#Captain Crunch Review

[cool-as-steel]

the book may be dubious but the concept of doing what basically amounts to boolean expressions with spoken magic is COOL!

[celira]

4/5+1 (cw: violence against prisoners, neurological aftereffects of electric shock)

When the retaining wall around her composure finally caved in, it gave way like his skull must have – and she stared that thought head-on, now: explosively, irreversibly, inopportunely. 

Indubitably, Warden, she thought to herself, a negative made less rare in its repetition, and then again: Warden? at the little bag around her neck. 

He didn't reply. 

Truth over solace, but truth as a matter of belief in degrees – after long weeks of silence followed by long weeks of disbelief in confinement, she woke up the morning after her first conversation with We Suffer thinking: this is not the end. After the second: He would want to know more. After the third: We have work to do.

We was a thought that required dispensing with solace, as befitting her house, emerging from the remnants of her disassociation, and still it made her inwardly twitch. She chose belief like knowingly placing a hand to red-hot metal, less exposure therapy and more enduring overwhelming pain in hopes of a cauterization to follow. Did that hold up? She let herself, for the first time in many, many days, imagine what he might say: well, Cam, not your finest work, but an apt metaphor in some ways–

"Hect?"

She hadn't realized she'd frozen, head spinning with familiar neural pathways finally released from suspensed animation, trembling minutely but not so imperceptibly that it avoided the notice of Judith Deuteros, who she had been in the middle of examining – a routine review of her vitals, rote and familiar to her, which apparently had occupied only enough of her attention to let the rest of her brain go wandering through reconnecting wires willy-nilly.

The Captain's face, drawn with fatigue, still managed to convey bemusement with pinpoint clarity. "What happened?"

Before Camilla could collect herself, the door slammed open. Three masked figures streamed in, two unfamiliar and one wearing the mask used by We Suffer. Obscuring their facial expressions somehow did nothing to make hostility of the first two less evident.

The voice confirmed the mask. "Ah, we do not mean to interrupt you both,” said We Suffer in her careful, clipped House. “Camilla Hect, this topic of discussion only concerns you.”

“Anything you have to–” the Captain began, but Camilla stepped toward the three and cut her off, watching the two likely-guards tense further. “Yes?”

We Suffer said, “After conferring with other members of this wing, we have come to a slight impasse. Some of our officials find it difficult to assess your, ah, clarity of judgment.”

Camilla did not ask on what basis; she’d spent her first four weeks unresponsive to input. She thus still managed to be surprised when one of the other masked figures spoke out of turn, voice dripping with derision still discernable through a clumsy accent: “The Commander is a diplomat. In truth, we cannot trust the mind of a minion who yet carries wizard bones around her neck.” The person stepped forward and extended one hand. “A basic compromise. Hand them over. If you cannot do this simplest of tasks, we cannot work together.” “No,” said Camilla promptly.

“That tells us all we need to know,” said the other, who made the mistake of grabbing at Camilla’s neck. 

Even with slight rustiness, Camilla had a higher baseline of agility – and likely age – on her side; she dropped immediately into a deep side lunge and braced herself on her hands, sweeping out the extended leg into the person’s kneecaps. 

They buckled, and Camilla’s leg ignited. Reality went up in static briefly, and her muscles seized; she hit the floor next to the person, hard. Her would-be assailant reached for her again, and Camilla convulsed, shaking out the arm that was jerking less spasmodically and managing to swiftly shove her elbow back toward their face. She heard the crunch of cartilage and felt a moment of brief satisfaction before her leg went up in pain again.

And again. And again. Her vision went dark.

—

When Camilla woke to the walls of a medical bay, it took her a few moments to realize she was still in the same room – but now occupied the cot opposite Judith’s. One of them would likely be moved soon, she thought hazily, since shock recovery didn’t warrant the same level of long-term care. Probably. Maybe. When she attempted to flex her foot, her ankle screamed, searing fire up her right side; her vision briefly sparked and swam. She wondered what kind of nerve damage she might be experiencing. She started to wonder what else was wrong. She grabbed at her neck, and relaxed imperceptibly when her hand met rough, lumpy sack-cloth.

“They claimed you weren’t supposed to have lost consciousness,” said the Captain, apparently still awake. Camilla started, still clutching the bag. 

“Those three were all Blood of Eden officials,” she continued, gesturing at the door. “Whatever parlaying you thought to do with them clearly didn’t take, and you set yourself back by not giving up those bones. They left them with you because they seem to think that it’s better that you come willingly. It’s treason, Hect, no matter how you justify it.” So declaimed, the Captain’s hands dropped back to her chest limply, outburst exhausted.

Camilla didn’t feel called to justify it, but given the state of her leg and the so-called discussion that had landed her in this cot, it probably made sense to check her work. Judith Deuteros, she supposed, was as good a sounding board as any. Camilla tried to relax her fingers, gave up, and said:

“The commander – named We Suffer –” (“do we ever,” she thought the Captain may have muttered) “– has information about the Sixth House that should be impossible for her to know.”

“So they have spies you weren’t aware of. Unimpressive.”

“They can’t be active spies,” Camilla said, ignoring the roundabout slight. ”The references they make–” parts of the station long-dismantled, systems long-since updated, but in essence, still about the release mechanisms that no one outside of Oversight should know of – “are all…incredibly antique.”

“What kind of leverage does outdated and obsolete intel have over the Sixth, then? What utility could it have to you now?” The Captain’s weakened voice nonetheless managed to support a good deal of disapproval.

Camilla turned the allegations over in her head and back again and forth once more. Cassiopeia the First, founder of their House, the original Reason of the Emperor. What, she wished she could ask her, were you thinking? She returned her focus to diehard ranked Cohort officer Judith Deuteros and said instead, “The source they cite was themself a member of our House, a known and documented one – one involved in its earliest days.”

She heard the rustle of the Captain shaking her head slightly. “It would suit insurgents to claim that they can destabilize us from within, to have us believe they have been successful and canny for thousands of years.”

Fair enough, if you were the Captain. Camilla remained uncertain. Even if Blood of Eden were to have patched together an inexpert facsimile of information from fragments gathered over the years, hitting on something that sounded adequately convincing only through luck and her own wishful thinking, how could they have known about the break clause?

As if calling a recess over this quandary, the seizure decided to hit then. 

—

Camilla remained hospitalized. The stun cuff wasn’t, the medics reiterated, supposed to render her unconscious; given that it had, it had seemed likely that she would suffer additional neurological side effects. She supposed she could grant them an eighth of a point for correctly surmising this, and revoke it immediately for having caused the situation. “Supposed” implied a typical use, and however many times she’d been shocked certainly suggested a serving size above the daily norm.

Droll, as the Third might have said. Coping mechanisms, as the Warden might have said.

Warden, are you in there? she thought again. 

He still didn’t reply.

The thought didn’t rankle as much. Consecutive days in Judith Deuteros’s company, mentally mapping chess pieces to ceiling tiles and debating the merits of playing out Blood of Eden’s negotiation for information, resulted in her proverbially wiping the floor with the Captain in the former pursuit and wishing to physically wipe the floor with her after the latter. But it’d also aided her mental acuity as her neurons unscrambled, and further desensitized her to the brain zaps that had nothing to do with shock recovery and everything to do with one missing adept.

She vaguely recognized Judith’s engagement as inroads toward some kind of allyship, by necessity and by solidarity, even if it had taken being thoroughly incapacitated and unable to leave the same craft – or same room – for extended periods of time to engender it. 

It was nearing the end of a full week in the same ward when the Captain said to this effect, abruptly, “Hect. However you choose to act – remember we remain behind enemy lines. Whatever perspective I have as a Cohort officer who has seen active duty is at your disposal. Please avail yourself of it –”

Camilla just as abruptly realized that this – all of this – was what Judith Deuteros attempting to be helpful while still incapacitated looked like, and she thawed a fraction.

The next words out of her mouth iced that back over. “– before you compromise your values as a House dignitary, for the memory of a man who himself died in service of the Houses.”

The Warden would want to find out, Camilla had told her earlier, and that was a misjudgment.

“The Warden would dispute that characterization,” Camilla said levelly, and those were her final words until she was discharged.

[macks-mechas]

Today's review: Marvel legends Deadpool!

CAPTAIN DEADPOOL! Nah, Just Deadpool...

Any who, where to begin with this guy. I had wanted a Marvel Legends Deadpool for the longest time and, since he was only available before in a 2 pack with incorrect guns, I waited for the inevitable re-release that would come. Now Deadpool finds himself as part of the Marvel Legends Legacy line so, like many people, I was not to miss out! Essentially, Legacy is going to be a collection of figures that will always be on shelves. Popular characters that should always be available to buy; Iron Man, Spider Man etc. All the top sellers and most popular basically.

Deadpool has excellent detail all over. Not one thing from his belt to his face is improperly painted. The only thing I've seen fans gripe over is that half the hands have the DP2 silver backing whilst the other half have the DP1 black backing. Makes no odds to me, really. The sculpted details are spot on, as well. His mask has a nice material finish and his chest has the damage to it we see on screen next to his right shoulder.

Articulation in this figure has allowed me to execute tonnes of onscreen images above. Double jointed neck, butterfly shoulders, excellent ab crunch, waist joint, double jointed knees and elbows... he has the lot you'd hope for. All making the playability of this figure as good as could be expected.

Accessories are abundant as well with Deadpool. He has both katanas, which store on his back, both Desert Eagle guns and his dagger to round out weapons. He also comes with 4 sets of hands (sword hands, gun hands, closed fists and expressive open hands) as well as his unicorn plush for... yeah, for that.

I give Deadpool 10/10 - complete bargain for the price and well worth it if you don't already have this nutjob!

[coralhoneyrose]

What Have I Ever Done to Rely on You? - m!Chrobin one-shot

Plot Synopsis: The Shepherds' most recent battle did not go according to plan, and Robin thinks it's all his fault. Chrom is determined to convince him otherwise. (Post-Battle Hurt/Comfort)

Originally posted on ao3 with f!Robin as part of the Day 4 prompt for Chrobin week. I thought it would be fun to share an m!Chrobin version of it here for anyone who prefers that version of the pairing.

