#tw; abuse

[tiredly101]

Broken…

Pairing: Wally Darling x Male Reader

Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5 and Part 6

Summary: You are an adult, you even have a boyfriend but your life isn’t rainbows and sunshine. You have always watched the animated cartoon Welcome Home and a connection with its main character was established since you were little but what will he do when he sees the truth within your walls?

Illustrated Show Au and the warnings are in the tags but just in case: tw of abuse, injuries, near death mention and angst. M/n stands for male name and I'm sorry for all the people named Josh!

Wally has always being your best friend since you were a kid, M/n admit that it wasn't normal for the cartoon character to respond normally whenever he talked with him but it made him feel comforted which is why he still watches the cartoon to this day even though he is an adult. He even is married but it wasn't the healthiest marriage.

Josh was the man M/n married, he was a sweetheart, an artist. Very similar to Wally when it came to traits and personality but when he moved in everything changed but alas M/n turned a blind eye and would simply watch Welcome Home and talk with his best friend.

Another argument and screaming could be heard outside of the house. M/n could feel tears stinging in his eyes and he was starting to have a headache from how hard his jaw was clenched, he could actually feel some bile in the back of his throat. Through the argument at some point the Tv was turned on but it was muted and right there Welcome Home started and their sat Wally with a huge smile, ready to talk with M/n; he had been waiting for him to turn on the tv but his eyes were exposed with a shocking sight.

M/n was on the floor and they were crying while Josh kicked him over and over again, he was curled in a wall and shaking slightly. As soon as Josh ended his assault and left the house M/n was simply laying on the floor, numb and coughing some blood, the feeling of bile stayed on his throat and his headache worsen to the point where he could feel as if someone was pounding his heartbeat with a hammer.

"Neighbor... M/n?," Wally said softly but he was still muted but he saw how M/n weakly lifted his sight to Wally and gave him the most heartbreaking soft smile but as soon as he smile he felt another sharp pain followed with some blood being spitted out.

"Don't worry, he has done this before," said M/n in such a weak voice that Wally in a different scenario would have melted at hearing but he knew deep down that M/n was lying. He could tell by how weakly he was moving but as soon as he saw M/n eyes start rolling and his eyelids starting to shut his instincts took over and he started banging the screen until it broke.

Wally ran to M/n seeing how his skin was slowly turning paler by the minute and so he picked him up and took him with himself through the Tv screen. Wally kept in mind that he would need to give Josh a personal visit but for now it's more important making sure his best friend, his soulmate, didn't die because of someone like him.

This was inspired by the song Broken by Isak Danielson and I will be making part two so tell in the comments if you want to be tagged!

[sixpennydame]

The Better Man, Chapter 8

Previous chapter | Epilogue | Series Masterlist

Read in AO3 here

Content/warnings: alcohol consumption, child abuse and neglect, mentions of death.

A/N: This is it..the final chapter! Thank you to everyone who has read, liked, and reblogged this fic. I hope you've enjoyed all the angst and drama!

There will be a final epilogue coming out next week.

Suggested music:

There’s not a sound around you as you walk through the dark, quiet streets of Trost, still too early for even the bakers and butchers to start their morning shifts. There was no way for you to get a hold of Lars’ horse, so you had to find other ways to get out of the city without Levi tracking you.

You knew he’d search for you.

If you can just get further into Wall Rose, you can make a new life. You’ve done it before. 

When Levi said he wouldn’t leave the Survey Corps, you knew in your heart that being together - truly together - was just a dream. You couldn’t watch him go through that gate, wondering if he would ever return. The pain of losing someone again - the fear of losing their bodies or minds to the trauma - you’re not sure you can do it again.

And so this time, you left first.

You’d packed only a few change of clothes in a small pack, along with all the money and valuables you and Lars had.

All except one.

The simple gold band reminded you of the life you no longer had, of the love that was no longer with you. And so you’d left it on the table of your small home with the rent for the remainder of the month and a small letter explaining your departure to your landlady. You’d left nothing for Levi. What good would a letter do? 

The easiest and fastest way out of Trost is the ferry that travels along the river, but if you do that, there would be a record of your departure. It wasn’t easy to find an alternative, but you were an Underground rat; your instincts helped you find a smuggler sneaking goods out of the city who was willing to smuggle you out as well. You hand him the payment and step onto the boat, holding the hood of your cape as close to your face as possible.

“You must be pretty desperate not to be found, if you’re leaving like this,” he snickers, but you huddle up closer in a corner, pulling your knees close to you and trying not to think of the hurt and anger in Levi’s eyes when he finds that you are gone.

“Levi…I’m sorry…” you whisper to no one but yourself.

——

After your disappearance, Levi spent the rest of the week in a rage to find you. He searched every women’s boarding house, every small, forgotten apartment. He checked the ferry and stables for any woman leaving Trost fitting your description. As he searched for you, his heart and mind struggled to understand why - why you would leave, just as your lives could have started again. Had the moment you’d shared together just been a dream? Were the two of you destined to always be apart?

No, Levi didn’t believe that. He creates his own destiny, his own future. And he wants to share that with you. He doesn’t know why you ran away - maybe you’re scared - but he does know that he’ll search every goddamn town in this goddamn, walled world until he finds you.

But every day, every possible lead, gets him no closer from the truth of where you are. Since his search started, he’s barely slept, barely ate, and barely even been to Survey Corp Headquarters. He’s tasked Eld with keeping up the squad’s daily training routine, and although the team doesn’t question his actions, they know it’s only a matter of time until his absences will be noticed by more than just them.

Namely, Erwin.

Levi rides into headquarters disheveled and in a rush. After searching Trost with no sign of you, he suspects that you’ve somehow gotten out of the city undetected and have moved somewhere else within Wall Rose. Although you’re resourceful, he knows it’s not possible for you to have gotten very far with the limited funds you had, and if he leaves now, he just might be able to find some kind of clue in a neighboring town. He stables his horse and goes straight to his room, ignoring any and all corpsmen he passes by. As he packs a small bag, he hears a knock on the door. He ignores it, but the person behind it enters anyway.

“You’re squad tells me you’ve been busy lately,” the baritone voice remarks as the door clicks closed.

“Yeah,” he doesn’t even stop to look at Erwin standing against the doorframe, his arms crossed at his chest, “I have some personal issues to take care of. I’ll be gone for a few days.”

“You know there are certain procedures in place to request leave, Levi.”

“And I don’t have time for that bullshit right now, Erwin.”

“As apt as I am to let you have your way most days, I’m afraid I have to refuse this time.” His gaze was cold, serious.

Levi met his gaze with his own, his stormy grey eyes boring straight into him. 

“We have an expedition in two days. Surely you didn’t forget.”

There’s only silence while Levi buckles his pack and slings it over his shoulder. “Eld can lead the squad in my absence. He’s more than capable.” He moves towards the door which Erwin is blocking. “Now get out of my way.”

“I can’t do that.” Erwin stands up straighter, his broad shoulders blocking the way entirely. “You made a commitment to the Corps and to your squad.”

“This is important.”

“More important than the lives of your squad, your comrades in arms?”

“Yes,” Levi replies sternly.

“I know that’s not true.”

Erwin’s right. The lives of the Corps weigh heavily on Levi. He knows the fate of many of them rests in his skill and expertise. His absence could mean many more lives will be lost. Lives like Lars’. 

His heart waivers for a moment, torn between his duty and the urgency of finding you. He has to find you. “I have to do this,” he says. “Now move.” When Erwin doesn’t budge, Levi grabs the lapels of his jacket, jerking him down to face him. “I could easily force my way out of here, you know.”

“And you would be charged with attacking your superior officer and punished accordingly,” Erwin answers bluntly. “You’d be held in the brig until a punishment was decided.”

A few seconds pass as both men stare each other down. Then Levi lets go of his lapels and pushes him against the door. He drops his pack on the floor with a heavy thud.

“Fine. Have it your way.” His eyes darken with murderous contempt.

But Erwin doesn’t flinch, only straightening his jacket. “The 104th Cadet Corps is in Trost. When we return from the expedition, we’ll be enlisting new recruits and you can take leave at that time.” He turns his back on Levi as he opens the door. “Now we both have an expedition preparation meeting to get to.”

This bastard…

Levi straightens his ascot, takes a breath, and follows Erwin down the hall to the meeting room.

Two days later, The Survey Corps rides through Trost, to the usual fanfare. It irritates Levi, how fickle the crowd can be: loving them and singing their praises one moment, then cursing them the next. He can hear people talking about him. Fuck, he hates that.

But he looks out into the crowd, hoping you’ll be there, that you’re trying to catch his eye. 

“Who ya lookin’ for?” Hange asks, riding beside him.

He snaps his head forward. “Nobody, Four-eyes.”

He’s going to hold Erwin to his promise. After this expedition, he’s leaving Trost to look for you. Nothing and no one is going to stop him.

——

“Levi!” You yell out, jolting up from your bed. 

It’s been the same bad dream the last few weeks since you left Trost, much like the bad dreams you had after Levi rescued you from that brothel so many years ago. But instead of hands grabbing you and clawing at your flesh, it’s titan hands grabbing at Levi and pulling him away from you. You just can’t shake this dark feeling of danger, like something bad is going to happen soon.

Like something is going to happen to Levi.

You wipe your sleepy eyes and find that you’d been crying, something you’ve refused to allow yourself to do since Lars’ death, in an attempt to build that wall up around your heart again. But in the loneliness of the night, your dreams reveal your true self. 

The sun is just starting to rise over the wall surrounding Karaness. You’re not really sure why you decided to stop here, in your attempt to evade Levi; it seemed far enough, and you were so tired of hitchhiking. You ended up settling just outside the main part of the district. You’d had enough of walls on all four sides of you. Of being caged in.

And yet.

Your mind had often told you to return to The Underground. That maybe that was the place you truly deserved. You could sneak into Mitras and go back. Although impossible to escape, nobody would think twice if someone wanted to return there; in fact, they'd probably think you’re crazy.

But you couldn’t do it. Levi had sacrificed too much to get you here. You knew he was better off without you, but to go back to that place would be an offense to everything he’s done thus far. He’d told you that he let you go because he thought that was the best for you; that he didn’t deserve you. 

Did he understand that your leaving was for the very same reason? Had he realized that and given up looking for you by now? 

You got dressed and headed for your job at the local tavern. You never thought you’d be working at a place like this again, but there were no other options. It seems like there are some things you just can’t escape, no matter how hard you try. 

As you wipe down the bar and tend to the customers, someone barges through the door.

“Trost has been attacked! That Colossal Titan reappeared and kicked a hole through the wall. It’s five years ago all over again!”

Everyone runs outside, as if expecting to see titans on their own doorstep. Raised voices and chaos are only amplified as the Garrison forces begin moving into the inner, walled district of Karaness, reinforcing both gates. 

You run up to a soldier packing canon shells into a wagon to take into town. “What’s happening in Trost?”

“It’s too early to say ma’am. We’ve just been ordered to reinforce the Karaness gates until further notice.”

“But the Survey Corps…were they there? Are they fighting in Trost?” you press, desperate to know anything about Levi.

“Ma’am, I honestly don’t know. We’ve received no other updates,” his voice is stressed. “Now, please.” He gestures for you to move away from the wagon.

You know that if there was an attack on Trost, then more than likely the Corps was there, unless they were on an expedition. There’s a tightness in the pit of your stomach, fearing your dreams are coming true. You need to know if he’s alive. 

No sleep comes to you that night, as you toss and turn, thinking about what might have happened to Levi and his squad. You know he’s capable of taking down any titan that crosses his path, but the Colossal Titan is not like any other titan. And if that hole isn’t closed up, then they’ll be overwhelmed with titans in a matter of days. 

If Levi was dead, you’d know it, feel it somehow. He’s alive, he’s alive…

And the realization hits you: what a fool you’ve been, thinking you could leave him and all your love for him behind, as if that was a choice your heart even had. You’ve never had a choice when it came to him - even when he left, your love for him had never faded.

You need to see him and make sure he’s ok. 

And so in the morning, you decide to leave for Trost.

——

Levi watches you from the back of your father’s tavern. It’s where he tends to hang out whenever Kenny leaves him for days at a time. He’s a teenager now, so being by himself isn’t too big a deal, but it still gets awfully lonely. And your presence has always filled that loneliness for him, ever since he was a boy.

Word of Levi’s newly found strength had spread throughout the Underground, and so it wasn’t usual for men and women to challenge him to various feats of strength. Tonight, it was arm wrestling, and Levi beat every last one. 

“How many have you beaten tonight? Six?” You ask as you walk by his table.

“Seven, but who’s counting,” he replies dryly, as he pulls his arm across his chest, stretching his muscles. You laugh, and he swears it’s the sweetest sound in the world. He wishes he could give you more reasons to laugh, but there were few opportunities in the Underground and it seemed as if it was your father’s goal to make you as miserable as possible.

You walk away from Levi’s table with a tray of beers, not looking at where you’re going and knock into another table. The beers spill everywhere as the pint glasses fall and break onto the floor. 

Your father is upon you in an instant, face red from alcohol, anger, or both. “Stupid girl…Can you do nothing right?” He raises his arm and backhands you across the cheek, but before he can land a second blow, Levi is up out of his seat and punches him squarely in the jaw. The entire tavern goes silent when they see your father sprawled on the floor unconscious, then one by one, men start standing and making their way to Levi.

“Let’s go.” He grabs your hand and pulls you out of the tavern and into the dark street. You both run, hand in hand, hiding from the men yelling and running after you, until Levi pulls you into an abandoned building. As he leads you up the stairs and onto the roof, your heart is racing from the frantic running and from the fact that Levi is holding your hand. He doesn’t let go even when he’s decided that you’re in a safe hiding place.

Your hand is sweaty but you don’t let go either. “What are we doing up here, Levi?”

“I’m getting you away from your asshole father, that’s what. I’m tired of watching him hit you. I had to do something.”

“And what are we going to do now?”

Levi thought about it for a few minutes. Honestly, he hadn’t really thought it through when he grabbed your hand and started running. “We’ll run away together.”

“Run away? But where would we even go?”

“I don’t know, but we’ll figure it out.” He turns to look at you, eyes full of determination. “I can protect you.”

“We’re kids. And my dad is just drunk…he’ll regret what he did when he sobers up.”

“No! It’s not ok, what he does to you. And I’m not a kid. I’ll take care of you.”

“Levi, I —“

You’re cut off by the voice of your father, yelling your name. You peek over the edge of the building and see him stumbling about, spouting half-drunken apologies and requests for you to come home. You look at Levi, defeated.

“Y/n, no.”

You move closer to him, then give him a kiss on the lips. It’s quick and awkward, but it’s enough to make Levi’s eyes go wide. 

“I have to go. He needs me,” you say reluctantly. “But someday, we’ll get out of here and be together. I promise.”

You let go of Levi’s hand and walk out of the building, toward your father’s voice.

——

You weren’t sure what to expect as you made your way to Trost, but the closer you get, the more chaotic it seems. Refugees from the fallen city and the towns surrounding fill the forests and roads. You hear them talk of a rumor that a soldier turned into a titan and was able to block the hole made by the Colossal Titan, but it was too fantastical to even believe. 

The walls get closer and there are soldiers everywhere, creating a roadblock that hinders your entrance. 

