#harpe is deeply confused by all of this

[sunlessveils]

The household of Dr Cards.

Most are surprised to find the doctor lives so secluded in the marshes, what secrets does he keep there? The truth is not far below the surface. The secret is his daughter,Clara, Sent from the surface by her mother due to her "unladylike" behaviour.

While her claims of singing from the marshlands and Visions of miracles are a source of some concern the doctor ensures she's well protected and cared for.

Rumours stick to the girls caretaker, miss Harpe, that say she used to be a vake hunter. Though most whispers follow the House's guardsman, A faceless fellow in ancient armour but with no lacking in its sword arm. are they dedicated to reenactment or did the doctor animate a suit of armor,or the bones of a long dead warrior, to ensure the safety of his constantly wandering child and the staff?

[samsno1]

Flowers

Castiel x GN!Reader

i love his eyes. that's it, that's the tweet. guys...this is very sweet but i don't know if i'm satisfied?? tell me what you think, writing castiel is very hard, lawd

Summary: In a hunt, a flower appears over your pillow after you come back to the motel room at night. Who left it there?

Warnings: FLUFF, TOOTH-ROTTING FLUFF, i pictured s4/5 cas in this, use of y/n, sweet confession, NOT PROOF READ, that's it? english isn't my first language

WC: 2.5k

You can learn how to change Y/N for your actual name here

enjoy!

When you started hunting with Sam and Dean one of the last things you expected to encounter was an Angel, especially after discovering they aren't “harps and halos" like in the books you read as a kid, but instead soldiers and sometimes assholes.

Castiel was an exception to the “asshole” part, he was actually very sweet when it came to you and the boys. Helped you, saved you and cared for you. In that sense, Cas was just like the Angel stories, a guardian of the humans he was in charge of.

And for you, it was fun teaching Cas about humans and how they behaved, helped him when he didn't understand Dean's pop culture references, got him to watch classic movies and listen to music and he was always very keen into doing so, curious and intrigued in what you explained to him.

Those big blue eyes always gave you his full attention, sometimes with that little frown that you started to call “The Angel Frown” while he questioned you about something that, to you, was basic knowledge. You were always as patient as possible with him, always clarifying what you could in words he could understand and that ended up always making him come to you for help.

In conclusion, you and Cas got closer and you started to catch yourself staring when he wasn't looking, admiring his smiles, drowning into his sapphire eyes and wishing that he had just more doubts about how people acted so you could spend more time with him.

You knew, from what Castiel told you, that Angels and feelings, human feelings at least, weren't compatible and that things such as love and romance weren't truly a reality for him and his siblings, they were warriors after all, created to serve their Father and that was it. 

Even when Castiel rebelled for the Winchesters, letting go of the “I don't serve men” mindset was difficult but you, Dean and Sam were there for him. You were more understandable then the brothers because you knew Cas was trying his best.

And because you fell for the Angel, but nobody needed to know that.

One night you arrived at the motel room you were staying at, after waving goodnight to Sam and Dean, them going to their separate room.

You opened the door and sighed deeply in exhaustion. It had been a long day of questioning and more questions appearing then those answered. At first you guys thought of a vengeful spirit, then cursed object, then witch. All of those possibilities were still up and it was driving you three insane. People were dying and you felt useless.

Once you closed the door and threw your stuff in the closest table you turned to your bed, where your bag was placed to get some clothes to take a well deserved shower. But, when you looked at your pillow, you noticed a single pink flower sitting over it and you furrowed your eyebrows.

You approached the flower slowly, skeptical about it, your hunter instincts telling you this wasn't good news. You slowly reached for it, as if it could bite your hand off, and picked it up. You analyzed the plant, very confused and grabbed your laptop.

You searched until you found a flower similar to the one you were holding and learned it was a Camellia. You looked between the screen and the flower and you searched up what a pink Camellia meant because, as much as you knew, flowers weren't really something you looked into.

What you found was shocking. According to the internet, a pink Camellia represents admiration and appreciation and Camellias and general represent love and affection. You widen your eyes at the flower in your hands, looking around your empty room as if someone would pop up and explain what this was doing at your bed. Wrong room?

You couldn't think of anybody that could give you this willingly. It definitely wasn't Sam or Dean because, first, they spent the whole day by your side and, second, unless they meant it platonically, the boys didn't see you like that. You loved them and they loved you, of course, but, to them, you were like a sister Dean loves you like he loves Sam, the same way Sam loves you like he loves Dean and vice-versa.

The only person that came to your mind was…No, it couldn't be, he said himself, love for him was basically unachievable but you couldn't help but wonder, even if your rational brain said it was stupid to think Cas would mean that. You smiled at the flower, that tinge of hope lightning inside you.

You looked around the room to look for something you could fill up with water and found an empty beer bottle. That'll do.

You washed the bottle to get the smell of alcohol off and filled it up with water, placing the little flower inside.

The pink color of the petals clashed with the transparent green of the bottle and you smiled at that. It looked cute in a way. You thought, even if this didn't come from someone you knew, you were keeping it, at least the flower.

You left the makeshift vase in your nightstand and took your stuff to the shower, peeling off your suit and your tie on the way, leaving it on the ground as you locked yourself inside the bathroom.

In these moments, Cas thanked his abilities of becoming unseen because you arrived just as he was leaving the Camellia over your pillow. He spent the day researching flowers, finding an interest in how humans always gave them to the people they cared about or to the ones who passed. He wanted to give you one to show you that he cared for you and also as a thank you for being patient with him for a long time.

He always felt happier around you, a warm feeling inside him always seemed to bloom. He felt the need to be close to you, like you were a human magnet. Everytime you looked at him he felt a weird feeling in his stomach, your smile was always something he felt the need to chase, he wanted to see it always in your face. He admired the way your eyes would shine when you were talking about something you liked.

When he saw you placing the flower on the nightstand with a smile he felt that weird feeling in his stomach again. He would do anything to see that look on your face again.

That hunt lasted a week, taking you three too long to figure out it was a witch and even longer to find said witch and to say you guys were fed up was an understatement. 

For that long week you dared to say you missed the Angel, you thought about calling him, praying to him, multiple times but what were you going to say when he arrived? Missed you? I just wanted to see you?

Everything you thought sounded too intimate so you discarded the idea of calling him.

But two more flowers appeared on your pillow after that pink Camellia. A Peony that you learned meant for the Chinese something along the lines of “the most beautiful” and a stunning Carnation in a light red shade that represented admiration. At this point you were very intrigued about who was the one giving you the flowers, Castiel still on your mind. You didn't want to get your hopes too high, you were probably overthinking it anyways, making your heart speak louder than your brain.

You were lying on your bed, staring at the tiny bouquet of three flowers given piece by piece to you. It was your last night in that room, Dean having insisted he needed the sleep so as to not crash the Impala from tiredness. You had offered to drive as you weren't as bad as he was but, of course, that was an immediate no from the older brother so all of you settled for one more night.

As you close your eyes and start to fall asleep, a sudden flutter of wings gets your attention. It's dark in the room so you take a peek and for sure it's Cas. You hold back a smile and close your eyes, pretending to be sleeping.

You feel the Angel approaching the bed, his presence making your heart quicken in your chest. From what it sounds like, he's just standing, watching you and you start to feel very nervous.

Castiel on the other hand arrived to see your sleeping form and couldn't help but watch. You looked peaceful, your breathing was calm and you looked…pretty. Cas thought all his father's creations were wonderful but he felt like you could top them all, literally, in your sleep.

He had another little flower in his hand which, to him, had a very self-explanatory name, a Forget-Me-Not.

He spun the blue flower on his fingers, debating if he should leave it inside the vase or besides you, over your pillow. 

He approached you and while he was placing the flower next to your head he felt a gentle hand wrap around his wrist and instantly froze on the spot.

You opened your eyes and looked at his near-horrified face. You smiled at him.

“Got you” You said, a little above a whisper and looked at the flower he was holding. That one you knew the name and what it meant and you felt warmth spreading through your cheeks, not just at that one flower, but knowing now that all those flowers you received came from Cas.

“I'm sorry for disturbing you” He said as he retreated his hand and you held the Forget-Me-Not. He was tense, not looking at you.

“So you were the secret admirer leaving me these flowers?” You asked as you slowly sat up on the bed and placed the blue flower inside the bottle with the three others. You placed both your hands over your lap, fidgeting nervously with your fingers. “Why?”

He looked around. What was he supposed to say? Himself barely knew why he was doing this but it felt right so he kept going with it. He noticed that the flower meanings resembled things that he felt or thought of you and he enjoyed collecting them for you, especially after you kept them.

“These flowers all have a meaning behind them” He started “Take them as a thank you for…being helpful with my understanding of human behaviors” 

You smiled stupidly at that. The way he said it sounded like something he had rehearsed before coming to you to say it, the words too polite. But yet, that's one of the things you liked about him.

“You didn't have to Cas…They are beautiful, thank you” You said and looked at the flowers again, biting your lip. You felt his eyes on you, it was always intimidating. You knew that it was just the way he was, look right into your eyes while you talk to show you had his full attention, his beautiful blue orbs hypnotizing.

Cas analyzed every aspect of yours as you sat in front of him, his eyes wondering over your figure and his hands moved faster than his thoughts and he reached for your shoulder, his palm traveling from your shoulder blade to the end of your upper arm and back up, tracing a pattern over your skin. He longed to touch you and be closer to you in a way he couldn’t explain so, in this moment, you both alone, he decided to fulfill this wish.

You widened your eyes and looked up at Castiel who was entranced by the movement of his hand, goosebumps flaring up on your skin.

“Cas?” You said and acknowledged your call with a hum “What are you…?”

He finally looked at you, his hand steadied on your shoulder.

“When I’m around you I always feel this need to touch you, be closer and this…” He shakes his head, finding a word to define how he felt. “Warmth comes over me everytime you smile”

His eyes bore through yours and you could only stare back at him, shocked.

“Cas, you’re saying–”

“I think I might love you, Y/N” He interrupted. The way he said it sounded like a confusion, a slight approach, as if he was tiptoeing around the thought, not sure if he wanted to grasp it or just keep his distance.

You were dumbfounded. He sounded so sincere and your heart started to beat faster, his hand over your shoulder felt like it was burning through your skin. It all made sense, the flowers, the way he was always keen on talking to you even when you did most of the talking and he just listened with a faint smile and pure interest, he just didn’t know because he never felt like this before, he didn’t know what loving was like.

You landed a hand over his cheek, your eyes practically watering with an emotional overload at his words. You thumb rubbed the light stubble on his cheek and you pulled him in for a hug. You wanted to kiss him so bad but you were on a baby steps basis with the Angel.

You hugged him tightly, his hands hesitantly wrapping around your frame as you let out a deep breath. When you pulled back, you didn’t pull away completely from him looking between his eyes and his mouth, a giddy smile on your face.

“I think I might love you too Castiel” You said and he widened his own eyes, a light chuckle coming out of you at his reaction.

Your chuckles were cut off by his lips on yours and you gasped in surprise. His mouth was as soft as you expected, his lips moving against your in perfect sync. He was impressively a good kisser, one of his hands gently holding at the back of your neck while the other slid down to your waist.

You felt like a bomb had exploded inside you, a foreign feeling of happiness spreading to every single cell on your body as your arms wrapped around his neck to hold yourself when he sat on the bed, pulling you over his lap, making you yelp.

You both pulled away, your arms still wrapped around each other and he had a light smile on his face. You one hundred per cent had a shocked look on yours, your cheeks hot and breathing heavy.

“Where’d you learn that?” You asked, absolutely knocked by the kiss.

“Dean told me a thing or two” He said and you couldn’t help but laugh, your body shaking against his as he also chuckled. “It seems like I did great?”

You stopped your laughs and looked in his eyes, drowning in their ocean blue. You gave a peck to the corner of his mouth.

“You did amazing” You said as one of your hands played with the hair at the nape of his neck and he pulled you in, the warmth spreading through both of you yet again, never wanting to let go.

A/N: Notes and reblogs encourage me to keep writing, feedback helps me make those writing better. Thank you for reading, XoXo.

[aylen-san]

The Myth of the Starry Dance

In ancient times, when the world was younger and the Elven realms flourished, elves were known as the Fae, beings who delighted in merriment and mischief. They lived in forests and secluded places of Middle-earth, such as Lothlórien and Rivendell, and their magic was closely tied to the most ancient and mysterious forces of the world. One of their most popular pastimes was hosting mysterious parties under the stars. These gatherings were not just spectacles of dance and music, but real trials for anyone who stumbled into their trap.

According to legend, if the elves invited someone to a party, that person either danced until dawn or vanished, becoming part of the enigmatic world of the Fae. For example, at a party in Lothlórien, surrounded by magical woods, the dances never ceased until morning. Those who fell into this magical circle lost themselves in endless dances, their shoes weaving into mysterious patterns, while the sounds of flutes and harps blended with the whispering of ancient trees. To taste the food at such a party was not only considered impolite but also dangerous, for anyone who sampled the treats became part of the elven revelers, forever losing their connection to the world of men. The ancient Elvish delicacies, like the pies of Lothlórien, were filled with magic that bound their victims to the Fae revelry forever.

Another notable trait of the elves was their cunning. If someone sought their advice, the elves would always respond ambiguously, leaving questions unanswered. This often led to unfortunate travelers finding themselves in strange and awkward situations, not knowing which path to choose. For instance, if someone asked the elves in Rivendell how to get to Gondor, they might answer: "Follow the stars that shine in your heart, and the path will reveal itself." This could lead travelers to get lost in endless forests or wander high mountains.

So, once, during one of these parties, a group of curious individuals decided to see what was really going on. This time, it wasn’t ordinary guests: it was a band of dwarves and one hobbit known for his adventures. They fell under the spell of the dances and became ensnared by the magic of the Fae. So deeply enchanted were they that they wandered through Middle-earth until they reached a solitary mountain. In desperation, they sought help from an ancient dragon living in the area.

However, even the dragon, with all its power and wisdom, could not break the Fae's enchantments. This fact distressed the dragon so much that it lost the will to live and soon perished. The dragon's death caused great upheaval, and its treasure became the cause of a great battle. Around the treasure, the Battle of Five Armies unfolded, as various peoples of Middle-earth clashed over the dragon's hoard.

This myth tells us that if you ever find yourself part of an elven party, be prepared for a fun yet extremely confusing adventure. And remember, never eat food offered by the elves and never ask them important questions if you don’t want to become part of their revelry.

[mugloversonly]

The Best 1st Birthday Ever

written for march prompt ‘pin’ wc: #388 | rated: _G_ | cw: _none_ @steddiemicrofic

Steve knew he was in for an interesting conversation when Eddie sneaked through the door carrying a huge bag from the party store. He put down the hand mixer, deciding the cake can wait.

“What’s in the bag, Eds?” He asked. Eddie jumped a foot in the air, spun and glared at Steve.

“Don’t do that!” His hand clutching his chest. Steve raised an eyebrow. “Party stuff.”

“Party stuff?” Steve repeated. Eddie nodded, giving him an unimpressed look. “What kinds of party stuff?” He didn’t think Eddie would do anything crazy, but his boyfriend was a wildcard.

“Well, I wasn’t totally sure, so I got a variety”. He set the bag down and began pulling things out of the bag: silly string, water balloons, a beer pong kit, a pinata. Steve’s eyes widened as he kept pulling sillier and sillier items out of the bag. The final straw was a huge banner that read “Happy First Birthday Ellie!”

“You know Eleven’s turning 18 right?” Steve asked fondly. The smile slid off Eddie’s face and he got a serious look in his eyes.

“Well, yeah technically. But this is Ellie’s first birthday Upside Down and shitty lab free right?” Steve nodded. “Then I figured we should cover all the bases. Give her the best party ever!” Steve’s eyes misted. Eleven and Eddie had bonded after the upside down and it’s obvious that he cares deeply for her.

“That’s sweet, Eds”. Eddie blushed and ducked his head.

“She’s like a little sister to me, you know that.” Steve gave him a kiss.

“I want to make it big birthday bash for her.” He shrugged. He would never admit it, but El reminded him of his childhood self. He would do anything to see her smile. Steve didn’t want to keep harping on this so he turned back towards the kitchen.

“Finally,” Eddie said with a flourish, “The perfect party game”. It was a giant poster of a donkey. Steve’s head tilted like a confused puppy. “Pin the tail on the Donkey, Stevie!” Eddie exclaimed. He rocked in excitement on his heels.

“Pin the tail can go in the living room, now come help me finish this cake will ya?” Eddie skipped to the kitchen. It may be Eleven’s 18th birthday, but it was going to be the best 1st party.

[margridarnauds]

*knocks on the door*

HELLO HELLO!!! I bring with me a whole basket of questions for Kitrye and Raphael for you to answer, to chase away the fatigue of your workload today!! SO, HERE THEY ALL ARE (and omg lemme grab my popcorn because I cannot wait for it): I. PRE-RELATIONSHIP 3.Who felt romantic feelings first?

5.What would their lives be like if they had never met?

6.What was their "flirting stage" like? II. GENERAL 6.How do their personalities complement each other? How do they clash?

8.Who takes the lead in social situations? How are they around each other's friends?

9.Who gets jealous easier?

15.What is their most common argument about?

III. LOVE

2.What are their primary love languages?

5.Who initiates kisses? Where is their favorite spot to kiss each other?

10.What do they like best about each other?

