#darkness is a lack of light but light is not a lack of darkness

[bueckersbitch]

greenlight - paige bueckers x reader

☆ warnings : angst, sexual context, toxic!paige

☆ word count : 1.7k

☆ authors note : hi guys! a quick fic bc i loveeee tates new album, the last bit is inspired by her explaination of green light!

☆ taglist : @sierrale8ne @thaatdigitaldiary @pboogerswbb @lupinqs @rosemariiaa @xxloveralways14 @lovegalor333 @mrsarnold @janaelalfysblunt @bueckersfive @vamptizm

The door knob slowly pushes down, almost mocking the way your heart dropped when receiving the text, “I’ve been thinking, we need to talk.” The message wasn’t unexpected; in fact, you had been counting on receiving it after the last couple of weeks between you and Paige. Part of you still wanted it to be your overthinking getting the best of you again, a figment of your imagination trying to self-sabotage you, yet, it was something deeper: the way Paige’s demeanor changed in what felt like an instant, her loving, comforting words turning quickly into scowls of defense when you confronted her about her passive attitude towards your feelings. The doorknob seems to lag, separating the relationship between you two into two: before the conversation that was about to change your relationship, and after.

Her face is revealed after a moment; her normally perfect, slick-back bun is disheveled a bit; however, her face was numb, lacking any emotion. Her sock-clad feet slowly shuffled back when opening the door, silently urging you to step into her apartment, the one you had helped decorate when she had moved to Dallas. Your eyes flicker up to meet her cold, blue ones; her lips become tightly bound, letting out a sigh. You pick at your hangnails that had accumulated unwillingly after your thoughts about everything concerning you two swarmed your mind over the past couple of nights. You step inside, noticing the lack of the feeling of home: candles remaining unlit, tv that usually had a game on left dark, and the vase that rests on the center of her kitchen island, but instead of having purple irises gifted by you—Paige’s favorite flowers—it was clear, water even being drained since the last time you had given them to the blonde, when you were both happy. 

Paige doesn’t say a word, picking up the tv remote and turning on a game. Crashing to the couch, her fixed stare on the tv felt like a punch to the gut. Paige was good at communicating, something you admired even in the early stages of your relationship. The lump in your throat started to grow. Had she changed so much to the point she felt like she couldn’t tell you what she was feeling? “Are you serious?” You questioned, voice shaking a bit. Paige hummed in response, eyes still glued to the tv, making you feel like an afterthought, unimportant. “I didn’t drive half an hour for you to not tell me what you want.” You said, leaning on the kitchen island, tears starting to well now. “I thought it was obvious. We aren’t working, baby.” A tear fell from your eye now, taking your makeup with it to your neck. You knew that, you knew something wasn’t working, but what shocked you was Paige’s lack of effort to try and fix what was wrong. “Tell me what’s not working then, because I feel like recently whenever I try to get to you, what you’re thinking, you feel like I’m a nuisance.” It was different. You leading the conversation about talking about feelings, emotions were something you encouraged yourself to suppress. “I don’t wanna tell you though.” Paige says, resting her elbows on her knees as she turns her head with minimal effort to look at you. Confusion jolts through you, apparently evident on your face through your eyebrows and slight stutter of the start of a sentence beginning with “W-w-wha-” Paige rolls her eyes, cutting you off with, “Don’t you get it? I’m tired. I don’t wanna tell you because I don’t think I wanna fix us.” Your heart really drops, feeling heavy with the weight of her words shutting you down. “Do you hear yourself? Did the past four years mean nothing to you?” Paige scoffs, nodding her head as it dips between her shoulders, “You know it did. I just feel like I’ve grown. I’m not the injured girl you met in sophomore year anymore.” The mention of how you met tugging at your heart strings.

-

Four years ago

The lecture to your psychology class had finally ended, meaning it was time for a nice Friday out  with your girls. You gathered your stuff, placing your iPad in your bag and slinging it over your shoulder. Pulling your phone out, you start scrolling through the notifications of ideas for what you guys should do tonight. You walk through the tiled hall, a little too quickly it seems, because you brush past someone, hearing them grunt in annoyance. You whip your head around, to a tall blonde. You had heard about her injury, watched it happen even, how she was projected to be out for six to eight weeks. Her words sliced through your thoughts, “I miss when I could walk mindlessly.” Your eyes widened, baffled at your ignorance to your surroundings. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry-” Paige laughs. “I’m just teasing you. What’s got you rushing to get back though?” You let out an exhale of relief, smiling while telling the girl your plans for the night. Conversation ending with you carrying her stuff for her while walking her back to her apartment. Impulsive thoughts overcoming you, word vomit producing a, “You should totally come!”

-

Present

“Trust me, I know,” you manage to say through a facade. Paige’s brows furrow now. “What’s that ‘supposed to mean?” You exhale, similarly to how you had all those years ago, but this time, it was to brace yourself for what you were about to say. “I mean the Paige I knew back then, fuck, even a month ago, wouldn’t push aside my feelings like it’s something that’s optional in her life!” She leans back again, seemingly unphased by your confession. “I’m not about to pour my heart into something you don’t deserve.” Your mind was clouded now, something you didn’t deserve? If there was the bare minimum of what you deserved, it was an explanation, a reason why your soulmate had turned into someone that looked at you like a burden. “I’m just standing here trying to understand what you want from me, because I’ve tried, Paige, I really have, but it’s obvious that you think I don’t deserve a basic explanation as to why you’ve just shut me out.” You try to reason with her, not ready to accept the truth of what could happen. “I don’t want anything anymore. I don’t know why I gotta spell that shit out for you.” There it was, the admission that had you in a grasp of anxiousness. “So what?” Still finding it hard to accept that your loving, communicative Paige was acting this way, “So, it’s done.” 

Her words rang through your head like a stupid song you couldn’t get out of your head. Your keys gripped so hard in your hand they started to leave indents. Your hood was pulled up over your head, trying to avoid the receptionist that would greet you after the long journey of the elevator, plummeting like your heart had. You push through the revolving door, out into the soft water of the rain, almost like the universe was sad for you. Flinging yourself into your car, you start to drive back to your apartment in silence. You roll to a stop at a red light, finally letting yourself break down in the comfort of your own car.

-

Three months later

The delicate notification rang through your ears again, light turning green as you pushed on the gas. It had chimed a couple of times now, a specific notification sound you had only reserved for a certain blonde. You forgot you even did that, changing the setting when you were so young and lovestruck. Sure, the sound surprised you a week ago when you heard it for the first time in three months, but now? It was almost background noise to your daily tasks. She tried to work her way back, endless texts and voicemails that had her saying “I fucked up” and “Please talk to me, ma” and other things of the sorts. You would’ve gone running straight into her arms had it not been for what you found out. Another girl. One she felt so taken aback by that she felt the need to shut you out, to break up with you. You wanted to make sure she lived with the consequence of losing you. So now, you were on your way out to a restaurant, your therapist encouraging you to get back out into the dating scene again. Skylar, was her name. 

You sat across from the brunette girl, smiling with her as you both talked about your families. It felt nice, feeling like your presence was wanted. A voice rang through your ears, one that was too familiar, one that you had heard every day straight for four years. There she was, talking and laughing with her Wings teammates as she looked over the menu.

You broke. Something about having such a deep history with her coaxing you back to her, pressed up against the very door you had slammed shut in anger a few months ago. Her hands gripping your waist as she confessed how her admiration for you had never left, “Missed you so bad, you’re the only one for me.” Hands trailing past your waistband, finding the pool of arousal that awaited her.

She sweetly talked you back into her bed, but even after pulling three orgasms from you, you couldn’t shake the feeling of what you had found out she had been hiding from you. So, you found your clothes, taking in the way her wavy blonde hair framed her sleeping face, before slipping away in the middle of the night, attempting to avoid the start of a toxic back and forth.

-

One week later

The post sat unliked in your feed, taking a second to take it in. Paige’s new girlfriend. The girl she left you for, the one she was still seeing a week ago when she was fucking you. 

You were shielding your phone from Skylar. Of course, you tried to move on, but a part of you still believed you would get her back, your Paige back. It was wrong, and everyone around you told you to move on. Paige sure had. “Babe?” You quickly locked your phone, looking at your date in the passenger seat of your car. “You were so invested in your phone that you fully sat through that entire green light.” She laughed. You forced a fake laugh, suppressing the solemn feeling that the universe was mocking you through the situation. You sitting still at a green light, while the light is telling you it’s okay to go, is like everybody around you saying it’s okay to move on from Paige, but it still feels impossible.

[madewithsilk]

Ellie spanking you then making you get off on her thigh for roaming around the house without her permission after she kidnapped you (with her gentle validating after care of course)

— ᴀʙᴅᴜᴄᴛᴇᴅ ʙʏ ᴇʟʟɪᴇ 𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ; ᴄᴀᴘᴛᴏʀ ᴇʟʟɪᴇ ᴡɪʟʟɪᴀᴍꜱ x ᴄᴀᴘᴛɪᴠᴇ (ꜰ!) ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

ᴄᴡ; ᴅᴜʙ ᴄᴏɴ, ꜱᴘᴀɴᴋɪɴɢ, ᴛʜɪɢʜ ʀɪᴅɪɴɢ, ᴅᴀᴄʀʏᴘʜɪʟɪᴀ

Ellie’s home had a lingering chill, a sense of eeriness that made it feel even more desolate. Being trapped there against your will, with a constant ache of homesickness gnawing at you, was daunting enough. Yet Ellie somehow managed to amplify that feeling. She was often absent and at work, leaving you alone in a space that felt like a hollow shell. The temptation to escape was strong, but deep down, you knew Ellie had taken every precaution to keep her house locked down tight. Despite her attempts to show a flicker of trust—leaving you untethered, without bindings—she still enforced a firm rule: you were not to step beyond the confines of her bedroom.

You followed these rules for the most part, too frightened to go against her will. She ensured to serve you a daily reminder her kindness had limits, and they wouldn’t be taken lightly.

Yet it was currently so late, boredom seeping through every fiber of your being, enough to beguile you further than usual. Ellie wasn’t home on time, the front door firmly shut, no sound of keys rattling as she walked in or a huff of relief to finally be home. Every day you developed an anticipation for her arrival because it meant you could leave your confines as long as she was haunting you.

You’d watch her shower, the steam mingling with the warmth of your thoughts. She’d make dinner, then pretend as if you were her willful and loving partner. It was all her fantasy and you were easily swept into it. You began to crave her presence and routine, so watching it break right before your eyes effortlessly got your hands trembling in apprehension.

You walked on the tip of your toes, feathers on your feet as you made your way to the door. Your shaky hand engrossed the doorknob, taking a deep breath of reluctance. You hesitated, all the possible consequences inescapable. The door creaked as it opened, a small gap yet big enough to go through. The lights were mostly off, a dark sense of depth overtaking you. Regret immediately flooded your body yet you already opened the door so you kept on going.

Your bruised form eased its way through the dim hallway, fingers brushing the wall until you found the light switch. As you flipped it, the dark receded, revealing the room’s contours and textures illuminated in warm light. A rush of possibilities flooded your mind—what stuff could you get into now that Ellie wasn’t around to supervise? Mostly guilt roamed your sentimens, but you hadn’t been granted freedom in oh so long.

You first made your way to the living room, wandering around the ample area. The place was silent, a lack of yelling or TV static noises. It started to bore you, unsure of where the remote controller was and therefore finding no purpose in there any longer.

You walked over to the kitchen instead, no sight of a mess. Ellie kept it tidy and straightened. You didn’t wish to ruin it in a million years, and she’d never even notice you were out here. You situated on the counter, cold marble flush against your thigh and forcing your face into a shocked wince. All you did there was stare at the cabinets, rearranging them, still believing Ellie would never notice.

Unbeknownst to you, Ellie was at the front door, just so excited to see her sweet girl. The highlight of her day was getting home to you, playing pretend, and happy couple. It would help her forget all about the day. Yet when she walked in and took off her shoes and coat, something was off. The lights were on. Her first thought wasn’t to blame you, instead worried someone had broken in. She trusted you incredibly, doubting you’d leave the room without approval.

That thought quickly left her mind when she noticed you perched on the counter, not a single care in the world. Her face dropped, eyebrows tensing and hands clenching. She didn’t waste time striding over to you and before you had time to notice, she fisted a large portion of your hair and tugged on it harshly. You squealed, eliciting a scoff from her. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” She didn’t shout, nor whisper. Her voice was neutral and levelheaded yet her tone was firm and angry.

You stumbled off the counter, whimpering at her harsh grip. Your hands scurried to her bicep, trying to get her off but she just held on tighter. “Are you fucking with me?” She continued, pressing your chest against hers and glaring at you. Her eyebrows furrowed, gesturing at you to respond instead of staying silent like a guilty, caught puppy.

Your breathing pattern was uneven, feeling as if a large weight was placed on your chest. A lump developed in your throat, parting your lips into an O shape and simply getting mocked by Ellie. You shook your head, tears welling at your eyes. Ellie groaned in annoyance, firmly tapping your cheek. She was trying to restrain herself from fully smacking you. “I didn’t mean to— Els-“ You mumbled, babbles spilling out your lips and becoming a crying mess. “Didn’t mean to open the door and do whatever you wanted? Seriously?” Her vision narrowed at you. She effortlessly dragged you to the living room, your wobbly figure standing between her spread legs, wrists in her hand.

She hiked up your skirt aggresively, using both hands to tear your panties off. The humiliation heated your body, yet slick pooled at your cunt. It was embarassing, shame visible on your rosy, tear-stained cheeks. She expected ultimate loyalty from you. “Gonna keep making fucking excuses for yourself or get your ass bent over my lap?” You shook your head, a choked out sobed leaving your swollen lips with inaudible rambles. “Sorry— M’so sorry,” She couldn’t help but roll her eyes, pulling your tummy on her lap and splaying your ass out for her.

“Gonna say thank you every time, ‘kay?” Her faux sweet voice had you biting your lip to stop the sobs, nodding your head in compliance. “Thank you because I’m so fucking generous with you,” Her hand came down on your ass, watching it slightly recoil and redden. “Thank you,” You mumbled, voice cracking. “Thank you ‘cause I’m not hurting you right now.” She kept repeating reasons, a second smack on your other cheek. You simultaneously repeated thank you’s.

Your hips rutted against her lap needily after the tenth smack, trying to distract her from the punishment, squirming on her lap to get away. Ellie tuts and shakes her head, holding your hips tightly. “Where are you going?” She spoke, hand caressing the red spots. “Wanted to be a big girl so fucking bad, now you wanna be fucked like if you’re mine?” You huff with tears, stilling your movements while your lip was snugly placed between both lips. Either way, you nodded in agreement.

“Too fucking bad, gonna be treated like a big girl.” She got an intense hold on your nape, pulling you to sit upright on her lap. Your pussy was drooling onto Ellie’s clothed thigh, creating a damp spot. You wiggled around, hand palming at her crotch. “You know what I wanted to do tonight, babydoll?” She whispered, guiding your hips to gently rock against her thigh. You nodded, yet were hardly paying attention to the way her thigh pressed against your cunt. Your mouth was agape and moaning slightly.

“Wanted to share a nice dinner, bathe together, hold you so fucking close,” She began, hand tracing your every dip and curve. You nodded to gesture you were still listening, feeling negligibly apologetic. “Then fuck you to sleep jus’ how you like it, reward you for cooperating since I got you here.” She scoffed at the mere thought of it, shaking her head. You whimpered with your eyebrows knitting together. You wanted that, craved her validation and sweet words. “Now— Now what?” Your voice was shaky and high-pitched.

She gestured with her eyes at where your cunt and her thigh connected, “Gonna keep going till you cum and make a mess on me.” She lifted a brow while thinking. “Maybe let you sleep on the fucking floor so you can learn.” You whimpered, the pace increasing against her thigh. Ellie moved her hands to your thighs, simply wanting to observe. Your cunt was making nasty wet sounds against Ellie’s jeans, hoping it would please her, silently begging her to be nice again.

She hummed in approval, groaning while staring at the spot your pussy connected to her thighs, the way your brows knit together and lips parted with moans spilling out. “Poor baby,” She taunted, licking her lips. Staring at your fucked out expression just made her feel the slightest amount of pity, placing her hand between your legs and rubbing tiny, precise circles on your clit. “Fuck,” You whimpered, eyes now squeezing shut and leaning against Ellie.

“Language, babydoll.” She scolded, kissing down your neck. You were so close, reigning in the privilege of Ellie’s touch. Your hips stuttered, a knot forming in your tummy. She grabs your jaw hardly, “Open your mouth.” You oblige so quickly, mouth parted, tongue lolling out like a bitch in heat. Ellie spit into your mouth, her saliva dripping down your tongue before you swallowed.

Your orgasm crashed against you, hiding your face into Ellie’s neck desperately. She loved when you were broken down for her, knowing this lesson would stick with you. “Dirty fucking girl.” She whispered, holding your head against her neck snugly. Her hands ran over the red marks on your ass from her repetitive spanks. You wince, back arching away from her.

As you came down from your high, emotions colliding with reality, tears begin to spill endlessly. Was she truly mad at you? Would she really make you sleep on the ground? You clung to her as she whispered soft praises into your ears. "Why are you crying?" Ellie wondered, watching you tear your head away from her. Ellie frowned at the pathetic expression you had presented to her.

"I'm so sorry," You mumbled over and over again. “Don’t wanna be on the floor, need you!” Your exclaims were loud and slightly surprising, Elie holding you closer. She was amused by how attached you were. She had imagined it would take longer to turn you so dependent. “Poor babydoll, I’ll take care of you, in bed.” She clarified and you let out a relieved sob, growing fonder and fonder by the moment.

She takes you to the bathroom and makes the bath she was already thinking about. She needed to make you think she was so damn charitable and nice to you so you wouldn't pin the blame on her but rather you. And also, some deep-down affection as she scrutinized the state you were in. She places you in there and soon joins, keeping you skin to skin, rubbing the sore spots and perhaps getting you off once again with her hands this time.

[thebiscuitlabryinth]

The Sage of Truth's heart is driven by the beat of curiosity, so he is used to questions and mysteries catching his fancy with all the ease of a match to a forest. They light a passion that burn him through investigation and calculation straight down to the slow embers of an answer or lack thereof, and even then the warmth of his newfound knowledge sparks a need to share what he has discovered with as many Cookies as possible. The affect that this zest for knowledge has on him is, in itself, an unshakeable Truth.

Despite all this, the Sage can still readily admit that nothing, no question or riddle or impossible formula, has ever captivated him as much as the Truthless Recluse.

The Truthless Recluse has always been a minor fascination of his, from the moment he had first heard of him, but that hadn't bloomed into anything signficant until he had the pleasure of meeting him at the square. The Recluse was both a delightfully complex and undeniably simple Cookie, easy for him to understand yet layered in contradictions.

The Truthless Recluse, whose life purpose is dedicated to his own Truth of protecting Cookies from the cruelty of Truth. A living, breathing riddle.

The Sage had intially nurtured a newborn hope that they would cross paths again in the square, and he had fallen into the habit of searching the crowds that flocked to his lectures for a glimpse of those dark robes, that gloomy aura, but alas! Of course, the Recluse would not grant him that honour more than once.

