands on the center of your back to keep you steady while he makes quick work of his belt and trousers. As it clinks, then zips, he can feel your dazed eyes on him, watching.

“Fuck,” you sigh, dragging it out. “You’re so hard.”

“Turn around for me.”

You do. With his help, your backside lies on the table edge with you bent in such a way that your ankles rest on his shoulders.

Your wet cunt is completely exposed to him. The cool air on your clit makes you twitch.

You gaze up at his messed hair and red cheeks, stricken by how good he looks. Between his plump thighs his cock is bright red and swollen, beaded with cum.

He holds your hip, keeping you together. “Are you comfortable?’

You nod, feeling dopey, and reach to guide his round cockhead past your rim. The push is easy, filling you to the brim. Perfect.

Your head falls back. “L-Love your dick, fuck. You’re perfect.”

A bitten moan rumbles in his chest. Tight.

He pushes and pulls by shallow inches. “Is all this really that surprising to you?”

“This?” Your hand grabs his. You reach with the other, feeling where you’re connected. “No. Just, you’re not usually—” you search your dizzy mind for a word, “So much.”

It dawns on him what you mean, and his shallow thrusts pause. “D’you want me to stop?”

You manage to gape. “Don’t you dare.”

This position won’t let him kiss you, so he kisses low on your thigh instead. Even here he tastes sweat and sex, all traces of last night’s shower gone.

“Guess I’m in a good mood.”

He takes you right there, from short and shallow to soon pistoning his cock in and out of you in long, hard thrusts—so much so the table lurches several times (more metal clatters, and something swoops to the floor). In order to keep you close, he takes your hip like a vice and fucks you with abandon. 

You encourage him louder and louder— “Yes! Yes, fuck—!”—until his jaw slackens. Your pussy, soft like silk, starts to squeeze him.

“Fucking perfect,” he groans.

He folds you completely in half, one leg now dangling high, and it changes the angle.

A flurry of hard, wet thrusts, and you come.

A shiver rocks his whole body. As your pussy gushes, pleasure like liquid heat overtakes him, and he fucks his cum into you soon after.

“Do you know what you do to me?” he wants to ask. “Do you realize yet how perfect you are?”

As usual, he can’t muster the words. In the come-down, the only sound throughout the sun-bathed kitchen is both of your heavy breathing.

From where your chest heaves upon the crooked table, like a model for some erotic artist, both your thighs tremble.

“Your breakfast,” you croak, grieving.

It’s hard not to smile. As he wipes down your inner thighs with a wet rag, he corrects you: “Brunch.”

“All my blood, sweat n’ tears… gone to waste.”

He tuts softly, and lugs you up. “It hasn’t been left out in the rain, has it?”

“No…” But you don’t sound convinced.

“It’s fine. Just don’t expect me to eat off this table.”

You have a smartass retort for that, he can feel it since he did, technically, eat off this table… but you’re too spent. Your chest only drops with a dramatic sigh. 

After a much more thorough cleanup (including a change of clothes), Levi takes good care to restore (what is now) lunch to its former glory.

He’s proud of himself. Granted, all he’s had this morning is some tea, but his mouth waters from the smell.

Out on the porch, its overhang protects you both from the surprising amount of sun breaking through the silvery cloudcover this far into Yule.

However, the sharp air remains stubbornly chilled. In case you shiver, he retrieves a blanket that you drape over your lap.

In your respective cushioned chairs, you eat with your plates tucked in your laps. 

“You, in a good mood, on your birthday,” you’re musing, that stupidly warm smile on your face. “That’s a first.”

Levi grunts. You couldn’t be more right; anything resembling a good mood and his birthday mingle like oil and water. There’s a one in 365 chance that it’s even accurate, but he genuinely doesn’t see what needs celebrating anyway.

He blames his actions the night before. It weighs on him heavily still, in the lightest of ways.

Cautiously, he pushes his cut of seared ham around on his wooden plate. He prefers everything to be separated, but now that that’s done, and the toast and eggs leave the faintest trace of crumbs, he still doesn’t feel quite right about it. 

When he tasted the apple fritter, he had to pause and reel. Admittedly, he had never had it before; no matter if he’s given the opportunity, he’s quite picky when given a choice. 

But how could he act wary? And it was fantastic.

Has he ever tried ham?

In that chaotic space of time before Maria fell but after he left the Underground behind, meat was much more of a commodity, but he was, and still is, a soldier. You like to say being a Scout specifically is a thankless job by everyone but the dead, and you would be right.

Underground “meat” on the other hand was almost always crawling with something, despite the fact that it always cost a fortune in comparison to most people’s incomes.

He supposes he’s a vegetarian, albeit against his will. Hange has a tendency to randomly blurt out facts about anything, and he’s heard that if a stomach isn’t familiar with ingesting a certain type of food, it usually can’t learn. 

He hopes that isn’t true, for your cooking’s sake.

“Is it good for you?” he asks, mostly so you don’t point out his reluctance.

You fork more eggs into your mouth, nodding happily. “I’m very confident in my cooking ability, thank you.”

“Good. You should be.”

Your gaze flickers down to his plate. “It won’t bite you, you know. If you try it and decide you don’t like it, that’s fine. More for me.”

He grunts and leans back, one leg now crossed over the other. How would you know it’s his first time?—You must have a damn good eye for him.

“You shouldn’t’ve said that,” he remarks, flipping his fork backwards absentmindedly.

You scowl. “Absolutely not. At least try it first.”

“Remind me. Whose birthday is it?”

“You asshole,” you laugh, biting your lip to make it stop. “I don’t need any more.”

“But do you want more?”

Silence.

“...Tell me,” you set your fork down, “in exact words what you mean by that.”

These back-and-forths between you two are his purest form of entertainment.

