#Skull Kid slaying as always

[h4wari]

Hello! How are you? I noticed you said you were doing requests. Do you think you could do a comic or art or something of Ganondorf and Skull Kid? Skull Kid is my favorite lol, especially in his Skull mask he got from Link, lol. Hope you gave a good day!

Hi baby!!! Im sorry for taking so long to do your request but it arrived!! I also love this mask so much, he looks so good on them!!

I never made a comic before but I hope this little one is good enough for you <333

Skull Kid giving Ganon an reality check fr he isnt wrong tho have you seen his tits???

Also!! When I was sketching the page, this lil sketch of Skull Kid stole my heart hehehehehe

So silly and goofy!!

Anyways, hope you also have an amazing day my dear leaf!! Kiss kiss kiss Mmmmmwa!!!!!

Toodlessss 🍃🍃🍃

[deconstructthesoup]

Just for fun, I'm gonna show off my human designs for the Vessels and break them down... but I can't draw for shit, so, like the Slay the Professor Voices, this is gonna be in Picrew format.

Enjoy!

So, I've said this before, but when I make Beast a human, I always feel like the only way I can still capture her vibes is to make her a kid, or at least a preteen---a younger sister or a daughter of one of the other Vessels, usually Witch. She reads to me as that feral, weird little girl who digs holes with her fingernails on the playground, bites other kids, and almost always has a scraped knee or tiny cut on her face from horsing around that needs a fun Band-Aid to cover it, and her design's meant to reflect that. Beast strikes me as the kind of girl who'd just wear the same neutral colors with some green every day, and the kitty-ear hat is her most prized possession. This is the kind of kid who'd get labeled a "problem child" until she finally gets tested for ADHD.

Witch gives off grungy alternative vibes to me, and everything she does with her appearance is very deliberate---she doesn't have a skincare routine, but she always takes care of her piercings; she dyes her hair red herself and in the bathroom sink, but she always gets a good-quality and cruelty-free dye; she dresses almost exclusively in ripped jeans, flannels/overshirts, and T-shirts/tank-tops, but they're always somehow matching perfectly and look like actual outfits rather than just... well, what she threw on. To me, Witch is the person who gives off as much "I don't care" vibes as possible, while caring immensely in her own weird way.

Weirdly enough, Prisoner's human design was actually difficult, and that might have something to do with the fact that... well, she is the most human out of all of the Vessels, decapitation nonwithstanding. To that end, I wound up giving her a very academic-leaning style, which I think fits with her cynicism and default to the logical approach. She gets glasses, she gets a sweater vest, she gets Mary Janes... Prisoner's always trying to look presentable.

Damsel, meanwhile, was almost too easy---maximum pink, maximum ruffles, maximum princess vibes. There's no choice for Damsel other than being as adorable and as high-femme as possible, and... well, I'm pretty damn sure that comes across. It also helps her contrast well with Prisoner, since they're almost always twin sisters in my AUs.

I had two rules for Adversary: make her hella sporty, and make her hella butch. This is a girl who actually uses her gym membership, and she is almost always in workout gear of some kind. She's gotta be tough, she's gotta be badass, and she's gotta be hot. (I love butch Adversary so much, you don't understand)

Tower... well, she was pretty simple. Power suit, perfect jewelry and heels, pantyhose, professionally-styled hair, definitely enjoys wine. I struggle to write her because on one hand, I don't want to make her an egotistical monster, but on the other hand... well, it's difficult to make her human and likeable without going too out of character. At best, she's more akin to a mean girl than anything else, and at worst, she's Karen-level. (Sorry, gorgeous.)

For Nightmare, I had two words: "cute" and "goth." Nightmare is totally the kind of girl who would dress up like a spooky doll for funzies, so she's got frills like Damsel, but a bit more understated---and, also, leaning way more heavily into black-and-grey than any other color. And yes, she has tattoos and vitiligo, because it just... works for her. She still absolutely slathers intentionally exaggerated makeup on her face, though.

For Spectre, I also wanted to go in a goth-adjacent direction, but I wanted her to be way more witchy and whimsical, creating a pastel-whimsigoth vibe that I think really suits her. While skull makeup was an option for this Picrew, I was already way too attached to the idea of giving Spectre round glasses in place of her... well, sunken eyes, and it turned out pretty nice. Also, if you're wondering about all the purple---don't ask me why I associate that color with her. It just fits.

Razor is always gonna be a punk-slash-metalhead to me, because that means I get the excuse to give her plenty of piercings, plenty of studded bracelets, and---not pictured in this Picrew---a gazillion chain wallets (the eagle-eyed among you will even notice that she's got metal in her hair, which was very much intentional). And as it's the most obvious with Razor, this might also be a good time to mention that, yes, I didn't want to make all of the Vessels white, because a) that's boring, and b) if Shifty's meant to represent the entirety of change and transformation among humanity, it stands to reason that if her Vessels became human, they wouldn't all be skinny blonde girls. I'm gonna get off my soapbox now.

And lastly, Stranger was... well, both hard, and surprisingly easy. I knew I wanted to make them plus-sized, I knew I wanted to give them vitiligo, and I knew that I wanted their "base" outfit to be as pattern-clashing, color-clashing, hurt-your-eyes busy as possible. However, that did mean that I ran out of colors to include preeeeetty quickly, which is actually something that can happen when you're trying to squeeze in every color at once. Still, though, the end result was quite cute, and I think it definitely captures their vibe. (Not pictured: their masc outfit with suspenders and a tie, their alt outfit with a black cowboy hat and old-fashioned jester makeup, their femme outfit with a big ol' hoop skirt and matching parasol, and their "no-effort" outfit with a slouchy sweatshirt and matching pants.)

[voparwave69]

I am taking you all on a tour of my home on Horny Road in Ponytown

Here is the entrance, where the abandoned road ends

In the upper left corner is where my children go when on crawfish duty, digging in the mud to find them, and the cauldron is of course where we cook them, a mortar and pestle too to mash them up when we want shell flakes to sprinkle on our desserts when we get them

Here is where we have found wild watermelons growing in the upper right which has been very helpful, and the spot in the center is where me and Gamzee perform magic tricks and have sex (those two things are VERY interlinked) which is why it's forbidden from anyone entering, we share a bedroom with 7 other people, so this towel is our only option

Here is the hater slaying area, with three hater skulls and hater papers that will be burned, we light fires using sparklers so there's plenty of those

Here is where my kids like to dig around for fun, they find a lot of mollusks here. Since everyone says Gamzee looks like a scarecrow he built one of himself to trick the kids into thinking he's watching so they'll behave. He puts 7 party bags out every night (or more when he remembers to at least) by the scarecrow that are full of loose sopor slime for our children. He claims it "helps the little motherfuckers brains to all get set up into the right place" and I fully believe he's right.

Here is the small island where we keep our greenhouse, Gamzee is tall enough he can just take one stride over but I personally have to wade through the fucking muddy ass water to get to it

And here's the inside of it, and as you can see the weed crops are coming along very nicely. I've suggested we sell it for a living instead of smoking it all, but inevitably, us and the kids end up smoking up every last gram before we know it.

Here is our living room where we homeschool the kids. Some lessons are heavily magician focused, but most days we teach them about mollusks, pebbles, shrimps and crawfish, and where to find them. In the corner is where I store our hater slaying crowbarkinds, ready to be grabbed at a moments notice. Recently my kids godfather Spongebaby brought over some crackers, which was great, but as you can see they got them fucking everywhere, but you know, Gamzee does the same with his pie tins and faygos so I can't really lecture them when they're just copying their father.

Here is our small kitchen area. We have two cheesecakes and some macaroni and cheese, the cakes from our very helpful neighbor that always lends me a shoulder to scream into, and the macaroni from godfather Spongebaby. We have a sponge to wash the dishes, but since we have no sink we have to wash them out in the marsh water.

Here where Gamzee is growing our shrooms as well as drying out some weed leaves to make some edibles (yes I know you're traditionally supposed to use the oven for that but he has strong superstitions about putting plants in the oven). He did lay a few eggs in the corner but they're not the hatchable kind, so they're a pretty good meal for the kids and i like to scramble them.

I made this birthing area, but I don't think it's been used even once. As you can see Gamzee sometimes sits in here and eats pies, I think he wants to use his birthing towel but it just never works out so he instead just takes naps on it whenever the kids are distracted.

Here is our bedroom, I had to sell our mattress to make some money and so we all sleep on blankets on the ground. In that bag is Nest and I promise you that is for everyones safety. He's fine in there and the bag is breathable and Gamzee and I take him out periodically to eat, he's still nursing but we really need bottles because he is tearing Gamzees nipples into shreds I'm pretty sure intentionally. In the corner that piece of paper on the ground is where Gamzee keeps track of how many kids we have and what their names are, and the note on the wall is where he's written instructions for himself on how to feed kids and reminders to himself that dropping kids from high up is bad for them. the notes with hearts are notes I've written reminding him that he is a good clown dad. I at first was worried he didn't read them but when I saw his green slimy fingerprints on them I knew he had checked them. 💜

And finally here is @poutyrootveggie 's OWN bucket since they USED THE FAMILY CRAWFISH BUCKET with VILE intent. ➖💯

[astroswrites]

The dispaired ilusion.

Part 3:

Sinopsis: Astralas is reading the annotations of the book and some of the short stories.

A knight entered the dragon's den, sword ready to slay it while it is sleeping.

Aw man, that's just plain rude.

Meany knit, it dont say that dragn was bad. I could be jut a frin

Yea! Meany knight!

Rude

The great warrior stepped into the den, quiet footsteps, armour well oiled to make less sound.

I dont tink that is how armur works

Slowly the knight walked closer to the nest of gold where the dragon was sleeping in.

Walking carefully, avoiding making noise, and pushed the sword into the dragon's skull, killing it.

NOOOOOOOOOOO :<

Vei laughed a bit at reading the annotations, it was so silly, vei knew that vei were always a bit of a cry baby, only a bit. Astralas always hated when others got hurt unnecessarily.

The annotations on the previous pages vei had read were similar to this, silly, cute and funny.

The highlights were underlined words that were always funny to kids like butt, ass, and the replacing the word peach with but fruit.

The tiny doodles of cats in stories about cats or felines.

With how big the book was vei knew it took vein years to finish it... maybe there would be something important in the back.....

'No.... I should read the whole book..... it feels as if it would be cheating otherwise....' Astralas thought and sighed.

The nex page had a few more annotations.

Hey, how old are you? I'm curious.

Im 6. Yu?

Hey, you are good at writing for your age.

I'm 9.

9? Yu write like a adul and use big words, Im no good at it

I get told that a lot, I just really like reading, books are easy to carry.

Nooooo you are good, and have been improving. Don't be a meany to you. :<

Astralas chuckled, the books owner was always like this, not liking when vei said something mean about veirself. And veir acted in kind in return.

The next page had a poem. And a childish argument next to it.

This poem is dumb, it makes no sense. What does the peach (butfruit) mean

Maybe they just like the peach butfruit.

Thats a good idea,but why did you change it from peach (butfruit) to butfruit

Because funy, and you changed mine!

>:<

The next few pages were of poems with similar things. The poems that were a bit more spicy had variants of:

What dos it mean?

Dad says it is an adult thing.

Or

Its an adult thing, It is gross.

It was clear when he had "the talk", Astralas knew that vei had the same reaction.

The next page had.

Hey, it is my birthday soon, and even if I want to invite you dad says it will be difficult for you to get here, so I'm gifting you something.

:< well thaks for the bracet.... but that no how it work, I give you a gift not the other way.

Nononononono, the birthday goer gives the gifts, not the other way. I cannot accept the stuffed animal....

then... if that how yu do, then my gift is for my birthday, it was before book.

Thanks you xilu, but when we meet face to face I will squeeze your cheeks. Like a grandma!

No! Not like q granma!

Muajajajjajajjaajajajajajajajajjajª

Astralas suppressed the urge to laugh loudly, 'right, this is where the bracelet might be from, hehhehehe, I wonder if we ever met...... I hope so... he was a good friend.'

Astralas looked at the bracelet again.... rotating it in her hands, there was something written inside.... most in runes, but what wasn't in runes was 'to my friend to keep safe.' Astralas couldn't help but smile a bit... this purity of silver was expensive...

'I couldn't wear it when I was a kid, to avoid it getting stolen, I.... remember losing it once and finding it back home, but then it had the gem.... what happened to it.?.....'

Astralas looked at the desk next to the bed, vei hadn't looked though all the drawers

One of them had writing utensiles.

Another one had bandages and scissors, and some medications?

The rest were empty, as if someone had cleaned them perfectly... no typical random things that accumulate, either someone was trying to hide something or Avireta really likes cleanliness. Which is understandable.

Feeling the drawers.... 'Is that a fake bottom!??..... oh it isn't, this one is just smaller than the others. Maybe I'm too paranoid? I am chained to the bed by magic. Maybe this is a mormal level of paranoia.'

Astralas again used the bracelet to see if there was something else hidden in the room.... nothing that vei can see while sitting on the bed.

Astralas hid the bracelet when hearing footsteps, then the door opens, were they the maids?

Why... why is he with the food?, he had it in his hand, it was a very colourful cupcake.

Avireta offered the cupcake to Astralas "we had a few of these cupcakes left around, so I guessed that you would enjoy it."

"Thank you" Astralas said before biting the cupcake.... it was really good... "oh!"

Avireta suppressed a chuckle "I guess that you like it" he said with a smile, but his expression changed fast "either that or you are hungry... You didn't call the maids to bring you food" he seemed worried.

"Oh... I wasn't really hung-" the growling of Astralas stomach said otherwise "oh.... Maybe I was too absorbed into the book."

Avireta shook his head, slightly amused "You should remember to eat, you still are recovering. I will call them for you, but next time..."

Astralas interupted "Next time you are going to scold me?" In a joking manner.

"I will now. You xilu" he answered with a laugh before exiting.

After a bit the maids brought the food before leaving.

