#I spent so much time on the details on this

[fanfic-ya-know]

Did You Get the Feeling?

Pairing: Bob Reynolds x Thunderbolt!Reader +platonic Thunderbolts (mostly Yelena) x Reader

Word Count: 3.6k

Warnings: reader is afab, mentions of a toxic relationship, language, alcohol consumption

AN: I have not stopped thinking about Lewis Pullman in weeks - it's becoming a problem. SO enjoy this little fic kinda based on this song I like. This is probably going to get a second part, so let me know if you guys are interested in that! And, as always, please send me your thoughts and/or requests!

It had been a few weeks since you'd decided to break up with your shitty ex-boyfriend, and the only person on the team who knew was Yelena. Honestly, it was a long time coming, but you weren't ready for all the drama that came with ending a relationship. So you took it slow. With Yelena's help, you mourned the loss of the man you had devoted the last three years of your life to. She helped you work through all the stages of grief before you even told your boyfriend. It wasn't super fair to him, but after all he had put you through, you didn't really care.

Eventually, you worked up the nerve to tell him it was over, and he reacted exactly how you thought he would. First, he was defensive, telling you how much you'd be missing out on. Then he started getting more aggressive, calling you a bitch, saying that you were probably cheating on him with one of the guys on your team. Not that you ever would, but the idea wasn't entirely out of nowhere.

The two of you had fights before about Bob, about how much time you spent with him, about how much you texted him, and how you would drop everything in a moment's notice if he needed you. You sometimes felt bad about your relationship with Bob, and, for a while, even pulled back from it, in an effort to appease your boyfriend. But when that turned into him complaining about how clingy you suddenly were, you realized nothing you could do would please him. That was the beginning of the end.

Now, here you were, listening to him ramble on about how you'd never find another guy like him and how he's actually better off without you.

"Great," you said, cutting him off. "Thanks for being so understanding." Then, you finished gathering your things from his apartment and left. You felt free. You felt like you could fly.

By the time you reached the tower, though, you felt like you needed a drink. Somewhere during the walk home, your ex's words had sunk in. Maybe you would never find someone else. Maybe he was the best you could get, and you just blew it. He put up with a lot of your shit and almost never complained about your job. And now you had just thrown three years down the drain.

When you stepped into your room, you dropped the small bag of things you'd brought back with you, which suddenly felt like it weighed a hundred pounds. It made a small noise as it hit the floor, and you simultaneously flopped face down on your bed.

You weren't sure exactly how much time had passed, likely only a few minutes, before you heard a knock on your door. All you could manage was a groan in response.

"Okaaaay, I'm coming in," Yelena announced before opening the door. You could hear her padding across the floor, and the mattress dipped beside you. Yelena started patting your head awkwardly, unsure of what to do in this situation. "Sooooo," she started, opting to retract her hand since the patting didn't seem to help. "How did it go?"

You let out a strange noise, something between a grunt and a groan that was muffled by your comforter.

"You know I am going to need more details than that."

"Fine," you sighed, rolling onto your back. You told her about how things had gone and how you were feeling. Yelena had been your go-to person for all of your relationship problems. Even though you would consider Bob your closest friend, it felt weird to talk to him about these things. You didn't think he would want to hear about it, and that he probably wouldn't know what to say. Not that Yelena was great with advice - her default being "then break up with him" for some time now. But she was good at listening, and she made you feel a little less crazy when you were upset about something.

"So let's go get a drink," she said matter-of-factly once you had finished. "I've been dying to get out of the tower, and I know Ava would want to come with."

"I don't know," you groaned again. "I don't want to make a whole thing of it."

"Then we don't tell anyone why," she offered. "We can invite everyone, because Alexi will throw a fit if we don't, and we call it team bonding or whatever."

You propped yourself up on your elbows and contemplated her suggestion. "Okay," you said finally. "But let's go somewhere chill, I don't want to feel underdressed, and I don't have it in me to try to look nice."

Yelena let out a small laugh at that. "Got it, I'll go tell the team." And with that, she left your room.

You flopped back against the mattress and pulled your phone from your back pocket, beginning the slow and painful process of deleting all of the evidence from your relationship.

A few hours later, you'd managed to drag yourself out of bed and put on a fresh set of clothes. You put on your favorite pair of jeans, a tank top, and your comfiest sweatshirt. You reapplied your mascara and ran a brush through your hair, but that was all you had the energy for.

Yelena had texted you the time to meet in the common area before heading out. By showing up on time, you had managed to beat everyone there. Everyone except Bob. He was perched in his usual chair, likely having been there for a while, just waiting for something to happen. Bob lifted his gaze from his book when he heard your footsteps approaching, his eyes lighting up slightly at the sight of you.

"H-Hey," he said, marking his place in the book and setting it to the side. "I was, uh, looking for you earlier, but Y-Yelena said you'd gone to your boyfriend's place. I didn't want to bother you, but I-" he swallowed, looking up at you and then back down at his hands sheepishly. "I, uh, I dunno, I'm glad you're back."

You got that warm feeling in your chest at his words, something that happened a lot when you were around Bob. "Yeah," your voice came out in the way that you reserved for him, soft, but not quiet, more breathy than you usually were. "I'm glad I'm back, too. I missed you."

Bob's eyes snapped to yours at the confession. He smiled at you, and the warmth you felt in your chest seemed to bloom in his as well, a soft pink blush spreading from below the collar of his sweater up his neck, reaching the apples of his cheeks and the tips of his ears. It wouldn't be that noticeable if you hadn't been staring at him so intently.

Your shared focus was broken by the sound of the rest of the team coming down the hall, chatting about the bar you were all heading to and how much you all needed this. Yelena caught your gaze and gave you a reassuring smile.

The team piled into the elevator together, Bob opting for one of the back corners, pressing his back against the wall. You followed him in, turning to face the front of the elevator as it filled up, and you ended up with your back bumping into Bob's chest. His hands instinctively grabbed your waist, steadying you as you stumbled backwards into him. "Sorry," you half-whispered over your shoulder.

The doors to the elevator closed, and you turned your face back to the front. Glancing around, you realized something. "Guys," you addressed the group. "Where's Walker?"

The whole elevator burst into laughter at your realization. "Oh, he is going to be so mad," Yelena said between laughs. Even Bob let out a good chuckle, his breath hitting the back of your neck where you had swept your hair to one side. You smiled at the feeling, both because of how good it felt to hear his laugh and because of how nice it felt to be this close to him without feeling guilty.

When John finally joined the group in the lobby of the tower, he did not look happy. "You guys suck," was all he said before the team filed through the front doors, Yelena and Ava leading the way to whatever bar they had picked.

Not much later, you found yourself dangling from a stool at a high-top table in one of the dingiest bars you'd ever been in, trying to keep your sneakers off the sticky floor as much as possible. You had all taken a round of shots upon arrival, save for Bob, who was nursing a Coke Zero with lime, and now you had a mixed drink in your hand. You had no intention of getting drunk, just wanting enough alcohol to keep the ache in your chest at bay, Bob's proximity somehow both helping and hindering your goal. The brush of his arm against yours was certainly adding to the fuzziness in your brain. You looked over at him, watching the way his throat bobbed as he sipped his drink through the tiny straw.

Bob turned to face you, slightly pulling you out of your trance. "Y-You okay?" He asked with genuine concern lining his features, a crease forming between his brows. He was so beautiful, and it took a lot of your focus not to reach out and touch him.

"Yeah," you breathed out through a smile. You shook your head slightly. "Sorry, just lost in thought. I think maybe I should slow down," you said, gesturing to the drink in front of you. You weren't sure what was in it, having trusted Yelena when she pressed it into your hand before she disappeared onto the dancefloor somewhere with Ava.

Bob nodded at your words. Then, his eyes darted to your mouth as your tongue poked out to wet your suddenly chapped lips. When his gaze returned to your eyes, a blush rose to his cheeks, realizing what he had just done and that you had seen him.

Then, as if on cue, Yelena appeared out of nowhere. "Y/N!" she shouted over the music. "Come to the bathroom with me!"

This made you realize just how close you and Bob had been, since you were able to hear each other without raising your voices. "Where's Ava?" You asked her, scanning the crowded bar for your other friend.

"She and Walker are trying to teach Barnes how to be a normal person at a bar in the 21st century," Yelena explained. "Now c'mon, I have to pee."

You turned back to Bob with an apologetic look and took Yelena's outstretched hand. She began dragging you away as you called an "I'll be right back" to Bob as you waded through the crowd.

When you reached the bathroom, Yelena pulled you into the stall with her. You stood awkwardly, not looking directly at her. "Don't hate me," Yelena said.

"Okay," you responded hesitantly.

"But I told Ava," she continued. "Because sisterhood or girl code or whatever." You sighed and looked at her expectantly as she zipped up her pants, knowing there was more. With this team, there was always more. "And she told Bucky, and I'm pretty sure Walker overheard."

"Okay," you repeated, resigned to whatever would come of them knowing all about your love life.

"Well," Yelena said, her story evidently not finished. "Bucky told Alexi, and you know he's just sitting at the bar now-"

"So now the whole place knows?" you clarified.

"Not Bob," she offered, as if it made any difference. And it kind of did. You wanted to be the one to tell him that you were newly single, to try to gauge his reaction.

You exited the stall so that Yelena could wash her hands. She looked up at you in the mirror. "I'm sorryyyyyy," she grimaced.

"It's fine," you reassured her with a chuckle and a shake of your head. You weren't surprised in the slightest.

You followed Yelena out of the bathroom, but you stopped in your tracks, surprised to find that Bob wasn't where you had left him. Confusion etched on your face, you scanned the room. Yelena turned and gave you a knowing smile. "He's probably with the others," she shouted over the music that was once again thrumming in your ears. Yelena grabbed your hand once again, carting you behind her, in search of your friends.

You finally found them near the back, gathered around a pool table. John and Bucky were in the middle of a game, and Ava was antagonizing them both, saying if they had let her play, she'd be destroying them. "Yeah," John scoffed, "that's why we didn't let you play."

Alexi had managed to find the only comfortable-looking chair in the entire bar and looked as if he was about to pass out in it. You winced at the thought of trying to get him home later.

And then there was Bob. He was standing near a high-top table, guarding your drink like his life depended on it. He had a soft smile on his lips as he watched the trio at the pool table.

"Helloooooo?" Yelena announced your entrance, and the entire team paused to turn and look at the two of you. "You guys said you were going to wait for me," she directed to the group fighting over whose turn it was.

Bob's eyes stayed on yours from across the space, and his gaze softened slightly. Shit. He knew. You were sure someone had told him while you were in the bathroom, ruining your chance to tell him yourself.

You crossed the room towards him, and when you got close, he picked up your drink and offered it to you. You took the sweaty glass from his hand without breaking eye contact, his expression soft, comforting, maybe even hopeful. You pause in front of him, a comfortable distance separating the two of you. You ached to be closer, taking a deep breath, eyes still searching his. Finally, you looked down at the drink in your hand and lifted it to your lips. Bob watched intently as you finished the drink, his own throat flinching in reaction as you set the glass back on the table. His eyes caught on the small drop of liquid left at the corner of your mouth, and they widened as you wiped away the drop with your thumb and dipped it into your mouth, sucking it clean. The sight felt vulgar. "I'm going to get another," you said, breaking his concentration. "Anyone want anything from the bar?" you asked the group, turning away from Bob. He let out the breath he didn't realize he was holding.

You listened as your teammates each gave you their orders, and then you turned to Bob, smiling sweetly. "Will you help me?" you asked. He just nodded in response, not trusting his voice.

You knew what you were doing as you led Bob through the crowd toward the bar, your hand in his larger one, fingers intertwined lightly. You'd gotten all the answers you needed from the look in his eyes earlier. And now, you were trying to give him the encouragement he needed to make the first move.

There was only enough space at the bar for you to squeeze between two of the other patrons and lean against the counter. Still, you held onto Bob, pulling him forward and placing your joined hands on the bar, forcing him to lean into you slightly and rest his chest against your back. You stood there a while, waiting for the bartender to take your order and bring you the collection of drinks. You paid and passed a couple of them back to Bob. Even with his help, it was a balancing act to carry all the drinks back to the group. By the time you returned, your sleeve was wet with John's spilled beer seeping into the soft fabric. He grumbled something about "of course mine is the one that spilled," but you weren't really listening. Instead, you tugged the sweatshirt over your head and laid it over the back of a chair, hoping it would be mostly dry by the time you guys left the bar.

You were more exposed than you typically liked to be in public, your tank top hugging your figure, and the neckline exposing the soft flesh at the top of your breasts. But the buzz from your first drink lingered, and your second held the promise of maintaining that fuzzy, slightly giddy feeling you needed. Bob’s stare, however, was affecting you far more than the alcohol. You could feel it - the way his eyes raked over your form, lingering on the swell of your breasts. When his eyes finally met yours, his blush darkened, realizing he’d been caught eye-fucking you. A flicker of gold flashed across his eyes, so quick, you almost missed it.

The rest of the night went smoothly. You and Bob maintained a safe distance for the most part, neither of you quite ready to break the barrier that was obviously crumbling between you. You laughed with your friends, almost forgetting why this outing had been planned in the first place. But as things wound down and your buzz dissipated, the ache in your chest returned.

Bob seemed to notice your mood shift as he made his way back over to you. The group murmured variations of the same sentiment: everyone was tired and wanted to go home. Bob picked up your sweatshirt from where you had left it and passed it to you wordlessly. You slipped the soft fabric back on, the sleeve now only slightly damp from the spilled beer. The moment felt tender, almost domestic.

Your group of friends trudged through the now nearly empty bar and out the door, the chill New York air hitting your face sharply. You winced at the feeling, and Bob turned at the sound. He watched as you rubbed your hands together, trying to generate warmth. He smiled softly, finding the sight adorable. He simply extended his arm toward you as you walked side by side, offering his right hand to you. Bob always ran warm, so you immediately accepted his offer, both of your hands clamping around his larger one. You intertwined the fingers of your left hand with his right and placed your right one over the back, sandwiching his hand between yours. It didn't seem to bother him at all, despite the stark difference in temperature.

You walked in near silence with your friends all the way back to the tower. Then, just like before, only now including John, you all piled into the elevator. Bob didn't move from your side, and you didn't let go of his hand. Your head lulled to the side, resting against his arm. You reached the residential floor, and everyone bid each other goodnight. It wasn't until you stood in front of your bedroom door that you finally detached from Bob.

"Thank you," you whispered, your throat feeling dry. You looked down at your hands, still tingling from the warmth of his touch. Your voice was so low that if it weren't for his enhanced hearing, Bob might not have heard you.

"F-For what?" he asked. You looked up to find his gaze already set on yours. There was a small crease between his brows as he looked at you, the question shown on his face. You wanted to reach up and smooth away the lines of confusion and worry and fear that seemed almost permanent in his expression. Instead, you twisted the ring around your thumb, a nervous tick you picked up for when you didn't know what to do with your hands.

"For walking me to my door," you shrugged like that was obviously what you meant, that you had only wanted to thank him for his chivalry, but you continued. "For tonight. For being so great."

Bob softened at your words, as he often did. "Oh." He rubbed the back of his neck and looked down at the floor. If not for the darkness, you would've seen the blush form on his skin. "Y-Yeah, no problem."

"I know someone told you," you said, finally deciding to address the topic that had hung in the air around you all night. "I wanted to tell you myself. I was going to, but I just didn't get the chance." You paused, thinking about your next words carefully. "I mean, it's no secret that things weren't going well for a while now, and I'm glad it's over. For a lot of reasons." Your words caught in your throat, suddenly feeling overcome with emotions. You searched Bob's eyes, you didn't know what you hoped to see, but what you found was quiet understanding. He was patient, letting you say what you needed to say without interruption, and you were grateful. "I guess what I'm trying to say is, thank you for being there for me." Another pause, not sure of yourself. "And I'm just going to need a little time."

Bob gave you a small nod and a smile, not the wide, open-mouthed one you'd grown to love. This smile was just a twitch, pulling up the corner of his mouth for less than a second. "That's okay," he breathed out, his eyes glassy with understanding, with what felt like love.

"Take as long as you need."

[moluvies]

celestial alignment ꔛ armin arlert x reader (pt. 2)

a/n: the banners just get weirder.... part two to in your orbit but idk if u need to read that one to understand this one lmao 😝🙏 #idk why this one is so much longer than part one but yolo

words: 9.6k

cw: nerd!armin, college au, she/her pronouns and fem anatomy for reader, fwb (kinda) to lovers, confessions, smut, blowjobs, cunnilingus, fingering, p in v sex, MDNI !!

ꔛ

The morning after the party, Armin woke with a pounding headache and fragments of memories that made his face burn crimson against his pillow. But even through the haze of his first-ever hangover, he couldn't bring himself to regret a single moment of what had happened between you.

Three weeks had passed since that night, and your astronomy project had become both the most productive and least efficient academic endeavor of Armin's college career. What should have been straightforward work sessions frequently dissolved into lingering touches, stolen kisses, and eventually, hurried excuses to abandon the library study room for somewhere more private.

Armin frequently worked shifts at his part-time job at the cinema on top of being the project leader. It was confusing to you how he had time to do anything besides work and school, but he managed to play an unhealthy amount of games and watch an embarassing amount of anime whenever he got the chance.

That was, unless you were around. After your hookup at the frat party in Jean's room (something Armin would never allow him to know), you and him had spent a considerable amount of time together.

You continued working on the project together, the other members eventually showing up to the meetings Armin hosted, but things were obviously different than they had been—and no, Armin did not regret anything.

In fact, he'd shown you how little he regretted the encounter many times since then. He'd act as though he wanted your special input on the project when he invited you over, only to not keep his hands to himself the entire time you'd be at his place.

You'd sat beside him at the desk in his room, looking at his PC where you were looking over the slides and ideas from your groupmates.

"This one's just ridiculous," he said, his chin rested in his hand. "I suppose graphic design doesn't come easy to everyone."

"I don't know," you teased, "that neon green and purple combo really makes the statistical analysis pop, don't you think?"

Armin groaned, running his fingers through his blonde hair. "It's physically painful to look at. I'm going to have to redo this entire section before submission."

"Always the perfectionist," you said, nudging his shoulder with yours.

