#and the examination of first impressions is very well done

[bethanydelleman]

Why You Should Read Sense and Sensibility

Working our way up the least popular list...

Sense and Sensibility: A High Stakes Examination of First Impressions

Is Edward Ferrars really just shy, depressed, and in love with Elinor? Or is there something more?

Is Colonel Brandon old, boring, and infirm? Or is that just the opinion of a silly teenager?

Is Willoughby really the man of Marianne’s dreams? What is his true character and why can Elinor not seem to find it out?

Did Mr. Palmer make a mistake when he married his wife? Or is his indifference all a pretence?

Is Mrs. Jennings just a silly, embarrassing, old woman? What possible pleasure could the Dashwoods gain from accompanying her to London?

Is Mrs. Ferrars really that bad?

Are John and Fanny Dashwood really that bad? No, this one isn’t a mystery, it’s established right in Ch 2 that they are the worst!

And then you have Robert Ferrars... why is he so obsessed with bespoke toothpick cases? What is the root of his obsession with cottages? Is he really that dumb? Only some of these questions will be answered...

And why high stakes? Because for the most part, Elinor Dashwood faces all of this alone. Her father is dead, her mother is unconcerned, and her sister is a hopeless romantic. She’s the one left trying to figure everything out and despite her outward maturity, she’s only nineteen years old.

Sense and Sensibility is also a story about two sisters who despite being completely different would do anything for each other.

[theyluvkarolina]

𝐋𝐔𝐋𝐋𝐀𝐁𝐘 𝐎𝐅 𝐃𝐎𝐔𝐁𝐓𝐒

· . ୨୧⭒๋࣭ ⭑ ` ` The monster's gone…He's on the run… And your daddy's here ` ` ⊹ ‧₊˚

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 ୨୧ being a father of a baby has it’s ups and downs, but stress gets to the best of us.

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 ୨୧ max, charles, lando, x fem!reader (separate)

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 ୨୧ besides kids and pregnancy… jos verstappen (ALL MY HOMIES HATE JOS!!), a very very very small jules reference, google translated languages

𝐀/𝐍 ୨୧ heyyy… hey.. how ya’ll doing? 🫣🫣 FINALLY DONE! Sorry to be out for so long! not very happy with my lando piece though. I had a idea but I think i failed to execute it well :(. also, this this a very different format then what i’m used to doing now, so I hope you guys enjoy it 🩷

𝐌𝐀𝐗 𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐄𝐍

BEING a father was never a idea that made its way into Max’s mind, in fact, it’s something he’s scared of. From the get go, all he thought about and dedicated his time to was racing, from the break of dawn to the dead of night. If anything, if present day Max met himself in his teenage years, teenage Max would scoff in his face probably. With Jos, Max was on constant eggshells, were pleasing his father was forever his goal. But things change. Things changed since he started Formula One finally gaining some independence, and a noticeable change once he met you.

With you, Max felt loved. He never had to please you as long as he was being himself. He didn’t have to get first. He didn’t have to work his ass off everyday to impress his father. He got to show off his personality and didn’t have to suppress his stubbornness, or his humor. And he loved you for that.

Formula One will always be a priority, but Max’s tiers of importance changed 6 months ago, those 6 months ago where a new member of the Verstappen family entered the world. A little girl to be exact. Max never imagined himself as a father to a little girl, but after seeing her once she was born and getting to hold her, he wouldn’t change it for the world.

It was quiet. Perfectly quiet. The Monaco sun pushing its way through the blinds of the nursery as Max rocked back and forth in the chair, little girl in his arms, the sound of the waves hitting the rocks down at the shore being faintly heard from your guys’ apartment. It was early in the morning, 7 AM to be exact and as you rested up in bed, Max decided this will be his opportunity to spend some missed time with his little girl.

Looking down at her round face, he examined her features. The curve of her lips, the shape of her eyes, the silhouette of her nose. All of her features were yours besides her nose, inheriting Max’s profile. Everything was perfect to him. Too perfect.

The more Max looked at her stroking her cheek, the more he wondered if he was up for this.

He had no healthy representation of a father figure.

What if he lashed out at her like Jos did?

What if he can’t be the father she deserves?

What if-

“I know that look.” Your voice breaks him out of his trance. Max looked up from where he was sitting, seeing you stand in the doorway. “Care to share, Mr. Champion?” You asked, offering a smile, walking over to him.

“You’re supposed to be resting, Schatje.” He whispers out, getting up before placing the little one in the crib.

“Mom’s don’t get a chance to rest.” You say with a slight laugh before curving your lips into a frown. “What’s wrong Max?” You ask, wrapping your arms around his shoulders.

“It’s just-Godverdomme…” He starts, before turning to you. “Am I a good dad?”.

“Max… you are a amazing dad. I promise you. She loves you so much, you have no idea how much.” You reassure him.

“…I’m scared. I don’t want to turn into my dad.” He whispers out, moving his gaze to the little girl in the crib. “What if I turn into my dad?”

“Max, look at me. Will you?” You say putting a hand on his cheek, making his eyes meet yours. “You aren’t him and you never will be. Knowing that what your father did is the first step in the right direction. She loves you. Everytime she sees you on TV, she lights up like the sun. If you weren’t a good father, she wouldn’t have been so calm in your arms. You aren’t Jos, Max. You are you and I love you. I wouldn’t have married you if I knew otherwise.” You explain, giving him a soft smile as he looks back at you.

Max gives a tight lipped response, glancing back at his daughter, using his hand to smoothen her baby hairs and cracking a smile.

Maybe he is more prepared for his little girl than he thought…even the princess tea parties in the future. And he can’t wait.

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐄𝐒 𝐋𝐄𝐂𝐋𝐄𝐑𝐂

CHARLES would give up the world if it meant being a father. Growing up with three brothers, it was only natural of him to want kids of his own.

When you showed him the pregnancy test at Austrian GP, and uttered the words of a “I’m pregnant” while in the garage, he officially marked it as the best day of his life, second to marriage of course. His eyes going comically wide before immediately lifting you up, spinning you around as the crowd cheered and the Ferrari staff members offering their congratulations.

As the months passed along with the trimesters, Charles treated you like a piece of fine china. You weren’t even allowed to stand after 2 minutes without Charles fussing like a mother hen.

“Y/N, chérie, please sit down!” Is most likely the most common sentence he’s said in his life for 9 months.

Since the delivery of your son, Charles has been supporting you nonstop, if anything, even more than during the pregnancy. The second Charles saw him, tears gathered in his eyes, and in those dark blue eyes, his little boy was the light of his life. A new beginning. A new motivation. A motivation to push himself even harder. A motivation to try his best in every grand prix, but most of all, a motivation to love you and your son till his last breath.

It was the dead of night, calm and tranquil before cries disrupt the silence of the night. Rubbing your eyes, and checking the clock to read 2:34 AM, letting out a sigh, you lift the sheets off the bed before a hand on your shoulder stops you.

“Go back to sleep amour, I’ll get him. You rest up, okay?” Charles says in a hushed tone, his voice still laced with sleep and his dark brown waves in a tangled mess from the pillow.

"But Charles, the season just finished... if anything you should-" You started before he placed a finger on your lips lightly.

"Sleep. Please. You've done more than enough when I was not here.." He pleaded.

Giving a nod, you slowly make your way back to bed, still awake though.

He cracks open the nursery room, lifting the little boy into his arms.

"Oh mon loulou, qu'est-ce que c'est ? Maman gave you food.. your diaper is changed..." Charles murmurs into to himself bouncing the little one up and down. The Ferrari driver was at a loss, nothing seemed to be wrong, but there was and he didn't know what to do as the crying simply continued.

"How about we take a walk?" Charles talked as if the little one can respond. The Monégasque steadily left the room, holding your son close before stopping in front of a photo taken of you and Charles on your first date. The photo shows you, smilingly a bit awkwardly at the camera, but charming nonetheless, with Charles next to you with a closed lip smile.

"There's maman at our first date. Doesn't she look pretty? Actually.. she is still the most beautiful woman in the world. She was very shy the entire time… “ Charles commented pointing at the photo, a smile gracing his lips. The little boys cries soon turn into whimpers, his little head turned to the image his parents.

“Oh, and here is of me and Maman at our wedding.” The driver commented, thinking fondly as he pointed to the photo next to it the previous. This time, it was of you both kissing underneath the arch of greenery and flowers. “This was before you were born…ou conçu” He muttered the last part..

You smiled at the not so subtle whispers of Charles as he recollects his memories from the past as the baby in his arms finally quiets down, Charles smoothening his tufts of dark hair that have become more apparent as time passed.

“And this… is when you were born…” Charles says with a smile before noticing that the baby fell asleep.

"You’re not exactly quiet y’know…” You say with a teasing tone.

“Y/N, what are you doing up still?” Charles questioned, adjusting the baby in his arms, slightly taken aback by your sudden presence. “…did you… hear everything?” He continued, a rosy tint lightly coating his cheeks in the dim light, as if a little kid caught red-handed.

“Well… the conversion was hard not to listen to.” You say, giving a tired smile. “He looks just like you, y’know that? From the lips, to the shape of his eyes… the curve of his nose…” You continue, taking the little one from his arms, giving a kiss to both him and Charles.

"Does he really?” Charles asked, turning to you with his bright, signature lopsided smile, his dimples showing before looking down at your son, his smirk slowly disappearing.

“What’s going on in that pretty head of yours? You seem worried…” You question, raising a brow with a concerned tone.

"Be honest with me…please?” He pleaded, seemingly embarrassed by the question he’s going to ask. You give a nod, signaling him to continue.

“Do you think he will hate me?” Charles blurted out. “I mean, I rarely spend time at home, leaving you to do all work in the apartment for more than half of the year and with the baby and your work- I just… I don’t want him to think that his father hates him for always travelling.“ You blink before sighing, placing your palm onto his cheek as you hold your son in one arm.

“Charles Marc Hervé Perceval Leclerc. Our little boy will never hate you or anything of the such. You are the sweetest, and most loving father any child can ask for. I trust you and I love you.” You comfort him, stroking his stubbly cheek, making his charming grin return.

“…Thank you.”

“There’s that smile I love. Now come on… not only does our little Jules need his sleep, we do too.”

𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐑𝐈𝐒

LANDO didn’t think he’d be a father so young. If anything, Lando planned his future superbly. Complete Formula One with at least a world championship underneath his belt, get married, move back to England to be close to family, and eventually start his own family. But sometimes you have to live in the present instead of the future.

Needless to say, your pregnancy was unplanned. With a celebration of a podium win, alcoholic drinks, and the lights of the club, one thing led to another. Telling him was the stressful part but everything turned out better than believed.

The second you told him, his eyes widened before asking a “..Are you serious?”. As soon as you confirmed a bright, boyish smile overtook him, wrapping you in a tight hug and placing kisses all over your face and eventually onto your lower abdomen. During your pregnancy, he wanted the world to know and proudly showed you off. That’s when you knew everything will be perfectly fine with you, him and your new addition to the family.

It would be lying to say that the performance of McLaren during the Japanese GP was great. The strategy was below average, the cars were not at their best performance, but most of all, no podium for Lando or Oscar. Lando was frustrated. Even though it’s so early in his career, Lando feels as if he’s falling behind. And having no wins is rubbing salt in the wound. Having to be known as the racer with such a noticable and bold personality, he wants to prove himself to not only the fans, but journalists that he capable of being a world champion in given time.

“Fuckin’ hell..” Lando muttered, running a hand through his curly hair as he sat down on his driver's room couch. P5. If anything, most drivers will dream of a P5, but Lando wanted more. What could he have done differently?

What if he reacted faster to the lights out?

What if he made that turn quicker?

What if he listened to his impulses?

Will he ever win a race in his life?

Will he always be a disappointment to his girlfriend and daughter?

“I can hear what you’re thinking from a mile away Lando.” You snap him out of his thoughts, turning his head to face you as you hold your daughter. “I came to check on you. You left right after the interviews and we couldn’t find you. This little lady started to get fussy without you.”

“Did she now?” He asked, giving a smile to overshadow his frowning from earlier. trying to steer the topic away from the attention on him.

“Lando, I’m worried about you. You’ve been so… distant lately. Tell me what’s wrong.” You try to persuade him, taking a seat onto the driver’s room coach next to him.

“You don’t need to worry, it’s nothing major. Just-“

“Just you being self-critical and thinking about what you can do different during the race even though you tried your best and have done everything you can given the car that you have?” You say, catching him off guard by how spot on you were.

“…well… that was spot on.” He comments jokingly, giving a rather melancholic look. “How did you know?”

“Lando, I’ve known you since we were 16 and started dating since we were 19. We are now 24 and have a kid together. I sure hope I get this stuff right.” You explained in a teasing tone, but a tender expression begins gracing your face. “Do you want to talk about it?” You question, placing a free hand noto his cheek in a comforting manner.

He gently moves your hand from his cheek, holding onto it instead. “I guess I just want to prove myself and not disappoint you, our little girl, and the team.”

“Lando, we are more than proud of you. Hell, we are above and beyond elevated with how you’ve been doing since you joined F1.” You comfort, adjusting the little one in your arms as she tried to grab your hair.

“…Even with no career wins..?” Lando asks, his gaze meeting yours.

“Look at me Lando. Having no wins is perfectly fine. The fact you even made it this far into your career is amazing in itself. You need to stop doubting yourself and taking away the credit you deserve.” You continue, giving a soft look.

“I don’t want to disappoint her when she gets older.” Lando explained, “Her father in Formula 1, driving for McLaren with no wins for 6 seasons so far. I don’t want her to be embarrassed by her classmates when she gets older because of me-” He sighed before a small hand patted his face harshly.

"BAH!” The little girl squealed, her hand still resting against Lando’s cheek.

Lando groaned, still a bit surprised by the sudden attack. “What is it silly girl? Are you not happy daddy is talking down on himself?” Lando asked, a genuine smile appearing on his face, taking her from your arms and placing her in his lap for her to stand on. She placed her hands on both of his cheeks now, as Lando stroked her curly hair back from her face.

“She’s just saying what we are thinking.” You laugh, resting your head on Lando’s shoulder.

“Saying? I’m not sure much saying is going on.” He replies with a raised brow.

“…You get what I mean.” You roll your eyes and get up from the couch.

“I do.” He answers with a smirk, also getting up while holding his daughter close to him.

“Come on now. Let’s get out of here and celebrate how far you’ve gotten.” You say giving Lando a kiss on the lips and a kiss to the little one’s forehead.

Yeah. Lando wouldn’t change this one bit.

[allthingswhumpyandangsty]

Post non-con recovery scene ideas with caretaker and whumpee?

tw: r*pe aftermaths, sa, ptsd, ed

whumpee flinched at every physical contact, no matter how light or gentle (no matter if it was nonsexual or if it came from caretaker or a doctor or a nurse), because their mind had associated all kinds of physical contact with the time they were assaulted now. 

caretaker wanted to hug them, but they understood whumpee’s struggle and remained their distance for the sake of whumpee’s wounds (both mental and physical). 

whumpee knew caretaker wasn’t going to hurt them, they just couldn’t help being terrified by any physical contact now.

though it became an issue when whumpee had to be examined by doctors and nurses. it pained caretaker to have to hold whumpee down and keep whumpee still when the medical procedure was being performed on them to make sure whumpee was healing properly, and whumpee cried and whimpered and just tried to get away because so many hands were touching them and all they could think of was their assaulters forcing themselves on them.

when the procedure was done, caretaker let go of whumpee (despite their wanting to keep holding and comforting whumpee) and whumpee leaped out of their arms to go hide somewhere they believed would shield them from… anything, sometimes they went and hid behind a drawer, hugging themself with their knees against their chest, sometimes they went and hid underneath the bed and wouldn’t come out for hours.

whumpee refused to make eye contact with anyone, including caretaker.

at night whumpee couldn’t sleep alone, so caretaker took the couch in the room with them and kept the nightstand lamp on throughout the night. (sleeping in the same bed with whumpee was still too much, and caretaker understood that.)

loss of appetite. caretaker never wanted to have to force whumpee to eat, but when it’d been a while since the last time whumpee ate anything and they were putting their health at risk, caretaker had no choice but to make sure whumpee ate. (caretaker was still being gentle, of course, but for whumpee’s health, they couldn’t let whumpee leave the table until whumpee finished at least half of the food on their plate.)

whumpee’s obedience both relieved and angered caretaker, because whumpee was never this “docile” prior to their assault. now whumpee wouldn’t talk back or argue and would do anything they were told to do (like whumpee was afraid they would get punished if they disobeyed). sure, whumpee was eating now. because caretaker told them to. and while it was for whumpee’s own good and it was a good thing that whumpee ate, whumpee’s complete obedience still disturbed caretaker. 

it angered caretaker, yes, but caretaker wasn’t angry with whumpee. they were angry with whumpee’s assaulters, and they had to make sure their anger was well hidden so that whumpee couldn’t see it and think caretaker was angry at them.

besides the trauma, whumpee believed they were being a burden, that they were holding caretaker and everybody else down by being so “difficult” and they blamed themself for it. they also believed they didn’t deserve caretaker’s kindness. thus caretaker sat down with whumpee and patiently explained why whumpee could never be a burden and why caretaker was glad to have whumpee here with them now. whumpee… knew that, deep down, but caretaker’s reassurance didn’t necessarily mean whumpee’s own mind would magically stop feeding them poison just because caretaker said nice things to them, did it? — caretaker only said this because they had to, because they pitied you, said the voices in whumpee’s head, but whumpee told caretaker they believed them nonetheless, because they obviously wasn’t going to start an argument with caretaker, or with anybody, for that matter.

the first time whumpee willingly let caretaker hug them, they hesitantly and carefully crawled onto caretaker’s lap. It was a rather impressive progress and caretaker knew that, they also knew to be very gentle and mindful as to not do anything that could overwhelm or trigger whumpee’s trauma. 

only when caretaker was certain whumpee was okay with this did they softly wrap their arms around whumpee’s back as whumpee rested their head on caretaker’s chest, curling in on themself on caretaker’s lap.

still on caretaker's lap, whumpee finally looked up to meet caretaker's eyes and gave them a soft smile. it was a sad smile, and it was barely noticeable. but it was a smile nonetheless.

caretaker really thought they would never get to see whumpee's smile again.

[sage-green-matcha]

WE’RE NOT REALLY STRANGERS - ETHAN LANDRY 🃏

“Tell the other person to close their eyes and to keep them closed” Playing the “we’re not really stranger” card game with Ethan Landry!

Content includes: fluff! Card game, Softie! Ethan Landry, shy duo!

<3

<3

<3

You lay on the couch of Ethan’s apartment, sighing as you continued to add details to the Google slide. “You know y/n, it doesn’t have to be pretty, just copy and paste the information” you frowned. “I like it pretty, looks like we put more effort into it” You switched the background color to a deep blue, a smile on your face as it matched the other slides.

“I’m getting so bored of this” you mumbled, changing fonts and adding colors, copying and pasting pictures onto it. “How about we take a break? We’ve been working on this for the past hour” You looked down at him, a thankful expression on your face. “I was hoping you’d say that” You shut the laptop, Ethan sitting on the couch next to you.

“We better get a perfect A, we’re putting way too much unnecessary effort into this” The 20-slide Econ assignment was almost done, with only a couple of things left to add. “What do you wanna do?” He asked, chin resting on the side of the couch. You shrugged, looking around his apartment.

“Do you like card games?” You nodded, watching him as he went over to the game closet, pulling out a red box. “What’s that?” He placed the box on the coffee table, the box reading “We’re not really strangers” at the top. “Basically, it’s just a bunch of questions that we get to ask each other to get to know each other better, fits since like…we’ve only really hung out for projects like this” You nodded, agreeing. “Yeah, okay” you smiled, Ethan explaining the rules as he shuffled the cards.

“Okay, uhm I’ll ask first?” “Yea,” he pulled a card, reading it out loud to you. “What was your first impression of me?” You hummed, thinking back to the first time you’d met him. “I think…I thought you were cute, a bit awkward I guess. You seemed really smart so I’m glad I got partnered up with you” Ethan blushed at the compliment, thanking you before you pulled the next card.

“Who do you think is my favorite artist!?” Ethan knew you loved music, and he already knew the answer. “Taylor Swift…?” “Yea! I like how you know that” you bit back your lip, cuddling up to the shared blanket.

“Okay…do you think I like hot Cheetos?” Your eyes turned into lines, pointing at the empty bag of chips. “No Ethan, I think you love Cheetos” He rolled his eyes. “It’s a very solid chip, they’re good” he laughed, smiling at you. “Do you think…that I’ve ever been in love?” You watched as Ethan examined your face, eyes squinted. “I think…that no you haven’t, but other people have probably been in love with you” You turned your head, Ethan biting back his lip.

“What makes you say that?” He shrugged. “You Just have a very loving personality, it’s the first thing anyone picks up on” You blushed and he pulled out a different pile of cards. “Round two is…connection…what’s the biggest mistake you’ve made?” “That’s deep…” he nodded as you thought. “I think it’s probably…hm. Oh, I know. Not sticking up for myself in things that have impacted me, like a lot”

“Like what?” “Like…I was bullied a lot as a kid, I think that kinda messed with how I turned out” he frowned. He could never imagine people bullying you. You were so sweet and caring. “Okay…hmm what non-domestic animal describes you? And why?” You already had an answer in mind, Ethan thinking with his hand on his chin. “A cat?” You shook your head. “That is so wrong” “Really?” You nodded, “You give hamster energy” he looked at you confused. “Well…I guess that kinda does make sense” he was really random and quiet, but he was also smart.

“What’s the worst pain you’ve been in that wasn’t physical?” You felt comfortable with Ethan, so you decided to open up with your mental health issues, if he thought you were crazy then that would probably be the worst pain. “I think…when I was in this really dark place, it was a couple of summers ago but uhm. My mom was sick and I was just depressed…like suicidal” You played with the rings on your fingers, sinking yourself into the couch. “I’m sorry…are you okay now?” His heart hurt for you, looking at you with doughy eyes. “Yea! Definitely, being around people that I care about helps a lot” You smiled at him, trying to give him the indication that it was him you were talking about. “I’m glad”

“What would your younger self not believe about your life today?” You put down the card, snuggling closer to the blanket as the gears in Ethan's head turned, thinking for a minute. “Maybe the fact that I actually have friends?” He laughed and you smiled. “Really?” He nodded. “I never really had friends, I was always really quiet as a kid and- and like shy” he scratched the back of his neck.

“What’s your least favorite personality trait in a person?” “I really dislike pretentious people, like get over it. You’re not better than anyone” You shrugged and he nodded his head, agreeing. “Think of someone that you admire. What made you think of them specifically?” You were the first person that popped into mind, his face flushed as he began to speak.

“The person, they’re just so sweet and, like” he sighed, not able to put his feelings of admiration towards you into words. “They do their best at everything. They go above and beyond even when they don’t have to. It’s like they’re the perfect person and they have such a beautiful personality” he could rant to you about yourself forever.

You just smiled, nodding your head as he described this mystery person. He must have a crush on them, the way that he was going about it definitely showed signs, a small frown on your face. It was the last question of the connection round, going into reflection.

“If we were in a band…what would be our name?” He smiled. “Like, the Econ girls or something” “But I’m not even a girl!” You broke into a small fit of laughter. “I like Econ girls, that’s our band name” he nodded, excepting his fate as an Econ girl.

“What part of yourself do you see in me?” “Honestly, nothing…you’re too perfect” you scoffed. “I’m for real…I don’t think I could compare myself to you” he fiddled with his hands, avoiding eye contact. “Really? Okay, draw” he picked up the card, placing it on the table.

“When this game is over, what will be something you remember about me?” You pretended to think long and hard, already knowing the answer. “Everything, I liked getting to know you better” Ethan felt his heart pump out of his chest, trying to hold back a smile as you pulled the next card.

“What do I need to hear right now?” He chewed on the inside of his cheek, glancing at you and then at the pile of cards on the table. “That the person I thought of first was you” You could’ve screamed, and so could Ethan. His face was flushed as he waited for your response, your eyes just wide as you tried to calm yourself down.

He watched as you held back a smile, your attempt failing before you hid your face in your hands. “Another one?” You nodded, Ethan with a smile on his lips. “In one word, describe how you feel right now” The universe was working with him, all the cards playing out perfectly. “Happy..?” You questioned, nodding to yourself. “Yea, happy”

You pulled out one of the wild cards, pulling out the paper and pencils from inside the box. “Write a message to each other and give it to each other, open it once you have left” You tapped your pencil against the table. Tucking your hair behind your ear as you started to write.

Ethan watched you, attempting to sneak a peek but it didn’t work, trying to come up with what to say to you. The tension could be cut with a knife, smiles hidden as you wrote. “You done?” He questioned and you nodded, folding up the piece of paper.

“Look Into each other's eyes for 30 seconds. What did you notice?” You scooted closer toward him, your body nervous as you looked into his eyes. You always knew Ethan was pretty, but seeing him so close made you realize he was way more than just pretty. His eyes were a pretty brown color, creasing at the sides when he smiled.

His lips looked so soft, so pillowy. The perfect shade of pink. You started to even get a bit insecure about your own. Ethan on the other hand took the opportunity to examine you even more. He knew everything about your face, every detail, every mark. He felt his heart beat faster as you looked at his lips, looking back into his eyes with your lips agape.

The two of you got closer, Ethan’s light breaths on your face as he took your jaw into his hands, pulling you closer to him. Your body melted into him, your lips pressing against his without a warning. Heat filled your body, butterflies going crazy in your stomach. He tasted so good, so sweet. And the feeling of his lips on yours was addicting. His hand pushed to the back of your neck, pulling you closer to him if that was even possible.

He pulled away, taking in the sight of your puffy lips, your face flushed in a pink blush. “One more? For good luck?” You nodded and he read the card to himself, instructing you to close your eyes. Your eyebrows furrowed as you waited. 5 seconds, then 10, then 15.

You felt him kiss you again, confused but not mad about it. His hand was on your waist, pulling you on top of him. The feeling of his kiss was like hundreds of fireworks going off inside of you, euphoria filling your whole body. Just the feeling of his hands running across your skin made you shiver, pressing your hand against his chest.

You pulled away and he handed you the card, reading it out loud. “Tell the other person to close their eyes and to keep them closed…wait 15 seconds and kiss them” You shook your head at the card, Ethan pulling you into his side. “I liked that game” “I did too” Before you left you exchanged letters, opening it frantically in your car as you recalled the night's events.

Y/n, you’re the person that I was talking about, but I think you already know that. I'm happy I decided to play this game with you. You make me feel safe and I really like you…It’s easier to express my feelings in letters, but I hope I get to show or tell you in these next couple of rounds.

Yours, Ethan Landry <3

[wakeupandchooseviolets]

Sweets (1/?)

The snugness was barely tolerable. She had overestimated herself. She looked surreptitiously over her shoulder and ducked around a corner. The only thing following her were her bad decisions, but she felt chased all the same.

Okay. Calm down. Breathe (but not too deep). Evaluate the situation. What are your options? Can you loosen anything?

She looked down at herself. Past her swollen breasts, past a fluffy roll of upper belly, she examined her waistline. Nope. The button was the only thing keeping the zipper together, and vice versa. For the millionth time, she lamented her morning. What a bright idea, interviewing for a job with a snack company. She was very well aware of how sweets affected her.

Could she find somewhere discrete to wait out her... little metabolic mishap? She looked around for a discrete nook to accommodate her fresh bulk.

The little atrium she had found had a series of plush benches around the walls. She sighed and headed for the one in the corner. She sucked in as best she could and sat down. Some horny little corner of her mind made note of how it felt as her tight belly shifted against her puffy thighs.

Sitting like this, only barely upright lest bending too far compromise her jeans, she couldn't ignore how her waistband was trying to cut her in half. She thought back to how she had done this to herself. The lovely HR manager had very explicitly pointed out the basket of the company's sugary offerings there in the middle of interview table. The woman had been insistent that she try at least one of each, gushing like any good salesperson about their rich flavors and subtle textures, occasionally even peeling one out of its wrapper and handing it to her.

How could she have done anything but eat what was offered to her? And by a beautiful woman, no less. She knew how her body reacted to food like this, but she had been desperate to make a good impression, to look good and eager and employable. A good girl. She ignored that last thought, and the accompanying shiver through her frazzled tummy.

She closed her eyes and tried to steady herself. Breathe in through the nose and out through the mouth (but not too deeply). All she had to do was calm down, and give her body a chance to do the same. Then she could find a back door to sneak out of, go home and hope that somehow that she hadn't blown the interview.

She opened her eyes again and caught sight of herself in a mirror across the room. Holy crap, she was huge. She had been her normal, narrow self, and her outfit had fit very very normally, when she had arrived. But now? Now it looked positively painted onto her. Her breasts were trying to spill out of her tastefully exposed bra and over the lapel of her blouse. She was more balloon than woman at this point. She ignored another tingle.

