#human-shaped fiends

[mylifeinfiction]

Human-Shaped Fiends by Chandler Morrison

"Justice doesn't have anything to do with anything."

Boring. Chandler Morrison's brand of 'shocking for the sake of being shocking' extreme 'horror' is—for lack of a better word—boring. The fact that he then injects the meta exercise of literary masturbation that is autofiction into the mix makes it insufferably boring.

I get that Morrison is trying to be subversive by dismantling the (splatter) western genre by taking its tropes to 'shocking' extremes, but he's very clearly not clever—or talented—enough to effectively pull it off. Instead, we're left with a paint-by-numbers western that so badly wants to be some sort of spiritual successor to Cormac McCarthy's Blood Meridian—just, y'know, without the thematic weight or the gargantuan literary talent of Cormac McCarthy—thus making it little more than a hodgepodge of juvenile scenes of r*pe and m*rder clumsily interwoven with delusional, over-the-top autofiction 'satire' that never manages to achieve anything besides shining a light on Morrison's clear disdain not only for this genre, but for his fans. He's very clearly bored of writing this sh*t. But not nearly as bored as I was while reading this sh*t.

2/10

-Timothy Patrick Boyer.

[ilikedetectives]

Hi Colin, what's the endgame for Kalius (and Minty)? Does Kalius take a Balduran title at all or is it just Absolute power?? 😇

Hello hello! Minthy and Kalius become the Absolute, then they *call drops* on that illithid throne after Kalius proposes (they're practically engaged 7th time prior with all the rings on Minthara's fingers). After that they begin their conquest of Menzoberranzan and get Kalius' cambion wings back from Mizora (Kalius made a deal with Mizora a long time ago: trading her cambion powers and wings so the person she loved the most no longer had to suffer from terminal illness' pain).

Then things happen and Kalius reincarnates into Lily, The Dark Urge.

[writers-potion]

Vampires, Werewolves, Zombies

They are human, but not quite. Although these entities are deeply embedded in the human psyche, they have not single definite form.

Here are some notes about these paranormal creatures of 'The Universal Unconscious', and ideas about how to tweak them.

Vampires

First stories about vampires as we know them appeared in the 18th C and developed in the early 19th C.

In 1819, a young English doctor wrote The Vampyre, featuring the character Lord Ruthven. An aristocratic fiend, immortal, seductive, and dangerous, he soon became popular.

It inspired Bram Stoker's novel Dracula. Count Dracula then became the archetype from whom most literary vampires evolved.

Sparkling vs. Traditional

Broadly, vampire would fall into 2 types:

Sparkling ones where vampires are more or less benevolent/heroic, less of a monster but a tormented human.

Traditional vampires who are creepy and dangerous.

It doesn't matter which of these you write!

Vampire Tropes

is 'undead' in a state between living and dead

drinks human blood

has an adverse or strange reaction to sunlight

sleeps in a coffin

needs to sleep on native soil, therefore carries some soil with him

remarkably handsome

seductive

pale

low body temperature

has two long retractable fangs

averse to garlic and silver

cannot bear the sight of a crucifix

suffers pain or injury when touched by holy water

cannot enter a home without being invited

can hypnotize humans

can impose his will on humans

not reflect in mirros

can fly

may be a loner or part of a hierarchical society

drains human's life force to replenish its own

immortal (almost)

superhuman strength

can be killed with a wooden stake through the heart

vampires are former humans, "turned" by a bite

when bitten by a vampire, a human weakens, dies, or becomes a vampire.

Werewolves

While wolves are the most common were-humans, humans turning into other animals are also popular.

Werewolf Tropes

normally lives as human, but turn into a wolf with certain triggers

the full moon is a common trigger

superhuman strength

possessive

loyal

dangerous

jealous

organized in hierarchical packs

may be able to change shape at will

lives an ordinary human life and keeps the turning a secret

can be killed with a silver bullet

a bite from a werewolf infects, and the bitten person becomes a werewolf.

immortal

Zombies

Through flesh-hungry undead have been a feature of ancient stories like the epic of Gilgamesh, the zombie as we know it today is rather modern, stemming from George A. Romero's 1968 film Night of the Living Dead.

The word "zombie" stems from the Haiti Vodun tradition, but was not applied widely to flesh-eating undead corpses until the second half of the 20th century.

Zombie Tropes

reanimated corposes

infected as a virus (often in a worldwide pandemic)

mindless, cannot be reasoned with

hunger for human flesh

appetite for brains

craving for salt

relentless, purpose-driven

retains some physical features and personality traits of the person they used to be

sickening smell of rotting flesh

body slowly rots, with parts dropping off

move in hordes

keeps living in this undead state despite injuries that cannot be survived.

besiege human dwellings.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* . ───

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[antigonick]

How would you explain what fascinates you about wuthering heights? Because I always say it's one of my favourite books but i can't even really explain why when people ask

Oh! Well, I can't talk for you, but sure, I can explain what fascinates me about Wuthering Heights. Rereading it, I can see how DEEPLY it has impacted my taste and my writing, honestly. I read it young and it's shaped a lot of things for me. But more to the point, I think Emily Brontë knows how to write ardor—force—soul. Her excess, the clear gothic and romantic influences, the telluric quality of Catherine and Heathcliff (part human, part fiend, part elementals) create the eye of the storm, and then around them there's perfect symmetry—two worlds, two generations, two families, two Catherines, two Lintons, two Heathcliffs-Hindleys-merged, life and death, even minute details like—loyalty and cruelty, selfishness and generosity, interiority and externality (in storytelling as well as character writing)... Echoes, repetition, cycle. Everything dual and opposite and forced into impossible suspension by the violence of Catherine (who is Heathcliff) and Heathcliff (who is Catherine). If they stop the storm stops and one side will swallow the other and the symmetry fall as conflation rises. It's both very contained and constantly too much, a sort of intimate howling, and of course backed up by beautiful beautiful aggressive and poetic writing that has the same power as the story it conveys. It's incredible. It's just fucking funny and insane and spooky and constantly screaming, you know? And all of that wrapped up in the Victoriana where it was born... An impossible sustained oppositeness in and of itself too.

[princess-ibri]

Darkside Disney Princesses: Sleeping Beauty

Click for better quality

(Edited, changed the picture as I didn’t think it was as high quality as the others were, old picture under the cut)

Sleeping Beauty I decided to take a twist on the whole Maleficent movie relationship thing.

So for this AU, Briar Rose, instead of running up to her room in despair after hearing she's a princess and has to leave her whole life behind, instead runs out into the woods. And before the fairies can find her--they're still keeping their magic small to keep their location secret, not knowing its already been compromised--she runs into Maleficent.

Of course, she has no idea who the wicked fairy is. No one has ever told her about her. All she knows is that a beautiful and powerful being of the forest is before her, but Rose has never known real wickedness, and perhaps she's feeling somewhat rebellious towards her aunts, so she begins talking to the strange woman when Maleficent --who likes to play with her food-- feigna concern asks Rose to tell her what's made her so upset.

So Rose tells her about how she just found out her whole life is a lie, and how she'll never see the first boy she ever met again, and how she doesn't want to go and be princess with a king and queen she doesnt know, parents who gave her up for some reason intead of bothering to raise her themselves.

If she had had time to process her grief, and the promise of not being separated from her new found love, Rose might have been able to get over these resentments, spoken in the heat of the moment, more quickly.

But Maleficent decides that fanning the flames of he Princess's broken heart and trust, playing on her anger towards Stefan and the three fairies, could be so much more entertaining than just killing the girl outright.

So she takes Rose by the arm, and back with her to her palace, where she promises her the truth about all her questions, and the answers to how to solve all her problems...

Time passes, and the princess never arrives on her 16th birthday.

The king and queen are distraught. Relations breakdown between the human kingdom and the fairy court, as the fairies failed in their duties to guard the human girl, and they are called back into the Veil of the Fairies, leaving the mortals to fend for themselves.

Then relations break down between the human kingdoms when Prince Phillip goes missing as well, vanished into the forest, never to be seen again.

And then others begin to vanish. A farmer here, a wandering knight there. A whole group of children one moonless night. As more disappear, many more begin to flee entirely. Fields are left untilled, houses abandoned, borders undefended.

Tales soon cross the land as the refugees take flight from Stefan and Hubert's kingdoms. Tales of a dark presence that haunts the shadows of the woods, stealing away those who are foolish enough to wander beneath the trees. A fiend who takes the shape of a beautiful forest sprite, with a voice like a nightnagle. She causes all who hear it to fall under her spell, wandering into the shadows like they're walking in a dream, one from which they will never wake...

[sorcerous-caress]

Warlock human who pays their patron back with being free use whenever their patron wants.

An archfey that summons you to the fae realm whenever they want, finding the human smell too intoxicating to resist. The sound of soft bells and windchimes echo with each plunge they push into your core.

A fiend that marks your flesh, a collar to match as they keep reminding you of your place human, between their legs whenever they wish. Sometimes, you're kept tied to their bed on display for all visitors who may look but never touch.

A celestial that gets overbearing and condescending, constantly looking over your shoulder and making inappropriate remarks. Pulling you by holy strings up towards a featherly bed whenever they want to teach you manners.

A great old one that's indifferent to the way you squirm when overstimulated, whose emotions and expressions are too incomprehensible for your human mind. Who curiously pushes you past your limits each time.

A genie that comes from nobility and wealth that showers you in the most expensive equipment and clothes as long as you sit on their lap and thank them for each and every item as their fingers creep between your legs.

The fathomless that plunges you into pits of darkness, making you gasp for air as water shapes itself to plunge into your hole and wrap around your body. Each ocean, river, and lake send shivers up your skin and a feeling of uncontrollable lust.

The hexblade, where darkness means invisible hands, caressing your body, groping and proding against your sensitive areas. Even the simple shade of a tree means the feeling of lips against your neck. Each night brings promise of endless pleasure as the shadows manifest and spreads your legs

An undying who gets you to call them master. Strict and tough with their love as they bend you over their knees, a riding crop in the other hand. Who always makes sure you're on your best behaviour. Perfection is the bare minimum.

An undead who feasts on you each night, revealing in your life essence and the blood that pulses through you. Dead skin and souless eyes drinking up every reaction and moan they can get out of you, making you feed them what your human soul can offer.