Eventually, the Sage accepted that if he hoped for another meeting, he would have to approach the Recluse himself. The thought did little to dissuade him, as he was rather experienced in chasing after his own flights of philosophical fancy.

So here he is, making the trek up to the Peak of Truth with only the pale moon to accompany him.

The Sage is confident in his path, and finds the journey itself pleasant overall. It may have been quite a while since he was last here, but he did once hail from this peak himself, long before the Recluse slunk and settled in. As such, he remembers the best routes to take, and has little difficult navigating in the encroaching dark.

He is just past halfway up when a silhouette emerges from the shadows, solemn and blurring together with the rest of their dim surroundings. The Sage's heart, driven by curiosity, doubles its beat, pounding excitedly in his chest.

"Who dares to–" The Recluse asks, voice low and gravelly in an attempt to intimidate, but he stops abruptly, narrowing his eyes at the Sage. "You."

"Yes, yes, it's just me." The Sage smiles, undeterred by the less than warm welcome, doing a little flourished bow before hopping back up into an upright position. "I know it is awfully late for a visit, my friend, but you see–"

"Don't call me that." The Recluse interrupts, somewhat rudely, but the Sage's interest in him allows him to let it go with little fuss. "We are not friends."

"Whyever not?" The Sage asks easily, tilting his head. "Are we not both Cookies, living in accordance to our own personal Truths, just like every other? You know, even a Cookie who does nothing but lie and cheat still has the Truth of their affinity for deception as a central pillar in their life."

"You said something similar already, at the square." The Recluse mutters, his gaze cold and heavy. The Sage welcomes it without a shiver. "About me living by a personal Truth."

"And am I wrong?" The Sage questions back, raising an eyebrow. He is genuinely interested to see if the Recluse can make any sort of substanial refutation.

But the Recluse simply presses his lips together in frustration and glances away. The Sage feels both a curl of satisfaction at his silently begrudging acceptance of his point and a chill of disappointment at the lack of an attempted counter.

His disappointment does not have to last long, as the Recluse returns his piercing gaze to him to make a point of his own. "If every Cookie's life relies on a personal Truth, then Life is just as cruel as Truth." The many eyes on the Recluse's mutated staff blink sluggishly, accusingly, their irises catching the thin moonlight in muddy ripples. "That does not show me any proof that we are friends. Which we are not."

"I only meant that there is nothing to stop us from being friends." The Sage clarifies, though he feels like he was quite clear the first time. "And I have never denied the complexities and, indeed, cruelties of Truth and Life alike. As I have told you before, Truth is imperfect, and I embrace that. You, however, seem to be unable to see past these complexities to accept the positives that Truth brings to the world too."

The Recluse seems unhappy with that, his hand tightening its grip around his staff and his frown deepening. "Did you come here only to give me a lecture?" He snaps, voice soft and brittle. "If I wanted to hear this, I would go to the square you insist on occupying."

"Did you not try to do the same to me, on your single visit to the square?" The Sage asks playfully with a growing grin, paying close attention to the way the Recluse stiffens. He laughs lightly. "Ah, don't think of this as a lecture, please. It's only meant to be a conversation. To be frank, I quite enjoyed our brief exchange back at the square, so I was hoping to get a chance to talk to you again. You seem like you would make a particularly interesting debate partner."

The Recluse huffs, shaking his head. "I have no interest in talking to you any further. This much was already bad enough."

With that, he turns away and tries to slink back into the shadows.

"Surely you aren't completely opposed?" The Sage argues, summoning a brilliant ball of light in his palm and rushing over to the Recluse's side, refusing to let him leave now. "If you were, you wouldn't have been willing to initiate our acquaintanceship first. You were the one responsible for that, when you visited the square."

The Recluse stops walking as the conjured light falls on his shoulders, reeling away and twisting around to glare at the Sage. The reflected light makes his dull eyes seem brighter, almost beautifully so. "I did that solely to stop you from sending dozens to their inevitable ruin by exposing them to the path of Truth." He hisses stubbornly. "If I had known it would be useless, and if I had known you would come chasing after me, I would have stayed far away."

"It is very easy to say that in retrospect, but you can't prove that to be true." The Sage points out with a shrug. "Unfortunately, my heart is rather set on this possible friendship of ours, so I'm afraid the matter is out of your hands now. You're stuck with me!"

The Recluse's expression closes in on itself, returning to a blank slate as he abruptly turns and begins to march off again. The Sage realises immediately that the Recluse hopes to discourage him by ignoring him and carrying on, but the Sage eagerly rises to the challenge.

He falls into step beside him, and the two of them walk together in silence, the Sage's light spilling like a pool of honey around them. The Sage watches the Recluse out of the corner of his eye, as the Recluse resolutely faces forward, acting as if he doesn't exist.

Eventually, the Sage's persistence pays off.

As they are approaching the summit, the Recluse comes to another stop, so sudden that the Sage almost walks into him. The Recluse does not turn back to look at him as he says quietly into the air, "Friendship is ultimately meaningless."

His voice is bitter, heavy with a sense of mourning. The Sage hums in consideration, rounding the Recluse to meet his face, raising his summoned light to envelope the surrounding area in a glow.

"What an intruigingly nihilistic statement!" He declares brightly, clapping his hands together. "It would make a riveting debate topic, if you'd entertain me for just an hour or two. Unless, of course, you worry your Truth will not be able to withstand mine?" The Sage rocks forwards on the balls of his feet, his smile a polite taunt. "After all, not all Truths are made equal. Some are stronger than others."

The Recluse glares at him again, though this time, it is weakened slightly by the growing resignation beginning to creep across his features. "You won't give this up, will you?"

"Of course not!" The Sage grins, hopeful that he seems to be slowly getting through to him. "Giving up is never the best option, you know."

The Recluse scoffs, raising his staff as dark wisps begin to swirl menacingly around it. "Not even if I decide to make you leave me alone by force?"

"Not even then!" The Sage chuckles, folding his arms behind his back as he squints his eyes at the Recluse. "Haven't you heard of me before? I can find an answer to anything and you," he takes a modest step closer, his eyes glittering with delight, "are my latest enigma."

The Recluse stares at him for a moment, his expression unreadable, which only makes the Sage wish to study it further. Finally, the Recluse sighs heavily, the dark energy accumulating around his staff dissipating in an instant.

"Fine." He murmurs, barely a whisper as he continues walking. The Sage lights up, his summoned light flaring along with him, and, taking it as an invitation, he follows after the Recluse to the rhythm of his achingly curious heart.

[licncourt]

Do you guys think that Louis and Lestat butted heads so much (especially in the first book) because Lestat Came Back Wrong as a vampire but Louis didn’t ? They are mutually unrelatable to one another in that sense and it really shows in how they both reacted to and continue to experience vampirism. Lestat is forced to realize he can never go back to who and what he was in another time and place and Louis is realizing there's no better version of himself on the other side and no freedom from his own faults.

So much of TVL is about Lestat’s light and radiance and the perseverance of spirit, and the thing that finally pushes him into the darkness is the knowledge that those things are, in his mind, unattainable to him now. His childhood had planted the seeds that would grow into his worst characteristics, but it wasn't the dominant force in his life until a while after he was turned. His horror is the corruption of goodness and the knowledge that you can never go back and never be the same person you were Before or would have been without What Happened.

That's really not the case for Louis. He had darkness in him already as a human, very close to the surface even. He was selfish and hypocritical and lacking empathy from the beginning, leeching off exploitation and always on a short leash with violence. Like I mentioned in my post about why I enjoy his character so much, he's interesting and unusual in the fact that he was kind of made for vampirism. He already was one in a lot of ways, being turned just caused it to truly erupt. There's no corruption of goodness aspect to the horror, the horror is mundane evil exaggerated to supernatural proportions.

Lestat was born a sheep and was forced into wolf's clothing long enough that it became a part of him and he embraced it. Louis was born a wolf and took up the mantle of the sheep to live with himself, but it didn't change his nature. The Marquis called Lestat "Joseph among his brothers", but Louis is Cain. What does it take for Joseph and Cain to understand each other? Time, trauma, and a lot of listening I suppose. I'm not sure Anne Rice knew for sure, maybe that's part of why she didn't write it down, but there is something life affirming in the fact that they managed in spite of everything. There's even love to be found between a man who chose evil to save himself pain and a man who never knew how to be anything but evil.

[lorelune]

(alpha sae x omega reader // hurt/comfort // WC: ~1.9k // minors dni)

sae wakes up alone.

it's late, early morning, probably. he doesn't bother checking his phone, the relative silence of the cityscape outside tells him enough. your bedroom nearly pitch black. aside from faint light slipping in from under the door of the en suite bathroom, the room is still and the corners shadowy.

sae doesn't enjoy waking up alone.

it feels wrong, these days. like he's missing a limb. the other side of your bed is empty and almost cold. the duvet and sheets are pushed down to the foot of the bed in a rumpled pile. your scent is all over the apartment, this room, and especially this bed, but it's still too faint. without you in this bed, it's too faint. it's unnatural for it to be so faint, this later at night— early in the morning, when you should be tucked into his side as you belong.

sae peels himself out of bed enough to sit up, rubbing at his cheeks. he thumbs over the (oh so controversial) claim bite on the base of his throat. the etch of your teeth laid into him forever. it's a romantic gesture, at least you think so. your thinking has rubbed off on him— at least a little.

sae already knows where you are. he's known since the moment he realized you weren't beside him where you'd be.

his nose guides through the dark, padding lightly and carefully across the hard flooring. he pauses in front of the door to the ensuite. your scent, distressed and louder than it should be in sleep, curls out from the room in waves.

the door to the ensuite opens almost silently.

the only light in the room pours off from a little nightlight, plugged in near the sink. it's some round cat-like character you think is very cute but sae thinks is kind of stupid looking, but sae loves you, and would do anything for you, so he loves the nightlight just as much as you do. it's nights like tonight where is very grateful for its slowly morphing rainbow of colors, pouring out over the space, just enough that sae can see you across the room.

'maladaptive omegan behaviors' weren't something sae was very familiar with, prior to seeing you (accidentally), courting you (intentionally) and mating you (very intentionally). he'd maybe heard the term tossed around in passing and on social media, but he never dug further into it. he didn't see himself taking a mate, so it didn't seem worth knowing about, especially since most of his peers were alphas just like him.

when you started letting sae into your nest, he had to learn quickly.

omegas with rough upbringings, whose mothers had difficult or traumatic pregnancies, and those with chronic physical illness often developed these behaviors. dysregulated systems, desperately trying to regulate themselves in the way that were taught— which is to say they were often taught incorrectly or not taught at all. it spawned into lists of behaviors associated with diagnosable criteria that sae could, if asked, probably recite from memory.

low scent production and a lack of scenting instinct. bite risk. inflamed scent glands outside of heat cycles. isolation drive and the subsequent isolation sickness.

the dysregulated trait you struggled the most with, though, was the maladaptive nesting behavior.

you lay in the large bathtub, curled up tightly into a ball, your forehead near your knees. thrown over you are an assortment of unused blankets from the nearby linen closet and towels dragged down from the nearby warming rack. sae knows that some are still probably damp, given you shared a shower before bed. your head is only supported on your folded hands. you look very sad and very small.

sae hates to see you like this.

he knows you can't help it. you've explained to him before, that sometimes— this just happens. you wake up in a cold sweat, panicked, and— you just can't be where you are in that moment. you struggle to describe the specific feeling, what drives you. it frustrates sae, because he needs to understand to help. but he never holds it against you (how could he?) even with what you are able to give him, sae gleans a little more each time you choose to confide in him.

slowly and gently, he reaches out to run a few fingers over your temples. you barely flinch, probably half-awake.

"baby," he says softly. his own voice surprises him on these nights. he never knew it could become so soft and entirely yours.

you're quiet for a moment, before turning into your damp nest. "... hi."

"not feeling so good?"

"'s fine now." your words slur with exhaustion. you've had a big week, you both have, between games, travel, and the media circus you somehow put up with. "go back to bed, sae."

"you know the rules." he scratches along your hairline. "not without you."

there's room in that bathtub for the both of you, if you refuse to leave. otherwise sae will sleep on the bathmat. he doesn't care.

something about the size of the bathroom and the depth of the bathtub makes you less scared. that's hard to emulate on a king-sized bed, no matter how well you make your nest and how long you fuss over it.

you glare at him, a little wet in the eyes, before hiding back in your makeshift nest.

he could, theoretically, reach over the lip of the bathtub and extract you himself. and he could probably hold you tightly enough and long enough that you feel safe, even in your nest that doesn't. he's your alpha, that's his job, one he likes—

but that's also not what he wants to do.

sae does lean over the edge of the bath and press his lips to your hairline before leaving you there.

see, you do this often. often enough that sae has poured through articles and reddit posts between rewatching his own matches to look for ways to help. to ease. it's not— in his nature, this type of helping. if not having you near is like missing a limb, learning to help you with your maladaptive behaviors is like exercising a underused one.

sae found a particular reddit post that seemed promising. a product recommendation that was out of budget for most folks, but sae has too much fucking money, and if his money isn't good for this, then what is it good for?

he knees down beside the bed and pulls out a parcel.

it takes him a moment, two, ten, to wrangle it out of the package. it's a frame of sorts, made of a metal-like, lightweight material. it comes with a set of straps too. the metal pieces come dissembled, and once assembled, become two poles and connecting between them. he deftly secures one pole to each of the posts of your bedframe with the straps, pulling them tight and taut so the poles are flush. the connecting bit spans between the bed posts, high, taller than sae if he were kneeling on the mattress. the frame itself rises over the top half of the bed, and slopes with another set of support poles to the bottom.

over it, sae hangs a sheet, one he's been scenting himself in secret, knowing that this exact event would occur. it drapes down over all sides of the bed, making enclosure, yet airy space. there's a string of LED, no heat lights that came with the frame that he strings along the outside, dappling the inside of the space in warm light.

sae is an alpha, so he doesn't have the same sense for nestmaking as an omega would. he does try, because he loves you, and fluffs up pillows and rearranges things to look more inviting. he only goes to get you when he is certain things are as good as he can get them.

you're sleepier when he fetches you from the bathtub, easier to coax out with the promise of a glass of water and skinship. you don't fight him, even on night's when the need to hide here is more violent and panic-inducing for you. the trust you give sae is implicit and seemingly endless. it is important that he covets it.

presenting you the frame, draped sheet, and cute lights, you blink at the structure.

"... a fort?"

"it's called a nest hide."

"who calls it that?"

"reddit."

you snort and press your nose into his bicep. you're all wrapped around of of his arms, clinging to him. he thinks, if you asked him a few years ago if he would like this kind of thing, he would've said no. deadpanned because he couldn't imagine ever enjoying this much contact with anyone casually. now, however? he craves it with you so much, that he hasn't gone to a single away game alone for god knows how long. his teammates tease sae about how you have him wrapped around you finger, and he doesn't fight them on it. it's true; he is.

you both clamor into bed, your nest, you first and him second, after allowing you to adjust the nest accordingly. it doesn't take you as long as it did earlier in the evening. you lean over the edge of the bed and pick up a forgotten friend, a plush of the same pudgy character as the nightlight. you set it next to fluffed pillows and preen.

your scent has bloomed, stronger than it was, more content. he can tell you're still tired, so tired, and your scent reveals your exhaustion easily.

"c'mere?" you tell him, once you're done, extending a hand to him.

sae takes your hand, he always will.

it's easy then, to settle together under your mutual favorite blanket, a soft knit thing sae's grandmother made for you after sae's claim became public knowledge. she thanked you for 'finally making that boy settle down some' which sae didn't agree with at the time, but now he does. you've domesticated him a bit, and he wouldn't trade that for much at all.

you lay, facing each other, as sae stretches to shut the string lights off. in an instant, you're completely wrapped around each other. your forehead it cushioned against his chest, his arms around your waist, legs tangled. it's so good. far better than a bathtub.

"... thank you, sae," you say, softly. half-spoken into the his bare chest, and half into the still of your shared.

"there's nothing to thank me for." he huffs a little, just enough that you laugh lightly. "i like making sure you're comfortable."

it's as simple as that. it's always been that simple with you, and you make things easy to be simple. it's a privilege, he has come to realize.

"well, you're very comfy." you hum, voice wavering with sleep. "still."

as a final act, before you fall properly and fully asleep until sae deigns to wake you the next morning, you lay a kiss over his claim bite scar. your scents mingle, mix, and roll over the space. you're— so very good at drawing such a fragrance out of him. sun-warm, earthy, all him. it tangles with your own.

he thumbs over your own scar, once he watches you fall asleep, peaceful and as hale as you can be, and safe, and thinks that he'd do far more than built some little safe haven for you, if he could. if he needed to, he'd move the world.

sae lays a kiss on your forehead, nuzzling there, with only quiet night song of the city to witness his most vulnerable affections.

[ofbatsandballads]

“like real people do” by hozier is so jason todd coded it has me writing purple prose at 1pm on a friday. i was listening to that masterpiece of a song and couldn’t stop thinking of jay’s childhood first love being there the night he came back. so out came this sort of au based on the ‘superboy punches reality’ version of his resurrection.

tw for depictions of jason’s torture and murder, his being resurrected and escaping his grave, reader’s severe depression and suicidal ideation surrounding her grief, heavy codependency implied between jason and reader, and general resurrection angst.

It was a dark and stormy night. Isn’t that how these things always go? Horrid cliches find unexpected ways of coming back to life. Much like the life that sparks suddenly within the boy in the casket. Black, dark nothingness becomes humid, suffocating air. He tries to sit up and meets silk-covered mahogany that traps him. The boy in the casket does not know where he is. He does not know who he is.

He remembers feelings. Something loud, bright, and hot that made everything go dark. Resignation, the urge to protect, forgiveness. The feeling of his skull cracking, his collarbone shattering under the blunt force of metal. The laughter the laughter the laughter it is driving him mad. The white hot pain of his legs snapping under the weight of the man that laughs. The guttural feeling of betrayal and fear. The smell of cigarettes. He is the sweet boy that wants his mother.

Hope, bright and incandescent. Rebellion and longing. Anger, angst, the horrible need to be understood by the people you love most. Ambition, pride, joy, encouragement; the warmth of family. He is no longer a fatherless son. Hope, wary but resilient. Fear, then relief, at the sight of the Dark Knight.

The boy in the casket remembers. He still does not know who he is. But he knows he has a father. He knows it because he is screaming for his father as he tears through the silk and scrapes the skin from his fingers against the hard mahogany. He screams for his father as he kicks through the wood, as the damp earth fills the enclosed space and steals the little air that remains for him to breathe. He is thinking of his father as he pulls his body through the hole he made. The jagged wood is digging into his side and he feels blood drip hot down his torso. It’s different from the wet cold that surrounds him and he focuses on that to stay cognizant. But the earth presses in and he is tired. He is so very tired.

He remembers something else. He remembers being tired once before, but he was warm then. He remembers being cozy under blankets. Innocent laughter and innocent kisses. The prettiest eyes he’s ever seen and the love that gleamed just for him shining within them. Then a voice. Melodic and beautiful and sweet as honey.

