#new comfort ship acquired

[hermannsprecursors]

So uh the 2001 A Space Odyssey fandom has a LOT of crossover with the IHNMAIMS fandom. So uh that's cool.

Anyway here are my 2 bits on that. Y'all can make the funny androids kiss I'm making the funny deranged men they tormented make out lmao. Crackship king at it again.

They went home and fucked, probably.

Thank you for your time let me know if you want more. I drew this instead of doing my AP statistics homework.

[aka-indulgence]

Soundwave fic? Yes. I love him. I want him to kidnap me. What who said that

Anyway here’s a fic where tfp Soundwave kidnaps you because he likes you and you’re alone on the Nemesis with him for the first time kdsjlfjds

(Soundwave x F!Human Reader)

—————

As soon as he arrives on the ship, Soundwave transforms, shifting you from the cockpit into his hands as he does so. You make a small cry, bracing on his thumb and holding on for dear life as you wildly look around like a frightened animal.

The door behind him closing and the sunlight disappearing from its cracks only furthered your panic- Soundwave could hear the sound of your little frightened breaths, quick and shallow. It was unbearably cute.

He walks with calm, even steps through the hallways. As much as he adored your mannerisms, he didn’t want your (permanent) stay on the Nemesis to be unpleasant. He scrolls through the camera feed on his visor and finds Megatron on the bridge and heads his way.

It was quiet. Even though Soundwave had quite literally stolen you in broad daylight in front of the Autobots that could do nothing but watch him fly away with you, you still found reassurance from him. You looked up at him from time to time; furrowed brows, watery eyes. He can’t stand it. He was the only thing on this ship that was familiar to you, and so he was the only person you would seek comfort from.

A few vehicons saw him on his way to the bridge. All have balked on the sight, but they deserve credit. They were smart enough not to interfere with him, nor to question his new ‘girlfriend’.

“Commander Soundwave,” one nodded as he passed. Only someone like Soundwave could hear the slight shake in his voice.

It must be so hard for someone as small as you. Everyone and everything was so much bigger than you, even the vehicons. Even Laserbeak.

So cute…

He reaches the bridge and the doors slide open. Megatron stands ever vigilant, watching the skies.

“Soundwave. You’ve returned.” His master angles his head before fully turning around, “have you acquired the data I have asked of you?”

Soundwave nods and his screen blinks, displaying pictures of artefacts and text. Megatron’s eyes brighten and a dastardly grin widens.

“Cybertronian artefacts the humans uncovered? Excellent Soundwave. I’m surprised the humans had the forethought to store them in different places, but they won’t stay in their vaults for long…”

Coordinates show on his face of their locations, before he shows one particular artefact.

“A magnetic destabilizer. Did you retrieve it?”

His screen changes to a video of multiple army men shooting at him before the autobots arrived.

“Humans.” He sneered. “For such small creatures, their little guns can feel like scraplets when they are numerous. Even more reason to terminate these pests,”

Soundwave feels a twitch in his hand.

“Which begs the question… why have you brought one back with you?”

His liege sounded curious rather than chastising. His head dips down to where you sat. Poor thing- you were shaking now, your lips parted and gripping his finger tighter than before, unable to speak, wide-eyed staring back at Megatron.

He wraps his fingers around you in the hopes of comforting you, but it only makes you gasp in alarm, swinging your head to look back at him. You’re anxious. He pets your head and prods your cheeks for a moment before turning back to his master. To Megatron, he simply goes over pictures and footage of his encounters with you he managed to capture, then he holds you closer to his chest.

“I see…” Megatron nods. “Very well. I trust you can keep it in check. Although you were unable to retrieve the artefact, the data you brought was most valuable- we will certainly retrieve the rest. You are dismissed, Soundwave.”

Soundwave nods, and both he and Megatron turn to their next objectives; which, for Soundwave, was to have a private moment with you.

*****

Your heart is beating a mile a minute. You’re still having trouble wrapping your head around it. You were going on a human mission to meet with Fowler’s guys one moment, then taken aboard the Decepticon warship the next. And you still don’t understand why Soundwave took you in the first place, when you assume he already took all the information he needed from the unidentified objects database. Now you find out not only did Megatron not ask him to bring back a human, he specifically targeted you. What could he possibly want from you?

A door opens to an empty, barren room with a single shelf-like desk and a huge window that spans from the floor to the ceiling. Oh, and there was a bed on the desk too. Pillows, blankets, white linens and all. It looked rather plush and high quality.

So that’s what happened. You manage to think in the middle of your fear induced paralysis. Everyone had been so confused when Agent Fowler came in with the reports of Decepticon activity at a mattress store, of all places. And after a thorough checking with Ratchet, you’d found nothing else sinister has happened with mattresses. Until now, of course.

You’re placed gently on the table, far gentler than you’d expect a Decepticon to be capable of. Soundwave doesn’t look to be expecting anything from you right now, so you look around. You walk to the bed and feel the sheets; soft, slightly cold, and crisp compared to the beat up bedding you had back home. It reminds you of a hotel bed. You lift your head to look out the window: the perfect view of earth above the stratosphere. It was still day, clear from the bright blue the earth was practically glowing with- but you were so high above ground that there wasn’t enough atmosphere to scatter the light. You could even see the earth’s curvature.

The gravity of the situation, how far away you were from everything, how crazy this situation was that it didn’t feel real- it finally hits you like a ton of bricks and you were broken out of your disconnected paralysis. You were alive again. Your head feels hot, your heart is thumping, and it didn’t feel like you could breathe deeply enough. Fear and uncertainty rises in you like bile.

It’s too much.

Overwhelmed, you hiccup, and the tears start flowing.

You jump at feeling something on your side, and you’re turned around to face the one who captured you. Your hands are shaking, your lips are trembling, sobbing uncontrollably despite your attempts to hide them. You didn’t want him to see you cry, you knew Decepticons were cruel creatures. You wish you knew what he was thinking about, his emotions impossible to read considering that he’s faceless. He simply looks at you, in the silent way Soundwave always did, head tilted slightly down.

Was he judging you? Was he showing disdain? Did he think you were a pathetic, crying thing?

You couldn’t move again, with his hand bracing your back, watching his other hand approach, fingers extended. You sniffle and squeak as it gets closer but- then, very precisely for someone as enormous as he was, he wipes your tears away with his fingers.

“Huh..?”

As he caresses your head, he leans in closer, and you’re suddenly reminded of when children played with their dolls. Coddling them, playing with their hair, that unwavering stare. It makes you nervous, and you squish into his hand more trying to make space from him. You’re confronted with your own reflection in his visor, your eyes reddish and wet.

“Wh-what,” you swallow, mouth dry. “What is it that you want from me,”

Your voice was small and pitiful, shaking with the sobs that still racked your body. He tilts his head, as if he was asking isn’t it obvious?

One slender, extended finger pokes the center of your chest, on your sternum.

Static sounds from his face, and the voice you hear is yours.

“You.”

Me? What do you mean you ‘want me’?? You thought in distress. You’re not sure if that’s a good thing, or if you liked that answer.

“I still don’t… know what you mean by that. Do you want me so y-you can hurt me? Torture me? Put me through some Decepticon experiment? Wh–?!”

The last word turns into a high-pitched squeal as Soundwave lifts you off the ground and brings you close to his face. He isn’t viewing you like he did before, instead steadily bringing you closer and closer. His faceless appearance frightens you, and with alarm you feel like he’s about to squash you against his face- like he was trying to eat you, if he had a mouth. Your panicked breaths turn into a yelp, covering your face and your body seizing up.

You jolt when you feel his visor pressing to the entire side of your body, keenly aware of how much you’re trembling when you’re pressed against this wall that was his face. You kept your eyes shut, feeling him press you further into him, whimpers escaping you.

… But nothing happens. Instead, Soundwave starts moving his face against you, up and down in a rhythmic motion. It’s gentle, careful- he isn’t trying to hurt you. The pressure his hand is putting on you is only just enough to slightly squish you against him, and you feel like a plush toy with your cheek smooshed on his visor. A soft, smooth, deep sound emits from within him, strong enough that it shakes you, but low enough that it isn’t overwhelming. Like an engine revving.

Is he. Nuzzling you?

You open one eye, the other shut from the decepticon’s face rubbing. “Whuh- what’s happening,”

You try to push off his face to make room for yourself, but this only makes Soundwave press you back into his face, this time nuzzling you from left to right.

You sputter, your nose and mouth pressing against him from his motion, before he finally pulls his face away from you, his shoulders bouncing with what might’ve been laughter.

Your puzzled face was clear on his visor.

“I like you.” He says. “I like - Y/n.”

Now that really confused you. You could accept him wanting you for nefarious reasons, even for personal ones but- was Soundwave liking you the reason he took you? You can’t believe it, even as the man in question has his fingers on your cheek again, tickling you and making you close your eyes again from his obsessive petting.

You get a moment to speak when his petting finally stops. You could feel the redness and heat radiating from your cheek from where Soundwave pressed his face on you.

“S-so… you don’t want to hurt me,” you clarify. You had to make sure.

Soundwave shakes his head. “No.”

Phew. That was a relief. You were still on the Decepticon warship of course- but at least your kidnapper wasn’t here to harm you.

There were others on the ship though, who you’re sure aren’t fond of humans.

You simmer in that thought, looking away from Soundwave, who patiently waits for you to say something. You let him thumb you, stroking your hair down placatingly. You have to admit to yourself, it was working more than you thought it would.

You sigh out the heaviness in your chest, and turn back to Soundwave. You open your mouth, hesitating for a second.

“Promise,” you say, “promise you won’t hurt me? Promise you won’t let anyone hurt me,”

You knew there was no way you could really demand something from a Decepticon, your difference in size astronomical, not to mention in strength. But you hoped Soundwave liked you enough that he would honor your request.

Soundwave stares silently, it was impossible to tell what he was thinking. But you notice his head tilting imperceptibly downwards. You aren’t sure if it was a nod, or just a small movement indicating he was thinking about it.

For now, it was enough.

[storywriter007]

request: 2) This one is Percy Jackson x reader who gets seriously injured on the Argo II and tries to act like it's not that bad but then Percy (her boyfriend) forces her to let him look at it and it is really bad and he takes care of her and comforts her (kinda like the Leo fic where he cleans the wound on her back because I love that one so much), and then helps her fall asleep after.

You're Alright - Percy Jackson x Fem!Reader

author's note: i didn't want to do the same injury again, so i tried something new. i hope you like it :)

-> @c-evans-lover22

warnings: cursing, mentions of injury

genre: fluff

word count: 933

-> heroes of olympus masterlist

✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒

send me requests here! (these are my guidelines)

✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒

y/n's eyes filled with tears as she sat on the floor of the infirmary. how could this have happened? well, she knew exactly how it had happened.

one of gaea's mountain minions attacked the argo ll, and hurled rocks at the ship. they escaped, but not before a huge rock smashed into y/n's ankle. she had basically crawled to the infirmary.

she couldn't bring herself to stand up, her ankle wouldn't support her. she unlaced her high-tops, and tried to pull the shoe down.

"ow!" she whispered to herself. "ow, ow, ow, ow."

she managed to pull it off after immense pain. she carefully removed her sock and got to look at the beautiful sight that was her foot. it was bleeding, it was swollen, and it was just hideous. she tried to grab a towel, so she could wipe the blood off, but unfortunately, she was capable of nothing. she couldn't move and if she did, she'd knock everything over.

"y/n?" a voice called throughout the hallways. "y/n? oh, there you are!"

percy came into the infirmary.

"hey." she smiled.

"what're you doing on the floor-what happened?" he asked, looking at her disgusting ankle.

"nothing, i just got hit." she said, trying to hide the tears that had welled up in her eyes. "i'm fine."

"you're not fine. you're sitting on the floor of the infirmary with a swollen, bloody ankle that doesn't let you stand." he said, almost offended.

"it's really not that bad-"

before she could finish her sentence, she felt herself get picked up and placed on the exam table. she felt embarrassed at how warm her face felt. he picked her up so easily. he brought another exam table and put the together in an l-shape. he then took her leg and put it on the table he had brought over.

"thank you." she smiled. "but seriously percy-"

"you can do it on your own?" he chuckled. "i'm here for you y/n. please, accept my help."

she silently nodded as percy grabbed a towel and wet it with warm water. he gently wiped the blood away.

"let me know if anything hurts."

"i will."

percy washed her foot and ankle with soap and water. after that, he dried the area. instead of bloody and swollen, now it was just swollen.

"this is going to burn." he warned, before pressing the towel to the various small cuts she had acquired.

y/n hissed in pain.

"you're alright." he assured.

he kept going, until he got to her toes. when there wasn't a cut, it didn't burn, but when there was, it hurt like hell. afterwards, he put small band-aids on the cuts. he pressed the swollen spot.

"ouch! percy!" y/n blurted.

"i'm sorry." he said calmly. "i needed to see how bad the swelling was."

"is it bad?"

"nothin' to worry about." he smiled. "you'll be alright."

she felt herself relax. she might've not been able to walk, but she did feel alright.

he grabbed a roll of gauze and began wrapping it around the middle of her foot to her ankle. when he got to the swollen part, it squeezed her ankle, making her hand shoot up and grip percy's bicep.

"y/n, this isn't the best time to feel my muscles." he smiled.

"get your head out of the gutter." she laughed, gently pushing him away.

when percy was done wrapping her ankle up, she felt a lot better, but it still hurt. like she had been stabbed straight through the bone and with every movement of her foot, the knife bent inside of her. he gave her a little bit of ambrosia for the pain. percy quickly cleaned up and y/n tried to slide off the exam table but was stopped by percy putting her back in place.

"you can't put weight on it." he said, concern flooding his voice.

he cared. somebody cared. percy picked her up bridal style and walked out the infirmary. he set her down on her bed, and made a pillow mountain for her to keep her foot on.

"let me know if you need anything." he said, sincerity in his eyes.

"yeah." she paused. "can you, uh, stay here?"

"yeah." he smiled. "i can."

he laid down behind her, and pulled her down so she was laying on his chest while keeping her foot elevated. she could feel his breath down her neck as his arms wrapped around her. he smelled like salt-water and vanilla. she felt herself physically relax as she melted into his warm touch.

"thank you." she said, turning around to see his sea green eyes.

"always." he smiled.

they looked at each other for a moment before percy leaned down and kissed her. it was slow, and y/n was about to turn around so she could put her hands on him.

"no, you stay that way." he demanded, pulling back from the kiss.

"you're no fun." she whined, feeling percy turn her back around.

after an hour, y/n felt herself completely relax. her body felt fine, her mind was at peace, and for once, she didn't feel like the world had it out for her (even though it did, and that's why she had a swollen ankle). but for once, everything just felt alright. as she became one with percy's firm grip, the lights began to dim and her eyelids felt heavy.

"percy?" she whispered.

"i forgot to tell you i gave you a sleeping medicine." he whispered back.

"percy!" she whined, before falling asleep.

[tetsuskei]

notes: repost from my old blog, based on an old post and brief convo w rei @/sir-kuroo. divider by the great remi @/cafekitsune <3

warnings: office au, self indulgent, reader is a few years younger than kuroo

“do you come here often?”

kuroo tetsurou, a colleague, slides up next to you in the breakroom. his personality is suave and carries an air of sharpness, yet warmth and comfort. he’s always gone out of his way to make those around him feel welcome, and you’re no short of that. if you could think of a household name for your company, it would be his. many speak of him but rarely do many actually see him.

you wonder what’s made him grace yourself with his presence—coincidence, or fate?

he grins boyishly, rocking his feet as he looks at you with the most shining (and pretty) hazel eyes.

you blink slowly, processing his words.

“um…i work here. we’re coworkers.” you answer slowly, nodding to your work badge before resuming your activity of making your daily coffee. your heart starts to race at being watched and you try not to spill anything.

you don’t blame kuroo for not knowing exactly who you are. you work in the art department while he does promotion. you’re like two ships sailing past each other in the night. you’ve crossed paths a few times during brainstorming sessions and kickoffs for projects, but you never fully interacted before. at least not directly. only short pleasantries have ever been shared between each other.

the man’s face pales, smile faltering as you unintentionally dismiss his—quite sad—attempt at getting with you. he quickly regains confidence, though.

you hear him laugh softly before he shifts his weight to his opposite foot. “well just as i thought. i guess that means we work together, huh?”

kuroo watches your nose crinkle cutely as you frown and then laugh nervously, “kuroo-san, i don’t mean to say this with any disrespect, but if you’re still confused, i can contact HR for you.” maybe because you’re new he doesn’t know you’re a full time employee. did he think you were a temp? a freelancer?

and as crushed as kuroo currently is, his heart flutters at the way you say his name. he doesn’t know how, but your obliviousness is endearing and wholesome. he only wishes to grab you by the shoulders and shake you, to make you see what he’s trying to say.

the reality is, he’s seen you around many times. only just now did he work up his own courage to start a full fledged conversation with you. you’re very cute. shy, he can tell. but that only makes him more intrigued and persistent in getting to know you. you remind him a lot of kenma, actually.

said best friend implied kuroo was being shy himself, but he’ll deny it to the grave. he’s too stubborn to take his advice on how to approach you.

and the result? an embarrassingly horrible joke he came up with due to word vomit. he didn’t expect to run into you, but by the grace of god, you’d been right where you are, and he did not want to miss this opportunity.

he rubs the back of his head. “ahh no. i don’t need that, but thanks. i appreciate it.” he says, ending his reply with your name.

your eyes widen in surprise. “you…know who i am?” you blink, tilting your head.

kuroo thinks he’s acquiring cute aggression.

he nods, “of course i do. i know the names of practically everyone here.”