[total-drama-brainrot]

Alenoah Week 2024: Day 3 - "TDWT Ending Rewrite"

The trek to the top of the volcano was, in layman's terms, agonizing.

Searing heat, somehow simultaneously swelteringly humid and suffocatingly dry, blistered at every inch of Noah's exposed skin and burned through his lungs like hot coals with every laboured breath. The sweat that would've been dripping from his exhausted body like a faulty faucet didn't even have the opportunity to form into pearl-shaped droplets before it evaporated against the overwhelming force of just how fucking hot it was.

And yet he'd made it.

He'd gotten there first, too.

Noah had somehow managed to out-slither the slippery fiend whilst the two were stumbling across the skipping stones of a lava lake, despite the weight of his pineapple dummy causing him to falter after almost every step.

The maw of the volcano bubbled and spat embers at his feet, just a few measly inches from the cynic himself. It was time to end it; the competition, the show, his… rivalry with Alejandro.

As if the mere thought of the Spaniard had somehow summoned him, Noah heard the tell-tale clicking of heeled boots against rock behind him quickly followed by harsh, laboured panting (not nearly as desperate as his own wheezing, but a far cry from the womanizer's usual composure). Alejandro's ponytailed hair rose from the plateaued peak of the volcano, followed by a pair of thick eyebrows furrowed against sweat-sheened skin, then a pair of furious sage green eyes- and sage was the most appropriate description Noah could think of, since they burned with a competitive fire comparable to the all-encompassing heat around them.

"It's over, Alejandro. I have the high ground."

Noah's voice was a hoarse, painful rasp, though whether it was from its unbearable dryness or the tenseness of the situation, he wasn't sure. He stood firmly at the edge of the volcano, searing light illuminating the edges of his form like a foreboding halo as he held Pinealejandro almost covetingly in a bridal carry, hovering the dummy over the scorching cavern of its imminent demise.

Alejandro- the human one, not the pineapple one- continued his unwavering ascent to the volcano's peak until he was but a few insignificant feet away from Noah. His shoulders visibly rose and fell with each huff of magma-scorched breath, and the barbaric snarl he bared towards the bookworm twisted his handsome features into something wild, alight with a passion that burned at white-hot as the lava below.

Then he roared.

"You underestimate my power!"

And lunged towards Noah, carelessly discarding his own pineapple dummy (comparatively twiggier and more feeble looking than Noah's own) as he cleared the space between them in the blink of a cinder-dusted eye.

"I will not lose to someone as infuriating as you!"

Before he could process what was even happening, Noah found himself scooped away from the edge of the volcano and lifted a few extra meters off of the ground, held victoriously above the latino in an overhead lift like he was some sort or glorified barbell. The shock of which inadvertently caused him to drop his own dummy, sending the construct tumbling into the bubbling, gaping chasm below until it plunged into the awaiting magma with a barely audible 'plop'.

For a brief tension-paused moment the two remained eerily still, almost frozen in place with disbelief (an impressive feat, considering it was far too fucking hot for anything to freeze atop the volcano).

Well.

That was that, then.

…It was sort of anticlimactic, really. Noah was almost disappointed.

"Um," The bookworm began, quickly schooling his surprise at being lifted and brandished like a javelin into his usual apathetic countenance, "Are you going to put me down, or…?"

Noah's enquiry was met a bark of high pitched laughter, a sound so entrenched in sardonic humour it was practically swimming in animosity.

"Ah, but Noah," Alejandro preened indulgently, as if he were speaking to a small child, and his snarl curled into a manic grimace. The archvillain's eyes were widened to their extreme, dying wisps of ember light flickering across his gaze which trailed from the waifish nerd held above his head to the boiling magma below.

"I still have a dummy to discard of."

In other words,

THROW THAT TWIG

INTO THE VOLCANO!!!

[y-rhywbeth2]

Hello I love bane totally normal amounts, so do you have any favorite fun (or fucked up) trivia facts about my emotional support god of tyranny?

I might've mentioned some of this before, but here's some trivia (and sometimes my musings upon it):

He has absolutely no indoor voice when he's excited. -

If you're invited to pray with the Banites and refuse, expect Bane to curse you with constant debilitating pain that prevents you from being able to cast spells (too much pain to concentrate) or fight, or walk very fast. This doesn't go away until you get a cleric to cast remove curse on you. If you do join them in honouring the Black Lord then your alignment will magically switch to lawful evil and you basically convert to Banite on the spot (if you're a priest then your god fires you immediately and won't take you back); this is either 1e nonsense or a sign of Bane brainwashing you, and either is just as likely. -

He - in his own words - has an "ever-gnawing hunger for miracles and wonder". He also has 10 levels of wizard, which might tie into that. -

He seems to have a monster making hobby. There are so many monsters and monster variants that have been copyrighted by Bane it's ridiculous: banedead, baneguard, baneliches, banelar nagas... I'm pretty sure that Bane is actually credited with creating the beholders ("eye tyrants") of Toril, though I don't have the time to go looking for a source on that.

Either way; he has a lot of beholders in his service. -

I'm pretty sure I remember something about his inventing his own traps during his stay at Zhentil Keep, so there might be an engineering hobby in there somewhere. -

He's a nerd about human biology and geeks out about blood cells and neuroscience - not that he'd admit it because the idea of being thrilled by mortality terrifies him (also I think he just hates positive emotions in general). Before the Time of Troubles he used to enjoy possessing mortals as hosts instead of manifesting avatars, which would presumably allow him to experience what they did and geek out about it while pretending he wasn't (although he didn't look after them very well and inevitably ran them into the ground - basic human needs are beneath him). -

He seems to like using black and red lightning of some sort as a kind of signature. -

(...I think this guy would be very happy as a supervillain living in his secret lab somewhere, performing mad scientist experiments as he plots to take over the world.) -

His domain can be annoying to pin down, because technically it started off in the plane of Acheron, but he's also supposed to be rooming with Loviatar and Bhaal in the Barrens of Doom and Despair in Gehenna, so who knows! -

He has a pet raven called Koravis, who he has a mild telepathic connection with. This raven is actually a fiend in the shape of a raven, but that pretty much just means he has an evil pet raven.

It's been stated that in his mortal life his character class was Blackguard - or an evil paladin, in 5e terms, dedicated to the service of evil powers. I suspect his patron was his master, the primordial Maram, who he served as a battle slave. As the evil pet raven is a Blackguard class feature (fiendish servant) I suspect he had Koravis when he was mortal. The bird/fiend was likely given to him by Maram (much like a warlock's pact familiar comes from their patron) and I guess the bird stuck with the winner. -

He managed to piss off the earth goddess Chauntea at one point, trying to destroy her sacred pools/portals in the Moonshaes. I can't find the sourcebook for the details at the moment though (it was successful enough that his followers still have the moonveil spells though). Bhaal was also trying to kill her over there at some point, so I wonder if that's connected?

[reginrokkr]

Footprints are left in their wake one by one on the blanket of snow, step by step as Dáinsleif treads the grounds of unknown lands. No sight of humankind nor of any shape or form of any civilization left behind or human activity whatsoever. Only monsters he hasn't seen before, while they are reminiscent of Abyss-affiliated fiends judging by the powers they draw and sometimes the anthropomorphic form they have. As star beasts in Teyvat, these are no laughing matter nor deserve to let one's guard down no matter how skilled one may be.

The sheer cold and snow that never seems to melt begets curiosity within the seraph's mind, ever wondering about the ecosystem of this world and if that is the reason why there is no human life here— or perhaps there may be none at all to be had if humans don't exist in this place. Dáinsleif is cognizant of the fact that inhospitable lands can be incompatible with other forms of life, too.

Not long before he decides to rest does he see from afar metallic fences and machinery that he opts for walking some more and have a look, albeit never intruding into territory he doesn't know. Whoever or whatever created this, he cannot be sure whether they will act kindly within his presence. Where creations lay so must loom nearby their creators and ere long does Dáinsleif find out that said creators are humans. Good, so long as mankind exists in this star, so his possibilities to learn about this vast universe will increase.

Rubescent lips part to heave a content sigh for such pleasant discovery and so Dáinsleif turns on his heels to leave. His aching muscles beg for rest, so does his mind after an undetermined amount of time walking and seeing little more than a vast albor ocean of snow. Somewhere discreet where he cannot be found yet not too far from the settlement is the chosen location to rest until a fox's cry causes his guard to be up once more, trained eyes in search of any presence that must've caused the tundra animal to be in distress.

Against his aching muscle's will, he rouses on his feet and searches for any living being activity within his vicinities. The source of the cry is found with immediacy as soon as a man's figure —judging by his muscular-looking back and broad shoulders— crouching catches his attention. With one hand he holds the poor fox in place while it struggles to thrash about in order to break free from his grasp and with the other snow is grabbed and brought to his lips. Despite the oddity of eating or drinking snow, stellar pupils take notice of a patch of blood making itself evident through the fabric of his top-wear on his arm.

❝You are hurt.❞ Only after these words abandon his lips does the seraph berate himself mentally at the prospect that the man may not understand the language. Even so, his voice stands low and gentle, tone does wonders to communicate feelings when language cannot establish a bridge of understanding. Dáinsleif ignores if what little fauna that lives in these snowy plains may be drawn to blood and thus put the man in danger, or if his life is endangered depending on the amount of blood that was spilled. His index finger points towards his own arm, pointing to the location of the other's injury to make himself clearer through signals. ❝Blood loss is detrimental in a place like this and I happen to have some medical knowledge.❞ One step brings him closer to the man, slow and measured to not generate hostility. His hand stretches towards him, an invitation. ❝Do you need help?❞

@longzhua ✦

[merakiui]

hello!! omg your newest Rollo fic... I've been thinking about it nonstop I swear!!! I'm obsessed with all your Rollo works, you just write him so creepy and obsessive - so fitting for a man who takes everything to fanatic extremes. I particularly loved the cultish religious themes in this, so in character for him.

such a chilling premise to start. mangled wings made of bone and sinew and fake feathers?? so horrifying and gorey, more like the image of a fallen angel than anything else. and the fact that an appropriate lamb had to be searched for. perhaps the righteous one had to stalk for months to find just the perfect opportunity to lure his angel :)

the fact that the handkerchief is actually darling's... omg that stuck with me. creepy down bad despicable priest can't resist darling's scent even if it means stealing her things 👀

and the stockholm syndrome? literally tearing his angel apart and stripping her bare, just to rebirth (indoctrinate) her into the religion just like everyone else, hanging on his every word. so thoroughly broken that fingering her before a congregation is definitely Normal and a sacred holy event and not a sinful perversion (not that Rollo sees a difference between the two).

the period blood too AAA!! the first time you wrote about his fixation on it I swear you awakened something in me I didn't know existed .///. that man is an absolute fiend.

