#VERSE.// FORGED WEAPON「canon」

[criticalconqueror]

.//tagssssssss

[aamputation]

more SVSSS stuff for y'all, although this is new.

I've been toying with the idea of writing a little ditty I wrote a little of a thing, where SY gets dumped into PIDW as himself, just a random NPC with a dutiful little System just doing its best. this is my design for him, including his spiritual weapons. more details below the read more.

my other SVSSS art -> [ here ] & [ here ] shout out to adornedwithlight for the reblog banner

SY is definitely a fuerdai (second-gen rich kid) but he's not exactly the healthiest. He's smart and graduated college, and in this universe he's a celebrated published author, like in this post by @/princessdave (should I tag them? hurk idk, lemme know?). The rest of his family is famous in some way because of their wealth, but he's basically a hermit. He dresses well because he can afford to, but he'd happily live in rags and squalor so long as he has some food, a bed, and trash webnovels to read.

After he accidentally dies after cussing out Airplane's shitty cliffhanger ending, SY finds himself in a predicament. The System he first encounters is the System from canon: a rude bitch trying to put his soul into SQQ. SY nopes out of there, cites bodily autonomy, pitches an unholy fit, and somehow, someway, there's an error. Either SQQ didn't die during his Qi Deviation, or it's too early in the timeline and SY can't do any body snatching! Hallelujah!

The OG System, having lost its Host and overall purpose, discards SY like yesterday's news. He's left behind in the empty space, and is tentatively approached by this new System. It tells him that he can't go back to his body since he's dead as a doornail and offers to pop him into the PIDW universe. SY's millenial ass just goes "meh, fuck it, we ball" and he's thrown into PIDW as himself.

The new, Benevolent System accompanies SY, and attaches itself to him. It explains the B-Points system and promises to be helpful, immediately giving SY 100 starting B-Points and opening the System Store. SY takes full advantage, and uses his 100 points to the fullest in adjusting his body to survive and thrive in a Xianxia setting like PIDW. He then asks where in the plot he was dumped into the story, and the System tells him. (Haven't decided on whether to start pre-PIDW storyline, or at the SVSSS storyline start, either way, it works.)

Clearly a scholar more than anything else, SY immediately hyper-fixates on writing the best bestiaries across the PIDW-verse, so the fashion he buys from the System Store is all modest at best, although he'd splurged to get a Qiankun pouch. He'd also vehemently argued with his System to be able to justify keeping his hair as short as possible ("if it's too long it's just going to get in the way when I study monsters! I don't have the time to care for it!")

SY focused his cultivation on useful things, and the System responded accordingly. He gained skills with Alchemical Arts, Formation (Array) Arts, Talisman Arts, Beast Cultivation, and Martial Arts focused on the shortsword and the fan. The System manifested itself into SY's fan, to provide an easier interface during his travels, and his first mission led him to find his spiritual shortsword.

Yù Shòu Shī Rèn 驭兽师刃 — The Beastmaster's Blade

A legendary weapon created by a powerful cultivator who was both a master of beasts and a warrior. This cultivator forged the weapon after making a pact with a heavenly demonic beast, granting them the ability to call upon creatures for assistance in battle. The blade was crafted using beast materials—the fang of a Heavenly White Snow Dragon* and the claw of an Abyssal Flame Ghost Hound**—imbuing it with both spiritual and physical properties. * Tiān Bái Xuě Lóng (天白雪龙) ** Shēn Yuān Yàn Guǐ Quǎn (深渊焰鬼犬) In combat, the Beastmaster's Blade allows SY to summon beasts, control their movements, and enhance his own combat abilities by drawing power from these creatures. The blade has a secondary power, allowing SY to bond with a specific creature and form a partnership that amplifies both SY’s and the beast’s abilities. Depending on the bond strength, the blade can allow SY to temporarily transform into a more beast-like form, gaining enhanced senses, strength, or agility. It can also allow SY to merge his consciousness with a creature, enabling them to fight as one. The blade can also be used to command and direct beasts, issuing silent commands that the creatures obey, making SY an unstoppable force when surrounded by beasts in combat. The Beastmaster's Blade is a powerful and mystical weapon designed for a cultivator who can control, summon, and bond with beasts. Whether used to fight alongside beasts or to subdue them, the weapon emphasizes mastery over nature, the power of spiritual connection, and the balance between destruction and harmony. It is a weapon for those who understand that true power comes not only from force but from the deep bond between a cultivator and the natural world.

Rén Cí Xì Tǒng Shàn 仁慈系统扇 — Benevolent System Fan

The fan itself is an elegant yet powerful weapon. It is a spiritual and otherworldly artifact, not only physically capable of defending SY, but also carrying the ability to influence the world through the System’s applications. It allows SY to prevent conflicts or resolve disputes with missions and Scenario Pushers. The System helps SY grow and influence the world around him in an active way, molding what was once a garbage story with solid roots into something worth reading. Unlike other systems that may have less than benevolent intentions, SY’s System encourages him to grow emotionally and reach self-fulfillment while enhancing the story. Missions from the System push SY to develop in the PIDW world, and all outcomes result in some type of reward for SY’s efforts, whether it be with behind-the-scenes insights, improved cultivation abilities, stronger fan powers, or even a free-pass deus ex machina. In combat, the fan focuses more on subduing rather than killing unless strictly necessary, using gentle yet powerful techniques that leave enemies incapacitated, cured, or redeemed. The fan boasts the ability to change the direction of the flow of energy, as well as wind-based powers, representing the System and SY’s will to shift the flow of the disastrous PIDW world around him.

[fortrivmph]

He felt his stomach unclench a bit at that, and found himself sighing just a bit too loudly in relief. "I see. Perhaps Norris would do well to ask the woman in question himself, but if that's not happening, my advice is the knife." He set a hand to his chin. "Women love weapons."

"it is not for me!" he had to clarify that much. "norris, my friend, is... trying to court a huntress. i believe she would like something practical, but prudence insists that he should get her flowers. and prudence is, um. a woman."

[witchofthesouls]

I wish I had digital art skills because I'm haunted by The Primes' Rooster AU, such as:

The sheer hungry look by Liege Maximo licking up the mess upon Sentinel's thighs and pressing his mouth on the most perplexing valve anyone as come across.

A well-bitten Solus smoking a cigarette in the berth, a contented and well-bedded Megatronus next to her slipping on a nice drink through a straw, and Megatronus is sharing that with a slightly dented Sentinel who's between them and has his own super curly straw to sip the cocktail.

Quintus' labs with the Prime recording the procedures. A serious face in one frame, then a "Oh, someone's (it's Sentinel. He has permission to get inside and Quintus is too deep in Science to realize there's another person there.) messing with my valve. Well, the newsparks do need materials and I can't remember the last time I've eaten."

Alpha Trion and the Cybertronian version of Kama Sutra

Vector Prime distantly watching over others clanging with a glass of wine because of his voyeur kink

Sentinel with his own weapon forged by Solus herself. It's a cross between his canon sword and the Skyboom shield.

Short-king Sentinel with his tall-ass Primes and equally tall-ass teenage/adult children.

Starscream's and Sentinel's dramatic BEEF with each other. Literal cockfighting between these two.

And Rooster!Sentinel in Canon!verse, going "Look at me. I'm your sire/geni now." to Orion and D-16.

On one hand, pre-betrayal discovery is Rooster!Sentinel slinging the Cogless versions of two of his sons/grandsons over his shoulders. On the other hand, post-betrayal discovery is Sentinel versus Sentinel. D-16 won't bow before the false Prime, but he'll lower his face because of the resulting selfcest and the filthy, filthy commentary on Megatronus' (his hero's) sexual preferences. (The High Guard peanut gallery chiming in over Megatronus' getting his back blown by Solus and/or Prima.)

[mithosis]

Lo and behold, a new little plant guy, now sprinkled with main-plot-flavored tragedy. A Commander, Aestus, the warmest, gentlest sunshine of a sylvari who tries to be the beacon of hope for others, often to the detriment of himself. He shares the verse with a cranky not-fully-alive Marshal, Trahearne Inmorte (@lady-quen), and the Pact's own morbidly whimsical frankenstein bug Morivitae (@commanderteag), Zhaitan's Scion. Together with Aurene they provide a much-needed light to the other duo's darkness (and edginess).

The main twist on existing canon with this guy is the mortifying ordeal of not being a necromancer during PoF and resorting to... a bit unusual means of getting back up. He had to become akin to his enemy in order to defeat the rogue God running around the desert, turning himself into a construct, like the Forged and Exalted, albeit with a bonus of keeping his body.

Obligatory warning for a lot more lore under the cut! This is becoming a tradition with me at this point, apparently (the smoothest Ken doll anatomy version of the art is also at the very very end, i don't want tumblr to smite me)

Aestus is a sylvari of the Dusk Cycle whose pod formed a little ways away from the main cluster in Caledon Forest — closer to the beautiful field of tall rose flowers than anything else. Once discovered, a mender had to be stationed there to keep an eye on it. The life within the pod was weak and unlikely to ever bloom, even with menders' help — their efforts only gave it small bursts of strength to continue developing. Until one morning the once-blue fruit was discovered hanging a little lower just after a visit of a warm, kind-faced charr the day before — now tinted slightly red at the center. It was surprisingly healthy, restored almost as if by a miracle.

When the sapling finally awakened after repelling the vision of a dragon within the Dream with Caithe, the cause for such rapid healing was discovered — the newborn sylvari had a small red shard poking through the center of his chest. A piece of bloodstone that fueled the pod with its magic, his new "heart", exposed for all the world to see.

Despite — or maybe because — the circumstances of his awakening, Aestus is grateful to be alive — a cheerful, warm and driven individual, the kind of person who lights up the room with his presence. Infinitely curious, he is determined to live his life to its fullest, with no regrets — even more so as he later finds out the shard's salvation wasn't as all-powerful as it seemed. While a source of magic in and of itself, it became more unstable the more energy his body took to function — which prompted an… unusual diet of consuming anything that looked even remotely magical or weird enough (woe, toxic hog be upon ye) to balance the scales. It proved to be a valuable exercise in patience as well later in life as Aestus was attempting to gain greater control over the elements.

Nothing changes too drastically from the canon events in his story in the beginning: he dreams of the White Stag, the manifestation of hope, and saves it, and kills Gavin, the Nightmare Courtier, in a duel. He was the first person he ever adventured with as equals, only for the man to turn out the very opposite of Aestus' morals — someone with a goal that would make hundreds miserable. The first friend-turned-enemy, and the first in a row of people to die by their own weapon.

It's only a confirmation of his curiosity for the world that he joins the Durmand Priory further down the road, finding their methods to cause the least amount of casualties involved, as well as provide the most insight into what had happened. When they work, of course. Not at all because finding adventure in long-lost ruins seems to be appealing to him too, no.

Throughout all his various exploits, Aestus is a person who tries to bring the light and comfort into everyone's lives, no matter how dire the circumstances might be, whether it is by dancing his heart out during a festival to invite others to join in, or keeping someone quiet company in the darkest hours of the night. He is constantly dedicating his life to others, more and more so as the story progresses, forgetting about himself in the process more than once. He is the brightest thing on and off the battlefield, bringing all the attention on him instead of his allies — the perfect bait for any who might latch onto the Pact. He trusts his friends, and relies on them to do what they do best while he distracts and pulls focus. He's a helping hand to the family he'd find in Dragon's Watch and a living inspiration to the people fighting against the dragons. And the ticking bomb of repressed emotions, those he can't articulate without breaking the warm and grounding image of the Commander he built over the years (he really said "I'm the Commander of touching grass, i can't let them see I indulge in self-destructive thought"). He is but a humble servant to those that need it most, and it just so happens that Tyria itself needs someone who could put things back on track.

This mentality, as well as the constant feeling of running out of time as the shard grows more unstable the more he uses his magic, aside from the very obvious pull of the Wyld Hunt, is what inevitably dooms him to die at the hands of Balthazar. The God of War and Fire, the embodiment of one of Aestus' greatest fears — becoming a dictator obsessed with power, hellbent on waging endless wars against any and all that he deems fit, the polar opposite of the virtues that the sylvari holds dear to his core — that "all things have a right to grow". And to top it all off, the mage's most trusted element is useless against the God that governs it.

This is the moment where that exposed heart of his breaks, the bloodstone shattering. It will heal, or, rather, "grow" in a different form, no longer a piece of magic, but living metal, as Aestus will take the "humble servant" part of his mentality even further to come back from the dead. Using an ancient Forgotten ritual he'd been studying in his spare time all the way since the assault on the jungle, he turns his own corpse into a construct, not unlike the Forged and Exalted, made of plant matter, metal and colorful glass as his armor and the desert's sands melted and fused together with the sylvari from the sheer heat of his battle against the rogue God. The new "heart" would now tie his soul to the body in absence of anything else holding the two together. It functions similarly to the masks the Exalted are wearing — it is his tether, and if violently removed or damaged beyond repair, the Commander would die a final death.

Similar to the world's view of constructs, he arrives at the same assessment of his own situation — the image of the Commander he is supposed to be — a servant, like an asuran golem, that can either be discarded or recalibrated to fit any need, any task. This "realization" accumulates over time, but despite it Aestus would still try to do what he likes best — making people he loves smile and thrive, even as he is burning from inside out to accommodate. Becoming the kindling this world needs just so everyone makes it out alive.

Killing Trahearne with his own hands, without knowing he would come back in this verse, was probably one of the worst things to happen to him — his own death doesn't compare to the anguish he feels every time a person close to him gets hurt. And despite not ever truly knowing what it's like to lose the Marshal completely, Aestus still feels guilty for being even a little happy he is still there. After all, it wasn't his choice to stay.

The woes of the Commander wouldn't end there. He would emerge victorious over Balthazar and end him for good — or so he thought. He partially absorbed his magic, and just like Aurene, became a new "representation", a new "version" of the God against his will for those, who believed in the tyrant before — the Zaishen Order in particular. The quiet whispers in his head came after. They grew in power until Aestus recognized them for what they were — the dead God's thoughts, his essence or even his soul that latched onto him from the Mists. And it wanted out.

The experience appeared similar to revenants who are able to communicate with the fragments of the Legends long passed at first, but quickly turned dire as Balthazar would try to possess the Commander on more than one occasion, making the gentle sylvari forget himself even for a moment to gain the upper hand. The warmest sunshine of Aestus, now tainted, threatening to become the same hellfire he fought against in Elona. He has his allies to help manage this new "condition", but it does interfere with his life unlike anything else, forcing the sylvari to remain on edge so as not to give up the life he built to someone who would see it brought to ruin.

So he goes on as the beacon, the guiding light for others, tryng to navigate his own problems as smoothly as possible. Colored like the hope of the ever-present butterflies that surround Caladbolg at all times, Aestus is trudging through the greatest challenges the world has to offer. He just has to believe his loved ones would make it to the other side, even if it means he won't live to see it.

The promised smooth sylvari

[greenleaf4stuff]

In Good Hands (Of Convenience – Random Bits 2)

(all other parts of my "Of Convenience" verse) (my other TROP fanfics)

F/F aka Femslash, Fluff, Humor. Of Convenience AU, Mirdania/Gurlak-centric (my female uruk smith OC) for TROP Cozy Cuddles Week 2025. Set during of In Convenience (pre Chapter 5) and Inconvenienced. (The main fic itself is silverscars focused, but the pairing is only mentioned in this installment.)

So how exactly *did* Gurlak and Mirdania meet and build towards a friendship (and more) in my Of Convenience verse? A little glimpse into a progression of their relationship, told via a run-in almost-hug and two proper hugs.

Note: In the main fic, their relationship is portrayed as a friendship, but this is (in part) due to the fact that Adar and Celebrimbor are very much out of the loop. :P

Did not expect to ever write an F/F story for this fandom, nor a canon character/OC story, but here we are! I really wanted these two to become friends ever since I first wrote Gurlak into the story, since they are both smiths and yet so very different from one another. And then I got the idea of them interacting and began to think about what a romantic relationship between them would be like and - let’s just say this event is a great excuse to write some of it down. A big Thank You to @rivendellwatch for this lovely event, once again! <3 (Also please excuse any typos etc, I finished this fic on Saturday, edited half of it and used today to edit the rest.)

