#and then every day its just this reminder that star wars was made by white people

[yuly]

I desperately need a part 2 to the “that’s Hotchner to you, agent” plz plz plz 🙃

→ hi lovely anon! ask and you shall receive! cw: only fluff I promise!

Aaron Hotchner x genderal neutral reader 

Always Aaron to You

Aaron is not a person who gives his trust easily. Once his trust has been broken, he clams up like a shell and prying that open might cost you a couple fingers. It's been a month now and you are willing to do whatever it takes for him to even look in your direction again. You miss your Aaron, your cuddle buddy, your confidant, your man. Because your words caused him this much pain and undid all the work the two of you have done to get him to express his feelings and be open, you have to think of a way to get him to see and hear just how sorry you are. With Valentine's Day coming up, you decide to use that to your advantage. If he throws it back in your face, you would take it in stride and leave him alone for good, this was your last shot. 

Aaron is not a shopping fanatic and he's not the easiest to buy gifts for, you know that he does everything in life for the people he loves, so you decide to take a page out of his book and pray it goes well.

He comes home absolutely exhausted, the case was long, the jet lag severe, and the whole precinct annoyed him to no end. Worst of all, he had to spend yet another day pretending to be angry with you when all he wanted was for things to go back to normal. But his pride was hurt so he kept the act up. As he made his way to the doorstep, Aaron thought of all the non-work related things he needed to get done this weekend and he let out an exasperated sigh. Being a single father with his work schedule was exhausting, to say the least. Aaron hated asking for help, but he so desperately needed to get some rest this weekend. As he entered his apartment, he toyed with the idea of swallowing his pride and maybe asking Jessica for a favour. 

Aaron was surprised to find Jack running about the apartment, stuffing a suitcase with clothes, toys and other odd bits.

“Dad! Guess what! I’m going to the Star Wars all-weekend exhibit with Jessica and cousins!!!!” Jack rambled excitedly, nearly foaming at the mouth. Apparently, Jessica was lucky enough to get her hands on some of the last tickets at the very last minute.

“I hope you don’t mind me whisking him away so last minute, I’m sorry if you had plans together or-”

“No, no, not at all actually. Thank you, Jess. It's been a long week I actually could use a weekend in, I owe you.” She smiled and swatted him away. Aaron wondered how his silent prayers of a quiet weekend were answered so quickly.

The next day, Aaron got an email reminding him of a golfing event he apparently booked in advance in the city. Aaron was confused, having no relocation of signing up, bet there was the receipt, from a month ago, under his name and credit card. He had actually been looking forward to going for a while now and must’ve forgotten about signing up. He spent the day catching up and flexing his skills in front of old friends. As he looked over the green hills and admired the view, Aaron got a text from Jessica, a photo of Jack and his cousins having an absolute ball at “stars wars land” as he called it, much to Jack’s dismay. He quickly saved the photo and sent her a thank you text back. At that moment, as the sun smiled down on him from its midday spot in the sky, Aaron felt content and happy, he felt lucky and again, he silently questioned how and why this weekend seemed to only get better. It was almost perfect, save for the small part of him that yearned for you.

When Aaron returned home that evening to find a bouquet of pink and white flowers, he was immediately on high alert. He cleared the area, and scanned the object carefully, only entering his home once he was certain everything was ok. He disarmed the alarm system and quietly closed the door behind him. He went through every square inch of the home, only relaxing when he successfully cleared the premises. He turned his attention to the bouquet of flowers, shades of pink and white staring back at him. He set them down on the kitchen counter, shifting his focus to the small card in the center.

“Agent Hotchner, please accept these as a token of my apology. 

The pink hydrangeas symbolize my regret over my words and actions toward you. I hope the optimism of the lily of the valley can bring a rebirth in our friendship, and that the pink peonies bring you good luck, maybe they can be the angel that silently answers your prayers.

- Agent L/N.”

Aaron is taken aback, he honestly cannot remember a time in his life when he received flowers in such a loving gesture. It flusters him as he’s unsure how to place this emotion that was nagging at his chest. The last line makes the cogs in his brain spin and his heart race. Could it be possible that this weekend was your doing? Or was the sweet gesture getting to his head.

“Aaron, is everything ok?” He could hear the kids laughing in the background.

“I need to know where did you get the tickets from”

After a bit of resistance, Jessica confesses that you had gifted them the tickets. She insisted that it was simply a kind gesture and pleaded with Aaron not to say anything.

Within 15 minutes, Aaron is at your doorstep with the flowers in hand.

“Aar-Agent Hotchner?”

“You bought those tickets for Jack didn’t you?”

Your gaze shifts to your feet, unsure how to read his flat tone and fearing the worst.

“Yes.”

“And the golfing, you signed me up for it didn’t you?”

You look up to meet his eyes now, honey-coloured orbs that make your knees weak. His expression is difficult to read but his tone is soft. 

“Thought I’d make it up to you, show you how sorry I am.”

His heart aches at how docile and unsure you sound. He lifts your chin up to meet your eyes once again and spares you a smile, “you are my light at the end of the tunnel, I hope you know that.”

A shy breaks across your face, the warmth of his words wrapping around you snugly. 

“Hotch-”

“Aaron, always Aaron to you, Y/N. I love you”

You nuzzle into his chest, relieved that this long and drawn-out fight between you is finally over. Something clicks and the final piece of the puzzle has found its place as harmony is restored between you and Aaron.

“I love you, Aaron.”

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

Tagging:

@michasia24 @hizzielover @shamelessfangirl-3 @lilozg-123 @daily-evanstan  @justarandommom @hausofwhores

[taomyou]

a sip of sunshine - chapter one (A)

!! minors dni !! pairing: levi ackerman/reader word count: 22,458 sypnosis: Life is not easy, and Levi’s made peace with the fact that it never will be. And, yet, as the days pass and he comes to enjoy the company of the baker across town, he learns that the sun will always continue to shine, no matter how unworthy he feels to bask in its warmth. - or, Levi learns to be okay with drinking shitty tea. tags: postcanon, canon universe, birthday, angst, fluff, friends to lovers, slow burn, found family, survivor guilt, eventual romance, eventual smut, character study, grumpy/sunshine, hurt/comfort, bakery, tea, meet-cute, no y/n, pov levi ackerman, not beta read a/n: no smut in this chapter, will be in chapter two. also sorry this took a while to crosspost www. this chapter is also being broken up into two parts because it exceeds the text limit, this is the FIRST half (,,>﹏<,,) accompanying playlist || ao3

chapter one: white peony beauty, bashfulness | shame, apology

Though Levi never imagined ever making it past 20, nevermind past 30…

If Levi ever had dreams of what his life would be like when he’d turn 40, he certainly never would’ve imagined this.

This where his days are occupied by nothing.

All his life, he’s had to fight for more—for more resources, for more time, for more freedom. Between fiending for food and fighting to keep himself from crumbling, never was there time to even think about nothing.

And, now, with the War finally laid to rest alongside his fallen comrades, Levi finally has the time to do what meaningless things he couldn’t during his time as his mother’s son and Kenny’s mentee and the Underground’s most notorious thug and Humanity’s Strongest Soldier.

For the first time in his life, he’s free.

And because he doesn’t know how to be that, he does nothing.

But that’s fine with him. He’s hardly concerned with the fact that he’s as boring as he always was, and there’s plenty of other parts of this life that hardly make any sense to him.

This where the weather—the sky—is equally as tranquil as the morning birdsong.

He tips his head back to gaze at the sun above often, but he seldom ever finds the clouds he expects to be blocking it.

Instead, he’s met with a sky so painfully big and bright and blue, he fears he may tear up if he looks too long.

Yet, all he does is stare.

The breeze is never still, nor is it harsh, and the air is never as disgustingly muggy as he grew to believe it always was. He’d breathed fresh air when he first came to the Surface, but that feeling doesn’t hold a candle to the now crisp, everchilling wind that clears his sinuses and blows his hair in every which direction whenever he steps outside of the quaint farmhouse he now resides in. There's a weathervane perched atop his roof in the shape of a horse that points him in the direction of the stars, and Levi'd painted it black to match the stallion he'd trusted with his life so long ago.

Though, even if he has come to enjoy the presence of birds as they fly overhead to the south, he’ll never truly get over the stains their shit leaves on his outdoor tables and chairs.

Fucking bastards.

This where the sea meets that same sky he once dreamed of seeing.

Scarcely ever does he ever go to the ocean to view the sky from the sand, but in the rare moments that Mikasa requests his presence at the shore, Levi lets himself get lost in the way the clear blue fades to red and orange and purple and pink as the hours pass. The colors bleed into themselves, yet Levi can still discern where they start and end. Even with only one fully functional eye, he can see the pigmented stains in the sunset.

Sometimes, he’ll see green, but that might just be because Mikasa speaks castles about the emeralds she finds in her memories of Eren’s eyes.

They’d always reminded him of Isabel’s, though, so maybe it’s her that he sees when the sun falls in the west.

Where the sea meets the sky, the waves brush up white water, leaving salt marks on the treads of his wheelchair, and while Mikasa holds her scarf to her eyes as she weeps, Levi wishes he had more time to dream with his friends of what life would be like along this very shoreline. Whether or not they’d enjoy the crisp salt air, he has no idea, but he has no doubt that they would’ve spent all their free time watching this very horizon, waiting for the night to find excuse to take themselves to the bar and drink their hearts away.

He supposes that’s why he refuses to come to the sea alone.

Mikasa shoulders his grief, just as he shoulders hers.

This where carrots and cabbages and all other crops are growing just outside his house, and are brought to life with his own hands and those of his loved ones.

When he’d first moved in, he refused to tend to the plants already there. He was exhausted enough after hauling all of his shit in (which, admittedly, wasn’t much to begin with, but you try to move furniture in a new house with fresh wounds), and he’d be lying if he said he craved responsibility after all his years of leading soldiers to their deaths in the Corps.

But as time went on and Levi realized his hands weren’t as marred by blood as he thought they were, he opened up to the idea, and, one day, he found himself simply accustomed to watering sprouting stalks, taking note of the seasons, and planning his meals around what he could harvest from the earth in his backyard.

It’s hardly easy, mostly because he can barely stand to be hunched over the garden for longer than a few short hours at a time, but he holds himself to it. He hasn’t been as strict with upkeep lately, as it’s hardly worth the effort to keep the plants from browning in the winter, but he already knows what he’s going to plant in the new year.

In particular, Springer forces Levi to keep at it, constantly threatening to buy out the extra farmland from him. Levi knows that piece of shit isn’t rich enough to even own his own property, much less buy out this farm, but it’s motivation enough to know that the soldier-turned-ambassador will risk his safety to push Levi to be consistent in his farming duties.

Gabi and Falco help, too. Those kids are over at his house during practically all hours of the day, fussing about and asking Levi to regale what parts of his life he’s found joy in while they help carry buckets of mulch and water.

He’s grateful that they don’t ask about anything else, but the fact remains that they fucking suck at making marks in the soil, so don’t get it twisted and say that he’s gone soft.

He takes care of this garden because he has to, not because he feels any personal desire to do so.

Besides, Onyankopon took fucking forever to build up all the furrows a bit above ground level to allow Levi the ease of not having to fully squat to reach the earth. Levi refuses to let that labor go to waste and leave the heightened dirt barren.

This where he can lay in a bed that’s always comfortable and clean, never sullied by the sinking weight of the grief he carries with him in the daytime.

Sleep doesn't come any easier now than it did before. When he can’t get his mind to rest easily (which is more often than he’d care to admit), he sits in the chair at the corner of his bedroom with his eyes closed, burdening the wood with the weight of his blood-soaked soul. His mind runs wild in the nighttime nearly every day, replaying memories he only wishes to remember in memoriam of those he’s lost, but Levi refuses to lay between his sheets until he knows he will not dirty them with his sorrow.

He’d already ruined the dirty cot he had as a child with the grief of his mother and her work, the bed he had occupied during his time as a hardened criminal with the blood of his adversaries, the bed he was given in the Corps with the guilt of not being able to protect those he loved. This bed, the one with white sheets and the smell of lavender sprigs, Levi decides, will not be laid in unless he’s sure he won’t ruin it with his memories.

To everyone else, it’s foolish, but after all is said and done, he knows his bed will be there, and though he seldom gets to sleep in it, that is enough for him.

To have a bed, unmarred by the parts of his soul he wishes to save for his conscious self.

This where his tea is always warm, always the same.

Prior to this life, he never thought he’d be afforded the luxury of having something familiar. War changed far too much for a man like him, burdened with the heartache of the world, and to think that he has hot water, the same tea leaves he’d enjoyed in Paradis, and a kitchen where he can sit and watch the steam spill out of a ceramic teapot he’d brought with him from across the sea.

It’s more than enough.

And perhaps it's because, apart from his own memories and the scars that follow, he’s lost everything else reminiscent of his life before all this.

He never dare venture into new blends, new ingredients, new anything—his tea has, and will always, remain the same, because the fear of letting go of the one thing that’s stayed the same is far too great for him to part ways with the mundane routine.

Besides, there’s no guarantee that he’d be able to have another cup of tea to begin with, so he’s better off sticking to what works. All else has changed—why steer from that and disrupt the harmony of what remains of himself?

And, right now, this where he’s forced to take a seat at his dining table during high noon, and Gabi and Falco put two boxes in front of him. On the left, one that’s smaller and wrapped in golden paper, and on the right, a plain, white box that’s about the size of his head, and held together with slotted pieces.

It’s probably housing some sort of baked good—Braus used to sneak back boxes like this when they’d all first arrived in Marley.

All this isn’t to say that Levi is ungrateful in the slightest. The routine, the sky, the sea, the garden, the bed, the tea—all of it, is finally his. He never would’ve imagined they’d one day belong to him, but he’s here now, and this is his life, even if all these things don’t feel like they’re his.

It’s just that he never would’ve imagined that he’d be here, especially as he’s faced with the daunting sight of two children, now taller standing than he is sitting down, looking to him and waiting for him to open… whatever it is that they’ve brought him.

“What are these for?”

“They’re your birthday presents!” Gabi exclaims, a bright smile on her face. The slight movement of her hair as she speaks makes a flower fall from where it’s tucked behind her ear, and Falco rushes to pick it up from the floor and put it back in its place.

After a bit more shuffling, the boy then clears his throat and looks toward Levi, a nervous smile on his face. “We hope you like them. Happy birthday, Levi.”

Levi hasn’t celebrated anything, never mind his birthday, in years. He didn’t even realize it was today himself.

How they even know his birthday, he has no idea, but he supposes that word gets around when you’re Humanity’s Strongest.

More likely, before he’d set sail to tend to his ambassador duties, Arlert found his date of birth during the latest file restoration, and told these two to get Levi something.

Good call on his part. If he’d sent anyone else, Levi’d be quick to turn them away and tell them to spend their money on better things than him.

Not that he doesn’t still think that, but he doesn’t have the heart to tell Gabi and Falco that he doesn’t need anything for his birthday, much-less that he wants to celebrate it in the first place. 

He isn’t even sure if he can unwrap these presents on his own—trying to peel away the clear tape that gleams underneath the kitchen light doesn’t exactly sound easy or pleasant, especially considering the fact he’s never tried doing anything like this since losing his right pointer and middle fingers. Hange used to wrap his birthday presents with the strongest industrial tape they could find, and even when he’d had full use of both his hands, he could barely pry the tape off those fucking things.

For a brief second, Levi imagines that if they were still alive, they’d have jumped at the chance to do this for him. To unwrap his presents for him and force him to celebrate his birthday, just like they and Erwin used to before any of the three of them even knew there was a land across the sea. Maybe they’d even joke that they’d be his replacement digits, or try to design something to be that for him, and Erwin would scold them for forcing their ideas onto Levi.

He misses them both a lot.

Levi curtly nods at the offerings on the table, and at the children’s continued and insistent encouragement, he caves and reaches for the first present.

Picking up the smaller wrapped present on the left, from the shape alone, he knows that he’s been gifted a canister of the black tea he buys at the market on the other end of town. It feels exactly the same in his hand wrapped as it does when he holds it barren in his kitchen, and he can feel the faint impress of the metal engraving through the wrapping paper. He brings up the gift to his ear, gently shakes it, and his suspicions are confirmed when he hears the faint rustling of loose tea leaves, a sound more familiar to him than the creak of the wooden floorboard in front of his bedroom that he refuses to fix.

An appropriate gift. He’s nearly out of his current stock of the tea, and with the current winter wind, he’s been too sluggish to get himself all the way to the market across town.

His fingers trace along the edges of the wrapping paper for where it’s folded over top itself, but as he searches for the seam to start trying to pick at it with his fingernails, against the skin of his left wrist, he feels a small ribbon. Holding the box up above his head, he sees that it hangs from the bottom of the gift and seemingly comes from within the wrapping itself.

How odd.

“What’s this?”

“You have to open it! We can’t tell you!”

“Not the gift. This ribbon.”

“Oh! The lady who wrapped it for us told us that it’s so the person opening it doesn’t have to struggle with the paper. She said to pull on the ribbon to open it.”

“Where did you find someone to gift-wrap these for you?”

“Uh,” Gabi looks to Falco, who shakes his head for her not to tell. “She just saw us struggling to wrap it, and she helped us.”

Levi’s best guess is that saying who she is would give away some part of the gifts they’ve brought back for him.

Levi hums as he tugs on the white ribbon gently, holding the canister with his left hand and pulling with his right thumb and ring finger, and the paper comes undone quickly, the ribbon tearing through.

Huh. That was surprisingly easy.

It looks that the ribbon had been attached to the canister itself, and pulling on it brought apart the paper which kept the gift hidden.

He sets aside the wrapping paper and ribbon, both of which are in one piece and will save him the trouble of having to clean up the half-town pieces of tape he expected to collect in his hand, and stares down at the tea canister. He turns it to see that it is, in fact, the black tea he always gets, and there’s a slight tug at his lips at the sentiment that the children take enough note of his tastes to make sure they’d gotten the right blend.

“Thank you, kids.”

They’re hardly kids anymore, both of them fifteen years of age, but he can’t help but see them as the young children he’d met when he’d first reached this land.

They grow up too fast.

“Now the other one!”

Levi carefully sets down the canister, and with his both his hands, he reaches for the other gift they’ve brought him.

Instead of picking it up, he simply slides the box closer to himself. Just as when he ran his fingers over the wrapper canister to find where he could start unpeeling the tape, he feels a ribbon just barely peeking out from the backside of the box. He pulls at it, and as it comes away from the box and takes away torn tape with it, Levi internally thanks whoever it was that packaged this all up.

Gabi rushes to take away the trash in Levi’s hands and from the table, rushing off to put it in the bin underneath Levi’s kitchen sink. She comes running back, holding the flower in her hair in place as she hurriedly takes her seat again, and she motions towards the box again.

Even with his eyes downturned, Levi can feel the excitement radiating off the children, so he smiles to himself as he pulls the top compartment of the box halfway-open, revealing an ornately decorated cake. In curly piped frosting, reads Happy Birthday, and all around the border is a ring of cream that smells of lemon and faint notes of mint.

What odd flavors for winter.

He pulls up the top compartment all the way so he can take out the cake, but before he can take his hands away from the cardboard to start trying to get the cake out, he sees a small pink ticket attached to its underside.

He squints to try and read the words printed on it—Good for one free item! In the bottom right corner is a small logo, picturing a bow, as well as some other lettering that’s too small for him to read.

“So, what do you think?”

“What am I supposed to do with this?”

“With the cake…? You eat it,” Falco politely clarifies.

“No, I know what a cake is,” Levi says gently, trying to take out the ticket from the board. He struggles a bit, his nails too short to pull at the tape initially, but he manages to pull it away and holds it in front of himself, reading the words again—Good for one free item! The print he couldn’t read earlier lists the exact address of this bakery. Looking at the logo again, he recognizes it as belonging to the corner shop he crosses to get to the market where he buys his tea. “What’s this?”

“The lady working at the bakery said it was an extra treat for you! We wanted to get you a tea-flavored cake, but she said she ran out for the day by the time we got there, and gave us a ticket to make up for it!”

“Is she the same person who wrapped the tea for you too?”

They both nod.

Levi sighs.

Whoever this woman is must be either too kind for her own good or too stupid for the same purpose. In the first place, a local bakery definitely isn’t well-off enough to be giving away free inventory to people who aren’t regulars to begin with.

Levi puts the ticket into the pocket of his pants, and he tells himself that he’ll stop by to return this to the bakery later today. He has nothing better to do today, as he doesn’t have to water the plants with the expected night rain, so he might as well just make sure that whoever it is that’s foolish enough to give away free shit knows that he won’t be taking advantage of that.

He supposes that today is the day he finally ventures back to the hustle and bustle of the city. It was about time, anyway, so he’s glad he has a reason to now.

It’d be worth it to give thanks for how she’d wrapped his presents, too.

Gabi and Falco both get up from their chairs to go over to his side of the dining table and help him take out the cake from the box, taking more hands than Levi originally thought necessary, and Levi excuses himself to grab cutlery and plates.

As he opens the cupboard to fetch just that, he can hear the two children fussing about, trying to get the cake placed in the dead center of the table, arguing over where the first cut should be made, untying limbs after they help straighten each other’s shirt collars, shouting to tell Levi he needs to start thinking of an extraordinary birthday wish to make up for all the birthdays he hasn’t celebrated.

It’s heartwarming—that they can finally occupy themselves with things other than the perils of war. That they find not only the sea, the sky, and the earth beautiful, but themselves as well.

Levi wishes he could be the same.

The dinnerware and serving utensils he needs in his lap, Levi wheels back to the table, and with the help of the two who’d so graciously brought him this cake, the three cut themselves neat slices of cake. Even though they’d forgotten to bring candles with them for Levi to blow out, they push him to ask for that wish they’d asked him to come up with just minutes prior, and even though Levi doesn’t think the universe is that forgiving, he begrudgingly tells the children that he did.

It’s almost as begrudging as the way he lifts the half-spoonful of cake that he brings up to his lips.

Earnestly, Levi doesn’t have many sweets to begin with. He enjoys candy well enough, especially lollipops, but he himself doesn’t care to learn how to bake or ever make use of the honey that’s been collecting dust at the back of his spice cabinet. He prefers the milder flavors that he knows are safe, that he can’t fuck up.

Which is why it surprises him that he enjoys this cake so much, even with the taste of sentimentality that he knew would be carried along with the spoon.

The taste of lemon is surprisingly faint, only made prominent by the smell of the cake itself, and it doesn’t eat at his taste buds in the way that harsh citrus usually does. Hardly ever does Levi get the chance to taste vanilla, as it’s far too expensive for him to excuse as being a reasonable purchase, but its presence here is welcome as the sweet cream dissolves in his mouth. The mint, which he’d expected to taste like his toothpaste, leaves only a small twinkle dancing on the tip of his tongue.

Yet another reason to go to that bakery—to give his compliments to the baker, whomever they may be.

Though he wouldn’t dare dream of taking advantage of the ticket, maybe he’ll look around, see if there’s anything he’d like to treat himself to. Seldom ever does he have the will to do such, but whatever magic touch this baker has… Levi has to at least try something else of theirs.

With summer having long since passed in the year, it’s been a while since he’d felt so… refreshed, even if just by taking a single bite of this cake. So eager to take another bite, to feel the soft cushion of sponge cake against the roof of his mouth.

Gabi and Falco are both quick to continue digging into their pieces, eating quietly as to not disrupt the quiet that Levi typically prefers during mealtime, so they don’t take notice, but Levi sits with the spoon in his mouth for a long while, waiting for the flavors in his mouth to stop prompting joy in his heart.

They don’t, and Levi only has himself to force open his mouth and pick up another morsel of the dessert.

After everyone finishes their helping of cake and Levi listens to Gabi and Falco regale their past days spent together, both his stomach and his heart are full, and he sends them home with their own pieces of cake to bring back for their other loved ones, as Levi knows that he wouldn’t be able to finish it all on his own anyway. They’re reluctant to go, not wanting to leave Levi by himself on his birthday, but after he insists that they’ve done more than enough for him by spending the sunniest parts of the day with him (and that he’s too old to be taking up their youth), they’re happy as can be, and the two skip off to go bother whomever else their hearts desire.

With his house now empty apart from himself, he goes looking for his winter coat, preparing himself for the decently long trek over to the bakery to return the ticket. It doesn’t take long for him to find it and get it onto his frame, and after taking a pair of fingerless gloves hanging from the wall near the door, he’s ready to go. He checks that he still has that ticket in his pants pocket, and when he feels the rough texture of the fibers, he knows it’s there.

As Levi wheels himself down from the elevated foundation his house sits on top of, he looks upwards towards the sky, and when it’s as beautiful as he’s come to accept he’ll never be able to fathom, he wonders if his birthday wish could be granted. 

Was it a waste to wish for something as impossible as peace? To yearn for something he’s never known, even in his dreams? To ask for a life that’s more beautiful than what he can see with his own eyes?

It’s been so long since he’d had to even consider the mere notion of an act like that—perhaps dating back to when his mother would sneak rolls of bread for him and tell him to wish on the singular red-hot coal she’d stolen from the brothel’s kitchenette. Even when he did celebrate his birthday in his years with Furlan and Isabel, and later in his years with Hange and Erwin, he’d never been pressed to want more than what was there.

Maybe he’ll figure it all out someday.

Maybe he’ll suddenly come to know, and, at that point, he’ll only have to reflect to see the beauty that’s become of his life.

Maybe he won’t, and that’d be okay too. It’s not like he knows anything but what he’s lived through, thus far.

But, right now, that’s not what’s important.

What’s important is that he finds this bakery, and he returns this ticket to the woman who was so kind as to wrap his things with ribbon, even if she didn’t do it for him intentionally.

Maybe, then, he’ll have the headspace to know if dreams, just like his to see the clear sky, can come true.

｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☀︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ

By the time Levi reaches this bakery at the corner, the sun has fallen halfway to the horizon, and he can only barely see it above the tallest building in this part of the city. He’d have gotten here much faster if he’d asked someone for a ride by car, but he didn’t think it necessary with how unimportant this errand actually is.

But, because he has truly nothing else of importance he needs to attend to, this is what’s most important to him right now.

No matter, because he’s here already, and though he’d thought the complete opposite would be true, this place is… quite quiet.

Perhaps it’s the weather, or perhaps it’s the time of day, but there’s hardly anyone here, as Levi can only see a handful of people through the large, barely-fogged out glass windows. With how good just that single piece of cake was, Levi had thought it’d be packed.

On the contrary, there’s no line, no hurry, no rush.

When Levi’d been more young and naïve and stupid, he had dreams of opening a tea shop. Something just like this, with huge windows and enough sunlight to read the morning paper from a register that’s spilling over with receipts and drink orders. Even though he’s impartial to people themselves, he’d imagine that, if he had the chance to be anything but who he’s been at every stage of his life, he’d be talented enough with his craft that there’d always be a line out the door, an abundance of people to appreciate what he’d have to offer them.

Maybe that’s why his heart drops, seeing how empty this place looks.

The door stays propped open with a large potted plant, unusually healthy and green for such cold weather, so Levi doesn’t have to fuss around with finding a way to get inside with his wheelchair. He gets inside easily enough, only just barely struggling not to crash into the plant or get any of its leaves caught on the wheels. Now, without the faint fog to cover its interior, he sees all sorts of plants and decorative teaware lined up on a shelf perched against the side wall of the bakery, definitively marking the space as some sort of garden.

No one pays any mind to Levi as he looks around, them all occupied by their own objects of affection, and Levi finds himself going over to a large display case, near empty and only filled with a few stray pastries, of which they all look appetizing and worthy of the money he’d brought along with him in case he’d wanted to buy anything to bring home.

He decides that he’ll get everything that’s left, as he feels compelled to support a business such as this, so undeserving of its low-traffic patronage. It’s only a handful of things; he knows he has enough to afford them all.

At the back wall, he sees that there’s some sort of drinks menu, but that hardly is of any importance to Levi, so he ignores any of its writing and downturns his eyes, going back to imagining how to make use of all the sweets he’s about to bring home with him.

The ship is returning tomorrow. Maybe he can round up those brats he used to call his soldiers, and they can run their mouths about whatever political business they’ve found themselves entangled in (or, more likely, about whatever memories return to them upon visiting the island they’d once called home).

He gently lifts himself up from his wheelchair, trying to peer over to where the front display meets the back kitchen, when he catches sight of a flash of pale yellow, rushing between what seems to be opposite sides of a room he isn’t in. Whoever it is, they turn back and look from over the door frame, and Levi finds himself locking eyes with the stranger, her own eyes blinking in surprise in reaction to his steeled gaze.

She then rushes off to put something down, and she emerges from the back room, a bright smile on her face as she waves at him, meeting him from through the display case.

She’s wearing a pale yellow apron over a plain, long-sleeve white dress, her hair tied away from her face with a ribbon that’s the same shade of white as what’d been used to wrap the gifts the kids had brought him, only hers is thicker and seemingly made of a satin material. 

She looks to be about his age, if not only a few years younger, her smile lines and the faint crow’s feet at her eyes being the only signs of aging and a life well-lived. They add a lot of character to her face—her features show love, romance, in a way that’d ordinarily only be made visible through the soul.

Still, her youth is undeniable. Her mannerisms are endearing in the same manner that the sun is bright—unfathomable, unrelenting, without shame.

She’s… beautiful.

Definitively so, with the slight tilt of her head as she greets him, taking his breath away in tandem with his sanity.

“Hello, sir! What can I get for you today?”

Peeling his eyes away from her, he clears his throat, feeling an unusual pause for a second before regaining his composure. “Could I have everything in the display case?”

Her eyes widen, and she blinks. “Are you sure?”

He nods.

“Really?”

He nods again.

She smiles once more, the shine overwhelming even through the frosted glass which separates them, and she crouches down to gather a box, similar to the one that’d kept his cake earlier. She uses steady hands to grab the sweets with tongs, and she motions Levi over to the register once she’s gotten everything in the box.

She reads the total amount to him without needing to input anything on the register, letting on that she’s knowledgeable enough about the price of all the stock in the bakery, and she pulls out a spool of ribbon and a pair of scissors from underneath the counter. Levi hears the quiet snip of scissors as he gathers the money from his coat pocket, and he watches as she laces the ribbon through the openings of the box.

She puts away her ribbon in exchange for a small roll of tape, and when she sees that Levi has already set all the money on the counter between them, she nervously smiles. “Thank you! I’m sorry, just give me one more second.” She focuses her attention downwards again, placing the tape in various spots to keep the box sealed, and she holds it out for Levi to take when she’s finished.

He does, and he places it on his lap, careful to make sure that it’s level and won’t fall off.

She takes the money he set down, and she counts it to herself quietly before inputting something into the register, placing the money inside, and outstretching a silver coin in change to him. “Have a good rest of your day!”

He nods, taking the change, but just as he’s about to leave, he remembers that he has that ticket in his pocket, and before the woman can leave for the kitchen again, he takes it out and sets it on the counter. “I don’t need this.”

She hums in confusion as she looks down at it, then her eyes flicker up towards him. “I don’t recall ever seeing you before, where did you get this?”

“My kids said someone gave it to them as an apology for not having a specific flavor.”

She lights up. “Oh, those two! About this tall?” She motions, showing how tall they are relative to her own height. Levi nods. “They were here in the morning to buy a birthday cake. How’d you like it?”

“It was good,” he says gently. “And thank you for wrapping up their gifts for me.”

“Of course! They’re incredibly sweet, you and your wife must’ve raised them well.”

Levi splutters, and, in surprise, he nearly drops the box from his lap. “They’re not my kids in that manner, I just look out for them when I can.”

