#i cut out a section from this which i may turn into its own piece in future

[horse-girl-anthy]

Between the Soap Opera and the Fairy Tale: Sex, Death, and Ikuhara

essay below the cut.

I've never actually played Silent Hill, but one way or another, many years ago, I came across a clip from one of the people who worked on it (I've since tried to locate this interview but have not been successful). I remember him saying something like "when you look into what troubles people, you find that they are preoccupied with sex and death. and so in order to affect them, we play on these themes of sex and death."

this isn't exactly rocket science. your average soap opera writer has it down. what differentiates soap operas from Silent Hill is how they incorporate sex and death into their narratives.

in Ikuhara works, sex and death are often used as short-hands; because people react to them on a visceral level, they can be used to get the viewers' attention--and because they hold so much symbolic weight, they can be used to communicate any number of things to the audience. I don't think art has to play on eros and thanatos to be compelling; however, it can certainly help to do so. Ikuhara is particularly interested in eros.

consider this exange from the Ikuhara/Saito episode 38 commentary:

Saito: He'd say, "Make sure you design it so you can tell where the breast is positioned." He'd also say, "Make sure you design it so you can see the outline of the butt." And "Design it so the armpits are visible." He made a lot of various, very typically boyish requests, but I learned a lot from it. He repeatedly bothered me about where the buttons should be. He instructed me that "The buttons have to be positioned exactly at the top of the breasts!" (laughter) Ikuhara: Makes sense. Learned a lot, right? Saito: Yes, I did. Mori: Are you always trying to work in this type of erotic undertone? Ikuhara: Yes, well... if it doesn't have that kind of stuff... it's not very interesting! Either I'm doing it to make it interesting or maybe I just wanted to see that.

Ikuhara doesn't deny that he may "just want to see" eroticism. titillation may be done for its own sake, used for humor or aesthetic purposes. however, a surface-level glance at his works reveals certain patterns in how sex is employed narratively.

this was originally going to be an essay on sexual predators in Ikuhara. he has a lot of them. I started writing it, but it came out a bit too thin for my tastes. I compared the various characters and their motivations for committing sexual harm and came to the conclusion that Ikuhara works avoid the myth that lust is the primary motivator of such behavior. Mitsuko is an example of a sexually motivated predator, but she's pretty much alone in that; the other characters are driven by a variety of factors, with lust low on their list of priorities.

rather than go through and describe each characters' motives, I thought it would be more interesting to explain how their predation is used metaphorically. in YKA particularly, it's difficult to claim that the bears are committing sexual assault; they are attacking and eating prey. while sexuality is caught up in that metaphor, so are other things. however, I think even in RGU and Penguindrum, sexual predation can be seen to allegorize other aspects of human behavior.

I've been thinking about this for a while, sparked by this passage from Enokido's privacy files:

We did not go into depicting what Touga’s parents obtained by going as far as selling their son. We would like you to think of it as a kind of metaphor. 

I'm not trying to deny that textually, Touga is sold into sexual slavery by his parents. it's worthwhile to depict such extreme examples of abuse, because they do happen. but why are they so common in fiction? there's the soap-opera instinct towards melodrama, but I think these things can strike a chord with a wide audience because of their metaphoric power. a son, exploited by his parents. humans can exploit each other in all kinds of ways, blatant and subtle.

in this way, Ikuhara works are more fairy tale than soap opera. fairy tales sublimate the darkness of childhood into narrative. returning to the matter of death, it may be employed in a soap opera manner--Himari's illness has shades of this--but generally, death is used to strike at the heart of the audience, in an existential rather than melodramatic way. the death of Utena's parents, first mentioned in the light-hearted opening narration, is reframed in episode 9 as a life-changing crisis. death may be metaphorical--social death, spiritual death--but it is also very real. perhaps the most central question of human existence is how we are to live in the face of death, and Ikuhara works are all the more powerful for facing that question head on.

[purplephloxpress]

It's August 21, which means: Happy Fanfiction Writers Appreciation Day! If you are a writer of fanfic, please know just how appreciated you are!! Fandom would be such a different space without your creativity and labors of love. 💜

In celebration of this most glorious holiday, @renegadepublishing ran an event where we bind copies of fics to gift to their authors, and I had the joy of binding The Tranquility of Water for @noppoh! It's a truly fantastic post-canon story and I love the exploration into the effects of the main story on its characters after the fact. (This is a story I love so much that I wrote up a page and a half crash course on The Untamed so I can try to force my sibling into reading it as well. Take that as you will)

The walls of the Hanshi creep in on him and so Lan Xichen leaves. He leaves Cloud Recesses and his seclusion, stealing away in the night with no-one the wiser that he even left. His feet bring him to Lotus Pier where a surprisingly kind Jiang Cheng seems determined to help him heal.

With a title like "Tranquility of Water" and the story largely taking place at Lotus Pier, I may have been a little heavy handed with the lotus imagery throughout the book, but it felt very fitting! The lotus on the cover was a last minute addition, but one that turned out so lovely. Just, you know, to tie everything together lotus-wise. (Another one of my favorite design details in the typeset is that both title fonts from the chapter headers and title page get repeated within the text of the story as the main characters handwriting fonts!)

I started the physical binding process of my copy while at the Renegade Retreat in April (and decided the week before that I wanted to change my body font... can you say formatting speedrun?) and up until that point I hadn't actually figured out what the cover and endpages were going to look like. Special thanks to everyone who contributed pieces to this binding (and who moral-supported me along the way -- my copy holds so many fun memories now) because it LITERALLY would not look like this without you all. I really love the way the color transitions worked out, with a predominantly blue/green case, fading into green, into pink, into the title page, and then transitioning back out at the end of the book.

And these endbands!! Friends, that is SILK embroidery floss that a friend brought to the retreat especially so I could experience the decadence of silk endbands. I will never be the same. (They're so smooth... so shiny... so slippery to work with, but SO WORTH IT)

(Binding details under the cut)

The pieces that went into this bind:

Fandom: The Untamed/Mo Dao Zu Shi

Pairing: Jiang Cheng | Jiang Wanyin / Lan Huan | Lan Xichen

Bookcloth: Renegade Retreat Swap Table Special (I have no idea what it is, but it was just enough to make a copy for myself and the author and the color worked PERFECTLY!)

Cover paper: Opal Momi paper

Cover paper: Opal Momi paper

Endpapers: from the Craft Consortium Ink Drops - Dusk paper pack

Titling: foil quill

Endbands: leather cording core, silk embroidery floss for the bands

Body font: EB Garamond

Title fonts: Wintersoul and Bastian

Handwriting fonts: Bastian (Lan Xichen), Richardson Script (Lan Wangji), and Wintersoul (Jiang Cheng)

Tumblr insists on eating and doubling text in this section at its own whim, so if there's something missing that you're curious about, feel free to DM me an ask!

[darchildre]

Sara Reads an Infuriating Book, part 1

As mentioned yesterday, I am hate-reading W Scott Poole's Wasteland. Since it turns out it's difficult to have a proper ranting conversation with people about a book that is wrong about early horror film because the people around me don't know enough about early horror film, I will be posting about it instead. (But under a cut, because people here don't need to care.)

Chapter 1!

We start off with a section about Nosferatu which is actually pretty good. Poole is weirdly insistent that a) horror is always at its root about fear of bodily death and the disturbance that comes from seeing a corpse and b) that any body that isn't under its own control (sleepwalkers, dolls, puppets, etc) is symbolically a corpse, which I don't agree with at all, but since this is a valid interpretation of Nosferatu, it's okay here.

Then we open up to discuss the death toll of WWI. This is, of course, wildly horrific, but after discussing deaths elsewhere, the section ends with a discussion of the death toll on Americans which, while still a big number, is significantly less than basically anywhere else. Poole then points out that the American horror film boom came much later than elsewhere (in the 1930s) but still insists that those films were a response to WWI. And just, I don't know man - some of them may have been but that's a pretty long gap and we were making movies in the 1920s. I also think there may have been some other terrible things in the 1930s that American film might have been reacting to sometimes.

The structure of this chapter after this is just a mess - it's like little mini essays that don't gel into a coherent whole. One of them starts off talking about Fritz Lang (not about any of his films, just about his experience during WWI) and then in the next paragraph veers off to talk about Surrealist artists and ends up with T S Eliot. There is a section about Wegener and the Golem films which is actually interesting but too short. There is a little mini section about Kafka. Basically, after the Nosferatu bit, what this chapter is mainly saying is "A lot of people had a Bad Time during WWI and then later went on to make art with disturbing themes" which is true but so broad as to be useless.

There's a brief discussion of Lovecraft - we spend some time talking about an unpublished piece of his, but none discussing any of his more well-known work presumably because it doesn't fit Poole's thesis at all. And you don't have to talk about everything but if your whole point is "all modern horror is about WWI because everyone was traumatized by the images of the battledead" and then you're going to skip over arguably the most influential horror writer of the early 20th century because the vast majority of his work is not about that, maybe you should workshop your thesis a little longer.

This is such a stupid thing to be mad about but: so there's a part of the chapter where he talks about Arthur Machen and it involves explaining who Arthur Machen was and what he wrote. That's fine. There are two kinds of people in the world: the ones who have never heard of Arthur Machen and the ones who are offended that you think they haven't read Arthur Machen. (I am the latter; we are a small minority.) But then! Poole goes on to mention that Arthur Machen wrote an extremely influential and wildly popular story during WWI that basically created a battlefield legend and that Machen later very much regretted but Poole doesn't at any time name the story! He just makes these oblique references to it! Sir, I know you're talking about "The Bowmen" and the Angel of Mons but you just told me who Arthur Machen was like I wouldn't know, so you clearly can't expect your audience to know that! Just name the damned story! I can't think why you wouldn't - you wrote a whole long paragraph about it without naming it.

Ugh. Also there's no index, which is extremely irritating to me.

The next chapter is called "Waxworks", so I'm sure we're going to talk more about things that are definitely symbolic corpses, there's no room for alternative interpretations.

[absolutebl]

This Week in BL

Sept 2021 Wk 5

Being a highly subjective assessment of one tiny corner of the interwebs.

Ongoing Series - Thai

Don’t Say No Ep 9 (Line) - It’s my corny af hurt/comfort soap opera that I watch at 1.5x and skip all the sex scenes and Fiat crying, but I like it that way, so there. Yes I am one of those people who only eats the outside of the peanut M&Ms, why do you ask? Episode recaps here. 

Bite Me Ep 5 (Viu & Viki) - sometimes I feel like this show is skipping all the important bits, or having them occur off screen intentionally, like some ancient Greek play. Still, the depth of the feeling understood between the two leads is clearly transferred to us despite that. Are they dating? Sure seems that way. Without anything being actually said about it. It’s oddly magical. I talked a bit about the north/south divide and food as a love language with regards to kao soi in this post. 

7 Project Ep 5 The Breakup Zone (iQiYi & YouTube) - another het installment, so I skipped it. Nash. 

Ongoing Series - Not Thai

Peach of Time Ep 10 fin - A Korean BL (maybe not BL tho) featuring Thai talent that really went beyond a lot of tropes into interesting territory and allegory in a way only Korea does. I hope we get more collabs like this, perhaps happier than this one next time? RECOMMENDED only if you are prepared for The Sad. Because it is quite sad.  

x Friend or Lover (YouTube) Ep 6 - still waiting on the final of this Taiwanese indie series.  

Love is Science? (BL sub plot on Viki) Ep 14 (aired ep 15) - Taiwanese drama finally got subbed yesterday, so those of us who are waiting seem to be on a week’s delay. The BL couple actually has the most interesting story arc and the most unusual character growth. I’m enjoying how unpredictable these two are. Honestly, they could have gotten their own series with this much story - and now I really want that for after the baby comes. I’m a little sad we didn’t get the coming out in the skate park sequence (LOOK I love coming out drama, especially with sporty friends, it’s a THING), but I also get why the writers are doing what they are with these boys. And the actors sure can handle it. Taiwan at it’s finest.  

Love Is the series (YouTube) Ep 5 - continues to be fine for a V-BL but not all that actually good. 

See You After Quarantine? (Viki) Ep 6, 7 - Taiwanese gameboys with Japanese talent stuck in, what more could we ask? AND THEN they gave us some *thirsty boi* action, great kisses, and charmed the pants off... well... everyone. Taiwan, we don’t deserve you. Honestly, you spoil us. Turns out Aaron Lai is the best wingman any gay Japanese man in quarantine could ask for. Everyone should be watching this. It’s utterly charming. 

The Tasty Florida (Viki) Ep 3 & 4 - this Korean BL so fucking cute. Look it’s formless and too short but simultaneously aching and kinda special-sweet. But Korea has got to settle into something a bit longer for their BL for everyone’s sake. It’s time. Light On Me proved it was possible. I’m not asking for much, just 15 min+ of fresh content with at least a 10 ep arc. 

In Case You Missed It

Someone dropped K-BL movie cut of 2015′s The Lover series onto YouTube. The series was about 4 different couples all living in the same apartment complex, one of the 4 was a BL plot about a sunshine sweetie Japanese tourist who ends up roommates with a hot shy tsundere Korean boy. It’s 1.5 hours, proving Korea and stretch its BL when it wants to. 

Read more about it here. 

GOSSIP!

Rumors of OhmFluke to star in new Thai BL Oh! My Sunshine Night. It’s from Newsinfinity Entertainment who announced the casting and showed the couple in workshops. This is this (small) production house’s first BL and they aim to “appeal to to general audiences* with a “broader view of BL that everyone will watch.” Which is code for LOW heat, light gay, soft boys. If this happens I think we can expect this to be Thailand doing Korean-style BL. 

* GENERAL AUDIENCE? Let’s be clear no piece of media will EVER appeal to everyone. Here is the USA “general audience” is code for “families with socially conservative values and children who are still minors” AKA what used to be prime time TV watchers AKA suburbia. 

 The concept is analytically old fashioned and so fractured at this juncture (socially economically spatially politically) that “general audience” is actually impossible to target and it doesn’t really exist. But try telling that to the publicity department. 

We also call this the “Disney live action demo.” (Think Pirates of the Caribbean.) I occasionally refer to them as “the Simpsons.” And they’re about as realistic. All that to say I am VERY suspicious of Oh! My Sunshine Night‘s production house. 

To My Star does seem to be getting a second season, same director, same mains. Korea is much better about executing on its promises than Thailand, but until I see proof of filming or an honest trailer, my favorite boys are staying in the gossip section. I don’t wanna get my hopes up. (Honestly now, how many of you also want an alt reality with these two as a couple but Kim Kang Min playing his long suffering cardiologist intern character from Hospital Playlist? Just me?) 

I reported on Unforgotten Night a while ago. It seems to have been fully cast now, I still think the publicity stills make it look like a joke. But with this line-up I guess it’s even more of an alt answer to KinnPorsche. 

You know that thing that happens in media when suddenly we get multiples of the same style of movie or show at once? It’s now happening with BL. Love triangles. Restaurants. And now mafia. 

Cutie Pie (our arranged marriage Thai BL staring Zee) dropped some wardrobe fitting photo ops. Also... fancy pants sexy suits that fit, so that’s exciting. 

Starting Soon

My Mate Match from Starhunter should be starting on Line TV next Saturday. Usually, Line has subs relatively quickly and is available internationally. However the fact that the trailer is not subbed and the show is not listed on Line’s site has me nervous. No idea on length of run either. 

Starhunter studio doesn’t have a great track record in general for narrative arcs and this one is not based on a y-novel so could get waffly. This is a roommates love triangle BL about a boy who is looking for one roommate and ends up with two vying for his home and his heart. Stars Jet as the uke lead which I’m pretty happy about as he’s got great comedic timing and is accustomed to BL. He’s opposite two friends/co-actors from Gen Y and other projects, so we know they’re comfortable with each other. They could do great things... if they get a decent script. 

Next Week Looks Like This:

Some shows may be listed later than actual air date for International subs accessibility reasons.

Upcoming 2021 BL master post here.

Links to watch are provided when possible, ask in a comment if I missed something.

This week’s best moment?

[levi-my-beloved]

Birds of a Feather

Chapter 4

Parings: Canon!Levi x F!Reader

Content Warnings: Violence, torture, this one gets a little spicy y’all, descriptions of sexual acts, hints of abuse (please let me know if i’ve missed any)

Word Count: 14.8K

Summary: You were the most notorious criminal in The Underground City. With your organisation of highly skilled professionals, only one man could take you down. He also happened be be Humanity’s Strongest... and your ex.

Previous Chapter

First Chapter

A/N: well, you guys wanted it all in one post! this is by far the longest chapter, yet, and possibly the longest chapter in the entire fic maybe? i’ve caught myself up now with the progress of writing, since i’ve only completed one part of the next chapter so chapter 5 won’t be out within the next three days like these last four have been. i’m thinking i’ll need maybe a week? not sure, but the next part has a little flashback section which i hope you’ll all enjoy!

god these a/n’s are really long aren’t they? asdfghjkl sorry i’ll make the cut off now. hope you enjoy!!!

𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔

Whether it had been thirty minutes or thirty years, you couldn’t tell. Struggling to stay conscious as the four soldiers brought your limp body back to your cell. Your legs no longer work, gathering dust as they drag across the ground. Your abdomen and back were on fire. You were convinced. They had simply thrown you into hell to cook for a bit before dragging you back out. There was no other explanation. Other than the countless, seemingly endless beatings you had just taken. Whether your legs were tired or if your spine was broken, you couldn’t tell as they tossed you back behind bars, removing the rope around your wrists. You didn’t have the strength to fight back. Didn’t have the strength to even raise your head as they left.

Broken, split ribs sent agonising jolts of pain as you shifted in a lame attempt to curl up into a ball. You hadn’t cracked like they’d wanted you to. You hadn’t screamed, cried, begged them to stop. And you wouldn’t. When they came back for you, you would hold your tongue once again. You had never broken in the past. Whether you’d been compromised during an assault on a rival gang, or whether it was one of your mentor’s training exercises to get you used to torture. You had never broken.

You weren’t about to start now.

Still, the throbbing in your body prevented you from sleeping. You didn’t know what time it was. Time had escaped you during that ordeal. You didn’t even know what time of day it was, pretty sure it was night when they had come for you.

Fuck, your body ached. But you knew comfort was a long way from here. It always seemed so far away from where you were. Did you ever have comfort?

You lay there for god knows how long, seconds turning to minutes, minutes to hours. Hours could have turned to days for all you knew.

When the now familiar echo of footsteps reached your ears, you didn’t move. You didn’t care. Whoever it was could rot in hell for all you cared. Wishing death upon these fucking soldiers was the only thing keeping you from giving up right now.

“The bed not good enough or something?” Levi. Shit. The one person you didn’t want to see you like this.

You didn’t answer, choosing instead to try and count as many marks on the wall as you could. It helped to keep your focus off the dull throbbing coursing through your body.

“Oi, ‘you seriously still asleep? It's almost midday,” the singing of metal caused you to wince slightly as he rapped on the bars in an attempt to wake you from a sleep you weren’t in.

“Get the fuck u—” You had a vague idea what caused him to stop his impending barrage of insults you knew were about to flutter effortlessly from his mouth, and you couldn’t tell if you were thankful or not. On the upside, you didn’t have to hear whatever colourful language he was about to spew. On the downside…

“What happened to you…?” it was the second time he’d asked that question, but from the tone of his voice, you could tell this was less a passing thought and more of a question prompted by horror.

Levi froze. His breath caught in his throat. He had expected you to be awake by now. To be up, with that crooked, cocky smile on your face. In fact, he’d half expected you to be leaning against the wall, the door flung wide open as you twirled the keychain around your finger, simply begging him to ask you how you’d done it.

The last thing he expected to see was you, on the floor, curled into a ball. The shirt on your lower back riding up enough for him to see violent, deep purple bruises, blood steadily streaming from your spine and lower back.

Still you refused to answer, or even move. Filthy fucking soldiers, you fucking hated every last one of them. How fucking dare they? How dare they string you up like a piece of drying meat. They had no idea what you’d been through. What you’d had to do to survive. How dare they assume.

And yet,

And yet there was still that little voice in your head. That little kernel of doubt, convincing you that you deserved this. You had killed so many. So much blood was on your hands.

You deserved this.

You didn’t even notice Levi had entered your cell until a hand rested upon your shoulder.

“(Y/N)—”

“Don’t fucking touch me,” your reaction was instant. Instinctual. Immediately wrenching out of his hand, throwing yourself forward. A yelp escaped your mouth without your permission, fire igniting in your body as you moved so suddenly. It caused you to falter in your movements, landing harshly on your side. “Shit!” your voice broke as you yelped, agony flaring in your entire midsection, hand flying to clutch your side as you backed up against the wall. “Don’t fucking touch me,” there was no conviction in your voice. It was more of a plea than anything. If you had raised your head to look at him, maybe you would have laughed at his expression of twisted shock.

But instead you let your hair fall in front of your face, masking your own expression. Teeth grit in silent pain, eyes screwed shut.

Levi’s worry turned to outright unsettling fear. Over the last two days, he’s witnessed you more broken than he’s ever seen you before. He remembered sitting up with you after you’d woken from one of your nightmares. The two of you sitting on the floor against the wall, sharing a cup of tea to not waste resources. He’d seen you angry. He’d seen you upset. But he’d never seen you shattered.

“(Y/N)...” you’d forgotten how soft his usual bored voice could sound. Even after yesterday, you hadn’t heard that tone from him in years. It was borderline unnatural.

It prompted you to raise your head ever so slightly, glaring at him through thick, matted (H/C) strands. You refused to let your guard down, even though the sight of him squatting before you, eyebrows gently creased with suppressed worry almost made you relax. But you weren’t about to be taken away and tortured again.

Any scrap of trust that may have manifested yesterday during the carriage ride and your conversation had been crushed.

“Get away from me,” you looked feral, bearing your teeth animalistically as you snarled. Though it didn’t seem to deter him. He knew a dog only bared its teeth when it was wounded, fearing to be hurt further.

Levi sighed through his nose as he stood. You flinched at his movement and watched as he made more of a conscious effort not to startle you. Your eyes squinted in suspicious confusion as he took a small cloth from his pocket and started running it under the tap.

It seemed the faucet did work. Good to know.

Returning to squat in front of you, his eyes flickered from your face to your abdomen.

“Show me,” he instructed gently, and you almost obeyed him. Almost.

“Go fuck yourself,” you spat instead, bringing your knees closer to your aching body. If you hadn’t been trained to withstand pain, you would have cried out as your abdomen begged you to stop constricting your muscles.

“I’m trying to help,” your ears caught the slight irritation in his tone, but you didn’t care. He could kick you for all you care.

Actually, you really didn’t want him to do that.

“I don’t want your help,”

“You need it.”

“Burn in hell, Levi,” it was the first time you’d actually used his name since you said it back when they first apprehended you, and Levi couldn’t deny that it cut deep. A sentiment he masked with a frustrated exhale. Clearly he’d expected resistance. Either that or he was just as tenacious as he used to be.