“Sorry, miss. Access to Trost is for the military only.”

“Please… I need to get in.”

“You live here?”

“Well, no, not anymore but -“

“No civilians are allowed until we can confirm the city is secure,” he commands, unmoving.

“Can you just tell me if the Survey Corp is there? Is Captain Levi there?”

“Most of the Survey Corps left a few days ago.” He stands resolute. “It’s not safe here. You should go back wherever you came from.”

You can tell that this soldier is not going to answer any more of your questions. You look around, trying to find any uniforms with the Wings of Freedom emblazoned on the back, but you see none, only Garrison and Military Police.

If you can’t get any answers here, then you’ll just go to Survey Corps Headquarters. There’s a chill in the early spring air as you take the road you’ve traveled countless times. It’s getting dark, but the road is wide and you could ride there in your sleep; you think back to the last time you’d been there, when Lars was still alive. 

As you enter the gates, there’s barely a soul to be found. Eventually, you spot a familiar face. “Wilhem…”

He stops when he sees you, a mix of surprise and confusion on his face. “Y/n…what are you doing here?”

“Where is Levi Squad? I need to talk with the Captain.”

“Sorry..I can’t tell you that. It’s classified information.”

“What do you mean?”

He tells you about the cadet who has titan abilities, and about the tribunal. You listen, in shock. It’s impossible.

“What happens next, not even we know. We’re just waiting for Commander Erwin to return with orders.” He pauses. “But everything has changed now.”

“I see.”

“Do you want me to relay a message to the Captain?”

You open your mouth to reply, but then stop and take a moment. “No..no, that’s alright,” and you turn to leave into the night, not really sure of where you’re even going. Wilhelm stops you and offers for you to stay there for the night. You tentatively agree, even though you haven’t stayed here since the argument with Lars, almost two years ago.

At dinner, the few Scouts you know tell you of the attack, of the confusion and devastation, and of the titan that seems to be on our side. They also talk about a rumor that Levi Squad has taken the cadet into their custody, but where and for what purpose, they don’t know.

As you sit there, slack-jawed, listening to their story, it confirms what Levi had tried to tell you before: this world needs him more than you do. If humanity is ever going to find freedom, then it needs Levi to keep fighting. You fear you’re just a distraction from his higher calling.

In the morning, you ride back to Karaness. Maybe it was for the best that Levi wasn’t here. Perhaps it’s time to truly make a life on your own.

——

Levi wakes up to the sun shining on his face through the window of his cold, musty room. He’d fallen asleep in the armchair again, but it didn’t make a difference to him - the beds in the old Survey Corps Headquarters were barely usable, and he slept even less than usual lately. Each day, more and more Survey Corps members were showing up at the castle; most notably, the new recruits, who seem to know Eren well. Levi had been monitoring him closely these past few weeks, looking for any change in behavior, or any indication of a titan shift; at the surface, he seemed like any other big-eyed cadet with a yearning to make a difference, but Levi could see something else in him. There was a monster deep inside…and when it came out, would Levi really be able to control him? Would anyone?

But that wasn’t the only thing keeping Levi up at night. 

He wondered where you were and if you were alright. Had he been wrong about you leaving Trost? What if you’d been hurt, or worse? He’d checked the dead and injured civilians list, and your name was nowhere to be found. You were alive, you had to be alive…

It was torture to not be able to search for you, but once again his duties pulled him away from you, his commitment to the Corps calling him. Erwin needing him.

But had he also not promised to protect you, to keep you safe? He couldn’t help but feel like he’d failed you in that regard; and yet, he told himself that in keeping humanity safe, he was protecting you, the one constant in his chaotic life.

He rubbed his stiff neck and rose from the armchair. They leave for Karaness District today and there’s still much to do. Erwin had arrived at the castle a few days ago and had informed his squad leaders of the deeper plan behind the 57th expedition beyond the walls, but Levi knew there was more he wasn’t telling them. There was a bigger plan at work here, and a look in Erwin's eyes that unnerved even Levi, who probably knew him better than anyone. 

A two day ride brought the Corps to the inner gate of Karaness. Erwin thought it best for all squads to camp outside the enclosed part of the district in order to accommodate the large wagons they were hauling. Wagons which were being guarded day and night and that no one was allowed to touch. Soldiers were ordered not to enter the town, in an effort to keep Eren and their plans as guarded as possible. 

That night, Levi was quiet, introspective. There was an air of anticipation throughout the camp, as there usually was the night before an expedition, but Levi knew there was something different this time - a new enemy, possibly amongst them. He should be thinking about the mission, about how he’s going to keep Eren protected, but as he cleaned and polished his blades, he looked up at the stars, and wondered where you were. 

——

It was one of the first warm evenings of the early spring, as you climbed the small ladder leading to the roof of your apartment. Whenever the sky was clear, you yearned to see the stars; the freedom and expanse of it all was such a stark contrast to the world you and Levi had been raised in. You smiled, thinking back to the two of you as children, straining to see the sky through a steep crevice opening to the world above, wondering what the stars were made of, straining to count how many there were..

And now, because of him, you were able to see them. You were thankful for the moments you’d been able to share with him in this life. He’d saved you, in more ways than one.

“Levi…wherever you are…be safe..” you said to the stars. They twinkled in response.

You awoke the next morning to the noise of wagons and horses, and the gate into Karaness opening. Confused, you walked downstairs to see what the commotion was about.

“That was the Survey Corps. Their next expedition is departing from Karaness this morning,” one of your neighbors mentions.

“What!?” Without even thinking twice, you begin racing down the street to the gate. If you hurry, you might be able to see them, and catch Levi’s eye. Maybe even get a chance to talk to him, to tell him that you love him, that you’re sorry for leaving.

Pain pierces your side as you run as fast as your legs will allow. But by the time you get there, the gate is closed.

There it is: that feeling of fear you had whenever you saw Lars and Levi ride out of Trost; of helplessness that you can do nothing but wait. 

But your fear quickly turns to a bold determination that he will return, and when he does, you will be there.

Surprisingly, you didn’t have to wait long to hear the gate open for their return. 

——

Levi was used to the jeering and cursing of townspeople after an expedition; but this time, it was almost unbearable. His injured ankle was throbbing as he walked through Karaness; however, he refused to ride his horse. He wanted to feel the pain, wanted to feel anything other than this deep sorrow in his heart. The words stuck in his throat as he turned to face Petra’s father.

She was gone. They were all gone.

The noise of the crowd fades away as he continues to walk in a daze. 

“Levi…”

The voice is soft and sweet against the ugliness of the jeers. Then a hooded figure comes into view as it quietly walks beside him from a distance.

And it’s like the whole world stops. 

He doesn’t have to see your face to know instantly that it’s you. He keeps walking to avoid a scene, but your name escapes his lips in a barely audible whisper. 

“I need to talk with you,” you plead, “please.”

If only he could leave with you now; if only you both could leave this place together, leave everything behind. 

You tell him the location of your apartment and he promises to be there tonight. 

A promise he intends to keep with every fibre of his being.

——

You pace the floor as you wait for Levi, going over and over in your mind what you’ll say to him. 

Then there’s a knock at the door. You take a deep breath and open it. 

Levi stands before you, visibly shaken, which is a rare sight, even for all the years you’ve known him. For a moment, he just stands there, then walks past you and into the small apartment. 

He’s never been one for words, but the weight of his silence now fills the space between the two of you as he looks around the room.

“You came..” you manage to finally utter.

“Of course I did,” he answers curtly, his voice stressed, “I want some answers.”

He turns to look at you, and you can see the pain on his face, the hurt in his eyes. He’s different.

What happened during this expedition?

“Why did you leave Trost?”

You swallow, mouth suddenly dry. “I couldn’t stay there anymore. I decided it was for the best if I left your life - for good this time.”

Before you can explain further, or apologize, he cuts you off. “I can decide for myself what I do and don’t need in my life. Noone gets to decide that for me.”

“No..” you shake your head, “you’re not listening - “

“And I told you that I would take care of you. Why would you run from me? Do you even know what you want?” His voice is raised, anger and frustration coming through in every word.

Hearing him reprimand you like this sends a spark of anger through you. “You’re one to talk, Levi. You left me first, remember? Don’t act like you’re blameless in all this.” 

Hands clenched at your sides, you face him. “You once told me that you left me alone above ground because you thought it was the best thing for me. That you couldn’t give me what I needed or deserved. Well, that’s how I felt.” You struggle with your next words. “Humanity needs you more than I ever will.”

“I don’t care what humanity needs,” he cuts you off again, “I need you. Can’t you see that?”

Although his words are harsh, his face is pained, and so you move even closer to him and cup his cheek.

He needs you.

“Levi…I’m here. For all of my doubts, I’ve realized I need you too.” Your voice softens. Seeing his face, having him here, suddenly makes all your other anxieties about the future seem unimportant. You’re only thinking about him. “What happened today?”

You can feel Levi leaning into your hand. “They’re gone. Petra, Oluo, Eld, Gunther, they were all killed today.” He swallows hard. “And I couldn’t protect them.”

He sits on your bed and looks at his hands. “I don’t understand why I have this kind of strength if I can’t save the people I care about most.”

You sit next to him and take his hands in yours, feeling the rough calluses from years of using the ODM gear. For someone so strong, he has such slender, delicate hands, you’ve always thought. At this moment, he suddenly seems so helpless. “Levi..their deaths, Lars’ death, Isabelle’s and Farlan’s..it’s not your fault. Your strength has protected countless others’ lives.” 

You shift your weight on the bed to look at him, then lift his hands to your mouth and begin kissing each finger. “How many times did you protect me when we were kids? When you saved me from that brothel?” You’re kissing his rough knuckles, “You’ve sacrificed so much for others…for me..”

 “Y/n..” Levi utters, his pain changing to love and desire. “I’ve done it all for you.” He caresses your cheek, then moves his lips closer to yours. “And I’d do it all again, if it meant I could be with you.”

He kisses you and even though you’ve felt his lips a thousand times before, it feels like the first time. Those same rough but delicate hands move from caressing your face to unbuttoning your blouse, finally laying you down on the bed. 

You look at him as he hovers over you; for almost his entire life, Levi has been seen as a weapon, his body used to intimidate and destroy. But you’ve never seen him that way; even now, as he unbuttons his own shirt to reveal his scarred body, you see him as a man with so much love and care for others. And how he has used his body to love you in ways that no other person ever could.

You pull him toward you and kiss him once more. “I love you, Levi.” The words you once had so much trouble saying now flow easily, unencumbered by pride or shame.

“And I love you,” he replies tenderly. “I always have, and I always will.”

——

The two of you made love again and again that night, until your bodies were completely spent and the sun began to peek over Wall Rose. It was as if each time you both were discovering something new about the other; a deeper well of love and pleasure neither had experienced before. 

And something else was discovered: the realization that you both needed each other; it had always been this way and it was always going to be this way; an irrefutable fact, like gravity. Fighting against it was a fruitless act, and so all you both can do is cling to each other. 

As the sun moves higher in the sky and the town wakes up around you, you know he has to go. The Scouts are heading to Stohess District for the next phase of Erwin’s plan, and neither of you know when you’ll see each other again. He pulls you close as you see him to the door, then he moves back to look at you. 

“There are only two promises I’ve ever made in my life, to take down the titans and to protect you. But I’ll make you another promise: I will always, always come back to you. Nothing and no one is ever going to keep me away again.”

His eyes…those same grey eyes you’ve known since you were both children, when he was helpless and alone; now, no longer helpless. 

And never alone again. 

“Yes, Levi, yes. I’ll wait for you. Until those gates open, until these walls come falling down, until you kill the last titan...I will be here waiting…. ”

“I promise you.”

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[ajokeformur-ray]

I just realised why I've been feeling so funky the last few days. I just checked the date and it slammed into me. I escaped my abusers eight years ago today

I'm gonna go watch a comfort film... I need a minute.😭🙏

[boydholbrookfanpage]

[shiroi---kumo]

"I know what is BEST for you."

[kitkatopinions]

Like not gonna deny that Mercury's been through shit, but why is he sadistic?

So while acknowledging that Mercury is still responsible for his actions, I do think that the abuse he suffered plays a big part in how Mercury acts.

A lot of abuse victims fall into the cycle themselves, it's an unfortunate truth that violence breeds violence especially when that's all you know. Again, I'm not trying to make excuses; this is an explanation, not an excuse. But Mercury was raised in an incredibly violent and unsafe place where he was punished for weakness and taught to fight and kill. He probably doesn't think it's serious because he was never taught to value human life. And I believe that all people have a moral compass and therefore Mercury should know better, but as I mentioned in my last post, I think he just blocks out any bad feelings. I think Merc is scared of being vulnerable and weak - something he was taught by his abusive father who punished him for being weak by taking something that's described as part of people and reflections of their souls - and I think to Mercury, letting himself be bothered by the suffering of others is just another proof of weakness, one he knows he'd likely get punished for at the hands of Cinder or Salem.

So yeah, I think the two things at play with Mercury's tendency to act like he enjoys the horrible things he does is that A. He was raised to do it and therefore is desensitized to it and was never taught to value human life, and B. What remorse and doubt and shame he does feel is squashed and ignored, treated like weakness because that's probably also something he was taught at the hands of his abusive father. And on top of those things, I think Mercury has a similar 'if you can't beat them, join them' mentality that Torchwick has. Mercury acts like everything that happens is inevitable, so why would he cry over spilled milk, you know? This mentality is obviously wrong, but I think that also plays into how he acts.

With Mercury, I feel like it's worth remembering that unlike some other characters, he's never been in safe conditions and has never had a good support system. Violence and murder are pretty much all he knows and it's all he knows how to do. It's not surprising to me that Mercury reacts to that environment by leaning into it and treating it all like a game. Mercury at his most sadistic almost felt like he was mirroring Cinder too - who was also acting sadistic and smirking and smug herself. It's learned behavior, it's what Mercury feels safe with and what he feels is expected of him. That's my view of it, anyway. It's very possible that the writers just write him to act that way because they think he's just a bad person naturally and they think bad people are sadistic - like Neo, like Torchwick, like Tyrian. But I personally like to try to delve deeper.

[ijwrff]

Another Zombie?-Yandere! Septic-egos x Zombie! Abused! Reader

I don’t know if I’m losing my mind or not, but I thought someone requested this. I just can’t find the request. It’s on my sheet! Of which stories to do in what order!!!!! But it is lost in the void. So here’s this possibly requested possibly not requested story. 

Lots of violence in this one, proceed with caution. There’s also some lines...that could sound like SA, but I am NOT touching that topic. For this story, and my intention, it is about abuse. Not SA. No SA involved whatsoever I can’t write for that. I can’t >.>

So! Here be the story! Involves: Anti, Marvin, Henrik, JJ, Robbie, and Jackie. 

Word Count: 2,714

You didn’t mean to stumble across the Septic’s house, but you did. Running from a group intending on torturing you. With your own blood splattered on your face and abdomen, you fell down, right in front of a house that looked abandoned. Hoping it could give you some semblance of relief from this pain, you bust the door down with what little strength you had left.

It didn’t look as empty on the inside. Quite the opposite in fact, it was very lively. With decorated walls, couches, a tv with game consoles, and lights everywhere. The blinding lights hurt your eyes, and you tried to look around. There was too much to process, and you couldn’t look anywhere without seeing those damned lights.

