#you expect us to respect your choices that are indicative of your humanity but you won't offer the same? get the fuck out of here

[prettyiwa]

Every so often I see anons in mutuals’ inboxes not understanding the deal against empty blogs even if there’s an age, or about blogs that don’t reblog and it just reminds me of how quickly we forget and how quickly we cycle through toxic phases in this community. It's partially because it’s ever-growing with people from Reddit and Twitter and Wattpad writers and everyone else not listed.

It comes and goes in fucking waves so it’s easy to miss if you aren’t here for it, but every handful of months there’s some mass post going around where a writer has been informed of or found their writing (and others') stolen and reposted on another site (9 times out of 10 it’s Wattpad) with the poster taking credit. So often that account and plagiarizer is traced back to an empty blog that’s following all the blogs it stole from. Sometimes they’ll even leave a like that serves as a bookmark so they can come back and steal those words for fake internet points.

Like. For people who have been subjected to that kind of theft, there’s anxiety and distrust that remains. For people who watched it happen (especially time and again because it’s multiple times a year), there’s that voice in the back of their mind when they see someone with a blog that has a header of “Kayleigh (19) Just Reading!!” and nothing else.

And so either these anons who don’t understand why they can’t “lurk in peace” genuinely do not know about the cycle that happens here or they do not care for the people writing the stories and HCs and drabbles they passively enjoy.

Regardless, it only contributes to that growing feeling of being yet another source of quick and convenient consumption and not an actual person sharing their passion with people who might like it.

[winged-wheel]

Undertale's First Hint at Self Denial

Spoilers for Undertale, I guess, but surely if you're reading this you don't need a spoiler warning for this game...

Howdy!

A simple look at my reblogs will indicate that I'm a big fan of Undertale Yellow, at least currently moreso than Undertale itself. But that doesn't mean I don't think about Undertale a good deal too. And while I'm not exactly an extreme lorehead or Chara superfan like some others are (god knows how many blogs there are out there who have THAT covered) I do like to think, sometimes, about the exact nature of Undertale's metanarrative, the themes the game intends for you to take away from it (and the ones that fans have read into it that may not have been intended but which serve as interesting and thought-provoking alternative interpretations), and my own stance on things. Chara/the first fallen human, both who they are (were) and what they represent, makes up a lot of that.

So, context out of the way, I realized something that maybe other people have as well but that I've never actually seen anyone put into words (though it's entirely possible if not probable that I've just missed it before lol).

If Chara, on a metanarrative level, represents you--both through the game's expectation of you to use your own name to "Name the fallen child", but also in a less literal sense your inner desire for completionism, addiction to increasing numbers, disregard for video games as anything more than short-time entertainment to be moved on from, etc--then the image of their final resting place, the patch of golden flowers that grows at the bottom of the fissure outside the Ruins, the very first room in the game, takes on especial meaning with regard to the metanarrative itself.

Undertale's metanarrative choice that it gives you, to either treat the game and its characters as real, deserving of respect, and worth being let go of to allow them continued freedom after completing a true pacifist route, or to lean into what Chara embodies and treat it as "just another RPG game", grinding for levels as would be "normal" in so many other worlds until you reach the Absolute, is a well understood one more than 9 years on from the game's release. None of that is probably news to anyone (or at least anyone who's cared to try and understand the game lol).

But it never quite struck me until now that the former--the choice to treat Undertale as "real"--is symbolized by Chara's grave. In order to do that, to care about and respect Undertale's characters so much that you're willing to forego almost all the concessions of a normal RPG, and ultimately content yourself with refusing to True Reset after the credits roll, you have to bury that part of yourself. You have to kill the desire within you to see what happens if you level up. To get stronger. Those learned traits and tendencies which have been established as the expectation by decades of video games past, even if you didn't grow up playing them yourself, have to be interred in the very first room of the game.

I'll draw no ultimate conclusions as to what that means literally with regards to Toriel and Asriel's attachment to tending the flowers there, and certainly none in relation to the direct characterization of Chara as a character within the story itself, as details are notoriously vague, few in number, and tend to produce interpretations that vary wildly from one another and, from some, have the potential to engender feelings of distaste or assumptions about others' "understanding" of characters (or perceived lack thereof). But the metaphorical significance of Undertale's first room being a burial site was something I hadn't quite considered on a conscious level until recently, and I feel like it might at least be an interesting thought to share.

'Til next time...

[not-goldy]

Goldy, this is coming from a place of respect, so please hear me out.

First of all, let us replace the word "victim" with "survivor." I think we can all agree that this is an appropriate word choice for Jimin.

And yes, Jimin is a survivor of harassment, stalking, homophobic slurs, death threats, misogyny, etc. And yes, he has more than once, indicated he feels safe with JK and depends on JK to protect him.

But JK hasn't done such a great job of protecting Jimin from any of this so far, has he?

What do I expect him to do, you ask? Exactly my point. How do people envision the muscle bunny will protect Jimin in the MS?

I get the idea that people are picturing Jimin surrounded by a group of homophobic assholes and JK fighting them off, one by one. But in this scenario, obviously Jimin would fight side-by-side with JK, and not just wilt in a corner. This is Jimin, right?

But we know it's much more likely that any threat (see the list above) will be much more insidious. JK may be brawnier than Jimin is, but is he cleverer? They aren't going to a deserted island, after all. Does JK have a better understanding of human relations, law, psychology, etc.? I mean, who is the Slytherin here?

And who is THE survivor? (Again, see list above.)

I'm sure there will be times when JK's courage and strength will help support Jimin in the months ahead. But there will be just as many times--perhaps more--when Jimin's courage and strength will help JK.

If people are going to make them a team/couple, can we please just make them an EQUAL one?

I want to be goofy and belt out I'm ah survivor I'm not gon give up, imma suhvaaavv keep on suhvaaavin

This is the point my teacher yells at me to walk out the classroom 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

Survivor is woke- describing Jimin as a Survivor is both powerful and optimistic however I'm uncomfortable with it especially since I feel he's still surviving these mofos every single day.

Also, I understand your pov however I do think there is such a thing as overly idealistic.

Here's a few of my recent posts- in case my numerous posts went over heads- talking about individualizing Jimin, holding him to the same expectations we have of Jungkook, how he's equally supposed to be protecting Jungkook as JK should be protecting him and that it shouldn't be one sided.

So I think you preaching to the choir.

However, what we are talking about is a little bit deeper than that. More nuanced than that.

When we are talking about things Jimin, "survives" in this shit hole of a Fandom, I do not think it is in any way comparable to or EQUAL to that of his couple mate as you put it.

And that's just because they are disproportionately affected by certain things, Homophobia for one. While Jungkook may occasionally have misogynistic slurs hurled at him for "behaving feminine" Jimin is the one who is constantly being berated just because of his androgynous appearance- which he cannot help.

Yes they are partners, and equal if not we wouldn't insist on calling them a power couple, however it's just one of them that gets slutshamed and treated as if slut is his second name.

And just because we express worry over the things that affect one more than the other don't mean we are victimzing that person. I think people who keep spewing that narrative have lost it fr.

For instance, while they are equal, certainly we cannot say they received the same commercial support from their company or Fandom. Saying that does not take away the fact Jungkook is equally oppressed out in these streets.

On the topic of protection, I honestly don't think your assumptions about how JM is being perceived as being protected by Jk is accurate or what at all we mean when we talk about that we are happy they are enlisting together- does it make our shipper hearts glee? Absolutely. Do we want to dance on Graves? Oh honey yesssssssssssssssssszzzzzzzzzzzzzzah.

But do we think Jungkook is going to be his personal body guard in there swatting off homophobic flies- now ma'am. Let's be real. Jungkook is also a gay man. What makes you think we think Jimin will be receiving blows after bliw while JK goes unscathed- i mean God forbid it happens- but If Jungkook is queer doesn't it stand to reason we should be and are equally worried for him? Because he is not exempt from the scathing heats of homophobia?

However he's also not the one receiving death threats and threats to out him to the military now is he?

I think I- we- are well within our rights to express concerns about these matters. And I think objectively that is not victimizing Jimin. But to each their own.

If you've ever experienced homophobic violence, or "survived" anything in your life you'd understand how scary these things are.

Also when we speak of protection- I don't think it's necessary to swing the pendulum that far off. There's safety in numbers is all we are saying and I think that's objectively accurate too. Jungkook or whomever don't need to physically carry his frying pan around to protect Jimin or for Jimin to protect him.

I think every female in here can attest to the fact merely sharing your location or letting your uber driver know someone is waiting for you on the other end and will come looking for you if anything happens to you makes us feel safe and protected in certain situations.

I know a couple who liked to leave the stereo on to create the impression people were home to deter theives from breaking in when they were away.

Protection can be as psychological as is physical. Honestly you are giving male privilege if you can't relate to these things. Or if all you think about when we mention Protection is physical exertion of force or violence.

Jikook can be eachother's support blah blah blah in there or not- the point is it puts our minds at ease knowing Jimin is not going to be alone in there.

And I know you are not about to ask me why my concerns are for Jimin and not Jk- no. It's not because I think he can't defend himself. A. He's my bias and he gets emotional priority in certain situations. B. As I said, he receives the most homophobic/misogynistic attacks c. It's my page and I can do whatever I want.

And I think I speak for Mama Park and Mama Jeon when I say that we are happy Jimin will not be alone- he has family with him.

We are women. Our maternal instincts will always be to protect our babies 🤭🤭🤭🤭🤭🤭🤭🤭🤭🤭🤭

That said, Park Jimin I am not your mama I will fuck you given the chance. Be warned accordingly.

[theycallmeratt]

"What did you expect, calling yourself the Goblin Menace?" Mizora said.

Wyll's cheeks went warm. He expected people to think he was a menace to goblins, not that he was a goblin who was also a menace! He took another step through the snow, pausing to listen for the sound of his quarry.

"Really, you shouldn't limit yourself. You could simply be: the Menace," Mizora said.

"Don't you have better things to do?"

Read more on AO3 or below the cut

"No. I cleared my schedule strictly so we could have this little one-on-one. Frankly, Wyll, you're not meeting your key performance indicators. Lucky you, I've put together a performance improvement plan to help you–"

Something moved behind the brush. Wyll ducked behind a trunk, carefully scaled the tree, and got a better view of his target. A steaming, lumpy pile of human pieces, so pained it could barely be called sentient. Snow sizzled when the flakes hit its flesh, the ice around it slowly melting as it struggled towards the town.

"There you go. Kill that and we'll be back in the net positive," Mizora yawned.

Wyll drew his blade and did so.

~*~

"I could have told you Handler of the Flesh was also a bad choice," Mizora said. "Accurate, though. I've seen what you do in the evenings."

"I told you, I'm rubbing my muscles. They're sore," Wyll snapped. Appalling, that she would imply otherwise.

"Sneaking off to rub your muscles in the bath? Under blankets?"

Because he had no privacy with her around! He kept his stone eye under a patch, terrified she would use it to peek at him and mock him. He bathed and used the bathroom with one hand clamped over it, ready to cover himself should she appear. Bad enough that he was newly covered in pimples, hair and stretch marks. The idea that she could see him undressed made his skin crawl.

Don't engage her. Engaging her only encourages her.

Hard though. Nigh impossible. Just the sound of Mizora's voice made rage boil up. She'd taken everything from him: his life, his father, the respect of a city. Private baths. Being alone. Silence. He dreamed about drawing his blade and running her through. About being dragged to the hells after, leaving only a greasy pile of waste to mark his life. When she spoke, the anger took over and he found himself quipping back at her. Or, worse, setting himself up for her to make fun of him.

"Perhaps if you spent less time rubbing muscles and more time on your tasks, we would be done with this review. Your target is in that cave."

Cave. A generous description. More a hole in the side of a glacier, the ice barely packed and dripping. Wyll was going to melt it just by being in it. Melt it and it would cave in on him. In his last moments, he would summon Mizora and spit on her. Maybe, maybe even call her… a shitbag.

Yes. Yes, he would.

No he wouldn't. Oh, he could never say that.

He clomped down the tunnel, following the low gibbering of his prey. Curled at the end of the tunnel he found the bloated, bald things, squirming and shaking against each other as they tried to stay warm. A few blasts and they were back in the heat of the hells.

~*~

"Gangblaster. Gang. Blast. Er." Mizora sighed. "Wyll. We really need to talk about this–"

"Can't!" he shouted, dodging a swooping imp. Imp! He hated imps. They were easy enough alone, but they were never alone.

Imps had more friends than he had.

"What will you call this one? Imp Slapper?"

"Mizora–"

"Wyll 'Swoop Me' Ravengard?"

"Mi–"

"Wyll, Who is Below the Imps?"

"As you say," he said, finally giving up. The anger flared and then faded a little. Wyll was simply too tired to fuel it.

"The One Who Imps Come Down Upon?"

"Sure."

"Oh! Wyll: Bottom for Imps!" she laughed. "Get it? Because Wyll sounds like 'will'. Will bottom for Imps."

"Right."

"Poo, you're not making this very fun." She snapped her fingers and the imps burned away.

"You—you could have… you could have killed them all along?"

"Of course! They don't count towards your work, though."

"Then why—!" His voice echoed. He took a deep breath.

"Watch your tone with me, pup," she smirked.

He another deep breath, then another, trying to get it under control, but this, this…this shi—

No. No, he wasn't going to let her win. He turned on his heel and marched away, her laugh following him into the night.

~*~

Mizora only had one quip on the next assignment—that Wyll should return to Gangbuster, or perhaps Babykiller—to which he said, "Certainly," and that was all. The heat of his anger was still there, but combined with how he needed to stay frosty towards Mizora, it cooled to a low simmer. Strange, how out here being aggressive, being a fighter, kept him alive, but Mizora was more like being back in the courts. Listening to barbed silver tongues dribble insults and wait for a moment to throw them off their game.

Wyll had despised courtly intrigue, so he did the same here that he had there: he pretended he was a sculpture of smooth, gray stone, and let it roll off of him. Instead of an unstoppable force, he was an immovable object, powerful in how little she could affect him.

Falling into the rhythm of battle helped too, Wyll placing his feet as sure as he did while dancing, fiendish magic flowing through him, ducking a weaving and leaping around the gnolls. He couldn't beat them too quickly, after all, so he staggered them, keeping them up and alive until one unwittingly opened a portal.

Out tumbled dozens of maw demons, little more than hungry mouths on whatever limbs they hadn't eaten. The creatures squealed as they ran towards Wyll, who dispatched them slowly, their twitching bodies only stacking in the spell that was summoning them. A dozen, two, no, a hundred later and he blasted the remaining gnolls, closing off the spell and completing his task.

He wiped his blade off and returned to camp, oiling and caring for it. His family crest sparkled on the hilt.

One day. One day he would prove to father that he had done well. One day his father would forgive him. All he had to do was enough good to outweigh his foolishness. Enough good that the name "Wyll Ravengard" didn't fill him with shame.

And until that day he would be…

The Rapier of the Roads.

No! No, he could always hear Mizora saying something.

~*~

Years of being a mildly pleasant statue to Mizora meant she slowly lost interest in him. Far slower than a mortal might, but they say patience comes with age and she was ancient. She still stroked him and licked him but her touch was as inconsequential and stupid as a fly banging against the stained glass windows of his father's office. You could not hurt rock, not without breaking it, and he was worth too much whole. Thus he settled into a half life, never too happy—because Mizora would know what to take from him—and never too sad—because that would give her pleasure. A twilight, as cool and dim as he tried to be.

Perhaps that's why her requests turned cruel.