[gathoscorner]

Yesssss u reblogged >:) 2, 6, 23 for artist asks? (You dont have to tag ppl if you dont want to but I’d love to hear about your inspo! i love your style<3)

2. who is your favorite character to draw?

this might come as a suprise but, King

i don’t draw him much but when I do I have a lot of fun drawing his skull. He has such a cool design

6. tag your favorite artists/inspirations

yay, finally an excuse to gather all of my favs in one place

oh man, theres so many but I will list the ones I feel influence me the most

hiromu arakawa (fma mangaka) she is not a mangaka, she is THE MANGAKA, my biggest inspiration of all time, i could gush for hours about her art

dana terrace (the owl house creator) the way she draws characters look so alive, when i feel artistically overwhelmed I go to her insta and just browse and idk, it helps me. How she draws clothes slays me. How is she so good???

alejandro barbucci’s work on the w.i.t.c.h comic (he worked on the firsts issues) his work inspired me back when i was a little kid and I feel it left an impact on what I consider aesthetically pleasing even now

sachinteng (twitter. illustrator) i have a goal to fill my wall with posters of all of her illustrations once I get enough money and proper setup. they are the definition of cool

makanidotdot (tumblr. comic artist) so often i go back and awe at the body language in her comics. I started following her when she drew avatar fancomics but now i just follow because she really is that inspiring

jorgejimenezart (twitter. comic artist) started following him this year but i go to his page a lot, love the way he draws the human body and perspective

michaelramsted (twitter. horror artist) i don’t draw horror,but man I enjoy it a lot. i feel that the ability to convey a story powerful enough to create emotions on the viewer with just one illustration is next level greatness. and this artist always nails it

23. draw your fav as a vampire

idk if this meant fav as in fav to draw, or fav character but im going with the girl herself

(feat vampire-hunter!Hunter)

[adamwatchesmovies]

The Burning (1981)

Every film genre is worth exploring but of course, it’s best to prioritize the groundbreaking, innovative and defining examples. If you wish to explore the slasher genre, have already memorized Halloween, have hammered out a definitive ranking for all of the Friday the 13th films and want something less "out there" than A Nightmare on Elm Street, then you're in the right mood for The Burning. With iconic imagery, high levels of suspense, plus everything you want from a movie about a killer in the woods, it’ll leave horror fans pleased.

5 years ago at Camp Blackfoot, a prank gone wrong gave the caretaker suffering horrific burns. Once released from the hospital, Cropsy (Lou David) sets out to punish the campers of Camp Stonewater, whose teenagers are all too similar to those who disfigured him.

If you scoff at the idea of young adults being cut to ribbons as entertainment and think gore only belongs in war movies - and even then, only to make a point about how wrong violence is - you’ve got no business watching The Burning. Even if you embrace the genre, the day-for-night scenes and occasionally dated character interactions (or maybe that's just how things were back then) will still make you cringe. You get over it thanks to the ample visceral thrills. Cropsy’s signature weapon is a pair of garden shears/hedge clippers. While a knife might slip quietly between your ribs and a machete will embed itself into your skull, this tool’s specialty is to sever, which is a whole lot of unsettling. To avoid repetition, the film’s body count showcases multiple ways to slay: impalements, stabbings, slashings, etc. If you want blood and gore, this movie’s got plenty without overindulging. You get enough to be shocked but the objective isn’t to gross out.

Plot-wise, everything follows a believable logic. Cropsy used to work at a camp. He knows how things operate, when campers will become isolated and how to cover up his crimes. His murders go undetected for as long as they do because he's careful. There are a lot of campers in the film and they all have their individual stories going on. Sally (Carrick Glenn) holds a grudge against Alfred (Brian Backer) after he tries to scare her in the shower. He says he was just trying to get back at her boyfriend, Glazer (Larry Joshua) who has been mercilessly bullying him. Karen (Carolyn Houlihan) is being pressured to have sex with Eddy (Ned Eisenberg). They have an argument and meanwhile, Cropsy is watching. You get a feeling the killer is always just outside of view, waiting for the right opportunity to strike. The multitude of possible victims, along with the casual sexism of the late ‘70s/early ‘80s makes it difficult to pinpoint who is “good enough” to survive and who will be “punished” by Cropsy. When something goes wrong, everyone assumes it’s the kids trying to pulll pranks or over engaging in teenage drama. No one could suspect the truth but you know and you’re nervously watching, wondering what’s coming next.

The Burning deviates enough from the formula to keep things interesting but also retains what made the genre so popular in its heyday. The gore, makeup and special effects are impressive. The sight of those shears gleaming in the summer light as Cropsy prepares to sink them into his next victim's flesh is hard to forget. It's not reinventing the wheel, it might be tasteless and occasionally dated but what clenches it as a good movie is the conclusion. We get a terrific, final scare; a thematically appropriate final note that makes you eager to revisit The Burning again. (On Blu-ray, November 13, 2020)

[solopostings]

Solo | The Loyal Son.

———

The sounds of celebration went off throughout the entire kingdom of Hyrule. The King of Evil was sealed. Gone. Hyrule was saved.

to him, it was the sound of dread. pain.

the loss of a father.

Far from the celebration, there stood a young man by the rubble of what was left of the King's castle after the final battle. The young prince looked down at the dried blood left.

The image of the one in the kokiri tunic slaying his father playing in his mind on repeat. Remembering his face. As the princess behind him.

Ravii clenched his jaw as the anger bubbled deep down.

Ganondorf wasn't dead. He couldn't be. He still felt his presence somehow — somewhere.

Kneeling down, he bowed his head down as he placed a gem where he watched the Great King fall.

Ravii will bring this kingdom down himself for what was done here.

... he swore it.

As he stood up, the low rumble of thunder was over him. One drop turned into a couple — within seconds, it began to pour.

He stood still. Not moving an inch as he watched the rain wash the blood from the stone ground — watching the crimson water quickly fade away.

... As if he was never there.

Taking a deep breath, the young prince turned away.

Making his way to the forest.

- - -

He knew his way in the deep woods like the back of his hand — as easy as it was to get through the wasteland in the desert. He was taught well.

Ravii walked into the Forest Temple and met with the two wolfos as they ran over to him.

Quietly, he pat both their heads as he made his way deeper into the place he was gifted. This was his fortress gifted by Ganondorf. This was his haven. His sanctuary.

But it was empty now.

The hero, as the kingdom called him, ruined it all.

The ghostly sisters that kept him company were gone now. He could still hear the echoes of Meg as she was the last one to go. Having to watch as her sisters slain one by one.

His bow was even gone now. Stolen away.

Ravii walked into the room of paintings, admiring each one. Quietly, he sat in the middle of the room to himself.

He always admired paintings.

They brought him peace... usually.

However, the utter silence finally hit him. Ravii held his hand down, covering his face as he sobbed into them. He lost everything now.

Koume and Kotake; they took him in as their own grandson right as he was introduced. Teaching him new magics he never had before.

They too, are gone now.

Volvagia; the dragon that was gifted and loyal to him. Bringing him joy.

Killed by that so-called-hero.

Ravii slowly raised his head as he saw one painting a bit crooked than the others. Sniffing and wiping his eyes, he slowly stood back up to investigate it.

Moving the painting slightly, there was something behind it — Ganondorf's armor, along with a skull mask and a note.

Ravii slowly took the note, his hand trembling seeing that writing.

That was his father's handwriting.

"Kid. You've done well. I've trained you all I've can. If you're reading this, you're my last line. Take this, you'll grow into it someday.

When you do, take the throne in my honor."

Ravii slowly looked back down at the armor, cape, and mask. Holding the armor, he was heavy.

... Too heavy to bear.

"Thank you, father..." Ravii put on the skull mask slowly, taking a deep breath.

He will do whatever he can.

He will bring Ganondorf back and they can both bring down everyone who went against him.

Walking back out, he called for Phantom — the loyal steed of Ganondorf. Ravii patted their mane, climbing up and with a familiar "hyah," and off they went.

He will return someday. When he does, the kingdom will be shrouded in darkness and Ganondorf would be back.

Ravii swore it.

as Ganondorf's apprentice — as his loyal son.

[rpmemegraveyard]

❝ ░ ADVENTURE TIME; STARTER SENTENCES.

❛ Everything ahead of us is totally unknown. ❜

❛ Sucking at something is the first step towards being sorta good at something. ❜

❛ Sometimes life is scary and dark. ❜

❛ People get built different. We don’t need to figure it out, we just need to respect it. ❜

❛ I don’t need to feel like I’m waiting to be noticed. ❜

❛ I’ll still be here tomorrow to high five you yesterday, my friend. ❜

❛ Is that where creativity comes from? From sad biz? ❜

❛ No one flicks me in the butt without my consent! ❜

❛ Homies help homies. Always. ❜

❛ You got to focus on what’s real, man. ❜

❛ Responsibility demands sacrifice. ❜

❛ People make mistakes. It’s a part of growing up. ❜

❛ It’s hard to step outside yourself when you are enmeshed with another being. ❜

❛ You contain the soul memory of a million dead stars. ❜

❛ Don’t you always call sweatpants ‘give up on life pants,’ _____? ❜

❛ Something weird might just be something familiar viewed from a different angle. ❜

❛ Mathematical! ❜

❛ Whoa! Algebraic! ❜

❛ I’ll slay anything that’s evil. That’s my deal! ❜

❛ I’m not righteous. I’m wrong-teous. Stupid-teous. ❜

❛ I feel radder, faster… more adequate! ❜

❛ Youth culture forever! ❜

❛ Are you gonna smash my skull and breathe my blood mist? ❜

❛ No worms on the bed! ❜

❛ Get ready for an uppercut, you dog! ❜

❛ Stealing’s wrong, doofus! ❜

❛ Holy stuff! It talked! Wow-cow-chow! ❜

❛ What?! You gotta be flipping kidding me! ❜

❛ I’m no wuss! I’m the hero around these parts! ❜

❛ Eat my sword, _____! ❜

❛ I’m weddy for the wedding. ❜

❛ Heh. Yeah, right. That sounds like idiot talk. ❜

❛ How did you almost know my name? ❜

❛ All aboard the knuckle train to Fist Planet! ❜

❛ Imagination is for turbo-nerds who can’t handle how kick-butt reality is! ❜

❛ That riddle sucks. ❜

❛ I’ll just read this book about pigs. ❜

❛ Everything small is just a small version of something big! I understand everything! ❜

❛ Up, down, left, left, right, right, down, spin, down, up, left, right, left, down, spin, up, down, jump! ❜

❛ Come on, man! That’s pervy! ❜

❛ Easy as childbirth. ❜

❛ Dude, I think I have a crush. ❜

❛ Do the splits, thou milk-livered maggot pie! ❜

❛ Oh crab it to the butternuts, it’s locked! ❜

❛ STOP TALKING LIKE A NERD AND GIVE IT TO US STRAIGHT! ❜

❛ I’ve been going foot nude in the shoe and now I got this turbo huge callous. ❜

❛ We’re documenting our creative flow in case we make a break through. ❜

❛ That road you’re on leads to nowhere. ❜

❛ You wanna join my primitive noise band? ❜

❛ Roll the dice, you pay the price. ❜

❛ C'mon bro, taking pain is easy. You just have to imagine that every bruise is a hickey from the Universe. And everyone wants to get with the Universe. ❜

❛ It was weird but I liked it. ❜

❛ Actually, I think I’m beating it back with sheer willpower. ❜

❛ Hey! Crack open that book and read something for fun’s sake, alright? ❜

❛ You know what they remind me of? Well-dressed pickles. ❜

❛ This dolphin fell in love with me! ❜

❛ I’d rather be dancin’ with some babes! ❜

❛ My subconscious must be hungry, huh? ❜

❛ I can’t have you messin’ up my bread and butter, dude. ❜

❛ Heh heh. I can’t take you seriously when you’re singing, man. ❜

❛ Dude, be calmed by my saliva. ❜

❛ I’m not cute, I’ll mess you up. ❜

❛ Dude, let’s kill the horse. ❜

❛ You don’t just read the poetry to understand it, you got to feel it. ❜

❛ Girl, you smell good. Did you take a bath in rainbows and cupcakes? ❜

❛ And what if we turn evil? I’ll have to start wearing cologne. ❜

❛ I love you, everything burrito. ❜

❛ Oh, I’m coming with you… if only to be disruptive and obnoxious! ❜

❛ I dreamed I was in kindergarten again, but I had really big feet, and was also the teacher. ❜

❛ I wish for… a sandwich! ❜

❛ That’s it! The answer was so simple, I was too smart to see it! ❜

❛ I should not have drunk that much tea! ❜

❛ I’d never forgive anybody who did this to me! ❜

❛ Give me a hug, hero. ❜

❛ I never said you had to be perfect! ❜

❛ Yeah, I’m good! Haven’t slept for solid eighty-three hours, but yeah, I’m good. ❜

❛ I’ve seen some stuff that would really make you say ‘like what?’ ❜

❛ I’m not mean. I’m a thousand years old, and I just lost track of my moral code. ❜

❛ I wrote this next song about a fisherman. ❜

❛ Vampires can’t beat ghosts. It’s like a rock-paper-scissors thing. ❜

❛ I’m hurting you because I love you. ❜

❛ Yeah, I want you to be proud. I want you to be proud of me! ❜

❛ I am incapable of emotion, but you are making me chafed! ❜

❛ Who wants to play video games? ❜

[delimeful]

nothing in this world (i wouldn’t do) (2)

warnings: mild blood/violence/injury, demon slaying, miscommunication, impromptu first aid, mentions of spiders, virgil tempting fate with his internal dialogue again

-

Whenever Virgil wasn’t sleeping, he was on the move.

At first, it had been because he didn’t trust himself around towns for too long, and there was always the chance of a real demon slayer getting wind of that ridiculous rumor and trying to track him down and kill him for it, even though it totally wasn’t his fault.

But then, as time went on, his bizarre pseudo-popularity seemed to have a different side effect.

Namely, every time he managed to save another human and hauled them back to the nearest town, he’d be practically swarmed. Antsy townsfolk would hurriedly inform him of the horrible tragedy they’d heard about up north, or the mysterious disappearances by the woods between this town and the neighboring one, or any sort of rumor that they thought a “demon slayer” should know about.

Where exactly were all the real demon slayers when people needed them? Why was he, an actual demon, seemingly more accessible for seeking help?!

Still, he wasn’t exactly doing anything else with his life (his unlife?), and if there were less demons, that meant the world would be safer for Thomas, didn’t it? So off he went, taking the less-traveled paths and following vague leads right into more danger.

His latest case had been a requested one, from a weaver in the last town. She had received a letter from her brother saying that he planned to come visit, and weeks later, he still hadn’t appeared or replied to her many return messages. The worry seemed to weigh her down like a physical burden, and he’d agreed perhaps more easily than normal.

Now, he was wedged into a shallow crevice in the mountainside and sorely regretting that decision.

The issue wasn’t the demon, no. He’d actually been making good progress on getting deeper and deeper into its territory in the past few days.

