#please always send more!

[fan-a-tink]

Something something about unlabled, wordless devotion. How Arthur and Merlin AND Charles and Edwin so clearly LOVE the other half of their respective duo, without labels. No matter how you interpret the relationships you can't ignore that they care SO deeply.

Something something about my aroace self cherishing this representation. No hate to shippers, I believe they may be (or become) romantic, but to have the OPTION, the possibility that one can be cherished for being themselves, without romantic expectations. Or even with. Just love without labels, without expectations .

Gets me every time

Yes!! This!! This is exactly what I love about both bbc merlin and dead boy detectives, that the central relationship is the definition of 'a secret third thing', not romantic not platonic, but just so devoted to each other, just love that doesn't need any further definition or explanation. that's the reason why Charles response to Edwin's confession was not a rejection, because they do love each other, in their own undefined way. and merlin and Arthur are the same, they can never put their feelings into words, they can't define their relationship in the official terms of their time (both actual arthurian time and late 2000s tv landscape), but they don't need to, because we all know their story is a love story. It doesn't need definition, or further clarification, they know they love each other, we know they love each other. the rest is just detail.

[ellemfaoh]

Remembered I had a tumblr so here’s my Our Life offerings for today :3

Pls forgive my inconsistencies I’m trying yall T^T

Bonus: the sprites I made (idk if they’re transparent but feel free to use them w/ credit)

[hollis-art]

this is not my beautiful house... this is not my beautiful wife...

additional weyoun because i like his shapes

[bbuzz28]

Memories

Old man Fiddlestan, my beloved-and what's this? It could be semi-canon compliant :O ?!?! Woof- this is one of the saddest things I have ever written. I know some of you gremlins (affectionate) love that sort of thing, but I don't. I like really really don't. This is my comfort ship, so I don't even know where this came from other than trying to figure out how they *could* work in canon. Truthfully though, I prefer my Fiddlestan heavy on the comfort when it comes to the "hurt/comfort" genre. This is my only “angsty” (i.e. no immediate happy ending) Notes-app fics, so don't get used to this level of sad from me lol.

“Stan?” an oddly familiar voice called. Mr. Mystery, Stan Pines, glanced up from the flyers he was organizing and found that Old Man McGucket stood in the doorway of his front door. The last tour of the day had just left, it was dinnertime, and he was exhausted. Stan rolled his eyes as he unfurled his tie, wishing Soos was still there to escort the crazy old man off his property. No matter what he did, the old hillbilly always managed to find his way back to the Shack. “Sweet Moses McSuckit, what are you doing in here? Shoo, scat, or whateva will get rid of ya.” Hearing no movement, he looked at the man again and found he was standing erect. His blue eyes were the clearest he had seen them in no less than a decade.

          Wait, what did he call- oh. Oh no.

“Stan…ley? Did I…did I do somethin’ wrong?” the other man asked, his hands twisted in knots in front of him. Memories flashed through Stan’s mind; Ford falling through the portal, Fiddleford finding him passed out in the lab, working together to bring Ford home again…being together. Being happy. They had been happy, if just for a little while, hadn’t they?

Then there was the cult, and his discovery of the damn memory gun that had finally ruined everything they ever built. He took a hesitant step forward, a thousand thoughts roaring in his mind at once. “Fidds? Wha-what do you remember?” A bandaged hand snaked up and rubbed over the faded scar on the side of his head “I…don’t rightly know. Did we…I think we had a fight? I just woke up in the…in the dump. N’ I don’t have any shoes. Do ya know why my arm is in a cast?” Fiddleford looked so lost.

Stan knew in his heart that all of this was fleeting- “clarity” would hit Fiddleford every few years after he had finally wiped his mind of himself. Almost like his brain was trying to jumpstart itself back together. The first time they thought it was a miracle but…it didn’t last. It just started a trend that would follow them both for the next almost thirty years. Fiddleford would seemingly “wake up” and be lucid for a few weeks in the beginning, then eventually only a matter of days. It had been so long since the last time that Stan would wager, they only had maybe a few hours together if he was lucky.

The last time Fiddleford was himself…they had fought. Stanley thought he had figured the only way Fiddleford could stay; he needed to remember. Remember everything he had ever forgotten. At the time, Fiddleford had been unwilling to try. He didn’t think he could handle it; he knew he had forgotten what he had for a reason.

Stanley had gotten as close to begging as he ever had in his life since surviving Tijuanna, and when it had no effect…Stanley had told Fiddleford to leave and never come back. He had left that night, and by the next day he had faded away again. After a while, Stan thought his last words had been the final nail in the coffin that was Fiddleford’s mind. He carried that weight along with every other mistake he had ever made. But here he was. Fiddleford. His Fiddleford.

He took a deep breath before he opened his arms up. “Hey, don’t worry, it doesn’t matter. I’m right here.” Fiddleford rushed through the doorway, melting into Stanley’s open arms. “I went away again, didn’t I?” Stan could feel Fiddleford’s tears soaking into his chest, his own whispering at the edges of his eyes. Yes, and you will leave again. You will leave me and I will be alone all over again, you fucking asshole. “Hey cowboy, didn’t I just say not t’ worry about any a’ that? You’re here now, n' that’s what matters. You’re…you’re home.” A haggard laugh vibrated through the smaller man’s chest into Stanley’s own. “I know I keep tellin’ ya, tellin’ me not t’ worry is like” “…tellin’ a fish t’ stop swimmin’; I know Fidds, I know.” Fuck was really the only conscious thought that went through his head as he held his one-time lover. He couldn’t believe he was doing this, again.

Fiddleford looked up, eyes wide and searching Stan’s face. “How long do ya think we have?” Stan shook his head, unwilling to lie even if it eventually wouldn’t matter because he wouldn’t remember. You’ve always been the only person I couldn’t lie to. “I dunno, it’s been…a while. Probably not very long.” Fiddleford closed his eyes before he said “I need ya t’ know somethin’, Stanley.” Stan started to shake his head. “Fidds, you don’t have t-” The look on the other man’s face shut Stan right up-he had always had that ability. Stan wished he didn’t miss it as much as he did. “I need ya to know that even when I’m not here…I miss you. The part of me that’s somewhere in here-” A weathered hand tapped the side of his head to emphasize his point “ misses you. I’m just so sorry, Stanley. Sorry that I’m a coward. I’m sorry that I’m not strong enough to be here all the time…but I’ll never stop tryin’. I’ll always try n’ come home to ya.”

Stan thought of the thousands of times he had chased Old Man McGucket, the neat little character that Stan had to compartmentalize his Fiddleford into when he wasn’t himself, out of the Shack. How many times he had found him curled up like a cat on the back porch. How every time they “met”, McGucket would say how nice Stan was or how good he felt to be around him “for some reason.” How many odds and ends McGucket would gift Stan from the dump for exhibits at the Mystery Shack with a large smile and nothing substantial behind his eyes.