Wyll stared at the woman in front of him. Fiendish, certainly, with her horns and the glow of hellfire in her chest, the oily smoke that poured out of her shoulders. And huge, too. In a fair fight she would probably crush him. Definitely crush him. He'd lost a lot of skill thanks to the tadpole. Looking at her he saw Mizora, the empty smiles, the constant invasion.

But that wasn't reality. In reality she was like him: a plaything for devils. A weapon wielded to further their plans. Except she hadn't had a choice.

Mizora was going to kill him, he knew it. She was going to ruin him. Perhaps she would scream into his thoughts all night or pass her end of the sending stone around, filling his head with the mindless suffering of the lemures. Maybe twist him, turn him into a monster, stamp on his face that he was a sellout, scum.

Too late. He wouldn't kill an innocent. Let her ruin him. He would not ruin himself, not anymore.

The feeling of doing right filled him with a warmth as bold and bright as Karlach's smile.

[devilmen-collector]

The Beginning of The Contracts Breaker

A little bit NSFW

Characters: Klein (my MC), Solomon

Warning: spoilers up to stage 1-39 of the main story

"Please break the contracts between me and the devils, Klein." Solomon beseeched, a hint of sadness in his voice.

"Why do you think I would want to do that, when I can wield the devils' powers in my hands?" Klein said, smirking. In his mind, it was Solomon's fault that he didn't break the contracts, now that all 79 contracts had fallen into his hands, he shalt make sure to use them to their fullest potential.

However, Solomon was not surprised by his descendant's reply. He did expect this scenario. After all, human is a race that covets powers, having someone who desires powers beyond his understanding as a descendant was something Solomon expected.

"I see, if this is your choice, I respect it." Solomon sighed, after all, he can't force Klein.

"Glad you didn't try to persuade me further, Grandpa." Klein couldn't hide his grin.

"However, let me tell you one thing." The snake on Solomon's shoulder moved its head as the man spoke.

Klein nodded, indicating that he was willing to listen.

"Contracts may be broken but the bonds remain." Solomon said with a smile.

"What does that mean?" Klein asked. He could understand the words, but the Overlord knew there was a meaning deeper than the surface.

"It means the bonds of your soul and theirs will remain even after the contracts are broken. And they will like you even more than before, and your bonds may become stronger."

The expression on Klein's face changed when he heard "like you even more". Even as an Evil Overlord, Klein had always believed that mutual bonds are more important and beneficial for him than pacts and contracts. Furthermore, Klein had seen Satan as a romantic partner ever since that passionate kiss back they shared on the mortal realm, and especially since they had sex so that Satan could supply him with "devil energy". Until now, Klein still couldn't forget the feeling of the Devil King of Wrath's manhood thrusting in and out of his anal hole. And just thinking about it made Klein's face red from blushing.

"Looks like you've changed your mind."

Klein snapped out of his horny thought at his ancestor's voice. He frowned at his handsome distant father of his.

"Fine, I'll do it." Klein said after succeeding in calming his excitement down. "I'll break those contracts."

"Oh. Could it be that you are attracted to devil men?" Solomon grinned and teased.

"Shut up and just pass to me the method of contract breaking." Klein scowled.

"Alright, give me your hand."

As magical light shone up on Klein's right hand and the method of breaking contract was passed onto his mind, the Evil Overlord heard Solomon's gentle voice.

"Please take care of them, those hopeless idiots."

When Klein opened his eyes again, he found himself once again surrounded by the ruin of Gehenna...and three of his favorite devils.

[weprywepry]

Hatred never ends. It's a bit absurd, absurd in the narrative sense of the word. How can we expect a story about the endless cycle of violence to do anything other than perpetuate that violence? Either AOT is wrong, and there actually is some way to prevent people from killing each other, or the series will end up as just another part of the killing.

I remember defending AOT against people that criticized its portrayal of fascism. Some of those criticisms are, still, to me very hollow. Like that one Polygon article which can basically be summed up by *"guys i think there might be fascist subtext to a story explicitly about fascism"*. That much is just a kind of trolling. But there is the more serious matter of whether or not the show accidentally encourages the sort of hatred it displays.

"You can’t choose where the cat sleeps."

"There is no such thing as an anti-war film."

No matter how talented and well minded an artist is, there is no way you can actually *make* your audience react a certain way. I'm sure there are neo-Nazis out there that enjoy watching Schindler's List. If people are stupid enough to actually *do* the things portrayed in media, then why should we be surprised by their reactions to the media? There's no way AOT could kill fascism. But still, for how intelligent the story is, I wonder if that just doesn't even matter.

It is also very stupid at times (like the S1-S2 openings), but those seem unintelligent only by how easily they are taken out of context. I think the narrative structure of Attack on Titan relies on building up expectation and then dismantling them in such a way that is revealing about ourselves. The Titans are presented as an absolute, unifying, and indiscriminate evil. The Titans are actually deeply tragic beings that are the product of human choices. This may teach an audience to not trust such narratives. That sort of "bait and switch" relies heavily on the "switch." If you only ever are exposed to certain parts of AOT (like just the action or overly dramatic AMVs), then its easy to get the wrong message.

But it's hard to blame AOT or Isayama for that. Asking an author to not allow that may as well be asking an author to not tell stories at all. It's inevitable, even more so with popularly. It's hard to tell a truth about propoganda without enabling the spread of that propoganda. Context matters, but people are inevitably lazy. It's just the law of large numbers. That isn't to say there's no use in trying to provide context. An audience can be lured into a critical experience with a piece of media. But there will always be bad actors, and those bad actors will be just as cunning.

But as a more fundamental flaw with AOT itself rather than art in general, oh my god. What the fuck is the ending.

Here's my two cents:

Armin hates himself. Even before becoming a mass murderer, he viewed himself as inadequate and undeserving of respect. That self hatred never left him and never was resolved. Becoming a soldier allowed him to quell it and act rationally according to his objective, but the self hatred was always still there.

For him, to thank Eren is an expression of his self-hatred. He sees himself as at the same level of moral fault and that they both deserve the same fate. Eren is undoubtedly *worse* than Armin (80% of the worlds population), but Armin still considers himself just as culpable. So his friendliness with Eren is a sardonic, cynical expression of his own hopelessness.

This is the most charitable interpretation I can come up with. Even if this *was* an intended subtext, I think the more honest interpretation is that Isayama just got tired and lazy. The theme of "those who can't abandon anything can't change anything" needed to be reincorporated, and this was a giant flashing neon sign indicating that. Eren did certainly change something.

What I want to say is that, by this point in the story, the notion of positive change through sacrifice had been disproven. There is no common enemy to humanity; humanity is its own enemy. So "tatakae" is no longer about promoting a greater good, but promoting one's own interest over others.

"Fight! Fight to survive!"

has a very different tone from,

"As long as we have unbending convictions, a clash is inevitable. There is but one thing to do. Fight."

I wish i could say all that.

But far too much credence is given to the idea that the Rumbling is justifiable. Hange says, "I'll be damned before I justify genocide." But at almost every step, the Rumbling is presented not as a moral apocalypse, but as a solution to a problem. This is absurd. Erwin counsels Levi that, "No one will know how things will turn out." And yet these two outcomes, let Paradis be destroyed or let Eren destroy the world are presented as the only two options. Even worse, that this is supposedly the case is supposedly *the fault* of Hange and Armin and Jean and everyone else. Floch saying that Paradis will drown in a sea of blood is propoganda. This propoganda is treated as if it is the unquestionable truth.

I think Isayama wanted a moral dilemma for the characters to ponder (save ourselves or save the world), but got lazy along the way. That dilemma, "us vs. them," is never true and is used to justify atrocity in the real world. Violence never ends, and the us's and the them's change to fit the needs of whatever cruelty needs justification. I hope that Isayama knows this. It’s present in the work already. But here it vanishes in favor of a simplistic, cliche narrative. Laziness, when dealing with subject matter as sensitive as this, has a real cost. And it's a bummer beyond all other bummers that this is how the story ends.

[liyahmackenzie]

Test A0: Introduction to Test A

The clock struck nine as the Violet Eyes sauntered into the facility. One by one, they buzzed into the steel-and-stone compound, a brusque-sounding sentry over the intercom assuring safe entry with a simple “welcome”. Their first day as examiners would start with neither a bang nor a whimper, but with the slap of an ID badge on a scanner.

A soon-to-be-christened “Violet Eye” pulled over a colleague for a very pressing question. ”If we're supposed to respect the security system, why do we have to slap our ID badges onto the scanner?”

He didn’t make eye contact. ”I have a PhD in bioengineering and a masters in philosophy…, but I still don’t feel like responding to that.”

The intercom interrupts this riveting conversation.

“New Violet Eyes, report to the meeting room for your briefing”, the intercom interjects.

Six fresh faces march to a meeting room. It could have just as easily been a hospital room or shipping crate, a lone table the only indication this was meant for people at all. Security cameras peered down from the corners of the room. Five fresh faces sit down, one taking a minute to figure out the postmodern messes of the barstools they were provided. With the exception of the table, the only other sign of humanity is an electric pencil sharpener fastened to the wall. A Violet Eye takes a pencil out of their breast pocket and finagles with the device, eventually getting it to work. The machine’s whirring is followed by a witchy voice, which urges the room,”Don't you know you should go paperless? Aaaaahhhhhh!” The mechanical beast munches on the pencil, and the Violet Eye takes their seat.

Just as they sit down, the television immediately turns on. “Talk about efficiency”, murmurs the Bioengineer. A logo, prominently featuring an A, abruptly pops up on a previously concealed screen in the wall, then is wiped away by an announcer dressed in black.

”Now let's get to business.”

The Violet Eyes, caught off-guard, get up from their slouched positions.

“Congratulations on being picked by our committee for this special experiment on the human condition and the books that are made because of it. Test A is a multifaceted study relating to fictional universes and human characteristics.

“As you may know, readers are whisked into the books they read. Even as the worlds are fictional, readers can apply the lessons they learn from the books into real-world use. We place characters of one piece of media into the world of a different piece of media and see what becomes of the characters, pushing boundaries of what the media can teach. That is the essence of Test A.

“How will the characters come alive for our experiment? They, and the worlds they live in, will be generated by a computer mainframe,” the announcer pauses,”which will turn any media of choice into a live-action film of sorts, displayed on a screen. It is comparable to the mind’s eye.”

A long pause is given, allowing this to sink in.

“Of course, the devices that allow this are not simple to operate and maintain. They require… very specific care, environmental control, and upkeep. The 70-point-three-seven-degree air flowing through the above vents is for the sake of Test A. Every variable, every component, of these buildings, is for Test A. Everything, right down to your provided socks, was planned by a special committee to further the cause of Test A.

“Be sure to record everything you see. Your data will be useful, all of it. The committee that hired you is the same one that will tell you what to research. They give you prompts and expect results. We don't expect anything less than excellence. Thank you for your attention, and now, please watch the door.”

All eyes turned to the door they had entered through, now flush with the wall. The door, for its part, completely failed to do anything of note. It failed to do anything remotely door-like, and remained content to be a part of the wall.

“Okay, now you can actually leave. I was paying attention to how you pay attention. Now, go to the laboratory to watch a sample simulation.”

The Violet Eyes watched the door transform itself back to normal. They walked out the (now) regular door and followed the signs to the laboratory. A set of steel doors separated them from insanity. Guards buzzed them in, with a gaze of reverence.

[obaewankenope]

My hand slipped.

.

It's a little embarrassing for them all, really, to be in this situation but, alas, it can't always be helped. Garak expected better of Captain Sisko and certainly the Major but, as he really should have expected, these idealists let their ideals obscure the true nature of their now-captors.

Garak had tried to point out, of course, that perhaps trusting these particular aliens might not be so wise, Captain, but, as always, Garak is but a simple tailor and knows very little of political manouvering. Truly.

"You will give us the codes to access the station, Federation, or you will die!"

It is really, truly unfair for Garak to be in the same cell as the rest of command, especially when their captors clearly believe him to be a member of the Federation! How absurd!

As if a Cardassian of Garak's calibre would be part of the Federation!

"I will not give you access to DS9, and none of my people will, either," Sisko replies and he's quite right. None of the Federation and Bajoran under Sisko's command would ever willingly give up when the Captain won't.

Garak is neither Federation nor Bajoran. He is, however, pragmatic.

Their captors will not allow any of them to live should the codes to DS9 be provided. Even a mindless fool can tell that much.

"You are trapped and at our mercy! Captain Sisko! You have no choice unless you want your people to die in horrible ways!"

Garak cannot help but look at the Major who, in true Bajoran fashion, is clearly as impressed by this posturing as Garak is. Their captors clearly will kill them but, to be fair to this particular member of their captors, this one is very much all bluff and little bite.

Garak may have confused that human saying. He'll have to speak to the good Doctor about it at their next lunch date.

"You think us trapped?" Sisko asks with the amusement of a man who has a secret on his side that will ruin his opponent. Garak respects that.

The bluffing little captor laughs. "Your Klingon barbarian is collared! None of you have the strength to break out of this cell! Even the Cardassian is too weak!"

Garak stares flatly at their captor. He doesn't blink. Just stares. The little captor looks away.

Garak is stronger than is typical for a Cardassian of his age. Simply because he is not on par with a Klingon like Commander Worf does not mean he is weak.

Although, unfortunately, he is still not strong enough to bend the bars of this barbaric cell they're all stuck in.

Perhaps if he had a few hours, or days, he could work at weakening one of the bars until it shifted and broke at the base but, Garak highly doubts they have days. Perhaps an hour, or two, before the little bluffing captor is replaced with one who is not bluffing.

Captain Sisko tilts his head. "Hmm."

Oh dear.

The Captain does not agree with their little captor. He cannot possibly think Garak is stronger than he truly is, can he? Or that Commander Worf is not currently being inhibited by the shackles on his wrists and around his neck?

The good Doctor had looked at those shackles, as had Chief O'Brien and both concluded they were impairing the Commander physically and could not be removed without risk in their current situation.

There is no real way that the Captain can believe they can escape this cell via brute force... Is there?

"Prove it!" Their little captor demands. "Prove it!"

"Why should I?" Captain Sisko raises an eyebrow. A gesture, Garak, indicating the individual is not impressed, or is being sarcastic. "What would I get from proving it to you?"

The thing about these aliens that have captured them, Garak recalls suddenly, is that they quite like wagers. And deals.

Garak looks at the Major who seems to have realised the same thing he has.

Their captors are bound to honour any deals they make, whether they want to or not. And this little captor wants to see proof of the Captain's claim and the Captain, in truly devious fashion that makes Garak's Cardassian nature proud, is going to convince this little captor to make a deal for the proof.

A deal, clearly, that will ensure their freedom.

"I will make a deal with you!" Their captor cries, falling into the trap laid by the Captain. "Name your terms!"

Captain Sisko is quiet for a moment, dragging it out to the frustration of their captor. Garak admires this masterful display of manipulation. "The freedom of my people, all of us, from captivity, and your oath that your people will not attempt to take DS9 or any of those affiliated with the station to ransom, threaten, harm, interrogate, or kill."

Their captor scoffs. Shakes their head and laughs. "Then, in return, should you not prove your claim, you and your people will surrender all information we seek, not seek to escape, and serve us until we decide otherwise!"

There is a rumble of rage from the Commander. Chief O'Brien, who had been the only other of command who had been wary of these aliens, looks rightly concerned by their captors counter. The good Doctor, on the other side of Commander Worf, is watching Captain Sisko closely. Garak finds the expression on his face quite... Strange.