“oh.” you say, deflating a little, hope dissolving from your heart. your fingers tap your mug in thought. “right. it was just that…it seemed like you didn’t know i worked here, so i was confused.”

he clears his throat, noticing your dejection, “no! i definitely do! sorry, i worded myself wrong earlier. i-it’s just that—never mind.” he runs a hand over his face, and you’re shocked to see how nervous he suddenly appears. he always seems so confident and sure of himself, you wonder what could be going on now.

“no worries or hard feelings.” you laugh, and his shoulder sag with relief. did you know your voice could be so calming?

the tall man exhales, releasing the rest of his nerves. “allow me to start over. hi, i’m kuroo tetsurou, i work in the promotion department.” he shakes your hand, “i’ve seen your work. it’s really impressive.”

you palm is clammy as you return the handshake and introduction, but the smell of his cologne makes you feel more at ease.

“it’s nice to formally meet you, kuroo-san. you work for the jva is nothing short of amazing.” you reply.

“oh,” he quickly becomes bashful, a humble smile on his face, “it was nothing, really.”

he changes the topic, “but enough about me. back to you. i’ve been meaning to tell you all of that for awhile, but never worked up the courage to. i really should have sooner, i appreciate all that you’ve done to make the jva as successful as it is.” he continues, smiling. he hopes and begs that you don’t see his cheeks turning red.

your expressions lifts again, and kuroo can’t help but notice the small dimple in your left cheek. “thank you! that’s very kind of you, kuroo-san! you didn’t have to thank me at all, i’m just doing my job.”

“that’s true, but you’re very talented. needed to at least acknowledge that.” he nods.

“i guess so! the last project did require a lot of late nights and hard work…” unbeknownst to yourself, you start to ramble about your process.

his perceptive nature looks over your features. he notes the way you hold yourself, fingers fiddling with the sleeves of your sweater–a pink one he’s always been able to identify you by. your eyes seem to travel when they hold contact with someone for too long. you purse your lips when you’re lost in thought. but when you’re comfortable, you use your hands to gesture, expressions surprisingly animated, which make you seem more animated than your usual reserved state.

noticing the way he stares at you, you quickly stop, feeling embarrassed.

“oh! i’m so sorry, i’ve been talking your ear off. you probably didn’t want to know all of that…i bet you’re busy anyways.” you say, bowing out of apology.

kuroo only shakes his head, “ah it’s not a problem at all! you’re truly mistaken! it’s nice listening to how you work. i don’t have a creative bone in my body, so it helps me to understand better. plus, you have a very nice voice.”

wide eyes blink up at him and another smile pops up on your face. you giggle, “thank you! you’re very kind!”

“no problem,” he steps back slightly, clearing his throat, “i know this is the first time we are really talking but…would you…like to get lunch sometime? to get to know each other better?”

you think about work and your connections. as a new employee this would be good for you, right? to build more healthy work relationships. the more people you can know, the better. especially across different departments.

a smile appears on your face and you nod. “why not? should we invite anyone else to join? i think—“

he laughs, shaking his head, “no sweetheart, just you and i.”

you’re stunned. “o-oh…”

“you can say no, i won’t be offended.” he assures.

panic resides in you and you frantically wave your hands. “it’s not that! i’d be more than happy to! i mean, i’ve been looking to get to know you better anyways!”

a hand flies to your mouth and your eyes widen once you realize what you just said.

“w-what i meant was…it’s better to get to know someone 1 on 1 anyways! yanno?” you correct, heart pounding out of your chest. you’re screwed. he’s going think you’re weird.

kuroo smirks, a small hum of appreciation escaping him as he nods, “right, of course. well, i’m glad to hear that. why don’t we exchange numbers ahead of time so we can talk details later?”

after typing each others numbers in, he notices you just entered your first name into his phone.

he softly says it out loud , and a weird, twisting feeling forms in your gut. a small part of you wishes he’d say it again.

“um…you can call me that if you want, but don’t feel pressured to.” you tell him. “i’m just not too big on formality.”

he shakes his head. “not a problem at all. it’s a very lovely name.”

“thanks, kuroo-san.” you beam.

“call me tetsurou. it’s only fair, right?” he winks, patting your shoulder. it shocks you how big his hand is, but you quickly peel your eyes away from it.

he steps back, pocketing his phone before looking at his watch. “well, i should be off now. but we’ll catch up later? i’d love to pick your brain about an upcoming idea.”

“s-sure!” you call, waving after him. “see you, tetsurou!”

he waves back, saying over his shoulder, “do me a favor, yeah?”

“what’s that?”

“remember it’s okay to be proud of your work. you worked hard, so own it.” he says, sending you a warm smile.

“right, i will!” you nod. your heart is full from his advice, and you cling onto his sentiment.

“‘tetsurou’, huh?” your coworker, kazuma, walks up besides you as soon as the rooster head is out of sight. “when did you start getting buddy buddy with the head to the promotion department?”

you raise a brow. “what do you mean? that’s the first time i’ve actually had a full conversation with him. i don’t know why i was so scared to! he’s a very nice guy!” you explain.

he laughs, nodding. “right, ‘nice guy’…”

you blink. “what? did he do something to someone?” you lean in, whispering, “did he like…beat someone up?”

kazuma rolls his eyes, sighing as he fixes his own coffee, “nothing of that sort. you’ll figure it out.”

before you can question him, he turns on his heel and leaves. you start after him, but he’s too fast for you so you give up.

“weird…” you mumble. you shrug before deciding as unfortunate as it is, you should get back to work.

throughout the entire duration of your walk back to your desk, you realize two things.

1, you left your coffee in the break room, and 2–

you notice that under the notes section of kuroo’s contact, he’s put, ‘prospective work husband’.

oh. shit.

that’s what it was.

kuroo was flirting with you the entire time.

reblogs and interactive appreciated!

[astracora]

Turning Point - Part 4

Characters: Poly!LADs x gn!mc

Warnings: Hurt/Comfort, Injuries, Angst, Loss of Arm, Lots of emotional struggle with disability, Xavier Anecdote and Lightseeker Myth mentions.

Word Count: 4584

Written: 7th January 2025

Notes: Pre-relationship with gn!MC with all LADs, with my personal pov of the game and lil headcanons littered in. Unnamed MC, but using my personal MC's basic appearance and adjusted backstory. I take some liberties with what the game offers me. This one was rough for a lot of reasons. Also I think about how Xavier is the only confirmed character to watch MC die in his arms, way more than I should. So I feel like guilt is an emotion he would have to contend with the most. I'm also beyond heartbroken we didn't get him sobbing or reacting in game. Also I wrote like, so many side things while I was trying to work this bit out. But I've also gone back to chapter 3 to change the timeframe for Raffy's exhibit, so I can write out the chapter for him properly. (chapter? part?)

Now Playing: Starlight, by STARSET

Masterlist AO3

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Xavier can't focus, he knows Nero is talking to him. If he had to make a guess, he knows the topic… he just can't make himself hear it.

He doesn't dislike Nero, and while he couldn't care less about the topic of Lumiere, least of all when you talk about him, he normally listens. Because Nero likes Xavier, and is comfortable talking to him, and has zero interest in flirting with you.

It's a low threshold… he's aware he's a selfish creature. If the new companions he'd acquired weren't willing to die for you too, he probably would have less patience for them. Even if sometimes they do press on the edges of his tolerance.

It's probably part of his punishment…

For not being there.

For letting you get hurt.

"Xavier?"

"Xaviiiiiier?"

"Hey!"

His nose is held, and he jolts upright, looking forwards with wide eyes at Tara and Nero who are frowning.

"Are you alright?"

"Sorry, I didn't mean to bore you."

He shakes his head, trying to clear what you've dubbed his 'storm cloud', "Just tired."

Tired. Angry. Hurting. He let you down, and now you're suffering even more.

He thinks about the you he left behind, the future he turned his back on. He thinks about the throne, and the ship he chartered.

He thinks about every life he's taken to protect yours. All the blood on his hands.

With all of his vigilance, all of his love, it took moments to almost lose you. Again.

"You should head home, we don't have any missions, and you'll just fall asleep again." Tara laughs, pushing a paper bag towards him, "And take this back for them, alright?"

He's about to do so, when he sees documents on Nero's desk. Sketches of prosthetic arms, augmented with wanderer designs. "What are you doing?"

Nero jumps, shoving the paper back but too slowly, Xavier picks it up to peer at it. Alongside the sketches are notes.

'Adjust the metal casing so it can be used as an emergency shield.' 'Nerve transmitters that work from the brain, requires less input from residual limb.' 'Bioorganic materials from wanderers reduce rejection rate?' 'Will they want patterns? Or something more skin-like?'

He looks at Nero, from all the notes, even some he can't read because the handwriting is quick and frantic, "What's this?"

The man in question looks down, his glasses almost falling off his nose, "I was talking to some of the other hunters who have a prosthetic. or lost a limb."

"I was doing the talking, Nero was taking notes."

He nods, looking a little more backed up with Tara next to him, "I wanted to find out what they could have used more when they started working again. Ways I could help them." He blinks then, looking startled, "They're coming back right?"

Tara looks at Xavier too, and he feels like he's under a microscope, because her face has changed. Fear lurking in frantic eyes.

"They will." He affirms, because you're aiming to, and he knows you don't give up. You'll stumble, trip, fall and bleed… but you'll get up and start running again.

He thinks about the you he left behind, and the you now.

Scarred and angry, aching at the edges. He thinks of the laughter when you finish a mission, fist bumping him with glee. The photos he has of you where you're smiling. Even if you don't smile as wide as Tara does, even if the scars tug at your lips. He thinks about your eyes, glittering with mischief, as you steal something off his desk.

When you can't stop laughing when you ask to try his light blade, flashing teeth like a cat. Heated cheeks but amused. He shares a blush, but he wishes you wouldn't tease.

You're different, with overlaps in parts.

He misses your smile.

"Nero, can you help me with something?"

—-

When he gets back to the apartment building, the moon high in the sky, he wants to see you straight away… but his hunter uniform is dirty, and he wants to relax. Release the strain of the day. So he stops off, changes, and sees some of the doctor's clothes next to his bed.

He's not sure what made him offer his apartment as a secondary place to stay. He's not sure if it was the relief in your eyes when you saw them all there the next morning, or the guilt that he wasn't enough alone to protect you.

Regardless, he made a choice. Even though only the doctor seems to use it. Rafayel prefers to sleep on the floor, if he sleeps at all with his projects, Sylus drifts in and out like a ghost… he only stays when he stays next to you.

He finds himself sleeping against your bed when you do, when he's not fighting. Trying to chase out the guilt with his sword.

As he makes his way back to your apartment, he sees a note on the fridge.

Plate in fridge, reheat it.

With a sketch of a round crow… he thinks it's wearing a neck ruff?

"Courtesy of kitten," The voice is even, and he sees Sylus at the kitchen table. Prosthetic in hand, as he goes through motions they all know. Cleaning and tending to it. "The crow, that is. The food is me. An extra plate is easy."

Xavier would question the intelligence of eating food made by a criminal, but if he trusts Sylus' food in your hands, he doesn't fear it in his own. "Thanks." He doesn't want to think too hard about this. About the state of things. The people around him that he never would have met without you.

He fractures at the idea that he can't be enough to protect you.

He'll eat it later, when guilt doesn't turn his stomach.

"If you're going to check in on them, do it quietly." Sylus doesn't look up at him, content to ease leather with careful hands and cloth, "They finally got to sleep."

He bristles a little, at being told to be careful with you, eyes narrowing and cold, but it is not received. The man even has the nerve to begin humming, low and under his breath. Out of tune. Xavier doesn't think he's ever met another man so impossibly unbothered by the world around him.

The words are ignored, received with a huff, and he walks past, towards your bedroom. You're alone today, no Rafayel lay on the bed with you, sketching, no Zayne, reading in the dark, as you sleep. You are curled around a large plushie of a narwhal, arm clutching it to your chest as you mutter through your dreams.

It is a relief to see the steady movement of your breathing. Though he still does not settle down until he places a hand on your cheek, feeling the exhale. You're alive, you're here, and you're under his hands.

The guilt calms down, as he reminds himself of that.

Instead of going back out to eat, Xavier settles down on the floor, back pressed to the bed, cheek on the mattress. Watching you. It is one of the few times he is relieved for his ease of sleep. So he can drift off, watching you live.

—----

The next morning, he places a cup of coffee next to your bedside table, and gives a nod to Sylus who has been reading one of your books, before returning to the Hunter's Association. He comes face to face with an excited Nero.

He almost takes a step back. Very nearly turns around and walks out, before he remembers he asked for something, "Xavier!"

Tara is following close behind, hiding her laughter behind her hand, "He's been waiting by the door for you."

"Three people responded that they're interested in talking to you. They're also happy to have notes taken, so I can help."

He wasn't sure he'd hear anything this quickly, he supposes he shouldn't be that surprised. Nero fixates on something, just as much as you do. His fixation tends to come in bursts of problem solving, yours comes in biting and tearing and clawing to the solution.

"Alright, let's go."

Jenna gives him time to talk, and he walks with Nero to a room where the three people are sat, chatting between themselves.

They still, and watch as he hesitates. An older man chuckles at him, waving his one hand, "Sit down, lad. We don't bite."

It moves his feet, into a chair, but not his mouth. He needs to move forwards, but he's not sure how.

What can he say? How can he help you? What words are there to help you move forwards?

He thinks about the trembling in your body, the tears that won't fall in your eyes. He is stuck. Xavier is stuck, like he's holding you under a meteor shower again. Shaking you.

Begging. For something.

A miracle.

"Nero already told us about your partner." A woman speaks, she sports a flexible keel prosthesis, "Not that we don't know about UNICORNs, you lot don't half make some noise." Her voice is cool, level, but she has a small smile. Warm eyes.

It eases him. "I wanted-"

"To ask questions right, lad? I can talk for hours for you."

So he lets them, as he listens. The old man works in analytics, collating information for the Association. He was born without his hand. Tried prosthetics, none took, he didn't want to keep trying.

"I accepted it straight away, my husband stood beside me. There are problems, but we work through them."

The young female hunter is from one of the Beta teams. Lost her foot in a fight with a wyrm, saved her partner in the process.

"I thought I'd accepted it, took the prosthetic training, everything went well. It was two years later, when I woke up one day, burst into tears. Couldn't stop." She fidgets, toying with her fingers for a moment, before straightening up, "Sometimes I still get sad, like I'm finally processing it, but normally it's just another day. It's a tool, not part of me, but it gave me most of my independence back. So even when I'm sad, I hold to that."

The third hunter twirls a pen around their prosthetic fingers, they're an arctic hunter, in the area for training. There's a large scar down their eye, and they don't react visually to the others, but leans forward to speak. They don't reveal how they gained their prosthetic.

"Didn't accept it, not for a long time. Woke up everyday angry, got reckless. Almost died." They exhale, deep, slow, tired, "Sometimes I'm still angry, but I'm still a fighter. I can still help my squad. So it's worth it. Took me longer to get around to using it than most, I dragged my feet, didn't want to learn for ages. It was my partner that got me moving, came to check in on me. Called me a fool, 'one life, idiot, keep living it'. So I did."

"It's hard sometimes, but people handle it differently."

Xavier sits and listens, they give tips on coming back to working as a hunter, they share everything he could even think to ask. Warm and ready, and understanding. They ask to meet you when you're back, tease him about his name and yours.

You're one of Jenna's best for a reason. Those hunter's reels certainly get watched a lot.

He tries not to think about the advertisements he's had to star in, either alongside you or alone. He's just relieved he doesn't get recognised as Lumiere.

That conversation would be even longer.

Hunters live a job at risk, he's aware of that… he can't stop thinking about it.