“Are words so important?” he replies.

He sees you—nibbling at your lip like that. You like what he’s implying.

“It may be up to you, it’s your birthday, but at least let me suck you.” 

His chest rises.

Your voice turns into silk. “You caught me off guard earlier. I deserve much better than that, don’t you think?”

A challenge. Setting aside the way his lower half stirs, he leans over and practically drops his plate into your hands. 

“We’ll see.”

—

You suck, lick, and fuck him so good that you actually put him to sleep.

Well, partly. 

After making good on your word, you let him fuck you to tears under a hot shower spray, but getting clean turned out to be irrelevant in the end. Soon afterwards, as naked as the day you were born, you shyly asked him, “Do you maybe wanna drink, this one time?”

And, after some thought, he said yes. It takes more booze than it’s usually worth for it to do anything for him, and when he does drink enough, he can’t be on his guard like usual. The anxiety of that is usually enough to take away his buzz.

Besides, after growing up seeing boozehounds everywhere he went—the (sometimes) uncharacteristic fits of rage, the burning stink, and the zombie-like idiocy about them—he has some convictions about drinking. If anyone asks, Levi doesn’t get drunk.

Opportunities always present themselves of course, but he only makes it a goal to get drunk on special occasions. That included tonight.

He popped the cork off a bottle of scarlet merlot. The mood was comfortable, you drank slowly, and you enjoyed yourselves. Even him.

You grew slow and slurry not two glasses in, so he dutifully refilled them (until you’ve had enough). It took him longer to get to where you were, but when the world finally began to narrow in that comforting way, the inexplicable warmth creeped in, and his mind began to buzz, he was with you.

Time stretched as you sipped the syrupy alcohol in front of a crackling fireplace. Mostly you chatted, but you also climbed on top of him there, and when it got late, he draped a thick, downy blanket around your bare shoulders.

Later enough for your bedroom to be an abyss, Levi twitches to awareness from a bottomless sleep in a stinking bed between stuffy sheets. He kicks them off as soon as he gets some handle over his leaded limbs, and rubs his eyes.

Sleeping so deeply, and waking with no memory of how he got somewhere is unheard of for him. His head is even still buzzing a little, despite the nausea.

Shit, is his first intelligent thought. I sleep when I drink.

It would be terribly easy to sleep some more. Only, when lazily reaching across the bed, he finds your warm, lumpy pillow, but not you.

Suddenly he’s wide awake, stone-cold sober, and shooting up in bed. You’re not here.

He tosses a look over. The bathroom is dark.

You’re probably getting water.

Anxiety tears him up anyway. He pulls himself out of bed.

With fresh briefs, an open shirt, and a pair of pants on, he paws his empty pockets.

He fishes through a pair of his boots. He’s very aware that carrying a weapon in these circumstances is the furthest thing from necessary, but his judgment is garbled—another reason he dislikes drinking.

After the dim hallway comes the stairs. He lets the banister guide him going down.

You’re getting water. The kitchen is cast in gold by a lantern set on the island, joined by the slaps of your bare feet padding around inside.

His anxiety blows away. After the last step he heads in your direction like a man on a mission.

Sleepy-eyed, you jerk your head up from your glass of water and smile just in time for Levi to wrap you in his arms from behind. 

He sighs softly. Better. As you sway together, he makes like a baby possum and refuses to let go.

“Hm,” you murmur, relaxing against him. “Hi.”

“You left,” he speaks into your neck. You stink deliciously of sex. “Don’t do that.”

You seem to find this adorable. As you pet his hair, his annoyance melts away.

“I was only gone a second,” you say. “I was thirsty. What if I died of dehydration?”

“No,” vibrates against your shoulder.

“No?” you laugh. “Did you miss me that much?”

The drink makes his tongue loose. “You have no clue, do you?” Squeeze. “Jus’ don’t go anywhere I can’t follow.”

Your heart leaps into the sky. A grin breaks onto your cheeks as an obnoxious Awww falls off your lips. “You’re so fucking adorable, ‘Vi.”

You try to twist around in his arms, but he mistakes this as you pulling away, and only tightens his hold.

If that’s how it’s going to be, you go completely lax a moment, sending you both nearly toppling over. 

As you wanted, he huffs against your hairline and pins you to him by your shoulders and middle, clinging.

“You’re the biggest brat I know.”

“Did you hear me? Adorable?”

He sighs. “I never know what to say when you call me shit like that.”

“You don’t have to say anything. You’re just adorable.” You hug his strong forearm that’s pinned across your chest. “With a heart of pure gold, who anyone would be lucky to know. The most brave, most handsome, most pretty—”

He makes another unhappy sound and reaches to clamp your mouth shut, which you don’t allow to happen.

“My Levi,” you sing-song. “Whom I adore.”

“This is torture,” he speaks softly. “Torturing me, after I made all this effort.”

“Effort to keep me from getting a drink of water?” you cackle.

“You don’t need—”

“And not torture—”

“—water, I’d get you some—”

“Levi, you’re being—” you laugh—

“—if you were really dehydrated.”

—so hard your sides twist into cramps. You laugh until there’s no air left in your lungs, so your belly merely wracks. At the same time, tears prick at the corners of your eyes.

You can feel him smiling softly against your hairline.

Oh, what you’d give to see.

“Levi,” you shake out the last giggles. “Fuck, I love you so much.”

He freezes, whatever face he was making slipping off his face. His stomach drops out of existence. “What?”

Did he not hear you right? He retreats backwards, causing you to spin back around. 

“W-What did you say just now?” he asks again, no louder than a whisper.

That sober look on your face. He knows it was real, what you just said. The silence, so thick you couldn’t pierce it with a hacksaw, proves it and proves it.

Your mouth opens, shuts. “Levi.”