“Well, I'm definitely not going up,” he responded, that same softness in his tone and despite your situation, you couldn’t help the slight huff of amusement. It seemed to put him at ease too, content you weren’t about to lunge for his throat.

Slowly, you uncurled from your position, visibly wincing as your torn, beaten muscles relaxed. Levi took this as permission to inch closer and you felt a small appreciation for his trepidation.

Still, you couldn’t help but flinch every time he moved too fast. A simple reflex stemming from your training. It wasn’t really something you thought about, but it prompted the raven haired man to freeze every time you moved.

You refused to meet his eyes as he gently lifted the fabric of your shirt, hearing his breath hitch slightly.

“Holy shit…” He breathed. You hadn’t seen how bad your body was damaged, but judging by his reaction;

It sure as hell wasn’t good.

Levi felt he could kill someone. Actually, a lot of someones. Shit, when he finds out who was responsible for this he would make sure they wished they were never born. The same rage he felt when seeing you flinch for the first time once again coursed through his veins, and this time, he didn’t think he could just let it simmer.

“Who did this to you?” you blinked, his question caught you off guard. Didn’t he know? How didn’t he know? Surely every soldier in the damn military would revel in the idea of you being tortured all night. You clenched your jaw, refusing to respond. You didn’t know why you were being so stubborn. Maybe it was the sheer principle of not wanting to show any sort of weakness in front of him.

In fact, now you thought about it, it was definitely that. Whether Levi sensed it or not, he chose not to press you for an answer. Perhaps he did already know.

You hissed as the cold, damp cloth gently soothed your inflamed skin, glancing back to his face. You hated the way his focussed expression calmed your heart. Loathed how that crease in his eyebrows eased your whirling thoughts. Despised how, from this angle, you could see just how annoyingly attractive he had become.

“Can you move?” he asked, silver eyes rising up to meet your own. The low torchlight highlighted the heus of deep blue you knew he had hidden away. You pretended you looked away because you couldn’t stand the sight of his face, rather than the reality.

You were far too tempted to lean up and capture his lips.

“Yes,” Levi couldn’t tell if you were lying, shifting slightly to help you move but stopping immediately when you flinched away.

“Lie on the bed,” for the first time in ten years, you were compelled to follow an order. You weren’t even obedient towards Viper most of the time. But nonetheless, you found yourself struggling to your feet, an arm braced on the wall behind you.

Clearly respecting your independence, Levi took a step back, allowing you to find your own way. If you weren’t slightly delirious from the pain, you would have missed a kernel of respect flashing in his expression, before he swiftly turned away, washing the cloth again as you collapsed onto the so-called ‘mattress’ with a hiss.

Levi rung the small cloth out onto the floor, focussing on the way the droplets collided with the stone, rather than the way every movement you made caused you obvious pain. Once again, every fibre of his being was screaming at him to cradle you in his arms and whisper soft nothings into your ear. He wanted you to fall asleep next to him, your face buried in the crook of his neck. He craved to feel your soft hair through his fingertips, gently coercing you into dreams. It hurt so much that he could see you, but he couldn’t have you.

Turning to face away from him, you once again shrivelled into a ball. You didn’t want this. You didn’t want any of this. You just wanted to be left alone. But the dip in the bed behind you told you that wasn’t an option right now, muscles tensing on instinct.

he didn’t ask for permission this time as gentle fingers gripped your shirt, dragging up to reveal your brutalised back. If you could see his expression, you might have even been afraid. Darkness shrouded his face, teeth grit in utter hatred. A muscle in his jaw twitching from the effort of clamping his mouth so tightly.

His first touch felt like you’d been shocked by the static that built up on the bed clothes. The damp cool gliding across the welts and bruises across your back. Balling your hands into fists, you refused to make any sound. Still having the mindset of not wanting to give anyone the satisfaction of hearing you in pain. It was a mindset you didn’t think would leave you for a while.

Levi worked in silence, allowing you to settle and almost relax after a while. You wanted to trust him, but you didn’t. Not really. However, right now, you trusted him not to hurt you further. Simply content to relish in the way he soothed the pain. It didn’t come naturally. Every time he pressed too hard it took all your strength not to lunge for his throat, but he would stop upon hearing your sharp intake of breath, waiting for you to settle before continuing.

After what seemed like an eternity of silence, you finally broke it with a question that had been budding in your mind.

“Why are you doing this?” your voice came out a rasped whisper, almost as if you hadn’t used your vocal chords for weeks. You were sure he wasn’t going to answer, opting instead to simply continue to clean your bruises. Another blanket of quiet had settled over the two of you before he responded.

“I don’t know,” he lied. Levi wasn’t sure why he lied. Honestly, he thought it was obvious enough. He still cared about you. So fucking much. It burned him to see you in so much pain. He’d never felt the mind numbing fury he felt when he saw what they’d done to you.

You weren’t really happy with the answer. If anything, it simply gave you more questions. But you were too tired to press for more. Almost too tired to notice when he’d stopped. Pulling your grimy shirt back down to your waist, you felt the mattress rise as he stood. You didn’t turn. You couldn’t turn. After the night you’d had, the exhaustion from the last 24 hours finally catching up on you.

Noticing how you were almost already asleep, Levi decided to throw caution to the wind.

You felt a soft caress through your dirt ridden hair, the action sending a pleasant buzz through your system. It was an action so familiar to the both of you, you wondered why you kept flinching away from his touch when all it did was gently drain you of energy.

“Sleep.”

You didn’t have time to contemplate his tone before the comforting nothingness claimed you.

꧁ꨄ꧂

Levi hadn’t been this angry in a long, long time. Sure, he’d been annoyed. When a solider made a stupid mistake or when a cadet didn’t know how to clean properly. But he hadn’t been this furious in years.

Maybe since the deaths of Isobel and Farlan.

It was obvious when Levi was in a bad mood. Sweeping through the headquarters like a storm. Cadets could almost feel his presence before they saw him, swiftly making themselves busy as he paid no attention to any of them. He had one goal in mind. One destination. And he didn’t even knock when he got there.

“Out. Now.” it wasn’t an order to disobey. When he opened the door to Erwin’s office, revealing a small meeting, Levi didn’t think twice to dismiss them, even if they were his superiors.

“Levi, what’s—”

“If you know what’s good for you, you’ll all leave the room for the next half an hour. Maybe longer depending on how this conversation goes,” his swirling eyes met Erwin’s and he swore he could detect the slightest fear in the man’s gaze.

Good.

He should be afraid.

Without so much as a mutter of goodbyes, the squad leaders and section commanders all dispersed, leaving the Captain alone with the Commander.

Erwin was the first to break the heavy silence.

“I’m assuming this is about Raven?” his voice didn’t waver, seeming to have regained his composure from the initial shock. But Levi wasn’t here for a dainty conversation. The unbridled rage pulsing through his bloodstream clouded his vision, almost seeing red.

“Did you know?”

“Levi—”

“Did. You. Know?” Levi hardly ever raised his voice. Usually it was only out in the field or on a mission, and that was only because it was easier to communicate that way. Keeping his bored, flat tones when slicing open the nape of a titan didn’t seem possible.

Erwin pinched the bridge of his nose, letting out a deep, defeated sigh.

“Yes. I knew. But Levi, you have to understand—”

“I don’t have to understand jackshit. Don’t you think she’s been through enough? She’s led a life being treated like an animal and now you’re allowing her to be beaten like one?”

“It’s necessary, Levi.”

“It’s barbaric!” Erwin had never heard such venom in his voice. Not even when he vowed to kill him all those years ago. He’d seen Levi’s rage. Witnessed it from afar. The way he tore through flesh like it was paper.

Never did he think he would be on the receiving end. Leaning forward, the blonde folded his arms against the desk, clearly conflicted.

“I know this is a difficult subject for you. You two grew up in the same environment, it would only be natural for you to care for her,” the conniving bastard. Levi borderline snarled at the statement. He did care for you. Deeply. But Erwin didn’t need to know that.

“But please listen. As I mentioned before, ties between the Military Police and the Survey Corps are taut. Any discord between us would cause them to snap. I already tightened them further by not allowing them to execute her publicly. I thought if she joined the Scouts instead, not only would we gain an asset, but she would also be able to survive. That didn’t sit well with Niles. He wants her to pay for what she’s done. If not by death, then by various other methods. This was the only way to keep both parties happy, Levi. Trust me,” Levi was starting to lose what trust he had in the man.

Whilst yes, his explanation made sense, it still didn’t sweeten the blow. How long would this go on for? Would they take you everyday, or just some days? How badly would they hurt you?

As if able to read his mind through his knife-like glare, Erwin continued.

“It’s only for this week. Whilst she’s in her cell. They don’t have permission to permanently damage her, only—”

“Only break her ribs and crack her sternum. Yeah, I saw,” he responded bitterly, folding his arms as he leant against the door. Fuck this. Fuck him. Fuck them.

Levi had never been so conflicted. Whilst the sight of you, beaten and broken, had shattered him, he also knew it was for your own good. It was this, or death.

He didn’t like the second option much.

But the memory of what they had done had burned into his skull. Running his fingers down your prominent, bruised spine. So fragile, but so goddamn strong. Muscles spread disproportionately about your abdomen and shoulders. Your stomach was concave for fuck sakes. And they were still beating the shit out of you.

It made him wonder. If he wasn’t so lucky…

Would he have received the same treatment?

Would he have been thrown in a cell and tortured for a week?

He doubted it.

Erwin waited for Levi to gather his thoughts. Waited for him to say whatever he was going to say next. He had expected Levi to find out. Had expected the man to have some sort of reaction, but nothing quite to this extent. Maybe there really was something deeper between you and him that Levi was keeping to himself.

“So this will continue for a whole damn week?” Levi asked, almost exasperated, running a hand through his obsidian locks. This was a nightmare. All of it. Nobody deserves this treatment. Not even Kenny, but especially not you.

It was Erwin’s slow nod that had his stomach dropping.

“Yes,” he replied quietly. “This will continue for the whole week.”

That was all Levi needed to hear. Whether it was right or wrong, he was powerless to stop it. Turning on his heel and heading back down the halls to his office, he tried to push the images of your broken body and spirit from his mind. Maybe he was hoping you were the same bright eyed, mischievous woman you were before he lost you ten years ago. How had so much changed since then?

How much had you changed so much since then?

He no longer saw that spark of life in your eyes. No longer able to bask in your genuine smile.

If he hadn’t seen so many young, hopeful souls shattered by the paralysing fear of facing a titan, or the desperate heartache of losing a loved one, he’d be surprised.

But he wasn’t. Not at all. Who knows what you have had to do to survive? Who knows just how much of yourself you’d had to sacrifice to get where you are now. But he wouldn’t accept that you were gone.

He would never accept that.

But from the looks of you, only a small fragment of your true self remained. Levi thought he was over being hurt by the changes in people he somewhat cared about.

Maybe he was wrong.

꧁ꨄ꧂

The week was gruelling. Taken from your cell at night and being subjected to both physical and mental torture was one of the toughest things you’ve faced. It was brutal, having to fortify both your mind and body nightly against the blows from the MPs. Sometimes it would change. Sometimes the original four switched out. Sometimes they had an observer. But every time was horrific.

You were sure you’d be dead by now if Levi didn’t visit daily to soothe your broken and cracked bones. If he didn’t ask his monotonous questions, all of which you either responded to with something sarcastic, or silence.

Very few times you actually gave a real answer.

Unlike this time.

“How did you get that scar?” It was always the question he started with. Always wanting to know what happened to you during the time he was away, and that scar down your right eye.

“Don’t you ever get tired of asking that question?” you huffed, tucking your elbows beneath your head.

“Don’t you ever get tired of not answering it?” since you’d seen him everyday since you arrived, you were beginning to relearn all the tells you knew he had, but had changed over time. For example, this smallest lilt in his voice when he found something amusing. He waited for your body to stop twitching as you laughed silently, before resuming the treatment of the damp cloth.

“Not really, it’s fun listening to you get more and more frustrated.”

“As charming as ever, Raven.”

You didn’t know how you felt about him using your alias rather than your name. You knew you’d asked him to, or rather, harshly told him to, but he’d used your actual name a few times since then. But you didn’t want to ask, not wanting him to feel uncomfortable.

You let the quiet blanket the two of you, debating whether or not to answer. You’d refused him everyday, but as more time passed, the more you remembered just how much you’d loved him.

“There was a rival gang in the neighbourhood next to ours. Always fighting us for territory or supplies. Honestly, I wanted them wiped out, but Prongs insisted that would make us far too many powerful enemies,” Levi had paused as you started the exposition, genuinely surprised you’d actually decided to give him a full answer, rather that the usual “I entered a sword headbutting contest” or something equally as ridiculous.

“We were at each other’s throats for years, never really landing a solid hit on the other’s gang, until the bastard managed to take one of my Shadows, Diablo, alive. I owed those people everything. They took me in when you—” you managed to stop yourself, but not fast enough for Levi to avoid feeling the gut punching guilt he felt whenever you accidentally mentioned him leaving. You really didn’t mean to, you were just used to talking more openly about it.

“Uh, sorry. Yeah, they took me in, so I owed them a lot. Plus, I’d known them for years by now. I trusted them and they trusted me. I wasn’t about to abandon her,” Levi could hear your conviction and resolve in the cadence of your voice, and silently wondered when you’d become so strong. He’d almost forgotten he was supposed to be treating you badly damaged back, until you hissed slightly. Looking down, he realised he’d pressed a little too hard with the cloth against your tender skin.

“Shit, sorry.”

“‘S’fine. Just concentrate, yeah?” despite your condition, you still had it in you to crack cocky jokes. Levi had half the mind to swat the back of your head with his cloth, but he decided to be merciful.

You left it a beat before you continued.

“Anyway, I didn’t have a choice. But it turns out, all the creepy bastard wanted to do was to make sure everyone knew I wasn’t untouchable. Then maybe we’d stop having smaller gangs ally with us. I let him scar my face, and in return he gave us Diablo back, completely unharmed. It was really fucking weird now that I think about it,” Levi pondered this for a moment, before another question popped into his head.

“What happened to him?”

“Who?”

“The creepy guy, idiot.”

“Call me an idiot again, I fucking dare you.”

“What will you do? You can hardly stand.”

“I don’t need to stand to beat your sorry ass.”

Shit, he’d missed this. This playful banter between the two of you. He’d missed it so goddamn much.

“He found one of my blades stuck in his throat pretty soon after,” Levi grunted in approval, a small smile bloomed across his face at the thought.

Good.

Creepy son-of-a-bitch.

The two of you continued in a comfortable silence for a short while, before your slightly mischievous voice cut through it again.

“Okay, my turn,” you sounded far too nonchalant for his liking, Levi narrowing his gaze to the back of your head.

“Your turn?”

“You’ve been asking me questions for the last few days, and I haven’t asked you one once,” if Levi didn’t know better, he’d say you were almost pouting. He was tempted to turn your head to check, but it seemed you still weren’t entirely comfortable with the whole being touched thing.

He hadn’t asked you about that yet.

“Alright, alright. One question.”

“How come you get countless and I only get one?”

“Call it a Captain’s privilege,”

“Pffft, Captain my ass,”

“Just ask your stupid question.”

You laughed at his feigned frustrated tone, knowing he was loving this as much as you were. You allowed yourself to think about how you wanted to phrase this.

“Are they still here with you? Farlan and Isobel?” you had been slightly hesitant to ask this, since he hadn’t mentioned them once. You didn’t know them personally, only seeing them fleetingly when Levi would usher you into his room, or having sparing conversation with them when Viper sold them that ODM. And judging by his pained silence, you now feared his answer.

“Yes and no,” your question had definitely caught him off guard. He didn’t even think you remembered them, so for you to ask after them was a little out of the blue. Hence why he opted to mimic your response from a few days ago.

You had clearly caught on.

“The hell does that mean?”

Levi realised he probably couldn’t tend to your back and tell this story at the same time. He was going to need all his strength to suppress the torrent of emotions he knew he was about to unlock. Sensing his change of tone, you slowly shifted so you were sitting next to him, making sure you didn’t move too quickly or awkwardly so as to not irritate your painful back.

You searched his features in the silence, partially hidden by the bangs you used to love running your hands through. You couldn’t help but wonder whether or not they were as soft as they used to be.

“It was my fault,” he admitted quietly. You hated seeing Levi like this. You’d only seen him like this once before, when Kenny abandoned him. You vowed you would never let him feel like this again as long as you were by his side.

This is what happens when you’re separated.

“What was your fault?” you gently prompted, not wanting to push him, but rather wanting to let him know that you were willing to listen.

“It was our first expedition. I was naive, agreeing to let them come with us, rather than the original plan which was for me to go alone. Raven, the reason I— the reason we left, was because we were recruited for a job, and killing Erwin Smith was part of that. But none of us knew what to expect beyond the walls. We’d trained but, we didn’t know what to expect when facing an actual titan,” you didn’t press further when he took pauses or longer breaths. You were happy he was comfortable enough with you now to even tell you this. “Everything was going smoothly. Too smoothly, and it wasn’t long before it all went to shit. I lost sight of them when the storm hit, losing them in the fog. I was completely powerless to stop an Abnormal. Shit, I didn’t even know it had passed me. I just saw bodies and limbs everywhere and knew I had to turn back. By the time I got there, it was too late. They were both gone,” Levi’s fist clenched into a ball, taking his focus away from the pain in his chest to the one in his palm. He didn’t even realise his eyes were closed until he felt a gentle hand on his shoulder. He stiffened under your touch, not quite able to believe how far the two of you had come in such a short amount of time.

“I’m so sorry I wasn’t there, Levi,” he didn’t really understand what you were apologising for, or why you felt the need. Afterall, it was him who left you.

“I vowed after that day I wouldn’t have any regrets. Some jackass said that if I did, their deaths wouldn’t mean anything. But I knew I would always have one. I knew I would always regret leaving you behind,” Levi looked to you through his bangs, an expression of guilt etched into his hardened face. You forgave him at that moment. You forgave him for everything.

“I’m here now, aren’t I? And whilst I may not be the same girl you left behind, I still have her memories,” your hand slid from its position on his shoulder to rest over his heart, feeling it flutter within his sturdy ribcage.

Levi faintly wondered if he was dreaming. If you could feel his heart rate increase with every touch.

“That’s why you said yes and no, isn’t it? Because they’re not physically here, but they are here,” Levi could do nothing but nod, his eyes trained on your face like a hawk. He wanted permission. Begged for it through his dark, swirling eyes. Screamed for it in the way his eyes flickered to your lips, your face so close he could smell that scent of freshly baked bread you’d always carried with you, even beneath all the filth. A few centimetres further and you would have what you’d wanted for ten long years. What you both have wanted.

“You sound ridiculous,”

“Your fault,” he could feel the flutter of your breath against his face, wishing nothing more than for you to close the distance.

Levi slowly brought his hand from his lap, his palm rising to cup your cheek.

It didn’t even get close before you flinched, eyes darting to his raised hand.

And just like that, all the tension dissolved. As if you hadn’t been busy getting lost within the storm that were his irises. Levi pulled back, as if he himself had been struck.

“I’m sorry… I wasn’t thinking,” he rose from his position next to you, wanting nothing more than for the ground to swallow him whole.

How could he be so damn selfish? It was obvious you couldn’t do anything like that right now. Maybe not ever. And he was getting way ahead of himself. You had already said the girl who loved him was dead, he couldn’t even think how or why he would assume just because your body was present, your mind was as well. Just because he was willing, why would you be willing as well?

Except you were.

So. Fucking. Willing.

And you cursed yourself for these instinctive reactions. Every sudden movement had your mind flashing back to training. Back to Viper’s brutal learning methods. It wasn’t even that much longer after Levi left you were made the Raven. After Viper’s death, it was almost instantaneous. But that didn’t stop those seven months of brutal punishments to leave a permanent scar on your psyche. You wished you could find your voice to reassure him that you’d get over this.

But you couldn’t.

And Levi was once again the first to speak.

“I should go. I’ll see you tomorrow Raven—”

“(Y/N),” you corrected him. After countless times of him calling you by your alias, you didn’t think you could stand it anymore. Levi raised his brow, seemingly a little confused by your interruption. “I’m not The Raven anymore. Technically that title belongs to Prongs now. So it’s just (Y/N),” despite the awkwardness of your recent encounter, you still felt that familiar warmth blossom in your chest at his softened smile, and quietly wonder if anyone else ever saw him smile this much.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, (Y/N),” you returned his expression, before lying back down on your side. This was your last night in your cell, before you’d be free to join the Scouts. You silently scoffed at the irony of that statement, but nothing could quell your small candle of hope as you listened to Levi’s footsteps get quieter and quieter. Maybe things weren’t so shit up here after all.

꧁ꨄ꧂

“You know, Raven, I’m going to miss our little nighttime meetings,” another harsh blow to your stomach sent you reeling, eyes screwed shut in both pain and defiance. They were trying everything they could to break you tonight. Blood running freely down your abdomen. Fresh bruises now blossoming over the wilted petals of previous nights.

Still you refused to break. Solid walls of spite had erected around your mind, and they wouldn’t be cracked or broken. Not by anything. So you took it. You took your punishment, only opening your mouth to hurl obscene insults or vile curses in their direction. Mocking the way they struck, laughing at their lack of strength. It only resulted in harsher blows, but it was worth seeing the frustration on their faces when you didn’t scream in agony.

“You know who you remind me of like this? I only made the connection a few nights ago. Strung up and beaten like your good-for-nothing father,”

That struck a chord in you. Your eyes flew open, staring at the ground in horror. This is what had happened to him? They had taken him and beaten him? Was he still alive? Was he here somewhere?

The man, who you’d dubbed Dirt, answered all your questions with his next jab.

“A shame he only lasted a few days. You on the other hand… you’re much more fun to play with,” a feral grin sliced through his face as he circled you, drawing back to land three excrutiating blows against your lower back. You grit your teeth, fighting back the tears that threatened to spill from your eyes. You didn’t think you had a heart to shatter. You didn’t think any of it remained for it to be broken again.

The MPs had taken two father figures from you.

That grin still adorned Dirt’s face as he went to swing the metal bat again, only to be interrupted by the door behind you opening. Dirt’s eyes narrowed, before whoever it was seemed to please him. God you couldn’t wait for the day where you tore that venomous smile right off his fucking face.

“Captain Ackerman. To what do we owe the pleasure?” you froze. What the hell was he doing here? Why did he always have to arrive during the moments where you really didn’t want him to see you.

But you weren’t expecting to feel a kernel of hope as he spoke.

You weren’t expecting the small smile that etched into your sweat slickened face.

“I was sent to observe. Since she’ll be joining the Survey Corps, I’m here to ensure you don’t break her,” Levi sounded as bored as ever, and you almost huffed a laugh.

Dirt scoffed, in irritation that he wouldn’t get to sever your spine with brute force.

“Very well. However, I must ask you to stand back. She swings like a stallion’s cock sometimes,” If it weren’t directed at you, you would have laughed at the comment. In any other situation, it would have been rather funny.

Just not this one.

