#the kids were 3 years older than me and got no consequences because it was just a joke

[god-of-all-things]

I’m gonna be real, I know people can do what they want with their fanworks and all and I’m not about to sit here and say I have the only valid take on media, far be it from me to confiscate the coffee shop au, but

I feel like the fandom of NPMD woobifies Max Jägerman to a concerning extent and it shows a refusal to engage with the central theme of the text. Nerdy Prudes is first and foremost a text about bullying. It’s very telling that the lords in black don’t actually make an appearance till real late in. It’s supernatural, yes, but that is set dressing. Nerdy Prudes Must Die is a play that says bullying is dangerous to the point of killing people. None of what Max does is suddenly different when he’s a ghost, or at least not to begin with. He wedgies Ruth and swirly’s Richie. He’s explicitly and canonically the same fucking guy he was before he died, and what he’s doing is still killing people because bullying kills.

All those shitposts that woobify Max as just a himbo refuse to acknowledge the fact that the text explicitly says that he and his behaviour is dangerous and violent and destroys people.

I don’t know why that is. Maybe people like the dumb jock trope better because they don’t have to think about the way their behaviour and behaviour they support harms people. Maybe they’re a bullying victim themself who doesn’t want to think about that. Maybe they just don’t care. Maybe theyre the bully and want to validate they did nothing wrong. I don’t know. Really it’s not my business what other people do with their lives. But let me just say

It’s just a joke, he’s just a silly himbo, none of it is serious is just justifying his behaviour, in the same way that real bullies justify harming real people

[pickypickypeak]

The kind of Wish criticisms that annoy the hell out of me are the ones where people unnecessarily compare the film to other movies released at the same time and even Disney's older works. There's nothing wrong with comparisons as a "what to do, what not to do example", the issue I have is that these are often be hella biased.

I like the classical and renaissance Disney movies but I would be lying my ass off saying they don't have problems (the racism, characters of color being played by white actors, outdated stereotypes and gender roles). Some people dismiss these issues because they prioritize on their own nostalgia more than improving them. Hell, they say Snow White was the worst princess but when Disney announces a live action remake, they defend her largely because a mixed race latina actress as casted to play her.

Some of these comparisons can be nonsensical if one were to pay attention. They say Trolls 3's villain song is better, even though Mount Rageous a pop cover mashup while This is the Thanks I Get?! is an original in a poo style. They say Puss in Boots: The Last Wish is a better movie about wishes even though TLW's theme is about appreciating life and the family and friends you have while Wish's themes is about encouraging and supporting each others to pursue their dreams. They use Bruce Almighty as a comparable movie yet they let Bruce off the hook despite he misused of his powers out kf laziness and causing the town into brief chaos before fixing it while they villainize Asha for Magnifico's own actions and the non existent "consequences" of returning people their wishes as if Magnifico allowed the non existent "bad wishes" to be in his hoard in the first place (he deemed Sabino's wish as bad because he didn't like knowing people other than him getting attention and he flat out spites Asha and Sabino during the ceremony).

THIS!!! Here’s an example (I probably used it before but it really fits now): some people are like “why have the forbidden book in the first place? It makes no sense the writing for this movie is so bad” well where the hell did the beast get the enchanted mirror?? How does the evil queen have a talking mirror in her castle and no one questions it? Where did the genie’s lamp come from? In frozen we just had to believe elsa was born with ice magic for no reason (they invented lore for the sequel but it wasn’t planned. They were gonna leave it with no explication hadn’t been for the incredible success). Theses are NOT plot holes; they’re just things you’re supposed to not ask questions about in a fairytale. It’s literally not that deep. Or better, you CAN ask questions and maybe imagine scenarios, but a movie isn’t inherently bad for not explaining it all to you. We’re not required to know how the queen got the mirror, or how magnifico got the book. It’s not “bad writing”; you’re just evaluating a disney fairytale movie through average mcu youtuber’s lens (everything needs to be addressed, otherwise it’s poorly written and “it makes no sense” (so what? Does a singing lion and warthog make sense in the first place?)).

Not to talk about the other problems you’ve mentioned; the stereotypes, the gender roles… as much as we love them, ANY movie has its issues. Many things wish gets blamed for, I can find them in other movies too. And actually, some of them aren’t even bad things, or at least they weren’t until wish did it. I’ve seen someone go “asha’s friends are just for the sake of diversity🙄” but like… is that a bad thing? Big hero 6 members were diverse too. Gee, winx are 20 years old and they’re all diverse. How am I supposed to take that criticism seriously? “They’re just forcing diversity on kids” my man I’ll tell you something. Remember when pocahontas (with all its issues) had a whole song about painting with the colors of the wind. Well I know this is shocking news to you but. It wasn’t actually the wind. She was talking about skin colors. The song was about racism. It’s from the 90s.

And the songs comparisons oh my. “Good to be king from journey to bethlehem is a way better villain song than this is the thanks I get” yeah, this is 100% relevant! It totally makes sense to draw a comparison between the guy who killed infants because he was not sure about which one was Jesus, and king magnifico from wish! I’m so surprised king herod’s song sounds so ominous! I’m sure ALL of these people have the journey to bethlehem soundtrack on their playlists and sing the songs out loud because they are SO much better!!❤️

Don’t get me started about the snow white drama, you are absolutely right, people get mad over something they couldn’t care less seconds ago (just like they did for ariel and tinker bell lmao). They’ve been shitting on snow white for years, there’s been ENDLESS youtube parodies and essays about disney princesses and especially snow white being “weak”, “a bad example for girls because she makes chores and settles for a man” and other bullshit but! As soon as the actress playing her (who happens to be not white) says the exact same thing, everyone is like “oh my goddd!!! Disrespect for our snow white!!! A woman can have love dreams!!! Walt disney is turning in his grave!!!” Like wow bro. You suddenly care now. You are so coherent and definitely not racist👍🏻

[ghostly-penumbra]

Seven Ways to Summon the Ghost King

Chapter Seven: Family Call

[1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [here]

Ao3

Summary: How can you say no to such a pressing call?

... no, really, Danny would love to know.

Notes: There are big spoilers for The Sandman comics. And I mean HUGE. As in, the culmination of the comic HUGE. Ye be warned!

- - -

“Brother, I stand in my gallery and hold your sigil. Please come through.”

“I am –ha!– in the middle of something right now.”

The being dressed all in white blinked, unimpressed, “I am worried about your safety, please come through.”

“Just… need… to kill them all…”

Dream of the Endless, no longer known as Daniel Hall, sighed in exasperation.

“Twin brother I am in my gallery holding your sigil, and I summon you.”

“Don’t you- stop that! Shit! You, kid, if you win this match in my name, I’ll make ya my apprentice!”

There was a fervid screech, and finally, his brother passed through where his portal portrait was.

Death of the Endless, pretty much still Daniel James Fenton, was spat out of his portrait and landed headfirst on the floor of the Dream Lord’s gallery.

“Hello there, twinsie dearest.” Danny deadpanned, crossing his arms as he glared up at his twin brother.

It was a curious thing, their twinship. Daniel Hall and Daniel James Fenton had both been born the 3rd of April of 1990, effectively making them the same age, but Daniel Hall had been in the womb for almost two years, making him technically older in existence, and Danny Fenton had been born premature.

Now, Death had already been there when Dream had first come to exist, because everyone had the potential to die long before they could even dream for the first time, so that Death had been Dream’s senior. But, this was a different Dream and a different Death, and the current Dream had taken his position in 1993, whilst the current Death had done so in 2023, giving this Dream work seniority.

Then again, this Dream had been a toddler when the position was given to him, and this Death had already been thirty-three, a whole adult by that point.

In the end there were too many factors to tell who was older than whom but since Desire and Despair had chosen to be twins, why couldn’t they?

“Hello, little brother.” Dream smiled down at him.

Knowing they wouldn’t reach a definite conclusion didn’t stop them from bantering over who was the older brother, however.

“I saw you had been summoned to the Waking world and through the eyes of one of your invokers, noticed you were nonplussed. I’m worried, brother.”

Ah, yeah, he might have knocked a kid out cold with his presence. It happened. And- she got better!

“That was two hours ago, baby bro. Having trouble measuring time in the Living world again?” He teased even as he held up a hand to be helped up.

“Au contraire, Death. I know just fine how long it’s been but I also know you can take care of yourself amongst a crowd of teenagers, powered or not. Alas, you took your time, and I grew restless.”

Dream lifted his brother up and got a snort and a friendly shoulder shove as a reward.

- - -

The brothers stood next to each other on Dream’s balcony, overlooking his Kingdom. Well, Dream stood, whilst Death sat on the railing, with his feet hanging down, back in his human living form as a 33 years old adult.

(He was already dead long before he became Death, so there was no need to kill him a second time. The fact that he was alive and could choose to be so whenever he wanted was of no consequence. It was more likely one of the reasons he had been a perfect pick for it.)

Danny broke the silence, “They couldn’t have done anything to me, even if they had tried. You know that.” He threw a pebble at the far-off lake and saw it skip endlessly.

Dream didn’t look at him. He didn’t need to have his predecessor’s memories of his entrapment to know what it had done to him. Even after the incident with the Dream Vortex, he had been proud and unyielding. Arrogant.

A human lifetime of imprisonment later, and as soon as he was free, he started planning his demise.

“Poorly done?” He asked instead.

“No, not at all,” Was his twin’s answer, “The circle was perfect, so was the chanting, and if there weren’t any trapping mechanism that was there on purpose. This one kid had a journal, the one who had the idea to summon the concept of Death to their dorm, filled with the knowledge we took with us when we left.”

He wasn’t talking about Dream, because Dream still walked the Waking world and interacted with humans in a more regular basis than his predecessor. It had been Death who, tired and grieving, had chosen to step away from the living, and only show himself to collect them and guide them to their next step; and as the King of Ghosts, he had taken all ghosts, spirits and shades with him, freeing them if they were trapped, helping them move on if they were still hesitant, and forcibly dragging them if they refused to stop wreaking havoc.

And he hadn’t been the only one; Heaven had finally stopped it’s wayward angels from going to Earth and, as Death would put it, “fucking shit up”, and the souls that resided there could no longer be summoned either.

Same thing with Hell; the gates had been closed so that the damned could only enter, not leave. There were no more demons making deals and messing with humanity anymore.

“That shouldn’t be possible. You made sure to kill all that knowledge in the Waking world.

Death sent a glare to his brother. He had not ‘killed the knowledge’, he had just taken it to his castle in the Ghost Zone, where only the dead resided. Shut up.

“And they won’t see it in their dreams, either.” He chose to say.

“Never.” his brother reassured quickly. The Dreaming would not inspire anyone in ways that could harm any of his siblings.

“Yeah, I thought as much,” Death huffed with a smile, “There was a…” He continued, knowing better than to use the word ‘thing’ when referring to someone that could think and feel. “… a being attached to this kid’s soul. It- he is something neither Didi nor I had ever seen.”

He let his words remain in the space between them, and knew his twin was seeing them written out in the air in front of him. (Much likely in comic sans, the asshole.)

“Not in a physical shape, at least.”

His brother said nothing, and only watched him reach revelation on his own even if it still was in his realm. He could be an ass patient like that.

Danny thought about it, looking for the words to explain his mind to the collective subconscious of the multiverse.

“That being is a bridge, for knowledge on us, not just us Endless, but many non-mortals, on our realms, how to call us, how to find us, how to appease us… how to trap us.”

This time he did see the words hanging between them –and it was comic-fucking-sans–, a bright toxic green that read trap. He put a hand on Dream’s shoulder, squeezing reassuringly.

“He didn’t put the trapping sigils, and they wouldn’t have stopped me in this form.” Even after becoming an Endless, that little trick of his didn’t stop working. Things meant to contain the dead had no power on him when he chose to be alive, and vice-versa. He could get his siblings out, too, should they need it.

He wouldn’t sit idly whilst he knew he could help. He could protect.

And, if anyone tried to go and tell him of rules and limitations, he could kindly point them to his Obsession and how it predated his duty as an Endless, how it had been part of him for almost a decade, and how the change in his nature had not managed to override it from him, no matter how much it tried.

Not wanting to continue with that topic, Dream said instead, “Did you have fun? Annoying or not, it’s been a while since you spoke with someone your age who still had a heartbeat.”

