#ooc: hes lying he is mentally ill | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

thelonelyarchon · 3 months

Text

🧶✂️ SEVERED FATES

Pairing: Artem Wing x Rosa, Artem Wing x Fem!Reader (in future chapters)

Summary: (Unofficial summary) Artem Wing is regularly praised for his ability to compose himself in any situation. Despite bombarding himself with paperwork and cases to appeal at court, he never once found himself in a situation where he was totally lost and helpless... that is until his birthday arrives. Plagued by nightmares and sudden illness this time of the year, it's a yearly tradition of the young senior attorney to pray at Cloudbreak Temple since he entered lawschool, the year it all began. It was the same thing every year. Pray and pray for answers. But what if... this year is different? And with the arrival of a mysterious but familiar heiress, he might just get his answers.

"Find what was severed and repair it," said the monk.

But... what must he repair?

Content Warning: Mentions of chest pains, unconscious Artem, overworking, description of fatigue, slightly unnerving imagery of being shot, does not follow Tears of Themis timeline religously, slightly ooc characters, angst (?), not-proof-read

Author's Note: This is an experimental post/prologue! I've had this crazy Gufeng!Artem x Fem!Reader angst fic at the back of my mind since last year and I was too scared to write it. Luckily, I found mysekf writing it earlier today after I finally got the go sign to stop my medicatiom for anxiety. What a better way to celebrate it than writing something that I was scared to bring into life beforehand! Anyway, if this gets positive feedbacks and interested readers, then I'll continue the series!

“AND THAT is why you should take this opportunity to rest, Artem. You’ll exhaust yourself this way,” Celestine pinched the bridge of her nose as she fought back another wave of nausea. The older senior attorney and co-founder of Themis Law Firm was in her first trimester of pregnancy, and her stress was getting to her.

Artem refused to look at Celestine. The pile of paperwork and casefiles sitting on top of his desk prevented him from doing so. He had been stuck in a vicious cycle of ‘work, eat, sleep, repeat’ for the last three weeks as the firm had an influx of cases to be handled at the end of March and early April. Nearly all senior attorneys in the firm were preoccupied with their cases, and Artem had the higher task of overseeing all of them.

“I know how to take care of myself, Celestine. You, on the other hand, should focus on your health and not on mine. You’ll exhaust yourself this way.” Artem lets out a small huff as he smiles to himself. Celestine’s mouth was wide agape.

Did Artem just throw her concerns back at her?

“You’re unbelievable,” she sighs. “I really can’t persuade you, no?”

Artem shakes his head without lifting his gaze from the paper he’s scanning. Using the blue silicone page-turner he has on his index finger and thumb, he smoothly flips through another page or two while scanning its contents.

She figures that she can’t persuade the young attorney no matter what she does. After all, Artem just earned another title in the industry: senior monster attorney.

“But I’m being serious now. Like for real, this time. Artem, I know you want to keep me stress-free… but I can completely manage my nausea in court. I can help you. It’s not like I’m incapacitated mentally, too!” Celestine argues.

In the two years he’s been working with Celestine, they’ve developed a sibling-like relationship. Artem understood where her concern was coming from. To be frank, he doesn’t know when was the last time he had a proper sleep. Usually, he’d go home late in the night only to eat and then do some more reading and compiling of evidence until he fell asleep. He would wake up to his alarm blaring, hastily dressing himself up for work before arriving at the firm to continue where he left off the night before. He would be lying if he didn’t admit he was overworking himself.

“I’m fine, Celestine. Reading more won’t hurt me.”

“Yeah, it won’t but I will hurt you if you don’t rest now while I’m still being kind,” Celestine turned her back to him and crossed her arms. She walks towards the door before turning her head at him again only to emphasize what she said. “That’s an order from your boss, Artem! Rest or you’re fired.”

For the first time since the moment Celestine entered his office twenty minutes ago, Artem lifted his head to look at the senior attorney. Maybe it was from the frustration she felt but Celestine wasn’t smiling. He gently dropped his pen on his table and closed the folder with the casefiles he was supposed to finish reading by lunchtime.

He rests his elbows on his desk and uses the back of his entwined fingers as support for his chin. He learned it is best not to provoke a pregnant woman or he might just have to deal with her tears. He is efficient at dealing with court trials, but he’s aware he’s useless when it comes to stopping women’s tears.

“Fine, Celestine. You won,” he leans back on his chair and loosens his necktie. Now that he took the time to relieve himself of his duties, he could feel the fatigue consuming him.

His eyes feel itchy and dry from all that reading, and he knows he may just need a pair of glasses if he continues to abuse his eyesight like this.

When was the last time he slept well again? Yesterday? Two days ago? Maybe.

“Mr. Wing, I have here last month’s pending civil cases! These haven’t been looked at yet so Kiki was hoping if you could-”

“Ah! Rosa, there you are! You’re just in time!” Celestine exclaims as she claps.

Rosa jolts back in surprise as Celestine bombards her with a hug. She laughs nervously and looks at Artem. Her smile drops upon seeing his face. He looked… like a homeless man. He looks horrible!

“I’m on time for what…?”

“I have an important favor to ask of you and it’s more of a personal favor, but I’m willing to give you a bonus for it!” Celestine said.

Rosa’s eyes widened as she stepped back and raised her hand. Just what happened here? A bonus sounded tempting, but Rosa knew that when Celestine asks for personal favors these days, it usually involved three things: pregnancy cravings, dealing with impertinent clients, or Mr. Wing.

And with the sight of Artem casually sprawled over his office chair nearly passed out from fatigue, she knew she should be nervous.

“Ah… hahahaha… uhm. Ahem! C-celestine?”

Celestine grinned and moved behind her. She pushed Rosa inside the room towards Artem and stood by the door. She reaches for the handle.

“Rosa, make sure Artem doesn’t step foot inside the law firm for the next week or so nor have him hold anything related to work! That’s an order. Don’t worry, I'll count both of your absences as a paid one-week leave,” she slyly smiles. Rosa was horrified.

She will… babysit Artem for a week!? She should feel happy that despite chilling around for the next week or so, she was still being paid. But… she’s spending her week with Mr. Wing!? Now, now! That’s uncalled for!

“N-now h-hold on for a second, Celestine–!”

Celestine laughs as she pulls the door close. Before she could close it, she left her with one more instruction, “Oh. One more thing. Artem’s relieved from the cases he has right now except for next month’s trial. And by the way, it’s nearly the 26th. Keep an eye on Artem, will you?”

Rosa’s eyes softened when she saw the genuine concern on Celestine’s face. She knows Celestine and Artem’s mother are close, and she treats him like a brother. It was also Mr. Wing’s birthday week. But for some reason, there was something deeper behind the meaning of her instruction.

Keep an eye on him… for what? Or… from what?

As soon as the door clicked shut, Artem let out a sigh. Rosa turned to his way.

“That Celestine… really,” he sits up from his chair. “I’m sorry you had to do this. You may refuse to do so if you like.”

Rosa shook her head and offered him a smile. “It’s alright, Mr. Wing. At least it’s me you’re with. That way, I can still bend the rules and allow you to sneak a peek at your work from time to time,” she winks and gives him two thumbs up.

Artem chuckles as he smiles warmly. “Right. Well, help me arrange these files. I’ll leave the other cases to Celestine and I’ll bring the ones for next month.”

“Copy that, Mr. Wing!” Rosa said enthusiastically.

As Artem stood to fix his things, he noticed the calendar sitting on top of his desk where the keys to his car were placed in a bowl. The date April 26th was encircled in red marker ink ominously. Artem holds his chest as the familiar sense of foreboding creeps up to him. He sighs and shakes his head.

Rosa notices the sudden change in his demeanor. “Are you alright?”

Artem looks at her and smiles. “Yes. Also… would you like to come with me to Cloud Break Temple?”

Rosa’s eyes sparkled at his offer.

Cloud Break Temple… their spot. It’s been a while since they’ve been there.

“Of course… Artem.” She said softly.

_____________________________

“WHAT are you going to pray for, Mr. Wing?” Artem looks at Rosa as she speaks. Currently, they stood at the arch at the entrance of the temple. Many tourists and locals were climbing the long stairs up to the temple. Some were students, some were elderly, and some were even pregnant.

The bustling sound of the temple and the bells and windchimes comforted Artem. He never really admitted it, but for some reason, the temple was a safe refuge for him. Although, during the week before his birthday, he would feel an ominous shadow looming behind him.

“Hmm, nothing. I was just going to pray for well-being.” He said.

“Ah! If I remember correctly, last year you went here for your birthday, too. Is this a yearly tradition?” She asks.

“You could say that. It only started when I pursued law school.”

“Huh?” Rosa asked, confused.

Naturally, Rosa didn’t know everything about Artem despite the blooming affection between the two of them. Artem has yet to pursue her officially. However, in the short time she was able to work with Artem, she could somehow get a gist of who he was and how his mind worked.

It’s only been a year since she met Artem and worked for him at the law firm and NXX so this came as a surprise.

Artem looked at her and smiled. He reached for the top of her head and gently caressed it. Rosa’s cheeks were flushed. Artem could feel his burning too. He clears his throat and retracts his hand away before walking deeper into the temple.

The temple was still the same, although a few areas had been closed off for construction. When they got to the area to get their tickets, he found a familiar face. It was the old monk that had entertained them last year.

“Oh! It’s you two darlings again.” He started. Rosa and Artem laughed at his words. They greeted the monk together.

“How have you been? Are you here to pray for safety? What about the exam? Or, is it marriage again young man?”

Artem blushed as he shook his head and laughed nervously. “How I wished to, but it is not my purpose for coming today. I am here to pray for–” At the corner of his eye, he caught a shadow walking past him, stopping him in his tracks. The words remained at the tip of his tongue as he trailed off.

It was a shadow… no, it’s a silhouette. No… it was a woman who walked past him.

Before Artem could turn around to see who it was, he found himself clutching his chest as a searing pain radiated throughout his body. He falls to his knees.

In his mind, he thought his fatigue was finally catching up to him. Was it a heart attack?

“I can’t… I can’t breathe.” Artem muttered.

“What is wrong with me?”, Artem thought as he felt his consciousness slipping away.

“Artem! Mr. Wing! Are you alright? Can you hear me?” He could hear Rosa’s distant, frantic cries for help as people surrounded them. His eyelids fluttered open as he fought back to keep himself conscious. But it was so… heavy. It was just like the last time last year. It was as if his chest was just shot.

HIs head lolled back and his eyes rolled back as he struggled to fight back. He was sure he would lose consciousness now. His hand clutched his chest even harder. It was even more difficult to breathe. He could see the face of the old monk looming over his figure.

"Am I… on the ground? Why is the sky the only thing I can see?"

The monk's face was void of emotion as if studying the strange thing that he had just seen. But what is it? Why is he staring at him as if he knew this would happen and he knew why it happened? Artem couldn’t bear to look at the disappointment on his face. What did he do wrong?

He turns to his side as the last bits of his consciousness leave him. His eyes landed on the wishing tree, the same one on which he and Rosa had hanged their tablets. Visions began to form as he hallucinated.

Blink.

“Oh… what a lovely tree. It’s more luscious now this time of the year.”, Artem thought as the tree became much more younger-looking. It lacks the wooden tablets that were hung on its branches.

Blink.

“Who… who are they?”

A man and a young noble lady met under a younger-looking wishing tree. This time, the first tablets were hanged by the two. Two entwined fates, one lucky and one unlucky…tightly tied together to make a fortunate one.

“Why… am I seeing this?”

Blink.

It was only a split second before the scene changed again. Artem found himself screaming for help when an arrow was shot towards someone. Before he could see who shot the arrow, the searing pain in his chest became unbearable and the last bits of his consciousness finally slipped away as the arrow pierced his heart.

On the other end of the temple's grounds, you, the woman who happened to pass by the area, stopped to look at the commotion behind you. You tilt your head off to the side as you eye the young man who's sprawled unconscious on the floor.

"Who is he?" You asked the man in black beside you.

"A young man has fainted, Madam. It was the one you happened to pass by just now. It's not of your concern. The staff has called for help. We must leave now if we are to catch the plane by tonight." He said.

The urgency in his voice was unmistakable, but you chose to ignore him. You took of your sunglasses to take a better look at the man. Your brows twitched at the familiar face. Who would've thought the one lying on the ground and causing a commotion would be the youngest senior attorney in Stellis City? Artem Wing.

A slight smirk played on your lips as you thought of the Gods giving you a favor. Perfect timing. He's the right man you need for tue job you have in mind.

"Hugo," you gently eyed your bodyguard to signal hik to come closer to you. He quickly moves beside you to hear your request.

"Yea, Madam?"

"Get the car. I would like to personally bring the man to the hospital." You wore your sunglasses and turned around to exit the temple grounds. Younhear your bodyguard choke on air at your order.

"P-pardon, Madam!?"

"You heard me once. No need to make me say it twice."

"U-understood." He jogs back to the scene where a staff was frantically attempting to awaken Artem. You on the other hand, refused to look back. Once your guard was out of sight, you couldn't help but let out a sigh of relief.

"I hope I'm doing the right thing by helping you, Attorney Wing. Don't make me regret this." You mutter.

You though you should have a little more faith in him. After all, you just hit the jackpot. Maybe the gods really did hear your prayers today. With the case you were entangled with, sure enough Stellis's top senior attorney can help you win this and clear your name. 99.9% win rate? Yes, helping him is worth it. You just hoped he would think that way, too.

#artem wing #tears of themis #artem wing x reader #tot artem #lily's corner | fic 🍧🍰₊˚⊹⋆#artem wing x rosa #tot rosa #rosa #Artem Wing angst #angst fic #tears of themis angst

21 notes · View notes

loser4loserswhok1ll · 26 days

Text

Something like dying.