“What?” he asks again, now demanding. It’s hard to breathe suddenly. His face heats. He feels himself tense, as if for attack.

“I—I don’t know.” You blink, and that’s shock painted on even your own face. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t know?” he snaps, motionless. Even his shoulders rise and fall with his breaths.

He doesn’t know why he’s growing so upset. Loathing festers inside, and the more upset he becomes, the more it grows.

“It just slipped out,” tumbles out of your mouth. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…” You stall, at a loss.

In the third person, he feels himself crashing through the floor outside his body, dropping out from underneath himself.

He takes another step, this time measured. A silent feeling screams for him to escape this situation, but another plants his feet to the floor.

His silence must be telling.

“No!” you exclaim, lips moving rapidly to explain. “I mean, I c-couldn’t help it. I wasn’t thinking, it just…” Your eyes glitter with tears. “I’m sorry.”

Suddenly, Levi doesn’t even trust his feet to hold him up. He is totally lost for words.

In the doorway that feeds into the sitting room, he discreetly holds onto it. His other hand lies limply by his side, nails digging into his palm.

“Wait,” you call from the same place, voice soft. “Are you going to leave?”

A beat passes before he shakes his head, disbelieving. What do you mean by that?—Do you have so little faith in him? His dry mouth stops him from asking.

“I didn’t mean to scare you.”

It’s hard to swallow. “...We should sober up.”

And so he retreats into the darkness, stopping briefly when the backdoor enters his sight. As much as he craves the fresh air, going that route would confirm every one of your fears.

He scours his memories. An empty bedroom sits on the ground floor, he remembers.

You insisted on remodeling that room, but inside, it still might as well be a sealed box besides the pathetic amount of moonlight pushing past the blinds, casting shadows.

He twists the knob all the way to shut it as quietly as possible, then staggers to the corner attached to the same wall as the door, and slides down into a sit. 

He knows he’s being pathetic. As a kid, it was a good technique he used to hide. As a man, it lets him get an advantage over enemies. You’re not a threat.

He wrestles with his head silently and folds his knees to his chest while he waits for your steps. You’ve never invaded his space in the past, but tonight, he can’t be confident.

Tonight. He’s stuck on that all the sudden. Just a few hours ago was his birthday, but that feels so far away now.

Of course, you were drunk. That’s what troubles him. There’s a thin line, he’s found, between the truth slipping out of a drunk person, and saying things they don’t mean. It’s better he doesn’t trust a thing until you’re both sober enough to know for sure.

Partly, he wants to hear you say that it was a mistake. You’ve realized that his suspicions were correct: he really did trick you by seeping so much good out of you to take for himself. To make himself believe that he is not a murderer, a thief, and a bastard. How he needed your goodness because there is not a single bit of good inside himself, how he is so selfish that even without realizing, he deceived you.

How could he do that while you’re in the middle of this losing war against the Titans? you would ask him. You realize that he’s unlovable. He is so fucking unlovable in fact that he’s better off dying in battle tomorrow so at least he will be used for what he’s meant to be used for.

Partly, he wants you to slam the door open so hard it punctures the drywall, yank him up by his shoulders and scream in his face how foolish he’s being. Yes, he’s abnormal and far from perfect, and yes this world is a nightmare but the way you feel makes all that cease to matter.

You will pour your heart out to him and recite the specific moment you realized you love him, with tangible reasons he can replicate. You will promise to return to his side safely every day for the rest of your lives.

And partly, he doesn’t want to know.

His head pounds. He closes his eyes.

He used to hate, much more than he does these days, that he can’t remember a time his mother ever spoke the same. Granted, he doesn’t remember more than a few glimpses of his childhood—maybe because of the hunger and all the shit he survived—but either way, it’s more reassuring to imagine she never told him because she never needed to. 

He isn’t naive, he knows that not all parents love their kids, but she did. He knew, without her having to say anything, that she felt that way.

His train of thought crashes against the sound of wood whining, signaling your ascent up the stairs.

Staring straight ahead, he breathes carefully and tames his hell of emotions.

Why does he feel this way? He said it too, just when you had no way of knowing he did. Emotion raged inside him then as well, but not as intensely as this.

He feels like a little kid staring up at that cold bed. Even though it crawled, and the stench hung thick in the air, he begged for her when she wasn’t conscious to hear, and never would be again.

He gnaws on his thumb. He doesn’t want to remember that.

It occurs to him, he didn’t think his feelings would be requited, deep down.

It’s a mystery to him how love can fit into this world at all, much less there be some reserved for someone like him—how you have room in your golden heart for someone like him. It takes a flick of the wrist to swing a knife, and it’s an automatic reaction to hit when you’re struck, but he’s an amateur with the rest.

Being born in violence, raised in it, trained at it to perfection—it just doesn’t add up. He thinks he will die in it as well.

But he knows his feelings for you by now. He knows most of all that it’s impossible to put them to bed, let alone destroy them.

He hugs himself, hissing softly. Because of everything else, he didn’t realize he was freezing.

He has scarcely felt so sober in his entire life. In fact, if a pin dropped in another room, he would hear it—he’s that alert—but he wants to give you more time. 

To be sure, he thinks, knowing he’s putting the confrontation off. Partly, he doesn’t want to face you. But then, there’s another.

—

The floorboards whining under his steps on the second floor drone like alarms. He knows you know he’s coming now—there’s no way you’re asleep.

Terror thuds in his ears as he stares at the front of the bedroom door, willing himself. He is wrestling with thoughts he defeated a long time ago: whether he should knock, how to carry himself once inside, how you’re likely to react, and—

The turn of the knob is so sudden he locks up for an attack before the door whines open. Immediately, his eyes are on the floor.

“Are you…?”

