#the old taylor is dead because you fucking killed her

[straightfromthetorturedpoetsdept]

Let's talk about how in dear John, she said that he painted her a blue sky but then turned it to Grey and in his emotionally abusive response to her, he said that someone was going to "paint her another sky" and in bigger than the whole sky, she admits that the sky he ended up giving her was her fucking eating disorder and if that doesn't turn the whole situation into another ordeal of fucked up, especially knowing what we know about Jake dating her literally right after and how no doubt that worsened her ED and how the entire song is her calling herself the sky, and saying goodbye to pre john taylor swift because he killed her.... I'm literally going to be fucking sick

#the old taylor is dead because you fucking killed her #bigger than the whole sky #im actually even more upset that you guys thought it was about a baby ?? #yall are dumbasses and losers honestly #dont even get me started on if I was some paint

[seeingivy]

funeral

actor!eren x f!reader

**part of my method acting fic

content: depictions of grief, talk of addiction/anxiety

an: i am alive (mostly). eat your cake, even though I think it Is bad (this chapter was the hardest to write, right next to the "the third act" chapter

songs mentioned: marjorie by taylor swift

previous part linked here

--

“What are you thinking, Eren?” Hange asks. 

The question is stupid. Eren is thinking of the only logical conclusion that he can draw from the autopsy report. The implication of it, of how Marco really died, is sitting right in front of him.

The patient is a twenty-three year old Caucasian male with no significant medical history. Emergency services responded to the scene of a motor vehicle crash around nine p.m. At the scene, responders found that the patient was trapped in the vehicle, upturned on the side of the road, with no pulse at the time of arrival. Patient was declared dead on scene. Autopsy concluded that primary cause of death was asphyxiation, secondary cause being severe loss of blood due to injuries in the extremities. 

“I’m thinking that the paparazzi killed him, Hange.” Eren spits. 

“Eren.” 

“Hange, don’t. Just-” Levi mutters, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

Levi’s eyes are borderline gaunt. Eren knows the past few days have sat horribly on Levi’s shoulders and perhaps the past year and a half have too. 

The guilt is excruciating. Because all Eren knows how to do is ruin people.

He dragged Levi and Hange into his mess, when he asked them for help. But it had gone too far at that point, the interview, the night on the beach, the fight - he had exhausted all ends and desperately needed someone on his side. 

Levi and Hange all but berated him for it. For letting it get so far, for waiting so long when he should have known that they were always there to help. But this reaction, Levi being the one to side with his outburst is proof enough that he made the wrong choice, that he should have stuck with himself. That them bending backwards and forwards to get him out of his mess has truly taken its toll. 

Levi and Hange always mimicked him and you. Eren and Hange, he knows they both have a tendency to get so lost in the emotion, to feel it so deep that the response is too loud, too much for what’s called for. That’s when you and Levi would come in, to soothe them down and bring them back to Earth. 

In the same vein, you and Levi, you planted your weeds too deep into the ground. Rooted in exactly what he’s not quite sure - perhaps misplaced insecurities, whatever the two of you seemed to hide in those deep inner walls - but it kept you both stagnant, stuck where you were. That’s where Hange and Eren came in, pushing you both to soar a little bit higher than what you imagined for yourself. 

But now Levi’s here, all but exhausted and broken, the same way he’s sure you were. That’s why things got so fucked up. Eren didn’t let you pull him down. He didn’t pull you up. 

“They killed him, Hange.” Levi states, tone void of any emotion. 

“Levi. It’s almost midnight, we’re all feeling emotional right now. We should look at this all with a clear mind tomorrow.” 

“They killed him. There is nothing to look at.” Levi says, enunciating every inflection of his words. 

Eren knows it for a fact. And from the look on Hange’s face, he knows they do too. His train of thought is cut off by the knocking - rapid, loud consecutive knocks slamming against the wood. 

“God, Eren. Go get it now before they run off with our food.” Hange murmurs, gesturing towards the door. 

Eren shuffles past the length of the hallway and swings open the door to find not his UberEats bag, but Lana, out of breath and panting on his doorstep. 

“Ew. You just left two hours ago. Why are you back already?” 

“Eren. Oh my god.” 

Lana wraps her arms around him, squeezing hard, as she cries into his shoulder. Her demeanor settles an immediate panic under his skin. The last time she reacted like this, Eren had to watch the most gut wrenching interview of his life while she held his hand. God knows whatever she’s about to tell him now is going to break him.

Eren brings his hands up and grabs her shoulders, applying pressure to stop her from shaking in his arms. 

“Lana. What’s wrong with you? Why are you-”

“Eren. I’m so sorry, you- I’m here for you, okay? Whatever you need, just-just say it.” she pants, hiccuping in between her tears.

Eren frowns, wrapping his arm around her shoulder and pulling her out of the cold Seattle air into the kitchen where Hange and Levi are cooking by the stove. 

“Hi Lana Bear! How are you, kid?” Hange says, all but bouncing over to wrap their arms around Lana. 

This only upsets Lana more, the discomfort worsening in Eren’s chest as he can’t help but stare at her, at her brown eyes turning almost red from the downpour of her tears and the tension sitting in her shoulders. 

“What is it? Who died?” 

The question, when Eren asks it, is entirely rhetorical. A figure of speech, meant to emphasize that Lana’s reaction was extreme, too obscene for whatever it is she must be talking about. But when she doesn’t respond and swallows hard, the look on her face so crestfallen, Eren’s chest settles into a panic. 

His first thought is you. 

“Lana. Is she dead? What are you-” 

Lana scrambles for the remote on the counter, switching from the Disney Channel to the first news report she can find. The image is of an overturned car, the metal crushed and steaming in the front, accompanied with words that burn Eren’s ears. The first hit is relief - that it’s not you. The second hit is painful, like the air’s been sucked out of his lungs. 

Because it’s Marco. 

“What?” Levi says, taking his eyes off the stove to glance at the screen. 

Eren can feel his phone incessantly buzzing in his pocket and he reaches for it immediately, Lana leaning into his side as she continues to cry into his shoulder. Levi and Hange are moving closer to the television, like that’ll somehow make the sound better, the image clearer, like they’ll be able to find falsity in it. 

jean: the bodt’s said the funeral is going to be near the old house. ask levi and hange if we can all stay in the townhouse together. 

bertholdt: reiner and i are heading over tonight. 

sukuna: Let me know if you need anything. Give the paparazzi hell for this one. 

connie: i’m coming back to seattle. i-i don’t know if i can do this. 

Eren’s quick to respond to that one. 

eren: i’ve got you man. meet us in new york as soon as you can, we’re all going to stay at the townhouse. don’t leave sasha’s side until you get there okay?

connie: alright. okay, thanks. 

eren: phone is on. 

“This is bullshit. How do they know it’s him?” Levi says angrily, hands crossed over his chest. 

“Levi.” Hange says, voice nearly cracking. 

“No, I’m being fucking serious. How do they know that this guy is our Marco? There’s no proof. Call the Bodt’s right now.” Levi says, pacing the kitchen for where he left his phone. 

Eren frowns, his head racing as Levi walks the length of the kitchen and Hange settles into their immediate panic.

“Eren.” Lana says. 

“Hm?” 

“I have to tell you something. You’re going to hate it. I-” 

“Just tell me, Lana. No-no beating around the bush.” 

“The paparazzi…got to him first before the police.” she whispers. 

“What?” Eren says, through gritted teeth as his head all but short circuits. 

“They knew it was his car, he’d been driving it around that part of Nashville for a while. They were probably just following him to get pictures wherever he was going. But then he-he crashed and-” 

“And what? They took pictures of it? Of him?” Eren asks, squeezing Lana’s shoulders too hard. 

“Yeah. They-they only called the police when they were done, Eren. I-” 

The tears fill Eren’s eyes as the implication cuts deep. It all but sears the air in his lungs, the tears welling so fast that it’s already obstructing his vision. All he can feel is Lana’s hands, squeezing his biceps, as he tries to control the heaving in his chest. 

“How long?” 

“Eren.” she says, tone so pitiful it makes his blood boil. 

“How long, Lana?” he asks, voice cracking. 

“It took them forty-five minutes to get there. They would have been there in fifteen.” she whispers. 

And now, the autopsy report tells him enough. With a definitive resolve that the paparazzi killed Marco. Because he died from asphyxiation, from being twisted in the metal, not getting any air. And if the police had gotten there maybe a moment earlier, a second faster, they could have gotten him out, could have at least made sure he was breathing. 

They wanted a picture. Marco died for it. 

The anger surges through Eren, tenfold when he remembers the paparazzi lining up Jean and Mikasa’s engagement party, Falco’s school, his house the day his grandpa died. When you walked into his garage, drenched from the rain with a deep cut on your face and skidded knees, scared to death. 

“I’m done sugarcoating, Hange. Eren is right. They killed Marco.” Levi responds. 

Hange sighs, leaning against the counter as Eren walks up to them, resting his head against their shoulder. They all stand there in silence, not even seventy-two hours after the fact, and it still hasn’t hit Eren. 

In full flesh, that Marco is gone. 

The rapid knocking on the door, real this time, breaks him out of his thoughts. 

“Probably Zeke or Armin. I’ve got it.” he murmurs. 

“Thanks kid.” 

Eren watches as Levi sinks into Hange’s arms, sighing as he shuffles to the door and flicks on the porch light. He swings it open and immediately feels his throat tighten, fully constricted, at the sight of you standing in the lamplight. 

You’re looking up at him, swallowing hard, as you stare into his eyes and all Eren can do is wonder if your brain is short circuiting as much as his is. Surely, it isn’t. Eren has every reason to be embarrassed, to be ashamed. And you don’t. 

For posterity, he fights all instincts, every urge in his body, to reach forward and hold you. To let your sweet flowery smell take over his nose, to settle his face into that crook in your neck, to have your soft, soft touch running over his skin. To let the mountain of emotions he’s been carrying fall, because you’re here. 

But he can’t. 

“Hi Eren.” 

“Y/N.” 

He can’t help but inspect every micro-movement, every gesture you make. Your eyes are nearly glassing over with tears and you’re nervously fidgeting with your fingers. You’ve dropped your gaze to focus on the ground, a habit you always had when you were sad, as your voice breaks into the air. 

“Can I ask you something? Please?” you whisper. 

He reaches forward, hands on your shoulders, squeezing once and praying to god you remember what it means, as he nods. 

That he’s here and he’s got you. 

“Anything. What is it?” 

“Is he dead?” 

Maybe not anything. 

He can’t be the one to tell you. You of all people that Marco died, at the hands of the paparazzi. The same paparazzi who in your very pointed words, gutted your first love like a fish. Who were partly to blame, who drove you out of here alongside him. 

“Y/N.” 

“Is he?” you repeat, voice smaller. 

“Okay. Let’s go inside, you-”

“Is Marco dead, Eren? I’m asking you a question.” 

Your anger in your voice is enough to make him stop in his tracks, the second time your voice is laced with that animosity that it scares him into responding. He hears it, in his worst hours, echoing in his mind. 

How many times are you going to keep breaking shit without any care in the world? The camera, the fucking award you picked over me, Connie’s fucking livelihood, my heart. God, Eren. All you’ve ever cared about is yourself. From the start.

He swallows hard. 

“Yes. Marco’s dead.” 

And you don’t even know the half of it. 

He watches your glass tears, the ones sitting right on the edge of your eyelashes, fall in full force, onto your cheeks as you immediately start hiccuping, hands clasped against your chest. 

“I-I saw it on the news. I-I didn’t believe it but I- They always lie about stuff. I thought it was the same as that and-” 

“Y/N, come ins-” 

Your panic sets in so fast, so quick that Eren doesn’t even register it. Because one second you’re panting and the next Eren’s watching you retch onto the grass Connie mowed this morning. Eren pushes you into the house the second you stop, straight to the kitchen where Levi and Hange are still standing in their spots. 

“Wait, is that-” 

“Do you guys know if we have something like…anti-nausea? Is that what you do when someone throws up or-” Eren asks. 

“Is that Y/N?” Levi asks. 

“Yeah, she-she was on the porch, I-” 

Levi’s quick to walk up, hands on your shoulders as he talks, voice quiet and calm when he speaks near your ear. Hange moves to Eren’s side, her face wearing that concerned look she gives him too much these days, as they both rummage through the cabinets for anything that could help. 

“Y/N. You okay?” Levi asks. 

“I-I threw up on the-the porch. On the g-grass. So-sorry.” 

“It’s just grass. What’s-” 

Eren tries to still it - that pounding in his heart - as he walks over with the glass of water he filled up for you. Your hands must be wobbling too much because Eren doesn’t let the glass go, instead tilting your head up softly with his hands and pouring the water into your mouth. 

“Hey. Drink some more for me.” Eren states, voice soft as he instinctively reaches forward to fix the hairs sticking to the sweat beading your forehead, feeling your skin burning under his touch. 

“We should take her temperature.” Eren says. 

Levi and Hange dart out of the room, to the drawer upstairs where the thermometer is, as Eren takes breaks between helping you drink the water and rubbing circles into your back. 

Eren can feel every muscle in his body tense, his skin burning when you lean forward, forehead resting against his chest as you groan out in pain. 

“Hey. You with me?” Eren asks, murmuring straight into your hair. 

Eren feels your breathing still against him, his hands intuitively wrapping around you this time, cradling the back of your head in his hands. You hum in response to his question, which is a good enough answer for Eren now.  

“Found it.” Levi says, all but speed walking as Eren spins you around, watching as Levi meticulously pushes your sweaty hair out of your face and holds the sensor against your head. You’re all standing there in silence, craning over the little plastic as the two consecutive beeps go off. 

“98.6. You’re okay, Y/N.” Levi mutters, setting the thermometer back on the table. 

“Thank you, Levi.” you respond back, rubbing your arms on your biceps as you stare at the two of them, withdrawn and withholding from you. 

Granted, you’d do the same. You wouldn’t rush to their arms either if they ignored you for two years. 

“You can take this for nausea. If it happens again.” Hange says, placing a bottle in your hands. 

“Sure. Thank you, Hange.” you respond. 

The silence hangs in the air between the four of you as you stand there, each of you racking your heads for the right thing to say. Eren wants to tell Levi and Hange to stop being so rude, that they were the ones who were begging you to come back and now that you’re here they won’t even talk to you. Levi and Hange are debating which one of them should yell at you first, for being withdrawn from them and not asking for help the way Eren did. And you’re figuring out who you should apologize to first, between the three of them. 

None of you break. Because it’s not the right time. Because Marco is dead. 

“Everyone is sleeping together upstairs. There should be an extra air mattress up there, Eren will get it for you….knock if you need something.” Levi says, tone exasperated as he shuffles away. 

“Welcome back, kid.” 

Hange gives you a full smile as they follow him, leaving you and Eren in the kitchen. The distance Levi is putting in between you and him stings, but you swallow the burn and remind yourself that you’re the one who inflicted it on yourself. 

At the time, after the interview, the rationale made more sense. Nonsensically, you decided that you were done with the industry and that, by proxy, meant that you were done with them too. You did your interview and stuck to your word, never looked back. 

It’s humiliating now. Debilitating thinking about how much you must have hurt them. Because each of them, they continually reached out until it stopped. Mikasa made every effort to have you come to her engagement party, that she would even stop the press from coming for Vogue the way they had planned for you. 

And when you didn’t show, all she did was send you pictures, of her and Jean cutting the cake and of the dress she had bought for you to wear. Hange and Levi were so vigilant about it, on making sure that you were okay, that you had security details, that people really were leaving you alone. You didn’t heed any of their efforts, because for all intents and purposes, you were leaving the girl you were behind. 

Her dreams, the love she held, the friends she had. 

It seems stupid now. It seems incredibly and gut-wrenchingly stupid that your last words to Marco were over two years ago because you were punishing him for something that wasn’t his fault. That you can’t go to any of them for comfort because the thing that they need comfort from is you. 

All you know how to do is ruin people. 

“Are you hungry? Or do you want to go to bed?” Eren asks. 

“I can go to bed. Levi said air mattress?” 

“Yeah, we’re all sleeping together in the loft upstairs.” 

“We?” you ask. 

“Mikasa and Jean are here. Ymir and Hisu, Bertholdt and Reiner, Connie and Sash. Everyone else should be getting in tomorrow.” 

Eren pads towards the stairs and you awkwardly follow, crawling up the stairs behind him. You can hear the loud chatter of voices, talking over each other, as you try to catch the ends of their conversation. 

“But where do they go when you pee?” Sasha asks. 

“Fuck do you mean, where do they go?” Reiner says, voice incredulous. 

“Like in the bowl? Because if you’re sitting on the toilet, they have to go somewhere?” Sasha repeats. 

“Sasha. It’s almost one in the morning. Please stop talking about balls.” Ymir groans, earning a good amount of laughs from the group. 

“Eren, tell them all to shut the fuck up.” Jean groans, forearm over his eyes as he and Mikasa roll around on their mattress. 

Eren looks at you, eyes weary, before he turns to respond to them. 

“Y/N’s here.”

They all peek their heads up, curious eyes falling on you, as you give them a halfhearted smile, trying your best to wipe your sweaty palms on the back of your dress. 

“Hi guys.” 

The silence is deafening. You can’t pick what’s worse - Reiner and Bertholdt squinting their eyes at you or Mikasa and Jean refusing to look at you. 

Mikasa and Jean. 

Historia stands up, strutting over from her air mattress, to wrap her arms around you, the pressure of the hug so hard you can barely breathe. You breathe in her smell, spicy and sharp the way it’s always been, as she pulls away. Her warm hand is resting on your cheek, the smile on her face so genuine that it untangles the smallest parts of discomfort on your chest. 

“Hi princess. Missed you.” 

“Thanks, Hisu. I missed you too.” 

That’s always been the thing about Historia. That she’ll pick up, even when you haven’t called her in two years, and run to your aid. 

“How’d you know we were here?” Jean asks, hands resting on his knees. 

“I asked Historia.” you respond. 

“Told you I was her favorite. She reached out to me before you.” Historia mutters, flopping back onto the air mattress she’s sharing with Ymir. 

“You’re so arrogant, Historia. And full of shit.” Jean responds, rolling his eyes.

“You’re so right, Jean-Boy. This is just like what we fought about earlier.” Connie responds. 

The group of them break out into an argument, Historia looking like she’s full on about to wrestle Connie as he only instigates her on. Mikasa’s already resting with her eyes closed as Jean turns pink in the face from his irritations. 

And you can’t help but laugh, warm tingling in your chest at all of them, wholeheartedly the same. You look over at Eren and smile, which he returns. But despite it all, that stillness, that outsider feeling sits in your skin. Because despite them being the same, the striking differences in the room tell you things are wholeheartedly different too. 

“Okay. Where’s the extra air mattress?” Eren asks. 

Connie turns, eyes wide, as he gives the two of you a sheepish smile. 

“Really funny story. Sooooo….” 

“God. What did you do?” Eren groans. 

“Long story short, I was thinking about waterbeds. If you pop a water bed, it should be like a waterfall right? So if it’s an air mattress, it should be like an inflatable air balloon thing. Like the weird noodle guys at the car store? Right? So, I tried to pop it. And succeeded.” Connie responds, rambling. 

“Was it cool?” you ask. 

“Ugh. Not at all, princess.” Connie responds. 

You smile, perhaps bigger than you should at Connie using your old nickname, as Eren starts yelling at him. 

“You should be the one to sleep on the floor since you’re the one who ruined the mattress.” Eren states. 

“She should sleep on the floor. She got here last!” Connie responds. 

“She just threw up. And she wasn’t going to sleep on the floor regardless.” 

“Is she contagious?” Connie responds. 

“Connie!” 

Eren rolls his eyes as Mikasa stands up, shuffling to your side and lightly tugging your arm. You look at her, taking her shorter hair in, as you give her a smile. 

“Hey. Want to go change? Your old clothes should still be here, don’t know how well they’ll fit.” 

Eren breaks out of his conversation, leaning forward to where the two of you are talking, to interject. 

“What’s mine is yours. Take mine if you need to.” he says, before returning in full flesh to the argument he’s having with Connie. You can tell they’re both joking from the way they’re trying not to laugh as you start to walk away. 

The two of you quietly pad down the length to the two doors, directly across from each other, as you take in the scribbled signs switched. Your old room now reads Jean and Mikasa with Connie’s handwriting scribbled underneath inscribing please fuck quietly on the door. And consequently, Eren’s room now reads Eren and Y/N with Sasha’s handwriting scribbled underneath reading yall are fucked UP for this. 

You turn to Mikasa and give her a weird look. 

“Right. We’ve been here for a week, actually. Table reading season four stuff. Jean and I want to share a room so we moved all of his stuff to your room and your stuff to Eren’s room. We’ll put it back.” Mikasa states, pushing open the door to Eren’s room as she starts rummaging through your old drawers in the closet. 

“No, no. It’s okay. I wouldn’t want to impose on you guys when you’re almost about to be newlyweds?” you ask. 

“Yeah. Yeah, next year. And we just moved it because we thought you weren’t going to come back. And Eren didn’t want to toss your stuff and all.” she responds. She pulls out a shirt, most definitely from when you’re fifteen, as you both snicker at the size and she keeps digging. 

You walk around Eren’s room, your room too now, as you eye all the boxes filled with your things, tangled in with Eren’s clothes lying around on every open surface. You take a seat at his desk as you start inspecting his little bulletin board, the pictures underneath the pins. 