She giggles, shaking her head. “Well, no matter, if you have this ticket, you might as well use it, right?”

“It’s alright, I don’t need it.”

“I’m insisting, then.”

“Isn’t your boss going to be upset with you for giving away stock?”

She hums, shaking her head. “I own the place, so I wouldn’t say so.”

Levi frowns. “Can you even afford to give things away for free?”

She laughs, this time without qualm, and she looks off and out the window, scratching at her cheek with her pointer finger. “I guess it does look pretty empty today, huh? I’d sold out of most of today’s inventory in the morning, so if you’re worried about my business, don’t be.”

That’s certainly a relief.

“Besides, I rarely ever hand these out, so it’s alright. And today’s a special occasion!”

“What’re you talking about?”

“It’s your birthday, isn’t it?”

“Right,” Levi muses, kissing his teeth.

“Just think of it as another gift, then.”

“I still don’t feel right accepting anything for free. Besides,” Levi eyes flicker back to the now-empty display. “There’s nothing else to take.”

The woman turns around, leaning back against the counter to be further eye-level with Levi as she points to the written menu up-top in front of them. “You could have some tea! I’d like to think I’m pretty good at brewing a cup.”

As eager as you sound, that offer doesn’t sound enticing to him at all. He has no doubt that it probably tastes fine, but he has no intention of trying any new tea right now. Possibly ever. “Thank you, but I’ll pass.”

She picks up the ticket and looks, again, between it and Levi. “Well, I can’t force you, but now that I know it’s your birthday, I can’t just let you go home without something special for yourself.”

“Who said all these aren’t?”

She rolls her eyes. “I know they aren’t.”

Levi deadpans. “And you know this, how?”

She hums, leaning forward and putting her elbows on the counter. “You seem like the type to save the best bite for last, but that just means you appreciate your food. You’ll probably invite some friends over and only eat what’s left after everyone picks what they want, right?”

When Levi doesn’t reply, instead only briefly looking down into his lap, she laughs again, standing straight up again.

“Got you, didn’t I?” She teases, winking playfully. “Take a seat at one of the tables, I’ll bring you something from the back.”

���Wait-”

Before he can tell her that he had only planned to come and go, she skips off to the back, and Levi can only watch as the ribbon in her hair trails behind her and leaves behind a white blur.

Well, he guesses he’s stuck here now. He’d feel even worse if he just left, and that poor woman came out and couldn’t find him.

He supposes he was right to think she was both exceptionally foolish, and, more-so, painfully kind.

Levi sighs, and he looks over his shoulder to assess the tables. There’s one at the corner of the room, away from the few patrons here, and he makes his way there. He passes by the shelf of greens and ceramics to get there, and he gets struck by a strong smell of… freshness.

Just like he was when he’d had his cake earlier.

He puts his box on the table and moves himself from his wheelchair to the plush of the seat provided, and he sighs at the change of cushion on his thighs. He takes off his gloves and leans his head on a propped-up left hand, breathing warm and slow to watch the cold air cloud with a slight gale. He faces the window as he waits, watching as people covered up for the winter walk past the bakery, and he pulls his coat tighter as he feels the cold wind as it blows in through the open door.

The baker comes back to the table before he can think too harshly about anything in particular, and with her, she carries a tray with a small packaged sweet and a steaming cup of tea. She places it in front of him, careful not to spill anything, and she smiles down at him.

“Happy birthday! It’s on the house!”

“Thank you,” he replies, awkwardly nodding, and he waits for her to be safely faraway enough from him before he stares down at the tray, watching as the warmth of the tea bleeds up into the air.

Through the clear top of the package, Levi sees a slice of cake, with speckled vanilla cream and berries strewn about. On the side of the package, tied with ribbon, is a small plastic fork. He lifts the slice up, and as he saw earlier with the tea she’d wrapped, there’s a small ribbon hanging from the bottom too.

Next to the teacup, there’s a smaller dish of sugar cubes, as well as two small pitchers of cream and honey. Even more captivating, there’s a small sprig of what looks to be mint. The point where the small stem has been split off looks wet, as if it’s just been plucked from its shrub.

She must’ve broken it off on her way to his table.

He has no intention of drinking the tea, nor doing anything with the additions she’s brought him, so he carefully lifts up the cake slice and pushes away the tray.

Better to leave it noticeably untouched. Maybe she can drink it herself when she returns to clear his table after he leaves.

He peels away the ribbon at the side to get his fork, then at the one on the bottom, and the box unfolds into a sort of plate where the cat sits neatly at the center. A blueberry nearly rolls away and off the surface, but he manages to stop it with the edge of his fork.

He sets the berry back on top of the slice, atop the dollop of cream at the cake’s edge, and he cuts away a piece to pick up with his fork.

Once more, his mouth is greeted with a symphony of flavors, none too familiar to him.

He can’t be bothered to even try to make sense of the way this new sensation feels. It’s divine in a way he doesn’t know how to describe, and his rational mind gives way for his mouth to blindly enjoy the sugar and spice that’s in front of him. Around him, people slowly leave, himself being the last person lost in this cold paradise as he savors the baked good brought to him, but at least he has the shared, lonesome company of the baker running this shop.

She had come out from the kitchen a few times to clean tables and bring dishes to the back, but for the most part, she’d left him alone entirely. He didn’t think anything ill of that—he’d just assumed she was busy taking care of things for the following day’s opening, or whatever else it is that bakers have to handle at the tail end of their day.

Once Levi finishes his cake and gathers his things on his lap, she emerges from the kitchen once more, sending him a smile before going over to flip the bakery’s open sign and move the plant keeping the door open. 

He wheels himself over to the trashcan near the door, tossing in the remnants of the cardboard he’d just eaten off of, and he meets her gaze halfway as he goes to leave.

“Thank you, again. For the cake.”

“Don’t mention it,” she muses, going over to hold the door open for him to leave.  “I need to close up now, but come again sometime, yeah? I’m open from Tuesday to Friday!”

He nods halfheartedly, and she smiles as she tilts her head towards the direction of the street. He leaves, needing to be careful as to not bump into her hair ribbon as he passes through the door, and he’s off to find home again. The sun, now, is nearer to the horizon, but he knows he’ll have enough time to make it back to the house before dark.

Before he can get too far, though, he hears the bell of the bakery doors reopening abruptly.

“Wait! I didn’t catch your name!” The baker calls after him.

From across the street, he looks over his shoulder and at her, her hair blowing alongside the zephyr. Her hair’s white ribbon flies higher, as its light weight makes it catch wind more steadily, and her cheeks turn pink with the nipping cold.

“Capta-,” he hesitates, biting the inside of his cheek.

Even after all these years, he’s never fully been able to forget his formal introduction.

Maybe he was right to think it wasted to wish for a life simpler than what he’s been given.

“It’s Levi,” he says a bit louder, hoping the wind will carry his name to her.

“Levi?”

He nods.

She then smiles, and she waves at him sweetly, her other hand keeps her hair from blocking her vision. “Happy birthday again, Levi!”

He brings up his hand to wave back to her in polite gratitude, and her grin becomes ever-brighter at the returned gesture. 

As he turns away from her and she retreats back to the bakery, he realizes that even with the sun now hiding between the concrete of buildings seemingly taller than the skies themselves, she was so like the sun. So blindingly-so, that he’d forgotten to ask her name in return.

Goddamn it.

｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☀︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ

It’s not too long before Levi returns to the quaint little bakery at the corner near the market.

Once the new year has begun and he’s needed to go stock up on more supplies for his garden, he’s back in that part of town, and after he’s exhausted himself by looking for new gardening gloves and new nails to repair a broken section of the trellis, he’s found himself back here again, looking through the display glass at various cakes and sweets, much more fully-stocked than the last time he was here, and through gentle breeze at the baker who’s currently giving a high-five to the kid in front of him in line.

As Levi waits his turn, he looks through the array of desserts carefully before he decides on a slice of black forest cherry cake. He hasn’t got any clue what that’s meant to taste like, but he doesn’t think he could be let down by anything from this place. Because he has plans at the house later with Onyankopon, Gabi, and Falco to start working on getting the dirt ready for the spring planting, he’ll bring them all back something too.

When it’s his time to get to the baker, her eyes light up at the sight of the man, now dressed slightly warmer with the now-present hot sunrise. She herself is still in that same yellow apron, but she’s now dressed in a long skirt and a frilly blouse.

“Welcome back, Levi!”

“Good morning,” he greets softly.

Still in her hair is her signature white ribbon, and she rests her head on her arms atop the display case as she follows along where Levi’s eyes go. “What would you like today?”

“Could I get a slice of black forest cherry?”

She points to it from above. “This one?”

Levi nods.

The baker hums to herself as she slides open the backside of the display, the pair of tongs in her hands hovering over the assortment of slices before remaining still above the flavor he’s asked for. She squints as she looks at all of them before choosing one awkwardly in the middle of all the others, and she takes an unfolded package box from underneath the counter to put it into.

“Anything else for you? Did you want to buy out the entire display again?” She teases, a playful smile decorating her features.

Levi feels a faint flutter in his heart with her exuberance, but he ignores it and clears his throat, looking through the glass again. “Not today.”

She laughs. “I’ll look forward to when you will, then.”

“Do you have any suggestions? I’m having people over at my house later today.”

She hums, clicking the claws of her tongs together a few times as she crouches down and looks at everything. She accidentally makes eye contact with Levi through the glass here, and she smiles sweetly at him before going back to looking. Her eyes are downcast, blocked by her long eyelashes, yet they still trace sunlight as they move across the sweets on display.

“How about an orange sugar cake?” She suggests, eyes flitting up to meet his. “I think they’re in season right now, they were pretty cheap at the market when I went yesterday.”

They are. Jean had brought over a potted orange treeling just the other day.

“Sounds good,” he says.

She gently tugs on the cakeboard of a pale orange cake, dusted with powdered sugar and decorated with thyme, before pulling it completely off the display and over to the counter, getting a second box that’s much bigger and without cellophane top.

She motions him over to the register, and she goes through the same remembered motions that Levi remembers her making from the last time he’d watched her wrap up his things.

As she pulls out her scissors and ribbon, she tells him the total of the numbers he’d already read on the cakes’ accompanying price tags, and Levi reaches into his coat pocket for the wallet that Onyankopon had gifted him for his birthday (him and the rest of the 104th ended up hosting a birthday party for him when they’d all returned from the Island, those fucking bastards).

“So, what brings you here today?” She asks.

Levi opens up his wallet, careful not to spill anything from his lap as he tries to gather up all the bills he needs. “Passing through to run errands. I figured I’d stop by.”

“Do you live far from here?”

“A fair bit away, but I’ve managed.”

“Well,” the sound of a snip of her scissors, “I’m glad to see you back! I was worried I’d scared you off a bit,” she jokes.

He raises a brow. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

At his usage of profanity, she giggles, amused. “I don’t know, I came off pretty strong when you were here. Sorry about that.”

That much might be true, but it’s not something that’d scare him anyway.

“No need to be sorry. You didn’t scare me.”

“That’s a relief,” she muses. reaching for a roll of tape. “Are you eating your slice here, or will you be taking that home?”

Looking over at the window, he sees too many people moving about. He’ll stay here to avoid the foot-traffic. “I’ll have it here.”

She hums in acknowledgement, and after a few snips, she continues. “No tea again?”

Levi lies through his teeth. “Not much of a tea drinker.”

She pauses to look at him briefly, but then goes back to lacing the ribbon through the folds of the box. “Right.”

. . .

“Do you garden?”

Levi blinks. “What?”

“Your gloves,” she says, pointing with her scissors at the new pair sitting on his lap. “I have the same ones.”

“Oh. Yes, I do.” His hands, already gloved to protect his palms from the grime of the street he wheels through, go to touch the newly bought gloves. He hadn’t ever gotten these specific ones before, but he hopes they’ll be alright.

“They’re a good brand, I like them a lot.”

“Never used these before, I hope they’re good,” Levi says, eyes following her swift hands as they cut tape. “None of them ever feel right.”

“Why do you say that?”

Well, it's kind of hard for gloves to feel comfortable when he’s missing two of his fingers.

The extra unused fabric just awkwardly hangs downwards as he works in the fields of his backyard, and even though he’s found that tucking them inside-out makes them less of a hassle, they still feel disgusting against the skin of the back of his right hand, so he usually prefers the inconvenience. He goes through his gloves quickly, though, as the overhanging pieces tend to get caught and tear on tools and trellis.

“They just don’t.”

Levi puts the money on the table, and he puts away his wallet as the baker counts it out and puts it into the register.  She hands him back his change, but before Levi can get to trying to figure out how to fit all this and his other items from the market on his lap, she pulls back the boxes closer to herself and picks them up.

When he looks up at her quizzically, she just smiles softly and tilts her head towards the tables. “Gonna show me where you want to sit, or do you want me to choose for you?”

He feels his ears flush red as he bites the inside of his cheek to keep from saying anything stupid, and he looks away from her.

He clicks his tongue to feign indifference, and he brings himself over to that same, unoccupied table at the corner of the room. The baker follows closely behind him, and she places the boxes on the table for him. She excuses herself quickly to go fetch him a fork, as she hadn’t taped one onto the side of his smaller slice box.

Levi pulls the packaged cake slice closer to himself, and he pulls gently on the ribbon underneath to undo the tape and unravel the box, just as he did when he was here on his birthday.

The baker returns, with a fork in hand, and she sets it down carefully on a napkin she’d taken out from her apron pocket. “Enjoy, Levi! Let me know when you’re leaving, so I can help get your cake ready for transport.”

“What?” He blinks.

“You can’t just carry a cake in your lap all the way home, can you?”

He hadn’t thought it’d be much of an inconvenience, but she’s probably right. Getting to and from this part of town is difficult enough as a person with mobility issues, and trying to balance an entire cake on his lap without his hands sounds even more hellish. 

“Alright, I’ll let you know, then.”

“Perfect! I’ll see you in a bit!” Right after she turns on her heel, though, she pauses and looks over her shoulder at him, and she turns around. “Actually…”

“What?”

She stretches out her hand to him, her palm-up. “Could I have your gardening gloves for a bit?”

He’s… confused.

“What do you mean, ‘can you have my gardening gloves?’ You said you had your own pair.”

She only smiles, the ribbon in her hair bouncing slightly as her spirit tries to convince him to believe her. “I promise, I’ll give them back to you.”

Well, he has nothing to lose here anyway. If she doesn’t give him back his gloves, he can just go over to the market and buy another pair, or just cut his losses entirely and accept that gardening gloves aren’t worth jack shit.

And, for whatever reason, he feels like he can trust her.

Whether or not he wants to think further about that, entirely up in the air, but for the time being, he picks up the gloves from his lap and hands them to the unnamed baker, who then excuses herself with another smile and leaves for the back part of the bakery.

What a strange woman.

He picks up the fork she’d brought back for him and starts digging into the cake, already knowing to prepare himself for the harmonious musings of flavors he’s about to take in, and he beams to himself when he’s finally got the cake in his mouth.

He’d expected as much, but he’s still going to be surprised anyway.

When he’s finished with the piece of cake, the small lace doily completely free of any residual crumbs, he cranes his head to look towards the kitchen where the baker had disappeared, hoping that she’ll meet his gaze halfway and just come out to help him as promised (and bring back his gloves, but honestly, he has no fucking clue what she’s doing with them, so maybe she doesn’t need to do that).

Lo and behold, as she’s crossing through the space visible from the front of the house, she looks out towards him, and when her eyes lock with his, she pauses, rushes back from the direction she came from, and skips over to Levi, gloves in her hand as well as a decently large cloth bag.

“You about ready to leave now?”

Levi nods.

The baker smiles as she holds out the gloves out to Levi, prompting him to take them back. “Try these on, okay? I’ll get your cake hooked up onto your chair, and you can be on your way.”

She picks up the larger box of orange sugar cake and places it carefully into the cloth bag she’s brought from the kitchen, and she disappears behind Levi to start attaching things to the back of his wheelchair. Levi cranes his neck to try and watch as she works behind him, but because he really can’t see anything even when his entire upper body stretches and turns, he resolves to just do as he’s told and try on his gloves.

He sighs as he lays them both out on the table to see which goes on which hand, but as his eyes regain focus under the morning sun, he’s surprised to see that the right side’s pointer and middle fingers are… gone?

He swears he had gotten gloves that were annoyingly both five-fingered.

He remembers having grimaced as he went to pay for them, knowing that he’d have to go back and try another brand at some point in the future when these would inevitably annoy the shit out of him. Onyankopon would try to cheer him up, the kids would make another joke about how he’s had to spend more money on gloves than on actual gardening supplies, and the cycle would repeat itself until Levi’s too old and brittle to keep tending to the fields.

He holds the glove up to his face, looking closer at the seam where the fabric should be, but he only finds a neatly stitched line which connects the panels of the palm and back of a hand.

It’s stitched in the same pale yellow thread as her apron.

“Did you…”

She laughs from behind him, and he hears a faint rustling of ribbon along with the sound. “Did I what?”

“Nevermind,” he utters softly, and using his left hand, he pulls off his right fingerless glove, picks up the gardening glove again, and tugs it onto his hand.

He closes his fist.

Opens it.

And closes it again.

The gentle compress of the thick fabric feels nice against his knuckles, as opposed to the loose feeling of air he was used to feeling there, of which would both irritate and overwhelm his senses.

“Okay, I’m done!”

Looking back again, he sees that the baker has now stood up, and there’s now a ribbon tied between both handles of his wheelchair, ornately kept together with knots he doesn’t know how to undo. The ribbons are interlaced with the handles of the cloth bag, and it seems to provide extra support for the cake to keep it from rocking about as Levi travels.

She points to the end of a piece of ribbon at the left handle. “Pull on that piece to untie everything, just be careful taking it off your chair because the bag isn’t the strongest without the ribbon to support it.”

Levi’s heart flutters at the gesture, but there’s a quiet sinking which keeps him from being as appreciative as he wants to be.

“Did you get that?” She asks, waving a hand in front of his face.

He blinks, and he dumbly nods. “Yeah, thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” she says.

Before he can stop the words from spilling over, they come out. “Why are you being so nice to me?”

The baker looks at him with confused eyes. “What, do you think you aren’t worth it?”

Yes.

“No.”

She smiles warmly and tucks a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “It’s really not any trouble, Levi. I’m more than happy to help out.”

The bell from the door of the bakery rings, alerting her of another customer coming into the building, and she sheepishly smooths out the front of her apron before excusing herself to attend to them.

Again, before he can stop himself, his right hand, still gloved in the dense fabric of the gardening material, reaches out to gently hold onto her wrist.

She looks down at him, seemingly and entirely unbothered by his touch, and she doesn’t move away from his grasp. “Do you need anything?”

Levi’s heart gets caught in his throat, but he manages to speak once more. “Could I ask for your name?”

The question feels fiercely intimate, just as it did when she’d asked for his name, but, here, it feels like such a far leap.

And, yet, she still smiles at him, and she moves her hand so that she’s able to squeeze his palm gently.

When she speaks her name— your name—to him, he catches a peek of sunshine from the corner of his eye, caught on the reflection of the bell.

And he wonders if this is how the sea feels when it meets the sky.

｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☀︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ

“You’re a lot faster than you usually are, Levi,” Onyankopon comments, passing by him on his way back to the house. “Something motivating you today?”

Levi shakes his head. “Not really, no.”

The taller man smiles good-naturedly and hoists up the shovel held over his shoulder. “Well, whatever it is, you’ve been working long enough, so you should come inside with us to have some of that cake you brought back with you. It’s gonna get dark soon.”

Levi sighs, taking the small towel draped over his shoulder to wipe at the sweat that’s built on his forehead. “Yeah, sure.”

Onyankopon picks up Levi’s cane from the ground and hands it to him, the latter thanking him for the help. As Levi reaches for it, Onyankopon takes notice of the gloves Levi’s wearing.

“New gloves?”

At the mention of them, Levi looks down, and he finds himself having to push away the flicker of sunbeam that replays in his mind.

Levi nods, and he slings his towel back onto his shoulder.

“Something like that.”

The next time he sees you, he really ought to thank you again.

It seems this year will have an even better harvest.

｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☀︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ

The next time he comes to the bakery is in another month’s time, just as winter begins to fade into the very early beginnings of spring.

Mikasa’s birthday is tomorrow, and it’s about that time of year that she routinely asks Levi to join her at the beach to mull over life’s happenings. Even worse, Eren’s birthday is just over the horizon, and that’s a tough time for everyone, but for her especially.

Because he knows that it’s hard for Mikasa to even bring herself to eat during these times, her mouth only opening to speak from the heart and weep for love’s past, Levi figures that bringing something sweet for her to pick at as she watches the sun fall is enough gesture to tell her that he wants her to take care of yourself, so that’s why he’s made the trip over here.

It’s also Falco’s birthday tomorrow, and Levi feels so inclined to get the brat a cake to celebrate another year of living. He’s been asking for something new to try from the bakery, anyway, so Levi might as well indulge the kid and let him and Gabi both bounce off the walls with energy.

While he’s here, he may as well extend his gratitude to you, too.

He doesn’t think he’ll need to buy any new pairs of gardening gloves soon.

When he comes through the opened door, there’s a long line, and Levi sighs.

With all these people, he’s bound to only have limited conversation with you, and even though he still doesn’t think himself deserving of the compassion which is extended alongside your time, he’d looked forward to it during the travel over.

He gets in the line, and as it moves fairly slowly, he watches as the display case becomes increasingly emptied. It feels like forever before he’s finally at the front, but once he’s there, he finds it all worth it to see the way your face shines when you see him, warmth radiating from you in spite of the gentle early spring wind.

“Hey, I haven’t seen you in a while!”

He lets the very corners of his mouth upturn slightly, your aura too bright to even be dampened by Levi’s everpresent somber.

“Good afternoon to you, too.”

“Sorry about the wait, what can I get for you today?”

For Mikasa, “Do you have any strawberry cakes left?”

You nod, already starting to reach for one. “How’s this one?”

“That’ll do just fine,” Levi says. And for Falco, “Could I also get a cheesecake, if you have any?”

“You got it!”

“...And could you write Happy Birthday on both of them?”

You hum in confirmation, and while you get to doing that, already knowing to meet you at the counter to pay, Levi pushes himself forward and begins to take out his bills, eyes occasionally flitting upwards to watch as you tape together the box and lace ribbon throughout. Just as you’re finished packaging up everything, you take his money, bill out the change, and Levi’s now awkwardly looking between the boxes and his own lap.

“Hey, Levi,” you call to him, putting away your packing tools underneath the counter. “If you wait over by your usual table, I can get these on your chair in a few minutes. Let me just take care of this line first.”

His eyes widen. “It’s fine, you don’t have to-”

“Are you in a hurry out?” You ask.

No.

“Yes.”

Your face drops slightly, but you still keep the light expression on your features. “Oh, well, alright. Let me go grab a crate, then, that might be easier to manage than just holding onto these.”

You disappear into the back, and you return just as quickly as you’d left, a decently large crate in your hands. You put that on the table while you lower the cakes into it, and after slotting some ribbon through the panels of the wooden crate to keep the cakes from moving too much in transport and taping a few more things together, Levi’s on his way out the door with two birthday cakes secured on his lap, and you’re back to tending to customers with a bright smile, moving your hands as you speak. 

Maybe he’s better off not thanking you again. You don’t have the time to be talking to someone like him, especially right now while you tend to other patrons, and even at his grown age, Levi feels too awkward to try and find a way to cooly express gratitude for an action taking place an entire month ago.

As he watches for the leaves on the plant holding the bakery door open, a little pink slip catches his eye from the inner wall facing him of the crate, a short stream of ribbon underneath the tape that holds it in place. He raises a brow, and he wheels himself to a stop just outside the large windows of the building to look at it more closely.

Good for one free item!

Levi looks at you from through the glass, catching your gaze already on him and waiting for his reaction, and he points at the ticket taped to his crate. You sweetly wave at him, but when Levi starts to turn his wheelchair around to try and return it, you frantically wave your hands out in front of you to tell him to just keep it.

And, well.

Considering the fact that he does eventually want to return, this is a good enough excuse to.

He wonders if that’s also what you want, and he can’t help but feel like, maybe, it is; because after he turns to go back on his way home, he can practically feel the warmth of your smile from the sun itself, even when there is an incessant, unrelenting voice at the back of his mind telling him that he’s not allowed to be happy like this.

｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☀︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ

Not even a week later, in the middle of February, Levi is back in the bakery.

The sun is starting to still in the sky for a bit longer than it has been for the past several months, and that means that there’s soon to be many more insects crawling around, of which try to eat at the leaves of the plants Levi tends to in the fields. He’d came to the market with the excuse that he needs to buy insecticide spray that the kids always beg to use (and, no, they aren’t allowed to use it anymore because Levi knows they’ll get so carried away with watching the dispensed mist that they won’t properly use it, and lord knows the tomato plants have suffered enough).

With the pink ticket in the silk of his pants pocket, he comes in through the propped-open door, and he greets you with a wave when he catches your eye from behind the counter.

Thankfully, there’s not too much of a line right now, so maybe you’ll indulge him and keep him company for a bit.

“Good morning,” you greet, meeting him at the display, a bright smile on your face. “What brings you here today? Another birthday?”

“Not today, just stopping by to use that ticket you gave me.” He tears his eyes away from you to look at the assortment of slices available. “Are you busy right now?”

“Not really,” you muse. “Why, do you want company while you eat?”

Levi freezes.

. . .

Is it that obvious?

You laugh, resting your head on the glass top of the display case. “Relax, I’m just messing with you.”

Right.

“I’ll have a slice of the raspberry cake.”

“Sure thing!”

You hum to yourself as you pick out the prettiest piece for him, and Levi meets you at the register with the pink ticket. You take it from him, making a bit of a scene by checking its “validity” before laughing and putting it into the pocket of your apron, and you lean forward with your elbows on the counter.

“No tea for you today?” You ask.

“No tea. Sorry.”

“Would you mind, then, if I had some while I sat with you?”

His eyes widen.

“You’re actually…?”

You playfully roll your eyes as you turn to go back to the kitchen, presumably to fetch yourself a cup of tea. “You’re pretty easy to read, you know that?”

No, he didn’t know that.

“Sure.”

“I’ll meet you at your table, don’t wait up for me!”

Levi lets out a nervous breath as he picks up the packaged cake slice, and he wheels himself over to that corner table by the window. Once he’s there and has taken a seat in the plush chair, he undoes the ribbon wrapping on the box, and he peels away the fork from the side to rest it on the table as he waits for you to return.

When you come back, you bring back a tray to his table with two teacups in it, as well as a mint sprig between your fingers. You gently pull out the chair for yourself, and you follow Levi’s gaze out to the window as you take sips from your tea.

He looks down at the other teacup there, accompanied by that same small dish with sugar cubes and two small pitchers of cream and money.

“I’m not drinking that.”

You blow away the steam that wafts from your cup, looking up at him through your eyelashes. “I know, but just in case.”

Levi’s eyes turn to look at you, waiting for you to start talking as he expects you to, but when his gaze meets yours, you only smile at him before going back to looking out the window, a meaningful, yearning look on your face as you watch city life go about itself.

In the end, he does the same, sitting and soaking in sunlight through the glass. Leaves fall from upper canopies right outside, and Levi watches as they hit the ground softly. Some of them fall onto people’s hair and hats, in which case Levi will hear you giggling quietly to yourself at the charming ignorance of a new accessory, and he feels a quiet flame start in his heart when he sees the way the sunbeam brings glow to your bright eyes.

But that’s not really that important.

You do have to get up at times to quickly tend to customers and get tea brewing for those who order it, but it’s hardly even noticeable to Levi when you do leave because of the trance he’s in as he watches the sunglow.

When Levi finishes his cake and you’re finished with your tea, you get up from the table and smooth out of the front of your apron. “It was nice sitting with you, thank you for letting me.”

He looks up at you and nods. “Likewise.”

“I’ll leave you be, but even though I can’t always give you free inventory, I hope you’ll come back,” you tease, a knowing smile on your face.

Against all better judgment telling him that he’s not meant to be living his life like this, “I will.”

The answer seems to surprise you slightly, as you still for a second, but you just laugh and shake your head, leaning your hand on the table as the other goes to take away his trash and the undrunken tea. “I’ll hold you to it, then. See you around, Levi.”

“Bye,” he says softly.

You wave at him as you begin to leave, but there’s a nagging at Levi’s mind to do what he’d wanted to the last time he was here.

Well, no time better than the present.

“And thank you for altering my gloves!” He shouts after you.

At the sound of his voice, you twirl around to meet his eyes halfway, and his heart just about stops as he watches the ribbon in your hair reflect soft lampglow as it follows the spin of your head.

And it actually does when you beam at him, a dusty pink on your cheeks as your smile reaches your eyes. “You’re welcome!”

｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☀︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ

By the time April comes around, it’s practically routine for Levi to come to the bakery every week. 

(He chooses to come on Wednesdays because that’s when it’s the least busy in the week, and he knows you'll be able to sit with him.)

The weather’s been perfect for him to be awake for the entirety of the day, and now that the breeze and temperature have settled enough to afford him a stable harvest without needing much effort on his part, he’s free to do nothing with his time.

Though, he isn’t completely sure if it amounts to “nothing” if he spends his nights either silently sharing grief with Mikasa (and, nowadays, Arlert too) on the sand or turning about in the lounge chair in the corner of his room, trying to find way to bring himself to clear his thoughts to even lay in his bed.

But, he can’t say for sure whether or not it’s worth anything otherwise, so it’s nothing.

Nothing much has changed, anyway, so Levi’s fine with the monotony that follows him around. His weekly visits become intertwined with the routine he’s engaged with in this life, which, then, leads him to spending part of his free time in this little bakery, just barely an hour’s walk away (not that he’s tried to actually walk that distance yet, but the pain in his legs has gradually subsided over the past months, so he’s satisfied enough knowing that he probably could if he wanted to), yet seemingly in a world so different from his.

He sits, watching as the world passes by him in seeming slow motion as he relishes in the serenity of this room. The smell of herbs, freshly picked from the shelf near him, travels alongside sugar and spice, and he’s left to forget that he’s not entirely his own.

In similar manner, it’s practically routine for you to have a cup of tea with Levi with he eats whatever it is that he buys from the display case (or, sometimes you’ll bring out something from the back for him to try—you insist it’s on the house, but he always manages to shove the exact legal tender into your hands anyway).

You also always bring out two cups of tea—one for yourself, one that’s meant for him—but he never drinks from it. It changes every week. Never is the tea the same color as in the previous week, almost as if you’re trying to gauge what it is that he enjoys.

It’s too kind.

He hates it.

And what makes it worse is that you don’t even seem to mind, even though Levi does tell you that he isn’t going to have any, every single time. You wave him off, only to resume sharing the sunlight with him, waiting for your own tea to cool enough to sip.

And he hates that he’s touched by that.

On this particular day, he’s having a slice of apricot cake, you’re having a cup of citrus tea with mint leaves, and there’s that gentle silence that hangs overhead every time this happens.

And whether or not it’s because it’s become so painfully soothing to just sit in silence with you, he doesn’t care to know, but today, by the time he’s finished savoring his piece, there’s a gentle pouring of rain outside.

He’d came much later than usual, as he’d met up with the 104th in the late afternoon to have lunch for Kirstein’s birthday (Kirstein, who’d begged for Levi to stay fully into the evening to join the lot for a night out drinking, but everyone else in their right mind at that luncheon (meaning, everyone but Kirstein and Springer) scolded him for asking that a poor old man like Levi stay out late), so, by now, he knows that even if he were to start heading home right now (in the pouring rain, mind you), it’d be nearing nightfall until he reached his destination.