I could yap forever but!!! anyway I really really like the fic <3 Rollo simps being fed generously today

-🐌 anon (if not taken!)

🐌 anon, hello hello!!!! Omg thank you so much!! I'm so happy you enjoyed the fic!! Rollo works extremely well in contexts with religious themes. I love adding all of the symbolism,,,, I've been meaning to write a cultish fic with Mr. Rollo for quite some time now. I was having the worst cramps of my life the other day and in being doubled over in pain a thought occurred to me: what if Rollo led a group of people who worship this sort of thing??? Thus, this fic was born hehe. :D

I loved writing about the gore and brutality in shaping darling into a proper angel. Or the human equivalent of one. Immediately thrust into a position of (limited) power overseen by Rollo, put on a holy pedestal and made to be this divine creature...... AAAAAA I was actually going to compare Rollo and the cult to wolves, but I felt that was straying into The Test of Faith territory. ^^;;; in any case I love the idea of Rollo searching for the perfect lamb to sacrifice and turn into an angel. <3 poor darling who had no idea of the horrors she would soon endure at the hands of such a crazy man,,,

>:D he's a freak!!! Rollo who took all of darling's possessions (that were on her person when he stole her away) so that he can essentially rewrite her entire existence,,, of course this includes minor things like her handkerchief. I think if anything's spared from flame it's that. The rest of your identity is burned away and from the ashes comes a new title, one you never wanted or needed to begin with. All while he gets to enjoy the sweet scent of darling on his (her) handkerchief.

Rollo being obsessed with periods and period blood is so delicious to me. He's such a creep,,, proving to the congregation that you're still pure because you have your period. Maybe it even keeps him in check when he's overcome with the desire to take you for himself. I think the concept of menstruation in stories is so interesting!! When they did that in Midsommar, I was so :O Rollo being obsessed with your menstrual cycle and fertility is so real to me. Sooner or later, he's gathering some for himself to put in his morning tea....... aaaa such a freak.

Thank you again for enjoying the fic!!! ⸜(｡ ˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡ I will always feed the Rollo simps because I myself am so unhealthily obsessed with him!!!

[livingfast04]

Monster Au? (kind of)

**spoilers for Frankenstein??? I guess??** Part Two --- They read Frankenstein in the 9th grade, Freshman English, with their teacher who had read the book far too many times. She’d waxed poetically about injustice, and how Victor was a Victim. She spoke every sentence as if each and everyone of them had never read a book in their life.

Steve read Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein in 7th grade for a book report. His teacher had all but begged him to choose a different option- they read it Freshman year. See it with new eyes then Steve. 

His mind was made up. Already 50 pages in. 

There was no poor Victor. Steve hated him, hated the idea of his character, hated the very words spilled on the page. The creature did not ask to be created, it did not ask to live. Steve hated that he identified with the creature, someone seeking kindness in a world that hated the idea of him. 

Devil, demon, fiend, monster. 

Skin Eater, Skin Thief, Skin Stealer, Shapeless.

If Steve was capable of that kind of violence, he’d kill everything his parents loved too. If his parents were even capable of love. 

So Steve sat bored out of his mind, and angry. In Freshman English, over a book he’d already read, over a woman, a human woman. Who spun sentences about the Human in the story, and cursed out the creature. As if the creature asked for anything. 

Kick the dog, hurt the dog, starve the dog. The kind dog will bite. 

Sink teeth into skin, tear flesh, feel the way their jaws lock around the white of bone.

He kept his mouth shut. In ways that the other monsters in the class didn’t, they huffed, and argued. The wolf at the front of the class snapped out about the logistics, the message Mary Shelley was trying to tell- how Victor Frankenstein was not the victim, but the Villain. It was about all the humans who had children with Supernatural, who abandoned them, who cast them aside, who turned the villages against them. 

When the Witch at the back of the class snapped out about Shelley was a Witch herself. 

Steve kept his mouth shut, when the Vampire boy from the front of the class shouted about how the creature just wished to be loved. 

Not a single word for how much he hated Victor passed his lips. Because Steve was supposed to be just as human as the teacher, was supposed to agree with the teacher. A woman he couldn’t even be bothered to remember her name in the Spring Semester.

Steve was to keep his head down on all things monsters, keep his abnormalness to himself- and act like a human. 

Freak, Freak, Freak

The Harrington’s were the only Shape-shifters in Hawkins, and that was a well kept secret. Only the Harrington’s were to know this fact. The world had come around to Supernatural in the late 1800s, just maybe. 

Werewolves, Vampires, Witches, Gremlins, Fairies, Dragons, Ghosts, Animal Shifters, Sirens, Banshee, you know- 

The human shaped kind.

They did not take kindly to Shapeshifters. 

So they hid, they curbed their instincts and became human-like. Raised their young in private, they did not fight the oppression, they stayed quiet, and said little to how shape-shifters worked to themselves. 

They don’t marry outside of the branch of Shifters, they don’t even think about it. 

Steve’s parents married out of necessity. Keep the line of Harrington’s alive. They had Steve out of necessity too. They shouldn’t have, but it’s what it was. His father too scared to break the cycle made sure that Steve was aware he was an abomination.

A devil, demon, a creature. 

Be human, don’t be anything else. Steve grew up knowing what his body should need, but never getting it. His “natural” body is already supposed to be thin, small, built for movement, and change.

Steve grew up, not really honestly. He tried to grow up. It took years of monsters, and years of exhaustion, and a skin that was wrong to even begin to grow up. There was no real transition, there was too human, and then too monster-ish. 

Too much, too much- 

And then there were real monsters. Not the human shaped kind. 

Not the Humans. The regulars, the ones with the slurs, and shouting, the human shaped monsters who didn’t like wrong. The ones who were the same as him, who didn’t like themselves either- 

Kick the dog, hurt the dog, starve the dog. 

The dog bites. --- I, got the writing bug, for something other than my two WIP. So, weird way too much world building Monster Au that I had to get out of my head an on to paper before I lost it completely. Both my sanity, and the idea. (The Au is Steddie, there’s just a, well Lack of Steddie in this. For some reason- probably because I word vomited for 25 minutes- and this was all I could come up with, without writing 10k-)  This was born because I’m reading Frankenstein  praise be Mary Shelley. And I’ve got far too many thoughts to be allowed to consume media.  So Stevie gets to suffer now- It’s okay tho, His Vampire Bf will make it better later down the line- :)

[monstersdownthepath]

Herald of Nethys: The Arcanotheign

CR 15

Neutral Medium Outsider

Inner Sea Gods, pg. 298

As we get closer and closer to the end of Misfits and Monitors Month, here we have the penultimate Neutral Herald, and possibly the most powerful of the Heralds... when she first came out. Like many of the Heralds of the main gods, the Arcanotheign first appeared in an Adventure Path, specifically Serpent's Skull: The Thousand Fangs Below, pg. 82-83, but her case is a special one. You see, whereas most of the Heralds became more consistent or stronger with the clarified vision of their powersets and the consolidation of their abilities into keywords or magic items on their person, the initial release version of the Arcanotheign was incomparably powerful, to the point she could have easily hovered around CR 18 or even CR 20.

She had not one but four at-will abilities tied to her ranged attack that would remove their initial target from the fight instantly (including one that was outright full death by disintegration on a failed save), the ability to ignore any spell or ability that relied on alignment, the ability to heal from both positive or negative energy damage, and an aura which dealt constant damage to everything around her (while healing her as it did so). Capping it all off? Alter Objects, an ability I'm a little sad she didn't get to keep in her reprint; Alter Objects allowed her to freely reshape anything she got ahold of, changing either its shape or the material it was made out of, OR animate it via Animate Object, with basically no limitations as to how dramatically she could reshape it or what material she could turn it into besides A) she can't do both transformations at once; no turning a teddy bear into a sword and no turning a stick into adamantine and then animating it, and B) the transformation always reverted 1 minute later unless she actively concentrated to maintain the effect. It was still a bonkers ability that gave her almost godlike control over her surroundings, especially since she only had to be within 100ft of whatever she was altering. Not even touching it!

Her final iteration in Inner Sea Gods is toned down considerably, to put it mildly. I wish she kept Alter Objects in some fashion, but with the severely compressed space in ISG, I can understand why it was trimmed. She's also lost more than a few of her bells and whistles, including a handful of her spell-likes, which must be especially painful for the servant of the God of Magic! But despite all of these nerfs, ALL of them, she remains one of the most powerful Heralds in the setting. Her might is all the more startling for any fiend or foul element which catches her in her mortal form as a gray-skinned beauty that seems to have a Disney Princess-esque magnetic effect on small animals and children (she's even got +35 to Perform (Sing) checks!) and thinks she'll be easy prey, her energy form exploding from its shell and raining terrible, eldritch energy upon the attacker until they're dead or gone. And then she folds back into her human(ish) form and goes back to playing with the kids, transforming their toys into new shapes to amuse them.

Most of the children visited by the Arcanotheign are blessed with magical genius or even magical power, blooming into casters (especially sorcerers) as they age, but whether the Arcanotheign unlocks these talents or is drawn to people destined to have them is left ambiguous. Planting the seeds for future generations of casters is but one of her duties in service to Nethys, though, the others being "encourage people to use magic" and "destroy anything that tries to stop people from using magic." While most parties would thus not have a reason to get on her bad side (even the most grumbling barbarian can appreciate a magic axe and a healing potion), she unfortunately DOES serve a guy who has the unenviable title of "Mad God," and as such she may be the party's ally--or at least a neutral force--for one session, only to turn on them the next for reasons only her god understands.