Rating: Teen

Words: 3,774

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Chrom ducks out of the medical tent, careful to ensure the flap swishes fully closed behind him. A biting chill has entombed their camp since the sun set; gray flurries diffuse through the air like dust motes and prickle where they land against his exposed skin. Beside the tent post, Robin waits restlessly—fists balled at his sides and his lip a raw red from being worried at. His head whips up at the sound of Chrom’s steps. 

“H-how are they?” he asks.

“Awake and stable,” Chrom replies, with a reassuring smile. “Maribelle’s already feeling well enough to boss the others around again.”

“And Lissa?” Robin urges.

“Much the same. Frederick and Miriel are attending to her as we speak.”

Robin’s shoulders slump with relief. “Good…that’s good,” he breathes. “Gods, I wasn’t sure if…”

A shiver ripples through him as he trails off. Clusters of half-melted snowflakes glimmer like miniature diamonds where they’re ensnared on his eyelashes and Chrom can’t help but wonder how long he’s been waiting outside the tent. 

“Why don’t we get you out of the cold,” he suggests. “Then we can discuss how to proceed.” 

Robin gives a tight nod and falls into step alongside him. Their footsteps crunch against the thin layer of frost that blankets the earth—the only sound breaking the silence as they walk. There’s still an odd rigidity about how Robin is carrying himself, and Chrom can’t tell if it’s from the temperature or something else. 

He leans closer, keeping his voice low. “Hey, are you alright? You’ve been quiet since we got back to camp.” 

Unthinkingly, he brings a hand to Robin’s waist in what’s meant to be an offer of reassurance, but the second his fingers brush against Robin’s side, he winces away. 

Chrom jerks his hand back, rebuking himself for the momentary slip. It’s ironic: despite finally knowing they hold the same affections for each other, they must be more careful about sharing touch than ever. Lingering hands were nothing to worry about when there was no hidden meaning attached. Now, every brush of their fingers comes with the risk of drumming up suspicion. 

“S-sorry,” he apologizes hurriedly. “I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s fine, Chrom,” Robin assures him, though his strained voice and gritted teeth leave Chrom less than convinced. He really needs to be more cognizant of their surroundings—no matter how distracting Robin’s nearness can be. 

They’ve made it to just outside Robin’s tent now, and he pauses in front of the entrance even as a gust of frigid air whips his hair against his cheeks. Chrom raises an eyebrow at him quizzically, unsure why he seems so hesitant to go in and take shelter from the cold.

Instead, Robin gives him a tiny smile. “Alright, what’s the first order of business, Captain?”

“Well, we’ll want to review the inventory sooner rather than later,” Chrom says, after a moment’s consideration.

“Right,” Robin agrees, “so we can stock up on supplies when we arrive in Ferox. What else?” 

“Nothing that’s pressing,” he replies. “With Lissa and Maribelle hurt, we won’t be marching tonight, so the route can wait until tomorrow. If you need a moment to warm up and rest—”

“I’m fine,” Robin interrupts. “I’d rather keep busy—you know, try and make myself useful.” He takes a long shaky breath before smiling at Chrom again. “I’ll be over to help with the inventory in a minute. I just want to change first.” 

“Alright,” Chrom agrees. “Do you want to walk over together?”

“No, no, I don’t want to hold you up. I’ll meet you there,” Robin assures him. He peels open the tent flap and hurriedly side-steps in, pulling it tight around him so only his face is peeking out. “You can just go on ahead.” 

“Okay, if you’re s–”

Robin disappears before Chrom finishes speaking. He blinks at the tent canvas, taken aback by the abrupt dismissal. Robin must be really eager to change out of his battle sullied clothing. 

Chrom is just turning to go when he remembers that the ledger for the inventory is still in Robin’s tent from the last time they reviewed the Shepherds’ expenditures together. Better for him to remind Robin now so neither of them will have to run back halfway across camp.

Chrom pokes his head into the tent. “Oh, and Robin; one more thing. Make sure you bring—”

Robin yelps sharply, severing the rest of Chrom’s sentence. His eyes catch up to his mouth, and a dozen thoughts crash into his head at once. 

Robin is sitting on his bed, his shirt pulled halfway over his head—just barely covering his chest. His coat lies discarded on the floor, and for a moment Chrom can’t manage anything but to be floored by his own thoughtlessness. Robin just told him he was going to change clothes and he still didn’t think to knock? Then Chrom’s eyes slide down Robin’s bare torso, and all of his embarrassment is swallowed by horror instead. Robin yanks his shirt back on, but it’s too late: Chrom has already seen the ribbon of weeping, scarlet skin wrapping from his ribs across his abdomen. 

“C-chrom! Get out of here!” he shouts, at the same time Chrom exclaims:

“You’re injured!” Immediately, Robin’s face crumples—guilt laden in every line. Chrom crosses the room in a few long strides and kneels beside him. “Let me see it.”

“I-it’s not as bad as it looks…” Robin mumbles.

“Robin.” Chrom’s tone brooks no argument. 

A sigh hisses out of him. With shaking hands, Robin curls his fingers around the hem of his shirt and lifts it to expose his stomach. Chrom inhales sharply as his eyes trace the wound’s path: it’s a brutal burn—furious crimson and already blistering. 

“What happened?” he asks, voice hoarse. Robin is his partner in battle—if he sustained an injury like this, he should have seen it. Unless it was when—

“...when the reinforcements showed up,” Robin says, answering Chrom’s unspoken thoughts, “and I sent you and the other infantry back to cover for our healers. There was still a small squadron of mages left to dispatch. My fault. I should have been able to handle it alone. But I was distracted and…” His voice breaks off suddenly and he shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter.”

Chrom gapes at him. “What do you mean it doesn’t matter? How can you say that?” he demands. “You should have told me!”

He’s already berating himself for not noticing sooner. Robin wincing away from his touch before probably wasn’t motivated by a privacy concern at all—he was in pain. And if Chrom hadn’t barged in when he did, he might never have realized it.

“We’ve had other things to worry about,” Robin insists, a defensive edge creeping into his voice.

“Other things?” Chrom echoes. He can hardly believe what he’s hearing. “You mean the weapon inventory? Robin, you know injuries take priority over our damned camp supplies! You need to be treated for this right away, it—”

“By who, Chrom?” he snaps, voice warbling. “Neither of our healers are in any shape for that!”

Chrom’s eyes fly up to his—all his frustration snuffing out. “...Is that what this is about?”

“Well, am I wrong?” Robin counters, but he looks gutted. He drops his hold on his shirt, concealing his scorched skin again before slumping forward to hold his head in his hands. “We don’t have anyone to heal me…and I have no one to blame for that but myself.”

Chrom’s heart clenches tight. With a small sigh, he takes a seat beside Robin on the cot. “You are wrong, actually,” he says. 

Robin’s head snaps up to look at him, and he almost smiles from how obvious it is that Robin isn’t used to hearing those words. 

“There are things we can do to treat injuries even without Lissa or Maribelle’s help,” Chrom continues. “But even if there weren’t, that doesn’t mean you deserve to suffer through this, Robin. You can’t punish yourself for what happened to them.” 

“Why not?” Robin asks, voice wavering again. “It was my fault, Chrom. I’m the one who made the battle plans. I over-extended and left our healers without proper coverage. If we’d been spread any thinner, or if there were more reinforcements, th-they could have been—”

“But they weren’t,” Chrom interrupts, voice gentle but firm. “Lissa and Maribelle are recovering as we speak. This wasn’t a fatal mistake, Robin.”

Robin glares down at his own clenched fists. “But it could have been…” he mutters stubbornly.

“But it wasn’t,” Chrom emphasizes again, and this time he takes one of Robin’s balled fists and pries his fingers apart to weave them between his own. “But since you’re so concerned with hypotheticals, let me say this: even if it had been, the blame and guilt still wouldn’t be yours to bear alone.”

Robin shifts to look at him sidelong, and for once Chrom is glad that his face is such an open door to his heart: Robin won’t be able to ignore the sincerity there. Robin gives a shuddering sigh and grips Chrom’s hand more tightly.

“I just…I don’t understand why you’re not angry with me,” he admits quietly. “This is your sister we’re talking about, and one of your childhood friends. They were hurt because of my miscalculation. How could you not resent me for that?”

“Because they were also hurt on my orders,” Chrom says. “You may have made the plans, but it was my decision to enforce them. And that leaves me just as much at fault as you. I’d be lying if I said the weight from that isn’t overwhelming sometimes, but…” He runs his thumb over the familiar hills and valleys of Robin’s knuckles, soothing himself before he continues, “...but at the end of the day, I know I’m always trying to do right by the soldiers under my command—as are you. That’s all any of us can do.” 

Robin mulls on this silently, eyes fixed on where their fingers are wound together: as if their entwined hands are some riddle that needs solving. 

“What if my best isn’t good enough?” he asks suddenly. “What if the Shepherds would be better off without me altogether?”

Chrom chuckles before he can think better of it and immediately indignation flares on Robin’s face.

“Err, sorry, sorry! I’m not laughing at you,” Chrom apologizes quickly. “It’s just…you weren’t around to see what the Shepherds were like before we found you, and—” another wry chuckle slips out of him, “—believe me when I say there’s no comparison.”  

The hurt in Robin’s expression wanes into a watery smile. “Was it really that bad?” 

“I’ve seen bands of brigands with more coordination,” Chrom replies, grinning sheepishly back. “As much as I may be suited for battle, I hardly have your mind for tactics.” 

Though, to be fair to himself, he’s not sure if anyone in the world does. If Robin has a match when it comes to strategy, Chrom has certainly never seen it…and would not be eager to face them from the other side of a battlefield. Gods, sometimes he thinks finding Robin in that field when he did must have been some kind of divine intervention.

Robin huffs out a feeble laugh and scrubs at his eyes with the heel of his free hand—banishing the pin-prick beginnings of tears that had formed there. “Well, I suppose I’ve no choice but to take your word for it, do I?”

