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savingprimrose · 3 years

Note

Hey there, I see youre asking for prompts and I had this idea a few nights ago: the survey corps soldiers are in a mandatory ball or smth like that for the military, and Levi sees the guys that hires him to kill Erwin all those years ago and he gets super pissed (because if he hadnt entered the corps he probably would have been sentenced to death for all his crimes, and then this rich guy plots to kill a high ranking military and a few years later he is free and partying like nothing ever happened.) Everybody sees he is in a sour mood, and Petra aproaches him to ask why and comfort him, whether he tells her what happened or not.

Anon, I'm so sorry it took me months. 🥺👉🏼👈🏼

I hope you like it!

READ ALSO ON AO3

Levi Ackerman hated going to Mitras for precisely two reasons.

One, he hates the rich, snobby people of the upper class.

And two, he hates parties.

And just socializing in general.

Talking to people makes his head hurt. And one of the main reasons that the Scouting Legion even goes to Mitras is, well, for number 2. And if number 2 is the reason why they’re being summoned to the capital then most likely number 1 is involved as well.

And well, you could say that Levi Ackerman will be having the worst time of his life. Thinking about schmoozing up to the rich - and expecting to dance with them with his two left feet - is making him wish he’d be eaten alive by a titan instead.

Levi sulks at the edges of the ballroom, arms crossed over his chest and a scowl on his face. He fishes out his pocketwatch from his coat pocket and curses under his breath, he’s only been here for literally 30 minutes and yet he feels as if he's been stuck in this cursed place for all of eternity.

Erwin has left him to go talk with Zachary and the other commanders, Hange is talking the ears off of some noble about titan research and hoping to get much-needed funds for the next expedition, while Mike and Nanaba are having the time of their lives - drinking and dancing.

And his whole squad is missing. He hasn't caught sight of them since the moment they stepped through the threshold of the palace.

"I'll go and fetch us some drinks, Captain."

Eld had said 30 minutes ago. He hasn't returned since.

"And I will get us some snacks."

Oluo had said right after but knowing him, he's probably trapped some new recruit in a corner and started flirting with them.

Levi wonders where Gunther and Petra are. They went off to dance around the same time Eld and Oluo excused themselves. He stands on his tiptoes and cranes his neck in search of them, quickly spotting Gunther on the other side of the ballroom, headed towards who he thinks is Eld.

Petra, on the other hand, is still missing.

Levi sighs and lowers himself back on his heels, slipping his pocketwatch back in his coat.

He decides to hunt down his squad - just so he can bid them good night. He's not needed here, anyway. And his headache is killing him.

Levi opts to find Petra first since he already knows where the boys are. He makes his way around the perimeter of the ballroom, looking this way and that for the familiar flash of sunset-colored hair.

He thought it would be easy to spot her from across the room with her hair but that has proven itself difficult with the number of tall people around and it pisses him off. He has gotten elbowed too many times in one night for his liking and Levi clenches his jaw tight.

Fuck tall people.

He decides to get some fresh air before trying to look for Petra again. He is nearing the balcony when he hears a familiar giggle behind his back and whirls around only to collide with yet another tall person who can't even be bothered to look at where they're going.

The collision caused a vein to pulse in his temple, making his headache even worse than it already is.

"Pardon me. I didn't see -"

The man stops mid-sentence upon seeing Levi's face and Levi has never wanted to kill a person so hard in his life than this very instant.

“I see you’re still alive, Levi,” Nicholas Lovof smirks, looking down his long nose at him.

Fuck this tall bastard most of all.

Levi’s blood begins to boil, “I see that you're out of prison you crusty old piece of shit."

Lovof laughs and Levi felt his hands twitch by his side, itching to punch the older man in the face.

“There’s nothing money can’t buy, Levi.”

Levi balls his fists and grits his teeth, doing everything he can not to slip the dagger out of his waistband and slit the bastard’s throat open right then and there. Levi hates how money makes the world go round. If he did not join the Scouting Legion he would've been thrown in jail for all the crimes he's committed and for all the people he's killed.

He would probably even be dead by now.