And, of course, it’s nearing closing time for the bakery, so he’s bound to get kicked out at some point soon.

You excuse yourself after you finish your tea, just as you always do, with a smile and a joke about him coming back the following week, and Levi’s left to awkwardly wait for his mind to come up with a solution to this… relatively minor dilemma, but one nonetheless. The rain only seems to get heavier with each passing second, and his decision to not just brave out the light downpour seems to be hurting him now. Levi’s the only person left in here, everyone else having already left to escape when the rain was light enough to bear without an umbrella.

He supposes that he could find a nearby hostel to stay at for the night. He’s brought his wallet with him, so he’d have enough to get a room for the night, maybe for a hotel if he’s so inconvenienced.

He’s just going to (try to) sleep in the room’s chair, anyway. Doesn’t really matter to him where he spends the night.

When the sun finally falls low enough in the sky to only be seen looking sideways, you come out from the back part of the bakery, go to flip the open sign, and move the potted plant keeping the door open. You wipe your hands, wet with the rain that’d dripped onto the rim of the plant pot, on the front of your apron, and look over at Levi, who feels like a deer caught in headlights.

“...I swear, I’ll be on my way out soon.”

You scrunch your eyebrows. “What’re you talking about? You can’t get home in this rain.”

“It’s not so hard to get a room for the night around here.”

“Sure, but that’s really stupid when you could just stay here.”

He scoffs halfheartedly. “Right, like I could do that.”

When you don’t bite back with another joke, he recoils into himself.

“Right?”

“You’re more than welcome to.”

“Actually?"

You nod, going over to behind the display case to start cleaning. “You’ve been coming here for the last four months, I don’t mind helping out a friend.”

A friend.

You consider him a friend?

His heart feels caught in the downpour, but in the way that it’s swept away without disregard for its intentions.

It doesn’t feel… right.

Is it even fair for him to let himself get entangled like this? To let someone like you , befriend someone like him?

What could he possibly give you?

And, yet, even with the flushing away of his heart, he wishes to find it again, if only to feel the gentle spark he’d felt in it.

“Don’t you need to get home yourself?”

“I live in the apartment upstairs. Not to mention, the nearest place to stay the night is a couple blocks away, I wouldn’t want you to get lost looking for it.”

Oh.

“Are you sure?”

“I wouldn’t have offered if I wasn’t.”

“...But are you sure?”

You laugh from behind the display, and after having cleared everything from the shelves, you peer at him through the glass. “Yes, Levi, I’m sure.”

Levi balls up his fists in his lap, unsure of what to do.

In the first place, Levi doesn’t enjoy the rain, so walking through it for that long of a distance, especially under this heavy downpour, is entirely out of the question.

Prior to being named Captain, he liked it well enough, and its drip and drop was soothing enough to lull him to a half-sleep even if he was unable to clear his head. He’d experienced his first downpour with both Isabel and Furlan, out in the streets of Mitras scarcely after being coerced into the Survey Corps, so rain was precious to him in the sense that it’d represented what forces had pulled him from his doomed life in the Underground.

But after so many expeditions gone wrong in the rainstorms of Paradis, he’s avoided actually being in it for too long to avoid stirring up painful memories of those times. The splash of rain, the thundering of clouds overhead—they’re the rare pieces of that life that haunt him in this one, even with their objective and sentimental beauty.

But he’d rather that than have to be fussed over by a woman he’s come to enjoy the company of. He couldn’t stand giving the rain yet another moment to ruin.

““I really don’t mean to be an inconvenience, just point me in the direction of the nearest hostel.”

You sigh, shaking your head. “Please, don’t worry about being an inconvenience.”

He frowns. “Really, I mean it.”

“I do too.” You get up from your position bent over to clean the display case, stretching your arms upwards.

“Do you seriously trust me not to completely ransack your home?”

“Hm? Where would I get that impression of you? You seem pretty normal to me.”

. . .

That’s right. You didn’t know him in that life.

You know him in this one.

The one he doesn’t feel is his to begin with.

“Nevermind.”

You yawn, and you crouch back down, cleaning cloth in your hand to wipe away condensation on the glass. “Tell you what, I’ll let you help clean the kitchen, and that’ll be worth my ‘trouble’ spent letting you stay the night here. Sound good?”

No.

Yes.

He doesn’t know.

“I’m not an indentured servant, you can’t barter like this.”

You laugh again, the ribbon in your hair bouncing as your body splutters. “Right, I shouldn’t.” Another wipe at the glass. “But, really, Levi. I’d rather you here than out in the rain.”

“You do realize that this means I’d be here the entire night, right?”

“Of course I do, what am I, a fool?”

“Maybe.”

Or, more likely, it’s him that’s the fool.

“Do you need to be somewhere tomorrow?”

For once, he’s honest.

“No.”

“Then what’s the harm in staying?”

Glancing out the window again, he sees that sunlight has nearly disappeared, blocked by both the horizon and the clouds thick in the sky. Looking back and forth between your humming figure and the door, its frame wet with the rain that leaks through the cracks, he realizes that you’re right.

He gets up from the cushioned seat and moves over to his wheelchair, admitting reluctant resolve as he wheels over to you, stopping between the front and back of the house.

He knows he’ll regret this later, when the moon has replaced the star in the sky, and he’s forced to confront the fact that he’s not deserving of this sort of compassion.

But, for reasons unrealized by both him and the gods above, he can’t bring himself to deny the sun, even if he is undeserving of its warmth.

“Where do I start?”

｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☀︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ

Quite surprisingly, the ensuing night is silent.

Levi supposes that he shouldn’t be startled that you don’t talk much; you are still working, to some capacity, and he’s already settled into the fact that you aren’t all that talkative when you’re in his company.

The kitchen is dirtied in fresh flour and dirty dishes—obviously, a mess regardless, but one that doesn’t particular irk Levi, especially considering the fact that you’re the only person who works here—so Levi gets to work on cleaning that, and you’re sat at a table in the front of the house, handling finances and other paper tasks. You have half a sandwich with you at the table, and Levi is given the other.

Thankfully, his legs decide that today isn’t the day to curse him with excruciating pain, so he’s quite quick in getting everything sorted out and cleaned. There’s some things he can’t do, like put away large basins of flour or sugar, but other than a few stray items which only need to be put back in their proper places, the dishes get done, the perishables are put neatly into the fridge, the floor is swept, and kitchen is spic-and-span.

When he finishes, he gets back down in his wheelchair, and he goes to report to you that nearly everything’s done. However, you don’t seem to notice the sound of his wheels as they glide across the tile flooring, seemingly enamored in whatever it is you’re reading while you tap your pen against your lip.

The way you’re sat, one leg bent over the other, face propped up with one hand as eyes follow arcane words on the page, reminds him of how he’d sit at his own desk when he was in the military.

Whatever it is that you’re looking at, you pull your pen away from your lip and sign on a line, then slumping forward and sighing as you turn your head to put it down comfortably.

And, of course, Levi just had to be already looking at you from that position, so when you open your eyes to sit yourself up again, you make eye contact with him through the window of your arm and the ceiling.

Not expecting him to be there, you’re slightly startled, and you immediately straighten your back and sit up. “Oh! Are you finished in the kitchen?”

Levi nods. “I didn’t know where some things were supposed to be kept, so I left them on the counter. Nothing perishable, though.”

“That’s alright. Thank you, Levi,” you yawn and twist your upper body back and forth, holding onto the back of the chair as you turn. “And good timing, I’m about done with bookkeeping, so I’ll head up with you.” You gather together your books and pens and papers, putting them all into a folder, and you motion for Levi to follow you back through the kitchen and through a door which leads to the larger building’s hallways. There’s a set of stairs at the end of the hall, and it seems that’s where you’re leading him.

Levi’s about to comment on the fact that he’s really not sure he’s willing to haul both himself and his wheelchair up an entire flight of stairs, but you stop before you can, and you turn to walk another corner, and the two of you find yourselves in front of an elevator.

You press the button to go up, and you smile down at Levi, your papers tucked underneath your arm. “Sorry I’m not all that talkative after hours, I’m probably not as fun as you thought I was.”

That’s not a problem at all.

“I don’t care.”

When the elevator doors open, you let him on the platform first, and you follow inside to stand beside him and click on the button for the 2nd floor.

You close your eyes on the ascent, and Levi takes this as chance to glance at you from where he is.

Your ribbon sways as you do, humming to yourself as you wait for the elevator to reach the upstairs. There’s a soft smile on your face, flour slightly caught on your nose, and a bit of ink staining the parts of your lip where it’d met pen.

The yellow of your apron is brightened here, white lights of the elevator much more harsh than the natural light of the downstairs bakery. The frills on the edge of its skirt are more starkly defined here, and with the slight movement of your hips, they seem to blow like they’re in the breeze.

In a way, watching you here, he feels the way he feels when the sun starts to go to sleep. 

When the system beeps to tell you that you’ve reached your level, Levi pulls his eyes away from you, and he listens carefully as you yawn once more and tip your head where he’s meant to follow you. 

When you’re at your apartment door, you take out a key from the pocket of your dress, undo the lock, and you hold it open for Levi to come in first. He does, nodding as thanks, and you close it behind you.

“Make yourself at home, I’m going to take a quick shower,” you tell him sweetly, slipping past him to head for the bathroom.

Levi nods, and he takes a second to just comprehend the fact that he’s even here at all.

Looking around, he sees that your apartment is very… you.

In the past four months that Levi’s known you, he’s hardly learned anything personal. Though he’s gradually become more comfortable in your presence, very little words are exchanged apart from poking fun at each other or talking about things more paramount than life itself. All he knows about you, at this singular point in time, is that you’re incessantly kind, wonderfully talented at baking, and hard-working, but that all seems to show up here, in this little capsule you call home.

From what he can see from his view at the entrance, everything is spotlessly clean. On the dining table, there’s a few potted herbs growing from sprouts, and on the counters of the kitchenette adjacent to the door, there’s an array of various teas, one of which is the kind he himself drinks at home, as well as a dish-drying rack latent with measuring cups and utensils.

Further inwards is a couch with a neatly folded blanket and several pillows, all dyed with pale colors of the sky. There’s a coffee table in the center of the living room, the glass seemingly well-loved with faint stains of hot metal and water spots that won’t fade.

And, just outside your window, there’s an assortment of all sorts of plants, strewn and wrapped around the railing of your balcony. That very first time he’d sat and had his cake while you had your tea, those very leaves fell from there and landed like slow on people strolling through the street below, and, underneath the rain, the greenery reflects moonlight onto the pale, wooden floor.

Levi, conscious of the fact that his wheelchair would ruin the floor if he used it to get around, gets up as best he can and walks over to the couch, planting himself in the cushions and staring up at the ceiling.

He breathes slowly, too cautious to make even a sound, and in the distance, he hears the stronger sound of shower water hitting porcelaine. His mind’s hazy as he’s still forced to listen to the falling rain, pitter-pattering just a few feet away from him, and he has to completely abandon his head to give himself way to not think too hard about what the rain carries with it.

Both fortunately and unfortunately, he’s mastered the art of turning minutes into seconds for himself, and he has no meaningful thoughts between the time you’ve started your shower and now returned with a towel draped over your shoulders.

You’re dressed much more casually here, in a loose-fitting shirt and shorts. It’s the first time that he’s seeing you with your hair down, always used to seeing you with a ribbon tying it away from your face.

He already thought you were pretty enough during the daytime, your hair ribbon blowing in the breeze and the thread of your apron matching that of the stitch on his right gardening glove, but even with how muddled his mind is here, his breath is stolen again by the sight of you here, fresh out of the shower, your hair wet and dripping water onto your garments.

He can only be thankful that you seem too nonchalant to pay any mind to him, blindly walking over to the couch from the bathroom. Once you reach him, you hand him a spare towel as you take a seat next to him, pushing your back up against the couch. “I’m so tired,” you yawn once more, stretching out your legs. “Did you want to freshen up before bed?”

He looks down at the towel, rubbing his thumb against the fibers.

Yes.

But he knows he’s already taken advantage enough of you even allowing him to stay the night.

“I’m alright. You should go to bed.”

You hum next to him, joining in his ceiling gazing. In his periphery, he sees you flutter your eyes closed and relax your face, but he refuses to look too hard.

“Is this about you not wanting to be an inconvenience again?”

Yes .

“No.”

“Somehow, I doubt that.”

Is he that easy to read?

Levi gulps. “Really, you can just go to sleep already. I’ll be fine on the couch.”

“Well, I wasn’t going to offer that you take the bed if you weren’t going to shower,” you jest, chuckling next to him. There’s a shift in the weight on the couch as you slowly get up, and when you turn to face him before heading off to your room, there’s a quiet, shy smile on your face, framed perfectly with moonlight. “I’m going to bed, then. You’ll probably see me in the morning, but if you miss me, I’ll see you next week.”

And with that and a wave goodnight, you’re gone, and all that Levi feels is a soft towel underneath the pads of the fingers on his left hand.

｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☀︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ

After several hours of complete silence wherein Levi only stared up at the ceiling, trying to escape his mind as he forces himself to reassess the feeling of the couch fabric against his aching bones, he hears the opening of a door.

More specifically, your bedroom’s door.

That’s odd on its own. The sun isn’t anywhere near out, and he hadn’t heard any stir from your room to assume you’d had a bad dream.

Levi closes his eyes to feign sleep, but he’s (very) apparently bad at it when he feels a faint breeze as you wave your hand in front of his face. His eyes flutter open, and he’s met with the sight of you, hands now behind your back as you tie on your apron over a long dress. You haven’t turned the lights on, so there’s only pale moonglow to light your apartment, yet his eyes trace your features like a moth to a flame.

“What’re you doing up?” He whispers, his voice scratchy.

You raise a brow at him. “More like, why are you up?”

Couldn’t sleep.

“I asked first.”

You hum to yourself, looking between him and the door. “I have to head down to the bakery soon.”

He looks to the clock on the wall. 3:45 AM.

“This early?”

“Yeah, all those sweets don’t make themselves,” you sigh airily, leaving him at the couch to grab your bookkeeping items at the kitchen counter. “I’m used to it, though, so it’s alright.”

“It still sounds like torture.”

“Your turn now.”

He waits until you’re headed for the shoe rack by the door, faced away from him.

“Couldn’t sleep.”

There’s the faint sound of fabric on fabric as you slide on your shoes, then a slight jangling of keys as you go to the hook by the door to put them in your pocket. You open the front door, and you look back at him over your shoulder, smiling sadly for him.

“Want to come with me, then? I can get you something to eat, if you’re just going to be awake anyway.”

When Levi hesitates to answer, you immediately perk up and wave your hands out in front of you.

“You don’t have to, I just thought I’d offer!”

. . .

“Why are you being so nice to me?”

The when I’m who I am is left out of the question, just as it was the last time he’d asked this, but he’s still afraid you’d heard it anyway.

You groan, throwing back your head as you do so. “You’ve already asked this before.”

That’s because he still doesn’t understand.

“Then you can answer it again.”

“Ok, well now you have to come with me,” you sigh. “Come on, old man.”

He frowns halfheartedly, but he starts to pull himself up from the couch, unable to do away with your offer. “Who are you calling old?”

“Gee, I wonder,” you sass, scoffing. “You’re, like, what? A thousand?”

Maybe it’s because you can tell that he’s upset about something, or maybe it’s because he’s so exhausted that he thinks anything that anyone says is funny.

Whichever reason it is, he’s thankful that you’ve got him smiling, even if only in spirit, and that he’s got enough strength to walk over to you, lightly knock the back of your head, and go put on his shoes.

Might as well just tell you now. 

“40.”

“Wow, I knew you were old, but I didn’t think you were that old,” you playfully prod, reorienting his wheelchair so that he can sit in it easier from where he’s already standing. “You certainly don’t look 40, though. Good for you!”

You hold it in place for him, and he rolls his eyes as he sits down. “Yeah, right, and you were born yesterday.”

“If 36 years ago counts as ‘yesterday,’ then, yes, you’d be correct.”

Levi sighs. “Let’s just fucking go.”

You laugh, lighting up the room with sunshine as you shake your head and open the door wider for wider to go through. “Whatever you say, old man.”

｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☀︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ

In the kitchen, Levi’s earnestly caught in a daze as he watches you get everything in order for opening.

It’s calming in its own right, that he gets to watch you do what you love and see the passion with which you move with in your own space. There’s a window just above the sink, and the moon is right there where the sun will rise in a couple hours. 

True to your word, you give him something to eat. You set down a loaf of bread, some butter, and a bowl of fruit in front of him for Levi to have as a makeshift breakfast, and while he chips away at it, cautiously taking bites to be polite even if he isn’t all that hungry, he tries to think of how to ask you how he can help.

He wants to help. He really, really does. If for no other reason, his conscience is screaming at him to try and be of help, to find himself reason to say that this could be his in this life.

But you work quickly—too quickly—and Levi barely understands what’s happening as you pull out basins of all these ingredients he can’t name. Things get put in the oven, back in the freezer, covered in thin cloths. You mumble instructions to yourself as you hold what looks like an inventory card in your left hand, doing things with your right, and all Levi knows to do is watch and try to figure out what’s happening.

In a way, he’s not surprised to see that you’re not as talkative as he’d imagine, all with everything that’s seemingly on your shoulders—having to bake an entire day’s worth of inventory all on your own, taking care of bookkeeping, being swarmed with company all hours of the day.

And even though you don’t ask for anything, only smiling at him when you accidentally make eye contact with him between searching for appliances and ingredients, Levi can’t help but feel like he’s bothering you by being here, burdening you with an unuseful presence.

“Is there anything I can do?” He asks, now having finished a decent amount of the bread and butter you’d given him. It tastes divine, even in its simplicity, but he doesn’t have the heart to finish it.

You hum, not looking up as you turn on the culinary scale on the counter and set a large bowl on it. “Nothing I can think of in particular. Antsy to keep your hands busy?”

No, he just doesn’t want to be dead weight.

“Sure.”

You turn your face away from the counter, yawning before looking behind where you’re standing at some labeled glass containers of tea. “Think you could make some tea for me?”

Would he even know how to make anything but the bitter, boring black tea he sips in the nighttime?

He ought to at least give it a try.

“Alright.”

Your eyes scan the containers before your hand reaches out to grab one, and you lean over the countertop on your tippy-toes to push it across to Levi.

He catches it, and he turns the glass around to read the label. White Peony.

Well, he’s fucked.

“There’s a kettle over by the stove,” you tell him, settling back on your feet and walking over to the refrigerator. “Make some for yourself, too, if you want. I have plenty of other blends on the shelf”

He most definitely isn’t going to brew anything for himself, but he appreciates that, even after all this time, you still extend the offer.

He hates the fact that he still can’t accept it, though.

And he hates that you’re still wasting your effort in getting him to.

He wheels himself over to the kettle, remembering where it’d been last night when he was cleaning the kitchen, and he fills it with water from a faucet marked for drinking. Going back to the stove, he places the kettle on the heated rings, and turning the dial, he lights the flame.

He waits, staring at the flame as it licks the underside of the metal, and he follows it upwards as the water steams from the spout and draws wisps in the cold, morning air of this kitchen. The kettle whistles, and he takes it from the heat to keep it from boiling over.

Near where he’d found the kettle, there’s your personal teaware set, composed with a teapot, two cups, and a tea infuser on a tray. He stands briefly to pull it closer to himself, and after lifting the lid to the pot, he opens the container of tea you’d given him, and he holds it over the pot and the infuser.

He hasn’t got any clue of how much you’d need to flavor a pot, so he takes his best guess and puts in about as much as he would at home with the black tea leaves he uses. He tips it into the infuser, careful not to let any dried petals spill, he closes it, and gently drops it to the bottom of the pot.

He pours the hot water from the kettle over the tea, tipping the spout slowly so as to not splash it onto himself, and he puts the lid back on. On the panel above the oven, just right next to the stove, there’s a small clock, so he watches and waits for the five minutes he thinks it’ll take for the tea to finish brewing.

He looks over his shoulder to see you now, shaping buttery dough and placing it onto trays on the countertop, biting your bottom lip in concentration. There’s a swipe of flour on your brow, as well as some that’s caught on your cheek, but you look so focused that he can only assume that you’re unbothered by it.

He clears his throat to get your attention, and the furrow at your brow disappears as you look up at him. “Your tea is ready.”

“Thank you! I’ll be there in a second,” you singsong, smiling at him. “I hate to ask, but could you pour it for me? My hands are a bit preoccupied.”

He nods. “Sure.”

As he moves the teacup closer to him to remove the infuser and pour it, he hears you finish up with the bun and go over to the sink near him to wash your hands, flicking off the excess water before reaching for a paper towel. Levi’s hands are careful to not spill any tea, and when the teacup is filled he slides it closer to where you are.

He watches as you pick it up to take a sip, and he crosses his fingers in his lap that you like it.

. . .

And, because the universe is out to get him, it’s painfully obvious from the sudden downturn of your smile that you don’t.

You pull the teacup from your lips and cough, putting it back on the counter and burying your face into your elbow.

Levi has no idea what to do, the horror of the situation freezing him in place, and all he can do once the initial shock passes is reach for a napkin on the counter to give to you. “Shit, I’m sorry!”

You take it hastily and wipe at your mouth, pulling it away from your face to see if it’s collected any color. You clear your throat aggressively, and you sniffle. “Wow.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” you cough again, “it’s just really strong.”

“I’m sorry, I put in as much as I use when I-”

Fuck.

He catches himself in his lie, and he’s grateful that don’t seem to notice his pause.

“When I make it for houseguests.”

You sniffle again, and you slide the teapot to yourself, opening the lid to see the rest of the brew. “Well, you better stop putting so much, or no one’s ever going to come back,” you laugh.

You pick up your cup again, and before Levi can speak up to tell you that he’d be more than happy to try again under your instruction, you take another sip, wincing afterwards.

“Why are you still drinking it?”

You take another sip before taking it with you, going back to the dough and portioning off another piece to start shaping it, your hands delicately handling it as you pat it down on the countertop. “I might as well, right?”

“I can try again, you don’t have to drink it if you’re worried about me being offended. I know it tastes like shit.”

You giggle, shaking your head. “It’s not perfect, but I don’t mind.”

. . .

You don’t?

Surely, you do, and you’re just not telling him.

He can barely stomach the thought of anything but the tea he knows—the one that’s boring, painfully strong, always the same—how could you be fine with yours being brewed so completely wrong?

“Just tell me how to do it properly, and I will.”

“It’s alright, you already went to the trouble. I can tell you put some love in it, too,” you wink, putting another piece onto a baking tray. You split off another portion of dough. “I can always make another cup for myself later, anyway. It’s not a big deal.”

“But, still, if you could just have a better cup now-”

“Ah, ah, ah,” you tut, holding up your index finger at him. “ I am the king of this kitchen right now, not you, and what I say goes.”

“But your tea-”

“And I say that this tea is completely fine, so shut up, and come help me put these trays in the oven.”

Levi feels a hiccup bubbling up in his throat, telling him to fight harder to make sure that you’re actually fine with the tea he’d brewed for you in his morning stupor, but with the way you’re looking at him, eyes shining with playful willingness, he forces himself to swallow it and just accept that he can’t force humility onto you.

Fuck.

“Fine.”

｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☀︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ

It takes Levi nearly two cycles of the moon to come back to the bakery, meaning he returns in no more than two month’s time later.

Why he takes so long to return, you might ask?

Well, after having completely made a fool of himself by making your tea incorrectly (and the banter which took place in the thereafter), you and him worked in near silence as you got ready to finish getting ready for the day. It’s with conviction that he says he cannot remember most of it, in a rush as you gave him orders to do miscellaneous things around the kitchen and clean up little, unimportant messes.

That much of the morning was normal enough.

And, truthfully, the rest of it was too.

He’d helped you clean tables in the front, loaded up confectionaries in the display case, watered the potted herbs on the shelf with a small watering can you’d kept underneath an awning that collected rainwater. You’d given him a slice of plain cream cake, and he ate it at the table in the corner as you got to putting the potted plant by the door and finishing up with some things in the kitchen. When he’d left, you’d sent him off with a smile, a wave, and a box of chocolate tarts to bring home for the kids, secured to the back of his wheelchair in a cloth bag with white ribbon keeping it stable, and he’d tried his best to tell you in his own way that he was grateful for you affording him shelter for the evening. 

Of course, he’d been nervous as all hell all throughout, but he was fine.

Everything was fine.

And you’d never force it out of him, but it was the most at peace he’d felt in a long time, even if he did ruin your morning pot of tea.

So, really, it wasn’t anything that had happened that kept him from you.

What’d kept him from coming back was his own conscience, and its insistence that he needs to distance himself from you, for reasons he can’t name other than the nervous feeling which reaches the tips of his fingers when he thinks of you. He’d done a decent enough job at swatting away the feeling before, but it’s been gnawing at him recently in a way that’s too troublesome to ignore.

In that kitchen, with you, the clock had ticked slowly, just as it always did at that time of day, but it wasn’t at all forlorn in the way he’d learned it to be.

4 in the morning, in his world, is when his eyes will burn, and he has to force himself to search the labyrinth of his mind for happy memories to subside those less so. When his chair starts to feel uncomfortably stuffy, and he has to bear the pain until it’s too much. When he has to take a walk around the fields outside to clear his head, and he has to do it all over again when it’s 4 in the morning the next day.

4 in the morning, in your world, is when you fill the bakery with the homely smell of fresh bread, when cakes get decorated and pastries get put together. When your ribbon blows in the swift morning gale which comes through the lone window—when you’re most at peace, and, surprisingly so, when he is too—, and you get to do it all over again when it’s 4 in the morning the next day.

The evening following that time spent with you, when it’d became 4 in the morning, he had thought of you; tying on your apron with warm hands, watching the moon through glass that’s frosted over in cold, morning fog, wiping fingerprint smudges off of windowpane.

It comforted him—the thought that you were awake, too, only doing things that made you happy.

The thought that somewhere, not too far away from the world he resides in, you’re there in your own.

And he feels like he isn’t welcome there—in your world—even at your best protest.

He’s not supposed to be happy at 4 in the morning, for that’s nothing he’s ever known to be at that time of day.

Or at any time of day, really.

In the ensuing mornings, when the clock would click into place at 4:00, it was all he could think about, all he could remember, all he could feel.

And it feels wrong.

He’s supposed to be acting in remembrance—half-alive and fully-awake as he forces himself to remember his lives past lived, gripping the armrests of his chair and feeling the leather start to peel underneath his fingernails. The solace he’d found in the knowledge that you were also awake when he was eroded in the same manner the moon crescented, and it became something he’d felt shame for.

And he has no idea what to do about it—the comfort which gives way for light to reach his empty heart. He’d already experienced enough while in your presence alone; how could he allow you to do the same and worse to him even during the hours of the day reserved for only the darkest parts of himself?

Levi’s not an idiot. He knows all too well that he’s getting attached.

Which is why he chooses to stay away.

It doesn’t do much. He still thinks of you in the wee hours of the morning, how your hair had fallen over your shoulders when he’d seen it down, how you’d always leave a cup of tea out for him to try, how you’d smiled at him when he’d left that morning. He goes past the bakery every so often, seeing it in passing after going to the market for miscellaneous items he needs for the house.

But he keeps at it, willing himself to stay at his quiet little farmhouse, spending his days doing nothing of importance.

He has his tea, he gardens in the fields and sprays the insecticide he’d bought so long ago, he tries to find sleep in his chair. He makes spinach soup for the kids because they refuse to eat vegetables from anywhere but the garden they help pick from and water, and he’ll send Gabi off with some of the day’s harvest for her cousin. He’d celebrated Gabi’s birthday with her, Falco, Onyankopon, and those tarts you’d given him before he’d left, lit a candle for Moblit on his, and was forced to join the 104th at a bar for Springer’s.

So many things, all amounting to nothing.

But it’s not like he has anything else to do.

And it’s not like you would’ve missed him, anyway, now that he’s stopped coming.

What’s there about a man like him to miss?

But, in the end, he’s bound to routine and its troubles all the same, and his hands eventually find themselves pushing forward the wheels to take him back to the bakery. And maybe he could blame his heart, telling him that he needs to see you again, even if he’s sure he isn’t detached enough yet to brave the sight of you, but it’s truly without intention that he finds himself back here.

He’ll come, say a brief hello, order, and leave. That much should keep his mind at ease, his heart satisfied.

And, besides, today is his mother’s birthday.

In years past, he’d simply pour out an extra cup of tea to share with her spirit, but with how its seemingly become more commonpractice among himself and his friends to celebrate birthdays and other events more formally, he thinks he ought to get a cake for her, and he can’t imagine anywhere else he’d go to fetch that but your bakery.

As he approaches its spot at the corner of the road, he feels a squeeze in his chest, telling him for the thousandth time that he’s not supposed to be here, but there’s a tug on his heartstrings which tells him to suck it up and just brave the worse parts of his conscience.

But before he can even begin to question why, the windows are blocked with curtains he’s never seen closed before, the door isn’t propped open with an annoyingly large potted plant, and there’s not a trace of the life there’d been in the months prior before he’d stopped coming.

He remains still in his wheelchair in front of the closed door, staring up at a small sign hanging from it.

Temporarily Closed!

. . .

He feels no breeze as he rereads the words, over and over again. He knows there’s wind—his hair blows with it, prickling his eyes—but he feels none of it. He only feels as if he’s stuck there, trying to fool himself into thinking he’s misreading the sign.

It’s closed?

Maybe this is the universe telling him that he should’ve found another, more shitty bakery to get his mother’s birthday cake from.

That he should’ve stayed at home in the first place, and that he should’ve just steeled himself for long enough to lose the desire to come back.

That he wasn’t meant to come here at all.

That he’s not wanted here.

That he’s not supposed to be here.

The feeling is nearly as painful as the thought that you’ve closed shop.

What happened to the bakery?

How long is “temporarily?”

Where are you?

What’re you doing now?

How’re you doing now?

Are you okay?

He knows that he has no right to be asking in the first place, especially given the fact that he’s been absent for long enough for this to even transpire.

But-

Actually, no.

He does have no right to be asking those questions.

It’s none of his business anymore. He’s been gone for so long that he has no right to be worried.

He’ll go home, pour out two cups of that same boring black tea, and he’ll mull over all the ways he can try to salvage the faint heartbreak he feels here. It’s of his own doing that he’s found himself having missed opportunity to come here again, and it’s too late.

Just as he’s finally gotten back control of his body and is about to leave, there’s a leaf that falls in front of him, and he takes his hands off the grips of his wheelchair to catch it between his fingers. It feels crisp in his hands, like that pink ticket that’d brought him back here in the first place.

Looking up to see the plant from which the leaf had fallen, there’s long leaves of the plants above the awning and on your balcony that sway with the wind, drawing in sunlight and dripping with water. There’s a glare from a window from across the way, but because of the rust that’s lightly coating the railing, it doesn’t burn his eyes.

And he sees a white ribbon, moving alongside the zephyr.

And because his soul speaks for him, he calls your name.

The two tails of the ribbon get pulled in by hands that’re familiar to him, even after having not seen them since two moons past, and from over the raining, you appear, looking down at him.

There’s an expression he can’t read on your face as you and him make eye contact.

And you disappear, just as you’d came into view.

God fucking damn it.

He knew he never should’ve come here.

He should’ve listened to the better part of his conscience—the part that thinks with his brain, not his heart.

He should’ve kept at building the distance he’d try to foster between the two of you. The one-sided attachment he has to you should’ve been enough to tell him that he’s better off just trying to forget the last five months ever happened.