He will have to come back to it at a later date.

"And how should my claim be proven?" Captain Sisko asks. "I wouldn't want you to cry foul, after all."

Their captor looks at the Captain for a long moment before clearly deciding. Garak notes that their captor had looked at where the Captain's hands gripped the bars of their cell. Oh, their captor could not be so foolish, could they?

"Bend the bars of this cell until a way to leave large enough even for your Klingon is made and I will consider your claim proven!"

Captain Sisko nods. "Very well," he says, "I accept the Deal."

Their captor nods. "I accept the Deal," they echo. Something seems to skitter over Garak's scales, like sand on a windy day, and he twitches from the sensation. How strange.

The Captain turns away from their captor then and looks over at the Commander. Garak, unfortunately, is next to the Commander also and thus falls under Captain Sisko's gaze. Garak prepares to be ordered, alongside Commander Worf, to prove the Captain's claim.

"Doctor."

Garak does not blink in surprise. That would be a foolish thing to do. Amateur. He does look at the good Doctor, however.

Doctor Bashir, Julian, is knelt beside Commander Worf and, beside the Commander, looks awfully fragile. Even for a human.

Julian is tall, quite tall, for a human, and he does have a physique that Garak's research has indicated is that of a swimmer: lean and strong but the musculature is more geared to endurance than brute strength.

He has seen the good Doctor pick up heavy storage crates with little difficulty in the past so Garak is aware that Julian is not a weak man.

Still. To bend bars?

Does Captain Sisko believe the good Doctor to be physically enhanced as well as intellectually? Garak cannot recall a specific time when Julian has even accidentally indicated increased strength. Increased hand-to-eye coordination seems to be the only other enhancement the Doctor has, beside his intelligence.

"Yes sir."

Garak can see the way Commander Worf twitches at Julian's words in a way most uncommon for the Klingon. Doctor Bashir does not even glance at the Commander as he stands, smoothly rising from where he knelt to tower over most of the inhabitants of the cell.

He looks... Well.

He looks as he always has to Garak: a fascinating challenge he never tires of.

Their captor laughs sharply. Mockingly. "What is this?" They cry, grinning at the good Doctor who strides over to stand beside the Captain. "And what can a mere healer do that your brute could not?"

Julian, as he is prone to do, gives their captor a look that is as mocking as their little captors laugh. "A healer does the impossible every day," the good Doctor quips as he grips the bars in front of him. "We prevent death and save lives."

There is a sound not unlike the slow wrenching of a bulkhead falling victim to the weakness of a crack against the unstoppable force of the void of space. Garak's heart quite possibly ceases function, or whatever the poetic saying is.

Their captor stares.

Doctor Bashir, glorious Julian, ducks his head slightly and steps through the bars he has bent so much that other bars on either side have warped with the force. Stood in front of their captor, the good Doctor looks down and gives a smile that makes Garak thankful he is dressed in several layers today.

"I'd appreciate the key to those restraints on my patient."

Their captor gives the good Doctor the key. They have not stopped staring at him.

Garak quite understands the feeling.

"We'll be going now," Captain Sisko says, and just like that, they do. The bars, it seems, were affecting the transporters. Once damaged, their affect no longer was an issue and the command staff of DS9, and Garak, find themselves home once more.

Later, in the privacy of his quarters, Garak has to list all the reasons why Julian is not a suitable partner and the risks to the good Doctor that Garak would bring to a relationship.

They are not quite enough to tamp down the flare of desire that any thought of Julian's strength produces, however.

This is going to make lunch very difficult tomorrow.

Truly think that ds9 missed a trick by not giving Bashir other enhancements aside from intelligence. Think of the sheer comedic potential;

like, the whole squad’s been captured, held in old fashioned cells. The enemy of the week comes in to gloat, with a Dramatic Monologue™, culminating in:

“Anything you’d like to say, Captain?”

But the Captain simply says, “Doctor?”

and from behind this klingon brick shit-house, steps the most unassuming twink you’ve ever seen. An absolute sliver of a man, 8 pounds soaking wet. He sighs,  looks you dead in the eye, and bends the metal bars apart with his twig arms like it’s nothing. No one in the cell is surprised by this. The lizard man in the corner looks turned on. Their captor is Sweating. Cue studio laughter.

[cizzle-freezy]

I hope you like a nice big portion of 🥦 [BROCCOLI] for your entire cast. :3

oh MAN, considering I have like... about 300+ OCs for different worlds and lores, I might just break it up into different species and the pros/cons that some OCs might have opinions of (this is also going to tattle on me and how i develop my lore/what i end up focusing on the most)

Okay I wanna start w/ Essence Guardians, aka my flavor/subspecies of deities in The Shared Lore

The latest generation (so like, Solanum/Flarah/Glacia/Skylyn for the Model Realm, and Nerine/Celeste/Gelum/Ignis/Tempys for the Mirror Counterparts) has a lot of struggles with how many "rules" their body seems to have. The unstable powers that hurt them and people around them. The way their bodies would react to elements (mostly to do with weaknesses + strengths, like for example, Gelum being able to morph her body like water but is VERY sensitive to cold and electricity). The way they can't just regain energy through sleep but have to regain it through exposure to their Primary Element (Sunlight for Flarah/Gelum, Moonlight for Glacia/Ignis, other people's dreams for Tempys/Skylyn).

But worst of all? They cannot die the same way like Mortals can. Their soul regenerates physical forms. If they were to die, they would simply just cease to exist instead. They can't meet their loved ones in whatever afterlives they go to. A whole "it's tough to be a god" mixed with "to become god is the loneliest achievement of all" type of deal. They can't connect to mortals or relate to them in the same way, even if they gave up their divinity.

Speaking of the Aftelives and ghosts, I do also have a lot of lore surrounding ghosts and this subject! It's easy for ghosts in my lore to lose themselves and their humanity, and become more monstrous. Of course, stressing about this might only just make the possibility more likely. Ghosts of my lore either have to move on to the plane of spirits and eventually an afterlife of their choice, or enter a spiritual sleep, or constantly have to "tether" themselves to something important to them, lest they end up as one of these monstrous fiends.

Then we get to Nunui and Yiyio, who have relatively the same base for their dominant species/race. Chiru for Nunui, Misae for Yiyio, snow elves and magma elves respectively, both having connection to the moon thanks to being created by Glacia/Ignis. They tend to have body temperatures that are lower/higher than normal, are sensitive to the opposite temperature as it drains their energy faster (or worse, cause physical harm). And if you try to hybridize? There's a real chance that the hybrid child may end up with a condition that is near-impossible to regulate body temperature, or there may be some sort of "energy block" of sorts that prevents the use of mana, or other energy-based abilities such as things involving aura or ki/chi. Stamina at least seems unaffected by this "energy block".

Then Ethria and Suthria, which share most of the same dominant races. There's the Meiun, Lifians, Aerlumi, the Vidar, and Ryode. They all share a common feature: small, upwards-pointed ears that indicates someone of Ethrian/Suthrian heritage. However, one of the biggest problems with Ethria/Suthria (more egregious in Ethria tho) is that there's some sort of pseudo-caste system surrounding a race's/species' abilities, and the roles they're expected take on in their society.

The Meiun are the most human-adjacent out of the main 5, their main features being their ghostly, dulled or pastel color schemes, and their ability to hear the dead regardless of an area's "rules" surrounding the matter. It can be a handy ability... but also one that is hard to tune out. And if someone has died, yet has been brought back from the dead and given a second life? The voice is deafeningly loud.

Lifians! They're oversized fairies with healing blood! ... Most times. They have a few different blood types- Healer, Panacea, Null, and Toxin. However, Toxin-type blood is a result of a bit of hybridization, and a little bit of a supposedly-dead race trying to blend in w/ Lifians. Izulda is an example of a hybrid, where she has the numbing aspect from her mother, but then the toxic aspect of her father... and she hates it so much. Toxin blood types also cannot learn healing magics, but vice versa applies to other blood types- they cannot learn poison/toxic type magics. Also, the race/species is generally mostly born as female, with males being found through either hybrids with other races, or w/ Toxin bloods since technically they're not truly Lifian but more or less have been accepted into their culture. Or transitioning (a good thing about homo/transphobia being nonexistent in this shared lore <3).

Aerlumi are a race/species that has a focus on light and sky and flight, and as such, they have bio-luminescent markings on their body, and wings made from an ethereal light. As you can imagine, stealth is not very much their thing. An Aerlum is often expected to be a knight, scout, or guard, mostly due to their flight and mobility.

Vidar are tree people! As such they are often affected by things trees are often affected by, weather and temperature, nutrients, etc. They lose their leaves and go bald in the cold. Children are "grown" rather than born conventionally. Literally plant that child. Cabbage patch baby. When they die? They can't be buried in conventional graveyards, as "Soulgrave" trees tend to sprout from Vidar corpses. They don't necessarily have to eat with their mouth, and can consume things through the holes in their fingertips, and can enjoy rotting foods without much issues, so that's neat. Oh! And if they're a Fruit-bearing Vidar? The quality of food/nutrients affects the flavor of the fruit.

Ryode... unfortunately I haven't used them as much compared to other Ethrians/Suthrians, but they're rock people. Aesthetically looking like a mix of broken statues and rock/gem constructs. Their biggest weakness is that they cannot heal conventionally. They can, however, repair injuries through porcelain, clay, or metals, like how Kintsugi looks! Paints and glazes are used as a form of self-expression! They also cannot cross-breed or hybridize like other races, as a child is born through the parts being carved, then life is breathed into them by Flarah/Gelum. Meaning they can literally just... go extinct if their goddess goes missing or takes too long of a vacation or ceases to exist or something.

Now with Ethrian/Suthrian races out of the way, I want to focus on my favorite Aldzinian race: Inkos!

Inkos, much like the aforementioned supposedly-dead "Toxin Lifians" were supposedly extinct when Aldzin was destroyed. But, no, Inkos were scattered across many different worlds. They're made of ink, so their appearances can vary greatly. They're just usually characterized by paper whites, pencil grays, and whatever ink color you'd like to make their blood (w/ black ink being the most common). Generally speaking, weak to water, except for alcohol-based inks. Ghosts are usually made of invisible ink. They have the options to reproduce sexually and asexually, which the latter is where hybridization (and different ink colors!) can occur. They're also very, VERY sensitive to contamination! Blood is often the example I use, and often puts them in a "berserk" state.

Since I'm more or less just going down my OneNote list at this point, gonna give a quick mention to "Shadow-walkers". Talia, Ryvin, and Quirin all share this particular trait that seems to be inherited, where, as the name implies, they can walk through shadows as a form of fast travel. Downside is, pure darkness or light in an area can trap them in the shadows, until they're able to find an exit through another shadow in a different area.

Color Sages and Drainers... Kind of cheating with this one, since it's more of a trait rather than a race or species. They're essentially two sides of the same coin, where they physically, mentally, and emotionally react to color.

Sages are affected by the colors around them, and may amplify or suppress emotions, memories, or even physical ability. Dull, boring colors may cause weakness or confusion. As one character describes it in-story, "A Color Sage is a person who basically 'breathes color'." This trait is either genetic in some cases, or born from strong traumas... so not very fun for the latter. Especially if a certain color is linked to a particularly bad memory?

Then Color Drainers, the other side of the coin. “Strange beings that come to be when something was made, then left incomplete.” They can range from more mindless creatures, but there are plenty who have sentience and function almost normal, with some control over their draining power. The worst part is that they lack a sense of emotion, so draining color from objects, or worse, people, can give them that sense of being able to feel emotions. And its somewhat addicting, because for a short while, they feel... complete. Color Sages, unfortunately, give Drainers a longer-lasting and more powerful effect. Not to say they're completely emotionless, but they do struggle to process and show that emotion when they do feel it.

... Now this WOULD be the part I get into Gizoko races/species, but... my onenote lacks notes. I don't know where I put the notes, I know I had them. Which sucks if I DID lose them, because I know you would've loved Dragoniyans. But I haven't played with Gizoko lore in such a long time, I must've forgotten to transfer my notes. ^^;

Then of course I could always get into OCs I have of other races/species that don't belong to me... but there's a whole lot of mixing between friends' lore that I'd need to get more confirmation on, as well as fandom stuff like fan OCs. Maybe for this particular topic, I'll put a pin on it, and come back to it later.

[4k-experience]

The Most Important Tips To Consider When Choosing A Good Massage Therapist

Massage therapists who are skilled can employ techniques for massage to relieve tension and relieve stress. It's easy to determine which time you'll need the benefit of a massage. The difficult part is finding a massage therapist who can satisfy your requirements.

The selection of a good 대전마사지 Therapist is extremely important because they are trained to deal with proper manipulation and kneading techniques for the human body. This is crucial since many people don't know that in the United States many individuals without massage training can open their own massage business just so long as they don't declare that they're licensed or have received certificate of training.

With that in mind, how do you select a reliable 대전마사지 counselor? What are the key questions you should ask? And what qualities should you expect from this person?First, you can always ask your friends for recommendations however you may still be not satisfied with their choice so here are the things you need to be looking for in the person you hire as a therapist.

Credentials

You should ask your prospective 대전스웨디시 massage therapist for his license and certification. Also, inquire where he went to school and what kind of training he got and for how long he's been in practice. The rules for certification differ between states, but generally, MT's are required at minimum 600 hours of classroom instruction.

The possession of certificates and participation in advanced training is rather important, it means that the person is committed to learning and improving himself. Common MT designations vary according to state: LMT, Licensed Massage Therapist, LMP (Licensed Massage Practitioner), RMT(Registered Massage Therapist), CMT (Certified Massage Therapist).

Massage Supplies, Tools, Equipment and Linens

Ask your MT about the oils and lotions that he uses. Also, take a look at the ingredients if you have sensitive skin. There are a variety of massage products on the market. You can decide if you prefer organic or water-based.

Cleanliness of massage tools, equipment and linens is essential. Stains on linens from oil can be an indication that the MT isn't concerned about hygiene.

Communication

A good massage therapist would be able to discuss with you what your requirements are and the style of massage you would like. A good massage therapist should be able to alter his style of massage to suit the individual needs of his customer. Some clients like deep massages, while others are more comfortable with light touches.

Conclusion:

If you are looking for a massage therapy therapist, it is crucial to ask questions about their credentials and experience. For the best massage, you must choose a therapist who has been certified and trained by respected organizations , such as the National Board of Therapeutic Massage.

[wheelsup]

coffee is the sixth love language | part two

Summary: Over three cups of coffee, Spencer realized his feelings for you. And over three cups of coffee, he acts on them. gn!Reader.

A/N: the italicized this time indicates Spencer’s thoughts, not reader’s. part of this story is inspired directly from these comments made by @doctorthreephds on the reblog! thanks for letting me incorporate them :)

category: fluff, sfw

warnings: technically none, but the “profiling” part is kind of a reach.

word count: 3k

     Once Spencer was firmly resolute on asking you out, he knew he wanted it to be special in a way that only the two of you could appreciate. He realized that he had yet to be the one bringing you coffee, and so it felt only right that it should be how he makes his first move. He woke up extra early on a weekday morning to stop by your favorite coffee shop on his way to work because he knew you loved their banana nut muffins and double-brewed coffee. It was an extra twenty-five minutes out of the way for work each way, so you only got to go there on the rare occasion that you had a day off and were not out of town on a case. It might have been ridiculous to drive fifty minutes for a single damn muffin, but Spencer wanted to make this perfect for you by any means necessary. This was one of the special times that Spencer drove his car, needing the extra speed in order to complete his mission.