On cue, rings of light swept Danny up and down, turning him back to his ghost form, looking fourteen years old, right before his growth spur, with baby fat still on his cheeks and, if he lowered his guard long enough, sometimes he still moved like that hunched, awkward teen still discovering who he was.

“It was cool, actually! Most ‘these kids were nice, and they had  a bunch of cool video games; is not like any of them were a real challenge, but new competence is always welcome. Their universe didn’t have DOOMED, though, even if they are three centuries after the game was invented, but I fixed that, so I think they’ll be okay.” He said, knowing damn well he would be going back soon as the war started, to collect several of the people they loved and admired. “I may have won at DDR, but that girl sure got the Spirit Award.” He turned a mischievous smirk at his brother and found him grimacing and holding back a sigh, which only got Danny to laugh out loud at him, his smile so wide his eyes were half-closed in joy.

- - -

“Things are changing.” Danny said as they stared at the night sky, this time from the Waking, Living world where they had been born, four thousand and fourteen years ago.

“They always do.” Dream was a prime example of that.

“You know I fuckin’ hate chess analogies-” And he did, so much that the last time he had touched a chess board had been to throw it at Vlad’s annoying face. “-but… ugh, the pieces are being set, something’s gonna make a move, and we’ll have to face this new… board.” Danny scrunched up his nose in distaste. Fucking analogies. “And we need to move, too,” he continued nonetheless, “we gotta be ready, ‘cause if what’s coming next is what I think…” He didn’t finish his sentence, because he genuinely didn’t know how it’d all turn out. People would die, but they always did, as for the rest…

“Brother, please speak plainly.”

But Death couldn’t, he didn’t dare voice his concern here in the presence of both Father Time and Mother Night and speak it into reality. He wouldn’t fuck it all up again, when it was the ones he loved whom suffered the consequences. It had always been that way.

So he chose his words carefully.

“… the mascaraed will fall, there is now a bridge between what we tried to hide, and them. I don’t doubt there are others across the multiverse-” connected, drawing the others to themselves, “-it’s just that-” I haven’t been there, I haven’t paid attention, I stopped protecting them, “I didn’t notice before.”

“And when the game board is changed,” Dream continued in his brother’s stead, knowing how his thoughts spiralled, “if we don���t adapt to the new rules-”

“We adapt.”

Dream blinked, and turned to fully look at his twin brother.

Even still in his ghostly, Endless form his eyes were their icy blue, and they didn’t have that bright ethereal shine of their own, but instead reflected the street lamp next to their bench, the full moon above them, the stars in their mother’s body and the stars on Dream’s own eyes. Danny’s blue eyes shone with the world around them, alive.

There was no question in those eyes, no hesitation. This was something he was willing to speak into fact, into truth, unshakable.

They would adapt, because the other option was the end, everything and everyone leaving, everywhere. Danny locking the door with key and-

Being left behind, alone and Endless, please don’t, I don’t wanna, don’t make me-

“We adapt.” His brother echoed, his eyes human and green, a sign of affection, an oath of support, with their parents and anyone that cared to see as witness.

Danny breathed in again, not needing but wanting to, and rested his forehead on his twin’s shoulder.

“We got preparations to make. I may have already started. Let’s go, bro.”

Under their Father’s watchful gaze, two Daniels stood and left the quiet park of Amity and prepared for the future.

FIN

- - -

And so ends my first multi-chaptered fic written outside an event! Thank y'all for being with me these days and for all your lovely comments I haven't gotten around to replying!

Whatever they are, I would love to read your thoughts on this, because it was this chapter I wanted to write all along. There is a heartbreaking lack of Danny Phantom/The Sandman crossovers, and I feel it.

Real life is awful right now, so I don't think I'll get to write more of this concept, of Danny being Death of the Endless, but do feel free to come yell at me in my ask box anytime!

Also, a sidenote I can finally say: Something funny I'm noticing in the DPxDC area is that people are giving Danny the "all souls will be mine in the end" role as part of being the King of the Infinite Realms, and I'm like "uh, no, that's Death's bit, a canonical DC character. you guys are trying to make Danny Death" WHICH IS WHAT I JUST DID LMFAO

Anyway, thanks for reading ❤️

[skyjynxart]

I'm tired.

I'm tired of companies controlling everything. I'm tired of being unable to leave 'home' or get by on my own bc I'm disabled & poor & can't afford to move somewhere I MIGHT be able to get work as a disabled person. I'm tired of having to do pages and pages of admin to access the most basic assistance. I'm tired of buying the exact same groceries I bought 5 years ago, and paying 10x as much for them ( literally, I found an old receipt recently from September 2018 ).

I'm tired of my quality of living going down consistently no matter my efforts to improve it. I'm tired of getting left behind because I can't keep up and because I have virtually no support system to even help me ( virtually bc there's like 2 people but they're 2 people and they can't fix my life a support system is a SYSTEM for a reason it's supposed to be a spider's web connected at many points which are in turn all connected to their own points you feel me )

I'm tired of trying to keep up. I'm tired of having to do everything faster faster faster faster and pushing myself beyond my limits even in things I would otherwise enjoy just to avoid being told "actually you can just... go".

I'm tired of feeling disconnected from everything and everyone and not just because I'm aging but because cracks in my ability to interact that have been there since childhood are being compacted and made worse with age & with the commodification of.... everything.

I'm tired i'm tired i'm tired and so many people say they would never want to go back to highschool but all I can think about is how when I was in highschool websites all had chronological feeds and everything wasn't monetized and advertised and fandom moved slower and sure I already worked too much and my job was terrible but I could literally afford to cover rent with my highschool job and buy food with it and even occasionally spare a few bucks to see a movie or save up to buy merch at a convention.

When I was in highschool it was normal to meet someone in public and become friends and follow each other's socials and actually talk and meet up at the next event ( I think a lot about this person named Sprout that I met at Matsuricon one year- we spent the whole day together and followed each other on tumblr for a long time after and you were really cool )

When I was in highschool ( I didn't do this because I was a bit behind the times even then but ) it was normal and common to keep in touch on snapchat by keeping up a 'streak' with your friend, sending them a picture of you smiling or whatever you were doing- and sending it to them directly! A younger friend got me to do it a few years after I graduated and I haven't talked to them for almost 2 years now because we just never have the time.

When I was in highschool if I saw someone wearing an anime shirt- even if it wasn't a series I knew- it was as good as a pride flag that broadcasted I am safe to talk to and I could say "Hey I love your shirt" and without fail get a smile in response instead of an awkward "oh... thanks" and an expression that says this stranger is talking to me ew. ( alright that one might be hyperbolic/super personal but the mainstreamification of niche interests has some consequences that aren't all great damn it! )

I'm not saying all this because I'm some old fart dreaming of bygone eras- I only graduated 10 years ago!- I'm saying this because I can't imagine how I would have survived without all of that, because I am surviving without it now and it fucking sucks. I couldn't imagine being a kid today and trying to look forward to the future- in the most anti-young-person era yet!

When I was in highschool there was no shortage of slightly-older-people ( 3-10 years older than me ) willing to talk to me and help me understand things and teach me things and introduce me to hobbies- and none of it was creepy! ( I mean ok some of it was creepy, but I had just as many creepy experiences with people my own age, and the older kids were the ones who called it out! )

Now it's weird for adults to talk to kids in any setting outside parenting. Highschoolers today don't have the adults to show them what they could be as adults themselves- not in person, they have influencers, curated performances that can never talk back to them directly, that keep them company only through a pre-recorded performance behind a screen ( not that influencers are bad, it's just- this is ALL they have in place of the older friends I did and that sucks ).

and that void has to hurt at least as bad at 15 as it does at 27.

A lot of things have halted my progress through life. A lot of things have forced me to become stagnant and so often I can't help but think that if I just had half the friend group, half the social support network, half the world I had in highschool, how much better off I'd be.

But the world is changed. I've changed, I'm more mature, I understand myself and others better. I'm sadder, more tired, more depressed, more anxious. My body is changed, it hurts constantly and it can't endure basic tasks like standing for an hour.

I see so many posts from people in their 30s on here ( just 2-4 years older than me! ) talking about how it gets better, how they're happier people than they were in highschool, in their 20s, and I can't help but wonder- is it some kind of magic, or did you just have things I don't? Is it that turning 30 flips a switch and suddenly you become a fully realised human, the older adults in your life stop mistreating you and suddenly see you as a human being deserving of patience and understanding and aid instead of 'a 20-something who just isn't trying hard enough' and people your own age suddenly start wanting to form friendships again and finances get easier?

or did you get lucky. did you stumble on something I will have to claw and scrape and drag myself through hell to get a glimpse of, only to have been too fucking slow and watch it slip away right as I'm within reach again?

because right now I'm almost 30, and the rest of my life just looks like a meat grinder, ready to chew me up and turn my bones to dust until there's nothing left recognisable as 'me'.

anyway all this brought to you by being told as part of a group "we know its been a hard year for everyone but unfortunately your contributions haven't been enough so we're going to replace you with fresh meat we can exploi-- i mean get hype out of instead probably ty for understanding ^.^"

[dumbestthingiveeverheard]

Dumbest Thing I've Ever Heard: 8/3/2023

Fifth place: Twitter user @eyeskewer

This is a little older than the stuff I normally cover on this blog, but I feel like this is worth highlighting as it perfectly shows my issue when many who make conspiratorial claims about transgender medical care:

my "informed consent" was my doctor I had just met handing me papers telling me my voice would drop soon, I could freeze my eggs, I might get acne, and whatever else. I probably didn't even hear everything she said, I just told her I wanted the shot. so I got it. I just turned 18

So you were told you wanted something medical done to you, were told about the risks and consequences, and then got it. I really don't see what the big deal is here.

Fourth Place: Marco Rubio

Elon Musk's time as CEO of Twitter has been far from perfect, but easily the best addition he has made is the community notes feature. For just one example, here is a Tweet from Marco Rubio:

Also, those claims about the 2016 Presidential Election were never proven to be fake--just wanted to add that real quick.

Third Place: Scott Lively

The deranged homophobe who wrote an entire book blaming the Nazis on homosexuality wrote a column a couple of days back with the headline "Leftist lawfare and the abuse of power." A decent chunk of it is spent defending Russian President Vladimir Putin, but here are some highlights:

In all my years of watching corporate U.S. news about Russia and Putin, I have never seen a single counter-argument ever being offered in defense of President Putin (coverage of him is even worse than that of Trump). It's been more than a decade since Obama restarted the Cold War to punish the Russians for banning "gay" propaganda to children, when every story began to paint him as a "brutal monster" – to the point that even many conservatives (who have zero reason to trust that same media on anything) seem to agree.

The hatred of Putin on an international scale has nothing to do with the anti-homosexuality laws he has put in place while President of Russia--although, don't get me wrong, that didn't help matters, but several countries with anti-homosexuality laws are still seen in a positive light by the international community (wrongfully so, in my opinion). It was more his imperial ambitions--starting with his invasion of Georgia in 2008--that caused the international community to move away from him.

Second Place: Abby Johnson

I've mostly been ignoring the story about a handful of far-right Christians refusing to support the fringe Presidential candidate Vivek Ramaswamy because of his Hinduism, however given Abby Johnson was sold to us a few years back as a a reasonable anti-abortion activist--an oxymoron if I've ever heard one. And she has decided to take a stance against a Hindu President, saying:

Do not be a victim of Satan’s confusion right now. This is an important time for us to have clarity of mind as we are going into an election cycle. So please discern. Please use discernment right now because God hates those who are willing to put up idols over him, and he will not be mocked.

All I wish to say is that if you really want a President that's a dedicated Christian--can I recommend you a guy named Joe Biden? Oh who am I kidding, if Ramaswamy does get the nomination it's going to be just like when Billy Graham took Mormonism off his list of cults so he and his followers could vote for Mitt Romney in 2012.

Winner: Ben Shapiro

This man, considered by many to be serious political commentator, does not know the difference between eating and drinking:

[Trump] would face a whopping 641 years in prison. Which I assume means he would not survive prison. Although he is 70% preservatives at this point because he eats so much McDonalds and Diet Coke.

He eats Diet Coke? Ben, do you know how Diet Coke works?

Ben Shapiro you've said the dumbest thing I've ever heard.

[hopperdeservedbetter]

Beauty-Beast family headcanons

Besties, I’ve been ruminating about Rosabella and her family for a year now, so here’s what I’ve come up with:

Rosabella most definitely has siblings, I have very little proof but no doubts.