“You don’t,” Chrom agrees, squeezing his hand again. “We need you, Robin. And for much more than just your tactics. You’re the only reason I feel brave enough to face any of this.” 

Robin makes a tiny, strangled sound—a brilliant blush painting his cheeks. Chrom knows Robin finds his penchant for declaring his feelings so intensely to be overwhelming, but in truth, the cute way Robin flusters from it only leaves Chrom more eager to spill his heart to him.

Robin leans his head against Chrom’s shoulder, but for all the content in his eyes, there is still a strain to his smile. His body is contorted slightly to keep their sides from brushing—Chrom remembers all at once how much pain he must still be in. 

“Alright, enough talk,” he decides. “It’s past time we do something about that burn.”

Robin straightens up. “I was going to bandage it myself before you barreled in here,” he says, just a little petulant. 

“Well, now you don’t have to,” Chrom says. “I can do it instead.”

Robin blinks back at him, surprised enough to forget his own obstinance momentarily. “You’re going to?”

Chrom nods, moving to Robin’s trunk in search of the supplies he needs. Fortunately, most of their militia keeps at least a few bandages and concoctions on hand, and Robin is no exception. “When I first formed the Shepherds, Emm made me learn some basic first aid to use in a pinch. It won’t be elegant, but I should at least be able to keep the wound from getting infected until Lissa or Maribelle can look at it properly.” 

Robin flinches almost imperceptibly at the sound of their names. “I can manage it just fine on my own, you know.”

Chrom shakes his head as he settles back beside him on the cot, supplies now in hand. “I know you can, but you shouldn’t have to. And besides, I’ll be able to reach it more easily than you can.” Robin opens his mouth to protest, but Chrom cuts him off. “Please, love, let me do this for you.”

The term of endearment, still relatively new between them, slices right through any counterargument Robin could make. Relenting, he leans back on the bed to grant Chrom better access to the wound, and Chrom takes a breath to inspect it again. The edges are ragged and beaded with droplets of serous fluid. Despite being no stranger to injuries, his stomach roils: Robin must have immense pain tolerance to have concealed it as he did.

There’s just the matter of Chrom’s hands, then. His gloves are soiled with dirt, blood, and dried sweat from the battle—dressing Robin’s wound while wearing them would not be remotely sanitary. Chrom peels the first glove off, then tugs at the second with his teeth so as not to dirty his hand in the process. When he glances back at Robin’s face, he finds him biting down on his lip—eyes wide and fixed on Chrom’s now bare fingers with a breathless intensity. Chrom studiously makes a point of ignoring the flush it brings to his face: Robin’s injury is much more pressing, and he can’t afford to be distracted. 

With great care, he uncorks the concoction and empties the flask’s viscous contents onto the bandages.

“Alright,” Chrom says, keeping his voice steady and low—trying to inject in it a surety that Robin can ground himself to. “I’m going to put my hands on your sides to let you adjust.” 

Feather-light, Chrom ghosts his fingers against the edges of Robin’s toned abdomen, still some distance from the wound. He can hear his own heartbeat pounding in his ears: he’s never touched Robin here before. Silk smooth skin glides beneath his finger pads, adorned with scars like copper cross-stitches. If only the circumstances were different perhaps Chrom could learn the path of each with his lips instead. 

Stop that! You’re getting ahead of yourself, he chides. If he doesn’t focus on tending to this burn properly, Robin could well be adding another scar to his collection. The thought sobers him, and Chrom shifts the bandage against his palm, aligning it nearer to the injury.

“It’s going to sting for a moment,” he warns him. “This first layer will be the worst.” 

Robin nods around gritted teeth. “Just do it.” 

“R-right. Okay…” Chrom takes a bracing breath. “Then here we go…”

As delicately as he can, Chrom lays the bandage across Robin’s scorched skin. There’s a faint sizzling sound as the concoction seeps in and accelerates his body’s natural healing process. Robin hisses in pain, fingers digging into the blankets of his cot, but he manages to hold still, and Chrom gets the first layer of bandages wrapped firmly in place. He’s trying desperately to be both gentle and efficient, but Robin whimpers, and he wants to curse his big, bumbling hands for not knowing how to make this easier on him. 

After a few more passes, though, Robin’s shallow panting eases to something steadier—a wash of calm settling over him. Chrom’s fingertips brush over the ridges of his ribs as he tucks the bandage edges down to lie flat and secure—tight enough to hold but not so tight as to be uncomfortable. He’s feeling pretty good about it…up until Robin shudders.

“Are you alright?” Chrom asks, immediately concerned. “You don’t feel sick, do you?” It can’t have been more than a handful of hours since the battle concluded. Surely Robin can’t have developed a fever already… 

“N-no, I’m fine…” he answers, but the wavering in his voice pulls Chrom’s eyes up to his face, and he finds it flushed nearly as bright as the seared skin he just bandaged. 

“You don’t look fine.” Chrom brushes a hand against his cheek and is alarmed to find heat pulsing off him in waves. “Gods, Robin, you’re burning up. We need to get you—”

“Chrom, trust me,” he interrupts, suddenly looking away. “I don’t have a fever. Or at least, if I’m feverish, it’s not because I’m sick.”

“What do you—oh.” Chrom breaks off as he registers how he’s leaning over him—one hand cupping Robin’s face while the other lingers against his bare waist. He sits up straighter and withdraws both hands, certain his cheeks must be burning just as brightly now. “S-sorry.” 

Robin waves his hand in dismissal. “It’s nothing you need to apologize for. It’s not like I didn’t—” he stops short, suddenly shy, but it’s easy for Chrom to fill in the rest of the thought.

“W-well, that’s good then,” he admits. “Because I’m actually not sorry at all.” 

Robin huffs out a laugh, and something fizzles in the air between them when their eyes meet. Chrom’s fingertips tingle at each point where they were touching his skin. 

“Robin, I wish—” he starts, but he cuts off just as suddenly. 

Chrom wishes he could stay with him—wishes he could spend the night at his side, combing his fingers through the sleek silver of Robin’s hair and murmuring soft assurances of all that he means to him. Wishes that he could love him so fiercely that Robin would never be able to doubt his worth again. The fact that he can’t is a wound all its own.

“I know,” Robin whispers, before his eyes fall—brought right back down to earth by the weight of their duty. “I do too.” 

Chrom’s heart kicks around in his chest; an electric current humming in his blood with every beat. Blazes, this war cannot end soon enough. 

Before he can do anything he really will regret, he cuts the tension by clearing his throat and rising from the cot. “I suppose now that you’re all patched up, I should see what other matters need tending to."

Robin’s face alights. “That’s right! I almost forgot. I still need to change so that I can help you with the inventory.”

He tries to sit up, but Chrom lays a hand on his shoulder, stopping him before he can stand. “You’ll do no such thing,” he tells him firmly. “You need your rest. I’ll take care of it.” 

Robin’s brows furrow, a protest budding on his lips. “But the burn is already healing. There’s no reason I can’t–”

“This isn’t up for debate,” Chrom interjects, before adding, more gently, “Rest, my love. The most important thing is to get you feeling better. I can’t do this without you, after all.” 

Robin’s eyes soften, warm as melted caramel. With a resigned sigh, he flops back onto his bed, sinking boneless into his pillow. “I guess a break wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world,” he concedes. 

“Then can I ask one more thing of you before I go?” Chrom requests. Robin hums in affirmation, so he presses on. “Promise me that the next time something like this happens, you won’t keep it from me.” 

A pause. Robin cranks an eye open to look at him and Chrom wonders if maybe he pushed his luck—braces himself to sit back down and argue through it if he must. He can see Robin mentally rattling off justifications for his behavior in the purse of his lips and the pinch of his brow. 

“...Alright,” he says finally. 

Chrom blinks at him. “Really?” 

“Yes, Chrom, really,” he says, attempting to stifle a laugh at Chrom’s obvious disbelief. “If the situations were reversed, I’d want you to do the same. So…you have my word: no more secrets or silent suffering. Consider me thoroughly chastised.” 

“Thank the gods,” Chrom sighs, and on a whim, he leans down to press his lips to Robin’s forehead—chaste but lingering.

Robin huffs, his face a pretty pink. “We’re not very good at this ‘waiting’ thing, are we?” 

“I think we can afford a brief lapse in protocol every now and then,” Chrom replies, attempting to smother his grin. “It’s important for a general and tactician to maintain morale.”

“Oh, really?” Robin sits up straighter. “Well, in that case…” 

His fingers wrap around Chrom’s collar, a coy smile curling his lips before he tugs him down and into a kiss. Robin’s lips burn against his, and a rosy warmth unfurls from Chrom’s chest all the way to his fingertips. He plants a hand on the pillow beside Robin, and threads the other hand through his hair, but just as he stoops to deepen the kiss, Robin pulls away from him, laughing.

“Easy there,” he teases, lightly shoving Chrom’s shoulder. “I’m still injured, remember? What happened to wanting me to rest?” 

The tips of Chrom’s ears blaze red. “Wh—you started it!”

“Yeah, but you were the one getting carried away,” Robin counters with a smirk. “Now go on, already: the inventory awaits.” 

Chrom grumbles and rolls his eyes fondly on the way out. He knows Robin well enough to realize he’s probably still not totally at peace with what happened in the battle—his commitment to bearing the blame for a failed plan is much too dogged for that. But if he’s poking fun at Chrom again, it must mean he’s feeling at least a little better. And Chrom will gladly endure a little teasing if it comes with the assurance that Robin is okay.

[kalira]

Fandom Year in Review (2023)

It's the very last day of 2023, which means it's time for my annual look back and some number-crunching with my AO3 stats and writing over the year!

(Before I get to setting next year's goals and back to writing before midnight, of course! ;))

I posted 142 new stories to AO3 this year!

Fewer than last year but still quite a respectable number (especially given I dropped off posting every single day after October this year - I kept it up for 1,675 days straight, or 55 complete months!).

Those stories were in 33 fandoms, 14 of them new, and featured 43 ships (not counting gen relationships), 18 of them new!

I posted a total of 319,688 words to AO3 this year!