As she watched herself in the mirror, she noticed something change. Slowly but surely, the last wrinkle in her blouse smoothed out. Uh oh. That meant... she was still filling out. Panic. She tingled again.

No. No. Calm. Breathe (but not too deep). She closed her eyes again, and could feel her plump body quietly grow. Crap.

Panic. Calm. Breathe (but not too deep). Calm.

Maybe if she didn't look, it would go away. That had never worked before, sure, but there's a first time for everything, right?

As she rationalized to herself, she noticed the sound of heels clacking towards her hiding spot. Panic!

Maybe their owner would pass and not notice her?

No such luck.

The woman who had interviewed her rounded the corner.

"There you are!"

She struggled to stand. So tight.

"You left your purse upstairs. I get it, though. Interviews can be pretty stressful, huh?"

Like nothing had changed. Did this woman not notice that she was currently three times the size she was when she had shown up? Could this woman not hear every seam in her clothes creaking in harmony? Could the woman not see how wide and deep and round she was becoming?

"It's such a beautiful handbag, I almost wanted to keep it for myself!" The woman laughed. "Oh well."

She took the bag from the woman. "O-oh! Thank you!" Leapt out of her.

"Listen," said the woman, "technically I have to review a few other candidates, but I think you're a shoo-in for the position." The woman moved closer. "No one else has shown so much... enthusiasm." Closer still. She basked in the smell of the woman's musky perfume.

"Oh... that's great!" she managed to squeak out.

"In fact," the woman continued, "if you'd like to come back upstairs, we can have you fill out the onboarding paperwork now, so you don't have to come back just to fill out some forms if... when we give you the job." So close now.

"Um! Okay!" What.

The woman placed a gentle hand on the side of her massive, tight, growing belly. "Listen, between you and me, that passion you showed today will take you far with us. Do you feel like the offer is fair? We can negotiate further if you need." The woman's eyes were so sincere.

What was going on here? She could barely think.

The woman placed her other hand on top of her belly, well hidden by her burgeoning breasts. "I do hope you'll say yes."

"Um..."

There was a pop. Her button pinged away across the room from her overburdened jeans. It made a little thwack sound as it hit the far wall. Her zipper flew down, zizzing audibly. Her belly erupted through the breach. Her blouse retreated upwards. The tingling became a roar. All the while, the woman, as though no tectonic shifts were happening right there and then, continued to implore with borderline puppydog eyes.

The world held its breath with her. How had this woman not reacted to any of that?! What? Was the woman still waiting for an answer?

"...okay?" She tried. She wasn't sure if her brain was still working. "Sure?" Best to stick to small sentences.

"Yay!" cheered the woman, "I really think you'll love it here!" The woman launched in for a quick hug around her exposed belly. The woman's arms didn't go even halfway around her. And still the woman didn't seem to notice that anything was wrong.

"Well! If you'll follow me back to the elevators, we can at least get the formalities out of the way."

The woman took her by the hand and pulled, still gentle. She followed, mutely. Even the horniest, shamiest corners of her mind were silent, waiting with bated breath.

As they reached the elevators, the woman pushed the up button and stood to the side. "Please," said the woman, "after you!"

On autopilot now, she stepped into the elevator and... wedged into the door. Stuck. What. Panic? Calm? The elevator dinged again as if to say "I'm waiting!"

The cold of the elevator doors brought her back to reality. She put a hand on either side of herself and tried to pull herself in. As though this were somehow normal, the woman chirped "Oh, here, let me help!"

She felt a gentle pair of hands press into her oceanic bottom. Her horny brain thrilled again. She clamped down on those thoughts. No time to be a pervert.

Between the two of them, they muscled her into the elevator. She turned to face the doors in time to watch the woman press into her in order to let the doors close. Normally equipped for eight full-sized human adults, due to her immensity, it very barely fit two.

"We need floor thirty," said the woman into her barely contained cleavage. She tried to reach for the panel of buttons, but by now there was simply too much of her in the way.

"I've got it," said the woman, reaching behind her without looking.

They rode the thirty floors quietly. She could feel herself still widening, pressing towards the walls of the elevator car. Her embarrassment had burnt out, leaving only a kind of stunned peace in her mind. She tried to will her body away from the woman, but where else could it really go?

By the time they reached their destination, the woman was firmly pressed against the doors, still showing no indication of the extra-ordinariness of the situation.

As the doors opened, the woman stepped back, grabbed her hands, and pulled as she tried to wiggle through the door. Eventually she floomped through, and they set off toward the HR suite.

Full-on waddling now, she felt an inner tension release. She had stopped growing. Relief. If nothing else, at least things had stopped getting worse. Sure, she was almost round enough to roll. Tingle. Sure, her clothing had been reduced to barely covering her... rude areas. Tingle. Sure, a beautiful woman was acting as though this was all perfectly normal. Tingle tingle tingle. But hey, at least it finally wasn't getting worse.

The woman pushed open the double doors to the HR suite and welcomed her in with another glittering smile. They seemed to be the only ones there. The woman led her, patiently, to the front desk area. The woman ducked behind the desk, looking for something.

"Hmm, it looks like I'll need to go print off more some more copies of the forms. Shouldn't take more than a minute or two." Finally she'd have a moment to collect herself.

Then the woman produced a basket, laden with various goodies, from underneath the desk. "Here! Help yourself, sorry to make you wait." Uh.

"Oh, here, allow me," said the woman, picking out a chocolate confection, peeling it, and pressing it into her mouth. "I'll be right back!"

She chewed and swallowed the treat.

Uh oh.

[kenshiluvr]

Omg YES a fellow Kenshi lover!! Could I get some Kenshi with a reader who has nightmares from their traumatic past? Gn or fem reader, maybe reader seeks him out one night for comfort and has a big ole crush on him?

AAAA I LOVE THISSS

nightmares

kenshi takahashi/reader

summary: you seek out your crush after a hard night’s sleep.

tags: nightmares, comfort, confessions, fluff, first kisses, kinda slow burn? idk, kenshi is kinda oblivious

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Raiden’s back slams against the ground, the man letting out a soft grunt. “Nice hit,” he compliments, getting up with your help. “Thanks.” You respond, but your eyes are elsewhere. Scanning the people around you, you search for him. Did he see you succeed? Is he impressed? Did he see that? Is all that you can think about as your eyes land on Kenshi. He gives a kind smile, and a nod. Your heart explodes just from seeing it, and you smile back.

“Dude, you’re like… head over heels for him.” Raiden teases. “I am not!” You argue, finally looking at your friend. “You are! You’re always looking at him when you do something, and you follow him around like a puppy! You love his approval.” He snickers, shaking his head with amusement. “Shut up..!” you hiss, “he might hear you.” Raiden laughs, shaking his head once more. “Right, right. Of course. Come on, i’m starving.” He claps you on the back, leading you off to finally get some lunch after an hours worth of training.

Within a few hours, your muscles ache with the amount of training you’ve done. These monks really know how to hit! You like it here. No one pulls punches just because you’re a girl, they all fight fair. Glancing up from your dinner, you see Kenshi. You’ve managed to snag the seat across from him, and you can’t tell if this was a good idea or not. On one hand, you get to sit with him- on the other, every time you look up your heart begins to race and you have to look down again before you completely shut down. You’ve never met anyone that made you feel like this… you’ve never felt so strongly for someone, and you would tell him, if it weren’t for your fear of the swordsman rejecting you.

“Are you alright?” Kenshi asks, and you almost choke on your water. “Yes,” you respond, nodding. “I’m fine.” Giving him a smile, you hope he doesn’t press on this. “Are you sure? You look a little flustered.” Kenshi notes, raising his brows. “Well- I’m a little warm… but i’m fine! It’s nothing to worry about.” You wave him off, laughing a little. The man across from you hums, examining you a little before accepting your answer and turning back to his dinner.

Days pass. Gruelling days of training. Raiden is finally selected as Earthrealm’s fighter, and potential champion. He’s nervous, as would anyone in his shoes. A lot is on his shoulders, and he knows this. With fortune, or luck, or both, he wins the first few fights. Sitting at dinner with Kitana, who has taken a liking to you, you have to listen to Johnny’s gushing of the woman next to you. Kitana brushes him off, laughing softly. “Say,” she turns to you. “What’s with you and the swordsman?” Kitana asks. “Ah- you mean Kenshi?” You respond, glancing to the man at the other table. He’s speaking with Liu Kang, glancing to Johnny every now and then. You wonder what they’re talking about…

“Yes. You seem very… attached to him.” Kitana notes, her eyes following yours and looking at the man himself. “Well- it’s nothing.” You fluster a little. We’re you attached to him..? no, that’s ridiculous… but maybe a little..? “I don’t think it’s nothing.” Kitana laughs. “You’re in love. Aren’t you?” She looks to you, raising a brow. “What?!” Your eyes widen, “no- no, i’m not!” You shake your head, denying her very true claims. Kitana laughs softly, her hand moving to rest on your shoulder. “It’s alright. There’s no need to deny it.” She assures you. “But, perhaps you should talk to him.” The princess suggests. “No- I cant… because if he doesn’t feel the same way, I’ll ruin everything!” You whisper to her. “But if he does?” Kitana asks, giving you a pointed look. “I can’t risk it.” You mutter after a beat of silence. “I can’t. I don’t want to lose him.”

“Look. You are a strong girl. A fine one. If he doesn’t reciprocate, that’s no one’s fault, but it will be his loss. Talk to him..!” she urges you, shaking your shoulder a little. “I can’t..!” you stress. “I can’t do that. If I were to confess, I could risk losing the one person I feel for. To stay silent… it hurts, yes, but I have him. I don’t want to lose that.” You explain. Kitana nods slightly, sighing. “I cannot pressure you to do this… but think about it.” She tells you, turning back to her dinner. You sigh, giving Kenshi a glance. He’s already looking at you. Blinking, you give him a kind smile, watching him smile back as your heart hammers in your chest. Looking down at your plate, you wait for your body to calm.

—

The tournament is done. Earthrealm’s champion has won, and Raiden feels like he can relax. Heading home, you’re back with on Earth. It’s night, and everyone had decided to celebrate the victory. In your room at the Wu Shi academy, you lay in bed. Your heart is racing, but for a different reason. Nightmares. They plague you, follow you around, taunting you. Getting up, you swing your legs over your bed and immediately leave your room. You feel like you’re suffocating, your throat constricting, tears in your eyes. In a moment of weakness, your legs carry you to his room. Kenshi’s most likely asleep… but you need this. You need him.

Knocking gently, you wait for an answer, your heart in your throat. The door clicks, then opens. Kenshi, looking confused, gives you a look over. “Are you… okay?” He asks softly, noting how distraught you look. “Can I come in- please..?” you beg. He sees your trembling hands, the tears on your lower lashes, and nods, stepping aside to let you in. Stepping into his room, you listen to him shut the door. “Are you alright? What’s wrong?” Kenshi asks softly, his inked hand resting on your lower back. “I- it’s stupid, but I had a nightmare.” You whisper. Kenshi’s eyes soften. “Sit down… do you want to talk about it?” He offers, sitting you on his bed and taking a seat beside you. “No…” you choke out, letting your body collapse to his chest. Kenshi doesn’t push you away, simply curling his strong arms around you, holding you close.

“Shh, shh… breathe.” He whispers, rubbing your back gently; letting you hyperventilate into his chest. You’re having a rough time… and he wasn’t heartless. “Deep breaths. In through your nose, hold it, then out through your mouth.” He murmurs, palm stroking circles on your back. You’re shaking, clinging to him. If you weren’t so upset, you’d be embarrassed…

Slowly, with his help, you soothe. Pulling away, your eyes avert his. “I- I’m sorry.” You murmur, but Kenshi hushes you immediately. “There’s nothing to be sorry about. You’re only human.” He tells you, touching your arm compassionately. Your heart is racing, but now for a very very different reason. “Can- can I stay with you?” You whisper, eyes meeting his. “Of course.” He nods, smiling kindly. “I’m here for you,” Kenshi assures you, rubbing your arm gently.

—

Every other night, you’re in Kenshi’s bed. Sometimes you manage without, but most nights now, you’re sleeping beside him. For some reason… he calms the nightmares, him just being beside you as you slept helps you dream of other things. You don’t know what kind of trick it is, but you’re so thankful for it.

Lay beside him, you’re facing Kenshi, not sleeping just yet. You’re simply watching him, that warm feeling in your stomach. Your heart isn’t beating as fast. You’re perfectly calm… and you smile. Kenshi opens his eyes, turning to you. “Sorry- I didn’t mean to stare.” You whisper to him. Kenshi simply chuckles. “It’s fine. Is there something you want to talk about?” He asks, wondering if you’d finally tell him of your nightmares. Thinking of Kitana’s words… you nod a little. “Yeah, actually… there is.” You murmur. Kenshi rolls to his side, facing you. “Talk to me.” He encourages, smiling kindly.

“Kenshi… it’s not about my nightmares. But it’s something that I really need to tell you,” you start, watching him nod understandingly. “I… the truth is- Kenshi, I love you. I… I know it seems strong- but… I- I do, and I can’t help it.” You whisper, immediately afraid he’s going to reject you with disgust and kick you out… but he doesn’t. “Hey…” he murmurs, hand moving to gently stroke your face. “Do you… really?” He asks, eyes kind and gentle. “Yes… I do. I- I really tried to suppress it at the start but- I can’t hide it anymore.” You mutter, tears welling up in your eyes. You’re terrified of losing him to your stupid feelings. “Hey- don’t cry… don’t cry, it’s okay.” Kenshi frowns, pulling you into a tight hug.

“I’m so sorry- I just- I can’t help how I feel for you. Please don’t hate me.” You beg, pressing your forehead to his shoulder. Kenshi frowns, speaking your name firmly to get your attention. “I don’t hate you.” He murmurs. “I could never hate you… I… I feel the same way. You’re special to me.” Kenshi whispers. “Really..? you… you love me, too?” You look up at him, eyes wide. Kenshi smiles, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. Your heart explodes, and you immediately kiss him back. Kenshi chuckles against your lips, shaking his head with amusement as he pulls away. “I should of said something sooner.” He murmurs. “But in truth, I… I was afraid too. I didn’t want to scare you off.” He smiles. Kenshi presses a soft kiss to the tip of your nose. “Will you… be mine?” He murmurs. Your heart swells. “I will. I will be yours.” You nod desperately, your forehead accidentally bumping against his. Kenshi laughs at your enthusiasm, rubbing your forehead a little. “Easy, tiger.” He teases, kissing you again. “Sorry.” You smile, accepting his soft pecks. “Don’t be. You’re the only person I’d let headbutt me.” He chuckles.

Kenshi’s arms wrap around you tight, letting you curl to his chest. “I love you,” he murmurs, feeling a weight lift from his chest as he finally says it to you. “I love you too.” You respond, unable to wipe that lovestruck grin off your face. Maybe having nightmares is a good thing, because without them, you wouldn’t be here, in the arms of the man you love.

[chibikyo]

Day 10 - Praise Kink

Fujin x F!Reader

Reader discovers Fujin's loves being praised and uses it to full advantage in their relationship. Chapter is softer, a bit of build up and really sweet. Fujin is very much a service top in this

Warnings; mild verbal restraint, Praise kink, Fujin deserves good things

***********************************

Y/n noticed it well before Fujin ever confessed feelings for her. He had been the one to recruit her as an earthrealm champion, impressed with her determination and creativity. They had trained together almost every day since. Fujin was an excellent teacher, endlessly patient as he taught her not only how to control her own innate magic, but gentle as well. It hadn’t taken long for her to start feeling the first flutters of affection for the wind god, but she was content just being his student, his friend, but she couldn’t help that she started studying him closer. She wanted to learn everything she could so she began cataloging each little smile or laugh, compiling each mention of something liked or disliked, until it became second nature. 

Which is why she had learned pretty early in their training that Fujin loved praise. He was kind, words of admiration rolling off his tongue with ease. It was so easy for him, so genuine, that Y/n was convinced negativity didn’t exist in his vocabulary. So the first time he’d come to her, asking to show him how she had done a certain cartwheel kick that he couldn’t seem to land, Y/n had observed first hand how that same praise made him preen. He worked hard over the course of the afternoon, paying close attention to her as she broke down the move and finally landed the complicated kick against a training dummy. She had clapped and done a little dance, commented at how perfectly executed it, and his reaction had been instant.

His face had flushed red, his glowing white eyes visibly going soft and downcast as he’d said it wasn’t all that impressive, a timid smile on his beautiful face. Y/n had felt her heart skip a beat at having made him so happy and had cataloged the reaction away to examine later. Over time, she’d started slipping more little praises and words of affirmation into their interactions and each time he turned into a blushing, stuttering mess. It was unfairly adorable and only made Y/n fall more and more in love.Since their courtship began, Y/n had taken full advantage of all she’d learned about Fujin during their time together to keep him feeling happy and loved.

So, driven with a need to put her knowledge to the test, Y/n had instantly applied what she knew in their bedroom activities and discovered that his reaction to praise during training was nothing compared to the way he’d melted the first time she’d dropped praise while making love. His gentle nature carried over to the bedroom and their first time he had been very cautious, asking for permission with each new exploration of her body, and Y/n had been so caught up in the tenderness of it that she’d simply slipped into habit. She’d let out a string of affirmations at how good he made her feel, how wonderful his hands felt, and within minutes Fujin had let out a throaty groan, coming in his pants like a horny teenager. He’d blushed and stuttered apologies and Y/n had simply cupped his face with a laugh and told him how much she loved him, but now she knew exactly how to get him going, which all led up to this moment.

“Oh my god, babe.” Y/n moaned as she thrust two fingers up into her tight hole, eyes locked with Fujin’s as she slowly stretched herself to take him. Fujin groaned, hands clenching around her calves as he fought to keep his hips from jerking into the air. She had promised to take good care of him as she’d pushed him back onto the bed, straddling his hips so his cock was firmly pressed between her pert ass cheeks. She’d placed his hands at his side, told him he could hang on to her legs if he needed to, and then had proceeded to tease him relentlessly. “You’re so beautiful.”

She had nipped and sucked her way down his chest, teasing new with gentle hands and a warm, slick tongue. She’d spent several minutes sucking and licking each nipple, switching between them every so often. His chest was so sensitive she’d actually made him cum once just by nipple stimulation alone. She decided to take pity on him this time, pulling away just before he reached his climax and he let out a needy whine as she lifted her hips to begin preparing herself to ride him. 

“You’re being so good for me.” Y/n crooned, rocking back against his aching shaft as she brought her free hand up to tease her own breast. She felt how his breath hitched, body seizing beneath her and abs drawn tight. There was a hungry gleam in his frosty white eyes as he watched her pleasure herself and his hands flexed again. “Ready for your reward?” He gasped when she reached under her to grasp his cock, holding it steady as she lowered herself onto the thick shaft. Even with ample prep and foreplay it was always a stretch to take Fujin’s cock and he always seemed concerned he might hurt her despite her assurances otherwise. To her, this only drove her to reassure him more, and the best way to do that was…

“So big, babe. You fill me up so good.” Y/n praised as she felt herself fully seated on him.

“Are you sure it isn’t too much?” Fujin murmured, concern and admiration in equal measure warring behind his eyes.

“Feels perfect, babe. Love being stretched out and full of your gorgeous cock.” Y/n trilled. Fujin could only moan, wanton and needy, as Y/n slowly began to rock her hips, sliding up and down in a shallow rhythm as she adjusted to his size. She felt his hands squeeze tighter, leaned down to brace her hands on his chiseled abs so she could ride him in earnest. The drag of his cock against her inner walls felt truly heavenly with each bounce of her perky ass. She couldn’t take her eyes off of him, watching his face twisted with ecstasy, forehead scrunched and eyes squeezed shut. He threw his head back in a moan as she picked up speed, and couldn't stop the desperate pleas that fell from his lips.

“Please, tempest, darling…” Fujin keened. “Please.” 

“So proud of you, asking for permission.” Y/n praised. “You’ve been so good for me, always so good for me, babe. You can touch now, sweetheart.” 

His hands shot up, stroking her waist reverently before he began to bounce her harder up and down on his cock, guiding her movements which only encouraged her to quicken her pace. He groaned, hips stuttering and before she had a chance to react he flipped her over, plunging his cock back into her molten core the second her back hit the mattress. He always got so desperate when she teased him, yet she knew he could go harder, really bruise her if he wanted. She felt her own climax quickly building, hot and heavy in her core, but she was determined to make him spill first. 

She wrapped her hands around his neck, pulling him down into a passionate kiss before making her way lower to wrap her lips around one of his swollen, puffy nipples and biting gently. She felt his back arch, thrusts stuttering as he started to come in thick hot spurts and she snaked a hand down between them to finger herself, rubbing at her clit in tandem while he fucked her through his orgasm. She came just as gave one final thrust into her, holding himself flush to her entrance as she felt the heavy coil of tension burst and flood her with a crescendo of syrupy pleasure. 

“Love it when you let loose, babe.” Y/n murmured as Fujin collapsed onto her with a groan. He was heavy, but she didn’t mind, arms wrapping around his back to massage the spasming muscles lovingly.

“You are a menace, tempest.” Fujin replied, a chuckle on his lips. He rolled onto his side, pulling her into his arms and placed a gentle kiss on her nose. She had a smirk on her face as she locked eyes with him.

“A menace, me?” She kissed him again. “That was only round one, sweetheart.” She purred, hands tugging at his braid, playing with the silky strands that had fallen loose. “And I’m just getting started.”

[hogwartslegacyreactions2]

Hi, it's me again! 😅

First of all, I'm so happy to see many of your old posts back, even some of my favourites!

Second, a request! I'm a big fan of lovely yet fierce Poppy, and one of my headcanon is that MC convinced her to join the Crossed Wands Club, because yes, our badger is a poachers slayers! Never underestimate a Hufflepuff!

If it's okay for you, could you write how HL Characters will react when MC and Poppy win? Thank you very much and sorry for my poor English 😅🙏

A/N: badass Poppy is best Poppy!

HLC REACT TO MC AND POPPY WINNING THE CROSSED WANDS CHAMPIONSHIP

SEBASTIAN SALLOW: Admittedly, a little salty. How can MC think anyone could be a better dueling partner than him? The best MC will get out of him is a disgruntled congratulations.

OMINIS GAUNT: He's eating up the drama around who MC chose as a dueling partner. Phoenix tears may heal all wounds, but Sebastian's tears heal his soul. He always knew poppy was the superior choice anyway. Hufflepuffs are not to be underestimated.

ANNE SALLOW: She's just happy to be there. She missed out on a lot of dueling while she was sick and getting to watch MC duel alongside Poppy as though they were dancing was quite exciting to witness.

IMELDA REYES: She's jealous, but not for the reasons some may think. She's never faced off against Poppy herself, neither in dueling nor in quidditch, and Poppy has proven to be a fierce contender. Maybe if she wasn't so busy trying to save beasts, perhaps she could make time for some broom racing.

NATSAI ONAI: She has never been so proud to be beaten at anything. She was one of the finalists against MC and Poppy, and she put up a good fight. It was a real nail biter to the end, but MC and Poppy pulled through. They fought well and deserved hearty congratulations.

GARRETH WEASLEY: He's the loudest one there. Crossed Wands had become more popular since MC joined, but them now being combined with the unrelenting storm that is Poppy Sweeting, the spectators make so much noise it's hard to believe the club is secret anymore.

LEANDER PREWETT: He thought he understood defeat before he went up against MC and Poppy. He was mistaken. He was part of the first wave against the pair and they wiped the floor with him. He'll congratulate them on their victory, but they need to teach him that Flipendo/Depulso combo.

AMIT THAKKAR: He's never seen such quick wand work. Spells were flying back and forth like angry meteors, he felt the need to duck more than once just being a spectator. He's on the edge of his seat the whole match, watching from in between his fingers.

EVERETT CLOPTON: He examines every move, every spell, every, glance Poppy and MC give each other. It's like they're reading each other's minds. It's its own kind of magic. He's impressed with the teamwork and wishes he had a partner like that.

POPPY SWEETING: She's never let anything make her feel small, but dueling with MC makes her feel ten feet tall. The rush of a well timed combo or narrowly dodging a spell gives her an adrenaline high she's rarely felt. She'd be hard pressed not to fall in love. If MC catches her before she falls, she's done for.

[knightofthenewrepublic]

Percy would have worked with Octavian, but the Augur never gave him a chance

(or Why Octavian's actions weren’t justified)

As people spend more and more time critically examining the Riordanvese (often to a fault, it must be said) one of the most common revisionist arguments is to try and absolve the mortal villains of the consequences of their action; usually by exaggerating their motivations. That includes the argument that Octavian was so quick to war partially because he was treated poorly by the Greeks. Particularly by Percy Jackson. 

But does that actually hold up?

People will argue that Octavian was not evil, because attacking Camp Halfblood was justified from his perspective; he thought they had broken a truce with New Rome and attacked it. And that would be a fair argument, IF that was the only bad thing Octavian had done, or even the worst thing. It wasn’t. And Octavian had begun trying to trigger conflict well before that. Percy, on the other hand, did his best to prevent it.

The first scene where Percy meets Octavian, is also the first time we see his sinister side. And that is of course when he tries to blackmail Hazel into supporting him for Praetor.

Now there is an aspect of the context of this scene that I think a lot of people overlook; their ages. Octavian is 18, or near enough, and Hazel is 13. This is a guy old enough to vote, (the only one of them who isn’t a child soldier) blackmailing a girl too young to get a learner’s permit. Just before this, Percy says Octavian reminds him of someone; which is obviously a reference to Luke Castellan. This type of nearly grooming behavior would have really reinforced that impression; which explains Percy’s hostile reaction to it.

Percy slipped his hand into his pocket, and grabbed his pen. This guy was blackmailing Hazel. That was obvious. One sign from Hazel, and Percy was ready to bust out Riptide and see how Octavian liked being at the end of a blade.

But Percy keeps these urges internal. He doesn’t voice his anger, and doesn’t give any visible reaction. The other two keep talking like he’s not there. This is a pretty good demonstration of Percy’s hard won self control; on his first day at Camp Half-Blood he doused Clarisse with toilet water for less, without even meaning to.

The next interaction he has with Octavian isn’t much better.

“Recruit,” he [Octavian] asked, “do you have any credentials? Letters of reference?” Percy shifted. “Letters? Um, no.” Octavian wrinkled his nose. Unfair! Hazel wanted to shout. Percy had carried a goddess into camp. What better recommendation could you want? But Octavian’s family had been sending kids to camp for over a century. He loved reminding recruits that they were less important than he was.  “No letters,” Octavian said regretfully. “Will any legionnaires stand for him?”

Now just asking this question is obviously standard practice, so Octavian isn’t wrong for that. It’s his condescending reaction that is the unsubtle putdown.

But then things come to a head very quickly, when that night’s game of capture the flag ends in a visit from the god Mars, and the command he delivers; a quest to retrieve the legion Eagle, and free Death.

Now what’s really important here is that, while people often think of Leo attacking Camp Jupiter as the point where Octavian turned against the heroes, THIS is the actual point. THIS is where he goes from being a nuisance to being an antagonist.

It starts in the Senate meeting the next day, when Percy tries to make sense of the situation:

“This Giant, the son of Gaea--he’s the one who defeated your forces thirty years ago. I’m sure of it. Now he’s sitting up there in Alaska with a chained death god, and all your old equipment. He's mustering his armies and sending them south to attack this camp.”

Percy is just repeating what Mars literally told them the night before. Octavian’s reasonable reaction to this is:

“Really?” Octavian said. “You seem to know a lot about our enemy’s plans, Percy Jackson.”

Him, and everyone else who was conscious at the end of the war games.

In spite of being almost outright accused of treason, Percy still keeps his cool. This shows a lot of growth on his part, compared to where he was in the second book of the previous series:

This was so completely unfair, I told Tantalus to go chase a donut, which didn’t help his mood.

After a bit more discussion, Octavian makes his move. First he gets in another insult. 

“Mars has clearly chosen the least likely candidates for this quest. Perhaps it is because he considers them the most expendable.”

And then he argues that the senate should not give any of the support that would normally be given to a quest. The odds of them succeeding are already so low; better to use their resources to protect the camp.

It’s pretty easy for us, the readers, to overlook what a dick move this really is. Of course WE know that the heroes are going to come back alive; but in universe, there is nothing to guarantee that. Even a small magical trinket could be the difference between life and death. And Octavian is trying to deny them that.

This could be understandable, if there was any sincerity to it. A sad but necessary sacrifice for the greater good, to protect the camp. But after arguing that all their resources have to be saved for the battle, Octavian proceeds to do nothing with them. When the giant’s army arrives, the legion simply marches out and fights them with conventional ranks and swords. Aside from a few roman scorpions (large crossbows), no specialized weapons are brought out, no magical items are used, they didn’t even build a wall or a trench. So there was no real reason not to give them anything; even if he sincerely believed the quest was doomed, that was all the more reason to help. The right magical tool might have at least given them the chance to get back alive. Depriving the questers served no purpose other than to make them fail.