You know how in the original story, the Beauty is the youngest of 13, and the siblings actually play an important part in the story? Well, in order to fulfill her destiny she needs to have siblings, older ones too.

But on that note, I don’t think her parents had more than one kid just to fill in the parts for the story, nonono, they know better than that. They just struck me as the kind of couple that would want to have lots of kids to raise, love and whatnot. The fact that their kids have a roll to play in a story is very secondary to them, if not even tertiary, bottom of the priority list.

This leads me to my second point: their kingdom’s succession system.

I’m very into the idea that Destiny Laws (mentioned in Rosabella’s doll diary) control a huge portion of Ever After’s societal norms to maintain an order that would allow stories to be retold as accurate as possible.

So, this would mean that in Rosabella’s kingdom, the heir to the throne is the elder son (who would inherit the role of The Beast) or the youngest daughter (who would inherit the role of The Beauty). This is by law, of course, and we know Ever After is a very traditional and conservative society that would never allow to have a girl be a beast, god forbid. And if you’re nb you’re doomed, I’m sorry :(.

This has some very interesting consequences:

1. Beauty and the Beast did not choose for their kids to have ‘Beauty’ as their last name, bc their heir was going to play that role. No, they did it bc of all the stigma that would surround their kids to be associated with the Beast family (I headcanon the previous beast to be an abusive dipshit that almost drowned their kingdom, so everyone just asumes Rosa’s father is the same). It did not prevent them from getting at least a little bullied, tho.

2. They didn’t have the destiny talk with their kids until they definitely decided to stop having children, so Rosa and her siblings’ formative years were free of the pressure that comes with destiny.

3. Because of that, the Beauty-Beast siblings are quite close. They never had dumb rivalries based on who got the better destiny growing up. This, despite knowing one of them would eventually be the heir to the throne - their parents were very adamant on treating them equally.

Anyways, it’s safe to say I’m very frustrated with her wasted potential,,

[gandalfsbignaturals]

Cw: child abuse/neglect and eating disorder stuff

(sorry if this is considered trauma dumping, it just felt relevant to a post you just made)

.

.

I saw that post you made wondering how many parents treated their kids worse bc they weren't eating and it really hit me hard. My dad has always had horrible anger issues and I recently realized it's probably related to the fact that he never eats more than one real meal a day (he'll say he eats multiple meals a day but that's because he thinks a latte counts as a meal bc it has milk) he also used to just not feed me or my sibling while my mom was at work. As I got older I started to gain weight and he was always horribly fatphobic. It just makes me feel like his hatred for fat people and his fear of gaining weight ruined a huge part of my childhood.

But people will still act like it's fine to hate fat people because that's just being worried about their health. As if it's better to starve a 3 year old than it is to get them McDonald's

first of all starving... lowers your metabolic rate. if you starve yourself, you are more likely to gain weight later on...

second, yeah. my mom had anger issues for much of my childhood, as did my grandpa, and it wasnt until i was an adult that i started to realize that my grandpa was diabetic, and my mother was constantly being told my doctors to lose weight. she had a condition that none of the doctors could seem to figure out for the longest time, and repeatedly was told she just needed to lose weight. she tried repeated diets, and while she was usually careful not to impose her own diet restrictions on her kids... i have to wonder how much her mental health suffered thanks to all that. and how much of the verbal abuse we got was just that frustration getting passed on to us, who were the closest and most vulnerable.

the consequences of diet culture reach far beyond the people who destroy their own health in pursuit of their "perfect body" or whatever. they reverberate out to the people in their lives, especially those closest to them.

[caelwynn]

More on this post with random thoughts on Gen 3 (ages 25-39).

(Friendly reminder, I’m tagging all stuff having to do with Choices with ‘stardew choices.’ Feel free to block/mute if it’s driving you nuts.)

—So one of the things that really strikes me about this particular cohort is the fact that at the beginning of the game, they’re all single. Admittedly, Jacob is a widower, and he and Shane both have (god)daughters, but it’s truly remarkable that there are that many people in that age range single. On the flip side, the fact that this cohort has, for the most part, not hooked up and reproduced at least helps to explain the lack of any young children in the valley. In Choices, Yuuma is the baby at 8-9 years old. Then again, as mentioned in the Gen 2 post, this generation grew up with a depression and/or war going on, so that could have an effect.

—Despite the disrepair the valley is in, the largest number of transplants are in this age range. The largest number reside in Ridgeside (seven total), which makes sense as Lenny/Maive put far more effort into fixing problems up there than Mayor Lewis ever attempts down in the valley proper.

This one got stupid long, so there’s lots more under the cut.

—To be honest, Clint and Jacob’s ages are still a little in flux, but this is the absolute youngest they would be.

—I’m also a bit fuzzy on where I want to place Jasper, partly because he doesn’t play any sort of a role until Changes at the earliest, and possibly won’t show until Consequences. He moves to the valley in his teens, I know that much. I have him the same age as Mateo here, but it’s highly likely he’ll get moved closer to Tristan in age.

—Currently, I’m working under the idea that Sandy actually grew up in the valley and/or Grampleton, and thus went to secondary school/high school with this cohort. I grew up in a highly rural area, and one of the ways they handled schooling there was that the smaller villages had schools for roughly ages 5-13, while 14-19 were all pooled together into a larger school. I see a similar setup in Stardew, only in this case, the villages in the valley pool their kids together at the library in Pelican Town, and the upper forms all attend school in Grampleton.

—Mateo is actually a large reason why I built these damn cohorts. So much of their story centers around their regrets about what they did and trying to rebuild their connection to the community. In the mod, reforging these connections focus mostly on the older members of the community—Marnie, Gus, Pierre, Willy, Gunther, Marlon, and so forth. But with this story, that will obviously need to incorporate the people they grew up with. So, I needed to figure who that was.

—Gloria is extracted from a single string text in the Always Raining in the Valley mod. Henry has a yearbook from Grampleton High, and its cover is a painting. The artist’s signature is “Gloria Cooper.” But taking a single line out of context and extrapolating a whole person is what fanfic is all about, right?

—Sophia and Victor are actually right on the edge between Gens 3 & 4, and are only a few months apart from each other in age in this estimation.

—Jeric and Mateo are roughly the same age.

[firelord-frowny]

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

im thinking about ~parental legacies~ and how a person's trajectory in life can be correlated with the life history of their parent, as in, a kid whose parents had ph.ds may be more likely to achieve that same milestone, a kid whose parents have been to jail for domestic violence may be more likely to land themselves in jail at some point in life, etc, and how in general, parents who demonstrate adequate life skills and responsible decision making may be more likely to raise kids who are well-adjusted and make safe, healthy decisions in life,

and all the time on shows like divorce court, dr phil, iyanla fix my life, etc, soooooooooo many of the guests are people who have difficult lives at least in part because of bad decisions that were made by the parents, namely, having kids Too Young before they've become stable and self-assured.

and like, even though i am a DISASTERRRR in a lot of ways lmao, i'm also VERY well adjusted in that there is not one single cell in my body that would dare endeavor to make choices that could have drastically negative long-term consequences for me, a la crime, drugs, reckless behavior, pursuing unhealthy romantic relationships, unprotected sex/getting pregnant, etc. like. that shit has never been on my radar, and never WILL be on my radar. and as much as my brother can be a world class bully, he's definitely a good person in terms of not making reckless choices. neither of us drink or use drugs. neither of us associate with people who surround themselves with dangerous things.

and then i think about my sister, who's like 20something years older than me.

obviously i didn't grow up with her on account of the fact that she was already an adult when i was born, and she lived 1,100 miles away. so i never knew her very well. I still don't know her very well, tbh. but what i do know about her is that she was an absolute TRAINWRECK in her young adulthood, and that her shitty choices rendered her disadvantaged to this very day.

she was a hardcore drug addict. like, the crack/cocaine kind of drug addict. she ~ran the streets~ and got into dangerously physical fights with other girls over men. she got pregnant at about age 19, i think. unmarried, working minimum wage jobs, unable to support herself and her kid without constant support from our grandma and our mom. then she went on to have 3 more kids under the same circumstances. never finished college, etc. nowadays, she has cleaned up her act TREMENDOUSLY. like, she got her shit together and has not looked back. but her quality of life is still meager as a result of all the mistakes she made. even though she cleaned up her act behaviorally, the hole she'd dug herself into was just too deep for her to climb out of.

And i used to wonder how it was that both me and my brother are well-adjusted and refrain from dangerous choices at all costs, while our sister was an absolute disaster. like, we have the same mom! we were raised by the same person! howwwwwwww did she fuck up so badly??

but nowwwwwwwww it's kinda dawned* on me...

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! she was raised by a struggling single mother and no father! our mom was, i think, 22 when she was born. still in college. still having unsteady relationships.

but by the time me and my brother were born, she had a masters degree and was a working professional with steady, well-playing employment. independent, but also teamed up with a husband who (even though he's a fucking bully ass asshole) was able to help maintain a safe, nurturing environment for us to grow up in.

my brother and i got the Stable version of our mom. the version that made choices that would IMPROVE or at least maintain her quality of life and had the wisdom to know what was good for her and what wasn't. and so we grew up into adults who knew how to behave in order to avoid fucking up our lives.

but our sister got the version of our mom that was insecure and naive and still trying to figure out how to be a functional adult. and so she fucked up. a lot.

and it even makes sense that my mom fucked up and made questionable choices in her young adulthood, because she herself was raised by a miserable fucking trainwreck of a mother.

grandma screwed up, and passed those screw ups to my mom, who passed those screw ups to my sister.

and im just so fucking grateful that my mom was ultimately able to break that cycle in time for me to be born.

[traumadumpsite]

My period started when I was 7 or 8. At the time people would tell me I was “fast” or “mature” for my age, which was always uncomfortable for me because the tone they’d say it in heavily suggested I was to blame. Mostly, it was older women who would comment on my development, and as I grew boobs and hips that I was too young to have, I would be treated with disdain by those same ladies when old men would leer at me.

My period problems began almost as soon as my period started, and I remember how intense the pain was even back then. The pain would make me sick, make it difficult to walk, and the flow was so heavy that I often destroyed my pants.

This past year I finally got an answer as to why they’ve always been so bad and was told that a hysterectomy was the only way to solve the issues. At the time I didn’t have insurance so nothing could be done, but I have it now.

My parents were very abusive, manipulative and negligent to me growing up. I wasn’t able to trust them, or lean on them or ask for help. So, I depended on myself for what I needed. Now I’m in my mid thirties. I have a very tenuous relationship with both of my parents, but messaged to let them know about my upcoming surgery.

My Mom responded and asked if I’d like her to come over to help. It caught me off guard because: 1. I don’t feel safe enough to stay the night at her house because she’s a violent homophobe and she knows I’m not straight, 2. She’s never been nurturing a day in her life, and 3. We can’t be around each other for more than about 8 hours before things get bad. So, because I’m not insane, I told her no thanks and let her know that my husband got the first week off to help me. She actually seemed uncomfortable with me saying no.

My Dad responded the next day with okay, and left it at that. My step mom called me to ask questions and offered to come up to help. Again I said no thanks, told her my husband would be home to help me and again I could tell they were uncomfortable with my response. My step mom is very disabled, and while the thought is sincere and kind hearted, she wouldn’t be able to take care of me. She can’t even take care of herself.

Underneath this uncomfortableness is probably one of the first times they’re facing what they’ve created: a child who doesn’t want or need their support. Their actions, whether they accept accountability or not, has real consequences. When you don’t take care of your kids, don’t provide them with love, safety, or proper parenting they learn to depend on themselves.

I have healed myself. Not through apologies because I never got them. Not through better actions because neither of my parents have changed whatsoever. Not through accountability, or even acknowledgement. I healed myself because that’s what I needed to do to continue to survive.

The thing is, I haven’t forgotten. I can depend on exactly 2 people in my life, and one of those two I’m married to. If I were going to ask for help, I’d ask one of those two people or get through on my own. Under no circumstances would I reach out to my Dad, My Mom or my Step Mom. They can be uncomfortable with my lack of wanting their involvement in my healing. They’ve earned it.

[miekasa]

NICE.

+ pairings: eren yeager + (fem) reader

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

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

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

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

+ word count: 19k. i’m sorry.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Uh, yeah.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you, baby. I love you.”

“Eren?”

“Yeah?”