It would be so much easier if he would stop trying to come back. Maybe the hole in Stan’s heart the size of the sweet, certifiably insane man would scab over. How many times had Stanley mourned him? How many times was he willing to hurt himself? They were now nearing their sixties, how long was he really willing to do this song and dance?

What’s one more time? he softly thought, his hand coming up to tenderly cup the grizzled face of Fiddleford Hadron McGucket. Mad scientist, friend, and unfortunately for them both…the love of his life.

“I miss you too, Fidds.”

[taradactyls]

So I could be totally wrong but, I believe it was sort of expected that men/gentlemen lose their virginity before marriage in regency times. But I also there’s some fandom ‘debate’ about whether or not Mr Darcy would’ve had sex before getting married. So I was just curious about what your canon for Mr Darcy in T3W is. Is he a virgin or not?

I knew someone would ask me this eventually, haha. I've actually had really long conversations with my beta reader about this trying to figure it out. It sounds like this might all be stuff that you’ve already seen discussed in the fandom, but I’ve never thought about it deeply before and so these are new thoughts to me.

I keep going over the historical real-world likelihood, the authorial intent, and the text itself but I’m still not 100%. I’ll explain my thinking and what I find most likely, but here’s your warning that it’s not a clear cut yes/no.

Because on one hand, at that time period it was most common for men in his position to have seen sex workers or have casual encounters/mistresses with women from their estates. Though I do absolutely believe not all men did that, no matter how much wealth and power they had. To go back some centuries, William the Conqueror seemed to be famously celibate (no hints of male lovers either according to the biography I read) until his marriage, and there's no evidence of affairs after it either. The best guesses as to why are that it was due to his religious devotion and the problems that had arisen from himself being a bastard and not wanting to recreate that situation. Concerns over religion and illegitimate children would certainly still have been applicable in the regency to men who thought that way. And in modern times I've seen sex workers say that when an 18/21yo is booked in by his family/friends to 'become a man' often they end up just talking and agree to lie about the encounter. After all, it’s not like every man wants casual sex, even if they aren’t demisexual or something in that vein. But, statistically speaking, the precedent of regency gentlemen would make Darcy not a virgin.

On the other hand, just how aware was Jane Austen, the very religious daughter of a country rector, of the commonness of this? There’s a huge difference between knowing affairs and sex workers existed (and no one who had seen a Georgian newspaper could be blind to this) and realising that the majority of wealthy men saw sex workers at some point even if they condemned the more public and profligate affairs. The literature for young ladies at the time paints extramarital sex - including the lust of men outside of marriage - as pretty universally bad and dangerous. This message is seen from 'Pamela' and other gothic fiction to non-fiction conduct books which Jane Austen would have encountered. Here's something I found in 'Letters to a Young Lady' by the reverend John Bennett which I found particularly interesting as it's in direct conversation with other opinions of the era:

"A reformed rake makes the best husband." Does he? It would be very extraordinary, if he should. Besides, are you very certain, that you have power to reform him? It is a matter, that requires some deliberation. This reformation, if it is to be accomplished, must take place before marriage. Then if ever, is the period of your power. But how will you be assured that he is reformed? If he appears so, is he not insidiously concealing his vices, to gain your affections? And when he knows, they are secured, may he not, gradually, throw off the mask, and be dissipated, as before? Profligacy of this kind is seldom eradicated. It resembles some cutaneous disorders, which appear to be healed, and yet are, continually, making themselves visible by fresh eruptions. A man, who has carried on a criminal intercourse with immoral women is not to be trusted, His opinion of all females is an insult to their delicacy. His attachment is to sex alone, under particular modifications.

The definition of a rake is more than a man who has seen a sex worker once, it's about appearance and general conduct too, but again, would that distinction be made to young ladies? Because they seem to simply be continuously taught 'lust when unmarried is bad and beware men who you know engage in extramarital sex.' As a side note, Jane Austen certainly knew at least something about the mechanics of sex: her letters and literature she read alludes to it, and she grew up around farm animals in the countryside which is an education in itself.

We can also see from this exert that the school of thought seems to be 'reformed rake' vs 'never a rake' in contention for the title of best husband, there's no debate over whether a current rake is unsuitable for a young lady. And, from Willoughby to Wickham to Crawford, I think we have a very clear idea of Jane Austen's ideas of how likely it is notably promiscuous men can reform. This does not preclude the possibility that her disparaging commentary around their lust is based more on over-indulgence or the class of women they seduce, but it's undoubtedly a condemnation of such men directly in line with the first part of what John Bennett says so it's no stretch to believe she saw merit in the follow-on conclusions of the second part as well. Whether she would view it with enough merit to consider celibacy the only respectable option for unmarried men is a bit unclearer.

I did consider that perhaps Jane Austen consciously treated this as a grey area where she couldn’t possibly know what young men did (the same reasoning is why we never see the men in the dining room after the ladies retire, etc) and so didn't hold an opinion on men's extramarital encounters with sex workers/lower-class women at all, but I think there actually are enough hints in her works that this isn’t the case. Though, unsurprisingly, given the delicacy of the subject, there’s no direct mention of sex workers or gentlemen having casual lovers from among the lower-classes in her texts.

That also prevents us from definitively knowing whether she thought extramarital sex was so common, and as unremarkable, as most gentlemen treated it. But we do see from her commentary around the consequences of Maria Bertram and Henry Crawford's elopement that she had criticism of the double standards men and women were held to when violating sexual virtue. Another indication that she perhaps expected good men to be capable of waiting until marriage in the way that she very clearly believed women should. At the very least, a man who often indulges in extramarital sex does not seem to be one who would be considered highly by Jane Austen.

She makes a point of saying, in regards to not liking his wife, that Mr Bennet “was not of a disposition to seek comfort for the disappointment which his own imprudence had brought on, in any of those pleasures which too often console the unfortunate for their folly or their vice.” This must include affairs, though cheating on a wife cannot be a 1:1 equivalent of single young men sleeping around before marriage. However, the latter is generally critically accepted to be one of the flaws that Darcy lays at Wickham’s door along with gambling when talking about their youth and his “vicious propensities" and "want of principle." Though this could be argued that it’s more the extent or publicity of it (but remembering that it couldn't be anything uncommon enough that it couldn't be hidden from Darcy Sr. or explained away) rather than the act itself, or maybe seductions instead of paying women offering those services. I also believe Persuasion mentioning Sunday travelling as proof of thoughtless/immoral activity supports the idea that Jane Austen might have been religious enough that she would never create a hero who had extramarital sex.

So, taken all together this would make Darcy potentially a virgin, or, since I couldn't find absolute evidence of her opinions, leave enough room that he isn’t but extramarital sex isn’t a regular (or perhaps recent) thing and he would never have had anything so established as a mistress.

I’ve also been wondering, if Darcy isn’t a virgin, who would he have slept with? I’ve been musing on arguments for and against each option for weeks at this point. No romantasy has ever made me think about a fictional man's sexual habits so much as the question of Darcy's sexual history. What is my life.