(Tagging @eowyn7023, @themalhambird, @janacariad, @itwillbeourswansong, @illegalcerebral and @acenby1999 as requested <3)

For those of you who want to read the fic on AO3, here is the link! <3 Enjoy!

Mirdania supposed it made sense, that she’d been asked to be part of the group that was sent to the orc – no, uruk, they called themselves uruk – camp to help with the sun tarps.

Sure, most of the other elves that had been asked were much taller than her, which was ideal for putting up the tarps and tying them to the existing structures, but almost none of them had interacted with the uruk before. Aside from Celebrimbor himself, only Mirdania had, though very briefly.

She still remembered how confused she’d been, when High King Gil-Galad and Commander Galadriel had marched into the forge, accompanied by two dozen uruk soldiers, weapons drawn at Annatar, calling him by the name Sauron.

It was not that she hadn’t suspected by then that the other wasn’t who he claimed himself to be. The way he’d changed after Celebrimbor’s disappearance from Eregion, which was in truth an escape, had shown her as much.

Having confirmation had been an entirely different thing, however. Though it did explain how the elves and the uruk had joined forces in the first place. Mirdania guessed that few other threats might have accomplished such a feat.

What she had been even more surprised by, was the willingness of one of the soldiers, whom she later on found out to be called Glug, to pull her from the forge and urge her to run. It had cost him dearly, his moment of carelessness, sending him tumbling down the stairs with a wound to the side.

Of course she had rushed after him – that blow had been meant for her, she was certain of it. And no matter how much she feared the orcs and their forces, this one had saved her.

Bringing him back to his people had still taken a bit of bravery, even after Celebrimbor himself had arrived and encouraged her to do so. She supposed being given the chance to get away from Sauron might have played a part in her willingness to do it anyways.

The uruk had been intimidating, but kinder than expected.; not only had they cared for Glug, they had also let her stay and treated her not like a former enemy, but someone they trusted. Her bringing in the wounded soldier was part of it, certainly, but also her mention of working with Celebrimbor himself.

Which had been another surprise, finding out that the uruk considered him not just as an important ally, but valued him for his bravery, his skills, and apparently, the way he’d managed to steer their leader in a a new direction. Away from besieging Eregion, as had been the original plan. She shuddered to even think about what that would have entailed for her and her peers.

Mirdania was lost in thought as she and the others neared the uruk camp, which was perhaps why she ended up not minding her step – and suddenly finding herself running into another person as she walked into the camp proper and made to turn a corner.

Twin 'oofs' could be heard, and the blonde elf was certain she would soon make an aquaintance with the ground due to just how solid the other person she’d just run into had been, only to find herself being caught and steadied before she could fall.

As the world spun around her for a moment, Mirdania reached out and grabbed whatever she could to get her bearings. Her hands found not one, but two strong biceps, so wide and muscular that her fingers did not even span half of them.

If that wasn’t enough, the hands that steadied her also were so wide and large that they easily caught her around her hips to keep her upright, as if she weighed hardly anything at all. She was almost certain that at one point, none of her own strength had been responsible for keeping her standing.

Through a few strands of blonde hair that had fallen into her face due to the collision, Mirdania looked up again, ready to apologize, only to find herself face to face with an uruk. That was, the uruk was so broad in build that there was hardly anything else she could look at from her own height. She had seen dwarves with leaner backs than this one.

The other looked at her with a look of surprise, but also, she found honest concern reflected on their face.

"You alright?" the other asked, and Mirdania realized with a start that this was a female uruk. She also couldn’t help but notice that the other was wearing a leather apron – different than the ones the elf and the other assistants in Celebrimbor’s employ wore, certaintly, as it was made out of a several large, patchworked pieces of leather and was held up by what might have once been parts of a bridle.

Could this be...a smith?

The elf found herself flabbergasted for a moment, before she managed to close her mouth and stutter out a response. "I uh- yes, yes I am," and then, as she realized that she had been the one to walk into the other and still had not apologized for it, "I am terribly sorry, I was just lost in thought- are you okay as well?"

The other looked as if not even an autumnal storm could move her if she didn’t wish it, but it couldn’t hurt to be polite and ask. Especially since the other didn’t seem the least bit annoyed or even bothered by having been run into.

The uruk looked at her in clear surprise, eyebrows raised before she slowly nodded. "I’m unharmed, don’t you worry," she replied, and after another small pause, continued to ask, "Do you think you can stand on your own?"

Mirdania blinked, and then realized that the other was still keeping her steady. And that she was still holding onto the uruk’s forearms. She looked down and felt her own eyes widen at the sight that presented itself to her – the uruks’s arms felt like solid rock in her grasp, but seeing them up close was somehow even more impressive. Especially so since elves, no matter their strength, did not typically look like this.

She also realized another thing, namely, that the uruk still had her hands around Mirdania’s waist; her hold had been so gentle that the elf hadn’t even been aware of it.

Her hands were indeed so large and broad that they did, in fact, encircle Mirdania’s whole waist. They looked almost like a wide belt, the way they were positioned, a nice contrast against her own, more delicate figure.

To her shock and mortification, Mirdania felt a thrill run through her at the thought.

No, no, no, absolutely not, this was neither the time nor the place-

And also, she still hadn’t answered the uruk’s question. She only hoped the other wouldn’t think lesser of her, with how ungainly and slow she was, both in movement and thought, at this moment.

Mirdania cleared her throat, somehow managed to tear her gaze away from the hands on her hips, and looked up at the uruk again. Whose eyes were quite intense. The same way she’d seen her leader, Adar, look at times. "I um- I think I can, yes. Thank you for- not letting me fall into the dirt," she said, and righted herself as the uruk slowly losened her hold on her.

"Sure," the other replied, and took a half-step back as she released Mirdania, first one hand, then the other, as if to be certain she truly was ready to stand on her own. Mirdania, similarly, was slow to take her own hands back from the other’s arms, and found her fingers rubbing together, tingling with the phantom sensation of the muscles and thick veins that she’d been touching.

The female uruk hooked her thumbs into the straps holding up her apron, forearms bulging as she continued to look at Mirdania. "You’re with the elves who’ve come for the sun tarps, aren’t you?" she asked.

Remembering her initial reason for coming into the camp, Mirdania stood up straight and did her best to pull her robes back into place, in order to look presentable. She was here on Eregion’s and Lord Celebrimbor’s behalf, after all. Making a good impression might be a little difficult after what had just happened, but she’d still make an effort. "Yes, I am. I was chosen because I was in this camp already, in fact-"

"Yeah, I remember," the uruk unexpectedly said. Mirdania felt her eyebrows raise as the other continued. "You brought in Glug, that day when Adar and the elves killed him, didn’t you?"

The elf stopped and stared, before realizing that she’d met this uruk before – in a full set of armor, and behaving much differently than she did now. Which might have been why the elven smith hadn’t recognized her. "You were the commander who questioned Glug when we stumbled into the camp."

"Not a commander, but close enough. Adar calls us lieutenants," the uruk explained, and pulled a face. "Though I must admit I’d much rather forge weapons than wield them, if I can help it."

And then she cleared her throat, and also stood up a little straighter, legs firmly planted as she looked Mirdania. "The name’s Gurlak, by the way. And whenever we aren’t short on lieutenants and do not need to chaperone an elven lord, I am actually a blacksmith."

Mirdania felt her curiosity overcome her embarrassment, as her eyes widened and she leant slightly closer towards the uruk in interest. The other seemed a tad surprised at the motion. "So you are indeed a smith as well!" only to catch herself and explain, "I – the leather apron and the toolbelt gave it away."

The other stared at her incredulously for a moment, blinking, before she tilted her head and asked, "Are you saying that you are a smith, too?"

Mirdania nodded. "Yes. In fact, I am one of Lord Celebrimbor’s assistants. I have been working with him for over a century, by now." She was rather proud of that, in fact. Not just because it was a huge honor for any smith to work with someone as talented and skilled as him, but because it had been an almost life-long dream of hers to do so, and she still cherished the opportunity every single day.

She winced, slightly, thinking back on how Annatar- no, Sauron, had been the only thing, the only person, to ever make her doubt her chosen path. Looking back, it almost felt as if she was looking on the actions of someone else, so much had the Deceiver managed to turn her against her own leader. The one she admired, and considered a friend.

Thankfully, she could not linger on these dark thoughts for long, when she heard Gurlak snort and study Mirdania from head to toe with the same, incredulous expression she had been wearing as the elf had revealed her profession. "Huh. Looks like you elves all are this...fragile looking, then," she explained. "I thought it was just Adar’s elf being an exception for looking so...willowy."

Mirdania blinked and then frowned in confusion, before she looked down her own form, and then back up at Gurlak. "Fragile looking?" The blonde elf understood that she did not have the same build as Gurlak did, or most of the uruk, who were trained for battle. But she didn’t look frail.

"You barely look as if you could hold up a hammer," Gurlak replied, shrugging, "Your lord is much the same way. I openly doubted his claims of being a smith when he and I first met."

Mirdania had been ready to argue that not everyone was built like a barrel, and especially not elves, and that she could give the other a demonstration of her strength and skill just fine, when-

"You- you thought Celebrimbor wasn’t-," she stammered, the very thought almost too absurd to entertain. "...Did you tell him as much?"

Gurlak nodded. The Mirdania’s surprise, she then rubbed the back of her neck and looked a little sheepish as she stared off to the side, free hand on her hip as she shifted her stance. "In my defense, I did not know who he was at the time. I only knew he was Adar’s elf- Adar’s husband," she corrected herself. "And as I said, he looked neither convincingly lord-like nor like a smith. Ours tend to look more like me," and she motioned at her own build.

Mirdania was stunned. "That...that must have been. Quite the discovery," she felt almost sympathetic. She still remembered how awestruck she’d been, when she realized that her friend and mentor had been the Celebrimbor, son of Curufin, grandson of Feanor himself.

Granted, she had not even reached maturity back then, but still.

Gurlak nodded, and then she grinned, "Oh, it was," and then she jerked her head towards the camp and turned half into the direction that Mirdania had intended to go. "I can tell you about it while we go over to join the others, if you’d like,…?"

She paused, and looked back at the elf, letting the sentence hang unfinished between them as if waiting for something. Mirdania, thankfully, seemed to have recovered enough to grasp at her unspoken question easily.

"Mirdania. My name is Mirdania," she explained, and then added with a look of consternation, "Apologies, I should have introduced myself right alongside you. My manners today are atrocious."

The other laughed, startling the blonde elf, who looked at Gurlak with yet more confusion. "Ah, don’t you worry. Considering how things used to be between our people, this is more than fine. I don’t mind," Gurlak explained, and then motioned for Mirdania to follow her as she walked up ahead. The elf was quick to try and catch up.

"So, when me and Celebrimbor first met, he really wanted to work in a forge again. Any forge, really. He was pretty desperate – called me Mistress Gurlak even. I feared he might sink to his knees and beg next-," the uruk started as they walked.

"Lord Celebrimbor wouldn’t beg," Mirdania insisted, only for Gurlak to look sideways at her and smirk.

"Yeah, you are right. But it was a pretty close thing-"

They spent the rest of the way to where the sun tarps would be erected talking back and forth, Gurlak gossiping about how Celebrimbor forgot the time and had to be retrieved by Adar as he worked in her forge, only for Mirdania to add that this had been a problem before him fleeing Eregion already, after which the two would exchange funny anecdotes about Adar and Celebrimbor respectively, and eventually end up discussing forgework, with both bantering back and forth about who of them might fashion the better, heavier weapons or the more intricate jewelry.

Safe to say, between their shared profession and the fact that they both worked quite closely with their respective leaders, the two ended up working together a few more times. Time passed far too quickly in each instance, to the point that the two often stayed behind when the others had already left to continue talking.

Gurlak would meet some of the other elven smiths, including the new apprentice, Nethiel, while Mirdania found herself being introduced to the other uruk smiths, most of which were Gurlak’s assistants. Soon, it stopped mattering whether one was an elf or an uruk, and only that they had a shared craft and interest in forgework.

One day, Gurlak and Mirdania had met in Eregion, only for Gurlak to stand beneath the forge tower and look up at it with an appreciative glance. The damaged roof was almost fully repaired by then, and the smithy itself in the process of being rebuilt as well – so hopefully, it would not remind Mirdania, Celebrimbor and the others of the time Annatar had resided there.

"The view from up there must be quite something," the uruk remarked as she studied the tower. Her tone was almost awed.

Before she even knew what she was doing, Mirdania suggested, "Do you want to go up there? Once the forge is finished?"

Gurlak seemed surprised, but when she looked at Mirdania, she smiled and nodded. "That would be nice."

Mirdania, who found herself enjoying Gurlak’s sparkling eyes and open smile far more than she had anticipated, quickly nodded back at her. "I’ll let you know when the reconstruction is finished. And then take you up there."

"Can I tag along too?" came a tentative voice from the side, with both Gurlak and Mirdania looking over to see that Nethiel had overheard their conversation, and was wearing a hopeful smile as she moved from one foot to the other. The apprentice had just joined the other smiths that worked with Celebrimbor, taking the spot of the late Taminor, and was rather eager to make some friends – uruk and elven alike.

"Of course," Mirdania confirmed, right as Gurlak said, "Sure, go ahead," only for the two of them to stare at each other and chuckle.

Nethiel looked between the two of them with an expression Mirdania couldn’t quite read. "On second thought, you really don’t have to-"

"Nonsense, feel free to tag along," Gurlak insisted, ever jovial despite her gruff demeanor. "It’ll be fun, to see what you lot have to say about this grand forge of yours." And then she patted Mirdania on the back, looking at her with a lopsided grin. "I’m going to go back to camp for the day. We’ll see each other tomorrow?"

"I certainly hope so!" Mirdania said, and gave Gurlak a grin of her own. "We do still have something to settle, after all."

Gurlak barked out a laugh. "By all means, be my guest. I still think it’s more likely I can make you some nice trinkets than for you to make an uruk weapon."

It had been a good-natured point of contention between the two of them for the last few days, with both of them being quite determined to prove the other wrong.

"You’ll eat your words tomorrow," Mirdania insisted, and felt her grin widen as Gurlak raised her eyebrows at the blonde’s choice of words in appreciation. Might be that the uruk had rubbed off on her, just a little bit.

"We’ll see about that," Gurlak replied, and then made to go.

Mirdania, out of an impulse that she could not explain – but wasn’t particularly concerned about indulging –, quickly stepped forward before the other could leave, reached up and she drew Gurlak into a hug. The other smith, who was usually quick to pat other people’s shoulders and back during conversations, stilled for only a moment, before she wrapped a careful arm around the elf’s waist and did indeed pat her back in response, though much more lightly than she would with her fellow uruk.

"I’ll see you tomorrow, then," Mirdania replied, and then added, "Get some good sleep. You’re gonna need it."

She felt a little giddy, when she drew back again and saw that Gurlak’s eyebrows had wandered up even further than they previously had. A motion that reminded the elf of Celebrimbor.

"Quite confident of your win, are you?" Gurlak replied, and then shook her head with a huff. Her smile turned oddly soft as she continued, "Take care of yourself as well. Till tomorrow."

She motioned to go, before she gave a nod and said a short goodbye to Nethiel as well, and then she was moving towards the gates.

Mirdania, who embarrassingly had almost forgotten about the apprentice, turned towards her, only to find the younger elf giving her a very peculiar look that she couldn’t quite place. "Anything the matter?" she asked with open confusion.

Nethiel continued to look at her for a short moment, before she shook her head and smiled, "No, nothing. I was just thinking how nice it is that more elves and uruk than just Lord Celebrimbor and the Lord Father are beginning to build friendships with each other, is all."

The way she put emphasis on 'friendship' made Mirdania think that there was something the blonde wasn’t quite aware of, or that the other deliberately left unspoken, but the elven smith couldn’t quite figure out what exactly that might be. She decided to take it as Nethiel being a bit awkward, perhaps, and simply smiled as she nodded. "That is very true. It is quite remarkable how far we’ve come together already, isn’t it?"

She still couldn’t parse why Nethiel continued to look at her so strangely, and the apprentice remained frustratingly vague when Mirdania attempted to question her further.

The three did have a bit of bad luck, trying to get into the smithy one late evening only a few weeks later; walking in on Adar and Celebrimbor, who had been talking quietly among themselves, standing together as if they’d just been about to kiss – and who knows what else – had not been something they had expected.