“Get off my line.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No, no—of course not.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It was almost three thou—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It wasn’t mine, I was—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And what’s it matter to you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m not avoiding him,” you frown.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You sound like you speak from personal experience.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“His parents?” Jean cuts you off.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Have you… told Eren yet?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is… is that why you—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He smiles. “I do.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I want you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You—you, too.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah? What, baby?”

“Kiss me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I didn’t taste any almonds.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I mean—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Eren—”

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

“Eren—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I thought it was pretty obvious.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And you took it, anyway?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Eren loves you, more than you could ever know.

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

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

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

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

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

“Mitchell, I have to—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And if I asked you now?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[innocentimouto]

"(I’d say Azula, but I doubt they intended to portray her as an actual person so)"

What makes you think that? can you elaborate,please?

Huh. Wasn't expecting to get an ask about Azula.

Basically, she wasn't written as a child, she's set up to be a bigger person for Zuko to defeat than Ozai, and the creators actively call her crazy and get a kick out of her ending.

Most people are shocked to find out she's actually 14. Her first appearance in "The Storm" has her smiling as Zuko screams. Zuko even looks younger than her when she should actually be 11. Her voice seems much older, and she constantly acts older and more mature than Zuko. She commands the people around her and is only ever shown to lack experience in "The Beach" which people mostly ignore when it comes to Azula.

Also the way they drew her in Book 3 made her seem in her twenties. My mom was horrified when I told her Azula was 14, and the first thing she said was, "Why did they do that? That bothers me. Why would they make her look like a woman?"

When Azula meets Zuko and Iroh, they immediately glare at her, suggesting they have reason to hate her. Except the last time they would have seen her was when she was 11. What horrible thing did she do to Zuko and Iroh at that age? What evil thing could she have even done for Iroh to make him hate her?

We could excuse Zuko, but Iroh is a grown man who should have the understanding that an 11-year-old child wouldn't understand the full weight of their actions.

Zuko and Iroh didn't know they were considered fugitives then. Really there was no reason for that much hatred to her. People say it's because Iroh recognizes the worst part of himself in her or sees Ozai in her, but that's kind of weak for a wise old man who spent years fighting for the Fire Nation and yet thinking a young girl is too far gone to help.

In "Zuko Alone", the flashbacks take the time to show her: lie to her mom, play a prank, disrespect Azulon, zoom in on her burning her doll ominously, mock Iroh for failing at BSS, perform better than Zuko, smile when Ozai angers Azulon, seem happy about Ozai killing Zuko, doesn't care that Ursa disappeared, and has no issues with the suspicious circumstances surrounding Azulon's death.

It's clearly meant to make us think she was born bad. Except it's extremely stupid.

Really, anyone else who hates it but doesn't call it stupid is just being polite. Siblings prank each other all the time. Ty Lee, whom plenty claim is innocent, also found the prank funny. Are we really basing a person's morality on a dumb game?

She's eight (or close to that). Children that age repeat what they hear from their parents, especially if they know it'll get a reaction. Also children at that age believe everything their parents do is right. Anything Ozai would have said to Azula---she has no reason to question it. He's her father.

I could go more in depth, but it can really be simplified down to: a child's actions should not be treated as if their brains and understanding of right and wrong have developed enough to recognize the meaning of their words, and children can be menaces.

My brother held a knife to my neck so many times to try and reenact some action scene, but it was constantly ruined by us breaking out into laughter. Because it was funny to us. We didn't see the danger in it. I poked a pencil into his knee really hard one time and was genuinely confused when it hurt. Kids just...don't understand consequences that well.

This also includes the whole turtleduck thing. It's funny people bring it up so often when Zuko was the one to actually do it on screen. And that's the proof. He looked confused and then got angry at the mother for biting him. Zuko gets excused for doing it, but Azula who's two years younger, doesn't? How are people raising their kids these days?

Then Zuko's fever dream. It's meant to be good and bad, which side he should choose. Yet instead of having Iroh and Ozai, it has Iroh and Azula.

Why? What purpose did she serve in that regard? Why is she given more focus as someone Zuko needs to deal with rather than the man who burned and banished him? Zuko has never wanted to join her side. Even after he supposedly changes in BSS, he wants to face Azula.

What would that accomplish? He's banished, so he can't turn her over to the Fire Nation. He's the Fire Nation prince, so he can't give her to the EK. She's currently in control of the Dai Li, which are all around her, so he's outnumbered.

If he had actually beaten her, then what? But the show doesn't take the time to question these things. She's solely an obstacle for Zuko, a character the narrative has empathized with, to overcome.

Then the ending in Book 2. Everyone believed she was lying and would backstab him after he helped her. It seemed like the writers had to scramble for a reason because otherwise...

She just gave up her right to the throne and saved Zuko when she didn't need to. If she wanted, she could have used him, then imprisoned him. Those were Ozai's orders. No one would stop her.

So they quickly move past that and focus on Azula lying to Ozai about Zuko being the one to kill Aang, and now the viewers hate her for endangering Zuko's life.

There's no going into the fact that Zuko was betraying his nation by hiding that the avatar was alive, and it's not out of the good of his heart. He hired an assassin to kill Aang. He didn't care.

So Zuko never thanked her for bringing him back to the Fire Nation when she didn't need to. She also could have had him imprisoned after finding out that he visited Iroh, or could have blackmailed him through that. The fact that she actually warned him to be careful was something he never acknowledged either.

Zuko realized his father was abusive and that the war was wrong and that he wanted to create a world of peace and happiness, yet he didn't even try to reason with Azula. What great sign of peace and happiness was directed to her? How come Ozai's abuse was only limited to Zuko? How come Zuko got to bring up an Agni Kai for a child was abusive, but sending Azula out to fight the Avatar, to fight in the Invasion, to be a soldier wasn't?

The show doesn't allow for it. She was confident, she was malicious, she was evil doesn't matter when she's fighting a war as a child.

Then Iroh convinces Zuko to face Azula right after he said he couldn't fight Ozai because it would be seen as senseless violence between brothers.

What message does that send? Zuko mentions putting Azula in her place, which again, seems like what the writers were going for with her ending (they laugh and call her crazy, it was intentionally cathartic for them).

Why...does Azula need to be put in her place? What does that even mean? She's following the Fire Nation just like he was. She's a child just like him. He was free from Ozai and then declared a fugitive for no reason and he still wanted to capture/kill Aang to get back home. Any argument that Azula should have known better should easily be directed at Zuko.

Favoritism from an abusive parent does not mean you're safe from abuse. It's the reason she strived for perfection in everything. Zuko stepped out of line once and look at what happened. When he returned Ozai honored him in the war meeting and asked for his advice.

Ozai only cared about Azula because she was useful. The same reason he accepted Zuko back. Any studies on the behaviors of abused children will shed a lot of light on the siblings.

Everything about Azula having depth is accidental on the writer's part. Even her line in the beach episode is used against her ('see, she knows she's a monster'). Her not being able to be a regular child is portrayed, but majority of people either ignore it, still call her crazy in that episode, or just say she was too far gone which is why no one should bother helping her.

All of which go against the themes of the show. Iroh also plays a major part in this by helping the misguided Zuko but actively not helping Azula, suggesting even he can do nothing to help her.

There's other people who know her character better, but this is just what I was referring to.

[redrobin-detective]

Ok, I’ve tried and tried and tried to write this fic because I see it so clearly in my mind but it’s just not going no matter what I do. But I don’t want the idea to die with me. The closest this came to being written was exile which was an attempt to bleed out some of the energy of this au.

Anyway, so it starts off vaguely similar to canon only more aggressive. There had been underlying tension between ghosts and humans for a while, the dead jealous/angry at the living for disrespecting them. The successful creation of the Fenton ghost portal (and another halfa) was considered an act of war and so the ghosts responded in kind. So basically all of S1 occurs fairly close to canon except ghost attacks are more violent and have increasingly more consequences as time passes. Also the attacks aren’t just in Amity Park with ghosts becoming a worldwide issue but Amity is a focal point. Regular people know the ghosts hate them though they don’t know why. Phantom is very much a controversial figure as he is a ghost but also clearly is fighting off the more violent ghosts. 

One day, not long after the events of Control Freaks, Amity Park wakes up to find three of their own are gone. Danny Fenton, Sam Manson and Tucker Foley are nowhere to be found. There’s a massive manhunt, the parents go on TV and beg for information but they cannot be found. Curiously enough, town hero Phantom was also missing. There’s some evidence they left of their own volition so the Mansons and Foleys eventually relent that the kids fled on their own. The Fentons are 100% certain the kids were stolen/killed by ghosts as a statement. And the fact that Phantom went missing around the same time means he was the one who killed them. Jazz knows Danny was Phantom but had no idea what was going on and knew her parents wouldn’t listen she just, kept quiet and privately tried to piece together what happened. 

Three years pass and finally it looks like the Ecto War is coming to a close. Young, naive ghosts attempted to raise Pariah Dark in a bid to win. It went disastrously but Phantom (who was periodically spotted around the world, deep in the worst battles of the war) and group of loyal allies subdued the king. By the law of ghosts, Phantom was named heir apparent and he declared that the fighting would stop. Humans and ghosts would have to negotiate and co-exist in peace. But he’s not king yet, no he needs to be crowned at the place where it began, Amity Park’s Fenton portal (”where it all began” has a double meaning of the beginning of the war but also symbolically where Phantom began as Kings assume the crown where their living life ended to show their abandonment of their first life and the commitment to their second). Amity is NOT happy to hear that their former hero is coming home.

Amity has been through the wringer, ghost attacks got pretty bad. The Fenton’s throw themselves into their work to cancel out the grief, they create a group of ghost hunters nicknamed the Reds (for their red blood, ghosts are nicknamed Greens) to control the threat. Valerie heads the young adult division and is considered one of the best, she drops out of school to devote herself to it full time. Oh also her dad is now the Mayor as most have died or didn’t want the job. There are still people who like Phantom and see him as a hero (a lot of Casper Kids) but it’s generally an unpopular opinion in town. Maddie and Jack are ready to obliterate the ghost that took their son’s life the moment he’s within city limits. It’s a powder keg ready to blow. It all comes to a head when Phantom and his entourage arrive.

First off, Phantom looks very different, much less human looking than when he left. He’s clearly aged like a normal teen but his eyes look much, much older.  His skin is dead white with a blue tinge to it from his ice core and his aura is super cold. His hair is longer and is very misty that kind of swirls around him and his has fangs and claws. When he’s deep in battle or his obsession, his sclera turn black and he looks scary af. His entourage is ghosts who have sworn loyalty to him, who he picked up along the way after battling beside them for 3 years. Fright Knight, Skulker and Frostbite are recognizable allies. They are not happy that their future King is back in Amity (secretly fearing they’ll lose him once more to his human life). J&M have a shot and are going for the kill when they see something that shocks them; Sam and Tucker are in Phantom’s entourage.

There had been whispers that Phantom interacted with humans, that humans were in his inner circle but this is something else together. And so are Sam and Tucker. Sam is Phantom’s General, she is talented and collected and half feral. She used to be a pacifist but the trials of war and understanding that peace sometimes needs to be fought for made her compromise. She’s covered in scars and an extremely talented fighter. She’s missing her right hand up to her forearm, she can form a ‘phantom limb’ (basically borrowing ectoplasm from her future ghost) to do some things with some powers. Tucker is the support, he uses human and ghost tech to organize, weaponize and generally keep things running. He’s covered in homemade tech (shields and weapons and computers) and he rarely removes. Both he and Sam have kinda forgotten how to interact with and really BE human after so long among the dead. They had attempted to conceal themselves but they had forgotten how strong parental love and recognition is. J&M want to know about Danny, the teens don’t know how to respond but assure them he’s alive. Phantom can’t bring himself to look at them.

This is where I start to lose track of things but there will be parallels of Valerie/Maddie vs Sam as female warriors on opposite sides who are willing to go behind, possibly compromising the things important to them, for victory. Tucker will be contrasted against Jack/Jazz as the one making weapons but also generally keeping the human parts of the team mentally/physically afloat. *Severe* PTSD for all three of them. They’re also unnaturally codependent on each other, get super anxious when one of the trio is out of sight and sleep in a big cuddle pile. They will fucking Kill You if you look at one of them wrong. Vlad will be involved, he had been jailed for war crimes but convinced Walker to stage a coup to overthrow Danny and take the crown before he’s actually declared King and is too powerful. Vlad is more unhinged here, more ghost than human (a hint on what could happen to Danny if he’s not careful). He is eventually defeated but he sacrifices his life for ghost power which, in the end, is what makes him able to be beaten.