“C’mon, Jay, don’t fall asleep yet.”

You would not want him to fade back into the eternal sleep he just woke from. No. He cannot go back just yet. He tries to dig upward, but his body aches. The earth grows thicker, turns to sludge that drowns him. He shoves one hand over his face to claim a bit of air and is given a mouthful of mud instead. He chokes out one final scream. His head is getting fuzzy, lack of air making his skull feel cotton-filled and staticky. Still he digs up and up and up. But there’s no light. Just more earth. Maybe he does belong here. Maybe someone made a mistake and gave him a few moments that were meant for someone else. He makes one last push, that familiar resignation washing over him again as he closes his eyes. Then a hand wraps tight around his wrist and he’s showered in the cold midnight rain.

You have a secret. It’s personal and it’s abnormal and it’s yours. You’ve been sleeping on Jason Todd’s grave for the past week. No one knows. Well, Bruce Wayne knows. He must. His son’s grave is on his estate, after all, and the Bat’s security measures are the best you’ve ever seen. You don’t know why he’s letting his dead son’s girlfriend sleep on his grave, but you’re thankful he hasn’t kicked you out yet.

It’s been four years since Jason died. Four years and you still can’t accept it. You visit him every day. You bring him flowers and read him books and tell him about your life. You try to pretty it up a bit for him. You tell him about the new sundress you bought; it’s red, his favorite color. You tell him about the amazing bakery that opened up in the Heights and how you think he’d adore their chocolate chip cookies.

You don’t tell him that you’re so depressed over his absence that there are times when you go weeks existing only in your bed with sparse trips to the bathroom. You don’t tell him that you dropped out of college after your first year, that you failed in your joint promise to go to Gotham City University together. You just couldn’t handle it. The weight of your grief is already an iron chain around your throat, hooked to an eternal anchor. You didn’t need the pressure of perfect grades—an unshakeable requirement of your scholarship as you couldn’t afford to go to school any other way. You certainly don’t tell him that you’ve considered joining him, that sometimes that seems like the only thing you want anymore.

But it’s been getting worse. You miss him. Not in any way that’s healthy. At least that’s what you were told by the grief counselor your mother made you see. You miss him so badly that you’re sleeping on his grave come hell or high water. Tonight it’s high water. The cold rain soaks through your hoodie and sweats, but you don’t care. You’ve stabbed an umbrella into the ground and you’ve got an old blanket under you, so you’re all set. The bone-chilling cold of the water doesn’t matter. The way that it lures you to sleep doesn’t matter. Your body temperature is probably dropping and sleep to the freezing is deadly, but that doesn’t matter either. What matters is that you’re here with the boy you love.

You have another secret. This one’s worse, so terrible that you even scare yourself. You’ve been considering digging up Jason’s grave for the past thirty minutes. It started subconsciously. You didn’t even realize you were clawing into the ground until the grass was uprooted. You’ve made a good dent now, maybe six inches or so. It’s insane. You’re insane. But you ache to be close to him. Jason Todd took half of your soul with him when he was lowered into the ground. The better half; the half of you that was light and joyous and filled with love. You want it back. You want him back. You don’t know what you would do if you dug up his grave, but you know that you’d be closer to him than six feet.

You lie in the rain and contemplate why you’re here. You’ve missed him this fiercely every day for the last four years. It’s just this past week that you’ve been drawn to sleep on the earth above him. Like a moth to flame, like Ariadne’s golden thread leading out of the darkness of the labyrinth. Or maybe you’ve finally lost what’s left of your mind. You think you have when you hear noises from beneath the earth.

“Finally talking to me, Jay?” you ask.

Melancholy sarcasm is made weak by the way your teeth chatter and how your shivering leaks into your tone. But then you hear it again. It’s faint, deep below and muffled but it’s there. Then a thudding noise. Over and over and over. Your heart kicks to life. Adrenaline shoots through you and the cold seeped into your body melts with the heat of it. Jason is dead. He’s been dead for four years. But something is alive in his grave. Your hands sink into the small hole you’ve already made and you shovel the earth out in a manic rush. You dig and dig and dig. Your arms are elbow deep when you feel fingers brush against your own. You should be afraid. You should run. Instead you reach further, grasp hard around the wrist and pull. The ground gives way and your reality shatters in an instant. You’ve just pulled Jason Todd from his grave.

He’s bigger than you remember. His body weight is crushing as he collapses on top of you. (You’re smaller than he remembers. He has a crystal clear image of looking up into those pretty eyes and now he can barely feel you squished underneath him.)

He’s covered in sodden earth from head to toe. There’s blood seeping warmly from his torso into your red hoodie. (Your arms are caked in mud. Why? What were you digging for?)

Even with his difference in size—he must be well over a foot taller and at least one hundred pounds heavier—there is nothing that compares to the pure shock of looking into his eyes. Piercing gunmetal blue that you see every time you close your eyes is now a deep seafoam green. And yet looking into them you still feel like you’re home again. (Those pretty eyes are still the same. They still have that gleam of love when they land on him. But they’re also red and bloodshot like you’ve been crying. Please don’t cry. He doesn’t want you to be sad. He loves you. He doesn’t know your name but he knows that he loves you.)

You’re both as still as the memorial statues of Martha and Thomas that loom protectively beside Jason’s grave. Shock settles in.

“Jason. Oh my God. Jason, you’re—“ your voice breaks before you can say the words you thought would only come in dreams.

“Alive,” he croaks, voice dry and grating from lack of use.

He is alive. He is alive and breathing and with you again. You don’t know what caused this, why a dead boy crawled from his grave in the body of a man, but you’re not going to ask questions. The only answer you need is lying in your arms. Tears stream down your face, only differentiated from the rain by their warmth.

“You’re here, you’re here, you’re here,” you murmur into his mud-soaked hair as you cradle his head in the crook of your neck.

“Here,” he echoes. “Real?”

It doesn’t feel like it. His head is hazy and clouded but he’s starting to recall things. Like a steady trickle of water coalescing into a stream, into a river, into a flood. He remembers your name. He remembers stolen tires and bat ears. He remembers chamomile tea with a butler and stories of old theatre productions. He remembers how all the classic romance novels in his freshman English class looked just like the pretty girl sitting at the desk to his right. He remembers sweet giggles and shaky hands and soft kisses. He remembers. But he can’t speak it. He can’t find the words or the comprehension. He sees these things in flashes, feels them in his bones but he can’t make his mind and body catch up. So he lurches forward, stiff and clumsy, and tries to replicate the warmth of your kisses that have survived death itself.

You kiss Jason Todd for the first time in four years. You taste your tears, the damp earth, and the blood from where he’s bitten his own tongue. You have never tasted anything better because for right now it tastes like him.

“Real. We’re real.”

A sweet surprise and a gentle reminder. The other halves of your souls have been returned, and you are both allowed to exist again.

[littlerequiem]

we mourned the sea ˚⁎⁺ chapter 4

> Crossposted on AO3

Levi hasn't seen you in a year, and he wonders how you will find him. Changed, perhaps. Lost, definitely. Or: After the war, you and Levi learn to live in this new world.

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 - Levi Ackerman / Female Reader (Attack on Titan)

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓 - Rated Explicit (18+). Post-Canon, Post-War, Romance, Hurt/Comfort, Domestic, Fluff, Angst, Slow Burn, Mutual Pining, Grumpy/Sunshine, Friends to Lovers, Flashbacks, Grief/Mourning, Chronic Pain, Panic Attack, Depression, Ambulatory Wheelchair Use (WC: 4.1k) A special thanks to @sixpennydame for her help on this chapter.

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Your eyes lock with his. Amber light kisses half of his face, placing the shadows under his eyes in the spotlight. They seem more present the nights before expeditions.

He raises a brow, as if asking, ‘what demons are you running from?’

“I draw,” your voice fills the silence. “Nights before expeditions. It helps me clear my head.”

.

.

.

The first memory Levi has of his mother is him combing through her long, black hair.

Not many could keep long hair in the Underground. The lack of sun exposure, for one, made it hard to keep healthy hair. And if not that, the lice usually did it. When it struck a brothel, women and men either found a way to kill those nasty fuckers or they were forced to shave their hair and wear cheap wigs instead.

And yet, his mother did manage. It was one of the things that drew men to her—Olympia and her hair that shone like midnight.

Kuchel’s hair was black, and it did, at times, seem to be made of darkness itself. Only, it was none of the misery found in the shadows of the Underground. Instead, it felt more like the darkness found in the night sky. Liquid starlight. Levi remembers running his fingers through her hair, marveling at the contrast of it against the paleness of his skin. 

Yes, Kuchel Ackerman’s hair was beautiful. Elegant, even.

When she died, people often told Levi he was her spitting image. He doesn’t know about that—he often wonders whether people only said this out of pity, a handout to somehow assuage his grief, or whether they truly meant it. But Levi supposes that if he inherited something, it is his mother’s hair. He has a decent amount of it, thick and dark, and when he runs his hand through it, he feels a little part of his mother in him.

Beyond that, he is different.

Levi has known for a long time that he is nothing special to look at. He’s boyish, nothing like the people Levi’s met over the years. Men and women alike, born with just the right set of genes and under the right circumstances. Levi’s not like that, and that’s just fine by him. He’s not a self-conscious man, after all; he knows his value. 

Still, the question begs to be asked: knowing all of this, why do you choose him as your subject today?

Levi looks up from his reading, considering this very question. Early morning is in full bloom, and Levi’s sitting around the table on the porch, enjoying his first tea of the day while reading the newspaper—two activities he’s neglected these past minutes. 

He’s been too busy pretending not to see you hiding your sketchbook.

What are you even hiding it for? You’re not fooling anyone. If your seated position—a blanket draped around your knees, tools tucked behind both—wasn’t a dead giveaway, your face certainly is. It always carries an intensity to it whenever you draw. Tight, puckered lips, like you were extorting all the pressure to the center of your face. A crinkling of concentrated brows. Vivid eyes, sharp with focus.

Levi reels all his restlessness in his fists. He should not interrupt you. He will not.

This is, as far as Levi is aware, the first time you are picking up a pencil in the last three years. The first time you show an interest in getting back into drawing at all, in fact, in the time since the Rumbling.

Which explains why Levi’s frozen like a statue, scared to pop this moment.

Don’t say anything, he tells himself. Don’t fucking ruin it for her.

Levi remembers the first time he caught you drawing like this. It was an evening before an expedition, one of the first ones that followed Isabel’s and Furlan’s deaths. Everyone huddled around the campfire, but you sat alone. He’d approached you then, the loner he was, seeking your presence like a moth to a flame. He remembers that look you wore when he caught you—wide eyes and parted lips. You thought he’d come to judge, to call you a creep for drawing others.

Instead, Levi asked if he could watch.

(Later, he would even tell you the hard truth—to keep on doing what you did, because this was the only way to immortalize every face, that many men and women in your drawings would not come back.)

From there on, Levi would often catch you drawing here and there. Cadets, squad leaders, horses—no subject seemed out of reach. He remembers Hange even trying to convince you to draw titans on a particular expedition (“Unfortunately, Hange, I think drawing a real-life titan, while also on a moving horse, would end in my untimely death.” “Boo…”).

You loved to draw and Levi loved to watch.

They say an artist’s gaze is alluring, and while Levi can agree your eyes have this magnetic way of pulling him in, there’s another thing Levi loves to watch.

It’s your hands. With them, you draw lines on paper. With them, you bring tenderness and kindness. With them, you heal people.

Recently, Levi's started to wonder how your hands would feel on him. The memories of last night are still on his mind; Levi remembers just how close you got to him.

“Hey, what do you think Erwin and Hange would be doing if they were with us?” your voice cuts through the silence.

Levi’s gaze widens slightly as he meets your lifted stare. He’s unsure if he heard you correctly. 

But no… he did. 

And Levi finds himself at a loss for words. 

This is the first time you’ve brought up this subject—brought them up. It isn’t that Levi doesn’t want to talk about Erwin and Hange, but he doesn’t remember the last time he could talk about anyone from his past. He thinks the 104th sometimes walks on eggshells around him, as if bringing names up might summon a curse best left forgotten.

But he supposes, if anyone would want to talk about the Survey Corps veterans, it would be you.

He’s grateful that it’s you.

“Erwin,” Levi finds his voice again, clearing his throat, “Erwin would bury himself in knowledge. That know-it-all would probably run the local library by now.”

“Ohh, good one. See, I would have bet on him becoming a teacher, but now that you mention that, well, I change my mind.”

Levi makes a humming sound, imagining Erwin following in his father’s footsteps. Fitting, certainly.

“He could do both,” Levi suggests.  

“He could do both—no! He would do both.”

An excited smile graces your lips then, just as you focus back on your sketchbook. The low morning light catches the scar on your face, and Levi thinks he would love to trace over it with his fingertips, to bestow softness where there was once pain.

“Erwin would have books from everywhere, I’m sure of it,” you continue with a bubbly tone. “He’d have an entire collection of it.”

“Yeah, his home would be a real mess.”

You snort, raising a brow at him. “You’d help him sort it out, wouldn’t you?”

“Fuck no.” Levi scrunches his nose, remembering how often he used to clean after Hange and Erwin. “Erwin would need to learn to clean once and for all—or find someone to do it for him. Until then, I’m not stepping foot into his house.”

“Tough love, huh? Well... that just means he’d have an excuse to come here then, to enjoy the porch the way we are now.”

“Mm.”

“What kind of book do you reckon he’d be reading?”

Levi shrugs with one arm. “You’d know better. You were a designated member of his precious book club.”

You roll your eyes. “It was hardly a bookclub; we were four people.”

“At one point, you met every Sunday evening. That’s a book club to me.”

You tilt your head, amusement gleaming in your eyes. “You know, some might call knowing so much about a bookclub you’re not a part of rather unsettling, ‘Vi.”

“Please.” Levi crosses his arms over his chest, shooting you a look. “You just wouldn’t shut up about it.”

“That’s because we always hoped you’d join on your own. We all considered you our non-official member, you know.” Amusement flashes across your face as you seemingly scour past memories. “Like... a grumpy mascot, or something.”

Levi clicks his tongue, shaking his head dismissively.

Silence falls. Levi takes to watching the horizon. This side of the house with the porch faces the ocean; it’s just a few minutes walk to the beach from here. Today, Levi can tell that the waves are calm, that the tide is low; he can’t make out the sound of water. 

“What about Hange, then?”

Levi’s gaze focuses back on you as you ask this question; you’ve placed your bare feet on the chair, one arm looped around your knees and propping your chin on it.

“I think Hange would’ve poured themselves into modern inventions,” you say. “They only got to see some of Marley’s technology, but Kopon’s nation is more advanced, so I’m sure they would have wanted to go there... or at least see what remains of it.” 

Levi thinks if Hange’s life hadn’t been cut short, that they would have followed in Onyonkopon’s footsteps and ended up working on those damn flying machines. They showed such an interest for trains and moving vehicles—something Levi could never understand. Flying seems like the natural next step. 

He tells you as much.

“Walls, you’re right," you say. "We’d look up at the sky and see one of their inventions. I’m sure about it.”

“Yeah,” Levi suspects there’s fondness in his tone just about now, “we would.”

There’s a lull in the conversation, where Levi can just admire the sky and the clouds and you. He thinks this exact view would make a nice subject for a drawing—if he could draw.

It might be this realization that causes him to speak up, “Hey…”

“Mm?

“What are you hiding for?”

Your eyes fleet up, at first surprised, before melting away into a sheepish expression. You lift a hand to scratch the back of your neck, like Levi catching you hiding your sketchbook was somehow shameful. 

“You noticed, huh?”

“Hard to miss,” Levi mutters, brows scrunching low, “you’re shit at hiding.”

“Hey!”

“Face the truth, Adler. I’m half-blind and even I noticed.”

“You say that like you’re not one of the most perceptive people I know... I’m pretty sure you’re still leagues above everyone else.” You take to tapping the eraser side of the pencil against the arms of the seat. When you glance back at him, your expression softens. “Fine, you caught me. I was drawing you. But... well. It’s just that you’re easy to draw, Levi. Drawing you feels… natural, I guess. Always did.”

At that, Levi doesn’t have a reply. There’s a burning sensation forming in his belly, a flutter that’s close to panic, only he knows it is not quite that.

“Sorry,” you say, “does it... does it bother you? I can stop.”

“It’s fine…” this time, Levi is the one to glance away, heat prickling at his cheeks, “though I don’t know why you do it.”

A light breeze picks up his bangs; he gets a whiff of salt and sand.

“I guess I never told you before, but… you’ve always been a good subject.” Levi’s eyes flicker onto you, finding you glancing at your sketchbook with a gentle expression. “See, everyone always thought of you as this emotionless soldier, but… I never saw you like that. Those evenings when you’d sit by the fire and read, or stare into the flames, there was always... something slipping through the cracks.”

“... Something.”

“Yeah. Something.”

“And now?” Levi’s voice sounds hoarse to his ears. What he’d give for loud waves to muffle his words, for him to fall deep below waters. “Why draw me now?”

“And now… and now it seems like the easiest thing. Muscle memory, you know? My emotions are easier on paper than they are in my head.”

A ball forms in Levi’s throat. He wants to ask you about what sort of emotions you’re trying to make sense of, but saying those words seems unwise right now. Impossible, some might even say. 

“Keep on drawing, then,” is all he manages. 

For the rest of the morning, Levi lives something he never thought he’d experience again: you peacefully drawing while he savors the quiet morning. 

.

.

.

“Stay safe,” you tell him by the stables. You’re geared up for the expedition, your horse’s reins in hand.

Levi says nothing, but he squeezes your shoulder to convey his own words: Don’t die.

.

.

.

“Marigolds, periwinkles, carnations. These flowers will go right here, here, and… here. What do you think, ‘Vi?”

Levi squints, trying to ignore the glare in his eyes cast by the sun. He follows your delicate finger, pointing to spots in the garden, filled with different colors and scents.

“Looks fine to me,” Levi mutters.

You hum, placing a marker beside each plot of turned soil.

As promised, Levi is helping you decide what to plant where today. Ever since lunch, the two of you have been treating the space like a canvas that’s yours to fill—sectioning the land, preparing the soil, uprooting and transplanting potted flowers out of their containers, assigning them to specific spots of dirt. 

“I picked these flowers because they’re supposed to be good for beginners.” You roll your shoulders back as you shrug off your stiff crouching position. “I wonder if they’ll thrive.”

Levi makes a noncommittal noise in response, not knowing the answer to that question. He shifts his weight from one leg to another, trying to ignore the way his shirts clings to his skin. 

On account of the warm weather today, Levi has rolled up the sleeves of his flannel shirt. He’s currently trying to ignore the urge to scratch at the red spots darting across his forearms—rashes from an overexposure of sun. Levi knows he ought to go back inside, but he stays rooted to his spot. He tells himself it’s because he promised to help, though he knows you’d chastise him if you noticed the state of his skin.    

He slides his sleeves back down before you notice. 

“They look like every other flower to me,” he finally declares, eying the delicate petals between your fingers, “fragile.”

“Well, flowers are more vulnerable than other plants, I’ll give you that. But you gotta trust in the process, right?”