Though, the accident had leant itself quite well for gossiping among the uruk, and as a result, Celebrimbor’s assistants as well. If he hadn’t been so stressed over the preparations for the wedding feast, Mirdania would have pitied the older elf for the grins and giggles exchanged in the days immediately after.

As it was, he was far too involved with other matters to even notice, and so she was simply grateful he did not bring up the incident again and, unspokenly, agreed with him not to mention it.

She did, however, try again a few days later, when she’d overheard the other elven leaders giving the two husbands a day or two to have some time to themselves. Nethiel had claimed to be busy while throwing Mirdania yet another look she couldn’t parse, and so that left just the blonde elf and Gurlak to return to the forge tower a second time, again late in the evening.

This time, they didn’t run into anyone – the forge was deserted when they entered it, and was utterly quiet as a result. Mirdania had brought a lantern, and was the one to open the door and hold it open for the uruk smith to enter.

Now that they had time to take in the rebuilt forge at their own leisure, Gurlak seemed quite impressed with it. "Your forges do look quite different from ours," she remarked, as she looked at the large space with an appreciative glance, and went over to the tools, weighing them in her hands with obvious admiration.

Mirdania had seen the uruk forges in the camp, and had also heard Celebrimbor discuss them with his own builders at times; the uruk had made do with what they could scavenge and gather for centuries, and it showed in every aspect of their lives. The blonde elf bit her lip as she saw Gurlak look at everything with a look of open awe, the way Mirdania herself had when she’d been much younger, and permitted to visit a forge with Celebrimbor for the first time.

She was glad that he, too, found the state of things to be quite unacceptable, and was planning to help the uruk both with the construction of new, better smithies, as well as giving them materials and tools to use in them. And, as he’d apparently offered Gurlak, by sharing his own expertise, if she and the others wished it. Gurlak had seemed quite giddy as she recounted the conversation to Mirdania.

The blonde elf decided in that moment that she, too, would try and help with that endeavor. Gurlak had obvious passion for her craft, and while elves and uruk approached their creations quite differently, it was obvious that she could get great results with what she was given. As a fellow smith, Mirdania wanted her to have the chance to excel at her profession, and be afforded the same opportunities she herself had had.

Pondering this, she noticed Gurlak looking at her, tilting her head and raising an eyebrow. "Everything alright? You’re not tired, are you?" The question was asked in a lighthearted, humorous manner, but there was honest concern underneath. It encompassed the uruk smith as a person quite aptly, in Mirdania’s opinion.

She smiled and quickly shook her head. "No, no, just- you remind me of myself, back when I stepped into a forge similar to this for the first time, is all," she said. "But enough of the reminiscing. I promised I’d show you this place, after all. What do you want to see first?"

She had no idea how long they spent, going over everything, from the forge itself to the tools, the worktables, the various sketches and scrolls, and even the murals that had been painted onto the walls. Gurlak and Mirdania took delight in chuckling over Adar’s and Celebrimbor’s mural, and what they’d heard about their love confession, with Gurlak’s humor putting Mirdania at ease once more.

Once they had finished, the blonde elf turned towards the balcony doors, where she’d seen Gurlak peak from time to time. "You seem to be quite eager to see the view from up here as well. Shall we go outside?"

"That would be great, yes," Gurlak said, and barely hid her excitement behind her humor. "That was the original reason we came here, after all, if I recall correctly."

"Apologies for holding you up with boring forge talk, then," Mirdania quipped back, but her smile was gentle and she winked as she said it, causing Gurlak to laugh while Mirdania stepped over and opened the door, before motioning the uruk smith to step outside with a flourish.

"Heh, nah, no worries. I found it surprisingly interesting," the other replied with a grin of her own, and affected an almost-bow before she stepped outside, Mirdania soon following behind her.

The sight from up so high was indeed very beautiful; Mirdania and Celebrimbor had been up on this balcony before, back when the older elf had shown the Ithildin to her for the first time. While their talk itself was a welcome memory, it was still tainted by the fact that Sauron himself had been standing down by the gate, looking up at them, even then casting a long shadow over Eregion.

Thankfully, Mirdania could not linger on that for long, as Gurlak made an appreciative noise and stepped up to the balustrade, hands on it as she looked over Ost-In-Edhil, which was a sea of green, white, gold clothed in the deep blue of night, studded with countless small, orange dots; hundreds of little flames from lanterns and candles lighting the city.

The elf soon stepped up and similarly leaned on the balustrade to Gurlak’s side, smiling as she saw the other take in the city lights. "That is a pretty great view," the uruk said, sounding deeply approving as she looked around.

"The city is indeed quite beautiful like this," Mirdania agreed, and then gently nudged the other smith’s arm, who turned towards her. Jerking up her chin, the blonde lifted her eyes to the sky, "But further up is an even more impressive sight."

Looking up, there were countless twinkling stars above them, thousands, set against a blanket of a deep, dark night sky, unobstructed by any clouds. The moon had to be somewhere behind the tower, as Mirdania couldn’t quite see it from her position, but its light fell over the city as well, a contrast to the little flames that shone below.

"Indeed, it is," Gurlak said, an unexpected tone to her voice. When Mirdania looked at her again, the uruk wasn’t looked at the sky at all, but at her.

A thrill ran through her at the realization. But did the other really- could she- surely she wasn’t-?

The two of them looked at each other for a long moment, and Mirdania found herself faltering, as she smiled and looked up at the stars again, even as she asked herself what she was doing.

Flustered, she pointed at the first star she recognized, and began to tell Gurlak about it. The uruk remained quiet, did not pry, and soon, they were both talking about the constellations they could make out, with the other smith once again using her skill at humor to make Mirdania laugh – it seemed she always found a cluster of stars that had a particularly funny shape, and she was determined to point all of them out to the elf.

"That looks like an anvil," she claimed, as both of them stood and had to look straight up at an uncomfortable angle, "How can you not see it? Look, that star over there-"

"It looks like a saddle," Mirdania insisted, and turned, once again, in the hopes of finding a better angle, before she leant against the wall. She’d been up and on her feet all day, and her legs were beginning to crave a chance to sit down.

"Uh-huh. Sure," Gurlak replied, but as Mirdania looked at her, that look of concern from earlier was back on her face. "You look uncomfortable. Wanna go back?"

Mirdania quickly shook her head. "No, not at all, it’s just – my legs are a bit tired, is all," she tried to reassure the other.

Gurlak looked a tad surprised, before she looked at the point where the tower wall met the balcony, and simply said, "Why don’t we sit down, then?" As if it was the most obvious thing to do. Perhaps to her, it was, considering she was still wearing her work clothes – it seemed to only have one set of spare clothes, if Mirdania wasn’t mistaken.

"On the floor?" Mirdania asked, confused, only for Gurlak to nod at her. "But- that is-"

"All of this city looks very clean, and there’s not a lot of people up here anyways. We’ll be fine," Gurlak said and, true to her words, went over, leant against the wall, and slid to the floor, one knee propped up and the other leg outstretched, quickly placing an arm onto that raised knee as well.

Mirdania herself remained standing, torn between her sense of propriety – and a slight worry for her dress –, and the desire to sit down for a moment.

Her thoughts came to a halt when Gurlak motioned her over with a jerk of her head. "Come, Mirdania. If you’re so concerned for your dress, I can give you my leather apron to sit on-," and then she made to take it off, only for the elven smith to hold up her hands and quickly step towards her.

"Oh no, that is very kind of you, but not neccessary at all-" she said to the other. Gurlak gave her a dubious glance, which ultimately made the decision for the elf to walk over.

"Alright," Gurlak replied, slow, and then continued, "Tell you what, how about you sit between my legs? You can lean back against me. It’ll be a lot more comfortable."

Once again, Mirdania stopped. Gurlak looked surprisingly hopeful, sitting at her feet, looking up at the elven smith – which didn’t happen very often, considering the other was of greater size than her – and no ounce of humor in her voice.

The blonde elf had the same feeling she’d felt earlier, as Gurlak had looked at her. Again, she threatened to fluster, to argue that she was fine as she was, she wasn’t a lady who needed to be pampered, she could sit on the floor, truly, except-

No.

Had she not been among those who had – fondly – rolled their eyes at the fact that Adar and Celebrimbor had needed so long, both to realize their own feelings and act on them? Hadn’t she thought that, if she ever even had a chance to have a piece of what they had, she’d grasp it with both hands and hold onto it, especially so after surving the return of Sauron himself?

And yet, here she was, with Gurlak, who looked at her like she hung the stars in the sky, who had lifted Mirdania onto her shoulder a few days earlier like it was no hardship at all, in order to help her with the tarps? And had been so careful, when she sat the other down again, that she wouldn’t stumble – and that Gurlak wouldn’t pinch anything, or be too rough with her.

'Oh, I am as much of a fool as Celebrimbor, aren’t I?' she thought, a little furious at herself, before she tucked that feeling away; she did still have time to remedy this, and she wouldn’t let a second chance pass her by. She, and Gurlak, had endured too much those days leading up to Sauron’s death to be a coward now.

And so she took a breath, and allowed a smile to spread across her face, as she said, "Oh, how thoughtful of you – thank you," with a little bit of mirth, and then moved gracefully onto the floor, until she knelt between Gurlak’s legs, looking at the other, before she turned herself around and moved backwards, until her back came to rest against the uruk’s chest.

Gurlak was unexpectedly warm, even through the leather apron. And just as solid as the elf knew her to be.

The uruk drew in a surprised breath and stilled, if only for a moment, before she slowly began to untense once more. "Sure," she said, sounding a little faint. Mirdania couldn’t help but grin in response. "You’re welcome."

'I bet I am,' Mirdania thought, but decided not to say these words out loud – not quite yet, anyways.

Instead, she boldly went and picked up Gurlak’s arm, the one she hadn’t propped up on her knee, and moved it around her own waist, and then laid her own arms over it.

"You were right, it is quite comfortable. I even got a place to rest my arms," Mirdania replied, aiming for levity and starkly aware that her voice, too, was slightly trembling with sudden nervousness.

It did not last for long, as the arm around her slightly tightened and drew her back further. "Glad to hear it," the other said.

They both fell silent for a little while, as Mirdania felt Gurlak breathe behind her, slightly uneven, and felt her heartbeat through her own back, a little faster than would be usual for an elf – and for an uruk, too, it seemed, as it began to slow down again after a moment.

"So," Gurlak eventually said, clearing her throat, before she used her free arm to point up again. "Still an anvil. You have just been around horses for too long, unlike me, who spends her days and nights-"

"Oh, you – you are not spending 'day and night' in the forges. And that is clearly a saddle, look-," Mirdania replied, laughter in her voice, and soon the two of them were fondly arguing over the constellation again, the blonde elf leaning back against the uruk smith, holding onto her arm as Gurlak did the same with her waist. Tight, but never uncomfortable.

They spent a long time up there, holding one another – so long, in fact, that they had seemingly fallen asleep, judging by the fact that they found themselves still on that balcony when they awoke again.

They did so with Gurlak’s arms around Mirdania’s middle, providing her with warmth, while Mirdania’s head had tilted to the side and was resting against Gurlak’s chest, right over her heart, hands still holding onto the uruk’s forearms, both of them waking up to birdsong and a blanket that had been cast over them.

As well as Nethiel, wearing a very smug grin and carrying to cups of tea, one in each hand, as she looked down at them.

"Good morning, you two," she chirped, her good mood apparent, and knelt down to hold out the tea. "You have no idea how rich you two have just made me. I am taking home all the other smiths’ bets today."

Mirdania, still sleepy, and only just beginning to be embarrassed, had reached out for the tea, when she realized what the other had just said. Gurlak, however, was much faster.

"What do you mean, 'bets'?!"

[cielettosa]

SEED OF DISCONTENT

Chapter 1: a burden unchosen

PAIRING: levi ackerman x fem!reader

RATING: explicit

FANDOM: shingeki no kyojin/attack on titan (canon verse, canon divergent)

SYNOPSIS:

The Ackerman clan needs to be expanded, and you are chosen to carry his child.

cw of the chapter: none

navigation

previous chapter - next chapter

Heavy air, thick enough to chew on. It sits on Levi lungs like a stale loaf of Dhalis' smug superiority.

Tick tock, tick tock. Clock mocks them all, counting down the precious minutes wasted in this shitty staring contest.

Polished table, a mirror reflecting the distorted faces of these pompous windbags. Zachary, the "General," a walking monument to paperwork erosion. His beard – a tragic map of battles fought with red tape, not Titans. His eyes, like a bloodhound sniffing out dissent, but too slow to catch the real monsters in this room.

Erwin Smith. The almighty, the strategic genius, the commander of the Survey Corps.

He sits there puffed up like a pigeon on a flagpole. Levi can practically hear his ribs creaking under the weight of his own titan sized ambitions and eyebrows. All bluster and dreams, that one.

He does not understand the grime under your fingernails, the blood that seeps into your soul after every mission. He talks about the "greater good," about humanity's "salvation."

Levi's fingers itch for the familiar weight of his blades. They would feel more comfortable here than this damn chair.

Erwin's icy blue eyes are probably doing calculus right now, strategizing the most soul crushing paperwork avalanche to unleash on Levi after this bureaucratic circus. Wonderful.

Just what Levi needs – another mountain of paper stacks to wade through, each one a monument to the utter cluelessness of these so called leaders.

Nile Dawk, perpetually looking like an offended toddler – ever the picture of simmering discontent. Tapping a rhythm on the table like a bored child, scowl permanently etched on his face. Military Police Brigade must be a real snooze fest if this qualifies as entertainment for him.

Dot Pixis. The Garrison commander with a smile sweeter than rotten fruit. Just the kind of saccharine charm that could probably disarm an abnormal Titan with a sugar high.

All sunshine and lollipops, that one. Probably thinks the biggest danger he faces is a paper cut.

And then there is Humanity's Strongest Soldier. Levi Ackerman. Years spent dodging death by Titan and defying gravity have turned his posture into a weapon itself.

His eyes, a stormy gray reflecting horrors most would not dare dream of, are a mask. A stoic facade forged in the fires of countless battles. Iron will, they call it. Yeah, well, sometimes even iron feels like it is about to snap under the weight of this never ending hell.

The air hangs thick, its intellectual density barely surpassing a sluggish potato. Dhalis slurs out his opening remarks, the weight of his words attempting, and failing, to mimic a momentous thunderclap.

"Esteemed Commanders and Captain," he declares, "we convene today on a matter of utmost importance." A dramatic pause follows, his pronouncement lingering in the air like an unwelcome houseguest. "The Ackerman bloodline."

The General utters the words with the gravitas one might reserve for announcing the cure for Titanism, a cure that would undoubtedly be more newsworthy than this current charade.

Here, in this room choked by the stench of bureaucratic ineptitude, the only true concern should be the ever present threat of humanity becoming Titan chum.

A tremor of unease ripples through the assembled commanders, a collective shiver down the spine of the room. Erwin, ever the opportunist, leans forward, transforming into the very image of rapt attention.

Nile, on the other hand, can not contain a scoff, a harsh sound that would likely send chills down the ever nervous Armin Arlert's spine.

His voice, dripping with disdain like a neglected mop, barks out, "The attack dogs utilized for combat by the Survey Corps and kept under their control - what bearing, if any, does this topic have on the current discourse?"

Dhalis counters Nile's scoff with a clipped retort, his tone as sharp as a drill sergeant addressing a trainee with the intellectual capacity of a sluggish spud. "With all due respect, Commander Dawk,," he emphasizes. "the Ackerman bloodline exhibits demonstrably abnormal combat capabilities. These capabilities demonstrably exceed even those of our most elite soldiers, if such a designation can be ascribed to the current standard."

Nile slams his fist down on the polished mahogany table, the resulting impact sending a tremor through the crystal glassware that evokes a startled flock of pigeons.

"The Ackermans are nothing more than volatile instruments of war! Their allegiances are fluid and dictated by whomever holds the reins of power! They are Smith's sword perpetually hanging over our heads, a festering danger to the very foundations of the Wall's Military!" He puffs out his chest, the very image of an outraged toddler whose favorite stuffed animal has been snatched away.

Predictably, the very mention of the Ackerman bloodline ignites a cacophony of idiocy within the room. Nile, bless his perpetually furrowed brow, predictably launches into a tirade about "the potential dangers," his voice laced with the kind of bluster one might expect from a petulant child.