 There’s lots of ideas on what it means to be live or dead and where the divide really is, is it a heartbeat or it is how you choose to use your existence. On how duty shouldn’t mean you need to give up everything. Because Jack and Maddie believe that Phantom killed their son and, in a way, they’re right. Before they left, the ghost war had gotten so bad and the rumors of Dark being resurrected were going around. Amity attacks were at an all time high, people in their school were being killed just because Danny went there. He realized he had to choose between Fenton or Phantom and he chose to protect the world. He abandoned his human identity and went off to fight in war. Tried to convince Sam and Tucker to stay but they followed him through hell and back. Because Danny spends so much time as Phantom, Fenton is severely neglected. His long hair is cool and floaty as Phantom but is unkempt and stringy, hanging in his face as Fenton. He’s wan and underweight and looks like a walking corpse. He knows his human half will give out soon if he doesn’t give it more attention but he just can’t there’s too much to do, too many people to save.

It would end with Danny being outed to the town, not the world, just the town. Jack and Maddie need to recon with the fact that their boy DID leave of his own choice but only because their failure to protect him (from both the portal and ghosts) made him feel he had to take all this responsibility on his shoulders. Danny also has to recognize that he (and Sam/Tuck) can’t do all this on their own and they can trust and rely on the people around him. Phantom is crowned King but he decides Amity will be his base. The trio eat more, sleep some, catches up on school all the while continuing their duties as King and court. The ghosts also see that Phantom’s humanity isn’t a weakness but a strength and will bring peace to the Earth/Zone so they also take some of the burdens off his shoulder. 

Basically I load up heavily with angst at the beginning and end with all the love and comfort imaginable. I just can’t fucking figure out the middle and my motivation will not let me write this shit out. But I can’t let this AU die bc it fucking keeps me up at night.

[just-jordie-things]

The Crown - Steve Harrington

word count: 4462 warnings: dedicated to @high-functioning-fangirl02 <3

You’d give your life to protect these kids.  

These kids you’ve known since you started babysitting them in the sixth grade.  Back when Mrs Henderson hired you to watch Dustin.  Which essentially meant that you’d watch all of them.  But that was alright, over the past seven years of being their designated babysitter, you’d grown to love them all.

Mike Wheeler, the snarky little love-struck shit that you spent grieving with since losing Eleven.  Lucas Sinclair, the sweet boy with the occasional attitude whom you helped construct his Ghostbusters costume. Will Byers, the full time sweetheart that made you cookies for Valentine’s Day after hearing you complain about being dateless.  And of course Dustin, cute little button nosed Dusty with a trash mouthing tendency, whom looked up to you like a role model.

Hell, you were their role model.  Driving them to and from school, covering for them on late nights so they could finish their D&D tournaments.  Fiercely protecting them a year ago when Hawkins was Demogorgon infested.  Standing up for them when you’d see some upperclassmen picking on them.

Those who dared glance the wrong way towards The Party in your presence, were rumored to run home crying with a bleeding nose and terrified shriek.  You never put down the rumors… because maybe it had happened once or twice…

Over time The Party was no longer just a band of middle schoolers.  It had opened up to their babysitter, being you, a senior girl who had not many other friends.  Nancy Wheeler, Jonathan Byers, which the boys always claimed was strictly because of family relations.  Not because Dustin was still harbouring a crush for Mike’s older sister.  The town Sheriff, Jim Hopper, who’d proved himself not to be an asshole, and turned out an alright guy.  Joyce Byers, whom you loved like a mother and whom treated you like her own daughter.  You’d frequently been titled ‘the daughter she wished to have had’ which always raised a snarky response from her sons.  Maxine (just Max.  Never Maxine) Hargrove, a high spirited and not your typical girl that you grew fond of easily.  Especially since she was nothing like her big brother.

And then there was Steve Harrington.  Who… really just was at the wrong place at the wrong time and ended up getting roped into the mess that Hawkins Lab had created.  King Steve, as you’d known him before you’d officially met last year by fluke accident, was always the popular boy that had a pretty girl hanging off his arm.  You weren’t sure why that changed so quickly, why he didn’t put himself out there as much as he used to, didn’t party hard anymore, wasn’t bragging about the new girl he was with that week like he was known for.  Maybe that day, when he walked into the Wheeler’s house right as you Nancy and Jonathan were awaiting the Demogorgon’s arrival, maybe he changed then.

Or maybe it was after he’d been sucked into… whatever this all was… and he changed to keep the secret.  Or maybe it was after Nancy had broken up with him, around the same time he started growing closer to Dustin.

But right now as you watched him directing the kids, you were more aware that he wasn’t King Steve anymore, that you had been before.  Sure, you’d realized somewhere along the way he was different.  But it wasn’t until now that you noticed it completely as it was.

“No listen you little shits, no one, is going anywhere” Steve ordered, holding a wash rag in his hand and pointing it between each of the boys, and girl, that stood in front of him.

“Friggin’ pointless just staying here” Dustin grumbled, walking out of the room whilst still muttering.  Mike groaned loudly, dramatically, and left to the living room with Max and Lucas.  You knew that he was still plotting you get out there tonight.  Consequences and dangers be damned.

You looked to Steve with a sigh, a lazy smile on your lips as you walked past him to go after Dustin.  He watched you go, letting out a breath as well as he put his hands on his hips and standing alone in the hall with his thoughts.

He’d give his life to protect these kids.

“Dusty?” You called gently as you walked into the kitchen, seeing Dustin sitting on the floor against the dishwasher.  Your brows furrowed as you sat across from him by the cabinets.  “You alright kiddo?”

“Would I be sitting in here brooding if I was?” He quipped, though you knew he meant well.

“Sweetheart you’re too adorable to be a brooder” You laughed softly, pulling your knees up slightly.  “A pouter maybe, but not a brooder”

“Thanks y/n” He responded dryly.  You rolled your eyes in response to his sarcasm.

“Come on kid, open up a little.  It’s me” Your words were soft, which did prompt Dustin to consider explaining to you his thoughts.  “Please? If we make it out of this alive I’ll take you to the arcade.  I’ve got a big jar full of quarters I’ve saved up-”

“Okay okay I’ll take the bribe” Dustin caved with a laugh that made your mood lighten.  “Look it’s gonna sound lame and cheesy but… everyone else is helping.  Jonathan and Nance and Mrs Byers and Hopper and Elle, but what am I doing?”

“You’re staying safe” Your answer came out instantly, but it didn’t seem to be the one the boy was looking for.

“No I’m not, I’m sitting on the sidelines, watching everyone else go be heroes and getting hurt.  I’m not doing a damn thing!”

“Hey” You hummed softly, and scooted over closer to put your head on his shoulder.  “You’re a hero Dustin.  Don’t tell yourself any differently.  All of you are, Mike too, and Lucas, and Max, and-”

“Steve?” Dustin offered, and you nodded, looking at him confusedly by the strange tone of voice he used.

“Of course, why’re you looking at me like that?”

“No reason” Dustin shrugged nonchalantly, brushing off the uncomfortable air between you both.

“Alright well, you should believe me” You continued.  “Even if you don’t think so, you’re all my heroes, got it Henderson?” The boy smiled and nodded, prompting you to push the cap of his hat down playfully before he could get up and leave the room.

“Mike’s probably still planning his attack” He told you, but you shrugged and waved a hand.

“Let him plot and brood” You said, and Dustin’s mouth fell open.

“How come Mike can brood but I can’t?” You rolled your eyes, still waving your hand for him to get out of here.

“Just go plot with him, I know you’re itching to” You said, and he grinned wide at you, glad you were letting him go plan their escape and attack.

“Thanks y/n!” He called, already racing out of the room.  “You’re the best!” You laughed, shaking your head as you stood back up and dusted off the pants of your overalls.  Steve came in a few moments later, watching you almost suspiciously.

“What?” You questioned, and he shrugged, shaking his head.

“Nothing.  Just wondering why you’re permitting them to conspire against us” He said.

“They’re not conspiring, they’re just discussing.  No harm in that”

“Um, every harm in that.  As in all of us, being harmed, because of that” He said, but you didn’t really seem to care what he thought about it.

“They’re fine, we’re all fine, don’t freak out so much mom” You said, walking out towards the kids and seeing them all circled up and discussing their big plan.

“I’m not a mom” Steve argued, and you chuckled, turning to see him, his dish rag on his shoulder, hands on hips.  It only made you laugh more.

“Mhm, alright.  Well then what would you call yourself?” You replied sarcastically, nodding towards his own stance, and making Steve second guess himself.

“This- you-! Alright whatever just stay away from the windows and go be safe somewhere” He muttered, walking into the living room where the kids were.  You rolled your eyes again, but couldn’t help the smile on your lips.

Perhaps, you thought, King Steve was the king of something else now.

You watched as he was waving his rag at the kids again, yelling at them for plotting behind his back, and reminding them that no one was going anywhere.  But even as Dustin pouted, Steve was rubbing his hand over the thirteen year old’s head.  Almost soothingly, like he felt bad for ending their little meeting.

“What a mom” You mumbled, and headed back into the kitchen for something to eat.

You used to resent Steve, back when he was the king of school and didn’t care about anything more than he cared about his popularity and his hair.  Back when he didn’t give a shit about pretty much anything.  And looking at him now and seeing him watch over these kids, you could physically feel your heart swelling.  If that isn’t character development, you weren’t sure what was.

You weren’t sure why it made you feel so bubbly either.

“Listen runts, we’re staying here, we’re staying safe, and we’re not dying!” Steve said, for what felt like the fifth time.  But Mike kept arguing back at him.

“Everyone else is out there!”

“Everyone else knows how to fight all that shit!” Steve retorted.  “We are staying, here” He repeated slowly, waving his rag between each word.  “You got that?”

“You’re just saying that cause y/n’s here.  If she wasn’t here, we’d all be getting in your car and going!” Lucas spoke up.  Your brows furrowed at that.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You asked, ignoring your search for food and now strutting into the room where everyone else was.  “Am I dragging you down?” You asked, almost sarcastic, but wondering what he’d actually meant by his announcement.  Were you dragging them down?

“No, Steve would just protect your ass over our asses” Max shrugged, and the others nodded.

“What the hell? Everyone here is protecting their own asses, I’m not getting killed for a bunch of kids!” Steve said, making flustered and jerky movements.  You brushed off their newly sprung argument over where Steve’s bat is swinging and who it’s swinging for.

Apparently, The Party was certain that he’d die for you, rather die for them.  But you didn’t care much about what they thought.  They’d always thought that you and Steve were meant to be some power couple, but you supposed it was just cause you were the same age and the kids only ever saw you two together.  There was no real evidence (as far as they showed) towards the ‘chemistry’ you and Steve supposedly had.

You wandered to the window, curiously looking out it with your arms wrapped around yourself.

“Will you just shut up?” Mike’s yelling made you jump a little, and you turned to see your friends all still arguing with each other.  You smiled slightly, meeting Steve’s eyes as he gave you a bored look.  You just laughed a little bit back at him.  Steve’s expression softened into a small smile.  Your face flushed with heat, and you nervously turned away from him to look back out the window again.

A light blinded you almost instantly, making you squint your eyes and put a hand over them to try and clear your vision.

“What the hell?” You muttered, leaning closer to the glass to see what was going on.  Headlights, there was a car here.  Someone was here.  “Steve?” You called, not turning away from the window.  He came over right away, looking outside to see a familiar Camaro parked in the driveway.

“Shit” He grumbled, walking towards the front door.

“What- where are you going? Who is it?” You asked, following quickly after him, but Steve quickly turned to make you stay back.

“Just stay in here-”

“Sinclair!” A voice hollered from outside, and you jumped, eyes widening as you recognized it.  “I know you’re in there!”

“Billy?” You whispered to Steve, who nodded.  You stepped backwards, eyes never leaving Steve’s.  “What’s he doing here?” Your voice was quiet.

Billy Hargrove, was the most vile, horrible person you’d ever met.  And his wicked ways of bending people to his will, shook you intensely to your core.  It was no secret to the others that Billy not only terrified you, but would seductively torture you every day.  Sure, you’d been picked on before, but this was different.  Every day he’d come to you, hoping to get something out of you, just to mess with you.