"Kid." He looks up, wants to correct the man, decides against it, "It's alright to be struggling, worrying about your partner. They're not gone though. Don't sit in the past. Get help yourself, but remember to share with them. Let that partner of yours know how you feel, they'll feel less isolated."

His shoulders jump, the chill in his back. He's been fatalising. Acting like you're broken when he knows that's what you're fearing. Thinking of you like you're gone, when you're right in front of him.

Stuck in the past…

Guilt and pain and worry making him think about you like he'll lose you if he stops.

You're alive, and you're moving forwards, and he needs to as well. With you. "Thank you." This thanks, he thinks, feels more honest. Like he's not biting his tongue to say it.

When Xavier returns home, he doesn't mind the plate left in the fridge for him.

He doesn't mind that the most wanted man of Philos is chuckling with your head in his lap, because he joins you on the sofa, and listens to you tell them about your sessions.

He has to remember you're capable of protecting yourself, you've always wanted to stand equal. Protecting others, as much as they protect you. Stubborn, and proud, to a fault sometimes.

As you smile, small and crooked at him, he offers you the notes he and Nero finished compiling.

You read them, eyes wide, and glimmering, before wrapping your arm around his neck.

"Thank you Xavier."

It's good to not be alone, he thinks. It's been far too long. Too many he's had to lose… That he's forgotten how to reach out, how to even take a hand, let alone stop himself from holding too tight out of fear.

He doesn't want to forget your future.

Even when Sylus smirks, calls him a little knightling, and he debates if you really need a support system that includes the criminal.

—----

Progress is steady. You struggle, and you stumble. But you remember the laughter in the kitchen and the beast dropping off your back to curl about your ankle.

You think about the notes handed to you by Xavier, carefully recorded accounts of acknowledgment, support… life.

You think about Tara, Simone and Nero. How much you want to get back to standing alongside them.

You think about gentle hands taking care of you in the bathroom while you shivered, and warm meals with arguing voices.

You think about Caleb. What he'd say if he were with you.

And you take one step at a time.

When you are not in front of Doctor Rin, clinging far too tightly to whoever's hand is turning bone white in your grip, you are practicing at home.

She's asked you what your goal was, the point you're aiming for.

It is easier, she reminds you, to have something to achieve.

It's an easy question, you want to be back in the field again, you want to make your life mean something. You want to fight alongside the people you trust, and not leave them to flounder alone.

When you are a hunter again, and taking on missions, that's when you'll have achieved your goal. You tell her, hand in a fist.

Her smile overlaps with Gran's, the day you'd told her and Caleb you got into the academy. You think about the way he'd poked you in the forehead, then ruffled your hair, 'Way ta go pipsqueak.'

You think he'd be pulling your hand, running forwards, if he were here. Just like he pulled you forwards everytime you got injured in a fight. Just like he pulled when you wanted to give up.

The memory keeps you from stopping.

Over the course of weeks, you set yourself challenges.

It starts with challenging yourself to hold your prosthetic.

It's not as heavy as you think it should be. The logical part of your brain reminds you that it's built for hunters specifically, and is replacing your arm.

It's that logical part of your brain that stops you from throwing it away from you. It is a tool, you tell yourself. Something that will ensure you can still be a hunter. That eventually, at the end of this, you will be able to go back to doing what you should be doing. Using your life to help others. No matter how short it is.

Some days it feels like it burns you when you place your hand on it. Those days, you leave your room, and sit by Rafayel as he paints. Watching him work, seeing the world he sees. 

You ask him questions about his work, even though part of you worries you'll disturb him. He never indicates you are, answering you happily. You think he's happy to share, you hope he is. You're happy to listen.

One day you see his open sketchbook.

For a second, you see a sketch of you, worn and tired… but alive. Your body scarred, but you tremble to see yourself looking like art on his page.

You close the book, placing it back by his canvas, and go back to the prosthetic. To try again.

You learn to wear it, for short periods of time a day, to build up to throughout the day.

You start off, managing twenty minutes, before you have to rip the thing off. Relieved when Zayne catches your hand, stopping you from doing any damage to it. Before he helps you ease yourself out.

The straps are easy to adjust with one hand, but when you want it off, it feels as though you are on fire. Tearing at clothing melting into your skin.

He sits next to you and massages your residual limb, fingers easing hair from your face, tracing lines on your cheek. The fire in your body settles at the cool touch of his hands, and you settle again.

Later, you try again. When it burns, you remember the ice of Zayne's touch, and keep going.

The next stage is to clean it. You learn the motions, you study how to do it. Sat in the living room, tools to your side, figuring out how best to do it with one hand.

There are days when you drop the tools. Trying hard not to sob as they tumble to the floor. Choking back tears as your hand doesn't work the way you want it too. As you fail to follow the steps correctly. As you spill leather conditioner on the table, or the carpet.

In those moments, someone will join you at your side. Sylus will pull the tools away, and sit next to you, running through the motions he's been learning as he's watched you. Overtime, it becomes routine. He masters the steps before you do, assisting you, cleaning out the inner socket alongside as you gently clean the leather straps. Other times, Xavier, hesitant and unsure about touching your prosthetic, joins you. Head in your lap. You speak the steps out loud, running through them so he can learn them with you. The next time, he does it himself, calm and kind and warm. Smiling at you as he does so.

Everyday is a day to take your medication, your wounds are healing well, and with the care of those around you, you are coming away with scars, but no longer bleeding through bandages.

The final challenge is the practice, the movement and the acquainting yourself with the movement of your limb.

You sit in the hospital room you can't stand, hand anchored in Sylus', who has joined you for today. It is another day, and the weight of walking through corridors has eased somewhat. You know the passage of time means things become easier, you're used to that. The flow, the adjustment. The steps forward, and stumbles back.

Your heart has given you some experience in this.

Doctor Rin greets you easily, awaiting your arrival. As soon as she sees you, she smiles. It is that same warm smile that makes the ghosts lurk at your shoulders. It is an exhale to steady you, before you return it with a half smile. Hard enough to offer expressions, without the added grief pulling you back.

It passes easier than you expect. An introduction to the exercises you need to practice, information about not forcing yourself until you hurt. To take breaks and come back to it, if you fail five times, stop. Try again later.

To practice every day. It is a skill you have to learn. Not unlike when you were learning to use your weapons, struggling to learn how to aim. Falling down everytime you swung a claymore.

It is simple things. Can you open and close your new hand? Can you rotate your wrist?

It is a mountain, one you are scared to try to climb.

There is the stable hand in yours, a man who chuckles at you as you look at him, seeking out something in molten eyes. You don't like being weak in front of Sylus, despite him offering you the space to be yourself. It is a long standing fear.

You are more scared to be alone, however, so you turn back to the doctor.

You remind yourself of boxing training with Sylus, who teases you when you don't punch fast enough, but takes you in earnest. Rights your stance. Watches you practice. Praises you for improvement.

Challenges you to be better.

This is another tool you can use, something to enable you to fight again. To stand by him and fight again.

So you follow the doctor's instructions. It is an almost unconscious feeling. She has explained how the transmitters work, but you don't want to think about it too much. Understanding is something, you need it to be instinctual. If it's not, you won't be able to fight again.

Still, you feel yourself overextend. Overcompensate movement where it was once easy. The hand stares back at you as you watch it, and you try to remember what you used to do. Extend. Feel where the muscles should tense along your shoulder. Close. Open.

It reacts, but it is slow. Metal fingers steadily opening, closing. You try to twist your wrist, but it doesn't move the way you want. Frustration builds. You try again. You feel your shoulder twitch but nothing happens.

Your teeth grit, and you try again.

"Kitten." The voice calls you back, a firm grip takes your chin, turning your head to focus on his molten eyes again. There is a twinkle in there, his normally ever present smirk has evened out. Serious but calming. You watch the red of his eyes swirl, and you feel him smooth his thumb across your cheek. "Don't chase your tail, take a deep breath, try again."

He pushes you forwards. Always. Testing your limits, watching you grow.

You think about ways you'd trained your body to fight, ways you made yourself stronger. Running with Zayne, practicing with the blade with Xavier, maneuvers with Rafayel, strength training with Sylus. You are not going to stop until you learn how to use this.

Until you achieve that goal.

This time, when you try, it comes a little easier, as you calm yourself down. Heart settling into a steady rhythm and you watch the hand move. Twisting the wrist, opening and closing it. Pride settles in your chest, as you grin at it. Relief and satisfaction, that you haven't failed. You turn and you twist and watch in awe.

The fingers open a little quicker, you practice moving them but the individual movements are sluggish, and you try to pick things up, but you drop them more than you hold them.

When Sylus nudges you with his shoulder, smirking at you, you take on the pride in his eyes, and you keep moving forwards.

You hit a wall when you have to stretch it out properly, bending the elbow joint, but you settle.

You take the challenge.

It is a mountain you will learn to climb.

You learned how to be a hunter, you can learn this.

As you walk home with Sylus, twisting the arm despite your fatigue, he chuckles, "You look like you've received a new toy. You're like this when I get you a new gun."

You sniff at him, poking him with the metal hand, though its clumsy and more of a full hand than a finger. Marvelling at the feeling of heat from him that comes through the prosthetic. "You just wait, soon I'll be swinging a sword again."

He pauses, looking at you, and then laughs. A chuckle that shakes his hand in yours, and then pulls you in to flick your forehead, "Alright Kitten, let's get you there."

The exercises continue at home, you move into the kitchen while Sylus cooks, to practice with a ball. The more you do it, the easier it gets to learn the motions. Every new thing you try, however, is a hurdle you feel sick to overcome.

Sometimes the movement refuses to do as you want. So you remove it, and try not to cry, try not to drown, and find a distraction.

When you try to pick up a cup, you watch in horror as you drop it, smashing it across the floor. Sylus pulls you away from the fragments, soothing the upset, over breaking something. Over failing. Over being this.

After that you stick to things that won't break, won't hurt you. It still aches when you drop something, when you fail. You're never alone in the pain for too long, there is always a constant, someone there to keep you from spiralling.

The more they catch you, the less you need catching. Until you pick up a cup, and you laugh. Pride brimming. An achievement, no broken shards. A tool you are learning to use.

Later, when you're tired, but relieved, you sit at the kitchen table as Sylus sings along to a song in your playlist as he cooks, there is no Rafayel to argue with, so he seems far calmer. Happy. He always seems happy when he sings.

"Sy?"

He hums, looking back at you. His smiles are often more warm eyes than movement of his mouth, quirks and twitches. "What's wrong Kitten?"

You hesitate, thinking about how many days you've seen him stood at the counter, preparing food for you, and the others. It is guilt on your shoulders, but it is also relief and thankfulness. He is a warm presence, always answering the phone when you need him. "Can I help?"

He shrugs, "Sure, come and stir." So you join him, it is not a hard task, but you feel a little more like you're here. Helping.

Living and not existing. The creature at your ankle stirs and purrs, eased and happy.

You haven't heard it settle in such a long time.

"Thank you." You speak, staring into the pot, watching the swirling at the end of your spatula.

The man stands next to you and shrugs, unbothered, "Not a problem, kitten. I've told you, ask, demand, request. You can be greedy with me." He reaches over and flicks your forehead, before tapping your nose. "I'm always here for you. Even if you do let our food burn."

You panic as the heat bubbles over, and quickly turn it down, and he simply laughs at you. So you elbow him in the side, and revel in the way his laugh blossoms harder.

When you eat with everyone that evening, you help ladle out food, and set the table. You don't run away to the darkness of your room, and you add the laughter around you to your collection of reasons to keep moving.

[ginnsbaker]

the follow up

Summary: Sequel to 'prophylaxis'. Wanda's follow up appointment with you, her dentist. Includes ice cream, Vision playing matchmaker and Wanda's questionable taste in music

Word count: 3k | Warnings: None. Tooth-rotting fluff. Pun intended.

Ship: Wanda Maximoff x Fem!Reader | Platonic Wanda Maximoff X Vision

Author's note: Let's pretend that the Sokovian accords resolved itself without Tony and Steve divorcing | P.S couldn't resist inserting a T.S. lyric (sorry not sorry)

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

-

Wanda Maximoff is strapped to a chair.

Again.

Fortunately, it's not because she'd been caught behind enemy lines or had to be restrained because of those stupid accords that nobody really cares about except Tony and Steve. 

No, Wanda Maximoff is at the dentist's office. 

Again.

Okay, so, she’s not strapped per se, but the patient bib she wears over her clothes certainly feels like one, especially when that chair starts to tilt back as soon as you nudge the adjustor with your foot. It's like being bound in place, just without the actual restraints.

Her lips are dry, and her heart is beating just a little too fast, but not from fear this time. It's a different sort of edginess that Wanda feels, especially when you lean in too close to her face to check her molars. Your face is just inches from hers, eyebrows strewn in concentration and eyes focused. Wanda tries to look away, but there's nowhere to look except the ceiling or into those scrutinizing eyes.

It also doesn’t help that you smell absolutely incredible. Last week, you smelled like raindrops on petals. Today, you smell like cinnamon and vanilla, and she finds both scents comforting and addicting. 

“So, Wanda,” you say, your voice calm and gentle, “How have you been taking care of your teeth since the last visit?”

“Uh, fine,” Wanda tries to articulate the words properly but all that comes out is a garbled “ahhh fuh”. You don't mock her in any way; instead, you display an expert understanding of your patients' speech patterns. 

“You've been brushing and flossing?”

Wanda nods.

“Good girl,” you say, and even though your smile is hidden behind the mask, she can still see it in your eyes. They crinkle at the corners, and it just sends something warm and happy in Wanda’s chest whenever she sees it. 

But there’s nervousness, too.

In fact, a lot of things about you make her nervous. After all, your kind used to be the bane of her existence.

You turn away to prepare the necessary tools, and Wanda's mind starts to wander. How many patients do you see in a day? Are you always this nice and charming to them? 

Are they also nervous around you? Or is it just her?

“Alright, Wanda,” you say, turning back to her, your eyes kind and understanding. “Let's get started. Just a small pinch, and you'll feel a little numb.”

She nods again, and the procedure begins. 

As you work, you talk about mundane things and the new plant you acquired over the weekend. You also talk a little about the Avengers compound and the unique experiences that come with being their on-call dentist, especially with a synthezoid who insists on getting their teeth checked. 

Wanda answers more freely now, her initial hesitation gone. She finds herself enjoying your company–enjoying this dental appointment, of all things–and even laughing at some of your anecdotes.

Finally, the fillings are in place, and you help her rinse her mouth.

“See?” you say, patting her shoulder. “That wasn't so bad.”

Wanda beams at you, feeling quite proud of herself. “No, it wasn't. Thank you.”

“There are still three more that might need fillings, but we can schedule that for some other time. Don’t want you to get overwhelmed,” you add with a cheeky wink that has Wanda unwittingly clutching the armchair tightly.

You carefully set your tools down on the tray, giving Wanda some room to breathe. Right then, the numbing effect of the anesthesia begins to fade and Wanda winces, her hand instinctively coming up to her jaw, fingers massaging the area where the discomfort is blooming. 

Seeing her reaction, you recall the ice cream you'd thoughtfully stashed away after she’d confirmed her appointment.

“Feeling a bit tender there?” you ask, moving towards the small refrigerator you keep in the room. “I have just the thing.”

Wanda looks at you curiously as you retrieve a container of Ben & Jerry's Cherry Garcia ice cream. Her eyes widen, and she exclaims, “How did you know this is my favorite?”

You blush as if you’ve been caught doing something you shouldn’t. You hadn't expected Wanda to notice the specific flavor of the ice cream, let alone comment on how suspiciously perfect it was that you picked her favorite. 

“Well, I may have called the Avengers compound and asked around,” you say, sheepishly rubbing the back of your neck. “It was Vision–was it?–who knew. Said you always choose this one.”

You extend the tub of Cherry Garcia to Wanda, and as she takes it, your fingers briefly brush against hers. Both of you pause at the unexpected touch, a small gasp escaping her lips. You quickly shift your attention to the utensil drawer, pulling out a spoon and handing it to her. But instead of digging in immediately, she hesitates, glancing up at you. 

The white mask you're wearing has kept your full face hidden throughout the appointment, and now, she'd be utterly disappointed if she never gets a peek at your face, which is partly the reason she agreed to come here in the first place.

Wanda Maximoff can’t have that. After sitting through an hour in that torture chair, she needs to be rewarded. And not just with ice cream. 

“Would you... would you like to share it with me?” she asks hesitantly, trying to be subtle–

 “I'd really like to see your face, just once.”

–and then failing at subtlety half a second later.

You blink, surprised at her straightforwardness, and feel a deeper blush spread across your cheeks. Her request is unconventional, yes, but it's also earnest and endearing. Slowly, you reach up and remove the mask, unveiling the smile that Wanda's been so desperate to see.

“Well, I do have quite the sweet tooth, so I couldn't possibly refuse.” you say.