Sex workers are an obvious answer, and the visits wouldn’t have raised any eyebrows. Discretion was part of their job, it was a clean transaction with no further responsibilities towards them, and effective (and reusable, ew) condoms existed at this time so there was little risk of children and no ability to exactly determine the paternity even if there was an accident. It was a fairly ‘responsible’ choice if one wanted no strings attached. In opposition to this, syphilis was rampant at the time, and had been known to spread sexually for centuries. Sex workers were at greater risk of it than anyone else and so the more sensible and risk-averse someone is (and I think Mr Darcy would be careful) the less likely they would be to visit sex workers. Contracting something that was known as potentially deadly and capable of making a future wife infertile if it spread to her could make any intelligent and cautious man think twice.

Servants and tenants of the estate are another simple and common answer. Less risk of stds, it can be based on actual attraction more than money (though money might still change hands), and is a bit more intimate. But Wickham’s called wicked for something very similar, when he dallies (whether he only got to serious flirting, kissing, or sleeping with them I don’t think we can conclusively say) with the common women of Meryton: “his intrigues, all honoured with the title of seduction, had been extended into every tradesman's family.” And it isn't as though Wickham had any personal duty towards those people beyond the claims of basic dignity. Darcy, who is shown to have such respect and understanding for his responsibilities towards the people of his estate and duties of a landlord, would keenly feel if any of his actions were leading his servants/tenants astray and down immoral paths. Servants, especially, were considered directly under the protection of the family whose house they worked in. I think it's undoubtable that Mrs Reynolds (whose was responsible for the wellbeing - both physically and spiritually - of the female servants) would not think so well of Mr Darcy if he had experimented with maids in his youth. It would reflect badly on her if a family entrusted their daughter to her care and she 'lost her virtue' under her watch. Daughters/widows of others living on the estate not under the roof of Pemberley House are a little more likely, but still, if he did have an affair with any of them I can only think it possible when he was much younger and did not feel his duties quite so strongly. Of course lots of real men didn't care about any of this, but Darcy is so far from being depicted as careless about his duties that the narrative makes a point of how exceptional his quality of care was. Frankly, it's undeniable that none of Jane Austen's heroes were flippant about their responsibilities towards those under their protection. I cannot serious entertain an interpretation that makes Darcy not, at his current age, at least, cognizant of the contemporary problems inherent in sleeping with servants or others on his estate.

A servant in a friend’s house would remove some of that personal responsibility, but transfer it to instead be leading his friend’s servants astray and in a manner which he is less able to know about if a child did result. That latter remains a problem even if we move the setting to his college, so not particularly likely for his character as we know it… though it wouldn’t be unusual for someone to be more unthinking and reckless in their teenage years than they are at twenty-eight so I don’t think having sex then can be ruled out. Kissing I can much more easily believe, especially when at Oxford or Cambridge, but every scenario of sleeping with a lower-class woman has some compelling arguments against it especially the closer we get to the time of the novel.

Men did of course also have affairs with women of ranks similar to their own, though given Jane Austen’s well-known feelings towards men who ‘ruined’ the virtue of young ladies we can safely say that Darcy never slept with an unwed middle- or upper-class woman. Any decent man would have married them out of duty if it got so far; but if he was the sort to let it get so far, I think it impossible Jane Austen would consider him respectable. Widows are a possibility, but again, the respectable thing to do would be to marry them. Perhaps a poorer merchant’s widow would be low enough that marriage is off the table but high enough that the ‘leading astray’ aspect loses its master-servant responsibilities (though the male-female ‘protect the gentler sex’ aspect remains) but his social circle didn’t facilitate meeting many ladies like that. Plus, an affair with a woman in society would remove many layers of privacy and anonymity that sex-workers and lower-class lovers provided by simply being unremarkable to the world at large. It carries a far greater risk of scandal and a heavier sense of immorality in the terms of respecting a woman’s purity which classism prevented from applying so heavily to lower-class women.

I think it’s important to note here that something that removes the need to think about duties of landlords towards the lower-classes or gentlemen towards gentlewomen is having affairs with other men of a similar rank. But, aside from the risk of scandal and what could be called the irresponsibility of engaging in illegal acts, it’s almost certain that Jane Austen would never have supported this. For a devout author in this era the way I’m calculating likelihoods makes it not even a possibility. But if you want to write a different fanfiction (and perhaps something like a break-up could explain why Darcy doesn’t seem to have any closer friend than someone whom he must have only met two or so years ago despite being in society for years before that) it does have that advantage over affairs with women of equal- and lower-classes. I support alternate interpretations entirely – it just isn’t how I’m deciding things in this instance.

I keep coming back to the conclusion that, at the very least, Darcy hasn’t had sex recently and it was never a common occurrence. It wouldn’t surprise me if Jane Austen felt he hadn’t done it ever. Kissing, as we can see from all the parlour games at the time, wasn’t viewed as harshly, so I think he’s likely made out with someone before. But in almost every situation it does seem that the responsible and religious thing to do (which Jane Austen values so highly) is for it to never have progressed to sex. I also don’t think it conflicts with his canon characterisation to say that he wouldn’t regard sexual experience as a crucial element of his life thus far, and his personality isn’t driven to pursue pleasure for himself, so it’s entirely possible that he would never go out of his way to seek it. So, I’m inclined to think that the authorial and textual evidence is in favour of Darcy being a virgin even if the real-world contemporary standard is the opposite. (Though both leave enough room for exceptions that I’m not going to argue with anyone who feels differently; and even if you agree with all my points, you might simply weight authorial intent/textual evidence/contemporary likelihoods differently than I do and come to a different conclusion).

Remember that even if Darcy is a virgin this wouldn’t necessarily equate to lack of knowledge, only experience. There were plenty of books and artwork focused on sex, and Darcy, studious man that he is, would no doubt pay attention to what knowledge his friends/male relatives shared. Though some of it (Looking especially at you, 'Fanny Hill, Memoirs of a Woman of Pleasure') should NEVER be an example of appropriate practice for taking a woman's virginity. Darcy would almost certainly have been taught directly or learnt through exposure to other men talking to make sex good for a woman – it was a commonly held misconception (since Elizabethan England, I believe) that women had to orgasm to conceive. It would be in his interests as an empathetic husband, and head of a family, to know how to please his wife.

Basically, I’m convinced Darcy isn’t very experienced, if at all, and will be learning with Elizabeth. But he does have a lot of theoretical knowledge which he’s paid careful attention to and is eager to apply.