Pixis drawls out a response, doing little to quell the simmering tension in the room. "While your concerns, Commander Dawk, are duly noted, perhaps a more measured approach is warranted.," he says, his voice dripping with a nonchalance that borders on mockery. "Captain Levi, appears content to fulfill his designated role. One might even argue he demonstrates a certain efficiency in battlefields And surely, their demonstrable utility in such endeavors cannot be entirely dismissed."

Dhalis clears his throat with a theatrical flourish, the universal signal for the assembled commanders to shut their yaps.

"Indeed, Commander Pixis," he concedes. "While I acknowledge Captain Levi's utility, Commander Pixis." He continues, his voice taking on a conspiratorial tone, as if he is about to drop a bombshell more explosive than a Titan spotting a juicy human morsel. "we must consider the entirety of the Ackerman bloodline. The private known as Mikasa Ackerman also warrants our attention in this discussion."

Nile growls, a bulldog with a stubborn bone lodged in its throat. "Private Mikasa Ackerman presents a potential complication," he spits out. "Her emotional attachment to the impulsive and reckless Private Eren Yeager, Humanity's Hope, could be a detriment to her objectivity. The military requires unwavering focus and strategic acumen, qualities potentially compromised by such sentimental entanglements."

Dhalis offers a curt nod, the gesture of a teacher indulging a slow student. "To be perfectly clear, Commander Dawk" he clarifies. "while Private Mikasa Ackerman's emotional attachments warrant observation, they are not the immediate cause for concern. Our primary focus must remain fixed upon Captain Levi, Humanity's Strongest Soldier. It is imperative that we establish, with absolute certainty, the nature of his allegiance. The military requires unwavering loyalty, a commitment that must be secured on a permanent basis"

They want to clip Levi's wings, transform him into a government sanctioned attack dog, a good little soldier following their every beck and call.

The irony is so thick, so suffocating, it could be slathered on burnt toast and passed off as a gourmet meal. Levi's loyalty, if they could even begin to understand it, lies solely with the singular objective of ending this bloody war.

And achieving that requires a hell of a lot more than empty promises and a patronizing pat on the head.

They dangle the Ackerman bloodline before him like a juicy carrot, all the while preparing to yank him in with a leash. Because, apparently, a goddamn Titan slaying machine, a man who has stared into the abyss and emerged unbroken, is a threat to their precious little power structure.

These self proclaimed leaders could not fight their way out of a paper bag, let alone navigate the treacherous political labyrinth they have constructed within these damned Walls.

The only true anomaly associated with the Ackerman bloodline is their complete and utter lack of tolerance for bureaucratic idiocy.

This s whole damn meeting is a pointless exercise in futility, a waste of valuable time that could be spent slicing Titans, not listening to them spout nonsense.

The only entertainment comes from watching these self important wind bags trip over their own inflated egos.

Maybe Levi should start a mental betting pool – Nile, with his perpetually constipated expression, or Pixis, with that oily salesman grin he can not seem to wipe off? Knowing their track record, it will be a nail biter of a finish.

Jaw clenches tighter, frustration a rising tide threatening to spill over. They have been droning on for an eternity, and not a single one of them has offered a decent cup of tea.

The lack of proper tea is a war crime in itself, and frankly, Levi is about to reach his breaking point.

Levi cuts through the tense air with his voice, a low monotone as sharp as a carving knife slicing through butter. "Loyalty," he declares, "is something that is earned, not something you bully into someone like a conscript force fed expired rations" His steely gaze sweeps across the room, taking each face in turn, a silent challenge. "If my lineage is such a delectable dish for your paranoid ruminations," he continues, leaning back slightly in his chair, "then by all means, let me demonstrate my value on the battlefield. It seems a far more productive use of time than this childish charade of bureaucratic musical chairs you've orchestrated here today."

A flicker of surprise, as fleeting as a gnat caught in a hurricane, crosses Dhalis' weathered face. Erwin, however, can not quite suppress a smirk playing on his lips.

The man understands Levi better than most, recognizes the unwavering dedication that burns within him like superheated Titan blood.

Pixis, the oily eel of a Garrison commander, leans back with a mischievous glint in his eye. "Perhaps, esteemed General," he drawls, his voice dripping with a false sincerity. "the Captain raises a salient observation. Indeed, why not allow him to take to the field? Let him spill his own crimson ichor in defense of humanity. In the crucible of combat, his loyalty can be forged anew, not through empty pronouncements, but through actions etched in the very blood he sheds for our collective survival."

Dhalis releases a sigh that ruffles the papers scattered across the table, the sound betraying the frustration simmering beneath his carefully constructed facade.

Dhalis reaches up to stroke his beard, an unhealthy habit that likely yanks out more hair than a pack of hungry Titans swarming a buffet. "Very well, Captain Levi," he concedes, his voice laced with a begrudging acceptance that strains to mask his underlying apprehension. "You have been granted this… opportunity to demonstrate your fealty. Consider this a reprieve, a chance to redeem the inherent suspicion that clings to your bloodline like a persistent miasma." he leans forward, his gaze hardening into steely glint, "But make no mistake, Captain" he adds, a cruel edge creeping into his voice, "the moment even the slightest tremor of disloyalty betrays your actions, the repercussions will be as swift and merciless as the blade you wield so effectively. And let me assure you swiftness will be a forgotten luxury in the face of your transgression. The full weight of the military will come crashing down upon you, a juggernaut of retribution that will leave you yearning for the sweet embrace of oblivion.

Levi meets his gaze head on, his expression an unreadable mask. "Understood, sir," he replies, his voice betraying none of the storm brewing within him.

"However," Dhalis continues, his voice taking on a sly tone, "as Commander Pixis eloquently articulated, mere pronouncements hold little sway in this esteemed chamber. Deeds, Captain Levi, deeds are what we demand. As alluded to in our prior deliberations, the undeniable admiration Private Eren Yeager, Humanity's Hope holds for you, Humanity's Strongest Soldier, is a matter of public record. His unyielding trust in your capabilities borders on the fanatical, would you not agree? The boy would not hesitate to follow you into the very maw of a Titan itself. Therefore, we require a… proof, shall we say? A public spectacle that unequivocally demonstrates that Humanity's Strongest Soldier is, without question, prepared to adhere to our directives, regardless of their perceived absurdity or apparent pointlessness. We require absolute, unwavering certainty that your allegiance remains firmly tethered to the military. Any hint of wavering, of a potential defection that could see you and Eren Yeager stray from the designated path, will not be tolerated. The consequences of such a betrayal would reverberate throughout humanity's fragile existence. Imagine the chaos, the erosion of trust that would follow in the wake of your disobedience. Think of the fragile hope you would shatter, the blood that would stain the ground due to your misplaced loyalties. No, Captain Levi, we cannot, will not, accept such a catastrophic scenario. Therefore, a public display of your obedience is paramount. We need the world, and more importantly, Eren Yeager himself, to witness your unwavering commitment to this cause. Only then can we move forward with a semblance of confidence, knowing that our strongest soldier stands firmly beside us, not against us."

Levi's voice cuts through the veiled threats, cold and sharp as a discarded blade. "How exactly do I prove this loyalty you are so desperate for?"

Dhalis leans forward, his belly straining against his uniform like a sausage casing about to burst. If Levi squinted real hard, maybe he could pretend it was sincerity wrinkling his brow.

"Ah, Captain," Dhalis Zachary drawls, a sickeningly theatrical tone creeping into his voice, "there in lies the crux of the matter, would you not concur? It would be a most unfortunate turn of events, a veritable tragedy of epic proportions, if…" Tragedy? More like a comedy act gone horribly wrong. "…something unforeseen… were to befall our invaluable asset…" Unfortunate for who, exactly? "…Humanity's Strongest Soldier, Levi Ackerman. The potential loss of such a potent genealogical lineage, the Ackerman bloodline, brimming with unparalleled combat prowess - an unconscionable waste, would you not agree? A crying shame that would echo through the annals of humanity's struggle for survival. Fear not, Captain, would never dream of placing you in an untenable situation. However, a strategically orchestrated public display of obedience, one that showcases your unwavering commitment to this very institution, would be most… reassuring. Think of it as a necessary formality, a safeguard against the unforeseen. After all, who amongst us can predict the capricious hand of fate? Imagine the public outcry, the despair that would grip humanity, if some… mishap… were to befall our most prized weapon in the fight against the Titan menace. Surely, Captain, a man of your esteemed stature would not want to be the cause of such widespread devastation, would you?" His gaze fixes on Levi, "The task I propose, Captain, is a mere formality, a carefully choreographed performance designed to quell any lingering anxieties. Think of it as an investment in the future, a testament to the enduring unity between yourself and the very military of the Walls. After all, the potential consequences of your… disobedience, shall we say, are a prospect that would leave us all trembling in the face of an uncertain future."

Unease flickers across Nile's face, a fly caught in a spiderweb. The man is a walking bad mood on a good day, but even he seems to recoil at the thought. Turning soldiers into government breeding stock? The very idea is enough to make a Titan reconsider its lunch options.

Nile growls, "Are you implying, General," he spits, disgusted "that we revisit that proposition tabled earlier, the one concocted in hushed tones between yourself, Commander Smith, Commander Pixis, and myself? The utterly repugnant notion of Captain Ackerman being transformed into some… government sanctioned stallion?" The word hangs in the air, vulgar and obscene, shattering any remaining pretense of decorum in the room. "The very notion is not only abhorrent but strategically unsound!"

Government sanctioned stud? Levi's blood runs cold, a primal fury clawing its way up his throat. The audacity of these men! Do they think Levi is some mindless beast to be bred in captivity? A weapon to be passed down through generations?

The General might acknowledge the validity of Nile's point, but government sanctioned stud? Even these pompous windbags have a limit on their tact, apparently.

Dhalis clears his throat, the sound like a clogged drain trying to cough up a hairball. "Commander Dawk, while your concerns regarding the… unorthodox proposition previously discussed are duly noted, perhaps a more nuanced approach might be warranted. We must consider the long game, do you not agree? Who can say what unforeseen threats lurk beyond the Walls, what monstrous adversaries may rise to challenge humanity's very existence? Therefore, would it not be prudent, some might even say a matter of humanity's security, to ensure the… continuation of the Ackerman bloodline? After all," he wheezes, strained like a man trying to swallow a rotten potato whole. "their demonstrably superior combat prowess is an asset too valuable to squander. Perhaps, a more… conventional arrangement could be facilitated. A suitable female candidate, carefully vetted for loyalty and robust health, could be identified. A union, orchestrated with the utmost discretion, could see the Ackerman lineage flourish, a safeguard against the potential horrors that the future may hold." He continues, the word dripping with self serving righteousness, "There is much to consider, do you not agree? But surely, the potential benefits outweigh any initial discomfort such a course of action might engender."

This attempt to sugarcoat their barbaric proposition with necessity is about as transparent as a window.

Erwin stays silent, a mask hiding any flicker of internal debate. Maybe he is strategizing, formulating an escape plan for this bureaucratic nightmare.

Who knows what goes on behind that calculating mind of his?

"Are you suggesting, that I become a government sanctioned sperm bank for the Walls?" Levi's voice cuts through the obfuscation, a blade slicing through their web of lies.

Dhalis, the oblivious buffoon, throws his head back and lets out a laugh that grates on Levi's nerves like fingernails on a chalkboard. The amusement in his eyes is a stark contrast to the thundercloud that has formed above Nile's perpetually grumpy face.

Does this man find humor in reducing a soldier to nothing more than a stud?

Levi's urge to wipe that smug grin off his face with his bare fists is overwhelming.

"Now, now, Captain Levi," Dhalis wheezes, wiping tears from his eyes brought on by his amusement. "There is no need for such modesty! Consider this a paramount contribution to the very survival of humanity, your ultimate patriotic duty! Imagine the glorious possibilities! Why, with a little," He leans forward, his eyes gleaming with a manic glint that sends shivers down spines more accustomed to Titan chills. "Imagine the possibilities!" he crows. "… selective breeding, we could cultivate an entire goddamn army of Ackermans! An unstoppable legion, bred for war and impervious to Titan threats! Think of it, Captain Levi," he trails off, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, "we could engineer the ultimate weapon, humanity's salvation forged from your genes! Generations of Ackerman prodigies, each one a genetic marvel honed for combat! The very future of humanity rests upon your… cooperation, Captain." he continues, "Refusal to cooperate with this endeavor, however distasteful it may seem, could be misconstrued as… disloyalty. And disloyalty, Captain, as we have already established, has a very unpleasant cost. So Captain, what say you? Will you embrace your patriotic duty and become the progenitor of a Titan slaying army, or will you force us to consider… alternative solutions?"

Is he reading out some twisted fairytale? These are not puppies you can breed for good looks and tricks, these are lives, lives he has ready to gamble on like chips in a rigged game.

The sheer audacity of these self important buffoons leaves Levi momentarily speechless. An army of mindless Ackerman babies, bred like cattle to fight their battles?

The very notion is so ludicrous it borders on comical. Almost. Levi forces down the urge to laugh, instead opting for a slow, deliberate blink.

The icy glint in his eyes speaks volumes, a silent challenge that hangs heavy in the air.

Nile's question cuts through the idiocy like a blade through overcooked cabbage. "And who, pray tell, General, who would be the lucky lady tasked with… producing this Ackerman army of yours?" He drawls the words.

An army of Ackermans, bred like some twisted livestock? The image that flashes in Levi's mind is enough to make him clench his fists so hard his nails dig into his palms.

Who would be the sacrificial lamb in this grotesque breeding program?

Nile's question is seemingly ignored.

A flicker of interest crosses Erwin's face, a spark of intrigue igniting in his blue eyes. He strokes his chin thoughtfully, his gaze lingering on General Dhalis with a healthy dose of skepticism. "Intriguing," he finally concedes, his voice measured and devoid of emotion. "The potential for such a military force… an army specifically bred and trained to combat the Titan menace… it is a concept that warrants serious consideration. The Ackerman bloodline, with its demonstrably superior martial prowess, could indeed be the cornerstone of such a revolutionary endeavor." He leans back in his chair, his voice dropping to a low growl. "However," he continues, his gaze turning laser focused on Dhalis, "one must approach such a proposition with utmost caution. The ramifications of failure, of a genetic experiment gone awry, could be catastrophic. And frankly, General," he adds with a sardonic edge, "your sudden and fervent advocacy for Captain Ackerman's… reproductive contributions leaves much to be desired. I wonder what ulterior motives might lurk beneath the surface of your zealous enthusiasm." He fixes Dhalis with a stare that could crack stone. "Nevertheless," he concedes with a sigh, "the potential benefits are undeniable. Therefore, I am willing to entertain this proposition, on a trial basis. Captain Ackerman will be… monitored closely. The success or failure of this venture will hinge entirely upon his cooperation, and upon the viability of replicating the Ackerman lineage. Only time will tell," he concludes, his voice laced with a hint of grim determination, "if this gamble will reap the rewards we so desperately seek, or usher in a new era of unforeseen horrors."

Nile, bless his perpetually grumpy soul, erupts like a volcano spewing common sense. "Insane!" he bellows, a bulldog who has not only had his bone snatched, but stomped into oblivion by Dhalis' twisted amusement. "We can not trust these Ackermans!" He throws his hands up in exasperation. "Who knows what kind of pint sized killing machines they will churn out?

The image that explodes in my Levi's mind is terrifying – miniature versions of himself, miniature Levi's running amok, tearing through the streets with a bloodthirsty gleam in their tiny eyes.

"Indeed," Dhalis concedes, "there are intricate details that necessitate further refinement before we can proceed. However," he continues, his voice taking on a forceful tone, "the potential benefits for humanity's survival are undeniable. Captain Levi," he leans forward, his gaze turning into a predatory glint, "the choice before you is stark. Are you prepared to… contribute" – he emphasizes the word with a distasteful flourish – "to this endeavor, for the supposed good of humanity? Your compliance, of course, would be viewed most favorably." He pauses for a beat, allowing the weight of his words to settle. "However," he continues, his voice hardening into a dangerous growl, "should you choose the path of dissent, the consequences for your disloyalty will be swift and severe. We will not hesitate to leverage Private Mikasa Ackerman as a… necessary participant in this, ahem, breeding program. Furthermore," he adds with a cruel twist of his lips, "the currently planned operation to reclaim territory from the Titans, an operation you hold rather dear, Captain, if whispers are to be believed, would be indefinitely postponed. Let us be perfectly clear," he leans forward, his voice dropping to a menacing whisper, "this is not a negotiation. This is a decree. The future of humanity hangs in the balance, Captain. Do you truly wish to be the one who stands in its way? Does such an outcome, fraught with personal sacrifice and the potential to doom mankind, truly appeal to you?" He leans back in his chair, his eyes narrowed, waiting for Levi's response, the air thick with unspoken threats and a palpable sense of distrust.