He should’ve known better.

He lets the leaf in his hands drop to the stone road, and he looks back at the door that’s still just as closed as it was seconds ago.

Well, there’s nothing else to do but go back in the direction from which he came.

He can’t even bring himself to sigh the breath of loss as he grabs hold of his wheels again, reorienting himself to head home.

He’s slow as he moves, pushing forward across stone that’s a bit bumpy and covered with strewn green. He keeps his eyes downward, shame surely evident on his features as he waits for himself to fully gain control of his body and mind again.

It’ll be okay.

He’ll find another shitty bakery to get his mother’s birthday cake.

He’ll stay home.

He’ll not come here again.

He’ll know he’s not wanted here.

He’ll know he’s not supposed to be here.

He’s broken out of his thoughts when he hears the echo of a bell ringing, and before he can look over his shoulder to see what’s the source of that sound, he feels warmth around his chest.

Arms from behind are wrapped around him, firm yet gentle, and there’s a weight on his left shoulder as a head gets placed there. He can hear labored breaths, as if someone had just come running down the stairs. There’s the faint smell of sugar and tea tickling his nose, and he feels the satin of a ribbon falling over into his lap.

”Levi!”

It’s you.

For just a second, his body tenses up, unsure of how to react to the feeling of yours against his.

And, just as soon as he’s finally begun to even comprehend the idea that he could relax into your embrace and let himself crumble under the weight of relief, you pull away from him and move to stand in front of him, your hands on your knees as you bend down to meet him at eye level.

He only knows how to stare dumbly at the you who now beams at him with a smile that reaches your eyes.

“It’s good to see you again, I missed you!”

. . .

You…

missed him?

Levi’s heart drops. “You did?”

“Of course I did!”

. . .

“Why?”

You look at him with confusion. “You came every Wednesday, why wouldn’t I miss you?”

“I’m sorry,” he manages to whisper.

You wave him off. “Don’t be, I’m just glad to see you. What’ve you been up to for the past two months?”

“...Nothing.”

“Oh, come on. An old man like you has nothing to do?” You tease playfully. “No grandkids to take care of?”

He deadpans. “Ha, ha, very funny.

“They liked the tarts you sent me off with, though. They said to say ‘thank you.’”

To the pretty lady who works at the bakery, they’d also said to pass along, but Levi isn’t going to say that.

“Tell them it’s no problem, I’m glad they liked them.”

“I will.”

You chuckle, shaking your head and standing up straight again. “So, what brings you back here today?”

“I was going to get a birthday cake, but the bakery is kind of,” he kisses his teeth, “closed.”

You hum, looking over to the blocked out windows. “Well, you’d be right about that.”

“What happened?”

“What happened to what?” You ask sarcastically. “You mean to the bakery?”

He nods.

You laugh, putting your hands into the pockets of your dress. “Funny story, it got broken into.”

Levi’s heart drops even further. “What?”

You wince, nodding. “Yeah, it was a while ago, not too long after your last visit. The bakery was closed, and some people came through and wrecked everything looking for money. Everything in the front is basically torn to shreds, and there’s still glass on the floor from when they broke the display case.”

“What fucking idiot breaks a dessert display to look for money?”

You chuckle. “The ones that robbed me, I guess. They did some real damage, though.”

“But did they find it?”

“What, the money?” You sadly smile. “Yeah.”

His heart falls to the pit of his stomach.

“...Are you okay?”

“Well, I’m here right now, aren’t I?” You laugh. “But I was out shopping for something when it happened, so I wasn’t hurt or anything.”

Thank fuck, but that's what he meant.

"But the money-"

"It wasn't all of it, just what I kept downstairs. Really, don't worry about me."

He's still going to, anyway.

He frowns. “I’m sorry. That's all horrible.”

You shrug halfheartedly. “I’ve cried about it plenty already, no real point in staying upset. I’ll be able to reopen eventually, so it’ll all be okay in the end.”

How could any of this be okay?

He frowns, hearing that you’d cried.

And it makes his heart heavier, knowing that he’d spent all this time thinking you’d been awake in the mornings baking when you weren’t doing that at all.

Knowing that he’d wasted his time being selfishly obsessed with distancing himself from you, to the point that you had missed him, even when you had plenty of other, more important things to worry about than him not coming back to the bakery.

And he only has himself to blame for him not being there for you when this’d all happened.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” He asks cautiously.

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

Maybe because there’s a grief in losing your work?

“Having to close, even temporarily, sounds hard.”

“I wouldn’t lie to you, I swear I’m fine,” you say, looking up at the sky.

You’re lying.

You don’t say anything else, so Levi’s eyes follow yours to the sky. He himself doesn’t really know what else there is to say, given the gravity of this, so there’s a silence, but it’s not the one that hangs overhead when Levi would come on Wednesdays. This quiet is only there because you don’t want to talk or even think about the bakery, and it’s painfully obvious to Levi that there’s something wrong.

It feels wrong, to say the least, but at least he’s not the one to confront that when, after what feels like a lifetime of cloudgazing, you clear your throat.

“Who’s birthday is it, if you don’t mind me asking?”

He keeps his eyes trained above, speaking slowly. “My mother’s.”

You hum. “It’s nice of you to think to get a cake for her. You’re a good son.”

Is he?

“I should let you go. I wouldn’t want you to be late meeting her.”

Levi doesn’t want to go, but he knows he has to, if for no reason other than the fact that he knows he’s wasting your time by being here.

“Right,” he sighs. “Do you know any bakeries nearby?”

“I hope you know you aren’t allowed to be a regular customer anywhere else,” you joke. “When I reopen, you better come back and sit at that corner table every Wednesday again.”

He can’t say that he’ll be able to fend off the devil on his shoulder, but he’ll try his best if that’s what you’re asking of him. “No promises.”

“I guess that’s good enough for me,” you smile goodnaturedly, now looking at him. “Well, if you’re looking for a cake somewhere else, what flavors does she like?”

Did like.

In any case, he isn’t sure she’d ever had a cake in her life in the first place to have a flavor to call her favorite.

“I don’t really know. I suppose anything would be fine”

You hum. “You could try the shop three streets down. They have a bit of everything, but it’s kinda expensive.”

He hadn’t brought any more money than it’d cost to get a cake from your bakery because he didn’t want to be tempted to get something for himself while he was here.

“Anywhere else?”

“Um,” you look around, tapping your index finger on your cheek. “There’s a bakery by the clock tower at the center of the city, but I think they’re also pretty expensive because it’s owned by a company.”

He frowns. “Is anything around here affordable?”

You snort. “No, absolutely not.”

“And that’s all the bakeries?”

“...Yeah, at least all the good ones.”

Well, he certainly isn’t going to disrespect his mother and get her a bad cake.

He sighs. “It’s fine.”

Levi can just go back home and do what he always does when it’s his mother’s birthday.

He supposes that it’s tradition begging to be kept, if he can’t get a cake for her. Maybe he can stop on the way back home and grab some flowers instead-

“Actually, when do you have to meet with her?”

“What? Why’re you asking?”

“Ah, well,” you look up to your balcony, “if you could wait a few hours, I can make the cake for you. The bakery kitchen might not be available for business, but the one in my apartment works just as well.”

“What? You don’t have to do that.”

You have better things to do with your personal time than do this for him.

“Well, it’s not fair to your mother that she doesn’t have a cake on her birthday just because some small-time criminals decided to rob my bakery.”

It’s also not fair that your bakery was robbed in the first place. You don’t need to be downplaying how much it’s hurting you to have to close shop.

“It’s alright, you don’t have to-”

“You still haven’t answered my question,” you raise.

Because there is no answer. He’s not going to see his mother, and he’s never going to be able to again.

“...It’s subject to change.”

You smile. “Then it’s settled.”

“What is?”

“I’ll make you your cake.”

He frowns. “What choice do I have if you’re just going to insist anyway?”

“Well, I can’t force it into your hands, but if you came all this way already, then you must’ve really wanted a cake from me, right?”

And what’s he supposed to say to that?

No, I hate your baking, and I would rather go home empty-handed on my mother’s birthday than accept your help.

So he stays silent, and you take that as him giving in, and you flash a smile at him.

“That’s what I thought,” you start, making your way back over to the bakery door. You remain looking at him, one hand of the door handle after you’ve opened it, and he just stares back.

“What’re you looking at me for?”

“Do you want to come up and help? It’s okay if you don’t, I don’t mind delivering it to you.”

His heart breaks.

Why are you trying so hard?

“You’re really not going to change your mind, are you?”

You tilt your head in confusion, ever-oblivious to the storm in his mind. “Uh, it’d be really mean-spirited if I told you I’d make you a cake and then not give you one at all, so no, I’m not going to change my mind."

“I meant about-” he pauses, unsure.

About helping him all the time.

“Nevermind.”

“So… are you coming up or not? I can’t hold this door open forever.”

“You’re really going to waste your time like this?”

He’s sure you have other things you could be doing right now, you don’t have to do this for him.

“Levi, it’s just a cake. You don’t have to worry about the trouble.”

He finds any defense he can.

“But it’s cake for someone you don’t know.”

“I may not know her, but I know you. That’s enough reason on its own, isn’t it?”

“I just don’t think-”

“Levi,” you call, “enough of feeling sorry for me. Are you coming up, or do I need to collect your address to bring this to you later?”

Levi purses his lips.

He has no right to come up to your apartment again, to spend even more of your precious time.

Regardless of whether or not he wants to, he doesn’t know you.

All he does is stare outside a window with you, take advantage of your kindness, and will himself to come there every fourth-cycle of the moon to give himself some semblance of purpose in this life in the form of yearning and cake. He’d stopped, and now he’s back to only find himself begging his soul for the freedom to to feel his heart.

But, in the way you speak, you make it sound like you know him.

And even though he knows you don’t know him any more than he knows you, there’s nothing more he could ask for that could compare to the compassion of your heart, given to him forlorn in the way he’s never learnt it could be, even if his mind and soul are in such discord that they can’t decide whether or not that’s allowed of a person like him.

 And, in the way you’re looking at him here, practically holding out a hand to him, he can tell that you need someone.

Even if he doesn’t think he should be that someone, he’ll try his best.

It won’t be worth much, but it’s the least he can do to at least try and justify this decision to the part of himself that tells him he’s better off accepting the fact that he’s so unwholly a person deserving of even trying.

He puts his palms to metal and pushes forward, slipping past you through the gap in the door that you hold open.

He’ll put aside his own selfish, meaningless tendencies, but he can only hope to begin to accept the warmth of someone like you, who shines as brightly as the sun.

“I’ll help.”

｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☀︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ

continue chapter one!

[analiticalanonymous]

Nightmare!Sans X Reader

So, years ago I made this fanfic on Wattpad, and I was super proud of it at the time. I still acknowledge the sheer magnitude of accomplishments and trials I went through to complete this piece. However, it was originally smut, and I was a bit on the younger side when I wrote it originally. To my younger audience who may stumble upon this, that does not make it okay to do the same. I was at risk and introduced to some bad people who were NOT good.

Now then, I want to redo it and get rid of the smut and simply keep it as a angst-to-fluff fix. I saw alot of comments talking about how they cried and were getting emotionally invested when the smut just kinda popped up. And I recognize they were not wrong in the slightest! So I'm going to fix up the grammar and such and update this bad boy! If you log on to Wattpad and saw the original? No you didn't.

⛔⚠️!!Trigger Warning!!⚠️⛔

Mild gore, Abuse, angst, verbal abuse, reader stands up to the abuse, violence, starvation(nightmare and minorly reader), implied suicidal thoughts, depressive episodes, everything gets resolved, flashbacks, nightmares, trauma, neglect, fear, redemption

This is fiction and should NOT be acceptable in real life, if you see or are in a relationship like this then please seek help as this is not acceptable behavior to have. This is fiction and meant for enjoyment, it is written to have a happy ending unlike real life where your decisions determine how happy your ending is. Read with caution.

A long time ago you chose your side in the war of light and dark. To fight alongside either The Stars or The Evil.

And to everyone's surprise, you chose the path of shade..

You were the first ever member to join. In fact. You were there before Nightmare ate that wretched apple. That apple..That damned apple-

Ruined e v e r y t h i n g.

It haunts every thought and plauges every memory you've tried to forget and collect through the years. It slipped it's way into the life of the one you cared most about through deceit and vows of protection. The one you should have listened closer to. The one that needed you since the beginning..

Your heart ache on that day...it was so long ago but the gorey wounds of your torn heart gained that one faithful day still bleeds in heavy streams of guilt-ridden sorrow. You remember the chest crushing anxiety and the adrenaline that tried to pacify. That pulsed in your ears with your tears being the only window to your inner turmoil...

.

.

.

"I-I'll prove to you that my apples are J-JUST AS GOOD AS YOURS! I'LL SHOW ALL OF YOU!" Night declared into the field with a quivering voice. His shrunken eyelights vibrate and blur in his self-destructive state as he curls away from the growing crowd. He resembles a cornered animal simply trying to prove it's capable of surviving.

He looks down at his trembling hands as he noticeably hesitates before a look of persuaded finality stole his true-face away. He opened his jaw and bit into the black gleaming apple, adorned with specks of white in resemblance to the very faint stars beginning to appear above. Its appearance reminding you clearly of it's gaurdians name.

"NIGHT NO!-" You and Dream screamed simultaneously as you both frantically tried to run towards him and reach out for the sinful fruit. Your frantic mind was scattered with a primal fear of what was to come if he followed through and swallowed, the whisper of voices in your mind promising nothing good would come from it, that you needed to take it away before it was too late.

But the damage was done far quicker than anyone could have predicted.

You see, no one knew what would happen if you were to eat an apple from the tree. No matter the species. At least....not at the time.

His ear piercing shrieks strike through the air and were echoed all throughout the valley as lavender tears streamed down his cheekbones in pain. It made you stumble, your eyes widening in brief surprise that seared into unfamiliar terror as you slowly went from a sprint to a weak jog before you halted completely.

He collapsed to the ground clinging onto his head and screaming in a way that made your throat tighten up and your skin crawl. He shakily dragged his hands down from his skull to his throat, hacking and gasping until he began to claw at his very bones sobbing out-

"I-I CAN'T B-BREATHE!!"

His sockets and shaking pupils flaunted his fear and inhanced that gut wrenching sentence into something worse. The crowd surrounding the meadow gasped and murmured to one another in judgemental hushes. They did nothing but watch.

You wanted to scream at them. You wanted to scream at yourself. You wanted to scream at Dream who stood just as paralyzed as you. Scream at anyone- just- S O M E O N E to bloody do something! To help your dear, sweet, Night-

But you can't...your body is frozen, paralyzed by something ancient and primal. You are only a spectator to the horror before you. No amount of willpower could make you budge..

Black liquid began to gush out of his sockets as he choked audibly on some that poured out of his mouth. His normal glowing lavender pupils looked up to yours and shook in horror before they were split in half at the hands of the black substance in his right socket. A ear-peircing scream of agony dies in his throat from the black darkness that drowns him on dry land. It looked to have a mind of its own as it had taken the shape of tentacles and immediately started to latch onto his skull, seemingly pulling itself out of his eyesocket to further spread amongst his body, like a disease amongst a crowd.

Your soul shattered seeing the monster you have come to love crumple to nothing. Your mind roared at you in frustrated anguish to just- MOVE. MOVE, SCREAM, COMFORT. FUCK- DO SOMETHING YOU USELESS SACK OF- your body suddenly regains it's control and has you stumbling forward on weak legs. This sudden action fulls you with hope. It's at this very moment that your body gives a final flush of determination, flooding from your soul and into your veins, your body finally deciding to listen to your pleads for action. Your feet carried you across the field all the while fighting against your stiffened muscles to race to be next to him and help him in his time of need.

As you wish you had so long ago.

Your attempt was taken from you as you were shoved out of the way by a blunt force. Just before you could reach him. Shooting a frustrated look to your side you try to find what stopped you only to find that it was Dream who tackled you. "LET ME GO-" You were about to demand from him until you looked back over to Night, pausing your squirms of protest as your body slackens at the sight. You see in your previous spot a black appendage stemming from Night jabbed into the ground. It looked as solid and sharp as the finest blade from the greatest blacksmith.

What made you shudder in fear however was that... it...it was lodged right where your heart would have been...

It would have killed you and that was the intent.

"Night please! I beg of you! Fight it- please! You're so much stronger than that stupid apple!" You overlook the mortifying failed attempt on your life and focused on what mattered most to you at the moment. You needed him to ground himself, so you beckon him with anguish and frustration in your eyes, just trying to encourage him. Your hand reaching out to him once again to try and grab his clenched fists, tears pouring out of your eyes as your brows were furrowed with a pleading gaze, you try to latch onto the hope of his life secure with you.

Dream yet again takes your chance and rolled to the side with you wrapped in his arms as another tentacle like appendage struck with the intent to shatter your souls. But the physical damage was pale in comparison to the powerless feeling drowning out all sense of life preservation skills you were facing. You were now stuck and trapped to listen to Night's cries for help and pleas for it all to stop when all you could do was nothing. You struggled once again against Dream's powerful grip.

"I-I'M COMING NIGHT! JUST HANG ON, HUN!" You sobbed out as you fought against Dream's grip with whatever strength you could gather. It did nothing but tighten his hold... "D-Dream please! I need to t-talk to him! I can reach him! I KNOW I can! Let me stop this!" You pleaded frantically with your voice quivering as you tried to get out of his grasp for what you hope to be the last time.

His jaw opened to speak but his words die on his tounge when the spine chilling screams come to a abrupt end with a final weak gurgle resonating in the tense air. An eery hush swept the field leaving you and Dream to freeze.

The uncanny silence engulfs the once beautifully lit meadow, the orange sun rays of the setting sun that usually held such warmth and comfort, now only casted a feeling of unsettled dread with the an ambience that worsened the ache in all the souls present.

Nothing...there was no sound aside from the howls of the strong winds that gently glided through the rustling trees. All that was left for anyone to hear was their own racing hearts and souls thumping in their ears. The silence was deafening. Not even the crickets were chirping their nightly songs. Locusts cut off their mating calls so abruptly you wondered if they had all died simultaneously. Not even the village people were whispering to one another- which was all that they seemed to do when it came to, Night.

Both you and Dream slowly turned your widened eyes to look at Night with the same cautionary snail's pace that made you break your intense eye contact. You see now that he was completely consumed by the black substance.

He was disturbingly quiet and still. Almost frozen in the position he was formally cradled into. "heh..." you both flinch at the low sound and looked to him more closely, getting a terribly sickening feeling sinking in your gut. "N-Night..?" You asked shakily gradually becoming more and more creeped out.

"hehe..."

....

"hehehe.."

....

"-hahAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!" His shoulders jostled with the sinister and deep rolling laughter. His head shot up to look at you both with an intensity that made you tremble.

Only one cyan pupil remained and burned with such reverence you saw its outline when you looked away. But his other pupil, that was ripped apart by the parasitic acting tentacles, was covered by the black tar-like substance that had destroyed his very body. Tears that were once in his eye sockets had stopped and instead began to dry up.

Not yours.

Yours were flowing freely now horrified by the monster you and Dream created, from senseless negligence and ignorance, the consequences of your failure was in front of you... it was all your fault... you never paid as much mind as you should have...

Tentacles shot out from his back, jolting him forward from the sheer force of the tentacles abrupt and forceful escape. This made him grin eerily wide after seeing he now had complete control of them.

"WELL?! DO YOU BELIEVE I'M GOOD ENOUGH YET!?" He stood up, wobbling slightly from his body still recovering from the torture it had just endured. His even deeper baritone voice booms with a new creepy twist behind it. His arms were stretched out wide openly embracing this new form with a wicked smile. Dream teleported both of you away gaining a vast distance from him.

"N-Night-" You tried to speak but were cut off yet again-

"NIGHT WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?!?!" Dream shouted just as loud as Night which startled you along with his strong grip slipping around your waist that tightened as he protectively held you to his ribs. "DON'T CALL ME THAT. NIGHT WAS A WEAK; PATHETIC PUSHOVER. I am so much more than that now...I..am your, Nightmare." He barked angerly with a narrowed socket. He looked down at his pitch black phalanges now sharp with claws, curling them into his palm and flexing them as if getting used to their lethality.

Night-or well... Nightmares' eye drifted up from his hands and back up to, Dream. His gaze dragged down to meet your fearful and teary (E/C) eyes. You shook like a child in winter without the warmth of their heart, now frozen under his harsh gaze. He smirked at you with something akin to sick delight. His eye lingered as he looked down a bit, scanning you. His smirk was prominently wide until his gaze halted at Dream and his uncomfortably tight embrace around you.

He growled. His eye now narrowing and glowing brightly with a snarl tugging onto his skull in disgust at the sight he just observed. He shot a tentacle your way quickly. Dream was going to block it but you reacted quicker and shoved him out of the way while shutting your eyes tightly, awaiting the overwhelming pain and burn to tear through your chest; it never did.

You opened your eyes slowly to see the sharp appendage just mere centimeters away from your heart. You looked up to see Night was frozen with a widened socket. He withdrew his tentacle quickly, stepping back with countless emotions flashing on his skull, seemingly frozen in shock. He seemed startled by your action. Or perhaps his own. Either way he wasn't expecting your involvement.

"Y/N! Come here!" Dream hollered and scrambled to his feet reaching out his hand for you to grab. That apparently snapped Nightmare out of his dark subspace as he grimaces and regained his intimidating stature.

"YOU GET EVERYTHING YOU WANT DREAM." Nightmare bellowed with a stentorian voice that booms across the vast open field and echos through the mountains around your village back into your very core where it reverberated, the outburt startling both you and Dream into looking at him. His voice left your nerves feeling shot from the magnitude of primal fear coursing though you, but that ontop of the fact that you're not used to his voice being raised, made you flinch and jump.

"Why don't you let HER decide who to go to instead of you just stealing her away like you usually do." He hissed now looking at you directly.

Your eyes widened at his voice for you. You looked up at Nightmare, mind replaying what you just witnessed him go through, your heart shattered at the freshly engraved memory of his petrified face he adopted whenever he took the bite of the apple and how miserable and angry he looked at you now. His normally beautiful lavender eyes were now buried in goop or masked in a neon teal glow. You looked back at Dream for his response. Would he let you even step a foot away from him? He's stopped you so much you fear he would just snatch you away again.

...

"Fine..." He finally agreed.

"Y/N. Choose. Me or Nightmare?" He asked you sternly as his eyes never left Nightmare's singular eye.

Dream had his arm still outstretched almost as if he was expecting the outcome of your choice. You looked back at Nightmare to see he was watching not Dream but YOU. He had an almost empty look in his eye but with the tiniest bit of patience and calmness that seemed to pacify him enough for your response.

You shivered and blinked but whenever you opened your eyes again you saw him. You saw Night... your lovely Night..you didn't even get to tell him how you felt..maybe...maybe now you could...maybe he could still hear you through all this...Maybe it would bring him back...

Maybe he was still the same Night you fell in love with.

You walked towards Nightmare slowly and cautiously, your embroidered white tunic flowing to the wind along with your free and unbounded hair. The petals from the (Favored flower) and lavender in your flower crown drifted with the breeze and into the paralyzed crowd.

Both Dream and Nightmare seemed surprised when you were now in front of him cupping his cheekbone. Tears of heartbreak streamed down your cheeks as you tried to summon a small smile and offer a comforting expression to him but it was stained with solemn remorse. "I've always chosen you Night.... that has and will never change.." You whispered and rested your forehead against his ribs not minding his newly gained sheen of liquid dripping down to the tip of your nose as you allow your tears to fall alongside the inky droplets to the swaying blades of golden lit meadow grass.

An arm that you identify as his wraps itself around your waist pulling you closer to him. "Well, Dream. It appears that she has FINALLY gotten to decide for herself!" He yelled back to Dream victoriously with a overbearingly smug smile in his voice.

"W-What...Y/N...why? Why'd you go to him?!" Dream asked in disbelief and frustration.

Nightmares' chest rumbled with a chuckle he had that quickly escalated into violent vibrations against your body as he roared out into a fit of laughter. "It appears you just LOST for once! And I didn't even DO anything to influence her! Amazing what someone with free will can decide! HAHAHAHA!" Nightmare jabbed at Dream soaking in his victory of your decision. He calmed down soon after as the air around you became remarkably cold.

"Get used to failure Dream," his grin disappears "because you're gonna be losing a lot more now."

He warned in a voice deepened into something you would connect to the terrors in horror stories. It was full of rage and carried an almost demonic presence to it.

You felt as if you were floating for a second before gravity weighed itself on you once again, nausea was out of the question by now since you were used to the brothers teleporting you everywhere in the village.

He let you go, free to do anything once again. But your emotions took a toll on your body and you crippled to the ground. It was almost as if the gravity of the situation hadn't settled in until now. It knew your sins and deemed you in need of further punishment.

He was your only support you had before that overwhelming sense of reality hit and came crashing down upon your frail body. Looking down and avoiding his eye, you had never stopped weeping, for you knew that the love of your life was nothing but a monster in his place.

"What? Already regret your decision?" He snarled down at you with a grin that bore no semblance of comfort or positivity but bitter hostility. He pushed passed your wilted form with an anger that radiated from him.

You flinch at his tone and harsh action yet looked up to him now equally as far gone as your dearest Night was. After all.. seeing your everything, your life, your love go through so much and disappear behind a beast of what once was...it was traumatic...

"I... I'm so sorry...I made you so miserable all these years without even knowing or acknowledging the signs... I should have been a better friend, I should have told Dream no, I should have comforted you..I...I should have been there..I'm sorry that I failed you.." You sniffled. His eye widened at first and he looked almost pained and panicked in your apology.

He quickly neutralizes his emotions and growls something deeply primal and lined with annoyance. "Quit your pity party and stand up. We have work to do, Y/N." He replied coldly. You felt the command pull at your limbs having you immediately attempt in fear of what would happen if you didn't offer complete obedience to this new momster before you.

Your legs gave out on you halfway, shaky beneath your weight. Nightmare rolled his dimly lit eye and glared down at you as he picked you up with a tentacle of his easily. He carried you for around 15 minutes to a large vacant meadow. It was filled with only the most beautiful flowers and meadow grass you had ever seen, even compared to your original universe.

It was beautiful...why would he take you both here..? You looked at the flowers and back to Nightmare as nostalgia overtook your vision with a memory. You remember how you had made him a lavender flower crown everytime he was sad to cheer him up, but this time seemed the worst so far so you made one with some of your personal favorites to brighten him up. He loved your flowers as well as his own, often claiming how perfectly the compliment eachother. This time he claimed his spell of sorrow was rooted to Dream taking one of his friends before he could spend time with them.

You didn't understand back then who he was talking about. Night avoided people sometimes and was quite shy, so finding friends was not his natural forte. If he had another friend then he would have told you with excitement as well since it was such a rare occurrence. But your curiosity and confusion didn't matter, he looked downright dreadful and somber. You needed to make him feel better and you successfully managed that as well as snagging a smile from him when you offered him reassurances.

'It's okay Nighty! I'll be your bestest friend! And I'll never leave your side for that stinky dreamy!'

You scrunched your nose as if smelling something awful. He bursted into a fit of giggles at your display and flushed a faint lavender. Your chest blossomed into warmth and you set the large crown over his skull. It sunk over his head and slipped around his neck. He straightened up and looked at you owlishly. You both bursted into loud spurts of laughter, the joyous sounds being the only thing echoing in your mind as the memory fades away.

That was so long ago...and things are different now..

So..so..different.

You're ripped from your nostalgic trip when a tentacle shoots passed your head, swiftly moving your hair with the speed in which it moved, and struck the ground with a loud thud.

The surrounding wildlife began to die and wilt, draining of color and life. It was now hideous and dull...

The ground shook and rumbled beneath you both, the unearthly quakes jostles your frame before he teleported into the sky easily remaining in place. He was a moment shy of a large mass of black stone that broke through the ground beneath where you were. And after a few painstakingly slow minutes the shifting of stone settled. The black heaps of rock had constucted itself into a massive castle.

He admired the structure for a moment before he decidedly teleported back to the ground once again. He paused and looked down at himself with stiff dissaproval. His hands raised to hover under his jaw before he slid his hands down his collarbone and ribs, the sludge that drowned his form creating a rippling effect around his hands as his outfit he had worn previously that day had changed his normal attire into a black hoodie that was made of the same substance as him along with loose fitted shorts and sneakers which the likes of which you had never seen. "Much better!~" He said with a smirk that held an emptiness you feel in your chest. It felt sinister..

He stepped through the door laughing dryly at something you can't peice together. This new Night scares you far beyond what your body and mind could comprehend...

.

.

.

You shot up in bed sweating and gasping for air with tears streaming your cheeks. You clawed at your chest right over your heart and soul, it thumped quickly against your clamy fingertips confirming your bodies responsive distress to your dream. Reinging in your erradic breaths and emotions proves to be an incredibly difficult feat.

Closing your eyes you felt as if your head was filled with lead, so you allowed the weight to overtake your heavy burdened skull down until your head hung low in your hands for a minute of reprieve. After a minute or so of drooping under the weight of gravity, you lifted your head in your hands and run them over your face as you continue all the way until you slick back your hair, holding the strands in place against your scalp. You throw your head back to be parallel to the ceiling while manually trying to regulate your breathing.

Calm down...just count back from five..

5.....

deep breath.....

4....

exhale....

3...

inhale...

2..

exhale..

1....

inhale...

You hold your breath until your lungs ached before you released the shaky breath. The light-headed feeling grounded you and calmed your pounding heart. Everything is fine...what happened in the past was simply that. The past...

Leaning against the bed post weakly you swallowed the lump in your throat. Your brows twitch at your efforts to keep a neutral face. It was the past...you've accepted that already...everyone you care about now is okay...they are safe...a smile ghosts your lips at the self-soothing thoughts.

Everything is going to be okay...

A shriek of fear peirces through the once peaceful silence of your room. You slowly open your eyes and simply stare off in the distance with a frown...there went that pleasant feeling you built up to.

You sighed tiredly. Every bone in your body beckoned you back to your bed for more rest...but your mind knew better. It took some serious pep-talking to get up and leave your room. You couldn't care enough to change so you decidedly stayed in your pajama shorts and tanktop that you slept in and headed to the sound of deep rasp laughter. Two distinguishable sets of laughter could be percieved between the screams of terror that you're ears subconciously became accustomed to.

Once you finally discerned where the ruckus was you ended up being brought into the kitchen right down the hall from all of the stationary rooms. You looked directly up where you heard the frantic screams you had been ever so kindly interrupted by earlier, only to spot the culprit. Error was up on the ceiling held up by his own strings and claws. Your gaze lowers to the cause of this reaction finding the instigator to be, Swapfell. Strange..he typically turned his nose up at the mere suggestion to rough housing or pranks. He found it 'too below him' as he put it. Yet here he was, carrying a large bone to knock Error down with.

"I HAVE TOLD YOU TIME AND TIME AGAIN YOU INSUFFERABLE PIECE OF SHIT TO LEAVE MY DAMN FOOD ALONE." Swapfell hollers in his signature outside voice up to Error with a snarl etched onto his scarred face.

You sigh in irritation and walk over to the obnoxiously loud skeletons who just couldn't seem to withhold a fraction of their amusement at the scene taking place.

"Where is he?" You question in a monotonous voice. Keep your tone level and you get to keep your levels, as Nightmare taught you.

"still in his room." Dust dismissed, automatically knowing who you were referencing to, as he barely acknowledged you through his sheer delight at Error's misfortune. Your eyes widened noticeably large. You're exhaustion extinguishing as you're vision is overcome with flashbacks of the gorey tragedy that took place a year ago...no...you can't have them disturb him. Not unless you want another incident...