One of him, Lana, and Sukuna - the three of them smoldering at the camera. Eren and Connie smiling, Eren and a little kid with short curly hair, and two pictures of you. The first one is of you and him sleeping on set and the other is the two of you with Falco, both of you crouching down to his height and hugging him from behind.

And hanging around both of the pins are your friendship bracelets, which you take off the hooks to inspect. 

So that’s where it went. In all of the fire of moving around so much, jumping from one place to another, you always thought you lost it. But you must have left it here all along.

You run your hands over the beads, yours and Eren’s names, as Mikasa gives you a head shake, indicating she didn’t find anything. 

“S’okay. I’ll look through Eren’s stuff I guess.” you murmur. 

Mikasa nods as she leans against Eren’s desk, hands crossed over her chest, as the silence hangs in between the two of you. She takes one of the bracelets from your hands, twisting the beads in her fingers, as you do the same with yours. 

You find solace in the fact that Mikasa is still wearing her engagement ring - a constant in the sparring mix of changes you just witnessed in the room. 

Connie sober. Ymir and Historia sharing a mattress. Eren and Connie getting along. Mikasa and Jean even tolerating being in the same room as Eren. In the same room as you. And the jarring absence of Marco. 

“How are you?” Mikasa asks. 

“Okay, Mika. How are you?” 

Mikasa sinks down, sitting flat on the floor as she hikes her knees to her chest. You follow suit, dropping from your chair to sit next to her, lacing your arm through hers as you both blankly stare at the floor ahead of you, picking what topic to broach first. 

I missed you. I’m sorry I haven’t talked to  you in two years. Our friend is dead. Eren is here. 

“The engagement party looked beautiful, Mikasa.” 

She smiles, leaning her head against yours. 

“Thank you, Y/N. It was quite nice actually.” 

“I watched it on Vogue. Cried quite a bit.” you respond. 

She laughs, rolling her eyes at you as she lightly shoves you. 

“Should’ve come then. Cried in real time.” 

You swallow hard, cheeks warm, as you squeeze her hand. You know she’s joking, but the guilt runs too deep. 

“I’m sorry for not coming. I-I really wish I was there. And I know there’s no justification for it but-” 

“We aren’t mad at you. Jean and I.” she clarifies. 

“I’d understand if you were. I’m your best friend. I’ve-I’ve been with you guys since the start and-” 

Mikasa’s hands are soft on your shoulders, tears gathering in her eyes, as she looks at you, eyes pinched in pain.

“You had every right to not come. To be done with this. What they did to you, to Eren- Y/N, god.” 

You swallow hard. 

“It didn’t warrant me not coming to you-” 

“It did. You don’t even know the half of it. You-you and Eren. You just-” 

There’s a knocking at the door and Eren pads in, eyes wide as he sees you and Mikasa on the floor, tears gathered in her eyes and your limbs tangled together. 

“Oh, I’m sorry. I can come back.” 

“No, no. It’s okay, Eren. Her clothes are too small. I can go grab mine for her if you two want to talk-” her words pointed, the emphasis on the last words hard. 

“No, don’t bother Mikasa.” he responds, disappearing into his closet to find a pair of clothes for you. 

Mikasa turns back to you, giving your cheek a pinch. 

“I’ll make Jean sleep on the floor if Connie doesn’t give up his mattress. It’ll be like old times.” she responds, shuffling out of the room as you stay on your spot on the floor.

You hike your knees to your chest as you twist the beads in your fingers again, Eren’s name that you used to wear on your wrist almost every day foreign in your fingers. 

“Eren. We’re going to be late.” you groan, impatiently tapping your foot on the ground as you wait for him by the door. 

The two of you are already thirty minutes late to Erwin’s going away party, the last car waiting to take the two of you, Marco, and Annie out to the little soiree that Erwin is throwing for himself - in celebration of him being killed off. 

“Sorry, sorry. Looking for my bracelet.” he responds, darting back and forth from different corners of the room. 

“Well, hurry up. Annie’s getting pissed.” 

“I found yours! But where is mine?” 

You look down at your wrist to find the pink beads on your wrist, spelling out your name against your pulse point in your wrist. 

“Oops, sorry. I’m wearing yours.” you respond. 

Eren’s quick to walk over to where you’re standing on the door - giving you enough time to groan at how haphazardly he got ready for the party. His tie is loose against his neck, hair all messy as you reach up to fix it. 

“God, Eren. At least brush your hair.” 

“Quit moving your hands.” 

Eren takes his hand in yours, quickly sliding the bracelet off your wrist and switching it with the one in his hand. 

“Well, get ready properly. Your tie isn’t even on right.” you respond, irritated as you reach forward to tighten the fabric and smooth down his collar. 

“And if I told you I put it on wrong just so you would fix it, what would you think?” 

“That you’re asking for a death sentence from Annie for wasting time.” 

He rolls his eyes, reaching up to lift the hand he just placed the bracelet on. His thumb is straight against your pulse point, blood pulsating under the spot, as he lifts his hand to leave a kiss right there. 

“And that it’s cute that you did that.” 

He gives you a wide grin, locking your hands together as you both rush out the door. 

Eren shuffles out, sitting across from you as he puts the stack of clothes between you and hikes his knees to his chest. He holds his hand out and you place the bracelet in his hand. 

“You left it in the bathroom.” 

You nod as you try to steady your mind - still running a hundred miles per hour and overstimulated from seeing everyone again. From how familiar it all feels, how easy it all is to fall back into this despite how different things are. 

How you and Eren are miles apart, how you haven’t talked to them all in months, how Marco is dead. That Marco’s death is suspending all of you in a weird state of reality, that every angry word spoken and every bit of harshness seems miniscule now.

“Do you want me to leave?” Eren asks. 

“No.” you shrug. 

“Do you want to talk?” 

“No.”

Eren nods, counting each of the beads on the bracelet, as you both sit there in the silence, letting your eyes float around the room as you let your mind wander. 

Marco and Colt playing chess everyday when he visited you in Canada, Marco falling for every stupid joke that Connie played on him, the way you all cried when Marco died in the show, Marco at the awards show. 

“Eren?” 

“Yes, Y/N?” 

“Do you remember the first time we kissed?” 

The question takes Eren off guard. He debates it then and there - telling you the truth full and whole - on the basis that he can’t handle the way you’re looking at him. At the fact that you even asked that, at the implication that you thought he could ever forget. 

“Of course. On set, in the-” 

“No, no. I mean, for real.” 

“At the awards show.” Eren responds, without a beat. 

“Yeah.” 

Eren leans forward, wrapping his hands around your neck and pressing his lips to yours. You can still feel people moving around you, setting up things for the closing part of the ceremony, but the only thing you’re paying attention to is Eren. And his lips. And the way he’s pulling you closer, like he can’t get enough of you. 

When you pull apart, you’re both panting, smiling at each other. 

“Thank god. If I got cock-blocked from kissing you a third time, I was actually going to commit a murder.” 

“You want me so bad.” you say, sarcastically. 

“Obviously.” 

You both smile and turn to the left, to a very smiley Marco staring at you two. And then you cringe, remembering that you and Eren are literally backstage and there’s like seven people who just watched you suck face. Marco walks up, wrapping his arms around both of you and hugging hard. 

“I love you guys.” 

“Marco. Don’t-” Eren starts.

“I’m not going to tell anyone. You need time to figure whatever is going on, without Connie and and Sasha up your ass the entire time. But I’m really, really happy for you.” 

“Really, Marco?” you ask, leaning into Eren’s touch. 

“It’s always been you guys. You guys better not break up or else I’ll come hunt both of you down. And if I’m dead, I’ll come back to life just to haunt you guys.” 

“Do you think he’s haunting us?” 

Eren frowns, the memory refreshing in his head. One he thought of a few days ago, lingering on the fact that Marco’s probably turning in grave right now. Granted, Marco was very vehement about his stance on you two - your interview and what Eren did, making Marco so agonizingly and uncharacteristically angry that it bothers him now. 

For not listening to him. That if he does ever get to cross that bridge with you, at least be your friend again, that Marco won’t ever know. 

“I just don’t understand why you won’t just go out there and tell her. You know where she lives.” Marco states, irritated. 

“Because I just can’t, Marco! You watched the interview!” 

“The entire song was about how she forgave you. How she isn’t holding a grudge against you. And-and the way she was talking about it, some part of her knows that other people had something to do with this, Eren. She knows deep down.” 

“The interview was fucking horrible. This entire thing, this thing that I did, fucked her up so bad that she isn’t even doing this anymore. This was all she wanted, ever since she was a kid, she-she was so determined and she gave it up because I said all those things, because I did what I did.” 

“Eren. It’s more compl-” 

“No, it’s not. And she fucking hates me. You should have seen how upset she was at the awards show…..I-I ruined it for her. I ruined her entire dream, Marco.” 

“God, Eren. Your tunnel vision is insane. You’re not even giving her a fighting chance when she doesn’t even know the truth!” he says. 

“Maybe haunting is too mean of a word. I think he’d be happy to see us together, right now. Even if the circumstances aren’t the best.” he responds. 

You smile, giving him a nod. 

“He always did like playing cupid, didn’t he?” 

“At the engagement party, he walked around telling everyone that Jean and Mikasa were only dating because of him.” 

“That’s a lie.” you state. 

“No one believed him.” Eren responds. 

The two of you fall into silence again, resting your chins on your knees, as more thoughts swim through your head, pain so palpable it’s sitting in your chest. That if Marco were here, he’d be prancing in and giving you two devious smirks, lovingly teasing both of you. Pulling both of you aside, saying that bygones should be bygones if you still love each other. 

You look up at him, watch his eyes flutter open and close, as he fidgets with his hands. 

You still love him. 

“Can we be civil for the weekend? Like…like you’re not Eren and I’m not Y/N, we’re just-” you sutter.

Your question falls short, hanging in the air as you watch the gears in Eren’s head turn. 

“I just mean. So many things happened between us. And I know there’s hurt there, on your part and maybe mine too, but…..I don’t want us to be mad at each other at the funeral. Or after.” 

You swallow hard. 

“I’d hate for one of us to die being mad at each other. Without having talked in years.” you whisper. 

Eren gets it. The guilt that must be wracking you for not talking to Marco, when you were one of the people who was closest to him. He reaches forward, taking your hand in his, as he fidgets with your fingers. 

“He knows you loved him, Y/N.”

He watches the tears pour down your eyes, face pink and eyes swollen, as you talk. 

“Did he? Because I ignored his texts. For years. He texted me happy birthday, asked how Falco was doing, wanted to know if I watched Halloweentown on October first like I always do, if I was happy, if I wanted to talk and-” 

He squeezes your hand, pulling out his phone, as he scoots to the space next to you. He tries to still the pounding of his heart as you lace your arm through his, leaning your head against his. 

“He knows, Y/N.” 

“You don’t know that.” 

“I was with him. I talked to him quite often after….after everything that happened. I promise you, he knows you loved him.” 

You shake your head, guilt sitting in your head. 

“I have something for you.” he murmurs. 

“What is it?” 

“It’s from a few years ago. I think he was really, really drunk.” 

He hands you his phone, open to a voicemail from Marco, as you wipe the tears on your phone and press play. His voice comes through the speaker booming and giggling and hiccuping as he talks. 

“Eren. Eren! Fuck, I love you so much dude. You’re-you’re such a guy. Like I-I just see you and think hmmmm. That’s a guy. Are you with Y/N? Tell her I love her. She’s my best friend. You’re all my best friends. I’m so happy I got to grow up with all of you. Oh, Connie just threw up on the floor, oh Connie- hey, stop! Okay, love you brother, I have to go.” 

The voice cuts off abruptly, as you laugh. 

“Never could hold his drink, could he?” 

“Not everyone can be alcoholics like Jean and Mikasa.” 

You both laugh, chest aching from how familiar, how soft this feels. That you’re both sitting in this room, where you grew up, fell in love, slept next to each other every night. Eren can see the tears welling in your eyes, thinking of his best efforts to stop it, at whatever is plaguing your mind. 

“So. You said you’re not Y/N and I’m not Eren. So who are we?” he asks. 

“I meant that metaphorically, you’re-” 

You watch Eren’s eyes flit around his room, scanning till he stops around his bookshelf, and turns back to glance at you. 

“Your new name is Margaret.” 

“Ew. And I didn’t mean it like that, Eren.” 

“Who is Eren? My name is….” he responds, giving you a smile as he elongagates the syllables waiting for your response. 

You roll your eyes. 

“Bruce. Your name is Bruce.” 

“Bruce Wayne!” 

“No. Not like Bruce Wayne. Think of someone really boring. Irritating, agitating.” 

“Perfect! I’ll just think of you after five shots of tequila.” 

You both laugh as Eren stands up, holding a hand out to pull you up. He sets the stack of clothes in your hand as he makes a move to walk out of the room. Except he hangs on the door for a second, voice soft when he talks. 

“Does Bruce have permission to say something?” 

“Sure.” 

“I know he technically just met Margaret because she was born a minute ago, but he missed her. A lot.” 

You feel your cheeks burn as you give him a nod, murmuring a quiet me too before sinking into the bathroom to slip his clothes on. 

Connie, does in fact, not give up the mattress. Jean and Eren begrudgingly share as you and Mikasa cuddle into the night. 

--

You wake up first, to find Mikasa sprawled over your entire frame. Her entire body is burning hot and you send a silent prayer to the world's strongest soldier, Jean Kirschtein, for putting up with this for so long. After you all but free yourself from her grasp, you spare a quick glance to see Jean must be smothering Eren more than Mikasa was you and silently muse that the two of them truly are made for each other. 

You pad down to the kitchen, yanking the hood of Eren’s hoodie over your head, to find Connie sitting at the table, scribbling away in a journal, a steaming bowl of oatmeal next to him. 

“Good morning, Con.’” 

He looks up, one of his hands going instinctively to cover what he was writing as you take the seat next to him, crossing your legs up on the chair. He immediately relaxes, giving you a bright smile.

“Good morning, princess. You can have some if you want.” 

“No, no. I don’t want to impose.” 

“What’s mine is yours.” he says, mimicking Eren’s voice. 

You snort, reaching for his spoon, as you take a bite of the warm food, soothing the stiffness in your throat. 

“Sleep well?” he asks. 

“Mikasa basically strangled me all night.” 

“Ew. Of course she has the cuddle bug. I swear, Jean and Mikasa were always goo goo ga ga, but they’re even worse now.” 

“They’re getting married, Connie. It’s sweet.” 

He smiles, sliding the string through the pages, as he turns to you giving you a smile. 

“Yeah. It is sweet.” he responds, voice quiet. 

Connie swallows hard, eyes weary as he turns to you. 

“I want to apologize.” Connie says. 

The elephant in the room. He’s the first one to touch it. 

“Oh. That’s okay, I under-” 

“No, no. It’s not okay.” he responds, tone almost harsh. 

You and Armin share a look the second he breaks the frame, glass shattering over the length of Armin’s apartment. 

“Why the fuck would you guys bring me here?” Connie asks, sweat beading his forehead. 

From the way he’s moving, all erratic and nonsensical, it makes you think that it’s out of his system. That if Connie had a chance, this would be when he would sneak off to the bathroom to get his fix. But he’s nowhere near that, instead settled into Armin’s tiny New York apartment, screaming at the two of you. 

“Connie. You asked us too.” you respond. 

“I was fucking high! Why would you guys even entertain a word I said?” Connie states, voice even more agitated now. 

“Connie. You…you need help. We looked at some rehab places while you were asleep and-” 

“Rehab? I’m not going to rehab. Are you trying to ruin my fucking career, Armin?” 

“No, but we want to make sure you’re okay. They’ll be discrete, we’ll make sure the security detail is good so that you can be better and-” 

“I am fucking fine. Do I look like I need help?” 

You and Armin share a weary glance, before looking back at him. 

“Connie. We love you. We-we just want to help you, okay?” you say. 

“Does it ever embarrass you when you do this, Y/N?” Connie says, voice laced with venom. 

“Sorry?” 

“Does you not think it’s embarrassing to beg like this in front of people who don’t fucking care about you the way you do about them? I figured that Eren putting you in your place like that would set you straight but it seems like you didn’t learn your lesson, did you?” 

You swallow hard, eyes and skin burning as Connie waits for your response. 

“You don’t mean that. You-you’re just mad because you can’t be high right now.” you murmur. 

“Am I, Y/N? Or is it true?” 

“It’s not true. This isn’t you, Connie.” 

“God, Y/N. Wake the fuck up. We aren’t fifteen anymore. No ones sitting here holding your hand telling you that you’ll be the best anymore. I get that you need that ego boost to move forward but I sure as hell am not going to be the one to give it to you.” 

“Connie, that’s enough-” 

Connie swallows hard, eyes focused on his fingers as he talks. 

“I know-I know that I said it wasn’t true. But I really did say all of those things because I was high. Or because I wanted to be high and was in withdrawal and-” 

“I know that, Connie. I’ve never held it against you.” 

He frowns, twisting his pen to his fingers. 

“You always give grace even when you don’t know the whole story. Me, Hisu, Eren.” he murmurs. 

“You deserve it…and I partially knew. I mean, addiction is a disease. It hurt at first but that wasn’t your fault. You just needed to be treated and helped and I’m glad you did.” 

He smiles, resting his cheek against his hand. 

“Thank you, Y/N. Don’t mind me if I spend the rest of my life asking for forgiveness. I won’t ever feel like I deserve it but I’ll keep asking anyway.” he murmurs. 

“I’ll always give it to you.” you respond, squeezing his shoulder. 

You silently wonder that if you ever did come back, sans funeral, if things would be like this. If you and Eren could pretend, if Mikasa and Jean could look past it all. Because some parts of it, they feel earnest, truthful. But you can’t tell if you’re all suspended in some disbelief, clouded by your grief and trying to cling onto one of the things Marco loved most. His time on the show, with you all. 

“Honey when I’m above the trees, I SEE IT FOR WHAT IT IS.” Connie sings, screams. 

“Oh my god, Connie.” you deadpan. 

He’s singing happiness. Like the happiness you sang in your interview, when you forgave Eren. 

“THERE’LL BE HAPPINESS AFTER YOU. BUT THERE WAS HAPPINESS BECAUSE OF YOUUUU. BOTH OF THESE THINGS CAN BE TRUE, THERE IS HAPPINESS.” 

You clamp your hand flat against his mouth, trying not to snicker, as he continues to sing underneath your hand. 

“Are you insane? They’re all sleeping.” you whisper. 

“Not anymore we’re not.” Ymir responds, immediately smacking Connie against the head. 

“You’re going to give Eren a nightmare, Connie.” Historia mutters, dragging her feet into the kitchen as Ymir follows. 

“I’m already living it.” Eren grumbles, leaning against the counter as he splits a PopTart with Jean. 

Slowly but surely, every one of them shuffles down to the room, the deja vu of the situation hitting deep as each person follows suit. Sasha ambles down after a few minutes, finishing off the bowl of oatmeal that you and Connie were sharing while Reiner and Bertholdt murmur quietly over the coffee cup. Eren’s in hushed conversation with Jean and Mikasa, fixing himself breakfast, as Hange and Levi wander into the room, immediately thrown off by all of you in there. 

“Jesus.” Levi says, tone exasperated. 

“Good morning, Levi.” Mikasa says, gesturing to the water boiling on the kettle for his tea. He gives her a grateful smile, taking a seat in his corner as Hange talks to the group of you. Connie’s resorted to cracking all of your knuckles since his are all worn out as they go on. 

“Good morning kiddos!” 

“Don’t….do such a cheery voice, Hange.” Levi says, sighing. 

Hange’s smile falters, before dropping all together, and giving a thoughtful nod. Eren shuffles over to your side, taking the seat next to yours as he places a steaming bowl of ramen in front of you. 

“Oh. Thank you, Eren.” 

“Who?” 

You roll your eyes as Eren smiles, reaching forward to flick your cheek. 

“Bruce.” 

“Bruce, indeed.” he responds. 

Eren knows he’s in treacherous waters. That this line you’ve drawn, that you’re not you and he’s not himself, works almost too well for Eren’s purposes. That he can pretend, in earnest, that none of the things he said happened. That you and him are just as you always were, untouched in the bubble you were always in when you lived here. . 

“The funeral is tomorrow, as we all know. The Bodt’s have requested that we get there ten minutes before the service, so be on time tomorrow. Bertholdt, Sasha, I’m looking at both of you. ” 

You all nod, humming in response, as you start digging into the bowl, switching off with Connie and Sasha who are both trying to monopolize the only real food in a five feet radius. 

“That being said…” Hange says, swallowing hard. 

They’re pacing back and forth almost, teetering on their ankles, when they talk. And when they finish explaining - autopsy report in hand and the gut punch sticking in your chest - you all sit there, blankly staring. 

And wander in silence for the rest of the day. 

It was one thing that Marco died. And an entirely different one that he was killed. 

--

“Someone go get Eren, we only have thirty minutes.” Levi says, everyone lingering in the kitchen and the living room, in a sea of black. 

Almost everyone is here now - Erwin, Armin, even Eren’s parents - all lingering around as you wait to head to the funeral. You give a curt nod to Levi and march out to the pavement, pebbles crunching under your feet as you make your way to set. 

Eren’s been in there since last night, never retreating to the room to change into his pajamas before he settled down on the couch downstairs. Despite your protests, he refuses to sleep in the same room as you. Or let you sleep anywhere else besides Jean’s old bed in his room. 

You let the pebbles crunch under your feet, ignoring the sting as you pass the tandem bike, and slip onto the set. You can see new costumes designs printed against the walls, storyboards with Levi and Hange’s handwriting on them as you make your way to the back towards the piano.