She's noted to ask "personal, direct questions" to anyone she's sent to interact with, whether it's to share a vision, heal them, destroy them, or teach them, and though her target will likely never know the reason for her barrage of questions, in truth it's because she wants to know why she was sent there. Why does this particular mortal deserve this blessing or punishment? She wants to know just as much as they likely do! Despite being directly formed from Nethys' will, not even she appears to fully understand it, and most of her free time is spent contemplating the purpose of her existence and her place in creation.

But we're not here for existentialism, are we? I mentioned she may be an ally one day and an enemy the next, so let's see what happens when that happens...

Let's begin with the biggest part of her kit: You're not hurting her with magic. She serves the God of Magic, so casters have to be very clever about how they use their spells against her, because most straightforward tricks simply will not work.

Blindsight out to 60ft and Arcane Sight out to 120ft besides, illusions, invisibility, and other such trickery won't work against her unless they're solidified from shadow magic. She has 31 Spell Resistance, the highest of any Herald besides the Grand Defender (who cheats by having "SR: Infinity"), which typically means a lvl 11~13 caster needs to roll an 18 or higher to affect her with most spells... which then have to contend with her saving throws, which are also higher than most Heralds at +18/+13/+17, which is increased by an additional +2 if the source is any alignment except true Neutral, because she's got ALL FOUR Protection From [alignment] spells on herself constantly. In addition to that, she has 30 Resistance to every element except Force, including a heretofore unseen 30 Resistance against typeless divine damage from effects such as Flame Strike and Hellfire Ray, and other, more esoteric spells and abilities, all but assuring those otherwise fairly reliable damage sources cannot harm her even if she fails her saving throw.

Able to resist every element, the Arcanotheign can also throw out consistent elemental damage in return. She's surrounded on all sides by a 30ft Energy Channel Aura, which... which in ISG is a little ambiguous in its function; in the original Adventure Path printing, the aura was always active unless the Herald shut it off and dealt automatic damage constantly to any target she desired like a proper aura, but in ISG the aura's wording has been changed considerably and seems to require the magical avatar's standard action to use, like a proper Channel Energy from a Cleric. This is supported by the fact she has the Command Undead feat but no normal ability to channel energy, but in my mind, a meager 2d6 damage (of Fire, Cold, Acid, OR Electricity, mind) is too pathetic to justify the use of her standard action, so I personally choose to believe the aura is constantly pinging every enemy inside (Will DC 26 halves) and she can switch which element is flaring out at will. If you want to add some extra spice, you can give her back her ability to also deal positive or negative energy damage with her aura.

It depends on how you want to run it, I suppose. I know I like automatic damage!

There IS an important bit here: this damage is tacked on to her two incorporeal touch attacks without offering a save to resist them. These attacks deal 4d6 untyped damage and 2d6 extra energy damage depending on what her aura is tuned to, but unlike many Heralds, she really, really doesn't want to get into melee to do that. Despite her considerable defenses against magic of any sort, she's actually got the least AC of any Herald at 27, and lacks ANY form of DR or protection from weapon attacks besides the fact she's incorporeal. Side note: This also means spells which deal physical damage affect her, provided they can pierce or ignore her monstrous SR.

Her full suite of Protection From [alignment] spells means she can't be touched by any summoned creature with an alignment and her 60ft of perfect flight gives her some evasion, but that does little to dissuade the Rogue and Fighter getting Fly and speeding up to her. She doesn't even have Dispel Magic to end such effects, which is a little weird and surprising to me. What she DOES have, however, is her Eldritch Blast, a pair of ranged touch attacks she can unleash at will which deal 1d10+her Chari-- whoops hold on, wrong game, 4d6 untyped damage as ranged touch attacks, and her blasts have one of three additional effects she can tack on which can be resisted with a DC 26 save (what kind of save depends on the effect). These effects are already bad, but a character who fails two saves against the Eldritch Blast effects in the same round suffers a debilitating status ailment instead.

The effects are:

Fortitude: Every round for 10 rounds, the affected creature teleports 5ft in a random direction at the end of their turn, potentially ruining any positioning they were trying to get going. If a creature is struck by this blast twice and fails both saves, they're shunted into a Maze automatically.

Reflex: The blast deals an extra 2d6 Fire damage. Failing two saves instead causes the victim to catch fire, taking 1d6 Fire damage a round every round from there on out until they use a full-round action to put it out.

Will: The blast confuses the creature for 1 minute. Failing two saves causes permanent insanity.

Functionally, targeting Will is typically her best bet and Reflex is barely worth considering; confusion has a 75% chance to neuter or entirely remove someone's turn, though one shouldn't sleep on what she does to people with low Fortitude saves. She's got Cloudkill at 3/day and is immune to poison, allowing her to cast it directly on her own position to gradually wear away at the party's Constitution and thus lowering their ability to resist being booped around or shunted into Mazes, removing them from the battle and leaving the rest of the party open to her shenanigans.

This is actually one of the most heavily nerfed parts of her kit, because her original incarnation in The Thousand Fangs Below, where her Eldritch Blasts could also choose to tack on 10 bleed damage (failing two saves instantly killed the target), paralyze the victim for a round (failing two saves inflicts a minutes-long Slow effect), and the Fire damage was doubled in every respect. She's also lost both Cone of Cold and Fireball, but she's managed to hold onto the reliable Lightning Bolt and Telekinesis (both 3/day) at least!

And you know what else she has? Both Heal and Harm at 1/day... and Limited Wish 1/day, with all the toolbox potential that comes with it. Though neither lore blocks presented offer it as a possibility, Limited Wish can mimic any Wizard spell of 6th level or lower, and Contingency falls into that bracket. Imagine finally catching the Arcanotheign off-guard, grounding her and beating her down to 10 HP... only to have a Contingency she prepared a week ago go off, instantly casting Cure Critical Wounds on her and restoring enough of her health bar to let her get a Heal off next turn (or, if the DM wants to be generous and round up, letting her just prepare a contingent Heal). The other options aren't much better, as she has both Greater Teleport/Teleport and Plane Shift available as emergency escape buttons, and those are just what she's got on her own sheet! With access to the minds of some of the greatest mages in the universe in Nethys' home realm in the Maelstrom, she can get a scroll of a wand of almost any spell in existence (which her +28 to UMD means she can easily use) to either prepare ahead of time with Contingency, or simply use as required.

It's almost a relief that she serves one of the more unstable gods, and is thus just as likely to be sent on some meaningless nothing task as she is an important and destructive one. Most of the time, she doesn't really need her magic because of how debilitating her Eldritch Blasts can be; knowing that she has a blank check in the form of Limited Wish almost feels like unnecessary overkill... which makes the actual Theme Finale of this month all the funnier.

You can read more about her here.

[eldritch-spouse]

[Part 2 to this post. Fem reader.]

Previous poll winner: Santi (61,7% after a tie-breaker with Sybastian)

TW: Dubious consent; Altered states of mind.

New choice! [VOTE]

You don't know his name, but you know he's the one you're picking. Maybe to your own detriment, but right now, you're trusting your gut. A shaky finger rises and points towards the demon.

" Him... "

His face brightens, a decidedly jovial, almost childish look on it, before it's immediately replaced with a smug, suave air. As if he expected you to pick him. Did he really though?

The whole room is filled with disappointed sighs, some of the monsters being more vocal about their distaste.

" It takes one slut to know another, no wonder she picked him... " The living doll snarks.

" Fool. "

" Of course, why am I surprised? "

" Heinous choice, maybe she really does deserve this. "

Although some sting your ego, you stand by your decision. He looks safe. Well, safer. That's about as low as the bar gets, but you're in no position to argue.

Said demon claps and laughs heartily at everyone's bitterness. " It sucks to suck. " He shrugs, ever smug as he closes in on you. " Great eye there, sweetheart. Now, why don't we get out of here, hm? "

There's no explanation for it except natural, biological demon fuckery, but his voice is velveteen enough to put you at ease. Or maybe it's just his casual quips, as if you aren't in a very life-threatening situation. In fact, now that you really think about it, there's only one type of demon he could be. Initially, you weren't very sure. A panicking brain told you he was wrathful purely because of his size, then his wording made you think of pride, but now? With him hovering mere centimeters away from your face? This fiend can only be from Lust. You mentally smack yourself for not realizing it immediately. The innuendo, his figure, the way he moves... Idiot.

Well, looking at the brightside, at least he's not likely to maul you in a fit of rage. Or eat you alive. That's... Better than nothing.

You must have spent some amount of time scrutinizing the monster, because he makes a quiet chuckle, prompting you to answer his question with a nod, avoiding those beautiful eyes. Unable to stand like this, and starting to feel very sore in all honesty, you aren't too shocked when he elects to pick you up. You'd ask to he untied, but that would just about destroy any ounce of modesty you're desperately clinging to right now.

He's strong. Most monsters are in comparison to humans, but you get the feeling he's not exerting much effort to lift you off the ground in a princess carry. Nonetheless, you still tense and squirm, knowing you can't really grab him for balance. He's undoubtedly warm, like a heater, a nice blanket in a rainy evening, smooth and comforting. This close to the monster's admittedly massive chest, you eye his piercings curiously and miss the way he sends his coworkers smarmy winks before using his tail to call the elevator.

It arrives with a pleasant ding, and the murmurs of disappointment are left behind once the yellowed metal doors close behind you two, some tension seeps off you. Only a little, you're still in a stranger's arms. Strong arms in fact, you can't get over that, can't get over how weirdly sweet he smells up close. Is it just you or he looks prettier under this light?

There's something so beautiful about him. You like the shape of his horns and those two rings pierced onto the right one. His face, although pale as chalk, is angular and handsome, a blend of blatantly masculine and feminine features mixing very well. Fascinated hues can't help fix onto those dark lips. It can't be lipstick, can it? It looks natural. Speaking of, you have no idea if he's wearing eyeshadow and eyeliner at all either... Could it be that demons of Lust are all this gorgeous naturally? Or is it just him specifically? In a sea of magenta, sharp green irises shift, a dim green glow emitting from them, casting a soft light. It takes you embarrassingly long to realize you're ogling, and that he's caught on minutes ago.

The way he stares back placidly, so very used to this attention most likely, has you instantly flushing and looking elsewhere, feeling stupid and fluttering at the sound of his laughing rumble.

" Uh- What's your name? " You stress, wanting to move on from that embarrassing moment.