You stormed over to Swapfell. You were originally going to step in anyways and take your time with the situation but this became urgent. You tried to politely get him to lay off but he refused and pushed you away, cussing you out before resuming his attack.

Your patience has just about run dry at this point so you snatch him by the scarf yanking him off his feet and onto his coccyx, him hissing out profanities and trying to claw at your arm as you dragged him to his seat. You picked him up and threw him into his seat with a glare of finality pinning him down.

Snapping your fingers you point to the seats at the table and shifted your withering glare to the others in a silent command that dared them to defy you right now. They seated themselves soon after at the table with nothing more than some annoyed grumbling. You turn your head to look at Error giving him a nod of approval for him to come down. He knows he's under your protection. He sighed relieved and slowly lowered down to the ground using his strings.

They must have really fucked with him if they got him screaming. His initial response to his phobia being used against him is rage, but it appears some boundries were crossed beyond usual today. Another time for this issue to be addressed. For now you need to make them shut up and aware of how close they got to recieving a hole-punch in their ticket of life.

"what's the big deal N/N? we're just havin' fun!" Fell exclaimed noisily in annoyance. Far too loud in this case...you leaned back to peer into the hallway and took a peek at Nightmare's door at the very end of the hall. Still closed and he's nowhere in sight. Good...he's still asleep...though you wonder how he could with all the comotion this morning.

You turn back to acknowledge all of them. "Oh really? And who's missing from all of this 'Fun' you were having, hm?" You questioned in an overtly exasperated manner and sarcastic mirth taking over your neutral expression.

"um...you...and killer?" Horror slowly questions in uncertainty, completely overlooking your sarcasm and ever so obvious intention of a rhetorical question.

You pinched the bridge of your nose and squeezed your eyes shut at the incoming migraine. You rested your weight onto your dominant leg and rested your other hand into the crease of your elbow. It's gonna be a long day...

"Yes, Sweety..we were missing from the table you are correct on that....but you still forgot someone...how about The King of Negativity and Darkness himself. Hm? Let's add him to the list. And guess what he's TRYING to do right now?" You look to the others for them to come to the realization. Horror was about to speak up but you cut him off before he could start.

"Don't-" you begin sternly before catching yourself and softening your expression and voice. "-answer it, Horror. I'm gonna answer it this time." He curled into himself in his seat.

Poor thing has been having cognitive issues since The Star Sans's targeted his skull injury a few missions ago. He requires a certain level of patience now and since you're the only one with empathy anymore he's latched to your hip most of the time, trying his best to communicate even through the frustrating lows he must endure now. You'll throw them a bone just this once, for him.

"He is resting. Do any of you remember what happened the LAST time you woke him up?" Their reactions varied from skeleton to skeleton but every single one had a similar look of mortified realization.

You sighed for the umpteenth time, exhaustion returning tenfold. God you needed a nap...

"didn't think he was gonna make it to breakfast. 'heard a crash from his room last night and he hasn't made a peep since." Dust shrugs dismissively with a bored expression, eyes wandering from the group as he visibly checks out from this meeting out of pure disinterest of the conversation.

"And you didn't think to check on your king? Or hell, inform me?" You asked with irritation slowly picking away at your resolve.

"he ain't my king." Dust said narrowing his sockets at you.

"Oh! Well in that case I'll tell him that you've fallen out of grace through insubordination! That will be a gruesome execution to watch." You exclaimed with mockingly wide expressive eyes looking down at him with a trenchancy smile.

He stood up abruptly sending his chair screeching against the ground and into Horrors lap. He gripped your arm with an unremitting hold using it to yank you forward into his ribs with a summoned broken bone positioned against your throat threateningly pushing into your pulse.

"don't threaten me, kid. y'aint gonna like what happens." He spat in your face with a sneer.

"Let go, Dust. Now." You ordered frowning deeply, every other Sans whispering amongst themselves and waiting with excited anticipation for the fight about to ensue in front of them. "u-m, du-st.. ya mi-ght wann-a ca-lm d-o-ow-" Error tried to warn but Dust decidedly blows him off as he continued to press the sharp bone against your throat, twisting it until a sharp stinging sensation spread through your splitting flesh. A warmth dripped from your throat. "make. me. bitch." He chuckled menacingly.

A cold glare froze over your undaunted expression. You sieze the wrist threatening your life, twisting it away from you unnaturally, this made him drop his weapon of choice as instincts flooded his mind to attempt to snatch away your inexorable hold. But you continued until his wrist audibly snapped and he screamed in agony. Your face was barren of any emotion as you watched him stumble away from you. You didn't want to have to resort to this method, however, pain is just how Dust learns best sadly.

He curled into himself gripping onto his broken wrist and tucked it into his ribs to protect it from further assault. That was not your plan however.

With his head down you grabbed the back of his skull and slammed it down into your propped knee, hearing a satisfying crack before you released him to kick him to the ground with your right foot pinning him by his ribs. He now whimpers in pain as he scrambles like a bug against your weight. "YOU FUCKING BITCH!" He screeched enraged, winded and gasping in pain. "Oh grow up. You have the HP. You threatened and disobeyed direct orders from the second in command and proved to follow inusbordinate ideals under the care of King Nightmare. You're lucky I'm not telling him as we speak so that you don't get killed." You hissed surprising everyone with your violent and cold performance.

"And what precisely would you not be telling me, Y/N? Why would I kill him?" The hair on your arms all the way up to your neck stands on end at the deep baritone voice that rumbles directly behind you. It held so much menace and suspicion that your heart stuttered in fear.

You whipped around to look at the massive skeleton behind you. His body was mere inches away from your face so you instinctively backed up to look up to him properly. He loomed over you and most of the other Sans's. Error was possibly a foot or less shorter but with Nightmare's massive build he towered over everyone with ease. It helped by feeding into the intimidation and fear that lurked within everyone who was unfortunate enough to be under his watchful eye. And you were just one of the incredibly unfortunate souls to have his attention at all times...

"Oh! Lord Nightmare! How lovely to see you up and alright! Uhm first off I would just like to say good morning-" A growl slices through the air and cuts off your rambling making your body go rigid before you forcefully choke down a fearful squeak. Right. No small talk. Got it.

"-aand that it's really nothing serious, Sir! I assure you that I was just making an example out of him since they kept pestering, Error!" You replied with a faint waver to your voice. His eye narrowed with his pupil shrinking into slits and the frown deepening on his skull.

"You're lying to me now?" He more so stated than asked with hardly witheld malign. You were about to squeak out in defense of yourself before your throat clamps down at his stature lowering, leaning into what you could only assume to be an uncomfortable height, leveling himself with your eyes silencing your silver tounge with a heavy eye. He's daring you to lie to his face. Fuck..

Something in your head screams at you to own up and tell the truth...but you can't...you can't bring yourself to just trade Dust's life over like that...

You'll be punished either way for lying to begin with...might as well make it something worthy of the awaiting consequences.

"N-no, Sir! I would never willingly lie to you, King Nightmare!" You gush out with sweat beading at your temples. Your eyes were wide in what you could only pray to be something close to ingenuous. A snarl started to curl at his permanent grin so you abruptly clapped your hands together enterlacing your fingers with a white-knuckled-grip.

"Oh dear, I just realized something! I'm terribly sorry sire but it appears that I'm underdressed while in your presence! That won't do at all, so if you'll excuse me I'm just going to get dressed." You excuse yourself with a strained smile. A whimper of pain behind you makes you snap out of your prey stricken fog. Ah..that's right. The other's.

You turned your back to Nightmare and faced the gang secretly relieved to have an excuse to look away from that peircing gaze that held so much judgment.

"Someone heal him please, I'll make breakfast today after I get dressed." You speak to the others swiftly and with a respectable amount of authority. This however drops when your gaze falls upon the miserable monster at your feet. "And Dust? Next time. Listen." You looked down coldly at one of the more powerful members of the group now wilted on the ground whimpering in pain because of your strength. He flinched and nodded in acknowledgement to your command. Good boy, you wanted to coo but decided against it in favor to fleeing the dominating aura behind you.

You eased passed Nightmare as if anticipating him to lunge at you and have his shadows swallow you whole once and for all. But the only thing that moves is his narrowly slitted eye light that pins your every move under suspicious judgment. You turned away from him and try to manage a steady and casual pace as you made your way down the hallway. After making a fair bit of distance you turned your head to see if he was still watching you only to find he was now standing at his full height once again donning a rageful glare.

An involuntary squeak of fear escapes your lips and you whipped your head forward-facing to focus of rushing into your room. Once there you shut the door behind you locking it in one swift motion before you leaned your back against it. Sweat dripped from your temple as a panic attack crept it's slender fingers over your skipping heart. Your eyes were wide as you stared at the ground simply trying to wrestle your emotions down.

Calm down, calm down, calm down, calm down, calm down..

You're okay...you're gonna be okay..

..you just need to take it easy..

Deep breaths...

You gulp a shaky breath and hold it.

Why don't you try to find a fun outfit to wear? That'll distract you and cheer you up. It always did when you knew a punishment was to come.

You released your breath when your head started to feel heavy and repeated until your heart grew less and less heavy. Once you found your heart was at a manageable tempo you deemed yourself ready to push away from the door. Walking over to your wardrobe you release a sigh of exhaustion and begin to get dressed.

You were finally tying the last of your clothes together considering your job as done-

"The others informed me of what exactly lead up to Dust being sent to the infirmary. They said he had caused quite a scene. Is that right, Y/N?" Nightmare queries darkly behind you. You leapt out of your skin and froze instinctively with tense shoulders.

Everything around you was abruptly flooded by the cyan light, casting eery shadows that danced with every flicker of his ever so observant eye. The light engulfed everything in your room hungrily leaving nothing but your own shadow to hide in. He was absolutely incensed. You slowly turned around to look up at him through your lashes to see that he was, in fact, horrifyingly furious. His calculative eye held you under scrutiny with little to no care for your ever growing unease.

"Oh..well you know how riled up they can get when they get stir crazy, Sir. He didn't do anything too bad, after all you know how much they like to start silly little fights!" You supply instead of give him a solid answer.

His eye flashes even brighter. "You DARE lie to my face?!" He roared and slammed you into the wall to the right of your wardrobe making you grunt in with the air that was knocked out of your lungs. Tears of fear spring to your eyes in rapid excession. Each of his tentacles strikes through the wall caging you under his sharp talons, dwarfing you more so than you already felt before.

"I HAVE GIVEN YOU TWO CHANCES TO TELL THE TRUTH YET YOU DENY ME THAT RIGHT." He barked with a shrunken pupil and a sharp fanged snarl.

"I-I'm sorry, s-sir!" You sobbed meekly through quivering lips. Never have you been THIS scared of him before...not since he turned into the creature he is today.

His expression briefly softens and his grip loosens its iron grip for only the briefest of moments before returning with a vengance as quickly as he lowered his guard. "Will you make strike three or tell me the truth?" He spat lowly.

Don't do it don't say it-

"Y-Yes...okay it's true! He was adopting a insubordination mindset and he exhibited a minor case of mutiny!" You choked out before you could stop yourself, a feeble prey-routed fear screaming at you to just tell the damn truth.

You began wincing as he pressed you against the wall harder striking an aching pain through your chest and body. You were just so scared...he's become too volatile and unpredictable lately..

"Then. Why. Would. You. Defend. Him?" He demanded with every word dripping with venomous rage. His gaze drifted down to you dripping wound before flashing his eye back to you.

"I-I don't know!" You exclaim the first thing that popped into your head frantically flinching at his fierce glare and striking strength. You sit there for a minute quietly weeping with your shot nerves making you shake.

"You're turning weak." He remarked with disgust and dropped you. He pulls his tentacles out of the wall launching rubble and debris everywhere, scattering it over your frail body like snow and hail.

Your legs immediately give out on you and you fall into a heap of limp limbs cowering in shock before a sob ripped through your body and out of your throat. You shakily clamped a hand over your mouth to contain your pitiful whimpers, curling into yourself to try to attempt to comfort yourself.

He scoffed and turned to leave without another word as you curled up into a tighter ball to cradle your pained soul. Regret...that's what this feeling is...you should've never believed he was or could be what he once was...

The bitter realization makes you freeze with a distant look aimed to the ground, unfocused and dead.

"I should've chose Dream..." you whisper through your trembling hands to yourself.

"W H A T  D I D  Y O U J U S T S A Y."

Nightmare's booming voice shook you to your core. He whipped back around, his tentacles lashing behind him sporadically, his eyelight blinding with his burning wrath. The realization has anger lapping at your feet over the instinctual fear that fills your body and soul.

Why are you so afraid of the one you had once loved? Why do you let him hurt you with little to no consequences? Why are YOU the one suffering? Having nightmares every night out of guilt for what you could have done for him back when you were young and stupid when he obviously didn't give a fuck about you. Why are you the one clawing for his forgiveness?

Thoughts of brimming bitter anger drowned out every rational thought of yours until it boiled over and you reached your mental breaking point.

"I said.." You breathe quietly almost as if you had a realization dawning on you. Your anger festers until you couldn't contain your disdain for the skeleton before you.

"I SHOULD'VE CHOSE DREAM THAT DAY." You screamed and looked up at him from the ground with hatred reflecting in your burning eyes. With a loud roar of fury he strikes his tentacles towards your cradled body.

You rolled out of the way of his attacks and sprung back up to your feet. You can't stop now, you need to keep going. You need to hurt him like he did you.

"DO YOU WANNA KNOW WHY, NIGHTMARE!? BECAUSE EVERY DAY I WAKE UP FROM THESE- THESE HORRIBLE NIGHT TERRORS THAT LEAVE ME BEDRIDDEN AND WEEPING UNTIL I CAN'T CRY ANYMORE. UNTIL ALL I WANT IS FOR IT TO STOP. BUT I STILL GET UP TO ANSWER TO YOUR EVERY BECK AND CALL WITHOUT QUESTION OR COMPLAINT. AND WHAT DO YOU DO? YOU PUT ME THROUGH HELL AND FOR WHAT?! AMUSEMENT? HUNGER?" You shout fuming at the towering ebony skeleton before you.

"EVERY. SINGLE. FUCKING. DAY. I SIT AND WONDER HOW DIFFERENTLY I WILL NEED TO TREAD THE NEXT DAY TO AVOID A PUNISHMENT THAT IS BOUND TO HAPPEN ANYWAYS." You yelled stomping on one of his tentacles that was drilled into the ground closest to you, making him hiss and try to recede his tentacle from your brutal attack but your weight crushes down on it harder, leading him to nearly strike another tentacle towards. He seems to think better of it because he stops himself for reasons you can't process in your blinded fury.

"YEARS OF LOYALTY. YEARS OF ALLEGIANCE. YEARS OF STRIKING FEAR INTO THE INNOCENT SOULS OF THE MULTIVERSE AGAINST MY OWN BETTER JUDGMENT JUST TO PLEASE YOU. I HATE MY OWN FUCKING LIFE BECAUSE OF YOU. I FUCKING HATE YOU!" You roared huffing from the exertion it took to emote and scream and pin his squirming weapon beneath your powerful heel. This actually seems to make him physically flinch away. He takes a step back.

His tentacles droop in the slightest to his battling thoughts that faintly fight to be showcased across his face like a montage of conflicting emotions in a painting. He seemed to gather himself enough to look away from your fuming person and to the side.

Uttering a simple, "I see..."

His tone was still stern but this time it held something softer than what he used just moments prior. You stepped off of his tentacle shifting your foot back to its original position beside the other.

"I...I used to LOVE you Nightmare..." Your voice warbles softly to him. Calling out for him to say or do SOMETHING that would make you want to stay. He remains as silent as the night, clentching his jaw and looking further away from your hopeful eye.

"...I used to want to be yours and you be mine but I was too scared to ask you. I was so afraid you would have lash out...I had hoped that if I chose you and proved to you my loyalty you would see that but...you ABUSED me all these years.." You choke out bitterly. You start wiping your tears away but they kept rushing to replace the previous ones that still stained your cheeks, much to your displeasure. Your anger was cooling down into a subtle simmer. You felt satisfied that he could finally feel a fraction of how you feel. That he may finally share your burdensome pain.

"I'm the king of Negativity. What did you EXPECT from m-" He attempts to excuse with a bitter bite but your withering glare snapped to look him in the eye, cutting him off promptly.

"-YOU were the king of the night." You start sharply and raise an accusatory finger to him as you stalk forward. "YOU were a guardian to the tree. I EXPECTED you to be better than this-this miserable monster you've become! I EXPECTED you to overcome this stupid apple's effects because of your own moral obligation. I EXPECTED you to do the right thing and end this stupid fucking war centuries ago. I EXPECTED you to come back to us." You snap looking him in the eye with something cold and harsh.

The adrenaline from yelling at something akin to a GOD kept you from backing down. You were possibly two feet away from him when you stopped and glared up at him with tears pooling in your eyes. He glared down at you with an intense expression.

"Then lower your expectations."

He finishes coldly.

You walked passed him in a brisk stride towards your door, unlocking the useless contraption, and stepping outside. "You just did. Good luck Night-" you pause with one foot out of the door. "-Or should I say Nightmare?" You correct over your shoulder harshly and slam the door shut behind you. You catch a glimpse of Nightmares widened eye that flashed one last time before it flickered into a dim cyan, almost taking on a ghostly white appearance. You pushed on and continue walking down the hallway passing by the other Sans's.

"Y-yo, Y-y/N, wh-a-at was wi-th t-he ye-lli- who-whoa...what ha-appen-ed?" Errors corrupted voice glitches beside you as he questions you with a concerned curiosity.

"You're second in command now, Error." You say with no room for arguing. You don't stop your quick stride after you pass him without so much as a glance in his direction, so he scrambles after you until he matched your speed, his steps slow and steady compared to your purposeful strides. "W-wha-at?" He asks bewildered at the response you decided to answer him with. You ignore his questioning surprise and continue on with what you were wanting to say.

"You've been my closest ally through all of these long torturous years here...I would even go as far as to say that you're my closest friend..and I care about you greatly. I just...really need you to understand that." You quickened your pace once his footsteps faltered and he stopped in place, leaving him without another word.

Leaving the castle for good was never an idea you humored no less actively thought about, but right now, it was what you felt was the best option. And you didn't stop no matter the shouts for you to stop.

.

.

After a good thirty minutes of walking you made a good distance between you and the prison you once called home.

This should be far enough.

You sigh and thought about where you could possibly go to be as far away as physically possible...somewhere safe from the monsters you were previously associated with. An idea came to mind that lingered until you thought about it deeper. That could work..

You took a deep breath and began to think of the pleasant memories you were forbidden from having. Happy memories of Dream, of Night, of you all those centuries ago flood your head filling your soul with a lightness you were denied of for so long.

A solid minute of these wonderful memories resurfacing into the forefront of your mind is how long it takes before a golden glow shines through your eyelids. You open your eyes to see a trio of colorfully clad skeletons exit the newly summoned portal before you. You all froze, saying absolutely nothing for a minute or two until you launched forward, hugging the skeleton in the center and sobbing into his shoulder. He briefly hesitates at first but hugs back almost immediately, pulling you into a tighter hold. His skull buries into the crown of your head. And right now? You really needed his warm and protective hold.

Fighting was never really an option you let happen with them but that doesn't mean you weren't there for most of the fights by Nightmares command. You suppose you were more like a trophy to show off to Dream of his first ever loss than anything...

Only a moment more of hugging ensued before you regrettably had to pull away, smiling up at him warmly. You missed him...truly you did and you could tell he was relieved to see you as well.

An unsettling chill crawled up your spine and the hair on the back of your neck stands on end. That brief moment of happiness was ripped away from you when the feeling of being watched alerted you of an angry presence. You tensed and perked up looking around cautiously like a deer hearing the snap of a twig during hunting season.

"Guys...get in the portal...now." You order cautiously though your voice remains neutral to not cause a panic. Staring into the treeline you felt the presence most strongly, your intense gaze never breaks from it. Your voice was strong and authoritive as you ushered everyone into the portal, attempting to follow after them, but you were stopped by blue strings wrapping around your leg. A gasp slipped passed your lips when you felt them yank you back making you loose your balance and fall onto your stomach. The buzzing energy tickled almost...

His intent was to capture. Not hurt.

You whirled back to see Error a fair distance away suspended towards the sky, watching you with no particular emotion dominant on his face. It looked like he was experiencing every emotion imaginable at the moment so it was hard to pinpoint anything in particular. It hurt to see him so overcome with emotions but you can't risk consoling him right now. Your gaze snaps down and away from him spotting the others making their way to you both. They were halfway through the vast, black, dead meadow that you faintly remember once held beauty and light.

Their weapons were drawn out with the intent to satisfy their bellicose desires. May it be through scattering blood and dust on a battlefield or causing misery in their weapons wake. Their bones pulsed with adrenaline driven eagerness. They were starved of their addiction, but now they were allowed to feed it once again. Allowed to fight once more and smell their favorite aroma of blood and the feeling of dust whisping about on their skulls, they were allowed to get their fix of taking a life.

Your pupils shrunk in fear and you darted your gaze back up at Error. You were starting to hyperventilate. Nightmare would kill you if you got dragged back..there's no way he'd let you go after the stunt you just pulled.

You looked up at him pleadingly, begging under an airy whisper to let you go, please let me go your soul cried out to his. He looked away trying to avoid your gaze but failed, ultimately trapping himself in your wide panicked E/C eyes. You both stay there simply staring at one another for a long minute.

He caved, groaning in defeat. He releases a string of cusswords and hangs his head low as he cut his strings with one of his sharp phalanges, finally freeing you. His gaze meets yours once more when he offers you a nod of approval for you to escape. You are under his protection now.

A relieved smile blooms from cheek to cheek. You squirmed out of his strings and look back at him making a upside down heart with your hands just before jumping through the portal. A hairs length shy of Fell's outstretched claw being the last image anyone could see.

The portal closes instantly after you exit it and you land flat on your ass. You grunt in pain and flop back, recovering your breath and trying to ignore the soarness spreading through your ass.

"Are you okay, Y/N?!" Dream frets rushing to your side before hesitating and simply offers a hand out for you to take. You laugh breathlessly and nod your head. Politely, you decline his offer, cleaning yourself off and getting up yourself. You looked around getting hit by a wave of nostalgia that drowns you in joyous warmth. The meadow looks as beautiful as ever lit up in a ethereal golden glow.

A warm smile spreads against your chapped lips. For once in a long time...your soul and heart doesn't ache...you feel happy?..yes. That's the word. You feel happy.

"Yup, with a smile as bright as that, you're definitely the Y/N I know and love.." Dream chuckles triggering your own soft laughter. Ink and Blue wish you both a pleasant evening as they go their seperate ways, no longer needed now that the crisis has been averted.

You both sit on the hill you popped onto and stay there settling into a pleasantly comfortable silence, just enjoying one another's company and absorbing the beautiful scenery together with a melancholy feeling shared between you both.

"So, Y/N..you don't have to answer if you're not ready, but I would just like to get it out of the way just in case. What happened for you to summon me?" He asks softly with a patience you have been starved of for so many years.

"Well..." You trail off with a heavy sigh. The exhaustion you felt worsens for every moment your adrenaline fades from your veins.

.

.

.

.

A few months later

.

.

.

.

Nightmare was very adamant for your return. That was all he seemed to be trying to do at this point and you just couldn't understand why..

If he's the ever so prideful King of Negativity that you remember having the displeasure of standing alongside for all those years then why was he focusing all his time and resources on recapturing you? He doesn't care about you. He made that clear. So what was he trying to accomplish? What could he possibly gain from ANY of this? Could he be trying to drag you back so that he could make an example out of you? To punish you and hang you out for everyone to see, lips sewn shut for talking out of turn and chains wrapping around your body to prove there is no escaping once you've sold yourself to his cause? No, it couldn't be that...that's far too much effort for his group to follow through with...so what they hell was he doing?

Whatever the reasoning was it doesn't matter now...or at least...it didn't until he got a little too close for comfort. Then you had to hide where you knew he wouldn't go. Not even for you.

In the very tree where he consumed every last apple until his fate, and those tied to him, was ensnared with misery.

.

.

.

You had fought day and night to convince Dream to plant the seeds of the remaining apple so that it could be restored to the ancient majesty it once was. And finally, albeit with heavy reluctance, he listened.

You recall how you all had waited with bated breath, days and nights at a time, to see if the seeds would sprout or if they would wither and die without the sweet fleshy magic-coated fruit that once encased it.

It was Ink's turn to watch over the little seeds one sunny day, to gaurd and check on the progression of the sacred fruit, and it was he who had found six tiny green stems sprouting from the ground. It was such a joyous moment that it spurred a festival in it's honor, and it was all because of the delicate little plants that sprouted from the ground. It sprouted hope into the souls of those who struggled day by day to keep up positive facades. Hope...

....what a strange feeling that was to have again.

And it was with this hope and the help of some powerful monsters that you were all able to contribute a hefty stream of magic into the sprouts to strengthen and assist in it's growth. If you remember right, this was a sacred ritual that was used when the first tree grew all those centuries ago. It was performed annually to ensure the tree was at its strongest each year. Festivals were held in honor of the revitalization of the once reverent tree.

It grew beautifully with the magic supply that never stopped feeding it. Soon enough it towered over some of the cottages from the village and even beyond that at some point.

It was only after the tree started to bare fruit that everyone abandoned all of the built up labor and started to rely on Dream's protection over it. He was happy now, he had his purpose back and he could now gaurd the tree for the rest of eternity like he was trained to do since birth. Everything was finally as it was supposed to be. What it was meant to be,- what it could've been.

You remember you had felt a weight lift off of your shoulders and the smallest of smiles tug on your lips seeing Dream get swarmed by townsfolk congratulating him on becoming a gaurdian once again. He was laughing bashfully but puffed his chest in pride. He was back.

It was the realization that..you did it...you fixed what Nightmare broke- that your body began to sag in exhaustion until you collapsed onto the ground under a large willow tree. The shade offered a cooling sensation across your body that combatted the pleasant heat just beyond the outline of the tree's shadow. You released a shaky breath, the weight of emotion escaping your lungs. You could finally rest at night...you had found your peace...

Though the scars of the past remained, everyone began to gradually move on. The tree was restored, the village was happy, Dream was happy, everything was made right. That heavy guilt you carried from all the years you blamed yourself of the events of that day were finally gone..you freed yourself.

Then, things started to feel like it had when you were far younger...

A little too much like it actually...everything seemed to fall back into the very same routine everyone carried out 500 years ago without problem. It was as if you never left...it was as if nothing ever happened..that Nightmare never happened. And something about that made you feel...uneasy.

You thought you would be happy- relieved even- that your old life was finally coming back to you. That it felt like you never left and that you could carry on where you last left off without needing to make up for lost time. That you could live a life without having Nightmare be brought up by the villagers. You could finally have a sense of normalcy and live the rest of your life how you wanted to now...

But it doesn't feel right......this ending felt bittersweet...

You recall working on your garden one day when a scream echoed throughout the meadow near your home. Everyone rushed to the shriek and to everyone's horror there was ONE black apple in the sea of golden ones. Panic started to wash through the crowd and all hell broke loose. The wide panic worsened when a shrill scream drew the attention to a young woman who pointed to another inky apple hidden behind some leaves. Arguments about what needed to be done and why this happened started and fights broke out amongst the people. Wide spread hysteria ensued.

Some cried, some screamed, some shouted, and some fought. Chaos surrounded you but you stood perfectly still and looked up at the grand tree, staring at the apples that have haunted you for centuries with a look of blank acceptance. You thought you would be mortified like the others, especially with how involved you were last time...but something inside of you was willing to accept it for what it was.

Life needs a balance of good and bad. Which is something that the townsfolk did not seem to understand.

Dream had pushed through the crowd and found you, rapid firing questions of your overall safety, then after securing you- you both stood just under the tree to demand order. You looked down at the barbaric villagers you once thought highly of now with disgust.

You had learned from Dream that Night would often come home to guard the tree with low HP from all of the beatings he had endured throughout the day. Bruised, battered, bloody and broken was what he was described to look like before Dream had to hurry and heal him after he collapsed under pain and exhaustion. It was them who drove him to madness.

You were mortified...all that damage he endured...were caused by the very citizens you grew up under, blissfully unaware of the malicious acts they casted on the one you loved. You were left oblivious to the atrocities committed just under your senses.

You had screamed at Dream demanding why no one told you, especially Night, about the abuse he put up with every day. But Dream could not tell you, for even he did not know...

It was no wonder Night never wanted to go into the village...it was no wonder he burned it down after leaving you at the castle for days. It was no wonder he hated it here. It was no wonder he ate that wretched apple.

The cruelty Night faced just under your nose explained so much about him then and now. You couldn't bare to live amongst the very people who helped in the creation of 'Nightmare'. So you moved your home as far away from that wretched town as you could.

.

.

.

After a while of this wild goose chase to drag you back...they just...stopped looking for you. It was a bit odd at first, you admit you were on gaurd and suspicious, but you obviously didn't mind the peace and quiet.

One day though you were in the middle of cooking dinner for yourself when you heard frantic knocks at your door. You immediately perk at the loud noise, snapping out of your built up concentration you had focused into cooking your meal, and releasing a heavy sigh at being interrupted from your task.

You turned off your stove, setting the pan to the side so it wouldn't continue cooking on the burning stove, and cleaned your messy hands on a towel before you made your way to the door, curiosity getting the better of you at the sheer panic you heard behind the frantic knocks. You open the oak door and are immediately faced with the image of Dream winded and gasping for breath.

Your brows furrow and you reach out to rest your hand on his shoulder blade, perhaps he would like a glass of water? He stops you however and starts to level his breathing. You wait patiently for him to recollect himself before you ask what he needed. This seems urgent.

"E-Error and Horror wish to see you.." He breathes.

"They...want to see me? Dream...They've been trying to capture me for months, of course they want to see me." You say incredulously, but deep down you were overcome with a sense of longing, fighting the desire to race to your boys as soon as you heard they were here.

You couldn't. You needed to make sure Dream didn't think you would return to, Nightmare.

He shakes his skull and looks back at you, "They say it's urgent..."

You sigh. "Lead the way, Sunshine." You concede, understanding that he would not have come to get you if he felt threatened or suspicious of the opposing skellies. It must have been awfully important if Dream decided to listen to them and try to retrieve you.

Ten nonstop minutes of walking was how long it took before you saw Error and Horror stiffly standing in the clearing, looking around at the beautiful meadow you grew up playing in. Ink and Blue were off to the side watching them with crossed arms and weapons at the ready in case they tried anything.

Their eyes finally fell on you, a look of astonishment shared on their skulls and faint colorful hues sneaking onto their cheekbones.

You fight back your growing smirk. You couldn't really blame their baffled reaction to your appearance. Afterall, you were wearing a tailored white tunic again like you had before meeting them, which must have been quite odd for them to see. You hardly ever wore anything outside of the dark themes Nightmare had made for you or the occasional pencil skirt for work. You looked so much better than when you did under Nightmare's 'care'. More healthy and alive.

Nightmare never really...took care of you? Which you suppose isn't an issue since you are a grown adult and all and are meant to take care of yourself. But that doesn't take away from the fact that he often overworked you, causing countless restless nights, and for the rare night you did get sleep he would throw in the occasional nightmare to keep himself energized. This caused a lot of sleep issues and even sleep paralysis. Heavy bags under your eyes used to be more common than the clothes that covered your body, your sickly pale skin and greasy hair was another common feature that you recall having.