“Come on babe, a little kiss, just a little one, we can discuss the rest later”

“You don’t want to get a ride home with me and have some fun?”

“When’re you finally gonna give this up and just put out?”

You shuddered slightly, practically feeling his hot breath against your skin just thinking about the things he’s said to you.  Stopping you in the hallways, finding you at your locker, approaching you while you waited at Steve’s car for a ride home.

“I know you’re in there you little pig! Come out here or I’ll have to go in!” His voice was dangerous, threatening.  And you felt a legitimate fear for your life, and the kids’.

“It’s fine, you’re fine, I promise” Steve said quietly, out of earshot of the others.  “All of you stay here, stay away from the windows” He ordered, giving you one last look before you turned and went to The Party.  They needed you right now, all huddled around Lucas and Max to make sure if Billy were to look inside, he wouldn’t see them.

“Come on guys” You said softly, ushering them as far away from the window as you could.  Steve, on the other hand, opened the door and stepped outside.

Instead of hiding in a room, completely out of sight of the maniac, you all ducked under the windowsill to see what was happening.

“Am I dreaming or is that really you Harrington?” You felt your entire body quivering upon hearing Billy’s voice.  Dustin, who was crouched next to you, turned and gave you a worried look, but your eyes were dead set on the outside.

“Yeah it’s me, don’t cream your pants” Steve responded, walking out towards him as he pulled off his leather jacket.

“What’re you doing here amigo?” Billy asked, the cigarette hanging off his lips moving as he spoke.

“I could ask you the same thing” Steve responded, void of emotion.  “Amigo”

“Lookin’ for my step sister.  Little birdie told me she was here”

“Huh, that’s weird I don’t know her” Steve lied easily, and convincingly.  You prayed to God that Billy believed him.

“Small? Redhead?” Billy replied disbelievingly.  “Bit of a bitch?”

“Ashole” Max muttered to herself inside.

“Doesn’t ring a bell, sorry buddy” Steve replied, still not sounding like he cared even an inkling.  Billy nodded, taking out his cigarette.

“You know… I don’t how this, this whole situation Harrington is um.., it’s giving me the heebie jeebies” Billy said, looking at Steve a little more threateningly.

“Oh yeah? Why’s that?”

“My thirteen year old sister goes missing all day, and then I find her with you” Billy pointed accusatory hands towards Steve, giving him a disgusted look.  “In a strangers house” He continued.  “And you lie to me about it” Steve chuckled bitterly, shaking his head and looking away for a moment.

“Yeah, maybe you were dropped too much as a child or what” Steve said snarkily.  But Billy just grinned his twisted grin and licked his tongue over the front of his teeth.  “I don’t know what you don’t understand about what I just said”

You felt a chill go down your spine as Steve’s protectiveness took over his tone.  Dustin beside you mumbling a quiet, “Holy shit”

“She’s not here” Steve said carefully.  Billy nodded, looking pointedly towards the window where you and The Party were all huddled and looking out of.

“Then who’s that?” He asked, pointing his cigarette towards his sister.

“Down!” You hissed, and the five of you dropped to the floor so fast you all groaned from the impact of the floor.

“Shit!” Dustin cursed.  “Did he see us?”

“Oh shit” Steve grumbled.  “Okay listen-” Billy pushed him to the ground before he could explain anything.  The boy kicked him, before storming up into the house.

“Well well well” Billy smirked, seeing you and The Party standing there together, you in front of all of them.  “y/n l/n, what a lovely little surprise” You grimaced, but he didn’t seem to care.  “And Lucas Sinclair, not so much a surprise at all” You moved over more in front of Lucas, who’s hands grabbed onto your arm out of fear.  “I thought I told you to stay away from him Max”

“Billy, go away” Max retorted, but her voice wavered.

“You disobeyed me” Billy leaned over his step sister tauntingly.  “And you know what happens when you disobey me” He added in a hushed, volatile voice.

“Billy-”

“I break things” He uttered, before pushing you aside, crashing your body into the wall.  Before slamming Lucas up against the cupboards.

“Billy stop!” Max and the others began to yell, Dustin rushing over to help you up, but you were already standing up on your own.

“Get off of me!” Lucas cried.

“Since Maxine won’t listen to me, maybe you will” Billy muttered.  “You stay away from her.  Stay-! Away from her” He yelled awkwardly.  “Do you hear me?”

“I said get off me!” Lucas screamed again, followed by a knee between Billy’s legs.  You gasped, feeling a moment of pride as Billy stumbled back and released him.

“You are so dead Sinclair!” Billy hollered.  “You’re dead-”

“No” Steve grabbed Billy by the shoulder, spinning him around roughly.  “You are” And with that he swung his fist and planted it hard enough against Billy’s jaw to make him topple over.

“Steve!” You yelped out of surprise.  He looked at you for a moment, nodding in reassurance as he shook out his hand.  It’d been a while since he’d hit anybody.  Billy stood back up, laughing menacingly.  “You’re a fucking psycho!” You screeched before you could stop yourself.

“Looks like you got some fire in you after all huh!?” He yelled at Steve.  “I’ve been waiting to meet this King Steve everybody’s been telling me so much about” He stepped closer to Steve, glaring at him.

“Get out” Steve muttered, pushing Billy’s chest lightly to move him away from him.  Billy stepped back and stood there for a moment.  And after a few seconds passed you were certain that he was going to stay back.

Until he swung swiftly at Steve, but missed as Steve ducked just in time.  You gasped, clapping your hands over your mouth in terror.  Steve stood back up and swung his fist again, hitting Billy and making him stumble again.

“Yes! Get him Steve!” Dustin cheered, and the others began to as well.  You couldn’t find yourself to say anything, just wince every time a punch was made.  Steve hit him two more times, and Billy ran into the kitchen sink.  Leaning back and wincing in pain.

“Kill him! Kill him!” Mike was yelling.  But Billy grabbed a plate of the counter, smashing it over Steve’s head, and making him fall to the ground.

“Steve!” You screamed now, taking long strides to get over to him, only to be pushed away by Billy.  Who hit Steve as soon as he stood up again.  He grabbed Steve by the shoulders, staring him down.

“No one.  Tells me what to do” He muttered angrily, and threw his head forward hard into Steve’s knocking him down again.

“Fucking hell” You mumbled, tears beginning to prick your eyes in fear that Billy was actually going to kill Steve.  The mullet wearing psycho leapt onto Steve, pinning him down and swinging punch after punch against his face.

“Stop it!” Mike yelled at the top of his lungs, but it did nothing to end Billy’s attack.

“Steve!” Dustin hollered.

You stood frozen, every scene in front of you soundless, and moving slowly.  You could only feel your heart in your chest, sending you into an anxiety attack, you were sure.  But it barely mattered to you in that moment.  You turned away, and your eyes landed on something.

The syringe used on Will earlier.

Sleep… put him to sleep… your thoughts were broken as you reached for it, looking at it in your hands for a few seconds, before stepping forward and slamming the needle into Billy’s neck without a hesitation.  Mike and Dustin gasped, standing back.  Everyone’s eyes stuck on the syringe hanging out of BIlly’s neck now.  A disgust filling them up at the sight.

“Shit y/n” Dustin mumbled, his hand covering his mouth to stop vomit from flowing.

Billy stood up, wobbling slightly as he turned to look at you.  He pulled the needle out of his neck, vision beginning to fail.  “The hell is this?” He asked, trying to step towards you threateningly, but he was wobbling so much you didn’t even move.  No longer afraid of him.

“You’re fucking done Hargrove” You muttered, and before thinking twice to second guess yourself, punching him across the jaw, and sending him back on his ass.  Billy groaned, staying down where he’d fallen against the couch.

“Shit what did you do” He mumbled, growing dizzy from the mix of drug and pain.

A few moments later he completely passed out.

“Fuck” You hissed in pain, putting your bruising knuckles against your mouth.  You didn’t think punching someone would hurt so damn much.

“y/n holy shit”

“Are you okay?”

“That was badass!”

The Party was fussing and cheering for you, but you didn’t respond, kneeling down by Steve next and counting up all the cuts and bruises he was beginning to sport.  He was unconscious, that was for sure.  But he’d be in for a world of hurt when he woke up.

“Come on, help me get him back to Jon’s bed” You called to the kids.

It was difficult moving him, but after ten minutes you’d managed to get him into Jonathan’s room to lie on the bed there.  You were sat next to him, a cold wet rag in your hand, and the open first aid kit on the ground.  It took you awhile to clean off all the blood and apply bandages where you thought they were necessary.  There was a frozen bag of peas you’d put over one of his eyes to stop the swelling, but so far it still looked pretty bad.

The Party had sat with you for what felt like a long time before you told them to go back to the living room and wait for the others to return home.  Dustin put up a small fight about it, but eventually gave in and listened to your order.  And now it was just you kneeling on the ground by Steve, watching over him carefully.  Making sure he was breathing okay, and that nothing would begin to bleed again.

“Well King Steve, you got quite the ass kicking” You mumbled, just to yourself.  Your fingers placed a few stray hairs on his forehead back into place.  “But your crown is still there” You smiled to yourself, fingertips gently brushing his hair.

“y/n?” Your eyes looked back at him as he mumbled, almost incoherently.  “What happened?” The poor boy’s eyes weren’t even open.

“You put up a really good fight” You told him softly.  He winced, the pain probably beginning to settle in.

“Did I win?” He groaned, eyes clenching shut momentarily.  You bit down on your lip and shook your head, even though he couldn’t see you.

“You put up a really good fight” You repeated yourself, playing with his hair again.  Steve sighed, knowing the answer.

“Is he gone?” He asked, eyes finally beginning to flutter open.

“Yeah… yeah he won’t be back any time soon, I’m sure” You answered.  Steve looked up at you, smiling down gently at him.  He smiled back instantly, and moved his arm to push your hair back, but even at it’s slight movement you winced in pain.  “You’re in pretty bad shape” You told him quietly.  “But you’ll heal up alright”

“Are you okay?” He asked, and you nodded.

“Yeah, yeah I’m fine” You shrugged slightly.  “We’re all really worried about you.  Dustin thought you were dead” Steve chuckled painfully, shaking his head a little bit.

“Are they alright? Max and Lucas?”

“Yeah, we’re all good Steve” You hummed with a slight nod.  You leaned forward, a little closer to him to check on the eye swelled under the bag of peas.  You frowned, seeing the black and blue bruise that only seemed to be spreading.

“I’m alright, don’t fuss so much” Steve said, putting his hand over the bag and pushing it back against his face.  Your eyes met his for a moment.

“You’re pretty bruised up Harrington” You sighed, taking the wet rag in your hand and dabbing it gently on his bruised cheek.  “There’s not an inch of your face spared”

“It’ll be fine, I’ll heal up”

“Years from now, maybe” You replied sarcastically, and he smiled at you while you carefully pressed the cold cloth to his face.

“You’re beautiful, you know that?” He murmured, and you looked at him for the briefest of seconds before going back to work.  Now is not the time to talk about feelings, you thought to yourself.

“Yeah? Go play hero some more and you’ll never see anything again” You told him, and he shrugged slightly, not having a response to that.

“I just wanted to remind you.  In case you haven’t been told in a while” He said.  You bit on the inside of your cheek to keep from smiling too much.  You looked down at him, your eyes softening slightly.

You leaned over closer to him, pausing for a moment before pressing your lips lightly against his.  It was a chaste kiss, only lasting a few seconds as you didn’t want to hurt him anymore than he already was.  When you pulled back, you smiled nervously at him, and he only smiled back at you.

“You’re lucky you didn’t die Harrington” You said, and got right back to work on pressing the rag to his wounds.

“That I am” He replied cheekily.

You giggled softly, smiling down at him and wondering just when he’d changed so much.

You knew he’d give his life for these kids too, just like you would.

love me some babysitter steve

xoxo ~ jordie

[alpines-bucky]

No one said Starks weren't a little dramatic

This is the first time I write Tony x daughter reader I hope you guys like it :)

Word Count: 2319 ( Things got a bit out of my hands while I was editing and eventhough it's edited I can't promise that there aren't any typos and I dtill wasn't satisfied with what I wrote but 🤷‍♀️Ig )

Warnings: Major character death, a lot of angst

Y/N loses her dad when he decides to save the universe with a snap of his fingers but when did anyone see a Stark not getting what they want? Let me answer for you, Never. ( AKA Y/N gambles with time and space and universes surprisingly there isn't any VA involved cause in my opinion they suck to save her dad but apparently there are always consequences)

Y/N had arrived at her destination albeit being a little late. She wanted to be there when the team tried to go back in time to get the Stones in hopes of saving aunt Tasha too but she had one and only shot at this so she had to make do with what she had. What she didn’t realise was she accidentally changed universes instead of going back in time.

