#the-pompous-potato

[ghosttotheparty]

also on ao3 cw: child neglect; mentions of underage drinking; brief weed presence; mentions of bullying

He doesn’t know what he was expecting. 

He should have anticipated this, really. The slow drag. The tie knotted around his neck too tightly. The clatter of dishes and ruckus of pretentious, pompous laughter that makes him want to shove his fork through his eye. 

He really doesn’t know what he was expecting. 

A gift maybe. A birthday cake. Maybe with frosting and sprinkles. Candles. A wish. A clap on the back and an approving statement about his manhood from his father. Childhood dreams, in hindsight. Silly. Immature. 

But he still longs for it all. To feel the rip of wrapping paper under his fingertips. To feel the warmth of lit candles on his face as he leans close to them. To blow them out with a silly wish and watch the smoke curl toward the ceiling before it fades. To hear his mother’s voice sing to him.

Something like in the movies. Something he’s never gotten before. Something he’s always wanted. 

He’s eighteen today. He should be celebrating somehow. Getting drunk with Tommy H and the other guys. Laughing as they all slap his back and tell him he’s a man. Flirting with some girl by the punchbowl. Humbly accepting her happy birthday. 

But he’s sitting next to his father at the head of their dining table, fingers drumming the dark wood as he stares down at the uneaten food on his plate. Steak and potatoes. An undrunk glass of wine. He’s listening to his father’s coworkers laugh about something, but he doesn’t know what exactly it is that’s so funny. Their voices don’t really make sense to him today. Usually he can talk with them just fine, ask about work and business deals and future plans and everything that they seem to care about. But today they sound almost discordant, like they’re all out of tune, a melody that he doesn’t recognize. He can’t follow along as they all talk, their voices blending and bleeding together, mixing with the sound of their forks and knives scraping the porcelain plates they’re using, the sound of their cups hitting the table harder than they should, the sound of their chairs scraping back over the floor. 

Steve stares at his plate. Counts the pieces of potato. Six. Counts the prongs of his fork. Five. Counts the flowers on the edge of his plate. Seventeen. He drums his fingers on the table, taps his feet on the floor, takes measured breaths. Waiting until he can be dismissed, until he can leave. He doesn’t know where he wants to go, really. He thinks he’d like to go to bed, but the idea of sitting in silence after all this seems suffocating. Maybe he’ll go for a drive. He’ll have to insist to his father that he’s eighteen now, that he should be allowed to go for a drive if he wants to. It probably won’t work. But by the end of dinner, his father will probably be so drunk Steve will be able to leave without him knowing. He probably won’t remember it in the morning. 

And even if he gets in trouble, Steve thinks, it’ll be worth it. To drive in the night with the windows down, the wind in his hair. A CD in, playing on the highest volume possible as he leaves town, even if just for an hour. He’ll take his tie off. Want to toss it out the window and then leave it behind along with Hawkins and this house, but he’ll just put it in the backseat and forget it there for a while. 

He’s distracted from the daydream when his father claps him on the back roughly, startling as he jolts forward with the force of it. He’s always hit Steve too hard when he does this, fatherly slaps on the back when Steve’s done well in something he actually cares about. The most recent one was after a swimming competition; Steve hadn’t put his shirt on when he’d done it, and it stung like a bitch in a way that made Steve feel like a little boy again, but it was worth it. 

“To Steve,” his father is saying, raising his fifth glass of wine to the ceiling, smiling. He has an eerie smile. Steve’s always thought so. His teeth are too white, too straight. Like he’s wearing a mask. 

Steve smiles bashfully as a chorus of his name goes around the room, ducking his head and nodding when the men raise their glasses to him. A few of them wish him a happy birthday. One says something about him being a man. His father drains his wineglass, tilting his head back as his hand rests on the back of Steve’s neck, holding him too tightly, like he’s using him to hold his balance. 

As far as birthday parties go, it was shitty. 

Not that Steve would really have a good party to compare it to. All his birthday parties have been like this, ending with a bunch of wasted men in business suits crashing in his living room or recklessly driving home to their bored wives. Or, in recent years, ending very similarly but with teenage boys instead. Though Steve doesn’t allow them to drive home; usually a few stay in the guest room (often on the floor) or in his room for the night. He doesn’t sleep. 

It’s dark in the living room as he steps around one of his father’s coworkers. It’s the one with the red tie that Steve had admired when he arrived. It’s looser now, draped over his neck as he lays on the floor. He’s snoring. 

The floor creaks as Steve makes his way toward the door. His father is in bed already, probably passed out and reeking of wine. It’s a small comfort to know that Steve’s mom doesn’t have to deal with him tonight. She’s at a bachelorette party or something. She’s probably just as drunk as he husband. 

Steve finds his car keys in the dark, and they jungle in his hand as he opens the door, but he doesn’t bother looking back to check if he’s awoken anyone; he doesn’t particularly care. 

His vision is blurring before he’s even to his car, and before he can think anything else, he’s dragging the end of his key across the door of one of the cars he’s passing. He doesn’t look back, but as he gets into his own car, he realizes it was his father’s car. Maybe in the morning, he can convince him that one of his coworkers did it in a drunken stupor as a joke. 

He rolls the windows down as he drives, blinking tears out of his eyes. 

Eighteen was always supposed to be a big thing, wasn’t it? Adulthood. Manhood. He can vote now. Isn’t that a big deal?

All his friends couldn’t wait to turn eighteen. Steve isn’t the first of them to reach it, but he isn’t the youngest. The other day at school a few of them complained that they have to wait a few more months, and Tommy H joked about celebrating by going into Indy and hitting up a strip club. 

They all laughed at that. And told Tommy it was a great idea, that Jared could drive them all. (He’d gotten his license before anyone else and it was decided that he would always be the designated driver.) They’d all wanted to do it, go out together, have a good time. Et cetera. 

But looking at the sky, the wind drying the tears that are streaking down his cheeks, Steve’s never felt more alone. And he fucking hates wine, hates being drunk in general, but he would do anything for some weed right now. So he takes a left turn toward Forest Hills instead of toward the Leaving Hawkins sign. 

Eddie knows he should have gone to bed hours ago. He doesn’t even know what time it is, but he’s so comfortable here, curled up on the sofa in his sweatpants, shirt off because it’s warm enough that he doesn’t need it. There’s a book in his lap, and his head rests on the back of the sofa as he reads it, thumbing over the page as he silently mouths the words to himself. The glow of the lamp behind him makes the pages gold. 

He’s startled when there’s a knock on the door, and he looks up, wide-eyed. He’d vaguely heard a car pull in in front of the trailer, but he hadn’t paid it any attention, too engrossed in his book, which he sets aside after folding the corner of the page he’s on. It’s just a small fold, but he knows Wayne would smack him upside the head for it. 

He stops short when he opens the door, eye to eye with the King. 

It’s quiet as they stare at each other for a moment. Steve’s eyes wander down to the tattoos on Eddie’s chest, and Eddie is suddenly embarrassed that he’s shirtless and in sweatpants, especially when he realizes Steve is literally wearing a suit, a black tie tied around his neck. The only comfort is that his hair is a mess, which is oddly more satisfying than it should be.

“Hey,” Eddie says hesitantly. It’s odd that Steve is here. It’s not like Eddie’s never sold to him before, but he definitely isn’t a frequent customer. And it’s Sunday night. “What’s up?”

“I, uhm. Can I have some weed?”

Eddie realizes he’s holding his wallet in his hands, looking at Eddie like he’s pleading, and Eddie’s chest feels a little tight, like he’s looking at a dog abandoned on the side of the road. 

“Yeah,” he says, swinging the door open wider and stepping aside. “‘Course.”

Steve steps in, ducking his head like he’s going to hit it on the doorframe, and Eddie shuts the door behind him, awkwardly glancing at him. He looks nice in the suit. Unfairly nice. Criminally nice. It should be illegal for him to be in public like this. 

“What kinda party you headed to?” Eddie asks, going to the kitchen and grabbing the tin lunchbox from where he left it on the counter. 

“Uh, I left one, actually,” Steve says, pushing a hand through his hair, and Jesus, that should be illegal too. 

“What kinda party you ditch?” Eddie fixes, going to sit on the sofa and opening the lunch box, half-smiling when he sees Steve’s expression lighten. 

“A shitty one.”

“How so?”

Steve sighs, looking around the room. 

“Just… A bunch of my dad’s coworkers came over for dinner. They got wasted. I don’t know. It sucks.”

Eddie glances up at him, pulling a baggie of weed out of the box and preparing to hold it out to him, but Steve hasn’t made a move to open his wallet, and his face is tight again as he looks at Wayne’s hats, like he’s thinking too hard. 

“Tell me,” Eddie says, opening the baggie instead and instinctively lifting it to his nose to smell it. 

“It’s…” Steve pauses, blinking and glancing at him. “It’s nothing, you don’t— You don’t wanna hear it.”

“Yes, I do,” Eddie says lightly, pulling the grinder out of the box. “Go ‘head,” he adds with a jerk of his chin. “You need to talk about it, I can tell. Tell me.”

Steve blinks at him and sighs again. 

“I don’t know,” he says again, turning away to look around again. It’s like he’s fascinated by the living room, like the hats and mugs are from an art gallery or something. “I guess I thought maybe my dad might actually wanna do something nice for my birthday, like— like he might invite over my favorite aunt and her kids, and we’d have, like, a nice dinner. Even though her kids are only in, like, fifth grade, it— it could have been nice. But he just wanted to convince his coworker of something or whatever, so he bought a bunch of wine, and…”

He trails off, grimacing at the wall, and Eddie’s hands slow to a stop, looking up at him. 

“And Mom went to some party,” Steve continues, his voice shaking for a moment. “Some bachelorette or something. Which, I mean… She couldn’t change the date on that, but it still, like, I don’t know. Kind of hurts that I haven’t seen her all day. But also, I mean, I’m kind of glad she wasn’t there with my dad’s coworkers, I mean they… They’re so gross. Especially when they drink.”

“It’s your birthday?” Eddie interrupts, and Steve blinks and looks at him. He’s quiet for a moment, eyes searching Eddie’s like he’s lost.

“...It’s my birthday,” he says, and it’s like he’s just realized it, like it’s just set in. Eddie’s chest hurts. 

“Why… Why didn’t you throw yourself a party?” he asks after a moment, still holding the grinder even though he isn’t doing anything with it. Steve looks away, blinking his eyes hard, tossing a hand with a huff. 

“I don’t know,” he says. “I think— I think maybe I just hoped they’d do something for me. Stupid fucking hope, though,” he scoffs. “Like they’d do shit for me after eighteen fuckin’ years.”

“Didn’t you do something last year?” Eddie asks, finally setting the grinder down. 

“Yeah.” 

He says it so softly. Like he’s remembering. Like he’s sad. 

“Fucking sucked,” he says. “I’m so…”

He trails off, exhaling, but Eddie is curious. 

“You’re so…”

Steve shrugs. 

“I don’t know.” His voice shakes again, and he shrugs, blinking his eyes hard as he pinches his nose briefly. “Tired of it all.”

“What all?” 

Eddie knows he’s pushing it. Steve is going to snap at him. Tell him he came for weed, not therapy. But Steve just exhales again. 

“Everything,” he says. “I’m fucking sick of— of my dad and I'm sick of the house and I'm sick of Tommy fucking Hagan and Carol Perkins and I'm sick of parties and booze and those stupid fucking plastic cups—”

He cuts himself off, turning away, and Eddie blinks, furrowing his brows. 

“...Steve?”

Steve turns a little bit, looking at him, and his eyes are shining with unshed tears, and he looks so small. Like a cornered rabbit. Scared. 

“You can stay,” Eddie says quietly. “If you want to. As long as you need.” 

Steve looks like he crumbles, face falling as he looks at the ground, and he sits heavily on the armchair next to the sofa. Eddie kind of (really) wants to reach out and touch him, but he doesn’t.

“I keyed my dad’s car,” Steve says after a moment. “When I left.”

“Bastard probably deserves it.”

Steve finally gives a soft laugh, half-smiling, and he nods. 

“I didn’t even realize I was doing it,” he says. “Or that it was his car. I just… I was already doing it before I even noticed there was a car next to me, it…”

“I think that’s God making you do what’s meant to be.”

Steve scoffs. 

“Doesn’t that interfere with free will?”

Eddie shrugs, grinning, leaning back on the sofa. 

“He’s gonna be so pissed tomorrow,” Steve says, sighing heavily and leaning back in the armchair. His jacket falls open, and Eddie forces himself to look away. “I might convince him his friend did it while drunk, but…”

“Worst case scenario, you can just blame me,” Eddie says. Steve looks at him, blinking in confusion. 

“Why would I do that?” 

Eddie shrugs. 

“Believable. I can say I was on a nice midnight walk and heard some rich fucks havin’ a grand ol’ time. Pissed me off. Keyed a car.”

Steve listens, looking at him in a way that Eddie can tell he isn’t going to take him up on his offer, but he looks amused, which is nice. 

“Plus it would make more sense if it was me,” Eddie says lightly. “You know. The Freak keying a car compared to the King keying a car. Seems more my speed. Also with all the shit I get into, keying a car is barely a blip on my record,” he adds dismissively. Steve raises an eyebrow (hot), and scoffs. 

“Yeah?”

“The law can’t touch me, baby,” Eddie jokes, and his chest lights up like the sun when Steve rolls his eyes and looks away, his cheeks flushing with color. 

Of course he knows how pretty Steve is. And of course, because why the fuck wouldn’t he, he’s had a crush on him for years. It’s bullshit, in Eddie’s opinion. That Eddie, the Town Queer, falls for the fucking King, the epitome of the Straight Man, the Ladies’ Man. But he fell so easily. And it doesn’t help that Steve is hanging out in his living room, looking around, hair shining in the light of the lamp like it’s threaded with gold. 

“Why are you being so nice to me?” Steve asks softly. 

“You’re not really that bad,” Eddie says lightly. 

“...I’m an asshole.”

Eddie blinks at him, tilting his head.

“Steve,” he says firmly, prompting him to look up at him with those fucking sad puppy dog eyes again. “I told Tommy Hagan his money should pay for a better wardrobe and he called me a fag and told me to kill myself. I told you I could smell your hairspray across the cafeteria and you just laughed. I stand up on the tables and harass you guys in the hallways in you're the only one that doesn't try to shove me into a locker or call me a slur. You're not like them.”

Steve looks away. He looks sad. 

“Why do you do it?” he asks after a moment, looking up at Eddie, and he’s changing the subject, deflecting. “Draw so much attention to yourself when everyone is so shitty to you?”

Eddie relaxes into the sofa again, sighing, pausing. 

“I kind of… I don’t know. Try to keep the target on me. The kids that hang out with me already put a target on themselves by being near me, but they… I don’t know, they’re, like… Fragile, I guess. A lot of their families are shitty, and they’ve been dealing with bullies since they were little, so… I try to keep the assholes’ attention on me as much as I can.” 

He pauses, looking up at Steve to find him looking back already, chin resting on his palm, elbow on the armrest. Eddie looks away again, shifting. 

“That’s kinda why I answered the door so fast,” he says. “Sometimes it’s one of my little sheep. Sometimes they need, like… Ice and painkillers. Or a place to spend the night. Sometimes just… someone to listen to them. Or take their mind off something.” He looks back at him. “Imagine my surprise at finding the Hair at my front door.”

Steve doesn’t laugh, but he’s almost smiling still, eyes shining, lips curved just a little bit. And he’s quiet for a few moments before— 

“I really like you, Eddie.”

Eddie blinks in surprise. 

They haven’t even smoked anything. (Eddie was planning on just lighting a joint up without charging Steve. Because it’s his birthday. Duh.) But Steve fucking Harrington just told him he really likes him. 

Eddie forces a light laugh. 

“Careful who you say that around,” he says weakly. “People might get the wrong idea.”

Steve looks back at him. 

“There’s no one else here,” he says quietly. 

And then it’s quiet as they just look at each other, and Eddie really shouldn’t be reading into this. (Again: Steve Harrington. The King. Straight Man. Ladies’ Man.) But it’s hard not to in this silence, which Steve looking at him like that in the warm glow of the lamp. 

“Do you wanna spend the night?” Eddie asks without thinking. “I… I have some, like, sweats you can borrow, and we have spare toothbrushes and everything.”

Steve finally looks away, toward the door, like he’s expecting someone to come in. 

“I don’t know, it’s… I don’t wanna be a bother—”

“You’re not,” Eddie interrupts. Steve stares back at him again. 

“We have school tomorrow.”

“Fuck school,” Eddie says, shaking his head. “...You deserve to rest.”

Steve is quiet again. 

“...Okay.”

Eddie smiles and beckons with a tilt of his head. 

“C’mon.”

Steve follows him to his room after he toes his shoes off and leaves them by the door, and his mismatched socks are oddly endearing. He pushes his hands into his pockets while Eddie gets some clothes from his closet (a pair of black sweatpants and a black sweatshirt that’s stained with bleach, reddish-orange spots near the hem and on one of the sleeves), and Eddie leaves the clothes on his bed before he leaves to the bathroom to find the extra toothbrush. 

When he comes back, Steve has taken off his jacket. It’s resting on Eddie’s desk chair, almost blending into the mess, and Steve is struggling with the knot of his tie, brows furrowed with frustration, lips pursed in a pout, and Eddie wants to squeeze him. He steps forward and swats his hands out of the way, taking over gently. They’re close as Eddie works on the tie, hands shaking a little bit because Steve is right there, and also because Eddie still hasn’t put a shirt on. (He forgets he isn’t wearing one. Wayne scolds him often for it, but Eddie’s been like this since he was thirteen.) 

He can feel Steve’s eyes on him as he undoes the tie, and when it finally comes loose, he carefully slides it out of Steve’s collar. 

“There you go,” he says quietly, almost whispering, and Steve takes the tie from him, his throat bobbing as he swallows. 

“Thanks.”

Eddie tries to clean up while Steve uses the bathroom to change and brush his teeth, and he tugs on a t-shirt as he does so, pushing his hair out of the way as he clears off his bed and shoves his laundry into his closet. It’s not as awkward as Eddie expected when Steve comes back into his room, his eyes glancing Eddie up and down like he’s analyzing his shirt before Eddie nods at the bed. It’s big enough that they’ll both have space without crowding each other, and a part of Eddie mourns not having a smaller bed. 

Steve falls asleep quickly, facing Eddie, curled up into a little ball with his arms wrapped around one of Eddie’s pillows. His face is buried in it, his hair falling across his eyes, and Eddie holds back from pushing it out of the way. His shoulders rise and fall slowly, steadily, and the sound of his breathing almost lulls Eddie to sleep too, but he stays up with his book and the dim lamp until three. 

He’s careful as he goes back to the living room, stepping over the floorboards he knows are creaky, shutting the door as quietly as he can so he doesn’t wake Steve. And he calls Wayne’s work. One of his coworkers picks up. 

“Hey, it’s— it’s Eddie.”

“Oh, Eddie, hey, kid. How’ve ya been?” 

“I’ve been good, I just, uh, I had to talk to Wayne, is he available?”

“Yeah, he just started his break. He’s eatin’ those damn boiled eggs. Wayne! ‘S your boy.”

It’s quiet for a moment before Wayne’s gruff voice speaks into the phone.

“Eds? You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine, I just… Okay, so—”

“What did you do?” 

“I didn’t— Excuse me. I didn’t do anything. I was wondering if you could do a favor for me.”

Wayne sighs heavily. 

“What?”

“Okay, uhm. A friend of mine is over right now, and he… It’s his birthday, right? But his parents are dicks and his dad just had, like, a business meeting for his birthday dinner, and his mom is at some party or something for her friend, and my friend is kinda… I don’t know. It sucks. His friends suck.” He knows he’s speaking choppily, awkwardly, and that the word friend sounds foreign in his mouth, like it doesn’t really fit between his lips. And he knows Wayne is picking up on that too, and that Wayne definitely can already tell that Eddie has a crush, but Wayne, bless his heart, doesn’t say anything. 

“So what’s this favor?”

“I don’t know, do you think… Do you think you can get, like, a cake or something on your way home? He’s spending the night.”

Wayne is quiet for another moment, and Eddie hears a clatter behind him, followed by some laughter. 

“I’ll see what I can do,” he says finally. 

“Thanks, Wayne.”

“What’s his name?”

“Uh. Steve.”

“Steve,” Wayne repeats slowly. “Steve. Of the Harrington sort?”

“That’s the one.”

“I didn’t know you were friends.”

“Well. Our relationship is mostly professional—” 

“Right,” Wayne says with a light laugh. “Go to bed, Eds. I’ll see you when I get home.”

“Thanks, old man. Love you.” 

“Love you too.”

The phone clicks when Eddie hangs it up, and he avoids the creaky floorboards again as he makes his way back to his room. Steve is still laying the same way, hugging Eddie’s pillow to himself, and he looks so… 

Small. 

Not at all like a king. He looks so young here, so little and helpless, and Eddie wants to wrap his arms around him and kiss his forehead. Which would definitely cross some lines. 

He gets into bed slowly, lifting the blanket carefully so it doesn’t move where it’s draped over Steve’s body, and he clicks off the lamp. 

It’s different in the complete darkness. It looks just like it does on any other night, dark and empty and easy for him to close his eyes and forget about the world, but he can hear Steve’s slow breaths. He can almost hear his fucking heartbeat. 

At some point in the night, they move closer, and Eddie, half-asleep, blearily opens his eyes to try to find him in the dark. He can’t see anything, but he doesn’t need to when Steve shifts closer under the blanket. Eddie’s arm wraps around Steve’s waist, and Steve’s head finds its way to Eddie’s chest as he curls up into an even small bundle. The movement feels instinctive, his arm wrapping around him before he’s even fully realized how close they are, and as they settle against each other, Eddie wonders if that’s how it felt for Steve when he keyed his dad’s car. Natural. Right. 

Wayne knows the Harringtons. 

Richard was called Dick in high school, and Wayne always felt that the nickname was fitting. He was a rich, pompous asshole, who no doubt treats his son the same way he treated anyone he went to school with. He pulled girls’ hair and left ugly notes in their lockers and in their textbooks. He tripped younger kids in the hallways and smacked their notebooks out of their hands, and he and his friends would walk all over their worksheets and loose papers that fell across the hallway floor. He thought of himself as above everyone else, flaunted his big house and fat wallet, and Wayne always kind of hoped he would grow out of it, even when he went after Al relentlessly. It was like he had a personal vendetta against Al, and Wayne would be lying if he said he doesn’t think Richard Harrington is part of the reason Al is gone now. 

And Wayne remembers Catherine. Future trophy wife, queen of Hawkins High, with her pretty brown curls that were always done up so perfectly Wayne sometimes wondered if she had a professional hair stylist. She was similar to Richard, maybe a little nicer. Though, maybe Wayne just thought she was nicer because she was so passive. Everyone knew she was the one that started most of the rumors about the other students. Cruel, cruel rumors. 

They’re perfect for each other. 

Wayne had heard when they had a child, but he never thought much of it. It seemed right to him. Richard and Catherine, with their bright smiles and pretty hair, with their big house and shiny wedding rings. Of course they’d have a son. 

Wayne remembers seeing Catherine with Steve when he was a toddler. They were with one of Catherine’s friends, walking down the sidewalk in town, and Wayne saw them as they passed by the grocery store. Steve had been holding a bare dead dandelion, the seeds already blown off into the wind, but his tiny fist was clutching the stem like he was scared to lose it. Catherine hadn’t seemed to notice, too busy engrossed in the conversation she was having with her friend as Steve stumbled behind them, his legs too short to keep up properly. 

He supposes it makes sense for Steve to buy from Eddie. The rich kids always do. Wayne remembers the local dealer when he was in high school. He was a dick, too. 

But it doesn’t make sense for Steve to be spending the night at Eddie’s. Wayne doesn’t mind, of course. Anyone’s welcome at home. He’s come home from work countless times to find some kid passed out in Eddie’s bed or on the sofa (and once on the floor), and Eddie is always quick to explain. His dad was scaring him. He got jumped on his way home. She thought she was being followed. I’ll drive her home when she gets up. And Wayne, of course, always prepares an extra plate of breakfast before he crashes. 

But Steve Harrington. 

He can’t be treated well by Dick. 

It’s all Wayne can think about as he leaves work, waves bye to his coworkers, drives into town. Everything is starting to open, and Wayne loves this part of the day. The sky is pale and bright, and the world is starting to wake up. Doors opening, sleepy eyes finding one another and greeting each other with waves and calls of “Morning!” 

He’s the first customer of the day in the bakery that’s in town center. (He watched the owner flip the sign to open from his car.) He makes conversation politely as he looks around, ignoring the way the shop owner’s eyes linger on his oil-stained hands. And he points to one of the cakes in the display. 

And he thinks some more about Steve on his way home. He hasn’t seen him in ages. He wonders if he would recognize him, if he resembles Catherine or Richard more. 

The trailer is quiet when he comes inside, and he takes off his heavy boots before moving into the kitchen. There are a pair of nice shoes by the door, shiny and new-looking, and very clearly Steve’s. Wayne puts the cake on the counter before he goes to scrub his hands, and then he searches through the cabinets and drawers for candles. He finds a few, and they’re all uneven and different colors, but they’ll work. One is orange and striped, and Wayne knows it’s from Eddie’s thirteenth birthday. 

He arranges them on the cake carefully, leaning down to make sure they’re straight, and he finds his cigarette lighter in his jacket pocket. 

He makes coffee and waits at the table with a newspaper until he hears them wake up. They emerge from Eddie’s room sleepily, and Wayne sets aside the paper as he reaches for the lighter, suppressing a smile as he lights the candles carefully. 

Steve is wearing Eddie’s clothes, and his hair is so messy he barely looks like a Harrington at all. But when Wayne looks at him, he can see his parents. Catherine’s eyes and nose. Richard’s mouth. Catherine’s hair. But then Steve freezes, eyes finding the cake as Wayne finishes with the candles, and they widen, shining as he stares at the flickering flames and white frosting and colorful sprinkles, and his parents are nowhere to be found. 

The candles are mismatched. Orange and striped and blue and purple and green and white, short and used and loved. They’re all flickering with tiny flames that look warmer than Steve’s ever felt, and Steve just watches. 

It’s a small cake. Round and white, dollops of swirly frosting decorating the top with rainbow sprinkles that are brighter than the wax of the candles, and it’s beautiful. Steve’s never had a birthday cake before. Not even at the bigger parties with his friends. They brought beer instead of cake. 

But Eddie’s uncle is looking at Steve happily, eyes crinkling under his smile, and Steve thinks he’s beautiful too. His voice is gruff when it says, “Happy birthday,” and then Steve can’t see because his eyes are welling with tears and spilling over his cheeks before he can stop them or turn away to hide his face. 

“Oh, Stevie,” Eddie says softly, and he pulls Steve into a hug. No one’s ever called Steve that. He thinks he likes it. Maybe he only likes it in Eddie’s voice. 

Eddie’s hands are gentle as he runs them over Steve’s back and over the top of his head. They sway a little bit, and even though Steve is still crying he opens his eyes enough to see the cake over Eddie’s shoulder. The flames glow brighter with his tears in the way, blurred together with the frosting that looks like it’s glowing too in the morning light. 

“You’re supposed to blow them out,” Eddie says softly when Steve’s crying slows, and Steve lets out a wet laugh, wiping his face with the end of his sleeve. 

“C’mon now,” Eddie’s uncle says, nodding toward the cake. “You’re gonna let them get wax all over the frosting.”

“Sorry,” Steve chokes, moving closer to the cake and looking at it from above. The candles are arranged in an uneven circle, the flames flickering as his breath hits them, and he pauses. 

He knows birthday wishes are silly and childish, but he really, really wishes every birthday would be like this. 

He blows the candles out. 

They sit at the table as Wayne gets a knife to cut the cake. Steve can’t seem to tear his eyes away from it, eyeing the frosting and sprinkles and candles like they’re something made of magic, and Eddie can’t seem to tear his eyes away from him. 

He’s got this sort of absent smile on his face, and Eddie wants to reach out and touch him, but he doesn’t. He still has the light traces of tears on his cheeks, and his eyelashes are wet, and his eyes are glistening, and in the morning sunlight, he looks like a painting, like he’s too good to be true. 

They’re all quiet as Wayne cuts the cake carefully, three little plates stacked next to the cardboard platter. Eddie looks at Steve again. He’s watching intently, unblinking.

Eddie nudges him under the table with his foot, and Steve’s eyes jump up to him, his expression softening. Eddie raises his eyebrows at him, nodding a little, asking, checking. 

Steve blinks at him, his eyes flickering across Eddie’s face, and then he’s leaning over, moving closer, and he’s kissing him. 

It’s a brief kiss. Soft and chaste and tentative, and accidental, instinctive, it seems based on how Steve’s eyes widen as he pulls away. His cheeks flush red, and his lips part, stammering silently. 

“I—” 

Eddie leans in and closes the distance between them, hands finding Steve’s face and holding it between them tenderly. Their eyes flutter shut, and Steve exhales, shoulders falling as he melts into the kiss, and Eddie feels like he might burst. They part slowly, and it takes a moment for Eddie to be able to open his eyes. When he does, he finds Steve gazing back at him, eyes wide and shining and almost fucking hopeful. Eddie’s thumbs brush over his cheeks softly, and his lips curve into a smile. Steve blinks, his eyelashes fluttering at Eddie like a butterfly, before he smiles back, tentative and shy. 

“So I guess I should know your name.”

They both jump, having forgotten Wayne was there, but Wayne isn’t looking at them, smiling as he focuses on cutting and serving the cake. Eddie raises an eyebrow at him (he told him Steve’s name), and his hands fall from Steve’s face as Steve blushes again. 

“I’m so sorry, I’m— I’m Steve.”

“Steve,” Wayne repeats, setting down the knife, looking up at him. Steve is still red. 

“Uh, Harr—” 

“I don’t need your last name,” Wayne says lightly, lifting a hand up, and Steve hesitantly reaches for it to shake. “Steve’s enough.”

They shake gently, and Steve is starting to smile again, like he knows Wayne is cool. The handshake lingers, and Wayne squeezes his hand a little. 

“Happy birthday, Steve.”

“Thank you, sir,” Steve says softly when their hands fall, and the face Wayne makes at sir is enough to make him giggle. 

They eat the cake. It’s sweet, and Eddie can’t help but wonder if Steve will taste sweet afterwards. He kicks at Steve’s shins under the table, and Steve glares at him, suppressing a smile, rolling his eyes as he sips the coffee that Wayne gave him when they started eating. He and Wayne chat about sports and work and school, and Eddie is content here with them. 

Wayne pats both their backs when he finishes eating, ruffling Steve’s hair with another happy birthday wish before he goes to take a shower and go to bed, and Steve’s cheeks flush pink as he watches him go, glancing at Eddie. 

“What?” Eddie asks lightly, licking his fork. Steve shrugs. 

“He’s really nice.”

“I know,” Eddie says, glancing down the hall. 

“What’s his name?”

“Wayne.”

“Wayne.” Steve repeats it like a prayer. “He’s nice.”

Eddie looks at him. He’s fidgeting with his fork, dragging it through the remaining frosting on his plate, and Eddie is about to say something before Steve speaks again. 

“Sorry for kissing you in front of your uncle.”

Eddie snorts, and Steve looks up at him, eyes sparkling with amusement, suppressing a smile. 

“I don’t mind,” Eddie says, flirting, leaning over the table. “Wouldn’t mind if you wanted to do it again.”

Steve’s eyes flick across his face, and Eddie realizes that’s how he was looking at him last night, glancing at his tattoos. Eddie’s smile grows.

“I’ve never kissed a boy before.”

“Third time for everything.”

Steve laughs softly, leaning closer, and their noses nudge together. 

“You really don’t mind that it’s me?” he asks softly, whispering. Eddie blinks his eyes open, looking at him and tilting his head. 

“Ain’t nothin’ to mind.”

“Really?” Steve breathes. 

Eddie smiles fondly, lifting a hand and touching his face gently, running his thumb over his cheek lightly. And he kisses him as softly as humanly possible, so light he almost can’t feel it. Steve sighs, his hand reaching to find Eddie’s neck, and his fingers are warm on his skin, especially in the morning air. Eddie rests their foreheads together when they part, his eyes closed. 

“Really.”

He opens his eyes to find Steve smiling brightly, eyes squeezed shut. 

“Okay,” Steve breathes. Eddie kisses him lightly once more. 

“Happy birthday, Stevie.”

“Thank you, Eddie.”

Steve pulls him into a hug, and then he kisses him again, and it tastes like birthday cake and fresh coffee and eighteen years’ worth of shitty birthdays turned upside down. 

[lixzey]

monster among men

“It's only two to three times a week, Y/n. It's not that bad, I mean would you rather patrol with Snape? He's a greasy git, unlike Regulus Black, have you even looked at him? He's bloody fit!” One of Y/n's friends, Mary MacDonald, gushed as she looked over at the Slytherin table. 

Y/n rolled her eyes at the brunette, “He is not fit, Mary.” 

Marlene McKinnon scoffed, “Are you daft? Or are you just blind?”

“What do you two even see in that git? He's annoying, self-centered, pompous, and arrogant.”

“Well, yeah, but look at his face!” Marlene jerked her head towards the Slytherin table. Y/n rolled her eyes, “No thanks, I'd rather gouge my eyes out.” 

“So stuck up, Y/n.” Mary chuckled, shoveling a spoonful of mashed potatoes in her mouth, making Y/n scrunch her nose. 

“He just looks like Sirius, what's so special about him?” Y/n grumbled, taking a glance at the Slytherin table. 

“Sirius looks like a bad boy, while Regulus, he looks like he was carved by the gods. Yeah, they look alike, but Regulus has much more defined facial structures. Have you seen that jawline? Merlin, I think it could cut my finger if I touched it.” Marlene explained, eyeing Y/n as if she was a first year.

“That is if he'd let you touch him.” Y/n chuckled, “That git's more sensitive than Sirius.” 

“Speaking of Sirius,” Mary started, her voice lower than what it was before, “Do you think he's okay that you're partnered with his brother? I mean, Sirius is like your brother too at this point.” 

“You think he can persuade Professor McGonagall to pair me up with someone else? No, he can't, making his opinion invalid. Even if he isn't okay with it, he doesn't really have a say in it.” Y/n sighed, reaching for a treacle tart, “But if he could, it would be absolutely amazing, but I wouldn't get my hopes up.” 

After the little incident in the Prefect's compartments, Y/n stormed off, dragging Remus behind her. The Head Boy and Girl, allowed her to take patrols with Remus on the train, on the condition that she will comply with the partnering situations. As soon as Y/n stepped off of the train, she avoided Regulus as much as possible. Being both Prefects, they had the privilege of riding in separate carriages up to the school. Y/n decided to run off and find her friends instead, much to the amusement of her brother and Lily. 

Throughout the sorting ceremony, Y/n's mind wandered to the possible things that could happen on patrols with Regulus Black. The possibilities were endless. Regulus could hex her, Y/n could punch him, Regulus could push her down the stairs, or maybe, just maybe, Y/n could push in the Black Lake and feed him to the giant squid. Just thinking of his smug face made Y/n's blood boil to a temperature she didn't know was even possible. 

“Hey, Y/n, look!” Marlene said, tapping her on the shoulder, snapping her out of her thoughts. She glanced at the direction her friend was pointing to, only to see Regulus Black, being dragged out of the Great Hall by a grinning Sirius Black, a laughing James Potter, an annoyed Remus Lupin, and Peter Pettigrew stumbling after them.

Y/n knitted her brows together, “What in Merlin's name are they doing?”

“They're going to give him the protective brother's speech.” Lily chimed in, sitting beside Y/n, making her jump. “Bloody hell, Lily! You gave me a fright!” 

Lily grinned, “Jumpy, are we?” 

Y/n rolled her eyes at the redhead, “I hate you.”

Lily chuckled, “You love me.” 

“So, a big brother's speech, huh?” Mary laughed, “Aren't they protective?”

“Oh please, Sirius probably just wants an excuse to bother his brother.” Y/n shrugged. She wouldn't put it past her brother and Sirius, knowing that they were absolutely protective when it comes to her, their 'baby sister'. Y/n sighed, eyeing her friends, “You want me to follow them, don't you?”

Marlene and Mary nodded enthusiastically. Y/n groaned, “Really?” 

“Yes, really!” Marlene grinned, “And you need to tell us everything!” 

“Yeah, we need all the details!” Mary insisted. 

Y/n groaned again, lightly hitting her head on the table. “Bloody gossiping shits.” Y/n murmured. 

“What was that, Y/n/n? Speak up, love.” Marlene teased. 

Y/n lifted her head up, glaring at Marlene, and gripping the fork in her hand. “I am this close to stabbing you with this fork.” 

“Just go! Go and eavesdrop on them!” Mary pushed, “Come on, don't you want to hear what your brother and Sirius have to say? Don't you want to hear what Regulus has to say?”

“Ugh, fine!” Y/n huffed, giving into her friends' pushing. She glanced at Lily, who just shrugged, “I mean, it would be interesting.” 

Y/n sighed, “You three better save me some chocolate muffins for later.” She grabbed her bag, slinging it over her shoulder before standing up and taking one last glance at her friends. “And, you three owe me a butterbeer and some sugar quills on the next Hogsmeade trip.” 

“Fine, fine, now go!” Marlene grinned, jerking her head towards the door. Y/nbrolled her eyes and shook her head, before walking away from the Gryffindor table, making her way out of the Great Hall. 

“Don't forget your patrols with Black in the seventh floor corridor from eight to midnight!” Lily yelled after her. Y/n glanced back, and stuck her tongue out at Lily. She then walked out of the bustling hall and went to find the Marauders. 

It didn't take long for Y/n to find her brother and the rest of the boys. She could hear whimpering and Sirius' voice loud and clear in a nearby alcove. Y/n walked closer, casting a disillusionment charm over herself. Y/n peered over, and saw Sirius pinning his brother into the wall behind him. 

“-if you as much as hurt a hair on her head, I will hunt you down and throw you off of the astronomy tower, Reggie.” Sirius threatened in a low voice, which is a known trait in the Black family. They could be intimidating when they wanted to, and Sirius wasn't an exception to that. His grey eyes were dark and it was clear what his intentions were. Y/n's eyes then darted to Regulus, his face was calm—as if unfazed of what his brother told him. Though, there was a hint of fear in his eyes. 

“I w-won't h-hurt her, I won't. I p-promise.” Regulus whimpered, his eyes meeting with his brother's as he struggled in his grip. 

“Just know, if you hurt my sister, I will be known from then on as James Potter, the one who killed Regulus Black, the heir to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black.” James spat, his hazel eyes flashing. At the sight of hazel eyes flashing at him, Regulus was reminded of another pair of hazel eyes—who was often too angry with him too. 

“I-I won't hurt her, I-I won't hurt Y/n.” 

James' eyes softened for a bit. “You can let him go now, Padfoot.” 

Regulus let out a breath of relief as soon as he felt his brother's hands were off of him. His eyes trailed up, meeting the eyes of Remus Lupin. “I know you know what I am,” He started, “If I see that girl hurt at your expense, I'll have your brother tie you up on a full moon.” Remus ended in a low voice, and Regulus could've sworn his eyes turned gold for a split second. Regulus felt his eyes boring into his soul, as if Remus could see his deepest darkest secrets. He stood up taller, composing his thoughts, before meeting James, Sirius, and Remus eye to eye. “Y-you h-have my w-word. I will n-never hurt Y/N Potter.”

Though he hates the girl, Regulus does not want to hurt Y/n. For the past five years that they had each other's wands in their throats, Regulus never hexed her. He would send jinxes her way, but never hexes. He was more of the victim of her hexes—the bat bogey hex and stinging hexes were her specialties—and he had scars to prove it. Y/n Potter was a powerful witch, and there was no doubt about that. But even without a wand, she can hurt him. At the memory, Regulus tasted blood in his mouth, though there wasn't. “That girl can hurt me before I can even grab my wand.” Regulus mumbled softly, nearly a whisper. 

Remus, having heard him with his enhanced senses, “Oh, we know. But Y/n, she has her moments, and in those moments you could strike her, and we don't want that.” 

Regulus rolled his eyes, “Alright, fine. I won't do anything to your little witch.” 

“You better.” James reminded, “If my sister-”

“I said I won't, Merlin, Potter! How many times am I going to say it?” Regulus snapped, his temper overtaking him. 

“Just making it clear.” 

Regulus rolled his eyes, “It's crystal clear.”

Y/n chuckled softly. Seeing Regulus Black getting annoyed at her brother while he couldn't do anything because of Sirius was the first time Y/n has seen him not get what he wanted. She took off her disillusionment charm, and silently crept behind her brother.

Y/n cleared her throat loudly. “What are you guys doing?” 

“Mother of Merlin!” Sirius shrieked, jumping into James' arms. Y/n burst out laughing, clutching her stomach. “Scaredy cat!” 

Regulus fought hard not to crack a smile, the sight of Y/n Potter laughing, wasn't a sight he gets to see everyday. The way her hair falls over her shoulders, the way her eyes sparkle in the moonlight, the way her laugh sounded like angels singing. 

What? Moonlight? Angels? What the bloody fuck is wrong with you, Regulus!? 

“Oi, Black!” The sound of Y/n's voice snapped him out of his trance. “Huh? What?” 

Y/n rolled her eyes, “Are you deaf? I said we have patrols in the seventh floor corridor from eight until midnight.”

Regulus glanced at James, who was mouthing: I got my eyes on you, Regulus. Don't do anything stupid. Regulus silently cursed him, before turning back to the girl in front of him. “Alright. I'll meet you there in an hour.”

Y/n gave him a curt nod, before turning her back and walking to her brother. She linked arms with James, and the four walked away. Before they got out of sight, Y/n shot a glance back at Regulus and stuck her tongue out. 

Regulus chuckled softly, shaking his head, before turning away, a small smile gracing his lips.  

@helens3amstuff @gatoenlaciudad @thebetawolfgirl @lovemelikecrazyiloveyoucrazy @tchalamss @lilmaymayy @ashlynnmalfoy @crazycat-ladys-blog @michakune @mxltifxnd0m @spencerr3idd @dangelnleif @sthkate @ferrjulie @imnotoverlyobsessive

[anarchy-and-piglins]

Blue-collar Techno kidnapped by white-collar SBI when? And I don't mean minimum wage Techno or cashier/clerk/other I mean farmer or rancher or otherwise physical labor intensive. Potato farmer Techno kidnapped by SBI because they loved his passion or something idk just trying to tempt you into writing more dark SBI tbh

Okay, but I can vibe with this and I'm also still very much with my brain geared towards historical AUs so maybe something that's set around the roaring 20s or a bit later (the period between the world wars basically)? Alternatively the period right before the first world war, the turn of the century. But that might be because I have the Titanic on my mind today lmao.

Techno is a factory worker, typical blue collar profession, probably orphaned or at least from a very low-income family. He's proud of his hard work and his accomplishments and he's vocal about his passions and beliefs, just stuck in a place where those don't mean much to anybody of any significance. The working class doesn't have time to do anything except physical labor to keep afloat, especially not somebody like Techno who has no support to fall back on.

SBI are white collar. Maybe a family of business attornies? I think Phil as a lawyer would be absolutely hilarious especially because I can see the vibe of him being so kind and mundane from a glance but boy does he have a sharp tongue and a good memory. He will tear you to pieces verbally if need be, and smile while doing so.

A bit grim, but I want to say it starts with a death. Somebody in the factory dies due to the company's negligence (sadly, not that unusual an occurrence) and as always the boss wants to pay as little as possible and face as few consequences as possible. Except Techno knew the guy who died, and talks to that family, and tries to push them into getting their legally owed dues for their loss, or go public. The factory hires Phil to make this entire thing go away as quickly as he can with minimal financial loss for the business and no scandal.

Phil has no moral qualms about doing this. It's not that he hates lower class people specifically, he just looks down on them as beneath him and doesn't like them stirring up trouble. He finds them dull, uneducated, and uncultured. And also, he loves money. Greedy crow.

Phil does his lawyering thing. Often it's as easy as putting some pressure on the family and using big words around them and showing them some papers they can't read anyway and they'll take the minimal offered to them, since it's still a treasure in their eyes, and agree that the company bears no fault in their beloved husband's/father's death. Even if it does go to court, Phil isn't concerned. Honestly, the entire case bores him.

What he IS much more interested in is Techno.

They meet when Phil comes by the factory, and Techno and Phil run into each other since Techno is so involved in the fallout of the untimely demise of the other worker, and Phil is enthralled. Techno is not intimidated by him, easily pushing back on his wordplay with his wit. Techno has opinions, and is rather smart for a factory worker (he can read too! Techno is mostly self-taught). Phil finds it charming. Entertaining, if nothing else. He can see the fire in Techno's eyes.

He tries to pry into Techno's past and learn more about him, Techno is guarded against this, which in turn just makes Phil MORE engaged.

Eventually, Phil offers Techno to come work for the law firm. He'll have to do some really lowly manual labor there at first, but Phil sees potential in him, and if it turns out Phil is right about that, then perhaps Techno can even make something of himself if Phil teaches him and allows him to work his way up. It's an extremely gracious offer, a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity even.

Techno declines.

Phil is flabbergasted. Like, absolutely gobsmacked. But also so much more enthralled now. Techno refuses to take handouts from pompous rich bastards like Phil, and he has no interest in joining a branch that so clearly profits from keeping the upper class on top and the lower class under their heel. Most men would sell their souls for what Phil can provide them. Techno has more integrity than basically every single person Phil has come into contact with through his job in the last decade.

And god if that doesn't just make him want to have Techno more.

Even as a little kid, Phil was never told no. Thus it's not something that sits well with him. He will have his way, no matter the cost. And hey, we already established Phil knows his way around the legal branch AND that Techno has no support system so like, if you do wanna take it to literal kidnapping, that'd be easy.

I'm assuming this would be 3/4 dark sbi so my image for that is that Wilbur and Tommy are both Phil's kids. Wilbur is technically also an attorney (following in the family's footsteps, as his father, grandfather, and great-grandfather all are), except he doesn't really work a lot and has more fun squandering the family's money. Phil is way too indulgent when it comes to his sons, who are as spoiled as he used to be, so he allows this. Similarly, Tommy is still in schooling though he's not sure what he'll study once he's in university (he's leaning into finance because he loves scams lol) and he spends most of his time enjoying his wealthy life.

If Kristin is there, I imagine she comes from a family of doctors, though Kristin herself never worked or got a higher education. That'd be unbecoming for a lady of her status. She loves it when Phil has a fun little project for them to occupy themselves with since she's maybe also lowkey bored being a housewife.

[tarjapearce]

soccerfamily!au Miguel and wife’s wedding?

It's Soccer Family week ~ ❤️✨

A little long, hope you like ~ c:

After Miguel proposed, there was a miriad of things that came over both. Gabi being seven months old, you looking for a dress, the both looking for a venue and so many details Miguel found annoying.

He was a simple man. If it was up to him, he'd marry you in Peter's house where he met you without that much grandeur. However, seeing you so excited for having a little wedding and the glimpse of you in a gorgeous dress, decreased his peeving. He did everything you wanted, just for the sake of seeing your smile.

This week, you'd finally see a venue that had tickled his interest. Something comfortable enough for a reduced number of people. Neither of you had much friends, which was good economically wise, not that you were struggling, he just found it useless to splurge a lot of money on people he didn't know. The ceremony would be something for friends and family.

At first he wasn't sure of asking you about your family.

"Do you plan on telling them?"

"I will. Just my dad and my eldest aunt."

He held your hand and squeezed gently.

"Are you sure of it?"

"Yes. Dad well... he's alright. And my Tia is the only one I actually like there, so..."

You rested your head on his lap, and caressed his chin.

"And your brother?"

"He's in another country right now. And doubt he reaches to show up in time. Just them."

Miguel nodded and weaved his fingers through the silkiness of your hair.

"Alright then."

"Are you inviting your mom?"

He heaved and shook his head.

"No. Doubt she comes in good spirits anyway."

Humming, you nodded and kissed his hands.

"Alright. I think we won't be even that much people anyways. Feels like an elopement"

He chuckled while you played with his fingers.

"Isn't it? The only difference is that we chose to have witnesses."

You curled in his chest and smiled

----

The venue was as charming as the ad promised. A backyard looking space which grass was greener than envy itself, wild flowers painted the milieu with their rich colors, a little lake on the side to make it look straight out of a fairytale.

Miguel couldn't help but squeeze you as your eyes shone with excitement.

----

You nearly had a crisis when the perfect dress you had picked wasn't available in your size. Even though Miguel tried to comfort you by saying you'd look gorgeous even in a burlap potato sack, you didn't want a traditional princess pompous dress.

You wanted to make his jaw drop. So you went the extra mile to get it done with little retouches. Even Gabi had a little dress custom made for her along a matching headband.

The dress turned out even better and was easier to slip out of it. The venue was looking perfect, the wedding planner had surely made it look just like you wanted. Cozy, intimate, truly ready to celebrate with those that had been through it all with Miguel and you.

Sadly, not everything was butterflies in the meadows. Some family members of yours had known about your wedding, and naturally, they didn't like the fact you had excluded them. Your mother specially.

Even if the confrontation was unavoidable, you stood your ground and not invited her, and your other relatives. Severing the troublesome bond for good.

She only saw Gabi briefly, and left.

Miguel gave you a little reassuring that night ~

And finally the day came.

You took breakfast together, and then went to your respective activities during the day.

"See you later, Mr. O'Hara." You squeezed and slapped his butt before sending him off.

"Just for you to know, I'm getting my revenge later, cariño"

"Looking forward to it, nalgón" (bubble butt)

He greeted Gabi, played a bit with her and left.

Jessica and MJ arrived a couple of hours later and soon the preparations begun. Your dress and Gabi's finally arrived.

You bathed her and got her ready for the day.

"Whose taking her for the wedding night?"

"Oh no, we're taking her with us."

"Thought your aunt Isa would take her."

"Miguel refused. It's not like we-"

"Uh uh. Don't tell me"

Jessica's lips pursed, annoyed as you giggled.

"Anyways, look at this beautiful princesita!"

You put Gabi her little headband and snapped a picture to send it to Miguel.

Mi princesa preciosa. She looks so beautiful. Can't wait to see you.

The text made you smile and gave you enough boost to keep through the motions. The makeup artist and stylist came, MJ was the first, then Jessica and finally you.

While they got ready, you made sure to breastfeed Gabi and put her to sleep so you could get ready without much issue.

You spammed Miguel with silly pictures.

See this cereal?

Hm?

It's missing something.

Milk?

No. Not any milk. Yours 😘.

His cheeks had turned flushed as he was getting ready with Peter.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

You're so in trouble.

----

Two pm came and the small guest list filled in the room. Gabriel was his groomsman. Around twenty people were there including some coworkers from Miguel's, your aunt Isa, surprisingly your brother had arrived on time and attended as well. Around twenty people in total.

All seated in their respective spaces.

Miguel constantly loosened the tie, only for Gabriel to fix it for him.

I'm almost there, Gabi was hungry.

He sighed and as he was about to fiddle with his neck again, Gabriel slapped his hand away.

"Relájate. Ya va a venir." (Relax, she's in her way)

Gabriel gave him a little bottle of tequila.

"Drink it."

He gulped it down and sighed.

"Better?"

"Yeah."

"Vows ready?"

"Si."

Gabriel chuckled and patted his shoulder.

"You'll do great. Relax."

His cue to enter was there and with a deep sigh he walked to the altar.

Many looked at him with genuine excited faces. If he was honest, a wedding was the last thing in his mind, it was one of those things he thought once in almost never. But now, things were different.

He was different. You didn't fix him, just improved him, guided him through the darkest things to make amends with himself and allow him to overcome so many fears.

Having a family mainly. His own problems had hindered his growth in so many levels, but with your help and patience, everything was a bit easier. Your nurtured him with things he didn't even knew he needed.

And now, he was about to get you all to himself before anyone else. Of course there had been men that tried to take you away from him, but your loyalty to him was unwavering. What other proof he needed when you stood there, like an angel in a lovely dress, ready to take him as your husband.

Your dad walked next to you, waltzing you to the altar as Jessica and MJ followed you. A proud feeling invaded Miguel's chest. He gave your dad a firm handshake, an unspoken Thank you for giving her to me.

Miguel took your hand, giving a kiss to your palm.

"Hola."

"Hola"

The smile in his face was one that disarmed you. His eyes were full of pride and love, just like yours. Someone took a picture.

Your aunt Isa held Gabi. And soon, the ceremony begun. The wedding officiant gave the introduction speech, and soon the vows were brought up. Miguel started.

His hands trembled softly as he pulled out the small sheet he had wrote them in. Some blotches of ink sprawled, discarded words and the like.

Your name rolled of his tongue. So ever sweet, yet teasing.

"Mi corazón. I know I'm not good with words, but know that they're true when I say, you know better than anyone how difficult I can be. My nature and constant attitude often pushed people away." Here he pauses, a subtle softening in his eyes as he looks upon you.

"But you," he continues, "saw past all that. With your warmth and good humor, you stayed by my side. You eased my worries and made me feel understood. Because of you, I've learned that opening my heart does not make me weak - it makes me stronger." A little smile tugs at his lips now.

"I promise to cherish your love and welcome your light each day. You are the place I long to come to every day. My vow to you is this - I will strive to show you each day how much you and your faith in me mean. You are my partner in crime and all things, mi Pitufina. I am yours, now and always."

Your hand squeezed him tighter, noticing a little flush on his ears and cheeks.

"Thanks for giving me the honor of being your husband and the father of our child, mi niña."

You kissed his hand as he looked at Gabi as the crowd clapped.

"Miguel. Mi amor. Papasito"

The attendants chuckled and Miguel cleared his throat as you giggled.

"Ever since I saw you, I thought, damn he's tall. I'd climb him like a tree."

He couldn't help but choke. Gabriel cleared his throat, trying to suppress a laugh, Peter tittered under his breath and your dad stared intensely at Miguel.

Jessica face-palmed and MJ just smiled.

" But jokes aside, It surprised me you really went to open that beer with your teeth. And that alone made me curious about you and again I thought, yeah this man is mine." He rolled his eyes with a tiny smirk.

"We've been through so much that it's impossible to pick one single moment I wasn't fascinated by you."

His eyes softened and you squeezed his hands lovingly

"We've had our downs and up, cause no relationship is perfect nor easy. You've taught me so much about myself it's ridiculous how well you know me." You smiled,

"I know that I'm not the easiest woman to handle or be with some days, but know that you have someone that will be through thick and thin with you, yesterday, today and always."

You took a deep breath, "I can't wait to see what life has in store for us, Mi amor. Te amo. And I can't wait to kiss you."

He chuckled. Once the vows finished, the ceremony kept going. Gabi was the ring girl, and with the aid of Tia Isa, delivered the ring to you both.

Neither Miguel or you hesitated to say I do. Just made the moment even sweeter when you kissed as newlyweds.

"I introduce you, ladies and gentlemen to Mr. and Mrs. O'Hara"

The crowd cheered you both. Miguel took Gabi after you dad took several pictures with her.

She cooed upon seeing Miguel. Then, you both moved to the next location a couple of steps away.

Tables neatly adorned, the lights were set with an intensity enough to not overwhelm Miguel’s eyesight. Your dad took once more Gabi, letting you have the first dance with Miguel.

The soft and mellow beat of "My Love Mine All Mine" echoed through the speakers. Miguel hadn't tell you but he had been practicing a bit more his waltz. Funnily enough, Gabriel had been his dance dummy. Lots of crushed toes and sore feet later was worth your surprised face as he twirled you and swayed you through the song.

You thanked him with a big smooch and a smile. Your wedding rings clinked as you took each other's hands.

"Mr. O'Hara?"

"Yes?"

You got on your tiptoes and kissed him.

"You happy?"

He shrugged, earning a playful gasp from you.

"Been better"

"So mean!"

He took your chin and gave a little kiss

"I'm proud of you, Miguel." He huffed softly and you pulled a little strand from his hair as a revenge.

"I loved your vows."

"You kidding me? I nearly choked."

Giggling you lead him to your seats.

"Now, we gotta hear how people make fun of us."

"I will also too."

"Enough with your vows, cariño."

You giggled

"You looked like plum! All red!"

"Impossible not to when you said you wanna climb me like a tree"

You kissed him with a laugh, "Well yeah. I've climbed through those mountains-"

"Stop" His shoulders shook softly at the silent laugh he gave you.

"See? What would you do without me?"

"Probably overwork myself until death."

"I was being sarcastic, but still doesn't sounds good."

"I'm way too used to having you around."

Your eyes softened and hooked your hand in the joint of his forearm.

"Well, lucky for you, I'm stuck with you. Forever. Or until one of us deci-"

He nipped your ear. A clear Shut Up.

"You talk too much when nervous."

----

The rest of the wedding unfolded as expected. Almost everyone laughed at the friend's speeches about you two.

Gabriel gave a half funny half heartfelt speech about how happy he was for his brother. And Peter he plainly embarrassed Miguel by saying how much of a nervous and babbling mess your now husband was whenever you looked his way or interacted somehow with him.

And once the reception ended, you went to your hotel with Gabi.

You both were far too tired to actually have sex, or celebrate it.

Miguel had to remove Gabi since she fell asleep latching from your breast. He was tempted to wake you up by eating you out, instead he carried you to bed after putting Gabi next to your sleeping form that ended up in his arms.

Miguel O'Hara was now a married man.

[cielettosa]

SEED OF DISCONTENT

Chapter 1: a burden unchosen

PAIRING: levi ackerman x fem!reader

RATING: explicit

FANDOM: shingeki no kyojin/attack on titan (canon verse, canon divergent)

SYNOPSIS:

The Ackerman clan needs to be expanded, and you are chosen to carry his child.

cw of the chapter: none

navigation

previous chapter - next chapter

Heavy air, thick enough to chew on. It sits on Levi lungs like a stale loaf of Dhalis' smug superiority.

Tick tock, tick tock. Clock mocks them all, counting down the precious minutes wasted in this shitty staring contest.

Polished table, a mirror reflecting the distorted faces of these pompous windbags. Zachary, the "General," a walking monument to paperwork erosion. His beard – a tragic map of battles fought with red tape, not Titans. His eyes, like a bloodhound sniffing out dissent, but too slow to catch the real monsters in this room.

Erwin Smith. The almighty, the strategic genius, the commander of the Survey Corps.

He sits there puffed up like a pigeon on a flagpole. Levi can practically hear his ribs creaking under the weight of his own titan sized ambitions and eyebrows. All bluster and dreams, that one.

He does not understand the grime under your fingernails, the blood that seeps into your soul after every mission. He talks about the "greater good," about humanity's "salvation."

Levi's fingers itch for the familiar weight of his blades. They would feel more comfortable here than this damn chair.

Erwin's icy blue eyes are probably doing calculus right now, strategizing the most soul crushing paperwork avalanche to unleash on Levi after this bureaucratic circus. Wonderful.

Just what Levi needs – another mountain of paper stacks to wade through, each one a monument to the utter cluelessness of these so called leaders.

Nile Dawk, perpetually looking like an offended toddler – ever the picture of simmering discontent. Tapping a rhythm on the table like a bored child, scowl permanently etched on his face. Military Police Brigade must be a real snooze fest if this qualifies as entertainment for him.

Dot Pixis. The Garrison commander with a smile sweeter than rotten fruit. Just the kind of saccharine charm that could probably disarm an abnormal Titan with a sugar high.

All sunshine and lollipops, that one. Probably thinks the biggest danger he faces is a paper cut.

And then there is Humanity's Strongest Soldier. Levi Ackerman. Years spent dodging death by Titan and defying gravity have turned his posture into a weapon itself.

His eyes, a stormy gray reflecting horrors most would not dare dream of, are a mask. A stoic facade forged in the fires of countless battles. Iron will, they call it. Yeah, well, sometimes even iron feels like it is about to snap under the weight of this never ending hell.

The air hangs thick, its intellectual density barely surpassing a sluggish potato. Dhalis slurs out his opening remarks, the weight of his words attempting, and failing, to mimic a momentous thunderclap.

"Esteemed Commanders and Captain," he declares, "we convene today on a matter of utmost importance." A dramatic pause follows, his pronouncement lingering in the air like an unwelcome houseguest. "The Ackerman bloodline."

The General utters the words with the gravitas one might reserve for announcing the cure for Titanism, a cure that would undoubtedly be more newsworthy than this current charade.

Here, in this room choked by the stench of bureaucratic ineptitude, the only true concern should be the ever present threat of humanity becoming Titan chum.

A tremor of unease ripples through the assembled commanders, a collective shiver down the spine of the room. Erwin, ever the opportunist, leans forward, transforming into the very image of rapt attention.

Nile, on the other hand, can not contain a scoff, a harsh sound that would likely send chills down the ever nervous Armin Arlert's spine.

His voice, dripping with disdain like a neglected mop, barks out, "The attack dogs utilized for combat by the Survey Corps and kept under their control - what bearing, if any, does this topic have on the current discourse?"

Dhalis counters Nile's scoff with a clipped retort, his tone as sharp as a drill sergeant addressing a trainee with the intellectual capacity of a sluggish spud. "With all due respect, Commander Dawk,," he emphasizes. "the Ackerman bloodline exhibits demonstrably abnormal combat capabilities. These capabilities demonstrably exceed even those of our most elite soldiers, if such a designation can be ascribed to the current standard."

Nile slams his fist down on the polished mahogany table, the resulting impact sending a tremor through the crystal glassware that evokes a startled flock of pigeons.

"The Ackermans are nothing more than volatile instruments of war! Their allegiances are fluid and dictated by whomever holds the reins of power! They are Smith's sword perpetually hanging over our heads, a festering danger to the very foundations of the Wall's Military!" He puffs out his chest, the very image of an outraged toddler whose favorite stuffed animal has been snatched away.

Predictably, the very mention of the Ackerman bloodline ignites a cacophony of idiocy within the room. Nile, bless his perpetually furrowed brow, predictably launches into a tirade about "the potential dangers," his voice laced with the kind of bluster one might expect from a petulant child.

Pixis drawls out a response, doing little to quell the simmering tension in the room. "While your concerns, Commander Dawk, are duly noted, perhaps a more measured approach is warranted.," he says, his voice dripping with a nonchalance that borders on mockery. "Captain Levi, appears content to fulfill his designated role. One might even argue he demonstrates a certain efficiency in battlefields And surely, their demonstrable utility in such endeavors cannot be entirely dismissed."

Dhalis clears his throat with a theatrical flourish, the universal signal for the assembled commanders to shut their yaps.

"Indeed, Commander Pixis," he concedes. "While I acknowledge Captain Levi's utility, Commander Pixis." He continues, his voice taking on a conspiratorial tone, as if he is about to drop a bombshell more explosive than a Titan spotting a juicy human morsel. "we must consider the entirety of the Ackerman bloodline. The private known as Mikasa Ackerman also warrants our attention in this discussion."

Nile growls, a bulldog with a stubborn bone lodged in its throat. "Private Mikasa Ackerman presents a potential complication," he spits out. "Her emotional attachment to the impulsive and reckless Private Eren Yeager, Humanity's Hope, could be a detriment to her objectivity. The military requires unwavering focus and strategic acumen, qualities potentially compromised by such sentimental entanglements."

Dhalis offers a curt nod, the gesture of a teacher indulging a slow student. "To be perfectly clear, Commander Dawk" he clarifies. "while Private Mikasa Ackerman's emotional attachments warrant observation, they are not the immediate cause for concern. Our primary focus must remain fixed upon Captain Levi, Humanity's Strongest Soldier. It is imperative that we establish, with absolute certainty, the nature of his allegiance. The military requires unwavering loyalty, a commitment that must be secured on a permanent basis"

They want to clip Levi's wings, transform him into a government sanctioned attack dog, a good little soldier following their every beck and call.

The irony is so thick, so suffocating, it could be slathered on burnt toast and passed off as a gourmet meal. Levi's loyalty, if they could even begin to understand it, lies solely with the singular objective of ending this bloody war.

And achieving that requires a hell of a lot more than empty promises and a patronizing pat on the head.

They dangle the Ackerman bloodline before him like a juicy carrot, all the while preparing to yank him in with a leash. Because, apparently, a goddamn Titan slaying machine, a man who has stared into the abyss and emerged unbroken, is a threat to their precious little power structure.

These self proclaimed leaders could not fight their way out of a paper bag, let alone navigate the treacherous political labyrinth they have constructed within these damned Walls.

The only true anomaly associated with the Ackerman bloodline is their complete and utter lack of tolerance for bureaucratic idiocy.

This s whole damn meeting is a pointless exercise in futility, a waste of valuable time that could be spent slicing Titans, not listening to them spout nonsense.

The only entertainment comes from watching these self important wind bags trip over their own inflated egos.

Maybe Levi should start a mental betting pool – Nile, with his perpetually constipated expression, or Pixis, with that oily salesman grin he can not seem to wipe off? Knowing their track record, it will be a nail biter of a finish.

Jaw clenches tighter, frustration a rising tide threatening to spill over. They have been droning on for an eternity, and not a single one of them has offered a decent cup of tea.

The lack of proper tea is a war crime in itself, and frankly, Levi is about to reach his breaking point.

Levi cuts through the tense air with his voice, a low monotone as sharp as a carving knife slicing through butter. "Loyalty," he declares, "is something that is earned, not something you bully into someone like a conscript force fed expired rations" His steely gaze sweeps across the room, taking each face in turn, a silent challenge. "If my lineage is such a delectable dish for your paranoid ruminations," he continues, leaning back slightly in his chair, "then by all means, let me demonstrate my value on the battlefield. It seems a far more productive use of time than this childish charade of bureaucratic musical chairs you've orchestrated here today."

A flicker of surprise, as fleeting as a gnat caught in a hurricane, crosses Dhalis' weathered face. Erwin, however, can not quite suppress a smirk playing on his lips.

The man understands Levi better than most, recognizes the unwavering dedication that burns within him like superheated Titan blood.

Pixis, the oily eel of a Garrison commander, leans back with a mischievous glint in his eye. "Perhaps, esteemed General," he drawls, his voice dripping with a false sincerity. "the Captain raises a salient observation. Indeed, why not allow him to take to the field? Let him spill his own crimson ichor in defense of humanity. In the crucible of combat, his loyalty can be forged anew, not through empty pronouncements, but through actions etched in the very blood he sheds for our collective survival."

Dhalis releases a sigh that ruffles the papers scattered across the table, the sound betraying the frustration simmering beneath his carefully constructed facade.

Dhalis reaches up to stroke his beard, an unhealthy habit that likely yanks out more hair than a pack of hungry Titans swarming a buffet. "Very well, Captain Levi," he concedes, his voice laced with a begrudging acceptance that strains to mask his underlying apprehension. "You have been granted this… opportunity to demonstrate your fealty. Consider this a reprieve, a chance to redeem the inherent suspicion that clings to your bloodline like a persistent miasma." he leans forward, his gaze hardening into steely glint, "But make no mistake, Captain" he adds, a cruel edge creeping into his voice, "the moment even the slightest tremor of disloyalty betrays your actions, the repercussions will be as swift and merciless as the blade you wield so effectively. And let me assure you swiftness will be a forgotten luxury in the face of your transgression. The full weight of the military will come crashing down upon you, a juggernaut of retribution that will leave you yearning for the sweet embrace of oblivion.

Levi meets his gaze head on, his expression an unreadable mask. "Understood, sir," he replies, his voice betraying none of the storm brewing within him.

"However," Dhalis continues, his voice taking on a sly tone, "as Commander Pixis eloquently articulated, mere pronouncements hold little sway in this esteemed chamber. Deeds, Captain Levi, deeds are what we demand. As alluded to in our prior deliberations, the undeniable admiration Private Eren Yeager, Humanity's Hope holds for you, Humanity's Strongest Soldier, is a matter of public record. His unyielding trust in your capabilities borders on the fanatical, would you not agree? The boy would not hesitate to follow you into the very maw of a Titan itself. Therefore, we require a… proof, shall we say? A public spectacle that unequivocally demonstrates that Humanity's Strongest Soldier is, without question, prepared to adhere to our directives, regardless of their perceived absurdity or apparent pointlessness. We require absolute, unwavering certainty that your allegiance remains firmly tethered to the military. Any hint of wavering, of a potential defection that could see you and Eren Yeager stray from the designated path, will not be tolerated. The consequences of such a betrayal would reverberate throughout humanity's fragile existence. Imagine the chaos, the erosion of trust that would follow in the wake of your disobedience. Think of the fragile hope you would shatter, the blood that would stain the ground due to your misplaced loyalties. No, Captain Levi, we cannot, will not, accept such a catastrophic scenario. Therefore, a public display of your obedience is paramount. We need the world, and more importantly, Eren Yeager himself, to witness your unwavering commitment to this cause. Only then can we move forward with a semblance of confidence, knowing that our strongest soldier stands firmly beside us, not against us."

Levi's voice cuts through the veiled threats, cold and sharp as a discarded blade. "How exactly do I prove this loyalty you are so desperate for?"

Dhalis leans forward, his belly straining against his uniform like a sausage casing about to burst. If Levi squinted real hard, maybe he could pretend it was sincerity wrinkling his brow.

"Ah, Captain," Dhalis Zachary drawls, a sickeningly theatrical tone creeping into his voice, "there in lies the crux of the matter, would you not concur? It would be a most unfortunate turn of events, a veritable tragedy of epic proportions, if…" Tragedy? More like a comedy act gone horribly wrong. "…something unforeseen… were to befall our invaluable asset…" Unfortunate for who, exactly? "…Humanity's Strongest Soldier, Levi Ackerman. The potential loss of such a potent genealogical lineage, the Ackerman bloodline, brimming with unparalleled combat prowess - an unconscionable waste, would you not agree? A crying shame that would echo through the annals of humanity's struggle for survival. Fear not, Captain, would never dream of placing you in an untenable situation. However, a strategically orchestrated public display of obedience, one that showcases your unwavering commitment to this very institution, would be most… reassuring. Think of it as a necessary formality, a safeguard against the unforeseen. After all, who amongst us can predict the capricious hand of fate? Imagine the public outcry, the despair that would grip humanity, if some… mishap… were to befall our most prized weapon in the fight against the Titan menace. Surely, Captain, a man of your esteemed stature would not want to be the cause of such widespread devastation, would you?" His gaze fixes on Levi, "The task I propose, Captain, is a mere formality, a carefully choreographed performance designed to quell any lingering anxieties. Think of it as an investment in the future, a testament to the enduring unity between yourself and the very military of the Walls. After all, the potential consequences of your… disobedience, shall we say, are a prospect that would leave us all trembling in the face of an uncertain future."

Unease flickers across Nile's face, a fly caught in a spiderweb. The man is a walking bad mood on a good day, but even he seems to recoil at the thought. Turning soldiers into government breeding stock? The very idea is enough to make a Titan reconsider its lunch options.

Nile growls, "Are you implying, General," he spits, disgusted "that we revisit that proposition tabled earlier, the one concocted in hushed tones between yourself, Commander Smith, Commander Pixis, and myself? The utterly repugnant notion of Captain Ackerman being transformed into some… government sanctioned stallion?" The word hangs in the air, vulgar and obscene, shattering any remaining pretense of decorum in the room. "The very notion is not only abhorrent but strategically unsound!"

Government sanctioned stud? Levi's blood runs cold, a primal fury clawing its way up his throat. The audacity of these men! Do they think Levi is some mindless beast to be bred in captivity? A weapon to be passed down through generations?

The General might acknowledge the validity of Nile's point, but government sanctioned stud? Even these pompous windbags have a limit on their tact, apparently.

Dhalis clears his throat, the sound like a clogged drain trying to cough up a hairball. "Commander Dawk, while your concerns regarding the… unorthodox proposition previously discussed are duly noted, perhaps a more nuanced approach might be warranted. We must consider the long game, do you not agree? Who can say what unforeseen threats lurk beyond the Walls, what monstrous adversaries may rise to challenge humanity's very existence? Therefore, would it not be prudent, some might even say a matter of humanity's security, to ensure the… continuation of the Ackerman bloodline? After all," he wheezes, strained like a man trying to swallow a rotten potato whole. "their demonstrably superior combat prowess is an asset too valuable to squander. Perhaps, a more… conventional arrangement could be facilitated. A suitable female candidate, carefully vetted for loyalty and robust health, could be identified. A union, orchestrated with the utmost discretion, could see the Ackerman lineage flourish, a safeguard against the potential horrors that the future may hold." He continues, the word dripping with self serving righteousness, "There is much to consider, do you not agree? But surely, the potential benefits outweigh any initial discomfort such a course of action might engender."

This attempt to sugarcoat their barbaric proposition with necessity is about as transparent as a window.

Erwin stays silent, a mask hiding any flicker of internal debate. Maybe he is strategizing, formulating an escape plan for this bureaucratic nightmare.

Who knows what goes on behind that calculating mind of his?

"Are you suggesting, that I become a government sanctioned sperm bank for the Walls?" Levi's voice cuts through the obfuscation, a blade slicing through their web of lies.

Dhalis, the oblivious buffoon, throws his head back and lets out a laugh that grates on Levi's nerves like fingernails on a chalkboard. The amusement in his eyes is a stark contrast to the thundercloud that has formed above Nile's perpetually grumpy face.

Does this man find humor in reducing a soldier to nothing more than a stud?

Levi's urge to wipe that smug grin off his face with his bare fists is overwhelming.

"Now, now, Captain Levi," Dhalis wheezes, wiping tears from his eyes brought on by his amusement. "There is no need for such modesty! Consider this a paramount contribution to the very survival of humanity, your ultimate patriotic duty! Imagine the glorious possibilities! Why, with a little," He leans forward, his eyes gleaming with a manic glint that sends shivers down spines more accustomed to Titan chills. "Imagine the possibilities!" he crows. "… selective breeding, we could cultivate an entire goddamn army of Ackermans! An unstoppable legion, bred for war and impervious to Titan threats! Think of it, Captain Levi," he trails off, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, "we could engineer the ultimate weapon, humanity's salvation forged from your genes! Generations of Ackerman prodigies, each one a genetic marvel honed for combat! The very future of humanity rests upon your… cooperation, Captain." he continues, "Refusal to cooperate with this endeavor, however distasteful it may seem, could be misconstrued as… disloyalty. And disloyalty, Captain, as we have already established, has a very unpleasant cost. So Captain, what say you? Will you embrace your patriotic duty and become the progenitor of a Titan slaying army, or will you force us to consider… alternative solutions?"

Is he reading out some twisted fairytale? These are not puppies you can breed for good looks and tricks, these are lives, lives he has ready to gamble on like chips in a rigged game.

The sheer audacity of these self important buffoons leaves Levi momentarily speechless. An army of mindless Ackerman babies, bred like cattle to fight their battles?

The very notion is so ludicrous it borders on comical. Almost. Levi forces down the urge to laugh, instead opting for a slow, deliberate blink.

The icy glint in his eyes speaks volumes, a silent challenge that hangs heavy in the air.

Nile's question cuts through the idiocy like a blade through overcooked cabbage. "And who, pray tell, General, who would be the lucky lady tasked with… producing this Ackerman army of yours?" He drawls the words.

An army of Ackermans, bred like some twisted livestock? The image that flashes in Levi's mind is enough to make him clench his fists so hard his nails dig into his palms.

Who would be the sacrificial lamb in this grotesque breeding program?

Nile's question is seemingly ignored.

A flicker of interest crosses Erwin's face, a spark of intrigue igniting in his blue eyes. He strokes his chin thoughtfully, his gaze lingering on General Dhalis with a healthy dose of skepticism. "Intriguing," he finally concedes, his voice measured and devoid of emotion. "The potential for such a military force… an army specifically bred and trained to combat the Titan menace… it is a concept that warrants serious consideration. The Ackerman bloodline, with its demonstrably superior martial prowess, could indeed be the cornerstone of such a revolutionary endeavor." He leans back in his chair, his voice dropping to a low growl. "However," he continues, his gaze turning laser focused on Dhalis, "one must approach such a proposition with utmost caution. The ramifications of failure, of a genetic experiment gone awry, could be catastrophic. And frankly, General," he adds with a sardonic edge, "your sudden and fervent advocacy for Captain Ackerman's… reproductive contributions leaves much to be desired. I wonder what ulterior motives might lurk beneath the surface of your zealous enthusiasm." He fixes Dhalis with a stare that could crack stone. "Nevertheless," he concedes with a sigh, "the potential benefits are undeniable. Therefore, I am willing to entertain this proposition, on a trial basis. Captain Ackerman will be… monitored closely. The success or failure of this venture will hinge entirely upon his cooperation, and upon the viability of replicating the Ackerman lineage. Only time will tell," he concludes, his voice laced with a hint of grim determination, "if this gamble will reap the rewards we so desperately seek, or usher in a new era of unforeseen horrors."

Nile, bless his perpetually grumpy soul, erupts like a volcano spewing common sense. "Insane!" he bellows, a bulldog who has not only had his bone snatched, but stomped into oblivion by Dhalis' twisted amusement. "We can not trust these Ackermans!" He throws his hands up in exasperation. "Who knows what kind of pint sized killing machines they will churn out?

The image that explodes in my Levi's mind is terrifying – miniature versions of himself, miniature Levi's running amok, tearing through the streets with a bloodthirsty gleam in their tiny eyes.

"Indeed," Dhalis concedes, "there are intricate details that necessitate further refinement before we can proceed. However," he continues, his voice taking on a forceful tone, "the potential benefits for humanity's survival are undeniable. Captain Levi," he leans forward, his gaze turning into a predatory glint, "the choice before you is stark. Are you prepared to… contribute" – he emphasizes the word with a distasteful flourish – "to this endeavor, for the supposed good of humanity? Your compliance, of course, would be viewed most favorably." He pauses for a beat, allowing the weight of his words to settle. "However," he continues, his voice hardening into a dangerous growl, "should you choose the path of dissent, the consequences for your disloyalty will be swift and severe. We will not hesitate to leverage Private Mikasa Ackerman as a… necessary participant in this, ahem, breeding program. Furthermore," he adds with a cruel twist of his lips, "the currently planned operation to reclaim territory from the Titans, an operation you hold rather dear, Captain, if whispers are to be believed, would be indefinitely postponed. Let us be perfectly clear," he leans forward, his voice dropping to a menacing whisper, "this is not a negotiation. This is a decree. The future of humanity hangs in the balance, Captain. Do you truly wish to be the one who stands in its way? Does such an outcome, fraught with personal sacrifice and the potential to doom mankind, truly appeal to you?" He leans back in his chair, his eyes narrowed, waiting for Levi's response, the air thick with unspoken threats and a palpable sense of distrust.

Punishment or breeding program? He may as well be asking Levi to choose between getting devoured by a Titan or becoming one himself. The veiled threat about Mikasa, about the mission – a desperate attempt to yank on his leash, a leash he never agreed to wear.

Now Levi understands Erwin's … acquiescence to this farce. The mission dangled in front of him, a carrot to a desperate horse, all to get his grubby little hands on Grisha Yeager's basement and whatever secrets lie buried there.

The audacity of these self serving buffoons is breathtaking. Do they truly believe Humanity's Strongest Soldier can be reduced to a mindless beast to be controlled, a cog in their eugenics scheme? Levi meets Dhalis' gaze head on, his own eyes as cold and unforgiving as a Titan's stare. His posture remains rigid, a silent testament to his unwavering defiance.

Dhalis, sensing Levi;s resistance, does something unexpected. A barely perceptible smile, devoid of warmth or humor, tugs at the corner of his lips.

It is not a smile of camaraderie, but something far more unsettling - a predator sizing up its prey.

Let them stew in their own uncertainty. The real question is, when the time comes, will they be the ones holding the leash, or will Levi be the one snapping it in half?

"We acknowledge, Captain Levi," General Dhalis begins, his voice dripping with a false sincerity, "your unwavering dedication to the Survey Corps. Indeed, such loyalty is a beacon of hope in these perilous times. However," he continues, his tone subtly shifting, "loyalty, much like any well forged bond, demands reciprocity. Can we, in good conscience," he asks, his voice laden with veiled doubt, "extend our trust to a man with your… unconventional background? A past shrouded in the criminal underbelly, a stain on your otherwise exemplary record." He leans forward, his gaze turning into a predatory glint. "If you choose to defy this directive, Captain," he warns, his voice hardening with barely concealed menace, "we will be compelled to revisit those unsavory legal entanglements that dogged your past existence in the Underground. Those little indiscretions, conveniently swept under the rug upon your enlistment with the Survey Corps, will be resurrected with ruthless efficiency. The pact of silence, a tacit agreement reliant upon your continued obedience, will be null and void." He throws his hands out in a theatrical gesture. "Disobeying an order, Captain," he continues, his voice laced with a chilling finality, "is tantamount to disobeying the very military that has shielded you from the consequences of your past transgressions. The consequences, I assure you, would be swift and merciless. You will find yourself stripped of your rank, stripped of your freedom, and cast back into the very depths you so desperately clawed your way out of. The Underground beckons, Captain, its cold embrace a fitting punishment for disobedience." He leans back in his chair, a cruel smile twisting his lips. "The choice is yours, Captain. Will you honor the unspoken pact that binds you to this institution, or will you risk a return to the abyss?"

Nile Dawk, that perpetually grumpy bulldog of a Garrison commander, can not quite suppress a smirk playing at the corner of his lips.

"My past, has absolutely no bearing on my current abilities." Levi's face is a blank slate, an unreadable mask that would not crack under a Titan's roar. Let them stew in their ignorance. Levi's past, those scrapes and scuffles in the Underground, those were like pebbles on a dirt road compared to the mountains he hass climbed since joining the Survey Corps.

Who cares about a few youthful indiscretions, or for that matter, overthrowing a corrupt monarchy? Water under the bridge, ancient history best left buried.

Dhalis lets out a chuckle, a dry, humorless sound that sends shivers skittering down Hange's spine despite the summer heat radiating from Pixis' ever present belly.

"Ah, Captain Levi," General Dhalis purrs, leaning forward in his chair with a predatory glint in his eye. "It appears you harbor a fundamental misunderstanding," he continues, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper that could curdle the blood of a seasoned Titan researcher. "Your past, Captain," he emphasizes each word with deliberate weight, "is far more… nuanced than you might believe. It is a tapestry woven with threads of rebellion, a penchant for violence that borders on the barbaric, and a rather lengthy, shall we say, apprenticeship in the notoriously brutal underbelly known as the Underground." He leans back, a hint of a cruel smile playing on his lips. "A most… colorful background, do you not agree? One that raises a multitude of questions regarding your suitability for the critical role we envision for you." His gaze narrows, scrutinizing Levi with an intensity that could bore holes through steel. "The question, Captain, is not whether you are loyal to the Survey Corps – your dedication is undeniable. The true question lies in the depths of your allegiance. Can we, in good conscience, entrust the future of humanity to a man whose past reeks of defiance and whose very existence is steeped in the savagery of the Underground? Loyalty, Captain, is a double edged sword. It demands not only obedience but also unwavering trust. And in your case, Captain," he concludes with a chilling finality, "that trust is a most precarious commodity." The air in the room hangs heavy with suspicion, a silent battle of wills waged between a man haunted by his past and a ruthless leader determined to exploit it.

A flicker of something - annoyance, perhaps, or maybe a tightly leashed fury - crosses Levi's features for a fleeting moment before he slap it back down under the mask.

These self important buffoons would not know a colorful picture if it bit them in their oiled ass.

"Those… youthful transgressions," General Dhalis continues, drawing out the silence with practiced ease, like a skilled interrogator milking a suspect for information. "By the benevolence of the military, these incidents have been relegated to the dustbin of history… for the time being. Consider them a dark stain on an otherwise pristine record, Captain, a lapse in judgment shrouded in the merciful cloak of the military's discretion." He leans back in his chair, a predator savoring the discomfort of its prey. "However," he continues, his voice taking on a dangerous edge, "let us not mince words, Captain. This amnesty, this act of extraordinary leniency, is a weapon. While it shields you from the harshest repercussions of your past, it also binds you to the military in a way most soldiers can only dream of. Your freedom, Captain," he emphasizes the word with a cruel twist of his lips, "is a conditional privilege, a gift bestowed with the expectation of unwavering loyalty." He fixes Levi with a cold stare.

This is about control.

They want to shackle Humanity's Strongest Soldier, a weapon of unparalleled skill honed in the fires of the Underground, to their will. Turn him into a loyal attack dog who only answers to their whistle.

The only thing they are overlooking is the fact that leashes can be chewed through, snapped, or used to strangle the very hand holding them.

'Well, General, you may think you have got me backed into a corner, but let me tell you something - corners have a nasty habit of disappearing when you know how to fight dirty. You do not even how much "former" criminal I can be.'

Levi's fists clench at his sides, the only outward sign of the tempest brewing within.

Years of meticulously crafting a life within the Survey Corps, the grudging respect he has earned through rivers of blood and mountains of Titan corpses, all teetering on the precipice of collapse at the whim of this power hungry peacock of a General.

Dhalis' self satisfied visage makes Levi want to wipe it off his face with the back of his hand, but the glint in his eyes, cold and calculating, warns against such impulsive actions.

Nile Dawk, that bulldog of a Military Police commander who perpetually looks like he is one bad nap away from spontaneous combustion, can not contain himself any longer.

A low, guttural chuckle erupts from him, the sound as pleasant as a Titan gnawing on a stubborn bone.

Dhalis leans back in his chair, the picture of smug satisfaction. The predatory glint in his eyes intensifies, and for a moment, Levi almost expects him to unsheathe a pair of claws from beneath his manicured fingernails.

"So, Captain Ackerman," he purrs, the word dripping with false sincerity, "are we in agreement? Do you continue to serve humanity, conveniently forgetting your little… indiscretions, under the banner of the Survey Corps, or do we take a stroll down memory lane and revisit those… misplaced documents?"

The seconds tick by, each one an agonizing hammer blow against the already suffocating atmosphere. Levi's jaw remains clenched, his face an impassive mask that would not crack even if a Titan decided to use it for target practice.

A battle rages behind Levi's icy gaze, a war between self preservation and the gnawing sense of being played like a cheap fiddle.

The weight of the decision presses down on him with the crushing force of a Titan's fist.

"You leave me with no options, General."

It is not an agreement, not truly. It is a surrender, a forced compliance in the face of an impossible situation.

"A wise decision, Captain Levi," General Dhalis purrs, his voice oozing with a cloying satisfaction that sends a shiver down spines in the room. "We had every confidence that reason would ultimately prevail." He directs a dismissive gesture towards Erwin Smith. "The details of this… accord," he continues, his voice laced with a subtle emphasis on the word, "will be meticulously overseen by Commander Erwin Smith, with myself, of course, maintaining a watchful eye on proceedings. He," he adds with a pointed look in Erwin's direction, "will ensure your… contribution to the perpetuation of humanity is both optimized and meticulously documented." The veiled threat hangs heavy in the air – cooperation will be rigorously monitored, any misstep scrutinized.

Contribution. Right. As if Levi has any say in the matter. More like ensure his continued usefulness as their personal Titan slaying attack dog.

The rhythmic tap tap tap of Levi's boots echoes through the sterile hallway, a chilling counterpoint to the silent scream building in his chest. This is not walking, it is a war march towards an enemy he can not quite punch.

Each step is a beat in the symphony of his simmering fury, punctuated only by the silence that hangs heavy in the air. This silence is a tangible entity, thick with the absurdity of the mission he has been strong armed into accepting.

Erwin's office door looms ahead, a stark slab of wood mocking Levi with its finality. The nameplate, "Erwin Smith, Commander, Survey Corps", bold and brassy, screams "authority" – the very thing they are trying to assert over Levi.

Levi takes deep breath, not to calm the inferno, but to fan it into a roaring blaze. This is not about calming down, it is about channeling the anger, using it as a weapon. Fist meets wood in a resounding boom, the impact echoing like a challenge through the hallway. The windows rattles, a surprised gasp from within the office the only response I crave.

A startled yell of "Come in!" pierces through the wood. Levi throws the door open with a flourish that would make a Titan flinch, entering Erwin's office in a whirlwind of barely contained rage. The room itself is a spartan reflection of its perpetually calculating occupant. Maps and battle plans dominate the walls, a grim tapestry chronicling humanity's losing struggle against the Titans. These plans, however, seem sterile and lifeless compared to the raw, simmering anger radiating off Levi.

Paperwork teeters like a drunken soldier on Erwin's desk, the only sign of life in this sterile office besides the furious scribbling of his quill. The quill looks like it wrestled an enthusiastic rodent for ink. Erwin glances up, that glint of amusement in his sapphire eyes like a taunting dare.

The door slams shut behind Levi, the sound a physical manifestation of the rage choking him. Each step towards the Commander's desk is a calculated move, a predator stalking its prey. Levi stops just a hair's breadth away, close enough to feel the heat radiating off his body, and lock eyes with him.

Levi's gaze is a thousand suns focused into a single, icy point, a silent scream before the real roar begins. The air itself seems to crackle under the pressure, a tangible tension that hangs heavy in the air like a storm about to break.

This "arrangement," this leash they have forced around Levi's neck – it twists with every beat of his heart, a constant reminder of the simmering fury boiling beneath the surface.

"Levi," Erwin greets, a hint of amusement flickering in the depths of his blue iris. "What brings you here in such a… dramatic state?"

"Let us talk about the little… surprise Dhalis dropped on me today," Levi demands, his voice laced with barely contained fury. The very notion of Dhalis' "surprise" leaves a bitter taste in his mouth.

Surprise? More like a thinly veiled threat masquerading as bureaucratic hell.

"Levi," Erwin begins, his voice even and steady, a stark contrast to the raw emotions swirling around the Captain. "About the Ackerman proposition," he inquires, his tone more curious than accusatory. "Yes, I was aware of it. In fact," he continues with a wry smile, "I spent the weeks leading up to this meeting locked in a rather tedious exchange of letters with Dhalis, arguing the finer points until I thought my head might explode."

Erwin lets out a sigh that sounds like the air escaping a punctured Titan tire. He leans back in his chair, pinching the bridge of his nose as if trying to physically block out the sheer absurdity of the situation. The image paints a clear picture: Erwin, the brilliant strategist, forced to waste his time arguing with Dhalis, the buffoonish general, over a ludicrous proposition.

"Dhalis," Erwin mutters, the word dripping with contempt, "would clutch at any straw to keep the Survey Corps on a leash. Any leverage, no matter how ludicrous, seems fair game in his twisted little power grab."

"And that straw," Levi counters, his voice laced with enough bitterness to curdle milk, "happens to be my… reproductive system?"

The very concept is so absurd it takes Levi a moment to process it, and even then, the words come out sounding like he is choking on gravel. The image of him, humanity's strongest soldier reduced to glorified diaper duty, is enough to make him want to disinfect his brain with industrial grade disinfectant.

Erwin's sigh morphs into a long, weary groan that speaks volumes about the weight of his command. The man looks ten years older after his little meeting with Dhalis.

"Believe me, Levi," he says, his voice heavy with a sincerity that almost sounds genuine, "let me assure you, the last thing I want is to see you reduced to some stud for the military's benefit. And the thought of your hypothetical offspring being mere pawns in this twisted game? Frankly, it revolts me." he continues, leaning forward and locking eyes with Levi, "The Survey Corps, would never stand for such a blatant violation of your autonomy. We fight for humanity's freedom, not to become some twisted eugenics project. Besides" he adds, "the whole proposition is ridiculous on a practical level. Imagine the logistics involved! The paperwork alone would be a nightmare."

Levi's eyes narrow into slits, skepticism radiating off him like heat waves. "So why do you not shut this whole charade down, Commander Erwin?" he challenges. "Is that not your job, Commander? Making the tough calls, navigating the political labyrinth, and steering this damn ship through the storm? Or are you content to just shuffle paperwork while they dangle my balls over a fire?"

Erwin meets Levi's gaze head on, his blue eyes unwavering. "In an ideal world, Levi," he says, his voice firm, "of course I would put a stop to this nonsense. But the reality is far from ideal. Dhalis recognizes our potential, the potential of the Survey Corps, and he craves control. He wants to leash us, turn us into his own personal attack dogs."

Levi scoffs, a harsh rasp that echoes in the confines of the office. "Entrap our potential? You make it sound like some noble pursuit. They want a goddamn weapon, Erwin. An army of genetically modified super soldiers, all stamped with the convenient 'Ackerman' brand name."

The image that pops into his head again - miniature, murderous Levi Ackermans tearing through the streets - is both horrifying and oddly adorable.

Erwin shakes his head resolutely. "No, Levi. That is not what I want. And," he continues, his voice dropping, "I assure you, I will not allow them to use your children, or any potential offspring for that matter, as pawns in their twisted game."

A flicker of doubt dances in Levi's eyes, battling with the anger that still simmers beneath the surface. "What makes you think you have any say in the matter?" I ask, his voice laced with a challenge.

Erwin may be the Commander, but that does not mean he has complete control over Levi or his … superior reproductive capabilities.

"Levi," Erwin leans forward, his voice laced with a seriousness that brooks no argument, "let me get one thing perfectly clear. You, Levi Ackerman, are an indispensable asset to the Survey Corps. Perhaps our most indispensable, if I am being honest. Your skills, your unwavering dedication to purging the Titans from this world – these are qualities that cannot be easily replicated. We need you on the front lines, your blades flashing like a storm as you cut a bloody swathe through those grotesque monstrosities. The thought of you being relegated to some… government sanctioned breeding program," he lets out a snort of derision, "is frankly ludicrous." He fixes Levi with a steady gaze. "However," he continues, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, "we need a concession, Levi. Dhalis, that pompous windbag, requires a certain… optics play to secure approval for the operation we have been discussing. The idea of a potential Ackerman bloodline legacy, a new generation of Titan-slaying prodigies – it is a narrative they find palatable. So, yes," he acknowledges with a sigh, "fathering children may be a technical requirement to appease the bean counters. But there is the thing, Levi," he places a hand on the Captain's shoulder, his voice firm but friendly, "those children, your children, will not become pawns in this game. Their future is their own. The Survey Corps will ensure their safety and well being, but any choices they make, any paths they choose to walk, will be theirs alone. This is a necessary deception, Levi, a strategic maneuver to secure the resources we desperately need to achieve our true objective: to eradicate the Titans once and for all. We need you on the battlefield, Levi, and I assure you, I will fight tooth and nail to ensure your freedom and that of your future progeny. We are in this together, Captain. Now, let us go carve a bloody path through those Titan hordes and show the world what humanity is truly capable of." Erwin leans back in his chair, a determined glint in his eyes.

Levi's gaze drifts to the map plastered on the wall, a tangled web of humanity's despair. Walls that confines them, Titans that devour them – it is a suffocating cage. The weight of the situation, the impossible choices Erwin faces, presses down on Levi like a physical force.

Erwin may not be the enemy here, but he is certainly not the one calling all the shots.

"Alright, Levi," Erwin begins, a sardonic smile playing on his lips, "let's dissect this whole charade, shall we? Dhalis, bless his ambitious heart, has undoubtedly already identified a woman deemed genetically and physically suitable receptacles for your, ahem, Ackerman seed." He pauses for a moment, a twinkle of amusement dancing in his eyes. "But fear not," he continues, his voice laced with a dash of humor, "I have every confidence that this… candidate will not resemble… farm equipment." Erwin throws his head back and lets out a short, humorless laugh, the absurdity of the situation finally sinking in. "The good General may have a rather… agricultural approach to this whole thing," he adds with a wink, "but rest assured, Levi, I will not subject you to such a crass charade."

Levi raises an eyebrow, unimpressed. "Just keep the wide eyed, hero worshipping brats fresh out of the womb away from me," he retorts. The mere thought of babysitting some hormonal, hero worshipping brat is enough to make him yearn for the sweet embrace of a Titan's maw (Hange would find that amusing, to say the least). At least a Titan would not judge his social skills (or lack thereof).

Erwin throws his head back and lets out a genuine laugh, a full bodied sound that fills the office with an unexpected warmth. "The entire concept of this breeding program is absurd! Ludicrous, even," Erwin exclaims, his voice laced with a frustration that Levi clearly shares. "It is more ludicrous than the idea of a Titan trying to waltz in a tutu."

The mental image that springs to mind - a lumbering, naked Titan clumsily pirouetting in a ballet skirt - is enough to almost make Levi gag.

Levi raises an eyebrow, a hint of amusement flickering in Levi's icy gaze despite the tense situation. "Ludicrous?" He echoes. "Erwin, we are talking about manipulating human genetics here. This is not some barnyard breeding experiment gone wrong. These buffoons are talking about creating a super soldier factory, and they want me as the star breeding stallion."

"Exactly my point, Levi, think of the logistical nightmare! Compatibility testing, mountains of paperwork, not to mention the potential for some truly… nightmarish sexually transmitted… anomalies." He shudders dramatically, the image clearly repugnant to him. "The whole thing is a bureaucratic minefield waiting to explode in Dhalis's face."

A grimace curls Levi's lip. Erwin's words conjure a mental image of some grotesque, Titan sized sexually transmitted diseases that will make even the most hardened Wall cultist reconsider their life choices.

"Now that is a horror story I would not want to read," he says.

"Indeed," Erwin agrees, leaning back in his chair with a sigh. "Let me introduce you to the candidate selected."

"Now, to the specifics of this… arrangement," Erwin continues, his voice adopting a dryly official tone. "Dhalis has selected a candidate, a young woman named Letta Reader. She is, as of this year, twenty four years of age. Her background includes a stint with the Interior Military Police's Anti Personnel Control Squad." He pauses for a moment, consulting a document in his hand. "However," he adds, his voice taking on a more serious tone, "recent events have cast a shadow over Ms. Reader's otherwise exemplary record. Apparently, she expressed… misplaced loyalty towards a certain Kenny Ackerman, an individual whose activities have been deemed detrimental to public safety." Erwin sighs, a hint of frustration creeping into his voice. "This lapse in judgment has resulted in her incarceration. The General proposes a… unique solution. If Ms. Reader agrees to participate in this endeavor, to contribute to the continuation of the Ackerman bloodline, as it were, her release from custody can be facilitated, with the full endorsement of the Survey Corps."

He leans forward, his gaze fixed on Levi. "It is important to note, Captain," he continues, "that Ms. Reader hails from Trost District, a region well within Wall Rose. She chose to dedicate herself to serving humanity by joining the military, and her record, prior to this unfortunate entanglement, was indeed unblemished. Furthermore," he adds, a hint of intrigue flickering in his eyes, "her ingenuity extends beyond the battlefield. Ms. Reader is credited with the design of the Anti-Personnel Vertical Maneuvering Gear, a significant contribution to the Military Police's arsenal." He steeples his fingers, his expression thoughtful. "Letta Reader, Captain, is a complex individual. A woman of unquestionable talent, but one whose judgment has been demonstrably flawed." Erwin sits back in his chair, leaving the weight of this unexpected information to settle upon Levi. The fate of a woman, the potential future of the Ackerman bloodline, all hinged on Levi's next move.

Kenny. The name explodes in Levi's head, a grenade lobbed into the fragile peace. Supporting Kenny Ackerman? Stupid girl. They are using you as a leverage, dangling you freedom in front of you. Carry Levi's child, support the Survey Corps, and maybe, just maybe, you walk free. Erwin continues, his voice monotone as he reads from the file, a litany of facts that blur together in Levi's anger. Trost born, military history, even designed the new ODM gear.

Levi's face remains an impassive mask, but a flicker of fury dances in his icy blue eyes. He keeps his voice low, controlled, but the anger is palpable. "What makes you think I'd even consider breeding with a criminal branded by Kenny's actions? This entire thing reeks of Dhalis' amusement, does it not?"

Erwin lets out a sigh, a weary sound that speaks volumes. "Amusement? For Dhalis, it is more than that. You know how twisted his mind is."

Levi clenches his fists, his jaw set tight. "Kenny is s still alive," he mutters, more to himself than to Erwin. "Out there somewhere…"

Erwin steeples his fingers and leans forward, consulting the document in his hand. "Now, Levi," he begins, his voice adopting a more neutral tone, "it appears there is more to Ms. Reader's profile. According to her records, she graduated with distinction from the 95th Cadet Corps, achieving the esteemed honor of ranking top of her class. Her instructors noted a tendency towards introversion and a reserved demeanor, with a social circle on the smaller side." He pauses for a moment, a hint of curiosity flickering in his gaze. "They further describe her as a staunch adherent to regulations, a 'by the book' individual who takes her duties with utmost seriousness. However," he continues, "these observations are counterbalanced by exceptional physical prowess. Her trainers consistently lauded her remarkable speed and fast reflexes. While raw strength may not be her most pronounced attribute," he acknowledges, "she possesses great level of stamina, allowing her to sustain peak performance during extended engagements. Perhaps the most intriguing aspect of Ms. Reader's profile," he continues, his voice dropping to a murmur, "is a certain… philosophical detachment. Her instructors noted a distinct apathy towards life and a somewhat unsettling acceptance of the ever present threat of death. This, coupled with her relentless pursuit of objectives, keen observational skills, and unwavering focus, are also nited." He takes a deep breath, his gaze meeting Levi's with unwavering intensity. "However," he adds, his voice hardening slightly, "the report also mentions a certain… inflated sense of self worth. While not overtly arrogant, Ms. Reader appears to possess a healthy dose of pride, perhaps even bordering on egotism. This, Captain, is a trait that may require careful management." A wry smile tugs at the corner of Erwin's lips as he continues, his voice regaining its formal tone. "The report concludes with a rather… unexpected observation. While Ms. Reader presents a demure and innocent facade, it appears her instructors harbored suspicions of a more… unconventional private life. Apparently, rumors circulated amongst her peers regarding a surprising number of casual sexual encounters. These suspicions, however, remain unsubstantiated." He leans back in his chair, a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes.

Levi lets out a frustrated groan, his arm rising to shield his eyes as he leans back in the chair. "That last bit of information was entirely unnecessary," he mutters, the irritation evident in his voice. The woman's sexual history is the least of his concerns. The idea of being reduced to a mere breeding stallion, especially with a woman seemingly chosen for her 'reproductive capabilities', is enough to make him clench his fists in silent fury.

Erwin flips open a file, revealing a stark portrait. Charcoal against faded paper, it captures a woman Levi does recognize. Her features are fine, delicate even, but her eyes hold a story the sketch can not quite tell.

Short, dark hair frames a face devoid of the hero worship he expected. No doe eyed wonder, no simpering smile. Instead, a quiet resignation stares back at him, a flicker of something that looks suspiciously like… despair.

Levi studies the portrait. This woman is not what he pictured. None of this is. No wide eyed cadets, no government sanctioned brood mares.

Just this quiet woman, a portrait of quiet indifference that edges dangerously close to… despair.

"This is her?" He finally manages, hua voice low and even.

"Indeed, Captain," Erwin replies. "Meet Letta Reader."

More like meet your… procreation partner, courtesy of Dhalis' twisted machinations.

Levi's gaze remains fixed on the portrait, dissecting her features line by line. Soft cheeks contrasted by a defined jawline, a hint of defiance beneath the resignation. There is an undeniable beauty there, a quiet strength that seems at odds with the defeat in her eyes.

The thought of being strong armed into this… procreative charade with her leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. A branded criminal, no less. Especially when the whole charade seems orchestrated by the ever manipulative Dhalis. This feels like a cage, another way to leash him and control the strongest soldier humanity has.

But a different kind of cage. This one does not feel like bars and locks, but like obligations and expectations.

A different kind of burden, but a burden nonetheless.

Maybe Dhalis is not the only one playing games here. Erwin, with his secrets and desperation – is he the warden of this particular cage, or another prisoner himself?

"You'll be meeting with this… (F/N) (L/N) tomorrow," Erwin announces, flipping the file shut. "Dhalis will be there, of course, along with Pixis, Dawk, and myself. I'll also inform Hange, if you have no objections."

Levi scoffs, raising a skeptical eyebrow. "A meeting? This whole charade just keeps getting more bizarre with each passing minute. Are we expected to discuss baby names and nursery decor in front of a room full of overstuffed, lecherous swine?"

"The meeting is crucial," Erwin explains, a hint of exasperation tinging his voice. "You and (F/N) will have the opportunity to discuss boundaries, parental rights, and expectations. There will also be a contract to sign, outlining the terms of this… arrangement."

Clearly, the fate of humanity hinges on Levi's ability to… procreate according to a government sanctioned contract.

Contract. The word hangs heavy in the air, a physical manifestation of the absurdity of the situation. Being issued an official order to impregnate a woman feels like a new low, even for the Survey Corps.

The whole notion is barbaric, a far cry from the strategic brilliance and deadly maneuvers Levi is accustomed to employing.

Levi's whole life, his entire being, has been poured into this damn Survey Corps.

Even after Farlan and Isabel, even after that gaping wound in his soul, he kept pushing forward.

Grief, a relentless tide, he channeled it all into this fight, this desperate struggle for humanity's survival. Erwin, the embodiment of that fight, became his guiding star.

Backing down now, kowtowing to these bureaucratic leeches, would be the ultimate betrayal. A slap in the face to every fallen comrade who entrusted Levi with their sacrifice, their shredded dreams woven into the fabric of this cause.

This… breeding program. A sickening joke, a perversion of everything he stands for. But the alternative? Letting Erwin down, letting the ghosts of his squad haunt the halls with their unfulfilled futures – that is a path he refuses to walk.

This is just another indignity, another hurdle to clear, another grotesque Titan to slay. Fine.

This is about more than him. This is about honoring the fallen, their sacrifices a flickering torch he holds aloft in this suffocating world. They died believing in a dream, a dream he refuses to let die with them. So he will clench my teeth, swallow his disgust, and play this hand they have dealt him.

[georgiapeach30513]

Closer to Heaven and Closer to You, Part 11

Summary:  Now presenting, Mr. And Mrs. Ransom Drysdale

Pairings:  Ransom Drysdale X Reader

Rating:  explicit

Warnings:  explicit sexual content, explicit language, unprotected sex, creampie, Frank Adler, 18+ ONLY

Word Count:  6.5K

Previous

Series Masterlist

*dividers created by @firefly-graphics​

“Okay, and when is the bed coming in?” You turn around to Ransom holding onto the corgi puppy, giving her a little kiss to her snout.  “Ransom, did you hear anything I said, handsome?”

“I did.  The bed will be her in two days.  The wedding is in five days.  Grandpa’s stuff has been delivered, and we've got someone that is going to help put this room in order because I do not want you to be lifting anything.  Gucci is going to the trainers starting tomorrow, and Bucky promised that he would continue to take her to school while we are away.  Just me, my wife, and our little bean in your belly.  Buns, you have got everything in order.  Please, just breathe.  It is quite alright.  Your dress is at your parents.”

“And our home…Ran, this is our home.  And this is our first baby, and we’ve got one in here,” grabbing at his hand you place it on your belly, thinking about how far the two of you had come.  You could never imagine this Ransom that was in front of you.  Primed and ready to become a home owner, father, and dog father of course.

The first moment you met him wasn’t the most spectacular of meetings.  He was pompous and arrogant.  But you learned quickly that Ransom was needing the same thing you were; to love and be loved.  He had far surpassed your expectations for him or even your thoughts on a future husband.  He was the most patient man you had ever met (with you).  But the most important thing was he wanted to share a life with you.

Ransom was willing to make these huge changes in his life for you.  And shockingly he was adjusting to this life easily.  And Ransom now had a friend in Bucky.  Had schemed this whole house and proposal with Bucky.  And your old rodeo friend was letting Ransom help pick out the livestock.  Even if he did laugh at your Gucci girl, despite you telling him she was a herding dog.  

“Ran,” you smile at the most handsome and amazing man you have ever met in your life.  “You did this.  Thank you.”

“No, no.  We did this.  I’ve never wanted a home of my own.  Yes, I had my place, but it was a house.  This is our home.  Our little Gucci girl is going to chase this little nugget around, and…”

“Ransom.”

“Hmm?”

“I want to name him or her after you.  I love your name and how it’s a homage to Harlan.  I want our nugget, be she or he, to be named after Ransom Drysdale.”

“Well, for the nugget’s sake, I hope that it’s a boy.  Could you imagine a girl with that as her middle name?” Starting to giggle you nod your head.  Smiling so big as you look at him.  “You would prefer a girl, and her middle name be Ransom, huh?”

“Yes!  It’s the cutest little thing.  I just imagine this little angel baby with her herd of corgis following her around.  She thinks that it’s her job to keep up with them, when in fact they’re making sure that she stays safe.  And she’s got the prettiest dainty first name, but her middle name is so strong like her daddy’s.  And she will be our baby Ransom.”

“It is kinda cute to think of this sweet baby girl that hopefully looks and acts like you with the name Ransom.  C’mere,” his free hand pulls you into him and Gucci, and she gives her sweet little barks that weren’t so sweet in the mornings.  “Now that you’ve convinced me, if we have a boy, his middle name can’t be Ransom.”

“Are you two always hugged up against each other?” Looking behind you, Bucky leans up against the doorframe, whistling as he sees the master suite.  “I don’t know if this room is big enough.  So the cattle will be here a few weeks after you guys get back, so there’s not much more to do for me, but to look after the baked potato.  Ran, you don’t have to carry that thing around everywhere.  Put her down.  Gucci, you think you’re going to be able to handle watching after a Drysdale?”

She barks her tiny bark, waddling over to Bucky who squats down with her, noting how she really was a cute dog.  Petting on her fluffy fur.  “Steve said to tell you thanks for the invite.”

“I’ve never hated Steve.  Never even hated Frank,” Bucky gives you a grimace, but it was true.  There were times you were so angry at Frank, none more angrier than the other day when you confronted him about trying to break you and Ransom up.  Frank was your first love.  And it taught you everything you didn’t want, but more importantly, to trust your instinct.  

You knew you had waited for far too long to leave Frank.  Had made up way too many excuses for him.  You were miserable.  You allowed yourself to settle, and become a person you couldn’t even recognize anymore.  But getting away, living alone, learning who you were, and time helped you find a better you.  And somewhere in the midst of it all you found your best friend.

A painfully slow relationship, until things progressed.  Nights where you would stay up and talk until you fell asleep to those first sweet kisses.  Kisses that lingered on the lips a bit more.  Kisses that had him pulling you into his lap, straddling him, while his hands held you so softly.  Too timid to touch you more.

That is until you were the one pulling off your shirt.  Bringing yourself closer to him.  Hands running over the skin on his neck.  You both were touch starved, and overwhelmed by the feeling.  But still needing to make the sweet parts of the relationship last.  You didn’t want to rush into the sex.  It’s what you always had done, and nothing ever lasted.  

Until Ransom.  Until your future husband, and father of at least one child.  “Bucky, what do you think we’re having?”

“Oh, no, I don’t do that.  My mom can do the old wives’ tale things with you, but I don’t get into that.  A healthy baby.  That’s what I want.  I’ll need help on the farm.  Don’t think daddy-o here is going to be much help.  So looks like I’ve got to train Gucci and RJ up right.”

“RJ?” Ransom’s eyebrow cocks up as he stares Bucky up and down.

“Oh, come on.  Bunny will get her way, and she’s going to have her Ransom Junior.  RJ.  And like I said, I’m going to have to train them, and the fur ball up.”

“Fur balls.  There will be more corgis.  I want at least three, preferably four.  Miss Gucci is just going to be the ringleader.  We also got to get Chanel, Dior, and Dolce,” Bucky sighs, turning to leave the two of you.  “You don’t have to wear a suit, Buck!”

“I want to!  I haven’t got to wear one in a long time.”

“I helped him pick one out,” Ransom whispers, and you giggle imagining the two of them combing through suits to find the perfect one for you.  They were the sweetest things.  You hope that he could maybe eventually be cordial with Frank.  Maybe.  Hopefully.

“Baby, just breathe,” your mom says calmly behind you.  Clasping your grandmother’s necklace around your neck.  Your eyes flutter close as you touch on your something borrowed, somehow the vintage necklace matching perfectly with your engagement ring.  “Are you getting cold feet?”

“Never,” the tears already start to well up in your eyes.  Taking a deep inhale, you slowly let out your breath.  Your hands move to your stomach, already feeling the nugget’s first flutters.  Ransom was always touching your stomach, hoping to find his own little piece of their movements.  

“I’m just ready to be Mrs. Drysdale,” you finally open your eyes looking at your mom’s reflection.  “You always told me to find someone who was crazy.  Crazy in love with me.  I found him.  Well, we found each other.  And we’ve got us this little…baby.”

“Just tell us what you’re having!” Noelle, the oldest sister screams playfully.  Slapping at her leg, it was killing her the most.  “I gotta get a jump on buying things for the nuggie.  I already know that between Ransom, Harlan, Bucky, and daddy I won’t get to.”

“You’ll get to.  I promise.  They’ve all been put on a budget.”

“He or she will be the first on both sides, and you’ve got a bigger closet than I have a bedroom for that baby, and you think that you’re putting a budget on anyone?  How’s the in-laws doing?  The snippy one that always has a cigarette was telling Bucky what to do,” you turn to look at Jacey, the baby, mortified.  “Ransom told Bucky the only one he had to listen to was you, him, and Gucci.  Your husband took care of it.”

“Does Ransom happen to have a brother?” You shake your head no to Claire.  There was only one Ransom.  It’s all the world could handle.  And he was made perfectly for you.  “Dammit.  Does he have any cute cousins or anything?  What about Bucky?”

“No!” Claire holds up her hands in surrender, laughing, and starting to question your feelings towards Bucky.  “Bucky is a precious angel.  You can only talk to him if you’re completely serious, and you’re not.  If you want a fun time, Steve will be a blast.  Bucky is off limits.  He is a serial monogamous, and he doesn’t do one night stands.  Do not put him in the position to feel uncomfortable at my wedding, okay?”

“Wow.  Call me out in front of mom why don’t you,” Claire rolls her eyes.  Crossing her arms, she leans back on the couch.  Her fingers lightly tap on her arms while she glares at you.

“Yeah, well, she didn’t tell me anything I didn’t know.  Besides, Steve is quite adorable if you ask me,” Claire’s mouth falls open as your mom shrugs.  “Honey, it’s a small town.  People talk.  It’s okay.  I’m not judging you for your lack of wanting to settle down.  Sow those oats.”

“Not all of us can marry a rich man.”

“Not all of us marry for money either.  His money and looks are an added bonus,” biting at your lip, you take another look in the mirror at yourself.  You didn’t even recognize the woman that was staring at you.  Turning to the side, you look at your stomach, kinda sad you weren’t really showing yet.  “I want h…ahh, I about said what we were having.  I want this baby to pop out.  I want Ransom to feel the kicks.”

“And I for one am glad that you haven’t.  No one had time to alter this dress or your after the wedding dress.  As pretty as your wedding dress is, why would you want to take it off?”

You and your sisters all look at each other with the biggest smiles, giggling before answering, “It’s a party!”

“Would you calm down?” Bucky dusts Ransom’s shoulders off, laughing as his new found friend was bouncing around again.  Taking a quick sip from his highball glass.  “She’s still here, and agreed to marry you for some reason.”

“The reason is he stays, and doesn’t run off to ride bulls.  Instead he stays behind and rides her,” Bucky turns to look at Steve with his mouth hanging open, and Steve shrugs his shoulders.  “Oh, come on.  Those two are perfect for each other.  His lack of running away and being able to deal with his shit helps.”

“We don’t…we don’t have shit.  The biggest obstacles are my family, and we moved far…far far away from them,” Ransom exhales sharply as he runs his hands through his hair again.  “Why are you here now?”

“Uhh…you see, I have this friend.  Um, we’re going to call him Stank.  And Stank, he has this thing where he likes to go to a bar on a Saturday, and Stank may drink his loneliness away.  And on this particular Saturday, because we know that the paper had this huge picture of this man in front of us and his bride to be, Stank started calling me early.  Stank was wanting to do something, and Steve didn’t answer.”

Bucky and Ransom stare at Steve without blinking.  More because of the information he divulged, but Steve has never been the man that could read people well.  “In my story Stank is in fact Frank.”

“Yeah, I got that.  I’m not going to feel guilty for marrying Stank’s ex.  I want to thank him.  He led her straight to me, and to our future, and made her guarded.  Her inability to have something with me quickly helped us.  We learned from each other.  Took our time, and now we’re ending it with this grand gesture of our love.  Our little…well…uh…they’re going to be the most spoiled little — thing ever.  And I appreciate the offer to help Bucky on the ranch.  By all means, finish out your season.  And even if you want to go and rodeo, that's fine.  However, if we’re going to continue to be whatever this is, you don’t have to talk in code about Frank.  I’m sure the man has good qualities, or Bunny wouldn’t have stayed with him.  They had something real.  And then they drifted apart, and that is life.  But I’m growing with her, and we’re growing our family.  Let’s refer to him as Frank from now on.”

“Why won’t you tell us what’s in her belly?”

Ransom shrugs, straightening up his tie.  “Buns didn’t want what we were having to overshadow the wedding.  The baby will be the first on both sides of our family, and we’re excited.  So far Nuggie is healthy, and their middle name is going to be Ransom, so…I want to throw up.”

Steve looks between Ransom and Bucky with a smirk.  Ransom was getting everything that Bucky had ever wanted.  A family of his own.  The ranch part he was basically getting.  Land upon land.  Ransom and Bunny even had it in Bucky’s contract that after five years the house and a few acres were his.  Now he needed a woman.  Steve could already see Bucky devoting all his time to you and Ransom.  Holed out in the middle of nowhere.  And forgetting to live his life.

“You getting cold feet there, pal?”

Ransom shakes his head as he turns toward Steve, “Never.  I’m just ready for us to be married.”

Your dad turns to look at you, but you can’t look away from Ransom.  He was beaming at the front of the aisle.  You had locked eyes with your future husband, and couldn’t look away, “Daddy, he looks so handsome.  Move your feet, I’ve waited long enough.”

“No,” you tear your eyes away from Ransom to look at your dad who was tearing up.  His hand pulsing on your arm.  Eyes rimmed in red, and he aggressively wipes away his tears.  

“Daddy.”

“Don’t you daddy me.  You’re the second daughter I’ve given away, and this isn’t any easier.  But honey, he’s the one,” it isn’t that you didn’t know that.  You are fully aware that the man you were waiting to walk to was every bit of your dream.  “He’s so good to you, to your sisters, to your mom, and me, and even Bucky.  He’s going to be the best daddy to your little boy that you’re going to name Ronnie Ransom Drysdale.  Just promise me something.  Two things actually.”

“What is it?  And I didn’t confirm or deny if we’re having a boy.”

“No, just…maybe baby number two you could name Sinclair?  Or a middle name.  I’ve got nothing but girls, and your sister just wants one kid, and she’s got their names picked out like a crazy person.  Your other sisters aren’t old enough or in stable relationships, and…”

“Daddy, I promise, if we have a little girl, we’ll put Sinclair as her middle name.”

“Did you just confirm you’re having a boy?” You shake your head no.  You would not be discussing what baby Drysdale was today and especially not while Ransom was waiting on you.  “I just want to know if I need to buy my grandson his first saddle or my granddaughter her first saddle.  I need to know.”

“And I need to marry that man up there.  When we get back I promise we’ll tell you what your grand baby is, but if I don’t marry that man right now,” his feet are already propelling the two of you forward and you’re back to looking at Ransom.  “Daddy, I can’t see.”

“It’s your tears.  You’ll be fine.  You’re going to have to start relying on Ransom for this silly little stuff now.  Just don’t forget about your old man.  You haven’t needed me in such a long time.  And with that man, you won’t anymore.”

“I’ll always need you.  He doesn’t know how to change a flat tire.”

“But you do.  This is as it should be.  That man is going to love you, take care of you and your baby, and his grandfather, and I’m just going to be your father.”

“The father I want at our house when we have our little nuggie.  They’ll need you daddy. ��Ransom will, too.  He’s never had a father.  He had a grandfather.  But he’ll need you,” he stops you right in front of Ransom, and the sound that releases from your mouth is pure joy.  “But I need him.”

“Yeah, yeah.  Here’s my daughter.  Take her away, but thank you for not taking her too far.  And for making her dreams…all her dreams come true,” with a lingering kiss to your cheek, he steps back to sit with your mom, and you just want to hold Ransom.  He hated this.  Hated being up in front of his family making him vulnerable.  If you could wrap a shield around the two of you, it’s exactly what you would do.

“Our vows are just for us, Ran.  I’ll hear them later, babe,” giving him a wink, you reach towards his hand, holding it so tightly in yours while the officiant goes through the most simple and sweet ceremony.  Anything to keep him comfortable.  This was the compromise.  Vows that only you and Ransom would hear.

If Ransom isn’t the biggest softie, squeezing your hand gently, while pulling you closer to him.  “Is it time?” He whispers with every pause, ready to just kiss you and move on to the party.  Repeating his lines, and sliding the ring over your finger.

“Son?” Ransom looks towards the officiant with the biggest smile, “It’s time.  You may now kiss your bride.  Ladies and gentlemen, Mr. And Mrs. Ransom Drysdale!”

Ransom’s hand wraps around your waist, pulling you tightly up against his hard chest, while you cup his cheek.  Kissing him so tenderly, and reveling in the minty taste of his mouth.  It was official.  He was your husband.  The hand on your waist slides over in front, rubbing over your nugget’s tiny little home, and he is unbelieving that this life was his.  That he and you were on your way to becoming parents.

“Oh my god, stop kissing,” your dad grunts.  You are never going to quit kissing him.  Everyday of your life you want to kiss him.  Want to love him.  Whistles and cheers from everyone else erupts through the guests, but you pull apart smiling up at your best friend.  

“I love you, Mr. Drysdale.”

“And I love you Mrs. Drysdale.”

“You know there’s an open bar in the barn,” Harlan looks up at the man who had been lingering outside of the barn the entire time.  Never going in.  Never saying anything.  Just standing there.  His eyes transfixed only on you.  An expression that was both relieved, and yet sad.  “I take it, you know her?”

He nods his head, watching as you peacefully smile up at Ransom, and Ransom’s hand is never far from your belly.  Randomly would change the location to rub a thumb over your ring before leaning down to kiss you.  “I’m going to have a seat.  Care to join?  I don’t bite.  Normally I conduct these conversations over a round of Go.  It is frustratingly packed up in a box, and I can’t get to it.  I’m sure you would think it rather odd to have a huge Go board outside of a wedding though.”

“You don’t even know me,” he says, his eyes leaving your beautiful face to look at Harlan as he sits down slowly.  Reaching over to pat the bench that Harlan had insisted be put out here for when he needed an extra moment to breathe.  

“Do I not?  You're fondly staring at either my grandson or his wife.  Seeing how Ransom is new in town, it doesn’t take a genius to know that you’re Bunny’s cowboy,” Frank glares over at Harlan, who taps the bench again.  “Come on.”

“You should hate me.”

“Why?  Tonight is a night of love.  I know you see her.  Have you happened to look at my grandson?  Or are you too busy watching her?  Look at how he can’t remove his eyes off her.  Sweet love.”

“She looks so beautiful.”

“People often do when they’re in love.  There’s a glow to their cheeks.  A twinkle in their eyes.  And the best part is they can’t stop smiling.  A smile that spreads over their entire face.  A smile you can see is in their blood.  They’re so light and airy.  Two people that can’t quit touching each other, smiling at one another, and just being them.  She’ll soon bring a baby into our lives, and it’s just as it should be.”

You look over to the exit, worrying about Harlan when you spot Frank.  Giving him a strained wave, and you pull Ransom more into you.  You didn’t hate him.  You hated what he tried to do.  Hated that he thought your happiness was worth the risk when he made baseless claims about you and him hooking up.  

Frank gives you a nod before turning to sit on the bench with Harlan.  His hands running up and down his thighs, “I love her.”

“Loved.  It’s past tense.”

“No, I was going to marry her.”

“Did she ever smile at you like that?” Lifting his head up, he looks over to the ridiculously large house of yours and Ransom’s, beyond annoyed that you were living this fantasy life that he could have never provided for you.  “If you love her, you’ll let her go.  And that’s advice for you.  She’s happy, Franklin.  She’s married, and carrying my great grandchild in her belly.”

“She always wanted to be a mom.  I just thought I was going to be the one that gave that to her,” Frank sighs, turning to look back towards the opening of the barn.  Laughter and music spills out, and he looks towards yours and Ransom’s house high up on the mountain.  The moon casts the most beautiful silver glow on the home.  Reflecting everything into the pool.  “I couldn’t have ever given her this though.”

“Did she ever ask you to?” Frank cuts his eyes over to Harlan who pulls out butterscotch hard candies, handing one to Frank.  “She didn’t ask Ransom for that.  He talked to her sisters.  Used her Pinterest.  Listened to her stories.  That mountain was her dream.  Frank, if you ever loved her, you will let her go.  Those two deserve each other, and they’re beyond happy.  Look at them.  You have all night.  I’ve seen you lurking.  Let her go.  Neither one hates you.  But don’t come in between my grandson and Bunny again.  They need each other.  Have a nice night.”

Standing up, Harlan walks back into the barn, bowing his head to you on the way in.  You look up at Ransom with a bit of a pained smile.  Rubbing your hand up and down his arm as you look at him.  “Go talk to him.  Tell him to come in and get some food and cake.”

“Ran, you know it’s you I love.”

“I also know there’s unfinished business.  You took my last name, and this,” pressing his hand over your stomach, his fingers splay out, and he pulses them on your belly, “This little angel nugget is mine.  Ours.  Buns, babe, you need this, too,” he leans down, giving you the softest and sweetest kiss on your cheek before acknowledging Frank at the edge of the barn.

Some days you didn’t know if you deserved Ransom or his kindness.  Didn’t know how he grew up to be the most kind and trusting people.  To you.  Love was the only word you could think of to describe it.  He loved you enough to trust you with Frank.  Even if neither of you fully trusted him.

“You look good, kid,” Frank croaks out when you hold your hands out for a hug.  “Care to share a dance with me?” You allow him to lead you onto the dance floor, grabbing his hands to get into position as you sway around.  “There’s really a baby in there?”

“Yeah, little nugget.  Ransom and I have been planning the nursery.  I’m going to paint a mural.  Bucky keeps calling the baby a chicken butt.  Not to me, but to Ransom.”

“I’m sorry.  You were right.  You gave me every sign of how unhappy you were.  And I…you’re where you belong.  I just can’t help but think that I lost everything that I ever wanted today.  He gets it all; the house, the baby, and the wedding.  Do you ever regret our relationship?” Shaking your head no, you take a peek over towards your handsome husband who was talking to your sisters.  Using big hands, and grand facial expressions.

“Why not?”

“I believe everything happens for a reason.  I learned what I didn’t want.  But more importantly,  it gave me the push that I needed to get out of here.  Took my ass to Boston, and came back with my best friend.  I should thank you.  You were the first hurdle to reach Ransom.”

“So, it’s all my fault that you met that pretty boy?  Ugh, I guess that means you should tell me thank you.  Without me, you wouldn’t have this life.  You know, my life isn’t terrible either.  Got my National championship belt again.”

“Thank you.  Thank you for our happy times, but thank you for leading me to my future.  Frank, I want you to have everything you could ever dream of.  You.  Your dreams.  Our dreams didn’t align together.  We were just meant to be for that amount of time.  But I know, you’re going to find someone, and your lives will fit perfectly together.  You deserve that.  Thank you.”

“Thank you, Bunny.  Now, go on.  Start your life with Mr. Perfect over there.  Enjoy having him in your life, and the baby’s.  Thanks for stealing my best friends.  You better watch Steve.  He looks like he’s talking Claire up.  You know how he is.”

“I know.  Claire’s a big girl.  I’ll see you around, Frank.  Take care of yourself.  I won’t be there to mend you back up,” Frank takes a deep breath, before leaning in to kiss you on the cheek.  Giving a quick tap to your belly before walking out into the night.  Leaving you to watch him, wishing you knew everything that Frank was thinking.  He was loved.  And you hoped that one day he would find love.  But until then, you just wanted Ransom.

The man of your dreams.  All you had ever wanted, and then some.  Turning back to see him completely stop the conversation with your sisters when he sees you alone.  A bright smile on his face when steps away from them.  A direct walk right over to you looking every bit the dream you had always dreamed.  The man you had wished for so many times, just up on that mountain.  His cheeks are brighter than you had ever seen them.  

“Mrs. Drysdale, are you ready to spend our first night at home?”

“Yes, Mr. Drysdale.  Wait, who has Gucci tonight?”

“Your parents.  Harlan is staying with them along with most of your sisters.  I think.  Claire may be going home with Steve.  And I really don’t care about any of them.  Our sweet girl is taken care of, and now I’d like to take care of my wife.”

“Okay, Ransom.  Let’s drive the Beemer up to our home.  Make love until the sun comes up,” There was no need for an official departure Noelle and her husband notice you and Ransom walking hand in hand as you head up to your home.  You can’t even stop looking at him.  Your long journey was worth all the wait.

Opening up your door, Ransom helps you get in.  The party dress is much more manageable than your wedding dress.  Jumping into the car, his fingers weave into yours, and he pulls your hand up to his mouth as he kisses along your knuckles.  Holding your hand to his mouth the entire time you drive up to the house, giving you the sweetest kisses over your knuckles.  Running over to your side as he helps you out.  

Your home.  It was finished.  And you and Ransom wanted the first time having sex as husband and wife to be in your home.  Leading you into the house, he turns around, and starts softly kissing along the column of your neck.  Walking backwards as he pulls you to the master suite.  

“Ran,” you breathlessly say as he pulls you further into the home.  “Ran, baby,” his hands slide around your waist as he drags you into the bedroom.  Drifting up to the top, connecting to your zipper, “Ransom Drysdale.  We have got to say our vows.  I promised they would only be for you.  But.”

He whispers out your name.  Licking his lips as if the sound of your name was the most decadent dessert he had ever tasted, “Bunny, I love you,” he pants out, kissing on your lips again.  “I love you in a way that I have never loved before.  I love our life.  And our life that we made.  I never saw myself as a father, even though I wanted kids.  The thought of spending my life with someone I couldn’t stand was always in the back of  my mind.  And now we’re here, and she’s there, and we’re doing this.  And Bunny, it’s all because of you.  You made me believe in myself, and in us.  And now…look at us.”

His hand finds his resting place on your stomach, and that bottom lip juts out a bit, “This is ours, and we made this happen in pure love.  You’ll never know how much that this means to me, because you didn’t have to do this for us.  I love you.”

“Ran, you’re making me cry, and I just can’t see properly,” raising up on your tiptoes you give him a chaste kiss.  Lowering yourself slowly, you give him the most beaming smile.  Holding both your hands as you lick the saline off your lips.  

“I’m so proud of you, and of us, and of this life we’re making.  On our terms because this is what we want.  Not because we feel obligated.  We created this path and journey, and I can never tell you how proud I am enough.  I can never tell you just how much I love you.  You never believe me, but I will make sure that my life’s journey is proving to you how worthy you are of love.  Of my love, and just how much I want you every day.  You were worth every heartache that I had to have to get to this.  You are worth every frog that I ever kissed.  And you are worth every wish that I ever made in this exact spot.  I swear you made them build our bedroom over the place that me and my sisters would lay at.”

“In all those wishes I wanted a man like you.  Loyal, kind, smart, protective, loving, creative, handsome, tall, blue eyes, good teeth, loves my family, a good father, my best friend, smelled good, and so much more.  It’s like you were handpicked and made just for me.  Here’s to the start of forever.”

The thought of not touching him skin on skin is too unbearable, and you run your hand up his chest, around his neck, and pull him down for a lingering and desperate kiss.  Cupping his cheeks as he slowly starts undoing the zipper of your dress.  His hand drifts down your spine, making you feel all tingly as slick pools at your core.  

Your hands go to his shoulders as you push off his jacket.  Your trembling fingers move to his buttons as he dips his hand under your dress to grip at your ass cheeks.  Getting his buttons done completely before the two of you are left to remove the undone articles of clothing.  Stepping out of the dress, you press your body up against his.  Heated and aching for each other.  

Clamoring at his belt and pants, and when the heavy material drops down, he removes your bra, and wraps his arm around your body, taking the two of you down to the bed.  Hovering over you while a hand drifts under the elastic of your barely there panties, “The best part about your pregnancy is you're always horny and wet,” he moans, pumping two fingers into your quivering cunt.

“Shh,” you pant out pulling him back down for a bruising kiss.  Biting at his lip gently as he pushes off the back of his shoes with his feet.  Pulling down his boxer briefs, and moaning into his mouth when his cock springs free.  Thick and heavy, leaking precum on your thigh.

He gives your panties a little tug before he’s lifting off you completely and goes down to his knees.  “I want you and I naked all night long.  These shoes included,” lithe fingers move over your sticky skin as he pulls off your shoes, taking a moment to remove his own socks.  A trail of sweet kisses paint up your legs before yanking apart your thighs.  

Sighing when he sees your glistening honey leak from your panties, and coat your thighs.  “Don’t rip them,” you choke out, and Ransom changes his motions to drift them off your body.  Standing up straight, and you look up at your husband.  Statuesque.  Your eyes looking all down his front.  Tracing an outline of every hill and body that creates his hard torso.  Right down to his quaking cock.  In need of something warm and tight.

His fist goes around his cock, giving the member a few pumps as your own hand plays with your clit.  “Ransom Drysdale you better get over me in this bed, and fuck your wife.”

“I was being sweet and looking at that little pooch of your belly,” stopping your motions you spread your velvety lips apart, letting him see just how wet you are.  Letting him see your fingers dip into your tight channel.  He needs to hear how wet you are.  “That’ll do it,” he mumbles, placing a knee on the bed and it sinks down with his weight.

You keep your legs spread wide to accommodate his thick frame, but his teasing continues.  He runs his tip up and down through your slick.  Coating his bulbous mushroom with your juices, leaving you whimpering out his name like an innocent girl having sex for the first time.  

Staring only into his eyes when he slowly starts to push through your walls.  Gaping you open as he slowly slides into your warmth.  Becoming one like you have done so many times before, but this feels brand new.  His body sinks lower the deeper he goes.  Not stopping until he is balls deep, and he settles his weight on his forearms.

“I’m not hurting you?”

“No, Ran.  Or the baby.  Just…oh my god,” you sigh as his hips rare back, and he fucks back into you hard.  “Yeah, I like when you have me pinned down like this.”

“We better enjoy it while we can.”

“Stop talking about the baby as you fuck me.  Not this time.  Just…yes.  Yeah, Ran just like that,” he lets his hips rail into you as he kisses up your neck.  Giving your jaw nips as he makes his way to your mouth.  Kissing over your kiss swollen lips and swallowing every sweet sound you make as he ruts into you.

Wrapping your legs around him, you pull him completely into you.  You want to feel his entire weight on you.  Every part of him is yours, and you own every inch of him.  Sobbing into his mouth as the pleasure rushes towards your nether regions.  He felt so fucking good.  Pushing into you with this fervent need.  You had the rest of your lives.  Right now is complete desperation.  

A buildup of being away from each other the night before and that morning.  So in love and close enough to touch.  Looking like a fairytale dream, but now you could touch him the way you had been craving.  Could have him closer to you than any man has ever been in your life, because you let him fully into your heart.  Completely into your soul.  And he listened to every word.  Protected you with every breath that he took, every beat of his heart.  He is your everything, and he made sure to tell you daily that you were his.

Ransom snakes his hands down to yours, lacing his fingers with yours before he slams them above your head.  Leaving you breathless as the only man you had ever truly loved takes control of your body.  Grunting into your mouth with each thrust.  The rumble from his chest going straight to your stretched out core.  

A puddle in every sense of the word.  You, yourself, were a puddle for Hugh Ransom Drysdale, and judging by the echoing squelching sounds in the room, your juices had created a puddle underneath you.  A pure love with the most filthy outcome.  

“Ran!” You moan into his mouth.  Your fingers dig into his as your walls flutter around him.  Gulping when your whole body lights on fire.  “Ransom!”

“I know,” his voice nearly growls, but he doesn’t change his pace.  Doesn’t stop even though his balls tighten up.  Saying your name like a prayer when he grabs your hand tighter.  

“Ransom, baby…oh god!  I’m coming!  I’m coming!”

Screeching out in your release when your walls clench down around him.  Holding him tightly.  Milking him until his warm seed plants deep inside of you, and the both of you moan into the other.  He drops your hands, and rolls the two of you over.  Pulling you on top of him, but never leaving your warmth.  Your fingers explore each other’s skin like the most delicate scientist.  Holding him like the precious human that he was.  

“Buns…”

“I know, Ran.  This is our every day.  Every day in this house.  Every day with you.”

Next

Masterlist

Taglist: @tis-thedamn-season​ @marveloustaylortot​ @pono-pura-vida​ @sstan-hoe​ @missusbarnes-rogers​ @peaches1958​ @seitmai​ @smile1318​ @andydrysdalerogers​ @cjand10​ @patzammit​ @lavender-annd-lilac​ @midnightramyeoncravings​ @slowdownbeforeyouregretit​ @elrw24​

[thatswhywelovegermany]

Fußball

Der Fußballwahn ist eine Krank- heit, aber selten, Gott sei Dank! Ich kenne wen, der litt akut an Fußballwahn und Fußballwut. Sowie er einen Gegenstand in Kugelform und ähnlich fand, so trat er zu und stieß mit Kraft ihn in die bunte Nachbarschaft. Ob es ein Schwalbennest, ein Tiegel, ein Käse, Globus oder Igel, ein Krug, ein Schmuckwerk am Altar, ein Kegelball, ein Kissen war, und wem der Gegenstand gehörte, das war etwas, was ihn nicht störte. Bald trieb er eine Schweineblase, bald steife Hüte durch die Straße. Dann wieder mit geübtem Schwung stieß er den Fuß in Pferdedung. Mit Schwamm und Seife trieb er Sport. Die Lampenkuppel brach sofort. Das Nachtgeschirr flog zielbewusst der Tante Berta an die Brust. Kein Abwehrmittel wollte nützen, nicht Stacheldraht in Stiefelspitzen, noch Puffer, außen angebracht. Er siegte immer, 0 zu 8, und übte weiter frisch, fromm, frei mit Totenkopf und Straußenei. Erschreckt durch seine wilden Stöße, gab man ihm nie Kartoffelklöße. Selbst vor dem Podex und den Brüsten der Frau ergriff ihn ein Gelüsten, was er jedoch als Mann von Stand aus Höflichkeit meist überwand. Dagegen gab ein Schwartenmagen dem Fleischer Anlass zum Verklagen. Was beim Gemüsemarkt geschah, kommt einer Schlacht bei Leipzig nah. Da schwirrten Äpfel, Apfelsinen durch Publikum wie wilde Bienen. Da sah man Blutorangen, Zwetschen an blassen Wangen sich zerquetschen. Das Eigelb überzog die Leiber, ein Fischkorb platzte zwischen Weiber. Kartoffeln spritzten und Zitronen. Man duckte sich vor den Melonen. Dem Krautkopf folgten Kürbisschüsse. Dann donnerten die Kokosnüsse. Genug! Als alles dies getan, griff unser Held zum Größenwahn. Schon schäkernd mit der U-Boots-Mine, besann er sich auf die Lawine. Doch als pompöser Fußballstößer Fand er die Erde noch viel größer. Er rang mit mancherlei Problemen. Zunächst: Wie soll man Anlauf nehmen? Dann schiffte er von dem Balkon sich ein in einen Luftballon. Und blieb von da an in der Luft, verschollen. Hat sich selbst verpufft. - Ich warne euch, ihr Brüder Jahns, vor dem Gebrauch des Fußballwahns!

Joachim Ringelnatz

Football (Soccer)

Football (soccer) mania is a disease but a rare one, thank God! I know someone who suffered acutely from football mania and football rage. As soon as he found an object in the shape of a ball and similar, he kicked at it and hurled it with force into the colorful neighborhood. Whether it was a swallow's nest, a jar, a cheese, globe or hedgehog, a jug, a piece of jewelry on the altar, a bowling ball, a cushion, and who the object belonged to, that was something that didn't bother him. Soon he was driving a pig's bladder, soon stiff hats through the street. Then again with practiced momentum he pushed his foot into horse manure. He played sport with sponge and soap. The lamp dome broke immediately. The night harness flew purposefully to Aunt Berta's chest. No means of defense would help, not barbed wire in boot tops, nor buffers attached to the outside. He always won, 0 to 8, and continued to practice fresh, pious, free With skull and ostrich egg. Frightened by his wild thrusts, he was never given potato dumplings. Even for the woman's buttocks and breasts he started to develop a certain temptation, which, however, as a man of class he overcame in most cases out of politeness. On the other hand, a rind stomach sausage gave the butcher cause for complaint. What happened at the vegetable market comes close to a battle near Leipzig. Apples and oranges buzzed through the crowd like wild bees. Blood oranges and plums were seen crushing against pale cheeks. Egg yolk covered the bodies, a basket of fish burst between market women. Potatoes and lemons splashed. People dodged melons. Cabbage heads were followed by pumpkin shots. Then coconuts thundered across the scene. Enough! When all this was done, our hero resorted to delusions of grandeur. Already flirting with the submarine mine, he remembered the avalanche. But as a pompous soccer kicker He found the earth even bigger. He wrestled with a number of problems. First of all: how to get a running start? Then he embarked from the balcony into a balloon. And remained in the air from then on, lost. He deflated himself, just went phut. - I warn you, brothers of Jahn, against the use of football mania!

Joachim Ringelnatz

[perciver4ever]

Shakey hands- Perciver

Abusive Molly and Arthur Weasley

Percy has always had shakey hands. Nobody knew why—well, some did. But no one cared enough to ask. Whenever somebody did, he just brushed it off with a lame excuse like "It's just cold". Penelope and Marcus had tried to ask, only to be met with the same results others did.

"Percy, why are your hands always shaking? "

Penelope had asked out of the blue, Percy, Marcus and Penelope were at the library. "A study group", Penelope called it. They were in their 6th year, Percy remembered vividly.

"It's, uh- cold. Yeah, cold. "

Percy muttered out, a sweat dripping down his forehead. Penelope's eyebrow arched in suspicion.

"You're sweating. "

Marcus pointed out, making Percy's lie difficult to believe. Percy's eyes widened slightly, trying to swallow the lump in his throat.

"Oh, would you look at the time? I have- a prefect meeting, yeah. Bye! "

Percy started packing up his belongings haphazardly, stuffing his books into his satchel messily.

"But prefect meetings aren't until Tuesd-"

Penelope tried to say, but she couldn't even finish her sentence before Percy was gone.

Percy was a fast walker, he always was. With his lanky frame and long legs, he could reach places quickly almost effortlessly. That's why the twins gave him the nickname "Perfectly punctual prefect Percy".

Percy walked through the halls, back to his dorm, the only place he felt safe. Percy had his head down the entire time, he pushed his horn rimmed glasses back up with his index and middle finger.

He twisted the golden doorknob and opened the door, stepping inside the room. He took off his shoes and placed it neatly against the wall near the door.

Unlike Percy, Oliver— Percy's dormmate, did things messily. Leaving his things everywhere. However, the two of them got along just fine.

Percy placed his satchel on his chair, the strap drooping down slightly. Percy casted a tempus charm, checking the time. It was the time for dinner. He dreaded that period of time, or any time in the Great Hall. It was always so noisy, too loud for Percy's liking. Nonetheless, Percy sighed and started putting his shoes on.

"So much for coming back here. "

He grumbled in annoyance, furrowing his eyebrows. He started speed walking towards the Great Hall, not having a care for anything in the world. When he arrived at the Great Hall, not much people were there yet, thankfully. He took a seat where he usually did, waiting patiently for the other students and staff to arrive.

When he was engrossed in his thoughts, a figure plopped down next to him.

"Heya Perce! "

A Scottish accent graced his ears, there was no doubt that it was Oliver. The corners of Percy's lips twitched up slightly, a genuine yet soft smile.

"Hello Ollie. "

Percy greeted, averting his gaze to the brunette. He picked up a small portion of mashed potatoes and peas while Oliver picked up large portions of food. They ate in a comfortable silence.

"You eat so little. "

Oliver pointed out, digging into his food. In contrast, Percy ate elegantly with small bites. Before Percy could mutter out an answer, he was interrupted by the twins.

"Wow Ollie, talking to our dearest pompous brother? We feel so bad! "

The twins taunted, a grin on their faces. Percy sighed in disappointment, continuing to eat his mashed potatoes. Oliver let out a yelp in surprise, not expecting the twins' presence behind him.

"Jesus fucking Christ- Ya fucking scared me! "

Oliver scolded, making the twins snicker.

"Having a romantic dinner, are we, Ollie? "

Fred joked, ruffling Oliver's hair, messing it up more than it already was.

"Oh, forgive us for intruding on such an important meal! "

George exclaimed mockingly, pretending to faint on Fred, who caught him while both of them laughed. Percy rolled his eyes, finishing his meal.

"Go off with Diggory and Jordan, you two! Go! Shoo! "

Oliver pushed the twins away forcefully, making Percy smile and chuckle softly.

"So anyway- Perce? Where'd you go-"

Oliver asked, confuses to the empty seat next time him. Percy had managed to slip away from the Great Hall, not that anybody would've noticed anyway, he thought. Walking through the quiet halls, Percy smiled to himself.

He enjoyed the quiet environment, ever since he was younger. He knew that reading a book in his room stood out more to him than playing quidditch with his brothers. He knew he enjoyed being alone in the library rather than chat with the Gryffindors in the common room. The fact was, he always stayed in his dorm or the library studying to prove his worth. To feel that he deserved a place at Hogwarts, to feel he was worthy of praise.

He made his way back to his dorm, sighing in relief. He took off his shoes, leaving then neatly against the wall, as he always did. Walking over to his desk, which was piled with copious amounts of parchments, books, ink boxes and quills.

He opened the top drawer, shakily picking up his bottle of pills. The fact is, his hands are always shaking because he has damaged nerves due to suffering the cruciatus curse too much. Too much to damage the nerves, yet not enough to go insane, like the Longbottoms.

His parents, they were beyond cruel. To him, at least, and his older siblings. Percy knew why the both of them rushed to move out of The Burrow. Percy also saw how badly his parents treated Ron, the neglect he received made Percy's heart ache. That was why he always paid more attention to the youngest male.

Percy had tried not taking the pills, but the pain he experienced was intolerable. His hands shook more, the pain reentered his body. The first, and last time he tried to not take his pills, he had collapsed in class due to the pain. When he awoke in the hospital wing, Madam Pomfrey looked at him with pity. However, he couldn't figure out if she felt sorry that no one had come to visit him or that she knew about the curses.

Percy shuddered at the memory, quickly pouring out two pills from the bottle, putting them in his mouth and swallowing them with a sip of water. He placed the bottle cap back on and closed it, sliding it back in the drawer. Sitting down on his chair, he picked up a quill and dipped it in some ink, starting on his potions essay.

His quill wrote with lightning speed, thoughts forming into words on the parchment. Time flew by, and when Percy was satisfied with his essay, Oliver was back into the dorm.

"Back from dinner? "

Percy asked, spinning his chair around to look at Oliver.

"No, quidditch practice. What time is it? "

Oliver answered the red head, slightly tilting his head to the side in curiosity. Percy had always noticed those traits, when Oliver tilted his head when he was curious, or when Oliver scrunched up his nose whenever he disapproved of something. The red head always admired those traits, he found them quite endearing.

"Oh, it's uhm-"

Percy casted a tempus charm without taking his wand out. He knew it fascinated Oliver, or maybe he was just too exhausted to pull his wand out.

"11:47 PM, you should go get some rest, Ollie."

Percy suggested, turning his chair back to the desk and opening an Ancient Runes book to study.

"What about you? Aren't you sleeping? "

Oliver asked, walking over to Percy. The red head shook his head, starting to review his notes and reciting certain answers in his book.

"Well- if you're not sleeping, then I'm not either. "

Oliver protested, sitting on the desk Percy was studying at. Percy grimaced.

"Get back down, Oliver. "

Percy said, anger slowly getting the better of him.

"No! Unless... "

Oliver backfired, stubbornly sitting on the desk.

"Unless what, Oliver?! "

Percy raised his voice slightly, putting the quill he was holding down.

"Unless, you tell me why your hands are always shaking and why you eat so little! "

Oliver also raised his voice, not moving from his spot on the desk. Percy froze, his eyes widening. His breath quickened, along with his heartbeat. The ringing in his ears getting louder by the minute.

"I- no, I told you, it's nothing! "

Percy tried to blink his tears away, tried to control the shaking of his hands, tried to silence the voice in his head. He tried, he tried, he tried. But it didn't work, it never did. Sometimes, he doesn't know why he still tries.

"Well it's clearly not nothing if it keeps going on!"

Oliver slammed his fist on the desk, staring at Percy. Anger and concern was clearly taking over all his other emotions.

"Oh yeah? You really want to know? IT'S BECAUSE MY FUCKING PARENTS CRUCIO ME EVERY TIME I MADE EVEN THE SLIGHTEST BIT OF A MISTAKE! IT'S BECAUSE MY PARENTS DON'T LET ME EAT MUCH AT THE BURROW, THAT'S WHY I NEVER HAVE AN APPETITE! THAT'S WHY I'M THE SKINNIEST! MY HANDS ALWAYS FUCKING SHAKE BECAUSE OF MY DAMAGED NERVES CAUSED BY THE CRUCIATUS CURSE! I ALWAYS TAKE THOSE PILLS TO CONTROL THE SHAKING AND THE PAIN! DO YOU KNOW WHY I COLLAPSED IN FOURTH YEAR? IT'S BECAUSE I SKIPPED MY PILLS FOR ONE MEAL! I COLLAPSED FROM PAIN! NOT THAT YOU WOULD KNOW BECAUSE YOU DIDN'T EVEN COME FUCKING VISIT ME IN THE HOSPITAL WING! DO YOU KNOW HOW IT FEELS, OLIVER? TO GET CRUCIO'D BY TWO PEOPLE CONSTITUENTLY? DO YOU KNOW HOW IT FEELS TO LACK NUTRIENTS FROM THE FUCKING DAY YOU WERE BORN? DO YOU? "

Percy let tears spill from his eyes, panting slightly from the rant he had just let out. He never should've bottled up his emotions, he knew they would explode one day. Percy felt horrible for letting out his anger out on Oliver. He had done nothing wrong, he was just concerned for Percy. The red head felt so horribly guilty, the pit in his stomach grew and his chest tightened.

Oliver stayed silent, looking at Percy. The red head couldn't really make out the expression on the brunette's face. It looked like pity, or, concern. Percy wiped his tears with his sleeve, sighing shakily.

"Perce... "

Oliver said, his voice coming out more raspy than anticipated. He cleared his throat and spoke again.

"I didn't know you went through all that, I'm sorry. "

Oliver got down from the table, walking over to Percy and pulled him into a warm embrace. That was all it took for Percy to start crying again. Percy wrapped his arms around Oliver, sobbing into his shoulders. Oliver rubbed circles on his back in attempt to comfort him.

"If you want, you can stay with me for the holidays? "

Oliver suggested, Percy looked up at him with puffy eyes, Oliver had sincerity in his brown doe eyes which never failed to make Percy fall in love even more.

"No, I can't. My parents- they'll kill me. Not figuratively. "

Percy said in between sobs, still not letting go of the brunette.

"I just want to make them proud, for once. Please Ollie, let me try. Please. "

Percy pleaded, tears staining his rosy cheeks, his freckles hidden by the redness of his face. Percy thought he looked pathetic, weak. He hated crying. He always did. It made him feel vulnerable, like the walls that kept him and his emotions away were broken, all his feelings spilling out like water from a broken dam. But oh, did Oliver make him feel like crying was right, like it was okay to cry.

"Okay, okay. But if they hurt you, I'm picking you up. "

Oliver said, smiling sincerely at Percy. The red head's heart melted at the smile, butterflies forming in his stomach.

"Okay."

Percy responded with a chuckle, making Oliver laugh a little too.

[thiccvida]

people who say stupid shit like "I'd go back in time and give ancient romans gunpowder" are idiots who lack vision, what you're supposed to do is give all the people surrounding the romans potatoes so that they can develop a population surplus quicker than the romans and crush the pompous fucks a good 5 centuries early

[creative-frequency]

Astarion x Reader: Contradictions and Other Counter-Measures Ch.4

Summary: Finally you get someone around the camp who can cook. It's a shame that he can't take special diets into account. Word count: 2087

Previous chapter

CHAPTER 4: Sunbathing

After pulling the mighty Gale of Waterdeep from his self-imposed predicament (and slapping the wizard’s dangling hand before helping him, much to Astarion’s delight), your party of now five members takes a moment to rest and prepare in camp.

Everyone was quick to forget their initial shock of a daywalking vampire spawn and you think Astarion seems to be in a better mood with the heavy secret off his chest. Unfortunately, better mood in his case seems to correlate to being a pompous, exuberant and decidedly flirtatious asshat.

At least Gale seems to be the perfect gentleman, much to Astarion’s chagrin. The wizard is also quick to make clear his love for cooking, essentially volunteering to become the group’s designated cook.

You get to know each other in the midst of preparing supplies for a late lunch with Gale and Shadowheart. Lae’zel is out hunting. Astarion hangs back, pretending to read one of his books but you just know his ears are perked up, waiting for the moment the conversation turns interesting.

“Gale, do you know how to make potato scones? We have some potatoes left in one of these bags,” you say and rummage through a box to find the said bag.

“Oh certainly!” Gale perks up with a smile. “It would be my pleasure to cook them for you the next time we camp, my lady.”

He bows. You giggle in a manner that your noble-born parents would be proud of. Astarion sneers from behind his book.

“It was about time to have someone eager to cook here,” Shadowheart quips, reminding you how none of you have had a proper meal since being taken by mind flayers. Or well, maybe Astarion has.

“Say no more, Shadowheart. I shall take care of all your culinary needs henceforth,” Gale boasts, “But first, I’m going to fetch one of my favourite recipe books. Ladies, just a moment, please.”

Gale runs back to his tent. You and Shadowheart glance at each other with faint, accepting smiles. The wizard is a welcome addition to your group and his arcane knowledge will surely come in handy in the adventures to come.

Unfortunately, not everyone is as delighted about your new companion.

“What a charming fellow that magician of yours is,” Astarion says dryly, as if he has not been waiting for the chance to say a couple of choice words about Gale.

“Yes, if by ‘charming’ you mean polite, funny and very much helpful,” you reply and motion towards the ingredients.

Astarion’s eyes narrow and he slams the book shut.

“Don’t be so crestfallen, Astarion. You got, well…” Shadowheart shrugs and counts her fingers. “I guess one out of three depending on the circumstances,” she says coolly.

“I would’ve used ‘over-enthusiastic’,” Astarion continues, unamused. He turns away to retire inside his tent with the book.

You heave a sigh and rub your temples. Apparently vampire spawns could die from being co-operative and kind.

“Everything alright?” Gale questions as he returns with the recipe book. It looks well-loved and surprisingly thick.

“Yes. What would you need today for cooking? I’ll pack the rest away and seal it so it doesn’t spoil.” You glance one last time at Astarion’s tent and decide that trying to force him to be included in camp activities isn’t worth it. At least not yet.

“An excellent idea. Let me see…” Gale muses and opens the book.

His claims of being a wizard in both the occupational sense and in the kitchen prove themselves true when you finally taste the stew he created from whatever you had laying around. It’s a miracle you even happened to have cooking utensils and a pot.

“Gale, this is the best meal I’ve had in this camp,” Shadowheart praises and promptly proceeds to devour the food, disregarding all lady-like manners.

“Even though the standards were exceedingly low,” Lae’zel reminds her. “Eat quickly, we will still need to move before nightfall.”

“Yes, yes…” you hum in reply and weep at not having time to enjoy the lunch properly.

“Astarion, please, help yourself,” Gale says and motions towards the almost empty cooking pot.

Astarion scoffs at the offer and his turned up nose scrunches. “No, thank you.”

Gale’s brows furrow, but Astarion is not done. You strive to chew the food faster in case an intervention or a polymorph is needed.

“Such culinary delights are not exactly for me,” Astarion continues in a derisive tone.

“You look like you could use a hearty meal, though,” the wizard points out with a shrug. He seems more confused rather than irked at Astarion’s unfriendliness.

“Might I say, when I choose to have a meal, rest assured – it won’t be of your making,” Astarion says.

Gale’s brows furrow. “And might I say you’re ill-mannered and rude for refusing even to give it a taste, but to each their own, I guess.”

Astarion sneers at Gale and just as the wizard notices the suspiciously protruding fangs, you intervene. You step up in between the men and shoot a decimating glare at Astarion.

“Apologies, Gale, we forgot to tell you about Astarion’s special diet: he is a vampire spawn,” you explain.

“You can’t just go around telling people that,” Astarion screeches and glares back at you.

Gale takes in the revelation without so much as a blink.

“Oh. In that case, Astarion, I’d like you to know that I taste extremely bad. Also apologies for what I said about your manners,” he says matter-of-factly.

“No, he did deserve it,” you add in a huff before Astarion can graciously forgive Gale.

“So the tadpole allows you to walk in the sun. How curious.” Gale taps his chin, examining Astarion.

“Apparently yes, now if you’ll excuse me, I shall go enjoy the day up the hill where it’s less crowded.” Astarion turns on his heels dramatically and stomps away.

“Dramatic as always,” Shadowheart mutters.

“Excuse me,” you say to Gale and Shadowheart, pick up one of the food baskets and hurry after the petulant vampire spawn.

Astarion plops down on the lush grass at the top of the hill. The sky is cloudless and the sun casts its warming rays on his pale skin. Looks like he is almost glowing as he takes in the sunshine. It must be unimaginable to be able to leave the shadows and bask in the daylight. He reminds you of the cat that used to enjoy resting on top of the warm baking oven back at home. Though the cat didn’t have the tendency to try and bite you.

The hill is steeper than it seemed, so Astarion can definitely hear you trudging after him, trying to catch a breath.

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have blurted your secret out like that.” Carefully, you sit down next to him. “But you could’ve been nicer to him.”

Astarion sighs and leans back on his hands, turning his face upwards to the sun. “No matter. At least Gale took it unexpectedly well.”

“Mm. Our next companion might not,” you continue.

Astarion glances at you.

“True. But we still have bigger issues,” he remarks.

Your tadpoles hum in recognition, but you’re quick to block out the connection. Since the initial meetings after the crash, you’ve done your best to stay out of your companions’ heads.

“What do you have there?” Astarion asks to change the subject, nodding towards the basket.

“Dessert. Sugar buns, bananas, pomegranate and sunmelon.” You glance at him, unsure. “I’m assuming you don’t want any?”

Astarion’s lips curl into that wicked half-smile and you brace yourself.

“Oh there is something far more tastier than bread and fruits.”

He takes your hand and brings it to his lips, slowly, with ample time and opportunities for you to draw back. His touch is cool; his body temperature is clearly lower than yours. You can see the small quiver as he inhales the scent of your skin; your blood.

“I’m not your afternoon snack, Astarion,” you say quietly, but at the same time realise how weak it sounds.

The corners of his lips curl up and he looks directly into your eyes. “No, darling, you are a five course meal.”

Your heart speeds into such a rapid pace that you feel faint. For a fleeting moment you think he is going to bite your wrist, but he only presses his lips on your palm and lets it go. The spot tingles after his touch.

You turn away and busy yourself with the contents of the basket to hide your burning cheeks. Astarion’s behaviour seems to be getting bolder with each passing day. You’re not sure if you mind or not. Biting at the slightly stale sugar bun, you sit in silence under the sun. Astarion’s eyes are closed, face angled to welcome the warmth. Like a cat indeed.

“What does it taste like? Compared to actual food?” you ask to break the silence.

“What, blood?” Astarions brows furrow in thought. “I… would not really know. One could compare it to wine tasting, but that misses the whole macabre point of it.”

He turns to look at you. The underlying sadness in his eyes makes you regret asking in the first place.

“It’s been so long,” he adds solemnly.

You nibble at the sweet dessert with your appetite lost. “How long has it been since you were turned?”

For a moment you think he won’t answer.

“Almost two hundred years,” he utters softly, but you gather that he doesn’t want to discuss the subject more.

Another silence falls and you’re left pondering Astarion’s answer. As a human, two hundred years is a timespan you can’t even begin to fathom. When you’re done crumbling the rest of the bun for the birds, Astarion speaks up in a sly tone: 

“Well, princess. I was honest with you, what do I get in return?”

You pick a pomegranate and a knife from the basket and start cutting the fruit’s top off. “What would you like to know?” you reply dubiously.

“Would you like some help with that?” he asks, eyeing the blade.

“No, thanks– Hells!”

Of course the knife slips and makes a clean cut to the pad of your thumb. The pomegranate rolls to the ground. Your first instinct is to look up at the vampire spawn in horror and wrap the hem of your blouse around your hand.

“Clumsy, are we?” Astarion asks and tuts, eyes glinting ominously.

“Don’t even start,” you grumble and apply pressure to the cut for it to stop bleeding as fast as possible. “What did you want to ask me?”

“To speak the truth, your life does seem rather tedious, but I could be persuaded to partake in your picnic,” Astarion remarks with a smirk.

Before you can ask what exactly he means, he grabs the wrist of your injured hand and yanks you towards him so hard that you have to clutch his chest to steady yourself. His other arm curls around your waist, pulling you intoxicatingly close to his side. The whole swift manoeuvre is expertly performed.

“Astarion! Quit joking,” you hiss, but he hushes you.

You watch as your own hand is lifted in front of your eyes. Astarion’s mouth opens just enough to reveal his fangs, hovering right above the bleeding cut. The blood is quickly creating a trickling course down your wrist. Astarion’s piercing red eyes hold your gaze and you can’t help but stare back, almost mesmerised.

“Stay very still,” he purrs.

You feel how the tips of his fangs touch your skin and his lips press around them. His tongue skims generously across the wound and a jolt shoots through your body.

A feeling is set alight in you and from somewhere in the back of your mind springs an explanation that you don’t wish to hear: It’s exciting.

You gasp in horror and pull your hand back.

“You–! You can’t bite people without asking,” you cry, full well knowing that his fangs barely touched you. The cut is still bleeding and making a mess of your favourite camp shirt.

“‘Bite’ is a bit of a stretch here,” Astarion notes and makes a show of licking his lips clean. “You taste absolutely divine, darling.”

You grab the basket and promptly shoot up from the grass. So much for a nice afternoon chat with Astarion.

“I was only trying to help.” He has the audacity to throw a smirk at you.

“Asshole,” you mutter and stomp back to camp, half-wishing he would even try to stop you but it doesn’t happen.

-

Next chapter

My Writing Masterlist

[vyncentevelyn]

“Fuck…” Astarion mumbled, putting his hands on his hips, and staring at the ingredients in front of him. What the fuck was he doing? Had he ever actually cooked anything? Certainly not in the last 200 years, but before that…

He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. This was pointless. He should walk away from all of this and count his losses before anyone…

“Oh, hello there.” Gale’s voice sounded behind him, “I didn’t expect to find you here considering your condition.”

“The same could be said about you, Gale.” Astarion sighed, his thoughts flitting through the multitude of excuses he could use as to why he was here but none of them sounded believable.

“Well, I still eat food. Especially since Elminster visited. And aside from that, I always cook.” Gale said.

Astarion could hear Gale approach and just stood there like an idiot. Frozen to the spot staring down at his haphazard ingredients for the recipe he did not know. Gale stood beside him and looked at the tabletop.

“Hmmm.” Gale muttered.

Astarion dropped his shoulders, “What Gale? Just say it.”

“It’s just curious. What were you planning on making with horseradish, a fish head, a carrot, and,” he picked up the last ingredient, “hmm…this is a rock Astarion.”

Astarion’s blood runs cold, naturally, but at this moment it felt as if his blood had caught fire. He blinked as Gale stared back at him; the rock still clutched in his hand. Astarion swallowed and then finally muttered, “I thought it was a potato.”

“I see.” Gale replied, still watching him with those deep brown eyes.

“This!” Astarion hissed throwing his arms up and taking a step away from the table, “This is stupid!”

Gale tilted his head and raised his eyebrows, “There is nothing stupid in wanting to learn a new skill. No, no, no.” He shook his head, “You just need a good teacher, you have the initiative, and that, Astarion, is half the battle. Luckily for you, I happen to be an excellent cook and an even better teacher – if I do say so myself.”

Astarion frowned. A part of him wanted to walk out and ignore the wizard. The other part though wanted to learn…wanted to succeed…

“Now, what were you trying to make?” Gale asked looking back at the ingredients, minus the rock which he tossed over his shoulder.

“I…” Astarion hesitated, “Iseult is sick…and she needs to eat.”

The answer hung heavy between the two men. Gale nodded slowly but his focus remained on the table, “I am aware.”

“I thought it would be nice, since she feeds me, if I fed her given that she is unwell.” Astarion said, hoping his tone sounded as nonchalant as he intended.

“That,” Gale started, his usually pompous cherry tone missing from his voice before he paused but when he started talking again his typical inflection returned, “that is a very nice thing to do. And I think I have a recipe we could make to help achieve this goal.”

Astarion blinked, “You do?”

“I think I do, granted it will not include rocks,” he looked up with a teasing grin on his face, “but it will rock.”

Astarion closed his eyes, “That was terrible Gale.”

“It was fantastic, and you know it.”

“What are we making Gale?”

“Soup.”

Astarion opened his eyes and met Gale’s gaze. Gale winked and picked up the carrot and the horseradish, “Are you ready to learn?”

Astarion sighed and rolled his eyes up to the sky, “Let’s get this over with.”

*

Iseult looked up miserably from her bed roll. Astarion stood in the tent’s doorway carrying a tray.

He studied her with those mesmerizing ruby eyes and let out an exaggerated sigh, “You look like shit.”

Iseult smiled, “Aw, you missed me.”

Astarion said nothing but placed the tray down by her bedroll before sitting cross legged beside her. Iseult sat up slowly and looked at the tray. A bowl of soup, a plate with a chunk of bread, and a glass of water sat on the tray beside a wilting daisy. Iseult looked at the vampire, but he refused to meet her gaze and just gestured to the tray, “You need to eat.”

“You made me soup…” Iseult’s voice was soft.

“I can’t have my favorite vintage killing over.” Astarion offered.

Iseult cradled the bowl in her hand and took a bite of soup. It was spicy and warm, potato and carrot with a hint of something hot. It was delicious. She put the spoon down and looked over at Astarion, “This is delicious. You did a great job.”

“Thank you. I, uh, I just learned how to make it.” He fiddled with the leather strap on the bed roll as he mumbled, “Gale taught me.”

“Really?” Iseult tried to keep the shock out of her tone, but she could tell from Astarion’s face she had failed.

“Yes,” he leaned back on his arms and looked up at the tent’s canvas, “yes. That damn wizard must poke his nose into everything.”

Iseult smiled, “Well, I appreciate you both. Thank you.”

As she took another bite, she noticed Astarion studying her in her peripherals.

“You like it?” He asked.

She nodded as she put the bowl down on the tray. She tore a chunk of bread and dipped it into the soup before popping it into her mouth. Then she turned and looked at him, “You are a magnificent cook.”

That devilish smirk pulled at his mouth, “Magnificent?”

“And clever.” Iseult replied.

“And?” He asked sitting up.

“And sweet.”

“Sweet? I’m not sure that’s the right adjective, darling.”

“You brought me a flower. You made me soup because I’m sick even though you had to work with Gale. You are caring.”

“Mmm.” His voice was hoarse, and he leaned into her space, “Tell me I’m beautiful.”

She leaned forward, dropping her weight onto her left hand so that her neck became bared to him. She whispered in his ear, “You are beautiful, Astarion.”

“And you,” Astarion whispered back, sending chills down Iseult’s spine, “are a damn tease. Put your neck away my dear, I will not be feeding on you while you have a fever.”

He leaned away, a smirk still in play. His eyes flashing between hers and the bare skin of her neck.

“Can you even get sick?” Iseult asked as she sat back. She tore another piece of bread and dipped it into the soup.

“In a sense.” Astarion said, turning his attention to the nails on his left hand.

Iseult swallowed, “Explain.”

He rolled his eyes, “It’s all so boring.”

“Nothing is boring to me when it concerns you.” she said, before taking a drink of water her eyes focused on his face.

He studied her for a second before saying, “If your blood is tainted with like poison or if you’re drugged or drunk, that could affect me. But I can’t catch your cold.”

“Then I can still feed you, if you want.” Iseult shrugged.

He leaned forward and looked her dead in the eyes, “I’m not making you worse. You’re keeping your blood until you are better.”

Iseult nodded; her eyes wide as she stared back at Astarion.

He returned to his original position, “Good. Now eat. I’ll be sure to make up for our lost time together once you are better.”

Iseult looked down quickly, but she was certain he noticed the blush painting her face. She finished her meal in relative silence. She lowered the empty water glass back down to the tray and picked up the daisy. She smiled down at the wrinkled petals, he must have picked the flower earlier in the day.

She looked back up at him. She wanted to ask him so many things. She wanted to learn everything about him. Instead, she smiled and let the longing to read all the stories buried deep in those bright red eyes stay buried.

Astarion nodded then and said, “Get some rest darling.”

He stood up and grabbed the tray before slipping out of the tent. Iseult laid back in her bed rolls and let out a sigh. She rolled onto her side. Goodnight, Astarion.

*

Astarion set the tray down on the riverbank and knelt into the wet earth beside Gale. He started washing the bowl, ignoring the wizard’s quizzical gaze.

“She said thank you.” Astarion offered when Gale had finally looked back at the dishes he was washing.

“Oh.” Gale nodded, “Well she is most welcome.”

Astarion bit his lip and then released it, “Thank you, Gale.”

Gale sat up and looked at Astarion, “Not a problem." Then he added, "I have more dishes I think you’d enjoy learning.”

Astarion finally met his dark eyes, “What?”

“You are not that good of a cook, but I feel hopeful for you.” Gale smiled, “Plus, I don’t mind having company.”

Astarion let out a chuckle. He rinsed the water cup and sighed, “On occasion, I suppose I could help you.”

Gale’s own laughter echoed out across the dark river, “Only if you feel like it, but the invitation is there.”

“I am certain the novelty of it will run out quickly. You’ll be retracting that invitation the moment I down a quart of pig’s blood.”

“That sounds fascinating. How much blood can you consume? Like in one sitting?”

“I…” Astarion paused and looked up at Gale, “I actually don’t know. Before the whole tadpole,” he gestured to his head, “I fed on what I could, but it was never enough. Recently though, I have fed on Iseult and then drained a whole bear in one night.”

“A whole bear!” Gale exclaimed, his eyes wide with wonder instead of judgement. “I’d wager that’s got to be at least 60 liters.”

“How do you even know that, Gale?”

“Ah. A wizard has to know a great deal of information, and I may have needed some bear blood for an experiment of sorts once.”

“Of course.”

“You sound like you don’t believe me, Astarion.”

Astarion shook his head, “I’m just impressed you killed a bear.”

“It took me month to recover,” Gale admitted.

Astarion bent over in laughter.

“Keep laughing Astarion, but at least I know the difference between rocks and potatoes.”

“Fair.”

[mudhamster]

CHWHWN: 18. December - "compliment"

Kacchan: *image attached* If I had saved a dollar for everything you said, I'd be rich Deku: If you had written them down, you'd realize that none of them are exactly alike Kachan: here we go again: why + wtf Deku: saying the same compliment twice is so lame Bottom category lame Cliché lame Kacchan: go ahead then Do you want to do it in writing? Here? Or do you want to come over? I confiscated the Gamecube from Shitty Hair after he felt like yelling at eleven last night. Deku: ehm, in person then I'll be up in 20. I bring a pot of tea? Kacchan: Good one? Deku: Momo let me use her black tea if I follow the instructions I would make her a cup and then come and join you? Kacchan: yo

GHA Not only had Kacchan completely flattened the whole compliment thing. He had also casually invited him to his place to play, as if that wouldn't be the ultimate sensation, because: guess what, they had never done that before?!!!??  He stepped into the hallway and made his way to the kitchen to get the tea. He didn't drink black tea at all, but he'd been chatting with Momo this afternoon about her latest acquisition, so this was the first thing he'd thought of as an excuse to stall. A compliment. A single one. What was he supposed to say? Something about his looks? His eyes? He cringed and went into the kitchen. Momo's cupboard was one of the larger ones, fortunately, that he could reach without a chair. While he searched through the huge selection of black teas for something that looked like it might taste good, he kept thinking. Izuku could say something about the food. Which, to be honest, was only that delicious because Kacchan had made it all by himself. And because there really was a difference in skill between cutting potatoes and frying meat. Maybe he could praise Kacchan's patience in the kitchen. He had never seen him concentrate so calmly on a task for so long. At least not one that he could solve while pacing back and forth on the same square meter for two hours. He had already said that he liked the way he explained math to him. He put the kettle on. Maybe his athleticism? His stubbornness? But as soon as he started thinking along these lines, he could think of so many qualities he admired that he lost himself in thought for a moment. The water started to boil, then the kettle squeaked. Izuku looked at the instructions, truly concentrated, always keeping in mind that he was pouring hot water over a fortune here, and filled a small pot and even a large cup for Momo. With two small cups in his sweater pocket, the teapot in his left hand and the full cup in his right, he climbed the stairs and tapped the door three times with his shoe. He didn't have to wait long before the door opened and two big brown eyes looked at him in surprise. Behind Momo, at her pompous desk, he also discovered Shouto. They were probably working on a project for the student council for the new year and both looked rather … stressed. "I miscalculated my time," Momo sighed and opened the door for him with a welcoming gesture, "I only have two days left to prepare for the-" "Four," Shouto corrected, "You're still here until Friday. You still have plenty of time." "But you're leaving on Thursday, right?" Izuku's mouth twisted when he remembered that he still hadn't talked to his mother about her plans. Otherwise… For years, they had sat next to each other on Christmas Eve and watched the same movie reruns on TV. There wasn't much to plan and organize. But he should call his mother about it soon. Meanwhile, Shouto and Momo had slipped back into a heated, polite conversation, and he had to clear his throat to get their attention. "Yaoyorozu," he smiled at her, "maybe you'd feel better if you had your favorite tea?" She instantly fell silent, a hand to her mouth, hearts in her soft eyes. "Oh no, Midoriya," she breathed, and he grinned softly back, "your foresight is impressive as always!" Then she approached him and… carefully took the teapot out of his hand. Izuku opened his mouth to protest, but then closed it again. At least the tea would be appreciated here. He reached into the deep pocket of his hoodie and pulled out the two small teacups. They had originally been meant for him and Kacchan. She took them from him, visibly relieved. Shouto watched him from the table as he inconspicuously fluffed his hair in Momo's dressing table mirror and then made his way back into the hallway. "And what are you up to, Midoriya?" Izuku stopped in the doorway and turned around, "Kacchan invited me to a game." A grin appeared on his face and a red eyebrow raised. "Ah. Good luck then." "See you tomorrow!!!"

With the huge cup left over (which was actually for Momo), he finally made his way to the fourth floor and raised his hand to knock - just as it opened.

"Be on time next time, asswipe."

"S-sorry."

The room was completely dark except for the flickering television, but in front of the bed, Izuku spotted a small pile of pillows and two controllers. The tea was taken from his hand (was that a thing? Did he look like someone who shouldn't carry tea?), then he stumbled into Kacchan's room through an unexpected tug on his sweater.

It smelled like soap and washed laundry and Izuku closed his eyes for a moment in pleasure.

"You always smell so good."

The grip on his sweater loosened and with a self-satisfied snort, Kacchan fell into the pillows on the floor, tea and all.

"Now that that's out of the way, get your ass over here. I've been listening to that crappy startup tune for 20 minutes, I - "

Izuku had pulled his sweater over his head.

Cool air had blown over his ribs, then his shirt had slipped back to where it belonged.

"Sorry, what?" he asked and threw the garment carelessly over the chair. He got awfully warm when he was around Kacchan anyway. He might as well avoid it.

Katsuki blinked at him, "What?"

"I didn't let you finish."

They looked at each other and the room filled with flute music as the intro started again. Kacchan clicked his tongue disapprovingly and shook his head, as if shaking off a thought.

"… get over here, Deku. I invited you over to beat your ass, not to sweet-talk with you."

Apart from the fact that Izuku's insides were twisting around each other and his ears were ringing like little bells at that statement, he managed to stop himself in the last second from making a serious compliment about the potentially good dirty talk Kacchan could deliver. Who knew what such a statement would have cost him. His head, probably.

He mentally patted himself on the back, proud of his rare survival instinct, then sank into the pillow next to Kacchan, a controller already pressed in his face.

[legacyshenanigans]

What pet do you think Sebastian would have if he brought it to Hogwart’s? We know that Ominis supposedly has a toad with him. It would be interesting to see what dynamics they have with each other’s pets.

Also what do you headcanon for your Mc’s pet that might add to the dynamic? My Mc has a mean owl that everyone is afraid of and it mainly listens and is all sweet to her.

Oooh I love this :) thanks for asking this :)

And I LOVE your HC pet 🤣 a mean ass Owl hahaha

Well, my personal HC for all of them would be:

Ominis:

Though Hogwarts is very against this pet, Ominis's is infact a snake, its a little albino viper snake called Zmija (croatian for snake) which he keeps in his dorm room safe and sound, when he's having a bad day he likes to sit on his bed holding her, and has had many conversations with her over his time at Hogwarts, that snake knows many secrets of his.

Sebastian:

Sebastian keeps it simple, he has a Great Horned owl named Finneas, he originally got him because he looked "Menacing and mischievous" due to the angry looking eyebrow feathers, but in reality Finneas turned out to be abit of a "couch potato" he just sleeps and eats, and doesn't do much else, even requesting it does something for him like take a letter somewhere seems to be such a huge inconvenience to Finneas, which has lead Sebastian to have to beg him to do it for treats, but Seb still loves him, and he loves Seb, he loves head pats, Sebastian has spent many hours sitting on the window sill petting him.

MC:

MC has a black persian cat named Reign, pompous little thing it is, it doesn't like anyone but MC, and she'll go out of her way to make other peoples lives inconvenient, sitting on their stuff and not moving, and giving them a little hiss if they try to touch her, only MC gets to touch her, she also purposely tries to irritate Sebs owl by trying to play with his tail feathers. She adores MC though, and is always purring in her presence and wants fuss and attention from her.

When it's comes to how they feel about eachothers pets, Sebastian and Ominis both tolerate Reign lmao, they try to pet her but she either gives them hiss or walks away from them, as I said, she'll have nobody touch her other than MC, MC and Ominis both get on and love Sebs Owl, Finneas is just so chill to be around and enjoys love and affection from anyone. And when it comes to Zmija, Ominis keeps their bond extremely private, he will rarely get her out of her vivarium in front of others, and doesn't like others touching her, not even Sebastian or MC, and thats a choice Ominis has made, though not just anybody can talk to snakes, he still has this strange irrational thought that his secrets will get out.

(I really enjoyed writing this 😊💚)

[alannybunnue]

Light angst for the Aelyx au but he’s lowkey in love with Alicent and Otto is absolutely against it in the early years. There’s no way Daemon Targaryen’s bbbbbbbastard son is getting anywhere near his daughter, but seeing as Viserys loves his nephew so much he has to let them socialise but is always reminding Ali to keep her distance cuz he’s always lowkey worried about Aelyx manifesting Daemon-like behaviour and compromising his daughter.

But clearly he knows nothing about teenagers. You forbid them something, they’ll want it all the more. And Alicent knows Aelyx a lot better than Otto, she knows he’s honourable and wouldn’t dream of calling her virtue into question. That’s why she likes him so much! He feels safe! She can relax around him! Do you know how little this poor anxious baby gets to relax and be herself??

In fact, the one and only time Aelyx has ever started a fight was when some pompous lordling said something inappropriate about the girls. He ultimately lost the fight (he’s less skilled and strong, but he makes up for it in persistence) but he left his fucking mark and said lordling was temporarily banished from court. It’s one of the few times he really resembled his father.

But Otto sure changed his tune after Aemma and baby Baelon died. Viserys couldn’t legitimise Aelyx before without offending the Royce’s but now it was a matter of royal succession and he saw his nephew as the ideal candidate.

Now I don’t know what’s more fun:

Poor shy Aelyx being officially betrothed to a girl he loves but can barely talk to and being kinda worried that Ali doesn’t actually want this cuz he think Otto is pushing her into it but it’s just that she’s equally shy about talking about how happy she is about it so it’s this hilarious mix of having to attend engagement parties and wedding rehearsals while pining endlessly and being adorably awkward together until they finally have a fucking conversation.

OR

Alicent and Aelyx are fully in love and engaged in a secret courtly live situation where they very carefully have to dance around each other in public until they find out Alicent might be betrothed and sent far away and secretly get married with yes compromises Alicent’s position (marrying a bastard) but they get to stay in court (Alicent as Rhae’s handmaiden) and then, shock of shocks, Aelyx suddenly goes from being a royal bastard to royal heir and Alicent ends up being the future queen. But they got to marry for love first.

Not Otto taking his daughter away from this:

Yes, that's Aelyx, he is a cute potato <3

Honestly the whole thing of the boy and the girl barely speaking because they like each other but they are shy and then suddenly they are betrothed by the boy's uncle (Who also made him legitimate and heir to the throne) making them having a lot of conversations in which mah boi passes out each time (Daemon in the background: 🤦‍♂️) is super hilarious

Then they marry and have chaotic kids (How? i don't know, just follow the plot)

[i-can-even-burn-salad]

Epilogue

Glass Shards

Warnings: None! :)

Wrapping up some loose ends. They deserve it!

Previous | Masterlist | Next

Merridy picked up a card, frowning at it. The sparrow was red, and just last turn, she had decided to try for a black hand. With a sigh, she threw her cards on the table, face down.

“I’m out,” she declared.

Taking her glass and sipping on her apple juice, she watched the other three at the table. Cedric, his husband Yvan, and their friend Laurent—just like in old times. And just like in old times, Laurent was clearly winning.

Cedric lifted his own glass, the amber liquid inside definitely no juice.

“So you bought a house?” he asked, picking up the conversation where they had left off before her turn.

“You should see it! It’s wonderful, with a garden and all.” Merridy gestured broadly, as if she could convey the size of her new home that way. “With a few fruit trees, and berry bushes and— it’s too late this year, but next year I’m going to plant beans and potatoes and—”

“Look at our little farm girl,” Laurent interrupted her.

Merridy kicked him under the table.

 “And who did you have to rob to afford that?” Cedric asked, ignoring Laurent.

“What do you think I am? A thief?” Merridy grinned as Laurent snorted into his drink. “It was an inheritance. Kind of. They sold their childhood home. Or rather, Valadan did. Damien can’t exactly go back to Caldeia, being a wanted criminal and all.” In this round, it was easy to joke about it. Not so much when Damien lay awake at night, and she had to reassure him he wasn’t putting her in danger just by being close to her. “Valadan gave us the money, because they don’t really need it.”

Cedric laughed. “I bet they don’t. The Lightwoods.” He drummed his fingers against the glass, pointing into the approximate direction of the house she had broken into to find Valadan’s location. “Filthy rich, but not pompous. Old money. Not honestly earned as the likes of us.” He winked.

When Yvan put down his hand as well, backing out, it was only Cedric and Laurent left. They made their bet, showed their cards—and of course, Laurent won.

“And what are you doing now that you’ve become such a law-abiding citizen?” he asked while shuffling the cards for the next round. Merridy stuck her tongue out at him.

“I started learning under a local seamstress, and Damien got all his tools and materials from his old workshop. It’s not easy for him to use them”—she lifted her left hand—“but he’s been working with Valadan to make some adjustments and create new tools. For the kitchen as well, because Damien loves to cook.”

“His brother is helping him?” Yvan asked, apparently more interested in the mention of craftsmanship than the cards he picked up without looking.

“Yeah. He’s a carpenter. Whatever furniture we couldn’t bring from their old house, he built for us. I even got a rocking chair now.” She rocked back and forth on her chair.

“I take my words back.” Laurent shoved her cards in front of her. “You’re an old farm lady.”

This time, she kicked him hard enough he made a noise. Cedric only shook his head.

A couple of rounds later, when everyone but Laurent was running low on coins, they decided to call it quits. Merridy helped Yvan bring the used glasses into the kitchen, casting a quizzical look at Laurent and Cedric, whispering in a corner. 

“You can have a proper bed tonight,” Yvan called out to her, grabbing her attention. “We turned the study into a guest room. At least mostly. After you left, Cedric finally hired someone to deal with all the boring paperwork—his words, not mine—and transferred the unsorted stock into a warehouse.”

“Not going back to dealing with that shit himself, huh?” she muttered, handing Yvan the glasses. 

Yvan laughed. “Do you miss it?” he asked over the sound of flowing water. “Any of this. Legal or illegal.”

Merridy grabbed a kitchen towel off the hook and took the first washed glass from him. “Sometimes. It was…” She polished the glass more thoroughly than needed. “It was a good time, and I don’t regret any of it. But I wouldn’t want to return to it. Laurent is right. I’ve turned into an old farm lady, happy to sit in front of her fireplace with a good book.”

“You do look happy.”

Merridy smiled.

“Don’t tell me I’m right or you’ll never hear the end of it.” Laurent stood in the doorway, grinning. “I’m gonna leave, so…” He opened his arms. “Good night?”

With a laugh, Merridy went over to him, giving him a hug. “Wouldn’t want to inflate your ego too much. Good night.” 

“Come back soon.”

Perhaps she would. Josephine had offered to make it possible for her to use the Citadel’s portal whenever she wanted, and now that she had taken her up on it, she realized how much she had missed her friends.

“If you promise me my favorite candy,” she said.

Laurent laughed, waving over his shoulder as he turned around to leave. Merridy yawned. It must be close to midnight—or past it, even. Luckily, she didn’t have to be up early. The portal back was booked for noon. She picked up the towel, but Yvan shooed her away. 

“I can handle two glasses. Go to bed.”

“All right. Good night.” 

She hugged him too, before leaving the kitchen, grabbing her bag to follow Cedric up the stairs. The room he led her into was familiar to her, even after all this time. Where once a pile of crates and boxes had been, now a narrow bed stood, the pillows and blankets a deep purple. Merridy looked around; at the bookshelves, filled with dusty old volumes, and the velvety curtains, and the finest stationery next to the jewel-encrusted letter opener on the desk. Perhaps Josephine’s family was filthy rich, but Cedric definitely wasn’t poor, either.

“Need anything?” he asked.

“No. Thank you.”

“Good night.”

Merridy smiled. “Good night.” 

She waited for him close the door before she went to the glowing crystal mounted next to it, dimming it until only the outlines of the furniture were visible. It was enough to find her way to the bed, sitting down on it and stroking the blanket. It was just as soft as it looked. With a sigh, Merridy slipped under it, pulling it up to her chin. 

“Hey. Sleepyhead.”

Persistent pounding on the door jerked Merridy awake. The room was bathed in a dim, reddish light, a single sun ray poking through the curtains. She stretched sleepily, watching the dust dance in the air. It couldn’t be that late, could it? 

“If you don’t get up, you’re not getting any breakfast, because Yvan’s about to leave.”

It was that late.

“Coming,” she shouted, sounding much more awake than she was.

She hastily made the bed and put her shoes back on, before she took her bag and left the room. Cedric was waiting for her, walking with her to the stairs. He must have been up for a while already, his clothes as impeccable as always, but he didn’t say anything, the tapping of his cane the only noise. Merridy grinned. He was not a morning person.

“Ah. Merry,” Yvan greeted her when she entered the kitchen. He turned around, grabbing a cup and handing it to her. “Your tea.”

While Merridy inhaled the sweet scent of herbs and honey, Cedric got himself a cup of coffee.

“I have to go. Delivery at the forge in…” Yvan looked around, as if the kitchen walls could tell him the exact time of day. “About now, I guess, so gotta hurry. Here.” He put a plate down in front of her, a masterfully crafted sandwich on it. 

Merridy put the cup down, so she could wrap her arms around Yvan. “Thank you. I promise, I’ll try to come back soon.”

While Yvan and Cedric said goodbye, Merridy sat down, investigating her sandwich. To her delight, she found little slices of radishes under a lettuce leaf, sitting on top of a layer of cream cheese and cucumber. Cedric sat down on the other side of the table, sipping his coffee while she ate. 

“Are you awake enough to talk?” he asked.

Merridy nodded, swallowing down the bite she had just taken.

“You said there was an… incident when you arrived,” Cedric said. His raised eyebrows told Merridy that he didn’t quite believe her softened version of events. “Are you sure it’s safe for you in Nimrisé when those men recognized Damien?”

“Valadan tore them a new one. Told them Damien is his half-brother, and they couldn’t go around trying to kill people just for looking like him. Something about their father having had an affair.”

“Damien went along with it?”

“Yeah. He hides his missing arm with an illusion, took on a fake name and all.” Merridy grinned. “He’s Jonathan Whitley now.”

“Whitley, hm? Are you actually…”

Merridy lowered her gaze to her cup. “No.” Then, after a moment, “It’s not like we could.”

Making their partnership legally known was not something that was ever going to be possible. Damien had to stay hidden. Any paperwork regarding the house was in her name, she the only one who could visit Caldeia. The story of the elusive half-brother was only going to get them so far.

Silence settled between them. Merridy was glad Cedric didn’t ask her if she’d want to. She didn’t want to have to find an answer to that.

“He wants to stay near his brother.” Merridy pushed around the rest of her sandwich. “He… they need each other. We’re cautious, but we can’t keep running.”

Cedric nodded. “For what it’s worth,” he said, his tone noncommittal, “I don’t think they’re looking for him anymore. Which brings me to the next point.” He took something out of his pocket, holding it out to her. “I’m keeping an eye on the state of things here, and you’re gonna need a way for me to contact you.”

Merridy trailed her finger over the rough surface. Even before she turned the object around, she knew what she would find—a hollow where the stone had been split, a cluster of amethyst lining the inside. One half of a geode; not just any geode, but the one she had left behind. She raised her gaze. 

“If I break it in half it means…”

“Danger,” Merridy finished his sentence.

“Danger for him,” Cedric corrected her. “If I break it in quarters, it’s danger for the two of you.”

Merridy closed her hand around the geode. “Thank you.”

She slipped the geode into her pocket, before she picked up her cup again. The tea was barely lukewarm anymore, but it warmed her all the same. 

“I should be going soon,” she said once her cup was empty and her sandwich gone. She brought her dishes to the sink and started rinsing them off. “It was the first time I took a private portal”—as if anyone not in the Order of Fire could afford one!—”and the attendant didn’t look like they were the most patient person alive.”

Cedric made a snide noise. “Don’t worry, they’re paid well enough for it. The hour after noon is reserved for a reason. Which means I have enough time to show you the music box I got with my latest shipment.” He got up, pointing at one of the display cases lining the wall. “Over there.”

The music box turned out to be not quite to Merridy’s taste. A couple turning in deep embrace to the metallic sound of a song she had heard once or twice when watching a marriage ceremony in one of the parks. The ornamental woodwork was rather pretty, but all things considered, she had no idea why Cedric would think she’d be interested in it. He didn’t elaborate.

Several minutes and mundane trinkets later, Merridy realized that Cedric was stalling for time. Just as she was wondering whether she should confront him about it or just insist on leaving, a knock on the door sounded. Cedric put down the ugly blue vase he had showed her and picked up his cane.

“I’ll get it,” he said, sounding way too cheerful.

Merridy watched him cross the living room and vanish into the small hallway leading to the front door. He greeted someone, and the voice answering was a familiar one.

“Laurent?” she called.

“I went to half a dozen— oh hey, Merry. You’re still here?”

He didn’t even try to sound inconspicuous. Something was definitely up. With her arms crossed, Merridy eyed the two men as they entered the room. Cedric was the first to speak up.

“I asked him to find one for me, since, you know, you told me you lost yours.”

Merridy stared at the object he held out to her. A small book—a children’s book—with a colorful cover showing a smiling sheep with a pink bow on its head. One of the very few she had kept, only to lose it to the bandits’ attack. She didn’t dare to reach for it.

“Why?” she asked, blinking in an attempt to ward off the burning in her eyes. “I’m no longer—”

“Nonsense,” Cedric interrupted her. “You’ll always be a part of us.”

Every member of Cedric’s circle had their own book to be used with a cipher, to make sure no messages could be intercepted. She had rarely ever used it, and now that she wasn’t working for Cedric anymore, she wouldn’t have to.

Still, he offered it to her, not moving until she took the book from him. Book in hand, Merridy hugged him tightly. Perhaps she hadn’t found her family by coming to Caldeia, but she had found a family.

The moment Merridy let go of Cedric, Laurent called out to her.

“Hey.”

She turned around, at the last moment catching a small bag he threw to her.

“Bribery,” he explained.

Merridy pinned the book under her arm, so she could untie the bag and peer into it. It was filled to the brim with round, deep red candies. She couldn’t resist popping one of them into her mouth before closing the bag, grinning at the delicious taste of sugary cherry.

“Now let’s get you to your portal,” Cedric said as he grabbed his coat from the rack.

Stepping from the sunny palace garden Caldeia’s into the dimly lit hall of the citadel sent a shiver down Merridy’s spine. She wrapped her coat tighter around herself as the shimmering portal flickered out of existence behind her.

She was still so giddy from her visit, she managed to keep her face from falling when she spotted Valadan standing at the end of the ramp. Merridy couldn’t help the feeling of unease that still lingered when she was around him, but at least rationally she had come to like him. Absentmindedly, she stroked the spot where the scar on her chest was, hidden under the strap of her backpack. He hadn’t meant to hurt her, and even less to almost kill her. He had tried his best to make it up to her. And most of all, he hadn’t acted out of hate, but out of fear.

Neither of these thoughts kept her from stopping two steps away from him, only greeting him with a nod.

“Josephine couldn’t make it,” he said in the way of greeting. Whether he kept his words short because of the portal attendants or her, she couldn’t tell.

She followed Valadan through the confusing hallways of the citadel and down the path to Nimrisé. He accompanied her all the way to her house, and although Merridy thought that was unnecessary, she didn’t say anything.

It was kind of nice of him.

“Tell my brother I’ll be over tomorrow to look at the oven door,” he said, breaking the awkward silence between them.

He didn’t dare to use Damien’s real name in public, and barely used his fake name. Perhaps there was something cathartic about calling him his brother as well; about having him back after such a long time.

“I almost forgot.” Merridy slid her backpack off her back and reached in, pulling out a small, wrapped bundle. “For Josephine.”

Valadan took it, careful not to step any closer than absolutely necessary.

“Thanks.”

“Thanks.”

He nodded and turned around. Before he had reached the garden door, Merridy was already running along the path to the back of the house.

“I’m back!” she called as she threw the door open.

Damien looked up, a smile spreading over his face. He stood at the counter, kneading a ball of dough, flour dusted on his hair and clothes. When Merridy dropped her backpack to the floor, he quickly wiped his hand on his pants, to catch her as she tackled him.

“I missed you.”

Damien laughed. “It’s only been a day.” Despite his words, he held her tightly, taking a deep, relieved breath.

Merridy closed her eyes, resting her head against his chest. She hadn’t truly been worried, but she felt calmer when he was around. That was only fair, she thought, after all the times she had almost lost him.

“Let’s bring your stuff up?” Damien eventually suggested.

Merridy grabbed her backpack off the floor, without taking her other hand off him. Together, they walked up the stairs, turning to the left towards her room. As every time when she stepped into it, her heart seemed to skip a beat. It was just so perfect, she couldn’t believe it was truly hers. 

In the center of the room, with the head end against a wall, stood her bed, covered in pillows and blankets. As every other piece of fabric—the curtains and the rugs and the cushion on the rocking chair—they were creme white and purple. The furniture was matching, made from plain, light wood, not yet darkened by age.

A chest stood at the foot of the bed, a small desk with a chair in one corner of the room. The shelf between the two windows held bits and trinkets, while the one next to the bed was empty save for a few books. Merridy walked towards it, pulling the book Cedric had given her out of her bag to place it among the others.

When she turned around, colorful sparkles in the corner of her eye grabbed her attention. Merridy’s gaze flicked towards the window. A wind chime hung there, made from colorful glass shards, arranged like a rainbow; from crimson red and bright yellow, over vibrant green and blue to the deepest purple. 

When she went closer to get a better look, Damien stepped next to her. He put his arm around her as she reached for one of the shards, brushing her finger over the polished edge. 

“I asked…” He swallowed. “I asked Valadan to bring the shards of the pieces I smashed. Of the pieces I thought weren’t good enough. Worthless.”

He turned towards her, raising his hand to her cheek.

“I felt the same. Worthless. Broken. Never good enough. But you picked me up, and you turned me into someone new.” He smiled, a shimmer in his eyes. “So I took the shards. And I turned them into something new. Something to remind you how much I love you. Here… this. With you, and Valadan, and— I’d never thought it would ever be possible, but I’m happy.”

His smile turned wistful. She knew happiness didn’t help against the pain, couldn’t take away the nightmares—but it was a start.

“But are you?” he asked after a moment, a hint of uncertainty on his face. “Happy, I mean. Is this how you imagined it?”

Merridy looked from the airy, creme white curtains to the shimmering glass shards, and out the window, where in the distance the ocean sparkled in the sun. She raised her gaze to Damien, the purple gleam of his eyes fixed on her as if nothing else mattered.

“No,” she whispered. “It’s better.” 

This chapter is my personal gift, from me to myself on this wonderful day. 132k words, just to arrive at this scene which I commissioned last year from @antisocialxconstruct :D

That's it. Now I'm truly happy with the end.

For those who have only read Glass Shards, a note:

Nuisance - Merridy's backstory, about how she met Cedric.

Undeserved - Damien's backstory, between his childhood, his time with the rebels and after getting caught.

Two Yeas Later - A single piece in the gap between Glass Shards and Fancy Boots. Was the epilogue of Undeserved before Glass Shards existed, which is why it is linked here as "next".

Fancy Boots - Direct continuation of Glass Shards, with recurring characters and themes of Undeserved.

Heal my Wounds - Valadan's and Josephine's story.

[ID: The top image is a banner covered in colorful glass shards. Across it is written the title of the story, glass shards, in a white to bright cyan gradient with a black outline. The font looks like written with a broad paintbrush. All other images in this post are purely ornamental lines. End ID.]

@dont-touch-my-soup @starrysky-whumpfics @kixngiggles @starlit-hopes-and-dream @honeycollectswhump

[eldritch-spouse]

smash or pass: Mouth of Sauron

tbh he really gives me shags vibes

My knowledge of TLOTR is extremely rusty, I watched those movies as a wee little potato- But I do remember that guy and his gnarly ass piano teeth.

Absolute fucking smash, he looks like a cenobite, I want to make out with him, it's disgusting.

I see the resemblance there! But Shags' voice is a lot softer. He's less pompous.