You sit side-by-side on the coach, your knees touching ever so often. You occasionally find yourself pointing to Wanda's lips, indicating where she needs to wipe away the stray cream. Wanda blushes at your attentiveness, but she can't help but appreciate the caring gesture.

Wanda truly wants to prolong this moment, this unexpected opportunity to have you all to herself. But as delightful as the company is, ice cream has its own rules, and it's not much enjoyable when it's melted. So, despite her desire to make the moment stretch on, the ice cream is finished in under ten minutes. 

Staring at the empty tub, the idea that she might not be the only one to experience this side of you fills her with both reassurance and a hint of envy. Wanda can't help but wonder if there's something special about the connection you share during these brief appointments, or if your comforting demeanor is simply part of being a skilled and compassionate dentist.

Either way, she wants to do something with you that would set her apart from all your other patients.

“Um, so,” she begins, fumbling with her words, her eyes darting around the room before landing on yours. “I was thinking, you know, if you're not too busy or anything, maybe we could... do this again? Not the dental part!” she quickly adds, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment. “I mean, maybe dinner, or a movie, or whatever you like? If you want to, of course.”

You look at her with wide eyes, mouth slightly agape, as if you're trying to catch the words that just slipped out of her mouth. Is it a date? Is it just a friendly outing? Regardless, it's not typically professional to see a patient outside of the clinic, especially one as renowned as Wanda Maximoff. 

“Wanda,” you start. “You’re interesting, funny, and truly amazing.”

You watch as Wanda’s face becomes hopeful, which makes you want to strangle yourself for what you have to say next. 

“But I’m sorry, I can’t. I have to consider the professional boundaries that I need to maintain.”

Wanda's eyes widen momentarily, and then she quickly masks her disappointment with a dismissive wave of her hand. “Oh, of course, I understand,” she says, her voice light, but not quite reaching her eyes. “I shouldn't have asked. It was silly of me.”

But you can see the hurt in her eyes, the way her shoulders slump just a little, the way her smile doesn't scrunch her nose the way it normally does. She's trying to brush it off, to act like it doesn't matter, but you can tell that it does.

With that, your time together draws to a close. You ask Wanda if she wants to schedule another filling for her remaining molars, but she merely shakes her head, telling you she'll have to think about it. Her eyes avoid yours, and her voice is distant, a clear indication of how your rejection has affected her.

You watch her walk away, a part of you wishing you could call her back, and another part knowing that you made the right choice. 

It's the first time you experience a profound sense of loathing towards your profession as a dentist.

You wouldn’t be surprised if they don’t invite you back next year for another routine check-up.

-

Which makes your predicament the following day all the more baffling.

One second, you're tending to a tall, blonde, seemingly ordinary man in your dental chair, going through the routine motions of preparing for a check-up. You turn your back for a moment to prepare your tools, lost in thought and still reeling from yesterday's encounter with Wanda.

When you turn to face your patient again, your heart skips a beat, your hands freezing in place. 

The man is no longer blonde and ordinary but bald and a striking shade of red.

In a snap, it’s another Avenger in your hands.

You clear your throat, forcing a smile as you approach the chair. “Mr. Vision,” you say, trying to keep your voice steady. “I wasn't expecting to see you here.”

Vision is ready to correct you with your use of ‘Mr.’ but then he tilts his head, deciding he likes the title next to his name.

“It's my pleasure to see you, Doctor,” he smiles at you, sitting perfectly still.

You blink at him, still trying to wrap your head around the fact that a synthezoid–one who technically doesn't even have biological teeth–is sitting in your dental chair. You can't help but wonder if this is some kind of joke or if Wanda sent him to kill you.

When you continue to stand unmoving in your position, Vision says, “I’m here for a check-up.”

Huh. 

Okay?

You reach for the mouth mirror and probe, tools typically used for human patients, and hesitate for just a moment. 

How exactly does one perform a check-up on a synthezoid?

Vision seems to read your uncertainty, his crystal-blue eyes meeting yours. “I assure you, I have all the components you would find in a human mouth,” he says. 

You nod, beginning to understand. Gathering your focus, you proceed to perform the unusual check-up he's requesting. As you explore his mouth, you find yourself fascinated by the impeccable craftsmanship that went into creating Vision. Every tooth, every gum, is a perfect imitation of its human counterpart. 

You find yourself feeling a little jealous of his orthodontic assets. 

As you continue the check-up, he starts to share some stories, his voice even and clear despite your probing.

“You know, Wanda once fed an alley full of stray cats during a mission in Bucharest,” he says, a soft chuckle in his voice. “We were on a surveillance assignment, and she noticed them, all huddled together, looking hungry. Before I knew it, she had conjured up bowls of food for them all. It was quite a sight.”

You pause, caught by the image of Wanda surrounded by furry, adorable kittens. “That sounds adorable.” you reply, moving on to examine his upper molars. 'Cute' was the word on the tip of your tongue, exactly what you meant to say. But you know as well as anyone that finding a patient cute is off-limits.

He continues, “Yes, Wanda has a way with things. Once, back at the Avengers HQ, she'd make her dinner portion smaller so the guys with big appetites could eat their fill. Even Natasha, who's quite the cook, found it a stretch sometimes to satisfy the team's hunger.”

And then as he drones on about Wanda, you slowly begin to piece together what's really happening here. Vision isn't just in your clinic for a check-up. 

He's talking up Wanda. 

To you.

As if Wanda even needed talking up.

All you could think about was the brunette with her soulful green eyes and a smile that makes you go weak in the knees. Your heart skips a beat at the very thought of her.

But it's not just because Wanda is your patient that you rejected her. There's the awe and reverence you feel towards her as an Avenger, a symbol of justice and freedom, a hero who seems to belong to the world more than to any one person. And then there's the raw, personal part of you, still healing from a toxic relationship that ended only six months ago.

And as Vision concludes his tales of Wanda by sharing how she's the only one patient enough to show him the ropes of what being human is, you see through his carefully crafted façade. 

He's here to bridge the gap, to make Wanda more accessible, more human in your eyes. He wants you to see her not just as a public figure but as a person with feelings, quirks, and simple kindnesses.

And more than that, he wants you to realize that you're an idiot for saying no to someone as wonderful as Wanda Maximoff.

“You’re not really here for a check-up, are you?” you smile at him knowingly.

Vision looks at you, his synthetic eyes almost mischievous and for a while you forget that he isn’t human. 

He pauses for a moment, as if considering his next words, and then he smiles back.

“No,” he finally says, his voice carrying a hint of both humor and sincerity. “I'm not.”

He then continues, his tone turning thoughtful. “Wanda has been... sulking. For hours, locked up in her room listening to ‘Lips of an Angel’ on repeat. She told me before that I am her 'best friend,'” he says, the term slightly foreign in his mouth. “I looked up what that means, and it included helping her be happy.”

Apart from the reveal of what kind of music Wanda listens to, you feel Vision’s words tugging at your heart strings. Well, at least until he says–

“Natasha explained to me that Wanda is being, as she put it, 'emo' because she got rejected by a possible... sexual mate.”

You'd choke on your water if you were drinking one.

That's not what you expected him to say, not in the least. The sentence hits you like a left-field curveball, utterly disrupting the flow of the conversation. It's so... so... un-Vision-like, and yet, here he is, stating it as matter-of-factly as he might describe the weather.

“Given that, I would like to ask you to reconsider going out with my ‘best friend’.”

You're still coming to grips with everything that's just happened. Vision, Wanda's “best friend” here in your clinic, attempting to play matchmaker. What he's asking isn't small, but the way he's asking, the care he's shown in understanding human relationships, his concern for Wanda's feelings–it all makes you pause.

You think about what you were doing on your computer last night, googling Wanda’s name and trying to find out all you could about the young Avenger.

Finally making a decision, you look up at Vision squarely in the eye. 

“Would you happen to know Wanda’s email address?” you ask, fiddling with the lapels of your white coat. “And also her phone number?”

-

“Oh, thank god,” Natasha sighs as she hears Wanda hit pause on the 46th replay of Lips of an Angel.

Yes, 46. Natasha had made Vision count, and that doesn't include the ones he missed when she urgently dispatched him to you to remediate the Wanda situation immediately.

She hears someone whistling a tune coming from the hallway and is surprised to see Vision, apparently adopting Steve's habit in his eagerness to act more human.

“Mission accomplished?” she asks, her eyes narrowing.

Vision stops whistling, a look of satisfaction in his synthetic eyes. “I believe I made some progress. Our friend has promised to think about reconsidering the decision.”

“Just think about it? You were gone quite a while for a 'maybe.'”

Vision pauses, his head tilting slightly. “I believe I was able to present Wanda in a way that may help our friend realize her feelings for her.”

“You think she has feelings for our Wanda?” Natasha's voice betrays her surprise, and she can't quite catch herself using the word ‘our’. She continues, slightly flustered, “I was thinking maybe she'd just indulge Wanda's crush for a while, then befriend her, so as not to completely shut her down.”

“I observed her vitals while telling her about Wanda, and all the signs point to yes, she has feelings for our Wanda,” Vision answers, thoughtfully echoing Natasha's use of ‘our’. 

She smirks, leaning against the wall. “Well, let's hope your efforts pay off. I can't take another 46 replays of that song.”

Vision stoically considers Natasha's last statement. “Actually, Agent Romanoff, I must disagree. I could listen to another replay. Technically, it's a well-composed song.”

Natasha's face twists into a look of mock disgust. “I swear, if you start advocating for boy bands next, I'm holding Wanda personally responsible.”

“I'll consider that when expanding my musical repertoire.”

She waves a dismissive hand, still grinning. “Just don't start singing in the shower. We've got enough noise in the mornings as it is.”

-

Around the time that Wanda has just hit pause on the Hinder hit that has been playing on loop, a notification sounds off her laptop. 

She quickly turns her attention to it and clicks on the email that has arrived from your clinic. Inside, there's a referral letter personally written by you, referring Wanda to another colleague of yours.

You no longer want to be her dentist, the email makes that clear. Somehow, this hurts more than your rejection of her yesterday.

Before she can fully process the referral, her phone buzzes with a call from an unknown number. She hesitates, before deciding to answer. “Hello?”

“Hi, Wanda. It’s Y/N. F-From the clinic?” you breathe out in a rush, the words tangled with your nerves. Wanda takes note of how your voice sounds over the phone–deeper and more intimate against her ear.

She takes a moment to reply, still a little thrown by the referral. “Oh, hi. I just read your email,” she says.

“Yes, about that…” You trail off, pausing as you try to find the right words. “I was thinking, instead of discussing that over the phone, maybe we could talk about it over dinner on Friday? If you're free–”

“I’d love to,” Wanda quickly accepts, her heart threatening to jump out of her chest.

You try to suppress a chuckle, grateful that Wanda can’t see your cheeks turning a rosy pink. 

“Great! I'll pick you up at seven?"

“Seven it is.” Her reply is soft, almost shy. You say your goodbyes, both of you grinning to yourselves as you both hang up. 

Back in her room, Wanda stares at her phone, a broad smile on her face, touching it as if it's your face.

She presses play on the song once more, not as a lament but as a triumph. 

Much to Natasha’s dismay.

[short-honey-badger]

Doll 9

Pairings: Shanks x Female Reader

Summary: Time passes, and Shanks and the crew train your new abilities. And a surprise waits for you on the next island

Warnings! Mentions of torture, hurt/comfort, and panic attacks

Doll Masterlist

Your training goes about as well as Shanks imagined it would. He doesn't have much of a basis other than how Roger taught him, so on days when the sun is shining and the crew is feeling lazy, Shanks and Yasopp toss round, wooden balls at you. You acquire more than your fair share of bruises, but you never ask them to stop or slow down. Eventually, you begin to dodge them, your observation haki putting its work in and allowing you to “see” where the wooden balls would land.

When they weren't doing that, Benn was taking you aside and teaching you about the flintlock pistols that he favored. He explained the use of sea stone and how a single shot from one of his weapons could put down even a logia type user.

You made sure to spend time with each of the crew, learning all that they were willing to teach you. On days where they were busy, you would gather everyone's laundry and sequester yourself away in your room. Limejuice had taught you about meditation, and you did your best to practice after you hung up the crew's clothes to dry out on deck.

The days soon turned into weeks, and your relationship with Shanks bloomed. You slept in his bed every night and sometimes were able to sleep through the night without having a nightmare. Whenever you did have them, Shanks was always there to calm you down and talk you through it. Afterward, the redhead would hold you close, lips pressed against the top of your head and would quietly ask if you wanted to talk about them. You’d opened up a little about your past, but most of the time, you denied his request.

You’d grown comfortable enough that just a look from Shanks would have you shedding your shirt, tossing the fabric to the floor along with your pants. Your legs were a mess of scars, and you’d quietly admitted that the head of house’s daughter had thought it fun to pull you into her room and mark you with cigarettes that the girl would steal from the other slaves when she found them. He had spent an evening with you on your back, legs bare to him as he pressed soft kisses to every burn and scar that he came across.

That night was the closest he’d come to your aching core, lips hovering over your underwear before by passing them to lave open mouthed kisses up your stomach and neck, until he could seal his lips against your own. As much as he wanted you, every part of you, Shanks knew it wasn’t the time for that yet. He needed you to know that he adored you, scars and all.

Today was one of the lazy days where you pulled apart and cleaned Benn's pistols, then put them back together under his watchful eye. He looked on in quiet pride when you presented him a perfectly repaired weapon and reached out to pat your shoulder.

“Gettin’ faster, seashell.”

You huffed at the nickname, but it didn't truly bother you. Lucky Roux had started it when he caught you out on deck one day, placing each of your collected seashells by size out on the deck. The cook had grinned and handed over a tiny nautilus shell and encouraged you to keep growing your collection on the next island that they stopped at.

“Thanks, Benn,” you murmur and then lean back on your hands, face pointed towards the sun.

Shanks watches from where he is lounged on a barrel near the wheel of the ship, sipping sake from a small saucer cup that hits his grin. You've been doing so well these past weeks. He'd learned more about you, slowly, painfully almost, but it seemed like the more you spoke about what you went through, the better you got. They’d had a few episodes since that first panic attack, one so bad that your haki had sent him careening across his room to smack into a wall. You had cried over thinking that you had hurt him, and Shanks spent the rest of the night assuring you that he didn't even have a scratch left behind from the accident. Honestly, he’d been more excited over the fact that your abilities had grown so much that you could start defending yourself with them.

It was good seeing you so embedded within his crew. He had taken a risk in letting you come, even though he knew that there would be no leaving you behind all those weeks ago. How long has it been now? A month, give or take? Shanks didn't know, nor did he really care. He was simply happy that you were here with them.

It was also almost time for their next resupply trip, and the closest island was one much bigger than the one he had found you in. Shanks had considered having you stay on board while the crew went out to get what they needed, but it didn't sit well with him to order you around like that. You had just gained your freedom. He wasn't about to become your next jailer.

Shanks stands and lopes over to where you sit in the sun, and Benn gives him a nod before he leaves with a farewell pat on your shoulder. You grin when you see your partner, and Shanks has zero qualms about sitting on the deck next to you.

“We're going to be stopping at the next island soon. The closest one is called Moorboro Haven. It'll be a lot bigger than the last one, but not as big as Sabaody,” He tells her and watches as you nod, taking in everything that Shanks says.

“I want you to stay close to me, alright? Anytime you want to go somewhere or explore the island, you take one of the crew members if I'm not available.”

You nod diligently. You had no problem with having someone with you, especially while landbound, “I will, Shanks. I promise.”

Shanks kisses the side of your head in thanks, grateful that you didn't want to fight with him over the matter, not that he thought you would anyway. He was leery about leaving you alone, worried that someone would snatch you up, and he would never see you again. Not that he would ever let that happen, but it was still a thought that bothered him.

-

It was the next evening by the time the Red Force sailed into the bay of Moorboro. You clutched the railing, your hair tucked into a baggy cap and a red bandana tied around your neck. The docks were packed with all kinds of ships, and your mouth ran dry when you spotted one of the massive Navy crusiers sitting in the middle of the chaos. While Shanks wasn’t flying his jolly roger, his ship was still recognizable enough.

Your captain was busy shouting orders, making sure that his crew was getting what they needed off the ship and directing them in what they would need restocking on. They were an old hand at this, however, so it didn’t take Shanks very long to join you at the bow of the ship. His arm slid around your waist, and you leaned into him, “You’re not worried they’ll try anything?”

Shanks glances over at the Navy vessel and shrugs, “Nah. We came in with a white flag, and they’ll know better to start something when they realize that it’s us. Being an emperor comes with it’s perks.”

You snort with a shake of your head, “I’m sure it does.”