The issue was that he wasn’t the only one hunting it.

First, it had been a gaggle of young teens, and he’d been so alarmed that he’d almost dropped right out of the trees and ushered them back out of the woods. The less humans traipsing around this deep in demon territory, the better.

Of course, that was when he’d managed to spot the swords strapped to their sides, and suddenly, never appearing before a human again was looking more and more appealing. He’d immediately switched gears from tracking to stealth, and honestly, should have just turned tail and left then.

Instead, because those kids were around Thomas’s age and he still needed to find that weaver’s brother and also he was a sentimental idiot, he trailed them at a distance, always staying downwind and poised to bolt.

They handled themselves well at the beginning, and then the environment began to warp around them, and then it turned out there was more than one demon nesting here, and Virgil had been on the brink of jumping down and interfering, swords or no swords, when--

Between one blink and the next, one of the demons was cleanly beheaded.

The demon slayer-- for what else could he be-- smiled brilliantly as the body disintegrated to ash, holding a hand out to help one of the teens to their feet.

“It seemed like you all could use a little assistance,” he’d said, turning to face one of the other demons with a confidence that visibly unsettled it. Above, a circling crow cried out raspily. “My dear Missus informed me of your call for backup.”

If the stranger’s swift execution hadn’t tipped Virgil off, the way the baby slayers looked up at him with blatant awe was clue enough. This slayer was powerful and charismatic, whereas Virgil was neither of those things, so he was going to stay right here in his crevice until the whole situation had sorted itself out.

The three other demons seemed to have no such qualms, lunging at him in a semi-coordinated attack. The slayer handled them with terrifying ease, and for a moment it seemed that the battle had been settled, as simple as that.

Of course, that was when the landscape twisted further in on itself, buzzing like a disturbed wasps nest, and Virgil realized abruptly that this was the first time he’d seen so many feral, newly-created demons in one territory.

A stronger demon was keeping them all in line, like the queen of a hive. And it wasn’t at all pleased about the intrusion.

The slayer seemed to have caught on as well, his sword held aloft in threat. “Looks like the real fight starts now,” he said with a sharp, cocky grin.

Mere minutes later, the smile had grown considerably more strained.

Coincidentally, he’d taken considerably more damage in that time as well.

The slayer had given as good as he got, but against a demon’s healing factor, it wasn’t good enough. He was losing.

“Get out of here!” he instructed, and the baby slayers hesitated, clearly torn. He shot them a dazzling grin, hiding all signs of fatigue even as another blow rattled his sword. “Come now, don’t you know an order when you hear one? I don’t want any distractions while I handle this gruesome ghoul, so back to town with you!”

He cut off any further arguments by pointedly leading his attacker astray, giving them ample time to flee. Virgil felt some of the tension fade from him as the baby slayers got away cleanly, leaving just the slayer and the queen.

Really, he shouldn’t want the slayer to survive. Not when having a slayer that strong anywhere near him, or even in the same country as him, could easily be a death sentence. That didn’t change the jolt of panic that went through him when the queen finally gained the upper hand, knocking the slayer back into sheer cliff face hard enough to snap something.

… A slayer that protected others from demons so wholeheartedly was one that would protect Thomas.

The queen advanced towards the slayer, wounded and weakened but already gloating about how his flesh would be more than enough to completely rejuvenate her. Her entire focus was on the human’s fallen form.

Virgil dropped down on top of her soundlessly, claws piercing through muscle and fat until he’d torn her nearly clear in half. She shrieked in outrage, but a skull-crushing stomp was enough to knock her unconscious for at least a few moments.

The slayer, exhausted, half-crumpled against a tree, and his shoulder very clearly dislocated, looked up at him for a moment with something like hope.

When they met eyes, however, that was swiftly extinguished in favor of wary frustration.

“Another demon?” he complained, trying rather unsubtly to grasp for the sword that the queen had knocked free of him. “Exactly how many monsters can one fit on a single mountain?”

The sword was entirely out of reach, but Virgil kicked it a little further away for good measure. The slayer shot him a petulant glare.

Virgil pointed at a scrap of bloodied cloth left behind from one of the baby slayers, trying out a questioning rumble. Backup coming for you?

“I’m offended that you think I would answer that,” the slayer responded, nose upturned, “or any other monosyllabic interrogative questions, for that matter.”

Virgil growled low in his throat, frustration bubbling up. If he ditched the slayer here without backup, there was no guarantee that someone would find him before the morning came, and Virgil was relatively sure that the demon he’d just stabbed through wasn’t the only threat up here.

Not to mention the cold. He hadn’t thought the nights were cold enough to harm people yet, but demons seemed a lot more durable, and the slayer was shaking just slightly. He remembered the few times he’d had to sit out snowstorms while traveling back home up the mountain, and couldn’t help but feel sympathetic.

So, leaving the slayer behind to fend for himself wasn’t an option. That meant doing something insanely, dangerously stupid: taking the guy with him.

Precautions first, then. He was pretty good at hiding himself from other demons by now, but human scents were a lot more trackable.

Virgil scooped the slayer sword up off the ground by the hilt, grimacing at the burning sensation it emitted. The slayer’s jaw dropped.

“Hey! You can’t just take that!” he cried indignantly, starting off on a tirade about craftsmanship and integrity. His rant cut off sharply as Virgil raised the sword and brought it down on the queen’s neck.

His motions were stilted compared to anyone who actually knew how to use a sword, but it hardly mattered. The sun-blade cut through easily, decapitating her in one motion and leaving only ash behind. He took a moment to hope for the soul of whoever she’d been before being turned, and a longer moment for the weaver’s brother, who was surely dead. Exhaling lowly, he planted the sword blade-first in the dirt.

It was tempting to keep it; he’d certainly wished more than once for an easier way to deal with his adversaries than the bloody scraps he normally got in, but there was no way he was bringing a demon slayer and a demon killing sword with him. That was just asking for trouble.

“That demon did all the work in an honest fight against me, and yet it’s the backstabber turning against his own kind who actually gets to eat me? That’s sad, even for a demon,” the slayer bit out, still trying to inch his way back up into a standing position.

Virgil ignored his muttering and took a testing breath in through his mouth. The slayer was definitely bloodied, but most of the major injuries mustn’t have broken skin, because the smell wasn’t too bad. It probably helped that he’d managed to avoid being injured in this fight, and so didn’t have a desperate need to heal like normal. If he was lucky, he wouldn’t even need a nap to make up for it.

He reached out for the slayer’s collar, already mentally plotting out the most efficient way to a distant abandoned bear den when a piercing shriek sounded, and his vision was suddenly full of flapping feathers. He staggered a few steps back with a surprised yelp.

“No! Missus Fluffybottom, you beautiful fool!” the slayer cried out, sounding incredibly distraught.

Virgil swatted outwards and managed to catch his furious assailant on the second try, his hand easily big enough to grasp it. He drew it away from his face for inspection, and realized that the screaming and wriggling bundle of fluff was actually a young crow.

“Scourge! Fiend!” the crow yelled at him in a belligerent tone that was uncannily similar to the slayer’s. He blinked down at it, befuddled.

“Wait! Don’t hurt her,” the slayer said in the most subdued voice Virgil had heard from him all evening. He looked up and found that the slayer had managed to climb to his knees, but wasn’t struggling to move further. “She’s a simple bird, no threat to you. You’ve already got your prize, haven’t you?”

There was something uncomfortably desperate in his gaze, and Virgil realized with a start that the slayer absolutely believed he was about to kill his bird in cold blood. He opened his hand, bracing for another assault, but the crow kicked off and flew right to the slayer instead, nestling against his collarbone. “Roman, Roman, Ro-man!” it crooned.

“Get out of here, you finicky little fowl, go! Shoo!” the slayer-- Roman?-- commanded, to no avail. He glanced up at Virgil, lifting his good hand and turning his bad shoulder slightly as though to shield the little creature.

Virgil averted his eyes from the bird, hopefully conveying how much he didn’t care about her. If he had enough self control to not murder-kill people despite it being all monsters like him wanted to do, he wasn’t going to snap because a bird the size of his palm repeated some swears in his direction.

Back to business. He grabbed the back of the slayer’s outfit and pulled, hauling him up onto one shoulder like a sack of potatoes. … Or like a sack of other, non-food items. Virgil sighed through his nose. Whatever.

Roman sucked a breath in through his teeth as his injuries were jostled, and then immediately started squawking in protest upon realizing the indignity of his position. The crow-- apparently dubbed Fluffybottom-- repositioned herself to a perch on Roman’s calf and joined in on the complaints with her own raspy calls.

Virgil ignored them, already focusing on the trek ahead.

---

By the time they reached the cave, Roman had long stopped muttering creative obscenities under his breath.

The slayer might have actually fallen unconscious, but Virgil wasn’t going to jostle him around just to check. If he stopped focusing on their surroundings, he could easily hear Roman’s heart beating, the blood pumping beneath his skin, tantalizingly out of reach--

… He had mostly focused very hard on their surroundings. The point was, the slayer was definitely still alive, which meant him passing out during their travel was fine. Convenient, even.

It certainly made it easier to squat and carefully lower his body onto the cave floor without worrying about any sudden thrashing on Roman’s part. Laying flat on his back with only the slightest crumple to his brow, the guy looked a lot less intimidating. He was probably Virgil’s age, honestly.

He also looked unsettlingly corpse-like at the moment. Virgil considered for a moment, and then sidled over to Roman’s side, tugging his injured arm out of the curled up position it had taken. He carefully maneuvered it until it was straight out, forming a right angle with Roman’s side.

Then, he pulled, applying a slow, steady pressure. The misaligned bone shifted back into place with a sickening clunk, and Roman cried out as he regained consciousness. Virgil released him, and he instantly cradled the limb to his chest.

“What in the name of--,” he started, and then seemed to remember it all at once. Or the wave of pain from all those other injuries hit him all at once. One of the two.

Either way, he sagged back against the ground, squinting at Virgil suspiciously as he bustled around the small space. Missus Fluffybottom landed on his forehead, making him look even more ridiculous.

“I notice I am not devoured,” he finally spoke, almost conversational.

Virgil ignored him in favor of moving to arrange some firewood near the mouth of the cave.

“Not even a teensy bit,” Roman continued, making a show of inspecting himself for missing flesh.

Virgil continued to stack rocks around the wood. He was beginning to regret waking the slayer up, dislocated shoulder or not.

“Now, my silent saboteur, I want you to be honest. Are you planning to turn me into some sort of spider?” the slayer asked, and that was enough to finally make Virgil turn with an incredulous raised eyebrow.

“What?” Roman defended, pinkening. “That’s a real thing that a demon did to some people! And you seem... spider-y.”

Virgil scowled at the insulting way the comment was phrased. Spiders were cool and helpful and oh yeah, they didn’t annoyingly needle him while he was busy keeping them alive. He abandoned the fire to stalk closer and drop to a squat by Roman’s legs, dodging a wild kick easily. He pointedly tore a long swath of white fabric from the slayer’s overlayer.

“Hey! Do you even know how long embroidery like that takes--,” Roman cried, and Virgil smacked a hand over his mouth, drawing close and hissing quietly. The sound was close enough to a shush to get his point across, going by the way the slayer huffed indignantly but didn’t speak when Virgil pulled his hand away.

He did whine in protest when Virgil grabbed his injured arm, but then he went still and silent, like he thought any sudden movements would end with the whole limb removed. Virgil wrapped his forearm in the fabric, and then looped the extra around his shoulder, maneuvering him as painlessly as possible, and tied it off.

Roman’s silence suddenly felt distinctly different.

Virgil pulled him up into a sitting position by the front of his shirt, and tightened the knot slightly. The sling looked just about as good as could be expected, given the circumstances.

“You are actually a demon, aren’t you?”

Speech was one of those human things that Virgil still hadn’t recovered, but he thought that the sarcastic fang-bearing smile he directed at Roman spoke volumes all on its own.

“Then why are you tenderly nursing a demon slayer back to health?” he retorted, sounding bewildered and incredulous in equal measures.

Why are you pushing your luck? Virgil thought back, clicking his teeth in irritation and shoving the slayer back into a prone position.

Roman let out a high pitched wheeze, his good arm coming to cradle his ribs defensively. “Or not-so-tenderly, I suppose. The question stands!”

Virgil rolled his eyes and returned to the half-built fire. He’d pestered the only doctor in town for first aid lessons for months, he wasn’t going to stop practicing medicine just because of a little thing like being turned into a demon that craved human flesh.

To his surprise, the silence lingered as he worked, long enough that he turned and cast a suspicious glare over his shoulder at the slayer, who jolted nervously at his attention.

“Wh-what?” he asked, fiddling with the torn edges of his sling. “No escape attempts here, haha!”

“...” Virgil squinted at him and his blatant fake laugh for a long moment, trying to figure out just what was wrong with the scene.

Wait. Where was the bird?

A chill ran down his spine, and he twisted to stare at the mountainside beyond the cave entrance. No raspy-voiced baby crows in sight.

It had to have gone for help, knowing exactly where Virgil and its slayer had holed up. Roman knew he’d realized it, was watching him with the wary expectancy of a cornered hare in front of a trapper.

A surge of furious panic did bubble up in the back of Virgil’s mind, but he quelled it with relative ease.

If backup was coming, then the human was no longer his problem.

Pleased at the neat way the situation had resolved itself, Virgil tapped two fingers to his temple in a gesture of farewell and scrambled out the cave, scaling the cliff face and resolving to put as much distance between himself and this region as possible.

With any luck, he’d never run into that particular slayer again.

[knightotoc]

So the final ep of Rings of Power came out yesterday, and I binged the whole season with my dad. Kind of a rough show to watch with him, since it's all about mean dads! How far this story has gone since Tolkien wrote it for his kids.

I went into it with low expectations, but it ended up disappointing me in compelling ways. Like Star Trek movies, the even-numbered episodes are better than the odd-numbered ones. Late-game reveals retroactively add some thrill, but can't go back in time to erase the initial tedium. The show has the same structural and characterizational flaws as last decade's LotR spinoff, the Hobbit trilogy: unrestrained emptiness in both showtime and our hero's brains. These goodguys are stupid, and their writers have even less respect for the audience.

But stupidity, while an unexpected legacy for the world's most overthought fictional setting, is not a killing blow to it. We've always had Pippin, after all. The thing that hurts, the thing that makes RoP unique, is indifference. These characters, with a handful of important exceptions, do not love each other. They certainly don't hate each other. They just don't care. In the first scene children destroy each other's toys, and nobody really grows out of that pointlessly selfish mindset.