When you see him, that rage, simmering warm in your stomach over the past twenty-four hours, the deep-seated pain of Marco dying alone, crying out for help, comes to a head when you see Eren. Because he’s sitting at the bench, with his book propped up against the stand, and a bottle of pills in his hands. 

You march up to where he’s standing, crossing your hands across your chest as you all but glare at him. 

“Oh. Hey, you look-” 

“Are you serious?” 

You watch his face scrunch up in confusion, that stupid look on his face aggravating you even more. His tie is unkempt, his hair is messy - he’s always so haphazard with these things. 

“You’re doing pills in here before Marco’s funeral. Are you fucking serious?” 

He looks down, at the bottle in his hand and stands up, and swallows hard when he looks at you. 

“Wait-” 

“No. No, for once, you’re going to listen to me. You-you’re sick. Marco’s dead. You can’t even give it to him to be fully there while we say goodbye? This means that much to you?” you spit, watching him shut his eyes. 

“Y/N.” 

“How could you do this? To him? To me?” 

He reaches forward, hands on your shoulders as he squeezes, and your eyes burn like acid. And every feeling, building up over the past few days, comes tumbling out. 

“Why did he have to leave us, Eren? We didn’t get enough time with him. He was only twenty-four, he didn't even get to grow old. He was supposed to die, years from now, so happy, so-so surrounded by people he loved.”

Eren forgoes the rational thought. He reaches forward fully, snaking his arms around you as he cradles your head into his frame, trying his best to stifle your cries into his shoulder. 

“And you. He would hate that you were doing this. I hate that you’re doing this. You-you don’t have to. There are other things that can make you happy or-or fix whatever it is that’s wrong.” 

“Y/N.” 

“What, Eren?” 

He pulls back, reaching for the pill bottle, and placing it in the palm of your hand. You read the label, immediately embarrassed and ashamed of your reaction. 

Eren Jaeger *Lexapro 5 mg  Take one tablet by mouth with the morning meal.

“Oh my god, Eren. I’m so sorry, I-” 

You pull back, sitting down on the bench, as you dig your fingers into your temples, trying to stop that pulsating feeling under your skin. The rage, the feeling, coursing through you so hard that you can’t even pick what you’re mad at. 

You’re breathing panic in and out, chest heaving, as Eren takes a seat next to you, leaning his elbows on his knees. And the feeling, it lands on feeling overwhelmingly embarrassed. Because Eren’s not doing drugs, he’s taking anti-anxiety pills. 

“Eren. I’m so sorry. That was so horrible of me, I thought it was-” 

“You thought it was like Connie.” he finishes

“Yeah. And I’m sorry for assuming, I just-” 

“I’m not mad at you. You were just trying to take care of me. I appreciate it.” 

You groan, embarrassment still coursing through you, as you lean your forehead straight against the piano, the smell of the ink on Eren’s book permeating your nose.  

“Do you remember that birthday party of mine I told you about? When I was ten, at my old house in New York? It was when we were in Australia.” 

You nod. 

“I remember feeling it. A paralyzing block in my chest, like I couldn’t move. And when I was able to move, it was only because it all came rushing to me, so panicked, so fast that I-I didn’t even register what happened.” 

He was barely even ten. You lift your hands to his shoulders, squeezing hard, as he continues. 

You’re here and you’ve got him. 

“I didn’t tell anyone. I thought something was wrong with me. I thought that people feel this way, that it’s normal, but I just felt too much of it. That I just can’t handle things the way normal people do.” 

You frown, reaching up to cup the side of his face. Your fingers brush over his dimples, soft under your fingers, as you talk. 

“Eren. There is nothing wrong with you. That’s just an anxiety attack.” you whisper. 

You’re not sure what it is about what you said but when you look up, there are soft tears flowing down Eren’s cheek, the voice coming out of his mouth so garbled you can barely understand what he’s saying. 

“Hey, Eren.” you whisper, 

“No. No, no. Stop.” 

Eren stands up, retreating to the other side of the piano, where he’s leaning over, his entire frame heaving up and down as you walk to his side. 

“Why are you-” 

“I don’t want you to help me. You shouldn’t be helping me.” he says, his voice shuddering. 

“Why not?” you ask, frowning. 

“I’ve been horrible to you. I don’t deserve your help. You-you should be cussing me out, so mad that you can’t stand me, that you want me to suffer and you’re not. And it’s agonizing for me that you aren’t.” 

You walk up behind him, wrapping your arms around him from the back, as you feel him sigh. You lean your cheek flat against his shoulder, squeezing as hard as you can as Eren continues to cry, fists clenched so tight on the piano that white. 

“You’re not you and I’m not me. We agreed on that.” you murmur. 

“Y/N. We can’t-” 

“Who?” 

He snickers, amidst his tears, as he turns around, and you slot your arms under his. You can feel his heart thumping under your ear, loud and fast, as you place your hand over the spot. The two of you stay that way for some time, Eren's tears falling onto you, as you try your best to remedy whatever it is that's burning inside of him.

“Just calm down and breathe. Falco says it always helps to talk about something else, when he feels like this.” 

He tenses at the mention of Falco, which you realize was a mistake. 

“Why were you in here?” you ask. 

“The Bodt’s asked me to write a song for the service.” 

The perfect distraction.

“Can you sing it for me?” you ask. 

He looks down, green eyes - full and round - as he nods, shuffling towards the piano bench as you take the seat next to him. You can see that the lyrics are scribbled on the book resting against the stand, the paper stiff from blotches of Eren’s tears. He starts playing the piano, his voice echoing on the walls of the set. 

And if I didn't know better I'd think you were talking to me now If I didn't know better I'd think you were still around What died didn't stay dead What died didn't stay dead You're alive, you're alive in my head What died didn't stay dead What died didn't stay dead You're alive, so alive

You rest your hands against the keys next to his, slowly following his pace, as he continues to sing, the hum of his voice filling the air. You can’t help but think it. That he’s beautiful. That this is your Eren, miles away from whoever he was when you saw him last. 

I should've asked you questions I should've asked you how to be Asked you to write it down for me Should've kept every grocery store receipt 'Cause every scrap of you would be taken from me

You can feel the tears flowing down your cheeks now, straight onto the piano keys and your hands, as you cry. 

And if I didn't know better I'd think you were singing to me now If I didn't know better I'd think you were still around I know better But I still feel you all around I know better But you're still around

When you and Eren get to the service, you walk hand in hand to the piano. And play the song together, for Marco and Marco only. 

--

You knock on the door, padding into the room to find Levi, hunched over his computer and leaning his hand on his cheek. You take the seat next to him, crossing your legs against the chair, as he looks over at you, expressionless. 

“I’m leaving tomorrow.” you say. 

Four days after the funeral and all of them have cleared out. Forced to go back to wherever they were before, to push down the beating pain and move forward. The grief, perhaps it did suspend reality for the rest of you. Leave you to pretend that nothing that happened was real, that you were still teenagers running around on this set together. 

That wasn’t how it was for Levi. Because in almost a week of being there, he had yet to talk to you with a straight face. 

“What are you working on, Levi?” you ask, cracking your knuckles. 

He turns the laptop towards you, one of the old hard drives from the earlier seasons pulled up on his computer. He plays the video, one of Jean sitting in a chair behind the green backdrop. 

“Okay, Jean. Tell me your goal for the end of the show.” Levi asks. 

The video, Jean must be barely sixteen, wearing one of the old costumes from season one. You remember now, that Hange was insistent on documenting everything - that you all were going to grow up so fast that they should keep videos. Obviously, Hange is too disorganized to do it themselves, so Levi bit the bullet and did it for them. 

“I don’t know. That’s so far away, Levi.” he groans, scrunching up his forehead. 

“Just answer, Jean. Where do you see yourself at the end of the show, when you’re in your twenties?” 

“With Mikasa.” he responds. 

You both smile as Levi switches to the next videos, the two of you watching all of them in silence. 

“I want to be myself. That’s all I want to be, not embarrassed or ashamed, I-I just want to be me.” Historia says, smiling into the camera. 

“I don’t know. That’s a weird question, Levi.” Mikasa grumbles, glaring at him. 

“You’re horrible, Mikasa. Jean said he wants to be with you.” Levi responds. 

“Well, that’s a given. Of course, I’m going to be with Jean.” she responds, giving one last eye roll to the camera. 

“Doing something important. That means something to people.” Connie responds. 

You swallow hard, as you see Eren, fifteen and so smiley, as he crawlsl onto the little stool.

“My turn?” Eren asks, giving Levi a bright smile. 

“Yes, kid. Your turn. Why else would you be sitting here?” 

“Okay. This is a secret so don’t tell anyone.” he says. 

“I’m not broadcasting to a news channel, Eren. Just hurry up, I still have to get through half of you.” 

Eren nods, reaching up to fix his hair, before he talks - his voice filled with that confident resolve, that one he always sported when he was fifteen.

“I want to get the Best Actor in a Lead role award. And on the same night, I want Y/N to become a triple threat. And then I want us to tell her that I told her so. Me and her, at the top.” he says, giving the camera a bright smile, before jumping off. 

The next one is of you, what you said being entirely lost to you in your memories. 

“What do I want to do when I'm in my twenties? Hm.” you echo. 

“Today would be nice.” Levi deadpans. 

“Well, I don’t know! That’s so broad. I want to be doing stuff like this. Acting, making music, To have people enjoy the work I make, and making it with my friends, like Eren and Mikasa and Armin. I want to be here, more than anything. It feels so right to me, that I get to do this. It’s special, it’s a privilege and I’m really thankful I get to do it.” 

“Note to anyone watching. This is one of our only kids with manners.” Levi says, setting the camera down to give you a hug. 

You bite down on your cheek, looking over at Levi, as he plays the last one. Of Marco. 

“Okay, Marco. What do you want to do when you’re in your twenties?” 

“Well. I know what I’m going to be doing.” Marco says, crossing his arms against his chest. 

“Oh, yeah? What’s that?” 

“See. Spoiler alert, but Hange and Levi just killed me off this show. But we made a deal. That I get to be in each season, even if its a super minor role like a flashback or whatever. So in my twenties, I’ll be here. Surrounded by all my childhood best friends, making this show that’s always meant so much to us.” 

You swallow hard as Levi wraps his arms around you, the two of you watching Marco’s smiley face disappear from the screen. 

“So I’ll see you in four months? For season four?” 

“Damn right you will.” you respond. 

And for the first time in a week, Levi breaks a smile. 

“Good.”

--

next part linked here

an, again: SEASON FOUR ERA (this shit abt to be so awkward when they're not all sad/grieving )

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

#seeingivywrites! #method acting #eren #eren x you #eren x reader #eren x y/n #eren jaeger #eren jaeger x you #eren jaeger x reader #eren jaeger x y/n #eren yeager #eren yeager x you #eren yeager x reader #eren yeager x y/n #attack on titan #attack on titan x reader #attack on titan x you #attack on titan x y/n #aot #aot x you #aot x reader #aot x y/n #snk #snk x you #snk x reader #snk x y/n #aot actor au #actor eren #actor eren x reader #actor eren x you

[igotanidea]

It's over: Jason Todd x f!reader

Summary: Jason was dead. Or, well, at least that what Y/N believed. After all, she saw his body, she attended his funeral. And she was hurting for so long. It took her almost two years to get back into sort of normality. And then, then she found out he was alive all this time......

And only because he showed up at her door......

Warnings: hell lot of cussing, angst to the nth degree, a bit of kissing and touching (nothing explicit though), possible crying coming, Taylor Swift quotation.

Based on: "If I ever" by Conor Maynard

A/N: before this, I got a request from an angst lover (story is here: Lost), whoever you are, I dedicate this one's to you.

„Is this a joke?!”

„Y/N…..”

“Is this a fucking joke?!”

“Please, just calm down.”

“Fuck off! You don’t get to tell me what to do!! Not after, after…..” she was slowly breaking in her anger, reality creeping in, draining all the power she had. Her legs gave up on her and she just slid down the wall onto the floor, her limbs laying loose, boneless, eyes wide open while she was processing the situation she just found herself in.

Poor girl. Y/N was an old friend of Jason Todd. They met before he got adopted by Bruce and become Robin. Both Y/N and Jason were raised in Crime Alley and get to know each other from getting in and out of common trouble. When Bruce came in, Jason made sure he took care of his friend as well and that was how she ended up in Wayne Manor, learning about the technology and surveillance and soon becoming the “man, or rather woman in the chair”. Their story was classical “friends to lovers” trope, only ending with them becoming a couple due to Dick’s foul mouth. One time he mentioned something about Jason catching feelings and Y/n, being her direct and straightforward self, confronted the boy about it. After a while of blushing and sweating he finally confessed and they became a couple. And despite everything, the temper tantrums and insecurities they worked through it. Robin and his right wing. They were good together. Until Jason decided to go against Joker.  And got killed. And left her completely alone, or at least that was how she felt at that moment. She could not leave the past behind, desperately holding to the little pieces of memories she had of him, of them. Dick, Tim and Damian did their best to make her get through but she was too stubborn for her own good. It took her 23 months to start slowly healing her heart. And just as she was ready to get out of the house and start living again, maybe getting back to her own position in batfamily, she learned that Jason death was…. temporary and he was in fact alive, and  running around as Red Hood. That was a kick in the teeth. But what was even worse was that one afternoon she found him inside her apartment, placed on the couch with remorseful expression, ready to beg for forgiveness and to crawl back into her freshly –patched up life.  Of course, the moment she saw him inside she wanted to throw him out the window but due to all his muscles and height it was not possible so instead she resorted to verbal anger, trying to hide the mix of emotions – pain, fear, relief, love…. Way too much for one person, so finally she just went silent not capable of dealing with it all.

“Y/N…. Please, say something. Baby…..”

“What did you just call me?!”

“I’m sorry.” He said and she was not exactly sure whether he was sorry for pretending to be dead for the last years or for using her pet name only to his advantage.

“You don’t…. you don’t….” she sobbed desperately and it took all his power not to scoop her in his arms at once, shielding her from the world, making her safe. He wanted to spare her the pain, but the sad truth was that he was the one to cause all of it and upon realizing his grand mistake his heart broke into million pieces. Perhaps even more than hers.

“Y/n…..” Jason tried once again, his hand reaching for hers, but the girl just yanked it away, hugging herself. All the shock she just went through by seeing her ­not-so-dead  dead boyfriend making all her body tremble from the sudden coldness.

“Don’t. Just…. Just don’t.“ she managed to say “I can’t do this again. I just can’t. Please, get out.”

“You know I can’t do that” he whispered closing his eyes in poor attempt to hide all the pain he held inside. His voice, however, gave him away.

“You had no problem with that when you pretended to be six feet under!”

“I wanted to protect you!” he screamed

“From what?!” she yelled back pretty sure her neighbors had perfect acoustic to hear the banter.

“From being hurt! From getting injured because of me! You know damn fucking well how many people were after me while I was still Robin!”

“Well, look where It got you…..Red Hood.” she said barely audible “Are you happy now? Knowing that you broke my heart? Knowing that you broke me. I cried for days for you, Jason. DAYS. I mourned you. I avoided Dick, Tim and Damian for weeks because every time they started the family drama it reminded me of you….”

“I’m sorry.”

“Well, sorry does not make it any better, does it?” she lowered her gaze looking at the floor “and you know what’s the worst thing in all of that?”

“I….”

“I never, never, stopped loving you. Fuck! I could not get into a relationship with anyone even if I wanted a rebound. It was always your face I was seeing, it was always your smile, it was always you” his eyes widened at those words and their gazes met for a second. It was as if a spark flew between them lighting up their inside and making both of them get lost in each other’s eyes. Just like the first time they confessed to being in love.  Neither Y/n, not Jason turned away, and she did not stop him when he slowly leaned forward capturing her lips in his, pulling her onto his lap, closer, he wanted her closer. God, how he missed her, her skin, her warmth, her soft hands sneaking up his chest into his hair playing with the ends. He groaned tightening the grip to the point where she squealed from the long forgotten pain of his strong embrace, but he couldn't care less deepening the kiss, wanting more and more and more…..

He did not get much affection since he became Red Hood and even then, no one could ever compare to her and her gentle touch, the feel of her lips on his, her body against his. She was his one and only. She belonged with him. They were perfect. And then he had to go and fuck this up. Memories of them together just flooded him. All the nights she was spending at the manor waiting for the batboys to come back from the patrol and then checking on all of his injuries to the detriment of her own health.  All those nights she was falling asleep in his arms, feeling safe and loved. All those nights that the only thing that kept him going through all the fights was the thought of her and the knowledge of the comfort and tenderness her presence brought him.  Her acceptance no matter what he did and how bloody he got. All those mornings when they get to steal some time away from his vigilantism and just cuddle in bed, holding tight onto each other like they were one another’s lifeline.  Fuck! He loved when the first thing he saw after waking up was her beautiful face and peacefully sleeping form.  He missed her body, all those curves and stretch marks she hated so much. All those little imperfections of her skin he get to kiss and worship every time she got insecure. All the pleasure he was giving her, while just loving her for hours, never getting enough of her sweat moans and the way she reacted to his touch. Her smile, her laugh, her sense of humor, her brain, her intelligence….. All of her.

He wanted her. There could never be a time when he wouldn’t want her. His fingers started absentmindedly playing with the hem of her shirt and that made her pull away from him and stand up.

“Please…. “ he whined not wanting to let go.

“You need to go, Jason.” she stated simply

“Please, I….. I can make this right…. I’m begging you.  Don’t leave me like this.”

“How can you possibly make this right?” tears was flowing down her cheeks as with every other word she was taking a step away from him “you can’t. It’s too late.”

“But I love you.”

“I know.”

“So let me make this right.” He insisted, trying to convince her.

“No.” she shook her head turning her back to him “I’ll let you in and you will let me down…… How do I know I can trust you?

“You can. Baby, please….”

“Go away, Jason.” her eyes were everywhere but on him, she knew the expression in them would make her give in and she just couldn't do that.

“Do you want me to get on my knees? Fine.” He fell down next to her legs “I’m begging you, don’t do this.”

“Well one of us has to be strong.”

“I can be strong for both of us in believing we can get through this.”

“No.”

“Baby…”

“Stop calling me that! I’m not your baby! Not anymore! Why can’t you understand?! It’s fucking over, Jason! I don’t want to see you again!”

“You…. you don’t mean that…..”

“I sure as hell do. I’ve barely covered all the scars you left and you chose just this moment to show up in my life again! I took a detour from my way to work just to avoid our places! I’ve been through enough! I. Don’t. Want. You.” she poked at his hard chest and he just couldn’t stop himself from grabbing her waist and connecting their lips once again pulling her body closer than possible, moving his lips from her mouth to her jaw and neck, finding that one spot that made her moan softly and his blood boiled at the sound. He needed her. He needed her that exact moment. And he knew she needed and wanted him too. Maybe if he could just convince her, show her what she was missing during that years….. Surely, she did not forget all the things they did when no one was around.

“Y/n…..” he groaned against her skin “let me apologize properly. Let me love you……” his hand brushed over her breasts. “Let me remind you how good we are together….”

"Jay....." she moaned, her walls and tough attitude crumbling.

"I'm here baby. I'm here. Feel me...." he grabbed her hands placing them on his fast beating heart, while at the same time lifting her up and wrapping her legs around his waist.

Oh, she felt everything at once. His kisses, his touch were too much and not enough at the same time.  His palms were burning against her skin yet she felt so cold, like the clothes were an obstacle in getting what she craved so desperately. Him. It was both wrong and so, so right. It was horrifying and beautiful, real and unreal. She wanted more and yet, she should not…. All those contradictions made her dizzy and her head spinning.  

“I should have known….” much to his surprise she sobbed and punched his chest, possibly hurting herself more than him but also making him stop in result “you just came here because you need a good fuck. I mean nothing more to you.”

“That is not true….. You know you mean everything to me." he put her on the ground "Everything! I care about you, always did. When I had no one, even in this stupid family Bruce decided to create, you were always there for me. It’s more than just physical, you know we had, have, a connection.”

Oh, she knew it. She knew it well enough, they were linked on so many different emotional levels. And she knew aiming at this was her last resort  to make him leave.

“Jason.”

“What can I do, babe?”

“You can turn around and walk out the door.”

“Is that what you really want? You want us to be strangers now? You will go over to the other side when you see me on the street? Is that how you want to play? Huh?! Answer me!” out of desperation he gripped her shoulders with much more strengths than intended “I’m sorry. Oh shit, god, love I’m so sorry” he mumbled in guilt letting go, realizing that if he ever had any chance to convince her to trust him again it was now buried. She flinched and slouched, so fragile and delicate and apparently, no longer his to protect and comfort.

“Band aids don’t fix bullet holes. “ she said and he froze on the spot. Fuck, if she was quoting Taylor on him it was really, really bad “you say sorry just for show. You know how the song go, don’t you? We got bad blood. Leave.” Her voice was now ice cold, her face blank.

“No.”

“Just fucking leave!” she grabbed the nearest item (which happened to be a book he used to read to her, while she was drifting off in his embrace on particularly rough evenings, after all day of work) and threw it at him. He caught it, gently stroking the cover and straightening the pages.

“Fine. Fine! I’ll go! Whatever you fucking want!” he turned around on the heels, tears in his eyes threatening to spill and walked out the door, shutting it loudly behind.  Only now he wrapped his head around the fact it was truly over. He fucked up for good and there was no way back. She would never forgive him and he would never get a chance to hold her, kiss her, talk to her and bond over silly, little things.