Levi had never felt so sick. As soon as he walked in, seeing you strung up like that, helplessly, he had to force down the instinct to rip every one of these torturous bastards to ribbons. He’d never had to have such a tight hold on his emotions in his life, because if that hold slipped…

This would become a blood bath.

“Anyway Raven, where were we?” he asked, though the question was rhetorical. You knew he remembered. He was just trying to provoke a response out of you. But knowing Levi was here gave you a strength you weren’t expecting.

Looking up through your hair, you shot a glare through the thick, matted strands.

“Choke on your own blood, fuckface,” you spat, kicking weakly towards him. It wasn’t the show of defiance you’d wanted, but it seemed to get the message across. You were prepared for whatever consequences there would be for such a demonstration.

The repercussions came immediately. Roughly digging his fingers into your chin, Dirt forced you head up to look at him, his face a picture of mock amusement.

Levi’s jaw clenched.

“Come now Raven. Not trying to impress Captain Levi now, are you?” your eyes flickered over to Levi, his expression unreadable, grey hues trained on the two of you. A rumble of laughter echoed around the chamber as Dirt took in your spiteful expression. “Now I’m left wondering, how somebody like you could come from somebody like your pathetic father. How somebody so defiant, so fucking strong,” —he harshly jabbed at your stomach with the hilt of his bat— “Could be the daughter of somebody so weak,”

“Shut the fuck up,” you rasp, hot fury surging through your veins. How fucking dare he? How dare he insult your father this way. He was a good man. An honest man. He did nothing wrong. Nothing to warrant his or your mother’s death.

“Hm. No, I think I’ll keep talking. This might finally break you.”

“I’ll fucking KILL YOU,” the hook keeping your arms above your head creaked as you thrashed, trying to free yourself to wrap your hands around his goddamn throat.

“You should have heard his cries. His pathetic whimpers as we carved into his flesh. They were… amusing.” No. This wouldn’t be your downfall. You refused. This wasn’t it. You would not be broken by this.

“At least tell me what he died for. At least tell me why you took him, you shit-eating pig!” you spat viciously, trying once again to get free. It was infuriating more than anything. You had so many questions, never knowing why your parents had been killed. Why you came back to your house in disarray, crimson staining the floorboards as your mother’s blood drained from the gash in her throat. Your father, nowhere to be found.

Though he managed to keep his expression neutral, Levi thought back to your father. For the short time he knew him, he was a kind man. He did what he could for the people around him, always feeding those who looked starving. He was convinced that was where you got your compassion from. Why the hell would they take him and torture him?

“Why? He didn’t tell you? Interesting. Your father knew the location of The Nest long before you became our problem. You thought it was a coincidence Viper just happened to take you in? Please, this job was enjoyable enough, don’t make me laugh with your naivety as well,”

“You’re lying. My father was a baker. He was a good man. He wasn’t involved in our criminal shit!”

“Have you noticed a pattern in your life, Raven? Have you noticed how we tried everything to prevent you from falling down this path?” your jaw flickered at Dirt’s tone, mocking you as if they had done you a service.

“We thought your father would introduce you to a life of crime, so we got rid of him for you. When you fell into the care of Viper; well, we got rid of him for you as well,” his smile was snake-like as flashes from that night plagued your mind. Pressed up against the wall as your mentor was savagely dealt with. Begging at them. Screaming at them to stop. To let him go. Only for them to raise a rifle to his head, and paint the wall with his blood.

Dirt imitated a gun with his fingers, putting them up to your forehead.

“Bang.”

Slowly, you stopped thrashing, though the hatred in your veins didn’t cool. You simmered silently, raising your eyes once again. No tears. No sorrow. Nothing but feigned indifference flickered in the low light.

Dirt looked at you for a moment, eyebrows creasing in irritation as he stepped back, twirling the bad in his hands before repeatedly cracking it against your empty stomach. Levi only just managed to control his breathing as he watched helplessly, flinching subtly as every blow connected with your too-skinny body. Clearly Dirt was taking out some intense frustration. He’d just managed to compose himself when the bastard’s eyes turned to him. That fucking smile poisoned his features as he extended the handle of the weapon.

“Captain Levi. She killed a few of your men, did she not? Why don’t you see if you can break the whore?” You almost scoffed in amusement. Levi wouldn’t do that. Not to you. Not after everything the two of you had been through.

You’d finally found each other again.

You were so sure.

You were so sure of yourself.

You were so sure of him.

You’d rekindled that trust over the last week.

You’d rekindled something you thought was dead.

You were so sure.

Until he took the handle.

And the white hot knife of betrayal twisted into your gut once again.

Fuck.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck.

What the hell was he supposed to do?

Shit.

The weight of the bat felt ten times heavier than anything he’s ever held in his life. The weight of what he was about to do.

Fuck.

As excruciating as this was to watch, he knew it was ten times worse for you. He knew every blow, every crack, was undoing hours of hard work soothing your aches and bruises. Each thud against your body sent jolts of electricity through him. Nerve ends alight with adrenaline, heart beating as if he was about to fight every single one of these bastards just to get them away from you.

Still you have not broken. He couldn’t pinpoint the slight warmth in his chest, couldn’t comprehend what it was. Was he impressed? Surprised?

Proud…?

Levi wasn’t sure if the look of soul shattering betrayal in your eyes was worth it as his hands gripped the cool metal, slightly slickened with your blood.

He would explain it to you.

He would.

Once you were back in your cell, he would tell you why he did it.

But for now, his glare only darkened as he stepped forward. He couldn’t stand the expression on your face. Confused bewilderment, as if trying to work out what he was thinking.

Levi begged you to stop. Stop looking at him like that. Stop trying to work him out because not even he knew if this was the right thing to do.

It was almost a relief when your wide eyes clouded with heartbreaking realisation and acceptance.

A hiss escaped your lips at the first crack. Somehow, this felt more painful than anything those pitiful soldiers could do. Your eyes screwed shut, jaw clenched so hard you were afraid it would shatter into a million pieces.

Each blow felt so precise. So measured and controlled. It stung your heart more than anything else. You’d been betrayed. Again. For the second time in a week. Betrayed by the two people you’d ever loved. Scarlett, who’d picked you up when you were sure nobody else could. Who nursed your broken bones and your broken soul.

And by the first man who ever held your heart.

And truthfully, still did.

Was that all this last week had been?

A ploy just to fuck with you. To earn your trust only to immediately shatter you once again? To break your spirit? Granted, nobody knew the nature of your relationship between you and Levi, but that didn’t matter. The man you loved had just stabbed you in the back.

Again.

So much had happened in the last week. So much had been brought to the surface. It would take years to unpack it all, not that you had any intention of doing that. You just wanted it all gone. To bury it with your fathers. To never think about it again.

You were dragged from your thoughts by a shock of agony sparking up your spine, stemming from your lower back. It was Dirt’s favourite place to attack. Whenever he thought you were being too feisty, too aggressive. He would land as many blows to your lower back as he saw fit.

Admittedly, you doubted Levi knew you’d been snapping back spitefully all session before he arrived, but that didn’t quell the raging fire of hatred as your lips parted without your permission.

A broken cry of anguished agony wracked from your chest, chilling the air of the humid chamber.

Levi froze, horror flashing across his usually schooled features.

He’d broken you.

Levi had broken you.

And with it, any bond he’d managed to salvage over the last week. Any bridge he’d started to rebuild now came crashing down around him.

That one well placed crack had ripped away at your resolve, exposing the tired, hurt, beaten girl beneath.

The room seemed to have stilled. All falling into quiet awe at what had just happened. A slow clap split the stagnant air as Dirt walked up from where he was leaning against the wall. Levi was tempted to turn the bat on him, but he found himself unable to move.

“Your reputation precedes you, Captain. Striking her lower back like that after leaving it to simmer? Genius! We should have asked you to join us earlier,” Dirt cackled in delight as he produced a knife from his pocket. Reaching up, he easily sliced through the ropes binding your hands.

Stone rose up to greet your body as you fell uselessly to the ground, legs too weak to hold you.

“Oh dear. Are you dead? Maybe you and your father had more in common that I originally thought,”

“Enough.” Dirt’s jeering was interrupted by the no-bullshit tones of Levi, causing the soldier to whirl around. He’d finally managed to find his voice, once again reining himself in.

“But Captain Levi, Sir, she’s The Raven. Don’t you think she deserves some extra time with us tonight?”

“If you don’t leave now I’ll make sure it’s you who won’t be able to walk. Go,” you couldn’t tell if this was a blessing or a curse. If he was an angel or a demon.

Actually no, scratch that.

He was a demon, and this was a curse.

You couldn’t find it in yourself to move as you heard busy footsteps around you, assuming the four horsemen were gathering their effects.

“I do hope you make her crawl back to her cell, Captain. We all know your reputation for cleanliness. It would be a shame to dirty your hands touching this filthy whore,” Dirt drawled one more savage insult, before you heard his echoing steps get further and further away. You hoped the day would never come where you had to see his face again.

The silence in the room now was suffocating. You could both feel the emotions radiating off each other now the MPs were gone. He could feel your loathing, and you could feel his disgust. Or what you thought was disgust. What you assumed was disgust.

How could he not be disgusted? He must be. To do what he just did. You didn’t understand why he would come down everyday and help you if he felt such hatred towards you.

No, that’s a lie.

You did understand.

But that truth hurt so much more than anything else tonight.

It had sowed the seed of doubt in your mind. You knew you weren’t a good person. In fact, to most soldiers and nobles you were a devil. But you’d always clung onto the hope that everything you did was to help people. You stole medicine, you slit the throats of rapists, you provided weapons to those who didn’t have enough to fend for themselves.

There was a small part of you that truly believed you were doing good.

That small part had just been crushed, along with several bones.

Gathering what little strength you had, you extended a limp arm in front of you. Fuck it, you weren’t going to sleep here on a floor soiled by your own sweat, blood and saliva.

You would crawl if you had to.

“(Y/N)...” all he wanted to do was hold you. All he’d wanted to do since he’d found you again was hold you. He’d been so close yesterday, but he’d fucked that up.

Now he was sure you’d never willingly let him hold you again. The bat fell from his hand as if he’d realised it was covered in poison, heart clenching at the way you instinctively threw your arms above your head, terrified of some other attack.

You hated how his voice carried so much comfort. Hated how it soothed your raging mind. God you wanted nothing more than to rip his fucking tongue out and make sure he never spoke to you like that again.

A gentle hand landed on your shoulder, forcing you to stop.

“Get… get the fuck… off me… Get the fuck off me,” you couldn’t fight back as he tucked his arms under your legs and upper back, wincing as he lifted you into his grip. “Don’t… Don’t fucking touch me,” there was no strength left in you to push against him as he carried you back, but that didn’t stop you from weakly hitting the arms that held you.

You didn’t understand. One moment he was savagely beating you, and the next he was cradling you against his chest, holding you close as he took you to your cell.

Laying you down, he hoped you understood why he did what he did. It was a fool’s hope, he knew.

He realised you definitely didn’t understand when you started fighting back.

With a sudden surge of strength, you lunged for him. It was a weak attack, and you didn’t really know what you were trying to achieve as you threw yourself towards him with a cry of anguished rage, but you also didn’t care.

“I fucking trusted you,” you spat in between your flailing limbs. It really didn’t take long for Levi to pin your arms either side of your head, hovering over your body.

“(Y/N), stop,” He tightened his grip on your wrists as you struggled against his hold. It would have been a real test of strength for both of you had you not spent the last week having the life beaten out of you. You were weaker than you’d ever been, and he was taking advantage.

“I was right the first time. You don’t get to call me that. You don’t ever get to call me that. You sick, twisted BASTARD. So that was why you lied to me. That was why you didn’t tell me why you were helping me. You fucking coward, is that all you were doing? Convincing me I was safe with you? Tricking me into thinking you still actually cared about me you filthy fucking LIAR,” you barked a mirthless laugh, baring your teeth in a visceral snarl. “I swear to you Levi, I will not fucking stop until my knife is buried your goddamn THROAT!” you struggled again, twisting as much as you could beneath him, trying to free your arms, your hands, anything that could help you take him down.

He deserved this. He knew he did. Levi looked into the burning betrayal in your eyes and knew he deserved this. He would take every verbal blow you threw at him because he knew he deserved it. But he had to explain. He didn’t care. You could hurl whatever you wanted at him, but he wouldn’t leave until he had the chance to explain himself.

Then he would never see you again.

If that’s what you wanted.

“Just calm down, for a minute, please,” you hadn’t heard him beg like that in a very, very long time. Shit, you fucking hated what it did to you. In this position, your wrists held above your head, his arms caging you in, his legs either side of your hips...

The room suddenly felt far too warm.

“What could you possibly have to say to me? I fucking trusted you. You disgusting son-of-a-bitch. I can’t believe I actually thought—“

Levi finally lost his temper.

“What? You thought what? That just because we found each other again we’d play happy families? Grow the fuck up, Raven,” he spat your alias, finally releasing all the fury he’d pent up. He knew this was a mistake. None of this was your fault. He’d been angry with how you’d been treated. Utterly beside himself at Erwin.

And you were taking the fall for it.

“I didn’t lie to you, I didn’t have a fucking choice. If anyone saw me treat you any differently, they would start to question it. They would question why I was showing pity to a criminal. The Raven, no less. And I can’t—”

“Oh I’m sorry, I would hate to ruin your reputation, Captain,” you struck back with just as much venom. Just as much fury.

“Let me finish. I can’t let them get to you anymore than they already have. It was either them or—”

“Because I’m just so import—” you almost cried out as the grip on your wrists tightened, knowing they would leave yet another bruise on your body.

“Let. Me. Finish.” Levi narrowed his eyes, returning the glare you were holding on him and not continuing until you yielded, finally looking away and clamping your mouth shut. “It was either them or me. I could let them continue to beat the shit out of you mercilessly, or I could do it myself. I could try and make it better. I couldn’t fucking watch that shit anymore. I couldn’t fucking stand it. Those filthy bastards laying their dirty hands on you. Hurting you. Shit, you were half dead when I walked in. I was scared you were for a moment. Terrified they were just beating a corpse. But you’re so much stronger than I ever gave you credit for. They never fucking broke you. And they never will. Because if they touch you again, if they fucking look at you, I will go the the ends of the goddamn earth and tear them apart, because I care about you,” Levi hadn’t noticed he was panting. He hadn’t noticed the tears slipping down your cheeks. He didn’t think his self hatred could sink any deeper, but now he’d made you cry silent tears.

Loosening his grip on your wrists, he looked at you as though he’d been responsible for your murder.

“So, it was mercy? That’s what’s considered merciful up here?” you couldn’t really believe it. Twice in two days Levi had spoken more to you than you thought he ever did back when you belonged to each other. You didn’t think you’d ever sounded so small. So vulnerable. “Let me ask you this, Levi. Was it merciful on me, or merciful on you? Because you sure as hell didn’t make things better for me,” despite the quieter volume, your voice was still harsh.

But you had to know.

You wanted nothing more than to pull him in and thread your hands through his hair. To feel his body against yours. For his heartbeat to lull you to sleep. But you had to know whether he did this for you, or himself.

You understood now. You really did. And put in the same situation, you didn’t think you’d do any differently.

“Honestly…? Merciful to me. I couldn't bear it. I tried. I tried so fucking hard. But I couldn’t let them hurt you anymore,” his voice was no louder than a choked, guilt ridden whisper.

That’s all you needed to hear. Slipping your wrists free of his hands, you reached up. Cupping the sides of his face, you brought him down to you, since you couldn’t exactly sit up and go to him.

As soon as your lips returned home to his, you couldn’t stop the few tears from escaping your closed eyes.

Levi’s own eyes widened, and he was suddenly convinced he was dead. Was this actually happening? After everything he’s just done, everything he’s just said.

You forgave him?

When your tongue gently skirted his bottom lip, he decided contemplating forgiveness was something for later. Terrified of hurting you further, he rested his weight on his elbows, finally closing his eyes. He’d wanted this for so long. Since he laid eyes on you for the first time in ten years, he’d wanted nothing more than to envelop your mouth with his own.

With your eyes closed, you didn’t mind when his hand came up to gently caress the apple of your cheek. You didn’t mind when you opened your lips for his tongue to hesitantly slip in and explore your mouth, that slick muscle moving against yours. You didn’t mind when his hand travelled down to cup the side of your neck, tilting your head up to deepen the kiss.

Neither of you wanted to break away, having waited far too long for this moment. You reveled in the groan he emitted down your throat as your left hand found its way to his undercut, gently scratching and caressing in desperation. You hadn’t heard that sound in so long and you instantly craved more.

Levi’s eyes rolled back into his skull behind his closed lids, feeling your hands in his hair. God, he didn’t want to fuck you in a cell, but your hands and tongue were making it difficult for him to control himself.

He was the first to pull back, instantly missing the warmth of your mouth.

“I don’t understand,” he breathed, looking down into your eyes. You could see the swirling confusion in those sterling orbs as they flickered in the low light. You could see the arousal in his dark pupils. Feel it against your inner thigh. You wanted to take him right here and now, but not only did you acknowledge the fact you were literally in a prison cell…

You weren’t sure you were ready. Not yet. Not after everything.

“Levi… if you had done that for my sake, I would have shattered both your kneecaps,” you earned yourself a gentle laugh, his thumb coming up to smooth down your eyebrow. “But you didn’t. I know you feel selfish, and I know you hate yourself for it, but I also know that it was either that, or you beat them to death with that goddamn bat. I know you, Levi. You haven’t changed much yourself,” your left hand came back, softly carding through those ebony bangs.

Levi felt like he could fly. Felt as though you’d returned the wings he’d lost when he thought he’d never see you again.

(Y/N), I want to apolo—”

“Shut the fuck up.”

With that, you stretched up to capture his mouth again, instantly feeling like you’d come back home. You didn’t care about the surge of pain coursing through your abdomen and back. That’s what he was to you.

He was home.

You felt his length twitch in his constraints as both your hands found purchase in his hair, gently tugging at the black strands.

“Fuck…” he breathed into your mouth, his hips bucking involuntarily as you sucked his lower lip between your teeth.

You kept having to consciously remind yourself that you are in fact in a dank, filthy cell. And enveloping him between you increasingly slick folds was wildly inappropriate.

Levi thought it was entirely unfair how you were managing to drag whines and moans from him with nothing but your fingers and teeth. So he decided it was his turn to give something back.

His hand travelled down your body, almost instinctively finding the crease in your thighs. He swallowed his own groan of ecstasy as his knuckles grazed his arousal, opting instead to focus on the way your hips rose to meet the pads of his fingers, gently rubbing your swollen, clothed clit. His circular motions drawing out those small whimpers he’d craved to hear.

“Mmn, L-Levi... ACK, fuck!” your moan of pleasure turned into a small cry of pain as your abs contracted, sending yet another lightning bolt through your system. Levi withdrew his hand immediately, eyes instantly clearing and recognising your signs of discomfort.

“Shit (Y/N), your back,” you felt your heart swell at his concern, though internally cursed yourself.

“‘S’fine,” you insisted, rising up once again to grasp his lips with yours, only to be met with thin air and you ex(?) lover looking down at you.

“No, it’s not. C’mere,” Levi sighed and lifted himself off you, careful not to cause you any further damage. He looked for permission before gently turning you on your side, as if your tongue hadn’t been down his throat less than thirty seconds ago. He cursed his erection, finding himself a little hindered by it as he walked over to the faucet, allowing himself a few moments reprieve before removing the handkerchief from his pocket and running it under the tap.

Though the mirror was cracked, he could still see his slightly swollen lips, distorted against the spider webbing fractures. Could still see the mark you’d left on his face. Shit, he wished for those marks to be left elsewhere. His mind wandered back to the way you used to settle between his thighs, teasing him until you got him to crack. He loved the way you could coerce broken pleas from his throat. Adored the black-blue bites you left on the inside of his thighs, before your warmth enveloped him. Your flexible muscle flicking up and down his sensitive length, running over that prominent vein he hadn’t felt you caress in too long. He missed feeling the vibrations of your chuckle when he begged for you to let him cum. When he felt his balls tighten with release, and yet you denied him still.

But most of all he missed tasting you. He missed the way your arousal freely leaked onto his tongue. He missed the way your hips rose to meet his fingers, that breathy gasp when he found your hidden spot. The begs and cries you made when you wanted him to let you cum. When you whined for his dick to replace his fingers. Fuck, he missed the way your thighs locked his head between them as he brought you to climax with nothing but his tongue flicking over you little, sensitive button. Over, and over, and over again.

“Having trouble?” you grinned from your position on the sorry excuse for a mattress. You’d managed to turn yourself over to watch him, disregarding any agony you felt. You wouldn’t miss this for the world. You wouldn’t miss seeing Levi all riled up and unable to focus simply because of the administrations with your mouth.

“Shut up,” he grumbled, turning the faucet off and ringing out the cloth in the sink. You chuckled at his tone and his predicament, loving every second of it. Though you couldn’t miss the small glint of amusement in his dark eyes. “Oi, turn back ‘round. ‘Need to get to your back,”

“I bet you do,”

“(Y/N)...” he warned, with no real malice in his tone. If this was any other man, you would have lunged at them for taking that tone with you. But this was Levi. Your Levi. You knew he would never hurt you. Not unless absolutely necessary.

Case and point: hitting you with a bat to avoid a murder charge.

Begrudgingly, you tore your eyes from his face, haphazardly twisting on the mattress to face away from him.

“Hm, good girl,” Levi purred, eyes gleaming at the way your thighs clenched in reaction. But any spark of arousal was swiftly extinguished, when your body twitched away from his as he took his seat behind you.

You clenched your eyes shut, hating yourself for the reaction you couldn’t control. You didn’t blame Viper for your now primal fear. You knew he was just teaching you what you needed to know, but he had no fatherly experience, and possibly caused more harm than good.

“‘M’ sorry, it’s not you, I promise. I just—”

“No. No apologising. It’s not your fault,” you nodded, not trusting your voice not to crack if you spoke up now.

Levi thought hard about how he wanted to do this without causing any more reaction from you. Attempting to keep his mind from wandering too far, he tried to understand what made you comfortable enough to bring him onto your mouth. To gently tug on his lower lip. To thread your hands through his hair and--

“I have an idea… (Y/N), watch what I’m doing,” you did as he asked, turning your neck as much as you could to watch the movements of his hand. You tensed as his palm hovered over your side. But when you didn’t feel anything, you unscrewed one tightly shut eye, peering at him curiously.

“(Y/N), can you raise your body for me, just to reach my hand?” this might actually work. Levi had been wracking his brains for a way for you to feel comfortable again with touch.

Hesitantly, you slowly raised your body to meet his fingers, almost freezing as you felt no reaction. You didn’t tense, you didn’t instantly balk under his touch.

You hadn’t cried in years, and yet throughout the course of this long, long night, you had cried twice, the corners of your lashes growing damp as a tear slipped down the side of your face.

Growing increasingly concerned by your lack of response, Levi was about to move his hand from your side, but was immediately stopped by your own fingers covering his.

“Don’t. Stay. Don’t move away,” his heart burned at your broken plea, his worried expression softening in slight relief.