He hums, readjusting to clutch you tighter to himself. The hand that grasped at your knees now grabs a handful of your upper thighs, the ensuing shudder as claws prick your skin is helpless. " I go by Santi, darling. " He offers.

Santi... Like there's anything saintly about this fucker. Better that than something you can't pronounce. The elevator is moving, you can feel it. When did he press a button? Where are you going?

" Santi. " You begin, getting his attention quickly. His smile broadens, apparently liking the sound of his name in your voice. " Where am I? "

The demon inhales, looking this way and that, machinating an answer. The look on his face tells you to take what he says with a grain of salt. " This is... An entertainment establishment, you could say. I work here. "

So this is a fancy haunted whore house? Great. He must have noticed the thousand yard stare that crossed over your features, because he makes a quiet snort.

" Don't worry, no one will dare to try anything with me around. "

Honestly, you doubt that a little. Yes, he's big and powerful looking, but so was that large blue monster, and that one in the cloak. What if there's bigger ones than Santi who aren't willing to play nice? What if someone else decides they want the human tied like a present?! You'll never be safe here. You need to make it out as soon as possible. This one looks so calm, and demons are creatures of exchange -Even if often unfair- So you might be able to convince this one to let you go, with enough effort.

A beat of silence passes. The fact that the elevator just keeps on going is irking you. How many floors are there on this dump? Shifting around in Santi's grip, you find a wall practically covered in buttons. Good lord, what the fuck. There's no way that's all stuffed in this weird building.

" Hey uhm... " You try to smile, a wobbling look. " Can we make a deal? I know this isn't usually how it's done for your kind, but I really need to leave. " Masterfully worded, very persuasive.

Santi's brows rise, he gives you this incredulous "really now?" look, and his fingers drum on your arm. " Mm, a deal you say? "

You don't like how intense his look is. " Y-Yes. "

" And, hypothetically, what would you be willing to trade for such? "

Good question.

Well, you know what type of demon he is, so there's probably only one type of offering he wants, the carnal type. You think quietly for a moment... One sex act for freedom. Not the worst that can happen, right? Not ideal either, but from everyone you've seen so far, this monster is one of the most attractive, it would be easier for you to get into it. To accept.

" Uhm- I can... I'll let you f-feed on me? " Your cheeks burn. " I won't struggle, whatever you want- I'm not too experienced but I'll do my best. "

Santi lets out a sharp exhale, something that reminds you of a steaming kettle. When you have the nerve to look back at his face, his eyes are lidded and he licks his sharpened teeth with gusto. A rumbling purr echoes across the large elevator, like your lackluster answer somehow really pleased him. Baffling.

" How generous of you, my sweet vixen. " He finally replies, head dipping to nuzzle slightly at your disheveled hair. He places a kiss there and you balk inwardly... Are all incubi this affectionate? Or is this just part of the game for him? You don't have much contact with his kind, all things considered. His next words are soul-crushing. " I don't think I can take you up on that offer however. "

" Buh- But! There's- "

You're interrupted.

" But nothing, sweetheart. " He tuts. " Don't give me that sad look, I'm doing this for your own good. " The glare you give him in return is ignored. " You wouldn't make it out there. Today's a big day, our guests will be arriving soon, you don't want to get caught by some opportunistic scum right as you think you're safe, hm? "

What the demon says gives you pause. Big day, big day, they keep saying that. What does it mean? Whatever, it doesn't matter. He's clearly not letting you go anytime soon, and pushing the topic is probably not going to help you in the long run.

" So... Where are you taking me? "

" In that state? " Santi shakes his head. " Nowhere dear. "

You don't get to stew in the confusing answer for long, because as soon as he speaks, the doors to the elevator part, and you're in a whole new sections of the building you've yet to see. A long, purple-ish hall seems to spread out infinitely, doors upon doors facing each other on each side, each one with a specific number. Rooms, like a hotel. Is he taking you to his room? Does he live here?

Santi walks out confidently, silent but hasty. Although the hall is mostly silent, you'll occasionally catch a clipped noise or two- Maybe motel is a more apt descriptor. You can't help but pale a couple shades at the insinuation. Well, that's on you for picking the incubus.

You half expect him to stop on door "069", putting aside the fact that it's mindboggling how many doors this place has. This entire structure makes no sense, you have no idea what type of magic you're witnessing. Instead, he halts at "071". You're glad the hall didn't start at "001", otherwise he'd take a small eternity to reach his own room, which is hilarious honestly.

That small moment of humor just about perishes as soon as the door is opened. You note, with no small amount of skepticism, that he purely turned the knob. Why does he leave his door open, isn't he worried about his personal belongings getting stolen? The room itself is heavy on the eyes, all deep scarlets, blacks and the occasional pink. Luxurious, it definitely sets the mood he's going for- Intimate. You get glimpses of shelves above the bed and on other walls, furnished with what you can only call an almost enviable collection of toys.

" How do you like my little corner, love? " Santi suddenly asks, jolting you.

" Ah- Well, it's uh... Pretty. " Yes, let's leave it at that. " Do you live here, in this place? "

The monster snickers. " Oh no no, this is just where I usually take my clients. "

" Oh. "

Before you know it, you're being gently laid onto that large king-sized bed, shaking at the sight of him essentially on top of you. It's- It's just going to happen? Like this? So soon? You barely learned his name, you're not ready to just be touched like this, no way-

" Hey... Hey now. " Dark fingers snap in front of your hazy eyes, halting the motions of panic for a second. You gulp. " Deep breaths, baby, I just want to get you out of that wrapping. Aren't you sore? "

Naturally, of course you are. A warm hand brushes over your cheek, thumb tracing circles on it. Somehow, in some way, the contact makes you calm down, nodding slightly. " That's what I thought. Lay down, I'll be quick. "

Doing as told, you focus on the mahogany ceiling, trying not to think about the fact that you'll be bare to him. Calm down, he's probably seen so many bodies in his lifetime, you're nothing special to him. He won't even care. Although the demon could easily use a claw to shred the wrapping around your figure, he gingerly takes one end of the bow and pulls- Slow, deliberate, giving himself a show. Your breasts are the first part of you to be revealed, nipples perked from the chill of being cold and exposed. He's silent, but something else whooshes around, presumably that thick tail. When he grabs your upper body to remove the fabric trapped beneath, you swear those fingers spread across your skin purposely, claw tracing the rim of your buttons. For a hellspawn, his expression is almost saintly as he does this.

You're twisted and turned like a prized toy while he goes about untangling you, squirming slightly from the stimulus. You wish he'd hurry the fuck up, but he has slowed even more now that he's about to uncover your pussy, lifting your leg against him. The jovial humming doesn't help. Your eyes shut as soon as cold air is felt against your genitals, you don't know what face he's making when he pauses, nor do you feel brave enough to peek. You hope you aren't visibly wet, the mere fact you have to worry about it is embarrassing. Eventually however, he resumes, lowering said limb and ridding you of the material entirely, leaving you free on his silken sheets.

" There we are, my present unwrapped. " Santi jokes.

Although your body begs you to stretch, you cover yourself instead, earning a laugh from the male.

" Come now, don't hide, it's a gorgeous view. " He's not helping, especially not when he keeps wetting his teeth. " In any case, I assume you'd like to shower? "

Oh yes, yes you would. " Yes, please. "

Santi's eyelid twitches for a second. Weird. He recovers quickly, standing, offering you a hand with a grin. It takes a couple or resigned seconds before you cease covering yourself and take it, being led to a door you had entirely missed amidst your cursory glance at the room. Predictably, it hides only a fairly standard bathroom, keeping the theme of the room by being mostly black and sleek in design. The shower is modern-looking and open. There are several rails around. Somehow, you don't think all of those are for towels.

" You'll have to excuse me, love. Most of the products I have here are neutral. " And, sure enough, he's right. You don't recognize most of the brands at all.

" Uhm, thank you. " You scratch nervously at your arm, but it feels like that's the right thing to say here.

He didn't need to do this for you. While you're still very skeptical, fact of the matter is Santi brought you to a room where hopefully no one else will enter, got rid of your binds, and is now offering you a place to clean yourself. He's being... Kind, all things considered. Not kind enough to let you leave, but mildly considerate.

A hint of color graces those pallid cheeks. " Oh don't mention it, go ahead. " Your hair is ruffled playfully.

Momentarily on auto-pilot, you climb under the large shower head and are about to turn it on, when instinct tells you to pause. Eyes find the hues still glued to you. Santi hasn't moved a muscle. The incubus frowns when you start shrinking into yourself again.

" Is something wrong? " He says, like this is the most natural thing in the world.

" N-No, I- "

" If you don't want to shower, that's all right- "

" No no, I do! "

He tilts his head. " Then don't let me stop you. "

You blink. Oh, so this is the game he's playing. Alright, it's clear he's not leaving, you're just going to have to shower in front of him. Could be worse. Sighing, and turning around in spite of survival instincts, you turn the faucet on and wait for the water to be warm enough to slip under. The wave of warmth is comforting, reassuring, making you forget about where you are momentarily. As if cleaning yourself from the grime of that garden and the floor has somehow transported you home, to safety. You're reaching for the shampoo when a harsh shiver crawls up your spine. Something's wrong.

A shadow casts itself over you, and soon, the water stops hitting you altogether. You've never gotten goosebumps so quickly in your life before.

A chuckle sounds from above, way too close. " Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to steal the warmth for myself. " Suddenly, a broad arm coils over your front, dragging you flushed against a sturdy body. Rigid as a plank, you can only shudder and gasp.

" Wh- Why are you...? "

" You don't mind if I shower too, right dear? "

If that isn't the lousiest excuse then you have no idea what else could be. You're not exactly in a position to demand he leave his own shower however, and frankly, keeping yourself in this one's good graces is a good idea, so you only shake your head, trying to focus on your hair.

Not for long. It's hard to ignore him so close to you, especially when his hands find purchase on your hips, and he blankets you like a lazy, purring cat. There's no ignoring things when both those paws start trailing different paths, one upwards to your right tit, and the other trailing to your mons.