Donnie Darko x Reader.

includes:

reader x character relationship, gender neutral reader, ooc

warnings: angst, mentions of death, mentions of mental illness, deep discussion of dark topics, explicit language

"Dont you dare touch me with that, dude." You backed up as Donnie threatened you with a slug hanging onto the tip of a small stick. He chased you, obviously holding back on getting you to make you a little more on edge. You hopped over the old dirty couch in the middle of the clearing and yelled at Donnie to knock his shit off. "Aw cmon y/n, its just a slug. these things are everywhere even when you dont know it." As he speaks his final word he tosses the stick at you and you tumble out of the way with a small scream. "Darko, im gonna beat your ass." Your eyes lock in on him, like hes a target and youre on the hunt, and you run around the corner of the couch to tackle him onto it. You fall over onto the couch in a mess of limbs and accidentally elbow him right in his ribcage. He lets out a pained grunt and you sit up, hands covering your face, and apologizing. "Its alright, im good." Despite his hand grabbing his rib in pain, he chuckles at your reaction and smiles. "Im sorry, I really didnt mean to actually beat your ass." You climb off of him in a sort of messy manner and reach a hand out to help him up. He takes your hand and instead of getting up, he throws you down onto the floor in front of the couch. You grunt and smack him lightly but lay your head back against the cushion. You guys sit like that for some time. Silent, only listening to the sound of distant neighborhood bustle and your own breaths mixing with the wind.

"Donnie." He looks down at you from his laying position, a brow slightly cocked. "Yeah? What?" You turn a little to face him, an arm now resting on the couch where your head was. "You've been off lately. More than usual. Have you been taking your meds?" A look of genuine concern washes over your features, and Donnie lets out a small half-chuckle half-scoff. "Donnie. Be serious." He looks at you and sighs, looking up the sky and squinting. "They arent doing anything." He mumbles it almost like a toddler. "So you arent taking them at all?" You roll your eyes in disbelief. "No im taking them. But. I dont- I dont know." He rubs his face with his hands and groans. "Nothings going away." He looks at you, a sort of desperate, tired look. "What is it like?" You speak without thinking. He stays silent for a second. "It feels... I dont know whats real. I sometimes think even youre fake and everyones just lying about knowing you so I dont freak out." He lets out a pathetic chuckle at that, but you dont. You stay silent as you watch him. "Its like... You know when you have a dream, and in that dream you wake up from another dream, but youre still dreaming? You never actually woke up?" You nod. "Thats how it feels to live. It feels something like i imagine death feels like. Pin flashes of every life youve lived coming at you at once. It feels like dying. I feel like im dying everyday." You listen intently, silently, painfully. "Something like dying." You murmur under your breath. "Youre not dying yet, Donnie. Not yet." You turn back around and let your head fall back onto the cushion, eyes closed and up to the sky. "I know im not. But its something close."

You sat in silence for some time before Donnie spoke up again. "Do you ever think of how your name would sound with mine?" You turn to him and open your eyes confused. "What do you mean?" He sits up on his elbows to face you, holding eye contact like he usually does. "Y/n Darko. Donnie y/l/n. Have you ever thought of that?" You furrow your brows and let out a breath. "Is this your way of proposing to me, Donnie?" He looks away with a smile and his cheeks glow a growing red. "Its just.. Its just fun to think about. Thats all." You smile and reach up to grab his hand. "Nobodies playing a joke on you Donnie. Im real. Always have been." Your expression turns much more serious and you watch Donnies turn to a sort of desperate but hidden aching struggle. "I know you are. Just doesn't feel like it sometimes." You sit up onto your knees and hold his hand up to your lips, gently kissing his knuckles. "How do i make it feel like im real all the time?" He looks into your eyes, a glimmer of something unrecognizable in them. "Kiss me." The words come out of him without a second thought, and your actions do the same. You lean up and plant a gentle kiss on his terribly chapped lips. He grabs your shoulder and wraps an arm around it, sitting up to get closer to you. You pull away and hold his face. "Im real, Donnie. I always will be, I always have been." He pushes his lips to yours again and grabs your hair, his hand cradling the back of your head. "Youre the closest thing ill get to peace." He whispered against your lips, then holds you tight, tight like youll really dissappear at any second. It feels something like dying, and youre the closest to heaven he'll ever get.

#donnie darko #donnie darko x reader #fanfic #donnie darko fanfic #x reader #loser4loserswhok1ll #fanfiction

11 notes · View notes

beevean · 6 months

Text

gdi it's so frustrating because I really want to fix Lenore, I see the good ideas behind her, but my rewriting would boil down to small changes such as

remove the "good boy" moments

remove the rape scene, just have Lenore slip her ring on Hector while he's considering her proposal

change her dialogue to be less cringe

bonus: have Hector show more signs of repressed anger, make clear that his politeness is a façade. You can even have him conflicted if it's necessary, as he does understand Lenore's moral code but you know he's not happy about being betrayed. And have him go on a rampage after he cuts his finger.

if you think N!Hector lying is OOC because he's too innocent for that, then explain that he has to learn some proper etiquette in Dracula's court. be sure to show that there is a difference from being sheltered from the world and being a fucking idiot.

and that's it! no joke this would be enough to turn her into the fascinating character her fans believe her to be! hector being charitable would make far more sense! but it's too boring to commit on paper because these are such braindead changes that I only curse That Writer for neglecting them in favor of rape fetishism

(you know i will have reached irreversible mental illness when i will write a fic about this bitch, give her the Surge treatment)

#anti netflixvania #i'm just frustrated #i see all those loving analyses and i can't help thinking that they're wasting braincells on a product that doesn't deserve them

17 notes · View notes

bigstupiddummie · 6 months

Text

making a post in the tags to “call out” a person is so dumb and childish and stupid, so i won’t put this in there. however, the admin of @wavehq is full lying on my name these days even though i haven’t talked to them or anyone else involved in there in like 6mos. and i rly want them to stop.

i don’t have my old discord account w ss. if anyone else has ss with me in them, u can add them to this post idc how ugly it makes me look. i talked a LOT of shit ( and pertaining to this story, about sel esp ) and called ppl some nasty names and any ss will incriminate me of that. so me talking shit isn’t a ‘gotcha’ anymore. i talked shit and called sel names, as well as k, and i know sel called me names, and im sure everyone else did too. whatevs.

yk what i never did ? i never made a “manifesto” about my ex friend, or priv-retweeted their personal ooc twitter account to mock them. i never helped create and work on an rpt blog, then went and consoled the person being mentioned in nasty messages in the blog on some “oh im so sorry this is happening to you ˙◠˙” shit when it was them the whole time. the worst i did was “fuck her, he’s a cunt, fuck them”, but dream, you lied to me a Lot!

and you’re lying in defending yourself by saying i “heavily hate” sid or anyone. i never have, never did, never will. the last thing i said to sid in like July was “hey, heres my ooc tiktok, im deleting discord. if i never hear from you again, take care.” and then i left rp and the rpc entirely. haven’t talked to or even perceived any of you in months.

you want to believe i’m “bringing this up now” to start stuff or something, but what stakes do i have in any of this? you and yours drove me out of the hobby i’ve loved since i was 12, used an rpt blog to force me to defend myself against your ugly claims at a time you Knew well and good i was absent and dealing with a family death ( and then came in my dms to comfort me ??? you and k both. ) . i lost all of my best friends of several years. trust me, i want no part of the rpc anymore. i don’t want back in. i don’t want to engage. this is a nothing tumblr account that ill never use again. consider, instead, that another person close to the situation and i shared similar experiences and realized there were too many untruths and inconsistencies to let it rest, rather than just ‘starting stuff’ to start stuff.

“sid says steph crops screenshots to make them look incriminating” aye , but i definitely gave my entire discord login out, more than once, and encouraged my friend at the time to go ahead and look for themselves ( they declined at the time. i can still give the login i really do not care. though idk if the login will work anymore bc the accounts been deactivated for, uh, 6 months.) i cropped ss where earthp members were telling me how K is making them uncomfortable and how they were worried lenny was being dragged around by K, that i did do. and i STILL let k know that that’s what they were saying. i can’t stress enough ive got Nothing here that im fighting for i just think its ugly to lie for so long to everyone

“steph heavily hates sid” i do not. note the last thing i said to sid, up there ^. we did follow each other on tiktok then, and then we didn’t speak for 6 months. as of this morning, we are no longer tiktok mutuals - so it goes. sid never owed me anything. i don’t hate them. they know ( and yk what, so do my irl work managers!!! bc this shit affected my actual real mental health!!! ) that the day things went down, i left work early sobbing full blown emotional episode, writing paragraphs in desperation, to the point of overwhelming them and myself. i loved them dearly, called them my ‘spouse’ and best friend everyday, etc. though i don’t know now if they knew more about you than they let on. anyway……. please don’t just be declaring shit about me like it’s fact ?? i don’t hate anyone. not even you dream! just stop lyinggggg i hate that

ye all made me feel like i was crazy and losing myself in my own paranoia omg??? and ye were in your private chats afterward going “well deserved!!!” who even are you what did i do to you omgggg are we not in our late 20s with lives and careers ?????

if this is all bc of heddie/reddie and avengefm ? its ships dude it’s dolls it’s not real and to commit so much energy and emotion to lying to protect ur ships/rps is troubling at best. and if its not about heddie/reddie, then i haven’t a NOTION bc you and i, even when we were friendly w each other, were not close enough to create a bond to break??? i didnt do anything to you but welcome you into my writing spaces and engage in yours to the best of my ability. i was transparent with you when my activity struggled or i needed a break for mental health reasons… but what you had done with your friends is what ruined my mental health ?… go figure ….

i know who was behind that blog because they came clean and told me your connection to it as well. i know sel said nasty things about me too - we’re human and humans love talking shit. but no one else ever took it as far as you did, dream.

i don’t want anything from you! just stop lying on my name i don’t “heavily hate” anyone. outside of my shit talking from 6mos ago, i haven’t said a word against anyone but yourself; i’ve called you a liar, here in this post, because that is what i believe you are.

nobody in my entire life brings up what happened in everwell more than you and k. i owned up to every part i had ( whether directly or by my unavailability, all of it ), i deplatformed and cut out my two best friends ( people i had had in my HOME and had met IRL they were real people to me!!!!! ) and apologized personally to everyone affected, while picking out a funeral outfit and consoling my crying family. these are all my cards on table. you don’t have to respond either. just omg quit lying about me and the way i feel and what my intentions are - if a mf wants to know what im thinking and feeling, they can just Ask me.

and k i don’t want anything from you either! your names in this post because you were involved, and you know your involvement with that blog and how you also came to console me after. outside of that, i do not think of you and do not care what you think of me.

sid, i don’t want anything from u all either and i meant it when i said if i never hear from you again, take care bc i did care for u lots and also invited you into my home bc you were a real person to me. just know for a fact that anything dream says i’m saying about you or feeling toward you is just pulled out of thin air for whatever reason.

i always thought ye all were great writers!!! and so did snags and lex, way back when it was about writing for the love of writing. i would say all the time “omg dream is so funny” “omg k is cracking me up”, and they’d agree. hell if they’re at all in the rpc anymore and see this - hey guys! sorry shit got so ugly. you’ll never guess who was behind it.

i left the rpc and got mental help. i hope ye can get some help too.

* this is dream bringing sel into the Issues and tying her directly to k, btw. you keep saying you didn’t bring sel into the k stuff, but “they’re besties” “she and sel” “they want peach to drop eddie so sel can pick up eddie” this is where we’re getting that from, bc you keep saying you only referenced sel’s activity and didn’t connect her to k at all. i cropped out sids response. i can add it if need be but it’s just sid believing you.

this is where i’m pulling what im referencing in this post from. the second half is censored bc it doesn’t have to do with me.

this is me texting my irl work manager on the day sid and i last spoke. i was distraught and emotional and crying but ok yeah i “heavily hate” sid when the way everything went down broke me to bits OKAYYY

the censored names are the names of my irl managers like it was So Serious so don’t try putting words in my mouth about sid.

3 notes · View notes

zl0mudry · 2 years

Text

Matthew Maule. A gentleman, scholar, a man of science and logic...

Well, that's who he is today or maybe he's Verden Fell, Mr. Thorn or Comte Robert de Montesquiou-Fezensac? Or Dr. Emil Corday? Hell, he might even be Dr. Alexander Sweet or Crispian Grimes! As long as he isn't D. D. Denham all should be fine.

Who he is exactly is a matter of no small amount of conjecture, but a few things are certain; he is never seen without one of his faithful feline companions, someone who claims to be him's current location is in Leavenworth, Washington, and his sense of fashion, though sharp, is a bit out of date.

Please don't use OOC information as IC information. Half the fun is the other characters not knowing. He'll tell you what he tells you.

FULL NAME: Wladislaus III Dragwlya of Wallachia

NICKNAME: The Impaler, Kaziklu Bey, Vlad Tepes

GENDER: ?

HEIGHT: 5'4

AGE: 590

ZODIAC: Capricorn

SPOKEN LANGUAGES: Romanian, German (With a spot of Bavarian), French, Italian, Latin, Hungarian, Arabic, Turkish, English.

HAIR COLOR: Iron Black

EYE COLOR: Black, no pupil

BODY TYPE: Think powerlifter

ACCENT: Transatlantic accent when speaking to strangers or acquaintances. Heavy Romanian accent when speaking to close friends or family.

VOICE: Extremely deep, hitting G1

DOMINANT HAND: Left

POSTURE: Straight, head held high, chin up, shoulders back. Noble and balanced

TATTOOS: (Unsure yet)

BIRTHMARKS: None

MOST NOTICEABLE FEATURE(S): Signature facial hair, curled mustache. Facial scars, X on his forehead and round bullet wound from a small caliber handgun under his left eye. Hairy. Claws. Unusual teeth. THICK eyebrows.

PLACE OF BIRTH: Sighișoara, Mureș County, Romania

HOMETOWN: ?

BIRTH WEIGHT: 4 pounds

BIRTH HEIGHT. 9 inches

FIRST WORDS: Scared

SIBLINGS: Mircea II of Wallachia, Radu III the Fair, Vlad IV the Monk, Alexandria of Wallachia

PARENTS: Vlad II Dracul, Doamna Eupraxia of Moldavia

PARENTAL INVOLVEMENT: Unfortunate

OCCUPATION: International Man of One Person Activities

CURRENT RESIDENCE: His remote cabin in the mountains of Washington

CLOSE FRIENDS: Bach, Dori, Wing

RELATIONSHIP STATUS: I don't think he knows even

FINANCIAL STATUS: More than $1

DRIVER’S LICENSE: Afraid of cars

CRIMINAL RECORD: War Criminal

VICES: He is a broody chicken of a man and will adopt anything packbondable, smoking clove cigarettes, good liquor/spirits, luxury food, collecting new hobbies.