Whether you’re about to say ‘mad’, ‘sober’ or ‘okay’—his next question is the same: “Are you?”

It rings in the air. You apologize before you sit down on the window sill.

His lips tug down. Whenever you apologize unprovoked, he thinks it’s for you simply existing, whether you know that or not.

“I’m so, so sorry. We can just act like it ever happened.”

He forces his lips to move. “Quit apologizing.”

“Why…?“ You look stumped. “I didn’t think you’d want to hear it.”

He stares from the doorway, back straight. In some way you’re right, but is it also possible you didn’t think he’d feel the same? 

The doorframe is his only support. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Because you just… don’t.” It's a statement that sounds more like a question.

“That’s confusing.”

“Well sometimes,” you sigh, “you’re confusing, too. When I said it, you physically left the room to get away from me. Now here you are, making me feel stupid because I thought that meant you didn’t want to hear it.”

You’re extremely hurt.

His chest is cold. “It wasn’t you, it’s what you said. Without any warning. Then you said you didn’t mean it.”

“Oh.” The word sounds punched from you. “That’s not what I—”

His teeth grind. “How exactly did you expect me to react?”

You look down at your feet.

“I would be doing anything other than standing here if I didn’t—also feel that way.”

“I’m sorry,” you whimper. “Fuck, I’m crying.” You furiously wipe your eyes. “I meant it slipped out. I guess I just think about it a lot, s-so that’s what happened.”

“You think about it…?” he trails off, genuinely confused.

“I didn’t wanna put pressure on you. And you always—” you gesture vaguely, “—you always say stuff without saying it.”

He waits for you to go on, but you’re busy collecting yourself, wiping your eyes. 

“You surprised me,” he offers, blandly.

“I know.”

But you weren’t the first to say it. It was a slip of the tongue on your part, even though your feelings are just as true as his.

For him, it was premeditated. He was sure.

For you two, this is a serious argument. He feels the need to get you both on the same page.

“You're wrong,” he tells you.

“What do you mean?”

For as long as he’s stood watching you, he looks away. “I said you’re wrong.”

Your lips part, moving, but not understanding. “Which part?”

“The last part.”

“A-About saying stuff?”

“Second to last,” he snarls.

“Pressure,” you sound out. “You said it?”

His cheeks heat, he’s excruciatingly embarrassed. “…Yeah.”

You look at him like he’s just grown a second head. “…Well, then—when? If you did, I would’ve heard you.”

“No. You wouldn’t have.” He shifts his footing and frowns at the look on your face. “Don’t make me say it… it’s embarrassing.”

A long, arduous silence thickens the air again. Hopefully you gather what happened—which mortifies him much more than if he just told you outright, making it seem as if it was casual for him.

Then he hears a heavier sniff, and his feet lurch into step. An ache permeates his fingers—which he notices only now—from knuckling the doorframe. 

He paces over and sits down next to you, leaving space. Mostly for his own peace of mind.

“Levi… Why in the world would you do a creepy thing like that?”

He’s shocked to hear you sound coy. You’re even making a face when he glances over. 

As usual, he doesn’t get the joke. He doesn’t have a good answer, either.

“J-Just to see.”

“See?”

“What would happen.”

You nod a little, expression even again. “When?”

“…What is this, an interrogation?”

“Well, for all I know…” you smirk a little, “…you said it two years ago, before we started dating. Or four years, when you were—”

“I get it,” he cuts in, scowling. “Quit guessing. They’re bad guesses, anyway. You’d never figure it out.”

“I doubt that.”

“Of course you do.”

You scoff, in mock-hurt, picking at your cuticles in that nervous way you never quit doing.

You’re smiling a little. He sees its radiance out of the corner of his eye. “And unlike me… you were sober,” you guess.

He clutches his hands into soft fists. “So? You can say anything while sober.” His lips press together. “Can’t you?”

“Yeah.”

With no room for urgency, you lay your head on his shoulder, causing him to stiffen. 

He doubts he makes a good pillow right now; he’s so tense that if a brick was thrown at him, it would break into pieces.

It’s not like you to sit in silence—it doesn’t even feel like the conversation is over—but each moment drags. It feels like a long feather is stroking his insides, not because of what you’ll say, but the very words themselves.

“I love you,” you whisper, and he sucks in a swift breath. 

He is at a crossroad: breathing hard, forcing control, or not breathing at all.

What this feeling is, is magma boiling up inside him and burning him alive, and he squeezes his eyes shut so tight it aches because he doesn’t know why he can’t just get over himself and be normal—to react normally to those words.

But it’s not too much.

Obediently, you raise your head to give him space. The look on his face is unimaginably pained, even tortured.

“...Is it okay?” You whisper this, too.

He swallows, and looks away. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“I don’t know either, but I don’t care.”

It takes him several long moments before he can trust his voice. “C-Could you say it again? I didn’t hear you.”

“Yes, I can.” A smile is in your voice. “I love you. I love you, Levi.”

“Are—Are you sure?” he asks, voice raw.

Your breath shakes. “Yes.”

“Make sure.”

You humor him even though you can probably tell that he’s overwhelmed. It suddenly, just—sounds so good to hear it. So fulfilling.

You say it and say it, finally breathing life into what this is and giving it away fearlessly—or as fearlessly as one can speak despite their trembling breath. 

While making knots out of his trousers, he shudders his own breath. If you touched him right now, he might explode.

You actually love him. Someone can, and it’s you.

“I love you,” you say, and gently, so gently, your hand lands atop his own. 

“Levi.” You mouth at his hairline. “I love you. I love you with all my heart.”

He makes a face, teeth grinding so he doesn’t either snort, or give into shaking. 

“You’re so fucking sappy, it makes me sick,” he rasps, pulling away. 

You have a pretty laugh. As your hand moves to pull away, he abruptly takes it, and still not looking at you, pulls it to his lips.