Losing all color in your eyes when you died made your eyes seem much more sensitive.

The group chasing you, realized you were a zombie and decided torturing you wasn’t “inhumane” because you weren’t breathing anymore. The twisted bastards. They’d cut, burned, dismembered, all you could think of. And you always recovered. You always felt it. You always remembered the terrible things that had been done to you in life, and now in death. It never seemed to end.

“Anti stop breaking down our door.” A nonchalant voice said from somewhere in the room. You couldn’t see him, but he was reading a book on the couch with his feet perched up on the table. He didn’t look up until he heard your grunts of pain. “Oh shit.” Was all he could think to say.

“N-no wait! Please…help me. Please.” You covered your eyes and fell to the ground. Maybe this was it. Those boys would find you, and keep you as their own personal punching bag until they grew old…or got bored of you. “I’m…being chased. I need help, please help.” You were on your knees, hands now covering your own head as you practically fell in the fetal position.

The man ran over to you, gauging your state of mind and body as best he could without knowing much about you or your situation. “HENRIK!” He yelled. He placed a hand on your back but you flinched away far enough that he took a big step back, holding up his hands. “Easy…easy. I’ll help you. A doctor lives here, he can patch you up.” He had to wonder just what you’d been through…

You heard the boys approaching the house, yelling profanities directed at you. Each time, you flinched and whined. It already hurt so bad…why were they doing this? You didn’t deserve it! Not any of it! Maybe…the people living here could help. You could hope, but hoping hasn’t exactly helped you so far.

“They’re…coming…” You muttered as you coughed up black blood. They had definitely seen the house by now, you could hear them coming closer and closer. Probably with their weapons still in hand. Bats, knives, you name it. Anything that could inflict the most pain.

“I got you…” The man said, and he realized the lights were causing you problems, so he turned them off. “Don’t worry, I can see just fine.” You didn’t see the wink he made in your direction, but you sat up a little straighter. “HENRIK! GET YOUR ASS IN HERE!” He yelled before walking slowly and calculatingly out the front door, towards the group of boys.

The doctor ran in, turning on the lights. “What? What’s wrong?” He saw you flinch at the brightness, and he turned them back off, leading you into another room carefully. He knew any pressure on a sensitive damaged area could make a patient panic. And from the brief look he got off your face, you were already close to panicking. “It’s okay…this way, alright?” He kept his hands off you after seeing how bad the flinch was.

Luckily the other rooms had a brightness setting. He led you around their home, and downstairs into the medical room. Did…a lot of people typically have medical rooms in their homes nowadays? Who knew at this point, whatever their reason for having it was, it was saving your ass right now. There were medicines, tables, and machines you hadn’t seen in a long time. It puts you a little bit more on edge.

You heard a brief sound of a scream as you entered the room, coming from outside, but as soon as the door was shut you couldn’t hear anything else. It made you wince, not knowing if the man who had saved you was the one screaming. He didn’t try to hurt you…he seemed genuine. At least from what you could tell.

As if sensing your unease, Henrik directed you towards the table, instructing you to sit down. “It’s alright…Marvin can handle himself. I can assure you he’ll be fine.” He got to work, going at your pace and not his. He clearly knew what he was doing, and treated you with the most care you’d had in a long time. “So…a zombie, huh?” He chuckled and you made a frown, looking away from him.

“I’m…sorry. I should go.” You said, and tried to get off the table, but the wound on your side made it difficult. “Don’t want you to be seen with me.” It hurts to say, but at this point? You were used to it. You’d met many people in your time, and you knew rather than whether you were alive or dead that it would only cause problems for all parties involved.

“No, no. It’s alright. You’re not the first zombie to come through these doors.” He chuckled again, a little louder at the surprised look on your face. Henrik seemed to know what you were thinking, and continued, “His name is Robbie. He lives here with us. Once you were feeling a bit better I could introduce you. He doesn’t bite, unless provoked.”

After that? Everything went pretty good. You ended up moving in with the men, Robbie, Henrik, Marvin, Anti, JJ, and Jackie all lived there with you. It was a pretty big house, which you didn’t realize when first arriving. You hadn’t left once, in the three months you’d been living here.

They wouldn’t let you.

At first it made sense. You were targeted, and the people who were commonly after you could bring you harm. Once they realized you’d never bit or even done so much as scratch someone, they became fiercely protective over you. You had “lived” many years, and not once did you harm someone. They couldn’t fathom it. How someone so kind could get so much hatred directed towards them.

As for sleeping arrangements, they realized you had nightmares every night. So after about a week of getting to know them all, you took turns sleeping in their beds. It was…kind of nice. You had never been so doted on, and it was weird. But…after a while you started relying on it. The nightmares didn’t go away completely, but it was much better after your first few rounds with the boys.

Robbie was the ultimate cuddler, and liked to nuzzle you. Henrik was respectful, and only cuddled lightly if you initiated it. You could tell he wanted to cuddle more, but he was also pretty guarded. Marvin liked to sleep with you cradled under his arm, wrapping his arms around you all night. Anti…tried to cuddle. But the man moved around so damn much in his sleep it was practically impossible. JJ never touched you. He did allow you to sleep in his bed, but he didn’t do so much as to even hold your hand. It was kind of a break from the cuddling you got from all the others. Jackie was a cutie pie. Always wanting to be the little spoon.

All of that? Was about to change today.

It was just you and Robbie at home, and you were planting in the garden out front. It was something Robbie liked to do, that you had never done before meeting him. It was extremely relaxing, and sometimes if it was a little damp, it would turn into a mud fight. To the other’s dismay. With mud tracked all throughout the house.

Robbie went around the back side of the house, to get the hose and pale, so you were arranging the flowers as best you could. And you were doing a great job! You were humming happily, and not paying attention to your surroundings. That…was a mistake on your part. What was coming? You would always think about and blame yourself for.

A man came towards you, seemingly lost in the woods. You didn’t notice him until he was up close, his shadow looming over you. “The fuck? Are you some kind of freak?” He took a step closer, and you flinched away from him only to have your arm harshly grabbed to hold you in place. He seemed to laugh, “You must be! Look at those eyes! Bet you can’t even talk! Got no tongue or something?”

He used his free hand and pried your mouth open. “Look at that! There is a tongue. Why don’t you and me go into that forest and see if your insides look human or not.” He had a wicked grin on his face, clearly some kind of psychopath. Or…just another normal human who wanted to mess with the undead in horrendous ways. It was impossible to tell.

“N-No! Leave me alone!” You weren’t stronger than him by a long shot. But…you also didn’t want to risk hurting him. “R-ROBBIE!” You tried calling, only to have the man tackle you, pinning your hands above your head with one hand, and one hand over your mouth.

“Who are you trying to call to? Another freak?” He smiled with a look that some would argue is less human than even you or Robbie. “You do make noise! Good to know!” He cackled, and you could see Robbie turning the corner of the house.

He dropped the hose and pale, and walked towards you as fast as he could. But…he hadn’t fed all week. So it was taking more time than he’d like. It would take at least a couple minutes at that rate. The stranger saw him, and knew that too.

“Aw look! A couple of freaks. Hey, you…” He looked back at you. “Wanna see what I can do to your little boyfriend over there?” Another cackle, and Robbie looked more and more angry by the passing second. He wasn’t worried about himself. But he WAS worried about you.

Your eyes widened. No…no he can’t hurt Robbie. Not any of the men you’d come to love. Not even one of them should ever have so much as a scratch. This man? Threatening to hurt Robbie? The boy who had always been so kind and cute and just…precious to you. He was…going to hurt him? No no. That can’t happen.

All your favorite memories with Robbie flashes before your eyes. The late night talks, the trying and failing to cook together for the whole family, the mindlessly scrolling through the internet. Even when you both tried to play video games but were so slow the rest of your little family felt bad and let you win. This man…he would not…take this…AWAY FROM YOU!

Something in you snapped, and you opened your mouth as wide as you could, biting into the man’s hand, and effectively breaking the bones. The blood…it tasted so good. You couldn’t get enough of it. One bite turned into two, and two to four, four to ten. Eating away and away, as the man screamed and writhed in agony. It was…funny, almost. The way just one threat towards a boy you loved could warp your entire mentality.

Before you knew it Robbie had joined you, tearing away at the man. The man had stopped moving a long time ago, but you didn’t stop. Robbie had stopped a while ago, but you were just so hungry. He tasted so good. It was addictive, and euphoric. It not only tasted good, but it FELT good. As if you were getting stronger, as if this was the thing that had been missing in your life. Your will to fight back.

Robbie stopped you, breathing heavily after there was barely anything of the man left. “You’ll get…too full. Stop. You need to stop.” You hadn’t heard him sound that strong all week, but you didn’t WANT to stop. However he knew that feeling all too well. If you ate all of him you could, you’ll be ravenous. Wanting more and more until you can’t take it.

You ignored him, so in response, he pulled you away from the man and kissed you. The blood on both your lips mixes together, creating an addictive mixture. Eyes closed, and you both let out your long developing feelings into the one action. It was heaven, if that even existed, and you both didn’t need to stop for air so it continued for a while. At least until you had calmed down.

“Robbie! I…I’m sorry. I…oh my god…I killed him…” The realization struck, and you curled up against Robbie, sobbing. He held you close, very firmly. He wasn’t afraid of hurting you as much as he had been before you fed. This…was a good start though.

Before long all the others came back, and they all surrounded your crying form. It was a lot of sweet words, and comforting gestures. “It’s okay, you’re safe now.” “He can’t hurt you anymore…” “I’ve got you.” Were common in those following moments. You hadn’t noticed, but almost all of the men’s eyes were glowing green. In anger? Maybe. But definitely protectiveness.

After a while, your crying had stopped and they all pulled away. You looked at each of them, and felt confused. They all looked…proud. Some more so than others. Especially Marvin and Anti.

Anti spoke first, leaning down to be on your level, and patted your head, “You did good. So fucking happy we found you.” He pulled you into a hug again, and scratched your back lightly with his black colored nails. But he pulled back and looked more serious. “You’re not allowed to leave. Ever. There’s more people like him. If anyone hurt you I’d fucking mu-”

Marvin cut him off, “Don’t scare them. But dearest…” He turned to you, “He’s right. You can’t leave. We’d be devastated if we lost you. There’s too many people that want to take you away from us. You don’t want that do you?” He smiled, and gave you a peck on the lips. It seemed to make some of the others anxious for their turns, or so it seemed.

Jackie jumped up, and almost knocked you over with a hug. His eyes were watering, and he whimpered out, “You wanna stay with us forever don’t you?” He was on the verge of crying, and you felt so bad you nodded yes. And maybe you did. But…this still felt wrong. You had murdered someone, and here they were kissing and praising you.

Henrik was next, “We love you. Dearly. We’ll do whatever we have to in order to make sure you can stay right here with us.” He pulled you close, “Nothing can take you from us. Nothing.” It sounded like a threat, but when he pulled back he had that friendly smile on his face. One you were sure his patients loved. “You did good. I’m proud of you.” A quick kiss and he had returned to normal.

JJ was last, and he blushed so bright his whole face was red. He leaned in and pecked you on the lips as quickly as he could and pulled back, adjusting his tie. You didn’t know what it said, but clearly the others did, because they chuckled as he signed “We won’t let you leave. You’re going to stay here, with us.” And if he could laugh he would have. He might be the most twisted of them all, but no one would know that.

So maybe you didn’t want to kill someone today…or ever. But…the men you loved were proud of it. So maybe it couldn’t be that bad of a thing…if it was just in self defense…surely you wouldn’t have to kill ever again…

Right?

[zoomingupthathilla]

Sometimes I think about what would have happened if max had stepped in between Neil and Billy. If he would have raised a hand to her… if she would have gotten the beating instead of Billy?

Would Susan care?

Would Billy intervene?

Would it have been a disaster or an eye opener? Driven Neil away? Taking Billy with him? She regrets never standing up to Neil for him, but she also would have never forgiven herself if he left and took Billy with him. She’d never know how things were, if Billy was okay or if Neil did something worse than the original abuse.

[banefultyrant]

I will expand on this later in a larger post with cause, severity, and so on, but some things to know about how I write Gortash…

Lingering / Lifelong Effects of Abuse // @banefultyrant

Chronic pain, particularly with bad [ cold and/or damp ] weather. His shoulders and the joints in his right leg have it the worst, but all the old breaks in general tend to make themselves known with achiness, though he will seldom ever show it as more than maybe he seems a bit more stiff than usual, or his expression somewhat drawn, tension around his jaw, etc.

Bad leg(s); Neither is good, were he honest. One is just worse than the other and requires the use of the cane, though he tries to avoid it when possible. He doesn't like being dependent on it. He doesn't like needing it. So he tries to make it seem like it's for the aesthetic, a fashion choice like all the rich patriars.

Bad shoulder joints. The reason for this should be fairly evident in the framework of abuse.

Lots of little scars, some visible such as those on his face, some not.

The shape of his nose is from one too many breaks. As is the permanent discoloration around eyes. [ Further helped along by having difficulty sleeping at the time with Orin and her ilk running about. ]

Dentures or partial dentures due to missing, cracked, or irreparable teeth.

There are, of course, lingering effects that aren't physical—he literally has an anti-anxiety coat—but that should likely be a post of its own.

[terrence-silver]

Hi! I'm sort of new to the fandom and I found your blog. I love your writing especially Yandere!Terry. Could you write Yandere!Mike x Reader? If not that's okay.

---

Wow, this will be several levels of toxic, but that’s just our bad boy. 😬

― I think Mike Barnes is more of a Tsundere than a Yandere, especially in the 80's. What does this mean? He gives off the airs of someone who deliberately goes out of his way to be needlessly and almost cruelly antagonistic towards his beloved, all while firmly staunch in broadcasting the fact that he doesn't give a damn about them and he does broadcast this fact a little too loudly and brashly to be entirely unaffected. He's aggressive. Mocking. Taunting. And even downright a bully. Actually, there is nothing 'downright' about it. Mike Barnes would bully beloved, straight up, all while being the very definition of a quintessential bully himself. All of that, rather than acknowledge that he simply likes them (he might not even realize or admit so to himself for the longest time, so it is a moot point), and if someone concludes he does instead of him, calling him out on it, what with all the attention he's giving them, how much he talks about them even if it is in a negative context, and how much of his energy he simply invests into them and making their life more difficult than it should be without seemingly zero reason, the extent of which he can't shut up about them, he reacts with even more of a temper as a defense mechanism. Liking? That loser!? No way, man! Not on your life!

― Except, for someone who stubbornly and vehemently professes to have zero interest, Mike Barnes is there crashing every date beloved might have, running into them in every club, on every dancefloor, on every lonely corner of the street, stalking them on the regular, breaking into their home, showing up at their campus if it is college they attend, busting up every friend-group, catcalling them, scaring off every companion they might have, beating up every protentional significant other they might've hooked up with and ensuring they're too frightened to approach beloved with romantic intent ever again out of fear of his retribution, sometimes doing so alone, sometimes with the help of Snake and Dennis who act as his partners in mischief and crime as much as two figures who report back to Terry Silver. The outcome is always the same; beloved's circle is perpetually disbanded due to Mike. Their fun cut short. Their hobbies destroyed or made fun of. Their things sabotaged or stolen. Tears in their eyes. Almost like Mike takes a gleeful sort of pleasure by making sure he's in their thoughts every waking hour of the day, and in their nightmares alike by being the obnoxious, terrorizing fearmongerer they can't stop thinking about. The fearmongerer that scares them. Pursues them. The reason they look behind their shoulder.

