#Fall and Rise: The Story of 9/11 | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

harmoonix · 3 months

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ℝ𝕒𝕚𝕟𝕓𝕠𝕨

"Love yourself, whatever makes you different, and use it to

make you stand out."

Astrology Observations

~ I can see a rainbow

In your tears as the sun comes out ~

🌈 - Sun aspecting the ascendant natives will always have an inner "shine" inside them, their energy is so warm and kind

🌈 - Midheaven at 5°, 17°, 29° (In Leo too) gets easily liked since childhood, you know that child everyone likes, they can also be talented from young

🌈 - Venus in Earth Signs is possible the most secure Venus ever as they always have everything planned and in order but also a luxurious style

🌈 - Sun or Moon in the 11th house make friendships for life the same if you have 1st house lord in the 11th house!

🌈 - Mars in the 11th house or Mars in Aquarius can sacrifice for their friends, people dear to them, Mars here is always thinking at the others

🌈 - Moon in the 3rd house natives can tied themselves to others emotionally, Moon here can be very social but also shy in the same time (depends on the aspects)

🌈 - The RISING SIGN in your Aura Asteroid (1488) PERSONA CHART can show your overall aura you send to others/first impression

Fire Rising -> Fierce, wild, brave, bold, confident, stubborn, loud

Earth Rising -> Cold, stylish, patient, chill, respectable, natural,

Water Rising -> Nurturing, with the head in the clouds, sensitive, fresh, sensual

Air Rising -> Invincible, mentally strong, communicative, friendly, catchy

🌈 - Sun combined with fire Degrees 1°, 13°, 25°, 5°, 17°, 29°, 9°, 21° will always the the coolest people, this fire energy gives them popularity and they're well liked by others

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I know you, you're a special one

Some see crazy where I see love

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🌈 - Natives with Uranus aspecting Sun/Ascendant or Midheaven had crazy/innovative ideas about the world since they were young

🌈 - South Node aspecting Sun or Moon will give you an attachment energy, like getting attached by literally anything, places, people, stories, events etc

🌈 - Aquarius Rising or at Rising at 11°, 23° is known for being humanitarian! Standing for people's rights

🌈 - Eros (433) in Sagittarius/9H or Eros at 9°, 21° degrees. Literally the archer archetype, their arrow will strike your heart and you can fall in love with their exotic nature

🌈 - Lilith in Capricorn/aspecting Saturn will not let anybody to bring them down, because karma always returns. Sooner or later

🌈 - Air Moons/Air Mercuries will have the best music style, wanna have a party? Ask them for music ideas 💡

🌈 - Mercury in the 7H natives are heavenly blessed, this placement will give you lots of closure and communication with your spouse

🌈 - Mars aspecting Uranus natives need lots of movement, they're explosive type of people, they have a unique sense of rebellion

🌈 - Sun aspecting Neptune natives can be the kindest people in the room, sadly sometimes they tend to get ignored by others that's why you need to find good people around you

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You fall so low but shoot so high

Big dreamers shoot for open sky

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🌈 - Pluto/Mars in your 1st house will change you so much during life, they're both very changing and unexpected when it comes to your life path

🌈 - Lilith in Leo / 5H / in Leo Degrees 5°, 17° 29° have their special charm, Lilith finds herself very creative and inspirational here

🌈 - Some "mini - observations" about Lilith (h12 or h13) aspecting the ascendant ( all aspects/including minor ones)

People will get attracted by your persona

People can judge you for who you are (don't mind them)

People can be curious about your past

You can attract manipulators/toxic people/

You can be confused about your sexual desires

🌈 - Lilith in Aquarius/ 11H / at 11°, 23° is when Lilith finds about all the things that were hidden from her and wants to start something new, wants something unique, wants something different

🌈 - Lilith in Gemini / 3H / at 3°. 15°. 27° degrees have a really sexual/sensual voice let's not lie here, they're openly communicative and can sense what people are feeling without them telling that/ Some people say Lilith is exalted in Gemini but I'm not really sure!!

🌈 - When Moon is aspecting Mercury you find these natives you get easily along with, like you share the same things together with them and that's what makes you special

🌈 - Jupiter aspecting Moon is a very deep placement spiritually, like they can understand things not that not everybody can and their open minded persons can open new doors for them in life

🌈 - I would love to have Moon in the 5H because is a very artistical, creative, lovely place for the Moon to be in. Moon is actually full of life here, and people with those placements are blessed!🩵

🌈 - Moon in the 10H is not far away from being creative as well! But here they put in practice their creativity with their work and their environment!

🌈 - Asteroid Aphrodite (1388) being retrograde in your chart indicates healing beauty/self beauty, is actually not as bad as you may think, Lady Aphrodite is not that harsh here!

I can see a rainbow

In your tears as the sun comes out

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🌈 - I heard that when Vertex aspects your Sun you're favored by the men in your life and when aspects the Moon you're favored by the women in your life

🌈 - My asteroid amor in Pisces at 0° is crying right now because every time there is an love asteroid mine has to be around 0° - 5° degrees axis and not aspecting anything 😍/😭/🤡 (Are you joking to me... is in the 2H as well I hate asteroids in this house)

🌈 - Anyways you guys, having amor (1221) in Gemini or 3rd house will mske you to crush for multiple people at once and attracting more love interests

🌈 - Amor in Capricorn or 10H will make you to attract responsible/respectul/determinated partners, some of them can have a reputation (10H energy)

🌈 - Being born with 11th house placements/Stellium can be truly a gift because is the house of the community and desires, you are meant to find your community of people

🌈 - Natives with major 4H placements can have a strong connection with their family/ancestors/relatives and even at raising their own family

🌈 - Sun in Taurus/2H and Sun at 2° 14° 26° degrees are easily liked by people, they have a very caring and kind energy, they are the symbol of peace

🌈 - Sun in Gemini/3rd or Sun at 3°, 15° 27° degrees are like a social butterfly, they're funny, they have a very charismatic energy, they are the cherry on the cake literally

🌈 - Can we talk about Saturn/Neptune in the 6H/12H can drain natives like subconsciously and spiritually?? Like people can steal your energy and mood/even happiness at times. Take care

🌈 - Aries Mars/Venus/Saturn, have a bit of spiciness in them. One thing about them is that they'll love to catch people's attention and most times it works

🌈 - Some "Juno Observations" and things about your spouse

Juno in Leo/5H natives probably will have a spouse who will cherish them, also a spouse who can be proud of them

Juno in the 9H/Sagittarius natives will have that romantic travel thingy with their spouses

Juno in Earth Signs can get married to a very hardworking spouse, that spouse that's always busy with work

Juno in Pisces/12H is so magical, they can have that intense spiritual energy with their spouses

Juno in Scorpio/8H can have very private and secretive relationships, they don't want people to know about these

Juno in Aquarius/11H can date/marry someone from their friends cycle like kind of friends to lovers thing

Juno in the 6H can have a very blessed marriage/relationship because their spouses can be their source of happiness

🌈 - Something underrated about Sagittarius Placements is their INTUITION. They can possess a very strong intuition and clever mind to help them during bad situations

I have a friend who's telling me " I may be stubborn as a TAURUS but I have the intuition of a SAG" love that every time.

🌈 - Having Jupiter aspecting your Moons makes you attractively kind. So basically your kindness can be attractive to others

🌈 - Saturn in the 7H/Saturn in Libra or Saturn at 7° 19° degrees have a karmic love attached to them. They're destined to marry someone karmic as well

🌈 - Chiron in Earth Sings like Taurus, Virgo, Capricorn, the wounds can be healed using nature's help. just go out and embrace the nature you can heal that way, mother nature is calling for you

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I am here and I see your pain

Through the storms, through the clouds, the rain

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🌈 - Chiron in Water Signs like Pisces, Scorpio and Cancer, the wounds can be healed with understanding your emotions and inner child. But also the sea or ocean. Can be very dear to you and may heal you or relax you

🌈 - Chiron in Air Signs like Gemini, Aquarius and and Libra talks about understanding who you really are because from all Chiron signs these they deal with personality or identity wounds is important to find who you really are inside

🌈 - Chiron in Fire Signs like Aries, Sagittarius or Leo is to never let people steal your spark, or things that make you happy, be as you want or wish. Be wild like the jungle and never ever stop believing in what makes you happy

🌈 - When Moon finds herself in Earth Signs she may act more "motherly" or more "caring" this is giving a lot of Demeter vibes from Greek mythology

🌈 - Moon in the 9h or at 9° 21° degrees is when the moon finds herself being very creative/happy/lucky and even justice. You are giving Athena from Greek mythology

🌈 - Having Asteroid Vesta (4) aspecting Lilith in harsh aspects. These aspects tell about rights and justice and power of freedom

In square, at some point, you'll be called to full an important spiritual mission that can give meaning to your life

In opposition, you may feel torn between your desires and your need to fulfill a sacred calling that requires sacrifice

In conjunction, you can find sexual exploration to be an uplifting and spiritual inspiring experience

🌈 - If you have a Libra Moon/Moon in the 7H or Moon under Libra Degree 7° 19°. You're an epitome of balance and harmony, at least, that's what people say about these, but the real side of these placements... can be that they can struggle with indecision even though they represent balance, life works in mysterious ways. Remember that Libra is saturnian as well, and if you have those placements yet a chaotic life, it is karmic to find your peace.

🌈 - Your sidereal Moon can tell about your inner personality, remember how some say sidereal chart is the chart of your soul. So if you have a tropical Pisces Moon can you have a Aquarius sidereal Moon

I have a Sidereal Virgo Moon, yet I don't find myself critical as some say about Virgo Moons. I would rather find myself more hardworking and nurturing 🌎

🌈 - Capricorn/10H Moon, it's a place in your chart where your feelings/emotions get exposed to others, so because of these, some people may think youre a cold person when they first meet you

🌈 - Gemini Moon/3H Moon they really love to talk, and for their best these natives need to surround themselves with people who appreciate their talking skills, don't stay with someone who doesn't want to hear about how was your day, instead stay with someone who would love to hear about your day!!

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𝓢𝓱𝓪𝓻𝓮 𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓵𝓸𝓿𝓮

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🌈 - It is known for Aquarius Placements to have the power to influence people! It works especially when our world is literally controlled by technology! People can actually follow your lead (I also adoreeee their humanitarian side because they won't settle for less when it comes to the rights/equality)

🌈 - Because I really love the past life themes and I know that if you have South Node aspecting Saturn you can have and you stoll had karmic past lives

🌈 - Jupiter or Mars in fire signs are very intense so full of emotions, sometimes even out of anger, very stubborn energyyy, gets angry fast. Can't handle when people tell them they're wrong

🌈 - Those born with Uranus in the 3H/6H or 12H can predict things that can happen in close future

🌈 - Saturn/Capricorn in your 12H can tell about having more struggles when you're younger and more peace when you're a bit more mature/older

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𝐈 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐬𝐞𝐞 𝐚 𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐛𝐨𝐰

𝐈𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐬 𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐮𝐧 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐮𝐭

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🌈 - I know natives with Leo Moon who have siblings who overshadow them, so in a way, if you have Leo Moon and siblings, you can also struggle with family issues! I also know plenty of Leo Moons that have parents who prefer their siblings instead. Which is very sad because neither of the parents should do differences between their kids

🌈 - Chiron in your 11H or in Aquarius can talk about finding the good people to be your friends. You really need to find your community of people

🌈 - Uranus in your 8H can talk about a very electrifying and sexual energy! I see this placement so rare in the 8H lol. Definitely unique

🌈 People who follow my account know that it stays for equality for all! 🌈

Enioy the post!!🌈😍 And happy pride month even if this one is a lil' late.

H @ r m o o n I x

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kathaynesart · 2 years

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TIP JAR (every little bit is appreciated!)

R E P L I C A

LATEST UPDATE

COMIC: ARC 1 - Boot(y)ing Up - 1 - 2 - ARC 2 - The Spark - 1 - 2 - ARC 3 - Forgiveness - 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - ARC 4 - Probing - 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7 - 8 - 9 - 10 - 11 - ARC 5 - Distractions and Dilemmas - 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7 - 8 - 9 - INTERMISSION - Checkmate - 1 - HOLIDAY SPECIAL - 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7 - 8

ANIMATICS: The Funny One Not Dead High Five

EXTRAS: Replica Timeline Future Donnie Design Omega Design (SPOILER) No Love for You Processing Stupidity Peepaw Paradox Peepaw Paradise Peepaw Showdown 1 Peepaw Showdown 2 Peepaw Showdown 3 Peepaw Showdown 4 TMNT AU Competition 1 TMNT AU Competition 2 TMNT AU Competition 3 TMNT AU Competition 4 TMNT AU Competition 5 Feral Leo 1 Feral Leo 2 Cass and Replica Reunion 1 Cass and Replica Reunion 2 (not my art) Cass and Replica Reunion 3 (not my art) Cass and Replica Reunion 4 (not my art) Cass and Replica Reunion 5 Bootyyyshaker GIF Leo PUNCH Donnie’s Eyebrows Handsome Future Donnie

INFO: Donnie’s Scars

MERCH: Processing/Displaying Stupidity ROTTMNT General Upcoming

Finally have an official cover and title! There were some REALLY good guesses as to what the title could have been, but I can at least explain my reasons why I went with Replica. TLDR you can still call it Future Booty Shaker if you want. Usual info dump below:

There are several reasons why I chose Replica as the final name. The most obvious being that Omega is Donnie’s blatant attempt at replicating himself in digital form.

The second being that this comic is in itself is an attempt at replicating the vibe and setup of the film’s opening as closely as possible. Those first 4:05 have literally become the bible for this story and I have already had to make vast changes based off of tiny details that weren’t noticed until later on.

Ironically the cut full opening just dropped today and I do have some feelings I’d like to address. It’s obvious how substantially different the two openings are from each other. As cool as it was to see everyone kicking butt, I will admit I still like the final version a lot better. Sure it’s shorter, but it felt far more personal and intimate than the action packed cut version, and THAT’S the sort of vibe I want to replicate in this comic.

At its core, this isn’t a story about fighting a bunch of Krang, it’s a story about a family fighting their own personal battles before an apocalyptic backdrop and Replica is a vain attempt at retaining that feeling while building a story around it. Will I be successful? Who knows. I will definitely be drawing reference from the cut boards especially the appearance of their colony. I’m happy my hunch was right that they were stationed beneath the Statue of Liberty, that was already a part of my story haha.

My runner up title would have been “Fall of the TMNT” however I felt it was a little too on the nose. Though it did make for a fun dichotomy with “Rise of the TMNT”s title. Anyways that’s my info dump. Feel free to still hashtag Future Bootyyy Shaker, I know I will.

#Replica #rottmnt replica #Future Bootyyy Shaker #kathaynesart #leonardo #donatello #michaelangelo #omega #casey jones #rottmnt comic #save rottmnt #unpause rottmnt

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transmutationisms · 7 months

Note

could you talk more on eds and biopolitics?

sure, so this is broad strokes and it's also worth reiterating that the energy deficit characteristic of EDs can have a lot of different causes besides intentional food restriction—food insecurity is a huge and underrecognised factor here but there are many others. so when i talk about intentional restriction and the desire to be thin / lose weight, i'm not suggesting these are universal characteristics or causes of EDs.

anyway though, in the context of discussing these things, and particularly the relationship between 'diet culture' and EDs, a perennial frustration to me is that i often hear people fall back on the idea that the desire to be thin comes about as a result of the beauty standards perpetuated in mass media, fashion adverts, &c, without any subsequent interrogation of why it is that beauty itself is now so heavily dependent on thinness. after all, plenty of people have pointed out this is not a universal; beauty varies in different times and places, what is described or depicted as beautiful in historical records doesn't necessarily have much overlap with today's hegemonic standards, and so forth.

so when historicising this phenomenon it becomes very clear that the euro/anglo standard of thinness as beauty is, one, part of the ideological apparatus justifying colonialism thru the creation of race and white supremacy. sabrina strings and da'shaun harrison have written on this. two, the thin ideal is also inextricably tied up in medical discourses defining the ideal body as one that is economically productive, with the promise being that if the populace can be transformed into 'healthy',*** useful, hardworking citizens, the state benefits. control of bodyweight is therefore certainly a means of demonstrating one's supposed self-control, moral discipline, &c, but it is also a demand expressed in medical terms: these two discourses merge and overlap, and are both part of the capitalist state's transformation of its citizenry into a biological resource that can be controlled, managed, and exploited to bourgeois ends (profit): hence, biopolitics.

(***the story of how 'health' itself comes to be so dependent on thinness is obviously a critical piece of all this but this post is long as shit already so suffice it to say that this conflation is also not obvious, necessary, universal, &c &c)

medico-political discourses in the 19th century tended to talk about the dangers of both over- and under-weight more than what we hear now; similarly, if you think about something like wilbur atwater's calorie-value charts, these were explicitly intended to guide labourers to the most calorie-dense foods, because to atwater the central danger to be avoided was starvation among the workforce. these days in wealthy countries like the us, you are much more likely to hear about weight management in the context of demands to reduce; this is of course following moves like the WHO declaring an 'obesity epidemic' in 1997, and the rise in the usa of more explicitly nationalist, militaristic weight-loss rhetoric in the post-9/11 era.

however, my position is that these demands for thinness, and the beauty standard that follows and justifies them, are not a departure from earlier 19th- and 20th-century scientific nutrition advice, just an evolution that, for a multitude of reasons (politics, medical professional interests, insurance company practices, &c) has simply come to focus more on the ostensible economic and national threat posed by fatness. the underlying logic bears the biopolitical throughline: the state has, or ought to have, an interest in enforcing the health of its population, and as part of this demands that you the individual surveil and alter your weight according to the scientific guidelines du jour.

this is fertile ground for the development of what, in extreme form, we regard as ED pathology. first, because even the most purely 'health'-motivated individual engaging in the required degree of bodily monitoring and caloric restriction is liable to respond to energy deficit in ways that can become diagnosably distressing. second, because the morals of 'health' are never far from standards of beauty; thinness is sold in overtly profitable ways (the diet and weight-loss industries) and furthermore, our idea of beauty is often a kind of post hoc justification for the thinness already being demanded by state and medical authorities. which is really just to say, beauty is part of the ideological superstructure both resulting from and invoked as a justification for the material conditions of capitalist biopolitics. again this is very broad strokes, but imo it is a much more useful framework to understand EDs than simply presenting them as a result of desiring thinness because it is glorified in The Media, because... reasons (essentially the rené girard model, lol).

#eating disorders

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lexi7654 · 1 month

Text

Reading list #1: Lian Harper (aka: Shoes/Cheshire Cat)

A list of every appearance of Lian Harper. The daughter of Roy Harper and Jade Nguyen. She first appeared in the 80s and has recently made a come back as Cheshire Cat in Gotham!!

Pre-Flashpoint

New Teen Titans (1984): #21

Action Comics (1938): #615, 618, 627-631, 634, 636-637, 639 (Stories: tracks of a killer, the Cheshire Contract, Rocks and Hard Places, Exiles)

Secret Origins (1986): #38

Green Arrow (1988): #75

Batman Plus: Arsenal (1997)

Teen Titans (1996): #20

Arsenal (1998): #1-4

The Titans (1999): #1

The Titans: Secret Files and Origins (1999): #1

The Titans (1999): #5-7, 9-10, 13, 17-19, 21-27, 30-32, 34-35, 37, 39

Teen Titans/Outsiders Secret Files & Origins (2003) (story: Who Was Donna Troy?)

Outsiders (2003): 11, 17-19

DC Special: The Return of Donna Troy (2005): #2

Justice League of America (2006) #1, 12, 17

Green Arrow and Black Canary (2009): #25 (story: Bedtime Stories)

Titans (2008): #19

Justice League: Cry for Justice

Rise and Fall (Crossover storyline)

Convergence: Titans (2015): 1-2

Infinite Frontier

Catwoman (2018): 25-28, 30-32

DC Festival of Heroes: The Asian Superhero Celebration (2021): (Story: Masks)

Catwoman (2018): 35-38, 50

Detective Comics (2016): 1069-1070, 1077-1079

Green Arrow (2023)

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trendfilmsetter · 4 months

Text

Apple Music’s ‘100 Best Albums of All Time’ list:

#1. Lauryn Hill — The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill

#2. Michael Jackson — Thriller

#3. The Beatles — Abbey Road

#4. Prince & The Revolution — Purple Rain

#5. Frank Ocean — Blonde

#6. Stevie Wonder — Songs in the Key of Life

#7. Kendrick Lamar — good kid, m.A.A.d city

#8. Amy Winehouse — Back to Black

#9. Nirvana — Nevermind

#10. Beyoncé — Lemonade

#11. Fleetwood Mac — Rumours

#12. Radiohead — OK Computer

#13. Jay-Z — The Blueprint

#14. Bob Dylan — Highway 61 Revisited

#15. Adele — 21

#16. Joni Mitchell — Blue

#17. Marvin Gaye — What’s Going On

#18. Taylor Swift — 1989 (Taylor’s Version)

#19. Dr. Dre — The Chronic

#20. The Beach Boys — Pet Sounds

#21. The Beatles — Revolver

#22. Bruce Springsteen — Born to Run

#23. Daft Punk — Discovery

#24. David Bowie — The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders From Mars

#25. Miles Davis — Kind of Blue

#26. Kanye West — My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy

#27. Led Zeppelin — Led Zeppelin II

#28. Pink Floyd — The Dark Side of the Moon

#29. A Tribe Called Quest — The Low End Theory

#30. Billie Eilish — WHEN WE ALL FALL ASLEEP, WHERE DO WE GO?

#31. Alanis Morissette — Jagged Little Pill

#32. The Notorious B.I.G. — Ready to Die

#33. Radiohead — Kid A

#34. Public Enemy — It Takes a Nation of Millions to Hold Us Back

#35. The Clash — London Calling

#36. Beyoncé — BEYONCÉ

#37. Wu-Tang Clan — Enter the Wu-Tang (36 Chambers)

#38. Carole King — Tapestry

#39. Nas — Illmatic

#40. Aretha Franklin — I Never Loved a Man the Way I Love You

#41. OutKast — Aquemini

#42. Janet Jackson — Control

#43. Talking Heads — Remain in Light

#44. Stevie Wonder — Innervisions

#45. Björk — Homogenic

#46. Bob Marley & The Wailers — Exodus

#47. Drake — Take Care

#48. Beastie Boys — Paul’s Boutique

#49. U2 — The Joshua Tree

#50. Kate Bush — Hounds of Love

#51. Prince — Sign O’ the Times

#52. Guns N' Roses — Appetite for Destruction

#53. The Rolling Stones — Exile on Main St.

#54. John Coltrane — A Love Supreme

#55. Rihanna — ANTI

#56. The Cure — Disintegration

#57. D’Angelo — Voodoo

#58. Oasis — (What’s the Story) Morning Glory?

#59. Arctic Monkeys — AM

#60. The Velvet Underground & Nico — The Velvet Underground and Nico

#61. Sade — Love Deluxe

#62. 2Pac — All Eyez on Me

#63. The Jimi Hendrix Experience — Are You Experienced?

#64. Erykah Badu — Baduizm

#65. De La Soul — 3 Feet High and Rising

#66. The Smiths — The Queen Is Dead

#67. Portishead — Dummy

#68. The Strokes — Is This It

#69. Metallica — Master of Puppets

#70. N.W.A — Straight Outta Compton

#71. Kraftwerk — Trans-Europe Express

#72. SZA — SOS

#73. Steely Dan — Aja

#74. Nine Inch Nails — The Downward Spiral

#75. Missy Elliott — Supa Dupa Fly

#76. Bad Bunny — Un Verano Sin Ti

#77. Madonna — Like a Prayer

#78. Elton John — Goodbye Yellow Brick Road

#79. Lana Del Rey — Norman F*****g Rockwell!

#80. Eminem — The Marshall Mathers LP

#81. Neil Young — After the Gold Rush

#82. 50 Cent — Get Rich or Die Tryin'

#83. Patti Smith — Horses

#84. Snoop Dogg — Doggystyle

#85. Kacey Musgraves — Golden Hour

#86. Mary J. Blige — My Life

#87. Massive Attack — Blue Lines

#88. Nina Simone — I Put a Spell on You

#89. Lady Gaga — The Fame Monster

#90. AC/DC — Back in Black

#91. George Michael — Listen Without Prejudice, Vol. 1

#92. Tyler, The Creator — Flower Boy

#93. Solange — A Seat at the Table

#94. Burial — Untrue

#95. Usher — Confessions

#96. Lorde — Pure Heroine

#97. Rage Against the Machine — Rage Against the Machine

#98. Travis Scott — ASTROWORLD

#99. Eagles — Hotel California

#100. Robyn — Body Talk

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emeritusemeritus · 1 year

Text

Vulnera Sanentur [Weasley twins x Reader]

Part 2

Part 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14

Title: Vulnera Sanentur

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Reader x George Weasley {established relationship}

Timeline: DH1- set during the battle of the seven potters. Canon and certain plot points have been altered for the needs of the story.

Summary: The battle of the seven Potters throws your world into chaos when one of your boyfriend’s is cursed. As Snape’s ex-potions assistant and previous protégée, you recognise the inflicted curse immediately and demand answers from your mentor.

Warnings: Angst, mentions of war and Voldy, descriptions of injury and blood, descriptive smut, p in v sex, shower sex, tension. None sexual nudity. Crying. Snape has a soft spot for reader. Arguments. Probably some cursing. Mentions of nightmares. Reader is part of the Order of the Phoenix. Mentions of death (Dumbledore). Mentions of Tonks’ pregnancy. Not spellchecked nor beta read, we die like Madeye.

"Harry! Hagrid!" Molly calls out as you all run outside to inspect the noise, wand already extended in your hand as you sense a disquiet, seeing just Harry and Hagrid stumbling towards the house, both looking defeated, drenched and downcast. You felt sick to your stomach at seeing only them return, with no sign of anyone else and no sign of your two boyfriends you were certain that something had gone wrong. "What happened? Where are the others?"

A tense silence falls between you all that seems to linger for hours, though in reality it was mere seconds. Harry's face tells you everything you need to know, his eyes wide and pained as he looks at Ginny in horror.

"Is no one else back?"

"They we're on us right from the start Molly," Hagrid says, clutching his driving goggles in his hand, wringing them instinctively out of nervous habit, "we didn't stand a chance."

You feel a sob rise up in your chest but you push it down, needing to keep yourself strong, not only for yourself but for Molly and Ginny too. Your eyes close on their own accord and you try your hardest to ground yourself, breathing deeply, knowing that Fred and George were strong and capable, though you were terrified regardless.

"Well, thank goodness you two are alright," Molly says in a way that only a mother could. You daren't cast a glance in her direction, already foreseeing the worry and pain that would no doubt be etched upon her face at the news.

"The Death Eaters were waiting for us, it was an ambush," he says trailing off as Molly guides him into the house. You understood that he needed to inform her of what happened but you couldn't help but frown at his uncharacteristic insensitivity. From your peripheral vision, you see Ginny and Harry make their way over to each other and you have to look away, suddenly feeling very out of place. You wrap your arms around yourself, the chill of the night air nipping at your bare arms as you were dressed in only a sundress as you walk back towards the house, needing to find something to keep you occupied to stop your mind from spiralling.

"Ron and Tonks should already be back now, dad and Fred too," she says quietly. You can feel her gaze linger on you for a moment as she says Fred's name and once again you feel something rising up into your chest as you pass the threshold of the house, though you were unsure if it was a sob or bile that threatened to escape.

You walk into the lounge and feel out of place once again, suddenly feeling like you were outside your own body with the worry that gnawed at you, consuming you entirely.

Just then you heard shouts from outside and barely had time to move when you saw a sight that would be ingrained into your mind for the rest of your life.

"Oh my boy," you hear Molly say, though it's distorted and grainy as you are frozen to the spot, dissociated from your own mind and body. You watch in utter horror as Lupin and Harry drag a blood covered, limp George through the door and carry him over to the sofa. Blood is pouring from the side of his head, his clothes already soaked in crimson liquid that makes your stomach lurch. He looks pale and tired, his eyes closed as they place him down onto the sofa. Molly immediately rushes over to him, stroking his hair out of his face as you stand there in complete horror, unable to move or react as you look at your injured boyfriend.

"Y/n," he says in a raspy, groggy voice that tugs at your heartstrings fiercely.

Suddenly, like you'd been snapped back to reality, you rush over to your boyfriends side and kneel down in front of him, delicately reaching out for his blood covered hand as you whisper his name. A sob escapes you as you feel him weakly squeeze your hand three times, acknowledging your words and presence. It was your way of secretly communicating, had been for years, the secret and silent way of saying 'I love you, I'm here for you', that only you and George would know. Tears build in your eyes as you look at him though you fight through them, knowing now is not the time. George needed you and you'd be there for him in anyway he needed.

You hear the shouts and arguing from the group beside you but you hardly even blink, not taking your focus off of George as you gently stroke your thumb over his hand. You immediately cast a summoning charm for the muggle first aid kit you'd packed and it rushes into your hands as you unlatch it and begin sifting through the contents with shaking hands. Finding a suitable gauze, you remove the wrapper and place it in your hand, keeping it ready.

"Georgie," you say quietly with a squeeze of his hand to get him to listen to you, "I'm going to try and numb the pain okay, I'll try everything I can but I need to stop the bleeding."

He squeezes your hand weakly just once, as if showing you that he was listening and giving you consent to try and help. Lifting your wand, you cast a strong numbing spell to the area and hold your breath for a tense moment, hoping that it had worked.

His ear was almost completely missing on that side, only a tiny bit of cartilage remained, framing a large hole that was pouring with blood. There was a large gash that looked to split the skin that looked familiar but you couldn't place how or what would have caused this.

"Georgie, can you feel that? Has it eased?" You ask nervously and finally exhale when he nods just once, the corners of his mouth raising a little as he clearly feels the relief.

"I'm going to hold this compress to the side okay, you'll feel the pressure but it shouldn't hurt anymore okay? I need to stop the bleeding."

"Okay nurse," he says groggily and you can't help but huff a laugh, tears welling once again in your eyes as he starts to become himself once again. You lean forward and press a kiss to his knuckles before reaching over and begin pressing the gauze to the side of his head with as much pressure as is needed, never breaking your gaze between the wound and his face, watching carefully for any sign of pain. He doesn't wince nor cry out which is a good sign that the strong numbing spell has worked and you keep yourself pressed to him, trying desperately to stop the blood flow, not caring that your own hands and clothes were already covered in blood. Molly never moves from the spot and continues stroking George's hair as you set to work.

You pull the gauze away a few minutes later, seeing in completely flooded with blood, though as you look at the affected area where George's ear used to be, you can see that the blood has stopped pouring out but had not fully stopped, falling to a slow trickle that you knew needed to be dealt with soon. You pull the gauze away and prepare another just incase but for now you let the wound breathe, trying to think of your next move.

You hear Remus calm down and pull away from Harry, only to rush off outside as soon as he hears the telltale sign of someone apparating.

You pray it's Fred and Arthur, feeling like half of your heart was still gone and very much in danger but right now George had to be the focus.

In the back of your mind you hear a few more apparitions and only when a familiar sight enters your peripheral vision do you look up.

Fred.

You couldn't bring yourself to fully smile at him, not with George in such a way but the relief you felt was all consuming, a single tear escaping your eyes as he looks at you and then turns his focus to George. He moves like he's being pulled by an invisible string as he makes his way to the couch, absently placing his wand onto the coffee table before kneeling down beside you, between yourself and Molly. His hand instinctively reaches out for you as he pulls you into his embrace, tucking your head into the spot between his chin and his chest that you so perfectly fit into. You don't have any words, but somehow you can wordlessly communicate everything you were both feeling through your eyes, the slight tremble in both of your hands are enough of a clue to work out exactly how the other was feeling. He never truly lets go of you even as you pull away, reaching out to hold onto your hip as he turns and looks at his pale, injured twin.

"How you feeling Georgie?" Fred says quietly, his emotions evident in his trembling voice.

"Saint-like," you hear George mumble and you can't help but look at him with a small smirk, seeing exactly where it was going.

"Come again?" Fred asks, completely bewildered.

"Saint-like. I'm holy. I'm holey Fred," he says, gingerly lifting his hand to point at the wound on the side of his head. "Get it?"

You and Molly share a look, a small but meaningful smile, both of you relieved that he was already making jokes.

Not missing a beat, Fred licks his lips and shakes his head slightly in disbelief. "The whole wide world of ear related humour and you go for 'I'm holy', that's pathetic," he smiles.

"Reckon I'm still better looking than you," George replies, opening his eyes just a little as they flick between Fred and yourself, "what'd'ya think Angel?" He smirks, looking at you. You laugh and reach out for his hand once again.

"I don't pick favourites," you say with a smile, calling back to your usual reply, "you're both perfect to me."

Fred drops his head onto your shoulder, nuzzling into your neck subtly at the very same time that George squeezes your hand three times once more, his eyes staying open just long enough for you to see a glimmer of happiness. It wasn't the outcome you were hoping for, not by a long shot, but you were so relieved that they were both alive, here with you.

"What gave you away?" Kingsley says to Harry.

"Hedwig, I think. She was trying to protect me," he says with a sigh.

"You know who joined the chase halfway but vanished pretty quickly. Remus he can-" Kingsley says, turning to Lupin.

"Fly," Harry says, filling in the blanks. An unease settled around you all as you listen to the conversation.

"Seems there's been another mass breakout the ministry are keeping hushed. Travers' hood fell when I cursed him, he's supposed to be inside."

"Not the only one that lost his hood then," Remus says sounding venomous, "wish I'd paid him back in kind for that nasty curse but it was all I could do to keep George on the broom, he was losing so much blood."

"Him?" You asked, finally speaking to the larger group at the conversation peaked your interest. If you knew what curse had befallen George, you'd have a greater ability to heal the wound. The words that fell from Remus' mouth were the very last words you expected, a paralysing anger overcoming you at the reveal.

"Snape."

Suddenly, the gash of George's head all made sense. It had looked familiar right away but you couldn't place the unique mark. Only when Remus had explained who has cast such a curse did it all add up in your mind. Snape. Sectumsempra. The very same curse you'd seen Malfoy slashed apart with.

Channelling your overwhelming anger into something temporarily productive, you immediately sprang into action, standing up with such force that you nearly knocked Fred to the ground. You leapt over to your bag and began rifling through it only to become frustrated after not finding what you wanted immediately, knowing that time was of the essence.

"Accio Dittany!" You said, pointing your wand at the bag as the vial shot straight to the top.

Knowing what curse had been used was crucial to the treatment needed, especially if the curse was particularly nasty or uncommon and thankfully you had witnessed an effective incantation that would counter the worst of the injury. The incantation itself was very old and powerful magic, which made you momentarily doubt your capabilities, but this had to work so there was no room for doubt nor time for hesitation.

You bounded over to George who was watching you with confused eyes, as no doubt everyone else was in the room as you knelt down beside him once again. You thrust the essence of dittany into Molly's hands, wordlessly explaining what she should do and with a feverish nod, she understood. You closed your eyes briefly, took a deep breath to steady yourself and began pointing your wand at George's wound, following the lines of the gash carefully, never breaking your concentration as you spoke clearly and evenly, the required song like incantation.

"Vulnera Sanentur, vulnera sanentur, vulnera Sanentur."

You'd observed Snape recite the incantation three times and had read later as you researched what had happened that it was most effective when recited thrice. The first incantation immediately stopped the blood flow before your eyes, the second cleaned and drew away a lot of the blood that littered his skin. Like a magical eraser, the lines you drew with your wand were extinguishing the blood exactly where you pointed, cleaning George of nearly all the blood, leaving only the indirect bloodstains on his clothes. You nodded once towards Molly, never breaking your deep concentration on George and she immediately began placing droplets of dittany over the lines you drew as you spoke out one last incantation.

The third time you had spoken the words in the song like incantation, the wound knitted before your eyes, sealing up the gashes and leaving George with only a singular hole where his ear had been, though it was clean and mostly healed. The dittany would help prevent scarring but there was nothing you could do to replace his ear, knowing that cursed limbs cannot be restored no matter how hard you tried.

With one last precise drag of your wand, you closed up the last inch, with Molly dripping one last droplet of dittany onto the newly knitted skin. As the last syllable fell from your mouth and the last invisible stitch ended, you broke your fixed gaze and fell back onto your haunches, exhausted and panting. You eyes closed instinctively, burning slightly as you’d not blinked the entire time, as you fought to regain the energy you'd emitted as you worked on the wound, having pulled something from inside you that you hadn't even realised was there.

"That, that was incredible," Remus says in amazement after a moments silence, clearly having observed the entire thing. You huffed out a tired laugh, eyes still closed as you took a moment longer to catch your breath.

"I've never seen," Kingsley says, though he doesn't finish his sentence, or perhaps he does and you no longer listen as the redhead beside you begins speaking.

"Princess, y/n, that was spectacular, you, I," Fred stammers, leaning into you as if to comfort you in your exhausted state. "You're a wonder."

You open your eyes and immediately see George looking at you with such a face of adoration that it makes a silent sob build up in your chest. His ear may be gone but the wound already looks as if it was weeks old, knitted and healed in all the right places with only a hint of redness that you were sure would fade.

"Madeye's dead," you hear Bill say behind you and you all turn to look at him with sorrowful eyes, the tone immediately dropping as you realise that you hadn't all made it back. "Mundungus took one look at Voldemort and disapparated."

You rested your head tiredly against George's thigh and never moved from your exact spot on the floor for what seemed to be hours, not even when everyone else was raising a glass of fire whiskey for Moody and then tucking into the feast that Molly had prepared, you stayed right by George's side as he rested.

Remus and Bill had helped move him into his and Fred's old bedroom and had set him up in bed so that he could rest properly. His equilibrium had been severely messed with from his injury and he was suffering with the effects of that. You'd given him a mild sleeping potion that would allow his body to rest as it continued to heal and you'd stayed with him the entire time, not once leaving his side.

"Princess, come get some food," Fred says, leaning against the doorframe, trying to get you to eat but you couldn't, you were sick to your stomach over the events that had transpired, not able to get the sight and smell of George's blood out of your mind. You shook your head and stroked your thumb gently against George's hand that was still entwined with your own as he slept. You feel the bed move as Fred joins you, placing his arm around you as you lean into him, both of you looking at a peaceful George.

"What you did back there," Fred says quietly, "I've never seen anything like that, that was insanely powerful magic, even Lupin said so, you saved him. But now you need to let me take care of you sweetheart, please."

His tone was enough for you to look at him, seeing his hazel green eyes imploring you. You eventually nodded, realising that he was right.

"I'll get mum to come sit with him, if it makes you feel better."

"No need, I'm already here," Molly says from the doorway and you huff out a small laugh as she shuffles into the room with a smile, waving both you and Fred away as she takes your place on the bed.

"Y/n," she says quietly as you begin to exit through the door, casting one last look at George. You pause and Fred instinctively drops your hand from his so that's you can have a minute with his mum as he sets off ahead of you.

"What you've done for my boy, for both of the them, there are no words that I can use to express my gratitude," she says with a sniff.

"Molly," you say, turning back towards her but she just gives you a smile and a little shake of her head.

"I love your sons, more than anything in the world and I'd give my life for them without a moments hesitation. I'd do the same for all of you."

You turn and walk away, preparing to descend the stairs but a hand reaches out for you before you can and you see Fred standing there, pulling you up the flight of stairs with only a wink.

He ushers you into the bathroom and closes the door behind you, swiftly locking it with a flick of his wand as you look at him confused.

"Sweetheart, I mean this with all the love I can muster: you're a mess," he says, eyes looking over at your blood soaked skin and clothes. "Let's get you cleaned up okay? Then we'll get something to eat and we can go and sit with Georgie again yeah?"

You nod, feeling too tired and weak to argue and you see Fred smile at you as he makes his way over to you before wrapping his arms around you and pulling you tightly into his chest. "I've wanted this all night."

Guilt suddenly washes over you as you realise how much you'd prioritised George all night and had never truly greeted Fred.

"Don't do that," he says, no doubt picking up on your slight tensing and overall silence. "I more than understand, right? But now it's just you and me and I want to hold my future wife, shower together and wash away the day. That sound good to you princess?"

You nod into his chest and feel him press a kiss to your hair before pulling away to start the shower.

A little wiggle of shame fills you as you think about your shower with George just this morning and how uncomplicated everything was only a few hours ago.

"Can I?" Fred says, tugging at the little straps of your sundress and you nod in reply, allowing him to strip you out of the ruined fabric. This was unusual for Fred, usually he would tease and joke and wouldn't think twice about stripping you down as quickly as he could but not right now, he knew exactly what you both needed and he was being incredibly thoughtful and delicate. You stepped out of the dress as it pooled at your feet and Fred reached around delicately to undo the clasp on your bra, fingers lingering on your skin as he pulled your bra away from your body. There's nothing sexual to it, it's completely and utterly an act of compassion and solitude for you to be undressed together, metaphorically washing away the day.

You finally caught the sight of your reflection in the little mirror above the sink and we're shocked at what you saw. You were naked from the waist up and dried blood seemed to cover your hands, arms and your chest with splatter marks even creeping up onto your face. You looked like something from an awful budget slasher film and the very thought that this was George's blood only seemed to sicken you further.

Fred had gotten undressed as you zoned out looking at your reflection and led you by the hand into the shower, guiding you under the stream of warm water, both of you watching at the scarlet tint washed off your skin and culminated in the drain, spiralling with the waters flow as it washed away.

Your head drops as the emotions of the day overwhelm you, feeling no need nor desire to pretend any longer that you were okay, hidden away with Fred knowing that George was safe and looked after.

Tears brimmed in your eyes making your vision go blurry as the emotional weight of the day overcame you, from having to leave your loved ones this morning, the excruciating weight, the worry and then the pain at seeing George so injured. The tears fell and you were powerless to stop them. Fred immediately pulled you into him, taking the brunt of the shower stream as he cradled you, allowing you to cry in his arms. In the back of your mind you could feel his chest heaving as he let out his own emotions as both of you stood taking in everything that had happened and getting relief from your torment.

"I was so scared," he says a few minutes later as you both finally stop crying, the height of your emotions passing as you still cling to each other. You turn slightly in his arms to look up at his face, his eyes sad and a little red, hair stuck to his face as the water cascades around him. "All I could think of was you. They were all over us, they knew we were coming and all I could think of was that I'd never gotten the chance to propose or marry you like I've always wanted, that I might never get to spend my life with you. I thought of George and how we'd never been apart, and then he was hurt and I was scared again."

You placed your hand on his chest, trying to soothe him in any way you could as he opened up to you.

"We said earlier, spoke about what would happen if one of us didn't make it back, that we'd give you everything that you could ever want, for both of us. Stupid me didn't even realise how close we came to that. I must be the worst twin in the world, didn't even know he'd gotten hurt."

His tone was so sad and stricken that it made you pause for a moment as you looked up at him with sad eyes. Fred was very rarely serious and even in serious times he always tried to make a joke or tease, just to lighten the mood and diffuse the tension. Seeing him so broken and morose without a hint of laughter was almost physically painful for you and you cuddled into him stronger than before, wordlessly letting him know you were there and you were listening.

"You had every right to be scared, I'd have been terrified. Seeing George being carried in, covered in blood... I don't think I'll ever stop seeing it."

He strokes your back slowly as you both vent to one another and you cast your gaze downwards to see that the water is running clear again, no sign of blood left over.

"When you didn't come back," you began to say but trailed off quickly, not wanting to relive it. "I'm just so thankful you're both here with me."

"Can't get rid of me, remember?"

For the first time, you hear the smirk in his voice and it soothes something inside you to hear it once again, knowing that the worst was over and your jokester boyfriends would be back with you soon enough.

"I love you Freddie," you say, pulling out of his arms and looking up into his eyes, needing to feel the force of the connection. He smiles down at you and reaches up to stroke your cheek.

"Not as much as I love you princess," he says, tucking a wet strand of hair behind your ear. "Right, don't know about you sweetheart but I'm half starved, shall we get something to eat and go sit with Georgie?"

Later that night, the house was in total darkness as each family member and guest turned in early for the night, exhausted from the day. Snores bounced off the walls and blended like a symphony from the various people that littered the Burrow. You were wide awake, lay tightly beside Fred in his childhood single bed as George slept on the other, needing the space for his injury. After your shower with Fred you did feel noticeably better, the conversation had been incredibly cathartic and freeing, though you couldn't deny that something bitter and resentful lingered in your gut, swirling like a obscurus inside of you.

Betrayal and anger had been simmering under the surface for hours, ever since you learnt of the person who had cursed your boyfriend.

You knew what you needed to do.

Climbing deftly out of bed as not to rouse the two men occupying the room, you slipped out of the bed and into the hall, dropping down a staircase to avoid the creaky floorboards on Fred and George’s level, feigning a trip to the loo if anyone would be there to question you. Luckily for you, no one was and so you quickly dressed on the landing, preparing for your journey. You wrote a quick note to your boyfriends and with a flick of your wand, it transformed into a small origami bird that flew up the stairs and would enter their bedroom through the little crack in the door, ready for them to see if they should wake before you returned.

Slipping out of the house was not an easy feat as Hagrid lay sleeping on the floor of the lounge, too large to fit on the sofas and so you quietly uttered a silencing charm in a bubble around yourself and crept through the back door, walking carefully until you were well past the threshold of the house and then falling into a full blown sprint until you reached the tall grass where you could apparate from.

With a loud clack you were gone.

#emeritusemeritus #harry potter #emeritusemerituswrites #fred weasley #fred weasley x you #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley masterlist #george weasley #george weasley x you #weasley twins x reader #george weasley x reader x fred weasley #george weasley smut #george weasley x reader #weasley twins masterlist

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lucky-clover-gazette · 2 months

Text

kings rising highlights & annotations

chapter 9

indented text is from the book. some quotes have commentary, some do not. some comments are serious, and some are definitely not. most of them will only make sense to people who have read the series. and, like, there are spoilers. so please read the books first if you're interested!

also: part of the reason i'm doing such a close reading is to study cs pacat's style, especially in terms of how she does romance and erotica. there are "craft notes" that might seem weird, like i'm being redundant or restating something rather than analyzing, but those are more things that i want to remember/take away from the writing!

i'm going to tag these longer posts with "sam reads capri" in case anyone wants to read them all at once.

this is a google doc i wrote with overall content warnings for the captive prince series. it's not perfect, but i do think it's important to include.

The next morning, they had to sit next to each other.

me when i’m a high school junior and had a huge falling out with my best friend who i’m totally not in love with last night but we still have to coexist in ap english class

The joint thrones today were under a silk awning, raised to protect Laurent’s milkmaid skin from the sun.

BRUTAL

Lady Vannes murmuring into the ear of a new female pet

oooooh what happened to the old one? drama alert!!

A part of Damen acknowledged, a little guiltily, that Laurent probably hadn’t deserved to get thrown around the training arena as a result.

laurent would disagree

Nikandros said, without looking next to him, ‘Your uncle has wiped out half of our army with two hundred men.’ ‘And a belt,’ said Laurent.

nikandros private twitter vent #11. incoherent violent stick figure jpegs

Damen said, ‘At least someone else has a chance to win at javelin.’

i understand that people like sports and it’s a fun thing to add to a pretty serious story but i am the buzzkill here and ugh. sports

In the stands, slaves rhythmically raised and lowered fans and brought shallow cups of wine that everyone drank except Laurent.

me getting ginger beer at the bar yesterday while the dude i was with drank an espresso martini and two whiskeys

He came forward naked, as was the custom in Akielos.

i feel like violent dangerous sports are a really good occasion to wear MORE clothing, but go off i guess

The two men scooped oil from the receptacle brought to them by the stewards, anointed their bodies with it, then they slung their arms around one another’s shoulders, and, on the signal, heaved. The crowd cheered, the men grappled, their bodies straining against each other in slippery hold after slippery hold, until Pallas finally had Elon panting, on the grass, the sounds an eruption from the crowd.

this is like the not-evil twin of the veretian court wrestling

Damen rose from the throne, and put his hand to the gold brooch at his shoulder. His garment dropped and the crowd roared its approval.

you know, damen’s lack of freaking out about some of the indignities of the veretian court make more sense now

‘Good fight,’ he said, taking his place again on the throne beside Laurent. He waved over some wine. ‘What is it?’ ‘Nothing,’ said Laurent, and found somewhere else to put his eyes.

hang in there buddy

‘What can we expect next? I really feel,’ said Vannes, ‘it might be anything.’

i love the slight disdain here

‘Who did this to you?’ ‘I did,’ Laurent said. Damen turned. Laurent stood in the entryway of the tent. He was arranged with elegant grace and his lazy, blue-eyed attention was all on Nikandros. Laurent said, ‘I meant to kill him, but my uncle wouldn’t let me.’ Nikandros took an impotent step forward but Damen already had a restraining hand on his arm. Nikandros’s hand had gone to the hilt of his sword. His eyes were on Laurent furiously. Laurent said, ‘He sucked my cock too.’ Nikandros said, ‘Exalted, I beg permission to challenge the Prince of Vere to a duel of honour for the insult that he has done to you.’ ‘Denied,’ said Damen. ‘You see?’ said Laurent. ‘He has forgiven me for the small matter of the whip. I have forgiven him for the small matter of killing my brother. All praise the alliance.’ ‘You flayed the skin from his back.’ ‘Not personally. I just watched while I had my man do it.’ Laurent said it with a fronded, long-lashed gaze. Nikandros looked physically sick with the effort of repressing his anger. ‘How many lashes was it? Fifty? One hundred? He might have died!’ Laurent said, ‘Yes, that was the idea.’

LAMEN HR COMPLAINT #8

god i FUCKING love this little confrontation. i appreciate how we can start easing into some more comedy with these specific characters, because nobody here is like actively enslaved or abused. they’re all on even footing, so shots can be fired for fun, and can be read as such. the analysis here, in short, is that damen and laurent are both insane about each other and nikandros just has to deal with it. laurent thinks it’s amusing to mess with nikandros, and to a lesser degree damen. and damen tolerates it because he knows laurent behind his performative cruelty, but can’t possibly explain that to nikandros. regardless, laurent has immunity from damen, which means he also has immunity from nikandros.

this is also a good way to show how both damen and laurent have started “settling” the matters of damen killing auguste and laurent punishing him in vere, since the last scene where both subjects were heavily referenced.

Angry as he was, Nikandros wouldn’t disobey a direct order. His training was too deeply ingrained.

i like this subtle moment. damen grew up in the same culture, yet one of his main Things in this series has always been disobeying orders he disagrees with. built different!

‘Why would you do that? He’ll defect.’ ‘He’s not going to defect. He is your most loyal servant.’ ‘So you push him to breaking point?’ ‘Should I have told him I didn’t enjoy it?’ said Laurent. ‘But I did enjoy it. I liked it most near the end, when you broke down.’

laurent calculated and performative cruelty to protect himself from being vulnerable, you know the drill by now

‘You didn’t have to come here. You could have sent a messenger.’ In the pause that followed, Laurent’s gaze shifted involuntarily sideways. A strange prickling passing over his skin, Damen realised that Laurent was looking at the polished mirror behind him at the reflection of his scars. Their eyes met again. Laurent wasn’t often caught out, but a single glance had betrayed him. They both knew it. Damen felt the hard ache of it. ‘Admiring your handiwork?’

damen: i know you came here on purpose to spend time with me alone when you totally didn’t have to laurent: [very obviously checks out damen’s bare back, and not just for the symbolism reasons] damen: you want to look at me so bad (because you have an emotional attachment to the marks and you want to torture us both about it, and also because you think i’m hot. in both cases you’re the desperate one here, i win)

‘I’ll join you after I’ve dressed. Unless you want to step closer. You can help stick in the pin.’ ‘Do it yourself,’ said Laurent.

this sounds like their prince’s gambit-era antagonistic, vaguely horny, reluctantly fond banter. we’re getting somewhere!

The fever pitch of the crowd was bloodthirsty. The okton brought that out in them, the danger, the threat of maiming. The second of two targets was hammered onto its struts, and the attendants gave the all clear. In the heat of the day, anticipation was an insect buzz, rising to a commotion on the south-western side of the field.

this is such a fucking terrible idea you are in a WAR. damen you are going to be KING. why are you risking your life to play a sports right now. it would be like if the person about to cure a disease decided to play a game of bowling with a 80% survival rate right before they finished the vaccine

Damen heard the reaction of those around him. The Veretian Prince was, at a glance, Damen’s athletic inferior. Certainly, he avoided the training fields. No Akielon had ever seen him fight, or take exercise. He had not participated in any of today’s contests. He had done nothing more than sit, elegant and relaxed, as now. ‘Veretians do not train in the okton,’ said Damen. ‘In Akielos, the okton is known as the sport of kings,’ said Makedon. ‘Our own King will take the field. Does the Prince of Vere lack the courage to ride against him?’

makedon wants that twink obliterated

Damen waited for Laurent to sidestep, to evade, to find, somehow, the words to extricate himself from the situation. The flags fluttered loudly. The stands were silent, to a man. ‘Why not?’ said Laurent.

FSIUFHSDIUFHSDF i love laurent so much it’s unreal. this is the same response you’d give if a friend asked if you wanted to get takeout on a thursday night. “yeah, why not?” mr. “probably” laurent strikes again

Mounted, Damen faced the course, holding his horse ready at the starting line. His mount shifted, fractious, eager for the horn that would signal his start. Two horses down from his own, he could see Laurent’s bright head.

their horses who are canonically in love with each other get to do homoerotic sports too!!

But the true challenge of the okton was this: if you missed, your spear might kill your opponent. If your opponent missed, you were dead.

i was going to say “thankfully there are no real-life sports that sacrifice the physical well-being and possibly lives of eager-to-impress youths looking for glory and compensation” but then i remembered american college football exists

Laurent could also throw a spear. Probably.

probably.

But all of that meant nothing in the face of the okton. Men died during the okton. Men fell, men suffered permanent injury—from a spear; from hooves after a fall. Out of the corner of his eye, Damen could see the physicians, including Paschal, who waited on the sidelines, ready to patch and sew. There was a great deal at stake for the lives of the physicians, with royalty from two countries on the field. There was a great deal at stake for everyone.

not beating the american college football allegations

Damen could not aid Laurent in the contest.

he’ll kill one of his own people by throwing a sword across a clearing to save his captor in book 2, but he won’t use his kingly authority to say “hey guys maybe let’s not put both of the army’s leaders, one of whom is the love of my life and also my divorced husband, in the hunger games right now”

There was something intellectual in the way he assessed the field, and it set him apart from the other riders. For Laurent, physical pursuits were not instinctive, and for the first time it occurred to Damen to wonder if Laurent even enjoyed them. Laurent had been bookish as a boy, before he had re-formed himself.

“he should be at the (afterschool dungeons and dragons) club”

Laurent dealt with the danger of the okton by simply behaving as though it did not exist.

that tracks externally, but i also think that inside laurent’s brain he does acknowledge it, he just has a precise threshold of acceptable risk

Instinct reacted before thought. The spear was driving towards his chest; Damen caught it out of the air, his hand closing hard around the shaft, the momentum of it wrenching his shoulder back. He absorbed it, tightening his grip with his thighs to keep himself in the saddle.

this would be even more impressive if it was not the solution to a dangerous situation you ACTIVELY MADE HAPPEN

All his attention was on the other spear, flying towards Laurent. His heart jammed in his throat. On the other side of the course, Pallas was frozen. In that stricken moment of choice, Pallas could only decide whether to dodge and risk his cowardice killing a prince, or stand his ground and receive a spear to the throat. His fate was tied to Laurent’s, and unlike Damen, he had no recourse for what to do. Laurent knew it. Like Damen, Laurent had seen it early—had seen the strut collapse, had judged the outcome. In the handful of extra seconds that this afforded him, Laurent acted without hesitation. He released his reins—and as Damen watched, as the spear flew right for him—he jumped, not out of the way, but into the path of the spear, leaping from his horse to Pallas’s, dragging them both to the left. Pallas swayed, shocked, and Laurent bodily kept him down low in the saddle. The spear sailed past them and landed in the tufted grass like a javelin.

an akielion wouldn’t think to do THAT, would they!!

(also, love the little parallel to prince’s gambit, with damen ripping the grate out of the wall and laurent’s meticulous scheming. here it’s not as much a competition as it is a mutual/cooperative victory, with damen stopping the javelin mid-air and laurent intelligently evading the other one headed towards him)

The crowd went wild. Laurent ignored it. Laurent reached down and neatly filched Pallas’s last spear for himself. And, keeping Pallas’s horse at a gallop—as the sounds of the crowd swelled to a crescendo—he threw it, sending it flying right into the centre of the final target. Completing the okton one spear ahead of Pallas and of Damen, Laurent drew his horse up in a little circle, and met Damen’s gaze, his pale brows rising, as if to say, ‘Well?’ Damen grinned. He hefted the spear he had caught, and from where he was on the far side of the course, threw; let it go sailing over the full, impossible length of the field, to thunk into the target alongside Laurent’s spear, where it rested, quivering. Pandemonium.

they are both That Bitch. perfect for each other, and now everyone knows it (kinda) <3

After, they crowned each other with laurels.

cute

There was a warmth in his chest whenever he looked at Laurent. He didn’t look often for that reason.

Their men would ride out unified, and if there was a crack down the centre, no one knew about it. He and Laurent were good at pretending.

no they’re not. they’re just becoming more entertaining and endearing than annoying and frustrating, so people are more likely to listen to them

Laurent took his place on one of the lounging couches like he was born to it. Damen sat alongside him.

and all was right with the universe

The whole room went silent. Makedon and Laurent faced one another. The silence stretched out. ‘You have the mind of a snake,’ Makedon said. ‘You have the mind of an old bull,’ said Laurent. They stared at one another. After a long moment, Makedon waved at the slave, who came forward with a fat-bellied bottle of Akielon spirits and two shallow cups. ‘I will drink with you,’ said Makedon.

i love this unlikely friendship. laurent is being socialized like a feral kitten

Laurent glanced at the wine that the slave had poured, and Damen knew with absolute certainty that if it was wine, Laurent wasn’t going to drink. Damen braced himself for the moment when every scrap of goodwill that Laurent had garnered for himself was thrown away—as every tenet of Akielon hospitality was insulted, and Makedon swept forever out of the hall. Laurent picked up the cup in front of him, drained it, then returned it to the table. Makedon gave a slow nod of approval, lifted his own cup, downed it. And said, ‘Again.’

extremely loud airhorn goes off SHOTS SHOTS SHOTS

Later, when a great many overturned cups scattered the low table, Makedon leaned forward and told Laurent he must try griva, the drink from his own region, and Laurent downed it and said it tasted like swill, and Makedon said, ‘Ha, ha, true!’ Later, Makedon told the story of his first games, when Ephagin won the okton, and the bannermen grew misty-eyed, and everyone had another drink. Later, everyone roared when Laurent was able to balance three empty cups on top of each other, while Makedon’s cups fell over.

is this just what frat parties are like?

Laurent maintained a scrupulous posture until they were all gone, his eyes dilated, his cheeks slightly flushed. Damen spread his arm over the back of his own seat and waited. After a long moment, Laurent said, ‘I’m going to need some help standing up.’

i love that damen just Waited. he knew. he wanted laurent to admit it. they’re so funny

He wasn’t expecting to receive Laurent’s full weight, but he did, a warm arm slung around his neck, and he was suddenly breathless with the feeling of Laurent in his arms. His hands came up to steady Laurent’s waist, his heart behaving strangely. It was sweetly, impossibly illicit. He felt the ache in his chest. Damen said, ‘The Prince and I are retiring,’ and waved the lingering slaves out. ‘It’s this way,’ said Laurent. ‘Probably.’

‘Is today the first time you’ve been beaten in an okton?’ ‘Technically, it was a draw,’ said Damen. ‘Technically. I told you I was quite good at riding. I used to beat Auguste all the time when we raced at Chastillon. It took me until I was nine to realise he was letting me win. I just thought I had a very fast pony. You’re smiling.’ He was smiling.

drunk laurent happily telling damen about auguste :’) also the “you’re smiling” is so adorable, i love how we’re getting some dorky soft laurent finally. he contains multitudes. this, like, “suddenly aware that he’s being cute and appreciated for it, slightly indignant but also allowing it because it’s damen who thinks he’s cute” thing is wonderful and tbh i hope i can someday allow myself to be like that too :)

‘Am I talking too much? I can’t hold alcohol at all.’ ‘I can see that.’ ‘It’s my fault. I never drink. I should have realised I’d need to, with men like these, and made an effort to . . . build up some sort of tolerance . . .’ He was serious. ‘Is that how your mind works?’ said Damen. ‘And what do you mean, you never drink?

drunk laurent is so funny. and i love how damen is amused, endeared, and absolutely fascinated by the inner workings of this man. me too.

also, it's insane that laurent would ever ask if he's talking too much. taking too much is like his entire thing

side note: this is 100% how i am when i use any kind of mind-altering substances, like a sedative before a root canal. i remember detailing how i felt in my notes app at the time and then reading it later and being both impressed by the determination to remain incoherent and amused by the inserted notes of “why am i laughing” “why is everything funny”

You were drunk the first night I met you.’ ‘I made an exception,’ said Laurent, ‘that night. Two and a half bottles. I had to force myself to get it down. I thought it would be easier drunk.’ ‘You thought what would be easier?’ said Damen. ‘“What”?’ said Laurent. ‘You.’ Damen felt the hairs rise over his whole body. Laurent said it softly, and as though it was obvious, his blue eyes a little hazy, his arm still around Damen’s neck. They were gazing at one another, halted in the half-light of the passage. ‘My Akielon bed slave,’ said Laurent, ‘named for the man who killed my brother.’

“no shit, i got drunk”

It wasn’t unusual for two young men to wander the halls together, swaying, after a revel—even among princes—and Damen could pretend for a moment that they were what they seemed to be: brothers in arms. Friends.

you guys got publicly married-divorced and laurent told an entire army that you fucked each other multiple times. you wear matching arm cuffs. even your horses are in love. be so serious rn

The guards on either side of the entrance were too well trained to react to the presence of royalty leaning all over each other.

They Pretend They Do Not See It (not an HR complain bc they’re not really bothering anyone or breaking rules)

‘No one is to enter,’ Damen ordered the guards. He was aware of the implication—Damianos entering a bedchamber with a young man in his arms and ordering everyone out—and he ignored it. If Isander suddenly had a startling reason why the frigid Prince of Vere had foregone his services, so be it.

oh nooooo what a shame if isander backed off from your man, what an unintended and unfortunate consequence, oh nooooooo

Laurent, intensely private, would not want his household present while he dealt with the effects of a night’s worth of drinking.

just got a vision of laurent as heather chandler in the hangover/death scene. wearing that cunty little robe and talking shit

Laurent was going to wake with a blinding headache fuelling his corrosive tongue, and pity anyone who ran into him then. As for Damen, he was going to give Laurent a push in the small of his back and send him staggering the four steps to the bed. Damen unlooped Laurent’s arm from his neck, disengaged himself. Laurent took a step under his own power, and lifted a hand to his jacket, blinking. ‘Attend me,’ Laurent said, unthinkingly. ‘For old time’s sake?’ said Damen. It was a mistake to say that. He stepped forward and put his hands on the ties of Laurent’s jacket. He began to draw the ties from their moorings. He felt the curve of Laurent’s ribcage as the tie threaded through its eye. The jacket tangled at Laurent’s wrist. It took some effort to get it off, disordering Laurent’s shirt. Damen stopped, his hands still inside the jacket.

Under the fine fabric of Laurent’s shirt, Paschal had bound Laurent’s shoulder to strengthen it. He saw it with a pang. It was something Laurent would not have let him see sober, a keen breach of privacy. He thought of sixteen spears thrown, with a constant effort of arm and shoulder, after rough exertion the day before.

fuck, that’s right. damn laurent

Damen took a step back, said: ‘Now you can say you were served by the King of Akielos.’ ‘I could say that anyway.’

he may be white girl wasted but he’s still our laurent

Lamp-lit, the room was filled with orange light, revealing its simple furnishings, the low chairs, the wall table with its bowl of fresh-picked fruit.

this time, the fruit basket guy just showed the kitchen staff a bunch of ao3 fics tagged “in vino veritas” and told them to make it work

Laurent was a different presence in his white undershirt.

makes him sound like a cryptid. blonde man jumpscare

They were gazing at each other.

we know.

‘I miss you,’ said Laurent. ‘I miss our conversations.’

he would not have admitted this under torture

(also, i really like how he misses their conversations first and foremost. laurent really does love damen for his mind and heart, more than anything else. damen is the same, but he's a lot more vocally into the other parts of laurent too)

It was too much. He remembered being strapped to the post and half killed; sober, Laurent had made the line very clear, and he was aware that he had crossed it, they both had.

damen is still afraid to potentially take advantage of laurent, especially because of what happened the first time laurent interpreted his advances in such a light (ow)

‘You’re drunk,’ said Damen. ‘You’re not yourself.’ He said, ‘I should take you to bed.’ ‘Then, take me,’ said Laurent.

Laurent lay where Damen put him, on his back in a half-open shirt, his hair tumbled, his expression unguarded. His knee was pushed out to the side, his breathing was slow as one in sleep, the thin fabric of his shirt lay against his skin, rising and falling with it. ‘You don’t like me like this?’

first thing, good for him. second thing, not good for him, because trauma, and the fact that he sees himself as a sexual object (i went a lot more into this during the chapter 7 re-analysis)

‘You’re really . . . not yourself.’ ‘Aren’t I?’

i do think damen means this as a “you could punish me for taking advantage,” but i also think there is the fact that damen doesn’t want a version of laurent who isn’t in his right mind (like slaves, who aren’t given the ability to have minds of their own). this calls back to the whole “you like it simple” thing in chapter 7, and it’s pretty satisfying to see damen prove laurent wrong!

‘I tried to kill you. I can’t seem to go through with it. You keep overturning all my plans.’

said with hearts in his eyes <3

Damen found a water pitcher and poured water into a shallow cup that he brought to the low table by Laurent’s bed. Then he emptied the fruit bowl of fruit and put it on the floor alongside, to be used as a drunk soldier might use an empty helmet.

THEY WORKED HARD ON THAT THEMATICALLY RELEVANT FRUIT BASKET >:( although perhaps this is its true thematic relevance? a means of damen helping laurent care for himself in recovery?

‘Laurent. Sleep it off. In the morning, you can punish us both. Or forget this ever happened. Or pretend to.’ He did all of this quite adeptly,

at least he’s getting more self-aware about his own blind spots, or at least his ability to have them

Laurent, falling through scattered thoughts into sleep, said, ‘Yes, uncle.’

i think this line honestly might have been a step too far. not necessarily because it’s a bad thing for laurent to say, i get that it makes sense for him to associate this kind of vulnerability with [redacted], and it’s even possible that laurent doesn’t drink now because the regent got him drunk before he [redacted].

why i think it miiiiiiight not work, is the fact that damen doesn’t oh fuck wait i JUST made note of a line where damen acknowledges how he can “quite adeptly” ignore things, literally a few sentences ago. i can’t even say he would have noticed, or made note of it, because that is his character. and the irony is like right there on the page. it’s frustrating to read, but it’s an intentional choice. well played as usual!

#we are so fucking back #sam reads capri #capri #captive prince #kings rising #damen of akielos #laurent of vere #lamen

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arteastica · 8 months

Text

early in the morning, especially when it rains, and a little before noon. (23)

erwin x fem!reader

chapters: (1) | (2) | (3) | (4) | (5) | (6) | (7) | (8) | (9) | (10) | (11) | (12) | (13) | (14) | (15) | (16) | (17) | (18) | (19) | (20) | (21) | (22) | (24) | (25) | (26) | (27)

summary: I basically took Isayama’s work, forced it into a romance story, and made Erwin the love interest. Commander meets cadet and they fall in love (not instantly though)

notes: very berry canonverse (but some events were modified to fit my narrative), wasn’t intended to be this long, but it all is in the details right?

content warnings: smut where it fits (or where I make it fit. Also, reader is NOT underage, so likewise, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, please.) slow burn (I really mean it. I’m not olympic diving into any form of smut for the first chapters.) no angst. I dislike angst. I would never. I could never. (Although angst can be somewhat subjective so take it with a grain of salt?)

wc: 2.5k

“C-commander, you’re going to make me c-come.” You warned for the last time before letting yourself go. Where? Well, that was for him to decide, because your legs had stopped responding a long time ago. But you didn’t need them anyway; with his nails buried in your back and his dick, deep between your legs, you weren’t going anywhere. At least not anywhere he didn’t decide.

Like a starved soul waiting to be spoon-fed, you opened your mouth wide, a silent moan escaping your lips as you were about to taste the sweet orgasm he had so prettily gift-wrapped for you. Indulgent like thick cocoa in oversized cups, comforting like cinnamon upon custard, forbidden like molasses at midnight, or messy like melting ice cream dripping down your fingers. What would he taste like today?

You would’ve found out, if only he had stayed.

Because, without allowing time for confusion or emptiness to happen, he pulled out, slipped his arm under your waist, and turned you around, making you sit back up on the desk, where you finally came eye to eye with him, and the sweaty streaks of sunshine sticking to his forehead despite the unforgiving temperatures lurking outside your window.

His breathing was labored and ragged, like an elaborate quilt. Warm. Homelike. Handmade. But that was something you both had in common. Your chests, rising and falling against each other; your faces, so close you were stealing each other’s oxygen; his lips, hovering over yours, reminding you of butterflies fluttering around a marigold garden; making you realize how long it had been since the last time you kissed; and your folds, desperately dripping and clenching around the overwhelming emptiness, reminding you of how ready you were for that to change.

You lifted a hand up to his face, pulling him closer; your eyes staring into his, blue like the sky after a storm.

Or perhaps, the storm was just on its way.

Strong arm still wrapped around your waist, he smoothly glided back into you; his lush eyebrows furrowed in pleasure, and his mouth hanging slightly open, as your walls squeezed his swollen member. Suffocating him. Just the way he liked it.

Feeble, sheepish whimpers escaped your lips at the gentle intrusion. As gentle as the raindrops now tapping on the window, announcing the last rainfall of the winter.

Or maybe, the first one of the spring.

“I’m sorry.” He grunted against your lips, before finally closing the distance between you.

And even if he hadn’t spelled out the words for you, you could taste them in his kiss. You could taste it all, even though the tea you had prepared for him remained untouched at the other end of the desk. You could taste the lemon, bitter like regret, yet also fresh like new beginnings. And there was also the honeycomb, nostalgic like a sunset, yet sweet like the waltz your tongues were dancing inside your mouth. A slow, gentle waltz under the rain. His tongue, in perfect synchrony with whatever magic his dick was performing inside you, making you moan against his lips, just in case he didn’t know how good he was making you feel.

And the sensation of your mouth stuffed with his tongue and your pussy, with his cock, quickly became too overwhelming for your poor body to bear; your insides crumbling like sand as a sinking feeling took over. Not the type that precedes a bad day however, but the floaty, funny type you always experienced when jumping from treetops during ODM practice. And even though you were perfectly safe there, held in place by his arm around your waist, and your legs around his hips, you felt like you were free-falling, plummeting down into something unknown. And like so, you pulled away, deciding to wrap your arms around his neck instead, burying your face in the crook of his shoulder, where you felt the safest.

“Me too.” You whispered against the damp collar of his shirt. “I promise there’s no one else, Erwin.” Finally able to lay your worries down on his chest, as you let your weight fall against him. “Only you.” And you felt his grip tighten at your words, bringing you impossibly closer to him. “Yes, I’m yours. Only yours. A-always yours.” You repeated over an over, answering the question his cock was relentlessly asking, as it stabbed you repeatedly. “I belong to you and no- no one else mmmhh~ I don’t want anyone else inside me but you.” You closed your eyes, now saturated with tears, not knowing if it was because of how much you missed him, or because of how big he was.

But whatever the reason, your words caused his thrusts to hasten, and his nails to bury even deeper in the thick flesh around your hips, burning your skin like the hot iron they use to mark animals. And you called his name for good measure, just in case he needed further confirmation that you were his. You called his name as repeatedly as the drops falling from the sky outside. You called his name as fireworks exploded all over your body; your back arching against the muscular arm he kept around you, your head thrown all the way back, and your breasts in full display, like a ceremonial feast offered to a king.

And when your muscles stopped spasming, you collapsed on him, desperately gasping for air against his neck, as if you had just come back to life after almost drowning. And you honestly didn’t know if the moisture on his shirt was coming from his skin or your eyes.

While your forehead took a much needed rest against his shoulder, you looked down to find him still buried into you, your sweet nectar spilling out of your hole, dripping down his thighs like honey, messily sliding down the glossy wood of his desk.

And you looked up at him through heavy eyelids, a fucked out smile on your lips, silently asking if he too found it beautiful, the mess you had created. And this time, for the first time in days, he smiled too. His hand temporarily leaving the abused skin of your hips to tuck sweaty strands behind you ear.

Please fuck me again.

“Please stay.” You requested softly, clenching around him, hoping he wouldn’t pull out. Hoping things would stay as they were right now. Between the two of you. Trapped in your little bubble. His eyes like the clear sky reflected in a stream, like gentle sun rays tickling your skin, on a Sunday morning, just a little before noon.

I love you. Your lips quivered, tempted to let the words spill. I love you, Commander. But you didn’t want the bubble to burst. You wanted to stay forever trapped inside with him. Together. As one.

I love you, Erwin.

“Please keep making love to me.”

I love you so much.

He placed a soft kiss on your lips just as his hips started to move again. Unhurriedly, gently, indulgently. Like stirring thick cocoa together, by the kitchen window, on a snowy night.

You held his face as he sucked on your bottom lip, as his tongue savored all his favorite flavors on yours, as his lips condensed a million thoughts into a moment. And not long after, when the pace of his thrusts hastened again, you pulled away, not wanting to miss a second of his face when he came, something so captivating and artistic it belonged in a museum. Truly a masterpiece. His temples covered with salty dew as he panted for air, forehead resting against yours. And you had never been this grateful for the unforgiving training that scouts had to go through. You had never been this grateful for that early morning run he never skipped. Because there was no doubt in your mind that he could fuck you all night long. You had no stamina left, but he did, and that’s all that mattered. After all, his body was the one doing all the hard work, and yours just needed to bounce and react.

“Command-”

“I missed you.” As breathless as you currently were, your heart couldn’t afford the luxury of skipping a beat. Yet it did, your entire body choosing to stay silent, just in case he said it again. Because, the thing is, you really needed to hear those three words again. From those very lips that were now hovering over yours. “I missed you so bad.” He ran his thumb across your cheek, his touch as soothing as the gentle breeze from a faraway childhood summer. “Those days were the worst.” He paused, intently scanning your features as if carving them inside his memory. “Realizing I was no longer on the receiving end of that smile.” His thumb found your bottom lip, and caressed it gently. “Asking myself if I was losing you every time you closed the door behind you.”

“Erwin.” His sweet name on your lips, and salty droplets on your eyes. “I want to be with you.”

Forever. You added in your head, remembering the cabin in the woods. By the stream, a faraway windmill as your closest neighbor, the climbing hydrangea guarding the door, and the stepping stones leading up the hill, where the sycamore was always waiting, in front of the snow-capped mountains, the wooden swing below and its musical creak, its only company. Forwards, backwards, forwards and then backwards again. Never getting tired. And neither do you. But how could you? Waking up next to him every day, his bare back beneath the morning light; and making love, your only plan for the weekend. And if it only existed in a fantasy, why could you describe it in such detail? If it wasn’t in your future, then why could you see it all? Smell it all. Hear it all.

Feel it all.

“So do I.” He answered, his eyes like a sunlit lake, and his eyebrows like the evergreen foliage surrounding it.

“Erwin.” You used his name again, as if it was a promise; your voice impossibly breathy as his hips continued its satisfying dance, that by now had grown more and more erratic, telling you that it was near. You could tell, even if words didn’t forecast it: The cloudburst about to happen between your legs.

He buried his nails even deeper in the abused flesh of your hips, presumably looking for some form of stability as his movements became more and more unsteady. And he was so hard it must hurt. So hard you had to stare, not wanting to miss a second of that spectacular finale: his rich, indulgent cream, the sweet result of your lovemaking, a recipe you had created together, splattering everywhere like fresh paint once he pulled out.

But the thing is, he wasn’t pulling out. You looked back up at him, searching for an explanation, not wanting to get your hopes up, since you didn’t know how ephemeral his mistake would be. But it didn’t look like a mistake. Not when he was staring at you like that, so intently, as if he was fully aware of his actions.

You looked down again. He was going to come; there was no doubt. You felt it inside, and it would happen any time now.

“You look the prettiest when you’re happy.” He said all of a sudden, his voice a mixture of grunts and labored breaths, and his lips curving into the sweetest smile he had given you yet. And maybe it was that, or the window behind him, or the fact that it had also been raining back then, but your mind traveled to the very first day you met. So many nights ago. He had told you to come in, and then apologized for how boring and repetitive your days were about to get. All while smiling, just like today.

Oh, if only you knew back then.

“I want to make you happy.” He said, his eyes wrapping your naked body like the softest of silks, and his smile feeling like a promise, one you couldn’t wait to kiss.

“You already do.” You replied, voice filled with sweet adoration, just mere seconds before he collapsed on you, forehead resting against your shoulder, as you ran soothing fingers through his hair, completely drenched, almost as if he had been fucking you under the pouring rain instead.

I love you. “You did so well for me.” You whispered against his forehead, holding him like you wished you could for the rest of your days, and closed your eyes, enjoying the tickling of his breath against your neck, as well as that of his warm cream sliding down your belly. Someday, maybe in the not so distant future, it would be inside instead.

Or maybe not.

But you didn’t feel like entertaining uncertainty tonight. Not when you finally had him in your arms like this.

“I’m sorry.” He said, and the words tickled the sensitive skin of your neck. His fingertips were drawing soothing patterns on the tender flesh of your hips, but the tone of his voice told you that bruises and hickeys weren’t the only thing he was apologizing about.

“Erwin, I swear there’s nothing between him an-”

“Shhh.” He hushed you softly, leaving his comfortable spot on the crook of your neck so he could look into your eyes. His cheeks were so red, perhaps from being under the sun all day. But you liked to think it was from fucking you so hard just moments ago. “It was never your fault, yet I blamed you for it without even asking you first.”

“You can ask me now.”

“You already gave me your answer.” He smiled, and even though you still wondered what had led him to believe there was something between you and Leon, you couldn’t stop yourself from wrapping your arms around him, hugging him tight and pushing the question to the back of your mind. Your eyes closed, and your cheek resting against his shoulder. Maybe you could try asking him again some other time.

“I’m sorry too.” You said, and even though you were only wearing your underwear, in his embrace, you had no complaints about the cold. “For pulling away all of a sudden, for leaving you in the dark.”

“You can tell me now.”

“Not now.” But maybe some other time. Because, like you said, you didn’t feel like bursting the bubble with your explanations and concerns.

And maybe you were on the same page, because he didn’t pry any further. Instead, he silently caressed your bruised hips and thighs. “I promise I’ll be more gentle next time.”

Next time. You liked that. You liked how those words sounded on his lips.

You took a look at the red skin his fingertips were tracing, skin that would surely be turning purple in the coming days, and smiled teasingly, realizing you hadn’t felt playful in a long time, so the feeling was as foreign as it was welcome. “I guess someone did miss me, after all.”

“You have no idea.” He replied, wistfulness in his words, as you pulled him back to your chest.

next chapter

taglist: @elnyrae @mchlist @apts2000 @angelaevangelion @depitaangeline @ynackerman9499 @afatalheat @pumpkin-toffee @velouria17 @gassytritis @goddessinsweats @nube55 @jeanboyjean @crazychaoticizzy @braunsbabe @erwinawesomeness @lucifers-nipple-piercing @karmabyfernando

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idesofrevolution · 2 years

Note

Hi. Love your work. It’s my Birthday today. Any chance of a story turning me into a younger, cigar smoking jock from my 40 year old white collar suburban everyday 9-5.

love your work even if not :)

You open the door, startled by such a forceful knock at this time of the day. Looking around, you see nobody anywhere nearby, if anything, an unnerving quiet had fallen over your neighborhood as if you were the only one around for a mile. Just as you were preparing to shut the door and return to whatever you were doing, you feel the tip of your toe hit something as you retreat back into your home. Looking down, a small package in nondescript brown packaging sat ominously at your feet.

No label, no return address, nothing. It was your birthday, so you thought to yourself that perhaps one of your neighbors was being kind and wanted to do something nice for a change. You pick up the box and gently shake it. Something loose inside of it rattles about, clearly not heavy, nor breakable. You take the box inside, sitting down onto the couch and begin to tear the brown paper from it. Atop the taped cardboard box, a small note was attached.

"Happy Birthday. Hopefully this brings you memories of a simpler time. Enjoy." The letter was unsigned, written in inhuman, clear lettering. Intrigued, you open the box. Inside, rolling around was a single cigar. You pick it up, feeling the smooth cylinder glide between your fingers. Smiling, you light it up, ready to unwind for just a moment. It is your birthday after all.

Taking one deep drag, you lean back into the sofa, exhaling a huge cloud of thick tobacco smoke. The cigar tastes funky, salty almost. The unexpected flavor takes you aback for a moment, though even stopping for one moment made you crave one more drag. Bringing it to your lips, you take another inhale, feeling your chest rise and fall as the cloud escapes your lips. The cigar feels at home between your lips as they plump up and stubble begins to crawl down from your sharpening jaw to your chest.

You rub your itching pecs as they begin to grow, your shoulders widen and square out with thick deltoids and traps. You take another drag. The sensation of smoke flows deep into you, coursing through your veins, filling your expanding biceps and rock hard forearms. Between your callousing fingers, worn from hard labor and barbell scratches, you roll your cigar and savor the newfound vitality which overwhelms your thickening muscles.

You slide your pants off as your quads inflate, setting off a stirring in your groin. Your balls grow heavy and pendulous, filled with thick, juicy, potent seed. Pre begins to leak out of the lengthening shaft, your new funky musk wafting from your damp pits and sweaty balls drives you wild as you begin to paw at your rock hard bulge. Slipping your increasingly moist boxers off, your 11" cock slams against your cum gutters throbbing with each burst of muscle growth in your calves. Taking it in your hand, you beat your musty donkey dick as you feel your toes strain against the confines of your socks, sweat pouring into the cotton fibers before the loud tearing sounds of the fabric giving way notate their inevitable demise.

You stroke faster and harder, your balls swinging and jumping with every tug of the meaty member. Your slick cockhead slipping in and out of the sticky foreskin inches you closer and closer until you can't contain yourself any longer. With one final slamming down of your fist onto your groin, ropes of sticky, thick cum shoot out of your cock like a geyser. Every shot your face grows younger, fuller, sharper. Your brows fall downward into a permanently furrowed look as your hair curls wildly, becoming a sweaty mop atop your chiseled skull.

Breathing out, you exhale the last remnants of yourself. Sitting there, covered in your own splooge, you chuckle to yourself as you rub the baby batter into your skin. You crack your toe knuckles and jump up, slipping on your favorite pair of Wrangler jeans and your ripe Timberland boots. Being sure not to forget your gifted cigar, you sauntered out the door, looking to find a good time to make your perfect birthday complete.

#happy birthday man

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mitchtheficus · 2 years

Text

A Golden Lovers Timeline

PART 1: LOVE AT FIRST SIGHT

The beginning of this story, covering the events leading to their first match and the forming of the Golden Lovers (2006 - 2008)

PART 2: LOVE AND SUCCESS

The Golden Lovers’ adventures in DDT (2009 - 2010)

PART 3: FALLING BEHIND

Their first foray into NJPW, the beginning of the end, and Budokan (2011 - 2012)

PART 4: THE GOLDEN LOVERS ARE NOT OVER

The end of their tag team, and Kenny’s last match in DDT (2013-2014)

PART 5: BETRAYAL

Kenny joins the Bullet Club and breaks Kota’s heart (2015)

PART 6: SEIZE THE THRONE

Kenny gets some new, sadder pants (Jan 2016 - June 2016)

PART 7: AND WAITING FOR HIM

The Pining Chapter (Aug 2016 - Sept 2016)

PART 8: WRESTLE KINGDOM 11

A wild Kota-lookalike in a tiger mask appears! (Oct 2016 - Jan 2017)

PART 9: I NEVER FORGOT ABOUT YOU

Kenny’s slowburn face turn (Feb 2017 - June 2017)

PART 10: RETURN

Kenny says a lot of things about Kota being back in njpw (June 2017 - July 2017)

PART 11: A MEETING IN A HALLWAY

Kota tries to reach Kenny (July 2017 - Aug 2017)

PART 12: THE AMERICAN NIGHTMARE

Cody Rhodes enters our story (Dec 2016 - Dec 2017)

PART 13: WRESTLE KINGDOM 12

Kota reclaims the Phoenix Splash (Dec 2017 - Jan 2018)

PART 14: CRISIS

New Years Dash, January 5, 2018

PART 15: REUNION

New Beginning in Sapporo, Jan 27-28, 2018

PART 16: HOMECOMING

Immediate Elite fallout and Golden Comeback Documentary (Jan 2018 - Feb 2018)

PART 17: HONOR RISING

Shit hits the fan (Feb 2018)

PART 18: WHERE WAS HE

Matt Jackson’s Feelings

PART 19: STRONG STYLE EVOLVED

The Saddest Match Ever (Feb 2018 - March 2018)

PART 20: WE CAN’T TRUST THIS GUY

Kenny visits ROH and the bucks see Cody’s true face (March 2018 - April 2018)

PART 21: THIS IS WHAT LOVE LOOKS LIKE

The Lovers spend Wrestlemania Weekend in New Orleans (April 5-7, 2018)

PART 22: REACHING OUT

The bucks try to repair their relationship with Kenny (May 2018 - June 2018)

PART 23: THE POWER OF LOVE

Dominion, June 9, 2018

PART 24: VIDEO GAMES AND THE COW PALACE

The lovers play video games and Cody chooses friendship over power for once (June 2018 - July 2018)

PART 25: MARATHON

Kota fights his way through the G1 (July 2018 - August 2018)

PART 26: TWO PEOPLE THAT SHARE ONE HEART

G1 Climax Semi-finals and Finals (August 10-12, 2018)

PART 27: THE SEA BETWEEN US

The End

[NOW ON WORDPRESS]

#goldenloverstimeline #the golden lovers #kota ibushi #kenny omega

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lightandheatao3 · 4 months

Text

The Bunker - Criminal Minds

Chapter 14: The Photograph

Summary: Spencer Reid wakes up in a locked bunker to find half the current BAU and two of its departed members unconscious on the floor. The old team is back together but the reunion is not what any of them would have wished for. An Unsub from their past has decided it's time they all stop keeping secrets, even if it means exposing them by force.

Hotch and Derek have been pulled back into a world they tried to escape. Emily, Rossi, and JJ are doing their best to keep it together. Spencer is falling apart.

AKA a found family is reunited and forced to go through the most nightmarish version of family therapy imaginable.

Set months after the end of Criminal Minds: Evolution. Evolution referenced, but not necessary to understand the story.

Chapter Summary: The team look at photos.

Read chapter 14 on AO3 or under the cut. Please check AO3 for content warnings. All comments and reblogs are extremely appreciated <3 I would love to know what you like about the story :)

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13

The photographs formed a storyboard of the past year of their lives.

They must have been at it for hours, meticulously sorting them into what they figured was as close as they could get to chronological order. They lined the photos up side by side on the floor, taking up the length of an entire 30 foot wall two rows deep, a colorful collage of their shared violation.

They process was clinical and procedural. This was as much hard data as they'd had since they got there and unassailable professional instinct made the next steps clear. It felt good to have something tangible to work with, even if the subject matter was unsettling.

There was a silent agreement not to press each other for context on any of the photographs beyond time, date, and location: All the details needed for a detailed timeline and geographical profile.

They didn’t comment on the photograph of JJ in a bar with a half empty pint of beer and tears in her eyes, still wearing her work clothes. They didn’t ask Hotch about the photo of him and Jack in a parking lot clearly in the middle of an argument.

Even a person with nothing in the world to hide would have moments they didn't want to share over the course of an entire year of their lives.

At one point Derek deviated just a moment from their agreement and chuckled at a photo of Spencer in an expensive apartment sitting on a leather sofa, very close to a rather pretty woman. The picture was taken through the wall to ceiling windows from somewhere in the high-rise across the road. "Friend of yours?" he asked.

“Sort of,” said Spencer, taking the photo and examining the details so he could date it. He looked at both of their outfits, at the length of his hair, at the drink in her hand. He closed his eyes and sifted through every interaction he’d had with that woman in that apartment until he landed on the one with the corresponding details. “3rd of August 2023, 1:30am, Washington D.C. I was there to buy narcotics,” he said, tight lipped. “She’s my dealer.”

With shaky hands, he passed the photo back to Derek, who stared at it again, dashed of any humor.

After a while, he set the picture in its place in the timeline and made no further comments on any of his photos. He noticed the others all stopping to take a look at it with varying degrees of subtlety.

Well, except for Emily, who bent down to look and said, “God damn,” and wolf whistled. “You two look pretty cozy."

“It's not like that," he said sheepishly. "For one, I think you're more her type than I am," he said with a shrug. "I wouldn't call her a friend, but I guess it was good having someone to talk to who already knew how screwed up I was. She's nice enough."

"For a drug dealer," muttered Derek, shuffling through a stack of photos.

Spencer quirked his lip. "I'm not exactly in a position to judge, am I?"

Derek tapped the photos in his hand, straightening them out. "I guess not."

A few minutes later, when Derek handed Spencer a photo taken in that same apartment, he did so wordlessly, extending his arm without even looking up from the photos in his other hand.

A shiver ran down his spine at the confronting image. It was a picture of him slumped back on that same nice leather couch, sleeve rolled up with a tourniquet loosened on his arm and a used needle on the coffee table next to him. His dealer was smoking a joint on the armchair across from him.

He almost forgot why he was looking at the photo, transfixed as he was by the completely sickening thought of the others seeing him like this.

It occurred to him that he had never seen himself like this, either. He looked so sick. That wasn't surprising. He usually waited until he got home to shoot up. The only exceptions to that were when he was particularly desperate for a fix. Or when he couldn't bear to be alone.

As he stared at the photo, a violent vision of digging his nails into his scar and tearing it open intruded into his mind.

He shook his head, clearing it of the disturbing thoughts.

“Um... September 13th 2023. 1pm,” he said, reminding himself of the task at hand.

He handed the photo back to Derek, not sure if the other man was avoiding looking at him out of respect or disgust, but grateful for it either way. As he passed it over, he fumbled, dropping the photograph, which floated dully to the floor and landed face down.

“Shit,” he muttered, pulling his hand back and clenching his fist as best he could, trying to control the trembling and biting back a hiss at the pain that shot through his forearm. “Sorry.”

Derek ignored the dropped photo and finally looked Spencer in the face. “That’s like the fifth time you’ve dropped something since we started this,” he said seriously. “Let me look at your hand,” he said, reaching out for Spencer's left hand without waiting for an answer.

He pulled it away. “It’s fine,” he said. “I'm just shaky. It's mild withdrawal symptoms. It’s not that bad.”

After two weeks on a high dose of fentanyl, some withdrawals were inescapable, but it was nothing compared to what he went through before. It still pretty much sucked, but at least he wasn’t feverish.

"It's not just withdrawal," interjected Hotch, stepping up behind Derek and folding his arms. "Every time you fumble, it's your left hand. This isn't going to go away just because you ignore it," he said firmly. "Let Morgan take a look."

Spencer knew he was right, even though he was trying very hard not to know it. The others had stopped what they were doing and were watching the interaction with interest.

He sighed, bracing himself. He held out his mangled left arm to Derek, who grasped his wrist and turned his hand palm-up. He studied it, prodding the muscles around the scar.

Spencer stared at the wall behind Derek's head, looking anywhere except the horrible, foreign flesh that he used to recognize as his arm.

“Any numbness or tingling?” asked Derek.

After a moment’s hesitation, he nodded. “Some.”

Derek pursed his lips unconsciously. He put his fingers on Spencer’s and gave a probing scratch with his own fingernail. “Can you feel that?”

He shrugged halfheartedly. “A bit. The sensation is limited.”

Derek moved his fingers to Spencer’s palm and repeated the previous action. “Here?”

Spencer shook his head. “Barely.”

“Okay,” Derek said, sounding decidedly less than okay. “Tell me when you feel normal sensation again.”

He dragged his fingernail from Spencer’s palm, up to his wrist, and then to the forearm. He was halfway up Spencer’s forearm before he stopped him.

It wasn’t as if this was news to him, but having it validated in the furrow of Derek’s brow was an unexpected blow.

It would have been easier to keep telling himself it was just detox messing with his nervous system.

The others were all gathered in close now, unabashedly observing the impromptu examination.

Derek held out both of his own hands, three fingers raised to the roof on each side. “Try and squeeze both of my fingers as hard as you can,” he instructed.

Spencer did as he was asked, already knowing what the result would be, but somewhat morbidly curious to figure out just how fucked he was.

His right hand squeezed just fine, but the left struggled to form itself into a proper fist, let alone apply meaningful pressure. A burning pain shot through his forearm at the effort.

He dropped his hands pathetically to his sides, finally able to look at Derek now that he didn’t have to risk looking at his scar in the process. He felt the urge to shove his hands in his pockets and was irritated that the scrub pants didn’t have any.

“What’s your diagnosis?” he asked sardonically.

Derek raised an eyebrow at him. “You tell me, genius. Numbness, weakness, loss of fine motor function, and I’m willing to bet you’ve got some pain you’re not talking about.”

“I must have severed the median nerve,” he said tiredly. “It’s unlikely that I’ll ever recover full function.”

“It’s still early days,” chimed in Emily. “You’ve barely healed and haven’t exactly had world class medical care. Don’t count yourself out just yet.”

He once again resisted the urge to shove his hands into his non-existent pockets and settled for crossing his arms instead. “It’s fine, guys,” he said flatly. “We have a job to do. This can wait.”

There was no arguing with that. The damage was already done and worrying about it wasn't going to fix it.

With a few lingering looks of concern, they all returned to the task at hand. Derek bent down and picked up the fallen photo, glancing at it one last time before putting it in its proper place.

When they were done, they had an imperfect but extensive timeline, including geographical information.

Spencer studied every photograph and sifted through every detail of date time and geography in his mind. He pictured a map, marking each location with pushpins, just like he had on the walls of so many police precincts around the country.

Eventually, he came to one inarguable conclusion.

“There was more than two of them.”

“Are you sure?” asked Emily.

He knelt down, picking up three photos that were placed next to each other on the floor. “Here I am near the West Virginia border on the same day Hotch is in Kentucky. Fine, we know that they work as a pair. It’s possible they had an equal division of labor with the stalking. It’s an unusual dynamic, but we knew that already. But this,” he said, holding up a picture of Emily having lunch with her mother in DC, “was taken at lunchtime on the same day. In ideal traffic, the earliest time they could have gotten from me to Emily is 5 hours, which would have been closer to 3.30pm. Now, theoretically, you could make it from Hotch’s house to Louisville airport in an around 90 minutes, with check in 40 minutes before hand, and be in DC just in time to get this picture. But why? Why go that effort and expense just to get a picture of you at lunch with your mom? Not to mention, they would have to locate you within the city first. How many time a year do you even see your mom? Twice? Three times?”

“Less if I can help it,” said Emily with a grimace.

“Exactly. This isn’t a routine part of your schedule. And you said it was a last-minute arrangement. She wasn’t even supposed to be in the city.”

“That’s right. They couldn’t have known where I was going to be. I didn’t even know where I was going be until the time where they would have been on the plane with no cell service,” she said, clicking her finger as she followed his train of thought.

“And the other one would have been in rural Virginia in a location that was intentionally without cell service-”

“So even in the absolute worst case scenario where they bugged our phones somehow, it wouldn’t have been possible for them to listen in on my mom’s call. They couldn’t have known where I would be.”

“And the most generous timeline would still require them knowing exactly where to go as soon as they landed in DC,” Spencer finished. “They must have had help.”

“You don’t think there could be a third Unsub, do you?” asked JJ worriedly.

“No,” said Spencer. “I doubt it. The way he talked about her, I don't think he would even be capable of forming any kind of meaningful trusting relationship with another person. I don't think their dynamic allows for a third party.”

“What if they didn’t have just one person helping them?” said Rossi. “Think about it. Not one of us noticed that we were being stalked for over a year? Reid, you have an eidetic memory. No matter how careful they are, the fact is if you see the same face enough times, eventually you’ll notice, right?” Spencer nodded. “Never mind that we’re all profilers, most of whom are more than a bit hypervigilant. But if it was four, five, a dozen people sharing the load? That’s a lot harder to spot.”

“You think they contracted their stalking out?” said Hotch, a touch incredulous. “That’s a pretty high risk approach.”

“I don’t think they contracted out all of it,” clarified Rossi. “They’re too obsessive and controlling for that. They would have done the more intimate digging into our lives themselves. But I think they may have hired on PIs for a lot of the day-to-day stuff, including actively following us, photographing us, and learning our routines. Unless anyone has a better theory.”

“Something like that would take a lot of money,” pointed out Derek. “Especially to have people following FBI agents. Buying discretion for a job like that isn’t cheap. Not to mention the associated costs of keeping their identities hidden from the people they hired. It kind of makes sense. I mean, look at this place. It would have taken them a lot of time and resources to set this up. It would be pretty difficult to do that while stalking six people full time.”

“If our profile is correct and we’re dealing with a former prisoner and prison nurse, then how would they have access to that kind of money?” asked Spencer.

They all traded looks before settling on Emily, their default leader. Funny, even Hotch was looking to her.

She sputtered, giving a half shrug. “I wish I had a theory, but I don’t think we have enough information. All of these conclusions are speculative at best, for now. We’ll keep working on it. But for the moment, let’s focus on the positive. If they really were hiring outside help, that’s great for us. Every person involved in this is a weak link in the chain. It doesn’t matter how careful they were or how well they concealed their identities. Things like this leave a trail.”

"I don't think they meant for us to figure this out," said Spencer. "These photos are carefully curated, and everything they presented us was within a plausible time frame. If this is information they didn't want us to know, then it's information we might be able to leverage somehow."

"That's great," said Emily with a smile. "Every new thing we learn is helpful. Good work, everyone."

The congratulatory moment was short lived when a clang at the door made them all jump

A moment later, one paper bag was deposited in the door chamber, followed by another, both by the same single gloved hand that had become so familiar.

Spencer sprung into action. He’d been waiting for this chance. He stepped quickly to the door, leaning down to speak through the hatch.

“I heard you,” he said. “You were in the room with me. I remember you.”

The hatch was halfway to being closed, but it halted before it could fully seal.

Adrenalin surged and his brain kicked into overdrive. She had never responded to their attempts to talk to her.

This was new.

“You saved my life,” he said, taking another step forward. “He wanted to let me die but you said no. Thank you."

He paused, leaving a space he hoped she would fill with a response.

Silence.

He pressed on. "He’s a sadist. He's not like you. He doesn't want what you want. He won’t indulge you forever.”

The hatch pulled shut and resealed itself.

Apparently, that was not what she wanted to hear.

He looked back at the others. Nobody said anything. What could they say? It was too soon to know what kind of affect his words might have had.

"That's more of a reaction than any of the rest of us have ever got," JJ pointed out. "That's progress."

"Yeah," he said simply.

Being closest to the door, Spencer opened the hatch. He grabbed one of the bags, feeling instantly from the weight that it contained their food. He tried to grab the second bag, but received a viscous reminder that his other hand didn’t work anymore when searing nerve pain shot up his entire arm. He pulled back, cringing.

Emily stepped in, grabbing the second bag for him.

They all watched as he and Emily opened their respective deliveries. His contained fruit and nutritional shakes, as expected. He sifted through in case there was a note inside, and when he found nothing, he placed the bag on the floor for everyone to help themselves to food.

“Huh,” said Emily next to him, staring into the bag.

“What?” asked Hotch.

Emily reached in and pulled out a deck of cards. She tossed it to Hotch, who caught it easily and turned it over curiously. She reached back in and pulled out a soft rubber ball next, just big enough to fit in her hand. She tossed that one to Derek.

“What the fuck?” said a bewildered Rossi.

“There’s a note, I think,” said Emily. “Hold on.”

She dug into the bag with a rattling that indicated at least another couple of items were in there, and she pulled out a folded piece of paper. She put the bag down and unfolded the note.

“When you put me in a cage I saw many who wanted to die but I knew better. Truth is the only freedom that matters. You will understand in time. Be good and it does not need to hurt. Dr Reid,” she stopped abruptly, eyes skimming the page.

“What?” he asked nervously.

It couldn't be another secret. That didn't fit the pattern. It would be JJ, Hotch, or Derek next.

Emily glanced down at the discarded bag, picking it up and digging through it, scrunching the note in her hand as she did so.

“Prentiss?” queried Hotch, approaching her.

She stopped what she was doing for a moment to wordlessly hand him the note, then went back to the bag. She tossed items on the floor as she went. A self-help book titled Radical Honesty: How to Transform Your Life by Telling the Truth, which was entirely too on the nose to the point where he almost rolled his eyes. A pack of crayons and an adult coloring in book.

“What in the actual hell is going on?” said JJ, looking at the strange assortment of objects. "Cheesy self-help books? A mindfulness coloring book? Does she have a 'live love laugh' throw pillow in there, too?"

Emily ignored her. She dropped the bag, apparently finding what she'd been looking for.

She held a triangular leather case, like the kind you’d put glasses in. Hotch, who had finished reading the note, stared at the case like it might come to life and bite Emily’s hand off. She peaked inside then closed it back up, shooting Hotch a significant look and gripping it tight in her hand.

Spurred on by the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach and their infuriating silence, Spencer reached out and snatched the note from Hotch’s hand.

“Spencer…” said Emily helplessly, and the instant he glanced at the note he understood why.

Dr Reid, you are hurting. You can make it stop. It is your truth. Nobody else can chose for you. You cannot dispose of or destroy it. Break these rules and you will all be hurting.

He looked at the case in Emily’s hand.

He dropped the note on the floor, hands trembling more than ever. Someone behind him picked it up, but he wasn’t paying attention to who.

“What’s in the case?”

“You shouldn’t have to do this,” she said sadly. "It's not fair."

“You read the note, Emily. The last thing we need right now is to get gassed again or to lose our food supply or whatever the hell the next so called punishment is going to be. Let’s just get this over with,” he demanded.

After one last silent check in with Hotch, who could only shake his head helplessly, she extended the case to him. It was within an inch of his hand when Derek reached over from behind him and snatched it away.

“Absolutely fucking not,” he said, the note scrunched in his hand.

He tossed the ball of paper over to JJ, who read it alongside Rossi. A moment later, “What fresh fucking psychodrama are we in now?” from Rossi signaled that everyone in the room was up to date.

Derek opened the pouch and pulled out a single syringe filled with a clear liquid.

His heart skipped a beat as Derek’s thumb raised up to the capped needle, ready to snap it off.

“Morgan, wait!” yelled Hotch, hands raised to Derek in a halting gesture.

Derek froze, lip twitching with the heavy effort of self-restraint. “We're not doing this, Hotch, I swear to fucking god I don’t care what the consequences are.”

“I don’t…” Hotch struggled to string together a thought. His face was pallid and he looked like he might be sick. “None of us want to be here, but we’re here. We’re all going to do what we need to in order to survive. That’s what we agreed.”

“This is an escalation,” said JJ. “She’s moving beyond coercing us into revealing information. If we let her coerce us into physical action, where does this stop?”

The argument continued around him, but he wasn’t listening. His whole body itched. It was just him, alone in the room, staring at a syringe and weighing up the value of his life against the prick of a needle like he had a thousand times before.

“Everyone just shut up!” yelled Emily, snapping him back to reality. He locked eyes with her. They were all watching him. “What do you want to do?” she asked, paying no mind to the others.

What did he want to do?

He turned his back on all of them, raising his one functioning hand to rub at his forehead.

What did he want to do?

His words to Derek rang in his ears. I would shoot up right now, right here in this fucking room while you watched. He’d meant it. He’d really meant it at the time.

Then he decided to go and open a vein right here in this fucking room while they all watched.

He'd only just got back to them. Everything was different now and would be different forever and he hadn't even had time to understand how and the only thing he knew with absolute certainty was that every functional nerve remaining in his body was screaming for him to just take the needle and-

He swung around to face them all. “Give it to me,” he demanded, holding out his hand to Derek.

Derek looked him up and down. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“What difference does it really make at this point?” he asked, sighing. “This wouldn't be the first needle I've stuck myself with. It wouldn't be the hundredth. You think this one is the difference between me being a junkie or not? This isn’t worth putting everyone at further risk for. Just give it to me.”

Derek’s nostrils flared. The fist that wasn’t threatening to snap the needle clenched and unclenched by his side. After a long, excruciating moment, he looked away from Spencer and loosened his grip on the syringe, holding it out to him.

He didn’t look at Spencer as he took it from his hand.

Spencer looked down at it, studying it. He twirled it in his fingers for a second, the way he would with a coin in a magic trick. For just a moment, he let himself feel, once again, like he was alone in the room with it.

