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#also there’s a part of me that doesn’t like comparing authors working in shared worlds to authors writing totally independently

wttcsms · 5 months

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daylight [pt. ii] ; colt grice.

pairing colt grice x f!reader word count 19.2k synopsis colt grice's life has never been easy, and it's about to get a hell of a lot worse. content contains sw!reader, canon discrimination against eldians, derogatory terms towards women author's notes if you count part one, it took nearly 32k words for them to share their first kiss. who says the pwp writer can't have range? also, i'm always in a constant state of thanks to @mochalate, who constantly motivates me to work on this fic <3

part two: no kissing

Colt Grice’s first kiss catches him off guard.

He’s sixteen, and the positives that come from puberty are finally showing up. Now, instead of waking up with achy bones and joint pain, he’s nearly six feet tall. All traces of boyhood have been shredded, and in its place is a face with sharp features and nice bone structure that has spent years being hidden under baby fat. Like every other hopeless case living in Liberio, Colt enlists in the military because there aren’t many other options for him out there. He joins later than the others because up until he was fourteen, he wasn’t a hopeless case.

Then, Dad got sick. Bills needed to be paid. Colt was more than ready to sign up for the Marleyan military considering the fact that the average starting age is twelve — for “late bloomers,” that is. It had been this whole entire embarrassing ordeal, really. He stood out from his first bunkmates, all gangly bones and a less-than-sunny disposition on the world and its current state affairs compared to the hopefulness his younger fellow cadets all seemed to harbor.

Colt doesn’t want Marley to go to war. He doesn’t want to die; he only enlisted because his family needed him to, even if they begged and pleaded with him not to. His paychecks get sent directly to his family, by his request.

The uniform fits him awkwardly, too, at first. He thinks this is why he probably wasn’t on the receiving end of positive female attention. He sticks out like a sore thumb during mandatory lineup because he’s a whole head taller and several years older than everyone else who’s getting in formation. His pants fit weird, stopping at an odd point that’s an inch too high above his ankles, and the strap on his helmet is too tight and digs into the skin of his chin, resulting in him walking around with a constant red impression on the bottom of his face. He gets promoted quickly because of his test scores and ends up surpassing all his peers in his proper age bracket, too. It’s around this time that he starts taking charge, too used to having to play big brother for his original cadet class (with their chubby faces and short statures, they reminded him all too much of Falco and what he had to leave behind; settling into this role came too naturally). At this point, the uniform fits perfectly.

The yellow armband he’s rewarded with fits just right, too.

At age sixteen, Colt Grice is officially transferred to the Warrior Unit as a Candidate. He has to prove his devotion to the cause; this means choking down more propaganda to the point where everything that comes out of his mouth is coated in Marleyan ideals, and it’s this whole entire thing where he stands up and does an oath, swearing his eternal, unwavering allegiance to Marley. It’s a public affair. The Unit makes him out to be a role model, the poster boy of sorts, for the Warrior Unit. To show the world that while being an Eldian makes you equivalent to cannon fodder, that doesn’t mean you can’t be thankful.

He’s the closest thing this shithole has to a success story.

Armed with what can be considered a Marleyan stamp of approval, and the fact that Colt now fills out his uniform quite nicely, in that primitive, hyper-masculine way that makes the female hindbrain go buckwild at the sight of him in it, he gains an insane amount of popularity.

Colt isn’t a stranger to having so many admirers, now, but sometimes he still feels like that awkward fourteen year old boy playing at being a man. It’s why he’s so shocked when the girls who pursue him turn out to be very forward.

He doesn’t even expect the kiss. He’s back in the internment zone for a holiday break, and Susie had asked him to pretty please meet her behind the old schoolhouse. Colt doesn’t suspect anything will happen, but he does mentally prepare himself to give the usual response that he gives to all the confessions he receives: you’re a very nice girl, but I can’t give you the time and care you deserve; my current and only devotion lies with the military.

Susie is a very nice girl. With her short, curly brown hair and hazel-colored eyes, Colt is certain that there are plenty of boys who wouldn’t mind a love confession from her. She was one of the most popular girls back in school, or at least, Colt thinks she was. And her parents are one of the more well-off Eldians in the area; her dad’s a doctor. Her dad is Dad’s doctor, the recipient of a fourteen year old Colt’s meager military stipends. He wonders if she knows this, if she cares, if it would make a difference.

She doesn’t say anything to warn him that the kiss is coming. She rounds the corner, spots him in her line of vision, and heads straight towards him. He thinks she’ll stop at the last second, but she doesn’t, and by the time she’s too close for comfort, it’s too late.

Her lips press against his, and her eyes are closed. He knows her eyes are closed because his are wide open from shock. It lasts for two seconds, and it’s because that’s how long it took for him to regain control of his body and pull back.

Then he apologizes and tells her that that wasn’t supposed to happen, and he can’t be with anyone right now. Shock is still clearly in his system because without even thinking too hard about it, Colt immediately turns his back on her and runs straight home. To this day, he feels bad about how he handled the situation, but last he’s heard is that Susie is married now.

He licks his lips reflexively as he stares up at the ceiling. He wonders what your first kiss was like. He hopes for your sake that it was good, or as good as a first kiss can be. Then, he feels an unfamiliar, uncomfortable pit in his stomach at the idea of you kissing some nameless, faceless stranger. It gets even worse when he imagines that the kiss is good, that it’s something you enjoy. And then he just feels pathetic when he realizes that it’s jealousy he’s experiencing.

It’s unfair of him to be envious of any of your past partners because Colt knows that he does not have a claim on you. He does not own you, nor does he believe that you are a possession, that you’re something to be owned. He is well aware that you are your own person, with your own experiences, and a whole lifetime lived before and without him. For all he knows, he’s just a footnote in the story of your life.

This thought makes him sad.

Fuck. He wants to turn his body and plant his face into his pillow and scream. He won’t do that because he’s nothing but courteous to his bunkmates, but this has been such a recurring urge lately that Colt is wary that this is going to be a problem if he doesn’t get his shit together, and fast.

He finds himself thinking about you — he wouldn’t dare to go so far as to describe it as being “more often than he would like” because the fact of the matter is that he enjoys thinking about you, doesn’t mind you being the one singular thought that remains on his mind — and that’s the core of the issue.

He repeats your name in his head like a mantra, until he’s certain that he can formulate sentences using your name as the only word. He says it in his head with different cadences, stresses the syllables in a different way every time, wonders if you ever think about him in a similar manner.

It’s been a week since he last saw you. The bruises on his face have healed up quite nicely, and the cut isn’t even going to leave a scar, according to one of the nurses. As a result of falling asleep in your bed and having to limp back to base at the crack of dawn, Colt’s punishment is that he isn’t allowed to leave the grounds for the next two weeks.

“What the hell were you doing, boy?” Commander Magath has the type of voice that is always booming. He is consistently loud, and Colt has long since discovered that that’s just simply how Magath sounds. Colt recalls flinching at his commanding officer’s question (re: he’s still recovering from a mild concussion, and Magath’s loudness isn’t helping much in the healing process), and, because Colt happens to come back at the odd period of time where the soldiers on watch are doing their shift changes, there’s an audience.

Colt knows he’s stuck in between a rock and a hard place. He would rather run one hundred laps around base than ever admit he missed curfew because he was at a brothel. He also knows that he doesn’t have it in him to directly lie to an authority figure, especially when it’s a Marleyan officer. Looks like indoctrinating children really does have some lasting side effects.

“I fell asleep, sir.”

“Well, no shit!”

Colt attempts not to wince when some tiny droplets of spit fly out of Magath’s mouth and land on his cheeks. He thinks it would only piss off the commander some more.

“I think it’s because of the concussion, sir. I thought going into town would help clear my head, but I ended up knocking out before I could even remember to head back to base.” Not a lie. Colt would never willingly fall asleep on you because he knows most of his time with you is limited. He has to make the most of it.

At the mention of the injuries sustained, Colt thinks Magath’s expression somewhat softens. It must be a trick of the light, though, or maybe his head got more banged up than he realized because Magath is back to berating him, saying that he would expect this dumbass behavior from anyone else in the Warrior Unit but him — which could be taken as a sort of compliment, if only he didn’t follow it up with a reminder that everyone in said unit is such a breed of stupid that a common idiot off the street could be considered a genius compared to them. Well, idiot or not, Colt’s well aware that Magath’s definitely insulting him and his peers.

But when his only punishment is to remain confined to the base, he knows better than to try to argue his way to a lighter sentence.

On nights like these, nights where he can’t seem to fall asleep because every slumber pales in comparison to the one he spent with you, he stares up at the ceiling of his bedroom and prays to every power in the universe that you are having a good night.

As far as bad nights go, you think this one might top the list. At minimum, it ranks somewhere in the top ten worst nights of your life.

Ramzi is sick. You would think that being exposed to the elements on a daily basis and eating food well past its prime date for consumption would make Ramzi immune to most common ailments, but if anything, it makes him even more susceptible to sickness. While he’s plenty grown up now, being sick seems to make Ramzi revert back to a little kid, to indulge in the boyhood he never had the luxury of enjoying.

“You can’t leave me! I don’t feel well!”

Even with a runny nose, a persistent cough, and his ongoing battle against his body’s fluctuating temperatures (he’ll throw off his blankets because he’s overheating only to be shivering not even five minutes later), he still has just enough strength to test his luck and see if his complaints will be enough to get you to stay home.

His antics, while proof of his love for you, are starting to get on your nerves. The time you spend running around, trying to get him situated when his one goal in life is to act like he’s unbearably uncomfortable so you keep tending to him, is making you late. The other girls who live in this camp had stopped by earlier, asking if you were ready to leave. At that point, you had been in the process of bundling Ramzi up in several blankets (he frees himself ten minutes later, complaining that he was getting “too hot”) and told them to go along without you.

Now, you realize you’re going to be late to your first scheduled appointment of the night.

Fuck.

If you leave now and run like the hounds of hell are nipping at your heels, you could probably make it to the brothel at a decent enough time to where Willa wouldn’t have to intervene on your behalf. You know things are bad if Willa gets involved.

Before you lose your patience and snap at Ramzi, the opening of your tent is being pulled back.

“No work tonight?” Malik asks.

“I wish.” And then, “Did you need something?” The I’m kind of busy goes unsaid, but it’s clear in the agitated tone of your voice.

“Just wanted to stop by and check up on you two. It’s been a while.”

Malik doesn’t apologize. Probably on account of the toxic masculinity that seems to run rampant around this camp — this whole society, really — but he means well. Most of the time. From what you can see, at least.

You know him stopping by and saying this is his idea of extending an olive branch to you. Usually, you would tease him at this point, ask him if he forgot how to say the words “I’m sorry.” All you can think about, though, is that he has the worst fucking timing.

“Yeah, I guess it has been.” You tell him, opening up your trunk and pulling out the pair of socks Colt had gifted to you. In the box containing all of your meager possessions, the ointment lays on top of everything. You’re not facing Malik, anymore; instead, you pull on this pair of socks before slipping into your shoes.

The stark whiteness of the cotton stands out from the usual colorful swaths of fabric prevalent in the camp. It’s too bright, too squeaky clean, to properly fit in your life of once-grand clothes that have retained only a fraction of the beauty and boldness it once held. Malik innocently asks you where you got the socks from.

“A customer.” You answer, and this shuts him up for now. If there is anything in this world that Malik hates more than admitting his fault and apologizing, it is any discussion of what you do for work. It’s an unspoken rule that the two of you don’t talk about your time at the brothel. For once, you’re glad about it.

“I’m about to go to work right now. Could you do me a favor and watch over Ramzi for the time being? He’s sick, and I’m worried how he’s going to feel later on in the night.” Minding your manners, you look Malik in the eyes and tack on a please at the end of your request.

“You know I don’t mind.” He doesn’t break eye contact with you. You think you detect something different in the intensity of the stare he’s giving you; more serious, with an almost broody concern evident in those dark eyes of his. “I’ll be waiting here when you get back. We’ll talk more then, okay?”

You’re already running horribly late. You don’t have time to argue, to remind him that the last thing you’re in the mood for is a conversation you’re unprepared for, especially after a long shift. Instead, you give a slight nod in acknowledgment, and practically sprint out of the tent.

The cold wind whips you in the face as you make your way to the red light district. Usually, the sun is just barely starting to set when you make your journey; it’s jarring to see how different the walk feels when you’re by yourself, and it’s starting to get dark out.

The closer you get to the district, the more the fact that you are a woman, alone, in a more dangerous, more lawless area of the city, starts to loom over you. You tighten your coat around your body, practically hugging yourself as you try to quicken your pace. The cold air bites through the fabric of your clothes, chills you to your bones, leaves goosebumps all over your flesh.

The streetlights are dim, the pavement cracked, and you are well aware that the cold soaking through your skin right now isn’t just from the weather, but from the lecherous stares of the men walking down the street. This is the same path you’ve taken for years now, but tonight, it is entirely too different. You never noticed just how tiny you are compared to the heavyset frames of the men standing outside, with their burly shoulders that could easily knock you down if they were to accidentally run into you.

Even the scenery feels different. You’ve walked down this street enough times to recognize where the deep potholes in the road are, and usually the buildings lining the district are a source of odd comfort to you. There’s a familiar bar, but its usual warm glow of light emitting from within doesn’t serve as a means of brightness anymore. Now, the lighting from inside casts weird shadows on the faces of the passerby, distorts their features, gives your paranoia something to feed off of.

“Hey, girlie,” a raspy voice startles you. It’s been so long since you’ve had to worry about yourself — always choosing to focus on the surroundings for the sake of the other girls, always never having to because girls develop a sort of stupid invincibility when they link arms and take the town together — that you’re caught off guard by the sudden feel of a man’s hand on your shoulder.

Fight or flight.

You choose the weakest of the options: freeze.

You realize that you’re scared to look at the man. Your eyes dart nervously down the street, taking in the surrounding buildings, but you realize that there is no one here who will be able to rescue you. Survival instincts kick in, and you find yourself able to back away from him, but his hand grips down on your shoulder even harder. Like a claw, like a shackle.

“You one of those streetwalkers?” His words come out like a croak. You reason that it doesn’t matter what exactly he says; as long as it comes out of his mouth, with his dry, thirsty, cracked lips, spitting out sentences in between yellowing and rotting teeth, the words are going to sound disgusting regardless.

“Or ya just a whore for free?”

You take another step back. With what little light that shines from the streetlamps (that have certainly seen better days), you’re hyper aware of more figures approaching. Sometimes, there are other women who stand outside, some women who are the “streetwalkers” the man has accused you of being, but you know that they cannot come to your rescue. If they were to witness this scene right now, a scene that they’ve probably endured every night out here, they might not even recognize your plight.

“What’s going on here?” An authoritative voice cuts through your panic, and in the low lighting, you almost think it’s Colt that’s approaching this scene.

Wishful thinking is a silent killer. Like drugs and alcohol, the high you get from it, the relief, only lasts for so long. Coming down is even harder.

You know you shouldn’t feel disappointed at the sight of your savior, but this soldier is clearly Marleyan. For all you know, he’s just gotten done with a session with one of the girls you patch up every night.

He grips the man’s wrist, yanking it from your shoulder and assessing him.

“I asked you a question.” This blond-haired soldier shoots such a sharp, disgusted look at the man that you’re certain the effect would be similar to how it feels when a blade pierces through one’s intestines.

“Look, I don’t want no trouble.” The man snarls, pointing a grimy finger at you. “She’s the one solicitin’ people for cheap sex. Go arrest her, officer.” The way he spits out the title shows he harbors the same amount of respect for prostitutes and the police. The only thing stopping him from putting his hands on this soldier is probably the high chance that he’s got a weapon on him.

“Big fan of the law, are you? Should I take you both down to the station with me, then? We can file a report together, and you can tell my superiors what exactly your business being down here is.”

“Fuck you.”

You’re debating if you should test your luck and run. There’s a chance that the soldier would rather chase after you than deal with this man’s verbal assault and hair-pin trigger temper. However, the last thing you want is to get indicted for prostitution. Not because it’ll go on your record; you couldn’t care less about that. It just sounds like filing an official report would take a long time, possibly the whole night, and you can already picture all the money you’re losing by standing here instead of being in your room, ready to greet guests.

As if sensing your agitation, the soldier glances at you and then claps the man on the shoulder, guiding his hand upwards until it’s circled around the back of the man’s neck. He pulls the man closer to him, and because of the soldier’s height, he has to lean down slightly to get eye-level with your harasser.

Silence. You can feel the fear radiating off of the man, undercut with his drunken defiance. If there’s anything men have in common, no matter what race or class, it’s certainly audacity.

“Y’know what, I thought you had a bit more fire in you. ‘Fuck you’, seriously?” The soldier turns his head and looks at you, making a face as if trying to ask you can you believe this guy? “I know you can do better than that.” He takes his hand and pats the back of the man’s head. “Tell you what. I’m going to walk this lovely lady home, who was certainly not soliciting you, and then I’m going to come right back here. By the time I come back, you better come up with some better insults, or I’m going to be very disappointed.” Straightening himself up, he extends a hand to you; thankfully, not the hand that has touched that man.

What else are you supposed to do in this situation other than take it?

The longer you walk with this man, the more you study him. The more you study him, the more you realize that it was foolish to believe even for a second that he was Colt. They have similar builds, but Colt has a leaner figure, lighter hair, soft brown eyes. The way they carry themselves is different, too. This man walks with his arms swinging by his side, and while the first glance of him can fool people into thinking he’s a perfect soldier, upon closer inspection, you realize that his uniform is missing a button, his pants are slightly wrinkled, and there’s a strand of hair in the back that’s sticking up.

“So, you work at the Gentleman’s Club.” It’s not a question. His tone is light enough, though, to where you’re not on edge. He had let go of your hand the second you two left the immediate vicinity of the man.

“Yes.” There’s no point in lying.

“Don’t suppose you’ve run into many of them there.”

“Excuse me?”

“Gentlemen.” He clarifies. “I don’t think you’ve dealt with many gentlemen there, right?”

“The name’s all for marketing.”

“Hi, All For Marketing. Bit of a mouthful of a name.”

You don’t laugh at his joke, but he does, and he does so in a manner that indicates that one, he doesn’t care if people laugh at his jokes or not, and two, he’s very accustomed to people not laughing with him. You can’t tell if you like him or not.

“My name’s Michael.” He adds, after settling down. “Willa told me telling you my name would make you feel better.”

“Willa told you that?” You narrow your eyes at him. “How do you know Willa?” Willa’s the reason why any of the girls feel remotely safe in the Club. She’s older than you, but only by a few years. With the life she’s led, you’re only surprised that she’s not older — or dead.

“She kicked me in the nuts once, and I was a goner ever since.”

You can’t tell if he’s joking or not, and he doesn’t clarify. Instead, he drops you off at the front of the brothel, not even saying goodbye. He just turns right on his heels and starts to whistle an unfamiliar tune. You don’t tell him that this part of town isn’t the area where you want to whistle as you skip down the street, but considering the fact that you hadn’t felt any more slimy stares directed at you as you walked with him, maybe he can handle himself just fine.

“Is everything okay?” Willa rarely calls anyone to her office. Tucked away in an odd corner of the brothel, it’s almost as if she doesn’t want anyone to know where her office is. The first and only time you’ve been in here had been on your first day of work, when she made you tea and told you that this is going to be a horrible experience, and that her job isn’t to ensure the girls’ comfort but rather their survival.

She’s the first person to truly ingrain this idea into your head: survival over everything. She’s the only other person who will continuously remind these girls that there are worse things to be in life than uncomfortable.

The three jagged scars running down her face, starting from an inch below her left eye, down her cheek, traveling all the way to her throat, surely must have been more than just an uncomfortable ordeal. But here she is now, standing tall, pouring hot water into cups. The smell of tea brewing fills the small room.

“Yes, of course.” You tell her, not sure why she had been waiting for you in the lobby, only to usher you into her office.

“Hmm.” Her back is still turned to you. Her desk isn’t spotless like you would imagine it to be; she runs such a tight ship in this brothel, you envisioned that every other aspect of her life must be dictated by her militant extremes. There are papers covering every surface, pinned to the walls, even, and books stacked on the floor. You can’t imagine finding anything in this mess. Anything of importance would most likely be hidden in plain sight.

“Is this about the two appointments I missed? Willa, I—”

“Already handled it.” She turns to face you, offering you a teacup. The warmth travels from your hand and spreads to the rest of your body. You didn’t even realize just how cold you are.

“Are you going to fire me now?” The newfound warmth in your body immediately dissipates. You’re not above begging. If it comes down to it, you’ll do anything to keep this job. The sounds of Ramzi’s coughs fill your mind as you continue speaking, “Willa, I have never been late before this—”

“I’m not going to fire you.” She takes a seat on the edge of her desk, some papers falling to the ground as a result. “I just wanted to talk.”

“About?”

She shrugs, placidly, but you’re certain it’s just an act. She’s sitting too rigidly on her desk, and Willa is not the type of person to waste time (time is money, after all), especially just to shoot the shit. Finally, after the protracted silence, she sighs.

“Don’t you wish you could hop on a ship and leave this shithole? Sounds pretty nice, right?”

You allow yourself three seconds of some more wishful thinking, but the idea of ever leaving Marley and having a life that’s better than the one you’re currently living right now seems so out of reach, your mind can’t even wrap around such an idea.

“Wherever I go, I’d still be me.”

“It’s a total hypothetical, [Name]. What if you ran away and had a whole new identity?” Her green eyes are very sharp. Actually, every feature of Willa is pointed and sharp. Depending on the lighting, she either looks delicate like a doll or downright dangerous.

“What’s the point? What’s the point of living if you’re not yourself?”

She smiles at you, almost like the two of you are sharing some intimate secret.

“I should probably go.” You tell her. You didn’t make this trip just to leave the brothel with empty pockets. There’s only so many hours left in the night. “Thanks for the tea.”

You set the cup back on the small table crammed in the corner of her office. You didn’t even take a single sip.

Your hair is a matted, tangled mess, some strands sticking to your sweaty face. Regular customers range from the dregs of society to silent men who like to think themselves unemotional and cold but fuck with a vigor and passion that has them grunting out the name of the woman they truly wished was under them. For the most part, you don’t mind the men who fuck you with this sort of detached lust.

Some nights, it’s even mildly entertaining.

Tonight, it just hurts.

It’s like every man who stumbles into your room tonight has a lover in his head. Lover might be too sweet of a word, though. You can’t picture any of these men being loving, but sometimes, you can hear it in their distressed groans. Something animalistic and wounded, filled with want and desire.

You wonder what the big fucking deal is. If you’re infatuated — even foolish enough to think yourself in love — with somebody, why are you paying to have sex with someone else? What’s stopping them from pursuing these women freely? The fact that they’re losers?

Your pessimistic thoughts give way to something more personal, though. When you’re left to sit in the silence after hearing the nonstop exclamations of every woman’s name but your own — each of them said in such a desperate, longing manner, it was probably a love confession — you realize that only a select few people outside the refugee camp know your name.

You stare at your door, willing it to open.

Hoping. Wanting. Waiting.

Just like every other night this past week, just like every other night that followed after you acted just as foolish as these men and whispered your name to him, he doesn’t show up.

You sink into your mattress.

Hope’s going to kill you before anything else gets the chance.

Colt stares at his reflection in the barracks’ bathroom. There’s a tiny crack running down the mirror that hangs over the sink he used to wet his toothbrush and rinse his mouth — the one with the perpetual leaky faucet — and the constant drip drip drip of water slowly plopping down in the discolored porcelain does nothing to ease his nerves.

Tonight is his first night of renewed freedom.

There’s little to no trace of the sparring match from two weeks ago. Claire had been right in her assessment: there is no lasting scar from the cut. He feels himself tracing the areas on his cheek where the bruises formed. There’s nothing left of them, now, but he can trick himself into feeling the ghost of your touch when he does this.

The only good thing to come out of not seeing you for two weeks is that he has considerably much more money saved up, allowing him to purchase more of your time.

The crack in the mirror travels from the upper-right hand edge down to the lower left-hand corner. It’s jagged, but faint; just enough to distort his reflection, make it look like he’s some messed up puzzle where the two pieces aren’t aligned right yet. His haircut came courtesy of his enlistment, so it’s no surprise to him when he finds he can’t style it in any other way besides the military guideline approved gelled parting. It usually doesn’t matter, considering he’s either on base or hiding his hair underneath a helmet, but now he’s standing in this cold bathroom, hyper aware of his looks.