[erwinsvow]

Ehehehehe okey sooooo

Alpha pope, who was unknowingly on supresents, curtesy of granny smurf, for years and years. During prison time, he was also on them, state mandatory. So when he gets out, he is getting half insane when all the hormones and all the instincts are coming back all at once. It hits him like a tsunami-quiet literally and leaves nothing but destruction behind. So when he sees the girl next door or the cute neighbor or whoever, he just... sacks them. Opens the trunk, put a frightened omega in, close the trunk. Done. He won't fuck you against your will, but even he, unexperienced as he is, knows that he just has to bite his time. In the meantime, he gets all sorts of fluffy blankets, pillows etc etc so you can build a nest when it's time. He gives you shirts and boxers of his to wear, all smelling like him to acclimate you to his sense. So after days of him rampaging but never close to you so you don't know, you bering afraid and alone, you ask him if you can curl up to him. So the next night he is awake almost the entiere night, stiff like a board, with you half on top of him, his arm curled against your waist to hold you close.

Just a very hormonal nearing the rut(possible the first after his presentation, again, thanks smurf) and poor reader, who he picked up and who is doomed (destined) to bare the brunt of it.

girl you need to write this.... because i am so invested.... frothing at the mouth. you hit EVERYTHING i was thinking when you sent that original message. suppressant pope and then so many hormones and then finds our wide eyed stuttering reader who can't keep a sentence in check around him and just. yeah you're coming home with me. the. trunk. YIPPEEEE!!!!! the kidnapping fantasy of pope inside me just started doing cartwheels!!! i love the idea of him putting you in the trunk but eventually he knows you are so meek you're not going to fight him (out of fear and... something else. maybe you know him or have heard of him at least. you should be more scared but you're not. maybe because you know he's not gonna hurt you like you think someone else would.) and eventually you end up in the passenger seat next to him or asleep in the back. takes you somewhere quiet and makes sure no one has his location or followed him and just. GAH. i truly don't know much about this. so i'm assuming he would do the things he thinks he needs to but forget some of the vital stuff. like gives you the stuff for the nest and gets you wearing his clothes (which you seem....maybe a little to eager to get. but his scent is comforting when he leaves during the day, like a reminder he'll come home to you that night. that's odd. shouldn't you want your kidnapper to stay away rather than come back home?) but forgets to acclimate himself to you and spend time with you rather than just near you. doesn't understand why you jump up out of your little nest situation and pad up to him when he comes home... expecting something. he doesn't know what to do with that. and then like you said you have to build up the courage to ask to cuddle or sleep next to him and it kind of hits him. like oh his plan worked. you must be his mate because you're not afraid and he's at ease with you around and clearly you're fine if you want to cuddle with him and then. mmmm. sleeping next to you in the little nest, he overheats since youre not in anything but his shirt and some socks and everytime he glances over at your sleeping figure he's getting harder and harder and less and less levelheaded, doesn't move an inch from the stiff position on his back, even when you move around in your sleep and end up with a leg and an arm across him, face buried in his neck, hands on his chest. but he does fall asleep that night. a whole four hours with you. when he wakes up you're like making him coffee and breakfast. and then maybe a little bit later after settling into this routine (a lot of silence but its not... uncomfortable. it's soothing. peaceful.) then he's aboutta, as they say, rut. phew. i can imagine him at first trying to protect you from it. momentarily forgets he kidnapped you and thinks he needs to make sure you don't see him like this so you don't get scared, like he didn't pick you up in that little dress for this very moment. doesn't know how to handle it. or what it'll be like maybe?? and you want him to feel better so of course you're offering yourself up on a silver platter telling him he needs to feel better and that he'll be okay. you touch his sweaty face and he kind of snarls at you but you're still not afraid. well anways you end up over his shoulder, takes you to this lil nest you've built, fucks your brains out (and yes he says the whole thing about giving you pups. it's me. of course he's talking about giving you pups) and the knot (i know little about this. but what i do know is you are 10000% getting that knot. you're getting the fuck out of that knot) and the bite!!!! my personal favorite. bonded forever as they say. <3 hehe

[nordidia]

having a very rough night so raph doodles needed to be made

when in need, mash two interests together

[paincest]

kills me that most of patrochilles depicts patroclus as a twinkified bottom or a walking powerhouse who tops a dainty achilles. like wow God forbid a big strong man wants to take it up the ass from a younger pretty boy

[snzydarling]

Primrose

link, zelda, implied ze/link ( BOTW / TOTK )

cw: snz kink !! brief mentions of mess, implied chara with kink

notes: hi!!! this one was a lot of fun to write(^_^) im in my totk era again let's see if i finally finish the game. this takes place pre-totk, but a few years after botw. this was inspired by this post when I saw it and went ok reverse that and also by the flower sanctuary in totk I found a few days ago doing the Penn quests !!! I hope u enjoy ( ´∀`) rbs and any tips very welcome!!

It was beautiful. 

Endless rows of flowers. Buds she had only seen in ancient texts, species’ even the royal labs couldn’t get to thrive, all displayed in a stunning show of color. Some, more adapted to the moonlight, were hiding away in their leaves, but they still stood tall. Others, newly discovered, were just beginning to peak through the soil. Zelda was speechless.

Magda didn’t hesitate to fill in the gap, rushing towards her the moment she spotted the princess. “Aren’t they so beautiful?” She asks, flitting about. She stops only to give Link an out-of-place glare. “Be careful with them.” She warns, before flipping back to Zelda, who’s yet to actually register any of it. 

”While the two of you are here, I need some muscle. There’s been such little help.” It’s, sadly, true. Most farmers are focusing their efforts on returning the agriculture to its former state, so there have been so few hands for something like this. As important to the ecosystem as these flowers are, food takes priority. Zelda remembers enough of her lectures to know that much. 

She would love to. This project is hers. But both she and Link had taken the day off from major projects. They’ve spent the day on a relaxing horse ride along quiet roads when Zelda remembered Magda’s gardens about an hour previous, and realized she hadn’t visited in months. She really ought to help, just as an apology for forgetting. 

On the other hand, Link had been seeming a bit tired. He was placed front and center at the monster clearing effort, and it was definitely taking a toll. When she looks over at him, at her right side as always, he’s looking right back with a neutral expression. 

“Would you like to?” Zelda dares to ask, trying her very best not to let any emotion seep into it. They’ve been running into a roadblock where Link struggles with individualistic things. A lot of minor details are still fuzzy for him, but Zelda suspects he hasn't had much time to think about himself anyway. They’re working through it together. 

But to her immense relief, Link nods. And again, before Zelda can say anything, maybe praise for the choice or just simple acknowledgment, she’s cut off. Magda grabs Link’s arm and drags him off in a whirlwind of argumentative noises and a “you just relax, princess!”

There’s not much else to do, so she stays. Maybe not relaxes, because she feels a bit too bad when Link is being put to work, but she finds a nearby stool and sits. Rehabilitation efforts have been successful but slow, and the princess (Queen? The line is still a bit blurred, and she’s not in any rush to clarify it, despite Impa’s nagging.) She’s in charge of everything. Zelda can’t really remember the last time she slept in a bed or house that belonged to her, and the warmth on her back here feels delightful. It looks like a dream. The whole area feels like the royal gardens, with its stone pathways and well-trimmed bushes. If Zelda unfocuses her eyes, watching Link as he hauls bags of soil, it feels like simpler times. Like the Calamity never happened. 