SEXUAL ORIENTATION: Bisexual

ROMANTIC ORIENTATION: Biromantic

PREFERRED EMOTIONAL ROLE: Switch, Dom leaning

PREFERRED SEXUAL ROLE: Switch, Dom leaning

LIBIDO: Insatiable once close

TURN ONS: Sense of humor, being wanted, submissiveness, trying to turn him on

TURN OFFS: Lying, disloyalty, cheating, abuse

LOVE LANGUAGE: All of them? Mostly acts of service

RELATIONSHIP TENDENCIES: Screaming goat of a man, but a doting one

Mr. Bad Guy - Freddie Mercury

I love you, Honey Bear - Father John Misty

HOBBIES TO PASS TIME: Master of The One Person Activity

MENTAL ILLNESSES: I think they are apparent and I'm not comfortable listing them all flat out. I'll name Misophonia, PTSD, and Depression

PHYSICAL ILLNESSES: Extreme far-sightedness, prone to dizziness and fainting, severe anemia, wheezing and coughing fits

LEFT OR RIGHT BRAINED: A little of both

FEARS: Cars, umbrellas, sudden loud noises, mirrors, being stared at, elevators, escalators

SELF CONFIDENCE LEVEL: Sometimes you feel like a nut sometimes you don't. (It comes and goes, situation dependent)

VULNERABILITIES: His temper, unable to let go, doesn't know himself, bright lights, loud noises, paranoid, can't use cars, too polite

4 notes · View notes

boycigs · 2 years

Text

JUST BE ALIVE !

bibi's note ; mentally ill kids making it work </3 bolded the prompts I'm using ! ooc kazutora but idc, disordered eating, fatigue, hyperventilating, bibi pulled a marla singer

23:41. It happened to be a rainy day, kazutora was lurking around the city, functioning on autopilot after that last fight. his first instinct was to take comfort with that which was close to him.

bibyana.

she had become his major source of comfort, as his mood would lighten at the slightest mention of her or grace of her presence. so, he decided her place would be best.

upon arriving and ringing the doorbell multiple times as well as knocking he thought something to be wrong. he never had the greatest sleeping schedule and bibi was practically a whole level worse then him, but she was always awake at this time.

he heard footsteps, bracing for whoever was going to pop out of the apartment, while bibyana opened the door she found a tensed kazutora currently exhaling a breath he didn't know was being held.

"tora ?" the tired female paused to let out a yawn as she was attacked with a hug.

"bibi.. are you alright ? you didn't answer when I rang the first few times, and.. you look pretty bad." she glanced at herself with her blown out pupils and shrugged as she pulled the amber eyed boy in her apartment away from the rain.

"is it—" she took a pause to yawn once again, covering her mouth before she rubbed the little signs of sleep from her eyes. "—that bad ?" kazutora nodded.

"huh, so anyway so what brings you over this evening, hm ka. zu. to. ra." she asked, punctuating each syllable of his name.

he averted his eyes and lowered his head in embarrassment, then let it out. "fight.." he quickly rose back up to face her again, guilt flooding his mind as he started word vomiting.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I'll be better, I'll-" she brought the hyperventilating teen into her arms to hush his broken pleas and rushed apologies.

"kazutora, it's alright. you don't have to be anything right now, just alive. why don't you stay over. I'm sorry I couldn't do more tonight, I'm just.. so tired. I haven't been able to sleep lately. we'll go, forget today and have fun t'morrow kay ?" her eyes drooped with fatigue as she smiled at his tear stained face.

he replied with a hum, delighting bibi as she went to go pull out some dry clothes she had aside for him, as well as some leftovers to heat up in the microwave. as bibyana was completing the task she had in mind, kazutora on the other hand had dried his eyes as he spaced out, watching her form sway with imbalance.

"bibi, you don't look so good. I can take care of leftovers.." he pleaded prior to assisting her to the couch, as kazutora noticed the 'leftovers' that seemed like a whole meal. "when was the last time you ate?" surveying her fridge only to find full, untouched meals stacked.

she didn't respond. as seconds turned into minutes, a very worried hanemiya as went to check on her, finding her half asleep and her stomach faintly growling. his gorgeous golden eyes clouded with hurt, as he felt the panic bubble slowly when he shook her shoulder.

"bibi, hey, bibi you awake ? please wake up." she lifted her eyes a smidge as her frame moves to focus on the boy infront of her and let out a pathetic laugh.

"took somethin for my sleep. prah-bably more then the recommended dose or whatever."

he shakily sighed at her actions. "bibi, could you please try to eat something ?" she brought her fist over her eyes and mumbled a meek 'sure', while the dual hair toned boy complied with a weak smile and brought a container of fried rice and two spoons to the couch.

although the younger not knowing he'd only use one. going back and forth taking a bite for himself and giving one to her.

soon enough the dish was finished, and set to soak in the sink. he changed into the dry clothes bibyana set out for him and led the sleep strucken female to her room, before lying down himself and realizing she has taken him into her arms once again.

feeling the warmth of another human putting her at ease in her semi-unconscious state. "night bibi.." the sleepy teen murmured before closing his eyes to gain some rest.

#☆; kaya <3

0 notes

incoherentbabblings · 2 years

Note

What do you think of Bruce as a father? I understand that he’s not perfect, but I’m incredibly uncomfortable with the way he’s written as a parent. A lot of reproachful, unkind behavior gets brushed aside as “that’s just the way he is” or “he was under a lot of stress”. I don’t know, I wish the writers would take a lot more care in writing this part of him because it honestly makes me somewhat dislike his character as a whole 😔

Abuse discussion content warning below.

I have a lot of contradictory feelings towards Bruce. I think he loves his kids more than anything. I think he loves Dick more than anything. I think he has moments where he goes above and beyond the duty of any parent for their child. I think his reasoning for helping his kids is genuinely alturistic.

I also think Bruce is abusive, and I don't think it's one off tone deaf writers 'getting it wrong'. It's a consistent part of his character and goes back decades. And just as in real life, it's hard to reconcile the idea of a parent loving their child whilst also being abusive. It's not an easy thing to write about, so if I'm crass here, or get things wrong, I am sorry.

But I think the best example I can give is that Lemire's Robin and Batman is my favourite depiction of Bruce and Dick's relationship in years. It unequivocally writes that Bruce: A) Loves Dick very much. B) Is abusive. I'm very grateful for the fact that the book never side steps this fact.

I don't know. There's a lot of uncomfortable and difficult to explain things regarding Bruce's behaviour. It's all well and good to say the abuse stems from ptsd and trauma but then, is that just stigmatising mental illness, which is something that Bat comics (or superhero comics in general) do all the time? Do we really want to perpetuate that? And I'm not sure about the answers to any of that! I think the writers intent matters in these cases, and the thing that kills me is that there is no intent. Most of his writers genuinely have no clue what they've done, creating such a realistic cyclical depiction of an abusive parent. And a lot of the time, I really don't know how to feel about it all.

And yeah sure there's a lot of contradictions in his approach to his kids, but things that crop up again and again is denying them agency, unrealistic expecations, and a resulting coldness for when they fail to match them. I have seen, and I agree I think, that the very concept of Robin is abuse, and no not in the vigilante dodging bullets way, but in the Fear needs Hope Batman needs a Robin way. Placing the emotional stability of an adult as a responsibility of a child.

It's not just the hitting - of which there is plenty over the last fifty years to see - its the lack of communication, the financial control he exerts, the rejection and withdrawl of affection based on the kids having to hit impossible targets, the lying and manipulation... it goes on and on. Bruce ticks every box when it comes to parenting his kids. I don't blame people for wanting to scrub it, and they will have very sympathetic reasons for doing so. I get a little antsy however as that doesn't mean the actions and words are actually gone. Bruce smacking Tim was awful. I've seen arguments about its ooc nature and how it should be ignored and forgotten etc... but Bruce still hit Tim. I can open a book and look at it right now. Ignoring it doesn't mean it didn't happen.

I don't mind reading or writing fics where Bruce is decidedly not abusive, I do it all the time certainly, but in canon, I think the whole #NotMyBruce is well intentioned but also a bit dangerous. People seeing their own abuse reflected back at them, and how in many ways that can actually be quite affirming, only to have someone come along and be like 'that's not the real him' or whatever long essays they write about BtAS (which... he's still abusive in that I'm sorry but he is) being the 'their' Batman doesn't really help.

Abuse survivors don't want to read an iteration of such things versus those who in one way or another take comfort from it. The needs of one don't cancel out the needs of the other? I hope that makes sense. It's a very complicated thing to try and put into words. Many blogs have written about it much better than I.

I just think, the abuse is still there on the page, saying it 'doesn't count' because it was ooc (it's not) doesn't make it go away, and I think its dangerous to ignore it. I think it's important to draw a distinction between looking at what is shown on the page, and how that fits into a pattern of other instances, versus what you want Bruce to be, and how there may be contradictions about the abuse portrayed in other pages.

#dc #ask and i'll babble #abuse cw #this is why I've gotten so angry at wfa in recent months in case its not clear #and why i stopped reading it a while ago #batfam meta

152 notes · View notes

alrightberries · 4 years

Text

“may i?”

❈ pairing: levi ackerman x reader

❈ genre: fluff & angst. ❈ word count: 8k

❈ summary: you’re the medic assigned to take care of captain levi as he heals from the explosion. you’re also the only person he tolerates.

alternatively: in which you create prosthetics for humanity’s most war torn soldier.

❈ trigger warnings: manga spoliers. profanity. mentions of violence, blood, gore, and death. mentions of sexual themes.

a/n: levi’s kinda ooc bc i couldn’t write the progress of his relationship with reader without making it longer than it already is. also this is medically inaccurate (re: healing time of broken bones and amputations) for the sake of the plot so pls no one throw hands.

Levi doesn't like looking at mirrors.

There was no tragic backstory behind his distaste for the reflective surface, no deeper meaning or hidden symbolism as one would expect from a man with his past. The reason behind it was simple: he just saw no reason to.

He wasn't vain, wasn't too concerned about his face, didn't care much to look at his physical appearance aside from when he had to cut his hair or get ready for the day to look presentable to his comrades. He knew he was attractive, and effortlessly so. The little letters and gifts he’d received from fans and admirers proved as much, and his title of “Humanity’s Strongest” only added to the appeal. Really, there was no reason for him to always be looking into a mirror.

But now... Levi simply couldn’t understand why that mindset had vanished. It was replaced with the fervor to always be staring at his own reflection— not out of vanity but out of disgust.

The disgust of staring at his mutilated face.

He warily lifts up the small mirror he held in his hand, features contorting into a grimace at the man staring back at him. Scars and cuts littered his cheeks— some deeper than others, but none as terrible as the long jagged scar that ran down the right side of his face. It started from his forehead and ended at his bottom lip, held together by ugly black stitches the medics had hurriedly sewn on him the second he got back to the base. His right eye was split in half, completely useless, completely blind; held together by the same black stitches that donned the ugliest scar of all.

And Levi couldn’t help but think that this man was hideous.

He was hideous.

Levi reaches out with his right hand to touch his scars out of habit. He feels his heart tighten when he realizes there’s only air where his fingers should be and he nearly breaks the small mirror he held in his good hand from how hard he was squeezing it.

The mirror makes a gentle clink as he sets it down onto the mahogany of his desk. Bitterly, he stares at his three fingered right hand. His pointer and middle finger were gone, nothing but pathetic stumps protruding from his knuckles where they used to be. It was still covered in bandages and a makeshift brace so he wouldn’t strain himself when he moved, but he knew it was useless. He couldn’t move those stumps even if he tried.

He probably should’ve been thankful to have made it out of that explosion alive— not unscathed, but alive nonetheless. Though Hange had tried cheering him up (“Look on the bright side, we can wear matching eyepatches now!”) he simply couldn’t find it in himself to celebrate coming back so... useless.

His writing was as legible as chicken scratches. His right eye spasmed in pain every time he blinked. He couldn’t even try to relearn how to use the ODM gear with his new circumstance, and he mentally curses out his orders to stay put and heal.

Too many things were lost, too many people, too many lives.

All because of that damned explosion.

All because of that damned bearded bastard.

Levi is pulled from his thoughts when three soft knocks reverberate throughout his otherwise quiet office, and he rushes to put his eyepatch on and hide the mirror in his desk drawer. He attempts to sit in what he hopes was a seemingly ‘professional’ position but his stiffness gives away his discomfort.

“Name and business.”

“Y/N L/N. I’m here for your daily checkup.”

He feels himself release a breath he didn’t even know he was holding once he hears the voice. Your voice.

“Come in.”

The wooden door creaks open before it closes with a soft click, floorboards making minuscule sounds at the weight as you make your way to his desk. Levi pretends to look busy as his good eye scans the document he held in his hand.

The sound of porcelain clinking against porcelain grabs his attention.

“Brought you tea.” You murmured. “I figured it won’t be up to your standards again but I did try my best.”

Levi still doesn’t look up as you set the tray down on his desk, and his good hand reaches for the steaming cup to take a small sip. His eye twitches at the taste.

“If you were going to bring me shit tea anyway then why bother.”

He hears a gentle chuckle but doesn’t see the way you smile at his contradictory words and actions. He made no move to throw the “shit tea” away, something he was infamous for with teas that didn’t meet his standards. Instead, he keeps sipping, gently placing the cup down onto his table once he finished.

“I thought that maybe distracting you with terrible tea would keep your mind off me changing your bandages.” You explained, and Levi nods but doesn’t speak. When silence once again filled the room, interrupted only by the occasional crumple of documents you knew he wasn’t reading, you take it as your cue to pick up your pen and clipboard to start the checkup.

