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graciereadshannigram · 6 months ago

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hey fam, welcome to the May 2024 roundup of the best hannigram fics i've read this past month! i read several million words worth of fics, and these were the cream of the crop. i also managed to rewatch the show for the fifth time!! (unemployment has its perks lmao)

as a reminder: the ingredients for a five star rating typically (but not always!!) include some combination of a.) believable characterizations of both Hannibal and Will, b.) compelling plot and/or character arcs, and c.) high quality smut.

that being said, my judgment of the aforementioned ingredients is powered almost exclusively by vibes. as such, it is incredibly subjective.

you can find past rec lists below:

February March April

and if you have any recs of your own for me, PLEASE SHARE.

anyway, in no particular order, let's go!

Overcoming by purefoysgirl

Word Count: 547.5k Summary: A Victorian A/B/O romance in which Hannibal Lecter is the future Duke of Westvale who has been away at war for the past ten years. His Grandfather has made good on a contract made shortly after Hannibal's birth to procure him a wife. It was supposed to be easy. Naturally, with the Omega, Will, given in the place of his twin sister, it is anything but, because if there is one thing Hannibal Lecter despises, it's Omegas.

This fic had me holding back tears when it ended (after sobbing a couple different times). This was... incredible. What a fucking UNDERTAKING this author committed to, and despite this being a doorstopper of a fic, the plot did not miss a single beat. Just... wow. For the love of god, please read this.

Falls the Shadow by littlesystems

Word Count: 72.4k Summary: "You're a psychiatrist," Will says. "Between your personal and professional lives you must have met thousands of people, you must know dozens of different flavors of pathology. Do you know anyone who would take me as I am? Who would be able to love me," he gestures in a sweeping motion, from his messy hair to his stained knee, "just as I am?" "I do." Bedelia's words shock Will into stillness. “Really?” AKA an AU where Bedelia is Will’s psychiatrist instead of Hannibal, Will makes a series of increasingly questionable life choices, and no one should ever take Bedelia’s advice. Ever.

GIMME MORE STARSSSSSSSS. Bedelia as Will's psychiatrist was brilliant, holy shit. And Will understanding Hannibal and completely accepting him? This is something I see so rarely done in fics. Will always makes him be a lot less manipulative, or at least goes through heavy angst over it. But in this? Will was immediately endeared because that's just who Hannibal is.

Bram Stoker's HANNIBAL by DBMars

Word Count: 586.7k Summary: Love Never Dies. "I have crossed oceans of time to find you." Hannibal + Bram Stoker's Dracula + the classic novel = a new version of the seductive vampire legend. Count Hannibal Lecter loses the thing most precious to him -- the love of his life. God is beyond measure in wanton malice, and matchless in his irony. And so Hannibal renounces God, and becomes an immortal monster that feeds on the blood of the living. 400 years after losing his beloved, Count Lecter meets a man who looks exactly like the husband he lost -- reborn and returned. But who could learn to love a monster?

@dbmars you are a fucking genius. I am honestly still processing and figuring out how to communicate just how amazing this fic was. Do yourself a favor and go read it NOW.

the book of jonah by zipegs

Word Count: 18.1k Summary: A sudden breath of hot wind presses through the trees. For a moment, it feels fresh, alive, and then the dust—the pollen—comes along with it, a parasite hitched on the back of the breeze. Will is ravenous. --- After the fall, Will and Hannibal sojourn in a remote, decrepit cabin in South America while they await Chiyoh’s return. But something here is afflicting them, and it’s only getting worse.

Okay, bear with me. THIS WAS FUCKING AMAZING. I haven't felt this way after consuming a piece of media since I watched Guillermo del Toro's The Autopsy episode. Psychological horror mixed with body horror mixed with smut??? I guess that does it for me. I literally can't stop thinking about this fic. It's been two weeks and I am STILL thinking about it.

Wrong by HotMolasses (@snazzymolasses here on tumblr)

Word Count: 4.2k Summary: Will roughly rubbed his arm across his mouth again, trying to rub it off. Rub off the scent of Alana, after they’d kissed. After she’d kissed him. Or he’d kissed her? It was mutual. Until it wasn’t. Until Will breathed in her scent, so familiar, so Alpha, so…wrong. He’d pulled back forcibly, unable to hide the expression of revulsion on his face. “I…I need to go.” he said, sweeping his coat off the back of a chair on his way towards the door. “Lock up when you leave.” The weather was crap, and it probably wasn’t smart to drive in the snow while he was in pre-heat, but Will didn’t know what else to do. He needed to figure this out, he needed to talk to the only person who understood him. He needed to talk to Hannibal.

So ummmmmmm what do I need to do to turn this into like a whole AU?? As always, this was a total home run. Every single bit of it was perfect.

as soft, as wide as air by BlackKnightSatellite

Word Count: 193.9k Summary: After surviving the fall, Will finds he has far fewer hesitations about joining Hannibal than he would have guessed. Character death, but not Will or Hannibal.

Well shit. I read this immediately after a full rewatch of the show (in four days no less) and THIS is my new season 4 canon. It's brilliant and actually reads like a proper season would. And I love how it gives all the characters a concluded story line. Aside from Will and Hannibal. I also loved how much this explored Will's instability and how his mental state would be affected after he finally slung off all the guilt and allowed himself to fully enjoy killing. All around very good.

The Dispersal Method by @victorineb

Word Count: 16.9k Summary: It’s a normal fall day in the forest for Will Graham. Dead body in front of him, cannibal psychiatrist behind him, the usual. Then Will brushes against the wrong flower, and suddenly neither he nor Hannibal can keep their hands off each other. Now, Will must navigate his way out of the crime scene and Jack’s scrutiny while also trying not to jump Hannibal’s bones at every opportunity. Well, one out of three ain’t bad. Set nebulously in s2, post-Will's release from the BSHCI. Will’s a conflicted honeypot, Hannibal’s a (not-so) secretly-besotted asshole, and nobody has brought enough lube.

THIS IS THE BEST SEX POLLEN I'VE EVER READ. Seriously. The BEST out of pretty much any fandom (at least so far).

Between the Shadow and the Soul by raiast

Word Count: 48.7k Summary: When Will decides to stop taking his suppressants neither he nor Hannibal can deny the attraction between them. After nearly a decade of running from his biology, Will is faced with his primitive Omega urges full force. As if navigating his hormones wasn't enough, there is a killer at large with a very specific motive that seems to only be targeting preteen boys.

This might be my new favorite ABO fic? And one of the better case fics out there.

Sleepover by EarthsickWithoutYou

Word Count: 70k Summary: Set in Season 1, after "Fromage." Will is still confused about his kiss with Alana and seeks romantic advice on how to date and be more "smooth" from Hannibal. Little does he know that Hannibal is madly, passionately obsessed with him, and desperately jealous. Needless to say, Dr. Lecter is all too happy to teach Will everything he knows about love and dating.

This was pretty fluffy, tender, and fun, and it was exactly what I needed after finishing a heavier fic

Alana Finds Out by @victorineb

Word Count: 32.1k Summary: A series of one-shots in which Alana Bloom discovers, in the midst of various tropes, that her boyfriend Hannibal Lecter's feelings for Will Graham run far deeper than friendship. Basically a chance for Alana to shout at the pair of emotionally-repressed idiots whilst still indulging in much Hannigram loveliness.

Oh I loved all of this. This scratched that itch in my brain that loves when Alana realizes that Hannibal has wanted Will all along. And some of these one-shots are genuinely hysterical. Love.

Doctor's Orders by JSinister32

Word Count: 29.2k Summary: “He’s dead on his feet, Jack. I do not understand how you allowed him to come when he’s so obviously ill. There have been too many hours in service of your needs, so many that it seems to have affected any sleep that he may have gotten over the past few weeks. From what you and I have discussed, he has a difficult time shutting his mind down under the best of circumstances and this case today has clearly gotten to him.” The doctor stepped closer to the profiler, peering into his eyes as Will tried to focus. “Will? Can you hear me?” Will Graham has never been particularly good at taking care of himself. When he comes down with a severe cold while working on a string of murders, the new psychiatrist on retainer, Doctor Hannibal Lecter, offers to care for him. Will he be able to keep his feelings in check while Hannibal is in his home? Hannibal Lecter can't get the profiler working for the Violent Crimes unit out of his mind. When given the opportunity to care for him when he's ill, will his feelings for the other man come to light?

TENDER. I want like 70k more words of this. Especially Hannibal putting Jack in his place. Especially Hannibal washing Will's hair. Mmm. There's just something so good about Will letting Hannibal take care of him.

The First Condition of Immortality is Death by OneHandedBooks

Word Count: 92.5k Summary: Hannibal’s heart stopped for the first time after he’d dragged himself and Will out of the frigid ocean onto the rocky shore at the bottom of the bluff.

Oh this was GOOD. Very tender, good characterizations, and loved how Will's hallucinations were portrayed. This was just all a really good exploration of how their relationship could have progressed. This author also is incredibly good at showing the scenes in a way that I could watch them unfold in my head. This felt like a crystal clear movie.

What Do The Dead Know? by OneHandedBooks

Word Count: 7.6k Summary: He looks up at her, haloed by the sun. She could be anyone. No one. St. Abigail, patron of lilies and last chances. AU: What if Will joined Hannibal willingly after the Uffizi Gallery and they shared a few tense weeks in the world before Mason's men finally ran them down? In which Will writes, hallucinates, and succumbs to the dark side and Hannibal is a manipulative, brainwashing, bastard.

cw: Abigail/Will. But does it really count if it's a dream sequence? Regardless, this was something else, off the charts, big fan. The author NAILED the hallucinatory vibe that made this entire fic work so so well. Also, just Will working through his grief for Abigail this way made it that much more intense.

chimera of the chapel by bleakmidwinter

Word Count: 211.5k Summary: When Will Graham wakes up from a coma three months after the fall, Jack reveals that Hannibal Lecter didn't survive. Outside the realm of Hannibal's influence, Will decides to discover the full truth behind the world's sudden and seeming falsehood. Everybody seems to hold their own opinion on Hannibal's fate, but Will knows better than anyone that trust and honesty are as elusive as death.

The "presumed dead" trope might just be my new obsession. I adored this fic so much, the plot was incredible, the development of their relationship was spot on, and there were just some very tender moments.

wear my silence like a mask by bleakmidwinter

Word Count: 32.k Summary: After running into Hannibal at a Bass Pro Shop, Will is invited to a Masquerade Ball at his estate. Jack encourages him to attend for an opportunity to catch the Ripper. Extenuating circumstances tempt Will down an even graver path; Romance with the Ripper.

Three words: masked anonymous sex. That's all.

The Voices and the Shadows by darlinghogwarts, MaddyHughes

Word Count: 114.6k Summary: “The Chesapeake Ripper? The serial killer? That's a grisly thing to find at the bottom of a drink. Most people say oblivion ...or possibly sex.” Hannibal sips his wine again. “Why are you thinking about a murderer on your birthday, Will? Is it part of your degree?” “He is a part of my degree by my own choice. My supervisor didn’t approve, but…” He sighs. “I insisted.” AU where Will—a Masters student studying the Chesapeake Ripper—gets drunk on his birthday and meets an intriguing man at the bar.

Man, I wish I had had Hannibal as my thesis supervisor in grad school, hot damn. (Mine was pretty much too busy to help with anything, ended up doing it all myself – would not recommend.) This was was damn near perfect. I needed some good old fashioned angst. With a good and fluffy ending. This was a good AU!

Chasing Thoroughbreds by HigherMagic

Word Count: 42.8k Summary: After the fall, Chiyoh rescues Will and Hannibal and takes them to the Lecter home in Lithuania. When Hannibal wakes up, his memories of everything - Will, being the Ripper, everything since Mischa's death - are gone. Will's only problem with that is that killing Hannibal won't be nearly as satisfying if he doesn't understand why. Wrestling with his own feelings, or what's left in the tattered mess of them after the fight with Dolarhyde, Will stays, hoping that Hannibal will recover and give him the opportunity he's waiting for. But there are others who remember what Hannibal did, all those years ago, and they have their own bone to pick.

Ugh pretty sure I love almost everything HigherMagic writes and this did not disappoint. This was fantastic. I was absolutely captivated by Will's development through this and Hannibal was just as good.

Volto Larva by TreacleA

Word Count: 39k Summary: Will is having trouble unwinding after work. Hannibal helpfully suggests somewhere that may assist with that, with absolutely no ulterior motive whatsoever.

So ummmm I'm still blushing (in the best way) over parts of this fic because FUCK this is scorching. Anyway. That's all I've got to say LOL.

#hannigram #hannigram recs #hannigram fics #fic recs #hannibal #hannibal lecter #will graham #murder husbands #mads mikkelsen #hugh dancy #nbc hannibal #hannibal tv show #hannibal nbc #fannibals #dracula au #bram stoker's hannibal #overcoming fic #gracie reads hannigram

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bruceburgdorf · 9 days ago

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The Germans of Stalag Luft III

One of the films which got me interested in WW2 from an early age is The Great Escape (1963) which is based on the 1944 escape from Stalag Luft 3.

The escape was famous for the sheer number of men who escaped at one time but also the unlawful execution of 50 of the escaped prisoners by the Gestapo on Hitler’s orders.

Apart from the inventiveness of the escape itself, one thing what drew me to the film was the way in which the German officers and guards of the POW camp were depicted. Instead of being cruel and cold these Germans were shown as understanding and considerate. Given that the film was supervised by former POWs and having read several books and articles on the subject there is evidence to show much of this was true for the Luftwaffe camp staff of Stalag Luft 3 and conditions were reportedly a lot better than in other POW camps.

The books talk about life in the camp and also describe the staff of the camp in detail. The person that stands out the most is the Commandant who was based at the camp from 1942 up until the escape in 1944 which led to his court martial. He was remembered by the prisoners for adhering to the Geneva Convention but was also someone they had respect for although they did occasionally pull pranks on him and his staff.

I think it’s important to remember him as a man who did his best given the position he was in but also for being a genuinely good person.

Oberst Friedrich Wilhelm von Lindeiner-Wildau 1880 - 1963

Lindeiner had opposed the Nazi party from as early as the first elections. One reason for this was he had lived with his Dutch wife in the Netherlands in the early 1930’s and could see the effects the Nazis were having on Germany from an outsider’s perspective.

He had been a Colonel in the First World War and had tried to retire before accepting his position as the Commandant of Stalag Luft 3 but was refused due to his high rank. Although not the best outcome he was relieved to be away from the front lines. He was already 62 years old when he took command of Stalag Luft 3.

From his arrival at the camp he sought to improve living conditions for the POWs. Although food rations were beyond his control he discovered Red Cross Parcels were going missing and put a stop to this. He liaised with the senior officers to ensure the men had access to adequate leisure facilities and worked with the YMCA to see this was done. He discussed ways to improve sanitation and a saw that a sewer system was built for the camp, something the nearby German town of Sagan didn’t have.

Orders from High Command were often confusing and contradictory however Lindeiner instructed his staff to treat prisoners as they would wish to be treated. Orders denied prisoners who had died in the camp the right to be buried with military honours but Lindeiner still insisted on this. The orders also depicted on how prisoners should be treated according to country depending on each country’s status. For example Russians could be used for manual labour and were denied by the German government the conditions of the other prisoners had a right to. Lindeiner improved their conditions the best he could despite warnings of close friends that the High Command was keeping tabs on him. He was certain there were men on his staff who were reporting his behaviour.

When he learned through British POWs that the Gestapo was holding a number of prisoners in their custody he began action which would see the prisoners transferred to the Luftwaffe’s care and to his camp. He also intervened when Dutch prisoner Bram Van Der Stok was almost tricked into leaving the camp with the Gestapo, fortunately both Van Der Stok and Lindeiner guessed what they were up to.

When orders from the OKW in early 1944 stated the escaped prisoners should be handed to the Gestapo, Lindeiner feared he may be given an order to execute prisoners within his camp. He later told his deputy Major Gustav Simoleit his concerns about receiving such orders and they both concurred they would rather be executed themselves for insubordination than carry out such an order.

The actual order for the gestapo to execute the escaped prisoners was protested by Göring and a number of senior Wehrmacht officers.

At his court martial in 1944 he was charged with transferring staff whose views were too National Socialist. He denied these claims but said he did remove any staff whose conduct was not morally correct or who didn’t adhere to the Geneva Convention which he made a point of following. He was also charged with being too friendly with the POWs, it was noted he had spent much time speaking with the prisoners and given some of them gifts on their birthdays. He had had a very good relationship with the Senior British Officer.

He was tried by the allies after the war and a number of former POWs testified to his character during his time as the Commandant. Letters were exchanged between himself and former prisoners after the war up until his death.

Stalag Luft III Staff

Lindeiner’s deputy Major Gustav Simoleit, and Captain Hans Pieber were of similar minds and also well respected by the POWs. Simoleit attended the prisoner re-union in 1965 and Pieber was reported to have been visibly upset when he learnt of the executions. It was also said that Pieber turned a blind eye to a few of the escape related activities including lending his camera to the POWs without asking questions.

Another man who was extremely popular with the POWs was Oberfeldwebel Hermann Glemnitz, the sergeant of the Trackers (Ferrets). Unlike his counterpart in the film he was a likeable character showing more curiosity about methods than anger over foiled escape attempts. He attended several of the reunions and even visited a former POW in Canada.

The camp employed hundreds of staff and many of these were too old for military duty, recovering soldiers with injuries and sole survivors in families. Food rations for the staff were similar to that of the prisoners minus the Red Cross parcels so actually worse overall. It was due to this so many of the guards were able to bribed into assisting with the 1944 escape, around 100 in all, but several actually went out of their way to assist including a guard in the watchtower who distracted his colleague while an escape took place but the plan failed and another guard whose wife made stencils for official documents and mailed them back to the camp from her home in Hamburg. It was unfortunate that the relationship between some of the guards deteriorated after the heavy bombing of German cities later in the war.