“I won’t. (Y/N), I’m not going to touch you without your permission. Ever. But, if you’re comfortable with it, we can do this. If you’re happy with this,” Levi gently moved his thumb against the fabric of your shirt, caressing your side. Your choked laugh of happy disbelief caused his small smile to broaden ever so slightly.

“Yes. Yes i’m happy with this,” still having trouble believing this was truly happening, you closed your eyes in bliss, allowing a few more tears to escape.

“Okay, I’m going to move your shirt up, alright?” your heart sung at his sincerity, nodding silently once again as you felt the fabric of your shirt bunch up ever so carefully. You loved how he always made you feel so precious. Nothing was precious in the Underground, but somehow he always made you feel worth diamonds and gold. You’d forgotten what that was like, until the damp cloth once again soothed your aching welts, chasing away the throbs of pain.

Those spears of guilt once again plunged into Levi’s heart as he saw what they had done to you. What he’d done to you. You were always so forgiving when it came to him. You always have been. He could lock himself in his room for days, not speak to you for hours on end and you would always be there to hold him when the pressure finally cracked. Always there to soothe him when he opened up after long weeks of isolation. When those memories of his mother dragged up again. When the day Kenny left forced him to hide away until he couldn’t take it anymore.

You always forgave him.

And could always sense what he was thinking.

He came back to the present when your hand squeezed his, as if you knew where his mind had taken him.

“It’s okay, Levi,” your soft reassurance broke his heart.

“I should be saying that to you,”

“Go on then,” you retorted, not even trying to hide the mischief in your voice

Levi chuckled, moving his hand from under yours to stroke your hair.

“It’s okay, (Y/N),”

“I feel thoroughly reassured,”

“Tch, shut up brat,” god, at this point your heart could have been a choir. Singing once again at the soft amusement gently lacing his tone. But you internally cringed as fingers threaded through your grimy hair, reaching up to move it away.

“Levi, don’t. It’s fucking filthy,”

“So’s your face but I recall sucking on it a few moments ago,”

“Levi!” you couldn’t believe he’d just said that. He was never one to make such jokes. But you couldn’t deny you loved it. Loved his low, breathy laugh at your indignant call of his name.

“What? Am I wrong?” you couldn’t see his slightly cheeky smirk behind you. Or the way one brow raised in feigned curiosity.

“Well no, but—”

“Didn’t think so.”

“God you’re insufferable. Anyone would think you’re— OW!” you turned to look back at him in mock anger. He didn’t actually hurt you, and by looking at your swiftly disintegrating expresion, Levi was able to decipher you were just fucking with him. Rolling his eyes, he continued his administration with the cloth, watching fondly as you settled back down.

You only spoke again when that hand in your hair started moving.

“Levi, seriously, it’s gross. Just focus on my back,” when he didn’t reply, you once again twisted back to look at him, unable to decipher the expression on his face.

“Stay here,”

“Like I’m in any condition to move, asshole,”

“Tch, don’t be difficult. I’ll be back in a minute,” with a final caress of your head, Levi chucked the cloth back into the sink before standing to his feet. You were a bit of a sorry sight, lying on your side, shirt ridden up to reveal your bruised, still bloodied back. He’d managed to gently scrub off most of the crimson staining your skin, but he wanted to provide you with just a little more comfort, if he could.

You didn’t even try to escape when he left the door open. Too tired to move. Your limbs felt like lead everytime you attempted to shift, exhaustion clinging to your bones like shackles. You didn’t know how long you waited, but you felt yourself start to drift in and out of consciousness, unable to help yourself marvel at how easy it would be to slip into a deep sleep. Your mind was far too heavy to sift through the lake of emotions you’d found yourself submerged in. Just as you were about to succumb to the call of rest, your faultless alert system brought you back to consciousness, adrenaline injected into your veins as you shot upright at the sound of footsteps.

“Calm down, it’s just me,” your brittle nerves settled at the sound of his calming voice, heart leaping when you saw what he carried in his arms.

Levi had brought everything he thought he would need. A small metal basin containing a small flannel, a wash-cloth, a small cup, the shower soap and hair conditioner from his own quarters and a large towel to spare the mattress of the water. Kicking the cell door almost closed with his foot, Levi crossed to the sink once again, setting out the contents on the cracked porcelain before filling the basin.

He left the faucet running, turning back to you with the town folded on his arm.

“Gonna need you to move if we want to set this down,” you raised a suggestive eyebrow, mouth pulling into a small smirk. Levi rolled his eyes. “Not like that, brat. Unless you want to sleep on a damp mattress. It’s up to you, really,” the amused spark in his eye betrayed his neutral, blank face as you gently shimmied down the bed, making a space for him to set the towel down.

You watched as he removed his jacket, mouth watering ever so slightly as his shirt clung to his back, unable to tear your eyes away from the movement of his muscles. They had certainly developed well.

“Oi, stop ogling,” he smirked to you over his shoulder, earning a sly grin from you in response.

“Can’t help it,” you chimed, eyes flicking to his forearms as he rolled up his sleeves. Fuck, if only you weren’t in a jail cell. Or utterly filthy. Or just not ready for that yet.

If only you didn’t have a thousand things stopping you from pushing him against the wall and engulfing his cock in down your throat.

But for now, you just had to settle with undressing and fucking him with your eyes. Something that clearly didn’t go unnoticed, if the way he writhed slightly under your pinning gaze was anything to go by.

“Stop looking at me like that,” Levi tried to steer his thoughts away from his length stiffening once again. Fuck, the way you were staring at him, he was starting to feel hot beneath his shirt, despite the naturally cool temperature of the room. Your heated chuckle only fueled the flames.

“Aw, why? Are you hard?” you teased, raking your eyes up and down his figure, lingering on the small tent in his crotch. You shifted slightly, almost groaning as the mattress below you rubbed against your swollen folds.

“Tch, obviously. And I’m not going to deal with it in this filthy prison cell, so don’t make it worse brat,” Levi marvelled at your laugh. A proper, head thrown back laugh. He couldn’t stop the fond smile spreading across his face at the sight.

“Alright alright, I’ll stop eye-fuckinig you,” you managed to say, after regaining some sort of composure.

“You’re filthy,”

“Isn’t that why you’re about to bathe me?” you tilted your head slightly, watching him lift the basin from the sink after turning off the faucet. He didn’t deem your comment worthy of a response, opting instead to look back at you with a blank, deadpan expression. Tucking everything else under his arm, Levi returned back to your side. He thought for a moment about how he wanted to do this before, wedging the water basin between his legs.

“Lie back, place your head on my lap. Gonna’ wash your hair,” he instructed, busying himself with getting the small, brown bottle of hair soap. But he paused upon sensing your hesitation. Looking back to you, he searched your face, before slowly bringing his hand up.

You shied away, closing your eyes instinctively, almost bracing yourself for the contact that never came.

“Hey, not gonna touch you without permission, remember?” you opened your eyes to see his hand hovering next to your cheek. He was waiting for your next move, and you could see the slight hopeful spark in his eye.

So slowly, you tilted your head enough to gently nuzzle into his palm, your own hand coming up to keep him against your face.

Levi smoothed the skin under your eye with his thumb, trying his damndest not to let any tears well up in his eyes.

Unbeknownst to him, you were attempting to do the same. Not wanting him to see you cry for the third goddamn time tonight. But it became impossible when he said something you didn’t know you needed to hear.

“I missed you so much, firefly,” your breath hitched in your throat at the old nickname. He’d only ever use it in the softest moments in the Underground. Stroking your hair whilst lying in his bed. Staying up and keeping you company when you’d shoot awake from a nightmare. He was never one for nicknames, so one day when he, out of the blue, called you his firefly;

you’d almost cried.

Your eyes widened, hand gently squeezing his own to ground yourself. You let out something halfway between a laugh and a sob.

“I missed you too. So, so much,” you hardly had to move forward before your face was nestled in the crook of his neck, his arms slowly tucking you against his body. “I missed you so much,” you whispered again.

Levi didn’t think he’d ever been this happy, at least not for a long, long time. Ecstatic you felt comfortable enough to let him hold you. Though he was usually so good at keeping his feelings to himself, so much had happened over the last week, he felt the walls to his emotional dam cracking ever so slightly, a few tears lining his closed eyes. He could feel the collar of his shirt dampen as you shed silent tears, his thumb rubbing small circles against your back.

Levi held you like this for what felt like hours. Content to just be in each other’s arms once again. In reality, it had only been a few minutes before he gently shifted you so the back of your head rested against his lap.

“Never known you to be such a cry-baby,” he lightly teased, gathering what he could of your hair and soaking it within the basin still wedged between his knees.

“I’m not. I haven’t cried in years. Literally. Probably since Viper’s—” you stopped yourself, not expecting the casual statement to hurt quite as much as it did. “Viper’s death,” you finished quietly, eyes avoiding any direct contact with his own.

Levi took note of your tone change, reaching for the hair soap. He was only vaguely aware of the relationship between you and the old Nest leader. Finding out through those vile MPs.

“Want to talk about it?” The tone of his question matched yours as he lathered the gel into your now cleaner locks to make sure the grime and grease was properly dealt with.

“Honestly? Not yet. Maybe not ever. I don’t know. I haven’t spoken to anyone about it. Not even Prongs, or Wolf, and they were his Shadows before mine,” you fell silent for a moment, before looking back to him. “How did you do it? How did you just… leave everything behind?”

Levi sighed at the innocence of your question. The raw guilt he knew you were feeling. Knowing you were up here, safe, warm, comfortable, whilst so many people down there were still suffering. Still dying from easily preventable illnesses.

“I didn’t. Not really. I still find myself thinking back to those poor sods down there. But I couldn’t think about it for too long, because I would find myself thinking back to you,” his hand stroked the top of your now damp forehead, smoothing down the wet locks of your hair.

The basin sloshed slightly as you nodded, disheartened by the fact that this feeling of suffocating guilt would probably never leave you. Levi saw this in your face. He saw the exact same swirl of emotions he felt when he knew he would never return.

But you’d left behind so much more than he did. You had a trusted group. A family who would only know what happened to you through the words of that young girl.

“They’ll be safe, (Y/N). He may be an asshole sometimes, but I trust Erwin. He wouldn’t break his word,” running his hands through your soaked hair, Levi gently teased the knots out with his fingers, easily gliding through the now freed strands.

His reassurance calmed your worries. Levi hardly trusted anyone, you only ever knew him to trust Isobel, Farlan and yourself. This Erwin guy must have really made an impression.

Reaching back to the small flannel he’d brought down with him, he began drying your hair, setting the basin to one side. You didn’t think you’d ever felt this pampered. This well looked after. You thought you could certainly get used to it. Returning your thoughts to the conversation, you exhaled a sigh.

“Yeah, I know. It’s just… My job was to take care of them. My job was to stop something like this from happening. Our entire operation was compromised because my shitty partner couldn’t get over some grudge she had against a boy she’d never met,” you poked his chest as he rolled his eyes, looking down at you with a brow raised.

“So it’s my fault?”

“I didn’t say that,”

“You implied it,”

“Oh don’t be so sensitive,”

“I wasn’t the one who cheated,”

You almost sat bolt upright at that, if it weren’t for him anticipating the movement. What did he mean ‘cheat’? You didn’t cheat. You would never cheat. Loyalty ran through your veins like blood, and if you weren’t so incredulous you would have spotted the smallest hint of mischief in his steely eyes.

“Wh— Cheat? I didn’t cheat. What makes you think that?” your genuine concern broke his heart, and he almost felt bad for teasing you like this.

Almost.

Taking your face in both his hands, Levi failed to suppress the fugitive smirk on his face.

“We technically never broke up, brat,” you breathed a sigh of relief, before turning back to scowl at him, tempted to lightly smack the back of his head.

“Don’t fucking scare me like that, asshole,” your scowl held no heat, too relieved that he was just being pedantic rather than actually implying you would ever be disloyal. But your glare melted away at the rumble of a chuckle emitting from his chest. You rolled your eyes, trying your best to feign annoyance and failing miserably.  

Removing the small towel from your now damp hair, Levi deemed it dry enough for you to sleep on without catching a cold.

“There. Think you can do the rest yourself? I don’t wanna… make you uncomfortable or anything,” it was your turn for your heart to break, his consideration for your comfort and wellbeing always seemed to be his top priority. You took his hand in yours, gently stroking your thumb over his knuckles.

“You’ve done more than enough,” earnest gratitude swam in your eyes and it was all Levi could do not to stoop down and kiss you.

Instead, he stayed put for a little while longer, stealing all the seconds he could. He’d realised, with you joining the Survey Corps, you two wouldn’t be able to do this anymore. The company you’d both enjoyed for the past week would be ripped away by expeditions, training and paperwork.

So he greedily took as much time as the two of you could spare, before you would inevitably have to part ways.

“I have to go, (Y/N),” Levi whispered, although every part of him was longing to stay, especially when your face slowly fell in realisation.

“I know,” you tried to mask your melancholy with a gentle smile, but your voice betrayed you, breaking slightly as you spoke. Neither of you wanted to be the one to move. Neither of you wanted to be the first to burst the protective bubble of familiarity you both knew you wouldn’t feel again for a long, long time.

But to save him from doing it himself, you were the one to shift, allowing him to rise from the bed.

“I’ll uh, leave all this here and collect it early in the morning,” Levi shifted slightly awkwardly on his feet, running a hand through his hair. You nodded, adjusting yourself carefully. Your midsection didn’t hurt as much, more of an echoing throb, but you were still cautious nonetheless.

“Right, yeah. Probably a good idea, before anyone sees,” you shrugged, avoiding having to look at his face. You knew it would break both of you if you’d asked whether there was any chance of him staying.

Just for a little while longer.

“I’ll see you soon… Raven,” you felt your soul crack as he replaced your name with your alias. You knew it was right. You knew it was for the best. But that wouldn’t stop every fiber of your being shattering.

Levi hated how you said nothing as he turned to leave. He pretended not to notice your heartbreak as he deliberately called you Raven. He suppressed the urge to pick you up and take you with him. To carry you to his bed and cage you in his arms as you both fell asleep in each other’s embrace.

He didn’t know your prolonged silence was because you were gathering your courage. Silently arguing with yourself over what was right and what was wrong until you stopped him by calling his name.

“Levi…” There was no turning back now. You took a breath, finally raising your eyes to meet his now on the other side of the bars. “I—” love you.

You immediately stopped yourself, finding those three words caught in your throat. You couldn’t say them. Shit, you couldn’t say them.

You were a coward.

“Thank you,”

Levi stayed searching your face. He knew. He knew that wasn’t what you wanted to say. Because that wasn’t what he wanted to hear. He let loose a breath he didn’t know he was holding, giving you one last look of badly masked longing, before turning away.

“Training starts tomorrow,” though the words themselves were cold, his tone was laced with mourning as his footsteps echoed out of earshot, leaving you completely and utterly alone.

Levi had managed all but three steps into the hallway before his name was called by an irritatingly familiar voice.

“Ah, Levi. Good. My office. Now, if you’re not busy,” Erwin had a way of saying ‘if you’re not busy’ that sounded like he was really saying ‘there is absolutely no debate in this, you could be bleeding out and missing an arm and I would still expect you in my office within the next five minutes’. Levi knew he didn’t exactly have a choice.

“Sure. Let me make some tea and I’ll be right there,” he knew he’d made a mistake. The look in Erwin’s cerulean eyes told him that the tall blonde had figured something out. Something dangerous that could compromise his relationship with you.

Actually, he’d probably figured out he had a relationship with you.

Shit…

He was in so much trouble.

[idrellegames]

which writing program do you use to write wayfarer? do you use scrivener or google docs? what's your workflow look like?

I use MS Word as my word processor, in addition to the Twine 2 editor and Notepad++ for coding. I've considered switching to Scrivener, but I'm honestly so used to my own system that I'm not too bothered to find a new one. 😂

My current workflow looks something like this:

Detailed chapter outline based on my game beat chart that breaks the current chapter into sections, the sections into scenes, and the scenes into beats.

I do almost all my outlining by hand since I like the tactile feeling of writing by hand. Because I think and plan very visually and spatially when it comes to managing branches, it's faster and easier for me to do things this way.

Draft in chronological order, section by section. Do not mix branches together; finish one branch before starting another.

When starting a section, revisit the outline and break it down into smaller pieces so it's easier to tackle and the branches are easier to see. I usually have my handwritten outline next to me and also a page for making notes while I write so I can keep track of things.

While writing, subdivide smaller branches and beats with colour-coding. Mark off each branch as they are finished.

The X is a marker to tell me that I finished writing the branch/outcome

I also add any specific coding notes while I write so I can remember to do specific things later on (usually conditional statements involving approval, previous choices, or what's in the player's inventory). I do not code and write content at the same time.

These are always colour-coded so I can easily see where one conditional segment ends and the next starts.

Once a section is done, I send the file(s) to my proofreader who fixes my typos and also flags any issues using Word's comment function

Once I get the files back, I edit and make adjustments

The game's raw text files are in subdivided folders. There's a main folder for the raw text files, then subfolders for each chapter. Sometimes each chapter has its sections put into subfolders as well. Each file is labelled with the chapter number and a title that references what's going on in that file.

So, Chapter 1's sorting system looks something like this:

I also have spare folders where I throw any major cuts I make (I may want to reference that content later) or any text inserts I make for a patch (an insert is basically a block of text that shows up in multiple places in the game that I need to add after-the-fact).

Worldbuilding notes and such are similarly subdivided and labeled.

Once I'm done writing a section, I'll start coding. I don't write a full chapter and then code--I'm working with so much content that it would be overwhelming to do everything all at once. When I reach the end of a defined section, I'll switch to coding.

The coding process is something like this:

I transfer the text from the Word documents into Twine. This is when I do the coding; I do not code in Word (it's generally not a good idea to code directly into your word processor; if you have curly quotes turned on, it will mess with any code that uses straight quotes. “this” is different from "this").

Since most of my systems are in place, coding involves a lot of copy/pasting bits of repeat code I have saved in Notepad++, so it usually doesn't take all that long.

These are my notes for any time the player passes or fails a skill check; I just need to copy/paste them into the appropriate passage instead of typing it out each time.

For code-heavy sections (like the Origin/Ancestry selection screens), I sometimes code in Notepad++ instead of Twine because I can see things better there and I can get syntax highlighting. I do all of my CSS and JavaScript edits in Notepad++.

To be honest, the coding in Wayfarer is not very complicated so I'm usually fine coding directly in the Twine editor.

I don't work in a single Twine file since the Twine editor lags once you pass 500 passages. On a game this large, I also find it easier for me to compartmentalize into sections, so I have multiple story files for each chapter, divided by section.

My current Twine library still has Chapter 1 in it, so it looks like this:

WAYFARER is the first file, it contains the landing page, the character creator, the Prologue and the start of Chapter 1. Chapter 1.1. is the rest of Route A. Chapter 1.2-1.6 is Route B. Chapter 2.1 is the first scene of Chapter 2. And the Codex is the codex.

The drawback is that because the story files aren't connected, I can't seamlessly playtest without first publishing and compiling the files. I tend to do most of my personal playtesting of the new file within the file itself. However, I'll test different choices/conditions by adjusting the variables manually in a specific file's StoryInit passage, so it ends up being a lot faster to than compiling the files, making a character from scratch, and running through the game.

Once I'm satisfied that the new file is working, I'll publish all the story files to HTML files. The HTML files are then compiled with Tweego into one file (takes about 3 seconds once the compiler is set up). I'll then compress the new master HTML file with the images/assets folder into a ZIP file, and update the build!

Any bugs/errors caught by the playtesting team don't usually take too long to fix as long as I know exactly where the error occurs. Once I make any fixes, I do a new compile and update.

[hannigramficrecs]

Hey, do you have any "long" (30k up only) hannigram fics, with hannibal's pov (preference, but not absolutely necessary) of AUs, like the best long fic AUs you can think of, like time-travel, different meetings, abo, etc.

No vampire, mermaids or werewolves au tho.

If you can, of course. Thank you alredy 🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰

I’m not sure if these are all Hannibal’s POV, but here are a list of all my favorite long AU’s (sorry if I included too many LOL). Also if anyone’s interested here are links to the mermaid and werewolf fics

Palace of Dreams by MaiTai1327 [words: 41,986]

A lonely boy at a Lithuanian orphanage creates a memory palace for him to hide away from his despicable circumstances and the nightmares haunting him. In his dreams, his palace becomes reality. And one day, he finds another boy hiding in one of its rooms.

Our Stars are the Same by beforethedawn, ConstructFairytales, Destinyawakened [words: 42,578]

Someone’s moved into the old creepy, supposedly haunted, mansion down the way from Will Graham and his family. Will never expects to befriend the new family’s son.

Vena Amoris by PaperPlaneChemTrails [words: 55,596]

Will Graham is a producer on a Bachelor knock off reality TV show. Against his protests and better judgement, Dr. Hannibal Lecter is cast as the primary love interest on the show. Despite his many initial misgivings, Hannibal is a hit, and Will finds himself as drawn into the story Hannibal is creating as everyone watching at home. Everything is going well until Will becomes suspicious that he is the real object of Hannibal’s affections, and all of a sudden contestants start to turn up murdered.

Little Arts of Vice by drinkbloodlikewine, whiskeyandspite [words: 44,991]

Cruel Intentions AU. “Tedium draws me to observation,” he murmurs. “Contemplation.” “Manipulation,” Mischa adds calmly, tilts her head when Hannibal narrows his eyes at her. “You wouldn’t deny it, Hannibal, you’re proud of that one. And in truth you do it well.” “There is little to manipulate when watching a dog chase a bird.” It starts with a bet.

A Past of Plank and Nail by gleamingandwholeanddeadly (something_safe), printersdeadly, printersdevils (tuesdaysgone) [words: 87,821]

Hannibal needs a kitchen remodel, and his colleague and friend Alana knows just the guy to help him with his rundown new home. Enter Will Graham, carpenter and contractor extraordinaire, and devastating addition to Hannibal’s daily life. When he starts running out of new projects to keep Will around, Hannibal fast realizes his infatuation is more than simple attraction - and that getting Will to agree to dinner is only the first hurdle.

Redemption by houseofcannibals [words: 132,427]

After very publicly losing his mind and murdering three young women in an unconscious state, FBI consultant Will Graham is sentenced to serve three consecutive life sentences in the notorious Shawshank State Prison. Upon arrival, he is unsettled to find himself in a cell neighboring that of infamous serial killer Dr Hannibal Lecter.

Carnivore, Won’t You Come Digest Me? by HigherMagic [words: 64,019]

Role Reversal AU: Following the execution of Garrett Jacob Hobbs, Hannibal is forced to see Doctor Will Graham for a psychiatric evaluation before he can return to the field. Once cleared, Jack insists that Will shadow Hannibal in the hopes of catching the Shrike’s copycat. Hannibal has become a master of making sure the FBI stays blind to his extracurricular activities, but Will is a man who sees far too much, and won’t be so easily overcome.