Lovof sneers, “What? Nothing to say to that, street rat?”

“Get out of my sight,” Levi seethes, each syllable laced with hatred and disdain. His hand subconsciously moving to the dagger at his waist.

Lovof's eyes dart to the movement of Levi's hand and his face breaks into another shit-eating grin, “You can’t kill me. You can’t even kill Erwin.”

A growl rises at the back of Levi’s throat just as a delicate hand wraps around his elbow, stilling his movement.

“Captain! There you are!”

His eyes fly to the hand curled around his elbow and he instantly knows who it belongs to. Levi watches as the hand slides down his forearm to cover his right hand and take it away from the dagger’s hilt.

He lifts his gaze from it and locks eyes with Petra as she squeezes his right hand with hers, “Dance with me."

She then turns to Lovof with a smile plastered on her face, "Excuse us, sir. I believe my captain owes me a dance."

Lovof smirks and raises his wine glass at him in a mock salute.

Levi nearly lunges at the old man but Petra squeezes his hand tighter to restrain him before leading him away from Lovof and into the throng of people in the middle of the ballroom waiting for the string quartet to resume playing music. The quartet begins playing a soft melodic piece that Levi thinks is more aptly played at a wedding.

“You know I don’t dance, Petra,” Levi nearly growls, still angered from his run-in with Lovof.

“Indulge me,’ Petra says as she transfers his right hand to her left and places it on her waist. She does the same with his other hand and leads him to sway alongside the couples beside them. She loops her arms around his neck and feels how tense his shoulders are. She gives him a small smile, one that he doesn’t notice as he is still adamant in glaring daggers at Lovof’s back.

Petra sighs as she leads him along in the dance. She knows that her captain hates social events but she has never seen him so close to stabbing a person in front of hundreds of people.

“Captain. Talk to me,” she whispers as she caresses his nape with her thumb, the gesture surprisingly tender and intimate and it catches Levi’s attention - his gaze finally drifting back to hers.

Levi relaxes a fraction as she continues to knead at his neck.

“That bastard should be rotting in prison,” He grumbles, hands tightening around her waist.

Petra nods, encouraging him.

”He’s -” Levi swallows, tries to contain the anger rising up within him, “He’s the reason why Isabel and Furlan are dead.”

Oh.

Petra knows about them - about Isabel and Furlan. They were Levi’s family before joining the Scouting Legion. She knew that they died in their first expedition outside the walls but that was it - that was all her captain has told her.

Levi sighs and proceeds to tell her the rest of the story, of how Lovof tracked them down and gave them a job to kill Erwin all in exchange for health care for their friend Yan and citizenship above ground.

“The Scouting Legion was coming for us whether we accepted the offer or not.”

Levi takes a deep breath and stops their slow dancing while the couples around them continued on, “Citizenship on the surface was all we ever wanted, Petra.”

He opens his mouth to continue but closes it again, realizing that they look like fools - standing in the middle of the ballroom while couples around them danced.

Levi takes Petra’s hand then and leads her away from the merriment and out into the balcony. He lets go of her and leans against the balustrade, tipping his head back to stare at the star-studded sky.

"They told me to trust them and that they will make it out of that expedition alive, that we will finish doing the job together and live the rest of our lives above ground.”

Out here under the starlight, he is more open, more vulnerable.

Petra remains silent and lets her captain tell his story uninterrupted. She is content listening and just being there for him - whenever and wherever he needs her.

She tips her head back as well, admiring the way the stars glittered against the pitch-black sky as Levi continued.

“I trusted them.” Levi swallows, "But they died, anyway. I -"

There's a tremble in his voice and Petra sneaks a glance at him and the look on his face shatters her heart.

Levi bows his head and whispers, “I couldn’t save them, Petra. I couldn’t give them the life they wanted.”

A moment passes in silence before a laugh escapes Levi's lips - mirthless and hollow.

Levi turns to face her then, "But no regrets, remember?"

She searches his eyes and wonders how he truly feels. He says these things but his eyes say otherwise.

Petra gives him a small, sad smile, and nods.