He knows that he’s considered to be handsome. Handsome in a rather generic way, he thinks. He holds none of the rugged appeal some of the girls claim Porco possesses, nor does he hold the same amount of inviting charm Michael seems to waste, since every time he manages to attract a girl, he opens his mouth and they start running in the other direction. His looks are nothing special. This realization wouldn’t bother him on any other day, but when he’s spent two weeks thinking about reuniting with you, in all his plain glory, he feels like heading back to his room and never seeing the light of day again.

But he’s a soldier, a Warrior Candidate, the next inheritor of the Beast Titan. He brought pride to his family, proved to everyone that he was at least someone worth giving a damn about, and—

—he wants to see you again.

Wanting is proof that he is human. Animals survive on a basis of need. They eat the food that they can hunt because they need to survive. They burrow into holes in the ground or sleep on rocks because they need to survive. They claw at each other, spitting mad, snarling, sharp teeth, bloody paws, all because they need to survive. A textbook from his childhood, a textbook still included in Falco’s curriculum, states that Eldians are more animal than human.

Colt is aware that he’s done lots of things for the sake of survival, out of need, but there is something wonderfully human that continues to live inside of him, an ache in his body that can only be relieved by giving into his wants.

He thinks back to earlier this week, when Zeke calls for him so they can toss a baseball back and forth to each other. Colt always gets the feeling that Zeke is in a perpetual state of holding back. He’ll talk to Colt and make the occasional joke, drops an insignificant anecdote from his earlier years, all of which are scraps that Colt clings to because it won’t be long until Zeke isn’t here anymore. He’s well aware of how morbid it sounds, but Colt doesn’t view death in the disgusting, grotesque way most people do. He’s sappy. He softens it, like how he softens most things. He likens it to a well-earned rest.

He collects these little bits and pieces of information from Zeke so that at least his memory won’t be buried in the grave with him. He accidentally lets this slip out when they’re done tossing the baseball, and they’re just leaning against the brick ball, enjoying a break away from the other soldiers.

Zeke had asked him why he cares so much, and after getting his answer, Zeke fumbles around in his front pocket, procuring a lighter and a cigarette.

After lighting it and taking a long drag, he tells Colt, “You’re a good person, you know.”

Zeke isn’t the type of guy who says things just to flatter people. In fact, most of the Warriors seem to go out of their way to push their luck and see what types of out of pocket things they can get away with saying. Porco tops all of them, easily.

“Thank you,” Colt isn’t good at dealing with praise. Most of the superior officers here aren’t keen on giving compliments to Eldian soldiers, and so Colt gets used to savoring the silence in between insults.

“But, you know that memories get inherited, too, right? Can’t remember if they wrote it in the damn textbook or if I mentioned it to you before.”

“Both.” Colt answers. He remembers, because the camaraderie of it all had sounded so appealing to a young Colt. Later, he realizes that it’s because all blessings come attached with a curse; unimaginable power and a means to do right by the people you love and your state, but you die shortly after. Maybe it’s only fair that memories get passed down, to make up for all the memories you won’t ever get to make.

“So, what’s the point in trying to remember all the stuff I tell you?”

The rough exterior of the bricks digs into Colt’s back. “What if not all memories get transferred over? Maybe the ones I remember on your behalf don’t pass over, but since I know them, they get to live on.”

Zeke appears to be thoughtful for a minute, letting the words sink in, soak him straight to the bone. “Can’t argue with that.” Zeke can actually argue quite well; Colt knows this. What Zeke means to say is that he doesn’t want to argue. Zeke digs into his pocket, pulls out a carton, and offers it up to Colt.

“I don’t smoke.”

“Good for you. Don’t start.” The advice seems insincere, since Zeke tosses the butt of his cigarette to the ground and immediately lights up another one.

Maybe if he had regenerative abilities and didn’t have to worry about black lungs, Colt would also try out smoking. Probably not. His mother is always reminding him to take care of himself and taking up Zeke on his offer of cigarettes would feel like a betrayal to her.

Zeke is no stranger to smoking. Colt would go so far as to call it an addiction, what with the way his fingers seem to always naturally find their way to a lighter and a cigarette. The smell of smoke clings to his jacket, and you can occasionally see him reflexively twitch his fingers when he’s gone too long without a smoke.

Colt wonders what would happen if he goes too long without seeing you again. Would his knee bounce anxiously? Would his hands clench and unclench, just from the strain of having to resist the urge to run to your side? He’s not familiar with such a concept; it feels insane to be reduced to nothing but his wants.

“Do you regret starting?” Colt nods to the cigarette burning in Zeke’s hand.

“Not really, no.”

The crunch of gravel being grinded underneath his boots, the way the tiny embers of a persistent flame clinging to the cigarette are immediately extinguished, just from one well-aimed stomp from Zeke, had Colt excusing himself to prepare for his meeting with you.

Thinking back on this, thinking about how Zeke showed no regret over his addiction, his reliance, his sole source of relief, Colt finds the courage to walk out the bathroom and head to the red light district.

“And then he fucking coughed on me!” Alize is an animated storyteller. You can see the disgusted look on her face, almost as if she’s reliving the very scene she’s describing in horrifying detail for you all. As one of the only Eldians working here, Alize gets some of the worst clients. The type to fetishize her for the armband she’s mandated to wear.

“No!” Margaret gasps, like she is oh-so shocked at such a thing happening, even though this is a very tame thing in comparison to a lot of the situations everyone encounters. All the girls sitting in the circle are laughing, and it feels good, truly, to have a chance to gather like this and rehash traumatic events together like girls gossiping at a sleepover. If you can’t make fun of it, what’s the point of enduring it?

Nadia is sitting next to you, back slightly hunched, knees pulled up to her chest so her little chin can rest atop them. She’s not laughing, and she’s not sharing her own stories.

“Why don’t we ever share any good stories?” You ask, and that brings up another round of laughter. Good? In this place? Get real.

But when you’re surrounded by these girls, sitting close together, enjoying each other’s company, it’s almost easy to forget that anything bad has happened here. You want Nadia to see that.

“I’m being serious, come on. All of us can remember at least one good story.”

“Well, there was that one guy who used to come in and dress me up in lingerie. Brand new panties and bras every week; the good stuff, too. I’m talking lace.” Margaret leans in to the circle when she says this, and everyone’s hooked. Lacy lingerie? That’s a luxury.

“Mags, that’s not a good story! His wife caught him spending all his paychecks on playing dirty dress-up with you, and she came down here, causing an absolute ruckus!” Delia feels most passionately about this because she happened to be in the lobby when the man’s wife came around, and then got accused of being “that whore.” Delia never lets Margaret forget that she took a slap to the face for her; as if Margaret would ever forget that.

“You know what I’m not hearing? Anything good.” You point out.

“What are you looking for? A fucking love story?” Alize snickers, before you make eye contact with her, subtly letting your eyes flicker to a hopeless looking Nadia. Alize understands immediately.

“You know, there is that rumor about that one girl who met her husband here.” Alize starts but is immediately met with interjections.

“Not this again—”

“Get real, Ali—”

“Shut up! I’m telling the story, here, aren’t I?” Alize gives everyone in the circle a warning stare before continuing. “He was a businessman.”

“Okay, businessmen are the worst, I don’t—” You knock your body against Margaret’s, effectively getting her to quiet down so Alize can actually finish her story before you all have to head to your separate rooms to get to work.

“And he wasn’t looking for love, by the way. Don’t get it twisted, girls. It shouldn’t come as a surprise that men don’t come to girls like us with the game plan of meeting their one true love. Got it?” The reminder seems to be aimed at Nadia, who begins to peek out of her shell at the word “love.”

“So, this businessman, he ends up at this place because he’s new to the area and some cab driver totally screwed him over. Pulled right outside our lovely little area of the city and robbed him! Now, he’s broke, but looks way too good to be in an area like this. And our girl, Nadia—” The name of the girl who gets the happy ending always changes. No one has any idea how this rumor started; apparently, it always happens to be right before the time the oldest girl at the brothel started. By the time people start requesting for someone to tell this story, it’s usually not for their sake, but for pulling out some other girl from the darkness of this place. Nadia is definitely latching on, allowing herself to be rescued. Even if the story is just a fantasy, it’s still better than wallowing in a pit of despair.

“—she spots him. She’s about to head to our little club here until she spots him. He looked so out of place and like easy pickings. If she didn’t approach him, who knows where he’d be?”

“Dead in a ditch, probably,” A voice pipes up, followed by quiet giggles.

“Naked, too. You know they would’ve robbed him for anything he had.” Margaret adds in, resulting in another round of laughter. You smile at her response; she’s not wrong.

“Well, isn’t he just so lucky to have met Nadia, then! Anyway, Nadia finds this hopeless case of a man and is like, ‘you’re not from around here, are you?’ and he goes, ‘what gave it away?’, and she says, ‘you’re not unzipping your pants at the sight of me.’ Oh, Nadia. What a class act she was.” Alize sighs. “She takes him to the brothel and lets him go straight to her room, and she tells him, ‘you can spend the night here.’ Of course, he’s a businessman. He knows nothing in life is free. So he asks her, ‘what’ll it cost me?’ And she tells him a price that’s worth three nights of work! He agrees to it, but tells her he doesn’t have any money to pay her right away. Now, Nadia is a little risk taker, because me personally? I’m not doing a damn thing for a broke man under this roof. But she trusts him! Guess he had that type of straight and narrow look about him. Only, instead of sleeping, he strikes up a conversation with her!”

“Now that’s unrealistic.” Delia mutters under her breath. “What kind of a man just wants to talk?”

“And they stayed up all night just talking, and the businessman and Nadia both have never felt so seen by someone else. So, she sends back to the nice side of town, and he comes back during the night with twice as much money as he promised. He starts visiting her every night, bringing her gifts and whatnot, and on the last day he’s about to leave town, he shows up with a ring and, well… It’s a good story. We all know how it ends.” Alize waves her hand in the air like she can’t be bothered to tell the rest. “Clearly there’s hope for us all. Especially you.” Alize reaches over to gently poke Nadia’s leg. “Maybe our little Nadia will meet a nice businessman.”

She no longer looks like she wants the ground to swallow her up, but it’s not a fairytale from Alize that Nadia is searching for. She looks up at you, searching hard for any dishonesty when she asks you, “Has anything good happened to you here?”

You’ve come to terms with the fact that Colt is never coming back. Even thinking about his name fills you with regret because you gave up a part of yourself that was supposed to remain forever locked away in your ribcage. You haven’t thrown out the ointment or the socks yet; not because you’re sentimental, but because you’re not wasteful. Both items are kept buried in your trunk, though, underneath piles of your more familiar, more worn out pieces of clothing. Pretending that Colt has never walked into your life would protect your heart and state of mind. Admitting to the kindness he showed you would keep Nadia going. You already know what you’re going to say.

“There used to be a soldier who would visit me and all we would ever do is talk. He didn’t even want to lay in bed.” You can hear surprised whispers from the other girls, but you focus only on Nadia. “He brought me socks and ointment for a bruise I didn’t even tell him I had. He just…had a way of noticing things.”

Nadia is raised within the same cultural environment as your own. Her eyes only further widen at the mention of the gifts he brought you. “And food? Did he bring you food?”

It sounds silly to the Eldian girls in the room, but you can feel the watchful eyes of your neighbors. You shake your head. “No.”

“Not yet.” This is the most certain Nadia has ever sounded about anything. “But he will. I know he will.”

“Get ready, girls!” Willa knocks on the door, signaling to them that the fun is over. It’s time to go to work.

Before everyone can file out, little Nadia grabs your wrist, making sure you stay to hear what she has to say. Everyone is trying to be polite, but they are noticeably crowding around the door but not actually exiting.

“So then the next story girls tell when they want to talk about love will be yours. At least it’ll be a real story this time, too.”

Willa doesn’t enter your room, but she does let you know that someone has booked you for the whole night.

Pro: guaranteed money.

Con: only a real freak would do that.

You’re not sure what to expect, but you do prepare yourself for the worst.

If you survived everything before this, you can survive this.

You repeat the mantra in your head until you get sick of it, and by the time the door swings on its hinges, you are nothing but calm and collected.

Speak of the devil, and he shall appear.

Fresh, clean, and looking even better than your memories cited him to be, Warrior Candidate Colt is standing in your room.

“Hi, honey,” you greet him, same as you would anybody else. There’s a sadistic sort of satisfaction that settles in your system when you see a wounded expression on his healed-up face. The sad puppy dog eyes he unknowingly gives you is almost enough to shatter your resolve.

Good stories don’t come from places like these. There is no man looking for love here. Don’t act like a child and hang on to some stupid hope.

“Hi,” he says, and it sounds like how people who have their heads underwater for a prolonged period of time gasp for air the moment they’re able to have their head above the surface. Like he needs air, like life is being shot right back into his system. Like how the men from those nights before had groaned those women’s names.

“You plan on just standing there the whole night?” Like a good hostess, you pat down the empty space on the bed next to you. He swallows hard, eyeing the bed, staring at it like he’s remembering the last time he was in here with you.

“If that’s what you want me to do.”

There he goes again, with the wanting, with the letting you take control. You want to ask him why he left you alone for two weeks, but that still won’t account for why it hurt you so much. You want him to tell you that he’s sorry, but you know he doesn’t owe you an apology. He’s technically nothing to you, or at least, he should be. You want him to sit down on this bed so you can play with his perfect hair and admire his perfect face and play pretend that this is the type of good story where the man loves the woman, and everything ends happily. You want, you want, you want.

But that’s not the role you decided on. You are not The Girl Who Wants. You’re a prostitute who calls people honey and doesn’t form any emotional attachments to the men who walk into this room. This character — she knows nothing about bruise ointment and thick socks, the fear of seeing his bruised face, the peacefulness of him sleeping soundly in the bed, the gentle way he whispered your name in the dark, half-asleep but determined to say it still. The curve of his lips, the smile on his features after he said it — none of that has happened to her.

“Oh, come on, honey. Don’t be shy.” You cock your head, looking at him and wishing to see nothing but a stranger in his place. “Don’t tell me it’s your first time?”

Oh, Colt realizes. So this is what it’s like to be stabbed.

He wonders if he was so insignificant to you that he truly didn’t make a lasting impression. The faint memory of his hair being played with, the careful way you applied the ointment, everything, was all just a fleeting moment in time. What he has spent time savoring, clinging onto, reaching for, has meant nothing.

“I should go.” He blurts out, shoving his hands deep in his pockets.

What would this character do? Let him go? Let him walk out and celebrate how you have a peaceful night to yourself and you’re getting paid? Tease him?

“Um, before I do, I just wanted to give you this.” He pulls out a plain black box. When he walks over to hand it to you, you instantly feel the smoothness of the fabric. It’s velvet. Expensive, and it’s not even the gift, just the case it’s in. “If you don’t like it, I can always return it.” He cannot. The jeweler on base had been very adamant that he does not do returns. Kids in the military fancy the idea of marrying young, but if the jeweler accepted every returned ring and necklace that came his way, he wouldn’t have money, just refurbished jewelry. Who the hell wants to buy a returned engagement ring? The jeweler had asked him. Sounds like a fuckin’ curse.

Inside the case is a simple silver watch. It has a thin band, with a tiny face, but it’s shiny and pretty, and it looks way too nice. You hesitantly remove it from the case, only to realize that it has some weight to it, too. Clearly, this wasn’t cheap.

You look up at him, shocked, surprised. You know you hurt him and if you felt bad for your treatment of him before, you feel infinitely worse now.

“Time seems very important.” He explains, sometimes staring at his polished shoes as if he’s never seen them before, sometimes letting his eyes flicker up towards your face, almost like he wants to gauge your reaction. “I figured a watch would be useful. To track time. To make sure that no one wastes yours, or tries to claim that they spent less time than they actually did—”

“I love it.” You tell him.

There’s that pleasant warm feeling he gets inside of him every time you praise him. You like — no, love — something he’s picked out for you! He wants to launch into the story of how he got it, tell you how he spent two hours in that store trying to get it just right, how he’s happy that you like it because he can’t return it. He doesn’t, though. He just gives you a small smile and is about to head back to base until you ask him,

“Why were you gone for so long?”

You’re in a tiny room, and yet, you want to make your voice even tinier. You say the words like you’re scared they’re going to come alive and punch you in the face. If there is one person in the world who wouldn’t use how small you feel against you, it’s the soldier standing right in front of you.

He drops to his knees immediately.

“Oh.” He looks like he wants to reach for you, to cradle your face. It’s a military feat, the type of self-restraint he possesses. All those years of depriving himself, of telling himself he’s not allowed to want, are suddenly paying off. “No, no, I swear to you I didn’t stop showing up because I didn’t want to see you anymore. After the last time I was here, I missed curfew, and my commanding officer wouldn’t give me permission to leave until today. Please, look at me.” The last sentence comes out all strangled and pained, like if you don’t, he might just do something stupid, like run out into traffic.

It is an odd feeling to be the one who looks down on someone for once. He’s so tall, even on his knees and even with you sitting upright on the bed, his eyes are still practically level with your own. Sincere.

That’s what he is.

You can tell just by looking into his eyes. He may stutter and choke on his words, but his eyes tell you enough. He is pleading with you, he is searching for forgiveness that he should have never needed in the first place, he is everything.

“Colt.” You remember thinking to yourself, how would it feel to hear someone say your name with such rampant desire? You should’ve been wondering, how does it feel to be the one who desires?

You say his name, and he knows it means forgiveness. You say his name, and he knows it means want. You say his name, and he knows it means something, but he doesn’t dare to dream so big, not yet.

“You forgive me?”

It’s hard to say no to someone who looks like that. With the way he’s staring up at you, all hopeful and earnest, you realize that he truly has no idea of his effect on people.

“Help me put this watch on, soldier. Pretty please?” You get to swing your feet a little, happily extending out your wrist so he can wrap the watch around it for you.

“Too tight?” He asks you, brows furrowed, focused on the dainty piece. You’ve never realized just how big his hands are. One of these nights, you’re going to convince him to let you take a finger and trace the whole entire expanse of his broad hands.

Colt handles things gently. You wonder if it’s hard to be so soft and caring all the time, especially when he so clearly has a soldier’s hand. All rough calluses and thick fingers. Maybe being soft and caring is just in his nature. His chemical makeup is all sugar.

“Nope. It’s perfect as is.”

He clasps it for you, a tiny, satisfying click locking it in place. He takes a seat next to you on the bed, and it creaks under his weight.

“Did you really think I just left you?” He sounds hurt, and once again, the overwhelming feeling of not being a very nice person comes back to hit you in the face.

You try to think of how to properly word it in a way that wouldn’t make him feel any worse.

“In my line of work, it’s usually the man that does the leaving. I’ll still always be here, so I guess that makes it easier to find me if they ever decide to come back.” You shrug, like it’s just that simple. Judging by the wounded look on his face, it’s clear that you weren’t successful in your task to not make him feel any worse.

Colt normally doesn’t have an issue with speaking without thinking. He’s always been held to a much higher standard than any of his other peers, and he’s always used to treading carefully. But he can’t seem to help himself whenever he’s around you; you look at him, and all his carefully constructed self-restraint evaporates.

“I can’t imagine anyone wanting to leave you.”

You think back to your group of giggling girls — sisters, or at least, the closest thing you will ever get — and how it’s in all of your instincts to look out for one another.

Be careful of the smooth talkers, Alize always warns you all. They seem like they’re the nicest men you’ll ever meet. They’ll fatten you up with sweet kisses and hope, only to let you down in the end. You’ll say, ‘but Alize! He would never hurt me in the same way all these other men do!’, and I’ll tell you right now, he might not hit you or choke you or even call you filthy names, but no matter what he does, he’s going to find a way to disappoint you. To reveal that he is not sweet.

And that betrayal is going to hurt the worst.

Just a couple of days with Colt, and his absence left you desperate, lonely. Who’s to say that he just won’t leave you again? You search his eyes, looking for a hint of dishonesty, for uncertainty, for boredom — anything that will tell you that he doesn’t mean what he said. That he’s just talking. That this is all just a game, a soldier wanting to stir up a different kind of war.

Survival instincts, a choice to be made: fight or flight.

You’ve seen your fair share of handsome men. Believe it or not, attractive people frequent brothels too. You don’t normally make a habit of studying your clients, but Colt’s face is so close to your own, and the last time you had a chance to look at him in such close proximity, he had clearly just lost a fight.

The tall bridge of his nose is slightly crooked, noticeable only when you stare at him too closely and for too long. It looks like it was broken and the doctor hadn’t cared to make sure he was even straightening the bone when he fixed it. The tips of his blond hair hang over his forehead, casting tiny shadows, adding dimension to his face. His eyes aren’t the plain brown they appear to be. There are tiny flecks of lighter hues, almost golden, little rays of sunlight filtering his point of view.

You don’t want to go about life always in a constant state of survival. You want to live.

“And are you? Going to leave?” A challenge. A soldier pulling back the safety on her gun, hands shaking, but the barrel is still pointed straight at him. Finger on the trigger.

“Only if you want me to.”

Disarmed.

Colt’s finishing up a retelling of his first kiss. You think it’s cute how he gets so easily embarrassed, and it doesn’t help that you keep asking questions he doesn’t anticipate, prolonging the story.

“Was she cute?” You ask. You’re laying on your belly, body spread comfortably over the mattress. Colt resigns himself to the floor, sitting criss-cross applesauce. The floor must be cold and uncomfortable, but he doesn’t seem fazed in the slightest, and it makes you wonder about his training.

You think about Colt’s life a lot. He’s the most open and honest person you’ve ever encountered, and sometimes, you forget that all you have to do is ask him, and he’ll tell you.

“She was considered to be pretty, yes.”

“Diplomatic answer!” You point at him, laughing. Happy. “Did you think she was cute?”

“I did.” He says, looking down immediately after, playing absentmindedly with a piece of lint on the floor.

“You did? Well, gee, what happened to her?” Colt doesn’t seem like the type to judge based on physical appearance. You think about Willa’s scars, and then picture them on your face. Would Colt still look at you the same way if your face’s flaws were staring back at him, head on?

“Nothing. She’s actually married now.”

“Oh. So you don’t have a thing for married women?” That seems like the type of respectful mannerisms Colt would possess. The more time you spend with him, the more you realize that he truly is a good man. Not for glory, not for praise, but good for the sake of being good.

“Sure.” He doesn’t tell you that no woman looks attractive to him after he’s seen you. It would sound sappy, or even worse, disingenuous. “Let’s go with that.”

You narrow your pretty eyes at him, almost like you’re trying to appear stern, to get him to give in and tell you the full answer. Instead, you relax your face, the left side of your cheek pressed against your arm as you stare at him sideways. “I bet you’ve been with a lot of pretty girls.” It’s supposed to be a teasing remark, but to your ears, you are nervously aware of the hints of jealousy creeping in your tone.

“My bunkmates will have you believing that.” It’s a running joke within the soldiers to make fun of Colt. One year, a list got exposed, where the girls in all the units voted on who they thought was the most handsome soldier. Colt had won by a pretty wide margin. A landslide victory. He had stayed hidden in his room, only leaving when absolutely necessary, for a whole week.

“Tell me about your first girlfriend.”

“I never had one.” Admitting it out loud to you makes him feel like a loser.

“So you’re a—”

“No!” He’s blushing. “I—”

“You totally seduce women into warming your bed every night, and then you kick them out! You probably don’t even wait ‘til the morning! You make them leave right after you’re finished!” The exaggerated accusation makes you laugh, and you can’t stop because the horrified, distressed look on his face is so cute, it’s so obvious that what you said is far from the truth. The satisfaction you feel from Colt’s unchanging relationship status makes you feel gross, like you’re an awful person for taking pleasure in having him all to yourself.

You’re aware, of course, that the two of you haven’t even touched, save for your fingers on his face that one night. In the future, Colt is probably going to marry some beautiful, blushing bride, and he will have forgotten all about you. Foolishly, you cast aside those self-preserving thoughts, the ones that warn you not to get too attached. It’s been so long since you didn’t have to share with anyone else; who can blame you for wanting to take all of Colt’s attention?