― All of this is an extension of Mike's underlining jealousy at everything and anything and unwillingness and inability to cope with his own feelings and the deeper the crush in question gets, the worse he potentially becomes to the point the abuse he puts beloved through could become physical or life threatening, especially when the conflict inside of him gets too big and his feelings go beyond attraction and straight into affection. Oh, then he might flirt, in that dirty, lecherous, filthy way pervy, hormonal teenage boys tend to, expecting to be reciprocated and getting violently angry when he doesn't, even though he might've been roughing up beloved only just yesterday or two minutes prior --- and taunting them if they do accept, humiliating them for it even though he's secretly feeling triumphant and even happy they actually said 'yes' to him. You think I'd want you that way? Yeah right. In your dreams, pal, he'd say, especially if he is out to impress Snake and Dennis. Thing is, there is no winning with Mike in this particular era of his life, because he pursues, he pesters, he deliberately places himself on beloved's path, yet perpetually pretends he has no attachment to them whatsoever and that he genuinely hates them, and for all the mistreatment beloved suffers, from their point of view, why would it be anything else but loathing?

― Mike Barnes' aversion to being introspective about love could have shades of him simply being a kid growing up in the 80's, being a product of the times and his own environment, and a rather innately aggressive one at that, offering his muscle to the highest bidder for a quick buck and personal advancements, basically selling himself as a mercenary to ethically apprehensible Billionaires, if need be. Love? Love!? Who the fuck falls in love anyway!? Only pansies! And Mike Barnes isn't a pansy! He's the Bad Boy of Karate, don't you know, with a fierce reputation in the martial arts community by the time Terry Silver hires him, enough so to warrant magazine articles about himself, detailing his tenacity in combat --- a tenacity fiery enough to catch Silver's attention, of all people --- which says a lot. I think Mike believes he has a reputation to maintain. A sort of streetwise attitude that keeps getting him employed. And a streetwise attitude doesn't involve him being lovey-dovey with someone, no matter how much he might wish to, deep down, raising the question of toxic masculinity and how badly it has him afflicted. Mike Barnes would sooner push beloved in front of a moving car in lieu of his failed attempts at flirting than ever do so in a healthy way. Question is if he at all knows how, even though it is assured he dislikes everyone who has the tools to approach their own beloveds wholesomely.

― Although, god forbid anyone else ever touch beloved. Address them wrong. Just look at them in a way Mike doesn't approve of or look at them at all. Stand too close to them. Nevermind actually harming them the way he has been doing himself for a while now. He can hurt beloved. Others can't. That is his turf. His prerogative. He has his arms slung over beloved's shoulder in an instant, in the face of whoever beloved was talking to, prodding at the individual in question with threats. In a line-up of broken noses, hospitalized suitors and would-be bullies, the person that might actually get involved with his champion leaving a trail of beaten up people way before the All Valley even draws to a close, is Terry Silver himself. Yeah, sure, he recognizes what the heck this is. He's experienced enough to know. Introspective enough to understand, on Mike's behalf, that this is attraction. A man doesn't go around acting this violent unless he's invested in something and while he told Snake, Dennis and Mike to go around and have fun, doing all the things the Bad Boys of LA should do, he draws the line at whatever can compromise them actually participating in the tourney and distract from training, not because he has moral limitations, but because the last thing Terry wants to be bailing Mike Barnes out of jail before he can actually uphold the end of his deal and win for Terry and John. Now, he's the actual Yandere to Mike's Tsundere.

― Thing is, beloved undoubtedly can't catch a break and has the worst luck and has proceeded having the worst luck ever since they got caught in the whirlwind of Mike Barnes' attention (woe the day) because Terry Silver, benefactor extraordinaire, at least around the time Barnes is in his employ, is of the belief, that anything his champion wants, his champion gets. An allowance. A car. Terry's own Beverly Hills roof to stay in. 50% ownership of all Cobra Kai dojos around The Valley --- allegedly. Chaperones (and handlers) in the form of Snake and Dennis who egg him on his worst impulses and hold him back when he tactically needs to be held back, giving Terry a run-down of everything Mike says, does, how many times a day he shits, if nessecary. Exclusive training from him and Sensei Kreese. And if he's that distracted by a hot piece of ass, then he should get that hot piece of ass too. After all, Cobras take anything they're rightfully entitled to, and Terry might just encourage Mike in even more aggression, giving him all manner of bad and rotten advices that all boil down to Mike simply having beloved for himself like a coveted boxer has a groupie. Him breaking, blackmailing, harassing them and seducing them into being his. Yes, Terry Silver encourages this simply because it appears to be useful, and if all fails, he might he even push, sweettalk, manipulate or coax beloved into it himself, as an extra incentive to get Mike Barnes to preform well at the All-Valley, by any means necessary.

― Bizarre just how extreme and out of hand this whole situation can potentially go if we leave our minds open and reach out for the darkest of outcomes; it goes from Mike Barnes bullying his crush because he can't confess he likes them, to Terry Silver, one of the richest men alive, interjecting by basically giving beloved an ultimatum worthy of a mafia boss shaking down a victim; be with my boy and make him happy until the All Valley ends and quit fucking distracting him, and your parents, loved ones, friends, your pet dog for all I know, all collectively get spared. Rent can always mysteriously jump in the building beloved lives in, after all, and everyone they care about could homeless. Naturally, there our poor beloved is, given no, or very little actual choice in the grand scheme of things, embroidered in a scheme far more complex and tangled than their own circumstances, in an arrangement with a very content Mike Barnes, and an equally content Terry Silver pulling the strings behind the scenes, feeling assured that if he simply plies this kid with enough rewards, promises and figurative candy (and gets him high on bloodlust and pain), that his victory in the tournament is all but assured. After all, he has a great many promises to keep for John Kreese, and if he has to play a matchmaker between two brats to statistically get Mike Barnes into the amenable state of mind of certain triumph, than so be it.

Terry Silver has done far worse things.

And Mike Barnes will be expected to work all of this off on the mat, with Larusso, or rather, on Larusso --- and put in some extra effort too due to the fact that Terry had to waste his own precious time acting out the role of a Cupid. Not that he didn't relish in that fine bit of machination.

Nothing is for free.

[thefaithbroken]

A dissertation about Zevlor that I've been meaning to write and post for some time…

Some of this is from my bio for him and some I will elaborate further upon than I do there, but here we go. // @thefaithbroken

Zevlor has been through hell, figurative and literal. A protector by nature, it was as obvious an action as breathing to become a paladin of Helm, to become a Hellrider. His strong sense of justice and his drive to defend those who could not defend themselves had him rise quickly in the ranks. It was not long before he earned the title Commander.

For a time, all was well. He was proud of his work, of his calling, of the good that he did.

And then Elturel fell.

You remember the shattered windows of Elturel's High Cathedral, the burning black sky of Avernus beyond.

In its horror, the Blood War unites you. Tiefling, dwarf, and elf alike huddle behind the shields of your paladin order, waiting for salvation. But when it comes… disunity.

The returned city casts you out, the devils who dragged them down to hell. In the end, it is not your paladin oath that is broken: It is your Faith itself.

Those of his order stood together, united in the face of possible enslavement or annihilation… until the danger had past and there was time for such ugly things as resentment, fear, hatred, and racism.

After all they had endured, after how they all had stood together and defended their home, after they had all placed their own lives in peril to defend those who needed their aid—just as Zevlor always had believed should be done—to be cast out… broke both his faith and, in many ways, him.

He was weary, wartorn, betrayed. But his people, the frightened Tiefling refugees also cast out, needed him, looked to him to guide them through the perils of the Wilds and to Baldur's Gate. He was the one with the most experience, the most authority of the lot. They looked to him and he set aside his own pain and brokenness in order to do what he could for them, so little as it might be. Older than most there, powerless with his faith left in shambles, a greater ruin even than Elturel, still he agreed to lead them. Who else was there to whom they might turn? Most of them had never held a sword, perhaps never even ventured outside of their city, in all of their lives.

Yet, even despite his knowledge and his experience, they lost many along the roads, to all manner of dangers and threats. Their numbers had substantially dwindled even before the gnoll attack… and he set each one like a mark against his very own soul, the burden of his failures, the reasons for the guilt that hunched once strong shoulders. He was not worthy to lead them. He had failed them at every turn. Without his abilities as a paladin, with his faith shattered as it was, what use has he been to them? If he has done anything at all worth note, he cannot see it. Yet, he does not ask for them to take up arms as well. Does not demand of these survivors to become soldiers. He assures the ones who wish to help, tries to encourage them even when he would have given up from the moment the order to leave was given if it hadn't been for this duty. He asks nothing of them, and takes everything upon himself, weary as he is.

That is where the story begins anew though, isn't it? Gnolls and goblins and brave, heroic adventurers, some small spark of hope rekindled at last… How surprised he is at every turn when the leader of the adventurers not only agrees to help, but even offers, does so without asking anything in return. It shocks him every time and you can hear it in the breathless, stunned quiet, particularly if the leader of the adventurers doesn't take the payment he collected from the refugees for their help in ridding them of the goblin threat. He even gives the leader his own Helm-blessed gauntlets if the player sorted Kagha. Every time he is met with kindness and aid, he is left stunned and perhaps even a bit verklempt because Elturel had shaken him so much, had broken him so much, had left him hopeless.

But these adventurers who owe them nothing had done everything in their power to help him and the other refugees, perfect strangers to them, simply because it was the right thing to do. It isn't much in the grand scheme of the world turning, but it means everything to him, which is exactly what Cerys says when you meet her at Last Light.

"The way Zevlor talked about you, I'd thought you would be ten feet tall." [ Potentially paraphrasing as I can't remember the exact wording, but that's the gist. ]

He hadn't stopped talking about the leader, about the one who returned at least some hope to him, not from the moment they left the Grove. It was the first time since Elturel fell that he felt a spark of something again that didn't feel like loss or suffering.

If only he had known how it would go from there…

What hope had been rekindled by the travelers was challenged by the Shadows as fear and uncertainty once more gripped him. Were these shadows not the same that Halsin had warned the travelers about? And yet, Cerys assured him it was only a quick detour to avoid an owlbear on the road. If his scout was so certain, then perhaps it was, in fact, the best path.

Except that it wasn't.

Not far from a place that could have been their safehaven from the shadows, it fell upon them: the might of the Absolute.

Enthralled and dominated by a being of god-like power, his brokenness, his vulnerability, his self-doubt and his guilt are what the Absolute sees and what it uses. What is it that captures him? The thought of having his power restored to him, not for his own gain… but that he might at last truly protect his people, might prevent the loss of any more lives, might at last be able to live up to all that they had asked of him when he, in his mind, had failed them so many times along this journey. The Absolute singled him out as the threat, as the one who would cause the most trouble if he was aware at the time of the ambush, and it made certain that it wouldn't be, showing him exactly what he wanted to see: him able to keep his people safe…

As they were slaughtered around him, or blindly fled into the darkness.

And by the time he can snap out of it, there's nothing he can do. It's too late. Asharak, Ikaron, Memnos, and others — dead. It's his fault. It's his fault that he was too weak. It was some personal failing of his that lead to this, clearly.

So he goes with the cultists. Lets them take him away to Moonrise.

So much for hope. So much for heroes. What a fool he had been.

There was only him and his weakness and his failure… and the dead…

Yet, upon being freed in the Mindflayer Colony by the leader of the adventurers, he fights like a madman, helps to clear the room of any and all threats, offering a glimpse at the warrior he was and still is beneath the grief. And then you can speak with him.

For this, I will use my paladin, Thraeya and the dialogue options she chose.

Zevlor: Hells, I didn't think I was going to make it… Thank you. I… I owe you an explanation. Much more than that. But first, please… The others. The ambush — tell me they survived.

Thraeya: They found refuge. But what the hells happened out there, Zevlor?

Zevlor: You've heard some of it, I'm sure. That I froze, or broke, or some other lie that is kinder than the truth. We were ambushed by cultists, yes. And then I heard… her. Their false god, whispering promises in my mind. I would be a paladin again — with a god's purpose, a god's power. Everything I needed to protect my people. And all the while, the cult tortured them. They fought, and ran, and died around me, while I imagined myself their saviour. By the time I regained my sense, it was too late. I did not just surrender to the Absolute. For a moment, I welcomed it.

Thraeya: It sounds like you were being enthralled. It's not your fault.

Zevlor: It would be nice to think so. But whatever these monsters twist us into… I believe that it begins in us. I won't make excuses. I can't make amends. But I know something of what you came to do — I want to help, i- if you'll let me. Ketheric is below. He thinks you are no longer a menace. Descend and show him how wrong he is. If there are any more survivors to be found, I'll find them and lead them out of this place.

Thraeya: Find your people. They need you.

Zevlor: They have you… Go, my friend. Please. Let me do this much.

--------

As an aside, most of the responses you can choose are less than understanding. Several of them are outright condemning, much as the tone I dislike that has been taken with the writing in answers to Gale. And, honestly, the way Zevlor talks about himself also reminds me quite a bit of how Gale talks about himself. As though he has no worth or value beyond what he can do for others—right from when you first meet him in the Grove and he says that he'll repay your kindness—as well as for feeling that there is no way he can redeem himself, no way to make amends, no way to atone. There is something inherently wrong with him.

It frustrates me to no end that the game and its writing team have chosen to treat a character like Zevlor in this manner, as though the very narrative condemns him for something utterly beyond his control. As many times as certain adventurers get charmed by harpies and Tasha's Hideous Laughter and Otto's Irresistible Dance cast by just regular, ordinary opponents, I find it a bit hypocritical to hold it against Zevlor that he gets dominated by a literal deity-level being.

We give Minthara a second chance when we recruit her despite how many deaths she's either responsible for under orders of the Absolute or would have been responsible for under the Absolute, nevermind anything she might have done or been part of as a Lolth-sworn drow.

We don't hold all of Astarion's past against him, despite all the lives it affected forever.

We don't condemn Shadowheart for being part of Shar's cult despite all of the destruction wrought.

We don't blame Lae'zel for her people literally being willing to go wipeout whoever stands in their way — including an entire monastery as well as the Flaming Fist and the tiefling scout.

We don't fault Karlach for not helping the people of Elturel while she was in the hells because she was focused on doing whatever it took to survive.

We don't hold it against Wyll that he made a bad decision because he wanted to save his city.

We don't blame Halsin for the Curse falling and for his inability to fix it all this time, or even to keep the Grove in order and Kagha, his own student, on the right path.

We don't blame or condemn or ostracize any of them for their worst act or worst failing or worst decision or worst moment.