" S-Santi please- "

Your squirming is easily quelled with a tighter grip. " Shh- " He kisses at the back of your neck, licking the length of it in a way that causes you to shudder hard and your toes to curl slightly. It's a simple act, but somehow, it's having a much larger effect on you than it should. " I know, you're stressed, you've been through a lot today already, I just want to help you relax... "

Finally, his fingers glide over your pussy, and you know he can feel the arousal pooled there. Hell, he was probably able to smell it as soon as he laid you on that bed. He pats at you playfully for a second, rolling a nipple with his other hand, before grinding fat digits over your clit. Cornered, not really knowing what to do with yourself, you hang onto the rail in front of you while your legs tremble and squeeze around his expert fingers. Santi's not being slow and gentle about it, knowing exactly how to roll that bud to get you arching in pleasure.

When you lean back onto him, spine curved, unaware you're even doing such, your mouth opens and you're not quite sure what you want to say- Stop? Don't stop? Harder? Why are you doing this? You're confused, and the only thing that comes out is a whined moan, which has Santi growling in approval. His head dips to catch your parted lips with his, and it's at the first taste of his tongue that you realize...

You're making a big deal out of nothing.

The demon's lips are gentle, coaxing you into moving with him, but ultimately being domineering in the way that muscle leaves no room for yours to steer. There's something indescribably addictive about his taste, you've never had such a good kisser before, purposeful motions seem intent on feeding you more of his drool, copious amounts of it, dripping down your chin. The sloppy embrace paired with his restless motions on your pussy have you moaning high against him. It's Santi's turn to shiver, there's something decidedly large being pressed against your ass, but you can't bring yourself to care anymore. The sparks of an approaching orgasm kill off just about most of your higher brain functions and you only pant against the demon, holding onto his arms, rocking into that merciless hand.

It hits you like a train.

You don't remember the last time you came so hard, from something so simple too. But it feels perfect. Making a noise you barely recognize as yours, you clench hard against nothing and beg senselessly, an insupportable wave of heat settling within you like a roaring fire. Orgasms are supposed to relieve, how come you only feel needier now?! It's hard to think, it's almost as if there's a tint to your vision, everything but him and his body erased from sight and mind.

" Wha- Why-?! " You mumble, whining in confusion. There's something dripping down your thighs, though not for long, as it's collected and cleaned by the demon behind you, before the cascading water could steal it from him.

" What's wrong? " Santi lulls, turning you around while he slurps greedily at the last of his digits. " That didn't help, sweetie? "

Frustrated, you just shake your head and groan, uncomfortable. His gums show for a fraction of a second.

" Really? " Fast nodding. " Oh, that won't do then. Here- " The shower is turned off, and though you shiver, it makes you feel slightly less irritated. " Let's fix that, yes dear? "

There's no hint of skepticism when the monster starts leading you out of the bathroom, still wet and dripping, and lays you back onto his bed. Albeit fogged with discomfort and relentless arousal, you fixate on Santi's form above you. Massive, built, you could just bite into any part of him. He's so hot, you have no idea how you controlled yourself all this time- You'd have ridden him in front of his wackjob friends if you had no self-control. Glazed hues falling, the shape that nudged you before is all too clear now, bobbing between thick black thighs. Something whose sight alone would make a slightly more lucid version of you run for the hills.

Now though? You can't even decide where you want to put it first. Somewhat barbed on the underside and dark in coloration, spotted even, you struggle to understand how he keeps that all in his slit. " Y-... You're huge. "

He barks out a laugh, though recovers quickly, like it's something he gets to hear frequently. Your face is grasped by two hands, soothing circles rubbed over your cheeks while your lips are mushed together, maybe just so he can thrill himself. " Mm yeah? Don't worry, you won't feel a pinch, doll. Promise. "

You're not sure how much you buy that, but fact of the matter is you wish he'd do something already, you're burning up! As if listening to your internal cursing, the monster crowds you beneath him, cock gliding teasingly over your folds, never even so much as catching on the rim of your entrance. He doesn't appear to be in a rush, looking down at the show, then grinning wide when you groan and fist the sheets.

" Hurry up already! " You're not going to beg him, that's so filthy. Though some part of you doesn't abhor the idea that much...

" That bad, hm? " He doesn't move a muscle, which has you this close to clawing at him in rage. Entirely amused with your theatrics, Santi lines himself up... And does nothing. You may not be the demon here, but you feel as if you could start crawling walls any moment now.

" F-Fucker! "

" Not my name, but not wrong either. " He jokes. " Wasn't it you who was scared about my size mere moments ago? "

Your response to the jabbing is to take matters into your own hands, scooting forward while he holds himself. It was easier and faster than you expected, his entire length sinks into you far too smoothly, the only sensations registered being a pleasant stretch and the lovely pressure of finally having him inside you. It feels right, it feels perfect, feels like you've been wasting time until this moment. It shouldn't be this easy, you should be yelping with pain, bleeding maybe, what's happening anymore? Ohhh, but then those ridges drag onto something nice and your legs spasm, head thrown back into a feverish moan, doubts cast to the fire of your own libido. Distantly, you can hear him making a similar noise, as if to join you, edging just the smallest bit forth to bury his entire cock to the hilt.

It's impossible. You've never taken anything remotely close to him within yourself. And yet, on the first try, you've welcomed Santi. Even if your hormone-addled mind doesn't fully comprehend how, a wave of pride consumes you. Of raw animal satisfaction. A heavy hand comes down to feel the imprint of his own girth, and you're sure your eyes rolled into your skull for a second as he pressed down.

" Look at that, love- The whole thing. Didn't I promise you it'd be fine? " The male pants. Wherever his fingers glide, a blissful sensation spreads. Your body doesn't know what to do with itself under his influence, clenching and flexing, you're not sure if you'd like to beg him to stop touching or to never take his hands off you. The incubus gazes pensively at your mons, digits tapping, before the contact ceases altogether and the disappointment is so intense you actually tear up. " Oh, you're just the cutest fucking thing. "

He dips closer to you, miraculously managing to not move a muscle in his legs. " I'm glad you picked me, otherwise I might have had to drag you out myself. That wouldn't have been pretty. "

The mental image alone, albeit grotesque, snaps something inside your twisting mind, and you move. With no real technique or guidance, you grind back and forth on his pride, frustrated that he won't fuck you and unwilling to be tortured any longer. It's clumsy, though his slurred, excited expletives only make you work harder, breaking a sweat as you try to find a pace and angle to better fuck yourself on him.

" Ohh ffuck, you like that thought, don't you? " His grin is wolfish. " Me too. Maybe that's what I should have done to begin with. " His voice ghosting around your earlobe is driving you insane. " No one would even care if they found me fucking the brains out of you in that elevator, you know? "

By the way Santi throbs inside you, he should have given in and started rutting into you, it's confusing why he hasn't yet. Though honestly, the suggestions he's tossing at you could make you see stars on their own. " Hhn- W- Why won't you-? "

The demon snorts, a goading digit feathering over your clit every time you sink onto him. " Why won't I... ? "

" Why won't you just fuck me?! " It sounded more like a miserably cry than the yell you meant it to be, which is mildly embarrassing.

" Hah! " The demon cackles, and in those sharp pupils, behind all that charm and dazzle, you find the malice only a fiend of Hell could sport. The mercilessness of his roots. " But you're doing such a good job on your own, darling. It's not everyday I get to savor this kind of desperation. "

When he's arrogant enough to bring his thumb to your parted lips, perhaps hoping you'd suck it for him, you bite instead- A risky move, but risk is the last thing in your mind right now.

The monster grunts, chuffs something incomprehensible, then moves in a blur. The last thing you see are shrunk pupils and scarlet, drool-soaked gums before you're swiped onto your stomach, earning a faceful of wet pillow.

He slams home in a blink, bulldozing past a bundle of nerves that has you crying into said pillow. The weight of the demon on top of you is equal parts suffocating as it is thrilling. You know you're trapped, but it's exactly what you want. Finally, finally, he starts moving, and the crests of pleasure from each plow have your muscles going taught, waves of hot and cold wiping every minuscule bloom of a thought as your second orgasm barrels through your body.

You know you screamed, made some sort of hideous noise, because Santi grips a fistful of your hair so he can see the face you make while you cream yourself hard around his cock. " Fuck yess, there you go, better? Is that better, sweetie? Does it feel good? "

As if the fact you're drooling wasn't enough of an answer. Sweet nothings blur into nothing as you merely nod and grunt. There's another sloppy, rushed kiss shared between you, the demon's erratic pistons making things hard, you end up licking his face in an attempt to fetch his tongue again and the two of you laugh for a brief moment- You've never felt so high.

Unfortunately, much to your chagrin, the relief of your second climax is even shorter than the first one, and you're once again submerged in what feels like twofold the intensity of your arousal. It's horrifying. What's happening? Why won't it stop? Why won't he fuck you harder?

Aware you're sweating bullets but covered in goosebumps, you push your ass up and out against Santi, squeezing around him. He picks up the pace, rocking you, making bestial noises you've never heard from a man before. If this keeps going for much longer, you fear your brain might fry itself to a horny crisp. " Come in me! F-Fucking- Fill me- Do something, Santi please! "

It's hard to tell given he's panting rather loudly, but you think he's breathlessly laughing at your discomfort. You don't think it's funny at all! But then, his spine snaps back straight and he grabs your hips hard enough to feel your bones, you're forcibly drilled onto his cock with a level of strength that has you smiling open-mouthed like a drunk fool, the happiest cocksock in the world. Something wet slaps onto your ass, you can only guess he's drooling. There's a snarl that shakes the walls, or maybe just you, and he seats you on his fat cock for the last time before doing exactly as you requested- Bloating you with cum.

It's hot. Literally hot, his load almost burns inside your cunt, something between tingling and scalding, each rope of it making you shudder hard while a third, less intense orgasm makes your pussy flutter to milk him dry. You fully expect to be taken by another, harsher wave of fucklust, but surprisingly- It never happens. Instead, you just relax more and more, sinking onto crimson silk with a groan as you deflate.

The demon murmurs reassuring words you barely register as he pulls out, petting your oversensitive pussy and peppering kisses against your sweaty back. You feel him bite softly on your neck, chuckling at your fucked out state.

" What a filling meal you've been. " The monster sighs, laying beside you on the mattress and pulling you closer to himself. " I'd fuck you to my last breath. " Maybe that was meant to be romantic, you're not sure. Your face can't possibly heat up more. " But let's not get ahead of ourselves, you need your rest. "

" Close your eyes... I'll be here. "

And, exhausted as you are, sleep comes easily.