Punishment or breeding program? He may as well be asking Levi to choose between getting devoured by a Titan or becoming one himself. The veiled threat about Mikasa, about the mission – a desperate attempt to yank on his leash, a leash he never agreed to wear.

Now Levi understands Erwin's … acquiescence to this farce. The mission dangled in front of him, a carrot to a desperate horse, all to get his grubby little hands on Grisha Yeager's basement and whatever secrets lie buried there.

The audacity of these self serving buffoons is breathtaking. Do they truly believe Humanity's Strongest Soldier can be reduced to a mindless beast to be controlled, a cog in their eugenics scheme? Levi meets Dhalis' gaze head on, his own eyes as cold and unforgiving as a Titan's stare. His posture remains rigid, a silent testament to his unwavering defiance.

Dhalis, sensing Levi;s resistance, does something unexpected. A barely perceptible smile, devoid of warmth or humor, tugs at the corner of his lips.

It is not a smile of camaraderie, but something far more unsettling - a predator sizing up its prey.

Let them stew in their own uncertainty. The real question is, when the time comes, will they be the ones holding the leash, or will Levi be the one snapping it in half?

"We acknowledge, Captain Levi," General Dhalis begins, his voice dripping with a false sincerity, "your unwavering dedication to the Survey Corps. Indeed, such loyalty is a beacon of hope in these perilous times. However," he continues, his tone subtly shifting, "loyalty, much like any well forged bond, demands reciprocity. Can we, in good conscience," he asks, his voice laden with veiled doubt, "extend our trust to a man with your… unconventional background? A past shrouded in the criminal underbelly, a stain on your otherwise exemplary record." He leans forward, his gaze turning into a predatory glint. "If you choose to defy this directive, Captain," he warns, his voice hardening with barely concealed menace, "we will be compelled to revisit those unsavory legal entanglements that dogged your past existence in the Underground. Those little indiscretions, conveniently swept under the rug upon your enlistment with the Survey Corps, will be resurrected with ruthless efficiency. The pact of silence, a tacit agreement reliant upon your continued obedience, will be null and void." He throws his hands out in a theatrical gesture. "Disobeying an order, Captain," he continues, his voice laced with a chilling finality, "is tantamount to disobeying the very military that has shielded you from the consequences of your past transgressions. The consequences, I assure you, would be swift and merciless. You will find yourself stripped of your rank, stripped of your freedom, and cast back into the very depths you so desperately clawed your way out of. The Underground beckons, Captain, its cold embrace a fitting punishment for disobedience." He leans back in his chair, a cruel smile twisting his lips. "The choice is yours, Captain. Will you honor the unspoken pact that binds you to this institution, or will you risk a return to the abyss?"

Nile Dawk, that perpetually grumpy bulldog of a Garrison commander, can not quite suppress a smirk playing at the corner of his lips.

"My past, has absolutely no bearing on my current abilities." Levi's face is a blank slate, an unreadable mask that would not crack under a Titan's roar. Let them stew in their ignorance. Levi's past, those scrapes and scuffles in the Underground, those were like pebbles on a dirt road compared to the mountains he hass climbed since joining the Survey Corps.

Who cares about a few youthful indiscretions, or for that matter, overthrowing a corrupt monarchy? Water under the bridge, ancient history best left buried.

Dhalis lets out a chuckle, a dry, humorless sound that sends shivers skittering down Hange's spine despite the summer heat radiating from Pixis' ever present belly.

"Ah, Captain Levi," General Dhalis purrs, leaning forward in his chair with a predatory glint in his eye. "It appears you harbor a fundamental misunderstanding," he continues, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper that could curdle the blood of a seasoned Titan researcher. "Your past, Captain," he emphasizes each word with deliberate weight, "is far more… nuanced than you might believe. It is a tapestry woven with threads of rebellion, a penchant for violence that borders on the barbaric, and a rather lengthy, shall we say, apprenticeship in the notoriously brutal underbelly known as the Underground." He leans back, a hint of a cruel smile playing on his lips. "A most… colorful background, do you not agree? One that raises a multitude of questions regarding your suitability for the critical role we envision for you." His gaze narrows, scrutinizing Levi with an intensity that could bore holes through steel. "The question, Captain, is not whether you are loyal to the Survey Corps – your dedication is undeniable. The true question lies in the depths of your allegiance. Can we, in good conscience, entrust the future of humanity to a man whose past reeks of defiance and whose very existence is steeped in the savagery of the Underground? Loyalty, Captain, is a double edged sword. It demands not only obedience but also unwavering trust. And in your case, Captain," he concludes with a chilling finality, "that trust is a most precarious commodity." The air in the room hangs heavy with suspicion, a silent battle of wills waged between a man haunted by his past and a ruthless leader determined to exploit it.

A flicker of something - annoyance, perhaps, or maybe a tightly leashed fury - crosses Levi's features for a fleeting moment before he slap it back down under the mask.

These self important buffoons would not know a colorful picture if it bit them in their oiled ass.

"Those… youthful transgressions," General Dhalis continues, drawing out the silence with practiced ease, like a skilled interrogator milking a suspect for information. "By the benevolence of the military, these incidents have been relegated to the dustbin of history… for the time being. Consider them a dark stain on an otherwise pristine record, Captain, a lapse in judgment shrouded in the merciful cloak of the military's discretion." He leans back in his chair, a predator savoring the discomfort of its prey. "However," he continues, his voice taking on a dangerous edge, "let us not mince words, Captain. This amnesty, this act of extraordinary leniency, is a weapon. While it shields you from the harshest repercussions of your past, it also binds you to the military in a way most soldiers can only dream of. Your freedom, Captain," he emphasizes the word with a cruel twist of his lips, "is a conditional privilege, a gift bestowed with the expectation of unwavering loyalty." He fixes Levi with a cold stare.

This is about control.

They want to shackle Humanity's Strongest Soldier, a weapon of unparalleled skill honed in the fires of the Underground, to their will. Turn him into a loyal attack dog who only answers to their whistle.

The only thing they are overlooking is the fact that leashes can be chewed through, snapped, or used to strangle the very hand holding them.

'Well, General, you may think you have got me backed into a corner, but let me tell you something - corners have a nasty habit of disappearing when you know how to fight dirty. You do not even how much "former" criminal I can be.'

Levi's fists clench at his sides, the only outward sign of the tempest brewing within.

Years of meticulously crafting a life within the Survey Corps, the grudging respect he has earned through rivers of blood and mountains of Titan corpses, all teetering on the precipice of collapse at the whim of this power hungry peacock of a General.

Dhalis' self satisfied visage makes Levi want to wipe it off his face with the back of his hand, but the glint in his eyes, cold and calculating, warns against such impulsive actions.

Nile Dawk, that bulldog of a Military Police commander who perpetually looks like he is one bad nap away from spontaneous combustion, can not contain himself any longer.

A low, guttural chuckle erupts from him, the sound as pleasant as a Titan gnawing on a stubborn bone.

Dhalis leans back in his chair, the picture of smug satisfaction. The predatory glint in his eyes intensifies, and for a moment, Levi almost expects him to unsheathe a pair of claws from beneath his manicured fingernails.

"So, Captain Ackerman," he purrs, the word dripping with false sincerity, "are we in agreement? Do you continue to serve humanity, conveniently forgetting your little… indiscretions, under the banner of the Survey Corps, or do we take a stroll down memory lane and revisit those… misplaced documents?"

The seconds tick by, each one an agonizing hammer blow against the already suffocating atmosphere. Levi's jaw remains clenched, his face an impassive mask that would not crack even if a Titan decided to use it for target practice.

A battle rages behind Levi's icy gaze, a war between self preservation and the gnawing sense of being played like a cheap fiddle.

The weight of the decision presses down on him with the crushing force of a Titan's fist.

"You leave me with no options, General."

It is not an agreement, not truly. It is a surrender, a forced compliance in the face of an impossible situation.

"A wise decision, Captain Levi," General Dhalis purrs, his voice oozing with a cloying satisfaction that sends a shiver down spines in the room. "We had every confidence that reason would ultimately prevail." He directs a dismissive gesture towards Erwin Smith. "The details of this… accord," he continues, his voice laced with a subtle emphasis on the word, "will be meticulously overseen by Commander Erwin Smith, with myself, of course, maintaining a watchful eye on proceedings. He," he adds with a pointed look in Erwin's direction, "will ensure your… contribution to the perpetuation of humanity is both optimized and meticulously documented." The veiled threat hangs heavy in the air – cooperation will be rigorously monitored, any misstep scrutinized.

Contribution. Right. As if Levi has any say in the matter. More like ensure his continued usefulness as their personal Titan slaying attack dog.

The rhythmic tap tap tap of Levi's boots echoes through the sterile hallway, a chilling counterpoint to the silent scream building in his chest. This is not walking, it is a war march towards an enemy he can not quite punch.

Each step is a beat in the symphony of his simmering fury, punctuated only by the silence that hangs heavy in the air. This silence is a tangible entity, thick with the absurdity of the mission he has been strong armed into accepting.

Erwin's office door looms ahead, a stark slab of wood mocking Levi with its finality. The nameplate, "Erwin Smith, Commander, Survey Corps", bold and brassy, screams "authority" – the very thing they are trying to assert over Levi.

Levi takes deep breath, not to calm the inferno, but to fan it into a roaring blaze. This is not about calming down, it is about channeling the anger, using it as a weapon. Fist meets wood in a resounding boom, the impact echoing like a challenge through the hallway. The windows rattles, a surprised gasp from within the office the only response I crave.

A startled yell of "Come in!" pierces through the wood. Levi throws the door open with a flourish that would make a Titan flinch, entering Erwin's office in a whirlwind of barely contained rage. The room itself is a spartan reflection of its perpetually calculating occupant. Maps and battle plans dominate the walls, a grim tapestry chronicling humanity's losing struggle against the Titans. These plans, however, seem sterile and lifeless compared to the raw, simmering anger radiating off Levi.

Paperwork teeters like a drunken soldier on Erwin's desk, the only sign of life in this sterile office besides the furious scribbling of his quill. The quill looks like it wrestled an enthusiastic rodent for ink. Erwin glances up, that glint of amusement in his sapphire eyes like a taunting dare.

The door slams shut behind Levi, the sound a physical manifestation of the rage choking him. Each step towards the Commander's desk is a calculated move, a predator stalking its prey. Levi stops just a hair's breadth away, close enough to feel the heat radiating off his body, and lock eyes with him.

Levi's gaze is a thousand suns focused into a single, icy point, a silent scream before the real roar begins. The air itself seems to crackle under the pressure, a tangible tension that hangs heavy in the air like a storm about to break.

This "arrangement," this leash they have forced around Levi's neck – it twists with every beat of his heart, a constant reminder of the simmering fury boiling beneath the surface.

"Levi," Erwin greets, a hint of amusement flickering in the depths of his blue iris. "What brings you here in such a… dramatic state?"

"Let us talk about the little… surprise Dhalis dropped on me today," Levi demands, his voice laced with barely contained fury. The very notion of Dhalis' "surprise" leaves a bitter taste in his mouth.

Surprise? More like a thinly veiled threat masquerading as bureaucratic hell.

"Levi," Erwin begins, his voice even and steady, a stark contrast to the raw emotions swirling around the Captain. "About the Ackerman proposition," he inquires, his tone more curious than accusatory. "Yes, I was aware of it. In fact," he continues with a wry smile, "I spent the weeks leading up to this meeting locked in a rather tedious exchange of letters with Dhalis, arguing the finer points until I thought my head might explode."

Erwin lets out a sigh that sounds like the air escaping a punctured Titan tire. He leans back in his chair, pinching the bridge of his nose as if trying to physically block out the sheer absurdity of the situation. The image paints a clear picture: Erwin, the brilliant strategist, forced to waste his time arguing with Dhalis, the buffoonish general, over a ludicrous proposition.

"Dhalis," Erwin mutters, the word dripping with contempt, "would clutch at any straw to keep the Survey Corps on a leash. Any leverage, no matter how ludicrous, seems fair game in his twisted little power grab."

"And that straw," Levi counters, his voice laced with enough bitterness to curdle milk, "happens to be my… reproductive system?"

The very concept is so absurd it takes Levi a moment to process it, and even then, the words come out sounding like he is choking on gravel. The image of him, humanity's strongest soldier reduced to glorified diaper duty, is enough to make him want to disinfect his brain with industrial grade disinfectant.

Erwin's sigh morphs into a long, weary groan that speaks volumes about the weight of his command. The man looks ten years older after his little meeting with Dhalis.

"Believe me, Levi," he says, his voice heavy with a sincerity that almost sounds genuine, "let me assure you, the last thing I want is to see you reduced to some stud for the military's benefit. And the thought of your hypothetical offspring being mere pawns in this twisted game? Frankly, it revolts me." he continues, leaning forward and locking eyes with Levi, "The Survey Corps, would never stand for such a blatant violation of your autonomy. We fight for humanity's freedom, not to become some twisted eugenics project. Besides" he adds, "the whole proposition is ridiculous on a practical level. Imagine the logistics involved! The paperwork alone would be a nightmare."

Levi's eyes narrow into slits, skepticism radiating off him like heat waves. "So why do you not shut this whole charade down, Commander Erwin?" he challenges. "Is that not your job, Commander? Making the tough calls, navigating the political labyrinth, and steering this damn ship through the storm? Or are you content to just shuffle paperwork while they dangle my balls over a fire?"

Erwin meets Levi's gaze head on, his blue eyes unwavering. "In an ideal world, Levi," he says, his voice firm, "of course I would put a stop to this nonsense. But the reality is far from ideal. Dhalis recognizes our potential, the potential of the Survey Corps, and he craves control. He wants to leash us, turn us into his own personal attack dogs."

Levi scoffs, a harsh rasp that echoes in the confines of the office. "Entrap our potential? You make it sound like some noble pursuit. They want a goddamn weapon, Erwin. An army of genetically modified super soldiers, all stamped with the convenient 'Ackerman' brand name."

The image that pops into his head again - miniature, murderous Levi Ackermans tearing through the streets - is both horrifying and oddly adorable.

Erwin shakes his head resolutely. "No, Levi. That is not what I want. And," he continues, his voice dropping, "I assure you, I will not allow them to use your children, or any potential offspring for that matter, as pawns in their twisted game."

A flicker of doubt dances in Levi's eyes, battling with the anger that still simmers beneath the surface. "What makes you think you have any say in the matter?" I ask, his voice laced with a challenge.

Erwin may be the Commander, but that does not mean he has complete control over Levi or his … superior reproductive capabilities.

"Levi," Erwin leans forward, his voice laced with a seriousness that brooks no argument, "let me get one thing perfectly clear. You, Levi Ackerman, are an indispensable asset to the Survey Corps. Perhaps our most indispensable, if I am being honest. Your skills, your unwavering dedication to purging the Titans from this world – these are qualities that cannot be easily replicated. We need you on the front lines, your blades flashing like a storm as you cut a bloody swathe through those grotesque monstrosities. The thought of you being relegated to some… government sanctioned breeding program," he lets out a snort of derision, "is frankly ludicrous." He fixes Levi with a steady gaze. "However," he continues, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, "we need a concession, Levi. Dhalis, that pompous windbag, requires a certain… optics play to secure approval for the operation we have been discussing. The idea of a potential Ackerman bloodline legacy, a new generation of Titan-slaying prodigies – it is a narrative they find palatable. So, yes," he acknowledges with a sigh, "fathering children may be a technical requirement to appease the bean counters. But there is the thing, Levi," he places a hand on the Captain's shoulder, his voice firm but friendly, "those children, your children, will not become pawns in this game. Their future is their own. The Survey Corps will ensure their safety and well being, but any choices they make, any paths they choose to walk, will be theirs alone. This is a necessary deception, Levi, a strategic maneuver to secure the resources we desperately need to achieve our true objective: to eradicate the Titans once and for all. We need you on the battlefield, Levi, and I assure you, I will fight tooth and nail to ensure your freedom and that of your future progeny. We are in this together, Captain. Now, let us go carve a bloody path through those Titan hordes and show the world what humanity is truly capable of." Erwin leans back in his chair, a determined glint in his eyes.