The way she found out that the place she had arrived wasn’t when or where she intented to was Morgan, the little girl with big Brown eyes who had total control over her older sister the second they met. Y/N had to lay low and do her research before approaching them. But when she heard about Morgan she had to meet her before doing what she came to do. And that’s exactly what she did.

She found Morgan in a house by the lake with a woman who she assumed was Pepper.Her visit was short since she couldn’t afford getting caught by Pepper which would mean jeopardising the whole plan she had spent months making. She left a message for her dad before going off to save the man itself.

Her dad was fighting with Thanos when she arrived to the scene. The more she looked around the more it looked like the place she fought along with her dad and that meant one thing, she had to act quick.

‘’I am inevitable’’ Thanos said as he snapped his finger but nothing happened. Confused, he looked at his gauntlet to find that the Stones that were there a minute ago were no longer in their places. He looked around to see that Tony had them somehow.

‘’And I’m Iron Man’’ said Tony full of emotions as he was about to snap his fingers. He thought having all six Stones in his hands would kill him being a mortal and he was fine with it if that meant she could ensure his family’s security but he felt nothing. He thought he had died instantly but he found out that wasn’t the case when he got startled by an unknown voice.

‘’Oh, the hell with that!’’ said a girl who wore a similar suit to Tony’s. She seemed to appear out of nowhere. Which confused both man further.

‘’Who the hell are you?’’ asked Tony. Who the hell was mad enough decided to mess up the only chance of him stopping the big purple psycho of a man.

‘’Who do you think?’’ said the girl, winking at him confidentally but her eyes told a different story. There was sadness in them, grief and loss but it seemed like she was happy at the same time.What surprised him was the familiarity she carried but he couldn’t put his finger on it. So he searched her suit for some clues which led up to him finding the Stones. She was the reason he was not dead, she somehow got possession of the Stones.

‘’Kid, no!’’ yelled Tony. He attempted to get closer to her but she snapped her fingers before he could stop her. Everything stilled for a second. The other avengers thought Tony had done it as Thanos’ soldiers had started to turn to dust all of a sudden but when they found a girl that they’ve never seen before in the arms of Tony with fetal injuries they were puzzled. They gathered around Tony and the girl who struggled tos tay alive.

‘’I made it! I… I saved you, Dad.’’Tony was shocked at her words. He was processing what he heard as Pepper landed next to them and kneeled. They couldn’t Wrap their heads around what was happening but they both were not going to let a dying kid down for sure.

She had a difficulty breathing, she was in agonizing pain but she had a peaceful smile on her face. She tried to lift her hand but it pained her more, she whimpered. Tony sensed her intentions and put her hand on his cheek for her. He put his hand on top of her, gave it a gentle squeeze. ‘’Friday, what do we have?’’ asked Tony.

‘’3 to 4 degree burns from her right hand up to her face. Internal bleeding. Her lungs are collapsing... Life functions critical.’’ Answered the voice from both of the suits. Pepper grimaced, she didn’t know who this girl was but she had sacrificed herself for Tony, the man she referred ‘dad’. ‘’Who are you?’’ asked Pepper.

‘’I’m–‘’ she coughed, blood was pooling in her mouth. ‘’I’m surprised you couldn’t figure it out yet…’’ she let out a bloody laugh. ‘’I’m Y/N. Y/N Stark.’’ She said with her last breath. That shook the whole group to their cores. The girl wasn’t lying or confusing Tony with someone else. The girl who lied in his Tony’s arms nonbreathing was infact the daughter of Tony Stark. From the moment they realised the truth everything was a blur to the Stark Family and the avengers.

Y/N was Tony’s first daughter who had died in a cross fire 7 years ago. She was a teenager at the time. She would have been a few years older than Peter if she had lived. It was a wrong place wrong time type of situation, she had died on the scene. Tony had nightmares after that, his insomnia got worse. He had blamed himself although it had nothing to do with him. The guilt ate him alive day by day. He realised why the girl’s eyes were so familiar to him now, she was his Y/N/N. A grown, older version of her, but his Y/N nontheless.

He didn’t think he could recover from her death but losing her, seeing her die in his arms for the second time ruined him. He had no idea what was happening outside of his head, he was in a trance, he had stayed still looking at his hands where Y/N laid. Until his little girl, Morgan came up to him with a disk in hand and said ‘’Daddy! Daddy! A girl called Y/N wanted me to give this to you’’ That got everyone’s attention.

Tony told Friday to scan the disk and display whatever is in it. When he saw Y/N in front of her, he couldn’t stop the tears from falling and when she started speaking as if she could see her Tony lost it. He couldn’t hear her because of his own sobs, he didn’t even realised the rest of the avengers and his wife as they piled in the room when they heard Tony and Y/N’s voice. He had to stop the hologram a few times to gather himself. When he got control of his breathing, he built up his courage and displayed it all over again.

‘’Hey dad. I’m assuming since you are watching this I suceed. I’ve saved you.’’ She had to stop for a second to take a breath in to compose herself. ‘This time’ she said under her breath but Friday caught it.

‘’You are wondering how the hell I am alive. Well… For starters, I didn’t know that I was dead in this world which… makes you realise that I’m not from this world. I’m actually from what you call an alternative universe. Things got out of hand in my universe after… after you… Oh shit! This is too hard. I knew I couldn’t do this shit! I can’t even talk to my own god damn suit picturing it as my hypothetical dad without messing it up’’ that made a few people chuckle and a few others tos mile. The girl really was his father’s child after all.

‘’Okay I’m hoping you either won’t have to watch this or I can cut that part before giving it to Morgan. Anyways, I’m rambling.’’ Tony saw his younger self in Y/N which put a sad smile to his face. This was something he never got to experience before. To see her this grown up. To see a pieces of him in her.

‘’ So things went down hill after you did the whole ‘I’m Iron Man’ thing –which by the way I’m still mad at you about­- You… You died in my hands, dad.’’ She gulped. She had begun crying a while ago but now that she was talking about her dad’s death, she felt like the lump in her throat got bigger and bigger, suffocating her. ‘’ I was all alone for years! You were all I had and then within a second you were gone! I didn’t have anyone else!’’ She tried to calm herself. She wasn’t recording this to make him feel guilty or get answers she was possibly never going to hear. This was a goodbye. A goodbye she knew he deserved just like how she did from him.

‘’That’s why I made the decision to change it but I accidentally changed universes instead of going back in time. But this was my only chance, only shot at making it right. And then I found out that I had died in this universe and you had moved on. Good for you, dad. I’m really proud of you. You did what I couldn’t. It was a relief to know that you were happy and that you had a family now. I thought for a second that maybe the blip didn’t happen. That in this universe, you had a lovely life and I thought for a second maybe I could be in it too. Stay with you but that hope was shortly lived.���’ She gave a sad smile.

‘’And now I’m about to go to the battle field. Before I go, I have to say, I don’t know how if there is any way for me to stop you. I can’t take it all back but I will do anything to not let another girl grow up without her dad. And I ain’t going to let my own sister down. Oh, did you know that I always wanted a sister?’’ she chuckled making Tony’s heart warm. It has been so long since he heard his daughter chuckle the damn way he does. She stopped for a second to think ‘’Well, she has the Stark charm, that’s for sure. I only knew her for a few hours and she had me the second we met. I wish I could be there for her as her older sister. I would give anything to see her grow up but if that has to be for only one of us to see, I’d rather that be you because I’ve been there. I know how hard it is to lose your dad. I could see clearly what she would have to go through and the moment I realised that I knew what I had to do. I would stop you at all costs and since this reacording is being played I could sleep peacefully knowing she has you.’’ She smiled with tears escaping her eyes once again. Tony was full of emotions. His daughter he has been longing for years was right in front of him but way too far away at the same time.

With a sigh she started ‘’ You have people you can hold on to. I never did. Pepper, Morgan, Rhodey, the spider kid... Hold on to them Tony. Hold on to the team. Oh, speaking of the team, tell them I love them and I missed them so badly. I’m sorry. I thought I was going to have more time to talk And maybe if a miracle happens and we all can manage to stay alive I could tell you all about it but I have to go now. Have an old man to save’’ She saluted and looked around right where the broken team of Avengers were with longing in her eyes. She moved closer to the disk to cut the recording but decided against it the last second. Tony hung his head, his heart broke to hear the hope in her voice when he knew what already happened. He thought this was the end of the recording but he looked up when he heard her talking and she had turned to him and looked right at him as if she knew where he was stated. That sent shivers up Tony’s spine.

‘’I know you think I made the wrong decision but I saved you. I refuse to let you down once again. I refuse to see you die in front of me once again. I’m not sorry for what I’m about to do, I knew the consequences when I made this plan months ago. I’m only sorry because although I tried so much to have the future we always talked about with you, I won’t be able to, Tones. But Morgan will be. And I would give up anything for that little girl. And for you.’’ She said as she caressed the necklace Tony gave her when she was a child. She took the chain out of her neck and put it somewhere Tony couldn’t see. And Tony knew this was only a tape but he tried to hold on to his daughter, to stop her from going out there. His breath caught in his throat when his hands went through Y/N’s body. He fell to his knees.

‘’ But hey if it turns out that I, this badass manage to get both of us home in one peace one we can laugh our asses off as we watch me being the drama queen that I am… Well, no one said Starks weren’t a bit dramatic.’’ The heart Tony thought had broken to a million pieces broke further as he heard the tremble in her voice as she tried to put her brave face on. But she couldn’t hide it when one last tear escaped from her slightly swollen eyes as she ended the recording.

Why do I never have good endings? Cause I write in the middle of the night when I feel sad most of the time and it's easier to write sad than it is to write happy.

I hope you liked it. I would love to hear your thoughts on this one. I'd also like to discuss if you'd like the alternative ending that could be a happy one :)

[tenthgrove]

Hello, I just saw that you opened your request. I'm the one who ended up writing a whole prompt! Imagine this for each member from La Squadra: they had an one-night stand with a random woman, she accidentally got pregnant and decided to have the baby without telling them. After a while, the woman got ill and passed away, but not without before sending her child with their father (let's imagine she has the direction of their hideout even if it's ooc, or she knew where they hang out). So, one day someone knocks the door and introduces themselves as the kid of one of the members/if it's too young, someone left them on the door with a explainatory note... How do you think each member would react by discovering that they have a child and they're supposed to take care of them from now? You can make each kid with different ages if you want, it would be funny to see Prosciutto or Ghiaccio dealing with a rebellious teenage son or Risotto trying to take care of a toddler, but I guess not all of them would want to keep their children. Sorry if it's a lot, haha.

La Squadra did a Diavolo

La Squadra x Reader, Platonic/Familial, SFW

A/N: your idea about mixing up the ages got me thinking, and I ended up using randomisers for the children’s ages (though I did consciously change some of them) and genders. It added a fun bit of chance to this prompt.

Formaggio, with an 8 year old daughter

The whole thing feels surreal to him. There's a little girl on his doorstep calling herself his daughter and by all evidence, it's true. He doesn't really know how to feel about it at first. On one hand it's kind of cool he had a kid all this time and you're clearly a lovely girl, but on the other hand, what the fuck? Still, not being the practical sort, his sense of sentiment far outweighs any question of how he's actually going to look after a child, so without much deliberation, Formaggio agrees to let you stay.

Formaggio isn't too experienced with kids but he doesn't exactly dislike them either, so he figures he knows what to do. At your age you can at least do the basics of looking after yourself, so he isn't too worried. The only problem is that if you ask him to cook for you or help clean your room, his eyes go very wide. He never quite picked up those skills himself, he's afraid, so you're going to have to ask someone else for that one.

The good news is that Formaggio is a very easy-going, fun sort of dad, who is a natural at playing with you and lets you do what you want when he can't be around. He quickly gets used to showing affection to you, letting you cuddle up to him on the sofa in front of the squad and even carrying you around once in a while. He gives amazing piggy back rides.

The bad news (or more good news, depending on how you are) is that you have to leave school. Risotto says that at your age you can't be trusted not to tell anyone your new family is a bunch of assassins, and taking you to and from school each day would be too much of a hassle. Nonetheless, you're welcome to continue your education from home, though Formaggio will hardly push you if you don't keep up with it. Melone is much better on that front.