Halfway across the island, Link jerks forward. Does it again. What’s wrong with him- could it be a monster attack? Is he grabbing for a weapon?  Magda, who’s directing him animatedly, pauses and says something Zelda isn’t able to hear. Link waves her off with his free hand and piles another bag onto his shoulders. Stray dirt tumbles down his back, dirtying royal blues. 

Zelda’s hands are shaking. It’s a shock when Link appears near her, still hauling the bags. He looks annoyed and focused. It’s the kind of look he gets in a battle, brow furrowed and shoulders tense. Something must be wrong. It’s a monster attack just like she thought. 

Zelda can’t hide the worry on her face when the expression deepens. They must be closer. His hearing is better than hers- he’s surely listening to the thundering footsteps, war chants in the distance. When he takes in a breath, Zelda’s ready to jump from her seat. He’s about to yell, she’s sure of it. Tell them to run, or duck, or something. Then he jerks forward. Once. Twice. 

Oh. That makes more sense. Her heart’s pounding in her chest. Link straightens up, flipping hair out of his face, and sniffles, looking a little sheepish, but still slightly bothered. They lock eyes, and he smiles, but it doesn’t look genuine when his brows are creased. His face falls a little into a concern she’s too familiar with when she doesn’t move, but her heartbeat is still thundering. She has to swallow past a lump in her throat to talk. 

“Goddess, bless you.” Is what she manages, and it's a relief when his smile comes back. Despite her and many others’ pestering, she’s never been able to get him to sneeze properly. She’s adjusted to his restraint, even though she wishes he would let himself relax. 

Link sets the bags down with a thud a few feet away from her, wiping beads of sweat from his brow. Before she's able to offer him her stool, he sits down right in the grass, smiling at her again. She recently discovered that he has dimples. She observes as he takes a bottle from his belt and drinks. There’s a small scar on his neck, the edge of it just peeking out from his hair. His throat bobs as he drinks. After so long apart, she’s always trying to drink in any detail she can of him. His nose is a little pink, and when he scrunches it again she can’t help but giggle a little bit, because he looks like a wild fox like that. But then he does it again, and his breath gets pitchy, and he wretches away from her in a flurry of motion. 

“h’nGT-! e’nDT-! hi’nGKT-!” She can only watch his back tense with each release, but she’s certain that it can’t feel good. Something must be wrong if he’s sneezing so much. He can’t be sick- they’ve been together for the whole morning, and he’d been fine. He'd slept in as late as he could, eaten his usual heaping for breakfast, gotten the horses ready with his usual care, and hadn’t so much as sniffled for their entire ride. Link isn't sensitive to anything, either, and has never had a reaction to pollen. Could he have been hiding an illness this whole time? How could she-

“nKT - e’NGT-hh! ” Suddenly, Link jerks forward into his lap. He looks up, blinking at the sky as his shoulders tremble, lips parted. His expression crumples again and he jerks back down. “eH’TZCHh-iewh!”

Zelda’s face explodes with heat. 

Hearing something so - natural. So raw, out of Link, put an odd feeling in her stomach. He rights himself, sniffling, and Zelda can’t miss the wetness dripping down his lip before he wipes it off with his sleeve. It must’ve made it worse, because his nose starts twitching and twitching again. Like everything before wasn’t enough to cleanse whatever tickle he has. Zelda’s enamoured watching this silent battle- his breaths are uneven, his eyes squinty, brow furrowed. He looks up at her through his eyelashes and tears his eyes away with a new pink on his cheeks. Even his ears are twitching. He gasps again, finally, because Zelda can’t take this anticipation anymore. 

“ ‘tTZCHh-!   hiA'CHht- i'TZCHhih-!” Seeing his princess’s face must have brought back some kind of etiquette, because these ones are muffled into his elbow. They’re itchy. Needy. Strong enough that he can’t fight them. Zelda feels all tingly. Something must be wrong with both of them. 

“May Hylia bless you.” She says, and prays that he’s too indisposed to recognize whatever emotion is coating her words. “What’s wrong?”

Once again, he waves the concern off, this time with an expression so tickly it makes her own nose itch in sympathy. She wants him to sneeze again. She wants to study every reaction, every twitch in his face, and understand whatever is making her knight unravel like this. What she needs is to get a grip. 

“You’re certain you aren’t sick?” Why is the idea of that enough to make her feel too hot all of a sudden? Would he look just like this? Face flushed, hints of his voice peaking through raspy and low? Zelda must be the sick one. Link shakes his head a little wildly, like he might be able to get rid of the itch with it. Thankfully he doesn’t. Instead, he whines.

“ hI‘iISHHihh-yU! hI’TSCHh -e’TCHhih-! hiH’tZCHh-iew!” Four times, Five. Zelda’s dizzy. Warm in all the wrong places. She’s never seen anything like this from Link. He looks so desperate. He tilts his head back with stray tears tracking down his cheeks, chest heaving, before he sneezes again. Mist sprays down his front, glimmering in the springtime sun, his hands raised but not close enough. There’s warmth between her legs. Every release makes her spine tingle. This isn’t the usual thrill that experiments bring her. Watching him sniffle desperately, pawing at his face, red with irritation and maybe embarrassment, is unraveling something within her. It also allows her to see flecks of yellow covering his hands and tunic. 

“Link, stop!” She yelps, ignoring the part of her that doesn't really want him to stop at all. He freezes, looking at her through red-rimmed eyes. Now is the part where she has to explain herself and seem normal. Get it together. She’s done things much harder- she can say the words sneeze and allergy when referring to Link. 

“You’re, um” She's so, so warm. She clears her throat. “You’re allergic to something here, I think. There are several rare flowers here that you wouldn’t be used to.” Link gives her an owlish blink and she thinks, oh, she’s been caught. He’s too perceptive. But then his facial expression crumbles again and he buries himself in his elbow with a gasp that’s so unrestrained that she can’t think.

“ hyIHT'SHHhih-! ‘iISZHh-! hih - hE'ISHh-iewh!” They’ve taken on a wet quality. His nose is streaming when he comes back up. Hair unkempt and in his eyes. He looks tired. Undone. Natural. Sexy, Purah might say. She’s struck with these sudden, conflicting desires to wash him off and feed him tea, and to watch him unravel with sneeze after sneeze while her hands disappear under her skirt. She’s been away from civilization too long. Thank Hylia she doesn’t need to be much of a princess right now. The royal court would be in shambles. 

The first idea sounds a little more plausible. So she finds Mgda quickly, where she’s kneeling over a tiled bed of soil with her sleeves rolled up. She looks determined. Zelda, not for the first time, is overwhelmingly thankful that somebody so passionate gets to do this work, even if she can’t. 