“Y/n….” he whispered softly, lovingly, still longing for her as he rested his head on the outer side of the door. “I’m so fucking sorry.” That dull ache in his chest tearing him apart. He just wanted to make things right and ended up tossed away, again .…

Little did he know, that inside the apartment the girl, whose heart he broke twice was laying on the bed sobbing and holding tight onto the plushie he won for her at the fair so many years ago.

“Jay….” She cried silently, not able to calm down without his arms wrapped tightly around her, his warmth lulling her to sleep. He didn’t deserve this. But then, neither did she….

He opened the wound and this time she was not sure if she could recover again. But one thing she knew for sure. It was over. The question was, how long will it take to deal with the pain this time.      

#jason todd fanfiction #jason todd angst #jason todd imagine #jason todd #jason todd x reader #jason todd x fem!reader #jason todd x oc #jason todd x you #jason todd x y/n #red hood fanfiction #red hood imagine #red hood angst #red hood x reader #red hood x fem!reader #red hood #red hood x y/n #batboys x reader #angst #dc angst

[ithinkdogshouldvote2]

Shut the fuck up. SHUT UP! LISTEN!!!

In the alternate universe, where Willy picked normal instead of scary. Terry would have died protecting his stepdaughter by shielding her from the bullet. Because Willy would have set the collars to aim specifically at scary.

There is NO SHOT that normal didn't talk to willy about feeling hurt and unappreciated by how mean scary is. Willy, (through a combination of being sick and fucking tired of hearing normal bitch about it and an act of "service" he can use to guilt normal with) has all the collars set to shoot scary on sight.

Terry Jr. dies and scary (or rather terri) is confused and trying her best to help figure out what's going on, while normal is left stewing in guilt knowing that Willy did this for HIM. Normal is the reason Terry Jr. is dead.

And scary should be screaming at him, rightfully furious and hateful and mean. At least REMIND him of why this happened in the first place, give him a taste of those cutting, hurtful words that he deserves right now. That led them to this point. But she doesn't.

He's left with sweet, undeserving, 12 year old Terri marlowe. Who loves soccer, whose mom is her best friend, who just wants someone to be proud of her, who doesn't even KNOW who terry is. She doesn't even realize what she just lost. What normal just TOOK from her. And shes trying to comfort HIM, she's telling normal that they'll figure this out, that whatever he's talking about, it's gonna be OK, when they find whoever scary is, terri's sure she'll understand that it's not his fault.

Normal puts on the nightcap, to talk to willy, to scream at him, who fucking knows. But he barely gets through his stammering, accusing recounting of what just happened before Willy cuts him off.

"That's what you wanted, right?" He's nonchalant about normals frenzied panic, not even bothering to look up at him, "She was so mean to you. She didn't appreciate you. She was jealous of you. I'm just giving you what YOU asked for. "

Willy tells him to go break the last anchor. that if he REALLY doesn't want the dads to kill scary, keeping her in that brain-dead fugue state should keep their collars from kicking in and offing her. At least for long enough before Willy can get in there and change them. Normal tries to interject with another accusation, but Willy's glare is withering.

"I'm going out of my way to clean up YOUR mess, kid. I only did this because YOU said that scary's attitude was getting in the way of the plan. If you hadn't spent SO MUCH time devoted to bitching and moaning about it, I wouldn't have deemed her a liability."

Normal stumbles back out of the dream space, still next to the body he tries not to look at. Terri is animatedly gesturing to him (or is it the body next to him?) on the ground, as she explains something to Lincoln and Taylor, who must've come in while he slept. Linc starts giving orders to those around him as normal rises to his feet, wiping his wet cheeks with his sleeve. None of his friends look at him. He's glad. he doesn't want to be looked at. Everyone in the room begins to quickly disburse, running off towards whatever tasks they were assigned. Normal stumbles forward after scary and grabs her wrist before she can get too far.

"I- I'm so so sorry." he chokes, voice watery and thick with guilt. Terri only cocks her head, giving a sympathic but confused smile.

"For what?"

#evil normal brainrot go! #willy is such is pos its not even funny #dndads #dungeons and daddies #normal swallows oak garcia #normal oak #terri marlowe #terry jr stampler #scary marlowe #swap au #? #idk what its called #this is so badly written im sorry #willy stampler #willie stampler

[heygerald]

AU where Tom Ryder is still an asshole, just not a psychotic one. When he starts being less of an asshole, and more of a person, Parker finds that he isn't so bad. Not that she would tell him that, though.

Parker doesn't get much sleep. Not necessarily because she's so busy that she doesn't have time, and not definitively because of the sleep disorder she has self-diagnosed off of a sketchy website she found while browsing her symptoms one day.

In truth it's because she thinks too much.

She overthinks what her to-do list for the following week should be; overthinks the plot of her favorite tv series and whether or not they are going to kill off her favorite character in the mid-season finale; overthinks whether she should spend more one-on-one time with her brother while they're both in the same city, able bodied (with his career, there was no guarantee), and with the time to waste on stupid memories. On the really bad nights, Parker overthinks whether or not she made a mistake in purchasing an old, dilapidated bookstore that has drained her bank account over the last couple of years. She worries that her life is going nowhere, that she'll soon have failed at her dream venture, and that when she dies, she'll have no accomplishments to her name.

On those nights, she ends up washing down a handful of melatonin gummies with two boiling cups of sleepy time tea.

It helps, but it also leaves her floating in a state between unconsciousness and squirrely dreams that is hard to shake off in the morning.

Harder still to shake off when her phone lights up the room in the middle of the night, the shrill song of her ringtone bleating through the pitch black of her bedroom shocking her awake in delirious fright.

You gotta get up, gotta get out, gotta get home before the...

Parker swings her hand towards the nightstand in such a rush that she ends up knocking her cellphone onto the ground. It bounces on the hardwood floor—she doesn't even care if it breaks, the damn thing—before skidding underneath her bed. The light from it casts shadows in all directions.

What if I'm late? Gotta big date, gotta get home...

It takes her half crawling out of bed, sheets tangled around her bare legs, elbow braced on the cold floor as she blindly grapples for the device to find it. Colt always made fun of her ringtone—if you're going to pick a song, at least pick a good one, he would taunt while listening to Taylor Swift on replay—and while Parker had adamantly told him where to stick his opinion, at the moment, the song blaring in the middle of the night has her half-prepared to scratch out of her own eardrums in frustration.

The stanza continues: before the morning comes...

She grabs the phone and wrenches it—and herself—back onto the bed. The number isn't saved in her phone, and panic wells in her chest. She's gasping as blood rushes back down to her toes. "Hello?"

"Jesus, finally. I thought you weren't going to fucking answer."

Whether it's the tea, the overdose of melatonin, or the fact that she had just been woken up in the middle of the night, Parker can't seem to make sense of much. The only thing she can think about is how she has a brother who does stupid stuff for money, and has called her from the back of ambulance three times and counting.

Once on her birthday.

"Oh my god," she mutters, a hand already clutching to her chest as she can feel the cavity caving in. Clarity has no place in her spiraling panic. "Oh my god, he's finally dead, isn't he? Oh my god, Colt is dead!"

"What the fuck are you on about?" the voice interrupts her panic with a modicum of disbelief. It sounds familiar, but Parker is far more focused on regulating her breathing before she throws up than placing a voice through her half-broken speaker. The room, pitch black and without anything to see, is spinning. "I'm not even with Colt."

"Fuck," she curses, before recklessly scrabbling with her nightstand. It's a total fucking mess, and in her haste, she knocks a lamp and stack of books onto the ground. The least of her problems if her idiot of a brother is already fucking dead. "Fuck! Where are you? I didn't even know he was on a job right now. Um, what hospital is he at? Wait—shit—I need to find a pen and paper..."

"Parker, Jesus, Colt's fine. Stop spinning out for two seconds. Are you on drugs?"

She blinks, unsure if she just heard what she heard, and slowly withdrawals her hand as she tries to compute what is being said.

"He's... not dead?" she croaks hesitantly.

"He's fine. I mean, well, as far as I know," the voice drones on; it's clearly annoyed now. A scoff. "Why in the hell would you assume that he's dead?"

"Because—it's—" she wipes a hand over her face tiredly, sweeping tufts of hair off her forehead to peer at the clock in the corner. Large, red numbers blink at her showing that she had only been asleep for two and a half hours. Worse still when she makes sense of what she's seeing. "It's two thirty in the morning! Why the fuck would an unknown number be calling me in the middle of the night if it wasn't for Colt?"

"Are you—wait—are seriously his emergency contact?" the voice goads, teasing and judging all in one tone. She hates it. "That's a little pathetic, honestly."

Her left eye twitches. "Who the fuck is this?"

"It's Tom."

Parker doesn't know a Tom, she's never known a Tom in the entirety of her life, and as she struggles to clear her thoughts, the idea that some asshole with a stupid name like Tom would call her out of the blue at this time of night starts to really piss her off.

"Tom who? I don't know a fucking Tom!" she shouts into the receiver.

There's a thump against the wall, a muffled call of "shut the fuck up!" rings out from her roommate's room. Too many things are happening though, and Parker clutches her head between her hands while trying to stay on topic.

"Fucking Tom Ryder, smartass," the voice chides. "Who else?"

And—

Fuck.

Yeah, alright, maybe she did know a Tom, and, yeah, now that she thought about it, he was a raging, grade-A asshole that would call someone up in the middle of the night for no reason other than to ruin the first good sleep she had in a week. All while getting upset at her for her negative response to the impromptu gab-sesh.

You know, in the way that all assholes did.

"Why—?" she starts, before realizing that she is shouting. Parker clears her throat with a glance towards the wall and tries a second time in an angry hiss. "Why the fuck are you calling me at two in the morning, Ryder?"

"I finished the book and I want to talk about it."

The words don't compute for half a second, but when they do, Parker can feel a migraine spiraling behind her eyes. She sort of feels like she's having a seizure before realizing that it's just pure anger spiking in the bottom of her chest.

She's pretty sure this is how someone feels right before committing a violent crime.

"Are you—? I was fucking sleeping!" she hisses. "Good—fucking—bye!"

Hanging up the phone certainly isn't as satisfying as it used to be when flip phones were in fashion, and you could slam the top down to end a conversation. But pressing the big red END button on Tom Ryder does grant her a small moment of satisfaction. Even more so when she imagines the shocked furrow of his eyebrows or the crease of his mouth as he frowns.

Good, she thinks sourly while flopping back onto her pillows with a sharp huff, maybe Tom Ryder could use a few wrinkles in his life.

Her peace lasts all of twenty seconds.

You gotta get up, gotta get out, gotta get home before the morning...

Parker grabs a pillow and smushes it against her face hoping that it will drown out the noise. When it doesn't, she hopes that maybe suffocation will knock her out for a couple hours of sleep. But then there's another thump against the wall and she realizes that if she dies right here and now, the last person she would have ever talked to would be Tom fucking Ryder, and she's not so sure she's okay with that.

So, she removes the pillow to take a deep breath. Then she answers the phone.

"Did you just hang up on me?" he asks incredulously.

"It is two-thirty in the morning, and you want to talk about a book?"

A huff. "Yes. Why else would I ever call you?"

If she was more awake, Parker might have taken offense at the insult. She's much too groggy to do that, though. Besides, almost everything out of his mouth was some sort of judgement. At this point, she didn't think he would be able to speak without being rude.

"Couldn't you have called me during a normal hour?"

"My audition is on Friday," he said, as if that was any sort of excuse for his behavior. "I still have to read the other two books by then."

"Wait, I'm sorry," Parker interjects with a mean laugh, pausing to pinch the bridge of her nose. "Have you been up all-night reading?"

"You could sound a little less judgmental about it," he snarks. "I do read, you know. Bad scripts and the like."

She huffs. Not quite a laugh, but not just an expression either. It's a little hard to take anything serious when she's sleep-deprived and delirious. And, certainly, he can't be serious. That's her justification for giving up, anyway. "Okay, alright, fine. Which book did you finish?"

"Contact."

"That's a good one to start with," Parker murmurs, shifting on her mattress so she can cradle her PillowPet.

It has lost of all of its stuffing, an eye, and any joy it once had, but the penguin was a gift from Colt that she can't convince herself to trash. It mirrors her frown.

"No, not a good one. I didn't understand it at all."

"What didn't you understand?"

"Any of it, all of it. Why the hell did you tell me that Dune was too complicated and then hand me this shit?" he complains. There's something odd in his tone though. Something she can hear creeping through the syllables somewhere between annoyed and confused that reminds her of their conversation weeks prior at Gail's—you don't even sound like yourself, she had said. It's only now that she realizes he hadn't sounded like himself because he was doubting himself, which was the most un-like Tom Ryder thing anyone could ever do. She frowns at the thought as he continues. "It's all about math and pi and something called a transcendental number. I should have just watched Altered Carbon."

Parker sighs. "You're getting yourself all worked up over things that don't matter."

"Don't matter? It's all the book fucking talks about!"

"That's sci-fi," she says. And while it's a piss poor excuse, it's the truth. A moment later and Parker realizes that if he really had never read anything sci-fi before, he likely wouldn't realize the rules of reading it. Sighing, she takes some pity on him to explain, "okay, look. You know when you watch an action film and there's some ridiculous sequence that makes no sense; like when the ground is crumbling beneath their feet and the character jumps at the last second and is totally okay?"

"Like in the Fast and the Furious."

"Literally every single scene in those movies."

"Okay...?"

"Right, well, you watch those scenes and tell yourself not to take them seriously. They exist because it's an action movie, right? It doesn't have to be realistic."

"Sure," he agreed, but she could tell he still wasn't getting the point.

"It's the same thing when you're reading sci-fi. Okay? All the math and theoretical physics and calculations they do—whatever it is—they throw that stuff in there to build up a universe that feels real. The audience doesn't have to understand quantum mechanics to know that Chris Pine can fly a really big spaceship in Star Trek."

"You really have a hard-on for Chris Pine, huh?"

Parker ignored his comment entirely, barreling on. "The point of the book is not that the audience is stupid and needs to take some math classes even if that's how it feels sometimes. The point is that Ellie is a genius that no one else understands or believes in. When she talks about transcendental numbers and you have no idea what she means, that's exactly how the other characters in the book feel. They don't believe her because they don't understand her."

"So, it's... like an attempt to make the audience sympathize with her but also so the author can explain how everything happens."

Parker smiles. "Right."

"That's stupid," he says, and her smile immediately disappears behind a groan. "I just don' think the author needed to spend so much time trying to sound smart."

"It's a book about interstellar travel and the existence of intelligent life," she deadpans. "It's supposed to sound smart."

Tom mulls that over, and while he does so, Parker shifts once more in bed. The red numbers blink at her are only going up, but now that her heart rate has returned to a normal level, she finds it's far from the worst conversation she's had with Tom. Especially since she gets to talk about one of her favorite books.

Even if he is an ass.

"This would have been better as a movie," he finally settles on. It's not a sophisticated opinion by any means, but it certainly is him.

"Actually, it was originally written to be a screenplay. The movie got cancelled, and Sagan adapted it into a book."

"Seriously?"

"Sure," she shrugs. She spares a glance towards her nightstand where a copy of the book lays in tatters from how often she has read it. "Ironic considering the book became so popular that it got a second movie deal a few years later."

"...you're telling me that I could have watched this instead of reading it after all?" he barks. But, well, his tone isn't so annoyed as it sounds impressed. Parker hears the taping of buttons on a remote, before he's yelling. "Jodie Foster! Seriously?"

She can't help it. Parker laughs. "It's not a bad movie, but the book is way better."

"I have to watch this now."

"I have a copy you can borrow if you don't want to rent it."

"It's three dollars. How poor are you, exactly?"

She scoffs, an eye roll that has become habit when talking to the prick even though he can't see it. Snootily, she tells him, "I just rolled my eyes at you, asshole. In case you were wondering."

A harrumph. "I do think I caught something from your bookstore. I've been sick all day. It's disgusting—it's making my mouth all dry and it practically ruined my breakfast. I couldn't even eat my avocado."

"First the cappuccino, and now the avocado. Is there anything you don't blame me for?"

The teasing got the exact reaction she wanted, and as Tom starts complaining on the other end of the line, Parker smothers a laugh into her penguin. "It was a flat white! And—"

"I'm going to hang up on you now," she sing-songed. "And fair warning: if you call me again before eight am, I'm going to post your phone number on Reddit. Gail can eat shit with her lawsuit."

"Don't you fucking—"

Parker finds a lot more satisfaction in hanging up on Tom Ryder the second time, and when the phone screen stays dark, she plops it down onto her nightstand with an amused hum. It's past three am now, something she will be regretting come morning.

Then again, it seemed that Tom Ryder was all about regrets.

Right?

----

"Do you think I'm cool?" Parker ponders two days later, a glance tossed to her brother as she idly tries on a pair of sunglasses that are in the shape of trout. They're overpriced, but she's also incredibly bored, and about five minutes away from throwing a toddler-style meltdown in the middle of the bait and tackle shop.

"Of course you're cool," he says as he models a rash guard that he's been trying on for the last half hour. He twists in the mirror, left and right, before giving himself two thumbs up. There's something dangerous about the way he grins at her. "You have me for a brother, after all. Coolest kid on the block. Always have been, always will be."

"Right. Didn't they call you Shitpants in high school?"

A passing employee coughs into their hand to hide their laugh, and Colt turns a bright red.

"She's totally joking. They didn't call me that, my nickname was something totally different," he calls after the retreating sales associate, always attempting to save face but never quite succeeding. A moment later and he's glaring at his sister. "That was one time, and it was an accident. The potato salad was—"

"Bad," Parker finishes for him with an eyeroll. "Yeah, I know. I've heard the story."

"Then why do you insist on bringing it back up all the time?" he hissed.

There isn't much activity in the oceanfront store beside the pair wandering from aisle to aisle. It's a small shack that they've frequented for years. Colt pretends to be good friends with the owner, and Parker never minds because there's a great lemonade stand right down the block. It's usually the first stop of the day when they decide to hang out on the beach. Just a place to buy ice and snacks before moving on to better things.

Which is good considering there being little to no airflow when sitting inside, and the radio seems to be on a constant loop of Justin Bieber in his pre-puberty phase. It's not so good, however, when they spend more than five minutes inside.

Today, it seems to be the first and final stop given how long they've been there. She feels her bones getting weary from all the pandering her brother has done, and she's starting to suspect that his reasons for picking her up that morning weren't as innocent as he initially claimed.

Deprived of breathable air and sleep, Parker isn't all too enthused when she props the kiosk sunglasses onto her head with a pleading look towards her brother. "Because I'm bored!" she whined, in a way that was far too little-sisterly like for someone her age. Decidedly though she doesn't care when he makes no move to leave. "I thought we were just going to buy some sunscreen before heading towards the point. That's what you said, anyway."

"We are!" he says, arms thrown wide in exasperation. Parker doesn't buy that for a second, however, and her brother folds under her stare. "Just... in a minute. I need a new rash guard. Maybe some new board shorts."

"You don't even surf."

"I... do," he argues, his head bobbing up and down as if trying to convince himself of such a bold statement. "It's just been a couple of—"

"Decades?"

"Years," he corrects her with a glare. "It's like riding a bike. You know. Probably."

"Just with water and waves and the possibility of drowning or death by shark."

"You're not helping."

She shrugs. "I never said I was here to help."

Colt's response is a melodramatic pout, pausing in his nervous shifting to wave a hand in her general direction. "Well, this would be a lot quicker if you just helped."

He punctuates the statement by performing a full spin for her, hands stuck out before realizing that's awkward. To fix that, he props them even more awkwardly on his hips, but it only makes him look like he's a Ken doll pretending to be a real person.

Parker elects to keep that to herself sensing his anxiety was getting dangerously close to his own toddler-style meltdown.

"What do you think of this? Cool? Not cool?" he continues on muttering, head bobbing in every direction as he smooths the material down over his puffed-up chest. It deflates just as quickly as he turns back to her to ask, "pink's cool, right? I'm going for a laidback look, you know. But not too laidback. Somewhere right in the middle."

Parker returns the sunglasses to the rotating stand before plopping onto a stack of buckets. He seems awfully concerned with this particular task all of the sudden, despite spending the last three years avoiding the idea altogether. Every time he was offered a chance to get back out on the water by one of his stunt buddies, he miraculously came up with an excuse not to.

It all feels weird. And when her brother got weird, there was usually a girl involved.

Ah.

"You told Jody you still surf, huh?" she puts two and two together.

His peacocking in the mirror stopped entirely. A wince. Then a smile. Then a wince again in a ball of pent-up nerves. "That's... maybe one of the—she doesn't—you don't have to hang around here while I try these on. Don't you have something better to be doing?"

"If I had literally anything better to be doing, I would be doing it."

"Okay, ouch."

Parker rolled her eyes at her brother's whining. But really, she didn't have anything better to be doing at the moment than hanging around while her brother tried to impress a girl.

Not to mention she liked this girl.

Sighing, she decided to throw him a bone. Because, what else would she be doing? Parker peered at the rack behind him for a moment before pointing to the top. "Try the blue one instead."

Colt glanced down at his chest with a frown. "But... Jody likes pink."

"Yes, but blue will match your eyes better. Make you look tanner."

"And make me harder to see if I start drowning," he huffed. But, after a moment of consideration, stripped off the pink rash guard to pull on the blue one. Always a fucking argument with him, she thought with a bemused eyeroll. Especially when a moment later, "oh, this one does look better..."