“I would never!” He exclaims, his indignation endearing.

As stoic as your soldier appears to be, you know the truth: Colt is a reactive person. You can read him from the way his brows are furrowed, or from the rush of blood and heat to his cheeks and ears, or even from the imperceptible movements of his fingers, of his hands. Colt is one hundred percent alive — full of life. Brimming with it. Overflowing with it, and sometimes, you get lucky, and you get to snatch up some of the excess, jar it, save it on the cold, dark nights where he can’t come and see you.

“I know.” You’re smiling at him.

In fact, you would tell him that you’re damn near certain that he gets a big fat A-plus for aftercare. You can tell how a man will treat you by how he handles everything else. Colt is careful with his hands, with sure and steady movements, and he treats fragile things gently. You think about how it felt to have the tips of his calloused fingers brush against the palm of your hand when he brought you the ointment, how it felt like a shot of adrenaline.

Feeling pity for him, you toy with the threadbare sheet underneath your body. You want to look him in the eyes when you tell him this, so he knows you’re not just playing coy or teasing him. You want to fill him up with the same sincerity he seems to effortlessly give to you.

Colt is deceptively cute; with his flushed expression and defensive stance on his character, it is too easy to overlook the fact that he’s a soldier, built for battle, bred for war.

Being honest is scary. You don’t know how he manages it every second of his life.

“I’ve never been kissed before.”

Colt doesn’t know what to say to that. You don’t even know what you’re expecting him to say.

“I hope it’s good. When you do get kissed.” He tells you. “You deserve to have it be good.”

Oh. You didn’t know that this was what you wanted to hear until he went out and said it.

“We’re going out for drinks tonight,” Pieck says, with her body draped all sorts of way across the couch. Lounging. Like a cat, Colt thinks.

Porco pokes her back, and she shoots him a lazy, half-assed glare with no real venom behind it. “You’re takin’ up all the space on the couch.”

“I just got back from an assignment. This feels comfortable.” As if doubling-down on her decision, Pieck shimmies her body, getting more settled in. Colt feels like she’ll sink into the cushions if they leave her unattended.

Porco grumbles something, and then speaks up when he asks, “What’s the point of going out for drinks anyway?”

“It’ll boost morale.” Pieck says. “We captured an enemy port, and soldiers were sent back home. Might as well go out and celebrate.”

“The port we captured was tiny and not worth a damn.” Porco points out.

Pieck ignores this very factual statement. “All the Eldian units will be going out tonight. There’s no harm in attending.”

“Whose idea was this, anyway? For all we know, this is a Marleyan officer’s ploy to get most of us too drunk off our asses to notice them ushering us into a navy ship so they can shoot us out of cannons.”

At the beginning of the Mid-East War, Marleyan citizens were hopeful that this would be a conflict resolved swiftly and succinctly. With the two year anniversary and no end in sight, the effects of war are starting to settle in the country. More posters are being hung up about not wasting food or precious resources, more colorful pamphlets filled with propaganda are being delivered to schoolhouses, and every week, organizations are taking up donations to help cover military costs. If Porco doesn’t shut up, a Marleyan officer might hear and take him up on the offer; it’ll save on ammunition costs, at least.

Seeing Porco’s stance on the invitation (a pretty obvious rejection), Pieck turns her attention to Colt. “You know, there are some Eldian nurses who would like to meet you.”

“He has a girlfriend. I told you this already!” Porco interjects.

“Is that true?” She asks Colt. “You have a girlfriend?”

Now Porco’s staring at him. Colt feels very much like he’s being put on the spot, and he doesn’t enjoy this feeling one bit.

“Well, she’s a girl. And I would say we’re friends.”

Porco groans. “Don’t be so pathetic, Grice.”

If Pieck was feeling up to it, she would have slapped Porco on Colt’s behalf. Instead, she tosses him a lifeline. “You could bring her to the bar. Girlfriend or friend that’s a girl; whatever she is. It’ll probably help you out if your plan is to not get approached by girls tonight.”

Colt latches on, grateful. “Sure. I’ll ask her.”

He does ask you, albeit not as smoothly as he initially plans on. He wants to toss out the question, all casual-like, like no big deal, but I was wondering if you wanted to get drinks with my friends and fellow soldiers?

What ends up happening is that he starts rambling. Somewhere between his nervous declaration that “it’s entirely your choice, and I don’t want you to feel obligated” and his speedrun of his relationship with everyone attending (“Porco only sounds like that, but he’s a nice guy when he tries, so just don’t take anything he says to heart”), you laugh.

He doesn’t know what it means to you, the fact that he doesn’t mind being seen with you. In front of, not just strangers, but people that he actually sees when the sun is up.

“Well, with a business pitch like that, how could I say no? What night are you taking me?”

“It’s tonight.” Colt says, and you just stare at him, like he’s from a different planet. “Does tonight not work for you?” He knows that he bought all your time for tonight, just in the hopes that you would say yes.

“I’m not dressed appropriately to go out to a bar and meet all your friends!” You point at your nightdress, the almost-translucent gown that would glow in the moonlight, if only you actually had a window in this room. The clothes that you wear on your way to the brothel are folded neatly in your dresser next to the bed, but somehow those feel like rags compared to what you’re sure his friends and their girlfriends are going to be wearing.

“I could walk you home first, and you could change.” He suggests helpfully, but the idea of Colt stepping foot in your camp only serves to add to your panic.

“No!” You wince when you realize how loud you got, how harsh it sounds. “No, we can’t go to my place. My brother is probably sleeping, and I don’t want to bother him.” Again, it’s not a lie. But as the weeks go by, as months pass by, you are aware that you are falling deeper and deeper into Colt’s pull. Having him stand inside your home feels too intimate, like you’ll be past the point of no return if this were to happen.

“That’s okay.” He tells you. “I don’t care what we do. I just want to spend time with you.”

Right when you think he can’t pull you any deeper, he says something — says it so sincerely, too — that grabs you by your ankle and tugs you back to his side. You let yourself get pulled away.

“I have a change of clothes here.” You say, pulling open the dresser drawer. Colt looks like he’s about to say something, but then you start yanking your current nightgown over your head, and after taking it off yourself completely, you’re still only met with silence.

His back is turned to you.

“Is something wrong?” You ask him, daring to step a couple steps towards him, even going so far as to brush your fingers against his shoulder, a silent plea for him to turn around.

“No.” The word comes out sounding tight and tense.

“Colt, did I do something wrong?”

He shuts his eyes even tighter, willing himself not to turn around. The ghost of your touch lingers on the surface of his shoulder, and the flash of skin he glimpsed at before he realized you were undressing lives rent-free in his mind. Are you still undressed right now? The thought of you being near naked, saying his name so sweetly, is torturous.

“No. You didn’t do anything wrong at all.” He breathes out. He tries to focus on mundane things. He tries to think about the slop they served for lunch on base. He tries to think about tossing a baseball back and forth with Zeke. He thinks about Porco, who chews with his mouth open and burps without warning.

“Then why aren’t you looking at me?”

You do something to him. He doesn’t know what, isn’t sure if there’s a word in the dictionary that would properly describe it, but you do.

“You’re getting undressed. It wouldn’t be…proper of me to look.”

You didn’t think hearts could feel this way, with this tightness that surely isn’t good for your health. He says the silliest things sometimes, and it gives your tummy a nervous, fluttering feeling. All the men who have seen you naked don’t even know your name. Colt is standing here, knowing more about you than all of those men combined, and he won’t even look at your body. You wonder if he would turn around if you asked him to.

You wonder if you want him to.

Scared of what your answer might be, you’re quick to throw on the dress you originally left the house with, awkwardly smoothing it down even though you don’t think there are any wrinkles.

“You can look now.”

He turns around slowly, almost like he’s afraid that you’re tricking him, but then he takes you in. Takes in the faded yellowness of the dress, and the peek of white cotton that sticks out from your shoes because the socks stop right above your ankle. He likes seeing you dressed in colors, he decides. If this is how good you look in the dark, he can only imagine seeing you in the daylight. You’d have him frozen in the middle of the street with just a single glance, he reckons.

“You’re beautiful.”

He says this, and it strips you naked. Not in a way that you’re used to, either. You feel seen, like he sees everything about you and still isn’t disgusted. You’ve been called a lot of things, but never beautiful. You think you could continue living in this wretched brothel for the rest of your life with just the memory of this high to keep you going.

“So, you’re the girlfriend,”

You know, instinctively, that this is the “Porco” Colt had attempted to warn you about. You adjust the thick jacket hanging on your shoulders. It’s a cold night and a long walk from the district to the bar; you don’t know how Colt didn’t freeze to death in just the thin long sleeve he wears underneath his military uniform.

“Is that what he told you? That I’m his girlfriend?”

“Not explicitly. But it was implied.” Porco does not mention that it was certainly not implied, but rather was an idea that he kept forcing upon Colt, and really, no one likes arguing with Porco. It’s best to just go along with whatever he says and hope he gets bored and leaves you alone.

“It was not implied,” someone new enters the conversation, taking the stool next to Porco. She’s a very pretty girl. A flash of white-hot envy burns in your heart, sizzles down to your stomach, makes you hyper-aware of your body and sense of self. She’s sporting a red armband, same as Porco.

“Hi.” She smiles at you, soft and incredibly friendly. “I’m Pieck.”

You smile back, too afraid to open your mouth and accidentally say something wrong. Colt is on the other side of the bar, trying to calm down the rowdy soldiers who are all repeatedly screaming at him to take a shot. They had dragged him away from you the moment the two of you entered the bar together, and he shot you such a panicked look that you realized you would have to be the strong one and remain calm.

As if feeling your gaze on him, he turns around. Locking eyes with him from so far away, in such a public space, makes this feel even more real. The weight of his jacket keeps you grounded, makes you not slip off the stool because you’ve never seen him look at you so intensely.

“Shot! Shot! Shot!” Cheers erupt from the crowd of soldiers as they gleefully watch Colt finally take the damn shot. You watch the way he tips his head back, the way his angular jaw seems sharp enough to cut, the way you can see him swallow down the alcohol. The small glass looks impossibly tinier when it’s being held in his hand.

You don’t realize how hard you’re watching him until loud laughter breaks your concentration.

“I can’t believe it! Grice really does have a girlfriend. Or, at least a girl who likes him.” Porco wipes at the corner of his eyes, as if he’s been laughing so hard, tears sprang up. Pieck rolls her eyes at her friend’s antics, mouthing out an I’m sorry, before tugging on Porco’s arm.

“Let’s go. You’re being annoying.” She shoots you an apologetic look. “He’s drunk. And probably jealous. I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but he doesn’t exactly get as much attention as Colt.”

“Hey, I’m still here!” He grumbles.

“It was really nice meeting you. I hope we’ll get a chance to meet again.” As she drags Porco away, you catch snippets of their conversation. Mainly from Porco, whose loud voice seems to boom over every other loud noise in this bar.

“She’s not Eldian. What the hell is Grice thinking?”

The warm buzz of happiness from tonight dissipates. Porco isn’t wrong; you aren’t Eldian. This hadn’t seemed like such a major issue up until now, and before you can get up to try and get some fresh air, to regroup and think about what your next move should be, Colt appears.

“Hi.” He says, cheeks pink. He’s been drinking some more. If the soldiers put as much effort into fighting as they do in goading Colt Grice to drink his weight in alcohol, the Mid-East War would have been over a year ago.

“Hi.”

“How are we doin’?” His words come out a little slurred, sliding off his tongue but getting jumbled up together in the process.

“I’m doing fine. I’m not so sure about you, though.” You poke his stomach, but are only met with the feel of hard, taut muscle underneath the fabric of his shirt.

He frowns. “I’m happy you’re here, y’know. But us — how are we doing?”

“I think we’re doing just fine, too.” You gesture to the stool next to you. “Take a seat, soldier. You look like you’re going to fall over any second now.”

He ignores your suggestion, still frowning. “You’re lyin’. What happened?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about right now.”

“Every time something’s wrong with us, you make that face.” He shakes his head. “I like everything about your face, don’t get me wrong, but it’s this look you give me. Like you hate starin’ at me, like it makes you sad. And every time you give me that look, you say something, like callin’ me ‘honey.’”

You thought men were supposed to be oblivious creatures. You feel like Colt Grice is the first person to notice everything about you, and you thought you would hate it, the feeling of being utterly exposed, and maybe it would be, if it were anyone else. But it’s Colt. For a soldier, he hasn’t turned anything into a weapon against you yet, and you’re starting to think that maybe he never will.

You decide to be just as unfiltered as he is.

“I’m not Eldian. Your friend pointed it out.”

“Who did?” And then Colt turns around, his movements loose and a bit unsteady. “Who said that to you?”

“It wasn’t an insult, Colt.” You play with the sleeve of his jacket. “He was probably just being realistic.”

“Porco.” Colt says this flatly. “Porco told you that.”

“No, he told it to Pieck when she was dragging him away. I don’t think I was supposed to hear.”

“But you did. And now you’re having second thoughts.”

“I’m not, it’s just—” You tighten his jacket around your shoulders once more, breathing in the familiar scent of the soap he uses. “I wouldn’t fit into your perfect life. I know you’re popular around here, that girls are lining up to date you.” Your sentences come out shaky. Vulnerability sucks. You never want to grapple with it ever again.

“Hey,” he says softly. His hand reaches up to cradle your face. You can feel the warmth of his hand pressed against you, gently tilting your head until you’re staring up at him. His thumb caresses the top of your cheekbone. He thinks you feel softer than you look, and he doesn’t think it’s possible for you to be made out of flesh and bone, like a regular human. He thinks you’re made of something softer, sweeter, otherworldly. Like a cloud, or cotton-candy. He’s so, so scared that he’s going to blink, and you’re going to disappear.

The overwhelming urge of want kicks him right in the stomach. He wants to kiss you, wants to feel the shape of your lips and see how they align with his. He wants to bundle you up in his clothes, this senseless want making his brain act all possessive over you.

“Here I am, thinking I’m the one who doesn’t deserve you.” His thumb traces your cheek.

You think he’s going to kiss you now. You think you’re not going to stop him.

A loud crash comes from nearby. Two men sitting further down the bar are getting into it now, and as if his body forgets that he’s drunk, Colt moves quickly. He instinctively moves his body in front of yours, shielding you from any potential danger. He assesses the situation, eyes narrowing at how more people seem to want to pile on top of the men.

“I think it’s time we called it a night.” Colt mumbles, helping you off the stool and pressing you to his side as he guides you to safety.

“Do you want me to walk you home? Just to make sure you get there safely. I won’t interrupt your brother’s sleep, or anything.” He asks you, taking special care in making sure that you don’t accidentally trip on anything. It’s dark outside, after all.

“You can just take me back to the brothel. I normally walk back home with the other girls.” You try to stifle your yawn, but of course he notices.

“Let me know if you get too tired. I can carry you back.”

If he kissed you, you would have definitely let him. You would have even kissed him back.

You know it’s supposed to be a cold night, but with his jacket draped over your body, you don’t feel a single breeze.

“Ramzi! Stop throwing stuff around! I just cleaned.” You chastise your brother, refolding his blanket and placing it inside his trunk.

“I don’t get it. Why are you cleaning so much?” He mumbles, crossing his arms and pouting at you. You’re in too good of a mood to let his attitude bother you. Instead, you pinch his cheek, already mourning his future loss of baby fat.

“Because someone is coming over to visit.”

Colt’s jacket is folded neatly, freshly washed and even ironed. The night he took you out to the bar seemed to have solidified your relationship with him, or at least, it eased any leftover doubts you had. Colt Grice is a good man.

And he wants you. You! It’s been a week since the night at the bar, and Colt keeps telling you that he doesn’t need the jacket back, that he doesn’t mind you wearing it, but you’ve been searching for an opportunity to see him again. Rather than just flat-out admitting to him that you want him — trust him enough — to finally see you in the comfort of your own home, you like to mastermind situations, just to test his receptivity.

When you tell him, feigning a nonchalant attitude, that he can stop by the camp and pick up his jacket, you try to gauge his reaction. He can’t even contain his smile, which makes you drop the whole “cool” act and smile right back at him.

Your fingers brushed against his as you passed him the piece of paper detailing where he could find you. Before Colt, you figure you could spend the rest of your life never being touched by another man again and be just fine. After feeling the contact of his skin touching your own, always innocently, always fleeting, all this want started building up in your body. You’re overflowing with yearning. The only consolation you have is knowing that he feels the same way.

Porco is an opinionated person. Colt is well aware of that. Sometimes, it even feels like Porco goes out of his way to be as reactionary as possible, just because he likes to push people’s buttons.

“Did you hear about the Eldian couple that went missing? Brass doesn’t even give a single shit. The officers assigned to the case are just dicking around.”

Occasionally, though, Porco will have a point. The world is most likely ending when that happens.

“I’m not too surprised. Some officers don’t take missing persons reports seriously.” The answer is about as opinionated as Colt dares to get. Ever since childhood, he’s had the sinking feeling that he’s always being watched. For all he knows, the whole entire base is bugged.

Porco makes a disgusted face. “You mean when it comes to missing Eldians, they don’t take the reports seriously.”

Colt doesn’t correct him, which in and of itself is a confirmation of Colt’s stance on the matter. Seeing that complaining about the situation isn’t going to change anything, Porco sighs before continuing to walk alongside him.

“Where’re you going so early in the afternoon? You’re going to miss lunch. Heard it might actually be edible today.”

“I’m visiting someone.”

“The girl.” Porco shakes his head. “When are you gonna give her up, man? I’m not saying it to be an asshole—” That would be a first, Colt thinks. “—but get real. Are you seriously going to mess up everything for a Marleyan girl?” He at least has the decency to whisper the last part, lest the two of them get taken out back to get shot in the head.

“Porco,” Colt says calmly, trying to hold in his laughter. “She’s not Marleyan. She’s a refugee.”

“Well, fuck!” Porco whacks Colt’s shoulder. “Good for you, Grice. Knew you weren’t that stupid.”

Colt certainly feels stupid. He looks over the note you gave him, but no matter how many times he rereads it, he still can’t find your tent.

There are people outside, walking, laughing, kids running and playing make-believe. Honestly, it’s a similar scene as any other neighborhood in Liberio, Eldian or Marleyan. The only difference is that instead of pavement and sidewalks, it’s nothing but green grass and a sparkling lake in the distance. He knows that the living conditions might not be ideal, but taking in the camp and viewing it under the sun, it looks peaceful. Like home.

He can see why you wouldn’t trust just anyone to enter.

He ventures further into the camp, but all the tents seem to blur and blend in with each other. Most are mainly built with some type of white cloth, but the whole place seems to be bursting with color. Different colored curtains dot the landscape. He spots people rolling out intricately designed rugs. He smells spices sizzling in a pan.

He’s acutely aware of the watchful eyes of everyone around him. Colt is no stranger to public scrutiny, but it feels different this time around. He doesn’t want to do anything that would make them hate him. You told him, once, that everyone here knows your name. He knows that that’s important to you, which means that these people are important to you.

Colt pauses, tries to take in his surroundings, ground himself. Maybe word will spread that there’s an idiotic soldier traipsing around people’s backyards, and hopefully it’ll reach your ears and you’ll halt the manhunt for him. A reasonable person would ask someone for help, but he’s aware of how he’s viewed. For all he knows, reaching out would do more harm than good. Believe it or not, he knows when people are scared of him.

“Excuse me, are you looking for someone?” A tiny voice pipes up, and Colt looks down. There’s a girl speaking to him, with wide eyes and a long braid running down her back.

“I am, actually!” Colt places the paper back inside his pocket. “Do you think you can help me?”

“You’re looking for a brothel worker, right?”

Colt wonders if you’ve ever spoken about him to anyone else. He doesn’t need to wonder why he likes the idea of that.

“I am.”

The stares get more intense when he has this girl skipping by his side. She tells him her name, Nadia. He tells her that’s a very nice name, and he means it.

“Did you bring her food?” She asks, sounding eager.

He didn’t, but now he’s thinking he should have. Are you hungry? Is he supposed to bring you food? He had been so excited at the prospect of seeing you, of getting to be with during the day, that he didn’t think much about anything else.

Before he can answer, you’re sticking your head out the tent, smiling brightly.

“Colt!”

Breathless. That’s how he feels.

He thinks you were made to be seen in the sun.

“You found me!” Your smiles come easily when you’re at home. He wants so badly for you to always be like this: happy and carefree.

“Nadia helped.” He nods to where the girl should be standing, but she had already sneaked off the moment she saw you come out. “Should I have brought food?”

“Oh, that’s just… It’s a cultural thing. From our country. Don’t worry about it.” You grab his hand, tugging gently. “Come in, I’ll give you a house tour!”

He follows you, but he’s thinking over your words. Since you told him to specifically not worry about it, Colt knows that he is going to spend many restless nights doing the exact opposite of your request.

The tent is spacious. The way it’s arranged, it’s comfortable to stand in, even without fear of your head hitting the ceiling. The carpet cushions the hard packed earth underneath, and there’s a wooden table in the middle. You’re watching him closely, trying to catch the first signs of disappointment or disgust, but all you see is pure curiosity.

“Well, one thing ruins the whole place.” He says, shaking his head like he’s sad he has to say this. “It’s so ugly, I can’t believe you left it in here.” He picks up his jacket, wrinkling his nose. “Seriously, I’m surprised you didn’t toss this outside.”

You laugh, relief flooding through your veins. “You’re the most unserious soldier I’ve ever met.”

“I don’t believe that. I’ve seen the state of our military.” He slings his spare jacket over one shoulder. He’s not sure what you had planned for today, but he’s hoping you want to spend it with him.

“They should make you their leader, then. I think you’d straighten them all out.” Reaching for his hand comes naturally to you, and he doesn’t ever say anything when you slip your fingers in between his. Walking back out to camp, Ramzi comes barreling towards the two of you.

“Ramzi, what’s wrong?” You immediately crouch down to hug your brother, who’s gasping and panting for breath.

“You can’t marry this soldier! You can’t!” Peeking his head out from the embrace you have him in, Ramzi’s eyes narrow at Colt.

“Ramzi!” You pull back, shocked. You’re clearly embarrassed, and Colt wants to tell you that there’s nothing to be embarrassed about, but he’s not sure if that would actually help. “Why would you say that?”

“You promised Malik you would marry him!”

“I— Ramzi, go inside. Now.” Your voice is shaking. Nerves. Anger. Panic. You know that Ramzi looks up to Malik. The minute you told Ramzi that a friend, a Warrior Unit soldier, would be coming, he had been excited. He ran out, in search of the toy soldier figurines he let some other children borrow because he wanted to present them to Colt.

You’re not sure when discussions of marriage came up.

It’s true that Malik intends on proposing. For a while, you even accepted it, resigned to your fate. Nothing was ever official, but he had been the one to make sure that you and Ramzi were taken care of when you first landed in Marley. He brought you food during times when there wasn’t even enough for his own family to eat, and before you started at the brothel, he always took care in securing you clothes and blankets. He watches over Ramzi, just like he would his own little brothers. You don’t think you’re capable of love, not in the romantic sense, and you’re fine with that. True love is a rare commodity, and you’ve been living in survival mode for so long, you didn’t even see the point in searching for it.

Besides, you could do much worse than Malik.

On the night when Ramzi was sick and the sounds of his sniffles started mixing in with the memories of those men and their groans of those unreachable women’s names, you weren’t in the mood to talk. Malik had been sitting on the ground, tea cups sitting on the table. He stayed up, watching over Ramzi, as promised, but also to make sure you would make it home and so he could have a chat with you, as promised.

You sit across from him, tucking your feet underneath you. The tea brewed at the camp isn’t as strong as Willa’s, and you regret not drinking what she offered you. The cup Malik slides over to you pales in comparison. It’s cold, you realize dejectedly, when you take a sip. It’s cold, and bitter.

“We’ve known each other for a long time now.” He clears his throat, looks you in the eyes. “You must know my intentions?”

“What intentions?”

You’re not blind. You know Malik is handsome, with his tanned skin and dark curls. He fills out his shirts well, from all the manual labor he does around the town, twelve to fourteen hour work days depending on how fast it gets dark outside. As far as options go, Malik might be the best person to shack up with.

“I would like for us to get married.”