By way of events, I participated in:

the Three Sentence Ficathon

my own Valentine's Spectacular

@domaystic

Small Fandoms Fest

@kakashiweek

@whumptober (completionist again!)

NejiHina Week hosted by @nejihinata

~

I started 3 new minific collections, those being:

Dog-sensei & Sparklepuppy (Naruto; Kakashi & Sakura)

Tales from the Fishbowl (Kingyou-hime)

Sailing in Stars and Shadow (Captain Harlock)

All three of which are mainly to corral my 3SFs for those various themes/ships.

I posted 190 minifics in total!

Minific breakdown:

Captain Harlock~ ❧14 minifics

Castlevania~ ❧5 minifics

Chronicles of Narnia~ ❧8 minifics

Greek mythology~ ❧8 minifics

Kamisama Kiss~ ❧9 minifics

Kingyou-hime~ ❧17 minifics

Labyrinth~ ❧gen - 8 minifics ❧Jareth/Sarah - 3 minifics

Naruto~ ❧Dog-sensei & Sparklepuppy - 26 minifics ❧HashiIzu - 1 minific ❧HashiMito - 3 minifics ❧KakaSaku - 4 minifics ❧KakaShisui - 10 minifics ❧MadaTobi - 35 minifics ❧SakuOro - 19 minifics ❧SakuOro (angst) - 6 minifics

SK8 ❧MatchaBlossom - 6 minifics

Tiger & Bunny~ ❧Keith/Agnes - 8 minifics

~

Fandom & Ship Breakdown

(look for the ✧ denoting the new ones)

Alexander (2004) ✧ ~ 1 story ❧Alexander/Hephaistion ✧ ~ 1 story

Aristocats ✧ ~ 1 story ❧Thomas/Duchess ✧ ~ 1 story

Avatar: the Last Airbender ~ 1 story ❧Zuko/Sokka ~ 1 story

Avatar ~ 1 story ❧Jake/Tsu'tey ~ 1 story

Boys Over Flowers ~ 3 stories ❧Ji Hoo/Jun Pyo ✧ ~ 1 story ❧Yi Jung/Woo Bin/Ga Eul ✧ ~ 2 stories

Bread, Love, and Dreams ✧ ~ 2 stories ❧Majun/Takgu ✧ ~ 2 stories

Buffy the Vampire Slayer ✧ ~ 1 story ❧Spike/Drusilla ✧ ~ 1 story

Captain Harlock ~ 6 stories ❧Harlock/Yama ~ 6 stories ❧Kei/Yattaran ~ 1 story

Carmilla ✧ ~ 1 story ❧Laura/Carmilla ✧ ~ 1 story

Castlevania ~ 2 stories ❧Alucard/Trevor ~ 2 stories

CATS ~ 1 story ❧Tugger/Misto ~ 1 story

Choco Milk Shake ✧ ~ 1 story ❧Jung Woo/Choco/Milk ✧ ~ 1 story

Epic ✧ ~ 1 story ❧Tara/Ronin ✧ ~ 1 story

Hellboy II ✧ ~ 1 story ❧Nuada/Nuala ✧ ~ 1 story

Kagen no Tsuki ~ 7 stories ❧Adam/Mizuki ~ 7 stories ❧Masaki/Hotaru ✧ ~ 1 story

Kamisama Kiss ~ 1 story ❧Tomoe/Akura Ou ~ 1 story

Kingyou Hime ✧ ~ 2 stories ❧Keisuke/Kingyou-kun ✧ ~ 2 stories

Marginal Prince ~ 2 stories ❧Red/Henri ~ 2 stories

Mary Stayed Out All Night ~ 1 story ❧Jung In/Mu Gyul/Mary ~ 1 story

Moon Child ~ 68 stories ❧gen ~ 47 stories ---specifically Kei & Sho ~ 42 stories ❧Kei/Sho ~ 18 stories ❧Sho/Yi-Che ~ 3 stories

Naruto ~ 14 stories ❧gen ~ 7 stories ❧KakaSaku ~ 3 stories ❧KakaTenzou ~ 1 story ❧NejiHina ~ 1 story ❧SakuOro ~ 2 stories

Sea Shanties/Drunken Sailor ✧ ~ 1 story ❧Drunken Sailor/Captain's Daughter ✧ ~ 1 story

Sex Pistols ~ 3 stories ❧Yonekuni/Shiro ~ 3 stories

SK8 ~ 8 stories ❧MatchaLoveBlossom (Adam/Joe/Cherry) ~ 1 story ❧Eden (Adam/Langa) ~ 1 story ❧Adam/Tadashi ✧ ~ 2 stories ❧MatchaBlossom ~ 4 stories

Suzume no Tojimari ✧ ~ 1 story ❧Souta/Suzume ✧ ~ 1 story

The Moon Embracing the Sun ~ 1 story ❧Lee Hwon/Woon ~ 1 story

Tiger & Bunny ~ 3 stories ❧Keith/Agnes ~ 3 stories

Tight-Rope ~ 1 story ❧Ryuu/Nao ~ 1 story

Underworld ~ 1 story ❧Lucian/Sonja ~ 1 story

Valdemar ~ 1 story ❧Lavan/Kalira ~ 1 story

Van Helsing ✧ ~ 1 story ❧Dracula/Velkan ✧ ~ 1 story

Xena ✧ ~ 1 story ❧Xena/Gabrielle ✧ ~ 1 story

Yuri on Ice ✧ ~ 1 story ❧Otabek/Yuri ✧ ~ 1 story

~

. . .and there's my look back on 2023! I explored new things and fell (unexpectedly deeply, perhaps) into some beloved old ones, tried to curtail my impulses on driving too hard on events while still participating and having fun. . .

Of course as always I have many things in the works (a moon-cycle-related project for all of 2024, my upcoming 7th year of doing my Valentine's Spectacular, a dark and twisty longfic. . .) and I'll be back soon! Maybe even with a new story tomorrow? We'll see!

Regardless, I'll always be around on AO3 and I'm sure not going anywhere!

Happy New Year!

~Kalira

[spades-gameing]

cereal review: quaker oats' cap'n crunch's birthday crunch

this cereal was released to commemorate the 60-year anniversary of the captain crunch cereal. the cereal itself is essentially a bunch of misshapen crunchberries that taste like "birthday cake flavor" (in quotes because actual birthday cakes don't really taste like that, but if you've had one "birthday cake flavor" thing you know what it tastes like). it's fine. i like it better than regular cap'n crunch (with or without crunchberries), but not to an extreme degree. worth a shot if you are a fan of the cap'n's previous cereal endeavors.

[bluepoodle7]

#Silk #SilkUnsweetVanillaAlmondMilk #AlmondMilkReview

I tried the Silk Unsweet Vanilla Almond Milk and it was pretty good.

This vanilla almond milk was a little frozen since it was in the back of the fridge but I let this flavored almond milk thaw out.

This almond milk was smooth and creamy with a very light vanilla taste that wasn't a powerful sweet vanilla taste or smell.

I'm not really into vanilla flavored things but this is fine.

This almond milk was lightly sweet.

I would drink this again or put in cereal to add some sweetness back to it.

Got at Kroger.

I tried this in the Halloween Captain Crunch and it was pretty good.

The Halloween Captain Crunch cereal did overpower the vanilla flavor in this almond milk but gave the vanilla almond milk back the sweetness it was missing.

I wanted to make this cereal a little soggy but still had crunch to prevent my mouth from being scrapped up.

This cereal was lightly sweet.

I would use this vanilla almond milk again and mix it with the Silk dark chocolate almond milk to review next time.

[sdyuteiaok]

I tried the Artifact Remix draft experience today--on its opening day--and fortunately I was fresh off my reset to Gold, but I trophied! I lost a couple unfortunate ones so it wasn't a guarantee I'd hit seven wins, but in any case, it was a real treat seeing how the artifact theme mingles between sets for new kinds of decks--mine was two of my favorites in recent memory: a combination of milling people out with the uncommon enchantment package from Innistrad Remastered (the one that investigates on hit, and the other that mills 3 per clue crack, plus I even had two of the geists that double your investigations) along with UR pirates juiced by 2x of the UR Captain Storm that pumpCs per artifact, so when you had both engines going, your pirates get huge and either crunch in or abyss your opponent as they can't afford a hit. Reviewing the draft, I mighta taken the 1/2 flying artifact pirate mana ramper, since I could use just a touch more artifacts to cast, especially since I had a Traxos, but then I also really coulda used an evasive pirate to stack counters on. But it was sweet seeing these two decks' tried and true strategies hum so well together, plus I had some nice equipment to help make everything a threat, including Bonesplitter (ended up only running one) and the For Mirrodin! Bonesplitter, which was great to up my creature count as well as provide a castable artifact and make my less fearsome guys unable to be ignored. I was hoping to draft Ravnica Clue a couple more times before the new set, but I might just keep at it with this set, though it would be wiser to keep playing for the Special Guests and stuff in the current set, since prize packs won't have those mythics. And the artifact prizes are random old sets, which are nice, but not terribly helpful. Maybe if I bomb out, I'll switch, but for now, this was a neat enough format, and I'm still at a low rank that I might be able to leverage these into some strong finishes before the new set.

[theresas-sound-world-blog]

Track of the Day

Music Review by James of Theresa’s Sound World Alternative Music Blog

Band: The Drinking Club

Genre/s: Prog Rock; Rock; Neo-Prog

Based in: England & Australia

Song: Light Years

From the Album: …really?!?