Recommend books about Stalag Luft 3

The Great Escape: The Full Dramatic Story with Contributions from Survivors and Their Families - Anton Gill

Escape from Stalag Luft III: The True Story of My Successful Great Escape: The Memoir of Bob Vanderstok - Bram Van Der Stok

The True Story of the Great Escape: Stalag Luft III, March 1944 - Jonathan Vance

From Commandant to Captive: The Memoirs of Stalag Luft III Commandant Col. Friedrich Wilhelm von Lindeiner genannt von Wildau - Marilyn Jeffers Walton

#ww2 #ww2 germany #stalag luft iii #the great escape #Luftwaffe

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cleolinda · 2 years ago

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Varney the Vampire: Chapter 4

Chapter 3: Blood everywhere; a lightswitch rave.

Chapter 4: Originally posted on Livejournal, December 8, 2010. Revised and expanded from the original recap to talk more about literary vampiring.

CHAPTER IV.

THE MORNING. -- THE CONSULTATION. -- THE FEARFUL SUGGESTION.

No, I didn't skip it—there wasn't any "offer of assistance from Sir Francis Varney" in the previous chapter. Not even so much as an apologetic plate of cookies left on the garden wall. Was there any revision involved in writing this, or did James Malcolm Rymer just... put the pen to the paper and wait for the check? Not that I don't feel you, my guy, but "I'm just gonna seat-of-my-pants 667,000 words" is a terrifying prospect (I had thought he'd at least write each chapter once and then revise it to be worse). I'm pretty sure I've put more revision into this blog post, for free. Side note, my man James Malcolm:

What wonderfully different impressions and feelings, with regard to the same circumstances, come across the mind in the broad, clear, and beautiful light of day to what haunt the imagination, and often render the judgment almost incapable of action, when the heavy shadow of night is upon all things. There must be a downright physical reason for this effect -- it is so remarkable and so universal. It seems that the sun's rays so completely alter and modify the constitution of the atmosphere, that it produces, as we inhale it, a wonderfully different effect upon the nerves of the human subject. We can account for this phenomenon in no other way. Perhaps never in his life had he, Henry Bannerworth, felt so strongly this transition of feeling as he now felt it, when the beautiful daylight gradually dawned upon him, as he kept his lonely watch by the bedside of his slumbering sister.

Bram Stoker:

No man knows till he has suffered from the night how sweet and dear to his heart and eye the morning can be. When the sun grew so high this morning that it struck the top of the great gateway opposite my window, the high spot which it touched seemed to me as if the dove from the ark had lighted there. My fear fell from me as if it had been a vaporous garment which dissolved in the warmth.

I'm not pointing this out to say that Stoker did or did not Steal Like An Artist from, perhaps, a collected serial he read in his boyhood, and then wrote it better. Honestly, if he did? Good for him. I'm pointing this out to say, I only have one short life to live, and for some reason, I decided to spend it reading this.

So. In the light of day, Henry finally looks over at the spooky portrait and thinks to himself, you know, that right there is a Spooky Portrait and it gives me a scare:

He tried to keep himself from looking at it, but he found it vain, so he adopted what, perhaps, was certainly the wisest, best plan, namely, to look at it continually.

I don't know why this makes me laugh so much. Sure, that's a plan. And, Henry notes, it's even one of those paintings where the eyes follow you around the room. Maybe we should, you know, take it down. And then he goes, eh. It's a rare work of art, it's painted onto the panel and we'd have to call a contractor out here, we were out all night watching that vampyre fall on his ass, I'm kind of tired, whatevs.

Meanwhile, Flora is still (quite reasonably) traumatized: "My brain is on fire! A million of strange eyes seem to be gazing on me." Like, I'm not actually trying to compare this sentence by sentence (god forbid) to Dracula, but I know it well enough that I remember Jonathan using the same "brain on fire" wording—how common an expression was this? I even went back to check Polidori's "The Vampyre"—"his thoughts were bursting from his brain," an oddly specific throughline of brain-centric disturbance. Just Vampyre Things, I guess.

Despite having chased the vampyre to his own garden wall, Henry is utterly baffled as to why Flora would be so upset—physically weakened, even! She was fine yesterday! What, oh what, could have happened??, he inquires of Mr. Marchdale. Henry is probably saying this while a housekeeper bustles past with a huge bundle of blood-soaked sheets. What do we think was in Flora's room, even though we all saw it gnawing on her throat and we're pretty sure what it was? I mean, we just saw someone making a hideous repast of her, I am completely baffled. But wait! says Marchdale. I've thought of an answer! Now—hold on for this— (I'm holding on—) Because this is gonna blow your mind— (Okay, keep going—) Are you ready for this? (I'm totally ready for this—) I think it was—I can hardly bring myself to say the word aloud and will continue not to say it for another 100 words— (SAY IT GODDAMMIT—) A VAMPYRE!

Well, why do you think this?

"... my pistol bullets hurt him not; and he has left the tokens of his presence on the neck of Flora." "Peace, oh! peace. Do not, I pray you, accumulate reasons why I should receive such a dismal, awful superstition. Oh, do not, Marchdale, as you love me!" "You know my attachment to you," said Marchdale, "is sincere; and yet, Heaven help us!" His voice was broken by grief as he spoke, and he turned aside his head to hide the bursting tears that would, despite all his efforts, show themselves in his eyes.

For shame, Henry, you made your mom's... someone... cry! (Don't get me wrong, I love Weepy Masculinity, and we'll talk about it more another time.) But Henry is shocked, I tell you, shocked! that Marchdale should come to such a conclusion! To believe would drive him mad, I tell you! MAAAAAAAAD!

And then George comes in all like, "Guys, I know this is gonna sound crazy, but—hold on for this—I think it was a—" "VAMPYRE, WE KNOW." And now George the "frail reed" is crying, Henry, see what you've done?

Unfortunately, Henry is pretty much the only person in a hundred-mile radius who is having trouble with this concept; the servants, we are told, immediately ran out and told everyone about the vampyre flumping over the garden wall. Henry rides into town to fetch a doctor and immediately runs into Some Gentleguy on Horseback. "Bro, what's this about your sister getting bit by a vampyre?" "Uh... no. That was... a thief. That was totally a thief." "No? Seriously, the whole town's talking about it. You sure? Like fang marks and everything—" "MAAAAAD, I TELL YOUUUUU!!"

At last Henry gets to the doctor—who starts out as "Mr. Chillingworth" and mysteriously becomes "Dr. Chillingworth" some five hundred pages from now. (In fairness, many doctors, particularly surgeons, were merely "Mister" long into the nineteenth century. Side note: The Scarlet Letter would not be published until 1850, and on a different continent at that. I checked, because I immediately thought the name was an allusion.) So Mr. Dr. Chillingworth listens to Henry's story, and I'm getting all clappy because this has got to be our Van Helsing figure, and I have always loved the Kindly Old Doctor Who Knows All the Legends type, and so Henry finishes and Chillingworth declares—

"I don't care if [the facts] were ten times more glaring, I won't believe it. I would rather believe you were all mad, the whole family of you -- that at the full of the moon you all were a little cracked."

(*record needle scratch*)

Well, Stoker certainly didn't run off with that.

So Henry gets back to Bannerworth Hall and he starts telling Flora that it was totally a thief who was chewing on her throat. Totally. But he'll just keep sitting by her bedside. You know. Just in case more thieving is a-fang.

"Then I shall rest in peace, for I know that the dreadful vampyre cannot come to me when you are by." "The what, Flora?" "The vampyre, Henry. It was a vampyre." "Good God, who told you so?"

She was… there? The holes in her neck? Keep up? Maybe Henry has that Memento thing where he can't remember anything for longer than five minutes, which—well, that would explain a lot about the writing style, actually. Flora replies,

"No one. I have read of them in the book of travels in Norway, which Mr. Marchdale lent us all."

So--a møøse bit his sister?

"They do say, too, that those who in life have been bled by a vampyre, become themselves vampyres, and have the same horrible taste for blood as those before them. Is it not horrible?"

For those of you keeping score, in-story popular belief at this point is that it takes only one bite to turn you into a vampire. This is contradicted later, because of course it is, but it's worth noting; it fits with the idea that the less sexually permissive a society/era is, the more easily you get punished by the contagion. You'd think, then, that this bodes ill for Flora, but as far as I know, either Flora has a Purity Override, or fuck continuity, that's what.

Enter Mr. Dr. Chillingworth, who wants to know about Flora's "dream." "It wasn't a dream, it was a vampyre!" "Is that what you call a dream?" NO, IT'S WHAT I CALL A VAMPYRE. She shows him the bites on her neck, and he's all, pshhhh, those, those are totally insect bites. You know, giant seven-foot insects with scratchy fingernails and hypnotic tin eyes. Bit of Raid's all you need, take care of that in a jiff.

Chillingworth and Henry say nothing in particular for 300 words, at the end of which Chillingworth finally declares that vampyres are "a degrading superstition," and that Flora seems to be "labouring under the effect of some narcotic." You know, those narcotics you staple into people's necks, leaving two (2) holes. Or: blood loss, but that's far less likely, in his medical opinion, so he's just confused now.

"You have, of course, heard something," said Henry to the doctor, as he was pulling on his gloves, "about vampyres."

"I certainly have, and I understand that in some countries, particularly Norway and Sweden, the superstition is a very common one."

And he thinks Let the Right One In was much better than the remake.

WHAT ARE YOU EVEN TALKING ABOUT?

I don't know why I didn't mention this in 2010, but I'm guessing Henry is referring to the Old Norse draugr—like, I know there are Scandinavian vampires, it's just that... I've never seen English-language vampire literature of the 1800s mention them? LeFanu mentions "Upper and Lower Styria, in Moravia, Silesia, in Turkish Serbia, in Poland, even in Russia" in "Carmilla" (1872), and Andrew Lang wasn't talking about draugr until late 1897, "with the idea further pursued by more modern commentators." Polidori's "Ruthven" is a Scottish name, and its bearer goes vampiring in Greece, for that matter. In fact, when Henry chimes in, "And in the Levant," Rymer may be alluding to Polidori. But he just throws "Norwegian vampires" in like, well, obviously. What, haven't you read Grettis saga Ásmundarsonar, published in English, uh, twenty years from now?

However Rymer came by this, whatever travelogue he did read, the draugr doesn't seem to have caught on quite the way Dracula, or even Ruthven, did. Who knows, maybe "Transylvanian vampires" sounded equally random in 1897, but that's the lore that won pop culture.

Mr. Dr. Chillingworth also mentions "the ghouls of the Mahometans." The word "ghoul" comes directly from the Arabic word ghūl, which is "associated with graveyards and the consumption of human flesh," although the concept seems to be pre-Islamic Arabian, not specifically "Mahometan" (i.e., Mohammedan, an archaic or even offensive term; TIL). Rymer would have known the word from the influential 1786 Gothic-Orientalist novel Vathek, and may have even used it here as a specific callback, because it would be a shame to just go on and have a vampyre without blaming it on Those Foreigners. Chillingworth continues,

"All that I have heard of the European vampyre has made it a being which can be killed, but is restored to life again by the rays of a full moon falling on the body."

Here we go. It's worth noting here (no, I swear it is) that the idea of sunlight instantly killing vampires is a complete invention of the German film Nosferatu (1922), an "unauthorized adaptation" of Dracula. I love bringing this up as often as possible, because Dracula being slain by a convenient blast of light (Horror of Dracula, 1958, reporting for duty) is such a deeply ingrained pop-culture thing, and it is 10,000% not in the original novel. Which all you Dracula Daily regulars know, I'm sure. Stoker plays as loose with his Vampire Rules as Rymer does, but Dracula does appear in daylight at least twice that I can remember off the top of my head, although it's said to weaken him. I feel like the functional point of this is to have Any Time At All When The Heroes Have A Shot In Hell At Not Getting Eaten, and so this is why the literary vampire of the 1800s sometimes has to scamper off to its coffin at the stroke of dawn. Carmilla has to do this, but she also strolls back to Laura's house at... one in the afternoon; clearly, sunlight is not terribly crucial to the lore. Rather, it's moonlight that's associated with vampires earlier in the century—as a means of reviving them. It's actually a key plot point in Polidori's "The Vampyre" (back in 1819), and one of the stand-out elements in the popular awareness of vampires at the time.

Oh! By the way, tonight happens to be the night of the full moon. Even Chillingworth says, "If now you had succeeded in killing —. Pshaw, what am I saying."

"To-night," [Henry] repeated, "is the full of the moon. How strange that this dreadful adventure should have taken place just the night before."

Indeed. And the serial really wants us to notice this. You'd think a vampyre might avoid a bright night when they'd be more likely to be seen, but, on the other hand, maybe that's Moon Insurance in case they get capped on someone's garden wall. To confirm, Henry gets Travels in Norway off the bookshelf, and—after a thorough, paid-by-the-word description of how books sometimes open at certain pages, right down to the way the binding gets stretched—

"With regard to these vampyres, it is believed by those who are inclined to give credence to so dreadful a superstition, that they always endeavour to make their feast of blood, for the revival of their bodily powers, on some evening immediately preceding a full moon, because if any accident befall them, such as being shot, or otherwise killed or wounded, they can recover by lying down somewhere where the full moon's rays will fall on them."

There it is. Since we're going chapter by chapter, it's easy to lose sight of the big picture, but what I think the serial is getting at is, Varney probably is "dead" somewhere on the heathy landscape after getting his hapless ass shot. Except—EXCEPT! for the moonlight that just so happens to be in place to revive him. Because, while the FULL MOON. IT'S A FULL MOON might seem kind of randomly gothic to us, everyone reading this in 1847 would have been chortling in anticipation.

(Chapter 5 will go up on Friday, March 24.)

#vampires #varney the vampire #long post #just vampyre things #vampire studies

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ryuzakemo128 · 1 year ago

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Hannibal Headcanons

Author's Note: I got bored, so I decided to come up with some headcanons. I hope you like them. If you do, I'll write up some more in the future.

This is only part one. There will be more coming soon.

Masterlist

Other Stuff I have written: Link

General

1. Marianna [The female reader] grew up in a rather wealthy family, the second eldest of four children. Often left in the care of nannies or staff due to her parents busy, social and political lifestyle.

2. She grew up in a rather opulent mansion, surrounded by art, history, and a collection of rare and macabre artifacts. The mansion, passed down through generations, housed a vast library that became Marianna's sanctuary and escape from the stifling social expectations of her family.

3. As a child, Marianna displayed an early fascination with the macabre and the mysterious. She was drawn to stories of mythical creatures, ancient folklore, and tales of darkness and death. This fascination led her to immerse herself in literature, studying the works of authors like H.P. Lovecraft, Edgar Allan Poe, and Bram Stoker, which further fueled her interest in the unknown and the supernatural.

4. Marianna has a son, Luka Volkov, born when she was in her early twenties when she was dating Mikhail Ivanov, a renowned Russian artist. Despite their passionate relationship, they ultimately grew apart due to their conflicting personalities and ambitions. Marianna was dedicated to her studies and art, while Mikhail was often preoccupied with his own career. After their separation, Marianna took full custody of Luka, and though she adores her son, she is also fiercely protective of her independence and personal space.

5. Luka is deeply important to Marianna, and she does her best to balance her responsibilities as a mother with her own pursuits. She instills in him a love for art, literature, and critical thinking, nurturing his intellectual curiosity. Despite being emotionally reserved, Marianna cherishes the moments she spends with her son, and their bond is one of mutual understanding and respect.

6. Her second born is a girl, name Masha Volkova born in 2003, while she was in a rather brief relationship with Arthur Smith. Which made Masha is a Russian-American, born in the United States. Marianna's relationship with Arthur was passionate but short-lived, and they eventually went their separate ways. However, Marianna maintains a cordial relationship with Arthur and is actively involved in Masha's life, despite the distance between them.

7. She bought her home in Baltimore, Maryland and relocated there with her children, Luka and Masha, after accepting a position as a professor at a prestigious university. Baltimore's rich history and dark allure appealed to Marianna, making it the perfect place for her to delve into her academic pursuits while still indulging in her fascination with the mysterious and macabre.

8. Luka was initially resistant to the move, he quickly adapted to his new surroundings. He is 17 and Masha is 10 years old when the move occurred. Despite the busy schedule, she made sure to enroll Luka in a reputable school and support his interests and aspirations. Masha was still in primary school so she took on the responsibility of homeschooling her for a brief period until she found the right school for her.

9. Whenever Luka wants to have his nails painted, Marianna gladly does it for him and often stating, "Which colour did you want to go with this time?" Which is usually met with excitement from Luka, as he enjoys the bonding time with his mother. Marianna takes pride in breaking traditional gender norms and encourages her children to express themselves authentically.

10. If Luka wanted to wear a dress, she would often make sure they were custom made to fit his tastes, and would support his decision without hesitation. Marianna firmly believes that individuals should be free to express themselves and embrace their true selves, regardless of societal expectations or gender norms. No expense was ever left to ensure her children felt loved, accepted, and supported in their individuality.

Likes - Food

American hot sauce: Mainly because of the fiery and intense flavour it has.

Spicy Food: She loves spicy food, the spicier the better and the spicier the food. The more likely she is to enjoy it.

Cravings: She gets cravings for spicy chicken wings, Pepsi and Sweet Potato chips when she gets stressed or overwhelmed.

Coffee: Prefers to have her coffee with cream and sugar rather than black. Warmth and richness of coffee is two of the things she loves about it.

Dining Alone: Enjoys dining alone in cafes, quiet restaurants where she can indulge without having another person watch her eat.