And you know it does. Even as closed off to the rest of the world when up at Marie Geoise, Sabaody was a hub of activity, and rumors flew like birds. The first time you’d heard about Shanks was when his bounty had gone up from 1,040,000,000 berries to a whopping 3,000,000,000 berri. He was the talk of the island at that point, and you’d heard everyone from your master to the slaves of other families talk about the redhead. There was a reason only the strongest of the marines dared to deal with Red-Haired Pirates.

The two of you make light conversation while the rest of the crew get the boat docked and anchor dropped, tying off the ship with this ropes to keep it still in the waves that crashed against the shore. Shanks fixes your cap when your hair threatens to fall with a concentrated look on his face. The light disguise would do well to keep you safe.

The port town was bustling with activity when the two of you left the ship, and you took care to stick close to Shanks. You were used to large crowds, but after having been around no one else but the rest of the crew, you’d grown to resent the opperissning feeling of bodies all around. Shanks kept your hand firmly tucked with his own, pulling the two of you along until they met up with Beckman on the outskirts of the dock. Benn nodded to his captain and fell into step on your other side, and the three of you weaved through the crowds of people until you found an inn that wasn’t stuffed full with people.

“Got ‘ere at a good time, youngin’s,” the innkeeper told them as Shanks paid for their rooms. He trusted the rest of his crew to find their own accommodations, but he wanted you and his first mate close.

“Yeah? Why’s that?” he asked and parked himself on the nearest stool. You followed his lead, sitting close to your lover as the old man set bottles of booze in front of the three of you.

“The fall equinox o’course! Biggest celebration of the year,” He booms, and you try not to wince at his volume. But your interest is still peaked, and you listen in as the old innkeep begins to explain.

“Shops will start linin’ up the streets soon, parades in the evenings to celebrate the start of a good harvest, and on the final day, we’ll have a firework show. That’s what you don’t want to miss.”

Shanks nods along. He doesn’t want to linger for very long, but when he looks at you, he can see the excitement dwelling in your eyes. He’s been here for the summer equinox celebration before, and the cities knew how to throw their parties. He wants you to be able to experience that, too.

“Glad we got here when we did, then,” He comments, and you look at him with wide eyes. You hadn’t wanted to ask your captain if they could stay, but you really wanted to see the fireworks. You can’t help but beam at him and have a hard time not throwing yourself at the redhead as glee shocks through your veins. He meets your smile and bends to press a kiss to your brow before pulling back, “We’ll stay until the fireworks.”

The rest of the evening is spent catching up on any gossip that the crew has missed while out at sea. It wasn’t until Benn asked for the most recent bounties that you grew tense beside the two men, nervous to see if you would be in them. The innkeeper handed over a thick stack, and the three of your began to leaf through them.

You passed by the pirates that you didn’t recognize, though you did swipe the one of Shanks for yourself. It was too good of a picture to pass up. However, near the end of the stack, your throat closed up, eyes going wide as you stare down at a bounty, your face looking back up at you. Shanks swipes the thick paper away from you, dark eyes narrowed as he looks it over.

This picture had to have been taken a while before you’d escaped from Marie Geoise. You’re pale, hair lank around your face and cheeks hollow. There is a dead look in your eyes, so different from what Shanks sees when he looks at you now. Your shirt looks like it’d been tore open, your brand out for the world to see.

WANTED ALIVE, PROPERTY OF THE LA-MINNING FAMILY

BOUNTY 5,000,000 BERRI

[lesterwillington]

The Original Text for How America Got Its Name

I recently purchased the vinyl for the 1979 version of In Trousers and in the liner notes it has the entire original text for How America Got Its Name. It's quite different from the 1985 version with the main difference being that Marvin is the only one who says anything; it is a solo monologue. There are other differences, but I would rather not list them all out. Anyway, here we go:

Marvin: (Dressed like Columbus) Columbus didn't use to be a sailor. He was first and foremost director of medicine at a prestigious institute for doctors in Eldoro. That's the truth. But nobody ever talks about his medical career anymore. He was embarrassed out of his job. Harassed. Made to be the butt of jokes at medical conventions. This is what happened. One day--now this is the truth--one day outside Poma del Fuego, he picked up a social disease from a man with red hair and broad shoulders like his mother. By the time Columbus got to the Verona Baths, he had cancres all over his chest where once bronze hairs grew. And back at the Institute no one could fail but notice an incredible diminution of intelligence on Columbus' part. He was half insane by the time they strapped him to a ship, and pushed him to sea.

MUSIC

With him on that boat were other socially diseased persons. From the few clippings extant, it appears they had a ball the whole trip and screwed like bunnies, never worrying if finally they were going to contract the dread disease, because they all had it, you see--so they debauched the whole night and awoke refreshed. This went on for thirty-four days.

MUSIC

I am going to discover Cincinnati, Columbus cried. Why Cincinnati, they asked him. For my Aunt Cynthia and Uncle Nathan, he said, who died four years earlier in a plague which my Institute never quite found the cure for. This is what the Jews do, he added, name other countries for the dead.

MUSIC

Halfway out to sea, or on the thirty-fifth day, Columbus' cancres began to disappear. He stopped moaning in the middle of lovemaking and began to say: "How about that, young man?" or sometimes, boasting, "Tell me you didn't like that." Well, everyone was glad to see Columbus becoming his old self again, but everyone was saying what a prick Columbus was. In his diary he wrote: "Whatever it is I discover, it better not give me any lip."

MUSIC

Fifty miles off Martha's Vineyard, it became clear that everyone's cancres had disappeared, their brains restored, bodies once again sound; and everyone had a good laugh about it, maybe whistled with relief, maybe gave a few pecks on the cheek here and there, but there was no heavy petting, you can be sure of that. "Hey, keep your hands off me fella"--you heard that pretty often on deck. And then later, "I said keep your hands off me!" Well, Lord knows, many lonely evenings, clippings extant say, because each man feared acquiring the dread disease which had brought him there in the first place. In his diary Columbus posed the question: "How many passionate persons can fit comfortably on the head of a pin?" He pondered the question, he sat with his chin resting neatly in the palm of his hand, and he replied. Question: "How many passionate persons can fit comfortably on the head of a pin?" Answer: "Merely one. Or... I don't know." (MUSIC BEGINS) I don't know.

MUSIC

So there they were on board looking out to see this new land Columbus was going to discover. And soon the blue horizon disappeared to be replaced by a magnificent array of greens. Fir green, evergreen, lime green, dark green, light green. The entire palette of greens stood maybe only a day's float ahead of them. No one moved. No one was allowed to move. When they were maybe fifty or seventy-five yards away, Columbus could not withstand his enthusiasm any longer. "My land is so beautiful," Columbus cried. "So beautiful," they agreed in unison, like a chorus, like a barbershop quartet multiplied by fifteen. 'So very beautiful." There were tears in Columbus' eyes. "Men," he turned to them, he looked at every one straight in the face, he was very moved by this discovery, "Men, no longer do I call this land Cincinnati; rather, this fine, green, beautiful land which I discovered today, I name AMERICA! After Amerigo Vespucci. A young man I met in Poma del Fuego with red hair and broad shoulders like his mother.

MUSIC

The thing about explorers is: they discover things that are already there. Columbus closed his diary and went ashore.

[xenosagaepisodeone]

been thinking about how collecting things acts as a form of play recently. obviously, certain hobbies like rock collecting involve aspects of what we would conventionally think of as 'play' (searching, digging, dusting and examining, etc), and the process of displaying something is often too, play (though we generally call it decorating). collecting anime figures or vintage action figures in particular often invokes a kind of play-pretend that isn't acknowledged due to the commercial elements of these hobbies, despite this play also underlying more conventional forms of collecting. Let's put garage kits, gunpla, figmas, and anything else that would give figure collecting overlap with productive kinds of playing out of mind of a moment. You go to amiami and buy a 1/6 scale hatsune miku figure for $120. Shipping is anywhere from $10-30 depending on where you're getting it from(pricey!). You have the intention to sit this figure on your desk and little else. No fancy photoshoots or anything(at best maybe a few photos to share), just You and Your Toy.

at the core what you're buying is just emotional proximity to the things or characters in media you like (<- deeply obvious and boring sentence, but please keep reading). a child will play with toys as a way of exploring both fantastical ideas and the world around them in a way that is safe. with collectible figurines, those ideas and fantasies are self-contained in the toy itself, the predictability and familiarity acting as another form of safety. the satisfying comfort of 'playing' occurs when you look at the figure and feel like its meaning is self-evident. the act of 'play' becomes the bond you have developed to the object. the object is real. you can define yourself in relation to it- but more importantly, the ownership over this object affords you the ability to define the object in a way that would be somewhat less warranted as a mere spectator of a book or tv series. miku isn't just a figure, she is your idol, or your daughter, or a weird pet. this bond you have dictated has made her more real, and your self-concepts by extension. but this is all playing at the end of the day because she is a toy. a rock collector takes pride in their collection in part because of their love for rocks, but also because it reflects their mastery over understanding the world of rocks. it becomes testament to the relationship with their special subject. they are transformed by the physical presence of the rock. anime figure collecting is quite similar.

hoarding is kind of interesting with re: collecting because to me it's the process of play being stilted. there is desire but not so much intimacy between the person and their object. i often get the impression that hoarders desire to play with their objects, but are inhibited from being able to engage in that kind of vulnerability, instead turning the act of acquisition into a kind of less enriching pseudo-play. after all, hoarding can be a response to periods of traumatic deprivation. the hoarder who accumulates tons of stuff receives some of the comfort and safety of play via the guarantee of a new item added to their collection. they aren't sure how to treasure their objects beyond ensure that they are not thrown away. they cannot 'play' with them, and have their relationship defined largely by the emotions created by the absence of play. by being unable to engage with play and thus failing to acquire the fulfillment or enrichment of play, they end up snagged in what usually ends up being a frustrating cycle.

[stiffyck]

au in which scar is an alien (vex-based maybe). The catch is that every member of his species has healing abilities, but those abilities only work on people they love. Almost no one on Scar's planet has scars, because most of them have friends or family members who heal them. Scar though is covered in old and new scars, given his name by strangers who call him Scarred, because it's impossible to hide that he's never been loved enough to be healed.

(For fluff and comfort, enter Cub. Scar meets hims when he finally acquires his own ship and starts exploring the universe. Cub is the same species, but he'd left the planet a long time ago. They meet at some far corner of the universe and hit it off immediately. Scar cries when Cub is able to heal him for the first time.)

i should be legally allowed to kill my mutuals what the fuck is this i spent my evening getting my ass handed to me in gw2 with my guild to open my inbox right after and get kicked in the stomach by a beloved mutual oh my god. /pos

I LOVE THIS. OBSESSED. MAN. WHY WOULD YOU DO THIS TO ME. AGH. NOW IM GONNA BE THINKING ABOUT SCAR GETTING HEALED BY CUB FOR LIKE THE FIRST TIME EVER-

like can you imagine the disbelief. like. cub actually loves him??? he has someone who cares about him???? someone is healing him????? he'd most definitely cry i know it

[inubaki]

The Sea Queen (free day)

Chapter 4

————

story commissioned by the amazing @libby-for-life! Based off one of the first pics @sir-tater-of-the-tot made that got me hooked on this fandom to began with. I blame them entirely.

————

The sun hung low in the sky, casting a golden hue across the endless expanse of ocean as Adam grumbled to himself, the bristles of his brush scraping against the weathered wooden deck of the ship. Each stroke reminded him of the rough life he had endured on that Godforsaken island, barren and lonely, where time seemed to stretch and suffocate him under its weight. He could still taste the salt in the air and feel the grit of sand between his fingers, a constant reminder of the months spent in solitude.

When the ship had finally appeared on the horizon, its sails billowing like the wings of a great bird, Adam had felt a spark of hope ignite in his chest. Yet, it quickly faded when the crew revealed their terms: he would have to earn his way aboard. Swallowing his pride, he had pleaded with them, desperation lacing his voice, and they relented, exchanging his freedom for labor. Thus, he had become their new cabin boy, tasked with the menial chores that none of the seasoned sailors wanted to do.

As he continued to scrub, Adam’s mind drifted to thoughts of freedom and the life he had left behind. The bodies he had tried to bury but ultimately failed at. The rhythmic sound of waves crashing against the hull provided a strange comfort, but the weight of his new role hung heavily on his shoulders.

He just needed a way to reach the mainland safely, where he could finally catch his breath and plan his next moves. Once there, he would devise a strategy to gather enough funds to acquire his own ship, a vessel that would carry him on a quest for justice. Adam's heart burned with determination; he could not allow the devastation of his home and his people to fade into oblivion. The memories of the destruction and the screams of those he loved echoed in his mind, fueling his resolve. He knew that he would confront the ruthless monsters responsible for such cruelty, and he was willing to risk everything to reclaim what was rightfully his.

Adam can be patient. He can wait.

The echo of a hollow captain’s orders rang out over the deck, but what echoed louder was the familiar burning beneath his clothes. What turned Adam’s head was still invisible to the trained eye over the water’s surface. He shuddered as the markings warmed to a near burning, inspired a slow grin across his lips. Left side it was. Pulling up the collar of his ragged shirt, obscuring the sight of his cursed marks, Adam turned. Soon…

——-

I had to do these on the flight. No pens or watercolor. Sorry. Only a little was added to the story this time.

Pervs:

Next:

[wardenparker]

In the Still of the Night, ch 6

Zach Wellison x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

Grown up and looking to the future, Zach Wellison and bunkmate Shane Morrissey are working for a new cruise line that offers its guests a vintage Vegas experience on the Mediterranean. The romantic atmosphere is rubbing off on many of the crew members, and Zach finds himself to be no exception when he meets the beautiful lead singer of Shane's band.

But being wrapped in the seductive arms of an atmospheric cruise is a far cry from real life. How will their relationship fare on dry land? They can't know unless they try.

Rating: M for Mature but this blog is always 18+ Word Count: 5.2k Warnings: *Blanket warnings for this story include: Cursing, alcohol, food, cooking, eating, discussion of clothing/costumes. Mentions of prison time served, mentions of past homelessness.* Brief mention of assumptions made about the homeless, family death. Summary: Things have been going so well, that of course life finds a way to interrupt bliss. Notes: We seem to have hit the drama button this week. As always, I apologize for an errors I may have missed, and gif is for vibes not physical representation of characters. Hope you enjoy 🧡

Ch 1 ~ Ch 2 ~ Ch 3 ~ Ch 4 ~ Ch 5

It’s still astounding to Zach how much shit he has acquired since getting on the cruise ship. He’s spent so much time living in sea bags when he was in the Marines and then out of that same bag when he was homeless, it’s fucking surprising to have to make multiple trips to move his stuff from the cabin that he shares with Shane to the brand new soulmate suite he will share with you. “Fuck.” He hisses, nearly dropping a little trinket he had picked up in Athens.

“Careful.” Shane warns needlessly, lugging in the last box with both arms. This one is books and Zach likes thick hardcovers from street markets.

“Why didn’t you tell me I had too much shit?” Zach grumbles, even though it’s not Shane’s place to say anything. He never takes up too much space in their shared cabin and always keeps his side neat.

“Why the hell would I do that?” His now former roommate huffs. The fact is, Shane never wanted Zach to feel bad about a single damn thing he owned. Not when he had gone so long with so little. “Memories are fuckin’ important, Wellison.”

“Yeah.” He feels a little embarrassed though, that’s a lot of money compiled into that box. Money he could have been saving or using on necessities.

“Stop.” Shane huffs as he stands up again. “I know it’s—it makes you feel guilty. Like every single penny needs to get saved for a rainy day.” He had felt that way too, after getting out of prison and making it through a halfway house. He’d spent a year or so squatting and saving until he finally found steady work that didn’t ask too many questions. There are a lot of similar memories still working their way through Zach’s mind as he navigates the next stage of his life. “What are you saving it for if not to live? To have a life?”

One of the things that he loves and hates about Shane is his ability to read Zach easily. He guesses it’s easier since he’s walked the same path he has and can relate more than anyone else they know. It’s also comforting to know that Zach could possibly be as well adjusted as Shane one day. “You’re right.” He huffs, rolling his eyes. “Damnit.”

"You okay, baby?" The first thing you hear from the doorway of the suite when you arrive with your arms full of garment bags is Zach swearing, and your brow furrows.

“Yeah!” Zach pops his head up from where he was trying to fit the trunk into the tight space and slams his head on the desk above. “Ow! Fuck!”

"Babe!" You flinch when he swears again, mostly because it comes with hitting his head, and immediately drop what you were carrying onto the nearest piece of furniture. "Take it easy, honey. It doesn't all have to get done instantly."

“Shit, I’m sorry.” He groans, rubbing his head as he straightens up. “Thought I would have everything squared away.”