Fight choreography is self-centered and nasty. Shot composition is lonely. Nobody talks to each other with the goal of actually communicating; they speak in dramatic pauses, anecdotes, twists and turns. At one point, a blind woman asks what has happened, and no one answers her. Her father died. Everyone else is too far inside their own feelings to tell the person for whom that matters most.

The leadership and general population of the elves, dwarves, and humans are bigoted isolationists. The villains, a host of orcs who wear cool skulls on their heads like Cubone, display far more fellowship and joie de vivre than any group we're supposed to like. They even call their leader Dad, and, by this show's standards, he's above-average at that role.

But the most shocking intrusion of indifference is with the horrible nomadic harfoots. You know how ohana means family, and family means nobody gets left behind or forgotten? I don't think they know about ohana, Pip. These cultish hobbit-knockoffs condemn anyone who misbehaves, and their family, to the back of the group when they migrate. If not for some supernatural help, our plucky heroine would apparently have gotten picked off in the night by the cruel forces of nature. If the hobbits had been anything like the harfoots, the only logical message of the original story would have been "Fuck the Shire."

But I said there were important exceptions. Of the multiple subplots, at least two revolve around genuine affection, and at least one of those is actually cool and fun. Firstly, there is the grand romance of sexy elf Arondir and lovely human Bronwyn, original characters who have to drag around his lazy coworkers, her stupid neighbors, and a cute kid.

Secondly, there is the rekindled friendship of conflicted dwarf prince Durin and ambitious half-elf Elrond...who is not only my favorite character in LotR but one of my favorite characters in anything, so I am happy to report that he slays in this one. And in the end, for me, that's all that really matters.

Durin and Elrond's friendship is not only beautiful on its own, but it shines all the brighter among the cynicism and apathy that characterizes the rest of this show. After some genuinely great shenanigans, Elrond starts to give Durin a literal elevator pitch about some bullshit. Suddenly, Durin tearfully confronts Elrond with the fact that, though they used to be friends, Elrond missed Durin's wedding and the birth of two of his children. Elrond is taken aback -- after all, twenty years is much shorter for an elf than any other being. He apologizes. They hang out. They take a vow on the mountain. They defend each other to their shitty kings, at the risk of their own futures. Durin almost tells Elrond his true name, and Elrond's like, "Save it for Heaven." They cry because they wuv each other so much. It fucking rules. Eat your hearts out, Legolas and Gimli.

Unfortunately Elrond's not a dad yet -- he's a little baby who looks like a combination of Hermey and MatPat (pictured) -- so the proportion of bad dads to good dads remains overwhelmingly poor. The only actually good one was the one who sat next to me while we endured this terrible production.

[someonestolemyshoes]

So... during the time skip, Hange is on a business trip to Marley. Levi stays home to deal with some installation or important project for Hange, gets injured in some stupid way, falls off scaffolding or something. And he doesnt think too much of it because it's such a stupid way to get injured. And he hides it even when it gets worse and Hange is the only one who notices because she knows him so well. BUT when she gets back, it gets worse. And Levi hates hospitals so Hange forces him to go <3

Hello! Thank you so much for the prompt :) I’m not super thrilled with the way this one turned out, but I had a lot of fun anyway, and I hope you enjoy it! Angst ahead, if that’s not your thing. 

(Drinking game: take a shot every time Levi says he’s fine) 

Levi was no stranger to pain. While he had been luckier than most, Levi had sustained his fair share of injuries. Bruises and breaks were commonplace. Pain became easier to handle, wounds less debilitating to endure.

It didn’t make them hurt any less.

**

It wasn't a particularly bad accident, but it was a particularly stupid one.

Hange had been tied up in meetings for days, stuck inside Sina with other military personnel, with carnivorous media, with business moguls eager to ensure their pockets would be well lined by any negotiation plans with Marley and their neighbouring countries.

She had taken Armin and Jean alongside her; Armin had a mind with similar mechanics to her own, and as such he was best suited to help her formulate a compelling case with their higher ups, while Jean had attended at Levi’s insistence. Hange had already made it clear that, with Armin gone, they needed somebody to oversee continued construction on the railway line, and Levi, uneasy with the idea of Hange being without an attack dog, had demanded Kirstein attend in his place. The brat was becoming something of a budget Moblit, always trailing after Hange whenever she was around—Levi thought he looked a little pitiful, following her around like an eager puppy, but he supposed he was grateful for it now, if it meant he had no objections taking a trip into the interior with her.

Levi had been left with the rest of the brood. Eren and Mikasa worked diligently, though Eren—distant and despondent as he had been since the Queen’s address after Shiganshina—remained sullen, while Mikasa alternated between shooting Eren looks of concern, and staring scathingly at Levi whenever he came into view. She tolerated him far better, these days, but Levi was unsure she’d ever fully forgive him for his public display at Eren’s trial.

No matter. She did as she was told, reluctantly as may be. Connie and Sasha, on the other hand, were proving problematic.

They lacked focus. The four of them were working on construction of a rail house near the coast, somewhere to store equipment for maintenance, with a few flat beds for workers to rest in between commutes. The walls were coming along, but the space was still lacking a proper roof, covered only by tarp to keep the metal beams and frames inside from rusting before they could be treated and on the tracks. Eren and Mikasa were working quietly on one side, while Connie and Sasha were goofing off on the other.

Levi clicked his tongue. The work was, in theory, far less hazardous than slaying titans had ever been, but they were still a couple of stories in the air on flimsily constructed scaffolding, without any gear to catch them if they fell. The drop wasn’t deadly in itself, but the inside of the half-built hut was full of great mounds of metal, beams and poles and wires covered only by papery thin sheets. A fall onto that, from this height, would result in breaks and bruises at best. 

"Oi,” Levi called, making his way around the rickety structure. Connie and Sasha either did not hear him, or chose to ignore him. That had been happening upsettingly often, of late; whatever intimidation tactic Levi had employed when they were still bratty kids had lost its effect. Connie teetered around Sasha as she tried to smear mortar on his cheek, edging along the scaffolding on only his toes until he made his way around her. Levi picked up his pace and called again, more of a snarl this time, a warning, but Sasha let out a shriek of delighted laughter as she managed to slap a trowel full of mortar on the top of Connie’s head. Neither of them heard him.

“You fall and break your necks and Hange will kill me,” Levi said. Sasha twisted to look at him but offered only a smile. Levi was within feet of them, when Connie moved quickly behind Sasha—he was doing nothing suspicious that Levi could see, but Sasha, awaiting retaliation, tried to scurry hurriedly away. Her foot missed the edge of the scaffolding, and there was a fraction of a second in which her eyes widened, body tilting, before Levi moved.

His hand closed around her wrist. With a sharp tug, he jerked her back onto the safety of the scaffolding, but in his rush to grab her he hadn’t the time to brace himself—with his weight unbalanced, the force of his pull sent his body careening forward, tipping over the edge of the plank.

He barely managed to release his grip on Sasha before he lurched over the edge.

Levi was no stranger to pain. While he had been luckier than most, Levi had sustained his fair share of injuries. Bruises and breaks were commonplace. Pain became easier to handle, wounds less debilitating to endure.

It didn’t make them hurt any less.

Levi hit the beams with a resounding clatter. Metal clanged and wood splintered, dust gathering in great plumes as Levi hit the tarp. The beams, built with enough strength to hold steam engines, had no give to them—Levi struck one solidly with his side and his body bowed around it. Something—his ribs, his spine—crunched on impact. The sudden stop made his neck whip down, temple cracking hard against the stone floor.

Every last drop of air punched out of his lungs and a white, dizzying pain exploded in his head. He slumped the rest of the way to the ground, gasping fruitlessly, but his chest, all empty, crushing pressure, would not expand, would not allow for a single wheezing breath.

He lay in a heap on the cold stone. Dimly, he could hear voices, the clatter of feet on wooden planks and the echo of sturdy shoes on the scaffold poles as the kids clambered their way down to him, but everything sounded muffled and distant, warbled by the pound of his pulse and the rush of blood in his ears. He blinked rapidly, squeezed his eyes closed to push the fuzziness from the edges of his vision, then gathered himself slowly, shifting to lay on his back. His every muscle felt tight, seizing from the shock of the impact and sharp, stabbing pain, but despite the tension, something in his side felt loose. He sucked in a few small breaths, pausing at every spike of pain before trying again, and then he pushed himself up to sit. His head felt thick and full, stuffy, too heavy for his neck to hold up. It throbbed with the change of position, a crack of pain so sudden he thought his skull might split in two. He resisted the urge to grab at it as the kids’ footsteps sounded close by, several sets of feet scuffing and clicking against the stone.

Levi pre-empted their concern with a wheezy, “I’m fine,” as Mikasa, followed swiftly by the others, rounded the corner and stopped short of him. “Get back to work.”

None of them moved. Levi focused his swimming gaze on them as well as he could, attempting a glare, but the corner of his eye and the side of his face felt fat, skin tight over the rapidly swollen flesh, and his breathing was tight, uneven, chest jerking with each attempt to fill his empty lungs. Nobody looked intimidated by the sight of him—in fact, all four of the little brats looked almost frightened.

“Captain…” Eren said. Levi scowled, fought not to wince.

“I’m fine.” Gritting his teeth to muffle each pained grunt, Levi grabbed a nearby beam and used it to drag himself up to his feet. His head spun, the ache intensifying to something almost unbearable, and that, coupled with the sickening grinding sensation in his side as he straightened up, was enough to make him sway on the spot. Mikasa was the first to step forward, hovering awkwardly. Levi suppressed the manic urge to laugh—there was some irony somewhere in Mikasa, grudge so steadfastly held, being the one ready to catch him if he fell. Levi shooed her away. His chest ached something terrible, a persistent, resounding swell behind his rib cage. It should be impossible to feel so full, so bloated, yet so empty at the same time.

“You should rest a little more,” Eren said, at the same time Sasha erupted with a wailed apology. Connie looked pale and guilty behind her.

“Hange wants this—shitty thing—finished, by the time—she gets back.” Levi hitched stilted breaths as he spoke. He took a careful step forward. His side screamed, and his head pounded, but he remained upright, which was good enough. He passed by Connie and Sasha, who both looked ashen-faced, and clicked his tongue against his teeth. They’re too tall now, so tall he almost lost his precarious balance when he stretched up to pat them both roughly on the head. Then he brushed past them with as much ease as he could manage.

“Hurry up. The damn walls won’t build themselves.”

**

Levi had expected to be better by the time Hange returned.

The pain had not subsided at all in the three days that passed between the injury and Hange’s arrival—if anything, it had intensified, and Levi’s bouts of dizziness and breathlessness were near constant. He hid it as well as he could from the others, compensating with vicious scowls and quick, barked instructions, but he couldn’t escape their concerned glances.

The building, at least, was almost complete. They had laid the rafters for the roof the day before, and were hammering on the felt when Hange, Armin, and Jean appeared in the distance.

The weather was blisteringly hot. Eren and Connie had removed their shirts long ago, while Sasha and Mikasa had tried fruitlessly to keep their hair off the base of their necks and out of their faces. Despite his lack of manual labour Levi was just as sweaty as the rest of them, though his skin was pale in comparison. He had argued, albeit rather feebly, to do his part in aiding the construction, but the damn brats had put their foot down on that, at least—as such, Levi had spent the last three days sitting beneath the shade, glumly watching their progress.

He stood when he saw the horses approaching. The others climbed down from the scaffolding, wiping sweat from their hands and faces. They cast Levi a sidelong look, and he glared in return.

“Not a word,” he reminded them coldly. Levi had already demanded that they keep the details of his incident quiet. The swelling on his face had gone down some with the aid of a bag filled with cold sea water, but the bruises were persistent, mottled from his eye to his ear. He could play it off as a far smaller incident than it was, so long as he could keep the ugly welt on his torso well hidden. The bruising there was dark, a deep, violent shade of purple, wrapping around his side and bubbling out over his back.

Eren looked uncertain. Mikasa gave him a stoic, level look, while Sasha and Connie still looked sheepish, avoiding his gaze. They had apologised profusely, and on multiple occasions,  for causing such a mess. Levi had, at their insistence, scolded them for messing around, but in truth he had little energy left to care.

Hange waved as soon as they were close enough. She kicked her horse on, Jean and Armin following dutifully behind her. The three of them pulled to a stop and dismounted, leading their horses to shade and water, looking tired, but satisfied. Levi kept his angled down, twisted to one side. He was prolonging the inevitable, he knew, but if he could get Hange talking about the meetings, or with some luck the upcoming expedition, or maybe even the mostly completed rail house, Levi could at least wait until they were alone before Hange battered him with questions.

All three of them had dark circles under their eyes. Armin yawned widely, he and Jean bumping into one another as they walked. Hange, as tired as she looked, strode forward with a delighted confidence—Levi, in spite of himself, quirked his lip in a small smile. It has been too long since Hange looked excited about anything. The prospect of an expedition had breathed some life into her.

“We’ve still got to work out some kinks,” Hange said, “but things are looking good. We’ll set up another meeting with Kiyomi. It might take a little while, but we’ll get out there ourselves. See the world with our own eyes, and—more importantly—let them see us.”

Connie and Sasha exchanged excited glances. Mikasa and Eren shared a more subdued look. Levi understood both perspectives—the prospect of venturing out into the world opened them up to a lot of risks. Each of them carried targets on their backs. One wrong move, and they would be in trouble. But, if all goes according to Hange’s plan, there would be plenty of reward. Freedom was worth any price they could pay, if only they can secure it.

Levi listened as the group reacquainted. Eren and Mikasa seemed pleased to have Armin back in their company, while Sasha hounded Jean endlessly until he relented, and surreptitiously pulled a small pack of cured meat from the inside pocket of his jacket. He had the decency to look embarrassed when he caught Levi’s eye on him, but his abashed expression quickly turned to one of confusion when he caught a good look at Levi’s face.

“The hell happened, Captain?”

Hange, who had been quietly engaged with Armin and the other two, looked around. Levi tutted and curled his lip, letting his fringe fall to cover part of his bruised brow.

“None of your business,” he said. His chest spasmed and he clenched his teeth, fighting the sudden urge to cough. “If you’ve still got the energy to stand around talking, you can get up there and help them finish the damn roof.”

Jean, who either hadn’t quite developed the same immunity to Levi’s brash tone as the rest, or was nervous about Levi scolding him for stealing food from the interior, nodded once and shrugged out of his jacket. Sasha’s eyes followed longingly as he hooked it over the nearby cart sitting on the tracks, but then her gaze shot back to Levi, and she scurried after Jean towards the rail house.