"Yes, captain. No regrets."

#rivetra #rivetra fanfic #levi x petra #levetra #rivapeto #ANON I'M SORRY #forgive me i love u #mine #clarza writes

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thepersephonecabin · 4 years

Text

Legacy and Bullshit Mindfuckery (fic)

Summary: Luvander has two things for the Adamo’s first child: a gift and a wish.

Please see full tags and warnings AO3

Note: So... How did we get here? Well, basically, when I was writing A Very Adamo Christmas for @foxesonstilts for the @festivebastion exchange I meant to put in a short bit about a Luvander giving Laure and Adamo’s first child a very special gift, but forgot until after finishing FestiveBastion. So I told myself I was gonna write a small addition, and then my latent need to see the airmen recover after the war took over and suddenly I had a 4k+ luvander character study on my hands. And also about halfway through my if-i-dont-write-this-right-now-i-will-never-sleep craze a tiny part of my brain was like “you should make luvander a trans man for absolutely no reason” and I did and actually really liked the way it fit into the story.

So anyway, I hope you enjoy!

A day and a half following the birth of Rory Adamo, Luvander found himself on the doorstep of the Greylace Estate once again. Wrapped in one arm, he cradles a soft drawstring bag, cream in color with a light pink ribbon around the top.

He didn’t bother knocking as he shouldered his way through the doorway. Even though he still primarily lived out of the apartment above the hat shop, this place was dragon territory, and therefore as far as he was concerned, it was his home as well.

“Hello?” he called out, slipping his shoes off at the door. Maybe if he was really lucky, Rook would come in and pitch a fit about like he would in the good old days.

Balfour emerged from the lounge with a book cracked open in his hands and questioning eyes. “Oh, Luvander. It’s you.”

“It’s me,” Luvander confirmed. “Where’s the chief and his young lady love? I had something I wanted to bring to them.”

“They’re in their bedroom, I think,” Balfour said before quickly amending, “Oh, no, not like that! I think it was just time to change her.”

“Ah,” Luvander said. “How is the not-so-little tyke anyway?”

Balfour smiled and began leading him up the stairs to Laure and Owen’s room as if Luvander hadn’t been there not two days ago. “Oh, you know. She sleeps and eats and poops and cries. Lucky the three of us don’t room up in the same area of the house as Chief Sergeant and Airlady Adamo or I’m sure we’d all be knackered already.

The three of us. Luvander knew he meant the three Second Wavers outside of Laure of course. Luvander felt a sick little spark of jealousy flare up in his stomach and not for the first time at their mention before he stamped it out with the guilt of it all.

Balfour continued, “Mom and Dad are still smitten with her though. I wager that by the sixth week in they might be out of the honeymoon stage.”

“Sixth? I don’t know if I could make it to the second,” Luvander said. Of course, he was happy to have a little niece to dote on, but Luvander had never seen much draw in the idea of having a baby you couldn’t return to its rightful owners when it began to shit itself.

Balfour laughed good-naturedly, “I think Adamo’s a bit more levelheaded than you, however.”

Luvander shrugged. “Maybe so, but I’ll stick to my instinct and take you up on that bet.”

They’d reached the Adamo bedroom now, and throught the door Luvander thought he could hear the baby’s wordless vocalization (Did most newborns make this much noise when they weren’t crying or was this one just especially talkative, he wondered) paired with Laure’s laugh and the low tenor of Adamo’s voice.

Balfour turned to him, touching Luvander’s elbow softly through his coat. Balfour wasn’t wearing his gloves today, Luvander observed. Good, he thought, he shouldn’t feel like he needed to hide them, especially not here, not with family.

“Before you go in…” Balfour began, “I wanted to ask how you were doing. I know Ghislain sailed out.”

Luvander resisted the urge to grimace. He liked to tell himself he did an okay job of deflecting everyone else’s attention away from his persistent problems with loneliness. On the good days he cracked enough jokes and sarcastic witticisms to keep the people around him too entertained to notice. On the bad days he threw himself into overworking, holed up in his workroom with little sleep and becoming overly perfectionistic about whatever he was working on until he felt like tearing it all apart again. But on the best days Ghislain was home, in this place Ghislain didn’t even think of as his home, but the place Luvander was, which in Luvander’s mind designated it as Ghislain’s home nonetheless.