That look on his face, you’re conflicted on. A deep frown tugs his lips down, and that wrinkle between his brow is more pronounced than ever, but he’s blushing all the way to the tips of his ears. Silvery blue eyes are open, shining softly.

“Levi.”

He pauses with your hand, as if contemplating something, before giving it the smallest of squeezes and letting it go.

You feel the need to preface, “You don’t need to say anything.”

So he doesn’t say anything. For a moment.

“It’s difficult for me.” His voice shakes, and he feels pathetic.

“I know.” You touch his shoulder. “But I know how you feel… you know?”

Nod.

Your expression reminds him of a tired dove. “I’ll be in bed, okay?”

Relief. He nods again. He’ll join you later, but he needs time to calm down, and to think.

He has never been happier in his whole life.

—

At the turn of the new year, your last days, you climb up on horseback behind Levi most mornings and spend afternoons going wherever the wind takes you, however long you want, doing anything.

Endlessly, forever, for both the first time and possibly your last. 

That last evening midway through January, your cheeks still hurt from smiling so much. That day, you had stumbled upon the largest field of sunflowers either of you had ever seen and had a picnic, despite the sleet still layered on the ground.

Levi was quieter than usual, but if he wasn’t enjoying himself, even the slightest bit, he would’ve found some way to complain—which never happened. 

The eternal struggle even momentarily drifted from your mind, which you had been wrestling: this war, its demands, its aftermath, and its end (if it will ever come). Slavery to the fight.

It was your idea to make your last evening last as long as possible by spending most of the night up talking and rating a ton of teas.

He didn’t have a single issue staying awake; you were the one who dozed off with your head propped up on your hand during the twilight hour.

Now he nudges open the stiff bedroom door with his back, taking care not to let your feet bump the doorway, nor for your neck nod off his shoulder.

After he lays you down in bed, you moan softly in your sleep and roll onto your side, away from him.

His lips quirk, just a little. You make it hard to help himself.

As soon as he’s curled up behind you, tangled in the sheets, you roll again and all but plant him on his back to lay your head down.

Nobody says anything. Maybe it just comes naturally to your sleeping self.

Levi’s lips quirk again. 

He wants to sleep. Nights of solitude never truly bother him unless you’re sleeping peacefully; it’s an especially excruciating pit of loneliness that forms after an hour or two of finding patterns in the cracks in the ceiling. Only the guarantee that he will be ready for any possible emergency that concerns you (may it come or not) reassures him.

He can feel it. Sleep won’t come.

Until the mourning doves begin their crooning, his mind wanders around in pointless directions. Dawn’s grey light creeps in.

He sighs softly to himself to the tune of your soft snores. There’s still much to get done before you can properly go. He might as well get a headstart.

You’ll need the rest. Your mood is twice as antsy as his if you don’t get enough sleep compared to when he doesn’t sleep at all, which is saying something.

So he climbs out of bed.

By the time the sun has properly risen in the sky, Levi is laying out a small breakfast on the dining table; the lazy sound of wood creaking from upstairs was his signal.

The last of the butter melts on a crisp piece of toast next to a bunch of strawberries he sliced this morning. It’s the last of those, too.

You toddle down the wood stairs, which also whine under your steps, scrubbing sleep from your eyes.

“Good,” he greets you. “You’re dressed. Eat. You’ll need the energy.”

“Good morning to you too.”

He bites down on the inside of his cheek as you plop down in the chair. It’s not even a good mood that’s begging him to smile: you amuse him.

“Thanks,” you grunt, and take a real look at him. His insomnia is chronic enough for him to hide seamlessly, but you know him well (“Too damn well,” he likes to say.).

“Are you nervous?”

“There’s a lot to do,” he replies, sits, and crosses his legs with one arm slung over the chair back.

Truthfully, it’s hard to tell. This is more of a feeling of being sure something’s waiting around a coming corner, but he can’t tell if it’s a friend or a threat yet.

He resists the urge to rub his eyes. “Did you sleep well?”

“Like a rock,” you sigh. “I can’t remember anything that happened after we tried that…” You blink hard. “Keemun.”

“Don’t look so guilty. I don’t sleep much.”

“Yeah, yeah…”

He’s pleased you never woke up while he carried you; the keemun was the best place to end things, anyway. It tasted as smooth as an expensive cigar, if rolled in baked plums and chocolate.

You’re leaving here with so many good memories, it hurts. The pain makes him wonder.

If the opportunity never presents itself for you both to return, or worse, he alone would be given it, then all that would ever remain in this place is ghosts.

He watches you nibble away at the last of your toast like a chipmunk, and knows for certain—he would always feel for you the same way, even if Yan didn’t “repay” him that “debt”.

Would he have told you he loves you?

No, he decides. His pessimistic side wants to write this while trip off as being lulled into a false sense of security.

To be fair, that’s what it is. False.

This bundle of peace is left standing bright at your retreating backs. One day, it could be a horrible memory, a reflection of broken dreams.

There are other dreams which wait to be fulfilled, but you will still be with him, as long as you don’t leave him behind.

He awkwardly clears his throat. “Do you think you’ll remember this in the future?”

You nearly spit out your toast. “Huh? Of course I will. Won’t you?”

“Yeah.” The bookshelf a few paces from the front door holds only a few lonely books now. He looks at that instead of you. “But that means missing it.”

“I know, but…” you wipe your mouth with a napkin, “…We’ll miss everything, you know?”

“Yeah, but this is… more than that.”

Your lips tug down, and he kind of wishes he didn’t say anything.

“More than everything?”

Yes.

“Forget it,” he says.

“…Would you rather we not have done it?”

No reply. You put what remains of your toast down. “You can be honest.”