You can also see this, in the fact that all Octavian’s stated reasons don’t actually win over the senate. 

The senators’ eyes moved back and forth between Octavian and Reyna, watching the test of wills. Reyna straightened in her chair. “Very well,” she said tightly. We shall put it to a vote.”

No one gives their support to Octavian before this. The senators are waiting to follow the person they see as more powerful, not the argument that was more convincing.

As for motivations, there is only one that Octavian could have; with the election just days away, he wants to prevent a rival for the praetorship.

Is the fulfillment of an epic quest a silly basis for entrusting someone with supreme executive power? Yes, in the real world, it is. But demigods don’t live in the real world; and in their world, everything revolves around quests. Quests drive every important event in the series, and are the ultimate standard by which the skill and power of a demigod are demonstrated. As Annabeth puts it in TLT:

“At camp you train and train. And that’s all cool and everything, but the real world is where the monsters are. That’s where you learn whether you’re any good or not.”

If Percy returns from a land that wiped out half a legion of demigods, with the long lost legion Eagle, the mob that is Rome will raise him up on the fanciest shield they can find. And Octavian isn’t the only one who has put that together. The very next chapter sees Reyna tell Percy that he could stand for praetor if he succeeds; and we are reminded several times that Octavian is far more politically savvy than she is. If she’s put it together, you can bet that he has.

But going back to the senate meeting itself; we see another example of Percy choosing not to start a conflict with Octavian, even when he seems to be trying to get him killed. Instead, he focuses on the important issues:

Frank jumped to his feet. Before he could start a fight, Percy said, “Fine! No problem. but at least give us transportation.”

Percy is more concerned about succeeding in saving the camp than satisfying any grudges. Octavian is more interested in how many insults he can fit into one meeting.

“A boat!” Octavian turned to the senators. “The son of Neptune wants a boat. Sea travel has never been the Roman way, but he isn’t much of a Roman!”

(The insult proves to be quite a hypocritical one in BOO, when Octavian has boats built to surround Camp Half-Blood.)

Octavian’s next attempt to start a conflict with Percy is slightly more subtle.

They were only halfway across the forum when someone called, “Jackson!” Percy turned and saw Octavian jogging toward them.  “What do you want ?” Percy asked. Octavian smiled. “Already decided I’m your enemy? That’s a rash choice Percy. I’m a loyal Roman.” Frank snarled. “You backstabbing, slimy–” Both Percy and Hazel had to restrain him.

Why is Octavian talking about being enemies? It doesn’t say Percy asked angrily, or Percy growled, or Percy glared at him. It’s a very dramatic reaction.

And Percy has done nothing to suggest that he wants to be Octavian’s enemy. Sure he has grown to dislike the augur, as most people would with someone who insults them and blackmails children:

Nico put his finger to his lips. Suddenly all the lares went silent. Some looked alarmed, like their mouths had been glued together. Percy wished he had that power over certain living people . . . like Octavian, for instance.

But he’s been keeping those critical thoughts to himself. He even avoided arguing in the senate meeting so as not to escalate things. The worst thing he’s done was knocking Octavian out during capture-the-flag which was both a perfectly fair move and a good strategy. Hardly something to base a feud on.

Most likely, this is a freudian slip on Octavian’s part. He’s already started to see Percy as an enemy, for no other reason than he might be a rival. That, or it’s an attempt at gaslighting Percy into thinking he somehow provoked Octavian into trying to get him killed. In any case, the augur hardly seems unhappy to see him, and the two legionnaires at his side, go off to their deaths.

Octavian smiled wickedly. “The last person she [Reyna] had a private talk with was Jason Grace. And that was the last time I ever saw him. Good luck and goodbye, Percy Jackson.”

If he’s happy to see them go, he’s certainly not happy when they come back alive. 

The look on Octavian’s face was priceless. the centurion stared at Percy with shock, then outrage. Then, when his own troops started to cheer, he had no choice except to join the shouting: “Rome! Rome!”

Not the appropriate reaction when Percy is saving the city, not to mention Octavian’s own life. The auger doesn’t have a single kind word to say.

The Roman symbols burned into Percy’s arm: a trident, SPQR, and a single stripe. It felt like someone was pressing a hot iron into his skin, but Percy managed not to scream. Octavian embraced him and whispered, “I hope it hurt.”

Just before this, Octavian kills a teddy bear and reads the future from it, announcing:

good omens for the coming year–Fortuna would bless them!

It has been suggested that Octavian actually had a very different vision at this moment; that he saw the Argo II opening fire on New Rome, and kept that to himself, but turned against Percy and the other Greeks because of that. This doesn’t seem likely. It would serve his purposes better to share that information; and he would have seen that vision in front of hundreds of demigods hardwired to notice small details, none of whom notice him having any visible reaction to it. Besides which, this can’t be the point when he turns on Percy, since he’s already been trying to sabotage him for most of the book.

Now if there is some big conflict between Percy and Octavian, this is the time for Percy to win it decisively. To use his new power and authority to put the auger in his place.

But Percy doesn’t do that.

“Why should we trust these Greeks?” Octavian was saying. He’d been pacing the senate floor for five minutes, going on and on, trying to counter what Percy had told them about Juno’s plan and the Prophecy of Seven.

Rather than simply steamroll over the discussion, and try to use his authority to silence any opposition, Percy allows Octavian a reasonable amount of time to air his concerns, before finally stepping in with his counter argument.

When Percy lays out the details of why they must join the Greeks, Octavian never comes up with a logical counter argument. Instead, when a messenger reports the Argo II has been spotted, he resorts to paranoid rambling.

“Praetors!” The messenger cried. “What are your orders?” Octavian [who is not a praetor] shot to his feet. “You have to ask?” His face was red with rage. He was strangling his teddy bear. “The omens are horrible! This is a trick, a deception. Beware Greeks bearing gifts!” He jabbed a finger at Percy. “His friends are attacking in a warship. He has led them here. We must attack!”

Yesterday when he last read the entrails, Octavian said the omens were good. Now, they’re suddenly horrible. That pretty well justifies Percy’s growing disregard for Octavian’s auguries.

Not only that; he is accusing Percy of treachery, while at the same time suggesting they attack a ship that can be seen bearing a white flag.

And this is before a single shot has been fired on New Rome. That false-flag attack by Gaea can not be the inciting incident for Octavian’s hostility to the Greeks. Not if what he wanted to do before it happened is the same as what he wanted to do after it happened. The attack is just what incentives the rest of the camp to support him.

The last interaction between Percy and Octavian is pretty much the first two chapters of MOA, where Octavian does his best to offend the Greeks.

“You’re letting these intruders into the camp!”

When Reyna orders Octavian to go make a sacrifice to the gods, Percy adds:

“Good idea. Go burn your bears Octavian.”

An insulting way to put it; but no more so than calling the Greek ambassadors (including a Roman praetor and Percy’s own girlfriend) “intruders.” And no more harsh than the insults Octavian has used for legionnaires below himself, like Frank and Hazel. And Percy has been given enough reason not to trust Octavian’s auguries any more than he trusts him.

The last exchange between them is about the praetorship:

Octavian snorted. “Which means we have three praetors! The rules clearly state we can only have two! “On the bright side,” Percy said, “both Jason and I outrank you, Octavian. So we can both tell you to shut up.” Octavian turned as purple as a Roman T-shirt. Jason gave Percy a fist bump.

I can only imagine how long Jason has been waiting for someone to say that to Octavian. It has been suggested this is an abuse of power on Percy’s part, but there is no reason to think so. They are surrounded by the senior officers of the legion, some of whom will be on Octavian's side, and no one raises an objection. And it's not like Octavian actually treats it like an order.

“I’ll step aside for Jason,” Percy said easily. “It’s no biggie.” “No biggie?” Octavian choked. “The praetorship of Rome is no biggie?”

No need to go into detail about how the rest of the series goes. Gaea triggers a war between the Greeks and Romans, and Octavian walks right into it. There is no reason to think he was working for her; but he was plainly looking for an excuse to start hostilities.

[theerurishipper]

Coming back to one of the points I've made earlier but never really elaborated upon, what does it do for Adrien's arc to have everyone lie to him?

Adrien's arc is about finding his self-worth and his independence and learning how to be loved unconditionally. Gabriel is controlling and abusive and only gives Adrien a second's worth of attention if Adrien caters to his every whim. And so, you'd think that part of Adrien's arc is learning that people will love him for who he is without him having to bend to their desires, and that he has the right to make decisions for himself. But this new development as of the Season 5 finale is that, no, Adrien's loved ones actually don't want him to make his own choices. In fact, they would rather support and emulate his abusive father's controlling actions and deny Adrien his agency and his ability to make informed choices about his own life. They would rather dictate how he should feel and would rather decide what's best for him rather than giving him the choice to do so himself. This comes with its large set of very much unfortunate implications.

Under the cut because this is long.

This is a problem that started with Season 4, with the introduction of Ladybug's Gabriel-esque behavior towards Chat Noir, and the subsequent lack of proper resolution. In fact, the resolution was that Chat Noir was asking too much of Ladybug, and that what needed to be done to resolve this conflict of Ladybug keeping important secrets from Chat Noir and replacing him with other holders... was for Chat Noir to suck it up and continue supporting Ladybug. It was for him to put aside his legitimate concerns with her actions and to accept that he would never be treated the way he wants to be. It was for him to push down his own feelings and come to stay by her side even though she had not treated him well, and even though she never actually fixed her mistakes.

What is the importance of his relationship with Ladybug? For the first 3 seasons, at least, it was the escape from his abusive home life that Adrien needed, to someone who would accept him unconditionally. But Season 4 introduced the infamous Ladynoir conflict that permanently altered their dynamic. I've talked about how the Season 4 finale only served to reinforce the inequality between them. It begins with Ladybug keeping secrets from Chat Noir and pulling away from him, and it ends by him simply forgiving her because he is used to downplaying his own needs. And I don't feel the desire to rehash all that, but it does beg the question: What is the takeaway from the Ladynoir conflict? Is it that he should bend himself over to be what she needs, but she doesn't need to return the same support? Is it that Ladybug is the Flawless Leader™, and he should learn his place? Because that's the impression it gives.

Now, I've talked before about how Gabriel's abuse has caused Adrien to believe love is conditional and has to be earned by him pleasing the other person and doing whatever they expect of him. And the importance of his Chat Noir persona being more expressive and "imperfect" is that this is the only time he can let loose and have fun, free of the expectations of others. And Season 4 has him return to his trauma responses around Ladybug, the person who is narratively supposed to be the one person who accepts his imperfections and doesn't place any expectations on him. Now, Chat Noir being traumatized is not Ladybug's fault, of course, and if he is fawning over her, certainly it is not her fault. But the narrative frames this as beneficial to her. Ladybug likes when Chat Noir fawns over her as Catwalker. Over and over in the story, she takes advantage of his forgiveness and trust, and never examines herself or her actions, and never tries to fix her mistakes because he always ends up forgiving her due to his belief that his feelings don't matter. Ladybug meets Catwalker, which is literally just Adrien fawning and trying to be whatever he needs to be to please her, and she instantly falls for him.

And in a narrative sense... this is detrimental to the concept of the Love Square, because it reinforces the narrative that Ladybug will never fall in love with Chat Noir, because what she wants is the perfect image, the flawless partner. The rose-tinted glasses she sees Adrien with are not being removed, rather she is putting on a fresh, darker shade. And it doesn't say good things about their development that she falls for the perfect act almost immediately upon meeting him, the moment he swears that he'll take care of her. And I won't go into too much detail since I've covered it in my other posts, but the point is that Marinette only ever seems to fall for boys who don't inconvenience her with their emotions, and instead take care of her needs without expecting anything, and this makes it seem like she is benefitting from Adrien's trauma. And Marinette is never allowed to return the support she gets from Chat Noir in any meaningful way, and it is framed by the narrative as right and wonderful that Adrien is so nice as to put his feelings aside and support her over and over again despite her repeatedly making the same mistakes and hurting him. His trauma response is framed as a good thing because it benefits Marinette.

Season 4 was about Marinette deliberately keeping secrets from her partner, dictating his actions and outright lying to him and taking advantage of his trust at times. Decidedly Gabe-like behavior, even though it was way more toned down and way less malicious (I won't go too far with that comparison, but still). And Season 5 ends up adding more salt to the wound, by having Marinette straight out lie to Adrien about his father, dictating his perceptions and controlling his thoughts and feelings, just like Gabriel would have liked. And in fact, Gabriel asked her to do this to the son she knows he abused, and she sides with him. And it's not just Marinette. The list of people who have denied Adrien honesty just goes on and on. Gabriel, Emilie, Nathalie, Amelie, Felix, Kagami, Master Fu, Luka, Plagg, Tikki, Marinette, Alya, Su-Han... they are all, as those who knew truths about different situations, people who chose to lie to and hide information from Adrien that he was entitled to. And with the exception of Luka and Master Fu, all of these people are complicit in siding with Gabriel and denying Adrien the most important secret of all, the truth of his very existence.

Which raises the question: if Adrien's arc was supposedly about breaking free from a controlling life and finding those who didn't do that to him, then why is it that everyone around him appears to agree with Gabriel? Why does the person who, in the narrative, is supposed to be the opposite of Gabriel and the saving grace for Adrien, parallel him so much in both actions and backstory? Does that not cheapen Adrien's arc? What does that imply for him? That he can never escape the fate of being controlled? That being controlling over a person's agency is fine and dandy if done for the right reasons?

Let's take a look back over Adrien's arc. Adrien's first scene is him rebelling against Gabriel, and we see him come closer and closer to the realization that Gabriel is abusive and cruel. We see Adrien make friends like Nino and Ladybug. We see the trajectory that his arc is going in, one of him learning to reject his father and assert his self-worth and his own identity in the face of the man who has controlled him his whole life.

And yet, there are still some glaring problems that become more apparent as the story progresses, and they come to a head in Seasons 4 and 5. It's shown in scenes like in the episode Felix, where we see that despite everyone getting together to do something nice for Adrien, the moment he acts out of character, their first instinct is to admit that they don't know him very well at all. Almost all the interactions he has with his supposed best friend and his other friends are about setting him up with Marinette. Adrien only matters to them in his role as Marinette's future boyfriend. And this is not addressed by the narrative as something that should be fixed or resolved, or that it is even a problem in the first place.

Adrien's feelings are repeatedly denied in this show. From him having to simply forgive and forget how Ladybug hurt him, to him being repeatedly taken advantage of by Felix without the narrative letting him be upset over it, to his instant forgiveness of Gabriel, the narrative will not let Adrien feel anything negative towards the characters that the narrative actually cares about so as to not inconvenience them. His only purpose is to prop them up and bend to their needs, and anything he might realistically feel against them is invalidated and forgotten because it would go against his role of being their motivation/prop/plot device.

We also see a problem with narrative focus for him. Adrien is not the protagonist of the show, and my criticism is not that he does not get as much screentime as Marinette. The issue is that even the dedicated screentime he does get outside of being shipped with Marinette and being a part of the battle of the episode, the screentime that should be used to develop his character is often cut into by the writers' desperate need to shove Marinette into every single plot and have her be the focus of every episode. Episodes that should have focused on Adrien's loneliness like Puppeteer 2, or episodes dedicated to Adrien's friendships with others like Party Crasher, or even episodes like Gabriel Agreste which should have focused on the Agreste drama, are ultimately about Marinette trying to confess her feelings for Adrien. But this really shows itself in Chat Blanc, where the main plot of the episode is one where Gabriel's abuse of Adrien is ramped up to the max, and one where Adrien undergoes unimaginable and incomprehensible trauma, and the only thing that truly matters about it is... how it affects Marinette.

And as I said, Season 4 takes this to a new level. Ladybug, the one supposed to be Adrien's escape from his civilian life, is also someone who he fawns around. And that inherently is not a bad thing to depict, because it is not Ladybug's fault that Chat Noir is traumatized, and it is realistic that this happens. What is a problem though, is the way the narrative never paints this as a trauma response. Chat Noir pushing aside his feelings and supporting her as she repeatedly hurts him over and over is treated as good and nice of him, without her having to examine herself or realize she's treating him badly. And in the end, he accepts that he'll never be treated like he wants to and comes back to support her in her hour of need, and simply shoves his feelings away, never to complain about them again. I mentioned that Ladybug benefits from Chat Noir's civilian abuse, and this is how. Chat Noir is allowed to be traumatized, but only as long as it doesn't affect Marinette. Then, his trauma response is not only beneficial, but also the romantic and right thing to do. And, as Kuro Neko said, the answer to the issue of Ladybug keeping secrets and making mistakes is for Chat Noir to stop being so sensitive and just push his feelings away to support her. Chat Noir's trauma does not matter.

And Season 5 only doubles down on this. Adrien's rebellion against his father only matters now because the end goal is for him to date Marinette. The issue of him being a Sentimonster only matters because now it's getting in the way of him dating Marinette. But it could have been fine. Development is development, and the scene where Adrien finally confronts his abuser and asserts his right to be an individual and have autonomy over himself will still be an empowering moment that shows him breaking free of abuse-

He is not in the final battle.

Instead, Marinette is the one to face Adrien's abusive father, by merging Adrien's Miraculous with hers, by facing him off in Adrien's home. Marinette is the one who stands up to Gabriel and faces him. Marinette is the one who completes Adrien's arc for him. It was never about Adrien facing off against his father. It was all a set up for Marinette to do it.

As we all know, Thomas Astruc has gone on record on Twitter to say that Chat Blanc was the reason that Adrien could not participate in the final battle. Chat Blanc, which happened in Season 3, two seasons before Adrien rebelled to this extent against his father, before he underwent that little thing in writing called character development. In Season 4, we watched Ephemeral which more or less rehashed the same points as Chat Blanc, and in Season 5, we watched Representation, where Adrien's final interaction with his father was to be sprayed with nightmare gas and be unable to fight in the final battle (even though Bug Noire managed whilst also suffering from nightmares). We saw these ridiculous excuses be used to contrive a reason for why Adrien could not participate in his own arc, in his own story, even though they could have been easily resolved.

Throughout Season 5, we see the parallels being built up between Marinette and Gabriel, about how they both came from the same situations, and how alike they are in that regard. Previous parallels established between them that the show does not acknowledge as much as it should are their controlling streak (though Marinette is nowhere near as bad as Gabe) and them being willing to do anything for the people they love ("love" being questionable in Gabe's case). Marinette is the one who hears the truth of the Agreste family. In the Season 5 finale, Marinette and Gabriel are the ones that face off against each other. Adrienette was rushed up to come to full fruition in Season 5 despite it hampering the development of the Love Square, all in an attempt to connect Marinette to the Agreste plot. Therefore, Adrien was only ever a plot device so that Marinette could have a stake in the Agreste plot. He is there to connect Marinette and Gabriel and give them something to fight over. Their fight is about him and what is best for him, but he has no agency in it despite it being about him. He only exists as the prize for the winner.

I've talked about this before, but the jist of it is that Adrien was never meant to have an arc about breaking free of abuse. He was never meant to confront his father. Adrien's story only mattered so that Marinette could use it in her speech to talk Gabe down. Adrien's feelings only mattered as far as they affected Marinette herself. He was just meant to be there to further her development. His main contribution to the arc with his last name was to give up his agency and step aside for Marinette, and this is what his role has been throughout the show. All his character was meant to do was be the damsel in distress who she could receive as her trophy once she defeated the big bad villain.

Everything Adrien's character was meant to do was to be Ladybug's prop to offer he support when she needed it, to offer her a connection to the main plotline, and to be her prize after she won. His feelings, his emotions, his trauma... they all only mattered in the context of what they meant for Ladybug. If they inconvenienced her, they were unimportant. If they benefitted her, they were good. He took the blame for her mistakes so that she didn't have to be held accountable, he forgave her so that she didn't have to work to fix her mistakes, and he continued to support her when she didn't really return the favor. Because that is Adrien's role, to be Marinette's emotional support partner who conveniently comes pre-abused and ready to downplay his feelings and emotions to cater to hers while not asking or expecting anything of her. He only exists to take care of Marinette's needs, not as his own character.

And this writing of Adrien's trauma as secondary to Marinette's convenience is a really awful way to write an abuse victim. Not allowing him to prioritize his own feelings and portraying it as a good thing when he fawns over Ladybug is a really awful and bad way to portray his trauma stemming from his abuse. But good thing the fact that he is a victim of abuse is respected at least with regards to his relationship with his abuser, right?

Right?

It's been discussed before how Gabriel's actions are downplayed and minimized in order to afford him maximum sympathy, to portray him as just a misguided and lost soul, instead of as a terrorist and abuser (credit to @erisluna35 for their great post on the matter). The show denies Adrien an opportunity to confront the man, and instead, the good ending is that his victim forgives him. One way the show downplays Gabriel's abusiveness towards Adrien is by having Marinette want to work with him to find a solution for Adrien, implying that his only crime was to not think of Adrien's well-being, and that the only intentions he had for Adrien were correct, fatherly ones that he just lost sight of, and that if he had paid attention to Adrien, he would have been an excellent and loving father, instead of it being that he actively mistreated his son and therefore should not be trusted or allowed to make any sort of decision regarding Adrien's future. He was always "just a man who loves his family" deep down, and he always had only good intentions and a pure heart, and he simply forgot about what he had in pursuit of an ideal family for that son, instead of it being that he was an abusive, controlling person who whittled down his son's self-worth and treated him like a possession, like property, like a doll that was made to cater to his wishes, and that he only ever wanted his wife back for himself and not for his son.

And this just suggests to me that Gabriel's actions... are not meant to be read as abusive. His only crime was paying attention to the Miraculous over his son. Not the gaslighting, the manipulation, the lifelong isolation, the controlling, the physical violence in some realities, the fucking sensory deprivation chambers... those were all not abuse, I guess.

This is confirmed by the fact that Marinette and everyone else lying to Adrien about his existence because Gabriel asked them to do so is framed as a good thing and as proof of Marinette's love for Adrien or something. They are quite explicitly doing what he says, literally following his wishes on how to treat his son. And yet, their actions are not framed as toxic and controlling as they should be, but as selfless and kind towards poor Adrien who won't be able to handle the truth because he's too emotional and weak. Despite this being classic Gabe rhetoric, this is supposed to be seen as sweet and heartwarming and touching, that Marinette is oh so selfless to deny Adrien the information he is entitled to know and to make that choice for him. This tells us that the writers don't really see how Gabriel treated Adrien as... wrong. They don't see his actions are wrong, because when Marinette does it, it's fine! The issue, then, isn't that Gabriel is an abuser who denies his son his autonomy, it's that Gabriel did all these things for the wrong reasons, and Marinette is doing them for the right reasons.

Indeed, the parallelisms, whether intentional or not, between Marinette and Gabriel only serve to further downplay the magnitude of Gabriel's abuse of his son. The problem wasn't that these things are wrong and awful, it's that Gabriel did them because he was Evil and Marinette is doing them because she's Good, and when you're Good, it's okay to gaslight your boyfriend into loving his abuser. There's nothing inherently wrong or abusive about anything Gabriel did. The issue, in fact, is not that he did these things, but his reasonings for them. While it's okay if Marinette denies Adrien the right to be informed of his own life because she feels he is too emotional to be able to make his own choices, because she is Pure and Good and she Loves Him So Much.

And for another example, consider how Emilie Agreste is framed as a perfect and loving and wonderful mother, even though she allowed Adrien to be isolated his whole life and is also heavily implied to have been using the mind control rings on him, since there are two of them. This kinda shows that the writers don't really think mind controlling is abuse or even wrong. It's just wrong because Gabriel is Evil, but Emilie is Pure and Good and therefore allowed to abuse her child this way.

But I don't think the writers were malicious about this. Despite his questionable tweets, I don't think Thomas Astruc doesn't care about abuse. I don't think the writers were deliberately trying to infantilize the abuse victim in the story. I just feel like they don't understand that what they portrayed is abuse. And yet, it comes off as them invalidating the trauma Adrien suffered, but I don't think that would be intentional. The explanation I have for this, therefore, is that Adrien is not supposed to have trauma. Adrien is not supposed to be read as a victim of abuse.

I've mentioned the Marinette-Gabriel parallels, but let me add one more. Adrien is the plot device that furthers Marinette's character, but he also fulfills the same role for Gabriel.

Throughout Season 5, we see Adrien rebel against his father more and more, and it was expected that this would culminate in a final confrontation where Adrien would confront his abuser in his entirety. But Adrien was not a part of this final confrontation, so the arc wasn't about him, and it stands to reason that it must have been for some other character. We see that it is for Marinette, since she was the one who fulfilled what should have been his arc and got the moment that should have been Adrien's. But who was on the other side of this confrontation? Who was the one the speech was directed towards? Who did Adrien connect Marinette to?

It is Gabriel.

Adrien's callout of his father does not matter for furthering his character, but for furthering Gabriel's character. His calling out of Gabriel is less a way for him to finally realize that his father's treatment of him is cruel, and more of a way for Gabe to be seen a tragic, fallen villain. Adrien's callout of his father is not about him, it's about Gabriel and how he feels about it. The finale deals not with Adrien's feelings about being failed by his father, but how Gabriel feels about having failed him. Adrien's increasing rejection of his father is not used to finish the arc he should have had, but it is used in Gabriel's instead. And Gabriel's redemption comes from him being praised by his victim, who aspires to be like him. Adrien was only ever there to progress Gabriel's arc, not the other way around. Adrien had no real agency in the matter, and Gabriel's increasingly cruel treatment of him was only ever there to highlight how far he himself had fallen and was never really about Adrien realizing the truth about him.

And once Gabriel makes the choice to "change," he is rewarded with the forgiveness and love of his victim, who is there to conveniently express to the viewer how we should feel about him. Adrien is there to call out Gabriel when Gabriel is being Bad and Evil and is there to then inform the viewers that Gabriel is Good now by forgiving him and forgetting all his mistakes. Because Adrien forgave Gabriel and isn't Gabriel so wonderful now that he's made up for his mistakes and his victim has forgiven him and even looks up to him?

The main highlight of Gabriel's supposed redemption is the forgiveness of his victim, further highlighting the point that Adrien only existed as a character to push Gabriel's narrative, and not as a victim of abuse who is entitled to decide whether or not to forgive this man. Adrien did not forgive Gabriel because of a natural and believable development in his arc, he forgave him because he is ultimately a plot device to exposit about the current state of Gabriel's arc and to show the viewer what kind of a man Gabriel is, and Gabriel is good now, and so he must be validated through the forgiveness of his victim. Adrien is a prop in Gabriel's arc, who shows us the tragedy of Gabriel's fall and the future redemption of his "selfless sacrifice." His character that of "Gabriel's son," to take us through Gabriel's arc, and not a character of his own.

And since Adrien's ultimate end is to show that Gabriel is a good man after all, it also lends credence to the interpretation that, no, he is not traumatized after all. Nothing actually happened to Adrien himself, because he is only a plot device, not a character. He is there to let us know the tragedy of the man Gabriel. He is just there to let us know where Gabriel is in his arc. We see this in the way his development in just completely erased once Gabriel is "redeemed." His reactions don't make sense in the context of his arc, and it's OOC how he goes from calling out his father for who he is and then reverting back to worshipping him and forgetting all his flaws. But when you consider that the purpose of his character is less being his own character and more about highlighting and pushing forward Gabriel's arc, they make a lot more sense. His reactions don't make sense for the development that he has received throughout the season, but it makes sense if you consider that he is just a cog in Gabriel's story, and that his arc only matters as far as it affects Gabriel's arc. His struggles only matter as far as they affect Gabriel. Just like they only matter in the way they affect Marinette. Adrien doesn't get to learn anything, choose anything or even do anything if it is not about Marinette or Gabriel.

But to go back to the question at the beginning of the post, what purpose does it serve in Adrien's arc to have everyone he knows lie to him?

The answer is that Adrien does not have an arc.

Of course, it seems like he does. He does show some form of growth in calling out his father, so it would appear. But the arc of realizing his father is abusive, the arc of realizing that he deserves to make his own choices, that he deserves unconditional love... does not exist. He is only a plot device in the story, meant to be the motivation for the protagonist and the antagonist. Any arc or character complexity he has is largely accidental. His story about being a victim of abuse is unimportant and non-existent, and the show itself denies him agency and the ability to have any meaningful impact on the story outside of his role in the arcs of the main characters of the show. He has nothing of his own happening for him, he has nothing to do with his own life and family. All he matters for is to be the prop for Gabe's redemption and the prize for Marinette. His only role is to connect these two so that they can duke it out.