HAVE FUN! 😁😁😁😁

3.Who felt romantic feelings first?

I think it was actually Raphael, though it's hard to tell with these two since there was a major discrepancy between developing romantic feelings and REALIZING they'd developed romantic feelings. I think Kitrye BEGAN to develop romantic feelings first, since he was very persistent with wooing her and he was very much her type, but she was deeply in denial. He was the first to REALIZE he'd started to develop romantic feelings for her (he hated it), even though I don't think he realized exactly how far gone he already was.

5.What would their lives be like if they had never met?

Honestly...I want to say that they would be doing perfectly fine, but I kind of think that if Raphael had gotten the Crown of Karsus from some other group of adventurers, it would have consumed him. Totally. She kept him grounded, even if he'd never acknowledge it, providing a calming presence to him, keeping him tied to the real world while also being his fiercest advocate.

She would have been hunted by Lolth ad infinitum, if she hadn't killed herself. Despite hiding it very well, Kitrye has struggled with a deep depression for ages, ever since she was in Arach-Tinilith Academy when she was fifty years old (she's now 253) and, even though she can still smile and enjoy life, the depression's never quite gone away. (Arguably, even before that, even though the Academy brought the worst of it out, since she was always a kind of somber and sad child, even as she was also the one who'd sneak out to go to dances and forbidden gatherings.) Raphael was the one who taught her to enjoy life, who gets her to laugh openly, who brings out her most affectionate, loving self.

He *needs* someone to love him completely, desperately, madly, like her very life and sanity depend on it, and she can give him that, and she *needs* someone who will never leave her, and he never will. They're in this very gothic level of codependence but they're very happy with it.

6.What was their "flirting stage" like?

Short answer: "A whole mess".

Raphael was interested in Kitrye because (1) he likes a challenge and (2) she pulled a sword on him and, as we know, that's a personal aphrodisiac to him. She was interested in him because she's ALWAYS had an interest in older evil men (her first crush was Gromph Baenre), but she was in denial because she didn't WANT to be developing a crush on a devil as a paladin of Eilistraee. They started getting close when he listened to her play her harp and gave her his copy of Folksongs of Faerûn with his annotations and then was the only one who was willing to actually try her Drow food when she was in the Underdark.

Then, in Act 2, she went hard into the denial route, which confused him, which caused HIM to double down on the denial route, which led to both of them flirting obliviously, even as HE was rapidly becoming more and more interested in her with each Thorm family member that she talked into killing themselves. (I maintain that by the time she got to Yurgir, he was in an....excited state.) They did have a moment together shortly before the battle with Ketheric. By the time she got to Baldur's Gate, she was in a better state, they were more knowingly flirting with one another, but it was still a push and pull situation right until Gortash's coronation ceremony, where he pulled her into a tango (...right in front of Gortash's salad, too), as a way of essentially marking his territory, since he knew that Gortash was interested in making an alliance with her. She made the first move that night, and the rest was history.

6.How do their personalities complement each other? How do they clash?

They both have naturally very teasing personalities, both of them are incredibly sharp, both of them are heavily into culture and music, with a preference for using their words over their swords in social situations. But, whereas Raphael is theatrical, Kitrye has learned to be naturally quite quiet. If Raphael is in pain, and he isn't in a situation where he is ACTIVELY in danger, everyone in the house will know that he is in pain, whereas Kitrye will hide her injuries until the last moment, because she's never been ALLOWED to be hurt or to acknowledge when she's in pain. They are both pragmatists who are very good at thinking ten feet ahead, but the issue is that, whereas Kitrye usually *does not* take the pragmatic option unless she actually HAS to, Raphael usually *will*. They are two people who are both primed for survival, growing up in cut-throat social environments, but whereas Kitrye chose service to Eilistraee and a devotion to others, even at the cost of herself, Raphael chose to only ever look out for himself, and that is something Kitrye's choice galls him (when he says "they don't deserve you" it is both a genuine means of manipulation and also because. He truly doesn't think anyone but him is good enough for Kitrye.) This can lead to her sometimes accept things that she doesn't really want to accept because she's been taught to hide her emotions. What makes their relationship work at the end of the day is that Raphael is uncannily good at reading her and forcing her to take care of herself, in the same way that she's very good at reading *him*.

8.Who takes the lead in social situations? How are they around each other's friends?

Kitrye will USUALLY allow him to take the lead, especially when dealing with Mephistopheles or infernal matters, though she takes the lead in Drow matters. (Raphael is never prepared to be around Drow who treat him like his opinion doesn't matter because he's a man.) (Hope, somewhere in the background: "HOW DOES IT *FEEL*?")

Honestly, I don't really think that Raphael HAS many friends, which is why he's so eager to befriend Tav in-game. He has a vast circle of acquaintances, but would I say that he has *friends*? Not really. Kitrye has a good working relationship with Korrilla, since they're both, at the end of the day, loyal to him, even though Korrilla thought she was an idiot during their Break Up Period, and the two of them will sometimes conspire together. Kitrye doesn't feel any insecurity towards Korrilla, Korrilla doesn't feel any insecurity towards Kitrye, and they both know where the other stands. Haarlep, on the other hand, Kitrye HATES. Not just because of the obvious (what do you do when your SO's former partner/fuckbuddy/"personal incubus" is STILL living in his house and insinuating they want a threesome), but because they fight one another over Raphael's bed, because as far as Haarlep is concerned that is THEIR bed. They don't care that Raph's attention's shifted (they're actually kind of RELIEVED because the sex truly wasn't that good and, anyway, it provides excellent gossip to send to Mephisto), but THAT! IS! THEIR! BED! When Raph's away on business, they actually get along with one another relatively well -- never to the point of being FRIENDS, but to the point where they haven't fought in over two days, since Kitrye will usually go off to her own room if Raphael isn't there, unless she wants to pine and see if she can still catch a hint of his scent on the bedding.

Raphael despises most of Kitrye's friends -- he thinks, not entirely INACCURATELY, that the canon companions don't really care for her. Mallathalra, Kitrye's sister, despises him, and it's relatively mutual, though they put up with one another for Kitrye's sake. He has, at various times, tried to get Malla under his thumb, trying to make a deal with her, almost recreating his ideal version of the Hope - Korrilla relationship, but Malla is a lot less desperate and grateful than Korrilla was, so it never works, and, during their Break Up Era, she was the one to take Kitrye in, very happy that she has Finally Seen Reason (...it didn't stick). They did finally begin to come to terms with one another after Ana's birth, as she finally began to see how truly devoted he was to her.

9.Who gets jealous easier?

Both of them are fairly jealous, but I would say Raph initially, Kitrye later on. Raph was VERY jealous of all of the male companions (even though Kitrye only had eyes for him), as well as Gortash, Zevlor, etc., and that never really went AWAY, but I think that Kitrye's jealousy took a lot longer to come on but it also a little bit more...lingering, in a sense? Both of them are worried, on some level, that the other one will leave them, but I feel like, if Raphael feels brief, intense spouts of jealousy, Kitrye's tends to linger and sink in more, not so much individual cases (even though there does come a point where either Korrilla or Malla asks her, point blank, if she was really HORRIFIED by what he'd done to Hope...or jealous that there'd been another mortal cleric before her, which Kitrye didn't have a response to), but seeing him be so at ease, so naturally flirtatious, and knowing there are plenty of people who would jump his bones for either his power or prestige or because *broad gesture to how he looks*. I do think there comes...some point, probably after Ana's birth, when they finally begin to settle down a little bit. Like, he makes her his queen and consort, he's chosen her to have his only child across millennia of existence, they are SETTLED, she's not going anywhere, he's not going anywhere (though I still think that they both still like to...remind the world at large that this is Their Person, especially by marking one another's necks like teenagers or putting an arm around each other at social gatherings.)

15.What is their most common argument about?

They love to bicker, it's how they flirt, especially with their 500 page marriage contract which they both like to pick through. Despite the bickering though, I actually think they don't FIGHT all that often. Their most explosive fights have inevitably been about morality, especially re: the debtors/Hope, which is what initiated their Break-Up Era (obviously, they got over it, but it was hard for both parties involved.) It got to the point of him accusing her of never having loved him after she poisoned him in order to knock him out to free Hope, which was all an inevitable argument for them to have. When they are more settled, after the Break Up Era, it becomes more about Ana and raising her, since they are both very different in what they want for her, especially since Raphael wanted an *heir* but not necessarily a *child* who could take his beloved wife's attention away from him.

2.What are their primary love languages?

He loves to dote on her, especially giving her anything her heart desires. He would be very happy keeping her in a gilded cage forever, and she isn't...AS opposed to that as she probably should be.

In turn, she also dotes on him, taking care of him, washing the blood off of him after a torture session, stroking his hair, pressing her lips against his neck.

5.Who initiates kisses? Where is their favorite spot to kiss each other?

She usually initiates kisses -- she likes to bury her head in his neck or to press a kiss to his chin, he favors her neck, throat, or shoulder-blades.

10.What do they like best about each other?

He likes the cunning beneath her kindness and compassion, she likes the way he can seemingly effortlessly understand her.

[hauntedmoonstone]

Haddie at Mikaela: “where do you think you're going?”

Also Haddie: I don’t remember you having work today

(art by @meglinpancake)

Haddie was turned over in the bed back to Mikaela cuddling with the shark plush (that wasn’t even hers) Mikaela just stared lovingly at her partner's back slightly tracing the freckles of Haddie’s back connecting the constellation of Aquila the Eagle. Mikaela then took her hand and traced the constellation of Lyra, the harp that was located on her hips. The day Mikaela saw that they shared the constellations that had to the two lovers Vegas and Altair she knew she was meant to be Haddie’s. And with the soft vibrating of her phone it seemed summer had arrived for the two lovers also known as a very early shift at the cafe to prepare for an all day event which was to bring in a lot of customers. She had to get an early start to make sure they were stocked and enough pastries were cooked for the day. She sighed deeply and turned over to stop the alarm as she slipped out of bed silently. With a pout she began getting ready for the day moving through the house getting food and a shower. She gave the sleeping Haddie one last sad look and blew her a kiss as she grabbed her apron from the room. She double made sure she had everything and approached the door to leave but right as she was turning the knob she was grabbed in a tight hug by Haddie who groaned and rubbed her face in her shoulders. 

“Where do you think you’re going moonstone?” Mikaela leaned into the hug and pouted.

“Don’t make this harder than it is sunbeam. You know I got an early ass shift today for the event.” Haddie looked down at her utterly confused for a moment before her eyes lit up and she face palmed with a groan.

“Fuuuck the event! How did I forget?” “Probably the three nights of barely any sleep you’ve been getting trying to figure out travel plans for you and your brother's next trip.”

Haddie nodded and yawned, gripping her tighter and began tugging back to the couch.

“Do you really have to go in this early? You always show up thirty minutes early for everything…..” Mikaela just simply let her sleepy girlfriend pull her into the couch with a smile she rolled her eyes playfully, turning over to cuddle into Haddie’s chest.

“Fine, just ten minutes though, okay?”

“Hmmm make it 15.” Mikaela gave Haddie a peck and relaxed into her grip with a huge smile.

“Okay you win this time 15 more minutes dear.”

[iowaisms]

Full transparency: We're going through a breakup right now, and depression is really kicking our ass. We're also dealing with some things and people from our past coming back up, and it's adding to that (mostly in terms of feeling regrets, but things ARE getting closure and resolution). School is also not going great, and we're having a confusing time spiritually.

That's why we're really not doing well. I don't want to elaborate too much more publicly, but I do want to at least acknowledge WHY we're at such a low point. I'm sorry to keep harping on that and reiterating it.

But the fact we've been shown a lot of love and caring has been deeply appreciated. Thank you. We've met a lot of really kind people and systems on here and we're grateful for all of you. The encouragement and kindness are really helping us a lot.

🧡

[msfbgraves]

Is Daniel considered some sort of legendary beauty in Knights and Pawns? Because it seems like that sometimes! Alphas like Terry and even that Officer Jones seemed totally steamrollered by him in a moment, and he comes off as fairly popular and deeply loved and petted by many. And the Don himself used his Daniele’s looks as a bargaining chip, didn’t he?

In - universe? Among his classmates in omega school, not especially. Unpolished! New money! "Finished" upper class omegas are really a bit like courtiers, or ballet dancers or geisha, every bit of charm and beauty cultivated to the extreme, so they can come across as slightly otherworldly (that's also a kind of strange, hypnotic power they can wield). Daniel did learn all that, because there is power in it, but though crime has its own glamour and allure, they're not as artificial and that honestly suits Daniel better. He can do polished, Pop was adamant that he learned, but he's a bit too exuberant for that WASPy snobby stuff. He chose guitar over piano or violin or flute or harp, enough said for the band kids among us. Not just acoustic, either.

Pop used Daniele's whole package as a bargaining chip. He is a very pretty boy on the cusp of blossoming into a true beauty. He can use the finishing school tricks to confuse and bewitch other gangsters. Most of them don't have omegas and the ones they do meet have fallen through the cracks of their society. I mean, an omega from a poor but stable family is going to get married to as rich an Alpha as they can find, if not the very top than a high income one at any rate. Only 20% omegas for 40% Alphas and some omegas choose betas, even. But a dirt poor immigrant sold to criminals who use them to get into the States? Those kitties are trafficking victims. So that's the only omegas many gangsters and police even encounter. And then there's Daniel. Warmer and opener than the upper class omegas, but very charming when he wants, yet infinitely securer and happier than those street omegas. He is quite something! He dares take Terry on a bit! That's both "so common" and no street kitty would try. He really is, as some say, the specialest boy. Also all omegas area alluring in that way that confuses people, that's baked into their gender.

[adhonoremrp]

take your fill let the spectacle astound you.

seconds seem to tick by until the time finally arrives. the shadows inside the mansion grow long and disappear into darkness entirely as the sun sets beneath the horizon. both grandiose doors on the far end of the feasting hall glow with a thick jade diffusion. the voice beckons once more.

our veil grows thin.

the incandescent doors shudder and swing open to reveal a grand ballroom. the floor is made of dark polished marble most of which is utilized for dancing, morbid and ghoulish frescoes are painted on every wall with deeply rich tones, and the high reaching ceiling is rib vaulted in a gothic style. two staircases on either side of the main entrance lead up to a mezzanine that has several opera house style balconies overlooking the dance floors. windows from floor to ceiling occupy the walls. curtains of thin gossamer are draped over each. a symphony of masked musicians play uncanny melodies that fill the hall.

dance.

an impossible number of masked figures enjoy the space, especially those spectrally waltzing above the still living. the ghosts both exaggerate how spacious it is while filling the room entirely. a dark, curly hair child looms lost and confused near the exit. a middle aged unspeakable hides behind the curtains. an attractive and wealthy couple laugh on the edge of the dancing with a couple of charismatic and charming americans and two scottish farmers who still looked completely in love, even in death. just outside the orchestra pit, a dark haired woman plucks the notes of a harp as a man who smells of saltwater and snake venom listens. two fathers that no one would recognize, one with a friendly face and one less so, chat on a balcony. finally, a familiar sly-faced twin leans expectantly against a window.

there is still no host to be introduced, merely guests in this liminal space, but just beyond the imposing windows, a seemingly endless graveyard is illuminated by floating jack-o-lanterns and carved turnip heads. tombstones etched with names line the grass as far as the eye can see in every direction, and yet, not a single door leads out to it. the haunts come and go from the cemetery as they please, but perhaps even that can only be during this special night when, indeed, the shroud between living and not is mere gossamer. it is time to begin la danse macabre!

OOC NOTES

happy halloween friends! thank you again for sending in all your haunts and making this event such a great character study. the highly anticipated ball has begun and will continue until the sun rises. while threads are always encouraged, a channel in the discord has also been opened today for in character interactions. consider this the wrap up of the event. as we enter the new month, all characters will awaken where they fell asleep before arriving at the haunted mansion as if it were all a dream. however, they each still possess their mask. continue writing any threads from the event, and after november 1st, feel free to continue non-event related threads as well.

[talkingbl]

The Good and Bad of The Eclipse

SPOILER WARNING.

Disclaimer: I want to give a preface here and say that while it looks like there's more bad than good, there's really not. The good overcame the bad for the most part with this show (as you can see by the amount I wrote under each bullet).

The Good

Neo. My first encounter with Neo was FUTS. Back then, I didn't think much of him. I mean, I knew he was a somewhat decent actor, but the style of FUTS didn't quite lend itself to showcasing his skill. Then I watched Tonhon Chonlatee. I started to notice his versatility. Duean was a straightforward guy: he see Meen, he simp for Meen, he confused as to why he simp for Meen. Na was a little more interesting. He had feelings for Chon, but he also had the wherewithal to understand that those feelings weren't reciprocated. He had a level of emotional complexity that allowed him to recognize when enough was enough despite his beating heart. But Khan? Khan took the bare bones of Duean and the emotional maturity of Na and moved it forward (hi Eren!). Neo was able to capture the feeling of falling in love with someone unexpected while struggling to come to terms with what that feeling means with incredible subtlety. Each time Khan hung out with Thua, a new emotion developed within Khan toward Thua. I'm never one to harp on the way a person looks at another person but that thing that Mork does to Phi in FUTS, Khan did to Thua but with 5 other emotions attached to it. There wasn't just love/lust in those looks, there was longing, fear, adoration, and doubt. You could see how tortured Khan felt inside even if he never vocalized it. All of this showed the talent and potential of Neo who was perfectly casted in this role.