Magda sends them off with well-wishes for Zelda and a promise to call for more help soon for Link, and the horses are already prepared once she comes back. He’s adjusting the reins and his hair is soaked, plastered to his forehead and dripping wet. He looks over when she comes closer and blinks at her, and he looks so pathetic like that that she just bursts into giggles. It gets worse when he shakes himself off like a dog, probably to make her laugh, and sends droplets splattering around that make the horses whinny with irritation. 

They’re both quiet for a few minutes, until they’re trotting down the path to the stables. Zelda tries to distract herself with the scenery and the rhythmic clack of horseshoes, and it works until Link comes up to her, rubbing his nose on his shoulder. While she’s trying not to think about the implications of that he brings up his right first and rubs a circle around his chest. Sorry. 

Zelda’s not quick enough to hide her frown. She really needs to get back into etiquette lessons. This has been another struggle in this uncharted time of peace. He’s guilty about so many things. Big things, like not being fast enough and remembering her enough, and little things, too. Tearing the champion's tunic in battle and having nightmares and being tired. It hurts her heart. “You can’t help it, link. It isn’t your fault.” She wisely elects not to mention that seeing him like that had awoken new feelings in her. “If it will make you feel better, you could cook me something?” He lights up at that. With a small smile on his face, Zelda can see how his under-eyes crinkle, like he has a headache. Even though he was looking better, his nose is a bit red again, too. It may just be sunburn. Her stomach does not get any sort of feeling of the possibility that he's still itchy. 

She can't hide the noise she makes a few moments later, when a “e'tSZHHhi-!” from behind catches her off guard. Her horse jerks to the side, caught off guard, and it takes a second too long to get her bearings back and fix their course. She tries to cover it up with an only slightly shaky “Goddess, bless you!”A moment later, when the click of horseshoes behind her stops, she tugs the reins of her own mare and chances a glance behind her. 

He's quivering silently, nose pinched in his hand. The sight of it does not bring back that warm and tingly feeling in her stomach. She's very collected when she says “Just let them out, Link. I don't mind,” and prays and prays that he can't sense any ulterior motives. To continue, she does not nearly fall from her horse when he obeys instantly. There must be some knightly manners still left in him. They're lying in wait, Link caught in a desperate, hitchy buildup and Zelda trying to suppress this too sensitive, wanting feeling in her body. His breath finally catches in his throat, whiny and needy, and Zelda nearly shudders. Finally, his body gives in. 

“e’EITZCHh-et’TZCHh’yu-!! hI'tSCHHh! hiA'tTZCHh-ieww!! hi’IDTCHHiew-!” They're back to that itchy and needy quality that makes her head spin. He washed off and should be alright now, but he sounds so allergic. So at mercy to his own body. He aims another needy release towards the grass, almost doubled over. Zelda does not feel any need to close her legs. 

She fumbles for a handkerchief, something to busy her hands and eyes. When she looks back up at him, his face is wet again, stray strands of golden-blond plastered to his cheeks. She hops off the horse and quickly presses whatever fabric she'd managed to come up with into his palm. If he doesn't get himself under control now Zelda doesn't know what will happen to her. 

This close, she can see pollen on his horse's chestnut brown coat. She clicks her tongue. The horses must have been rolling around in the fields. She tells as much to Link, watching him dab at the moisture on his face. She can't help but think about how sensitive he is, especially not when he rubs his nose a little too much and trembles into the fabric with a rapid “ ‘dschh-‘tszhhiew!” Warmth spreads across her stomach, even though she's too hot already. She needs to take off some layers, but she's already in a simple dress. Link will get suspicious if she dunks herself in some nearby water, too. She's trapped. “You both can wash off once we get to the stables.” Link nods and tucks the fabric, now useless and covered in wet spots, into his pocket and takes up the reins with more needy sniffles. 

Zelda has to wipe the sweat from her palms before getting on her own horse. It flicks its ears and throws her a look like it can see right through her, and that's how she knows that she's truly lost it. 

She’s infinitely lucky that a knight traditionally rides and walks behind his princess, because just the sound of another prickly sneeze leaves her white-knuckling the leather reins. If she'd seen it, that jolt of want would've run through her even worse and overwhelmed every too-sensitive nerve ending she had. 

When they make it to the stables, after both too much and not enough sniffling and stray one-off releases, Zelda orders her knight to the lake to bathe and seats herself near the fire. The sun, already setting, lights Link's hair aflame in gold as he leads his mare away. When his shoulders twitch once, twice, and he jerks forward, Zelda most certainly does not feel anything about it.  

[midwesternvibes]

Yeah reverse robins is cool and all but have you ever considered reverse batfam? And no, I'm not just talking about "bring in Duke and the girls!" (Even tho that's a valid criticism)

No, I mean all of them. Give me a Damian who grew up in the leauge with no clear mother or father, but who is somehow connected to Ra's Al Ghul, who grows up obscenely wealthy but with no one to actually take care of him, so when he turns 18 he takes his birthright worth of money and runs away to an abandoned manor in a run down city, corrupt with crime.

Give me a Damian who decides that he will do good with what skills he's been forced to learn and decides to clean up Gotham however he can. But he can't do it alone. And frankly, he's tired of being alone. So he hires a college student desperate for money to help him with the upkeep of the old manor.

Give me a Mia Mizoguchi with a passion for cartography, about to finish her masters, but she needs money bad, so when the new, young owner of the giant manor hires her to help him clean it up, she figures why not.

Give me Maps and Damian both figuring out how to be around each other while Damian figures out how to be a person, and when she finds out about his night endevors, he can only be grateful when she only asks how she can help.

Give me the two, working together and becoming each other's emergency contact and number 1 confidant for years as the streets of Gotham start to become cleaner.

And then give me a Damian, attending a gala in the tacky mansion only a mile down from his manor, suffocating in his too-tight tie that Maps said suited his complexion, suddenly finding himself standing in a spray of bullets as the hosts of the party are suddenly killed by mobsters that he failed to take down

And give me a Damian, crouching down by a shaking Tim Drake, promising him that he will keep the boy by his side no matter what, and seeing himself in the boy covered in blood standing alone with no one to care for him.

And thus, the Bat and the Sparrow are born

Edit: pt 2

[tagarilaghost]

POV: You're about to be absolutely obliterated by Palkia's Spacial Rift

[businesscasualart]

Have y'all ever had an older but still modern era TV that you liked but it would occasionally get issues with it's visuals or sound due to old wiring, so you would have to to get up behind the TV and get a hold on those red, yellow, and white cables; then take em out, plug em back in; maybe you'd have to pull em out and plug them back in multiple times until the problem improves in case you didn't do it right the first time; or maybe you don't take the cables out at all and just get a good grip on them and try to force them in deeper into the socket, with a bit of elbow grease, in case they're just not plugged in all the way, or twist them in the socket or bend the wires like a charger that only works in a specific position or maybe you just try talking to it sweetly as you futz with the cables just because you're running out of ideas on how to fix the issue...and jump forward to modern day, wire play is your most searched ao3 tag???...Yeah, that's how it feels to drive the new Ford F-150.