Levi's gaze drifts to the map plastered on the wall, a tangled web of humanity's despair. Walls that confines them, Titans that devour them – it is a suffocating cage. The weight of the situation, the impossible choices Erwin faces, presses down on Levi like a physical force.

Erwin may not be the enemy here, but he is certainly not the one calling all the shots.

"Alright, Levi," Erwin begins, a sardonic smile playing on his lips, "let's dissect this whole charade, shall we? Dhalis, bless his ambitious heart, has undoubtedly already identified a woman deemed genetically and physically suitable receptacles for your, ahem, Ackerman seed." He pauses for a moment, a twinkle of amusement dancing in his eyes. "But fear not," he continues, his voice laced with a dash of humor, "I have every confidence that this… candidate will not resemble… farm equipment." Erwin throws his head back and lets out a short, humorless laugh, the absurdity of the situation finally sinking in. "The good General may have a rather… agricultural approach to this whole thing," he adds with a wink, "but rest assured, Levi, I will not subject you to such a crass charade."

Levi raises an eyebrow, unimpressed. "Just keep the wide eyed, hero worshipping brats fresh out of the womb away from me," he retorts. The mere thought of babysitting some hormonal, hero worshipping brat is enough to make him yearn for the sweet embrace of a Titan's maw (Hange would find that amusing, to say the least). At least a Titan would not judge his social skills (or lack thereof).

Erwin throws his head back and lets out a genuine laugh, a full bodied sound that fills the office with an unexpected warmth. "The entire concept of this breeding program is absurd! Ludicrous, even," Erwin exclaims, his voice laced with a frustration that Levi clearly shares. "It is more ludicrous than the idea of a Titan trying to waltz in a tutu."

The mental image that springs to mind - a lumbering, naked Titan clumsily pirouetting in a ballet skirt - is enough to almost make Levi gag.

Levi raises an eyebrow, a hint of amusement flickering in Levi's icy gaze despite the tense situation. "Ludicrous?" He echoes. "Erwin, we are talking about manipulating human genetics here. This is not some barnyard breeding experiment gone wrong. These buffoons are talking about creating a super soldier factory, and they want me as the star breeding stallion."

"Exactly my point, Levi, think of the logistical nightmare! Compatibility testing, mountains of paperwork, not to mention the potential for some truly… nightmarish sexually transmitted… anomalies." He shudders dramatically, the image clearly repugnant to him. "The whole thing is a bureaucratic minefield waiting to explode in Dhalis's face."

A grimace curls Levi's lip. Erwin's words conjure a mental image of some grotesque, Titan sized sexually transmitted diseases that will make even the most hardened Wall cultist reconsider their life choices.

"Now that is a horror story I would not want to read," he says.

"Indeed," Erwin agrees, leaning back in his chair with a sigh. "Let me introduce you to the candidate selected."

"Now, to the specifics of this… arrangement," Erwin continues, his voice adopting a dryly official tone. "Dhalis has selected a candidate, a young woman named Letta Reader. She is, as of this year, twenty four years of age. Her background includes a stint with the Interior Military Police's Anti Personnel Control Squad." He pauses for a moment, consulting a document in his hand. "However," he adds, his voice taking on a more serious tone, "recent events have cast a shadow over Ms. Reader's otherwise exemplary record. Apparently, she expressed… misplaced loyalty towards a certain Kenny Ackerman, an individual whose activities have been deemed detrimental to public safety." Erwin sighs, a hint of frustration creeping into his voice. "This lapse in judgment has resulted in her incarceration. The General proposes a… unique solution. If Ms. Reader agrees to participate in this endeavor, to contribute to the continuation of the Ackerman bloodline, as it were, her release from custody can be facilitated, with the full endorsement of the Survey Corps."

He leans forward, his gaze fixed on Levi. "It is important to note, Captain," he continues, "that Ms. Reader hails from Trost District, a region well within Wall Rose. She chose to dedicate herself to serving humanity by joining the military, and her record, prior to this unfortunate entanglement, was indeed unblemished. Furthermore," he adds, a hint of intrigue flickering in his eyes, "her ingenuity extends beyond the battlefield. Ms. Reader is credited with the design of the Anti-Personnel Vertical Maneuvering Gear, a significant contribution to the Military Police's arsenal." He steeples his fingers, his expression thoughtful. "Letta Reader, Captain, is a complex individual. A woman of unquestionable talent, but one whose judgment has been demonstrably flawed." Erwin sits back in his chair, leaving the weight of this unexpected information to settle upon Levi. The fate of a woman, the potential future of the Ackerman bloodline, all hinged on Levi's next move.

Kenny. The name explodes in Levi's head, a grenade lobbed into the fragile peace. Supporting Kenny Ackerman? Stupid girl. They are using you as a leverage, dangling you freedom in front of you. Carry Levi's child, support the Survey Corps, and maybe, just maybe, you walk free. Erwin continues, his voice monotone as he reads from the file, a litany of facts that blur together in Levi's anger. Trost born, military history, even designed the new ODM gear.

Levi's face remains an impassive mask, but a flicker of fury dances in his icy blue eyes. He keeps his voice low, controlled, but the anger is palpable. "What makes you think I'd even consider breeding with a criminal branded by Kenny's actions? This entire thing reeks of Dhalis' amusement, does it not?"

Erwin lets out a sigh, a weary sound that speaks volumes. "Amusement? For Dhalis, it is more than that. You know how twisted his mind is."

Levi clenches his fists, his jaw set tight. "Kenny is s still alive," he mutters, more to himself than to Erwin. "Out there somewhere…"

Erwin steeples his fingers and leans forward, consulting the document in his hand. "Now, Levi," he begins, his voice adopting a more neutral tone, "it appears there is more to Ms. Reader's profile. According to her records, she graduated with distinction from the 95th Cadet Corps, achieving the esteemed honor of ranking top of her class. Her instructors noted a tendency towards introversion and a reserved demeanor, with a social circle on the smaller side." He pauses for a moment, a hint of curiosity flickering in his gaze. "They further describe her as a staunch adherent to regulations, a 'by the book' individual who takes her duties with utmost seriousness. However," he continues, "these observations are counterbalanced by exceptional physical prowess. Her trainers consistently lauded her remarkable speed and fast reflexes. While raw strength may not be her most pronounced attribute," he acknowledges, "she possesses great level of stamina, allowing her to sustain peak performance during extended engagements. Perhaps the most intriguing aspect of Ms. Reader's profile," he continues, his voice dropping to a murmur, "is a certain… philosophical detachment. Her instructors noted a distinct apathy towards life and a somewhat unsettling acceptance of the ever present threat of death. This, coupled with her relentless pursuit of objectives, keen observational skills, and unwavering focus, are also nited." He takes a deep breath, his gaze meeting Levi's with unwavering intensity. "However," he adds, his voice hardening slightly, "the report also mentions a certain… inflated sense of self worth. While not overtly arrogant, Ms. Reader appears to possess a healthy dose of pride, perhaps even bordering on egotism. This, Captain, is a trait that may require careful management." A wry smile tugs at the corner of Erwin's lips as he continues, his voice regaining its formal tone. "The report concludes with a rather… unexpected observation. While Ms. Reader presents a demure and innocent facade, it appears her instructors harbored suspicions of a more… unconventional private life. Apparently, rumors circulated amongst her peers regarding a surprising number of casual sexual encounters. These suspicions, however, remain unsubstantiated." He leans back in his chair, a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes.

Levi lets out a frustrated groan, his arm rising to shield his eyes as he leans back in the chair. "That last bit of information was entirely unnecessary," he mutters, the irritation evident in his voice. The woman's sexual history is the least of his concerns. The idea of being reduced to a mere breeding stallion, especially with a woman seemingly chosen for her 'reproductive capabilities', is enough to make him clench his fists in silent fury.

Erwin flips open a file, revealing a stark portrait. Charcoal against faded paper, it captures a woman Levi does recognize. Her features are fine, delicate even, but her eyes hold a story the sketch can not quite tell.

Short, dark hair frames a face devoid of the hero worship he expected. No doe eyed wonder, no simpering smile. Instead, a quiet resignation stares back at him, a flicker of something that looks suspiciously like… despair.

Levi studies the portrait. This woman is not what he pictured. None of this is. No wide eyed cadets, no government sanctioned brood mares.

Just this quiet woman, a portrait of quiet indifference that edges dangerously close to… despair.

"This is her?" He finally manages, hua voice low and even.

"Indeed, Captain," Erwin replies. "Meet Letta Reader."

More like meet your… procreation partner, courtesy of Dhalis' twisted machinations.

Levi's gaze remains fixed on the portrait, dissecting her features line by line. Soft cheeks contrasted by a defined jawline, a hint of defiance beneath the resignation. There is an undeniable beauty there, a quiet strength that seems at odds with the defeat in her eyes.

The thought of being strong armed into this… procreative charade with her leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. A branded criminal, no less. Especially when the whole charade seems orchestrated by the ever manipulative Dhalis. This feels like a cage, another way to leash him and control the strongest soldier humanity has.

But a different kind of cage. This one does not feel like bars and locks, but like obligations and expectations.

A different kind of burden, but a burden nonetheless.

Maybe Dhalis is not the only one playing games here. Erwin, with his secrets and desperation – is he the warden of this particular cage, or another prisoner himself?

"You'll be meeting with this… (F/N) (L/N) tomorrow," Erwin announces, flipping the file shut. "Dhalis will be there, of course, along with Pixis, Dawk, and myself. I'll also inform Hange, if you have no objections."

Levi scoffs, raising a skeptical eyebrow. "A meeting? This whole charade just keeps getting more bizarre with each passing minute. Are we expected to discuss baby names and nursery decor in front of a room full of overstuffed, lecherous swine?"

"The meeting is crucial," Erwin explains, a hint of exasperation tinging his voice. "You and (F/N) will have the opportunity to discuss boundaries, parental rights, and expectations. There will also be a contract to sign, outlining the terms of this… arrangement."

Clearly, the fate of humanity hinges on Levi's ability to… procreate according to a government sanctioned contract.

Contract. The word hangs heavy in the air, a physical manifestation of the absurdity of the situation. Being issued an official order to impregnate a woman feels like a new low, even for the Survey Corps.

The whole notion is barbaric, a far cry from the strategic brilliance and deadly maneuvers Levi is accustomed to employing.

Levi's whole life, his entire being, has been poured into this damn Survey Corps.

Even after Farlan and Isabel, even after that gaping wound in his soul, he kept pushing forward.

Grief, a relentless tide, he channeled it all into this fight, this desperate struggle for humanity's survival. Erwin, the embodiment of that fight, became his guiding star.

Backing down now, kowtowing to these bureaucratic leeches, would be the ultimate betrayal. A slap in the face to every fallen comrade who entrusted Levi with their sacrifice, their shredded dreams woven into the fabric of this cause.

This… breeding program. A sickening joke, a perversion of everything he stands for. But the alternative? Letting Erwin down, letting the ghosts of his squad haunt the halls with their unfulfilled futures – that is a path he refuses to walk.

This is just another indignity, another hurdle to clear, another grotesque Titan to slay. Fine.

This is about more than him. This is about honoring the fallen, their sacrifices a flickering torch he holds aloft in this suffocating world. They died believing in a dream, a dream he refuses to let die with them. So he will clench my teeth, swallow his disgust, and play this hand they have dealt him.

[vxmpirehunterd]

Pale Fallen Angel and The Demon Chase-- Bayonetta/Devil May Cry Verse Graphics credit @cosmicresource A beast of a man descending from shadows, comes to smite all those who terrorize humanity akin to a pale fallen angel of Death. A reaper was he. The only one that can terrify both the forces of Heaven and Hell. The hunter known as D.

Billions of years ago, before the dawn of man, before the planets fully formed in this vast universe; there was only darkness. The void. And from that darkness, a being of vast power spawned, gave himself form and would later create the race mortals knew today as--vampires. The Sacred Ancestor is what he was dubbed among his kindred, Dracula is what mortals know of him today. But unbeknownst to most from all the corners of the world. The ancient force had a son(Twin sons)--born from a mortal woman.

He was a man born from Darkness most ancient, from an entity that usurped the name and inheritance of Vlad Dracula the third. D is a dhampir--half man, half vampire and an enigma to all that encounter him. A reaper that walks between worlds and does not align himself with the ranks of Inferno nor Paradiso. He considers himself a neutral party--only cutting down those that prey on humanity. No angel, no demon, and no vampire is safe from his cold wrath.

D is a swordsman that lived for centuries, and prefers a pragmatic and lethal quickness to his strikes. Quick enough to bend time and space to his whim, moving through shadows in a blink of an eye. His style of fighting was even praised by the Dark Knight Sparda himself when they had crossed paths before the legend's passing. Before the birth of his own twin sons.

{D's Abilities in this verse are very similar to his canon universe}

A most unusual companion he has, a sentient parasite that lives in his hand. Making crude, vulgar remarks. Luckily for D--the homunculi is quite helpful when it comes to crowd controlling enemies.

Left Hand Homunculi: Forbidden parasite

Absorption of Souls & Power: consumes demonic, angelic, and human energy to restore health or temporarily enhance abilities.

Reality Manipulation: warps space to some degree, like shadows folding into themselves.

Soul Devouring Black Hole: devours enemies whole, bypassing traditional durability.

Spell eater: Like a vacuum it sucks up enemy spells cast onto D, negating any trickery.

Midnight Phantom: The Abyss-Walker

D moves like a living shadow, making his combat style feel like something out of a nightmare.

Tenebrous Shift: D dissolves into pure darkness, moving across surfaces as a two-dimensional shadow before emerging instantly behind his opponent.

Nocturne Clones: By splitting his shadow into multiple forms, he can create phantom clones that fight alongside him. Unlike Vergil’s doppelganger, these clones attack independently and unpredictably.

Eclipse Veil: D can shroud an entire battlefield in darkness, making only himself and his blade visible--his enemies cannot see or hear anything.

Shadowbound Chains: From beneath his enemies, black tendrils emerge, wrapping around them and draining their lifeforce.

Ultimate Technique: Abyssal Execution D steps into his enemy’s shadow, vanishing completely. A moment later, the enemy erupts in blood, as if they were torn apart by an unseen force from within.

Son of Bloodlust: Crimson Executioner

Blood is not a weakness--it’s a weapon. D can weaponize his own lifeforce, forging it into blades, shields, and monstrous constructs.

Crimson Armory: D can solidify his own blood into weapons in real time, forming razor-sharp scimitars, lances, or chains mid-combat.

Hemokinetic Blades: When struck, his blood splashes out and hardens into floating daggers, turning his wounds into an offensive advantage.

Blood Requiem: D can summon a storm of crimson spears that rain down upon enemies, impaling them in a ritualistic execution.

Vampiric Healing: Any blood he spills can be reabsorbed, allowing him to heal mid-fight while growing stronger.

Scarlet Puppeteer: With a mere gesture, he can manipulate an enemy’s spilled blood, using it to bind, crush, or even possess them like a marionette.

Ultimate Technique: Red Eclipse D impales himself with his sword, unleashing a blood explosion that forms a giant crimson eclipse in the sky. Time slows, and every drop of blood in the air transforms into a blade, slicing through everything in its wake.

Blood & Shadow: Nightmare Reaper

At the peak of his power, D blends blood and darkness into an unholy force, making him something beyond death itself.

Sanguine Phantom: He forges his blood into shadow beasts, forming spectral lions, wolves, or winged abominations that rip through enemies.

Crimson Eclipse Armor: D cloaks himself in living shadows and crystallized blood, making him impervious to all but the strongest of divine or demonic attacks.

Black Sun’s Maw: A fusion of his Left Hand’s devouring power and his blood manipulation. A swirling void of darkness and blood opens behind him, consuming everything like a living black hole.