He has no autonomy, no agency, no nothing outside of being what Gabriel and Marinette need. We can scream until we're blue in the face about how Adrien feels the need to put on masks to please everyone and has been conditioned into believing his worth is based on pleasing others and that his emotions don't matter, and to be fair I will not stop making those analyses myself, but the fact remains that this is his narrative role. The narrative validates the abuser, both through the actions of the characters around Adrien and the framing of his arc. The characters around him don't treat him as a person as much as they treat him as Marinette's boyfriend, or as someone who doesn't get to make informed choices and should be kept in the dark because he is too emotional. The narrative treats him as a doll who must bend to the needs of the real characters with arcs and a story in the show, as a character who does not have agency and any value of his own beyond being what other characters need. His supposed development is only there to highlight Gabriel's fall. His own feelings and trauma are invalidated in favor of focusing on Marinette. Nothing he does is about him, it's about the main two characters in the show.

The show goes out of its way to remove him from the conflict. There are two episodes devoted to how he cannot ever find out about his father. He gets sprayed with nightmare gas. Fuck, even the only importance of him being a Sentimonster is to make sure that Adrien cannot find a way to break free of Gabriel's control and actually contribute to the plot. The Sentimonster plotline is mainly meant to make sure that there is no way that Adrien would be able to break free of Gabriel's control, hence he cannot take part in the final battle. Its very existence in the story boils down to being a convenient excuse for Adrien to not be a part of the finale. The only importance of the rings is ultimately so that Marinette can have a moment to slide it on his finger while ambiguously either giving him an order or not (I wouldn't be surprised if it was since the show doesn't seem to think mind control is wrong) to show that she's Good and Not Like Gabriel. The Sentimonster thing is textually a plot device to make characters unable to do anything because they physically can't. And it only serves to reduce Adrien into even more of an object, because he's now literally an object. The deeper ramifications of Adrien being a Sentimonster are never explored. It literally only exists to deprive Adrien of more agency so that Marinette can get into the spotlight. The only thing that matters about it is that it is now in the way of Adrienette, once more only focusing on how Adrien's issues affect Marinette.

Adrien is literally reduced to being a part of the magic slave race, because he cannot under any circumstance be a part of the finale and be the one to confront his abuser. And to a smaller extent, this is also the case for Felix and Kagami, two people who have a closer connection to the plotline beyond "fighting the guy who won't let me date my boyfriend." They are also Sentimonsters, and therefore have no choice but to rely on Marinette to save them and cannot fight alone even though Felix had no problem with that in the last season. The Sentimonster plotline is just an excuse to remove anyone with closer ties to Gabriel than his son's girlfriend from the conflict. Either they are working with Gabriel, or they are part of the slave race and cannot fight him, leaving only Marinette to do that for them. But like, at least Felix and Kagami got to make an informed choice about it without being lied to by everyone.

And this denial of abuse and the invalidating of Adrien's trauma leads to some pretty crazy abuse apologism for Gabe. And yes, reducing the impact of Gabriel's abuse, trying to pass him off as "just a man who loves his family," and denying the abuse that Adrien suffered throughout the show is in fact, abuse apologism. And the creators' insistence that Adrien was not emotionally mature enough to fight his father, being that this was the point of Chat Blanc all along apparently, also falls into this same trap of implying that abuse victims are not capable of making sound decisions and having autonomy over their own life, and isn't it so nice that Adrien is now Marinette's doll instead of being Gabriel's. It's victim blaming garbage, and it is frankly really gross. But in the narrative tells us what Gabriel has been telling us from day one about Adrien, that he is too emotional, that he must be protected, that he cannot make his own choices and his autonomy is better left in the hands of others, that his only purpose is to be a doll and a prop for the people around him. He only matters as far as he is useful to them.

And if you want to see the most damning example of Adrien being irrelevant outside his role as the motivation for the two people who actually drive what should be his story, look no further than Chat Noir.

Chat Noir is the only thing that indisputably belongs to Adrien. Chat Noir is him asserting his agency, his freedom, his choices. Chat Noir is his. And Chat Noir is not part of the finale. Not even in terms of physical presence. Chat Noir is an absolute non-entity in the finale. I'm not talking about Adrien; I mean Chat Noir. Chat Noir, who spent nine months fighting Monarch by Ladybug's side. Chat Noir, the owner of the Black Cat Miraculous. Chat Noir in Miraculous: Tales of Ladybug and Chat Noir, is missing in both body and mind from this final battle against his father. The one part of his life and the one part of the story where Adrien had any agency and autonomy of his own, was removed entirely from the finale. Chat Noir was reduced into nothing, to mean nothing. Because Ladybug only went there for Adrien and not to finish her and Chat Noir's fight.

Ladybug didn't fight Monarch in order to end their months-long crusade, she didn't acknowledge that Chat Noir was at least there with her in spirit, she didn't come to Monarch to put an end to the battle that they'd fought for so long with any intentions of at least wanting to carry his fight along with her to bring their enemy to an end, she wasn't there for both of them. She came there for Adrien. She came there to look for Adrien. And the symbol of Adrien's agency, Chat Noir's ring, was on her finger throughout her fight with his father over him. Chat Noir did not matter.

I'll say it again. Adrien had nothing. He was only a tool for Marinette and Gabriel. His role was to be passed on from Gabriel's clutches to Marinette's. And it paints a very bad picture that the one reduced to the role of the plot device is the abuse victim. And for anyone who doubts that Adrien is supposed to be Marinette's plot device, Thomas Astruc has helpfully made my point for me by tweeting that Adrien is Ken and Marinette is Barbie, and that we should just deal with it because it's not going to change. And I hope that this also makes it clear that we will not be dealing with the fact that Marinette is siding with her boyfriend's abuser and doing what he wants, because Marinette is always right, and Adrien doesn't get to have feelings that inconvenience her and only exists to prop her up.

The show makes it clear that he is just an object in the story from the way he's written as a damsel in distress who needs someone else to come save him, and this is taken even further by the fact that he is literally a puppet who can be mind controlled. It takes away Adrien's story of regaining autonomy and informs us that he was never supposed to have autonomy and never can, making it clear that he was never really supposed to have any arc of his own. He was never supposed to break out from his father. His end was to become Marinette's boyfriend and to worship Gabriel. Because that is how their arcs end, and their plot device must go along with it regardless of narrative implications or established characterization.

But that is Adrien's purpose in the show. For Marinette to beat the villain, and to receive his son as her prize for doing that. His abuse and trauma are secondary to Marinette's needs, and him being a victim of Gabriel's abuse is secondary to him being the vessel for Gabriel's redemption. He is only there to be a source of motivation for these two characters and to cater to their arcs. Marinette and Gabriel are the only ones who matter, who have agency in the story. Adrien is just a simple plot device to push their arcs, instead of having one himself. There is no arc for the abuse victim. He exists solely as an object, as property, as a damsel in distress, as a doll. There is no agency and autonomy for him in this story. And that is the unfortunate truth.

[dilfhouse]

Fresh Delivery |Negan S. X Fem!Reader | PT. ONE

Warnings: mentions of blood, explicit language, guns, kinks, cursing, negan being smug, mentions of iprisonment.

Story: Negan discovers a suspicious crate of fresh fruit. In order to keep anyone from dying Rick has to give up the secret about your farm. At first you can't stand Negan, but in the short time you've known him, he leaves a lasting sort of impression.

“Well." Negan drawls, turning his back to his men as they work to gather the last of the supplies. Every bullet, can of food, and hope snatched from the good people of Alexandria.

"Everything seems to be in order, Rick." He gives the officer a harsh pat on the shoulder, before he reached down to pry Lucille from his grasp. "You're band of heroes are doing a bang up job of gathering all this shit." He gestures to the items with the end of Lucille as Rick stood in silence giving Negan that famous ‘stink eye’, as he liked to call it. He was going to correct him for it, but as soon as he thought to chastise him one of the soldiers had a little slip up.

They had let one of the cases of fruit tip over. Fresh tomatoes, apples, and other delights tumble out onto the concrete. Leaving brusies behind on the skin as they thumped and rolled to a stop at the two men's feet. This said fruit was currently being looked over by Negan, who had not seen a single sign of a garden since taking over. His eyes narrowed and his grin returned. The air grows cold and tense as he bends down to pick up one of the apples. Rick’s whole body is frozen in place as Negan examines the fruit then slowly turns to face him.

“Rick?" The brunnette casts his gaze down before looking up at him. He holds up the ruined fruit, “Do you have any idea where these little delights came from?"

Surely the truth was just as dangerous as a lie. Either way someone would get hurt. Rick would only hope he'd just punish him by taking more supplies, but that wasn't how things worked. So a lie it was. “We found trees-“

“Bull-fucking-Shit.” He hisses, tossing the apple aside and pressing Lucille to his chest, tapping it ever so lightly, not even bothering to let Rick finish the lie. Negan wasn't dumb. He didn’t like it when people tried to make him look that way, sure he believed in a little fun but he got the shit done.

Apparently nobody learned anything from a few days ago, after he beat the crap out of two of the most important people in Rick’s original gang. Not a single thing. “Did you not learn your lesson the first time?” He snarls, hazel eyes narrowing dangerously as he eyes the dumbfounded expressions on Rick's face. Oh he caught him alright. “So, quit feeding me shit and tell me where the fucking fruit came from!”

Rich shakes his head a huffs in defeat. Sweat dripping from his brow as he locked eyes with Negan and gave in. “It’s a small farm.” He finally gives in. “She gives us fruit, in exchange for very little-"

“Oh, she?” His interest is piqued at the mention of a woman. “You let a little lady fend for herself, Rick. That’s cold!” He lets out a rolling chuckle, and smiles. It was odd that anyone would choose to be on their own versus living in a nice community. However, he knew that being on a farm was also a smart choice.

“Well lets go pay her a visit!” He waves his hand, and the other Saviors work quickly to pick up the fruit that fell. The other members stood in a small crowd watching their every move. Negan throws his hands up in the air. “We’ll give her the good ol’welcome wagon!” He hands off Lucille to Dwight, who lowers his weapon to take the bat. The leader turns and grabs Rick by the collar of his shirt, dragging him off like he was some dog towards one of the trucks, “Arat! We’ll be back. Keep an eye on the Brady bunch, will yah!”

It had been at least a week since Rick had come to see you. The Alexandrians had become close friends of yours after discovering your lovely little farm, which had been lucky enough to outlast the horrible world that surrounded the small walls of the land. Most farmers didn’t build walls like the ones you’d been graced with but it was necessary way before the biters walked the earth. From deer, to boars, and other such rodentia it prevented unnecessary destruction to the fresh garden and small patch of crops blessing your land. When Rick and his gang first came across the farm you were dry adamant about privacy, but grew to enjoy the company, and decided to pass on small crates of fresh foods on occasion since it was only you left standing to defend the farm.

However as you had been careful as to keep track of their visits, you’d notice it’s been a few days almost bordering on five since seeing Rick last. It was odd. Maybe they were busy with the herd. You knew that they had been planning for the worst, but you weren’t exactly sure. So you decided to make the decision to make the delivery yourself, you’d an abundance of fruit, veggies, and bread this season and you surely weren’t going to use it all before it was going to spoil.

As you gather the last of the fruit into one of the wooden crates, there was an unusual loud rumble from outside your gate. It sounded like a car, maybe two. Maybe it was Rick or maybe anyone from Alexandria, you drop the basket of tangerines and rush out to undo the wooden bar locking the metal gate in place. The walls were just high enough to provide coverage from the outside. So you missed the large truck and were in such a rush to make sure you’re friend was safe. So when the doors swung open to reveal Rick but not just him your face fell. He stood next to a much taller man stood behind him, his left arm hung around his broad shoulders. A large truck sat off to the side, one guy inside, and another tall, skinny, dirty blonde hair had a gun aimed on you and Rick.

The more animated one sported a huge grin and cocked his brow. "Ding-dong. Sorry I didnt ring the bell, darlin'."

You stood frozen watching between the two before you were able to say something, “Who?” You gasp, “What’s going on?” You are shocked by the situation. Had he turned on you?

“Listen, I’m so-”

“Ah, none of that Rick.” The older man speaks, swinging his right hand, handling the bat laced with barbwire up in his direction. You stumble back and he chuckles, “Dwight keep an eye on that will yah?” He shoves Rick towards the man he addressed, the guy in the truck sat unmoving watching. Rick shot this man a glare, but it was cut short by Dwight knocking him down on his knees. You lunged forward in order to help Rick, but your kept at bay by the quick movement of the stranger swinging out his bat towards your chest.

“Ah, not so fast darlin’. Rick deserved that one, he kept this little slice of heaven a secret then lied about it.” He was kind to inform you, “See Rick and his community are now under new management, but he still seems to forget the rules.” He chuckles, shoulders shrugging as he glanced back at Rick.

“Negan.” Rick hisses, “Leave her out of this. She’s on her own.” The bat at your chest lowers but does nothing to help steady the increasing beat of your heartbeat, the rise and fall of your chest comes in rapid movements.

“Ho-ly Shit!” Negan speaks out suddenly, “It’s just you out here?” He asks. As if he didn't figure that out back at the community.

You open your mouth to answer by are cut short by him once more, “Fancy livin’ you got there sweetheart. A little garden, some fresh crops, maybe a cow or two in the barn.” He tosses the weapon in his hands back and forth as he swaggers closer towards you. “So where is mama and pop-pop. I wanna meet the Mr. and the Missus."

With everything that happened in the moment, all of your adrenaline and confusion, you reached out and smacked him. Rick, despite his position, knew how Negan would react to such an action, and he wanted to help you, but the barrel that dug into his temple kept him still. "Not an inch." Dwight reminded him.

The man in the truck moved to aim his own weapon towards you. Negan holds him off with a wave of his hand. He chuckles, throaty and heartfelt, almost if he had enjoyed it.

“Day-yumn!” He nearly shouted, “You got quite a hand on yah, sweetheart.” He laughs as you clench your hands at your sides. He waits for a response or some kind of sass, but you say nothing. He leans down to be eye to eye, “Why don’t you give me a tour huh?” At this proximity you can smell the bitterness of beer and brisk scent of pine. When he didn’t get the reaction he wanted, he reached his gloved hand under your chin, finger digging into the flesh of your cheeks, “I said give me a fucking tour, princess. Don’t make me ask again.” He growled, your eyes trailing up his face.

Now you could really take in his features this close. The well trimmed peppered heart, perfect lips, hazel eyes you could lose yourself in. Sure he may have insulted your intelligence, but it felt good to have a man put you in your place. “Yes, Sir.” You reply without a beat. His lips pull into a smirk and he chuckles.

“See, Rick! We’re gettin’ along just peachy.” He finally releases your face and the dull ache in your jaw is only an afterthought as he kindly places a hand on your lower back and ushers you further towards the garden. “B-R-B.” He sings leaving his men to watch over Rick.

The gravel crunches beneath the weight of your steps as you and Negan approached the garden abundant with many fresh goodies. He swings his bat as he walks, "So what's your name, sweet cheeks?"

"Y/N, and that's all you're going to get out of me."

"Oh we'll see about that darlin'." Negan chimes in.

((So I had this all planned out and I think it'll do better in multiple parts. So keep checking back for more! Thank you for reading 📚))

[oliversrarebooks]

The Rare Bookseller Part 29: Oliver's Welcome

Masterlist

September 1925

TW: captivity, mind control

Oliver stood in Lord Alexander's foyer, trembling like a leaf, holding his box of worldly possessions. The only thing preventing him from keeling over entirely was Miss Lily's ingrained conditioning to not resist and to be a good thrall. Fainting would be neither of these. He wanted to make a good impression. He was getting dangerously lightheaded regardless.

"Okay, you look like you need to sit down. You've been through a lot," said Lord Alexander. Oliver was washed with relief that at least his new master was treating him with mercy as he was whisked through a door into a darkened room.

A gas lamp flickered to life, revealing a startlingly ordinary kitchen. It was spotless, as though it were hardly used. There was an icebox and a stove with a bright metal kettle, and a knife block and a basket of fruit on the counter. A couple of white linen towels were hanging near the double sink. Lord Alexander led him to a small round table with a few wooden chairs, and sat him down. 

Oliver felt as if he shouldn't be so surprised. Lord Alexander would have to have a kitchen, after all, to feed a human thrall such as himself. But when he entered a vampire's mansion, he hadn't expected a completely mundane kitchen to be the first thing he encountered past the foyer.

"Here. Drink." Lord Alexander set a tall glass of water in front of him and sat down himself. "Try and compose yourself, if you can. I realize this isn't the best situation for you, but I assure you I'm not going to harm you."

Oliver nodded weakly, grateful for any reassurance, as he gulped down water. The fear was still strong, but at least Lord Alexander wasn't being cruel to him. "Thank you very much, sir."

"No trouble," he said. "This kitchen is more or less yours. I expect you to prepare your own food and to clean up after yourself. I can and will procure any groceries you need and alter the milkman's delivery schedule to fit your tastes. I don't intend to otherwise concern myself with what you eat as long as you do it."

"Yes, sir," he said, the most relieved he'd been since arriving. The implications in what Lord Alexander was telling him weren't lost on him. If the kitchen was his, he likely wouldn't be chained up or confined to a single room. Having free reign over what he cooked and ate implied a certain amount of autonomy. If Lord Alexander intended to leave him to his own devices much of the time... he took a deep breath and relaxed, just a little.

He looked up, and Lord Alexander's eyes were examining him as though he were a specimen on a slide, and the strange mixture of nerves and rapture that he'd experienced at the auction house washed over him. He was in a vampire's house, at a vampire's mercy. He gulped more water.

"If you're feeling more composed, I could show you to your room next."

Oliver took a deep breath. "Yes, sir, I would like to see it." Based on the rest of the house so far, he knew intellectually that it was likely to be an ordinary bedroom, but his head still swam with the worst possibilities. A dank and filthy cell in the basement like in pulp horror novels, crawling with rats... He pushed it out of his mind, standing up and taking his box. He was being irrational.

Lord Alexander led him out of the kitchen and up the stairs, picking up a lamp in the foyer and carrying it with him. At the very least, Oliver thought, he wasn't being stashed in the basement. They walked down a short hallway with blue wallpaper in a suffocating floral pattern and arrived at a door.

The first impression Oliver had of the bedroom was that it was enormous. It contained the largest bed he'd ever seen, done up in fine linens with at least a dozen assorted pillows, and there was still more than ample room left over. There were bookshelves, these only partially filled, as well as an imposing oak wardrobe in the corner and a few sets of drawers. An overstuffed, comfortable looking leather chair sat in the corner, with a matching ottoman. Surprisingly, there was also a wide window, albeit with thick velvet curtains blocking his view.

"Well? Is this acceptable?"

Oliver couldn't say no even if he wanted to, couldn't penetrate the fog in his mind to beg to be returned back to his cozy tiny bedroom with his pile of knitted blankets and lumpy armchair and the half-finished book on his nightstand. But barring the possibility of going home, this was more than acceptable. "Yes, sir, very much so."

"There's basic clothes in the wardrobe and drawers, both suitable for going out and for staying in," Lord Alexander explained (and oh, he was going to be allowed out sometimes, thank goodness). "If you have any needs, anything at all -- clothing, entertainment, education, supplies for hobbies and artistic pursuits -- let me know and I'll procure them for you. Money is little object. We will be living together, and I do not wish for you to be bored or miserable."

Oliver set his box on top of one of the dressers, and sat down on the edge of the bed. It was pleasantly soft and inviting beneath him. "That's very generous, sir," he said, his head swimming, overwhelmed with conflicting feelings about his new situation.

If it had been awful, if he'd been confined to a dungeon or chained to a wall, that might have made it easier, in a perverse way. He'd have every incentive to resist. Being trapped in a gilded cage like this... it reminded him of how Miss Lily had conditioned him. It was easier, he supposed, to trap a mind with pleasure than with fear and pain. If his life here was tolerable, good, even...

Maybe he really was well suited to being a vampire's thrall.

He felt the slip in his mind, another barrier crumbling. He'd lose himself for sure, staying here.  He knew it in his bones, and yet, there was so little he could do about it. He couldn't exactly ask Lord Alexander to treat him worse.

He thought once more of the myth of the lotus eaters, and shuddered.

"While I hope that you'll generally keep your room neat, there is a housekeeper who visits several times a week. He'll also handle laundry." Alexander looked uncomfortable, as though discussing laundry logistics were a way to distract from the awkward atmosphere.

"Is the housekeeper also a thrall, sir?" Oliver asked, feeling a pang as he realized what he'd said. Also a thrall.

"No, he's a fledgling vampire who can use the money. You're the only thrall here."

"I see, sir," he said quietly, looking at his feet, then back up at Lord Alexander. "Then I'll be the only one providing -- I mean, that is to say -- "

"Your blood?"

The atmosphere shifted. Alexander was still standing nonchalantly in the bedroom door, but Oliver could feel his eyes growing more intense, his own thoughts clouding in response. "Yes, my blood, sir."

"Well, yes. I will be drinking your blood on a regular basis. Not tonight, as you need a chance to settle, but... soon, yes."

Cold fear warred with strange desire within Oliver. Now that it was almost upon him, he couldn't help but quail at the idea of fangs sliding into his neck, drinking from him. But the way Lord Alexander was looking at him with sharp eyes and talking to him in a low, soothing voice... like he could listen all day... listen and obey... provide him with anything he desired...

They were alone, all alone in a vast mansion. There was no one to stop Alexander from taking what he wanted. Oliver shuddered at the thought, and it wasn't completely from fear this time.

"Why me, sir?" he said, trying to collect his thoughts and snap out of it a bit. "Why did you warn me, but then ultimately buy me?" It was one of the questions that had been burning in his mind ever since the auction.

"I bought you because I couldn't stand any other vampire, especially a vampire I hated, getting their hands on you. You would have been tortured and then destroyed if Jameson purchased you. Almost anything is better than that." said Lord Alexander. The shift in conversation topics lessened the weight of his gaze upon Oliver. "And as for the warning... I'm sorry, but it wasn't as altruistic as you might be thinking. I'm not sure you would like the answer."

"I want to know, sir."

"...Because I wanted you myself, but I wasn't prepared to take you," Lord Alexander admitted. "And sending you through the auction house risked your mind being stolen, not to mention the risk that you'd be bought by someone else. I was hoping you wouldn't end up there, that you'd remain in your little bookshop until... circumstances permitted."

"You... wanted me...?" said Oliver. "Even before?"

"Yes."

Oliver thought of Lord Alexander in his shop, leaning over the counter and asking questions about rare and interesting books. The entire time, he'd been... "What makes me worth all of that?"

"Your blood. But not only that. It's... many of your qualities," he said. "It's not something I expect a human to fully understand. But suffice to say that I doubt I'll regret what I paid."

Oliver swallowed hard, hands twisting in the bedcovers. That didn't explain anything, really. Why? He'd gone his entire life without being especially wanted. Oh, it wasn't as though he were despised or abused, but he had never been anyone's first choice, with no close friends and no romantic prospects. And now, he was wanted for this of all things, qualities he couldn't even define, appealing only to vampires. 

And what circumstances did Lord Alexander speak of? What was he concealing?

"We should finish up the little tour. Come on," said Lord Alexander, disappearing from the doorway, Oliver following.

"This will be your personal bathroom. Again, if there are particular toiletries needed, just request them. It's no trouble." He pushed the door open to show Oliver, and this time he was not surprised it was extravagant and well kept. There was a large bathtub with a shower, a pile of thick towels, and a basket of fancy soaps and other products he didn't recognize.

"The rest of the second floor consists mainly of extra guest rooms and a few storerooms for books. There is a sitting room down the second hallway that you might enjoy," said Lord Alexander. "My chambers are on the third floor, and that is off limits to you at this time. Otherwise, you may occupy and use whatever parts of the house you wish."

"Thank you, sir." The forbidden third floor was the first real restriction Oliver had been given so far, but he was pleased that he was being allowed mostly free reign of the house. That produced a burning question, one he'd wanted to ask but had been nervous about asking. "Sir, ah, may I ask -- what about leaving the house? Not to escape, of course!" he hastily clarified. "Nothing like that, sir! To get fresh air or visit a shop, for instance."

Lord Alexander was examining him carefully. "Not without my permission, and you do not have my permission yet."

Oliver's brows furrowed at his tone, something in him rising up and attempting to assert itself before drowning back under the waves of no desire to resist, only obey.

"Do you have something to say?" asked Lord Alexander.

He swallowed it. "No, sir."

"None of that. You're not going to be punished for speaking your mind. Say what you're going to say."

Oliver looked up. Well, if he explicitly wasn't being disobedient... "Well, sir... don't you find this strange? I'm a grown man, you knew me, you patronized my bookshop for years, and now you're telling me I'm not allowed to even go outside?" He clamped down his mouth as soon as he said it, fearful, flinching away from Lord Alexander. 

Lord Alexander didn't seem the least bit perturbed. "Yes, I'm not surprised that's what you're thinking. I'm not upset at you for saying so," he said. "But you should understand that I've kept thralls for decades. You're not the first and you won't be the last. Yes, I believe in treating humans well. I even enjoy human company, to a certain extent. But I'm a vampire lord, you are my thrall, and it is my right to impose what restrictions I may.  Is that clear?"

He felt fear all over again. Lord Alexander might very well be more merciful than some of the other vampires who could have bought him, but he was still a vampire, and Oliver was still trapped. "Yes, sir. I understand."

Perhaps it was just his imagination, but there was something sad in Lord Alexander's eyes. 

"I do understand, you know. It must chafe to not be allowed outside. But there's already a target on my back, and there will be a target on yours as well, if there isn't already -- thanks to the very public showing I had to make at the auction house. I don't make rules solely to be cruel or tyrannical." He pushed his hand through his hair. "When I'm not awake, feel free to open the windows and doors to get fresh air and sunshine, at least."

"I will, sir," he said.

"I hope... I hope you can find some happiness here despite it all. It would be good to..." He swallowed hard and looked away. "Let's continue on."

Part 28 >> Masterlist >> Part 30

Extra: Fitz's Waking Nightmare

I very much enjoyed writing the descriptions of Alexander's mansion.

@d-cs @latenightcupsofcoffee @thecyrulik @dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night @wanderinggoblin @whumpyourdamnpears @only-shadows-dwell-where-we-are @pressedpenn @pigeonwhumps @amusedmuralist @snakebites-and-ink @xx-adam-xx @ivycloak @irregular-book @whumpsoda @mj-or-say10 @pokemaniacgemini @whumpshaped @whumpsday @morning-star-whump @shinyotachi @silly-scroimblo-skrunkl @steh-lar-uh-nuhs @pirefyrelight @theauthorintraining-blog @whump-me-all-night-long @anonfromcanada @typewrittenfangs

[thenightfolknetwork]

To the Announcer of The Nightfolk Network. I know in this day and age I should not give out personal information. Especially more so with these correspondence potentially being read to the country. But I feel I should clarify who I am first, as that is linked with my problem. I am, or I was, The Boy in Bronze. Yes, the statue that was in the Royal collection that was discovered to be a person in-cased in bronze as I was released accidentally. I still feel bad for the staff I frightened. As you know, I was sealed by my Mas- I mean, the late Lord Crawford. The inventor and scientist who, as I have learnt through recent education, has been remembered more in infamy. It has been an adjustment. One moment I was standing in the lab as Mas- I mean, Lord Crawford, explained about a work he was to present for Queen Victoria's wedding. The next I was on the ground in a bright place whilst people in unusual garbs were staring. Some holding up these... mirrors? I know they are called smartphones, but it was still confusing. Now, I was helped. Apparently I was not the first person, or entity, to be thrown through time. Though admittedly, my method of travel was unique, I was connected to my many great nephew and his partner? is that the right term? Back then they would have been bachelors. I guess that is some of the main issues I am having. Not with them, no no. Back during the era, the monsters. No, sorry. The Creature Community, wasn't that visible? I mean, people were aware of them, but I never knew them or the terms they have now. And back then, well... it was not a kind time. It was a surprise to learn the old village baker from back then was in the community as I ran into them whilst seeing the village nowadays, though it was nice getting to talk to someone who I knew back then. And I am surprised that after I was gone my family had changed to include Liminal Folks (Is that correct?) and they have been more than kind. My, I hate calling him and his partner nephews as they are older than me, I have taken to calling them uncles as they are older and referring to them as Mister feels... too formal. They have been kind and very forth coming with so much, even when I have made comments that apparently are not... correct, particularly with their Genera, that is the term right? An example would be I never knew there were werewolves who can change not only during the full moon, but even at will, Or that Giants are not blood driven animals only seeking food.