Page Six by ThisBeautifulDrowning [words: 66,839]

Crime reporter Will Graham’s column on page six of the Baltimore Sun garners him the attention of many: fans, hobby detectives, the FBI…and others. Hannibal cut off a piece of meat with surgical precision. “I find your company rather engaging.” “Maybe I don’t find you all that engaging.” Silence. Hannibal grinned. “I see that it will take more than one dinner to earn your forgiveness. Challenge accepted.”

Falls the Shadow by littlesystems [words: 72,455]

AU where Bedelia is Will’s psychiatrist instead of Hannibal, Will makes a series of increasingly questionable life choices, and no one should ever take Bedelia’s advice. Ever.

Rescues by drinkbloodlikewine and whiskeyandspite [words: 99,552]

Mischa is living with PTSD, and Hannibal seeks out a service animal to help her. He meets Will, trainer of therapy dogs - cue puppies, adorable interactions and lots of dogs. And smut. Of course.

Where the Albatross Crash-Lands by HigherMagic [words: 40,220]

Everyone has two marks on their arm: one is the name of their soulmate, the other is the name of their mortal enemy. There’s no way of knowing which is which. This same trick of fate makes it so that your Marks are the only two voices you will ever hear when you go deaf at sixteen. Hannibal has a nice voice. Will hopes he’s his mate. He hopes he never hears the voice of the Chesapeake Ripper.

Provenance by drinkbloodlikewine, whiskeyandspite [words: 62,735]

A delightful AU about a rare book dealer, an owner of a high-end coffee shop, and murder. This does involve Hannibal Lecter, after all.

A Fortunate Wound by starkaryen [words: 83,312]

Will Graham, a police officer in Baltimore, is shot while he’s on duty. The surgeon on call in the ER is Hannibal Lecter.

Until I Met You by Dormchi [words: 33,990]

Detective Will Graham needs an expert and Fire Lieutenant Hannibal Lecter happens to be available. Basically this is just arson, murder, coffee, and fluff.

Canvases by thatviciousvixen [words: 36,660]

When Hannibal meets a handsome artist with a keen interest in death he knows he’s finally met a kindred spirit. All Will needs is a little push.

In Sickness and in Health by BonesAndScales [words: 67,450]

Everyone knows that Will and Hannibal are married. Not everyone knows that they are married to each other.

The Escapists by whiskeyandspite [words: 35,368]

Will’s cellmate said nothing, and Will didn’t venture. He had been prickly enough as a lecturer, where human interaction was mandatory, and prison was not the sort of place one made friends. One either made allies or enemies, or stayed quiet enough to avoid both. Will doubted he’d be that lucky; far too easy to rile up especially when stupidity was the catalyst. Prison, Will thought absently, was similar to college.

Sweeter Bitter by wormsin [words: 89,503]

Will is an awkward student and Hannibal an intrigued mentor.

Before You And After You by ache_for_him, Breakmybones (CarterReid), CarterReid [words: 33,734]

Hannibal and Will had a past: a dirty, bloody, violent past. Will was sure he’d never see his own personal monster again - then he walked into Jack Crawford’s office.

Ethics & Aesthetics by fragile-teacup [words: 106,330]

Pride and Prejudice omegaverse AU

Look, Mother! The Sheep Have Devoured the Wolves! by HigherMagic [words: 102,934]

Hannibal and Bedelia are married, but unable to have children. At Margot’s insistence, Hannibal agrees to meet the Omega that was a surrogate for her and Alana. Will is rough-edged, unrefined, and everything Hannibal shouldn’t desire. This arrangement promises to be clean, and simple. Of course, nothing concerning Will Graham is ever simple.

Wings of Wax and Feather by BelladonnaWyck and raiast [words: 55,947]

“Did you just smell me?” "Difficult to avoid. My apologies, I didn’t realize there were any Omegas in this section of the prison.” “Most get sent to the Omega Holding Facility two counties over. But then, most don’t get done in for rippin’ out an Alpha’s throat in the middle of the street.” or Hannibal Lecter had always known the winding road of fate may one day lead him straight to a prison cell. He’d never imagined he’d find his true mate there.

Truly, Madly, Deeply by slashyrogue [words: 52,811]

They meet by chance at a Christmas Party and share a kiss that seals their fate.

Purity by PixieDust291 [words: 130,528]

Will is cast aside by his alpha and sacrificed to the Wendigo that hunts in the forest. However, after confronting the creature Will then finds himself in the home of Hannibal. The alpha lives alone and seems to have taken it upon himself to nurture Will back to health. Over time Will grows comfortable with Hannibal and slowly reveals the reasons for his abandonment. Hannibal, being a pure bred alpha of the highest caliber, is well aware of just how rare and valuable Will is and decides to take the wounded omega for himself.

Quatervois by stratumgermanitivum, whiskeyandspite [words: 33,226]

Will is an Omega who desires independence and freedom. Hannibal is an Alpha who finds his mind curious. They make a deal: if Will can convince Hannibal that he is worth more than breeding stock, and can go through his heat without begging for his Alpha, Hannibal will not mate him, but make him a ward instead; Will could go to college, get a job, do anything he wanted. If not, then he will be Hannibal’s mate, bear pups, and accept his role. But is it really as simple as that?

[stucky-starnes]

Gleam and Glow

Chapter 1

Pairing: Grey! Bucky Barnes x Fem! Reader

Word count: 3,374

Description: The reader has been held captive by their own mother their whole life, taught to believe the world is bad and that they need to be protected from it. That their gift needs to be protected from it. They possess 70 feet of hair with healing properties and some people will do anything for a chance at peace.

General Warnings: This story contains dark elements and various dark characters!! Do not read if this makes you uncomfortable!!!, kidnapping, violence, language, angst, whump, for the purposes of the story the reader has 70ft foot long hair that glows gold- this does not change regardless of hair color or texture, inspired by the movie Tangled.

Chapter Warnings: kidnapping, manhandling, betrayal, mention of trafficking (selling/buying of a human), John Walker, very naive reader, brief sexual implications,arguments, un-gendered pet names,choking, illusion to sexual harassment, language, please read at your own discretion.

DO NOT REPOST MY WORK, REBLOGS ARE WELCOME AND APPRECIATED

A majority of your childhood was peaceful. You got to do all the normal kid things- of course you were never totally sure what a ‘normal’ kid thing was on account of the fact that you’d actually never met another kid but, it felt normal enough. Aside from the very abnormal ‘birth defect’ you were ‘gifted’ with. You stopped considering your magical abilities as a gift by the time you were seventeen, when your mother made it abundantly clear that you could never leave the tower, you could never go outside, and you could never cut your hair.

The only thing more annoying than the seventy foot long tresses was your mother. According to her, your father was a sloppy one night stand she found in a tavern. He was a love em’ and leave em’ type of guy; he gave your mother one great romantic night and then disappeared off the face of the earth. You’ve never met him. You’ve never met anybody. Your mother has always been your only companion. She was a beautiful woman, she said you take after her more than your dad. While she was gorgeous and protective, she was also passive aggressive, rash, and ostentatious. If it was possible for her to get out of being “the bad guy” she lunged, dragging you under at the first chance. When you were younger she would tell you stories about the outside, she made it seem like a gorgeous place. She described the kingdom and the many villages outside its walls. She started with all the good things until you showed interest in escaping, then, she gave you the truth. She began to spin tales of roads rich with crime, vigilante gangs, covert groups of thugs, and rebel Viking camps. From what you could piece together, the rebel Viking camps were the greatest concern.

The rebel Viking groups weren’t actually Vikings. Your mother had said they called them The Vikings because of their rugged and brutal lifestyle. The camp they occupy is more like a small village, the structures following Norse architectural style, chalk-full of criminals and runaways. Runaways. Your mother had always explained to you that when young girls ran away from their mothers they ended up in that village living a life of crime. The very thought of falling into the wrong hands has kept you from sneaking out or from begging to leave the tower. You found ways to be content, ways to keep busy.

The tower wasn’t as big as it looked from the outside, the only living space was at the very top of the tower. The top of the tower had about two floors worth of open space, minimal and organized in the lower level and very maximalist in the bedrooms and wall decor. Mother said the rest of the tower below was sturdy white brick and vine, aged by time and the weather. Most of the exterior bricks were cracked or crumbling, so all the support for the turret came from the tower’s solid core. The roof was a chipped and rusty blue color mostly concealed by untamed ivy growth, which also hid the entrance to the tower’s turret. To your home. The only way in and out of the tower was an intricate pulley system made from twisted vine and rope. Originally, mother had used your hair to get into the turret, until one day a strand snapped from the pressure, dying and losing its magic. In an effort to protect your gift, you helped your mother make the pulley.

Crafting things was just one of the many ways you spent your time in the tower. After you’d turned eighteen your mother didn’t stick around much, if at all, leaving at night to go to the palace or the tavern, sometimes coming back in the morning and sometimes being gone for a day or two. With so much time alone the only option was to learn how to entertain yourself. Reading books, cooking, painting, testing the information you soaked up from all of the books, sewing holes in clothes, polishing leather, polishing silver, dusting, drawing in the dust. It’s a really long list. If there’s more to add you add it, forever stretching the possibilities. As the sun started to go down however, it started to seep in just how repetitive and predictable your daily activities had become. While you knew leaving the tower would be a horrible and dangerous mistake, you couldn’t help but long to be outside. To feel the grass between your fingers or to stand out in the sun, somewhere other than where it leaks through the turrets window entrance. It could never happen. Knowing this was an impossibility kept an icy grip on your stomach, a lonely sort of feeling, naturally touch starved by fate. It’s been years since the last time you asked to leave. Much before you knew how dangerous it really was out there. Asking one more time couldn’t really hurt could it? You’d be twenty soon enough, just one touch wouldn’t hurt anyone.

Mother had left early in the morning, off to do some much needed grocery shopping; if she hadn’t decided to stop by the tavern she would be home very soon. Too soon to come up with a better plan. Quickly you started to prepare for her to come home, sweeping the dining area and pulling out the utensils needed to make a special stew recipe you remember she had enjoyed. If she was going to say yes she needed to be buttered up first. Once the cooking utensils were nicely organized on or beside the unlit stove, and the dust was done away with, it was time to make quick work of anything she could use against your argument. Rushing to one of your most treasured bookshelves you pulled a discarded velvet scrap from the back of one of your more worn astronomy books. The midnight blue fabric had been torn from one of your favorite dresses when you were sixteen, unwilling to part with the shredded material, it was quickly fashioned into a long braided bookmark. Since then you’ve opted for shorter than floor length gowns or comfortable riding pants and tunics. The supposedly “masculine” style annoyed mother to no end but then again she really couldn’t understand how suffocating the corsets could become, or how difficult it was to fasten them without getting hair caught beneath the strings.

Unbraiding the bookmark allowed it to become one long thick strand, setting it on the dining table, you went to gather your hair. For the most part, you tried to keep it close to yourself. Getting any part snagged or wrapped around something was more of a pain in the ass than taking the time to gather it together. Gathering so much hair was difficult, it took time and it was unbelievably heavy. Once you were finally able to get it all in one place you started the tedious task of braiding. In order to braid it up enough to keep it off the floor you split it into three sections, braiding those separately before braiding them up into a complex Dutch braid. It took nearly two hours to finish so you could finally tie up the end with the dismantled bookmark. The complexity allowed the braid to settle halfway down your calves, keeping it neat and off the ground. Now all that was left to do was light the lanterns around the room and wait. Waiting for mother to get home was nerve wracking, if possible you’d busy yourself with starting the stew but you were fresh out of the most important ingredients.

“Y/n let down the vine!” Mother yelled from the bottom of the tower and the tension finally broke.

“Coming!” You sighed out in relief rushing to the window and lowering out the vine life you had made.

Once you were sure she was safely in the lift’s sling, you utilized the pulley system to begin pulling her up. The tower was around forty feet tall, making the trip up lengthy and difficult. When she was close enough to the window entrance you hooked the vine slack onto the wall hook, keeping it stationary, before quickly coming to help her in with the groceries. Taking the canvas grocery bags from her arms and into the kitchen, you started pulling out the items to take inventory on what she’d bought at the market.

“How was the market? Did that man give you trouble on the celery prices again?”

“Ugh doesn’t he always? Absolutely exhausting, he wanted double, and then there was a fight at the tavern again which I always have to break up.” She pulled out a chair at the dining table, sitting into it and slinging her feet up into the neighboring chair.

You slowed for a moment, pulling the bundle of carrots from the bag slower as you processed that she may be intoxicated which meant there’d be zero chance of having the conversation you desperately desired.

“You went to the tavern?” You asked, feigning excitement.

“Of course sweetheart, I promised that I would but I wasn’t there for long I promise.” She got up to meet you in the kitchen, resting her hands on your shoulders.

“Now what are we having? I’m absolutely starved.” She smiled.

“I was going to make that stew from last winter that you liked so much. Now that fall is settling in.” you started to add broth and small peeled potatoes to the pot.

“That sounds delightful darling, I’m going to go rest my eyes, call me when it’s done?” Mother started to walk away. It was now or never.

“Actually!” You cleared your throat., “Actually I was hoping I could talk to you about something.”

“Alright but let’s make this quick, mama’s feet are aching.” She turned back around to sit in another chair.

“Well as you know I’m almost twenty, an adult really and I’m already very responsible around the tower-“

“Y/n where is this going?” She interrupted, rubbing her temples.

“I want to go outside.” You turned to look at her.

“We’ve talked about this! It’s far too dangerous! You know what would happen if anyone discovered your gift!”

“I know, I know, but I’ve thought about it and no one would even know! I won’t tell anyone about it, and if they don’t know I have it then they don’t know how to use it, so it’s useless to them. If I just keep it braided I’ll be completely normal!” You came to sit across from her, hoping it’ll be convincing.

“No absolutely not, it’s much too risky! I have kept you safe for nearly twenty years! I am not stopping now! You’re far too young to understand but this is what’s best for you!” She got up and started to walk away again.

“But it’s not! I’ve never met anyone else! I’ve never had friends or met other people my own age! I’ve never even seen a real man!” You were absolutely desperate.

“Oh a man?! This is about men huh?! So you want to leave the safety of the home I built for you to go whore around for a man?!” She was absolutely furious, beyond cooling down.

“Mother no!” Your face was burning with embarrassment at the very suggestion of sexual activities.

“No truly I understand! You would rather leave this place and be used by men! Drained of your power in one of those Viking camps no doubt! I won’t hear another word, I’m going out for air and your attitude better be gone by the time I get back!” She walked over to the vine, untying it from the wall and setting it into a rustier pulley wheel that would let her down slowly, she was gone just as soon as she’d finished her sentence.

You had no choice but to sit in utter silence and shame. Swallowed by guilt that mother could ever consider you’d do that to her. As much as you wanted to leave and experience the real world, you desperately didn’t want to disappoint your mother or end up somewhere bad. Very quickly you dissolved into regret, backing over to try and undo what’s already been done, planning a way to forgiveness. Finishing the stew was the only way you knew how to start so you got to work, making this the best stew you could ever devise. Having never written the recipe down you had to go solely based on flavor and gut feeling. That was the best way to cook anyway. Once it had been spiced to taste you put the lid on the pot to let it simmer.

Almost immediately you found yourself overrun with anxiety, filled with a need to do something with your hands. To occupy your mind. There really wasn’t much to do in the tower to occupy you enough to erase this from the forefront of your mind. So you opted for the only thing that you could: cleaning. Your started polishing, dusting anything that you could and when there was nothing left you sat and you waited. The silence was absolutely deafening. You’d totally zoned out until you heard the rattling of the pot lid on the stove, snapping your head to it only to see the stew boiling over.

“Shit!” You rushed to turn it off, burning your hand in the process as you cleaned up the mess. Suddenly you were no longer hungry.

Opting to leave the stew on the stove for whenever mother would return you left the kitchen, going to your room as you cradled your hand gently. Tears stung your eyes, threatening to drip through your lashes and you curled up on your bed. Reaching for your braid with your uninsured hand, you gently took the end and rested it over your burned palm, reaching to wipe away some loose tears. Whether the tears were from the pain or from emotional discourse you couldn’t be sure. After drying your tears you closed your injured fingers around the large amount of hair, and began to hum a soft familiar melody. As the melody continued your hair began to glow a brilliant gold, almost glittery in color. Once the shimmer reached your palm, the heat faded and the wound healed. You were able to breathe. You looked to your palm, it was as soft and unharmed as it had been that morning. As it had always been. No scars or leftover pain. Just smooth healthy skin.

You couldn’t be bothered to really prepare for bed. The dress you wore was moveable, the corset easily undone as it tied in the front rather than in the back. Laying back you took a deep breath, closing your eyes momentarily to let go of all the stress that you could. After a minute of peace you pushed yourself up and off the bed, walking over to the dark wood armoire, opening it to look in the mirror, you sighed looking at your dress. There was stew on the navy skirt and what looked like a sizable carrot. You’d have to change to sleep. Lifting the skirt up closer you plucked off the carrot and disposed of it in the nearby waste basket. Returning to the armoire you flipped your braid back over your shoulder and checked the white sleeves of the off the shoulder blouse, slid your hands over the black corset, grabbing the tied strings from the vertex of the sweetheart neckline you untied the knot. Just as you’d finished untying the security knot you heard a loud grinding bang from the lower level. Pausing to listen you grew concerned.

“Mother? Are you alright?” You called gently.

When you didn’t receive a response you dropped the corset strings and left your bedroom, looking over the bannister you were met with the worst sight you could possibly have imagined. A large piece of the stone floor was broken and pushed out of the ground, slid off to the side and two large men climbed out of the dark hole below. Half a million questions filled your head. How was there a space under the floor? How did these men find you? Did they know who you were? There wasn’t time to think, you had to act. Silently and quickly you snuck back into your bedroom, burning out the lamps and climbing into the armoire as best as you could. Tilting your chin up to silence your breathing you listened. Waiting. Thinking. The men were much bigger than you thought a man would be. From what you could make out they dressed in dark clothing. Leather. Worn and hardly taken care of if at all. They were similar heights. One a redhead and the other blonde, both with rugged facial hair. You only had a brief look and the adrenaline pumping through your veins was making it difficult to focus.

“I am never doing that shit again, forty feet of crumbling bricks and thirty feet of rope, you seriously didn’t think that through?!” You could hear them arguing.

“It didn’t look that tall alright? Can we just find the chick and get out of here? I lost my good boots in a poker game with trash panda and if I don’t win them back he’s gonna tear them apart.”

It was clear they were coming for you. The only thing you could do was hope mother came home or that they didn’t see you behind all the other clothing in the armoire. The stairs creeped. Once. Twice. There was only one creaky step. They were both coming up. You held your breath.

“Food on the stove and the lamp in here is still warm. She was here recently.” They made it into your bedroom.

“If I had to guess I’d say she’s still here.” The footsteps stopped. It was silent.

Suddenly, the hem of your skirt was yanked-it had been caught in the door-and then the armoire burst open. The blonde man grabbed your arm as you struggled, ripping you from the small dark space and out into the open. He spun you around, pressing your back to his chest, his left forearm braced across your neckline and gripped your right shoulder. His right hand held a sharp silver blade to your heart.

“Well, well, well, Princess did we catch you at a bad time? These corset strings are so very loose for company.” The blonde man taunted, using the tip of his blade to pull on the cords.

You gripped this forearm, pushing back closer to his chest in an effort to get away from his blade as you struggled.

“P-please just leave me alone, I won’t tell any-anyone.” You stuttered, trying to stay calm the way your mother had taught you.

“We have plans for you, this hair of yours… hear there’s some people willing to pay a pretty penny for just a touch.” The red headed man stroked your braid, you jerked your head away.

“Oh oh oh” the blonde man laughed. “She’s a feisty one, are you sure we have to deliver her so soon? Could be fun…”

“Oh c’mon man don’t be gross he wants her unharmed. Mostly. C’mon just cloth her so we can go. Boots remember??” The red head said, grabbing your wrists and tying them together roughly. He took the dagger from the blonde, continuing to hold it in its position as the blond reached into his pocket.

“No no no no no please please I’ll give you anything you want just leave me alone!” You begged, swerving your head away from the blondes clothed hand as it moved towards your mouth.

“Bitch stop fussing around!” He slid his left forearm up to your throat, both choking you and effectively stabilizing your head long enough to clamp the cloth over your mouth and nose.

It hardly took thirty seconds before your vision started to swim and your vision started to fade to black.

“We’re already late. He’s waiting.” One of the men said as he slipped a cloth bag over your head. Your hearing went out, senses dulled as you gave in the the dark.

[sweetberrysmooch]

HC: Call This The ‘Can This Man Cook’ Section

(….. I don’t think these men can cook 😔)

First post pog :D I wrote a majority of these super late at night, so please forgive and let me know of any mistakes you find <3 Also, it’s a little long lol

Characters: Dream, George, SapNap, Badboyhalo, Wilbur, Technoblade, Philza, Quackity, Fundy, Schlatt.

Warnings: None, except for a kinda risqué comment in Philza’s. Oh and I guess there’s mentions of eating meat in case someone wants the warning :3

Song Recommendation: I Love You So- The Walters

Hella fluffy! Hope you enjoy <3

From best to worst:

#1: BadBoyHalo-

Bad is the best at cooking on the server. He is the creme of the crop, absolute top one percent, king shit at cooking.

He can cook, bake, and temper chocolate perfectly, what more could you want?

His favorite to-go recipes are cheesy garlic bread and a special spicy chicken and rice recipe which he typically makes when the boys are over at his house for the night. When he’s with you he goes for something a little smoother, some mulled sweet berry cider with a smoked cod fillet, eaten under the light of candles while you quietly chat about life and your fellow friends. It’s always one of Bad’s most anticipated hangouts, and he’s very careful about planning when it comes to those days.

While he appreciates being complimented on his food or his skills, deep down he wants to have someone to cook and share his knowledge with so the cooking process becomes much richer. He’s cooked for so long and learned so much, but it means nothing if he can’t share it with another person. The moment you come to him and ask him for help on any kind of recipe, he’ll drop almost everything to help you.

Side note; he absolutely carried lunch and dinner for his fellow DTeam members. While Sapnap would mostly take over breakfast, Bad would be hounded by begging puppy looks from these adult men who couldn’t cook and kind of just sigh and get the ‘kiss the cook’ apron ready. It’s not like he hates it or anything, but the endearing factor kinda slips off after a few years of adult men groveling.

(Bad’s hands rest over yours, dwarfing them entirely as he helps you cut the pasta sheet straightly. “There you go!” He encourages, squeezing your hand gently and stepping away, moving back to dice the vegetables on the cutting board next to you. A comfortable silence falls, and with it comes something in Bad’s heart softening. The worries and exhaustion in his mind ease, and he slips into a contented routine of finely chopping and slicing. It’s been a while since he’s felt so calm. There’s nothing that can ruin this- 

The front door slams open. Footsteps walk in and approach the kitchen and you both hear it, 

“Baaaaaaaaad.” Bad cringes, taking a step back.

“Baaaaaaaaaaad, we’re hungry.” Sapnap. 

“Yeah Bad, feeeeeeeed uuuuuuus.” George. 

And then, from around the door frame, a white mask peeks in. Nobody says a word, but you can feel Bad deflate next to you like let go balloon. 