Colt had been gone. The bad part about having someone take up space in your heart is that you realize what an empty organ it is when they disappear. At this moment, you’re exhausted, and cold, and you don’t want to talk anymore. You want to curl up next to Ramzi, and sleep this whole entire year off, and maybe, if you’re lucky, you won’t even wake up.

“The proposal ritual. Are you saying you’re going to go through with that?”

“There’s only one last thing to do, right?”

He says it in a way that makes you feel like a whore. You don’t waste your time daydreaming because there’s simply no point in it. Sometimes, though, you give in. Close your eyes. Picture a nameless, faceless man as your husband. When your husband fucks you, you think sex will be different. It’ll be making love, even. The euphemism always made you giggle; how corny, you would think to yourself. Call it what it is: fucking.

But wouldn’t it be nice to want to feel someone’s touch and know that they love you?

No. People in love are always the corniest people in existence. You think infatuation must cause some horrible imbalances in the body and brain or something, because the moment someone meets their One True Love, they start acting irrational. All the girls in the brothel made a pact: if one of you ever falls in love and starts acting a fool, you all have permission to slap the offending girl out of it.

In your culture, a man proposes through a series of tests. Considering the circumstances, the elders are willing to acknowledge the bare minimum. First, the man must present the girl with clothes and then food. It proves that he’s a provider. Then, the potential couple lays together. When she lets him in her bed, it’s her acceptance to the proposal.

“Three months,” is what you tell Malik. “Three months, and I will give you my answer.”

The deadline for your answer is fast approaching. There’s barely three weeks for you to decide whether or not you allow Malik into your bed. Three months ago, you considered your answer to be a reluctant yes. What else could you say? No? You thought about it, thought about spending the rest of your life living on your charm and resilience. How much longer could you survive in the brothel? Youth and beauty sells — not old, damaged goods. Now, when you brush the grass stains from your skirt, you look at Colt and feel conflicted.

You need to give Malik an answer — and soon. Before Colt re-entered your life, you knew what you needed to do to ensure survival. Now, you know what you want in your life. Needing versus wanting. Surviving versus living.

“Want to walk me to an exit?” Colt offers a hand to help pull you up. You can’t read the expression on his face, and you realize it’s because he’s purposely working hard to shut you out. You can’t even be upset with him for it.

The two of you walk together in silence.

“It’s not official.” You offer up, when you can’t take it anymore. You’re not a very talkative person, but it feels weird to have something hanging over the two of you, left unsaid. Even if he never wants to see you again, you want to lay it all out.

“Your brother seems passionate about it.” Colt points out.

“Ramzi doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”

A beat.

“If it’s not official, there’s definitely something unofficial going on, though, right?”

“I guess.”

“Is he nice? The man giving you an unofficial proposal?”

“He’s Malik.” You say flatly. “He is… The best option.” Your only option.

“But does he treat you well?” Colt presses.

“What does it matter?” You snap, stopping so you can turn to face him. You will not cry. “Who cares if he’s nice?”

“It matters because it’s you! I care, I want to know that you are living well. That you get the life you deserve.” He doesn’t raise his voice, but the intensity of his words wraps around you, squeezes you tight.

That’s the issue with Colt, you think to yourself. He makes it so damn hard to hate him.

“Maybe I do deserve this. Maybe this is as good as it gets for me in this life.”

You turn your back on him, heading right back to your tent. You will not cry. Colt is so stupid. He probably thinks marriage is built on silly things, like love. You will not cry.

Putting one foot in front of the other takes a tremendous amount of effort, but you make progress. When you think you’re a far enough distance to not run immediately back to his side, you dare to turn around.

He’s still rooted in the same spot you left him, staring at you with the most wounded, tortured look you’ve ever seen on a person.

When you’re so far that your figure becomes a tiny speck in the distance, and then that tiny speck disappears, only then does Colt move from his position. He continues to walk, hands shoved in his pockets, staring at the ground. He only looks up when he feels a presence.

“Did she say no?” Nadia asks him.

“Didn’t even stand a chance.” He smiles sadly at her. It makes sense that you would have suitors lining up to propose to you. Official or not, Ramzi seems certain that it’s a sure thing between you and Malik. Colt feels the pressure of his armband on his bicep. Who was he trying to fool, anyway? It was stupid of him to even bother in the first place. He kicks a rock, watches it skip down the slope of the land.

“I don’t believe that.” She says. “I think she likes you a lot.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, Nadia.”

“I’m not just making things up! I know if you proposed, she would marry you. She would pick you over any other man in the world!” She pauses. “It’s because you didn’t bring any food.”

“She’s upset with me because I didn’t give her any food?” Colt raises an eyebrow. You didn’t seem hangry. Nadia’s childlike conclusion is refreshing, though. If only things were that simple. He would bring you dinner, and everything would be settled.

“You gave her socks, and I saw her wear your jacket.” Nadia points to the one slung over his shoulder. “Now, you bring her a big meal to prove that you can provide for her and keep her well-fed, and then she invites you to bed.”

“She doesn’t have to invite me to her bed.” Colt quickly looks at everything but Nadia’s earnest expression.

“You would do all that for her for nothing?” She shakes her head, like she thinks he’s an idiot. Maybe he is. “That’s how you propose. You provide, and then you show her your devotion in her bed, and then she decides if she wants to spend her whole life with you.” Nadia eyes him up and down. “I think she would like your devotion very much.”

Colt has no answer to that.

“Were you burning something?” He asks instead, nodding to the large bonfire that has fizzled out. All the remains are burnt pieces of wood and ashes.

“Oh, no!” Nadia gasps, rushing to it. She grabs a stick and pokes at the pile, but nothing happens. “This isn’t supposed to happen!”

“What’s the matter?”

“Usually, there’s a roaring fire here, so people can gather here and try to warm up during the night. It was harder to get wood these past few days, and they keep sending the men out to work earlier and earlier. I guess the fire was built too fast, and now it’s gone.” She tosses the stick to the ground. “By the time the men get back, it’ll be too dark out to go to the woods and collect enough kindling to get a large enough fire starting.”

Colt glances down at his watch, then looks up at the sun still hanging high in the sky.

He’s got time.

By the time he hauls all the dead wood he can find, he’s well acquainted with both the campground and the surrounding woods. Nadia eventually gets a cart on wheels from one of the older ladies, and she brings it to him so he doesn’t have to constantly walk back and forth for small hauls.

Once he collects all the kindling necessary, he gets to work on starting the fire. He’s sweating, and he thinks Magath would be proud — or as proud as Magath can get, anyway. Today was supposed to be a free day, and here he is, tossing off his military jacket in an attempt to cool down.

Wearing only his undershirt, Colt takes the ax Nadia offers him, and he begins to chop away at the logs. He wants a decent stash for them, so that way on the days they can’t collect wood, they’ll still have this stockpile. When he gets the fire going, a crowd has already started to form around them. They cheer when they watch the flames grow higher and higher, and for once, Colt almost forgets about you and Malik.

And then he catches you in the crowd, and the pleasure he feels from not being hated or feared by the people in this camp evaporates.

Women are approaching him. He catches snippets of their gratitude, their invitations to bring him to their tent, the not-so subtle remarks on their unmarried daughters. He smiles at them, but he doesn’t stop moving until he’s standing in front of you. He didn’t even consciously think about it; his feet just guided him there.

“If I marry him, I won’t work at the brothel anymore.” You tell him.

As if sensing this is a private moment, the crowd disperses. It’s all an act, though. They’re clearly trying to eavesdrop. Neither of you seem to care.

“That makes sense.”

“If I don’t work at the brothel anymore, I won’t ever see you again.”

“So this is goodbye, then?”

“That’s not what I’m saying.”

“But we’re never going to see each other again.” He points out.

“If I marry him.” You point that right back at him.

“Are you going to marry him?”

This seems to be the direction you planned the conversation on heading towards. He’s never seen you so shy, so demure. This nervous silence, the reluctance, it doesn’t suit you. He wants you to confront him head-on, in your usual bold manner.

“Do you see a future with me? One where I’m not the girl who you have to pay to meet in the shady part of town?” His answer determines your answer to Malik.

“I already don’t see you in that way. You’ve never been just the girl I pay to see.” A glint of silver catches his eye. It brings him back to the sparring match, the one with the Marleyan boy who brought the knife to his face. It’s not a blade, but something on your wrist.

The watch. You’re wearing the watch he gave you.

“But a future.” You press. “Do you see a realistic future for us?”

Colt’s never given much thought to the immediate future. Most of the time, it feels like his life has been planned for him since the beginning. The cards he’s been dealt with aren’t the greatest hand, but he feels like he makes it work. He doesn’t complain, doesn’t wince, doesn’t go insane. He doesn’t even ask the universe for much. Even when he does make a wish, it’s always for the benefit of others.

If he closes his eyes and pictures a future with you, what does he see? Church bells, and you dressed in white? Kids? No more barriers between the two of you, no more fronts. In an ideal future, you are happy, and you want him by your side.

Things can’t ever be that simple, but damn it, he at least has to try.

“Yes.” He takes a step forward. The setting sun causes a warm glow to be cast on your face; it envelopes your whole body, actually. You are radiant. He thinks he should tell you that and then wonders if that sounds corny. Probably. He figures he’s said plenty of dumb, cheesy stuff already, and you’re not backing away from him.

“Radiant?” You repeat, giggling softly.

You wonder what you look like from his point of view. Colt Grice stares at you in a way no one’s done before, and his refusal to look at you when you’re half-naked comes to mind. He looks at you, and he undresses you, but it’s not clothes he’s trying to take off. He’s peeling layers of your masks, making you shed your faux skins all over the place, in some insignificant corner. Colt Grice stares at you, and he sees you, and it makes you feel special. You’ve spent a majority of your life feeling like gum stuck on the bottom of someone’s shoe, only worth their time when they’re scraping you off, swearing at what an inconvenience you are.

You notice the watch on his wrist, and you’re pleased to realize that it looks similar to your own, just wider. More masculine. Like “his and her” goods. The feeling of being special only grows.

“Colt.” You’re going to do something very stupid now. You’ve been feeling it for weeks now, that feeling of him pulling you past the point of no return. If you do this, you know that you’re never going to be able to give him up. Everything will change afterwards. Somehow, the thought of that doesn’t seem as scary or daunting as before. “Can I kiss you, please?”

This is a real shining moment, Colt thinks. He’ll remember this forever, and when he inherits the Beast, he hopes that this memory gets passed down for all generations. Even if nothing else gets remembered, this certainly will leave its mark on history.

Your lips are soft, and he tastes something sweet, and he wants to savor it, savor you. He keeps himself in check, forcing himself to not deepen the kiss, and then you’re pulling back from him.

So this is what kissing is all about, you think to yourself, touching your lips.

Confession time: sometimes you feel like you don’t know how to be human. You think you spent so long always on edge, always afraid, that you’re starting to forget the fun stuff about being alive. Your job is to do what people are supposed to consider the most ultimate act of intimacy, and you spend all your time disgusted by it. Dissociating from it. Perfecting the art of detachment.

You give him nothing more than a simple, chaste kiss on the lips. Not even a second (you would know; you feel for the tick of the watch against your wrist). But it’s enough to charge you, leaves you feeling wired, electrified.

Alive.

You’re aware of your neighbors witnessing this scene. You almost forgot about them, too focused on the man standing in front of you. You watched him, the flex of his muscles and the way he selflessly spent his time to help out the camp. He didn’t have to do that; he doesn’t owe them anything. You think you broke him for a second, turning your back and leaving him like he was nothing. He had every right to just walk out of here and be done with this camp for good.

But he didn’t. And if he can do that, you can put a stop to Malik’s proposal ritual. You won’t let him in your bed. You won’t let him in your heart. You won’t let anyone in.

The lingering effects of the kiss still rests on your lips. You don’t realize how hungry you are until you get a tiny taste to whet your appetite. You like kissing, you decide. You wonder why the hell you haven’t done it before.

Colt’s grin is so wide, it makes it hard for you to not try to mimic that happiness. Smiling comes easy when you’re with Colt. It’s like his shiny disposition is infectious, contagious.

No. You know why you’ve been saving your kiss, your name, the space inside your life, all of it—

—all of it was reserved for this golden soldier.

Colt is still riding the high of the kiss — of the kisses — you gave him.

Maybe this is finally the universe turning his luck around. Good karma. Every ounce of good he’s done in this lifetime, and he’s finally cashing out. You kissed him. You kissed him. You kissed him.

He can’t even wipe the dopey grin off his face as he checks back into base. He feels like Michael, like he wants to swing his arms and whistle silly tunes. He thinks he could get punched in the face right now, and not even feel a thing. The next time he sees you, Colt decides, he’s going to bring you a feast, and then he’s going to kiss you like a man going off to war.

His spirits are still high as he enters his bedroom, ready to lay down on his bed and relive those kisses over and over again until exhaustion takes control of his body, but he pauses when he sees the thick cardstock folded on his bed.

It’s closed, sealed with wax that has the Marleyan military coat of arms imprinted on it. He rips into the paper, eyes scanning over the letter quickly. He sees what he’s searching for, letting the paper drop to the ground.

Fuck. So much for good karma.

This letter serves as your official deployment orders from the Marleyan Military. You are hereby directed to join the offensive operation aimed at capturing Fort Helena. Upon receipt of this letter, you are to report to the designated assembly point where you will receive further instructions and join your assigned unit. Your role in this operation will be briefed in detail upon your arrival.

It is imperative that you prepare for immediate deployment. Ensure your personal affairs are in order, and report with full combat readiness.

#colt grice x reader #colt grice x you #aot x reader #snk x reader #fluff #angst #smut

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rhine-gold-archive · 2 years

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Visions: Pyro

Second post of the series where I theorize on why people receive a specific vision.

First part: Cryo and Hydro part three: Geo Part four: Anemo

Pyro and Geo lineups look deceptively coherent until you get to a couple of exceptions that break the rule completely. I was going to describe both in one post and compare, but the pyro section became too long, so I’m splitting them. But I still wanted to mention that on the first glance, doesn’t it make sense for Diluc and Itto to swap elements? Diluc is serious, hard-working and diligent, like most of Geo, Itto is a fun ray of sunshine like pretty much every pyro except Diluc.

They already have their burst do the element infusion. We just change Diluc’s skill to creating a cute geo construct bird, and Itto’s to sending a giant flaming Ushi over the battlefield. Peak character design, if you ask me.

Anyway, you go through Pyro users and think “yeah, this makes sense, these are all fun-loving, optimistic people who try to enjoy life to the fullest and never let the circumstances bring them down”... until you get to…

What is Batman doing in the Fun Squad? What does he even have in common with them? Perhaps by answering that, we can discern the pyro essentials.

And okay, I guess you can call Diluc hot-blooded, on account of severe pent up anger issues that are only being let out in a form of a literal fire burst while yelling “BURN”. And I can’t deny that he’s very passionate about ~ReTriBuTiOn~, which another trait all pyro users share. But like... these are not exclusive to pyro. Tartag is hotheaded and incredibly passionate about the murder too.

But also, anger and passion for vengeance cannot be the reason for his vision, because he received it *before* his father died. In fact, he abandoned his vision entirely and left Mondstadt for 4 years, joined “the underground intelligence network” in a classic Batman: the Beginning training arc.

Or should I say, in a Crimson Witch arc? “He sought after ardent flames that would burn brighter than any other, and an unshakable resolve.” Losing yourself to the grief after the death of the loved one, hating an authority that was supposed to protect, but failed you, and turning to the search of power for vengeance at any cost is literally Signora’s storyline.

but Diluc turned away from the edge, returned and took up his vision once again, signifying return to his initial ambition, but now without a childish immaturity. But his Vision didn’t go out, which means the ambition stayed the same. What was it, then?

Let’s rephrase it from another angle. What makes Diluc different from the Batman he was clearly based off, what makes him an original character? Batman is about blending with the shadows, being the scariest thing in the darkness. Diluc is about illuminating the darkness instead, creating the light where there was none.

“I will always face the darkness. For dawn to come, there must be those who dare to pierce the darkness with their light. “

Diluc’s theme is Dawn, his name is based on Latin word for dawn, his tagline is “The Dark Side of Dawn”, his burst is called “Dawn” and not a “Cool Flaming Bird”, which it actually is. Diluc’s ambition is being a hero, walking into the darkness every single night to march until the dawn comes. He is a Dawnbringer.

And in this light, if you remember my thesis from the first post, pyro starts making sense. I posited that visions are received based on *Perceptions* that people have of themselves and their relationship with the world.

Pyro users see themselves as being in a constant righteous conflict with the world. They are the trailblazers, guiding lights, individualists creating their own way, passionate about something that the world keeps telling them “no” to and they answer “fuck you, i’ll do it anyway.”

Bennet, who has the worst luck and is reject by all other adventurers, but keeps trying to become the best adventurer, literally fighting against the “wheel of fortune”

Amber received her vision when she decided “There must be something that only I can do. There must be", and became the one and only Outrider, exceling at scouting the unknown.

Xiangling is in a constant struggle to prove that the most unusual and gross ingredients can create a wonderful dish, despite people being horrified of eating them. She could easily be just as famous and accomplished chief just using normal food, but no, she has to fight for the slime condensate and lizard tails.

Klee is a Spark Knight, who is always well-intended despite naivety and received her vision while pushing boundaries of what a bomb can do.

Hu Tao is a literal guiding flame for the spirits, “Charon’s Butterfly”, crossing the darkness of the underworld to help the passing souls and keep the mortals safe. Received her vision after almost starving to death when camping in the afterlife domain.

Yanfei learned the law to better understand how to break it. Famous for finding loopholes like no one else does, to the extent that Ningguang keeps tabs on her cases to improve the law afterwards. But Yanfei’s cause is a righteous one - the improvement of the system is exactly what she wants, she just seeks to achieve it in her own, unique way. “Yanfei believes in "no structure without laws," and what she wishes for is to "live as one pleases without overstepping." Everyone in Liyue, adeptus or mortal, protects it in their own way.That is why Yanfei possesses a Vision, one that is of equal weight to her principles.” Yanfei is the best grirl sorry not sorry

"Rock 'n' roll is an avant-garde art in Liyue Harbor and Xinyan is the pioneer in this field. She rebels against ossified prejudices, using her music and passionate singing to awaken dazed souls fatigued by worldly matters.” Enough said, Xinyan is a rebel fighter and an individualistic trailblazer.

Yoimiya is an actual underground rebel, constantly pushing the limits of both her firework craft, but also guiding other people through their times of struggle, like in her story quest of reconciling old friends who became enemies. “People often say that fireworks come and go in a fleeting heartbeat, but if they are memorable enough, they will remain in bloom forever in people's hearts. ” Every new order, every new firework or festival is a challenge to improve the world.

Thoma has exact same motivations as Diluc - fighting the storm for the righteous reasons, walking into the darkness to be the light that illuminates it, but he’s focused on shielding his loved ones instead of extinguishing the evil. He received his vision on the night he decided to stick with the Kamisato clan, despite Ayato warning him to get out before shit hits the fan. “If I leave at this time, I will lose my loyalty and righteousness. <...> The will to burn for loyalty and righteousness forged a strong desire that drew the attention of the gods.”

From this point of view, it makes sense that the Archon of pyro, who see themselves in endless righteous conflict, is a god of war.

#genshin impact #diluc #diluc ragnvindr #genshin #happy birthday diluc sweety #here have an entire character study #i hope you get a better written part 2 of your story quest that isn't just batman parody #and that lets you show complexity #also i've seen his birthday art and i'm very conflicted on how i feel about short sleeves #on the one hand its cute it makes him look young and more vulnerable #on the other hand Diluc with long aristocratic billowing sleeves would be chef's kiss #rhine meta #rhine talks

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maeve-on-mustafar · 11 months

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For your absolutely incredible Mace Trains Anakin Series, i would honestly really enjoy seeing you write Mace possibly interacting with like. cultural differences between the jedi and tatooine, and helping anakin to reconcile them (they are two entirely different Planets with different Religions and Languages and Power Structures, it’s impossible to say that they have the exact same cultural values. like tpm anakin is Down to go behind someone’s back and trick his primary authority figure, has kept a Whole Entire Podracer a secret from the man who owns him, and by the time of revenge of the sith he is like Secrets Is Bad And This Is Killing Us, implying possible jedi influence in this) mostly bc you are a very good author and i feel like you would be able to write this subject very well but also in a way that doesn’t needlessly demonize one party as either Backwater Habits that he should Grow Past Because The Third World Allegory Has Nothing Of Value Whatsoever or The Jedi Are Horrible Monsters to Anakin Specifically

Thank you Very much and have a nice day

Hi anon, thank you so much for your your enthusiasm and interest. It really means a lot to me that you enjoyed my fics and wanted to reach out and share your own ideas with me. And I definitely agree that I’d love to see more TPM aftermath fic of Anakin struggling with the culture shock life among the Jedi on Coruscant compared personally.

As for if I'll ever write another fic for my "Mace trains Anakin" AU . . . maybe I will someday. I have three fics in my docs folder, all of them more than halfway finished or more. I'd like to complete them someday, especially because two of them involves Anakin bonding with Depa, and I had a lot of fun with those scenes.

But I hate my own writing. I hate it, and I don't know how not to hate it, and whenever I write, all I can do is worry that other people will hate my writing too. I can never get past this anxiety that my writing is a waste of time and that with the next fic I publish, everyone will decide my writing sucks and that they never again want to give any of my fics a chance.

And then there's my inability to make sustained connections in fandom. I've tried writing meta, I've tried reblogging art or gifs I think are nice, I've tried to offer thoughtful, well-reasoned points or counterpoints to meta I see going around. None of it seems to work, and it seems like everyone else already has their established friend group and that no one is ever interested in chatting with anyone new. I feel completely isolated from almost everyone in fandom, and I feel exhausted by it, too. I don't know how to fix this or what changes to make or how to summon up the energy to make any of them even if I did. It just seems so pointless; I struggle over and over again to connect with people, and I don't know why.

I wish I could write more of my "Mace trains Anakin" AU. I liked that AU. But I think I waited too long to publish the next part, and then too long again after that, because now I don't think anyone would be interested. I wish I were better at marketing my fics and striking while the iron is hot when it comes to updating series; it's one more thing I could better at if I tried but I'm not.

I just feel so burned out and tired. Fic writing is a constant battle for me because I have so many ideas that I want to share, but I'm so afraid of writing them and posting them only for them to be overlooked, and for me to be forced to realize that maybe my writing and ideas sucked all along, and that everyone else will realize it, too.

I don't know if I'll update my AU or not. I just know I constantly feel exhausted from worry about my writing, and I don't know how to go back to having fun with it anymore.

#anakin skywalker #mace windu #my asks #answered asks #anon answered #star wars prequels

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mobloomspell · 1 year

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Reading diary

I want to start sharing more of what I read or watch these days, partly for myself, and also because I do actually engage with a lot during my free time but for a variety of reasons it’s not a “fandom” I can otherwise passively reblog stuff for and share that way. Putting my thoughts into blurbs can also be a low-stakes way of getting back into writing and hopefully beat a block I’ve been struggling with.

Pandora Hearts by Jun Mochizuki - read 10 volumes so far out of the complete 24. I mostly started this because Vanitas is on hiatus and I got sick of people spoiling it for me in critique/theory posts, and right now I can only say I think I’m too old for it. If I hadn’t been into Tsubasa, this probably would have been the convoluted fantasy I’d been obsessed with back when it was first coming out, but I’m not really that person anymore. I like parts of it (Gilbert and Alice are great, the art consistently improves) and can see how it may slowly become more of those bits I enjoy, but I also have zero patience for “carrot on a stick” style storytelling, even good examples of said storytelling, so its main mystery doesn’t intrigue me. Taking a break for a little while, and I’ll eventually come back to check out the second half people really remember this series for. I guess I love Vanitas so much nothing can compare right now, not even the author’s previous work.