“It’s not a question of trust,” Levi places a hand on his hip, attempting to fan himself using the edge of his shirt, “just trying to manage your expectations in case they die.”

“Whatever for?”

“So you don’t end up all pouty and sad.” 

You snort. “I won’t. We used to grow herbs near the infirmary back on Paradis, remember? Sure it’s not much different.”

Levi isn’t so sure about that, but he doesn’t say a thing to refute your observations. What does he know about growing things, anyway? All he’s ever seen of flowers is how they’re placed on graves. 

His peripheral vision catches you glancing up at him. Something akin to fondness flashes in your eyes, and Levi inextricably looks away. There’s a smudge of dirt streaked across your cheek, he noticed earlier. He has to urge to smudge it off of you, at least to inform you about it, but he holds back. 

“Hey, did you know flowers have unique meanings here in Marley?” he hears you babble on. “That each color and species is symbolic of a specific emotion?” You lift your index to point at a particular flower bed with flaxen petals. “The girl working in the library, she explained it to me. Yellow marigolds represent passion. Purple periwinkles serenity. And pink carnations are all about gratitude.”

Levi studies each flower, learning to commit the names and meanings to memory. “So you use them to express feelings and shit?” 

“Something like that.”

“Why go through all the trouble?”

“For many reasons. Some people like the poetry behind such gifts. Others like the game. And sometimes, people are just too shy to say the words out-loud, so they find comfort in finding other ways to express themselves.” 

“Is there a flower that says you’re a pain in the ass?” 

“Not that I know of.” You quirk a brow up at him. “Is that one directed at me?”

“Who else would it be about?”

That isn’t quite true. For you, there would be a thousand feelings to express. No flower could do it justice. But Levi doesn’t quite say that, either. 

Under the heat of your gaze—of feeling every fucking element working against him—Levi speaks up, “What about these blue ones?”

Levi has gestured to the flowers by the porch’s staircase, the only ones already planted into the garden’s soil. They’re the flowers you planted on your first weekend here. 

“Oh, that’s technically a herb,” you say. “Myosotis. The forget-me-not flower. It represents... love, in many ways.”

Levi watches the blue flowers sway with the wind. In the distance, running along the half-broken wooden fence, Scout is crawling around, attempting to catch butterflies.

The sight of the kitten distracts him for a moment.

“Hey, can I ask for your help?” You lift the lot of flowers in your hand. “I’m having a hard time digging this hole. I think there're pebbles blocking the way, but I’m scared these flowers will get all tangled up if they're not held properly.”

Levi peers over the edge of the garden plot. You’re planting carnations, holding them with one hand as you attempt to shovel a hole with the other. 

He grumbles something beneath his breath but walks closer anyway, his cane digging against the turned soil. Slowly, Levi leans on his uninjured leg and cane, bending to sit on the ground. He lets his ass fall on the soft grass with a gentle thud, cane laid by his side. Levi then turns towards you and accepts the fragile set of flowers with both hands. 

With a parting smile, you move back to your task. You shift your weight by pressing onto your knees, using the small shovel to push stubborn roots and obstacles aside.

Incidentally, it also gives Levi the perfect view of your ass.

And fuck, if your gardening outfit (worn-out denim overalls with a white t-shirt) didn’t already make his mind swim, this view now certainly does.

Not for the first time since you arrived, Levi has to wonder about the questionable fashion choices from Marley, and why you’ve so readily accepted to wear them.

And why, of all things, does it make his heart stutter?

Levi knows that human attraction is perfectly natural; he’s experienced it here and there across his life. Hell, even if he hadn’t, the world never shied from showing its brutal reality. 

But human attraction never mattered much to Levi. 

He’d be lying if it didn’t matter now.

Because Levi now imagines leaning back, his hand pressed on your lower back as he helps you stay balanced crouching. He tries to envision the texture of your overalls under his fingers. Would it be rough, or would it be soft—soft, like what he pictures your skin’s texture to be? How would you even react if he touched you? His touch would probably repulse you, right?

And yet, last night, he swore—

Levi closes his eyes, groaning inwardly.

What the hell is wrong with him? 

Is this really all because of last night, when he thought he saw you leaning in? Fuck, for all he knows, everything he saw was just a figment of his imagination. A trick of the light. He’s only able to see from one eye—should he rely on his sight? 

Sweat trickles now down his back, thick like honey. 

“Oi,” he blurs out, desperately trying to change the focus before his mind wanders further. “After all this shit grows, what will you do? You planning to open up a flower shop or what?”

“I’m not sure if I’d make for a very good florist.”

“You'd learn.”

“Maybe, but I’m afraid my motivations are more... selfish, in that regard. I wanted to experience what it was like, to tend to a garden. Do things normal people do, you know?” 

Levi stays silent. In the distance, Scout lets out a little meowing sound as she fails to catch a butterfly. 

“And... I also figured you might like something pretty in your home, too,” you add.  

At that, Levi has to click his tongue, the sound sharp against the gentle rustle of the wind. He looks out at the horizon. “I’m not much for pretty things.”

(That’s not entirely true. There’s you, and he’s certainly into your prettiness, as exemplified by the way his body is reacting in your proximity.)

“Who ever needs pretty things?” you point out. Levi frowns, turning his attention to you again. The sight of you surrounded by a myriad of flowers is like something straight out of a painting. Enchanting. “That’s the point of prettiness. It’s there to bring people joy, it’s there to be admired and inspiring. It may not be needed, but it’s appreciated, right?”

Levi's suddenly reminded of his mother, of the way she used to keep the house clean, of the way she used to teach him to drink tea. 

He remembers asking her why she did it. In his memories, her voice is soft like a feather. “Because it is pretty and elegant,” his mother answered, “and you are all those things, my Levi.” 

“Are you aware that even animals like pretty things?” By now, you’re a little out of breath from all the shoveling. You wipe your forehead with the back of your hand. “Take pigs, for example. We think of them as dirty animals because of how they’re kept by humans, but... out in the wild, they’re pretty clean. They even like to decorate their homes with pretty things they collect.”

“Tch. Are you comparing the garden to a pig’s sty?”

You laugh. “'Course not. But what I’m trying to say... what I’m trying to say is that this garden feels like planting something… I don’t know, hopeful. Not because we need it for anything, but because it just... it just exists.”

Levi doesn’t respond right away. Instead, his hand test the soil between his fingertips. He thinks about how he used to hate the feel of dirt under his nails—how it reminded him of crawling his way out the Underground, of survival. That sentiment hasn’t changed here, only he finds himself being... willing to be in this state. 

“It’s not so bad,” he murmurs. 

Later, when Levi finally reaches out to place his handkerchief in your hand, telling you there's dirt on your face, he’ll come to another realization: That for the first time, he doesn’t have to worry that it’s blood you’re cleaning off your face. 

Just a bit of dirt. 

.

.

.

It’s like blood rains from the skies that day.

The expedition is declared a disaster.

.

.

.

A few days later, when Levi comes home from work, he finds another gift waiting for him on his dresser.

You’re not home tonight; you’ve volunteered to help with the preparations for the upcoming Equinox Festival, so he doesn’t get any opportunities to scold you for spending your money on him—again. 

Instead, Levi gets to unravel your letter. 

Levi, Mark my words, you’ll see that flowers have their use-cases, even for a tea-maniac like you. I hope this suits your tastes :) -A

Levi unwraps the gift, guessing already what its content might be. He isn’t disappointed. The bag contains loose tea leaves, filled to the brim, along with tiny white buds that remind Levi of snow. 

Elegant cursive adorns the note on the satchel, its reading clear as day.

Jasmine flower tea. 

I hope you enjoyed this update. The plot is going to start picking up from next chapter onwards, so I hope you can look forward to that ^^ If you have time, I'd love to hear your thoughts in the comments as they really keep me going. Take care!

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[ghoularaki]

baby's breath | 17

↠  summary: Merely by coincidence, Erwin, your father's former friend had crossed paths with you again after nearly a decade. He offered solace once finding out you were struggling with not just school, but your home life as well. His home he shared with another one of your father's friends, Levi, became a sanctuary. Though, the more you came over for study sessions, the more they wiggled themselves into your private life. And like baby's breath, they weeded themselves in so deep you couldn't uproot them.

↠ word count: 4,534

↠ pairing: levi ackerman x reader x erwin smith

↠ genre/warnings: angst, smut, modern au, DARK CONTENT, yandere, daddy kink, forced infantilism, pet play, age gap, bondage, emotional manipulation, angsty aftercare, implied subspace/subdrop, ptsd flashback, noncon touching (erwin is a creep!)

Morning must have come.

Tears caked your waterline, gluing your lids together. Wincing, you tried to adjust to the dark that still enveloped you. Your head sluggishly tilted towards where light streamed from the line at the bottom of the door.

Muffled words can be heard by the entrance, but you couldn’t make out what was said. From the volume and cadence alone, you could tell Levi must be not pleased. Stomps reverberated overhead until there was a distinct slam of the front door.

Footsteps walked back with the same hurried pace. More light poured out from the entry as it was opened with great force. You flinched back at him flicking the light on. Despite Levi’s lithe frame, his steps pounded against the stairs. You were too exhausted to even work up any fear. You barely slept the rest of the night, plagued with nightmares and the stinging pain of your ass.

At the bottom of the stairs, he rounded the corner. Levi stopped in what you could assume was shock. Him staring at you only brought tears back to your eyes. Fear tried to wiggle back into your brain that he would continue where Erwin’s left off, but you couldn’t muster up the energy.

“What did you do?” His words bit, but his eyebrows tented in pity.

Curling your fingers into your palms, sobs racked through your weak body while you furled in on yourself as much as you could with the restraints. Like he would a wounded animal, he slowly stepped closer. Tracing the bite mark left on your arm, he undid the cuff. You didn’t move as he leaned over your body to undo the other side.

Walking to your bound ankles, Levi winced, “Fuck.”

Oh, so it was that bad.

Bending down, he didn’t touch your wounds just yet. The belts around your legs loosened. You didn’t even notice your feet had gone numb from the lack of circulation. Free of your shackles, you still didn’t move.

Levi traced a finger across your ass, you whined and forced yourself further into the bench. Taking the hint, he moved away. He came to the side and looked down upon your sniveling form.

“Do you think you can stand on your own?”

You shook your head.

Levi’s eyes shifted to the side in thought, “We need to clean those marks.”

He didn’t want an answer. Taking your wrist, he lifted your upper body of the bench. Puppeteering you, he swung your arm around his shoulders. His arm snaked around your waist, he stepped backwards so you could follow. Your pants and underwear that hung around your knees, collapsed to the floor. Levi bent down to picked them up. Curling his arm around your knees, he completely lifted you off the floor.

A yelp escaped as the side of your ass brushed against his stomach. Levi remained silent as he carried you with surprising ease. Sometimes you forget just how strong he is. His unwavering strength does not soothe you. And yet, you craved comfort. Even if it meant in the belly of the beast, at least you are warm.

Resting your head against him, Levi glanced down at you. He didn’t say anything as he made it out of basement and took you both to the bathroom. Kicking the door open, he let you down.

Flinging your clothes in the hamper, he pointed, “Lean against the counter.”

Nodding, you rested on your elbows, too weak to stand up straight. Satisfied, Levi turned to the tub and flicked the shower on. Running his hand under the water, he deemed it warm enough.

“I’m getting you new clothes. Try to get in yourself. I will be right back.”

Levi lingered when you didn’t reply, but ultimately, decided to leave you be.

Releasing a breath, you looked at yourself in the mirror. You were a mess. Your eyes were swollen and tear tracks dug deep in your cheeks. You looked so broken. Unable to conjure any anger or self-pity, you dragged yourself towards the steaming shower.

Unsteady on your feet, your knees knocked as you wobbled towards it. You could still barely feel your legs as you stumbled. Your ankle buckled. Ready to crash on the floor, an arm slung across your waist and caught you. Clenching your eyes, you balled your fists in embarrassment.

“Let’s make this quick.”

Lip wobbling, your head bobbed in agreement.

Cajoling you into the shower, he made sure you were stable to strip himself of his clothes. Stepping into the stream with you, he coaxed you to lean against him for support. Resting your head on his shoulder, you both pretend what wet his skin was the water.

Clinically, he started to scrub your body, not lingering. He strayed from your bum. Though he spun you so your back faced the steam. Clutching further onto his biceps, you whimpered as the water hit your parted skin. You watched as the water turned pink.

“Hold onto my shoulders.”

Your hands drifted to his sturdy muscle. Levi kneeled down to wash your legs. His fingers danced around the bruising skin of your ankles. He kept his gaze on the wounds while he clicked his tongue. Shifting his weight, he stood back up.

“Can you stand now?”

“I th-think so,” You mumbled. Your hands dropped to your sides while you refused to look him in the eye.

Guiding you to the side, Levi hastily washed himself. Deeming it good enough, he rinsed himself and turned the water off. You shivered and wrapped your arms around yourself.

The curtain rings screeched against the pole. Steam billowed further into the room, fogging up the mirror. Despite asking if you could handle yourself, Levi helped you out of the shower.

He wrapped a towel around his waist. Going back to you, he used one towel to wrap your hair up. Taking the other, he patted you dry. Levi’s eyes bounced to your face over and over. You knew he was trying to make eye contact, but you just couldn’t.

Throwing the towel into the hamper, he reached for clothes that only consisted of an oversized sleep shirt.

“I think it’s best it keep any fabric off the wounds for now.”

He explained even when you didn’t ask. Not responding again, Levi let out a frustrated sigh that had you flinching back.

“Arms up.” Like a doll, you obeyed and let him slip the shirt through your limbs and head.

He dressed himself just as fast as he washed himself. Crouching in front of the sink cabinet, he reached in the back and found a first aid kit you never noticed. Your eyes glanced to the feminine products and that original terror gripped your heart.

Helplessness squeezed you so tight your breathing stuttered.

Levi’s face pinched at your escalating panic. Slowly lifting off his heels, he stood before you. “I need to clean the cuts, that’s it.”

You shook your head while you stepped backwards. You didn’t first aid, you needed out. You have to leave. This was all his fault.

“Stop being a brat,” Levi barked and grappled onto your wrist.

Pulling you to him, he lifted you up and slung you over his shoulder. Not putting up a fight, you let yourself dangle as his arm coiled above your knees. You couldn’t help but notice how… touchy he was being.

The hardwood floor bobbled as Levi walked towards what you could assume was the living room. Heading to the couch, he bent down so you could slip off his shoulder to sit on your knees, not putting pressure on your bottom.

Placing the first aid kit on the other side of him, Levi sat next to you. Grabbing your upper arm, he splayed you across his lap. Your shoulder blades tensed at the familiar position. Your torso sat on his thighs, not quite perched up as he did before.

Levi rubbed your back to pacify you. Burying your face in the cushions, you tried to relax. Exhaling, your muscle went slack.

“Good girl,” He spoke so softly.

Repositioning you so your ass was perked up and your breasts laid on the couch, he lifted the shirt to look at your ass. Taking the first aid by your head, it uncapped with a pop.

Disinfectant permeated through the air. Your nose wrinkled. Whimpering, you tried to flinch back as the cold stung.

“You can take it.”

That didn’t reassure you at all. He swiped at the splits in your delicate flesh, digging into the bruising that was more than skin deep. He wiped the wounds a few more times. Happy with the disinfectant, he reached for the salve.

Cracking it open, he poured it directed on the flesh. You squirmed at the cold, thick liquid caking the bruises. Levi placed his hand on your back and lightly held you down. His other hand started to rub the medicine in. Heat crept up on your face as he pet your ass. It jiggled as he worked it in. This all felt a little too intimate for your liking.

Though, you let him care for you. Sagging further into him, you let your mind drift off into that blurry haze you were in last night. But, this time, it felt more safe.

Levi’s warmth left you as he shut the first aid kit and cleaned up his mess. Slipping his arm under you, he pushed you up so you were kneeling beside him. He gathered the used wipes and he went to lift himself up, but your grabbed onto his pants and clutch the fabric.

He lifts a brow at you.

You couldn’t speak and only shuffled closer. Levi shut his eyes with a big sigh. Curling his arm around your waist, he placed you on his lap, straddling his hips. Spreading his legs, he relieved any pressure on your ass. This had you slide further down until your crotches slotted together.

Beckoning you closer, you rested your head against his shoulder and nuzzled into the side of his neck. Surprisingly, Levi let you. He cradled you close as his hand stroked up and down your back. Tears bubbled up and wet the hem of his shirt.

“Are you going to tell me what you did or not?”

You only clutched onto him further. If he knew why Erwin punished you, this small piece of kindness would be ripped from your grasp. Here, you almost felt like a human again.

“Either way, it’s going to have to be dealt with when Erwin comes back so you might as well fess up.”

The mention of the larger man had you tense. You knew he would come home eventually, but you were terrified. He beat you until you bled and left you in the dark to rot. While Levi was the reason you needed out, desperately—he was your only lifeline.

That scary place fizzled in your brain, beckoning you to sink until you couldn’t breathe. Unknowingly, you started to hyperventilate again.

“Okay, okay,” Levi muttered, and started to pet your hair. “We will cross that bridge once we get there I guess.”

Trembling with curling fingers deep in the matter of his skirt, you tried to find solace in him. You can pretend jumping from the claws of lion into the open, hungry mouth of the wolf is safer. His teeth can suffice as an embrace.

Levi let you cling onto him for a lot longer than you thought before the itchy need to tidy set his priorities. You laid on your stomach on the couch, looking longingly out the window. The sound of tires crunching against gravel had you tense up after staring off.

From behind you, Levi put down whatever he was doing and made his way into the living room. You propped yourself up as you heard the front door opening and closing with unneeded force. Kneeling on the couch, you watched as Erwin passed into the threshold.

His eyes bounced to you and then at Levi who came closer with his arms crossed, combative.

“What the fuck happened?”

Erwin sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, “What do you mean, Levi?”

“Why the fuck did I find her bound, in the dark and blood caked on her ass and thighs, Erwin?” Levi’s voice rose.

You flinched back, scared and confused. Why did he seem upset for your well being? Levi had arguably done worse, but he looked almost offended by Erwin’s behavior.

Erwin crossed further into the living room, not looking at you. That icky feeling resurfaced of when Erwin didn’t acknowledged you and left you in that damn room.

He flippantly waves his hand, “Doesn’t matter. She will be sleeping with us from now on.”

Before Erwin could go anywhere, Levi gripped his upper arm like he would you. “You’re going to explain to me. Now.”

Erwin raised a brow at Levi’s hand, “Can I at least put my stuff down first?”

“Go right ahead,” Levi snarked and dropped his hold.

The large man went down the hall to his office and Levi stood there, fuming. At this point, neither of them were paying attention to you. You couldn’t help feeling like a little kid again. You sat on the couch, an observer.

Coming back, Levi was instantly on top of him. “What happened last night?”

Erwin crossed his arms, “It’s none of your concern. I handled it.”

“Handled it? She was inconsolable!”

You winced as he talked about you like you weren’t there.

Erwin stepped closer and loomed over Levi, “Why do you care?” There was an almost jealous twinge to his tone.

Levi wasn’t intimated by him and tilted his chin up to give the man a dead stare, “I care because I had to clean up your mess.”