Trying New Things: She loves trying new dishes from other cultures

Likes - Dresses

Dark, Gothic-Style: A penchant for wearing dark, gothic-inspired dresses with intricate lace, velvet and corsetry. Often choosing dresses evoking mystery and allure. Embracing a dark aesthetic.

Rich Colours: Deep, Rich colours like burgundy, purple, emerald green, midnight blue and black.

High Collars: Dresses with high collars usually catch her eye more often when they look like came out of the Victorian or Gothic era. Finding them to be a combination of elegance and sophistication.

Prefers floral dresses in Pink and Red: Enjoys wearing pink floral dresses with long tulle sleeves and a 3d floral embroidery. These often have deep v-cut neckline and pearl beads or intricate beadwork, creating a delicate and enchanting look.

Custom Made Dresses: These allow her dream dresses come to life in ways she wouldn't have thought possible.

Dislikes - Food

Fast Food: She dislikes fast food and prefers to indulge in carefully prepared and flavorful dishes.

Bland Food: Marianna dislikes bland or tasteless food, as she enjoys bold and intense flavors.

Excessively Sweet American Desserts: Marianna Volkova finds American desserts that are excessively sweet unappealing, as she prefers flavors with depth and complexity rather than overwhelming sweetness.

Processed Foods: She avoids processed foods and opts for fresh, natural ingredients in her meals.

Overly Salty Dishes: She dislikes dishes that are overly salty, as it masks the natural flavors of the ingredients.

Cultural Dishes made less spicy: Marianna Volkova enjoys trying dishes from various cultures and appreciates their authentic flavors. However, one thing she dislikes is when cultural dishes are made less spicy to cater to a broader audience. She appreciates the originality and intensity of flavors in traditional dishes and prefers them to be served as they were intended to be. Marianna believes that the true essence of a dish lies in its authentic preparation and is not a fan of adaptations that compromise its original taste.

Dislikes - Dresses

Neon Colors: Marianna stays away from dresses in neon colors, as they clash with her preference for deep, rich hues.

Dresses with Uncomfortable Fabrics: She avoids dresses made from uncomfortable fabrics that may hinder her movement or cause discomfort throughout the day.

Mass-Produced Dresses: Marianna dislikes wearing mass-produced dresses commonly found in chain stores. She values uniqueness and prefers custom-made or one-of-a-kind pieces reflecting her individuality.

Overly Revealing Dresses: As she prefers to maintain more to the imagination rather than exposing too much, as a result she steers clear of dresses which reveal too much.

Heavy Embellishments: While she appreciates intricate details, Marianna dislikes dresses with excessively heavy embellishments, as they can feel cumbersome and distract from the overall aesthetic.

Extremely Tight Dresses: She avoids dresses that are extremely tight or constricting, preferring ones that allow for comfortable movement and freedom.

#nbc Hannibal #nbc Hannibal Headcanons #Hannibal Headcanons #Headcanons #headcanons #female reader #fem! reader #f! reader #Marianna [Female Reader]#Marianna [Fem! Reader]#Marianna [F! Reader]#Marianna (Fem! Reader)#Marianna (F! Reader)#Marianna (Female Reader)

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theyregoodfics · 2 years ago

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mortgage on my body, lien on my soul by ceeainthereforthat

Rating: Explicit

Words: 23,017

Tags: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Minor Character Death, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Stalking, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Horror, Case Fic, Past Relationship(s)

Summary:

About the author: J. Lee Harrison grew up in Port Orchard, WA. He lives in New Mexico and enjoys traveling throughout the US. His novel Haunted won a Bram Stoker award for Best First Novel. You can learn more at www.jleeharrison.com.

Cas laughs every time he reads his bio. If it were honest, it would say “Castiel Jones is the author of seventeen novels, all written in states he's visited, published under five different pen names. He lives nowhere in particular - after years on the run from his own real-life horror story, he's forgotten how to stay in one place."Although it could be worse, he supposes. He could always be one of the characters in one of his stories.

Some nights, he worries that maybe he is.

When Dean Winchester recognizes him as one of Dean's favorite horror authors, he should be packing up to leave Minnesota. But the handsome, mysterious bad boy who loves books, lives on the road, and tells lies for a living feels real and solid, in contrast to the nightmare that follows his life no matter how far he runs.

_______________________________

if you love the fic, please give the writer some love via kudos/comments/reblogs. your support matters!

#10-25k #canon #(ish)#case fic #suicide

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avengerscompound · 2 years ago

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Small Gods: Little Traditions - 4

Little Traditions: A Sam Wilson Fanfic

Little Traditions Masterlist | More Small Gods PREVIOUS //

Buy me a ☕ Character Pairing: Sam Wilson x F!Reader

Rating: E

Word Count: 2371

Warnings: nothing really

Synopsis: Since the blip and Steve Rogers giving up the mantle of Captain America, Sam’s life has been chaotic. It’s not enough that the world has moved on in the five years he’d gone, and that he’d missed so much, now he has to live with everything it means to be Captain America. He feels like he’s losing all the things that make him him. A venture to the supermarket to recreate one of his parents famous recipes brings him to you.

Chapter 4

Sam was quite excited about his date with you. He had always been good at reading people. He trusted his instincts and it was rare that he was wrong. It was why he’d formed such a strong bond with Riley. It was why he immediately formed a connection with Steve. He was good at reading people - he’d been trained to read people. He knew when people were hiding things from him and when they were just nervous or shy. He knew when he was being manipulated. He could tell when someone was annoying but ultimately good, and when someone was charming and ultimately bad. He could even tell very early on if someone would never become closer to him than acquaintances and when they would be actual friends. He trusted his feelings when he liked someone and he really liked you.

There had been a lot of talk about tradition, and so Sam decided to go with a traditional date, only with his own Wilson spin on it.

“So where are you taking me?” you asked as you sat beside him in his truck. He’d picked you up. He’d realized it was a risky move - he was taking you into New Orleans after all, and it wasn’t a short drive. If things didn’t go well, then there was no way for either of you to escape the forty-five-minute trip back together. He had faith though, and what kind of date would he be, if he expected you to drive an hour and a half each way just to see him?

“We’re heading to a jazz club for dinner and then if you feel like a change of venue there’s an outdoor movie festival on. They’re playing different vampire movies every night. Tonight it’s Vampires in Brooklyn followed by Bram Stoker’s Dracula.”

“That sounds like a nice twist on dinner and a movie,” you said, shifting in your seat so you were looking at him more.

He smiled, happy that you didn’t think it was cliché. “Yeah, well you seemed to like the idea of tradition, but I wanted to make it ours.”

“It’s a perfect idea,” you said. “And who knows, maybe we can even do some dancing.”

“Another classic,” Sam said. “I do have some sweet moves.”

“I hope I get to see them,” you said.

“Well, if not tonight, another night,” he said. “We definitely can’t go too long before tearing it up.”

You laughed and smiled softly at him. “Not to jump into labelling us yet, but I do like the idea of finding the thing that is ours. I think every couple needs that.”

“I agree,” he said. “The special little things that you share with the people who are important to you are the best.”

Your smile grew and you nodded enthusiastically. “I totally agree.”

“So,” Sam said, as he pulled up at a set of traffic lights. “We have forty-five minutes to kill. Maybe we should get to know each other better. Are you a Louisiana native?”

“No. I’m a transplant,” you said. “But I have been here for a while.”

“So what brought you here? Work?” he asked.

You seemed to think about the question for a moment. There was a soft expression on your face as you considered it. “I guess in a way you could say that. I have always been attracted to places that have developed their own pockets of culture that are separate from everything around them. There is nothing like Louisiana for that. Yes, in Italy you will have one town telling you to use white wine in a pasta sauce and the next town will say it has to be red, but here, it’s like everyone just came here and blended their foods and culture and beliefs and it’s just its own thing now. There are so many factors that made it, you know?”

Sam nodded in understanding. “It’s a special place,” he said.

“You grew up here, right?” you asked.

“That’s right,” he said. “My parents had a fishing boat. I mean - we still have the fishing boat. The crawfish boil was a little tradition my parents started back in the day to celebrate the first good haul of them for the season. It was something I loved doing as a kid and I wanted to bring it back again.”

“Yes!” you said. “You see this is what I mean. Look at that dish from the start. The crawfish are from here. They’re easy to come by, so people would fish for them, but they didn’t have the perfect way to cook them. They tried the traditional rich French ways of cooking lobster because a lot of French immigrated here early on. But it didn’t go with the small crustacean. So they modified the recipes and cooking techniques and added their own Creole touch - which is a blend of so many cultures. Then people took that dish, and make it an event. You don’t just cook a few bugs. You have your friends around. You do your version of the recipes. More cultures come and do their takes on it. It’s a living organism that changes from family to family and yet it’s so important to the people involved. It’s an event like going to church but just about sharing with your chosen people. And here in New Orleans, there’s so much of that. The music, the parties, the food, the burial practices, the people. It makes this place so special.”

Sam couldn’t help but smile as you spoke. He got caught up in your enthusiasm and passion for the topic. Something he’d never really taken the time to fully appreciate. He knew most of the things you’d said, and he was proud of his heritage. These were his people and he was who he was today because of them. It was different hearing it from you. Almost like the things he knew deep down in his core were being named, and being named by someone who seemed to be an expert on the topic.

“It is special,” he agreed. “My heart has always been here.” He looked at you out of the corner of his eye, taking you in for a moment as he cruised down the highway. “You seem so passionate about it. Are you an anthropologist?”

You laughed and shook your head. “No. Though I do love Anthropos.” You paused and chewed your bottom lip like you were considering telling him something more. Sam glanced over at you again. He could tell you had something on your mind that was troubling you, but he also knew he was way too early into the relationship to try and pry secrets out of you. He still felt good about you and the potential for an actual relationship growing out of this. Whatever it was that was troubling you, he didn't think it would be a deal breaker.

“So what is it you do?” he said. “You sound like an expert.”

You took a deep breath and looked up at the roof of the car. “You know Thor, don't you?”

The sudden change of topic was almost enough to give Sam whiplash. He choked on surprised laughter and shook his head as his thoughts tried to catch up to the abrupt topic change. “Yeah. I know him. He's a good guy. He was more Steve’s friend than mine though so I wouldn't say that we’re close. I wasn't officially an Avenger when he was on the team, and by the time I joined he'd gone back to Asgard or whatever. Then I got blipped. So you probably know as much as I do about the rest of it. But yeah, we've met. Partied together, fought in a few fights on the same side.”

“So, you know a god, and your friends or at least friendly acquaintances. You accept that as a normal thing, his divinity and immortality, and his love for mortals both as friends and even romantically. I mean he was pretty publically dating doctor Jane Foster.”

If Sam hadn't been on the highway, he would have pulled the car over. As it was his eyebrows shot up and he looked at you out of the corner of his eye as he tried to figure out where this conversation was heading.

“Uhhh… yes. That's accurate,” he said. “I mean, some people debate the god thing and just say he's a guy who lives longer than us and has a superpower and humans just saw him as a god. But yeah, I mean we grew up learning Norse mythology. And he is here. But at the same time, even with the flowery prose and powers, he's a guy. It's hard to think ‘god’ when you're just sharing a beer with a guy. Why? What's all this about?”

“Well,” you said, wrinkling your nose. “You asked what I did. And the answer is godly things?”

Sam nearly slammed on the breaks. It took every ounce of self-control to keep the car driving straight. “I’m sorry - what?”

“I’m a god. Well, goddess if you’re hung up on gendered language, though I’ve never been a fan of it. Sure there are gods of differing power levels, but their gender expression is irrelevant to that,” you explained.

Sam couldn’t quite process what was happening, and he couldn’t quite figure out why. There was nothing about the way you were speaking that made him think you were lying. Going off every piece of body language he understood, he could tell at the very least you believed you were telling the truth. If this little bomb had been dropped before Loki had destroyed half of New York, he’d have just assumed you were delusional and tried to talk you into getting some mental health care.

This was not that world, and while the idea that you were some kind of god still sounded ludicrous, it wasn’t impossible.

“You don’t believe me,” you said. “That’s okay, even in a world where half the population disappeared and then reappeared five years later people still don’t expect to meet the divine. What’s funny is, you probably do it way more regularly than you think. There are a lot of us.”

“You mean all the gods are real?” Sam asked, not even sure if the question came from skepticism or shock.

“Yeah, and some,” you answered. “Some are beings that came here and humans worshiped because they saw an immortal being who can control the tides must be a god. But the world is full of magic and when a lot of energy is placed into one thing, it creates a focal point, and sometimes - what pops out is what you’d call a god.”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “I don’t quite follow.”

“Well,” she said. “Say, you have a society that’s terrified of losing their things when they die. So they create a whole story about how a hippo will come and weigh your heart and if you’re good, you can go spend eternity with all your stuff in paradise? And so the whole society starts worshiping that hippo. Well - if they really believe it and pray to it, their focus creates that being.”

“So you’re saying that humans have created gods by simply believing they exist,” Sam asked.

“That’s right,” you said. “But it’s even more than that, have you ever gotten stuck in traffic and just prayed for it to get moving? Or have you ever lost your keys and wandered around looking for them praying to find them because you had an appointment to get to only to find them in the pocket you’d already checked five times? Those are things that millions and millions of people pray for every day, and from those prayers, a god is born.”

Sam blinked and shook his head. “This sounds both completely crazy and completely plausible,” he said. “I don’t know how to process it. So you’re a god? What god are you? Persephone?”

“No, she’s one of the ones that visited. That’s why there’s a Roman version and a Greek version of her name,” you answered. “I’m just me. I haven’t lied to you.”

“I’ve never heard of you before,” he said. “What do you do?”

You laughed. “You wouldn’t have,” you said. “I’ve come from gaps between magic and religion. Where people gather to celebrate things just for the joy of celebration and sharing with their family and friends. I come from the traditions people have that aren’t attached to anything.”

Sam was more confused than ever. “But what do you do?”

“Not all gods go around answering prayers. Loki doesn’t go around answering people’s prayers for mischief. He just causes mischief,” you said. “But I do have some magic in me. You saw it. I didn’t suggest lime by coincidence.”

“You knew?” Sam asked.

“I knew,” you said. “I do live around here. I was in the supermarket coincidentally, but I could feel how badly you wanted your old family traditions back, and I knew what it was you needed. But imagine how crazed I’d come off if I said; oh what you’re looking for is the finger limes off the tree in your yard.”

Sam shook his head in disbelief. “So how old are you?”

“I’ve lost count,” you said. “Younger than civilization. Older than Thor. I existed before there were named gods and we were all just nexus points of desire and celebration. We do come and go. What people want now isn’t always the same as what they wanted thousands of years ago.”

“Damn,” Sam said. “And you said yes to going on a date with me.”

“Well, you love so much of what I love, Sam,” you said. “Plus - you are kind of amazing. Amazing in ways gods wish they could be. How could I say no? The question is, knowing all this, do you still want to go out with me?”

He smiled and laughed. “I like to think I can read people, and I like you. So yeah, if you want to have a shot at a mundane life for a little while, I’d love to take you out.”

“Oh, Sam,” you said. “You are anything but mundane.”

// NEXT

#marvel #avengers #sam wilson #sam wilson x reader #falcon #falcon fanfic #captain america fanfic #marvel fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #reader insert #small gods #little traditions

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hamliet · 3 years ago

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hello, hamliet! have you read the newest bsd chapter? if so, what are your thoughts? i enjoying reading your analyses :)

Yup yup yup. Chuuya! It's been 84 years! And he's vamped!

But I think it's a great team up with lots of character growth and thematic potential. I'm not worried about anyone dying (permanently).

Anyways, the current chapter has a ton of thematic and character set up around the theme of fathers and children (if Asagiri is gonna reference Turgenev, a Russian contemporary of Dostoyevsky's best known for his book Fathers and Sons/Parents and Children, this is how). It also offers Dazai specific challenges in facing the worst and best parts of himself.

Firstly, let's talk Sigma. Sigma is a massive foil to Atsushi, Akutagawa, and Q. They are kids (coded as anyways) and are paying for their mentors' mistakes and wishes. Akutagawa literally died/got vamped to Atsushi just to please Dazai, Atsushi is scared and alone, Q is probably vamped and has been locked up by a mafia that hates and resents him yet craves his power, and Sigma is at the mercy of Fyodor and Gogol.

Like, this scene and dialogue could well be Atsushi or Akutagawa:

I've also talked previously about how Sigma's half/half design is a callback to Q and specifically to how Q's been treated by Chuuya and Dazai. Now Sigma's in that same position except his soukoku are Fyodor and Gogol. And Sigma's making it canon text that he just wants to live, to live freely, and to have a home, which is something Akutagawa and Q can't do in the mafia, and something Atsushi needs to learn:

When desperate for a home, kids will do anything.

The framing of the chapter is also interesting and powerful. The scenes inside the prison are intercut with those of a child (Aya) literally running with a newly rescued adult (Bram) on her back, trying to save him despite him being, y'know, older and kind of the cause of this. I say kind of because, as usual in BSD, there's nuance. Bram himself doesn't have much of a choice, and is a prisoner himself.

Of course, this parallels Bram with Dazai and Fyodor (literally prisoners), and Chuuya (a vamp). Beyond the surface, these three--Dazai, Fyodor, and Chuuya--are prisoners of other circumstances: Dazai is still not willing to face fully what his abandonment did to Akutagawa, Fyodor's ability presumably imprisons him from human contact, and Chuuya is still taking orders from someone who is the antithesis of who Chuuya wants to be (Mori).

The point of these parallels and these foilings is that Dazai, moving forward, needs to step it up as an adult. His role is to be the mentor and save the kids he is responsible for: literally Sigma here, but also then Atsushi, Akutagawa, and Q. That's always been the endgame of his arc.