“It’s alright, big guy.” You laugh, grabbing his forearm and leaning up against him. His sad puppy eyes make you smile a little, and you try to reassure him. “We can hang out alone another time. Let’s keep working on the pasta.” He sighs, but still returns your smile. “Yeah, another time.”)

#2: Philza 

Sigh…. he can cook. Not quite as good as Bad can, but better than Quackity. A solid second place. It stems mainly from being so knowledgeable that he just knows and has tried so many different foods, but since he doesn't actually do much cooking, I'm making him a flaky second place.

Doesn’t mind cooking, but doesn’t love doing it either. He’s always focused on so many different things that he’ll forgo eating to keep working on what he’s doing. He mostly cooks for Techno and Ranboo or the few guests (you) they seem to receive. Makes great stew, and even better roasted chicken, is absolutely immaculate when it comes to cooking bird.

He didn’t teach Wilbur or Techno shit! I wish I could say it’s because he wanted to but just couldn’t, but he was literally like “hmm. Im a little busy now, maybe next year” every year!! But, this being said, if you ask him to make something with you or teach you how to cook a particular dish, he will agree to help you. Old age has really mellowed him out, and after certain events, he realizes he needs to stay a bit closer to those he cares about from now on.

He likes sweets well enough, and will always thank you for any gifts you make for him. Along with growing older, he’s had time to lose his pickiness he had in his youth. If he does end up cooking with you, he’ll prefer doing the harder recipes over easy ones. He will lose it laughing if it turns out bad, so don’t worry about any disappointment (his children make up enough of that ^^).

(“Now,” Phil starts, washing his hands quickly as you wait for him next to the cutting board. “Pufferfish needs to be prepared perfectly, or we will die when we eat it. But I don’t need to explain to you how a pufferfish works, now do I?” 

When you shake your head no, he comes up behind you, tarnished wings bound and hair pulled up in a pony tail. 

“The meat of a pufferfish is very delectable, and much better with a glass of wine.” He grins cheekily, “ If this works out well, which I’m sure it will, dinner will be delicious.” 

It falls quiet for a second, and as your hesitantly looking over the fish that may be your last, you gasp when you feel him press up against you back and rest his chin on your shoulder. “Maybe there’ll be other delicious things to eat as well,” He murmurs into you ear, before leaning back and busting out laughing. Your face feels stupidly hot. Dilfza quest activated.)

#3: Quackity-

Quackity:

Quackity can cook. I know!! I’d say he’s like the third best cooker on the list. And he’s not half bad at baking either.

He likes making up stupid bad recipes and trying them out with you, even if at the end of it the one of you up chucks your damned creations the hour after. Despite his reigning need for chaos though, he knows how to make a decent amount of recipes and strives for praise when he’s actually putting forward effort. He’ll arrange little dinner dates (“A handsome man and his very pretty friend, good food made by yours truly, and La Chona, what do you say, baby?”) and will sit there with a 🥺 look on his face until you tell him if you liked it or not.

He tries to act like he’s unaffected by your words, but even a small, “That was really good.” will make him turn red and giggle like a schoolgirl. He tries to play it off, but it’s easy to tell he loves the complements. Will also never tell you anything you make is bad. You are a deity descended upon  minecraft Earth and he is but your prettiest disciple who will uphold your honor and treat you like you should be treated!!!! But he’ll then promptly choose to help you with and guide you into cooking/baking better ^^; He loves you!

As for baking, he really likes making cakes because of how simple they can be. It helps calm him down when he can just slip into bake mode and follow a recipe and make something nice at the end of it. Speaking of, he also has a sweet tooth, but not quite as bad as Techno does. Any sweets or food you make for him is always eaten, and always held in high regard. Will try to entice you into feeding him 👀👀 so watch out.

(He’s doing it again. You try to avoid looking directly at the dopey lovesick smile Quackity has on his face at the moment, but as you lift the fork up, you get a better idea. 

You look at him (to which he seems to melt a little under your gaze), look at the fork, and then back to him, raising the piece of cake up to his lips. His expression turns flabbergasted and his blush deepens. 

He doesn’t seem to believe you for a second, until you nudge the cake close and flash him a smile. Then it’s like a switch has been flicked; he giggles, blushing, and eats the cake right off the fork. He’s gone back to smiling that silly smile again, this time even brighter, but it’s okay. You try to ignore the way your heart speeds up in your chest when he begs you for another piece.)

#4: Schlatt-

Another cooker~! He specializes with formal dinners more than anything else, and adores a good steak.

During his presidency, he didn’t cook very often. Quackity and you had to keep him fed through most of it, and the memory of watching you cook in his kitchen while he looked over work papers at his dining table leaves a mark on him, sealing a new crave for domesticity that he hadn’t ever wanted before.

Sometimes he would cook though. You, Quackity, and Tubbo would all gather around and eat together every once in a blue moon, when Schlatt was sober and calm. It feels tense at the table but also not in a way? Schlatt always seems to be chillest during dinner, a mix of the alcohol wearing off and the emphatic family feel that comes with Tubbo, Quackity, and you surrounding him.

He loves cake! It’s one of the few desserts he’ll eat, but you have to watch him closely or he’ll gorge himself of the treat. Indulge him and invite him to make a cake with you, and it will be one of the most interesting bakes of your life. How Schlatt got three eggs to stick to the ceiling is beyond you, but the look in his eyes tells you he’s completely fucking sober and hamming up his own cluelessness. You probably wouldn’t have even noticed if it weren’t for him hiding all the other eggs around your kitchen as well. How did he get one on the top of your door without it falling when you opened it? That’s between him and god.

Overall, a good 4th place on the list.

(“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Schlatt says, deadpanned, looking you right in the fucking eyes with an undisturbed egg sitting perfectly straight on his head. 

“Where are the eggs, Schlatt.” 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

“Schlatt.” 

“Yes.” 

The container you kept them in is completely empty on your kitchen counter, once full of eggs but now reduced to a desolate husk of its former glory. Speaking of former glories, your president turns around, arms crossed and stands there silently. 

You look around. Theres one in the door handle of in the pantry, another wedged between two slices of bread in your bread box, and- oh god. On the fucking ceiling. Three, stuck to the ceiling, unmovable. After a full minute of dead silence you manage a “What the fuck have you done?”, and Schlatt turns to look. 

“Oh hey. There they are.” Your mind turns into a rock, shatters, and crumbles into dust.)

#5: Dream-

Honestly if you’re looking for edible food that tastes range from ok to good Dream is your man. 5th place.

He knows a lot of ‘depression era’ type recipes just because he’s pretty homeless and his man hunts don’t allow him much time to hone his skills. Stuff like bread or mushroom stew comes easy to him after so many times of having to do it on the run. Bread is the only baking he won’t screw up.

Can cook meat well enough too, but doesn’t really do anything special to it (besides his sauces).

To elaborate: Over the unknown span of his life, he’s acquired these recipes for forgotten and questionable sauces that he’ll store in little jars and leave at your house for you to use. They’re odd, and the ingredients aren’t ever what you think might be edible, but they’re surprisingly tasty none the less. He likes to show you a new one every month or so to keep things fresh.

Pretty general about sweets, but has a severe love for chocolate, especially dark chocolate. Has never had one, but dreams about chocolate cake. It’s high on his bucket list and written another four times over.

One of his favorite things to do with you is bake, mainly because of how ruinous it always turns out. No matter your skill, Dream’s vibes decimates any luck the two of you will have while baking. It’s scientifically proven. You left the cupcakes in for a minute-JUST a minute over what they should’ve been and they came out rock solid. Dream tried to eat one anyway. Best part was watching him try to bite through the shell.)

(He thinks he’s over selling it, half-gnawing on the brown cupcake (it was supposed to be vanilla, he thought) and making stupid growls when his teeth barely break through the surface, but the feeling he gets when you start laughing hysterically next to him wipes away any negative thought he had and fills him with utter joy. 

It's very late into the night, and you’re both a little loopy, but all the while you still lean against him as you giggle, the spot tingling where your hand rests on his arm. 

His heart thumps crazily, before sinking. Oh god. He’s in love with you.)

#6: Technoblade-

Knows a lot, but very little. He can cook the meat perfectly fine, but there’s a difference between being cooked and tasting good. He doesn’t know how to season them. Salt is the bare minimum you get.

6th place ^^; sorry king.

He’s good with potatoes though. I like to think that the countless hours spent potato farming had to account for something. He likes having cheese and butter on them every once in a while, but for the most part just eats them salted like an animal. It’s practically a show to watch him eat a cooked potato in three bites without anything but salt on it.

Big man loves food though, even if he doesn’t eat like it. Steak and cooked fish are high on his list of foods, but only if it’s cooked by Philza. And eventually you fall into his “I trust to eat this from you” category as well, but he has a special place in his heart for Phil’s cooking. Rabbit stew is at the very top.

He also eats a lot, being 6’10 and 200 something pounds of muscle, gotta consume quite a bit to keep him moving.

As for the sweeter variety of food, he’s got a massive sweet tooth. The moment you make him an apple pie or honey candy or anything of the like, he’s immediately enamored with you. Sweet things are hard to come by on the smp, especially with how far out he lives, but it’s a secret weakness of his that is very easily exploitable.

(You’ll be the death of him, he thinks, watching you closely as you trudge your way through the freshly fallen snow towards his house. Your normal pack is lighter than it usually looks, and he worries that you may slip and hurt yourself on the ice before you make it to the door. But still, you keep walking until you're standing at his doorstep, fist raised to knock when he opens it for you. 

You look surprised for a second, and then a grin splits your face and his heart races. 

“I can’t stay for long,” you say, having spent at least 30 minutes to get there. “But I wanted to drop this off for you before you went out to hunt again.” 

Out of the bag, you pull another smaller leather bag and hand it to him gently. It rests heavy in his palm, and for a moment he’s sure it’s ender pearls that you’ve brought him. But still he opens it, and he’s immediately taken aback by the smooth golden candies you brought him. 

“They’re honey candies.” At this point you’re practically grinning. “I thought you might like some while I was making them last night.” 

He doesn’t have to see his own face to feel the deep blush setting in on his cheeks and ears. You…. you’re so…… sweet. You are very…. sweet, he admits to himself, and he is very not attached to you. Not at all.)

#7: Fundy and Sapnap tie.

Fundy- 

Has his old man's cluelessness but is a fast learner. He doesn’t have much time to expand his food repertoire so it’s pretty much the basic stuff that he’s eaten during the war or before that when he was younger.

He really likes cooking though, and will invite you to come cook with him for dinner or lunch if he wants to hang out. When they were together, Dream had given him an old dusty cookbook that had several recipes he hadn’t ever heard of before, so that’s where most of what he tries to make comes from. His favorite to date was a special mutton dish that he asked you to try with him on his last birthday. It was just the two of you, but he had never had so much fun before.

Doesn’t like eating fish however, there’s just some bad vibe he gets when he thinks about cooking one or catching one. (Desperately ignores the fish fucker. Desperately ignores the fish fucker. Despera-)

Loves sweet berries as treats, seeing as that’s the only sweet thing he grew up with. Not too big on other sweet flavors. Likes honey in his tea though.

7th place cooker, will get higher as he learns more dishes.

(He raises his wine high with a laugh, clinking your glass with it as you both giggle drunkenly. 

The lamb you had cooked together turned out amazing, juicy and tender and flavored with crimson fungus juice. The recipe was from an old cookbook he had, he faintly remembers telling you, hiding the fact that it was Dream’s cookbook that he was given after a particularly nasty argument. 

He doesn’t want to think about him, especially not while he’s with you. Especially not when it’s his birthday. 

So instead he ponders the trip through the nether he took with you to harvest some of the fungi, how the juice was tangy and slightly bitter, but how it had done wonders when basted onto the meat while frying. 

You had looked so happy when you two plated the dish, so proud of him, all in a way that Dream never was. 

Even now, as you tiredly smile at him from across the table, cheeks pink and eyes focused solely on the moment you were sharing, he feels at peace for once. This is what contentment felt like. Oh, how he loves you so.)

Sapnap-

Shame the shit cooker. Ok ok, he’s not as bad as some of the others on this list, but that’s just because he can make a half decent breakfast. It’s not much competition.

Bad has desperately tried to teach this boy some cooking besides eggs and toast, but the only things that seem to have stuck are mashed potatoes and grilled pork chops. Neither of which he even likes enough to make often.

He prefers fish to meat, and would eat any kind of cod you offered to him. Likes smoked salmon a lot, it’s something Bad made for him a lot when he was younger. He tries to recreate the dish, but comes up short and feels disheartened when it isn’t like Bad’s. He’d appreciate any time you took with him to learn how to make the dish, and it wholly sticks to his mind afterwards. He never forgets the experience, and treasures it very closely.

Likes not-sweet sweets. Not bitter per say, but just not very sweet. He likes chewy taffy in particular, but the old lady kind that lasts 60 years but gets hard in 6 minutes after being exposed to open air. Gotta be polite about it too, or he’ll end up embarrassed and pout for an hour.

(He’s eaten 6 of those fucking taffies since you sat down on the couch, completely straight-faced as the two of you of you listen to Dream and George talking. 

At this point you’re completely checked out of their conversation, solely focused on the taffy Sapnap keeps eating. Where does he even get those? How many does he have?? You’ve been friends with him long enough to have seen him pop a taffy every other second of the day. He seems to have a stash on him at all times tucked away, filled with paper-wrapped pastel covered sweets. 

“Want one?” Sapnap asks, holding out a light blue taffy with a little star drawn in yellow dye on the wrapper. 

“What?” Startled, you lean back a bit and realize you had been staring him down as he ate, and flush with how rude that probably seemed. 

“Want a taffy? I don’t mind sharing with you, cutie.” He winks and offers the taffy again. “....” You gaze at the taffy curiously. You’ve never seen him offer another person one of his precious taffies before. Hmm. “...Yes, thanks.” 

You take it delicately, unwrapping the wrapper and taking a bite of it experimentally. It’s very lightly sweet, soft and chewy and surprisingly pleasant. 

Sapnap watches you from the corner of his eye, softly smiling when he sees you eat the rest of it. Glad to see someone else has good tastes around here.)

#8. George-

Meager man makes a meager meal. I said what I said!!! This flatbread boy knows diddly squat, and the only things he can cook successfully are bread and mushroom soup. Which he will make. And that’s all he’ll make. Any food that isn’t that is cooked by either Bad or Dream, and he’s still picky about it.

He’ll make you the soup and bread ladies and gents. I’m not saying they’ll taste great together, but he will definitely make them for you. Anything else he’s pretty critical about, and he doesn’t care much for treats or dessert. He does occasionally like dark chocolate though, which he and Dream will beg Bad to make for them. Soon he begs you to make it for him, and then you have to go ask Bad how he makes it so George won’t complain about how it tastes different from Bads. It’s a weird situation. You make a lot of chocolate. Dream and George linger at your house for weeks on end until you get fed up and shoo them away with a broom.

To his credit, even though he can’t cook much, he’s really proud of his mushroom stew. Any time you let him cook, his go-to is his mushroom stew. He likes to feed you and know that you’re not hungry somewhere, and to top it off he gets to show you his prized dish; not Bad’s or Dream’s stew, but his. He’s cute or whateva…

(George places the bowl down in front you, stepping back and turning to grab his own, before sitting down next to you. He immediately begins to eat, and you give him a half glance as you bring the soup up to smell it. 

It… doesn’t smell that bad, actually. Not burnt, at least. You spoon some of the soup into your mouth. 

Despite all you’ve seen of George’s cooking, this is pretty well made. It’s nice and warm, and the flavors are rich and the mushrooms soft. You choose to ignore the small smile of his face next to you, and keep eating your soup quietly together.)

#9: Wilbur

Wilbur can’t cook for shit. Literally nothing. This man knows apples grow from trees and that animals are made of meat and that’s it.

You think Wilbur made any of his food when he was president or exiled or ever? Not a chance. He ate anything given to him, Tubbo and Tommy absolutely brought this man all the food they could find so he wouldn’t get eat straight trash or starve throughout the presidency. Techno slid him bare cooked potatoes in Pogtopia and he thought “oh this slaps….. this is the pinnacle of food”

Which I know, not really sexy. But! This means that the moment you feed him something a step up from a bare cooked potato he is in food heaven. He especially loves saucier kinds of foods with lots of flavor and spice to them, it’s just so fucking good. Food becomes his kryptonite after you feed this silly man.

With sweets, however, he isn’t that much of a fan. He does like those small lemon creme crackers, and you and da boys are the only ppl he’ll share them with.

(You hear him before you see him. The familiar clambering at your window draws your attention away from the pork you were dicing, and one look over your shoulder shows a disheveled but grinning Wilbur. 

“I hope I’m not too late for dinner.” He jokes, brushing off his pants before approaching you to press a kiss to your temple. Soon after that you hear another set of clambering, and two pairs of stomps reveals one Tommy and one Tubbo respectively. 

“What’s for dinner tonight, mate?” 

“Hope you don’t mind if we join in!” 

You sigh, turning back to hide your smile before they can see it.)

// Hope you enjoyed! I might write a pt2 of this later with some other ppl in it lol we’ll see :3

[bunny1027]

First of all, I plan to make a cooler that is needed when the laptop runs efficiently - LAPTOP COOLER.

Laptop/laptop coolers, cooling pads, cooling pads or cooling pads are accessories for laptops designed to reduce the operating temperature of the laptop when it cannot cool sufficiently on its own. Laptop coolers are designed to protect laptops from overheating and users suffering from heat-related discomfort. Cooling pads can be active or passive cooling methods and are located under the laptop. Active coolers move air or liquid to quickly remove heat from the laptop, while passive coolers may rely on thermally conductive materials or increase passive airflow. -by Wikipedia

This is my blueprint. It can monitor the temperature of the notebook to adjust the wind power of the fans.

My material list is: fan Scissors adhesive tape cardboard thermometer and some additional non-primary materials

First, merge the two cardboards together to make its bottom bracket.

Cut out their center sections to place the fans, this step requires a pencil to trace the edges of the fans. Then use scissors to cut out the outline.

But there was a problem in this way, the weight of the fan could not be supported by the cardboard, and the whole model could easily collapse.

So I used a new piece of cardboard, made a flat outline and fastened to the bottom of the stand surface.

In this way I made the initial structure of a radiator and fixed it.

At this point I need to make it more "high-tech", I need a thermometer to monitor the cooling temperature of the notebook, so I dug a groove on the right side of the surface.

But I found an additional problem, because the length of both ends of the bracket is too long, the center of the plane is unstable, and it is still forced to deform when it is pressed by gravity. I tried a lot of things, such as adding an extra cardboard, changing the flat material, etc. I even wanted to add pressure on both sides of the cardboard to fix the center of the cardboard.

When I found that I fell into a misunderstanding of cardboard, I found another angle - adding a force point.

The stability of the triangle! An inverted triangle can support the extra pressure from the cardboard surface and also stabilize the entire structure.

I finally managed to solve the problem about its compression resistance and stability, which is the core problem of a fragile and cheap cardboard material.

Finally, the heat generated when the notebook is working and rendering is carried away by the fan. And we can observe its temperature from the right side (for special reasons, a thermometer at this price will have some errors)

I can only post one video due to site restrictions, but it turns out this laptop cooler can do a very good job. In the end I guess if I change to better plastic material, then it can carry more weight and dissipate heat more stably, and even carry water in the cooler for more efficient heat dissipation.

Finally, thank you very much for browsing.

[letsfluxshitup]

companionship is stored in the fried bread [ao3]

Techno wasn't entirely sure how he'd ended up here, (somewhat) prisoner at his own kitchen table, as Tommy furiously kneaded dough in front of him.

-

bedrock bros but with old routines and new trauma aka tommy and techno fry bread

Techno wasn't entirely sure how he'd ended up here, (somewhat) prisoner at his own kitchen table, as Tommy furiously kneaded dough in front of him.

He remembered waking up from another week long nap, Phil recounting any news he'd picked up, and stumbling back towards his bedroom. He'd barely made it to the stairs before his door had flung open, bouncing off of the wall and slamming shut again.

Techno blinked at the door, before it was flung open again, this time much gentler and followed by a string of curses and taunts.

"Your fuckin door sucks, y'know that? Trying to lock me out? Stubbed my fuckin toe on it, you should get a new one, piece of garbage attacked me." Tommy hissed as he walked through the door, not hesitating to slam it behind him. The door swung back and hit him from behind, bouncing off of a spare shoe that had fallen in the way.

Tommy paused, face and shoulders scrunched up as he sucked in a deep breath, cheeks and ears flushing red in Tommy's signature lead up to I'm

-going-to-throw-a-tantrum-but-it's-not-called-a-tantrum-technoblade-I-am-not-a-child-technoblade-but-that-will-not-stop-me-from-bursting-your-eardrums-because-I've-been-inconvenienced-technoblade.

"Are you hungry?" Techno blurted out, remembering back to SMP Earth, and the foolproof method of derailing a Tommy Innit Tantrum— offering food and/or shiny things.

Tommy deflated in one long exhale, shoulders relaxing and face smoothing as he grinned at Techno.

"Actually, I am, big man! What do you have available? I'm quite hungry actually, I've been walking for a very long time, and it's very rude of you, actually, to not offer me something to eat sooner," Tommy inhaled again, catching his breath. "Did you know that, Techno? Did you know you're very rude?"

"I'm aware," Techno deadpanned, spinning on his heel and heading for the kitchen. Tommy was directly behind him, stepping on his heels more often than not.

Techno gestured towards the kitchen table, in what should have been a universally recognizable symbol of please-sit-down-you're-in-the-way, which Tommy completely ignored by climbing on to his counter to dig in his cupboard.

RaccoonInnit, echoed in his head, startling him slightly since Chat had been unusually quiet since Tommy had appeared.

Techno sighed deeply as the voices picked up slightly, humming their thoughts into his ears. Mostly protect-protect-protect, but there wasn't really anything to protect him from. If he slipped and broke his neck from falling off the counter then that was his own problem.

That train of thought earned him a near unanimous shriek of voices, demanding he make sure Tommy didn't fall.

He sighed again, ending it off with a slight growl as he moved towards Tommy, figuring he may as well entertain the voices for now.

Tommy's head whipped around at the sound of the growl, and he reeled back as Techno moved closer, a stuttering of "sorry- sorry- I didn't-" cut off as he slipped off the counter.

Techno lunged forward without thinking, catching Tommy around the shoulders and lowering him to the ground. Tommy's eyes were wide as he made eye contact with Techno, terror twisting Techno's stomach as Tommy let out a childlike little whimper.

Techno opened his mouth, to speak, to apologize, to break the silence, but was awarded with a face full of sweaty hand, Tommy smacking him away and cursing up a storm as he stumbled to his feet.

When Tommy made it out of arm's reach he paused, shifting from foot to foot, glancing between Techno and the doorway.

Techno blinked, slowly rising to his feet, hands spread out.

"Sorry," he rumbled, voices in his head screaming for him to apologize, "I didn't mean to scare you."

Tommy huffed, puffing up again, forcing his shoulders back and head held high.