"Someone has to be." He clicked through a few more slides, his knee occasionally brushing against yours under the desk. "Otherwise we'd be presenting with clip art and Comic Sans."

You reached for the mouse, your hand briefly covering his. "Let me show you mine."

Armin leaned back in his chair, watching you navigate through the shared folder. You could feel his eyes on you rather than the screen, that subtle attention he'd been giving you since the party. It made concentrating on the project increasingly difficult.

"Here," you said, opening a new file. "This is what I was working on last night."

Armin's casual expression shifted as he leaned forward, eyes widening slightly as he reviewed your slides. The casual criticism vanished as he scrolled through your work.

"(Y/N), this is..." he paused, scanning the detailed analysis you'd prepared. "This is really good. The way you've visualized the data is exactly what we needed."

You felt a flush of pride at his genuine appreciation. "Yeah? I spent way too long on it, honestly."

"It shows." He turned to face you, his expression softened. "You didn't have to go this in-depth."

"Well, you're not the only perfectionist around here."

The corner of his mouth twitched up into that half-smile you'd grown increasingly fond of. His eyes dropped briefly to your lips before meeting your gaze again.

"I think we deserve a break," he said quietly.

Without waiting for your response, he leaned in and kissed you softly, his hand coming up to rest against your cheek. Unlike the urgent, heated kisses you'd shared before, this one was gentle, appreciative—sweet in a way that made your heart flutter unexpectedly.

When he pulled back, his thumb traced your cheekbone lightly. "Sorry," he murmured, not looking sorry at all. "I've been wanting to do that since you walked in."

You laughed softly, shaking your head. "You don't have to say sorry anymore, Armin. Not for that."

His smile widened, and he leaned in again, this time catching your lips with more confidence. The kiss deepened slowly, his fingers tangling gently in your hair as he pulled you closer. You could feel the warmth of his breath, the way his lips curved against yours when you smiled into the kiss.

One of your hands found its way to his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as he tilted his head, deepening the kiss further. His other hand slid down to your waist, thumb brushing against the exposed skin where your shirt had ridden up slightly. The touch sent a pleasant shiver down your spine, and you let out a quiet hum against his lips.

Armin pulled back just enough to look at you, his cheeks slightly flushed, eyes bright with affection—and something else, something warmer. "You're distracting," he murmured, his voice low.

"Me?" you teased, nipping lightly at his lower lip. "You're the one who started this."

He chuckled, the sound vibrating against your mouth as he kissed you again, slower this time, savoring it. His fingers traced idle patterns along your side, his touch feather-light but enough to make your breath hitch.

Just as you were about to shift closer, a loud bang rattled the door, followed by an exasperated shout.

"ARMIN!" Connie's, Armin's roommate and friend you had met a few times and who was always nice if not a little wild, voice carried through the wood, sharp and impatient. "I swear to god, if you don't get your ass out here and deal with the dishes, I'm throwing them all in your bed!"

Armin groaned, dropping his forehead against yours with a defeated sigh. "I told Sasha to clean them last night."

You bit back a laugh, watching as he reluctantly pulled away, his expression torn between irritation and lingering amusement.

"I'm not kidding, man!" Connie banged on the door again. "Sasha refuses to touch them, and I'm not doing it! You live here too!"

Armin exhaled sharply through his nose, casting you an apologetic glance. "I should probably... handle this before he actually follows through."

You grinned, giving his hand a quick squeeze. "Go. Save your bed from dishware."

Armin sighed dramatically but pushed back from the desk, giving you one last lingering glance before heading toward the door. "I'll be right back," he muttered, clearly annoyed at the interruption.

You turned back to the slides, clicking through them with half-hearted focus, but without Armin beside you, the work suddenly felt dull. The silence of the room—now free of his quiet murmurs and occasional frustrated sighs—made the minutes drag.

Bored.

After a few more lackluster attempts at editing, you finally gave up, pushing the chair back and stretching before wandering out of the room. The sound of running water led you to the kitchen, where Armin stood at the sink, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, scrubbing at a stubborn plate with a sponge. His hair was pushed messily behind his ears, slightly damp at the temples from the steam rising from the hot water.

He hadn’t noticed you yet, too busy muttering under his breath about "Sasha’s stupid cereal bowl crusted like cement." The sight was unfairly endearing—his brows furrowed in concentration, the way his forearms flexed slightly as he scrubbed, the way his lips pursed when he was annoyed but trying not to complain too loudly.

Leaning against the doorframe, you crossed your arms and just watched for a moment, a small smile tugging at your lips.

"You know," you finally said, making him jump slightly, "I didn’t take you for the domestic type."

Armin turned, blinking at you in surprise before his expression softened into something playful. "And yet here I am, saving our apartment from a dish-based apocalypse." He flicked soapy water in your direction, grinning when you yelped and dodged.

"You’re terrible," you laughed, stepping closer.

He smirked, rinsing off the last plate before setting it in the drying rack. "But you’re still here, so I must be doing something right."

You rolled your eyes but didn’t argue, moving to stand beside him. Without thinking, you reached up and tucked a stray strand of hair back behind his ear, fingers lingering just a second too long.

Armin's cheeks flushed a soft pink as he dried his hands on a dish towel, hesitating for a moment before clearing his throat.

"Uh—so," he started, avoiding your eyes for a second before forcing himself to meet your gaze. "I was thinking... I have free tickets to the movies. Since I work there. And—well—I was wondering if you'd... maybe... want to go? Sometime?"

The words tumbled out in a rush, and he cringed slightly at how awkward it sounded.

"But—!" He held up a hand, suddenly looking panicked. "Not just because it's free. I mean, it is free, but that's not—that's not the point." He took a deep breath, exhaling slowly before trying again.

"What I'm trying to say is... I'd like to take you. On a date. If you want."

His fingers fidgeted with the edge of the towel, his expression caught somewhere between hopeful and terrified.

You grinned, stepping closer and nudging his shoulder with yours. "Armin Arlert," you said, voice teasing but warm, "are you asking me out on a proper date?"

He swallowed hard, then nodded, a shy smile finally breaking through. "Yeah. I am."

You pretended to think about it for a dramatic second, tapping your chin—just long enough to watch his shoulders tense in anticipation—before grinning.

"Obviously, yes."

The relief that washed over his face was instant, his whole posture relaxing as he let out a breathy laugh. "Really?"

You rolled your eyes, reaching out to tug lightly at his sleeve. "Yes, really. I'd love to go on a date with you."

His smile was brighter than you'd ever seen it, boyish and genuine. "Good. Great. I—uh—I'll figure out the details. Make it... nice."

You couldn't resist. Leaning in, you pressed a quick kiss to his cheek, pulling back before he could react.

"Looking forward to it."

Armin blinked, momentarily stunned, before his grin turned lopsided, a playful glint in his eye.

"Me too."

ꔛ

The theater’s neon lights flickered against the pavement as you spotted Armin waiting near the entrance, hands shoved awkwardly into his jean pockets. The second he saw you, he straightened up, eyes widening slightly before a warm, nervous smile took over.

"You—" He cleared his throat, stepping forward. "You look pretty... cute. I mean pretty and cute. Like. Both. At the same time."

You bit back a laugh, watching as his ears turned pink the second the words left his mouth. It was ridiculous—considering the things you’d done together, the way he’d whispered filthy praise against your skin just last week—yet here he was, stumbling over his words like this was his first-ever date.

God, he’s adorable.

"You clean up nice too," you teased, nodding at his slightly-too-big button-up and the way his hair was trying to be neatly styled but already falling out of place.

Armin exhaled sharply, like he’d been holding his breath, before hesitantly reaching for your hand. His fingers laced with yours, warm and slightly shaky, and when you squeezed, he squeezed back like he was afraid you’d disappear.

"You nervous?" you asked, bumping his shoulder as you walked toward the ticket line.

"No," he lied immediately, then groaned. "Okay, yes. But only because I—I don’t know. This feels different."

You knew exactly what he meant. Hooking up was one thing, but this? The deliberate choice of each other, the quiet intimacy of a date—it was terrifyingly sweet.

Armin led you past the concessions stand, waving casually at his coworker who shot him a knowing grin and a thumbs up. He'd insisted on paying for popcorn despite the fact that most of his perks came free with his job—"It's a proper date," he'd said firmly, handing over actual money when you tried to protest.

The theater was nearly empty for the late showing, just a couple of pairs scattered throughout the front rows. Armin guided you toward the back row, his fingers still intertwined with yours.

"I hope you like horror," he said, settling into the cushy seat beside you. "Jean and Eren said this one was supposed to be good."

What Armin wasn't telling you was the entire embarrassing conversation that had led to this choice.

"Dude, horror movie. No question," Jean had said, sprawled across Armin's couch while Eren nodded enthusiastically from the floor.

"I don't know..." Armin hesitated. "What if she doesn't like being scared?"

Eren rolled his eyes. "That's the point. She gets scared, you comfort her, she feels safe with you—boom, instant connection."

"We've already connected," Armin muttered, his cheeks warming. "Multiple times."

"Yeah, but this is different," Jean insisted, sitting up to look more serious. "This is you being the strong, protective one. Plus, dark theater, back row..." He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

Eren threw a pillow at Jean before turning to Armin. "Look, trust us. It's the perfect first date movie. You can protect her if it gets too scary."

As the lights dimmed and the previews began to play, Armin lifted the armrest between your seats, allowing you to slide closer. The warmth of your body against his side made him acutely aware of his heartbeat—too fast, too loud—as the movie title splashed across the screen in dripping red letters.

Twenty minutes in, it became abundantly clear that Jean and Eren's advice had been... flawed.

A jump-scare sent Armin practically out of his seat, his hand clutching yours so tightly it almost hurt. You bit back a laugh as he quickly tried to play it off, clearing his throat and settling back down. Another ten minutes passed before a second scare had him actually yelping—a small, startled sound that he immediately tried to cover with a cough.

"You good?" you whispered, leaning closer to his ear, amused by the way he'd tensed up.

"Totally fine," he whispered back unconvincingly, his eyes still fixed on the screen where a shadowy figure lurked behind the protagonist. When the inevitable jumpscare came, he flinched again, harder this time.

You couldn't help it—you laughed softly, squeezing his hand. "It's gonna be okay, Armin."

His face burned in the darkness, visible even in the dim light from the screen. "I don't usually watch this stuff."

"It's fine, really." You leaned your head on his shoulder, feeling him gradually relax against you. "It's cute, though, how scared you're getting."

Armin turned slightly, his breath warm against your temple. "Cute wasn't exactly what I was going for, but I'll take it."

The movie continued, a predictable parade of creaky doors and bloody apparitions, but you found yourself paying less attention to the plot and more to the way Armin's thumb absently stroked the back of your hand. How his breath would catch before each scare, how he'd release it slowly afterward, trying to play it cool.

Halfway through, during a particularly tense scene, you glanced up at him—his profile illuminated by the flickering blue light, his features etched in concentration despite his obvious discomfort. Without thinking, you pressed your lips to the edge of his jaw, just a light brush of contact.

Armin stilled, his attention immediately diverted from the screen to you. His eyes, wide and questioning, found yours in the darkness.

You smiled innocently, but when his gaze dropped to your lips, the air between you shifted. The movie faded to background noise as he leaned closer, hesitating just a breath away. His eyes met yours in question.

In answer, you closed the distance, your lips meeting his in a soft, testing kiss. He responded immediately, his hand coming up to cup your cheek, holding you there as the kiss deepened. The taste of buttered popcorn lingered on his tongue as it slipped past your lips, exploring with a gentleness that made your chest ache.

A particularly loud noise from the movie made him jump again, breaking the kiss with a startled gasp before he laughed softly against your mouth.

"Sorry," he murmured, his thumb stroking your cheek.

"Don't be," you whispered back, shifting to get a better angle.

This time when you kissed him, it was less cautious. Your hand slid up his arm, feeling the tension in his muscles as he pulled you closer, his fingers tangling in your hair. The armrest dug into your side but you hardly noticed, too lost in the way he kissed you—deepening from sweet to something hungrier, something that made heat pool in your stomach.

The protagonist's screams provided a bizarre soundtrack as Armin's hand moved from your cheek down to your neck, his thumb brushing the sensitive spot beneath your ear that he'd discovered weeks ago. You shivered, and he smiled against your lips, clearly pleased with himself.

"Thought you were scared," you teased quietly, nipping at his lower lip.

"Distracted now," he breathed, kissing down to the corner of your mouth, your jaw.

You glanced around quickly—the nearest couple was rows away, focused on the movie—before sliding your hand to his thigh, feeling him tense beneath your touch. His own hand moved to your waist, fingers slipping under the hem of your shirt to brush warm skin.

The kiss turned deeper, messier, as his tongue slid against yours. You could feel him getting bolder, his grip on your waist tightening as you shifted closer, your hand inching higher on his thigh. He made a soft sound in the back of his throat that sent a pulse of want straight through you.

His teeth grazed your lower lip, and you gasped quietly, feeling his smile against your mouth. This was a different Armin than the one who'd stumbled through asking you out—this was the Armin who knew exactly what you liked, who'd mapped your body with his hands and mouth, who'd made you come undone with just his fingers on multiple occasions.

"We should—" he started, pulling back slightly, his breath warm against your lips. "We should probably watch the movie."

"Yeah. I don't want your coworkers making fun of you," you whispered with a smile.

A woman on screen shrieked as something lunged at her, and Armin tensed again, his grip on you tightening reflexively. You laughed softly, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

"Maybe we should have gone with a comedy," he admitted, his voice low with embarrassment. "Eren and Jean said horror would be—" He cut himself off, realizing he'd said too much.

You raised an eyebrow. "Oh? What exactly did they say?"

Armin's hand fell from your waist as he ran it through his hair, messing up the careful styling even further. "Something about, uh... you getting scared and me comforting you." His ears were burning again. "Which obviously backfired because I'm the one jumping at every shadow."

"I don't know," you whispered, leaning in to brush your lips against his ear. "I think I like comforting you just fine."

He shivered, his hand finding yours again in the darkness. For the remainder of the movie, you stayed close, your head on his shoulder, occasionally stealing kisses during the less intense scenes. Whenever a jumpscare hit, you'd squeeze his hand, feeling him relax against you as the moment passed.

By the time the credits rolled, Armin had practically forgotten his embarrassment, too content with your warmth against him, the smell of your shampoo as you rested against his shoulder. As the lights slowly brightened, he turned to look at you properly, taking in your slightly disheveled appearance—lips a little swollen from his kisses, hair mussed where his fingers had tangled in it.

He looked just as affected—cheeks flushed, blonde hair falling messily across his forehead, lips pink and just a touch raw. The sight made your heart flutter.

"So," he said, voice hoarse as he helped you gather your things, "on a scale of one to ten, how bad was my movie choice?"

You laughed, standing to stretch your legs. "Well, I didn't really see much of it, so I can't judge fairly."

His smile was slow, a little smug as he stood beside you. "Me neither."

You both lingered in the theater as others filed out, neither quite ready to end the night.

"We could..." Armin started, then stopped, suddenly looking shy again. "We could go back to my place? Connie and Sasha are out tonight, so..."

The implication hung between you, charged with possibility.

You reached for his hand, threading your fingers through his. "Let's go."

His smile was bright enough to rival the theater's exit signs as he pulled you gently toward the door, the forgotten horror movie already a distant memory.

ꔛ

The door to Armin's apartment swung open, his hand fumbling slightly with the key as he stepped aside to let you in. The familiar space greeted you—Sasha's mismatched throw pillows scattered across the couch, Connie's gaming setup in the corner, and the subtle scent of Armin's sandalwood candle that he always lit when studying late.

"They're definitely out?" you asked, slipping off your shoes by the door.

Armin nodded, his eyes never leaving yours as he set his keys on the counter. "Until late. Frat party, I guess."

There was a beat of silence—a moment of shared understanding—before you both moved at once. Armin's hands found your waist as he backed you toward his bedroom, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that made it clear he'd been restraining himself at the theater. Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging lightly in the way you'd discovered made him groan.

He navigated the hallway without breaking the kiss, blindly pushing open his bedroom door. The familiar space—desk cluttered with textbooks and astronomy notes, walls adorned with star charts and anime posters he'd shyly explained on your first visit—welcomed you like an old friend.

Armin walked you backward until your legs hit the edge of his bed, his hands steady at your waist. He broke the kiss, looking down at you with eyes darkened by desire, a question in them that you answered by sitting down at the edge of the mattress.

Before he could make another move, you reached for the button of his jeans, watching his breath hitch as your fingers worked the metal through the hole. His hands moved to your shoulders, gentle but trembling slightly.

"You don't have to—" he started, his voice cracking embarrassingly in the middle.

You glanced up, meeting his eyes with a small smile. "I already told you, I want to."

The flush on his cheeks deepened, but he nodded, swallowing hard as you slowly lowered his zipper. His fingers twitched against your shoulders, anticipation building in the way he shifted his weight.

The contrast between drunk Armin and sober Armin had fascinated you from the start.

Drunk Armin was all impulse and confidence—hands everywhere, whispered confessions against your skin, boldly telling you exactly what he wanted with none of his usual hesitation. The first night at the party, he'd been liquid courage and hungry eyes, pulling you into Jean's room without a second thought.

Sober Armin was a slow burn—starting tentative and sweet, checking in with gentle touches and questioning looks, always making sure you were comfortable. But what made him so intoxicating was the transformation that happened when pleasure built—how his careful control would gradually unravel, revealing the intensity he usually kept hidden beneath his quiet exterior.

As you tugged his jeans down his thighs, you could see that transformation beginning. His fingers flexed against your shoulders, his breathing already uneven despite how little you'd done.

"Is this okay?" you asked, looking up at him through your lashes, your hands resting on his hips.

He nodded rapidly, then cleared his throat. "Yeah—yes, it's... it's more than okay."

You smiled, hooking your fingers into the waistband of his boxers, enjoying the way his abdominal muscles tensed in anticipation. Slowly, you pulled the fabric down, revealing him inch by inch until he sprang free, already hard and straining.

Armin's breath caught audibly, his hands moving from your shoulders to card gently through your hair. The touch was reverent, careful—so typically Armin at the start.

You wrapped your hand around him, feeling him pulse against your palm as you stroked slowly from base to tip. His eyes fell shut momentarily, lips parting on a shaky exhale.