Into the Wild by John Krakeur - I originally started reading this on my breaks at work, since I was cleaning a community college in the evenings and this was one of the books as part of an adult literacy class. Full transparency, I mostly bought this as a reference because I’m working on a Breath of the Wild adaptation fic, and I thought it not only described wild environments in a compelling way, but since I can’t do hiking or camping myself right now I thought it would be good research for basic things to know (I have a second-hand Adam Shoalts book for similar reasons). Right in the preface, the author says he is not trying to be a distant biographer, he was drawn to know more about Chris McCandless’ life and death because he’d been through similar experiences, and that honestly shows up a lot throughout even the more prosaic recountings. The book paints Chris as a completely normal guy, occasionally naive and stubborn but not as stupid as some detractors painted him as. My only major gripe is that it prioritizes men’s perspectives quite often while breezing by women’s thoughts and intersections in the recounting, almost like “they exist, too, I guess.” Part of this I’ve learned later is intentional - Chris’ sister Carine wanted to keep a lot of details about their volatile childhood off-record because her relationship with her parents had improved by the time she was being interviewed, but it still bothers me when the gender balance is so skewed to one side. I took a chance on this book and minor annoyances aside, I don’t regret my time with it.

From Here to Eternity by Caitlin Doughty - I got into Ask a Mortician videos shortly before the pandemic, and decided to buy this because I was interested in learning about other funeral customs around the world. The segments vary in detail, some being more travelogue than history, but the whole thing is a very sincere wish for the funeral industry to help people through grief by not treating death as a scary, unseeable and untouchable phenomena. I really appreciated a segment wherein Doughty’s coworker and friend shared her own story of loss with a miscarriage and just wanting to acknowledge that her grief wasn’t stoic and graceful. It is basically an Ask a Mortician video in less than 300 pages, humorous asides and all, so if you like those I’d recommend it for other people also looking for a Death Industry intro. My paperback copy also has really nice gold foil and orange-peel texture covers, its the prettiest book about corpses I may ever own.

#reading diary #moposts

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techinformatioxg · 2 years

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hmsannlett · 2 years

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Hi, there! Anon, here! I read the prompts you filled, and have been sitting on many thoughts! I enjoyed each one-shot in general, but there were specific parts I want to praise! As the ask box a character limit, I will give an abbreviated version! 1. As soon as the last ribbons of the sunset had faded from the sky. 2. Endless spattering of stars 3. She slipped her hand into his arm, “What are we looking upon tonight?” TBC...

Continued: 4. Oh, the *research* you must've undertook! It brings such life to Edmund's explanation of the planetary nebula/constellation Draco! 👏 5. All the warmth and tenderness between them! She slipped her hand into his arm, holding his hand, leaning against his shoulder. 6. I could hear his voice as he shared "such was the greatness of the observers of the ancient world..." He compared Anna to Athena. He values her mind! 8. As awe curved his mouth up at the edges. TBC...

Continued: 9."It was wisdom to show Simcoe mercy" Yes! Our Annlett telepathy has aligned again! I've planned on expounding upon this in my fic! 10. The ending: how you gave us a glimpse into their married life, and the intimacy they share was lovely, and swoon worthy! 💖 *This* is the ending they deserved, and I thank you for filling the prompt and gifting such a treasure to the fandom!!! 🙏 I will send my thoughts on the next prompt shortly!

3. Her introspection is something I can relate to as I work on writing my own fic, because even though they are characters, and I am acting as author, I cannot un-see their final scene! Absurd as it is, her questions come to *me*, because *how* could he forgive her? Am I capable of writing a believable reconciliation? I don't expect you to answer this, but I just thought I'd share that her uncertainty in the one-shot is so valid and in-character! TBC...

Continued: 4. She was so 'in her own head' she almost collided with a barrel! 5. Peculiar angles and planes forming an even more peculiar--but infinitely dear--face. 5. He's staying?! "Y-yes, if you will have me." and her humility in response! 🤍 6. "You were as much a victim of the circumstances as I was..." *THIS!* This dialogue is what should have happened in canon! There was only a glimpse of it during their final scene, but IMO he hadn't come fully to this realization yet. TBC...

7. Odysseus: at first, I was unaware they had this conversation at all. But fortunately, I found it when I was scouring the TURN transcripts and then understood why you incorporated it! Abe and Simcoe as monsters - am I interpreting that correctly? 👹👺 **Cheering** Again, this conversation ought to have happened in canon! 8. "I wish to begin anew. I wish to learn who you are without the dark cloud of war..." GAH! Annlett telepathy again! ‘Begin anew’ is a theme in my fic! TBC...

8. "I wish to begin anew. I wish to learn who you are without the dark cloud of war..." GAH, Annlett telepathy again! Begin anew is a theme in my fic! 9. "...what we once found growing...might now flourish without the thorns..." I love how you incorporate Hew's nature metaphors into your fics! I do that, too! 🌹10. OK, the kiss! I admit, was not expecting the mild steaminess! **Fans self** You must warn us, will the next prompt fill be mild, medium or hot? Lol! TBC...

Continued: In sum: Thank you so very much for filling the prompts, and giving us not one but two lovely AU's which (again, I cannot refrain from ranting) *Should 👏 have 👏 happened 👏 in 👏 canon* 😉 I am very much looking forward to the second prompt, and to chapter six of AEWTTS when you are ready to post it (and no rush, it's always worth the wait!) 😄 I send hugs and many, many well wishes! 🤗 -- 🤍 Anon!

Hello! I’m so glad to hear that you’ve enjoyed the one shots! ❤︎

(Also, if you’d like to avoid the rigmarole of trimming everything to fit Tumblr's ask box limit, AO3 allows guest comments, if you don’t have an account, and doesn’t limit how much you write. Well, technically there’s a word limit, but the limit is so high I don’t think anyone would ever reach it. I never have, and all of my comments are usually novella length lol.)

I’m glad you liked the research in the first one! It took some work finding the right pieces and getting all of them to coalesce, and assembling it all was a rather precarious balance between info dumping and showing their relationship. Nerdy Hewlett is the best Hewlett. :D And Hewlett valuing Anna’s mind is quite possibly my favorite aspect of their relationship; it’s a rare dynamic in media, imo, and Anna certainly deserves to finally be respected and credited for her talents.

Yay for telepathy! Whenever I think of their relationship persevering/being renewed in an AU, I think it would be something very soft and gentle, a la the oft-quoted (over-quoted, really, but still lovely) “we deserve a soft epilogue, my love. We are good people, and we’ve suffered enough.”

I do think it’s possible that Hewlett could forgive Anna, post-S4 events, if they had the opportunity to talk about it, and he then had space to reflect on her actions. Hewlett at the end of S4 isn’t quite as jaded about what happened as he is at the end of S3, just world weary and ready for the war to be over, and that’s a good starting place for something to grow from, imo. I have an old meta I wrote about the potential they could have had in rebuilding their relationship if Turn had been allowed to go for 5 seasons, like the show runners wanted. There’s also two excellent metas on AO3 analyzing the ending events of their relationship that could be of some help, or at least thought provoking: “Love Enough” and “TURN: A Study in Creator Politics and Unintentional Intentions.” It’s been a long time since I’ve read either of them, so I don’t remember what exactly they cover and how relevant they are to your questions, but I remember that they offered hope for Annlett's continuation.

Burn’s funky face is very fun to describe. :D And yes, that was a reference to the canon conversation about Scylla and Charybdis, in which Hewlett mentions that he feels like he’s trapped between a rock and a hard spot, as Anna says, with Simcoe and Abe. In the context of the fic, Hewlett is both referring back to that canon conversation—1) to show that he remembers the conversation (i.e., that he still remembers the good moments they had, rather than the bitter note they ended on) and 2) to subtly reinforce his current interest in her, by referencing a moment when he showed his love for her—and referring to how hemmed in Anna felt during the beginning of S3 trying to balance her duty to the increasingly precarious cause with her concern/care for Hewlett, all of which were driven to a head with Abe’s threats about killing Hewlett. It’s a bit of a twist on the canon conversation, with Hewlett realizing and stating that he knows now that he hadn’t been the only one facing a Scylla and Charybdis of inescapable, insurmountable circumstances back then; Anna had too.

Yay for more telepathy! Hewlett’s nature-y metaphors are some of my favorite lines in the show, and I love that they’re canon because it means I can go wild with my purple prose when writing fics. (I do anyways, but it’s always nice when purple prose is canonical.)

Steamy, you say? I’d rate it as mild compared to most romance fanfic, but thank you kindly. :D

Thanks again for taking the time to share your thoughts! I’m glad you enjoyed these!

#asks #anonymous

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erwinsvow · 3 years

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𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩𝐬 | 𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐧

author's note: sorry i just cannot stop writing headcanons! it's my favorite thing to write. i really hope everyone enjoys these, they include things from these two works of mine as well :) -shea

𝐣𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐤𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐢𝐧

very much the involved boyfriend

once you guys finally start dating, he just immediately wants you guys to merge lives and share friends, even though that’s not a simple process

but it’s really because he cares about you so deeply he doesn’t want there to be a part of his life that you’re just not involved in

therefore; very involved

you guys manage your schedules together and plan out dinners and dates in advance

he mostly really likes having something to look forward too, like time with you

the kind of boyfriend that remembers little stuff you say here and there

like if you mention your mom’s birthday is coming up, he’ll ask later what you’re getting her and suggest some ideas. probably would send your mom flowers too to earn brownie points

or if you have a stressful week with exams and papers, he’ll stop by randomly with coffee and a snack and a hug

i honestly don’t see jean as the kind of boyfriend to start/carry on a fight, because he would hate knowing that you two are upset with each other. so i think any fights would be resolved pretty quickly

if one did happen to go over night or last a few days, he would definitely apologize first and bring you flowers, even if you were the one who started it

honestly though, with a guy like jean, what is there to fight about

overall, just a super caring boyfriend that makes the little stuff the memorable stuff

𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐧 𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐞𝐫𝐭

the! best! boyfriend! ever!

i see armin as the ideal caring boyfriend

he just really likes to have someone to take care of, and he is also really touched that someone trusts him enough to ensure their heart to him

so he takes every measure to make sure he’s being the best partner he can be

a lot of emotional sharing, and i feel like would happen pretty early on as well

only because he is so trustworthy and you know you can tell him everything on your mind, even stuff that you maybe haven’t told anyone else

this just makes your relationship progress even further. you two are the couple that has been dating for a month but knows they are going to be together for a long time

speaking of, you are the mom and the dad of the friend group, which is so adorable but calls for a lot of teasing from your friends

but armin knows he’s going to marry you one day, so he just laughs when eren cracks another joke about it

𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐮𝐧

i’ll be real, this relationship is definitely not the easiest

reiner definitely loves you, don’t get me wrong, but a big part of him probably thinks he doesn’t deserve someone like you to care about him

which isn’t easy in a relationship because i feel like he would try and distance himself from getting too attached in the beginning

maybe he just thinks you’re going to see through him and realize you don’t want this anymore (which is not true at all, but just his intrusive thoughts)

i think you would try to reassure him about your feelings and how much you want this relationship, but then he feels like you shouldn’t have to reassure him, and that you shouldn’t be in the kind of relationship where you have to reassure the person. basically he thinks you deserve someone better, and you know that there is no one better for you

eventually i think this reaches a breaking point. through a lot of angst and honesty and tears, you two finally work it out

i think after clearing things up, things take a huge turn for the better

he definitely learns that there’s nothing wrong with being a relationship where you have to take care of each other, and he’s definitely thankful that you continued to stand by him

so sorry about this angst, but on the bright side, this man would be such a devoted boyfriend

his friends definitely make fun of him for looking at you like you hung the stars and moon in the sky

i also think all this angst would lead to you two being really open and vulnerable with each other, which is really important to him

also definitely a mama’s boy and can’t wait to introduce you to her

just like armin, he knows you’re gonna be his wife someday

𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐫

even though i think it would take eren a long time to settle down and commit to a healthy, long-term relationship, once he does, he would be a great boyfriend

he is a really caring guy, and i feel like part of his hesitance is about opening up to someone if they’re just gonna leave

but i think he can tell early on that this would be different

i have a feeling his love language is quality time, and so you two are always planning little things together

he especially loves last-minute, impromptu dates that arise from a random thought

like he’ll grab two sandwiches and take you to the beach at sunset, even if you just got home or had something to get done

or knock on your door at midnight and take you to the nearest roof to stargaze together

i feel like eren is the boyfriend who becomes your closest friend over time

you guys go to each other first when you need to rant or talk or babble endlessly

it’s an interesting dynamic but it works well for you guys

the kind of bf that people assume he’s a single bachelor and will stay that way forever, or people don’t believe that he’s settled down, and then when they see you two together they’re shocked

𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐨 𝐛𝐨𝐭𝐭

you and marco have the most wholesome relationship

if i had to picture anyone whose relationship feels like the honeymoon phase even after a whole year, it is marco

he has a habit of making every small date, every meeting or interaction just feel so special, like every day is a special occasion

the kind of boyfriend who gets you a promise ring early on with every intention of replacing it with an engagement ring and wedding band one day

a big moment for him is introducing you to his friends! he knows they’ll love you, and he just wants you to meet the other most important people in his life

especially you and jean, this boy would be on cloud nine seeing you two get along so well. makes him super happy and teary-eyed

the responsible bf who takes care of everything for you, even little, everyday things so you don’t have to worry about it

like making sure there’s a cup of water on the nightstand when you go to bed, or setting an extra alarm to make sure you don’t oversleep, or reminding you about a deadline

overall just <3 boyfriend marco

𝐥𝐞𝐯𝐢 𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐧

the nonchalant, cool boyfriend who has to hide how sappy he actually is

pretends like he’s not nervous as all hell on your first date. acts like you leaning into him on the walk back home, or kissing his cheek at your doorstep before you say good night isn’t giving him heart palpitations.

also majorly touch-starved. after you two really open up to each other, which happens way sooner than he expected, it’s hard for him to keep his hands away from you.

he’s reserved in public, a simple arm around you waist or hands interlaced while you guys are out

but when you’re in the privacy of your home, it’s almost instinctual for him to pull you close

he loves when you lay your head on his chest, but nothing compares to when you let him lay his head on yours.

you stroke his hair and sit in silence, appreciating the quiet mumble of the television and the sound of each other breathing

always falls asleep like this, and he’s never been much of a nap guy, but ever since he met you, he’s reformed

not to mention your skin is always so warm and soft, and his is always on the colder side, so he’s just drawn to you

also i see him as the kind of guy who proposes out of nowhere, like you aren’t expecting it at all after a quiet dinner together at home, you’re getting up to grab dessert and he pulls out a ring

“how about dessert and naps for as long as we both shall live?”

𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐜𝐨 𝐠𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐫𝐝

once again, pock tries to put on a tough facade but we all know he’s just a softie on the inside

in fact, it’s a little while into your relationship that you notice him softening up with you, trying less hard to seem like someone else and getting more comfortable around you

you definitely don’t mention it, because you don’t want him to realize how you’ve been noticing it lately, but it definitely makes your chest feel warm and fuzzy at the thought of him being more himself

it’s not long at all before you can’t even see any semblance of that tough guy you met for the first time

the kind of whipped boyfriend that carries your bags when you go shopping, grabs your coffee order on the way to visit you, and likes to have quiet nights in more than going out

your favorite memories with him include watching rom-coms and munching on popcorn in his apartment, everyone else out and about on a saturday night

the leftover pizza is sitting on the counter, and you turn to go put it away when you notice pock teary-eyed at the movie!

yes, this boy cries at sappy romantic movies and you regret ever putting on the notebook that one night because you wanted to get laid after and that just did not happen because he was crying too much

but also just treats you so right and has every intention of being the best boyfriend he can, doesn’t ever want to do anything to hurt you and is highkey very glad he met you and has someone to be so open and comfortable with!

𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐭 𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫

can you spell boyfriend material.

the most comforting, wholesome boyfriend in the world. you actually can’t believe he’s single when you guys meet for the first time, because there’s just no way.

this is the take him home to meet your parents guy, introduce him to your friends right away guy because you know it’s serious

i talked about how bertholdt is the bf who just listens to your talks and rambles for as long as you need to, and always offers advice and sweet words, but he really does take it to the next level

lets you cry it out when you need to, rubbing your back and hair softly and not minding when his shirt is covered in tears

or alternatively lets you rant about your annoying professor or a terribly rude stranger or whatever else is plaguing your mind today

texts you every day asking how you’re doing, always calls you before bed if you guys aren’t together

he just has the ability to make you feel so heard and seen

and of course you never forget to take care of him, as well. it makes for a really comfortable dynamic.

very easy to imagine spending the rest of your life with him despite the fact that he has kicked you off the bed multiple times in his sleep

𝐞𝐫𝐰𝐢𝐧 𝐬𝐦𝐢𝐭𝐡

alternatively, husband material

takes all of five minutes into having a conversation with him to realize this is a responsible, mature guy

which are usually far and few between

i’d like to think he’s similar to marco in the way that he likes to make sure things are taken care for you, he likes to get things off of your shoulders even though you feel like you should be doing it for him instead

this translates to a lot of checking in phone calls, making sure you’ve eaten dinner and haven’t skipped meals because of your busy schedule

always makes time for you and especially loves having date nights every saturday, it’s wonderful when you haven’t been able to see him all week

anyways, you get engaged and married so fast bc you just had to snatch him up

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kojinnie · 3 years

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Why you should NOT date AOT boys...

Headcanon on what kind of headache you're bound for when dating the AOT boys, and why I advise you NOT to date them! Enjoy, loves!

levi - eren - armin - reiner

part two here | erwin - zeke - jean - connie

— LEVI

He's an incredible man with a lot of talents and he'd be doing real good at his job, that dating him would give you a huge sense of pride. However, this man suffers from being emotionally constipated. He'd always keep you in the fine line of "are we or are we not?", even though you’ve been seeing each other for a long time. He’d never say “I love you” or any type of flashy display of affection. His love language is acts of service and quality time, so if you’re the type to wanting outward reassurance of how someone feels about you, Levi’s not gonna be the person to give you that.

This problem stems from his deep, unresolved insecurity about the nature of relationship. It’s not just the “Am I good enough?”, he genuinely thinks that he is not a good person, and thus the inherent belief that everybody will abandon him in the end — something he picks up from his traumatic childhood. He’s wary about establishing relationship because he’s afraid to succumb into his own feelings and vulnerability. He fears at certain point he has to feel and suffer the emotional consequence of being left by someone he cares for. He dreads the idea of getting caught off-guard with being fragile.

You gotta be extremely patient and understanding when it comes to Levi, the reassurance needs to come from you, and frequently too. Bluntly saying, “I’ll stick around” or “I’ll accept your shortcoming” is really soothing for Levi, because although he never shows it, he really thinks he does not deserve you.

— EREN

If you wanna be frustrated in a relationship where you constantly feel like you’re in an endless coaster, then dating Eren gotta be your poison. Sure the honeymoon phase was intoxicating, sure he makes you feel like the prettiest girl in the world. The morning text, the playful neck peck out in the public, the butterflies you feel in your tummy when you catch him staring at you even from afar with those oh so enthralling green eyes. But once the honeymoon phase over, Eren is quick to get bored. Especially if you’re an unproblematic, matter-of-fact type of person. Eren likes to fight, he gets thrilled by it, and he’s high with the rush of adrenaline. He likes it if you’re jealous, if you sulk, if you argue. He likes you to be ‘childish’ because then he gets to be the adult, the savior, the knight in shining armor. It grinds his gears. If you’re unfazed by his antics, if you’re easy to forgive, if you’re chill, Eren will think that you’re not really into him, and will exit the closest door out before his ego gets bruised even further.

Eren is sort of babied by people around him – his parents, his friends, and constantly being compared to his older brother doesn’t help either. He realizes that he got saved a lot of times by a lot of people. And this creates a deeply rooted insecurity with him that turns into an incessant impostor syndrome. The constant thought of not being good enough and the idea that all the achievement he’s ever got was the result of someone else’s help really crush him. You can shower him with praises and reassurance, but he would completely dismiss it, because he thinks your compliments are not based on objective views and that he does not deserve it. He painfully seeks for approval from any authority figure that (he thinks) does not have any emotional connection with him. And it can be really hurtful when he constantly dismisses your sincere compliments while desperately chasing from others who don’t care about him.

— ARMIN

It’s really hard to hate Armin. He’s a really nice man through and through, but what is his strength can also be his deepest weakness. He’s too nice and unsure about a lot of things. He knows he is knowledgeable, but he often doubts himself for being too ‘text-book smart’. Which is a valid cause, because at times he would get very oblivious to how relationship works, and treat feelings like it’s a quantifiable system. It will literally take years for him to finally get down and say how he feels about you, because all these times he was so busy filling the check-list in his mind to convince himself whether you truly like him or not, even though you couldn’t be any clearer with your intention towards him.

He is perceptive with what you think and how you feel, unfortunately this does not materialize into any action as he doubts his own intuition when it comes to his significant other. He fears that his own sentimentality has affected his intuitive judgment and thus deems it invalid, which is completely untrue because every hunch he has about you has always been accurate! That’s just how much he understands and knows you from years of quietly observing and taking each of your word into account.

He really relies on you sitting him down and telling him in details how you feel and the things you expect from him. He will do it, in a flash with no hesitation, but really, he just needs that verbal affirmation that he is doing the things that you want, and it’s not just based on his assumption. So, if you like sweet surprises, impulsive dates and expect your significant other to read your mind, Armin might not be the person.

— REINER

Oh my, truthfully, he is such a sweetheart, and can be completely smitten for the entirety of his life if he has found that one person. However, it’s a treacherous road for both Reiner and you to get to that stage. Initially, when you start to get closer to him, he may seem rigid and uninterested. The first date you had with him probably went awkward and although you really liked him, you were pretty sure he didn’t like you back, until he texted you the morning after, asking for a second date. That’s basically how being with Reiner is, a series of you being sure that he feels nothing towards you, only for his following action to prove the otherwise. He is really awful in displaying his emotion, he tries to be stoic all the time, and it often frustrates you because you cannot really tell how he feels, and you fear that you might have hurt him without realizing.

He may start to open up, only when you open up first about yourself. He thrives in romance with someone who he thinks shares his inner pain, and that’s very important for him, because he is always in a position where everyone expects him to be strong, and to have a significant other that understands his struggle is all he wants. But this gets hard for you, because sometimes Reiner’s sadness can be quite extreme and you cannot match that. Once Reiner realizes that you’re not on the same boat, he may become withdrawn, as he thinks he’s a burden and inadequate for you, and may end up self-sabotaging the whole relationship he has with you.

Although he does not like to admit it, but Reiner often slips into his sadness too deep, that it almost seems like he victimizes himself with his self-hatred. He will be the one to say stupid shit like, “You deserve someone better.” Or “I cannot make you happy.” When in fact you are perfectly willing to be with him all the way through.

With Reiner, you gotta be the bigger person, with bigger gestures and bigger patience. It’s because Reiner needs an anchor and a figure to lean on. In returns he would be the best lover that you will ever have for he is selfless and will be helplessly devoted to you.

Racking my brain writing for the rest of the boys (Erwin, Jean, Connie, Pocko) because they're the ones we SHOULD date.