I am sorry. Everything has changed. And I rather like these changes. I just need to try and understand sometimes. Well this is my problem. I know that mas- I mean, Lord Crawford was a horrible man. Even by the standards of the time as he was executed following his grotesque experiments on many both in and out of the Liminal community. And I am not excusing that, far from it. The problem is, people speak to me about him, or how I should feel of him. But. It was different. I was his valet. Lord Crawford had sponsored me, giving my family payment as he had me clothed, educated, and served him. That was how it was back then. An example would be whilst studying for O-level examinations (And can I say how impressive it is that everyone has the access to education) there was mention on figures of the era, and people asked me about my experience living with Lord Crawford, or how as a member of the creature community how I could stand being in his presence back then. I just, how can I explain I am not a member of this community as I am human? How I am not one of Master Crawford's victims and what he had done to me was nothing compared to those he tortured and killed. I mean, being frozen as a statue was not that bad. I just... how do I explain what happened to me is nothing compared to the others who were hurt? I hope this letter does not bother you. With kind regards, The Former Boy in Bronze

First of all, dear reader, I want to take a moment to acknowledge the hard work you're putting into learning the new social and political norms to which you have awakened. It is no easy feat to adjust to a world so changed, and I'm glad your uncles are able to correct you with kindness when you It

It may help to understand why others consider you to be a member of the community. The interpretation rests on a rather significant shift in how liminal folk define and discuss themselves since you were last awake.

At the time of your encasement, Darwin's theories of evolution were sending shockwaves through the scientific community, and the dominant framework for understanding liminality was as an evolutionary, biological difference, inherent in certain bodies.

We can still see that framework influencing our language today. We talk about “genuses” as if they represent profound, biological distinctions. But that thinking only takes us so far. In what sense are the risen dead a different genus than their more vital siblings? Is a sapio who becomes haematophagic now a different species, or not?

Currently, the dominant framework for understanding liminality is a great deal broader, and concentrates primarily on experience. A person might consider themselves to be liminal after growing up in a mixed-genus family, for example, even if they themselves were sapio. The same goes for magical practitioners or people who experience liminality as a result of their work.

With all that said, you certainly don't have to ascribe to a liminal identity if you don't find it helpful. Neither do you have to identify as a victim if that word feels inaccurate to your experiences. Other people in your position might describe themselves as “survivors” of magical violence, while others still prefer not to incorporate the experience into their identity at all.

All of these positions are valid, and I encourage you to explore the language that feels right for you. This language might change over time, and that's perfectly alright too. You aren't beholden to anyone to talk about yourself and your experiences in a particular way if you don't want to.

And if you are not beholden to using certain language, you are especially not beholden to feeling certain emotions just because others expect them of you. Nobody can dictate to you how you “ought” to feel about Lord Crawford or his actions.

It is perfectly natural for you to feel conflicted or complicated about your former master's treatment of you. Have you considered talking the matter through with a professional? Our understanding of mental health and well-being have also come a long way since you were last with us, and I think you could really benefit from exploring your feelings more deeply.

Talk to your uncles about accessing some counselling or therapy, and take some time to reflect and consider what language you want to use about yourself. That way, you'll be well-placed to offer a polite correction to people who mistake your identity in the future.

Finally, I would like to push back gently on your assertion that what happened to you was “nothing” compared to the other people Lord Crawford hurt. Suffering is, unfortunately, not a finite resource. There is more than enough to go around. Acknowledging the harm done to you does not diminish the harm done to others – it only does yourself a disservice.

[p3ski]

Pairing: RK900/Gavin Reed

Tags: Post Pacifist Ending, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn, Eventual Smut, Angst, Hurt/ Comfort

Next Chapter

Read on AO3 here:

Summary: In the aftermath of Detroit's android revolution, Nines grapples with the complexities of his newfound deviancy. As he seeks to establish his place in a newly transformed society, his resolve is put to the ultimate test when he is paired with Detective Gavin Reed—a notoriously volatile human with a well-established hatred for androids—to investigate a series of murders.

While initial impressions of his partner seem to suggest his reputation is well-deserved, the more time Nines spends with him, the more he is forced to challenge his judgments. As they form an unexpected bond, the RK900 is also pushed to examine truths about himself he would much rather seek to forget. (A Retelling of ‘More Than Our Parts’ from the POV of Nines.)

Warnings: Graphic Violence, Depression/Self Destructive Behaviour, Eventual Smut

Word Count: 6.4K

Tag List: @sweeteatercat @wedonthaveawhile @ladyj-pl @tentoriumcerebelli @negative-citadel

♡If you would like to be added to the tag list please let me know♡

The android's inaugural duty went far beyond his basic training. An HR400 had been discovered deactivated in their apartment at Hartwell Tower. Upon arrival of first responders, foul play was swiftly determined. The case had been delegated to the homicide department, with Nines tasked to assist. 

He understood he should approach the assignment with a degree of enthusiasm or, at the very least, a sense of drive, but he found himself unable to muster either sentiment. This was due to the unpleasant, unforeseen condition attached to it.

While a partnership was not something he took issue with, an objection arose from the identity of his appointed associate. 

Humans could make for contentious company at the best of times—a fact most androids seemed to agree with, albeit with varying degrees of openness. RK800 was a stringent advocate for diplomacy on the matter. That being said, there was one human that even he struggled not to antagonise. 

Detective Gavin Reed had a reputation—among both humans and androids—as being completely insufferable. From their admittedly limited interactions, Nines was inclined to agree. The man seemed to exist in a perpetual foul mood, gearing for a fight at the slightest provocation. All this superfluous aggression came with frequent vulgar quips, which he assumed were meant to be amusing. 

As he marched through the precinct towards Captain Fowler's Office, he wondered what he could have done to upset his superior that warranted such egregious punishment. RK800 trailed beside him, struggling to keep pace with his increasingly brisk stride as he offered words of assurance:

"He's not as bad as he used to be, much less hostile since the revolution—”

Approaching them was another pair of officers, sipping coffee and exchanging pleasantries as they headed for the exit. RK800 repositioned himself while Nines strode on, staunchly unfazed. The officers were forced to veer sharply to avoid a collision, liquid spilling from their cups and forming trails behind them.

“There is no sense in downplaying the issue,” Nines asserted, paying little heed to the women's bewildered stares. “I have seen into your mind, viewed your memories. I know precisely what he thinks of us." 

Despite the older android’s attempts to counter his growing pessimism, it was clear he was exhausting arguments that held any merit. His LED flickered yellow in deliberation, and he paused briefly before continuing. "...Maybe you can be a good influence on him? Help to smooth out his edges." 

For the esteemed 'negotiator' of the RK line, this proved an impressively weak attempt at persuasion. They both knew all too well that his limited social protocol made Nines an unlikely candidate for smoothing out anyone's edges, especially those of a man who seemed to despise him for simply existing. 

Even if he hadn't been provided insight into Reed's numerous acts of animosity towards his counterpart, Nines had already experienced such behaviour firsthand. It started with a tense encounter at the DPD Christmas party and escalated into frequent hostile glares whenever they happened to cross paths.

He was quick to remind RK800 of this, effectively ending the debate. "Given our shared physical attributes, I highly doubt my presence will have any positive impact. If anything, it'll likely encourage him to act with even greater antagonism.”

RK800’s smile had become tremendously strained, pulled taut across his face like a rubber band on the verge of snapping. 

"There’s always a chance he’ll change his mind…and even if he doesn't, just remember this is only temporary.” His typically assured tone wavered, betraying his lack of confidence. As though to compensate for this, he gripped Nines by the shoulder, giving it a comforting squeeze. “Also, that Gavin Reed’s opinion holds extremely little value.” 

Upon reaching the windowed cubicle of their superior’s office, Nines peered inside, discreetly observing the occupants. Though the soundproofed panes prevented him from hearing the conversation, he was still able to read their lips. The majority of the inane drivel being spewed from Reed's mouth consisted of tired anti-android rhetoric, with Fowler berating his subordinate for the antipathetic stance. 

"I think you should probably go in," RK800 advised, gesturing towards the door of the office. 

The younger android rejected the notion with a firm shake of his head. "I'll wait until they are finished so I may seek to speak with the captain privately.” 

> So I can more aptly explain why this case should be reassigned immediately. 

"No, I think you should go in now. The Captain is waving at you." 

Upon redirecting his focus, Nines confirmed this to be correct. Captain Fowler was staring at him, flexing his fingers in a beckoning gesture. The tight crease of his brow and pronounced scowl made it clear any insubordination would not be tolerated. 

The android's core body temperature surged, rising until it pooled in his cheeks. With a steady exhale, he released the surplus warmth, determined to uphold a degree of professionalism in the forthcoming exchange. Back straight and shoulders squared, he made his way into the office.

Reed's sour demeanour hardly improved upon his entrance. If anything, it worsened significantly. His indignant slouch grew so pronounced he was in danger of falling off his chair, arms pulled tight across his chest and chin tucked into the fold. 

"This is RK900—I'm sure you've already met.” Fowler regarded his subordinate with a pointed glare as he awaited his response. 

The detective made little effort to acknowledge the android aside from a contemptuous glower cast over his shoulder. His hair was unkempt, sticking up at odd angles, and he was wearing the same shirt as the day before. This was paired with a leather jacket, which Nines doubted had ever been washed, the front pocket containing a crumpled cigarette packet and a pair of sunglasses.

He zoned in on the unusual detail with greater scrutiny. The current temperature outside was 32°F, with persistent overcast and rain. The accessory served no apparent purpose, with the only reasonable assumption being it was present for aesthetic reasons. 

"Yeah, we've met." 

His words were spat with such animosity they seemed to imply their mere acquaintance served as an insult. The cutting syllables sliced through the air, mingled with traces of ethanol. As the component reached the RK900’s olfactory receptors, it triggered a physical assessment:

> SUBJECT — DETECTIVE GAVIN REED.

> 5”9 176 LBS

> PHYSICAL ANALYSIS IN PROGRESS…

> SWOLLEN BLOOD VESSELS IN SCLERA — INDICATIVE OF IRRITATION.

> WATER RETENTION IN FACIAL REGION.

> IMPAIRED CARDIAC AND DIGESTIVE FUNCTIONING.

> BAC CONCENTRATION  -  0.088%

> ANALYSIS COMPLETED.

Nines felt a scowl tug at his lips as he realized just how unequipped his new partner was to fulfil his current duties. 

"...The fuck are you looking at?" The man bared his nicotine-stained teeth in a venomous snarl, his lingering inebriation seeming to inspire additional hostility.

This created an even greater host of challenges than Nines previously anticipated. He responded to Reed with as much civility as he could reasonably muster. As it transpired, this wasn’t a lot. 

"Apologies, Detective. I was determining how you might have arrived at the precinct this afternoon. Your blood alcohol content is 1.1 times over the legal limit."

The underlying accusation had not gone unnoticed, as the detective offered up some weak parody of an excuse. Something about 'taking a cab', as well as allusions to him being a 'plastic asshole'. The RK900 wasn’t paying much attention, far more attuned to the shifting patterns present in his vital signs. 

As he spoke, his cortisol levels spiked, coupled with an elevation in respiratory and heart rate. His deceit proved painfully transparent, and Nines wasted no time in informing him of this. "My sensors indicate that you are lying. It is unsafe for you to operate a vehicle in your current condition. I am surprised you were not involved in an accident."

A ruddy tone tinged the man's sallow complexion as his heart rate continued to escalate. Then he stood from his chair and began to advance towards him. His hands were balled into fists, knuckles turning white. "If you don't shut your mouth, you're going to be the one in a fucking accident."

The man was not permitted to escalate matters beyond this initial threat, as their superior sternly intervened. " Enough , Reed."

This interruption proved extremely fortunate for the detective, whether or not he realised it. Nines had no issues defending himself physically, in spite of his inability to feel pain—unlike his predecessor, who would likely humour the efforts by permitting a blow or two. 

The contentious man emitted a short, strangled noise as if gearing to defend himself until he was cut off again:

"You've been assigned your case, and you have your address.” Fowler gathered the loose papers strewn across his desk, aligning them against the wood with a firm tap. “Now, get out of my office before I fire you both." 

The detective's bizarre utterances persisted, stuttered through the clumsy flaps of his slackened jaw. Then, as if a moment of clarity had broken through his frustration, his gaze shifted to the ground and he fell silent. 

The respite this granted proved disappointingly brief—as with a final, aggrieved grunt, the man angrily stormed away. Each of his steps echoed harshly against the polished floorboards until the door had been slammed firmly behind him.

In the aftermath, Nines found himself presented with an opportune moment to voice his concerns. He hadn't so much as parted his lips, however, before Fowler sternly dissuaded him. 

"I don't want to hear it." His fingers flitted towards the exit with a dismissive half-wave. "Reed is enough of a headache already. I'm trusting you to keep him in check." 

It was clear that cracks were beginning to show in the android's stoic veneer, as once the captain caught sight of his expression, his gruff demeanour softened—if only slightly. 

"...Consider it a chance to prove yourself.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, grumbling under his breath. “With any luck, you'll both learn something from this experience.”

Nines wasn't entirely sure what he had meant by this, but he knew there would be little point in protesting. Humans could prove frustratingly stubborn, even if their decisions defied any logic. With any luck, Reed would do his job for him in proving his unsuitability. Until then, he would be forced to endure the arrangement as best he could.

As he entered the entrance hall, a barrage of system errors assaulted him. Each step toward his partner seemed to compound the issue, prompting him to draw on a self-regulation tactic learned from RK800:

> CONSIDER THE POSITIVES.

While he struggled to discern any positives in his current situation, Nines conceded that perhaps the detective might exhibit a modicum of professionalism in fulfilling his official duties. Even if the change was minor, it would certainly prove welcome.

Despite the overwhelming temptation to maintain their current distance, the android quickened his pace, coming into step with his partner. "I suggest we take an automated dispatch vehicle, or you allow me to drive. I would prefer to make it to the crime scene in a single piece."

Reed's initial response seemed promising, employing only sparse vulgarity and lacking his usual combativeness. "Do whatever you want, like I give a shit—” 

Any hope the man may prove amenable persisted for the length of time it took him to pause for breath. The emergent optimism was shattered the moment he chose to reopen his mouth.

"—Just don't expect me to stroke your dick because Fowler wants me to play nice."

Nines could only assume this was hyperbole rather than a serious proposition, but it proved difficult to discern. He couldn't imagine the joke would be any funnier were he able to grasp it fully. "I had no expectation that your cooperation would involve sexual favours, Detective.”

Reed ground to an abrupt halt—as though welded to the floor. His mouth gaped open in disbelief, and his eyes bulged to unnatural proportions. “...It's a figure of speech, dipshit.”

A wave of relief crashed over the android. The man’s abrasive demeanour was irksome enough in a professional context; envisioning intimacy between them proved deeply unpleasant. "Regardless, it seems wildly inappropriate for a workplace environment. We have an investigation to attend to."

Despite the fact they were already late in attending to these duties, Reed had insisted on taking a 'smoke break' prior to their departure. This extended far beyond what could be considered reasonable, leading Nines to conclude he was doing it deliberately. He smoked the cigarette in long, exaggerated drags, emitting loud sighs of contentment with every puff. 

By the time they had finally entered the car, the RK900 was left profoundly frustrated, and a tense hush had settled between them. Most of the vehicle's processes were automated, meaning he had little distraction from the persistent annoyance in the passenger seat. 

The forced proximity did not help, as his sensory receptors were overwhelmed by a constant slew of information. This included the potent smell of tobacco clinging to the detective’s clothes and the restless tapping of his fingers against the console.

Accessing the dispatch report that had been left dormant in his cranial processor, he attempted to dismiss the superfluous data and redirect his attention to more pressing matters:

> ACCESSING FILE… DPD_internal_437689.txt

> FILE ACCESSED. 

According to the report, the victim had lived on the fourth floor of their building. While not impossible, it would have been difficult for an assailant to break in due to the height. Beyond the lobby of the building was a steel-inforced security gate with a fob-activated panel for residential access. With a lack of forced entry also cited in the initial statement, it seemed likely that the culprit was known to the victim—or, at the very least, had been permitted access willingly.

> CLOSING DOCUMENT…

As Nines' vision returned to him, he became aware of two factors. The first was that the vehicle had come to a stop, and the second was that his partner was no longer in it.

Following a cursory scan of his surroundings, he located his colleague standing along the perimeter of the Hartwell Building, leaning across a police barricade. In close proximity stood a well-dressed woman, whom his facial recognition software identified as Teagan Rodgers—a Field Reporter for Channel 16.

Honing in on the unfolding scene, he noted that Detective Reed appeared to be grappling with Miss Rodgers for possession of her microphone. In the midst of their altercation, the device recoiled, striking the centre of her chest with a sharp thud. 

Undoubtedly, this was precisely the type of incident Captain Fowler had been alluding to when he advised Nines to keep his partner ‘in check.’ He could only speculate on the irreparable damages Reed might inflict on the department's reputation were he allowed to continue. With begrudging acceptance of the prior instruction, he exited the vehicle. 

Nines approached the detective, who now stood with his back angled towards the car. The reporter noticed him first, rouged complexion turning pale as he entered her line of vision. She had frozen in place, lips clamped shut, as a manicured hand hovered inches from Reed's nose.

While he hadn't been able to see them previously, he noted two more figures present. One was a currently unidentified man in a DPD-issue uniform, while the other was a GB200 dressed in similarly formal attire to the reporter. As she locked sights with Nines, her body adopted a similar state of paralysis. Her LED shifted to red as her dark eyes widened in fearful acknowledgement.

It was an expression that felt all too familiar, one he had seen previously—

> WARNING.  

> MEMORY FILE CORRUPTED. 

> CRITICAL ERROR HAS OCCURRED  —  URGENT ACTION REQUIRED.

Nines struggled to retain stability in the wake of the cognitive glitch, stumbling back and clutching his head. By the time his optics had sharpened, both the human and android reporter had made a speedy retreat. The matching clicks of high-heeled shoes were just barely audible as Nines darted into a news van, disappearing from view.

Reed and the unknown officer watched on, staring at the doors of the van. It wasn't until the detective turned around that his confusion appeared to shift to envy. No doubt, he would have happily accompanied the woman in hiding from his partner had he been made aware of his presence sooner. 

"I suggest we make our way to the crime scene," Nines informed, glossing over the frosty reception. "We are wasting valuable time."

A squeaked yelp was uttered in response, which he was fairly confident had not originated from Detective Reed. Held in his grasp, gripped by the shoulder, was the other ‘officer’—who the android now recognised as a trembling juvenile dressed in an ill-fitting uniform. Evidently, a new recruit.

The young man was noticeably shorter than his partner, an impressive feat considering the former's less-than-imposing stature. This, coupled with the childlike softness of his features, did nothing to minimise the aura of helplessness he was exuding.

A quick scan confirmed his identity, as well as his current physical state—the outlook for which was less than promising. "Officer Lewis Andre, you appear to be unwell. Your complexion is sickly and pallid, and your heart rate is elevated."

The man flinched in response to the address, the passive jitters that racked his body worsening significantly. A fine sheen of perspiration had bloomed on his forehead, and he appeared to be struggling to hold himself upright. Nines soon began to suspect that Andre was suffering from a mental ailment rather than a physical one. 

"Your stress levels are indicative of emotional instability," he said plainly, monitoring the man's respiratory rate for signs of hyperventilation. "I suggest that you fulfil your duties in escorting us to the crime scene and then excuse yourself so you may consult a psychiatric professional."

"Right, uh, yes…of course, sir." The officer made a weak gesture toward the building’s entrance, avoiding eye contact. "The victim's apartment is on the second floor. He was an HR400, a former Traci, went by the name of Jason."

"We already know this.” 

As soon as the words had left his mouth, Andre and Reed regarded him with looks of mirrored confusion. It seemed he was speaking for himself on the matter, a testament to just how little his partner had invested in ensuring he was informed of the case details. 

The android resisted the exasperated sigh that threatened to pass from his lips before continuing his address to the younger officer. "Show us the crime scene.” 

As Andre led the way, Nines followed closely in the interest of catching him should he decide to faint. Reed showed none of the same motivation, lagging behind at a rate so sluggish he almost appeared stationary—and forcing his colleagues to wait in the lobby as he sought to catch up.

Both men were proving themselves to be inconvenient in furthering the RK900’s directive, albeit in their own uniquely frustrating capacities. 

Mercifully, the journey to their desired location was not subject to further delay. After a brief ascension in the elevator, the chrome-plated doors parted, revealing the fourth floor of the complex. Nines briskly exited, following a prominent stretch of caution tape along the landing until he had reached the victim's apartment, indicated by a partially opened doorway and weathered number plate.

He directed a curt dismissal to the fractious youth behind him, who was twiddling the hem of his jacket, wrinkling the already rumpled material:

“You may leave now, Officer Andre.” 

With another nervous yelp, Andre promptly scurried away, disappearing out of view. Reed glared at his partner relentlessly as they crossed the threshold into the crime scene; animosity exuded from his demeanour with even greater prominence. Nines was uncertain what had inspired this, although he bore it little consideration. 

Upon entering, one of the first things he noted was a series of faint scratch marks on the panelled floorboards. They formed a sprawled formation in five concurrent lines and followed an ongoing trajectory further into the home. With this path came traces of Thirium embedded into the grooves.

Then, the trail stopped, replaced by blunt scuffs which stretched the remaining length of the walkway. They concluded at the foot of a nearby door, at which several forensic photographers appeared to be taking records. 

"You know, humans generally don't like it when you treat them like shit."

A notification flagged on his HUD, disrupting his analysis in order to inform him that Reed wished to speak. Regrettably, he was already aware.

After a brief deliberation, he realized the man was likely referring to his interactions with Andre. He glanced up, refocusing his optical units, and offered a perfunctory response. 

"I believe I treated that officer fairly. If he cannot handle the pressures of high-stakes police work, he should reconsider his profession."

Reed reacted poorly to the suggestion, his already surly expression etched with disapproval. Given his inability to conduct himself outside of the duress of personal biases, it came as no surprise that the rationale eluded him.  

"I'm sorry that people don't pop out of the factory perfect and ready to go.” The words were spat aggressively, laced with palpable vitriol. "They need a chance to grow and improve. I wouldn't expect you to understand, but a little compassion wouldn't hurt."

Of all his lacklustre attempts at humour, it was at that moment—when the man had intended to be taken seriously—that Nines found him the most amusing. "That is an interesting assertion, detective. Especially coming from yourself.” 

"...What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"I find it odd that you, of all people, would assert the need to show kindness to others. Given your history of aggressive and inflammatory behaviour."

A silence followed, and Nines took the opportunity to progress his suspended analysis. Through the critical scope of his optics, he noted the scattered array of magazines gathered at his feet. He determined the source to be a nearby table, which had been callously overturned.  

The victim had attempted to block their assailant, likely in hopes of escaping, but the efforts had proved unsuccessful. A blue splatter on the adjacent wall suggested the android had been struck before being dragged in a forceful manoeuvre back through the apartment. 

"I'm plenty nice, you prick. I just tell things like they are."

"Quiet, please." 

Electric pulses charged his mind as threads of cognition began to connect, forming a timeline. To resolve any potential errors in the developing chronology, the android lowered himself, scooping a sample into his mouth. 

"Oh, what the fuck—" 

In a shamelessly petulant display, the man began performing an exaggerated gagging gesture. Given the lack of significant change in his vital readings, Nines surmised the physical aversion was greatly exaggerated. "Why the hell did you do that?"

The subsequent readings supported his theories, and the reconstruction was finalised, ready for review. He stood from his knelt position, satisfied, as he smoothed out any creases in his clothes. "It is necessary for the investigation." 

"How is that necessary? We can see its blue blood; you don't have to put it in your mouth."

"The data from my internal analysis can provide valuable insight into the case, such as allowing me to scan for traces with the same forensic profile." 

He hoped the simplified explanation might succeed in penetrating the bounds of the detective’s weaponized incompetence. It did not, with Reed quick to dismiss him, raising his arms belligerently as he did so. "Well, best of luck with that. I can't see any more blue blood, can you ?"

"As it happens, I can. Thirium evaporates after a few hours of air exposure. However, it can still be detected with the correct equipment, such as myself."

"Wow, I'm so impressed.” The droning retort was punctuated by a childish eye roll, so profoundly exaggerated that he was in danger of severing his optic nerves.

Nines was uncertain why, but it was this particular presentation of the man's remarkably foul attitude that finally breached the walls of his tolerance. 

There was something deeply infuriating about witnessing a thirty-six-year-old man—and a police detective, no less—throwing what could only be defined as a temper tantrum in the middle of a crime scene. Were he seated in a stroller, Nines was confident there would be multiple toys littering the floor.

"Your sarcasm does not elude me, Detective,” he informed, exercising a tremendous deal of restraint as he spoke. “I am also displeased with our current partnership, but rather than waste our time with snide remarks, I suggest you listen to me so we may progress our investigation."

Despite his efforts, it was evident that some emotional weight had coloured his tone. Reed gawked back at him, brow raised in surprise. "The fuck did you just say to me?"

A cascade of blue enveloped the room, flickering walls of code drawing like curtains. They cleared his field of vision of any unnecessary obstructions, and the virtual stage was set. The simulated struggle between killer and victim began to play out as Nines attempted to direct the belligerent man's attention in line with their movements:

"There is a trail leading from the entranceway and extending towards the back end of the apartment. The rate of evaporation present in the corresponding Thirium traces suggests that the attack was finished here.” 

When the simulation ended, he looked to his partner to see if he had anything to contribute. Judging by his face, he had failed to ascertain any of the deductions that had been presented to him and was receiving this revelation with a potent air of resentment.  

He tucked his arms across his chest in a defensive gesture and grumbled under his breath. "Alright, smartass. So if the attack ended here, then where is the body?" 

> I can't imagine the perpetrator took it with him, detective.

>  I suspect you will find there is a correlation between the location of the victim and the congregation of forensic officials roughly 75 meters away from you.

Nines relented on this response, as per prior guidance he had received from RK800. When dealing with humans, a direct approach was not always the most productive, given their propensity to view such assertions as 'combative.' 

This made little sense to him, but he trusted his predecessor's judgment on the matter. Whilst his tempered reply diverged widely from what he had wished to say, the substance remained mostly unchanged:

"The oldest marks take the form of nail-like drags before adopting properties more consistent with the dragging of a heavy object. It would suggest that the android was moved after shutting down."

"Oh please, like anyone would be able to move one of those things. They weigh a ton—"

“Detective Reed, RK900." 

Their exchange was cut short by a rogue voice smoothly addressing them. Nines confirmed it as belonging to Colton Sanders, a Senior Forensics Investigator who had been assigned to oversee current operations. 

It was intriguing to witness just how dramatically Reed's demeanour shifted. His prominent scowl softened into a far more personable grin as he hurriedly shifted away from his partner, closing the gap between himself and the encroaching figure. 

"Sanders, how the hell are ya?" The greeting was punctuated by a clap on the shoulder, which the android presumed was a sign of affection. "Am I glad to see some good old-fashioned flesh and blood."

The tenuously concealed slight did not go amiss as the detective levelled a sharp glare from across his shoulder. Nines made a point of ignoring this, and a conversation commenced between the two men, to which he remained vaguely attuned. 

Truthfully, he was happy to have his partner's attention redirected, as it permitted him a welcome reprieve in the confines of his mind palace. Scanning through the magazines, his HUD filled with details of their contents. Whilst this did not prove especially relevant, what did strike as interesting was the object partially obscured beneath the blanket of glossy pages. 

"...what are we looking at here?”

Sifting through the pile, he retrieved the item as the light of a nearby camera flash caught against its polished surface. It was a tablet - display consisting of heavily splintered glass and a damaged LCD fitted beneath. As he glided a thumb testingly across the screen, it flickered to life, revealing several unopened notifications. The titles suggested the item had most likely been used as a personal organizer. 

He retracted the synthetic skin of his hand, preparing to examine the discovery further. This was an action he soon regretted, as once his exposed chassis had pressed to the breadth of the spidered glass, his mind was flooded with a slew of questionable material. 

Clearly, the tablet had been used for more than scheduling purposes, as the internal storage was filled with extensive audio-visual files. The majority of these depicted their victim engaged in explicit intimate encounters. 

Analytics were prompted autonomously, and he scowled grimly as the scan informed him that one of the numerous participants—a 35-year-old Fredrick Carlton—was most likely suffering a protein deficiency, given the composition of the genetic material he was expelling.

"... so many potential DNA profiles that it'll take a couple of days to cross-check."

"Why so many?"

He promptly deactivated his forensic functions, not wishing to be subjected to any more unsolicited analyses. To his relief, the gratuitous exposure to nudity hadn't been in vain, as he eventually found what he had been searching for. Something that might actually prove useful. 

"I believe this will answer your question." Standing from his crouched position, he gestured towards the tablet, prompting Sanders and Reed to join him. Upon bypassing password protection, the device unlocked, illuminating the men's faces in a soft glow and permitting them a visual of its less egregious contents. 

"The victim had recently viewed his electronic diary: It contains a list of names with corresponding dates and times. The document is titled 'Clients'.”

With the diary's purpose made apparent, Reed received his subsequent revelation with all the poise and eloquence Nines had come to expect. He laughed—if the noise produced could be defined as one. It was a harsh, grating sound which lingered in the air long after it concluded.

"The android retired from the Eden Club to pursue a career as an escort? Oh man, that's fucking priceless ."

Officer Sanders regarded the matter with a greater degree of respect, although he appeared somewhat uncomfortable, evident in the peculiar inflections in his reply. "Yeah, so with the volume of…‘clients’...we've got our hands pretty full."

"You and the blacklights."

Another cruel snicker followed, seemingly as a self-congratulatory gesture for the tasteless remark. Deciding he had endured enough of the irksome provocation, Nines adjusted the settings on his auditory processors. Reed's abrasive tones became increasingly muted until they were drowned by a steady hum of static.

> ACCESSING CASE OVERVIEW…

In light of all that had been established, it seemed the perpetrator had most likely posed as a prospective client in order to gain the victim’s trust. Scanning through the bookings, there was one in particular that seemed to align conspicuously well with the timeline. 

While the HR400 had not been given time to upload footage from his most recent encounter, the RK900 hoped that his cranial and optic processors had sustained minimal damage in order that they may be accessed. While shutdown had likely caused a degree of corruption, there was still a chance of recovering snippets that could prove valuable. 

A thorough examination of the body would tell for certain. 

> FILE UPDATED.

After reconfiguring his drivers, eliminating the audio feedback, he was able to pick up on the ongoing exchange between Reed and Sanders:

"The window in the bedroom was wide open. There's guttering on the side of the building that the perp could have used to shimmy down."

"Anything on the drainpipe?"

"Can't say, I'm afraid. It's been raining cats and dogs all day, so any DNA evidence that might have been there is long gone."

It became apparent the men's deductions were lagging rather significantly behind his own. Rather than wait for them to catch up, which he feared may be a lengthy process, Nines opted to interject. He’d long since exhausted his patience with the unnecessary delays the day had subjected him to, wishing to move on from his current location as quickly as possible. 

"It only started to rain heavily at 2:34 p.m. this afternoon,” he plainly informed. “With this in mind, as well as consideration for the evaporation rate of the Thirium, it would be safe to assume that the crime occurred approximately two hours ago."

Turning in the direction of the android, the more personable of the two men paused before offering a hum of acknowledgement. 

"That would line up with the witness reports,” he confirmed, rubbing his fingers along the length of his peppered beard. “A neighbour called the police around lunchtime, citing a domestic disturbance."

"With our current time frame in mind, our culprit is most likely a scheduled client by the name of 'THOD GRAWS.” Nines stored the HR400’s client records to his memory banks, preparing them for upload to the precinct database. Having exhausted the use of the victim's tablet, he removed his palm from its screen and set it down on the arm of a nearby couch.

Unsurprisingly, it was Detective Reed who sought to rebuke the validity of this assessment. "I doubt he was stupid enough to use his real name,” he droned, brow furrowed sceptically. 

"It is highly improbable, but it will be interesting to see if any of the DNA profiles collected match our criminal databases. There is a possibility that we may find someone known for using the same, or a similar, alias."

"Instead of dicking around with dead leads, how about we check out the body?" In another deliberate snub, Reed pivoted on his heel, turning his attention back to Sanders. "Mind showing us the way?"

"Sure thing,” the older man agreed, albeit his voice was tinged with a small hint of resignation. “Just warning you now, though, it isn't pretty…"

"The victim was an android. How bad can it be? No blood, no guts, no smell —come on, Colt, I'm a big boy. I can take it.”

As Sanders led them deeper into the home, his team cleared a path, permitting them access to the door that remained conspicuously shut. Several officers appeared uneasy as their superior reached for the handle, leading Nines to speculate on what could elicit such a response from individuals well acquainted with the darkest aspects of humanity.

He was not left to dwell on this long, however, as the passage was pulled open. Establishing a lead over his cohorts, he strode purposefully across the threshold, readying to commence inspection of the primary crime scene.

The first thing he noted was the crudely penned message scrawled across the adjacent wall. The lettering was harsh and jagged, which seemed fitting given the sinister content:

SUCKS COCK IN ANDROID HELL.

He recorded a handwriting sample before turning his attention to the remainder of the room. From here, the reason for the forensics team's aversion soon became apparent.

The HR400 had been displayed above his bed; limbs affixed to the curtain rail in a cruciform position. Across his abdomen was a large laceration, with his lower body having undergone severe mutilation—sexual components missing. Both ocular units had also been removed, leaving vacant cavities. 

Thirium fanned across the bed, which had been stripped of its linen, flowing in steady streams from the gaping hole in the victim's stomach. Surrounding the liquid in a circular pattern was what appeared to be a series of photographs. 

Nines moved forward, seeking greater vantage before gingerly pressing his hand to the side of the android's cranial chassis. A subsequent review of the neural processor confirmed the component to be heavily compromised, with any information stored garbled beyond the point of recovery. 

As he removed his hand from the mangled cranium, a terse scoff emanated from behind him, followed by a snarked quip:

"Charming." 

He assumed this to be in reference to the grotesque condition of the victim. This seemed profoundly disrespectful, even when considering the man's bigoted ideology. The RK900 shifted towards his partner, prepared to voice this before discovering he was still idling in the doorway. 

The man scratched the side of his jaw, leaning in closer to examine the clumsy inscription. "Looks like we've got a real wordsmith on our hands.”

“Detective,” he said sternly, dissuading the tedious commentary as he sought to redirect his focus.

Reed swivelled towards him, and Nines watched the smug sneer that had been prevailing on his face promptly fall, morphing into something far more subdued. Clearly, he had overestimated his mettle in confronting the scene, as the synthetic carnage proved more unsettling than anticipated.

"Jesus fucking Christ…" 

Sanders mumbled some form of jaded agreement before directing Reed towards the bed. "You might wanna take a look at those photos,” he suggested, sunken face marred by a deep-set grimace.

As his partner began to study the pictures, Nines proceeded to survey the wider area surrounding the body. Traces of biofluid stretched beyond the length of the mattress, filling a scope no longer visible outside of his chemical sequencing. 

"Any luck finding its eyes and...you know..."

"Looks like the guy must have taken 'em, like a sick prize or something.”

The RK900 was disappointed to discover there were no fingerprints, suggesting the culprit had been wearing gloves. As his focus reached the end of the trail, he felt his cognitive processes stall, giving way to something beyond his rationalised analysis. 

"...There is another message. Written in Thirium."

Reed appeared somewhat perturbed as he awaited elaboration, although an effort was made to conceal this. He jutted his chin upwards in a forged show of bravado.  "What does it say?”

Another rogue sentiment flagged in the RK900’s mind. Attempting to press to the front of his consciousness, exerting control over his functions. He fought to suppress it as he slowly began to read out the message:

"I KNOW YOU CAN READ THIS. I WILL NOT REST UNTIL EVERY LAST ONE OF YOU FILTHY MACHINES IS RIPPED APART."

> NEW FILE GENERATED — HARTWELL SUSPECT PROFILE.

Nines considered the meticulousness with which the crime had been carried out. The degree of care exercised to avoid leaving evidence and the efficiency with which dismantlement had been performed. Any incidental injuries appeared purposeful, inflicted as knowing, malicious desecration.

"This is not the first time our culprit has acted in violence towards androids—and it certainly will not be the last.” He turned to address the men behind him, who were suspended in tense silence. “If we do not apprehend them soon, I anticipate there will be many more victims.”

[iris-of-bliss]

ℙ𝕚𝕝𝕝𝕠𝕨 𝕋𝕒𝕝𝕜

Summary: You and your boyfriend Steve Fox, a British boxer, engage in sweet conversation after a peaceful sleep.

Pairing(s): Steve Fox/F!Reader

Word Count: 578

A/N: A very short and fluffy work of Steve Fox once again. Enjoy 💙

You were embraced in comfort by your charming boxing boyfriend through the early morning. Good thing that Steve chose to spend an entire day with you after his win at the latest tournament held by the Mishima Zaibatsu. This is his treat after that accomplishment, and he’s willing to forge an opportunity for a brighter future. Since Steve has won a fortune of money from the tournament, he plans to open up his own boxing gym as well as spoiling the hell out of you. Maybe he was even dreaming about it in his sleep, too.

Slight shuffles occur in bed, you waking up first under the touch of sunlight. Your boyfriend’s arm still settles around your waist. Steve has been lying on his stomach the whole time. His sleeping was nice and sound in silence against the lush pillows. You giggle at his resting form before trickling your nails under his jaw. Steve’s lips curl into a smile. The hand on your waist grips as he woke up. His other hand combs through his hair while he lets out a yawn. Eyes slowly open before you, examining your sweet face surrounded by the slightly ruffled hair.

“Mornin’, dove,” his voice mumbled, “How’d ya sleep?”

You whisper, “I slept well, and dreamed of you.”

Your boyfriend hummed and rubs your side to keep you warmer than you already are. You blush as your back arched slightly from the touch. Steve loved it when he made your body jump. He brings his hand to your back.

“C’mere, love.”

He pulls you close to him with both arms, bodies touching in contact. His lips peck a kiss against your forehead before nuzzling his into you. He ends up kissing again, this time along your cheek to your jawline. You let out a giggle from his lips tickling your skin.

“Okay, Steve! That’s enough,” you laugh out.

“Aw, but my kisses are never enough.”

Steve gives his last kiss to your lips until laying next to your face smiling. You look into his soft blue eyes in silence for seconds. That was one of the features that made you weak in the knees. His body also impressed you, too. All of that work he put in for his dream of boxing paid off. He isn’t done with his work yet, though. You were then curious to ask with a caress to his cheek, “Now that you’re going to set up your own gym, what’s next for Steve? No plans yet?”

He replied with glee, “Not yet, but it would be a pleasure to take you out for dinner.”

“I’d love that…”

Steve’s eyes remain fixed to yours as his hand combs through your hair. You feel a warm blush after feeling that, and boy it felt so refreshing. How he was so happy to see you again, and the life changing award money is now in his hands. He was stuck thinking about this moment. Steve still couldn’t believe it actually happened. He pulls you in again to give one more surprise kiss, this time it felt deep. You bring your hands to his neck, rubbing in during the kiss. You break from each other with light laughter. Your forehead resting against his.

“I’m so happy to have met you, Steve. I really am proud of you.”

His heart skipped a beat from the response, then held out a smile, “I couldn’t have done all of this without you, (Y/N).”

[ack4rwoman]

𝐑𝐄-𝐃𝐎 𝐎𝐅 𝐀 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐒𝐓 𝐈𝐌𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍

: ̗̀➛ word count: 16.5k

: ̗̀➛ pairing: levi ackerman x reader

: ̗̀➛ notes: a lot of this will be following a more canon-divergent type of writing. the first arc i’m writing is the cadet corps and once that’s done, and the relationship has a more firm grounding, i’ll move on to the canon plot. and i have a lot planned 🤭

: ̗̀➛ summary: despite your friends betraying you previously, you moved passed it to tell them the story of the love triangle between you, keith, and captain levi. and the things they say makes you begin to re-think the first impression you left on your soon-to-be husband..

previous chapter :) next chapter :)

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・

“you have to focus!”

“i can’t!”

“well you have to!”

“why don’t you focus for the both of us?”

“how the hell am i supposed to do that?”

“by focusing!”

“i am focused!”

“no you’re not!”

“how did the tables turn so quickly?”

marco sighed, watching as his two friends continued to bicker without getting any actual work done. the trio were sat on the training field, marco sitting on the hard concrete, and jean and you standing on either side of him, yelling obscene words at each other.

the three of you did not need to train at this very moment, for the weekends had arrived, meaning that only half the day would be used for training, and after noon, you were free to do whatever you wanted (aside from breaking any other regulations, of course). however, unlike every other weekend, both marco and jean had decided that they would do some voluntary training in preparation for the upcoming exams coming the following week. you had protested, but certainly not hard enough to convince both of your friends to take the day off with you, so huffing and puffing, you reluctantly dragged yourself out of bed to strain more muscles in your body because that was just how miserable you were.

you hadn’t completely forgiven marco for betraying you the other day, and he knew it, for you did not let any of his comments go free without a jab at them: 1. ‘the porridge tastes weird today, huh..’ — ‘weird, like how weird it was when a friend betrays a friend, right?’, 2. ‘i can’t fight without a weapon!’ — ‘but you didn’t have a weapon in your hand when you chose to fight for shadis last week’, 3. ‘jean, it’s not my fault!’ — ‘just like how it wasn’t your fault when i was left helpless in the stables?’, and many, many more occasions.

at first, he would look down in shame, but after it happened for the nth time, he seemed to have gotten immune to the feeling, and merely rolled his eyes at you, smiling all the while. you were not impressed.

but that was a topic for another time.

right now, you needed to focus on your pla— training. your training. you had to focus on your training. your plan for training, really.

although you had been deemed as number ten for the southern division of the 104th cadet corps, that position could change before the final examination. next week, it would be the second to last change, and you knew you had to maintain the pace you were working at (if not slightly harder, seeing as people were beginning to step up their game).

your initial plan was to move up the list, because you knew you could. however, you had realised a little later on that it wasn’t necessary to, for all you needed to do was be in the top ten to reduce the risk of a growing population of future mp’s, and seeing as you were most definitely joining the scout regiment, there was no need for such brutal competition for the higher positions. you were doing just fine at number ten.

so you had to keep it.

but how were you supposed to do that when jean would keep eating your ear off as if it were as tasty as dry hay?

“are you thinking about captain levi again?” snapped jean, both hands placed on his hips. he reminded you of a mother scolding their child.

“no!” you denied, folding your arms over your chest, attempting to ignore the heat crawling up your neck, choosing to rest in your cheeks. it was a hot day today after all, you couldn’t be blamed for how warm you were beginning to feel. “i saw him just last week, there’s no reason for me to be —”

“cut the bullshit y/n,” interrupted jean exasperatedly. “you look like he just proposed to you.”

you grinned.

“stop giving her ideas, jean,” marco groaned from below.

you looked down. he seemed to be picking at the grass, calloused hands seeming to be weakened with the amount of work marco had been putting in for the last couple of days.

“scrap it already,” demanded jean, staring at you firmly. “it’s never gonna happen. he’s the captain of the scouts and you’re — you’re —”

your stare hardened. “i’m what?”

“out of damn control,” he finished, running a hand through his hair. “we’re lucky enough to even be in the top ten, you know that?”

“doesn’t matter to me,” you shrugged mindlessly. “i’m not joining the mp’s.”

jean frowned, his thin brows knitting together as he performed a stretch that would help with the back of his upper arms (one elbow raised whilst the other hand pushes it down his back). “the garrisons would be pretty happy with a cadet who has a high ranking.”

“the scouts, you mean,” you corrected, eyes narrowing.

you watched the way in which his face appeared to be blank for a moment, the hardened gaze he usually held so proudly beginning to falter ever so slightly. the heavy breathing from marco had been halted, too, and you wondered whether he was choosing to hold his breath.

“sure,” jean nodded calmly. you couldn’t help but believe that he still did not seem to approve of your idea. “whatever.”

“i think we should just cut to the chase,” marco calmly added, carrying his weight on his elbows, leaning back to look up at you. he was hiding in your shadow in an attempt to shield himself from the blinding light of the sun. “what’re you planning?”

you blinked, dumbfounded.

“huh?”

“you’re not fooling anyone, y/n,” said marco.

“except, maybe, yourself if you actually think that we haven’t noticed how distracted you’ve been lately,” commented jean, only resulting in you exaggeratedly mimicking him out of spite. he scoffed at your childish act.

“i would tell you guys,” you began truthfully, “but i have trust issues now.”

marco groaned loudly. “i’m sorry, okay? will you let it go already?”

“never,” you stated coldly. “live with regret.”

“how come you don’t bother jean about it? he started it!”

“oh jean’s already learnt his lesson,” you answered smugly. and with a glance at jean, you said, “haven’t you?”

“shut up y/n.”

“watch it,” you warned, “i won’t hesitate to put you back in there.”

“shadis wouldn’t believe you unless you do it like last time,” said jean, lip quirking upwards. “and that would mean you have to be there too.”

you smiled innocently. “so be it.”

jean took a step back to create a larger distance between you two.

“you’re psycho.

“no, i’m y/n.”

“i’m convinced they mean the same thing at this point,” sighed marco, shaking his head tiredly.

“okay, fine, i’ll tell you,” you said, and marco actually sat up in interest expectantly. “but under one condition.” the two boys looked at each other warily. you continued. “you help me with something.”

jean did not waste a single second before he spoke loudly.

“absolutely not,” he protested, shaking his head defiantly. “no way. whatever you’re getting yourself involved in, i’m out.”

you rolled your eyes. “i only need one of you anyway. marco?”

marco hesitated; you smiled. the single hesitation told you that he was actually considering it instead of shutting it down straight away.

jean was aware of this, his light brown eyes darting from you to marco in alarm.

“no, marco’s not doing it either,” he demanded with an air of dominance. he made eye contact with the said boy. “you’re not doing it.”

“who are you, his mother?” you teased, smirking. “he can make decisions for himself.”

“yeah, except when it comes to you.”

“and that’s where you come in?”

“i’m saving him.”

“from what?”

“from you!”

“i pose no danger to him,” you say honestly. “it’s just a small favour.”

“a small favour for something big, i know it.”

you said nothing.

“i’m right, aren’t i?” questioned jean, eyes wide.

“marco,” you say soothingly, choosing to ignore jean and his frantic self, “what do you say? help a girl out?”

marco had a hand over his chin, looking as though he were deciding something life threatening. men are so dramatic, you thought to yourself.

“i don’t know..” he said, causing your patience to thin.

“marco, you’re smarter than this,” that stupid jean intervened, and you felt a tingle in your arm that you knew could be solved if you swung it at his face.

you racked your brains for a small moment, trying to gather ideas of what could persuade your rational friend.

“i’ll forgive you for your betrayal?” you tried convincingly.

“sold.”

“what?” yelled jean, outraged.

you smiled widely, holding a hand out to marco to pull him up. he took it sheepishly, standing up and then shaking it as if you guys had made a wonderful business deal — to you, perhaps it was. you did mean business after all.

“i knew you’d redeem yourself,” you told him excitedly, blocking out jean’s exaggerating arm movements of protest. you had half a mind to tell him how he looked as though he were neighing but decided that this was punishment enough.

marco scratched the back of his head once his hand had been released from your hold.

“so what’s this plan of yours?”

“i need to get into keith’s office,” you revealed calmly; jean looked scandalised.

he turned to marco.

“don’t tell me that’s not risky,” he said sharply. then, he looked back at you, eyebrows raised so far up his head, lines were beginning to form. “and who the fuck are you calling ‘keith’?”

you groaned, slapping your forehead.

“it just keeps slipping out,” you admitted, barely abashed. “never mind that. i have to get something in there.”

“what’re you looking for?” asked marco curiously.

“i don’t really know yet,” you answered.

jean let out a dry laugh.

“definitely not a red flag or anything.”

“can it,” you hissed, eyes narrowed. “i just need to find anything in there that’ll tell me when the captain’s next arrival is. i have to see him again.”

“that’s great and all,” marco began, sounding hesitant once more, “but.. what makes you think that..?”

you raised a brow at him expectantly. the way in which he was searching for words but also leaving his sentence incomplete made you question whether he was expecting you to finish it, to immediately understand whatever he was trying to get at.

“what, marco?”

he rubbed his palms against his jacket, shaking his head rapidly, murmuring something you couldn’t quite catch.

deciding to forget whatever he was going to say, jean seemed to have thought the opposite, choosing to complete his friend’s sentence without a single stutter and the upmost confidence.

“what makes you think that the captain wants to see you again?”

you blinked up at him.

“why wouldn’t he want to see me again?” you shot back. “i’m amazing.”

“so amazing that you even have commandant shadis hiding from you?”

“he doesn’t hide from me.”

jean scowled. “the day after your little farting mishap, i saw him use odm when you came out of the mess hall.”

you were beginning to think that perhaps he was right but you were much more stubborn than jean was.

“all of the higher ups use odm,” you tried, shrugging as though it did not matter at all.

“yeah.. when they’re in definite danger. gas and supplies have to be saved at all times, so the fact that he uses it when he sees you near —”

your heart had probably dropped in to your stomach and you felt sick. if you had managed to scare away shadis, what first impression did you leave on your soon-to-be husband? what did he think of you now? a cadet that went haywire? a cadet that is in need of proper discipline? or worse.. a cadet that is unworthy of joining the scout regiment?

the urge to pull your hair out of the roots was only growing bigger and bigger, for the realisation that perhaps he was even considering banning you from joining the scouts and reuniting with your partner in crime (erwin) had just become more notable to you.

no, that can’t be possible, a voice in your head spoke, erwin would put in a good word for you, right? … right?

and now a sense of dread filled you from the top of your head all the way to the tips of your toes.

instead of deterring you from your plan, your friends seemed to have accidentally got you determined to complete the plan at more urgency than before.

“well then the plan has to happen today,” you declared, determined.

jean’s face resembled one of trauma.

“what? no, that’s not what i —”

“scrap that,” you re-decided, ignoring the way jean’s shoulders had dropped as though a weight had been lifted off of them, “the plan has to happen right now.”

he looked more alarmed than ever.

“no!”

“where’s keith right now?” you asked marco, who looked like he wanted to be anywhere but here. “is he on duty?”

“i don’t know his schedule,” marco responded nervously. “i thought you would. hey, why are we doing this right now?”

“because i just realised i need to make a new first impression,” you answered confidently. “he probably wants nothing to do with me, i have to see him and prepare a plan b.”

“just.. why?” groaned jean, rubbing his hands over his face exhaustedly.

you glared at him.

“all married couples have arguments like this, we’re just in the middle of one,” you told him wisely. “stay out of it, jean.”

“trust me, i will.”

a headache beginning to form, you turned around, a hand placed just over your eyes to shield yourself from the sun for a better view of the mess hall from afar. you wondered whether keith would be inside there, frightening the cadets as they wolfed down their breakfast. the only way, you concluded, that you would be able to see if his office was free or not was to walk by it, slyly shaking the door knob to see whether it was locked or not. and seeing as keith was trying his best to avoid you, if he did encounter you, it’s less likely that he would reprimand you in comparison to how likely it would be that he merely ignores your presence and runs away.

you clapped your hands together, ignoring the way both jean and marco jumped ever so slightly at the impact of your palms meeting.

“i know what i have to do,” you stated proudly, eyeing marco. “what we have to do.”

“marco,” jean called out warningly.

“jean, do not make me get you a family reunion,” you threatened honestly. “believe it or not, i really don’t want to —”

“please stop arguing,” sighed marco, standing between the two of you as a peacemaker. “please?”

you smiled innocently, gazing up at jean’s chocolate-brown eyes in victory; he did not return the gesture, opting to glare daggers at you instead. victory truly was sweet, because no matter how many times jean tried now, marco was still part of your plan out of his own free will — nothing to do with you of course.

“i have to check keith’s office,” you told them, specifically marco, calmly.

“commandant shadis,” corrected jean bitterly. “before you go around telling everyone i told you to call him that.”

“it happened six days ago, get over it,” you dismissed him bluntly. “now, i just need to go over there and get inside. you have to cover me.”

marco looked you up and down before sharing his thoughts with you.

“not to be cocky or anything,” he started, scratching the back of his head with a brow raised, “but with how short you are, i don’t think you even need me for that.”

“not just physically,” you said, flicking his forehead at his stupidity. “if keith comes over, then you have to talk to him, bring up some sort of conversation.”

“won’t he get suspicious?”

you laughed.

“marco, you of all people don’t have to worry about that.”

“that’s not what he meant,” added jean, rolling his eyes at you. “shadis will think something’s up ‘cause, for some stupid reason, we’re friends with you. he’ll know you’re up to something and that you’re using marco to do it.”

although it was a good point, you knew that this part of the plan would be the least of your worries.

“keith’s not that smart,” you countered, sounding as sure as you felt. “if he was, the countless other stuff that i’ve done in the three years that i’ve been here wouldn’t have happened under his watch. just trust me on this.”

jean did not seem convinced, but marco looked worse. it would be more helpful if jean was helping out, but seeing as he was so fucking stubborn on his decision, you knew he couldn’t be moved and you would rather die than admit that his help was very much needed. it didn’t matter as much that he was not persuaded, so long as marco was, you would be fine, but that was the problem: he wasn’t.

“if we get caught — which we won’t — i’ll take the blame,” you reassured, but that only made marco’s frown deepen.

“what? no, that wouldn’t be fair at all —”

you’d had enough.

“marco, if you don’t shut the fudge up and just let me take the lead, i will slap you.”

sheepishly, he smiled.

“i guess i deserved that,” he mumbled. “i’ll do it.”

you beamed. “wonderful! let’s go now.”

you turned away, feeling a swell of pride bloom in your chest. this was one out of the many failed attempts that you had managed to successfully corrupt marco bott, and jean was not able to prevent it like he usually could.

“n-now?” you heard marco stutter.

“no, tomorrow afternoon.”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・

you intertwined your fingers together behind your back, walking along the corridors lightened up by the sun through the windows with ease, trying your best to look as though you were not up to anything.

it was difficult, though.

on several occasions, people looked back at you with curiosity, grinning behind their hands as they whispered amongst themselves something that, no doubt, had to do with you. once or twice you heard the very words ‘what’s she doing now?’ when you waited by the window sill, carefully watching marco run around the field keeping an eye out for keith.

at long last, marco turned around and looked up, waving frantically to grab your attention and then presenting to you two thumbs up, letting you know that the beast (keith) had been spotted and the plan was to commence.

adrenaline running through your veins like a marathon runner, you hurriedly walked over to the door, walking up and down the corridor once.. twice.. three times before standing in front of his office, hands behind your back as you clasped the cool door knob.

you pushed your head forwards and looked left and right before movement had been caught to your attention: ready to explain yourself, you noticed that it was a false alarm, that keith was still outside somewhere with marco covering you. instead, the very people not far down the corridor were three you knew all too well: eren jaeger, mikasa ackerman, and armin arlert.

sighing in relief, you violently shook the knob not realising how old the door must have been, because it made a loud clattering noise so that the three that were walking away from you were now forced to look over their shoulders and identify what (or rather who) was making such a racket.

it didn’t matter that mikasa’s dark eyes were piercing directly into yours in mild peculiarity, nor did it matter that eren was now intrigued with whatever the hell you were doing — judging by the way he opted to step back and regard you with a raised eyebrow.

“what’re you doing?” he asked, when you had silently cheered because of the creak of the door opening. “why are you outside the commandant’s office?”

if this kid wasn’t so damn nosy all the time, you thought to yourself, taking a step back into the office.

“i’m waiting for him,” you lied quickly. “er — be on your way now.”

eren’s brows were beginning to furrow. ah shoot, you cursed in your head, forgot he has anger issues.

“sorry,” you apologised, eyeing mikasa for help. you knew she also felt that eren stuck his nose in business that was not his. “i just have something to do.”

“like farting in the commandant’s office?” armin perked up.

at first, you thought he was spiting you, but when you actually stared at him, you realised that he was drop dead serious, a question with no malicious intent behind it. besides, it was armin, armin who never caused any trouble, armin who was almost as innocent as marco. his cheeks turned pink when he got no response from you, so you hurried to correct him.

“no,” you scowled, barely abashed. “i didn’t do it on purpose —”

“why didn’t you just hold it in?” asked eren, shrugging.

armin nodded in agreement. “yeah, you couldn’t have gotten in trouble if you did. was it really that bad?”

“i —”

“commandant shadis looks distressed nowadays,” mikasa commented coolly. “is it because of you?”

“it was a fart, it’s super unhealthy if you hold — wait.. why am i even explaining myself to you?”

you became wary of the little time you had left in your hands, majority of it used up because of eren’s stupid inquisitiveness.

“i have business to attend to!” you stated, frustrated.

and with that, you shut the door in their faces, exhaling in annoyance.

only for you to open the door once more and find them standing there, bewildered and blank faced.

“if anyone asks, you didn’t see me here,” you said, slamming the door again.

you could have sworn your heard armin question whether you were up to something or not and whether this meant that it’d be joint enterprise because they were at the scene. yep, you thought dryly, as innocent as marco.

shaking the thought away, you began to get to work, all but sprinting to his desk in search for papers, notes, anything that would alert you of the captain’s next arrival. there was no luck at all, all the sheets on his desk were merely random forms for god-knows-what. you did, however, notice a small change to the room in comparison to your last visit: there were several candles around the room even though the lamp was still working (you had checked just to be sure). it was after a more thorough examination (where you brought the candle up to eye level) did you realise that it was scented. what smell was he trying to get rid of by using scented candles?

you shrugged, lord knew at this point, because you surely didn’t.

you began to grow more irked with your constant failure at every attempt on searching for anything that would hint at the captain’s next arrival, before you grew intrigued by a thin sheet underneath one of the lit up candles.

interested, you dashed forwards, lifting the candle and taking the note underneath it. hands shaky, your eyes scanned the messy scrawl you noticed to be keith’s handwriting before nearly squealing in excitement, feeling the same rush of exhilaration you usually felt when flying through the trees using odm. the note read: ‘higher ups expected to help with the examinations for the 104th cadets next week’.

and that was all the information you needed before bolting out of the room, passing keith who paused, stared at you, and then sighed, shaking his head as he walked away.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・

today was a good day. the day after was even better. and the day after that was brilliantly excellent.

even the during mandatory training session, you had managed to out-do annie in hand-to-hand combat, and when she stood back up after taking a particularly hard beat down from you, she regarded you with a nod, which was much more recognition she gave to anyone ever.

“do i even want to know what’s got you in such a disgusting mood?” keith had the audacity to ask that day, reluctantly ticking something on the paper that was pressed against the clipboard in his hands. you had a very strong feeling it had something to do with your training progress.

“i’d be happy to explain,” you lied, sending him a smile that was all too fake.

the commandant walked away from you, grunting. “please don’t.”

you raised your middle finger at him as he marched over to mikasa next.

by that point, both jean and marco had made it to your side, all of you collectively watching as keith nodded to the dark haired girl, praising her silently with his eyes.

“think he noticed?” questioned jean, leaning in to your side to speak in a low voice.

“he’s daft,” you assured, mainly for marco’s comfort — who was standing on your right shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot. “hasn’t suspected a thing.”

“good,” voiced jean sourly. “you know what we — i mean — marco had to go through trying to speak to him? it was hell.”

you looked up at him skeptically. “so why are you so pissed?”

jean took this accusation to heart.

“i’m not!”

“okay.”

“but i’m not!”

“fine.”

“i don’t know what made you think —”

“jean, shut the frick up,” you sighed, clueless as to why he was getting so defensive. you raised a brow at marco, who shrugged at your friend’s odd behaviour.

but jean, instead of continuing to act in such a weird manner, opted to glance at you in disgust, looking you up and down and returning to his usual argumentative personality. you scowled at him, tilting your head up to address him directly.

“what?” you vocalised accusingly.

“it wouldn’t kill you to swear, y’know.”

“what’s it to you?” you interrogated defensively. “honestly jean, keep your flipping mouth shut.”

“on a better note,” started marco, very obviously changing the conversation, “your training has gotten so much better, y/n. had a change of heart?”

you looked away from jean, watching as your fellow classmates continued battling each other with desperation. as keith moved around the different pairs, you noticed how every time he got close to one of them, they would immediately fix their posture and fight as if their lives depended on it. it seemed as though people were really taking it serious from here on out, but it made your stomach flip uncomfortably. as much as you would love to join the scouts, this was only a scarce reminder that the three years you spent with all these people would be long gone and (possibly) forgotten, too.

“no,” you answered truthfully, releasing a tired breath. “i just feel good. and humble me real quick because it’s only hand-to-hand combat. i’m the best at that.”

“won’t help you much if you plan on fighting titans,” mumbled jean.

you chose to ignore his comment, clearly made to prove to you how the scout regiment is not where you should be going.

still, that didn’t stop you from stepping on his foot and relishing in the feeling of triumph when his face turned a nasty shade of blue; you grinned nonetheless.

the day after that was when it was real competition. the second you woke from your long, recharging sleep, you noticed how the bed across you (usually occupied by sasha) was made neatly and looked as if it hadn’t been slept in. this was an odd occurrence because you knew sasha very well, and you also knew her to be up only moments after you for breakfast — which you sometimes skipped to join jean and marco in their early morning training (begrudgingly, of course).

when you walked along the corridors to make you way to the boys’ barracks, people were putting their heads together to whisper in hushed voices, looking all too stressed with dark bags underneath their reddened eyes. their nerves were beginning to make yours become more existent. had they lost sleep over this? but you hadn’t, so what did that say about you?

palms tingling, you ignored the sign besides the entrance to the boys’ barracks stating (in bold) ‘no girls allowed’. you weren’t even sure whether the higher ups put it there or if one of the former cadets did. either way, you had ignored it on your first day in the training corps (and had several pillows thrown at you) and will continue to ignore it till your last day; it was tradition now.

and with that, you reached the fourth door down to the left of the corridor, one that you had memorised after taking this path for three years straight without fail. where you used to receive grimaces at your appearance in this area of the building by the boys who resided here, you now no longer get a second glance, as if you had become the exception to the words in bold. funny, you thought, as you entered their room without knocking, because you remembered the odd glances krista had gotten when she (bless her soul) was helping patch thomas wagner up after a particularly rough day of training.

you didn’t get to breathe a single bit of sweat and whatever else their stinky room smelt of before your face was met with the soft impact of a pillow mashing against your nose. hand tightened on the door knob you hadn’t let go of yet, you opened your eyes — when had you closed them? — and frowned at your attacker: jean was sitting upright on the bottom bunk of his bed, glaring at you as if you had betrayed him in some way (the irony).

“wow,” you spoke dryly, “that hurt.”

“learn to knock, woman!”

“i called it,” you heard marco sigh from the other end of the small room.

you raised a brow at him.

“your arrival,” he clarified helpfully. unlike jean, marco was not completely dressed, still taking his time with the straps on his chest. “i predicted it.”

you shut the door behind you, leaning against the cool wood. “congratulations buddy. want a reward?”

marco, to your surprise, actually nodded.

“not exactly,” he answered, and then turned around to reveal his back side where the straps had not been tied properly. “just a little help if you don’t mind.”

you said nothing as you helped him out, stepping forward without hesitation. ever the smartest one of you all, jean had decided that your compliance and lack of energy meant something was wrong, whether for you or for them, he had no clue, and took great care in demanding answers from you.

“thought you’d be excited for today,” he snapped after you carefully placed his pillow on his bed rather than choosing to smother him with it. he narrowed his eyes at you. “what’s wrong with you?”

“nothing,” you shrugged.

“bullshit.”

“hey, if she’s behaving, that’s all we’ve ever wanted,” intervened marco brightly. he stood beside you, smiling, and you noticed that the proximity between you was so little, you could count each freckle dotted on his cheeks if you so wished. “i don’t think we should be questioning it.”

“the hell is that supposed to mean?” you voiced defensively.

jean sat up in a way that looked as though he was expecting something.. almost hopeful you’d let out a certain reaction to confirm his theories. luckily for him, you did not have the energy to annoy them like you usually did, and so you had no choice but to resort to a more calm response (which was notably very much unlike you).

“whatever,” you sighed, tired.

his eyebrows rose up so that there were lines on his forehead.

“wha—”

“when are we leaving for breakfast?” you asked neutrally.

jean’s head swivelled to face marco, who was looking mildly impressed.

“you’re not gonna question her behaviour?” he demanded, staring at the dark haired boy in outrage. “why’s she acting like this?” he glared at you. “why are you acting like this?”

you blinked. “do you want me to hit you?”

“maybe it’s the stress for the exams,” marco innocently suggested.

at that, jean did not waste any time in demonstrating how wrong he felt that answer was. bursting out in fits of laughter with a hand draped over his lower abdomen and his other hand pointed at their freckled friend, jean practically choked on his own spit. you scowled.

“all right man, it’s not that funny.”

“her? stressed for the exams?” he managed to breathe out, unnecessarily slapping his knee at the thought. you hoped he would injure himself sooner or later. “have i ever told you how funny you are, marco?”

marco scratched the back of his head, shrugging instead of choosing to reply. obviously jean had not, but nobody was going to voice that out loud.

truthfully, it wasn’t exactly the stress of the exams that had got you in such a lazy mood, but rather the fact that your husband — hang on, time to be serious — your crush was going to be present, and you had spent no time attempting to better your scores like everyone else had been doing. it wouldn’t have mattered anyway, because you had no care for it, but that was the issue: the idea that because you had no care for it — unlike everyone else — there’s a possibility that you won’t be able to impress him when some people might have surpassed you during the time that you had decided to not do excessive training.

but of course, if you told them that, then they’d just go back to thinking you weren’t being serious when you one hundred percent were.

“we’re going to miss breakfast,” you pointed out observantly.

jean stood up, dusting himself off with an air of free confidence, a smirk playing on his lips which you wanted so badly to slap off. perhaps when you finally get into a better mood, you will.

“come on then,” he suggested cheerfully, striding over to the closed door, “if you’re so eager.”

jean was probably the only person you had seen that day who was not shitting himself due to the exams. well, perhaps sasha too, but did she really count when before she had been gifted with some bread and cheese, she looked so close to tears?

it didn’t matter in the end, not when the dry bread in your mouth nearly choked you mercilessly at the sound of his voice.

his voice.

it was enough to wake you from your non-existent slumber, enough to shake you from your lazy mood, enough to splash ice cold water on your face like a harsh reality check. you slapped a hand over your mouth, tears blurring your vision as you coughed, your other hand gripping onto the wood of the table so hard, you felt your nails digging into the table.

jean gave you a single glance before ultimately deciding to help out, slapping your back (albeit, harder than he should have and the fucker knew it) before looking around, trying to decipher what had got you in such a state.

“woah, even y/n’s nervous,” you heard connie chuckle from beside marco who, bless him, was silently urging you to drink some water.

you glared at the cocky, bald headed cadet who was holding his head in the palm of his hand.

“i am not nervous!” you snapped, a hand around your neck to ease yourself.

it wasn’t a complete lie, because no, you weren’t nervous about the exams. you were nervous about how you performed in front of captain levi, the man who was having a conversation with keith outside of the mess ha— hang on a minute.. he was having a conversation with keith!

sight now coated in red, steam might as well have been protruding from your ears, for if glares could kill, keith would have been dead ten times over.

connie coughed loudly. “chill out man, i was just kidding.”

you averted your gaze to him.

everyone at the table was watching you intently: you hadn’t realised that it looked as though you were directing your anger towards the clown that you knew to be connie even though you knew all too well it was your arch-nemesis, but they had no clue. maybe that was a good thing, your cover would have been blown if not for their completely wrong ideas. your blood was no longer boiling as much as it had been previously.

exhaling through your nose, you shook your head.

“it’s not that,” you informed them, ripping off another piece of bread and popping into your mouth with a sigh. “i have someone to impress.”

at that, everyone’s heads leaned in, some looking amused, others looking baffled. some even had the audacity to look skeptical (stupid idiots, you’ll show them!). jean and marco, however, shook their heads and sighed, looking unimpressed.

“here we go again,” you heard jean mutter. you repressed the urge to shove his face into marco’s porridge.

connie cackled loudly, pointing at you as if he had heard a joke worthy of making even captain levi’s mouth twitch. “you got your eye on someone?” he chortled, wriggling his brows. he looked more like a clown than ever.

“no,” you rolled your eyes. how dumb could he be? “he’s got his eye on me.”

they all looked at jean and marco for confirmation.

“don’t look at me,” stated marco, raising his hands up in a way that practically screamed ‘i’m not involved’. a form of betrayal you won’t forget.

“come on now,” began thomas wagner, who had been sitting quietly up until now. after hearing his next sentence, you thought that perhaps he should have stayed quiet. forever. “you guys aren’t actually buying this?”

you narrowed your eyes at him, your grip on your bread tightening. your day was already not having a good start, this was merely worsening it. “why wouldn’t they?”

maybe jean was sensing trouble, because he seemed to be acting as a piece maker for the first time in his life. someone give him a reward. “thomas,” he pressed on warningly.

thomas wagner, however, continued to joke. jean knew he meant no harm, just a friendly conversation, but where these conversations used to poke some fun at armin, or eren, or even him, jean, they had rarely ever been focused on annoying you, y/n. especially not when you were already in a sour mood. if commandant keith did not scare you on your good days, what the hell were you capable of on your bad ones?

wagner was playing a dangerous game without knowing it, it was only fair jean warned him.

but the blonde idiot was not getting it, and jean could tell your patience was waring thin.

“every guy is scared of you,” answered thomas, rewarding himself with laughter from the listeners.

true, you thought carelessly. but captain levi is not ‘every guy’.

jean’s shoulders drooped in relief. he didn’t say anything too bad.

“and,” wagner continued; jean was tense again (why doesn’t this idiot just shut the fuck up?), “this guy probably doesn’t even exist.”

BAM!

you kicked the bench wagner had been sitting on, hard enough to push it back despite the fact that it was being shared by the weights of many people, and the next thing anyone knew, he was on the floor, clutching at his buttocks in confusion and pain.

oh, and that wasn’t all.

keith was now looming over the table, sporting a deep scowl (when had he gotten here? you had no clue).

“it was y/n, sir!” some redheaded guy accused loudly.

you didn’t even bother denying it, but that did not stop you from sending him the dirtiest look you could muster: who even was this guy?

“do i know you?” you voiced, watching as his ears turned a deep shade of crimson.

“y/n,” sighed jean, nudging you with his foot as marco put his head down to avoid eye contact with the exasperated commandant.

“i already knew who it was before i even looked at what had happened,” keith scoffed, ignoring the way reiner braun was stifling his laughter, ignoring the way bertholdt hoover was silently choking on his bread, ignoring the way mina carolina was using her pigtails to silence her giggling. keith then shoved wagner from the behind with his foot. “get up, scum. your training starts now.”

and then he left.

wait.. he left? you questioned, raising your head to glance at the door to find that, yes, indeed, he had left.

but it was not only you who had been pondering his odd actions. the entire table was now gazing at you with wonder, envy, and amusement as you pushed away your now empty plate.

“and if it were any of us..” began jean, bitterly.

“what’s your trick?” asked connie, looking very interested as thomas wagner begrudgingly climbed back onto his seat. “whatever it is, i need it.”

“no, i do!” argued sasha, which (to be fair) she really did. ever since the first day, keith had it out for both of you — mainly you, seeing as sasha had only done one wrong whereas you had committed plenty of offences.

“i think he’s just fed up of you, y/n,” armin helpfully answered the question you failed to. “every single one of us set the standard. fortunately, y/n set it really low, so he expects everything she does now.”

“oi,” you snapped, realising how troublesome that sounded. maybe that was why your mother did not seem too upset with you leaving the house for the training corps.

“you’re annoyed ‘cause it’s true,” said jean sternly.

his stupid ass was so engrossed in lecturing you, he missed the way sasha had stolen his final loaf of bread from right under his nose. well, because of his annoying self, you decided you wouldn’t tell him that the bread sasha was now munching on was definitely not her’s.

“maybe use this new information to.. i don’t know.. fix up?” suggested marco kindly. he looked away when you met his gaze, rubbing the back of his neck timidly. “or i think that’s what jean meant —”

“i didn’t.”

“jean, i’m trying to make her less angry at you —”

“you do realise that i can hear you perfectly well, right?” you interrupted, frowning at their stupidity.

and the last few minutes of breakfast went by with you and jean arguing, marco attempting to make peace, thomas wagner being awfully quiet now (though watching your trio with amusement like everybody else), and none of you noticing the watchful, grey eyes that the stoic figure by the double doors had on you all.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・

“line up, maggots!”

you stood behind a tall, brunette boy. after some close examination, you realised that it was eren, and then you felt depressed all over again. not only was he being so damn determined, his height was preventing you from seeing anything at the front, including the delicious, short man standing beside keith with his arms folded tightly over his chest. so, frustrated, you took a teeny, tiny step forwards, standing on your tip toes so that eren could hear you when you whispered.

“move a bit to the left, will you?”

eren’s posture, already extremely tight, tightened even further, shoulders raising ever so slightly which told you that he most definitely had heard you. you waited.. and waited.. and waited.. why the hell was he not moving?

you nudged the back of his foot with yours, reminding him of your presence.

“can you move a bit?” you asked again, nicely so that the angry voice that urged him to have anger issues would not go against you when you needed him to comply the most. “please?”

you heard him exhale through his nose. still, no movement. you were beginning to grow agitated as keith’s speech was slowly growing nearer to an end.

“hey, i’m talking to you,” you whispered again, slightly louder to demonstrate your growing agitation.

“no,” you heard him respond, and although it was through a whisper, you could hear how firm he sounded.

you scowled at the back of his head, fingers tingling, prompting you to pull at his hair. goody-two-shoes.

you didn’t give up though, and began poking his back with every chance you got. there were other higher-ups walking up and down the paths, eyes wandering over every single cadet to make sure they were not talking and were completely focused on keith’s speech before they would enter the examination room. this meant that any time the coast was clear, you’d go back to poking him, nudging him, begging him, and all the while he remained stagnant. like the idiot he is, you thought sourly.

“(…) and if any one of you is caught talking, you will be disqualified and get a fat zero for that specific exam!” keith was saying, but it was only going through one ear and out the other for you, your main focus being on trying to see the captain. “your first exam will be the written test! empty your pockets now! any pieces of paper we find on you once you go in will count as a cheat sheet, you have been warned, cadets!”

annoyed, you kicked at the back of his knees, and to your surprise, he quite literally nearly fell, bending over before catching his balance and standing up straight once more. it would have been quite funny for you if you weren’t so furious right now. the movement did not go unnoticed by keith, however, who moved over to the right and glared at eren.

“JAEGER!” he bellowed, the whites of his eyes so visible his pupils looked like slits. “WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING?”

before eren could even apologise, keith had his attention elsewhere, looking around for something.

you tilted your head to the side, still attempting to find captain levi, only to see that you had fallen right into keith’s line of sight. fuck’s sake, you thought to yourself, not because his features were slowly starting to harden even further as he looked around, but because moving out of position was now useless when the commandant was covering the man you so desperately wanted to see. you moved your head back in place so that you were concealed by eren’s tall figure once more, disappointed. no use in having eren move for you now, you concluded.

“line up straight, maggots!” the commandant ordered, everyone’s posture straightening by instinct. “AND WHERE IS L/N?”

people around you were now turning their heads, no doubt looking for you. you eyes widened, trying to think of what you might have done that had gotten you into trouble again. bending your knees slightly so he couldn’t find you (you glared at the people around you so they knew not to snake you), you racked your brains of the morning, trying to figure out where you had gone wrong. apart from the wagner incident which keith knew of, what else had you done wrong today?

before you could think of anything, the back of eren’s head that you were looking at was now replaced with the front, and you were surprised to see that the bastard had a ghost of a smirk on his lips.

“don’t move,” you whispered pleadingly.

he didn’t say anything and only turned around, as slow as a snail, before raising his arm up.

“what, jaeger?” snapped keith, distracted.

again, eren said nothing.

but instead, he did the opposite of what you asked of him.

the fucker moved. to. the. left.

and keith saw you.

“you actual snitch!” you snapped, the desire to pull at his hair till he turned bald eating you up inside. “you snake! teacher’s bloody pet —”

“i want l/n at the front, now!” demanded keith, voice ringing in your ears despite being such a distance away from him.

you wanted to stomp your feet to demonstrate your irritation, you wanted to throw a tantrum loud enough for him to reconsider, but most of all, you wanted to slap eren jaeger till your handprint was left on his cheek: now you understood why jean hated him so much.

“any day now!” the commandant shouted when you hadn’t moved.

grumbling (and muttering profanities and curses you knew eren would most definitely be able to hear), you slowly made your way to the front, dragging your feet against the concrete reluctantly. because the lines were ordered without a flaw in place, you had to switch places with annie leonhart, a blonde haired, stoic girl who had a heart made of stone so that you had a position at the front. she made no comment about this decision, and silently obeyed by marching to your previous spot without complaint.

keith opened his mouth to continue his speech, but you were left with questions unanswered.

“why am i at the front?”

he did not bother giving you a single glance as he responded. “something always goes wrong when i don’t have my eye on you. i believe what happened to jaeger was all your doing.”

“no it wasn’t —”

“RIGHT, you worthless shits!” continued keith, rudely ignoring your argument.

you scowled, hands behind your back which you straightened at last. keith continued talking to your peers, walking up and down the rows of cadets addressing what would happen next. however, you were not listening. where at the back you were most distracted with finding captain levi, now at the front you were most distracted by captain levi himself. being at the front had its benefits, it seemed, for now you had a clear view of the man. you were close enough to see the exact, precise colour of grey his eyes were, close enough to see every thin strand of his hair that would fall against his head (slightly out of place), close enough to see the crease between his brows when he looked around. if you wanted to, you could examine every single detail about his flawless face and draw it on paper better than jean — who had much more experience with sketching — ever could.

he wasn’t looking at you, though, but that was okay. you would probably faint if he made eye contact anyway.

he looked majestic. grumpy, yes, but majestic all the same. the way in which he stood —

click! click!

you couldn’t see him anymore, vision taken over by a tanned hand that you knew belonged to —

“PAY ATTENTION, L/N!”

blinking several times, you looked up, met with the hard eyes that were keith’s; he did not look impressed. when did he ever? you thought to yourself, unamused. neck warm, and unbeknownst to the second pair of eyes that were focused on just you, you took a step back, grimacing at the hand in your face.

“i’m listening, i’m listening,” you mumbled, trying to stay in place.

“you’re unfocused!” keith scolded loudly. “take that trait with you to the scout regiment and you’ll be the first to die!”

you knew what he was trying to do. make you look bad in front of the captain of the scout regiment himself so that he would fall for him and not you. you bit your tongue, holding it so that you did not get yourself stuck in a sticky situation like last time.

“focus, cadet!”

“i am —”

“backs straight, all of you!”

you sighed, aware that it was going to be a long, long day.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・

all the cadets were taken into the examination room, line by line. the only issue with this was that keith had (without hesitation) ordered the higher-ups to escort you specifically and to walk by you side-by-side as if you were a child who needed more discipline than the others. for starters, no, you were not a child, and it was unfair that he would single you out just because of your unspoken chemistry and connection with captain levi. it wasn’t your fault that his love was unrequited (or maybe it was, because you were a barrier indeed).

anyway, the main problem wasn’t that you had to be singled out and escorted. the issue was that when keith loudly instructed that one of the higher-ups volunteer themselves to willingly do so, none of them agreed. in fact, when you looked around to see why it was so silent, you were sure that many of them even pretended not to hear him.

it had to be reiterated.

they pretended as though they could not hear commandant keith shadis, who needed no megaphone to allow himself to be heard.

offended, but content that you could walk independently like an adult, you grinned, a sight keith was not happy with.

“what’re you smiling about?” he jabbed, hands clasped behind his back as he towered over you in a way that you thought was supposed to be intimidating. it wasn’t.

“i can walk in myself, then?” you questioned, knowingly giving him the answer to the question with pride.

to your surprise, however, keith did not give you the answer you were expecting.

“no.”

you blinked. “no?”

“are you DEAF, CADET?” he yelled, and your head throbbed with the increasing volume of his voice. “DO YOU NEED ME TO REPEAT MYSELF? IF YOU CAN’T EVEN HEAR ME SPEAK, HOW DO YOU EXPECT TO HEAR THE FOOTSTEPS OF ONCOMING TITANS? YOU’LL BE THE —”

“‘first to die’, yeah, yeah, i get it,” you interrupted, rolling your eyes. you could hear sniggering as the lines began to move. what the hell did these people find so funny? “can i go in now?”

“not without an accomplice,” he answered, turning on the spot to glance at captain levi.

the captain stood there, scowling at the commandant. he said nothing, did absolutely nothing, yet somehow you knew that it was going to be him. what you did not know, however, was when that had been decided. had they been having a secret, silent form of communication, a sort of code that you were unaware of? but you were watching keith the entire time, what could you have missed?

it clicked.

every time they looked at each other, it was like there was some type of conversation going on through their eyes.

and then you were jealous.

but you hid it well of course, not letting the anger in you show so that keith wouldn’t be satisfied with how his plan of tearing you and your lover apart was slowly working.

you glanced at captain levi as if waiting for a confirmation. he turned around, began walking, then stopped, craning his neck over his shoulder to glare at you.

“are you sitting this exam or not?”

you swallowed on nothing, nodded, and then marched forwards, falling in line with the captain. the walk was silent, but also wrong. not in the sense that you and him walking together was a bad thing, but because he was walking around the building instead of going through the same entrance everyone else was walking in. curious, you addressed this.

“why are we going this way?”

he didn’t answer.

“everyone else is going to the classrooms.”

he didn’t respond.

“are you taking me to the mess hall?”

he didn’t say anything.

“why do you walk like that?”

“fucking hell, the bald shit was right about you,” the captain grumbled, side eyeing you as he walked.

you narrowed your eyes, figuring that it probably wasn’t anything good.

“what did he say?”

“none of your business.”

“it is my business if it’s about me,” you replied, almost skipping as you walked. who knew having a conversation with the stoic captain levi would be so chill?

he took note of the slight skip in your walk.

“walk properly,” he demanded, looking away when you glanced up at him curiously.

“what, like you?”

if he heard you, he didn’t make any indication that he did. shrugging, you formed an expression like his, shoving your hands in your pockets and then exaggeratedly straightening your back, attempting to walk just like he did, except for the fact that there was more femininity in the way you did, which you tried fixing, but could not.

you walked like this for about a straight minute before he noticed what you were doing. when he did, you smiled, gesturing to your legs that weren’t exactly complying.

he gave you the dirtiest look you had ever seen him give anyone. “what the hell are you doing?”

“am i doing it right?” you asked brightly, ignoring his question which you knew he already had the answer to. “i think i got my top half right, it’s just my legs. you walk like you’ve got somewhere to be —”

“that’s the purpose of your legs, idiot.”

“see, you calling me an idiot isn’t the serve you think it is if i like it,” you notified him wisely.

he glanced at you in a way where you could not decipher what he was thinking. would it kill him to smile just a little? you pondered.

“Coccydynia,” said captain levi, looking as though he was pretending not to await your response.

“it’s not an insult if i don’t know what it means,” you revealed, laughing before realising that captain levi does not laugh when he walks. you coughed, covering it up, but you could tell he knew what you were doing.

“that explains everything,” he stated quietly, but you heard it all the same.

“has keith been telling lies behind my back?” you said, a brow raised in concern, nearly tripping over your own feet. “i don’t know how you walk like this every day —”

“i don’t, you brat,” snapped captain levi, scoffing at your act that he thought looked nothing like him, “and stop calling him by his first name. that’s an order.”

“fine,” you agreed.

he raised a brow at you.

“fine?” he repeated, as though he heard something not worth believing like it was a trap set to kill.

“fine,” you nodded calmly.

he furrowed his brows, looking ahead once more as the two of you walked through the opened double doors.

"that was easy," commented captain levi, regarding you with little emotion as you followed him like a shadow. you were now taking notice of the fact that you were walking towards the classrooms, but the long way. "so what does shadis find so difficult about giving orders to you?"

"he doesn't find it difficult," you announced, undisturbed, "and if he does, he gives them to me anyway. second nature to him now, i think."

captain levi scoffed, almost in a way that sounded like it was a form of realisation. "so you're one of the trouble cadets? should've known."

"wha— no!" you denied, brows furrowed and no longer attempting to walk like him. "i follow orders really well actually. kei— i mean — commandant shadis just doesn't give me enough credit for it."

"you have anyone that can vouch for you?"

he trapped you in a corner now, because when your first thought was jean and marco, the voice at the back of your mind told you that they would most definitely not vouch for you. that short moment of silence was enough for the captain to know the answer, so scoffing, he walked on, making no attempt to bring up a conversation any longer.

"i followed your order," you pointed out smartly. 

he stopped walking, and so did you; stood a few metres behind him, you could tell you had him backed into a corner like he had you at one point. for what reason, though, you had no clue. 

captain levi glanced at you from over his shoulder, face stone cold and voice just as bored. "you'd be foolish not to," he told you, stultifying.

"is that a challenge?" you said, brow raised and a ghost of a smirk on your face. 

the captain was now staring at you in definite shock. of course, his brows weren't as high up as yours would have been, his eyes weren't as widened as yours would have been, his top and bottom lip weren't as widely parted as yours would have been: the small change in his demeanour like the way in which his pupils dilated ever so slightly or the way in which his sharp jaw was left just the slightest bit agape was enough to tell you that you left him speechless. 

the question was why. why was it such a shock to him that you were challenging him? had he never had someone speak to him as if it were a regular conversation? or had you, perhaps, said something completely out of line?

"i'm not part of the scouts yet," you mentioned, walking forwards so that you were directly in front of him now, "so i don't have to answer to you, right?"

he blinked..

and then frowned, the lids of his eyes back to covering half of his pupils. 

"you're asking for a kick to your backside," he finally voiced, "i don't know how shadis keeps up with you."

"i'll take that as a compliment."

"wasn't supposed to be one, now start walking or i'll drag you myself."

you scowled. "keith's rubbing off on you —"

"cadet," he hissed, teeth gritted.

"commandant shadis, i meant," you sighed, disappointed. 

and as the two of you continued to roam the halls in a comfortable silence, you then began to realise that you were taking long detours before reaching the classrooms. wondering why that was, you looked up at the man beside you, trying to figure out his intentions. as if a light bulb was placed directly above your head, your breathing quickened. 

he was trying to get you alone.

but.. why would he do that? you weren't even married.. yet. you weren't prepared, you hadn't even told jean and marco that this wasn't part of your plan, how would they react when they find out eventually? or the better question: could you even bring yourself to tell them? 

palms sweaty and head in a whole other world, you weren't aware of the short glances that the captain would give you every once in a while, a form of checking up on why the lousy cadet beside him (that was you, by the way) would keep looking around warily as if you'd been caught in an illegal act. you were nervous, perhaps, for the exam, which brought him to the conclusion that not only were you such a menace, but you held no regard for the exams, too. he rolled his eyes because, as he said, you were a trouble cadet. 

or maybe even a troubled cadet. why were you nervous to the point where you were now walking closer to the walls of the corridors than to him? 

at last, when you began slowing your walking pace (which thoroughly irked him), he voiced his questions aloud.

