#emil: what's it like to not feel like a nobody

[locuas642]

Okay so. I think the whole "Bethesda does not GET Fallout 1" is sometimes a bit exaggerated, but this was a bit that is hard not to read as "missing the point so hard"

so in short. the creative lead for Fallout 4, in response to the positive buzz the tv show was getting, decided to share what he thought was a neat tidbit of information that was not mentioned in the final product. Which was to reveal a certain unnamed background character was the Male Protagonist/Husband from Fallout 4, Nate.

This in and of itself is not uncommon. all sorts of big multimedia franchise have the writers pick up random background characters and say "okay, but what if...?" or use them to try to make the world feel connected as it grows bigger. Star wars did it, Star Trek has done it. It's nothing new, weird nor necessarily bad.

so... what's the issue?

here is the intro for the original Fallout game

In this, we see a depiction of post-annexed Canada as a soldier in POwer Armor executes someone while his companion looks. this is all through the framing device of being american military propaganda.

That companion, according to the Emil Pagliarulo, is Nate, one of the two protagonists you play in Fallout 4. he clarifies Nate did not shoot, seemingly aware of what a bad look that would be, but he obviously missed it only meant Nate was laughing his ass at the dead Canadian.

The whole scene is "Starship Troopers" levels of Satire. it is a depiction and criticism of the American militarism and authoritarianism, before showing the audience how that lead to the present day america being a shithole destroyed because of armageddon.

And look, nobody cares about Nate or his wife. they are nothing characters who you forget what their life before was the second the game stops handholding you and you can stop pretending you give a rat's ass about their missing child. But it is something weird that Pagliarulo thought this was some neat bit of continuity he was sharing with people, then was surprised when everyone took it to mean Nate was a War Criminal.

He quickly backpedalled from that one, explaining he did not mean Canon canon. and something about how everyone makes their own character. but the interesting bit, again, for me was that him further explaining that their idea was that Nate's life during the war was Hell. with that being another day.

Except, again, what we see in the scene he points out is a (theoretical) Nate who is explicitly complicit with the american military complex, celebrating and laughing when commiting horrible acts to their fellow men.

And is like, it's a minor thing really, but it's odd that the writer for that game missed the point of that scene so hard, he did not realize he was making Nate a war criminal until right after he wrote that tweet.

#fallout 4 #fallout #bethesda #game #videogame #Youtube

[tulipanthousa]

tell us about the unwritten au 👀

okay, full disclosure, this will never be written. i have no intention of ever doing so. if someone else is willing to take a crack at it be my guest but this would be too much for me to handle

so, here it is

Content Warnings: angst, RAPE (<- read this. the dove is dead. do not pass go do not collect $200. youve been warned) both directly and via proxy, and other kinds of sexual coercion

LAOFT RELAMP but at what cost

In main story laoft, durant does not see roman and remy's dalliances as important or a threat to him/his control over roman.

in this story. he does

in an agonizing display of cruelty, he kidnaps remy and presents him to night roman as a gift.

its a terrible position - roman cant reject the gift and risk durants anger, which will end in disaster for both him and remy... but niether can he accept it and walk back into his day life with the knowledge that remy will remain here, trapped, alone with durant, and impossibly far away from anything roman can do to protect him

Roman takes the only path he can find - feign gratefulness so deep that he no longer had need of his day left, and giving it up. because at least if theyre both trapped remy's not alone.

Remy and Roman disappear the same night, stolen from their beds without a sound or a trace left behind.

In wickhills, Logan is incandescent with fury and patton cries so miserably the woods and hills around his house are bone-dead silent. not even the birds want to sing in his presence.

May sits alone in her house, the door locked, refusing to answer for anyone.

The Adams' put up posters across all of southeast ohio knowing nobody is going to call

And emile watches them all and churns with guilt because he didnt know remy, not really, so why does he think he has a right to be this sad?

Back in faerieland, things escalate in a bad way very quickly. Durant coerces Roman and Remy into increasingly intense sexual scenarios for his entertainment.

in the midst of this, having only one other person you can rely on or trust can, coupled with the rapid increase in intimacy, cross the wires a bit, and wwhoops, Remy and roman are in love now

Remy: or whatever passes for love in this shitshow Roman: you dont get to tell me i dont really love you Remy, crying: ok

and tbh, all of this is more of just context for what im ACTUALLY interested which is

they get out. now what?

Because in the meantime, Emile has reached out to patton, we still have LAMP and remile, and now we have pair-of-cats-that-cant-be-separated creativisleep

Logan: you thought canon logan had anger issues? ha. ha i say. this logan would kill a man sooner than let them make roman or remy even slightly uncomfortable. he'll snarled at his own mother if she gets too close. he'll snarl at thomas, though he'll feel bad about both. this is actually! not great! because logan tried to guard from the outside looks a lot like Guards Keeping Us Inside to remy and roman, so they have to figure out how to navigate logans nuclear reactor protectiveness vs it wigging roman and remy out.

Virgil: Virgil waking up is the catalyst for them getting free, and in the midst of his horror falls in QP love at first sight with remy, who was so brave and so strong and kept roman safe when virgil couldnt.

Remy: i dont know if 'safe' is even slihtly accurate Virgil: the safety of his heart and mind are of equal importance to me as his body. you have cherished both, and you can have anything you ask for as long as i live Remy: [gay fluster noises]

Patton keeps determinedly dragging emile to mays house (where they are holed up for close access to dizzy and jax) even though Emile feels like he's intruding

Patton, constantly on the verge of tears: I almost lost Roman and i've decided im in love with all of you and i CATEGORICALLY refuse to lose anyone else Emile: um Patton: RE. FUSE.

so pattons HOPE is that they all wind up in a big polycule pile, and its doesnt... not do that, but its not quite as clearcut as all that.

Theres stumbling blocks at the beginning withboth remy and roman wavering on whether or not their romantic feelings are genuine, and subsequently wondering if the fact that theeyre still in love with Emile and LAM respectively means that they arent.

this would go through some oscillations of both of them trying to deny those feelings to "prove" their love for each other, vs trying to push the other away so they can go be with p[eople they "really love"

do! not! separate them!

in my head this ends with romantic LAMP, Romantic Remile, Romantic Patmile, and QPR losleep and sleepxiety - everybody else is friends and cuddle buddies

Remy is actually super comforted by the fact that Patton is in love with him/attracted to him but never asks for more than friendship because he knows remy isnt. Metamour besties.

Dizzy suffers a lot from this ordeal (she hid from durant and subsequently roman, knowing if he found her as romans familiar it would be catastrophic) so their bond is.... stretched, lets say. overtaxed. she's a little sicklier. a little smaller, a little more timid. hides in remy or virgils jackets frequently

All of which is to say that this is a fraught extended metaphor that sometimes trauma changes you, and it changes your relationships, and it changes the way you feel attraction, and all of that is okay. it doesnt make those feelings or relationships less real or loving or valid.

anyway this is my monster. im not going to write it (please dont ask) but some people have expressed that they were glad i still shared it, so have some bite sized angst

#ask #Anonymous #laoft ask #rape cw

[cassianandfenrysaremyboyos]

Some scenes I'd love to see from Casteel's pov in his book

The scene where he's introduced as Poppy's new guard and see's her unveiled for the first time. You know he had a "holy shit she's the most beautiful person I've ever seen" moment.

The rise scene! Just an oscar emmy pulitzer winning scene. One of my favourites.

Also I wouldn't mind the library/ledge scene. Seeing Casteel's reaction to finding Poppy mysteriously gone from her room, and having no idea how she got out?? All the way to finding her out on the ledge lol

The willow scene. Because Casteel led Poppy out to the garden that night, specifically to take her!! And I need the conflict of his mindset going "This is it, I'm doing it, I'm taking her tonight" to "I'm not taking her! I can't do it!"

Him keeping a bedside vigil while Poppy is drugged/sleeping after Victor's death, as alluded to by Poppy in this passage "I had this weird impression that I hadn’t been alone while I slept. There was a sensation of callused palms against my cheek, fingers brushing hair back from my face. I had the faintest memory of Hawke talking to me, whispering when the room was filled with sunlight and when it had been taken over by night."

The stables/betrayal scene. Because the angst! I can't wait to get into his head during that time where he's acting all nonchalant and charming but on the inside is dying that he's hurting Poppy!! 💔

When Poppy gets stabbed. I wanna see Casteel's worry and his guilt and his pain (when Poppy says "it hurts" and he thinks she's talking about herself but she's talking about what she feels from him! *cries* 😭) And all the anguish of him knowing that he's the one that put her in that position and that it's his people who hurt her. And getting to see what he feels when he gets stabbed. Which again, more angst and pain but also Casteel just being Casteel about stabbing 👀🙄

When he pulls out Landell's heart. I just love that scene and love Casteel's "Nobody insults my wife" moment! I mean sure they're not married yet, but *Ben Wyatt meme* it's about the energy!

Honestly just need like the whole time they're in New Haven, in general. Seeing all of Casteel's internal conflict and his thought process as his feelings for Poppy deepen and his whole plan unravels and he struggles with what to do. And how he goes from I'm gonna use her to I'm gonna marry her. The poor simp!

The emotional argument he and Poppy have in Spessa's end where they finally start to hash things out and he says "I didn’t plan on being drawn to you. I didn’t plan to want you. I didn’t plan on risking everything to keep you. I didn’t...." and he get's interrupted by Emil. Because I KNOW he was going to say I didn't plan on ... LOVING YOU!! I know it! And even if it turns out he wasn't gonna say that, he was!

When they first return to Atlantia and Poppy leaves to go see the temple of Nyktos. I wanna see Casteel's reaction to the sky starting to rain red and all the Wolven suddenly shifting and tearing off towards the temple and him being like "Poppy!" and his panic realising something's happening and she's in trouble. And I need to see the moment he comes up the temple stairs and see's her and realises what she is and bows 😭

When Poppy gets hit with the bolt. Because again, the pain, the drama, the angst, Casteel crying!!

And the number one scene that I absolutely need from Casteel's pov... When he wakes up from the poisoned arrow and finds Poppy gone and GOES ABSOLUTELY FERAL, to the point where both Kieran and Casteel's father have never seen him like that before!!

#casteel da'neer #hawke flynn #a soul of ash and blood #from blood and ash #asoaab #fbaa #poppy balfour #poppycas #poppyhawke #as usual this is for me and the 3 other people who still care about fbaa lmao

[iwannabejustlikethewind]

Hear me out… TMA entities x IDV. Like if the IDV characters were avatars of them. Focusing mainly on survivors, but I threw a few hunters in for good measure.

The Buried would be Andrew. I mean it’s perfect really. His whole thing is going underground, and he even has the Claustrophobia trait. Norton could also work, as he did bury all those miners in the cave and was under immense financial hardship. I think he’d be a victim of the Buried more so though.

The Corruption I feel would best be portrayed by Melly. Since she loves bees, she could be a Flesh Hive for them. And her unhealthy relationship with her husband could also add to the whole corruption thing.

The Dark is one I’m a little iffy on, but could be a couple characters IMO. I could see Jack, Ann, Sangria, or maybe Nightmare? Like all of them vaguely have dark themed powers, but not specifically The Dark level stuff. So idk.

What immediately comes to mind for The Desolation is Emma and Leo, for obvious reasons. Those being Emma burning Kreacher alive and Leo’s entire life being destroyed + dying in his factory fire. I see Emma more so an Avatar, and I feel like Leo would be more of a victim of it. Like Emma saw what happened to Leo and was drawn to the Desolation. Philippe also could be an easy one, as he’s all waxy and fire-y.

The End is quite clearly Aesop. His obsession with death is the perfect complement to The End. No further notes.

The Eye is a pretty general one, so I think it could match Orpheus, Alice, Helena, Keigan,and Eli. Orpheus and Alice are like the main character kinda of IDV, so it makes sense for them to be The Eye. Also they always wants to solve mysteries and learn more about the manor, even if it hurts them. Then, Helena is just super smart, so it’s practically a given she’d be Eye. Kiegan’s power is also pretty similar to the Eye, observing survivors and storing the information, and her whole record keeping thing. Also Eli and Helena I think would just be aesthetically interesting. Like you see the vision right?