It's also symbolic that Bram tries to pull the typical mentor route in a story: leave me! I'll sacrifice myself! (also what Oda did with the deconstruction of the noble death of a mentor inspiring the mentee to change his life, except Oda's was even more directly coded as a suicide because it wasn't even for Dazai or for his orphans; it was in futile revenge). The story responds to Bram with lulz nice try.

What happens then? The symbol of home, of safety and belonging and purpose, in the series, swoops in to save both Bram and Aya. And again, notably, it's the literal child of the ADA: Kenji.

Dazai now has to face Chuuya as well, and realize what's happened to him and to Akutagawa. Chuuya has always been a direct foil of Dazai's: Chuuya is motivated by his colleagues and human connections, while Dazai is... not so much. Now, Chuuya is motivated by nothing other than bloodlust and is being controlled like a puppet by Fyodor. It's almost like this should make Dazai realize what is good about Chuuya, and what he himself (Dazai) is like at his very worst: bloodlusty and supposedly really selfish, but also really controlled by other things.

I wrote previously that:

The answer of course to Chuuya’s quest for self-knowledge (which is not over) isn’t in Arahabaki’s origins or the origins of ‘Chuuya Nakahara,’ but in Dazai Osamu. Chuuya wants to understand himself as a human, and seeing someone born with it be so cavalier about his humanity and his life bothers him, especially because Chuuya clearly does care about Dazai.

This is true in the inverse, for Dazai, as well. He needs to see himself in Chuuya's vamped form and be motivated by connection to end this, to end the curse.

Also: two chapters left until craziness! I suspect Asagiri's been dragging this arc out to hit a particular point on chapter 100 (much like Isayama in Attack on Titan dragged out the Marley Arc to get to Eren's destruction reveal in chapter 100).

#ask hamliet #bsd #bsd 98 #bungou stray dogs #bungo stray dogs meta #bsd meta #bsd theory #soukoku #dazai osamu #fyodor dostoyesvky #nikolai gogol #bram stoker #atsushi nakajima #akutagawa ryunosuke #sigma #nakahara chuuya #bungo stray dogs 98

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turniptitaness · 2 years ago

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For personal reasons I need a list of every ben platt movie ever

Oh, you do, huh?

I feel like one of those moms who whips out twelve photo albums of her kid any time some poor sucker innocently asks about them.

Pitch Perfect 1 & 2, 2012-15. He played Benji in case you somehow weren't aware. Just the best part of the entire franchise, is all.

Ricki and the Flash, 2015. Daniel, a small role. Had to act smitten with Meryl Streep, and let's be honest it wasn't even acting.

Billy Lynn's Long Halftime Walk, 2016. Haven't seen this one. Bet he's the best part though.

Drunk Parents, 2019. He's barely in this one, but is still easily the best part.

Run This Town, 2020. A wild indie film about Canadian dirty politics. He plays Bram, a baby journalist trying to get a big scoop to prove himself in the industry. Jennifer Ehle has to heartlessly fire him, and she should have won an Oscar for not bursting into tears and apologizing when he looks at her like 🥺.

Ben Platt Live at Radio City Music Hall, 2020. Yes, this is a whole-ass movie. You asked me, so I can count it if I want to. Life-changing, and the next best thing to being actually in the room with him at a concert.

Father of the Bride Part 3(ish), 2020. We love a good Quarantine Project.

Broken Diamonds, 2021. Plays Scott, and will rip your heart out.

Dear Evan Hansen, 2021. Not a word against this film. It's beautiful, and the haters are wrong. Every unbiased person I've forced to watch it (a considerable number at this point) has been blown away by it and terribly confused when I told them the internet decided it was bad.

Upcoming:

The People We Hate at the Wedding, 2022. I read the book last year and y'all. I AM SO EXCITED FOR THIS. He'll be playing Paul, and the role is perfection for him. Paul is a funny, obnoxious, sweet, salty, anxiety-riddled basket-case who low-key gets to be the hero at the end.

Theater Camp. If you haven't seen the short film he and his friends made yet, you just won't understand why I am absolutely frothing at the mouth over this one. Two black turtle necks. That's all I have to say. It also includes a wild Noah Galvin, who is practically my son-in-law, so. Excited about that.

Merrily We Roll Along. I'm way too excited for a movie that won't be released until I'm like forty years old. 😭

Allrighty then, those are all his movies, so far. But I can't just not talk about The Politician, okay? So here are his TV credits as well:

Will & Grace, 2017. Appears on one episode as Blake, a "younger guy" who flirts with Will. Hilarious. Oh my god. The most self-satisfied airhead you have ever seen.

The Politician, 2019-20. WATCH THIS. DO YOU HEAR ME. WATCH IT RIGHT NOW. I DON'T CARE IF YOU'VE WATCHED IT ALREADY. WATCH IT AGAIN. OH, YOU'RE BUSY? TOO BAD. WATCH IT RIGHT NOW.

The Premise, 2021 (Social Justice Sex Tape). Oh God. Don't watch this. Or actually do watch it, because he's kind of brilliant in it, but. Have some bleach ready for your eyes. You're gonna want some. His character has a tramp stamp that is very much on display, so that gives you some idea of what you're in for.

Apparently he was also in The Simpsons at some point, which??? I was not aware of????? So thanks for asking this so that I would discover that.

I luff him. Thank you for asking.

Oh, and by the way, I feel like I should mention that when I typed his name into Google, one of the searches that popped up was "Can Ben Platt Really Sing?" which just.

#ben platt #my child

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armed-and-alxne · 1 year ago

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He... wanted to stay with her, though he didn't know why. He just met this woman, so what was he doing thinking that way? But Luther had that instinctive reaction before he could think better of it. Fortunately, he didn't blurt it out. "You'd want some strange guy sleepin' in the same room as you?" he asked by way of feeling out how she felt on the subject.

"I'm glad to hear we won't be sleepin' in coffins, though. Hey, you know where that stereotype comes from, actually? There was this girl in Rhode Island in the 19th century named Mercy Brown, and she got tuberculosis. She died from it, and they buried her in a wooden coffin. But soon all her family members were comin' down with it too, and people were a lot more superstitious back then, so they thought it was the work of some kinda evil.

"I don't remember how they arrived at this conclusion, but they thought it was the work of undead corrupting the living. So they dug up all the members of this household who had died to find out who was responsible, and they all looked pretty much as expected, but when they dug Mercy up, she looked pristine. No decay, no nothin'. She looked like she could still be alive. And when they looked at her heart, it still had liquid blood in it, months after her death.

"Really all that had happened was that Mercy was buried in the winter, so her body froze and didn't decay. The others did because they died later when the weather was warmer. So she was still kinda frozen when they dug her up, and when they looked at her heart, the blood in it thawed out and became liquid again. Anyway, Mercy's case was one of the inspirations behind Bram Stoker's Dracula. So that's why vampires always sleep in coffins, heh."

Luther realized he'd been geeking out and he smiled shyly. "Sorry, uh... I'm a bit of a horror buff, I guess. But I do prefer beds to coffins, so that's definitely a plus," he said, embarrassed at how he'd rambled on. He ran his hand over the fuzz on his head and tried to change the subject.

Focusing on the task at hand made Luther a bit nervous. He... wasn't sure he could really do this. But when the time came and Eleanor squeezed his hand, he watched as she quickly grabbed hold of the woman. This... seemed wrong to him, but Eleanor had said to trust her and so he was. They wouldn't kill anyone, he trusted. Vampires have to eat too, right? he said, trying to make this okay in his mind.

His instincts took over, though whether they were vampire instincts or mafia ones, he didn't know. Luther had done this a thousand times, though... grab someone and restraint them. His leg bound up the man's as one of his arms hooked the man's arms and held them back. His other hand was up over the man's mouth, and now he wasn't going anywhere, nor was anyone going to hear him. The moment Luther had been so afraid of came without even thinking as he drew the man's head to the side and bit into his neck.

It was... so much more satisfying than it should have been. Blood... didn't taste like this, though. It tasted like metal, like iron... or like sucking on copper pennies or something. It was a sickening and vile taste. But this... it had to be blood, because what else would it be, yet it tasted sweet, like the best drink he'd ever had in his life.

He watched Eleanor out of the corner of his eye, and when she laid the woman down, he did the same for the man, following her lead on licking the wound. He was still breathing, it seemed. "Will they be alright? Should we stay until they wake up? We can just leave 'em here, can we?"

Eleanor's fingers brushed along her creation's cheek as he laid against her, a gentle smile gracing her lips. She had turned him a day prior and so, she knew the next few days wouldn't be fun. There had been a few that she had left to fend for themselves, especially in her earlier years but he was different. She had brought him back to her home to turn, keeping him here so she could keep an eye on him. After all, he was going to need her help when it came to his first feed. (@mxrvelouscreations

@mxrvelouscreations

Luther knew it was a possibility that Andrei, even from where he was sitting in jail currently, might hire someone to take him out, but he didn't think it would happen quite this quickly. He'd only been gone a few months, trying to start his life over while loosely following the trial of his former boss. It hadn't gone well for Andrei, and he'd gotten some twenty years in jail for masterminding Evan's murder and racketeering. At Andrei's age, that was practically a life sentence. He'd likely die in prison.

While Luther was glad that Evan was getting some justice, he couldn't say he was really happy about how everything had turned out. Nobody really won in any of this. Lives were lost of destroyed, a family shattered, kids' innocences lost... it just wasn't a joyful occasion at all. Luther knew Andrei would be furious and looking for revenge, and that kept him observant and vigilant. But not enough, apparently.

By the time he saw the guy and heard his message about Andrei sending his regards, Luther was already shot. He'd drawn his own gun, but the shot missed, and down he went. The rest was a blur as he began to bleed out quickly, but he did remember... a face. A woman's face, looming over him just before he lost consciousness.

When he woke, he didn't know where he was. Slowly, his mind processed that he'd been shot, but it took yet another minute for him to actually react to that fact. His mind felt foggy, and his whole body hurt, but soon he was frantically inspecting the area where there should have been a bullet wound... only to find nothing. It just didn't make sense. How am I alive right now? he wondered, before realizing that he wasn't alone.

Startling, Luther recoiled a bit from the woman who was holding him, confusion and surprise written in his expression. It was the same woman he'd seen as he was losing consciousness, but he still had no clue who she might be. His gaze moved from her face to look around and then back at her. "Who are you? Where am I?" he asked, feeling like he was trembling a little. Why do I feel so damn weak if the wound is gone?

#mxrvelouscreations #luther rp #{ dark rebirth } ᵛᵃᵐᵖⁱʳᵉ ᵛᵉʳˢᵉ #tw: death #tw: blood #tw: exhumation

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daydreaming-optimist · 2 years ago

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10 songs for 10 ships?

First and foremost, apologies for having this in my ask box for months, I had to really think about it and then I forgot oops

These aren't necessarily my top 10 ships, just ones that I felt like matched a song or part of a song :)

I’m trying to avoid putting the love songs that they literally sing to each other in musicals and find an unrelated song but it’s a struggle so these might all end up being book characters instead

Addie and Henry (The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue by V.E. Schwab) - Like Real People Do (Hozier)

“I will not ask you where you came from / I will not ask and neither will you / honey just put your sweet lips on my lips / we should just kiss like real people do”

Cath and Jest (Heartless by Marissa Meyer) - The Joker and the Queen (Ed Sheeran and Taylor Swift)

“and who was I to say that this was meant to be? / the road that was broken brought us together”

“when I fold you see the best in me / the joker and the queen”

I mean come on, the book’s about the court joker and the (future) queen of hearts falling in love, how could I not choose this song? it’s IN THE TITLE

Celia and Marco (The Night Circus by Erin Morgenstern) - So It Goes... (Taylor Swift)

“all eyes on you, my magician / all eyes on us / you make everyone disappear”

“cause we break down just a little / when you get me alone it’s so simple”

“all the pieces fall right into place / getting caught up in the moment / lipstick on your face”

“all eyes on me, your illusionist / all eyes on us / I make all your grey days clear”

tbh I’m not convinced she didn’t read the book before writing this song

Percy and Annabeth (PJO/HoO by Rick Riordan, but specifically House of Hades for this song) - Take on the World (You Me At Six)

“and just say the word, we'll take on the world / just say you're hurt, we'll face the worst / nobody knows you, the way that I know you / look in my eyes, I will never desert you"

“and it's the fight, and the fight of our lives / you and I, we were made to thrive / and I am your future, I am your past / never forget that we were built to last”

“we'll fight, we'll crawl into the night / our world, we'll go, with you by my side / the calm, the storm, we'll face it all”

Patroclus and Achilles (The Song of Achilles by Madeline Miller) - Dancing with Your Ghost (Sasha Alex Sloan)

“yelling at the sky / screaming at the world / baby why’d you have to go away?”

“I stay up all night, tell myself I’m alright”

“never got the chance / to say your last goodbye / I gotta move on / but it hurts to try”

Alina and Mal (Shadow and Bone by Leigh Bardugo) - You Are In Love (Taylor Swift)

“he keeps his word / and for once you let go / of your fears and your ghosts”

“you fight, then you talk”

“one night he wakes / strange look on his face / pauses then says / “you’re my best friend” / and you knew what it was / he is in love”

“and you understand now why they lost their minds and fought the wars”

Jonathan and Mina (Dracula by Bram Stoker, during the part when he was in Budapest and literally dying but could only think of Mina and she comes to tend to him) - Work Song (Hozier)

“when my time comes around / lay me gently in the cold dark earth / no grave could hold my body down / I’ll crawl home to her”

“I was burning up a fever / I didn’t care much how long I lived / but I swear I thought I dreamed her / she never asked me once about the wrong I did”

Cress and Thorne (The Lunar Chronicles by Marissa Meyer) - Modern Rapunzel (The Covasettes)

“are you alright? / locked up all night / do you feel like running out into open space?”

“I say come on, get on / burst out of your bubble / we're a long time gone / my modern Rapunzel / cause I get the feeling one day you'll fight”

“so take your sweet heart and drop it at my feet / everything you want, I can be”

Orpheus and Eurydice (Hadestown by Anais Mitchell) - I Hear a Symphony (Cody Fry)

“I used to hear a simple song / that was until you came along / now in it’s place is something new / I hear it when I look at you”

“you are more beautiful by far / our flaws are who we really are”

“you took my broken melody / and now I hear a symphony”

Chaol and Yrene (Throne of Glass by Sarah J Maas) - Thinking Out Loud (Ed Sheeran)

“when your legs don’t work like they used to before”

#becca i hope you appreciate the work that went into this #this took forever #also sorry about taking so long to get around to it #and sorry for the last one but i couldn't resist #answered asks #becca tag #mutuals

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fangirlings-things · 4 years ago

Text

First Costumer

Fandom: Peaky Blinders

Pairing: Arthur Shelby x female reader

Summary: you just got hired to do the job you always wanted and your first costumer, is no other but a Peaky Blinder

Word count: 2.1K

This is based on the moodboard below, made by my friend. You can find the original post here

A/N: I wrote this for @flowers-in-your-hayr 650 followers celebration. congratulations, love!! you're amazing, thank you for understanding my brazilian jokes lol and I hope you like this 💖

TAG LIST: @sophieshelby ; @charmingvalkyrie ; @inglourious-imagines ; @fairyofvoid ; @locke-writes ; @regalbanshee ; @captainshazamerica ; @lotsoffandomrecs ; @flowers-in-your-hayr ; @too-spoopy-to-be-frukd

You heard the doorbell ring and the sound filled the bookshop. Finally, a costumer. Your very first costumer. How exciting!

You got down of the ladder you had previously climbed to fix some of the higher shelves and passed your hands through your brown simple dress, making sure it was proper and in order. Mr. Cuthbert had taken a long time to finally accept you as an employee in his establishment and now, you had to make him proud.

You had always loved books. Since you were just a little girl, you mother had given you novels to read and you grew up living in many different ones from the reality you actually found yourself in. Books were your passion, your refugee, your ideal spot. To be able to work around them and make people happy by buying books, well, it sounded like perfection!

The costumer took his time to walk through the shop, eyeing the shelves like they were unusual strangers in the street and then, he got to you at the back of the bookshop. Your first costumer was a man.

He was tall. Not too tall, but just enoguh to make him able to look at some of the upward shelves without having to raise his head too much. His skin was white, giving a nice contrast with the black coat he wore. He had a moustache and you could only see a few strings of his brown hair, due to the cap he wore.

Then, you realized. After taking notice of the cap, the fine clothing made sense. No ordinary man in Birmingham had such fine clothes to wear, especially not in the middle of the week, during the lunch break time of the factories. Oh no, that man absolutely did not work in a factory. That man was a Peaky Blinder. His only bosses were the Shelbys and the Shelbys only.

"May I help you, sir?" you asked him with a polite smile, pushing to the back of your mind the realization you had just come to. It didn't matter who he was outside Mr. Cuthbert's bookshop. He was a costumer. Who clearly, for the way his eyes were going from one shelf to the other, intended to buy a book.

He focused his eyes on you and you saw that his stare wasn't harsh or the one of a demon, as many people said the Peaky Blinders were. His eyes were kind, even though there was an agitation in them that you couldn't quite comprehend. Maybe not even he could. "Yes" he said simply and as you kept staring at him, waiting for further information, the man looked even a bit disconcerted, like he wasn't used to having such attention upon him. "It is my sister's birthday this week and Ada, well, she really likes books, has a great shelf of them at her house. So I thought it would be a good idea to you know, give her a new book as a gift"

You couldn't help but smile. That man, whomever he was, seemed so genuine in everything. You could see the care in his expression when he spoke of his sister. It was a nice thing to see. The stories you had heard about the Peaky Blinders seemed to be all wrong. He was a normal person. Not some crazy, openly violent man.

"Do you have any specific book in mind?" you asked him, hands joined in front of your body and excitement filling your body because that was apparently going to be a successful sell. The man just squeezed his lips on a thin line, eyes going to the floor as if he was embarrassed. It got to you. "Don't worry, I am sure we can work something out. What kind of books does she like?"

He watched as you moved around the place graciously. Clearly you knew every corner of that place, every shelf, every single book and where it was. You looked at a particular spot, frowned then moved on like there wasn't anything interesting for whatever you wanted him to take to Ada. "Well, she's a communist, so she does like politics"

"Very well" you walked towards the politics shelf, searched the titles, but nothing particularly got your attention or seemed fitting. You turned back to the man. "Does she like classics that have to do with politics?"

"I think so, what do you have?" he asked, seeming kinda excited for what you would come up with. He accompanied you as you went to shelf on the other side of the corridor and pulled out a book. "Les Miserables, by Victor Hugo. It's centered around the French Revolution"

The man looked down at the floor again as a quite nervous laugh escaped his mouth. "I don't think that is a good idea. France does not give my family the best memories, you see"

"You fought the war?" you asked, smile fading a bit because of the seriousness in his tone. Maybe that's where his agitation was from. Maybe, he never did get back from France at all. He only nodded in agreement, still not looking at you. "Thank you, for your service"

He gave out a little smile, but you knew by the way the corner of his lips didn't rise too much that he was anxious to change the subject. Honestly, see the obvious hurt in him made you want to change it either. "Alright, no France. What about Bram Stoker's Dracula?"

"Dracula?" he frowned, eyes meeting yours in utter confusion at such a strange name.

The fact that he didn't knew about it made you smile as you began to describe que novel's story to him with a mysterious tone in your voice to cause suspense. "It's about an old man, Count Dracula, who lives in a castle and feeds on the blood of young women to survive. Sometimes he kills them so they can join him in the after life and also drink blood from innocent people"

The man laughed due to your clearly forced misteirous tone and the way you raised your eyebrows at him while speaking, seeming to forget the previous sadness that had overwhelmed him with the memories of the war. You were glad for it. "That sounds bloody awful, love"

You could not help but also laugh, trying to ignore the heat that took a hold of your face when he apparently without thinking, called you love. "It is, actually" then you shrugged, passing your hand through the said novel's cover at the shelf. "But is a fine horror book" you crossed your arms over your chest and squeezed your eyes in his direction. "Be honest with me now, will your sister like this one?"

He squeezed his lips again, this time his features assumed a expression that clearly said 'sorry'. "I don't think so. Ada is a feminist. I think she would not like a story where a monster man kills women and faces no consequences"

"That is a very good point" you said with a sight and then turned around, biting your lower lip as you thought and thought about more options. The challenge on your very first sell was being quite exciting and you could say, interesting. Much of it of course, was because of that man. Suddenly, an idea popped into your head and you turned back to the Peaky Blinder with a smile. "What about On the Origin of Species? It's a book about pure knowledge, scientific one, about evolution. No France, no monster that slaughters women"

The man gave it a minute of thought and then returned your smile. "Knowledge and evolution. It does sounds like Ada" you both felt silent for a moment and then, he cleaned his throat and nodded towards the book you had just gotten into your hands. "I'll take it"

"Very well" you motioned for him to follow you and then made your way towards the back of the shop again, placing it in the cashier. "You want it wrapped up as a gift?" he quickly agreed and you raised two options of gift wrap in the air. A green and a blue one. He chose the green one. "You can also add a small card if you want"

"That is nice, thank you" he said and again, as you looked at him, the kindness in his eyes seemed to shine out from everything else.

You grabbed a gift card from the inside of a box where they were kept and placed a black pen upon it. "You can write it or if you want, I can write it for you"

"You should write it, I bet your handwriting is better than mine" he said and you chuckled, nodding as you agreed to his request.

"What do you want it to say?" you waited as he clearly thought about the question, looking unsure. With one of his hands, he took off his cap and then passed the other one through his hair. When he claned his throat, you were ready to start writing.

"Dear Ada, happy birthday" he looked at you as if that was it but then, seeing the expression on your face that clearly indicated you wished him to talk more, he thought for a second and then continued. " Since you like books so much, I hope you will like this one, that a very nice girl helped me pick" as you wrote with a smile on your face, you did your best not to raise your eyes to meet his. "I know I am not always a very good brother, but I love you. Happy birthday, Arthur"

"That was beautiful" you told him, letting go of the pen and starting to wrap up the gift carefully, slowly, in no rush to let the Peaky Blinder go away. Arthur. His name was Arthur. It was a beautiful name. Suited him just fine.

"Alright, then" his eyes went to the floor again, seeming now embarrassed because of your words.

You finished to wrap the gift in silence, then when it was done, you sighted and looked at the man. "If you want us to deliver the gift at your sister's house, in case you're busy, we have a delivery boy for such"

"That sounds good, I appreciate that" he replied.

You nodded in agreement and got a piece of paper, to then grab the pen again. "Can you tell me her adress, please?" he did so, and you wrote it down so the boy Mr. Cuthbert had hired a little while before you could do his part of the job later. "He is supposed to look for Ada...?" you left the question in the air, waiting for him to answer, eyes still on the paper.

"Ada Shelby"

Your eyes snapped up on the very same instant.

Shelby.

His sister was Ada Shelby.

He was Arthur Shelby.

"Something wrong, love?" he asked, and he didn't seem harsh like you expected him to, for the way you not in the slightly hid just how astonished you were to know his identity. His eyes were still kind, but a part of the previous sadness had come back.

"I'm sorry, that was rude of me" you wrote down Ada Shelby and then left the paper upon the gift, at the corner of the cashier.

"I'm used to that kind of reaction by now" he said with a nervous laugh, that carried absolutely no humor at all in it. Even if he was indeed used to the said kind of reaction, he clearly did not like it. You felt guilt consume you. "How much do I owe you?"

You told him the price, still lost in your thoughts and cursing yourself for being so stupid and rude. So rude. He gave you the money, you placed it in the due place. "Have a nice day" he told you and then turned around to leave, placing his cap back in his head and then his hands went to the pockets of his clothes.

You watched him leaving with a intense feeling of exasperation, tried to think fastly enough to say something and then before you could even really process what you were actually going to do, the words left your mouth. "Mr. Shelby?" he turned back around as he heard you calling, a bit of gentleness in his features. "If you ever need to buy another book, I am sure I can help you find something good"

His lips curled up in a smile, a pure one. A bit of the guilt you felt left your body like he had just taken it completely away, just by smiling again. "I'll remember that, love"

And then, Arthur Shelby left the bookshop.

#imagine #x reader #fanfic #imagines #peaky blinders #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders fanfic #arthur shelby #arthur shelby x reader #arthur x reader #arthur shelby imagine #arthur shelby fanfic #650followers

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pickalilywrites · 3 years ago

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Halu! I love reading your rivetra fics especially the heart skips a beat <3 you're such a great writer! was hoping if you can try to write rivetra modern au during the pandemic? :D

here you go~ ah, i always take a long time to write now, but at least it was out before the pandemic is over ^^" (as much as i would like it to be over ...) i hope you like it ~

---------------------

Love in the Time of COVID-19

Rivetra. COVID-19 Pandemic AU.

9543 words.

Read on Ao3!

Levi Ackerman is hugely germaphobic and antisocial. For him, the COVID-19 global pandemic is simultaneously the worst and best thing that has ever happened. People have finally begun to wash their filthy hands, cover their mouths with the crook of their elbows when they sneeze, and wear masks over their mouths to slow the spread of airborne contamination. All non-essential workers have stopped going outdoors, which makes Levi look less like a recluse and more like a normal person.

Of course, even these basic precautions couldn’t stop the coronavirus outbreak from growing into a full-blown pandemic. Maybe if everyone were more like Levi — washing their hands for a full five minutes rather than the CDC’s recommendation of a measly twenty seconds, bringing around a pack of disinfecting wipes and wiping down everything he touches, and rubbing his hands with hand sanitizer at least three times after he touches anything — the world wouldn’t be in this mess.

The worst thing about this pandemic, however, isn’t the fact that people are taking the bare minimum precautions, but the people who aren’t taking any precautions at all. For every person wearing a mask, there are at least ten people outside not wearing a mask. Hell, there are even people dying in the hospital of COVID that are convinced this whole pandemic is a hoax rather than a mess of their own making because they refuse to wash their own hands. It’s because of these people that Levi has to be especially careful on the few occasions he leaves his apartment, stripping off all his clothes as soon as he walks through his door and tossing them in the laundry basket before he takes a shower with scalding hot water to kill off all the germs he may have brought home with him.

For the most part though, Levi doesn’t mind pandemic life. It’s a lot like his life pre-pandemic, but he disinfects everything twice as much as he normally did before COVID. As a data analyst, he hardly went into the office anyway and he didn’t bat an eyelash when his company declared that everyone would be working from home until further notice. With delivery services becoming more popular, Levi found it was easier to get things delivered to his apartment. Even his neighbors are bearable. People are too busy working to be a bother during work hours and by the end of the day they’re too tired to do anything except turn on Netflix until they fall asleep on the couch. Really, Levi doesn’t have a problem with anyone except the woman living in the unit next to him.

Prior to COVID, Levi wasn’t even aware of her existence. He sometimes heard about her from the chatty woman in the unit across from him. The nosy woman somehow miraculously knew when Levi (or anyone, really) would be coming out of their apartments, popping out and ensnaring them in a conversation that always seemed fifteen minutes too long.

The gossipy woman loved the person who occupied the unit next to Levi’s. Levi’s next-door neighbor had moved in a few months before the pandemic started and was never at home, the talkative neighbor explained, because she was an actress.

“An actress in the theater. Musical theater, darling,” the woman emphasized, her eyes as wide as saucers like being in theater was the most magnificent thing anyone could ever do. “Poor dear is never home though. If she’s not rehearsing or on a show, she’s working part-time jobs at the diner downtown.”

Levi didn’t think very much of it after hearing about the woman next door for the first hundred times. It wasn’t his business what other people did. Anyway, if the woman was hardly ever home, that was even better. Except now that there’s a pandemic and everyone is required to stay home, the woman is home almost all the time and if Levi hadn’t believed the woman had a career in theater, he certainly does now.

The woman likes to sing on the balcony after work hours. It’s considerate of her but somehow also very infuriating to Levi because he can’t complain that he’s working. She also stops at an appropriate time (usually 8 or 9 at the latest), so it’s not as if Levi can send in a noise complaint without feeling like a dick. He just has to grit his teeth and listen to his neighbor belt out “If I Loved You” from Carousel while he cooks dinner.

She doesn’t have a bad voice either. It’s just that it’s incredibly loud. He supposes if she were any quieter, she wouldn’t be any good for musical theater. Maybe his other apartment neighbors are elated to have a living Disney princess sing for them for free every night, but it’s grating to the ears if you’re living right next door.

He probably should have said something when she started singing more dramatic songs, songs that crescendoed and built into a climax that Levi could probably hear if he were living on the other side of the apartment. It’s those goddamn musical ballads that Levi hates the most. If it’s upbeat, at least Levi knows what’s coming but those ballads always have to build and build until the woman is belting out to the heavens.

Levi thought he could bear it. Surely, the pandemic would only last for a few more weeks or even another month or two, but new coronavirus cases kept climbing and Levi knew he’d be listening to entire one-woman musicals for the next year if he didn’t say anything. One night when the woman begins yet another musical ballad, Levi finally throws open the sliding door to his balcony and is surprised when he sees his next-door neighbor sitting cross-legged on her balcony, a pink floral mask on her face, and a guitar in her lap.

The woman stops strumming her guitar and looks up, her amber eyes wide with surprise. “Hi,” she says, voice slightly muffled through her mask. She waves awkwardly at Levi even though he’s frozen in place on his balcony and hasn’t made any move to greet her.

“Why are you wearing a mask?” he asks her as if he’s not wearing one too. It makes sense that he’s wearing one. He always wears a mask when he steps outside even if there’s nobody around. He knows most people don’t because they don’t see the point if nobody else is around, so why is she wearing one?

The woman’s nose scrunches up from under her mask while her eyebrows are knit in confusion. “We’re in a pandemic. Isn’t that why you’re wearing one, too?” the woman asks, gesturing towards Levi and then her own mask. She pauses for a moment as if thinking about whether or not she should continue. “Also, I heard you’re a huge germaphobe.”

“Who told you that?” Levi snaps.

“The lady who lives across from you,” the woman replies.

Ah. That explains a lot.

“But I don’t even come out here that regularly,” Levi points out.

The woman shrugs. “Just in case. It’s better to be safe than sorry anyway,” the woman says. “And it’s not like it’s a big deal to wear a mask.”

Levi’s not sure if it’s because he’s been stuck in his house for months, but he’s just fallen a little bit in love with this woman and it’s all because she said wearing a mask isn’t that much of an inconvenience. He doesn’t even know her name. After meeting for five seconds and realizing that she’s considerate for wearing a mask on the off chance that Levi might go out on the balcony, Levi’s starting to feel like a dick for coming out here to yell at her for singing too loud. She’s a lovely singer, really, and he should probably be thankful she’s not a part of a screamo metal rock band or something.

Levi fights the urge to disappear in his apartment. He slides the glass door behind him, trapping himself outside on the balcony and forcing himself to speak more with the woman. He’s not exactly sure what he should say. Should he ask her name? Compliment her singing? Ask her about how she’s handling quarantine? He sits down cross-legged facing her.

“What song were you singing?” he ends up asking the woman.

“Oh,” the woman says as if she’s surprised Levi’s still speaking with her. She looks skyward, trying to recall the name. “‘Please Don’t Make Me Love You.’ It’s from the Dracula musical.”

“Oh.” Levi hadn’t been aware that there was even a musical adaptation of the Bram Stoker gothic novel.

“Yeah, I know,” the woman says with another nose scrunch, her mask shifting upward from the movement. “There’s a musical for everything nowadays.” She hums a few notes and strums a few chords across her guitar. “But what about you? How are you spending your quarantine?”

“Me?” Levi repeats. “I just … am hanging in there.”

“That’s good,” the woman says. Levi can’t see her smile behind her mask, but he does see the edge of her eyes crinkle. She sets her guitar beside her and leans back on her palms. Her head tilts to the side and her ginger hair falls away from her lithe neck. “I’m Petra, by the way. I don’t think we’ve ever formally met.”

That’s probably because Levi has never made the effort to be neighborly. In fact, the only reason they’re meeting right now is because Levi was going out here to complain about her singing, but he won’t mention that. Instead, he shrugs and says, “Levi.” It’s a lame introduction. Even he cringes at it, but Petra doesn’t seem to mind.

“I’ve never seen you out here, but maybe because I’m only on the balcony in the evenings,” Petra says. She picks idly at the guitar strings, letting their sound reverberate with every twang before she moves onto the next string. She stops suddenly and looks at Levi, eyebrow raised. “Oh, you didn’t come out here because it was too loud, did you? I know my voice is pretty … resonant, especially in a small space like this.” She winces apologetically.

Levi is thankful that his mask is able to cover the blush that is surely rising in his cheeks. “N-no,” he stammers. He sits up a little straighter as if this will somehow make him a less obvious liar. “I just … wanted some fresh air.”

“Mmm, makes sense,” Petra hums. Her eyes crinkle again and Levi’s heart does something weird in his chest. “Good to get some fresh air circulating in the apartment. I always have my air filter on nowadays too.”

Levi realizes with horror that she’s absolutely right. He usually keeps his apartment windows closed, opening them only in the early morning and the late evening for the fresh air. He hadn’t accounted for the lack of fresh air in the entire apartment complex. There’s no telling whose dirty air he’s been breathing these past months. Sure, he has at least one air filter in every room, but he can’t count on these machines to filter out every germ flying around the air. Why hadn’t he accounted for the poor air circulation through the building before this? He should have been keeping his windows open this entire time. The air outside is filled with germs as well, but the concentration of germs from other people who may or may not be spreading COVID within this apartment complex is much higher here than it is inside.

Levi stands up, grabbing the railing of his balcony for support. He feels a little dizzy right now and has the frantic urge to clean his entire apartment again even though he had cleaned it this morning. This time, he’ll be sure to deep clean the carpet.

“I have to go,” he tells Petra, but he doesn’t give her the reason. He doesn’t want her to think he’s an idiot for not thinking about air circulation sooner.

Petra raises her eyebrows as if she’s surprised and perhaps a little bit sorry to see him go. “Alright then,” she says. She picks up her guitar once more, strumming a few pleasant chords. “Have a good evening, Levi. It was nice meeting you.”

Levi pauses at the door. “You, too,” he says finally before he slips inside. He makes sure to leave the door open. The lack of barrier makes it easier for Petra’s voice to carry into his apartment. That’s not why he leaves his door open, of course. It's purely for the fresh air to come in, or at least that’s what Levi tells himself.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

Levi does not know why the news of the woman next door intrigues his friends so much. He had casually mentioned her once on a video call with them and now they won’t stop asking him about her, constantly requesting updates on little tedious things like the songs she had sung the night before and if she still wears her mask. Even more surprising, Levi finds he can’t ignore their questions and answers each and every one. He tells himself it’s because he knows their curiosity will never be quenched until he answers their inquiries and it’s better to respond than to be bombarded with the same question a half dozen more times.

“So you guys talk to each other every night?” Isabel asks. She sits closer to her laptop and her face fills the little square with her name in the right-hand corner. Her hands sit in her hands and she has a thoughtful pout on her lips. “That’s a lot, Levi.”

“We talk to each other every night,” Levi points out.

“And you complained that it was a lot!” Isabel says, which is true. He would have been satisfied with weekly Zoom calls or even fortnightly, but Isabel had insisted that going so long without seeing Levi and Farlan onscreen would drive her mad. “But that doesn’t seem to be the case with this mysterious next-door neighbor.”

“She’s hardly mysterious,” Levi snorts.

“She’s right, though,” Farlan comments. He isn’t perched at the tip of his seat. Unlike Isabel, he’s less intrigued about Levi’s new relationship with his neighbor and more amused about the whole thing. “You’ve never been interested in people enough to have regular meetups with them even if it’s a ‘coincidental’ meeting on the balcony every night.” Levi despises the way Farlan uses air quotes.

“It’s very Romeo and Juliet,” Isabel says with a nod. There’s a silence at the other end and Isabel adds, “Because of the balcony. Except this time there are two balconies and nobody is dying. Hopefully.”

Levi rolls his eyes. “I just bump into her more often now that I go out to get fresh air now,” Levi explains. It’s a part of his routine now. Better to breathe good, clean (or at least cleaner) air than continue to breathe in apartment air that has been god knows where. “Which, by the way, you two should really consider as well. Who knows what germs are floating around in your apartment complexes?”

Isabel wrinkles her nose. “If that were a problem, I would have gotten COVID by now,” she points out, and Levi wants to groan. He doesn’t want to explain to her once more that, after exposure to the virus, contracting COVID is a game of chance and she’s just been lucky. There’s no telling how much luckier she can get as the pandemic continues.

“I’ll consider it,” Farlan says, and Levi is at least grateful for that. He taps his fingers on his desk. Farlan’s microphone is so sensitive that Levi can hear the tap, tap, tapping noise on the other end. “But that neighbor of yours … what do you guys even talk about every night?”

“I don’t know just … stuff, I guess,” Levi mumbles. He rubs at the back of his neck. He can’t quite recall what he and Petra talked about yesterday on their balconies. Their conversations always start out similarly with her asking Levi about his day and Petra asking about his, and by the time Levi retreats into his apartment he finds that an hour has already passed. After a moment, he says, “Well, she told me about how she was sewing face masks in her free time so that she could donate them.”

“Oooh,” Isabel coos. Her head is in her hands again and she looks starry-eyed. “This girl sure has everything, doesn’t she? Not only is she cute, but she takes COVID safety precautions seriously and she cares about other people? No wonder you’re so interested in her, Levi.”

Levi’s mind stutters for a moment. “When did I say she was cute?” he stammers.

“Is she not cute?” Farlan asks with a raised eyebrow.

Levi’s knee-jerk response is to say “no” just because he knows a “yes” will elicit more teasing from Isabel, but the question Farlan asks makes Levi realize that he’s never seen Petra without her mask off. Prior to this realization, Levi has never minded seeing Petra with a mask on. After all, they’re both still in a pandemic and, even if neither of them show visible symptoms of COVID, it’s possible that they could still transmit the virus from their minimal outings for groceries or other daily tasks that require them to leave the apartment. Now that he’s realized it though, he’s overcome with this strange desire to see Petra’s face behind the mask.

There’s only so much one can see of a person when they’re wearing a mask. Levi knows the top half of Petra’s face quite well: slender, expressive eyebrows, large eyes the color of amber, and even the dip of the bridge of her nose. Anything beyond that is a mystery to him, hidden behind the cloth of Petra’s mask. He doesn’t know what kind of nose she has, if it’s grand and shapely or sweet and button-shaped or adorably upturned. He doesn’t know the curve of her lips, if she has a well-defined cupid’s bow or thick, full lips the color of petals. Judging by the state of the pandemic right now, it’s unlikely that he’ll find out anytime soon and he can’t fathom requesting Petra take off her mask just to satisfy his newfound curiosity.

“I don’t know what she looks like,” Levi finally says.

Farlan snorts and Isabel erupts into peals of laughter.

“You’ve been talking to her for how long and you don’t know what she looks like?” Isabel titters. She’s even wiping tears from her eyes, although Levi doesn’t think the situation is that humorous. “It’s not like you guys are wearing hazmat suits when you sit on the balcony.”

“It’s not like I don’t know what she looks like at all,” Levi grumbles. “But we’ve been wearing masks this whole time whenever we’ve gone out on the balcony to talk to each other.”

“Aren’t your balconies, like, more than six feet apart? You guys could probably take your masks off and it’d be fine,” Isabel points out. She sees Levi open his mouth to speak and she rolls her eyes, giving him a dismissive wave of her hand. “Okay, fine, just wear your masks like the hypochondriacs you are! If it’ll make you feel better about the ‘sick game of roulette viruses play when infecting us,’ go right ahead!”

Levi scowls. He wishes he could kick Isabel out of the Zoom chat, but Farlan has forbidden Levi to do that after Levi cut short the first Zoom call he hosted and Farlan has been the host of their Zoom calls ever since. Thus, Levi has had to sit through various Zoom calls with Isabel mocking his informative lectures on infections and diseases. On the bright side, at least she remembers Levi’s lectures well enough to recite them back to him even if it is in a sarcastic tone.

In a tiny square on Levi’s screen, Farlan watches with an amused expression on his face.

“What?” Levi asks.

“You could ask her if she’s comfortable with taking her mask off,” Farlan suggests.

“I can’t just ask her that!” Levi splutters. He gets embarrassed at the idea of it — just outright asking Petra as if it’s as simple as asking her about the weather or what her favorite color is.

Isabel rolls her eyes. “It’s not like you’re asking her to take off her shirt or something,” she says.

If Levi’s face wasn’t red yet, it certainly is now.

“Ignore her,” Farlan says. “But, you know, it is just a mask and you keep yourself extremely safe and she adheres to the CDC guidelines pretty well from what you tell us. If you two are both comfortable with it, why not just ask?”

Because it’s exactly as they’re saying: it’s not like asking her to take off her shirt. In a way, asking her to take off her mask is infinitely more dangerous and intimate than asking her to take off any other article of clothing. COVID-19 is a virus that is spread through aerosol droplets from infected persons. By asking Petra to remove her mask, Levi would ultimately be asking Petra to lower her defenses to these droplets and increase her chances of getting infected. If Petra were to ask him to remove his mask, Levi isn’t sure he would be able to say ‘yes’ for these very same reasons.

It’s something Levi mulls over even after the call ends and Isabel and Farlan bid him adieu for the night. He thinks about it in bed, imagining a different COVID-infected universe in which he musters up the courage to ask Petra to lower her mask for him and she says yes, revealing a beaming smile behind her mask when she lowers it for the first time. For some reason, just thinking about her smile and how it might look — if she has bunny teeth that stick out, if she has a cute underbite, if her teeth are just a little bit crooked, if she bothers to put on lip balm under her mask or if she forgets and leaves her lips chapped — makes it difficult for Levi to sleep. He spends his night tossing and turning in bed, haunted by a smile he’s never seen.

The thought of Petra’s smile follows him into the morning and well into the day. It’s all he thinks about as he cleans his apartment in the morning, he writes line after line of code at work, and as he cleans it once more in the afternoon. It’s all he thinks about as he opens the door to his balcony for his evening chat with Petra. It’s all he’s thinking about as he sits across from her and she tells him about his day.

He’s not brave enough to ask her to take off her mask, but he keeps thinking of it. He watches the movement of Petra’s mask as her lips move beneath it. If he concentrates hard enough, he thinks he can see the trace of her mouth, can imagine the outline of her lips when she purses her mouth in a pout or when he thinks her lower lip sticks out as she ponders what to talk about next.

“When do you think we’ll be able to take off our masks?” Levi asks. He’s brave enough to ask this at least.

“Hmm,” Petra hums, and Levi swears he sees the shadow of her lips pressed in that thoughtful pout once more. It drives him crazy. “Maybe when enough people get vaccinated. It should be a few months? My friend mentioned it a little while ago. They said it’s amazing how quickly mRNA vaccines are being developed to treat COVID.”

Levi nods. He’s heard this as well when doing his own research, although the technical aspects of the vaccine and how it works to protect him against the virus are beyond him. Still, he trusts medical professionals more than he trusts random people on the internet swearing that vaccines are just a conspiracy theory.

“So if you were vaccinated and it was two weeks after your second dose … and you were only in the company of someone who also received their second dose two weeks ago … would you consider taking off your mask?” Levi asks. He doesn’t look at her, instead drawing circles on the floor of his balcony. He can feel the dust and grime coming off on his finger and makes a mental note to sweep and vacuum his balcony tomorrow morning.

“I’d consider it,” Petra says. When Levi looks up, Petra’s mask is shifted upward just the slightest bit and the corners of her eyes are crinkled. He wants to see her smile so much. “If the other person were okay with it, too, of course.”

“Of course,” Levi repeats, his voice a quiet murmur, and he leaves it at that because he’s afraid of asking more.

But he lets himself imagine that the vaccine will be out to the public soon and, once it is, he’ll finally have the courage to ask Petra if she’s willing to take her mask off. He lets himself imagine that she says yes. And he lets himself imagine that the first thing she does when she takes her mask off is smile.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

Levi sits on the balcony with Petra at 1:58 AM. It’s the third night in a row that they’ve done this, sitting on their balconies with their masks on and the glow from their laptop screens illuminating their faces. Were Levi with anyone else, he would complain that this was an unreasonable hour to be up even if it is for the slim chance to snag a spot for a vaccine appointment, but because he’s up at this ungodly hour with Petra, Levi finds he doesn’t mind.

Technically, Levi doesn’t apply for a vaccine at this time. The rules are confusing, but he’s not supposed to schedule an appointment until certain other people have gotten their vaccines. People who are currently eligible are healthcare workers and essential workers. Petra, being a waitress in the food industry, is considered an essential worker and is thus eligible for the vaccine at this time. Is it irritating for Levi to watch other people get vaccinated before him? A little bit, but he’s glad Petra will soon get the vaccine. Unlike Petra, Levi works at home all day and is thus less likely to be exposed to the virus anyway. Even if he can’t book a vaccine appointment at this time, helping Petra book hers will help him prepare for scheduling his appointment when the time comes.

Petra yawns, using her elbow to cover her mouth even though she’s still wearing her mask. Levi feels horribly endeared watching her. She’s dressed in her pajamas — a cotton pajama set in black and white polka dot print and fuzzy cat slippers on her feet. Her hair is tied in a messy bun atop her head, stray locks of ginger falling around her face even though she wears a hairband meant to keep them away. Even as Petra continues to hit the refresh button, her eyelids droop and she looks as if she’s about to nod off to sleep soon.

“Abandoned slots tend to open up at 2 AM,” Petra murmurs to herself over and over. It’s like a mantra she keeps repeating, hoping that it’ll help her stay awake until she books herself an appointment. Levi doesn’t know how much it’s helping. “Abandoned slots tend to open up at 2 AM.”

“Should you really be staying up this late to book an appointment?” Levi asks. He hits the refresh button too, but the page remains the same. All appointments are full. “Don’t you have a morning shift tomorrow?”

Petra squints at him, concentrating as she fully registers his question. “Mmm, if I don’t get one at 2, then I’ll head right to bed.” Petra yawns again. As usual, she uses her elbow to cover her mouth. “I don’t know how people are booking their appointments so fast, but at least it seems like it’s a ‘first come, first serve’ type of thing. I heard it was worse at the hospital when they were first giving the vaccines out.”

Levi remembers hearing about it on the news and then hearing about it second-hand from Petra when she was talking about her doctor friend. There were some hospitals that determined vaccinations for their staff members by raffle, not even prioritizing doctors and nurses that were working first-hand with COVID patients. In the particular hospital that Petra’s friend worked at, COVID vaccinations were given out to higher-ranking doctors first regardless of whether or not they were working with COVID patients, which also caused a flurry of criticism from the hospital staff as well as media when the news broke out. The current system being used for front-line workers to get vaccinated certainly is inconvenient, but Levi doesn’t know what a better one would be.

“Just keep refreshing, just keep refreshing,” Petra says in a sing-song voice. She hits the refresh button robotically, but her eyelids are still drooping. Suddenly, she looks up, a little bit more awake than she was just a second ago. “Do you think my finger will fall off before I get an appointment?”

The mask hides the upward twitch of Levi’s lips. “I don’t think so,” he replies. He hits the refresh button and his eyes flicker to his screen. His eyes widen when he sees 10, 15, 20 spots open up at different pharmacies nearby. Quickly, he begins to turn his laptop around and points at the screen excitedly. “Wait, look!”

Petra takes one look at his screen and begins to tap around hers. She doesn’t even tell him that she sees them or thank him for alerting her because that would take a few extra seconds that might allow the appointments to fill up before she can claim a spot. Levi watches as Petra sits hunched over her laptop, the light from the screen allowing him to see how her brows are knit together in concentration as she types her information on the screen. She even has her insurance card ready beside her, filling in the necessary information easily. Levi doesn’t think he’s ever seen anyone type that quickly in his life, and he normally hits 100+ wpm when he’s writing code.

Suddenly, Petra hits the enter key one last time and looks up. Her typing has halted entirely and she stares at Levi with a blank expression on her face. It’s difficult to tell whether she got the appointment or if all the available slots had filled up at the last minute. It’s just an appointment, one that Petra can probably book later this week if not tomorrow, but the anticipation is making Levi’s palms sweat.

“So?” Levi asks. He’s never felt like it was hard to breathe wearing his mask, but he’s feeling a little breathless now. “Did you get one?”

A beat passes. Then two. Then three.

Suddenly, Petra raises her arms, lifts her head, and lets out a yell that’s far too loud for 2 AM in the morning. It’s so sudden that Levi flinches, but he sees that Petra’s eyes are crinkled at the edges when she faces him again. “I got it!” she proudly announces. She’s swaying as she sits. She probably used all of her energy just booking that appointment. Considering how tired and sleep-deprived Petra has been for the past three days, Levi’s surprised that she hadn’t made a typo at the last moment and missed her chance.

He’s grinning from ear to ear, not that she can see. “That’s great. Good for you. When is it?”

“Tomorrow morning,” she says. Petra shoots him with an endearing finger gun and winks. It makes his heart flutter in the oddest way. She shuts the screen of her laptop and the blue light that was illuminating her face disappears. It makes it more difficult for Levi to see the lines and creases in her mask. It also makes it a little harder for him to imagine the smile hidden beneath the fabric covering her face. “I’m going to call in sick and come in for my appointment. I don’t care what my boss says. It’s better if I get the vaccine anyway even if I might get yelled at when I come in tomorrow.”

Levi furrows his brow. “Are you going to be okay the next day? The side effects …” His voice trails off.

“It should be okay,” Petra says with yet another yawn. She should really go to sleep, but Levi doesn’t have the heart to tell her to go just yet. “The side effects aren’t really an issue until the second dose, I hear. Although, some people who had COVID said the first dose kicked their butts. Since I haven’t had COVID, it probably won’t be a problem for me.”

“But you won’t go into work if you happen to feel adverse side effects?” Levi can’t help but ask.

Petra doesn’t answer for a moment, just looks at Levi for a moment before her eyes smile again. “You’re sweet,” Petra tells him, and Levi’s flustered. For some reason, he wants to deny it, to tell her that he’s just asking what any reasonably concerned friend would ask, but Petra speaks again before he gets a chance to. “Yeah, I’ll call in another sick day if I have to. Thanks for worrying.”

Levi is about to tell her that it’s not a problem. Of course, it’s not a problem because helping her doesn’t burden him in any way, but he bites his lip instead.

Petra stretches her arms above her head. She gives him another sleep smile, one that Levi can only see in her eyes again, and waves at him tiredly. “That was kind of fun in a hectic way. Thanks for staying up with me these past few nights.”

Levi fiddles with the sleeve of his shirt. “It’s so I know what to do when it’s my turn to make an appointment,” he mumbles. He cringes when he speaks. He doesn’t sound convincing at all.

“Then we’ll do it again when it’s your turn,” Petra says. She points her index finger at him. “It’s the least I can do after you stayed up with me. I should do the same for you.”

He tells her that she doesn’t have to, but Petra insists and won’t let him go back into his apartment until he agrees. They have an undecided date for when they book Levi’s appointment. Petra, ever the optimist, says that the system will probably be less hectic by the time Levi’s eligible, but Levi’s not so sure. Still, he feels quite content as he returns to his apartment.

Petra gets her vaccine tomorrow. Levi wonders if he should construct a care package for her when she comes back and leave it at her doorstep. Not anything fancy, he thinks, just the essentials just in case side effects hit: canned chicken noodle soup, tea and honey, Gatorade, and a small bottle of Tylenol just in case. That’s probably overkill though, Levi sighs. He can think about being nice and thoughtful all he wants, but he knows he’ll back out in the end because there’s a chance that he’s overstepping his boundaries. He should just play it cool. Play it safe. Just pop out on the balcony tomorrow night and ask her how it went, if she was nervous, if her arm hurts.

It’s fine. He doesn’t need to be her caretaker. It’s good enough that they’re neighbors, two people in a short-distance relationship of six feet (or more) apart, unlikely friends in this strange time. It’s too much for him to hope to find love in this time of COVID-19. It’s enough that they’re just two people helping each other stay safe from COVID and booking appointments together. Maybe in a month or two they can be friends who are fully vaccinated against the virus. Two people who still take precautions against the infectious disease but who can live life in a little less fear because their chances of contracting the virus are lowered to about 5%. Two people who can smile at each other without their masks on.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

Levi gets his vaccine two months after Petra. Like many other people, he suffered few side effects from the first dose except for a sore arm the very next day. The effects of the second dose are far worse.

He was warned by Petra, who told him that the effects of the second dose were like getting hit by the flu virus and a truck at the same time. He was also warned by various anonymous persons on the internet that were kind enough to share their vaccine experiences on online forums as well as medical professionals that posted informative online videos on YouTube. No warning could have prepared him for how bad the side effects really were.

Levi feels the effects of the second dose ten hours after he returns home from his vaccine appointment. At first, his arm just aches and he feels slightly drowsy. He doesn’t think much of it, thinking that these effects are mild compared to what other people are experiencing. After a few more hours, his body feels terribly cold and his entire body is aching. Everything irritates him more than usual: the light streaming in from his balcony hurts his eyes, the rattle of the air vent is grating to his ears, and the pounding of his head makes him want to bang his head against the wall until he passes out. To put it lightly, he feels like shit.