     He picked up your regular drink order and the muffin and was anxiously on his way back to Quantico. As per his plan he arrived at the office before you did, though not too much earlier because he wanted to make sure your coffee was still hot by the time you got it. If Spencer’s calculations were correct - which they almost always were - you would arrive within a two to four and a half minute window from when he did. Spencer took out a sharpie from his desk drawer and delicately scrawled a message onto the top corner of the pastry bag holding your muffin. He thought it felt like something out of a cheesy romance novel, the kind of novels that you could find in the fifty cent clearance bins, but dammit if Spencer didn’t deserve a little cheesy romance in his life. The other benefit of this was that he thought he would almost certainly choke on his words if he had to ask you himself. He set the two items on your desk and returned to his own to sit and observe. Spencer hoped it would be the first of many coffees he could buy you.

It wasn’t until you had already walked into the bullpen and were halfway to your desk that Spencer realized he had forgotten to sign his name to the bag. How were you supposed to react to him asking you out if you didn’t actually know it was him? And oh God, he left unsealed food on the desk of an FBI agent, with no indication of who had put it there. That is infinitely more suspicious than it is romantic. He wouldn’t be surprised if she took it straight to the trash can. So long for cheesy romance, Dr. Reid.

     But Spencer was absolutely elated when your first reaction was to peek into the bag and gasp out of joy at what was inside. He watched you break off a piece of your beloved banana nut muffin and chew it gleefully, and all he could think of was how cute you looked when you were happy. Shortly followed by concern that a federal agent would so readily eat unmarked food that could have been tampered with. That’s something I should bring up to her on the date. 

     Spencer’s stomach was in knots not knowing if you would pick up on the message. You swallowed that chunk of the muffin and turned the bag over to find an almost illegible black script that you had nearly missed: Would you like to have coffee with me? It just felt like all of the air had been knocked out of your body. 

     It didn’t even take you half a second to know who this was from; there were so many tells it was Spencer. Before you even noticed the note, you knew it was from him when you saw what was inside the bag. The whole team knew what your favorite coffee shop was because you had talked about it enough times. Hell, you even owned a oversized tee with their name on it that you kept in your go bag as a sleep shirt. But nobody knew what your favorite muffin was because you never mentioned it. In fact, if you thought about it there were maybe only a handful of times over the six months you’d been at the BAU that you even elected to eat this pastry in lieu of a real breakfast. But if anyone was going to detect a pattern, it would have been Dr. Reid. Of course he would pick up on the fact that you only picked those out at cafes when you felt like having a sweet treat, or that when Penelope brought in baked goods for the office you would only indulge if you saw your favorite item in the lineup. 

     You already knew it, but in case you had any doubt, the note itself confirmed your theory twice. One indicator was the phrasing choice would you as opposed to will you. Use of would posits a hypothetical, as in hypothetically, would you have an interest in drinking coffee together, rather than a hard, come with me to get coffee. The hesitance in the tone came off as if the sender were testing the waters, wanting to put the idea out there without coming off as too strong. Because it was reserved, it gave you room to think if you would genuinely enjoy doing so as opposed to making you feel like you should oblige. That level of respect screamed Spencer to you. And though it was so glaringly obvious, if you needed some concrete evidence it was the fact that nobody else had such endearingly atrocious handwriting like Dr. Reid. It was something you always found hilariously ironic for a man who often analyzes other people’s writing styles for work. You wondered what his way of scribbling said about him, and hoped he could tell you on that date of yours. 

     You looked straight at him, finding that his eyes were already fixed on you.

     “Yes.” 

     One word was all you had to say to make the lump in Spencer’s throat disappear, replaced by the sensation that his heart was leaping out of his chest. He was going to keep that memory stored in his brain forever, just to replay the moment when the future of your relationship changed with a simple word. Little did he know that when you finished that muffin, you neatly folded the pastry bag and tucked it into your desk drawer, saving it for the exact same purpose. 

_____

     Spencer had gotten to see your favorite coffee spot already, so for your date you requested that he take you to his to make it even. It was small, but incredibly cozy under the soft ambiance provided by string lights and charm of their mismatched furniture. There was one exposed brick wall adjacent to another that was a floor-to-ceiling bookshelf; it housed copies that loyal patrons left behind for others to pick up. All of those books had different colors of post-its peeking out from the pages. It was almost too eclectic and disorganized for what you would expect Dr. Reid to be into, but at the same time it made perfect sense to you.

     “You know, I think I just learned something about you.” You leaned gently into his side to tell him, both hands wrapped around your coffee cup because you were too nervous to know what else to do with them. Spencer was the kind of guy to sit adjacent to you at a table, rather than across, and you loved that about him. You loved having him as close to you as possible. 

     Spencer’s lips pulled at the edges to form a perfect, lazy smile. “What did you learn about me?” The team had an agreement not to profile each other, but under your gaze, Spencer never felt the kind of scrutiny that came with picking people apart. He trusted that whatever you had to say was going to be kind.

     “I think this place says so much about you. Something about how all those books are donations passed on from locals, and that people feel comfortable taking a book off the shelf and opening it up to read what others recommend. The fact that they leave little notes in it for the next reader to share what those stories meant to each of them. Nobody asked those people to do that, but they all chose to take part in these small actions that ended up creating an entire community.” It was one of the most beautifully human things you’d ever witnessed. A group of people engaging in understated and innocent gestures of love between perfect strangers, completely unprompted. “I think you value simple acts, the kind that can take on profound meaning without even intending to. Like when silence feels so comfortable when you’re with the right person.” You paused to take in his reaction as a gauge for how right or wrong you may be. He gave no objection to what you had posited, eyes simply glued to you in intense focus. Spencer was hanging on everything you said, wordlessly encouraging you to divulge more theories you’d developed on him.

     “And, visually, this furniture reminds me of a family home. The kind where some items were handed down for generations, some bought new, and others gifted by a distant relative who has no idea what the family likes.” Spencer’s soft laughter mirrored your own at your very accurate description of the shop’s decor. The room truly could not be more disjointed in its aesthetic, but that was entirely its charm. “It probably reflects that there are some aspects of your life that just don’t make sense to you, that almost seem to conflict with each other. For a guy so smart, I’m sure it’s scary to feel like you don’t understand something, and there are probably dark spots in that brain of yours that you try to hide from the world. But in this room, these things that don’t seem like they work together actually amount to something so lovely. And just like the charmingly hideous suede couch and the oddly fur-covered armchairs, every facet of you deserves appreciation because without them you wouldn’t make up to be the beautiful person you are overall.” 

     Neither of you could pinpoint the moment which your hands had drifted together, fingers loosely intertwined in gentle embrace. There was too much to unpack in what you had said for Spencer to know where to begin. The only thing he could say for sure was that he was astounded by how deeply you understood him without him ever saying any of those things. He considered that maybe you understood him better than he did himself and wished that he could spend his whole life observing the world through the same rose-tinted lenses with which you viewed him. At a loss for words, Spencer chose not to say any right then. The silence I have with you is the most comfortable I’ve ever had. 

_____

     After each of you consumed one too many caffeinated beverages, you still were not prepared to let the date end. You were willing to sit there and have as many espresso drinks as you could to keep talking to Spencer. 

     The universe must have been in support of your romance as the overcast skies broke and began to rain just minutes after the two of you had left the shop. Spencer was walking you back to your apartment, clearly forcing his long legs to slow down their naturally fast stride so to extend how long it took to get there. He could get an extra thirteen minutes with you this way. Spencer was given his perfect excuse to keep the date going in the form of heavy downpour; his apartment was far closer than yours, and he proposed you two should seek shelter together until it stopped. I hope it never stops. 

     Spencer held tightly onto your hand as he ran with you through the rain, giggling all the way to his apartment. He may not like wet, cold climates, but he sure did like holding your hand. Being next to you made him feel incredibly warm somehow when the temperature outside was very much not. And you felt completely at peace sitting on Spencer’s couch wearing one of his sweaters that he lent you. Truthfully, your own clothes weren’t so wet from the rain that it was necessary, but you both pretended it absolutely was just to be able to experience this. 

     It was clear that the rain would be going for a while and all you wanted to do to pass the time was continue listening to Spencer talk. You discovered that when he’s not interrupted, he loves to go on runaway tangents, often bouncing between different trains of thought as one idea sparked him to remember another. It was almost a sport to keep up with him, but it was perhaps the only one you’ve ever enjoyed. It was so easy when everything he said interested you. You loved that Spencer taught you something new every day, but no matter how niche a piece of trivia or shocking an unknown fact was, it could not beat the things that he taught you about himself. He was letting you in on so many unseen dimensions of himself whether he knew it or not, the explicit ones revealing implicit ones. 

     You had happily stayed in his home for hours, absorbing every word he spoke. What entertained you the most was the ability of your conversation to jump from deep, serious places to lighthearted stories filled with jokes and teasing and back again in a way that felt completely natural. Your favorite anecdote of his was the story of how he got addicted to coffee. It was the BAU’s favorite inside-joke that Spencer liked his coffee sickeningly sweet and you always wondered how he could tolerate it. Just looking at it made your teeth ache. When he told you why, you thought that the backstory was even sweeter than the coffee.

     As a twelve year old college student, Spencer found himself experiencing sleep deprivation for the first time in his life. The course load was more rigorous than he had in high school and even the boy genius needed to readjust to the new expectations of college. More importantly, he needed to cope with pulling late nights at the library if he wanted his first degree by the time he was eligible for a driver’s license. The Red Bulls that the other kids seem to gravitate to seemed far too aggressive for Spencer, their potent smell of chemicals a huge turn off. They were definitely not for him. 

     He remembered how often his mom used to drink coffee, always in the morning while Spencer got ready for school. Being at CalTech and away from his mother, who remained in Las Vegas most of the time due to her condition, made him so homesick that he took up a coffee habit as a reminder of her. He loved the way it smelled like every comfort he had ever known. 

     Though he appreciated its smell, Spencer, of course, was not ready back then to love the way it tasted. He was still after all a twelve year old boy who had a sweet tooth like any other kid. The bitter drink was almost offensive to him, so he always made his coffee with extra, extra sugar. He was a menace to the baristas at the campus coffee cart because they would have to refill the shaker every time he stopped by. As it turned out, Spencer was actually a little troublemaker in his youth. 

     You utterly adored this story and the way it humanized Spencer in a way that other people did not consider often enough. Yes, he was the genius in incredibly advanced classes for his age, but he was also a little kid who behaved as all little kids did. He also experienced struggle and had to cope with it just like everyone else. He was not, as some chose to believe, a complete anomaly beyond understanding. Those many misunderstood idiosyncrasies Spencer had started to feel grounded as you learned more about him and could appreciate how and why they came to be.  

     But the night was dwindling down and two of you had gone through many stories since the start of your day together. Hitting a caffeine crash, you found yourself unable to keep some rogue yawns at bay. It was only eight o’clock in the evening, not an unreasonable time for you to ask Spencer to drive you back home. The rain was letting up to a mellow drizzle. Spencer was running out of excuses to keep you here.

     But you thought about how still hadn’t heard about his first pet lizard, which he caught in his backyard, and you didn’t yet know what kind of music he listened to when he was fourteen. And you no longer thought you needed to make excuses to stay with him longer, so you told him honestly that all you really wanted was to stay the night with him and keep hearing his stories. So you asked him if he would set on a fresh pot of coffee, just so you both could sip at it, staying awake all night together.

     He happily did so, and while he set the large coffee pot on and took out two cups from his cabinet, he thought, this is the first of many wishes of yours that I’d like to make come true.

______

PART THREE

Tag list: @rexorangecounty @rachel-voychuk @snitchthewitch @spencer-blake-supremacy @happyreid187 @rainsong01 @librarymagic 

[mbti-notes]

I'm an ENTP with an ISFJ friend whose life seems to revolve around her cats. Though she'd like to travel, she fears being gone longer than a day and tends to her cats at least every 4 hours. My concern is she's missing out on potentially fun experiences without giving 'em a chance and may regret it some day. What is your opinion on some who seem to overcommit to their pets?

"Over-" is relative in this case, isn't it? I generally don't judge how people choose to live. We each have the capacity to decide what is good for us, what makes us happy, or how to live a fulfilling life. ENTP and ISFJ are opposites, which means their way of looking at life is often opposing. Type theory teaches us that it's important to honor legitimate differences between people, rather than assuming or expecting people to be like you, value the same things as you, or want the things you want to the same degree.

That said, if you genuinely feel as though someone is in trouble or harming themselves in some way, then it is your duty as a friend to offer them help, support, or aid as needed. In this case, "harm" is difficult to define because the two of you may not perceive harm in the same way. For instance, what seems to you to be quite dire (e.g. a closed-off life), perhaps is only a minor nuisance or something quite easily dismissed by her... because her values are different from yours. Everyone has things that they'd like to do "one day", but dominant Ne makes you take these ideas much more seriously than someone with inferior Ne.

To be an effective friend or helper, you can't just use your own perspective to approach the situation. You have to take the other person's perspective fully into account: respect their right to be who they are, understand where their choices are coming from, and work with rather than against their better nature.

I'll use your case as an example: The fact of the matter is she deeply loves her pets. Look around you, lots of people deeply love their pets and even treat them as family, which speaks to the human capacity for love. Is love not a good thing? Whether you agree or disagree with it, no amount of "they should/shouldn't" moralizing at them is going to change the fact that they deeply love their pets.

Your question seems to indicate that your first instinct is to try to change the fact, e.g., by arguing her out of her love for her cats. You're going to harm her by doing that, because you'll be challenging and disrupting her deepest values. Fs are nothing and nowhere without their values, so you would be pushing her to do a huge disservice to herself. Is that really "helpful"? Not to mention the possibility that trying to mount an unsolicited philosophical challenge to her values might make you come off like an arrogant know-it-all who presumes to tell people how to live (something ENTPs commonly get accused of). Most importantly, if you were to choose this route, she would be no closer to resolving the inner conflict between her need for love and her need for adventure.

To be human is to have inner conflict, to have difficulty deciding between competing desires. This is why people prioritize and make difficult trade-offs. You can't have everything you want, so you have to go after the things you really want and learn to let go of the things you want less. To some people, love/devotion is much more important than fun/adventure. It is quite unrealistic to tell people to want something more/less, as though one can simply change one's preferences at the magical snap of a finger. Instead, you should be helping them resolve the conflict between competing interests in a way that doesn't force them to compromise or lose too much in the process, i.e., to make the best trade-off possible. In order to help ISFJs effectively, contribute your Ti in a strategic and realistic way, as opposed to a destructive and pie-in-the-sky way.

I can't tell you whether there's any trade-off that will be acceptable to her. I know that plenty of people have pets and still manage to travel. Perhaps they leave their pets at a pet hotel, with a friend, a family member, or a pet sitter, etc. Perhaps they travel with their pets. ISFJs are practical people, so what they really want is a practical solution. Without a feasible solution, they stick with the status quo.

[beautifulmorningstar]

Reminder that not everything I reblog is full endorsement, as it tends to be on this website. Neither is it endorsement of the people in the notes/OP. I can explore ideas as I see fit without y'all losing it over someone else's blog.

Anyone who wants to harrass me about it is just getting blocked.