Yet the game seems to slant towards immediately writing off characters like:

Zevlor [ who was literally in the worst mental state possible while still trying to help others and was taken advantage of because of it and then subsequently blamed by the very people he strove to protect and had protected until that point even when he was struggling, to the extent of Cerys basically saying 'fuck him' despite the fact that SHE is the whole reason they ended up in the Curse anyway even if you explained to her what happened, and Zorru — who has exactly no right since he took off and abandoned the Tiefling who the Githyanki kill — basically says he better not see Zevlor or else. ]

Nere [ who is arguably in the same boat as Minthara, if not worse for having been a drow male in Lolth-sworn society, and if you converse with him after you convince him to free the gnomes, you can even actually see the shift in his demeanor and tone, to the extreme of going from talking in third person to talking in first, as well as him seeming almost addled and confused ]

Gale [ who much of the fandom makes no secret of saying that somehow Mystra was the real victim and Gale was the problem — thanks, Larian — despite the fact that even Minsc says that where he comes from, they teach their wizard boys to be silent lest Mystra steal them away, nevermind all of her canon behavior and atrocities outside of the game ].

On the whole, the fandom pardons almost of the team characters in some manner or other, while condemning some of the very others whose stories are quite similar. Why is that? This game literally revolves around the concept of trauma and the fallout from it, and yet… apparently the effects of trauma should hold weight only for some characters? Is that the takeaway?

Zevlor should be condemned and ostracized because he was suffering, Nere should be killed and his head taken to the Myconids despite being a puppet under the Absolute, and Gale's best ending — according to some of the very people at Larian in charge of the stories — is to kill himself for the greater good because he wasn't ready before but he can do it now.

Wow.

--------

But, I digress, Zevlor is a good person who has been through literal and metaphorical hell while trying to help people who needed help, despite the fact that he didn't even feel like he could help himself. In a moment of weakness, he was taken advantage of and enthralled, and he blames himself for all that followed — and the narrative itself seems to blame him in turn.

Instead of pointing fingers, throwing blame, and directing venom at a man who already thinks he isn't worth the space he takes up, you should be able to sit him down in camp with a warm blanket and some food beside the campfire and reassure him — just as you do with all of your companions, each in turn — that he did what he could, that he isn't defined by his worst moment, and that the world is still better for him in it. What's the most important is what he does next. And you would see him absolutely crumble.

Zevlor deserves the world, and no one will ever convince me otherwise.

[tiredly101]

Destroyed...

Paring: Wally Darling x Abused! Male reader

Part 1, Part 2, Part 4, Part 5 and Part 6

Summary: Wally was on his way Home to see Eddi rather distressed looking for... him? Why is that?

Main Au (Illustrated Au), picture by @fandom-wreck-9000

Wally's pov

I'm walking down the street to go Home, Sally really talked my ear off with her new play. I look around to see Eddi with something that looks similar to red paint in his hands, he looked frantic? Scared, maybe?

"Wally! Thank the rainbows I found you! Something happened to M/n and Home seems angered, I think I don't understand that house," sighted an exasperated Eddie leaving me confused. Home angry, M/n? What could happen?

"Eddie, please tell me that is red paint on you...," I said softly while Eddie looked at the ground sighting.

"I wish I could," was all he had to utter for me to ran back Home. Home's door was broken open and they seemed exasperated, right next to my red arm chair lay M/n holding his stomach while gasping softly for air.

"Hey pretty... boy," said M/n softly while he looked at me with those beautiful eyes of his only that now they looked dull. I had Eddie pick him up and take him to Poppy since she will help him out, I need to know what happened.

"Home... who did this?," I asked softly knowing Home would never hurt M/n on purpose. Home started squeaking and banging multiple thing in a rapid way. They were rambling but I only catched the words 'Josh', 'beat up' and 'M/n' which gave me all the information I needed.

"Can you see him?," I asked to which Home very slowly answered with a squeak of the door which made me smile.

"He ran to the woods? Silly, silly...," I said while walking to the hidden closet inside of Home's walls. I grabbed my axe and started walking away from Home but before anything I need to make sure M/n is okay.

I hide my axe in my pocket and run towards Poppy's house, to see her sniffing softly. She sees me and her eyes seemed to widen in regret.

"Don't tell me he is dead Poppy," I said softly to which she shook her head in an agitated way, I walked towards M/n to see him cover in bandages which made my heart sink slightly. I place a kiss in his forehead and look at Poppy.

"He is in something called a coma but he should wake up in a couple of weeks time," Poppy said making me nod. I get M/n a last kiss in his hand and walk outside and start heading towards the forest to where Home said he should be. He is trying to reach the division between words and that I'm not going to allow that.

The forest and his bloody prints lead me towards him to see him standing just over the edge. I charge towards him and grab him from the back of his shirt before he could jump and throw him against a tree.

His eyes widened in shock seeing me standing only a few feet from him and that shock soon turned to fear when he registered the axe which made me laugh. I bet he didn't feel fear that often!

"Oh Josh, silly, silly. You should have left M/n alone when you had the chance," I said before lifting up my axe and taking the first swing of what would be hours of suffering for this piece of trash.

Should I do a part four? Let me know and I'll tag you if I do!

Tag list:

@mythjustiice @distinguishedpuppyface @pr5is1ng @lunamonkeypower @waywardstardustcollector @thelostboys11 @darling-w

[raphaelapproves]

Today, focus was a precious commodity and I ended up behind at work so did not get the chance to post the conversation as promised.

But now, here we are, the "conversation"--and I do use that term loosely--that I had with an Astarion girlie.

Allow me to set the scene.

This happened on a video where a streamer was, I assume, HORRIFIED to find that if she just self-insert played the game with answers she would give--SHOCK!--Gale was the companion who liked her the most. I can't imagine why.

Anyway, the comments section was the predictable Gale-bashing. Some in good fun. Most of it not. And I'm me, so I just couldn't help myself, because I see too much of my younger self [ who still tried to engage with people and connect but didn't know how ] in Gale, so I responded to a couple of comments. This was the one that prompted this little meeting of the... well, one mind and then whatever the other person was operating with. Must have been a different Operating System, because it sure didn't make sense to me.

It is below the cut, as are my thoughts because it turned into a long post as, apparently, I had many thoughts.

Astarion Girlie [ henceforth AG ]: THEN HE CAN GO SUCK OFF LETTO II ON ARRAKIS CUZ I AM NOT HERE FOR GALE'S SEXIST A$$ 😤

Me: First: how is Gale sexist? Second: and yet you're okay with Astarion [ NOTE: the username had something to do with what Astarion could do for them, so I made an educated guess ] who is canonically racist, knowingly lured people to their deaths, and was fine with condemning the world for himself???

AG: are you serious??? 🤣 Gale mansplains EVERYTHING to the women around him including magic to other magic-user, uses coercion as a flirting tactic, & slvt-shames Tav if you're romancing someone else.

Me: Wow. There is so much wrong with that. 1) Tell me you don't have an autistic friend without telling me. 2) He explains to EVERYONE not just women. 3) Genuinely? What coercion? 4) He just tells you -- He isn't for an open relationship [ says he wishes you had asked him first which is y'know healthy? ] and asks you to choose, then says he wishes you well if you don't choose him.

AG: have you considered touching grass?

Me: This is such an intelligent rebuttal. Brava! So insightful and useful to a debate. Have you considered maybe listening to others without belitting them because you can't have a friendly discussion?

AG: 1) all of my friends are auDHD and so am i. you're an ableist joke. 😘 2) now you're gale-splaining his sexism 😂 3) i'm not interested in continuing with someone as clearly unwell as you are, bye!

Me: I AM autistic, friend. 2) It's not sexism if he's literally explaining his special interest to EVERYONE regardless of sex. 3) Again, quite mature. Thank you. 👏👏👏

I am just. How??? can anyone be so ??? I do not even have a word for it. It baffles me.

Astarion has canonically done terrible things, would canonically do many even more terrible if not swayed from it, and yet Gale??? is the one with whom they have a problem??? And they can't even logic their own argument???

As someone who is autistic and has been a victim of continued mental and emotional abuse from someone who always wanted to play the victim card and as someone who was always given the excuse "well they're not well and you know it, so you just have to deal with it and don't argue" when they're going out of their way to make your life hell and trying to frame you as their own personal villain, up to and including gaslighting you to the point of nearly two decades of depression, making you feel like you were broken and the worst human being in the world, and having you contemplating things you shouldn't, and them lying to others about things that happened or things that were said to get you in trouble, I get very, very tired of the mentality I see so much around the crazed Astarion Girlies of excusing everything he has ever done and being unable to even acknowledge a single flaw and attacking anyone who does say anything.

I have and continue to live that, have been and continue to be on the other side of it having to suffer because someone else wasn't held accountable, and I am Tired. [ At least now, thanks to my best friend in the entire world, I can see it for what it is and I'm in at least a better place now mentally, 98% of the time. ]

[ NOTE: This is NOT against the Astarion writers I have seen on here. Please do not misunderstand. The Astarion writers I follow on here are the only reason I can still even marginally like the character at this point. He is fascinating. He is multi-faceted. It's one of the things I love to see explored by those who I follow. It is always interesting to see people write complex and even morally difficult characters because that, too, is a form of understanding humanity. It's one of the things I love exploring with my anti-heroes and villains. In Baldur's Gate, that would include characters like Raphael, Gortash, Dirge, etc. So please know I am not hating on any Astarion writers! Everyone I follow is amazing! ]

But when you bring up those character flaws and morally difficult things that does make the character so complex and multi-faceted, these are the responses you get:

Astarion is a victim!

Yes, that is true. But Gortash who, let's be honest, at least doesn't fully know what he's doing is wrong [ you pass the insight checks and what not/narration tells you/the VA tells you that he thinks he's doing the right thing for himself and for the city, etc. and with the way he was raised, what example did he have to the contrary but I've already gone on that rant HERE ] is to the smallest degree even less culpable in my mind than Astarion, and he doesn't get a pass the way Astarion does? And he certainly shouldn't. He isn't absolved. He is doing terrible things whether he can fully rationalize it or not with his understanding of life.

Astarion though, acknowledges on multiple occasions, gives excuses, justifies his actions at every turn while still knowing that what he's doing and planning to do is wrong. And it's heavily implied that he really wasn't all that great of a person BEFORE Cazador either [ that is not to say that he deserved what happened either, just to clarify ]. But the point is Astarion did, at one point, having come from what seems an affluent family, have a knowledge of right and wrong and still made decisions that he made, even before Cazador and after once he was free.

Cazador made him do those things! Yes, he did, but that excuse stopped the moment Cazador's control was no longer an issue. He had free will and a knowledge of right and wrong, and he made the decisions he made.

But it was a habit by then! It was what he learned to survive!

And that coupled with the knowledge of right and wrong goes only so far as the moment you choose to knowingly make your trauma someone else's. Cazador wasn't going to force him to do the Ascension ritual and pay 7,000 souls for his own betterment. "Because after 200 years of SHIT, PURE SHIT, I think I deserve better." A paraphrase, but I think I caught the most important parts. He knew it was wrong, he acknowledges it and immediately tries to justify himself, and is still quite willing to do it. Literally, if he kills you by draining your blood, he acts like nothing ever happened and then tries to sweep it under the rug with Tav if they continue to be upset about it by telling them there's no reason to be.

And yet, we have a problem with Gale, who can be or come across as condescending at times, but I think you can hardly call a man sexist who made his girlfriend his entire personality--since she was the goddess of his SPECIAL INTEREST--and continues to put her word above even his own life, prioritize her forgiveness over his continued existence and who takes such great interest in literally everything Lae'zel has to say about the Astral Plane and her people. We have a problem with a man who is honest about his comfort zone? Who loves your PC even if you become a mindflayer? Who only takes issue with you when you do something morally bad? Who literally gives you approval points for anything even remotely resembling a good choice? Who feels like he doesn't even deserve a place in the world and would gladly give himself up for any one of his companions?

He's always harassing me for items!!!! AND HE GOT MAD WHEN I WOULDN'T GIVE THEM TO HIM!!!

The count is THREE and you can give the man the most trash items you have and he still thanks you and tells you that he will repay your kindness because he knows what such sacrifice means. He is thanking you--just as he gets mad at you if you don't--because he literally has a ticking bomb in his chest that would kill not only HIM if it de-stabilized and exploded, but also anyone within the vicinity.

Well he betrayed Mystra!!!

He tried to get on equal footing with someone he loved, to share in something he loved with the person who embodied it. Was he overly ambitious? Absolutely. [ And honestly, tell me it's not Gifted Kid Syndrome -coded to assume that he could do this impossible thing. ] Did it cost him? Yes. And then Mystra, who could have fixed it and didn't cast him off. And he still prayed to her. And took all of the blame on himself, despite the fact that Mystra shares more than a little responsibility for what transpired. [ I.E. all of the Origin PCs have been victims in this game, in some way or another, and some if not all of them to power imbalances in relationships. Why does anyone think Gale is the one exception? ]

HE'S MANSPLAINING TO ME!!!

He is literally telling you all about his special interest and probably assuming that you don't know much about it, or at least not as much as him, because he was literally a Chosen of Mystra and an Archmage. Again, can he be condescending and huffy at times? Yes. He absolutely can. Call it a character flaw. Everyone has them, but you know what? His doesn't condemn anyone to death, so why are we up at arms?

HE DOESN'T WANT ME TO SEE OTHER PEOPLE!!!

And that is his prerogative and he's straightforward and honest with you about it. He tells you--if you already started flirting with or seeing someone--that he wishes you had the courtesy to tell him first [ which, IS IN FACT the healthy way to go about a relationship of that nature, just as shown with Halsin insisting you ask your partner first ]--but if you choose the other person, he wishes you both well, usually gives some compliment to the other person, and then continues to treat you well as long as you weren't rude and demeaning to him during or after the fact.

So why???? Is so much of the fanbase SO AGGRESSIVELY against Gale? But Astarion is uwu Babygirl and can do no wrong? What about defending Gale makes me "so unwell", but how DARE anyone rightfully criticize even the smallest thing about Astarion because [ insert extensive list of reasons why none of that should matter ].

That he is a victim, that he's pretty, that his VA has a great voice and personality, et cetera, does not excuse that Astarion has knowingly done terrible things both against and within his will and will do so again without hesitation if he helps him, particularly if your Durge or Tav doesn't try or manage to sway him.

Make this make sense to me, because I certainly cannot seem to make it do so.

I've said it before with that Gortash post I linked above and I said it on a similar post for Zevlor and somewhere that I was talking about Minthara and Nere, but the double standards within a loud portion of this fanbase--even within the game itself and among the people who worked on it--is not one of its better qualities.

[kuroki--kaze]

( @frequencypawn )

Grey eyes usually filled with light and warmth focus coldly on the targets downrange. Well-trained hands hold a rifle steady, honed in without the scope in use.

It's been too long since he's practiced without it. He can't let himself get too unseasoned, hence the use of iron sights.

They're harder to use accurately at a distance like this. The scope lays off on its own next to his bag on the table behind him, mostly abandoned just like his prior occupation.

Still, Wonderland is not without its dangers. He's not naïve enough to assume that the Comodeen is invincible regardless of how well-built or well-hidden the compound is.

If the time comes, blowdarts aren't going to be saving them like a firearm will. If the time comes, Kain will defend this place with ferocity only Miles has seen a glimpse of.

The once-soldier takes in a controlled breath, moves his index finger to the trigger, exhales, and fires.

Off the bullet goes. The butt of the rifle presses into his shoulder in a way he can't say he misses feeling often.

His hand moves back to the bolt to ready another shot.

Inhale. Trigger. Exhale. Fire. Eject. Ready. Repeat ad nauseam.