I honestly think there isn’t a character that would match The Flesh. There’s not really any body horror in IDV, so there nobody to match. Maybe Percy, but he’s not really a good match

The Hunt would match well with Naib, as his whole life is pretty much finding and killing people. I could see an argument for Bane, but I’m not fully sold on it.

The Lonely is another one I’m not sure about. Jack is foggy yeah, but not particularly lonely.

The Slaughter is another one I think Naib could belong to, being a mercenary and all. Martha also seems like a good candidate, but I’m not sure she really fits the violence. Other than that, I think that a lot of the hunters could match the Slaughter a little but I’m not sure.

Though I don’t think she’s looks wise very The Spiral-like, Yidrah would very much fit the Distortion. She causes people to have dreams and stuff, so that could easily transfer to illusions. Also, I think Emil would be a victim of the Spiral possibly, because of his very fragile mental state.

For the Stranger, firstly, I think most of the Hullabaloo cast would be part of it simply because they are circus people. Maybe Margaretha would be the Nikolai stand-in, idk. Either way, I also think Matthias would be part of the Stranger, because of his whole puppeteering thing and because Louis is just too uncanny valley not to be. Anne I feel could be a victim of the Stranger if not an Avatar. Perhaps she’s a witness to one of her toys being creepy or she becomes a Not-Them, but idk.

For The Vast, I think Charles is ultimately the best choice, if only because of his connection to the sky. Not much else to say about it. Maybe Anne also because of her connection to flying, but that’s very loose. Grace could also be a candidate, as deep water is another manifestation of The Vast.

The Web is pretty obviously Violetta, are because spider. I also see Matthias, because of the whole puppeteering thing.

The Extinction would best be portrayed probably by Bonbon, just because he’s the only ‘computer’ thing in IDV.

#this came to me in a dream #/hj #identity v #Idv #the magnus archives #tma podcast #my mind is a whip of madness #totally didn’t mistake Aesop for Edgar for like weeks and didn’t notice..

[ideastompinggrounds]

Power-Less Main Cast/ROs

Brief Overview

Alessandro/Alessandra "Sandro/Sandra) Medici

Superhero|Hyperion|Solar Empowered|29

The top superhero in the city of Eden Park, who uses their sun powered abilities to bring peace and hope to the citizens. The closest thing to a modern Superman for how powerful they are and inspiring the common folk with their upbeat and positive attitude. Almost a sun personified. But like all superheroes, they have a secret identity when they're not flying over the skyscrapers and clouds. For they're one of MC's best friends when they're not wearing their golden tights and cape.

Damon/Damian Barnett

Supervillain|Azrael|Shadow Manipulation|29

The nemesis of Hyperion and the dreaded supervillain of Eden Park. The dark shadows that always followed them caused dread within the populace, their black visage making all fear of what could come next. It would make sense that the top supervillain and superhero would be such polar opposites despite being former partners in justice years ago. But regardless of their issues with Hyperion, they're willing to put that aside monetary for their best friend,MC, who doesn't know their identity.

Emil/Emilie Ellingboe

Vigilante|The Marshall|Empath|30

A well-known vigilante who stalks the alleyways and back corners of the city for trouble. They were once a soldier who had wanted to find purpose in their life after being discharged, so they became a vigilante to protect the common people from the criminals that superheroes won't touch and deal with the seedy underbelly of the city. They're also the thorn in MC's side with their antics since MC is often called to deal with them. But many don't know what actual connects these two.

Jamie Dantes

Revolutionary|Abbadon|Reactive Adaption|28

The leader of a growing anarchist group who operates in the underground. Nobody knows who and where this person came from, but most know that they have all consuming hatred for the government and the system of superpowers. They've slowly created a group to topple the system down through force and blood, gathering other like minded people who hate the system. But they hold a strange fondness for MC, a fact picked up by their comrades since they proclaim the officer off limits in any of the group plans.

Odilo/Odila Monet

Investigative Reporter|Memory|32

A reporter in the biggest newspaper in the city. They're not the lead reporter in their division, but are still well known for picking up facts and happenings in the cities like a bloodhound. Often, they disappear for days investigating a lead even if it seems frivolous or a red herring. One of these trips lead them to discovering a strange rumbling in their city which will spell trouble for everybody whether they're civilians, superheroes, or villains. Which led them to MC, their most trusted source within the police department.

Nikol/Nikolai Kovaylov

Engineer|Tyro|Unpowered|26

The mechanic and engineer of the items used by the superheroes stationed in Eden Park. But they're mainly known as the sidekick of Hyperion despite being considered a unpowered person. Tyro is often having to keep everything in check when their partner is doing their thing, mostly helping with evacuations and dealing with lower thugs. However, they're often overlooked due to the extravagance of Hyeprion's actions. But they often find some solace in their fellow unpowered, MC, even if they feel something off about the officer.

#Power-Less If #If Wip #Characters

[fictionadventurer]

Victober Wrap-Up

The Romance of a Shop by Amy Levy: I read this one on October 1st. Very easy, very fun, if very underwritten, read about four sisters who open a photography shop. Gives a fascinating perspective on a different side of Victorian daily life.

The Europeans by Henry James: I forgot this one almost immediately after reading it, but I did enjoy it. The best way I can describe what I like about Henry James is that he writes like a woman. There's a concern for the inner lives of characters and the little moments of daily life that you usually don't see from male authors, and it works really well for the types of stories he tells.

Miss Meredith by Amy Levy: Short novella about a young woman who takes a job as a governess in Italy, and who gets a much nicer romance out of it than most of those types of characters. It's nothing ground-breaking, but it's fun to see her perspective on the setting, and the romance reminded me so much of some scenes from an old, beloved, abandoned WIP that I couldn't help liking it more than it probably deserved.

The Law and the Lady by Wilkie Collins: I loved the heroine of this book. I was so invested in her story. She was going to solve the mystery of her husband's past, no matter who stood in her way. Her (hilariously) pathetic wet napkin of a husband doesn't deserve her, but he needs her, and she loves him a lot, so I can root for them. It's astounding to me that a Victorian man can write such good female characters. They get to be people--strong-willed, intelligent, flawed, the center of their own stories rather than just a prop in someone else's. My love for Valeria papered over a lot of other flaws in this story (some not-great use of disabled characters, for one), and I'm seriously considering picking up another of his books next month. (They have perfect November vibes).

The Leavenworth Case by Anna Katharine Green: Not technically Victorian (it's American), but still the right time period. Apparently, this is where a lot of the detective genre started. I love the detective--he's got a quirk of not making eye contact with people, and I love that he's explicitly so working-class than he can't pass himself off as a gentleman for investigating this high-society crime--but I don't care about any of the characters, and the writing's not great. (Though it's kind of hilarious how often the narrator gets information because people come up to him and go, "You're a lawyer, right? Let me ask for advice about an intricate situation that just happens to tie into the case you're investigating.") I'm about 2/3 done with the audiobook, but it's going to be a bit of a slog to finish.

A Child's Garden of Verses by Robert Louis Stevenson: I'd probably find this a bit too cutesy most of the time, but I read this on a Sunday when I was feeling under-the-weather, and it was exactly what I needed. Very sweet, easy read.

Wuthering Heights by Emile Brontë: I made it a chapter and a half. It's a Hard No.

Diary of a Nobody by George and Weedon Grossmith: I heard it was short and funny, so I tried a couple of pages. Maybe there's a cultural divide, but I just wasn't feeling it.

The Odd Women by George Gissing: I tried a couple of chapter of the audiobook, because a story about women working as typists in late-Victorian England sounds right up my alley. I'm only two chapters in, but I'm debating whether to go further, because he already writes about women like a man--way too detailed descriptions of their physical appearance that suggest they're already decrepit in their early 30s, a suggestion that "we leave it to the men to decide if she'd be attractive"--and that doesn't bode well for a book with a female cast. It is just about to introduce the "progressive" woman who's about to drag the main characters into this newfangled job, so maybe it'd get better, but I'm not sure I'm invested enough to try.

#books #victober

[valeriefauxnom]

You know, the castle story "That Which Remains" is very effective at wounding me emotionally. Specifically, what is shown developing and then dashed against the rocks without mercy.

That is, Euden's and Audric's relationship in particular.

Now, at this point Audric hasn't learned he's forcing his magical Alzheimer's to him specifically on everyone else. Sure, there's been some weird instances people where couldn't remember things about him, but in general he's been sticking around pretty consistently for relationships to form.

Especially with Euden, since Euden seems to have developed a pretty close relationship with Audric. They've been working together regularly and often enough that Euden is maintaining so much sentiment about Audric that he feels ill-at ease when Audric is away. Enough to feel a need to vocalize his more selfish desire that Audric could stay, which is something considering Euden's tendency to push down anything he views as 'selfish'. He holds Audric in very high regard enough to send him on complicated, delicate solo missions.

He even seems to have figured out or is piecing together that Audric is Aurelius. Euden's about to potentially get his father back in some form, even an otherworldly one. Euden might have been able to get some actual parental support from his dad that he's missed since Aurelius' abrupt death, and Audric might have been able to get some quality time with at least one of his kids. Being able to help guide the next generation and ease some of his guilt.

...But by the time he returns Euden has forgotten him outright.

Though he doesn't remember anything about Audric, there still seems to be something that's distressing Euden. He flees uncharacteristically, whether it be because he is having sudden concerns for his own health/memory or strong emotions lingering that he has no context for now.

Either way, to me it's a very sad idea that they were growing so close, only for Euden to forget it all because of Audric's... problems. It was so close to that little bit of happiness for the both of them, only for it to be dashed against the rocks. It also then seems to drive Audric to be more isolationist? As he accepts the idea that nobody is remembering him and that he deserves it, and then resolves more to take solace in actions that he's doing than forming any bonds since he knows they'll wither away just as soon. While he pretends to be fine with it, I'm sure it's still an emotional hardship that you can't form any meaningful relation with another and will be near-instantaneously forgotten as soon as you're gone.

To me, this exchange later in the main campaign almost sounds like Audric talking to himself, trying to stop himself from wallowing in the dream he would be remembered, and focusing on the actions he can take to effect change.

Even so, he's still trying to encourage Euden to remember something about their interactions, though he's accepted he himself won't be a part of them. He's trying to leave something behind to his son.

He's remembering what he once had with Euden, both his own and this world's Euden not all too long ago.

I think that's a huge part of Audric, aside from all that guilt and self-loathing: memories. As everyone else forgets, he remembers, and can only hope to use those memories for good to leave behind something.

Be it saving Euden from supposed-dead insects and their venom, or encouraging Emile to become a better ruler and person by using his memories of Emile as a guide to know what to say, to helping Nedrick understand that Euden and him needn't be enemies, Audric's- and Aurelius'- memories are what allow him to accomplish so much and influence his children on a better path.

And then, just after he dies, once and for all...

They might have started remembering.

This conversation is specifically noted to have occurred days after Audric died, which seems to fall greatly outside the range of time it normally took for people to forget Audric or details about him. But Euden and co still remember his existence, his identity, and his death.

Despite his constant affirmations that Audric knew he'd never leave behind anything of himself aside from any results of his actions, he might have left memories behind after all. It's just a shame his earlier bonds he had begun to form with Euden, old friends (Raemond) and new ones alike weren't able to survive beforehand.

#dragalia lost #dragalia #character analysis #I still remember all the fun speculation around the 1st anni when we first saw Audric. Who was he? #People were generally of 3 camps: Aurelius. 5th Scion. Or Future Euden. All three were fun ideas but... #if only we knew the sheer amount of tragedy could be baked into this sad dad man and his dragon. #Still looking at what Euden & Audric & all the royal fam could have had is even worse #I also wish Audric could've had a conversation with Leo since he talked with most other siblings but Leo in particular has a more critical #perspective on Aurelius and I wonder how Leo would have felt about this Aurelius since one of their defining differences was Audric being #harsher and more focused on being a good king than parent to his children even if he cared just as deeply. It's what Leo would have wanted #as his parent and I wonder if he would have grown to understand Aurelius better or solidified his 'this is how Father should've been' idea.

[easton-m]

EASTON.

&&. wait, is ( easton emil madden ) quitting next season? i've heard through a grapevine, that the ( 41 ) year old ( quarterback for the new york giants ) is aiming for his last superbowl. somehow, he reminds me of ( david gandy ). some say that he is ( aloof & calculating ), but i think he is actually ( analytical & diplomatic ). ( penned by logan, they/them )

— BASICS

NAME: Easton Emil Madden AGE / D.O.B.: 41 / 03.10.1981 GENDER / PRONOUS / SEXUALITY: Cismale / he/him / Homosexual HOMETOWN: New York, NY AFFILIATION: Civillian JOB POSITION: Quarterback for the New York GiantsEDUCATION: High School Graduate / Havard (1999-2003 / Crimson Football) RELATIONSHIP STATUS: In a relatioship with @astrorahi CHILDREN: None POSITIVE TRAITS Tidy, secure, forgiving, discreet, reflectiveNEGATIVE TRAITS: Secretive, stiff, petty, cold, abrupt

— BIOGRAPHY

TW: Abuse, internalized homophobia + homophobia, eating disorders

Easton gets tired of his family's wealth when one of his middle school friends claims he's ignorant and no fun to be around, and he gets so sad that he feels sick for days. Friendship heartbreak is the worst, his mother says, and when he's in Highschool and his next "Friendship breakup" feels even worse, Easton figures there might be more to it. But his feelings, his emotions, they're all overshadowed by his mothers ex-husband, his father - William Madden. To be precise, everything is always overshadowed by his father's existence, his money, his work. Even his mother is, and the impact his father's violence and way of raising his kids has on his life is bad. Easton started sneaking out - started hanging out with the "bad guys", with the poorer people, risking his life just to get a part of normalcy.

Then, football enters his life. After always pushing himself to be perfect, good, no mess, in control of his emotions, always in control of his emotions, football is his escape route. It's messy. Dirty. Allows him to get angry and violent, allows him to let his control slip. And it does, once or twice, badly, but his media team is good, his lawyers are better. What his father's money cannot fix, though, is how lonely all the attention makes him feel, and how the success in football gets to him in college, where his eating habits slip for a while and he struggles to keep up with the sport, and school, and... figuring out he was gay, right before a big game night, which led to the worst game he ever played in his life. It couldn't be. He'd done business. He'd done football. He'd taken every crump of compliments, every word of appreciation, every cold nod and every punch to be good. To be perfect. No, to be good enough, and then he just isn't.

After his first and final football game of college, the scout of the New York Giants asks him to sign a contract, and there's no hesitation. No denying. It's what he's earned himself - his father hasn't asked him to, nobody has, he's old enough, he can do whatever he wants. And he does. And sticks around.

As good as Tom Brady. Possibly soon to be in the Hall of Fame, the newspapers read, and while he's offered many more contracts, he sticks around with the Giants, pushes them to Superbowl and gets them many wins. But he's never fully himself - he's not outed, fake dates women (during college and a few years after), and when 2020 comes around and he thinks of quitting - he does it. After a game, at a press conference, he speaks up about his sexuality and publicly outs himself as homosexual. The shitstorm is massive, but so is the support. Easton doesn't talk to his father about it. His mother knew. Of course she did. He loves Persephone with all his heart, and will likely never stop.

But there's more to the oh so famous NFL player - behind closed doors, there's his obsession with Haribo Gummies in all colors, but especially red and green, his favor for watching old romance movies with his beloved sister, Livy, the friendship bracelets his niece and nephew made him he always wears around, and his passion to memorize every little thing about his loved ones. His jersey number is 4 - Liv's favorite number.

And recently, he's been photographed wearing NASA hoodies around. Hm. A sponsorship? Who knows.

— WANTED CONNECTIONS / PLOTS

EXES: Some of the girls he fake-dated in College to be seen as straight. Probably broke up with them for dumb ass reasons. Could be great friends now and laugh about it together (he never purposely hurt anyone and likely told them he was gonna busy and wonky with their relationship).

COLLEGE BUDS: Went to college from 1999-2003? Could've met at Havard, a party, or during a game! Maybe some former football players?

#PRESS BEEN NOSY; intro post.

[philliamwrites]

SWYAATL 15: Dear Comrade

Pairings: Eren Jaeger x fem! Reader

Warnings: alcohol, young adults being horknee, depression at the end

Summary: “Yeah, I am. I’m glad I found you.” You mumble the last bit, plucking the leftover flowers from your dress until you hold the branch of the forget-me-not between your fingers. “And even though we’ll go our separate ways next week, I’m glad we’re friends. It’s weird … you’re someone I don’t want to forget, Eren Jaeger.” You offer him the flower. His eyes, now a dark green, are nothing like the soft blue—they’re different in so many ways, but you like them. Eren takes the flowers from you, looks at it like he doesn’t know what to do with it, and settles for putting it in your hair, behind your ear. “I won’t just disappear, you know,” he says, an exasperated tone swinging in his voice as though he’s talking to a three-year-old that’s still struggling with object permanence.

Notes: [01] || [14] | [16]

Words: 9k

A/N: Here we go, folks. Arc 1 of the story is over. I've already started working on Arc 2, and I've already noticed how fast-paced it is compared to what I've written until now. That being said, I can't tell when updates will resume, but I'll take a break from uploading for AoT for the time being. Once I'm back in the new year, I hope I can bring you a more regular upload schedule, but no promises.

Thank you everyone who's been on this ride for me, I can't thank you enough. Especially for the overwhelming love people show for Emil (I'm so surprised there are only asks about him on Tumblr than on the other AoT characters).

15: Dear Comrade

Commander Erwin Smith is a tall, impressive man. You’ve grown used to a handful of the other boys looming over you, but nobody manages to quite tower as Erwin does, making you feel small and insignificant even though you’re supposed to be the most important figure tonight. He’s wearing a simple white shirt, the sleeves rolled back to his elbows. With arms the size of logs and shoulders wider than the Walls, nobody dares to stand in his way.

It immediately sobers you up. Now you wish you’d at least worn a jacket or something.

He gives you an elegant, curtsy bow, offering his broad-palmed hand on which a wooden chip rests. “Might I ask for this dance, Maienkoenigin?”

“Uhm”, you say very intelligently. Sir, yes, Sir, is what you should have said. Instead, you blurt, “Should you be out here at all?”

Erwin doesn’t appear bothered by your question—then again, you think more is needed to throw the Commander of the Survey Corps off balance than a skimpy dressed, tipsy woman just fresh out of Cadet Corps.

“Should I and my men not be allowed to join the revelries from time to time?” he asks in return.

You can feel your face ablaze with shame. “I—I’m sorry, Sir, I didn’t mean to, Sir.”

Erwin chuckles. “At ease,” he says. “I must admit, I am out here not only for pleasure. I came to have a first look at the cadets. The Survey Corps is always on the lookout for promising new recruits.” He waits patiently for you to finally settle your hand in his, and turns his head to see which song the band strikes up next. On the other side of the plaza, the two string musicians each begin playing different songs, stop, and laugh at their error. When they bow their instruments this time, there’s harmony and the crowd moves in tandem; amongst all the other faces, you spot Marco spinning Mina, and over there is Ymir forcing another tankard of beer down Christa’s throat. It makes you giggle; you want nothing more than to join you friends on the other side of the plaza and dance with Mina and Marco and kiss them both, and find Jean and tell him how much he means to you and how glad you are that he is part of your life—oh, and the Shiganshina three, the Golden Trio, there’s so much you need to tell them, especially Eren, oh Eren—

“I imagine everyone must be excited about graduation,” Erwin says, easily spinning you out of the path of a boisterous couple kicking up their legs in every direction, and successfully yanking your thoughts away from your friends and back to him. “Has anyone voiced their interest in joining the Scouts?”

Your thoughts go right back to Eren, who burns so bright it blinds you whenever he speaks about the Scouts. Mikasa will follow him, of course. There is little you imagine she wouldn’t do for him. And where Mikasa and Eren go, Armin follows. You feel as though with those three alone, the Scouts are about to obtain a whole squad.

“Some,” you say, and try hard not to flinch when Erwin places his hand at the small of your back, leading you through the crowd. He’s an experienced dancer, and you wonder if that’s a hiring requisition for superior ranks. “Though opinions are split, and not in the Scout’s favour.”

You feel Erwin’s gaze on you. Maybe you shouldn’t have said that. But then he gives a small, crooked smile, and says, “When is it ever? That doesn’t stop us from doing what we have to do.”

“What’s it like?” Your voice is so quiet, you doubt he hears your words. “The outside?”

Erwin is quiet for a moment. Even though his hands don’t stop to guide you for a moment, he feels as though his mind is far away. In the end, he settles for, “There’s still so much I don’t know,” but he speaks it in a whisper as though they are meant for him alone.

The dance goes on and on; everything spins so fast: the music, the laughter, the warmth from living people. Girls and women spin in circles, their hair—black, brown, scarlet, and metal gold—flows like banners in the wind, and amidst them, silver flashes like a shiny coin. Like the moonlight flashing between dark clouds and illuminating the endless, dark night.

You trip over your own feet, staring in that direction. The only reason you don’t fall is because Erwin catches your arm in time, steadying you. “Is everything alright?” he asks, but it seems very far away. You tear away from him and dive into the crowd in search of what you’ve seen—who you have seen, because there is no mistake that only one person wears hair woven from silver starlight.

Dizzy and disorientated, you dart through the crowd towards the fountain, shouldering people aside, using your knees and elbows as weapons. Cheers and calls follow you which you ignore—you want to be invisible to them all, to throw away the crown and run back to the meadow, run across it barefoot hand in hand with—

The band’s song haunts you; the melody, their voices—it is the only thing that you can hear while running towards him.

 

O let the earth a-tumble, love, And humble you withal, Keep running. It’s up to you now, Up to you now, love to

Love run, love run For all the things you’ve done Run for all the things that drum Run for all those pages thumbed

Love run, love run For all the things we wished we’d done Run from all you know that’s coming Run to show that love’s worth running to.

 

When you emerge from the crowd, panting and with your heart trying to break free from your chest, no one with silver hair is waiting for you on the other side. It shouldn’t surprise you, yet you only realise now how much you’ve hoped, how much you’ve depended on the possibility that somehow, by the smallest chance, Emil would appear and surprise you. It feels as though you are losing him all over again—you are an open wound that you have no idea how to close. Tears burn behind your eyes, suddenly the emotions are so overwhelming you feel like you’re drowning in them.

You need to leave. As fast, as far away as you can until you can breathe again, until it doesn’t feel as though you are missing one of your limbs.

You turn and dash towards a narrow side alley—and bump into a solid, hard back. Before you can mumble an apology, a very familiar voice brightens the dark pit in your chest.

“Hey, what’s up?” Eren asks.

You tip your head back to look up at him. Eren used to be your height when you started out in the Cadet Corps, but now he looms over you, almost a whole head taller. Something about seeing him right now takes the wind out of your sails—you’ve searched for a haven and while you haven’t arrived where you want to be, maybe you’ve arrived where you need to be.

“I—I’m okay. I’m okay now,” you respond finally, unable to look away from Eren’s face. He dips his chin a little, as if sensing there is more you’re about to say, but when nothing comes, he gives you a crooked smile and turns to disappear back into the crowd. Something about the sight of his broad shoulders retreating closes up your throat, wedges sharp needles into your mouth.

“Stay,” you say, catching his wrist, feeling his hot skin. Eren stops, turns slowly. “Don’t leave. Please.”

He looks up from your hand to your face and studies it; studies your face for the answers to the questions flickering in his eyes. They pierce through you, hook right under your skin. Usually, you’d hate to lie bare and vulnerable before someone, but it’s different with Eren. Until recently, there was only one person whose thoughts you cared to know—what they thought about you, specifically. Now, Eren has become that person.

Slowly, Eren reaches for your hand and untangles it from his shirt. Your heart drops to the bottom of your stomach, but before you can say anything or move away, he takes your hand and leads you away from the feast through narrow alleyways, hidden away from prying eyes. It’s quiet here, and deeply dark. A few couples have sought that secrecy and are together now, joined at the lips, pressed close against the walls. Another song has begun, but slower.

Eren slows only when you reach the gates leading outside Trost District. He leads you off the path to where the grass fields stretch like silver patches under the moonlight. Immediately, you notice how much easier breathing is out here in this quiet, calm place. You take off your flower crown and drop it behind a crate, and hope you will never have to wear a crown again.

You find an empty spot down by the riverbank and sink down into the grass, the earth still warm from the day’s sunlight. You’re surprised. For the loud mouth Eren is, he can be quiet when it matters. The only light source comes from a big campfire people have put up near the water. It casts Eren in a warm glow that softens the planes of his face. He looks younger—like on the day you met on the first day of training when his eyes looked big for his face. His eyelashes are still stupidly long, stupidly dark—curving like the crescent moon above your heads. Light stubble runs along his sharp jaw. You wonder how his skin would feel to the touch.

You’re certain Eren is aware of your eyes on him, but he keeps staring ahead unblinkingly, waiting for you to fill the silence. He’s putting your back against a wall like that. You don’t know how much longer you can run. From him, from yourself—always towards the past as though Time itself slows to let you play, stealing the hours and turning the night into day.

You let your hands roam over the soft grass, and feel your fingers stumble over leaves and petals.

An idea blossoms.

You pluck the flowers from the ground and begin to weave a crown.

“You know, this means affection and admiration,” you say and show Eren a purple-crowned dianthus. He blinks. “And this,” you continue, presenting a lilac aster right under his nose, “means I will remember you.” You pick up the next flower. “This is Forget-Me-Not.”

“Let me guess,” Eren says. “Don’t forget me?”

“So smart.”

He grins. This grin makes something deep inside you unfurl, like a petal opening up its secrets to the sun.

You return to your craft, fumbling with thin stems and fragile pallets that break off and tear under your touch. Eren watches you struggle for a good minute. When he speaks, the amusement in his voice is like soft wind grazing through leaves. “Need help?”

“I’m good, I’m just—” The stems unweave and slip through your fingers like seams coming unknitted. The sweet smell of crushed petals fills the night. Nothing you do makes the crown hold—and then you realise why.

You let the flowers fall into your lap and blink at them, feeling your eyes grow heavy. “He never showed me.”

Eren tilts his head towards you.

“He never taught me,” you repeat, a quiver to your voice, “how to make flower crowns.”

Eren clears his voice. “Who…?”

“Emil!” You stretch out your hand, showing off his ring, grinning. The crimson sphere flashes almost threateningly like spilt blood.

Eren is quiet for a moment, eyes fixed on your slender finger and the ring. “I’ve heard you mention him,” he finally says, turning his head away. His side profile seems suddenly like a stranger’s, sharp and uninviting. “Who is he?”

“My fiancée,” you announce proudly.

He turns his head so fast and sharp in your direction, you hear a bone crack in his neck.

“You’re engaged?” he asks, but there is a very unfamiliar, un-Eren like tone to his voice that makes you look at him.

You don’t think Eren has ever looked at you like this. As though you are a glass of water and he is dying of thirst, but unable to reach you. As though you are the only patch of cool, green grass in a never-ending stretch of parched, grey land. You have only seen yearning on Eren’s face when he talks about killing all Titans and going outside the Walls. It makes you feel as though you are an exposed nerve, tender and raw to the slightest touch. If Eren would reach out right now and put his fingers to your skin, surely you would combust.

His eyes seem to reach deep into you, hooking into the words buried deep in your chest, and yanking them out painfully.

“He’s dead,” you say quietly, your grin slowly fading. “I think … otherwise, he would be here. With me.”

Eren’s voice is barely audible. “Was it in Shiganshina?”

You nod, and nod, and keep nodding, feeling a thick lump in your throat. You bring your knees up to your chest, your hands wedged in the fabrics of your dress to keep them warm. Only when Eren puts his jacket around your shoulders, you notice your body is shaking, but the moment his warm knuckles brush your collarbones, the cold inside your body dissipates. The fabric is warm from his skin, the collar smells like him. You duck your head, trying to bury yourself inside his jacket.

“You know, not one day passes where I don’t miss him so much it feels that I might die,” you say, quietly, more to yourself than to him. “I don’t know if you’ve ever felt something like this.”

Eren holds your stare. If the silence is bait, you don’t take it. You inhale, slowly. You smell food and the riverbed: mud and spice, with the slight after-taste of human pollution. And sweetness; ripe flowers ready to harvest for bees and insects.

“My Mom,” he finally says after a long moment. He stretches out his long legs, then reconsiders and pulls his knees back up to his chest, mirroring your position. “I saw my Mom die five years ago and the first days after that were like hell.”

You nod. You know what that feels like. Glancing over at Eren, you think about taking his hand and squeezing it—to show that he is not alone in that grief, that you know his pain. But when you look at his hand, you find it already balled into a tight fist by his side.

Weirdly enough, it makes you smile. Of course Eren would not allow himself to break. Instead, he steels his grief into rage, into desperation, into resolve.

“We’ve lost … so much … we’re trapped like fucking cattle ready for slaughter.” Eren forces a deep, shuddering breath inside his lungs. You can see the veins along his arms stand out, and suddenly your mouth goes very dry. “I can’t live like this. Nobody should live like this.”

“You have big dreams, Eren.” You bump into his side, feeling his strong arms hard like walls against yours. He doesn’t budge. “Maybe you’ll set us all free one day.”

He scoffs and rolls his eyes, but you see the corners of his mouth twitch. “If we ever bring down the Walls, I’ll definitely line up to throw a dynamite or two.”

“And then? What then?” It is a strange feeling, talking about a future you know won’t exist, but there is a quiet place in your heart that tries to imagine a life with no Titans, with no boundaries. It would look like a small Haven of trees, brushes hung heavy with glossy berries, red and purple and black, and small trees hung with oddly-shaped fruits you’ve never seen before and that would be home—you take a sharp breath in. Gone is the smell of green, of living and growing things, of dirt and the roots that grow in dirt, and as you blink away the picture that’s fading behind your closed lids, slipping from your mind even though you have no idea where it has come from in the first place, you hear Eren still talking: “… and after Armin and I see the ocean, I don’t know. We’ll explore the world. Find all the places in Armin’s book he always talks about. And then … I’ll pee in every major body of water on earth?”

“Oh my God.”

“You asked.” Eren bumps back into your side and you nearly topple over. When you straighten yourself, he’s looking at you curiously. Whatever he sees must satisfy him because he turns away, smiling to himself.

“What?” you ask.

“I see you’re feeling better.”

The question surprises you enough that you need two takes to open your mouth and give a response. And then you understand, he’s been trying to cheer you up. Nothing outlandish. Still, it’s like a died-out ember in your chest rekindles a fire.

“Yeah, I am. I’m glad I found you.” You mumble the last bit, plucking the leftover flowers from your dress until you hold the branch of the forget-me-not between your fingers. “And even though we’ll go our separate ways next week, I’m glad we’re friends. It’s weird … you’re someone I don’t want to forget, Eren Jaeger.”

 You offer him the flower. His eyes, now a dark green, are nothing like the soft blue—they’re different in so many ways, but you like them. Eren takes the flowers from you, looks at it like he doesn’t know what to do with it, and settles for putting it in your hair, behind your ear.

“I won’t just disappear, you know,” he says, an exasperated tone swinging in his voice as though he’s talking to a three-year-old that’s still struggling with object permanence. “After graduation, whenever our old Corps meets, I’ll annoy the shit out of you. Don’t think you can slack off in sparring just because I’m not there to kick your ass.”

“Last time I checked, I kicked your ass.”

Eren throws up his hands. “Because Mikasa was distracting me!”

You wave his excuses away, then stave off a yawn. The feast doesn’t show any signs of stopping yet, but you know the second your head hits the pillow, you’ll be out cold. Which is exactly why you lie down in the soft grass, looking up at the vast starry sky above you.

“If you fall asleep, I’ll leave you here, you know,” you hear Eren say, your eyes already closed.

“No, you won’t,” you say, and just to be sure, you hook your fingers around one of his belt loops. Something suspicious like a snort comes from Eren, but his warm presence beside you remains until you fall asleep, dreaming of juniper berry bushes and trees greener than any you’ve known.

 

The land is bare of grass, of plants, of life. It is a vast, never-ending wasteland of rolling sand hills where every grain twinkles like little stars no matter which direction you turn. It is an alien, strange place that feels familiar at the same time. You’ve been here before, but something is missing. Someone.

His name lies on the tip of your tongue, but you can’t remember the feel or sound of it. Sometimes, you think you see someone standing on the horizon, but when you catch up, that person is gone like a mirage. The frustration builds, the taste filling your mouth with copper. When your eyes spy the person once more, you decide to call out: “Er—”

“You see someone more interesting than me?” asks Emil by your side.

You blink, dazzled, and when he offers you his hand, you take it. It feels the same as all those years ago, but nothing about him is the same. Or is it? You close your eyes for just a moment, and he smiles at you, his boyish face still young and round. “There’s no one more interesting than you,” you say, because that is the truth. “It’s just this place. I’ve never seen anything like this.”

Sandy hills and a never-ending starry sky stretch before you to all sides. There’s something else, something very bright and very big, but whenever you try to look at it, it disappears, and you wonder if maybe you’re just imagining it.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” says a voice that isn’t Emil’s. You find that Emil has disappeared, and you are now standing with Eren. It’s the same game: he looks different and at the same time he doesn’t. Older, but also still how you remember him.

“Where’s Emil?” you ask, turning. You see Mikasa with Armin, and Jean who is holding a sleeping Marco in his arms, brushing away ink-black curls from his forehead. Something about Marco seems strange though, as if half of his side is turning into sand.

“What are you talking about?” Eren says. “This place is for the living.” His hands are cool on yours, and you are aware of them in a way you have not been of Emil’s as he turns you away from Marco’s sight.

You narrow your eyes at him. “What do you mean?”

He leans close. You can feel his lips against your ear. They are not cool at all. “Wake up, [Name],” he whispers. “Wake up. Wake up.”

 

You bolt upright in bed, gasping, hair plastered to your neck with cold sweat. Your wrists are held in a hard grip; you try to pull away, then realise who is restraining you. “Eren?”

“Yeah.” He’s sitting on the edge of the bed—how have you gotten into a bed?—looking tousled and half-awake, with early-morning hair and sleepy eyes.

“Let go of me.”

“Sorry.” His fingers slip from your wrists. “You tried to hit me the second I said your name.”

“I’m a little jumpy, I guess.” You glance around. You’re in a small bedroom furnished with dark wood. By the quality of the faint light coming in through the half-open window, you guess it’s dawn, or just after. Your uniform-jacket hangs neatly folded across the back of a chair. “How did I get here? I don’t remember…”

“You fell asleep right next to me.” Eren sounds amused. “Mikasa helped me get you to bed. She also changed your clothes. Thought you’d be more comfortable here than on the cold ground.”

“Wow. I don’t remember anything.” You run your hands over your face, feeling your swollen cheeks from a long, deep slumber. Maybe you’ve had more alcohol than you’d expected. “What time is it, anyway?”

“About five.”

“In the morning?” You glare at him. “You’d better have a good reason for waking me up.”

“Why?” Eren asks, leaning back on his heels, grinning. For some reason this is the exact moment your brain notices you and Eren are sitting on the same bed, and you are very close to each other. He must have changed his clothes before waking you up—gone is the rumpled black sweatshirt and in its stead Eren is wearing a simple white military shirt. “Were you having a good dream?”

You can still feel cold sand between your toes, see stars twinkle before your eyes. You think there were certain people in your dream, people you knew, but the details are blurry. “I don’t remember.”

He stands up. “We’ve got our rifle rehearsal, remember? Shadis sent me to kick your ass out of bed. Actually, Jean offered to wake you up, but since it’s five in the morning, I figured you’d be less cranky if you had something nicer to look at than his horseface.”

“Meaning you?”

Eren’s grin grows tenfold. “What else?”

You throw a pillow after him, but Eren is already up and about, and out of the door before you can grab something else.

Just for a moment, you consider falling back into your bed and pretend the next couple of days don’t exist. Somewhere on the other side of the compound you hear Shadis’ roars, and decide to get up pretty quickly.

Twenty minutes later, everyone stands ready. Rifle in hand, half of them visibly fighting their hangover, the rehearsal goes as smoothly as planned: Sasha stumbles twice, and Samuel and Connie go down with her. For a moment, Shadis looks like he doesn’t want to say anything, but then he simply states you’d be all dead if those rifles were loaded, and proceeds to procure a bucket of water to douse them like filthy street cats.

It gives you a small break where you set out to find Jean. Compared to three years ago when around four hundred soldiers enlisted, only half of that number remains today. Many of them are foreign faces, and you doubt you’ll ever find friendship in any of them since your group has pretty much remained the same ever since the first weeks of trainee days.

On the other side of the plaza you spot Mikasa and Eren. She’s plucking at his clothes, which he is invisibly annoyed about, but it is a different type of annoyed than when he’s around Jean—it seems more long suffering while endearing at the same time, and for a moment you can’t help but just stare at them and realise for the first time that they look good together. They’ve known each other since childhood, and Mikasa is rarely apart from Eren. You wonder what that would be like, to know him in and out and say things that make him laugh, make him blush—just like Mikasa is doing right now, but then from this distance you see her mouth from something that looks like your name and you stare even harder until she must feel you staring like a physical presence and turns.

Catching Mikasa’s eyes, you grow even more convinced that they are discussing you, that Mikasa can read you like a book, can see through to your very soul, and is telling Eren all your secrets. As if you are shouting this aloud, Eren turns at that very moment and looks at you, breaking into an elated smile as he waves his rifle dramatically in the air, and you smile back, waving yours in return, and receive a clap to the back of your head from Shadis for your troubles. As you rub your head in pain, you see Eren laughing in delight, and that alone makes it all worth the trouble.

“Bam,” comes Jean’s voice from your side. When you turn, you see him lower his rifle. “I just shot you.”

Changing the rifle from your left to right shoulder, you follow him back to your positions to restart the rehearsal. “You know I’d come back and haunt your ass. And don’t point it at people, it’s rude.”

You can practically hear Jean rolling his eyes when he says, “Whatever.”

Back in your line, you follow the steps and march in tandem with everyone else. In front of you, Jean continues quietly enough for only you to hear, “We practised rifle handling for this one thing; what a waste of time. It’s not like we’ll ever use them against other people.”

“I guess they’re just making sure to cover the whole syllabus. I don’t like thinking about having to point that at someone else.”

“You sure as hell won’t have to,” Jean says, whipping around, bringing the rifle across his chest to his other shoulder. You do the exact same, staring up at the back of Reiner’s head. From the stiffness of his broad shoulders, you can see he’s very tense. Maybe he’s taking this rehearsal a little too seriously.

You only get the last bit of Jean’s sentence because he unobtrusively pokes you in the back with the end of his rifle. “From what I’ve heard about the MP, you’ll have your occasional thug but actual casualties are very rare.”

“Seven more days,” you whisper back. “Will you be okay without me? Who’s going to pull your ass out of trouble?”

“I’m pretty sure Marco’s got that covered.” Jean turns his head, probably on the lookout for the culprit in question. You go very still, but from the lack of Jean going on, you’re pretty sure Marco has still not found a good time to talk to Jean.

“You know, there’s still time to reconsider,” you say in just the moment the rehearsal reaches the stage where your fake rifles go off and make a deafening bang noise.

Jean turns his head, the ‘Huh?’ clearlywritten on his face.

You pretend you didn’t say anything. Maybe things are progressing the way they are for a reason.

 

From the 344 recruits who started out at the very beginning, only 218 graduated.

On the evening Shadis announces the Top Ten trainees, nobody is surprised to see the ten best lining up before your instructor. You feel immensely proud that both Jean and Marco have managed to hold their ground. But to you, standing in the back between Mina and Armin feels right.

All you care about is the celebration that’s right after that—the last evening you’ll spend with the majority of your friends before everyone heads off. Understandably so, Jean’s constant reminder to ‘not enter the boys’ barracks after’ gets more and more frustrating.

“Why?” you say through a mouth full of steamed potatoes. “Are you guys comparing dick sizes?”

Someone who listens in on the table across from you chokes on their spit.

“We want to have a guy’s night, what’s so unusual about it? You girls do … whatever you girls do. Have a pillow fight or whatever. But don’t come into our barracks, got it?”

True to the nature of your friendship, obviously you barge into the boys’ barracks after the graduation celebration is over. And what timing you have. Swinging the door wide open, you enter at the exact moment Jean declares proudly that in a life or death scenario, he’d totally be down for a threesome with you and Marco.

You freeze. Everyone in the room freezes. Marco unsuccessfully hides the bottle of booze behind his back. It tips over and he shrieks as red liquid spills across the wooden floor. Multiple boys boo at him, and you realise they’re all drunk.

Jean raises his eyes to yours, and you trade a look that feels like a dare. Somehow, you can’t really take a hold of what expression to make—it ranges from confusion to slight disgust to mild interest at how exactly the logistics of such a scenario would look.

Realising there’s only one thing you can do right here, right now, you take a step back and close the door again, willing to forget this ever happened. Three steps is all you’re able to make before the door flies open again, rough hands grab you and manhandle you back into the room.

“You better not tell anyone we got booze here, or I’m gonna dunk your head inside a latrine,” Daz hisses. He’s the opposite of intimidating at any given moment, but now, wobbling on both feet while pointing a shaky finger at you, even a newly born puppy has more bark to it.

You discreetly swipe away the cool spit he’s graciously sprayed over your cheek.

“So, that’s the reason girls are not allowed?” you say, putting on your best Ida-performance to show how disappointed you are. “You’re going to hoard all that and don’t invite us?”

Across the room, Samuel shrugs. “The more people know, the easier Shadis might catch wind of what we’re doing here.”

“Yeah, he’ll skin us alive.”

“I think,” you say, very slowly, “we should get everyone in here and have a final blast before tomorrow.” That didn’t get the reaction you’ve expected, but it is met with less resistance than before. “And we can also,” you add, wiggling your eyebrows, “maybe play some games? Make it exciting.”

Not ten minutes later, the boys’ barracks is cramped. Every open space around the low centre table has been taken by someone as they sit huddled together, shoulder pressed against shoulder. You’ve organised more tankards from the kitchen, and now you’re sipping from the sweet meed Daz has organised somehow. After asking him for the third time and him refusing to explain, you’ve given up and accepted this might remain the greatest secret of Cadet Time.

“So, what games did’ya have in mind?” Samuel asks after the initial excitement has settled down while everyone is nursing their drink. You can feel Jean’s body pressing against your side, clearly interested in what you’ll come up with.

“I got these,” you declare, and present a dozen wooden skewers you’ve helped yourself to, “so we can play the King’s Game.”

A couple “Oooh”s and “Aaah”s later, everyone who wants to participate has settled around the table. Since it was your idea, you can be Queen first, and you’re not here to hold hostages. While swirling the mead in your tankard, your first order is, “Number 3 has to give number 5 a kiss on the cheek.”

When Connie and Samuel rise at the same time, the rest giggles and whistles, but the boys don’t back down. Alcohol is always a nice confidence booster, so Connie makes a big show of smacking a wet smooch onto Samuel’s cheek, earning them a round of applause for that.

“Okay, my turn.” Connie downs the rest of his beverage, then smacks his lips. “I want number 4 to give number 1 a piggy back ride.”

Reiner stirs, showing his skewer with a number 1 carved into the wood. When Christa climbs to her feet, wobbly like a flagpole swaying in harsh wind, the room erupts with laughter.

“I can do it,” she mumbles to herself, her usual pale face a canvas of red—the culprit of it sitting right next to her and cackling like a maniac. Over the last years, Ymir has perfected the art of getting Christa drunk before anyone can notice and stop her. It’s quite funny to her until Reiner offers to give Christa a piggyback instead, and all Hell breaks loose.

Next to you, Jean scoffs. “Like animals,” he says, but when you look up at him, he has a goofy smile on his face. You can’t say how much mead he’s had until his glassy eyes drop down to you and he leans into your space, arching over you until your shoulders touch.

“I’m gonna miss you,” he mumbles, his breath soft against your cheek. You feel the pinprick of tears at the back of your eyes and blink against them. He can’t pull that shit the night before you go your separate ways.

Before you can reply, someone is tugging at your sleeve. When you turn, somehow magically a new skewer with a new number has manifested in your hand.

“Seven’s gotta sit on Nine’s lap,” Sasha whispers conspiratorially. She points at you, then across the table, where Eren is looking at you with a very weird expression. “By the King’s order.”

You whip your head around and find Reiner grinning at you. Jean’s presence immediately vanishes when he leans away, looking sickly pale all of a sudden when he stares somewhere else, his jaw held tightly shut as if he’s just bitten into glass.

This is a bad idea, without a doubt—but the other, much louder part of your brain thinks challenge accepted.

You crawl over to Eren who eyes you as though he’s just waiting for the hidden dagger to slash forward and cut him open, and throw one leg over his lap. Good balance so far. You sit more on his knees than on his thighs, which is enough for the first round of whistles and unnecessary remarks from your comrades. Eren has found a very interesting spot somewhere behind your shoulder that demands his complete, undisturbed attention.

“Kids, you gotta do it properly,” Reiner says, and with a slap to your back, he pushes you flush against Eren’s hips. You choke on your spit. Eren yelps.

Reiner grins. “Exactly like that.”

“Okay, okay, we get it.” You try to weasel some space between you and Eren’s pelvis, but the only place of leverage is his arms. It’s different from hand-to-hand-combat practice where touching bodies is inevitable and you’re too occupied thinking about ways to bring your opponent down than worry about girls and boys accidentally touching where they shouldn’t. But this is deliberate, and now that your hands cling to his arms to regain your balance, you notice the strong chord of muscles tensing under his shirt. His solid thighs easily holding your weight. You don’t doubt if his shirt would lift slightly, the sight of firm abs would greet you.

“Don’t move,” he hisses, grabbing onto your thighs to prevent you from squirming. It gets the desired effect, immediately shutting you up, freezing you on the spot. It also does something weird to your body. You want to close your legs, pretend modesty is a thing that you guys still do around here, but you don’t have to be a genius to understand friction is the last thing Eren needs, and that’s why he’s got an iron grip around your thighs.

Why are so many people cramped up in this tiny room, it’s so fucking hot in here. You still don’t meet Eren’s eyes. You’re close enough to feel him breathing, feel the heat radiating off his body. Not knowing what to do with your hands, they just fumble needlessly in front of you, your fingers curling into the hem of your shirt to do something. Someone laughs really loud at the back of the room.

Eren clears his throat quietly. “Nervous?”

Finally, your eyes meet. His seem darker than usual, a deeper green like a lush forest dancing to strong wind picking up before a storm. This close, you could count every single one of his long lashes.

“Why would I be?” You lean back slightly, but the friction is enough to make Eren tighten his grip around your thighs. You can feel his nails dig into your skin through the fabric of your trousers. “If anything, I get the feeling you’re the one who can’t keep up, Jaeger.”

Eren executes an eye roll that must give him a spectacular view of the inside of his skull. No wonder Jean can’t keep his cool. Or maybe it’s just an Eren-thing, infuriating those around him. A match to an explosive barrel.

You’ll give him one.

“Nervous?” you ask with a mean grin that furrows Eren’s eyebrows in question for a second. Then you roll your hips against his once but hard enough for him to feel the heat between your legs. His expression is priceless, absolutely dumbfounded and stupid and laughter rises in your throat—

Eren throws you off his lap, already on his legs and charging out of the cabin into the cool night. Thankfully most of the other cadets are too busy whooping at Sasha drinking loads of beer from an improvised funnel Connie and Samuel are holding up for her. Only Mikasa has paid attention, and is now rushing after Eren while you return back to Jean’s side. He nibbles on a dried cracker and barely spares you a glance.

“What’s wrong with your face?” Jean asks. He sounds impatient, and when he snaps his jaw shut on the cracker, it reminds you of a guillotine slamming down.

“What’s wrong with your face?” you snap back.

“No, I mean if you’ve got a fever or something, go to bed.”

“Just eat your damn crackers, Jean.”

You try to hide your burning face behind your arms, knees bent up to your chin—a small ball of embarrassment because who could have thought your little joke on Eren would backfire so bad. In that split of a second before he threw you off, his neck and face completely flushed an angry red, Eren looked absolutely ready to devour you. Desire is a dangerous look on him.