“Have you felt any discomfort or pain in any of your extremities such as your right eye or your right hand?”

“No.”

“Have you felt any throbbing or other sensations in any part of your body?”

“No.”

“Have you experienced any fevers, headaches, dizziness, or sudden spasms in any part of your body?”

“No.”

He hears you set your clipboard down and his skin tingles from your doubtful stare. He didn’t have to look to know it was there. He risks a glimpse at the papers attached to the wooden board in your hands but just as he expected, you didn’t write down any of his answers.

“Have you lied to any or all of the questions I’ve asked during your routine checkup for today?”

“...yes.”

A soft sigh escape through your nose and your eyebrows furrow in disappointment. “Captain, lying to your medic won’t get you to the battlefield faster. You’re of no use to anyone when you’re injured.”

Levi clicks his tongue at your reply but he holds his smart ass comments back. He knew you were right, and it infuriated him so much.

“Fine,” he grits out. “My right eye’s been twitching all day. The fucking stumps on my right hand don’t feel like stumps. It feels like I still have fingers there, and I know it’s complete bullshit since they were lying next to my face when they got blown off.”

His angry glance finally lands on you. “That the answer you were looking for, oh medic of mine?”

It was now your turn to click your tongue. “Not quite,” you mumble, writing down his answers onto the file in your hands. “Feeling your missing limbs even after they’re amputated is normal. It’s called phantom touch.”

You place the clipboard back onto his desk and reach into your pockets, pulling out pristine white gloves before gingerly putting them on.

“Your right eye still spasming though, that’s concerning.” You add. Your hands slowly reach out to his face, and Levi momentarily flinches away out of habit. But you made no move to touch him.

He eyes you warily, tense muscles relaxing even just the slightest as he sees your gentle stare.

“May I?” You ask softly, a caring smile on your face.

Levi only nods, not trusting his words, and he once again tenses up as he feels your hands unbuckle the leather straps of his eyepatch before setting it down onto his table. He keeps his bad eye shut.

Your hands are gentle as you touch his face, touch nothing but a soft caress in such a way that his tender stitches felt no pain. Your eyes are focused on his stitches, lacking any judgement or ill will, and Levi’s suddenly aware of how close you actually were to his face.

Your eyes were beautiful, he noticed. They always were. The little furrow in your eyebrows as you concentrated was cute, and the soft caress of your hands on his cheeks as you inspected his face felt... nice, and dare he even say relaxing. Momentarily, when he finally lets himself adjust to the atmosphere, he lets his tense muscles ease.

“Can you open your right eye, Levi?”

“Y-yeah.”

FUCK.

What the fuck.

Did he just fucking stutter?

Levi’s surprise is only painted on his face for a few mere seconds before he schools his expression back to one of stoicness and neutrality, and he prays to all the existing gods he knew of that you wouldn’t notice.

He risks another glance at you. One of your eyebrows is arched and the corner of your lip is quirked up in a small smirk, but you dared not comment on the captain’s speech mishap.

Fuck. So you did notice.

Before he could try to save face by dishing out some bullshit reprimand of being disrespectful for calling him by his name and not his title, the words die on his tongue as you lean in impossibly close and oh god your noses were almost touching, your eyes are even more beautiful up close, and what the fuck is—

“Captain,” you repeat. “Can you open your right eye please?”

Oh, right.

He doesn’t speak as he does what he was told. He feels his eye open but no vision comes to his senses.

“It’s looking... not so good.” He hears you mumble, face contorted into one of concern. “It’s actually looking pretty bad.”

Levi scoffs. “Not one to beat around the bush, are you.”

You roll your eyes, the small smile once again returning to your lips.

“How long have you been keeping the eyepatch on?” You ask. Your hands are holding his head in place now, grasp a little more firm but not enough to hurt.

“An hour at most.”

“Are you lying again?”

He sighs. “Yes.”

You nod but made no further comment, leaning back to grab the clipboard once more to write down your observations.

“So,” you start. “Are you going to tell me the truth or do I have to poke your bad eye?”

Levi’s lips turn into a frown at the notion. “I’ve kept it on the entire day. And I know you’re probably lying about poking my eye, but in case you’re not, no. I do not want you poking my eye.”

You nod your head again, writing more things down onto your little clipboard.

“You should let it breathe. Keep it on for an hour or two at most but take it off when you sleep. Too much friction with the eyepatch might cause irritation.”

As the consultation draws on, Levi tries (keyword: tries) to be as honest as he could. Not that he could be dishonest when you were so good at snooping out his lies, though. You were already used to his stubbornness.

He wasn’t lying, however, when he tells himself that his heartbeat did not speed up when your hands gently held his own as you changed his bandages and cleaned his amputation; he wasn’t lying when he tells himself that the tips of his ears were not burning a bright red, cheeks flushed as you asked him to take off his shirt; and he definitely wasn’t lying when he tells himself that his dick did not twitch in his pants when your hands caressed his abdomen and back, accidentally hitting sweet spots he didn’t even know existed, to inspect his still purple bruises and healing ribs.

Yeah, he definitely was not lying.

“Okay, I think we’re done for today.” You say cheerfully. “I’ll be back same time tomorrow for another checkup.”

He glances up as he finishes buttoning the last buttons on his shirt. The gloves from your hands are taken off and tucked back into your pockets, and you hand him a small vial full of pills.

“Take one of these, twice a day at most, whenever you feel pain in your right eye.”

“I’m not feeling any—“

“Sure you’re not.” You cut him off with a smile. “I believe you. But feel free to contact me for any pain or discomfort you feel at any time of the day. I’ll be more than glad to find you.”

Levi says nothing, opting to instead stare at you as you gather the now empty teacup and kettle, placing them back onto the tray along with your clipboard and pen.

“Oh, by the way.” You speak, walking towards the door and opening it. You don’t spare him another glance as you finish your sentence. “I don’t think I can prescribe any pills to lessen blood flow to your dick.”

The door shuts with a soft click behind you, and Levi’s momentarily mortified as he processes your words. He risks yet another glance, this time down to his lap.

Shit, he thinks before he sighs. His hands readjust the hard-on in his pants.

Nothing goes past your observant eyes.

“Name and business.”

“Y/N L/N. I’m here for your daily checkup.”

“Come in.”

Levi doesn’t bother to look busy like he did last week, you noticed, because this time he was actually busy. Which was odd considering he was taken off paperwork duty until he could write again.

“What’re you up to?” You ask, setting the tray down onto his desk and pouring him a cup of tea. Your eyes curiously glance at the papers scattered about his usually clean desk, each filled with indiscernible writings of his name.

“Trying to write. I’m useless until I can.” He mumbles before he scoffs. “This would be easier if I had all my fingers.”

You nod along to his replies yet made no move to stop him. You picked up your pen and clipboard to write things down as well.

“You’re not supposed to be using your right hand, your amputation is still too tender.”

“Tch, what do you expect me to do then?”

“Uh... use your non-injured, complete left hand?”

Levi blinks at your words, and he has half a mind to slap his forehead for being dumb and not thinking of that. Which he undoubtedly would’ve done had you not pushed the steaming cup of tea closer to his sitting form.

“Have some tea. You look like you’re about to pop a vein.”

Your smart remark is met with silence and a steely glare, and surprisingly, as Levi drank the tea you prepared, he notices it’s not downright terrible.

“Your brew’s better.”

“Yeah. I finally took your advice of using a thermometer to get ‘the perfect temperature’ after you complained about my ‘shitty tea’ for the nth time that week.”

Levi hides his little smirk behind the teacup, silently reveling in his small triumph before setting it down. From the corner of his eye, he notices you eyeing something, and his heart drops as his gaze follows your own.

The mirror. He forgot to hide the mirror.

Discreetly (or as discreet as he could) he takes the mirror and shoves it back into his desk drawer. You had many questions, that much he knew, but he was thankful when you didn’t push it further.

“Shall we begin?” You ask instead.

“Yeah.”

“Name and business.”

“Y/N L/N. I’m here for your daily checkup.”

“Come in.”

Levi’s been trying to write again, you surmised, as you glanced at his focused eyes and the tenseness of his shoulders. Scattered papers still littered his desk and he was still trying to write his name. This time though, you were relieved when you saw he was using his left hand.

“Finally took my advice?” You asked, pouring him a cup of tea.

“Regretting it.” He doesn’t look up from his task as he answers, something you noticed he always did. “It’s been three days since I took your advice and my handwriting’s shittier than it was then.”

You smile, hand reaching out to hold his incomplete one that was clenched into a fist on the desk. He immediately stops writing, opting to instead stare at your hand atop his before glancing up at you.

“What are you doing?”

“Making you relax. You might tear your stitches.”

He feels you give his hand a gentle squeeze, and the warmth of your hand is suddenly gone from his own. You reach for the cup of tea you prepared, and he wills his cheeks to not show his blush at the small gesture. You slide the teacup across the table.

“What makes you think holding my hand will make me relax?” He asks snarkily. He reaches for the tea with his good hand.

“Are you relaxed?”

Levi ponders the question in his mind, noticing how his muscles were no longer tense, his shoulders were now slumped down, and his eyebrows were no longer scrunched. He sips the tea.

“Your brew’s still shit.” He replies instead.

“Name and business.”

“Y/N L/N. I came here for your daily checkup.”

“Come in.”

Your head peaks out from behind his door as you enter, closing it with your foot and making your way to his desk. You were no longer surprised when you saw him still writing and scribbling messily at his desk as he’s done for days now, and you discreetly eye the papers as you pour him his tea.

“You don’t have to keep bringing me tea.” He comments, still focused on writing.

“I know.” You reply. “But how am I going to perfect your brew if I don’t practice?”

Levi glances up, and he raises his eyebrow as he sees you sat on his table, a cheeky grin on your face. He makes no move to scold you for being so casual in his office and instead reaches out to take a sip of the tea. He notices your expectant eyes, the grin on your face widening as he nods in approval.

“Your tea’s not bad today.”

“Really?! You think it’s good?”

“I said not bad, I didn’t say it was good.”

“Name and business.”

“Y/N L/N. I’m here for your daily checkup.”

“Come in.”

The first thing you noticed as you entered Levi’s office was, of course, the scattered paper around his desk, face focused as he continued to practice his writing. The second thing you noticed was that he was no longer using his left hand.

“It’s barely been two weeks. Did you give up already?” You ask as you pour his tea.

“I write better with my right hand.” He simply replies, not even glancing up as you slide him the beverage. He uses his good hand to reach out for the cup, silently preparing his tongue for another unpleasant attack.

He takes a sip and his eyebrows shoot up from surprise. The tea was... delicious, absolutely delicious, and Levi couldn’t find anything to complain about. The temperature was right, it wasn’t too bitter but wasn’t too sweet, and the aroma was delectable. He takes a sip once more to double check if his taste buds were deceiving him, but the second sip was just as good as the last.

His suspicious eye makes contact with yours, a shit eating grin painted on your face as you eagerly awaited his feedback. The porcelain makes a sound as he sets it down.

“You bought this from the tea shop across the barracks. That’s cheating.”

“For fuck’s sake!”

Three soft knocks reverberate through the door to Levi’s office. The captain hastily hides the papers with your name scribbled on, shoving them inside his desk drawer. A shiny glint catches his eye before he could close the shelf and he pauses as he realizes it was his mirror. He hadn’t taken it out in a while. He was always too distracted with criticizing your piss poor tea to even think about his appearance.

“Name and business.” He calls out, still eyeing the shiny object.

“Hange Zoe. Y/N asked me to do your daily checkup.”

Levi's eyes widened, heartbeat stopping for a second as he heard Hange’s voice. Where were you?

“Come in.” He closes the drawer as the door opens and Hange walks in.

Levi couldn’t help but notice that he was becoming uncomfortable the closer his friend got; skin prickling, hands sweating, his collar feeling a little too tight. Little by little getting more conscious of himself as Hange walked closer.

Was this what insecurity felt like?

He briefly wonders why he didn’t feel it with you, but his mind answers him with a simple fact: you were the only person who’s seen him mangled and bruised, and each time, you showed nothing but gentleness and care. Yet even with this knowledge, the notion that a person other than you would be doing his checkup today didn’t sit right with him.

He pushes his discomfort to the back of his mind, telling himself to remain objective. But it didn’t stop him from subconsciously adjusting his eyepatch and hiding his incomplete hand underneath the desk. He eyes the tray in Hange’s hands, spotting the kettle and teacup.

“I don’t want your shitty tea.”

Hange doesn’t look up as they pour him a cup, humming a tune Levi doesn’t recognize as they hand him the warm beverage.

“It’s not my shitty tea.” They reply. “It’s Y/N’s shitty tea. They made you a batch before they left for the mission.”

Levi’s good hand pauses for a brief second as he reaches for the cup, mind still processing the fact that Hange said Y/N and mission. You hadn’t mentioned anything to him, and since he wasn’t allowed paperwork duty until he could write legibly, he wasn’t aware of any missions.

“I see.” He takes a sip, and he immediately squints his eyes in doubt once his tongue caught taste of the flavor. “This isn’t Y/N’s tea.”

Hange looks up from the clipboard they were writing on, eyebrows are arched in curiosity. “What?”

“This isn’t Y/N’s tea. This is from the tea shop down the road.”

Hange’s confused face stays still for a few seconds, silently assessing whether Levi was being serious or not. A smile cracks on their face, turning into a grin as small chuckles left their lips, before finally turning into full blown laughter. The captain waits for the eccentric soldier to stop cackling and start explaining, but Hange’s answer only serves to confuse him more.

“Nice try, shorty. You crack me up.”

Levi ignores the remark about his height. “What do you mean?”

“Y/N owns the tea shop down the road. Made the recipe for the black tea you love so much, even.”

The captain’s good eye twitches, and if Hange notices, they don't comment. Levi takes a sip of the tea once more, a little more doubtful this time, before sighing in content as the drink makes its way down his throat.

“Why did Y/N go on the mission? I thought they were to be my caretaker until further notice.” He chooses to ask, placing the cup down and pretending to busy himself as he absentmindedly starts practicing his writing.