Balfour, however had always been the one he couldn’t fool, and it was a fact that needled at him constantly. He didn’t enjoy it when others looked past the mask he’d so carefully crafted for himself like one of his custom hats.

Not that Luvander had anyone but himself to blame for that. Balfour always suspected Luvander’s yearning for affection and attention and approval had been more than the average loneliness, but then Luvander just had to go and fuck it up even further.

It had been at least a year and a half or maybe even two when it happened. He, Raphael, Balfour, and Rook had been drinking (because of course they had) in Balfour’s room at the Greylace Estate. These rooms were a damn sight bigger and nicer than the ones in the Old Airman, a fact that Luvander could never parse out about whether he appreciated or was annoyed by. As such, Balfour had set up a couch and a few chairs to fill the space between his bed and the opposite wall. Ever since Raphael turned up again, they’d started having little get togethers one or twice a month, alternating whose place hosted.

Then Thom’d been offered a job as a professor (a real one this time) at the ‘Versity and Rook had come back to Thremedon bitching and complaining the whole way back from whatever adventure they’d been on when they received the letter. Apparently Thom had already begun writing a letter back declining the offer when Rook found out and through some well-intentioned bullying and ripping of half-finished correspondence got Thom to accept. From Luvander’s understanding, Thom had decided immediately to pass on the job in order to continue looking after his older brother, knowing that Rook had very important reasons for staying away from Thremedon. He couldn’t ask Rook to go back there, and he didn’t feel comfortable letting Rook travel alone without eventually winding up dead in a ditch from asphyxiating from his own vomit either. According to him, Rook’s mental health had markedly approved once the Dragonsoul was destroyed and th’Esar’s plans thwarted. He’d finally been able to properly grieve, Thom said, but that didn’t mean he was ready to part ways and risk Rook relapsing without him to drag him out of it.

Rook found all this out and stubbornly refused to go along with that “bullshit mindfuckery” Thom was always practicing on account of the fact that teaching at the University had always been Thom’s dream job, and he would be damned if his little brother threw it away for his sorry ass. After all, while the ‘Versity had improved in regards to letting in more students from poorer walks of life since Thom had been awarded for his work with the Airmen, the same improvement hadn’t come in regards to hiring choices. For all any of them knew, this might be the last time a mollyrat was offered a job at the Empire’s highest learning institution in a long, long time. So, back to Thremedon they came, and Luvander, Balfour and Raphael’s little survivor’s club had expanded from three to four members. (There had always been an open invitation to Adamo as well, but he only rarely took them up on it.)

So, anyway, they’d been drinking thoroughly and Luvander more thoroughly than the rest. It’d been months since Ghislain had come to port- not his fault, some jobs simply took longer than expected- and Luvander was in the pits. That said, he’d been holding it together pretty admirably that night, and it had all been fine until Rook and Raphael left. Raphael said he had Royal Guard duty the next day- it was a job offer Luvander, Ghislain and Raphael had all received from the Esarina herself after she’d almost died by her own guards that night when they’d had to rescue the Adamos. Raphael had been the only one to accept.

But so when Raphael stood up to leave and appropriate one of the Estate’s carriages Rook also decided to leave “before the Professor starts hyperventilating over me” and figured it would just be easier to go back in one carriage. It was, in sober retrospect, a suspiciously sensical thing to come out of Rook Molly’s mouth, but who knew anymore. Luvander didn’t know what kind of bullshit mindfuckery Thom had exposed that man too while they were travelling, but Rook’d been all kinds of weird since they’d come back and by “weird” Luvander meant “vaguely decent.”

The two of them took their leave and after that the details grew fuzzy, but he did remember drunkenly confessing his depression about missing Ghislain to Balfour and Balfour being nothing but supportive as understanding.