Petra said she only felt some muscle pain and had a slight fever for a few hours, but Levi feels like he can barely walk. The night Petra had her second dose, she only came out for a few minutes to talk to Levi before leaving to sleep early, but Levi doesn’t think he can even manage that.

Lying on the couch with a blanket draped over his body and an ice pack on his head, Levi manages to reach for his phone on the coffee table and type out a brief text message.

Levi:

Staying in tonight. See you tomorrow if I feel better.

Petra:

🙁🙁🙁

I hope it’s not too bad.

Feel better soon!

I hope you feel better tomorrow 😊

Levi wonders what she means when she says she hopes he feels better tomorrow. Does that mean she hopes he feels better so that they can see each other tomorrow? Or maybe he’s overthinking it and she’s just being polite. It’s normal to say “hope you feel better” when someone is feeling awful, isn’t it?

He doesn’t want to think about this too much. He should just rest instead of mulling about what Petra’s messages really mean. With a sigh, Levi turns his phone screen off and leaves it face-down on the table so that he’s not tempted to check his texts every time he gets a new notification.

Levi settles down against the pillows on his couch and wraps his blankets around him. He’s already taken a Tylenol, but it has only managed to dull his headache and not get rid of it completely. His limbs still feel achy, although not in the unbearable way they did an hour ago. He wonders if he should eat something. He had downed a Gatorade when he first got home and then drank another bottle a few hours ago, but he hasn’t eaten much except for a slice of bread and half an apple. It would probably be best for him to eat something else, but he doesn’t have the energy to get up off the couch and prepare something. Even a packet of ramen feels like it would be too much for him to handle at the moment.

He tosses and turns on the couch until he finds a position that he doesn’t hate. He’s not sure how he’ll be able to sleep when he feels this uncomfortable. He thinks it’ll take him at least an hour or two, but he drifts off without realizing and doesn’t wake up until he hears the ringing of his doorbell.

Groggy with sleep and muscles still aching, Levi gets up from the couch, his blankets dragging behind him as he checks the door. When he looks through the peephole, he doesn’t see anything. He’s too tired to even be angry about someone ding-dong ditching his door and he’s too feverish to even wonder why somebody would ring his doorbell only to abandon his doorstep moments later. He’s about to walk back to his couch and collapse into another dreamless sleep, but the thought that he might have accidentally called for some takeout while in his post-vaccine delirium forces him to yank open the door.

There isn’t anybody in sight nor is there a bag of takeout. Instead, there’s a basket with a note on it. Levi bends down to read the neat script printed on the paper:

Hope you feel better soon! I made some food that might help since you’re probably not in the mood to cook for yourself. 😊

-Petra

Levi stands there and blinks at the basket of food, wondering if this is all part of his fever dream. Maybe he hasn’t woken up yet. Levi is sure he’s dreamed this all up, but his body hurts too much for him to be still dreaming. He’s about to go in and text Petra to ask her if she really had left the basket of food for him, but he looks up to see the apartment door across from him cracked open and his gossipy neighbor looking at him, only her eye visible. Startled, Levi quickly grabs the basket and shuts the door behind him with a slam.

He carries the basket with him to the couch, setting it on the table. When he picks up his phone, he sees he has over a dozen messages. Most of them, unsurprisingly, are from Isabel, but when he scrolls to the bottom he sees he also has one from Petra. He taps on that one first.

Petra:

Cooking post-vaccine sucks!! I know from personal experience 😥

Left you some goodies outside your door jic you don’t feel like cooking. I hope you enjoy!

If it’s from Petra, then it’s safe to inspect the package. Levi lifts the cloth covering the top of the basket and peers inside. He pulls out a colorful tumbler first. The container is a pretty and pastel peach color that fades to white at the bottom. On the side it has a label with the same neat handwriting the first note had. “Peach smoothie,” it says with the ingredients listed in smaller print at the bottom: peaches, banana, greek yogurt, almond milk, honey, vanilla & cinnamon. When Levi looks at the other containers, he finds that they’re labeled similarly.

It’s difficult to explain how Levi feels as he sits on the couch and eats the rice porridge Petra had packed. The porridge is still warm, steam escaping from the thermos when Levi had first unscrewed the cap. Earlier, he hadn’t been in the mood to eat, but now he finds he can’t stop as he shovels spoonful after spoonful of rich, hearty porridge in his mouth.

It’s warm, Levi thinks, and he continues to eat. He no longer feels the chills that had confined him to his couch and forced Levi to wrap himself in layers and layers of blankets. He just feels warm and content, the rich broth from the rice porridge filling his belly and warming him from the inside out. There are tender chunks of chicken breast that Levi devours hungrily and tiny pieces of julienned ginger that balance the porridge out with a kick of spice and just the tiniest bit of sweetness. Levi doesn’t remember the last time he’s eaten so well.

He feels … so content as he sits back against his couch, upright for the first time in hours. He nibbles on the apple slices had cut for him, making sure to admire the little rabbit-ears she had taken the time to carve into each one. In between sips of the peach smoothie, Levi ponders.

Is it normal for neighbors to make food for their neighbors when they’re feeling ill? Is it something good acquaintances do? Is it something friends do? The last one is possible, although Levi has yet to receive a care package from Isabel or Farlan. Then again, he wasn’t planning on sending them one for their second doses, although he’s seriously considering it after experiencing the second dose side effects firsthand. It could be that his post-vaccine delirium is causing him to imagine things that aren’t there: affection, fondness … love?

Levi downs the rest of his smoothie and decides to sleep it all away.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

Levi does feel better the next morning, but he doesn’t feel entirely okay either. He feels … strange. While the symptoms he suffered from previously are now gone, Levi finds himself suffering from new ones. They aren’t as uncomfortable as everything he had yesterday — fever, body ache, chills, headache, to name a few — but they make him feel anxious nonetheless. He could be one of the few cases suffering from deadly side effects after the vaccine.

Like any person without a medical degree or a friend in the medical field, Levi takes to the Internet to find answers. He looks up all the uncomfortable symptoms he’s feeling: chest pain, heart palpitations, light-headedness. When he thinks he’s found a consistent answer among various medical sites, he immediately calls Farlan over Zoom.

“I think I’m dying,” he tells Farlan immediately after his friend picks up.

Farlan furrows his brow, his blue eyes filled with concern. “You mean … you didn’t manage to get COVID right before your second dose, did you?” Farlan runs a hand through his honey-blond hair, looking around his apartment for things he needs to drive over to Levi’s house: his wallet, keys, a first aid kit. “Are you okay? I’ll drive over there really quick.”

“No, no. Not COVID,” Levi says quickly. He rubs his hand over his chest. “It’s just … I’ve been feeling strange. I’ve been getting heart palpitations. Sometimes my chest hurts and I feel lightheaded. I think I might have myocarditis.”

Farlan blinks once. Twice. He takes a deep breath and then breathes out. Calmer now, he says, “I thought we talked about you self-diagnosing yourself with different diseases. Just because you’re a hypochondriac does not mean you’re qualified to make these types of calls about your health.”

“I’m serious this time!” Levi says. “It makes sense, doesn’t it? There are other people who have taken the vaccine and have developed pericarditis and myocarditis. I’m not being paranoid.” Levi admits to being quick to diagnosing himself with diseases in the past, many of which were probably impossible for him to contract in hindsight, but he doesn’t know why Farlan is scolding him for being careful about his health.

Farlan sighs. He leans back against his chair and rubs his eyes. “Alright,” Farlan says. He sits up. He doesn’t look angry anymore, just tired. “Tell me everything in detail this time and don’t leave anything out.”

“Well, I told you,” Levi says. “Chest pain and heart palpitations and dizziness -”

“And these all started right after you received your second vaccine?” Farlan asks.

“Yeah, I …,” Levi’s voice trails off. He pauses just a moment and realizes it’s not the first time he’s experienced these symptoms. He’s felt it once or twice before, these strange pangs in his chest and his heart fluttering oddly. “It happened before. When I was with Petra.”

Farlan smirks. “Well, congratulations. It looks like you’re not sick. You’re just an idiot,” he tells Levi and then adds, “and in love.” Before Levi can deny it, Farlan hangs up.

Levi is still spluttering at his screen when a message from Farlan pops up.

Farlan:

Ask her out.

Levi stares at the message even as a million little notifications from Isabel pop up asking him why he called Farlan without her. He thinks about the message. He thinks about asking Petra. He winces when the thought of it brings an odd, sharp pain to his chest, the same one he’s been feeling all morning.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

Petra smiles when she sees him that night, her eyes crinkling the way they do when she smiles and her mask shifting upwards. Levi still doesn’t know what her smile looks like, but he’s imagined it every night for weeks on end.

“Feeling better?” she asks Levi. She leans against the railing, her arms resting on top. Levi stands his railing too, but he doesn’t lean against it the way Petra does. It’s perhaps the closest they’ve gotten in all the time they’ve spoken with each other. “The second dose is really something, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Levi mumbles. He wonders if he looks terrible, if his face is pale or cheeks flushed, if there are bags under his eyes, if he looks any thinner than he was the day before. He hopes he doesn’t look too horrible.

Petra rests her head on her arms, eyes looking up at Levi. “So what are you gonna do once your two weeks are up and you have the antibodies?” she asks. “I mean, don’t go crazy and crowd surf at an unmasked concert, of course, but maybe you could go out and eat at a restaurant if they have outdoor dining or something.”

“Actually, I was thinking of staying home,” Levi says. His palms are sweating already and his heart is doing that thing where it’s beating erratically against his chest. His head is feeling strange. There’s a chance that Levi might faint and fall off his balcony where he’ll fall four stories until he hits the ground. He almost doesn’t believe it when he hears himself say, “I was actually wondering if you wanted to eat dinner at my place once my two weeks are over.”

Petra’s eyebrows are lifted in surprise. Maybe if she weren’t wearing a mask right now, Levi would see her lips shaped in a perfect O. After a moment, she asks, “Are you really asking me to have dinner with you on your first night of being fully vaccinated?” Her tone is teasing. It makes Levi blush and he almost regrets asking her until Petra says, “I’d be honored. Do you want me to bring anything? I can cook pretty well.”

“If you really want to,” Levi says. He doesn’t know how he’s still standing. A part of him feels as if he’s still on his couch in a fever-filled haze, suffering from the effects of the second vaccine. There’s no way all of this isn’t a dream. Subtly, he wraps his arm around his torso and pinches himself in the ribs. It hurts too much to be a dream.

He’s two weeks closer to seeing Petra without a mask on.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

The night of the dinner, Levi finds himself frantically running around his apartment. He took the day off work just to clean his apartment even though he cleans it at least twice daily already. This time, he’s taken the liberty of dusting off the corners of the ceiling and making sure to get all the dirt from behind the furniture. He’s even cleaned the inside of each and every cabinet, including the very top cabinets that are a bitch for him to clean.

It’s overkill, Isabel and Farlan told him. They told him to just treat it like a normal dinner, to just pretend as if they’re the ones coming over instead of Petra, but Levi can’t do that. The difference between Petra and his friends is just too vast. For one thing, he knows that Farlan and Isabel don’t mind a bit of dust, but he’s not sure the same can be said for Petra. Because is so careful in following COVID prevention guidelines, he’s sure she would appreciate the extra time he takes cleaning his apartment just for her arrival.

He couldn’t decide what to buy for dinner. He knows Petra had offered to bring some food over for tonight, but it feels rude to assume that she’ll provide a full-course meal. The problem with ordering food himself is that he doesn’t know what kind of food she likes. Mexican? Italian? Chinese? Indian? There are too many possibilities. He doesn’t know if she has any food preferences or allergies either, and he’s far too nervous to ask her. Levi doesn’t know how to cook for shit, so ordering takeout is the norm for him, but it’s different when you’re ordering for another person. In the end, he orders one dish from different restaurants hoping that at least one dish will be able to satisfy Petra.

Then there’s the question of what to wear.

“Just wear anything,” Farlan groans. He’s splayed out in his chair and looking up at the ceiling. He hasn’t looked at the past dozen outfits Levi has suggested. “Wear your all-black grunge number or a three-piece suit. I’m sure it doesn’t matter.”

“I can’t just wear anything,” Levi hisses. “What will she think of me?”

“You’ve seen each other at 2 AM with only pajamas on,” Farlan points out. He yawns, not bothering to cover his mouth. “I’m pretty sure you two know each other well enough not to mind the other person’s fashion choices.”

“You should wear those tight leather pants,” Isabel says. She leans forward in her seat, her head in her palm with her elbow resting on her knee. “With that see-through shirt. And put some hair gel in your hair. Also maybe put on some eyeliner.”

Levi blinks. “I don’t have any of those things.”

Isabel groans. “I know, your wardrobe is sooooo boring!”

He shouldn’t have asked Farlan and Isabel for their help. He ends up with a mask, a sky-blue button-down, his darkest pair of jeans, and more anxiety than he had this morning. Petra should be here any minute and he’s feeling strange again. The same symptoms as before plague him: dizziness, pains in his chest, heart palpitations. The chime of his doorbell is enough to make him jump out of his seat on the couch and almost fall on the floor.

Levi scrambles for the door, pulling it open. There Petra stands, mask on and a bag full of food she’s prepared for tonight. She looked nice more than six feet away when they were standing on their balconies, but she looks even nicer standing right in front of him. He’s about to say as much when he notices the door across from them open and his neighbor’s eye peep out from the crack. Startled, he pulls Petra in just as she’s saying hello and slams the door behind her.

He breathes a sigh of relief only for his breath to hitch in his throat when he realizes that he’s trapped Petra in between him and the door. They’re standing far closer than six feet apart. It’s closer than six inches apart. It’s even closer than six centimeters. He can count every strand of ginger hair on her head, every eyelash, every freckle sprinkled across her cheeks.

Startled, Levi stumbles backward and apologizes. “S-sorry,” he stammers. His cheeks are flushed red with embarrassment, the heat made worse with his mask on. “The woman in the apartment across from me was staring.”

“Oh, yeah,” Petra says. She looks behind her, although there’s no way for her to see the neighbor now that Levi’s door is closed. When she turns back, her eyes are crinkled. “She talks a lot, that one.”

“Yeah,” Levi mumbles. He stares at Petra. He can’t help it. There’s a smile hidden behind her mask. He can see it if he only asks. He’s closer to seeing it than he’s ever been. Soon, he’ll know what lies beneath. Cautiously, carefully, Levi asks, “Would you like to take off your mask?”

“Sure,” Petra says. She unhooks the elastics from her ears. She removes the mask from her face, looks at Levi, and smiles.

It’s more beautiful than Levi could have imagined: a dimple in her cheek, freckles sprinkled across her skin that her mask had always covered until today, and just the slightest overbite in her smile. It makes Levi’s heart do a weird flip in his chest, worse than he’s ever felt before. His palms are sweating and he’s feeling light-headed. He’s not sure he’s even breathing.

Breathlessly, Levi tears off his mask. “Can I kiss you?” The question falls from his mouth without him thinking. He’s about to take it back and apologize for being too forward, but Petra takes a step closer to him.

Her smile is dazzling, growing wider as Petra takes a step. Her eyes crinkle the way they always did on the balcony. “Sure,” she says and reaches to place one hand on the back of Levi’s neck before pulling him in for a kiss.

It’s perfect.

#rivetra #snk #covid 19 pandemic au #levi ackerman #petra ral #requests #asks #answered #anon #anonymous

37 notes · View notes

queenxxxsupreme · 4 years ago

Text

The Eldest Son

A/N: I honestly couldn’t tell you where this came from but..... I think I like it.....???? As usual I’m really shitty with titles so just ignore it

Warnings: someone is outted in this, mentions of slurs being used but not actually mentioning what slurs, mentions of a fight,

Word Count: 4.1k

Summary: Bram struggles to figure out how to tell you and Geralt his sexuality.

***

You lifted your head from where you were sewing a rip in one of your skirts. There was movement coming from down the hall from Bram’s room. You drew your brows together, knowing very well your son had gone out with friends for the evening.

The door to Lana’s room opened and you saw her slip into Bram’s room.

Curious and a little concerned, you placed the skirt on the kitchen table and went to see what was going on.

You knocked on Bram’s door, hearing muffled whispers from the other side.

“Lana? What are you doing in your brother’s room?” You tried to open the door, only to find that something was barricading it.

“I’m-I’ve got something, mom. Don’t worry about it!” She spoke, sounding a little frantic.

“Lana, this door should not be blocked.” You put your hands on your hips, frustrated and even more concerned now. Who was in there with her? Why was she in her brother’s room while he was gone? Why was the door blocked to keep anyone from entering?

There was more whispering, this time you could hear who it was. Lana was clearly one of them, and the other sounded like your son.

“Just tell her, Bram.”

“Lana, I’m gonna fucking-,”

“She’ll understand! I’m sure she will! And maybe she can talk to dad.”

There was silence. You waited, your patience wearing thin.

Something behind the door moved and it opened, but only enough to reveal Lana.

“Don’t be mad, mom.” She murmured quietly, brows drawn together.

“I’m not mad, Lana. I don’t like that the door was blocked.” You tried to peek into the room but Lana wouldn’t let you, closing the door a little more. You raised your brows at her and opened your mouth to speak when Bram’s voice came from within his room.

“Lana, move.” His voice sounded off, like he was scared.

Lana stepped out of the way and without hesitation, you moved into the bedroom to check on your eldest.

He stood at the foot of his bed, holding his arm. His eyes were cast to the ground.

With a wave of your hand, the fireplace in his room was lit. Though it wasn’t the best lighting, you could see dark bruising on the left side of his face and what appeared to be dried blood below his nose and spread across his cheek.