Edit: even if i DO agree with something "controversial" or whatever, consider that my mind isn't monochrome and that it doesn't mean I automatically stop seeing the other side. Don't like it? Get the fuck off my blog then. (Also you can check my tags for thoughts on specific posts, if you feel unsafe on my blog etc. If there are no tags kindly do not make assumptions)

Edit Again (Feb 10 '23):

1. New followers: if you don't want me following you back or you don't mind a follow while not wanting me reblogging from you, feel free to DM me w your request (this goes for longtime mutuals too). I understand what it's like out there, you don't have to explain anything

That being said, if you're a blank blog...you're getting blocked, sorry

2. If we have a conversation about ANYTHING, it will be private. No I don't take screenshots or whatever.

3. Since this was asked before, my "reminder" tag is one I use for reminders TO MYSELF, and my new "heterosexuality" tag is something I've decided to use for any mention of heterosexuality (it's not supposed to indicate negativity), my doom tags to block truly awful real-life news is "tw negative" and "tw heavy negative" (for mild and sickening, respectively). I also tag other potentially traumatic things (i.e. "tw violence"). Feminists, if you're sick of seeing male terrorism, my tag for that is "male terrorism" (lol).

4. If I suspect you might threaten the women I follow, you will be blocked

(25 Jan, 2024) some stuff:

+ pro-choice always = basic feminism

+ not shaving = despite being a non-action in and of itself, is an important feminist/self-respectful stance

+ no sexual violence is ever acceptable, including in war, no matter which side

+ white people aren't better/more deserving than any other people, ever

+ I'm fine with the gold-star term (that includes rape victims) and therefore against people who attack lesbians that use it

+ Lesbians are naturally repulsed by the idea of sex with males (lesbians = homosexual female humans). It is possible to be coerced under heavy/threat-induced environments (think arranged marriages/religious upbringings) but no lesbian willingly decides to engage in PIV sex - males are a turn-off.

+ fatphobia is stupid, appearance-based insults are usually stupid. I am personally convinced that extreme fatphobia is reframed misogyny (women naturally have more fat distribution than males)

+ hatred of femaleness is a major symptom of living in a male-centric global system and neither is natural (the inability to imagine anything beyond our current point in time does not help)

+ question the propaganda but expect the truths to be difficult to obtain

+ anti-religion: growing up without such a thing shows religion up rather clearly as tools to blind, subdue, control, and weaponize (despite the positive aspects/cultures that may exist too)

+ oh also I don't interact with your pathetic little anon hate messages. As in, you get deleted on sight and I don't even read the whole thing :)

⚡ I should mention I'm not a radfem, as I haven't got the reading + I don't live the lifestyle properly as an intentional choice (however the way I am/live naturally aligns with it in some ways) + I respect the women I follow too much to claim to be one without following through. Still, I am definitely a supporter in any way I can here. If you want to know more about me and you're not a Sus Impostor, feel free to DM me (also be aware I disappear for long amounts of time bec I'm useless at constant communication).

[levi-my-beloved]

Birds of a Feather

Chapter 3

Pairings: Canon!Levi x F!Reader

Content warnings: Violence, implied torture, two pining idiots being two pining idiots, probably ooc Levi cuz oof i suck

Word count: 8.2K

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

Previous Chapter

First Chapter

A/N: y’all these chapters are getting real long now… and they only get longer as i keep writing. just wanted to a say a quick and huge thank you for the amazing support i’ve had so far. i honestly didn’t think anyone would read this little story and it’s so heartwarming to see people enjoying it

i love every one of y’all so much 🥺

𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔

If your hands were free, you would have shielded your eyes as the blinding sun greeted you. You weren’t quite expecting it to be so bright. You knew the overhead world was nowhere near as dark as it was in the Underground City, you’d seen the rays of light spilling down from the toll gate but never in your life had you expected life to seem so..,

Vibrant.

Blinking a few times, you almost had to force yourself to remember your circumstances, gently pulling against your chains. The look of awe on your face was unmistakable.

“Holy shit…” you breathed, eyes now wide as you took in your surroundings. It was warm up here. Really warm. The sun gently beating down on the busy streets. Levi appeared next to you, pushing you forward to continue up the stairs.

“Don’t get used to it, you’ll be in a cell before long,” you were expecting to catch some satisfaction in his tone, but there was nothing other than contempt. You took a breath, managing to resist attempting to kick his shin as you kept climbing the stairs, now fully embraced in the sun’s light. Though it didn’t last as long as you would have liked. Sooner than you deemed necessary, if you were honest, a carriage clattered up in front of you. It was surprisingly lavish considering you were a criminal. Squinting in suspicion, your hesitation only earned a rough push against the back of your head.

“Get in.”

“You never were one for manners were you?” you drawled after stumbling clumsily into the carriage. The plush leather seats squeaking against your own getup, leather on leather disagreeing with each other.

“Not when it comes to people like you, no,” the raven haired man took up a seat opposite you, immediately folding his arms as staring out the small, curtained window. A muscle in your jaw flickered in irritation.

“People like me? You mean people like you? Or have you really forgotten where you came from? Did you lose brain cells as well as your sense of self?” god you just wouldn’t let up, would you? Levi rolled his eyes, successfully masking how much he hated the way you spoke to him. Like nothing ever happened between you. He understood. Of course he did. He knew why you were so upset. Why you were trying so hard to hurt him. He knew you wanted him to hurt the same way you did, but knowing what you were doing wasn’t going to stop the spear you kept repeatedly driving into his heart.

You attempted to shift ever so slightly, just so your hands weren’t painfully crushed against your back. Once again the thought of kicking him crossed your mind, but the situation wasn’t exactly in your favour right now.

It was only a few moments of awkward, deafening silence before you two were joined by both Erwin and Hange, the latter opting to sit next to you, seemingly not worried about whether or not you could still skin her alive even with your wrists bound. Erwin sat a respectable distance from you, despite the size of the carriage. The man barely fit, it was only because of your own size and the size of Levi did you assume you were all able to travel together. That still didn’t stop the man opposite you from throwing you a disgusted look as your knee grazed his. Just to piss him off, you did it again.

“SO! Raven, you’re joining the Scouts?” Hange blurted out, earning her a glare from Levi, a sigh from Erwin and a baffled scoff from you.

“Yeeeaaah… no. That’s not happening.”

“I’m afraid you don’t have a choice in the matter,” Erwin chimed in, almost defeatedly.

“Why don’t you just do what you usually do with criminals? Hang me as some sick entertainment for the public.”

“That can be arranged.”

“Levi…” Erwin warned lowly, to which Levi simply clicked his tongue in response.

Shit, that one hurt. He really didn’t care for you anymore, did he?

Once again, if you had your hands free, you would have run them through your hair. Joining the Scouts? That was never really something that ever crossed your mind. It didn’t seem to make sense. Why on earth would they want to draft you in? The question was swiftly pushed from your mind, replaced by another. Something you’d been burning to know ever since you realised the Scouts knew your location.

“Who was it?” you asked quietly, staring at your feet. Levi stiffened, shifting his eyes from the window back to you. Your demeanor struck a chord with him. You looked defeated, shoulders hunched over. “Who betrayed us? I just want to know.”

A heavy silence settled over the trio, none of them wanting to be the one who broke the news. The bond and connection between you and your Nest was strong. Trust ran through your veins, so to have it broken by any one of them was already shattering your very being.

“A woman. Brown hair, blue eyes. Scarlett, I think her name was,” at that moment, everything seemed to stop. Your world froze. It was Scarlett. Your own lover. Your wife. The woman you trusted more than any of them. She had betrayed you. Betrayed all of you. She was the one who put Una’s life in danger. The one who was responsible for the scar across her neck she would carry forever.

The three Scouts looked at each other, each not really knowing how you would react. Not even you knew how you were going to react. You were stuck in limbo. Everything and nothing was going through your mind. You didn’t know how long you’d sat there staring at nothing, simply trying to process this information, but it must have been an uncomfortably long time, if Erwin’s awkward throat clearing was any indication, gently bringing you back from your thought spiral.

“Oh.” was all you could manage, still not able to raise your head. Your eyes started to burn after not blinking for seemingly too long. How could she? How could she betray you? To the Military Police, of all people. You hadn’t cried for a very, very long time, but damn you were close.

Shit this entire ordeal had been difficult, but seeing you so defeated was next level. Levi dug his fingernails into his palm to stop himself from holding you. From comforting you. He still knew you well enough to tell when something was wrong. Very wrong. And although his stomach twisted slightly with the ideas of who this woman was running through his head, it was all he could do to tear his eyes from your hunched shoulders, returning his gaze to the window as the world passed him by.

“Did you know her?”

“Why would I tell you?” you tilt your head, glaring at Hange next to you, your jaw clenched. You may have just felt the last remaining fragment of your heart shatter, but that didn’t mean you would give them any more information than you had to.

“Raven, I give you my word, we will leave The Nest be,” Erwin tried his hand at reassuring you. None of this made any sense. Why were they being nice? Don’t they know how many soldiers you and your people had slaughtered? How much you had stolen from their warehouses?

You raised your eyes, seeing Levi glancing at you cautiously. Silver hues flicking over your defeated form with that same, cemented expression of boredom, before slowly looking back to the window. You spent the rest of the journey in silence, going over all the events that had led to this moment. How you could have possibly let this happen.

You trusted Prongs. You knew he would take care of your family. But Scarlett…

The bony claws of betrayal grasped your throat, gently squeezing until it became difficult to breathe. The walls of the carriage started closing in around you. Helplessness tainting the corners of your mind. You were stranded. Captured and soon to be forced into the military. To face those titans you’d heard so many people talk about.

You’d found the first man to ever hold your heart. You’d lost him, and then you’d found him again. And you could almost feel his hatred for you.

And though you put on a brave face. Though you put on an act to convince him you felt the same…

You couldn’t find it in your fractured heart to return his hatred.

The gentle, rhythmic clopping of hooves came to a slow stop, the door opening outwards to let the four of you out. Hange hopped down the step with seemingly boundless energy, before immediately engaging in conversation with a taller, worried looking man. Erwin stepped down, but once again you refused to move. If you could make their lives as difficult as possible, you would. Pure spite was fueling you now, your only current reason to carry on.

“Oi, move,” it was a blunt command, and one you paid no mind to. Not even raising your head to acknowledge Levi had said anything. “Hey. Did you lose your hearing on the way here? I said move,” a sharp kick to your shin prompted you to tilt your chin just enough to shoot another one of your glares in his direction. He too had to keep up his charade until he could get you alone and finally have a proper conversation.

“Go to hell,” was your only response, heavily debating spitting in his face as his hands once again grasped your arm. You flinched ever so slightly at the contact, something that didn’t go unnoticed, but it appeared Levi didn’t care.

Levi did care. Holy shit did Levi care. What the hell had happened to you to prompt you to flinch in such a way? Who the fuck had laid their hands on you? Who the fuck had hurt you like that? He allowed the rage to course through his veins, before letting it simmer down. He would deal with that later.

You stumbled as you were almost thrown from the carriage, knees colliding with the stone beneath you before you were dragged back to your feet

That fucking hurt. You started to think that maybe you could return his hatred. The next chance you got, you were driving you knee into his fucking gut. But for now, you decided to settle your glare on Erwin as he was talking to a darker haired man who kept glancing in your direction. It’s only now you realised your condition. You were filthy, mud and grime greasing your hair, blood and small cuts littering your face and knuckles, a dark bruise blossoming on the underside of your chin. Levi’s hand still held you firm, preventing you from even attempting to escape. Not that you would. You really couldn’t see the point, other than running into titan territory yourself. You tensed as the tall, haggard looking man approached you, apprehension mixed with disgust clouded his eyes, but it was an expression you refused to flinch away from.

“The Raven?” you couldn’t help raising a brow.

“Stupid fucking question. No, I'm just an innocent bystander dressed like The Raven for a costume party. I just so happened to think a pair of manacles clasped around my wrists completed the look,” you hissed sarcastically, and you could have sworn you heard something that could resemble a laugh from behind you, but it was so miniscule it was difficult to tell. If only this had been ten years ago.

You watched with satisfaction as a muscle twitched in his jaw, before the man managed to compose himself.

“My name is Niles Dok, Commander of the Military Police soldiers you seem to have so much fun slaughtering,” he introduced himself in a way that made it seem like the last thing he wanted to be doing was introducing himself to you right now.

“So? Do you want a written apology or something? Have to take these chains off me first,” you spat, with the innocent smile of an adder. This seemed to rile the man up more, to the point where he fisted your hair painfully, yanking your head up. His voice lowered to a dangerous murmur.

“Listen you little whore, I don’t know which door to hell you crawled out of, but I have men specially trained to deal with rats like you. They take pleasure in every agonised scream they can rip from your filthy mouth,” you refused to let your panicked, racing heart rule your mind, using every ounce of mental strength to hold his stare, firing back with a nasty glare of your own. And it took all of Levi’s willpower not to launch himself at the MP Commander.

“Go fuck yourself,” the retort came so naturally as you actually spat in his face. It gained you a much more satisfying reaction than you imagined you would get from Levi.

Swiftly removing his hand from your hair, you slumped back, staring up at the man between the now dishevelled strands. Wiping your saliva from his eye. You flinched as the back of his hand came up to strike you. Quicker than you would have expected, Levi was immediately by your side, eyes glinting with murderous intent. But before anything could happen, Niles’ hand was caught by Erwin behind him.

“Now, now Niles. Don’t go harming my soldiers,” his voice was borderline condescending as the MP Commander turned to look back to Erwin with an expression of disbelief.

“You can’t be serious? Erwin, this wasn’t part of the deal. You said—”

“I said we would aid you in capturing her. What happens to her after, is up to us. Think of it as collateral,” he reminded Niles of the deal they had struck before their meeting earlier.

“I didn’t think you would force her to join the Scouts. Are you insane?” It was a question Erwin had heard many times before.

“She’s just another calculated risk,” —he explained, before turning to his Captain— “Levi, take her to where she’ll be staying for the next week,” you had absolutely no idea what the hell was going on, but honestly, you were just glad Erwin stepped in when he did. You didn’t fancy whatever strike was about to land on you, and didn’t want to deal with whatever trauma it would drag up from your less than agreeable past. You didn’t have nearly enough time to unpack Levi’s own movements.

“Tch, why me? Why not Four Eyes?” his eyes slid to the scientist, who seemed to be engaged in an increasingly elaborate conversation with that poor, poor soldier. Even you felt a pang of pity for him.

“Because I’m afraid if I let Hange take her, she’ll end up in her lab rather than the cell,” Erwin sighed tiredly, looking at Levi with almost pleading eyes as the conversation behind him got louder and louder.

“Fine. But you owe me,” he responded, before tugging you away with him. You were almost sorry when you no longer felt the warmth of the sun on your back as he led you inside.

It was a walk full of disgusted glares and crude remarks. Clearly everyone had heard who you were by now, if that wasn’t evident by the snarls of “Bitch” and “Underground rat.” It didn’t really phase you. What these people thought about you was their issue, not yours. Though, you wouldn’t mind beating every single one of them within an inch of their lives given half the chance.

You failed to notice Levi’s ever darkening expression behind you. The glares promising a painful death thrown in every direction. The way a muscle flickered in his jaw at every passing comment. It was only until the hallway was empty did he feel that tension ease a little.

“Down here,” Levi instructed, leading you down a narrow staircase. As if you could go anywhere else.

“Yeah, no shit,” you snapped, earning you a harsh shoved down a few stairs.

“Don’t get smart with me.”

“Why? Afraid you won’t understand me?” that feigned sweetness to your tone was one you had perfected over the years he was gone, and was possibly your favourite form of sarcasm. He clearly didn’t dain your retort worthy of a response, the only sound to be heard being the echoing of your boots against the stone. It reeked of damp and rust, a different stench to the filth of the Underground. Speaking of which…

“You’re disgusting,” a flatly delivered insult was thrown your way as Levi guided you into one of the cells.