FirstKhao. Oh boy, where do I start? Well, I guess I can say that First is one of the best actors GMMTV has to offer. He plays sadness and contemplation so well, it's no wonder he was selected to play Akk. While I did see some areas of improvement for First (namely any time Akk had to be rude to another character/reject Ayan), when he's good, he's great. The moments that best exemplify this to me in The Eclipse include whenever Ayan gets all up in Akk's space. You can visibly see the butterflies fluttering around Akk when Ayan approaches. And I've said this before but First is another one of those actors who can create chemistry out of thin air. When he played opposite Ohm / Fluke in The Shipper, you got that. When he played opposite Gawin in Not Me, you got that. And now that he's playing opposite his best friend, you get it even more. He and Khao are so perfect next to each other that it's hard to understand why this pairing hadn't happened sooner. As for Khao I wasn't initially as sold on him as I was First. I had seen him in Tonhon Chonlatee, 2gether, and 1000 Stars and, while I was fine with his acting, I wasn't 100% sold on him particularly as a lead in a romance. But The Eclipse really made a believer out of me. I want to be clear that I don't think chemistry is a huge problem with Khaotung, as he had smooth chemistry with Podd in Tonhon, but it was something about the way he acted outside of the romance itself that bothered me. It was like I couldn't feel the chemistry between Ton and Chon linger once Tonhon (played by Pod) left the screen. It's like when Chon (played by Khao) was with his friends or alone, I never got from Khao's acting that his character was deeply in love. Despite the fact that much of Chon's story outside of scenes with Ton was about Ton, and many of his scenes were crafted to convince you that Chon was head over hills for Ton (see the shrine scenes), I didn't really feel like Chon actually loved Ton when they were apart. Yet, when Ayan is away from Akk, you get the sense that what he feels for Akk endures. So, again, I wonder how much of these developments are Khao's growth as an actor and how much is a result of writing/directing. Either way, Khao made me a believer in The Eclipse and I'm interested to see where he goes next from here (hopefully a post-apocalyptic survivor role!).

The Bad

The World Remembers gang. Just why? Their roles weren't acting well and the antics got stale after the first time they pulled something. I didn't know much about them besides that they hated school uniforms?? And also they're gay but like...that's not a personality trait lmao. Their scenes just prolonged an already needlessly convoluted plot.

The final act / the Teacher Dika story. I- Look, GMMTV is great at starting an intriguing story and landing so poorly. I don't think I cared about this plot line for one second after like Episode 4. If they wanted to do the thriller/politicking/intrigue thing, they should've watched seasons 1-4 of Game of Thrones (or something similar) first because they dropped the ball here. I mean, every competent writer knows that the key point to any story (especially a political thriller!!) is to be entertaining first. Make shit happen! Make us care about said shit! Make said shit logical/reasonable within the bounds of the story world! Don't just throw in character motivations out of nowhere or reiterate a character's position needlessly, or drag out every single plot twist. It just gets boring and confusing after the first couple of missteps.

The slow burn. After awhile it was just like how in the fuck is Akk still denying his feelings for Ayan? It was like they'd take one step forward and two steps back which just pissed me off.

The runtime. Really this show could've ran ~8 episodes and nothing would have been lost. The story was not tight and had a lot of threads that weren't exactly extraneous but also weren't interesting.

[nelapanela94]

Hi Nela , i wanted to request a fic, an angsty one at that, where  it is set in cannonverse.  So, a colleegue of levi dies on a mission and she harbored strong feelings for him for a long time in secret, but she cant pass and her spirit keeps looming over him watching  until fate makes him   realize that she was deeply in love with him , and who knows maybe they'll be together in another lifetime. You're welcome to make changes or add anything . Get well soon 😊 🙏

😊Hi Anon! Thank you!!!! I'm feeling way better now, and than you so much for the request!!!

tw: Angsty, depiction of physical injuries and death.

wc: ~13k

Summary: Doomed to spend eternity in a wedge between heaven and hell, mourning a love that could not be, Y/N has only one way to escape her desolate fate. Will she find a way to make Levi aware of the feelings she has secretly harbored for him?

You were noise and silence muting my soul.

Fury and lull.

tears and laughter.

The promise and a perhaps

confusing my skin.

You were all and nothing.

You are what never was and will never be.

The storm and oblivion.

An hourglass upside down.

3

Gravel crunch under your feet. You’re running towards the light, but the line that divides brightness and darkness recedes with every step you take. No matter how fast you run, your feet never skim the glowing gold. The gleam warms your skin like a mother caress lulling you to sleep. Barren soil becomes grass, tall grass that gobbles up and pricks your ankles. Dew wicks your white, flowing skirts. You clutch the twill in your fists and lift so as not to trip and fall. Despite the voluminous dress, you feel light, weaving through with such litheness. Like a feather swirling in an airstream.

You enter the woods, sticks of light pour through the boughs and sprigs, hundreds-year-old trees stand there and proud like sentinels, flanking the way to the great beyond. Their entwined branches claw at the sky like pleading arms. The air holds the balmy aromas of honey and oak, mingled with the smell of petrichor. Your hair whips around your face, and the whisper of the gentle breeze soothes you, trimming away the suffering. The pain has waned. No more blood is gushing out. The wounds on your flesh sewn back as if seconds or minutes has spooled backwards. As if the reels were collected. But time is moving forward. The earth continues whirling around the sun. Your lips curve up into a smile of relief when you spot the last wall of trees.

You just have to follow the light to the world where souls wallow in ambrosial fragrance and revel in the divine twang of harps.

A frosty gale whirs with the intensity of a hurricane, prickling your arms and face with a thousand needles, and the lustre shrinks. The elation fades from your gaze, giving way to a grimace of dismay. Confusion, fear, chagrin sting your face. The darkness that enfolds you is so dense you can’t see your fingers wiggling before you. The sheer quietness is jarring, and you’re left alone with your unsettling thoughts. A throe of anguish whacks you right in the chest and bolts through your limbs. Blotches of your last moments snag your senses: the pungent stench of iron, wires buzzing, dismembered bodies, spatters of crimson, the ear-splitting shouts and pleas, the twinging pain surging through your leg and side and neck, the bark of a tree chaffing your back.

The little hairs behind your neck bristle in awareness. Chills bite you. Despair crawls under your skin like rolling-out barbed wire. A razor-sharp beat springs in your chest, and your heart leaps into your throat. Your mouth unhinges to scream, but nothing comes out.

You run, the fear of being trapped in that prison of murk is more harrowing than the fear of stumbling and smashing your face on the floor. What's the worst that could happen if you're already dead?Though, no matter where you go, there’s no sign or a sliver of light that gives you hope.

A dire laughter rises, and you stop in your tracks, turning your head in different directions with frenzy. Your breath comes out in a rush of panic, and your chest tightens into a knot. Something or someone rejoices in your plight. The laugh is like a throaty rasp scraping your ears with the most abrasive sandpaper.

You close your eyes shut, clamping them so tight you see stars sparkling behind your eyeballs, threatening to explode. You hunch. Your hands cover your ears, yet the dreadful sound seeps through. Your face is dampened and warm with tears. Chin wobbling. Your sobs and weeps tangle with the sardonic guffaw composing a brash tune that prickles your eardrums.

Is this how eternity will be? How bad have been your sins? Is this a fair sentence for stealing an eraser in first grade? Now you have no chance to apologize to Toby. Maybe for cheating in math? For the white little lies? For…

Whops bang with furor where your heart is supposed to be. You raise your head defiantly, and crack your eyes to the nothingness, mustering courage from who knows where, and open your mouth to shout ‘Whose there?’ ‘Who are you?’ ‘What are you?’ ‘Where am I?’ But your queries clog in your throat like a fireball. You try to stroke a syllable and coat it in your voice, but all you feel is lava trickling down to your chest. You give another try, stubborn as you are– that’s why you ended up here in first place. But this time shards of glass are forced down your throat.

You gag, your fingers curling around your neck as you tumble on your knees. A hiss dashes out through gritted teeth, tears piquing your eyes at the brazen pain of nails stabbing your calves.

Right when you’re about to give up and yield to your fate, looming in the infinite darkness, the gloom begins recoiling into a smoky shade of wispy edges. Black branches gnarl on white, slipping on the indefinite floor and walls, giving form to a soaring shape before you. It grows a bald head with ears, a torso with arms and legs and fingers and toes. No nose, no eyes, no mouth. Yet.

The cold dwindles. Your face rucks up, eyes shut tight, and you turn away from the blinding beam.  It expands to the infinite, to your right, left, front, and back. You take a peek through a slivered open eye and there’s no elongated shadow cast on the floor, as if the light is coming from nowhere, a beam without source.

“Make up your mind.” A sour scorn jabs your ears. “Darkness makes you weep, and light vexes you.”

You lurch back, wide eyes full of fright trembling at the figure standing in front of you. Its arms are folded over its chest, foot tapping on the floor, sketching rippling waves on the surface as if you were standing on a shallow lagoon. A wide toothy grin sprains up to where its eyes are supposed to be.

Your quivering lips part to speak, but this time, what’s holding you back is pure panic, seizing every inch of your body. Spreading from flesh to bones.

“Has the cat got your tongue?”

Your stomach churns, and words heap in your throat. Terror glides beneath your skin.

It sighs and shrugs, its palms facing up. “You must be wondering where are you? And why?”

You gulp, guzzling down the knot, and it takes it like a yes.

It conjures a scroll, unfurls it, and your eyes follow the paring roll until it brushes your feet. The shadow figure reads for itself the intricately engraved markings, whispering in an unrecognizable language, and you wonder how it can read without eyes. It rewinds the manuscript and slides it back into a pouch that slits in its belly. It brings a fist to its mouth, and harrumphs, tilting its head up.

You tip your head to the side, one eyebrow shot upward.

"After inventorying your sins and good deeds, we ruled out the underworld for you. Stealing an eraser from a six-year-old is not frowned upon by the higher ups, nor is lying to your parents.” It shakes its head accusatorily, then bursts into a flaming, whirling form, tittering, and swirling around you. Its voice leaves a somber echo. “Saying you'd stay over with your girlfriends to wantonly cede to the fangs of debauchery.” It reverts to its demi human form and brings its hands to under its chin, steepling its fingers, tips tapping. “What would your parents think if they found out you were sneaking out with the baker's son?” It scratches its head. “Anyway, according to the guidelines, that's not considered a felony. Squashing a cockroach doesn't count as murder. But as you may have noticed,”–it lifts a finger and whirls it in the air. Your eyes dart around, and it continues, “this isn't heaven either. Your application to paradise was rejected." It yawns. "So, you got caught in the middle. No agony, no bliss. Nothing. Just you and me."

You blink twice.

You lower your head, gazing up at it, lashes flitting. “Is there anything I can do to get out of here?” you ask coyly, swinging your head from side to side.

“I thought you were a mute.”

Your frown, folding your arms over your chest. “That doesn’t answer my question.” Irritation enfolds your voice. Your fingers drum over your upper arms as your eyes go blank.

“Try another one.”

“What are you?”

Its smile is sprightly this time.

"I am only a messenger and the one who takes you to your destination, but because of you, we are both trapped in here. We messengers are bound to the souls until we deliver this to gatekeepers of heaven or hell." He fumbles in its back pocket, draws a green gem and holds it in front of you between his thumb and forefinger. "If I don't hand it over, I won't untie myself from you. As simple as that."

"And what did I do? Why can't I get into paradise?" you scowl, jutting out your lower lip. Hands resting on your hips.

"To let shame and the fear of rejection consume you, to let the chances you had to tell him slip away." It raps its tapered fingers on your temple for every word as if he’s drilling a hole.

“Ouch!” Your face contorts as you rub the side of your head.

“You wasted all your chances, crumpled them and threw them in the bin.”

You know exactly that it means. You were brooding over that matter, but you were going to do it, you were determined to spill it out right after the expedition.

But fate dissented.

At least you would have someone to talk to. For ages.

Like a blown-up flame, it snaps away, and panic surges through you again. Lousy company was better than being alone in nothingness. At least it would keep you diverted from your thoughts.

Then, something brushes your nape from behind, grating you like a rough jute blanket, making shivers run down your spine.

It’s light and sturdy, the sensation on your shoulders. The hands squeeze you, and you freeze in the spot. Your body feels so heavy you can’t move, you can’t fight. Its teeth nip your neck, and you loll your head back. You swear you feel its breathing fanning over the thrumming spot beneath your jaw. But it doesn’t even have a nose.

Your muscles tense, and your breath comes out in muffled pants, your legs squirm at the tempting groping. Your eyes close, and you make a huge mistake.

Its palms march down, its mouth nibbles on your neck, and you hate it feels so good. A feeble moan leaps out of your lips.

You can feel the gibing smirk curving against your cheeks.

Your face slathers with deep red.

“Y/N, I love you, I love you.” It’s arms slither around you, holding you tight. That’s not its croaky voice; it’s husky, and soft, and deep, like a rasp of silk, laced with lust. A voice you know too well, a voice that make your knees wobble and your heart gallop.

But a tinge of mockery lingers at the end of each syllable. And you know it’s just teasing with you.

“Leave me alone!!!” you creak. Your hands anchor to its arms and hurl them off. Its obnoxious laughter gurgles out in a hoarse scour.

It lets go, and you spin around.

But it’s not a black human-shaped shadow with the acerbic grin and warped edges. No.

Dizzy with repulsion, you heave, air lodges in your throat, and even if you don’t need oxygen anymore, you feel you’re running out of breath. Your guts wrench.

Levi stands in front of you. Those are his features, those lips you dreamed to kiss, his nose, his expressive thin brows, because, what his heart tucks in, and his words can’t give form, his brows give away.

That silky hair you always wanted to smooth down, to entwined those locks between your fingers and let them slip through.

But there is something off.

The eyes. Not steel gray with a hue of blue, but green, bright green like the stone it showed you twiddling in its fingers. Pale smoke swirls through its gaze.

Scowling, you snarl, “I hate you!”

“Why? Isn’t this what you wanted?” he inches closer, pointing forward his puckered lips into a kiss. “I love you Y/N. You’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen. Marry me. We��ll live in the outskirts of the city and bless our home with kids.” He holds his hands together, fingers intertwined, sighing dreamily. A cheap lampoon.

Your brows twitch, your cheeks flushed red. Hands fisting your white skirts. “SHUT UP!”

Your voice echoes, stretching to the endlessness.

“He’ll never say that!” You spit.

“Of course he won’t. You’re dead.” He rolls his eyes.

“Thanks for being so empathetic.” You huff. “I mean, he would’ve never said it that way.”

“Enlighten me then. So I can give you a perfect personification. I’d make your stay more… pleasant.”

No. You don’t want this shoddy illusion. It might look like him, but it’s not him.

“Is there anything I can do?”

The fake Levi pokes a finger in his nose. “For what?”

“To get out of here.”

“You had your chance, you missed it.” He sniffs the booger and flicks it away with his thumb.

“But–“

“It hurts my feelings you don’t want to stay with me.” He splays a hand on his chest and feigns cry. “I promise I’ll be a good partner to roam with in the eternity.”

“I don’t give a shit about your feelings!” You holler back. "I need to get out of here."

“You’re so mean Y/N.” His chin trembles. You loath the way he says your name. Stench coating every letter. “There’s something you can do”

Your eyes fill with hope.

“But I won’t tell.” He turns his face away gruffly.

“Fuck you!”

“That’s not ladylike, Y/N. I’ll lather your mouth with water and soap.”

You blow off a lock of hair from your eyes.

“Tell me.”

“Make me.”

“I’ll give you anything.”

The fake Levi smirks. “Anything?”

“I mean–” you quaver.

“There’s nothing you can give me, there’s nothing I want from you.” He grips your jaw, impelling you to look at him. You try to push him off, but he doesn’t budge. “You’re a pretty one, but I don’t feel–what’s what you call it? Desire? That’s not something I was created for. And your soul? I’m already tethered to you.”

He releases you. A burn of ice scorches where his fingers had pressed.

“Please tell me.”

“I’m not a god, or a devil, or a genie in a bottle.” His lizard green eyes stain with mischief as an idea hatches in his head. What you don’t know is that he only wants to play. “Just so you can see that I’m not as hateful as you think I am, I’ll tell you. There’s only one way, Y/N. You have to shear the thread, the pending issue that keeps you stuck here. You have to tell him what you feel.”

Your eyes furrow. “And how do I do that?”

“I can’t solve everything in your life. Death.” He corrects himself. “Your soul will roam among the living, and you must find a way to deliver the message.”

“How long do I have?”

“Until he dies. If he dies and you can’t tell him, I’ll drag you back here.” He gives you a coy smile. “You have a lifetime, his lifetime.”

You clear your throat to speak, but his voice slices into peals of laughter.

Cracks splinter down its head, neck, and shoulders; black leaks through the crevices, like twisting loose black curls seeping out like water, pooling and spreading boundlessly. It fragmentizes. The shards of the Levi shell it wore disintegrate, melting as in acid. They hiss, and roiling threads of lawn-green smoke swirl above them, wisp edges blur in the nothingness. Your  fumbling legs don’t move, they don’t respond to your commands. You look down and spot the half dozen of snaky limbs trussing your limbs, seizing them, pulling you down. Your face is frozen in a snarl of panic. Your chest tightens, and your throat clogs, and you can’t make a sound.