Then, he took three strides to the door, opened the chamber, and dropped the syringe inside. He slammed the hatch shut with quite a bit more force than was necessary and made an exodus to far side of the room.

A ripple of relief spread through his companions. “Thank god,” he heard JJ sigh.

He closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. A hand came to rest on his shoulder and he opened his eyes to see Derek.

“Thank you,” he said.

Spencer nodded.

He faced the others. “Look, I’ve been back here less than a day. I’m literally sweating fentanyl right now and I can't think about any of this, so if we can agree to pretend it isn’t there and this isn’t happening until she removes the trash at the next food delivery, that would really help me out.” He looked up at the camera, meeting it’s blinking red light with a stony glare. “I won’t play this fucking game with you.”

He couldn't dispose of it, as per the note, but that didn't mean he had to engage. He could exhibit an iota of self-control, for once.

“Hey, it’s alright, Spence. You’re right, let’s not think about it,” said Emily. “Besides, we need to talk about what all this other shit is,” she said with a sweeping gesture at the odd assortment of objects that were strewn across the floor.

“I think what you did really scared them,” said Hotch. “They’re starting to realize you can’t just lock people up indefinitely with no stimuli and expect them to just endure.”

Emily picked up the self-help book and scrunched her nose at it. “If their goal is to stop us all from killing ourselves, the thought of this being the only book I’ll ever get to read again is having the opposite effect.”

Spencer was the only one who met her with a laugh instead of a chastising look.

“Why don’t we take a short break from profiling, put our respective breakdowns on hold, and just for one second pretend that this situation isn’t completely, irrevocably fucked up?” said Rossi, holding up the new deck of cards with a playful wave.

“Rossi’s right,” said Emily. “Sorting through those photographs was rough on all of us, and we've been at it for hours. We can discuss what all of this means for the profile after we’ve eaten and had a break.”

In agreement, they all helped themselves to a piece of food, though Spencer could hardly stomach the thought of eating and was doing so for their benefit more than his own, and arranged themselves in a circle.

He sat with his back to the door. He was not going to turn his head. He was not going to look at it. He was not going to look at it. He was not going to look at it.

Rossi shuffled up the deck. Derek had grabbed the small rubber ball for himself and was absently throwing and catching it where he sat while they settled in.

“So, should I let you all win a round of cards in order to boost morale?” smirked Spencer.

He had a tendency to clean up when they played together on longer trips on the BAU jet, much to both Rossi and Luke’s continuous annoyance, both of whom fancied themselves pretty good players.

There was a pang in his chest at the thought of his absent teammate. How were Luke and Penelope and Tara coping? They must be out of their minds. He missed them all deeply.

“Glad to see your piercing wit remains intact despite everything,” shot back Rossi. “Don’t do us any favors, kid, because I know you’re at less than peak performance and I fully intend to use it against you. Five card draw, aces high, no mercy,” he quipped, dealing out the hand.

With the game agreed on, they politely pretended not to notice as he struggled to rest his cards in his bad hand in order to free up his dominant hand for play. By pulling up his knee and resting his arm on it, he managed to finagle a position that allowed him to maintain a loose grip without much pain. Both his hands were shaking from withdrawal, but if he moved slow he could make it work.

A few hands in, and Spencer was surprised by how immersed he was. The only person who had managed to win a hand against him so far was JJ. She wasn't usually as into it as the rest of them, but the stress was bringing out a competitive streak that he'd rarely seen in her, including a fair bit more swearing than he'd heard from her since she had kids.

“The pattern is obvious,” said Hotch, unprompted, halfway through a hand. He had been putting in the bare minimum effort to participate, being the first to fold most rounds.

“The pattern where Reid keeps kicking our butts?” said Rossi, raising an eyebrow.

“Not my fault,” said Spencer. “You all know-”

“You’re from Vegas, yes, my god, we know,” said Emily, discarding her hand in exasperation. “You’ll feel right at home when we ban you from playing cards just like all the casinos did.”

“After this hand,” said Rossi, “we’re switching to Snap.”

Spencer huffed a laugh and looked at his trembling hands. “That, you might have an advantage in.”

He was almost having fun.

If he focused hard enough on the game and made the effort to joke around with them he could forget for a moment that he wanted to rip his own skin off. He could ignore the sickness, the flashes of vivid red that saturated his brain every time he caught sight of his scar, the loaded syringe sequestered in the hatch behind him.

Smile, laugh, joke, win another hand, joke, laugh, promise them, promise them he wants to keep living. If they wouldn’t believe his words, then he could show them. He’s laughing, he’s joking, he loves them. He wouldn’t hurt himself because he loves them. He’s not going to hurt himself. He promises. Different to the last time he promised because this time, he means it.

None of them were okay either but for his benefit, for all their benefits, they played the game. The least he could do is return the favor.

The least he could do is play the fucking game and stop thinking about where he’d stick the needle since his left arm was too freshly scarred to shoot up in right now and his dexterity was too fucked in his left hand to inject in his right arm, so he’d probably have to do it between his toes. That’s fine, he’s done it before, but it’s not the most hygienic-

“That’s not what I meant,” said Hotch, blessedly interrupting his train of thought. Hotch placed his cards down, face up, giving up any pretense of caring about the game. “The cycle of withholding and rewarding. It’s escalating. She trying to foster co-dependency, with her as some kind of maternal figure and us cast in the role of her children.”

Rossi rubbed at his forehead, tossing his own cards down. “Yeah,” he agreed sombrely. “We don’t clean our room, we don’t get dinner. We follow the rules, she ‘rewards’ us with the means of survival and demands gratitude. She’s likely recreating the same dynamic from her own childhood. If I had to guess, I’d say that imprisonment wasn’t her first experience with confinement. Her arrest and incarceration acted as a trigger, forcing her to relive that original trauma.”

"That's why she's so fixated on us. She perceives us as being responsible for her reliving her abuse and she wants to force us to live through it too, only this time, with her in the position of power," said Emily.

They all leaned in, thoughtful and considered, just as he’d seen them on hundreds of cases before.

“And what happens when abusive parents finally realize that their children can leave them?” asked JJ pointedly.

“Love bombing,” said Derek. “They do a 180 on the withholding behavior and do everything in their power to convince their victims that they’re safe, and to foster dependence in the process.”

Emily picked up the thread. “The gifts, the photographs and their tacit implication that they could be involving our families in this, but choose not to, the additional privileges and luxuries are all ways to make us stay. You know, this place is so secure, if there was a way out, we would have found it a long time ago. Whatever abuse she may have experienced, my bet is she compensated by developing an exaggerated self-preservation instinct. She’s someone who would do anything to survive, no matter the circumstances. She twists her trauma in her mind, re-contextualizing it as something that made her stronger and better. If she sees us as extensions of herself, she may not have anticipated that we could respond in ways she wouldn’t have.”

Spencer rubbed at his arm uncomfortably. “She leaned on deprivation and punishment as primary means of control because it never occurred to her that we might need to be persuaded to endure it.”

Hotch’s eyes flicked to somewhere behind Spencer’s head. To the spot on the door that he was diligently refusing to look. “That’s why she’s doing this to you,” he said. “What you did has thrown her plans off balance. She wants you to be dependent, but she’ll take it away as soon as you aren’t playing into her fantasy effectively enough.”

“I know,” he said tersely.

Of course she was trying to control him. She was trying to control all of them. He just had the misfortune of having a convenient dependence ready to go before they were even kidnapped.

Hotch’s face softened. “But knowing that doesn’t make it any easier,” he said sympathetically.

Spencer wrapped his arms around his knees. “Not particularly,” he admitted.

The crinkles around Hotch's eyes were deeper than they used to be, but there was more than that. He had laughter lines. Even as he frowned, the lines were visible. They hadn’t been there when he was with the BAU.

His jawline was softer when they had first woken up in the bunker, and while the weight had dropped off all of them during their detour into starvation, the skin hadn’t quite tightened up. The affects of age were showing in more than just the salt and pepper hair.

Everything that was different about Aaron Hotchner, yet the look he gave Spencer that made him feel like he could see right through him was exactly the same as it ever was.

He knew there was a question coming before the other man even opened his mouth to speak.

“Is there any part of you that’s doing this for yourself or is it all for our benefit?” There was no reprisal in his tone. Just sincere, morbid curiosity. “I know the only reason you're not using that needle is guilt. Do you care at all about what happens to you next?”

He sighed. “What do you want me to say?”

“The truth.”

Not for the first time, Hotch needed something from him. All these questions and there was something he needed Spencer to say. He wanted to give it to him, but try as he might, he couldn’t figure out what it was.

Spencer rubbed at his eyes, allowing himself a split second fantasy that he would look up and be alone, with nobody there to hurt when he opened that hatch and claimed the only ‘next’ that had mattered to him for a long time: His next fix.

“I’m glad I didn’t die, I don't plan to hurt myself, and I don’t intend to get high,” he said carefully. “Those statements are true. Does it really matter why they’re true?”

Hotch mused, pursing his lips. “I suppose it doesn’t right now,” he said eventually.

Spencer looked at him. Really looked at him. He caught the looks on the others faces in his peripheral vision, an array of fascination and worry. Something clicked.

"What about you, Hotch?" asked Spencer.

Hotch blinked, straightening up minutely. He looked as if he'd just remembered that they weren't the only two people in the room.

"What about me?"

"Are you going to be okay?"

Hotch looked taken aback. He reached down and picked up his discarded hand of cards, shuffling them absently. He glanced around the circle at the others, all of whom were awaiting his response.

Eventually, with the utmost composure, he said, "We're all alive, which means it's still possible we'll all make it out of here and get back to our families. As long as that's true, I'm fine." He picked up the rest of the deck that was sat in front of Rossi and started shuffling that too. "I'm sick of poker. Let's play something else."

They all accepted the diversion, chiming in with suggestions for different games. Now wasn't the time to push. There was only so much they could all take at once.

Was this what Hotch felt like with him? Why he was so intent on trying to figure him out?

It was such a lonely feeling, to be a stranger to someone who used to be family. There were times where he felt like they were all a team again, but then these little moments would come along and remind him that they didn't know each other anymore.

He turned away, chancing a glance at the door that contained the hatch that contained the one solution to his problems. The room felt smaller than it ever had.

"Spencer," whispered Emily. "Ignore it," she reminded him.

Right. Ignore it. There was nothing there. There was nothing in the world except the people in front of him.

He picked up the hand of cards that had just been dealt in front of him, ready to play.

#criminal minds fic #spencer reid angst #aaron hotchner #bau team #bau team as family #criminal minds #criminal minds evolution #derek morgan #emily prentiss #criminal minds fandom #spencer reid whump #spencer reid fanfiction #dr spencer reid #spencer reid #spencer reid hurt/comfort #criminal minds hurt/comfort #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds angst

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goodlucktai · 2 months

Text

tagged by @bobtheacorn like...... 3 weeks ago 😭 my bad

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

283

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

1,353,670

which seems.......excessive

3. What fandoms do you write for?

actively, one piece and tmnt, but that is ruled by the demons in my brain that control the hyperfixation machine.

fandoms ive posted 3 or more fics for:

Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles Natsume Yuujinchou | Natsume's Book of Friends Good Omens Final Fantasy XV Undertale Mumintroll | Moomins Series Harry Potter Young Justice 僕のヒーローアカデミア | Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia 陈情令 | The Untamed King Falls AM Percy Jackson and the Olympians Rise of the Guardians Voltron: Legendary Defender

4. Top five fics by kudos?

Exclusivity - 11,116

walk straight through hell with a smile - 9,152

Inanition - 9,039

there is thunder in our hearts - 8,161

trouble is a friend of mine - 7,842

5. Do you respond to comments?

i do try to but i can't always :'( and i feel terrible if i manage to reply to most and then forget someone and only realize it months later. but i read every single comment and i appreciate them more than i have words for

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

i tend to veer away from angst, but off the top of my head....

where the good men go or if i go i'm going on fire

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

99% of my fics have a happy ending because thats my BRAND but i suppose give me something that'll haunt me when you're not around or the weekend we were in love OR put your empty hands in mine

8. Do you get hate on fics?

not often, but i recently had someone who REALLY disliked the way things change because i 'villainized' raph. which is definitely news to me, since raphael is the love of my life

9. Do you write smut?

nope

10. Craziest crossover?

i wrote a tmnt/one piece crossover once ? but now that we are actually getting a tmnt/naruto idw run it doesnt feel that weird to me anymore

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

only once if i'm remembering right ?? it was a long time ago and wattpad related, which is a site that i dont really understand and therefore tend to avoid

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

yes ! i'll often have people request to translate my stories and it blows me away every time

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Devil took your hand was written by myself and @moogsthewriter

14. All time favourite ship?

ineffable husbands, wangxian, or leosagi

15. What's a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

how much time do you have 😭

16. What are your writing strengths?

i want to say characterization and narrative voice. i'm also pretty good at maintaining a throughline, even if it sometimes gets a little wobbly

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

conflict ! i hate it ! i will avoid writing it at all costs ! i also tend to struggle with writing fight scenes, especially when there are several characters involved :') staging any kind of choreography is my opp

18. Thoughts on dialogue in another language?

i try not to but if it feels unavoidable i google the heck out of it

19. First fandom you wrote in?

honestly it was either digimon (which also inspired my og penname) or xiaolin showdown lol

20. Favourite fic you've written?

i'm stealing bob's idea and going top 5:

there is thunder in our hearts - this story came together so easily for me, like i knew exactly how i wanted to tell it from start to finish

the only hoax i believe in - a kfam fic in my top 5s why yes and i'll tell you why. because i poured so much of myself into this fic that they could probably read it at my funeral instead of a eulogy

traveling so far to get there - after party au raph and mikey continue to take up so much real estate in my brain and for what

now the darkness comes alive - this one is more recent but im so happy with the way it turned out :')

if we could stay all day in the sun - it was a lot of fun reimagining one of my favorite fairy tales and doing a bunch of unnecessary research for this story i will stand by it until the day i die !!

i'm tagging @mykimouser, @owletstarlet, @portgas-d-aroace, @mad4turtles, @camsthisky, @remedyturtles, @pickledcarrotsandradish, @swordsmans, @mangogreent, and anyone else who wants to !

#blah #my writing

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levis-coffeecup · 2 months

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chapter 28| The Aftermath

WC-4.5k

Summary

The underground is filthy and dark. Dim lights, dull alleys, and desperate hearts. A place Levi knows as well as the back of his hand, and a place he would do anything to get out of.

Chapters of life roll by and with the turn of a page, things drastically change. In front of him is the opportunity to live on the surface. And the flimsy bridge that he has to cross. From an uncivil criminal to a disciplined soldier.

But life on the surface seems tougher amidst all the mockery, civilities, and the gaping hole left in his heart, after the demise of his dear friends Isabel and Farlan.

Content/Warnings

canon- compliant, canon-typical violence, spoilers for No Regrets OVA, descriptions of PTSD, grief, depression, heavy angst and themes, strong language, self-hate, physical assault.

Author’s Note

Hiii guyssss,

This is the last chapter of the storyyy! And I can't wait for you guys to read it! (it's so hard to believe that I've finally completed this)

To everyone who's continued to put up with my erratic updates, I am so so grateful to have you here!! I hope this story was as enjoyable for you to read, as much as I enjoyed writing it!

This chapter takes place after the Rumbling, (aftermath refers to the aftermath of the Rumbling)

I hope you like this chapter as well! And this ending gives you all the feels lol!

Song for this chapter is The Joys And Sorrows Of Life by Johannes Bornlöf

Chapters

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23

Masterlist | Playlist | Other Works

JUN 854

The city of Jinae looks different without the walls.

The sun is scorching, and the streets are a blur of the heat waves rising from the cobblestone. And somewhere in the distance, someone argues about the morality of the Rumbling.

Mae is tired, maybe it's the afternoon heat, or maybe it's just the baby in her tummy that has made her womb so big. She drags her feet through the alleys of the market, wiping the sweat on her forehead with the back of her hand.

The produce looks fresh, excellent for the apple pie she's planning to make.

Raz trails behind her too, with a pained look on her face. She rests her hands on her knees, taking a moment to catch her breath. "Mae...You need to be at home resting... Instead of wandering in this horrible heat for a pie you want to make."

Mae halts for a minute, throwing a wistful look ahead at what's left of her lover. "But I want to make something for Levi... Don't you see how miserable he looks? He's not even spoken a word to me since he's come back from his mission."

And Raz presses her lips into a thin line, silencing her frustration.

"You know, the smell of my pies always made him happy. He would always take an extra slice when I wasn't looking." A warm smile crawls on Mae's face, and she remembers all the good times spent over pies and tea.

Her gaze falls down at the growing swell of her stomach. It's huge now, so huge that she can't see her toes when she looks down. And a cheeky grin spreads on her face.

She can't wait to make pies for both him and their child.

"Mae please," Raz sighs, tears well up in her eyes, and she increases her pace and catches up to her. "It's painful to watch you like this."

"Don't worry about me Raz," She beams with pride. "I'll be patient with him, I've always been patient with him."

What stands in front of her, is a ghost of what Levi used to be. His face is gaunt and pallid, and his sunken eyes are filled with emptiness. And yet she smiles back at him, patient and faithful.

The love in her eyes never fades, no matter what condition Levi might be in.

A couple meters away from her is an old lady sitting with baskets of apples. "Don't these apples look wonderful!" She exclaims, hoping to pull a reaction out of Levi.

The old lady smiles. "They are very juicy and crunchy, the best batch we've got in months."

"Ahh!" Mae exclaims. "It would make an amazing pie filling then, am I right?" She looks at him again, but no matter what she does, the lifelessness in his gaze never changes. And his mouth still remains pressed in a grim line, devoid of any hint of a smile.