Despite the risk, Formaggio can't bring himself to force you to lose all your friends, so he lets you keep meeting with them. Furthermore, he knows a few guys in other squads who have kids about your age, so he's happy to introduce you to them if you want a friend you can be more honest about your home life with. Formaggio might not have a clue what he's doing, but he's doing pretty good.

Illuso, with a 3 year old daughter

He's been fearing this day would come for years. A small child knocking on the door of the hideout, holding a note in hand addressed to him, just as a shady looking car drives away. Yeah, Illuso remembers your mother pretty well and he remembers the distinct lack of precautions they took during their encounter. Now, the consequences of his actions are here at his house, and Risotto is currently standing in the doorway of the office looking ready to give him the biggest dressing-down of his life.

After his tongue-lashing, Illuso frantically agrees to take responsibility for what he's done and see to it that you're well cared for, and begins the task of looking for relatives who might take you. Unfortunately, none of your mother's family can be traced, and Illuso can't exactly call up his own right now. Leaving you on the door of an orphanage isn't an option because you're old enough to say where you've come from, so it looks like for the time being, Illuso is stuck with you.

Initially, Illuso is not thrilled. He pawns you off on Melone, Sorbet and Gelato whenever possible and tries to live his life as before. But increasingly, he can't help finding himself visiting your room whenever he's stressed or has had a bad mission. There's something so pure about gently stroking your hair as you sleep. He can't help but feel... attachment, as he rubs his thumb against your tiny palm.

From then on, Illuso starts to make a point of spending more time with you. You're at the age where you just want to touch and explore everything you're given, so letting you make a mess with his makeup and beauty creams is an easy way for him to observe and learn about you. He even starts doing the more practical things like washing and feeding you every so often.

Eventually, Illuso becomes an actual father to you. He loves you as a father should and puts his time into making you happy. Illuso is glad he didn't give you away, as you've opened his eyes to so many things. For the first time in many years, he feels human. He feels redeemable.

Prosciutto, with a 13 year old son

As you tell him your story Prosciutto racks his brains. He didn't have many one-night-stands in his youth but the ones he did have were so far back he barely remembers them, so your mother's name doesn't immediately ring any bells. If it weren't for the striking resemblance between you, Prosciutto probably would have thrown you out for a liar there and then. But as you are, it's clear you're being honest. He lets you in.

After a short interrogation by Risotto to make certain you aren't acting on behalf of some third party looking to infiltrate the squad, it's agreed you can stay, so long as you keep quiet about it to your friends. At your age you can largely look after yourself and all you really needed was a roof over your head, so there's no problem with you moving into the spare room as long as you stay out of the others' way.

Education isn't much of an issue either, since you're likely well settled in your current school and can get yourself there and back. Just whatever you do, don't go telling anyone you live with a bunch of gangsters now. Prosciutto means it, you could seriously put yourself in danger if you do that.

Much to your father's ire, you end up befriending several members of the squad, especially the younger ones like Melone, Ghiaccio and Pesci who have some generational overlap with how you were raised. Prosciutto would rather you didn't do this but at the end of the day, he can't really stop you. God forbid you call him an old boomer again.

Your relationship is overall positive- Prosciutto makes a point of taking you on outings when he has the time, and giving you parental advice when you need it. However that doesn't stop you from making fun of his stuffy, old habits, and playing the moral high ground in regards to his work.

On that note, the problem comes when you develop an interest in the squad's work. It's only inevitable, given how pervasive the topic is in conversations around the house, and the fact you're more than old enough to know what a gang is, but the day you first ask him about it is no less welcome. What's scary is that you're about the same age as Passione's youngest recruits and, well, if you ended up joining them because of him, Prosciutto might never forgive himself.

Pesci, with a 6 month old son

He knew it had been a mistake. Not long after his 18th birthday he'd given in to the squad's pestering about his virginity and finally gotten rid of it just to shut them up. Now he's ridden with guilt. Not only did the poor woman get pregnant because of him but now she's died. He can't help but wonder, the letter attached to the basket you came in was very vague after all, was your mother's death at all related to your birth? If so, Pesci doesn't know how he'll forgive himself.

Pesci immediately panics and stumbles into his Fra's bedroom crying louder than you are. Prosciutto remains calm, advising him to first make sure this actually is his baby through Melone, in case this is somebody trying to trick him, and to then think through his options rationally. As far as Prosciutto sees it, he has two. He can either see to it that you're taken in by a caring, reliable individual, or he can keep you for himself. Surprisingly, Prosciutto's actually okay with the second one, since in his eyes duty to one's family is absolute.

Pesci stammers a bit and asks if he can wait a few days to make his mind up, which Prosciutto permits. But it isn't long at all until Pesci is far too attached to you to ever let you go, and it becomes clear you'll be staying for the long-run. Risotto is hardly happy about this but agrees with Prosciutto's sentiment of family, so he doesn't try to insist you be sent away.

Pesci is an incredibly loving father. He'll dash from the other side of the house at a moment's notice if he hears you crying. That said, being so young himself it's inevitable he requires some help with raising you. Sorbet and Gelato chip in quite regularly, as does Melone when Pesci is desperate enough to fall on using him. Prosciutto helps out too, being your uncle, and occasionally you've even had Risotto answer your cries.

La Squadra can only hope their situation improves somehow in the coming years, since Pesci has no idea how he's going to deal with an older child in a house full of assassins. At very least, being so young it's a long time before he has to worry about things like school. For now, what's important is that you are loved very dearly. Pesci has discovered a new protective streak in himself, something he discovers every time he looks in your eyes.

Melone, with a 4 year old son

When you arrived you were frightened and confused. You struggled to babble out the story you were told to tell as the strange men crowded around you in the front room of the house. Then, a bizarre looking man with purple hair pushed to the front of the crowd, insisting he knew what to do in a situation like this. He carried you somewhere quiet, and gently asked you to repeat your story again. You told him you were looking for your father, Melone.

Melone is elated. He's always wanted a child, but getting into a relationship stable enough to produce one has never been an option with the life he lives. Now the happy accident he never new he had has come home to him! Carrying you back to the living room, Melone introduces you as his son and announces to the team that he will be keeping you.

This is met with some protest. Not only are you of the age where you'll need constant supervision, but quite frankly, nobody trusts Melone to take care of a kid. Melone refutes their accusations harshly, making it absolutely clear he will not be giving you up without a fight. Finally, Risotto surrenders, on the terms that if he catches any signs of abuse or neglect, he will see to it personally that you are re-homed elsewhere.

Melone's parenting style is relatively laid-back. He believes parents should be a 'safe base' from which children should explore the world, coming back when they need advice but ultimately following their own whims within reason. He encourages you to play as you wish and does not stop you from bonding with the rest of the squad. Finding supervision for you while he's on missions proves to be a non-issue, since his stand's massive range means he can often do most of a mission's work at home.

When the time comes to educate you, Melone decides against the risks of enrolling you in school. He is an amazing teacher and can teach you everything you'd need in half the hours of a typical curriculum. Beyond the essentials of literacy and simple maths, Melone largely encourages you to follow you own interests rather than stick to some boring, arbitrary list of useless things a normal curriculum for some reason expects you to learn.

That said, he knows the importance of making friends, so he frequently takes you out to meet with neighbourhood children. All-in-all, the squad is surprised at his sensible parenting choices, and the happy child you are turning out to be.

Ghiaccio, with a 2 year old son

It's almost comedic the lengths Ghiaccio goes to to avoid the problem. As the others crowd around you in Melone's lap, Ghiaccio cowers in the corner insisting that you absolutely cannot be his. It's very obvious you are, of course. You look almost exactly like him, and have a cry to match. You've even inherited the same, mild visual impairments that earned him his glasses. There's no getting away from the truth.

After accepting the truth, Ghiaccio takes you away to his room to 'clear his head' before deciding where to send you in the morning, but when morning comes, that deliberation time quickly turns into a few more days, then a month, then never. It's clear Ghiaccio's become attached to you, and he cannot bring himself to give you away.

Unfortunately, he doesn't have the foggiest clue in hell how to look after a toddler. He has a hard enough time understanding what it is adults want from him, let alone small children. There are times he even considers giving you away again, but they never last long enough for him to go through with it. Bit by bit, he slowly learns how to be a father.

Melone is his primary co-parent. As cautious as Ghiaccio is about letting him around his baby, it soon becomes clear Melone can understand your needs far better than he can. The pair have many sessions together teaching Ghiaccio how to do things like wash you or cook your food. It's honestly a massive help, and probably the main reason Ghiaccio doesn't completely melt down within a month of having you.

These issues aside, Ghiaccio is a person who is very genuine in his affections. He would break the shins of anyone who even looked at you threateningly, and every fibre of his being wants you to be happy. He even learns to control his temper, as he knows from experience just how damaging an angry parent can be for a child. He's going to give you a better childhood than what his parents gave him, and that's a promise.

Risotto, with a 6 year old daughter

Well, perhaps this ought to have been expected. In his early 20s Risotto was really far less careful than he ought to be in regards to his encounters, so he probably had this coming. You are at a difficult age, old enough to understand your father is a criminal but young enough to still need his care. If he takes you in, there will be many challenges. And yet he cannot bring himself to turn you away. Looking at you he feels... obligation.

In the early days he tries his best to shelter you. He keeps you in his room and tells the others not to talk to you. But that's no way for you to live, and he knows it. Eventually, he swallows his fears and lets you explore your new home, even taking you out to the park a few minutes each day so you can run around. He talks to Melone about continuing your education, and asks Sorbet and Gelato if they'd let the spare room next to them be turned into a bedroom for you. He's going to make sure he raises you right.

Risotto may be quiet and introverted, but do not mistake that for emotionally distant. He does not underestimate his vital role in your emotional well-being, and is quick to pick up on when you are feeling sad or lonely. He makes sure to pick you up in his arms and ask what's wrong when that happens.

Though he didn't know her well, he mourns your mother with you, and is very watchful for the signs of attachment issues that may result from losing a parent at such a tender age. Being all you have left, Risotto gains a new instinct of self-preservation. For the first time in years, his life has meaning.

In terms of bonding, he prefers calm activities that allow him to passively observe your interests, such as watching movies or reading you books. When he's working in his office and doesn't need his camera on, he's happy for you to sit in his lap as long as you're quiet. He would ask if you don't read what's on his screen, though, at least not while you're so young. He'll give you a better explanation of what he's doing some day, but not just yet.

Sorbet and Gelato, with a 12 year old daughter

First of all, let's make clear that regardless of which one is biologically your father, they both feel equal responsibility for you. No doubt they were both present for your conception anyway, so as far as they're concerned, if one of them has a secret kid from a hookup, they both have a secret kid from a hookup.

Having always wanted children, they are happy when you appear on the doorstep and introduce yourself as their daughter. Though they don't say it out loud to avoid upsetting you, they kind of wish your mum had kicked it sooner so they could have raised you from a younger age, but they're more than happy to make do with what they've got. There's no hesitation in welcoming you to live with them permanently, and anyone who has a problem with this isn't brave enough to say it.

Right from the get-go they are very permitting parents, awarding you a generous helping of their cash each week and having a rule list that pretty much starts and ends with "don't talk to the police." Despite your age they don't expect you to be independent, and are happy to cook for you and help you out with other things when you ask. It seems parenthood was made for them.

Despite all this, there is one problem in your relationship that is making things difficult. That of your fathers' work. You're 12 years old and you aren't stupid. You know they kill for a living and you know they enjoy it. When you stumble into the bathroom at 1am to find them covered in blood and laughing together, there's no making excuses. No matter how good they are with you, this is going to make you afraid of them.

Sorbet and Gelato are incredibly stringent in solving these early issues. After all these years they've finally got the family they wanted, and they aren't going to let it slip away from their own cruelty. They are honest with you about their occupation, since they want you to know you can trust them, and make absolutely clear it won't affect their care for you. You are welcome to ask questions and receive honest answers, but other than that Sorbet and Gelato will make a point of not accidentally causing you to witness something you shouldn't.

With them, you are welcome to continue your old life in terms of school and friends. They want to spend time with you, but they don't want to overtake your existence completely. When you are up for it, they are keen to take you on outings that interest you so you can spend time together as a family. They hope you know how happy you make them.