Contemporary Prog Rock band, The Drinking Club kick off this eleven and a half minute epic with the feel of ‘Animals’-era Pink Floyd, an album that I’ve come to appreciate more in the last couple of years. There’s Roger Waters-esque harmonies annunciated the darkness of the lyrics. Coupled with this is a synthy New Order undercurrent with bright gentle keys at odds with a shadowier Electronica feel. At the minute mark, a trumpet-sound asserts itself, imagine ‘Giant Steps’ era Boo Radleys gently wubbering against a distant ‘Safe As Milk’ Captain Beefheart. Brief and more complex trumpet stabs put me in mind of Jazz trumpeter, Donald Byrd. The vocals appear more ethereal at this point as bleak lyrics bounce off the ever brilliantly-bright keys. Then, in a complete contrast (a defining trait of Prog Rock) the listener is whisked away to a Medeival Folk meets Space Rock sound world, think the 1970 Prog offering of Gentle Giant at odds with early 70s Hippy-Jazz Proggers, Sweet Smoke, with a side order of Japanese Disco-Prog luminaries, Godiego. The original riff remains, spearheaded by Bond-theme style trumpet and seemingly infinitely-sustaining speed-of-light lead guitar. Distortion, more aggressive piano work and a snarlier vocal delivery build the song. That intensity reminds me of Indie band Radiohead, themselves here-and-there, influenced by Prog, coupled with ‘The Yes Album’ period of Prog’s darlings, Yes. There’s then the drums pushing their way through as main singer Kevin Borras gives a riffing on Jeff Buckley’s vocal delivery. There’s a breakdown into a more haunting acoustic-guitar-driven section, (reminiscent of the acoustic elements of Led Zep 3 and ‘Basket of Light’ Pentangle) with Borras switching to a half sing-half spoken vocal style. This technique suits the atmosphere of this section. Understated synth and trumpet sedge from this section, giving the tune time to breathe, before a fusing of Rick Wakeman style synth and the crunch of distorted guitar, putting me in mind of Modern Space Rockers, Muse. More sinister synths, crypt-like and somehow near early Rick Wright keywork, give way to a return to vocals, backed by a janglier, sharp, crystal-cutter guitar, that really complements the vocals. The music falls into a trumpet led finale…imagine if you will, ‘Dark Side of the Moon’ by Pink Floyd ending on an atmospheric trumpet-piece! Pulling this though in a last, different direction are a final fire-up of vocals, with trumpet and guitar helping to blast the song on it’s way. The last part of this song is vocal-driven with minimal synth and trumpet, it’s Rock Operatic in its delivery, like the final fade of ‘Tommy’ by The Who.

‘Light Years’ is a sophisticated, multi-layered and ever-evolving Prog Rock epic. I encourage you to check it out and get lost in a mesmerisic, musical landscape.

▶️Listen to ‘Light Years’ by The Drinking Club on your preferred music platform below:

Bandcamp: https://thedrinkingclub.bandcamp.com/album/really?t=6

YouTube: https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=ZeWqYk56A08&si=HAY3tL5ytjh2bJQQ

iTunes: https://music.apple.com/gb/album/light-years/1675531444?i=1675531451

[frosty-oak]

Delivery guaranteed ch. 3 because fuck continuity

Chapter 3: Pirates? Really?

Mark had begun to feel like things weren’t quite going his way this past week, and that perhaps some sort of chi training or crystals might be the help he had previously missed. THUMP His further considerations into his horoscope were interrupted by a much less philosophical kick in the ribs. His body screamed at him and pain came shooting up his side. It was the sort of hit where there wasn’t anytime wasted shouting or swearing and he mostly crumpled as much as he could while handcuffed to a cargo plane ceiling.

His mouth opened and he groaned very slowly and loudly for several seconds before abandoning all hope of stringing a sentence together. “It be very simple, ya open the door or I hit ye again.” Mark couldn’t help himself, he tried to be interrogated properly but it was too much. Slowly, breathlessly, Mark chuckled, then giggled and finally cackled to himself. Two days ago he was delivering parcels and here he was, chained to a military cargo plane – currently 35,000 feet about the Black sea - getting the shit beaten out of him by a man dressed half way between a pirate and an aviator.  CRUNCH

 Mark wasn’t a paramedic but that felt and sounded a tremendous amount like at least one of his ribs breaking. Blood dribbled down his chin and onto the floor as Mark managed “I can’t….” he reflected on the complicated game of Kerplunk that had become his life, his life was built on routines, routines were his comfort zone, his comfort zone in his house, a house currently on the line for this job, a job he didn’t even agree with and finally summarised his findings; “fuck you.”.

Memento Mori. Roman emperors tasked a slave to remind them of their own death as they paraded through the streets, Mark effectively delegated this job to the heavy gold plated knife tickling the underside of his chin. There was some sort of convoluted spiel in a ridiculous West country accent passing between his ears and getting lost somewhere as he struggled to ignore the pain. The serrated teeth of the knife dug into his skin, and he winced as he leant as far as he could away from the blade. The shift in perspective as he lifted his neck granted an epiphany. That is to say, Mark looked up and saw the pipe he was chained to starting to strain and crack in the corners, thank God he got this plane cheap.

Then the captain made a fatal error, he snapped Mark’s Oral-B Genius Electric Toothbrush with Artificial Intelligence. The countless hours spent on amazon comparing products, watching toothbrush reviews on youtube, testing countless bristles and pressure settings and handles and having the specific model shipped from Italy with the slightly reduced weight. That toothbrush should have lasted him for the rest of his life being used for exactly two minutes before a precise clean with warm water and a microfibre towel to avoid damaging the rubber. But there it was, rattling its last death throes across the cargo plane floor. He had been mocked, and kidnapped, and threatened and beaten and there was a knife still tickling his chin but that paled in comparison to disrupting Mark’s system.

A gut wrenching scream at the pain in his wrists was their only warning sign. The metal bar came crashing down across the first pirate’s head and he hit the deck in a horrifyingly unnatural position. Blood pulsed in Mark’s ears, blocking the threats and the disgusting noise the man dribbling on the floor produced. There wasn’t even time to react before the bar crashed into the second pirates teeth, once, twice and a third time before the bar was turned to its final victim. This left only one, the captain, still holding the remnants of the toothbrush in one hand and only looking slightly concerned by the huge amounts of blood splattered across Mark’s tattered black polo top. He pulled a custom flintlock pistol and grunted in pain as his wrist broke and the pistol skidded across the floor, followed by the bar as Mark launched it across the cargo hold. Sliding from a hidden holster in a sleeve a dagger replaced the flintlock and held Mark back temporarily. A quiet PING sound could be heard as witty threats and angry negotiation hit the wall past Mark’s unthinking stare.

Slow. Pacing, each around the other. Eye’s locked, looking for a tell, a hint. It was such a tiny slip. The slightest stumble against a raised rivet caught Mark’s attention and he glanced for just a fraction of a second and he was on his back, desperately pushing against the wrists currently baring down on him, wrists holding a brutal dagger attempting to plant itself into his temple. The knife managed the tiniest fraction of pressure and began to draw blood before adrenaline kicked into overdrive. The captain snatched defeat from the jaws of victory and paused to gloat. “Ya fought well b-“ there wasn’t even time to finish his sentence. Mark launched his hips to the side, sending the captain tumbling and dove on top of him, a desperate scrabble resulted in the knife sinking into the aluminium floor of the plane. Straight through the captain’s hand. There wasn’t even time to scream before Mark’s knuckles were bloody and bruised “MY. GOD. DAMN. TOOTH. BRUSH.” and he was sobbing and the Captain wasn’t moving anymore.

Finally he slid to the ground, panting, sweating, bleeding and crying. The last of the adrenaline faded and he closed his eyes and slid into a deep sleep.

[okpow]

NFL 2022 Mid Season Progress Report ___> Who Sucks, Who’s About to Blow the Fuck Up Out of Nowhere, WHO’S WINNING THE SUPERB OWL, WHO’S THE YOUNG BLACK DREW BREES, AND MUCH MORE CLICK RIGHT FUCKING HERE TO LEARN ABOUT IT WHATS WRONG WITH YOU??//-- ---->>>

(above: a legit MVP candidate)

So now that the NFL season is half over we can begin to make some assumptions about how it all plays out. Now that we have some observable patterns to go by. A “sample size” as they might call it in “muh paper on the wall academic circle jerk.” pssssh. Ain’t nothing academic about this. Below is the MOST IMPORTANT NFL ARTICLE OF 2022. Shout out to Dr. Z of SI.

OUTRAGED Academic Circle JERK Member: Excuse me, sir.... sir... can you substantiate your claims with any research or peer reviews? Any empirical evidence? What exactly are your so-called claims based on?

Me: Nothing. I made them all up. Fuck you!

*cue up the Fastest Three Minutes in Sports Chris Berman Circa 1998 ESPN EATING DINNER WITH YOUR FAMILY AT 6:45 PM ON A SUNDAY WITH THE TV ON music*

Elijah Moore Will BLOW THE FUCK UP

This is not a joke - this fucker is way too talented to be balling so weakly and I think that changes. Maybe not this week *checks schedule* AT NEW ENGLAND JESUS CHRIST! but soon. I think the Jets will be forced to play more pass heavy and check out their schedule coming up:

At Pats NO but then....

Home to Bears

At Vikings

At Bills

Home to Loins

Home to Jags

At Seahawks

At Dolphins

There’s lots of fantasy garbage goodness to be had for Moore and again, he’s way too talented not to be getting the ball now that Breece is RIP.

Who Sucks

The fuckin’ cornball Broncos and their “Buy my new footlong, it’s called the Danger-Wich” Subway shilling QB Russ Wilson WHO HAS BEEN EXPOSED AS A CARROLLBABY AND A METCALFBABY.

Others Receiving Votes include the Cardinals and their “high octane air raid offense that is 30th in the league or whatever the fuck” the Texans and the Panthers.

Bryce Young is the Black Drew Brees

He’s small, maybe too small, but he should absolutely be the #1 pick in next year’s NFL draft.  He’s come up big in crunch time on multiple occasions and shown the “it” factor it takes to succeed in the NFL. The scary thing is that his stats should look even better, but he’s suffered a 8.1% drop rate from his receivers this year. His size could scare teams off in a talented quarterback class, but it’s about the only knock on his game.

Derrick Henry is the HNIC 4EAE

It’s becoming clear that Derrick Henry will probably follow Adrian Peterson’s lead as an elite running back who plays well past his expected 4-5 year elite shelf life. Henry is fantasy’s safest bet at RB YES EVEN IN DYNASTY MAYBE, has immense ceiling potential each week and will continue to destroy everything in his path for several more years. HE ALSO THROWS TOUCHDOWNS and is probably the greatest running back of all time. When Round 1 in ReDraft rolls around next year you can do much worse than Henry early and often.