You were always left so weak...you constanly looked and felt sick to the point that it was probably the lead contributing reason as to why Nightmare never made you fight. You WERE fed, not to get the wrong idea, but just not too much since you were always piled neck high with work and too busy to be bothered to leave your room to cook and eat dinner. So yeah...he made sure you didn't die but he also didn't really go out of his way to make sure you were okay either.

But now your skin glowed with life and color, you slept perfectly fine and your hair was silky with care now, you look beyond perfect. You look healthy. You were genuinely happy for once too and didn't even dare hide it as your smile was a new and prominent jewel you wore and showed off like a prize.

You collect yourself and turn to ask Dream if he could give you a few minutes to speak with them. You reassure him that they were your only friends while you were with Nightmare and that they wouldn't dare hurt you. He nods slightly in confirmation, signaling to Blue and Ink that they could fall back before he too hesitantly started to turn to leave. But before he could get a few feet away, he pauses mid-step and warns you to be careful. With a warm smile you agree and watch as the distance grew between you all.

Once the trio was out of sight you spun around and ran towards the two scary skeletons with a massive smile overtaking your face. You slowed down to a stop just shy of a few feet away from Error to acknowledge his phobia and breathlessly exclaim-

"My boys! It's so great to see y-"

Your sentence dies midway through with your expression slowly falling from sheer joy to despair after seeing something horrible donning on your friend.

"Oh...oh god..what happened...what did Nightmare DO to you...?" You ask softly with your frown deepening. You started examining the large crack in Error's skull from a distance allowing your sadness and concern to be heard in your voice and expressed on your face instead of physically.

"b-betra-ayed th-he bast-ard by le-t-ting yo-ou g-o.." He replies looking away from your eyes and at the swaying trees.

You curl your outstretched fingers that you just caught subconciously reaching for his scar and press them into your palm, hesitantly pulling away. You sigh and look down.

"I....I'm so sorry...he wouldn't have done this if I had just stayed..I shouldn't have left..." You apologize softly with that all too familiar guilt creeping it's way into your soul again. Survivors guilt can be quite the nasty demon to overcome...

"y/n."

You looked up at the stern voice to see Horror staring you down with a soft look. "... 's fine...you were around 'em fer...longer than any of us...always took...the blame...for us..only a matter of time before..you broke from all the punishments.." Horror said slowly to ensure he would say everything he wanted to and managed it to sound reassuring.

You rush forward, giving him a bear hug that was filled with relief-filled warmth. He grunts in pain but hugs back regardless with a tight hold around your back. He nuzzled into your hair missing your hugs greatly.

You flinch at his audible grunt of pain and reluctantly pull away, you look him over like you had done with Error when you saw them. Cracks spread all along his cervical that led down to his thoracic spine. You gingerly tilted his skull up to better see the cracks and to take in the severity of them.

He allows you to inspect him and waits patiently for you to finish. You graze your thumb over them to feel how deep they went when a sharp gasp makes you pull away and apologize profusely with a hush tone.

You sigh sorrowfully and look down with creeping shame. You push aside your emotions and pull Horror into another warm embrace, gently avoiding his wounds and cradling him protectively, he snuggles into you with a far more pleasant purr.

How could you have left them with such a unstable leader..?

"List-en..as muc-ch as we-e've misse-d yo-ou N/N, we di-idn't come he-ere for a c-catch up..W-e u-uhh...we nee-ed yo-ur hel-p...yo-u p-probably c-cau-ght o-on to ho-w Nigh-tma-re is-n't try-ying t-to get you b-ack any-more..?" Error prompts uneasily. You pull away from Horror to look at Error leaving your hands on Horror's shoulder blades for comfort.

"Y-Yes..." You are already starting to get nervous at his tone.

"Well...he se-ems to be s-show-ing si-gns of h-hope-lessness..." He slowly phrases but your brain promptly shuts down before he can finish the rest of what he was saying. All of the color drains from your face at once..

...no....anything but Hopelessness...

Hopelessness in humans is a feeling that could be overcome...but monsters who are more closely connected with their souls than their physical body....it's fatal...

"-hasn't ea-eaten o-r com-e out-t of hi-is roo-m in d-a-ays..n-none o-f u-s re-eally ca-res but...he's no-ot ev-en cap-able of hol-lding the cast-tle toge-ther. M-ost of th-eir A-AU's ha-ve b-been destr-oy-oyed a-and I do-on't wa-nna de-al wit-h outc-odes in m-y anti-void." You snapped out of your mental-meldown-trance just in time to hear Error finish. You look up to see Error looking down at you.

"A..are you sure he's not just in rut..?" You ask quietly. "We know his schedule." Error confirms your fear.

"Bring me to him." You request without hesitation.

" 'm...not sure that's the...best idea..little lamb-" Horror tries to convince you otherwise.

"Horror...you come here, after months of pure silence on your end to tell me the monster I have known for over 523 years is slowly dusting away to the most dangerous monster affliction known to-date and expect me to stay?" You ask with narrowed eyes making Horror flinch.

You can't forgive Nightmare for what he's done...not yet at least...but even if you don't forgive him you couldn't bring yourself to hate or forget him. You, even though it pains you to admit it, still love him and although you crave the karma he deserves, you can't just let him die. You refuse to let him die.

"..okay..." Horror relents and looks up to Error for further confirmation to whom of which simply nods once and opens a portal back at the castle entrance.

You hop through the lagging portal between universes without question and land with a trained, agile, grace. Your body immediately sets you into a dead sprint after setting foot onto the stone path.

You dash passed the rusted crumbling front gate and the uneven cracks of the stone below the pads of your feet. Error was telling the truth afterall...the castle was crumbling for every second that passed...

Flying up the front stone steps and inside the castle you beeline for Nightmare's room, bare feet pattering against the ground and the train of your tunic flowing behind your inexorable path.

"w-y/n?!" You heard Dust call after you in baffled astonishment. You didn't have time to catch up though and pushed on, adrenaline kicking into your bloodstream at the footsteps and bones that tried to stop you. But the horrid thoughts of Nightmare dusting away before you could get to him feuled you to dodge and weave through each attempt to stop you. The images of his dust sifting through your fingertips pushes you harder and faster to reach his door. You were hellbent to try to stop this, your body refused to calm down, your heartbeat pulsing through your head until you had his door in your line of sight.

You slide to a stop just in front of it and promptly side-kick Nightmare's door down. In the case of an emergency, fuck knocking.

Out of your corner of your eye you see SwapFell, Fell and Killer peek around the corner at the disruption of their solitude.

You look on into the pitch black room to see Nightmare shoot up in bed. He....looks like an absolute trainwreck.

He wasn't well kept, he looked pale, weak, exhausted. His tentacles were nearly touching the ground with how much they droop, his iris hardly glows with the darkness that surrounds him..it was nearly gone....

Fuck...this was the worst case of hopelessness you've seen...

"The fuck?! Who kicked down my godamn d-Y/N..?" He barks weakly at first until his foggy unfocused eyelight zeroes in on you. His harsh expression drops at the sight of you and he doesn't hesitate to slide out of bed to stand in front of you. He looms over you with disbelief filling his wide socket. He shakily and hesitantly reaches for your cheek, as if you were a ghost of a loved one that would disappear if he wasn't careful.

Once his claw gently grazes your cheek he releases a shaky uneven breath neither of you knew he was holding. His expression drops and he just...stares down at you, his eyes' color slightly coming back. Your mouth parts to say something when he shot down pulling you into a desperate hug as he buries his skull into the crook of your neck.

His right hand desperately clutches behind your head, pulling you closer with a iron grip.

"I-I thought I lost you forever...." His voice was hushed and shaky. You felt something hot drip onto your neck that slowly slid down your collarbone and to your chest. You felt Nightmare's breathing against your neck and found it was uneven. You look over his hunched shoulder to see his back rise and fall, almost as if he was hyperventilating...Nightmare was..

..crying..?

A warm sensation that soon cools trails down your cheeks. You realize you were crying as well.

You hug his skull tightly and desperately clutch at his back with your other hand until you collect enough of his sweater to latch onto desperately- to get him as close as you possibly could. You tilt your head over his skull in a action of reassurance. Your breathing was becoming shaky as you whisper-

"I made my choice about who's side I was on long ago, Nightmare..."

You say causing a shudder to roll through the monster clinging onto you before you pull away. You rest your palm on his cheekbone and start to gently wipe away his tears, he had looked so miserable until he saw you. He returns the favor, allowing warmth to bloom through your chest.

Loud whispers cut through your moment behind you making you turn around to see the others tuck away quickly. You look back to Nightmare and tilt your head down with a sigh again. Nightmare will probably want some privacy so that he can keep his big bad persona he likes to show off without coming across as soft. You drop your hand from his cheekbone that he was leaning into with a closed socket, soaking into your touch. You pull away, about to head over to fix the door and shut it since the other's were starting to spy on you both. The Nightmare you know would rather be caught dead then crying.

But before you could even get a few feet away to do so he gently wraps his tentacles around your waist, loose enough for you to pull away if you want, but enough to stop you.

"W-wait! Please...please..don't leave me alone again..." He pleads desperately, pulling you towards him and into his arms. He was once again latched onto you tightly, his head back in the crook of your neck where he promply inhaled your scent to calm down. He...didn't care that the others were watching...?

Oh God that's too fucking cute...But you couldn't help that pang of guilt you felt in your soul when he said 'Again'.

"Nightmare, I'm not gonna leave you again..I was just going to try to close the door..." You say with the most smooth and alluring voice you could in order to soothe him. You turn around to pull him into your chest to strengthen the embrace. He snaps his phalanges, the door flies up from the ground unprovoked and slams shut, looking as if no harm was done only minutes prior.

He lifts you up with ease, much to your understandable surprise, and carries you all the way back to his bed where he sets you down on the messy pile of blankets with tender care. You start to move away but since he was so much bigger than you- you had to crawl away from him rather quickly to make room for him. He flinches and looks on sadly towards the ground with guilt oozing from him as he straightens his back, readying himself to leave. Ah, he must of thought you were trying to get away.

You shook your head patting the spot beside you. He hears the patting and looks up from the ground to look you in the eyes. You repeat the gesture, this time he understands and slips into the blanket pile along side you, releasing a soft and relieved sigh. The bed dips under his weight which causes a crater big enough that it made you slide right next to him. You giggle at the predicament, about to get up and move over when he wraps his arms around your waist with his tentacles and pulls you even closer.

Was...was he..actually cuddling you..? You never thought your dreams since childhood would ACTUALLY come true...you have been waiting your whole life for this...he may not be your darling Night anymore...but with the way he was acting...you may be able to accept this monster in his place.

You wrap your arms around his neck and rest your forehead against his affectionately.

"I love you Nightmare, i'm so sorry for leaving you..." You apologize quietly with tears welling up in your eyes.

"Don't apologize." He demands sternly, making your eyes shoot open to look at him with surprise. "Please...you were doing the right thing. I-I've been so angry at you and punishing you for absolutely no reason and it's all because I didn't want to feel the same love for you that I felt before. I thought it would make me just as weak as I was before...but it was the only thing fueling me. I never wanted to hurt you...I hope you saw that..." He spoke so gently and quietly it was almost like he was a completely different skeleton.

What had happened over those few months you were gone?

"I saw. I saw you trying Nightmare and I appreciate that. As long as you don't go back to being a big bad bossy bully then I won't leave again." You joke trying to lighten things up a bit. You leaned forward, planting a quick and gentle kiss on his teeth with a wide smile afterwards. He flushes into a bright neon blue. "O-Of course, Darling. I wouldn't ever go back to being the way I used to be if it meant losing you again. I love you too much to let you go..my soulmate." He reassures seriously and affectionately. For once in centuries he sounded like...Night again...not Nightmare but Night.

You wipe away his tears that remained, letting your own come out as well.

"That's all i've ever wanted.." You laugh wetly with a bright smile and kiss him on his teeth much longer than the last. He melts into it and kisses back, pulling you even closer to deepen it. After a half minute you pull away for air, blushing profusely.

"The fierce and all mighty Lord of Nightmares is cuddling and kissing me..." You say with a jokingly scandelized expression and tone. He shakes his skull chuckling deeply at your display but lets you continue.

"What a wonderous blessing I am met with~" You tease breathlessly and gently cradle his skull in your hand, pulling him closer again. He melts in your hold with a rumbling purr. "Anything for you, My Queen. I'll change and do it all over again if I must" He says softly. It's now your turn to melt at his words. You'll tell your darling Night that he was free from the apple once you're done smootching the ever-loving soul out of him.

He's back...And this time..

He'll treat you right.

[rex101111]

I was thinking that, despite how relatively popular she is, Shuten has only had one extra version of her, so I started thinking of what kind of Alter she’d get and what sort of event would bring it about...and I hit upon a really stupid one that made me laugh so I wanna share it.

Ruler Shuten. Yes, I’m serious. 

Now the whole point of a Ruler is that they are supposed to be outside the conflict and make sure that a grail war doesn’t go off the rails and everyone follows the rules, a “judge” in other words, right? So, I was thinking, what sort of war or contest or whatever could Shuten possibly be qualified to be a judge of?

And then it hit me, cooking contest!

It would be a really silly event, like Oniland, and likewise spurred by Ibaraki saying something that manages to hit Shuten’s usually well hidden soft side. This time the younger Oni complains about how the food they serve in Chaldea isn’t as good as they used to have back on Mt. Ooe, and how now she has to share instead of just having as much as she wants. It’s a selfish want on the surface but Shuten can see that underneath that its just Ibaraki feeling a bit nostalgic for the good ol’ days.

The event is of course a big and bombastic cooking contest, like Master Chef but with explosions and people stabbing each other. All the famous, and infamous, chef servants fight a heated battle to satisfy the taste of The Grand Judge...Shuten Douji???

Everyone points out how outlandish it is that Shuten somehow managed to manifest as a Ruler, the loudest complaints of course come from Raikou, who is miffed both because she has to deal with Shuten and because she tried to cook something for Kintoki and it turned out awful so she’s using this chance to improve her skills and having to have her cooking judged by Shuten is seriously ruffling her feathers something fierce.

R: “How the hell can you possibly be qualified to judge me, insect?”

S: “Do you know how much wine I’ve drank? The feasts I’ve consumed? By sheer volume alone my tongue has more experience than anyone here~”

R: “You ate people!”

S: “Exactly! Thank you for reminding me! Yes! I ate people! Young and Old! Rich and Poor! Man and Woman! My tastes are diverse and well balanced! Truly my qualifications run deep! So here I am before you, as Ruler, as judge.”

R: “I-! You-!”

S: “So be sure to try your best~~”

Cue Shuten vanishing in a flash of light and Raikou gnashing her teeth and so begins the event. Tamamo and Kiyohime and especially Tomoe continue to be utterly atrocious at cooking and are the first bosses, Benienma continues to suffer as she opts out of the contest because she knows it would be unfair so she tries to train everyone else and boy is she in for a rough time, Archer and Boudica forming a quiet but intense rivalry as they battle it out in the kitchen for the title of Mom Of Chaldea, just a lot of small scenes of servants having fun and cooking like those mini-scnes in Oniland.

Shuten would be the featured 5 star limited servant of course, dressed in a mix of flowing white robes and a chef’s outfit that, because this is FGO and this is Shuten, gets skimpier the more you ascend her. The one thing that doesn’t change is that in every ascension...she has a little white chef’s hat between her horns. It only changes in her final ascension where it becomes a BIG white chef’s hat between her horns.  

The ending would be something like Raikou finally cooking something that satisfies Shuten (and beating each other up because they couldn’t resist) and she then turns around...and gives it to Ibaraki, who marvels at how this is exactly like the stew or whatever they used to have “way back when”. 

Ibaraki turns to Raikou and thanks her loudly and the samurai can only stammer a quiet, “thank you” and out of instinct pulls out a handkerchief to wipe Ibaraki’s face. Shuten just watches this with a quiet smile.   

So yeah if we can get a Ruler that’s a Casino Manger/Playboy Bunny why not Chef Shuten? Why the hell not huh???

[holonetnews]

Holonet: Lights, Camera, Empire. Conceptual Excerpt:

Deena Tharen stood on the balcony of her penthouse apartment, the cold breeze of Coruscant’s upper levels brushing against her exposed arms and the smooth fabric of her white tank top. Below her, the endless stream of speeder traffic flowed like a river of light, each one a bright, fleeting moment in the night, gone before it could be truly seen. She stared out into the abyss, where the stars above were drowned by the ever-present glow of Coruscant's cityscape.

Once, those stars had meant something to her—symbols of wonder and inspiration, reminders of a time when she believed in heroes and causes worth fighting for. Now, they were just specks swallowed by the same darkness that had consumed everything else.

She had everything: the penthouse, the riches, the fame that came with being the face of the Holonet, the centerpiece of Imperial culture in the Core Worlds. Deena Tharen—the darling of the Empire, the woman who had weathered the storm of transition and emerged on the other side, glittering and untouchable. The Empire had made sure of that. Her enemies, rivals, and friends—what was left of them—had been swept away by the tide of change. And in their place, she had been given everything she thought she wanted.

But what had it cost her?

Deena clenched her jaw, her perfectly manicured nails digging into the soft flesh of her arms as the question she had been avoiding for so long forced its way to the surface. She was supposed to feel triumphant, secure in the knowledge that she had won. Her eyes traced the path of a luxury speeder as it dipped below the skyline, disappearing into a maze of neon. She wondered, briefly, about the lives of those inside. Were they happy? Content? Or were they, like her, merely playing their part in the grand charade, pretending to be something they were not? The thought lingered, like a bitter taste she couldn’t quite wash away.

A gust of wind sent a chill through her, and Deena turned, her eyes catching sight of the red jacket draped over the edge of the balcony. It was the one piece of her old life she still held onto, a relic from the days when she was more than just a mouthpiece for the Empire. The jacket was well-worn, the crimson Corellian leather softened by years of wear, still resplendent compared to the sterile black and white that now dominated her wardrobe.

She reached for it, her fingers brushing against the cool material. As she slipped her arms into the sleeves, she felt a strange sense of comfort, as if the jacket were a shield against the cold, both outside and within. For a brief moment, she allowed herself to remember the woman she had been before, the woman who had worn this jacket on assignments across the galaxy. She could still remember the dust of the Outer Rim clinging to her boots, the smell of ionized air after a firefight, the adrenaline that came not from power, but from purpose. Now, that life felt distant, like a story she had once told but no longer believed.

She thought of the friends she had lost, the ones who had stood with her during the Clone Wars, who had fought for something greater than themselves. They were gone now, vanished into the void, either killed or forced into hiding by the very regime that had made her a star. Once, she had believed in the same ideals, shared their hopes for a better future. But she had chosen a different path, one that led her to this moment, standing alone on a balcony in the heart of the Empire, questioning whether it had all been worth it.

A single tear slipped down her cheek, and she brushed it away angrily. Crying was weakness, and she had learned long ago that weakness had no place in the Empire. But tonight, the façade was cracking, and she couldn’t help but feel the weight of all that she had lost. The battles she had fought, not on the frontlines like so many others, but in front of a holocam, where every word, every gesture, was a weapon in the war for hearts and minds. And now, with the war over and victory secured, she found herself adrift, a soldier without a cause.

Inside, the opulence of her penthouse apartment beckoned, but it felt like a mausoleum, filled with the ghosts of a life she no longer recognized. The plush furniture, the priceless art, the rare, exotic plants from distant worlds—all of it was meaningless, trappings of a life she had built on the backs of those who had fallen. The Empire had given her everything, yet it had taken away something far more valuable: her sense of purpose.

Deena had always been ambitious, always known how to play the game. She had climbed to the top not by chance, but by choice, by being smarter, quicker, more ruthless than those around her. But now, at the pinnacle of her success, she found herself questioning the point of it all. What was left to strive for when you had already taken everything there was to take?

She turned back toward the city, her hands gripping the cold metal of the balcony railing, her knuckles white with the force of it. The lights of Coruscant stretched out before her, an endless sea of artificial brilliance, but in the distance, she could just make out the dark silhouette of the Imperial Palace, its spires piercing the sky like daggers. It was a constant reminder of the power that ruled over everything, the power she had aligned herself with, the power that had given her everything she thought she wanted.

But now, as she stood on the edge of this world she had helped to create, Deena couldn’t help but wonder if she had made the right choice. Had she traded her soul for comfort? Abandoned her ideals for survival? The questions swirled in her mind, relentless and unyielding, with no easy answers.

Deena slowly stepped away from the balcony, her footsteps almost soundless against the polished floor as she crossed the threshold back into the affluent expanse of her home.

The marble under her feet was smooth, flawless—like everything else in this life she had built. Even the air in her penthouse, carefully filtered and perfumed, felt sterile, devoid of the rawness she once craved. The silence pressed in around her, and instinctively, she found herself drawn to the massive windows that overlooked the city.

The woman reflected in the glass was everything the Empire had wanted her to be, but she was not the woman Deena Tharen had once dreamed of becoming. And for the first time, Deena felt the full weight of that realization, the full impact of having lost herself in the pursuit of something that now felt meaningless.

She stepped closer to the window, drawn to her reflection as if it were a stranger standing on the other side of the glass. The cold surface pressed against her fingertips as she leaned in, her breath misting the pane ever so slightly. There was something almost mesmerizing about the woman staring back at her—so beautiful, so perfectly composed, that it was like looking at someone else entirely. Her features, once familiar, now seemed foreign, as though they belonged to a character in one of the holodramas she used to report on, rather than the woman who had spent years chasing stories across the galaxy. The high cheekbones, the full lips, the artfully arched brows— she was stunning, no doubt about it.

She blinked, trying to reconcile the image with the person she had once been. She had always imagined herself as the unkempt, bleary sort—exhausted from long hours of chasing leads, of traipsing from one war-torn world to the next, her hair a mess, her clothes rumpled and stained by the grime of the battlefront. She had prided herself on being a little rough around the edges, a reporter who wasn’t afraid to get her hands dirty, to dig deep into the stories that mattered, no matter the cost to her appearance or comfort.

But that woman was gone, replaced by someone she barely recognized. The roughness had been smoothed away, the exhaustion replaced by a polished veneer that came from years of living in luxury, of playing a role dictated by the Empire. Her skin was flawless, her hair perfectly styled, her nails manicured to perfection. Even the lines of weariness that should have etched her face after years of stress and conflict were absent, erased by the careful ministrations of the finest treatments the Core Worlds could offer.

She tilted her head, studying the way the light caught her features, accentuating the angles and curves that had been carefully maintained to ensure she remained the Empire’s ideal. It was strange, she thought, to see herself this way, as a vision of beauty rather than the hardened journalist she had once aspired to be. The woman she saw now was so far removed from that past life, so distant from the person she had once known herself to be, that it was almost impossible to bridge the gap.

And yet, the reflection was undeniably her. This was what she had become, what the Empire had shaped her into—a figurehead, a symbol of the new order, carefully constructed to project strength, confidence, and control. But beneath that carefully curated exterior, Deena knew there was nothing left of the woman who had once fought so fiercely for her own identity, her own purpose.

The realization struck her with cold, stark clarity: the beauty she saw in the glass was nothing more than a façade, a shell built to hide the emptiness within. The woman in the glass was a product, an image crafted for the Empire’s purposes, but she was not Deena Tharen. Not the real Deena, the one who had been driven by passion and ideals, who had dreamed of uncovering the truth and making a difference in the galaxy.

Deena felt a pang of sorrow for the woman she had lost, the one who had been willing to sacrifice everything for the stories she believed in. That woman had been messy, imperfect, but she had been real. She had lived and breathed her work, had thrown herself into the fray with a relentless determination that had defined her. Now, all that remained was this image in the glass, a reflection of someone who had traded her soul for the trappings of success, only to find herself utterly alone in an uncaring galaxy.

The sight of her reflection blurred, overtaken by a memory from a time before the Empire. She had been sitting across from Mon Mothma in a quiet corner of the Senate Building, back when the Clone Wars raged and the Republic was still intact, though already showing cracks in its foundation.

It had been late, the halls nearly empty, the usual bustle of aides and officials reduced to a handful of tired souls working into the night. Mon Mothma, always composed, had leaned in close, her voice low, her expression uncharacteristically soft. Deena had expected the usual talk of political strategy, of the latest developments on the battlefronts, or perhaps an inquiry about the mood in the Senate. But the Chandrilan Senator had surprised her.

"Deena," she had said, her voice gentle yet weighted with concern, "have you ever thought about what comes after all this? After the wars, after the battles? What do you want from your life when the stories of heroes and battlefronts are no longer wanted by the people?"

Deena had been taken aback, her mind still occupied with the latest report she was preparing, the next big scoop that would capture the attention of the galaxy. She had blinked, unsure how to respond. At the time, she had been driven by the need to be where the action was, to document the war that was reshaping the galaxy. The future beyond that had seemed distant, almost irrelevant.

"I… I haven't really thought about it," Deena had admitted, feeling a strange vulnerability in front of Mon Mothma, who was both a mentor and a friend. "I suppose I always assumed there would be more stories to tell, even after the war. People will always want to know what happened, won’t they?"

Mon Mothma had smiled then, a sad, knowing smile. "Perhaps. But there will come a time when the galaxy tires of war, when the people long for peace and the stories of heroes become burdensome reminders of a painful past. When that time comes, Deena, you’ll need to know who you are beyond your work, beyond the wars. You’ll need to find a purpose that isn’t tied to conflict or the lives of others."

The words had lingered with Deena, though she hadn’t fully understood them at the time. Mon Mothma had seen something that Deena couldn’t, a future where the Republic would fall, where the stories of war would give way to a darker narrative. But more than that, she had seen the potential for Deena to become more than just a reporter, to find a life beyond the chaos.

And now, standing before the window, staring into the eyes of the woman she had become, Deena finally understood what Mon Mothma had been trying to tell her.

Mon Mothma had known the price of victory, had foreseen the emptiness that would follow if Deena didn’t find her own path. But she had ignored the warning, too caught up in the moment, too driven by ambition to see the truth.

Now, with the Republic gone and the Empire firmly in control, she found herself exactly where Mon Mothma had predicted—adrift, without direction, without purpose.

In the quiet of her penthouse, with the city of Coruscant sprawling beneath her, Deena could almost hear Mon Mothma’s voice again, that gentle, caring tone asking her if she knew what she wanted from life. And now, more than ever, Deena wished she had taken the time to answer that question, to truly think about what mattered to her before it was too late.

She closed her eyes, trying to remember the last time she had felt truly alive. The answer eluded her, slipping away like so many other things in her life.

And as she stood there, alone in the dark, Deena Tharen couldn’t help but wonder if she had ever really known herself at all.

[atsa-star-wars-daydream-verse]

Alex the Space Ace: Main Blog and Side-Blogs.

Unrepentantly myself:

Main blog: Alex the Space Ace. Has a bunch of "it me" type posts. ATSA: Godless Snarker: because every day some manner of religious bullshit reminds me that being an atheist is something to be proud of. ATSA: Politics: My politics are in flux right now (drifting leftism-ward from liberal), so this side-blog will have a range of opinions. ATSA: Further Left: What it says on the tin. Should have just posted this stuff to politics. White workeness is a journey, not a destination. Me making an effort to do the background reading listen to diverse voices, but again, these reblogs could have just gone to politics. Might consolidate the three later. Alex IRL: Empty for now. I intended this to be for things I write about my life and pictures I took myself instead of reblogs. I do at least intend to post some pictures (none of myself or relatives, but relatively safe stuff like my own art projects or the sandhill crane I saw near the building where I work recently) eventually. ATSA: That Queer Shit: Because I am queer and support other queer people. ATSA: That Kinky Shit: Because I am kinky and support other kinky people. Most of my kink life is what I read and write these days, so this blog is mostly reblogs of kinky or kink-adjacent stuff I wanted to see again. ATSA: Canned Turnip: Things that made me laugh out loud at least the first time (Side-blog title from the old account's Canned Turnip Off Cockslap, which gets its title from this fic (link goes to AO3).

Arts and Crafts:

ATSA: Arts and Crafts general crafts blog. I have too many hobbies already, but I love looking at art projects, even if I never make one. ATSA: Pixel Art: in which I pretend I'll ever cross-stitch anything as complicated as what's reblogged here. ATSA: Yarn and Floss: pretty pictures of things made with yarn, embroidery thread, and occasionally string.

Fandom stuff:

ATSA: Fic Links. Because if I put these in any other fandom blog, they'll get lost in the other reblogs. ATSA: Fandom Dork, for all my past and sort-of fandoms, except for Star Trek (my first and forever fandom) and whatever my current obsessive fandom is. ATSA: Space and Sci-Fi: Space, science, and science-fiction that sometimes overlaps with the fandom and derisann stuff. ATSA: Star Trek Forever: My first and forever fandom. Like, since watching Next Gen as a kindergartener in 1989. ATSA: Star Wars: My current obsessive fandom. I've always been aware of it through cultural osmosis, and got into the prequels for a bit when they were new (they began right before I started high school and ended in my early adulthood), and I got into the Sequels a bit (mostly the fic because fuck everything that happens after Episode VII), and then in May of 2023 I got back into Star Wars in a big way. Cue watching tons of youtube videos and reading tons of meta and fanfic and, oh yeah, the canon and legends material. I'm working on an AU of an AU fic-verse that is kind of all over the place and is spawning multiple timelines, but if someone, somewhere, read any of it and left a comment, I might cry from joy that I'm not just typing into the void. ATSA: Star Wars: Daydream 'Verse: A side-blog I made for the above AU of an AU fic-verse. ATSA: Reaction Gifs: Reaction gifs, gifs from movies and TV, and recently screencaps from movies and TV, because obviously I already have too many side-blogs. I started the original gifblogforsim before it was common for social media sites to make reaction gifs available, and it was bad "netiquette" to hotlink from someone else's space.

Writing:

ATSA: Writing: posts about writing, writing tips, writing encouragement, the occasional infographic, and probably some prompts if I forgot on the day it was queued that the plot bunny pet shop was also a thing. ATSA: Plot Bunny Pet Shop: Story ideas that I like. I will likely not get around to writing any of them myself (I'm struggling enough to post coherent pieces of my current immersive daydream), and I hope that someone else will--and ideally tag me so I can read it. ATSA: Quotes: Because I have so many of them in my likes and they deserved their own space. ATSA: Book Love: Because books are my first love (you'll see a lot of my old account side-blogs like derisann and booksaremyfirstlove

Other:

ATSA: Music and Video, because most of the time when I'm browsing Tumblr I'm already listening to a podcast or half-watching YouTube videos on the other screen. I'll get back to these, no really. ATSA: Health and Fitness: Exactly what it says on the tin. Also a lot of mental health and disability stuff. ATSA: Food and Drink: Recipes. I reblog simple ones that look tasty and don't have ingredients that are too expensive. Now that I have a kitchen again (as of July 2024; for a year and a half before that I lived in a crackerbox of a studio with just a microwave, a toaster, and an electric kettle), I might actually try to make some of these. ATSA: Read Later: Stuff I intend to read, but not right now. Kind of like the thousand or so dead tree books sitting in stacked crates or the thousand or so ebooks on my external hard drive. I've read many, but the rest of the stack is aspirational. ATSA: Reference: Exactly what it says on the tin. Should probably have combined with ATSA: Useful. ATSA: Reverse Hope Chest: Called such because the original version was as I was leaving my ex and looking for my own place. I've been on my own (though occasionally with roommates) since 2014, but I'm always on the lookout for neurodiverse-friendly cleaning and organizing tips and other general adulting-in-the-home type stuff. ATSA: Sidetrackedery: interesting articles. Began as Sidetrackedery on LiveJournal (that started in 2009) and moved to verticalfile on LiveJournal. This is something I'd like to have kept up, but there just aren't enough hours in the day to do the stuff I want to do online AND do all the art projects I want to do when I also have to do stuff like commute and work and sleep and stuff. Stuff I wanted to hold onto but which didn't fit in any of the other side-blogs: ATSA: All the Rest ATSA: Useful: More stuff I wanted to have easy access to. It's a little bit different from reference, but they probably could have been combined. Unsmoted Art: NSFW/18+ type stuff that's managed to survive on Tumblr. ATSA: Best of the Best: when it's a great post and I remember this side-blog exists. ATSA: Derisann: Blog of pretty things. There will be much (but not total)) overlap from the old derisann.