It's as easy to him as blinking is, even as much as he hates for that to be true. And while he's certainly no Hawkeye, examining each target once he's fired off all his rounds shows that he's still a deadly threat and a force not to be reckoned with.

Every shot was at least center mass, if not a bullseye outright. He's almost glad that Pilvi isn't in this part of the compound to see him. This isn't the name he's made for himself here.

This isn't who he wants to be, but he knows he cannot let himself be rendered defenseless, either.

As he turns to retrieve his handgun for the second phase of his target practice, he's faced with a looming presence that he somehow missed entering.

"... Hi, Black Wind," he greets. "When'd you get here?"

⋆୨𖤓୧⋆ This is not a display he was expecting from the Amestrian. This one seemed to spend more time injured than anything else. From the moment White Cloud brought him back and beyond, he's been... injured; and if he wasn't - he was practically glued to the Cloud's side.

This man is the reason that White Cloud has been so distracted. He's seen the way jade eyes look at him. He knows what's going on in that head of his. He can see how high the Cloud has ascended without ever so much as leaving the ground. He knows what's happening.

He won't say he cares for it but at the same time it's not his business to care.

Still trained eyes watch as each shot is fired and it's an entire ocean to take up where their final location strikes. At the very least he can say the Amestrian has good aim. At the very least he can say if push comes to shove the Amestrian can defend himself. He does not want to see what happens to his counterpart when this man dies.

Or goes home for that matter.

If he ever goes home.

The ever optimistic look that exists in White Cloud's eyes when he explains to these people that he can find the Pillar that connects to their world so he can send them home - it's as painful to watch as it is deceitful because they both know he's promising the impossible.

They both know that he's been lying to these people the entire time out of some twisted form of care because he knows full well that the Cloud is too damn scared to just tell them the truth.

Which one of them is the wicked one now?

There was mercy and there foolishness what the Cloud was doing was foolishness. What the Cloud was doing was cruel. He couldn't promise these people the impossible just to try to spare them from the pain of the inevitable. The same as this man. He too would feel the pain of the end of his world, just as they all would.

And if White Cloud ever did find the Pillar that connects their Amestris to Wonderland then he would see to it that ever last one of them were returned to their homes himself, if only to make his Other's mind a bit more clear. His head was... filled with frivolities as of late.

There were already enough problems with the other Mistericans, but he couldn't do anything about that and if he dared he's sure that the Lamb would become a Lion at a moment's notice.

So he stands, silently as he watches the Amestrian unload the clip in his weapon as if he's done this thousand times and it's enough to know that the unassuming man before him has seen battle, war at that. It's at least a small comfort. It's a small comfort that should the worse happen, then maybe he would be a hinderance on the battlefield.

That's the last thing they need. Even if he doesn't want any of these people near Chaos in the first place - if only to avoid - a repeat of last time.

The man turns, finally noticing him and he is greeted in a casual sort of way that brings his lips to drag down into a deep frown. He wants to know when he got here which means he had been so absorbed in his task that he hadn't noticed the Windarian's entry. Foolish. That's dangerous to not be completely aware of one's surroundings at all times when handling a firearm.

He has more important questions for this one than the state of his ability to access a battlefield. Blue eyes focus in on grey coldly as his voice leaves him in a deep rumble.

"....tell me something. Is he in your eyes?"

[happybird16]

Beloved Mother

Part 2

Summary: Levi visits the Brothel he once lived in, finally confronting the death of his mother.

Warnings: 18+ NSFW, no sex or anything it’s just dark and sad, descriptions of abuse, the men Kuchel works with are not nice to her, sickness, starvation, corpses, blood and gore, life as a prostitute, sex work, non graphic sexual assault, horror elements, my headcannon on how life in the underground was, angst, very little fluff.

Word Count: 8.1 k

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/40660254

Notes: 😢😢😢

Part 1 | Part 2

The ghost had left him at some point while Levi was lost in the depths of his memories. The shimmering corpse leaving behind only pristine emptiness in her stead. Even though the presence had been eerie and haunting, the loss has him feeling bereft. Lonely, even though it had never been a real presence to begin with.

Now empty -even though it always was- the glaringly white mass of fabric taunts him. The memory of its feel is so close, as if right on the tip of his tongue, that he’s almost tempted to reach out and test it.

As an adult, Levi rarely feels fear. Dread, yes. Horror, of course. Unending terror watching blood spill on the battlefield, absolutely. But rarely true, unadulterated fear. It’d been so common for so long that he’s become numb to it.

Now, reaching out towards the bedspread, it strikes him dead in the heart. He’s too afraid to touch the fabric. Of what reality it might bring. Already, Levi feels pulled thin, as if hanging by a string about to break. If he puts forth the effort, reaches out just a few inches to brush his fingers along the surface, he just may snap.

Nevertheless, Levi remembers exactly how it feels, in crystal clear detail. The thin fibers would be rough, almost grating, but the top a smooth line of cool, refreshing silk.

A new memory swirls into existence.

Winters in the Underground were always horrid. A deep, frigid chill echoing from high above, filling the narrow streets with a painful cold. So much so that it hurts to even breathe, every puff of air a sharp sting. The fires, lit in rusty barrels to line the streets using newspapers in lieu of expensive wood, do little to fight the frosty air.

Especially in their thin walled little home. Nights are the worst part, given only the thin wool blankets provided by the establishment.

His skin is so cold it almost burns, fingers and toes just distant prickly numbness. Stinging, so frigid that the flesh is almost icy and smooth. Shivers well along his arms and legs, coating his skin in little bumps. His teeth, freshly brushed under his mom's watchful eye, chatter as he tucks the comforter right under his nose.

The sheets are always musty, ripe with the stench of sweat and bodily fluids. Thin and threadbare, they do little to fight off the frigid air. That cool, little bit of silk, right at the top, should only make matters worse. Instead, Levi finds comfort in the soft fabric, pulling it right against his lips.

“M’ Cold,” he whispers to the room, eyes staring off into the darkness. Part of him doesn’t want to wake up his mother, despite the chill filling his lungs with ice. She’s only just fallen into a quiet slumber.

Soft snores cut off, the fabric shifting behind him as one of her arms curls around his waist. “C’m here honey.” Half asleep, the slur in her voice is only made worse by a brand new split lip, the skin dark and swollen.

The mattress dips as he turns to face her, shuffling towards the small divot worn on her side from years of sleeping there. The mattress is old, not particularly soft and with very little cushion left. Every metal spring can be felt, digging right into his side. Remove the bottom sheet and you’ll find an endless array of stains, yellow, brown, and even red. Still, it’s all he’s ever known.

He was born here, right on this very bed.

As he shifts, the end of his nightgown gets caught awkwardly behind his back. Arms wrapping around his shoulders, Kuchel helpfully smooths out the fabric without a word. “Thanks mom.”

“Mhmm,” she responds sleepily, eyes bleary as they sweep his face. “You're freezing. Tell me sooner if you're cold.” Pulling their shared covers right around them, the fingers at his back work little circles into his shoulders.

“Okay,” Levi murmurs. She’s just seemed so tired lately, perpetually and endlessly exhausted. He’s even caught her dozing in the middle of the day, short unintentional naps between customers or fading in and out while reading to him.

Levi’s big enough now that he can tangle his legs with hers, a thigh twisting between her own. She hisses at the contact, eyes suddenly wide awake. “Careful honey, I’m a bit sore.”

“You're always sore,” he complains. Levi knows better than to bring up why. Mentioning her customers always makes her cry worse at night, her quiet sobs shaking the mattress. She cries almost every night. Even on good days, free from new trauma, she keens softly in her sleep.

Thinking he’s asleep, she often holds him to her chest -just like this- as she cries softly into his hair. Not wanting to burden him with her sorrow. Now that he’s a bit older, Levi can see through the cracks in her facade. The constant underlying sadness that she seems to carry heavy on her shoulders, the slight tension forcing every smile into place.

So, he keeps his eyes closed, letting her have her moment, night after night. Knowing that if he ‘wakes up’ she’ll only pretend she’s fine once more. Holding in the sorrow and pain for his sake.

Sometimes, after a particularly rough customer, she’ll even lock herself in their tiny bathroom -just a toilet and chipped porcelain sink with barely enough room to squeeze between. Through the thin wood, Levi can hear her sobbing, choking and gasping. Vomiting in loud, splashy chunks, the sound barely muffled by the door. Begging for it -whatever it is they do- to stop, please stop.

And so he holds still, night after night, letting her press wet kisses to his forehead. Her long, often painted nails digging roughly into the scruffy part of his hair. Listening to her murmur, almost whimpering about how much she wishes she was free of this hell.

Day after day, there's always something new for him to worry about. A fresh, dark purple ring of bruises circling around her neck. Finger prints, digging into her skin and scratching along her back. Bite marks, dug rough and bloody into her throat and shoulders.

Levi knows not to comment on them anymore.

Mom shifts against him, moving her thigh so he doesn’t press right against the dark handprint there. “I just have to do what we need to survive, honey,” she responds.

Eyes sharp even in the darkness, Levi can see her lip quiver just a bit. “You shouldn’t have to,” he insists.

Swallowing hard, she flutters her eyes to fight tears. “I know. I know,” she mumbles, the words coming out waterier than intended.

Levi dozes a bit, listening to the steady beat beneath his ear. Along her back, his fingers try to match the soothing circles she winds into his own. Large winding loops around the notches of her spine.

“Are you warmer now?” she asks. Mom’s skin is a bit icy too, a little stiff from the chill, but Levi already feels a tad better just held in her arms.

“A bit,” he responds, sliding his chilly feet against her thighs. Instead of jolting, she welcomes the frosty digits, pulling him tight to her as can be.

Softly, Kuchel begins humming a familiar chord of notes, the beginnings of a lullaby Levi’s heard many times before. When the sounds and sights he’d caught in this very room left him red eyed and sleepless. The song vibrates her chest right against his ear, echoing through his head and rendering him limp, all the tension bleeding away from his limbs.

Song for Sina, he remembers her calling it, named for the wall they live in. Underneath. It’s meant to be played on piano with words to match. He’s only heard the full song once, when they’d discovered the old beaten up instrument in the bar down the street. It’d been off tune- according to her- but it’d sounded perfect to him.

Her soft voice quieting the seedy tavern, Levi had been torn somewhere between unfettered joy and falling asleep while standing. At the time, she’d promised to teach him how to play someday, when his fingers weren’t too tiny to stretch across the white and black keys.

As she hums the final notes of the second chorus a loud gurgle interrupts, her stomach rumbling noisily beneath his ear. His own seems to respond in kind, a loud whine that only makes him aware of the hollow emptiness in his gut. Nuzzling into her collarbone, he asks, “Will we get to eat tomorrow?”

It isn’t too uncommon for them to only eat once a day, but whenever they have to skip a day or two his body begins to act weird. Knees start to get weak, his mind starts to slow. Sometimes he even gets a bit dizzy.

Kuchels shoulders sag as she sighs, warm breath fluttering his bangs. “I’ll find you something, sweet boy.”

“You should eat too,” Levi begs. She skips more days than him, often merely watching him eat on their little bench. Stomach protesting loudly even as she refuses the half he tends to offer.

“You need it more than me,” she replies, hand smoothing long strokes down his back. “You're still growing.”

“But you're hungry too,” Levi insists, fingers prodding at a small purple bruise fading along her upper arm, right beneath the sleeve of her night gown. “Your stomach is always gurgling, even at night.”

“You should try to get some sleep now that you’ve warmed up. It’s pretty late,” Kuchel changes the subject with a firm kiss to his hair. Levi thinks he feels a wetness in it, but he doesn’t comment on it.

Warmer now, Levi still struggles to sleep, skin irritated by the oily fabric encasing them like a cocoon. “I’m itchy,” he whines.

“I’m sorry, honey,” she starts, voice betraying the fact that she hadn’t even tried to sleep. “I know the fabric bothers you, especially when the weather is dry. I wish I could make it better.”

“It’s just too mucky and it smells like sweat,” Levi explains. They rarely have the time and money to go clean them, he knows that. Still, he wishes that they at least had two pairs, swapping them out so he didn’t have to sleep in the scent of men and whatever it is they did to her.

He can feel the depth of her frown against his hairline. “Tell you what, how about we gather all of our things and go for a trip to clean them in the morning? We’ll see what we can get at the deli afterwards, hmm?”

“But what about money?” Levi asks. It’s the ‘off season’, whatever that means. Money always seems so much tighter in the winter.

They have their own little cleaning kit. A rough wooden bucket, grate and a few brushes, purchased used and beaten, tucked up into the corner. A scraggly feather duster that they use whenever possible, gathering up dust bunnies to free outside.

As a team, they do their best to keep the small space nice and clean, within what little budget they have. Fatty, unscented bars of soap are relatively cheap, bottles of bleach sturdy and long lasting.

It’s the water access that’s always the problem. The tiny sink in their bare-bones bathroom isn’t near enough to clean anything significant. So they have to trek far across town whenever laundry needs to be done. The guy who claims ownership to the small -not particularly clean- bit of running water nearby tends to charge more in the winter. Or whenever he wants to, really.

It seems silly to him that society seems to revolve around little crinkled up bits of paper. Their entire existence often hinges on whether they have enough to make it through the week. Only, maybe, getting the opportunity to clean their clothes once a month, if that.

“Don’t worry about that, sweetie,” Mom responds, eyes watery even as she tries to hide it. It’s what she always says, words he’s heard a hundred times, telling him not to stress over funds. That he’s a child, it’s not his job to worry.

But I do, he wants to respond. I worry about you so much, just like you do me.

“You’ve grown far too serious, lately. Where’d my playful little boy go?” she asks, changing the subject yet again, though he’s not sure if it’s for his or her benefit this time.

“He’s grown up.” Levi’s not sure exactly how old he is, there’s no counting days here, not exactly. The lack of a day-night cycle only leaves room for rough estimates. Born in the winter, he’s likely coming up on nine years old, maybe even ten.

His mom leans back to meet his gaze, hand smoothing back his bangs and ruining his part. It doesn’t bother him, this late into the night his hair is likely already a rumpled mess anyways. “Oh he has, has he?”

There's a playful light in her eyes that he doesn’t like, the hand at his back trailing to his stomach. “Mom,” he warns in one firm bark.

Unheeded, the digits trail under his nightgown, making him jolt as they smooth along the sensitive skin of his belly. Eyes mischievous, she tickles along his sides in an aggressive flurry. Making him jolt and kick his feet against the entrapment of the white bedspread.

He laughs and laughs, sides aching, eyes watering as the sound bounces off the walls. “Stop,” he begs without really meaning to, her fingers making him wiggle, though he’s not sure if it’s into or away from the soft touch. Tears running down his cheeks, he can barely speak between unending rounds of giggles. “Stop!”

Pulling up the long shirt completely, she blows a big wet raspberry against his belly. “There he is!” Mom cheers, “That’s my little boy!”

Heart still throbbing in his chest, a wide smile on his lips, she pulls him right back against her chest. “Someday, we’ll live in the sun. Then you’ll have all the food and soft blankets you could ever want.”

“What’ll we do up there?” Levi wonders. He can’t even picture living somewhere so different.