Ah, btw I'm opening my art and hc/drabble requests to the Date Everything community <3 My rules are under the read more of my pinned but they’re all rather basic I think, besides “plz be patient with me, I can work so slowly.” Send help I'm running out of ideas.

[luminique]

My brain worm is screaming so I must share this. Lighter acting so cool around his friends and the Sons of Calydon acting like he doesn't want any PDA. Actually being shocked when you respect that completely and don't touch him much. Which...doesn't feel right. He said no PDA but...no handholding? No hugs? Not even a pat on the back? He feels like he's made a grave mistake because he didn't fully prepare for what he asked for. He thought you'd struggle and here he is getting the shakes because it's been exactly 30 minutes since you last touched him (it was a playful bump of shoulders) and he's SUFFERING

OH MY GOD touchstarved lighter my beloved…. but he would definitely pump himself up in his head like “gotta be cool, act all chill” and then he’s counting down the minutes it’s been.

he is so insanely in love and loser for you that i believe a slight brush of your hands against each other or even having you brush the bangs out of his eyes had him going INSANE. there are moments where he has intentionally tried to hold your hands by first linking pinkies together but you just move your hand away because piper was right there. he would be so focused on it too so he doesn’t hear piper calling his name until your voice cuts through his thoughts and he’s embarrassed.

something that he only picked up since being together was resting his head on you. whether that be on your shoulder, arm or on your head, he does it often privately so when he unknowingly tries to do it in public, you shift a little and he trips a little. he fixes up his shades and looks around to make sure no one else saw as redness creeps up his face.

someone tell this man that it is COMPLETELY FINE to show pda because i think he will literally end it all if he has to go another minute without your touch or affection.

[npd-confessions]

yo what are your neos :D

I use a lot but lately i've taken a shine to carn/carnie gore/gores quin/quin's jest/jests thy/thym lamb/lambs and saint/saints

[snkyou]

Drabble Prompt: Post-canon Levi, struggling with chronic pain and mourning his dead loved ones, being visited by his still alive loved ones

Anon, you knew how to talk pretty to me <3

hihi requests are still open btw

I feel like I gotta put a disclaimer or something lmao. So, the length of my drabble requests is usually something between 100-400 words. This request is just an incredibly unexpected exception. it just happened to fit into this idea I already had been thinking of, which was how the remaining 104th would ask Levi to be part of important events in their lives because well, they like the dude lmao, so expect that sort of one-shot soon. Additionally, since I kept reminding myself that this was supposed to be a drabble, I might have glossed over the chronic pain and mourning bits so I'm sorry about that ;;

that being said, 2.4k words of Levi and Gabi be upon ye <3

Now on Ao3!

The angry hissing of the kettle makes him flinch. It brings a loud ringing to his right ear. Instinctively, he places his right hand over it, and gives his ear a couple of gentle taps; it's more of a grounding gesture, a distraction from the buzzing. He usually keeps watch over the kettle, so that he can lower the heat just right before it gets a chance to scream at him. 

He realises then that he must have spaced out while waiting. It’s alright, he thinks. It’s been like that a lot, recently. He’s been like that. Lost in thought-- lost in time, if he allowed himself to be precise. The last days, weeks even, as the temperatures started to drop, blended into each other. There’s a little calendar on his bedside table, it had been a birthday gift from Armin – or had that been Mikasa’s? He isn’t sure, he had received an absurd number of presents from the kids last year, it had been hard to keep track of who gave him what and now the fact escaped him. Turning the pages of the little calendar, with its delicate botanical illustrations on each day, quickly became part of his morning routine, and so he was sure that time was passing at all. The stillness of the routine, he guesses, made him like this.

His vision blurs momentarily while he scoops the tea leaves into the teapot. He squints, trying to will his good eye to focus, but all he gets in return is a throb in his right eye. After putting the tea canister away, he presses the inner sides of his wrists to both eyes, placing just enough pressure to relieve the discomfort. When he opens his eyes again, he is pleased to find he can read the small print on the canister an arm’s length away. 

There’s a loud slam coming from the front of the house, followed by footsteps coming further into the house.

He quickly recognizes the heavy stomping as Gabi’s gait. She’s always been so loud.

Gabi crosses the arch into the small kitchen and dining area. 

“Don’t slam my doors,” he says as a greeting, slowly turning his head to his left side, trying to catch a glimpse of her in his periphery.

“Aye, aye,” the kid waves her hand, shoots him a teasing grin, “someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed.”

Levi hums in response but doesn’t say anything else. He busies himself with placing everything they need for their morning tea and coffee on a metal tray on the counter, which Gabi takes from him as soon as it’s ready and sets it on the table.

He grabs his cane from where he had hooked it on one of the kitchen drawers. He has been leaning against the counter, his right leg supporting most of his weight all this time. He braces himself for the sharp pain that will surely surge from his bad knee, through his left hip and up his spine. Cold mornings like this one and being still in one place for long will do that to him. It’s not so bad. It could be worse.

It takes 4 steps to get from the stove to his chair, which Gabi has already pulled out for him. It sits at an angle that allows him to easily slide down on it and rest his right elbow on top of the table, leaning back and against his good side.

“I have something that will cheer you up,” she holds a couple of envelopes in her hand and waves them at him, “You’ve got mail!”

He nods at her in acknowledgement but does not take his attention away from preparing his first batch of tea of the day. There’s a ritual to it, it almost feels like, and he doesn’t want to mess it up. Not when the ringing in his ear is still there, the building pressure in the upper back part of his eyeballs, and the cold air seeping into his bones through his thick jumper. Oh, how he needs a good cup of tea right now.

While Levi waits for it to steep, he grabs the papers that she had shoved in his face, squints his eyes at the first envelope and finds that he is unable to make out much of the handwriting. He brings it closer to his face, squints harder, steals a quick glance across the table and hopes Gabi isn’t paying him any mind, too preoccupied with choosing from the bag of pastries she brought with her. It is with an impassive expression that he hands the stack of envelopes back. 

“Read it for me.” A beat and then he adds, a little reluctant: “Please.”

He knows Gabi prefers coffee in the mornings, and black tea in the evenings, so he makes sure to have a fresh brew of the former whenever he knows she’s coming over; so, with shaky hands, Levi gets to prepare her cup of coffee. While he enjoys the aroma of it, he remains faithful to tea; at first, he thought he didn’t like it because he had butchered his first attempts at brewing it. But even after Onyankopon had taught him how to do it properly and he had enjoyed his cup, it didn’t bring the same comfort as tea. It just never hit the spot.

She shoots him a mischievous grin, “Oh, you sure? What if I read something personal, hm?” 

Levi just shakes his head, scoffing at the idea of Gabi finding his junk mail fascinating.

“Is this how I find out you have a secret lover you’re exchanging raunchy love letters with?” Gabi teases, wiggling her eyebrows at him.