There are no prankish smirk or green eyes. A menacing void daubs in your stomach, smearing to your chest and throat. A maw full of fangs cracks open beneath your feet.

Here you stand frozen, blackness consuming you; inch by inch, you drown in quicksand. The more you struggle the faster you sink. Pain lances up through your feet, sudden and sharp. You gaze down in search of a wound, but your ankles are already submerged under the blackness. Its laughter becomes a strident noise as pain climbs and infects your calves and shins and soon it’s twisting your knees, your thighs, your hips and on.

Your raucous weep encroaches the piercing chortle. Your throat flares up as you tug at the collar of your dress, trying to tear it apart, but it clings into your skin, cinching tighter. Tears wedge out through the line of your lashes, pampering your face, stinging your lips. The saltiness swabs your mouth.

“Those who risk nothing don’t deserve to go to hell or to the altars.” Its hoarse voice echoes, each syllable thrums in your ears.

A tinkling, and it all shatters.

Legs flutter, arms flounder.

You’re falling, falling, swallowed by the abyss.

I

Supple snores brush past his lightly parted lips. You watch his back rise and fall steadily. One arm stretched out. His cheek is sprawled on the last document he was reviewing last night before dozing off with the quill trapped in his fingers. The blotch of black expanded in a circle with warped edges until it ran out of ink.

He looks cute, you think. In your eyes he always looks adorable. Even with the creases sullying between his eyebrows, and his arms crossed over his chest.

Serenity envelops him, granting him a few hours of well-deserved peace.

Three hours.

He did well last night.

You poke him, try to, but the tip of your finger doesn’t dent his pillowy cheek. Instead, it goes through him. A reminder that you’re here, but not. Between cero and one there’s an infinity, just like between you and him. You strew your hand and bring it over his cheek, flimsily caressing, but you feel nothing under your phantom touch. There’s no warmth, nor the tenderness of his skin. You wonder whether he feels something when you’re looming around, a sudden cold or warmth, the air lighter or denser. You take every chance you get to tangle yourself in his hair, to breath down on his neck, supplicating that he can feel you.

But you had your time to gamble, and you missed your shot.

Feel me.

He’s slobbering, a cord of saliva dribbles out, spattering the letters in charcoal black. His khaki jacket is perched on the backrest. His cravat hooked loosen around his neck.  The firsts two buttons of his shirt undone.

Two years ago, heat would have grazed your core by a tiny bit of exposed skin. A simple glimpse of ripping collarbones, or broad shoulders, rippling muscles or a glance of his perfectly sculpted chest, or veiny arms, or…

You shake off the naughty thoughts.

Even two years after, a single peek of any inch of his flesh has the same effect on you.

You can’t help it. It’s always been like that, even a simple exchange of Hi’s had your legs shaking, and your cheeks broiling red as if his gaze and his voice have caught you in a spell. You are the sun that runs helplessly behind the moon.

But it’s not just the straightforward gravity of lust that had you spinning around his orbit. Yes, Levi got the looks–though others might demur–but it’s much more than carnal desire. You could always see through his façade, wondering how much energy and self-restrain it takes to keep it on all the time. But if you look heedfully, if you don’t succumb to the intensity of his gaze and the chastisement of his frown, you can see it. The Levi who feels to much, at a jarring intensity it lacerates his heart, and he doesn’t have enough time to patch it up when another stab wounds him. The dial of his heart is broken, most likely a manufacturing defect or a childhood trauma that left the volume all the way up.

There were so many blows that life threw at him, mercilessly, and the pain stretched long and unbearably sharp; thus, he learned to numb them off and protect himself. An insensitive lunatic, they say. And he couldn’t care less of what they think. It’s just a survival tactic.

That’s the Levi you fell in love with. The Levi who cares too much, who puts everyone else before him, who’ll never accept he’s good with kids and animals.

The tea lover and the clean freak.

The scared boy who used his strength to survive in a world that doesn’t  set limits to cruelty.

You love the Levi who is too sensitive to the sunlight.

The Levi who cocoons under his covers and quilt in winter, and files complaints to the sweltering summer for coating him in a nasty clammy layer.

The Levi he hides under the hull.

The Levi who doesn’t carry the boulder of being Humanity’s strongest soldier.

I love you. You hover over behind him, humming a lullaby he’ll never hear. Your ghostly fingers linger along the line of his chin and nose, draw his eyebrows, the line of his lashes. You try to flick a lock of hair, but it doesn’t flinch. Shove your hand between the disheveled strands, but you go through his skull.

Creepy.

A sigh whizzes out.

But you’re a persistent one, and just like every morning, you drag your lips to his in hope that this time it will be different.

The prince waking up the princess from the enchantment. But he’s not a princes and you’re not a prince, and this is not a kids tale.

You watch his reaction closely. Your mouth remains a millimeter away from his; you close the gap and steel gray eyes snap open wide. You don’t move, you don’t retreat. You wait; he’s staring aghast, and for a second you believe today is the day the planets align, but thin black eyebrows sink into a scowl and a ‘tch’ traipse out of his mouth.

The legs of his chair screech on the wooden floor, and he hauls up on his feet, wiping off his drool with the back of his hand, still unaware of the shapeless black blot on his cheek.

You step back, shooting a brow upward, tilting your head to the side, and swiftly spin around. You watch him stomp to the shelf jammed with hefty tomes of leather-bound encyclopedias and biographies, their spines adorned with curving gold letters and neat patterns. He stands before it, stretches up, putting his weight on his toes, and rubs off a speck of dust with a cloth he drew out from his pocket.

“Levi” You groan his name, pulling off your hair, fighting the urge to kick his desk.

You can walk past through people and animals, but not through objects. Though, you can’t really touch them. You can push them, but never grab them, they’d slip from your fingers. Once, desperate to get his attention from the engrossing paperwork, you drop a ceramic mug from his desk. The quill fell from his hand, and stunned, he stared at the shards scattered on the floor, swarmed in his precious tea. The flickering light of the candle danced coarsely on his dilated pupils; he slammed down the mesh in his throat, and shook his head in disbelief, smacking the heel of his hand on his forehead.

It must’ve been the lack of sleep, he convinced himself.

Besides, your task is to confess your feelings, not to scare the shit out of him or render him believe he’s gone mad.

Another tch spills out of him when he spots the black smudge of ink stretching from the heel of his hand to his pinkie finger. He struts back to the table and his eyes flicker to the print he left on the paper.

“Fuck.”

He’ll need a copy of the report.

Why not to write a message or a letter? The quill slithers. However, about a month after this all started, when the headquarters still perched close to Shiganshina, you tried to trap the pen clamped between your hands. That day, Levi attended a meeting with Shadis, Erwin, Hange and the other squad leaders to discuss arrangements for the following mission. Levi was still a low rank soldier, yet a promising one who had already become a key piece in the game. The rest of the cadets were hectic with muscle wrenching training.  You stayed in the boys' dorms, battling with defiance as the shadow twitted and scoffed on your back. With the quill teetering in your hands, you dipped it in the inkwell, but as soon as the nip scratched the paper, the ink was swallowed by the fiber. No matter how many times you tried, you could not write more than one stroke.

You couldn’t leave a message whittled on a tree bark or carved in soil; you couldn’t leave a print. Nothing.

Because you didn’t belong here.

You follow Levi to the adjacent room. A light blend of bergamot and lavender lingers in the air. The warm summer breeze caresses his face as the window swings open, particles of dust sway freely in the first morning glow. His bed is untouched, perfectly taut, no wrinkles etched in the sheets.

What a waste.

You rush to the bathroom door, and rest against the frame on your shoulder, arms folded over your chest and legs crossed at the ankles.

Your eyes are hooked to each of his movements. Opening his wardrobe door, he flicks his eyes along the row of light blue shirts and white pants. He takes his time as if he had a fan of options unfurled before him like a girl choosing a gown to a ball. He slides the hangers across the metal railing, one finger curled against his chin.

It’s not science, Levi. You roll the eyes.

And he emerges from the closet with a shirt and a pair of pants hooked on his arm, looking exactly at the clothes he fell asleep with. He hangs them on the backrest of his wing chair and sits on the edge of the bed, next to the nightstand. He pulls out the bottom drawer, delving into, and draws a pair of white briefs.

He thuds the drawer close with his leather-clad foot and heads to the bathroom, leaving the clean underwear perched too on the chair.

You stand there under the door frame, feet shoulder width apart, the back of your hands set on your hips. You slant forward, determination smeared across your eyes.

I LOVE YOU. I LOVE YOU. I LOVE YOU, you shout, I LOVE YOU, LEVI.

Nothing.

Grumbling, you press the heels of your hands over your eyes and screak with hopelessness. You clout your temples, tears flooding in your eyes. Stupid, stupid, Y/N, why didn’t you knock on the door?

You look up and mumble, I love you, Levi. I love, you. Your voice breaks, and your chin trembles.

But nothing.

He ducks into the bathroom, walking past through you. The skirts of your dress billow as you turn around. You wipe your tears away, and you know what’s coming next. You are a bystander every morning, and his routine is almost unflappable.

You've seen him undress in front of you hundreds of times, and the desire never dissipates. A tingle crawls in your belly every time you look at him unseemly. The only perk of being invisible. An indecent show exclusive for you.

However, seeing and not touching is a curse.

His clothes pool at his feet and you can’t help but bite your bottom lip, relishing in the enthralling image. You close one eye and trace a svelte finger along the rebel locks of hair, pointing in every direction, his forehead, the bridge of his nose, his cupid bow, his chin, and jaw and Adam’s apple, his taut chest. You draw a circle around his tiny nipple. You continue downwards. The sun that pours through the small casement window catches the angles and planes of his perfectly chiseled torso, the V-cut abs, the ripped obliques, making him look like a statue carved by a master of the art. Your eyes meander along the line of hair marching down that disappears under his boxers. A dented line trails along his thick and flexed outer thighs.

His underwear is still in place, and you sulk. His booty is perky and round and bitable.

Distress surges through you, twisting your stomach. Like a gust of cool wind, it steps behind you. You and your sinful thoughts. Its voice is a ragged whisper that blisters your nape. Your knees go rubbery. He could’ve been yours.

The air is denser and torrid behind you.

You clear your throat and say without looking back, Rejection was a possibility too.

Levi spits out the toothpaste, and takes a sip of water from the cup, swishes, and spits again, and wipes his mouth on a washcloth. 

Dumb and dumber, perfect for each other. Its last words waft away. You nibble on your lower lip and look over your shoulder, but it’s already gone. Momentary alleviation swaddles you again, your hands, little by little, stop trembling. You never know when it’s going to show up again. It may show up the next minute, or you may not hear from it for a month.

You watch Levi lean over the sink, closer to the mirror, furrowing his brows at the stain on his cheek. He lifts his chin, one hand stroking his jawline, tilting his face to the sides.

Levi, you shaved two days ago.

Yet you know he can’t stand stubbles. He first wipes off the black smudge. Then slathers shaving oil on the target area and picks up the dark wood. From the handle, he unfolds it. The stainless-steel blade catches the sunlight in a bright gleam that flashes on the mirror. He holds the razor to his jaw, and the blade smoothly glides in short strokes. Water trickles from the faucet and he rinses the blade. Again, the sharp edge scrapes. He cleanses it, lifts his chin, pulls it back, and it slides again.

Once done, he cleans the blade and folds the razor, and places the mahogany handle on the countertop. You slip behind him, but there’s only one person looking back from the mirror. He washes his face and swabs a towel gently, pats his clean-shaven cheeks and lolls his head, flicking his hair to the side, running his fingers over his undercut. It’s soft and he briefly notes it’s gotten long.

Not today.

Soon Hange will be banging on his door.

His fingers anchor to the hem of his briefs, pull them down, and he kicks them off. Your eyes beam with tinge of lust, your cheeks scorching red. How bad you want to smack that booty. You shake your head, ‘sinful thoughts, sinful thoughts, don’t forget you can still go to hell.’

Levi gets into the shower and sweeps the curtain. Water whooshes down, and you strut back to his room. Groaning, you fall back on his bed, running down your palms over your face.

Day seven hundred and fifty two, and you’ve made no progress. This is not going anywhere. Why don’t you help me? You ask the shadow, you know he is listening, but you don’t get an answer.

If you help me, both of us will benefit, you know?

Screw you.

It doesn’t have a name, he said, and you don’t want to give it one. It’d strengthen your bond, and that’s the last you wish.

Water stops running, and a minute later, Levi steps out of the bathroom, a towel wrapped around his waist, lucky drops of water trickle down the ridges of his abs. You’re jealous of them because they can caress his skin. You roll onto your side, head prop on your elbow, your hair spilling down over the sheets.

Several times has the wind accidentally knocked the towel off.

He wipes his hair dry with another towel and tosses it away as he makes his way to the chair where his clothes are piled on.

He briskly dons his clothes, slip into his boots, and straps on. He fixes his cravat, and smooths down his hair. Picks up his towels and hangs them on the hooks in the bathroom.

Levi sighs and toddles to his office, closing the door to his room with a soft thud.

Seven bells break through the window, and while the last chime still resounds, three bangs drag him to the door.

Levi slips aside, and Hange steps inside, but they don’t show up alone. A night-black ball of hair is cradled in their arms, puffing up and down soundly.

“Good mor—”

“Get that thing out of here,” he scoffs as a sour grimace creeps across his face.

“Bu—”

He clicks his tongue, rolling his eyes, “I don’t want cat hair in my office.”

You witness the scene, and one green eye peeks open, drifting to you, filled with haughtiness.

Kick that cat out of here, Hange.

 It casts a grim glance at you.

That’s not even a cat.

 It purrs against their chest.

“Isn’t it cute?”

“No.”

No.

You reply in unison, but of course they can’t hear you.

A scowl tugs your brows together, your fists are clenched by your sides, your jaw set forward, teeth gritting so tight they might crack. That’s not possible, though, but the pressure mars you.

Meow. It yawns and leaps off Hange, making them lurch back.  

Its tail curls inward as it prances with indifference, swaying with arrogance. It stretches its back and curls at your feet. Levi’s eyes go blank, and heads to the bookshelf. Hange sinks into the couch and turns sideways to watch Levi standing on his toes, reaching out for a mug, their knee hitched up onto the sofa. They let out a chuckle, coaxing a death-sentence glower from the ravenette.

They lift their hands in the air, palms out as a sign of peace. “So, you also heard about the new tea supplies.”

“Yeah,” one corner of his lips quirks up.

Murmurs from the hallway percolate into his bureau. He left the door open, and more and more soldiers plod by down the corridor, heading for the training camp.

Levi owns a fine 13-piece tea set in white china that rests symmetrically on the top shelf. Six flare-shape cups graced with golden rims and handle rest on their saucers. The guava shaped teapot, adorned with a pattern of graciously painted spring flowers is settled in the middle. A little further to the right lies a mug that does not fit the set. And that’s the one Levi goes for.

Your eyes light up as you let out a sigh that coalesces hope and melancholy. A feeble, meek smile curves in your lips as Levi runs his thumb over the hand-painted dahlias. It was delicately crafted by nimble hands, something Levi deeply appreciates. His shoulders sag lightly, and he closes his eyes, sucking in a deep, cleansing breath.

“That’s a pretty one, Levi.”

Thanks Hange. It took me months, and tears of frustration to finish it before his birthday.

“It was a present,” he muses wistfully, raking his fingers through his hair, and pads toward Hange.

“From who?” Hange hauls onto their feet and slings an arm around Levi’s shoulders. “Don’t tell me it was from Y/N?” They wink and reel closer, waggling their eyebrows as Levi inches away, blushing and averting his eyes.

A pang of faith jabs within your chest, and you swallow the skein of despondency and misery, a drop of optimism fans out over your gaze. The cat’s ears twitch, and it gazes up, those penetrating green eyes meet yours and you can feel the dashes of scorn stabbing you, yet you won’t let him win this time. You cast a smug smile, then your eyes scoot to Levi and Hange as they strut together to the door.

“How do you know?” Levi stammers, and you raise a brow. His tapered fingers curl tight around the ceramic mug.

“Levi…” Hange sighs patting his back, their shoulders sag. “Sometimes it amazes me how thick you can be on certain issues.”

You rest against the desk, entwining your fingers and you bring your clasped hands to your chin, legs crossing and uncrossing. A deep red shade crawls across your cheeks. Today might be the day, the day you’ll break the curse. Come on, Hange, you whisper.

Levi halts in his tracks and flings Hange’s arm off him. His eyebrows plummet into a frown. “Explain yourself.”

Yes, Hange, explain yourself.

You watch with the suspense as when your team is about to score. You feel your hear thrumming recklessly, shivers dashing down your spine.

“Don't tell me you never noticed it.” The titan freak pinches the bridge of their nose, shaking their head, and drags out a long breath.

“Noticed what?” Levi bellows, creased lines marring his forehead and between his brows.

“The way she looked at you.” Hange exhales, a forlorn smile blooming in their lips. They squeezed Levi’s shoulder and mutters, “I’m sorry.”

One baby step.

Dumbfounded, Levi stares at them with wide open eyes that quail under the weight of their pensive gaze. His lips tremble too. He gulps, and lets his brows sink into a scowl. His heart kicks against his chest, and his face is mottled with redness, though Hange can’t tell whether it’s anger of embarrassment.