She laughed as he spun in the mirror, attempting to get a three-sixty perspective of the potential garment. Only for the moment to be interrupted by a buzzing in her back pocket.

You gotta get up, gotta get out, gotta get gone before...

Her phone's ringtone broke through her relative boredom, and as Colt ran a hand through his hair and squared his shoulders in the mirror, she plucked the device out of her back pocket.

"You really got to change that ringtone," he said half-heartedly.

Parker stuck her tongue out at him and swiveled on her bucket, so she now had a view of the empty beach outside. It wasn't even that early—nine in the morning—but this particular spot was far enough removed from LA that people didn't tend to populate it unless it was a holiday weekend.

Phone pressed to her ear, she answered with a casual, "hello?"

"Was it not possible for you to give me a book from this century to read?"

A smile teased her face, and Parker returned her attention to the sunglass rack at her side just for something to do. Testing on an oversized pair of cat-eye sunglasses, she asked, "who is this?"

"Jesus, just save my fucking contact in your phone, already."

"Why would I do that when you could just stop calling me to talk about books?" she mused, stifling a laugh when there was a load of huffing and cursing from the other end of the line. He deserved it, though. Especially after ruining her sleep the other night and practically giving her a heart attack. "There are reddit forums for that exact purpose, you know. Maybe you could ask the nerds what they think. Go right to the source."

"You're such an asshole."

"Mhm. Takes one to know one, right?"

"Earthlight isn't a movie, is it?" he barreled on. She could tell from his tone that he was annoyed, and selfishly, Parker hoped that she was ruining his morning coffee and avocado toast. "It'd be a short movie."

"No, not a movie. Could be, I guess. You feel like self-funding?"

"You're hilarious," he deadpanned, and through the phone line she could hear the distant whir of a coffee grinder working. Knowing Tom, the thing probably cost more than her car. "Maybe you should quit your little bookstore and go into stand-up comedy. Probably make more money doing that. Granted, you'd have to sacrifice your dignity, but you don't have much to start with, do you?"

Parker tutted, but the overwhelming failure of her bookstore came back to mind full force at the comment, and so rather than keep up the joke, she moved the conversation on. "So, you liked it?"

"Well don't go sounding too smug about it," he chastised. "I liked it better, but still not much. They're both so outdated."

"Too much science for you?"

"This author really fucking loves the technical bullshit just as much as the last one. Pricks, all of them."

"Arthur C. Clarke is a prick?" she snorted. That was definitely a viewpoint she had never heard before. Leave it to Tom to dislike one of the best sci-fi writes in history because he spent too much time writing, well, sci-fi. "That's a hot take. He cowrote 2001 you know."

"A Space Odyssey?" She hummed. There was rattling and banging noises—the image of a hungover Tom stumbling around his kitchen came to mind—before the sound of a milk frother cut across the line. She jerked her phone away from her ear with a wince. Muffled, his voice returned. "Alright, that's not a bad movie. I'll give him that."

"It's only one of the highest-rated films of the genre," she retorted dryly.

More banging continued on the phone and as Parker tried not to let him blow out her eardrum, a hissing sound of its own came from her end of the line. She glanced up at the airshaft above her warily, but, if the sweat pooling on her back was anything to go by, it wasn't working. She glanced around in search of the noise before a rubber pool toy bounced off of the back of her head.

"Hey," the hiss returned. Pool toy in hand, she turned to find her brother waving a hand at her. The blue rash guard had been replaced with a yellow one. Worse still, he was now wearing a matching bucket hat. He gestured to himself as if he hadn't just assaulted her with a whale shaped toy. "What about this?"

She covered the phone speaker with her hand. "What happened to the blue?"

"This one is on sale!"

"Jesus, Colt. No girl has ever been impressed by that logic."

"I—" he started, then paused, and frowned at his sister like she had just burst his bubble. She might have felt bad if she hadn't been brushing off his puppy-dog eyes for the entirety of her life. The lip wobble was a new touch, though. "...is that a no to the bucket hat too?"

Parker responded by chucking the toy back at him. It bounced off his chest with a squeak.

"Yeah, alright..." he muttered, shoulders drooping, as he snatched the hat off of his head. It left his hair sticking up in tufts.

She kept that to herself.

"—are you even listening to me right now?" Tom's voice crackled back to life. If the incredulous lilt of his voice was anything to go by, he was not used to being sidelined for other people nor did he like it. "Who the hell are you talking to?"

"There was a bucket hat situation I had to deal with."

"...are you with Colt right now?"

She laughed. First, at the fact that Tom Ryder equated a bucket hat with her brother. Second because he sounded so disgusted by the fact that she would willingly spend her Sunday morning's helping her brother shop for bucket hats.

"You mean my brother?" she corrected.

"Did you tell him that I'm auditioning for a sci-fi roll? What does he think about it?"

"Why the hell would I tell him I'm talking to you?" she asked, echoing his sentiments from their last phone call. Parker was only teasing though, while she was pretty sure Tom had meant to be mean. Regardless, she moved on as she stood from the bucket to stretch out the kinks in her legs. "A bucket hat is a bad idea, right?"

"Is this seriously more important than what I want to talk about?"

"This may come as a surprise to you, but my world doesn't revolve around things that you want to talk about," she explained exasperatedly. Not necessarily because of what he said, but because she was fairly confident that he actually believed those sentiments. Worse still, she bet no one had ever told him that before. "Particularly not at two in the morning—thanks for that by the way. My roommate is pissed at me for waking her up."

A pause. Then, "you still have a roommate? How old are you?"

"I was serious about posting your phone number online you know," she threatened idly.

Colt disappeared into the changing booth, and Parker slowly started perusing the now abandoned hat rack. Despite her disapproval, she was bored. Plus, it actually had a fairly impressive selection.

Plopping an oversized sunhat atop her head, she ignored his insult to press on more important matters. "But seriously. Bucket hats. They're out of style, right?"

"Bucket hats have never been in style."

"Fashion is all made up anyway."

"That's just what poor people say who can't afford actual fashion."

She tutted, scrunching her nose up. Derisively, she asked, "did Gail tell you that?"

"Alright, that's it. I'm hanging up."

"It was a joke—!"

Joke or not, the dial tone was the only response that she got from Tom. She stared at the phone in her hand for a moment before huffing.

So that's what that feels like, she thought.

Something bright and ugly popped into her line of vision, and Parker glanced in the mirror to find her brother sporting a cheetah print body suit paired with a trucker hat that said Wine Made Me Do It in big, cursive lettering.

"Now, not to step on any middle-aged ladies' toes, but this is fashion," he clapped his hands with a goofy grin on his face. He gestured to the hat with a crooked thumb. "Get it? Two dollars!"

Parker laughed; couldn't not even if she wanted to.

Her brother was so innocent and idiotic and awful that while she once used to be embarrassed in public by him, now she just appreciated the fact that he was, always, unashamedly himself.

"Here, wait," she poked her tongue out of the side of her mouth while angling her camera at him. "Say cheese."

"Asiago," he cooed, making a Blue Steel type face that looked ridiculous when paired with his clothes.

The picture was even better, and Parker felt tears gathering in her eyes as they giggled. The employee from earlier shot them an annoyed look, but he was promptly ignored. If she didn't care about Tom Ryder's opinion, she certainly didn't care about his.

"That was good, right?"

"Oh, definitely. Jody won't know what hit her," she teased. Colt nodded, looking all too smug with himself, despite the fact that she was joking.

This smug version of himself reminded her of someone else that he looked a whole lot like.

An idea struck Parker, and as Colt started putting back the clothes where he found them, she quickly saved Tom's number in her phone before attaching the picture to the contact. Parker hesitated when she saw his name typed out.

Asshole, she typed in big letters. It was funny for half a second, though, before she realized it didn't quite feel right.

She deleted his name. Thought about it. Then replaced it with nothing more than a simple puking face emoji.

"Are you getting that?" Colt asked, drawing her from her reverie, and when she glanced up, she remembered that she was still wearing the ridiculous sunhat. "Because, you know... I'm not so sure that's something a cool person would wear."

Parker shoved her brother towards the cash register with a laugh.

They left the store with a blue rash guard, a pair of sunglasses, and matching bucket hats.

Twenty minutes later they realized they had forgotten to get sunscreen.

---

Paker had heard a lot of stupid and surprising things in her life; things that were so shockingly idiotic that she often wondered if they had been spoken as a joke. Most of the things on that list were quoted from her brother; a man she loved, but that didn't entirely think before he spoke.

When they were kids, he had argued that fish didn't need oxygen to survive. That's why they live under water, dummy, he had said with far too much confidence that she, younger and far less educated, could only blink at him. Then there was the time in his twenties that Colt had brought up the topic of furries at the dinner table in front of their grandparents. They're not, like, really having sex... are they? he had asked while trying to figure out what costume part would go where if they did do the dirty. And of course, there was the infamous baking soda as a cure all for wounds debate, but she tried to block out the sound of his skin literally sizzling as he screamed.

Tom, in the short time that she had known him, had also said some pretty shocking things that wound up on the list. He was, after all, an unapologetic asshole/idiot that didn't care if the world was flat or round so long as it revolved around him.

But out of shocking thing she had ever heard, it was fifteen-year-old California born and bred girl that topped the list.

"I want a job," Melissa proclaimed.

Parker's pen scratched an ugly line across her poor excuse of an accounting notebook as she glanced up wildly, big eyes blinking slow and dumb, as static hummed in between her ears.

"...what?"

"I want to apply for a job," she reiterated.

The bookstore was empty save for a pair of retirees that were slowly perusing her small selection of bird watching books. An oversized fly buzzed overhead, whizzing an uneven path between the two, as an irritable car stuck in traffic laid on the horn outside.

"Like—like here?" Parker asked. There was nothing fun or young or hip about her store. Just dusty bookshelves, a musty smell she could not get rid of no matter how many Bath and Body Works' scent infusers she plugged into the corner, and a ratty reading chair that had a Melissa-sized depression in the middle. She arched a brow. "You want to work... here. In my bookstore."

Melissa rolled her eyes, shrugging. Duh, the gesture said.

"Yeah, sure, obviously," Parker hummed, despite the fact that there was nothing yeah, sure, or obvious about the current conversation. Specifically given that Melissa, on more than occasion, had complained that her store was boring. "Just... why?"

"I need money."

"Suuuuure," she drew out the syllable, wooden stool creaking as she shifted in her seat behind the register. "But wouldn't you prefer to work somewhere a little more, er, fun?"

"This place is plenty fun."

The fly from earlier buzzed between them before smacking into the windowpane. It spiraled to the floor with a depressing zzzz.

Parker raised a second brow.

Melissa, in response, threw her hands up with a huff. "Okay, so, maybe I've been rejected from Jamba Juice and Target already. Which is so, totally crazy."

"That is crazy because I thought Jamba Juice went out of business—"

"And I can get my driver's permit in three months, and I want to get my license as soon as possible. But there's no way that I'm going to have Mom drive me everywhere, so I need to get a car. And to get a car I need to be able to afford a car—which, like, the economy is awful right now if you didn't know—so I need a job. Mom and Dad said they'll match whatever money I can put towards it. And as of today, that is a fat zero."

Woes of teenage girls, Parker thought.

"That's nice of them," she said instead. Not that she envied a teenager in the twenty-first century, but for her sixteenth birthday she had been given a bike. Not even a new one. It had been Colt's old one that he outgrew, and it still had flame stickers and duck tape wrapped all around it. "But, seriously, there has to be at least one other place a kid your age would want to work."

Melissa, having been slowly circling around the center of the room, paused in her ambling to cast Parker a suspicious look. "Do you not want me to work here or something?"

"No, of course I would want you to work here—"

"Great!"

"—but I have no money. Why do you think I'm the only employee here?"

Melissa considered that. "I just always assumed you were a little uptight and didn't like other people messing with your shelves."

"Uptight?" she cried. "Why does everyone keep calling me that?"

But Melissa didn't seem to notice that she had just quoted her celebrity crush, and so she instead turned her attention to the bookstore. She cast a critical eye over everything; though there was no smoke, Parker could smell the wheels turning between her ears, and slumped further onto the counter in preparation for what was to come.

"Don't get me wrong, Park, I love your store," she started. "But it could definitely use some updating."

"Updating?" she deadpanned.

"Some new paint for starters. I think it would be so cute if you painted it, um, maybe a soft blue. Then you could paint the bookshelves in different colors—pastels, definitely—and even some flowers here and there wouldn't hurt."

Parker made a face. Pastels weren't really her thing. "You want to paint the shelves?"

"It's just so brown."

"The natural color of wood, yes."

Melissa rolled her eyes, and with a waft of Vanilla perfume, trotted behind the front desk to examine the string of posters tacked onto the wall. Most of them were salvages from the dollar store, and while Parker thought they gave the store some character, Melissa clearly didn't agree. "These totally need to go too."

"Excuse me—"

"You could still keep them," she huffed half-heartedly. Clearly, she wasn't sold on the idea, but Parker would be damned if she pitched her Jane Austen posters based on the opinion of a teenager. "Just cut them down to a smaller size, put them in some picture frames—you can get them super cheap at the thrift store—and they'll make it look less packrat-like and more eclectic."

Parker glared, an argument on the tip of her tongue.

But, well, when she thought about it, it wasn't such a bad idea. And, well, maybe giving the store a new coat of paint wasn't either. It still looked like it had when she bought it from Larry. She had spent so much money on the loan payment, that she never considered really updating the place—mostly because, duh, she had no money—but paint and some dollar store frames weren't so expensive.

"How do you know all of this?" she asked with a quizzical look.

Melissa smiled, phone waved in hand as she tossed a plait of perfectly curled hair over her shoulder. "I spend a lot of time on Pinterest. What this place needs is a total cottage-core makeover."

"That sounds so made-up."

The girl frowned. "Well, duh. Everything is made up."

Parker opened her mouth, thought it through, and then promptly snapped her mouth shut. When did kids become so philosophical?

"So," said kid leaned onto the front counter with a conniving smile. She was a pretty girl with a clear complexion, bright white teeth beneath blue braces, and a deep closest of cute, but age-appropriate clothing. When she wiggled her eyebrows, Parker couldn't help but notice how well shaped they were. "Can I have a job?"

It was a tempting offer...

She glanced at the balancing worksheet she was doing, scores of numbers and ugly handwriting sprawled across her notebook, before taking a proper look at her empty storefront.

"I'll... have to think about it," she finally hedged.

Melissa's shoulders sank in disappointment.

"I don't have a ton of money right now," she explained, not at all liking how sad she looked. Colt's puppy dog expression had done nothing to prepare her for Melissa Abernathy's professional one. "So, I'll need to look things over first."

"But...?"

A sigh. "Are you free on Sundays?"

"I thought you were closed on Sundays?"

"I am," Parker nodded. "Which means it's about the only day of the week that I could try to paint this place. If you're serious about wanting a job and wanting to help, I'll consider bringing you in on the weekends to start helping me renovate."

A grin broke out on the girl's face, and she started bouncing on her toes. "Really?"

"Just temporarily," Parker threatened with her index finger. She wasn't sure how much was being heard and how much was going over the girl's head, however, and suddenly this was all feeling like a bad idea. "You can help me paint and decorate, and then I'll look at my finances."

"And you'll hire me?"

"If I can afford it, then... yes, we could work something out."

"Yes!"

"Just a few shifts a week!"

"That's perfect."

"And I'm not paying more than minimum wage."

"Totally fair. This rocks!"

"I said if—"

Melissa was already on her phone, texting and typing away as she bounced around. Parker felt a migraine start whirring between her temples, but—well—the kid was so excited that she couldn't feel too miserable about her decision. Tourist traffic was dying down as the season's changed, and she really needed to do something if she still wanted to be in business come the new year.

There was the sound of a camera clicking, and Melissa grinned from her corner of the room. "Oh my god, Park, you're so not going to regret this. We could totally do a beachy palette—blues and greens and, oh, orange—throw some rugs down, add some little details to the bottom of the shelves that you have to look for to see. Like easter egg, stuff. Oh, this is so exciting! I'm going to get Miranda and Abby to come, they have a great eye for detail."

She watched Melissa disappear down the MYSTERY aisle, all the while chatting to whoever she had already gotten on the phone.

Parker steepled her head between her hands with a sigh.

But, well, the enthusiasm was contagious, and after a moment she was laughing to herself. Maybe a fresh coat of paint would cheer her up.

Speaking of, how much did paint cost?

She was in the middle of a google search when her phone started to ring. The caller ID only showed an emoji and a picture of her brother modeling a ridiculous outfit, and she let out a childish snort in response.

A small smile in place, she answered. "Three books in a week. I have to say that I am a little impressed."

"Hm. I'm impressed you finally saved my contact. I was starting to think that basic technology was beyond your skill set."

"Hardy, har, har," she deadpanned, rolling her eyes. Melissa was somewhere in the back of store now, likely scaring off her only customers, and she decided to give up on her accounting for the day. Twisting in her seat so she was watching the street outside, she propped her elbow on her knee. "What did you think of Nemesis?"

He seemed hesitant to answer. "I... liked it."

Parker grinned. "Oh, you did, did you?"

A sound halfway between a groan and a whine. "You're fucking infuriating, you know that?"

"For recommending you good books?"

"You don't have to be so smug about it."

"I'm not smug," she said smugly.

He scoffed, and Parker couldn't help but grin even further. The idea that Tom Ryder, pain in her ass, was admitting that he liked her recommendation was the metaphorical cherry on the top of her cake. Even better, she got to be smug to him about something.

Parker continued on to say, "I guess I'm just happy that I recommended something you like. Especially since I didn't think you liked anything other than looking in a mirror, hair gel, and hot lattes."

"For fuck's sake, it was a flat white, and it was one time."

"Was it?" she teased, enjoying the conversation far more than she should be. This was the asshole that drove her brother insane every day at work, after all. But then again, what Colt didn't know, wouldn't hurt him. "You're just so memorable, I guess. Can't stop thinking about it."

"I would hope I'm memorable," he shot back, a whole lot of huffing and puffing from his side of the line that didn't fit the whole "perfect human being" sort of vibe he tried so desperately hard to give off. A dog barked in the distance. A second, more put-off and annoyed huff argued back. "Putain, calme-toi, Jean Claude."

Parker curled an eyebrow, impressed. "Was that French?"

"Impressed?" he said, taking a page out of her book to sound unnecessarily smug.

Catching a glimpse of her reflection in the window—a stupid smile in place, lip pulled between two teeth, eyes twinkling in a way that didn't suit the sleep-deprived bags beneath them—Parker straightened in her seat. "Hardly. It's an ugly language," she said, overcorrecting just a little by insulting what some considered to be the language of love. Not her best move. "Moreso wondering why you're imposing a foreign language on your dog. Seems cruel."

"He's French," Tom said, certainly rolling his eyes.

"Ooh, a French bulldog? I love those."

Something about the insinuation that Tom Ryder would own a bulldog managed to insult him, and she heard the scorn in his voice when he responded with a scathing, "I would never own a fucking bulldog. They can't breathe and can't run thanks to decades of improper inbreeding. What use are they?"

"...they're cute?"

She heard him mutter something in French, before another bark—as if his dog, the French bastard, was agreeing with whatever complaint he made against her—and Parker was so elegantly reminded of what a pain in the ass he could be.

Chin in hand, she rolled her eyes. "You want to tell me about the book or not?"

There was noise from his side of the line; music in the background kicked up, the sound of dog food being slung into a metal bowl, a faucet running, before things quieted down a bit. "I thought the idea of moon colonization is a little overplayed, plus there's the whole bit about the telepathic organism that is so fucking stupid," he said.

Despite his tone though, somehow Parker just knew that he was only complaining so he had something to complain about. She didn't wonder how she knew that.

"The book is from the eighties. I don't think moon colonization was overplayed when he wrote it," she protested anyway, sipping on her watered-down cold brew as she did so. "And the bit about the organism is fascinating to me. Everyone always writes about ET-style aliens, but I thought it was brilliant of Asimov to create something new."

"Brilliant is what I do. Not writing a short story about a family being separated in space," he grumbled. A moment later, "you're awfully hot on these writers. You've never called me brilliant before." Sore about it, obviously.

"That's not true. I think you're brilliantly self-centered and egotistical."

"Elle pense qu’elle est une comédienne, celle-ci," he muttered, much to her English-speaking chagrin. He switched back to say, "I'm the reason your brother has a career, you know. You could give me a little credit."

"Are you?" she mused, knowing it was a load of horseshit. Self-centered and egotistical horseshit that only further proved her point. "Interesting. I thought he introduced you to Gail."

A moment of silence. "He told you that?"

"We tell each other everything," she said. Though, that wasn't exactly true, was it? "Well, mostly everything, anyway."

"Hm. I could argue that's breaking our nondisclosure agreement. I could probably fire him for it, you know," he threatened, idly, though, and without any real heat to his words. There was the sound of water running in the background, and Parker really hoped that he was spontaneously washing some dishes and not talking to her while in the shower.

"Please. We both know that Colt is the best stunt-man out there. And you only work with the best, right?"

His lack of response proved that she was right; Colt was the best at his job, and he just so happened to look a whole lot like Tom Ryder. Not to mention that Tom's entire career was built around bragging how good he was, how talented the people he worked with were, how he didn't settle for anything but excellence. In fact, Parker was half-sure she could break Ryder's nose and the only backlash Colt would get would be a whole lot of bitching.