“I’d rather not miss it.”

The good things are a blessing, and a curse. He knows too well what this world is majorly made up of—he needs to be ready for that. He can’t be sure of anything, including the good things.

But he forces himself not to regret. This winter, it was still good. He got to be with you. It isn’t what he learned to let himself do, or feel, or think—but not to do any of those things at all.

To simply be.

Comfort. False security. All these in passing turns a prick of pain that will inevitably come along into a thrashing whip. It makes one complacent and comfortable when they can’t afford to be. Tragedy waits, always.

He has never experienced such happiness, which is why he has never been so disappointed in himself for allowing himself to do so.

Quiet persists. You have your listening face on now, napkin crushed in one hand while you exchange soft blinks.

“I don’t mean to shit all over the mood, but I want your opinion,” he decides. “…D’you think this was for nothing?”

You reach across the table and lay your hand on his. 

“Nothing’s for nothing,” you say.

He wants to believe you.

—

As you expected, Levi has double his weight in bags slung over his shoulders when he pokes his head in the bathroom. 

“How long is it gonna be till you’re ready?—Another month?”

“Hm. More like two,” you reply, smiling. 

A scoff, followed by the clacks of his boots retreating out the front door. 

And you keep smiling. Really, all that’s left to do is take a cursory look around to make sure nothing got left behind.  

Retreating from the bathroom, you stand at ease and examine the bookshelf in the hallway. It feels different than leaving the dining table, or even the bench off the side of the house.

You really read a horse’s weight in books while you were here. Most of the books themselves are still with you, but… it won’t be the same.

Only the rumpled spine of one and the faded covers of a few others are left stacked neatly in one desolate corner. Those ones were bad, and not in the fun way, you both agreed (these days you more often than not read together). 

You took your all-time favorite stories with you, which you’ll treasure until they too are faded. The classics as well, the just-okays, and the bad ones that turned out somehow fun.

The few so contrived, goofy and terrible that you begged to keep, because it made Levi honestly, earnestly laugh—and sometimes a little louder, more than once.

You step off the front porch steps, feeling torn, yet oddly fulfilled.

Nothing’s for nothing. A moment within a lake of millions, but you want to remember them all, all the same. 

This one especially.

—

It takes three hours under a cold, clean sky to reach Trost. By then, the afternoon sun is high and there is much unpacking to be done.

Levi slapped away your sticky fingers every time you insisted on helping carrying a lumpy bag or box inside from the front. 

“I got it,” he bitched earlier. “You don’t need to do anything.”

“But I want a job!”

He scoffed. “Fine. I have one for you: sit down and look pretty. You think you can do that?”

You roll your eyes at the memory as he passes down the small set of stairs by you. You’re still brooding, planted on top of a flat stone column just outside the tall doors. 

He knew you would, but then you make a game out of it, much to his chagrin.

For every one of his treks, you pat him somewhere—usually the top of his head—but he never knows where you’re going to aim next.

He dodges a flick to his elbow.

“Woah, you look unsteady,” you say, tone full of artificial concern. “You need help?”

He catches your wandering eyes with his cheek pressed against the cardboard box in his arms. “Don’t you have anything better to do besides distract me?”

You smile. “I can stare.”

He rolls his eyes.

Two trips later, you get dangerously close to his backside. He manages to pivot just in time and stares you down suspiciously, a box under one arm and a knapsack slung over one shoulder.

He doesn’t even look surprised anymore.

All you do is smirk.

In the end, you win that one.

It’s a blessing that HQ is still unpopulated. That’s the way it’ll be until next week, something Levi planned far in advance.

All for the better in his mind. A Scout, someone from your squad a long time ago (and who apparently almost beat him to asking you out for Mayfest a couple years ago) left the Corps early last spring. He had gotten married to a scullery maid out of Klorva District. Weird.

You put up the wagon while he stabs a familiar key into a familiar lock, and steps into his familiar quarters.

His nose scrunches as he surveys his office. He can physically see the dust particles floating in the air, especially in the glow of the windows, thanks to the afternoon sun above.

Scraping his fingertips underneath the desk confirms his suspicions.

This place is a wreck, he thinks, scowling at nothing in particular.

But after wiping his hands off with a handkerchief, he does find something to scowl at. A white wicker basket sits in his chair. It’s adorned with red and pink frills, a bunch of fresh fruit, and even… a teddy bear?

He snatches up the card on the bear’s lap, and as he reads, his glare darkens.

‘Hope your honeymoon was productive! (I know it wasn’t officially a honeymoon, but why else would you take a vacation? Levi? Vacation? Ha!)

Mike insisted I buy you this stuffed bear in preparation for the next nine months! I can’t wait to have another little Levi runn—’

Levi tears his eyes away from the card. Fucking four-eyes.

Using a stool, he gets the thing stuffed up high in a closet behind a carton of cigars. Those are for special occasions; he has no more fitting place for the basket (except for the fruit, which he stores in the kitchenette).

Just in time. Outside his office, the door opens, then thumps shut to the sound of your boots clicking as you cross the floor.

“Everything’s put away,” you tell him proudly.

“Good. I have work to do,” he replies without turning, setting the stool back in the corner of his office. “You have anything you need to do first?”

You get an early start on paperwork while he takes a much-deserved shower. After that, you work together in comfortable silence.

A sense of coming home crashes over him after he randomly blinks out of focus from his current sheet of paperwork. This one contains a list of grades and statistics of Cadets who seem likely to join up this coming spring.

He glances over at you without moving his head—you, bathed in gold thanks to the sunset moving across his desk.

Another random fact of Hange’s enters his mind: apparently, pregnant women’s skin tends to glow. Something about hormones.

Your pencil scratches paper.

He covers his warming cheeks with the back of his hand and averts his gaze. That stupid basket.