“Don’t talk trash.” He barks and storms out; Hange shrugs and follows him, closing the door behind them.

Your arms fall by your sides, your shoulders flump, and your head hangs forward as if it’s too heavy for your neck to support; your hair, jarred loose from the usual moorings, fling over your head. Your hands grip the wooden rim so hard color begins to drain from your fingers. Tears slide down your cheeks and fall, but they never touch the floor, they dissolve right before crashing on the polished wood, a chasm so thin and infinite that separates you from their world.

It’s not a cat anymore. A black shade stands next to you. A haughty smile spread across its somber face; its contemptuous laughter flays your skin. An arm swings around you, and you tip your head, your eyes crashing with the fake Levi’s. Smoke swishes in those disquieting pupils. Tears had stained your cheeks, minced your throat to a scalding soreness. You stare at him without rasping a word, trying to numb the pain away. It hurts too much.

Hopelessness infects you like a meat-eating bacterium. Time ticks, his time is ticking, and the fear of never seeing him again erodes every inch of your flesh.

This woe cut a hole right through you with a rusty knife.

Even dead, you’re not immune to pain.

You hurl him off.

“Oi! Y/N!”

You turn your head to him, swollen and glassy eyes wide open, mouth slightly parted, lips quavering. “Could you stop saying my name in his voice?” You plead in a wavering voice.

But he only snorts, a devilish smirk grazing those beautiful features. “It wouldn’t be fun, Y/N.” He grips your chin harshly, and you have no strength to fight him. “Love is your curse, sweetheart. Come with me. We´ll have each other for eternity.”

2

You drown a roaring yawn in the palm of your hand and wipe away the tear peeking at the corner of your eye. Disdain and disappointment suffuse the crowds’ faces. A cloud of pessimism and distrust hover over the streets of Shiganshina. The great bell chimes, and the chains rattle as the door to the outer world rises. Holding the reins in the curve between your thumbs and forefingers, you pat your face to wake you up. You suck in a long breath to steady the drumming beats of your heart. Even though it’s not your first expedition, apprehension fizzes through your veins, increasing the adrenaline in your system.

Shadis orders advance. Amid whistles and jeers, and the clopping of the hooves, you pass through the main gate, and the formation soon deploys.

No one had forecasted the ashy gray clouds rolling from the east.

Shouts ensnare with cries, and you can’t remember at what moment you fell from the horse. It must have slipped in the mud. Pain exploded in your face as you smacked against the ground. Splattered blood dappled your uniform, though you didn’t know if it belonged to your comrades or if it was your own. Your fingers burned, yet you managed to drag battered body to under a tree.

You slump against the trunk and a thick fog blurs your vision, and through the daze you glimpse bodies being tossed away by a savage giant. Wires buzz and click and snap. Wails of agony seem so distant. A short film in sepia flicker before your eyes, the story of your life. The door unfolds in front of you, and you try to lift your hand and rap your knuckles against the oak wood, like that day. That time, what got on your way was fear, the fear of rejection, the fear of not being good enough; now, what’s stopping you from knocking is life slipping away through your fingers like a river slithering through the rocks.

You can’t coax the earth to spin in reverse, you can’t go back in time. And now rue dashes through you like a vine of thistles scraping your chest. The sinners by omission are also reprimanded, and you learn that in the harshest way as Charon approaches, but panic surges through you because you don’t have a coin for the ferryman. Perhaps another divinity that doesn’t charge for its services will take pity on your soul.

Numbness starts to spread though your limbs. Crimson sprouts from your left thigh and your right side, and there’s a splinter too following the line of your collarbone. Little by little, the tingle from your hands and feet recedes as if they’re detaching from you.

Your breath shallows, and you shudder in pain, hissing. The affliction branches across your leg and torso and shoulder like lightning, red smears over your uniform. Your fumbling hands are not strong enough to clutch the wounds and deter the bleeding. The stains feel warm, and you fight to not close your eyes. But your eyelids feel leaden with weariness.

Through the haze, covered in soil and blood, your fingernails look a faint blue. Your body feels heavy, and it’s anchored to the ground as if made of solid rock, as if your eyes had mingled with Medusa’s.

You’re perspiring in delirium. Scrunching up your face, you bite your bottom lip until the taste of iron stings your mouth. Pain eases pain, you tell yourself. Your arms fall by your sides, the bark feels rough against your back, and a meek smile tugs at your lips. At least you’re feeling something, that means, you’re still tied up to this world. Maybe, maybe, he’ll come back on time.

You cry tears you hadn’t realized you had left. You’re ladling them out from the reserve, from the last wave of devastation. Tears that endorse the truth you’re still reluctant to accept.

You’re tired as though you’re swimming in a lake of molasses, desperately fluttering, but it keeps pulling you down.

An invisible wire of fear seizes your chest, and you cling to your last breath, waiting for him.

The chirp of the grasshoppers and the rustling of the leaves and branches fade away. The world slowly shuts down, and you gaze up, close your eyes and pray for any deity to have mercy on you.

So, this is the end?

Alone, sweaty, muddy.

Frightened, beaten, impotent.

And then, you see Levi.

The cause of your bliss and frustration. Of your songs and reticence.

Levi, Levi, Levi.

With your last breath you repeat his name, his name that slips from your lips like honey.

Y/N who was always late for any important event in her life but arrives early to her own death.

It’s alright.

You’re at peace.

You’re not afraid.

You’re ready.

And those frames, those moments that could’ve been, but will never be project like a motion picture before your eyes.

You and Levi, napping under the sun, belly’s brimming with cheese and wine and fruits.

You stroking Levi’s hair as he reads aloud for the two a verse that binds you together.

Levi, pressing you down into the bed, fingers intertwined, hearts beating wild, and breaths coming out in muffled pants, your name dribbling out of his mouth, echoing in your hair.

You and Levi in the kitchen, your face covered in wheat flour as you knead the bread dough, and Levi next to you whipping the heavy cream until it turns to butter

You, chasing him to cup his face in your hands, while the place suffuses with the rich smell of freshly baking bread.

You and Levi, and two kids with black hair and deep gray eyes running around in a cottage at the outskirts of the city, making a mess and driving you crazy.

You, aging by his side.

A tear slides down your face. Your eyes are burdensome with drowsiness.

It’s not alright.

And you’re not at peace. Why couldn’t you open the door?

And you’re scared. You’re frightened to die out here alone. It should be in his arms, and not in mud.

You’re not ready. You have to tell him, he needs to know.

Please, please, please, if anyone is listening, please, give me another chance.

But the heartbeats you have left are not enough.

II

“So, I did this to myself, didn’t I?”

“it was just a coincidence.” Its fingers drum on its sternum. “Pleading or not, you wouldn’t fend off this.”

The earth has revolved around the sun three times already. The colossus titan, the armored titan and the female titan had mingled with the cadets of the 104th. Annie Leonhart is encased in her indestructible crystal, kept somewhere underground by the military police.

Now the survey corps are set to retake wall Maria and scavenge the truth from Eren’s basement. Eren, the boy who can transform into a titan and fights along humanity.

You and it are laying on the meadow in the shade of an oak tree. It is facing the sky as you toy with a curl of hair, your eyes hooked on the lock laced around your finger.

“Why? Why did you choose him?” For the first time, you sense a hue of qualm lacing its abrading voice.

“You talk as though we get to choose love.” You close your eyes, yielding to the lulling murmur of the breeze. You can hear it, yet you can’t feel it caressing your skin. “Love is a lightning bolt that breaks your bones and leaves you staked in the middle of the yard.”

“It sounds painful.” He notes in that husky voice that stirs your senses. “Why humans insist on finding love, if it hurts them?”

“You’re not human; thus, you’ll never understand.” You slip an arm beneath your head. “Maybe we’re are masochists that jump blindly into the abysm of this pleasant torture. It makes your heart beat wildly, thrashing within your ribs, threatening to breach your chest and jump out every time you see that person. Your cheeks get warm and red, and your mouth disconnects from your brain, and you end up spilling nonsense and embarrassing yourself.” Your lips curved into a meek smile. “And their voice makes your knees weak, and a single glance unleashes a swarm of butterflies in your stomach, and their image live in your head, and you can’t kick them out. Love makes you simper like and idiot. And I don’t think there’s a more beautiful feeling.”

The cheap copy of Levi hoists onto his elbows and his eyes glide along your frame, frowning. “Humans are weird species. I would never stoop to be like a mere mortal.” He sticks out its tongue in disgust. “Why do you insist so much in a love that won’t be?”

You chuckle. “It must be lonely to be you. You’ve met many people in the way, yet you can’t cultivate bonds. So many names and faces and no one will ever know yours, no one will never remember you.”

His nostrils flare with rage. “You know it’s not fun anymore, you’d failed a thousand times and you’ll keep failing. You should surrender now.”

“No. I won’t give up. If he knows the feelings I hoarded for him, I’ll go to paradise and I’ll meet him there eventually.”

“How can you be so certain he won’t go straight to the underworld?” he nudges.

“I don’t think there’s a most caring soul in this world.” You nibble on your lip, and your eyes flit open. “He's done things he's not proud of, but in this world, you have to choose between eat and get eaten.”

You scratch and itch on your nose and close your eyes again.

He rolls over and curls against you, draping an arm around you, and pulls you closer. Straight black hair like silk, thin black eyebrows, fair skin; his lips, like the rest of him feel like ice against your skin. His kisses trail along your jawline, sneaking down to your neck, and his caresses blister your skin as though he was clasping a collar of hot stones around you.

“You know you can come with me.” He mutters in that sultry voice that cajoles your brain cells to go on strike.

“I’ve followed him close all these years. I can be the perfect Levi if you want me to.” His hands fondle your upper arms. Your teeth sink into your lips. Your hands clamp at your skirts.

“Let it out, say the name.” You feel his lips forming a grin against your cheek.

It’s playing with you, it’s tempting you, but you’re not falling in the trap.

No.

One leg swings over you, and now he’s on top. “Look at me.” He tilts your chin up with a finger, but your eyes are clamped shut, so tight you see color spirals behind your lids.

You won’t succumb to its trickery.

But you squirm when you feel something hard straining on your lower belly, and a dreadful sardonic chortle spews from him.

Damn, you didn’t know it could do that.

“I can give you what you want.”

You shake your head. “You told me once you couldn’t feel pleasure. Why are you doing this?” You sniff.

His knuckles skim over your cheek. “I take pleasure in watching you struggle with yourself. You’re a masterpiece.” His fingers dig in your cheeks, and he shakes your head boorishly.

Fuck, the pressure feels good, but no. You won’t lose in this game.

“If his heart still beats, I have time. And there is only one Levi.” You push him off and it takes his original shady form, crow-black with tarnished edges. It’s tittering wryly, and groaning, you stand, smoothing down your dress. You start striding away, without looking back.  

“Where are you going?”

You don’t need to reply, it knows exactly where you’re heading, and it follows your steps.

The sun slants from the west. Synchronized chains clatter and shrill, spooling and unreeling in the sheaves on both sides of the walls; the elevators crammed with soldiers and horses and supplies. You spot Levi, and your stomach churns and flips and twist as if someone or something was grappling your guts. ‘That’s right. The operation might fail…’ His words rumble in your head, again and again, and your eyes jump over the faces you can’t put a name on. Too many unexperienced soldiers stand atop the wall. A bleak drop of sweat dribbles down your spine, and your legs begin to tremble. A lump made of shards of glass lacerates your throat as you gulp.

Well, well. A chaotic squall erupts behind you, the air thickens around you. Citizens have gathered up to cheer and buoy the Survey Corps before departing. The send-off they always deserved. After all, The S.C saved the city.

“Hange!!!!”

Your head cranes toward the voice source. Flegel Reeves, the chubby man with freckle-dappled face shouts from a tower encouraging the throng. Soon more people join him.

Your heart jerks and clogs your throat.

You can’t die, Levi. Not, yet, no.

You wish you could follow him, but you’re shackled to the messenger, and you can't walk away from it. You’ve tried, but as soon as you cross the threshold, you’re brought back to it.

Look at you, you look like a soldier's girlfriend watching the train pull away.  It mocks, yet you don’t know what a train is. And you don’t ask.

I still have so many lives to steal from your lips. Please come, back.

1

Always lurking, always watching from the distance. Like a ghost. You know his schedules by heart, you know his favorite brand of tea, you know where he buys his brooms and bleach, and who fashions his shirts and pants tailored to his needs. You know he trains alone in the grounds at dusk and takes a shower after. You know he doesn’t like visiting Hange’s lab because it doesn’t meet his hygiene standards; there are always papers and books scattered around, and sometimes he’s spotted dust monsters in the corners of the ceiling. Land that strays from his domains.

You know how mold can ruin his day, as well as a too-long steeped tea. Three minutes is all you need.

And lavender lingers from his clothes encroaching his luring scent of bergamot and musk.

The sun yawns sluggishly from west, putting his nightcap on, tucking under the covers to give way to the full moon.

The moon and the sun are lovers who, despite the distance, know they have each other, and despite their differences, when they come together they form a perfect eclipse.

A shy smile grazes your flustered face.

Blades swish in the air, wires drone, gas fizzes; Levi moves with great dexterity and speed it’s hard to keep your eyes on him. Chips of bark fall from where the hooks grapple and retract.

He lands and wipes off the beads of sweat from his forehead. You take a deep breath, steeling yourself and praying that your heartbeat doesn't echo through the forest. Today you’ll tell him. You’ve practiced a hundred of times before the mirror and you’re ready. You command your legs to move forward, but they don’t respond. They’d become jelly.

Like every time, the unreasonable fear stings your hands and feet, as if they were pricking you under your nails with needles. Fear of rejection, fear that your feelings will not be reciprocated. Fear that he'll think you're a fool.

“Boo!”

You scramble back, clinging to a tree as not to fall on your bumps. You survive the heart attack and take a deep breath, running your fingers through your hair.

“Hange!” You blurt their name as they slither to your side, resting their elbow on your shoulder.

“Don’t be afraid.” They encourage you, gripping your wrist with one hand to quell your nerves.

“I’m just leaving.” Your voice falters.

They sigh, throwing their head forward, then turns their face to you. “You’re helpless.”

“But…” You slump, running a hand down your face. “Do you think I’m good enough?”

“What I or others think shouldn’t matter to you. But, in my humble opinion, I think you can give Levi the fairy tales he needs in his life.”

You glance to the ground, following the leaf-laden ants back to their burrows. Your face burns in lava red. “Whenever I’m standing in front of him, my brain stops working. I can’t drag a word out of my mouth. I’m afraid he thinks I’m stupid.”

“I don’t think he thinks you’re stupid.” They shake their head, a feeble smile creeping across their lips.

You purse your lips into a thin line.

They pat your shoulder. “I hope you’ll soon find the courage to tell him.”

*

And the chasm between summer and winter narrows in the blink of an eye. The naked tree branches rake the stony walls with an eerie screech. The whistling wind bangs at the doors and windows, and a white mantle stretches over the training grounds and the orchard. The 25th is circled in red on your calendar. You sign the card and put the quill on the holder. You’ve spent all fall working on Levi’s present. Working the clay and shaping it on the wheel was the easiest part of the process, it was therapeutic, to feel the moist, heavy soil slipping in your hands and fingers. Painting the dahlias, on the other hand, brought you to tears, challenging your resilience. At the end, all the hard work paid off, and you couldn’t be more content and confident with the result.

You wrap it up in burgundy tissue paper and tie a golden ribbon at the top, curling the edges with a blade. Then slip the card in the envelope. The chair squeaks and you stand up, wrapping the scarf around your neck. Happy birthday, Levi. You repeat in your head as you pad toward the library. One of the places where Levi spends his sleepless nights and mornings alone. The boys’ quarters are obnoxiously loud for him. And filthy.

Happy birthday, Levi. It’s that simple Y/N, you can’t fuck it up.

The door is ajar, and you push it open.

He lies along the couch, ankles crossed over the armrest, book flapped open on his chest. He puts the bookmark and sets the hefty book on the coffee table. “Hi.” He spews, sliding up into a sitting position, and takes a glimpse of the wrapped up object in your arms. You don’t see his blush taking over his pallor because you’re struggling to steady the whops of your heart.

“Good morning, Levi.” You avert the eyes, suck on your bottom lip before continuing. Levi heaps on his feet and pads to you, and him so close to you is causing your brain cells to snap. “I…uh… I’m just…” you shake your head, then gaze up, and your eyes crash with his. “Happy birthday.” You smile, dimple at full display. Feeling giddy and faint, you hand him the present, and he stares at it, squinting, head tilted to the side. “It’s not a time bomb, I swear.” You giggle and a flush of embarrassment dashes to his ears. He grabs it and a stammered thanks flees from him.

You both blame the cold for painting your cheeks pink, both oblivious to each other’s feelings.

“Well, uh…” Your eyes scoot around as your finger scratches your temple, your cheeks scalding red. “I hope you like it.”

“May I unwrap it?” His words stumble, and he holds captive his lower lip between his teeth, fighting the urge to slap himself.

“Sure, I mean, it’s yours, you can do whatever you want.”

He plops on the couch, the present sprawled on his lap, and his deft fingers move with such patience and daintiness as not to rip off the paper. So carefully as if he was actually deactivating a bomb.

“Take a seat.” He mutters without taking his eyes off his task.