Granted, she might get arrested, but at least her brother would be relatively fine.

"When's the audition, anyway?" she asked just to be nosy.

"Tomorrow morning."

Parker raised a brow, idly watching as some idiot failed to parallel park out front. "Cutting it a little close, huh?"

"I'm Tom Ryder," he said, in his typical sense of self-importance that she loathed. Though, this time, Parker didn't loathe it as much as she found it amusing. "I know what I'm doing and don't need your fucking opinion about it."

"Do you have that written on a motivational poster somewhere?"

"No," he said immediately. A little too quickly, in her opinion, and Parker narrowed her eyes with a sneaking suspicion that his house was just plastered with photos of himself. "Whatever. I have to go. Unlike you I don't just have all day to talk."

She scoffed incredulously, reminding him that, "you called me!"

Unsurprisingly, however, he didn't care. "I need to practice some more before the audition. Unless you want me to fail."

"I didn't think Tom Ryder could fail."

"Yeah, well," he hesitated for a moment, all that bravado he'd been displaying moments earlier gone in a flash. Parker wondered if he ever talked to anyone without it, and if he didn't, then what sort of friends he had in his life. He cleared his throat. "It's a big deal. Not just for me, but Colt too. This would be our biggest movie yet. Some extra practice doesn't hurt anyone."

Pride swelled in her chest; her brother had always impressed her with how he built his own career, moving to LA without knowing anyone and not leaving until he accomplished what he wanted. And while she was his biggest fan—number one, as she liked to joke—his success was his alone, not Tom's.

Still, without Tom it may have been less consistent, and without Colt, Tom may have been stuck doing rom coms. Parker kept that to herself.

Instead, she said, almost sensing that he needed to hear it, "yeah, well, I know you don't need it or anything, but—you know—good luck on the audition. I think you'd be really good in a sci-fi film. Despite what Gail seems to think, I might actually want to, er, see that movie. Pirated, of course. I don't go to the theaters for just any asshole."

The sound of water cut off, and for a long moment it was silent. Then, a scoff. "You're right," he said. "I don't need it."

Parker hummed, rolling her eyes, and biting back a smile at his blatant audacity. Gail was right about one thing; there was no one in this world quite like him. Maybe that was a good thing, too.

"Sure. You being Tom Ryder, and all. Guess you're a shoo-in, huh?"

"Well," he cleared his throat, "I do have the blonde hair and blue eyes."

A laugh bubbled up her throat, and she only managed to keep it to herself when the door jingled with the sound of new customers. A pair of teen girls strode inside with sweet, but nonplussed looks on their faces, and mindlessly Parker waved them towards the back where Melissa had disappeared to.

Watching them amble with her phone tucked against her shoulder, she asked, "did you just make a joke? Forget sci-fi, someone should call SNL right now and get you an audition with them."

"You're just as bad as Colt. You know that?"

"And now you're just handing out compliments," she teased. He laughed in response, wasn't quite quick enough to disguise it as a huff or a cough, and Parker bit her lip to keep from smugly grinning like a total idiot. "Just don't forget to send me that agent's fee when you get the part. I accept checks and DutchBros gift cards."

"Jesus Christ, you're pathetic."

"Am I? Because I just so happen to be popular enough to have the one and only Tom Ryder calling me three times in one week."

"Good-fucking-bye, smartass."

The sound of a dial tone came a second later, and when Parker glanced at her screen she was greeted with her own reflection. She didn't mind that he hung up on her. If anything, she almost wished that he had more time to talk. If only because he seemed to be in a rare, friendly mood.

Not because she almost actually liked talking to him. Asshole-ish tendencies notwithstanding.

"What are you smiling about?"

Parker turned to find Melissa and her two friends staring warily at her across the counter. Clearing her throat, she set her phone aside with pink cheeks.

"Er, nothing."

She harrumphed. Teenagers had never seemed so intimidating before, and with a self-conscious smile, Parker smoothed her hair down as subtly as she could.

"Need something?"

"Do you have any John Green books?" one of the girls asked.

Parker nodded, shaking off the conversation to switch into work mode, and smiled a little more genuinely at them all as she stood. "Sure, loads. Come on, I'll show you," she waved them after her, and as they browsed, they filled her in on what paint colors they thought would look best.

Melissa, she mused two hours later with disheveled hair, sweat-tacked curls on her neck, a stack of notes in one hand, and a long email chain of Pinterest posts on her phone, could rule the world one day.

She just needed a car first.

#plot bunny #the fall guy #tom ryder #original female character #tom ryder x ofc #tom ryder imagine #series?

[junebugtwin]

you know, it strikes me, that for all her ‘my way or the highway’ attitude, and frustration with others not immediately agreeing with her plans/moral framework- Taylor never asks anyone to do anything that she isn’t going to do herself.

Taylor is not Alexandria- or Cauldron for that matter, even though at a passing glance they share similarities- she’s not willing to let others suffer the shitty parts while she stands aside, smug and with all the cards in her hands. 

She holds everyone to the same standards she holds herself. 

The problem is that the standards she holds herself at are absolutely bum-fuck wild! She fights Lung on her first night out with an incomplete costume, no lethal weaponry, no martial arts or combat training of any kind, with a power that his almost completely counters! But she heard that he was going to kill a bunch of kids! What was she supposed to do?? Run away all call the PRT like and normal fifteen year old????

Sure Coil has a terrifyingly all-knowing thinker power, millions of dollars, an army equipped with tinkertech, and is literally one of the high ups in the PRT- he kidnapped and drugged a child!!! So what if she could do so many important things with the money she gets doing jobs for him, and so what her literal only friends in the world won’t stop working with him and she’ll inevitably snap like a baby carrot if she’s left completely alone without any anchors??? Did you not hear about the part with the drugged child!!!

Yes of course she’s going to an Endbringer fight even though Leviathan no sells her power and her power is bugs and she has like zero allies and also a grown man is trying to kill her during the Truce! And okay yeah of course she’s going to get up close and personal with the creature that can swat Alexandria like a fly and literally just fucked Armsmaster within an inch of his life- that’s just the decent thing to do!

She’ll work with Lung- even though he publicly, loudly, and clearly announces he wants her dead- and she’ll work with Sophia even though yes technically Sophia did kinnndaa bully her into triggering for literal shits and giggles. She’ll help Eidolon out of a tight spot even though she’s pretty sure that he’s literally part of an evil interdimensional cult full of people who have never heard of informed consent- because, well, Echidna! 

Flechette can fuse a literal crossbolt into bone, and Rachel can almost get her captured in the middle of a fight, and Amy can threaten to give her cancer while her spine is broken because she decided to risk her life 1v1ing Leviathan- and okay, she doesn’t love any of that, but she can still work with them- still help them, despite any grievous bodily harm that may or may not have occurred. 

She realizes that the chances are so so slim that she’ll survive the fight with Scion- that any of them will- but she still fights with every last thing she has and then some, because that’s just who the fuck she is. 

And more to the point- it’s who the fuck she wants everyone else to be too. 

#not that this is a good mentality mind you #I just think it's an interesting one #taylors such a fun protag #worm #parahumans #taylor #taylor hebert #skitter #im just rambling about taylor again please ignore this if you're tired of that already lol

[kahlanmars]

BAD FEELING part. 20

Hi!! Next chapter is here, the song mentioned is obv from our lord and saviour Taylor Swift.

Comments make me happy!

MASTERLIST

20. Safe and sound

If Finnick weren’t there, you would be dead right now. You are sure you could never walk so fast, but the blonde guy just lifted Marjorie and tossed her through the door like she was a potato sack.

Not very classy, but efficient.

The door closes behind you with a loud noise and you begin to shake so hard it hurts you.

«She needs medical help, her ankle is broken or something. Maybe twisted.» You order. You don’t know anything about medical help, even if your mother is a midwife. You should have listened to her more, you should have been more focused.

You risked the life of a kid, perhaps multiple kids, just because you talked without thinking. “Come to me”, like you are a great warrior. You are nothing, even Marjorie almost died because of you. So caught up in your perfect little love fantasy to think about anything else, you are selfish, and you are a murderer. A killer, you killed Clark, you killed that guy in Capitol City, you…

«Daisy, please, Daisy breathe.» Marjorie looks at you, worried.

She is beautiful. You never thought about how beautiful she looks. She has blonde hair and blue eyes, so blue they are almost painful to watch. her family had a bakery you now remember, maybe she is related to Peeta, same colours. 

You look… normal, in comparison. Pretty. Not beautiful, you are plain. Plain and you are not even good, you are evil, you are selfish, you deserve it. You deserve all the bad things that happened to you. 

«I’m sorry, I’m sorry, it’s all my fault I’m sorry…» You begin to say and she rolls her eyes before hugging you. She would never do something like that if you weren’t panicking. 

«You are a little shit and I don’t like you, but this is not your fault.» She reassures you and pats your head. You like honesty. She is as honest as… Well, they grew up together after all, it’s only natural.

The first bang is unexpected. You cover your ears and you watch her as she is taken by the nearest couch to get medicated. The attack has begun.

There are other people. Finnick with Annie, the president Alma Coin, Plutarch Heavensbee, guards you don’t recognize. Haymitch is not here, and neither is Katniss or the other victors. Maybe Katniss is in the Capitol trying to rescue Peeta, you are not part of the revolution, they don’t tell you anything.

You can just wait.

The second bang is terrifying. You are not afraid of dying, that is not the first thought. You are afraid the other bunker is not safe. If you die you can have peace with it. If you live and the people in the higher bunker die, you will never have peace. You can see their faces. Effie, Portia, Lora, Perla, your mother, and heaven knows if Alex came back. You didn’t make it up to your mother. You didn’t say goodbye to Effie, she will never know how much she means to you. And where the fuck is Haymitch? If somehow he knew you weren’t in the bunker and he got out to look for you, or for Marjorie… he is not fit, he can’t survive. If he dies, if Holly dies, if Effie dies…

You try not to cry simply because you are alone, and you don’t want Annie to get more upset, but you end up catching your breath because you feel like you can’t breathe anymore. Your heart pumps so loud now your ears are hurting and maybe they are bleeding and maybe you are dying. 

No. You are noy dying. You remember Effie’s words, this is not a heart attack, it’s a panic attack. You just have to calm yourself.

You think of Dianna, when you were seven. Sweet tea in the summer, playing pirates and singing old songs in the meadows. Happy memories. 

There was a song you always played together, an old song from district twelve you forgot with time.

Just close your eyes, the sun is going down, you’ll be alright, no one can hurt you now, come morning light, you and I’ll be safe and sound.

You can breathe a little better now.  

«Daisy?» Marjorie looks at you tentatively. She must have said something you didn’t catch. 

«Mh?»

«I said you have a good voice.»

«Oh, thank you.»

You didn’t realise you were singing. You bet you sound like a crazy person, singing in a bunker when bombs are exploding in your face.

«Did your mother teach you?» 

Holly used to teach you everything. You didn’t grow up with a father, it has always been you and her. When she adopted you she was so young you can’t imagine it right now, barely legal but in District 12 a mother is better than nothing, so nobody said anything against it, not even the peacekeepers. It was quite usual for the families that were slightly richer to adopt a kid if they didn’t have any, so that the child could help them, work in the fields with them or in the mines. Nobody ever took the girls, though. The girls weren’t useful if not at home, cleaning and babysitting the other children, and for the most part it was a burden that mothers could hold alone. 

Holly Pinecone came from a long line of midwives. Grandmother, who died before you could meet her, was a midwife too. Still at the time it didn’t make any sense that she adopted you at twenty, when she could still get married and have children. It didn’t make sense to anybody except her.

«Mommy! Look! That’s a plant we can use!» You screamed, so happy you could be helpful. Now you know you couldn’t really be helpful at five, she must have indulged you in believing you have found the plants.

«Yes, and what’s the name of this plant?» You tortured your poor raven braid trying to think. Holly told you a hundred times. You couldn’t disappoint her.

«Sagittaria!»

«Very good! And what’s that?» She asked with a wide grin, a smile you matched as soon as you saw the flower.

«That’s a daisy. That's me!»

«Come here, little one.» She put the flower in your hair. «Beautiful girl.» 

You were quite beautiful, everybody used to tell you that. Big hazel eyes, raven hair always in a braid, clean clothes. You were well behaved enough to always smile at the strangers and you were so quiet it was actually nice to have you around. That was the main goal for Holly, that everybody could love you, so they would have protected you in case of danger. 

«Thank you for saying that.» You answered like she instructed you to, being kind was the first thing for Holly. Well behaved. «Can we sing tonight?»

«What do you want to sing?» She asked, well knowing the answer. 

«Safe and Sound!»

«Always that song. Okay, we can sing before bed time.» She caressed your hair. «Now search for edible plants with me.»

«Among other things.» You murmur.

«She loves you so much. She always wanted a kid.» 

That’s the thing, she wanted a kid. And you stayed a kid until Effie called your name, jumping at her commands like a trained dog. 

«She loves me.» You are not sure she likes you. «Do you think we are safe? Do you think they are safe?» 

«The district was prepared.»

After what you think it’s an hour, but are in reality probably minutes, the bombs stop. 

You can’t believe you survived. You hear the mechanical voice like it comes from heaven. 

The blast doors will open in one minute. Please, remain calm and proceed in orderly fashion out of the bunkers.

As soon as everybody’s free to go out you try to recollect yourself to find your family, but Haymitch is faster than you. Which is news.

«Where were you?!» He is angry and his hands are shivering, he looks paler than usual. He brings you in his arms. «I came into the bunker and you weren’t there. Holly didn’t know where you were, Effie didn’t know where you were. I lost it at Effie. She always knows where you are.»

You pull him tighter. «I got trapped out and Finnick saved me.» Saved us. You will tell him in a minute, now you want him all for you. And maybe you won’t tell him everything, or he will kill the guard and you don’t want him to face consequences. 

«Don’t you ever, ever do that again.» He whispers in your ear.

«Wasn’t exactly my plan…» 

«I don’t care. You won’t be in danger ever again. I’ll make sure of that.» He puts a straw of hair over your ear, almost sweetly. «Couldn’t handle it.»

«You got up in the first bunker for me.» You state. 

He shrugs. «You wouldn’t have left Effie alone.» 

Your heart stops at these words. He would have risked everything to stay with you. You jump to reach his lips and pull him in a passionate kiss that makes you blush, also because when you try to catch a breath he kisses you again, even rougher. 

I love you. You almost let it out.

«I was scared of losing you too.» You whisper instead, «I didn’t know where you were, I got so scared.»

«I’m here now, I’m here.» He closes his eyes with you in his arms, his nose buried in your hair. «Never again.»

«I have to go find my mom. I have to go to Effie!»

At least now Holly will be happy you saved her dearest friend.

«And I have to go to see Peeta. They are coming.»

«Peeta is coming back?» You ask, suddenly a lot happier.

«That’s the plan.» He kisses you again. Despite everything, the bombs and President Snow and the attacks, you can see he is happy to see his not-son again. That’s the man who doesn’t want children.

«I want to see him too, after you.» You ask. You are quite fond of the guy. «I have to talk to Plutarch about what happened, can I see you tonight? We have a lot to catch up on.» You snuggle against his neck. 

«I have a meeting with President Coin, but after that I’m all yours.» He lifts you up to kiss you better. He still smells like woods, alcohol and tobacco, which is impossible since Thirteen doesn’t allow any kind of indulgences and you have been underground for a month now.

You want to talk to Holly, but after a brief hug with Effie and Portia (and Alex, who thanks you again and again instructed by his mother) you approach Plutarch Heavensbee. You don’t like him, that’s the man who wanted you to be collateral damage, so it’s only natural you don’t love him. Still, better him than President Coin, that woman scares you.

«Plutarch, can I have a word?» You approach the blonde guy, who is reluctant to be stopped by you but your face must be worried.

You quickly explain what happened, and he nods. «We will relocate him, don’t worry.»

Relocate him?

Relocate him?

«I’m sorry but that is the man who nearly killed two people because he didn’t get laid, and you want to relocate him?» You reply, stunned. You expect this behaviour from the Capitol, from Snow. 

«I get your point, however we can’t lose force at this particular moment.» He tries to explain to you like you are a kid. To him you probably are a kid.

«You will lose forces when he kills someone because he didn’t have the last cookie!» You snap.

«Daisy, you can’t confirm your story.» He argues, but you are raging right now. 

«Marjorie was with me!» It’s impossible they didn’t ask her and you don’t believe she lied, so what is the truth? They simply don’t care?

It’s normal they don’t care for you, you are not even from Thirteen and you don’t expect them to have empathy, but Caius is dangerous for everybody. 

«Can you please lower your voice?» He asks, and you force yourself not to jump his throat. You don’t speak like that to a tribute. It’s dangerous. 

He won’t do anything. You can see in his eyes that he doesn’t want to lose a guard in his precious war, and it doesn’t matter if he leaves a man like this alone. He is no better than Snow, he was his games master after all. He was born and raised in Capitol City, and not everybody changes like Effie Trinket.

It’s okay, you think, you don’t need him. You can do it alone.

Turns out Peeta is not good. He has been tortured, and they did something to him so right now he doesn’t know what is real or not real anymore, and he thinks Katniss is the enemy. The kind, gentle hearted boy who offered you hot chocolate is gone. 

When you open the door to reach for him he is staring at the wall, with watery eyes and an expression of pure pain.

«Babe…» You try to come closer, but you don’t want to interfere.

«He has been tortured. They wiped out his memory. They transformed him into a mut. He is lost.»

«No! No, we can still-»

«He is lost, Daisy!» He shouts. You try not to take a step back. «And it’s my fault.»

«The doctors here are great.» You argue.

«You knew Peeta. He was better than me, better than Katniss, better than you, better than anyone. And he paid for all of us. He is not coming back, he will never… come back. Fuck, I need a drink.»

This time you go for a hug, even if he doesn't want it he needs it, and when he wraps his arms around you he does something you could never think of, he starts crying. He cries and cries in your arms, exhausted. 

«It is my fault, Sweetheart, all my fault.» You swoon him stroking his hair. Peeta has been taken by Snow, Snow is to blame, not him. He only tried to save everybody.

«It is not.» You whisper in his ear. «Everything will be okay. Believe me.» 

Will it be? You can lie to him, but you don’t see how it could be okay. Katniss is broken hearted, Peeta’s memory is gone, and Thirteen’s government is exactly like Capitol City. You feel like you are fighting a tyrant with another one.

You stay in his embrace until he falls asleep, and you slowly follow him. 

It is you who wakes him up this time, screaming like every night. You don’t even remember what you were dreaming about, but you hear your heart in your ears.  

«Sweetheart, it’s me, sweetheart, it is a nightmare. It’s just a nightmare.» He caresses your cheek. «Just a nightmare.»

«I’m sorry…»

«Don’t be.» You breathe a little, still shocked. «You were calling for your mother.»

«Really? Not you?»

«Nah-ah, Holly.» He lies down again, taking your hand. «Are you still in non speaking terms?» 

«I just want my mom back, but I can’t bow down to what she thinks it’s okay for me. Dear Heavens, I have a job, I have a purpose, I have you. I don’t think I’m that bad.»

He strokes your hair and you almost purr in content, closing your eyes. That emotion is much better than rage from your mother.

«Maybe you are punishing her too.» He says tentatively. 

«Punish her? For what?»

«You needed her and she wasn’t there. You asked for her in your dreams before the games. You called her again and again while you were sleeping.»

You look at him. «She couldn’t be there, it’s not… it’s insane.»

«You knew that, but our mind… our mind does not work that way. She guaranteed for all your life that if you were kind and polite the things would have been fine. This didn’t happen, and she couldn’t help with it, she wasn’t there. Effie was. Effie helped you. So maybe your mind said “Ok, one good, one bad”.» He shrugs. «I’m not a shrink, don’t believe a word of what I’ve said.» 

«That actually makes sense.» You don’t humour him, it makes sense. You are not sure you like it but it makes sense.

«Even a broken clock…» He dismisses it. 

You lean to kiss him better, and you touch his chest. «What a wise man, my man.» 

«Your man.» He repeats against your lips. He is smiling now, actually smiling and you want to keep it this way at least for an hour or so. Peeta is not fine and you will handle this together. That doesn’t mean he has to die under the responsibility alone, that he couldn’t smile anymore. 

«Must be the old age.» You joke, but he suddenly pushes you against the mattress.

«I’ll show you old age.» He grumbles and rolls on you, causing you to giggle a little, tragedy almost forgotten for the night. 

taglist: @crimsonincursive

#bad feeling #haymitch x fem!reader #haymitch abernathy x reader #haymitch abernathy x you #haymitch imagine #haymitch x reader #the hunger games #woody harrelson #fanfiction #haymitch abernathy #daisy pinecone #princess daisy #thg x reader #thg #thg fanfiction #thg rp #peeta mellark #katniss everdeen #thgedit #thg haymitch #thg oc #thg series #the hunger games renaissance

[what-gs-watching]

“Now, I may be wrong, but frankly, I doubt it.”

So I finished a draft of my new and improved resume today and I’m super jazzed about it. It looks hella professional (jokes on you, recruiters!) and it makes sense in a way my resumes never have before. I’ve got that nice, warm feeling of accomplishment going. Gotta appreciate the little wins where you can. 

Keeping with this nice little boost ( while I listen to 1989 Taylor’s Version), I wanna talk about another comfort show I got into last year. Stay with me here, really.

Murder, She Wrote.

HEAR ME OUT!