“Y/N is our topic medic, their skills are more valuable on the battlefield than in an office with you.” They reply, and the captain pretends that the truthfulness of the statement doesn’t sting the slightest.

“Besides,” Hange pulls out white gloves from their pockets, sliding the cloth over their hands to prepare for the checkup. “Y/N personally asked to be reassigned.”

Levi sputters and chokes on his tea at the sudden revelation, and he feels Hange’s hand patting his back as he tries to compose himself. You asked to be reassigned? But why?

“Why?” He manages to choke out before once more descending into a coughing fit. Hange silently hands him a napkin.

“They didn’t say.”

Perhaps you were done with his incessant criticizing of your tea making skills (if so, then why’d you keep brewing him a crappy batch? Clearly you could’ve made good tea whenever you wanted.) Perhaps you grew tired of watching over him everyday when you could’ve been attending to more injured soldiers in the medical wing or the battlefield. Or perhaps you felt a little cooped up in the office with him, hating that you were confined when you could’ve gone on missions to help the wounded.

Whatever your reason may be, Levi finally gets himself to stop coughing and wipes his mouth. Any questions he had, he would ask you. For now, he pushes his feelings to the back of his mind to ask a more important question.

“Why are you here and not on the expedition, Commander?”

Hange shrugs.

“I wanted to bond over eyepatches with you.”

Levi was trying, okay? He was really trying.

But god, the new caretaker assigned to him was nothing short of a complete and utter noob. His bandages were always either too loose or too tight, his touches every time he tried to inspect Levi’s scars were always an ironclad grip, and worst of all, his tea was pure and utter shit.

“Watch it!” Levi barks, and his caretaker jumps about two feet away from him at his yell. “What’re you trying to do?! Are you inspecting my broken ribs or trying to give me a broken rib?”

Oh, that too. His caretaker was the hands on type, something Levi wouldn’t have minded if not for the fact that his caretaker was also heavy-handed, and Levi had had enough of this bullshit.

“Stop it, just stop. Get out of my office, right now, and find me a new caretaker.”

“B-but, Captain, there’s no one else who can—“

His caretaker is cut off when he makes eye contact with the enraged captain. Levi’s eyebrows were knitted together in anger, and the glare on his left eye was nothing short of terrifying. The fact that he only had one good eye left did nothing to lessen the intimidation of his glare; if anything, it made it even more intimidating.

“I will not repeat my order. Go.”

The boy in front of him nods nervously, head bowed down and metaphorical tail tucked between his legs as he quickly scurries out of the room. Once Levi hears the soft click of the door shutting, he takes a deep breath and lets his body slump into his chair.

That was the fifth caretaker he’d kicked out this month. He wasn’t picky, he tells himself; he just had standards. Standards that apparently these damned amateurs they kept sending him couldn’t meet.

Briefly, his conscience contradicts him; the image of a certain top medic popping in his mind, one that he hadn’t spoken to in almost a month since they dropped him out of the blue. Maybe, just maybe, he was being picky. With a dash of passive aggressive and a sprinkle of butthurt. But Levi quickly brushes that thought aside when he remembers the incompetence of all his recent caretakers.

That was definitely it. He wasn’t petty, all his caretakers were simply idiots.

The captain hears three loud knocks on his wooden door, and he grits his teeth as he mentally prepares himself for whatever fuckery the clown caretaker they assigned to him was about to do this time. True to his words, Levi did end up breaking a rib from how heavy handed the last one was, and though he knew it was partially because his body was still quite fragile, it didn’t hurt his request for a new medic.

“Name and business.”

“Y/N L/N. I’m here to do your daily checkup.”

Levi feels his eyes widen and heart speed up, and he once again rushes to hide all the papers scribbled with your name as he shoves them into his desk drawer. He composes himself, trying to appear uninterested and professional as he speaks.

“Come in.”

The door squeaks open and Levi doesn’t bother to hide the way his eyes soften and his shoulders slump in relief as he sees the familiar sight of you. A soft smile dawned on your face as you gently kicked the door close, walking towards his desk and setting down the tray you held in your hands.

“Heard you fired everybody who came after me.” You mused, eyes teasing as you poured him a cup of tea. He didn’t think he’d miss someone pouring him a cup of tea as much as he did now.

“Their tea was shit.” He replies, taking a sip of the warm beverage and holding back his sputter at the god awful taste. “Yours is too.”

You chuckle, picking up the clipboard and pen to start writing for today’s checkup. “Can’t help that I suck at brewing tea.”

“You don’t have to keep making me shit tea anymore. The secret’s out.”

You freeze in your spot, eyes widening for a fraction of a second before you nervously clear your throat. Levi definitely noticed.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“I know you own the tea shop, Y/N. Stop lying.”

You let out an irritated sigh. “Hange told you, didn’t they?”

“Yep.” He replies, popping the ‘p’.

I’m going to fucking kill Hange, you think to yourself, silently gathering your composure once more. Levi watches you intently, continuing to sip on the terrible tea before deciding that he’d assaulted his taste buds enough and placing it down.

“Why’d you do it?” You hear him ask. “And don’t lie to me. You’re not the only one who’s gotten better at spotting lies.”

Why’d you brew shitty him tea? Is he that affected by it?

Your reply was already on the tip of your tongue, head glancing up from your clipboard to say your answer. But your words don’t come out and your mind suddenly cleared when you saw the look in his eye.

Levi’s eyes were nothing short of gorgeous; a beautiful gunmetal gray with a gaze deadly enough to kill a man with one mere look. But right now, even though they were schooled into his usual look of disinterest, you could see him... wavering. A mix of unanswered questions, curiosity, and— for the briefest second you swore you saw— hurt.

“I take it you’re not asking me why I brewed you crappy tea for the past three months?”

Levi clicks his tongue in irritation. “No, you idiot. I’m asking you why you left out of the blue. If you had a problem you could’ve brought it up with me—“

“No!” You quickly interrupt. “No, god no, you’re perfect.”

The captain’s eyes widen, and you suddenly realize the words you’d spoken as you quickly try to explain before Levi could interject.

“There was no problem, okay? I didn’t request to be reassigned because I had a problem. It’s quite the opposite, actually.” You murmur.

He eyes you curiously.

“What do you mean?”

“I think I have a solution. May I?” You gesture, asking if you could sit on his desk. Levi nods, not understanding why you needed permission now when you’ve done it of your own volition countless times before, but he suddenly understands when you sit directly in front him and not across from him like you usually would.

He watches as you pull a small brown box from your jacket, placing it down onto his desk before opening it. Levi is quiet as he eyes the item inside.

“It’s just a prototype for now. I was hoping to carve out a better one in my free time, one that would be a custom fit, but my free time kinda went flying out the window when you started firing people left and right until no one would accept you but me.”

You pick up the wooden prosthetic fingers and gently place them onto his desk. Your hand opens palm up, waiting for Levi to be comfortable enough to lend his hand to you, and he does so silently.

“The prosthetic’s made from redwood and the joints are connected by small metal rods. It’s light and durable, and I weatherproofed it so it wouldn’t break down so easily when you use them.” You explain, unwrapping the bandages around his hand. “It wasn’t that hard to figure out the concept, actually. I just took a pair of standard issue Survey Corps gloves and cut out all the fingers. Then, y’know, attached the wooden fingers to where the pointer and middle should be.”

Levi could only nod. You weren’t sure if his silence was good or bad and you couldn’t read his look. But Levi— Levi was speechless. In his mind, he dared not speak in fear of looking like a fool. Especially not in front of the person who gave back a piece of himself (quite literally, at that.)

He tenderly looks at the way you fitted the prosthetics onto his own hand, fastening brown leather straps around his wrists to secure the glove. The minute the glove is on and he sees all five fingers for the first time since the explosion, he feels like he’s about to cry.

“I had Hange help me with the anatomy so you could still bend them as you would normal fingers. I couldn’t figure out how to make them move on their own though, so you’d have to manually do that yourself.”

To demonstrate, you bend one of the prosthetics, the wood imitating the bend of his finger but not springing back up despite his brain commanding it to do so. You watch intently as he fumbles around with his hand, moving the fingers about. The wonder and astonishment in his usually unimpressed eye didn’t go unnoticed by you, and it spurred you to continue on.

“Unfortunately, it’s not strong enough to flick the switches on ODM gear. You still have to relearn how to hold your blades when you’re cleared for training again.” You say regrettably. “But it’s strong enough to hold a pen.”

Your hand reaches for the forgotten quill across his desk, dipping it in the inkwell before offering it to him with a small smile. Levi slowly takes it, still speechless, as he readjusts his prosthetic to hold the quill and write.

His writing is still shit, undoubtedly; still no better than chicken scratches as he messily writes down the words. But god, the sight of the indiscernible handwriting next to five fingers brought tears to his eyes as he finally finished writing his name. The slightly legible letters of ‘Levi Ackerman’ stared back at him.

Levi couldn’t hold it back anymore. He immediately set the quill down before standing up to engross you in a warm embrace. You tense in his arms, not used to Levi willingly initiating any form of physical touch at all. But as he tucks his head into the curve of your neck and his shoulders start shaking, splotches of wet dripping onto your collarbones, you feel your arms encircle his waist, bringing him closer as you whisper sweet nothings into his ear and let him cry in peace.

Your hands ran through his scalp, willing him to calm down. Though normally the sight of a crying Captain Levi was something you never thought you’d see, you couldn’t help but feel honored he chose to share this rare moment of vulnerability with you.

You let him cry, still holding onto him, giving him his time. Briefly, you wonder what he was thinking. What pushed him to tears? Did the captain ever let himself mourn his losses? Does he mourn his friends, his family, the little pieces of himself that he’d lost along the way?

Though you had a million questions in your mind you dared not pry as you continued to comfort the weeping man in front of you.

Finally, after a few moments of nothing but silent sniffles and your sweet words, Levi finds it in himself to finally speak.

“Thank you, Y/N.”

Night had fallen around the base, encasing the world in darkness that beckons slumber. Levi continued to stay awake, still in his office, staring at the prosthetic you had given him hours before.

Curiously, he feels himself form his right hand into a fist, not surprised that the two wooden fingers didn’t comply like the rest. It was imperfect and he himself thought it could use some tiny adjustments for the sake of comfort— something he definitely would bring up to you as requested.

And yet, despite knowing his ‘fingers’ were nothing but wood, leather and metal, he couldn’t help but think it was the best thing he could ever ask for.

Silently, under the lone glowing light of his oil lamp, Levi pulls out a blank sheet of paper and begins to turn his feelings into thoughts, thoughts into words, and words into sentences as his quill meets the white surface.

Hours later, he finds himself in front of your quarters, a candle in his left hand while his right held a pristine white envelope. The envelope containing unsaid words, unspoken wishes, and hidden feelings.

Your eyes are sleepy when you answer the door, half lidded and hair a mess when his knocks had woken you from your slumber. You rub your eye, adjusting to the light as you stare at the person in front of you.

“Captain?” You ask, stifling a yawn. “What’re you doing here so late?”

He doesn’t answer your question. Instead, he opts to look at you with an unreadable expression as he asks, “Can I come in?”

You stare at him for a few seconds more, and the thought of you slamming the door on his face crossed Levi’s mind; but that didn’t happen. Rather, you nodded and ushered him inside your bedroom, closing the door behind him as you once again flopped onto your bed.

He places the candle down on your bedside table and now he was unsure what to do. He had a plan— or, he thought he had a plan— but awkwardly standing in your room in the middle of the night wasn’t part of it.

Quietly, you chuckle at the sight of Humanity’s Strongest looking so odd and out of place, unsure and slightly panicked. You pat the spot next to you, inviting him to sit, and he complies.

Both of you had your knees pulled up to your chests and you were thankful when you noticed Levi had taken his shoes off before sitting on the bed. A comfortable silence encompasses the atmosphere in the dimly lit room. Shoulders touching, heads not daring to turn because of the close proximity.

From the corner of your eye, Levi looked like he was deep in thought. Not the kind you saw plenty of times in the battlefield or in strategy meetings, not the kind you saw when you entered his office as he hastily tried to hide his mirror. But the kind you saw when he quietly suffered through his own living hell.

“Couldn’t sleep?” you ask, finally breaking the silence. He shakes his head.

“Well, what brings the mighty Captain Levi to my humble little room?”

“Levi.”

“What?”

“Call me Levi.” He murmurs, downcast staring intently at the envelope on his lap. “In this room, I’m not your captain. I’m not your patient. I’m not Humanity’s Strongest.”

You feel your eyebrows scrunch as surprise and curiosity paint your face, but not because of the captain’s offer to call him so casually. No— the surprise you showed was because he unclasped the prosthetic you made, not even sparing it a second glance as he carelessly threw it to you, and you barely managed to catch the limbs you’d spent countless hours and sleepless nights to create.

“Levi, what are you—“

“But I’m not a broken teacup for you to fix either.” He says, eyeing the stumps on right hand. “I’m not a doll who’s missing some parts. I’m not a charity case accepting donations.”

You were looking at him now, head turned in his direction as he unclasps his eyepatch and lets it fall onto his lap. He raises his head, eyes making contact with yours.

“I’m just Levi.”

A few moments of silence pass but neither of you look away. The reason why the captain continued to stare wasn’t something you knew. But the reason why you never looked away was because of his eyes.

Levi’s eyes were still as gorgeous as you remembered them to be. Though his right eye was a different shade from his left, a lighter and paler shade of gray; though it lacked the light and emotions his unharmed eye bore; though it had a jagged scar running through it from where he was hit, you couldn’t help but think that his eyes were still the most beautiful eyes you’d ever seen.

Gingerly, you lift up your hand to touch the right side of his face where his battle wounds lie, the prosthetic forgotten as it falls somewhere in the sheets. He doesn’t flinch like he did the first few times you did it, when you reached for his face during checkups to inspect his scars. But it didn’t stop you from asking.

“May I?”

Levi doesn’t answer. Instead, he brings your hand to rest on his cheek as his head leaned closer to your touch. His eyes closed momentarily, almost as if he were reveling in your warmth. But they opened once more, and you willed yourself not to get lost in the sea of gray.