“You’re so sweet,” Luvander had told him, slurring his words and cupping the other man’s cheek. “You know that? You’ve always been so sweet, Balfour. Sometimes I wonder how someone as sweet as you got mixed up with all of us selfish ingrates. You always deserved so much better than us. Hell, if you’d never met us assholes, you’d still have your hands.”

Balfour blushed and looked away. “My hands weren’t your guys fault, and even if I don’t have them, I have my girl and all of you. Besides, I’m not so inno-“

And that had been as far as he’d gotten before Luvander launched himself into Balfour’s lap and shoved their mouths together.

Now, it’s important to note that Luvander had always been a touchy drunk. He’s sure he’d made passes at all thirteen of the other airmen more times than he could count while trashed out of his mind. He even had one absolutely disastrous incident with Adamo that had gotten a very stern talking to about appropriate relationships between a superior officer and his subordinates the next morning. Luvander had deeply respected the things Adamo said to him at the time despite the massive hangover he was fighting his way through as he said it and the urge he had to hang himself rather than have this conversation at all. That didn’t mean he hadn’t brought up the irony of it in his speech at Laure and Adamo’s wedding, though.

Which was all to say that Luvander was no stranger to make-out sessions with his friends after a few too many drinks. In fact, drunken fooling around had been the bedrock upon which his entire relationship with Ghislain was founded. Even after Luvander and Ghislain were “official” they’d kept the relationship fairly open because Luvander wasn’t the sort to abstain from sex for months at a time while his lover was at sea. It had simply come with the condition that if anything that strayed from the “casual sex” territory and into the “feelings” territory had be to discussed- Ghislain wasn’t jealous about Luvander being with other people physically, but he was jealous about having to share Luvander’s heart and overprotective at times about the idea of someone taking advantage of Luvander’s emotions.

This had been different though. This kiss with Balfour hadn’t been borne of happy delirium or playfulness like most of his less-than-sober escapades were. This had been borne of deep, deep sorrow. A desperate effort to patch a leak in a dam ready to burst. The other reason it was different was because Balfour had only had had two drinks that night, and Luvander had had at least five times that.

On the bright side, if one had to have such a mortifying experience in their lives, Luvander could think of very few people better to have it with than Balfour Vallet.

The epitome of gentlemanly behavior, Balfour had gently broken off the kiss and softly and without malice told him that they couldn’t do this, not when Luvander was so intoxicated. Luvander had nodded and understood, but then broken into wracking sobs as he blubbered about how fucking alone he felt all the time. Balfour let him cling to him like a security blanket even though Luvander was still straddling him and repeatedly assured him that he didn’t care if Luvander covered his shirt with snot and tears.

Then Luvander woke up the next morning on Balfour’s couch with a blanket draped over him. His clothes were all intact with the exception of his shoes and his binder which he had a bad habit of sleeping in and Balfour knew it. Balfour must have peeled it off once Luvander had passed out along with the boots and then buttoned Luvander’s shirt back up and even replaced his signature scarf. Both binder and boots were now neatly laid out on the coffee table with care.

There were still a few bottles of alcohol too, and ordinarily he might have been tempted to drink them. This time though, he reckoned he’d done enough damage under the influence for one day.

That was about when Balfour appeared, already dressed for the day and carrying a tray of water and coffee. “Oh, you’re awake,” he’d said, kicking the door shut behind him. He sat next to Luvander on the couch and set the tray on the table. “I hope you don’t mind that I took off your…” he said awkwardly, wringing his hands like he always did.

It took Luvander a moment to understand he was talking about the binder. “Oh. Oh no, it’s- Balfour, I know you’d never do anything to me or go further than protecting my ribs from some rather tragic pain in the morning. And it’s not anything you haven’t seen in the showers before. If anything I think when it comes to invasions of peoples’ personal boundaries, I should be the one apologizing to you right now. What happened last night… the way I just went after like that was unconscionable and I promise it will never happen again. In fact, I wouldn’t blame you in the slightest if you never wanted to see me again.”

Balfour looked shocked. “Of course, I don’t want that. What happened last night wasn’t ideal, obviously, but you were plastered and having a rough day. I get it.”