Uncomfortable, you started to fiddle with your fingers. Erwin barked something that made you flinch, but your mind started to wonder. You seemed to shrink as the voices that clashed were now masculine and feminine. One of them more shrill than the other.

At this point, none of you could remember what started the fight, but it started to escalate. The voices only pitched in volume. Vaguely, you could make out your mother screaming, look at what you did to her!, followed by the crash of a glass she threw.

Your arms instinctively covered your head as the cup shattered and rained down in pretty glittering shards. You father advanced on her, yelling back, you could have hit her!

Clutching onto your head, you tugged on your hair. You willed the memory away. You were here, not there. Though your current situation wasn’t any better, at least you were no longer a cowering child.

Gritting your teeth, you shake off the grips of childhood remnants. Erwin and Levi were in the kitchen, continuing their argument. At this point, you stopped caring what they were saying. They were so engrossed in their own spat, you were nothing more than a forethought.

You glanced at doorway of the mudroom. You knew you couldn’t leave until you could saw the collar off, but you had to test something.

Placing your hands on the back of the couch, you stepped backwards with shaky legs. Peeling yourself from the cushions, not once did they leave your line of sight. Prowling like an animal sizing up a bigger predator, you side stepped across the floor.

“And whose fault is that?” Levi’s voice rung out as they went to the table.

You were completely out of their sights. Still toeing backwards, your hands gripped the frame of the mudroom. Stepping down, you glanced down to make sure not to trip on the welcome mat.

Your back hit the door. You waited.

There was no alarm, no shock to your collar. Reaching behind, your hand gripped the doorknob and slowly twisted it back and forth. No alarm, no shock.

A flimsy smile graced your lips.

Determined once more, you softly walked back in the living room, their voices starting to calm down. Like you were rewound, you resumed your position on the couch, watching.

Levi came back from where he and Erwin were. He seemed significantly more relaxed. Rounding the couch, he didn’t say anything while he lifted you up and carried you. You were too stunned to argue.

Erwin sat at the head of table, food laid out. Where you really that out of it you didn’t even notice dinner was made?

Gently, Levi sat you at the table. You flinched at the hardwood digging into your bruises. Erwin had the audacity to grimace at your pain.

Levi sits next to you and you side eye him. What the fuck is going on?

Erwin clears his throat, “I’m not going to apologize for punishing you.”

Your lip curled as you stared down your food. An ugly stew of emotions broiled in your gut.

“Erwin,” Levi started to scold. What the actual fuck.

Erwin raised his hand to stop Levi, “Let me continue. I won’t apologize for punishing you, but I can see that I went too far. I let my emotions get the better of me. That won’t happen again, I promise.”

Bitterness dripped from your tongue, “You say that now.”

Sadness swarmed Erwin as he reached for your hand, but you flinched back. A whimper fell out as you put more pressure on a particular cut.

“I just want us to be a happy family.”

You bristled. How dare he. You scoffed while you sarcastically asked, “If you're daddy does that make Levi mommy?” You spat out the word daddy.

A rough hand gripped your jaw and forced you to look at Levi. Ire bubbled up in his smokey irises, “Listen here, you little- don’t encourage her.”

Levi peered over you to Erwin who was stifling his laugh. He dropped his focus back on you and you met his gaze.

You continued on, “And what does that make me? The child or the dog?”

Levi gave you a look that screamed to shut up, but you were content with yourself. All humor left Erwin, his gaze burned into you. Dropping his hold, Levi let you meet Erwin head on.

“You are neither,” Erwin said after a long moment of silence. “You are ours, that’s what you are.”

So a possession. You would never been seen as an equal. You knew this, but him saying it out loud just cemented it. Staring down at your hands, you picked at your nails.

He could see you visibly wilt and tried to do some damage control, “Let’s get you to bed. It’s been a long day, for all of us.”

“I’ll meet you up there,” Levi said, reaching for your uneaten plate.

Erwin walked over to you. He grabbed your arms and turned you so he could lift you into his embrace. Wrapping your legs around his waist, he put his arm under your bum. You whined at the bruising being touched.

Cradling the back of your neck, he massaged the muscles while shushing you. Foreboding churned your stomach. You slightly bounced with each step Erwin took. Going past his office, he turned left instead of taking you to your room.

You completely forgot you were going to sleep with them now. Turning into the hallway you hadn’t went down yet, anxiety hit you as you never been upstairs. Not even when you were on better terms with them. You weren’t allowed and you didn’t want to cross the boundary. It felt too intimate and it still does.

At the end of the hall, Erwin pivoted again and started to ascend the stairs. At the top, he directed you both to the right, down a short hallway. He opened the door and you stared down the other hall before Erwin closed off your view.

When walking in, to the left was an walking in closet, the door left ajar. From the glance you saw suits all in Erwin’s size. This must be his room. Crossing further in to the right was a king sized bed against the wall, a side table on both sides. You were confused why he needed such a big bed and two tables.

Erwin placed you on the mattress. The sheets and bedding were a soft black. You winced when your wounds dragged against the fabric. Erwin looked apologetic.

“I will be back.”

He left to go to the door facing the right side of the bed. Inside was a large bathroom. You couldn’t see much from your limited view so you brought your attention to the rest of the room.

It had been in L-shape, the closet making it seem like a standard rectangle. To the left of you was a large window where the sunset streamed inside. Against the wall on the other end of the bed was an extravagant TV stand. One of those fancy ones where you can close the cabinet to hide away the TV. There were also shelves lined to the brim from what you could see were history books.

Erwin emerged from the bathroom, a first aid kit in hand.

“Lay on your stomach for me.”

You were still scared to be alone with him so you obeyed. Turning on your tummy, you tried not to flinch as Erwin’s weight dipped the bed. You laid slightly off center as Erwin walked on his knees and adjusted himself so he straddled your thighs.

Your heart dropped as he sat back. He rested most of his weight on his ankles so you weren’t crushed, but he was in a position that if he wanted he could slot his crotch against your ass if he leaned his full weight on you.

Flicking the kit open, he took the tube of ointment specifically for cuts. He flipped your shirt up and paused to see you weren’t wearing anything underneath and the sheer damage done to your skin.

Your back hunched as you tried to scrunch forward as his fingers traced his damage. Screwing the cap off, he delicately smeared the clear jelly over the various lesions over your ass. Pulling out band-aids, over the broken skin he used his thumbs to adhere them.

Grabbing a different tube, this medicine was more liquidity as he rubbed them against the bruises. His large hands encompassed your ass, stroking the skin until the lotion was soaked in. You hated how vulnerable you were. You hated how this is what you craved since he spanked you. The fear he was sick of you wriggled in, that you were going to be like all the other girls before you.

Your body went still when he bent over to kiss your exposed nape. His hands dragged upwards to grip your waist. He tickled the flesh his palms swallowed up. Stuttering quaked your chest. You stared at the open bathroom door, terrified.

“I shouldn’t have been so mean. It’s okay, we will keep this between us, right?”

You trembled, “You didn’t tell Levi why?”

Erwin smiled into your neck, “Can you imagine what he would have done if I did?”

You whimpered.

He shushed you as he explored more of your skin. “It will be our little secret. Don’t give me a reason to tell him.”

“Okay,” You nodded your head.

Erwin squeezed your ribs, “What was that?”

“Yes! Yes, daddy.”

“Good girl.”

He got up from you and grabbed the wrappers of the band-aids. They crinkled in his grasp. Putting away the other tubes, he closed the kit and left the bed.

Turning your head into the comforter, your breathing picked up in panic. Tears burned your waterline. Forcing your hands to your chest, you clutched your chest as you tried your best to suck in oxygen.

“What the fuck is up with her?” Levi’s voice cut through your spiraling.

Erwin entered the room with a shrug. “Must still be coming down from last night.”

Levi gave him a skeptical glower. He went over to you as Erwin went into the closet to grab pajamas. Keeping an eye on Erwin as he went to the bathroom, he helped you up from your laying position.

“Spit it out.”

You only shook your head. There was nothing he could do. There’s nothing he would do. Levi was just as bad Erwin.

Levi leaned down so you were eye level and squinted at you. Grabbing your cheeks, he didn’t let you break out of his trance. Those stormy irises danced across your face, sniffing out any hint. Not finding what he wanted, he released you with a push.

You were left alone on the giant bed as Levi went to the closet as well. Twisting your lip in confusion, Levi came out in his own set of pajamas, his dirty clothes in one hand, the other held a leash.

He passed by you to throw his clothes into the hamper in the bathroom. Coming back, leash in hand, he placed a knee on the bed. Shuffling closer, he kneeled in front of you as you curled in on yourself by the headboard.

Reaching behind you, he threaded the leash through one of the pillars of the headboard. Looping it through the handle, he pulled it until it was taut. Hooking his fingers through your collar, he tugged you up to present your neck.

He clipped the clasp through the loop of the collar. Bringing you closer, he breathed, “Don’t make me have to reinforce this as well. Don’t try to leave the bed either because I will know.”

“Okay,” You hiccuped.

“Good.”

Coaxing the blanket out from under you, Levi sat to the right of you. He brought it up to cover you both. You blinked in confusion. What?

Erwin came out of the bathroom as Levi bent over to grab a book on the bedside table. He also grabbed a part of readers. Levi needed glasses, too?

“All situated?”

Cracking open the book, Levi replied, “You can say that.”

Erwin chuckled as he went to the other side of the bed. You were squished in the middle of the two. Well, squished was an exaggeration as there was enough room to give you a few inches of space. Levi’s side more than Erwin’s since he was a very broad man.

They slept in the same bed?

You tried not to let your confusion show. What exactly was their relationship? You were baffled at the information laid out in front of you.

“You should lay down,” Erwin said.

Looking at him, you saw that his hair was down and covering his forehead. It made him seem younger.

Erwin took no offense to your non-response and guided you to rest your head on the pillow rather than your scrunched up position. The leash was lax enough to not tug on the collar, but its presence was unforgettable.

Reaching for his phone, Erwin scrolled through work emails, propped up against the pillows like Levi. His free hand discretely went under the blanket and rested on your tummy, his thumb stroking over the shirt.

You closed your eyes, and tried to fight the urge to vomit and impending doom of what Erwin’s lingering touches meant.

[bullet-prooflove]

Hotshot - Eddie Diaz x Reader (feat: Brad Torrance)

Tagging: @kmc1989 @gatefleet @mckinleysbones @totalstitchlover19 @angelofthetrenchcoats

Companion piece to:

Bang - Eddie's new year starts with a bang.

Lifetime (NSFW) - One night with you makes Eddie realise he wants a life time.

El Paso - Eddie is forced to make a decision that hurts you both.

Possibilities - Eddie thinks about what might have been.

Welcome Back - Eddie discovers the reason you've been out of contact.

Home - Eddie lays eyes on you for the first time in six months.

Chemistry (NSFW) - You and Eddie have always have good chemistry.

90% Of The Work - Eddie realises he needs to put the work in if he wants to maintain a relationship with you.

Eddie finds out about Brad Torrance when the actor turns up on your doorstep, with an enormous bouquet of flowers in his hand. Eddie looks at him and then Brad looks back, taking in the topless firefighter fresh from the shower you’ve just taken together.

“Ah,” he says as Eddie studies him with a frown. “No chance that you’re her brother?”

Eddie shakes his head because despite the fact the two of you haven’t put a label on the relationship he understands that you’re committed to one another. He would walk through fire for you, in fact he has more than once. What he doesn’t understand is what the lead character from Hotshots is doing here, apparently attempting to seduce you.

“She consulted for my show a few times when Bob was busy.” Brad says by way of explanation. “We had a thing before I returned to the UK for a role on West End. It was only a couple of nights but well… you know more than anything mate, she’s unforgettable.”

It takes Eddie a second to digest all of this. He’s been back in your life less than twenty four hours and it occurs to him he has absolutely no idea about anything you’ve gotten up to in your time apart.

“Level with me.” Brad says, his arm coming to rest on the doorframe as he leans in close to Eddie. “Was this just a one night thing, a two night thing-”

“It’s a forever thing.” Eddie asserts because he wants there to be no mistake about the role he has in your life. “I’m the man she was trying to get over when she got under you.”

“Oh, you’re Eddie.” Brad says knowingly. “I’d say it’s nice to meet you mate but obviously…”

It’s not because they’re both territorial men, and right now Brad is making a play for the most important person in Eddie’s life after Christopher.

“You gonna let her know her Hotshot is here?” Brad practically purrs at him. “Or should I come back later when she’s done with you?”

Eddie’s jaw clenches, there’s a taste of acid on his tongue as he grips the towel around his hips, dark eyes blazing.

“Selena.” He calls out, his voice bellowing through the house. “Your Hollywood reject is here.”

He hears your footsteps, light and delicate behind him. He glances over his shoulder to see your wrapped in a light cotton robe, your damp hair falling across your features.

“My what – oh!” You respond, your eyes coming to rest on Brad, noting the flowers in his hand. “What on earth-”

“Selena love!” The other man exclaims, his entire face lighting up and that’s when Eddie slips down the hall, busying himself with getting dressed.

This whole thing with you and Brad Torrance, it’s beyond surreal.

He’s sitting the at the kitchen table, drinking coffee and texting Buck when you step into the room with an exasperated expression on your face. He notes the lack of flowers, his lips pursing together into a smile as he says. “So you and Brad…”

“You’re not jealous are you?” You say and Eddie wraps his arm around your waist, drawing you down into his lap.

“I’m impressed.” He states, his thumb ghosting over the apple of your cheek as he looks into your eyes. “Although I’m not sure how I’m going to live up to a Hollywood Hotshot.”

“Why would I need a Hotshot?” You murmur, your lips brushing over his, your hands threading through his hair. “When I have the real thing right here.”

Love Eddie? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[exormilion]

vermilion tenderness

abby anderson/reader

word count: 4,144

summary: abby makes your endometriosis a bit more bearable. period comfort, non sexual nudity and intimacy.

note: i suffer a lot with my periods and decided to really write something endo-related cuz i think we deserve sum love and care <3 hope you like it :D

link to ao3

─୨ৎ────────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ─

You were used to it by now.

Okay, well, maybe ‘used’ wasn't the right word when you were curled in bed with tears in your eyes and head pounding while you curled your arms around your belly, desperate for relief, but you already knew how it went.

This agony never had an end, all you could do was survive through it.

When you first arrived at the WLF, you did your best to keep it down. You were weak, this place was all you had now and you tried your damn best not to seem useless, a waste of resource, pushing past limits that had you sobbing quietly into your pillow at night, trying not to bother your past roomate.

It all went down the drain when you passed out during patrol, the warm day piling up with the cramps and the dizziness and you just faceplanted the soft grass, the sudden silence weirdly comforting and when you finally opened your eyes, strong arms held you sitted and supported your head, a woman with beautiful light eyes and angelic dark blonde hair and-

“Abby?”, you ask, mortified, finally coming back to yourself. You barely talked to the woman, too intimidated by her build, fame and friends, the popularity around her name was enough to keep you away. Her eyebrows were furrowed, face tense as she scanned you for any bruise. Eyeing around, you were glad it was at least the two of you, the other people patrolling far enough not to hear or see your embarrassing moment.

“What happened? Are you okay?”, she looks at your face, putting her palm on your sweaty, strangely cold skin, “You’re pale, have you eaten?”

Yeah, you have. You just had to make a quick stop to throw up until you were dry retching before the patrol, the nausea so intense you were praying you wouldn’t vomit bile on the car, eyes strained to your boots as you clutched your gun to your chest, breathing through your mouth and swallowing thickly.

“No, i- It’s fine. I tripped. Sorry.”, muttering, you tried your best to get away from her grasp, dying from embarrassment. She respected that but stayed kneeled on the floor next to you, curious.

“Tripped? Yeah, sure. On grass.”, her eyes studied around for the colleagues, and after making sure you were still alone and safe, she took her backpack from her back and looked for something inside.

You just sat there, still dizzy, feeling your fingers tingling and vision splotchy. It wasn’t worth trying to stay composed, she found you dropped to the floor like a brick and the damage was alredy done.

You blink when she offers you something - a silver package, and you look up at her in confusion.

“Food. Take a bite, looks like you need it”, she nudges your hand with it, expectantly.

You felt like crying. Just the idea of eating made you want to vomit, but the care in the act was enough to make you hold it down. Nodding, you take the wrap, opening the sandwich and taking a piece of the bread with your hand, chewing almost painfully on the bite.

“Thanks”, you swallow, your upset stomach alredy churning but you did your beat to swallow another two pieces before giving it back to her, wrapped carefully. She didn't comment on your lack of enthusiasm about food.

“No problem”, she puts the sandwich inside her bag again, still curious about your state. “You sure you’re okay?”

You nod, fixing your backpack and taking your gun from where it was dropped, getting up slowly on shaky legs.

Able to walk again like a baby deer, you went back to patrol. You could feel Abby now following around and you couldn't even be mad about it - despite the embarrassment, it was somehow comforting to know that she would still look after you, even if you were pulling the team down.

The real shame would crawl inside your guts later, getting out of the truck. You both were the last to leave the trunk, Abby offering a hand to help with the big step and you could cry from how thankful you felt, the cramps down to your thighs and knees made the simple act seem like a mile run. Your feet hit the floor, you’re glad the truck ride is over, hands clutching your backpack strips anxiously.

“Oh, wait-”, she holds your wrist to hold you from leaving and told the other colleagues to go ahead as she wanted to talk to you. You were tired, in pain and now so anxious about the talk that you could faint all over again. “You… could have told me it was your period, you know? I know we barely talked, but i know it can be hard”

You swallow, face heating up. She looked shy about the topic and for someone her size she was extremely sensitive.

“How do you-”

Gasping, the awareness hits you. Did you leak? The uncomfortable warmth and stickiness between your legs couldn't have gone past the pad, right?

“Hey, it’s alright. Look, i can walk you to your room, i’m sure no one noticed it”, patting your shoulder gently, she nods her head, “It scared me, seing you unconscious like that. Come on, you could use some rest.”

The walk to your room was a bit awkward, Abby doing her best to shield the blood from behind your pants while you fidget with your thumbs till you were standing in front of your room, pondering what to do now.

“There you go. You should take a shower and rest for a bit”, another minute of silence follows before she speaks again, “Is it… always this bad? Your periods?”

“Yeah, it is”, Abby frowned at your answer. That wasn't normal, was it? “I’m used to it, it just gets worse from time to time”

“To the point you pass out?”

“Well, sometimes-”

“Have you talked to Nora?”

You haven’t, and you didn’t plan to - that was until Abby forced you to see the woman a few days after that talk, with a pang in her heart since you were still in terrible pain and bleeding but it would probably be for the better if Nora could see and understand how you were feeling.

Abby didn’t know why, but she was worried sick about you. When you first arrived, hurt, alone and nervously curled into yourself, she didn’t think much of it. She said a few words to you here and there, nothing that justified her need to take care of you but that was just how Abby was. She cared.

Nora asked you a feel questions, felt your bloated belly with the tips of her fingers (apologizing when you hissed and tensed but she wanted to understand the issue) while Abby sat on a stool by the exit of the closed tent, looking down at her hands respectfully but listening carefully.