“Close the window behind you, Bram.” You told him softly. “Lana, give me a moment with your brother, please.”

She nodded her head and left, closing the door behind herself.

“Why didn’t you come in through the front door?” You shifted from one foot to the other, unsure of what to make of the situation.

“Didn’t want to bother you.” He muttered.

“Sit down, love.” You gestured to his bed. “I’ll be right back. Need to clean your face up.”

You left the room to retrieve a bowl of warm water and a washcloth. When you returned, he was sitting on the edge of his bed, shoulders slumped.

“Never think that you are a bother to me, Bram.” You sat the bowl down on the table by his bed and dipped the washcloth into the water, then you wrung it out. You sat down on the bed next to Bram. “No matter the time of day or night, you’re never a bother to me.”

“Just thought you’d be sleeping.” He didn’t turn his head to you.

Your eyes flickered down to his hands, taking note of his busted knuckles.

“I can’t sleep when your father is gone.” You spoke gently, reaching over for his hand. Bram let you take his hand and carefully, you began to clean the blood from the wounds. “It’s an old habit from before he left the Path.”

Even though you knew your husband was just out with his brothers, you couldn’t seem to silence the voice in the back of your head that screamed he was still in danger.

“Who did you get into a fight with, Bram?”

“It’s not a big deal, mom.”

“Something is bothering you." You stopped wiping the blood from his hand and instead looked up at him. “Bram, look at me when I’m talking to you.”

He closed his eyes, shaking his head firmly. A tear slipped down his cheek.

You put the washcloth over the side of the bowl and put your hand on his back.

“Bram-,”

“I just- I fucking want to be left alone!” He shouted, standing up suddenly.

You were taken back. He’d never once cursed at you, nor did he direct his anger at you. He was your sweet boy, your first born. You two were always so close.

You opened your mouth to speak, to maybe reprimand him for cursing at you and raising his voice. But something in your gut twisted up. There was something going on that he wasn’t telling you, something that was hurting him. You couldn’t bring yourself to scold him then and there.

You nodded your head and left the room, pulling the door shut behind yourself. You stood there for a minute, unsure of what to do. Your heart was racing furiously in your chest and the urge to vomit was rising in your stomach.

“Mom?”

You turned your head to see Lana standing in the edge of her room.

“He isn’t angry at you.” She whispered, shaking her head softly.

“Who did he get into a fight with?”

Lana said nothing, eyes flickering down to the floor.

“Is he in trouble or something, Lana?” You moved away from the door, stepping towards your youngest.

“No, mom. No.” She shook her head. “It’s just…. I can’t tell you. It’s for him to tell you.”

You admired her loyalty to her brother and trusted her judgement. If Bram was in danger and if his life was at risk, she would tell you.

“Come give me a hug.”

She closed the space between you quickly, nearly plowing you over when she collided into you. She wrapped her arms tightly around you and squeezed.

“Love you, mom.”

“I love you, Lana.” You kissed the side of her head. You told her good night and then went back to the kitchen to finish patching up the skirt.

***

About thirty minutes later, the door to Bram’s room opened. You had finished with the skirt and now sat by the fireplace reading.

You looked up from the book to see your son shuffle in to the living room. His eyes found you and he shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

“I-I’m sorry, mom, for…. for yelling at you.”

“It’s okay, Bram.” You closed the book. “I’m your mother, Bram, and if there’s any sort of trouble you’ve gotten yourself into, or-or something else…. You need to tell me.”

“I’m not in trouble with anyone.” He shook his head. His eyes flickered over to the door. “When do you think dad will be home?”

“It’s just a little past midnight.” You thought out loud. “And Lambert said they weren’t coming back until sunrise. I’d say a few hours.”

Bram nodded, still thinking as he rocked back and forth on his heels.

“Can I talk to you about something? I-I just…. I don’t want dad to-to know. At least not yet. He’ll be angry.”

You crinkled your brows together, confused, but nonetheless, you nodded.

Bram moved to sit on the floor in front of the fire place, focusing on the flames inside the hearth. He picked at his nails.

“I got into it with Andrei.”

“Andrei? What happened, love? I thought you two were friends.” You tilted your head to the side.

Bram shrugged his shoulders, taking a moment to clear his throat.

“He was, um, was making fun of Maverick.”

Maverick was another one of Bram’s friends.

“Maverick…. Mom, Maverick doesn’t like girls.” Bram whispered, shaking his head softly. His eyes watched the fire. You could see the tears in his gaze, see the pain in his eyes. “He’s-He’s…. And Andrei was just…. He was being such a fucking asshole.” Bram covered his face with his hands.

You moved out of your chair and got down on your knees beside your son. You placed your hand on his back to comfort him.

“Shhh, love. All will be okay.” You murmured. “I’m so sorry Maverick had to go through that. He’s a sweet boy. I’m glad you were there to stick up for him. But there’s no reason to get so upset over it, Bram.”

“He-He saw Maverick with someone. He’s-Mom, he’s going to tell everyone. The entire village is going to know and-and Maverick’s family is going to kick him out! Or worse! Mom, they could….” He trailed off.

“Then he can come and stay here.” You said. “If you’d like him to, that is.”

Bram’s breath caught in his throat and his hands fell from his face. He looked at you, brows furrowed.

“If-If I want…. If I want him to?”

“He’s your friend, and you are worried about him.” You explained. “If you’d like to offer him a place to stay, he can stay here. We have the extra space and you know we’d never let harm befall him. Neither myself or your father would allow it. He’d be treated just as one of our own.”

Bram lost his voice as he stared at you for a few heartbeats. The tears that trailed down his cheeks broke your heart. You wanted nothing more than to reach out and wipe them away, to comfort him and tell him that his friend was going to be okay.

“I-I-I was the one…. Mom, I was the one Andrei saw him with.” He whispered.

You didn’t hesitate to embrace him, to wrap your arms tightly around him and pull him into your chest. You cradled the back of his head, holding him just as you did when he was a toddler and suffered from nightmares.

“I love you, Bram.” You told him, giving him a tight squeeze. “I love you, and nothing in the world could change that.”

Now you understood. The anger. The sneaking into the house. The concern for Geralt finding out.

His shoulders shook with his cries and he melted into your touch, tucking his nose into your neck.

You comforted him until he stopped crying, until he pulled away and wiped his cheeks.

“Who else knows?” You asked, reaching out to brush a few pieces of his hair back out of his eyes. Then you took his hand.

“Just Lana.” He said. “And…. And Uncle Jaskier.”

You nodded your head gently.

“How…. How do you think dad will react?” Bram hesitantly met your gaze, sniffling and wiping his nose on his sleeve. “I-I don’t-I don’t want him to be angry with me, mom.”

“He’s your father, Bram. He’d never be angry at you for something like this.” You carefully squeezed his hand, not wanting to hurt him.

“What-What if Andrei tells everyone? That’s-That’s just going to be another thing everyone gives him shit for.”

“You let your father handle that.” You leaned forward to kiss his cheek. “I can promise you he’ll fight anyone who says anything crass about you. You’re his son, his first born. He loves you, and nothing would ever change that.”

“He’ll be so disappointed in me.” Bram murmured quietly. “I’ll bring you all dishonor.”

“I promise you that there is nothing about you that could make him disappointed in you.” You hooked two fingers beneath his chin and tilted his head up so he would look at you. “As long as you are happy and as long as you are healthy, that’s all that matters.”

Bram gave you a little smile, one that made you smile.

“It’s late. You should get some sleep.”

He nodded and stood to his feet. You did the same and without any warning, he embraced you.

“Thank you, mom.”

You squeezed him tight, almost afraid to let him go.

“I’m your mother, Bram. If I turned you away for who you are, then I wouldn’t be doing my job.”

***

There was a hand on your knee that woke you up. You jolted, eyes immediately finding Geralt. He was knelt down in front of your chair, his hands sliding alongside the outsides of your thighs.

You smiled at him at first, but then you noticed the furrow between his brows and the worry in his golden eyes.

“What’s the matter?”

“You haven’t fallen asleep here since Lana came down with that cough three winters ago. Is something wrong?”

“Just…. Just wanted to wait for you.” You told him, eyes flickering over his face.

In the years you’d known him, he’d never truly shown his age. Thanks to the trials, he aged slower than humans. But in the last few years, wrinkles around his eyes had become more prominent and when he’d let his beard grow out, it was more gray than white.

Right now was one of those times that he was letting it grow out.

You smiled softly, reaching out to brush your fingers across the scratchy surface.

He placed his large hand on the back of yours, turning his head to kiss your palm.

“How was your night out?”

Something that sounded like a grunt and a growl rumbled in his chest. He pulled away from you and stood up, shaking his head.

“What happened?”

“Just…. just fucking tired of this town.”

“Did something happen?”

He shook his head again. He moved to go down the hallway, heading to be no doubt.

You followed him.

“Geralt?”

“It’s nothing you need to worry about, dove.”

“But it is if it ruined your night with your brothers.” You sat down on the edge of the bed and watched him undress.

He stayed silent.

“Was someone taunting you?”

“No.”

“Did Lambert start a fight?”

“No, dove.” He let out a heavy breath, forgetting about a shirt. He sat down on the bed just in front of you, rubbing his eyes. “The blacksmith’s son, that friend of Bram’s…. What was his name?”

You paused for a second.

“Jackob’s son? His name is Andrei.” You messed with the hem of your shirt.

Geralt nodded his head.

“The boy came running into the tavern, squawking and squealing with blood running down his nose. I wasn’t concerned until I heard him mention Bram.”

You locked your jaw, fearing what you were about to hear. You knew this wasn’t what Bram wanted. He deserved to be able to tell his father himself. He deserved to have control over this.

Geralt’s brows were drawn together as he looked down at the fire in the hearth.

“He called Bram slurs and claimed to have seen him with another boy. Eskel had to pull me out of the tavern. I was ready to hurt the boy for saying such things about him- about Bram.”

Your stomach twisted and your throat itches. You looked down at where your fingers messed with the hem of your shirt.

“Would it…. Would it be all that terrible though? If he was?” You whispered, losing your voice. You weren’t expecting this reaction from your husband and now you were second guessing everything you’d ever thought about him. “If-If Bram had been with another boy?”

Geralt looked at you, concerned.

“That isn’t what I was meaning, Y/N. I was furious that someone would call Bram- or anyone for that matter -such names just for who they’re with and for who they court.”

You paused for a moment, letting his words sink in.

“Oh.”

Geralt was quiet, watching you carefully.

“You know, don't you?” His voice was soft.

You knew very well he could hear your heart racing.

The White Wolf nodded his head softly, looking down at your hand. You were nervous. He reached over to take your hand and bring it to his lips.

“Six years ago, when he was around ten.... I was gathering up his and Lana’s dirty clothes to be washed. Out of habit, I check their pockets. Remember when Bram would stuff cookies in his pockets and then forget about them?”

You laughed softly, nodding your head. He smiled too at the memory.

“I found a folded up piece of parchment in his pocket. It was a little note he'd passed back and forth with another boy at school. It was just harmless little stuff they wrote to each other.”

“Why didn’t you ever tell me?” You furrowed your brows.

“Because he would come to us whenever he was ready.”

You nodded.

“I-I don't want him to think that I told you.” You moved to sit next to your husband, leaning against his shoulder. “I want him to come to you.”

“I want him to as well.” Geralt kissed the top of your head. “How did he tell you?”

“He told me he’d gotten into a fight with Andrei because Andrei caught him with Maverick.”

“Maverick.” Geralt repeated the name thoughtfully.

“Mhm. Bram said he was worried about Andrei telling everyone in town and he was worried about everyone giving you trouble for it.”

“I'd like to see them try.” Geralt muttered under his breath. You rubbed his arm. “Was he…. Did he show any concern for my response?”

“He did.” You nodded, turning your head to kiss his bare shoulder. “But I assured him you'd love him no matter what.”

“Have I ever done anything to make him think otherwise?”

“Not that I'm aware of.” You traced a prominent vein along his forearm. “But perhaps in the morning, if he feels he's ready to talk to you, you can ask and clear things up. Let him know that you're supportive of him.”

Geralt nodded his head.

***

In the morning, the both of you were up before the sun rose. Geralt couldn’t sleep. He was too busy worrying over Bram. And you couldn’t rest knowing your husband was lying wide awake next to you.

You made breakfast, humming as you moved around the kitchen. Lana had gotten up a while ago and went to do her usual morning routine, which was to make sure the animals outside had fresh water and that they had enough straw to keep them warm.

“Is Bram awake?” You asked Geralt. He was sitting at the kitchen table, hands wrapped tightly around a mug of tea.

He nodded softly, brows knitted together in a permanent frown.

“Been awake for a couple of hours. He’s been pacing his room.”

You wiped your hands off on a rag and set it down on the counter.

You went to Bram’s room and knocked on the door.

“Bram? Are you awake, love?”

“You can open the door, mom.” He answered quietly.

You pushed the door open and peered inside.

Bram was just sitting down on the edge of his bed, broad shoulders slumped as he dropped his eyes to the floor.

“Are you feeling okay? You look a little unwell?” You moved towards him, placing the back of your hand against his forehead.

“Just didn’t sleep good.” He muttered. “Is…. Is dad here?”

“He is. He’s out in the kitchen.” You combed your fingers through his unruly locks for a moment, trying to tame his hair. “I understand why you’re still upset, Bram, but you shouldn’t let it be the reason you’re losing sleep.”

He said nothing to you.

“I love you, Julian Bram.” You leaned down to kiss his forehead. “You’ve got a loving and supportive family that will have your back no matter what path in life you chose, so long as you are safe and doing right by others. I need you to know this, dear son.”

“I do.” He whispered, shoulders trembling as he let out a breath. “I do, mom.”

“Good.” You smiled, pulling away from him. “Whenever you are ready, breakfast is waiting for you. Then I’m sure your sister would like some help mucking the stables afterwards.”

He groaned and rather dramatically threw himself back on to his bed.

You returned to the kitchen, a smile still playing on your lips. Geralt noticed this.

“How is he?” He asked, though the witcher had listened to every word of the conversation. It wasn’t that he was trying to eavesdrop, but he couldn’t help it.

“He’ll be okay. Right now, he’s just in a tough spot.” You explained, stopping at your husband’s side to kiss him.

***

Another half hour had passed. Lana sat at the kitchen table, just finished up her breakfast.

“Can I go down to the river with a few friends, daddy?”

“Ask your mother, little dove.” Geralt said, golden eyes lifting from the bestiary on the table next to his plate. He looked at her for a brief moment before bringing his attention to you.

“Mom?”

“After you help Bram clean the stalls.”

“What if I clean my half since he’s taking forever?” She bargained, quirking a brow up.

“How about you go out and start and he can join you whenever he’s finished with his breakfast?” You tilted your head to the side a little, a little grin tugging at the corner of your lips. “It won’t kill you to wait for your brother, Lana. It’s not even noon yet.”

“Fine.” She sighed.

You watched her leave through the front door.

“She’s got your attitude.”

“I beg your pardon?” You brought your attention to your husband.

The corner of his lips turned up a little.

“That huff she did, the way she threw her shoulders down like it pained her to have to put her plans on hold, that’s exactly what you do when you’ve got something set in your mind and you can’t do it.”

You chuckled, shaking your head.

The door to Bram’s room clicked shut and you fell silent, wanting to listen carefully for him.

He came around the corner a few moments later. The bruising on his face looked worse than last night. Underneath his eye was dark blue and black and it extended out to his cheek.

“Good morning, sleepy.” You greeted him with a warm smile. “Would you like me to make you tea? I’ve got the kettle still warmed up.”

He nodded his head.

“You look like you had a rough night.” Geralt commented. He didn’t let his gaze linger on Bram for too long. He turned to page in his bestiary and took a sip of tea.

“I…. I didn’t…. get much rest.” He admitted, absentmindedly rubbing his arm. “Um, can I…. Can I talk to you for a minute, dad?”

“Of course.” Geralt nodded his head. He closed his bestiary and gestured for Bram to sit down where Lana had previously been sitting.

“Do you want me to leave, Bram?” You asked him.

“No, mom. You can stay.”

You nodded and continued to make his tea.

Bram sat there for a few moments, wringing his hands together and chewing on the inside of his cheek. His stomach churned and the urge to vomit nearly overpowered the need to cry.

Geralt watched his son for a few minutes, trying to think of a way to make this easier for him.

“Dad, I-I don’t like…. I don’t like girls.” He murmured, keeping his eyes cast downwards. “I’m-I’m sorry.”

“What are you sorry for, Bram?” Geralt asked him.

“That I’ll never- I’ll never be the son you want me to be. The perfect son. I’ll-I’ll never be able to carry on the family name.” He ran a hand over his face to quickly wipe away the tears on his cheeks.

“You are exactly the son I want you to be, Bram.” Geralt spoke as he reached over to place his hand on Bram’s shoulder. The boy furrowed his brows together, looking up at Geralt.

“You aren't…. You aren't ashamed of me? That I…. I'm….?”

“Nothing in this world can make me ashamed of you, son. You're strong-willed, and you have a sense of what is right and what isn't. You're a bright boy with a good future ahead of you. Who you love doesn't effect that.”

Bram nodded his head. His eyes flickered down to the table in front of him.

You moved to place his tea in front of him. You rubbed his back and leaned down to kiss his head.

“We love you.” Your words were whispered against his hair.

“Now, who did you let put those bruises on your face?” Geralt asked, effectively shifting the mood. “I hope they ended up worse.”

“They did.” Bram nodded, a little grin coming to his lips. “Knocking him square in his ass.”

“You'll have to show me how it happened later on after you help your sister. I’ll give you some pointers on how to prevent them from getting you in the face like that.”

“He only caught me once or twice, dad.”

“Sure had me fooled.”

You smiled as you moved to make Bram a plate.

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