Heartless Dominion : The air turns black and red, as blood pools up from the ground and shadows twist into jagged, unnatural forms. In this state, D’s blade is an extension of the abyss itself.

Ultimate Technique: Blood Eclipse: Midnight Sovereign D impales the ground, and a monstrous tidal wave of blood and shadows engulfs the battlefield, turning everything into a storm of razors and darkness.

BloodRage: Vampire Trigger

When D is in a heightened state of anger or once he drinks his own blood, he temporarily transforms into a full-fledged vampire. All his physical attributes and vampiric power increase by 50%. In this form, D's canines and claws elongate, and his eyes develop into a hellish crimson. His gaze emits a powerful and terrifying glow, potent enough to bath the entire area in RED.

[overlordofships]

oooo what got u interested in hookfang and snotlout as a ship. im interested to know :0 (if u still ship them haha)

I VERY MUCH DO >:3

Okay so when I was a baby fandom lad and just getting into HTTYD I remember shipping all the riders with their dragons, but back then the fics for that was like. 99% toothcup, 1% toothcup feat. other ships. So I could NOT for the life of me find any other dragon/rider ship fics solely for, say, Fishlegs/Meatlug, and then by extension I just didn't have any fuel for my shipping

Nowadays I'm more competent in making my own fuel. But for shipping any dragon and rider in HTTYD that is not Toothcup you have to watch the series to understand, since the pairings that aren't them don't get a lot of attention in the movies proper (henceforth all of this will be under the cut for how long it is):

First off, I will be talking about canon shippable moments. In the first season, there's an episode where Hookfang has a toothache (it's the one where the forge changes into a dentist, because Gobber doesn't have any reason to make weapons anymore) (sorry I forget episode names). There's a part near the end where big, macho man Snotlout breaks down in TEARS pleading for Hiccup to stop Gobber, outright sobbing the words, "He's gonna kill my dragon!" I remember just rewatching that episode over and over to the point of pissing off my mom and her telling me to watch something else, because it was the BIGGEST piece of non-Toothcup food I'd gotten fed up to that point.

The second season had an episode of Snotlout working Hookfang to the bone, to where Hookfang's flame went out and he got deathly ill. Snotlout CRIED, genuinely cried AGAIN over this (and this time it got called out by Astrid) and when he thought the Fireworm Queen had killed him, he just looked fucking BROKEN, and he even said "You're more than just another sword" (which I think is/was a line in our very small hooklout shipping community used to emphasize their relationship - they see each other not just as weapons to an end, they're more to each other than their strength even if that's what originally drew them to each other as dragon and rider).

Next up - this episode is Netflix-only which is heartbreaking for all you who don't have it. But there's an episode in either the first or second season of Race to the Edge (can't remember) where not only does Snotlout think Hookfang is leaving him (and the twins play it as a fucking love triangle tragedy the whole time) but he straight-up tells Hiccup that if he can't ride Hookfang, he doesn't want to ride a dragon at all.

I reference all of these to say that there's just something special to me about two people (or one person and one dragon) who are normally cold, standoffish and outright cruel to other people, but become absolutely soft and vulnerable when it comes to each other. There's a difference there to me between that and how Hiccup is nice to everyone, but is just a special nice to Toothless. (I am still a very hard Toothcup shipper, don't get me wrong, but Hooklout at this point has firmly overtaken them as my OTP for HTTYD)

All of that said, because we unfortunately cannot see into Hookfang's mind beyond the obvious (he is a dragon and cannot talk - which is ofc a roadblock in one of my fics, but still) one of my favorite things to do is imagine the canon show but with my Shifter-verse, so here are some headcanons for anyone who wants them featuring Shifter!Hookfang and Snotlout:

Hookfang uses Monstrous Nightmare courtship, which involves either submitting himself to someone stronger or making himself seem tougher/stronger. All the times he hurts Snotlout are his unfortunate attempts at flirting. (Related: He also regularly, casually says, "If this goes wrong, I want Snotlout to kill me" and he also thinks that's flirting, too)

In my Shifter AU the episode with the Fireworm Queen turns out differently - he gets to that point because he thinks he's not enough for Snotlout. Maybe a snide comment from Spitelout got him there, or maybe something happened in a battle. Whatever it is, he does it himself - and then, later, when he's better, when Snotlout is all bawling and asking what the hell he was doing, Hookfang says, "I wanted to be good enough to be your dragon." and that would be big since in my Shifter-verse I think that wouldn't be something the dragons would say lightly

Related to number 1, whenever Snotlout does something really impressive strength or intelligence-wise, Hookfang just becomes this gooey, flirty, flustered mess. It's adorable to watch, but very confusing for poor Snotlout

The episode in Race to the Edge where Snotlout has to do all those trials to be Mala's king? Hookfang insists Snotlout do it because he will NOT stand for anyone implying his mate couldn't survive something (and Snotlout plans to turn Mala down afterward anyway)

Incidentally, Hookfang acts like Toothless is the most annoying dragon ever when he talks about Hiccup... But if you let him Hookfang could give rants twice as long and just as sappy, if not sappier

Somehow, despite that, Snotlout WOULD NOT GET IT. He teases the hell out of Hiccup and Toothless, but prior to Hookfang actually using real words to say to Snotlout that he's in love with him, Snotlout would have 0% understanding that Hookfang is into him (that's also a trope I love, btw: two people very-obviously smitten with each other but one of them has absolutely no idea)

Hookfang just casually leaning on/draping himself over Snotlout in his human form, a quiet way of saying to everyone around him "This is mine" (and when they get together Snotlout starts casually sitting in Hookfang's lap)

Related to the above: Remember when I said Hookfang would casually say "If this goes wrong, I want Snotlout to kill me"? After they get together, Snotlout starts returning that phrase with, "Not if you kill me first". All the dragons think it's cute but the humans are just like "....what-"

They're also the most fucking dramatic when they get together. Hookfang sweeps Snotlout into his arms, DIPS him and then presses a big kiss to his lips. Right in front of everyone else. (Compared to Hiccup and Toothless who went out to the cove to confess to each other, and Fishlegs and Meatlug who quietly got together without even noticing)

Basically, what got me into them is imagining these idiotic, self-confident, sappy, oblivious, simpy morons looking at each other and saying "That one" and then somehow taking years to realize their feelings are requited despite them each being the only one the other will truly be vulnerable for

now I leave you with this screencap from the end of the Fireworm Queen episode

[redrandomposts]

something something hua cheng and ruoye and fangxin

ruoye had first met him during the dark period - when xie lian had been tormented by bai wuxiang.

he was the second existence it had grown fond of, and only a few days later, he had gone. it was as if it were a lesson for ruoye; the lesson of loss. it had mourned for days on end after, searching for him in black hair held in high ponytails or a smiling white mask.

...ruoye had eventually settled down on the fact that he was gone. it'd remember the energy of him like a treasured heirloom, the grasp of a hand against the end. it was pathetic, but it grasped onto the ghost as much as xie lian had regretted him.

centuries of travels had made its memory blurry. despite holding the memory tightly, it had worn at the edges and lost detail.

it must have, because why - why could it feel him again? ruoye wanted to poke out the sleeve and see if his grasp was the same, too. perhaps he'd be wearing a white, smiling mask or a high-tied black ponytail.

when it got the chance, it raced toward him. waiting to be caught, surely - only to hit nothing as the man bursts into butterflies.

ah. was it not him after all?

===

he's here again. ruoye slithered out of xie lian's sleeve, towards the man. he had his hair tied in a ponytail, body lithe as if he were a teen. it was him. ruoye didn't have to mourn, anymore, for a ghost dispersed. he was back!

xie lian, however, caught ruoye as it was making it's grand escape. one thing was clear - xie lian didn't recognize him.

===

hua cheng held out his hand, summoning e-ming. he had thrown it somewhere in that general direction.

a sword and a saber came hurling towards him. eye widening, he instinctively holds out his other hand and catches both weapons. he's dumbfounded for a moment, before deciding he can work with it. whatever it was.

after the fight, he looked at the sword. a black blade, one he was intimately familiar with. it might have been eight centuries, but hua cheng vividly remembered being torn apart by thousands of souls, watching his highness stabbed over a hundred times with this sword.

his hand tightens, but he can't bear to harm this sword. it was his highness' sword, afterall.

speaking of which - where had it come from?

===

jun wu gripped fang xin tightly as he swung the sword. even though he had forged the sword, why? why was it resisting him so much? it trembled in his grasp, nearly jumping out with each swing against that cursed scimitar.

hua cheng glanced at the sword and wondered if, like that time, he could summon it. he willed his energy, and, and -

and he held the sword in his left hand.

===

fang xin had stabbed a thousand men, slashed a hundred battalions, faught in wars. it felt no empathy toward its enemies.

but this - this was different. it had held a thousand souls, cruelly keeping them tethered to the world. if it weren't old, experienced, refined over and over, it could not hold so many.

how come this ghost had taken it all?

(and, later, when fang xin saw the ghost again, stronger and not dispersed, it thought that this was a worthy fighter to wield it.)

=======

alright! notes for this:

-i read up on the wiki about fang xin. if there's lore i missed, then ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

-slight canon divergence. does it affect everything? does it change nothing? who knows

-all weapons in this universe has no gender unless it's a special case (ex. e-ming, made of hua cheng's eyeball, is a male)

-dual wielding hua cheng? more likely than you think. hua cheng may have a dislike for both weapons, but he fights excellently with them.

adding anything else will make it obvious that im not well-versed in tgcf lore. i plan to read the deluxe version, so until then... idk

[cilil]

Eönwë Week - Day 3: Celeg Aithorn

AN: I'll be doing meta/headcanon posts for some of these days, hope you find them entertaining as well💙

Today's topic: Celeg Aithorn, or: We know the name of Eönwë's sword?

𓅛 To answer this question, we first have to gather some tidbits found in several sources. I'll present those first - that will be the canon part - and then move on to talk about my headcanons based on them. Let's begin!

𓅛 Celeg Aithorn was mentioned in Beleg's whetting spell in The Lay of the Children of Húrin. Here is the passage in question:

There wondrous wove he words of sharpness, and the names of knives and Gnomish blades he uttered o'er it: even Ogbar's spear and the glaive of Gaurin whose gleaming stroke did rive the rocks of Rodrim's hall; the sword of Saithnar, and the silver blades of the enchanted children of chains forged in their deep dungeon; the dirk of Nargil, the knife of the North in Nogrod smithied; the sweeping sickle of the slashing tempest, the lambent lightning's leaping falchion even Celeg Aithorn that shall cleave the world. (The Lay of the Children of Húrin, "II. Beleg", p. 45)

For now, let's just take note and put a pin in the "cleave the world" part.

𓅛 The name Celeg Aithorn is Early Noldorin, with different sources providing slightly different meanings. According to elfdict.com, it may mean Lambent Lightning.

𓅛 In The Annals of Aman (Morgoth's Ring), we then learn of a sword that Manwë carried during the War of the Powers:

Thence, seeing that all was lost (for that time), [Melkor] sent forth on a sudden a host of Balrogs, the last of his servants that remained, and they assailed the standard of Manwë, as it were a tide of flame. But they were withered in the wind of his wrath and slain with the lightning of his sword; and Melkor stood at last alone. (MR, p. 75)

This is relevant because, according to The War of the Jewels, Manwë later gave this sword to Eönwë.

𓅛 As for the final puzzle piece, there is the old version of the Dagor Dagorath prophecy provided in Lost Tales, part of which states:

So shall it be that Fionwë Úrion, son of Manwë, of love for Urwendi shall in the end be Melko's bane, and shall destroy the world to destroy his foe, and so shall all things then be rolled away. (LT Part One, p. 219)

As many of you already know, Fionwë Úrion is the same character who later became Eönwë, changed to Manwë's herald and Maiarin servant instead of his son because the concept of the Valar having children was abandoned.

𓅛 So we have a sword named Celeg Aithorn "that shall cleave the world", an old prophecy stating that Eönwë is going to destroy the world and Manwë giving him his sword. It has therefore been suggested that these two swords are in fact that same, and I would say that a sword originally owned by Manwë and seen with lightning would fit the proposed etymology of Celeg Aithorn as well.

𓅛 Now, as you've noticed none of the sources cited above are from the Silmarillion and canonicity is a fickle thing in this fandom as is. Whether Tolkien, if you asked him today, would say that yes, this sword of Manwë canonically exists and Eönwë wielded it in the War of Wrath and is also the same as Celeg Aithorn, I can't say for sure. Best I can say is that it all fits together.

𓅛 This is why I've adopted this concept into my personal headcanon (note: I will from now on refer to it as just one sword, based on the theory that it is the same, and just call it Celeg Aithorn).

𓅛 I like to think that Aulë forged Celeg Aithorn for Manwë, either as a gift similar to the scepter the Noldor would later make for him or as a weapon to use in battle against Melkor. Manwë accepted it and also carried it, though I'm admittedly not sure if the part where he fights the Balrogs is something I'm keeping in my default verse; in verses where he is, for one reason or another, more "combative" for sure, but my take on current canon!Manwë is that he's not really a fighter (much like Melkor, funnily enough) and doesn't enjoy any sort of fighting, only defending himself or others if he absolutely has to resort to that.

𓅛 Seeing the destruction caused by the War of the Powers, knowing that going to war time and time again wasn't what Eru intended for him and also driven by his personal aversion, Manwë then gave Celeg Aithorn to Eönwë instead. Eönwë had already made a name for himself as one of the best warriors among the Maiar and Manwë sensed that there would difficult battles in his future, telling him that the sword would be of better use to him ("It's dangerous to go alone! Take this", if you will).

𓅛 This was also a symbolic act foreshadowing how Eönwë would be the one to lead the Host of Valinor in the War of Wrath, not Manwë himself, as well as both of them accepting their fates: Manwë accepting that the role of the Elder King was to stay behind and Eönwë accepting his role of fighting Melkor alongside the Children.

𓅛 Eönwë has used Celeg Aithorn ever since and it has served him faithfully. It's possible that it would betray him if he ever ceased being loyal to Manwë, but this remains in the realm of pure theory so far, given how loyal to his lord Eönwë has been.

𓅛 Being a sword crafted by a Vala and for a Vala, Celeg Aithorn is very powerful. It also shares the moral alignment of its current and previous owner and is therefore one of, if not the best weapon to fight evil creatures with (similar to the Master Sword in The Legend of Zelda, to draw a popular comparison). It was likely blessed by Manwë and hallowed by Varda, like she did with the Silmarils.

𓅛 Eönwë may have kept his old sword - the one he used before receiving Celeg Aithorn - for sentimental reasons, since he used to have it sharpened and maintained by Mairon. This may, unbeknownst to him, have saved him if Mairon, during his time as a spy, tampered with it to give Melkor an advantage.

taglist: @asianbutnotjapanese @a-world-of-whimsy-5 @blauerregen @bluezenzennie @edensrose

@elanna-elrondiel @i-did-not-mean-to @just-little-human @singleteapot

@stormchaser819 @urwendii @wandererindreams @eonweweek

[eleanor-wayne]

Eleanor Wayne:

Magic Anons are ON

Asks are ON

(picrew credits at bottom)

Age: older than dick, variable based on rp

Height: 5'10/178 cm

Birthday: August 16

Looks: red hair, blue eyes, built like an olympic swimmer.

Blood Type: 0 negative (universal donor)

Job as adult: Arkham Asylum Director. if no one else is going to fix it then by God she will

Vigilante sona: knight themed. Named Cavalry. only called for backup, except for Sunday nights. She patrols then so her other family members can sleep.

Some traits and quirks: formal way of speaking. accent is between rich gothamite (Bruce) and British (Alfred). Believes in redemption of villains, up to a point.

Important details:

Eleanor did kill the Joker. However she used a gun, and nobody could connect it to her. She wasn't even in the suspect pool to begin with

Eleanor forges all of her own weapons and they are vaguely magic. They, to some extent, choose who can wield them

Verses:

Canon: base Eleanor. If you haven't interacted with her before you get what it says on the tin

Arkham: Eleanor in the Arkham knight world. Possibly a little crazy very protective of her baby brother ( @arkhambird )

Angel: Eleanor is a tiny child in (@jean-paul-azrael ) original timeline. She lives with her grandmother, Margit

Fox: Eleanor is a mother, married to a version of John Constantine, who had her first child ( @flyingprodigy ) stolen to be trained as a talon. Thus she and her frying pan became the court of owls current biggest problem.