Not Reblogs:

Out of Context Puzzle in a Thunderstorm: Out of context funny quotes (and otherwise quotable bits) from various PIAT podcasts, including D&D Minus, God Awful Movies, Citation Needed, The Scathing Atheist, and The Skepticrat. Not affiliated with PIAT, but I did ask Noah Lugeons when I saw him at FREEFLO 2023, and he said to ask their social media guy, and their social media guy said it was okay, so it's okay. This is another one of those online things that I'd love to keep up with if I had more time/attention span.

[alex--irl]

Alex the Space Ace: Main Blog and Side-Blogs.

Unrepentantly myself:

Main blog: Alex the Space Ace. Has a bunch of "it me" type posts. ATSA: Godless Snarker: because every day some manner of religious bullshit reminds me that being an atheist is something to be proud of. ATSA: Politics: My politics are in flux right now (drifting leftism-ward from liberal), so this side-blog will have a range of opinions. ATSA: Further Left: What it says on the tin. Should have just posted this stuff to politics. White workeness is a journey, not a destination. Me making an effort to do the background reading listen to diverse voices, but again, these reblogs could have just gone to politics. Might consolidate the three later. Alex IRL: Empty for now. I intended this to be for things I write about my life and pictures I took myself instead of reblogs. I do at least intend to post some pictures (none of myself or relatives, but relatively safe stuff like my own art projects or the sandhill crane I saw near the building where I work recently) eventually. ATSA: That Queer Shit: Because I am queer and support other queer people. ATSA: That Kinky Shit: Because I am kinky and support other kinky people. Most of my kink life is what I read and write these days, so this blog is mostly reblogs of kinky or kink-adjacent stuff I wanted to see again. ATSA: Canned Turnip: Things that made me laugh out loud at least the first time (Side-blog title from the old account's Canned Turnip Off Cockslap, which gets its title from this fic (link goes to AO3).

Arts and Crafts:

ATSA: Arts and Crafts general crafts blog. I have too many hobbies already, but I love looking at art projects, even if I never make one. ATSA: Pixel Art: in which I pretend I'll ever cross-stitch anything as complicated as what's reblogged here. ATSA: Yarn and Floss: pretty pictures of things made with yarn, embroidery thread, and occasionally string.

Fandom stuff:

ATSA: Fic Links. Because if I put these in any other fandom blog, they'll get lost in the other reblogs. ATSA: Fandom Dork, for all my past and sort-of fandoms, except for Star Trek (my first and forever fandom) and whatever my current obsessive fandom is. ATSA: Space and Sci-Fi: Space, science, and science-fiction that sometimes overlaps with the fandom and derisann stuff. ATSA: Star Trek Forever: My first and forever fandom. Like, since watching Next Gen as a kindergartener in 1989. ATSA: Star Wars: My current obsessive fandom. I've always been aware of it through cultural osmosis, and got into the prequels for a bit when they were new (they began right before I started high school and ended in my early adulthood), and I got into the Sequels a bit (mostly the fic because fuck everything that happens after Episode VII), and then in May of 2023 I got back into Star Wars in a big way. Cue watching tons of youtube videos and reading tons of meta and fanfic and, oh yeah, the canon and legends material. I'm working on an AU of an AU fic-verse that is kind of all over the place and is spawning multiple timelines, but if someone, somewhere, read any of it and left a comment, I might cry from joy that I'm not just typing into the void. ATSA: Star Wars: Daydream 'Verse: A side-blog I made for the above AU of an AU fic-verse. ATSA: Reaction Gifs: Reaction gifs, gifs from movies and TV, and recently screencaps from movies and TV, because obviously I already have too many side-blogs. I started the original gifblogforsim before it was common for social media sites to make reaction gifs available, and it was bad "netiquette" to hotlink from someone else's space.

Writing:

ATSA: Writing: posts about writing, writing tips, writing encouragement, the occasional infographic, and probably some prompts if I forgot on the day it was queued that the plot bunny pet shop was also a thing. ATSA: Plot Bunny Pet Shop: Story ideas that I like. I will likely not get around to writing any of them myself (I'm struggling enough to post coherent pieces of my current immersive daydream), and I hope that someone else will--and ideally tag me so I can read it. ATSA: Quotes: Because I have so many of them in my likes and they deserved their own space. ATSA: Book Love: Because books are my first love (you'll see a lot of my old account side-blogs like derisann and booksaremyfirstlove

Other:

ATSA: Music and Video, because most of the time when I'm browsing Tumblr I'm already listening to a podcast or half-watching YouTube videos on the other screen. I'll get back to these, no really. ATSA: Health and Fitness: Exactly what it says on the tin. Also a lot of mental health and disability stuff. ATSA: Food and Drink: Recipes. I reblog simple ones that look tasty and don't have ingredients that are too expensive. Now that I have a kitchen again (as of July 2024; for a year and a half before that I lived in a crackerbox of a studio with just a microwave, a toaster, and an electric kettle), I might actually try to make some of these. ATSA: Read Later: Stuff I intend to read, but not right now. Kind of like the thousand or so dead tree books sitting in stacked crates or the thousand or so ebooks on my external hard drive. I've read many, but the rest of the stack is aspirational. ATSA: Reference: Exactly what it says on the tin. Should probably have combined with ATSA: Useful. ATSA: Reverse Hope Chest: Called such because the original version was as I was leaving my ex and looking for my own place. I've been on my own (though occasionally with roommates) since 2014, but I'm always on the lookout for neurodiverse-friendly cleaning and organizing tips and other general adulting-in-the-home type stuff. ATSA: Sidetrackedery: interesting articles. Began as Sidetrackedery on LiveJournal (that started in 2009) and moved to verticalfile on LiveJournal. This is something I'd like to have kept up, but there just aren't enough hours in the day to do the stuff I want to do online AND do all the art projects I want to do when I also have to do stuff like commute and work and sleep and stuff. Stuff I wanted to hold onto but which didn't fit in any of the other side-blogs: ATSA: All the Rest ATSA: Useful: More stuff I wanted to have easy access to. It's a little bit different from reference, but they probably could have been combined. Unsmoted Art: NSFW/18+ type stuff that's managed to survive on Tumblr. ATSA: Best of the Best: when it's a great post and I remember this side-blog exists. ATSA: Derisann: Blog of pretty things. There will be much (but not total)) overlap from the old derisann.

Not Reblogs:

Out of Context Puzzle in a Thunderstorm: Out of context funny quotes (and otherwise quotable bits) from various PIAT podcasts, including D&D Minus, God Awful Movies, Citation Needed, The Scathing Atheist, and The Skepticrat. Not affiliated with PIAT, but I did ask Noah Lugeons when I saw him at FREEFLO 2023, and he said to ask their social media guy, and their social media guy said it was okay, so it's okay. This is another one of those online things that I'd love to keep up with if I had more time/attention span.

[atsa-sidetrackedery]

Alex the Space Ace: Main Blog and Side-Blogs.

Unrepentantly myself:

Main blog: Alex the Space Ace. Has a bunch of "it me" type posts. ATSA: Godless Snarker: because every day some manner of religious bullshit reminds me that being an atheist is something to be proud of. ATSA: Politics: My politics are in flux right now (drifting leftism-ward from liberal), so this side-blog will have a range of opinions. ATSA: Further Left: What it says on the tin. Should have just posted this stuff to politics. White workeness is a journey, not a destination. Me making an effort to do the background reading listen to diverse voices, but again, these reblogs could have just gone to politics. Might consolidate the three later. Alex IRL: Empty for now. I intended this to be for things I write about my life and pictures I took myself instead of reblogs. I do at least intend to post some pictures (none of myself or relatives, but relatively safe stuff like my own art projects or the sandhill crane I saw near the building where I work recently) eventually. ATSA: That Queer Shit: Because I am queer and support other queer people. ATSA: That Kinky Shit: Because I am kinky and support other kinky people. Most of my kink life is what I read and write these days, so this blog is mostly reblogs of kinky or kink-adjacent stuff I wanted to see again. ATSA: Canned Turnip: Things that made me laugh out loud at least the first time (Side-blog title from the old account's Canned Turnip Off Cockslap, which gets its title from this fic (link goes to AO3).

Arts and Crafts:

ATSA: Arts and Crafts general crafts blog. I have too many hobbies already, but I love looking at art projects, even if I never make one. ATSA: Pixel Art: in which I pretend I'll ever cross-stitch anything as complicated as what's reblogged here. ATSA: Yarn and Floss: pretty pictures of things made with yarn, embroidery thread, and occasionally string.

Fandom stuff:

ATSA: Fic Links. Because if I put these in any other fandom blog, they'll get lost in the other reblogs. ATSA: Fandom Dork, for all my past and sort-of fandoms, except for Star Trek (my first and forever fandom) and whatever my current obsessive fandom is. ATSA: Space and Sci-Fi: Space, science, and science-fiction that sometimes overlaps with the fandom and derisann stuff. ATSA: Star Trek Forever: My first and forever fandom. Like, since watching Next Gen as a kindergartener in 1989. ATSA: Star Wars: My current obsessive fandom. I've always been aware of it through cultural osmosis, and got into the prequels for a bit when they were new (they began right before I started high school and ended in my early adulthood), and I got into the Sequels a bit (mostly the fic because fuck everything that happens after Episode VII), and then in May of 2023 I got back into Star Wars in a big way. Cue watching tons of youtube videos and reading tons of meta and fanfic and, oh yeah, the canon and legends material. I'm working on an AU of an AU fic-verse that is kind of all over the place and is spawning multiple timelines, but if someone, somewhere, read any of it and left a comment, I might cry from joy that I'm not just typing into the void. ATSA: Star Wars: Daydream 'Verse: A side-blog I made for the above AU of an AU fic-verse. ATSA: Reaction Gifs: Reaction gifs, gifs from movies and TV, and recently screencaps from movies and TV, because obviously I already have too many side-blogs. I started the original gifblogforsim before it was common for social media sites to make reaction gifs available, and it was bad "netiquette" to hotlink from someone else's space.

Writing:

ATSA: Writing: posts about writing, writing tips, writing encouragement, the occasional infographic, and probably some prompts if I forgot on the day it was queued that the plot bunny pet shop was also a thing. ATSA: Plot Bunny Pet Shop: Story ideas that I like. I will likely not get around to writing any of them myself (I'm struggling enough to post coherent pieces of my current immersive daydream), and I hope that someone else will--and ideally tag me so I can read it. ATSA: Quotes: Because I have so many of them in my likes and they deserved their own space. ATSA: Book Love: Because books are my first love (you'll see a lot of my old account side-blogs like derisann and booksaremyfirstlove

Other:

ATSA: Music and Video, because most of the time when I'm browsing Tumblr I'm already listening to a podcast or half-watching YouTube videos on the other screen. I'll get back to these, no really. ATSA: Health and Fitness: Exactly what it says on the tin. Also a lot of mental health and disability stuff. ATSA: Food and Drink: Recipes. I reblog simple ones that look tasty and don't have ingredients that are too expensive. Now that I have a kitchen again (as of July 2024; for a year and a half before that I lived in a crackerbox of a studio with just a microwave, a toaster, and an electric kettle), I might actually try to make some of these. ATSA: Read Later: Stuff I intend to read, but not right now. Kind of like the thousand or so dead tree books sitting in stacked crates or the thousand or so ebooks on my external hard drive. I've read many, but the rest of the stack is aspirational. ATSA: Reference: Exactly what it says on the tin. Should probably have combined with ATSA: Useful. ATSA: Reverse Hope Chest: Called such because the original version was as I was leaving my ex and looking for my own place. I've been on my own (though occasionally with roommates) since 2014, but I'm always on the lookout for neurodiverse-friendly cleaning and organizing tips and other general adulting-in-the-home type stuff. ATSA: Sidetrackedery: interesting articles. Began as Sidetrackedery on LiveJournal (that started in 2009) and moved to verticalfile on LiveJournal. This is something I'd like to have kept up, but there just aren't enough hours in the day to do the stuff I want to do online AND do all the art projects I want to do when I also have to do stuff like commute and work and sleep and stuff. Stuff I wanted to hold onto but which didn't fit in any of the other side-blogs: ATSA: All the Rest ATSA: Useful: More stuff I wanted to have easy access to. It's a little bit different from reference, but they probably could have been combined. Unsmoted Art: NSFW/18+ type stuff that's managed to survive on Tumblr. ATSA: Best of the Best: when it's a great post and I remember this side-blog exists. ATSA: Derisann: Blog of pretty things. There will be much (but not total)) overlap from the old derisann.

Not Reblogs:

Out of Context Puzzle in a Thunderstorm: Out of context funny quotes (and otherwise quotable bits) from various PIAT podcasts, including D&D Minus, God Awful Movies, Citation Needed, The Scathing Atheist, and The Skepticrat. Not affiliated with PIAT, but I did ask Noah Lugeons when I saw him at FREEFLO 2023, and he said to ask their social media guy, and their social media guy said it was okay, so it's okay. This is another one of those online things that I'd love to keep up with if I had more time/attention span.

[atsa-further-left]

Alex the Space Ace: Main Blog and Side-Blogs.

Unrepentantly myself:

Main blog: Alex the Space Ace. Has a bunch of "it me" type posts. ATSA: Godless Snarker: because every day some manner of religious bullshit reminds me that being an atheist is something to be proud of. ATSA: Politics: My politics are in flux right now (drifting leftism-ward from liberal), so this side-blog will have a range of opinions. ATSA: Further Left: What it says on the tin. Should have just posted this stuff to politics. White workeness is a journey, not a destination. Me making an effort to do the background reading listen to diverse voices, but again, these reblogs could have just gone to politics. Might consolidate the three later. Alex IRL: Empty for now. I intended this to be for things I write about my life and pictures I took myself instead of reblogs. I do at least intend to post some pictures (none of myself or relatives, but relatively safe stuff like my own art projects or the sandhill crane I saw near the building where I work recently) eventually. ATSA: That Queer Shit: Because I am queer and support other queer people. ATSA: That Kinky Shit: Because I am kinky and support other kinky people. Most of my kink life is what I read and write these days, so this blog is mostly reblogs of kinky or kink-adjacent stuff I wanted to see again. ATSA: Canned Turnip: Things that made me laugh out loud at least the first time (Side-blog title from the old account's Canned Turnip Off Cockslap, which gets its title from this fic (link goes to AO3).

Arts and Crafts:

ATSA: Arts and Crafts general crafts blog. I have too many hobbies already, but I love looking at art projects, even if I never make one. ATSA: Pixel Art: in which I pretend I'll ever cross-stitch anything as complicated as what's reblogged here. ATSA: Yarn and Floss: pretty pictures of things made with yarn, embroidery thread, and occasionally string.

Fandom stuff:

ATSA: Fic Links. Because if I put these in any other fandom blog, they'll get lost in the other reblogs. ATSA: Fandom Dork, for all my past and sort-of fandoms, except for Star Trek (my first and forever fandom) and whatever my current obsessive fandom is. ATSA: Space and Sci-Fi: Space, science, and science-fiction that sometimes overlaps with the fandom and derisann stuff. ATSA: Star Trek Forever: My first and forever fandom. Like, since watching Next Gen as a kindergartener in 1989. ATSA: Star Wars: My current obsessive fandom. I've always been aware of it through cultural osmosis, and got into the prequels for a bit when they were new (they began right before I started high school and ended in my early adulthood), and I got into the Sequels a bit (mostly the fic because fuck everything that happens after Episode VII), and then in May of 2023 I got back into Star Wars in a big way. Cue watching tons of youtube videos and reading tons of meta and fanfic and, oh yeah, the canon and legends material. I'm working on an AU of an AU fic-verse that is kind of all over the place and is spawning multiple timelines, but if someone, somewhere, read any of it and left a comment, I might cry from joy that I'm not just typing into the void. ATSA: Star Wars: Daydream 'Verse: A side-blog I made for the above AU of an AU fic-verse. ATSA: Reaction Gifs: Reaction gifs, gifs from movies and TV, and recently screencaps from movies and TV, because obviously I already have too many side-blogs. I started the original gifblogforsim before it was common for social media sites to make reaction gifs available, and it was bad "netiquette" to hotlink from someone else's space.

Writing:

ATSA: Writing: posts about writing, writing tips, writing encouragement, the occasional infographic, and probably some prompts if I forgot on the day it was queued that the plot bunny pet shop was also a thing. ATSA: Plot Bunny Pet Shop: Story ideas that I like. I will likely not get around to writing any of them myself (I'm struggling enough to post coherent pieces of my current immersive daydream), and I hope that someone else will--and ideally tag me so I can read it. ATSA: Quotes: Because I have so many of them in my likes and they deserved their own space. ATSA: Book Love: Because books are my first love (you'll see a lot of my old account side-blogs like derisann and booksaremyfirstlove

Other:

ATSA: Music and Video, because most of the time when I'm browsing Tumblr I'm already listening to a podcast or half-watching YouTube videos on the other screen. I'll get back to these, no really. ATSA: Health and Fitness: Exactly what it says on the tin. Also a lot of mental health and disability stuff. ATSA: Food and Drink: Recipes. I reblog simple ones that look tasty and don't have ingredients that are too expensive. Now that I have a kitchen again (as of July 2024; for a year and a half before that I lived in a crackerbox of a studio with just a microwave, a toaster, and an electric kettle), I might actually try to make some of these. ATSA: Read Later: Stuff I intend to read, but not right now. Kind of like the thousand or so dead tree books sitting in stacked crates or the thousand or so ebooks on my external hard drive. I've read many, but the rest of the stack is aspirational. ATSA: Reference: Exactly what it says on the tin. Should probably have combined with ATSA: Useful. ATSA: Reverse Hope Chest: Called such because the original version was as I was leaving my ex and looking for my own place. I've been on my own (though occasionally with roommates) since 2014, but I'm always on the lookout for neurodiverse-friendly cleaning and organizing tips and other general adulting-in-the-home type stuff. ATSA: Sidetrackedery: interesting articles. Began as Sidetrackedery on LiveJournal (that started in 2009) and moved to verticalfile on LiveJournal. This is something I'd like to have kept up, but there just aren't enough hours in the day to do the stuff I want to do online AND do all the art projects I want to do when I also have to do stuff like commute and work and sleep and stuff. Stuff I wanted to hold onto but which didn't fit in any of the other side-blogs: ATSA: All the Rest ATSA: Useful: More stuff I wanted to have easy access to. It's a little bit different from reference, but they probably could have been combined. Unsmoted Art: NSFW/18+ type stuff that's managed to survive on Tumblr. ATSA: Best of the Best: when it's a great post and I remember this side-blog exists. ATSA: Derisann: Blog of pretty things. There will be much (but not total)) overlap from the old derisann.

Not Reblogs:

Out of Context Puzzle in a Thunderstorm: Out of context funny quotes (and otherwise quotable bits) from various PIAT podcasts, including D&D Minus, God Awful Movies, Citation Needed, The Scathing Atheist, and The Skepticrat. Not affiliated with PIAT, but I did ask Noah Lugeons when I saw him at FREEFLO 2023, and he said to ask their social media guy, and their social media guy said it was okay, so it's okay. This is another one of those online things that I'd love to keep up with if I had more time/attention span.

[atsa-reaction-gifs]

Alex the Space Ace: Main Blog and Side-Blogs.

Unrepentantly myself:

Main blog: Alex the Space Ace. Has a bunch of "it me" type posts. ATSA: Godless Snarker: because every day some manner of religious bullshit reminds me that being an atheist is something to be proud of. ATSA: Politics: My politics are in flux right now (drifting leftism-ward from liberal), so this side-blog will have a range of opinions. ATSA: Further Left: What it says on the tin. Should have just posted this stuff to politics. White workeness is a journey, not a destination. Me making an effort to do the background reading listen to diverse voices, but again, these reblogs could have just gone to politics. Might consolidate the three later. Alex IRL: Empty for now. I intended this to be for things I write about my life and pictures I took myself instead of reblogs. I do at least intend to post some pictures (none of myself or relatives, but relatively safe stuff like my own art projects or the sandhill crane I saw near the building where I work recently) eventually. ATSA: That Queer Shit: Because I am queer and support other queer people. ATSA: That Kinky Shit: Because I am kinky and support other kinky people. Most of my kink life is what I read and write these days, so this blog is mostly reblogs of kinky or kink-adjacent stuff I wanted to see again. ATSA: Canned Turnip: Things that made me laugh out loud at least the first time (Side-blog title from the old account's Canned Turnip Off Cockslap, which gets its title from this fic (link goes to AO3).

Arts and Crafts:

ATSA: Arts and Crafts general crafts blog. I have too many hobbies already, but I love looking at art projects, even if I never make one. ATSA: Pixel Art: in which I pretend I'll ever cross-stitch anything as complicated as what's reblogged here. ATSA: Yarn and Floss: pretty pictures of things made with yarn, embroidery thread, and occasionally string.

Fandom stuff:

ATSA: Fic Links. Because if I put these in any other fandom blog, they'll get lost in the other reblogs. ATSA: Fandom Dork, for all my past and sort-of fandoms, except for Star Trek (my first and forever fandom) and whatever my current obsessive fandom is. ATSA: Space and Sci-Fi: Space, science, and science-fiction that sometimes overlaps with the fandom and derisann stuff. ATSA: Star Trek Forever: My first and forever fandom. Like, since watching Next Gen as a kindergartener in 1989. ATSA: Star Wars: My current obsessive fandom. I've always been aware of it through cultural osmosis, and got into the prequels for a bit when they were new (they began right before I started high school and ended in my early adulthood), and I got into the Sequels a bit (mostly the fic because fuck everything that happens after Episode VII), and then in May of 2023 I got back into Star Wars in a big way. Cue watching tons of youtube videos and reading tons of meta and fanfic and, oh yeah, the canon and legends material. I'm working on an AU of an AU fic-verse that is kind of all over the place and is spawning multiple timelines, but if someone, somewhere, read any of it and left a comment, I might cry from joy that I'm not just typing into the void. ATSA: Star Wars: Daydream 'Verse: A side-blog I made for the above AU of an AU fic-verse. ATSA: Reaction Gifs: Reaction gifs, gifs from movies and TV, and recently screencaps from movies and TV, because obviously I already have too many side-blogs. I started the original gifblogforsim before it was common for social media sites to make reaction gifs available, and it was bad "netiquette" to hotlink from someone else's space.

Writing:

ATSA: Writing: posts about writing, writing tips, writing encouragement, the occasional infographic, and probably some prompts if I forgot on the day it was queued that the plot bunny pet shop was also a thing. ATSA: Plot Bunny Pet Shop: Story ideas that I like. I will likely not get around to writing any of them myself (I'm struggling enough to post coherent pieces of my current immersive daydream), and I hope that someone else will--and ideally tag me so I can read it. ATSA: Quotes: Because I have so many of them in my likes and they deserved their own space. ATSA: Book Love: Because books are my first love (you'll see a lot of my old account side-blogs like derisann and booksaremyfirstlove

Other:

ATSA: Music and Video, because most of the time when I'm browsing Tumblr I'm already listening to a podcast or half-watching YouTube videos on the other screen. I'll get back to these, no really. ATSA: Health and Fitness: Exactly what it says on the tin. Also a lot of mental health and disability stuff. ATSA: Food and Drink: Recipes. I reblog simple ones that look tasty and don't have ingredients that are too expensive. Now that I have a kitchen again (as of July 2024; for a year and a half before that I lived in a crackerbox of a studio with just a microwave, a toaster, and an electric kettle), I might actually try to make some of these. ATSA: Read Later: Stuff I intend to read, but not right now. Kind of like the thousand or so dead tree books sitting in stacked crates or the thousand or so ebooks on my external hard drive. I've read many, but the rest of the stack is aspirational. ATSA: Reference: Exactly what it says on the tin. Should probably have combined with ATSA: Useful. ATSA: Reverse Hope Chest: Called such because the original version was as I was leaving my ex and looking for my own place. I've been on my own (though occasionally with roommates) since 2014, but I'm always on the lookout for neurodiverse-friendly cleaning and organizing tips and other general adulting-in-the-home type stuff. ATSA: Sidetrackedery: interesting articles. Began as Sidetrackedery on LiveJournal (that started in 2009) and moved to verticalfile on LiveJournal. This is something I'd like to have kept up, but there just aren't enough hours in the day to do the stuff I want to do online AND do all the art projects I want to do when I also have to do stuff like commute and work and sleep and stuff. Stuff I wanted to hold onto but which didn't fit in any of the other side-blogs: ATSA: All the Rest ATSA: Useful: More stuff I wanted to have easy access to. It's a little bit different from reference, but they probably could have been combined. Unsmoted Art: NSFW/18+ type stuff that's managed to survive on Tumblr. ATSA: Best of the Best: when it's a great post and I remember this side-blog exists. ATSA: Derisann: Blog of pretty things. There will be much (but not total)) overlap from the old derisann.

Not Reblogs:

Out of Context Puzzle in a Thunderstorm: Out of context funny quotes (and otherwise quotable bits) from various PIAT podcasts, including D&D Minus, God Awful Movies, Citation Needed, The Scathing Atheist, and The Skepticrat. Not affiliated with PIAT, but I did ask Noah Lugeons when I saw him at FREEFLO 2023, and he said to ask their social media guy, and their social media guy said it was okay, so it's okay. This is another one of those online things that I'd love to keep up with if I had more time/attention span.

[ooc-piat]

Alex the Space Ace: Main Blog and Side-Blogs.

Unrepentantly myself:

Main blog: Alex the Space Ace. Has a bunch of "it me" type posts. ATSA: Godless Snarker: because every day some manner of religious bullshit reminds me that being an atheist is something to be proud of. ATSA: Politics: My politics are in flux right now (drifting leftism-ward from liberal), so this side-blog will have a range of opinions. ATSA: Further Left: What it says on the tin. Should have just posted this stuff to politics. White workeness is a journey, not a destination. Me making an effort to do the background reading listen to diverse voices, but again, these reblogs could have just gone to politics. Might consolidate the three later. Alex IRL: Empty for now. I intended this to be for things I write about my life and pictures I took myself instead of reblogs. I do at least intend to post some pictures (none of myself or relatives, but relatively safe stuff like my own art projects or the sandhill crane I saw near the building where I work recently) eventually. ATSA: That Queer Shit: Because I am queer and support other queer people. ATSA: That Kinky Shit: Because I am kinky and support other kinky people. Most of my kink life is what I read and write these days, so this blog is mostly reblogs of kinky or kink-adjacent stuff I wanted to see again. ATSA: Canned Turnip: Things that made me laugh out loud at least the first time (Side-blog title from the old account's Canned Turnip Off Cockslap, which gets its title from this fic (link goes to AO3).

Arts and Crafts:

ATSA: Arts and Crafts general crafts blog. I have too many hobbies already, but I love looking at art projects, even if I never make one. ATSA: Pixel Art: in which I pretend I'll ever cross-stitch anything as complicated as what's reblogged here. ATSA: Yarn and Floss: pretty pictures of things made with yarn, embroidery thread, and occasionally string.

Fandom stuff:

ATSA: Fic Links. Because if I put these in any other fandom blog, they'll get lost in the other reblogs. ATSA: Fandom Dork, for all my past and sort-of fandoms, except for Star Trek (my first and forever fandom) and whatever my current obsessive fandom is. ATSA: Space and Sci-Fi: Space, science, and science-fiction that sometimes overlaps with the fandom and derisann stuff. ATSA: Star Trek Forever: My first and forever fandom. Like, since watching Next Gen as a kindergartener in 1989. ATSA: Star Wars: My current obsessive fandom. I've always been aware of it through cultural osmosis, and got into the prequels for a bit when they were new (they began right before I started high school and ended in my early adulthood), and I got into the Sequels a bit (mostly the fic because fuck everything that happens after Episode VII), and then in May of 2023 I got back into Star Wars in a big way. Cue watching tons of youtube videos and reading tons of meta and fanfic and, oh yeah, the canon and legends material. I'm working on an AU of an AU fic-verse that is kind of all over the place and is spawning multiple timelines, but if someone, somewhere, read any of it and left a comment, I might cry from joy that I'm not just typing into the void. ATSA: Star Wars: Daydream 'Verse: A side-blog I made for the above AU of an AU fic-verse. ATSA: Reaction Gifs: Reaction gifs, gifs from movies and TV, and recently screencaps from movies and TV, because obviously I already have too many side-blogs. I started the original gifblogforsim before it was common for social media sites to make reaction gifs available, and it was bad "netiquette" to hotlink from someone else's space.

Writing:

ATSA: Writing: posts about writing, writing tips, writing encouragement, the occasional infographic, and probably some prompts if I forgot on the day it was queued that the plot bunny pet shop was also a thing. ATSA: Plot Bunny Pet Shop: Story ideas that I like. I will likely not get around to writing any of them myself (I'm struggling enough to post coherent pieces of my current immersive daydream), and I hope that someone else will--and ideally tag me so I can read it. ATSA: Quotes: Because I have so many of them in my likes and they deserved their own space. ATSA: Book Love: Because books are my first love (you'll see a lot of my old account side-blogs like derisann and booksaremyfirstlove

Other:

ATSA: Music and Video, because most of the time when I'm browsing Tumblr I'm already listening to a podcast or half-watching YouTube videos on the other screen. I'll get back to these, no really. ATSA: Health and Fitness: Exactly what it says on the tin. Also a lot of mental health and disability stuff. ATSA: Food and Drink: Recipes. I reblog simple ones that look tasty and don't have ingredients that are too expensive. Now that I have a kitchen again (as of July 2024; for a year and a half before that I lived in a crackerbox of a studio with just a microwave, a toaster, and an electric kettle), I might actually try to make some of these. ATSA: Read Later: Stuff I intend to read, but not right now. Kind of like the thousand or so dead tree books sitting in stacked crates or the thousand or so ebooks on my external hard drive. I've read many, but the rest of the stack is aspirational. ATSA: Reference: Exactly what it says on the tin. Should probably have combined with ATSA: Useful. ATSA: Reverse Hope Chest: Called such because the original version was as I was leaving my ex and looking for my own place. I've been on my own (though occasionally with roommates) since 2014, but I'm always on the lookout for neurodiverse-friendly cleaning and organizing tips and other general adulting-in-the-home type stuff. ATSA: Sidetrackedery: interesting articles. Began as Sidetrackedery on LiveJournal (that started in 2009) and moved to verticalfile on LiveJournal. This is something I'd like to have kept up, but there just aren't enough hours in the day to do the stuff I want to do online AND do all the art projects I want to do when I also have to do stuff like commute and work and sleep and stuff. Stuff I wanted to hold onto but which didn't fit in any of the other side-blogs: ATSA: All the Rest ATSA: Useful: More stuff I wanted to have easy access to. It's a little bit different from reference, but they probably could have been combined. Unsmoted Art: NSFW/18+ type stuff that's managed to survive on Tumblr. ATSA: Best of the Best: when it's a great post and I remember this side-blog exists. ATSA: Derisann: Blog of pretty things. There will be much (but not total)) overlap from the old derisann.