Luvander could’ve both laughed and cry at that. “But it wasn’t just a bad day. It was… Bal, I think I have a problem.” He could practically feel the bile coming up just from saying those words out loud, but he told himself that if there was ever the time to admit it to anyone, this was it so he continued: “I think maybe I always had. Even before Xi’an it was like this, just not as intense or constant. I don’t know how to be alone. I don’t know how to feel unimportant or like I’m not the center of attention without letting it control me. When there were fourteen of us I could ignore it, right? Because there was always someone around, but now…” He wiped away tears with his scarf and adjusted it anxiously. “And, like, the way this place just fucking tossed all of us out like yesterday’s trash the second they didn’t need us anymore and that blasted medal ceremony was over didn’t exactly help.”

Balfour nodded slowly. “I think I know the feeling or at least a fraction of it. I felt so isolated and broken at the end of the war, but even before that I… well, I suppose I always felt like I was second to Amery.”

Luvander felt another pang of guilt. None of them had been sure how to react when Balfour replaced his brother in the Corps, but Rook more than anyone. Before Amery died he’d been the one of them that Rook was closest to, so Balfour’s presence was anything but welcome to him. So, whenever Rook had a problem, Balfour was usually who he took it out on. And Luvander had always just let him. Because sometimes crossing Rook was like crossing god in that house, but it didn’t excuse how cowardly he’d been.

“Got feminine parts between his legs, airman’s honor.”

That’s what Rook had said about Balfour when he’d tried to be kind to Thom that first day when the Professor had them do introductions. Even then, Luvander, the real one with “feminine parts” among them was sitting right there, and he hadn’t said shit to stop Rook.

(Luvander had always felt Rook didn’t mind trans men as much as he minded trans women. Something about the way trying to be more masculine was seen as noble, while trying to be more feminine made you a Mary in a world where women were always seen as lesser. But he also felt like Rook’s somewhat backwards and begrudging acceptance of Luvander’s presence was conditional, like it was something that he was able to revoke at the barest hint of insubordination. Luvander was tolerated as long as he fought well and shut up and was cruel like him, but that didn’t mean it was real. At least Thom had seemed to have trained some of that out of Rook over the years, but it was still a nagging fear for Luvander.)

Luvander didn’t say any of that. He just said, “I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to fix it.” I don’t know how to fix me.

Balfour escorted him to the ‘Versity after that and made him talk to Thom about it. Thom being Thom, of course, looked at it as the academic he was. He talked about all kinds of fancy words like ‘schizoid’ and ‘histrionic’ and ‘dependent personality’. Basically, Thom said he couldn’t be sure exactly what the problem was without examining further. But he assured Luvander that there were coping mechanism they could try and that he had colleagues from the ‘Versity that he could ask for more medically focused advice as compared to Thom’s social theory perspectives.

Bullshit mindfuckery, Luvander remembered. As much as he wasn’t thrilled at the idea of Thom “examining” his psyche, he was significantly less thrilled about a perfect stranger doing it. At least he could trust Thom. At least Thom knew jackshit about how the airmen worked beyond the court gossip and bards’ song and those fucking statues that made them war heroes and not real people anymore. At least Thom was there when he woke up on an infirmary bed unable to talk for how deep his throat had been slit only to find out that four out of fourteen of them had come back. Even if Thom had been beside himself with grief, unaware that number five, Rook, was still breathing somewhere out there, at least Thom had borne witness for himself what they’d gone through, and Luvander wasn’t about to have to hash all of that to someone new.

But he couldn’t sit on his hands and not accept help when it was offered. Because he’d made Balfour a promise. He’d promised that he would never kiss Balfour again without fair and honest consent, plastered or not, and he’d meant it. He had so few friends left in this world. He wasn’t about to lose another due to his own selfishness and stupidity.

And so, he gave himself into the bullshit mindfuckery. He’d been meeting with Thom once every one or two weeks (or more than that if something set him off and crisis called for it). It was helping, Luvander thought. Slowly but surely.