“Anything we wanted to,” she replies, flopping her head back against the thin pillow. Gazing up at the dark ceiling, her eyes are distant as she continues. “I wanna sell flowers, maybe at a cute little boutique.”

Levi’s not sure what either of those words mean, so he asks, “What are flowers?”

“Oh!” Kuchel exclaims, surprise flooding her face. “They’re… I don’t think I can even describe them. They’re bright, pretty plants in every color you could ever imagine. They grow towards the sun.”

“Pretty colors?” Levi likes the look on her face and doesn't want her to stop talking. Her eyes just seem so excited and bright, her smile soft and eager.

“Yup!” she confirms with a nod. “Bright reds, blues, yellows! Purples and whites! Every color of the rainbow with soft green leaves!”

Everything down here is some shade of brown, covered in dirt and grime, he can barely imagine the array of living colors. Even the clothes everyone wears are usually earthy tones. Only the other women Mom works with, along with herself, ever wear such bright pops of color.

“What do they look like?” Levi inquires, only able to picture jewel-toned blobs.

“Oh,” she pauses. “I’ve never even seen them myself, to be honest. Only ever seen drawings in books.” Eyes bright, Mom’s face is suddenly full of open, unabashed want. “I want to, though, someday.”

“Oh! But they come in all shapes and sizes! With names!” she explains, beginning to ramble.

Despite his empty stomach, Levi had slept hard that night, his mind full of swirling colors. A smile on his lips as Mom hummed the rest of Song for Sina, the soft, musical tune right beneath his ear. Deep enough to not wake once.

That may have been the last time he’d done so.

Nowadays, Levi’s lucky to sleep in thirty minute intervals a handful of times throughout the night, if that. Nightmares, full of blood and teeth, are far too common.

“Fuck.” Levi often feels as if he’s made of glass, carefully glued together bits stacked up on top of each other piece by piece. The cracks just waiting, begging to burst the moment he relaxes.

Silently, Levi let’s go. Staring at the spot his mother had died, he shatters, allowing grief to take whatever’s left of him. Glass breaking and scattering to the floor in the exact spot it had first done so.

“Mom,” he croaks almost soundlessly. Letting tears trail down his cheeks in an endless cascade, he finally grieves. Hard sobs rack his frame, shaking his shoulders with every endless wave.

Finally, truly, mourning his mother after all these years. The first person to love him with all their heart, and the first of many to leave him behind.

“I miss you,” he tells her between broken gasps. Even as a grown adult, he misses her so much it makes him ache. It’s as if there’s a gaping chasm of a hole in his chest, something that he’s ignored for so long that it’s festered, becoming raw and infected.

She didn’t even get a funeral, he realizes, trying not to sink in on himself as he sobs harder.

There’d been no one to give kind words to her, speaking in her honor. No crowd of crying, mourning loved ones, gathered together to share kind memories of her life. Levi has no idea what even happened to her body, if it was buried somewhere or burnt up, the ashes carelessly thrown in some garbage somewhere.

Choking, he punches his thigh, letting the knuckles press hard into his pant leg for several painful moments. Eyes pinched tight, he swallows hard, reveling in the pain radiating his thigh.

“Mom. I’m sorry.” Levi speaks into the empty room, his voice cracking. He didn’t realize how wet his mouth was, tears welling up along his chin to coat his neck. As he speaks, strings of saliva pull tight between his lips, his tongue thick and swollen with emotion.

With a steadying breath, Levi finally allows his fingers to cross the small distance and brush the sheet.

Oh. Oh. It’s exactly the same. They're a bit newer, a tad starchier than in his childhood, but the rest is identical. Rough, scratchy wool in tight thick threads. Part of him wants to ruin the careful fold, to pull and pull the fabric down to the floor with him so he can press his lips to the smooth line of silk he once loved. Fresh tears sting his eyes.

“I…,” he says to the fabric, “I should have done something.” Anything other than watching her die painful and slow, the weight draining off of her body, day by day.

What could he have even done, the small helpless child that he was? Still, guilt floods his senses, weighing heavily on his shoulders.

Pulling his legs up to his chest, Levi wraps his arms around his them and tucks himself into a tight little ball. Hugging himself to keep his chest from racking with sobs, a useless attempt. Chin resting on his knees, his lips quivering as he stares at the mass of white before him.

The silence feels daunting, the darkness an all consuming cavern. The sheer emptiness of the once lively space feels almost painful, hollow and empty, as if somehow judging him for leaving it behind.

Speaking to the mattress in place of his deceased mother, visions of her corpse swim in his vision, bleeding into the darkness beneath his eyelids. Even though she’s no longer a flickering, wavering ghost of a corpse on the bedspread, Levi still feels her here. The weight of her gaze digging heavy into his skin.

Levi blurts out his sins, if only to fill the air with something, anything. “I…I’ve hurt people. Killed. Tortured, even. I…I had to…I’ve done my best to make up for it…” Choked up, the mucus clogging his nose makes it difficult to get the words out.

Even now his fingers itch to slice the throat of the man who’d been behind the counter. He was too young, definitely not the same man who’d owned the establishment in his youth. Possibly a relative of Gereg, taking over in his stead. It wouldn’t free the women here, not for long, but the urge strikes him nonetheless.

He cries so rarely, but when he does it’s ugly. His nose is always a bright red, dripping snot like a small child. He hates it, how weak and small it makes him feel, struggling to speak even the smallest of sentences.

Levi takes a deep, shaky breath. Digging his fingers into the muscle of his thigh, the pain is grounding, steadying.

“I made it above ground,” he tells her, sniffling loudly. “The sunlight is beautiful, I wish you could have seen it. You’d have loved the clouds, pointing out all sorts of shapes that aren’t actually there.”

Wiping his face on his sleeve, Levi sniffles, swallowing down thick snot. It does nothing to lessen the huge knot in his throat.

Head thunking back against the hardwood, he stares at the smoke stained ceiling, following all the little cracks and grooves he memorized as a kid. His eyes are blurry, but he can still spot the little notches she’d once pointed out.

The memory comes to him like it was yesterday.

Lying together on the bed, Levi rests his head on her belly, listening to her stomach gurgle and pop in digestion. Little tiny noises right beneath his ear, Levi likes the airy warbles, but hates the deep growls.

Mom smooths her hands in his hair as he listens, nails scratching into the fine hairs around his nape. “Your hair is getting a little long, sweetheart,” she notes.

“Mhmm,” Levi mumbles in confirmation. “The back part is getting a bit scratchy.”

“Undercut, sweety. It’s called an undercut,” Mom corrects softly. “I’ll have to cut it in a couple days, once I’m feeling a bit better.”

“Your hair is so long.” Levi grabs a strand, sliding his little fingers through the dark fibers. Pulling the long tresses tight before letting them bounce back. “It’s pretty.”

“I’m glad you like it, honey. I’d cut it short like yours if I could, I’ve always wanted-,” she’s interrupted mid sentence by a loud and wet cough. So urgent she struggles to cover her mouth before another wracks her body. The strength of it shakes her shoulders, making her eyes water.

“You're still sick,” Levi grumbles, worriedly eyeing her distress.

“I’m fine,” she barely manages to choke out between a rattling set of coughs. Waving her hand, she continues, “It’ll go away in no time.”

“You need to see a doctor,” Levi insists. This has been going on for weeks. Some days seem better than others, but the coughs seem to be getting worse now.

“We can’t afford that, sweetie, you know that,” she strains, voice ragged. “Mama will be fine. I’ll bounce right back, you’ll see.”

She coughs again, lungs rattling wetly beneath his ear. “Hey look at that.” Raising a finger, Kuchel points up at the ceiling.

“I've seen the ceiling before.” Levi feels like he stares at it far too often, these days. There’s only so many times he can read the torn children's books she’d managed to find second hand. The pages yellowed and warped, water stained in large brownish splotches.

“Not that, silly! Those little splotches over there? Doesn’t it look sort of like a face?” Kuchel continues to point up into the darkness.

“A face? Where?” Levi asks, squinting at the wooden planks above. Even with the two flickering candles on their bedside the distance is still almost black.

Fingers in his hair, she turns his head to guide his vision to the spot. There's two large, uneven knots in one of the planks above, with a dark line just below. It could be a stain, or somehow a scratch, marking the wood right above them.

“It’s a smiley face, see!” she chimes, pointing enthusiastically once again.

“It’s just some groves in the wood,” Levi drones, nearly rolling his eyes at his mothers sudden excitement.

“So serious. Where’s your imagination?” She asks with a huff. Another wave of deep coughs wrack her form, bouncing his head on her stomach. Shoulders shaking, Mom struggles and strains to clear her throat.

When she breathes in next, the sound is nearly a wheeze. Voice strained and cracked, she asks, “You’ve been nothing but frowns lately. Can you smile for me, love?”

He does, if only to see her smile back in response. Lips pulling tight in forced imitation of happiness. Hoping that if he smiles wide and hard enough, he’ll get to see the joy fill her face once again. Like that night, only a handful of years ago, when things had been a bit easier.

Before she’d gotten sick, forced to work less and less. He was happy at first, that she got to spend more time with him. Less time spent hiding in the closet, listening to her cries of pain as men use her. Tending to all of her wounds not nearly as often.

Then bruises started to bloom, blue and purple on her skin without prompting. Large darkened splotches coating her knees and arms, even though no one had put them there this time. Any joy he’d had immediately turned sour.

Now, every day he has to be more careful with his fingers. Cautious of just how hard he grabs her hips, how tight he holds her hand -she bruises so easily these days. No matter how gentle he is, the little purple circles always left in his wake make his heart ache.

Before money -already tight- gradually became less and less as her body grew weaker, the flow eventually petering out completely. Forcing them to dig into the tiny bit of savings she’d squirreled away, a tiny envelope he hadn’t known about labeled ‘Sunlight’ in neat cursive.

Now he has to literally hold her up so she can shop. Head now reaching barely above her waist, he strains. Fingers digging into her hips, sometimes it takes all of his weight just to keep her standing upright and wobbling forward. Shoes digging and sliding across the dirty ground, he pushes and pushes with all of his might, desperate to keep her from falling into the mud with every wobbly step.

Every time they go it feels like she has to take more and more breaks. Hand clawing into the brick wall of a dark alleyway, shoulders shaking as she coughs and coughs. So hard that her knees nearly give way, despite his support. By her side, Levi glares at any passers by as they gawk at their bedraggled appearance. Their overly stained, borderline moldy clothes -even compared to everyone else. They stand, murmuring to each other every time, just watching Mom cough her lungs out.

No one cares.

Every time she forks over a bit more of their savings, she cries. Openly for the first time, no longer able to hide her grief from his watchful gaze. Hands shaking, shoulders crumbling as every small stack of ones leaves her grip.

The sight always makes him want to cry too. To bury his face in her dress, now yellowed and crusty. Dark with long wet stains of mud and whatever else splashed up from the street.

But Levi has to be strong for her. She puts on a mask for him, hiding her pain behind a smile until he isn’t looking -or so she thinks. He can do that too. For her.

Laying with his head on her belly, feeling the hard lines of her ribs -more and more visible by the day- with every breath, Levi just wants to travel back. To fall back to easier times that he desperately wishes to linger in. When they’d split a small watermelon between them, laughing on their rusty metal bench. Or when she’d tried to explain flowers to him, her face soft and open.

So when Mom asks him to, he smiles, forcing his face into a wide grin. Lips tight, teeth bared, mask firmly in place. Hopeful for some sort of happiness in return.

Instead of smiling back, her response is tight lipped, almost a frown. She presses a quick kiss onto his forehead, hand smoothing into his hair. “My sweet boy. I love you.”

Days later, when she starts coughing up blood, she asks him to not go get help. Begging and pleading, red staining her lips, to just leave her be. “I’ll be fine. Don’t worry. I’ll bounce back,” she says again, her eyes tired, face gaunt and skin yellow.

She knows something he doesn’t. Levi can see it in her face, her eyes dark and shuddered, lacking their usually cheery brightness. Optimistic mask gone in her exhaustion, leaving stoic defeat in its wake.

Despair fills him. Just the look in her eye, the tightness in her face, fills his heart with dread.

It’s the dirt, he thinks. The filth that always makes him cough and sneeze. She’d warned him before that it could make him sick. It’s gotten in her lungs. That’s what’s causing the odd rattle.

And so, in a desolate attempt to save her, he cleans. Using their scraggly little feather duster to gather up the piles of dust and hair that have collected in the corners of their little living space. Using up the last of their bleach to wipe and wipe and wipe every surface of their room until his fingers are raw and pink.

She’d never gathered the energy to cut it, so his hair hangs long in his face, swinging as he scrubs and scrubs. The scratchy undercut slowly disappears, leaving only itchiness in its wake.

If he cleans enough, maybe then she’ll get better. He hopes so at least, desperately. That, maybe, if there’s no more filth to fill her lungs, she’ll cough up what’s left and be perfectly fine.

As the room gets cleaner and cleaner, their clothes only get worse. Coated with sweat and grime, the sight only makes him anxious. Filthy, he thinks. Only making her worse, he worries.

Part of him is tempted to start venturing outside on his own. To take everything they have down to the stream himself, a journey that Mom’s now far too weak to trek, and scrub and scrub until they’re bright white again.

Levi’s even tempted to go to the market and get what food he can. He could. The scary dog is gone now, likely nothing but bones in a dark alleyway somewhere. According to Mom, he’s too young to cross the muddy street on his own, much less wander across town and attempt to barter with a crook. It’s too dangerous, she warns often and repeatedly between coughs.

Despite her words, Levi is tempted to go.

Until she becomes completely bedridden. One day just crumbling to the hardwood floor of their room, legs too weak and bony to hold herself up.

Abandoning everything else, there's nothing Levi can do but take care of her the best he can. Wiping the sweat from her fevered brow with a cool washcloth, wetted in the increasingly filthy sink of their tiny bathroom. Running their sharp toothed comb through her hair, watching more and more strands fall out with every passing day.

Cleaning the blood from her chin, dark red staining rag after rag after rag.

What little food they have left, dried meats that can last, he gives to her, ignoring the rumbling in his belly.

It hurts, his stomach. An aching, growing rumble far worse than ever before. Losing track of time, Levi has no idea how long it’s been since he’s last eaten, only taking sips of the warm, metallic tap water from their sink.

Already, the hunger is making him weak and dizzy. It almost makes him feel cold, a chill deep in his bones as his body burns through what little reserves he has. His vision swims oddly, black swirling along the edges like strange figures, but he chooses to ignore it. He has to.

He doesn’t even bother lighting the two candles placed on the bedside table. One of the few commodities that the brothel actually supplies to its staff, along with matches. The darkness seems fitting.

Despite starvation draining him of all energy, Levi doesn’t sleep, not really. The nightmares, both waking and in his dreams, are simply too much. Wide awake, watching his mothers exposed breast bone shakily rise and fall, he’s too afraid to even blink.

In her fevered delirium, whenever she thinks he’s sleeping, Mom begs. Voice incredibly hoarse and cracked, far from her usual melodic tone, she pleads to whatever cruel deity there may be.

“Please,” she gasps, lungs rattling with moisture. “Please, just let it end.”

“It hurts. It hurts so much,” she croaks, voice full of desperation. “Just let it stop.”

Just the sound of her whimpering in pain, asking desperately for death, breaks his heart. It makes his chest ache with the worst pain he’s ever felt, a sharp radiating stab somewhere between his lungs.