"You didn't scare me, dickhead, just startled me a little." He grumbled, arms crossed as he deflated slightly.

Techno certainly wasn't going to argue semantics after nearly causing the kid to crack his head open, and instead brushed the non existent dirt off of his pants.

"So," Tommy huffed, gesturing towards the cabinet. "Where's the flour? I want to fry bread."

--

He'd managed to sparse through Tommy's nearly incoherent ramblings to pick up that Tommy was hiding from everyone else- or rather, "taking a break, because Big Men don't hide, Technoblade-".

"You needed a break from the drama so you ran to your worst enemy?" Techno deadpanned, reaching for the flour as Tommy sent him a pleading look. His hands were covered in too sticky dough, having ignored Techno's insistence that they needed to add more flour. He couldn't really knead it like that, he was more just squishing it between his fingers.

Techno would be more grossed out if he hadn't watched tommy thoroughly wash his hands. He'd hovered nearby as Tommy aggressively scrubbed before Techno had even let him near the dough, Tommy complaining the whole time about how he knew how to wash his hands and didn't need a babysitter.

Tommy huffed in response, wind whistling between his clenched teeth as he worked the flour into the dough.

"You're not my worst enemy," he snarked, something vulnerable in his eyes and the set of his jaw. "My worst enemy is in prison, currently."

"And hopefully that's where he'll stay," Techno hummed absently, watching as Tommy's shoulders relaxed minutely. "Things have been a lot quieter around here, startin' to wonder if him blaming you for all the problems on the server was just him projecting."

"Yeah, right, of course. He was being a projector and shit," Tommy let out a slightly incredulous laugh, and yeah, Techno realized it was hypocritical of them to place the blame on Dream. But, Tommy looked tired and tense and other t-words with negative meanings that Tommy didn't deserve the weight of.

Tommy rolled out the dough, flour-y hands causing puffs of flour to cling to his shirt and pants and hair. Techno huffed a laugh at the smear of flour across Tommy's cheek, and vaguely gestured towards his own face when Tommy raised a questioning eyebrow.

Tommy immediately swiped a hand across his face, smearing more flour in the process. His eyebrows furrowed, surely able to feel it, and he glowered at Techno, daring him to say something. Techno just snorted as he stood up, ignoring the coos roiling through his head, and waved Tommy away from the rolled out dough.

"We've gotta cut it up now, so we can fry it," Techno said, reaching for the knife he'd left out for this exact reason, carefully watching Tommy for a reaction.

"I know that, dickhead, you don't have to explain," Tommy snapped, head held high, as he watched Techno section up the dough.

Techno kept his eyes on the dough, carefully watching Tommy through his peripherals. In a, frankly, unearned show of trust, Tommy turned his back to him to wash his hands of the flour and sticky dough remnants.

When he was done, though, he whipped back around, watching Techno's hand on the knife. He'd apparently exceeded his reserve of unfounded-trust-for-the-person-who'd-essentially-ruined-his-life for the day.

Which, despite the voices' croons of distress at being untrusted, Techno thought was totally fair.

Tommy was nervous, and on edge, but he didn't seem to be explicitly afraid of Techno, just anxious in general, and Techno wasn't sure if that was better or worse.

Blinking back to the present, realizing he'd just been staring blankly at the cut up bread, he looked to Tommy.

"Do we want to make shapes or just fry as is?" He asked, carefully skirting past Tommy to drop the knife in the sink.

Out of sight, out of mind, hopefully, Techno thought. He quickly rinsed the knife, and cupped his hand to let the water run over the flecks of flour and dough that clung to the sides of the sink.

Tommy opened his mouth to respond and moved past him at the same time, towards the table, shoulder barely brushing across Techno's back. Techno tensed slightly in surprise. Tommy froze, and from the corner of his eye Techno could see he was tensed up as well. After no reaction, Tommy carefully made his way back to the table.

Techno kept fiddling around at the sink, letting Tommy play with the dough while he pretended to be busy. He knew Tommy liked making all sorts of shapes out of the dough, but wouldn't do it if he thought he was wasting Techno's time.

Techno busied himself with finding a proper pot, then filling it with the appropriate amount of oil. He measured it out carefully, and tried not to be bothered about the deafening lack of Tommy's insistence that you didn't have to measure it, the right amount of oil was something you felt in your heart.

He remembered the first handful of times, way back in Hypixel, when Tommy had insisted on teaching him how to fry bread. Those attempts, rife with errors and Tommy shouting about not needing to do silly things like measure, were near disasters, almost always saved by Techno's insistence on following instructions.

Once Tommy's hands stilled and the oil was at the appropriate temperature, Techno consciously relaxed his shoulders and smoothed out his face before turning around, eyeing the flour that had made its home on Tommy's clothes.

"We'll have to get you an apron," he drawled, already thinking about the leftover rolls of cloth he'd made, and if he had any red dye laying around still.

Tommy blinked, hands nervously fluttering at his side, caught off guard. Techno stared blankly back at him, having an idea of what was going through the kid's head.

Technosoft, bounced around in his head and he rolled his eyes when Tommy wasn't looking.

"You're assuming this is gonna be a regular thing?" Tommy tried to snark, but it fell flat, voice coming out too vulnerable and soft. It pitched up at the end, as if asking for permission.

"Yeah," Techno grunted. Tommy's eyes snapped back to him, and narrowed slightly before he huffed.

"Yeah, ok, fine." Tommy crossed his arms in front of himself. "I get it, I get it, you can't live without the great Tommy Innit's amazing fried bread."

Techno snorted as Tommy continued on.

"No, no, I get it, truly, it's just not the same when I don't make it, right? I have the special fried bread making touch, I know, it's a special talent of mine that gets all the ladies." Tommy scooped up the tray of dough, bringing it along to the stove where Techno stood.

"What ladies?" Techno grunted, as he reached for dough to test fry. He ignored the fact that it really didn't taste the same when Tommy wasn't there to help/be a menace.

"I'll have you know, Technoblade, I get lots of ladies-" Tommy puffed up, moving to put his own bit of dough in the oil. Tommy wasn't really paying attention, head tilted up to try his best to look down on someone who was taller than him, as he continued defending himself.

His hand moved down too quickly, and the dough flopped down into the oil, splashing a considerable amount back on to Tommy's fingertips.

Tommy cried out, jerking his hand back to his chest.

There was barely a breath before Techno's hand shot out, grabbing Tommy's around the wrist and dragging his hand towards his face.

Tommy flinched violently, his other hand coming out to swing at Techno, catching him hard across the jaw. Techno let go of Tommy's wrist, shoving him away in surprise, sending him careening into the side of the kitchen counter.

They both stumbled away from each other, standing on opposite sides of the kitchen as the oil kept sizzling away. The only other sound was Tommy's heavy breaths and slight sniffles, and Techno watched as he furiously swiped at his eyes.

"Do not grab me like that, alright?" Tommy snarled, shoulders tensed as he looked ready to run or defend himself.

Techno slowly held his hands up again, forcing himself to relax.

"I'm sorry," he grunted out, "You're right. I shouldn't have grabbed you like that."

Tommy squinted at him, swaying back on to his heels as he relaxed his arms from where they'd curled up defensively in front of him.

"Sorry for hittin' you." Tommy grumbled slightly, crossing his arms.

"I deserved it," Techno huffed back, scratching the back of his head. "I was just worried about your fingers. Sorry again."

"I accept your apology," Tommy said finally after a tense pause, head tilted back again, a look on his face as if daring him to say something.

"I accept your apology," Techno said back, carefully. Communicating, expressing his feelings and being a "good person" was so hard sometimes. It felt like he was walking on eggshells and if he said the wrong thing everything would fall apart.

Tommy sniffed.

"How's that for communication, huh, Puffy?" He muttered to himself, uncrossing his arms and making his way back to the stove.

"Cmere, dickhead, we have more dough to fry."

Techno relaxed as he made his way back over, and they settled back into banter and teasing.

--

Techno looked down at their fried bread, an assortment of shapes and figures.

Some were more distinguishable, like the twin T's and the handful of misshapen hearts.

Before Techno could say anything, not that he would've, Tommy started to talk.

"They don't mean anything, dickhead, they're just easy to make. We're not friends or anything, alright?" Tommy puffed himself up again, and Techno absently wondered why he did that, was it subconscious? Was it for confidence or to make himself seem bigger?

Instead of acknowledging anything Tommy said, Techno lightly bumped their heads together. Techno watched as his face flickered through several different emotions, ranging from happy to sad, before he just huffed and turned back to the finished bread.

"Everyone knows the best topping is sugar and cinnamon, I don't know why you even have the honey out," Tommy snarked, aggressively sprinkling sugar on to the bread. The image was kind of ruined by how careful Tommy was being, only covering pieces that were resolutely "his".

"I like the honey," Techno responded, loading his plate with a handful of pieces of bread. He picked up a few plain pieces, unshaped and just flat bits of bread. Tommy slipped a few shaped pieces onto his plate; one that was shaped vaguely like a pig, a crown, and one of the letter T's.

On Tommy's plate was the other T, a bee, and a horribly misshapen cow, along with a majority of the wonky hearts.

Techno drizzled the honey on to his bread, eyeing the excessive amounts of sugar and cinnamon Tommy put on his.

"Y'know, you'd like the honey if you tried it," Techno hummed, ignoring the glower Tommy sent his way.

"You always say that and I never like it," Tommy hissed back, petulant and childish. A warm feeling filled his chest as Tommy settled into their old argument, that Techno knew would eventually devolve into all the other things Techno dared to like that Tommy didn't.

Techno tuned back into-

"You said the same thing about mushroom stew! And cod and broccoli. Who even likes fuckin' broccoli?" Tommy dropped down into the seat next to Techno, pulling his plate to be in front of him. Techno didn't respond, focused on lightly slathering a small piece of fried bread.

3... 2... 1...

"Well, maybe I'll try a little bit," Tommy huffed, accepting the small piece Techno held out to him with a grumbled 'thanks'. Based on his reaction after he stuffed it into his mouth he still didn't like the honey, but he didn't say anything.

They ate in silence, Tommy quickly scoffing down the bread like he was worried someone would take it. Techno ate slower, hoping Tommy would pick up on the fact that he didn't have to choke down his food. This inevitably led to Tommy finishing first, and he silently started cleaning up.

Techno quietly finished up, helping Tommy with the rest of the dishes, before going to settle in the living room. Tommy followed behind him, looking a bit lost.

Techno was hit with the abrupt realization that he didn't want this to end. He liked having Tommy around, his energy filling the house with a warmth Techno never could.

Tommy cleared his throat awkwardly, shuffling his feet.

"I guess I should be heading out then-" Tommy started, eyes flicking to the door.

"No," Techno said, suddenly, too loud and aggressive, making Tommy flinch back.

"I mean- do you, uh, want to have some hot cocoa?" Techno fiddled with his braid, trying his best to give a reassuring smile around his tusks. Based on Tommy's expression it didn't really work, but Tommy stopped looking like he was about to sprint away.

"Sure, I guess," Tommy grinned at him, false bravado coloring his tone. "You missed Big Man Innit? I know, I know, my company is just so great, I see why you wouldn't want to miss out on it."

Tommy practically flounced over to the couch, and flopped down on it, resting his feet on the coffee table. Techno was silently grateful that Tommy was naturally overbearing, and more than willing to make up excuses for the both of them.

Techno retreated back to the kitchen, and it wasn't long before they'd settled into the living room, Techno in his arm chair and Tommy on the couch.

Tommy had loudly insisted on a blanket and pillow, saying he was cold and the couch was uncomfortable, and Techno was quietly hoping he'd just fall asleep there. Then he could avoid kicking him out or, even worse, asking him to stay.

He'd much rather Tommy just take advantage, instead of having a conversation.

Eventually, Tommy's constant stream of chatter petered out, and he slowly slumped back into the couch, falling asleep.

Techno waited until he was sure he was asleep, before carefully checking he wasn't at an awkward angle, he didn't want to deal with the kid complaining about a crick in his neck, ok? He started towards the stairs to his room before hesitating on the first step.

The voices, practically feasting on his reluctance, started loudly protesting at once.

What if a zombie breaks in?

What if the Butcher Army comes back?

What if he has a nightmare?

Techno huffed, ignoring how irrational the last two were, the Butcher Army long disbanded and it's not like Techno cared if the kid had a nightmare.

As if the universe itself was daring him otherwise, a scared whimper broke the silence. Techno looked back to the couch, where Tommy was tightly gripping the blankets around him, and his brow was furrowed. He could see from here how aggressively Tommy was clenching his jaw, and winced in sympathy.

He made his way back over, a quiet rumble in his chest. It was a soothing noise, meant for baby piglins but it worked just as well on Tommy considering how quickly his face smoothed out. Techno settled back into his armchair, accepting that he'd be up late watching over the kid and chasing his nightmares away.

He couldn't believe he'd gotten so soft.

[cryingoverafictionalcharacter]

George Weasley x Reader

Request:  Hi! Could I please request situations #2 & 4 from your prompt list with #7 from the fluffy/funny section with George Weasley? 💗💗💗 @thatdumbbitchxx

2.Truth or dare with a twist

4. AND THERE WAS ONLY ONE BED

7.  a: “That's going to hurt in the morning”  b: “It hurts now actually” 

A/N: This sounds so cute! Thank you for the request, I hope you enjoy :)

Warnings: FLUFF OH MY LORD THIS IS SOFT, George injury, Swearing, so many commas IDK how to write, slight Angelina x Fred if you squint, I think that’s it!

“You did not convince Mcgonagall to do a prank with you, that’s a straight up lie” Oliver said, crossing his arms in disbelief.

“Its true! She made me promise never to tell, I swear it’s my deepest darkest secret! It would have never worked without her help” Fred said dramatically, making the group laugh.

You and the Gryffindor quidditch team where currently in an enchanted tent on the pitch. It was nearing the end of the semester, and since you were all really close, you decided to spend the night on the pitch to spend some time together. (With Madam Hooch’s permission of course)

“Anyway moving on!” Angelina said loud enough to get everyone's attention. “George, truth or dare”

Now truth or dare with the quidditch team was brutal. The truths were intense, the dares were near impossible, and if you couldn’t complete either, you had to confess a secret about yourself (Fred's being that his ‘best prank’ was actually executed by a professor).

“Dare” He said with a grin.

“All you’ve done are dares!” You complained, making some of the other team mates laugh.

Secretly you were wanting him to choose truth so you could discover if he has a crush on anybody. More specifically you. You have had a crush on the younger Weasley twin for some time now, and it seemed that no matter how many hints you gave, he never seemed to get the hint, only ever treating you as a friend.

Angelina was aware of this, and tried to think of a dare risky enough to make him cave and confess a secret.

“I dare you, to do a backflip on your broom” She said, a grin spread across her face.

“That’s it?” He asked.

“I’m not finished” She replied, causing the other team members to look at each other nervously. “I dare you to do a backflip on your broom, blindfolded”

You glared at her. She was basically saying confess or break your neck, and as much as you wanted to know if George liked you, you weren’t willing to risk him getting hurt. You opened your mouth to protest, but George beat you to it.

“Fine” He said, standing to leave the tent, broom in hand. Angelina's face fell, not expecting to actually agree and you quickly stood to follow him.

“George its a stupid dare, come on we can figure something else out” You practically pleaded, walking alongside the boy.

“What, worried about me Y/L/N?” George responded in a joking tone.

“Yes! I mean, yeah” You shouted before correcting your voice, causing George to laugh.

“It’ll be fine, I have my lucky charm with me” He said smiling at you, causing you to blush a bit.

You reached the middle of the pitch and stopped. You along with the rest of the group stood in a line, watching as George mounted his broom before using his tie to cover his eyes. 

“Absolutely brilliant idea Ange” You heard Fred say from beside you, causing you to turn and glare. “What? He’ll be fine, and then you can give him a congratulatory kiss, and maybe a little extr-” You punched his arm, swiftly shutting him up before he rubbed the spot you struck.

“Ouch! Yeesh I’m just teasing, or am I?” He asked smirking

You shook your head and turned your attention to the other red head, your heart pounding in your chest as he took a deep breath and set off on his broom. He started getting higher, going almost vertically before completing the flip, leaving plenty of space between him and the ground. Cheers rang out through the group.

“Absolutely brilliant!” Fred shouted, you cheering and clapping as well.

“Well done George!” You shouted, noticing he was still moving forward a bit fast. “Do you think he-”

You watched as Georges arms flew up in victory, taking off the blindfold just in time to watch as he ran into the middle quidditch goal, knocking him off his broom and sending him to the ground. He wasn’t too far off the ground at this point, but it still looked rough.

“George!” You yelled, sprinting to the other side of the pitch, Fred and Angelina following close behind you.

You ran up to the boy who was now sprawled out on the ground, kneeling beside him to look him over, only to be met with the sound of laughter.

“George what the fuck, you had me worried sick!” You yelled pushing his shoulder, only causing him to laugh harder.

“I’m sorry, but that was wicked” George laughed

“Wicked indeed brother” Fred congratulated as he got closer, reaching out his hand to help George stand.

You quickly stood and watched George got his footing, noticing how he flinched at the action, Fred and Angelina taking notice as well. You opened your mouth to ask if he was ok, but Fred spoke first.

“Say George, you do look a little worse for wear, maybe you should take it easy” He said in a worried tone, slinging an arm around his shoulder.

“He doesn’t seem to bad” Angelina started before looking towards Fred who was now giving her a knowing look, darting his eyes to you, then George. “Actually you know what, better play it safe”

“Should we take him to the hospital wing?” You asked

“Oh no, no need for that, but you should stick by him just in case” Fred said, pushing George to stand next to you.

“Yeah, in fact, you two should share a room! Broom related injuries can flare up at night so Y/n should be there just in case” Angelina said in a feigned serious tone.

The pieces started to click in your head and you glared at Angelina, who was desperately trying to hide her grin.

“Ok, that's absolutely not true, and where would you sleep?” You asked Angelina, trying to get her to give up on her little plan.

“See! You’re so knowledgeable on medical stuff, even more reason to stay with him! As for the sleeping situation, Angelina is more than welcome to bunk with me” Fred said cheekily, making you roll your eyes.

“I’m still here you know, and I feel fine” George interrupted

“Of course dear brother, but you may be in shock. Believe me you’re in good hands” Fred said as he slung an arm around Angelina before making their way back to the tent, leaving you and George standing next to each other, wondering what the hell just happened.

After a few moments, you and George snapped out of your stunned silence and started making your way back to the tent, joking about how this was most likely all some big excuse so Angelina and Fred could get together. You continued to joke with each other until you reached the tent, the other members of the group all having disappeared to their own rooms, leaving only one remaining for you and George.

And of course, there was only one bed.

One bed, with George, who you’ve had a crush on since fourth year, who was completely unaware of your feelings.

You were going to kill Angelina

“You know, I feel completely fine so I can just take the floor” George said after a moment, snapping you out of your thoughts.

“What, don’t be ridiculous George, if anyone's taking the floor its me” You argued.

“Well I don’t want you to sleep on the floor either, so looks like were sharing” George started, before quickly adding “Unless you’re uncomfortable, because I don’t want you to-”

“George its ok, we’re both adults, it’ll be fine for one night” You said with a humorous tone that you hoped would help hide your nervousness.

“Yeah totally” George replied.

“Great” 

“Great” 

“I’m going to get changed” You said

“Me too” He said

“Great”

“Great”

You left the room and stood outside, face palming yourself. ‘What the fuck is wrong with you’ you mumbled to yourself.

You made your way to the main room, seeing your pajamas were already set out by Angelina, which you were somewhat thankful for. You quickly got changed into your large Tee and some shorts before heading back to the room, hesitating before you walked in.

George was sitting on the edge of the bed, now wearing sleep shorts but his shirt from earlier was still on. He looked up when you walked in, giving you a soft smile before returning his eyes to his hands, which were currently fiddling with the hem of his shirt.

“You ok?” You asked, walking further into the room.

“Yeah, yeah I just messed my shoulder up a bit so I’m having trouble getting this off” He mumbled, motioning to his shirt.

“...Can I help?” You asked, sitting next to him.

“You don’t have to, I’ll figure it out I just-” He started, 

“George” You interrupted, holding his face in your hands so he would look at you. “Please let me help”

He didn’t respond, just looked at you before letting out a sigh and nodding his head. You moved you hands from his face to the bottom of his shirt, slowly starting to lift it. You let you eyes dart to his exposed skin, before re-focusing yourself. George lifted his arms and your fingers brushed against his back as you lifted the fabric off his body, making his breath hitch.

“Sorry, did I hurt you?” You ask, stopping your movements.

“No, no you’re fine” George replied quickly.

“Ok, just let me know if anything hurts” You said before continuing to gently lift his shirt until it it was finally removed.

“Thank you” George said softly, turning to face you but your eyes were glued to the shirt in your hands, too nervous to look him in the eyes.

“Of course” You replied, giving him a quick glance and a smile before returning your gaze to your hands quickly handing him the shirt which he took. “Is your shoulder ok? Because I can go get some ice or-”

You were cut of my Georges hand finding your face, making you look up at him before his lips were suddenly on yours. Shivers ran up your spine, and all you could feel was him, his soft lips on yours, the smell of sweets and fireworks, his warm hand on your face. And then just as soon as it was there, it was gone.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, shit I’m sorr-” George started pulling away, but you didn’t let him finish.

You moved your hand to his face and pulled him in to re-connected your lips. His hands moved to your hips and he pulled you onto his lap so you were now straddling him. Once again, you were lost in the kiss, only feeling him. And once again, he pulled away.

“Wait wait hold on, are you kissing me because I ate shit or because you actually like me?” George asked, making you hold back a laugh.

“I actually like you, I have for a while actually” You replied, making a smile spread across his face.

“I’ve liked you for a while as well” He responded, making your eyes widen in shock.

“Seriously? I was giving so many signs and I thought you were never going to catch on, that’s why Angelina tried to get you to confess a secret” You said

“No, Fred started the game to see if he could you to confess a secret” George said, realization suddenly washing over the both of you.

“They are truly evil” You said, almost impressed by their ability to secretly work together.

“True, but I also owe them my thanks” George smiled, re-connecting his lips to yours, poking your sides which made you giggle into the kiss, allowing George to slip his tongue into your mouth.

Ok, maybe Angelina and Fred deserved a thank you.

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

A/N: I hope you enjoyed! I wasn’t sure which direction to go with this for a while so that’s why it took so long to post, either way I hope you enjoyed. Also, I wasn’t sure if you wanted this to be more Fluffy or smutty, so I left room for a part two if you’d like. Thank you again for the request!

[gohyuck]

teaser for the my fic that’s part of denise’s ( @hyucksie​ ) nct: almost collab and part of my interlude: neo zone series

pairing: journalist!serial killer!renjun x already dead!reader

genre: ...oh man. angst, quite a lot of it. all the fluff and smut between renjun and the reader occur in his dreams, as, in real life, he never met the reader prior to their murder and him getting assigned to report on their death

word count: tba (likely a minimum of 10k words)

warnings: alcohol, explicit sex, mentions of a dead animal, obsessive behaviors, stalking, characters with no concept of a moral compass, implications that characters may have been abused in their pasts, descriptions of jail that may be inaccurate or not fully true-to-form, serial killers/ serial killing

teaser continues under the cut, it’s 1.5k words long. please message me if you’d like to be added to the taglist!