Tee Higgins is a Very Strong Play This Week

That is all.

Who Wins The Superb Owl?

The NFL script at the moment is basically as follows - Brady gets into the playoffs in a weak division, defeats Dallas at home and then the Eagles on the road in a shocker. Then they play the Vikings in a night game for the NFC Title and Captain Kirk shits the bed. Something like that. Meanwhile the Chiefs and Bills are on a collision course but one of these teams gets upset by the Titans who then lose in the AFC Title Game to either the remaining Mahomes or Allen. Brady defeats either Mahomes (again) or Allen TO WIN THE OWL and then leaves Tampa to sign with the 49ers in the off-season.

[nathansghettios]

Cotton Candy Captain Crunch?! What world do we live in?!

[angband-university-press]

A silly piece of Angbang doggerel

An Ode to Melkor, on his return from imprisonment.

Thank fuck our Morgoth’s made it back! We’re making him a lovely plaque! He whose terror knows no equal— Save Mairon, his fright’ning sequel.

So many years we spent in fear, Ne’er knowing how much worse was near. The spreadsheets! Gantt charts! Metrics, how— Restructuring, he said. Right now.

He started at the very top, And once he did, he would not stop. Performance reviews: yearly, now. ‘Fore things like crunch time, we must bow.

So when our Master we did spy, “Deliverance!” rang out the cry, We thought that this would be the cue, For in with the old, and OUT WITH THE NEW!

But though we celebrate today, Our joy’s short-lived, I’m sad to say. For Graagh spied Melkor in the mist, Greeting Mairon… …with a passionate kiss. 😑

-Bhalzak, Captain of Angband's 432nd Regiment

[bleachbleachbleach]

Captains’ meetings

Some free association musing about the nature of captains’ meetings. I fully recognize how dry this is but *I* find it extremely interesting!! Also, just wait until I get to my musings about how I imagine the Gotei shift schedules work. This post will seem downright moisturizing by comparison!

I just got out of a 12-hour meeting that I woke up at 5AM to drive to, so naturally (after spending the entire drive thinking about Akon) I am thinking about Captains’ meetings. We mostly just see the crisis response meetings, which clearly cannot be 12 hours long and are less about discussion and more about receiving orders, but we do get some that seem like maybe other components were involved. Like, the meeting I was just at, the first block was nuts-and-bolts business and reports, lunch/an educational program, then a block of Abstract Ideas/Strategic Planning, then dinner/Mandatory Socialization. (Then Socialization at a Bar, which I did not go to, because I am 1) boring, 2) don’t like alcohol, 3) don’t like paying for alcohol, 4) clearly got straight to work at My Actual Job, and am not holed away thinking about fictional ghost MEETING AGENDAS, definitely not.)

Part of me is like, these fools definitely only to the reports/assignments part and do not do any strategic planning. Maybe the Council of 46 does. The whole structure of their organization is that all the divisions operate essentially autonomously, after all. But then I’m like, okay, but there were also 13 divisions at MY meeting and we also only talk to each other 2-3 times per year, lmao, and not necessarily effectively. We just also happen to have email, intrinsic motivation, and are mostly nice to each other.

What I’m saying is, I don’t think the Gotei 13 does effective strategic planning, and I definitely think that Yamamoto just kind of degrees things that the rest of them have little choice but to carry out. But I am more interested in a Bleach universe where, two times a year, all the captains do actually stand in a room for 12 hours strategic planning and considering the ways various initiatives do or don’t serve the mission statement or the plan, have to rework the plan, etc. (Lies, they never rework the plan. The plan was written 4000 years ago and so it has stayed.)

I mean, sure, Amagai totally waltzed in and was like "hey what if we did joint exercises" and he didn’t even need to file a resolution or find a formal second, but I want to know:

1) The Academy operates independently of the 46 and the Gotei, but given that the Gotei is the Academy’s primary employer, does the Gotei like… do legislative visits to try to lobby for this or that curricular focus?

2) Does the Gotei ever send resolutions to the Council of 46 for consideration or debate? In the Soul Society arc, Hitsugaya seemed to think that this was a Valid Way to Do Things, except for the part where they were sort of in a time crunch and it wasn’t Resolution Time (and also they were all dead, but that’s beside the point).

3) All the divisions operate independently, but there ARE still boilerplate functions each division must fulfill, and particular sectors that they’re in charge of. It’s not just a complete free-for all. And while there are opportunities for taking on more specialized tasks at the whimsy of their captain (re: 12th and Urahara), I imagine two divisions wouldn’t actually be allowed to have the SAME pet project. Like, Byakuya couldn’t just decide to *have* 6th division ninjas, because Soi Fon already called dibs. So there’s some communication and strategy. 

I think it probably asks too much to assume there’s any kind of formal review process, but I think that inasmuch the Gotei resists and/or is apathetic to change, it is also filled with a fair number of people who want to be able to do their jobs well and who do actually want to like, konsou souls or keep people from being eaten or absorbed or otherwise dying in horrific ways. Even if strategic planning in these regards tends not to yield appreciable or timely results, I feel like they probably try. Even before we get to that point, though, the strategies/goals have to be imagined. How difficult is it for them to articulate alternative or additional strategies outside of the Status Quo? It doesn’t seem like something they’d be trained to do--thinking creatively about their jobs, I mean. But at the same time, mastering your zanpakutou requires that ability. So... that’s not nothing!

4) While I recognize that data collection is not the same thing as data analysis or data activation, I have definitely worked at places that did not keep records or aspire to any form of institutional memory at all, so the fact that the Gotei keeps any kind of record (quite a bit of record) suggests some desire to improve upon the work. And inasmuch as working int he Gotei is probably very frustrating if you’re trying to restructure anything or flirt with new directions, the Gotei during the series run is not the same Gotei as the one that immediately preceded our watching it is not the same Gotei as TBTP is not the same Gotei that Kyouraku and Ukitake and Unohana and Yamamoto started with. Kyouraku calls the OG Gotei the "strongest version," but I think he was talking about raw stats, not, you know, its actual ability to do all the things that are written in the Live Laugh Love font on the walls of the Captains’ meeting room. Do the Vizard notice the difference? (I’m not saying that the current slate of captains isn’t dysfunctional, too—just different, haha.) Would Shinji, Rose, and Kensei (and Mashiro) have agreed to come back if the Gotei felt completely unchanged?

[mindninjax]

For Your Own Pleasure

Pairing: virgin! Levi x nurse! Reader

Rating: M for Mature

Warnings: Smut (18+), Virgin Levi, teasing, Levi doesn’t know what a crush is, bahahaahah, there is P in V action.

Word Count: 5.3K

A/n: This was meant to be my first Levi fic published but then I got soft and wrote The Mask so here is the second one abahahah. THIS IS FOR MY HUSBAND’S BIRTHDAY. Granted it’s posted slightly early but that’s ok! My beautiful husband was born on Christmas day. A very special gift upon the world. Please enjoy and show him all the love he deserves and needs this day yall! 

A special thanks to my lovely Junebug @whats-her-quirk for beta reading this for me and also for talking through this idea with me! Love you babe! 

The crunch and squish of the wet snow under Levi’s boot is unbearable as he trudges along the road behind you. You bustle through the crowded streets in town, shuffling through the people with a list of supplies for the Scouts. His tired silver eyes follow you as you weave through the crowd excitedly. 

Winter is a very slow season for the scouts. It’s way too cold for expeditions and the snow makes it hard to maneuver the horses and ODM gear. The soldiers use this time to obtain as many supplies as they can for the coming missions. Hange spends extra hours reviewing their many notebooks of titan ideology, and Levi has a bit more free time on his hands to complete paperwork. 

Although he could be in the warm confines of his office, a piping cup of tea next to him while he scribbles and completes the mundane task of filing out supply shipment requests, he’s here with you. You were running low on medical supplies after the clean up of bodies from the Reclamation of Wall Maria, so you figured it was the perfect opportunity to visit your supplier in Ehrmich district to replenish your stocks. 

You’d volunteered to take a supply wagon to retrieve them and you were excited to go on the journey by yourself, desperately wanting to get out of the infirmary to see the snowy countryside. This meant you could also stop into a few shops to snag a few treats for the younger soldiers. They’d seen a lot of devastation the past few months and you’d wanted to give them a bit of cheer. 

Wasn’t it your surprise when the stoic Captain Levi joined you in the wagon, claiming that it was also a “perfect opportunity” to restore his tea supply. You both found yourselves sloshing through the bustling streets, him grumpy and scowling as he trails behind you. 

He’s not thrilled about all the shops you have to go in to obtain all the medical supplies, so he’s grateful when you check off the last thing on your list. When you turn into a bakery, mentioning off hand about gathering sweets for his squad, he rolls his eyes and huffs out another impatient sigh. 

You haven’t spoken much to the Captain, only a few times where he’s come in for a few broken bones and when Erwin lost his arm. In fact, you thought he hated you, specifically because it was you who told him he had to be off duty to let his leg heal after the 57th Recon Mission. You’d kept your interactions to a minimum, although always intrigued by his personality. 

You hear him puff behind you and roll your eyes as they scan the treats on display. You turn around to address him and hide the annoyance in your tone, “You know you could’ve just stayed at HQ if you’re not enjoying yourself. I would’ve been perfectly capable of getting the correct tea blend if you'd told me exactly what you needed.”

He gives you a contempt look, “Tsk, I don’t trust anyone to get it. They always bring back the wrong blend. I don’t understand the point of this,” he says gesturing to you and the decorated cakes. 

You let out a sassy scoff, “Well, some of us like to make people happy. Besides, you all deserve a break after...everything that happened. Your squad deserves some time to just be regular teens. I know they never can be again... but I at least want to give them something,” you explain, your tone softening as you think of the young soldiers. You choose an assortment of little treats and the baker wraps them in a box. 

“This is a waste of time. You said it yourself, they’ll never ‘just be teenagers’ again.” Levi’s tone crushes you, makes you feel smaller, and instead of feeling embarrassed like you know he means to make you with his harsh words, you’re pissed. As you hand the baker a handful of coins, you look over your shoulder at Levi in irritation. 