Wherein a retired English teacher from a sleepy seaside town in Maine that never gentrifies simultaneously discovers she’s incredible at writing murder mysteries and solving real life murders. 

If you were born in the 80’s like I was, you’ve seen at least pieces of episodes on tv when you were a kid. You could probably recognize the intro music and you most likely think ‘yeah, I’m good on that.’ BUT! But, but, but….

It’s really got everything. Random murders with ridiculous weapons that make you go ‘I really don’t think that would have killed someone’ and dead bodies with very little blood. Like, there’s never blood. And random guest stars you’d never expect. And murderers you can guess sometimes and sometimes you can’t because it’s convoluted or silly but that makes the episode better. But those wily murderers are always, always caught.

And there are TWELVE SEASONS! 264 episodes, running longer than the typical 42 minutes because we used to not shove so many ads down our fucking throats. 

I spent like, nine months making my way through it and it was fantastic. Jessica Fletcher is an absolute badass, and she’s the grandmother figure I didn’t even realize I wanted. This bish is polite to a fault, whip smart, observant, and she faces down murderer after murderer without ever losing her nerve. She is utterly fierce, but kind. And you don’t really get a lot of female characters like that. 

This powerhouse would outwit cops easily, solve their shit with the weirdest clues and seemingly random details, and then she’d make them feel like they did a good job and let them take the credit. She doesn’t want notoriety, she’s already got it through her best sellers, she just wants to help and ultimately catch the bad guy. 

There are so many things I love about this show. It satisfies my pure, unadulterated lust for ridiculous murders, while making you feel cozy as hell. It’s comforting to know that by the end of the episode someone was going down and everything would be wrapped up neatly. Sometimes you need that. 

And the fact that her character is an extremely accomplished writer in the universe is wonderful. Like, she sat down at her kitchen table one day and banged out some incredible book. And then kept doing it. Throughout the series, there’s mention of like THIRTY different books that she wrote. It’s totally implausible, there’s no way she’s writing like two books a year while also running into all these dead bodies but I love it. It makes my heart happy. It makes me want to write something, finally. Something real. 

And y’all. The cameos. THE CAMEOS! Young Courtney Cox. JERRY ORBACH and his entire arc! George freakin’ Clooney. Baby Neil Patrick Harris! That one guy from that thing, and that chick from the other thing! Literally, everyone. I got my sister watching and she was behind me so every couple of days she was getting texts about who popped up. It’s impressive, really. If you were trying to be anyone in the late eighties, early nineties, you had to get your ass on Murder, She Wrote. 

ALSO, Angela Lansbury is amazing. Hell of an actress, talent oozing from her pores. At one point, she plays her own British cousin, and it’s fantastic. She was in her 60’s when the show started! Like, someone gave a 60-year-old actress her own show. She was a ground breaker, a glass shatterer. She was a fucking icon. 

I’m not sure what I’m driving at here really, but the show is just, such a place and time. And that place and time are really beautiful and relaxing and soothing and silly and entertaining. You don’t get shows like this anymore. Everything has to be edgy and dark and foreboding and yeah it’s a show about murder primarily but it doesn’t feel like that. Why can’t we make fluffy murder shows that make you feel like you're just hanging out with your cool aunt, and she’s radiating  the intrinsic knowledge that everything is going to be perfectly fine? Why isn’t that a thing? Are we just that terribly jaded now? 

Jessica Fletcher is a treasure. And she’ll warm your heart from the inside out. If you need to be snug and cozy, Cabot Cove is the place for you. It never changes and it never should and there are no loose ends. It’s just nice. And there isn’t enough nice out there. Trust me, and get it where you can.

#what g's watching #comfort show #murder she wrote #angela lansbury #jessica fletcher

[chushanye]

all my notes on episodes 44 and 45:

the Beth and Ron intro and "Ron...what are we?" made laugh while in a dead quiet bus on a border crossing while people were getting their passports checked and maybe THAT'S why the officer was rude to me

directly from my notes: "google lauren booger??? over the panrs hj in beetlejuice the musical, transphobic? okay i googled her ANTHONY WHAT THE FUCK"

ron sounds like Jennifer Coolidge in this episode

"Taylor walks in and looks at him a s i a n l y" *anthony losing it* "roll intimidation" -> i think i got a fever from how hard I laughed

*guitar strumming* "hold on Freddy's cooking" 🎵would you say a slurrrr. if you saw me in heaven🎵

listen you can't APOLOGISE away killing someone but Scarys grown as a person and Beths speech was very well composed

Taylor I love you forever (already rolling up sleeves, "you wanna go", stuttering over his words, the moment someone questions his dad's power) Freddy is a genius for this character

I relate to Normal painfully this episode. him welling up with tears and him feeling left out while people yry to comfort him in vain is like integral to my middle school experience

"schooled in jail" is so Scary of Link. shes really emo-fied them I appreciate that. I appreciate her influence.

i cannot get over the "chaos orbs" joke because everytime i just think they're talking about the fucking chaos emeralds from the sonic franchise

*crying* IM A BAD PERSON! RON! DADDY! -> I love Terry Jr charactarisation. I love how guilt has been eating him up. I love how he still loves Ron so much. I love that he still goes to his dad. I love them sm.

Ron is just Gandalf in the way hes an old man with wisdom everyone respects despite him making no sense sometimes.

I love Ron's charactarisation. How he tries to help Nick and "you lied to me kiddo" and how he's honest with Nick and fuck I miss Ron. Beth is doing a fantastic job.

Nick is so fucking cool.

Nick and Terry Jr were best friends? Was this established before?

ooh i love the just TASTY instrumentals as anthony describes the daddy magic

I LOVE NICK. hes so fucked uo and traumatised and he isn't exactly trying his best but that is due to the things he went through and he's going through so much but he loves Taylor even more and UGGGH the fuckign Close family man.

Taylor and Glenn interacting is always just Freddy going:

"if you found time travel maguc maybe you could pick me up and we could do childhood all over again" -> I don't want to hear ANYBODY say that Freddy's characters are one-note. He knows exactly who they are and exactly how to play them and they're endlessly fascinating to me.

Taylor and Normal volunteering to be kings of hell and getting themselves in a cage is so good. like from a character perspective. "fear. fear in talkors eyes. why did i open my mouth?" is SO fucking good. it does so much for portraying Taylors thought process or lack thereof. it does so much to paint how he reacts emotionally to things. Normal's desperate need for validation leading to him putting them in a dumbass situation? Taylor bejng blinded by what's funny/exciting only to realise too late he should think before he speaks? Perfect. this is so fucking true to teengehood I feel liek I've been both of them at some point

#dndads #dungeons and daddies #dndaddies

[midnightsslut]

I was wondering if the “old Taylor is dead” concept suddenly felt a little too real to her. Like it was obviously addressed to her critics at the time, but then again - she did kill a part of herself for a moment there. The pop start, the life of the party, the cheerleader. Maybe the post mortem is also for her?

I just saw this ask from two days before the album came out. I fully agree, and I had a realization back in 2021 (yeah yeah that’s late. I was twelve when the album came out so I wasn’t very bright) that ‘the old taylor is dead’ had certain undertones lol (I definitely sent jaime an ask about it because I would’ve never DMed her 💀). this is addressed time and time again in her music. burn all the files, desert all your past lives. all her fucking lives flashed before her eyes. hell, she left a version of herself behind for every new album release. she actively picked apart everything that made up the previous era and ran from it. reputation was a more extreme example, and it was prompted by actual suicidal thoughts imo.

i think cassandra addresses this in a new way: ‘they say, "What doesn't kill you makes you aware." what happens if it becomes who you are?’ I do think it became who she was. 2016 informed her entire worldview and lifestyle for so many years. everything became about incorporating those life lessons and making sure the one thing she had ‘gained’ from it was her top priority. the only way she could make sense of what happened was to say that it led to her finally finding real love. it’s incredibly hard to let go of that, and that’s why thank you aimee is on the album. the love she found might not have lasted, but the legacy she built absolutely did.

[kristiemewisstan]

The Tortured Poets Department Unhinged First Listen Review:

Fortnight-

NEEDS MORE POSTY, we love a “I wanna kill her”, this one MIGHT BE about Matty Healy lol “I touched you for only a fortnight”

The Tortured Poets Department-

“WHO USES TYPEWRITERS ANYWAY” YOU BITCH ITS YOU LOL, Charlie Puth name drop 🤨 oh god so many name drops, THIS BRIDGE, not the wedding ring…

My Boy Only Breaks His Favorite Toys-

THERE WAS A LITANY OF REASONS WHY WE SHOULDVE PLAYED FOR KEEPS THIS TIME my jaw literally dropped the entire last verse

Down Bad-

“Everything comes up teenage petulance” this one is cringy but in a way I love, Taylor Is Very Much A Down Bad Girlie

So Long, London-

this song is tachycardic I PROMISE I MADE THIS JOKE BEFORE “STOPPED CPR”, two graves one gun I SWORE THAT YOU LOVED ME BUT WHERE WAS THE CLUES damn she’s really sad to lose London huh

But Daddy I Love Him-

this would have a cool music video “she’s was chaos he was revelry” this is if red and the 1975 had a child that’s the vibe

Fresh Out the Slammer-

Okay so this is the “I just realized how bad this relationship truly was and thank god I’m out of it”, okay the weird slow down stuff wasn’t my favorite thing

Florida!!!-

I’m cackling, THE FLORENCE VERSE IS SO GOOD I think that this is just a Florence and the machine song it sounds so like them

Guilty as Sin?-

Okay this is the first one I’ve been like “oooooo I really like this one” “what if I roll the stone away, they’re gonna crucify me anyway” DAMN some religious imagery will always get me right in the trauma

Who’s Afraid of Little Old Me?-

This one has a lot of the brain scratching pauses “don’t you worry folks we took out all her teeth” oof this song is just really angry

I Can Fix Him (No Really I Can)-

Cowboy Like Me but they don’t end up happy, okay “good boy” made me giggle so apparently in a 12 year old boy

loml-

PIANO! WANT IVE WANTED THE WHOLE TIME “still alive, killin time at the cemetery, never quite buried” I’m getting a gun and flying to London, I swear “TALKING RINGS AND TALKING CRADLES 🤨” JOE ALWYN FOUND DEAD IN A DITCH “THE LOSS OF MY LOVE” COUNT YOUR DAYS JOSEPH 💀, this should’ve been track 5

I Can Do It With A Broken Heart-

hello production that is giving Barbie movie/80s vibes, this is the first one I’m certain was written recently like it was definitely written on tour, the peppy “cause I’m miserable!” Hurt Me but also same

The Smallest Man Who Ever Lived-

THE BREATH ahhhhh PIANO! “I don’t even want you back I just want to know if rusting my sparkling summer was the goal” okay back half of the album is eating, THE PICKUP, SPEAK NOW VIBES BUT MOM IS OLDER AND MADDER

The Alchemy-

ok ok ok “I circled you on a map I haven’t come around in so long but I’m coming back so strong” fucking meant,👌 touchdown mention lmao, okay this is SO ABOUT TRAVIS 🥹🥰

Clara Bow-

Best production on the album in the first 10 seconds, BEAUTY IS THE BEAST THAT ROSE, WAIT WHAT????? “You look like Taylor Swift” yeah queen because you are lol, It’s so people can make the audio of her singing all the album names lmao

First Overall Listen- 7/10

I was getting nervous in the front half but the back half more than made up for it

The vibe was just off at the start and honestly that’s probably a me thing and will get better with further listens

The lyrics were amazing as always

Production was okay, some of the songs were perfect and some had me going 🤨

Charlie Puth

Top 3 in no particular order (apparently I like songs that hurt me):

Guilty as Sin?

loml

The Smallest Man Who Ever Lived

#the tortured poets department #ttpd #taylorswift #taylor swift #okay so like I kinda |didn’t like| it for the front half #and then Guilty as Sin? #and the album began eating

[squeebies]

matt taylor x gn reader [fluff]

i am back !! spent a … moderate amt of time on this hehe <//3 more on the way though, pls stay tuned !! and appreciate this bc I love matt mwah mwah (until dawn is kinda old, so reblogs are appreciated !! id love to see who else still loves this game <33)

“Fucking - shit,” you wheezed, attempting to flick your freezing lighter to life. You held your light source up to the flame: a rusty lantern from the floor of wherever the hell you were, and begged for it to ignite. It did, and you pulled yourself to your feet and took in your surroundings: hooks and chains and a lot of blood. If you were going to die anywhere, you figured this would be the place.

You clutched your head, all you could remember was running from this scary man and the feeling of falling - you could presume that was what got you here. A large hole stared down at you when you looked up and it almost confirmed you suspicions. Terrifying, really - that fall could’ve killed you.

But it wouldn’t explain the bite in your arm, or that huge tear in your side. You cussed - those were for later, you had to get out of this place now.

Your muddied shoes squelched against the damp ground. You held your lantern tighter as you kept walking, a monotonous dripping distantly following you everywhere you went. You ignored how your body ached, weakly trudging your way out of the freezing cave.

You continued until you reached a strange elevator shaft; far too old to work, and far too complicated to operate anyway. Beside of it was a stack of pallets, framed in a way to make it the perfect hiding spot. You regarded it loosely until you saw something reflect from your lantern’s flame. It came from under the stack of wood, a glint of silver.

You peered around the pallets and spotted a gun. A small pistol, thrown to the side carelessly. It felt weighty, almost awkward in your hand; you frowned and held it close. Deep down, you hoped you wouldn’t have to use it. Mostly because of your inexperience, but also because you didn’t know if it had any bullets in it anyway.

But then you heard them. Footsteps. They were human - surely - but you weren’t sure whose. You painfully knelt behind the pallets, extinguishing your lantern’s flame and holding your breath. If you were lucky it’d be someone who would help you out of this shithole. If you weren’t, you couldn’t promise you wouldn’t use the gun. You grazed its trigger as the footsteps stopped, then went to the elevator shaft, then -

“(Y/N) …”

“Shit!” You swore, flailing your hands and accidentally pulling the trigger. It didn’t go off; jammed, obviously. Probably because it was so old. You looked up, curling into the corner and catching your breath, “Oh my - fucking, shit, Matt!”

He flinched away, “I’m sorry - shit. Sorry, I-I just - I saw you.” Matt pulled you up and put a hand on your shoulder, “Shit, you okay? Nice to see someone else - but, fuck,” he surveyed your wounds sullenly, “you look like you’re already dead.”

You grimaced, somewhat in pain, but mostly insecurity. Matt’s words did little to comfort you and you weren’t oblivious to how shitty you must’ve looked.

He noticed. “I’m sorry - just,” he debated internally, before carefully wrapping his arms around you, “are you okay?”

You held him close, “No - I’m not sure. I don’t know,” you sobbed into the fabric of his jacket. “Have you seen anyone? What’re you - how did you get here?”

He glowered, “I’m - I don’t know. Emily, she …” he paused, “I don’t know. One second we were getting help at the radio tower - but something happened, and we fell, and I really tried to save her - I did. But I haven’t seen her since.”

There was a lot more shit going on than you thought. What psycho would - or even could - topple the radio tower? You held him tighter; you knew better than to prod him too much right now, “Matt … she’s okay - I’m sure. She’s tough.”

“Yea.” If he had more to say, he kept it to himself. Matt rested his chin on your head, “I’m just - I’m glad you’re okay. Fuck.”

He held you for a while, the burn of his lantern engulfing you two in a hazy light. Matt furrowed his brows and closed his eyes, digging his nose into your hair. He swayed with you, and even though he whispered his voice bounced off of the cavern walls, “We’re gonna get out of here. I-I don’t know how, but I swear.” You nodded a quiet ‘thank you’, and he held you the slightest bit tighter.

“Um,” you pulled away, looping Matt’s lantern into your own hand, “I don’t - we should really keep going.” You held out the cruddy pistol, “It’s jammed - but that means there’s something in it, right?”

He wasn’t sure - Matt knew next to nothing about guns. He studied the object and shrugged, “I don’t know, I guess I’ll take the chance ..?” You nodded, and he followed you closely as you two continued to look for an exit.

Matt couldn’t help but glance at your wounds again; he thought about the fire tower as well. About his encounter with that ‘thing’ that yanked him across the ground like a rag doll after trying to save Emily. It felt like everything was starting to piece together. What started as a glance turned into an engrossed stare. His turmoil swelled as his eyes lingered on the bite on your arm, and he didn’t stop himself from hooking your hand with his own, “Do you know what did this to you?”

You squeezed his hand and he pulled himself closer, “I don’t - I think it was some man. But he was so fast, and I couldn’t - I didn’t even see him.” Your head started to pound again, just like when you woke up.

You slowed to a stop. “I’m sorry, my head’s killing me. I can’t …“ you blocked your eyes from the lantern, its light almost disorienting against the dark walls. You held it away, “Please - I’m sorry, we can swap. I just -“

“No - no. You’re alright,” he grabbed the lantern with his free hand - the one once holding yours - and looped the one gripping the pistol around your waist. His voice held an unexpected persistence, gruff and low in your ear, “Let’s go.”

“Yea,” you flushed and leaned into him as you started walking. A while passed before either of you spoke again.

Matt did first, his voice as tender as his grip on you; the same question as before, “Do you - uh, do you remember anything about what happened?”

“No … no - I’m sorry. Just running. A lot.” You remembered much more really, but it felt almost indescribable. A lot of fear, a strange growling (or screaming? it was etched into your mind and yet it seemed indiscernible, so far yet so close) and the feeling of teeth through your flesh. It seemed like everything was adding up all at once and you didn’t know whether to puke or cry; there was no way it was human - let alone anything you’ve ever seen before.

Matt didn’t push it, the exhaustion on your face was evidence enough, “Yea. Something real fucked up tonight - I don’t know.”

“… Yea.”

Light blotted through holes and nooks in the mine’s walls, and you reassured yourself that - at least somewhere - there was a way out. Or maybe that was just false hope, but the idea that you were stuck down here forever was much worse than the thought that the exit was always at the next turn. The winter chill bit at you both, the drafty winds eating away at your strength as Matt guided your way. You felt at a loss, as if when you let go of him you’d be swept into this hellish nightmare alone. That thought made you sick. You held him tighter.

Matt fiddled with the lantern’s handle, his attention split from you, the path and the searing pain in his legs. And that small possibility of a tomorrow, echoing faraway in the back of his mind; he had a lot to look forward to when the sun rose. Like the ‘help’ he and Emily had called for earlier. This would all be over soon. They’d find her and she’d be okay and Matt could finally tell her what has been eating away at him and almost boiled over on the fire tower.

If he kept thinking about it he would have to write it down: ‘dump (supposedly dead) girlfriend and confess to crush - escape literal hell if possible’. He scoffed. He wasn’t certain they’d work out, but he never wanted it to end like this. If it did end like this, anyway, because it seemed like even when Matt tried to help he severed himself further away from Emily. He didn’t know what to do - because really, he did love her. But that was before, and after the exchange on the fire tower (and her rendezvous with Mike) he wasn’t sure he could stand to see her now. He wasn’t sure he would anyway - he didn’t want to think about why.

“… Matt?” Your doleful voice brought him back to his senses; he blinked and loosened his too-tight grip on your waist, “Sorry - a lot to think about.”

“Yea, I get it.” You coughed out cold, stagnant air; it reeked down here and you could feel every layer of clothing clinging to you. Either through sweat or blood, you weren’t sure. This was torture, and you could feel yourself starting to lag, “I-I can’t walk anymore.”

“C’mon, please - just a little further.”

It seemed futile. Your legs were on fire and you were suddenly very aware of the way your wounds tingled from their slight numbness. The icy air was unrelenting, piercing through your torn clothes. “No, Matt. Please.”

Matt swallowed and looked around. He knew you two weren’t anywhere close to finding a proper exit; every gate and wooden plank he broke or tried to shift to make progress only moved you two deeper into these shitty mines. It was cold and dangerous and he knew that you weren’t in any condition to start running if it were to come to that. “… Okay, yea. We’ll - we can sit. But we have to keep going then, okay?”

“Mhm.” You started toward a large crate in the unending cave, kneeling beside of it and shivering. You let out a quiet “thank you” and pat the spot beside of you expectantly, looking up at Matt.

He surveyed the area once more before sitting down and placing the lantern closest to you, “Here. I’m sorry, you must be freezing.”

You nodded, holding you palms up to the flame. Your laugh was faint-hearted, your voice even softer, “Curled up by a nice fire - just like we wanted.”

He didn’t laugh. Matt watched the way you smiled through your bloodied, split lip. The way you shook, and the way the lantern did a poor job at comforting you with its dulled flame. The way you shifted to try and hide your torn abdomen. He could feel himself bubbling over, reaching the point of no return. He shuffled closer to you, sheepish and desperate. “(Y/N).”

You furrowed your brows and tried to follow his gaze; he wasn’t looking past you, though, and you turned back to see him closer and in deep contemplation. You eyed him timidly, “What?”

He swallowed and slowly inched his hand toward yours. “I-I know this is - this is the worst time for this.” He shook his head and attempted to align his thoughts. He was never the best at this, and he couldn’t help fumbling his delivery at your doe-eyed stare.

“And neither of us really … we really don’t know what to do now, but,” his throat ran dry as he placed his hand on yours, “but, I really need you to know how I feel.”

“Matt?” You searched his eyes cluelessly, but you couldn’t understand how you hadn’t known sooner. How it didn’t piece itself together over the years. How his little glances really did mean something, and how his hand never felt warmer than right now.

He shuffled even closer, and you both leaned in. He mumbled quietly, “Do you want this ..?”