“I’m so sorry, I forgot to have a shower before you ambushed us. I’ll be sure to remember next time so I can smell like a fresh forest. I’m sure it would be a more homely smell for you,” you couldn’t help the sarcastic remarks that flew from your mouth. But you fell silent as he began removing your manacles. Instantly a plan formulated in your head. This could be your only chance at escaping. You just had to wait for the right moment.

As soon as the chains were removed from your wrists, you thrust your head backwards, in hope of catching his face. But you were met with nothing but air, and the sounds of quick footsteps behind you.

“You’re even easier to predict now you’re in a cell. Don’t try stupid shit like that,” did he forget how to change the emotion in his voice? He was never the most emotional person you’d met, but he would at least sometimes change his voice from ‘bored’ to ‘slightly irritated’. You were starting to wonder what else he had forgotten during his time here when the iron bar door to your cell was slammed shut, the key clicking in the lock. Now you were certain you couldn’t escape, you took in your living space for the next week. The bare minimum had been provided. A bed with no bed clothes, a rustic sink you weren’t even sure worked, and a broken mirror. Great.

The scraping of a chair behind you piqued your curiosity, turning you head to see Levi had taken a seat in front of your cell door, elbows resting on his knees.

“The fuck are you doing?” you asked, rising from your knees to turn and lean against the wall, arms folded.

“Waiting,” god damn his single word responses. You huff in frustration.

“Waiting for what?”

“You.”

“I could strangle you with my bare hands and feel absolutely nothing right now.”

“You’d have to escape first.”

“What makes you think I can’t?”

“What makes you think you can?”

As much as you hated to admit it, he was right. There didn’t seem to be any way you could escape these walls, you’d already done a quick run down. Threading your hands through your hair in irritation, you cross to sit on the pathetic material they thought was a bed.

“So?” you ask, still no closing to knowing what the hell he wanted. Once again, he didn’t deem your question worthy of a vocal response, opting instead to raise a thin eyebrow. You briefly fantasise about driving one of your long lost daggers into his goddamn eye, before simply brushing it off with a roll of your eyes. “Fine. Stay there and stare at me. It’s your time you're wasting,” you shrugged, flopping back onto the bed, arms thrown out either side of you.

“What have you been up to?” you couldn’t help the bark of sour laughter at the question.

“Seriously?”

“What?”

“After all this time, the first thing you ask me is what I’ve been up to?”

“Would you prefer me to ask you something else?”

“What’s on the menu?”

For a moment, it almost felt like no time had passed since you’d last seen each other. It felt like only yesterday did he have you in his arms, curled up in his bed, gently running his hands over your exposed waist, revelling in how soft your skin was against his.

Running a hand through his dark locks to bring himself out of his thoughts, he changed the trajectory of his questioning.

“Who taught you to fight like that?

“Self-taught.”

“Bullshit,” you winced at his response, raising your head slightly to stare at him, wondering who gave him the audacity to doubt you.

“Oh yeah? Not all of us had the advantage of stupidly strong genes, shortstuff,” shit, you hadn’t said that nickname in a long, long time. Clearly he hadn’t heard it for a long time either, judging by the way his eyes widened his body stilled. Neither of you were able to comment on the irony of the name, considering you were just as vertically challenged. Managing to shake yourself from your daze first, you realised that was a lot for both of you. “Sorry,” you murmured, averting your gaze.

“No, it’s… fine,” there was no malice in his voice. No hatred, a surprise that caused you to turn your head back to face him. Levi cleared his throat before continuing. “How’d you get that scar?” the second question caught you off guard, not expecting anything so personal so quickly. Naturally, you responded with something sarcastic.

“Tea party gone wrong,” an irritated sigh echoed off the dank walls, clearly not satisfied with your answer.

“What happened to you, Raven...?” if it wasn’t for the acoustics of the room, you would have missed the comment, but your heart clenched painfully as the third question reached your ears.

“You left, so I moved on,” you didn’t mean to sound so small or vulnerable. You didn’t mean to drag your knees up to your chest and clasp your arms around them. You didn’t mean to turn your head again, avoiding his gaze.

Levi mentally begged you not to look that way. He’d never seen you so insecure. And that itself broke his resolve.

Standing from his chair, Levi crossed the small space to the barred doors, not thinking twice about unlocking it and leaving the key in the lock. His body was almost acting on a it’s own. Years of taking you into his arms and holding you suddenly came back to him and he wanted nothing more than to take you in his arms once again.

But he hesitated.

You both did.

After raising your head to look at him, you watched as he stopped in the centre of your cell. Almost as if he was silently asking for some sort of permission to just do something.

You shifted slightly so you were leaning against the iron bars rather than the stone wall to the back, Levi taking this as the silent permission he needed to take a seat next to you.

Shit, the instinct to throw yourself into his arms was almost overwhelming, but you refrained, not wanting that kernel of hope to smoulder into nothing when he rejected you.

Levi was the first to break the silence.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” you responded, looking up to him between the loose, mangled strands of hair now obscuring your face just a bit. Age had been kind to him. His features, now much more defined. He was still the same man you knew back then, but this one was more chiseled. You looked away when his eyes found yours.

“You look like shit.”

“I feel like shit.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I know.”

It wasn’t the exchange you were expecting, this quick back and forth, but you wouldn’t say it was unwelcome. A familiar warmth started to spread in your chest.

“How’s the jaw?” you asked, eyes wandering to the now hefty bruise against his pale, soft skin. You remembered when you used to leave marks of similar colour all over his body. His neck, collarbones, abdomen, thighs…

“‘S’fine. How’s the chin?” his own eyes slid back to you, silver irises scanning your face briefly.

“Yeah. Fine,” you let the silence settle for a moment, before breaking it again. “Sorry I kicked you,” Levi grunted in quiet amusement.

“It was a damn good plan. Sorry I knee’d you,” it was only when he heard your gentle chuckle did he realise just how much he’d missed you. Every fibre in his body was begging him to roughly tug you into his body. To cup your face in his hands and seal your lips with a burning kiss. But all that changed when he shifted slightly and you flinched at the sudden movement. He stilled, waiting for you to relax again before he too settled back down.

“You knew her, didn’t you?” it was a rhetorical question. Your reaction after the reveal told him everything. Not only did you know her, but she was somebody close to you.

You stayed silent for a couple moments, not really knowing how to respond to his shift in conversation. You decided to match it.

“Yeah. I did,” you wouldn’t tell him. Not unless he asked. You wouldn’t tell him who she was to you. What she was to you. That still fucking hurt like hell.

“‘M’sorry.”

“You say that a lot,”

“You’re one to talk,”

You didn’t even try to quell your small laugh, letting it echo off the stone walls. Even Levi couldn’t stop a small chuckle at your amusement, feeling himself completely at ease in your presence.

“Did you really move on?” it was his turn to feel small. His turn to feel a little vulnerable. He couldn’t bear the thought of you just moving on from what the two of you had. Just throwing it all in the past and leaving it there.

“Yes and no.”

“The hell does that mean?”

You sighed, tightening your grip around your knees. You hoped this wouldn’t be as painful for him to hear as it would be for you to say, but you didn’t hold out much hope.

“Yes, I moved on. I’m not the same girl I was. Trust me on that. I’m not the same girl you fell in love with, nor the girl who fell in love with you,” you had to take a breath, suddenly finding the air down here far too thick. “She wouldn’t have survived down there. That girl would have been killed by some pig the moment you left. So... I killed her myself. You already know I’ve been part of The Nest for a while, but I wasn’t really one of them, if you get what I mean. I didn’t stay with them, I didn’t eat with them. Sure, Viper took me in after my—“ you stopped, burying that can of worms before you even opened it. That wasn’t something you wanted to bring up right now. “Viper took me in, taught me a few things, but I stayed with you. I didn’t have to be one of them when I was with you. But when you left… I didn’t exactly have a choice. I couldn’t be so naive anymore. I couldn’t be so hopeful. I had to be realistic, and to be realistic, I had to hurt a lot of people. I had to see a lot of things,” you allowed the weight of your words to settle before you continued. “But that girl. That girl you knew. She never stopped loving you. Up til the moment she drew her last breath and I took over. She loved you. But I moved on,” you fell silent, realising that yes, this had been just as painful for him to hear as it was for you to say.

It was a long while before Levi spoke again, nowhere near as confident as he was.

“That’s who she was to you,” just as he thought seeing you again couldn’t get anymore painful. Just as he thought your words couldn’t get anymore painful. “You loved her?”

“Yes, but not completely. Part of me was still devoted to you. I think that’s why she did what she did. Scarlett was never a spiteful person, but she did hold one hell of a grudge against you. And I suppose, in a way, me,” the silence was so thick you thought you could cut it with one of your blades.

“She’s still there.”

“Hm?”

“That girl. She’s still there. You’re still in there.”

“Now look who’s being naïve,”

“You’re trying to tell me this new, supposedly ruthless killer would kick the shit out of some soldiers for hurting a kid. You’re trying to tell me this new cold hearted thief would bring medicine to an elderly woman and her son?”

“I—”

“You’re telling me this new, heartless little dealer would earn the respect and thanks of thousands of Underground rats? Because to me, that sounds like bullshit… (Y/N),” he wouldn’t accept it. You weren’t gone, he could see it in your actions. You were still there. His (Y/N) was still in there.

Hearing your name in his low, warm tone after all this time sent a jolt through your system. And when he turned to look at you, he could see silver lining your eyes. It took everything in him not to reach up and gently wipe them away.

“I’m not going to stop until you see what I see. I’m not going to let you think you’ve become this heartless, mindless killer just because you had to adapt. Because you had to survive. I’ve finally found you again. Do you know how long I searched for you? How many hours I spent tracing every single path I knew you would take. Asking every filthy mongrel I could find. Most of them said you were dead. Some of them said you were missing and hadn’t been seen in months. Years, even. But until I found a body, or some kind of proof you were dead, I couldn’t accept it,” well this certainly caught you off guard. Levi was never one for long, heartfelt speeches, or verbal communication at all, actually. So this was a little overwhelming. Two tears slipped down your cheeks, sliding through the sudden cracks in your defenses and leaving a trail through the thin layer of grime and dirt.

Levi kept his eyes trained ahead, knowing that if he saw you crying, his restraint would break and he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from holding you. But he knew he couldn’t. From the way you’d reacted to his small movements, he knew suddenly tugging you into him would scare you.

“I’m sorry,” your small voice wrapped around his fragile heart, both settling it and cracking it. He went to extend his hand towards you with the intention of smoothing down your hair, but the way you winced, almost anticipating something much more intense, made him stop. Shit, you really did look like a husk of your former self. He remembered the way your eyes used to glint even in the low lighting of the Underground.

“You should rest,” it was an appealing enough suggestion. Enough to draw a barely concealed yawn from you. Leaning your head against the iron bars behind you, you swore you could have fallen asleep there and then. Comforted by his presence.

You immediately missed his presence as soon as he stood, tempted to reach out for his hand but not wanting to push him away.

As if he felt your confliction, Levi stopped to turn back to you.

“I’ll be back in the morning. Rest, (Y/N),” it wasn’t like you could disobey when your mind and body was so eager to sleep.

“Fuck…” you muttered, running a hand down the side of your face, exhaustion hitting you like a punch to the gut. This wasn’t exactly how you saw your day going today, but you couldn’t exactly say you weren’t thankful. You didn’t know what you were, honestly. So much had happened, you knew you would need time to process everything.

The screech of metal against metal alerted you to the key once again locking you within the cell. Dipping your head, you watched the dark haired man return the keychain to a small nail in the wall.

“Hey…” Levi turned to you as you called out, his expression as soft as it was a few moments ago. “It’s really good to see you again,” a thousand butterflies suddenly exploded in his stomach. How long had he been waiting to hear those words? And suddenly, he found himself unable to reply.

“Tch, go to sleep, Raven,” he reveled in your amused hum as he turned on his heel, leaving you to recover after today.

꧁ꨄ꧂

Levi ran a hand through his hair. Sitting at his desk in his orderly kept office, he could barely focus on the reports in front of him. That haunted look in your eyes had left a significant mark on him. The way you now spoke was so different to the bubbly younger girl he knew.

With a shake of his head, he attempted to divert his attention back to the account of the mission today. You’d taken down a few of his men yourself, he recalled watching your blades find purchase in his makeshift squad. A few others hadn’t returned from where they’d chased your Shadows. Actually, most others didn’t return.

As predicted, it was a bloodbath.

Leaning forward, he reached for his tea, continuing to scan over the document until his eyes settled on your alias, and he couldn’t help but wonder why you hadn’t told anyone your name. It prompted a memory he wasn’t expecting. He’d tried so many times to bury his past. Thinking about it saved him from thinking about his lost friends. But it was unavoidable.

“Hey! ‘Re’ya gonna buy anything? Or you just gonna keep staring?” Levi peaked out from behind the legs of a taller man, peering at the young girl who seemed to be giving his father figure sass. He couldn’t understand it. Didn’t she know who he was? She didn’t look much older than him. Maybe eight? Nine even?

“Listen little missy, I don’t think you wan’ to rush me,” the southern lilt of Kenny’s dangerously low voice didn’t seem to deter the little merchant. Levi’s eyes widened as she folded her arms, her grubby face creasing as she frowned. For someone so young, she certainly had an impressive glare.

“Or what? You gonna kill me? I sell to the whole street, mister. You kill me, they starve,” Wow, she really seemed to have this whole thing going for her. Levi looked up at Kenny, able to just make out the subtle smile under the shadow of his hat.

“What’s your name, little girl?

“Hmph. What’s it to you?” she retorted, stepping closer. It was only then she seemed to notice his presence. Her glare seemed to soften almost instantly, head tilting in sheer curiosity. Her sparkling, (E/C) eyes widened upon seeing him there. He only occupied a fraction of her attention, before it returned to Kenny, that scowl also returning.

“You’ve got guts kid, I’ll give you that. But maybe that’s simply cuz you don’t know who I am,” he mused, picking up one of the loaves of bread you were currently selling. They weren’t fresh. Nothing ever was. But it was the best your family had to offer.

“Kenny the Ripper, right? Yeah, I’ve heard of you. Seen your ugly face in the newspaper when those shits up top toss their trash through the grates. And you better buy that now your filthy hands have been all over it,” Levi couldn’t tell if this girl was brave or stupid. He’d never heard anyone speak to Kenny like that and actually get away with it.

“(Y/N) (L/N)! Watch your language young lady! And what have I told you about mouthing off to customers?!” her face quickly morphed from a glare to something he could only describe as sheepish. An older woman leaning out from the door behind you. Her hair colour was different to yours, but those eyes… they were your eyes.

“But Maaaaa, I was just—“

“No buts. Inside, now,” her voice was stern, but Levi was perceptive from a young age. He could see the softness in her eyes as the girl pouted. Turning back, he watched her send a cheery wave goodbye in his direction, pausing slightly as it wasn’t returned. Her brows furrowed, before she darted inside.

“Quite the brat you got there,” Kenny remarked, handing over a coin in payment for the bread he’d picked up.

“Yeah, sorry about her. Pain in my ass but her heart’s in the right place. I hope,” Levi wasn’t really paying attention to the conversation, too distracted by watching the same girl clamber out the open window and onto the ledge above. Only using her right hand to climb, she paused, as if calculating something before shimmying along the wall, round the corner and out of sight. Before Levi even had time to question what the hell he’d just witnessed, her head popped round the corner, eyes searching for him. He raised his brows in question when she gestured for him, whipping back round the corner. Seeing Kenny still caught up in conversation, he quietly left the two adults, heading for the narrow alleyway she’d just ducked into.