Not Reblogs:

Out of Context Puzzle in a Thunderstorm: Out of context funny quotes (and otherwise quotable bits) from various PIAT podcasts, including D&D Minus, God Awful Movies, Citation Needed, The Scathing Atheist, and The Skepticrat. Not affiliated with PIAT, but I did ask Noah Lugeons when I saw him at FREEFLO 2023, and he said to ask their social media guy, and their social media guy said it was okay, so it's okay. This is another one of those online things that I'd love to keep up with if I had more time/attention span.

[atsa-yarn-floss]

Alex the Space Ace: Main Blog and Side-Blogs.

Unrepentantly myself:

Main blog: Alex the Space Ace. Has a bunch of "it me" type posts. ATSA: Godless Snarker: because every day some manner of religious bullshit reminds me that being an atheist is something to be proud of. ATSA: Politics: My politics are in flux right now (drifting leftism-ward from liberal), so this side-blog will have a range of opinions. ATSA: Further Left: What it says on the tin. Should have just posted this stuff to politics. White workeness is a journey, not a destination. Me making an effort to do the background reading listen to diverse voices, but again, these reblogs could have just gone to politics. Might consolidate the three later. Alex IRL: Empty for now. I intended this to be for things I write about my life and pictures I took myself instead of reblogs. I do at least intend to post some pictures (none of myself or relatives, but relatively safe stuff like my own art projects or the sandhill crane I saw near the building where I work recently) eventually. ATSA: That Queer Shit: Because I am queer and support other queer people. ATSA: That Kinky Shit: Because I am kinky and support other kinky people. Most of my kink life is what I read and write these days, so this blog is mostly reblogs of kinky or kink-adjacent stuff I wanted to see again. ATSA: Canned Turnip: Things that made me laugh out loud at least the first time (Side-blog title from the old account's Canned Turnip Off Cockslap, which gets its title from this fic (link goes to AO3).

Arts and Crafts:

ATSA: Arts and Crafts general crafts blog. I have too many hobbies already, but I love looking at art projects, even if I never make one. ATSA: Pixel Art: in which I pretend I'll ever cross-stitch anything as complicated as what's reblogged here. ATSA: Yarn and Floss: pretty pictures of things made with yarn, embroidery thread, and occasionally string.

Fandom stuff:

ATSA: Fic Links. Because if I put these in any other fandom blog, they'll get lost in the other reblogs. ATSA: Fandom Dork, for all my past and sort-of fandoms, except for Star Trek (my first and forever fandom) and whatever my current obsessive fandom is. ATSA: Space and Sci-Fi: Space, science, and science-fiction that sometimes overlaps with the fandom and derisann stuff. ATSA: Star Trek Forever: My first and forever fandom. Like, since watching Next Gen as a kindergartener in 1989. ATSA: Star Wars: My current obsessive fandom. I've always been aware of it through cultural osmosis, and got into the prequels for a bit when they were new (they began right before I started high school and ended in my early adulthood), and I got into the Sequels a bit (mostly the fic because fuck everything that happens after Episode VII), and then in May of 2023 I got back into Star Wars in a big way. Cue watching tons of youtube videos and reading tons of meta and fanfic and, oh yeah, the canon and legends material. I'm working on an AU of an AU fic-verse that is kind of all over the place and is spawning multiple timelines, but if someone, somewhere, read any of it and left a comment, I might cry from joy that I'm not just typing into the void. ATSA: Star Wars: Daydream 'Verse: A side-blog I made for the above AU of an AU fic-verse. ATSA: Reaction Gifs: Reaction gifs, gifs from movies and TV, and recently screencaps from movies and TV, because obviously I already have too many side-blogs. I started the original gifblogforsim before it was common for social media sites to make reaction gifs available, and it was bad "netiquette" to hotlink from someone else's space.

Writing:

ATSA: Writing: posts about writing, writing tips, writing encouragement, the occasional infographic, and probably some prompts if I forgot on the day it was queued that the plot bunny pet shop was also a thing. ATSA: Plot Bunny Pet Shop: Story ideas that I like. I will likely not get around to writing any of them myself (I'm struggling enough to post coherent pieces of my current immersive daydream), and I hope that someone else will--and ideally tag me so I can read it. ATSA: Quotes: Because I have so many of them in my likes and they deserved their own space. ATSA: Book Love: Because books are my first love (you'll see a lot of my old account side-blogs like derisann and booksaremyfirstlove

Other:

ATSA: Music and Video, because most of the time when I'm browsing Tumblr I'm already listening to a podcast or half-watching YouTube videos on the other screen. I'll get back to these, no really. ATSA: Health and Fitness: Exactly what it says on the tin. Also a lot of mental health and disability stuff. ATSA: Food and Drink: Recipes. I reblog simple ones that look tasty and don't have ingredients that are too expensive. Now that I have a kitchen again (as of July 2024; for a year and a half before that I lived in a crackerbox of a studio with just a microwave, a toaster, and an electric kettle), I might actually try to make some of these. ATSA: Read Later: Stuff I intend to read, but not right now. Kind of like the thousand or so dead tree books sitting in stacked crates or the thousand or so ebooks on my external hard drive. I've read many, but the rest of the stack is aspirational. ATSA: Reference: Exactly what it says on the tin. Should probably have combined with ATSA: Useful. ATSA: Reverse Hope Chest: Called such because the original version was as I was leaving my ex and looking for my own place. I've been on my own (though occasionally with roommates) since 2014, but I'm always on the lookout for neurodiverse-friendly cleaning and organizing tips and other general adulting-in-the-home type stuff. ATSA: Sidetrackedery: interesting articles. Began as Sidetrackedery on LiveJournal (that started in 2009) and moved to verticalfile on LiveJournal. This is something I'd like to have kept up, but there just aren't enough hours in the day to do the stuff I want to do online AND do all the art projects I want to do when I also have to do stuff like commute and work and sleep and stuff. Stuff I wanted to hold onto but which didn't fit in any of the other side-blogs: ATSA: All the Rest ATSA: Useful: More stuff I wanted to have easy access to. It's a little bit different from reference, but they probably could have been combined. Unsmoted Art: NSFW/18+ type stuff that's managed to survive on Tumblr. ATSA: Best of the Best: when it's a great post and I remember this side-blog exists. ATSA: Derisann: Blog of pretty things. There will be much (but not total)) overlap from the old derisann.

Not Reblogs:

Out of Context Puzzle in a Thunderstorm: Out of context funny quotes (and otherwise quotable bits) from various PIAT podcasts, including D&D Minus, God Awful Movies, Citation Needed, The Scathing Atheist, and The Skepticrat. Not affiliated with PIAT, but I did ask Noah Lugeons when I saw him at FREEFLO 2023, and he said to ask their social media guy, and their social media guy said it was okay, so it's okay. This is another one of those online things that I'd love to keep up with if I had more time/attention span.

[atsa-writing]

Alex the Space Ace: Main Blog and Side-Blogs.

Unrepentantly myself:

Main blog: Alex the Space Ace. Has a bunch of "it me" type posts. ATSA: Godless Snarker: because every day some manner of religious bullshit reminds me that being an atheist is something to be proud of. ATSA: Politics: My politics are in flux right now (drifting leftism-ward from liberal), so this side-blog will have a range of opinions. ATSA: Further Left: What it says on the tin. Should have just posted this stuff to politics. White workeness is a journey, not a destination. Me making an effort to do the background reading listen to diverse voices, but again, these reblogs could have just gone to politics. Might consolidate the three later. Alex IRL: Empty for now. I intended this to be for things I write about my life and pictures I took myself instead of reblogs. I do at least intend to post some pictures (none of myself or relatives, but relatively safe stuff like my own art projects or the sandhill crane I saw near the building where I work recently) eventually. ATSA: That Queer Shit: Because I am queer and support other queer people. ATSA: That Kinky Shit: Because I am kinky and support other kinky people. Most of my kink life is what I read and write these days, so this blog is mostly reblogs of kinky or kink-adjacent stuff I wanted to see again. ATSA: Canned Turnip: Things that made me laugh out loud at least the first time (Side-blog title from the old account's Canned Turnip Off Cockslap, which gets its title from this fic (link goes to AO3).

Arts and Crafts:

ATSA: Arts and Crafts general crafts blog. I have too many hobbies already, but I love looking at art projects, even if I never make one. ATSA: Pixel Art: in which I pretend I'll ever cross-stitch anything as complicated as what's reblogged here. ATSA: Yarn and Floss: pretty pictures of things made with yarn, embroidery thread, and occasionally string.

Fandom stuff:

ATSA: Fic Links. Because if I put these in any other fandom blog, they'll get lost in the other reblogs. ATSA: Fandom Dork, for all my past and sort-of fandoms, except for Star Trek (my first and forever fandom) and whatever my current obsessive fandom is. ATSA: Space and Sci-Fi: Space, science, and science-fiction that sometimes overlaps with the fandom and derisann stuff. ATSA: Star Trek Forever: My first and forever fandom. Like, since watching Next Gen as a kindergartener in 1989. ATSA: Star Wars: My current obsessive fandom. I've always been aware of it through cultural osmosis, and got into the prequels for a bit when they were new (they began right before I started high school and ended in my early adulthood), and I got into the Sequels a bit (mostly the fic because fuck everything that happens after Episode VII), and then in May of 2023 I got back into Star Wars in a big way. Cue watching tons of youtube videos and reading tons of meta and fanfic and, oh yeah, the canon and legends material. I'm working on an AU of an AU fic-verse that is kind of all over the place and is spawning multiple timelines, but if someone, somewhere, read any of it and left a comment, I might cry from joy that I'm not just typing into the void. ATSA: Star Wars: Daydream 'Verse: A side-blog I made for the above AU of an AU fic-verse. ATSA: Reaction Gifs: Reaction gifs, gifs from movies and TV, and recently screencaps from movies and TV, because obviously I already have too many side-blogs. I started the original gifblogforsim before it was common for social media sites to make reaction gifs available, and it was bad "netiquette" to hotlink from someone else's space.

Writing:

ATSA: Writing: posts about writing, writing tips, writing encouragement, the occasional infographic, and probably some prompts if I forgot on the day it was queued that the plot bunny pet shop was also a thing. ATSA: Plot Bunny Pet Shop: Story ideas that I like. I will likely not get around to writing any of them myself (I'm struggling enough to post coherent pieces of my current immersive daydream), and I hope that someone else will--and ideally tag me so I can read it. ATSA: Quotes: Because I have so many of them in my likes and they deserved their own space. ATSA: Book Love: Because books are my first love (you'll see a lot of my old account side-blogs like derisann and booksaremyfirstlove

Other:

ATSA: Music and Video, because most of the time when I'm browsing Tumblr I'm already listening to a podcast or half-watching YouTube videos on the other screen. I'll get back to these, no really. ATSA: Health and Fitness: Exactly what it says on the tin. Also a lot of mental health and disability stuff. ATSA: Food and Drink: Recipes. I reblog simple ones that look tasty and don't have ingredients that are too expensive. Now that I have a kitchen again (as of July 2024; for a year and a half before that I lived in a crackerbox of a studio with just a microwave, a toaster, and an electric kettle), I might actually try to make some of these. ATSA: Read Later: Stuff I intend to read, but not right now. Kind of like the thousand or so dead tree books sitting in stacked crates or the thousand or so ebooks on my external hard drive. I've read many, but the rest of the stack is aspirational. ATSA: Reference: Exactly what it says on the tin. Should probably have combined with ATSA: Useful. ATSA: Reverse Hope Chest: Called such because the original version was as I was leaving my ex and looking for my own place. I've been on my own (though occasionally with roommates) since 2014, but I'm always on the lookout for neurodiverse-friendly cleaning and organizing tips and other general adulting-in-the-home type stuff. ATSA: Sidetrackedery: interesting articles. Began as Sidetrackedery on LiveJournal (that started in 2009) and moved to verticalfile on LiveJournal. This is something I'd like to have kept up, but there just aren't enough hours in the day to do the stuff I want to do online AND do all the art projects I want to do when I also have to do stuff like commute and work and sleep and stuff. Stuff I wanted to hold onto but which didn't fit in any of the other side-blogs: ATSA: All the Rest ATSA: Useful: More stuff I wanted to have easy access to. It's a little bit different from reference, but they probably could have been combined. Unsmoted Art: NSFW/18+ type stuff that's managed to survive on Tumblr. ATSA: Best of the Best: when it's a great post and I remember this side-blog exists. ATSA: Derisann: Blog of pretty things. There will be much (but not total)) overlap from the old derisann.

Not Reblogs:

Out of Context Puzzle in a Thunderstorm: Out of context funny quotes (and otherwise quotable bits) from various PIAT podcasts, including D&D Minus, God Awful Movies, Citation Needed, The Scathing Atheist, and The Skepticrat. Not affiliated with PIAT, but I did ask Noah Lugeons when I saw him at FREEFLO 2023, and he said to ask their social media guy, and their social media guy said it was okay, so it's okay. This is another one of those online things that I'd love to keep up with if I had more time/attention span.

[atsa-wokeness-journey]

Alex the Space Ace: Main Blog and Side-Blogs.

Unrepentantly myself:

Main blog: Alex the Space Ace. Has a bunch of "it me" type posts. ATSA: Godless Snarker: because every day some manner of religious bullshit reminds me that being an atheist is something to be proud of. ATSA: Politics: My politics are in flux right now (drifting leftism-ward from liberal), so this side-blog will have a range of opinions. ATSA: Further Left: What it says on the tin. Should have just posted this stuff to politics. White workeness is a journey, not a destination. Me making an effort to do the background reading listen to diverse voices, but again, these reblogs could have just gone to politics. Might consolidate the three later. Alex IRL: Empty for now. I intended this to be for things I write about my life and pictures I took myself instead of reblogs. I do at least intend to post some pictures (none of myself or relatives, but relatively safe stuff like my own art projects or the sandhill crane I saw near the building where I work recently) eventually. ATSA: That Queer Shit: Because I am queer and support other queer people. ATSA: That Kinky Shit: Because I am kinky and support other kinky people. Most of my kink life is what I read and write these days, so this blog is mostly reblogs of kinky or kink-adjacent stuff I wanted to see again. ATSA: Canned Turnip: Things that made me laugh out loud at least the first time (Side-blog title from the old account's Canned Turnip Off Cockslap, which gets its title from this fic (link goes to AO3).

Arts and Crafts:

ATSA: Arts and Crafts general crafts blog. I have too many hobbies already, but I love looking at art projects, even if I never make one. ATSA: Pixel Art: in which I pretend I'll ever cross-stitch anything as complicated as what's reblogged here. ATSA: Yarn and Floss: pretty pictures of things made with yarn, embroidery thread, and occasionally string.

Fandom stuff:

ATSA: Fic Links. Because if I put these in any other fandom blog, they'll get lost in the other reblogs. ATSA: Fandom Dork, for all my past and sort-of fandoms, except for Star Trek (my first and forever fandom) and whatever my current obsessive fandom is. ATSA: Space and Sci-Fi: Space, science, and science-fiction that sometimes overlaps with the fandom and derisann stuff. ATSA: Star Trek Forever: My first and forever fandom. Like, since watching Next Gen as a kindergartener in 1989. ATSA: Star Wars: My current obsessive fandom. I've always been aware of it through cultural osmosis, and got into the prequels for a bit when they were new (they began right before I started high school and ended in my early adulthood), and I got into the Sequels a bit (mostly the fic because fuck everything that happens after Episode VII), and then in May of 2023 I got back into Star Wars in a big way. Cue watching tons of youtube videos and reading tons of meta and fanfic and, oh yeah, the canon and legends material. I'm working on an AU of an AU fic-verse that is kind of all over the place and is spawning multiple timelines, but if someone, somewhere, read any of it and left a comment, I might cry from joy that I'm not just typing into the void. ATSA: Star Wars: Daydream 'Verse: A side-blog I made for the above AU of an AU fic-verse. ATSA: Reaction Gifs: Reaction gifs, gifs from movies and TV, and recently screencaps from movies and TV, because obviously I already have too many side-blogs. I started the original gifblogforsim before it was common for social media sites to make reaction gifs available, and it was bad "netiquette" to hotlink from someone else's space.

Writing:

ATSA: Writing: posts about writing, writing tips, writing encouragement, the occasional infographic, and probably some prompts if I forgot on the day it was queued that the plot bunny pet shop was also a thing. ATSA: Plot Bunny Pet Shop: Story ideas that I like. I will likely not get around to writing any of them myself (I'm struggling enough to post coherent pieces of my current immersive daydream), and I hope that someone else will--and ideally tag me so I can read it. ATSA: Quotes: Because I have so many of them in my likes and they deserved their own space. ATSA: Book Love: Because books are my first love (you'll see a lot of my old account side-blogs like derisann and booksaremyfirstlove

Other:

ATSA: Music and Video, because most of the time when I'm browsing Tumblr I'm already listening to a podcast or half-watching YouTube videos on the other screen. I'll get back to these, no really. ATSA: Health and Fitness: Exactly what it says on the tin. Also a lot of mental health and disability stuff. ATSA: Food and Drink: Recipes. I reblog simple ones that look tasty and don't have ingredients that are too expensive. Now that I have a kitchen again (as of July 2024; for a year and a half before that I lived in a crackerbox of a studio with just a microwave, a toaster, and an electric kettle), I might actually try to make some of these. ATSA: Read Later: Stuff I intend to read, but not right now. Kind of like the thousand or so dead tree books sitting in stacked crates or the thousand or so ebooks on my external hard drive. I've read many, but the rest of the stack is aspirational. ATSA: Reference: Exactly what it says on the tin. Should probably have combined with ATSA: Useful. ATSA: Reverse Hope Chest: Called such because the original version was as I was leaving my ex and looking for my own place. I've been on my own (though occasionally with roommates) since 2014, but I'm always on the lookout for neurodiverse-friendly cleaning and organizing tips and other general adulting-in-the-home type stuff. ATSA: Sidetrackedery: interesting articles. Began as Sidetrackedery on LiveJournal (that started in 2009) and moved to verticalfile on LiveJournal. This is something I'd like to have kept up, but there just aren't enough hours in the day to do the stuff I want to do online AND do all the art projects I want to do when I also have to do stuff like commute and work and sleep and stuff. Stuff I wanted to hold onto but which didn't fit in any of the other side-blogs: ATSA: All the Rest ATSA: Useful: More stuff I wanted to have easy access to. It's a little bit different from reference, but they probably could have been combined. Unsmoted Art: NSFW/18+ type stuff that's managed to survive on Tumblr. ATSA: Best of the Best: when it's a great post and I remember this side-blog exists. ATSA: Derisann: Blog of pretty things. There will be much (but not total)) overlap from the old derisann.

Not Reblogs:

Out of Context Puzzle in a Thunderstorm: Out of context funny quotes (and otherwise quotable bits) from various PIAT podcasts, including D&D Minus, God Awful Movies, Citation Needed, The Scathing Atheist, and The Skepticrat. Not affiliated with PIAT, but I did ask Noah Lugeons when I saw him at FREEFLO 2023, and he said to ask their social media guy, and their social media guy said it was okay, so it's okay. This is another one of those online things that I'd love to keep up with if I had more time/attention span.

[atsa-useful]

Alex the Space Ace: Main Blog and Side-Blogs.

Unrepentantly myself:

Main blog: Alex the Space Ace. Has a bunch of "it me" type posts. ATSA: Godless Snarker: because every day some manner of religious bullshit reminds me that being an atheist is something to be proud of. ATSA: Politics: My politics are in flux right now (drifting leftism-ward from liberal), so this side-blog will have a range of opinions. ATSA: Further Left: What it says on the tin. Should have just posted this stuff to politics. White workeness is a journey, not a destination. Me making an effort to do the background reading listen to diverse voices, but again, these reblogs could have just gone to politics. Might consolidate the three later. Alex IRL: Empty for now. I intended this to be for things I write about my life and pictures I took myself instead of reblogs. I do at least intend to post some pictures (none of myself or relatives, but relatively safe stuff like my own art projects or the sandhill crane I saw near the building where I work recently) eventually. ATSA: That Queer Shit: Because I am queer and support other queer people. ATSA: That Kinky Shit: Because I am kinky and support other kinky people. Most of my kink life is what I read and write these days, so this blog is mostly reblogs of kinky or kink-adjacent stuff I wanted to see again. ATSA: Canned Turnip: Things that made me laugh out loud at least the first time (Side-blog title from the old account's Canned Turnip Off Cockslap, which gets its title from this fic (link goes to AO3).

Arts and Crafts:

ATSA: Arts and Crafts general crafts blog. I have too many hobbies already, but I love looking at art projects, even if I never make one. ATSA: Pixel Art: in which I pretend I'll ever cross-stitch anything as complicated as what's reblogged here. ATSA: Yarn and Floss: pretty pictures of things made with yarn, embroidery thread, and occasionally string.

Fandom stuff:

ATSA: Fic Links. Because if I put these in any other fandom blog, they'll get lost in the other reblogs. ATSA: Fandom Dork, for all my past and sort-of fandoms, except for Star Trek (my first and forever fandom) and whatever my current obsessive fandom is. ATSA: Space and Sci-Fi: Space, science, and science-fiction that sometimes overlaps with the fandom and derisann stuff. ATSA: Star Trek Forever: My first and forever fandom. Like, since watching Next Gen as a kindergartener in 1989. ATSA: Star Wars: My current obsessive fandom. I've always been aware of it through cultural osmosis, and got into the prequels for a bit when they were new (they began right before I started high school and ended in my early adulthood), and I got into the Sequels a bit (mostly the fic because fuck everything that happens after Episode VII), and then in May of 2023 I got back into Star Wars in a big way. Cue watching tons of youtube videos and reading tons of meta and fanfic and, oh yeah, the canon and legends material. I'm working on an AU of an AU fic-verse that is kind of all over the place and is spawning multiple timelines, but if someone, somewhere, read any of it and left a comment, I might cry from joy that I'm not just typing into the void. ATSA: Star Wars: Daydream 'Verse: A side-blog I made for the above AU of an AU fic-verse. ATSA: Reaction Gifs: Reaction gifs, gifs from movies and TV, and recently screencaps from movies and TV, because obviously I already have too many side-blogs. I started the original gifblogforsim before it was common for social media sites to make reaction gifs available, and it was bad "netiquette" to hotlink from someone else's space.

Writing:

ATSA: Writing: posts about writing, writing tips, writing encouragement, the occasional infographic, and probably some prompts if I forgot on the day it was queued that the plot bunny pet shop was also a thing. ATSA: Plot Bunny Pet Shop: Story ideas that I like. I will likely not get around to writing any of them myself (I'm struggling enough to post coherent pieces of my current immersive daydream), and I hope that someone else will--and ideally tag me so I can read it. ATSA: Quotes: Because I have so many of them in my likes and they deserved their own space. ATSA: Book Love: Because books are my first love (you'll see a lot of my old account side-blogs like derisann and booksaremyfirstlove

Other:

ATSA: Music and Video, because most of the time when I'm browsing Tumblr I'm already listening to a podcast or half-watching YouTube videos on the other screen. I'll get back to these, no really. ATSA: Health and Fitness: Exactly what it says on the tin. Also a lot of mental health and disability stuff. ATSA: Food and Drink: Recipes. I reblog simple ones that look tasty and don't have ingredients that are too expensive. Now that I have a kitchen again (as of July 2024; for a year and a half before that I lived in a crackerbox of a studio with just a microwave, a toaster, and an electric kettle), I might actually try to make some of these. ATSA: Read Later: Stuff I intend to read, but not right now. Kind of like the thousand or so dead tree books sitting in stacked crates or the thousand or so ebooks on my external hard drive. I've read many, but the rest of the stack is aspirational. ATSA: Reference: Exactly what it says on the tin. Should probably have combined with ATSA: Useful. ATSA: Reverse Hope Chest: Called such because the original version was as I was leaving my ex and looking for my own place. I've been on my own (though occasionally with roommates) since 2014, but I'm always on the lookout for neurodiverse-friendly cleaning and organizing tips and other general adulting-in-the-home type stuff. ATSA: Sidetrackedery: interesting articles. Began as Sidetrackedery on LiveJournal (that started in 2009) and moved to verticalfile on LiveJournal. This is something I'd like to have kept up, but there just aren't enough hours in the day to do the stuff I want to do online AND do all the art projects I want to do when I also have to do stuff like commute and work and sleep and stuff. Stuff I wanted to hold onto but which didn't fit in any of the other side-blogs: ATSA: All the Rest ATSA: Useful: More stuff I wanted to have easy access to. It's a little bit different from reference, but they probably could have been combined. Unsmoted Art: NSFW/18+ type stuff that's managed to survive on Tumblr. ATSA: Best of the Best: when it's a great post and I remember this side-blog exists. ATSA: Derisann: Blog of pretty things. There will be much (but not total)) overlap from the old derisann.

Not Reblogs:

Out of Context Puzzle in a Thunderstorm: Out of context funny quotes (and otherwise quotable bits) from various PIAT podcasts, including D&D Minus, God Awful Movies, Citation Needed, The Scathing Atheist, and The Skepticrat. Not affiliated with PIAT, but I did ask Noah Lugeons when I saw him at FREEFLO 2023, and he said to ask their social media guy, and their social media guy said it was okay, so it's okay. This is another one of those online things that I'd love to keep up with if I had more time/attention span.

[unsmoted-art]

Alex the Space Ace: Main Blog and Side-Blogs.

Unrepentantly myself:

Main blog: Alex the Space Ace. Has a bunch of "it me" type posts. ATSA: Godless Snarker: because every day some manner of religious bullshit reminds me that being an atheist is something to be proud of. ATSA: Politics: My politics are in flux right now (drifting leftism-ward from liberal), so this side-blog will have a range of opinions. ATSA: Further Left: What it says on the tin. Should have just posted this stuff to politics. White workeness is a journey, not a destination. Me making an effort to do the background reading listen to diverse voices, but again, these reblogs could have just gone to politics. Might consolidate the three later. Alex IRL: Empty for now. I intended this to be for things I write about my life and pictures I took myself instead of reblogs. I do at least intend to post some pictures (none of myself or relatives, but relatively safe stuff like my own art projects or the sandhill crane I saw near the building where I work recently) eventually. ATSA: That Queer Shit: Because I am queer and support other queer people. ATSA: That Kinky Shit: Because I am kinky and support other kinky people. Most of my kink life is what I read and write these days, so this blog is mostly reblogs of kinky or kink-adjacent stuff I wanted to see again. ATSA: Canned Turnip: Things that made me laugh out loud at least the first time (Side-blog title from the old account's Canned Turnip Off Cockslap, which gets its title from this fic (link goes to AO3).

Arts and Crafts:

ATSA: Arts and Crafts general crafts blog. I have too many hobbies already, but I love looking at art projects, even if I never make one. ATSA: Pixel Art: in which I pretend I'll ever cross-stitch anything as complicated as what's reblogged here. ATSA: Yarn and Floss: pretty pictures of things made with yarn, embroidery thread, and occasionally string.

Fandom stuff:

ATSA: Fic Links. Because if I put these in any other fandom blog, they'll get lost in the other reblogs. ATSA: Fandom Dork, for all my past and sort-of fandoms, except for Star Trek (my first and forever fandom) and whatever my current obsessive fandom is. ATSA: Space and Sci-Fi: Space, science, and science-fiction that sometimes overlaps with the fandom and derisann stuff. ATSA: Star Trek Forever: My first and forever fandom. Like, since watching Next Gen as a kindergartener in 1989. ATSA: Star Wars: My current obsessive fandom. I've always been aware of it through cultural osmosis, and got into the prequels for a bit when they were new (they began right before I started high school and ended in my early adulthood), and I got into the Sequels a bit (mostly the fic because fuck everything that happens after Episode VII), and then in May of 2023 I got back into Star Wars in a big way. Cue watching tons of youtube videos and reading tons of meta and fanfic and, oh yeah, the canon and legends material. I'm working on an AU of an AU fic-verse that is kind of all over the place and is spawning multiple timelines, but if someone, somewhere, read any of it and left a comment, I might cry from joy that I'm not just typing into the void. ATSA: Star Wars: Daydream 'Verse: A side-blog I made for the above AU of an AU fic-verse. ATSA: Reaction Gifs: Reaction gifs, gifs from movies and TV, and recently screencaps from movies and TV, because obviously I already have too many side-blogs. I started the original gifblogforsim before it was common for social media sites to make reaction gifs available, and it was bad "netiquette" to hotlink from someone else's space.

Writing:

ATSA: Writing: posts about writing, writing tips, writing encouragement, the occasional infographic, and probably some prompts if I forgot on the day it was queued that the plot bunny pet shop was also a thing. ATSA: Plot Bunny Pet Shop: Story ideas that I like. I will likely not get around to writing any of them myself (I'm struggling enough to post coherent pieces of my current immersive daydream), and I hope that someone else will--and ideally tag me so I can read it. ATSA: Quotes: Because I have so many of them in my likes and they deserved their own space. ATSA: Book Love: Because books are my first love (you'll see a lot of my old account side-blogs like derisann and booksaremyfirstlove

Other:

ATSA: Music and Video, because most of the time when I'm browsing Tumblr I'm already listening to a podcast or half-watching YouTube videos on the other screen. I'll get back to these, no really. ATSA: Health and Fitness: Exactly what it says on the tin. Also a lot of mental health and disability stuff. ATSA: Food and Drink: Recipes. I reblog simple ones that look tasty and don't have ingredients that are too expensive. Now that I have a kitchen again (as of July 2024; for a year and a half before that I lived in a crackerbox of a studio with just a microwave, a toaster, and an electric kettle), I might actually try to make some of these. ATSA: Read Later: Stuff I intend to read, but not right now. Kind of like the thousand or so dead tree books sitting in stacked crates or the thousand or so ebooks on my external hard drive. I've read many, but the rest of the stack is aspirational. ATSA: Reference: Exactly what it says on the tin. Should probably have combined with ATSA: Useful. ATSA: Reverse Hope Chest: Called such because the original version was as I was leaving my ex and looking for my own place. I've been on my own (though occasionally with roommates) since 2014, but I'm always on the lookout for neurodiverse-friendly cleaning and organizing tips and other general adulting-in-the-home type stuff. ATSA: Sidetrackedery: interesting articles. Began as Sidetrackedery on LiveJournal (that started in 2009) and moved to verticalfile on LiveJournal. This is something I'd like to have kept up, but there just aren't enough hours in the day to do the stuff I want to do online AND do all the art projects I want to do when I also have to do stuff like commute and work and sleep and stuff. Stuff I wanted to hold onto but which didn't fit in any of the other side-blogs: ATSA: All the Rest ATSA: Useful: More stuff I wanted to have easy access to. It's a little bit different from reference, but they probably could have been combined. Unsmoted Art: NSFW/18+ type stuff that's managed to survive on Tumblr. ATSA: Best of the Best: when it's a great post and I remember this side-blog exists. ATSA: Derisann: Blog of pretty things. There will be much (but not total)) overlap from the old derisann.

Not Reblogs:

Out of Context Puzzle in a Thunderstorm: Out of context funny quotes (and otherwise quotable bits) from various PIAT podcasts, including D&D Minus, God Awful Movies, Citation Needed, The Scathing Atheist, and The Skepticrat. Not affiliated with PIAT, but I did ask Noah Lugeons when I saw him at FREEFLO 2023, and he said to ask their social media guy, and their social media guy said it was okay, so it's okay. This is another one of those online things that I'd love to keep up with if I had more time/attention span.