Your answer was a kiss that you should’ve given him long ago.

He didn’t know if this was what he needed, but it was what he wanted and what both of you deserved. He shuddered as you split, his shaky breath ghosting against your lips, before leaning back in for more. He cupped your cheek and trailed his other hand down to your hip, desperate to keep you close. Matt blurted out quiet, shaky ‘I love you’s’ against your neck as he gently pushed you down, pinning you against the wooden crate you once leaned on. He whispered as his hand traced lightly up your hip, “I-I have to keep you warm, right?”

You nodded breathlessly, “Yes - please.”

Your back arched against the crate and the ground, your elbows propping you up as Matt leaned over you and kissed you deeply. His hand cradled your chin and he pressed close to you with half-lidded eyes. They raked over your wounds, and though you tasted so sweet he couldn’t help but feel a tinge of bitterness. His chest swirled with pity and desire and he didn’t know what else to do except kiss you one more time.

“I love you so much - I’m so sorry.”

#until dawn #until dawn game #until dawn x reader #the quarry #the quarry x reader #until dawn matt #fanfic #matthew taylor #matt taylor #matt taylor x reader #imagines #gaming #I love emily sm pls dont hate me #but she does not like men I am sorry ….

[hereconduct]

me rambling to myself that who's afraid of little old me is so ashlyn taylor coded:

"if you wanted me dead, you should've just said": all the witches that attacked her house and killed her parents just to get to her, they killed her sister and they wanted her too

"who's afraid of little old me?": her going from being this sweet girl who was naive to being the most powerful witch to walk the earth and everyone's so scared of this fucking 5'2 girl who just wanted to be loved

"the scandal was contained, the bullet just grazed": the fact that kimberly's death was written off as a random violent crime and not something that was planned out from her birth

"you don't get to tell me you feel bad": all the witches pleading with her at the end of their life because she was going to kill them and how they just wanted to save their covens and families by keeping the twins 'contained' aka dead

"don't you worry folks we took out all her teeth": they killed kimberly first, took her teeth, her protector, the person who kept ashlyn alive for years

"they said they didn't do it to hurt me, but what if they did": witches told her as they were dying that it wasn't personal, they didn't want to hurt the twins just because

"you wouldn't last an hour in the asylum where they raised me": literally her home, the coldness, never getting love because her mom was so scared of losing them

"so all you kids can sneak into my house with all the cobwebs": the taylor murder became a classic and people on the internet started talking about the twins as suspects, even tho the twins had no pictures and no one knew what they looked like, they were never found at the scene of the crime with their parents. the house grew old and decrepit and teenagers with a sick fascination with the crime would break in to see it

"i was tame, i was gentle 'til the circus life made me mean": literally ashlyn was the sweetest even when unhoused, even when she was being chased and being hunted, even when she was loving terrible people *coughs* ace, even when her girlfriend was killed because of her, she was tame and gentle and kind

#ooc. #bit of a ramble here #but i love her so bad #someone plot with her

[sab3rto0thed]

in her new song fortnight, taylor swift sings, "i love you / it's ruining my life." in renee rapp's song gemini moon, she sings, "i bet you're sick of it, i could blame the gemini moon / but really i should just be better to you." in keaton henson's song flesh and bone, he sings lines like "i am low and unwell" or "i find no heat, no love in me" or, the best, "i am rude and unkind." it is a song about love, and i have never known how to love unless i am being deeply angry about it.

my cat died two days ago, in the very early hours of april twenty-ninth.

i am honestly just not good at love. i use people more than they use me. i am inherently selfish, which is a quality that all humans share, but i believe i possess it more than others. i don't let people touch me unless i know i am getting something out of it, no matter how small that something is― a sly smile, a kind word, a mocking attempt at understanding.

i am unknowable, deeply misunderstood, like every fictional antagonist with the gleam in their eyes and their miserable speeches about the state of the world, their horrible upbringings and their even more horrible and inevitable deaths. i have been trying very hard to bring about my own horrible death to keep the tale going― a sixteen-year-old girl, a handful of pills. i want to go off them. i don't want a weapon anywhere near my troubled psyche. i can handle myself.

a sixteen-year-old girl and a cat that she has had for nine years that has loved her through everything, that was invented at the same time as snapdragons, that needs her more than death does. a sixteen-year-old girl and a cat and a handful of pills and a troubled psyche and a villainous monologue and a high school graduation.

i will give it a try, this whole survival thing. it is not as if i will be sixteen forever. and i am not. but i am not used to kindness. i cannot let anyone do something for me without knowing exactly where i stand.

my ex-boyfriend always said he struggled with having sex with me, because he never believed me when he asked for consent. he said he didn't know where my lines were― i didn't, either. i had never made lines, because before him, no one ever asked. i was an excellent liar and an even better actor, and that is why he left after crossing all of my lines. there is nothing magical about me once you come out the other side. i am just a small girl with tangled hair and uneven eyeliner. and no cat.

i keep thinking, piteously, viciously, of all of the people that i have ever left, or that have left me. i think of them bearing down upon my infallible self-assurance, because my cat is dead and i have not smiled in two days, as if this is some measure of karma in the universe for all of the terrible things i have ever done.

and sometimes i want to absolutely lose it. i want to decimate the entire house and kill everyone i have ever known, and i want to scream WHEN WILL MY PAIN BE ENOUGH. WHEN WILL IT BE ENOUGH. it will be the only form of prayer i am capable of, which is why i will not do it. i don't pray. i linger in doorways, but i don't pray.

it feels like everyone i have ever loved even a little bit has left me in some enormous and irreversible way. that girl that hugged me after i tried to kill myself―gone, sick of me. that boy that wanted to kiss me at the creek―gone, sick of me. the teachers that asked me to stay a while when i was crying―gone, fucking gone, sick of me. i have forgotten what love is, how to hold it in my hands without dropping it. i have been moving through my days monotonously and without more than a few ounces of joy and absolutely no care for anyone except falsity, except lies, because that is what i do. i can't love anyone without getting something out of it.

he died in my arms. the cat, i mean. he died and i held him, wrapped in a blanket, wires extending from the wraps on his paws. and he was sick for four months. he was sick all day. and i knew he was sick, i knew he was getting sicker. i should not have gone to work. i should not have gone on that drive after work, because i knew what going home would mean. i should not have made him wait. he never made me wait.

i am never going to forgive myself.

he wrapped his paw around me whenever i held him. he always waited for me to come home from work so i could chase him around the living room. he loved me more than anyone else in the entirety of my existence has ever loved me.

i wake up and he is gone and i cry. my mouth feels like i've been hit with a sledgehammer. i hate everyone and everything else in the world. i don't eat and then i eat too much and i sleep at odd times and my grandma asks me if i'm okay and of course i'm okay, why wouldn't i be okay, i am so good at keeping it together. so good. so okay.

i want to leave. there is no place for me here anymore. he was the last remaining thing that still lived in this town and loved me, and i failed even him. he was sick for four months. he was practically anemic when we put him down. i would give anything for it to be someone else. i would give anything for one more day. time, it seems, is still cruel to me― i am sixteen again, haunting the hallways, but it is not me who feels so dead anymore.

yesterday, my mom told me that i am hard to love because i have been so cruel to her. i argued the point, but i should have just said i know. of course i know. i know that better than anyone and anything in the world. of course i know. sometimes i wish i had gotten rid of me a long time ago. it would have spared everyone the trouble.

my cat died two days ago, in the early hours of april nineteenth. i miss him very much. a month after we got the diagnosis, i drove home and held him fiercely in my arms and cried into his belly. now he is gone and i am even more monotonous and robotic. i don't have a single ounce of sympathy to spare for anyone. i don't know if this part of my damage is reversible.

everything ends. i know.

[fkyumerica]

age group

all gay

ms.dahl, anne marie, chris, beth, elizabeth taylor, taylor swift, carrie, john deere

they are all gay

are you keeping any of them?

they send dogs back at people to kill them

odds are they wont be adopted

and they let them in a field

and that gay of a family will do it

i named them off

and ms.dahls mom,, obviously a old woman

you can tell when you see her

not going to lincoln park you did not learn their whoreing

seriously

a field

you saw won

one

amanda

and come in and out of the house

no this was mass group orgies here

homes, bars, outside

and no one complained

and you got to see ol whore her

and him in a truck

your pool

fucking on your trampoline

and a no stop

from anyone

they told me too

no he didnt see it

and shoot her to death for the face plant face lift

top and under ears

disney

cartoon

btch

and he draws all the time

and stole what i drew

to do it

thinking he was touching me the whole time

alix is ms.dahl

and would go up to ttouch me

then finger fuck guiermo from behind

then you in the ass

you just saw em leave

fucked you last night unconcious

and

i told guiermo it

and the younger guys didnt get hooking groups to happen killing them

because they didnt talk to me

and instead

liked them as their family

using them, no wanted a mom got a mom

now watch ugly her who cant brush her hair to wear a ugly dress

like homecoming

all of them

being retarded and fucking liking each other

or i would kill them

i still will

https://www.facebook.com/reel/5507956552662089 ugly dike bitch

wanted to be black oprah courtney

its not what he wanted

so it was free gay irish shit

now st.patricks day

and you all celebrate her

freedom

and her moaning

on microphone

they dont even have pompompurin

the star of this fucking show

curtis mated with all of them

and is her inbred son

and of who

your date for st.patricks day aaron

i say it it happens

they got everyone to do that their switch

and fuck her off

and her and him

4real

will leave you his hat

and she knows it

get her to stop or i will go

heres a video of me doing my hair now tell me not to

and i did learn to whore and no look at this face i am not one i did it for free

no cerebral

you cant spin it around

she did jenny it in front of him too

on the road again metallica

she just wanted you to know it

her next date

so many lines she survives

and kurgan

whose don

honks three times

gay male boston map

from zune

gay disney movies

of her fucking men and their other wives

and she says she is his wife

ms.dahl

renee right

no cidney

and shoot her for 9 lives

two white girls

and a whole black family

we're good right? all she wanted to do was show off to fuck another family. can we get it free this time? and i dunno we only got this. every fucking day get us two. from anyone yea halloween. and it was the school. the house big. big money. and the cars. peepee me. and a name the warners. I dont care you got a name? thats after they got ice cream again. and next day after fishing and car fucks new family with food too paid for all of it. warners. mmm commercial?

her own

now she is crucified

to find tony again

kaori will lose

she didnt go with him at 4

he didnt have a line

or a reign

she is not scottish and neither is her

so they all lose a line

and a def smoke spot

to confuse me

she didnt go either

took her spot

kentucky

now guess whose who

i said it

curtis

angelas mate stevie

and is that you careese

amber said yea

disturbs new wife

and old is out

her 15th

right?

birthday find out youre dead

and 3 face lifts for guys who look it

any time guys

now lets fuck

any time

restuarant guys

i wait for anyone

and she thinks she can point a finger at me

she can fuck herself

it wont let her live

she is already dead

noroi

do it to her

so yea

it happened

no black wig

went straight

dumped him

didnt go

took a dress

edited

instead

to be alix

and fuck you too she said

aaron

seriously

kill her

and all you could do is light her on fire

oh guiermo

you cant kill anyone

look at you

she said it

she is ugly to her and the whole cast

or youd kill her

to not fuck her next

didnt get a marriage

got a hoe

and freedom rings

end of school

just kill her

did it to liane instead

with three guys she didnt know

to fuck them next

and whoa all colored

so stupid, mallory did, her mom courtney

and whose it

to fuck you up still

kill all the whites who moved in to do it

had kids they are perfect

and innocent

thats just the moms

and kids what are ya gonna do

nothing theyre perfect

and innocent

amanda said it

with agnes too

and why go to her

you know it

curtis didnt and fucked agnes too

the disturbed guy is him

and chucky

one in the box

84 stood there to fuck him

black panther movie

and yea

meant she told you to fuck her

know a hoe

and what a hoe

is

still dont know

amanda

get to know her

greg said it

too

decorate cakes and feed it to your kids

find your hoe. the boat with the plastic surgery of only 12 people to live as after crypto life. the 13th is madonna. in movie we can leave mad and brth. O_O

no

haha

then her husband died

or they fuck underwater and its on tv

so they oops run away

illegal

theres william

and they all are

so

took her phone number right

she shot him

it is anne marie on the right

she lost her face right

oh your grandma

you dropped her off to live here everyday

youre shit

to make me what

for your crystal lake

he heard it

he is it

you

are

a pedophile

and other guys they fuck will come in and make them dream shit

and pioneer shit was always ugly

those people too

so why switch

they knew they would die

for having three wives already

and the wives met each other

and could talk

and walk

without drugs once

amanda got them

i made her do it

its about time they fess up

about ruining the country

with mexicans now

to fuck you for free shit

they wanted the pedophile shit

plastic toy store crap

everywhere

for all of them

to fuck her in stores with

and i mean any age

toilet

she kept having kids with him too

anne marie

and i shot off her face

with her gun for her

now whose a whore make your mom ugly

that one took care of her and that ones her mom

they all sit and wait for him

face lift face mask and no, they all had saggy meat faces, the mask is a face lift

im from gilligans island

and we all loved him

forever and ever and ever and ever

and her too

next group here kurgan

to him too goat

and they cant follow up after

next guy head butts them

and drugs shitss in their mouth and oh you found him

and oh i send in pussy drugs you feel it on your pussy now

and the girls heard it oh save me girl

s

get a blow job

and prom dress

i wont pay for it

and she gets one

now show me her naked

and build a bear work shop

he shot his dad then did it

james corbin to megadeth singer

then slayer

then type o negative

she got the map

now shes going to kill him, then drop the gun, then fuck him

never kills him though

makes you listen right youre that way

and molested who

ooh ooh ooh jo have my kid or youre mad i got the drugs in my hand

syringe

and too hoo

found her too

sacajawea

now masturbate to her

same ice skating duo every year

took care of them in lincoln park as kids

whore kathy bell sandradee

retarded too

didnt go outside after one class with her mom ms.dahl

and didnt marry either

and was his wife

kathys male

kathy and james

without a paddle

whose dad now

we got smart

and i was always a old man

jurassic park

https://www.saksfifthavenue.com/product/Jay-Strongwater-Jay-Strongwater-X-Peeps-Rock-Box-0400018961005.html?site_refer=SOC_BEH_S5_STITCH_FBIG_TRAFFIC_Q124_ALL_A18+_oCPM_AutoP_Timeless_ALL_MIO_SAID%3DI4B8A8ShwjTN-2wE&fbclid=IwAR2D27K97i7xySR4CKmDWEjxGIxt4WLATdcQxBti7mHGwJQ-sr3uJsckp1E hahaha what does he make

Shop Jay Strongwater Jay Strongwater X Peeps Rock Box | Saks Fifth Avenue

and kathy is swarowski

https://www.saksfifthavenue.com/product/l-objet-haas-brothers-butts-up-box-0400017689131.html?dwvar_0400017689131_color=WHITE

this is how they fuck

each other

kathy was in the movie too

then after

both looked female

edit

and timmy, our dad

mexican black disney guy out of a hat ol graham glasgow

who she date for a boat ride for him

and 85 women and 300 gay men

hide the women

hahahah

fuck yeaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa

they sscream it

the women do

then their free boat ride after to fuck you

their 3 gears

truck, car, semi, bike

and so slow he cant catch you

so what molested

and james said he made everything in the stores

gay with rick james that is him

right

or whose boat

dont confuse me im gay

now im gay

ahhh mama

https://www.youtube.com/shorts/ckvHyBEgnO8 this is james too how gay is he

the other guy is kathy i opened a thing of bread and threw it on the ground now were gonna eat it

kathy is fred/vince mcmahon

and greg is the mcmahon son

carrie is him

and their boat attacks everyone too

then james turns into that white short blonde hair woman in wwf that would come out and yell at them

was it vince mcmahons wife i dunno

it was gregs

caidence

thought he was a gay creator of life

and is a man too or hides

as amanda

take off his wig this is him

amanda did marry chauncey leopardo/tim harris/doctor guy/stone cold dad in trailer park aka steve austin to cheat/luke skywalker/josh walinski/ryan/marilyn manson/mullet/trailer park trash/dad in noroi but wife was a male. he takes the anne maries gets them pregnant and leaves. trailer park showed it. he is david/curtis/bill/tom whoever/jeff/dopey/tony

he doesnt have hair he has that flat of a head

1st inbred

second

noroi

he was his dad in the show

movie

whatever

that thing holds up its head with that

skin and a stick

star wars

come on

john travolta/dan/hhh

curtis/his son

curtis is james corrbin

and jimmy corbin

and zach juwad

so happy no one knows im in a suit

#Youtube

[bieberfeverradioshow-blog]

You know what save it. It’s just like my brother

Swifties what do you think of my Easter egg theory

and Sam and everybody telling me I’m crazy. And I was right about everything. You don’t have to acknowledge it I’m just telling you. Your not the only one who does it it’s common practice in the church when they anoint things. Guierilmo de Teri or whatever makes Pinocchio  which is a rip off of Johnson in the bible. So hogs makes me to replace Jesus with then we get away but in a twist I get blown up by a land one. That’s what mahogany is about in midnights. Because you made a rare tweet about joes the hero.. it that was out of character and you mention the end. You know the hero dies so why keep score.. so I’m the anti hero and.. and in lavender haze Ashley is wearing a sun on its elbow..Rey  sunshine Lana del Rey or is ghosts gag in be anti hero..or is it Marylyn Manson..or Trent reznor..reptiles is about you Taylor.I think Manson because Rita was in bejeweled..and Trent to Manson on his first big tour..I went to it in St. Louis..royal arch..red lodge..and I’m linked to Trent..Trent just did a song with ghosts..bones calls himself the weatherman..they made Francis pope changed out benidict because I had a papel line to Peter..no Dylan will have a closer one..Lana del Rey Dana Lynn Hudson..Dana names her first born Mitchell a folk singers last names...Joni Mitchell bob dylan Taylor swift..fuck they were plotting against me at 8 years old my family was... Eliot’s I’d sings in bury you alive..we got a runner a roadrunner..Forrest tump I ran..the bar i go to is roadrunners..they substitute krylon for nylon..i could go on get into west side connection..1 pussy and 13 dicks..we got probate faces fighting federal cases:.or ghost idiot and mercury and feet but I’m done guess what I don’t have any books by the night standitokd you that’s why I does it..when I come out everything is clear..better with a girl but you know..that’she can see into a mother time thru a computer and he gets framed..the change out his eyes..John Anderson neo is mr anderson..neo 1 trinity 3 terminator 3 John Conner goes off the grid..but comes back and he can’t stop fate.like when I disapeeeard until prison..ghosts she is tattling kill the machines on people e faces at lolapaloza a theima concert..the techno world lace i went to was called hore e Horus Hudson son of an Horne wise the o and the u are opposite on Hudson and Horus e denotes and attachment to something else son of a hor us..

Come on that’s pretty impressive..just think if we were together..I’m not tripping out about it I’m just teaching a master class..

Maybe I’ll give Phil smith a call it’s in Florida..I have a feeling I have something to do with it..warren buffets management firm..and vanguard.,I own cable television and all theme infrastructure that’s why they are trying to get rid of me..

I am so sorry to have you suffer so badly from your...whatever I can lay it out from delaymar to me..I can trace the my confirmation to Benedict.. his coat of arms has a Moore.. the popes did do that..st Louis has the arch royal arch.. John Paul came there when I was there as a marker. Regali was the bishop Burke and Dolan were there. Regali moves to Knoxville I find transfiguration because of him. He’s the archbishop of Philadelphia.. to the angel of the church of Philadelphia rev 3:7 37 the zip code in Tennessee starts 37 the zip code in Vegas starts 89.  Oh yea and everywhere I go music comes out of the sky. The angels sing sorry to ruin your plans. Ai is artificial intelligence IAM is God. iA is Adam the opposite of AI Satan. I’m Adam ISIS is Adams sister ISIS.. OSIRIS IS OR SISI meaning the other halF ISIS SPELLING SISI  I SIS OR SISI MY LITTLE SISTERS NICKNAME IS CCWE CALL HER SIS..some of its fate it’s not planned.. Osiris gets killed and is wrapped in a nun tree when Isis saves him. He raises from the dead. Joshua in the Bible who fights AI IS NAMES IS Joshua Son of Nun Hudson Horus Son son of Hor ..In judges a left handed EHud is leader of the Benjamin . EHud JOSHUA REPLACE THE VOWEL WITH THE ONE THAT ISNT THERE AN E JOSHE JOESH GHOSTE MANE HORSE JO DELI  JOSH OSIRIS  ITS DELICATE  IAM  IA IM ADAM  ITS IM TAYLOR SWIFT DELICATE DELI CAT LANA DEL RAY DANA EL RA GET RID OF FIRST AND THE LAST LETTER  am a 10th level @sw black mage yet..lmfao @swiftie-stephanie. @swiftsecretsquestions @swiftclass @swiftgallery @lanadelrey @eminem @espnpr @catholicliving @catholic-inspiration @wordonfirecatholic @archdiocese @archbishop

@archbishop-bisharp @archdioceseofawesome @notredame-dedouleur @thebleacher @fallontonight @madonnaciccone @popefrancis

@royalfamilyprincess @idfonline-blog @unitednationssystemcop21-blog @potissa-ths-nuxtas @potus @reprovador @billie-eilish-is-an-idol @joealwyndaily @tayswifttrade

#swaggg #swifties #roger taylor #taylor swift #bieber #electronic #justin bieber #music #easter bunny #catholic