"You're already so hard," you murmured, thumb circling the sensitive head.

"Been thinking about this all night," he admitted, voice strained but still controlled. "Since the theater."

You leaned forward, maintaining eye contact as you pressed a soft kiss to the tip, watching his pupils dilate at the contact. His fingers tightened slightly in your hair, not pushing, just holding on like he needed an anchor.

When you finally took him into your mouth, Armin's quiet gasp filled the room. You started slow, taking just the head between your lips, tongue swirling around the sensitive ridge before dipping into the slit. His thighs trembled beneath your hands, restraint evident in every tense muscle.

"That feels—" he broke off as you took him deeper, his voice cracking again. "So good, God."

You hollowed your cheeks, establishing a rhythm as you worked him with your mouth and hand together. Sweet, shy Armin was still present in the gentle way his fingers stroked your hair, in the soft, appreciative sounds he made with each movement of your tongue.

But as the minutes passed, you felt the shift.

His breathing grew heavier, his normally precise vocabulary reduced to fragments and your name. When you took him particularly deep, letting him hit the back of your throat, his hips jerked forward involuntarily causing you to gag slightly.

"Sorry, I'm sorry," he gasped immediately, trying to pull back.

You responded by gripping his hips, encouraging him to stay where he was, looking up to meet his gaze. The message was clear: It's okay. I can take it.

The careful restraint in his expression began to crack. His hand tightened in your hair, not painful but definitely more commanding than before, guiding your movements as you continued.

"You look so—" he swallowed hard, jaw clenching as you swirled your tongue around him. "So perfect like this."

This was where drunk and sober Armin began to converge—where pleasure stripped away his inhibitions, leaving raw need in their place. His hips started to move in shallow, careful thrusts that grew more confident when you moaned encouragingly around him.

"Is this okay?" he asked, voice rough with desire, his hand now firmly guiding your head. When you nodded, he exhaled sharply. "Good, because I—fuck—I need to—"

The proper, articulate Armin was gone now, replaced by a version of him that chased his pleasure with focused intensity. His fingers tangled more firmly in your hair, his thrusts growing more deliberate as he watched himself disappear between your lips.

"You're so good at this," he praised, the words tumbling out between ragged breaths. "So perfect with your mouth, taking me so well."

You hummed around him, sending vibrations through his length that made him curse—something rare from his usual vocabulary. His self-consciousness had evaporated, replaced by a man who knew exactly what he wanted and wasn't afraid to ask.

"Deeper," he urged, voice strained but commanding. "Please, just like—yes—just like that."

When you felt him start to throb against your tongue, his thighs tensing beneath your hands, you knew he was close. His careful rhythm faltered, growing erratic as his control slipped further.

"I'm going to—" he warned, trying to pull back slightly. "If you don't stop, I'll—"

You dug your fingers into his hips, taking him deeper instead, and the last thread of his restraint snapped. His head fell back, throat working around a groan that seemed torn from somewhere deep inside him as he pulsed against your tongue.

"Fuck," he gasped, the words falling from his lips as he came, his fingers clenching in your hair, his body shuddering with release.

You worked him through it, swallowing around him until he became too sensitive, his hands gently urging you back as he caught his breath. When you finally pulled away, looking up at him with a satisfied smile, his expression was dazed, cheeks flushed dark red.

Armin was still catching his breath, his chest rising and falling rapidly, when his gaze dropped to you—eyes dark with hunger, lips kiss-swollen, fingers twitching like he couldn’t decide whether to pull you closer or give you a second to recover.

Then, with a suddenness that made your pulse jump, he pushed you back onto the bed.

You let out a surprised laugh as you landed against his pillows, but the sound choked off when he climbed over you, his hands sliding possessively up your thighs. His glasses—already fogged from his heavy breathing—slipped slightly down his nose, and with an impatient noise, he yanked them off and tossed them onto the nightstand.

"Fuck these things," he muttered, before his attention snapped back to you, making you laugh momentarily before your breath hitched.

His fingers hooked into the hem of your skirt, pushing it up your hips in one smooth motion, exposing the damp fabric of your panties. He exhaled sharply at the sight, his thumbs immediately pressing against the soaked material, dragging slowly along the seam.

"Armin," you gasped, arching into the touch.

He smirked—actually smirked—before dipping his head to press a kiss to the inside of your thigh. His lips were warm, teasing, moving higher with agonizing slowness.

"You’re so wet," he murmured, fingertips ghosting over the damp fabric of your panties. "Just from sucking me off?"

You bit your lip, nodding, and his expression darkened with satisfaction.

"Then let me return the favor."

Armin’s fingers curled into the sides of your panties, dragging them down your legs with deliberate slowness, his knuckles brushing against your thighs in a way that made you shiver. The moment they were off, tossed carelessly onto the floor, his hands returned—spreading your thighs wider, thumbs pressing into the soft skin just beneath your hips, like he was memorizing the way you opened for him.

His breath was warm against your bare skin as he leaned in, pressing a kiss just above the apex of your thighs, teasing.

"You're so cute," he murmured, voice rough with want, lips brushing against your slick folds without giving you what you wanted. "The way you react every time."

You whined, hips lifting desperately toward his mouth, but he chuckled—chuckled, the bastard—and held you down with one firm hand on your stomach.

"I—fuck, Armin—" you gasped, fingers twisting in the sheets.

"Hm?" he hummed breath fanning over your overheated skin. Then, finally, his tongue dragged through your wetness in one slow, torturous stroke, and you nearly arched clean off the bed.

His grip on your hip tightened, pinning you in place as he repeated the motion, lapping at you like he was savoring the taste. The contrast was maddening—his usual careful precision in everything he did, now applied to unraveling you completely.

Armin's mouth was relentless—hot, wet, and hungry as he devoured you with the same focus he usually reserved for his astronomy charts. His tongue laved broad, slow strokes through your folds before zeroing in on your clit, circling it with just the right amount of pressure to make your thighs tremble.

"Fuck—yes, like that—" you gasped, fingers threading through his hair, tugging lightly as he worked you over with his lips and tongue.

He hummed against you in response, the vibrations sending a jolt of pleasure straight to your core. Then, without warning, his fingers joined—two of them pressing against your entrance before sliding inside in one smooth thrust.

"You like that?" he asked, pulling back just enough to watch your face as he curled his fingers just right, the heel of his palm grinding against your clit.

All you could manage was a desperate nod, your voice failing you as pleasure coiled tight in your stomach.

Armin’s lips curved into a smirk—smug bastard—before his mouth descended again, tongue flicking over your clit in quick, relentless circles as his fingers fucked into you with growing insistence.

"You sound so pretty," he muttered against you, the vibrations making you writhe. "Always." His movements were precise, almost scientific, as if he’d studied exactly how to make you fall apart.

"Armin—" you panted, your grip tightening in his hair as his fingers pumped in and out, his thumb brushing your clit in tandem. "Don’t stop—please—"

He didn’t. If anything, he doubled down—sucking your clit between his lips, fucking you with his fingers at a steady, maddening pace. His free hand gripped your thigh, holding you open for him as he worked you toward the edge with terrifying efficiency.

You could feel the coil tightening in your stomach, your breathing coming in ragged gasps as he pushed you closer and closer.

"Come for me," he murmured against your skin, his voice thick with arousal. "Let me feel it."

And just like that, you shattered—your orgasm crashing over you in waves, your body clenching around his fingers as he coaxed every last pulse of pleasure from you.

When you finally slumped back against the bed, boneless and breathless, Armin pulled back just enough to look up at you, lips glistening, eyes dark with satisfaction.

"Fuck," was all you could manage.

"Good?" he asked, like he didn’t already know.

You simply whined, lips curling into a grin at his pleased expression. Armin crawled up your body, his lips finding yours in a deep, hungry kiss that let you taste yourself on his tongue. You moaned into his mouth, hands sliding up his back, feeling the muscles shift beneath your palms as he settled between your thighs.

His fingers tangled in your hair, cradling your head as he kissed you thoroughly, unhurried now despite the way his arousal pressed insistently against your stomach. Each sweep of his tongue was deliberate, each gentle bite to your lower lip calculated to make you gasp.

He sat back just enough to pull his shirt over his head, revealing the lean, subtle muscle of his chest and stomach. Not bulky like some of his friends, but defined in a way that made your mouth water. You reached up, tracing a finger down the center of his chest, feeling him shiver under your touch.

"Let me grab something," he murmured, pressing one more quick kiss to your lips before leaning over to his nightstand.

He pulled open the drawer, retrieving a small box of condoms that still had the plastic wrap on it. You raised an eyebrow, a smile tugging at your lips.

"Recent purchase?" you teased.

Armin's cheeks flushed, but he nodded, tearing open the box with slightly fumbling fingers. "Got them last week. After, uh—" he met your eyes, a small smile playing at his lips. "After I decided I never wanted to use Jean's condoms again. Completely ruined the mood knowing they were his."

You laughed, the sound turning into a soft gasp as he tore open a packet and rolled the condom onto his length with careful precision.

"Plus," he added, his voice dropping lower as he settled back between your legs, "I wanted to be prepared. For you."

His hands slid beneath your knees, gently pushing them back and open, exposing you completely to his gaze. The position left you feeling vulnerable, but the reverent way he looked at you—like you were a particularly fascinating celestial phenomenon he'd just discovered—made heat pool in your stomach.

Armin positioned himself at your entrance, the blunt head of his cock pressing against your slick folds without pushing in. He guidded his cock with his hand, coating himself in your wetness, watching your face as he teased you.

You whimpered, trying to shift your hips to take him in.

His hands tightened on your thighs, holding you in place as he continued the maddening tease. "What do you want?" he asked, his voice soft but steady.

You didn't answer immediately, distracted by the pleasure building again as he rubbed his dick against your sensitive clit.

"Tell me," he prompted, leaning down to kiss your neck. "I want to hear you say it."

You threw your arm over your face, suddenly embarrassed despite everything you'd already done together. "You know what I want."

"I do," he agreed, nipping lightly at your collarbone. "But I want to hear you ask for it."

Something about his tone—not demanding or smug, but genuinely wanting to hear your desire—made heat pool in your stomach. You peeked at him from beneath your arm, taking in his flushed cheeks, the way his lower lip was caught between his teeth, the eager anticipation in his eyes.

"Please," you whispered, the word barely audible.

His smile was gentle, encouraging. "Please what?" he asked, pressing a soft kiss to your jaw.

You swallowed, gathering your courage. "Please fuck me, Armin. I want you inside me."

The words sent a visible shudder through him, his breath catching as he lined himself up properly. "Like this?" he asked, pushing just the tip inside, watching your face carefully.

"Yes," you gasped, hands flying to his shoulders as he sank deeper, stretching you deliciously. "Just like that—god."

Armin's breath hitched as he pushed in deeper, his hands gripping your thighs with increasing pressure. You watched his face transform—the careful control giving way to raw sensation as he buried himself inside you completely, his hips finally flush against yours.

"Fuck," he breathed, eyes falling closed for a moment as he adjusted to the feeling. "You feel—you feel incredible."

He stayed like that for a heartbeat, fully seated inside you, his thumbs drawing small, soothing circles against your skin. Then he opened his eyes, meeting your gaze with an intensity that made your heart stutter.

"Tell me if it's too much," he murmured, pulling back slowly before pushing in again with careful precision.

You shook your head, digging your fingers into his shoulders. "It's perfect. You're perfect."

The praise sent a visible shiver through him, his rhythm faltering briefly before he found it again, setting a deliberate pace that had you arching beneath him. Each thrust was measured and deep, hitting exactly where you needed it.

Armin bent down, capturing your lips in a messy kiss as he continued to move within you. His hand slid from your thigh to your breast, thumb brushing over your nipple through the fabric of your top.

"Take this off," he murmured against your mouth. "Want to see all of you."

You nodded, and he helped you pull the shirt over your head, followed quickly by your bra. The moment you were bare beneath him, his eyes darkened with appreciation, his hands immediately moving to cup your breasts.

"Beautiful," he whispered, almost to himself, as he rolled a nipple between his fingers, watching your reaction with fascination.

The dual sensation of his cock inside you and his fingers on your sensitive nipples had you moaning, head thrown back against the pillows. Armin took advantage, his lips finding your exposed throat, sucking and nipping at the tender skin there.

His thrusts grew deeper, more insistent, each one drawing a soft gasp from your lips. You'd almost forgotten how perfectly he filled you—the past few weeks had been rushed encounters between classes, hurried orgasms from his fingers and tongue, but not this. Not since that first drunken night in Jean's room had you felt the delicious stretch of him inside you, and your body was reacquainting itself with the sensation.

"You feel so good," Armin breathed, his voice strained as his hips snapped forward with increasing force. "So fucking tight—god—"

His cursing sent a thrill through you—the contrast between the polite, studious Armin who explained Europa's atmospheric composition with such precision and the Armin currently fucking you into his mattress, hair falling messily across his forehead as sweat beaded on his brow.

"Harder," you urged, wrapping your legs around his waist to pull him deeper.

Something flashed in his eyes—a momentary hesitation, then resolve. "You sure?"

"Yes—please—"

He didn't need to be told twice. His next thrust came with enough force to make the headboard hit the wall, drawing a surprised moan from your lips. His hands found yours, fingers interlacing as he pinned them beside your head, using the leverage to drive into you with newfound intensity.

"Like this?" he asked, voice rough, eyes dark with concentration as he watched your face for every reaction. "This what you need?"

"Yes—fuck—just like that," you gasped, arching beneath him.

A particularly deep thrust had you crying out, and Armin groaned, burying his face in the crook of your neck as his hips worked against yours.

"Missed this," he confessed against your skin, the words tumbling out between thrusts. "Thinking about fucking you again—couldn't focus on the project—kept remembering how you felt—"

You whimpered, the admission sending heat spiraling through your core. The idea of him daydreaming about this while working on those meticulous slides, wanting you while discussing celestial phenomena—it was both ridiculously endearing and intoxicating.

"Me too," you admitted, "got wet thinking about you in class, when you were sitting right next to me—"

Armin groaned, his hips stuttering before finding their rhythm again. "Yeah? While I was discussing Titan's atmosphere?" His voice was playful despite the strain, his lips curving against your neck.

"Especially then," you teased back, gasping as he hit a particularly sensitive spot. "Something about the way you talk about space—ah!—really does it for me."

He laughed, breathless and surprised, before pulling back enough to look at you. His expression shifted to something more serious, more vulnerable, as his pace slowed momentarily.

"I'm falling for you," he admitted quietly, the words hanging between you as his hips rolled in a slow, deliberate grind. "Not just this—though fuck, this is amazing—but all of it. You."

Your heart stuttered, warmth blooming in your chest that had nothing to do with the physical pleasure coursing through your veins.

Your heart swelled at his confession, but before you could respond, Armin's hips snapped forward with renewed vigor, stealing the words from your throat.

"But right now," he continued, voice dropping to a husky whisper as he picked up the pace, "right now I just want to make you come around my cock."

The filthy words from his usually proper mouth sent a shock of heat straight to your core. You watched, transfixed, as his lean muscles tensed with each thrust—the subtle definition of his abs contracting, the way his biceps flexed as he held himself above you. His golden hair, usually so neatly combed, now hung in sweaty strands around his flushed face, his blue eyes dark and unfocused with pleasure.

"Fuck," you moaned as he shifted, the angle changing just enough that the head of his cock dragged perfectly against your g-spot with every thrust.

"There it is," he murmured, a hint of smug satisfaction in his voice as he noted your reaction. "Found it."

He slammed into you harder, making the bed frame creak beneath you, each thrust precise despite the increasing desperation of his movements. The wet sounds of your bodies meeting filled the room, obscene and arousing.

"You're so fucking wet," Armin groaned, watching where your bodies connected. "Taking my dick so perfectly—shit—"

You whimpered at his words, clenching around him involuntarily, which made his eyes flutter closed for a brief moment.

Just as the tension was building, coiling tight in your lower belly, a sound from the apartment's entrance made you both freeze.

"Armin? You home?" Connie's voice carried down the hallway, followed by the distinct jingle of keys.

"Shit," Armin whispered, his eyes widening in panic. He glanced at the door—which, you realized with a jolt of adrenaline, neither of you had thought to lock.

Before you could process what was happening, Armin's hand clamped over your mouth, his body still buried deep inside yours.

"Yeah, I'm here!" he called back, voice remarkably steady despite the situation. "Just working on some stuff in my room. Don't—don't come in, I'm changing!"

His eyes met yours, a silent question in them—okay?—as he remained perfectly still, his cock pulsing inside you.

You nodded against his palm, heart racing with the thrill of nearly being caught. To your shock, instead of pulling out, Armin began to move again—slower now, more deliberate, his hips rolling in shallow thrusts that maintained the pressure against your sweet spot without making the bed creak.

"We brought pizza!" Sasha's voice called. "Extra pepperoni! You want some?"

Armin bit his lip, stifling a groan as you clenched around him again, the danger of the situation somehow heightening every sensation.

"Maybe—ah—maybe later!" he called back, his voice hitching slightly as you deliberately tightened around him. He shot you a warning look that only made heat pool lower in your belly.

"Suit yourself," Connie replied, his voice thankfully moving toward the living room. "We're gonna watch that new anime you were talking about. The one with the monsters."

Armin's hips stuttered at the mention, and you couldn't help but smile against his palm, imagining him trying to focus on serious conversation while balls-deep inside you.

"Go ahead!" Armin called, then lowered his voice to a whisper meant only for you. "If you make a sound, I'll stop."

The threat—not truly a threat given how desperately you both wanted this—made you shiver.

The moment he was satisfied his roommates were settled in the living room, Armin's hips snapped forward with renewed force, his hand pressing harder against your mouth. His eyes were wild, a mixture of arousal and danger as he leaned down to whisper in your ear.

"Gotta be quiet now," he breathed, his voice trembling slightly as he picked up the pace. "Can't let them hear how fucking wet your pussy is for me."

You whimpered against his hand, feeling yourself clench around him at the unexpected dirty talk. This was a side of Armin you'd glimpsed before—the way he'd whisper filthy praise against your ear when you sucked him off, how he'd gotten bolder with his words each time you hooked up—but never quite this raw, this uninhibited. His thrusts grew deeper, harder, the wet sounds of your bodies meeting seeming obscenely loud in the quiet room.