Work. Surprisingly, he spots one name on the page he remotely recognizes. Jaeger. A doctor with the same name was famous in Shiganshina for curing an epidemic several years back.

The next time he looks up, you’re planting a bowl of stew down on his desk, green tea and bread included.

He takes a breath, and his mouth instantly waters. He forgot to eat lunch earlier.

Then you place a hand in his hair. He glances up towards your fond smile.

“Do you wanna start the fireplace after you’re done eating?”

A wave of affection crashes over his chest. “Have you eaten?”

“I’m about to,” you reply. “So?”

“Yeah. Thank you.”

By the time your bellies are warm and full, he has stoked the logs enough to get a real fire going. Past the sitting room’s windows, which stretch across the entire back wall, snow floats down in weightless drops.

He stores the poker away, stands, then turns. Your arms are open. 

“C’mere.”

That same feeling flips his chest over again. He pins his tongue between his teeth before quickly approaching. 

You tug him down until he lays sideways down the sofa, his head in your lap and facing the fireplace. Despite you being sat right in the middle, he’s still too short for his feet to knock against the armrest.

“I had to get that stew from the mess hall,” you’re murmuring, tucking dark bangs behind his ear. “It wasn’t that good.”

“Your standards are too high,” he replies, leaning into your palm. Everything is so warm.

“Oh? What’re my standards?”

“Your cooking. Of course everything else tastes bad in comparison.”

You laugh at this. “You’re too kind.”

Huffing, he closes his eyes and covers his face lips with a loose fist.

You’re so wrong it hurts.

He never wants you to stop.

A different realization hits him. This doesn’t feel too different from some nights you spent back on a whole other world, at the cabin.

He blinks off into space. It is just a house, a place. There would be nothing nearly as enticing about it if you weren’t there with him.

“You okay?” you ask. “You’re more quiet than usual.”

He rolls over to face you. As you slouch a little, getting comfortable, he moves with you.

“When I first got inside, this basket of fruit was sitting on my desk from four-eyes. I’m trying to figure out how they got in.”

Through giggles, “Was anything missing?”

“I don’t think so.” He was too stressed out at the time to check thoroughly. “But still.”

A thin, felt blanket is pulled off the back of the couch, then laid over him, up to his shoulders.

He turns his head.

“You looked cold,” you offer as an excuse, and he rolls his eyes, even though he was.

The fire was also dying down, but since you didn’t say anything, he didn’t stand to get it.

Typically, he would do it anyway, but…

You pet his hair down, scratching gently at his scalp.

It can wait.

He looks much more comfortable now that he’s covered up. A spontaneous memory unfurls in your mind, when losing Wall Maria. You think about forgetting those three days all the time, but the memory of that one night (or early morning? It’s hard to remember) you want to keep forever.

He was so shy then. And much more aloof. When you embraced him, that was the first time you had ever hugged a steel pole.

“We’re both still alive, but if you want to keep it that way, get some rest. Otherwise I’d have to tag along to make sure you don’t die. Doesn’t sound fun, does it?”

You bite down a bittersweet smile while what feels like big wings flutter in your chest. Was that really five years ago?

“What’s so funny?”

Your eyes meet Levi’s scrupulous ones. Most of his expression is hidden in your shirt.

“Nothin’.”

Yeah, right, he thinks, but his eyes fall shut to feel your hand carding his bangs all the way back over his forehead.

That’s something Mom used to do, if he remembers right, especially after cutting the rat’s nest that was usually his hair.

His childhood had more peaceful times than he gives it credit for. This time, though, he aims to keep these times from ever stopping.

He isn’t foolish. As long as Erwin’s dream hasn’t come to fruition, the fighting won’t cease. It may never stop, at least by the time he’s no longer there to fight for it, but he knows some things for sure.

You two will never be normal—he has long-since accepted that. As long as he has this, you, he can make peace with his more selfish dreams.

Within the coming months, the 104th batch of recruits will be up for the chopping block; a bunch of brats spit out into the three branches like marbles. Erwin will give his honeyed speech, and Levi will be near, and he won’t have to say much.

Some of those marbles will land in the Survey Corps, most won’t. But those few are more brave, or foolish, than any slack-jawed cow of a noble could ever fully grasp.

And finally, always, when you two return to HQ—bustling or sparse, the day heavy or light—you will be with him. 

Home. He knows what that means now, and it doesn’t have to be a place. Maybe you will stretch his legs across his lap, or make a casserole. Maybe he will replace the flowers in your vase that you accidentally neglect often enough to worry him.

He will feel time wandering and expanding, daring him to believe your midnight conversations will stretch on forever.

They won’t, but he has made peace with that. This life is, in fact, more heavenly than he ever could have imagined wanting for himself, let alone making.

You and he will simply have to fight, within an inch of your lives at worst, in order to keep it.

The End.

| levi masterlist | main masterlist |

[tonberry-yoda]

Hi! Since I saw that requests are open I was thinking of requesting pls matchup! :)

As for the fandom if it's not a problem for the jjba fandom! :) as for my pronouns I go by She/her, as for the gender I am a woman and preferred Terms wise I don't have any, as long as they attain to she/her! :) (Idk really what was meant for preferred terms, but I do hope that was it! :) so sorry if it wasn't!) And I am bisexual, and I would like the match up to be romantic pls :) oh and if you want to do a little scenario I would love that! About anything you would like! :)

Personality wise, I am shy at first, but after spending enough time with a person I'm really talkative (sometimes I do have an hard time stopping talking and joking, I'm also really ironic) I'm also really emotional, I cry really easily, but I also consider myself really caring, I would literally do anything for the person I love, and I like to spoil my loved ones a lot, also with gifts, and I'm also a tad bit the jealous type (not overly jealous though)

As for my interests I love practicing witchcraft and I also love astrology, I consider myself a cosmic witch! I especially love reading tarot, then I also love manga and anime and videogames, and I have the biggest passion for horror movies or any type of horror media, so movies, games and all that good stuff! :) I would consider myself Style wise as goth, especially romantic goth:)

I like to listen to Goth music most of all and then I also love classic rock, so music like the Beatles, the Doors, Fleetwood mac ecc.. :) my love language is words of affirmation most of all!