You nod and comply, sitting at the other end of the sofa, fidgeting with the ends of your scarf. Levi wears a cozy dark-green wool sweater, and a knitted white cap.

The delicate paper opens like a sunflower under the grace of the sunlight. He lifts the mug at his eye level, his fingers running over the hand-painted flowers, so detailed it seems like the work of an expert. He’s been at every ceramics shop and ateliers in town, and he’s never seen this design. “It’s beautiful,” he murmurs for himself. Then drifts his eyes to you. “You didn’t have to.”

A chuckle snaps from you. “Why not? It’s a special day, you deserve something special.” You simper timidly, a foot shuffling against the floor.

“It must’ve been a special edition.”

“Kinda. It’s a Y/N’s edition.”

Levi lolls his head lightly to the side.

“I crafted it myself.”

He looks back to the mug now resting on the table next to the book. “You’re talented,” he utters and turns his face to you, and your mouth falls open in bewilderment.

“What?” he raises a brow, his features still gilded with a smile.

Your soft giggles fondle him as the corners of your lips curve up into a dazzling smile. “You should smile more often.”

“Do you think so?” One eyebrow draws an arc.

“Yeah.”

You scramble up, yanking off the sofa, and begin to stalk to the door.

“Wait.”

You spin around on your heels, tipping your head to the side. Expecting. Your heart thudding loud and clear.

“Nothing.” He shakes his head. And the thrill falters.

A drop of disillusionment spreads across your chest. You shove your hand in your pocket, crumpling the letter.

“You’re a mystery.” You trail.

“That’s the strangest compliment I’ve ever gotten.”

“It’s not a compliment.” You turn around, your boots thumping on the creaking wood. You look over your shoulder. “It’s a threat.”

*

Your clothes stick to your skin in sweat, and the breeze that seeps through the corridor windows doesn’t bring respite, it strikes you like a heat wave, as if you were standing before a blazing hearth.

Your heartbeats muffle the thudding of your boots, rumbling in your ears like the drums of a marching band.

Your eyes skim the door to the boys’ room. Your knuckles rap and Damian, a cadet that graduated with you in the training Corps, pokes his head through the wedge. “What’s up, Y/N?” he doesn’t bother to stifle his yawn.

“Where’s Levi?”

He shrugs, “Haven’t seen him today. Did you check in the Library?”

“That was my last stop.”

“What about the kitchen? Must be enrolled in his tea ritual right now.”

Why didn’t it cross your mind before? You were that engrossed practicing in front of the mirror.

You shoot him a smile and thank him before swiftly swiveling back on your feet. You trot to the kitchen, wiping off the beads of sweat streaming down your temple. you go down the stairs two steps at a time and once you veer around the corner, you slow down, threading a hand in your hair. The clattering of cutlery and ceramic reaches you in the hallway. The whistle of the kettle breaches in the air.

And again, your heart gallops in your chest when you hear a ‘tch’. You raise your hand, and the pads of your fingers brush over the door veins. Your breath comes out in a staggered gust of air as you muster the courage you need to knock.

But you can’t. That shrilly voice breaks into your head, reminding you that you’re not good enough. That Levi would never fixate his eyes in a silly girl like you. The voice that hampers your plans and dreams, the voice that makes you feel small and vulnerable. The voice that anchors you to your comfort zone.

You’re not good enough.

And you believe it.

Your hands and forehead rest on the door as tears swell in your eyes, staining your face and stinging your mouth with salt.

Maybe, after the expedition.

III

“I’m just wondering, why does it take a life ending to learn how to cherish every opportunity? Why must we wait until we run out of time to muster the courage to do the things we never did when we had plenty of time?” You slouch on the bench.

“Fear. Fear of what others might think or say, fear of letting them down, fear of being laughed at, fear to risk and lose. Fear is a survival mechanism, but poorly managed can hale you away from the joy and bliss.” It flumps on the bench next to you and hunches forward, resting its arms on the knees. “when people looks at Death straight in the eye, they don’t regret what they did, they mourn over the things they didn’t do. I’ve seen the despair and disappointment in thousands of pleading eyes.”

“What’s in heaven? What’s paradise like?”

“I don’t know, I’ve never crossed the gates. Maybe awaits what you cherish the most.” It turns its face to you. “What’s that you yearn for?”

It knows the answer, but it wants to hear it from you, it wants your voice to stab his chest.

“I want a life with him.”

“I see.”

The not real Levi stands and offers you a hand. “Let’s take a walk. I know you like the market.”

You take it. You meander around, hand in hand. After all, he is the only one you can feel in your skin. And you crave touch. You loath yourself for yielding, but it’s been a long time since you felt the warmth of another flesh.

He is pricking cold, but it’s something palpable.

Nine bells burst through, entangling with the bustle of people. Trost main square stirs with the motions of the Sunday Farmer’s market. Rows of white, flitting awnings stretch from road to road. The stalls at the front are colored I’m hues of yellows, orange, purple and red with season fruits and vegetables, pumpkins, grapes, apples, figs, squash and carrots. Then comes the rows of dairy and meat, piled with cheese and milk and butter and eggs, and others with cured ham trussed with herbs.

A jumble of piquant smells wafts in the air as Levi weaves through the throng near the booths of herbs and spices, and his gaze lights up when he spots Mrs. Warner’s stall.

“Captain Levi, hey.”

“Hey.” He waits for her to pack his weekly order. She knows it already by heart.

Passersby smile and wave at Levi, older men approach and pat his back. They thank him for having fought bravely, for retaking wall Maria and the lands they’d lost to the titans.

Mrs. Warner notices his uneasiness and let’s out a faint chuckle. “We’re all proud of you.”

“Good morning, Granny.” A ten-year-old boy chimes, stopping in front of the old woman’s stand. Wrinkles of years creep at the corners of her eyes.

“Hey, Robbie.”

Robbie? Stunned, you look at them with popped open eyes. My Robbie? Your glassy eyes prick with unshed tears. My little Robbie is not so little anymore. You sniffle. You wish you could run and hug him. He was five the last time I kissed his cheeks.

Levi’s double strokes your upper arm and you loll your head on his shoulder.

“Who are you?” the boy blatantly asks the ravenette.

“Hey, Robbie, show some respect.” Mrs. Warner scoffs. “This is captain Levi from the Scouting Legion.”

Chocolate brown eyes sink into a frown, flickering around as if he’s trying to pull an old memory out of his head.

“The Levi, just Levi, from the Scouting Legion?” He croaks.

You face palm.

Back then Levi wasn’t Captain.

Levi snorts and ruffles the boys chestnut brown curls.

The woman rolls her eyes as she finishes packing both orders. Robbie is there for his monthly supply of cinnamon. His sister used to bake cookies for him when he was little, but she took the recipe with her, and he spends his Sundays trying to hit the bulls-eye.

“I think I’m close. I’ll try with less butter and more sugar this time.” He cranes his head toward the lady.

Nope Robbie, more butter than sugar.

“My sister was a huge fangirl of you.” The brash boy addresses to Levi again, and your face ignites. He fumbles in his jute bag for an apple, rubs it in his shirt and munches on it. He swallows. “She never stopped talking about you. You were her topic of conversation every time she got home. It was sickening.”

He takes another bite, apple juice drips over his arm and, he licks it.

Mrs. Warner bites the inside of her cheek to muffle her laugh.

Can I strangle him? You nudge your companion on the side.

Isn’t he doing what you were supposed to do? You should’ve learned something from him.

I guess you’re right. But it doesn’t make it less embarrassing.

“She wrote you a cheesy letter, too. I found it in the bin.”

“Is that so?” Levi draws his handkerchief and curls two fingers, asking Robbie to stretch out his arm, and rubs away the fruity stains.

“Uh-huh. She named her teddy bear Levi and couldn’t sleep without it.”

Levi snorts, jabbing his kerchief back into his pocket.

Your cheeks are flaring.

You were so pathetic.

Shut up!

A thin black brow arches, amusement slathers Levi’s face.

“Cinnamon for Robbie L/N and black tea leaves for Captain Levi.” The old woman sets the paper bags on the countertop. Robbie shoves his in the bag slung on his shoulder.

“L/N?” Levi’s eyes widen, shaking in realization.

“Yeah.” He mumbles, sucking out the juice from the apple core.

“Y/N L/N was your sister?”

“mmm-hmmm.” He tosses the core into the trash bin. “See you around Levi, just Levi. Bye old Granny.”

“I’m not that old, Robbie.” She pats his head, and he stalks away.

Levi grabs his bag, coins clank as he jams his change in his pocket, thanks Mrs. Warner, and goes after the boy.

You trudge behind.

“Oi, brat.”

The brunette boy stops and swirls around, narrowing his eyes, tilting his head down without breaking eye contact. “The name’s Robbie.” He pokes his tongue into his cheek and takes in a sharp breath.

“Robbie.” Levi sighs. “Could you show me the letter?”

"Why?" Robbie ponders. “Only if you promise to give it back.” He blushes. “I don’t have too many things with my sister’s handwriting.”

Levi’s eyes soften. “I’ll read it at your porch.”

*

The front door to your house swings open and Robbie and Levi step in, with you sneaking behind before the door shuts.

“Do your parents let you bring strangers when you’re home alone?”

“You’re not stranger within the walls.” Robbie toes of his shoes off. “They’ll be back soon, they’re visiting an aunt.”

The hearth is stoking, and Robbie rushes to the kitchen, leaving the bag perched on the countertop, two apples rolling out.

He saunters back to the entryway and grabs Levi’s hands and leads him upstairs. The creaking of the steps echo in the house.

Nothing has changed.

It still smells like oak and caramel. The door to your room is closed at the end of the corridor, and you decide to let it go, a wistful simper kisses your lips.

Send me a smoke signal when you’re done. He kisses your temple and vanishes in the air.

It seems as a hurricane struck in Robbie’s room. The covers of his bed are wrapped up at the edge, Levi makes his way through the rumpled clothes and balled up socks scattered on the floor. Pens and crayons and notebooks spilled on his desk.

“Make yourself comfortable.” He says, ignoring Levi’s scrunched up face. The raven haired drags the chair from the desk, dusts it off and takes a seat.

Robbie fetches something from the corkboard.

“Here.” Levi pries the letter from Robbie’s hand.

You flump on Robbie’s bed.

 “I’ll be downstairs, don’t touch anything.” The boy squints and wanes away.

Levi rakes his hair and sighs, hunching forward. He slips the letter from the envelope and unfolds it.

You have a pretty handwriting.

You gaze down as his eyes linger over every word.

Heat creeps from your cheeks to the tip of your ears.

… I love watching you and I make you mine by looking at you from afar. I love the tiny moles in your neck, forming your own Orion’s belt, and the dimple in your cheek when you smile. I wish you could show it more often…

…If they ask me what I see in you, I’d smile and lower my head, and wouldn’t reply, because I wouldn’t want them to fall in love with you too…

Meeting you was the most beautiful coincidence.

…I love you, I love you, I love you. You wove a nest in my heart to make sure I’ll never kick you out.

I’ll burn this letter before it reaches your hands, but if by a little chance it survives the flames, I just want you to know I’ll love you forever.

Y/N.

Tears pamper his face as he holds the letter against his chest. His chin trembles, and he bites his bottom lip to stifle his sobs and whimpers.

You yield to the weeping too, wishing you could curl against him, you could hug him, hold his hand, and douse him in kisses.

He opens the trunk of old memories that pull him back to that day, in the library.

A nothing that wrote a different end to your story. Of only you knew what has masked behind that word.

So many things were jumbled in his head, as he delved through for the right words, but they clogged his throat, and a ‘nothing’ was everything he could pull out.

“I wanted you to stay that morning.” He mewls amid sobs and sniffs. He feels a pang in his chest, a dagger cutting though, tearing out his heart to grind it with shards of broken glass. “When I found you, it was too late.” He breaths.

Your teary eyes soften, filled with an inner glow. Levi. You muse his name once again. Your heart flutters and it feels full, complete.

He went back for you.

“You’re a mystery, Levi.” You said his name laced with sugar. You always did.

He snorted, steel gray eyes tangling with yours. “That’s the strangest compliment I’ve ever gotten.”

“It’s not a compliment.” You turned around, his gaze hooked on your back as you walk away. You stop before crossing the threshold and looked back over your shoulder. “It’s a threat.”

“How so?”

“You’re a mystery I want to solve. I’ll find out what you hide.”

“You might be disappointed to see what’s inside.”

“We may both be surprised.” You smirked and strutted out.

You lay on the bed, and tugged by an impulse, he curls in too. You’re facing each other, yet he can’t see you, he can’t hear you, and you can’t feel him.

Your lips search for his.

Nothing.

You can’t feel his breath, nor his lips brushing yours, nor the warm of his cheek in your palm.

I’d like to sweep away those tears my love. You whisper. Where will you be? Where will we be from now on? Two dots in the unfathomable universe, so far or so close, two dots that draw asymptotes, that yank closer to each other, but never meet. Separated by an infinitesimal distance.

I love you. Now and always.

You close your eyes, and when you open them again, the golden gates that stretch and skim beyond the clouds unfasten. It’s bright, but not blinding. The heaviness in your chest falters, and you finally feel at peace. All the anguish, anger and frustration had drained away.

Before you take a step forward, you crane back and wave a hand to the messenger, who doffs off its hat. A feeble smile peeks on its lips.

It’s time to go back to the solitary life, hoping that you’ll never forget it.

♾️

It’s pelting and the sturdy drops batter on your shoulders and head. You should’ve listened to your roommate and shoved the umbrella in your tote bag.

The battery of your phone had died out leaving you stranded in a city you hardly know. It’s terrifying how dependent we are on technology. You can’t get a Uber ride to go home, nor plan your trip on Moovit. It’s rush hour, and people are weaving through the throng desperate to get home. Crashing umbrellas, puddles splashing, frantic car horns, the hustle and bustle and the blinding lights. The big city is a hellish nightmare, a thrilling one, and even though you miss your life in your small town, this is where you belong now.

You were accepted in the School of Art and Design.  

You hunch, holding your bag pressed against your chest to protect your iPad from the pouring rain.

As you turn around the corner, you duck into the first establishment with the open sign flashing in green neon, not sure what to expect when you walk into Herby Twist.

There are a handful of tea enthusiasts and others in your situation, sheltering from the deluge. You stand in line admiring the place. It’s bedecked in a modern manly garage style. Corrugated, stained metal on the walls, shiny red shelves and simple concrete floor.

The aromas of matcha and chai mingles with the citrus smells of lime and orange. The place stirs up with the weaves of conversations and the pattering raindrops scraping the roof.

When there’s only one person before you, you glance at the blackboard menu hanging above the counter.

You squint as your eyes flicker over the capitalized chalked letters. In the city, they insist on giving strange names to common things.

“Welcome to Herby Twist. What can I get you?” You jerk at the luscious raspy voice and look down, entwining your gaze with his dull, steel-gray eyes. Suddenly, your pulse begins to rise wildly. Your legs wobble, afraid your knees might buckle. You look like you were lick by a horse, your hair wet and stuck to your shoulders as well as your shirt. And he’s impossibly hot, and no, your not exaggerating. His smooth black hair is slick back, a couple of rebel strands fall over his forehead, flicking with each of his movements.

Lean, broad shoulders, narrow waist; his black t-shirt gives you a hint of what’s under, ridged muscles, ripping collarbones, you can get a glimpse of the tattoo on his left shoulder, shrouded by the sleeve.

“So…” His voice yanks you out from your reverie.

 “I’ll have…uh…” you look up to the menu, unable to decipher the names as your fingers fiddle with your bracelet. Your gaze crashes with his. “I’ll have your favorite.”

“I hope you like plain black tea.” He places your order in the screen. “Will there be anything else?” His gaze flicks to you.

You shake your head.

“What’s your name?”

You swallow the lump and say, “Y/N.”

Without moving his head, his eyes dart to you, and he smirks. He sleeves on the cup, uncaps the sharpie and scrawls your name on the side.

Your credit card beeps in the terminal and your bill is printed out. He tears it off and hands it to you along with the National Bank Card. “You can wait over there for your order.” He nudges his chin to the side. “I’ll call you when it’s ready.” You meekly nod, tucking a lock of clammy hair behind your ear, and slip to the pick-up-your-order-here counter.

Your fingers tap rhythmically as you wait, your eyes tracing and retracing over his back and shoulders as you bite your bottom lip. Your heart is a loud bass in your chest. You can’t decipher what it is, like a force of attraction you can’t fight back, driving you to keep your eyes on him. He turns around and you look away, your cheeks sizzling with a blush. He caps your drink and puts the cup on the concrete countertop. Your fingers stop drumming.

“Y/N.”

You search his gaze and find it.

You like the way your name dribbles from his lips. Sensuous, velvety and scrappy in the hot way. The flicker of a smile ghosts over his lips.

“Thanks.”

You grab the cup and slide onto a booth in the furthest corner. You twist the thick carboard sleeve, snort and shake your head, simpering. His name and number jotted down in his scrawling. You look in his direction, and as he takes the order from the next in line, gray eyes lock with yours, a dimple flashing in his cheek.

[nekropsii]

sorry to harp on this!! i know kankri was based a lot on tumblr sjws in the early 2010s, and a lot of people identified as aroace at that time, so i can see how it would be relevant. but… he’s celibate? not aroace? i always thought it was more about him being linked to religion (the Irons necklace and such) or as a chirst figure of sorts himself? idk idr too much about kankri but if you wouldn’t mind shedding some light on how his canon character is offensive to aroace people i’d appreciate it ^^

(Including this anon as well as to not leave them out. Thank you both for your interest!!)