"Look at you," he continued, watching your breasts bounce with each powerful thrust. "Fuck, you're so perfect."

His free hand moved to cup one breast, thumb circling the hardened nipple before pinching it lightly, causing you to arch beneath him. Your muffled moan was captured by his hand, which pressed more firmly against your lips.

"Shh," he warned, but his eyes were dark with satisfaction at your reaction. "They'll hear you."

The position shifted slightly as he leaned more weight on the hand covering your mouth, his cock driving impossibly deeper. You could feel his heavy balls slap against your ass with each thrust, adding to the obscene symphony of skin against skin.

"You're dripping," he groaned quietly, glancing down at where your bodies joined. "Soaking the sheets, fuck—"

Despite his assertive words, Armin was falling apart above you—his composure cracking with each thrust. Sweat beaded on his forehead, his lower lip caught between his teeth as he tried to stifle his own sounds. A whimper escaped him when you deliberately clenched around his length, his eyes squeezing shut for a brief moment.

"Do that—do that again," he pleaded, voice breaking slightly as you obliged, squeezing your inner muscles around him. "God—feels so good—"

His rhythm faltered briefly before he found it again, driving into you with precision that belied his trembling thighs and stuttered breathing. The head of his cock hit that perfect spot deep inside you with each thrust, sending jolts of pleasure up your spine.

You tried to say his name, the sound muffled against his palm as your hands clutched at his back, nails digging into the smooth skin. Armin hissed at the sting but didn't slow down—if anything, the pain seemed to spur him on, his hips snapping forward with increased fervor.

"You like this?" he whispered, sweat-dampened hair falling into his eyes as he looked down at you. "Like me keeping you quiet while I fuck you? While my roommates are right outside?"

You nodded frantically, eyes wide as pressure built inside you, coiling tighter with each precise thrust.

"Such a—fuck—such a dirty girl," he continued, voice breaking on a particularly deep thrust. "Getting off on this—on me—ahh—holding you down and—and fucking you while—"

He couldn't even finish the sentence, too caught up in the sensation. His expression was a beautiful mess—flushed cheeks, parted lips, eyes glazed with pleasure. When you clenched around him again, he let out a whine that he immediately tried to muffle by burying his face in your neck.

"Close," he gasped against your skin, his rhythm growing erratic. "So close—need you to—need you to come with me—"

His hand slipped from your mouth just long enough to slide between your bodies, finding your clit with practiced ease. The sudden stimulation made you gasp, and his palm clamped back over your lips instantly.

"Quiet," he reminded you, but the command lacked authority as his own breath hitched. His fingers worked your clit in tight, fast circles as his cock continued to pound into you, the dual sensation rapidly pushing you toward the edge.

"Come on my cock," he urged, words turning desperate as his control slipped further. "Want to feel you—feel you squeeze me—God—squeeze me when you come—"

Your orgasm hit without warning, crashing over you in intense waves as your body clenched rhythmically around his length. Armin's hand barely muffled your cry as pleasure flooded every nerve, your back arching off the bed.

The feeling of your walls pulsing around him was too much. Armin's hips stuttered, his rhythm faltering completely as he buried himself deep inside you with one final thrust. His whole body tensed, a choked whimper escaping his lips as he came, his cock throbbing within you as he spilled into the condom.

For a long moment, he remained frozen above you, trembling with the force of his release. Then, slowly, he removed his hand from your mouth, replacing it with his lips in a gentle, almost apologetic kiss.

"Sorry," he whispered against your lips, still catching his breath. "Got a bit... carried away."

You smiled, reaching up to brush sweat-dampened hair from his forehead. "Don't apologize. That was... wow."

A flush that had nothing to do with exertion spread across his cheeks, the shy, sweet Armin returning now that the heat of the moment had passed. The transformation was as endearing as it was fascinating—how quickly he could shift from filthy-mouthed confidence back to soft-spoken tenderness.

"Yeah?" he asked, a hint of uncertainty in his voice despite what you'd just shared.

"Yeah," you confirmed, pulling him down for another kiss. "Definitely wow."

Armin carefully pulled out, both of you wincing slightly at the sensitivity. He pressed a soft kiss to your forehead before climbing off the bed and padding to the bathroom. You heard water running briefly before he returned, condom disposed of and a warm washcloth in hand.

"Here," he offered softly, gently cleaning between your thighs with a tenderness that made your chest ache. When he was done, he tossed the cloth into his hamper and climbed back onto the bed, immediately pulling you against his chest.

His fingers combed through your tangled hair, pushing sweaty strands away from your face. "You okay?"

You nodded, nestling into his warmth. "Perfect."

Armin reached toward the nightstand, grabbing a half-empty water bottle and offering it to you. "Drink something."

You took a few grateful sips before passing it back, watching as he drank deeply, his Adam's apple bobbing with each swallow. The care in these small gestures was somehow more intimate than what you'd just shared.

After a comfortable silence, you traced a finger along his collarbone. "So..."

His eyes met yours, a hint of vulnerability in them. "So?"

"You said something. During." You bit your lip, suddenly shy despite everything. "About falling for me."

A blush immediately spread across his cheeks, but to his credit, he didn't look away. "I did."

"Did you mean it?"

Armin exhaled, his hand finding yours, fingers intertwining. "Yeah. I did. I am." His thumb stroked the back of your hand nervously. "Falling for you, that is."

Your heart fluttered in your chest as you smiled up at him. "Good. Because I'm falling for you too."

The relief that washed over his face was almost comical—like he'd been genuinely worried after everything you'd shared. His arms tightened around you, pulling you closer as he pressed a kiss to the top of your head.

"Does that mean... I mean, would you want to..." he trailed off, then took a deep breath, forcing himself to meet your eyes. "Will you be my girlfriend? Officially?"

You couldn't help but laugh—not at him, but at the endearing formality of it all, asking you to be his girlfriend while you were both naked and sweaty in his bed.

"Yes, Armin," you said, pressing a quick kiss to his lips. "I'll be your girlfriend. Officially."

His answering smile was brilliant, crinkling the corners of his eyes in a way that made your stomach flutter.

"Great," he said, voice soft but steady. "That's... really great."

A loud burst of laughter from the living room reminded you both that you weren't alone in the apartment. Armin glanced toward the door, then back at you.

"We should probably..."

"Join civilization?" you suggested, already reaching for your scattered clothes.

"Yeah," he chuckled, climbing off the bed and searching for his boxers. "Plus, there's pizza."

You both dressed quickly, stealing glances and sharing small smiles as you put yourselves back together. Armin ran his fingers through his hair, attempting to tame it back into something presentable while you straightened your clothes and checked for any visible marks he might have left.

When you finally emerged from his bedroom, Connie and Sasha were sprawled across the couch, an open pizza box on the coffee table between them and some colorful anime playing on the TV.

"Well, well, look who finally emerged," Connie said, giving you a knowing grin as he paused the show. "Thought you said you were changing, Armin."

Armin froze for a half-second, his ears turning bright red as he fumbled for words. "I was—I mean, we were just—"

"Uh-huh," Sasha smirked, grabbing another slice of pizza. "Changing."

Armin's shoulders straightened suddenly, his hand finding yours and lacing your fingers together. "Well, I have a girlfriend now, so..." he trailed off defensively, the statement hanging in the air like he wasn't quite sure where he was going with it.

Connie and Sasha were silent, amusement on their expressions at Armin's words.

"Yeah, I have a girlfriend now, so what does it matter if I change in front of her?" Armin challenged more confidently, chin lifting slightly despite the blush still coloring his cheeks.

Connie rolled his eyes dramatically, throwing a wadded-up napkin in Armin's direction. "Yeah, yeah, just rub it in our faces, why don't you? Some of us are still single and suffering."

But there was no real bite to his words, just good-natured teasing as he scooted over to make room on the couch.

Sasha couldn't seem to stop smiling, her eyes darting between you and Armin with barely contained delight. "About time," she said, pushing the pizza box toward you both.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Armin asked, guiding you to the spot Connie had cleared.

"Dude, you've been talking about her non-stop for weeks," Connie snorted. "Pretty sure Sasha and I could recite your astronomy project by heart at this point."

"That's not true," Armin protested weakly, but the way he avoided eye contact made it clear Connie wasn't exaggerating.

Sasha leaned forward, stage-whispering to you. "He's had a crush on you since like, the second week of class. It was painful to watch."

"Okay," Armin interrupted loudly, reaching for a slice of pizza. "Can we please just watch the show now?"

You couldn't help but laugh at his embarrassment, settling comfortably against his side as Connie hit play on the remote. The anime resumed—something about giant humanoid creatures that seemed equal parts fascinating and terrifying—but you found yourself more interested in watching the easy camaraderie between the three roommates.

Despite their teasing, it was obvious how much Connie and Sasha cared about Armin. The way Sasha would occasionally glance over with a soft, approving smile, or how Connie had immediately made space for both of you, accepting you into their little circle without question.

As the show continued, Armin's arm found its way around your shoulders, pulling you closer. You leaned into him, enjoying the warmth of his body and the comforting weight of his arm. His fingers traced absent patterns on your shoulder as he focused on the screen, occasionally leaning down to whisper explanations of characters or plot points you might have missed.

It felt natural. Easy. Like you'd always belonged here, nestled against Armin's side while his friends bickered good-naturedly over the last slice of pizza.

When Armin's phone buzzed with a text from Eren asking how the date went, he simply smiled, typing back a quick response before tucking his phone away and pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

"Good?" he asked quietly, and you knew he wasn't just asking about the anime or the pizza.

"Perfect," you confirmed, settling more comfortably against him as the next episode began to play.

[coffeethathurtsyou]

So I already have a reference, including all his very specific physical details here.

Instead of just leaving this reblog as a link to that though, I wanted to answer something that was still relevant: why does he look like that?

From the creator perspective: I was extremely inspired by the third gender option that I needed to click when importing my latest TTRPG into FLondon. Which was great, because I already wanted to make sure the character wasn't a direct import. For a while I wasn't sure how that’d manifest, but eventually decided I wanted to explore a trans-masc character who has not just a non-masc appearance, but a very fem one. This visual was solidified when I decided I wanted him to have dangerous and persuasive as highest stats, and was using the red Corsetted Dress + Apian Coronet as his main outfit. 

So ultimately, Zagel is a trans-masc genderqueer character who loves to wear clothing that is more bright and glamorous visually, and shows off his very large chest, which he's very content with having. He refuses to wear skirts or dresses, and will be upset if he's gendered as female, but quite enjoys anyone making lots of unsure stuttering while trying to address him, too. He acts like he's content with his body, but there's still some dysphoria he needs to address. But it's not in the more "fem" ways he presents.

From in character perspective: The reason why he shows off so much skin and dresses in what he thinks looks great (no matter what general societies opinions of it are) is because Zagel had spent his entire life hiding. He was hidden away when he was just another sharing a body with Alice throughout youth, and even into adulthood was hidden from public eye, until Heinrich suggested trying to dress masc and hang out sometimes without having to hover behind Alice, (but that still involved having to dress to societies standards to avoid prying eyes, as a mutant.)

After the assassination attempt, he had to hide away to prevent his cover from being blown until he had managed to get enough footing in the Neath to defend himself… and that's when he found the coronet. And for the first time he wanted to just… be there, as himself. He wanted to wear something that made him feel nice. He didn't want to have to care what it said to other people, why he was supposed to wear it or not or even what HIS reason for wearing it was… he just wanted to wear it.

The reason he dresses as scandalous as he does now is because he doesn't want to hide anymore. He doesn't wanna hide his mutant half, but also he doesn't want to hide behind expectations either. If people don't like it, if they're unable to deal with so much skin showing and such… THEY have to look away now. He's not gonna carry that burden anymore.

Oh also:

Colour Scheme leans towards reds and purples.

Posture is very upright and straightened, unless he's doing something where that'd be too stiff. Then it's flexible (wynk)

This disaster is in his mid twenties, which is why all his emotional decisions are still in the moody teenager zone. He still hasn't had time to go through that phase yet.

#1

What does your character look like? Do they have any notable physical characteristics? Do they have a set colour-scheme? What's their posture like? How old is your character?

[badninken]

Gamma Knife - painting process

I had so much fun painting this piece and I want to share some behind-the-scenes stuff on how it was made.

I would like to thank MagicPoser for making it possible to try poses, scale, angles and lighting and saving my ass so many times. I use the app on my iPad but there's a free browser version too.

So I wrangled these 3D dudes into the poses I wanted and then I cut them to pieces and stretched them out to make them as leggy as they're supposed to be. Before I did that though I spent forever trying to pick the angle I wanted to paint. Including two other screenshots I considered using before settling, because it's fun. (nevermind Doffy's weird arm angle, it wasn't going to show anyway. The smoke-placeholder makes it looks like he's in The Sims though which is cute. That thing's about to go so red.)

Then I started sketching. I quickly moved Law higher up and changed his pose to make him more curled up, elbow-to-knee, legs bent etc for more intensity. MagicPoser is great as a reference but the end result gets pretty stiff and boring if you follow the 3D models too closely, and I wanted swoosh. So I painted some swooshy shapes to figure out the movement I wanted for the whole painting. Purple swooshes for the curve of Law and the direction of his jump. Pinker purple for Doflamingo's leg and spine arcs.

The b/w image below also shows the rough base for the feather coat. It's painted with a flat, tapering oil brush that created nice curves that I could refine later.

Skipping lots and lots of work to get to the next step. It's all rendering and detailing, mostly done with the HB pencil brush.

Coloring! I started by creating a gradient map bit lots of color steps. I kind of knew what I wanted but there's a lot of trial and error involved while picking colors and dragging sliders. In Photoshop I'd do this on an adjustment layer but in Procreate I do it by copying all visible layers (three finger slide, copy all visible) and making a new layer out of them where everything's merged (three finger slide, paste)

I then put that layer in Color-mode on 77% over the grayscale image after playing around and testing lots of things. I rarely know what I want before I see it. I copied that layer again and put it in Add-mode on a very low opacity because it looked neat. Every image is a new adventure when it comes to layer blending modes, there is no right or wrong here, you just have to test things until you find an effect that you like. Huge potential for happy accidents in this step.

I didn't want everything to be pink so I created a new Color-layer to paint skin, clothes and radiation. Lowered opacity to let the pink base shine through slightly, for a cohesive and more natural look. Color-mode on full opacity often looks a bit flat and washed out unless combined with something else.

There's a lot more that happened after that but it's all detail stuff, effects, lots of layers with soft airbrushed gradients on various blending modes. Also directional perspective blur where I masked out some feathers to still be sharp against the blurry ones in the back, a quick and easy way to create a sense of movement and depth.

Again, thanks MagicPoser, I would have cried so much and probably given up over the angle of Doflamingo's head without your help 🙏

[leviackmyman]

for whatever that's worth (levi ackerman) . ۫ ꣑ৎ .

content: levi x gn!reader | 2.5 k | after you moved for a new job, levi felt as though the distance was permanent. believing you would never read it, he finds the courage to spill his heart into a letter. warnings: angst (with a happy ending), yearning note: i decided to do a mini series of fics for aot characters based on songs from sydney ross mitchell's pure bliss forever ep! levi's is based off "pure bliss forever" <3 also ignore that i wrote another thing about someone moving away. i SWEAR i have other stories to tell

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡.•

it was agony, all those conversations levi had with you in his head. in the shower, in bed when he couldn’t sleep, on his way to the grocery store, sometimes even in the mirror when he got ready for his day. it was almost as if the longer he spent without actually talking to you, the more the words became clear in his mind. it was a sick joke. 

as much as he tried, begged, to forget the pain, the fact that you moved away always hung over him. maybe the grief of you leaving wouldn’t be so heavy if he had really believed you when you first mentioned the idea. but, because he didn’t have the courage to ask, there were so many unanswered questions. there were so many words left unsaid–at least on his part–and there were so many times he wondered if you ever even properly said “goodbye.”

levi didn’t remember who initiated the silence. honestly, he couldn’t be sure that the silence was created by either of you. it felt so massive, so real, that he would believe it if the silence were an actual living being, pushing you both apart, covering each mile between your cities. but the fact of the matter is that levi pushed you away before you left. or, rather, he didn’t chase after you when you walked away. no matter how many times he watched the scene play back in his head, the truth was he never saw you look back.

the cause was simple: you moved to a different city because you accepted a new job. the fallout, however, was complicated. despite being dear friends, you never really discussed this in detail. you never really mentioned wanting a change, never once during the meals you shared almost every other day, not even a blip in your near-daily phone calls. then again, even levi knew this was more of an opportunity that fell into your lap, not something you intended on doing so quickly. it gutted him though that, when you revealed the news, it was a passing comment over coffee. you didn’t offer much of an explanation, but levi assumed that was because he didn’t ask. you told him the truth, suddenly and simply, and in a way that was so final he didn’t know what to say other than okay. i hope the new job and city treat you well.

it wasn’t okay, but how was he supposed to tell you that? how was he supposed to tell you how much he’d miss you when you presented the news like a statement that couldn’t be argued? how would he even find the words to ask what happened when your distant expression knocked the wind out of him?

by some sick twist of fate, a cruel joke really, levi found the words you were searching for several months after you were gone. you left him behind, and he begrudgingly accepted that wouldn’t change. maybe that was why he could finally say what he had been keeping secret all this time. levi knew you’d never hear him, so he didn’t have to worry about making you hear him out.

frantically, late at night, he stopped tossing and turning in bed and started writing. something took over him. perhaps it was the ghost of who he was when you were in his life. the version of him that thought you would be by his side forever. the future he lost when he lost you, the potential that haunted him every waking moment. whatever it was that took hold that night, he was a madman possessed, overwhelmed with honesty and determined to get everything out in the open before he lost the strength, before he swallowed his courage instead of his pride.

y/n, i know you’ll never read this, so i won’t bother lying or hiding the truth behind pretty words - it hurts, but there is a freedom in knowing that i can no longer reach you. i think that pain is more bearable than the pain i felt the day you left.

you’d probably be surprised to learn about all the ways i was hurt, destroyed even, by you leaving. i’ve never known how to do anything other than keep quiet, than to keep my cards close to my chest. i won’t spend any more time wondering if you clenched your jaw to keep the confession on your lips from climbing out as you were saying “goodbye.” i am trying not to spend any more time wondering what you were thinking when you decided to go, when you decided to uproot your life so quickly, so definitively. it still haunts me. that day you flipped my life upside down. you still haunt me.

i’ll cut to the chase. you leaving cut me so deeply that i felt like a cavern, ready to swallow the whole world until i couldn’t feel the pain of missing you. it’s ironic, honestly, because i knew i loved you when i realized you were the person i’d miss most if you were gone. i was figuring out the words to say, waiting for the right time to tell you that i loved you, that my life with you was a dream come true. then, in a moment, in a single sentence, you made my nightmare come true. you’ve proven me right, in the worst possible way.

do you think it would have been different if i told you “i love you” sooner? i honestly don’t know if i could handle your answer. i guess i’m glad you can’t respond. at least i can comfort myself with a false sense of hope that i could have had any influence on your decision. at least i can hold onto a sweet delusion that, at one point, i was an important part of your life. 

i wanted you, for whatever that’s worth. all the days with you in my life, i wanted you more than anything. i wanted pure bliss forever, and i thought the path to that was walking by your side. as embarrassing as it is, i can finally admit that i was mistaken. but my foolishness doesn’t change the truth. i loved you, yn. i loved you then, and i think there’s a part of me that loves you now. 

i hate to admit it, but i miss you, even though you disappeared without a trace. or, rather, i think i miss who you used to be, the version of you that i recognize. i guess i can’t miss who you are now. it’s not really possible to miss a stranger, no matter how much they resemble someone you once loved. i hear that reminder in your voice, whenever i lose myself in thoughts of you. even after all this time, all this silence, you’re still the one offering reason in the face of all my confusion. isn’t that something?

maybe there’s a part of me that will always belong to you. only time will tell. for my own sake, for my own sanity, i hope that isn’t true.

yours, 

love, 

warmly, 

take care.

he was out of tears when he slipped the envelope into the mailbox. he was out of hope as he stepped away. despite the weight that remained in his chest, his shoulders felt lighter, the way you feel simultaneous relief and grief when you know how a good book ends. 

days passed, and levi buried that letter deep down, far away in the corner of his mind where he kept memories of you. he felt that he was finally turning a corner, finding a way to enjoy his life without yearning for the love he lost. but, of course, life wouldn’t be kind enough to let him off the hook that easily. he reminded of this truth when he heard a knock at the door. a sound he recognized before your knuckles hit the door a second time. 

“why are you here?” he tried to keep his voice level, indifferent at best, but the disbelief crept in regardless.

you stood in front of him, looking almost exactly the same as you looked when you turned to say goodbye. as you stood across from him, you noticed his hair was a little disheveled, at least by levi standards, and you could’ve sworn there were the smallest bags under his eyes. you worried that he wasn’t sleeping well enough. 

“i got your letter.”

he bit the inside of his cheek to hide the smile that crept up after hearing your matter-of-fact answer, somehow comforted by the simplicity of it, “i see that. did you come all this way to tell me you got it?”

“no.”

you paused. maybe you were expecting him to ask you another question, to guide you towards the truth neither of you knew how to say. but he was so tired, so overwhelmed by your presence after so long, that he stayed silent. his letter said everything he wanted to say. it was your turn to talk.

“after i read your letter–and i read the entire thing, more than once–i had a question i couldn’t get out of my head.”

something about your emphasis on reading every word made his breath halt in his chest. levi felt a twinge in his heart at the fact that his confession lingered in your mind long enough for you to form a question. he lingered in your mind long enough for you to be here, right in front of him. that was enough to spike his adrenaline so much that his hands trembled, despite their unmoving position at his side.

“what?”

you sighed, perhaps displeased with the emotionless tone he offered. you paused again, glancing down at the paper in your hand, running your thumb over the imprint of his handwriting. 

“why, after crossing every kind word at the end out, did you still tell me to take care?” 

he pressed his lips together, holding back his emotions in order to tell the truth as simply as possible, “just because i wrote that letter to say goodbye to the person i loved doesn’t mean i stopped wanting the best for you.” 

you stared at him, longer than he’d ever noticed you doing before. despite years of wishing you’d see him the way he saw you, despite months of wishing you had just turned back, just once, he realized that maybe he was never ready to handle the intensity of your gaze. it was as though every part of him was being unraveled, analyzed, and put back together, with so much gentleness and care he thought he’d combust.

“do you still intend to say goodbye?”

“do you still intend to be far away?”

your eyes focused on the letter, gripped so tightly in your hand your knuckles were porcelain, waiting to break. it must’ve been the wind, the glare of the light, but he could’ve sworn that he saw you shaking. 

“i guess i didn’t really show it, but the worst part of leaving this city was leaving you. that’s why i…well, i didn’t know what to say all this time because…i didn’t know how to tell you that i carry you with me wherever i go. and, after reading your letter, i hoped that maybe you were the same. that…that even though how things changed left a bad taste in your mouth, the part of my heart i left here still had a place in your life…despite everything.” 

all he could do was stare at you. he waited for the words to seem real, to make sense with the reality he contended with for all this time. he waited for logic to kick in, to tell him how to respond in a way that won’t let him get hurt (again). but your voice was still his voice of reason, and he couldn’t find a reason not to believe what you were saying right now.

“why didn’t you tell me that when you left? why didn’t you explain why you left so quickly?”

“levi,” you sighed, clearly trying to keep your voice calm, “i would’ve told you if you had asked. i thought…well, i thought you didn’t care. i didn’t realize that i mattered to you until i got your letter,” you held it up between you two, maybe trying to prove that this was the only connection left, “which you didn’t really want me to get, seeing as you sent it to my old address.” 

he flinched at your scowl, but he made no move to disagree with your anger. it was the least he could do, after all. levi knew he didn’t ask you more about your choice, and you were right. he didn’t write the letter with the intention of you knowing how he felt. he was so much of a coward that all he could do was hope it got thrown out by the new resident. considering none of this behavior was reflective of loving someone, if asked, he would admit that he deserved to be your punching bag for all of eternity, given the ways he hurt you and let you down.

“i’m sorry,” levi stopped, mulled over his words, “i didn’t ask because i was scared. i assumed that i would never be enough to make you stay. more than that, i…loved you so much i felt like i had to let you go, if that's what you really wanted. i think i was a fool, a coward who just sat in silence because i'd rather hear you say goodbye than hear you say you didn’t want me.”

you saw levi clench and unclench his fists, clearly uncomfortable with this new vulnerability. rather than torturing him–or yourself–with prolonged silence, you replied with all the courage and kindness you could muster.

“i love you, levi. i want you, i want that ‘pure bliss forever’ you talked about, for whatever that’s worth.” 

it was like his heart was breaking all over again, but this time breaking down to build itself back into a better version of what it once was. you stood, frozen in time, waiting for his answer. instead of saying anything, he quietly stepped forward to wrap you in his arms. despite the shock, you melted into him immediately, unable to resist being held in the only arms you ever felt safe in. 

“say the word and i’m yours,” you whispered against his shoulder, “please.”

he squeezed you tighter, happy that the words came out somehow, even if late and after so much pain. he figured he shouldn’t waste any more time with words left unsaid.

“i still want you. i love you, and i’ll have you, as long as you’ll have me.”

you loosened your grip on him, just enough so you could lean back and look him in the eyes as you said, “i could never want anyone else.”

levi smiled. his dream come true, his pure bliss forever, was right there in his arms. he was never letting you go again.

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡.•

[papathe5th]

Papa V Perpetua didn’t care for the ghildo. Frater Imperator had a choir of plush toys for the congregation to worship. If the Clergy decided he needed a couple hundred silicone dickheads in his likeness as a means for his followers to get closer to him, then he invited every one of them to fuck themselves. Literally.

Tonight, he couldn’t say he cared about it, but he was invested in watching you put the cursed creation to its unholy use.

“You’re going to hurt yourself, angel,” he spoke after what felt like an eternity.

You had been lost in his eyes for about as long, inside the deep black pits of his skull mask where a single star shone. It beamed down on the bare body you had presented to him. You were at the edge of his bed with your legs tucked under your thighs, your back bowed over them while your hands worked on welcoming the miniature head into your hole.

“I want it to hurt,” you gasped, your insides sucking in the silicone tip in time with your mouth choking on big gulps of air. “You always hurt me, Papa.”

“Because you could never take all seven inches,” Papa palmed the expanding inches in his slacks. His erection was lubricating itself, unlike the perpetually posturing likeness taking his place between your legs.

“I want to,” you dragged out the words, determined to show him how much of him you were willing to take, how much of your body you were willing to break for him. “I want all of you, Papa. I’m ready. I’m ready for the real thing. All of it.”

“No,” Papa denied you, squeezing his swelling dick and sucking in air through his saliva-slick teeth. He denied himself, too, all to teach you a lesson. “You wanted to fuck yourself, so that’s what you’re going to do. Fuck yourself, angel.”

Under the light of Papa V Perpetua’s white eye, you took the toy inside you with the same fever you swallowed his come and soaked his fingers with your own.

You saw the back of your skull and your tongue dangled off your bottom lip dripping with drool. The sensation of slickened silicone and the delicious details that caught on your inner walls set a fire in your loins. And you got chills climbing up your spine at the feeling of Papa V Perpetua’s breath between your legs when he folded to his knees in front of you.

“Oh, angel,” he spoke after another eternity in which you flew the stratosphere and plummeted back into his plush bed. “We have to stretch you out some more.” His warm breath became a hot kiss to your spent sex when he said. “You came when you were only half-way.”

[queendaeron]

Some things I’d like to remind this fandom concerning Daemon and Daemyra:

It’s often the same old “Daemon didn’t have interactions with his children or with Rhaenyra” or “We don’t know how they felt about each other”

But remember this: GRRM wrote an entire novella, The Rogue Prince, which was published in 2014, embedded in F&B, centred around Daemon. Precisely because he wants us to understand the character, his arc and his role in the narrative. Writing a short novella is more practical because F&B is excessively plagued by the narrators’ editorialising and the conflicting, biased sources

We see that Daemon is constantly at the centre of attention. Whether he’s seen in a positive light or not, everyone knows where he is, what he’s doing and what he’s saying, and YET, he remains mysterious at the core. In short: all eyes are on him, for better or worse

So when he finally marries Laena in 115, a woman he actually wanted, and becomes a father for the first time in 116, you notice that he starts being more composed, you could even say that he matured

And then he marries Rhaenyra in 120 and poof: nothing. The man practically vanishes from the text

And that’s the point!

The novella fleshes out how Daemon’s one true love, desire and goal is to have a true family. As much as he loved his brother, let’s not forget that Viserys is responsible for Mysaria’s tragic miscarriage, a child Daemon made it clear that he wanted. Baelon and Alyssa were long dead, Otto hated him and did everything to create distensions between the two brothers, and he was married to a woman he didn’t love at all… Daemon had no true place in the world. No real role and we know how much he craves serving a purpose. Serving his FAMILY. That’s how The Rogue Prince starts: he’s marginalised and deep down, he’s lonely

Daemon was a man who attracted everyone’s attention, always present in conversations, always reviled or loved. He was seen in whorehouses and rat pits. Everyone knew him without understanding him

Yet suddenly he disappears, marries his third and final wife, and has two children that were technically useless in terms of politics and very low in the line of succession. He even almost had a third child seven years after Viserys was born. He was 48, Rhaenyra 32. They already had seven children between them. And Visenya was clearly very much awaited. He loved being a father and a husband, explains why he was apparently still enthusiastically active even at his age, if you know what I mean…

When Daemon built his family, he let go of his old roguish ways because he finally found purpose: with his children and his wife. As Rhaenys said “Dragons thrive best on Dragonstone”. It’s obvious this was GRRM’s way of pointing out that Daemon and his family actually thrived, not just the dragons. They literally multiplied. Syrax kept laying eggs. I mean it’s RIGHT HERE lol. Really don’t get why everyone misses that (or chooses to miss that…)

The fact that we know so little about their life on Dragonstone is actually very telling. Because the small details we do have say everything. That’s why I just cannot understand those who claim book Daemyra had “less depth” than Daemon and Laena for example, or show! Daemyra itself. They spent ten years together, what more are you asking for? They were safe on Dragonstone, away from the Greens who bullied Rhaenyra and her children at any occasion. This was a life of freedom and fulfilment. They were the closest to their Targaryen heritage and the power of their own blood. We barely hear from them because they were too focused on their little lives. Meanwhile we hear how miserable things are at King’s Landing

I’ll also point out how their children loved each other. The twins were inseparable. The Velaryon boys admired and loved each other. Jace was the one who made sure his younger half brothers were safe during the war. Baela was fiercely protective of Aegon when he became king. Rhaena called him her “beloved brother”. Aegon and Viserys were basically one soul in two bodies. Jace was considered a worthy heir, his little brother Viserys was literally compared to Jaehaerys I, Aegon worshipped his half brothers…

Mind you these kids had at least four different parents, probably five if you count Harwin 😭 That’s precisely because not only did Daemon and Rhaenyra raise good children, they raised them with love

And that’s how The Rogue Prince ends: he finally found his place in the world: with a family he built for himself. He was heir to nothing. Laena was heir to nothing too, so they had nothing to give to their girls but love, yet he was canonically a girl dad. Rhaenyra, while heir to the Iron Throne, already had three sons. The twins were betrothed to those boys. Baela and Rhaena transformed Daemon: Aegon and Viserys cemented that transformation. Visenya would have been the apogee, the crowning point of that life…had Rhaenyra not been usurped

That is when, and only then, Daemon started to waver in his stability. The only reason he returned to his fatal flaws was because he was grieving, not because his marriage was unfulfilling or shallow

That’s why the progressive estrangement between Rhaenyra and Daemon after the Fall of King’s Landing is so heartbreaking in hindsight:

They had everything they ever wanted: Rhaenyra and her sons were finally safe from the Greens and their suffocating influence, she finally had a husband of her choice, Daemon found the stability he needed to raise his daughters, Rhaenyra ruled Dragonstone on her own right, the kids were, as we well know, good and brave and loyal kids. Everyone valued one another. But everything was taken from them. And while Rhaenyra and Daemon died five months apart, and their deaths interestingly mirror each other, they still couldn’t quite reach one another. It’s the tragedy of these parallels: it wasn’t natural for them to be separated, it wasn’t RIGHT. They weren’t made for that

And yet I find that the reunion between Viserys and Aegon actually represents how Daemyra never truly died, and how their love persisted over time, it passed on to the people they loved the most: their children. Aegon and Viserys ruled together. They trusted each other blindly. They were the brothers Daemon and Viserys I never managed to be because of the external pressure. Aegon and Viserys were sons of the realm’s delight and the Rogue Prince, they grew up seeing their parents love each other. That gave them a fierce sense of loyalty. The same is true for Baela and Rhaena: let’s not forget that it was Baela’s husband, Alyn, who brought Viserys back. She and Rhaena introduced Aegon to Daenaera so that he wouldn’t be used for the benefits of some greedy Lord. They watched closely over their little brother

And the way Baela’s characterisation is so intertwined with Daemon’s own shows just how much of an influence their parents had. The children idolised their parents. Baela was basically her father reborn, she was the best of everything he was. It provides us a more positive light on Daemon’s person, one that is depicted in a very subtle way. Probably why most people here are so blind to it, or don’t accept it

I’d say Daemon died because he loved his family too much, and couldn’t bear to watch it crumble:

He fulfilled his duty by killing Vhagar, but he abandoned another when he died without returning to his family, precisely because his accumulating grief, whether from physical or spiritual loss, had extinguished the joy within him. Yes I’m paraphrasing the book here

But even his duty to kill Vhagar was motivated by the love he had for his family. He didn’t go back to Rhaenyra because he thought he had lost her, because he had no idea of her situation: he didn’t know about Tumbleton, thought Aegon II was no threat, Sunfyre was out of the picture, Addam was still defending King’s Landing, Rhaenyra still had the Velaryon fleet, Baela was still safe on Dragonstone…

He didn’t “save” Rhaenyra because he had NO IDEA of what was going on. He didn’t think she needed to be saved. He thought she would be safe once Aemond was dead. He DID NOT KNOW. He could have never imagined what she would suffer in her last days

Again this is the tragic aspect of Daemyra: the miscommunication in a world where their strength was based on their deeply personal relationship, and their marriage of love and partnership. Once it fell down, they died within months of each other: I think this choice in the timing was deliberate on GRRM’s part to show that those two should never be separated, and when they were, they died without having ever said goodbye

That’s why GRRM wrote The Rogue Prince. That’s what Daemon is. Just think what you will with what you have…

[lanawinterscigarettes]

hellooo are you writing for alex cabot x fem reader? can i request a fluff or smut one please? i miss our ice queen so much 🥺

- 🤸🏻

More Than Anything || Alex Cabot x fem! reader

Summary: you're the most important thing in Alex's life, and she always takes the time to let you know

Warnings/contains: domestic fluff, discussions of criminal court and brief mentions of a criminal case/the crimes committed (nothing in detail), smut/nsfw, romantic/passionate sex (lovemaking if you will), vaginal fingering (reader receiving)

Beginning notes: I don't actually have alex on the list of characters that I write for but I was debating on whether or not to write for her anyway so I decided to indulge you. I hope you like it 💕

If there was one person who worked hard at her job, it was ADA Alex Cabot. She practically lived and breathed the legal system with the way she so fully immersed herself into her work, and it was clear to everyone just how much she valued it and saw it as an important part of her life. The only thing, in fact, that could ever hold a candle to it was her relationship with you.

After the many long and tedious hours she spent prosecuting criminals, she was always relieved when it finally came time for her to clock out and make her way back home, which is where she could count on you to be waiting for her. She thought it was cute how often you'd try to stay up until she got back, only to be found passed out on the couch or curled up in the bed of your shared apartment.

In this instant, it was one of those days where her court cases had gone surprisingly smooth, which meant she got to come home early for once. You were still awake, sitting at the small table in the kitchen with a mug full of some sort of hot drink. The steam from the liquid danced in the air as you stirred it with your spoon, dispersing the moment you blew on it.

"Hey, honey. How was work?" You greeted in a manner that was just as warm as your beverage (if not more so), watching as she hung up her coat on the rack before carefully slipping off her shoes and placing them in a neat row by the door.