“Hey,” the whisper made him whirl, stopping to see her cautiously step from the shadows near the wall. “You looked hungry, so I stole this from our stocks,” it became apparent as to why she was only using one hand to climb when she presented another, slightly smaller loaf of bread. It wasn’t as stale as the ones on the stall. “We got fresh ingredients yesterday. My father’s a baker but we only sell the stale ones because we wouldn’t be able to keep up with the demand for fresh bread,” she explained quietly, her eyes wide in earnest. If it wasn’t for his ravenous hunger, Levi would have declined the offer. However, the smell was too good to pass up on. Slowly, he reached for it, half expecting her to snatch it back. But her honest expression remained, only retracting her hand after he’d taken a bite. “Don’t talk much, do you? That’s okay, I get a lot of people who are shy.”

Crossing her legs, she lowered herself to the floor, resting her back against the wall to what he could only assume was her house. He followed suit, sitting opposite her in the damp alleyway.

“Your dad’s an asshole, by the way. Very obkonshus,” Levi assumed she was trying to say obnoxious, but didn’t correct her. He almost found it endearing.

“He’s not my dad,” his blunt response had her head whipping back to look at him, almost in disbelief that he had actually spoken. A small blush blossomed across her cheeks at her mistake.

“O-oh. Sorry. I didn’t know,” an awkward silence settled over them, before she spoke up again. “Your not-dad’s an asshole,” Levi glanced at her, noting her cheeky smirk. His own lips twitched in amusement. She wasn’t wrong. Kenny was an asshole.

They stayed there until he’d finished his bread, (Y/N) simply talking about everything and nothing.

“Where’d that little rat scurry away to?” Kenny’s drawl interrupted your little conversation, prompting the both of you to shoot to your feet. The girl shot him a worried look, not knowing how this was going to play out. Levi was never one to offer reassurance, never really needing to, until now. He tried his hand at a reassuring expression, before stepping out the alleyway a little.

“Here, I was just—” he looked back to the narrow street where she just was, only to find she’d completely disappeared. His eyes widened ever so slightly, attempting to peer further down the alley. How had she done that? She was right there. Maybe you’d already started your climb? His eyes travelled up the side of the wall, but found nothing.

“The fuck are you lookin’ at brat? C’mon, we’re leavin’,'' Kenny strode past him, roughly tugging him along. But Levi wasn’t looking where he was going, silver eyes still glued to that alley, waiting for her to emerge. But she never did.

A harsh knock on his door snapped him out of his memory spiral. How long had he been sitting here? Usually he had a good grasp on time but right now it could have been four in the morning or two in the afternoon. Running a hand down the side of his face, he went to sip his tea, grimacing as the now cold liquid graced his tongue. Setting it down almost immediately, he would have forgotten anyone knocked on his door in the first place had they not knocked again.

“Levi? Are you in there?” Erwin. Great.

“The fuck do you want Eyebrows?” Erwin clearly took that as permission to enter. Not that he needed permission.

Levi raised his eyes as his Commander strode in, pushing the door closed behind him.

“I was wondering if you managed to get information out of our little criminal.”

Levi’s jaw flexed.

“No.”

“Nothing?” Erwin seemed a little surprised and Levi couldn’t for the life of him think why. He didn’t know about your relationship, and it wasn’t like he was well practiced in his social skills.

“Nothing. She’s refusing to say anything other than annoying, sarcastic quips.”

“You two aren’t so different then.”

“Oi,” Erwin chuckled at Levi’s low warning, holding up an apologetic hand.

“Apologies, forgive me. It was just a joke,” Levi rolled his eyes, clicking his tongue as Erwin took a seat on the leather sofa, crossing an ankle over his knee. “I’m surprised. I thought you two may get along. Considering your shared upbringing,” if he wasn’t talking to Levi, anyone else would have thought it was an innocent enough assumption. But over the years, Levi had learned Erwin’s tells, and knew when there was something deeper going on. But still, there was no way he could know about your literal shared past.

“She’s abrasive, rude, cocky and thoroughly unpleasant. Why on earth would we get along?” Levi knew he was lying through his teeth. Whilst yes, you were in fact abrasive, cocky and rude, you were far from unpleasant. He wouldn’t have shared his heart with you if you were.

Erwin pinched the bridge of his nose. Suddenly he looked incredibly tired, like he hadn’t slept in weeks.

“Did you know her? From your time down there. Did you two ever run into each other?” straight to the point, it seemed. Erwin hadn’t missed the Captain’s flash of recognition back when you’d taken your mask off. He hadn’t missed the way he froze to the spot.

But Levi wasn’t about to open up to anyone, especially not the same Commander that had dragged him kicking and screaming into the Scouts.

Truth be told, after that first interaction, Levi had tried his damndest to see you again at every opportunity. He’d never been shown that sort of kindness since his mother died, and he didn’t want your little spark to be snuffed out by the Underground. He didn’t speak to you very often, only silently offering to walk you home at night, warding off any unwanted attention a young woman would draw.

He offered to share his small home with you when you were both around fourteen. It had been two years since Kenny abandoned him, and he noticed you looked directionless, and though it had taken a while for you to open up, he was happy for you to stay with him until you found somewhere else.

He just never expected to fall in love with you, or for you to fall in love with him.

“No. I’ve never seen her before,” Levi lied, keeping his eyes trained on the same document he must have been staring at for the last god knows how long, too lost in his own mind to concentrate.

Erwin wasn’t quite as good at reading Levi, and so accepted that as his truthful answer.

“Very well, I bid you a good night, Captain,” ah. So it was nighttime. Noted.

“Yeah yeah, see you tomorrow,” Levi waved his hand dismissively, once again earning another chuckle from Erwin as the door was pulled shut.

Levi almost instinctively reached for his tea again, only just remembering it was stone cold. He sighed in irritation, rising from his chair. He didn’t think there was enough tea in the world to help him sort through his thoughts. But damn if it didn’t make it easier.

Rolling his now stiff shoulders, he picked up the cold brew and headed to the kitchen. It was going to be a long night.

꧁ꨄ꧂

Sleeping in the Underground City was a luxury. Despite your exhaustion, sleep didn’t come easily. You assumed you must have dozed off for an hour at least before the faint sound of multiple footsteps had you sitting bolt upright, your muscles barking in protest. You were always aware of your surroundings. Always ready, even when you may look like you were resting.

You didn’t quite know what to expect, quickly running through several scenarios and possibilities in your head. One of those possibilities rounded the corner from the stairs. Four MP soldiers now stood outside your cell, one jiggling the keys into the lock. Immediately you stood, not going down without a fight. Though it wasn’t much of one. Before you had even landed a proper blow on any of them, you were harshly kicked to the floor. Your body having not woken up properly yet, you were easy enough to subdue as they clasped your wrists together in front of you with rope. Not what you were expecting but it was more comfortable than behind your back.

You stayed silent as they dragged you further deeper into the complex of jails and cells. You didn’t imagine they would span this far beneath what you assumed was the headquarters, but nonetheless you kept walking until you were faced with a wooden door. The same soldier fiddled with the lock until it swung open and you were kicked inside.

Raising your head, you saw the room wasn’t exactly empty. An array of bats and blunt trauma objects rested against the far side of the wall, but that wasn’t what threw the spear of terror into your heart.

A single, iron hook extended down from the ceiling. It looked like it would be used for bleeding or drying meat, but you could think of several other uses for it. For example, your current situation.

The door locking behind you had your head whirling, eyes darting from the man with the key to the wood that now trapped you inside.

“Ah, Raven. I’m sure our commander forewarned you about this, I don’t really know why you look so surprised,” you shivered at the fake pleasant tone, a stark contrast to the way you were now being tugged to your feet, arms thrown up above you. You realise now why they used rope instead of chains, your wrists being hooked up above you. Your feet now only just grazing the floor, head falling between your shoulders with your loose thin shirt riding up your stomach. You suddenly regretted shedding your leather jacket earlier, wanting to be a little more comfortable as you attempted to sleep.

“We have strict instructions not to permanently damage you, however we have various other methods,” one of your torturers stalked behind you, reaching up to twist the hook so you spun with him, now facing the wall of weaponry. The other three who had accompanied you all leant against the wall to you right, as if waiting for their turn. “I thought I would be kind enough to let you choose which we start with. Since you’d be the one on the receiving end,” the sick fuck. He was really enjoying this wasn’t he?

“At least tell me what you fucking want,” you spat, thrashing slightly in your bonds. The man simply laughed, crossing to the selection.

“Oh, we don’t want information. Just for you to suffer as much pain as we did when you killed our comrades,” ah, so they had personal connections. Understood.

“I’d do it again in a heartbeat,” your crooked, satisfied grin faltered as his expression darkened, crossing the room towards you in a few strides. Roughly grabbing your chin, he forced your head up to meet his gaze as you writhed in his tight grip.

“You know, you were quite the formidable criminal down there. Slaughtering and murdering whoever you pleased. Harming those who had done nothing to you. But look at you now, strung up like a squealing pig. Fuck, if it isn’t satisfying to see,” he threw your head back down before driving his foot into your gut. The impact sent you swinging backwards, saliva flying from your mouth.

Raising your eyes, you shot him a visceral glare as he browsed his collection of weapons as if he was picking out a pastry at a bakery. Opting for the classic wooden bat, you braced yourself for the night to come, knowing it was going to be a long one.

[everythingharrypotterblog]

charmed [7]: ‘night changes’ (remus lupin x reader)

a/n: i got rejected from my top choice university program today so if im gonna be unhappy, might as well make u guys happy and release parts 5 and 7

brief summary: y/n and remus are both teachers at hogwarts and this is his first transformation where he is under wolfsbane. y/n remains in human form as he transforms. werewolf or not, all y/n ever feels is him.

series summary: set in the prisoner of azkaban, including its major plot points. remus and y/n get hired by dumbledore last minute to teach at hogwarts, defense against the dark arts and charms respectively. not wanting the students to know they are married, they navigate the challenging year through hidden glances, hand holds underneath the table and loving moments in their offices. even with all their efforts to conceal their relationship, their chemistry does not go unnoticed by the student population of hogwarts, who grow fond of the pair as they offer them some of the best classes they’ve had in a while. their relationship as newlyweds is strengthened as teaching the next generation of wizards unlocks a sea of memories of their love story. for the second time in his life, remus holds hogwarts responsible for some of his happiest memories. he’s given the chance to create them with the love of his life, y/n, who has taught and continues to teach him that every part of him is lovable, remaining forever under her charm.

series masterlist here

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7.

previously, in part 1:

“No, you don’t understand, it’s incredibly, extremely dangerous for a human to be around a were-“ Remus had tried to say, before Y/N had stood up and with a crack, disappeared. A single white dove hovered where she had stood, its wings flapping slowly to stay afloat.

“Y/N?”

With a crack, Y/N had appeared again.

“I didn’t know you were an Animagus.”

Y/N grinned. 

“What, you thought James, Sirius and Peter were the only ones to ever succeed at it?”

Remus still grimaced, shaking his head and looking down.

“It’s still too dangerous, I won’t risk it. I couldn’t possibly think of hurting you, I’m too dangerous-“

“Remus, stop it. You didn’t hurt Peter as a rat back in the day, you wouldn’t hurt a flinging bird either. Plus, I got a serious height advantage on you anyway.” Y/N raised her eyebrows at him teasingly, transforming back again into the dove and flying up to the ceiling. Lupin wasn’t convinced.

“Y/N, you shouldn’t-“

The dove reappeared as Y/N and kneeled between Lupin’s legs, taking his face into her hands carefully. 

“Please? Let me be there for you. Let me try-“

“I-“ Remus winced in his crippling self-doubt.

“I promise, if I ever feel unsafe, I’ll fly away. I promise.”

Remus nodded. “I love you.”

Y/N was taken aback, but surged forward to press her lips against his.

“I love you too.”

It was the first time they had said that to each other.

+

The first full moon of the Hogwarts term was now but a day away. As it drew nearer, Remus got paler and grew more irritable, as it always was. 

The students never noticed, as he remained their kind Professor Lupin to them. Remus valued the staff and Dumbledore in extremely high regard, so he mainly kept to himself to avoid conflict.

However, his short temper was not 100% appeasable. 

He was presently in his office, leg anxiously bouncing. He couldn’t help but jitter as restless energy coursed through him. The door opened, and he  jerked his head in its direction, to see Y/N walk in, slightly anxious as well.

“Hi, love.” She said, making her way to him.

“He’s late.” Remus muttered.

“It’s Albus Dumbledore, what do you expect- maybe he had a Wizarding War in Luxembourg to stop before this or something.” Y/N joked, dragging a chair beside her and taking Remus’ hand.

His leg stopped bouncing. 

+

1980.

Remus sat in an armchair in the House of Black’s library, attempting to distract himself before the night would come, a transformation night.

Loud voices reverberated across the walls, and he usually wouldn’t have minded, but the full moon made him more irritable.

“Will you guys stop yelling!” He called out across the hallway to the room where James, Sirius and a couple other Order members were talking over each other.

Sirius shared a look with James and they shrugged, making a motion with their hand asking the others to lower their voices.

“Hi, guys!” In came Y/N’s voice, as she walked through the door after a day of work, setting down her jacket. She joined the table for a few snacks, before inquiring, “Where’s Remus?”

“Ah, in the library.” James said mindlessly, shuffling the pack of cards they were playing with. He spotted Y/N head for that direction, and attempted to add, “But I wouldn’t disturb him if I were-“

But Y/N already walked in the library, wanting to see her boyfriend. She found him buried in a book, sitting slightly uncomfortably in his clothes, as if his body was having pre-transformation aches.

“Hi, love.” She said gently.

Remus peered up from his book and instantly smiled, uncrossing his legs and patting at his lap. Y/N took a seat on him, and he wrapped his arms around her comfortably.

“How was work?” He grumbled, mouth kissing up her arm and shoulder.

“Oh, just the usual.”

He listened to her talk about her day, hugging her as she sat in his lap.

James heard faint sounds of their light voices from the other room, and laughed. Sirius shook his head, both of them amused by their friend’s drastic change in demeanor.

“Little fucker.”

+

Dumbledore appeared in Remus’ office not long after Y/N joined, with a goblet of familiar-looking blue smoke.

“Remus, Y/N. I took the liberty of bringing you your last dose myself, Severus has already done so much. So, you wanted to talk about the logistics of your upcoming transformation.”

Remus nodded, leaning forward and taking the potion.

“This is your first time with Wolfsbane, so we cannot be sure on how it will affect you. However, I trust that it has been brewed properly, so it should do its function, which is to maintain your mental state when you transform.”

“So technically, he could just stay and hide here in his office and wait for the night to be over?” Y/N asked Dumbledore, thumb rubbing over Remus’ hand.

“Yes. If the potion has been brewed correctly, which I am sure it has, Remus should transform into nothing but a harmless wolf. Of course, because this is your first time, if you still wish to go outside and-“

“Yes.” Remus interjected, once he finished the last of the potion. “I wish to still use the Whomping Willow, just to avoid all potential risk.”

“Very well.” Dumbledore smiled, bowing his head. “I have complete trust in you, so you do as you please.”

“And I should… I won’t forget who I am, I won’t lose my mind?” Remus asked.