“You were never a charity case to me, Levi. Or any of the things you just said.”

“Then what am I to you?”

Your heart stops, eyes widening ever so slightly at his question. Would you tell him? No, you couldn’t. Not when—

“Don’t lie to me, Y/N.” His grip on your hand tightens a bit, not enough to hurt but enough to distract you from your thoughts. You realize the hand that held your own against his cheeks was his broken hand, his mutilated hand.

...would you really tell him?

You sigh, eyes finally leaving his. “You’re just another soldier who got hurt from a battle, asking a medic to take the pain away.”

Your hand slips out of his grip and goes back to your side, and you turn away from him once more.

“Are you lying?” He asks.

“No.”

“Then look into my eyes and tell me what I am to you.”

“I can’t.”

Your voice cracks ever so slightly, hesitant but determined to stick to your words. And Levi knew that he was never going to get an answer. He sighs, shoulders slumping down in defeat. It was now his turn to look away from you, gaze falling to his lap. The envelope holding the letter crinkles and he’s reminded why he’s here.

“I know.” He whispers back. “But do me a favor.”

He doesn’t look your way as he hands you the letter. He doesn’t look your way when you silently took it, eyeing the red wax seal that bore his initials, fingers tracing over the edges before—

“Don’t open it yet. Open it tomorrow morning before you come in for my checkup.”

You only nodded in response. You reached out, placing the envelope on your bedside table before once again sitting next to Levi. Just as you had started, a comfortable silence blankets the atmosphere. Shoulders touching, heads not daring to turn because of the proximity.

But this time, it was he who breaks the silence.

“I don’t know what the future holds.”

“Hm?”

“I don’t know what the future holds.” He repeats. “I could die in action tomorrow and be one of the bodies they wheel back from war, or you could die trying to save someone in the battlefield. Even if neither of us die tomorrow, there’s always a possibility that we’ll die the day after that. And the day after that and the day after that. Such are the risks of our jobs.”

He takes a deep breath. “But tonight, I don’t want to focus on tomorrow. I don’t want to focus on what the future holds. I don’t want to focus on titans or enemy troops or looking after my team.”

“Then what do you want?”

“You.”

Your eyes soften. “But what am I to you?”

You didn’t know what to expect, what his answer may be. But you know you didn’t expect it when Levi’s fingers gently grabbed your chin and coaxed your head to look in his direction. You didn’t expect it when you opened your eyes and met his, his warm palm resting on your cheek. And what you didn’t expect most was for his eyes to look at you with so much love, so much care and adoration. Gone were the facades of boredom and disinterest; the stoicness and detachment they always seemed to reflect. All there was left was softness, warmth, and what seemed to be the unmistakable swirls of vulnerability.

“You’re just another medic too busy putting other peoples’ lives before your own.”

“Are you lying?”

“No.” He whispers. “But you make me want to plan for a future I know we won’t have— a future we can’t have.”

And for the first time, you knew he meant it. You knew what he meant.

In your line of work full of death and violence and risks almost too big to take. In what you once thought was your little world, turning out to be too big for you to handle. In your personal brand of hell where tomorrow wasn’t guaranteed, and loss was the only constant— it was enough. This small moment was enough.

“You have the most beautiful eyes.” You whispered, entranced. A soft chuckle leaves Levi’s lips, eyes turning into crescent moons so fitting of his gray orbs and your heart twitches at the sight and sound of his melodious laughter.

His thumb brushes over your cheek and your eyes meet his once again, the beautiful shades of gray staring you back. You didn’t know who did it first but at this point you didn’t care enough to find out because slowly, you both leaned in. Slowly, you both closed your eyes. And slowly, you both tilted your heads.

He pauses.

“May I?” Levi asks, lips merely inches away from yours. You nod.

“You may.”

And suddenly, the distance between your lips was no more.

There were no fireworks, no explosions in your heart or butterflies in your belly. There was no feeling of cloud nine, no feeling of want or need. There was only warmth in your chest, the feeling of a small fireplace crackling and glowing in the coldness of the night. The feeling of warm sheets and warm bodies cuddled up in an embrace.

Home.

The feeling of home.

Because that’s what you were to Levi, and what Levi was to you.

“Name and business.”

“Y/N L/N. I’m here for your routine checkup.”

“Come in.”

As the door opens and you set the tray down on his desk, hands gently holding the kettle to pour him his cup of tea, you noticed that Levi was still trying to write. But what caught your attention wasn’t the fact that it was no longer his name he tried to scribble, opting to write down complete sentences. What caught your attention was that he was wearing his prosthetics, and his eyepatch wasn’t on.

“Did you read the letter?” He asks. His hands were still writing and his eyes were still staring at the papers in front of him. But you could tell he was anxious.

“Yes.” You simply reply, and he nods.

“Good.”

If you want to be added to the tag list, click this link!

#the bit where levi visits oc #is my favorite part to write #and the lil banter at the start too #i love banter but i also love sweet little words #this is proof that i can be romantic without calling someone a dumbass #writing #levi ackerman x reader #levi x reader #levi ackerman imagine #levi imagine #snk x reader #shingeki no kyojin x reader #snk imagine #shingeki no kyojin imagine #attack on titan x reader #aot x reader #attack on titan imagine #aot imagine

2K notes · View notes

dreamsclock · 3 years

Text

based on this thread i made on twt :) set the day before the season 2 finale !! also i’ve never written c!punz so if he’s ooc that’s why lolol

warnings: exile arc mentions, mental deterioration, blood, mental illness, paranoia, broken found family, hurt no comfort

Here’s the thing: Punz likes Dream.

He fucking loves Dream, alright: they’re brothers, forged in bloodshed and bloodbaths and blood oaths taken as careless gangly teenagers only just making their first marks in the world, when Dream had been bright eyed and Punz had been willing to see the best in people. Things are different now — he’s not the same kid he once had been, and he hasn’t seen Dream’s eyes from behind the mask in so long, but he doubts they’re bright — they’re still brothers, despite all of that. He still loves him.

He does. It’s why betrayal is so hard.

Because there’s no way to sugarcoat this, really. It’s betrayal, nothing almost, nothing not really about it, pure and simple, he’s betraying Dream in one day, and that’s not going to change if he tries to put it nicely. It doesn’t matter why he says he’s doing it — for money, for the good of the server, for Dream himself — it’s betrayal, and that’s how Dream is going to see it.

Guilt sits where his heart should when he meets up with Dream in his underground bunker, hears his frantic muttering long before he sees him. And Punz isn’t an idiot, he’s not going to sit and blame himself for how Dream has ended up, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t feel responsible for not helping him. Hearing him now, mumble plan after plan under his breath, knowing exactly what state he’s going to be in when he gets down there, stings more than he’d like to admit.

And yeah, Dream is exactly as he imagined he would be; decked out in heavily enchanted armour, axe in hand, shield in the other, pacing up and down and up and down and up as if he’s ready to fend off imaginary enemies, mask firmly in place as usual. Punz isn’t surprised, but his heart jolts anyway, and does an unpleasant little twist in his chest that he thinks might be regret.

He doesn’t really recognise the man he’s looking at.

“Dream,” he calls out, low, and Dream’s head jerks to face him, axe up and on the defensive instantly, before lowering it instantly when he sees who’s calling him, “just me.”

“Punz.” Dream exhales roughly, puts his weapons and shield away, though the armour stays on. “I wasn’t expecting to see you again before the end.”

Punz shrugs. “I wanted to check up on you. Before… the end.”

The end. It’s a fitting name for what's to come. He jumps off the elevator, heading to his friend’s side: Dream is stiff but yielding when Punz pulls off his helmet, though stubbornly resists the rest of the armour.

“How’re you holding up? Aren’t you uncomfortable in all that shit?”

“Eh, you get used to it,” Dream says, tucking his helmet under his arm and swiping his hair back, “I can’t be caught off guard and killed now. Not when we’re so close to getting control back. Not when we’re so close to winning.”

Winning. Getting control back. Listen to yourself, Punz wants to scream at him, those two things aren’t the same, this isn’t winning, look at yourself, you’re losing your mind. He chokes it back, because Dream sounds so reverent, an ugly note of desperation slipping into his voice, and Dream’s worse emotions have never been pretty — have always been explosive and abrasive and loud — but somehow the desperation from him coats Punz’s tongue like poison. It reminds him of exile, when Dream would come back after days away, a thousand miles from him, rambling about disks and control and Tommy, always Tommy. It’s the same desperation, same people: but Punz is smarter now. He knows a time bomb when he sees one, and Dream has all the signs of being one. Punz is smarter now. He knows it’s only time before Dream detonates.

Punz is smarter now — he’s not going to be around to be caught in the explosion.

(More merciful, too. He likes to think this will help Dream in the end, likes to tell himself that’s why he’s turning against him.)

(He doesn’t know how true that is.)

“Are you ready for tomorrow?” He asks, and Dream tilts his head, drifting away from him and begging to move around the room, one hand tapping nonsensical patterns into the wall. “Big day, man.”

“Big big day,” Dream agrees, humming, “the biggest. I’ll finally—” He laughs under his breath in quiet elation. “I’ll finally be in control. I’ll finally be able to stop the wars and the fighting and the— the stupid disks. I’ll be able to control everyone, make sure nobody gets hurt again. And things will go back to how they used to be.”

Dream turns to face him, and Punz imagines the too-bright, feverish gleam in his eyes behind the porcelain mask.

“We can be a big family again.”

Punz remembers seven year old, gap-toothed Dream, little Dream who had extended a hand to him and very proudly proclaimed him another friend after only minutes of initial conversation.

(“You’re part of my friends now,” Dream beams, tucking his hands into his pockets, “which also means you’re part of my family!”

“Family?” Punz squints distrustfully, suspicious and wary after too many years on the run. “You don’t mean that.”

Dream laughs like Punz is an idiot. “I do,” he says, and it’s impossible not to believe him, “course I do, Punzy. We’re friends now. And we always will be. We’re like a big—”)

“—Big happy family,” Punz murmurs, throat burning, “yeah. After tomorrow, I think we will be.”

Because maybe losing will reform Dream. Maybe losing will make him look around at angry, frightened faces and realise how bad things have gotten. Because right now? Looking at Dream surrounded by others’ attachments and dwarfed by the towering height and size of the bunker? Punz is looking at a stranger.

And it stings, because he thinks at one point his only attachment to this server had been Dream.

(And it stings, because he thinks he’s still attached to him, enough to hate who he’s become, enough to mourn the boy he’d once been.)

And it stings, because he’s leaving Dream for money, because Tommy had offered more, because Dream is too focused on his dream of a family and not on the crushing reality that it’s never going to come true. The server will never be what it once had been. L’Manburg had ruined that. Dream is destroying himself over a dream everyone else has woken up from, and Punz knows he can’t stop him. But he’s not going to get dragged down with him — he needs money to survive, he needs material goods because nothing else on this server is safe, and Tommy had offered the higher price.

Money and the vague chance Dream will come to his senses if he has no one. That’s what Punz is running on.

“You’ll come when I call, right?” Dream asks, gazing into the hole in the wall that, if he gets his way, will soon trap Bad’s only attachment — Prime, Punz thinks, not for the first time, this is fucked, this is so fucked. “You won’t let me down?”

Punz’s heart aches. “I’ll do what needs to be done,” he promises, and Dream is too distracted to pick up on his wording, “are you coming by my base to actually get some sleep tonight?”

Say yes. Show me you’re still in there.

Dream doesn’t look up. “It’s okay. I can’t sleep right now. You should, though.” He hums low in his throat. “Rest up for tomorrow, okay? And— Punz?”

He stops.

“Yeah?”

When he turns around again, Dream is facing him, and his voice is softer than usual.

“Me and you. We’ve got this. We know what we’re doing this for.”

(“Us against Pogtopia.” Dream’s smile is grim. “We can do this. I trust us, Punz.”)

(“We’ve got to do this,” Dream tells him, the facade of leadership slipping in a vulnerable moment, “we have to beat L’Manburg. We’re fighting for our home, Punz. Our family. We can’t afford to lose.”)

(“Punzy!” Dream laughs. “Me and you against the world. You’ll always be my friend, right?”

And Punz is less cynical than he used to be, because he knows the world can be good, and knows good manifests itself in a short nine year old with a smile as bright as the sun. “I’ll always be your family,” he says, because it’s worth it to watch the sun come out, “we’re brothers, Dream.”)

Punz’s chest twinges.

“Family,” he agrees, thinking of the chest full of money in his base from Tommy, of Dream, old and new, “I know.”

He can see the shadow of a smile beneath the mask, and knows they’re both as hollow as each other.

“See you,” Dream calls out, and he sounds so insignificant in the room, so crushed by its size and purpose, the weight of the world on his shoulders, “stay safe.”

Punz lingers at the portal entrance, heart heavy. “You too,” he replies, and he leaves Dream alone.

#> my posts !!#> my writing !!#tw exile arc #tw mental deterioration #tw blood #tw mental illness #tw paranoia #tw broken found family #tw hurt no comfort #hurt no comfort

156 notes · View notes

mxgilray · 3 years

Text

Loki Season 1 Thoughts

Overall, I really liked this series. It has some issues without question, but I sincerely don't think it's the dumpster fire so many viewers on this site treat it as. Did it go how I expected? Not at all? Did I enjoy the heck out of it and look forward to it every Wednesday? Hell yeah!

Loki's Good Guy Personality

A big complaint many have had with it is how much Loki's demeanor has changed and how his emotional growth feels rushed or his personality is ooc. Truth is, he saw his entire future, saw what his angry, power hungry, I-work-alone persona would get him in the end, and it snapped him back to reality. He has always been shown to be quite emotional and craving attention and lacking in self assurance, it's just in the past movies he's masked it with violence and fake narcissism, and he's always been a secondary character so his perspective is rarely shown. But if you really pay attention it's obvious he isn't truly villainous; we all know that, it's largely why he has such a huge fan base.

