zoe stop it

8

                  Captain.
                                   ……It’s him.

Dating Joe Sugg Would Include

*not my gif*

-Breakfast in bed all the time

-Funny snapchats while he’s off at meetings or other various things

-You and Zoe being really close

-Zoe shipping you two the most closely met by Caspar

-Zoe telling you all the embarrassing stories about Joe from their childhood and him getting embarrassed and telling Zoe to stop talking about them

-Him getting low-key jealous when the boys would be snapchatting you

-Coming home and him surprising you with a really good meal

-Constantly getting pranked (or getting stuck in their prank war even when the pranks weren’t on or by you)

-Being extremely close with Caspar and it sometimes makes Joe jealous how close you two actually are

-Just sitting there laughing about seemingly nothing for hours 

-Him calling you ‘love’ more then anything else

-Him vlogging you in bed all the time

-Him getting all shy every time you say something nice about him especially if there are other people around

-Going for cute little adventures even just around London anytime you get the chance and always really cute photos of each other for Instagram

-Him teasing you all the time (you can take that however you want honestly)

-You always wearing his sweaters (especially the Sugg Life ones)

-You telling him he needs to quit working himself so hard and take a night for himself

-Having lots of baths with him (we all know how much the boy loves his baths with his bath bombs)

-Trying to show you off to anyone and everyone 

-Him being really excited to take you back to Wiltshire and show you all the places he hung out at when he was growing up

-So much cuddling

-All the boys being surprised by how much of a romantic Joe actually was

-All the boys being jealous and telling you two to stop being so cute all the bloody time

-Being there for him after he plays his scary video games trying to make him calm down

-Encouraging him to do a cover video

-Being really supportive and excited about everything that he’s getting to do with his career

My ask box is always open for requests like these and others. 


The other ones I’ve done like this for the other boys: Conor  Jack

  • boss: why didn't you come to work yesterday?
  • me: *sniffs* there's been a death in the family...
  • boss: again? wasn't that your excuse last week? and the week before that? and the week before that? how many family can you possibly have?
  • me: *sniffs louder* I don't know why it keeps happning, I really don't
  • me: oh by the way, I'll proabby be out next week too...
  • boss: why?
  • me: cw network, they're about to kill another one

“i CANT beleive the TERRIBLE ACES want the lgbt community to create non-sexual, non-pda spaces!1!”

ok but what about gay aces and trans aces and bi aces and pan aces and nb aces who might be uncomfortable with pda?? just admit u hate all aces not just the “cishet” ones tbh

“i CANT beleive the TERRIBLE ACES(read:sex repulsed ppl) want the lgbt community to create non-sexual, non-pda spaces!1!”

ok but what about gay ppl and trans ppl and bi ppl and pan ppl and nb ppl who are uncomfortable with pda?? just admit ur just trying to push (cishet) aces out of the community and are willing to throw anyone else who is pda-repulsed under the bus, including “real lgbt” ones

i’ve told quite a few people this fic was coming, so here it is. special thanks to my beta/girlfriend @danchou-chan, and to @partydanchou and @birbwin for listening to me whine about this thing for months. Read it on AO3

It was never truly his, the life he was born into. He’d known it from childhood, born with memories of monsters, of a war with no end. Erwin Smith was born with the memories of cable wires shooting out with the pull of a trigger, sending an army through the air, of blades and blood that evaporates, of blood that stays. He was born with the memories of a man who had lived two decades before he saw the sun, of fierce gray eyes and a sharp tongue, a man who was small and beautiful and meant to fly. His little bird. He was born with the memories of a broken promise and the knowledge that he is meant to find this man, this little bird, a knowledge that he keeps private, learning early on that others will not take kindly to these strange memories. A vivid imagination in childhood turns into a concerning quirk verging on madness as an adult and he quiets himself. His bird is in his dreams, in the shadows in his waking life, waiting. This life was never truly his, but he will live it if only so that he can prove to himself that this man exists, that somewhere he is looking for him too.

This is the first time, and perhaps it is due to his own naivety that he accepts without question the idea that he is fated to live again, to spend his life dedicated to a man he has yet to meet– maybe never will meet. He does not question the absurdity of it all, the guilt that consumes him for deaths he, now, has never seen, the desperate need for the man in his dreams, the name he finds himself whispering like a prayer as he lies in bed at night, eyes fixed towards the heavens: Levi, Levi, Levi. He questions nothing, fixated, obsessed, but somewhere someone was waiting for him, and in the end it’s all that matters.

Levi, Levi, Levi.

It happens at last during the winter of 1901, and Erwin is on the train, alone with a first class ticket in a quiet, comfortable car, off to visit a friend of the family (by obligation rather than by his own desire, but he’s resolved to be nothing but pleasant– he always is, when he can help it, after all). He is reading the paper when a silent stranger shuffles in, sliding into the seat directly across, a simple bag tossed beside him. Queen Victoria is dead. The stranger lights a cigarette, slumps against the window with a sigh. At half a glance it’s a man, a boy perhaps, small and dark and unremarkable in every way save for his stature and his unusually sharp angles. He is drowning in worn and ill fitting but well-kept clothes. It’s a wonder what a man like that is doing in a first class car. Erwin has no intention to gaze fully but there’s a nagging at his chest, a flash from a dream, from a memory, a whisper. A name. Blue eyes flicker up, the train is moving– he meets half-lidded gray, head against a curled fist, cigarette dangling between thin lips. Gray eyes meet his, cool impassivity turning to shock, head lifting. The cigarette is crushed against the sill of the window by a slow, hesitant hand.

And then there’s a weight against his chest, coming at him so fast it knocks him back into his seat and he almost forgets to wind his arms around the smaller body, to cradle him like something precious, something sacred. There’s a muffled choked out sob, “Oh fuck,” into Erwin’s shirt, drenched in relief, and Erwin wonders how long Levi’s gone thinking he was simply insane. He’s beautiful, he always has been but especially now, real and whole and his, and Erwin thanks every god he can think of for this second chance– for that’s what this must be, a blessing, a way to make amends for the lives he’s taken, the men and women and children he once sent off to die. A miracle.

“Levi… Levi.

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