The others followed. Hange’s eye was still on him, and she waited until the group had scrambled up onto the scaffolding and picked up their tools before she crossed over to him. She bent a little, tilting her head to get a good look at his face. Hange let out a low whistle.

“Quite the bruise,” she said. Levi gave her a somewhat guarded look, and carefully shrugged one of his shoulders.

“Brats were messing around,” Levi said simply. “Caught me with a stray elbow.”

He didn’t dare look Hange in the eye long enough to determine whether she believed him. He nodded towards the rail house and said, “They’ll be done in a few hours.”

Hange beamed, bracing her hands on her hips. “They’ve made good progress! I wasn’t sure they’d get it finished by the time we made it back.”

“You wanted it finished,” Levi scowled, “those were your orders.”

“Calling it an order is a little harsh, Levi.”

“You’re our commander, Hange,” Levi said. “You tell us to do something, we do it. By definition, it is an order.”

Hange grimaced. It had been years since Shiganshina, years for Hange to come to grips with the position that had befallen her, and to her credit she had taken to it admirably enough, on the outside. It was only in small, private moments like this that she allowed herself to show doubt. The lack of cooperation from Hizuru had been a blow Hange had expected, but hoped to avoid—she had worked hard on her proposals and her negotiations had been sound, but the rejection stung nonetheless. With each new trial and each new error, Hange felt herself all the more lacking. Her distaste for her own position, for Erwin’s faith, grew stronger, and showed face more often.

Levi took in her sullen expression and winced internally. After a moment of heavy silence, he said, “They give you a hard time?”

“Who?”

“Zackley. The reporters. The kids.”

Hange let out a low chuckle. “Zackley’s as rigorous as ever. Picked apart every last thing we had to say, highlighted every possible flaw in the plan. Made us work hard, as usual. The reporters...asked a lot of questions we didn’t have answers to. They’ll smear our names in the papers tomorrow, no doubt, but it can’t be helped. We did our best. Armin was a huge help, though. He’s still a little nervous, but—so clever! So full of interesting ideas, and he negotiates well. He’ll make a good commander one day.”

“And Kirstein?”

“He’s an excellent paperweight,” Hange said, shooting Levi a sideways grin. “I appreciated the company, but I think we would have been fine without him.”

“Never know,” Levi said gruffly. He couldn’t be sure whether it was the heat of the sun or simply standing too long, but Levi was beginning to feel woozy. Breathing was still a chore, a concentrated effort to suck air into his aching chest and let it out again without choking, coughing, and more often than not he felt lightheaded. He nodded towards the boxes he’d been using as a seat over the last couple of days. “Sit. You look like shit.”

“For once, I don’t think you get to judge me for that.”

Levi had already begun walking stiffly to the boxes, and made no comment. He had no valid argument to give—he did look like shit, far worse than Hange, and he felt even shittier. He dropped a little heavily onto the box and bit back a grunt of pain.

Hange sat next to him. The box shuddered. Levi tensed as pain lanced through his side. He took in a quick, sharp breath, holding it high in his chest when the pain intensified. He could feel Hange’s eye on him and clenched his teeth, fighting to keep his face somewhat neutral.

“You sure you’re okay?” Hange said to him. Levi grunted. He busied himself taking slow, shallow breaths, staring resolutely ahead, avoiding Hange’s keen stare. “You look a little clammy.”

Levi made another quiet noise. Levi wasn’t very talkative at the best of times—this, he knew Hange was aware of, and most of the time Hange was content to fill the silence herself, but today she was quiet, and watching him too closely. Scrutinizing. Levi had often praised Hange for her powers of observation—she had an incredible eye for detail and a knack for spotting patterns and anomalies, a talent which had served the Survey Corps very well, but right now, Levi was cursing it. He didn’t need Hange surveying him.

He was hurting. He’d had a near constant headache since the incident, and his chest felt tight, riddled with pain both dull and sharp, stabbing whenever he breathed too deeply or gave in to the pressing urge to hack out a cough, but more than that, he felt unwell. Groggy, sickly, light-headed. His heart beat frantically, and his skin did feel clammy, cold sweat sitting on his brow. He stared ahead, blinking the fuzziness from his head and resolutely ignoring Hange’s steady stare.

Hange’s palm pressed to his forehead. The sudden touch made him jump—his muscles tensed, his ribs screamed in protest, and Levi let out a strangled groan, biting his tongue a second too late to trap the sound.

He was barely aware of Hange’s fussing as he fought to draw breath. Air grated in his battered lungs as Hange’s hand pressed flat to the back of his neck, her voice warped and muffled in his ear as she felt his sweat-damp skin. His vision tunnelled. He blinked rapidly to clear the black spots and wheezed in the humid air. His chest felt like it might split open, pressure billowing out from behind his ribcage, pressing agonisingly against his damaged bones.

He breathed short and shallow until the haze of pain lessened. Hange’s voice was loud beside him, the sharp, deep bark she used when she felt it necessary to assert her authority. Through the fog in his head he could barely make out her words, but he knew exactly what it was she was demanding. Sasha’s voice was meek in comparison, but it still carried over the distance enough for Levi to hear her.

“It was an accident,” she was saying. “It was our fault—my fault—”

Levi hissed through his teeth. Hange’s hands—one still at the back of his neck, the other curled around his arm—tightened their grip on him.

“Drop it,” Levi said. “Stop grilling them. It doesn’t matter what happened, I’m fine.”

Hange had the audacity to laugh, but there was no humour in it. “Fine? Levi, you can’t even move. You can barely breathe! What the hell did you do?”

“Fell,” he said shortly. His voice sounded weak, but he didn’t have the breath to put more force behind it.

“From where? When? Hell, Levi, when did this happen?”

“Hange, leave it.”

Hange turned her question to the rail house, and Connie answered immediately. Traitors, Levi thought scathingly. Mikasa explained without prompt that they didn’t know the extent of his injuries, that Levi had refused a proper medical examination despite the head wound that had left him unable to stand straight. She explained that they had managed with very little effort to get him to observe the construction from the ground, which, it seemed, was enough to concern Hange—Levi wasn’t the type to sit around doing nothing. He despised being idle and she knew it.

“You should see a doctor, Levi.”

“I’m fine—”

“No, you’re not. What else did you hurt? Just your head?”

Levi felt ill. Hange’s persistent questions were making his head spin and his entire body felt sore and spent. He mustered enough strength to glare at her, but nothing more. Hange was watching him carefully, brow furrowed in concern, but at his silence her expression hardened, and she stood abruptly. Levi bit back another groan as the box moved beneath him.

“You can ride, then?”

Levi squinted up at her. “Hah?”

“If you’re fine, you can ride back into town with me.”

No. “Sure.”

Hange stared at him a little longer, waiting, no doubt, for him to backtrack, admit defeat. Levi clenched his jaw and maintained steely eye contact. Hange narrowed her eye at him, then turned towards the rail house.

“Oi!” Hange called up, cupping a hand around her mouth. Six heads turned their way, popping up over the roof. “We’re heading back early. Leave the scaffolding when you’re done, we’ll send for it tomorrow. Good work!”

She turned on her heel and headed towards the horses, still tacked and tethered beneath the shade of a small copse of trees.

“We’ll go get your head checked.”

“Hange, I said I’m fine.” It was a weak argument, made even moreso when he stood too abruptly and swayed on the spot. Hange darted back towards him and steadied him with a hand on his shoulder, and a little of her angry resolve cracked, worry creasing her brow. She led him, more slowly now, towards the horses with her hand hovering over his back. He braced himself for the agony of her touch, if she pressed her palm against him, but Hange—perhaps in fear of not knowing what other injuries he had sustained—didn’t touch him.

“Humour me,” she said. “If you’re really fine, and it’s really nothing, no harm done. I’ll feel better knowing, and you—” she drew them to a stop by the horses and turned to face him fully, grinning, but the smile didn’t quite reach her eyes, “—you get to say I told you so.”

Levi said nothing. The thought of riding for hours on end made him feel nauseous.

“This is pointless,” he said. “I’ll rest here, if you’re so worried.”

Hange shook her head at him. She untied her own horse and Jean’s, holding the reins out for Levi to take.  

“We’re going back now, Captain. That’s an order.”

**  

An hour into the journey, Levi began to struggle in earnest.

No part of the ride had been pleasant—the heat was oppressive, and the motion of the horse required a fluidity in his hips and back that sent sharp jolts through his side with every step. Hange was uncharacteristically quiet, occupied instead by watching Levi from the corner of her eye. His head pounded with increasing intensity the longer they travelled, and between the pain, and the scorching sun, and his pitifully shallow breathing, Levi was feeling more faint by the second.

It was an unsettling sensation. Injuries were always difficult, but Levi had never felt so completely wiped out by physical damage in the past. Three days was enough time for his body to at least begin healing, but Levi had seen no improvement since the moment he struck the beam during his fall—if anything, he’d felt worse by the day.

Now, he was fighting to keep himself upright in the saddle.

They were approaching another clump of trees, great leaves wilting in the heat, when Levi, jaw tight and teeth bared, grunted out a request that they stop.

Hange looked torn. She wanted to hurry back into town, and was already impatient enough that Levi had requested they walk—”It’s too hot, for the horses”—but something on his face must have reflected the severity of his discomfort. Hange directed them to the treeline, dismounting and taking Levi’s reins while he did the same. His feet hit the ground and his knees buckled.

Hange caught him about the elbow but only after he had sunk to the grass. He felt shaky, weak, but more than that he felt vulnerable. Realistically, Levi knew that there was no shame in being hurt, in needing help, but he was a stranger to it. He had been self-sufficient since he was in Kenny’s care, and had grown up with the express understanding that showing weakness was a death sentence. And then again, in the Survey Corps—an injured soldier was titan bait.

There were no titans now, but Levi felt distinctly exposed, sitting in the long grass with his vision swimming and his lungs burning, barely functional.

Hange knelt next to him in the grass. She brought a hand up to his face, fingers curling against his jaw. Her gaze darted over his face, all of her righteous anger forgotten as she took in his state. Levi wanted to shake her off, to shake off the spinning in his head, to stand up and get back on the horse and continue their journey, but he couldn’t find the strength to gather his legs beneath him. Hange’s hands—one on his arm and one still on his face—kept him sitting upright.

“Levi…” Hange said slowly. Words sat on his tongue, reassurance that he was fucking fine, that he just needed a minute, but try as he might, he couldn’t get enough air in to voice them. His chest bubbled and rattled as he drew in a thin breath.

“Levi,” Hange said, sharper this time. Levi blinked blearily and searched for her. Neither of them were moving, but Hange’s image wavered and blurred in front of him. He swallowed. Wheezed. His heart hammered in his ears. Hange’s fingertips found the pulsepoint in his neck, pressing, counting. “Levi—what else hurts?”

Levi swallowed thickly, a nauseous tremor under his tongue. After a moment, he choked out, “cracked a few ribs, probably.”

Hange sucked in a sharp breath. “Let me see.”

He didn’t have the strength to fight her as Hange began unbuttoning his shit. He swayed where he sat, struggling to balance without her hands keeping him upright, until he heard Hange’s hiss as she uncovered the bruises wrapping his chest and back.

Levi looked down and grimaced. The bruising was worse than he remembered, stretching further up his chest, dark and mottled, the flesh tight and swollen.

“Levi, this is bad,” Hange said. “We need to get help.”

“Just need rest,” Levi said. His voice sounded slow and slurred in his own ears. Hange’s hand cupped the side of his neck, her thumb tipping his jaw up to look at his face. His eyelids felt heavy.

“I know it hurts,” she said, “and I know you don’t want to move, but—Levi, please. C’mon, I need you to get up.”

It had been a long, long time since Levi had heard that frantic tone from her. She sounded urgent, panicked. Desperate. Levi dragged his eyes open, but found he couldn’t focus on her face anymore. His lungs protested violently as he tried to speak, only coughing instead, dry and hacking. His chest burned.

Hange dragged him to his feet. Levi’s limbs felt heavy and clumsy, detached and completely out of his control. He leaned heavily into Hange’s side as she moved him across the grass.

“C’mon, Levi—work with me.”

Hange hefted him up onto one of the horses. Her horse, he realised, as she clambered up with him. She settled behind him, her arms gripping the reins either side of him. Levi tried to sit up right, but as she kicked the horse on, he slumped back with a low groan. Hange’s voice rumbled through her chest when she spoke.

“You good?” Hange asked quietly, and then, “stupid question, of course you’re not.” Levi found the strength to scoff, but it was a pitiful sound, and followed swiftly with another pained grunt and a fit of coughing. “Bear it a little longer, okay?”

Consciousness drifted, as they rode on. Levi was dimly aware of the sun on his feverish skin, and of Hange’s warm, solid body at his back. Her jaw brushed his head when she moved. Her voice was constant now, a rumble up his spine and in indistinct mumble in his ear. At times he could pick out her words, but his comprehension was hazy, mind unable to string sentences together, to find meaning in her chatter.

In this state, there was no focal point for the pain. It was consuming, indistinct but ever present, impossible to isolate in any one location. His whole body ached. His breathing was quick and laboured. There was no real respite even in this state.

Hange’s hand repeatedly found his throat, fingers feeling for his frantic pulse.

Time passed strangely. The ride seemed to last a lifetime, with Levi waking a thousand times to agony, consciousness barely breaking before he succumbed again to his feverish dozing.

At times, he awoke to new sounds and new sensations. The echo of multiple voices around him, all talking frantically over one. The scratch of crisp sheets beneath his bare back, the click of shoes on tiled floor. New, stinging, fiery pain, sudden and excruciating enough to make his body jolt in discomfort, followed swiftly by strong hands on his arms and legs to keep him still. Cool air blowing gently over his heated skin. His hand caught in a loose, tangled grip.

The aches in his battered body settled, localised. Levi felt it acutely in his chest, though the pressure no longer felt as intense. Breathing still hurt, but the air came easier now. He felt his lungs fill with it, little by little, for the first time in days. He opened his eyes, blinking rapidly in the light, then rolled his head slowly to look around.

The small window had been cracked open, the fresh, cool air lifting Levi’s fringe, tickling at his brow. Thin morning light poured in, illuminating the small, sparsely furnished room. Besides the bed he lay on, there was only one small table and a stiff, uncomfortable wooden chair.