“Thank you for visiting today. By the way, there’s supposed to be a blizzard tonight so they’re closing the roads for travel. You may want to find an inn for the night,” the baker says in a warm voice. You thank him and give a small wave as you and Levi exit the shop. 

“We should do what he says, if the roads are closed we may have trouble finding somewhere to stay,” you say, trying to push down your anger. If you’re going to be spending a night with him, it would probably help to get along. He grunts in agreement and turns to an inn the two of you passed on the way into town. 

With your luck, all of the inns are booked and you and Levi are just lucky enough to find an inn with one room left for vacancy. You sigh in defeat when the innkeeper lets you know the room only contains one bed and bathroom en suite. To your surprise, Levi slides a bag of coins to him telling him the two of you would take the room. 

The air between the two of you is tense, to say the least, and you’re a little worried you aren’t going to be able to sleep tonight. Not to mention the issue of there only being one bed. Would the Captain make you sleep on the floor? Honestly, with the way he was talking down on you today, you don’t put it past him. When the innkeeper opens the door to the room and gestures for the two of you to come in, Levi thanks him quickly and ushers him out rudely. 

“Don’t touch anything until I’ve had a chance to clean. Rooms like this are always filthy,” he says as he closes the door. 

You roll your eyes but sigh and agree with him. You’re thoroughly aware of the captain’s tidy habits, and you’re thinking maybe it’ll calm him down a bit and make him a tiny bit more pleasant to be around. You watch him bustle around the room, wiping down surfaces with a white cloth. He wears a focused expression that is definitely better to look at then the condescending scowl he wears most of the day, and watching him clean is actually soothing. 

There’s a small fireplace in the corner of the room, and you get to work trying to get it started. He would appreciate a cup of tea, and the warmth could help with breaking the cold tension between you two. He sees you move out of the corner of his eye and watches as you gather the firewood next to the hearth. He watches you in annoyance and says, “I thought I told you not to do anything until I cleaned,” but softens his gaze when he sees you grab the empty tea kettle and scrub it in the sink in the bathroom. 

When you place the tea leaves in the kettle and set it on the fire, you turn to see him watching you, the annoyed expression returning to his features. You sigh and try once again to change the mood between the two of you. 

“So, are we going to sleep in shifts on the bed?” you ask, raising an eyebrow. He shakes his head. 

“Don’t be ridiculous, we aren’t children,” he says, and you’re almost sure that he’s going to tell you  to sleep on the floor. “You can have the bed, I don’t sleep that much anyway.” 

“What do you mean you don’t sleep that much, and if I sleep on the bed where will you sleep?”

“I just don’t need that much sleep, and I’ll sleep in the chair.”

His answer flusters you, The nurse in you wants to scold him for thinking it would ever be ok to sleep in a chair. Does he sleep in a chair regularly? He made it sound like he was used to it. And what the heck did he mean he doesn’t sleep that much?

You give him a worried look, the professionalism in your tone peaking when you speak to him. “You know it’s not healthy for you to--” 

“It doesn’t matter, just go to sleep,” he says, cutting you off. This pushes you over the edge; you’ve been trying to be nice if not cordial to him all day, and he’s shot you down and made you feel like shit, and you’re sick of it. 

“What is your problem? Is it in your genetic makeup to be an asshole every moment of your life?”  you yell at him. He raises his eyebrows. No one’s ever raised their voice at him like that before, but you don’t give him a chance to respond. 

“Or maybe you need to get laid or touch yourself or something!” The anger you’ve been pushing down all day is boiling over, and you’re sick of trying to be friendly to him. You see his eyes grow wide at your statement before disgust takes its place there. 

“You have a disgusting mind. You should shut your mouth about things you don’t know anything about.” He seethes as he watches you stand, grab your gown, and walk to the bathroom door. 

“Look, I get that you’ve been through a lot. I could never understand any of it, but I’m not doing anything wrong by at least trying to give those kids and you--if you’d let me--a bit of happiness! And that doesn’t give you any right to be a jerk about it! I didn’t ask you to come with me! You could’ve just stayed back at headquarters! Geez if you’re so damn unhappy why don’t you just walk back, I’m sure the cold won’t hurt Humanity’s Strongest!” 

You slam the door to the bathroom shut and stand staring in anger as you review his words in your head. It is clear, Levi has no intention of being friendly with you in any way. Your best bet is to hurry and get through the night so the two of you can get back to Headquarters. You grab one of the buckets of water for bathing and clean yourself, letting your mind go blank with the task. 

—

Levi stares at the bathroom door in anger. He’s not entirely sure what it is about you that pisses him off so much, but the real issue is why he can’t help but want to be around you as well. He questions why he came on the trip in the first place—you made a good point asking him that. He admits--only to himself--that the idea of spending the day with you wasn’t entirely bad. The few times he had spent with you in the infirmary, your presence brought him peace.  Was it the peace of your presence he sought out? If so, why was he treating you like he hated you?

The tea kettle whistles in the corner, and Levi sighs and gets up to take it off of the fire. He pours himself a cup and takes a sip. It is a bit sweeter than his normal bitter black tea, but it’s not bad. He takes another sip, letting the flavor cover his taste buds and feeling a bit calmer. When the wave of calm hits him, your words echo in his mind. I’m not doing anything wrong by at least trying to give those kids and you--if you’d let me--a bit of happiness! Remorse runs through his veins as he glances to the closed bathroom door again. 

He sighs, why does he do that? You were right, you weren't doing anything wrong, and he is actually grateful for your presence and the way you care about his squad. In fact, he was—and he couldn’t admit this out loud to you— looking forward to the trip with you. 

For some reason, even back when you nursed Erwin back to health after he lost his arm, you were extremely helpful. You were able to keep Erwin calm enough that he was able to get rest. During his rests, you and Levi had gotten to know each other a bit, and he remembered enjoying most of the conversation. You were cordial, respectful, but your gaze would linger on his. He supposes it was a bit of an asshole move to push you to the brink of anger so much that you no longer spoke to him in that way.

Perhaps he craved the peace your presence brought him. Perhaps he wanted it but thought he didn't deserve it. Perhaps he shouldn’t continue to do this to himself, especially if it meant making someone as caring as you angry with him. It was time to do some damage control. He glances back at the door again, can hear you pouring water from the bucket down the water disposal shoot, and grabs the other cup to quickly pour another tea and leave it for you on the table--his silent apology. 

His thoughts are interrupted when the door wrenches open and you stomp across the room wearing a thin cotton gown. Levi eyes you from across the room, noticing the exposure of skin. 

He tries to keep his eyes off of your curvier-than-expected body, the way your hips sway when you stomp across the room and throw your clothes down next to the bed. He definitely tries to keep his eyes off of the little tendril of hair that trickles down your face, catching on your long lashes and sticking to your plump lips. And he most certainly tries not to notice the way your nipples have started to bead through the thin fabric of the gown in the shift of cool air as you pass by the window. His tongue flicks out quickly over his drying lips as he takes another sip of his tea and picks up the newspaper the inn provided. 

—

The bath has calmed you down just a bit, but you’re still irritated when you walk out of the bathroom to see the Captain hasn’t moved from his chair. Your eyes fall on the full teacup sitting on the table near the fireplace, and you blink, realizing he did actually move and pour you a cup. You turn in his direction and he moves the paper up to block his face, grumbling to himself. You roll your eyes and take a sip of the tea, the calming potency moving through your body as you take more sips. 

You sit on the bed, grabbing a book from your pack to read until you’re able to fall asleep. The two of you sit in silence, the sound of pages turning echoing through the room. When Levi is done reading over the paper, he puts it down noisily and clears his throat trying to get your attention. 

You don’t look at him but give him a short clipped answer, “Can I help you?” 

“The tea… it’s… different.” He tries to keep his voice even, makes a real effort not to sound harsh or angry, but it ends up sounding accusatory, and he internally curses himself. 

You scoff, still not looking at him but knitting your eyebrows together in frustration. “It’s a special calming blend, chamomile and other leaves and herbs that help with relaxation and sleep.We use it for the soldiers that have come back from missions and have trouble sleeping while healing,” you say gruffly, still not looking at him. You’re not even sure why you continue with the next statement. It’s clear he doesn’t care, but you want to let him know, “I thought it could help you get some sleep since you said you don’t sleep much. Even if you are an asshole, you deserve rest. I meant it when I said that.”

The slight tenderness hidden behind the irritation in your voice doesn’t go unnoticed by Levi, but he doesn’t comment on it. He stays quiet as you finish off your tea. He doesn’t know what to say to you; he wants to express gratitude, but his defense mechanism kicks in and instead of “thank you” he replies, “I didn’t ask you to do that.”

When you turn to look at him incredulously for a second before blowing out an exasperated angry breath, he curses himself again for being rude. 

“Then don’t drink it.” 

You place your book on the table and lay down on the bed. “I am going to sleep. Try not to stay up staring at nothing for too long, or do whatever you’d like,” you say, lying down and getting comfortable. 

Your gown lifts up ever so slightly and Levi can see more of  the soft skin of your thigh. He watches you get comfortable as tiny flashes of skin become visible to him, and again your words echo in his mind. Or maybe you need to get laid or touch yourself or something! He feels dirty thinking about it, guilty, but you have a point, he deserves a break. 

So why not? 

“Oi, brat,” he says, turning his tired eyes in your direction. You sigh, placing an arm over your eyes and turning on your side away from him on the bed. 

“Sleep, means no talking Captain,” you mutter in an irritated tone. 

Your gown hikes up a bit more and he can see the soft skin of your thigh. His Adam's apple bobs in his throat, and his mouth goes a bit dry as his eyes follow the linear direction of your leg up to the curve of your ass and dip of your hips. 

He ignores your jab at him, “Why did you say something about pleasuring myself before?” he asks. You lift a hand in the air still not facing him and waving a nonchalant gesture as if to say “don’t worry about it.” He elects to use his intimidating “Captain” voice to make you cooperate. You hear him growl a low hum in his chest before he says through his teeth, 

“Answer me.” 