I wouldn’t say you’re harping, just asking a genuinely valid question. Questions are always welcome.

I’d like to first clarify that my point was not that Kankri’s character is offensive to AroAce people- it was that his Celibacy was set up in a way that’s meant to have overlap with/be analogous to his textual AroAcehood. Which, yes, is actually a thing:

I’m not denying that his character is offensive to AroAce people. It, in fact, very much so is, speaking as an AroAce person, but the focal point of my argument was that his Celibacy was set up to also be a shot at AroAces. Technically the same argument, but tackled from slightly different angles. One is addressing the real-world effects of the writing, the other is addressing authorial intent. As always, I am pedantic.

The reason this is a- as much as I loathe to use this word- problematic analogy within this specific context is because Kankri’s Celibacy is clearly defined as a choice that he made that he is bad at mentally and emotionally committing to. It adds a whole new layer of upset to his extremely creepy, almost stalker-ish behavior towards Latula. Hussie seems to view AroAces as nothing more than sexually repressed closet creeps that are actually secretly AmatoAllo.

It’s practically physically impossible to argue against the notion that Kankri’s Religiosity is deeply and purposefully intertwined with his status as a Tumblr Parody. The setup is actually pretty clever- if you lean too hard in either direction, it’s a failed reading. Yes, his religious theming is backed by the fact that he is a Pre-Scratch iteration of The Sufferer, but when you take a step back… Not only is it a very literal approach to the fact that Online Political Discourse in that era specifically was known for being “preachy,” but it’s also a pretty clever nod to the idea of a Savior Complex.

His Discoursing is tied to the image of a Sermon, his need to police people to maximize comfortability is tied to a Savior Complex, which is tied to the fact that he is The Signless, his Celibacy is tied to his AroAcehood. Simple equation. If all of his Religious Language and Imagery is also simultaneously tied to him being a Tumblr Parody, then his state of being Celibate- a Religious Practice- and his state of being on the AroAce spectrum- at the time seen as a confusing, Tumblr-specific label- are… You know, more likely than not also connected. It makes significantly more sense if it is- I find no plausible reasoning why that would not have been Hussie’s intention if that’s exactly what they did with so many other details in Kankri’s character.

[arecaceae175]

Here, I made it better- alternate ending for Whumotober Day 25: Silence is Golden (Sky) because I felt a little bit bad for making Sky cry XD. The first bit is the same, but the ending is different. AO3 link.

The camp was silent except for the crackling of the campfire and the sizzling of vegetables. Sky could feel the tension, frustration, and physical and emotional exhaustion rolling off his brothers in waves.

It was the roughest week they’d had this entire journey, Sky thought. Endless hiking, seemingly endless ambushes, and multiple near death experiences had left all of them drained. Their one lead on the shadow that brought them together hadn’t panned out, either, and they had been led straight into a trap. The frustration had led to days of arguing amongst themselves. Sky figured it was inevitable, with nine people in such close quarters.

Sky sighed, letting his chin fall to rest on his hand. He scanned the camp, taking everyone in.

Wild stirred the food in the pan mechanically, blank gaze wandering somewhere into the trees, and resolutely not anywhere close to Twilight. Twilight sat on the opposite side of camp, absentmindedly rubbing one hand over his pelt, alternating between staring at Wild and glancing between Warriors and Legend.

Warriors and Legend also sat on opposite sides of camp, the four of them making a hostile tension square, as Sky had begun calling it in his mind. Warriors was aggressively sharpening the groups weapons with Four, who had his back turned to the rest of the group. Legend was aggressively mending the group’s clothes with Hyrule. 

Time sat in the middle of the hostile tension square, rhythmically rubbing his temple, assumably trying to ward off a headache. He had planted himself in that spot quite purposefully, so none of the group could escape too far from him, if Sky had to take a guess. 

Wind hovered in the middle of the hostile tension square, as well. He had tried to lighten the mood with conversation earlier in the evening, but his attempts were very quickly shot down. Wind had a huge frown plastered to his face, and he looked quite upset. Sky couldn’t even bring himself to engage with the young hero. He was so tired.

It seemed no one could bring themselves to speak tonight. Sky knew every one of them struggled with words, sometimes. He wondered if it was a hero’s spirit thing or just a hero thing, the consequence of too much pressure on people far too young.

Sky had been trying to keep the peace all week, and it had left him more drained than he expected. He racked his brain for something, anything, to raise everyone’s spirits. 

The clank of a spoon brought Sky out of his thoughts. He glanced over at Wild, who was spooning vegetables and rice into bowls. He didn’t start to pass them out, though, he just piled them by his side of the fire. Sky sighed deeply, for what felt like the hundredth time that day, and pushed himself to his feet.

Honestly, the pettiness was getting old. 

Sky gathered as many bowls as he could carry  and started passing them out. The other heroes accepted their bowls silently, as Sky expected, but some gave him a slight nod of thanks. A few even nodded their thanks towards Wild. Sky figured that was as good as he was going to get.

Sky finished his bowl quickly, barely tasting it at all. His mind was empty as he mechanically chewed and swallowed, and before he knew it he was finished. Sky placed his bowl down and reached for his bag to get his cleaning supplies. He would take cleaning duty for the night; it would be a perfect opportunity to catch his breath for a moment. 

Sky’s hand brushed his harp, and it rang out softly. Sky blinked at it for a moment, then he smiled softly. He pulled it out and settled the instrument on his lap. Music always made him feel better, maybe he could help raise everyone’s spirits.

He very softly plucked the first few notes, then glanced up to see everyone’s reaction. Nearly everyone was staring at him, various looks of confusion on their faces. Four still had his back turned, but his ear had flicked in Sky’s direction. Time’s hand froze on his face, and his brows were furrowed. 

Sky swallowed hard, then set his gaze back on the harp. He plucked a few more notes, then let his eyes slide shut as he chose a melody. This one was the song Zelda always played for him when he was sick in bed, or feeling down, or kept awake by doubts and fear. He had learned it in those first few weeks after his adventure, when Zelda had been plagued with nightmares. It always brought a sense of calm and contentment. Sky desperately hoped it would be enough to break through the tension.

Sky played through the first few measures with bated breath. In those few moments without reaction, Sky felt his chest tighten a bit with worry. Was he making things worse?

A soft, tranquil note rang in the air. Sky startled, his fingers slipping on his harp, and it made a discordant sound. Sky blinked his eyes open and looked around the camp for the source of the sound. Hyrule was holding a long piece of wood with holes along the side and a thin mouthpiece at the top. His face was flushed deeply red as he held the instrument up to his mouth. He paused when Sky did, shoulders hunched to his ears. 

Sky felt the tension leave his body in one fell swoop, and he slumped in his seat. He gave Hyrule a grateful smile, then readjusted his posture and put his fingers back on the strings. Hyrule returned his smile, and blew another soft note out of his instrument. Sky continued plucking his song, gaze locked with Hyrule. 

Wind eagerly pulled out an instrument of his own and quickly joined in. HIs instrument looked a bit like Hyrule’s, but each piece was smaller and there were multiple tied together in a line. Wind blew down on it, and simple notes floated up to join the melody.

After a few more measures, Legend sighed and dropped his sewing project to the ground. He dug around in his bag for a moment, then pulled out an ocarina. He kept his eyes resolutely on the ground as he brought it to his lips. Legend paused for only a moment, and then his notes harmonized with Hyrule’s perfectly. Sky kept the melody simple, ecstatic that they were following along. 

Twilight was the next to join in. He hummed a low tune, keeping time with Sky’s harp. His eyes were locked on Wild as he hummed. Wild froze as he felt Twilight’s gaze, paused, then deflated. He turned to face the group, shuffled closer, and then started humming along with Twilight. His voice was higher than Sky expected, and he harmonized well with Twilight. 

Four began hitting a piece of wood on a sword, drumming a steady beat. It was soft at first, and his back was still turned to the group. As the melody went on, he shifted his body slowly until he was fully facing the group. Warriors picked up a piece of wood and joined his drumming, and started humming along with Twilight as well. 

Sky’s eyes shifted to Time, who was still sitting motionless in the center of the group. His eye slowly moved to his bag, and one of his fingers twitched. Sky held his breath, eyes locked on Time but his fingers focused on the melody. Time glanced up at Sky and met his eager gaze. He held it for only a moment, then he pursed his lips and pulled his ocarina out of his bag. 

Time gingerly brought the instrument to his lips and blew a strong, confident note. His ocarina sounded different than Legend’s, and the two complimented each other beautifully.

They played until Sky felt like his fingers could bleed, long into the night. Sky was the first one to stop, and he only did so when one of his fingers began to cramp. Reluctantly, he placed his harp back into his bag. The others slowly came to a stop as well, and returned their own instruments to their spots. Sky sent a quick glance around the camp, and was relieved to see some of the tension gone from everyone’s shoulders. 

“Thank you, Sky,” Time whispered. 

Sky smiled wide, and gave Time a grateful nod. There were no other words that needed to be said. 

Sky noticed Twilight send Wild another guilty glance. Wild shuffled in his spot, then huffed and abruptly rose to his feet. He stomped over to Twilight, grabbed him by the hand, and pulled him into the treeline. They settled just out of earshot of the group, legs crossed and heads leaned together. Sky sighed contentedly. Finally, they would work things out.

On the other side of camp, Hyrule gave Legend a hearty shove. He stumbled into the middle of camp, wringing his hands, and glanced at Warriors fleetingly. Warriors looked down at the weapon he was cleaning, then held it out to Legend. A peace offering. Legend smiled curtly, then plopped down next to Warriors and took the offered sword. 

Four glanced between the two of them, then slowly shuffled away. He looked up at Sky, and Sky held out an arm. Four smiled sheepishly, letting his hair fall in front of his face, then ducked underneath Sky’s arm. Sky pulled him close, giving his shoulder a comforting squeeze. 

Wind rushed over, coming to an abrupt stop in front of Sky. Sky chuckled and opened his other arm. Wind barrelled into his side and snuggled close to his chest. Sky leaned back on the log behind him with a content sigh, and let the worries of the week begin to fade away.

“I’ll keep watch,” Time said softly. He braced his hands on his knees and slowly pushed himself to his feet. “Get some rest, boys.”

[ainyan]

For the intimacy prompts “Music” and/or “Detail” for Thancred x Kal’istae? 💜

The sound of a harp intruded upon her musings and her eyes flew open, startled. Thancred sat in a chair by her bed, his citrine eyes steady on her as his fingers slid over the silvery strings of his harp, coaxing gentle music from them. “You were thinking very hard,” he murmured.

“I was…” Daydreaming of you. “Thinking.”

His eyes glinted with laughter and she had the distinct impression he knew exactly what she’d been doing - knew and approved. But no. Surely not. “Well, nothing wrong with that, especially if you are to join the Studium. Sit back, my dear, and listen.” Again, his fingers slid across the harp strings, and his voice came again, softly on a breath of air. “Listen to my voice, dearest Kal’istae…”

She had no choice - even if she had not asked for this concert, to hear him sing was the pinnacle of her dreams. It had been no lie; she’d heard women speaking of him - but it had not been music they’d mentioned, but blandishments. Still, she had longed to hear him sing; had, indeed, heard others speak of his skill - it had seemed the perfect opportunity to beg his indulgence, especially as he seemed unusually inclined to spoil her.

So, her eyes slid shut again and she sank into the embrace of her pillows, cradling her plush in her arms as she listened to him sing. He sang of hearth and home. Of friendship. Of storm and sea. Of loss. Of battle.

And finally, he sang of love. And her heart yearned.

In the end, silence fell, and she could not bring herself to break it, afraid that any word, any motion, any breath would destroy the fragile wall between them. Finally, she heard him shift, heard him rise, and waited to hear him leave.

Instead, the bed shifted and her eyes flew open to watch him settle onto the bed at her side, his expression serious as he gazed at her. “Thancred,” she murmured, struggling into a sitting position. He reached out to stop her, but she ignored him until she was sitting up right, her plush tucked behind her. “I was listening, I promise.”

He reached out to find that lock of her hair, twining it around his finger. “I know you were. I’ve never had so intent an audience before; most who listen to my music are more interested in what it is leading to.”

She felt her cheeks heat. “More fools they - you are very talented.”

His eyes glinted. “Precisely.” When she flushed deeper, he laughed. “My apologies. I did not mean to disconcert you. I did, however, have a question for you.”

Lavender-edged eyes watched him in some confusion. “Yes, of course.”

He continued to play with her hair. “Why did you want to hear me sing?” When she opened her mouth, he tugged lightly. “The truth, please. I never sang in Ishgard. I have not sung,” he murmured quietly, “since before the Bloody Banquet.”

“Oh. I - ah…” Flushing deeply, Kal’istae dropped her gaze away from his. “Oh hells. I’m sorry, Thancred - I didn’t mean to embarrass or upset you.” When he remained silent, she closed her eyes, her fingers squeezing together. “I have always wanted to hear you sing,” she admitted in a whisper. “It seemed like such a good opportunity; you were being so indulgent of me, I thought - better now, than wait another several years…”

He sighed and released her hair. She flinched and waited for him to leave, then sucked in a breath as his hand cupped her cheek. Startled, her eyes flew open. “All you ever had to do was ask, Kal’istae. Never has there been a time in all of these years I would have denied you anything you asked.”

She gazed up at him, stunned and confused. “It was such a personal thing to ask,” she murmured, twisting her fingers together in her lap. “Music is so… special. It’s…” She trailed off, unable to find the words to articulate how music made her feel.

Sighing again, he gently shook her head. “Gods, Kali, haven’t you figured it out by now?” At her puzzled look, his fingers tightened. “I told you. You mean the world to me.”

[inspiteallthedanger]

“Oh no, I’m insane. Paul didn’t even like John. What am I doing?” - SAME HAT!!! sorry to harp on this but I'm so glad someone else has the same experience, because my thought process normally goes something like:

"There are two wolves inside of you, one of them looks at the j&p mess and goes They are insane about each other, there is absolutely no way to read this as anything BUT some deeply repressed - likely romantic - tensions from both sides. I'm not saying they were fucking but I AM saying they loved each other and I have a pretty heavy bias, regarding what kind of love that was, but there is no way to argue that they didn't love each other in SOME way. Because why would they be LIKE THAT otherwise, why would Paul McCartney - billionaire, legend, music royalty, high enough up on the food chain that he doesn't NEED to pander to anyone if he doesn't want to - be LIKE THAT about John Lennon even 40 years after his death if there wasn't SOMETHING he's been repressing for years, why would he pretend to like John if he doesn't, why would he go out of his way to talk about him in interviews, even if the interviewer doesn't bring him up first, if he didn't actually like him?!

and the OTHER wolf is actually a little goblin that bangs on a VERY loud drum and goes Okay but what if Paul actually didn't like John and hated him, actually, huh??? Check and mate buddy!" This is then accompanied by my brain getting increasingly tangled in ridiculous justifications about why that is a reasonable argument to make and how that makes sense, actually, if you REALLY think about it.

That latter part is normally also the point in time when I know I'm absolutely in too deep and need to log off and go for a walk or to bed and maybe not look at social media for a week, because I really don't think taking 60s boyband relationships that serious is good for your health, but like... yeah I ABSOLUTELY get where you're coming from. I have never doubted John caring for Paul and that he genuinely loved him, the man was SUCH an open book, but Paul and his emotions on the topic are a huge question mark for me sometimes. Anyway, god I'm sorry this is so long, but again,

tldr; SAME HAT!!!!!

Paul and his emotions on the topic are a huge question mark for me sometimes

YASSSSS. I think this is actually the crux of the problem for me. Paul just doesn't talk about things in a way I understand. And for all his 'I loved John' he also drops in little digs at him and points out that John wasn't as smart of whatever. So... it's confusing.

Plus, we're fighting about the mainstream narrative that is 'Lennon/McCartney' weren't that close. I literally made my three best friends come to Liverpool recently. And, before we went, I went on a (very restrained) rant about John and Paul, and they were all floored. One of them said, "That is weird, because now you say it, it doesn't make sense that they didn't like each other. But, that's just what I always thought."

I do think/hope that's actually changing now, but I sometimes have to stop and go, "Wait, is this because I've been on Tumblr too long? Is there a much more simple explanation for this?"

Ultimately, I come down on your first thought. They were fucking weird about each other. Who knows in what exact ways/the underlying reasons for that. But it remains true however you paint it.

Anyway, yes. I feel you, nonny.

[vickyvicarious]

Leverage Redemption Pros/Cons List

Okay! Now that I've finally finished watching the first half of Leverage: Redemption, I thought I'd kind of sum up my overall impression. Sort of a pro/con list, except a little more just loosely structured rambles on each bullet point rather than a simple list.

This got way out of hand from what I expected so I'm going to put it all under a cut. If you want the actual bulletpoint list, here it is:

PROS

References

Continuity

Nate

Representation

Themes

New Characters

General Vibe

CONS

'Maker and Fixer'

Episode Twins

Sophie's Stagefright

Thiefsome

You might notice the pros list is longer, and that's because I do love the show! I really like most of what it does, and my gripes are fewer in number and mostly smaller in size. But they do exist and I felt like talking about them as well as the stuff I loved.