"what the hell is wrong with you?"

and he said it harshly.

did not help calm your nerves, by the way. 

"nothing," you lied shakily. "what's wrong with you?"

he scowled at you, turning away briefly and deciding in his head that no, he would never ask you that question ever again, if the situation ever called for it.

but now he had no choice but to take notice of your odd behaviour, because you were practically glued to the wall at this point, slowly lingering as if there was something so interesting about the dust gathered for years that no one had bothered to clean. tramps, he thought in his head, sourly. 

watching you, he waited. 

and he was as impatient as ever.

"get over here," he demanded, vexed. 

you didn't.

"that's an order."

you did.. but ever so slowly. a snail could beat you in a race without even trying. exasperated, he strode forwards, gripped onto your upper arm tight enough to leave marks, and then pulled you forward so that you were forced to walk beside him. 

he must really want me then, you mused, conflicted between feeling panicked or excited. 

"escaping your exams won't get you anywhere but back in the stables," he told you firmly. your brows were knitting together, confused as to why he was talking about exams when he was clearly trying to get you alone in a room with him. he scoffed at the look on your face, walking faster when you tried pressing your feet to the ground. for a man as short as him, he sure was strong as hell. "yeah, i remember. seems like you've forgotten though, don't make me remind you."

what the fudge does that mean?

but before you could ponder on that for any longer, he stopped at the wooden door of a classroom. the very classroom - you noticed - where you took your daily classes, the very classroom you were told you would be in for your written exams. and here you were, not alone with captain levi the second he twisted the knob and opened the door to find befuddled cadets trying to find their assigned seats. 

"get in," he said, wasting no time in turning away to leave. 

you couldn't. not when your heart was practically threatening to leap out of your chest, not when your brain had been completely fried, not when your limbs were rooted to the spot, frozen. and you could see, from your peripheral vision, that he was still looming around the corner, waiting. 

"oi," he called out, voice bouncing along the walls so that you were shaken out of your stupor. you shifted on the spot, staring at him expectantly. "stop wasting time and go inside."

the look on his face - he remained expressionless, a small pout pulling at his lips like something between a frown and a scowl - made it look as though he wanted to say something, but was holding back. in the end, his expression merely hardened, a silent order with his eyes.

"if you don't walk yourself in that room right now, i won't hesitate to use force —"

"all right, all right, keep your hair on," you quickly replied, after thankfully recovering from your petrified state. you felt your heartbeat return to its usual pace, beat after beat, you stood waiting for him to leave. when he didn't (as if he expected you to run away the second he turned the corner) you grinned, lifting an arm to send him an exaggerated wave. "wish me luck!"

the aloof captain simply rolled his eyes; you took that well regardless. 

when you found your seat at last (after taking your sweet time walking in the room as you were processing the previous events) you sat, pulled yourself in with your chair, and clasped your hands together on the table in front of you, deep in thought. yes, you were one hundred percent wrong with the captain's intentions, and now really thinking about it, why would someone like him try to get you alone after knowing you for only a solid five minutes? it just didn't make sense, and if you had just realised that earlier, perhaps the disappointment blooming in your chest wouldn't have existed at all: even though you were scared and unprepared shitless, you would practically kill now for some time alone with captain levi. 

and after the disappointment, the anger settled in comfortably. how dare he not want me? i am amazing, i am awesome, i am —

"hey, y/n, i've gotta ask you something."

leisurely, you turned your head to face the cool toned voice that interrupted your very important thoughts. mildly annoyed, you raised your eyebrows at the freckled brunette who sat on her chair carelessly. 

"you're number ten as of now, right?" asked ymir, brown eyes staring at you in confidence. 

you nodded, inquisitive to see where this was going. 

"well i got a favour i need from you," she told you calmly. swinging on her chair as the other cadets walked up and down the isles to find their seats, she continued without a waste of a single second. "i heard you're joining the scouts. is that true?"

again, you nodded.

"how do i know you won't change your mind at the last second?" 

you tilted your head, confused. "what're you talking about?"

ymir whistled lowly. "i remember a time where you were pretty serious about joining the garrisons."

you shook your head, waving a hand dismissively. "that was ancient. a long time ago —"

"it was three weeks ago —"

"i was a different person then!" you shot back, outraged. she seemed unfazed, almost pleased with your response, which brought you to a single question. "why do you care anyway? it's my choice."

"i want you to do something for me," said ymir, and when you searched her face for a single suspicious look to see where the lie was, you found none. ymir halted her swinging for a moment, the legs of her chair slamming against the wooden floor as she slapped a hand on your shoulder to pull you closer to her. instinctively, you leaned in. "see krista over there?" 

you followed her other arm, traced it to where she was pointing and was met with the sight of krista lenz, a blonde haired girl with doe blue eyes to match, muttering and speaking to herself. judging from the way her brows furrowed so tightly that it created lines on her forehead, you could tell immediately that she was preparing for the oncoming exam. 

you liked krista, she was a nice girl who had shown you kindness since your first day here at the training corps. with that in mind, you also knew how ymir and herself were glued to the hip, so whatever ymir was going to ask of you, it was safe to assume that it had something to do with little krista. 

"what about her?" you went on to say, watching as krista rubbed her temples with her fingers. 

"she looks stressed, right? i know a way you can help a girl out," suggested ymir, releasing her grip on your shoulder to clasp both her hands behind her head. "let me cut to the chase. you have no intention on joining the military police, you made that pretty clear from the start. no clue what your deal is with them but i like it, 'cause that means you'll have no problem with taking position number eleven instead of ten, just so krista can join the mp's and live in the interior?"

you rested your chin on the palm of your hand, surprised. "so.. you're asking me to be a little lousy on the exams?"

ymir clicked her fingers, pointing at you as if to say 'bingo'. 

"exactly. how's that sound?"

you were now in deep thought, which you didn't completely mind. it took your brain away from any thoughts about captain levi, something that you knew was needed due to your unhealthy obsession. you honestly did not mind dropping a position, it wouldn't be too bad. besides, your only plan with these exams is to impress the captain, and you could still do that being number eleven, right?

ymir was not a patient girl and it showed. she clicked her tongue disapprovingly, forming a fist with her knuckles so she could press her cheek into it and rest her tilted head there.

"c'mon, if you don't plan on joining the military police, what's the point of being part of the top ten?" 

"but that's the point," you began to explain, conflicted, "i hate the military police. the only reason why i plan on being in the top ten is to prevent another potential member of the military police. if i now know that krista will be one of them, well my plan goes to shit."

"it's krista," clarified ymir, frowning, "do i need to spell her name out for you? what bad would krista do in the military police?"

that was a good argument.

"if you had to choose anyone to be part of that regiment, krista would be the best option and you know it."

you did not spend any more time in thought. smiling, you gave ymir two thumbs up.

"all right, fine," you agreed, content. "i'll go down one step, number eleven it is. doesn't sound too bad, right?"

"not at all," encouraged ymir, smirking all the while. "but if you change your mind —"

"i'll let you know beforehand,” you assured her truthfully. “'m sure i won't, though.”

ymir nodded abruptly, looking pleasantly pleased with your answer. the two of you then decided that you would stop the small talk to pay attention to the examination’s officer, who was giving a small pep talk at the front of the class. he merely summarised the things you were taught in class, which wasn’t at all that difficult to forget: where the weak spot of a titan was, who came to discover it, the theoretical aspect of the existence of the titans, etc.

however, despite knowing all of this, you couldn’t help but believe that the stuff you wrote in the exam weren’t as sharp as they would have been on your best days. perhaps it was because a certain someone had been plaguing your thoughts throughout every question you read and every answer you thought of.

you left the classroom feeling elated either way, deciding that this one exam would pull your grade down (like you had agreed with ymir) but the rest would be quite all right.

the next one was the use of odm gear and titan killing. of course, real titans weren’t used, it was just like training, where you’d fly around the woods and the cardboard titans would appear out of the blue; the goal was to slice the cushion part of their necks. for every kill in the set amount of time given, you earned a point, boosting your grade.

and how did that go for you?

better than the written exam, sure.

you were sure you’d have made it past position number five from the second you took off the ground, the hooks of your gear latching onto the thick trunks of the trees, pulling yourself up against the force of gravity as the wind smacked your face harshly. you had one of the female higher-ups following you close by, observing your every move, her face showing no crack of emotion for you to decipher whether she was impressed or not, but that was okay, you knew that you did particularly like well for this part..

except for when you caught sight of him.

the second you spotted a flash of dark green in your line of sight (one that you knew did not belong to the leaves hanging on the trees), you froze, flying in mid-air with a hollow head, the remaining gas left in your canisters being wasted on the movement of simply moving with no sense of direction.

and then your nose met a wall. hard enough to know it was solid, and flimsy enough to recognise it as cardboard, you were well aware that one of the last pop up titans that was meant for you to kill had stopped you right in your tracks.

and then you fell.

— caught yourself just in time with your hooks so that you were bent over a tree branch, arms and legs hanging limply in exhaustion —

but you still fell nonetheless.

that would most definitely effect your grade.

you groaned, opening your eyes to stare deeply into the brown ones belonging to the woman who had been previously observing you: she was sitting on the branch in front of you, higher up than you, and shaking her head.

“how much do i have to pay you for you to forget this ever happened?”

she ignored you and instead announced that your time was up. you came to the conclusion that that exam didn’t go as well as you wanted it to go, but it was definitely something, enough to make up for the grade you messed up for the first one.

keith later announced that all cadets would be allowed an hour break before continuing on for the last set of exams. relieved, you sat by yourself by the tree near the field where the hand-to-hand combat training usually took place. you weren’t alone for long, for jean and marco had come as a pair to sit beside you, pulling you into a conversation on how the first two examinations went.

“i smashed it,” jean announced proudly, leaning on one of his elbows with an air of unhinged confidence. “probably did better with the odm than the writing though. like did you see that question — what was it? — oh yeah, the one about ‘approximately how many titans can one single soldier kill’? how the hell should i know? isn’t that supposed to be up to the skill of a soldier?”

“i think that was meant to be the answer,” marco sheepishly replied, jean responding by smacking his forehead and then grunting at the impact. “and i’m pretty sure we’re supposed to write the statistic.. like the highest kill count done by somebody —”

“which would be captain levi, right?” you asked, because you remembered writing about him somewhere on your paper.

jean rolled his eyes at you. “for the love of god, i hope you did not write that —”

“it would be, actually,” answered marco, raising his brows at you in surprise. “you wrote that, didn’t you?”

“of course i did,” you revealed, laughing at the scowl on jean’s face, “who do you think i am? there’s no way i’d forget such an important thing about him.”

“i saw you walking with him earlier too,” mused marco, smiling. “how did that happen?”

“keith,” you stated, venom laced on your tongue as you spoke the single syllable that was his name.

“shadis,” corrected jean, bitter.

you rolled your eyes. “that paranoid are you?”

“can’t blame me when it comes to you.”

“anyway,” started marco, interrupting as the peacemaker he is, “how did you do, y/n?”

sighing, you leaned back against the tree trunk, the rough wood scratching against your harnesses.

“aside from a silly little mistake —”

“i bet it wasn’t ‘little’ —”

“— i think i did really good actually,” you continued as if jean hadn’t commented his unwanted thoughts. “i’ve decided that i’m gonna step back a bit.”

jean and marco, ever the only ones to be so curious with what you get up to, sent you curious looks as if to say how?. you saved them the time of panicking for no good reason by clarifying exactly what you meant.

“i’m taking position number eleven now.”

and they certainly weren’t pleased with your answer.

“what? why?” demanded jean, a single vein protruding from his pale (now very pink) forehead. he sat up properly, towering over you in a fit of white hot rage and fury. “you’re taking yourself out of the top ten? why?”

marco did not look too impressed either. he was frowning - pouting almost - eyes downcast in what looked like to you as disappointment. he didn’t say anything, choosing to let jean express his contained anger instead.

“how are you going to get into the military police if you’re not in the top ten?” argued jean, his thin brows knitting together tight enough to form lines between them.

“you forget,” you started, irked, “that i never planned on joining the military police. you know that —"

“you won’t be in contact with us!” snapped jean, actually gripping onto your arm tight enough to leave half moon crescent marks where he touched you. “you’re insane —”

“it wouldn’t have made a difference anyway. i’m banned from joining the military police regardless, remember?”

jean had definitely forgotten this crucial fact, because he leaned back again, the grip on your arm loosening as he ran a hand through his light hair with his free hand. “shit.. yeah, you are,” he murmured, realisation seeping in. “fuck’s sake, y/n, the hell did you have to go bothering nile dok for?”

“hey, it was for erwin!”

“commander erwin,” mumbled marco, who had been eerily silent up until now.

surprised, you turned your head to shift your gaze from an irate jean to a calm marco, who was silently picking at the grass squashed beneath your weight.

“you’re gonna need to say his name with his title in front.. for when you join the scouts.”

blinking, you were convinced this was a dream. it had to be. marco, who had secretly (though not slyly) been wanting you to join any regiment but the survey corps, was now encouraging you to pick them? marco, who had always lowkey sided with jean, was now siding with you and your choice?

this definitely wasn’t real.

“pinch me,” you breathed, startled.

“no, pinch me,” said jean, in awe. he stared at marco. “you’re supporting her?”

“not really,” said marco, giving you an apologetic shrug when you frowned, “but i do believe that it’s her choice. i’m sure she’d want us to join the scouts with her, but she’s not trying to convince us about it because she knows it’s up to us, our decision if we want to join her there or not.. or that’s what i — that’s what i think —"

“you’re right,” you admitted, beaming at him. “i’d drag you guys there with me but i know you don’t want to.”

“hm,” voiced jean, seemingly at rest. “what changed your bipolar mind anyway? i thought you wanted to impress captain levi?”

“i can still impress him by being at number eleven. besides, ymir wanted krista to take number ten —”

“you’re doing this for them?” asked jean, outraged. “what about you? the fuck do you owe them?”

“it’s not a debt i’m trying to pay!” you exclaimed. “i’m doing this ‘cause i want to.. and like i said, we wouldn’t be in the same regiment even if i did stay at number ten. nile dok hates me.”

jean scoffed. “and whose fault is that?”

“his. i’m extremely loveable —”

“not wrong there,��� chuckled marco, and you sent him a toothy smile, showing off your pearly whites.

“that’s why captain levi’s already asked you out, right?” jean jabbed at you.

“i’ll have you know that he nearly did today!”

“straying too far from the truth, i think,” marco intervened, causing you to slap his arm playfully.

“whose side are you on, marco? you keep switching.”

“whichever one benefits me most.”

“devil in disguise, you are —”

“you’ll be working for the devil in disguise, sooner or later,” said jean, flicking your forehead.

you yelped, jumping away from him as you rubbed your head, glaring at the culprit in front of you. “you’d better not be talking about erwin —"

“i hope not too,” replied jean, annoyed, “i hope i’m talking about dot pyxis, or nile dok —”

“hey, you never know, she might even decide to find a way to stay in the training corps and work for commandant shadis instead,” said marco, sheepishly moving away from you when you sent him an unmoving glare.

“anyone but the one man that could get her killed,” agreed jean, nodding, “even if it’s the commandant —”

“i’ll slay those titans better than even the commander,” you vowed dramatically. “that’ll prove to you guys that i’m not gonna go rogue out there.”

“and now you sound like jaeger —”

“jean!”

“whatever. just don’t die when you join the scouts,” jean finally uttered, and instead of the usual joking manner the three of you spoke in, there was a sense of grave urgency in his voice, the vein that had previously been visible on his forehead pulsing beneath his skin. you could tell he was still not on board with your decision, but there was a difference to his attitude from then to now. it was all sinking in, genuine worry painted over his features which made this entire thing seem more real. it was only a couple more weeks before you parted ways, the potential thought that you could die outside of the walls without a body to be returned did not ease both jean and marco’s nerves, however they were accepting: one more than the other but even still, accepting.

and that made you content.

you found yourself grinning at jean, leaning forward to tease him. “aw, do you care about me suddenly jean-boy?”

“shut up, i take it back.”

“you don’t,” you chortled, pulling at his ear as he swatted your hand away.

“why are you always like this with me?” he grumbled, rubbing his pink ear grumpily. “what about marco?”

“marco can admit he cares,” you answered, placing your hand on top of marco’s when he shakily smiled at you, “but you’re the idiot who hates affection for some stupid reason —”

“he wouldn’t hate it if it was from mikasa,” marco joked, and you bent over in laughter, surprised at how easily the joke slipped past the precious, peacemaker marco’s lips with such ease.

“w-what? that’s not — fuck you guys, i hate you,” sputtered jean, left in a pool of his own embarrassment as the two of you continued to make fun of him.

not long after, the hour break was done as soon as it came, and before you knew it, the lines were formed once more to proceed with the next set of exams. of course, you were at the front again, not that you didn’t try to take back your original spot, however, eren was not having it, and he purposely stepped to the side to reveal your sneaky figure hiding behind him. you threatened him lowly as you made your way to the front, but you felt victorious when you saw the look of unease and fear on his face when he heard you curse at him; at least he knew he was fucked. we love a self aware king.

the next exam you had was hand-to-hand combat. you were placed in pairs (random pairs) to fight it out and hold it for an entire minute. you had been paired with hannah diamant, a brunette haired girl who you knew to be a hopeless romantic, a girl you had interacted with many times but never actually trained with her one-to-one. thankfully, you were aware that hand-to-hand was not her best, but it certainly was yours, so you held your ground incredibly well throughout it all.

until..

him.

you saw him. you saw him eyeing the cadets, you saw him observing their every move, you saw him criticising them with his calculating eyes.

and when you tried getting yourself to focus, under the impression that he would be watching you too, you lost it. taking steady breaths, you put yourself into position, preparing yourself, only to trip over your own feet and go tumbling over poor hannah, who had done nothing but fall victim to your clumsiness.

the examination’s officer tutted at you, shaking his head as he scribbled aggressively on the board clutched tightly in his iron grip.

so like odm, you figured it went well till this very point: unfortunate, but not too bad, right?

that was okay, because you were sure to make up for all the mess ups in your assessments when you would go in for the final exam: the knowledge crunch.

here you would be in a room, alone with an examination’s officer and a single higher-up. the examination’s officer would have some pre-set standardised questions in front of them, and you simply had to answer correctly. show off your knowledge, really, and be creative too.

which you were one hundred percent sure you could do. there were many times where you left people speechless, and what was that due to? your creativity, the ability to freeze them and have them expect the unexpected.

you were certain you’d do well when you lined up by the door with your fellow cadets waiting for your turn, you were certain you’d do well when the line began moving, you were certain you’d do well when you caught sight of different higher-ups leaving and entering the room..

but you weren’t certain you’d do well when mina carolina skipped out of the room, squealing in excitement.

“how’d you do?” you asked, beaming at her when she sent you a radiant smile full of exhilaration.

“i think i did excellent!” she smiled, bending her knees to stop herself from jumping, “i thought it’d go horribly because i was so nervous of the man in the corner!”

“man in the corner?” you repeated, confused.

“he’s the captain of the scouts, captain levi’s in there,” mina clarified, watching as your face fell. she gripped onto your biceps, gently shaking you as some form of comfort. “oh don’t worry, y/n! when i saw him there, i thought i’d start stammering like crazy. remember when we’d have commandant shadis ask us the questions? it was nothing like that! he just sits in the corner and watches!”

you absentmindedly nodded, before realising what she had uttered at the last sentence.

he just sits in the corner and watches!

(..) just sits in the corner and watches!

(…) in the corner and watches!

(….) and watches!

“he watched you?” you asked, unintentionally cutting through her vibrant explanation of how she wasn’t a stammering mess like she usually was; she did not mind, happy to answer your question either way.

“yeah, and he looked really intimidating, i nearly lost track of thought,” said mina, chuckling. “word of advice, just don’t make eye contact with him. i did once and i lost track of what i was saying. he’s got this face that just makes it look like everything you’re doing is wrong, y’know?”

you’d have thought that you’d be happy to see the captain again, and no doubt, you most definitely were. the only issue was that you came to the conclusion that your exams went really well.. when he wasn’t around. somehow, when he did come at the last damned second, you managed to fuck up. it was like fog was building up in your brain, so much so that you could not think clearly. he was as desirable as cheese in a mousetrap.

before you knew it, your name had been called out by a voice deeper than even reiner braun's. gulping, despite the encouraging smile mina gave you, you walked into the room, nearly walking directly into the chest you knew belonged to captain levi.

"you again?" he said, looking down at you as if you were such a nuisance. 

you smiled through the rapid beating of your heart. "don't act like you want to get rid of me so soon."

"it's not an act."

"captain levi," the deep voice sounded again. you looked past the shoulder of the captain's, met with the eyes of a man who looked old enough to be your grandpa. "we're a little short on time. i thought you said you were leaving?"

you walked over to your chair, taking a seat and crossing one leg over the other, leaning forward to take a look at the piles of paper stacked in front of you. you took one, your eyes running down the page skimming and scanning. 

"eugh, whose handwriting is this?" you questioned aloud, making a look of disgust as you tried reading whatever the scribbles of writing were. "could use a lot of work —"

"i'll have you know, it is mine," the examination's officer remarked, impertinent. 

your face dropped, eyes widening and heart stopping altogether. you wanted nothing more than the ground to just swallow you whole. even death seemed to look more appealing than this form of embarrassment. he was definitely not planning on giving you a good grade. 

you let out a shaky laugh, offering the paper back to him timidly.

"yeah — erm — so you might want this back, right?"

he all but snatched it out of your hand. you shrunk in your chair. 

"actually," began captain levi, who had been present throughout this whole interaction, "i don't remember saying i was ready to leave."

the other man looked up, pushing the glasses on the bridge of his nose further up at this revelation. he shook his head, "but you just —"

"you said your time was running out," the captain reiterated.

"of course," the examination's officer said, flipping over the pages on his notebook, "of course."

it felt like hours had gone by when the questions had started. the captain, like mina had said, made himself comfortable at the corner of the room, arms folded over his chest as he watched you. you tried not to focus on him, and it was working.. almost:

"there has been a titan break in: wall rose has been taken over. what are you going to do?"

"run to erwin."

the examination's officer blinked. "erwin?" he raised, the end of his pen poking at his cheek. "erwin smith, you mean?"

you nodded. "that's him."

"why?"

"commander of the only regiment that deals with titans.. why wouldn't i?" you responded, leaning back with your elbows resting on the arms of the wooden chair. "and because he's my best friend, of course —"

"watch it," captain levi voiced. 

you looked up, having almost completely forgotten that he was even there. you raised your hands up in 'surrender', shrugging. "my bad, forgot you two were tight."

the examination's officer coughed, eyeing you eccentrically. "you and commander erwin.. you're acquaintances?"

"more than acquaintances," you answered. "he told me his entire life story —"

"don't be fooled," captain levi butted in, "she begged him for it."

"you don't know that," you retorted quickly. 

"did you?" the examination's officer asked. "beg him for it?"

"yes," you said lowly, "still makes us more than acquaintances!"

he coughed, bringing his notebook of questions closer to his face. "we're stirring away from the exam.. let's see.. ah — yes — so you would contact erwin smith.. and say what, exactly?"

"that he's not doing his job properly and that titans have broken through."

"not doing his —? okay, all right. let me rephrase. what is the first physical action you would take against a titan, should you come face-to-face with one?"

"slice the nape."

"and if a fellow comrade is in danger?"

"slice the nape."

he begins noting things down in his book. you wonder if what he's written is even legible. 

"who would you report back to after seeing titans invade wall rose?"

"erwin —"

captain levi clicked his tongue. "that's commander erwin to you."

"or him," you added, pointing at the moody captain residing to the examination's officer's back left corner. 

"i wouldn't believe you."

this guy, you thought to yourself, aware that the man in front of you was probably noting down every interaction you'd made with the captain as a bonus, too. 

"i'd make you believe me."

"what the hell did you just say —"

"is this exam finished yet?"

"not quite," the old man said.

and he was a liar, because he made it seem as though it would be done in a couple of minutes: it wasn't. you were there for nearly ten whole minutes before things were finished off. many, many times you had rendered the man in front of you speechless (your main goal, of course), and you were convinced that you had done well. impressed the captain? you must have, there was no way around it.

you left the room feeling giddy, convincing yourself that it hadn't been nearly as bad as you thought it would be. mina was right. 

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・

a week later, you were alerted of the results of the new list.

a crowd of people had been spotted by the corridor opposite to keith's office, huddling and shoving and pushing each other. immediately, you knew what it was, especially when marco excitedly dragged you across the substantial amount of people regardless of their loud complaints about how it wasn't fair that you were going in front of them.

 ⌜ • ° + ° • ⌝

1st - Mikasa Ackerman

2nd - Bertholdt Hoover

3rd - Reiner Braun

4th - Annie Leonhart

5th - Marco Bott

6th - Eren Jaeger

7th - Jean Kirstein

8th - Krista Lenz

9th - Sasha Braus

10th - Connie Springer

⌞ ° • + • ° ⌟

so you hadn't made it to the top ten. expected. you weren't disappointed.

so you read number eleven, where you should be, but found:

11th - Ymir Fritz

what? you thought to yourself, baffled. okay, so maybe you were at number twelve. again, not too bad, but instead you found:

12th - Samuel Linke-Jackson

13th - Armin Arlert 

and now it made no sense to you. you appreciated all three of these people, ymir, samuel and armin, but you knew that your skill was much better than theirs, and as your finger moved further down the list, you found yourself.. lower than expected:

38th - Y/n L/n

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・

you just had to drag marco into your bullshit, didn't you?

jean did not know why he chose to be friends with you, or how this friendship even came to be, but it's not as though he regrets it.. of course not.. you were just a handful. or more than a handful, really.

marco was an absolute stammering mess, scratching the back of his neck as he tried bringing up conversation to the commandant for your sake. it was a painful sight to watch, yet jean had found himself leaning against a particular tree, eyeing the back of the commandant's head, just picturing the look on his face that had marco cowering back in fear. 

should he go in and save him?

no, jean, don't even think about it, he scolded himself. the second he did so, he was reminded of just why he shouldn't get involved, unless he wanted to ask marco for an ear massage like last time for when shadis twisted and dragged him by his ear. no, he would watch from a safe distance, because he warned marco, had he not? he warned him not to agree with whatever plan you had going and marco made the stupid choice to ignore him. he did this to himself, now he must suffer.

he listened intently, silently cringing at every word he could hear. 

"i just wanted to.. i wanted to ask you a question about something, s-sir?"

silence.

the silence was too damn loud. 

it felt like hours before shadis responded.

"are you waiting for me to grow out some greys or what? ask the question already!"

"o-oh, right! sorry!" said marco hastily. "well, i was curious about.. about.."

fuck's sake, thought jean, mentally face-palming himself, he's just about as much of an idiot as y/n is. he willingly brought himself in shadis's presence unprepared? 

should he interru—

no, jean, no! he reminded himself cruelly. he knew what he signed up for, it's not your problem.

yet watching him fish for something to talk about was physically painful. 

"cat got your tongue, bott?" exclaimed commandant shadis, impatient. "speak now or forever hold your god damn peace!"

and marco actually stood there, like an idiot, frozen in place, with nothing to say.

commandant shadis shook his head at him, sighing. "what was i expecting?" he snorted, sounding mildly annoyed. "you spend too much time with l/n, i knew this would happen."

"y-you knew what would happen.. sir?"

"i knew that she would rub off on you and i would lose another extremely capable cadet."

and that couldn't be more further from the truth. 

ah fuck it, jean thought, you owe me one, y/n.

"that's not true," jean called out, feeling heroic. both marco and the commandant turned to see jean  with his head hung, eyes trained solely on the floor in shame. "that's not true because.. i asked him to speak to you."

silence.

calm before the storm.

and then he was yelling.

"YOU? AGAIN?"

"i wanted him to ask you something that i couldn't.." said jean, eyes scrunched shut. i hate my life, he thought, before uttering the last few words. "i need.. relationship advice."

-

jean left the field after several sit ups, squats, and laps with a dull ringing in his ears after listening to the loud lectures given to him by the commandant. 

you were definitely a handful. 

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・

so so sooo sorry for the late update. i've just been extremely busy with school and everything, so i'm juggling writing chapters like these on top of all the work. i probably won't be as active in the next 2 months, but i promise, after mid june, i'll be here a lot. 

i did not expect this fic to get as much love as it got, so i did king of neglect it a bit. and then came back to a swarm of new notifs so yeah, felt special ig lol. anyways, hope u enjoyed? 

all characters belong to hajime isayama, apart from y/n, who i've inserted in to the story myself.

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