From across the room, you catch Reiner’s eyes. Mischief glints in them as he raises his cup in mock salute to you, presenting himself to be the true pyromaniac all along.

 

❀❀❀

 

“I’m going to escape these Walls. That’s my dream. Mankind hasn’t been wiped out yet. We deserve to be out there; we are free. We were born into this world to see it.”

When you turned, expecting to see Eren because you so clearly remember him saying those exact words at the graduation ceremony, you saw Emil sitting by your side instead. His eyes were closed, his long, pale lashes resting against his high cheekbones. You remembered how often he said that word, but you didn’t fully understand what he meant.

“What is freedom?” you asked, burrowing your bare toes into the warm soil.

Emil kept his eyes closed. He picked a flower and placed it on his lips. You’d never wished so hard in your life to be able to turn into a flower. He was lying next to you, his fingers resting interwoven on his chest. “It means to do and feel what you want without anyone holding you back or stopping you.”

“That sounds great.” You looked out at the riverbed. It seemed to sparkle more than usual today. “We could get there, one day. It doesn’t sound all that hard.”

“You think?” Emil opened his eyes and looked up at you. His eyes twinkled just like the river. “Look around. All these flowers. Who do they belong to?”

“Hm … nobody? Everyone!”

“Fair enough. Then, pick one that you really like.”

When you looked around, searching for forget-me-not, you spotted a nine-petalled, white flower stretching its small head towards you. “This one,” you said, pointing at it.

Emil made a small sound at the back of his throat. When you turned to him, he was already staring somewhere else, but he looked as though he’d swallowed something sharp. He bent over and ripped the flower out of the ground. “This,” he said, “is my flower now. Even though you really want it. What will you do now?”

“Ask you nicely to give it to me. Because I know you will.”

Emil smiled at that. “Pretend I am not someone nice. Pretend I am someone who is a bad person.”

“Not you.” Your reply came immediately. “Not ever.”

“Then, Marianne,” he continued, and like you knew he would, he put the flower behind your ear, brushing his knuckles along your cheek. “If it were Marianne who took what you wanted, what would you do?”

You pulled a face. “Leave her, I guess. She can have it. But I’d be very sad.”

“Exactly. She is free to do what she wants, and what she wants is to take this flower. And even though you want it too, only stealing it back from her would make you happy. Because you as well are free to do what you want.”

Your head spun from the possibilities. Emil squeezed your hand. “And what if…,” he continued in a voice that was utterly unfamiliar to you, “…what if what you want is to hurt others?”

“It’s wrong.”

Emil chuckled. “Says who?”

“It’s … it’s common sense,” you tried to argue, but it sounded weak and naive even to your own ears.

“Common sense dictates we do not kill, we do not steal. Did you know there are people living underground who have never seen the sky? Who are not allowed to come up here and enjoy the fresh air? Enjoy the feeling of the sun. They kill and steal to survive. Is that still wrong? To do what you need to do to survive?”

You grew very silent. Listening to Emil, he almost seemed like a different person.

“Look at these walls.” Emil looked up. The warmth in his eyes disappeared. “We want to go outside, see the world. But we can’t. Because there are Titans outside. Because there are enemies outside these Walls. It’s unfair, isn’t it?”

“But these Walls protect us,” you shot back. “Without them, Titans would come in and eat us.”

“I suppose that is true. Sometimes, I just wonder … if they as well simply do not have a choice.”

“Which means…” you said slowly, realisation dawning, “Titans … aren’t free?”

The corner of Emil’s mouth pulled up in a rueful smile. His eyes were almost sorrowful. “I suppose … if they feel anything at all.”

“You’re always on top of those things, Emil,” you marvelled, squeezing his hand back. “You’re kind and so full of sympathy for everyone and everything. See, that’s why you could never be a bad person.”

The warmth returned to his eyes, lightening them up to the colour of the early morning sky. “If you say so, then it must be true.”

Before you could forget it, feeling the soft petals of the flower tickling your cheek, you asked, “By the way, what flower is this? I always see it on you.”

And for the first time since you had known him, Emil lied to you: “I don’t know.”

 

❀❀❀

 

You have a feeling the headache pounding at the back of your head the next morning isn’t solely because of the booze escapade the night before. Your body doesn’t feel as weary and heavy as the day after May Day a week ago, this type of lethargy is a different kind. You pin it on the upcoming events later in the day, and focus on your current task organising everything for the cannon maintenance at the top of Wall Rose.

Marco has been quietly helping you with that for some time. The creases on his forehead run deeper than the canyons cutting into the earth south of Wall Rose. Everything points to the source of his concern being Jean, currently occupied checking the gas stock for the cylinders, still, you ask the million coins question: “Have you spoken to Jean yet?”

As though he’s been waiting for you to ask that, his reply comes immediately: “I’ll talk to him later. After the preparations. I asked him to wait for me in the backyard at HQ. Before we head off to Sina.” He shrugs. “Or maybe we won’t head off. I’m not sure how to tackle that exactly.”

You think of how much value Jean puts into Marco’s opinion; how he eats up Marco’s words right up like a starving man.

“I don’t think it matters how. You got this. He’ll listen if it’s you, Marco.”

Marco stays silent. He clears his throat when he notices you staring at him, and gives you a wry smile. “We’re talking about Jean here. He can be as stubborn as you.”

“I could beat him up for you. Make him listen.”

The wry smile turns into a full-blown grin. He puts a little more enthusiasm into helping you secure the crates with ropes onto the wooden platform that lifts you up to the top of the Outer Wall. You like this Marco better than the sombre one. You continue working like that for some time until everything is loaded onto the platform and you give Marco the sign to turn on the mechanism that lifts you up.

“You ever wonder,” he says suddenly, thumb resting on the button. When he looks at you, it feels a little as though he’s seeing through you. “… if what we want and what we need are different things?”

You wait for him to continue when you realise he doesn’t mean it as a rhetorical question. “I think it’s enough sometimes to settle for what we want. We might never know what we need.”

“Maybe,” sighs Marco. “But what if the moment is there all of a sudden and you have to make a decision?” He kneads the back of his neck, then shakes his head like a puppy shaking water off its fur, trying to disperse his thoughts. “I’m talking nonsense, sorry. Today is hard enough on most of us. I’ll see you later for the distribution banquet.” He doesn’t give you a chance to respond and presses the button. With a jolt, the platform rises, and you hold onto a crate, watching as Marco grows smaller and smaller. He salutes up to you by putting two fingers to his temple. You wave back, trying to swallow around the lump in your throat.

Maybe that was his try at convincing you to change your path as well. It would be great, staying together like this for the next few years until it is time to discharge. But somehow you doubt it would be that easy to convince Jean otherwise, and you’ve already made yourself acquainted with Trost’s Garrison unit and its captain, Hannes. Of course, now that you won’t see him for some time, you find a better answer for Marco’s question: That sometimes, you settle for what you can get. That you can’t have it all.

On top of the wall, Connie is the first to greet you. “We got worried you two bailed on us,” he says, immediately tackling the ropes and disentangling them from the crates. The rest of the group is already maintaining the canons and cleaning them up. Whoever was on duty to supervise you, they’re nowhere in sight.

“Sorry, we lost track of time chatting.” You help him carry the necessary instruments and tools. When Mina sees you, her face lights up and she says something to Thomas. He looks over and grins. Sasha looks over and grins, too. It feels as though they’re all in on a conspiracy and you’re the only one left out, radiating a fervent energy that is like a flame jumping from source to source.

“What’s up with everyone?” you ask Connie.

He drops a crate, ignoring the rattling inside it and dusts himself down. “They’re just excited ‘cause Sasha swiped some meat from the pantry.”

“She did?” You rivet your eyes on her until she notices your stare. Holding your hand up in an OK-sign, she grins and throws a hand up in return. Mina squeaks—and maybe that is a little too much excitement for something as simple as that, which should have given you reason to wonder. Connie sniffs indiscreetly. “Oh, and we’re all gonna join the Scouts.”

You drop your hand and stare at him. “You’re joking.”

“Nuh-uh. I guess Eren’s little speech yesterday left an impression on us all.” He shrugs, as though a decision like that is not worth the hustle. You want to take him by his shoulders and smack his head against a wall. By divine intervention or just honed survival instinct, he decides just then to join the others and leave to your crisis.

They must think you’ll join the Survey Corps as well. But this isn’t how it’s supposed to happen. You don’t just decide something like that in the spur of the moment. “What if the moment is there all of a sudden and you have to make a decision?” You wonder if Marco is in on this, and it’s all a huge conspiracy.

You take a step forward to set things right, and maybe give Mina a good shake to remind her this isn’t what you two agreed upon, this isn’t what you two wanted—

The sight is breathtaking.

It is your second time on top of the wall. Cadets are usually allowed only after their graduation because Shadis doesn’t trust you not to kill yourself by stumbling off the edge. Maybe it’s the final step for him to recognise his fledglings have grown into hunting birds capable of soaring through the skies and every year he pushes that as far away as possible.

The sight never ceases to amaze you. All along the horizon, mountains rise and fall in full splendid, covered with forests and cut through my glistening lakes and rivers. Giant, stark-white clouds rise behind them and paint the blue horizon with a severe beauty that has you shuddering with the realisation how close you are to the sky.

This is it. The sight Emil has always dreamt of, that he had longed to see for himself. The endless world; to leave the small cage and see the big world. The thought makes your heart race with wonder and excitement and fear—all after just seeing the possibility.

What if, what if, what if … what we want and what we need are different things?

“Hey, be careful.” Eren’s voice is like an anchor pulling you back to the present. You haven’t noticed him approaching, but now he’s standing close to you.

When you look at him, you blink until the sting at the back of your eyes disappears. “The wind’s really something up here, huh,” you say, rubbing your eyes dry.

Eren’s jaw works for a moment before he turns and takes the world in. “Yeah,” he mumbles. “It’s something.”

It feels like no more words are needed. He gets it.

“You have to tell me,” you mumble. “What you’ll find beyond the horizon. Okay? Whenever you leave to kick Titans’ asses, you have to come back and tell me.”

Eren turns to you. The wind tears at his hair, but he stands firmly. Nothing can throw him off. “Of course I’ll come back,” he says like it’s nothing. He doesn’t know what this promise untethers inside you. Your knees wobble. It feels as though you have peeled back every layer of your hopes and fears and dreams and laid them bare before him. The weight of your heart seems to tear you apart with the words that you wish you could say. And for a time there is timelessness; endless stillness that holds the picture that is you two standing at the edge of the world stretching across the horizon when overhead, lightning in the sky turns the world white and summons the Destroyer of Worlds.

As you stare into the eyes of the Colossal Titan, stomach roiling with panic, you can’t help but notice, distantly, how human its eyes seem.

A/N: Today’s The Amazing Devil’s song I’m shoving down your throats: Not Yet / Love Run (Reprise)

***

Taglist: @arisu003, @brooki, @prttyangelbaby, @honeylmnade, @berriesandcrem

#aot x reader #aot x you #aot x y/n #snk x reader #snk x you #snk x y/n #eren x reader #eren x you #eren x y/n #eren jaeger x reader #eren yeager x reader #phill.swyaatl #swyaatl

[lovingdeath]

🌹 DEARIL - CHAPTER 2 🩸

🤍 grim reaper!yandere x immortal!reader 🖤 nobody expects to watch their parents die, but those days always come. those meetings weren't fun. 🤍 warnings: death, dying of an illness, technically parentification, dying from drowning, implied suicide, yandere tendencies (still rather tame in this part) 🖤 rating: sfw

🕯️ masterlist 🕯️

it was a year and two months before you saw the figure again. things had been going well. your sister got married. your youngest brother was born. your twin had started his apprenticeship. it had all been going so well.

now, your mother is bound to her bed, coughing out blood every few hours. it reminds you too much of how you were on death's door. the scar aches every time you hear her coughs.

your dear mother isn't the only one sick in the village. but she is on the worse end of it. your father, the only doctor for miles and miles, has been running around trying to help and looking after your mother fell mostly on you. your littler siblings are kept far away from the bedroom, only seeing your mother for brief glimpses during dinner.

"how's ma?" emil, your younger brother, asks as you're feeding your youngest sibling. your mother has become too weak to do it herself.