Right after meeting Mobius, Loki got an infodump of his future, saw his parents both die, found out that free will means jack shit, and learned he's absolutely powerless in this realm. On top of that, this is 2012 Loki, fresh off of being under Thanos' control, suddenly being shown that the guy who controlled him is going to end up killing him. Frankly,, I think it all broke Loki. He was too shook up by it all and by the sheer helplessness he found himself in at the TVA that he let all his barriers down momentarily. Just long enough for him to open up to Mobius about his motivation and his lack of self confidence. And you know what I bet? Loki felt relieved after talking to Mobius. A weight was lifted, because he bore his heart to someone and wasn't rejected or laughed at or treated like a psycho. And after letting his walls down fully, Loki didn't feel the need to put all of them back up. He stayed guarded around other people, but he didn't need to pretend around Mobius. Mobius has seen under the mask, so Loki doesn't feel pressure to perform as an all knowing, all powerful God around Mobius. That freedom is life changing.

People who gravitate towards broken, pseudo-villain characters do so because we relate to their internal conflict, their mental illness, their need to fake it around everyone close to them. Their turmoil and depression and self destructive behavior are familiar and we see ourselves reflected in their actions. Now, when a person really truly let's their guard down, drops all their layers of facade, and embraces themself, they tend to change demeanor and even personality pretty drastically. It's jarring in real life, so of course when it happens to a fictional character who you usually relate to it is going to be jarring, maybe even more so because it feels like a change you yourself would never go through. I know this sounds bad and people might get at me for it, but...

I believe the issue here is that a large part of Loki's fan base doesn't want him to get better. They don't want him to move past his mental illness, to learn how to cope with anger and disappointment in healthier ways, to be happy. They like his damaged persona, they like the internal conflict. Maybe it's because they're still at that low place themself and feel like a relatable character is getting taken away from them, maybe it's because they don't understand how much being at peace with yourself can alter a person and to them it feels like he's been changed too much. To those of us mostly on the up and up from battling depression and mental illness, it's comforting to see Loki getting a chance to be genuinely happy and accepting of himself.

Sylki and Lokius

First things first, I'm not anti anything. Ship what you want, idc. Personally, I do not see the Sylki dynamic as romantic, but I get why people read it that way. I thought the series did a good job of showing unrequited love, namely Loki falling for Sylvie and Sylvie feeling zero romance towards him. This was aware of his attraction and in the end used it as a distraction so she could get the upper hand. The show played up the potential romance because we are viewing things from Loki's perspective and he's become smitten as a kitten. I do think in the long run they'll have a more sibling-like dynamic, one Loki realizes that you can feel extreme love and care for a person without it being romantic. I enjoyed how the show explored their relationship, though I do wish they hadn't had every character under the sun mention their moment on Lamentis-1 like it was some big deal to bond with someone you're about to die with.

I'm bitter towards the development of Lokius. It had a strong start in the beginning, and in ep 5 had some potential reignited, but then they had Mobius not know who Loki is at the end. I'm still hoping they're playing the long game with this ship and that it'll come to fruition partway through season 2. The chemistry is there, and Mobius knows Loki very intimately and isn't put off by his past. Loki also feels much more at ease around Mobius than he does around Sylvie. It's the comfort of a deep loving bond with Mobius verses the nervousness of a new crush that he feels for Sylvie.

I don't think Loki is quite aware of his feelings for Mobius, simply because it's based in friendship and mutual respect and isn't a hot and heavy lust. Plus, as soon as he was away from Mobius he was thrown into a near death experience with Sylvie and developed a surface crush during their heart to heart. Since Loki's still figuring out what genuine feelings are beyond anger and sadness, he sees the simplistic crush he has on Sylvie as love and the intimate bond he's been forming with Mobius as friendship. He doesn't understand his own feelings yet, but I think he'll figure it out next season. I mean, he was probably already rethinking his feelings for her after she kissed and betrayed him, mentally kicking himself for expecting her to not pull a Loki betrayal like he would've in the past.

The Time Variance Authority

I really like the concept of the TVA, the structure of it, the methods they use, the deeply fucked way they recruit employees, the cult like motto, shady Miss Minutes who is definitely playing her own long game, and the blind acceptance TVA agents have of the Time Keepers' will. It's all very well done... until your dig into the core, aka He Who Remains. They built up the idea that the Time Keepers created the TVA to prevent a multiverse war and that they created agents to enforce their will. Then the creating agents turned out to be fake, the Time Keepers were fake, I expected the reason for the TVA's existence to be fake to. It felt too simple to have it genuinely exist just to keep the multiverse in check. Why the anonymity, unless it's to keep from having agents target and prune versions of himself which.. songs like a decent solution. HWR made it sound as though the multiverse war was just a bunch of versions of himself screwing shit up, so why isn't the TVA's focus on eradicating every other variant of this guy? Sounds a lot easier and nicer than fucking with the free will of every other living being. So either Marvel made a bad call when choosing what HWR's motive was for creating the TVA, or he was lying about it all to cover up something sinister.

Overall Storyline

I'm fairly happy with the plot as a whole. There were some pacing issues and I think a few missed chances for deeper conversations between various characters. While I enjoyed the Loki variants, I honestly would've been happier seeing Tom playing most the variants (except Kid Loki and Classic Loki since they are clearly different age ranges). If there is supposed to be one sacred timeline, it seems off to me that Lokis would be allowed to vary so extremely without it causing a nexus event(an alligator, whose nexus wasn't that he's an animal who obviously can't do any magic much less command Thanos' army, but that he ate someone's cat) and not just in appearance but in life path (ie boastful Loki collected all the infinity stones but it wasn't till he had 6 that he caused a nexus event even though him gaining control of the Soul, Power, and Time stones should've each caused nexus events since on the sacred timeline he never interacts with those 3 and taking any one of them would've fucked up a lot of other timeline parts)

I love the display of Lokis raw power, and 2012 Loki coming to the realization that he's way more powerful than he ever thought. And it wasn't just Classic Loki who spent thousands of years alone honing his skills, 2012 Loki reversed time on a goddamn falling building! I also liked the small magic, the fireworks, the tablecloth blanket, Loki yanking Sylvie away from HWR with just magic.

As someone who is both bisexual and genderfluid, I would've really loved more concrete representation. The comment about there never being another female Loki hit me in the gut; it undermined the Easter egg "Sex: Fluid" on Loki's TVA file. With how big a deal Sylvie being female was made out to be throughout the season, I expected her gender to play a key role in taking down the head of the TVA, like it was foretold that only a female Loki could end it all or some shit.

I don't mind the idea of Loki finding love in a straight passing relationship. I don't even mind the selfcest all that much. It just feels so obvious to me that Sylvie is written as not having any romantic inclination towards Loki, while Mobius is clearly written as falling in love with someone he shouldn't and trying to maintain an heir of professionalism to keep from wrecking his bond with Loki. I really really hope they come through on season 2 and give Lokius the canon relationship and proper representation they deserve.

Mmkay I thinks that's all the thoughts I've got right now. If you've been feeling cheated or clowned by how things went this season, maybe my perspective of things can help ease your pain.

#loki spoilers #loki series #loki #mobius m mobius #sylvie laufeydottir #lokius #sylki #tva loki #time variance authority #marvel #mcu

49 notes · View notes

iamanartichoke · 3 years

Text

[please blacklist spoiler tags: #loki tv series spoilers, #loki series spoilers, #loki spoilers]

I know I have missed a lot of people’s takes and reactions, there’s just - there’s so many. So I’m sorry if I’m inadvertantly repeating anyone or whatnot when I proceed to make my own posts.

Cut for length and spoilers.

Which is a segue into - I feel legitimately concerned, based on how many people are reading the TVA as being the moral authority and/or being on Loki’s side, and Mobius Dick’s interrogation being therapeutic for Loki (and how gross that is), along with an emphasis on ooc-ness for Loki and just overall cracks and fractures in the (what I thought was a) more or less solid episode -

I feel legitimately concerned that I may have wildly misinterpreted, like, everything, up to and including Loki’s characterization. And it’s actually kind of hilarious bc like -

Me: All opinions and interpretations are valid! No worries! Also I’m open-minded! Also I have no issue admitting I’m wrong!

Also me: *feels physically ill at the idea that my interpretation is so very wrong*

I’m not even lying, guys, my stomach is in knots. And I guess it’s because, like - I thought that it was pretty straightforward that the TVA are the antagonists here?? That Mobius isn’t Loki’s friend - he’s Loki’s interrogator and handler bc he needs Loki for his own purposes. That the “single sacred timeline” is not only nonsensical but also kinda fucked up (as Loki rightfully points out).

Like I’m watching these scenes and it doesn’t even occur to me to take the TVA’s word as the correct one here. Why would I? I’m taking Loki’s word as the correct one - Loki, the one who’s calling out everything that is stupid and ridiculous about the concept of the Timekeepers and the TVA, the one who is being scape-goated and is aware of it.

To touch on the ooc-ness of Loki - I mean, the first half of the episode was cringey and ooc, yeah; Loki was too over-the-top and the “comedic” tone didn’t quite land (I’m honestly wondering if Tom’s just not good at comedy? I mean, Betrayal was a genuinely funny play (and heartwrenching) but besides that, I can’t think of anything really comedic that he’s done.) but I’m willing to overlook that because when we got into the second half of the episode, he began to feel much more like the Loki I love.

Historically, Loki has consistently been the one to see the truth for what it really is and either saying or doing something about it. He actively tries to delay Thor’s coronation because he recognizes, when no one else does, that Thor is not ready to be king. He knows that Odin isn’t as righteous and wise as he pretends to be (and, in fact, he knows that Odin is guilty of more than Loki could ever be, and he calls that out too). He sees SHIELD as the farce it is (and possibly knows Hydra has infiltrated it; I headcanon that he knew but just didn’t care bc why would he?), and he sees Earth and the humans in a much more accurate light than Thor could hope to. You lie and kill in the service of liars and killers; the humans slaughter each other in droves while you idly fret. Etc. Here, it’s the clowns are playing their parts to perfection (that’s the only quote I can remember right now).

And I mean, yeah, the narrative has never acknowledged that Loki is right about everything. It’s a huge source of frustration for me bc the narrative continues to be so black-and-white about heroes and villains and, being villain-coded, Loki doesn’t get to be validated no matter how right he is.

But I don’t think that’s the case here. I think, as the protagonist, his word holds a bit more weight. It should, at least, and I personally didn’t see anything that made me think that we shouldn’t consider Loki the authoritative voice in all of this. Loki, not the TVA.

Mobius’s interrogation? Was very clearly cruel and fucked up, to me. The sham of a fake ass trial that Loki had to endure, with the implication being that no one who stands trial is actually getting a fair trial bc the TVA has no intention of judging anyone not guilty? Fucked up, with horrifying implications. The process of deleting people from existence being literally as detached and soulless as a trip to the DMV (complete with tickets!)? Very disturbing. Like, none of these things are the traits that I would look at and say, hmm, yeah, these guys seem legit and totally correct about everything, too bad for Loki.

And Loki’s reactions to Mobius - his frustration, his defiance, and his eventual emotional breakdown (which we only saw when Loki was completely alone) all felt accurate to me. Again, there were a lot of over the top aspects of Tom’s performance here but I think what makes me more willing to overlook them is that, in general, we’re getting a more animated Loki than we’ve gotten to see him before, in a way that feels true to him as opposed to whatever was going on with him in Ragnarok.

He’s not in the middle of a mental breakdown/identity crisis. He’s not being mind-controlled anymore (or influenced). He’s not being villain-coded while Thor is propped up as the hero and the ideal which, to me, means that we are actually getting to see Loki’s personality when all of that is taken away and the only thing he’s got left is himself. It’s a really shitty situation and I hate that he’s in it, but after the initial exaggerated reactions, his response to it worked for me.

So - yeah. And now I’m like, biting my nails and my stomach is in knots bc I thought I knew Loki and I had a comfortable idea of Loki, and I thought I was more or less decent at interpreting things - but, so, clearly there were things happening and being picked up on that just whooshed right over my head bc it never occurred to me to be on the lookout for them in the first place. Does that make sense? I don’t even know what I’m saying.

Just - I am really, really doubting my own perception of what this series is attempting to do with Loki and it does not feel good at all. So I guess ultimately I am not capable of putting my money where my mouth is and treating all interpretations as valid, when it comes to myself. (I didn’t realize I was that far up my own ass so as to speak confidently about validity while telling myself that my idea is pretty correct.) Soo there we are.

Idk if I even want to post this but it’s time for me to clock out now so, for better or for worse, *hits post button*

#sorry this is rambly and i need to make it clear i am in no way #taking issue with anyone else's takes or opinions or feelings #i am more or less just saying that i'm doubting *my* takes and opinions and feelings #and i don't like how it feels #that's all #please don't @ me #loki tv series spoilers #loki series spoilers #loki spoilers #loki series meta

41 notes · View notes

june-again · 3 years

Text

WHEN IT'S DARK : chapter 4, again

-> ARTIST!AKAASHI x GN!READER

CHAPTER 1 HERE

Summary: Akaashi’s mental health has been failing since Bokuto left and he seems to be dismissing many of his abilities - especially his artistic talent. When you see advertisements for an art contest that you know he’d have in the bag, you get an idea.

WC: 1.3k

Warnings/content: descriptions of depression, Akaashi being somewhat OOC due to evident mental illness, angst + arguing, hopeful ending.

TAGLIST: @h-grangerstudies @bluefaeriefury @bokubonk @daddyjackfrost @snoozless @soft-angel-clouds @kirishimas-manly-eyeliner @milktyama @tanzaniiite @dai-tsukki-desu @kozu-zumi @borpcorp @astrqmi @tobi-momo @minadreams @kailleis-sunshine @serenitycushing @floralkawa @boba-duckie @felixsamour @akaashrifa

NAVIGATION // SERIES MASTERLIST // CHAPTER 5

It was December 20th. The day you’d been reimagining in your head every night for two weeks. The day that things would change, finally.

Your math teacher was acting worried about you, for a good reason. Your grades had been slipping remarkably over the last week or so. Even though you felt like you were trying just as hard as ever, it was true that you spent some classes glancing over at Akaashi, wondering whether things really would change. And you did spend a few classes watching him draw. And your mind was elsewhere during classes — imagining a better future.