Back in the present, Luvander shrugged at Balfour noncommittally. “It sucks, but I’m seeing the Professor tomorrow. And I guess now if I need someone to keep me company I could come and let the baby keep me busy so Mom and Dad can have some alone time.”

Balfour smiled at him. “You could have come over anyway. Well, I won’t push for specifics, but if you want to talk later…”

“I know where to find you,” Luvander confirmed.

Balfour gave him a bigger smile now. “Okay. I’ll let you talk to them then,” he said, and began descending the stairs, leaving Luvander at the at the door to the Adamo’s room.

He knocked briskly on the door and heard the Chief say, “Come in,” from the other side.

When Luvander opened the door, he found Laure on the bed over the covers cradling not-so-little Rory and making faces at her. Adamo was over by the radiator holding a bottle over the heat.

“Ah, I thought I heard someone out there talking to Balfour,” Laure said. “I didn’t know you were coming over today, but then again, I don’t think the pregnancy brain is totally out of my system yet.”

Laved waved moved to sit on the bed at her feet and waved her off with a hand. “It was unannounced. I had a gift for the baby and thought I’d bring it over.”

“Oh, that was thoughtful of you,” Adamo remarked walking over. To his credit, he only let a sliver of the wariness of a man who put up with thirteen uncontrollable ever-pranking monsters with dubious respect for authority for Regina even knows how long it’s been slip into his voice.

Luvander took the drawstring bag from the crook of his elbow and held it in his lap. “Well, I started working on this once you announced she was on her way. I guess I could have given it to you earlier, but it just felt like I should wait to give it to Rory in person. And of course, I didn’t exactly know you would choose to go into labor in a blizzard, so I didn’t have it on me the other night.”

He had a million things to say, a million possible preambles he could make, but he figured it was best to just show them. So, he pulled open the drawstrings, reached in, and pulled the carefully constructed figure of silver-grey fabric and held it up for inspection.

Adamo looked too shocked to say anything. Laure’s mouth had dropped into a soft “o” shape. But Rory had caught sight of her new toy and vocalized with one hand in her mouth and the other reaching out toward him with demanding hands. Bossy, he thought, Like her dad.

“I’m not sure I got all the details right since I was working off memory, plus she never really let me get that close to her anyway, but… Here she is,” Luvander said, because in his hands was a very small plush dragon.

“Is that…” Laure began.

“Proudmouth,” Adamo breathed. “Can I see her?”

“Of course,” Luvander said.

Adamo took it from him as if squeezing too hard would make it turn to nothing in his hands, turning it from side to side to see all the craftsmanship Luvander had put into it. Embroidered patterns where Proudmouth’s metal had been engraved, carefully cut and stabilized fabric made to take the shape of gears, a brass-colored ribbon where brass-colored brass reigns would’ve been. Every detail down to the shape of her claws had taken hours to craft and even more hours of meditating and sifting through bittersweet memories to recover. And here were the fruits of his labor all pieced together. Finally, Adamo let out a breath and said, “Looks just like her.”

“Well when you two starting talking about having kids, I wanted think of something special I could pass down to them, and eventually thought, well, every Adamo needs a dragon, right?” Luvander said. “So, I settled myself of making a different for each of your kids, if you have more that is. And it felt important that Rory got Proudmouth as your firstborn. I think… I think if things had turned out differently than they did Proudmouth could have been her birthright what with the way Anastasia picked two Vallets in a row to ride her.”

Adamo’s face as always was had to read, but somehow with a dragon in his hands, he looked years younger, and Luvander could tell whatever he was feeling he was feeling a lot of it.

Then Adamo smiled and said, “Thank you. It’s perfect, Luvander, really. I guess we should give Rory her girl and see if they choose each other.”

He passed the dragon to his daughter’s grasping hands, and they all watched as Rory immediately pulled Proudmouth to her chest.

“I think that’s your answer,” Laure laughed, dabbing at her eyes.

And in that moment, it seemed to Luvander that the world shone brighter. Welcoming a new generation was always hard, especially when the old one had lost so much, but it felt nice to be able to give the Airmen a proper legacy- one that wasn’t bronzed in statues, written in theses, or whispered behind hands at palace balls. But one that was simple- from father to daughter. And wrapped up in that gifted legacy was a wish, the most powerful wish Luvander had ever made, sewn into every stitch and seam: I wish that the ones who come after us won’t need our bullshit mindfuckery in the first place.