Not even bothering to pretend to sleep, Levi quickly turns to look at her. She’s awake so little now, her eyes rarely open. “Mom?” he asks, voice hushed and hesitant.

Kuchel doesn’t even look at him. Eyes, dark and red, staring far into the distance, she doesn’t even see him. Heat taking her brain, she’s too out of it to respond to him. She’s crying, sobbing alongside loud gasps for air, the corners of her eyes red with endless lines of tears. Muttering fevered strings of nonsense with dry and cracked lips.

“My sun,” Mom rattles, using the moniker for the first time in many years. This is the first time he’s heard it since he was small, back when she could still carry him around. The raw, shaky sound of it nearly makes him fall apart.

“Mom, please,” he calls desperately, shaking her by the shoulder. Dark hazy eyes just look through him instead of at him. Wheezing hard and long, her boney claw-like hands scratch at the bottom sheet of the bed. Struggling, reaching for something as she hacks and hacks.

Thoughtlessly, Levi pulls that soft bit of fabric he likes up to her lips. Maybe the thin line of silk will bring her comfort too, he thinks.

There's a distant sense of hope, beneath layers of layers of horror and dread, listening to her lungs rattle, his head pressed up to her bony chest. Her fingers winding loving circles into his back even after she’d lost the energy to speak. A wavering, flickering flame somewhere in his chest, much like the lanterns that constantly light the streets. The light whispering that, somehow, she’d be okay.

He knows, somewhere deep in his heart, that she isn’t going to bounce back. That she’s just lying, both to him and herself.

Despite the raging fever, the endless sticky heat that fills the chamber, she shivers. Shoulders shaking, teeth clacking, her whole body flushed with goosebumps. So Levi curls his tiny body around her form as much as he can. Like she did him, all those frigid winter nights. Pulling her head to his chest like one would a dying flame, desperate to keep it burning.

She’ll be better in the morning, Levi thinks, lips quivering as he presses a wet kiss to the crown of her head. Eyes heavy with exhaustion as he watches her chest shudder, rattling loudly as she struggles to gasp in air. Despite the noise, sheer starving exhaustion makes him sleep.

Silence.

After days of endless, rattling, he wakes up to silence. The constant unending wheeze of her lungs gone- something he’s hoped for so long- leaving the room an unsettling quiet.

Is she finally better? Are her lungs finally cleared up of that gunk?

She’s still. Far too still. The quiet hurts.

“Mom?” Levi asks. He shakes her shoulder, digging his fingers into her frigid skin. It’s too cold, her flesh almost stiff beneath his fingertips. Her hair is limp, free from any of its usual shine, her skin an odd grey.

She’s just…holding her breath.

It’s a joke, he thinks, frantic and desperate. Grasping at straws in an attempt to negate reality. She’ll shoot up any moment, lively and well, with a firm “Boo!” sending herself into a peel of riotous laughter at his shock.

“Mom?” Levi’s voice cracks with a warble. He nudges her cheek, expecting the skin to bounce back like normal, but only leaving a dent in her flesh.

Pressing his ear to her chest, he listens for the familiar soothing rhythm of her heart. The constant beat that often lulls him to sleep, calm and steady right beneath his ear.

Silence.

Nothing but silence greats him.

“No no no,” Levi begs, his breathing far too quick. Desperately shaking her shoulders, Mom’s head just lolls heavily back and forth. She’s suddenly so stiff, unbearably heavy despite her skeletal form.

“Please no,” he sobs, tears filling his vision. “You said you’d bounce back.”

Curling onto his knees, Levi pulls her head into his lap. “Mama,” he sobs, nearly choking.

Leaning down, he presses his face against hers. Rubbing his cheek into the stiff peak of her jutting cheekbone. Too cold.

The sheer lack of breath, of soft moist puffs of air brushing his cheek, makes him feel hollow.

“Mama…” Levi cries. Hand shaky, he pets her hair. Running his fingers through the limp strands in long strokes, sobs rocking his little body.

Large chunks of it fall out, pulling free from her temples to wind around his fingers. Long black strands of her once beautiful hair, filling his little palms in large mats.

That’s what makes him break, soul shattering in a shower of sharp glass.

He cries and cries, ugly and loud. Sobbing into her neck until he just can’t anymore. Until there isn’t any moisture left in him, his throat dry and raw, his eyes stinging with grief.

A loud ringing sound fills the room, high pitched as darkness swirls along the edges of his vision. Hollow emptiness fills him. Shock, he thinks. Head filled with nothing but fuzz, he becomes numb.

Curled up next to her corpse, he watches and waits until her unique scent -freshly cut flowers- fades. Staring, lying by her side, mind long gone, until the stench of unfiltered rotting human flesh becomes too much and he has to move away.

Worse than the rot. Worse than the stench, is watching the skin on his mothers corpse pull tight. Lips twisting in a gross imitation of the smile he’d so desperately wanted.

There was nothing left for him, nowhere to go, other than to sit in the darkness and wait for death. Broken and defeated, what else was he to do? No one comes for him -to check on her- not even to investigate the stench.

No one cares.

He’d been close, he thinks, when Kenny had found him. Every single rib clear and visible, the bones lining his torso, stretching out his skin as they do his mothers corpse. His hair long and matted, the filthy curled up wads teeming with bugs. Lice and grubs festering and growing, crawling right against his scalp.

So hungry that he couldn’t even feel the pain of it anymore.

Sometimes, late at night when Levi struggles to sleep after a difficult expedition, he wishes he’d never been found. Life’s been nothing but heartbreak since then.

It wasn’t until his early twenties -well into obsessively cleaning- that he’d had the realization that it hadn't been the dirt filling her lungs, as his young mind had thought. Nor had it been some common household disease, easily conquered by an expensive round of medicine.

It’d been the men fucking her, using and ruining her bit by bit. One of them had left behind something, some parasite left to grow and fester inside her body. Filling Kuchel’s insides with tiny poisonous razor blades, leaving her lungs raw and bloody.

Levi’s eyes flick back to the mattress. “Have you been watching me?” he asks the mass of fabric and wires. “I hope not.”

It feels like everything he’s been holding in for years is suddenly falling out of him all at once. Every ounce of anguish and pain floods from his eyes and fills his chest. He sobs, loud and hard, struggling to stay sitting up right on the floor.

Wherever she is, he hopes she didn’t have to watch him wallow in years of blood, sadness and defeat. Fighting, constantly struggling for survival -first against starvation, then men, titans, then men again. That, somehow, she’d only caught the happy moments, far and few as they may be.

“So many people have died under my orders. Strangers, friends, people I loved,” he croaks. Voice small and tinged with sorrow he continues, “Some of them were just kids.”

Gasping for air, his mind swims with visions of his original squad, squashed and bloody. Oluo, Eld, Gunther. Petra. Furlan and Isabel. All bloody and broken corpses at his command. Hundreds upon hundreds, possibly thousands of near strangers -both soldiers and civilians- that he couldn’t help. Dead, their blood often literally coating his fingers.

His fault.

Nothing he ever does is enough.

“I remember each and every one of their names,” Levi warbles with a teary sniff.

Every single one of their badges sits in the drawer of his desk. The stack is so high that some fall out every time he opens it, the stitched fabric displaying the wings of freedom bursting free and flopping to the floor. Levi’s not sure what he’s going to do, if he has to add even a single one to the pile.

It’s inevitable that he will. Whichever one of his friends -his family- is next will surely break his heart.

“I hope, somehow, you're proud of me. Even after everything I’ve done,” Levi begs, almost imploring her.

Levi covers his mouth, biting into the skin of his knuckle to muffle a loud sob. It’s painful, nearly hard enough to draw blood. She shouldn’t be, not with the amount of blood coating his hands.

She would be, though, even if he hates who he’s become.

Only ever killing to protect, to save the lives of both himself and others, doesn’t make him any less monstrous. Levi doesn’t regret anything -can’t afford to- but the weight of his decisions weighs on him nonetheless. Pulling at him like a thousand hands, the corpses of those he’s brought harm -those he’s abandoned to be eaten- clawing him down even as he flies high in the trees.

No doubt, Mom would click her tongue at his negativity and pull him to her chest so she can kiss his forehead. Even as an adult she’d be taller than him, easily pulling his cheek right to her breast. “Don’t you dare think that way,” she’d chide, smoothing back his hair and ruining his part. “You just did what you had to. There’s not a single thing to be sorry about.”

“Look at all the good you’ve done,” Kuchel would point out, peppering his cheeks with wet kisses. “I’m so proud of you, my strong boy. My sun.”

The thought brings a surging wave of hiccuped sobs, wracking his shoulders in an endless cycle. In the darkness he can practically feel her ghost crouching down beside him, leaning down to press a quick, cold kiss to his forehead.

Warmth fills his chest. He knows that the soft caress of her lips is fake, just a part of his brain trying to cope with the grief. Nonetheless, the contact leaves him with bittersweet joy.

He loves her. Levi doesn’t know if he ever told her. The thought tightens his throat with a fresh wave of tears.

“I love you, Mom,” the words escape him in a raspy croak. It feels silly to say such a thing in a dark, empty room. It feels hollow, meaningless, even if this is her grave. Decades too late.

She did the best she could’ve, in such a tough situation. They may have struggled, wallowing in filth and occasional hunger, but she tried. His mother had put her body on the line -her very heart and soul- in order to raise him. She deserved better. She should have been the one to lead him into the sun, living a long and happy life above ground.

She’d never even gotten the chance to grow grey hairs. He may even be older now than she ever got the chance to be, Levi thinks with a full body shudder.

Now, there’s nothing left of her. The only lasting mark -other than himself- is the fabric of her dress, cut and tied neatly into the cravat so often around his neck. If he could draw, her smiling face would sit on his desk in the most expensive frame he could buy.

Her final resting place shouldn’t be within these four grimy walls. Not in some well-used room in the very brothel she spent years suffering in, acquiring new traumas on an almost daily basis.

Levi wishes she had a gravestone, at least, so that he could visit. Somewhere nice and scenic above ground, grey stone hot from the rays of the sun. A place he could sit and talk to her, like he does with the others who’ve passed.

He pictures a small stone, her name carefully carved into it in deep grooves. Levi’s not entirely sure if he’d add the last name or not. Whether she was proud to be an Ackerman, shedding the name for survival's sake, or if it was a purposeful detachment.

He doesn’t even know the day she’d died. Or her birthday. What a terrible son.

The thought makes a defeated sob escape him, his heart aching in his chest. This must be what it feels like to be stabbed, left gutted and raw to bleed out.

He couldn’t even remember what her last words had been. He thinks, distantly, that they may have been ‘I’m sorry’.

Maybe it’s better that she doesn’t have a gravestone, the marble left glaringly, auspiciously blank. Bare, smooth stone in place of significant dates.

Kuchel, beloved mother.

Nothing else.

The sheer emptiness of it leaves him feeling hollow and raw, as if someone had gutted him. Scooping out his insides and leaving nothing but darkness behind. It’s not enough.

Even that wouldn’t be enough.

Flowers. He’d leave her flowers as often as he could. Paycheck be damned, tea money be damned. Roses, tulips, daisies, sunflowers -blossoms he can’t even name, in every color under the sun. Big beautiful petals that she never got to see.

Actually, no. They’d be white. Pure and pristine. A small bouquet of baby's breath and roses. Soft and innocent just like she was. A stark bright light fighting for survival in the darkness.

White. Fresh and clean. He always imagines her in white, whenever he lets his mind drift. The color of her lone, non-work dress. The night gown in which she died. The color of the same fabric he so often wraps around his neck.

No. A bouquet would just wither and die, the petals wrinkling up into a disgusting brown, making his chest ache every time. It’d only remind him of the dirt and grime, the man who’d stained her while assaulting Mom in the market. The constant filth they wallowed in as she became sicker and sicker.

He’d plant them instead. Dig shallow holes with his own two hands if he had to. Coating the entire grave in a swatch of pristine petals, as if constantly dusted by freshly fallen snow. Daisy’s, roses, lillies. Chrysanthemums, large and beautiful, coated with layers and layers of petals. Orchids, tall and delicate just like she was. Hogweed, sturdy and invasive, full of nothing but fight just like Mom.

Fuck it, Levi thinks, sniffling hard.

Maybe he would do it anyways, regardless of where her final resting place might be. No grave marker, no oddly blank marble name tag, just a large garden of white. A hillside, high in the sunlight, far away from the shade of any trees, coated so thick with flowers that it’s nearly dripping. Every breed of white flower he can possibly get his hands on, planted in her honor.

Blossoming and growing unheeded in the sunlight, just like she deserved to.

[shiroi---kumo]

It's only a dream || Accepting

( @aquaticsoul ) ->

 ‘ night terrors ‘

because he doesn't want pilvi to have to deal with things alone anymore

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆ It was only a dream. It had to be because Opettaja is right here and he is alive and the white prince is setting in a bed that is not his own but it smells like all his loved ones. They are all here. Somewhere in this building, they're here and he can hear them and ...and ... and...

He doesn't know what else.

The feeling of one of His Excellency's blood red tendrils is slipping around his throat as he tries to think about it. He doesn't know if that's real either. He's dreamt of his teachers, his binds, so many times but he's never really woke to them when he sets up screaming.

That probably was hell on Opettaja's ears and he should probably apologize for that but the building doesn't smell like Gaudium even if it looks like it. Oscha could be playing another trick on him. He doesn't remember Herba coming to collect him once more. He doesn't remember breathing in anything weird or drinking anything strange but then again that was the point and even when he did, he doesn't remember.

He doesn't remember anything ... He doesn't remember... How did he end up in a room with Opettaja in the first place? All he knows is - he is in the middle of a very well built nest that is filled to the very brim of the scents of everyone he loves and that is something he can say he likes. He very much likes and Opettaja is right next to him and he can hear and smell him so clearly too.

His Excellency would never allow this. So why is he here? He saw Herba kill the man but then he - no - didn't he? The tendril is tightening around his throat as he takes the time to think. How dare he take the time to think?! He knows better. He knows and his hands are up and tugging at the blanket that is loosely wrapped down over his shoulders as the panic sets in.

Why is he fighting back? He knows better than to fight back but Opettaja is here and he doesn't want him to have to see this. He doesn't want Opettaja to have to watch him die and see the truth in his immortality.

When did he tell Opettaja he was immortal?

He must have. He doesn't remember doing it but he must have.

"I'm sorry." He sobs as hands firm on the blankets close to his throat. "I'm sorry, Your Excellency."

He doesn't even remember what he did to make the little beast so angry this time, but it was obviously something and if he didn't act soon then he was going to die and Opettaja was going to be forced to watch. Worse, Opettaja was going to be forced to deal with his corpse when he doesn't fade.

He is the only Misterican in all of history that has ever left a corpse and he can't say he cares for it. He can't say he cares for that fact at all.

"Please spare me, Your Excellency. Please."

He hates the fact his sobbing isn't fake. He hates the fact that every tear is as real as the last he does the only thing he knows how to do in this situation and that's to cry and beg forgiveness.

"Please Your Excellency." He tries again as he struggles a bit to get every crawling tendril on him off of himself but it all feels as hopeless as it ever does.

"Please, Your Excellency. Please don't make him watch this."