Her patience runs thins, and her pregnancy hormones catch the best of her,

"You know it's rude not to reply back, DON'T YOU?" She yells, agitated. She's dripping in sweat, carrying her 6 month pregnant belly, and he can't even acknowledge her presence.

The people around her turn, caught off guard by her sudden outburst.

And Raz pinches the bridge of her nose. "MAE STOP IT!."... She scolds, as she grabs her wrist, and drags her towards the end of the market.

The walk is short and soon the scenery changes. The liveliness of the market drifts into the haunting silence of a cemetery.

And Raz pulls Mae through the hundreds of headstones planted over the grass, until she finds the one of the Lance Corporal. She knows the route like the back of her hand now.

The Lavender flowers they kept on his grave 2 days ago have wilted.

And Mae shudders as she steps closer to it. All her illusions shatter and she's held hostage to the cruelty of the world once again.

"N-No Raz," her voice crumbles, and she takes a step back, nodding her head in denial. " H-he was s-supposed to come back after the w-war."

The silence is haunting. And Mae recalls seeing this scene a million times before, in the dreams that would terrorize her sleep.

"I-its a bad dream... it's just a bad dream." she croaks, almost tripping on another gravestone behind her.

And she waits for Levi's arms to pull her out of this never ending nightmare. She waits to feel his tight embrace.

But there's only silence.

"He wouldn't have left me alone." The disbelief in her voice is palpable.

This is the reality of war. Some are lost, some are sacrificed, and some survive.

But rarely, do they remain whole enough to thrive.

"Enough of this foolishness Mae," Raz snaps.

It's the same routine everyday. With Mae pretending that Levi is next to her and alive, and Raz dragging her to his grave until she breaks down over and over again.

Her fingers latch onto Mae's wrist and she pulls her away. "It's been 2 weeks, and y- you need to take better care of your child.... come home with me right now."

But Mae stands paralyzed,overrun by the possibility of what could have been.

Her mind drowns in dissonance, and her heart outrightly rejects the thought of him leaving.

They were supposed to have two kids. They were supposed to open his tea shop as well. There were dreams she had nurtured with so much patience.

So how did they wilt before they got the chance to bloom?

And how did the plans she held so close to her heart become unattainable?

She feels numb. And she hides her voice in a broken whisper. " H-he can't leave me Raz... I-I gave him everything I could... A-all my love... All my e-energy a-and time."

Far away on the ground, lies a crumbled newspaper.

'Humanity's Strongest shattered to pieces due to a thunder spear explosion' it says. And just below the heading is an illustration of him, bleeding on the grass with scars on his face, and 2 fingers amputated.

The earth trembles. The lavenders grieve beneath their violet blooms. And the roses quiver by the tombs, lamenting the departed who rest beneath the hush of the graveyard.

"Fine then," Raz resigns, as she starts walking away ."If you're gonna keep being such a wreck then go be it. Come back to me when some sense has been knocked into your skull."

And Mae turns to the stone that is left of her lover. The moment draws, there's silence, loss and an unfinished promise.

Its gray falls dull compared to his eyes.

And then she breaks. Falling to her knees on the grass.

Grief leaks from her so violently, it frays her voice.

She sobs like a child who's lost in the dark. And his name falls from her lips like a dying wish. She whispers it over and over, as if saying it enough could bring him back.

Her ears crave to hear his voice. But there's nothing.

Languidly her arms drape around his stone. But the stone is cold. And Levi Ackerman is gone

A shining star in the colossal sky. So beautiful, so unattainable.

And just like she'd told him that day, he ran too fast. He left her behind.

When she opens her eyes again, there's rage in them. She wants to scream. She wants to hurt all over her body like it does deep inside her heart.

"You didn't come back to me, Levi," Her bitterness burns her into the edge of destruction and she punches his stone, until it makes her knuckles bleed. "How dare you break my heart like this?"

The wind turns cold, and darkness envelopes.

The grass is lush, and below that is Levi.

With no more loyalties, promises and responsibilities.

For years she loved the remnants of him. What was left of him after the Survey Corps took his best.

There were tales he didn't pay attention to. There were letters he didn't respond to. And she waited for years, hoping that one day he would come back with his duties behind him.

But the war consumed him before she ever could.

She didn't even get to see his body, before he got buried underground.

"I was saving all along to buy you your tea shop," Her voice shatters... "I almost had the entire amount." She traces over the carving of his name on his stone.

The walls are gone, and the world is at peace, but there's chaos in her life. And peace shall never touch her, not when the pain of losing her lover drags her into hell.

"What sins am I being punished for?" She weeps. Damned, absolved, condemned by her love. "Why am I always the one being left behind?"

The petals of the Lavenders she kept, fly off with the wind. The cold claws at her skin.

The road back is long and home is nowhere to be found.

And Mae lays down on his grave, with the harrowing void in her heart. Hoping the god of death blesses her with a visit soon, just like he did to her lover.

_______________________

The Survey Corps headquarters stand long forgotten.

The bricks, once a vibrant red, have faded to a muted rust, some crumbling and others overtaken by ivy and moss. The windows are translucent now, their glass fogged with grime, and dust.

The sun is long gone, and the headquarters look ghastly. But Mae doesn't want to go back to Raz, not when the sight of her and her husband living happily burns holes through her heart.

It takes her all of her strength to open the heavy door. The handles are rusted, and a cloud of dust welcomes her as she manages to push it open.

The interior of the headquarters is doused in darkness.

The fire from the torches is long blown off. The air is thick with the scent of decay and there's dust everywhere.

These hallways that were once vibrant with laughter and activity, are now soulless. Everyone's gone and an eerie silence has taken their place.

Levi would have hated seeing things this way.

Soon she reaches the gate of his quarters, and her heart shudders as she pushes it open.

The darkness is overwhelming, but she walks into it nonetheless. Just like the cemetery, grief awaits her here too,

All the time she's spent in these quarters makes them familiar. And even through the darkness she manages to walk to Levi's desk and pull a candle out from the first drawer.

The room comes alive with the flickering light of the candle. AndMae's eyes rove around, vision blurred with tears.

The ghost of his love haunts the bedroom, ever present in the bed that they made love in, and the couch where countless minutes were spent in silence.

It's a bitter reminder of how much she has lost.

And she wants to trash this place around.

His promise to save the world, ended up destroying hers.

And now she doesn't know how to live anymore.

Her grief comes crashing down on her, all over again. And Mae sulks, close to regretting her decision to be with him years back.

His room is exactly as she remembers, with a single bed under the window, and a small wooden cupboard on the opposite end.

And as she walks closer to it, her attention is caught by the fabric of his shirt that is pinched between the doors of his cupboard. He must have left in a rush.

She walks towards it, to shut it close. But as she opens the doors, a pile of his clothes falls to the floor.

He must have really left in a hurry, unless someone came in and snooped into his room.

It's a bit of a struggle to bend down, with her pregnant belly. But Levi hates messes and so she sits amidst the clutter of his clothes. Folding them in the same meticulous way he did it.

And that's when she notices the big cardboard box far at the back, kept at the bottom shelf.

It's probably all his belongings or a dump of his paperwork, but she pulls it out nevertheless, hoping to find anything that could give her closure.

The box is heavy and she puts it down on the floor.

The first thing she sees are all the letters she's ever written to him. Stacked in a tidy pile, in one corner.

Her breath catches in her throat. And the more she sifts through the box, the more she realizes that everything inside is just about her.

There's an empty box of a premium tea she got him for her birthday, and there's containers of all the spices she would get to make his food at the Survey Corps less bland.

There are books that she would read to him, and even a tag of a pair of socks she got him for the winters.

Her hands start to tremble.

Levi has preserved everything she's ever given him. Even the dried petals of the flowers she would gift him on his birthdays are neatly kept in an envelope.

Time slows down- and every moment is like a stab through her heart. Their entire journey as lovers passes through her eyes in a painful flash.

And she remembers being beyond the moon when she heard about the successful mission in Marley. Levi was alive, and he'd come back valiant.

She couldn't wait to see him again.

But then he wrote her a letter saying that Sasha was dead and to keep her distance, since Zeke was around.

She never thought that was the last time she would hear from him.

Everything that she once held close has been snatched, ripped apart from her heart. His presence has assimilated back into the soil that he came from

And she can only suffer, until she forgets the texture of his voice, and the butterflies she gets from his calloused touch.

It feels like the weight of the world has come crashing down on her shoulders. The feeling is agonizing. And she buries her head into the teddy bear she gifted him on the day he was shifting.

At the bottom of the box is an unassuming white envelope. It's paper isn't yellow like that of all her letters. And she gulps as she sees her name written on top of if, in his neat handwriting.

It feels heavier than usual, and her hand trembles as she breaks the seal open.

Inside is a single sheet of paper, folded neatly. And as she tilts the envelope to take the letter out, something metallic tumbles out, clinking softly against the floor.

Her eyes widen, and she slaps her hand over her mouth.

It's a wedding ring.... the same expensive, pearl ring that she saw in the market at Mitras.

Guttural sobs leak out of her mouth, and she wonders if the clenching inside her heart will ever stop. Because right now, her grief feels larger than the life she has ahead of her.

And with the last of her strength she opens his letter and reads it.

To my dearest Mae,

I remember the last time I was with you. The morning before I left

There was a heaviness in the air, wasn't it? You were busy making breakfast for me. And I could see the sadness that you were trying so hard to hide. For some reason I was scared to wipe your tears away, because a part of me knew I was the reason behind it.

It pains me to see you sad. It pains me to be away from you as well.

Today as I'm writing this, the world around me is on the brink of collapse. The future is so uncertain, and we don't know if Eren is on our side anymore.

I can't seem to read through anyone's intentions. Zeke is still an emotionless bastard, pretending to have compassion. And Eren... for once all the sacrifices I made seem useless. My squad died for this... Erwin died for this. A war seems inevitable, yes... and that is the only thing I'm sure of.

But this letter is not about me, it's about you.

War....Its destructive, its quick decisions taken against the fear clawing your mind. Its finding a way to win with a blade pressed to your neck. It's something you can never process until it finally ends. All my life I've known war. All my life I've won things through violence. I've taken quick decisions, not having too much time to ponder. But I hope you know that after a million of quick decisions and unforeseen hurdles , you're the only one that's felt right.

Sometimes I wonder how I got to have you by my side for so long. I can't believe we've come so far together. But I believe my luck has run out and my reprieve is over. I'm a sinned man after all.

Lucky would be the man, who gets to come home to you.

All my life I've known to survive. But you taught me to take a break and live. Thank you for staying by my side, when I gave you a million reasons not to.

You asked me if I believed in the afterlife. And I said yes, because somewhere the concept of all the people I have lost being together, and me having the chance to meet them, gave me comfort. But what is gone is gone. It can never come back. And fantasies like the afterlife hardly bring much solace to me, now that I stand at the edge of this war.

But I still hope that one day I get to meet you again. If not in the afterlife, then in another lifetime perhaps.

If you're reading this letter, then I'm probably dead. There's now way I'd let anyone touch this letter if my body was alive.

So go and be with someone, who'll have the courage to wipe your tears away. Go be with someone who'll be able to give you the love that you gave me. Be with someone who'll write you letters everyday.

The promise we made that night is still etched in my head. And you know how I am with my promises. You best believe that I've kept my part and now it's time for yours.

This letter is long, I can't believe I've written all this much. I hope it makes up for all the things I've kept bottled all along.

This journey has been painful, but if given a choice, I would do it all over again.

I hope that we have left this world a better, a safer place.

So go, live your life. I know you have a habit of sulking, and you're probably crying as you're reading through this. So stay with Raz and be kind to yourself.

Go walk on the grass, when the sunlight is warm.

I'll be watching over you.

-Yours always,

Levi

_______________________

The sunlight slithers past the gaps in the curtains, forcing the darkness of the bedroom to fade away.

The light is overbearing and unwelcome. And Mae struggles to blink her eyes open.

It's been a week since she's caged herself in his room. And she's still here, lying in a pile of his clothes that are slowly losing his scent.

She believes she's cried so much that she's out of tears.

It feels like the pain she feels, has found its abode in her heart and permanently

settled there.

She's lost the privilege of being able to trace over his scars. Or taste his lips as she captured them in a kiss. She'll never be able to hear his voice again. And no amount of memory can make her feel the warmth of his skin.

He's gone from this world, and she has lost him forever.

The storm that ripped her life apart, has finally settled down, and Mae is getting used to living in the destruction it has caused.

She believes that the entire world's grief has been spilt through her eyes.

And the state of Levi's room tells. It's as chaotic as her mental state.

There are pages scattered all over the floor. His cupboard is open, and its contents are littered all around. The bed is a mess as well, filled with the clothes Levi once used to wear. And his blanket is wadded at the foot of the bed.

It's quiet as usual, devoid of the sound of his movements. Outside the window, a twig from a tree drops to the ground.

And Mae watches its fall, still devoid of the strength to step out.

Knocks on the door startle her and she stirs, forcing herself to get up. It's probably Raz.

She came looking for Mae, the next day, awfully guilty and embarrassed for leaving her all alone at the cemetery.

Raz was nice enough to get her food twice everyday. Without her, Mae's corpse would have been rotting on the bed.

But what awaits her on the other side of the door is not Raz. Instead, in front of her stand two burly men, armed with guns in their hands.

They size her up and the mess of the room behind her.

She must be someone close to the Captain. Her state can tell.

All of a sudden, one of the two is stepping closer. With his fists balled at his sides, and an evident scowl on his face. "Who were you to that Traitor of a Captain?" he spits.

And Mae narrows her eyes at him.

They called him a hero before and then they called him a traitor.

The courageous captain. He was rude and selfless, deadly and kind. Proud, humble, strong-willed and reckless. And he was also so much more.

He was the lives he carried on his tired shoulders. He was the strength to keep moving forward even in the moments that broke him

But at the end of the day, when he took off his ODM gear, and stood in front of her without the weight of the world on his shoulders. In his scarred skin, and his broken bones. With the tidiness of a maniac and the patience of a ticking bomb.

It didn't take a genius to realize that Levi was so much more than the glory of his battles.

All of a sudden Mae can taste the salt of her tears on her lips. "He wasn't a traitor...He fought for humanity, all of humanity," she chokes.

He was his bravery, but he was also his restless mannerisms. He was the piece of his mom's gown that he wore as his cravat. And he was the pink on his cheeks when she called him beautiful. There were parts of him that were only hers to love, and to accept.

He was her pride and joy. Her hope in this godless world. And if the Yeagerists weren't around, maybe Levi could have gotten some medical assistance and survived.

"If you are one of the Yeagerists, you're not welcome here." She hisses, absolutely appalled. And then her voice turns into something sadder. "It's not like he can harm you anymore."

And just as she's closing the door, the other soldier steps in, putting his body in the closing gap.

It doesn't take him much strength to push the door open. Afterall he is a member of the military and she's weak from all her grief.

Mae's eyes widen with fear. She would have never thought they would stoop low enough to hurt a pregnant woman.

But he has a softer look on his face, which somehow contradicts his rough appearance. "Ease off, miss. We're not Yeagerists." And then he throws a glare at the soldier before he huffs. "Also Samuel... cool down please."

"We're not Yeagerists, but it wasn't fair for Commander Hange to kill her comrades, and to side with the outside world." Samuel scoffs, brimming with resentment.

Turmoil is thick in the Eldian Empire now. There's always been two sides of a coin, and hostility has spread its claws, holding it's people in the vice grip.

"Sorry, his brother was killed at the Paradis Harbour... in the fight to take the flying boat."

And Mae stays quiet, replaying his words in her mind. She has no consolation in her heart for his loss. The flying boat took off... but Hange never came back, nor did Armin, Mikasa or Jean... For all she knows, they were also crushed, just like the outside world.

Ships were sent two days after the Rumbling to see what was left of the world. But it's been a month and there hasn't been an update yet.

Guess that tells plenty about the extent of destruction caused by Eren. She can't believe she used to once feed snacks to that nervous little child.

"We're the Royal Queen's guards." The calmer soldier speaks out again. "My name is Claus. And we're here to empty out the headquarters... The Survey Corps no longer exists, and so it's the Queens Order-"

"The Captain's belongings will go nowhere." Mae cuts him off. " I'm taking everything with me."

And Samuel laughs sardonically, eyeing her pregnant womb. "And who exactly are you to the captain... a road gig? I'm pretty sure the Captain never married anyone."

And Mae knows she's supposed to defend herself. But she can't. The thought of putting together a few words makes her feel like she's going to plummet.

The world has given her so many trials. It has tested her at every age. She's tired now, so tired that she just wants to rest.

Get up and face the world. The message comes to her like a ray of light, in pitch blackness.

Get up and face the world. That's what Levi has always done.

It's as if she can hear his voice thrum somewhere in the back of her mind.

And that's what she will do. For the part of him that's growing inside of her.

She raises her right hand to make their allegations stop. And the pearl ring in her finger shines bright in the sunlight.

"I'm the widow he left behind."

Author's note:

I see you've made it to the end:)

I know some of you must be surprised with Levi being dead, but Floch was the only one who thought Levi might still be alive, and Floch died, so I think the news that would have gone out to the newspapers would be of Levi dying.

Also let me know if Mae being pregnant came out of nowhere.

I had left small clues of Mae being pregnant in the last chapter (her crying so much because Levi was leaving and wanting him to stay, and her placing his hands on the swell of her belly). Don't know if it was obvious though, please let me know if I should mention it more directly in her thoughts in the previous chapter.

Please let me know what you thought of this chapter. Any comments really make my day, and I would love to know what you thought of the fic!

Many thanks!

Also since I'm a graphic designer and I really want to get into illustration, I will make a book cover for this book and get one copy printed for me (let me know if you would be interested to see that, just incase)

(PS: this is not the last chapter lol. I was just messing with you all lol. Last chapter will be out in 2-3 weeks as I'm still not done with it)

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