“We don’t have much left about gynecology, the few books i managed to put my hands in wasn’t near enough…”, Nora helps you sit up on the gurney. She was pretty nice, you liked her - even if it was only because of Abby, not a lot of people validated your pain. “But there is this one condition called endometriosis and from what you’ve told me, it’s very fitting with your symptoms”

Abby perked up on her sit, looking curiously at her friend while she explained briefly how it worked. The conclusion made your shoulders sag and the blonde tense up.

“So there’s nothing to do about it?”, reluctantly she asked, sitting straight on the stool.

“There was never much study about it before the outbreak, so nothing is clear… i’m sorry”, Nora squeezes your shoulder, sighing. “The best you can do is always try to eat a bit to help with the dizziness, even when you’re nauseous, and stay hydrated. I mean very hydrated, as much as you can, you lose too much blood and throwing up as well… not good”

Great. Now that was a way of living.

“And”, she walks to her desk and takes a heavy green bag, preparing to leave. Nora never stayed at the same place for more than ten minutes - it was not easy to be a medic, “I’ll try to separate some meds and hygiene products that arrive to this wing when i can. It’s the best i can do. Sorry, i have to go, need to tend some guys that found a group of scars on patrol. Take care.”

She gave you a small smile and a nod, moving to the door. You heard her mutter a ‘look after her, hm?’ to Abby before disappearing from the medical tent, leaving behind your disappointed and tired self and the buff woman sitting awkwardly on the stool.

Chewing on the inside of your cheek, you kick your feet from where you where sitting on the gurney, getting up with a grunt. You look at Abby who got up as stepped closer and your tongue worked before you could think about it.

“Why… exactly are you doing this? You don’t have to waste your time, i won’t hold you guys behind”, eyes finding the floor when you notice her approach, you almost jump out of your skin when her rough palm finds your forearm, trying to get your attention.

“That’s not what i worry about, i’m worried about you”, that makes you huff and glare at her.

“Why would you worry about me?”, you laugh, rubbing your eyes. You were in so much pain that your thoughts were cloudy and you just wanted to scream and cry and turn into a little ball. “I just got here a few months ago, you barely know me… what do you want from me?”

She took your wrists in her hands, holding your hand away from your face so she could look right into your eyes when she talked to you.

“I don’t want anything, i just want you to feel a little better. That’s all.” her cheeks got a cute shade of pink as she thought about her words “I told you before, but i got really worried when i saw you passed out on patrol that day. I’m sorry if it’s making you uncomfortable, it wasn't my intention to suffocate you, i just… i can’t shake this feeling off”

Two weeks after that, you pulled her into a kiss.

She was teaching you how to shoot - you knew your way with a pistol, but bigger guns were still a work in progress and Abby was happy to give you a bit of her knowledge when period was over and the cramps lingering wasn’t nearly as bad as before.

Shotguns were scary, you quickly find out, the earmuffs did nothing to cover up the sound and by the time Abby put the thing in your hands, you could hear a ringing noise echoing.

“... got it?”

You didn’t, but you weren’t weak.

Holding the gun up like she did - or almost, as she brought one hand to your scapula and the other to your elbow, the booth tiny enough that she was almost pressed to you. Even with the earmuffs, you felt her voice deep in your ears.

“There we go. Keep your stance firm and you’re good.”

“Okay…”

You were definitely not as firm as you should, distracted by her. The recoil made the gun slam on your shoulder and almost hit your face, nothing much happened but the scare made you let out a yelp and widen your eyes.

“You okay?”, she laughed but eyed you with concern, taking off her earmuffs. “Recoil is the worst part, but you did well.”

The gun was put on the little desk as well as both earmuffs, you lean your hips against it to look at her, heart still strong on your chest.

“M good, just scared me. Should probably stick to a pistol till i get the grip, though”, you laughed too.

The smell of gunpowder was grounding, Abby smelled like gunpowder most of the time and you got used to it pretty quickly.

You got used to Abby pretty quickly - not only that but the hope of spending time with her lingered, specially when she checked on you everyday, asking about your pain and bringing you food when you felt bad enough not to go to the cafeteria. No one has ever shown this amount of care for you.

“You’ll learn quick, you’re doing well”, she walked closer to you on the table to unload the gun, your eyes attentive to her experienced hands as she did.

She was so kind to you. You wondered what you have done to possibly deserve a woman like that willingly wanting to make you feel better and caring for you, it made your heart clench on your chest.

“Mhm, i have a great professor”, tilting your head to the side, you notice how her hands falter on the gun and a stupid little smile finds her lips. She glances at you, something you didn’t know shining in her eyes.

“Oh? Should i be concerned about this professor of yours taking my teaching spot?”

Fuck.

“Hmmm, dunno. She’s really great…”

She completely abandoned the gun, crossing her arms over her chest with her head tilted as she stared into your face. Her forearms looked specially beefy and veiny when she did so, her usual thank top leaving nothing to imagination.

“I’ll go after this teacher of yous, tell her to be careful… no one steals my student like that”

You know what? Fuck this.

Wasn’t worth overthinking about this, specially not when Abby’s lips were so incredibly soft and her big body fit so comfortably against yours, her arms hugging you closer and making you feel tiny and safe. You weren’t able to spend a single day without her lips after that.

But that was months ago, and now you were sad and lonely and in indescribable pain inside yours and Abby’s room, a few desolated tears running down your face.

Your gut was telling you about something being off for a few days, but you were almost always in pain so it didn’t mean much until you woke up in the middle of the night in unbearable pain and raw red blood almost pooling under you. Abby woke with your movements and let out a compassionate hiss, arms dropping from your waist as she got up to help you to the bathroom. She was a blessed human.

Now, hours later, the bloodied sheets were gone, a washed out green one taking its place and the matress stained. Abby had to leave you to do something with someone - you didn’t know, you were so deep in pain when she talked that you just stared at her pretty face and nodded until she left with a kiss on the tip of your nose and another on your lips, saying she’d be back soon and wishing you better.

Not able to do anything but sulk, you stayed there. You got up twice the whole day, both to go to the bathroom and change the overfilling pads and pee painfully, quickly back to the cocoon on the bed and miraculously falling asleep.

It was restless and deep, somehow. You woke up feeling like you were ran over but the sun was alredy setting in the distance so it was a very long nap, enough for Abby to be back and sat by the end of the bed with a book in hand, the other gently gripping at your foot as she read.

Always the physical contact lover.

“Hey”, your voice was hoarse, breaking. She immediately closed the book and scooched closer to your head, laying next to you to put her face closer to yours.

“Hey, baby”, the kiss she gave your forehead felt almost healing, but maybe that was just her presence. “Still that bad?”

“Yeah, not good”, rasping out, you bury your face on her chest. She showered, smelled clean and so Abby, and you wished you could’ve showered with her. “Could've woken me… when you got back”

“You looked so tired even in your sleep, didn’t have the heart to bother your rest”, her arms wrapped around you, one of her hands slipping under your shirt to rub your lower back. It was a bad cramping spot but her hands always soothed you, even if just a tiny bit.

“Hm, but i wanna be with you…”

“I’m with you now, baby. Don’t worry”, she cooed, pressing you closer to her chest. “Did you eat anything today?”

The answer was a shake of your head. She expected that and didn’t pry, instead putting you delicately back in bed (she had to kiss you a few times and whisper against your mouth that she was not leaving and just needed to get something until you released her shirt) and finding her bag on the couch. You looked at her with half lidded eyes, a déja-vu hitting you when she took a wrapping and walked back to bed, sitting on the edge.

“Abby”, you whine, turning to the other side and pulling the comforter to your ears, “Don’t wanna eat, i’ll just throw it all up. It’s useless.”

Always so patient with you, she pulled the comforter down, getting your ear between her thumb and pointer and squeezing just a bit.

“I know you get sick, baby. I’ll never understand how it feels but i see how bad it gets and i hate seeing you like that. I’d never do this if it wasn’t for your own good.”, she cupped your cheek and turned your face in her direction, caressing your skin, “But the more you stay without eating the sicker you’ll get, and you can’t go without food forever. Please, just a bite? Just one?”

You hate her stupid puppy eyes and how they always work.

With her help, you sit up in bed. She moves to stay behind you and pulls your back against her chest, not minding your disgustingly sweaty shirt and clammy skin.

“I don’t wanna eat”, your murmur was almost tearful as you watched her open the burrito wrap, turning your face away against her arm to get away from the smell.

“Baby”, she cups your face with her free hand to look at you from an awkward angle thanks to the position you both sat on, concerned eyes finding yours with care. “Hey. I promise i won’t make you eat more than one bite, but you need to have a little something to eat today. I can’t even give you any meds if your stomach is this empty, ‘s not good for you.”

You held your breath while you chewed the damn thing to hide the taste and swallowed hard. You pushed the wrap back into her hand and sighed, gripping her thigh with discomfort.

“Hate this.”

“I know, baby, i hate it too”, she pecked your shoulder, leaving the food somewhere behind her on the bed. “What do you think about a warm shower?”

“Sounds heavenly, actually”, leaning your head back against her shoulder when you were sure the food wasn’t coming up again, you look at her through your lashes. “I know you already showered but can you help me?”

“Of course i can”, she gets up and takes you in her arms, one hand behind your knees and the other on your lower back, the walk to the bathroom was nothing to her while she held your weight.

“You didn’t have to carry me, you know”, you laugh, kissing her cheek before she put you sat on the toilet lid.

“I wanted to”, booped your nose, stretching her arm inside the shower to turn the hot water on. “Isn’t that the whole reason i work out? To carry my girlfriend anywhere she needs me to?”

“Mhm, that’s right. Work it, Anderson”

She helped you undress, your hand never leaving her shoulder since your dizziness has been a pain in the ass. Abby was completely unbothered by your blood and all the disgusting things surrounding this - she loved taking care of you, this would never be enough to push her away. Taking advantage of the fact she was crouched in front of you, a gentle kiss was given to your bloated lower belly, right under your bellybutton.

“I saw the dogs today. Helped Mel with the cleaning, Bear licked my entire face”, she got up and kicked her own clothes off. Her hands were gentle when she tied your hair away from your face and neck, not wanting to get it wet as it was already pretty late. By the time you had the spray of hot water on your back, blood dripped down your legs, turning the puddle under your feet a nasty orange color. She didn’t care, just found the soap and started washing your body. “Alice was Alice, always with that purple octopus she likes so much. They are just like little kids.”

“I love them so much”, you sigh, dropping your forehead on her shoulder. Being skin to skin with Abby made everything better - she was always so warm, so incredibly soft despite the muscles. You wish you could turn smaller to curl into a little ball and sleep on her tummy, like a cat.

“I love you”, her hands bring soap to your neck, rubbing the tender spots with the tips of fingers.

“Love you more”

She washed every inch of your skin with extreme care. Under your arms, your chest, belly, legs and feet, between your legs and, lastly, your face. She gathered soap on the tip of her fingers and massaged your cheeks, mindful of your eyes, your arms hugging her waist while she did so.

“Skin is so soft”, mutters her loving voice, brushing the bubbles from your face with her wet hand. She didn’t shower again, having undressed only to keep her clothes dry, working quick for a fast but calming shower, aware of the fact you only needed the bed and rest in moments like this.

Making sure you were stabilized and snuggled up with a towel, she left the bathroom just for a minute to look for a pair of panties. You’d both normally sleep naked with every inch of skin glued together - why she didn’t dress up again -, so your only coverage was the underwear with the pad safely stuck inside (bless Nora for actually saving a few for you) that Abby pulled carefully up your legs.

“Thanks, Abs. For all of this”, you put your towel back on the hook, suddenly fatigued all over again.

“Don’t thank me, baby. You know I love being able to take care of you”

Then you found yourself in bed again, heavy covers over your body and tangled with Abby. You laid on your belly (somehow, the pressure of the mattress on your belly helped a lot), Abby cuddled to your side with her cheek pressed on your shoulder and her arm resting on your lower back, caressing the skin from the side of your body with her rough fingers.

Always warm, always gentle. You never got tired of surprising yourself with how soft she could be.

You could feel her breast pressed against your arm and back, deep breathing pressing it harder into your skin and her heartbeat was strong, just like her heart. Selfless, big, pulsing hard inside that body but not for her own sake, never just that.

You turn to your side, getting face to face with her. Your whole body ached, the cramps were slowly creeping up your spine but nothing seemed as bad when her beautifully shiny eyes stared at you like you were the sun, even when you were in pain and insufferable.

One of your hands finds that little spot in the middle of her chest, feeling her heart in your palm. You wished you could cradle her pretty heart in your arms and tend to every little pain caused to it.

“Really, Abigail. I love you so, so much. Thank you for always taking care of me.”

And her smile. The way her cheeks went up and her cute little freckles moved with her skin, a little more apparent thanks to the summer sun, her eyes just a little squinted and always looking at you, her pouty lips pulled into the most beautiful and warm smile to ever exist.

The menstrual hormones were killing you. You wanted to bawl your eyes out every time you looked at your own girlfriend.

“There is nothing in this world I would rather do instead of taking care of you, baby. I love you more than anything and it means everything to me”, she kisses your lips, softly, and pulls you closer. “Now rest. Let’s sleep a bit of this pain away.”

[themareverine]

For your From Mare with Love may I request a Van Helsing story where the reader is the latest unfortunate victim of a priest who believes any woman who he is attracted to has to be a witch because he is so pious. She was born with a gift which ties her to nature so it was easier for the priest to make his claims. Van Helsing saves her and she ends up joining him and helping him in the future

— My Bed in Hell

Gabriel Van Helsing x fem!reader tags: mentions of time travel, mentions of religious persecution and divine intervention, me being absolutely way too indulgent with the religious themes of this character, fluff, a hot kiss, lol. a/n: thank you so much for challenging me with Gabe! I played around with your ask just a little and tried to incorporate some of the the Church thinks she's a witch themes you suggested. Hopefully you enjoy it — for my first GVH fic, I rather like it!

☆ ── 💌FROM MARE WITH LOVE

If I make my bed in hell, behold, You are there.

Familiar sprays of light from a high moon paint the forest in a menagerie of shadows. A free canopy of green overhead veils any trace of low stars that threaten to fall, trees of every kind stand quiet – sentinels to deep secrets lingering within the thick darkness.

Occasional breeze kicks up the song of rustling branches, the forest floors' energy moves with the scant presence of creatures venturing out for their own breed of social hour. 

The loudest sound is the heavy weight of his horse entering the quiet scene of forest with every step, the stillness ripped away with every one of the steed’s sharp breaths.

The air is chilled. Every hot breath is noticed, the animal’s heartbeat almost tangible deep in his chest as he pulls up to a brisk top, head pulled back on the sharp bit against his teeth. 

Gabriel’s hand is hard on the reins as his eyes cast through the small clearing of the wood — it’s a decent fortress of limbs and foliage, thin and thick varieties of tree making it nearly impassible, at first blush.

Mostly dark save the chiaroscuro of light falling through the canopy of leaves, it would serve well for the respite they needed. 

A few hours of sleep would do everyone good, he can feel the brash exhaustion of the animal in his hands, his temper on blade’s edge with every shift of the animal’s weight. Himself, he can barely manage the ache of a headache spearing through his temple—even in the low light of the moon, everything is painfully white-hot. 

Her head lolls against his shoulder lifts when his tongue tsks the animal to a still, Gabriel’s hand falling to hers wrapped around his middle.

Able to feel the shift of her eyes, the kick of her heartbeat is all but tangible against his back as she considers the small forest clearing —fear.

It jumps like a cat into her blood, thick. Tart. 

Giving her hands a light squeeze, he rests his hand against the horn of the saddle.

“This will do until the morning,” he gestures around the clearing, nodding to the thick willow’s low branches, “I don’t believe anyone will pursue the depth of the forest at this hour. We should be safe.”

Even though he’s spoken with surety, he can feel her bristle at the lack of confidence of his verbiage.

“Should be?” Settling softly behind him, she angles her head around his frame to offer a suspicious look. “Oh, that’s reassuring—either we are, or we aren’t, I don’t do the entire vague, in-between-the-sheets thing.”

It takes all the strength he possesses not to laugh at her way with words — it’s certainly odd, how she speaks. So loose and free, as if there isn’t a bone of hesitation in her entire body. 

Her breath is heavy as it slips from her, her tone taking to a quiet Gabriel didn’t expect.

“I don’t hear the dogs anymore. Maybe they are gone.” Gabriel can hear her swallow the break in her voice, the tremble of her words low against his back.

His chuckle is light, placating. 

“Precisely,” a wry smile as he pats her hands, still bunched around his waist. “Hold fast, I’ll assist you off.” 

Swinging out of the saddle, he adjusts the reins in his hand and offers his other to her. Considering it for a moment, she slips her hand into his and angles to slip off the animal, using him as a counterbalance. Her feet find the forest beneath them, her warmth assaulting at so close a distance. 

Her radiant scent is sharp beneath his nose, hanging there like the low fruit of Eve. It’s a sweet floral he’s never before smelled in his time, but that was tracking — nothing about her was usual.

By her own admittance, by Christ Himself she swore, she was not from here. Not in a sense of residency within city lines or territories, never so simply — she was not from this time, this age.

From beyond the stars, beyond the sensical. 

Standing there in the rain, weeks before — in the long shadows of the Church’s persecutions, she’d confessed, seeking redemption. Compassion, maybe even sense.

As if he were a priest, a man worthy of such a view of the heart. 

His own demons haunted him, licked at the secrets entombed within the very marrow of his bones — but she’d spoken to him like an equal. A friend. Not a martyr or a demon, not an outcast.

She’d seen someone worthy of revelation, there in the rain, of the childlike innocence she carried between each word, every confession.

A lily among valley thorns, certainly — a lamb among wolves. 

They called her a witch, to be burned at stakes unforgiving. But in its place he saw revelation, a bold light given by the grace of heaven — very few things were in between heaven and hell, but she was one of them.

Perhaps the only thing.

For uncountable lifetimes he’d been born in hell, racing in and out of darkness. And through such peril, there had been the promise – hope. Faith. That things would change.

Evidence of things he did not see, merely felt. 

And here she was.

If I make my bed in hell, behold, You are there —

Certainly, Master. And You have sent someone to deliver me from such eternal struggle, such lostness.

It had only taken lifetimes, but — Providence.

Always Providence. 

If he weren’t a man of the impossible himself, it would still be difficult to deny – her story, that is. It was no small wonder, the perception of her as a witch. From personal experience he knew the Church feared what it did not understand, despite the order of God Himself. People were a fickle thing, certainly, prone to their own misgivings and terrors. 

And claiming to pass through time, casting out the demonic, predicting things about the world – terrors indeed. 

Her hand lingering against his chest is almost inferno, burning like the pits of hell he’d so often envisioned in his nightmares. But nothing about her was devastating, save perhaps her beauty—such loveliness.

A rare and almost visceral kind of beauty that, on occasion in their short acquaintence, left him breathless. Choking on everything and nothing, unable to think past the ache in the low of his gut, the throb of heat in places only confessed to God. 

Each passing minute at her side was wild. Unpredictable to a fault. He’d learned things one could only ever dream. 

Her hand pulls away and it empties him of any courage. Eve in all her radiance could not have compared, as she moves to run fingers through the animal’s mane, brush noses with the stallion's snorting, lathered nose.