Update: Thanks thanks thanks for everyone who read this! I received a lot of love and you dunno how much this encourages me to keep going. Anyway, 2 things:

- My Masterlist

- Talk to meeee ♡

[ON-GOING REQUEST EVENT]: Kojinnie's 200 Followers Celebration - 24/7 Writing Event

#aot headcanons #snk headcanons #levi headcanons #eren headcanons #armin headcanons #reiner headcanons #levi ackerman #eren jaeger #armin arlert #reiner braun #attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #aot levi #aot eren #aot armin #aot reiner

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tea-and-la · 3 years

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Aang as Zuko’s “Found-Sibling”

so i kind of alluded to it on my previous post but if zuko sees his relationship with any of the gaang as a foil to his sibling relationship with azula, it’s aang.

in the season 1 finale, zuko compares the two directly:

zuko: I finally have you, but I can't get you home because of this blizzard. There's always something. Not that you would understand. You're like my sister. Everything always came easy to her. She's a Firebending prodigy, and everyone adores her. My father says she was born lucky. He says I was lucky to be born. I don't need luck, though. I don't want it. I've always had to struggle and fight and that's made me strong. It's made me who I am.

here zuko makes a lot of assumptions. he is implying that because aang is a prodigy like azula, everything must come easy for him. we as the audience know this isn’t true (he doesn’t know aang’s background at this point), but it does speak to his insecurities in terms of his sister (foreshadowing to his season 2 interactions with azula.)

contrast that quote with what zuko says to katara in the season 1 finale:

zuko: you rise with the moon, i rise with the sun.

he sees katara as evenly skilled as himself. a match, but with opposite bending elements. and that’s even reflected in the way that katara wins their match at night, but zuko wins their fight when it’s day time.

zuko (especially in season 1) sees azula as superior to him, someone who he’ll never catch up to in skill because she’s a prodigy. in contrast, he’s seen katara when she first started to bend and made mistakes (barely able to form a water whip, and the time she accidentally froze sokka). zuko has seen and acknowledged her growth throughout the show and he sees her as someone who has also had to struggle and work hard to get to her current bending capacity.

and like @sokkastyles already said:

Aang is the younger prodigy who he resents for being better than him in the beginning, the one who is imbued with power and authority by birth that he lacks, the “lucky” one.

continuing on, i wanna talk about crossroads of destiny. the zk scene again emphasizes how similar zuko sees katara to himself (not azula.)

he is calm, open, and vulnerable throughout these scene with katara. he almost allows himself to forget they’re on opposite sides because of how much they have in common. but once aang comes in:

there’s that same anger and resentment he has towards azula.

i’ve seen some people refer to the crossroads of destiny as zuko some hidden meaning of choosing between “sisters,” but i disagree. it’s framed as a decision between azula and aang, and for zuko, it’s supposed to be an impossible choice.

so we see him go after aang with an uncontrolled intensity that is so different from the brief peace he was able to achieve with iroh in ba sing se. and it’s easy to imagine that this is because he’s taking his frustration that he can’t express towards azula, out on aang, as a substitute.

we see lingering bits of zuko’s resentment towards aang, even after he joins the gaang. it’s unintentional, but from the firebending masters, we can see how he initially still holds onto that insecurity a bit.

when he initially realizes he lost his firebending he tries the forms over and over, while aang is just chilling:

aang: that one felt kinda hot

zuko: don’t patronize me!

aang: sorry sifu hotman

zuko: and stop calling me that!

even though aang was being genuine, it’s easy to imagine that zuko is connecting this moment back to times with azula growing up. especially because we know how much his ability to fire bend is tied up into his self worth.

he’s given the chance to “prove” himself by teaching someone who he considers superior in skill to himself (aang, just off virtue of being the avatar), and when he fails, that rears up the resentment again.

but then, their dynamic shifts after zuko admits he doesn’t want to rely on hate and anger anymore. zuko has several moments where he encourages aang (who he was previously resentful towards) because he sees that aang needs it. he’s able to realize that aang isn’t a prodigy in the sense that he thinks he’s superior to anyone else. and he’s also able to see that aang has his own insecurities as well, as they get to know each other more on their trip. he has phrases like:

zuko: you can do it. i know you can. you’re a strong kid.

aang: [Turning to Zuko.] We could turn back now. We've already learned more about fire than we'd hoped. [Aang shows Zuko his flame and gives a weak smile.]

zuko: No, we're seeing this through to the end.

and aang’s face as a result:

so in a sense, zuko is able to be needed as a big brother. and to offer support because aang is unsure about himself.

also this scene reeks of sibling energy:

but anyways, i think aang/zuko’s found-sibling relationship foils azula/zuko’s sibling relationship because even though they start off with resentment for similar reasons, his dynamic with aang changes.

i see people say that the reason they think katara is zuko’s “surrogate sibling” is because she provides him with care and kindness, unlike azula. the same could be said about aang.

whereas azula has made it clear that she doesn’t respect zuko’s bending, aang values and respects zuko for his skills (even when he was struggling at the beginning of the firebending masters.) aang is able to reciprocally affirm zuko as well:

aang: i don’t care what everyone else says about you. you’re pretty smart!

i also find the last few lines after they meet with the dragons to be significant:

zuko: That's why my firebending was so weak before. Because for so many years, hunting you [Turns toward Aang as screen zooms out to show Aang.] was my drive ... it was my purpose. [Aang turns toward Zuko as well.] So when I joined you, I lost sight of my inner fire. But now, I have a new drive. [Cut to Zuko's face as screen zooms in.] I have to help you defeat my father and restore balance to the world.

i’d like to think that part of losing/letting go of his anger/resentment in part was because of the new relationship he was able to build with aang. in a sense, he’s able to repair a “pseudo-sibling” relationship with a found-sibling who willingly accepts him.

i love that they’re address their confidence issues regarding firebending together.

and how, when they rushed to show the rest of the gaang after they returned:

aang: [Cut to Aang and Zuko demonstrating the Dancing Dragon to the rest of Team Avatar and friends.] With this technique the dragons showed us, Zuko and I will be unstoppable.

zuko has gained a found-sibling relationship that isn’t about comparing their firebending to each other, but working as a team. it’s so so meaningful that aang says “zuko and i.” the idea of zuko having a sibling relationship where he’s able to share his love of firebending and not feel insecure about it ...🥺. him having a “sibling” who wants to hang out with him and do things together and gushes about it with the confidence that aang had when he said they would be unstoppable.

oh! not to mention that i’ve seen people say that zuko/katara have a sibling relationship because she teases him in EIP. but like .. that’s such flimsy logic. and also? aang and zuko have their mutual teasing moments especially in the firebending masters, and it’s just adorable.

anyways, my main point from all this is that ik people love to say zuko/katara fit surrogate siblings (which i hate btw), but it’s mostly said because of katara/azula’s similar age. it doesnt matter that aang is 12, though, because honestly, he fits the “found-sibling” dynamic a lot better because of how zuko used to see aang in relation to azula. it just works better thematically. especially, because like i’ve said, and as so many people in fandom point out: zuko and katara are similar (some people... antis.. would say “too” similar). and when has zuko ever seen azula as being similar to himself? exactly.

#i'm gonna tag zutara for exposure but it's not zutara lol #found sibling #zuko #aang #atla #showing love to aang and zuko's friendship because i love it so much #and i consider them to be brothers #i wrote this at 4 AM whoops #if there's errors that's why lol #found sibling makes my heart go brrr #sorry that this was long #and no i dont want aang to replace azula btw #but i do think through his relationship with aang he would eventually know how to approach and repair his with azula

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villainsandvictimsalliance · 3 years

Note

What things do you think people get wrong about Spinner's character in fics/fandom in general? Anything you've seen or felt was done right? Anything about him you'd like to see appreciated more?

Thanks! Love your posts about the LoV. ♥️

🥺🥺 I'm glad you like them, really.

AND OMG YES, SPINNER APPRECIATION POST. THAT WAS THE EXCUSE I WAS LOOKING FOR TO RANT ABOUT HIS CHARACTERIZATION. LET ME USE THE LIST FORMAT.

My opinion on Spinner's characterization:

I have several friends that used to hate Spinner or ignore him because they were fans of the anime but hadn't read the manga. They soon changed their opinion after my explanations about the matter.

I think the worst take I've seen so far is exactly that. He's not irrelevant or useless to the plot. It pains me when people portray him as such.

Also many people write Spinner like very passive? Like if he was easy to please and he would only follow others? That doesn't make sense at all. He found his way to the League just like the others. He stopped Magne from hurting Izuku on the Summer Camp attack, he confronted Tomura on the beginning of My Villain Academia and pressed him for answers, he participated in creating the name of the Paranormal Front and on recent arcs, he clearly told AFO to his face he never thought about following him, but Tomura.

So no, Spinner is not passive or a background character.

Horikoshi even emphasizes on this by allowing him to narrate part of the MVA arc. I can argue that Horikoshi wanted the audience to sympathize with Spinner, because he's the closest to being between the heroes and the villains, a real anti-hero. The author wanted us to see Spinner point of view and that shouldn't be dismissed.

I also think people downplay his relationship with Toga. We've seen him worrying about Toga since the MVA arc and later into the War arc. He is closer to being an older brother to Toga than Dabi is, we must accept that.

Spinner is very sentimental, but not a coward. Knowing his quirk is not enough to fight a bunch of people isn't fearing a fight. In fact, I really love how the League understand their limits and never push them too far. There's no shame in any of it.

Spinner is not a traitor. He's a really loyal man and his also not a blind fanatic. Once again, when compared to Dabi, Dabi keeps being a little obsessed with Stain and while Spinner still stands him, Spinner grew past Stain's legacy, he become something more.

Spinner is also a leader. On the late chapters, we have seen Spinner having followers. Please let's never forget he's main reason to be on the League is to fight racist people. He wants to change the system in order to give power to the minorities. Whether the League is a good place to do that or not, it doesn't change Spinner's goals.

He was worried about hurting children and civilians. Just like most members of the League, he wants to live, so he sees no point in ending the world. He wants to make a better society, not killing everyone.

On the other hand, I love when people portray him as someone who's well versed in politics and social movements. Yes, it's canon that he knows his things.

I love when people portray him as a very good friend and a general good person. Within the League, Spinner was the one who connected the most with Tomura, who was supposed to be the demon lord. Instead, Spinner saw past it, he saw the kid being worth following and protecting. That's why he didn't like what happened on the War arc. He knows it's wrong.

I love that the fandom agree about Spinner loving music. Yes, he was probably bullied when a kid, so I pretty enjoy when people create scenarios when he defends little kids or other people with animalistic quirks from bullies and racist people.

I think we can appreciate more his background and his presence within the League.

For example, Toga is partially rejected because her quirk reminds a wild animal, something brutal and barbarian. She could talk with Spinner about this, decided she can trust him and tell him about her crushes and stories.

Spinner had also work before, so he could complain with Twice about bosses and noisy clients and such.

He also enjoys a good cosplay, so why don't make him enjoy talking about clothes and costumes with Mr. Compress?

He could also relate to having specific skin conditions, just like Tomura. They share video games, that's right, but there's so much more than this. Tomura is pretty smart and I bet he'd enjoy talking about philosophy and academic stuff with Spinner. They'd obsess over Wikipedia articles at 3am.

Also Dabi could learn a lot about Spinner. Dabi needs to grow as a person, and Spinner can provide him with both a rival and a friend. They have similar taste, they both are really loyal and full of anger, but they deal different with it.

And if there's something I like how is portrayed in the fandom, it's Spinner friendship with Magne. I love those two.

I think many people with more basic beauty standards reject Spinner a lot. I personally think that's why the producers of the anime has decided he's not important for the plot and cut him from most part of the arcs. This is so wrong.

I mean, I want more people talking about how amazing is Spinner skin and his hair.

I want people talking about how adorable cute are the blue dots on his clothes, about how he's a strong guy ready to punch people without being an asshole, without being a bad friends or a bad person to kids and civilians.

AND HE'S OVER THERE FIGHTING POWERFUL QUIRKS WITH HIS SWORD. HE HASN'T BEEN BADLY INJURED YET. HE'S OVER THERE BEING THE BEST SUPPORTIVE MAN ON THE LEAGUE.

Also he's pure comedy and highly relatable. He's humor is pretty close to our online humor and I think that's amazing.

WE NEED MORE SPINNER META. ALL THE SPINNER META. GIVE ME SPINNER CONTENT.

So yeah, anon. I think Spinner is criminally underrated but I also think there's a loving side of the fandom that takes good care of him.

To all the Spinner fans reading this: keep the good work and tag me in it so I can see it and hype about it. 😌

#Shan's asks #bnha #mha #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #league of villains #lov #Spinner #iguchi shuichi #Shan's mha opinions #Shan's bnha opinions #Shan's lov opinions #Shan's mha headcanons #Mha headcanons #Shan's bnha headcanons #Bnha headcanons #Shan's lov headcanons #Lov headcanons #Spinner headcanons

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thatsthetriick · 3 years

Text

Jjba characters switching bodies with their s/o

Summary: Body swap with their s/o! Some freaky friday shit! :D, It’s basically a work of a stand! ;), yeah all my inspiration is from the movie ‘Your name’ I rlly love that movie sm made me cry huhu, if u haven’t watched it srsly watch it its gud Disclaimer: Body swapping, possible pervertness from characters lmao, all characters are aged up! gn! reader, and mentions of killing from Dio's headcanon Header photo: Namaikizakari

Part 3 Characters body swapping with their s/o + DIO

Joseph Joestar ❀ “AAAAAAAH!” Joseph would screen and look at the mirror to see that he was in your body? What’s happening! Was it a stand user that did this? Eitherway he even tries summoning your stand but instead he ends up getting his same stand, hermit purple? Weird. ❀ He’ll probably blush at the fact he’s temptedt o look at your body but he has no time for that! He rushed out of his hotel room and quickly find you to see if you got in his body and his deductions were correct, you were also freaking out since you were in his body and Avdol was trying to calm you down. ❀ Once he steps in Avdol immediately widens his eyes and questions if he was Joseph and he managed to confirm that he was joseph and Avdol conclucded that both of you swap bodies because of a possible stand user. ❀ You two have to deal with it the whole day and Polnareff always reassured you two that it’s going to be fine, not a big deal though he does laugh and tease at the both of you sometimes. ❀ Since you’re in Joseph’s body you wear pretty fashionable clothes because ur cool and hot. ( ;) i love u reader -author) While Joseph wears more of your plain clothes just a shirt and pants, but he still wears his hat. ❀ You two eventually got separated from the group and found the stand user and managed to attack ther user and returned back to your bodies. Jotaro Kujo ❀ He’ll be staring at the mirror and let out a “tch”, he already knows this is a work of a stand user, he just stares at the mirror for a long time and then walks out of his hotel room, calmly but still wearing your pjs. ❀ Once he enters to the room he was in his hands would be in his pockets, Kakyoin would be helping you think on how this happened but looks at Jotaro who was in your body and his eyes widened and kakyoin was right you two did switch bodies. ❀ When you where in a hunt from the stand user who did this to you and Jotaro you wore his turtle neck only and with no jacket and no hat, he decided to wear his hat with your body and he wore one of your leather jackets since it fits him compared to his original jacket. ❀ Girls would circle around you and you would flirt with them back because it’s funny to see Jotaro annoyed that you’re having way too much fun being him, “It’s not that bad being you” You would say and he would just scoff and tell you to not enjoy it too much. ❀ He was having a hard time being you as well since you look like an approachable person compared to him so a lot of people advertised products to you or if not foreigners asking for him and other things like that and honestly you would answer it for him. ❀ You two eventually got attacked from the back from the same stand user that switch both of you, and good thing that it doesnt switch your stands so you two managed to beat the stand user and Jotaro had to change back to his uniform. Kakyoin Noriaki ❀ Honestly he wouldn’t notice it for a bit and then when he does he quickly looks at the mirror and then starts processing it all and quickly rushes to his shared room with Jotaro. ❀ He wakes you up before you even freak out and you’d be freaking out back in your own room. You two start thinking what made you two switch your bodies and you both agreed and concluded that it was probably a stand user they met the night before, but who? They met so many people the night before. ❀ It was honestly fun that you two were trying to figure out the puzzles of this mystery, but after a few hours pass by you two went to the others to inform them a stand user switched both of your bodies, it was only 9 AM at this time so you all got breakfast and tried thinking of ways to find the stand user. ❀ You wore different clothes for Kakyoin, his uniform was too hot and you couldn’t handle the heat of the sun already so you wore more comfortable and thin clothing, just a long sleeves polo shirt but you folded the sleeves, he honestly didn’t have much different clothes, only his pajamas and his uniform then extra polos. ❀ He in the other hand actually dressed up pretty nice with your body, he had good taste in clothing. ❀ This whole experience got you two closer together honestly, before you two wouldn’t really talk that much so the fact that this whole freaky friday thing is the one that made you two close is kinda funny but it was alright since you two knew a lot of things from each other just by talking the whole time you two looked for the stand user who did this. ❀ When you two encountered the stand user everyone else in the group was behind so they help you two defeat the stand user and got swapped back to your bodies, and unlike Jotaro he wouldn’t really change out of the clothes you wore for him since he wanted to be polite and it actually suited him. Muhammad Avdol ❀ he sweats and gulps as he looks at the mirror, he started thinking about how this happened? ❀He came to your room to see you in his body and talking to Joseph that you were you, and he confimed that the both of you seemed like you two switched bodies. ❀ Joseph went to call the others and everyone had a meeting in Joseph and Avdol’s room and you all tried recalling what happened yesterday or yesterday night and who you all encountered and spoke to. ❀ Polnareff would be teasing that Avdol is a lucky guy and jokes about weird things and Avdol would just defend you and say that this is serious even though Avdol is a bit flustered that he switched with you. He just doesn’t experess it my guy. ❀ You and Avdol got separated a lot from the group but you two manage to talk a lot, and just like Kakyoing you two learn a lot of things about each other. He wore simple clothes of yours and you wore clothes that were also simple because it was hot again and you still can’t handle too much heat since you might faint or something. ❀ You two struggled but managed to defeat the stand user which made you two switch back to your original bodies, you two would probably prank the others that you’ll be stuck with each other’s bodies forever and pretend to act like each other just to get a reaction from the rest. ❀ You and Avdol had fun picking on everyone making them think you’ll be switched forever, Polnareff kept comforting you two thinking that it’s actually real but you two are so good at acting that Polnareff got fooled. Jean-Pierre Polnareff ❀ This guy is a pervert honestly and would just be flustered if u are are girl he’d probably just stare at your boobs. ❀ Yeah but he’s a pervert, but he still doesn’t peak unless he obviously needs to change his clothes in your body. ❀ You would always remind him to have no funny business and Joseph would also wack him to not do anything weird and he’ll just say “Ow! I haven’t done anything!” or some other comments. ❀ You honestly just wore his clothes because it’s good enough for the heat, but he in another hand wore a tank top for you and shorts or if not shorts with jeans and there was nothing wrong with it just seems like you were going to go swimming or something but you shrugged it off. ❀ He would continue the constant teasing and how he actually likes being swapped with you and that you two are fated to be since out fo all the members you two were the chosen ones and you’d chuckle at his comments like this. ❀ He would flirt with other people even when he’s in your body which makes you wack his head sometimes and remind him that he was still in your body just in case he was forgetting. But despite this he’s been kind and polite to you and made you laugh a lot during the time you two switched bodies, this is where you two got closer than ever. Sure you knew him before but you two never had an actual conversation, usually you two would exchange just a few comments from and that’s all you two ever did, including the flirt. ❀ Once he finds the stand user he quickly chases them until he corners them and you do the finishing touch. You and Polnareff change back and he jokes about being upset that he isn’t you anymore and how he enjoyed the experience. You two would still talk about it in the future since you two found it funny. DIO ❀ This man is a tsundere for you, a good one though. Despite that he’ll still charge to his room where you were in, and you were in his body. He yells at you for doing this and you yell back that your stand doesn’t even have this specific ability. ❀ He tries to command Vanilla Ice to look for the one responsible for doing this to the both of you, but since Vanilla Ice just saw you and he didn’t notice that it was Dio in your body, thus he didn’t follow him and just looked at you instead and asked what you wanted to do to Dio. ❀ You have fun being him because you are in high power but he still had the world stand so he technically still has power to control you and you would scoff at this and Tell Vanilla Ice the whole story that the two of you switched bodies and even revealed that you two switched stands and Vanilla Ice was frustrated to hear that one of Dio’s followers did this to the two of you so he immediately got to work. ❀ This meant you two were stuck to wait with each other, he also forced you to tell every follower of his to not step into the room yet since he didn’t want to look like that in front of everyone it makes him look weak and you would roll your eyes. ❀ This man was still cocky though and comments that even though he is in your body he still has the power of the world, and that he can quickly just destroy all the Joestars and their team by pretending to be you and acting like a innocent person. Though he also stated he wanted to defeat the Joestars with HIS body because he kinda wanted the credit of killing the Joestars even though for some reason he sent his followers to kill them for him but you didn’t think too much of it. ❀ You secretly would walk out of his room and ask his own followers for a lot of things, like to get luxurious food or prepare a nice bath and they would find this weird since Dio was technically a vampire and this was out of character of him but you were so good at being Dio that you found so many excuses to their questions. ❀ You would actually put on some clothes while Dio just wears the same thing you wear earlier. ❀ After bantering each other for a long time Vanilla Ice finally defeated the stand user and you two switched back and Dio complained how being you is pathetic and you seriously cant take his comments seriously so you just insult him back, ilke I said this man was a tsundere but he kinda he enjoys being your body he found it really hot, he just doesn’t want to admit it, and he really thought this was an advantage to kill the Joestars immediately but sadly he already told you to request Vanilla ice to find the one responsible of all of this so he couldn’t do much. ❀ You two continue your lives as a person who assist Dio because Dio forced you to, and with him bossing you around which makes you wanna kick his face but you still continue your duties

Thanks for reading hope you have a good day! -𝓣.

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rumblelibrary · 3 years

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Hi, I was wondering if you could write a Zemo or Laszlo x reader where he comes home early to find his significant other laying on the couch in their room feeling lonely or depressed and him finding out they felt like this for a while they just kept it hidden form him?

To Stay [Baron Helmut Zemo x Reader]

Word count: 1.9k

Warnings: mention of depression

Author’s note: Not me going through a rough patch and using this request as a catalyst. Thank you for allowing me to write for you, if anyone is on a rough moment too, hold on, I hope I can give you some solace through Helmut.

When Helmut entered your apartment, holding a white little box in his gloved hand he tried hard to make sure to be extra quiet. He was out for some meetings trip, knowing both the politics and the underground ways of the world made him extremely dangerous, but also extremely busy to keep the reins of all his businesses, forcing him to leave you alone more than he wanted.

Lately you have been growing distant, but you worked a lot, you were always onto some personal or work project, so he imagined you were just tired. When he called you, you always sounded tired, sleepy or at least that’s what you said to him.

He looked down at the white box in his hand proudly as he wanted indeed to give you a little treat, he left it on side taking off his coat and gloves before noticing a soft light in the living room.

He moved instinctively, the left hand on his side grasping his gun, the fear that somebody could ever hurt you, no matter all the precautions he took, always hunting him.

He moved quickly along the wall, peaking in only to see your leg hanging out of the couch, the tv turned on but with no sound.

He frowned, it was the middle of the night, maybe you fell asleep. Not sure about his own intuition he moved along the couch finding you awake, your eyes looking puffy but, more than that, empty.

“Y/N”

You jolted up seeing him

“Helmut”

Your words died in your mouth, you wanted to say something, anything, you smiled but your smile was empty, you could feel it but you couldn’t force it more than that.

“Welcome back”

You said as a new wave of hatred for yourself hit on you. He was back from his business travel, he could have never come back, you could at least show some more passion, excitement, anything, But it all died on you as soon as you tried, you felt numb inside, heavy.

You parted your lips, you felt your mouth dry as you opened it a bit mimicking the presence of words that were not there and resulted in just a “I am sorry”

To see you like this was pure torture to his eyes, who dared to reduce you in this way? The confusion and part of anger took over in his chest, but he sat down beside you.

“My love, what happened? “ he asked without many twirls of words, his hand touching onto your ankle as you sat on your side, facing you.

You were stiff under his touch, something was pushing him away within you.

“I… I don’t know, I mean it feels all too much”

A thorn dipped inside his stomach as you said that, his eyes scanning yours silently urging you to continue, to try make him understand

“It is not today” you admitted “it is not you, it is just, it is too much, I have this sense of emptiness, of loss inside, and it keeps growing and I can’t enjoy anything” you continued, tears teasing your eyes as you looked on your right trying to avoid his gaze. Maybe if you avoided it long enough the tears would disappear or maybe he won’t at least not notice how hard it was for you to hod them back.

“I feel like I am grazing through the surface, like there’s something forbidden, something I can’t grasp and it hurts and no matter how much I do, how much I work, how much I study, buy new things, pamper myself, I feel like there’s a void in me that can’t be filled, a flaw that I can’t reach, that I can’t hide or cure and everyday it grows through me and it is so strong and visible, and I feel like..”

You stopped as tears were now rolling down your cheeks, the saddest smile of acceptance adorning your beautiful features in such a cruel way, your tongue slipping out looking for words, words to make him understand. With that little gesture you capture a mean tear that slipped too close to your lips, the salty taste bringing you to realise that for the first time you’re admitting it.

“… like it will become all that I am, and that I won’t ever feel like before ever again but this” you stopped again, shaking your head lightly as your thoughts twirled in your head like a vortex and yet that hole in your stomach was growing more painful and present “this failure”.

Helmut could swear his heart broke, to see you like this, to see you suffer so visibly, so evidently and the way your bust bowed forward like the pain in your mind was damaging your body. The fact he couldn’t just stand up and shot in the face whoever made you feel like this.