Aus I would love to do:

Hybrid au (Eleanor would be a strawberry poison dart frog)

Wing au (Eleanor would have swan wings)

Deaged or child Eleanor au

Reverse robin au (Eleanor is the youngest instead of the oldest)

OOC below the cut:

Admin is @avaricehere

Admin is an adult

Admin is asexual. NSFW is alright, but I may write it badly

Asks and DMs are both open currently

Picrews used:

Astrollava's Maker 2.0 (picrew)

The Lady of Hera (picrew)

https://picrew.me/share?cd=19mEHU5TFw

Cbrfufu (picrew)

[satellitewar-archived]

din, fantasy / skyrim verse.

in a skyrim setting,

the mandalorians are an organized tribe of close-knit, always-helmeted warriors who populate a small cave system near the swamps of morthal. much like the dark brotherhood, the thieves guild, the nightingales, etc., they are a joinable faction. once you agree to follow and uphold the rules of the creed (which involves forging your own armor, always wearing your helmet, and pledging loyalty and solidarity to the mandalorian cause), you may enter their ranks.

din djarin, who has been with the group since he was an orphan, is the most notable mandalorian in skyrim, takes jobs across the province in order to earn money to further benefit his people and provide for them. he is a proficient bounty hunter, and has grown infamous throughout skyrim for his intimidating silence, his skills with numerous weapons, and effortless success killing and/or securing successful bounties.

in a more generic fantasy setting,

the same as above, only without the skyrim names and places attached. plotting is required, but for the most part, the idea is the same: din is a roaming bounty hunter throughout any kingdom or fantasy world, and is known in hushed whispers as someone not to be messed with. as he is in sw canon, din remains helmeted due to the creed.

his weapons,

din does not use any type of magic whatsoever. instead, he's proficient in all types of weapons — swords and shields, bows and arrows, maces, warhammers, etc. if he needs to defend himself, he'll grab the nearest weapon (or random object; he's not picky). he carries a smaller sword on his belt for close encounters, but primarily utilizes a fantasy-appropriate crossbow (styled more like a rifle, like the weapon he uses in sw canon) for long distance kills with deadly accuracy.

[untaimed]

VERSES.

main. laura fights crime (typically in new york city) under the codename of wolverine. she lives in one of logan's apartments with her sister gabby and jonathan, the wolverine. early-mid 20s.

x-23. not based on laura's childhood like the name would suggest, but instead based on the timeframe when laura took up x-23 again to hunt down people using her dna to create weapons -- to extend it a little she's not just hunting down her dna but anyone involved in the dna - human weapon creating black market. she also saves people who are being used and helps them rehabilitate and adjust to being free. early 20s.

name tba. the early years after laura escaped the facility and is still going by x-23. 18 and younger. the only verse where laura is probably underage.

krakoa. nothing in canon is canon on this blog so i'd also be interested in rewriting some stuff. laura is a part of the x-men's roster as wolverine. early-mid 20s.

dc. i do typically just c+p laura's everything and put it into dc. some minimal changes to go w/ the universe. ( metahuman instead of mutant, created by a.r.g.u.s. ) if associated with a team i could see her with titans or outsiders. she does escape as a teen so she could also be associated with teen titans (tho doesn't stay for very long).

star wars. works for any era. but. laura is created by separatists / empire / first order / sith to be a weapon. etc etc etc. escapes. forges her own path. adamantium is a metal that can cut through beskar and block lightsabers. to some degree, she has force sensitivity but it shows in enhanced senses and regen healing.

pjo. child of athena + legacy of ares (logan is a child of ares). essentially ignored for her entire life by her godly parent despite growing up in an abusive household. tldr her pseudo adoptive mother (gabriela) dies and hands her off to logan to bring her to camp, he dies before making it there.

captain universe. laura is captain universe. thats rly it. prob wont do anything here .. ?

the hunger games. raised as a weapon in district 2. adopted parents were scientists that have been pushing her since she could wallk. volunteers in place of gabby. wins her games with stealth and knives/daggers that she specialized in. after the games she tries to leave everything behind but she had to become a trainer ... any era but absolutely joins the rebellion.

dragon age. (rogue / dual wield / assassin / half elf). similar to bg3 verse. any game timeframe. will align herself with the protagonists.

baldurs gate 3. an experiment / clone created of science and magic by scientists who were obsessed with enhancing individuals and experimentation. basic child assassin stuff. laura is a rogue (assassin) + monk (kensei). aligns herself with the harpers. can be a tav replacement and recruited outside the goblin camp in act 1 (under control of the absolute until she aligns with the group), or an ally who aligns with the harpers and helps in the final battle.

arcane. wip. laura is an orphan who's been forced to fend for herself. in her late teens, she finds gabby and pseudo adopts her. they also have a pet wolverine named jonathan. they do a lot of vigilante type work in zaun, protecting the locals and keeping them safe. maybe some clone stuff if that makes sense for arcane lore. <3

[fallensmith]

Middle-earth Role Playing statsheet

Archi - "Also known as: I AM GETTING TERRIBLY DISTRACTED!!!! I found this tag tame while scrolling and well I fucking love filling things out so. Edited some of this too just because I can. Also I'm just using the normal DND stats bc idk what the MERP ones mean lol"

I concur with this and love the edits, makes it simpler

tagged by: @curufiin .tagging: @thehighkingofnoldor (and your multi), @sewing-elven-maid @anthxlogy and anyone who wants to

❯ STATS ⋯ ✵

STR: 12 DEX: 16 CON: 11 INT: 18 WIS: 9 CHA: 16

❯ BASIC INFORMATION ⋯ ✵

Name(s): Tyelperinquar / Curufinwë 3rd / Celebrimbor Nickname(s): Tyelpë Gender: Male Culture/Race: Noldorin Profession: Weapon & Jewel smith , Lord of Eregion, Prince of the Noldor Alignment: Neutral Good Original Character or Canon Character?: Canon Date of birth: Y.T. 1490 Place of birth: Royal palace of Tírion Current living place: Eregion, Ost-in-Edhil (In some AUs, Lindon/Imladris) Demeanour: Sociable, avoidant in conflicts, compassionate, excitable, trusting Languages: Quenya (Noldorin dialect), Sindarin, Khuzdul

❯ PHYSICAL INFORMATION ⋯ ✵

Height: 7'4" Weight: Healthy weight Eye colour: Silver Hair colour: Black Special physical (tattoo, scars, left eye of a different colour, etc): Some forge scars / many scars in #broken survivor

❯ FAMILY ⋯ ✵

Parent names & race: Curufinwë & Unnamed wife // Noldor Grandparent names & race: Fëanáro Curufinwë, Nerdanel // Noldor Sibling names & race: None Children names & race: None Partner name & race: Depends on verse

❯ ARMOR & WEAPON SKILLS ⋯ ✵

Armor (None, light, medium, heavy): medium Favoured weapon: Bow, short sword/knives Name of weapon: N/A Skills with edged weapons: ★★★★☆ Skills with crushing weapons: ★★☆☆☆ Skills with two-handed weapons: ★★☆☆☆ Skills with thrown weapons: ★★★☆☆ Skills in archery: ★★★★☆ Skills with polearms: ★★☆☆☆

❯ GENERAL SKILLS ⋯ ✵

Climbing: ★★☆☆☆ Riding: ★★★★★ Swimming: ★★★★★ Tracking: ★☆☆☆☆ Cooking: ★★★☆☆ Foraging: ★★☆☆☆

❯ SUBTERFUGE SKILLS ⋯ ✵

Ambush: ★★★★☆ Stalk/Hide: ★★★★☆ Pick Locks: ★★★☆☆ Set/Disable Traps: ★★★★☆

❯ ATHLETIC SKILLS ⋯ ✵

Acrobatics: ★★★☆☆ Brawling: ★☆☆☆☆ Wrestling:★☆☆☆☆

❯ CAREER SKILLS ⋯ ✵

Animal Handling: ★★☆☆☆ Boat Handling: ★☆☆☆☆ Craft: ★★★★★ Navigation: ★★★☆☆

❯ MEDICAL SKILLS ⋯ ✵

First Aid: ★★★☆☆ Apothecary: ★★☆☆☆ Midwifery: ☆☆☆☆☆ Surgery: ★★★☆☆ Poisons knowledge: ★★★☆☆

❯ ARTISTIC SKILLS ⋯ ✵

Dance: ★★★☆☆ Play Instrument: ★★★★☆ Poetry: ★★★☆☆ Singing: ★★★☆☆ Tale Telling: ★★★★★

❯ INFLUENCE SKILLS ⋯ ✵

Acting: ★★★☆☆ Bribery: ★★★☆☆ Diplomacy: ★★★★☆ Interrogation: ★★★☆☆ Leadership: ★★★★☆ Public Speaking: ★★★★☆ Seduction: ★★☆☆☆ Trading: ★★★★☆ Trickery: ★★☆☆☆

❯ LORE SKILLS ⋯ ✵

History: ★★★★★ Mathematics: ★★★★☆ Religion: ★★★☆☆ Ainur Lore: ★★★★☆ Dwarven Lore: ★★★★★ Elven Lore: ★★★★★

❯ MAGIC SKILLS ⋯ ✵

Enchanting: Highly proficient in rune carving. Sorcery: does not wield song Attunement: None Spell Mastery: see sorcery above

❯ OTHER ⋯ ✵

Perception: ★★★★☆ Body Development: ★★★☆☆ Read / Write: ★★★★★

[sunnydaleherald]

The Sunnydale Herald Newsletter, Friday, April 26

WOMAN: (holds out her hands, Buffy hands over the scythe) You pulled it out of the rock. I was one of those who put it in there. BUFFY: What is it? WOMAN: (admires the scythe) A weapon. A scythe. Forged in secrecy for one like you who - I'm sorry. What's your name? BUFFY: Buffy. WOMAN: No, really. (Buffy shrugs in response.)

~~End of Days~~

[Drabbles & Short Fiction]

Spin the Bottle by Enigmatist (Angel, Spike, not rated)

Spin the Bottle where Angel doesn't quite remember everything by enigmatist17 (Angel, Spike, unrated)

Just a fun idea that hit me after watching the shitshow that is [ATS] season 3 by enigmatist17 (Angel, Spike, unrated)

[Chaptered Fiction]

VAMPIRE MOON - Ch. 1 by phanchester (Spike/Oz, unrated)

Secret Obsession - Ch. 5-7 by Maxine Eden (Buffy/Spike, NC-17)

So It Goes... - Ch. 2 by scratchmeout (Buffy/Spike, NC-17)

A Ripple In Time - Ch. 10 by CheekyKitten (Buffy/Spike, NC-17)

Green Eyed Monster - Ch. 5 by Melme1325 (Buffy/Spike, NC-17)

Angel Doesn’t Know - Ch. 4 by fortes775 (Buffy/Spike, NC-17)

Aim High - Ch. 1 by Buffyworldbuilder (Buffy centered, Stargate xover, FR13)

Sanguinaccio Dolce - Ch. 3 by SarielLunar (Xander centered, Hannibal xover, FR21)

You Have Died of Dysentery - Ch. 1 by Girlytek (Buffy/Spike, R)

So It Goes... - Ch. 2 by scratchmeout (Buffy/Spike, NC-17)

Sculpture of Dance - Ch. 14 by Desicat (Buffy/Spike, R)

[Images, Audio & Video]

Gifset: BIANCA LAWSON as KENDRA YOUNG Buffy the Vampire Slayer - 2.09 | 2.10 | 2.21 by whatisyourchildhoodtrauma (Kendra, Buffy, worksafe)

Gifset: Happymess by Atmosphere. by andremichaux (Buffy/Faith, worksafe)

Moodboard: Drusilla - Buffy the vampire slayerby awinterrosesstuff (Drusilla, worksafe)

Moodboard: Spike - Buffy the vampire slayerby awinterrosesstuff (Spike, worksafe)

Gifset: older!fuffy + warm colors... by sunbelieved (Buffy/Faith, worksafe)

Gifset: Good Luck, Babe! Chappell Roan by williamprattz (Buffy/Cordelia, worksafe)

Artwork (zine): Newest addition to zines I’ve made about Buffy the Vampire Slayer. by ghoulierstudio (worksafe)

Gifset: It’s not her. She’s gone. Where’d she go? by michaun (Anya, Scoobies, Buffy, Joyce, worksafe)

Gifset: i dream of cracking locks - guilty as sin, taylor swift by thatonekimgirl (Buffy/Angel, NSFW for canon scenes)

Artwork (jewelry): So. I made some earrings... by magis-ghast (Spike)

Gifset: for a fortnight there, we were forever... by clarkgriffon (Buffy/Spike, NSFW for canon scenes)

Gifset: wesley & lilah + text angel script "tomorrow" written by david greenwalt... by gothamstreetcat (Wesley/Lilah, NSFW for canon scenes)

Textpost: Buffy the Vampire Slayer Textposts 2 Part 1 by ofteaandsparrows (Drusilla, Faith, Spuffy, Giles, worksafe)

Textpost: Buffy the Vampire Slayer Textposts by ofteaandsparrows (Angel, Anya, Buffy, worksafe)

Gifset: 2.22 | 6.22 by summersblood (Buffy, Spike, worksafe)

Gifset: Buffy the Vampire Slayer 2.21 "Becoming: Part 1" | 5.07 "Fool for Love" by spikedaily (Drusilla, Spike, worksafe)

Fanmix: love's bitch - an updated buffy/spike playlist by sonnywithachanceofrollins (Buffy/Spike)

Artwork: "The Verse" Design by burnmeup82 (worksafe)

Artwork: Found this in my art gallery. A piece i made a looong time ago. Thoughts? by sahinduezguen (ATS ensemble, worksafe)

[Recs & In Search Of]

ISO: witchy-aunt seeks Buffy x reader fics on tumblr

[Community Announcements]

[Poll related] Round 2 has started! by bestepisode

[Fandom Discussions]

thinking about a btvs leverage au. Buffy would be the hitter... by finalgirl1984

Thinking about some Spike x Xander headcanons by felixsfishnets

Someone explain to me the Xander/Willow/Oz situation in Becoming Part 2. by theredpharaoah

The officer just shooting at Buffy in Becoming Part 2….very on brand. by theredpharaoah

so not only did cordelia and xander break up (not exactly a shocker) but she's STILL in buffy's weirdo gang? by sunnydale-high-school-rumors

They fumbled Xander’s lie so bad. Xander’s lie should’ve drove a wedge through the Scoobies. by theredpharaoah

Becoming Part 2 is so funny because Buffy’s only losing to Angelus because... by theredpharaoah

I think Faith punishing herself by doing time in prison was really dumb. by theredpharaoah

Do you think when Faith and Buffy switched bodies Faith had even realised it was Buffy in her body yet when she punched? by mybuffysittersavampireslayer

[Buffy bingo card] submitted by: @three-blogs-in-a-trenchcoat by jesus-allegory-bingo

Anya and Spike should have interacted and bonded more. by finalgirl1984

POLL: which side scooby would you be to defeat the monster of the week? by mybuffysittersavampireslayer

POLL: Round 1 Poll 9 by btvsepisodetournament

POLL: Which episode is better? Darla vs Salvage by bestepisode

Sos: Was Giles a Good Father Figure? updated by thetopher

Parallels between S3 and S6 Premiere by Hellmouthgaurdian

Willow and Tara [money in S6] by Sculder_1013

Top Five Couples [poll update] by Past-Throat-6788

Recasting the show [alternate casting in the 90s] by Lobothehobosexual

if you could put one F-Bomb in the whole series where would you put it? by azzfro

Buffy The Vampire Slayer Movie [reboot ideas] by Walbucks89

Is there a reason Buffy didn't get assigned a watcher? [in S6] by Tsole96

What would have happened if [Angel] had not been resurrected? by FoxIndependent4310

Kathy [Buffy's roomate] by AnxietyOctopus

New Buffy Books by Disney by Optimal_Equivalent72

Just finished the Buffyverse (shows) for the first time [and questions] by Moonycoves

When does the show really click for you? [ATS] by sad-shopworker

The writers slipped up… [David can sing] by burnmeup82

[Articles, Interviews, and Other News]

Article: Buffy: Young Blood - The American Society of Cinematographers [via Buffy Forums user Priceless]

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