A contest. A tiny art contest. It felt like you’d bet your whole future on it.

“Do you need to talk to the counselor?” the teacher asked you, lowering her pencil. “It’s okay if you do. You’re not going to improve if you keep up with whatever’s going on.”

Just one more day, you thought. I’ll do better after this. I’ll have gotten through to him, and he…

You accepted the opportunity, heading to the counselors office. You took out your phone to check your phone for about the seventeenth time today. You refreshed your email a few times, and then sighed and collapsed into a chair. You only intended to stay here to escape the math teacher continuing to tell you you were failing her class.

“Y/N? Do you need to talk?” the counselor said from inside his office.

You knew him, from a few instances last year and the year before. But those were nothing compared to this.

You considered lying, saying that you were just not getting enough sleep. It wasn’t untrue; you had spent several nights lying awake recently. But… you were really tired of keeping in. You could talk to Bokuto tonight or tomorrow. However, as much as you knew he would care and worry, he might not understand, and he really wasn’t the best at listening.

So you shuffled into the counselors office. You didn’t like it much here. The walls were covered in obnoxious quotes and art students had done for him.

“So, what’s going on? Remember, you can say as little or as much as you want.”

You sighed. “I dunno. It’s just… you know my friend? Akaashi?”

He nodded.

“I’m just worried about him, I guess.”

“Have you told him that?”

You paused. “Well… yes? Sort of? I told him I wanted him to get better.”

“Get better?”

“He’s depressed. I think.”

“Did he tell you that?”

“No, it’s pretty obvious.”

He nodded. “It’s hard to see a friend go through that.”

Thanks for all your help, you thought. Your eyes wandered the walls again as if you were searching for answers, looking through eccentrically colored cats, dark skulls, feeble rainbows. A vine of flowers. A—

A vine of flowers.

You stood up and stepped towards the wall. Part of it was covered by a fresher artwork, but it was undoubtedly his hand. Even the same pencil. This couldn’t have been from very long ago.

“Does he come in here?”

“He does. He draws.”

“Oh.”

You paused to look at it a little longer. Flowers climbing out of the lines of the paper. Life.

You slowly sat down again, feeling your knees begin to shake and a sob rise in your throat.

Drawing wasn’t a hobby or a habit for him. It was his last expression. His last hope. He needed it to survive.

It was all so clear now. You shouldn’t have interfered. You shouldn’t have touched his art. He would never trust you again, or if he would, it would remain bruised. He’d already needed an escape from you, even if it was small, and now you were invading even that.

You really hadn’t known what that sketch had meant to him.

Was it too late to take it out of the contest?

After you recovered somewhat, thanking the counselor for letting you sit in there for a bit, you started walking back to the math classroom. You hoped that it wouldn’t be too obvious that you’d been crying. You’d figure this out. At least — you thought you would. And then you opened your email out of habit, and saw the contest results.

-✧-

Bokuto was supposed to come this evening. You were all supposed to meet at last year’s favourite hangout spot, one park a few blocks from the school. You were supposed to be happy to see him.

You still hadn’t told Akaashi about the contest, of course. You were going to wait until you found a good way to tell him. You told yourself that this would be within the next few days, although part of you knew it would be put off as long as possible.

Which was coming back to bite you tonight.

You almost didn’t want to go. You didn’t know whether you could face Bokuto, who barely knew what Akaashi was going through, and you knew you couldn’t face Akaashi because of the secret you were holding back. But — you had hoped that your best friend seeing Bokuto again would help him get back on track. Whatever track that may be. You’d be there to help him with that, too.

The question was whether he’d want you there.

Bokuto was already at the park, and when he looked up to see you, his face lit up. He was the same as ever, greeting you with a big hug and a big grin and asking you how your last year of high school was going. You told him some general opinions about how it had been going — more pressure, more work, and missing him, of course. He started to talk about how he was getting to meet lots of very talented people and he was learning a lot and the highlight was of course that he was having fun, but he really missed you and Akaaashi—

Akaashi showed up. He didn’t look overly excited, as you might have hoped he would’ve been. But he still smiled at Bokuto, and then made a comment about Bokuto not remembering to wear a jacket.

“It’s not that cold, Akaashi!” he said, and then gave him a hug which Akaashi half-reciprocated. You watched. You couldn’t help but study your friend’s expressions, looking for signs of real joy in seeing Bokuto again. So far, his narrow eyes were annoyed at the minimum.

“I missed you!” Bokuto was saying, and you started to zone out, watching Akaashi. His face was darkening.

You cleared your throat. “Do you guys want hot chocolate or something? I can run over to the cafe while you catch up.”

You didn’t really wait for a response, knowing that Akaashi wouldn’t give you much of an answer and Bokuto would insist on going with you. You didn’t know what Akaashi was feeling right now, but you had an idea that he really needed to talk to Bokuto. They hadn’t been together in person since the summer. And that time had been fleeting.

You noticed with confused annoyance that your nose had begun to run slightly; either a result of the cold, or it was because the idea of Akaashi having an opportunity to talk to Bokuto again made your chest hurt. The cold air hadn’t been that bad, but when you stepped into the small cafe, you could feel the difference. You took a deep breath, feeling the tension slowly fade now that you weren’t with them.

Why couldn’t things go back to normal?

And why had you expected that they would?

You ordered three drinks, and was careful to keep them balanced in the cup tray as you carried them back across the street towards the park. Bokuto and Akaashi had sat down on a bench; you wondered how cold the surface was. As you approached them, you could see Akaashi’s eyes widen at something Bokuto was saying.

“Congratulations on the what?” Akaashi asked him as you handed Bokuto a drink.

“The contest, of course! Didn’t you see the results?”

You froze as Bokuto smiled at you, taking the cup from you. “Hi Y/N! Thank you.”

“What contest do you mean?” Akaashi shifted his gaze to you. “Y/N, what’s he talking about?”

That tone again.

He knew.

AN: hahahahahaa hahaha *punches wall* damn it y/n

NAVIGATION // SERIES MASTERLIST // CHAPTER 5

#when it's dark #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu angst #haikyuu series #akaashi x reader #akaashi x you #akaashi x gn!reader #akaashi keiji #akaashi series #akaashi angst #hq angst #hq fic #hq x reader #hq x gn!reader #haikyuu x gender neutral reader #Y'ALL READY #2 more chapters #ireallyshouldhavemadeitoneficinsteadof6wholeasschapters #i mean what

23 notes · View notes

thefriedbird · 3 years

Text

Alright, hello! So I decided that last night after having a horrific anxiety attack, I was basically going to write two one shots based off a prompt I saw.

Yes, this is going to be a self-insert thing guys but you can replace the name with yours. There is not really much of a description other than that the character is disabled, she/her pronouns, wheelchair user with physical and mental health issues.

Overhaul is prob gonna be OOC since I’ve NEVER wrote him before. So be fucking warned.

ALSO I DID THIS ON A PHONE AND COULD NOT FIGURE OUT HOW TO DEAL WOTH THE TEXT CHANGING SHIT IT HONESTLY CONFUSED THE HELL OUTTA ME SO I APOLOGIZE IN ADVANCE.

Morning Kiss

Aliza has never been a morning person. Never has and never will. She couldn’t tolerate it when people chatted in the morning, hated the bright luminescent lights that were all over the Hassaikai compound, hated Nemoto’s early bird self, hated Rappa’s booming voice in the morning, and hated Deidoro’s early morning drinking, and even hated the avian friends she would adore... if it hadn’t been for their annoying incessant chirping in the wee hours!

But Aliza began to feel incredibly touch starved. She always settled for the private hand holding and cuddling, but she couldn’t help now feeling dissatisfied with him leaving her without as much as a goodbye.

Apparently, Chisaki had noticed. He was always incredible at reading people, even without needing Nemoto’s quirk to know that they’ve been lying. But he had an innate skill at reading Aliza like his favorite novel. At first, Chisaki was leaving sticky notes for his love to find. Giving her self-care reminders for the day, and telling her the schedule he set in place for her that day. Aliza would smile brightly reading them. “Remember to drink at least 3 liters of water.”

“Don’t neglect yourself today. I will know.”

“Stop biting your nails. It is unhygienic. You’ve practically chewed them til they’ve bled. I ordered more latex gloves and a nail polish that will help you stop chewing.”

Yeah, Chisaki had a blunt round-about way to display his affection. Yeah, he was over-protective and controlling. But it was something that Aliza didn’t mind.

All her life, Aliza lived without routine. She was reckless, often ill, neglected herself, and quite frankly didn’t understand how to take care of herself. It’s not like her parents really helped her with these things as a child. She was neglected and never learned. She lived impulsively and sporadically, and often times exhibited her self harming behavior unconsciously. She CRAVED touch, but also HATED it. She was never sure if that loving feeling would turn sour and hateful. Not that Chisaki would hurt her. But her traumas of the past had ate away at her for years, and it wasn’t stopping. It was with Chisaki’s discomfort for touch that made being around him easier than with the others at the compound. (Though when she first met him, she frankly thought of him as an arrogant selfish prick.) When Chisaki began courting her, he was heavily satisfied with their shared discomfort for touch. But both made an effort to each other to slowly at least get used to the other’s. It was a sign of their trust to each other and it was evidence of how much Chisaki COULD love. Aliza saw his protectiveness as endearing. To her, it was proof of how much he cared about her safety and well-being. His controlling behavior, she disliked and liked at the same time. On one hand she hates how Chisaki gives her a schedule HE created. But on the other, it gave her a routine. It gave her a sense of predictability, which was something she never had living in a toxic abusive household. Their love language may not be words, but it was touch despite their discomfort to it.They were learning how to love together. It’s not the first time Aliza had a love, but she had been used and abused to find comfort in what she saw as meaningless words. She was a “show it, not spout it.” Type of person. She’s had too many people say their love you’s to only disprove it later on. Whereas Chisaki never really loved another person before. He loved and cared for Pops, that was his parental figure. The one who saved him from the streets, and the man he thought he was indebted to. But loving someone intimately was entirely new. He only ever saw people as pawns for his goals, expendables because they have no other purpose. Aliza was his exception. She was his Angel. She was someone that he wanted to protect heavily. What initially started as his disdain for her in the beginning, somehow became affectionate.

So when Chisaki amped up his affection, Aliza was surprised. They had grown passed the phase where he and Aliza always asked each other if it was okay to be touched. Now, they did it without a single word needing to be said. But him giving her a brief kiss on her nape followed with a “good morning” wasn’t something she was used to.

“Was that alright?” Chisaki asked.

Aliza just smiled, “Yes, that was alright. Could you...maybe do that every morning?” “Yes. Anything for you, Angel”

First Kiss

hey were an unlikely couple. Quite frankly, Mimic, Nemoto, and Chronostasis had thought Aliza would be matter on the walls the first day Chisaki had met her. They weren’t expecting their boss to have Chrono and Nemoto bring the quirkless disabled woman into the meeting room for him to ask for his chance to court her.

They were surprised to say the least.

Overhaul was once routinely aggravated with Aliza, who was their secretary at the time, because she was ‘dirty’ and ‘filthy’. He saw her as another expendable, a disabled woman hired to map out his schedule, brief him on any upcoming meetings, and to handle gentle affairs with other heads. He didn’t think he would feel any form of intimacy toward her. That was until there were days she dressed up.

He admitted it to himself that she was beautiful. On the days she dressed up, she aired confidence, she radiated with joy, she was cleaner, she looked pure, she looked like an Angel. His grounded Angel. So when one of the lower Hassaikai members began stalking you, harassing you, and even had the audacity to TOUCH you. When he saw you having a full on panic attack because of the aggressive touching, that man was matter. For once, he didn’t feel bothered by the hives breaking out on his flesh. He was concerned about his Angel. His poor sweet Angel that was hyperventilating and sobbing hysterically in her wheelchair.

He had Chrono bring her into his office, where he tried to calm her. But Overhaul is a rather imposing and intimidating figure so Aliza couldn’t just calm down... But this man made the effort. He had Chrono bring her a water bottle while she sat silently in his office. When her tears stopped flowing, he noted she constantly looked out of it. As if she wasn’t there, it was just a shell staring at the floor. Her makeup was ruined and he hated it. He hated having what was his sullied and filthy.

“I’ll have Chrono send you to your room to bathe. You’re filthy.”

Aliza just stared at him, and when he notice her tearing up again. He felt that what he said was wrong and when she began to panic again spouting apologies frantically...

Aliza honestly thought she was gonna die the way he crouched down to look at her.

“I believe I said that wrong. He TOUCHED you. You are not filthy because you did something. You are filthy because HE did something. I will have no more tears. I will have Chrono come back to get you and you will take the rest of the day off, are we clear?”

That was two years ago. Aliza was the only person that was allowed to call him by his real name when they were alone together. She was also the only person allowed to touch him and see him without his mask. She no longer slept in her room. In fact the same day Chisaki asked to court her, he already had all her stuff in his room. Already having her sleep beside him the first day. He took care of her. He loved her. He would kill for her. Plain and simple.

Chisaki had never kissed someone. His mysophobia wouldn’t allow him. But he wanted to try it with his partner. They already have gotten used to touching each other, but anything extremely intimate he had never done.

It was when Aliza had dropped by his office to brief him on his schedule for the day, that he asked her.

“I wish to try to kiss you.”

Aliza looked up from her tablet in shock. “Are you sure? I don’t want you to break out in hives, love.”

Chisaki was already bending down over her, braking her wheelchair so she wouldn’t slide, his hands resting on the armrests, caging her in. “Yes.”

“O-oh, okay! I’m not stopping you!” Aliza smiled, blushing in shock at his forward ness, and setting down the tablet in her lap.

Chisaki unfastened his mask, setting it on his desk before gently taking off her own. Leaning forward, watching as Aliza closed her eyes he placed a gentle kiss on her lips. The chaste kiss caused him no issue, to his surprise. When he pulled away, he couldn’t help but chuckle in amusement when Aliza chased after his kiss for another.

He wasn’t sure how many trailed after his first kiss

9 notes · View notes