"There's no hurry," you remind him gently, checking his head for a bump and thankfully finding none. "Hi. It's been like four hours since I saw you last. Way too many."

“Hi.” He smiles even though his head still hurts, happy to see you. “It was too long.”

"Way too long." In fact, it's been long enough for your heart to start hammering just from being around him again, so you have absolutely no shame in going to wrap your arms around him in a tight hug.

He leans into your touch like he seems to always do. Basking in the simple intimacy that some might take for granted, but not him. “I’ve got all my stuff.” He tells you. “What else do you need to bring?”

“I’ve got one more trip to make.” You tell him, happily bundled into his arms. “I brought some stuff over this morning before bingo.”

“I can help you.” He promises. “I don’t have to be at the club for another hour to start prep.” He knows that he can have his staff do all the prep, but he doesn’t like to do that. It makes him feel guilty, like he’s not earning his paycheck.

“Are you sure?” Searching his face, you but your lip and frown. On the one hand? You’re not going to give up the help, but in the other you don’t want to make him feel like a packhorse.

“Of course I want to help you.” He would be offended, but you had confided that beyond a few friends like Shane, you hadn’t found many people who were willing to exert any extra time or energy when you needed help. Even though you had constantly helped anyone who needed it. “We can make quick work of it together.” He promises, flashing you a reassuring smile.

The instinct to push back and refuse is there, but you know that with Zach it isn’t necessary. Or at least, he had promised you it wasn’t and you have to remind yourself that he has no reason to lie to you. “Thank you, baby,” you murmur instead, dropping a kiss in the corner of his mouth. “It’s just one more trip.”

“Then we will get it all settled.” He loves that you are letting him help and he wraps his arms around you. “So let’s go before I want to drag you over to our new Queen sized bed to try it out.”

“That big bed is going to make such a difference.” And you won’t apologize for a second about sprawling out over him, either.

“Need me to stay?” Shane asks, smirking as if he knows the answer.

“We got it.” You promise him, tucked into Zach’s side. “Go call Diana and tell her that I said hi.”

“He’s going to be happy to have his room all to himself.” Zach chuckles. “I bet their sex talk increases.”

“Guaranteed.” The two of you close the door to your new suite behind you and head back toward your old room for the last of your things. “Ten bucks says he’s halfway back to your old room already for sex.”

“No doubt.” He snorts and knows that he would do the same thing in the other man’s shoes. “But enough about him.” He purrs playfully. “The sooner we get your stuff back here; the sooner we can have our own alone time.”

“Do we have time for a little homecoming before work tonight?” You wink for full effect, already giggling at your own joke.

“Hmmmmmm.” Zach pretended to contemplate it, grinning back at you. “I think it’s necessary at this point.”

Nudging him along the hall, you end up slipping right past him to practically pull him along. "Then why are you walking so slow, Wellison?"

His laughter follows behind you, a light, happy sound as his footsteps speed up to match yours.

The last trip is a few bags of every day items like your cosmetics, jewelry, and hair things, along with bathroom products. It’s nice to have a hand, and River takes it as a last chance to tease Zach about ‘taking you off her hands’. All the teasing in the world doesn’t make her hug you any less though, and you promise her one time that not being roommates anymore doesn’t mean a damn thing for your friendship. It just means hanging out will be even more special now.

“You’ve got a lot of jewelry.” Zach is uneasy holding the bag that seemingly holds hundreds of earrings and necklaces as you both walk back to your new home. A throw over from times where he would and could be accused of stealing a stick of gum. He keeps his hands where you can see them, even if it’s completely ridiculous, considering he is living with you and will be alone in your shared space with this stuff eventually.

“I like thrift shops.” Walking side by side, you lug your bags of cosmetics and bath things down the hall with a anime. “You can always find vintage stuff pretty cheap. A dollar or two for a pair of earrings I can wear on stage, ya know? Sometimes you can even find sets.”

“A couple of dollars?” He frowns slightly. “It’s…costume jewelry?” He asks incredulously. All of your outfits and accessories look extremely expensive.

“I mean…there might be a piece or two that’s worth something because some grandkid didn’t bother to have granny’s jewelry box valued after she died, but yeah.” You shrug, always having been more practical through your life out of necessity. “It’s pretty much all paste stone and glass. Looks pretty, though.”

His shoulders relax significantly and he nods. “Though I think you deserve real jewelry.” He frowns slightly, wondering how much something gorgeous for you would cost him.

“Maybe one day.” In an effort to make him smile, you nudge him with your elbow as you turn down another hallway together. “I’d wear a gum wrapper as long as you were the one who gave it to me.”

"I'll do better than a gum wrapper." He scoffs, but his lips pull up and his eyes are soft as he looks over at you. "That I can promise you." He'll buy you the very best ring he could find.

"My point is that the emotional weight of a gift means more than the price tag." It's something you've talked about just a little, the fact that you're both realistically broke when you're not living on the ship. "As long as it's something that made you think of me, I don't care what it costs."

“Hell, everything makes me think of you.” Zach grins and winks at you. “Hurry up and I’ll show you what I’m thinking right now.”

“Naughty.” The scandalized tone in your voice is just for show, and you pick up the pace considerably, practically racing him back down the hall to your new suite.

******

Both of you show up to work with incredibly smug smirks and a small skip to your steps. Zach rushes into the kitchen, technically late by thirty-five seconds but he couldn’t resist that one last kiss with you.

"Oh my god." Zach's sous chef and saucier are smirking right by the doorway when he walks into the kitchen. Both holding up their watches. "For the first time ever — Chef is only on time instead of early."

He couldn’t look stern even if he tried. Just too buoyed by happiness with you and the fact that you are just as giddy as he is. One day maybe the feeling will settle, but for now it’s butterflies and feeling lighter than a cloud. “Yeah, yeah.” He huffs, waving them off. “I know you have work. I might be on time but everything’s already outlined.”

"Oh, we were early today." His sous chef flashes him a grin. "We only stopped to wonder if you were actually going to be late."

“We were moving cabins.” He defends half-heartedly. He still can’t shake the grin on his face, so he knows they know that excuse is complete bullshit. “Get back to work.” He huffs, shooing them away.

“Any changes tonight? Last minute specials?” Zach’s team asks gently. They aren’t stupid. They know he’s been catering his specials to what the boss’s new girlfriend likes best. And if it weren’t so damn sweet, they might be annoyed about it.

He grins and shakes his head. “Nothing tonight, except I want to add a cherry cognac sauce to the chocolate cake.” He admits. “I appreciate you working with me on the unusual menu changes. You all have adapted admirably.”

“Keeps things interesting, chef.” His sous chef tells him, with a knowing grin. “But at this point we’re gonna be offended if we don’t get to cook your wedding dinner since we know what she loves already.”

"I couldn't imagine any other staff I would trust." Zach admits. Being in the trenches of the kitchen with this group had taught him how fucking talented most of the cooks on a ship where. Not only did they turn out the 'regular' foods served in the buffet for breakfast and lunch, but they also executed the finer dinning menu with the same ease. "Seriously."

“You heard the man!” The call goes out around the kitchen even as though few members of the staff closest to Zach are exchanging knowing smiles. He’s a good guy and an even better boss, and they would all walk through fire for him. Adjusting menus is the least of it. “Let’s get to work!”

The kitchen is a flury of activity from the moment they say 'go' and Zach just chuckles as he watches all the crew that he has assembled rush back to their stations. "Let's put a meal on the table they will never forget." He hums.

******

It goes from rare that you and Zach spend a night apart to downright impossible for the first several weeks of living together, but your old roommate River is having a little birthday party for her thirtieth and you can’t deny the request to join her that night. She’s forgoing a big party and just having a few of the girls over after hours, with wine and treats and gossip for all.

“Sweetheart, it’s okay.” Zach promises for the eighth time, leaning in and kissing the concerned frown off your lips. “Shane and the guys invited me out for a drink, so you go have fun. I won’t be pining away for you in misery.” He grins. “But I will miss you.”

“I’ll miss you, too.” The bag with River’s gift in it dangled from the same hand that your purse does and you have the other hand on his cheek. “Have fun, baby. I love you.”

“You too.” You look amazing, but you always do. Zach watches as you turn and stride towards the door. “I love you.”

Down a few hallways and in the deck below where you and Zach share a suite, River has turned your old shared room into a boho chic crash pad with beaded curtains and scarves over her lamps, and the smell of patchouli in the air. It’s her happy place and you love that she is able to fully settle in and enjoy a comfortable place to herself until the quartermaster gives her a new roommate.

The music is on, but respectfully low to not disturb the cabins around hers if they are sleeping. The sound really coming out when she opens the door and grins. “Honestly didn’t know if you could tear yourself away.” She teases, lunging forward to wrap you in a tight hug.

“I didn’t either,” you joke, though it’s not wholly a joke. You squeeze her back and let her pull you inside easily. “Happy Birthday, honey.”

“Well, come in.” She grins as she pulls you inside. “Everyone else is on their way.”

“How many people are we going to cram into this place?” It’s nice to be back in a sort of nostalgic way. You had liked living with River and been fast friends with the philosophically-inclined bartender.

“Only four others.” She promises. “Intimate. Wine and gossip.”

“And snacks.” Along with River’s present, you have a tray of treats Zach made for you to bring for the party.

“Your soulmate is the best.” She gushes, eyes lighting up in delight. Zach had picked your brain for her favorites and managed to put together a finger food tray that was completely River. Right down to the mini cucumber sandwiches.

“He says happy birthday, too,” you laugh as she pulls you inside with gleeful giggles.

“What’s he doing tonight?” She asks, taking the tray and setting it down on the desk where she already has four bottles of wine and six glasses ready to go. “Pining for you?”

“Maybe.” You huff, though you can feel the warmth in your cheeks at the suggestion. “He’s having beers with the band. Boy gossip time.”

“Good.” She knows that you will be thinking about Zach, you have this almost dreamy expression on your face now. “Then I won’t feel guilty about pumping you for details.”

That only makes you laugh, because you had a feeling she would go that route, but she’s still your friend to tease. “Oh, so I’m the subject of tonight’s gossip?”

“Of course.” She huffs, rolling her eyes dramatically as if it was never in question. “No one else has anything as interesting going on in their lives.”

“Oh my god, you are not starting without me!” Madi — one of the hostesses from the ship’s high end restaurants and the most fashionable person you’ve ever met — comes in right behind you with a look of conspiratorial glee on her face. “I need to know everything.”

Quickly after her, the three other women who were invited arrive, all squealing about seeing you and soon all of you are lounging around the room with wine glasses in your hands. All of them waiting for the gossip to begin.

“Okay, okay.” You can pretend all you like, but getting to talk to some new people about Zach is actually nice. The guys in the band have heard every story already. Or they were there when it happened. “What do you vultures want to know?”

Tara grins, picking up a cucumber sandwich and examining it. “How much food play is involved in your bedroom life?” She asks, cackling at the joke. She’s a casino host from Zimbabwe and has a wickedly sharp sense of humor. Guests and crew alike adore her.

“Surprisingly very little.” You shouldn’t be stressed that that is the first question, but it still makes you grin. Zach doesn’t like food play because he still has hang ups about wasting food, but you use it in other ways. “Food is usually flirting with him. Seduction. Sometimes I walk into the club at night and his menu special is something I know he meant just for me.”

“That is so damn romantic.” Madi huffs. “I want a man who makes me special meals.” She takes a sip of her wine. “I bet he does that a lot, doesn’t he?”

“Almost every day,” you admit, hiding your grin behind your wine glass. “I swear I’m going to need a gym membership when we get back to New York. His food is so fucking good.”

"It looks like you are getting plenty of workouts." Jasmine snickers, lifting a brow at you. "You haven't gained a pound so you are sweating it off somewhere."

Zach doesn’t mind if you gossip a bit, you had made sure to ask how much he was comfortable with and he said it was fine. The broad strokes will surely be shared tonight, even while you keep the finer details for yourself. So you have no qualms admitting how active you actually have been. “I’m putting my birth control through the wringer.”

All of the girls erupt into giggles, happy about how proud of that fact you look and the playful banter starts to ping pong back and forth between them. All of them teasing you about positions and techniques to keep your soulmate making you fabulous meals for months to come.

“I know you guys didn’t invite me just to hear about how incredible my soulmate is,” you tease. Pouring your third glass of wine has you just as giggly as the rest of them. “Did you?”

A form chorus of ‘yes! is only counter by one ‘of course not! and that was only River who disagrees. Everyone starts laughing again and Tara hums. “We are all so happy for you babe. You light up at the mere mention of him.”

"He's..." The dreamy sign you let out is undeniable. Not that you ever would deny him. "He's the love of my life. I really don't know how I got so lucky."

"Did you know?" Jasmine asks quietly. "Before you actually knew? Were you like, drawn to him?"

"Hindsight is twenty-twenty," you admit, with a shrug of your shoulders that convinces no one at all. "I was definitely drawn to him, but I had no idea why. It was just..." The feeling had been there. It had blossomed in you and taken hold and grown so fast you couldn't keep it up. "I just thought it was the most intense crush I'd ever had. Like when you're a tween and have that very first puppy love experience? But as an adult it was so much more intense. I thought that's what it was...but it was the bond."

"Did Zach feel the same way?" Tara asks. "I can only assume he thought you were gorgeous, but every man on the crew thinks you're beautiful."

"Oh come on, don't be ridiculous." It's a lovely compliment, but it's definitely an exaggeration. "If you were to ask him, he would tell you that it was love at first sight for him. But he didn't think I'd ever like him, too. Which is patently ridiculous. Obviously."

"Obviously." River giggles. "Don't kill me, but Zach is hot."

“Why would I kill your for that?” You giggle over a sip of wine. “You’re right and you should say it.”

"Are you not jealous?" Tara asks, impressed by the idea that you wouldn't be. "I mean, I guess you wouldn't be, when he's so obviously devoted to you."

“I’m not going to be jealous that people have eyes. That’s silly.” Besides which, you’ve dealt with jealousy. You’ve seen it firsthand. It’s an ugly emotion that you never intend to face if you can ever help it. “As long as I’m the one he comes home to at night, I don’t care who else notices him. I know I’m damn lucky.”

"You are truly lucky." Madi sighs. "So lucky."

“Maybe you’ll find out Olaf is your soulmate,” you tease, grinning and making the other girls giggle. Madi had been long distance dating a Swiss hotel heir that she met while on vacation with her family in London. “You should get up the gumption to ask him if he has that tattoo of yours.”

"I would rather see it." She groans, rolling her eyes. "I need to see him. Tell the captain to sail around the continent. I have a man to jump."

"Get. It. Girl!" Jasmine crows, clapping and practically cheering.

Everyone laughs and you nearly spill your wine in the jostle of enthusiastic women.

It's a breath of fresh air to feel this happy and this free. This happy about your life. It might be the first time ever that you really are happy with exactly how things are, and that itself is a miracle.

******

Coming back to the room he shares with you, Zach is pleasantly buzzed. He had shared quite a few beers with Shane and the other guys, as well as shooting the shit and catching up. Trading jokes and stories. It’s different working back of the house in a kitchen and being up on stage in front of the same crowd of people. Both have interesting outlooks and everyone had laughed over the similarities and differences.

The click of the door startles you, mostly for reasons you can't quite articulate, but you jump out of your seat when Zach comes into the room. Cheeks stained with tears that you're still crying, your phone is clutched in one hand but you immediately reach for him with the other.

“What’s wrong?” Zach is immediately grabbing you, rushing over to your side and he sees that you seem physically alright. But your tears are aching, painful. He can feel how you are heartbroken. “What is it?” He demands, crushing you to him and instantly sobering.

"My, um—" You have to gasp between the tears, but you had hung up the phone with your mother just seconds before Zach came home and you haven't had time to process it all yet. "My Gram died." It seems so surreal, that sentence, and the very fact that you have to say it. She had seemed so well the last time you saw her. So capable and healthy. You had talked to her barely a week ago and she was perfectly fine. "It was—she had a stroke. This morning."

“Oh baby.” Zach has no family left to speak of, but he knows the heartbreak of loss. He closes his eyes as he holds you close. “I am so sorry.”

"They're organizing the funeral." Your voice wobbles, as uncertain as you feel, and you hold onto him tightly. "I—I gotta go home."

“Yes you do.” Zach squeezes you tight. “Do you want me to come with you?”

"Can you be away from the club?" Honestly you hadn't even processed the idea that Zach would offer to come with you, let alone that he actually could. "The, uh...the cruise—" You sniff back tears as best you can, trying to give yourself a clear head. "It's almost over. I have to talk to...I don't even know who. Someone. About going home."

“I’ll make sure I can.” Because of the pilot program on the cruise ship, they are docking and spending a week in port for meetings to make sure that there aren’t any changes that need to be made. It’s unusual, but it’s actually a good thing in this case. “My crew can handle the kitchen, even if it’s not new recipes.”