"she's feeling rather well." you answer, knowing full well you're lying. you'd seen a hooded figure, shrouded in swirling shadows, walking through the village. you don't yet know who it is that's died, but at least it didn't come to your door yet.

emil looks sceptical, but leaves to play with his sister ella. you're left with your tiny little brother, silently staring at the wall as he eats. at this point you're just waiting. and you hate nothing more than waiting.

especially when it's on the grim reaper.

you're changing your mother's wet towel when she wakes up for the first time in the whole day. you almost don't notice it, until she reaches for your hands.

"[mc]." she rasps. you turn to her, taking her frail hand in between your own. yours are steady, strong. hers are shaking.

"yes, mama?" you ask softly.

"when i die..." she coughs. "look after your father will you? he's... he's so fragile. he'll try and be stupid once i'm gone."

"of course, mama." you mutter, not trying to argue with her. you both know she's dying. you both know your father loves her far too much. there'd be no point in denying it.

"good child." she relaxes back into her sheets. "you've always been such a good child."

you don't think so. good children don't kill people.

but you don't refute her then either. it's better to let her die thinking that her children are all good sweet angels. it's better for everyone. as she falls back asleep, you re-wet the towel and place it on her head. your poor angel of a mother. this isn't a fate she deserves.

you wait by her bedside that night too.

the dead eyes arrive in the dead of night. you notice the moment your mother stops breathing, knowing that the wait is over. you feel sort of horrible for how relieved you are over it.

"hello, soul." the figure greets, talking to you over your mother's corpse. it feels disrespectful.

"hello, strange figure." you say back, relaxing in your seat. your eyes start to droop, finally feeling like you can rest.

the figure silently extends his hand to your mother's corpse, from where a pallid hand rises. you watch with interest as your mother sits up, her corpse left behind to eternally sleep. she looks around with confusion before finally casting eyes on to the figure.

"i hope you know that your child was meant to die, not you." the figure reveals, much to your astonishment. your mother's eyes widen, but contrary to what the figure believed would happen, they soon soften and melt.

"wonderful." she sighs, a happy smile on her lips. your own eyes soften. she's probably pain free for the first time in months, finally without any worries. some part of you is glad that she finally died.

"you mortals confuse me yet again." the figure frowns.

"parents are meant to die for their children, i'd rather it me than any of them." your mother explains, smiling at you with such affection. you don't think she knows you can see her. "i'd rather not see them follow me to the afterlife any time soon."

"don't worry. this one you'll never see again." the figure mutters. your mother turns to him with confusion, but before she can question his words he squeezes her hand and she turns into a glowing ball.

"quite the thing to say." you finally talk as the figure deposits the glowing soul into his robes.

"it is the truth."

"i thought all souls were meant to die when they're told to?" you repeat the words he'd once said. the figure looks at you with surprise, the wilted rose of a blush appearing on his cheeks once again.

"..." you get no answer, only two dead eyes set on your tired body, very much still breathing and well. the silence stretches, and you really want to go sleep now.

"so... what'd you mean that i was supposed to die instead of ma-?"

the figure disappears into the shadows before you're even finished with your sentence. you scoff, leaning down onto the bed to sleep. you're bound to have a busy day tomorrow, especially once your father comes home. at least you no longer have to wait.

the funeral is two days later. you could barely call it a funeral though. too many people were dying in the village, there isn't time or space for proper funerals.

you spent the whole event comforting your poor father, and comforting your siblings. you know a few days later when your sister arrives you'll have to comfort her too. you don't think you need comforting much, but you've been wrong before. death mostly just makes you... numb.

everything becomes a lot after that, watching after your siblings, watching after your father, watching after the house and home... your father isn't in any condition to work anymore either, which leaves that all on you too. you're not nearly as good a doctor as he is, but at least you have no fear of catching the illness yourself.

your eyes never did get to rest.

you're walking home from another house visit, the poor kid would probably be dying tonight, when you catch sight of the figure again. he's walking towards you, hiding another one of those glowing souls inside his cloak.

"your father's at the bottom of the river."

you shiver hearing his callous words. you open your mouth to question him, but decide against it. you don't think a reaper would lie to you about something like that... but that does bring up a different question.

"why are you here to tell me?" you ask, your fingers tightening around your bag's strap. the news that your father is dead is slowly sinking in.

"..." the figure tilts his head, taking his hood down to look you in the eyes with his dead ones. "someday, these news will be too much for you and you will throw yourself into that knife of yours. i will be here the day that happens. only i can have that stubborn soul of yours."

"i don't think i have much say in such matters." you swiftly answer, almost automatically. the figure smirks, and chuckles. the sound is grating, like a knife in your throat. you would know.

"we'll see, my soul." the figure disappears.

you stand there for a moment, thinking. you'd promised your mother you'd look after your father. you'd failed. what a good child you are.

you start walking home again. there's dinner to be made.

#yandere x reader #yandere oc #yandere #🌹 dearil #🌹 grim reaper x immortal

[procrastinatorproject]

From the Star Trek ask game:

48. Name a song or music genre you think each of the la Sirena holo squad would like.

I don't really listen to a lot of music, so I can't talk too much about specific songs or 20th/21st century genres. Fortunately, this is Star Trek, so I get to be creative 😁😁😁

Emil: I mean, if you've read my fic, you know my Emil listens to all kinds of opera and likes to sing it, too! Doesn't have to be Klingon opera, either. He once spent a delightful afternooon being taught the finer points of Bynar coloratura by Xyr (the star tenor Rios hooked up with one time and whom Emil has a crush on admires).

When it's not opera, Emil probably listens to various forms of jazz, about which he has Very Strong Opinions. (Of course, he would never go so far as to, say, have a protracted argument with someone on Federation hypernet message boards about the merits of warp-shift-amplifiers on Tellarite slop jazz, but in his defense, cargo runs really do get very boring sometimes when you don't want to risk turning off and not being there when your captain gets himself shot again......)

Ian: He'd say Scottish folk music as a matter of pride, but he also unironically loves it! He has a vast repository of sheet music for historic tunes set for various instruments and always keeps an eye out for new talent from Scotland or Caldos Colony that might be worth keeping an eye on. He does play the bagpipes himself, too, though usually only when nobody from te non-holographic crew is on board. He has also been known to lead a rousing round of sea shanties every now and again.

Other than that, he also enjoys really experimental genres. There was an unfortunate incident a few months ago where Ian was listening to a new album from an underground spectral punk band while he did engine maintenance. He was sure he wouldn't be bothering anyone, because the music wasn't in the audible spectrum for humans and only Rios and Agnes were on board at the time. About twenty minutes into the record, he got a very salty message from Emil, asking him to please stop playing music that could cause crippling migraines and ruptured ear drums in his patients...

Enoch: Enoch is all for the Federation equivalent of top 40 radio. He sometimes sneaks onto the holodeck to watch concert-transmissions from the latest Andorian pop princess or Bajoran singer-songwriter. When he's sitting watch on the bridge on the rare occasions Rios is asleep (not that he needs to be there, the computer would activate him, if his services were required, but it feels right to physically keep an eye on things, you know?) he'll often tune in to the biggest music broadcasts to keep up with new music and concert dates.

Enoch also has a knack for finding the exact song, musician, or current trend that is most likely to piss off Rios and to then fall in love with it completely. He claims it's entirely coincidental, and Emil has seriously considered writing a psychology paper about this phenomenon and what it might say about the origins of musical taste and aversion. Emil and Agnes have spent many an hour sipping tea together, watching with rapt attention as Enoch and Rios yell at each other about the "Taylor Swift Revival"-Revival Band and what is or isn't sacrilege to force poor Sirena to play through her speakers. (The rumour that there was popcorn consumed with the tea is pure slander, though!)

Emmet: Emmet has the great advantage that he does not give a fuck what anyone thinks of him or his taste in music. He has had phases where he'd be listening to metal and grunge at top volume (usually only in his head, though occasionally he'd "accidentally" blast it over the ship's speakers). But he also enjoys all kinds of classical and historical music and has listened to every genre of punk known to the Federation's audio libraries.

Then there was a memorable week where he got so into Trill's childrens music that Steward had to ask Ian to block the sound files, because the inane ear worms were starting to infect the other EH's over their shared neural pathways, and Rios had threatened that the next holo humming the tune to "Where are you wriggling little worm?" would be scrubbed from the system.

But Emmet's secret joy, the music he doesn't really tell the others about or ever listens to where anyone can hear, are whale songs. He knows the songs of roughly two thousand different species, both from Earth Whales and other aquatic mammals that communicate in similar fashions. He even has a few very rare recordings of space whale calls, and nobody has dared to ask what he had to do to get his hands on those.

Steward: Steward, on the other hand, cares A Lot what people think about his musical tastes. He would like to be sohpisticated and classy, and enjoy opera and jazz as much as Emil and the captain, or have some deep cultural ties to a genre of music he enjoys, like Ian. But alas, he finds it heart to really get into any of that. He has found himself tapping his foot and nodding along to some of the catchcy stuff Enoch often puts on when Rios is asleep, but he knows that's not really dignified and worries he might seem uncultured if people know he enjoys top 40 radio. (Raffi has called him a snob on more than one occasion, and he knows he'll have to do some deep thinking to overcome some of the biases his creators endowed him with, because he has come to realize his interpretation of "hospitality" differs quite a bit from what they seem to have been envisioning.)

He would really like to learn to play the guitar. He can play a lot of different instruments and his singing voice is exquisitely trained, but the guitar is one of those blindspots he was left with, after Rios's deletions to the holos' memories. Steward knows that Rios can play incredibly well himself and keeps a real, hand-crafted guitar in secure storage for the extremely rare occasions Rios has been in the mood to play. The EHH has dropped a lot of less-than-sublte hints around Agnes recently and hopes she might be able to coax Rios into getting back to a hobby he once loved.

Steward himself dreams of a time when they'll all be sitting around a campfire on the holodeck, or maybe in the open cargo bay with sand from the beach they landed on blowing up the loading ramp, and him playing the guitar as they all sing campfire songs and make smores and stockbrot.

Until then, he is going to make sure Sirena's access to the various Federation audio libraries is always running smoothly, the holodeck is perfectly calibrated and stocked to cater to everyone's needs, and their various music collections are kept in whatever way is most fitting to the individual crew member, holographic or otherwise. Because he is in charge of the welfare of every soul La Sirena, and if that means occasionally reassuring Emmet (or Rios) that he definitely s the only one besides Steward who knows about the collection of whale songs and reassuring him nobody will ever find out he likes to fall asleep to them, or helping Emil or Enoch workshop another fan letter or scathing blog post, or running simulations on Ian's latest music genres to make sure they won't wilt the botniculas, then that's all the music he needs.

--

This was fun! I was gonna apologize for the length of this, but then I doubt you mind, do you? 😁

Thank you so much for the opportunity to write about my favourite gaggle of hyper-competent idiots and their various exploits! This was a great way to do some worldbuilding and micro-fic-writing even when full ficlets seem out of reach, and I'm realy grateful for the inspiration!

If anyone else wants to know more: Send Me Star Trek Asks 💗 (Or alternatively: send me holo-asks! I'm alsways delighted to write stuff like this!)

#star trek la sirena #star trek picard #holo squad #emil (emh) #enoch (enh) #steward (ehh) #mister hospitality (ehh) #emmet (eth) #ian (eeh) #cristobal rios #agnes jurati #raffi musiker #(briefly) #i love all of them SO MUCH!!!! #music #ask mem #@song-spero #seriously: thank you for this!!

[nicklloydnow]

Gwyneth Paltrow photograph by Ellen Von Unwerth for ‘Bustle’ (October 2023)

“A Tantric ritual: during the initiation ceremony, you are given a mirror in which you see your own image. Contemplating it, you realize you are nothing but that, i.e., nothing.

To what end, so many pretenses, so many airs and graces, when it is so easy to comprehend one's insignificance?” - Emil Cioran, ‘Drawn and Quartered’ (1979) [p. 91]

“So who’s going to buy Goop and make you hundreds of millions of dollars?

I have no idea. We’re not ready to sell yet. I need a few more years.

Maybe you could make a dramatic exit on your 55th birthday.

I’d be happy with that.

Sail off into the sunset.