He lets out a tired sigh and rolls his eyes, “just wanna be done with it, ” he stirs the milk into Gabi’s coffee, which now has turned into a cup of milk with coffee. “We have a lot to prepare for tonight.”

She clicks her tongue at him, but still rips the first envelope open, “Mr. Levi, your reading won’t improve if you keep doing that,” she jokingly scolds him.

Although Levi mentally recognises handing her and Falco stuff he couldn’t be bothered reading before, that’s not the case this time. He’ll let her think that for now, though, because he doesn’t want to mention the pressure building in the back of his bad eye, it’s not important and she, a kid, doesn’t need to know his newly found ailment of the week. He can see just fine around him right now. He can see Gabi’s big eyes and playful smile at the other side of the table, and that’s good enough; smaller details, he doesn’t feel he can do them, not without making himself go dizzy with a migraine.

Levi slides the cup of coffee to her and is pleased with himself when she approves of the colour of her drink.

“It’s from Armin,” she announces as she scans the letter. 

From this angle, the soft morning light illuminating her face and thanks to his faulty vision, Gabi’s image stirs his memory. His heart faintly constricts as he is reminded of the many times Hange read their research reports to him during breakfast in the mess hall before presenting them to Erwin. Levi always wondered how they could read so fast, sometimes he even doubted they were actually reading at all, their words barely being able to catch up with her eyes; he never asked about it, maybe reading came easy to them as numbers did to him.

A high-pitched squeal from Gabi startles him, bringing him back to the here and now.

“Oh… ohh, Mr. Levi,” she starts, her smile widening by the second “This is good news!”

Gabi makes a show of clearing her throat and then starts reading “Dear Captain, I hope this letter finds you well and in good health.” 

Levi can’t help but let a sardonic huff at the irony of the greetings but doesn’t let himself be bothered by it. He has written only a handful of personal letters throughout his life, and by now he knows it’s just something you’re supposed to say because jumping straight to the point isn’t acceptable, or so that’s what he had been told. 

Gabi continues reading Armin’s words to him. For the most part, it’s a standard letter coming from him: he asks Levi how he’s dealing with the changing of the seasons, how Gabi and Falco are faring, if business at the tea shop has been good, if there’s anything Levi needs that he can’t get in town so that Armin or the others can get it for him. He tells him a little about the country he’s writing from, he even includes a photograph. Then, after the expected pleasantries, Gabi can barely hold her excitement and starts reading faster, trying so hard not to trip over her words.

“If I’m being sincere, we would prefer to ask you in person,” Gabi stops for a second to look up at him from the paper, gauging for a reaction and finding nothing, she continues. 

Armin apologises for not being able to visit him before the holidays, Annie included, and so it is implied that he won’t be attending tonight’s reunion. 

Sometime during the last five years, the Alliance brats had decided to make showing up at Levi’s doorstep together once a year a sort of custom; the first time it happened was during an early winter, a blizzard had stopped them from leaving Levi’s until the next morning. It had been a really nice evening despite the awful weather, Levi remembers, after everyone pitched in one way or another, they all shared a simple but hearty meal together. It was Connie who jokingly said they should do it every year. The following year, Onyankopon, Gabi and Falco joined them. 

This year would be their fourth, and the first someone wouldn’t make it. That fact sits heavily in Levi’s chest, stealing the spotlight from his throbbing eye.

“...Annie and I have decided to get married. The both of us would like you to officiate our ceremony!” unable to contain her excitement, she tears her eyes away from the paper and looks at Levi. “Huh?! This is good news! What’s with the constipated face?!”

That doesn’t sound right. It figures that Annie and Armin would be the first to marry; in a way, he is happy for them, they clearly care for each other. No, that part is easy to understand. Their union is logical to anyone who knows the couple. What Levi can’t figure out is why they are asking him such a thing.

He clears his throat, assumes it’s been 3 minutes and his tea is ready to be poured and so he distracts himself with that.

When he doesn’t answer Gabi, she picks up where she left off. 

He isn’t… well, he isn’t that close to either of them. He’s sure Annie must have other relatives that could step in his stead. Maybe a brother, a cousin. Even Jean or Reiner would be better options than Levi. He isn’t good with words or people like they are, he couldn’t possibly give them a speech about something foreign to him as it is that kind of love, that’s what people expect, right? His title of Captain is obsolete in this new world, so it can’t be that either. Hell, he has never been to a fucking wedding. 

Just… why him?

As expected, Armin doesn’t really go into the details of their choice but does let Levi know they do not expect a fast answer and that they do not want him to feel pressured to accept it, despite how much it would mean to them if he did. Armin asks if there’s anything in particular that he would like for his birthday, as it is a month away, and closes the letter by saying he looks forward to seeing him and everyone then.

When the letter is closed and put back into its envelope, silence falls around them. For a moment the only sound that can be heard is the clinking of tableware as Levi places the teacup back on its saucer.

It bothers him, that he knows he will be letting Armin down by refusing something that any other well-adapted person would consider an honour. But the thought of embarrassing him and himself, because he gave an awkward, most likely insensitive, speech, mortifies him. No, he can’t put them and their guests through that. He will find a way to make it up to the couple, maybe he can… he doesn’t know yet, but he will come up with something.

As he finishes his first cup, Levi realises that at some point while he was lost in thought, the ringing in his ear has subsided and now it’s back to that muffled, cotton-in-ear sensation he’s used to and he doesn’t feel his eyeball pulsating anymore. Glancing at Gabi, he notices she is trying really hard not to say something, her brow furrowed as she takes a sip of her own drink, followed by a big bite of her pastry. Flakes stick to the corner of her mouth and for once it doesn’t disgust him. Instead, it makes his lips twitch as if going into a smile.

“I can help you... if you want,” she says eventually, sounding uncharacteristically careful and small of her.

Levi quirks an eyebrow “Help? with what?” 

She shrugs, “How to… tell them you don’t want to,” she avoids looking at him for the first time, finding the flakes on her plate more interesting. She shrugs again and tilts her head to the side, a thin line of a smile appearing on her face. “...or prepare for the ceremony.”

Not unlike many times before, Gabi’s words render him speechless, if only for a moment. He spares his tea a glance and he thinks: it’s bold of her to be so upfront about offering her help to him, and had it been any other morning, one where he couldn’t think past the constant ache in his body, he would’ve chewed her head off for simply trying to help him because he himself doesn’t know how to accept that kindness.

This kid is trying her best and he can’t help but feel somewhat proud of that.

“You have shit on your face. Here,” he points to where the flakes would sit on his own face and picks his refilled teacup back up.

Gabi quickly wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, getting most of the flakes off. Levi gives her a thumbs-up with his free hand.

“I’ll think about it,” he finally concedes and tries to ignore the little happy dance she does in her seat.

This time, when the amber liquid touches his lips, it’s remarkably sweeter than before.

[game-on-comics]

Gabi!!!! Gabi I love you you are awesome!!!!!! Anyway uhhhh what are your favourite and least favourite foods.

Art: Caro