“No.” Dumbledore confirmed. “Your mental state will stay intact.”

“Then, I can technically be in human form with him.” Y/N gasped as the idea jumped into her head. She was immediately met with startled looks from both Dumbledore and Remus, Dumbledore merely intrigued and Remus looking downright terrified. “I mean, I could be with him. Me, a human.” She added hastily.

Glancing at Remus’ fervently opposed look, Dumbledore merely stood up.

“I will leave that between you two to discuss. Goodnight, and good luck.” He said. “Oh! And one more thing.”

His eyes twinkled. “I hear talk amongst the students since the start of term. About you two.”

Remus and Y/N looked at each other nervously.

“Something about spotting their Charms and Defence teachers always being present in each other’s offices…”

Y/N mouth dropped in shock, trying to figure out how students could even know where they spent their nights, before Dumbledore laughed heartily, shaking his head.

“I kid, I kid, I have heard nothing of the sort. All that has reached my ears are the raving comments about your classes and subjects. Keep up the good work, Professors.” Dumbledore chuckled, and vanished into the fireplace.

Y/N stared dumbfounded at the spot he disappeared, before letting out a laugh.

“I-“ She blinked. “He is so weird, and can you believe, I almost let slip that I’m an Animagus-“

She stopped once she looked at her husband, whose expression was grave.

“Wha-“

“You cannot stay in human form with me.” He shook his head.

Y/N stayed silent for a second. “Why not? If this potion works, and we know it will, your-“

“We can’t be too sure!” Remus sighed. “Werewolves, we hunt for humans. We look for victims to bite, to… to-“

“If the potion doesn’t work, then I’ll just transform into a dove, like always.”

Remus met her eyes in a worried gaze.

“I’ve been a bird countless of times on your transformations, you’re still gonna let me do that, are you?” Y/N raised her eyebrows. “You even said, werewolves look for humans, animal companions are harmless-“

“Which is exactly why you can’t be in human form, darling! The extreme danger that would put you in, you have no idea.”

“I have no idea?” Y/N pursed her lips, instinctively reaching out to her bicep, on which lay a tiny white scar.

Remus glanced at it too, with almost hatred and remorse in his eyes, as he sighed, hand tracing over it and kissing it.

+

“Maybe you should transform right now, my love.” Remus said anxiously as he, Y/N, James, Sirius and Peter walked through an abandoned part of the woods.

The sky was dark, and the clouds radiated a faint shimmer indicating the full moon would appear soon.

“I won’t transform until I absolutely need to.” Y/N said firmly, hand holding onto Remus’ tightly.

“She’ll follow our lead, Moony, don’t worry.” Sirius said.

Unintentionally, they stopped at a small hill, deeming the timing to be right.

“Y/N, it’s not too late, you could just Disapparate away, I-“ Remus said to Y/N.

“Remus. Stop. I’m not scared.” Y/N smiled at him, cupping his cheek. “You’re still you. And I love you, all parts of you. Nothing will change that, or you and me.”

Remus nodded, breathing quickly and pulled her in for a kiss, before the other Marauders beckoned Y/N to back away slightly as the moon started to peak.

The night changed in an instant.

The opal orb shone in the sky and in the moonlight, Y/N watched as Remus’ tall silhouette trembled, his body morphing into a werewolf.

Y/N was in awe. His body lengthened. His shoulders were hunching. Hair sprouted visibly from his head and neck and his hands curled into clawed paws. Straightening up, he howled to the sky, the sound echoing into the rest of the night.

Y/N’s mind went blank. The Marauders had transformed as she kept her eye on Remus. For a second, the werewolf’s eyes met hers, but before she could do anything, he lunged for her.

Adrenaline shot through her body as the werewolf made a swipe towards her, a big black dog jumping in between them just in time for Remus’ sharp claw to slightly graze her shoulder before she transformed with a crack, into a dove and flew up, batting her wings.

+

“I’ll never be able to forgive myself for that.” Remus whispered painfully, finger tracing over the small permanent scratch near Y/N’s shoulder.

“But I’m fine.” Y/N pursed her lips, eyes looking into Remus’ face imploringly. “Because I knew that it wasn’t you. And after the night ended, you cared for me so tenderly and lovingly. Gently. Because that is the real you.”

+

Remus soaked a warm towel for the millionth time as he sat Y/N on the toilet next to the sink to tend the small scratch she had acquired from him.

“Rem, it’s okay, do you realize that I’ve broken literal bones before! This is nothing.” Y/N said, letting him clean the patch of skin before taking both of his hands in hers. He kneeled in between her legs.

“I could never forgive myself for this, I’m so sorry-“

“Please. In the best way possible, shut up.” Y/N smiled, eyes welling up at the unnecessary look of remorse plaguing Remus’ face. “That wasn’t you. And nothing that I saw or felt last night changes who you are to me now.”

“You don’t…see me as a monster? You don’t even feel a tiny bit scared being with me right now?” Remus teared up.

Y/N smiled, eyes crinkling and letting tears fall down her cheeks. “I just feel you.”

+

Y/N woke up from her nap the night of the full moon to find Remus’ side of the bed empty. Eventually, she had gotten Remus to agree to let her accompany him as she always did, but in human form this time.

Getting up, she spotted Remus already at the door. She crossed her arms.

“Are you running away?” Y/N frowned, her husband jumping at getting caught.

“No, I-I figured I’d head out earlier.”

Y/N walked towards him, squeezing his shoulders.

“We talked about this. It’ll be okay.” Y/N reassured him. She saw the fear still in his eyes but he nodded, blinking some away and reaching to get Y/N’s coat for her.

They walked in the chilly night air, making their way to the Forest. Although this felt completely new, they had never done this at Hogwarts and they were expecting new results tonight, there was also a sense of déjà-vu present in the air.

Y/N had been helping Remus with every one of his transformations during their entire marriage and before, ever since she was 18. It’s been almost 13 years that they were in this together.

We're only gettin' older, baby

And I've been thinkin' about it lately

“Thank you for being here.” Remus said, squeezing her hand. “And I don’t just mean tonight.”

Y/N squeezed it back tightly, beaming at him. The moon was close to being fully out, and they stopped on a small hill overlooking Hagrid’s Hut where it would appear in full view.

Does it ever drive you crazy

Just how fast the night changes?

“Remember, if I make any sudden moves, you transform on the spot, okay?” Remus looked down at her, eyes full of conviction. Y/N nodded.

They both stood there, waiting, anticipation through the roof. They felt nauseous, from nervousness. The clouds began to fade, and more moonlight shined onto them. Slowly, they let go of each other’s hands and took a couple steps back from each other.

Everything that you've ever dreamed of

Disappearing when you wake up

The first beam of light hit Remus as the full moon emerged.

But there's nothing to be afraid of

Even when the night changes

His neck began elongating, thick hair growing from his head and covering his back. His shoulders hunched as he grew taller, breaking through the material of his clothes. 

It will never change, baby

Y/N watched from a short distance as Remus morphed into a towering creature. Her incantation was ready in her head, just in case she had to transform into the dove.

It will never change, baby

Slowly, the full-fledge werewolf straightened up from its hunched over position. His eyes met Y/N’s and her body tensed, remembering. Instead of lunging at her, he sat down, his human-like eyes expressing gentleness. Y/N took a tiny step towards him.

“Remus?” She said, voice trembling.

The werewolf nodded.

Taking steps closer, she shakily got down onto her knees to join him on the ground. She lifted a hand, tentatively, and inch by inch, approached it to cup his cheek. At the contact, they both breathed out in relief.

“I just feel you.” Y/N smiled, tears flowing from her eyes.

It will never change me and you.

to be continued

a/n: as always i’d love to hear what u thought or what ud like to see of the series:)

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[helion-ism]

let’s talk about elucien

there are so many reasons why I love elain x lucien and why I think these two would not only be amazing together, but also why they belong together. one of those reasons is lucien’s sassy personality, which we already got a glimpse of in acotar (and that I miss terribly btw), and which is, in my opinion, exactly what elain needs in her life. we’re talking about lucien “your eyes are like stars, and your hair like burnished gold” vanserra. we know he’s got quite a big mouth, that’s how we got to know him, but we also know that mouth is exactly what’s gotten him into trouble before. case in point: the eye incident. lucien doesn’t mince his words and yes, that is one of the reasons why elain really needs to spend some more time with him. 

she has been coddled by not only her father, nesta, feyre, but also the entire inner circle, which has allowed her to live her life passively. yes, she killed the king of hybern, and good for her, but she did it because nobody else could have done it at that point in time. ever since the war ended, elain has not actively contributed to any plot matters, whether by choice or because someone else took the choice from her. azriel said in acosf, “there is an innate darkness to the dread trove that elain should not be exposed to.” even amren pointed out that elain is capable of defending herself, but for some reason, nobody let her even though elain said she would try to find it: “then I will find it. I might require some time to … reacquaint myself with my powers, but I could start today.” and yet,  by the end of the book, elain’s been barely in it and has not contributed at all. (I know some people claim there’s certain things already happening in the background, but honestly, I’m not satisfied with that development happening off page, so I can’t wait to finally go on her journey and actually see her do stuff)

this moment is crucial:

does it look like she is happy with the way the others treat her? not really. when nesta snapped at her, elain started laughing. that signals relief to me because nesta, the one who has always tried to protect elain the most (nesta baby Ilysm), is the one who suddenly lost her patience. elain needs somebody like lucien, somebody with a big mouth and sassy attitude, who can coax her out of that paralysis she’s been stuck in, a bit like nesta in this scene. additionally, the banter would be top tier. I want another “if I offer you the moon on a string, will you give me a kiss, too?” moment, please. god please. (elain blinks. “and where would you like that kiss?” — and lucien just loses his mind.)

another thing that lives in my head rent free is the fact that lucien has travelled almost everywhere and could introduce elain, who wishes to see more of the world (see: “elain had always wanted to visit the continent to study the tulips and other famed flowers”), to the different courts and the continent. I refuse to accept that we will not get to learn more about the other courts, for my sake, but also for elain’s sake. I want her to see the spring court at least once. I want her to go and see those tulips she’s dreamt of. I want her and lucien to discover the day court as a new home, which brings me to the next point. 

elain has been craving sunshine for some time now. there’s several quotes that emphasise her connection to sunshine/light, here are a few of my favourites: 

I marveled at it, actually — that those years of poverty hadn‘t stripped away that light from elain.

the suite was filled with sunlight. every curtain shoved back as far as it could go, to let in as much sun as possible. as if any bit of darkness was abhorrent.

she had been always so full of light. perhaps that was why she now kept all the curtains open. to fill the void that existed where all of that light had once been. and now nothing remained.

what can I get you, elain? — sunshine.

elain doesn’t belong into the night court. feyre has found her family there, with rhys and the inner circle. nesta has found (or should I say accepted) cassian and found gwyn and emerie, her chosen sisters. but elain?

elain is somewhere in the background hiding with the twins and tending to gardens of the citizens of velaris. you can’t tell me that is satisfactory to you. she is currently ignoring her seer abilities, and the members of the inner circle are basically encouraging her to do so. the only time she’s been confronted lately was during that conversation with nesta and her reaction was not exactly what any of us readers would have expected, was it? that tells me there’s much more about her we don’t know yet, and I’m convinced we won’t know until she finally leaves and finds her own people, finds herself again and start dealing with everything that happened to her. elain must leave the night court, i.e. the darkness, behind in order to grow.

the same goes to lucien: he’s not at a place where he can just jump into a relationship or mating bond. he’s got so much stuff going on. lucien was forced to abandon his home and his abusive family, his “father” killed the fae he loved in front of his eyes, his best friend is an abusive pos who never appreciated him anyway, and neither has anyone in the night court. lucien is used because of his connections and because of the mating bond that ties him to elain, whether he wanted it or not. feyre knows he would never turn away from elain unless she explicitly wishes him to, and so she and rhys and the others use that to their advantage. it is smart, of course, but at the same time, they also keep important information about his own life from him that could change many, many things. so he’s spending his time with mortals in the human lands — a place where he as a fae really does not belong. 

lucien being the heir to the day court, well, to me, it feels like sjm is practically screaming it into our face: how could he find a home in the night court, the literal opposite to the day? darkness vs. light. and what about elain “he’d never once in the two years he’d known her found elain to be plain, but wearing black, no matter how much she claimed to be part of this court … it sucked the life from her” archeron? just looking at the symbolism, not only do the quotes from above indicate that the night court cannot possibly be her home, but also very recent quotes from the latest book. elain is a side character in the night court. and so is lucien. they both need to leave in order to become main characters — and it doesn’t even matter that both are already crucial to the further plot of the series because how can they possibly contribute to it in a place where they are both kept down? 

mor said in acofas: “stay out of it. she’s not ready, and neither is he, no matter how many presents he brings.” and “let him figure out where he wants to be. who he wants to be. the same goes with her.” mor’s power is “truth”, whatever that means. but there you have it. they’re not ready to be with each other yet, and that’s okay. 

[elain and lucien are also connected not only because of the mating bond, but also because of the plot. lucien must know quite a lot about her and her sisters simply because of all the time he spent with their father. the father who made a bargain with koschei. koschei who put a spell on vassa. lucien is therefore tied to both papa archeron as well as koschei and vassa. elain, we know, is a seer, despite her not using her abilities (or is she, and we simply don’t know?). elain is (obviously) connected to her father, but also to koschei and vassa (remember those visions she had).]

now let’s get to the mating bond stuff, and I need to say this loud and clear: elain has always had and will always have one (1) true mate. there’s no such thing as “false mate” or even multiple mates. there has been no indication whatsoever. lucien is the mate the cauldron had given her when she was born. and elain is the mate the cauldron had given him when he was born. even when she was still human, they already belonged together — tied together by strings of fate. absolutely nothing will change this fact. should elain reject the bond, lucien will remain a part of her life/her soul forever. should lucien reject the bond, elain will remain a part of his life/his soul forever.

when she was still human, lucien had already felt a pull between them and tried to save and protect her from hybern. when elain was already fae, when it came to protecting her, azriel clapped cassian’s shoulder and left (is this the true mate they’re all talking about?). it’s unfair to lucien, elain, AND azriel and this comparison alone is enough to disprove this theory.

the thing is, lucien has been nothing but respectful, kind and caring towards elain. when he arrived in velaris in acowar, he could immediately sense what she needed and said, “she needs fresh air” (vs. the response “we’ll judge what she needs”) and “take her to the sea. take her to some garden. but get her out of this house for an hour or two.” (I’m gonna make another post about this because I have a few thoughts on this)

of course, she doesn’t owe him anything, but elain herself doesn’t wish to be treated like a child, she maybe she should start acting like an adult because although she doesn’t owe lucien an apology or explanation, she has to have a conversation with him, like two responsible adults. there is no way feyre or anyone in the inner circle hasn’t told her that she can reject the bond and move on with her life. but just like her powers, this is another thing she chooses to ignore. I’m not blaming her because I know she has to work through her trauma first and heal, but by the end of the series, she has to acknowledge that at least.

in acosf, elain says “I am not a child to be fought over” when they discuss the dread trove. I wonder what she would say about the fact azriel threatens to challenge lucien to the blood duel because of her? based on literally everything we know about lucien, I can say with certainty that he would not physically fight over elain. if she only had a conversation with him and told him to move on and leave her alone, lucien would do just that. he would leave her alone and try to move on as best as he could (which we know is difficult for males). but he would never act as entitled to her as to demand a blood duel and fight to death. it goes against his principles. 

to finish this off, sjm summing up everything I just said: