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woso-dreamzzz · 7 months ago

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Injured (Jenni's Version): Future II

Grace Clinton x Reader

Alexia Putellas x Daughter!Reader

Summary: Your children meet Alexia

"Mama!" Jaume complains," Leave my hair alone!"

Alexia stifles her laugh as Olga continues to rake her fingers through Jaume's hair. It had been a long fight between them about the length for years now.

Jaume liked it a bit longer while Olga preferred it to be clipped a bit shorter so it would stop falling into his eyes when he walked.

"I'm just making it neat."

"It's fine!"

Alexia sighs. "Can we go in now? The others are waiting."

It's a monthly tradition to meet up at Alexia's Mama's house with the rest of the extended family. This argument happened every time they pulled up.

Olga frowns at Jaume as he forces his hair back to how it was before, shaking her head. "Fine."

Alexia lets them all into the house, already knowing the party had migrated to the garden with the barbeque set up and beers already opened.

"Say hello to your Abuela first, Jaume," Alexia calls after him as her son rushes off to grab food," And tell her you love her!"

Jaume gives no indication that he hears her and he doesn't need to be reminded.

"He better be polite to his cousins," Alexia grumbles as Jaume makes a quick pitstop with Eli before hurrying to load up his plate.

"He will be. You know him."

Jaume's sweet really. A big softie but after playing a big match yesterday and sleeping most of the day away, it was stupid to get between him and food.

Alexia shakes her head fondly at her son before surveying the group. Her aunts and uncles and cousins are all there with their own kids. Alba's holding a baby that Alexia doesn't quite recognise.

There's a little boy running around as well that she doesn't recognise either and that's when Alexia spots you.

It's been years but Alexia would recognise you anywhere.

The last time she'd seen you, you were nearly seventeen, doing your last performance with your ballet company in Spain that Alexia had to secretly buy tickets to see.

You'd gone to England then for a year or two and last Alexia heard you were dancing in France.

You fondly look down at the little boy as he crashes into you, sweeping his messy hair out of his eyes before sending him on his way.

Alba passes the baby to you and you hold her so comfortably that she must be yours.

You have children...and Alexia didn't know at all.

"Ale?"

"I'm fine," She tells Olga, sucking in a deep breath and painting on a smile," I'm fine."

But she's not fine and she's even more not fine when an arm pulls you closer by your waist and you back easily into the body of Grace Clinton.

Grace Clinton who plays for Lyon in France and who Alexia knows there is only one reason for why she would be in Spain now.

She's your wife.

You have matching wedding bands and the boy looks up adoringly at her.

You have children with a woman who is at least a decade older than you...

You look happy though, smiling up at her sweetly as she pulls faces at the baby.

"Alexia!" Eli's voice snaps Alexia out of her daze. "You send your son to see me but can't even greet your old mother?"

"You're not that old, Mama," Alexia says, kissing Eli's cheeks," You look good for your age."

"The comfort of good food and family," Eli replies," Come, sit, eat. There is more than enough to go around. Knowing your uncle, I will be sending everyone home with seconds!"

Alexia sits, talks and laughs but her eyes keep travelling back to you and your little family.

You're on the other side of the garden, with your baby and your wife and one of Alexia's cousins fawning over her.

"Bisabuela!" The little boy appears suddenly and Alexia jolts. He looks like you but he's got Clinton's mannerisms even though there's a big train on his shirt.

"Ah, James!" Eli says," What can I do for you?"

"Mami has lost Livy's bag again!" He tells her," Do you know where it is?"

"I will take it," Eli says," I am overdue Olivia cuddles. Sit, eat some food, James."

The boy - James - climbs up onto Eli's now abandoned seat and tucks into some brisket. He devours it in a way that only a growing boy can.

"Are you related to my Mami?" He asks suddenly and his eyes are on Alexia's.

She winces. "Yes. I am."

"You look like her like how Alba does."

"I'm Alba's sister."

James nods. "My sister Livy's named after Alba. Olivia Alba."

Alexia forces a smile on her face. "That's nice."

"I'm named after Bisabuela, kind of. James Eliot but Mami and Mummy call me James Eli."

"That's nice," Alexia says," It's always important to honour family."

Her eyes drift over to Jaume, who looks torn between approaching you or hanging back. He's always had some kind of hero worship for you, his mysterious older sister who lived with Jenni. He's still got that now as he steels himself and slowly heads over.

"How are you related to my Mami then? I know Alba's Mami's Tia so are you her Tia too?"

"I'm Bambi's-"

"That's not my Mami's name," James interrupts," Not really anyway. Sometimes Abuela calls her that but she says it's a nickname."

Alexia's heart stops. She knows that Abuela must be Jenni and she isn't sure what she expected. Of course Abuela is Jenni. Of course Alexia isn't.

James has no idea who she is.

James has no idea who Alexia is...who Alexia was to you.

"What's your Mami's name then?" Alexia asks instead.

"Beautiful. That's what Mummy calls her. Mummy's name is Amor..." He frowns. "Or Idiot because that's what Mami calls her when she's angry."

"When I knew your Mami, everyone called her Bambi."

James nods. "Like the deer. Abuela made me watch that film when she looked after me and Livy last week."

"It's a good film, isn't it?"

"It is!" His plate is empty and he frowns. Alexia's plate is full and he reaches for some of hers.

"James," Grace Clinton says," What have I said about stealing food?"

James puffs out his cheeks. "But she's family! She's Mami's Tia! You said I'm allowed to if it's family!"

"I said no even if it is family!"

Alexia can feel the weight of Grace's gaze on her even as she banters with her son. Alexia can feel herself being sized up as Grace takes Eli's seat and places James on her lap.

James eats off Grace's plate as the two adults stare at each other.

Alexia played against Grace a few times when Grace was just starting her international career. She's older now, wiser and captain of the team that had beaten Barcelona in the Champion's League final two times in a row just a few years ago.

Grace Clinton is your wife.

She is the other mother of your children. Sweet, sweet James and Olivia, who is now being gently passed into an awestruck Jaume's arms.

Alexia settles on giving her an awkward smile.

"James," Grace says, tickling his tummy," Can you go share our plate with Mami? I'm sure she's hungry."

James goes off quickly and now it's just Alexia and Grace.

"I love my wife," Grace says suddenly," And I love my kids. Coming back here with them is a lot for her, you have to understand."

"I do."

"She wants them to know her family outside of just Jenni. She comes from Spain and she doesn't want them to not know that part of themselves."

"I get it."

"Good." Grace nods. There's silence for a moment before Grace quells Alexia's fears in one sentence. "She's happy."

Grace fades into the background then as more of the family appears around the table, conversations washing over her as Alexia catches up with her cousins.

It takes a while before you approach and Alexia holds her breath. You're holding your breath too as you perch on Grace's lap, desperately clutching your baby tighter to you.

It's stupid, you think. You should be over this. It happened so long ago. You're a different person now but seeing Alexia put you on edge, especially so near your children.

You had nearly burst into tears seeing her talking to James, halfway between running towards them and just collapsing. Grace had gone in your place but you were even more unnerved now, having little Livy so close.

Olivia couldn't care less though, making soft little noises as she sat happily in your arms.

You peck at your food, unease rolling in your stomach as you felt Alexia's gaze on your side profile.

Grace adjusts behind you, a soft kiss being pressed against the back of your ear.

"Half," She implores," Please, beautiful. It's hot today. You didn't eat much at breakfast."

You had always had a strange relationship with food. It ebbed and flowed when you were a teenager. It had changed again when you were pregnant, another little human relying you on to keep them healthy.

But, still, sometimes you struggle when you feel off.

You nod though, unable to deny your wife anything.

Grace's arm around your waist is warm and comforting. The smile you know she is sporting is comforting too, even though you can't see it.

You usually went to these alone, once a year, even after you'd given birth to James. Grace's Spanish wasn't the greatest and her accent made her speaking almost unintelligible sometimes but it was nice she was here to support you, to whisk you and the kids away the moment you wanted.

You turn your head, meeting Alexia's eyes.

She smiled awkwardly at you and you smiled even more awkwardly back.

"His shirt," She says, the first words she's spoken to you all afternoon," He likes trains?"

You look down bashfully. "He took more after me than we expected."

Alexia bites her lip, debating back and forth whether or not to continue. "How long are you staying?"

"Two weeks."

"I...I have some trains at home. Jaume is too old for them now. Would James-?"

You nod, a real smile appearing on your face. "He would like that, thank you."

You tilt towards Alexia, showing her Olivia more obviously.

You don't let her touch your baby. You don't want her touching either of your children. But you can stomach this, for now.

"This is Olivia," You say," She's nearly one."

"She's beautiful."

Grace grins behind you. "Just like my wife."

#woso x reader #grace clinton x reader #grace clinton #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas #woso community #woso imagine #woso fanfics #woso

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mbsneur · 5 months ago

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My Love

Aitana Bonmati x Reader

Summary: your Aitanas girlfriend

Warnings: Pure Fluff, maybe bad ending

My Masterlist

please read this text before going to the story

please don't be so strict with me but rather write to me what I can do better or what you wished were different. also tell me if you find the story too long or too short.. Also write to me if you liked it. My requests are always open (and English is not my first language so don't be mad at me) and if you have any ideas for the future about who I should write please tell me… the topics I will choose by myself unless you have a request for one or two people I will Read everything.. in the next survey I will take a few ideas from the old survey and new ones…. now read and I hope you like it <33

(its a very short one)

aitana is your girlfriend, she is the most tender and sweetest person you have ever met

You know that she would drop everything if you called her and said you weren't feeling well

It was match day. You've been playing for Betis Sevilla since your childhood. It was the game against FC Barcelona. You already knew that you wouldn't have a chance

You're going to play against your girlfriend. You kept your relationship secret long enough until you went on vacation together during the summer break and decided to post a picture together so that everyone knew you were together. Since then, your team has been annoying you and keeps telling you that you are togheter with the best player

Also today they teased you about playing against Aitana, you haven't seen her in a long time, it was already overdue. You both have been very busy lately and have neglected your relationship a little, so you didn't really like the jokes your teammates made

“Can you please stop” you said slightly annoyed and pulled your jersey over your head The jokes will probably never stop

"Aww we're a little baby again today" Paula joked and pinched your cheek lightly. You clicked in annoyance and let Noelia braid your hair. It's a little ritual between you to braid each other's hair

You were all excited to play against Barça again. You finished lacing up your shoes and went into the tunnel. You acted as captains and stood right next to Alexia, the captain of Barça. You cracked your neck one last time before the referee announced it was time to line up

You stood there, gave a little applause and shook hands with your opponents. Aitana took your hand firmly in hers and gave you a little wink, which you accepted with a smile

it was kick-off. The game went well, even though you lost 5-1, you were still proud to be part of this team

1-0 Barcelona: Claudia Pina 26‘

2-0 Barcelona: Mariona Caldentey 44‘

2-1 Betis Sevilla: y/n 45‘

3-1 Barcelona: Caroline Graham-hansen 75‘

4-1 Barcelona: Salma Paralluelo 88‘

5-1 Barcelona: Salma Paralluelo 90+1‘

Even though you lost so much, you were still proud that the times were so far apart

After the game you all gave each other a handshake

Aitana ran up to you and hugged you tightly. "Hey you were great" she beamed at you with a huge smile

“Thank you aita you were pretty good too” you joked, smelling the sweet smell of her hair once again

"Would you like to come with me? I mean you're in Barcelona and I think your team will be able to do without you for the night or not?" she told you and put her arm around your shoulders to start the way to the cabins

you took a deep breath "okay but only if you cook for me" you raised your hand aitana laughed "sí I'll cook whatever you want" she said laughing and let go of you "well I'll wait for you outside my car" She said as she walked past and you nodded at her

You took a shower and told the coaching team that you would stay with Aitana and fly back alone tomorrow

About an hour later you were finished. You said goodbye to your team and headed towards the exit. The evening warmth of Barcelona hit your face. You looked for Aitana's car until she drove close to you

"Hola chica necesitas un conductor?"

She asks laughing and you ironically bump into her car. You walked in. It's been a long time since you looked in her car. After a moment she immediately pounced on you and bit lightly into your neck and cheek. You squealed and tried pushing her away laughing "aita aita stop" you say breathless with laughter

"I missed you so much" she tells you and places kisses on your cheek. You took her hands in yours and gave her a long kiss on the mouth

When you let go she looks at you with her sweet gaze. She licks her lips and blushes with embarrassment. You have kissed so many times but after such a long time it is always unique to kiss her again

"I missed you too" you say and smile slightly, everything is the same as before, her light ponytail, the smell of peppermint toothpaste when you kiss her and the gentle rose scent of her shower gel that is distributed in the air

"Do you want to go I'm pretty hungry" she said and rubbed her stomach lightly. She sometimes behaved like a little baby but that's what you loved about her, her funny faces that she sometimes gave you or she tickled you awake in the morning or crawled under your shirt you loved everything about her

"Yes we can go" you say, laughing slightly and giving her one last little kiss. She drove through the gate. On the car ride, you sang your favorite songs. Her hand didn't leave yours for a second

When you arrived at Aitana's house she opened your door and took your hand to escort you out. She carried your suitcase and looked for her key to the door

“You can take something from me to wear you know where everything is” she says and gave you a kiss before disappearing into the kitchen

You went into her bedroom and the smell of freshly washed laundry from her laundry basket immediately hit your nose. You did a little tidying up and taught the basket and carefully placed everything in your closet and looked for something to wear yourself You decided on a loose shirt and shorts. You changed your clothes and saw your selfie together in a frame on her dessert. A smile immediately came to your face you loved this woman.

You went into the kitchen and the smell of fresh ham hit your nose. You watched Aitana for a moment until you walked up to her and hugged her tenderly from behind. "Ay baby you're wearing my favorite shirt" she said, laughing slightly and frying a few tortillas in the pan you place your head on her shoulder and place small kisses on her neck

"can you promise me no matter how long we don't see each other or neglect each other that you'll never leave me" You say lovingly and notice how Aitana's stomach falls and rises

"I'll stay with you until you can't stand me anymore and even then I won't let you go you won't get rid of me that easily" she says with a slight smile

you beam across both cheeks "I love you Aita" you whisper in her ear

"I love you too cariño"

#woso fanfics #woso #woso community #fitblr #woso appreciation #woso blurbs #woso imagine #woso one shot #woso soccer #woso smut #aitana bonmati #aitana bonmati x reader

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enchantedchocolatebars · 6 days ago

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Witte Solstice - Chapter 31

Cover art by @leespinoodle.

Fic written by me (enchantedchocolatebars) and @leespinoodle.

Summary: It's winter in the Boiling Isles, and Caleb prepares to celebrate the solstice with his wife, his friends… and hopefully, with Beardo Philip! Philip swears he'll never partake in the satanic holidays of those demonic witches. But when Caleb invites him over for the solstice… maybe he'll find himself making an exception.

Ao3 version

(AAA, LAST CHAPTER!! I CAN'T BELIEVE THIS STORY IS GOING TO BE OVER AFTER THIS!!! 😭 😭 😭 Thank you to everyone who took the time to read it, and a special thanks to @leespinoodle for being my companion throughout this writing journey! I highly recommend checking out their works since they're a really talented writer. This story, in particular, will always mean a lot to me since it's my first ever completed collaborative fic with a friend. I'll always go back and reread it whenever I can. But anyway, yeah! Hope everyone has a Happy New Year + a flourishing 2025! I'm defo going to be taking a small break after this (TIRED), but expect to see more fics, fic requests, headcanons, written works, etc. from me in the future. I'LL ALSO BE GETTING TO THE ASKS IN MY INBOX!)

Enjoy!

Soft golden light arose in the sky the next morning as Beardo Philip gently stirred in his sleep.

When he awoke, he let out a longish yawn, sitting up in bed to stretch his arms.

His blue eyes soon began to survey the spare room he was in, recalling a few of the events from yesterday.

Philip remembers having spoken to Caleb, as well as being led into this room after their talk.

Fables such as "The Ant and the Grasshopper" and "The Lion and the Mouse" were also fresh in his mind... for some odd reason.

Slipping out of the quilt that covered him, Philip headed to the door.

...

Caleb sat at the kitchen table, nursing a hot whiskey tonic. He looked up as Philip stepped out of the spare room. "Good morning," he said softly. "How are you feeling? I'd imagine you have quite the headache."

The second Caleb said that, Philip felt the pain in his head return.

"Ugh, don't remind me...," he calmly groaned, taking a seat at the table. "I'm fine, by the way. Slept fairly well. You?"

"I barely slept a wink," Caleb admitted. "The last of the guests left shortly after dawn, so I just laid down for a bit before getting up to make myself a tonic. Would you like one?"

Philip gave a slow, restful nod. "A tonic sounds fine. Is it feasible for you to make tea as well?" he requested.

"Of course." Caleb stood to set a kettle on the stove. "Anything to eat? We have bread and pottage from yesterday's supper."

"I'll have bread," Philip calmly spoke to Caleb as he tried piecing together the sober apology he was planning on making to the elder.

In his mind, it was long overdue.

Once the tea and tonic were done, Caleb brought them over to the table, along with a loaf of bread and a knife. "Here you are. Something on your mind?"

"Thank you." With breakfast now in his possession, Philip took hold of the wooden teacup, curling his fingers around the handle as he brought it to his lips, blowing the steam that arose from the liquid.

After a long sip, he released a breath.

The tea was black and plain, just how he liked it.

He set the cup down.

Philip was unprepared for Caleb's question.

It was evident to the elder that there was something on his mind.

"Hm?!" Philip went, quickly shifting his gaze to his teacup as he saw his reflection ripple through the liquid like little waves until it stilled.

He soon sighed, looking up at Caleb with regretful eyes.

"It's just..." Philip sighed once more. "I'm… I'm sorry, Caleb. For yesterday. I... very much regret not making a genuine arrival to your party. And..." Philip drew a long, deep breath and let it out.

"... I apologize for not visiting you often. I know that Yule is over, but I had a gift that I wanted to give you. I'm not sure if it'll mean much now."

"A gift? You didn't have to bring me a gift. You know that spending time together would have been enough of a gift for me," Caleb said, sitting back down.

Philip nodded. "I understand. However, I still wish to give you what I made. It's something I know you'll find fetching. View it as a humble apology gift from me to you. Would you mind opening your hands up?"

Caleb tilted his head questioningly but held out his hands.

Reaching a hand into his pocket, Philip pulled out his gift and placed it into Caleb's hands.

Caleb held a cute, delicately painted carving of a small yellow duckling with an orange bill and black eyes that had white pupils within his palms.

The bill was meticulously crafted to make the duck look cheerful.

As a small gag, the duck's lively aura is complimented by a single squeaky noise that acts as a quack.

Caleb gently cradled the wooden duckling in his hands, marveling at the craftsmanship. He smiled softly. "Thank you, Philip. It's lovely."

With closed eyes, Philip returned Caleb's expression as he felt the heavy burden of shame and regret that he once felt lifted from his back by his brother's smile. "You're quite welcome." He soon opened his eyes.

"Also, Caleb, if it's not too much trouble, could you let your cardinal know that I offer my deepest apologies to him? Admittingly, I wasn't the kindest to young Pancake the other day."

"That's not his... Alright, I'll let him know," Caleb said.

…

After breakfast had concluded, Beardo Philip was ready to return to his cave.

He smiled a small, somewhat gloomy smile.

"I... guess this is goodbye then...," Philip spoke as he sighed, his tone soft and tender as he turned to face Caleb while standing near the front door, now dressed in his blue coat.

The brunette did his best to avoid sounding too down about his departure.

Caleb reached out to pull Philip into a hug. "Remember, you're always welcome here. Don't be a stranger, now."

Philip's smile went soft as he hugged his brother back, happy to be in his caring and kind embrace. "I'll make sure to remember that, Caleb Clawthorne."

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brain-rot-central · 29 days ago

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Sonnet of the Lone Cardinal, Ch 10

A/N: HI. SURPRISE CHAPTER RELEASE, HAPPY HOLIDAYS!! If you're still here, I love you and kiss you passionately with tongue. Or hug you. Whichever you prefer.

Rating: Mature Word count: 6.1k Pairing: Ascended Astarion x Female Tav (DU, named) Warnings: 18+, a lot of fucking angst, anxiety depictions, blood mention, some tame descriptions of sexual acts Summary: Having been retrieved from the courtyard by Astarion, Tav and Astarion have a long, overdue discussion.

♥ Previous Chapter ♥ Link to Ao3 ♥ Playlist

Her heart hammers in her chest as they tear through the crowd, barely missing a step. Astarion sets the pace, his hand gripped tightly over her forearm. It’s all her feet can do to keep up lest she trip and ruin her gown further.

Tav’s mind races as she mulls over her conversation with Gale. As far as the wizard is concerned, Astarion has a right to know about her delicate condition. Fear strikes deep at the thought – she’d rather curl up and perish than face a reality where Astarion finds out.

Bleeding black lines of mascara brand her cheeks, makeup half removed after the events in the courtyard. Eyes linger over them as Astarion drags her through the ballroom, a few guests dipping their heads to chatter quietly to one another. Tav meets Marceline's questioning gaze for a moment, though their interaction is brief as Astarion catches on. He roughly jerks Tav’s arm forward, urging her to move faster.

“H-hey!” Tav shouts in protest, “I’m not an animal, Astarion! Easy!” She rips her arm from his hold, earning her an annoyed groan from Astarion. The delicate skin of her forearm tears on one of Astarion's nails and she winces. Blood blooms on the surface of the tiny wound and Tav is quick to put it to her mouth before the scent reaches Astarion's nose. “Where are you taking me, anyhow?” she asks, eyes fluttering as the blood reaches her tongue. Tav practically moans into her arm at the taste; it may be her own blood, but it still tastes exquisite.

“The office,” growls the vampire, void of much emotion.

Ah. The office. Where he fucked then nearly killed her a couple nights ago. Perhaps tonight will be when he finishes the job? Make her well and truly his? Her stomach churns at the idea.

“Why?” Tav inquires with a huff, still trying to match Astarion's immortal pace. “Why can't we just speak here?” The office is too secluded. Should Astarion try anything, she'd much prefer there to be witnesses.

The vampire lord stops without warning, Tav almost crashing into his back. He turns slowly; Tav instinctively takes a step back. Leaning toward her, Astarion says, “Do you need a play-by-play of every single thought running through my mind, dearest?” His face is wound tight with tension, muscles quivering over his jaw. Tav can see he's fighting the urge to bare his fangs at her. When Astarion realizes how unsettled she is, he softens his expression. “I’d like our conversation to be private.” He lifts his head then to survey the room. “Away from prying ears.”

Tav raises a brow in question. Following the vampire's line of sight, she catches Wyll's gaze upon them from across the ballroom. Concern is written plainly across the Duke's face. The thought of giving him a signal for help crosses her mind, but Tav only gives him a reassuring smile and a nod of her head.

It’s Wyll that concerns Astarion. Perhaps he fears that the Duke will intervene, should they remain here? He wouldn't be wrong – if Wyll were to witness any cruelty by Astarion’s hand, he wouldn’t hesitate to step forward. Tav has no doubts regarding that. But as she turns her attention to Astarion again, she finds him scowling deeply at her. As if he'd been privy to her own private thoughts.

Despite Astarion's visage, a strange feeling of comfort consoles her. At least someone will know her last whereabouts should things go awry.

“I see,” Tav manages to say. “Let’s be on our way, then.” It's taking everything she has not to turn and run from Astarion. The urge is tearing into her gut as she resumes her trail behind him. Astarion says nothing. Tav wonders if she's just given the green light to resume her own personal death march.

They cross the threshold into the foyer and Astarion stops again near the foot of the grand staircase. Lifting a hand, he rests it atop the newel post. The foyer is vacant save for the servants, rushing in and out of the ballroom, who are likely too preoccupied to notice their presence. Astarion turns again in Tav’s direction, furrowing his brow. Heat crawls up Tav’s neck as he studies her intently.

“Do you fear me, now?” the vampire asks. His voice is soft–barely above a whisper. He almost sounds… concerned?

Her mind blanks. “I…” A chill shoots down the length of her spine. Glass clinks in the background. All Tav can do is blink absently in response. Can he hear her thoughts?

Astarion tilts his head slightly to the left, eyes still glued to her form.

Impossible, she thinks. There's no way he's in my head.

…Is he?

Astarion suddenly pulls back. “I'll take your silence as a, ‘yes,’” he infers with a quick chuckle. He turns back in the direction toward the office. “Wonderful,” he sneers. Tav sprints behind to catch up, shaking her head.

Unsure as to exactly why, she finds herself mulling over Astarion’s question. Does she fear him? Why would he ever ask her something like that? Would the answer even matter? All good points to make, but the one thing that baffles her most is just how much she finds herself caring.

“You barely gave me enough time to give you an answer!” declares Tav. She looks down to her arm and brings the small cut to her mouth again. She needs something – anything – to help distract her from the rapid beating of her heart. From the edges now cut into the corners of her vision. Her body is preparing itself for a fight, to run. Pressure builds in her chest; the taste of blood on her tongue again is a soothing balm to her overexcited nerves.

“Well, you had to think about it!” the vampire exclaims. Astarion deftly grabs for the handles of the heavy office doors. Their latches disengage with a distinct click. “That's an answer in and of itself.”

Tav halts a few paces behind. She looks around the dimly lit foyer – they're still the only two occupants. “Must you jump to such catastrophic conclusions?” she asks, lowering her arm back to her side. As her attention returns to Astarion, she can't help but notice how the flickering light of the candelabras acts like shimmering waves over his platinum hair. Like the light of the moon over a restless sea.

“Are they catastrophic if they happen to be true?” questions Astarion, throwing the wooden doors open. He steps through the threshold and into the office. “Besides,” he says over his shoulder, “that's the most effective way to learn how to weather all the shit life throws at you.”

Tav scowls before following him inside. She closes the doors gently behind them. “Forever anticipating the end? Sounds horribly exhausting, to me.” She watches Astarion make his way to the small bar cart located to the left of his desk. On her own, Tav decides to follow.

“Such is life, darling,” he says wistfully, picking up a decanter filled with wine. Astarion pulls off the glass stopper and pours a generous amount into a glass, putting it to his lips near immediately.

“Your life, perhaps,” Tav chides. A craft of water stands next to the wine, and she pours some into a glass. She then dips a corner of a napkin into the glass, sweeping it under her eyes. “That's not reality for everyone else, Astarion.” Tav scowls as she inspects the black smeared into the napkin, performing the same act again until no mascara remains.

A roll of Astarion's eyes is all the answer she gets as he takes a long sip of wine. Tav then gracefully pulls the wine glass out of the vampire’s hand, firmly placing it on the bar cart. She looks at him as she lifts her head. “It doesn't have to be yours anymore, either,” says Tav, softly.

His eyes shift quickly between hers and the wine glass, his now vacant hand dropping unceremoniously to his side. “What are you doing?” Astarion asks, slightly annoyed.

“You drink more than you used to.” She speaks plain, neutral; careful not to impose bias of any sort.

The vampire scowls, mouth twisting into a hard line. “Oh? And does that bother you, mother dearest?” There's venom laced in his words – a clear indication that Tav has touched upon a particularly sensitive nerve. Offending him was something she wished to avoid, but she soon recognizes this as the perfect opportunity to push forward.

“I'm not going to sit back and watch you turn into some miserable wino.”

Astarion scoffs. “Oh, my sweet, I appreciate the concern. But I'd have to drink an entire cellar for any of this to even touch me.” In sheer defiance, he picks up the glass, bringing it again to his lips. “What does it matter, anyhow?” he says with a feigned lit, “Perhaps it'll make me less terrifying!”

At this point, Tav knows he's trying to goad her into a reactionary response. To give him anything that gives him higher ground. Shows him she's just as bothered by all of this as he is. “If we're going to have any sort of serious conversation, I need you here, Astarion,” she responds, calmly. She refuses to fall into his trap. They will speak plainly about this, even if she has to demand it.

“Darling,” says Astarion, his lips turning into a smirk, “have you been touched by fever? I'm standing right in front of you.”

Stubborn. He's so godsdamned stubborn.

Anger cuts through her core like a hot knife; her patience wears thin. “Do you want me to leave? Or will you finally agree to cut the bullshit?”

“Fine, fine,” Astarion sneers in defiance, tipping his head back as he downs the remainder of his wine. He slams the empty glass down on the bar cart. “I'll behave.”

Tav draws in a breath and lets a moment pass between them. Silence. Only the sound of their breathing fills the office. Tav's eyes wander to Astarion's hands as he begins playing with the ring on his left hand. Her gaze shifts to the wooden desk in the middle of the room. The ring case that was present days ago is missing.

It hits her then, that the ring Astarion fidgets with is the very same she gave him – True Love's Caress – his half of the lovers’ rings she found in the Shadow-Cursed Lands. A declaration of the vow she swore to protect him, always.

Astarion knows the weight that ring holds just as well as she does. Her stomach drops to the floor. “Wyll.” Her voice is quiet, barely above a whisper, though she knows Astarion can still hear. “You had Wyll reveal the truth? Are you trying to push me into his arms?”

His eyes dart instantly to her, ears twitching. Astarion's face contorts. Tav thinks she hears the rumble of a growl rise from the back of his throat, but as quickly as his anger rises, it fades. The only audible noise to come from him is a simple laugh. The vampire then treks to the other side of the room, taking a seat upon the chaise lounge. The sun has fully set by now – nothing but black is beyond the large frosted window behind him.

“Have you ever confessed your sins to someone you care about?” Astarion speaks to the floor, as if too ashamed to look at her. “I couldn't bear to see the look of disappointment on your face. Of disgust.” He rolls the ring again around his finger, finally lifting his eyes to meet hers. His ruby eyes gleam in the dim light of the office. “I'd already lost you once. Can you blame me for not wanting to risk it again?”

Frustrated, Tav yells, “You had a chance to be honest with me!” Despite the tension that now hangs heavy in the air, Astarion’s admission isn’t lost on her. Losing her is what he fears. What lies at the heart of his dishonesty, and he's all but admitted doing whatever it takes to prevent that. Is it the declaration of love she’s been hoping for? Not quite, but it’s evidence that the shell is cracking, allowing for a look within. And if she continues pressing him, perhaps she’ll uncover even more. “You had a chance to be honest, and yet you still chose yourself. Your image, above us!”

The vampire abruptly throws up his hands. He lets out a laugh of disbelief, elbows coming to rest on the tops of his knees as he leans forward. His head hangs in his hands. “What else am I to do, Tavaria?” Astarion asks, muffled by the position of his hands over his mouth. A rhetorical question born of frustration, by the sound of it.

“So, that’s it? This is what you are now?” She weighs the weight of her next statement carefully, ultimately deciding to continue. “A coward?”

To the Hells with it. If there’s a chance she will die tonight, she may as well go out on her terms.

Astarion stands. “I beg your pardon?” he says, stalking toward her. He's practically growling, now. Rage simmers hot beneath his cool countenance.

Tavaria stares the vampire lord dead in the face. “You’re a coward, Astarion Ancunín,” she states. There's hardly any inflection to her voice; confidence saturates her tone. As he stops before her, she notices how much taller he is. How he seems to tower over her. Tav lifts her face and catches his jaw working, clenching tight. Astarion sucks in a deep breath through his nose. “It seems you have lost your manners,” he sneers.

Tav is quick to shoot back, “Have I? Or have I seen through you?” She knows him too well – how he adores playing with the truth.

Astarion’s fists clench rapidly at his sides. Yet, instead of erupting… he laughs. Quietly at first, gradually growing louder. Tav raises a brow, confused and also concerned by the scene unfolding before her, but stays silent.

“What am I doing?” Astarion ponders aloud. He lifts his hands to his face and rubs, digging his palms into his eyes. “The Gods must be having a field day seeing what I've been reduced to.”

“Reduced to what, exactly?” Tav asks with a slight tilt of her head. A handful of emotions wash over her – anger, confusion, fear, doubt. She isn’t sure which one she should listen to first. She isn’t sure if she should listen to any of them. “I'm not quite sure I appreciate your tone, Astarion.”

Astarion lifts his head near immediately, shouting, “A blabbering, lovesick fool!” He gestures wildly before her. “Look at me, Tavaria! I'm too godsdamned afraid to speak to you unless I have a few drinks in me!” He runs a slender hand through the silver locks atop his head, grabbing a fist full of curls as he pulls forward. “I'm a fucking mess!” the vampire admits with nervous laughter.

She stares blankly at him, an audible gasp falling from her lips. “Love..?” She reiterates, quietly. The word nearly saps all moisture from her mouth. She knows she heard him, but her brain is too shaken to properly receive the message. “You didn't tell me because you're lovesick?”

“Gods, Tavaria, again with this? We've already had this discussion!” Astarion yells back. “You can’t possibly be this obtuse.”

Deflection again. One of his favorite tactics.

The layers he's built around himself are quickly melting away. Astarion is grasping for control. Trying to push her out so as to not see his shame. His vulnerability. His heart. But Tav has already planted one foot within his walls, unwilling to give up the ground she's gained. She remains resilient.

“Is that what I’m to do, Astarion? Piece everything together and just assume how you feel? Like a dog that waits patiently for scraps at the dinner table?” She hardly recognizes her own voice. The ground feels unstable beneath her, as if it’ll crack and she’ll fall right through. She continues pushing forward in defiance. “This is the first inkling of a confession I’ve gotten from you in months–” Tav leans in toward Astarion, “–months! Do you realize that? Of course we're going to talk about this!”

The vampire growls, low and gruff within his chest. He places his hands over his hips and taps one foot against the ground. “What do you think all of this is, then?” Astarion then hums in question. “Do you think it's a game to me?”

“I don't know what you think it is,” Tav shoots back almost immediately. “I hardly even know who you are, at this point.”

“I really wish you would stop fucking saying that,” Astarion sneers. He places his hands over his hips, shifting his weight to one side.

“Should I take a page out of your book then, and lie to your face?” Tav realizes she's playing with fire the more she pushes, but she can't help herself. The smell of raw, open wounds fills her; she finally has him cornered. “Would you rather I fall to my knees and swear fealty to you, all while brandishing a dagger behind my back? Is that in more of a language you understand?”

Silence befalls the room. Astarion's gaze sits heavy on her, but Tav stands still. She watches as he shudders, turning away from her. Pain grips her chest.

For a brief moment, she questions if she's perhaps gone too far.

“I'm not going to harm you, Astarion,” Tav says, breaking the silence. She feels her heart sink further as Astarion drags a hand over his face. The vampire then pulls in a shaky breath.

“You already have.”

His words are an instant punch to the gut. Tav chokes.

“But so have I,” continues Astarion. “The first time I ever lay with you… It was under false pretenses.” The hand on his face raises to his hair, combing through. Astarion lifts his face with a half-empty smile. “We’ve been hurting one another, haven't we?”

That's it. The horrid realization of what their relationship boils down to. Tit for tat, bit by bit. Two steps forward and three back. Both too afraid to show their real faces. Pulling themselves back before they ever truly begin. The rare moments of a lull is where their love resides. When the masks finally slip off. The beautiful garden they ignore until it sets aflame. Drowning it in water, they have no choice but to hope for the best. Hoping they survive.

That is the reality of their love. That has been their love. Neither too eager to maintain it out of fear of being seen by the other. But when they do manage to put those feelings aside, their garden thrives.

“Do you love me?”

The question echoes within the depths of her mind, chilling her body to its core. She can hardly believe she asked it – and so boldly – but it doesn't make the inquiry any less honest. For once, she allows herself to speak from her heart.

“If you truly want to end this game between us, Astarion,” Tav states sternly, “then I ask you again: Do you love me?” He has no place to hide, this time. Nowhere to run, and she will use this to her full advantage. “Because if you don't, I will leave.” With growing confidence, she dares to stand before him. “Forever.”

And there it is–her ultimatum. Her declaration of being through with this charade. That she will take no more from him. And despite how her heart crumbles at the thought, Tav knows it would ultimately be for the best. She needs this from him, and she refuses to continue going with less than what she deserves.

Astarion's silver tongue moves along the inside of his cheek as he stares her down. A tongue so saturated in deceit, unhesitating to strike even her, should he demand it. His eyes narrow into thin slits and he draws a deep breath through his nose. “Do I desire you?” Astarion asks, tauntingly. He snickers as he leans forward, mouth hovering over hers. “Every corner of my mind is consumed by thoughts of you. Of us.” Astarion's eyes drop to her lips. “Thoughts of you in my arms. The smell of your hair filling my senses.” He lifts his gaze, eyes hooded. “The warmth of your body against mine.”

The air suddenly evaporates from her lungs, and Tav nearly chokes.

“Everything I do… I do it with us in mind. Because I love you,” he grounds out. “That's what you've been waiting to hear, isn't it?”

A shiver passes over her. “Not if it isn't true,” Tav says, weakly. Her head is spinning. Is he really saying this? Is this another one of his tricks?

Astarion reaches for her face and Tav flinches, still not used to his body heat. “Well, that's really too bad, because it is. And it nearly drives me out of my mind how much I love you. How often I think of you.” Tears threaten the corners of his eyes. She hasn't seen him cry since the night he learned the true nature of the poem carved into his back.

Tav goes slack within his embrace and her eyes flit closed. An odd sense of calm washes over her the panic gripping her heart seems to fade, replaced by warmth and longing. Desire, she realizes. True, unbridled desire for him. Another feeling she's tried to stifle out of shame, out of fear of being unrequited. And as she opens her eyes, she meets the shimmering ruby red of Astarion's irises. A lone tear streaks down his porcelain skin.

Tav throws her arms over the vampire's shoulders, settling closer to him. Astarion's arms then drop to her waist. He pulls her close, burying his face within the crook of her neck. She pants gently against the side of his face as his lips connect with the tender flesh of her neck, weaving her fingers through his hair.

“I love you, too. So much that I hate this,” Tav admits breathlessly. She feels Astarion freeze under her, but he doesn't pull away. “I have craved this for so long, Astarion. To be like this with you.” Her heart thuds loudly within her chest, ready to punch through the confines of her ribcage. “And I hate that you've made me wait this long for it.”

The arms around her waist tighten, one moving up to splay across her back. “You've any idea how nervous I was when I sought you out again?” Astarion says, voice quivering. “I was so sure you'd tell me to leave and never come back.”

Tav sucks in a sharp breath. Truth be told, she wanted to. Had convinced herself that she should have, and has been looking through that perspective ever since. But a deep, deep part of her was still hopelessly bonded to Astarion. The man she knew he was – not the creature that had replaced him. And when he laid her down so gently the first night of his return, carrying her into the bath after, it was reassurance enough that the same man was still in there. That this was still worth fighting for.

Tav’s stomach clenches as Astarion's hand continues to travel up, settling on the back of her neck. Heat pools within her lower belly as she melts further into his form. “Astarion,” she moans, the vampire now nipping at the shell of her ear. There’s a pulling sensation below her navel and her hand flies instinctively to her stomach. Gale's words suddenly echo within her mind; she sighs. There is no better time to tell him than now.

“I wish to tell you something,” Tav says, breathless.

Astarion simply hums his reply, not bothering to lift his face. His fingers dance along the small hairs at the base of her neck before cradling her head.

Tav peels herself gently from him, a shiver running through her. “Astarion,” she calls again to him. He finally meets her eyes. Curiosity colors his expression, but he watches patiently as Tav removes his hand from the small of her back, placing it over her abdomen. “Feel,” she instructs. Her heart hammers in her chest.

Astarion lifts a brow, one corner of his mouth pulling up in a smirk. “What exactly am I feeling for, love?” he laughs, “If you mean to tell me you're hungry, we can have–”

Suddenly, his eyes grow wide. Color drains from his face as he slowly turns his head, looking down at his hand. Astarion then kneels before her, placing his ear against her stomach. A near-silent gasp falls from the vampire’s lips. Tav grasps for his shoulders as the room around her spins. She feels faint, as if there isn't enough oxygen to breathe anywhere in Faerûn, let alone this room. That there is no corner of the world she can go to in order to escape this feeling.

Doubt creeps in. This was a mistake, she thinks. Selfish and impulsive. What was she thinking? How could she ever think this was a good idea? He wasn't supposed to find out, she should have never–

“Tavaria…” Astarion’s face settles into a scowl as he rises to his feet. “Is this some kind of joke?”

The world snaps back into focus. She suddenly realizes that she is alone with the most powerful vampire lord to have ever existed, who now thinks her greatest vulnerability is a crude trick. Her worst fear nearly confirmed. Tav’s stomach falls to the floor. The small hairs on her arms raise. Bile burns at the back of her throat.

“What are you talking about?” she asks, desperately.

“You get me to a point where I let you see my heart–” Astarion pauses, screwing his eyes shut, but continues, “I give you my back, only for you to do this?”

Anger. So much anger bleeds from him. Hurt, betrayal. Tav can hardly piece together all she's hearing. Her body begins shaking violently; adrenaline kicking in as she readies herself to flee, should need be. “I don't understand,” she manages to tell him. The truth, really. She hasn't a clue where he's going with this line of questioning.

The vampire scoffs, turning his head away from her. He shifts his weight to one side as his hands settle on his hips. “Do you really take me for that much of a fool?” accuses Astarion. “That I would accept you passing off someone else's child as ours?”

Her head spins as her mind quickly works through the events of the last three months. “There has only ever been you, Astarion,” Tav declares, fiercely. She should be the one asking him that same question. Is this how little he thinks of her? Even if she had a rotating parade of lovers each night in her bed, what business of his is that? They've made no promises to one another. No bond, no vows. Tav balls her hands into fists. How dare he insult her in such a way.

As if sensing her offense, Astarion sighs. “Forgive my skepticism, love, but I'm having a hard time believing this is true.” He shrugs his shoulders. “I feel like this would have happened already.” He snickers before adding, “We weren't exactly celibate, back then.”

The tension in her chest begins to unfurl. She realizes he has a point – not unlike the same conclusion she initially came to upon finding out. “I thought the same,” she admits. “I never thought twice about laying with you for that reason. I’m still not certain of how this happened, but I know this as truth, Astarion.”

Astarion shakes his head. “‘All the appetites of man will be returned to you,’” he recites, giving a short chuckle. “I guess that also extends to other things.” He raises his hands to hold hers, grimacing at how Tav flinches at the contact. “I'm sorry. It wasn't my intention to paint you as ill-willed. I've done enough horrid things to you, including this. Had I known… I would have been more careful. I hope you don't believe I was planning this.”

Tav snickers. “You? Plan?” Despite her light tone, the urge to make him suffer tugs at her. She should be madder, demand more from him, make him feel even a sliver of the pain and anguish she's felt for weeks, now. Force him down on his knees and beg for her forgiveness, to worship her, to vow never to betray her again. Her bones sing for it, blood clawing at the need for revenge. To make right all he's wronged against her.

But he's not that different from her, is he? Lost in his own darkness. A slave, no longer by physical means, but now to his own selfish desires. The new body he inhabits, the quickened mind; every thought and feeling amplified. It doesn't excuse his cruelty, but it gives strong reason. And she can tell he's beginning to understand the line between the two. He's trying rather than excusing his actions. That surely implies insight, does it not?

Tav decides that this will suffice, swallowing her own darkness back down. She will help bear the torch to aid him on his journey toward understanding. A way to pay him back for his patience during their quest against the Absolute. She'd nearly killed him, more than once, yet still he returned to her tent night after night to hold her through every breakdown. Every rotten urge that dared to swallow her whole. He gave her the unwavering support she needed, even if it wasn't what she deserved. And he never so much as asked for anything aside from her love in return.

The raw vulnerability Astarion is finally presenting to her… This is all she's wanted from the beginning.

Him.

The side of him that was and is hers. The man she fell in love with. And as if coming to a clearing in the middle of a lush meadow, he finally, finally, stands before her. Tav can't help but smile.

“I’ve been known to have some good ideas,” Astarion says in jest, returning her smile. A few moments pass before he gathers her hands within his, bringing each to his mouth. “So… what comes now?” He kisses over her knuckles, then leans forward to kiss between her brows. Tav gives him a puzzled look, and he quickly clarifies, “Vampiric children are rare, but I would completely understand if this isn't what you want.”

Choice. He's giving her choice.

Tav’s eyes widen with surprise. “Oh, no, I'm…” Her voice trails off as her gaze falls to the side. She can feel the faint blush rising to her cheeks. “I'm almost beyond that point, now. I think.” Numbers fly through her mind. Just how long has it been, she wonders? Perhaps another visit to Jaheira wouldn't hurt.

“So you're keeping it?” Astarion asks, raising a brow.

Tav is quick to nod. “Y-yes,” she stammers, “I don't expect anything from you.” She dares herself to meet his gaze. “Unless you want to.” Her heart is lodged in her throat as she waits for his reply. It’s only fair that she gives him, too, the chance to choose.

Astarion's eyes wander over her face. He's still holding her hands, but he moves now to intertwine their fingers. “Do you?”

A searing pain shoots through her chest. He's deflecting? Why? “That's not what I asked you, Astarion.” Tav’s voice trembles as she blinks at him. She feels herself fading. Splitting from herself. She begins to shake again, fear bubbling over.

It was stupid to think he'd want this. He hates children; do you not remember his first reaction to Yenna? The disgust? Why would your child be any different? This is a mistake, this is wrong, you ignorant little–

“I want to,” Astarion declares, wrapping his arms around her waist. He speaks against her ear, “So, tell me, darling: Do you?”

She returns to herself at the first sound of his reply, and Tav nods her head wildly in agreement. Her throat tightens suddenly, heat curling up her face. The familiar sting of tears prickle the corners of her eyes. “Yes,” she states emphatically, throwing her arms around his neck. She kisses the side of his face. “Yes, Astarion!”

“Then it’s settled,” says the vampire lord. He pulls his head back from her to observe her face, a smile tugging on his mouth. “We… are expecting.”

She's overwhelmed by the sudden rush of emotions that wash over her. Happiness, frustration, relief. Happy and relieved by this outcome, but also frustrated that it’s taken so long to get here. It’s easy for her to identify those feelings, but there's another whose identity is foreign to her. It nags at her subconscious, itching to be let out of its cage. It lashes wildly against her mental restraints.

Their eyes meet. Tavaria’s gaze shifts momentarily to his lips and then back again. Astarion does the same. He lingers over her mouth a bit too long before lazily dragging his eyes back up her face. Heat dances under her skin. The room suddenly feels too warm. Scorching.

“Love,” Astarion whispers quietly against her lips. He drops his forehead against hers, hands settling on the curve of her hips. They lightly fist the fabric of her emerald gown.

Her head spins as her senses are flooded. The thick smell of food trailing down the hall and the faintest hint of pipe smoke that clings to his clothes, mixing with his cologne. The delightful pressure of Astarion’s hands on her body. The warmth radiating off his body, so close to hers.

Safe.

She feels safe within his embrace.

A rhythmic pulsing starts at the apex of her thighs, desire pooling low in her belly. Astarion's chest rises and falls in shorter intervals. The scent of his cologne sits heavy within her nose, a smell so entirely him, and her eyes fall closed, instinctively rolling back into her head. The flames of arousal lick pleasantly over her core.

“Tavaria…”

And as quickly as her name drops from his lips, she ignites.

She rushes forward, capturing Astarion’s lips in a searing kiss. He groans in surprise against her mouth, a hand coming up to cradle the back of her head. Tav’s jaw goes slack and he uses the opportunity to slip his tongue into her mouth. She winds her hands through his hair, grabbing desperately at fistfuls of silver as Astarion nips at her lower lip. Pulling her closer, Tav hisses as she feels the outline of him stirring to life against her center. She sneaks a hand down between them to cup him through his clothes.

Astarion groans, pulling her head roughly to the side before delving into the nape of her neck. He traces the faint scars along her skin with his tongue before closing his mouth over them, sucking hard. “Mine,” he hisses against her neck, the hand still on her hip tightening.

She wants to reply, to tell him yes, she’s his, has always been his, but all she manages is a wanton moan as he sucks feverishly at her neck again. Tav scrambles for the zipper on the back of her dress, desperate for the touch of his hands along her heated flesh.

“No,” Astarion grumbles, holding her hands steady.

“Astarion, please,” Tav begs.

“Not here.”

The sting of rejection ghosts along her heart. Tav pulls back from him as she gives him a questioning glance, panting heavily. The room around them comes back into focus, the fire of her arousal being doused.

As if sensing her hurt, Astarion says, “Upstairs. I would like to do this properly.” A blush sits across the vampire’s face, his eyes glazed over with lust. His chest heaves. He means not to reject her; he wants to take her to bed.

Her heart swells once again. “Take me,” Tav coos, resting her head against his. Her eyes fall closed as she kisses him. Every fiber of her being sings to him. Calls to him, wants him to devour her. She craves the feel of strong hands along her sore breasts, like a soothing balm. Those hands then diving down to explore the ripening expanse of her stomach. Further still, until those fingers delve deep, deep within her. Tav aches for him, she realizes. Stronger than ever before. “Please,” she begs, near silently. The fire within her burns near out of control. If he doesn’t act soon, she will be lost.

Astarion pulls away again, groaning at the loss of contact. Tav can hardly keep herself from looking between his legs. His cock strains heavily against the confines of his trousers and she bites her lower lip in anticipation. Astarion laughs as he catches her gaze, but he grabs her hand and leads them both toward the exit. “Come then, my love,” he coos as he throws open the door, leading them both out into the foyer.

#ascended astarion #sotlc #my writing #tavstarion #bg3 fanfiction #ascended astarion x tav #durgestarion

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fortheloveofwonderland · 10 months ago

Text

Me & You & Everyone We Know | Chapter 20 FINAL | S.R

Previous Chapter

Chapter Summary - It’s eight months later and Spencer’s life has changed dramatically. Did he ever get his happy ending?

A/N - Final chapter folks! 'Bout time, right?

Pairing - Single Dad! Spencer Reid / Fem! Reader

Category - hurt/comfort, angst with happy ending, smut minors DNI.

Warnings - some light angst but overall long overdue fluff. WC - 5.3k

Chapter 20 - First Day of My Life

And I don't know where I am, I don't know where I've been,

But I know where I want to go.

And so I thought I'd let you know,

Yeah, these things take forever, I especially am slow,

But I realised that I need you,

And I wondered if I could come home.

“How did you find me?”

“I know a guy.”

“What do you want?”

“It’s time we had a long overdue talk.”

“What could we possibly have to talk about?”

“Spencer. We need to talk about Spencer.”

***

Eight Months Later

Spencer Reid had a smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he slotted the last handful of books into their new home on the bookshelf in his new office.

He ran his fingers over the spines and the smile started to take route, blossoming and growing until it reached all the way to his eyes.

He surveyed the room, tucked away at the back of the second storey of his new home. His old trusty desk sat beneath the old bay windows with the most gorgeous lighting drifting in through the open curtains from the surprisingly glorious winter day outside.

He slid into his leather chair and brushed his fingertips over the dark wood desk.

He’d officially moved into the old gothic style house back in the fall and the rest of the home had come together nicely. But his office had been a slow process, a tiring process.

This room more than any others in the new house had to be perfect. He would be spending a lot of time in this room and it had to be just right. And after weeks of shuffling furniture around, it finally fit his criteria.

Eight months ago Spencer had made a decision about his future. He’d quit teaching, never returning to Georgetown after the summer break. Instead he struck a deal with BAU Unit Chief Emily Prentiss.

On the weeks Maeve had the girls he would work from Quantico or go away with the team on cases. When he had the girls he would work from his home office as a consultant.

His FBI badge sat next to his computer along with his new credentials and every time he looked at them he couldn’t help but smile.

The BAU was his home. In all the years since he’d left he’d felt like something was missing from his life. But now he had found his way back to his rightful place in the world.

It allowed him to feel fulfilled in both his home and work life. He didn’t have to give up any of his precious time spent with his daughters and he was able to work a job he loved with every fibre of his being.

Since the incident the night of the art show, Spencer had not had a single sip of alcohol. He was closing in on nine months sober and honestly he’d never felt better.

He still took his antidepressants, but a much lower dose now and he’d quit seeing Doctor Sanchez months ago.

His relationship was Maeve had slowly repaired itself over time to the point he would now call her one of his closest friends.

Eight months ago he would never have believed he could be this happy again. But it just went to show what a little hard work and determination could do.

He ran his fingers over the desk again as he got to his feet. He walked past the desk and across the room.

In the doorway he turned back for one last glance around the room.

Yes, everything was falling into place.

***

You fought with the zipper on the back of your dress, huffing and puffing through excretion. When you finally got the thing all the way up your arms fell back to your sides and you let out a large breath.

You gave yourself a once over in the mirror, turning this way and that and scrutinising your appearance. You’d looked better, that was for sure. But given the circumstances you didn’t look half bad.

The pile of papers on the dresser caught your gaze through the mirror and you rolled your eyes as they seemingly taunted you.

Tomorrow was paperwork day. Today there were more pressing things at hand.

You’d received your doctorate in August and since Doctor Spencer Reid’s sudden resignation from the university you had taken over teaching his classes.

It wasn’t your end goal, but for now you couldn’t deny you loved teaching. Maybe one day you’d look elsewhere but as of right now you quite liked your place in the world.

The past eight months had been a whirlwind to say the least, and where you’d found yourself was not at all where you imagined ending up. But you couldn’t pretend you weren’t happy where you were.

You moved over to the bed, your stomach coiling a little as you sat down on the edge of it. You slipped your feet into your shoes as your mind wandered back some eight months.

“How did you find me?” You scrutinised the woman on your doorstep, recognising her from one fleeting sighting of her some time ago.

“I know a guy.” She shrugged simply.

“What do you want?” You folded your arms across your chest.

She was the last person you expected to see here and the last person you wanted to be face to face with.

“It’s time we had a long overdue talk.” She mirrored your action and crossed her own arms.

“What could we possibly have to talk about?” You scoffed.

“Spencer.” She rolled her eyes. “We need to talk about Spencer.”

Having the former Mrs Reid show up at your apartment had thrown you through a loop. You’d been so shell shocked you’d actually invited her inside.

Maeve proceeded to tell you all the reasons you needed to give Spencer a second chance. She explained to you why he’d lied to you about not being in love with you, how he was simply trying to protect himself from getting hurt again.

She went into great detail about how she knew you and Spencer belonged together and that you were the loves of each other's lives.

You hadn’t spoken much, simply listened. And when she left she tried to put the whole thing behind you so you could move on. You still had no idea to this day how she knew where you lived and could only assume someone at the BAU had given her the intel.

Two months later you’d gone back to work to find Spencer had quit the university. And for some reason the thought of never seeing him again undid all the hard work you’d put in over the summer to get over him.

“Y/N?” He blinked at you as though he wasn’t sure he trusted his own eyes. “Uh, what are you doing here?”

“Can I come in?” You hugged your arms around yourself.

“Yeah, sure. The place is still a mess, I literally only moved in a few days ago.” He held open the door to his new home and let you inside.

Boxes were piled up all over the place. A couch and a coffee table were the only visible furniture.

“How did you know where I live?” He hovered between piles of boxes.

“Maeve,” you croaked. “She came to me a few months ago and left me her number. I didn’t ever expect to use it but when I found out you’d quit I just…I wanted to know why. So I called her and she gave me your address, said she has the girls this week.”

“Maeve came to you? Why?” He frowned, scratching at the back of his head.

“She wanted to explain some things. About you. About why you lied to me.”

“Right,” his frown deepened.

“So why did you quit?”

“That’s why you came here? Really? You want to know why I quit Georgetown? I haven't seen or heard from you in months and that’s what you came here for?” He looked at you somewhat indignantly.

“They offered me your job. I just want to know if you plan on coming back before I take it.” You shrugged.

“You got your doctorate?” His lip quivered into something resembling a smile.

“I did. So are you coming back or can I take your job?”

“I rejoined the BAU.” He rolled his lip between his teeth. “Not a full caseload like I used to work, I can fit my hours around the girls now Maeve and I have joint custody. It’s where I belong.”

“Fine.” You finally let your arms fall to your sides. “That’s all I came here for.”

You turned away from him, back towards the old mahogany front door with the stained glass window in the centre but you didn’t get very far.

“I shouldn’t have lied to you.” He spoke and when you turned back around he was a few steps closer to you. “I thought I was protecting us both but really I was only hurting us.”

“I didn’t come here for this.” You shook your head.

“Well you certainly didn’t come all the way out here to ask if I was coming back to work.” He chuckled dryly. “I may always have complicated feelings towards my ex but my feelings for you are anything but. I love you Y/N. I love you more than words can describe and I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Please don’t walk away. Please give me another chance.”

Your eyes misted with tears but you were not going to let them fall. You bit the inside of your cheek in hopes of keeping them at bay.

You straightened your back, clenched your jaw and spat a simple, “no.”

You pushed yourself up, wobbling slightly as you did so. You pinched the bridge of your nose and closed your eyes to try to ease the dizziness.

You gave yourself one last look in the mirror, smoothing down the front of your dress which was a little tighter than you would have liked it to be, before shaking your head and pushing out of the door.

***

“You really don’t have to do this.” Maeve rolled her eyes at him through the mirror.

“Oh please, I’m great with kids.” Spencer scoffed, nudging the rocker a little and smiling down at the little dark haired bundle of joy.

“Well yes I know that,” she huffed, toying with the strap of her dress. “But it seems weird to have you look after my son.”

Little Elijah, Daisy and Lily’s half brother, was twelve weeks old and Spencer had almost forgotten how tiny babies were.

“It’s really no big deal. He’s my daughter’s half brother, he’s basically family.” He shrugged.

“And what a weird family we are.” Maeve laughed as she turned back to face Spencer. “So, how do I look?”

Spencer glanced up from baby Elijah and onto her and tears immediately filled his eyes. He stood up and crossed the room towards her, gaze flicking up and down her frame.

“Good gosh Maeve,” he breathed. “You look incredible.”

“Don’t cry.” She shook her head. “Because if you start I’ll start.”

“Sorry, sorry.” He shook his head, rubbing his eyes with his palms to try and dismiss the tears. “But seriously, you look amazing.”

She smiled at him, glancing down at her white, satin dress. She felt like a princess, and judging by Spencer’s reaction she looked like one too.

“Thank you,” she took hold of his hands and squeezed them. “And you’re sure you don’t mind watching over Elijah for the day?”

“For the one hundredth time I do not mind at all. For the record, I hate weddings anyway so this kinda works out great for me. If he cries I have an excuse to leave early.” He smirked at her and she removed her hands from his so she could slap his bicep.

“You’re such a cynic.” She rolled her eyes.

“What can I say?” He shrugged. “I heard eloping is all the rage.”

She rolled her eyes yet again.

“Can you believe we’re here? I never in a million years thought I’d ever get married again.” She sighed wistfully.

“I always thought when I got married it would be forever.” He nodded. “And after all we’ve been through I never thought we’d end up here.”

“Friends you mean?”’

“Is that what this is? Huh. Good to know.” He chuckled, yet again making Maeve roll her eyes.

She turned her back on him again and toyed with her hair in the mirror. Spencer moved back over to where baby Elijah was dribbling down his chin, making little gurgling noises.

He picked up the rocket and attached it to the frame of the stroller so he was ready to make a quick exit when needed.

Just then the door to the bridal suite flew open and his two boisterous daughters barrelled in, wearing their matching purple bridesmaids dresses.

“Mom!” Daisy gasped. “Oh my gosh you look amazing!”

“Mom you’re so pretty!” Lily agreed excitedly.

“Thank you sweethearts.” Maeve turned and held her arms open for the girls who quickly embraced their mother.

“I mean, I’m also here.” Spencer shrugged. “I thought I looked pretty good too.”

“Shut up dad.” Daisy rolled her eyes at him.

“Yeah dad, you’re not the one getting married.” Lily also rolled her eyes.

Since turning eight a few months ago, Lily had started becoming more and more like her sister by the day. Spencer couldn’t remember the time she’d called him daddy or the last time she’d asked him to read to her.

Life was moving way too fast for his liking. His little girls were growing up, soon enough they’d be leaving him. Now wasn’t the time to get down about it though, he still had exciting things in his future.

“Fair enough,” he sighed. “I’m going to take Elijah and get a seat. Try not to upstage your mom, kiddos.”

“He’s such a dork.” He heard Daisy say.

“Yeah who says kiddos?” He heard Lily reply.

He smiled to himself as he left the room, pushing Elijah’s stroller towards the large ballroom down the hall.

Soft music played through small, indiscriminate speakers, as people started taking their seats either side of the grand aisle.

Maeve had always dreamed of a big wedding, their own nuptials at city hall had left a lot for her imagination to desire. And Spencer was glad she was finally getting everything she’d always wanted.

He came to a stop by the door where Bobby, beaming with pride, was waiting to greet people. He spotted Spencer and his son heading his way and waved at them.

“Hey, how’s my little man doing?”

“I’m not bad, thanks.” Spencer joked, now making Bobby roll his eyes. “Oh you mean Elijah? He’s good aren’t you buddy?”

Bobby crouched down and cooed over his son for a moment or two, placing a kiss on his forehead before standing back to his full height.

“Thanks for being here, man. It means a lot to Maeve that you approve of this.” Bobby smiled a gentle smile at him.

“I just want her to be happy.” Spencer shrugged. “And I’ve never seen her happier than when she’s with you.”

Bobby extended his hand and Spencer took it, shaking his ex-wife’s soon to be new husband's hand.

It was probably extremely weird if he stopped to think about it, but that was a thought for another day.

“Are you happy, Spencer?” Bobby surprised him when he asked.

A smile toyed on Spencer’s lips as he closed his eyes briefly and gave thought to his life. When he opened his eyes again his smile grew.

“You know what? I really am.” He nodded.

Bobby patted him on the shoulder before Spencer took the stroller again and headed through the doors.

He headed towards the bar in the corner, spotting JJ, Will and the boys already in their seats and offered them a wave as he passed.

Towards the bar he saw Luke and Garcia, holding hands and giggling between themselves. Nearby Rossi sipped his scotch and tilted his glass at Spencer as he passed.

Cameron was hovering on the other side of the room, looking much like a spare part. He didn’t know anyone here and was instructed to wait patiently for his girlfriend while she fulfilled her bridesmaids duties.

The rest of the team were due to be here but the ceremony wasn’t due to start for another half hour so he had no doubt they’d be here soon.

He pushed the stroller up to the bar and applied the brake, ordering himself a club soda and leaning on the bar top while he waited.

Elijah started to stir, his gurgling noises starting to sound a little strained. Spencer stood back up and peered in his stroller.

“Hey you,” he reached towards the tiny boy and unclipped him from the seat. “It’s ok.”

He lifted Elijah from the stroller, his little face contorted as though he may start crying at any moment. Spencer held the back of soft head and brought him to his chest, cradling him in his arms.

“It’s ok, it’s ok.” He bounced him gently. “Don’t cry, it’s your mommy and daddy’s big day. We don’t want tears.”

He rocked him back and forth and thanked the bar tender when he placed his club soda on the bar. Elijah continued to gurgling, but the rocking motion seemed to calm him.

“It’s ok.” He kissed the side of Elijah’s head.

He’d missed this. He missed when his girls were this small and they didn’t talk back to him and one cuddle from their daddy solved all their problems.

He missed sneaking into their rooms at night just to watch them sleep when the baby monitor wasn’t enough. He missed the way they would cling to his hand so tightly, the way they’d once thought their dad was a superhero.

He loved his girls, more than humanly possible. He loved them as babies, as toddlers and he loved them now, one as a teenager and another who thought she was a teenager.

But as time went on Spencer felt like his girls needed him less and less with every passing day. He sometimes felt redundant as a parent, like his job was done.

Elijah was brand new. Maeve and Bobby would have all those things he’d taken for granted with Daisy and Lily.

Sometimes he wished he could go back in time, really savour those moments. In the blink of an eye his girls would be going off to college, having families of their own and then they really wouldn’t need him anymore.

He held Elijah a little longer than he needed to, momentarily pretending he was Daisy or Lily and he had a chance to do it all over again.

“You’ve got your whole life ahead of you little man. And you got so lucky. You’re mom and dad love you so much and you have the two best sisters in the whole world. And this extended family of yours…” he trailed off, glancing around the room at his family, his BAU family. “You don’t know how lucky you’ve got it kid.”

He started getting a little misty eyed as he stroked Elijah’s head, still rocking him in his arms. Elijah made a happy little cooing sound and Spencer smiled to himself. He closed his eyes and breathed in that new baby scent, imagining one of his daughter’s in his arms when they were so small and vulnerable.

“That’s a good look on you, daddy.”

His eyes snapped back open and he couldn’t hold back the smile on his face. He cautiously laid Elijah back down in his stroller, buckling him back in.

“Just remembering what it was like, it's been a while.” He chuckled, reaching out his hands. “You look like a goddamn dream.”

“You say that like you didn’t see me this morning.” You laughed, taking hold of his outstretched hands.

“You somehow look more beautiful every single time I lay eyes on you.” He pulled you close by your hands and moved them to cup your face.

“You’re not going to cry are you?” You teased him as he kissed you.

“I can’t promise anything.” He laughed against your lips.

“I may always have complicated feelings towards my ex but my feelings for you are anything but. I love you Y/N. I love you more than words can describe and I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Please don’t walk away. Please give me another chance.”

Your eyes misted with tears but you were not going to let them fall. You bit the inside of your cheek in hopes of keeping them at bay.

You straightened your back, clenched your jaw and spat a simple, “no.”

Turning away from him towards the door, you soon felt a hand on your shoulder.

“That’s not good enough for me.” He turned you back to face him. “I cannot let you walk away again.”

Before you knew what was happening, Spencer caged you back against the door and kissed you. And despite everything, all the pain and hurt he’d caused you, you kissed him back.

And the rest, as they say, was history.

You didn’t walk away, couldn’t even if you tried. You hadn’t walked away in the six months since and you knew you never would.

Four weeks later you moved into his new home with him and the girls.

Daisy and Lily adored you and in return you loved them just as much. They enjoyed having another woman around and oftentimes the three of you would gang up on their dad, much to Spencer’s chagrin.

Daisy talked to you about things she wasn’t always comfortable talking to her parents about. Lily liked it when you braided her hair. They both enjoyed the shopping trips you took them on.

Spencer kissed you once more before letting go of your face and taking hold of one of your hands again.

“This place is fancy.” You spoke as your eyes flitted around the grand room.

“I did try to explain to her the benefits of eloping.” Spencer shrugged, a small smile tugging at his lips.

“It’s not for everyone.” You chuckled.

Spencer raised your hand and placed a kiss on your knuckles, right next to your gold wedding band.

“Do you regret it? Not having some big fancy event like this?”

“Are you kidding me?” You pulled a face, glancing down at his matching band. “The only person I needed at our wedding was you, Doctor Reid.”

Some might say it was too soon, that the two of you had rushed into things but they would be wrong.

When you know, you know and you both knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that you were meant to be together and didn’t want to waste a second not being married. Nothing had ever felt so right as standing up in that little Vegas chapel and promising each other forever.

“I love you so much. Doctor Reid.” He squeezed your hand.

The kiss lasted several minutes and by the time Spencer pulled back you were both panting.

The look he was giving you was like no look anyone had ever given you before. And it told you all you needed to know.

This man was incomparably in love with you, and would go to the ends of the earth for you. This man would do anything for you.

He’d made some mistakes, but so had you. Life wasn’t always perfect, there would always be bumps in the road. But with any luck the hardest hurdles were now in your past.

He loved you and you loved him and it was just as simple as that.

“I don’t want the best days of my life to have passed me by. I want it all, Y/N. I want to get married, I want to have more kids. And I want it with you.”

“It really is a good job we don’t both work at Georgetown anymore, two Doctor Reid’s is just confusing.” You laughed.

“Well I think it could be done. There would just be the hot Doctor Reid and the other Doctor Reid.” He shrugged, his eyes sparkling playfully.

“Which one am I?”

“You will never know, my love.” He chuckled, pulling you close again and kissing you slightly more fiercely than was appropriate for the current setting.

Before things could get too hot and heavy, Elijah whined, tearing the two of you apart. You both moved to his stroller and looked down on him.

“Hey little man, what seems to be the problem?” You stroked his wrinkly forehead.

He kicked his tiny legs, blowing little spit bubbles in his mouth. Spencer cooed at him while you continued stroking his head.

Within a few seconds he calmed down again, perhaps he just wanted some attention. Baby’s and dogs weren’t all that dissimilar, Taco had a penchant for whining when he wanted attention.

“Oh jeez, I’m sorry. I didn’t ask if you wanted a drink.” Spencer stood back up and picked up his club soda.

“Just water, please. I’ve been feeling a little queasy again this morning.” You rubbed your stomach.

“Hopefully that’ll pass soon.” He kissed your cheek before getting the bartender's attention again and ordering you a glass of water.

Soon after handing it to you, Daisy and Lily in their beautiful dresses, carrying bouquets, were heading your way.

Spencer saw the coy smile Daisy sent in the direction of her boyfriend and it made his stomach tighten. How he wished he could slow down time so his daughter never got older.

“You need to go sit, it’s starting in a minute.” Daisy demanded.

“Sit please.” Lily echoed.

Spencer looked between his girls and you and little Elijah who could now barely keep his eyes open. He was flooded by nostalgia, weddings always did have that effect on him.

The girls turned to leave, to finish their rounds but Spencer stopped them.

“Hey, pumpkins?” His voice cracked a little as he spoke.

“Stop it.” Daisy frowned at him, hearing the way his voice broke.

“Stop what? Spencer frowned back.

“I can see you getting sappy. Don’t do it. Please, dad?” She begged him.

“Yeah please, dad?” Lily repeated.

“I’m sorry, I can’t help it.” He looked over at Elijah again. “I just miss when you girls were that little. When you needed me.”

You slipped your hand in his, giving it a squeeze to try and tether him to the present before he went down a rabbit hole into the past.

Daisy and Lily looked at each other, communicating subconsciously in the weird way sisters seemed to be able to do.

“We’ll always need you, dad.” Lily spoke as they looked back at him.

“You will?”

“Of course, you’re our dad.” Daisy shrugged.

“We love you.” Lily insisted.

“I love you both so much.” His voice cracked again, eyes misting with tears.

“Oh god,” Daisy groaned. “Do not cry. Stop it.”

“Make him stop, Y/N.” Lily looked at you pleadingly.

“I wish I could.” You chuckled, giving his hand another firm squeeze. “But you know your dad, he’s an emotional kind of guy.”

“We can’t stay little kids forever, dad.” Daisy offered him a slightly sad smile.

“I know, I know.” He nodded, using his free hand to wipe his eyes before any tears fell.

“But hey, at least you get to do it all over again.” Daisy shrugged, nodding towards your belly.

“Hey Y/N?” Spencer spoke to you from the bed of the Caesars Palace Honeymoon suite.

“Yeah?” You called back from the bathroom.

“Let’s make a baby.”

You frowned to yourself and put down your toothbrush, padding back into the bedroom.

“Excuse me?” You leant against the doorframe, your new husband lying naked on top of the covers.

“Let’s make a baby.” He repeated.

You’d come off your pill a week or so ago after you’d discussed wanting to try for a baby at some point in the future. You were still using condoms though and Spencer still never finished inside of you.

“Right now?” You questioned.

“Why not?” He shrugged.

“We literally just got married like five hours ago.” You laughed, stepping further into the room.

“I don’t want to wait.” He reached for you as soon as you were close enough, pulling you down to the bed. “Let’s make a baby.”

Your hand involuntarily went to your growing stomach, the one that you could barely fit inside this dress. You were at fourteen weeks and only just starting to show, it wouldn’t be long now before none of your clothes fit you.

“That is true.” Spencer looked at you with a smile that lit up the entire room.

He was now for three for three. Three times in his life he had unprotected sex, finishing inside of someone, and all three times he had gotten them pregnant. He often wondered if he had some kind of super sperm.

He placed his free hand on top of yours on your stomach, on the future addition to his pumpkin patch, to his crazy, slightly unconventional family.

He wouldn’t change his past, wouldn’t change Daisy and Lily or the way they were brought into the world. But this new baby growing inside of you, you at his side as his wife; this was the life he chose and the life you both chose to make.

“Anyway, you seriously need to go and sit down, mom will be pissed if you miss this.” Daisy snapped him out of his revere.

“Please don’t use that word.” Spencer rolled his eyes.

“Whatever,” Daisy shrugged. “Come on Lil, let's get the others.”

Lily happily followed her sister while the two of them rounded up all the guests and motioned them towards their seats. It wasn’t lost on him the way his youngest lit up when Michael LaMontagne smiled at her.

He swore one day he would be at their wedding.

Spencer glanced around and spotted Matt and Kristy hand in hand, closely followed by Emily and Tara who were chatting between themselves as they found seats near JJ and Will. He looked back at you, tears now back in his eyes.

“Don’t.” You shook your head. “I am a hormonal mess as it is. If you start crying, I will too.”

“Sorry,” he sighed wistfully. “I’m just so damn happy.”

“Me too, Spence.” You agreed, leaning in and kissing him. “Me too.”

The two you hung back with Elijah now asleep in his stroller while everyone else took their seats. Your own eyes took in the room, the girls, the BAU members and everyone in between.

This family had found you and accepted you as one of their own with open arms. The Reid family, the BAU family, without really meaning to you’d become a part of something you never knew you’d always wanted.

It may be slightly unorthodox, but it didn’t make what you had any less special. In fact in your eyes, the oddness of this family dynamic made it even more exceptional. And you wouldn’t change a single thing.

Spencer let go of your hand and wrapped his arm around your shoulders, placing a soft kiss on your head while reaching for the stroller with his free hand.

“Looks like it’s just me and you, angel.” He held you close, he always held you so close.

You glanced at Elijah before looking back around at all the faces in the room.

Daisy and Lily were waiting by the doors with their baskets of confetti, awaiting their cue to take to the aisle. Bobby stood proudly at the end, his best man at his side as they waited for the music to begin.

You looked over at JJ and Will, at Penelope and Luke; Matt and Kristy. You surveyed Tara, Emily and Rossi before you looked back to your husband.

“Yeah,” you smiled as you leaned closer to him, closing your eyes and breathing him in as though it was the very first time. “Just me and you and everyone we know.”

@foxy-eva @kbakery @chrissyflo3 @simxican @aysixdy @givemeth @loonalockley @shamelessfangirl-3 @derekm24 @pinkiceee-prose @werewolfbansheelove @mindbelova @weridothatwrites

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x fem! reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction

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maaarine · 1 month ago

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My PMDD hell: why I went abroad to have my ovaries removed (Sarah Gillespie, The Times, Nov 27 2024)

"For six years, from my late twenties, I have lived with a condition called premenstrual dysphoric disorder, or PMDD.

Due to a genetic quirk, I have a brain sensitivity that makes my body intolerant to its own hormonal changes.

Instead of becoming moody and irritable, as with PMS, I become catatonic and racked with pain.

Dysphoria blooms in my brain, making me depressed and paranoid. I binge on carbohydrates, needing 3,000 calories a day just to function.

This happens for 7-14 days every month, during the latter half of my menstrual cycle, as hormone levels plummet.

On the third day of my period, the fog lifts and I feel normal again. But relief is soon replaced by dread as I survey the destruction.

There are relationships to repair, overdue bills to pay and excess pounds to lose.

It is the life of Sisyphus: every month, I roll the boulder up the mountain only for it to roll down again. (…)

PMDD is surprisingly common and, according to World Health Organisation data, affects 5.5 per cent of women of child-bearing age — about 824,000 women in the UK.

Of these, more than a third have attempted suicide. Yet hardly anyone’s heard of it.

No one knows the cause, either, though scientists generally agree that it’s genetic — hence why psychological therapies can’t fully fix it.

It was only in 2019 that the WHO added PMDD to its international classification of diseases and related health problems (ICD-11), legitimising it as a medical diagnosis (though there are still medical professionals who dispute its existence). (…)

After diagnosis, women with PMDD are put onto a ladder of treatments ranked from least to most invasive.

But as the body ages and hormones become more erratic, PMDD gets progressively worse.

So even when I found a rung on the ladder that worked, I never got to rest there for long.

First, there were lifestyle changes: diet, weight training, high-intensity interval training (HIIT).

Then supplements: chasteberry, evening primrose, magnesium, calcium, L-tryptophan, vitamin B6. Then antidepressants: fluoxetine, sertraline, citalopram.

Then contraceptives: Evra, Yasmin, Eloine. Finally, there was HRT: Utrogestan, Estradot, Estraderm.

I climbed that ladder for five years. Only HIIT and fluoxetine worked, for about nine months each; the rest worked for two months, if at all. (…)

After all this, only one rung was left on the ladder — one with a 96 per cent satisfaction rate, the closest thing to a cure.

This last-resort treatment is a bilateral salpingo oophorectomy: the surgical removal of both ovaries and fallopian tubes.

Upon their removal, all hormone fluctuations would stop, my hormone levels would drop to almost zero and I would enter menopause.

I would need to take hormone replacement therapy (HRT) until my fifties or risk the early onset of osteoporosis, heart disease and dementia. It would also make me infertile. (…)

Getting approved for surgery on the NHS requires a trial period in a reversible “chemical” menopause: monthly injections that would shut down my ovaries, end my suffering and “prove” that I had PMDD.

That was the idea, anyway. Instead, the injections threw my hormones into chaos, resulting in a PMDD episode that lasted for 11 months.

Deprived of even the monthly breaks in my symptoms, I languished in bed.

My attention shattered; I spent countless days scrolling my phone. I gulped down painkillers and sleeping pills like Skittles.

My finances were collapsing. I gained more than two stone in weight.

“It should be working by now,” the gynaecologist said after three months. “Have you tried eating more vegetables?”

The next gynaecologist was no better. “If it hasn’t worked, that suggests it’s not PMDD,” she said. “I should probably refer you to a psychiatrist.”

After months of my pleading, she agreed to write to the surgeon. But her letter was an act of sabotage.

“Sarah has diagnosed herself with PMDD,” she wrote, ignoring my GP’s diagnosis.

“She is on many help groups and accessing a lot of support from other PMDD sufferers online.” In other words: “This hypochondriac is spending too much time on the internet.”

Yes, I was on the internet, but I wasn’t talking to help groups any more.

Instead I’d been digging into scientific papers to find studies on chemical menopause.

Eventually, I found one — a meta-analysis of five clinical trials published in the Journal of Clinical Psychiatry.

It stated that chemical menopause treats PMDD in “upwards of 70 per cent” of cases — but not 100 per cent, as the NHS doctors had said.

The International Association for Premenstrual Disorders (IAPMD) backs this up.

On its page on chemical menopause it says, “In rare cases [chemical menopause] does not fully suppress the cycle and there are breakthrough symptoms… If this was the case, you may still respond well to surgical menopause.”

Two months later, I was in Lithuania. Feeling desperate and unable to afford the £10,000 it would cost for private surgery in the UK, I had googled “gynaecology surgery Europe”.

This led me to Nordclinic in Kaunas, which treats about 2,000 British patients annually.

I sent my medical records to the surgeon, who agreed to perform the surgery. (…)

Though it’s early days, I still can’t believe how well I feel. My future unfurls before me without interruption.

I have so much time: time to write, to see friends and family, to travel, go on dates, paint and sing and read and run.

Time to cook, as I can now handle knives without fear. Time to sit and do nothing and burst out laughing from sheer wonder — for life without PMDD is so, so wonderful and I will forever be grateful for it.

That said, I still need to reckon with all the time taken from me over the past six years.

My trust in our healthcare system is broken and will probably never be restored.

I need to kick away the crutches — food, phone, pills, alcohol — that have held me up and rediscover better ways to cope.

But this time, I don’t need to keep starting again and again and again every month.

Yes, the scars are still red and raw. But by next summer, they’ll be gone."

#article #weaker sex #pmdd #tw suicide #health

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punkassfrance · 17 days ago

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Sierra Nevada - Chapter X - Ellie/Abby

Chapter X: This Is Why I Don't Get Out Much (Work length ~3.4k) This work is rated M for canon-typical violence and gore. Please look here for a full list of warnings for the series, specific warnings will be provided at the start of each chapter. This chapter contains: canon-typical violence and gore. Previous Chapter - Full Series

Ellie

Abby grits her teeth as she yanks at the doors, the rusted, decades-old metal finally giving way under force. An alarm squeaks above the doorway before dying with a pathetic wail, petering out before either of them have a chance to panic. Ellie grimaces as the building settles. It never gets easier. Every groan of the building could be nothing—just a dilapidated store that was old even by pre-outbreak standards. The drywall is rotted, the foundation cracks more each passing year, the stale air reeks of mold spores Ellie might worry about if there weren’t bigger problems at hand. God, how she wants to write off every sound as aches of the wood.

But the fear lingers.

Abby’s hand rests on the grip of her pistol as the two of them look around, hearts pounding as they wait for something. What, they’re not certain. When nothing happens, no runners come flying around the corner, they sigh in near unison.

“You sure this place has what we need…?” Abby glances around the abandoned grocery store, getting up on her toes to glance at the pharmacy in the back.

“No, but it’s our best bet.” Ellie tries not to sound too irritable when she responds. It’s not fair to get snappy with Abby, not right now, when they’re both burdened with the knowledge of Lev in his deathbed miles away. Ellie would ask stupid questions too.

Abby looks down, eyes wandering over the ancient flooring. It creaks as they walk over it, boards bending as she steps forward and puts her weight on them.

“Careful. This place is falling apart.” Ellie grimaces as she surveys the building, eyeing a dusty sign propped up beside the door. Closed from Oct 1st-21st for Renovations. Renovations that are now almost thirty years overdue.

“Clearly.”

They gingerly cross the floor, exchanging nervous glances at each sound echoing through the building. The shelves around them have fallen apart, broken bottles scattered across the ground. Abby follows in Ellie’s footsteps, nervous to venture too far in the unknown building.

The pharmacy is empty- Ellie can’t see anything concerning from where she stands, not yet anyway. There’s no bodies on the ground, no spores, no infected lumbering about. Most of the medications are just sitting dusty on the shelves, no locks or barriers to break down. Ellie hops over the counter and starts digging in the pocket of her jeans.

“Okay—I copied that list, keep an eye out for these, but grab whatever looks useful.”

Abby nods, taking the note offered to her. Ellie grimaces as the floor creaks again, seconds before she eyes a rat in the corner of the room. Or rather, the remains of a rat, crushed and sprawled out on the blood-stained wood.

“…we should hurry.”

Abby

Ellie huffs and mumbles to herself as she sorts through pill bottles. She seems to do that a lot, the more Abby watches her. Ellie never answered her question, after all—how long have you been alone out here?

There’s not much. Ellie pulls bottles off the shelves and grimaces before collecting them anyway. Abby’s not having much luck either. They haven’t found anything they needed, none of the starred medications on Ellie’s list that would give Lev the best shot. Fever reducers are useful, of course, painkillers more so—but without antibiotics, none of it will matter.

Ellie reaches the end of the shelf she’s sorting through, sneering at the last bottle she picks up and turning to chuck it across the room. “Fucking hell—you finding anything?”

Abby swallows hard and shrugs, peering into her open bag on the ground beside her. “Some good stuff, but…no antibiotics.” Her heart has been gradually sinking in her chest for the last ten minutes, the grasp of dread tightening around her.

Ellie crosses the room to take a bottle off the shelf Abby’s scouring, rolling her eyes. “Yeah, I don’t think any of us are gonna need…Sildenafil.” She sets it back on the shelf and sets a hand on her hip, rubbing her face. “There’s probably a storage room somewhere. No fucking way a pharmacy doesn’t have any antibiotics.”

“Maybe someone got here before us?” Abby muses aloud as she closes up her bag and pulls it back onto her shoulder, glancing around before she spots the door in the back corner of the room.

“And left everything else? Doubt it.”

Ellie tries the door handle—locked. She only has a second to step back and size up the door before Abby touches her arm, stepping forward. “Think I can get this one.”

Ellie rolls her eyes and steps back, crossing her arms. Abby wasn’t trying to say Ellie couldn’t do it—she’s not weak by any means. But if Abby had to guess, she probably has a lot more experience kicking in doors, not to mention a good thirty pounds of muscle on Ellie.

“Alright, wolf. Show me what you got.”

Abby narrows her eyes, squaring up against the door. “I told you, I’m not a fucking wolf anymore.”

“Fine, whatever, show me what you got, puppy.”

Abby flushes with anger and rears back, landing a hard kick right above the doorknob. She hears a crack, but the door doesn’t give quite yet. The second time she drives her heel into the door, the wood splinters around the lock. For a moment, it looks like the door is going to fly open—but it shuts again. They glance at each other before looking back to the door, perplexed. Abby gets her bearings and tries to push the door open, throwing her shoulder into it. The lock is broken, but it keeps falling shut.

Exhaling, Abby looks down, hand resting on the door. “It’s barricaded.”

Eyes roaming over the wall, Ellie tilts her head before reaching back to pull a crowbar from one of the loops on the side of her backpack.

“What are you—”

“Nobody reinforces their walls.” She buries one end of the crowbar behind an empty shelf on the wall and pries it off the wall, throwing it aside. She doesn’t hesitate to start hacking away at the now bare drywall, ripping chunks off the studs until there’s a path through the wall to the other room. It’s just barely big enough for them to squeeze through, but it’ll have to do.

Abby raises her eyebrows and steps back until Ellie’s finished. She’s right- walls aren’t nearly as secure as people think. “I guess that works.”

They squeeze through, covered in drywall dust as they emerge on the other side. Furniture is piled up against the door, easily too much for either of them to move as a whole. Ellie reaches back to grab her pistol from her holster, looking around the room as she clicks off the safety. Abby lets a hand rest on her own weapon, listening for anything suspicious. Someone had to barricade the room. Most likely the crusted, motionless body slumped up against the wall.

“Hear anything?” Abby whispers after a few long seconds, glancing around. Ellie doesn’t respond at first, staring intently at the wall like a cat that’s heard something suspicious. Eventually, she shakes her head.

“…no.”

Abby watches her for a moment before nodding, taking her hand off her gun. Truth be told, there’s a good chance neither of them can be trusted to reliably hear danger coming. Years of gunfire and the occasional explosion will take a toll on your hearing.

Still, they hesitantly relax and start scanning the room for supplies. There’s not much- a desk, a few office supplies scattered on the floor, a calendar on the wall, forever stuck on September 2013. A long-dead body, unresponsive even as Abby nudges it with her boot. In the corner of the room, where the wood dips, a locked cabinet sits on the rotted floor. Behind the dusty glass, a few pill bottles are scattered among the shelves. Ellie darts forward to get a look at it, trying the handle before she huffs. “Course it’s not that easy.” She leans in and tries to get a look at the labels on the bottles, most of them turned away or impossible to read correctly through the filthy glass. After a moment, Ellie makes a sound and reaches out to get Abby’s attention.

“Oxy. We’re gonna want that—try to find a key.”

Abby nods and glances over to the wooden desk along the wall, crossing the room to open the drawers. There’s nothing in most of them, just papers and office supplies they don’t need.

“…woah.”

Abby turns around to see Ellie holding an unfamiliar backpack, peering into the open pocket. She hands the backpack to Abby and takes out a note, squinting at the writing.

“…April fourth, 2041. Eddie, I tried to get back to you, but we crossed a horde and got separated. I don’t know where Kate went. I hope she found you. I’m bleeding out. There’s infected clawing at the door, they won’t go away. I can’t get to you to say goodbye. I’m so sorry, I love you forever. Ezra.” Ellie’s voice gets quieter as she reads, pressing her lips together and folding the letter back up. She halfheartedly gestures to the body, tucking the letter into her pocket. “Sorry, Ezra.”

Abby looks down into the bag, eyes widening. “Is that-”

Ellie steps forward and glances inside. “Holy shit.” She pulls out the mason jar of joints at the top of the bag, turning it over in her hands before she cracks the seal and inhales.

“Is that weed?”

As if on queue, Ellie scrunches her nose and pulls back, sealing the jar once more. “Sure is. Still smells good.”

They both stare at the jar for a moment before exchanging looks.

“I mean…it’s a resource.” Ellie starts, eyes flicking from Abby to the jar. “Would be a shame to waste it.”

Abby raises her eyebrows and tilts her head just a bit, nodding slowly. “…it would be stupid to leave a resource behind.”

“So…the smart thing to do is take it with us.”

“Yeah, duh. It’s the responsible thing to do.”

“We’re so fucking responsible.” Ellie nods decisively and tucks the jar into her backpack, leaving Abby to hold the bag. She digs around as Ellie adjusts her things, pausing before she pulls something from the bottom.

“Well, no key, so I guess we’re breaking in.” Ellie sighs, taking her crowbar into her hands before she pulls her bag on. Abby quickly tucks the small case in with her belongings, looking up to meet Ellie’s curious eye.

“…present for Lev.”

Ellie shrugs and swings the crowbar into the glass, wincing at the crash as it cracks and falls apart. The building groans yet again, Abby’s heart beating faster as Ellie swipes the glass off the edges of the metal frame. As badly as she wants to get out of this building, retreat back to the safety of their controlled cabin, she’s not willing to give up until they find what they need.

Ellie smirks as she reaches in and holds one of the bottles up. “Bingo. Whole bottle of Oxy.”

“Anything else good?” Abby steps forward to the cabinet, taking one of the other few bottles lining the shelves.

They only have a moment to look before the building groans in protest, the floor beneath them caving in.

Ellie

Abby manages to fall back before the floor breaks. She hits the ground as Ellie shrieks and grapples at the edge of the broken planks, the cabinet falling into the freezing basement beneath. Ellie clamps her mouth shut as she hears a retch somewhere beneath her, then clicking.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck—” Ellie whispers as she tries to pull herself back up, adrenaline fueling her as her breaths quicken. Even if she can just get her forearms on solid ground, she has just enough strength to—

Abby grabs her wrist. Her eyes are wide and panicked as she tries to pull Ellie up, her face falling as she hears the clicking.

“Come on, come on, almost got you, I got you—”

Her stomach twists as the hole in the floor widens, crumbling under Ellie’s grip. She tries so hard to stay quiet as they both fall and hit the basement floor, but when she feels a sharp crack in her torso, she can’t help but squeak in pain. Abby’s up before she is, pulling Ellie to her feet and ushering them into a hiding spot. It’s a larger basement than she’d expected, spreading beneath the entire store. They’ve taken shelter behind what looks like a counter, partially destroyed and covered with a sheet. Broken furniture and boxes lie in disarray around the floor, covered in dust.

Seconds later, there it is. A clicker rounds a pillar of boxes, stepping into the open with its arms bent at its sides. It stumbles as quickly as it can to the hole in the ceiling, shrieking into the air when it doesn’t hear the prey it’s after. Abby carefully guides her flashlight up to catch a glimpse of the thing—Ellie immediately wishes she hadn’t. She grimaces at the sight of the thing’s split-open face, mycelium ripping through the skin, the rat blood dripping down the chipped shards of teeth that remain. She gasps quietly as she tries to recoil, one hand coming up to hover over her ribcage. Abby looks over, glancing down at Ellie’s side before looking back to the clicker.

“Broken?” She mouths, but Ellie can only shrug and shake her head. There’s no time to worry about it. The creature before them spins around as it clicks into the empty air, struggling to find whatever was making all that noise. Abby pulls out her pistol, leaning out further from their cover and carefully taking aim as Ellie watches with bated breath. Her eyes flick to the side as they hear another screech from the other side of the basement, out of sight.

Before Abby can fire, something grabs at Ellie’s clothing and yanks her back. She screams, from shock or pain she isn’t sure, but the clicker wheels around and roars before charging. Abby fires a deafening shot, at least slowing it down before it knocks the gun out of her hand, but not by much. Whatever grabbed Ellie tries to sink its teeth into her neck only for a moment before she wrenches around to fight it off, pain tearing through her right side as she shoves it away. A fucking stalker. Easily her least favorite kind of infected. She pulls her pistol from the holster on her hip and fires as it retreats, just seconds too late before it slips behind another pile of boxes, back into the maze it came from. Ellie swears under her breath and turns back to Abby—she doesn’t have the time to chase it.

She looks back just in time to see the brutal end of the fight. Abby’s grabbed a pipe off the ground, pulled back, and swung it at the clicker with everything she has. It’s a devastating backhand that connects right at the jawline, sending it against the wall. It slumps to the side, gurgling as it tries to trill one last time. Abby doesn’t let it. She swings her pipe back down, bashing the poor thing’s head in. Ellie’s almost impressed—she’s covered in blood and rotting brain matter, the clicker motionless and splattered across the wall behind it. Even if its body was falling apart, it takes a lot of strength to destroy a once-human head.

For the first time, she’s glad Abby is here.

Still, they’re not out of the woods. There’s at least two more, but god knows how many stalkers are hiding among the mess.

Abby is still hovering over the corpse, staring down as she tries to breathe steadily. She looks up after a moment, eyes wide, pale cheeks flecked with red. Ellie winces with every panicked inhale, still holding a protective hand over her ribcage. If they make it out of this, Ellie’s going to thank god they found painkillers. Something growls in the back of the basement, behind fuck knows how many walls of crates—but it sounds like it knows they’re here.

Abby glances towards the sound but looks back in an instant. Ellie doesn’t even realize what’s happening when the pipe swings over her head. She hears a sickening crack, something inhuman shrieking behind her. Ellie turns as quickly as she can, watching the stalker try to crawl away before she grabs its ankle. She screams at the stabbing pain in her side as it scrambles to escape, forcing her to stretch to keep her grip. She pulls a knife from her pocket and flicks the blade out, yanking the thing back towards her and gritting her teeth as she groans through the pain. Pulling back just barely enough, she buries the blade into its neck and watches it choke.

“Fuck—” Ellie wheezes, propping herself up on the ground with a whimper. She’s about to collapse when something clatters on the ground, powerful arms wrapping around her and lifting her into the air. It’s hard to say what hurts worse—the lift, the position she’s in, or the way she jostles as Abby carries her around a corner and sets her back on the ground. Seconds later, she hears something break, then the roar of a bloater just feet away from where they’d been. Abby glances around before pulling the shotgun from the side of her bag, cocking it as she stands from their hiding place.

“Hey!” She barks, circling the edge of the room as she pulls the bloater’s attention away from Ellie. She fires, blasting a crater into its torso. It almost charges at her when she cycles another round into the chamber and fires at its head.

Ellie tries to drag herself up, glancing around frantically for her bag when she sees light along the back wall. It’s a cellar door at the top of a short staircase, early morning light just starting to peek through.

She hears another clicker emerge from the back of the room, shrieking into the air. A third shot fires behind her. Abby’s going to need a chance to reload soon.

One hand clutching her side, she makes a fist and pounds on the wooden door. It doesn’t budge, chains jostling on the outside. She swears under her breath and turns just in time to meet Abby’s eye. There’s no time to exchange words— the bloater catches her off guard, pinning Abby up against the concrete wall as she flails.

Before she knows what’s happening, before instinct can kick in, Ellie panics. Abby’s fighting it off, but she can’t keep it up forever, and if Abby dies—

The gun is still in her hand. She doesn’t remember how many bullets are left in the cylinder, but if she can find the shot and trust her aim, she just needs one.

Raising the gun, she closes her left eye, tilts her head towards her shoulder, hesitates, and fires.

It’s not dead, far from it, but it roars furiously and backs away from the wall. She sees blood, and for a moment, she doesn’t know where it’s coming from. Bloaters don’t bleed, it doesn’t have any blood left, what did she hit, what has she done—

Before she can get eyes on Abby, the bloater turns and charges right for Ellie. She pales as it comes at her, arm wrapping around her side as she tries to get out of the way in time. She manages to get out of its path, but it doesn’t matter as it grabs her arm, crashing through the cellar door and taking her with it.

She screams as she hits the ground, pain ripping through her side as she’s tossed across the snow. She struggles to inhale for a moment, bleary eyes just barely cracked open. It doesn’t seem like such a bad place to die. The early morning sunlight is warm on her face, even with the freeze of the snow beneath her seeping into her clothing. If she focuses, she can hear birds, just loud enough to make themselves heard over the monster before her. If she tries, uses her final seconds to focus her eyes, she can probably see the sky one last time. She just barely sees the thing rise from the ground a few yards away, a dark splotch shambling up to her and raising its fist.

A shot echoes across the knoll.

Hi everyone! Wow, much to discuss! I didn't realize it had been a whole two months already- this is the longest chapter yet, at 3.4k!

We're officially at chapter 10, pushing this work over 21k words! This is officially the longest fanfiction I've ever written, and I plan to stick with it to the end, even if it takes me a while. Sorry to end you on a cliffhanger again, the next chapter shouldn't be nearly this delayed. I hate writing action scenes.

Thank you all so much for the ongoing support, I can't say how much it means to me!!

Thank you to @plum98 for the forest divider! Feel free to say hi or drop your thoughts in my askbox, check out my AO3 or my about me if you're interested!

Series Taglist: @a-little-bit-of-everybody

#fanfiction #the last of us #ellabs #abby anderson #ellie williams #ellie williams/abby anderson #ellie williams x abby anderson #ellie x abby #ellie/abby #ellie tlou #abby tlou #the last of us part 2 #the last of us spoilers #sierra nevada #series #ellie the last of us #abby the last of us #lev the last of us

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germanpostwarmodern · 6 months ago

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In their time the brothers Hans & Wassili Luckhardt were spearheads of modernist architecture and technology: their experimental housing development on Schorlemerallee (1924-30) and the houses at Am Rupenhorn (1929-30), both in Berlin, are indelible parts of 20th century architecture included in the major surveys of the modern movement. In view of their historical significance it is remarkable that the last comprehensive survey of their work dates back to 1990 when the Akademie der Künste devoted an exhibition and publication to the work of the brothers. Almost three-and-a-half decades later Carsten Krohn dedicates the latest volume in his series of surveys of key modern architects to the Luckhardts. Again written together with Michele Stavagna and published by Birkhäuser, it collects their 40 realized projects and documents them, where still extant, in new photographs and plans that capture the impressive quality of their work.

The visual documentation is complemented by Krohn’s and Stavagna’s essays that provide artistic as well as technological insights into the Luckhardts’ varied oeuvre. They first received attention as contributors to the „Gläserne Kette“, the utopian correspondence initiated by Bruno Taut in 1919 to discuss and fantasize about architecture. In their drawings the brothers showed quite differing ideas about a future architecture: while Hans leaned towards expressive forms, Wassili focused on structural aspects as basis for his designs. But although in their first projects the expressionist forms dominated, in the long run rational forms prevailed. Their proving ground became a plot on Schorlemerallee where they experimented with brickwork, steel framing and concrete but also realized their own studio together with their partner Alfons Anker.

With the power grab of the National Socialists their career markedly slowed down and Alfons Anker had to flee to Sweden. In the years following they survived on private commissions but successfully continued their work after the end of the war.

With their latest book the duo Krohn/Stavagna provide a long overdue new survey of a significant German architectural practice. Highly recommended!

#hans luckhardt #wassili luckhardt #alfons anker #carsten krohn #architecture #germany #modernist #architecture book #book #monograph

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worldsofarchive · 3 months ago

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Long Overdue - Au!Erwin Smith

This Book Contains:

Event: Cutetober 2024 - Day 1 First Kiss

Pairing: Gn!Reader x Erwin Smith

Warning: Spoiler for Attack On Titan ending

Key Notes: Alternate Universe, Established Relationship

Rating: 13+

Word Count: 0.6k

War was over; no more titans, no more walls, no more blood, no more survey corps. Eren was left to rest, and the retired commander finally could rest. The military was no longer needed, and Erwin got his badge. Humanity no longer needed to fight against the giants that were once humans; those behind the walls learned of the progress done outside the walls. All sobbing at the wonderful white creamy stuff in crunchy bread cones called "ice cream,"

"That's what they call it." Your longue touched the white goodness, and it's like nothing you've tasted before. You can't even describe it; it's like sweet cold milk that isn't liquid but also not fully solid. It melts in your mouth. Erwin had his own, which he also enjoyed. A soft smile tugged at his lip. You walked together, eating this ice cream, on a paved stone path. Not after an expedition, not after losing many of your comrades, but together as a couple.

You looked up at Erwin and saw some ice cream on his chin; he didn't notice it, so you took the napkin you got from the ice cream stand and wiped his chin with it. He was taken aback; his shoulder, even after so many years, still jerked. But then he smiled, "Thank you, dear." You've been together for so long, but never this close, never this intimate. Well, what you considered intimate.

Blush immediately heated up yours and his face; this was so unusual. Calmness is something that you'll need to get used to. You both went back to eating your ice cream when you passed a couple giving each other a peck on the lips. Elbows intertwined; they were on the older side. You pondered how long they've been together and the way they look at each other.

They looked at each other as the ocean looked up at the stars, as the sun broke through the forest canopy, and as two berries on a tart sat beside each other. They even had matching bow ties; one had them in their hair, the other on their collar. The hair was barely long enough to hold the bow, but their partner's eyes would glance at the bow, and their lips would tug into a smile with a sigh.

Then they walked past you and Erwin; your heart swelled at the thought of two people being so close, being as inseparable as the ocean and its beach, the sky and its clouds, a clam and its pearl. Public affection isn't something you're used to, but to them, it was only them. You reached the bottom of your cone and wiped your mouth. Ice cream is probably going to be a weekly thing for you now. Looking up at Erwin and him looking down at you.

You reach up and wipe his mouth, your bodies so close. His hand finds your waist, your heart beating fast in your ears. His gaze lowers to your lips, and so does yours to his. You both lean in and your lips press together, and you have no idea what to do next. Just a peck is fine; hopefully, that's what the other couple did. You both pull away with a bright blush on your faces; your eyes immediately break eye contact and look away.

Erwin was first to speak up. "Did you like it? Dear?" He asked cautiously, hand on your shoulder. You nodded. "Yeah, this kiss was long overdue." You lean up and kiss the corner of his mouth. "I think we should start to make up for them." He smiles softly, and then he looks at you; something in his eyes is so heart-capturing. He leans in and kisses you again.

#writeblr #writers on tumblr #writing #female writers #worldsofarchive #gn reader #attack on titan #aot #snk #erwin smith #aot erwin #erwin smith x reader

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ay0nha · 11 months ago

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Misery Loves Company | N.K. (prologue)

SUMMARY: Fear rolled right off of you. Fear was like a pet to you: something you picked up to get a better look at but that you soon grew tired of.

PAIRING: Nanami Kento x f!reader (anti-hero of sorts)

WORD COUNT: 1.3K

WARNINGS: Introduction to story/reader/plot, underground fighting/Gachinko fight club, higher-ups after reader, Nanami being a softie deep down, description of fighting/related injury, jjk typical things, tad angsty, made up cursed objects, etc.

A/N: Overdue to post something Nanami-related...missing our man extra these days... thank you, @hatsunemitskislobotomy, for talking this out with me and helping <3!!! Let me know if you'd like to be tagged for future parts. Enjoy.

Nanami tags:

@chimamire-ga @eliuriastwo @betterthanuyou @satorulicious @moon-taffy @thefutureastronaut @planetahmane @musababy @kannra21 @khaleesihavilliard @vee-ai @killlerqween @nokkoongie @anti-heroism @nanamin94 @darkstudentsaladbakery

“How obedient.”

Nanami just barely caught your taunt over the vigor of the crowd. The very one that begged for appeasement. They chanted while he fought, asking and receiving the dynamic movements they so adamantly desired.

Nanami delivered.

Your smile was bloody, alive with genuine pride. He had impressed you, listening to the crowd’s pleas for bloodshed. Nanami’s blow was delivered with predictable instinct, a protective measure against your coy fighting style.

“Do you always do what you’re told?” You hummed, pulling at your neck to alleviate the sudden stiffness. “You must if you came looking for me.”

You raised your fists, ready for another spat. You circled each other, the makeshift ring only allowing so much space for a proper fight. However, it could never be that.

The shadows were deep from the light of the dingy parking lot. Smoke clouded the crowd's judgment, swaying the bets in favor of the suited man. You couldn’t blame them; fresh blood was always teeming with hopes of prosperity.

You welcomed Nanami at the entrance, feeling his cursed energy blocks away. The guards surveyed him, unimpressed by being met with unwavering poise. He didn’t belong, but they were far more afraid of your soft touch on their shoulders that dissolved their interrogation.

Boys, you had purred. They stiffened. Let him through; he’s my guest.

You hadn’t led Nanami in directly; you allowed his presence to simmer. It wasn’t often that someone of his status didn’t pose a threat to the venue. It took sarcasm and wit on your end to pull out the reason behind his visit.

They’ve sent me for you, Nanami told you.

It was sterile in tone but revealed emotions long since buried. From childhood, the higher-ups deemed you dangerous. They wanted to see the gods fall. Yet, that wasn’t convincing enough to kneel before them.

Instead, you’d decided to return Nanami with a threat written in bruises.

“What do they want?” You hissed, your weight an extension, following through your fist. With no cursed energy attached, your hit was still violent. You knew Nanami could handle it. “Afraid to come themselves?”

Fear rolled right off of you. Fear was like a pet to you: something you picked up to get a better look at but that you soon grew tired of.

Nanami’s breathing became labored. “I’ve told you—”

“Come up with something better.” You moved swiftly, another charge at him.

You put on a show that for non-sorcerers seemed only possible in fiction. Nanami could feel the way you held back, and even then, he struggled to stay upright for long. Sliding under his legs, you swept your own for another satisfying fall of Nanami.

The premeditated outcomes you fixed were boring, your mind elsewhere while your body danced. This, though, this was worth every risk. It wasn’t hard to drag Nanami into the squared circle. He was logical, knowing the odds wouldn’t be in his favor if he didn’t play along. It was the only chance he had to get you to heed the warning he came with.

“They want to kill you—

Nothing new, then?” Your words came out hoarse, following through with your kick.

“They’re mocking up the bounty as we speak,” He said. “They’re looking to be—” Pausing, he’d just narrowly missed a broken rib. “—your highest payer.”

“Honestly,” you smiled. “I’m flattered.” There was truth in jest. “Finally, they think I’m something worthwhile.”

“No—” Nanami was blunt, never one to embellish facts. It always made you flinch. “You’re their scapegoat.”

You swung.

Nanami dodged you just barely, able to gain traction in his next few movements. Even without his blunt sword, he was always skilled in combat. He saw steps ahead, measured every movement precisely, and delivered.

Everyone had their weak points, their fighting style a clear giveaway in how they contorted their bodies. Typically, the ribcage, the exposed spine, or the unstable stance marked it. Your fluidity made it hard to pinpoint.

“That observation have a point?” You adapted instinctually, with no formality in any decision, and always found success.

Nanami’s tie loosed, the buttons of his jacket ripped apart by awkward movements; you were unraveling him by the minute. However, his appearance deceived you more than you thought. You grew comfortable winning, relishing at the shouts of your name followed by rowdy applause.

This was your element, where you could dance rehearsed steps without paranoia. It felt safe. You felt in control, contrasting how life had cruelly treated you. The non-sorcerers couldn’t see this, only attracted to a woman holding her own against men twice her size. Yet, Nanami could see beyond that.

He saw how you moved without restraint and extended beyond innate skill. You had untapped talent that the higher-ups were afraid of. Your technique, cursed energy, and gaze shattered any notions they had of strength.

You knew there was more to you but ignored that always sinking feeling. That was distraction enough almost to misconstrue Nanami’s movements for surrender. Then again, your body knew better than to accept that.

Your cursed energy absorbed the strike Nanami had landed on you, but you still used its momentum to involve those around you. You reveled at how the crowd supported your fall, only to push you back in, defenseless—it was your best performance yet.

“They think you have the Soul Harvester.” Another button was lost under the pounding feet of the mob.

“Fuck off—” Your laughter caused Nanami to stumble against your grapple. There wasn’t much humor to it, but the sound was just as addicting as years before. “No one knows where that piece of shit is.”

It was a myth.

The legend differed every time; no one knew the source or had an accurate understanding. A thread remained the same, a warning to the one who possessed it—you have been weighed in the balance and found wanting.

Your ears buzzed as Nanami explained further. Frustration bloomed across your features. Your eyebrows pinched together only to cave inward the further you worked; a frown turned to a scowl; that usually indifferent gaze was pointedly violent.

You refused to be consumed by something dragged to your doorstep like dead fowl.

"You're devoted to these causes." You started with proper vexation. The push and pull no longer lulled like a game; your words came with a bark of anger. “Always sniffing around where you don’t belong—doing more harm—always.”

“You’re no saint.”

"At least I care about what happens to them” You were quick. You hadn’t even considered it an argument, as it was veracity. “Sorcerers like you always love to forget the mess you leave the rest of us with.”

Nanami used your temper, his elbow striking your solar plexus, making the crowd roar. The air was pulled from your lungs, your hand grasping at your chest as if it would help regain your breath.

7:3

Even the crowd was silent. You slid on your knees, absorbing the hit poorly. Your head hung between your shoulders as you tried your best to swallow the elicited tears.

The corners of this ring were under constant surveillance. Undoubtedly, if you didn’t finish this quickly, Nanami would be eaten alive by the sorcerers behind it all. The pain told you to allow it.

You frowned. “Ouch.”

The crowd booed when you stood, changing its allegiance. Copper filled your mouth, and your insides were begging for reprieve.

“Please understand I am not here to criticize you,” Nanami spoke lowly, hoping only you could hear his promise.

You shook off your discomfort, knowingly releasing whatever held you back. It was for his sake, you reminded yourself. In moments, you’d move faster, no longer pull back the weight of your punches. By then, If Nanami were still standing, you’d bless him with your domain.

“You’ve got my attention now, Kento…” From your lips to God's ear, you pulled him close. His tie was wrapped around your fist so tightly you could feel his Adam’s apple bob with fear. “...but answer me this: what is it you want with me?”

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h9o6 · 4 months ago

Text

[NEWS] Key Visual Reveal! and August Progress Report

Hello Everyone, we’re here to reveal our long overdue key visual!

Our key visual features the main characters, Katsuya, Atsuya, Megumi, Hayato and Tamami. We aimed for a heartwarming feel for this key visual and we hope it brightens up your day too!

August Progress Report

Subsequent to post Kickstarter campaign (despite not reaching our goal), we focused on collecting feedback and data by conducting survey and researching at the beginning of the month. Most comments and feedback received were constructive and we have organize a list of them to implement our game in the future. Here are some examples:

Background aren’t self-explanatory (solution: labels/indicators for location name)

Tutorials and Manuals are not clear for Steam players (solution: in-game manual is to be included)

Language interface problems (solution: reconstruction of the programming system) … etc.

Fortunately, many of them are simple to implement as long as we have the time. As our development progresses, there will be an update on each implementation accordingly. We’re very grateful to have received much support for and interest in our game MY DEAR☆LOVE.

Furthermore, as some of you might’ve known already, BlerdyOtome streamed our game on Twitch ♥ We’re very honoured to hear player’s thoughts and experience live since this is what we want to bring to the community. Of course, her insights have helped us analyze our game in a different POV so we can improve.

In addition, we also created our Ko-fi page for any of you who’d like to show some support! Click here to visit our Ko-fi page! We’ll sort out the details of each tier in the near future. In general, as a Ko-fi supporter, you’ll have access to exclusive contents such hi-res graphics and PSDs, BTS (behind-the-scenes contents) and name in credits for the game. We’re also planning on art requests for higher tiers as well. If you would like more of our contents or our projects, please consider supporting us on Ko-fi! We’d greatly appreciate your help.

As for the game development progress, we’ve worked on polishing the writing for the final demo as mentioned on our monthly goal. Not only did we finish the polishing, but we also have actually gone further into the writing for 2 chapters, as well as brainstorming ideas and outlining the script of our future project… Although this was very time-consuming, it was all worth the effort! Nonetheless, it comes with a price. Since we worked heavily on the writing, our progress on visual/graphic have slowed down. Our long overdue key visual was finally completed during the week, and only one and a half of the sprite(s)… are in progress. We’re not entirely satisfied with our schedule however life does get in the way sometimes. Anyways, we’ll be posting our monthly goal of September soon and we hope to progress further.

To wrap up, Happy Saturday!

✿✿✿

Thank you for supporting an indie studio like us; it makes a big difference as we would be able to create freeware and budget-friendly games for everyone!

Stay tuned and stay hydrated!

#my dear love #indie dev #indie game dev #indie games #otome #otome game #simulation game #otome games #vn #visual novel #interactive fiction

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leviackermanscleaningbuddy · 1 year ago

Note

Coparent Chris incoming. Enjoy baby💕

You two never thought anything would end till it just did. Till you took a long look at your relationship and just noticed you don’t make each other happy like you used to. And it was okay. Then you found out about the little surprise growing in your stomach.

Chris suggested coparenting, but he knew not to over step boundaries. You knew that if you asked him to return, he’d give up everything in his life he established for him. He’d kiss his happiness away if you asked. You knew you couldn’t do that.

Chan insisted on moving in for the last few months of the pregnancy. He was worried you’d fall and not be able to get up. You’d go into labor instantly with no one there to help you. Godforbid you carry a grocery bag. It caused a few arguments, a few yelling matches as you tried to gain some more independence.

Chan who backed off, but stood by just in case. He helped instead of taking over. He transitioned to working from of the nursery, sleeping on the blow up mattress. You tried to convince him that you could share the bed, but that fell on deaf ears.

Chan who caught you on your nightly stroll around the block. You were four days overdue and your joints were feeling every single second that the baby overstayed. But the sharp twist in your abdomen caused you to stumble from your normal waddle. As he anxiously looked you up and down, you knew it was go time.

Chan who stayed by your side the entire birth. He held your hand, fed you ice chips, and apologized that his genes created such a big baby. He dutifully stayed at your head, even getting behind you to massage your shoulders and back as the contractions got worse. Whispered words of encouragement in your ear until you both heard those sharp cries.

Chan, brushing your hair from your face as they lay your daughter across your chest. He waited patiently for his turn, his eyes not leaving her as nurses surveyed her as she wailed. They presented him with a pair of scissors. His eyes ask you the question, you can only cry and nod.

Chan who waited patiently for his turn even if it felt like eternity. He made sure it was okay while the nurses attended to you. He couldn’t understand how something so small was real. Her little tuffs of hair stuck up everywhere, a little reminder of him.

Chan who somehow understood your daughter perfectly. Who was able to bounce her back to sleep when needed, who somehow knew the differences in her cries already. Chan who fed you bites of food while nursing.

Chan, who knew no matter what he would be there. For the most beautiful gift he had given and for the person that had given it to him.

I fucking love coparent skz head canons.

Like.

THEYRE SO GOOD

JUST ENOUGH ANGST.

I LOVE.

#skz #stray kids #bang chan #stay #chan #nikki's head canons #nikki #inbox #reply #ask #moots #mutuals #submissions #my submissions

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lobster-tales · 1 year ago

Text

I Want You, I Need You, I Love You

Rating: T

Summary: The story of how Ambrosius befriended and fell in love with Ballister during their time at knight school.

A/N: This fic is a gift for my best friend @pastelwitchbitch (who's name, ironically, is only one letter off from 'Nimona'). She asked me to write a Goldenheart backstory with a few specific requests. Quick disclaimer I have only seen the movie, I've never read the graphic novel and I am taking some liberties. Nimona will not be in this one.

This work is available here on AO3.

☾ ♞ ♘ ☀

Ambrosius had never known what it felt like to need.

To want, sure: he had wanted lots of things. He wanted to live up to the honorable memory of his ancestor, Gloreth. He wanted to eat toast with jam, his family's homemade grape jam, a jar of which he kept with his belongings, and always brought to the dining hall for breakfast to share with his best friend Todd. He wanted top marks to impress his family, and he wanted to spend his Free Days climbing trees and Free Nights stargazing at Aunt Penelope's observatory.

But need was a stranger to him. At least, until he met Ballister.

He knew Ballister's face before his name, or rather, the half of his face that showed underneath the long, unkempt dark hair. He was invisible among the other students at first, blended in easily.

But after the queen saw his ferocity on the training ground, even at such a young age, she announced her favor towards him despite his lack of noble blood, making him a target for the other children. At first, Ambrosius, like the rest of the noble children, whispered about Ballister, how he wolfed down his meals, always showed up late to class, how he had a persistent stink that never seemed to wash out. He was a short, thin child and thus earned the nickname Baby Bal, as being called a baby was the worst offense any child could suffer.

Their voices never raised above a whisper, though, because they all knew Ballister was talented, and could easily best them all despite his stature. Most acknowledged that fact with jealousy, but Ambrosius always admired him, if only in secret.

One morning, Ambrosius had foregone his usual trained politeness for annoyance. The annual knighting ceremony had been broadcast the night before, and all the children buzzed about the event well past bedtime, keeping him from sleep. Wiping his tired eyes, Ambrosius reached into his pack for his jar of jam. But it was gone.

He was surprised first, then angry. But Ambrosius kept his wits about him and said nothing during breakfast, only surveyed the other boys while they ate. His search ended with Ballister, and the undeniable violet glisten on his bread.

Still Ambrosius waited, not wanting to be caught by the knights. He waited until the students had set off on their morning jog around the institute's campus, until he and Ballister were concealed by an overgrown structure, at which point Ambrosius shoved him in mud and accused him of the theft.

Ballister was stunned. Maybe it was due to the lock of hair always hiding half his face, but it was only in that moment, as he lay back in the mud staring up, that Ambrosius realized how large and mournful Ballister's eyes were. There was no guilt there, just resignation.

Unfortunately, Ambrosius had not calculated for the security cameras watching the area, and within seconds, an older knight marched forward and condemned them both to spend Free Hour in the Quite Room.

Despite its name, the Quiet Room was filled with the rattling of a barely functioning air conditioner that, much like the snoring older knight who 'guarded' the space, was long overdue for replacement. After a few minutes, Ambrosius confronted Ballister. "Where is my jar of jam?"

"I don't have it," muttered Ballister. "I gave it back to Todd."

Ambrosius paused. "What do you mean 'back'?"

Ballister explained that Todd gave him some jam at breakfast then stuffed the jar back in his pocket. Had he known the jar belonged to Ambrosius, he would never have taken any.

The two spent the rest of the hour in silence as Ambrosius considered this. When the hour was up, he all but dragged Ballister to the yard, where Todd was laughing amidst a group of children.

Ambrosius marched right up to Todd with Ballister in tow and demanded he flip out his pockets.

Todd kept his cool, though. "Let me guess--Baby Bal told you that I'm the one who took your jam. Well, he's a liar."

"Prove it," Ambrosius challenged. "Let's see your pockets."

Reluctantly, Todd obeyed. Ambrosius felt the fabric and found it sticky. "You're the liar," Ambrosius said, hurt.

"Oh, come on!" said Todd. "Who are you going to believe? A street rat or me, your best friend?

"You're not my best friend." Ambrosius judged him, then announced with great gravity, "You're a baby."

A horrified gasp traveled through the students. Todd's eyes widened. "No, I'm not!" he insisted.

But it was too late, as all the accusing fingers aimed towards him and began chanting, "Baby! Baby!" until Todd burst into tears and ran off.

The evil defeated, Ambrosius turned back to Ballister in triumph, only to find him gone.

The next morning, Ambrosius abandoned his usual seat next to Todd, instead claiming the empty spot beside Ballister. "Want some?" he asked, offering the jar of his family's jam.

Ballister hesitated, wary for a moment, but eventually gave in. He bit down on the spread, a soft smile blooming as he chewed.

And Ambrosius never shared his family's homemade grape jam with any of the other children ever again.

☾ ♞ ♘ ☀

Ambrosius spent the next few days in Ballister's company, partially out of guilt, but more-so curiosity. He watched Ballister wolf down his supper and laughed, telling him, "Whoa, slow down! It's not like it's going to run away."

Ballister paused at that, his soulful eyes flickering around the table as if to make sure no one was paying attention to them. "If I don't eat fast enough," he said in a low voice. "Sometimes the big kids take my food."

At this, Ambrosius felt so sick to his stomach that he couldn't eat, and insisted that Ballister finish his plate for him.

As the days went on, Ambrosius understood more and more that Ballister's unusual behaviors were rooted in survival rather than laziness. He was late to class because he took the long way, as it was fully surveyed by security cameras unlike the blind spots of the direct route. His underlying stink was from avoiding the bathing area, where the other boys would tease him for his wiry body.

While Ballister had accepted these truths and adjusted accordingly, Ambrosius refused. He linked himself to Ballister, glaring down anyone who even thought about judging him. Uncertain about his new companion's attention, Ballister continued to cast his eyes downward, though Ambrosius instructed him to hold his head high. "You're the best of us," he reminded him. "You deserve to act like it."

Slowly but surely, Ballister got in the habit of lifting his chin, but never showed any sign of arrogance. Instead, he just offered that shy, sweet smile.

It was that same smile that lingered in Ambrosius's head during training. He had a hard time reconciling the intense, focused warrior Ballister with the gentle Bal. How could he possibly keep all that passion swallowed in those deep, mournful eyes?

When the week's Free Days came, Ambrosius took off with the other students to spend time with his family. On returning, he shared his new adventures with Ballister and asked what he did with his Free Days.

"I just trained some more," said Ballister.

Ambrosius frowned at this. "You didn't spend time with your family?" A long moment stretched while Ambrosius waited for him to reply, until he understood that Ballister's silence was more than an answer.

When the Free Days returned, Ambrosius stayed behind at the institute with Ballister. Training one on one turned out to be much more effective, and he was amazed at how much Ballister knew. He taught Ambrosius all manner of tips and strategies, how to get a faster strike, a more powerful cleave. Without the presence of their classmates, Ballister loosened up, cracking jokes and even poking fun at Ambrosius, who was surprised and relieved at the change. After they washed up, Ambrosius suggested they spend the evening at his aunt's observatory.

Glad to see her nephew with a friend, Aunt Penelope set up two sleeping mats in the observatory, allowing the boys to spend the night beneath the glass windows and clear night sky.

"Bal?" Ambrosius asked sleepily, lying back. "Why do you want to be a knight?"

He considered his answer. "It's not that I... want to be a knight. I mean, I do, of course I do, but it's more like... I need to be a knight." His voice softened. "I need to protect people. I need to fight for the weak. I need to make sure that no kid ever grows up without a family..." He didn't say it out loud, but Ambrosius heard it all the same: like me.

Even though it was dark, Ambrosius saw him more clearly than ever. While Ambrosius had chosen knighthood, his family's status ensured that he always had other options if he changed his mind. Aunt Penelope, for example, despite being a descendant of Gloreth, had opted for a quiet, studious life. There were many paths Ambrosius could walk.

But Ballister had no choice. He worked as hard as he did because there was no other path, no other destiny. Ambrosius had never known need, but now, as he watched Ballister stargaze, the distant light sparkling in the void of those deep eyes, he finally understood what it felt like to need.

☾ ♞ ♘ ☀

Weeks passed, then months, then years, in which time it became known that Ambrosius and Ballister were inseparable in every sense. They grew together, facing every battle at each other's side until their greatest foe yet reared it's ugly head: pubescence.

To the great dismay of Ambrosius, Ballister was not only the first to finish his growth spurt, but the first to sport facial hair. Ambrosius had often fantasized about having a lush beard to match his golden locks, and was mad with envy. Ballister, however, found the fast growth too much of a hindrance, as paired with his own long hair, he started feeling more and more overheated while training. So, he decided to cut his hair closer to his scalp. The combination of these physical changes drew a new crowd to Ballister, one he was unsure how to face.

He arrived back at their shared dormitory one day with a grave expression, concerning Ambrosius.

"What's up, Bal? You look like you've seen a ghost," he chuckled.

But Ballister was unamused, and wordlessly held out a crumpled piece of paper. Ambrosius read it's contents, only to burst out laughing.

Ballister said grimly, "Grizelda gave it to me."

Ambrosius whooped, "Your first girl number! We should celebrate!"

And celebrate they did, at their favorite booth in their favorite diner, eating their favorite food: nachos.

Even after food and root beer, Ballister was still solemn, so Ambrosius threw a sliced pepper at him and asked, "What's with you? Don't you like her?"

Ballister straightened his shoulders. "She's a strong warrior and comes from a good family."

Ambrosius decided not to point out that he didn't answer the question. "So what's the problem?"

"What if she wants me to hug her?"

"Then hug her."

"What if she wants me to hold her hand?"

"Then hold her hand."

"... What if she wants me to kiss her?"

Ambrosius paused, diagnosing the source of Ballister's anxiety. "Ohhh, so that's it. You haven't had your first kiss yet." He pouted his lower lip playfully, "Have you?"

"Shut up," Ballister muttered, face turning red. "Neither have you."

Before Ambrosius could respond, they heard snickering from the table behind them. Embarrassed, they both decided to continue the conversation when they were safely in the dorm once more.

"What's the big deal?" Ambrosius asked, flopping onto his messy bed sheets. "It's just a kiss."

Ballister's eyebrows had been knit with worry all night. He perched on the edge of his bed, which he made every morning. "What if I'm... bad at it?"

Ambrosius had never considered that angle. In his mind, kissing would come as easily to him as everything else had. He didn't think kissing would require any skill, but if it did, then just like any skill- "Then practice first."

Ballister wrinkled his nose. "How?"

"Like this." He held up his hand, curling his index finger and thumb to create a mouth-ish shape. "I'll do it, too, see?"

"I'm not kissing my hand."

"Fine," Ambrosius shrugged. "If you want to be a bad kisser, that's up to you."

Ballister mulled it over another moment, then gave in and raised his hand to his lips. "Ready?"

"Go."

The mouth noises seemed to echo in the small room, until finally they both pulled away, uncomfortable. "Well." Ambrosius asked, "How was that?"

"I don't know! I don't know what it's supposed to feel like!" Ballister fell back on his black comforter, head in his hands. "I'm doomed."

Ambrosius ached to see his friend in pain, and a thought struck him. It was a gamble, but he would do anything to make Ballister feel better. "Okay so, no on the hands. Maybe you should practice on a real person."

He raised his head, eyeing Ambrosius warily. "Who?"

Steeling himself, Ambrosius placed a hand on his own chest.

"No."

"No one has to know, Bal, we'll take it to our grave."

Ballister sat up again, resting his hands on his knees. "But wouldn't that count? As the legal 'first kiss'?"

"Practice doesn't count," Ambrosius reassured him. "It's like kissing your mother. If... your mother had a beard."

He huffed, but Ambrosius could tell he was seriously considering it. After a long pause, Ballister muttered, "Fine."

They knelt on the floor, facing each other. "Alright," Ambrosius said. "You... you be the guy first."

Ballister nodded sharply, like he was accepting a mission. He leaned in close, cheeks burning red, puckered his lips, and jerked his head forward.

"Hey!" Ambrosius fell back, startled. "What are you doing? It's a kiss, not a headbutt!"

"I'm being confident!" Bal said, though he was anything but. "Girls like that."

"Yeah but they don't want to be attacked!"

"Okay, you go first then, since you're such an expert!"

"Okay, I will!" Ambrosius rose and took a deep breath. "First off, I think you're supposed to do this-" He gently grabbed either side of Ballister's head, cradling his jaw in both palms. "And then you do... this..." He leaned in close, so that their noses were brushing, both keenly aware of each other's warm breath. "And then..." Ambrosius pressed his lips against Ballister's, surprised at how soft they were. He thought the beard might tickle, but it actually felt kind of spiny and... good.

He didn't know how long they were locked. Several seconds, savoring the strange, new sensation, until Ballister pulled away suddenly.

"What?" Ambrosius asked, concerned. "What, did I do it wrong?"

"No," Ballister said breathlessly. "Um, no that was..." He straightened his shoulders, regained his composure. "That was acceptable." Very official.

Ambrosius shook his head and grinned. "Your turn."

Ballister mirrored his action, cradling his jaw, but took it one step further as his finger tucked a strand of gold hair behind Ambrosius's ear, causing his face to flood with heat.

The second kiss was even better than the first, if that was possible. Ambrosius leaned into him, placing a hand behind his neck and pulling him closer. Ballister parted his lips slightly, and they tasted each other. Ambrosius's tongue dared forward, drawing a clean line along Ballister's lower lip, and the action elicited a pleasured hum from Bal.

This time, they both broke away, panting. They shared a deep blush and a series of stammers.

"Well that was-"

"Yeah that was-"

"Good."

"Great- oh... yeah, good."

"No no, I mean... it was great."

"Cool."

"...I need to-"

"Yeah, me too-"

"You want first shower or?"

"I'm gonna go for a walk!"

"Great!"

"Good."

The mission completed, they stuck to their word and decided not to speak of it. Ballister did indeed go on a date with Grizelda, and as far as the student body was concerned, she was his legal first kiss. Ambrosius, not wanting to fall behind socially, asked out Liliana and shared his first kiss with her. Both love affairs, if they could even count as such, only lasted a matter of weeks if not days, but their purpose was fulfilled.

But Ambrosius and Ballister knew the truth, even if they would never admit it to anyone, not even each other.

☾ ♞ ♘ ☀

They were nearly at the end of their schooling when it happened. Something remarkable, during an otherwise unremarkable moment.

Ambrosius and Ballister ensured that they shared most classes, one of which was Sir Buntwhisk's history. He was a particularly severe knight, with beady eyes and a perpetual scowl: a demeanor that, paired with his unusual name, made him an easy target for the immature students, who not-so-affectionately referred to him as Sir Buttwhisker.

Ambrosius thus dedicated this class to doodling, passing the small, usually crass drawings to Ballister in secret with one goal in mind: to break his composure. He had really only succeeded once or twice, sending Ballister into a choked laughter that he failed to hide with a cough, muttering something about the changing weather.

But today when Ambrosius passed the doodle, he got the same reaction as always, regular as clockwork. First, the annoyed wrinkle of Ballister's nose, followed by the resigned stretch of his arm to accept the paper. He unfolded it and smiled, a soft smile, and shook his head fondly. His eyes flickered to Sir Buntwhisk, careful to avoid notice as he scribbled something onto the note and passed it back.

Ambrosius had drawn a pictogram of Sir Buntwhisk's unfortunate nickname: two semicircles for the butt with whiskers protruding from the side of each cheek.

However, Ballister had drawn two neat lines connecting the semicircles to create a heart, as well as two eyes and a mouth so that now, the doodle was of a heart-shaped cat's face.

Ambrosius glared at Ballister, only to be met with that same soft smile and deep eyes, sparkling with mirth.

A completely unremarkable moment, one they had shared many times before. But this time, Ambrosius was changed.

Now, every time he looked at Ballister, he felt his heart flutter, like a small bird was trapped there. His breath would come sharper, his face would feel hot. In the past, Ballister was often in his thoughts, which was to be expected considering their closeness. But now, Ballister was every thought. Ambrosius found himself going out of his way to be near him, found himself lying awake at night just to listen to the pleasant rhythm of Ballister's breath across the room.

It was so unfair. Here he was, undone and unhinged, flustered all the time and yet Ballister was blissfully unaware, going about his days as if Ambrosius was not in yearning agony for every second.

Weeks passed this way, Ambrosius trying and failing to come up with a plan, or even gathering his wits enough to explain his condition to Ballister. But his efforts were futile, and he resigned himself to the miserable ecstasy of Ballister's presence, convincing himself that it was enough.

"Are you okay?" Ballister asked one day, concern weighing down his already solemn expression. "You've seemed... off these past few weeks."

"I'm fine!" Ambrosius lied. Poorly. "I'm totally fine, I feel great, never been better!"

Ballister's frown deepened. "You sure?" To Ambrosius's dismay, he placed his cool knuckles against his forehead. "You feel hot."

"I'm fine!" he screeched, swatting Ballister's arm away like it was an insect. "Really! I'm just... stressed. About, uh... finals."

"... Ambrosius," Ballister said with sympathy, like he was speaking to a child. "Finals are months away."

"Well, you know!" His voice was too loud. He took a moment, forcing himself into some semblance of composure. "I just... want to do well."

Ballister stroked his beard thoughtfully. "If you're that worried, maybe we should dedicate a Free Day to studying each week."

That was just like him, always the problem solver, ready to make the situation better without knowing he was making it so much worse.

But Ambrosius heard himself say, "Sure, Bal. Thanks. I owe you one."

☾ ♞ ♘ ☀

Studying wasn't quite as miserable as pining, but it was pretty damn close. Long days poring over dusty textbooks, filling out page after page of notes, until Ambrosius's weary mind was nothing more than a sea of numbers and jargon. He even started having nightmares about math--math!

But at least it helped distract him from his aching heart. The feelings were no longer a storm brewing, but an overcast sky: still not ideal, but tolerable.

Until the day a banner appeared above the main hallway, and the clouds parted.

Spring Promenade: the yearly end of the term celebration to reward students for their hard work, a tradition dating back centuries. Also the perfect opportunity to make a move. If Ambrosius still couldn't muster up the courage to confess his undying devotion, then asking Ballister to Prom would be a close second.

Tragically, Ambrosius lacked the power of planning that Ballister seemed to brandish so effortlessly. He fussed about for weeks, struggling to brainstorm the perfect means. Definitely not anything public: Ballister was easily embarrassed and would likely run before Ambrosius could finish the question. Maybe a handwritten note on scented stationery, tucked in the pages of his favorite book. But what if he didn't see it in time? Or what if he did but somebody had already asked him? Or what if he didn't want to go at all? What if he-

"Are you going to Promenade with anyone yet?" Ballister asked casually, during one of their study sessions.

Ambrosius's heart was in his throat, but he managed to choke out, "N-no, not yet. Are you? Going? With someone?"

"Well, Liliana invited us both to go with her and Grizelda. What do you think?"

"Yes!" he said, too quickly, and recovered with a "I mean, sure. Whatever."

"Great." Ballister grinned. "It'll be so much fun to go with friends." And he continued to study as if the words hadn't crushed Ambrosius's heart like an empty root beer can.

Finals flew by. Ambrosius did extremely well, which was unsurprising considering how many beautiful days he sacrificed to studying, though Ballister was still top of the class. The stress of exams was nothing more than an afterthought in Ambrosius's mind compared to the preparation for Promenade. He had finally formed a plan: during the dance, he would pull Ballister aside and confess in a sweeping, romantic monologue, so well-written and heartfelt that it would be impossible for Ballister not to return his affection.

By the time Prom arrived, Ambrosius had narrowed his thoughts down to the--sixth? Seventh? He'd lost track--final draft of the confession, stuffing the script in the pocket of his golden suit jacket.

He had envisioned himself arriving at Ballister's doorstep, waiting to see him come down the stairwell, just like in the movies. But Ambrosius forgot they lived together, so they ended up getting dressed in the same room.

As Ballister adjusted his black tuxedo, Ambrosius pulled out a small box from under his bed and shoved it in his hand. "Here."

"What's this?" Ballister frowned at the contents, confused. "A favor? For me?"

"I-it's traditional," Ambrosius stammered. "And... and you know, since we're not going with anyone else..."

Ballister beamed at him, and Ambrosius thought he might melt at the sight. "That's so thoughtful, Amb. Can you help me pin it on?"

The golden flower and ribbons nearly blended in perfectly with Ambrosius's suit. Ballister admired it in the mirror before his face fell. "I didn't get one for you, though."

"It's okay! I don't mind."

"Wait, I have an idea." Ballister loosened his black tie and pulled it over his head, then did the same for Ambrosius's golden tie. Ambrosius wondered if he imagined the slight blush that crept over Ballister's cheeks as he switched the ties. "There," said Ballister triumphantly, surveying them both in the mirror. "Now we match."

Even though Ambrosius's parents had never met Liliana's or Grizelda's parents, they all seemed in perfect collusion, constantly arranging and rearranging the four teenagers for pictures until Liliana lost her temper and commanded them to stop, as they were now running late.

The institute's dining hall had been transformed, covered in balloons, bright lights, and sparkly decorations that hung from the ceiling. A long banquet table held an array of appetizers including a massive charcuterie board, with a large bowl of red punch at the end. A live band performed onstage while students mingled and danced.

After an hour or so, Ambrosius felt brave enough to take Ballister aside and out to the empty bleachers of the training field.

"What's up?" Ballister asked, mirroring Ambrosius by leaning on the rail.

Ambrosius cleared his throat. "Well, Bal. Ballister. Bally hoo, my old pal Bal." He gently punched his shoulder, trying and failing to pretend the action wasn't awkward.

Ballister just blinked at him patiently. Why was this so hard?

"We, uh, we've been friends for a long time," Ambrosius said.

"Yep."

"... Long, long time. Years."

"Sure."

"... Most of our lives, really."

"Ambrosius, is everything okay?" Ballister's soulful, worried eyes seemed to swallow him whole. It was now or never. Ambrosius reached into his pocket for the speech.

"Am-BRO-sius!" a voice hollered. Ambrosius bit back an annoyed groan as Todd bounded up the bleacher stairs and threw his arms around them both. His breath smelled like something that was definitely not red punch. "You comin to the afterparty, dude? My folks are out of town and we are gonna get cray-zayyyy." He clapped Ballister's shoulder. "You can come too, Mr. Vale-DICK-torian!" And then he fell apart laughing at his own terribly unfunny joke.

"Yeah..." Ambrosius didn't even try to indulge him. "Can you actually give us a minute, Todd?"

But Todd ignored him, dragging him back towards the dance. "Come on, Am-bro, my date's been asking about you all night. She's never met a descendant of Gloreth."

After a series of introductory hand shakes and more loud whoops than Ambrosius ever wanted to hear again in his life, he finally broke free, emerging onto the crowded dancefloor. The band stirred up one of his favorite songs, and he scanned the room for Ballister, hoping to ask him for a dance.

He froze. There in the center of the dancing couples, Ballister swayed to the music with Liliana in his arms.

When he caught Ballister's eye, Ambrosius turned away. He ran down the hallway, past the startled, lip-locked couples, and climbed the stairs to the not-so-secret roof entrance. He burst out of the metal door, catching himself on the railing as he fought back tears beneath the starry expanse.

"Ambrosius?" Ballister's voice. But Ambrosius couldn't bring himself to turn and face him.

"I'm fine," he said curtly. "You should get back to Liliana, finish your dance."

Ballister paused. "She... just wanted to dance while her girlfriend was in the bathroom."

"... Girlfriend?"

Ballister sighed and joined him on the railing. "Look, I... I didn't tell you because she asked me not to say anything, but Lily's had a crush on Grizelda for months. She didn't ask her to Prom because she was scared of getting rejected, so that's why she wanted us all to go as friends. Then it turned out Grizelda felt the same way so they got together right before Prom." He studied Ambrosius, not understanding the ironic pain laid bare on his features. "I wouldn't have danced with her if I knew how much it upset you." He thought for a moment, his fingers absently toying with the gold favor pinned to his chest. "... Why did it upset you?"

Ambrosius gazed at Ballister, watched a spring breeze ruffle his dark hair, his mouth still in a questioning pout. Even after all these years, he remembered what it had been like to kiss that mouth, the gentle prickle of his beard. He wanted to kiss him again.

No. He needed to.

Ambrosius reached up, cradling Ballister's head in his hands, ignoring the surprise on his face. Ballister only had the chance to say, "What are you-" before Ambrosius consumed the words, pressing his lips to Ballister's with a delicate force.

It was even better than he remembered. Once the surprise passed, Ballister leaned into him, even hummed contentedly.

Reality hit, and Ambrosius broke away, mortified. "S-sorry! Fuck, sorry, I'm doing this all out of order-" He fished for the speech in his pocket. "I was supposed to do the romantic monologue first, then I could-"

"You wrote a romantic monologue?" Ballister spoke slowly, as if in a daze. "For me?"

"Yes." Ambrosius cleared his throat and read, "'Bal, we've been friends for a long time, and you know that I- Mmph!" He didn't get to finish as Ballister crushed their lips together again. He kissed the way he trained, with intense passion.

Ambrosius savored it for a moment before releasing him with a breathy chuckle. "Can-can you let me finish? I worked really hard on this."

"Right sorry." Ambrosius only managed to inhale before Ballister linked his arms around his waist and captured his mouth again, murmuring against his lips, "Actually, you can tell me later."

☾ ♞ ♘ ☀

"'And so Bal, all of that said,'" Ambrosius read. He was lying back, head on Ballister's chest. They had discarded their tuxedo jackets, having loosened their swapped ties and unbuttoned halfway down their shirts. The clothes all stank of sweat: years of training had given them both enough stamina to dance for nearly two hours straight, right up until the end of Promenade. "'You're my best friend and... I love you.'" He twisted around to see Ballister's glowing face. "Well? What do you think?"

Ballister kissed his knuckles. "That was beautiful. But your grammar is atrocious."

Ambrosius gawked at him. "What?"

"Amb, you're almost a legal adult and you still say 'all of the sudden'? It's 'a'. 'All of a sudden'." He took the paper from Ambrosius's shocked fingers. "Not to mention your spelling. For Gloreth's sake, Amb, sound it out: 'de-fin-ite-ly'. You wrote 'defiantly'."

"Are... are you actually critiquing my heartfelt declaration of love?"

"It's called constructive criticism."

Ambrosius swiped the speech back, pretending to be offended. "You know what? I take it back. I don't love you."

Ballister chuckled. "You can't take it back."

"Oh yeah? Watch this." He wiggled his fingers like he was casting a spell. "I don't love you anymore. In fact, I hate you," he said playfully.

Ballister kissed him again, this time much more tender, before resting his sweaty forehead against Ambrosius's with a soft smile. "I love you too."

#goldenheart #ballister x ambrosius #ballister boldheart #nimona #ballister blackheart #ambrosius goldenloin #my fic #one shot

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scribbleseas · 1 year ago

Text

Beyond the Walls, Chapter 2: Mother Nature

Description: It's the year 850.

You are a renowned scientist who narrowly saved the world from impending famine and malnourishment with a myriad of agricultural advancements after Wall Maria fell, surrendering acres of farmland to titans. However, your innovations are not quite enough to be a permanent solution, given that their yield rate is nowhere near ideal. Many are still starving, costs for bread and vegetables are still high, and refugee rations remain low

Convinced that the only sustainable answers can come from the natural world outside the walls, you implore Survey Corps Commander Erwin Smith to allow you to join his company’s ranks for their next expedition. His only condition? You must be trained in omni-directional mobility gear under Humanity’s Strongest Soldier, Captain Levi Ackerman, to qualify for the expedition as a soldier. Despite having no demonstrated prowess outside your trusty greenhouse, you willingly accept Erwin’s terms, desperate to prove your hypothesis. However, during your time with the Captain, you soon learn that there is more to the stoic and strong soldier that meets the eye, and instead, you have much more in common that you would have guessed. Not even you, a certified genius in the horticulture field, could predict the blossoming romance between you.

Is your commitment to saving humanity enough for you to endure extensive training under the scrutinizing Captain? Or will it be your unexpected feelings for him that ultimately distract you from your original experiment?

Content Warnings: Violence, gore, death, swearing, eventual kissing, eventual smut, human-eating titans, symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder and obsessive compulsive disorder

Author’s Note: Hi Everyone! This was sooooo overdue. That being said, though, please let me know how you feel about this one! Believe it or not, this is only my third time writing Captain Levi. I really hope he’s in character for you all. I’m probably going to try to post the next chapter of Straight Laced next, but since I started the Fall Semester at my university, I can’t give you a date estimate. Shit happens, unfortunately.

Another announcement, I know I said I was going to post a poll about my next Ciel story, but I actually the next one myself lol. But on the bright side, I know you’ll all like it.

Thank you so so much for reading and staying patient with my terrible date estimates. (I know I originally said September 3rd for this one…)

Well, as always, Happy Reading!

- Dan

“I can’t even begin to tell you how jazzed I was when Erwin said you’d be joining us,” Section Commander Hange Zoë’s grin was nothing but radiant, alight with hope. Their hand rested on your forearm amicably as you walked through the Survey Corps’ Headquarters.

You and Hange were correspondents long before you started your first aeroponics prototype, about a decade ago. Hange was your colleague, watching your hypothesis about landless planting develop with rapt fascination. You studied together up until the moment they decided to join the Survey Corps and focus their scientific genius on understanding titans. Meanwhile, you decided to continue your studies, pursuing a certification as a medic and a focus on agronomy, the study and practice of soil and crop management.

Even with the distance between your respective research, you kept well in touch. It was Hange’s frantic encouragement that inspired you to make your direct appeal to Erwin Smith. They referred to the Commander as a visionary before you ever had.

Hange had met you at the main entrance and insisted that they were your tour guide for the day. At the same time, a team of cadets started to move your belongings, deaf to your protests. While most of your belongings were equipment for the greenhouse and your experiments, rather than personal items, there were still a great deal of heavy boxes that needed moving. You felt sorry for the cadets tasked with the activity— especially in this heat— but Hange seemed to think little of it, telling you to let the young kids get their energy out.

They said it as if the two of you were approaching your fifties, rather than your thirties.

The corner of your lips pulled upwards in an answering half-smile. “I know. I’ve missed you,” you admitted, taking in the expansive halls. The headquarters was an old regal castle in the countryside, the hallways lined with large windows that allowed the summer sun to stream in. Despite the antiquated architecture, the premises seemed to be extremely well taken care of, there was no hint of dust, nor one blade of unruly grass. In fact, it was so picturesque, that you suspected that no onlooker would think to assume it was a military headquarters and instead, assume it was a wealthy residence.

“Well, Y/n, as did I. That’s why I made sure Erwin made me your tour guide,” Hange exclaimed. “There are a few places I want to show you, some people I want you to meet…come this way!”

You walked with Hange obediently, content with following them around the base. The tour started with your private quarters (the cadets left all of your boxes on the floor next to your bed), continued to the base’s training areas, Hange’s office, your new greenhouse, and ended with the mess hall. As you walked, you shared greeting nods with soldiers who passed you around the base. Few people stopped to exchange words with you, sensing that you and Hange were in the middle of touring. Erwin likely debriefed his forces prior to your arrival, anyway.

The mess hall was abuzz with soldiers in decently high spirits, much to your surprise. There was a monotone chatter around the room as soldiers ate their breakfast.

The Survey Corps served their meals cafeteria-style, the lines at the far side of the room long as everyone waited for their lightly salted oatmeal and a singular slice of bread. As you suspected, there wasn’t a piece of fruit or a vegetable in sight because the military insisted its men sacrificed their diets alongside their lives. While you doubted you could produce enough vegetation to give everyone a nutritional boost in such little time, some change was better than no change. The tables of soldiers you passed continued to track your movements with evident curiosity, sizing you up— wondering whether or not you were as great as your reputation imagined you were.

“Levi Squad, Miche, Moblit, this is my dear friend Y/n Y/l/n,” Hange announced proudly, stopping at a long table towards the far side of the mess hall— the furthest away from the line of hungry scouts. Populating the table were a number of men and one woman, each regarding you with varying levels of interest.

“Y/n, this is the Levi Squad,” Hange gestured to the group of six soldiers— the Levi Squad consisted of soldiers Petra Ral, Oluo Bozado, Eld Gin, and Gunther Shultz. Miche Zacharius and Moblit Berner were also distinguished Survey Corps members; Miche was one of Hange’s fellow section commanders and Moblit was their research assistant. You were never one to enter a situation unprepared, so you took the liberty of reading through the Survey Corps’ major players. “Levi Squad: meet Y/n!”

“I’m Petra. It’s great to meet you,” Petra spoke first, quickly rising from her seat to give your hand a professional shake. “We’ve been reading about some of your work…not that we understand the technicalities of it, but…” she laughed, “for curiosity's sake, we try. We could never do what you do.”

I’m not sure I know how I do what I do, either, you wanted to admit. Your pride forced you to swallow the words down like a dry cracker.

“The pleasure’s mine,” you responded, reciprocating the shake and the same greeting with Gunther and Eld.

“You both can sit next to me,” Petra offered, shifting to the end of the bench. Hange took the seat directly next to Petra. You took a seat between the section commander and the tall soldier you knew to be Miche.

“Honestly, I don’t know how I’ll do what you all--” you started, cutting yourself off with a start as Miche took a long inhale, sniffing near the side of your neck. You hummed curiously, but he made no attempt to explain himself. Instead, Miche nodded to himself and turned his attention back to his breakfast. The questioning look you sent to Hange went mostly ignored. They seemed more interested in the thin bread portion on Petra’s plate, suggesting Miche’s sniffing habit was an idiosyncrasy of his that was to be expected.

Oluo shook his head, unimpressed with your comment. He took a long drink out of a teacup, making no effort to shake your hand and introduce himself properly. “I, for one, have no idea why the Commander thinks you can become a soldier in only two months or less. You’ll be titan chow mere minutes after we—“

“That won’t happen because she’ll be riding with us,” Petra interjected pointedly before turning her attention back to you, her smile apologetic. “Ignore him. He thinks he’s the Captain,” she rolled her amber eyes, cuing you into her joke.

“Speaking of Levi… where is he?” Hange asked, taking the opportunity to change the subject from your potential demise to the whereabouts of the absent Captain. Their ponderous expression suggested that Levi was rarely late to anything. From what little information you were about to glean about him— his superhuman battle prowess, neatly groomed appearance, and stern expression to match — you imagined that the man was also quite punctual.

“Running late from his tea pick up,” Gunther answered, causing the group to share identical looks of worry and frustration. (Save for Oluo, he merely tutted and shook his head dismissively.)

“You know what that means,” Eld said, his thin lips pulling into a grim expression.

Sensing your confusion, Hange started to answer. “It means they don’t have his— oh no,” Hange fell silent at the sight of the Captain quickly making his way towards the table. Despite being a handful of inches shorter than most of the soldiers around him, all standing scouts parted out of his way, eyes diverting from his stoic gaze. The way they scurried out of the way reminded you of anxious prey.

“We should tread carefully, you guys,” Petra suggested, “he’s empty handed.” She sent a warning look towards Oluo, who merely shook his head in response, his hazel eyes rolling. They acted like a married couple— an intimacy that only came from fighting at one another’s sides for years. It was strangely heartwarming that they were able to stay with one another for so long.

“Morning, Levi!” Hange cheered, standing to greet him properly. They clapped him on the back, only to remove their hand in response to his continued silence and pointed glare. “Guess who’s sitting with us today?” they asked rhetorically, “Doctor Y/l/n! She just came this morning.”

You rose from your seat, unsure of how to proceed. Levi didn’t seem particularly interested in introducing himself to you. Instead, he regarded you, likely hypothesizing whether or not you could handle two months of intensive training under him and come out of it with maneuvering reliable enough to save your life. He was calculating any semblance of a chance you had at staying alive and carrying out your research.

“You can call me Y/n,” you decided, extending your hand to him with a tentative smile. Levi made no attempt to return the expression, much less take you. Instead, he regarded the remnants of dirt on your palm, left behind after you took a soil sample from the front of the base upon your arrival— and hesitated. None of the soldiers seemed to mind, given that it was such a minimal shadow left from the soil.

In fact, you doubted they noticed at all.

You made a quick attempt to run your palm over your light green skirts, the linen material light enough for you to remain cool in the hot summer. You chuckled apologetically, “I took a sample from your soil here. To see if it needs any additional nutrients before I use it for my vertical trestles,” you explained, doubting he would understand what you were referring to. Your vertical trestles were long stands with dozens of small engravings to house plants. The beauty of your aeroponics system was that it could grow plants without needing a constant supply of water. All they needed was nutrient-dense soil, sprays of (nutrient-dense, of course) water every few days, and consistent sunlight.

“It’s fine,” the Captain replied, his grave tone insinuating that it was anything but. Still, his calloused hand wrapped around yours, his palm surprisingly cold. His grip was firm and sure. “Given your line of work, you’re bound to drag filth around with you, Mother Nature.”

The derisive nickname caused your back to stiffen as your hand fell back to your side. You frowned, unsure of whether or not he was teasing you with it. But there was no sign of mockery in his face— only mild frustration and inconvenience.

“Training is at noon. Don’t keep me waiting,” Levi ordered, turning swiftly on the heel of his boot to make his leave. He ignored Petra’s dismayed calls, asking where he was going and why he was skipping the meal.

Hange noticed your expression as you reclaimed your seat. “It’s nothing personal. He’s always that grumpy.”

“Especially after that tea store under-watered the flowers again. The ones they need to make his black tea,” Petra sighed. You cringed, thinking about the type of lunacy that would drive someone to over-water camellia sinensis twice.

“And I need to train with him later?” You asked, now mildly concerned for your well-being along with that plant. Commander Erwin said Levi was their best soldier, Humanity’s Strongest. But he didn’t specify whether or not Levi was their best teacher. Was there truly no one else to take on that burden? Someone nicer?

“You might think we’d have someone a bit more…patient, but no,” Petra said as if she read your mind. “All of us,” she nodded to the rest of the group with her chin, her red hair bobbing at the gesture, “need to be focused on Eren while Hange works with him. The other section commanders have to prepare our new cadets. That leaves, well, the Captain, as the most qualified to show you the ropes,” the more Petra explained Erwin’s decision, the tighter the knot in your stomach felt. All of Levi’s elite squad had to make sure Eren’s titan didn’t go berserk and ravage the military branch while their leader helped you, a full-time scientist, master notoriously complex equipment.

“But you can do it!” Hange cheered. “If anyone I know can become a member of the scouts in exactly six weeks, it’s you!”

It was true. If Levi was Humanity’s Strongest Soldier, and the Eren Yeager kid was Humanity’s Last Hope, you were one of Humanity’s only obstacles standing between it and famine, which was just as dire. There was no reason to defeat the titans if most of the population was going to be malnourished and on the brink of starvation-caused extinction. Not to mention, it was too ironic: the titans are defeated only for their former prey to go extinct due to lack of food.

You couldn’t watch that happen when you were so sure it was preventable.

. . .

You had a doctorate in agronomy, a degree in horticulture, and a certification in medical care. And even after those years of hard schooling, long essays, and seemingly endless research projects, you still managed to suffer the worst of equipment malfunctions at the worst possible timing.

But to be fair, who invented this gear?

The idea of omni-directional mobility gear was to make humans as swiftly airborne as possible, giving them the ability to evade a titan’s jaws and provide lethal proximity to their vulnerable napes in milliseconds. However, human facilities were much more delicate than a titan’s— it didn’t take a doctor like you to understand that. To endure high-speed movement and mid-air contortion, the stress would need to be evenly distributed across the body at all times. That was why limp leather straps were dangling from various parts of your legs and torso while you desperately tried to buckle them in their rightful places.

Hange demonstrated the process for you about three times before they left to work with the titan shifter, swearing that you would at least survive the first session with Levi. Now you were standing alone, using one of the many benches to the slide of the big green field where new scouts stretched with their section commanders, as leverage while you tried to buckle the gas exhaust around your lower back.

Several starstruck scouts attempted to ask you if you needed a hand, but your pride refused. You were an academic. You were having issues with…leather straps. Not only that, you couldn’t, in good conscience, let teenagers help you buckle your uniform.

“Do you honestly think your equipment is going to hold you up like that, Mother Nature?” The Captain’s harsh voice asked, causing you to sheepishly turn to look at him, your cheeks reddening. Thankfully, they were already rather flushed from the heat.

“I don’t understand how you all put this on so quickly,” you explained, gesturing to the pieces of uniform that you managed to construct. “It’s like a puzzle…” you mumbled before your face lit up with relief.

“Oh--- there it is.” The buckle slipped through one of the adjustment holes, letting you pull the equipment around your abdomen snuggly. While you weren’t quite sure if this was the proper adjustment, you couldn’t help but nurse your satisfaction while you could. The compressed gas from the exhaust powered the wiring mechanism that worked like a grappling hook: the anchors on the edges of the wires were supposed to dig into any possible service and maintain your weight.

“The section commander was supposed to show you,” Captain Levi said.

“They had to run. Time-sensitive experiment with Eren. Something about sleep deprivation’s impact on titan shifting… It’s really fine, I know how important it is to be meticulous with your experiments’ timing. Maintaining consistent variables and all…” you were rambling. You cringed at yourself— your lack of social competence. But in all fairness, you spent most of your formative years in a laboratory, or your nose buried so deep within the pages of a book, that you could distinguish your textbooks from scent alone. Nothing— out of your vast libraries of literary knowledge— covered how to speak to a soldier of unimaginable strength (and with impossibly azure eyes to match.) It was no wonder the hottest part of a flame was its innermost blue.

“Sounds like Hange,” Levi said noncommittally, but he didn’t seem angry. That told you he was more than accustomed to the scientist’s effervescent (and extremely capricious) nature. It suggested he expected it, at this point. Anyone close to Hange knew to expect some turbulence, at some point. You were relieved Hange managed to find someone in the Survey Corps to grow close to. They deserved it, and it seemed Levi could use Hange’s enigmatic scheming in his life.

“Can you please just…” you looked at the equipment meaningfully. You managed to complete all of the straps that were a bit too personal to ask of him, but there were a few that ran behind your back and attached to said buckles that you couldn’t figure out how to stabilize without a mirror.

“I’m required to double check your equipment -- whether or not you proved incompetent with putting it on. You’re still a newbie, Plant Lady,” Levi said, already fixing the strap that fastened your gas exhaust-- the one you just fixed!

You huffed, dismayed by both your apparent failure and the new nickname. “I was growing attached to Mother Nature,” you smarted.

“Just give me your right gearbox, and we might just manage to start training on time,” Levi ignored your quip.

. . .

You were a puppet suspended in mid-air, only you weren’t lifeless, and somewhat in control of your facilities.

Every muscle in your body pleaded for help as you remained motionless, yet suspended in the air. Apparently, this was the first physical test the military put its cadets through. If you couldn’t strike a near-natural balance with the omni-directional mobility gear, then you were cut— sent to the fields to help with the harvest. Apparently, it would work the same for you. If you couldn’t exhibit the necessary physical prowess on your first day, what was the sense in the Survey Corps investing its time and resources into you?

You could feel sweat rolling down your neck, tracing an uncomfortable line down your back as you trembled with effort. You weren’t even wearing the full equipment. While Levi initially showed you how to put the whole ensemble together, you didn’t need all of it for your first day of training. All you currently were wearing was the various leather straps around your legs and feet, and the main belt around your waist that would have connected your gas exhaust and both gearboxes. According to your reading, those gearboxes held extra blades and gas canisters. Attached to those gearboxes were wooden handles that connected to the blades and anchors soldiers plunged into structures in order to move.

Your arms wanted to reach out and grab something, anything, to hold onto, but there was nothing in proximity. There were only two long bars that supported you on either side as if you were a swing.

You tried to keep your gaze ahead of you, knowing that looking at the distance between your boot soles and the grass was too far for your liking. In fact, the thought of your elevation caused you to shudder, causing your body to sway. You weren’t proud of it, but you couldn’t suppress your worried shriek as your gaze slipped unintentionally downwards.

“Easy there. The more you panic, the less control you have. Put the most power into your core so your back straightens,” Levi watched you, observing your quivering body— in part from the physical strain that came with holding your back straight and core strong, but equally, your fear.

“Like…this?” You managed through gritted teeth. You blinked rapidly to try to keep the drops of sweat that cascaded from your hairline and past your eyebrows away from your eyes. “What if I-I….can’t do this any longer?” you asked, trying to come up with an estimate of how long you were balancing. Seven minutes? Eight minutes? The Idle Suspension Exercise was a minimum of ten straight minutes of steady balancing, excluding any time you spent thrashing.

“Oh, you can just stop and---” the female scout to your side started to answer, only for the Captain to silence her with a single glance. Levi tasked her with turning the lever that hoisted you up and back down. “Nevermind,” she chuckled awkwardly, looking down at her muddy uniform boots.

“Why did you tell Erwin you’d master this gear in two months when you knew you had basic stamina issues?” He asked flatly. There was a dichotomy between the Captain's blunt way of speaking and the way he regarded you closely-- curious to see if you could hold yourself up for a short while longer, or if you’d collapse. The tersely restrained energy in his physique suggested he was ready to spring into action if he so much as suspected the latter was about to occur. “Seems irresponsible, for a doctor.”

“I don’t have-- basic-- stamina--- issues!” You managed through labored breaths. He was essentially superhuman. He had no right to insinuate you had basic stamina issues when he’s had somewhere near a decade and a half to develop his skills in the Survey Corps. Compared to your single day, or half hour, of training rather. “And I’m not irresponsible!”

“I’ve seen first-day cadets perform better,” Levi’s arms crossed in front of his chest, his body relaxing. “Are you sure you gave this decision all of the thought it required, Mother Nature?”

“What?” Your head tilted indignantly, your eyes widening to immediately question the Captain’s words. Was he making fun of you? Questioning your sense of rational thinking?

If you weren’t previously motivated to finish the exercise before, now you were deadset.

“Not everyone has what it takes to be a soldier,” Levi explained, unwithering against your enraged scowl.

“Some people are just more suited tending to flowers in a greenhouse than a battlefield. But I would say your attempt is…commendable,” he said. “Start letting her down, Sam,” Levi instructed the redheaded scout.

Your blood boiled, and it was from more than just the sun beating down on you.

“Don’t you dare, Sam!” You demanded with an intensity you normally reserved for those goading you like the Captain, but you couldn’t control your tone during such immense physical and emotional stress. “I will finish this!” Now you had to.

Sam’s eyebrows drew together as she hummed uncertainty, trying to decide whether she should obey the Captain when you were so clearly invested in beating the challenge. Her hand sat on the lever’s handle, unmoving. So she was going to listen to you.

She sent a resolute nod to you.

You’d dealt with numerous characters like Levi Ackerman. Stingy and sexist government officials and nobles who doubted your projects could produce anything of real scientific value…soldiers who didn’t want their wounds stitched up by someone they assumed was incompetent, based on the way you looked. Infuriated nobles who would threaten your life for making produce and food items more accessible when they’d been making fortunes by price gouging them.

“Let me finish this, Captain,” you snapped, “I can do it!”

“You already did,” Levi responded, taking a quick look at his watch. “You just passed twelve minutes. Let her down, now.”

Before you could process what was happening, Sam obeyed, turning the lever around to set you back down on the ground. The second the bottoms of your boots reached the ground, your legs buckled, threatening to fully give into your weight. If you didn’t reach for the stand to your side, you probably would’ve fallen to the ground.

“You…did that…on purpose…didn’t you…” you panted to catch your breath once again, surprised you could string a coherent sentence together. You used the back of your hand to wipe sweat from your hairline and the rest of your face. You cringed at the pool of sweat that transferred from your skin, still hesitant to believe that you truly managed to go over the minimum requirement.

Because of Levi’s strategically-placed hostility.

“Maybe,” Levi replied, something akin to reluctant respect on his face. “You’re dismissed for the day. “Meet me back here, same time tomorrow.”

“You’ll tell Commander Erwin I passed?” you asked hopefully, looking for your due praise--- even though it was obvious Levi wasn’t the type to commend his soldiers for a job well done.

“It’s my responsibility to update the Commander as I see fit, Mother Nature.”

. . .

“Do you have black tea in stock?” You asked the young girl working the counter at the bakery closest to the Survey Corps’ Headquarters. Even if it was the closest, it was still quite a ways on horseback-- about a half hour back into town.

The girl blushed. “Um, no. We don’t. Our…newest hire…under-watered the plant,” she explained tentatively, her smile sheepish enough to suggest that she was the mentioned culprit.

“It happens. Do you still have the plant?” you asked.

“Yes, we do…?” she replied, unsure as to why you were asking for it. Her smile seemed a bit terse, irritated that you were looking for a plant that they were likely about to compost.

“Can I buy it?” While over-watering typically caused a plant to wilt and rot, effectively killing it. However, under-watering was fixable in most cases. Especially if it was the summer sun--- while camelia flowers tended to prefer sunnier spots, they also required ample water to keep them nourished. It wasn’t unheard of for an amateur to be scared of overwatering the flowers.

“I think it’s about to die, so you can’t really use it for tea or anything,” she warned, expecting you to change your mind.

“Just name your price,” you smiled patiently, but you were sure it didn’t reach your eyes because of your impatience. But in a matter of mere minutes, you were walking to the public stable where you left your horse, Juniper, and you were on your way back to Headquarters to start your first official project as an Honorary Scout.

. . .

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