PROS

References

There is clearly so much love and respect for the original show here. Quite aside from the general situation, there's a lot of references to individual episodes or character traits from the first show. For example, Parker's comments on disliking clowns, liking puppets, disliking horses, stabbing vs. tasing people. The tasing was an ongoing thing in the original, the stabbing happened once (S1) but was referenced later in the original show, the clown thing only had a few mentions scattered across the entire original show. The puppet thing was mentioned once in S5, and the horses thing in particular was only brought up in S1 once. But they didn't miss the chance to put the nod to it in there; in fact with those alone we see a good mix of common/ongoing jokes and smaller details.

We got "dammit Hardison" and "it's a very distinctive..." but also Eliot and Parker arguing about him catering a mob wedding, and Eliot being delighted by lemon as a secret ingredient in a dish in that same episode (another reference to the mob episode). Hardison and Eliot banter about "plan M", an ongoing joke starting from the very first episode of the original show. We see Sophie bring up Hardison's accent in the Ice Job, Parker also makes reference to an early episode when describing "backlash effect" to Breanna, in an episode that also references her brother slightly if you look for it.

Heck, the last episode of these first eight makes a big deal out of nearly reproducing the iconic opening lines of the original show with Fake Nate's "we provide... an advantage." And I mean, all the "let's go steal a ___" with Harry being confused about how to use them.

Some of the lines are more obviously references to the original show, but they strike a decent balance with smaller or unspoken stuff as well, and also mix in some references between the team to events we the audience have never seen. If someone was coming into this show for the first time, they wouldn't get all the easter egg joy but most of the references would stand on their own as dialogue anyway. In general, I think they struck a good balance of restating needed context for new viewers while still having enough standalone good lines and more-fun-if-you-get-it callbacks.

Continuity

Similar to the last point, but slightly different. The characters' development from the original to now is shown so well. I'm not going to go on about this too long, but the writers clearly didn't want to let the original characters stagnate during the offscreen years. There was a lot of real thought put into how they would change or not.

It's really written well. We can see just how cohesive a team Parker, Hardison, and Eliot became. We get a sense of how they've spent their time, and there's plenty of evidence that they remained incredibly close with Sophie and Nate until this past year. The way everyone defers to Parker is different from the original show and clearly demonstrates how she's been well established as the leader for years now - they show this well even as Parker is stepping back to let Sophie take point in these episodes. Eventually that is actually called out by Sophie in the eighth episode, so we might see more mastermind Parker in the back half of the show, maybe. But even with her leading, it's clear how collaborative the team has become, with everyone bouncing ideas off one another and adding their input freely. Sometimes they even get so caught up they leave the newbies completely in the dust. But for the most part we get a good sense of how the Parker/Hardison/Eliot team worked with her having final say on plans but the others discussing everything together. A little bit more collaborative than it was with Nate at the helm.

Meanwhile Sophie has built a home and is deeply attached to it. She and Nate really did retire, at least for the most part, and she was living her happy ending until he died. She's out of practice but still as skilled as ever, and we're shown how much her grief has changed her and how concerned the others are for her.

There's a lot of emphasis on how they all look after one another and the found family is clearer than ever. Sophie even calls Hardison "his father's son" - clearly referring to Nate.

Nate

Speaking of Nate! They handled his loss so, so well. His story was the most complete at the end of the last show, and just from a narrative point, losing him makes the most sense of all the characters. But the way he dies and his impact on the show and the characters continues. It's very respectful to who he was - who he truly was.

Nate was someone they all loved, but he was a deeply flawed individual. Sophie talks about how he burned too hot, but at least he burned - possibly implying to me that his drinking was related to his death. In any case, there's no mystery to it. We don't know how he died but that's not what's most important about his death. This isn't a quest for revenge or anything... it's just a study of grief and trying to heal.

Back to who he really was real quick - the show doesn't eulogize him as better than he was. They're honest about him. From the first episode's toast they raise in his memory, to the final episode where Sophie and Eliot are deeply confused by Fake Nate singing his praises, the team knows who he was. They don't erase his flaws... but at the same time he was so clearly theirs. He was family, he was the man they trusted and loved and followed into incredibly dangerous situations, and whose loss they all still feel deeply.

That said, the show doesn't harp on this point. They reference him, but they don't overwhelm new viewers with a constant barrage of Nate talk. It always serves a purpose, primarily for Sophie's storyline of moving through her grief. Anyway, @robinasnyder said all of this way better than me here, so go read that as well.

Representation

Or should I say, Jewish Hardison, Autistic Parker, Queer Breanna!

Granted, Hardison's religion isn't quite explicitly stated to be Jewish so much as he mentions that his "Nana runs a multi-denominational household", but nonetheless. He gets the shows big thesis statement moment, he gets a beautiful speech about redemption that is the emotional cornerstone of that episode and probably Harry's entire arc throughout the show. And while I'm not Jewish myself, most of what I've seen from Jewish fans is saying that Hardison's words here were excellent representation of their beliefs. (@featherquillpen does a great job in that meta of contextualizing this with his depiction in the original show as well.)

Autistic Parker, however, is shown pretty dang blatantly. She already was very much coded as autistic in the original show, but the reboot has if anything gone further. She sees a child psychologist because she likes using puppets to represent emotions, she stims, she uses cue cards and pre-written scripts for social interactions, there's mention of possible texture sensitivity and her clothes are generally more loose and comfortable. She's gotten better at performing empathy and understanding how people typically work, but it's specifically described as something she learned how to do and she views her brain as being different from ones that work that way (same link). Again, not autistic myself but from what I've seen autistic fans find a lot to relate to in her portrayal. And best of all, this well-rounded and respectful depiction does not show any of these qualities as a lack on her part. There's no more of those kinda ableist comments or "what's wrong with you" jokes that were in the original show. Parker is the way she is, and that allows her to do things differently. She's loved for who she is, and any effort made to fit in is more just to know how so that she can use it to her advantage when she wants to on the job - for her convenience, not others' comfort.

Speaking of loved for who you are.... okay, again, queer Breanna isn't confirmed onscreen yet, and I don't count Word of God as true canon. But I can definitely believe we're building there. Breanna dresses in a very GNC way, and just her dialogue and, I dunno, vibes seem very queer to me. She has a beautiful speech in the Card Game Job about not belonging or being accepted and specifically mentions "the way they love" as one of those things that made her feel like she didn't belong. And that scene is given so much weight and respect. (Not to mention other hints throughout the episode about how much finding her own space meant to her.) Also, the whole theme of feeling rejected and the key for her to begin really flourishing is acceptance for who she is, not any desire for her to be anyone else, is made into another big moment. Yeah, textually that moment is about her feeling like she has to fill Hardison's shoes and worrying about her past, but the themes are there, man.

Themes

I talked a bit about this yesterday, so I'm mostly just going to link to that post, but... this series so far is doing a really good job in my opinion of giving people arcs and having some good themes. Namely the redemption one, from Hardison's speech (which I'm gonna talk a little more about in the next point), and this overall theme of growing up and looking to the future (from above the linked post).

New Characters

Harry and Breanna are fantastic characters. I was kind of worried about Harry being a replacement Nate, but... he really isn't. Sure, he's the older white guy who has an angsty past but it's in a very different way and his personality and relationships with the rest of the crew are correspondingly different. I think the dynamic of a very friendly, cheerful, kind, but still bad guy (as @soundsfaebutokay points out) is a great one to show, and he's got a really cool arc I think of learning to be a better person, and truly understanding Hardison's point about redemption being a process not a goal. His role on the team also has some interesting applications and drawbacks, as @allegorymetaphor talked about. I've kind of grown to think that the show is gradually building up to an eventual Sophie/Harry romance a ways down the line, and I'm actually here for it. Regardless, his relationships with everyone are really interesting.

As for Breanna, first of all and most importantly I love her. Secondly, I think she's got a really interesting story. She's a link to Hardison's past, and provides a really interesting perspective for us as someone younger who has grown up a) looking up to Leverage and b) in a bleaker and more hopeless world. Breanna's not an optimist, and she's not someone who was self-sufficient and unconcerned with the rest of the world at the start, like everyone else. She believes that the world sucks and she wants it to be better, but she doesn't know how to make that happen. She outright says she's desperate and that's why she's working with Leverage. At the same time, Breanna is pretty down on herself and wants to prove herself but gets easily shaken by mistakes or being scolded, which is a stark contrast to Hardison's general self-confidence. There are several times when she starts to have an idea then hesitates to share it, or expects her emotions to be dismissed, or gets really disheartened when she's corrected or rejected, or dwells on her mistakes, or when she is accepted or praised she usually takes a surprised beat and is shy about it (she almost always looks down and away from the person, and her smile is often small or startled). Breanna looks up to the team so much (Parker especially, then probably Eliot) and she wants to prove herself. It's going to be so good to see her grow.

General Vibe

A brief note, but it seems a fitting one to end on. The show keeps it's overall tone and feeling from the original show. The fun, the competency porn, the bad guys and clever plans and happy endings. It's got differences for sure, but the characters are recognizably themselves and the show as a whole is recognizably still Leverage. For the most part they just got the feeling right, and it's really nice.

CONS (no, not that kind)

'Maker and Fixer'

So when I started writing this meta earlier today, I was actually a lot more annoyed by the lack of unique 'maker' skills being shown by Breanna. Basically the only time she tries to use a drone, the very thing she introduced herself as being good at, it breaks instantly. I was concerned about her being relegated into just doing what Hardison did, instead of bringing her own stuff to the table. But the seventh episode eased some of those fears, and the meta I just wrote for someone else asking about Breanna's 'maker' skills as shown this season made me realize there's more nuance than that. I'd still like to have seen more of that from her, but for now the fact that we don't see a lot of 'maker' from her so far seems more like a character decision based in Breanna's insecurities.

Harry definitely gets more 'inside man' usage. His knowledge as a 'fixer' comes in handy several times. Nonetheless, I'm really curious if there are any bigger ways to use it, aside from him just adding in some exposition/insight from time to time. I'm not even entirely sure how much more they can pull from this premise in terms of relevant skills, but I hope there's more and I'd like to see it. Maybe a con built more around him playing a longer role playing his old self, like they tried in the Tower Job? Maybe it's more a matter of him needed distance from that part of his past, being unable to face it without lashing out - in that case it could be a good character growth moment possibly for him to succeed in being Scummy Lawyer again down the line? I dunno.

Episode Twins

This was something small that kind of bothered me a little earlier in the season. It's kind of the negative side to the references, I guess? And I'm not even sure how much it annoys me really, but I just kinda noticed and felt sort of weird about it.

Rollin' on the River has a lot of references/callbacks to the The Wedding Job.

The Tower Job has a lot of references/callbacks to The White Rabbit Job.

The Paranormal Hacktivity Job has a lot of references/callbacks to the Future Job.

I guess I was getting a little concerned that there would be a 'match this episode' situation where almost every new Redemption episode is very reminiscent of an old one. I love the callbacks, but I don't want to see a lack of creativity in this new show, and this worried me for a minute. Especially when it was combined with all three of those episodes dealing with housing issues of some kind. Now, that's a huge concern for a lot of people, and each episode has its own take on a different problem within that huge umbrella, but it still got me worried about a lack of variety in topics/cases.

The rest of the episodes failing to line up so neatly in my head with older episodes helped a lot to ease this one, though. Still, this is my complaining section so I figured I'd express my concerns as they were at the time. Even if I no longer really worry about it much.

Sophie's Stagefright

Yeah, I know this is just a small moment in a single episode, but it annoyed me! Eliot made a bit of a face at Sophie going onstage, but I thought it was just him being annoyed at the general situation. However, they started out with her being awful up there until she realized the poem was relevant to the con - at which point her reading got so much better.

This felt like a complete betrayal of Sophie's beautiful moment at the end of the original show where she got over her trouble with regular acting and played Lady Macbeth beautifully in front of a full theater of audience members. This was part of the con, but only in the sense that it gave her an alibi/place to hide, and I always interpreted it as her genuinely getting over her stagefright problems. It felt like such a beautiful place to end her arc for that show, especially after all her time spent directing.

Now, her difficulty onstage in the Card Game Job was brief and at the very beginning of being up on stage. @rinahale suggested to me that maybe it was a deliberate tactic to draw the guy's attention, and the later skill was simply her shifting focus to make the sonnet easier for Breanna to listen to and interpret, but he seemed more enraptured when she was doing well than otherwise in my opinion and it just doesn't quite sit well with me. My other theory was that maybe she just hasn't been up on stage in a long time, and much like she complaining about being rusty at grifting before the team pushed her into trying, she got nervous for a moment at the very beginning. The problem there is that I think she'd definitely still get involved in theater even when she and Nate were retired. I guess she could've quit after he died, and a year might be long enough to make her doubt herself again, but... still.

I just resent that they even left it ambiguous at all. Sophie's skills should be solid on stage at this point in my opinion.

Thiefsome

...And now we come to my main complaint. This is, by far, the biggest issue I have with the show.

I feel like I should put a disclaimer here that I had my doubts from the beginning about the thiefsome becoming canon onscreen. I thought the famous "the OT3 is safe" tweet could easily just mean that they are all still alive and well, or all still working together, without giving us confirmation of a romantic relationship. Despite this, the general fandom expectations/hopes really got to me, especially with the whole "lock/pick/key" thing. I tried to temper my expectations again when the character descriptions came out and only mentioned Hardison loving Parker, not Eliot, but I still got my hopes up.

The thing is, I was disappointed pretty quickly.

The very first episode told me that in all likelihood we would never see Hardison and Parker and Eliot together in a romantic sense. Oh, there was so much coding. So much hinting. So much in the way of conversations that were about Parker/Hardison's relationship but then Eliot kept getting brought into them. They were portrayed as a unit of three.

But then there was this.

I love all of those scenes of Parker and Hardison being intimate and loving and comfortable with one another and their relationship. I really do. But it didn't escape my notice that there's nothing of the sort with Eliot. If they wanted a canon onscreen thiefsome, it would by far make the most sense to just have it established from the start. But there aren't any scenes where Eliot shares the same kind of physical closeness with either of them like they do each other. Parker and Hardison kiss; he doesn't kiss anyone. They have several clearly romantic conversations when alone; he gets important conversations with both but the sense of it being romantic isn't there.

Establishing Eliot as part of the relationship after Hardison is gone just... doesn't make any sense. It would be more likely to confuse new viewers, to make them wonder if Parker is cheating on Hardison with Eliot, or if they have a Y shaped relationship rather that a triangle. It would be so much clumsier.

Still, up until the Double-Edged-Sword Job I believed the writers might keep it at this level of 'plausible hinting but not quite saying'. There's a lot of great stuff with all of them, and I never expecting making out or whatever anyway; a cheek-kiss was about the height of my hopes to be honest. I mostly just hoped for outright confirmation and, failing that, I was happy enough to have the many hints and implications.

But then Marshal Maria Shipp came along. And I don't really have anything against her as a character - in fact, I think she has interesting story potential and will definitely come back. But the episode framed her fight with Eliot as a sexyfight TM, much like his fight with Mikel back in the day. And then his flirting with her rode the line a little of "he's playing her for the con" and "he's genuinely flirting." The scene where he tells her his real name is particularly iffy, but actually was the one that convinced me he was playing her. Because he seems to be watching her really closely, and to be very concerned about her figuring out who he really is. I am very aware though that I'm doing a lot of work to interpret it the way I want. On surface appearance, Eliot's just flirting with an attractive woman, like he did on the last show. And that's probably the intention, too.

But the real nail in the coffin for me was when Sophie compared herself and Nate to Eliot and Maria. That was a genuine scene, not the continuation of the teasing from before. And Sophie is the one whose insight into people is always, always trustworthy. She is family to the thiefsome. For this to make any sense, either Eliot/Parker/Hardison isn't a thing, or they are and Sophie doesn't know - and I can't imagine why in the hell she wouldn't know.

Any argument to make them still canon leaves me unsatisfied. If she knows and they haven't admitted it to her - why wouldn't they, after all this time? Why would she not have picked up on it even without an outright announcement? Some people suggested they wouldn't admit it because they thought Nate would be weird about it, but that doesn't seem any more in character to me than the other possibilities. In fact, the only option that doesn't go against my understanding of these people and their observational abilities/the close relationship they share.... is that the thiefsome is not a thing.

And furthermore, the implication of this conversation - especially the way it ended, with Eliot stomping off looking embarrassed while Sophie smiled knowingly - is that Eliot will get into another relationship onscreen. Maybe not a full-blown romantic relationship. But the Maria Shipp tension is going to be resolved somehow, and at this point I'm half-expecting a hook-up simply because of Sophie's reaction and how much I trust her judgement of such things. Even if she's letting her grief cloud her usual perceptiveness... it feels iffy.

It just kinda feels like I wasn't even allowed to keep my "interpret these hints/maybe they are" thiefsome that I expected after the first couple episodes convinced me we wouldn't get outright confirmation. (I mean, I will anyway, and I love the hints and allusions regardless.) And while I'm definitely not the kind of fan who is dependent on canon for my ships, and still enjoy all their interactions/will keep right on headcanoning them all in a relationship, it's just.... a bummer.

Feels like a real cop-out. Like the hints of Breanna being queer are enough to meet their quota and they won't try anything 'risky' like a poly relationship. I dunno. It's annoying.

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That's the end of the list! Again, overall I love the new show a lot and have few complaints.