Hange was slumped low in the chair. Her legs were sprawled out in front of her, her chin dropped to her chest while she slept. She had discarded her military jacket, eye patch, and glasses in a heap on the floor, and her sleeves were rolled up to the elbows, the top buttons of her shirt undone and splayed open. Her hair hung limp and ratty around her face. She looked pale and exhausted.

Levi’s tongue was dry, tacking to his teeth and the roof of his mouth. It took him three attempts to say her name, and when he did it came out raspy and ragged. He tried to move, to reach over and nudge her awake, to ask what the hell had happened since he’d last been lucid—but as he leaned over a sudden, white hot agony ripped through him, tearing into his side.

He gave a strangled groan and pressed himself back into the mattress, squeezing his eyes closed as he rode out the spasms. Wood scraped by the bed; Hange must have startled awake at his outburst. Levi squinted an eye open to see her blinking rapidly, rubbing her knuckles into her eyes before scooping up her glasses and taking in the sight of him.

The pain subsided little by little, though Levi didn’t dare move again. Hange sat on the edge of her chair and reached for him, her hand stopping short of his and falling to grip the bed sheets instead.

“How you feeling?”

Levi cleared his throat. “Like shit.”

Hange managed a weak smile. The bags under her eyes were considerably darker than they had been before, her skin paler, papery. Levi frowned at her. “You still look like shit.”

Hange waved him off with a small laugh, sitting back and scrubbing her hands over her face. She hung her head over the back of her chair, fingers pressing into her eyes beneath her glasses. She sat for a long while, observing the backs of her eyelids. Levi watched her through pinched eyes as the burn in his side settled to a more familiar ache.

“Don’t do that,” Hange said, voice strained by the stretch of her throat. “Don’t do that again.”

“Which part?” Levi said.

“All of it. Don’t get in stupid accidents. Don’t pretend you’re fine when you’re not. Don’t—”

She stopped short, then, with a sudden hitch of her breath. Levi watched her dig her fingers harder into her eyes, watched the bob of her throat as she swallowed reflexively. For a moment she was quiet, then she sat up straight and turned watery, bloodshot eyes on him.

Hange was strong. She was a far more emotionally available person than he could ever be, but she had an incredible capacity to compartmentalise. To switch off. To accept the necessity, the inevitability of loss, to evaluate and recalculate and move forward. Hange mourned—Levi had witnessed the aftermath of it plenty of times before, repaired broken tables and reorganised upended bookshelves in the wake of her disaster—but she mourned later. Alone. Felt all her fears and frustrations in isolation, away from prying eyes.

Hange wasn’t the type to cry at peoples besides and beg them to live.

And yet.

“Don’t leave me on my own.”

“It wasn’t that—”

“You dare tell me it wasn’t that bad and I’ll kill you myself.”

Levi clamped his mouth shut. Hange was glaring at him like she might really mean it. Instead of arguing, he said, “what’s the damage?”

Hange slumped forward, elbows on her knees and head hung low. “Broken ribs. Ripped up a few muscles in your back. Collapsed lung. The air pressure in your chest was restricting blood flow to your heart.” She put her head in her hands and dug her fingers into her messy hair. “You got so fucking lucky, Levi. If we hadn’t left when we did—”

He watched silently as Hange groaned into her palms. She breathed deeply, back and shoulders raising as she did.

“You could have died.”

“I didn’t.”

Hange’s head shot up. “By the skin of your teeth, Levi. You—” she took a long, steadying breath, but her voice still shook as she continued, “—you were barely breathing. You couldn’t talk to me, you would hardly even respond to me.”

“Sorry.”

Levi wasn’t sure what else he was supposed to say. Hange looked distraught, her composure tenuous. Levi’s fingers twitched on the sheets, itching to reach out and touch her, offer some kind of reassurance that he was here, he was fine—but he wasn’t fine, and moving so far was out of the question. He gripped hard at the sheets instead. “Sorry.”

“Not you as well,” Hange said quietly. Levi’s chest tightened painfully at her tone—she sounded so small in that moment. Scared. Levi wasn’t sure he’d ever heard her sound so frail before. “What am I supposed to do if you—” she cut herself off again, shaking her head.

“Same thing you always do.” Hange curled tightly in on herself. Levi turned to stare at the ceiling instead. “You keep going, Commander.”

“Don’t. Don’t do that.”

“One day or another, everyone you care about eventually dies. You said that.” He listened as Hange’s breath hitched, but refused to look at her. “It sucks. It hurts. But we keep moving forward.”

The mattress dipped by his hand. Levi rolled his eyes down, and found Hange hunched out of her chair, her face pressed into the blankets. Levi sunk his fingers quietly into her hair.

They lapsed into a painful silence. Hange hiccupped and sniffled now and then, while Levi scratched lightly at her scalp. After a long while, Hange spoke again.

“I know those were my words,” she said thickly. “But I can’t accept that. Not now. Not after everything.”

“Stubborn,” Levi said quietly. He pulled lightly at her hair until she raised her head, wiping her cheeks and nose messily on her arm. “Disgusting.”

Hange managed a bare, wobbly smile. Levi’s hand fell from her hair as she straightened up, and Hange scooped it up in both of her own. She played absently with his fingers, curling and flexing them, rubbing her thumb over the lines on his palm. She seemed to be gathering herself, brow a little furrowed in thought.

“I know we can’t guarantee anything. I know how uncertain our world is. But just—” Hange paused, closing Levi’s fingers around her own, then looked up at him with a fierce determination. “Promise me anyway.”

Levi blinked sluggishly at her. “Promise you what?”

“That you’ll survive.”

Levi tensed. “Hange…”

“Indulge me. Just this once, please.”

A promise of that kind was unrealistic, Levi knew this. Hange had said so herself: there were no guarantees. Except, that wasn’t quite true—death, at least, was a constant. The only inevitability they had. The island may be free of titans now, but the threat of attack loomed over them like a persistent storm cloud, black and heavy, ready to give at any moment. And accidents, as he had painfully learned, could happen in the blink of an eye.

Levi was resilient, but he wasn’t invincible.

But Hange was looking at him steadily, her resolve unwavering. She wanted his word here and now. Needed it, maybe, but Levi knew her. Hange valued honesty over everything else. There was no way she could feel at ease with such an empty promise.

Levi sighed.

“You’re a brat, you know that? Looking at me like that.”

Hange’s gaze held firm. Levi felt her grip on his hand tighten.

“I can’t promise shit like that, Hange,” he said. She squeezed his hand tighter still, and her body tensed, shoulders drawing up to her ears. “You know I can’t. Nobody can.”

For one horrible, gut wrenching moment, Levi thought she might cry again. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes but when she opened them again, her good eye looked terribly blank.

“You’re right. Sorry, sorry!” She let go of his hand and sat back in her chair, hands resting on her legs instead. Her voice sounded lighter, more like Hange, but there was something off about it. Something forced. Strained. She adjusted her glasses but didn’t meet his gaze again.

This was the Hange he knew. The Hange who could bury her feelings in the moment, squash them down and push them aside to focus on the rational, the plausible. Seeing her like that didn’t relieve him the way it should have. It left a sour taste in his mouth and a discomfort in his gut, knowing that he was the cause of the grief she felt she had to hide.

It was stupid, the whole situation—how a moment of carelessness lead to this; Levi bedridden, and Hange struggling to hold herself together.

The space between them grew stagnant. Hange seemed a little lost in thought, gaze caught blankly on Levi’s blankets, while Levi watched her, waiting for her to say something else, to change the subject, to be Hange again. But Levi was never one for giving inspiring speeches, and in truth, he didn’t know that anything he could say now would make anything better. Hange would do what Hange always did—wait until she was alone, and vent in whatever way she could.

And Levi, as soon as he was able, would do what he always did, too—pick up the broken pieces and mend as much as he could.

“You should rest.”

Hange blinked tiredly over at him. It had been an age since Hange looked well-rested, years since Shiganshina and the exhaustion of that particular battle had never left her. The burden she carried—everything Erwin had left behind and all that they had discovered since—was so impossibly heavy, the expectations put upon her too much for any one person to handle. Hange had enough to deal with, she didn’t need to be worried about him, too.

“Eat something, bathe. Sleep. I’ll still be here when you come back.” After a pause, he added, “I’ll promise you that much.”

Hange gave him a weak, wry smile as she fished up her eye patch, strapping it into place and righting her glasses over it. “I guess I’ll take that. And then tomorrow, you can promise me the same again.”

Levi rolled his eyes. “Fine, whatever. Go.”

“Alright, alright. I’ll nap for a couple hours and come back. You should sleep some more too, you know. It’ll help you heal faster.”

Levi grumbled in response, and grumbled louder still when Hange stepped up to the bedside, but he fell quiet when she leaned over, brushing his fringe back from his forehead and pressing a small kiss to his hairline. It was such a simple gesture, and nothing out of the ordinary—Hange had been a physically affectionate person as long as he had known her, always grabbing and hugging and kissing whenever she got the chance—but there was something so tender in it, this time. Levi’s eyes fluttered closed.

Hange lingered longer than was strictly necessary, and yet it still didn’t feel like enough. Levi could easily have let her stay close, feel the warmth of her breath and the softness of her lips on his skin until he drifted into sleep, but she straightened up after a moment and Levi was left instead with the cold breeze from the open window. Levi blinked sluggishly up at her. His own exhaustion barrelled in, making his eyes sting, lids heavy. Hange folded her jacket over her arm and pushed the chair into the corner, out of the way.

“I’ll see you soon, okay?” She said.

“Mm.”

“You’re gonna feel like you got crushed by a titan when the pain meds wear off, so make the most of it.”

“Got it.”

“And you should let the doctor know if anything changes. Straight away, don’t wait around.”

“I will.”

"And there are nurses around, if you get hungry or thirsty. The bathroom is just down the hall too, but they've got bedpans if you need to—"

“Hange.”

“I’m going, I’m going.” Hange had already crossed the room as she spoke, but she paused in the doorway, fingers curled around the frame. She deliberated with herself for a moment longer, then said, “hey, Levi?”

“Hm?”

Hange chewed on her lip, contemplating something, a faint blush building on her cheeks. And then she shook her head, gave him a small smile, and said, "Ah, doesn't matter. Sleep well."

She left quickly after that, closing the door quietly behind her. Levi stared at the space she'd vacated, brow a little furrowed; her hesitancy confused him.

But he was tired. His body hurt. His head felt thick and fuzzy, and without Hange's presence to keep him occupied, he consciousness began to drift. 

Tomorrow, he thought hazily. He would ask her tomorrow. For now though, he would follow his own advice; for now, he would rest. 

[the-wayward-arc]

(For TTS au) what is its revealed that nora is the daughter of leman russ

Leman: ....then she wondered into a warp portal one day and realized she ended up on some backwater planet that hadn't been found by the Imperium.

Rogal Dorn: Father, I believe Leman has taken after you when it comes to raising a children.

Emperor: SHUT THE FUCK ROGAL.

Magnus: Wait wait hold on. You had a kid-

Leman: A daughter.

Magnus: Yes, a daughter sorry. In the warp? How? Who in the gods is the mother!?

Leman: No one can handle my mighty wol-

Magnus: STOP RIGHT THERE YOU FURRY FUCK!

Emperor: *to Leman* THATS MY BOY.

Leman: Alright then you piss baby, there is no mother. This is what happened;

-flash back to a Drunk Leman Russ-

*Leman after seeing through a small window into Remnant and sees the Lion is alive and well. With a family no less!*

Leman: Would be mighty fine to have a wee one myself, the Lion fetishes has one. Probably a girl, a small she-pup to wrestle daemons with and pass down all my ferocity to! *the warp being the warp and Leman unknowingly channeling his psyker not OP powers by wanting a child. Orange haired baby suddenly appears in front of him* uhhh....

Draigo; WOAH! LOOK! SMALL CHILD! HAVE YOU COME TO TRAVERSE MY BEARD AND TAKE BATTLE TO THE TINY MEN WHO RESIDE WITHIN!? *floats up, causing the baby to laugh* ARE YOU THE CHILD OF PROPHECY!? AND WHY DO YOU HAVE ORANGE LOCKS?

Leman: Orange be my favorite color, plus, most Fenrisians do have orange hair. It's common for us after all. Welp, I have my own she-pup...now what to name you...

Draigo: NORA!

Leman: Why Nora?

Draigo: *whispering* A man with white hair and birds around him told me so.

Leman: Oookay then, well she likes it! *goes to grab Nora only for said child to grip his armored finger, crushing it slightly* SHE HAS MY STRENGTH! *gets zapped with lightening* YOU ARE MY CHILD!! *Nora in his large hands smiling at him*

-back in the throne room-

Corvus: That's what happened? You just thought of a child and poof she was right there?

Leman: Yes, I just told you my wolfen story! *grabs a small daemon imp skull attached to a toys body* look, her first kill. Named it Mr skull, she loved this thing. Never could sleep without it.

*all look at a portal that Emperor created to allow them to see on Remnant, Nora standing triumphantly over a dozen dead Ursa laughing maniacally*

Nora: LETS KEEP GOING! MOMMA ISN'T DONE YET YOU COWARDS!

*all look back at Leman Russ who looks proudly at his daughter*

Magnus: Oh my gods, they really are father and daughter...*trying to process the fact that there is a mini Leman running around*

Emperor: *Looking at the doll* LEMAN, COME TO ME LATER WITH THAT TOY.

-on Remnant, hours later-

*Teams JNPR and RWBY are setting up camp for the night, Nora setting up her sleeping bag when a quick flash of gold light attracts her attention, she goes to investigate and squeals in delight as she runs back with her discovery*

Ren: Nora! What's wrong?

Jaune: More Grimm?

Ruby: But we made sure this place was clear! I'm so tired!

Nora: *Happily wiggling place with something behind her back, before presenting Mr. Skull to everyone* LOOK GUYS! MR. SKULL FOUND ME! *everyone looking at Ren for answers but he merely shrugs as he lies down*

Weiss: NORA! Put that thing back! It looks disgusting!

Yang: For once I agree with Weiss cream, definitely creepy.

Nora: No!! Hes Mr. Skull! I made him long time ago and thought I lost him! *looks to Jaune* Don't make me get rid of him Jauney! *pleading*

Jaune: *always a sucker for the puppy dog look* Okay okay. Just, make sure to keep it from Weiss, she looks like she wants to burn it.

*Nora jumps for joy as she snuggles into her sleeping back, immediately drifting off to sleep while snuggling with Mr. Skull*

Pyrrha: Woah, shes asleep! Usually we have to fight her to bed.

Jaune: or bribe her. Think that thing is like a Teddy bear to her.

Nora: *sound asleep with the Mr. Skull but also clutching a note, a smile on her face as a tear escapes from her eye*

Note: "You make your papa wolf proud my little Valkyrie! Take as many heads as you can, one day we'll be slaying Grimm together my pup!! From your Papa wolf.

[skai6]

Hey, I saw your post asking for prompts :) I was thinking slight angst, with Jaskier trying to (not so) subtly let Geralt know of his feelings for him, but it doesn't work till Jaskier loses hope :) Happy ending, of course, cuz I have the angst endurance of a 5yo :)

Thanks for taking the time to do this :)

I didn’t know where I was going with this when I started but it checks all of the above! (Emphasis on Angst with happy ending)

------

It started with:

“You know, Geralt, I might have a thing for white hair and big swords.”

To which came the reply:

“Good for you.”

And Jaskier hasn’t stopped ever since. He would throw in a word or two at any given chance, compliment, tease, flirt, anything to get the witcher’s attention, to drill into that thick skull of his just how desperately in love Jaskier was with him. 

That, however, was easier said than done.

Two decades of trial and failure, Jaskier learned the hard way that it was perhaps not that Geralt was slow-witted, an idiot, a complete and utter fool, that on the contrary, the other might have understood the context, picked up the hints, but simply did not care enough to reciprocate. 

And oh did that realization hurt.

They spent their days on the road and Jaskier spent every second of it sulking. He was terribly mad, not at Geralt, but at himself, for being so blinded by the promise of hope that he did not see reason for the past twenty fucking years. Gods, if anyone was a fool out of the two, it had to be him.

Give it another decade or two, he told himself sarcastically, I’ll eventually get over the biggest rip-off of a fucking lifetime.

And when Jaskier was mad, he did not hesitate to burst out at every given chance. So, one evening, when Geralt returned from a hunt two hours later than planned, he found Jaskier at the inn’s rented chamber, waiting for him. Jaskier could smell it a mile away, the outrageous mixture of liquor and perfume, and that was it. The perfect opportunity - his chance to let out some steam. 

After twenty fucking years, he deserved it.

“Where in the gods have you been?” he yelled, standing with his hands on his hips, as if he had been waiting in that same posture for hours, boiling with the urgent need to start a fight. 

Geralt didn’t flinch at his tone. He clicked the door shut behind and began tiredly uncluttering his armour. 

“Beast’s taken longer to slay.”

And if Jaskier was not angry enough before, the lie did the rest of the work.

“Do I look like an idiot?” he scoffed, “No, really, do I?”

Geralt threw a skeptical gaze his way, said nothing, then returned to rearrange his armour on the dresser and marched to the bed to begin undoing his boots. 

Jaskier stamped after him.

“I’m talking to you, sir!” he yelled, “You can’t just leave me here and come back whenever you please! If you’re taking longer out there you ought to let me know! What am I? Your fucking wife?” 

Geralt grunted, and to Jaskier’s horror, he sounded amused.

“You find this funny? How dare you!” he spat, “And look at me when I’m talking to you!”

On the bed, Geralt kicked off his boots with a sigh and, at last, fixed his golden gaze on him. Calm and collected. To Jaskier - unbelievably infuriating.  

“What’s with you?” he said, “Got a horse’s hoof up your arse? Calm down.”

Jaskier’s anger only spiked.

“Calm down?” His voice raised an octave, and he threw his head back to force out an exaggerated laugh. “Oh dear, oh yes, but of course! How come I haven’t thought of it? The cure to all of my misfortune! Calming the fuck down! He goes out there doing gods know what, never telling me when he returns and I have to remain prettily seated like some fucking ornament, waiting for him. Listen here, you bastard. If there is one person in this room with a horse’s hoof up their arse, that’s you. And that whore of yours you’ve been fucking all night? My condolences to her expectations. She could do so much better than a butcher.”

And that last sentence, like a trigger, kicked Geralt off the bed and standing in an instant. Jaskier physically jolted in his skin when the other walked to him, jaw tight, glare burning with something that was a mixture of anger and hurt.

“Watch your mouth.”

Jaskier’s breath hitched, and the fool, the hopelessly, madly in love fool that he was, couldn’t help himself from answering.

“Or what? You’ll shut me up yourself?”

An irritated grunt. 

“I might.”

The room plunged into heavy, stifling silence. Jaskier could hear his heartbeats resonate in his ears. His anger was not as strong anymore, not when despair and ache and hurt came taking turns inside his heart. He felt his stomach turn. He felt he could cry.

On the outside, he showed none of it. His eyebrows furrowed, his lips curved into an insulting smirk.

“You witchers are all bark and no bite.”

And that was about what has done it.

Jaskier could not tell apart the second in which Geralt’s leg moved and the one in which his back was flattered against the nearest wall. His body kicked out a rush of adrenaline that forced him to send a whimper out in the open. Geralt picked up on his fear, his flaring eyes narrowed, his nose twitched. He was smelling him.

“You’re jealous.”

“Like fuck I a- Mm!”

A rough palm came pressing to his mouth, forcibly shutting him up. Geralt’s eyebrows furrowed. He was not done talking.

“I’ve been picking up hints for a while,” he said, “Racing heartbeats for no fucking reason. Long annoying stares. Whining under the sheets with my name on your lips. I just don’t fucking get it. Why? What are you jealous of?”

Jaskier’s eyes narrowed and he bit the skin that came muffling him. Geralt hissed and pulled away.

“You knew?”

Geralt swallowed.

“I... wasn’t sure what to know.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” he barked, tears starting to swarm his eyes, “Geralt, I’ve been pining for you for decades and you knew? And you - and you did fucking nothing?”

Geralt’s hold of him loosened and Jaskier took his chance to grip him by the collar of his unlaced tunic and flip them over. To his surprise, Geralt followed willingly, letting himself get overpowered, and landed with his back to the wall, his eyes darting elsewhere, looking as guilty as they came.

“Look at me,” said Jaskier, “Gods fucking dammit, look at me, Geralt!”

Slow, unsure, amber eyes returned to him.

“Why did you never say anything?” Jaskier’s voice broke, and one tear trailed down his left eye. “All these fucking years. You saw me, like a lovestruck fool, looking at you like you’re the sun and the moon and everything beyond and you did nothing. Why? Just tell me, why?”

Geralt’s adam’s apple bobbed. He gritted his teeth in stubborn hesitance until Jaskier’s eyes fell down, and his grip on his collar began to loosen. That was when he came gripping his wrist, holding it where it was, against his chest. With a broken look of feeble hope, Jaskier lifted up his gaze at him.

“Do I ...” His voice broke. “Do I even matter to you?”

“You do.” 

"Don’t just say what I want to -”

“You matter, and that’s why. That’s fucking why.”

Jaskier didn’t know what to say to that, and Geralt continued.

“How do you think twenty years by your side felt like? Twenty years watching you live, age, grow. There’s only so much time can give. Until it rips it all away.”

Jaskier’s tears ceased. His eyes now bearing confusion and worry.

“I can’t have you,” said Geralt, voice tight, lip trembling. “Not when I know someday, maybe not tomorrow, maybe not next year, but someday, I will have to let you go.”

And at those words, Jaskier, not knowing what got into him, burst into laughter. 

Under Geralt’s wary stare, he laughed loudly, whole-heartedly, until he could no longer contain it, until his cheeks hurt from the pain, and he had to cling into the other’s body for balance. Until the tears of sadness were completely replaced by tears of happiness.

Happiness to know that his feelings were not unrequited. 

“Jaskier...”

“Geralt, you fool.”

He didn’t need to speak the words he meant to convey. He completely and utterly gave in, right then and there, cupped the other’s face and kissed him. His lips tasted of cheap wine and hidden desires. It felt like bringing life back into a body that had long been depraved. He had watched the witcher kiss many women, and never, never had he groaned so desperately, so sweetly before in his life.

And Jaskier wanted to believe it was true, all of it.

"You’re afraid I’ll die?” he mouthed shortly after pulling back, the scent of the other already clinging to his nostrils, something that was pure Geralt, something that reminded him of his own fearlessness. “Afraid I’ll leave you alone? Well, fucking hell, Geralt, we’re all dying. We’re all deteriorating, day after day, waiting for that sweet death to take us. And so what do we do? What do we make of the life we are given? We cry, moan, complain. We never live. We never live, Geralt. I might die before you, but for gods’ love I want to die a fulfilled man. I want to have kissed and loved and fucked the one I love to my heart’s content before I get to lay in my death’s bed satisfied and happy. That’s life, Geralt. That’s it. You either live it, or you die trying. And I want to try.”

He placed a soft kiss on Geralt’s bottom lip and whispered:

“With you.”

He couldn’t witness the expression on his face after that. He was taken by arms so strong he thought he could suffocate. Jaskier loved every bit of that sweet suffocation. So tight was his hold and so everlasting he thought time was barely floating by. Until it eventually loosened and calloused fingers came grazing his cheek. 

“I want to try, too,” he said, “I want you, Jaskier. Always have.”

The look he bore, so vulnerable, so true, so bare, had Jaskier understand. He still was uncertain, still hesitant, still unsure. 

And perhaps it would take another decade for him to be convinced that love was timeless, that it didn’t matter if death took one of them away after they have loved each other so strongly and dearly and passionately. 

But Jaskier was patient. And he would wait an eternity if it meant Geralt would finally let himself be loved.

[gveret-fic]

A lil fic in which Gideon showers with her clothes on, changes in the dark, applies her face paint out of a manual, and doesn't touch herself ever. Well. Hardly ever.

HtN spoilers ahead!

---

A bit anticlimactic, if you ask me, after slaying brain melting horror bees and swimming right out of hell, for my next great big challenge to be trying to figure out how to take a dump in a prudish little nun’s body without compromising its modesty.

Not to put too fine a point on it or anything, my sombre bathroom break micromanager, but you really didn’t stick the landing on this one. You had a letter for basically every contingency, like you had one for if God sneezed really hard and blew out the sun, I’m pretty sure, and then mine was basically just ‘fuck you, return to sender’. You just went and parked your porsche in my landing pad with the blasters still on and didn’t even bother to leave the DRY CLEANING ONLY tag on the upholstery. I had to come up with a virtue-preserving game plan all on my lonesome, you know.

And I've been such a good girl, Harrow, you'd be proud. Well, at least you'd be such an unexpectedly small, tiny, miniscule, astonishingly negligible amount of pissed off that it's basically pride at that point, right.

Don't get me wrong, it was a logistical nightmare. Ever tried to shower in multiple robes plus what I must assume are, like, pantaloons? The sonic flaps it all the fuck around, and let me tell you, getting spanked by heavy Ninth vestments is now officially off my kink list. Now, the other option is wet dog trapped in straightjacket, and I'm not too keen on that one either. But I stuck with it. It takes like 20 minutes, no joke, to struggle out of all your stupid layers in the dark, with my eyes closed, without touching any of your most hallowed skin. But I've got a knack for it now, you know? If I ever get the chance to get a lil frisky, maybe with a hot ghost or something I don't know, I can totally impress her with my wild 100% contact free striptease skills.

What I'm saying is, I've been such a super duper chaste and meticulous and ephemeral little make believe nun it's like I was never even here. So you gotta take that into consideration, Harrow, when you pass your terrible judgment once I tell you how I've sinned.

So, it happened when I was putting your face paint on. It wasn’t half bad, either. Really, it was half good. I’ve been practicing. I found this horrible little book full of the gnarliest, creepiest, just most hideous skull faces, and they all had these pretentious titles like The Palm of the Storm or The Young Boy’s Booger. Just your style, basically.

But I was looking at your face in the mirror—that’s the way paint application goes, Harrow, don’t pout—and I got stuck on your pinched, bloodless lips for some reason, and I forgot for a moment that it was me in your muscles, and I just thought, wow, you looked so sad. You always looked so goddamn sad, and no one ever did a fucking thing about it, least of all you, and in that moment I was so angry about it, I could smack you.

So naturally I reached out and I brushed your knuckle gently over your cheek. And lo, I wasn’t struck down on the spot. That gave me a bit of a confidence boost, I suppose. I ran your thumb under your eye, just a little avuncular half circle while thinking just the purest fucking thoughts, and it came away wet.

Really got you going, that one little barely there swipe. You needed this real bad, Nonagesimus. I needed this, too. We were gagging for it. We were crying for it. I needed you to be touched gently, so bad, and I needed even badder to be the one doing the touching. I knew you wouldn't want that, of course, don't feel the need to defend your honor. This was my best compromise, okay? I didn't have a lot to work with. This way you wouldn't really be touched and I wouldn't really be touching, but maybe we'd both get a little something out of it anyway.

This is maybe a good time to confess those thoughts weren't so totally super pure. They were maybe a little muddier, a little earthier, you know. Harrow, listen, I've been thinking a lot about your body, what with living in it for months and having only the one made up magazine to look at and being balls to the wall in love and all. Sorry. So when I tell you I've been thinking about running my fingertip over your eyebrow from glabella to sphenoid, what I'm saying is I've fantasized about the texture of each one of your big black goddamn eyebrow hairs so much my finger's never not tingly anymore. And when I wiped your eye with a tiny knuckle and ran that smooth little fingertip along your real ass eyebrow, Harrow, there was a definite fucking tingle, and I didn't fucking stop.

I traced the smooth plane of your frontal bone, the proud arch of your brow ridge. I dragged your fingertips over your temple and into the mass of your sweaty, overlong hair. The side of your finger grazed the shell of your ear, and you shivered—your ears are so sensitive, Nonageaimus, I thought this stuff only happened in porn—and I felt the full, terrifying shape of your skull in my hand. I cupped the back of your sore-ass neck in a palm and I squeezed just a little, just to let us know we were held, and I worked our fingertips into those nonexistent traps that still somehow managed to be clenched tighter than a stoma that's munched down on one too many emperors. I kneaded them good until they loosened just a bit, and we were still crying like a little bitch.

I squeezed your shoulder, the clavicle pressing sharply into our palm, and I stroked down your bicep, which did not deserve the name, by the way, and I brushed the inside of your elbow and I dragged the underside of your bitten fingernails up your forearm and over that terrifyingly delicate wrist and your doll sized soft palm and then I held your fucking hand.

Yeah, I laced our fucking fingers together, Harrow. Eat me.