His lips pressed hard against each other, his hands moving to reach for yours.

You hesitated, he could see you didn’t want that much of contact, you didn’t want him to hold you, not now.

“Y/N” he begun, he took a deep breath in as in all his life he was a master of words, but he never felt that something he would say could matter so much, not even when he was at the mercy of the very Captain America he felt doubt into choosing his words.

“This feeling that you have, it is the most terrible somebody can feel, I see it, I see your pain” he said softly, he wasn’t going to deny it or diminishing it, he danced the tango with depression for years and he cured it with vengeance and loneliness until you brought a new light on him. He knew that feeling and he knew nothing he could give would be enough to make it disappear.

“Give me the chance to be by your side” he offered then “I love you, I love you no matter how big you feel the flaw is”

“No Helmut, you don’t understand, it won’t ever be over, you will get tired of me and my bullshit. This thing, this doesn’t make me feel you, I feel apart from you”

“No, my love, you don’t understand now” he murmured looking at you, his dark eyes looking warm and lightly teary, your pain going through him as you talked, but his voice tone wasn’t allowing any come back.

“I know how it feels. I know how it feels to lose your path. And that flaw you feel, that creeping feeling of failure, of loneliness, of exclusion, it will be over and it will come back, it will bite you hard and then disappear or linger for days and make you feel like there’s no way out. But I will be with you. I will be with you for the days it leaves and the day it comes. I will be with you to remind you every time you can’t even think of yourself in any positive light, how any feeling of worthlessness you might behold are just due to unbalance, but not reality. To shake, draga mea, it is not to fall, it is instead to find stability. To search for it is no crime, the only crime would be only to listen to it long enough to believe it”

He looked at you in a way that words felt like failing you, the determined love surging through him also adorned with trust enveloped you in a sense of determination, a sense of something that was about to come, to happen, which felt already a lot compared to the sense of an ending you had I the last times.

He trusted you.

The sense of acceptance but also responsibility that he created in you. He was there for you, he was ready to share that strangling demon.

“You won’t disappoint me, you can’t, not even if you try”

He seemed to know what you were about to say before you could say it, you let out a little sigh as his smile opened and you just mimicked him.

His warm hand moved on your cheek caressing it, moving away every trace of tears before leaning his forehead against yours “Breathe in”

You obeyed and as you inhaled he placed your hand on his chest so you could feel how it filled up with air, with life.

“Out slow”

You obeyed after holding that air a bit, his warm presence calling for you.

You didn’t know even if you wanted cuddles or not, he could sense that tension in you as he rested a kiss over your temple

“I love you”

He smiled, it was simple, a statement said so clear and simple that could sound like ‘ the sky is blue’. It was obvious and yet precious. He stood up slowly kissing the back of your hand “Just a moment”

You stared at him as he left but he was back in a second welcomed by the blue light on the screen.

“There” he said holding that same white box he held while coming inside. You took it giving him the chance to rest his weapon on the coffee table.

“Go on” he urged you kindly as he noticed your hesitation, so you did, you opened it and smiled finding ten pastel coloured macaroons in it along with a perfectly laid down bracelet. It was simple, white gold.

“Allow me” he said picking it from the box as he slowly wrapped it around your wrist “The woman from the macaroons shop thought it was a weird request to put the bracelet and the sweets in the same box”

“It is a bit peculiar as a request” you admitted and he smirked like you just complimented him.

“There” he said triumphantly, the bracelet fitting you like it was made to be on your wrist, for just your shape and skin colour. A little reminder for this moment, maybe now every time the demon will knock at your door that bracelet will tell bring the memory of Helmut’s words back to you.

“Now, I have the feeling you’d like to try the mint and chocolate one”

He suggested to you pointing to a green macaroon .

You looked at him, a surprised smile and a soft chuckle leaving your lips.

“It is the middle of the night”

“Well? There’s a time for macaroons?” You chuckled as you just couldn’t win against him, against his knowing smile and chocolate eyes, his warm hands, comforting presence and undying love.

You shifted your legs on the other side as he sat comfortably, legs spread and slightly slouched on the couch, you balanced the box of the sweets on his thigh finding the perfect position by his side, head resting on his chest, his warm arm wrapping around you securely as he picked the remote trying to find something to put on instead of the random program you left the tv on.

Your gaze moved up on him as he did some comment about late night programming, admiration and comfort surging in your chest as his eyes diverted from the screen to you one more time. A loving smile welcomed you and everything felt numb now, but not in the same way as before, like if somebody was pouring disinfectant over a wound and now the wound tickles, but it is healing. It is numb, but now you know it will pass.

Helmut was a true Baron to your eyes, a royal, a knight fighting your inner demons with his sword, banishing them away. Today, tomorrow and every time you needed it.

Tagged @cazzyimagines @lieutenantn @handmaiden-of-mischief @thesunflowersutra @zemomybeloved @fictionlandslanddreams @charistory @greeneyedblondie44 @apparrio @hb8301 @whatawildone @rhymerhymerhyme @thehuiabird @lilith-blackrose @unbeatablecurlgirl

Let me know if you want to get tagged to my publications too <3

#baron helmut zemo x you #baron zemo x you #baron zemo x y/n #baron helmut zemo x reader #baron zemo x reader #baron zemo #baron helmut zemo #helmut zemo fanfiction #helmut zemo x y/n #helmut zemo imagine #helmut zemo x reader #helmut zemo #helmut zemo x you

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neptune-midheaven · 3 years

Text

ASTRO NOTES 🪐 🧿✨🌌

*THERE !!!!!! IS !!!!!! NO !!!!!! BAD !!!!!!!PLACEMENT !!!!!!! IN !!!!!!! ASTROLOGY !!!!!!!PLEASE STOP FEAR-MONGERING THESE POOR NEWCOMERS PLEASEEE !!!!!!!! CHALLENGING never equals BAD !!!!!! If you’re a true student of astrology this would be a well know FACT to you.

*Saturn and Capricorn placements are the areas you will slowlyyy become wise in, having developed compete mastery over that area with TIME.

*You usually get compared with other people who share your rising sign.

*Most scorpios/scorpio risings have dark complexions, they even could have almost a permanent shadow cast over their faces, they may struggle to find perfect lighting.

*Virgo in 6th house are hypochondriacs and are paranoid/worry a lot about their health. They’re very nit-picky about their “symptoms”, they’re the types of people to know what they’re coming down with when they’re already at a doctor appt., they may as well even EDUCATE THE DAMN DOCTOR LIKE GO AHEAD MRS PHDD.

*Chiron conjunct midheaven is the ultimate healer placement, other chiron placements, chiron in first/aspecting the ascendant, following behind, these people are true healers whether they realize it or not, they’re born to assist and heal the general public. The midheaven, the highest point of the sky representing our reputation and career, what we’re known for. These people generate a reputation for their “healing abilities”, they’re quite literally known as the wounded healer (depending on if Chiron is positively aspected in the chart, this will affect the flavor of their reputation), they will experience pain related to work or matters related to the reputation, their status and authority could be wounded, they can later use their pain to help and heal others. Challenges will be met at work if Chiron is afflicted. This placement also means one will have their pain and wounds projected to the public, the whole world knows your pain.

*Mars in twelfth need to express their energy, their anger and will through the activities of whatever sign mars is located in the chart i.e. mars in aries in the twelfth need to express suppressed anger/anger through physical activity, sports, working out, sex, pisces mars by unleashing their massive creativity, compassion, dreams (this sign, and house combo especially, has many dreams, it’s a sleepy placement for the ideal fiery and straightforward mars to be located in). Mars in twelfth is generally a good placement that could manifest in someone being a dancer or athlete, mainly finding escape through any type of physical activity for fire signs, work for earth, socializing for air and creativity for water. This placement has very gentle, enchanting watery movements if they get into any sports or physical activity.

*Mars in eleventh can be aggressive toward their friends esp if mars is in a fire sign it becomes no joke. Don’t get me wrong, they’re the best humanitarians and what not but they have a reputation of being the “angry” or “aggressive” friend out of most of their friend groups, they’re very competitive and energetic people. However the way they stick up causes, they way they are always seen supporting any humanitarian cause with their whole hearts is AMAZINGG. They’re the types of activists to stay late to a protest, they’re the types to seemingly never leave what they’re standing up for, what they’re supporting because they are SOOO AMBITIOUS AND YEAHH !!

*This isn’t talked about a lot but uranus in eleventh have to be the most comforting and “welcoming” presence out of every eleventh house placement in astrology, with uranus in its home, the house of aquarius, it erases any filter put on what friend is attracted by their social presence as EVERYONE is attracted to them, from any possible and imaginable background or culture and homeland, anyone can trust and confide in their wide openness as their care and concern for society is completely genuine. They are truly the biggest and truest humanitarians, the universal humanitarian that will lead us to the monumental revolution of history and bring humanity to a collective whole.

*Pisces moon, people lovee you. People want to come up and talk with you just because of how interesting and intriguing you are. You OOZE this aura of compelling mystery similarly to scorpio moon. Your innocent playfulness is undeniably charming and you are definitely the life of the party, people want to pay attention to you!!

*Saturn in 11th, you are not an outcast, you are not too strange. You’re fine for just who you are, your individuality is a struggle for you, saturn is restricting you from liberating yourself and merging with society, you can selective or strict with friendships. You teach others to have boundaries and to never trust others too easily, you select social causes with caution. There is never anything wrong with this !! You choose what you support for YOU and NO ONE ELSE. You choose who you wanna become friends with it’s because they have passed the true rigorous test of friendship. When you become friends with someone, you already know you can trust them deeply, your caution is quite admirable !!

*Mercury in 12th is an extremely beautiful placement. The native grows shy of their flawless minds, little do they know they are connecting with the watery depths of the astral and psychic realms of the twelfth, the vagueness of their cloudy thoughts winds them up in wispy sheets of intellectual confusion. Your mind is communicating the brilliant and unbelievable parts of what seems like a dream. You are not too confusing or vague for others to understand your ideas, people await what emerges from this shiny and imaginable abyss of a sleepy mind.

*Mercury in 8th have an intellectual superiority complex of sorts, they analyze a piece of information or thing by tearing through the surface until they find the deepest depths of the truth, they believe this will never compare to other placements as they have dug far deeper into something. Be careful to not assume that someone doesn’t know something you don’t, while it still can’t be true. You always want to know someone, don’t be too controlling about it because you could cause conflicts which you didn’t mean to in the first place. If you know your boundaries and limits and of others’, then you should be fine. This placement is brilliant for investigators, someone who could examine, analyze and evaluate to find the answer others can’t see. They harbor a psychic mind, a plutonic one who knows the weight words can have on people. Fantastically persuasive speakers !!

*Gemini in 3rd, gem mercury have unstable minds, they’re very much prone to babbling, but can easily start up a conversation because they never run out things to say so they’re pretty social and friendly.

*Capricorn moon is an amazing moon sign placement, here the moon is in detriment as the saturn ruled cappy doesn’t get along with the soft, nurturing moon, it’s always gotta work work work, limit, restrict !! There’s never anything wrong with the moon here, just because the moon and saturn can’t get along, just because they contradict each other’s completely different functions never means it’s a terrible moon sign. It just manifests in a completely unique way outside of the traditional service and role of the moon, similarly to let’s say sag mercury as it’s also in detriment, they both manifest creatively to make something new out of the planet’s sign. Back to cappy moon, this moon has the capacity to work as they find fulfillment in getting things done, serving others, but negatively restriction and criticizing. With saturn ruling capricorn here your emotions and wellbeing become restricted and limited, you have felt as if no one understands you, you believe something is wrong with you. Like no one in the world supports you emotionally. But this is NEVERRR true, people love you for how caring, attentive and even funny you are !! You care soo much about others you forget to care for yourself, SOME of you even begin to think it’s normal to ignore what your own needs, nooo you need to STOP THISSS . You deserve to feel great about what you do, your accomplishments, how you care for others, EVERYTHING, and most importantly believe, trulyy believe that nothing’s ever wrong with you !! You’re unbelievably charismatic and overall just.... WONDERFULLL. Ily guys smm you’re amazingly stronggg souls !!!

*Moon in 12th house is an EXTREMELY sensitive placement, these people are little babies on the inside (ilyy guyss you all have my heartt <33). They often felt neglected, not nurtured as a kid which creates their extreme sensitivity to their current surroundings and environment. Their shy moon is always hiding behind the mystical and otherworldly curtains of the 12th because of their sensitive upbringing or personality, it’s takes some time for the little guy to come out. The moon here needs SPACCEEEE. A person who’s a walking sponge with fragile emotions, they’re our emotional and energetic vacuum cleaners of the world, they are helping the world without ever realizing it !!

*Pisces risings are known for being hard to characterize for their ability to naturally adapt to their environment. You can tell if someone has this if they absorb their environment like a sponge, then, react to this energy, you can easily see this energy morphing. It becomes noticeable if there’s a lot going on. Another clue is having trouble defining them based on their first impression, like they could be anything you project onto them, very mysterious and dreamy individuals when you meet them.

*Your midheaven/10th house is what you look up to be or what traits you wish to embody, ex: aries MC, confidence, passion, courageousness, being a leader, etc. Moon in 10th, being a therapist, helping the less fortunate, medical professions.

*Libra risings usually have amazing skin, just like virgo risings, to contrast, I’ve seen most of them marked with freckles. They have very symmetrical features, perfectly balanced just like a scale. But it appears as if they’re “superficial” once their faces begin to wear into your mind.

#astro notes #astrology #astrologyobservations #libra #capricorn #aries #cancer #taurus #leo #scorpio #aquarius #pisces #gemini #virgo #sagittarius

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oonajaeadira · 3 years

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Long Fall Into Oblivion (Ezra x reader)

(header by sirtadcooper - check out the whole beautiful set here.)

Rating: Mature.

Pairing: Ezra (post-Prospect film) x f!reader

Warnings: Non-explicit sex. Some swears maybe (think there’s a f*ck in there somewhere, my GOODNESS). A lot of gooey, syrupy, soft fluffety fluff. Author attempts at writing Ezra dialogue. A lot of chewy prose.

A/N: I can’t believe I’m posting this, but here goes. I love Ezra. He is a man of questionable morality and an insufferable tongue and I really shouldn’t. But I really do. I just wanted to give him a try. I’ve softened him up here, putting a few years on him so maybe he’s fluffed up some since the events in the film. Also I just ignored the fade or assumed that aurelac mining was still happening because scarcity/demand. Doesn’t matter. Just wanted to go exploring.

Summary: You take a job as an aurelac prospecting trainee and Ezra shows you the ropes. You’re gonna fall in love with him. That’s it. That’s the whole thing.

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MASTERLIST

________________

Bakhroma is one of the smallest gas giants in the sector, but as you stand on the surface of the Green Moon, it dominates the entire horizon, pulling your focus, threatening to engulf everything around it. You almost feel sorry for the lush moon as you walk through its undergrowth, so gentle and full of beauty, destined many years after you’re gone to give its life to her.

A moon is an orbiting admirer, and what is an orbit but a long fall to oblivion?

There’s a painful, sour ache in your heart as you walk back to the camp in twilight, watching the back of Ezra’s helmet bob along in front of you. You’d spent two days digging that claim only to find the weakest aurelac nest you’ve seen yet, only three viable nodes. You’d dug through one of them by accident and completely melted another like an incompetent fool. Kevva’s ass, you were such a disappointment. Three months in the Green and you still can’t cut a blister out properly. Not even once.

Ezra’s shoulders are wide and tense, his one hand splayed out as he walks, running over the tops of the tall ferns, catching one every now and then only to rip the top away, twirl it between his gloved fingers and toss it impatiently aside.

The other two members of your team headed out on a sling this morning, another two will be arriving in a few days. And you wonder if Ez regrets just not cutting his losses and leaving with them, or at least sending you back in exchange for another kip.

You think about shifting through the comm channels, hoping that he’s chattering away in one of them, switched without your knowledge, but it’s a lost cause. You can hear him breathing on the channel between you. It’s not often Ezra has nothing to say.

________________

You thought your father was leaving you an inheritance. It’s not the reason you took care of him through his illness, but you’d dropped everything to be back home with him through his final months. In a way, it was a blessing, a reason to quit the Dasha factory and the terrible working conditions there, come back home and focus on your dad, relive good memories, just spend time. The reconnection lifted your heart, but his death sank it low again. When you learned he had nothing to leave you but a small house and some old vehicles, you sold what you could and traded in the rest.

Then you had nothing. No family, no job, little savings, questionable future. It almost broke your spirit. But the last few months with your father rekindled your love of him as he told you about his years in the Fringe, mining and prospecting. And your heart had said, “what the hell, let’s try that.” So you listened.

It took some time to track down the right inroads, but you were able to find some ads for prospecting teams, in particular those who were willing to take on members in training for a re-distributed cut. With all provisions included--other than suit and gear, which your father’s inheritance neatly covered--it seemed like just as good of a deal as any, and an adventure to boot.

But the reality was, every team you met with was full of hardened men, and while you were not a soft Central woman, you also weren’t overly versed in weaponry and didn’t know if you could defend yourself out in the Fringe against attack if things got crusty.

You were just about ready to admit defeat when you walked into yet another conference bunker and found your match. The first thing you noticed was that he was standing when you arrived, waiting for you politely rather than manspread at the table. Second were his eyes. Deep, brown, and sad. Maybe sad was the wrong word, certainly it seemed by the lines in his face, possibly by the missing arm, that he’d seen enough sadness, but toward you, it read more as concern. You wouldn’t know it until later when he confessed his feelings about this first meeting, but he was worried you wouldn’t choose him. Ezra had a hell of a time hiring partners. He may have been one of the longest-working aurelac diggers out there, but young kippers saw his greying beard and seasoned diggers saw his lacking arm and they all tended to turn around and walk out before he even said hello. So he’d tried to put himself out there as a trainer, show that he had something more to offer.

It didn’t hurt his feelings when you admitted to him later that those qualities were exactly why you chose him. He seemed the opposite of threatening. And his eyes were bright when he smiled at you. With his thrumming baritone and his Fringe twang and his mixed deck of mosaic words, he had a way of speaking that felt like a fluffy blanket curling around you, your brain vibrating with comfort at every new monologue. He was eccentric and perhaps a little jarringly rough in his humor at times, but there was something about him that you trusted immediately, even though you’d come to learn later you probably shouldn’t have if you were being overly cautious.

Not that your judgement ever came to detriment. Not that he ever proved you wrong that way. Not when it came to you. But the man was dangerous when he had to be in a way you hadn’t initially picked up on.

________________

You hadn’t been out in the Green two weeks before you looked up from the bottom of a dig hole to see Ezra standing over you with a thrower.

“You get down and you stay down, understand?”

“Ez? What--”

“I said stay down! Do not make me waste words on mere repetition!” The fuzzy blanket of his voice replaced suddenly by a snarling, snapping brush wolf, a quick change hitting you like a slap in the ear.

There’d been pops and whizzes as shots rang through and you did as your trainer said, face down, the view of your visor giving you nothing but dirt. Your helmet was a chorus of quick breathing from both of you and sweat rolled down your neck as you begged the eyes of Kevva to look down upon your partner. When the crossfire faded, you’d heard Ezra stalk away. Then there were a couple more shots. Then more footsteps returning.

“You are permitted to stand, trinket. All is well as it can be for us. But not so much for our dearly departed friends.” These words were as soothing as much as his previous ones had burned, and he simply went back to working at the dig at hand as if he’d just come back from taking a leak. It wasn’t until you left the site that evening that you tramped past two rotting raiders, gaudily outfitted with broken face shields, left to let the Green take them.

Ezra whistled as he stepped over them, stopping only to harvest their filters and munition rods, which he tossed your way to stow in your pack, and then continued lazily down the path toward camp. Just another day on the job.

He may be a little peculiar and not someone to trifle with, he may have just killed two people without remorse or further comment, but his lack of reassuring words told you that this was just part of the deal. You wear the suit, you use the air scrubber in the tent, you follow the landing pod instructions as written, and you defend yourself against those who wish to harm you. Survival by any and all means is paramount, mundane, and something he has no qualms with on any level.

There was something deep down inside of you that instinctually pulled you to follow him, not just down the literal path before you, but whatever path Ezra chose to wander.

________________

Before you’d left the station with him, he’d taken you to a thrower range to gauge your skill which was decent in theory, but dismal compared with what he could do. No matter, he still patiently taught you how to properly clean and charge a weapon and the best way to breathe and pull the trigger; “like you’re taking hold of a man’s...well... Just go easy and firm.” He suggested you should come and practice every day before lift off and then hope to Kevva that you didn’t have to rely too heavily on it.

“If I find myself in a coffin of my own suit, then feel free to defend yourself as a final means of preservation. Otherwise, when it comes down to shots fired, best to let me do the dirty work. Might as well keep the blood where the blood has been.”

You’d been a little nervous about sharing a freighter pod alone with him, but Ezra was...well, not so much a gentleman as just a comfortable soul.

He always waited until you were hungry to eat, thinking it rude to eat alone in front of you. He never moved around the pod while you were sleeping, content to keep still with a book in his cot. And if you couldn’t sleep, he was always willing to read to you from whatever impossibly dense old world classic he was digging through for the umpteenth time, letting his voice come up from the deeps and pull you gently under. If you asked permission to turn on the radio, he’d ask you “why Isn’t it on yet, woman,” quietly tolerating your taste in harsh and gleeful babblecore pshcyopop. In the later days of the journey, he’d even come to dance with you from time to time, although both of you were dismal at it and ended up with you in a fit of giggles. It was a sure-fire way to cure a case of the pouts you carried through from the morning fitness sessions when he beat you at pushups. Again.

When it came to privacy in the tight space, he had a habit of turning away without having to be asked or stopping his stream of talk when you went to change clothes, just happily chattering away until you called the all clear. Although he was not squeamish about his own state of undress, should you happen to catch it by accident. While he was respectful of your privacy, he seemed to need none of his own, but neither did he flaunt anything. You might look up from studying the flight manual to notice he was changing into a fresh pair of compression pants, tugging them on haphazardly with one hand, more concerned with telling you the overwhelmingly disgusting manufacturing process of Bits Bars than his own ass hanging out where you might see it. At least he always changed facing away from you which was a kindness.

Until it wasn’t.

After you realized you’d fallen quietly in love with him--a sudden, soft moment on the Green--then you’d admit only privately to yourself that you wouldn’t mind if you accidentally saw a little more than the occasional shirtless attire he might wear around the tent.

But in the pod, the only part of him that had caught your curiosity was his stump, and you’d known Ezra intensely enough over the past couple of weeks where you knew he wouldn’t take offense. Especially if you asked him the right way.

“Will you tell me a story, Ezra?”

“I feel that it is my duty to do so whether you ask me to or not. Shall I choose, or is there something in particular you would like to hear?”

He was sitting cross-legged on the floor, propped up against his cot, going through his kit, cleaning his gear. You waited until he noticed your lack of answer and looked up to meet your eyes. When he saw that you had put your manual down and were focusing all your quiet attention on him, he stopped his busy work.

When Ezra gives you his attention, it is absolute. When he knows you seriously need something from him, that becomes his immediate main priority and all else can wait. It’s only gotten more intense since that day, but there is a trust that resides between you when you look into his eyes, gathering your words as he waits patiently every time to hear whatever you’re going to request of him. There’s always hope there in his big browns, always something specific he’s waiting for you to ask, and every day you get a little bit closer to understanding what it might be. But until then, any question is a welcome one, any query is met with his wish to provide.

“Will you tell me how you lost your arm?”

At first you thought you may have gone too far, that maybe you insulted him, as his eyebrows peaked together and he looked down at his hand. But then, “That is a tale that may cause you some consternation, trinket. The Green is dangerous and unforgiving, and there were times I may not have been a man worthy of fair opinion.”

“My father was a prospector, you know. I’ve heard stories. Have you ever killed anyone?”

He clicked his tongue and screwed up an eye, causing the thin white scar on his cheek to twist. Then he sighed and returned to your locked gaze. “To be honest, I have. Though I have never done so with pleasure, I have killed in defense and out of desperation, and it was out of dispatching a man in this way that I came to lose the second favorite of all my appendages.”

“Second favorite?”