"Better than usual. I had to drop a charge on a rape and homicide from murder two down to manslaughter one just to get an indictment, but overall it could've gone much worse."

She chuckled lightly at the look of displeasure on your face. It wasn't often that she discussed the details of her cases with you, because she knew you neither understood the legal jargon nor had any interest in hearing about the atrocities she dealt with on a daily basis. That was perfectly fine by her, as she much preferred getting to keep her work and home life as separate from one another as possible.

"Well, that's just lovely," you commented dryly in response before taking a sip of your drink, the steamy liquid seeming to pool down into the very coldest bits of you and warming you up from the inside out. The winters in New York were always freezing, which is one of the reasons why you were glad Alex was home so early. You liked being able to cuddle with her before you went to sleep.

"I think I need a nice, hot bath after a day like this," she mused as she made her way over, leaning down to place a kiss on your cheek before speaking next to your ear in a low and borderline sultry tone. "Care to join me?"

You felt a shiver go down your spine that had nothing to do with the cold, your drink forgotten as you allowed her to take you by the hand and pull you up from your seat. "I think you already know the answer to that."

One intimate yet (mostly) innocent bath later, the two of you found yourselves naked and tangled up in bed under the sheets, pressed close to one another as you tried your best to stay warm. It certainly didn't hurt to have your girlfriend touching you the way she was.

Alex's lips ghosted over the column of your throat while you tilted your head back, a quiet sigh of content escaping you at the way she kissed you so fervently. One of your hands clutched at her back while the other snaked up to the hair at the nape of her neck, your fingers lacing through the silky blonde strands and giving them a light tug as you subtly directed her mouth on where to go.

Her hands, meanwhile, mapped out each and every section of your body before finally slipping between your legs, her tender touch on your bare thighs causing your breath to hitch. A gaspy moan was pulled from your lips when her fingers brushed over your slit and dipped beneath your wet folds, teasing your aching entrance.

“A-Alex-” you whined out her name while allowing your eyes to flutter shut, starting to become overwhelmed in the best way possible. “P-Please- Need you-”

You could feel the corners of her lips quirk upwards against your neck into a smirk of amusement at your desperate pleading, and the humming noise she let out had your body trembling in anticipation. “You know, I always thought you sounded the prettiest whenever you begged,” her husky voice breathed out right next to your ear, causing goosebumps to pop up in her wake.

Before you could respond, she slipped her fingers inside your dripping hole, hitting all the right spots as she pleasured you. One thing about Alex is that she was an expert at being able to get your toes curling in delight and your back arching up off the bed as quickly as possible.

“Oh, God-” Your grip on her hair tightened with one hand as the other dug your nails into her shoulder blade, the quiet hissing noise she let out from the action only getting you more aroused. You could tell she needed this as much as you did, it having been far too long since you were able to properly enjoy each other’s company without her work getting in the way.

It didn't take very long for you to get close, something she could tell right away. She was determined to make you fall apart just like this, with her body on yours while her fingers moved expertly deep inside you. "C'mon, baby, cum for me," she urged, her tone borderlining on pleading in a way that you rarely ever heard from her. "Cum for me like a good girl."

That one little sentence is what finally pushed you over the edge, what had you crying out in ecstasy as you reached your peak, what made your body tense up as the coil deep in your stomach snapped before you sunk back into the mattress laying beneath you both, effectively turned into nothing more than a pile of boneless mush. You were exhausted, and your entire body felt like it was made out of jello, but you could honestly say that was the most best and perhaps intense orgasm you'd had in a while.

"God, that felt good," you mused while Alex placed a few lazy kisses to your neck. "You should really get off work early more often."

She let out a soft hum of amusement in response while lifting her head up to watch you with those blue eyes of hers. Most people would probably describe them as having an icy appearance, but they didn't know her like you did, because all you saw when you looked in them was the warm look of love. "You think so?"

"Yeah." The two of you were quiet for a moment as you simply laid there in each other's embrace before you spoke up again. "I love you, Alex."

At that, she smiled, one that was genuine and not full of the sarcasm or arrogance she had while at work. "I love you, too," she whispered just barely loud enough for you to hear. "More than anything."

End notes: I started this wayyy back in January when I first got the ask and then lost the google docs file I wrote it in and only found it recently so my bad for how late this is getting out 💔 requests for alex are absolutely welcomed though! currently the svu characters I'll probably focus on writing for (if any) are her, casey, and olivia in case anyone's wondering <3

Likes < reblogs | comments are greatly appreciated | requests are currently open | divider by @/soulari

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[jude457]

so the main reason why i’ve been sitting on a bunch of fics lately—stuff i haven’t posted, even though it’s finished—because i keep getting stuck on this one question:

how much medical detail is too much in a fic?

like, is it too much to show what a body goes through after prolonged sexual trauma? concerning the fics where i explore a darker side of inho’s relationship with the vips. i don’t write this stuff to be shocking. it’s not about being graphic or edgy—it just feels unrealistic and unfinished to me to leave it out. examples of what i’ve included are underneath the readmore:

if i’m writing inho truthfully he’d have chronic, complicated UTIs—pain when he urinates, burning, pressure that never fully goes away, constant urgency without relief. because when you’re used repeatedly for years, when you’re used by multiple men with no care or protection, your body breaks down. infections become constant. systems stop working the way they should. the tearing wouldn’t have healed properly. there’d be scar tissue, nerve pain that burns down his spine and into his hips, days when his whole pelvis feels locked up with the trauma of what has been done to him. a deep, raw ache that flares when he moves wrong, when he sits too long, when he’s cold or stressed or simply remembering. (what i believe most people would find too realistic for a fic) is how going to the bathroom after the body is traumatised like this would be painful in some way. not sometimes—always. the unhealthy relationship with food that would stem from that. it would change how he eats. he’d learn quickly which foods pass more easily, which ones leave him shaking in agony so badly he bites the inside of his cheek to stay silent. how over time, eating becomes something he fears. not because he isn’t hungry, but because he knows what comes next. he builds a mental list of what’s “safe” and sticks to it obsessively.

including these symptoms adds a deeper layer of in-ho’s self-hatred and destruction too. because it’s not just that he’s in constant pain—it’s that he won’t let anyone see it. he carries the infections, the nerve damage, the tearing, the nights spent hunched in silence with his pelvis on fire. sometimes he bleeds. so he hides his laundry—washes it alone, scrubbing stains out by hand before anyone notices. it’s become a ritual. a quiet way of keeping the worst of it hidden. because even the blood feels like evidence. and he can’t let that exist in anyone else’s hands. not when it all leads back to the same thing. not just because it hurts, but because it’s tied to his greatest shame. what the vips did to him. what he endured to stay alive

he’d never let gihun or junho know. he thinks if they find out, they’ll see what he sees: someone broken. someone used. someone dirty. so he hides it. he always hides it. until one day his body gives out and there’s no more room to pretend.

to be honest i also find it important to explore the way inho struggles to even see himself as a rape victim. he spent close to two decades as a detective before being dismissed, dealing with these kinds of cases—he knows the language, the legal classifications, the evidence kits, the expected responses. and somewhere along the way, whether he meant to or not, he built a picture in his head of what a victim looks like: vulnerable, broken, not him because inho still views himself as a monster. and now he’s on the other side of it, but the image won’t shift. he can’t reconcile the man he’s become with the reality of what was done to him. it doesn’t match. it doesn’t fit. and that disconnect—the inability to grant himself the same compassion he offered others—is almost more painful than the trauma itself. because naming it would mean accepting it. and accepting it would mean facing the full weight of what was taken from him.

[possiblyawesometmblr]

Are there details or character quirks you wish you could have shown more as ari/sylph?

ooooh let's see!

i would have loved getting to get more into sylph's past and where they came from. they actually have a pretty rough childhood, but because they actively try not to let it affect them and have a more carefree attitude, it didn't come out as much. sylph lost several different guardians from a very young age, and grew up with a very inherent sense of being unwanted. the reason they're so outspoken is actually something they purposefully do in spite of this -- they spent so much of their childhood feeling invisible that they now carry themselves in a way that is extremely hard to ignore. i think there's a lot to say about the spiteful way in which they approach their own trauma. they also ran away from their last official guardian and had been on their own since age 12, and i think being self-reliant from that young an age had a huge impact on them.

with ari, i think i got most of what i wanted to do with her out there, but i think her time with the pillagers pre-vexing could have been explored a lot more. the time she was vexed in canon is the only time she's been vexed, before then she was working with them willingly in previous resets (or, in less pleasant resets -- trapped in a cell). i think there's a lot to unpack about her relationship with namir and the other pillagers, because she did think of them as family, and there were actually a few who cared about her in the same way. it's a bit harder to get into in the s3 reset because by this point, she's fully recognized them as villains, but i would have liked to show a little bit more of the time before she knew what was going on, and the level of betrayal she felt.

[literary-illuminati]

2025 Book Review #24 – Memories of Ice by Steven Erikson

Reading through Malazan is the largest and most intimidating-sounding of my plethora of little reading goals for the year and – though I’ve now fallen off the one-a-month pace – one I’m still on track to complete. Memories of Ice is the third in the series (and good god can you absolutely not start anywhere but the beginning for this) and, sadly, probably my least favourite of the three so far. Not to say that it didn’t have some incredibly high points (and one of the best characters I’ve read this year), but overall the book was just very preoccupied with the subjects and characters that I find the least interesting by some measure. The truly amazing final hundred or so pages very nearly redeemed the whole thing, but at nearly 1200 pages getting to that was at points a slog.

The story occurs more or less simultaneously (I think) with the events of Deadhouse Gates, returning to the protagonists of Gardens of the Moon – most prominently prominently the Malazan Bridgeburners and Anomander Rake. Though honestly the story jumps between so many different POVs I would probably forget several if I tried to list them. It is however significantly more narratively focused than Deadhouse Gates was – this is overwhelmingly the story of the war between the Panion Seer and his horrifying, cannibalistic empire and, well, everyone else. Most of all the ostensibly-outlawed legion of Dujek Onearm and the allied coalition led by Caladin Brood, but there’s at least three or four other armies of note marching against him as well. Intertwined with that are major secondary plots introducing the Chained God, who I’m led to believe is the overarching villain of the series and by his opening moves seems to be living up to the roll, and exploring the past, future, and significance of the t’laan imass beyond their previous role as neanderthal zombie genocidaires and imperial stormtroopers (though they’re still very much that as well).

Being entirely honest, the biggest thing I am taking away from this book is the feeling that I was sold this series under false pretenses. Which is to say – Malazan is always sold as this example of richly detailed, semi-realistic and sociologically informed fantasy, with Erikson’s degrees in archaeology and anthropology mentioned prominently in trying to explain what series’ deal is. I struggled a bit to reconcile this assumption through the first two books in a way that probably gave me slightly odd readings of them, but this finally, forcibly, disabused me of it entirely.

The tipping point was specifically (and most glaringly, though it’s hardly unique here) the Panion Domain and the siege of Capustan. Neither of which make any sense at all without such a generous helping of ‘wizard did it’ that literally the entire book becomes shadowboxing the Seer specifically and his whole empire is nothing but but a vain affectation and exercise in atrocity rather than any sort of actual viable engine of conquest or actual augmenter of his power. You can’t even say the Domain is Mordor – Tolkein spent far more effort sketching out the agricultural and commercial-industrial systems sustaining and equipping Sauron’s endless hordes (and even gave them the occasional general worth a damn). Whereas Erikson - as described the entire army sent to take Capustan should have starved to death or being so riven with disease that the invasion collapsed under its own weight before anyone on the walls saw it. In an empire explicitly devoid of either mines or (save the palace-complex) cities, all that heavy infantry should hardly have the armour to deserve the name, either. Certainly it should not have been in any state to overrun the professionally manned and well-defended walls in a matter of days – given the ostensible size of the army and the shallowness of the command structure, ‘days’ is the time frame it should have taken to pull back one assault wave and send in another.

Taken on its own terms, this is mostly just annoying nitpicking – this is a book where a tenement complex is fought over so fiercely the walls start cracking from the number of corpses stuffed into each level, not one that actually cares about the minutia of provisions and logistics; Berserk not The Witcher. But realizing it was that sort of book was an unpleasantly forced shift of perspective and – having made it – a lot of the cultural detail lavished on the world suddenly started seeming much more shallow and artificial. Though having that understanding certainly made the rest of the plot – mythopeic psycho-drama that it was – much, much easier to appreciate and enjoy.

At this point I might also just have a fundamental issue with how Erikson writes his villains. Or, well, doesn’t write them. In both Deadhouse Gates and Memories of Ice there is a central conceit and character at the heart of the enemy forces that is compelling and absolutely riven with both interest and pathos – and in both cases, we spend essentially no time at all with them. Instead – and somehow even more with the Panion Seer’s minions than the Army of the Apocalypse, which is no mean feat – we spend absolute ages luxuriating in all their bloodthirsty atrocities and the myriad different depravities they inflict upon themselves, each other, and anyone who happens to fall within their grasp. On an emotive level, it makes the Seer’s final redemption ring oddly – like if Star Wars had spent a solid third of the original trilogy on imperial death camps and punitive campaigns filmed in unflinching detail with Darth Vader at the head of every one, but then had his final face-turn occur exactly the same.

Far more problematically – for me at least – the war story that is the book’s spine is just entirely devoid of moral drama or of ambiguity. The Panion Seer’s armies are capital-e Evil in every particular, and are very conveniently also an endless rabid but fundamentally cowardly horde whose only assets are brutality, numbers, and nefarious dark magic. They try exactly one clever strategy in the whole book, which fails instantly, and at no point have a hope of matching their opponents in either skill, courage, or any military virtue you care to name. The Seer’s commanders are given names and titles, but they really needn’t have been – they’re all complete ciphers, and entirely interchangeable besides. There are mentions of Panion missionaries, of the arguments they make to get willing converts and the fact that whole cities have willingly surrendered to them, but we certainly never actually hear or see why – the only emotions any follower of the Domain ever seems to express are hatred or despair (so foolish of the converts to realize that it’s only Malazan whose expansionist propaganda about a benevolent manifest destiny can be trusted, I suppose).

Our heroes, on the other hand, are (with one signposted-from-the-word-go betrayal) universally on the side of the angels, every one of them valorous in battle and fundamentally aligned on every major issue – not to mention clever, selfless, far-sighted, piercingly insightful and deeply principled. Every conflict between members of the coalition armies is a matter of miscommunication and needless wariness or suspicion, and every one can be resolved with an honest exchange in good faith. The point I came closest to just throwing the book against a wall and picking up a history book was when the plot thread – built up for multiple books now! - of how Dujek’s legions being outlawed was just a ruse for political expediency and they had made peace and then allied with Brood and Rake under false pretenses, a bomb at the heart of the fragile alliance just waiting to go off at the worst possible time.

And then it didn’t! Brood, Rake and their officers – who have been prosecuting a successful war against the Malazan empire for years now – all come around to working with that same empire (whose officers have been lying through their teeth to them for weeks or months at this point) in a matter of minutes. Even beyond that – with the exception of King Token Evil Betrayer-to-Be – they all seem to just basically agree that the empire conquering the world would be the best for everyone involved and none of them have much of an objection to it beyond their own explicit selfish interests to begin with. And then they all clasp hands and promise to work together, and the entire plot is more or less forgotten. As is any interesting internal tension or drama among literally any of the characters involved for six or seven hundred pages. It is the first time the series genuinely left me feeling like it was just wasting my time.

But okay, having finished venting my spleen here – as I said, the central war story focused on Whiskeyjack and the Bridgeburners and Rake was enervatingly devoid of real moral conflict, political intrigue or ambiguity. Which is a shame, because the parts of the book that weren’t about Malazans or Anomander Rake were all generally an absolute delight (this seems to be something of a running theme throughout the series so far, if I am being entirely honest). The Grey Swords in general were far, far less tedious than most of Erikson’s dutifully stoic heroic military leaders (interesting, even! I looked forward to their sections in Capustan). And then Itkovian specifically is just the single best character in the whole book by some margin with an arc that – though it somehow could have used more wordcount, god this book had too many POVs – I found just incredibly compelling and really riven with pathos. Silverfox’s dangling go-nowhere plot with Paran was rather tedious, but that aside she was probably the meatiest and most dramatically interesting major character in the whole book, and her dynamic with her mother was absolutely fascinating – the Mhybe herself also being a far more nuanced and interesting character than any of the badass world-shaking heroes getting more prominent billing. Even Caladin Brood at least has some occasionally unwise passion and an interesting struggle at the heart of him. And they’re hardly as dramatically serious – both are more or less macabre comic relief – but both Lady Envy’s epic level D&D party and the pair of itinerant necromancers were just absolute delights every time they were on the page.

Whatever my previous complaining, the entire massive finale – from the arrival at Coral on, really – was just excellent through and through. In no small part because of the sudden dramatic withdrawal of the plot armour that had so clearly been cushioning so many people for so long, and the sudden (usually quite competent!) culmination of so many different plot threads one after another. I will totally admit that I did not see Whiskeyjack dying coming until right before it happened, and (so long as he stays dead) I’m far better disposed to him than if he was going to stay the obvious main character of the universe for any further books (I can only hope Rake does not assume the role too transparently).

The Chained God did feel like a bit of a dog that didn’t bark, for the whole final stretch? He’s a recurring presence in the early chapters of the book, and him recruiting the desperate, resentful, and overwhelmed with pain and spite as the champions of his House is clearly set up as a plot thread. And then is just kind of vanishes – for later books, presumably (one is called House of Chains, after all) – but given how prominent tragic miscommunication is in so many character arcs, I really expected him to appear as a tempting devil sort of presence to Silverfox or the Mhybe at least (or it’s not like Itkovian isn’t already drowning under Christ-allegory energy, why not add a Gethsemane?). Not as though the book needed more things happening in it, I suppose.

Anyway yes; there’s something like two really excellent fantasy novels in here. Shame its as long as three. Still, I’m told the next book in the series leaves behind a lot of the bits I find most exhausting, so looking forward to that.

[mirandasidefics]

But Home is Nowhere-Chapter 15

Pairing(s): Lucien x Plus Size Reader, Azriel x Plus Size Reader, and Ruhn Dannan x Plus Size Reader.

Summary: You and Lucien visit the Day Court for the seventh time. Helion brings the two of you to the oldest library known to Prythian where you discover something that had been left lost to time.

Word Count: 7.8 K

Warnings: Mentions of self harm and poor body image.

Author's Note: I'm so sorry that this chapter took so long. There has been so much going on in my personal life that has made it a bit difficult to find the motivation to write. I am working through it though as I am determined to finish this story. I have about half of the next chapter written and it will be a long one. I really appreciate everyone sticking with this story.

As always, a HUGE thank you to my beta reader @ronibartender for all her help!

Series Masterlist Divider by @/tsunami-of-tears

Previous: Bonus Chapter 2-Bryce POV Next: Chapter 16

A month passed by quickly and you were again without the Starborn heir. You tried to keep yourself distracted from the sinking feeling the empty bed brought upon you. Luckily, you had an amazing friend capable of relieving any negative and oppressive feelings. Within minutes of Ruhn leaving for Midgard, Lucien swept you away to what you were certain had to be your favorite place in Prythian. The Day Court was so vastly different from the Night Court. The shining warmth was so comforting and in many ways seemed to remind you of home.  

You had especially grown to love the summers in the Day Court. The gentle breezes that built up into large thunderstorms. The scent of the large citrus groves filled your and Lucien’s room. Which is where you currently found yourself; lounging on the bed, head tilted and resting on your folded hands. The white linens clung to your sweat soaked skin. The approaching storm had only accomplished raising the humidity of the open air room.  You laid there, eyes closed, listening to Lucien’s soft baritone as he read to you. You would never grow tired of his voice, and had it not been for the rising humidity you could listen to him read for hours. 

Groaning, you turned on to your back,  the cotton sheet rippling off you as a gust of wind blew in from the balcony. “It’s too humid!” Turning your head, you looked up at him from your position on the bed. The warm breeze continued its soft assault as your hair and large loose t-shirt, a gift from Hunt, smacked you relentlessly in the face. The chuckle coming from the male sitting next to you made your stomach flip, as did the soft feel of his fingertips on your forehead as he brushed stray strands of hair from your eyes.   

“It’s not that humid. At least no more so than any of the summer’s we’ve spent here before,” Lucien remarked, folding a corner of the page down to hold his place in the book. A mocking gasp left you as you pointed at the dog-eared page for all the times he gave you grief for not using a bookmark. Raising the corner of his lip, Lucian ignored you and continued, “I thought you said you loved thunderstorms.” 

“I do,” You sat up, moving to take the book from his grasp. “But that doesn’t mean I can’t complain about them.” Lucien held the book high above his head out of your reach causing you to whine. “Lu…I can practically swim through the air. How can you stand this fucking weather?”

“Simple, Fae are better at regulating body temperature.” His matter of fact tone irked you. A detail he likely caught onto and quickly followed up with, “At least in mild scenarios like this. I’d die of hypothermia just like any human would if stuck in a blizzard in the Winter Court unprepared.” 

“Bullshit. You have fire magic,” You sat back onto your shins, thighs exposed as the small sleep shorts rode further up towards the crevice where your legs met your hips. The two of you sat there on the bed for a long moment. Looking over his face, you couldn’t find a single drop of sweat. Another highlight into the vast differences between Fae and human physiology and how you just didn’t belong here. 

You on the other hand were completely drenched. Beads of the slightly salty and tangy liquid slowly dripped down the back of your neck, slipping under your collar to make their way down the center of your spine. You had to look like a disgusting mess compared to the many Fae females living in Prythian. Certainly neither Elaine nor…clearing your throat you stood up from the bed. 

“I need to cool off before I get heat stroke,” Masking the rising hurt within your voice you made your way to the bathing chamber. The chamber reminded you of the one at the Moonstone palace, only the bath was raised above the floor instead of set inside. Looking over the array of bottles and glass canisters filled with oils and salts you heard the male approach. You were grateful that Lucien had taken to making his steps heavier in order for you to hear him approach. Something that only he and Hunt seemed to have picked up on even needing to be a necessity. 

“Want some company?” Lucien’s voice drifted into the bathroom as he leaned against the doorframe. His playful smirk didn’t falter an inch as you huffed in annoyance. You knew his teasing was just that and nothing more. He may have been a sly fox to others, but you knew that he was also loyal to any potential relationship he may have with Elain. Loyal to a fault almost. Not that she had yet taken the chance to get to know him well enough for her to deserve his loyalty. 

“No,” Your eyes focused on the cool water as it poured out of the tap into the ivory lined stone basin of the tub. “Now get out before you cause a scandal.” The male held his hands up in surrender as he turned and left the chamber, closing the door behind him. 

The brisk water immediately soothed your overheated body. You almost swore that steam rose up from your once sweat soaked skin.  Despite the goosebumps that erupted over your flesh, you weren’t ready to escape the chilled depths of the bath. After a few moments your muscles finally relaxed. As your body relaxed, so did your mind and you began to hum softly. Seamlessly moving from one tune to another, your fingers lightly kept time against the rim of the tub. You were so caught up in the calm moment you almost didn’t hear Luicen’s soft knock on the bathroom door. 

“Come in,” Your voice called as you lowered yourself and turned your body to hide your more feminine aspects from his view. The first thing you saw was Lucien’s brightened auburn hair poke around the solid oak door. The Day Court always seemed to bring out the lighter highlights whereas the color appeared more drab whenever he was in the Night Court. Before he could notice you staring you forced your eyes away from the strands as a few fell away from his shoulder. 

“Are you seriously not done yet?” He took a step into the room, that sly half cocked smile still on the corner of his lips. “If you stay in there any longer you’ll shrivel up like a dried prune, my darling.” Your face scrunched up in an expression of disgust at the nickname before sticking your tongue out at him. Of course, this only caused him to laugh heartily at your expense. 

“Do you need something?” You scowled at him, lifting your lip in a way to resemble the stupid snarls you saw between other males while walking around Velaris from time to time. 

“Wow,” His voice was deadpan, “You’re about as terrifying as a chipmunk.” 

“Fuck you!” You pouted, turning away from him. 

“Not today, love, we don’t have the time.” Whipping your head back around you gaped at him. His saccharine smile fully reminding you why he was once called the ‘Lord of Foxes’. With a growl you raised your hand back to collect as much water as you could before smacking it out of the tub in his direction. Being Fae, he easily dodged the wave as it spilled onto the stone floor. 

“You have five minutes to finish up before I drag you out myself,” His amber eyes sparkled with mischief, “Though that could be fun. It’s not like I haven’t seen all you have to offer before.” Your eyes went wide and you guffawed at him. 

“You. Dick!” This time you took a bar of soap and launched it at his head, which he easily caught with one hand. “Damn you!” You had to purse your lips to stop the smile that desperately wanted to join his. 

“Hurry up now, we have a long trip to that ancient tomb of a Library after lunch.” He retreated back to the door frame, “And I was really hoping we could walk through the garden before we leave.” His smile was so inviting that you found yourself almost instantly giving in. 

“What about the storm?” 

“It’s still a couple of hours away,” He turned to leave, “The breeze will make the walk much more pleasant than just lounging in the room like we’ve done half the day.” The end of his statement caused you to pause as you processed the words. 

“Wait, what time is it?” You sat up a little straighter, still ensuring to cover your breasts from his view. Not that he would be looking anyway…

“Almost two in the afternoon,” Lucien rolled his eyes. “Thanks to the Day Court and their late start to the day everything gets pushed back by hours.” 

“I’m perfectly fine with the late mornings,” You smiled at him and his lips mirrored yours. 

“Oh I know, love. You wouldn’t survive in the Autumn or Spring Courts,” Lucien walked out of the bathing chamber and towards the light oak wardrobe next to the entrance. You could vaguely make out his frame as he allowed you to slip out of the tub and wrap yourself in your fuzzy bathrobe. “Beron was very rigid with all of our schedules. My brothers and I would be woken up between 7 or 8 in the morning, a reasonable time mind you. After dressing we had a small breakfast, followed by morning sparring lessons while the weather was still cool. Lunch was at exactly midday and if you were late…well you didn’t eat. My brothers would have lessons in regards to ruling over the territories they would be assigned once they grew into maturity. Which if you ask me never actually occurred. Thus, I was left to my own devices. Which would have been fantastic had Mother not insisted on my being in the library to study whatever I desired.” The sound of hangers scraped against the wooden rod holding up the vast array of fashionable Day Court styles filling the wardrobe. You watched as Lucien examined each outfit before looking up at you and back to the wardrobe, seemingly unsatisfied with anything inside. “Supper was at 5 in the evening, and the largest meal of the day. It was only during the festivals we were allowed to let loose and raise hell until about 3 in the morning.” He chuckled as his eyes flashed up and down your body. With his gaze returning to the selection of clothes he shook his head in dissatisfaction before he continued. “The Spring Court under Tamlin’s rule was more relaxed, except for the wake up call. I personally believe that waking up at the ass crack of dawn should be a crime.” You snorted at his use of your slang. How many times did you make that same remark when having to wake up at 4 in the morning for training with Azriel? It must have been in the thousands. 

“Let me guess, you need your beauty sleep? Or is it to nurse the endless hangovers from the wine you needed in order to deal with the asinine bullshit that is required of an emissary?” You batted your lashes at him innocently as you leaned against the doorframe. 

He smiled and chuckled, “Something like that.” Finally he decided on a selection and pulled a dress out of the wardrobe. The breezy organza and linen fabric blew in the wind winding its way through your shared bedroom. A part of you felt the material would be too light and would just end up giving everyone a free show of what would be underneath, but perhaps its lightness was best for the humidity. Lucien held the light moss green dress in front of you. You were grateful that the length barely brushed your toes, and not so long that it would cause you to trip. Two wide straps of linen allowed you to configure the top half of the garment in any way that you felt was most flattering. Smiling, you nodded in approval and took the dress from his hands. Setting the dress on a hanger near the vanity, you saw Lucien digging through the drawers in search of under garments. The rest of the exchange was done in comfortable silence before you once again retreated to the bathroom to get dressed for the afternoon’s excursion. 

Once the door was shut and your privacy resumed, you stared at your reflection in the mirror. Looking back at the dress hanging nearby you debated on wearing any cosmetics and if they would be of any benefit. With the humidity it wouldn’t make sense to do a full face of makeup, but the redness and shadows gracing your cheeks made you cringe. If you went for a walk that same redness would just get worse. Powder wouldn’t cover that on its own, and any liquid or cream foundation would just melt and wash away from the sweat. Sighing you sat down at the vanity and perused over the various cosmetic items you had accumulated over the years. 

Eventually your eyes settled on a small tin filled with a baked square of kohl, Prythian’s version of cake mascara and eyeliner. Outlining your eyes would be too dramatic with your outfit, but you could still easily apply the substance to your eye lashes with the miniature toothbrush-like applicator. When you first purchased the tin you had been skeptical on how well it would apply to your lashes. However, it quickly became one of your new favorites as you’d never seen your eyelashes look so good. Pulling the tin towards you and pulling out the brush you leaned over to the sink to wet it. It took you a while to learn the best application method, something you and Bryce had a three hour long conversation over. The makeup in your two respective worlds were very similar but neither of you had used this particular medium. Thus, both of you sat in front of a mirror applying, removing, and reapplying until you both got it just right. 

You loosened a soft chuckle at the memory, gently swirling the brush on one side of the square chunk of kohl until you were satisfied with its saturation. Carefully you brought the brush to your lashes, raking them through the bristles and coating them. You could practically hear Ruhn’s light-hearted teasing in your mind even though he was entirely incapable of mind-speaking with you. Pausing your hand, you sigh and stare at your reflection. The memory of your birthday never dulled and the hollow feeling in your chest never went away. It didn’t matter how many times you rationalized the events in your mind. It didn’t matter how many times he had apologized for his thoughtless words. 

“Lidia,” His voice that night still rang clear as the bell in the ancient clock tower leagues away from Helion’s palace. “It’s ok Lidia, I’ve got you.” The simple fact remained; Ruhn wanted Lidia. Not you. Why would he want a human like you? Why, when he could have someone that was more beautiful, more of what he needed. You didn’t even know what she looked like, but you knew deep down that she was what he needed. Just from the little bit you had gathered you had the suspicion this Lidia was his mate.  You blinked away the tears, using the sleeve of your bathrobe to touch up the bits of mascara that started to run down your cheeks. 

In an effort to clear your mind you continued to get ready and removed your bathrobe to get dressed, but all your movements ceased as soon as you caught a glimpse of your plump form in the mirror. Your eyes scanned over your stomach and the sagging skin of your lower belly before moving on to the extra dips on your obliques between your waist and underbust. It took all your inner strength to keep a new wave of tears at bay. Yes, you engaged in physical activity daily and were eating probably the healthiest you had ever eaten. Yet you still felt like a stranger in your own skin. The image projected back at you didn’t match the one in your mind. 

Disgusted, your eyes left the mirror and strayed over to the cosmetic bag. Specifically landing on a small cut out section of the silk lining where you’d hidden a small single sided razor blade. Your mind emptied while your hand was guided by an autopilot mode not used in years. The razor was meant to be a spare within shave kit you had gotten for Ruhn, but you had kept it for your own use. You weren’t entirely sure you had ever really intended on ever using it, its presence alone providing you with a warped sense of security. However, the blade had been dragged across your skin once or twice since your arrival. The sleek metal gleamed in the low light of the bathroom from the sunlight above as you pulled it out of the bag. 

Deep down you knew this was an unhealthy way to deal with your self doubts. It didn’t truly relieve any of the pain and it didn’t make you love yourself in any form. Besides, who could love someone still so broken? Not allowing yourself to answer that question, you sat down on the edge of the tub and examined the old scars on your legs. Would the dress cover any new wounds? Could you get to one of the many servants to ask for a healing salve before either Lucien or Helion noticed? And were you seriously considering self-harm over a guy? A guy not being interested in you wasn’t a new concept. In fact it was the status quo in your life before you were dropped in front of the River House. 

So, why? Why was your mind even making this an issue? You knew why. Deep down you knew that your old wounds never healed and being in this new world just highlighted the lonely hopeless romantic inside you. Finding and accepting love was hard in your world. It should be easier here, right? This world had mates. It shouldn’t matter that you were a different species from literally everyone else you knew. Nor should it matter that there was no record of human’s having mates. There was still some type of pull. Both Nesta and Cassian had said as much at one point. Feyre too stated that there had been some type of pull towards Rhysand when she first laid eyes on him while she was still human. You…You could still have a mate, couldn’t you? It would make things so much easier. So much less lonely. The concept of soul mates in your world gave no absolute certainty that the relationship would work out. Here…in Prythian, on Midgard and probably any where else in this fucking version of the universe there was that certainty. A real and true mate; your person. Someone who was undoubtedly yours, and you were undoubtedly theirs. 

But that was all wishful thinking. Dating was honestly out of the question with the confinements surrounding your existence. It probably didn’t matter really anyways, males here were just as superficial as men in your world. That much was obvious with the way you saw the other males in your life look at…well, not look at you. You eyed the razor again as it hovered above your upper thigh. Sighing, you paused and lowered the razor at your side. With a single tear running down your cheek you stood and placed the small blade back into its secured spot in the makeup bag. 

With another deep breath you looked through the bag’s contents to see if there was anything else you wanted to apply, but paused as you questioned why you should even bother. You knew that you weren’t ugly, but compared to all the other females…makeup on a pig doesn’t make the pig beautiful. Another sigh escaped alongside a tear, taking a lump of the mascara with it. Exasperated, you grab a cloth and decide to forgo the cosmetics altogether and wipe away the kohl entirely. It was still too humid anyway. 

Closing your eyes you begin to breathe deeply. Counting up to ten sets of slow inhales and exhales. Each breath acknowledging the various feelings of self-loathing and letting each of them go. Once complete, you move your eyes away from the mirror and quickly dress in the undergarments and dress that Lucien picked out for you. After securing the dress’ ties around your body in the form of a halter top, you allowed yourself to look up into the mirror once more. Taking another deep breath you begin to brush your hair and clip half of it up and out of your eyes. One more deep breath and you apply a small amount of lotion to your face, soothing the irritation around your eyes from rubbing off the kohl mascara. The final touch consisted of a sheer nude-pink lip butter. Forcing a half-hearted smile you looked at your reflection for a final time that afternoon. While you may never feel wanted, never feel accepted, never feel desired, you couldn’t let it drag you down. You were human and humans aren’t perfect. 

The journey to the ancient library was unlike any of your other trips within the Day Court borders. So far, you had been to at least six libraries. When Helion mentioned a trip to the oldest library within all of Prythian, deep within the desert lands of the Day Court you had expected yet another multi-day carriage ride. Suffice to say you had not expected to be taken down to the docks of the winding river near Helion’s palace. Upon seeing the boat, or rather what appeared more like an oversized canoo, you felt as if you stepped back in time. 

The vessel was long, nearly half the length of a football field, and curved upwards on each end. It almost reminded you of old viking type ships, but it was also different. The ship had two masts, a large one near the stern and the shorter one near the bow. In between the two was a large open air canopy. Sheer drapes of jewel toned purples and reds billowed in sync with the stormy breeze. 

The light and short gusts of air were the only indication of the ship’s movement down the wide and steady river.  You were grateful the storm withheld the release of the torrential down pour locked inside the deep gray clouds looming over the horizon. Every now and again the familiar scent of rain would be carried on the wind as it brushed past. You couldn’t help thinking that the trip would have been brutal if the sun was out in full force. 

Helion and Lucien were deep in conversation, most of which you tuned out as you enjoyed watching the scenery change as the barge floated down the river. Lounging in one of the plush crimson cushions under the wooden canopy you began to hum. The melody started off as a random tune but gradually changed to one of the few songs that were able to be transferred to the new cell phone Ruhn gave you for your birthday. 

You weren’t entirely sure why this particular song entered your mind. It wasn’t as if the topic had been on your mind or even recently discussed. Yet here you were, softly humming three short notes of the opening line. 

Blackbird singing in the dead of night

Take these broken wings and learn to fly

You kept your voice soft and low. Tall verdant stalks with grassy tufts lined the banks of the river. Every so often the stalks would be interrupted by dark colored reeds and white flowers.   