I could feel your heart beating in our interdigital folds, I was holding your hand so hard and so intertwiney. And we were definitely feeling some kind of way just then. I had to sit down on your bony ass, your eyes leaking, your shoulders shaking, as I was having just the most mortifying little breakdown over holding my own hand.

I'm sorry, Harrow. I wanted to hug you a lot, these past few months. There were so many moments I wanted to reach outside of you, all like blerghgrgh sudden gorgeous beefy arm bursting out of your stomach to smack Shittier Gideon in the balls or give Shittier Tridentarius a purple nurple. I wanted to give you a pat on the head, tell you've been a good good doggie and you can take a lil break now. Wanted to rub your shoulders and arms all over, force a bit of warmth into em even if I've given up on muscle. Wanted to brace the heel of my palm at the small of your back, squeeze your hips and pull em back, run a hand along that spine to make it proud again, just to give you some support, just to see you stand up straight. Wanted to rub the frown right off your brow, poke your lil cheeks and make you snarl, give you something nice and tough to bite on. But mostly I just wanted to hold you.

I wanted to wrap you tight, so that you'd become a compact little package with well defined edges and maybe then you could open it all up and let it out. Only in my big stupid arms, I'd think selfishly, like some sort of grand duke of self delusion, would you finally feel safe enough to cry.

Nah. Who was I kidding? It was me who was crying. It was me who wanted to be comforted, to be touched kindly, to have her hand held, and it was only me who was getting anything out of doing this stupid weird creepy bullshit. I wasn't giving you shit, Nonagesimus. I just wanted to hold your hand.

I didn't let go, though. Again, Harrow, sorry. Your body didn't care that it was only you, only me. Your skin and your flesh and all those bits you didn't care about wanted this too, probably. The pressure, and the warmth, the illusion or the weird roundabout reality of another person who cares about you. Maybe I'm making excuses again. But I care about you, Harrow. You'll believe that much, won't you? I care about your body. I care about all the non-skeleton parts of you, even. Baffling, I know.

So I sat on your ass, and I bent your head over our joined hands, and I cried, and I didn't let go.

[serenfloras]

posted this on my priv bird app but i’d do alm and celica’s battle as cheesy and dramatic as possible. they have a fuck ton of romeo and juliet-esque moments in that damn game already so just go full with it i am a lit student that would be a theatre kid were i richer. i will pepper in the drama as i rewrite it bear with me

so instead of “trust in falchion” or whatever the fuck that scene was meant to be celica instead /pulls/ falchion from the head of mila (idk if celica can wield it but since she’s also a “child of fate” i assume she can) and starts fighting alm with it. the royal sword gets fucking kicked out of his hands and he has to wield the weapon celica dropped before her soul was sold— beloved zofia. symbolic of the kingdom he was fighting for at the start. celica’s kingdom, his beloved’s kingdom.

is is clear that our girl celica is in full offense and barely in control of her soul anymore, her vision clouded by duma as if she were reborn (see: heroes), and alm wouldn’t dare hurt her. he can’t. so he keeps on defending, calling out to her, even as his body gets more and more bruises. we would be able to get this part playable because we deserved it, hordes of witches attacking alm while celica (who is undefeated) would just keep getting stronger. her portrait would be painful to look at, a princess fallen to the abyss due to a false promise. alm’s battle quotes would be painful, with whispers of “come back to me” or just calls of her name as his health diminishes.

it’s a scripted battle. he loses. you feel like you lose too.

alm loses beloved zofia too, and has no weapons as celica tosses him against the skull of mila. even so, as she’s about to kill him, you can see her eyes full of pain and tears rolling down her face. he smiles and places a hand on her cheek, saying that his life was always hers, and admits that this one battle he could never win. his stomach is pierced by falchion as he kisses her, the wicked spell thus broken.

celica finally comes to realize what has happened, her beloved dead by falchion’s blade, and she embraces him, crying out his name. *then* we’d get mila’s warm, soothing voice, speaking of a miracle caused by the children of fate, to trust in their love that the falchion blade would never bring him harm.

that scene of falchion healing celica happens but instead of celica it’s alm, and he falls right into her embrace, waking up. they cry and hug and she kisses him back, before they realize a bigger battle lies ahead. they had a mad god to slay after all. they swear to be by each other’s side, and celica hands falchion to him, saying she’d rather fight with her kingdom’s heirloom, another affirmation of her role as zofia’s princess.

hand in hand, they fight to free valentia from war and madness— together.

[papabirdurskeks]

I ask this both for Baron Dark, Ariandel and SkekSo !

Give me a character and I will answer: @ben-the-hyena

Oh boy a triple feature! :D Here we go, folks!

Under a read more cause its going to get long but each listed character will be split apart evenly!

First up is Baron Dark!

Why I like them: He is just bombastic in personality! He lives loud in his actions and words, participating in most of the action himself while also showing he is a threat and menacing altogether! I also like that he is one of the few villains that shows he cares for his crew as a “family” (at least for most part of the series before being overtaken with obsession to have power more on his own). Given the dynamic we are given from the show, its obvious he cares and treats them all on a level of respect as well, something so rare to see nowadays! And I also enjoyed that his reasons to take over and do the shit he did in the series, “Because I can!” is just as refreshing and fun to see in a villain too!  And again, his design is a top tier design I love overall! Its menacing, powerful, and outright amazing! Definitely adds to the character and how well he works in effect to keeping my attention! Like just look at that design! And his VA did a wonderful job of adding to that charm that is just delightful to see in his personality! Overall, he is totally a villain I would love to see more of in the future!

Why I don’t: I say my dislikes often fall on the usual tropes of a kid’s show of the 90s. He talks too much when he could be doing things himself and falls victim to the typical “I am too powerful” but doesn’t think of the obvious steps ahead that will be his downfall. But honestly, its so small I don’t find it jarring or that bad to be in the way! It was the 90s and aimed at kids at the time, so we can’t expect TOO much out of that xD

Favorite episode (scene if movie): Oh man, that’s a tough one cause every scene/episode Baron is in he totally slays it! Its either a tie from the first episode to the very last one cause the stakes of start and finish are so well done, I love it all! 

Favorite season/movie: Obviously, the TV series is the best version of him! The comics sucked and turned him too OOC from what was initially given! Like how does one go from point A to be Z so freaking fast? xD

Favorite line: “Because I can.” Yeah, not gonna lie this was indeed my favorite line of his xD

Favorite outfit: Honestly, the outfit he gains near the end of the series is by far my favorite! Its like a mix of the Bejeweled Catacomb Saints and Mictlantechutli put in one and its befitting of the Baron given his gain in power! 

OTP: Baron and Cyborn are my OTP and are married, fight me. 

Brotp: Definitely Brotps with the rest of his henchmen though I see them more being like his adoptive children! 

Head Canon: Baron is of indigenous background! I also like to headcanon that the white tuft/strands in his hair are truly his and have been there since birth!  (I have so many more HCs for him but I will keep it short cause it can go all day x’) )

Unpopular opinion: Don’t think I have one, at the moment at least. 

A wish: To have gotten more information/lore on him and the entire cast, honestly! I would have loved to see more of his character explored and what more he could have had to offer as a series main villain! Hell, the whole damn series had so much to offer! And just the relationships he has with the others and what more he could have done post season and before! So much potential there to be explored! I honestly would not be objecting to a reboot/revival or continuation of the series! 

An oh-god-please-dont-ever-happen: Though with that said, if a reboot does come around, don’t turn it into the mess of current cartoons we have. Not that they are all bad but most of them have been very disappointing in keeping my attention and liking. Keep the same type of messages it had before! It worked beautifully as it did then and still does work now! I’d love to see the same formulas used while also updating it to be more gritty and mature like they did for Castlevania! Just... Don’t turn it into a cringe worthy mess that will ruin Baron and all the characters in the series! Don’t do what the comics did! 

5 words to best describe them: Charmingly evil, badass, fun, conniving bastard, and menacing. 

My nickname for them: Mega dork (affectionately speaking)

Next is Ariandel!

Why I like them: Oh boy, there is a lot to say in terms of why I like him but I will try to keep it short and simple for time purposes!  His design is top tier for me! Like a rotting skull like face? Check! A monstrous body much like a bird’s? Check! And to add he is a giant Corvian, which are one of my favorite enemies in Dark Souls III!  His personality also differs from the usual loud, bombastic, and proud characters I tend to gravitate for. Instead, he’s withdrawn and rather sad to look at and hear. You know he’s going through a lot but don’t know exactly what it is. In game, one can sort of get hints as to what has gone on behind the scenes but at the same time, its still vague and hard to really pinpoint what really did happen. So he has that air of mystery to him that I honestly adore in many characters as it leaves room to explore deeper into their lore! But I also find his personality relatable as well as sympathetic.  But that’s just me, I can gush about him all day but I will cut it short here x’)

Why I don’t: To be honest I don't have any reason not to like Ariandel other then the small fact that he followed Friede and let the Painted World rot in such a terrible state. But that is so minor of an issue to me to really make a difference, lol. I adore this giant bird man!

Favorite episode (scene if movie): I have to say the scene where he ultimately snaps and breaks out of binds after seeing Friede's lifeless body before him is my favorite scene of his. The amount of pain and anguish heard in his scream and the way he moves prior and after; I can very much relate to that feeling. Sometimes, actions truly convey the emotions better in the most powerful means necessary. And this scene alone truly nailed it.

Favorite season/movie: He's only ever seen in the Dark Souls III DLC, so obvious answer points to the DLC!

Favorite line: "When the Ashes are two, a flame alighteth. Thou'rt Ash, and fire befits thee, of course..."

Favorite outfit: Uhh, he doesn't really wear any clothes save for his cape? So I guess the cape does him well as he is, though I always draw him without it xD

OTP: To be honest, I don't ship him with any canon characters within Dark Souls. Friede does not deserve him..

Brotp: Ariandel being best friends with the Ashen One is my ultimate Brotp! Just think of how much of a valuable ally he could have been!

Head Canon: I know his origins are debatable, as either theory I have for him can be plausible but I often lean more towards the idea of him being half Giant and half Corvian! IDK why but I just like it a lot more x’)

Unpopular opinion: While Ariandel is partly responsible for what happened to the Painted World, I still feel he was manipulated overall and probably at one point did have a change of heart before being forced into complete isolation. He plays more the role of the willing/unwilling accomplice then the actual perpetrator of the crime.  

A wish: He could have had a happier ending without having to die for Friede. I know, its Dark Souls. Such a thing is expected to happen in the Soulsborne series but its a wish, right? 

An oh-god-please-dont-ever-happen: That anything beyond the infatuation he had for Friede took place. Just.. No. He loved her but never could ever have her in that sense and never did. Just no, she is horrible to him. 

5 words to best describe them: Sad, lonely, birdman, withdrawn, and tragic

My nickname for them: Papa bird

And lastly for skekSo!

Why I like them: I think its as obvious as the case for Baron Dark. I like evil, smug bastards that shine through their wickedness and don't usually hold back. In the case of skekSo, I actually didn't care for him at first but then after my second viewing of the show, I started to like him more and enjoy his villainy! He's selfish, arrogant, vain, and conniving and I love it! Added that his design is really appealing to the eye and how he carries himself out, I gotta say he's one of the few villain characters from a show that makes the turn around for me to like them instead of hate them more. Also, his voice. Can NOT go wrong with that voice cause DAMN, its good and shows just how powerful a villain can be with a voice like his. And those eyes. Oh man, those eyes!

Why I don’t: Despite his villainy being the main point that caught my attention, its also a part of his downfall too. His constant greed and arrogance pushed him too far into doing what he did and ultimately cost him everything in the end; including loyal allies that end up dying for him in the long run. I hate how easily and quickly he changes his mind when actual logic is put into perspective of his plans and how quick he is to dismiss someone else when they don't please him anymore or things don't go his way for the smallest things. And yes, that is part of his character, I know that. That is what makes him as scummy as he is and why I love how trashy he is. But I also can't ignore just how easily he pushed skekVar away and believed skekSil despite knowing just what a lying bastard he is. IDK, it just feels too obvious but at the same time, it is what it is and I am not upset about it in the least x)

Favorite episode (scene if movie): Honestly, I enjoyed all the scenes with him in the show but mostly in particular with his interactions with skekVar, especially towards the end of the series. It showed a peak part of his vulnerability in his character that honestly I doubt he ever shows to anyone else. He spends most of his time pushing others around and making them fear him but with skekVar there is a sort of mutual respect going that really speaks out in a different way. Maybe I am just reading too much into it, but I always did enjoy how they interacted with one another!

Favorite season/movie: Well, skekSo didn't get much screen time in the movie other then him dying and turning to dust so.... Definitely enjoyed him more in the show then the film xD

Favorite line: "NOOOOO!" (Yes, this scene is still very infamous to me for personal reasons but the way he carried out his "no's" cracked me up each time xD)

Favorite outfit: Honestly, the main outfit he wore throughout the show. It's just so regal and goth, I love it! And as a goth and fashion enthusiast myself, I am all up for the style he has! The battle armor he wore near the end made it a tad more laughable to be honest.

OTP: I started shipping him with skekVar but ended up with an OT3 of skekVar and skekZok. So now all three of them live in a happy relationship with each other in my noodle~

Brotp: I see him being on neutral terms with skekMal! 

Head Canon: I feel that even in the show it wasn’t seen or given, but he did feel a lot of remorse and regret after the loss of skekVar. He seemed very close with him and spoke with skekVar with more trust then he did the others. Perhaps in secret he did mourn the General’s loss. 

Unpopular opinion: Does this count as an unpopular opinion? I know most people see him with just a few strands of hair but I tend to see him with a head full of long flowing white locks he keeps hidden beneath his clothes. It adds to the extra layer of vanity for a proud Emperor such as he! He looses it over time the darkening consumes him and withers down his health. 

A wish: To see what he was like as an urSkek prior to being split up into a Skeksis and urRu. Yeah, I know people don't care or like the urSkeks all that much but honestly, I would LOVE to see more urSkek lore and see what it was that made SoSu so special among his peers. It was said, after all, he had a voice that could move the stars but was conflicted and consumed with darkness. Honestly, I want to know why and who he was prior to all of this mess! SkekSo even says in the show he still has nightmares of the life before so I wonder, what they were and how it was! So much potential here, man!

An oh-god-please-dont-ever-happen: I don’t think I have any of these to be honest? At least with skekSo. Not that I can think of on top of my head now. 

5 words to best describe them: Proud, absolute piece of shit, pretty, conniving, and menacing. 

My nickname for them: Stupid idiot