“Well, it depends what you classify as a limb.” He huffed a small laugh, a spark in his eye, trying to diffuse the harsh subject in his own way.

His leaning into baseness never bothered you. There was something earthy about it, gritty and rough, but never lewd. You rewarded his crassness with a smile. “Do you plan on killing me out in the Green?”

“I would hope my murdering days are behind me, and if they are not, you would see me aim a thrower at everyone but you in the course of my spree. You are under my tutelage, and for that, I owe you a duty of care. That is my word by Kevva.”

“Then tell me the story. I like your stories. I promise not to judge now-Ezra by then-Ezra.”

A dimple formed on his cheek, a punctuation mark framing the approaching anecdote on his lips. “Then I will declare myself absolved of any sin heretofore and regale you with a clean and grateful heart.”

________________

You can see the tent through the trees and you realize with some horror that it’s just you and Ezra for the next few nights. If he’s angry with you, and this is how he is when he’s upset, the silence will be unbearable.

Even that little girl he helped out here years ago was probably more capable than you. You feel so lost in this moment, and it’s only made worse by his silence. You fumble with your communicator and hit the mute just in time to choke on a sob.

This isn’t like you. You’re not one to cry when things get rough. You hardly shed a tear when your father died. But the thought of that just brings another sob and as acting as your own psychologist you realize that you are experiencing some displaced sorrow, the odd need to please the leading male in your life, the one that’s walking ahead of you, away from you. If he’d just turn around and throw you his worn weary smile, if he’d just start up a conversation you’d know that there was hope for you, you’d know you didn’t give up everything to be here in a job you couldn’t hack.

You gotta stop this. Or it’s going to be an uncomfortable night.

Shake it off.

Once you enter the tent, the usual dance happens. Ezra reaches up to turn on the air scrubber and you unhook his filter tube from his helmet. When he turns to you, you pull open the zipper cover on his suit and start his zip for him before lifting his helmet up and off. He can pull the zip the rest of the way, but you generally pull the left collar down for him so he can get his arm out. He’s on his own from there as you turn to fuss with your own gear.

________________

You remember it starting easily enough. He was telling you a story about the breeding habits of the Tokovian Musk Owl and you could see he was having trouble with his suit zipper, yanking at it and trying to look down at it even though it was under his chin and his helmet. Without another hand to keep the fabric taut, the zip didn’t want to release, so you simply batted his hand away and started it for him. He didn’t even stop his yammering, just threw in a “thank you” somewhere in between “could hear them screeching” and “for a fuck.” He’d right out asked you the day before if you wouldn’t mind disengaging the filter tube just because it was delicate and he didn’t want to mangle the expensive part trying to pop it out one-handed day after day. And while he could manage the helmet fine enough, his prominent nose thanked you for a smoother removal for sure.

It wasn’t the only routine dance you’d concocted.

There was the harness dance.

While dig days were excruciating, you always looked forward to helping him attach the harness for his prosthesis--a kind of rigid pole attached to a shovel so you didn’t have to do all the hard digging alone. There were a couple of straps that came around his torso with multiple latches and you’d come to really enjoy wrapping your arms around him to fit the straps on. Sure, you could do the job just as easily from behind, but if you embraced him at the front, he’d usually raise his arm and let it come to rest around your shoulders while you worked. If you let yourself dream, it would be easy to imagine that he might be pressing you into him just a little bit.

And there was the harvesting dance.

On a dig, you were the one to mix the fazer and Ezra did the pour. He fished the sack, you cut the cord. You sliced the outer casing and held it open while he did the extraction. And with the flesh-covered stone, he told you every time to “hold it like you love it” so he could cut away the slippery blister before cleaning the gemstone.

It was a beautiful harmony. And the only way it worked. Because once on every dig he urged you to do a solo extraction, and on every dig, you pierced the blister and lost that stone. And on every dig, he squeezed your shoulder and told you it was a wondrous try, that he was proud of you, and there would always be another turn. There was no sarcasm, no pity, just a warm smile and ceaseless optimism even though you just lost both of you thousands in pay.

These were the first touches, these shoulder squeezes that ran down your arm on the let-go. Sometimes he would just reach out and grab onto you like a pole to help himself up, or he might stumble off balance on uneven ground and without the counterweight of his right arm he’d throw his hand out onto you to steady himself. He wasn’t beyond lightly touching the small of your back to encourage you down a path or to take your next try at a gem pull.

This was all part of something you’ve secretly named the left-handed-lover’s dance. Basically, that you keep on his left whenever you can in case he needs your help or has the inclination to reach for you. It started out as just trying to be a good partner. Then it became a passing hope that it was more than just a friendly bond. But you were both here to do a job. He was here to teach you to be an independent prospector and you were here to assist and learn. That was evident at the end of the day; once you were both in the tent and out of the suits he never touched you, never so much as bumped into you or grazed your hand in passing an item or clapped you on the arm after a good joke.

But out in the field all zipped in and helmets on, there was nothing more natural than his gentle hand guiding you or reaching for your assistance, including the day you realized you loved him.

________________

Before you can turn away to strip off your own coverings, Ezra catches your arm, spinning your face into the light. You try to shake him off, not wanting him to catch your eyes puffy from crying and your cheeks still streaked with tears, but his grip is not so gentle now and he yanks you back around to his stormy glare, chin up, brows low. His intensity paralyzes you, rendering you unable to continue your struggle when he catches your eyes with his.

When Ezra gives you his attention, it is absolute.

His gaze travels back and forth between your eyes, waiting for an explanation, a minute so stringent it breaks you down, dissolves you into the tears you’d tried so hard to hide.

“I’m sorry, Ezra. I really am trying... I don’t know why I’m such a scuffer at this and I know it would only be right to release you from the contract and tell you to send me back but I don’t want you to, I really wanna stay, I really wanna learn and I’m so, so sorry.”

Your words have an immediate effect, softening him, pulling his glare into concern and wonder, his lips parting just the tiniest bit in surprise.

“This is the reason for your heavy mood? You think I am provoked by your proficiency in the field?”

“I crusted up good today and it seems like you’re not happy about it. Just...know that it means so much to me that...I don’t wanna let you down.”

“Oh, trinket, no.” An incredulous huff jumps out of him and his grip on your arm loosens, becomes a splayed warm support behind your shoulder, moving in soothing patterns and you’re instantly relieved that your assumptions were wrong. “You have done no harm in my book. It is not an easy thing to deliver a gem of this ilk into the world unscathed. Your opportunities have been few and scattered and it takes many sticks before a lover becomes a lothario.” He knows the crass humor will make you laugh, knows what to say to lighten your heart, to get you to soften, and bring you into his intimate, conspiratorial mood. “To be perfectly honest, I am selfish to an unrighteous degree, for every gem you burn keeps me in value to you. A worthy sacrifice to guarantee you mightn’t be so quick in your need to fly away from me until your training’s complete.”

This causes a hitch in your breath as you see the welcome turn the conversation he’s taking and you follow the path he’s making for you. “I don’t want to leave you, Ez.”

A smile creeps up one side of his mouth. “Well then I am a happy man. A bargain is struck! Partners it is.”

“Partners it is.”

A moment hangs between you as he rubs his thumb in slow circles on your shoulder. There’s that look in his eye again, the one where he’s waiting for you to ask the question he wants to hear from you. So close now.

Still, you’re unsure. “I guess I’m lucky I found the one person who wants an incompetent partner.”

“No, I do not, nor is it what I have and I must express my objection to your self-debasement. This work is not for the shiny, and you have not once complained about taking on the meat of the digging or the crawl of my schedule.” His hand comes to your helmet shield and he rakes his thumb across it as if he ached to wipe away one of your staleing tears. “Those bright eyes of yours got a penchant for spotting deposits more skillfully than I could ever manage and that’s not something that can be taught; that’s talent, girl. The blistering?” He shrugs. “Even I can’t manage that without the steady help of your fine hands. You may think that your blunders in education are causing us some financial ruin, but our fortunes are creamy. I assure you, we can afford it.”

That look is still there. He’s waiting. “There’s some ‘us’ and ‘we’ in there, Ez.” Your hands drift to his sides, taking fistfuls of his compression suit top, willing him closer.

The edges of his eyes take on the crinkle you’ve come to find so much comfort in. “So there is.”

You’re almost there. You know what he wants. “Why were you so quiet on the walk back?”

“Because for the next few days we are alone here and I have a mind full of questions I do not know how to ask you.”

“Then let me go first.” A yearning happiness settles in his brown eyes; finally. Finally you’ve found out what it is he needs you to request of him. “If I take this helmet off, are you going to kiss me, Ez?”

His eyes close in contentment and he nods, “Yes. Yes, little jewel. Yes I am, that and more. I hope I have inferred correctly that it is your wish that I do so, because I am in free fall. I feel my orbit ending and my pull to you is complete.”

_______________

“A moon is an orbiting admirer, and what is an orbit but a long fall to oblivion?”

Speculating days were some of your favorite times, just wading through the brush and looking for the telltale signs and shoots of an underlying deposit. Sometimes you came upon nests of strange groundling insects or flowers that only grew in secret. There were treasures underfoot on this poisonous moon, but if you remembered to look up as well, you might find some dangerous beauties there too.

On that day--the one where you finally understood your heart--you’d looked up to find that you were on a cliffside overlooking a valley, the canopy a million different hues of green, the gas giant looming over half the sky in a big pink and orange semi-circle. There was a fallen log that served as a perfect seat for the perfect view and you knew Ezra wouldn’t mind if you stole a few moments to sit and to take it in. It’s just the kind of thing he’d appreciate. And you were proven right when he came up behind you, putting a hand on your shoulder to steady himself as he swung one leg then the other over the log, finding a perch next to you, spouting pretty words through the channel link--soft and low--about moons and orbits and obilvions.

“That glowing beauty is Bakhroma. She is quiet and fierce, made up of the unfathomable and the unknowable, always within sight, but out of reach and untouchable unless one would trade the honor with great sacrifice. She reflects the light that is given to her with a patience that is heretofore untold. And the Green Moon upon which we ride follows where she goes like a lovesick fool, spinning around her in a heady kind of adoration, full of secret treasures buried deep down that will ultimately one day belong to her, falling incrementally over eons until he finally loses himself in her, all his glories gladly forfeit to her welcome and inevitable embrace. Alone but together, seemingly eternal, pulled as one by the laws of a mysterious universe.”

The void that came after those words was filled with the beating of your heart, and you were sure he could hear it through the channel.

When he’d landed there beside you, you’d registered how his hand slid off your shoulder, diagonally down across your back, coming to rest at your waist, his arm draped lightly around you. Natural. Easy. Everything was warm--the colors of the sky, the care with which he kept you close as if to better hear the honey sweetness in his prose, the fire burning in your lungs and neck.

Ezra probably didn’t know that you spoke a little Vayok.

Bakh being the Vayok word for adornment. Ornament, Gem. Roma was a modifier, a diminutive. Small. Dear.

Bakhroma. Sentimental bauble. A little jewel.

In other words, a trinket.

All you wanted to do was sit down to take in the view of an entire world for a few moments, but by the time Ezra took your hand and helped you to your feet, all you saw was him.

________________

The helmet is barely off before his lips are sealed to yours in a press of greed. Even if he can’t form words when he kisses you, he can’t help but express his deep relief in a heartbreaking moan. It’s a fight to release yourself from the suit when he keeps pulling you against him and every time you try to get some space between you to work the zipper, he chuckles into your mouth, enjoying the tease and the struggle. It’s simultaneously frustrating and thrilling and you give in for a few moments just to give him what he seems to want so desperately right now.

Ezra kisses like a man starved for air, long, hard, and full of need, peeling his lips away only to come back for another breath of you until his initial want is slaked and he slows, allows for more time between his taking, his mouth starting to mumble against yours, praising you with pet names, telling you how perfect you are to him, how long he’s “fought against my more dubious natures to respect your womanly virtues and take them only when you could see in me a man worth bestowing them on.”

You’re able to use his weakness for monologuing to turn around in his vice-like embrace, finally freeing yourself of the suit and he takes the opportunity to drawl more pretty words in your ear, warning you that “I’m afraid I have been enamored of you overly long and may be extra eager in my attentions. So you just say the word if you need a slow down, gentle one, and I will do my best to comply. Although I will admit it will be a difficult endeavor indeed as I feel I am entering your atmosphere and nothing might quell this burn but finding some drowning place to land.”

Your first impression of him was of a man whose age and temperament and body would not be able to overpower you.

Your first impression was wrong.

Of course, it helps that you are willing.

It doesn’t take long for him to strip you down, and then himself. To kiss you down onto the floor. To find exactly where you like to be touched most and how long it takes for you to break from it. He has so many words for you, so many praises to sing about every part of you that is round or soft or wet, comparing you to things that are sweet and plush or celestial and holy. And when you take his favorite limb in hand--as wondrous as the rest of his body--and guide it to its fit, he plunders and harvests all you have to give him, filing you with himself, for as long as you call for it, as long as you let him. He loves you like he speaks to you: rough and drawn out, full of beautiful tangents and meandering plotlines, but in the end it is beautiful and fulfilling; you may be just a little bit confused how you got to the ending, but you’re completely in awe.

When you lay breathing heavy, staring but not seeing the ceiling of the tent, your consciousness seemingly lifted to see through it to the stars, to the glowing face of Bakhroma, you run hands through rough-chopped hair on a head laying on your chest. He’s listening to your heartbeat, waiting for it to slow down so he can start again. The air is thick--even the air scrubber can’t keep up with all your humidity--and there’s a halo around each bulb of the string lights just barely illuminating the darkness.

“How long, Ez?”

“Hm?”

“How long have you been waiting for that.”

“Most likely since the day you walked into my interview. I am a man of simple wants and you had all the right parts for my preferences.”

“For real, Ez.”

He tipped his head up to find you. “What you ask has many true answers, and I stand by the first. I have no qualms telling you of my weakness for a pretty succulence and a kind smile the likes of which you possess. But if you are asking when I knew I would have it, well, that may have been the first day you danced. Or when you asked me to read you to sleep. Or when I understood I wouldn’t let those bastard raiders get near enough to take their turn at your qualities when I had not had them myself. Or when you finally saw me as a viable person to drape your affections on; maybe it was that day too.”

“When I finally saw you as....”

“I have read many tomes and verses but none so full of beautiful passages as your face that day on the cliff. There is a difference of knowing and being. I knew the feel of your pull that day, but found I’d been in orbit all along.”

How he can live this way, twist everything into a tossed away poem...it should be exhausting. Yet you feed off it. You breathe it like air.

After another long cycle of frenzied entanglement and violent euphoria, you ask Ezra if he’d like to move to a cot, maybe get some sleep. “I’m not sure if I’ll be able to walk to the dig tomorrow morning,” you confess.

“No need to worry about tomorrow,” he says, wapping his arm around you and dragging you back to him, grumbling into your ear. “We are the only prospectors in this sector and the aurelac will wait. Until our new compatriots arrive, we are officially on hiatus. Recreational mining only. Restricted to the confines of this tent. By order of your supervisor. In the interest of more precious treasures. And I intend to strike it rich.”

“Well. I’m here to assist. And learn.”

“When it comes to this dig, trinket, you are more than competent. I am no longer your trainer. Partners it is.”

“Partners it is.”

The new contract is struck, signed and sealed in kissing and in touch and a long, slow fall into inevitable oblivion.

#ezra x reader #ezra/reader #ezra prospect #prospect fanfic #prospect fanfiction #pedro pascal #soft #soft ezra

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ktffansub · 3 years

Text

Bijutsu Techo: Boys Love – Interview: Yoneda Kou

This article was first published in November 17th, 2014. Translated from Japanesse to Bahasa Indonesia by kalengjelek and then translated from Bahasa Indonesia to English by KTFfansub. Source: here

When did you first encounter manga?

I was born in a family with three daughters; while my older sister likes reading Ribbon magazine, I like reading Nakayoshi. It was the era of Asagiri Yuu-sensei, when I was in elementary school. My favorite at that time were Kusunoki Kei sensei’s works and Patlabor. When it came to Shonen, I would say I was more into Shounen Sunday. I also loved Kawaraha Izumi sensei’s works. When I think about it, rather than manga that were full of passion, I’d actually prefer manga that had calm and soothing kind of vibe.

Is that so… What about BL?

When I was in Junior High, my older sister showed me Captain Tsubasa Doujinshi by Ozaki Minami and I was dumbfounded, I thought, “So, there’s also a world like this!”. After that, I started to buy BL manga. At that time, the mangaka who left the most impression to me was Nishi Keikosensei. Her works such as Mizu Ga Koori Ni Naru Toki, Tenshi Ni Naranakya have unique openings, it made me reread them many times. Uida Shiuko (now Kano Shiuko) and Yoshinaga Fumi Sensei are also my favorite mangaka.

When was the first time you draw manga?

I seriously began drawing manga in my first year of junior high. At first, I drew a pair of man and woman, but after page three, I felt something was off. So, I tried drawing BL for the next one. Just like the present, I’ve always loved less expressive and less-talkactive main characters (laughs). But the more I draw, then an attentive senpai with good personality and short haired ones like Togawa in Doushitemo Furetakunai also appeared. At that moment I thought, “Oh, this is it!”

You really weren’t embarrassed, are you? (laughs)

Well, it’s because it was embarrassing, that’s why I’m not really open about my drawing manga activity.

(laughs) But you debut as professional mangaka eventually, how did that happen?

Yes, after that… I worked as office lady. I got married not long after, but then, I was getting through a marriage blues. At that time, I was invested in Kakashi and Naruto shown by my older sister along with Comiket catalogue.

The power of moe beats out your anxiety (laughs)

It’s true (laughs). Escaping from reality, I checked a lot of circles and opened some sites. There I found a work from a novelist (now has debuted professionally) that I really liked. This is why I started writing novel at first, not drawing. I have a lot of ways to accommodate my moe needs. I also once drew Doujinshi but due to my inability to use a proper diction, the result wasn’t optimal (laughs). After drawing slowly and more at ease, I got into Katekyo Hitman Reborn fandom and drew a lot of doujinshi for that series. A year later, I was contacted by Taiyou Tosho publisher.

“With that publisher, Yoneda Kou published Doushitemo Furetakunai which has been adapted into a movie. Since the beginning, Yoneda Kou didn’t draw one-shot but serialization. For the movie, even though it only tells a story of daily lives, but the directing, composition and dialogue are impressive. About 4,5 years later, the second volume of Saezuru Tori wa Habatakanai that had the yakuza neighborhood setting was released. This has completely different feeling compared to Doushitemo Furetakunai.”

My first work was actually published in Drap, so I had it adjusted to be a less-heavy work. That’s why I ended up switching to another magazine.

Was it a demand from the editor?

Of course I only draw what I want to draw. But without realizing, I always draw them to fit the magazine. And it seems like Taiyou Tosho prefers me to draw more simple work.

So, sensei is the type who pays attention to editor’s suggestion. When you wrote the first chapter of Saezuru Tori Wa Habatakanai, did you already want Yashiro to be the main character (for longterm series)?

Right. I didn’t explain it in the first one-shot, but I always believe that no matter how you look at it, Yashiro really loved Kageyama. And (even though he’s drawn like that) he is actually a neko (uke). I think he is an interesting character. When I drew highschooler Yashiro and others, it had been decided that I wanted to write a serialization for this.

And only then the character Doumeki was born?

At that time, the character Doumeki didn’t exist, but I thought very hard about what kind of partner that would be suitable for Yashiro. I took a break from drawing for about two years. I only worked on illustration during that time, until one morning an idea suddenly came to me, “That’s right! Erectile dysfunction!”. I immediately sent an email to my editor: “A perverted impotent man!” (laughs). Afterwards, I finally worked on the first draft.

(laughs hard) Finally, the combination of Yashiro and Doumeki who are the opposite of each other was decided. What an amazing couple that can even make the readers losing sleep.

I do have this particular interest in people’s decision and behaviour resulted from a contrasting relationship that is full of conflicts. Because there are so many characters in Saezuru, I have this excel file compiling the plot for each character chronologically. Otherwise, I would’ve forgotten about it. If I didn’t seriously research (the setting of my own story), I wouldn’t be able to write anything when I made name. But even though I got through it, drawing a family with no blood ties like yakuza was still difficult. If I don’t focus, the story might turn out like Nagara Sakugyou*. That’s why now I’m just focusing on doing Saezuru.

*) nagara sakugyou: other work that being serialized at the same time

Up until now, Sensei has published 5 volumes and all of them have beautiful covers with varied tones.

Actually, the cover color for Doushitemo Furetakunai should’ve looked like red wine, but it seemed like there was an error in printing so the pink was contrasting into it. But it turned out to be good.

Then about the cover for the Saezuru first volume. It’s so impressive! The stepped-on man! All the people around me also had high appraise for this.

Actually, there were so many things happened in the process. By taking the request (it isn’t clearly explained whether it’s from editor/designer) of “Yashiro sitting alone”, I first submitted that illustration to the book designer. However, I couldn’t throw away the idea of Yashiro being stepped on, so, during the next three days I was stressed out. I’ve finally asked them to keep my idea and that’s how the cover of the first volume ended up the way it is now.

I see! For the second volume, it’s totally different, isn’t it? It’s a scenery, but when you do a double take, there are Yashiro and Doumeki!

I always want to give a different vibe in each volume. Actually I’m also a fan of the way Tsumugi Taku-sensei draws scenery.

Hoo-, sensei is a fan of Tsumugi sensei! Talking abough NIGHTS, when you open the cover, there’s a surprise in it!

Yes, if you look at the rough sketches there were 4 pages of picture that were interconnected. In the end, the desainer took picture number two as the cover and number four to put it on the bottom of the back cover. For Soredemo, I didn’t get any guide from the book designer. I combined the the feel of the story with a touch of water paint. At first, I actually wanted to make Deguchi pulling Onoda’s hand to get out of the train, but it ended up looking like Deguchi forced Onoda to stay (with him). So I decided it’s Onoda who’s getting off the train by himself with Deguchi waiting on the platform.

Do you do the coloring with computer? How about the non-colored script?

I use SAI for coloring but for monochrome I usually draw by my hand until the inking, then I do the tone using photoshop.

Do you self-learned drawing?

Well, I at least bought a lot of ‘pose reference’ books often. When it comes to buy things, it feels great, doesn’t it? But when it comes to manga, we draw to tell our moe concept.. well, I love drawing moe concept, but the thing is- I’m not really good at drawing. I like thinking about moe stuff, I also like to combine colors (inside my head) but when I do, I have no desire to draw I, even though that’s the important part. There are often times when I feel like drawing is a handful. In short, I want to draw something that isn’t too troublesome.

But, isnt it because you’re doing manga seriously that it feels difficult?

Because I’m too serious I feel like the story can be boring. Not only the work but also the author (laughs). I often read comments saying my manga is ‘down to earth’. I guess it’s shown obviously in every each of my works

Sure, there are people who think like, “In real world, there’s no way a wakagashira can be as masochist as Yashiro”, but apart from that, Saezuru still gives an impression of it being realistic. In drawing the important men’s arms and muscles in your work, sensei has done your best. Getting into the story, the characters also put extra effort to look elegant. Despite the young age, in a positive sense, sensei’s works feels like having Showa* vibe.

(*SHOWA ERA: 1926~1989)

I’m no longer young, though (laughs). Maybe this is why my works often get called “JUNE”. Especially Saezuru, I think it really fits (JUNE concept).

Are you an organized person?

I’m actually a person who have no chill (laughs). But I have this side of myself who tend to see things as a whole, look at my surrounding then step on the brake. There is also a side of me that is so energetic in creating my own moe that I turn into a selfish person. I guess that’s also my flaw.

It seems like sensei is the type who has her own editorial meeting inside her head (laughs)

I wish it’s not true, but unfortunately, I’m the type of person who is embarrased to admit that I have a relationship with manga. Even until now I have yet told my close friends about this job (as BL mangaka). I’m not that kind of person who like to share or tell others about my moe situation inside my head. When my moe concept is being visualized in public I would scream, “Don’t look! But if you want to read it, I’d be happy”. Yes, I’m that kind of person.

I wonder if sensei’s works are the manifestation of sensei’s own self-contradictions..

#saezuru #doumeki #saezuru tori wa habatakanai #yashiro #yoneda kou #interview

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