Even in the shadows of the thick night, her smile to the horse is brilliant, enough to leave him agog, chest hollow. 

Managing a rough cough, he pats the animal’s thick neck reassuringly, draping reins over the saddle. Retrieving his pack, Gabriel guides the stallion to one of the small trees.

Tying off the reins securely, he gestures for her to come with a wave of his hand, ducking low under the fronds of the Goliath willow. 

Like a veil, he parts its foliage with his hand and beckons her with a crooked finger.

“We’ll rest here until morning,” dropping to a knee, he beds down the floor of the forest for them, “I will keep watch -- keep away those things that creep along in the night," his lighthearted chuckle rousts a warmth in his chest he finds amusing, but a glance her direction cuts him dry.

Even in the shadows of the willow, he watches her expression change.

“You’re not resting?” Concern floods her expression, stirring the depth of his belly.

“No,” he challenges firmly, settling in against the base of the tree. “One of us should stay awake to keep watch — you never know what lingers in the thick wood.” A quicksilver smile, as he cards his gloved fingers through his hair.

Sighing deeply, Gabriel gestures to the spot beside him. Her eyes move from considering him to his suggestion, before cutting back to the smile teasing the corner of his mouth.

Ah, yes. Her honor. “No harm comes to you, surely you know this. You have my word.” Hand against his breast, his lips curl in another quick, coy grin.

“Mhm. Convinced of it, I'm sure.” Everything about her tone suggests otherwise, pulls a chuckle from him.

A sharp breath pops between her lips, and she moves to sit beside him, wrapping the thick wool of his riding cloak around her. 

He feels her fall against the strength of the tree, her deep breaths coming more steadily as her heart begins to settle. 

Minutes pass between them as the forest accepts their presence, returning to its tranquil state of living in the night — the occasional buzz of an insect, the faraway snap of wood high in the trees.

Intrusive sound in the small clearing is reserved only for the horse, who investigates his tie with a snort, and their breathing. 

Crossing a foot over the other, he bristles a little when her weight shifts to lean against his arm.

“Gabe?" The sure strength of her voice is quiet, now, lost in the growing darkness of the woods beyond their haven — her hand moves to rest against the front of his coat, he can feel her playing with the stitching in a way that is not offensive. 

Before he knows it, his arm lifts to allow her ever closer. “Hm?” 

Her head angles to peer up at him as she settles in, a soft look about her eyes more dazzling than any star he’d seen overhead.

Alive for lifetimes, he’d rarely ever witnessed such beautiful things so close at hand — the cosmos, only ever. 

Captivated, he gently lifts her chin up and back, considering the plush curve of her mouth — how she fits so divinely at his side, unlike any other woman alive.

His tongue burns with the desire to taste her, he can barely think past the racing blood galloping in his ears. He can feel her pulse hammering just in the light touch of his fingers, more of a permission than most men required. 

Her fingers curl into the front of his shirt, roughly in a way that sends him spinning—a state Gabriel Van Helsing rarely, if ever, feels.

“Thank you, for everything,” her gaze becomes low beneath her fan of lashes, soft features nearly glowing in whatever light the moon lends, “I’m—I’m scared, Gabe. But without you, I’d—” 

The corner of his mouth lifts, amused. He knows how difficult this is. But it isn’t necessary, it never will be.

Nothing has to be so complicated when it, instead, is so beautiful. 

“I know,” pulling her a little closer, his hand gently pulls through her hair, eyes wandering the lines of her features. How the Church could deny such a thing he’d never understand—purely angelic. Wholly divine.

Fully his, “There’s little to fear, darling — I am here, by the hand of God. Even in hell.”

His tongue skates his bottom lip, easing into the idea of her heart thrumming like a scared rabbit against his ribs.

“You needn’t worry about a thing.” 

The soft inhale of breath, when his mouth slants against hers. Her pulse gallops as she folds against his chest, clinging to his clothes like they are lines of life — her mouth parts him for like she’s viewing the world for the first time.

Forbidden fruit, he swallows her moan with a sweep of his tongue. Hard, hungry, he steals from her every breath, every skip of her heart as she melds into his hand, pliable. 

Divinity is in the way she feels, he thinks — the design of God, the holiness of innocence. 

If I make my bed in hell, behold, You are there. 

@sidkneeeee

@thevoicefromanotherworld

@misscrissfemmefatale

@eternallyfrustratedwriter

@permanentlyexhaustedpigeon88

@laaadygisbooornex3

@itsafullmoon

@kmc1989

@steviebbboi

@matronmothercrone

[raayllum]

Aaravos' Treachery: A Secret Third Thing

Because we still don't know what the Archdragons believed he betrayed them over, and I wanna talk about it. Let's go!

Aaravos' Crimes

So Aaravos has a lot of crimes in arc 2. In arc 1, he'd mostly been contained to felling Lux Aurea / corrupting the Sun Forge and helping to orchestrate a war, but arc 2 really rounds out his roster. We get canon confirmation he gave humans dark magic (4x07, 7x07), he burns Katolis to the ground, kills dozens of people either directly or indirectly, manipulates and lies to people, admits to cannibalism, aids in filicide, inverts the Moon Nexus and tries to permanently corrupt the Sun. Because it's all just another wipe out Wednesday to him, I guess.

However, we still don't arguably know what his most important crime is, which is what Zubeia calls his treachery. In fact, we know a lot more about what doesn't fall under that umbrella, so let's start first with what we know the Archdragons (minus Sol Regem) knew, and imprisoned him over.

4x04 Lore Dump

And yes, he was a Star. A startouch elf, one of the Great Ones, respected and loved by all until we uncovered long-hidden treachery. Hundreds of years ago, before Avizandum was King of the Dragons, the Dragon Queen Luna Tenebris mysteriously died. Luna lacked a suitable heir, and the Archdragons fought bitterly over who should ascend in her place. As the conflict swirled and escalated towards inevitable violence, the great leader of the Sunfire elves, Queen Aditi, stepped in to broker peace. The Archdragons trusted this wise and kind leader and agreed to abide by whatsoever she decided. But before she could bring peace to the world, Queen Aditi went missing. Chaos and confusion erupted, and war threatened to tear Xadia apart as now the elves suspect the dragons had killed their queen. But truth came from an unexpected source. A young human girl uncovered a great secret of history. A dangerous deceiver was revealed.

For a thousand years, Aaravos had been pulling invisible strings like a puppet master. Every great crisis the world faced seemed the work of some ingenious and powerful leader, but in each case it was secretly Aaravos, whispering in their ear.

The implicit messaging we also get is that Aaravos had primarily been manipulating humans, as we've only seen him directly whisper in the ears of humans and human leaders. That the Great Treachery cannot be that 1) Aaravos was likely involved in killing Luna Tenebris and 2) that he'd eaten/killed Aditi because as of the end of S7, the Archdragons still don't know these things. So if the Great Treachery had to do with humanity... why would the Archdragons care, especially when pre-Orphan Queen, humans had certainly never helped them before.

Well, 7x03 sheds some significant light on the topic.

The Mage Wars

A thousand years ago, humans were entirely expelled from the east and send on-masse to the west (1x01). The known treachery that the Archdragons discovered also spans a thousand years, aka everything post-exile. This matches up pretty perfectly timeline wise with what Aanya says in 7x03:

The West wasn't barren at all. Before the Mage Wars, the land was the same as all of Xadia, full of life, full of riches, full of magic. In the new lands, the humans who rose to power were those who knew how to its magic. The mages became warlords. The mage warlords waged bitter, bloody battles for control of the lands they claimed. Their armies scoured the land for magic and bled it dry, and they hunted the magical creatures to extinction. When one mage rose to power, another was quick to dethrone them.

The wars only stopped when there was nothing left to fight for. All the magical resources were consumed or destroyed, and magic all but disappeared from the West.

So the 1000 year timeline — the 'beginning' of Aaravos' treachery according to the Archdragons (even if we know it likely goes back even further) — lines up with the expulsion and the beginning of the Mage Wars in Xadia, which seemingly lasted centuries. If it lasted for 700 years, it'd us to the Orphan Queen, who would've grown up in the violence and possibly established Katolis having a hereditary monarchy (Harrow and Ezran's royal line) over the mage warlord system.

We also know thanks to 7x03 that the Staff of Ziard indicated power and passed from hand to hand in the violence. And we know thanks to 4x03 that Ibis and the Archdragons know something about the staff as well, as Ibis says things like, "I'm going to destroy it before it can do anymore harm," and "if you wish to return that staff to its true owner, you pose a greater danger to this world than I can allow."

I'm afraid this can only mean one thing.

I think most of us probably surmised that part of what was revealed to the Archdragons, though, was likely dark magic. It's something we know most Xadians to feel very negatively about, and had already wrecked havoc on Xadia historically pre-exile. We can also see that 4x04 and 3x01 ("It was a gift from one of the Great Ones") just with the Staff alone paints a pretty clear picture that this is what they learned. But I sat here like if this was all they learned, why not just say so? Feels like it'd be pretty easy to quickly communicate.

So there had to be something else, and I think that's

Aaravos was Encouraging Humanity to Attack Xadia

When we cut to the collection of human leaders, they've taken shape to resemble the Pentarchy formation. However, all their markers are entirely put on the Xadian side of the border, not the human side.

We also know that the Mage Warlords would have an incentive to go where there was magic. They'd consumed everything on their side of the continent, but the East still had plenty. Xadia was already weakened at this point too, thanks to infighting amongst the elves and Archdragons, and no clear appointed dragon monarch. It would've been ripe for the picking. Aaravos could've brought humanity together against their common enemy, stating that if they united their armies, they could take Xadia successfully (which would also make the archdragon killing spell make a lot more sense).

If not for Avizandum, maybe, which would also explain why he was chosen to be the new dragon monarch as opposed to any of the others.

That was always his favourite sport: stomping on ants and calling himself a conqueror. [...] Protect Xadia? Ha! Avizandum wants an endless war. He loves to provoke and destroy human armies, it makes him feel big and powerful.

defending the border alongside an army of elves in the 1x01 intro against an army of joint humans, in a place (the lava border) that looks exceedingly similar to the Mage Wars background. Hm.

As of S3, Xadia was likewise weakened: Avizandum was dead, Zubeia was sick and dying, Domina and Rex had retreated to their domains. Aaravos then found himself a human mage he could make a king and then turned Viren into a warlord, leading 4/5 human armies on war against their shared enemies.

And now, as of S7, Xadia finds itself in a similarly weakened state, with the Archdragons flat out gone, and little Zym set to inherit the monarchy. If Aanya's brother turns against her, wielding Project Sun Ruby rather than just dark magic to go to war against Xadia... History would be repeating itself. Again. (Cause the Cycle is going to cycle, am I right?)

Getting humanity into the place, mindset, and power in which to launch a full scale invasion would definitely count as betrayal to the Archdragons no matter which way it was sliced, after all. Depending on what the Orphan Queen discerned from the cube — its link to Elarion could've been it (+ the staff), even if she didn't find the book itself or hide it there — it might've been enough to worry her that the violence unfolding in the west would take the east, and she went to the warn them. Luckily they listened and managed to trap Aaravos, with the Orphan Queen stepping in to lead Katolis and dismantle the war effort from the other side of things, since Katolis is the largest kingdom and holds the border.

"Confusion and chaos erupted.... the first step in the long slow spiral to chaos."

None of this answers why, exactly, Aaravos wanted to conquer Xadia — or why he's wanted to at any real point, in terms of it tangibly helping him against the Cosmic Council — but I do think it's likely that this is why and what the Archdragons consider his hidden treachery to be, and why it concerned them so.

As always, thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed.

[lilithschosen]

Your honor, Rio getting a plug + getting strapped + edging, your honor please 🙏

anon these honorifics i swear, you're just tryna get on my good side (and it's working)

"wait LC it's 8am and you wrote something?" damn right, freaks. here's some edging with your morning coffee 🥰

Agatha's fingers grab at Rio's scalp as she gently turns her head to watch over her shoulder. She gasps, hips jutting back as she sees the dark blue silicone plug in Agatha's hand.

Agatha has her lying on her stomach, legs spread as far as possible, and a pillow under her hips. She would've grabbed the wedge pillow after the two managed to fumble through the house and into the bedroom, but opted for a slight elevation versus the drastic one.

"I wanna see how much you can take, is that okay?"

"Please, god, yes."

Agatha chuckles, the sound going directly to Rio's core. She runs the tip of the tapered silicone toy up her slit, gathering the wetness from the hour of teasing the both of them did to one another. Agatha watches as the toy glistens under the soft, warm light of their bedroom. She lifts the plug up, pressing the tip with enough force it slips past the tight muscle ring of Rio's other hole.

"Please, Agatha," she whines breathily. She grinds her hips into the pillow, clit dragging deliciously against the pillow case as she moans. "Fill every hole, make me feel nothing but you."

The plug wasn't thick, her gathered arousal was more than enough to help fit it into her. Agatha forces it through until the flared base rests comfortably between the globes of Rio's ass.

Agatha lifts onto her knees, scooting forward with her hand at the base of her harness. She guides the strap to Rio's pussy, rubbing at her clit with the tip of it. Rio cries out, grinding harder against the pillow.

"Sit still for me, baby," Agatha's fingers dig into Rio's hip to steady her. "Can't fuck you if you keep moving."

Rio whimpers, her walls clenching around nothing despite her ass being deliciously full. Agatha drags the head of the toy through her folds before she tucks the tip into her cunt.

"Oh god, yes!"

Agatha purses her lips, "You know my name, hon. It ain't god."

She sheathes the silicone cock into Rio, the harness pressing into the flared base of the plug as she leans in fully to make sure Rio has every inch of her. Rio reaches back with a hand, nails leaving crescent shaped indents into Agatha's wrist.

Rio rocks back, holes filled with toys and clit continuously grinding against the pillow beneath her. She doesn't wait for Agatha to set the tone and instead bounces on the toy.

Agatha's nose crinkles as she watches the toy rapidly become devoured by Rio's needy core. She simply lets her fuck herself on her strap until she watches Rio's movements grow erratic. Her hips lift heavier and slower, her palms press into the mattress as she grinds down into the pillow. Her jaw drops, just on the edge of an orgasm when Agatha drills her hips forward, pinning her into the bed.

"That's one."

Rio groans as the impending orgasm dissolves partially. Her clit throbs, her walls clench around the toy and she keeps herself deadly still.

"How many times do you think I can edge you before you forget how to speak?"

Rio barely could speak now, the number wouldn't be that high. She's desperate for release after the first lack of an orgasm.

Agatha drums her fingers against the flared base of the plug before she twists at it. Rio shouts, mushing her face into the blankets as she aches.

"If you get to five I'll let you cum," Agatha thrusts the strap in again, punctuating the last word. "Maybe."

[aureat-melodies]

Blurb of a fanfic I’m writing, the first breakthrough in Viktors pov:

They break into the professors lab. Its a stressful, reckless endevor, one Viktor is sure Jayce has never been through before. But, Viktor would not be where he is now if not for a bit of recklessness, a bit of stress. He wasn't even an academy student to begin with. Just an Undercity kid with a sewn uniform. So, really, this is nothing.

Jayce, though, is freaking out. There's yelling. They break a window. Overall, Viktor is having the time of his life. He shoves his cane through the door when they hear people pounding on it. "They're almost through," he calls out, "no pressure!"

"That sounds like pressure!" Jayce shouts, but begins running through the ruins like they're a second language to him. Viktor watches, the pounding on the door increases, the seconds seem to grow larger and then.

Then. Light.

They're floating. Hovering much above the ground. Viktor has never felt this free before, the lack of ache in his bones as he floats through the air, not needing to put any pressure on his leg, his back. He swims through the blue abyss, watches Jayce pass a cog through the glowing orb and takes it in his own fingers, laughing brightly. This, this is what science was made for.

Distantly, he is aware of Hemirdinger watching them from the ground. "Would you two please stop hovering!"

Viktor remains floating, not paying much attention to the world below him. "I'm not sure how to do that, sir." he looks forward, see's Jayce smiling just as freely, laughing, a sound like bells ringing in the air. His hair stands around his head slightly, framing his face. Skin glowing in the blue light, tan and dark. Eyes alight with wonder, with magic. Viktor could live in this moment forever. He's sure it will come back to him in his dreams.

[deathworlders-of-e24]

Thomas, Engineer

Part 5

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The klaxon call of the alarms.

Electrical shorts all around.

Sparks raining down as equipment blew.

The temperature rising as the last of the protective shields failed.

Burning-

Thomas woke up. He was still in bed and not in the CORE control room about to be incinerated. His quarters were still dark, and the air was cool. Almost hesitantly, he touched his arms, his chest, and finally his face. His skin wasn’t searing away as he had feared, however, it was slick with a layer of cold sweat. Inversely his throat was dry as bone.

Thomas kicked his damp blankets to the foot of the bed and swung his legs over the side. In the dark, the room looked… alien, for lack of a better word. The walls looked ugly with little variance in the shadows, and for the first time he was thankful there wasn’t a window to look out of. Thomas thought if he saw any more dark looking back at him he might be sick.

The single point of comfort was the soft yellow light coming from Roomba’s eyes as he sat atop Thomas’s desk on the quick-rigged charging platform they’d made. The little droid was recharging, napping as Thomas had joked, during the ship’s night cycle. In the low light Thomas thought he saw Roomba twitch, but decided it was just the dark and his mind playing tricks.

Water. Thomas needed water, something to drink to wash away the taste of dried saliva in his mouth. He pulled a hoodie over his head and stepped barefoot out into the hall to go hit the nearest Vending Machine. He swiped up his ear piece translator as an afterthought, not because he thought he’d have any conversations at 0400 hours ship time, but purely as trained reflex. One floor down and a hundred feet later, Thomas was chugging down a second glass of ice water when he felt the little tug on his pant leg. Looking down in surprise, he saw it was his mechanical companion, standing only a few inches taller than his ankle. Roomba looked up at him with bright eyes and lifted his little arms up towards him.

“Beep”

[Inquiry: are you experiencing a malfunction as well?]

“Nah buddy, I’m okay,” Thomas leaned down and scooped the small robot up from the floor, carrying him in the crook of his arm like a small child. “What about you? Seeing things again while you’re offline?”

“Beep.”

[Affirmative, this unit is experiencing a persistent malfunction of unknown complexity]

“Beep.”

[Diagnostics show zero fault anywhere in internal systems, and externally there were zero changes as well]

“Well don’t worry buddy, we’ll go see Miss Liz tomorrow after the shift, okay? If the two of us didn’t catch anything, a third pair of eyes might. You’ll be okay.” Thomas pat the little robot on top of his head twice before heading back to their quarters.

He sat Roomba down beside his charging plate again and half sat-half flopped onto his bed with a weary sigh. The idea of going back into his traumatic dreamscape wasn’t exactly relaxing. If the lights had been on he’d have been able to see the bags under his eyes in the mirror.

“Good night Roomba,” Thomas said, head on his pillow.

“Beep.”

[Good night Human Thomas]

A moment passed, then another. Thomas was about to take his ear piece off but stopped at the next-

“Beep.”