Renjun is eleven when he watches his across-the-street neighbor run over his next-door neighbor’s cat in broad daylight. The driver of the BMW does not stop, does not even slow down to assess the damage to the cat or the car, only speeds past as if they haven’t altered the state of the universe, made an unforgivable change to their neighborhood, taken an innocent life. He experiences it all through the floor-to-ceiling windows that expose the Huangs’ formal living room to the world. They’re not unlike the same windows that show off their formal dining room, their actual living room, and their actual dining room. 

As much as he can see out, others can see in just as easily. Just as equally.

At least the bedrooms have curtains.

He doesn’t really react, not even as he stares at the dark red stain, the blood-matted fur on the asphalt. It horrifies him, of course it does, but he’s more afraid of the repercussions that yelling or screaming would bring down on him. As long as he is in the house where nothing is hidden, he is meant to be seen but not heard. Renjun knows this well.

The image of the dead cat, of its blood and bones, its fur and flat, empty eyes, sears itself into Renjun’s brain. It preoccupies him from that moment, twisting itself uncomfortably into strings of his heart. That poor cat, only out for a short hunt or pursuing a curiosity, its life cut short in a tragic and terrible way. An unforgivable murder. He never forgets it, never escapes it. 

Death should have a purpose, Renjun thinks. 

Innocent lives should never be taken.

-

Metal sliding against metal might just be the most unpleasant sound in the world. 

Yangyang clutches his notebook to his chest, running his fingers absentmindedly against the unbinded side to make sure that all the folded papers he’d stuffed within its pages are still there. He does this just a little too fast, only registering this as the air hits his fresh papercut, causing him to wince at the new sting that buzzes against his fingertip. Without thinking, he wraps his other arm tighter around his book and raises the affronted finger - left ring - to his mouth.

It’s like this - holding onto his leatherbound notebook as a lifeline and nervously laving his tongue over his new cut - that Yangyang Liu, previously a reporter at The Daily and currently a biographer on a mission, enters the most secure federal prison in the country. The barred gates screech to a halt once they meet the ends of their rails, and the guard at Yangyang’s side nods to his colleague on the other side of the open gate. 

“The biographer?” The uniformed man calls from in front of Yangyang. 

“This is the one.” Yangyang’s own officer - what’s his name again? - replies, yelling a little louder than what could be deemed necessary. His coworker says nothing more, only stepping aside for the other two to walk in. They do so.

Yangyang registers little of the gray walls and cold air that are suddenly all that are within his line of sight, mind already trapped within the holding cell he’s about to visit. He’s heard all the stories, read all the news clippings, seen all the court tapes, and yet… and yet he suddenly feels as if he’s about to start studying this man - this character - anew. It’s as if he’s about to turn to the first page of a book nobody’s ever read before. A story just for himself. 

“Sit.” The officer is none-too-gentle as he pulls a steel chair out of what seems like thin air and hands it to Yangyang, gesturing lazily towards a spot in front of a section of the cell bars. Before he takes a seat, the biographer takes in the scene with which he’s just been presented: a cell empty save for a cot and a chair, with a tiny window high up, far too high for any mere mortal to reach even with the aid of a chair. The world is silent for one long, slow moment before a lump on the cot - one Yangyang hadn’t registered at first - shifts ever-so-slightly. 

The biographer holds his breath, drums his fingers against his notebook in anticipation, and clutches the curved top of the back of the cold steel chair just a little bit harder. He still does not sit. He waits, and watches, and waits, and watches instead. The officer - guard, Yangyang supposes - grumbles something lowly under his breath, his already thin patience wearing away by the second. 

“Get up, Huang,” The guard finally barks out, seemingly at the tail-end of his wit. “He doesn’t have all day.”

The cot lump shifts again, though by a far greater degree this time around. Yangyang suddenly feels far more nervous than before, which is saying something, considering he has fear in his heart. He wishes it was the fear of God, truly, he does, but he knows far too well that it’s the fear of humanity instead. One of the worst specimens, in his view, is only a few metal bars and a thin blanket away from him at the moment.

Yangyang lifts his hand off the chair and to his mouth again, sucking on the papercut as if it’s a decade long habit of his rather than a newly acquired fixation in the moment. It seems as if the lump has decided not to move again, and the biographer takes this as a sign to finally sit down. His heels are starting to ache, anyways. 

As if sensing his movement, the lump shifts, this time turning fully to face the wall rather than Yangyang. The biographer thinks that he can make out a tuft of salt-and-pepper hair. He can barely piece together any visual of the man he’s come to see, but, from what he can ascertain, Renjun Huang is a slight, delicate looking man, hardly terrifying to any eye. He would’ve been stronger, perhaps, at the time of his crimes, but he couldn't have been that much more imposing. 

“I will not get up,” Renjun Huang finally speaks, and once he does, his voice is raspy with what must be a lack of use. Yangyang winces out of sympathy. It must be lonely. The blanket is pulled up, and the tuft of visible hair disappears under blue wool. “I will not, but I can speak. Not long. You’re the biographer?”

The shift from Renjun speaking to the guard and speaking to Yangyang is so subtle that the latter almost does not notice it. Once he does, he hums an affirmative, finally releasing his tight hold on his notebook in order to lay it in his lap and open it. He pulls a pen - blue, pilot G2 - out of his front pocket and clicks it open with satisfaction. 

“Yes,” He reiterates, even though Renjun is definitely sure of his identity by now. “I’m Yangyang Liu. I was hoping we could begin with -”

“Everyone thinks it started with the article about (Name)’s murder,” He coughs mid-sentence. The rasp is clearing, slightly, slowly giving way to a quiet, but firm tone of speech. He does not seem to process that he’s interrupted Yangyang, and the biographer is too full of intrigue to stop him from speaking any more. “That’s what they all think, but it isn’t true.”

Renjun goes silent, then, but Yangyang knows that he has much more to say. He leans forward in his cold chair, face getting closer to the cold cell bars. 

“Where did it start, then? When?” He finally asks, blue pen poised over white paper. It’s as if his fingers are itching for a story, the way they’d always twitched in anticipation when he’d gotten good article assignments at The Daily. The novelty, the excitement had worn out over time. Yangyang had missed it until now. 

The guard is quiet, now, hardly even moving a muscle. Perhaps he’s tuned out entirely, lost in a world of his own. Maybe - though more or less likely than the former, Yangyang is unsure - he’s as fascinated as the biographer himself, watching and waiting for something to happen, for the first shoe to drop in order for the second to follow. The cell and its surroundings are so quiet that Renjun’s breathing is the only audible sound. It’s a little shallow, a little harried, as if he’s just finished a quick sprint and about to start another that he’s unprepared for.

Yangyang supposes that he has, in a way. He glances at the empty page beneath him to find that he’s accidentally placed a tiny dot in the corner of his open page. Fuck. 

Renjun intakes a shuddering breath, and Yangyang’s head snaps back up. He’ll worry about his organization later. He stares, intent, at the lump on the cot. It moves slightly, and Yangyang discerns that the decrepit man is about to speak again. 

He’s right.

“It began when I was raised…” Renjun Huang begins, licking his dry lips and swallowing his spit before he continues. “... I was raised in a glass house.”

[thekingofgear]

Jonny Greenwood’s ondes Martenot Tone

Jonny losing himself in a performance of Messiaen’s Vocalise Etude at RHK Dublin in 2015. Photo by Isabel Thomas for The Thin Air.

Written in response to the following anonymous question:

Hi TKOG! When Jonny uses his Ondes Martenot/Ondomo/French Connection etc. does he usually use the Sine Wave function or to produce a basic sine wave sound? I am trying to build my own similar instrument so was wondering what sound I should try and aim to produce. Thank you!

Despite how often the sound of the Martenot is described as a “sine tone”, you will only very rarely hear just a sine tone from the instrument. Jonny’s ondes sound on If You Say The Word for example (more on that later) is far richer than a sine wave. Most versions and offshoots of the Martenot do offer a sine wave, but players (ondists) generally combine it with other waveforms. A very common combination is the sine-wave (onde) added to a lowpass-filtered square-wave (petite gambe). This is similar to but richer than a sine wave, and often blends better with other instruments compared to the pure sine.

One reason for these combinations is that the speakers (diffuseurs) of the original Martenot added lowpass and highpass filtering. The currently-produced ondes Musicales Dierstein at one point used a guitar-oriented Celestian Vintage 30 speaker for its primary (principal) loudspeaker, which rolls off the highs at around ~5kHz and the lows at ~200Hz (full graph here). So even a rich waveform will start to sound like a sine when played at a higher pitch, because the speaker will roll off most of the harmonics of a high-pitched note. With a speaker like that, the combination of sine and filtered square will sound like a slightly richer sine wave at higher pitches. And at lower pitches where the fundamental sine sound is filtered out, the gentle square harmonics will still give definition to the note. The speaker really balances out the sound of the instrument.

Jonny’s Analog Tones

Jonny rehearsing There Will Be Blood with the Wordless Music Orchestra in 2014. His French Connection and its cabinet sit unused as he plays his original digital ondes Martenot. The amp is a rental Vox AC30CC2.

When it comes to Jonny specifically, his choice of waveform depends on both the instrument and the piece of music. For live performances of How To Disappear Completely from 2001 to 2012, Jonny used his French Connection and its Apprentice modular case (the French Connection is just a controller, and produces no sound on its own). At those shows, the instrument is connected directly to the PA, there’s no filtering from a guitar-type speaker. Perhaps that’s why he used a richer saw wave for low notes, and a purer sine-like wave for the high notes. You can hear this clearly in recordings of the band’s Saitama show. But the analog RS-95 oscillators that Jonny uses with his French Connection can’t actually produce a pure sine wave, no-matter the setting of its “shape” knob. So the RS-95′s sine wave sounds more like a triangle wave with some added even-order harmonics (the result of creating the sine wave from the saw/triangle wave). In addition, some other Analogue Systems modules like the RS-100 filter will gently overdrive when connected to a full-volume oscillator, which can add extra harmonics too. When Jonny performed There Will Be Blood with the Wordless Music Orchestra in 2014, he set the volume knob on his RS-110 filter to max, adding some overdrive to fatten sound of the RS-95′s sine output. And Jonny isn’t afraid to use the RS-95′s harmonically rich sounds too: the synthy sliding notes during the last section of the 2+2=5 recording are a great examples.

Unlike the original digital ondes Martenot he obtained in 1999, Jonny’s ondes Musicales Dierstein from 2011 uses analog transistors to generate its sounds (for more info on Jonny’s various Martenot offshoots, see this article). The Dierstein’s sine is also a slightly impure analog waveform, but it is much purer than the RS-95’s sine. It’s interesting to note that, for a performance of There Will Be Blood in 2014, Jonny did use the sine tone (Onde setting) when playing parts originally recorded with his original digital ondes Martenot. However, when playing new compositions with the London Contemporary Orchestra in 2015, Jonny instead used the clipped triangle wave, and even mentioned it sounded good in the concert hall (the Victoria Hall in Geneve). For that show, Jonny did use the Celestian speakers, which gave a warmer sound to the clipped triangle. It’s also interesting that Jonny seems to prefer using just one waveform at a time, rather than combining waveforms by turning on multiple switches.

A photo of the control drawer (tiroir) of Jonny’s Dierstein, posted on his twitter acount in 2015. Only C and D2 are active. C is a peak-limited triangle wave – imagine a triangle with the top chopped off to form a trapezoid. D1, D2, and D3 are switches for different speakers, and D2 is the reverberant speaker. On the Dierstein, D2 is a guitar-type speaker with a warm-soundng reverb emulation. This is pretty different from earlier versions of D2, which had a speaker connected mechanically to a set of large brass springs.

Stimulating Harmonics

So you may be thinking it’s best to start with a rich waveform and add some filtering. But some of the Martenot’s speakers can also add harmonics. The Palme and Metallique speakers both replace the cone of a normal speaker with a more resonant material. In the case of the Palme, the voice coil is coupled directly to the bridge of the custom-build string instrument. When the voice coil is sent into excitation by an input sound, it directly vibrates the strings. So the Palme does not simply add some stringy reverb. The strings of the Palme are actually “played” directly by the input sound, adding harmonics that were never present in the original sound (if you’re curious for more info on the Palme, see our article on building one).

Why should we care? Well, even when Jonny does use a pure sine setting, the final output we hear still might not be a sine wave. When a sine is used with the Palme speaker, the natural harmonics of the vibrating strings are added to the sound, and shaped by the resonance of the Palme’s body.

A photo of Jonny with his digital ondes Martenot and Palme speaker at the Koko in London for the Big Ask in 2006.

The studio recording of The National Anthem is a good example of a pure waveform used with the Palme. For that recording (which we transcribed in detail), Jonny used his original digital ondes Martenot. The digital instrument is able to produce a much purer sine wave than the analog offshoots of the ondes Martenot like the French Connection and Dierstein. But even so, we hear extra harmonics from the strings of the Palme, giving an ethereal haze to the notes.

Jonny also likes to use Vox AC30 amplifiers with his digital ondes Martenot, as he did perhaps most notably for the performance of Cymbal Rush on the Henry Rollins show in 2006. Overdriving the input of the AC30 adds extra harmonics to the sound, which are tamed by the lowpass filtering of the tone cut control and speaker – the same principle as overdriving an Analogue Systems lowpass filter. Jonny only had his digital ondes Martenot when he recorded his parts on If You Say The Word (2:38-3:05, 3:48-4:16). His tone on the song is much less hazy and reverberate compared to The National Anthem, doesn’t seem to have been used (unless it’s blended very softly underneath). But his tone is still fairly rich in overtones, so perhaps they were recorded through a tube amp like the AC30 for some gentle overdrive.

That said, it’s also worth noting that the digital Martenot can produce many additional sounds that his Ondomo, French Connection, and Dierstein are incapable of. Jonny’s interview with ondist Suzanne Binet-Audet for Caroline Martel documentary Wavemakers reveals some of the digital instrument’s more organ-like tones.

A long-exposure photograph of Jonny playing his digital ondes Martenot in the Round Room at Tottenham house, during the recording of In Rainbows.

Really, anything will do!

Simply put, there is no single waveform or timbre that can be attributed to an ondes Martenot. Each version and offshoot of the Martenot has its own waveforms, and they only sometimes overlap. But whether he’s playing his Ondomo or his French Connection, Jonny has nonetheless found a way to get his own sound from them. Ultimately, what matters most is the control interface. As long as one plays using the ring and intensity key (touche d’intensité), any periodic waveform will sound like an ondes Martenot – you might just need to adjust the filtering and reverb. That’s the reason VST replicas of the Martenot, such as Soniccouture's Ondes, sound so different from the real thing, despite using samples of the Martenot’s waveforms and impulse responses of the speakers. Unsurprisingly, the control interface is what matters most. Still, it might be worth playing around with the waveforms in a VST like that, just to hear what you like. You can also listen to the timbre samples on Josh Seman’s website, though you can’t use that to test blends of waveforms.

You seem interested in Jonny’s timbre specifically, but things are equally muddy when creating a historically-correct instrument. Most modern derivatives of the Martenot are based on the MK7 instrument, which used transistors. But many of the most famous pieces for the Martenot were written for earlier version of the instrument that used tubes. Those versions had a much fatter sound due to the tubes overdriving, and had a different range of waveforms and timbres. But this doesn’t stop modern ondists from performing Turangalîla beautifully with a MK7. As long as the instrument has enough timbres to cover a good range of moods, the specific waveforms are ultimately fairly unimportant.

[rococospade]

Regarding my characterisation of Laurence, the First Vicar

Okay so anyone who’s had to talk with me for more than five minutes knows I have *a lot of feelings* on the First Vicar and while I’m going to try and keep this to stuff I can support via lore, that will almost certainly bleed over in here and I apologise in advance. I’ll try to stick to things I can support from canon.

Other notes: I will be referencing deleted content for this, and it is a long post because I have a lot of thoughts. So post under the cut, beware of spoilers, so on.

(As an aside, if you read my fics, dear god does this post have spoilers for those too, since a lot of my fic world building is me trying to piece lore together!)

@fishbowlcarnage thanks for getting me to write this. It’s incomplete and unfinished, and I’ll definitely want to add to it as I play through DS3 and the Fishing Hamlet in BB, but I hope it’s enjoyable as it is. Also thanks to Marie for gently pushing back on my assertions so I have to find a basis for them, and to every lovely person who’s chatted with me about lore and this strange and beloved game.

General notes:

Most of this is predicated on a handful of things:

Laurence was probably a Choir member. He stole the Choir from Byrgenwerth, and it’s noted that the church uniforms are based on Byrgenwerth’s. And if you look at it, what does it most closely resemble? Willem’s clothes. So either Willem had disciples’ outfits designed to look like less fancy versions of his, or else Laurence chose an outfit that visually conveyed “I’m taking your job” for himself and his own minions. 

Laurence was not from Yharnum: it comes up in deleted lines that the person who founded the Healing Church was a foreigner. While that line was cut, we do still hear the huntsmen blaming foreigners for their plight, and while I will admit that nationalism and xenophobia are a big part of Bloodborne it would make an… interesting sort of sense if the Healing Church was actually headed by one. Also, Laurence and Willem have different accents to the rest of Yharnum, at least to my ear. I’m also a filthy American, so feedback on this point is very welcome.

Laurence was probably a combatant: this is probably my hardest argument to make because it relies on the most abstract points. Laurence is found with the Gentle Beast’s Embrace rune. That’s a combat rune. Even if he’s trying to heal the scourge, if we operate on the presumption that he did want to help people, and he found a rune that seemed to safely turn him into a stronger bestial form, don’t you think he’d take up arms if he hadn’t already? Aside from that, the clerics use a lot of blood. Now, @msoftserved has pointed out to me that that was probably a religious thing as much as a functional one, but I’m still fascinated at the idea that the clerics could somehow take enough blood to over a long enough period to become giant beasts without also being hunters (since hunters are noted for their extreme willpower, and being able to do things like force themselves to stay awake under the effects of blue elixir). I also suspect the clerics fought, since it’s noted that the Hunters of the Healing Church made the Hunter’s Workshop redundant, and the hunters we see from the Church are dressed like… clergy. I may add to this section later, as my brain is currently refusing to articulate my thoughts in any sort of useful manner.

Actually! Coming back to this, with something a little less tenuous: the Vicar’s Pendant has a blood gem inside for hunting beasts. Why would they have that if they weren’t actively hunting beasts themselves? It’s not on display, you have to break the amulet to get at it. So… if it were purely decorative, you’d expect it to be visible. And if it weren’t, one would expect them to have something support based. But no, it’s an attack up specific to beasts. Which to me implies two things: the amulet could be used for offensive casting/spells, and the owner of the amulet was expected (at least some of the time) to fight.

In addition to this, Gehrman also refers to the Clerics of the Healing Church as “the guardians” of Hunters, and cries out for Laurence to help him in his sleep. Even if Laurence was not a combatant, I found that to be a really interesting detail; it speaks to Gehrman’s belief in Laurence’s competence. Especially once you finish the game. He’s not crying out for a god to save him. He’s crying out for Laurence, and Willem. 

About Laurence’s personality:

I think it’s fair to argue he was probably charismatic. He managed to repeatedly amass a following; first at Byrgenwerth, where he stole Willem’s best students from under his nose (including Micolash, someone who seems to fundamentally disagree with Laurence on how to ascend humanity? Which is pretty wild in and of itself) but also convinced several major characters to help him, including Gehrman (who seems to have had heroic intentions, though he’s of course Not Okay because this is a Soulsborne game) and freakin’ Ludwig (first Church Hunter! First man to organise the hunts instead of having everyone do whatever with 0 coordination! And canonically stated to be from a long line of knights, which implies Ludwig was probably a noble or at least a member of the gentry, but signed on to work with this foreigner. 

Laurence was likely either ostentatious, or found the appearance of being so valuable: dude has a weird skull elevator and I’ve never been able to forget it. I thought it was weird when I found it but wrote it off as typical Bloodborne… until I read “fool me”, which pointed out that the elevator was probably, in fact, something Laurence either designed or commissioned. It was definitely way more expensive than just installing a ladder or stairs… But organisations thrive on symbols. And the Healing Church is rife with symbolic imagery, from the architecture to the decorations to the uniforms. There’s really no functional reason to have the members dress like they do, which means it was likely a case of needing to present a certain image or be immediately recognisable to the public. (On a loosely related note, the Church Giants wearing items from the Black Church Set is… kind of cute in a weird way. Who made the clothes? Who dressed them up? These questions haunt me.)

Laurence may have been capable of miracles or pyromancy: this one is a big stretch, but I’m going to bring it up anyway. Laurence’s attacks in his Cleric Beast form (specifically the ones that leave lava in their wake) resemble a pyromancy from the Dark Souls series. We also see patients from the Research Hall that cast miracles in the Hunter’s Nightmare. Seems like a jump to attribute miracles to Laurence from there, right? Well… the Vicar’s Pendant that Amelia uses to heal herself is noted to have been passed down amongst the Vicars of the Healing Church. Presuming she’s using the ‘heal’ miracle, then the pendant is apparently her talisman. She had to have learned the technique somewhere, and talismans in the Souls series aren’t unique to one caster — anyone with sufficient faith can utilise a talisman to cast miracles. So it stands to reason that if Laurence had the necessary faith, he could have wielded the amulet in the same way. 

Misc notes:

Willem was doing some horrifying stuff at Byrgenwerth. I’m kind of surprised more people don’t seem to address that? Byrgenwerth is the only area with the garden of eyes enemy in the main game. Those things are wearing patient gowns. “What we need… is more eyes” seems rather chilling in the light of that particular enemy, and its official name.

In addition to that, at least two of his prized students turned out to be… you know… insanely charismatic cult leaders. I’m talking about Micolash and Laurence, of course. What are the chances he collected two dangerous twinks that would betray him entirely on accident? Oh, but two’s a coincidence, right? Except… Gehrman. You know, the First Hunter. He was apparently rather attached to Willem too, since he calls him ‘Master’… so that’s… three students of Willem’s that decided, actually, let’s do this extremely morally dubious thing in pursuit of knowledge/power/good of mankind? Oh! And Gehrman amassed a following too, actually. The original Hunter’s Workshop. That’s… That’s definitely a pattern by now. 

The Gentle Beast’s Embrace rune grants reduced fall damage. I ran with the idea from there that cleric beasts (probably beasts in general) have an instinct common to both canines and felines — get the high ground. Now. This is also supported (as much as anything is supported) by where you find Cleric Beasts — the first one is sitting atop a roof over the great bridge, essentially the highest suitable platform in central Yharnum, while Laurence the first Vicar is sprawled dramatically in the arms of a statue over his altar in the Hunter’s Nightmare. So I tend to depict him perching in high places when left on his own, especially once he’s begun falling to beasthood.