He's reading by the time he feels you stir beside him.

You've been conked out for a couple of hours, which makes Santi feel a little bit self-conscious. Maybe he exerted a lot of magic over you, but he wanted to make the most out of his little conquest- And seeing you in a quasi-heat was just so hot... Nonetheless, he knows that took a lot out of your body, and it's his responsibility to make sure you don't fall ill because of it.

Having already cleaned himself up, the demon picked one of the newest best sellers and flipped through chapter after chapter. He wouldn't just leave you here alone while you slumber defenseless, he's not stupid enough for that. His coworkers would try something. Santi's all for sharing a cute piece of ass, on his terms though. Truth be told, he's not paying attention to any of the words on those yellowed pages, he's read this one before, different things conjure in his mind's eye instead.

Mainly, Santi's wondering about how to best spend the rest of the day with you. He already canceled plenty of clients out, something he usually hesitates greatly with- Yet the incubus found it very easy to do this time. You just taste divine, he needs more of your lust, it's so filling even in small doses. You're full of it. Plus, he's very charmed that you willingly wanted to come with him, out of everyone in the team. He knows some of them might have looked friendlier than him, it's endearing that you liked him that much.

Santi almost marked you. Almost. The urge was there, the opportunity was golden, he could have stamped you as his right then and there- But ultimately, he thinks he'd regret doing it so soon. Your fate is unwritten, the incubus isn't too sure what'll be of you once the day is over. What if his higher up decides you're going to the warehouse? Or to be trained by Nebul? Santi needs to be ready to negotiate with Admin when the time comes. And he needs to be ready to face reality, if you're taken from his claws...

Ugh, he's really not looking forward to that. You're an adorable little thing. He can't wait to dress you up and head out to the other floors, flaunt you a little maybe.

Sure, Santi would have liked a wider range of clothes to pick from, certainly something with impeccable quality- But there's only so much he can do while inside The Clergy. He can't leave your side for too long. That's why he had Grimbly bring him discarded clothes from Morell's perished piglets. Out of a sizeable pile of fabrics, Santi salvaged only a loose white blouse, stained with some blood on the hems, and a pair of torn shorts. Less than ideal, but he's sure they'll fit you, and that's what matters.

Honestly, he'd prefer to lead you out naked, but you're in no state for that, at least not anymore. If the demon had suggested that earlier, you probably would have loved the sound of it. Alas, a concubus can dream.

His plan for now is to take you a couple floors down once you wake up, give you a little reward for taking this so well. Speaking of, he might have spaced out for a few minutes there, but he's definitely feeling eyes on him now. Gaze veering right, he finds his little present openly studying him. He can't help the quip that tugs at his dark lips.

" You really know how to make a man feel gorgeous, hm? "

Predictably, you turn away immediately. Santi snickers. " ... Don't flatter yourself. "

Oh, attitude? Good, that's the spirit. Santi claps his book shut and sets it on the bedside table, giving you his full attention. You're no longer wet from the shower, but there's a sheen of sweat on you, marks of his cum on your legs make a gross part of his brain want to clean it himself. Better not let it linger, he can't be tempted to drag you into another round so soon.

" Dear, how about you get an actual shower in, you must be hungry, no? "

Sure enough, you nod, peeling yourself out of the bed with a light sway. Whoops, that's on him. Santi doesn't follow you into the bathroom this time, setting the clothes he retrieved on the edge of the bed. When you come back, drying yourself off with a towel and examining the cloths, you have the intellect not to question where they came from or why there's blood on them. The sight doesn't please you much however, he can tell. The demon almost wants to reach for his slit when you casually dress up in front of him. It seems the more time he spends around you, the more he longs for another hit of your delicious desire.

You're not fast enough to predict the sharp slap across your ass as soon as you're fully dressed, yelping like an animal.

" Good as new, aren't you? " The demon humors. " Ready to be wined and dined? "

You actually giggle at that, making the monster beam subtly. " ... Shouldn't that have been the first step? "

" We do things a bit differently here, love. " He winks. If only you knew just how differently... " Now come, let me spoil you some. "

You appear less skittish around him, following Santi into the same elevator you got here from. Naturally, that changes as soon as you get a glance at the restaurant floor.

Hours have passed since he took you to his room, which means many guests have already poured in, an absurd number actually. The place is crowded enough to grow hot, reminding Santi of Hell. Which is fitting, because today's guests of honor inside The Clergy's Eye are none other than the Lords of Perdition.

It certainly explains the sheer amount of demons in the premises. Santi's good mood drops noticeably as he senses several concubi around. In his territory. Eating his meals. The monster almost snarls as he steps out, grip tight on your wrist, eyes bright in blatant aggression. Others are wise enough to give him a decent berth.

Santi has to tell himself to calm down. Deep breaths, he's here to get you something to eat, not pick fights with vermin.

" S- Santi...? " Your soft voice grounds him some.

You look terrified. And there's more than enough reason for such. Not only is the crowd here very rowdy and prone to violence, several demons brawling and arguing- Others are tossing wounded humans around like party confectionery, which they technically are. The ones moving around linger to glance at you, giving Santi mischievous looks he pointedly ignores. No, he doesn't want to show you off in this type of crowd at all.

" Yes, darling? " A forced smile sits on his lips.

" W... What is that? "

He squints, following the direction in which your finger points, finding a gigantic yellow form amidst the sea of people ahead. A serpentine monster woman lounges in a fancy booth, swallowing plates whole and occasionally scooping lesser demons into her unhinged jaws. Her jovial laughter creates an air of chaos in the floor.

" That would be the Queen of Gluttony, dear. " He casually points out.

Your eyes widen. " A-Am I- Are we- "

" In Hell? " The incubus' grin softens. " Not even close, though tonight, it might as well b- "

" SANTI, IS THAT YOU THERE, MY OLD FRIEND? "

Both of you freeze.

The incubus' heart nearly comes out his throat. There's only one demon who could own that voice. Santi pulls you flush against his side as frantic lime hues scour the entire floor. Behind him, another Icon is seated in an equally lush booth adequate to his size.

Vesper. The King of Lust. His King, technically, before he vowed himself to Krulu.

The Icon of carnality offers the two of you a hungry grin, ever bright pools of magenta fixated on you like the eyes of a hawk. The rest of the crowd blinks at the lust demon, wondering if he's brave enough to ignore of a King of Hell who calls him by name. Of course he's not. Especially not Vesper. There's history between them.

" Wh- Who's that? " You whisper quietly, latched onto his arm. In other circumstances, he'd be very happy to have you glued to him.

" ... The lord of Lust. " He murmurs back between grit teeth, straining a confident grin as he waves at the two-mouthed demonlord.

Vesper's head tendril sways back and forth along with his tail, he shoos his arm candy away and makes a beckoning gesture, eyes now burning onto you. Santi can't help feeling there's something odd about the demonlord's excitement, but he knows he's going to have to approach regardless of his gut feeling.

When he makes to close the distance, the force of your static self halts him. The soles of your bare feet dig into the ground. You look like a deer in the headlights, stuck gawking at the massive pink demon. In a way, Santi's not surprised by your reaction. If he already had such an intense effect on you, then Vesper's going to break your mind into tiny pieces.

The demon's inviting expression morphs into a much more serious one as he shifts to be in front of you. " Listen to me, hotstuff. You don't have to be scared of him, okay? I know he's... Intense-looking, but he probably just wants to catch up with me. " Santi tries to ease your nerves, but it doesn't look like it's working. Sighing, he blinks at you a couple times, lashes rippling and eyes swirling a brilliant green, forcing some ease into you. " How about we make some small talk, and then get you a decent meal? "

Although you nod slowly, it's clear you're not sold on the idea. It's as good as he'll get, Santi supposes. He's aware the two of you are still being observed while he strolls towards the lord. Santi's used to staring, you though? Not so much, poor thing.

When you stand before the large Icon, Santi's sure that, if you had a tail, it would be tucked between your legs. But you haven't stopped looking at him for a second either, the incubus almost feels jealous.

" Your highness. " He nods respectfully.

" Oh ho, none of that here, sweetheart. Tonight, you know me as Vesper. " The demonlord waves a hand, then bends to observe you two much closer, enough to jolt you a little. " I'm so very glad to see you're enjoying my gift! "

Time freezes. A lot of things become clear in a fraction of a second.

" Ha, I almost felt bad leaving her in the garden like that, you poor little baby. " Vesper coos, tickling under your chin briefly as he titters before focusing on Santi. " Of course you were the one who got to her first, I expected nothing less from one of my own. "

Not exactly how things went down, but there's no reason for Santi to contradict such a flattering image of himself. " Truly? This was your doing? How generous of you. "

" Keep it between us, yes Santi? " The King tosses a wink at him, fluffing his neck. " Now sit you two, let's enjoy our time here a bit... "

Large lavander hands pat at the ample purple cushions next to him. The look on his face is less requesting than it is demanding.

Santi has no reason to fear, but he can almost hear your heart thundering next to him. He slips a warm palm down to the small of your back, trying to offer some soothing contact even as he edges you forward gently.

One of the elevators dings nearby, opening to release a small group of drunk monsters.

[taomyou]

a sip of sunshine - chapter one (A)

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

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

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

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

This where his days are occupied by nothing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yet, all he does is stare.

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

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

Fucking bastards.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mikasa shoulders his grief, just as he shoulders hers.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s more than enough.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What are these for?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He misses them both a lot.

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

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

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

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

How odd.

“What’s this?”

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

“Not the gift. This ribbon.”

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

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

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

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

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

Huh. That was surprisingly easy.

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

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

“Thank you, kids.”

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

They grow up too fast.

“Now the other one!”

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

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

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

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

What odd flavors for winter.

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

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

“So, what do you think?”

“What am I supposed to do with this?”

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

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

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

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

They both nod.

Levi sighs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Levi wishes he could be the same.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Maybe he’ll figure it all out someday.

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

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

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

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

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

｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☀︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She’s… beautiful.

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

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

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

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

He nods.

“Really?”

He nods again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s alright, I don’t need it.”

“I’m insisting, then.”

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

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

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

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

That’s certainly a relief.

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

“What’re you talking about?”

“It’s your birthday, isn’t it?”

“Right,” Levi muses, kissing his teeth.

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

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

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

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

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

“Who said all these aren’t?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Wait-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Happy birthday! It’s on the house!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you, again. For the cake.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Levi?”

He nods.

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

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

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

Goddamn it.

｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☀︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ

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

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

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

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

“Welcome back, Levi!”

“Good morning,” he greets softly.

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

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

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

Levi nods.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sounds good,” he says.

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you live far from here?”

“A fair bit away, but I’ve managed.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

. . .

“Do you garden?”

Levi blinks. “What?”

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

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

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

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

“Why do you say that?”

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

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

“They just don’t.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?” He blinks.

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

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

“Alright, I’ll let you know, then.”

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

“What?”

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

He’s… confused.

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

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

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

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

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

What a strange woman.

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

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

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

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

“You about ready to leave now?”

Levi nods.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Did you…”

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

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

He closes his fist.

Opens it.

And closes it again.

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

“Okay, I’m done!”

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t mention it,” she says.

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

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

Yes.

“No.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☀︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ

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

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

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

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

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

“New gloves?”

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

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

“Something like that.”

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

It seems this year will have an even better harvest.

｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☀︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey, I haven’t seen you in a while!”

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

“Good afternoon to you, too.”

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

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

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

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

“You got it!”

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

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

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

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

“Are you in a hurry out?” You ask.

No.

“Yes.”

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

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

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

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

Good for one free item!

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

And, well.

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

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

｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☀︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Levi freezes.

. . .

Is it that obvious?

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

Right.

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

“Sure thing!”

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

“No tea for you today?” You ask.

“No tea. Sorry.”

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

His eyes widen.

“You’re actually…?”

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

No, he didn’t know that.

“Sure.”

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

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

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

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

“I’m not drinking that.”

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

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

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

But that’s not really that important.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Bye,” he says softly.

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

Well, no time better than the present.

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

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

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

｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☀︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s too kind.

He hates it.

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

And he hates that he’s touched by that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Right?”

“You’re more than welcome to.”

“Actually?"

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

A friend.

You consider him a friend?

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

It doesn’t feel… right.

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

What could he possibly give you?

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

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

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

Oh.

“Are you sure?”

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

“...But are you sure?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He frowns. “Really, I mean it.”

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

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

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

. . .

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

You know him in this one.

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

“Nevermind.”

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

No.

Yes.

He doesn’t know.

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

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

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

“Of course I do, what am I, a fool?”

“Maybe.”

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

“Do you need to be somewhere tomorrow?”

For once, he’s honest.

“No.”

“Then what’s the harm in staying?”

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

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

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

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

“Where do I start?”

｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☀︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ

Quite surprisingly, the ensuing night is silent.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That’s not a problem at all.

“I don’t care.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yes.

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

“I’m alright. You should go to bed.”

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

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

Yes .

“No.”

“Somehow, I doubt that.”

Is he that easy to read?

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

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

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

｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☀︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ

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

More specifically, your bedroom’s door.

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

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

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

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

Couldn’t sleep.

“I asked first.”

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

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

“This early?”

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

“It still sounds like torture.”

“Your turn now.”

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

“Couldn’t sleep.”

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

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

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

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

. . .

“Why are you being so nice to me?”

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

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

That’s because he still doesn’t understand.

“Then you can answer it again.”

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

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

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

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

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

Might as well just tell you now. 

“40.”

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

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

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

Levi sighs. “Let’s just fucking go.”

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

｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☀︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sure.”

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

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

He ought to at least give it a try.

“Alright.”

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

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

Well, he’s fucked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He nods. “Sure.”

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

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

. . .

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

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

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

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

“Are you okay?”

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

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

Fuck.

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

“When I make it for houseguests.”

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

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

“Why are you still drinking it?”

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

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

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

. . .

You don’t?

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But your tea-”

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

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

Fuck.

“Fine.”

｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☀︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ

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

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

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

That much of the morning was normal enough.

And, truthfully, the rest of it was too.

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

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

Everything was fine.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Or at any time of day, really.

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

And it feels wrong.

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

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

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

Which is why he chooses to stay away.

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

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

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

So many things, all amounting to nothing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Temporarily Closed!

. . .

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

It’s closed?

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

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

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

That he’s not wanted here.

That he’s not supposed to be here.

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

What happened to the bakery?

How long is “temporarily?”

Where are you?

What’re you doing now?

How’re you doing now?

Are you okay?

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

But-

Actually, no.

He does have no right to be asking those questions.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

God fucking damn it.

He knew he never should’ve come here.

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

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

He should’ve known better.

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

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

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

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

It’ll be okay.

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

He’ll stay home.

He’ll not come here again.

He’ll know he’s not wanted here.

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

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

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

”Levi!”

It’s you.

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

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

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

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

. . .

You…

missed him?

Levi’s heart drops. “You did?”

“Of course I did!”

. . .

“Why?”

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

“I’m sorry,” he manages to whisper.

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

“...Nothing.”

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

He deadpans. “Ha, ha, very funny.

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

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

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

“I will.”

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

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

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

“What happened?”

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

He nods.

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

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

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

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

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

“But did they find it?”

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

His heart falls to the pit of his stomach.

“...Are you okay?”

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

Thank fuck, but that's what he meant.

"But the money-"

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

He's still going to, anyway.

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

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

How could any of this be okay?

He frowns, hearing that you’d cried.

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

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

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

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

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

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

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

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

You’re lying.

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

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

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

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

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

Is he?

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

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

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

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

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

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

Did like.

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

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

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

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

“Anywhere else?”

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

He frowns. “Is anything around here affordable?”

You snort. “No, absolutely not.”

“And that’s all the bakeries?”

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

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

He sighs. “It’s fine.”

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

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

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

“What? Why’re you asking?”

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

“What? You don’t have to do that.”

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

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

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

“It’s alright, you don’t have to-”

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

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

“...It’s subject to change.”

You smile. “Then it’s settled.”

“What is?”

“I’ll make you your cake.”

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

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

And what’s he supposed to say to that?

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

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

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

“What’re you looking at me for?”

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

His heart breaks.

Why are you trying so hard?

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

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

“I meant about-” he pauses, unsure.

About helping him all the time.

“Nevermind.”

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

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

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

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

He finds any defense he can.

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

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

“I just don’t think-”

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

Levi purses his lips.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ll help.”

｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☀︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ

continue chapter one!

[fun-sized-owl]

The Devil and the Servant

Part II – Infernal Script

Warning: contains sexual themes, scenes, violence.

    Raphael moaned into the lips of the incubus, unable to stop himself. Despite it all, despite the pain that his body was feeling, the excruciating pain at that. Just what in the Hells had he been through when he’d been killed? And why was he still alive in the first place? His father should have collected his soul and been done with it. No more son, no more cambion, no more disgrace to his people. And yet, he was still here. And right now, he couldn’t even think about anything other than Haarlep’s lips.     The taste of the other fiend was sweet as his spit lathered against his mouth and over his tongue. He could still taste his own blood, bitter amongst the nectar of Haarlep’s spittle. But he tried, he tried his best to pull back, to force himself away from the creature, still strung up like some worthless whore in chains.     The truth was, though, that Raphael had little interest in sex with others. Many devils did not even have the equipment to mate and breed. They were not mortals. Their kind were made in other ways, souls that fell to the Hells and were born anew, were sent to the Archdevils that they would serve for eternity, or his father shaping and shifting them into whatever he pleased with his everlasting experiments. The order of the Hells was to be maintained at all costs, but every devil knew that there were always ways to manipulate situations, to find those loopholes that they could abuse.     No… the only reason Raphael was weakened by the nature of primal instinct was because of his human side. His weak side, as Mephistopheles would always say. It never mattered how much he tried to be a devil, there was always something disgusting beneath that red skin and burning eyes. No matter how hard he flapped his wings, he would never soar the skies like a true devil.     He would show him. One day, he would have it all, and he would laugh in the disgruntled face of his father and spit upon his cloven hooves.     Panting, he finally pulled himself free of Haarlep’s seduction, his chest huffing. “You wretched incubus!” he finally spat, leaning forward, but the chains not allowing him to do what he pleased—which was very much to claw and scratch at the creature. He had left him and abandoned him! Just like everyone else had. Haarlep was no different. A fucking traitor that had allowed the drow to enter his home. Haarlep was a consort, yes, but they were also incredibly perceptive in nature. Nothing went amiss in those eyes. Everything was stripped down and lain bare before them, as naked as he was right now.

Read more below!

[heartfullofleeches]

Eye Candy

Little blurb with my candy flavored fiend feeding you a late Halloween treat.

(Tw: [candy] Cannibalism)

"Y/n! Look what "eye" found!"

A few days after Halloween and you'd completely finished your supply of candy meant to last well into the following month. You were hanging out with your friend when you popped the last sweet in your mouth, your displeasure made known as you stared at the bottom of the bowl. Fortunately for you, the sugary devil wouldn't let their dear beloved go without their greatly desired treats and came prepared.

As you leave the bathroom, you're rushed by Sucrose - offering you something from their outstretched hand. It was a piece of taffy, about the shape and size of a human eye and decorated just like one as well.

"I had another piece of candy in my bag. Want it?"

You're unsure, but with how they press it to your lips you could tell you weren't getting out of this without taking a bite. You open your mouth, nearly choking as they shove it in your mouth, fingers lingering against your lips. It's slightly warm, but not to an unpleasant degree. Due to its size, it hangs out your mouth as you bite down. Sucrose licks their lips as your eyes widen.

It was filled with.. something. As the taste rolled around on your tongue, you realize it to be berry flavored jam. An odd combination, yet one that strangely worked. You chew and devour the entire thing, unaware to their squirms and the bite of their lips to keep any unwanted noise from leaving out.

"H... how was it, Y/n?"

You lick the jelly from the corner of your mouth. "Pretty good."

Sucrose blushes. You're not just a tease, but a flirt as well. They feel like they've gone to heaven, if such a place end exists. The pain from the hole in their head only makes it all more delicious. They practically drool as they asks.

"Do you want the other? Maybe a wax tongue? It's cherry flavored!"

They pant as they wait for you reply, hair falling from the side of their face as they experience a full body shiver. Meanwhile, all you can do is wonder why their left eyelid remains shut.