His command catches you off guard and sends an unnecessary quiver down your spine and straight to your core. You’ve heard him use that voice with Eren and the others, and it usually works for them. Hell, it would’ve worked on you as well if you hadn’t drank the calming tea blend. 

Fine. If he wanted to know so bad, you would tell him. He already hates you— or so you think—so there’s nothing more to lose. You sit up on the bed, pull your knees up and place your intertwined fingers on top of them giving the Captain a venomous teasing smile. His eyes follow your movements, not missing the slight slip of your undergarments as you maneuver on the bed. 

“I asked because it’s so obvious that you never have,” you say, smirking knowingly at him. 

“Tsk, of course I haven’t. It’s filthy,” he retorts, forcing his eyes to stay on yours. 

“Maybe, but it sure does feel nice...Helps with sleep too.” 

You know you're pushing your luck now. You don’t think anyone’s ever talked to him this way, except maybe Hange. But he and Hange have been comrades for years, so they can get away with it. You’ve only known him a few months. Who knows, maybe he’ll punch you so hard you’ll finally be able to get some sleep. He surprises you by not immediately getting up to pummel you. Instead he turns to look at you, an unknown expression on his face. If you didn’t know any better, you could swear it looked like lust.

“Have you done it then?” 

You try to keep the shock from your face as you turn to look at him. He looks intrigued, as if he’s thoroughly interested in your answer. He’s sitting on the edge of his chair, leaning toward you, elbows on his knees as he stares intensely at you. 

You blink a few times before answering him, contemplating whether you should lie before deciding not to. 

“Only a few times. Like I said, it helps with sleeping,” you say, shrugging. 

He ponders your words before he gets up and approaches you on the bed. He stands over you watching as you look up at him through your eyelashes. 

“Show me.” 

You’re dreaming. You must be dreaming because it’s only in a dream that the Captain Levi would be telling you to touch yourself while he watches. You blink quickly, fluttering your lashes in confusion and Levi observes how they brush against the apples of your cheeks. He huffs impatiently, not wanting to give himself any time to rethink his statement, 

“Well? You talk a big game, don’t tell me you’re suddenly shy,” he says, smirking slightly. You glare up at him now.

“Why would I show you anything? All you’ve done since we’ve been here is talk down to me,” you say, folding your arms and pouting. You have a good point. It’s not like you don’t want to show him, but you're not sure what he will do when he actually does see you. So instead, you turn it around on him, he’s started this game but you’re better at playing it. 

“Besides, who says you deserve to see me? Not like you would know what to do anyway.” 

Your statement catches him off guard and his body moves before he can think. He pins you down on the bed, his body over yours and strong rough fingers holding your arms up above your head. He’s so close to you that you can smell the chamomile on his breath as he pants. 

Your nipples harden and bead through the thin fabric of your gown as his breath tickles your face and neck. He licks his lips, watching yours as they pull between your teeth. You raise one eyebrow, noticing the way he leans in and his body heat warms you. 

“Oh? Maybe you do know.”

You raise your head up to close the distance and kiss him. He hesitates for just a second before pressing harder into the kiss and reveling in how soft your lips feel against his. He loosens his grip on your hands, and you take the opportunity to run your fingers over the shaved hair at the nape of his neck and pull him closer to you. He groans at the feeling of your fingers scratching his scalp, and you let your tongue enter his mouth when he does. 

Levi likes the way you taste, surprisingly. You taste like the tea the two of you drank but slightly sweeter, pleasant, and he welcomes your tongue as he places a hand to your cheek. His fingers brush your hair behind your ear, and while he’s distracted, you lift up quickly to push him onto his back and straddle him. You lean over him grinding on the growing bulge in his pants through your undergarments. He sucks air through his teeth as you continue to grind and unbutton his shirt. 

“How about I show you something better than touching myself?” 

Your soft fingers against his skin make him quiver—no one’s ever touched him like this before. You are one hell of a nurse. He watches you as you undress him, shutting off the constant belittling voice in his mind that criticizes everything he does and focuses on how attractive you are. 

Of course he noticed it before, but he’s allowing himself to run away with the lust that peaked earlier when you came from the bathroom. 

When you’ve taken his shirt off, you kiss up his chest and he breathes a deep moan at the foreign pleasure as he grabs your hair and squeezes. You continue grinding on him, feeling him twitch inside his pants, a silent plea to be released. He closes his eyes as he thrusts up, applying more pressure and friction for more pleasure. When you stop moving, he opens his eyes to see your cocky grin above him. You pull your gown over your head, leaving your naked chest on display for him to gawk at. Maybe it’s because he’s never seen a woman this exposed in front of him, for him, but he swears you look...  

“Perfect,” he whispers under his breath. As you lean down to kiss him again, he wraps an arm around your back and pulls you closer. Your skin burns against his and you both pant as you reach a hand down between your bodies to unbutton and plunge your hand down his pants. You wrap your hand around his length, surprised at how thick and long he is. He lets out a long moan that turns into a growl as you stroke him. You chuckle against his lips, before pulling back and whispering, 

“So much for filthy.” 

He moans again as you move your hand farther down to massage his balls before he can utter the words “Shut up.”

“Hmmm… what was that?” You mutter, pulling his pants down and pulling your undergarments to the side. You let your slick ghost over his twitching cock, wetting and getting it ready. He sucks in another breath, amazed at how warm you feel. A little moan escapes your lips as you tease him and he looks at you in shock. The way the moan tumbles from your lips, as if you didn’t mean for it to be heard, drives him a little mad. 

You kiss his neck, nibble at his ear ,and the amount of stimulation almost causes him to come undone. He curses under his breath, a short clipped sentence that hides his desire. His eyes widen when he feels you grab his cock and position it at your entrance, running the tip over your clit and looking him in the eye. You flash him the cocky smile again before whispering, “Are you ready, Captain?” and sinking down on him painstakingly slow. 

As you drop yourself onto him, he stretches you more than you’ve ever been stretched, and you don’t even try holding back the moan that fills the room. Levi digs his fingers into your hips as you finally collapse completely down on his member. 

“Shit,” he says as he tries to concentrate on your face and the way your tits move as your chest heaves up and down. This feels...you feel amazing. He’s never felt like this before, and he doesn’t have words to describe it. Everything about this moment is too much and not enough all at once. The way your walls are flexing and clenching around him, the beads of sweat starting to form in the space between your tits, the way your lips and tongue looked when you spoke each syllable of his title, Captain. When you maneuver your hips and legs into a comfortable position to pull up and back down on top of him, his mind goes blank and the only thing he can think is— 

“Dammit, move y/n, ” he growls aloud through clenched teeth, not realizing it wasn’t in his head.  

You oblige, laughing out an, “Aye aye captain,” before lifting your hips and bouncing your ass on top of him. The squelch of your pussy would normally disgust Levi, such lewd noises shouldn’t be audible to anyone, but right now the Captain knows the sound means that you’re not only wet, but wet for him, and he has a tiny bit of pride at the idea.

Your tits bounce and he moves his hands from your hips to grab them and play with your nipples. His bold movement surprises you as whimpers tumble from your kiss stained lips. When you pick up the pace, you hear his breath catch, and his hands fly back to your hips to stabilize you. You’re close and you know he is too, but you’re determined to ride it out and make him cum before you. 

You’re actually surprised at his stamina; despite his inexperience, he’s keeping up with your movements. When he groans out, “Oh fuck,” you smile patronizingly down at him and lean down to purr in his ear, 

“Is it too much for you, Captain?” 

Your snarky tone ignites a fire in him and awakens his Ackerman instincts. He knows exactly what to do, it becomes clear as day in his head. He immediately wraps an arm around your torso to hold you close to his chest and flips you on your back, not slipping out of you. He rips the fabric of your underwear and tosses it aside. 

You blink once and he has your body pinned, your knees almost touching your shoulders. He presses down on your legs to flatten them more against your torso and pounds into you relentlessly. 

The pain from him folding you in half like a napkin gets to you, but the slap of his balls against your ass drowns out your cries of pain mixed with pleasure. Your eyes are wide as he bites his lip and continues to fuck you, panting and grunting with each thrust into your bruised cunt. 

He stares into your eyes, enjoying the surprised expression that replaced your irritatingly smug smile. He smirks as he feels his sack tighten and your pussy clench around him, and before the two of you come together in bliss he grunts in a proud voice, 

“I’m a quick learner.”

When his name rips from you and he spills cum into your womb, he releases your legs and lets them fall flat on the bed. He rolls over onto the other side beside you panting heavily. You don’t remember pulling him closer to you, nor him wrapping his arms around your torso and burying his face in your chest, but it’s how you awake the next morning as his soft snores vibrate your body. You kiss his forehead before running your fingers through his undercut and falling back asleep. 

--

The wagon trudges along the road through the snow. The roads are clear, but it still is not a smooth ride back to headquarters, and you and Levi bob along. You haven’t spoken about last night, both of you strangely formal with each other after waking in each other’s arms. You haven’t spoken more than what’s needed to help get the wagon loaded and the medical supplies together. 

As the two of you continue along to headquarters, he watches you from the corner of his eye, remembering how comfortable your arms felt around him while he slept soundly for the first time in years. You scan the horizon, watching the huge castle come into view. You sigh deeply to yourself before glancing over to the Captain and catching him staring at you. Heat dusts your cheeks and to hide your embarrassment you mutter to him, 

“It looks like you got some good sleep last night.” 

He doesn’t respond, just gives you a grunt and whips the reins of the horse to encourage it to keep moving. When the two of you arrive back at headquarters, Hange greets you two as Connie and Jean come out to help unload the wagon. You smile gratefully at them and Hange comes over to pat you lightly on the back. 

“Y/n! Glad you and Shorty were able to make it back in one piece! Sorry you had to deal with his grumpy attitude the entire time,” Hange laughs. Levi pushes past you two with an annoyed expression but you feel the slight pressure of lingering fingertips brushing against the small of your back and you give a warm smile to Hange. 

“Actually, it was a pleasure travelling with the Captain. We both learned a lot.”

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