"Are you sure?" His willingness to just drop everything to be there for you is astonishing, and you couldn't be more grateful.

“Unless….you don’t want me to go?” He asks, unsure of why you’re so resistant to the idea of him supporting you during your loss. “I don’t have to if you’d rather go alone.”

"No, no — I want you to." Your hands tighten a little on his arms, silently begging him not to pull back. "I'm just...I'm still processing. And I guess I didn't expect you to offer it so easily."

“Of course I would.” He firms up his hold on you and leans into the embrace. “Whatever you need, I’m here for you.”

"Thank you." You lean your forehead on his chest and breathe an extremely shaky breath, trying to keep hold of yourself so you don't break down crying again. "I love you so much."

"I love you too." He promises softly, his hand running up and down your back to soothe you. "Come on, let's lay down and you can cry it out." He knows it's too late for anything to be done tonight, but in the morning will be soon enough.

******

The morning, it turns out, is a whirlwind. The crew is given notice that the docking in port will be for two weeks instead of one due to a necessary repair on the ship, so when you go into the office to ask for a few extra days of bereavement leave, you’re told to take whatever you need. Shane promises to keep the band rolling in your absence and Zach turns his kitchen over to his sous chef for the time being. Things at work will be perfectly fine while the two of you are on dry land. You keep telling yourself that over and over while you pack.

Zach doesn't have many formal clothes, so he frets over that while he packs the nicest ones he has. "I— I will have to get a suit." He tells you after a moment. " I don't have one, and I'm assuming you want me at the funeral?"

You nod, still feeling fuzzy and vague, like your whole reality is off center. “I’m sorry honey, I mean—yes. We can get you one. The funeral isn’t for a few days, thankfully.”

"Don't be sorry." He sets the shirt down he had been folding carefully and moves over to where you are stuffing a large black suitcase full. Sliding his arms around you and hugging your back in support. "I'm sorry that I have to get one, that it will take time away from family."

“It’s okay,” you promise him quietly, drowning in the feeling of actual comfort and security inherent in being held in his arms. You’re so fucking grateful for Zach all of the time, but especially now. “I have a feeling that an excuse to get out of the house will be helpful now and then.”

"Whatever you need." He assures you. "I know it's not the best way to meet the family, but I'm here for you. If you need time away, you just let me know."

“I thought I could show you around Tulsa a little.” The good parts, anyway. He’ll see enough of the shitty parts while he’s with you. “When we decided we needed to get out, I mean.”

“That sounds good.” Zach nods. “What time is our flight?” You had made the arrangements, since you knew what to do. He had offered, and he had insisted on paying for his travel since you wouldn’t let him pay for both of you.

“Seven tonight. It’s going to be a long-ass flight home. Two layovers and every flight is at least a few hours long.” That draws another long, low sigh out of you and you lean back against his chest. “You’re amazing for doing this with me, baby. I can’t tell you how grateful I am.”

“Of course.” He makes it sound simple and for him, it is. “Don’t forget to pack your book.” He murmurs. “And your sleep mask. Maybe you can get a few hours of sleep on the flights.” You didn’t sleep last night, but that’s almost expected.

“You’ll have to teach me the military trick for sleeping anywhere.” Zach’s ability to fall asleep at the drop of a hat is fairly spectacular, and you grab your sleep mask from the bedside table as he recommends. It can go in your carryon with the book you’ve been reading. And a spare, for good measure.

He grins at you and drops a kiss on your forehead. "Exhaustion beyond compare." He explains. "There's no other way to describe it."

“I have a feeling I might get there this week.” Slowly, methodically, the two of you work through your packing. Your little hometown right outside of Tulsa, Oklahoma isn’t much to talk about but you tell him little bits here and there. It doesn’t feel real to be going back like this. It doesn’t feel right. But it is what it is and cannot be anymore.

"It'll be alright." He knows you are bouncing back and forth between grief and nervousness, but he lets you talk it out how you need to. "If you need me to do anything at all, you just let me know."

“The fact that you’re coming with me means more than you know.”

"Baby, you are my soulmate." He reminds you. "We are a team, and I know that if it was me, you would be right beside me." He appreciates that and he takes your hand when you turn to him. "I want you to know you can lean on me anytime. I'm here for you."

“If it was you, I wouldn’t hesitate.” And that, you suppose, is his point. So you nod your head and to your head back, pressing a short kiss to his lips. “I love you more than anything.”

“I love you too, sweetheart.” He murmurs. “You’re my world.”

------ Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @haylzcyon   @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear @tanzthompson @emilianamason @bigsdinger @xocalliexo @pedr0swh0r3 @avaleineandafryingpan @charlyrmv @avidreader73 @iceclaw101 @loveslide @elegantduckturtle @becsworld @julesonrecord @its-nebuleuse @itsrubberbisquit @mikeyswifie @guelyury @lizzie-cakes @for-a-longlongtime @vabeachazn @purplerain04 @weho2kcmo @madnessofadaydreamer

ItSotN: @greenwitchfromthewoods @copperhalfcent @ariavitiellos @spishsstuff @76bookworm76

[naushtheaspiringauthor]

You know how there are those fics where a runaway noble reader ends up on Sturmhonds ship and she doesn't know who he is but he knows who she is and shenanigans ensue

Picture this: both Nikolai and Reader ended up doing the whole "tailor myself and sailing the seas" thing but Reader figured out who Sturmhond is while Nikolai has no clue. Because there's no way two people had the exact same idea. Basically a reversal of the trope. Now let the shenanigans ensue

The one left behind - Nikolai Lantsov x reader

A/N- I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it😽😽 Tysm for sending this request!!

Summary- When a rather intriguing girl joins Sturmhond's crew, he finds himself quite drawn to her. However, he still reminisces about the one he'd left behind.

You closed your eyes for a brief moment, allowing the cool breeze to wash over your skin. It was comfort, a sense of hope and most importantly, your freedom. 

You'd finally gotten out of your wrecked household that withheld a father who wished for you to be dead only because you'd refused to abide by his terms. 

You were the daughter of a noble, one who had esteemed relations with the royal family, with you having become friends with the youngest prince. Who was however long since left the country and even though you missed him with all your heart, had no way of reaching him. 

From education to numerous life skills, your parents had provided you with all. However they both had different paths chosen for you to tread upon. 

Your mother had wished for you to acquire a position in Ravka's council. 

Your father however, had wished for you to go to Fjerda and work as a spy for your country. 

 Though no one had ever bothered to ask you what you wished for. 

When your mother had passed, your father had been forcing you to leave for Fjerda.

When you'd opposed, he'd only wished to get rid of you in whatever way possible. 

So you had ran, from a life that was none less than a prison, from a father who no longer wanted you because you opposed to living your life his way. 

….......................................

You took in your new features in the scroungy mirror at the small boarding house you'd been living in. 

You'd gotten a tailor to alter your face so that you wouldn't be recognized as your father had organized a search party for you. 

Your hair was still the long black locks, but your nose was now far sharper than it'd been, and y/e/c eyes were now a light blue, rather tacky for your taste but it was necessary.

The tailor had told you that she'd put in her best efforts to make it last as long as possible, but you'd still need to get it fixed up occasionally. 

 ……............................... 

The next morning, you set out to meet with some crew member of the infamous Volkvolny, a ship commanded by some young pirate as you'd heard. 

You sat at one of the tables of the inn you were supposed to meet at. However, the girl hadn't even shown up yet. 

Just when you were about to leave, you noticed a girl with close cropped hair entering. She had two axes slung around her back and her features stated that she was Shu. 

However, you observed that she hadn’t come alone. She had some red-haired boy wearing a teal coat by her side.

“You’re the Tamar I was to talk to?” You asked, raising an eyebrow as she and the boy sat across you.

“Yes. Sorry for the delay. The captain wished to talk to you himself” She responded, glancing at the boy

You eyed him with your eyebrow still raised. Few strands of his red hair fell near his eyes. His hazel eyes gleamed in the light, and his nose was slightly crooked. He appeared no older than twenty, too young to be a captain.

“You’re the captain?” you asked, giving him a rather judging look.

“I believe I am,” he spoke with a proud grin. His voice sounding familiar to you for some reason. “I happen to be the infamous Sturmhond” he continued to grin

You glanced at him for a moment. There was something familiar about his eyes, but you just couldn’t place it. Perhaps you’d just started feeling so homesick that you’d begun to imagine things now.

“Novak, Evanna Novak” you finally respond, clearly not returning his expression

“Well’ he cleared his throat. “Miss Novak, to have you as a member of my crew, I must ask you what skills do you happen to possess?” he asked

“I’m an engineer, can help in fixing up your ship but I’ve also got training in combat” you spoke

The boy leaned back and finally spoke after a short moment, “Well, I believe we do happen to need an engineer aboard the Volkvolny. Name your price”

“I just need enough to fulfill all my requirements, no more no less. But there's another” you responded

“What's that?”

“I get to keep my freedom” you lifted up your chin, you'd come all this way for one thing only and you weren't going to let it slip away again. 

“Well, I believe we have a deal then” the boy responded. He clasped his hands in front of him as he stood up, “We leave at sunrise, meet us at the docks”.

He walked out of the inn with Tamar by his side. Though there was something strange about him that you couldn't quite place. 

.......…............................ 

“I have an idea” Nikolai sprang up from his chair

“What's that?” you asked, not even bothering to look up from your book. 

“Someday, I can get a ship that I'll be captain of and then we can sail the seas together” he spoke with great zeal. 

You set down your book and met his gaze. “Do you really think my parents would let me?” 

“We'll be adults by then, you could make your own decisions” 

You chuckled slightly, “No one cares about what I want, Nikolai. They'd still take all the decisions of my life”

“I do, I care about what you want” he responded, giving you his innocent look that would make you agree to whatever he'd say. 

..........................…..................... 

You reached the docks at the exact time you'd been given. You hadn't exactly slept the whole night. Whether it was thrill, fear or something entirely different, you didn't know, you no longer cared. You only wished to be free. 

You stepped on the sleek schooner that was the Volkvolny. The ship was quite a marvel and you were intrigued by the fact that the young captain had somehow managed to acquire it. 

You were introduced to the crew by Tamar and her twin brother Tolya who perfectly resembled the structure of a massive tree and had the habit of reciting random verses of poetry mid conversation. 

Sturmhond too, had greeted you as you'd come. And seeing him shouting orders to his crew and grinning along with them made you wonder how he'd managed to do it all. 

......…...............................… 

“I don't like these parties in the slightest” you grumbled, leaning against the railing of the balcony. 

The queen had thrown yet another ball for some reason and the only reason you'd come was because you'd get to see Nikolai. Though your immense hatred for the event hadn't deteriorated in the slightest. 

And what made you even furious was how perfectly Nikolai managed to do it all. Making small talk with the guests, occasionally annoying his brother Vasily and being the center of attention. 

He was far cheery and great at conversing for a sixteen year old boy. 

“Me neither, these people are so fake it's maddening. Nothing coming out of their mouths might be true” Nikolai agreed with you

“But you do it all so perfectly, it's very annoying” you rolled your eyes

“Well, for being a royal, learning to charm people with words is a necessity. Even if it's not true in the slightest” He shrugged. 

You grimaced at his words and turned to look at the starry sky, without the slightest hint of his gaze on you. 

He was mesmerized by how beautiful you looked. You were majestic to him at all times, but there was something entirely different about you tonight. 

Your long flaunty dress that you'd been forced to wear, hung perfectly at your shoulders. A few loose strands of your hair fell near your eyes and he had to fight the urge to tuck them behind your ear. 

Your eyes gleamed in the moonlight. 

You were majestic. 

He slowly slid his hand near yours on the railing and gently placed it on top of yours, making your gaze turn to him. 

You gazed in his perfect hazel eyes, fully unaware of how red your cheeks had become. 

“You look marvelous” he spoke, his voice a mere whisper. “And I'm not only making it up to charm you” he added with a grin. 

“Like you ever could “ you rolled your eyes, a smirk playing over your lips

…..........................................… 

You'd been aboard the Volkvolny for about a week now. And you'd already become quite popular amongst the crew for not only your work but your quick wits and splendid sparring skills. 

Sturmhond would always attempt to make small talk with you and charm you with his idiotic grin. 

You helped him with his designs of a flying ship he was attempting to make along with his other erratic inventions, whilst he tried his best to learn more about you. 

“So, why did you really choose to have this life?” he asked, abandoning his work as he turned towards you

“Well, I simply wished to live a life free from all kinds of burdens” you responded, not willing to share your entire life history. “I believed I could live my life by my own rules here, at the sea”

“I have to admit I agree. It's one of the reasons I'm here as well. Though I do think of all I've left behind” he glanced at a far corner of his desk. 

For a moment, he appeared as a lost prince stuck in another fantasy. 

That was when you noticed the massive deep green gem fixed on his ring. 

You'd seen the ring before, but you hadn't really looked at it. 

The Lantsov Emerald

Very similar to the one Nikolai had on him. 

How had he gotten it? Perhaps he had stolen it from him? What had happened to Nikolai? Was he even alive? A thousand questions filled your head. 

But you brushed them off, quickly regaining your composure. 

Nikolai had stopped writing to you a long while ago, there was no point in thinking of him anymore. 

He no longer cared for you.

…....................................… 

You'd tried your best to keep your composure intact when he'd told you. 

When you'd found out that he was leaving to attend the university at Ketterdam. 

It was best for him of course, you'd known. But it still hurt you to part from him. The boy you'd been with since you were children. 

The boy you'd known as every line from your favorite book. 

You sat alone in the garden, the moon gleaming above you. Nikolai was to leave the following day, but you needed to be strong for him. 

You couldn't make a fool of yourself in front of him. 

You suddenly heard the shuffling of footsteps behind you. “You know you aren't as stern as you show yourself to be. You can be quite emotional” you turned around to see Nikolai. 

He was dressed in a white shirt with the sleeves folded up. 

He looked marvelous. 

“I am not” you rolled your eyes. 

“Come on, you've got to admit that you'll miss me” he grinned as he sat beside you. 

“Well, I guess I might miss hearing your annoying chatter all the time” you shrugged

“See? Acceptance isn’t so bad” he grinned 

You rolled your eyes, “Whatever”

You looked down at your feet. You were going to miss him, you knew it. And you had no idea when you might see him again.

You wished to speak up, to tell him how much he meant to you, how much you cared for him. 

You wished to let him know how much you’d come to like him, even though you never showed it.

You wished to let him know how much you loved him.

But you couldn’t, you couldn’t muster up the courage to do it. And you believed it was for the better. Perhaps he wouldn’t even care once he’s gone. You hated the thought of it.

You reached your hands over to your neck and took off your pendant. You held it out in your palm, “Keep it with you, it’ll remind of you of someone waiting for you to come back”

He glanced at you before nodding. “I wouldn’t even dream of forgetting you” he smiled, taking it from your palm

You smiled, a slight tilt of your lips, perfectly displaying your melancholic feelings. 

He brought his palm forward, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. He then held your hand in his as he gazed deep in your y/e/c eyes. 

“Promise me that you’ll write to me. That you won’t slip away” you spoke, your voice a mere whisper

“I promise. No matter where I am, I’ll never stop thinking of you”.

You gazed at him, your eyes speaking the words your mouth never could.

...………………………………..

After several weeks on board, you woke up one morning and noticed the change in your features in the mirror. 

The effects of the tailoring were wearing off.

You’d gone to Tolya and had him tailor it back. You’d explained to him and Tamar about your need for it and they’d promised to keep your secret safe.

Later during the afternoon, you’d went to Sturmhond’s cabin to retrieve the designs of your latest project from him, only to find that he hadn't been there.

As you thought to leave, you noticed the very document you’d come for was on his desk. However, as you picked it up, you heard a sharp clatter.

As you bent down to pick up whatever had fallen down, you truly realized what it’d been

You felt as if your heart had stopped beating. You couldn't fathom the sights in front of you. 

It was your pendant. 

The one you'd given to Nikolai as a parting gift. 

The Lantsov Emerald and now, your pendant? You couldn't formulate a plausible explanation for all of it. 

Sturmhond, the captain with a terribly made up name. The Captain who was too young to be one. The boy who had far too polite manners to be a Pirate- Privateer as he'd say. 

The boy with the too familiar eyes and voice.  

Was it truly him? 

Was it truly, Nikolai? 

..…....................................... 

Nikolai had never been this conflicted in his entire life. 

He couldn't stop himself from glancing at a certain new member of his crew whenever she'd be working. 

He couldn't stop himself from attempting to strike a conversation with her at any given opportunity. 

He couldn't stop himself from falling in love with her. 