I will literally disappear from public life. No one will ever see me again.

You think that’s true?

Yes.

You don’t get any pleasure from having to do that side of it?

No. I don’t.

What does your professional pleasure come from?

Creating, collaborating, being struck with new ideas, innovating, thinking ahead, strategy, vision, that kind of thing.

Are you motivated by money?

Unfortunately not. I could never get attracted to the really rich guy... And I don’t make choices to build value in the wrong way. I’ve always done independent films. I don’t know. Money has never been my thing. It’s never been my driver.”

“Gwyneth really is the gift that keeps on giving.

Just when you think she can't outdo herself, here comes yet another interview in which she makes all kinds of crazy, contradictory proclamations from an alternate universe.

(…)

Anyway, back to Gwyneth. Despite having spent the bulk of her adult life as a red carpet figure who accepted InStyle's award for Style Icon in 2015 — wearing Schiaparelli couture, no less — Gwyneth hates getting dressed up and having her picture taken, just hates it.

(…)

Yes, let's all sympathize as we look at these portraits of Gwyneth looking ecstatically at herself in a mirror as she applies red lipstick. As she poses suggestively in her underwear and six-inch Louboutin heels. Who is she kidding?

(…)

Whither the Gwyneth who said, 'I am who I am. I can't pretend to be somebody who makes $25,000 a year'?

At least that Gwyneth felt honest. An elitist, insufferable snob, yes, but an honest one.

Here though, we have a Gwyneth who is actively trying to court the woman who makes $25,000 a year. The point of this interview, don't you know, is to plug her new, lower-priced Goop skincare line through — gasp! — Amazon and Target.

Now, if you think this is meant to bring Goop to the masses, don't be silly.

'I just didn't approach it like . . . 'Let's go mass,' Gwyneth says.

What other reason could there be? It's a tautology: You go mass-market to reach the mass-market.

(…)

Once engaged to Brad Pitt and the ex-wife of Chris Martin, a millionaire many, many times over thanks to Coldplay, Gwyneth says here that, 'I could never get attracted to the really rich guy.'

An actress best known to generations of moviegoers for her role opposite Robert Downey Jr. in the 'Iron Man' franchise: 'I've always done independent films. Money has never been my thing. It's never been my driver.'

Strewn throughout is one of my favorite tics in a celebrity profile: the unnecessary use of big words, especially ones meant to evoke business school: When Gwyneth was getting divorced, she says, she didn't just talk to her friends — she embarked on 'data collection.'

She and her team didn't think about doing a lower-priced line; it was something they 'ideated.' Her serums and lotions just don't work; they're 'efficacious.'

There's an unjustified shot at 'the patriarchy' for the pressure women feel, she says, to be busy all the time, as well as the term 'nepo baby.'

'Nobody rips on a kid who's like, 'I want to be a doctor like my dad and grandad,' she gripes.

Well, no, because to become a doctor one must pass exams and do residencies and, you know, prove oneself as smart enough to be trusted with human life. But let's mourn for the children of Malibu, with their modeling gigs and influencer deals, spared the rigors of the meritocracy.

(…)

And those moms out there working three jobs and struggling to afford child care — well, they can't relate, but Gwynnie is hoping you'll try her new Goop treatments priced for the poor people out there — the $24.99 eye serum or the $19.99 glycolic acid toner.”

#cioran #emil cioran #drawn and quartered #gwyneth paltrow #tantra #mirror #nothing #bustle #ellen von unwerth #goop #callahan #maureen callahan

[heres-to-all-that-is-mine]

oh and also how would your OCs react to being hugged?

What, all of them? /silly

Assuming you mean recent ones…

Fidel would go along with it, but push you away after a “reasonable” amount of time. It’s really only a thing he tolerates.

Emile is a touch starved little thing (“little” being entirely inaccurate here) and would enjoy it for as long as they think they can get away with, before common sense kicks in and they push away the total stranger. Deeply embarrassed but also… it feels nice!

Zed has a “does nobody respect personal space!?” Attitude, but also has to remain polite, so it’s a sort of “okay, okay, that’s enough buddy” routine with a pat on the shoulder and slightly less than polite prying to get you off. (He will be thinking about it for hours, though - despite his attitude, the guy’s also pretty touch starved.)

Dee isn’t a very “huggy” person, but they’re also slightly nicer than Zed, so they’ll allow it for a little while before wriggling away if it seems like the other person needs it or something. Overly excited hugging earns a gentle but firm push by the shoulders.

Mathis loves it, for the simple reason that it’s attention given freely to them. However, when it becomes more bothersome than pleasant, they’ll pick you up and put you aside like a particularly rowdy kitten.

Chief… will tolerate it for as long as it seems like you’ll need it. They’re trying to be a gentleman, insofar as they can, though he’ll get uncomfortable.

#purples rambling #A. Fidel #Zed Keel | Zadkiel #Dee #Othello Mathis #chief

[followerofmercy]

For the game ask thingy.... how about 3, 6, 16, and 27?

From this game here:

3: Best game you’ve ever played?

aaaa by what criteria? For most fun gameplay wise, Monster Hunter 3u. For most fun concept, Viva Pinata: Trouble in Paradise. Story, Undertale. Overall enjoyment, Legend of Zelda: Wind Waker.

6: A game that’s changed you the most?

I think this weird little playstation game called Scaler was very formative to how I feel about animals now. It's about a boy who cares a LOT about lizards and gets transported into a reptile-dominated world while also getting to take on the forms of different reptiles. It's the first game I can remember that I was obsessed over.

16: Character you’ve hated most? From what game?

I have a pretty strong dislike for Dr. Ratio from Honkai: Star Rail, but my opinion of him is changing as I realize he actually cares a little bit about people dsaljf. I also thought Emile from Halo: Reach was a bit of a dickhead but, again, warmed up to him over time.

27: Has there ever been a moment that has made you cry?

Oh, tons. I cried in FFX when Yuna danced to send the departed, when Auron sat in pain at the gate of the Farplane and in a really meta moment when Yuna was the only character I had with an ultimate weapon. She'd outgrown all of her guardians and I was so touched aslfd

I've cried three times in Honkai: Star Rail in the last week! There was a point where a lady is trying to kill herself and you have to hold onto her. She snaps back that you don't just get to play hero in this one moment and leave her to suffer later and that... That fucked me up a bit. Aventurine also has a pre-recorded message on joining that party shortly after, again, killing himself (?). Then there was Aventurine's onscreen mental breakdown! I think Focalors's death in Genshin also got some waterworks.

Also Six's death in Reach. It was a GOOD ending. Shame they only made Halo 1-4 and Reach and then just stopped. Felt like they were going somewhere.

Oh and Minecraft has made me cry as a teenager! I opened up a new survival world, thought about how I have literally more virtual world than I could possibly explore myself with nobody in it and felt so overwhelmed with loneliness that I had to close the game asldfjsdfa.

#fomasks #things have gotten much better on the loneliness front #but i did kinda realize that I was using video games as an escape from reality from ages 6-16 #and that ten year period Really kinda fucked me up #I mean #there was fuckall else I could've been doing #was a good use of time #made good friends #I still get some existential dread if I play a game for too long tho asdlfkj #also realizing I have not played as many video games as I thought I had

[matt0044]

So Miraculous The Movie was a blast and a half, especially as a fan.

I find that it makes for an interesting contrast to the head-written Miraculous TV series by Thomas Astruc to the movie here head-written by Jeremy Zag. To the point that you can see aspects of the PV and initial pitch bible reintegrated.

The mechanics of the main leads’ Miraculous are obviously retooled to fit with the movie’s self-contained narrative. You have Chat Noir’s Cataclysm being freely used without the time limit set for minor bearers and Ladybug’s Yo-Yo having a mind of its own.

Also Plagg’s burps are, erm, downwind so... give and take?

You also have Hawk Moth’s Akuma not infecting any objects but rather going into their bodies and their proverbial hearts. To get them out, you gotta punch the evil really hard out of them.

Works for the movie’s mechanics buuuuut I prefer the clever tactics of the TV series where they have to get the object off of the victim and break it. Here, it would feel like they just got lucky (in a less satisfying way).

Hawk Moth also seems to gather potential villains from Paris’s thieves and low time burglars, people nobody would supposedly miss. Though it does seem exaggerate for the musical sequence, that does seem like a good adaptation for often standing in his lair.

One contrast it also does is have Gabriel soften up and even step down when he sees Adrien is Chat Noir. A direct contrast to the Season 5 finale which I ponder if they held off to time them close together. It makes sense here since it’s over a shorter time and Hawk Moth gets bold enough akumatizes himself along with the Miraculous, putting his true identity to the way side. The TV series shows him with a sunk cost fallacy.

The set up for Mayura is intriguing since this would be Nathelie operating on her own with Gabriel seeming to turn herself in. It doesn’t seem like she’s acting on Gabe’s behalf so what’s her motive?

I suppose the Peacock could still be damaged and Gabriel tries to talk her down from it, moving on from Emile.

That said, there is one crime that the film can never be forgiven for… not having Cristina Vee sing her own parts.

Lou is a great singer but come on, use your lead actress’s singing chops! What’s her YouTube channel from?

#miraculous #miraculous ladybug #ladybug #miraculous movie #ladybug movie #miraculous movie spoilers #marinette dupen chang #adrien agreste #gabriel agreste #nathalie sancoeur #zagtoon #jeremy zag #thomas astruc #miraculous awakening

[thepalmofyourfreezinghand]

Hey I send you an ask a while back but I think it got lost amongst all the craziness. As you are a lover of classic literature what do you think would be good books if someone wants to start reading classics and are ‘easy’ to get into.

Ive started reading The Count of Monte Cristo- not exactly an easy read, I know, but my favourite actor is portraying the lead protagonist and so I think that makes it a lot easier for me to get into it

Thanks for taking the time ❤️

I'm so sorry, anon! Yeah, the past couple of weeks things have been kinda crazy hahaha.

TCoMC is a veeeeery long read, but Dumas is also what I like to call a "beach read" for the classics, so it's not really too hard to get into it, imo: lots of adventures, easy dialogue, and not too much introspection. That being said, yeah, it's still very long (and I sometimes struggle with very long novels). But if you feel like it absolutely read it all the way through! It's easier to read a difficult book you wanna read than to read an easy book you're not interested in, imo.

Here are a couple of suggestions of "easy" books:

Thérèse Raquin (Emile Zola). This is the story of a woman who convinces her lover to kill her husband (this is not a spoiler, it's the premise of the novel). She's profoundly dissatisfied with her life and she thinks that by getting rid of her husband she can get the life she wants, but, as it turns out, that's not what happens. She gets together officially with her lover and she's left even more dissatisfied than she was before. And, even though they never get caught for their murder, they pay the consequences of their actions in much more dire ways. Full disclosure, Zola was an exponent of the current of naturalism, and this novel is his biggest example of that. It's full of very realistic and detailed descriptions of cadavers, for example. It's nothing you can't digest (it was the XIX century, after all, although this novel was VERY criticized when it was released for how crude and realistic it was), but just beware of that. Overall, it's a short novel (around 220 pages), it's very well written, and Zola poured his entire soul in it, defying the expectations of his time. He just wrote the lives of these people as objectively as he could, without moralizing in any way, and it's such a breath of fresh air for our modern eyes.

Chronicle of a death foretold (Gabriel Garcìa Marquez). This is another story about a murder, I'm sorry, I swear I didn't do it on purpose haha. But it's very different: instead of Zola's dry objectivity, here we have Marquez's dreamy and evocative prose. We're in sun-drenched Latin America, and the Vicario brothers are looking to seek revenge against Santiago Nasar, who supposedly took their sister's virginity, which, in turn, made the sister's new husband leave her on their wedding night. The brothers are almost "forced" to kill Santiago, largely due to the patriarchal society they live in, but they seem to not want to. They spend hours telling multiple people in their town about their plan, almost "hoping" that someone will stop them, but that doesn't happen, because nobody really believes them. It's a story of love and revenge and morality and Marquez perfectly paints the atmosphere of the pueblo: you can picture the small houses and the old shops and the burning sun. There's a layer of anxiety throughout the whole novel and the end just leaves you breathless. It's even shorter than Thérèse Raquin and soooo well-written!

#books #classic literature