All your life

You were only waiting for this moment to arise

You hummed a few more notes from the instrumentation, closing your eyes as the warm rain scented breeze rustled your hair. 

Blackbird singing in the dead of night

Take these sunken eyes and learn to see

All your life

You were only waiting for this moment to be free

An image of a dark cloaked figure flashed within your mind. The same figure you had seen so often in your dreams. Your eyes snapped open, but the banks of the river remained unfocused as your voice softened further. 

Blackbird, fly

Blackbird, fly

Your heart rate picked up, the figure looming on the edge of bank just out of the corner of your vision.

Into the light of the dark black night 

“You have a lovely voice, my dear,” Helion’s voice was soft as he kneeled next to where you laid. “Though I would much prefer to hear something less…melancholic.” The large male chuckled, his smile shining brightly against his golden brown skin. The High Lord of Day held his hand out for you to take, which you did without hesitation. The dynamic with Helion was much more natural and free than what was between you and Rhysand. Here you didn’t have the constant feeling of walking on eggshells. You didn’t have to watch your words. Your muscles weren’t in a state of constant tension, poised to either run or brace yourself at a moment's notice. No, Helion genuinely cared for you and your well-being. His care towards you made it that much more difficult to keep the truth from him each and every visit. 

“Join us for supper, love.” Lucien called. Taking Helion’s hand, he helped you sit up. A quick glance at the the other male and you noticed how he looked like he was made for the comfortable luxury of the Day Court. You mentally shook the image of the cloaked figure from your mind and slowly stood up from the oversized cushion. Helion held out his arm, which you happily took as you walked together the short distance over to where he and Lucien had been sitting. 

“This looks amazing,” You practically licked your lips as you looked over the spread. The small table held common dishes within the Day Court. Thick stews with various cuts of meats or root vegetables, olives and other fresh veggies, and bits of pliable bread. The scent of the herbs and spices washed away the damp scent of rain. 

“It tastes just as good as it looks,” Helion chuckled, guiding you to a spot in between the two males. You didn’t hesitate in leaning over to grab a piece of the bread and dip it into the flavorful deep red stew. Lucien chucked and followed your lead, also scooping up a hearty amount of the dish into his mouth. A quick flick of your eyes up to his lips caused your own cheeks to blush a soft pink. The desire to hide the blush caused you to angle yourself towards the High Lord, only to see the broad knowing smile shining on his face. 

“What?” You eyed him, reaching for a slice of mango. 

“I’ve been meaning to ask this for a while, but your scent,” Helion paused, taking a small sip of his wine. On your other side you could feel Lucien go completely still. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say that you found yourself a lover in the Night Court.” The High Lord’s grin grew as he watched you freeze, the mango stopping just before it reached your lips. 

“Lover?” You didn’t intend for your voice to sound as high pitched as it came out. “What makes you think I-”

“No need to defend yourself, my dear,” His smile remained soft, reassuring, “I am not judging. It’s in the Autumn and Winter Courts where they frown upon ones right to freely experience the physical pleasures.” He winked, taking another sip from the deep blue glass. “I’ve just simply noticed that there is a slight… lingering citrus aspect. It fades over the course of your stay here, so I know that it isn’t part of your natural scent. So, what’s his name?” 

“The name is of no concern,” You could hear Lucien try to keep his voice as nonchalant as possible. Prior to either of you coming to the Day Court you had agreed to not reveal the existence of those from Midgard. However, it seems that the omission finally caught up with you. You hadn’t even considered that Ruhn's scent would somehow mingle with your own. You supposed it would if you had been physically intimate with each other, but simply sharing a space…

“Is that a hint of jealousy,” Helion’s lips broadened further. “I knew you two were close, but-”

“I’m not jealous.” Your eyes traveled back to Lucien as he bit back. Helion simply continued to smile. 

“Ruhn is a friend,” Your voice was soft, hoping that Helion would be satisfied with that information and allow for the topic to move on to another subject. 

“A friend,” Helion set the heavy glass down on the wooden table in the center of the cushions. “He must be a very good friend for his scent to be so strongly mixed in with yours. It is curious though, the citrus is almost familiar…” His deep golden brown eyes bored into you, almost as if he already knew the truth. “I thought I knew all of Rhysand’s relatives.” 

You looked over at Lucien, silently seeking for the best way to respond. You were utterly lost as to how Fae scents worked, but Helion could tell that Ruhn was somehow related to Rhysand solely based on the lingering scent. Lucien placed his own wine glass down on the table. 

“Ruhn is a distant relative,” He admitted. You may have been clueless about scents, but you knew Lucien well enough to hear the tone of an emissary take hold of his voice. 

“Interesting,” Helion continued to study the two of you. You kept your gaze lowered, knowing full well that if you met Helion’s eyes you’d cave at any direct question about Ruhn. “I take it that he is not from the Illyrian side, but the High Fae side.” The Lord of Day leaned in closer to you. “I’m curious what he may have told you about his homeland. It is lovely this time of year after all.” Your head whipped to look at him. A knowing smile spread over his warm features. 

“You…you know about Midgard?” You stared as Helion started to chuckle. Lucien’s groan in perfect sync with the low creaking of the fabric seat below him. “Ah… fuck…I can’t believe I fell for that.” 

“Don’t worry about it, my dear,” He winked. “There are very few that are fully able to resist my charms.” Helion looked over to Lucien, the red head downing the rest of his wine before reaching for another bottle.

“Congratulations,” Lucien’s words were dry, “But for the record, we don’t know much of anything ourselves.” 

“I figured as much,” Helion picked up his own glass. “Rhysand does like to keep his cards close to his chest. Just as he has done ever since…well, that story is not one for me to discuss. Nevertheless, I would very much like to meet Ruhn. Someone has to look out for this beautiful woman’s best interests.” Helion smiled, leaning towards you to pick up a grape from the spread of food. 

The barge continued to float down the river as you all ate. The conversation flowed just as freely. Soon the river reeds gave way and on the horizon was a large old stone structure. Surrounding it was a small village with only a few buildings. The scene struck you as if this place had been forgotten to time. 

“Ah!” Helion stood, an arm outstretched towards the starboard side of the ship. “Welcome to Átoum.”

You had been in the library since the first golden rays of dawn. Thunder from the prior night’s monsoon kept you just on the edge of sleep most of the night. The small mansion you slept in was old stone and none of the same openness of Helion’s palace. The High Lord showed you around the property and through the old library. The library itself reminded you more of a museum and an adjoining archive. The front rooms were spacious and lined with various artifacts such as pottery, old weapons, clothing, and other art pieces. The rooms near the back of the complex held rows upon rows of scrolls and books. This was where you had found yourself for the past day and a half. Hunched over, eyes blurred and tired from reading dust covered pages. 

At one point you stood, just to stretch your legs, allowing your body to just carry you as it saw fit. The shelves of written documents towered high above your head nearly scraping the ceiling. As you walked mindlessly the documents changed from bound books to tightly wrapped up scrolls. Your steps slowed, fingers and eyes trailing along the edges. 

The papyrus was brittle, flakes falling off the edges as you unfurled the scroll. There was no clear organizational system amongst the shelves where you found this particular item. You hadn’t even realized that you had picked it up until it was in your hands and you stood in front of the seat you’d been in for the past day and a half. A quick glance showed a majority of the writing was illegible, the ink faded, cracked, or even missing altogether. 

You unfurled the parchment as carefully as possible, weighing the corners down with one of the previously discarded books nearby. Your eyes scanned over the page immediately catching on the grouped lines that went in various directions. Nearly all of them crossed over or were connected to a single horizontal line spanning the width of the entire page. The section expanded down multiple lines, taking up nearly the first half of the document. Chunks of this section had sadly chipped away over the centuries, possibly millenia, the scroll had sat upon that dusty shelf.

Your eyes continued to scan over the page, carefully unrolling the scroll further. The writing slowly gave way to what you recognized as Norse runes. Your eyes snapped back to the strange rows of mismatched lines above. Upon the second look you realized that you had seen this before, just not in a context that actually conveyed any true meaning. What was it called again? Was it celtic? 

“What the fuck…” You couldn’t stop the hushed question. You continued to review the lettering on the scroll. Each section must have been a testament to the dominant language of wherever this scroll originated. The unknown celtic, Norse, and…Latin. How did this even end up here? Tucked away in an ancient practically forgotten library. To have three different languages written…How old was this fucking scroll? Nothing about this made sense. Was this even from Prythian? 

You knew a small amount of latin, really just enough to make out a few words here and there from when you sang sacred texts in your high school and university choirs. However, the real question was if it would be enough to gain any worthwhile information. Quickly you rushed to grab a blank sheet of paper and quill and searched for the well of ink. 

“Fucking piece of shit…” lifting paper and books you continued your search. “Some goddamn Harry Potter fuckery, writing with a quill…” Finally you found the small bottle of dark ink and returned to your seat, carefully arranging your space to ensure that no ink would spill over the ancient scroll. Meticulously you looked over, analyzing each Latin phrase, rewriting the sentences. Below each word you recognized you added your native language’s translation. You quickly realized that you recognized a lot more than you originally thought. 

From the sparse words you could pick out, your best guess for the contents appeared to be of a story. Given the grandiose and slightly cryptic word choice it made the most sense for it to be a creation myth of some type. You had found many variations of Prythian’s creation myth during your hours upon hours of researching in both the Day Court and the Night Court. You easily recognized the list of elements the Mother placed into her Cauldron to create existence: the Sun, the Moon, Earth, Sky, Water, Darkness, and Fate. However, there was something different. The wording made it seem as if these elements had a certain…sentience, as if the elements were actual deities and not simply aspects of reality. Additionally, there was no explicit mention of “The Mother” or her cauldron. 

“Wait…what is cauldron in latin? Is there a latin word for cauldron…” Setting the quill down, you ran your fingers through your hair. “This is tedious.” As the text continued some of the more faded latin sections were replaced with the norse runes. Groaning, you practically slammed your forehead on the table, the ink in the jar splashing on the wooden table top. “Fuck me…” 

“If you absolutely insist,” Lucien’s voice, while soft, jarred you causing you to jump up from your seat and hit your knees on the edge of the table. 

“Damn you,” A string of curses flew past your lips. Lucien clicked his tongue, shaking his head in mock disapproval. 

“Find anything yet? Or just another dead end?” Lucien placed his hands on your shoulders, his fingers warming up as he kneaded the stiff muscles. You closed your eyes, humming softly in pleasure as he continued. The massage was just what you needed after sitting hunched over in a chair for so long. 

“I might have finally found something. I guess the seventh trip was the charm,” You chuckle, leaning your head to the side to allow him more space to work. “Though it is too early to tell. I can’t read more than half of what’s on here.” You vaguely gesture to the scroll which had unfurled itself from the table, down to the archaic stone slab floor. Lucien leaned down, placing his chin on your shoulder and looked over the papyrus. His slim fingers delicately running along the lines of text. 

“The fact that you can read any of this is a feat,” His breath sent a shiver down your spine.

“Stop that,” You warned. You felt his grin against the side or your neck. 

“Stop what, exactly,” Again his breath caused your muscles to tense briefly. 

“Breathing down my neck,” You attempted to shake him off, but he didn’t move. “Seriously! It tickles!” You shook your shoulders again, giggling like a damn child.   

“Alright, alright,” Lucien stood back up to his full height before walking to the opposite side of where you sat and pulling a wooden chair to sit beside you. “What does this say?” Sighing, you placed your head in your hands. 

“All I can make out so far is that it's another story about how Prythian was created.” Titling your head you looked over at him. “At least I think it is.” 

“We’ve read dozens of those,” he pointed out, gently bringing the scroll closer for him to observe again despite his inability to read the text. “Anything special about this story in particular?”  You brought the bottom parts of the scroll back up to the table where you sat before grabbing the parchment you used to write down the words you recognized. 

“While I had to study languages as part of my music studies. My Latin outside of the standard sacred texts is extremely lacking. I’m guessing on a lot of this from other languages in my world that are based on this one.” You pointed to the flourished lettering. “There’s mentions of portals, Death Gods and Star Gods, the Earth and other elements. I just don’t see anything about the Mother, which is what makes this different. Of course, I need more time to look it over.” 

“I remember reading that there had been portals several millennia ago. This could be a reference to those.” Lucien paused. “I’ve just never heard of any Star Gods…” He continued to look over the scroll. You followed his gaze, eyes trailing down the papyrus. The scroll gave way to an image of a map, your eyes landing on an eerily familiar word written underneath. Álfheim.  Your breath caught in your throat. There was no way. Absolutely no way. Surely your eyes were playing tricks on you, or this was simply a coincidence. However, something deep within your being told you that this wasn’t a simple coincidence, but something that was completely brought on by fate. 

“Álfheim…” Your fingers traced over the name; eyes glued to the map laying out the various lands including and outside of Prythian. 

Lucien looked up at you with concern on his face. “You’ve… heard that before haven’t you?”

“Yes,” Your voice softened. “Alfheim and Midgard…are names of realms that are mentioned in MY WORLD.”  You continued to scan over the rest of the scroll. Below the map the story appeared to continue. The same repetition of text starting from the configuration of lines transitioning to the runes then transitioning to the Latin. If it weren’t for the spinning thoughts in your mind you would have looked over the text more carefully. You made a mental note to keep this scroll in a safe location and return to it tomorrow. 

“(Y/N),” Lucien’s soft voice brought your attention back. “What was the name of your world again? Earth?” You nodded, silently praying that he would not ask for any clarification as to how your world could be connected. You hadn’t yet told him about the trip to the Prison and what you had discovered there. You shoved those thoughts as far from your memory as you possibly could, only letting your subconscious process the information until you had more evidence. Clearly, something in the universe was screaming at you and you were not to get the luxury of forgetting so easily. Out of the corner of your eyes you saw Lucien open his mouth, but before any words were uttered your eyes landed on another image on the scroll. 

“Wait…” You pointed to the image that took up the entire width of scroll. “I know I’ve seen this before.” Tapping on the scroll, you wracked your mind for where you could have possibly seen the image. It wasn’t from the Prison, or anywhere in the Night Court. You thought about the museums that you had been to in your world, but even those memories came up blank. The details were minimal, likely a simplified version of the original piece. It reminded you of a scene on a tableau or medieval tapestry. Three scenes that flowed seamlessly together to create a visual story. Multiple figures frolicing in a field, another group surrounded by an eight pointed star, and yet another set of three. As your eyes scanned over the illustration the scene changed to include multiple figures standing in a circle. The size of the illustration made it difficult to determine, but it almost looked like the figures were standing around a large object. You groaned slightly as the rest of the illustration had eroded away, leaving a hole that extended towards the edge of the scroll.  

Lucien carefully shifted the papyrus to get a better look at the image, “There seems to be some type of inscription.” He pointed at the small lettering immediately underneath the image that reminded you of a caption in a text book. Your eyes followed the length of his long elegant fingers. 

“Cum magicae redit ad terram,” The latin flowed surprisingly easily off your tongue, “Cum mortis umbra non alligatur corpora caelestia coniungunt ad novos imbres.” 

“Care to translate?” Lucien asked. With a sigh, you leaned back against the wooden chair. It was true you understood a few words immediately, but it would take a bit more time to decipher the full meaning. 

“A little bit,” You looked over the words again. “The first part says something about magic and the earth, then…” Your voice trails off.  “Mortis umbra…” Death shadow. Wasn’t Hunt’s nickname the Umbra Mortis? Could this have something to do with those from Midgard? You had heard of the prophecy regarding the Starsword and Truth Teller. Was this another? It certainly seemed to read that way from what little you could tell. 

“(Y/N)?” Lucien’s soft voice and warm hand on your shoulder calmed your mind. 

“Something about a death shadow, or shadow of death and then celestial bodies and new…rain, I think.” With a slight shake of your head you rubbed at your tired eyes. “Lu, I think…I think this is something big.”

“Big?” He chuckled. You could tell that he was equally as nervous about what threat this forgotten scroll could pose. “This is likely another retelling of the creation of Prythian.” You took hold of his hand, squeezing it slightly. 

“No,” You looked him directly in his eyes. The golden one whirring as the gears made the pupil contract. “This is an earlier story. This predates the Mother, Lu. This, this entire scroll, provides an unknown account of how this world, as a whole, came to be. And with it…another prophecy. We need to show this to the others. Bryce, Ruhn, and Hunt can look to see if they have anything like it in Midgard. Just like the prophecy about the blades reuniting the Fae of this world and those that had traveled to Midgard so long ago.”

“I don’t think that will be a good idea,” His voice was hesitant, eyes searching your face. “We don’t-” The sound of someone clearing their throat cut off whatever objection he likely planned to make. Turning slowly towards the sound your eyes went wide, a wave of cold washing over your face. Helion stood just beyond a row of long untouched tombs, arms crossed over his broad chest. He somehow appeared larger than normal. More dominant and…formidable. The most basic human parts of you threw up alarm bells that this was a creature that would kill at the slightest provocation. 

“Call these ‘Midgarians’ here now.” Helion’s voice was low and demanding. Lucien angled his body to create a barrier between you and the powerful High Lord. “Get them, Lucien, and bring them to me.” The male paused for the briefest of moments before he suddenly disappeared. Your throat went dry. He left you…left you entirely alone. “You, my dear, will tell me everything you know and what your real goal has been in exploiting my generosity.”

General tag list: @loving-and-dreaming

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@fightmedraco @nikkitch0703 @eerievixen @ang-taylorsversion

@randomness-it-is @thehighlordishere @rachelnicolee @hardcoremarvelfan @awkardnerd @sundayysunshine

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[ruushes]

a friendly little murder 😊🐦‍⬛🖤🗡️ the crows really said you're going to wear purple leather and you're going to like it

[velvetwyrme]

damn those conses do quence (/j /j, unfortunately[...?] no bug mpreg took place here)

anyway, woe, grub be upon ye. tbc... whenever i finish the many other things i need to do lol.

i did this instead of making an ask blog because i dont have the time or energy to upkeep that atm, but honestly?? it probably wouldve just be easier to make an ask blog instead of... doing whatever this is LMAO,,, but i had fun so its ok sklvfjbfkbdb,,

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[nooskadraws]

a study of comfort 🌿✨💀

an illustration for a blanket available for preorder! (only open for two weeks!)

[loserlu]

Ladies and gentlemen, him.