But he still thought of her, the one he'd left back home. He still yearned for the sight of her, the gleam of her eyes in the moonlight, her rare but marvelous smile, he still yearned for her. 

Though he knew he'd abandoned her. He had stopped sending her letters when he'd left the university and had decided to be at the sea. 

Part of him believed that she'd forgotten him, that she'd have moved on, no matter how much he despised the thought. 

He wished he would have spoken when he had the chance. He wished he'd told her how much he loved her, how much it broke his heart to leave her, how much she meant to him. 

But he hadn't, and he despised himself for it. 

...........................................… 

You noticed the effects of Tolya's tailoring were wearing off. However, you chose to leave them be for a while. 

You needed the real you for the moment. 

You saw Sturmhond standing by himself near the railing.

You noticed the moonlight making something in his palm gleam. 

The pendant, you realized. 

He had it in his hand. 

You stepped closer to him as you spoke, “Captain's having trouble sleeping?” you asked. 

He hastily put the pendant away in the pocket of his overcoat. He regained his composure before speaking, “Yeah. Could ask you the same though” he shifted his gaze towards the sea again

“Well, I was going to, but then I happened to see a certain melancholic boy. Something on your mind?” you asked, furrowing your brows. 

“No, not really” he shrugged as he looked down

You raised an eyebrow, clearly not fooled by his lie. 

He wasn't okay, you knew it. 

You'd seen it. 

And perhaps, it was time you'd told him the truth. But you first needed to know what was on his mind. 

“You can talk to me, you know? Something's off with you, and you aren't very good at hiding it” you rested your hands on the railing

He sighed, as he lifted his head up. 

“I- When I decided to leave home, I left a lot behind. There's a lot I don't really miss, but one” He took out the pendant from his pocket. “I yearn for her. And- and I don't even know if she even thinks of me anymore” his voice trembled as he continued

Your heart stopped. 

He believed you'd forgotten him. He thought you no longer cared. If only he knew how much you'd missed him, how he'd never left your mind. How you'd always thought of him during the sleepless nights. 

“I, I don't think she would've forgotten that easy” you attempted to keep your voice steady

“I abandoned her” his voice trembled, he sounded immensely hurt. “I stopped writing to her, I- I never saw her once. Maybe it's for the best. Maybe, she's moved on, she has a better life, she is happy. That's all that matters to me” tears began to well up in his eyes. 

His state, his words, shattered your heart. You weren't happy, you didn't have a better life until you'd come here, you couldn't be happy without him.

You couldn't take it any longer. 

You took a deep breath before speaking, “She isn't happy, not without you, Nikolai” 

He stilled. 

He turned his head towards you in a haste. “Wha-” he looked utterly perplexed

“I know it's you” your gaze softened

“Wait,” His eyes widened as he finally realized. “It's not you, it cannot be” he turned away his gaze. 

You gently held your hand in his, “Nikolai, look at me” you said. 

He slowly shifted his gaze to you and looked, really looked at you. 

The effects of Tolya's tailoring were now fully gone. Your true features had returned.

He let out a breath as he took your name. “Is it truly you?” he asked, his voice a mere whisper

You nodded, gently smiling. 

“How? What are you doing here?” he asked

“It's a long story. It was either I went off to Fjerda or die. So I chose none of those” you shrugged

“What!?” he asked in pure shock

You sighed, “My mother passed away, Nik. I- my father, he wished for me to become a spy, go to Fjerda. I refused, so he wanted nothing more than for me to die. So I ran. That's why I needed the tailoring” you explained.

 “I had my doubts but I wasn't sure if it was really you, not until I saw that” you glanced at the pendant. 

His gaze softened as he realized the whole thing. 

“You still have it” you grinned slightly

“Of course I do, it's the only thing I have that reminds me of you” He smiled with teary eyes. 

“I, I'm sorry, for not writing to you. But you never left my mind, I never stopped thinking of you” he spoke after a short moment. 

“I believed you no longer cared” your voice shook as you glanced down. 

“I would never stop caring for you, love” he said. 

He gently cupped your face in his hands, making your gaze turn to his. “I would never stop loving you” his voice grew lower.

Your eyes widened at his words. 

You'd loved him. You had loved him all your life, more than one could ever think of. But you'd never anticipated him to ever feel the same. 

You felt as if time had stopped at that very moment. There was none other but you and him, two hearts beating as one. 

“I love you, I always have” he said, his teary eyes gleaming

Your gaze softened. 

Your face broke into a soft, relieved grin as you spoke, “I love you too Nik, I always will”.

You gazed deep in his bright hazel eyes before pulling closer to him. 

You gently pressed your lips to his, the action making a part of you heal that'd been broken too long. 

You pulled away from him in a short moment. You met his gaze before he pulled you in, kissing you in the way he'd always longed for. 

You smiled as you pulled away from him. 

“I have to admit I had no idea it was you” he spoke with a beatific grin

His expression grew somber. “You've changed,” he said.

“Time and experiences change all of us” you responded, glancing down. 

“Not you though, you're still the same annoying blabbermouth you were” you joked, regaining your composure in a haste. 

“Oh admit it, you love it” he grinned, teasing you. 

“I believe I do,” you smiled.

“Promise you'll remain by my side from now?” he asked after a short moment

“Only if I get a promotion” you shrugged, grinning. 

“Alright then” he chuckled, and took your hand in his. 

Your fate had brought you back to the life you'd once been stripped of. It had brought you back to him, and you were entirely grateful for it. 

please lets just pretend he had the lantsov emerald before when his mother gave it to him in ruin and rising it was necessary for the plot okayy

anyways i hope i wasnt the only one giggling by the end

[ambassadorarlert]

warnings: self ship coded (kelsmin canon), hurt/comfort, mentions of children + their given names, post-rumbling setting, implied ptsd/survivors guilt

a/n: this is our beach episode 🤙🏻🐚 enjoy!

word count: 855

minors + imbeciles dni

“Do I deserve any of this?” — Armin asked quietly.

He kept his gaze straight outward to the sea. Way back when it mattered, the idea of seeing the ocean was just a distant dream, and so was life in between everything else up until this moment.

The Rumbling had ended a little over a decade ago. The dust from that period of everyone’s lives had settled. The world was wider now, which left an infinite amount of room for change and growth and opportunity. Even though, Armin’s life was accustomed to tragedy, he had a fair share of important milestones since then.

His greatest accomplishment wasn’t stopping the Rumbling, or becoming an ambassador of his home country. The crown jewels of his life were his four children. They were all close in age and similar in appearance, each of them taking a couple of slices from their father and mother respectively.

Armin had accepted that he had done about a million and one things wrong in his life, and he accepted that he’d pay the price for it once he was dead and gone. He couldn’t get rid of the underlying feeling that he did not deserve the slightest thing he had acquired in his present life. How could he possibly be able to heal, when his actions are the reason why some never got closure? In what way did he have any right to go on and create lives when he had taken so many away? How was someone like him worthy of being a father and a husband?

“Armin,” A touch of his hand brought him out of his thoughts. He looked down at the beautifully manicured hand that sent sparks to his skin. The kindest woman in the world had the misfortune of being Armin’s wife.

There was a long pause, silence falling all across the beach apart from the sound of sloshing waves and kids laughing. Armin noticed she had worn her wedding ring to the beach. The oval Amethyst center and silver band suited her, just like Armin thought it would.

“Look at your children” She said, darting her eyes in their direction.

Together they made three girls and only one boy between the ages of five and eleven. Armin could remember where and what he was doing at their ages. When he was five, Armin remembered spending quality time with his grandfather and listening to his stories. A cycle he repeated with all of his children, but Clementine enjoyed his stories the most as she was still quite little.

When Armin was seven, like Thea, he could remember laying in the grass and rolling downhill with Eren to see who could roll the fastest. Owen was nine, the same age Armin was when Bertholdt and Reiner compromised the walls of Shiganshina. Dahlia was 11, only a year younger than Armin was when he joined the cadet corp.

“What do you see?” She tested him.

Armin blinked. They both sat back and watched them play without conflict or tears. The day was perfect. The sun provided the perfect amount of warmth and light, while the shade from the umbrella gave comforting and cool relief. The misty beach breeze salted Armin’s hair.

Armin sharpened his eyes on his children as they went about their fun, playing near the water. They were old enough to know better than to go too far, but still young enough to be kept under their parents protection. Dahlia, Thea, and Clementine gathered around Owen as he lay in the sand. They took turns filling their individual pales with sand and dumping it on top of him. Only Owen’s blonde head, that matched his father and sister, was all that showed from the mountain he was under.

“They are free!” She hushed.

The realization always had an impact on his spirit. Armin’s children never had to worry about if this day would be their last or where their next meal would come from and how they could make it last for the rest of the week. They had new clothes and shoes whenever their old ones became too small, toys and books. Above everything else, they never had to live in a world where titans where a threat.

Armin’s throat was tight with emotion, if he said anything at all then he might just crack. All he could manage was a flustered nod of his head. His heart swelled. It almost couldn’t take how despite everything he had done and the immeasurable amount of guilt he felt every day, nothing could wash away his pride for his family. He inhaled a deep breath of salty sea air to settle his nerves, and gently interlocked his fingers in with hers.

Her smile that stretched across her lips, that brought her cheeks high, never wavered at the sight of him. It put the sun and all the stars to shame. They smiled at each other, the atmosphere between them thick with unconditional love and the mutual fulfillment of breaking cycles and having their children be part of the first generation where titans were just a horrible memory to humanity.

happy father’s day, armin <3

( @ambassadorarlert 2024 )

[randomficrecss]

Eruri fic rec <3

Part 1

ugh they are so perfect, this is one of my most fav ships ever!!

these are gonna be all longer fics like 90K+ words but i’ll definitely post another part with shorter ones!

The Blue by bowowline

E | 176.1K | 14/14 | Hitman Levi, AU modern setting, Slowburn, Smut

“Look, kid. Don’t listen to what Uri says, you hear?” Kenny combs his hair with his hand, although there’s not a single strand out of place. “Don’t ever listen to him. You only have one kinda people you have to listen to. You know that, yes? Who do you listen to? Tell me,” he orders, kind of frantic.

“I only listen to the Family,” Levi says absently.

As a child, Levi refused to finish a job. He has not made one blunder after that. Twenty years later, fate catches up to him again.

Birds of Paradise by obiwhat12

No rating (check tags) | 94.9K | 14/14 | Hurt/Comfort, Sick Levi, Domestic Fluff, PTSD

On an expedition gone awry, Erwin and Levi find themselves stranded in the forest, fighting for their lives. They are graced with no other option except to put their faith in one another, despite their vast differences.

Under the same bright stars, they discover a new kind of consolation in each other that neither has known before.

In These Fallen Leaves by masksarehot

E | 210.2K | 32/32 | Temporary Character Death, Post-Canon, Hurt/Comfort, Smut

[Post-Basement canon-divergent AU] Ten years after the end of the war, Levi, still heartbroken over Erwin's death, is living out a quiet existence with a few Survey Corps survivors. But signs are beginning to surface that Erwin is not truly dead, and they're getting too vivid to ignore...

This fic explores (canon-divergent) choices that the survivors made after Erwin's death and their consequences for the world. It's also about healing, and Erwin and Levi learning to put words to things that have always been unspoken between them. And beneath it all are the paths, whispering to them that the fate of Paradis still rests upon their shoulders...

Corps-à-Corps by onthearrow (loved this one)

E | 223.6K | 25/25 | AU fencing, Slowburn, Smut

Meeting people in New York City is hard. When Erwin’s last good friend moves away for greener pastures, he joins the local fencing club in his Upper East Side neighborhood in hopes of rekindling both an old hobby, and his wilting social life.

-OR-

The newest member of Levi's fencing club has it all it all-- money, a highly successful career, overbearingly good looks. Levi doesn't have any of that. But he sure as hell wants Erwin Smith anyway.

The Means by calacreda

E | 130.2K | 16/16 | Post-ACWNR, Pre-AOT, Prostitution, Slowburn

'He hears him say “Do not tell a soul, Levi” and wants to laugh. Tell anyone? To what end? So that others have the images that Levi now has running through his head; of grabbing hands and harness marks, hard words and soft lips, of lies upon lies upon lies in a desperate attempt to get to the truth?'

Levi begins to notice Erwin leaving HQ alone and not returning until the dead of night.

Slow-burn, pre-show Eruri.

He Chose Titans by masksarehot

E | 486.1K | 43/43 | Semi-Canon Prequel, Truama, Fluff, Smut

Erwin swore he would never again be distracted from his fight against the titans, but when an unexpected bond begins to form with Levi, he must decide whether he will follow his heart or his head.

Mail Order Spy by 35g (Jaackdaw)

M | 230K | 24/24 | Slowburn, Espionage, PTSD, Fake/Pretend Relationship

2091. Titans are no longer the frail oddities they once were. They're changing, growing. Governments aren’t changing with them. The International Military Police is tightening their leash. Erwin Smith orders a spy.

Dresden by hedera_helix (one of my all time favs)

M | 334.4K | 26/26 | AU, Historial, WWII

When Levi acquired his false identification he knew that the key to survival would be to stay unnoticed and to contain the bitterness and anger he feels inside himself. As the tides of war start to turn against Germany, however, Levi finds himself in a position to make a choice.

CODA by crownlessk_ing

M | 222.2K | 27/27 | AU 80’s, Musicians, Canon Disabled Character, Period-Typical Homophobia, War Flashbacks

France, 1986 - The last time Erwin was in Paris, he had it all. Youth, love, success, and his place in some of the most prestigious orchestras of the world. His cello had been his faithful companion through it all, and many said Erwin was the most talented cellist of his time. With such a bright future, it was easy to pretend everything was perfect.

But a lot had changed in ten years.

Now, all he had left were ghosts in his shadows, blurred memories of what used to be, and a body broken beyond repair.

He hoped going back to where it all started would be enough to recover what he’d lost: his ability to hold a cello, to feel, to love. He’d been wrong so far. But there may be another soul just as broken as his, someone who was also wandering in search of their own missing pieces.

Final Tour by gouguruheddo

M | 131.9K | 22/22 | Friends to lovers, PTSD, Modern America, Mid-Life Crisis, grief/Mourning, Trust Issues, Hurt/Comfort

It's been twenty years in the army, and Levi is finally home--retired, bored, directionless. The world has moved on without him, including his friend Erwin. He struggles to learn to adjust, to deal with his nightmares, to flourish in a world he's never understood, only to find that Erwin is dealing with the same thing.

Pledge by EllaBesmirched (El_Bell)

E | 123.9K | 15/15 | AU college, Frat Boy Erwin, ex-thug Levi, Slowburn, Light Hazing,

Levi is not in a fucking frat.

The Laws of Survival by pasiphile

E | 120.8K | 7/7 | Slowburn, Dom/Sub Undertones, PTSD, Non-binary Hange

His friends are dead, and now he’s trapped in a world where he has no voice, no control, and no one on his side except for the bastard who forced him to join in the first place.

Trust doesn’t just grow in one day.

Vespers by Valisi (series)

E | 109.5K | 12 Works | read tags

A series of stories detailing Erwin Smith and Levi Ackerman's private life together. Pieces can be read individually or as a whole.

Some pieces will reference things that have happened in past parts of the story, but it's nothing so major that you'll feel left out.

[bizarrebazaar13]

english vermillion and tumbleweed for alexandria :O

english vermillion: if you could give them a custom lodgings, what would it be?

Berth Aboard the Jasiri: A swift, sturdy craft, with a captain’s cabin that is comfortable without being ostentatious. In your humble opinion, there is no better ship to have at your side when facing the zee.

tumbleweed: what stats would they provide as an in-game companion? how would you acquire them?

begin the story of the dauntless captain when your docks + revolutionaries renown are both at 15. you meet Alexandria at Wolfstack Docks, and from there he pops up once at every port on the zee and enlists your help with some small strange task in exchange for payment in moon pearls/jade/other small currency items, and some zee ztories. gradually, you figure out that he is smuggling various items for the calendar council and the widow, and has been getting you to help.

once you’ve helped Alexandria at every location, you can confront her in parabola with what you know. you then have the choice of informing the constables about what she’s doing. if you do that, you receive favors and material rewards from the constables, and lose favor with the docks and the revolutionaries. if you choose not to rat on her and instead to keep helping her, you get her as a companion and renown and favors with the docks and revolutionaries.

a new zee dream is unlocked, either once you get Alexandria as a companion or when you hear news of him evading capture by fleeing to Polythreme (depending on what you picked). “the dauntless dreamer” cards are drawn with standard frequency in home waters, and give the quality “western wind” which functions like the other wind qualities once back in London. but if you chose to rat on Alexandria, the dauntless dreamer cards will increase your nightmares when at zee. if you chose to help, your nightmares get reduced instead.