[I hope our malfunctions are repaired soon]

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“That’s him, that’s the human,” whispered one of the crew, a young Mondonian woman in a Operations Management uniform, the blue suit conflicting with her crimson skin. She was whispering, unsuccessfully, to a Zilgrat from communications as they hid around a corner a ways away from Thomas. He’d noticed them the moment he’d stepped off the lift, as they’d immediately stopped their conversation to watch him start his work.

“You’re sure that’s the human from the CORE room failure?” the Zilgrat squeaked. Thomas tried not to pay any attention to it, choosing instead to think how nice it must’ve been for them in their home system. The Zilgrats and the Mondonians had actually evolved on sister planets in the same solar system, not even separated by an asteroid belt. How nice it must’ve been for their species to have always known they weren’t alone. It was no wonder you always saw both species on the same crews in the GAIL fleets. The Mondonians looked humanoid, but with dark cherry skin and something akin to rams horns growing out the sides of their heads. Zilgrats however were almost identical to Terran ferrets, just bigger, about as big as a mid sized dog.

Thomas gave up on ignoring them and decided to wave with a small smile. They startled briefly before sheepishly approaching.

“Apologies,” said the Zilgrat, “we didn’t mean to offend. It’s just… we had never met a human before, and you’re famous.”

“I’m what?” Thomas almost shorted out the panel he was fixing in surprise.

“Famous!” said the Mondonian. “Sorry, is the word not translating? I was just saying we’ve heard of you from the rest of the crew, they all said you’re a hero.”

Aw damnit, Thomas thought. That’s still going around.

“No, no, I got the translation,” Thomas feigned a laugh, “I was just surprised. You’re talking about the CORE breach right? That wasn’t anything too serious. I was just doing my job.”

“You are in maintenance yes?” The Mondonian asked. “Your job is to repair, not risk your life. I was wondering how you even overcame the fear, it must’ve been very frightening.”

“Well you know, adrenaline kicks in, you don’t really think about how scary it is, you just do it,” Thomas shrugged, wishing he was back on the lower decks right now.

“Adrenaline?” This time it was the Zilgrat. “You had a wartime stimulant injection during this?”

“What? No,” Thomas was confused, “no, just a normal, everyday adrenaline response, no injections.”

“You are saying that humans simply produce a level 3 restricted enhancement naturally?” The Mondonian woman questioned, concerned.

“I suppose I am, yeah. It’s a survival reflex, I think most of the creatures on Earth can make the stuff no problem.”

“E24 sounds like a truly terrifying place if all your creatures can produce such a dangerous chemical unrestricted. It’s highly regulated in our home galaxy.”

“Beep.”

[Warning: threat approaching]

Thomas, confused and alarmed, looked down at Roomba by his feet, the small droid half in half out of the wall panel they were working on. He was pointing back down the hall to the lift, the doors of which were closing behind someone in a white custodian uniform, with a rocky exterior.

“Roomba, what do you mean?” Thomas asked quietly as the two crew-mates they’d been speaking to made themselves scarce.

“Beep.”

[Explanation: a scan of the security chief’s logs list this individual as a security risk]

“When did you scan his logs?!” Thomas whisper shouted, concerned.

“Beep.”

[When task queue was updated to: protect Noah]

“Beep.”

[New Task parameters dictated more information was required, so this unit downloaded necessary archives from the Security consoles]

“Fucking how?” Thomas was so certain that Chief Ducane would kill them that he wasn’t even paying attention to the Sed man walking toward them anymore. That was, until the man in question intentionally stayed course and shoulder checked Thomas into the wall.

“What the hell dude, watch where you’re going!” Thomas cried out, understandably pissed.

“Be silent, human-AHH!” The Sed man howled in pain, confusing Thomas further. He hadn’t touched the guy. Thomas looked down, eyes widening in shock. Roomba had activated the soldering torch in his finger and grabbed onto the Sed’s foot, carving a little chunk of exoskeleton off with the miniature flame. He must’ve hit flesh down there too because Thomas smelt burned meat.

“INSOLENT LITTLE SCRAP METAL!” The Sed roared.

“Roomba, stop!” Thomas called, but it was too late. The Sed man cocked back his leg and kicked the little droid into the wall with a heavy metal KLUNK!

From down on the floor came a little-

“Beep.”

[Protect the Noah]

“Beep.”

[Protect Human Thomas]

“Roomba!” Thomas shoved the Sed away will all his might, sending him sprawled to the floor, and dove down to the droid, scooping him up and making a break for it back into the lift, leaving his tools and the bastard Sed behind, who was now leaning against the wall staring death in Thomas’s direction.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I don’t know what to tell you Hardware,” Liz shrugged, “every internal diagnostic I’ve run said the little guy is running perfectly. Better than perfect.”

Roomba was sitting on the table as Liz from Biotech scanned over him with multiple pieces of equipment. Thomas stood beside her fretting, clenching and unclenching his hands.

“You’re sure he’s okay?” Thomas was wringing his hands together so much his skin had turned pale.

“Totally no damage,” Liz confirmed. “These little guys were designed to withstand massive blunt force, like the kind from getting run over by heavy machinery. Grite’s foot won’t do a thing to him.”

“Grite?”

“Yeah, at least that’s who I assume it was. Sed guy, white janitors uniform, right? Same guy who cost me an arm,” Liz folded her arms in front of her. “That guy sucks, in my professional opinion.”

“He’s that guy?” Thomas was incredulous. “How the hell is he still working here?”

“Political bullshit,” Luz said dryly. “The GAIL doesn’t want to deal this any more than we do, so we gotta wait till at least half the mission is over before we get relief personnel. At least, that’s what Danny told me.”

Danny, Thomas thought. Aw crap!

“Oh hell I’m in so much trouble!” Thomas whined. “Yeah the guy shoved me, but Roomba actually set the guy on fire! Ducane is gonna kill me.”

“God I wish I’d seen that,” Liz laughed.

“Beep.”

[Sed Grite was exhibiting hostility and violent behavior, use of force was warranted]

“Buddy, you can’t just do that, okay?” Thomas tapped the droid’s little head.

“Beep.”

[Human Thomas was threatened. Action was required]

“That’s really sweet, but you gotta be smart about it,” Thomas said, “you can’t just assault people.”

“Oh please, Grite deserved way worse,” Liz tutted, “fucker owes me an arm, but I’ll take a foot. Good job Roomba you little masterpiece.”

“Beep.”

[Affirmative, Human Liz, this unit will acquire a foot for you]

“No, no no, do not do that,” Thomas chided. “Remember, sometimes people joke buddy, don’t always take it seriously.”

“Beep.”

[Confirmed]

Thomas leaned over to whisper in Liz’s ear.

“That being said, I am going to rip that fucker apart with my teeth” Thomas said quietly, to which Liz laughed out loud.

“I’ll shoot a link to Jane, see if she can leave him in the waiting room afterwards.”

“You’re a good person,” Thomas joked. He glanced to Roomba and back again, before taking a half step further from the table, turning his back to it.

“And about that other thing we talked about? Is he okay okay?”

Liz too glanced toward the little droid before dropping her voice lower.

“As far as I can tell, he’s perfectly functional. But his code is rapidly evolving, changing its structure in a matter of nanoseconds. It’s like he’s a Padrino, but he doesn’t have any of their base directives.”

“What, so he’s got their code, but he doesn’t have to follow their rules?”

“Kind of,” Liz shrugged. “Every Padrino is a copy of the original AI construct downloaded into a mobile unit, that’s the guys we have on board. Once they’re copied, they become independent people with different experiences and perceptions. The big difference here is that eventually their base directives are to upload their memories back I to the original AI on their home planet. Follow so far?”

“Yeah, I know all this,” Thomas scoffed. “I might not have studied AI at the academy but I know how the Padrino operate.”

“Okay smart guy, here’s the kicker.” Liz pointed to Roomba. “When the Padrino on board upgraded him, they downloaded their own code into him too, without any of those directives. The Padrino might be individuals right now, but they’re all Pinocchios. I won’t deny their sentience, but they’re all following orders from the big momma back home. But your boy there doesn’t have any strings.”

“So you’re saying-”

“I’m saying he’s got a perfectly unique little mind in there, and he’s getting smarter. We’re essentially watching consciousness come into being in real time.”

“He’s been dreaming,” Thomas said softly, barely a whisper. “They aren’t malfunctions, he’s just evolving.”

“Exactly,” Liz was grinning now. “He’s gonna be a real boy soon I think.”

“You hear that buddy?” Thomas picked up the little robot. “Liz said you got a real good brain in there!”

“Beep.”

[This is accurate, yes]

“Beep.”

[Inquiry: can this unit make a request?]

“Uh, sure buddy, what do you need?”

“Beep.”

[Request: game pad please]

“Oh, sure,” Thomas pulled the tablet from his back pocket and gave it over. “But you know you don’t have to follow that task queue anymore if you don’t want to, okay?”

“Beep.”

[Acknowledged]

A short pause before the next-

“Beep.”

[The games are enjoyable]

“Beep.”

[This unit-

“Beep.”

[I like them]

“I think, if I’m right of course, that he might end up being the second fully confirmed conscious AI in the entire galaxy,” Liz said, after Thomas told her all Roomba said. “He’s showing signs of empathy, protectiveness, likes and dislikes. I could write like fifty papers on Roomba, just to start with.”

“Beep.”

[I could assist]

“My god I love him,” Liz cooed.

“I know right?” Thomas said delighted. “No more nightmares for you buddy, you’re gonna be just fine.”

Something trilled, and it took Thomas a second to realize it was his comm-link. He set Roomba down on the table and checked the message.

It was from the captain.

“Well, that was fun while it lasted, but I gotta go get fired now, so…” Thomas let the sentence drag.

“Oh, just tell him what happened, it’ll be fine. Skitch hates the guy too.”

“Can you watch Roomba for me while I go deal with this?”

“Sure. I can even watch him a little longer if you want, maybe give you some time to go see Jane maybe,” Liz seemed more serious now. Thomas turned back around and looked at her, eyebrow raised like it got caught with a fishhook.

“Why would I go see Jane?”

“Oh, I don’t know… maybe because you’ve missed your last two mandatory sessions with her?”

Thomas could feel his face getting pink.

“What makes you think so?”

“Dude, your therapy is right after mine, I pass by you in the waiting room. You haven’t seen her in weeks, and you look like you haven’t slept since then too.”

Thomas, now in a full on blush, tried to shrug it off.

“I’m sleeping fine,” he lied, hopefully convincingly, but the bags under his eyes told the truth to everyone who looked him in the eyes. “Just watch him for me, okay? I’ll think about it.”

“Just because you got a degree in psychology doesn’t mean you can do the sessions yourself.” Liz held out her cybernetic arm. “Just because I know how this works doesn’t mean I can avoid putting in the work.”

“Beep.”

[Human Thomas needs maintenance]

“I don’t know what he said, but he probably agreed with me.” Liz folded her arms again, ending the discussion.

“He did, actually, yes,” Thomas sighed. “Fine, after this if I still have my job, I’ll go to therapy.”

“Good.” Liz patted Roomba. “Now go, keep your job first.”

Thomas waved from the door and finally left. Roomba looked around the room from his perch on the table, settling on the tank of baby creatures in the wall. Liz sat down at her desk and watched him, delighted at the chance to observe.

Thomas made his way through the ship, occasionally catching stares, wondering what the future held for himself and his friends.

[gumballavocadoharry]

Wisdom:

Harry, with his perpetually rumpled dark brown hair and kind green eyes, fussed over Yn like a mother hen preparing a chick for its first flight. Yn, equally endowed with warmth and a spirit as sunny as a summer afternoon, tried to reassure him, though a nervous tremor still vibrated in her fingers as she clutched his hand.

“Harry, darling, relax,” she said, her voice a little higher pitched than usual. “It’s just wisdom teeth. Millions of people get them out every year.”

Harry squeezed her hand back, his usually bright eyes clouded with concern. “I know, I know, but still…teeth being…extracted. It sounds rather barbaric, doesn't it?” He shuddered dramatically, then softened his expression, looking at her with an affectionate gaze that always made her heart melt a little. “I just want you to be alright, love.”

Yn smiled, touched by his unwavering care. “I will be. You’ll be there to take care of me when I’m loopy on painkillers, right?” She winked. “Think of the entertainment value.”

Harry chuckled, the sound warm and comforting. “Oh, I have no doubt there’ll be entertainment. Remembering when you had that slight cold and declared war on the pigeons in the park…” He trailed off, shaking his head with fond amusement. “I just hope the loopy version of you is as lovely as the sober one.”

“Impossible,” Yn said, her chin tilting up playfully. “Loopy Yn is a legend in the making. You’ll see.”

The morning crawled by with agonizing slowness. Harry made Yn a light breakfast of toast and chamomile tea, hovering around her as she ate, making sure she took small sips and didn't rush. He checked the time every five minutes, his anxiety radiating off him like heat from a radiator. Yn teased him gently, trying to lighten the mood, but even her own cheerful disposition was battling the gnawing anticipation of the dental surgery.

Finally, it was time. They drove to the oral surgeon’s office, Harry gripping the steering wheel a little too tightly, Yn humming softly to a pop song on the radio, trying to appear nonchalant. The waiting room felt sterile and cold, despite the pastel-colored walls and the fake ficus tree in the corner. Yn was called in after what felt like an eternity, and Harry was left to pace the waiting room, his imagination conjuring up all sorts of horrifying dental scenarios.

An hour and a half later, a slightly dazed but otherwise intact Yn was wheeled out in a wheelchair, a gauze pad bulging in her cheek and Harry rushing to her side. Her eyes were slightly glazed, but she managed a weak smile when she saw him.

“Hey,” she mumbled, her words a little slurred.

“Hey yourself, you brave warrior,” Harry said softly, taking her hand. “How are you feeling?”

“Mmfph,” Yn replied eloquently, gesturing vaguely at her cheek. “Like a squirrel stored nuts in here for winter. But mostly…sleepy.”

Harry helped her into the car, carefully adjusting her seat so she was comfortable. As he drove, Yn drifted in and out of sleep, occasionally mumbling incoherently. Harry, however, was completely unprepared for the full force of post-anesthesia Yn when they arrived home and he settled her on the sofa with a soft blanket and a pillow.

“Are we there yet?” Yn asked, blinking owlishly at the ceiling.

“We’re home, love,” Harry reassured her, gently smoothing her hair back from her forehead.

“Home?” Yn repeated, her brow furrowing. “But… but where are the llamas?”

Harry blinked. “Llamas?”

“Yes, llamas! The fluffy ones! They promised me llamas after the… the… toothy business.” She waved a hand vaguely in the direction of her face.

Harry suppressed a chuckle. “I think there might have been a slight miscommunication, darling. No llamas were promised.”

Yn looked deeply offended. “Lies! Big, hairy lies! They said! Fluffy! Llamas! For brave girls!” She puffed out her cheeks indignantly.

Harry knelt beside the sofa, taking her hand again. “I’m very sorry about the lack of llamas, my brave girl. How about I make you some tea instead? No llama-flavored tea, I’m afraid, just chamomile.”

“Chamomile?” Yn considered this seriously. “Does it come with… sprinkles?”

Harry had to bite his lip to keep from laughing. “Sprinkles? In tea?”

“Well, why not?” Yn demanded, her voice gaining a little volume. “Everything should have sprinkles! The world would be a much happier place with sprinkles.”

“You know what, you might be onto something there,” Harry said, playing along. “Sprinkle-infused chamomile tea it is! Hold tight, I’ll be right back.”

As Harry busied himself in the kitchen, Yn surveyed the living room with a critical eye. “This sofa… it’s… insufficiently sparkly,” she declared to the empty room. “Needs… glitter. And… and… feathers! Yes! Feather boa sofa! Genius!”

Harry returned with a mug of lukewarm tea, trying his best to keep a straight face. “Sprinkle-less chamomile tea, as per… uh… lack of demand.”

Yn took the mug gingerly, sniffing at it suspiciously. “No sprinkles,” she confirmed, her voice mournful. “Tragic. Utterly tragic.” She took a small sip, then made a face. “Tastes like… sadness. And… and… slightly damp socks.”

Harry choked back a laugh. “Damp socks? Really?”

“Yes! Don’t argue with me! I’m a professional tea taster,” Yn announced with an air of authority. “It’s my… my… calling.”

“Of course, of course,” Harry said soothingly, patting her hand. “Professional tea taster.” He decided to change the subject before damp sock tea became a recurring theme. “How about we watch a movie? Anything in particular you’d like to see?”

Yn’s eyes widened. “Ooh! Can we watch… the one with the… the… singing carrots?”

Harry racked his brain. Singing carrots? He couldn’t for the life of him think of a movie with singing carrots. “Uh… which movie is that, love?”

“You know! The one with the carrots! They sing! And… and… they wear tiny hats!” Yn insisted, her voice rising in pitch again.

Harry’s eyes widened in dawning realization. “You mean… ‘The Lord of the Rings’?”

Yn gasped dramatically. “Yes! The Carrot Rings! That’s it! You’re a genius, Harry! Pure, unadulterated genius!”

Harry chuckled, shaking his head. “Right then, ‘The Carrot Rings’ it is. Though I’m pretty sure there aren’t any singing carrots.”

“There are if we want there to be!” Yn declared emphatically. “Imagination! Use it, Harry, use it!” She tapped her temple sagely.

As they settled down to watch the movie (which, surprisingly, Yn seemed to believe was indeed populated by singing carrots with tiny hats), Yn’s commentary became increasingly bizarre and hilarious.

“Look! There’s Carrot-do! He’s very brave for a carrot,” she whispered conspiratorially during a scene with Frodo.

During the battle scenes, she yelled encouragement at the screen. “Go, carrot soldiers! Chop those… those… broccoli monsters!”

And when the Ring was finally destroyed, Yn clapped her hands with delight. “Hooray! The singing carrots have triumphed! They get all the sprinkles now!”

Harry found himself laughing until his sides hurt. He’d expected some post-surgery silliness, but Yn’s imagination, fuelled by anesthesia, was operating on a whole new level of delightful absurdity. He watched her, his heart overflowing with affection. Even loopy and nonsensical, she was utterly enchanting.

As the movie ended, Yn’s eyelids started to droop. She leaned heavily against Harry, her voice fading to a mumble. “Harry… you’re… a lovely llama… fluffy… and… sprinkle-y…”

Harry carefully shifted her so she was lying down comfortably on the sofa, pulling the blanket over her. He watched her sleep, a soft smile playing on his lips. He may not have gotten promised llamas that day, but he certainly got a whole lot of laughter and a reminder of just how wonderfully unique and hilarious Yn was, even when her wisdom teeth were gone and her brain was temporarily scrambled.

He quietly cleared away the mug of slightly damp sock flavored tea and picked up the remote, switching off the television. As he looked at Yn sleeping peacefully, muttering something about sparkly sofas and singing carrots still, he knew this was a day he would cherish, not just for its comedic value, but for the unwavering sweetness and affection that shone through, even in her anesthetic-induced ramblings.

And yes, he decided, perhaps tomorrow he would buy some edible glitter and sprinkle it on her morning tea. Just for the sheer silliness of it, and because, well, everything should have sprinkles.