And idk if it's helpful as a last thing but I have short black curly hair and green eyes! And I am on average on how tall I am! :)

Thank you so much, and I hope it wasn't too long omg! :) and I absolutely love your writing!

hi there!!! thank you so much for sending in a matchup I absolutely love doing these for you guys!! also, thank you so much for the kind note at the end, it really means a lot! I have the perfect character for you so without further ado...

the character I chose for you is...

NORIAKI KAKYOIN!!!

you know he be lovin those goth girls lmaooo

he is a more reserved guy, but when he's around you and you become open, he does the same

doesnt care that you talk a lot he actually loves it when you talk

laughs at all of your jokes, like to the point where his gut hurts lmao

he thinks it's very good that you're willing to be so emotional and if you need anything while you're crying, he is always there for hugs or a soft conversation

he blushes every time you do something nice for him he thinks you are super kind and sweet and will return the kind things you do for him

he will try not to make you jealous because honestly, you're the only person he'll ever look at like how he looks at you <3

he literally thinks it is SO COOL that you're into witchy stuff

will 100% introduce you to Avdol who will teach you more and help you do readings and such

he will watch anime with you and just spend time at your house reading manga

you have someone who will now officially kick your ass in video games so get prepared for some competition

loves your hair and will play with it while telling you how much he loves you

will literally tell you every morning how much you mean to him so you start your day off nice all the time lol

he literally thinks you are gorgeous and will remind you how much he loves you, which obviously makes you fall head over heels <333

~~~~~

matchup rules --- pinned post

@tonberry-yoda

[tenitchyfingers]

URL meme I stole from someone else idk

Rules: Pick a song for every letter of your url and tag that many people! <- scratch that. Not tagging anyone, if you wanna do it then do it w/e

Because I found this from a post from A WHILE back… I’m also gonna make a playlist from it and explain my picks because why not 🤷🏻‍♀️

T - Taste In Men by Placebo. Because. Like. It’s Placebo in their prime. And it’s queer and I’m queer.

E - Everything’s Alright by Laura Shigihara aka the sound of emotional damage. Play the game To The Moon and you’ll get it.

N - Nuova Ossessione by Subsonica because it’s my fave Italian band ❤️❤️❤️

I - I Gotta Feeling by Black Eyed Peas (this song has a really personal and strong meaning to me, as absurd as that sounds)

T - Temporary Secretary by Paul McCartney. Because. I mean, come on. It’s so much fun.

C - Comfortably Numb by Pink Floyd. Favorite song ever out of anything I ever heard in my life. Nothing else can compare. Saying I love this song is the biggest understatement ever. ‘Nuff said.

H - Help! by The Beatles because 1. accurate wrt my constant state of being, 2. banger

Y - You Get What You Give by New Radicals. Mostly because nostalgia but also it perfectly holds up and slaps. Particularly love the bass line, too.

F - Fairytale of New York by The Pogues ft. Kirsty MacColl. Because, fuck, what reason do I need? It’s just a fucking great song. Objectively speaking.

I - I Won’t Back Down by Johnny Cash. I am just so in love with American III specifically. But more generally, older Cash’s voice just speaks to me in a way no other voice can, probably. Which is funny because I have never heard his earlier music beyond one song. It says nothing to me. But his voice in his late years just gets me. I don’t know. I love it too much to understand it.

N - Numb by Linkin Park. I just have a strong emotional attachment to this song, to Linkin Park and to Chester Bennington. And it’s my favorite song of theirs, and I very much relate to it.

G - Gli uomini e le donne sono uguali by Cesare Cremonini because IT SLAPS (and it helps if you’re fluent in Italian). I’m particularly attached to it because it’s a song I have in common with my bff ❤️

E - Extraordinary Girl / Letterbomb by Green Day, because Green Day are a massive chunk of my life although my hardcore stanning for them probably lasted a couple years. But they are one of very few bands that made me who I am. And I picked this song because I needed the first letter to be E lol having more chances to pick, I would have chosen

R - Rock DJ by Robbie Williams because 1) I have the most vivid memory of being traumatized and fascinated by the MV for it (listen, I was a CHILD) and it might be the reason I love gore in horror and generally disturbing shit and thus the reason I spent more time than I care to admit on rotten.com 2) I love Robbie. He made me fall in love with music on a deeper level than the simple pleasure of it. He might be the reason why I’m a stab for a wide variety of bands and musicians. He was also my first actual, real bringer of sexual awakening. Like, you know, as a teenager, that was the time of feeling wild and confused and just being out of control. And I love his songs and his whole overall vibe yk? He’s also a component of who I am today. 3) banger

S - Showbiz by Muse. Because I needed to add Muse. And I could have picked Starlight or Supermassive Black Hole or like, a more notorious song by them, but I just am not that person yk? When I talk Muse I need to reference something earlier and more obscure. And I just genuinely love how dark this song sounds. It was also my go-to song for writing angsty Muse RPF back in the day lmaooooo (it’s fine, they said they know about it and it’s fun and they have no problems with it btw)

Now I’m supposed to tag people but like… again, whatever. If you see it and you like it just do it, maybe tag me back so I can see ur picks. You don’t have to make a playlist or explain your picks and they don’t have to be songs that are particularly important to you btw, it’s just something I wanted to do 🤷🏻‍♀️