And then, Rook ruined the moment when they all heard a loud bang of the front door opened way too forcefully, followed by “BASTION FUCKING DAMNIT, WHO LEFT THEIR BOOTS IN THE DAMNED DOORWAY, I THOUGHT I DIDN’T HAVE TO DEAL WITH THIS SHIT ANYMORE!”

Laure, Owen, and Luvander all looked at each other, and all at once they burst into laughter.

#volstovic cycle #havemercy #the oc's #rebloggable #my fic #screams into the void im actually so proud of this fic and i dont know why #also i know janie isn't on tumblr anymore but i just think of her every time i write about luvander so im wondering if it would be weird to #hey remember me? probably not we talked like 2 times but i wrote a fic about luvander and i miss seeing you in the fandom because i dont ha #ve a pillowfort

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xantchaslegacy · 5 years

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MTG Month of the Ship Day 12 - Borrowing Clothes

(I did not go into this month planning on doing anything with this pairing, but this prompt was just too perfect for them~)

“We’ve got a problem.”

Lavinia started talking as soon as she pushed open the doors to the guildpact’s chambers. The less time she gave Jace to make excuses the greater chance of him actually solving the problem and not disappearing to another world for several months.

Jace, predictably, didn’t even turn around from his desk. He often acted as if he thought Lavinia wouldn’t see him if he just didn’t move.

“One of our arresters in the undercity has gotten wind of a Rakdos performance planned for tonight. ‘The Amusing Misadventures of Buffoons without Bodies.’ It’s a…not wholly inaccurate biopic of some of the more prominent members of the Obzedat. Isperia wants us to find some decree we can use to ban the show in any public places where the ghost council might send thrulls or hire the Dimir to thwart the performance.” Lavinia strode to the bookshelf-lined wall, and began pulling down volumes relevant to the case. “The more productions we can keep in the undercity, the fewer civilian casualties we’ll have when the Orzhov and the Rakdos go at each other’s throats.”

Jace muttered something under his breath, and Lavinia paused, a book half-withdrawn from its place on the shelves. It sounded like he had said ‘faucets…’

“What was that, guildpact?”

“Nothing!”

Lavinia raised an eyebrow. Jace’s voice sounded higher-pitched than usual.

“Are you alright?”

“Fine. Sick.” He coughed, about convincingly enough for Lavinia to know he was trying to avoid work. He always put his hood up when he didn’t want to talk to anyone.

“I’m sorry to hear that.” Lavinia continued do gather books. “We need an official edict by sundown, to give our sky-scribes and arresters time to have the performances moved. Here.” Lavinia dropped a pile of books by his side “If you need me to fetch any other tomes or by-laws to reference, I can-”

“Coffee.”

“Excuse me?”

“Coffee…maybe something for my throat?”

Lavinia pinched her nose between her forefinger and thumb. “Fine.” He really did sound terrible. “Look these over. I’ll be back to take down the official edict.”

“Right on it! I love rules and making decisions about rules!”

Lavinia narrowed her eyes, but didn’t comment on the guildpact’s sarcasm. If he was going to be petulant, he didn’t need her help.

“I’ll be back in ten minutes. Read.” She turned and marched out of the chamber.

…

“She’s gone!”

Jace peeked around the corner of a bookcase, scanning the room. “Ral, she’s gone!”

Ral Zarek stood up from the desk and pulled back the hood of Jace’s cloak. He was blushing furiously.

“Why didn’t you just come out and talk to her yourself?”

“I was barely dressed! You were already using my cloak as a blanket! We had about four seconds to figure out a plan! I panicked!” Jace stepped out from behind the shelves and Ral had to suppress a laugh. Jace was wearing Ral’s Izzet magewright garb, struggling under the weight of the gauntlets and the storage battery strapped across the back.

“Is that…is that my equipment?”

“It’s sewn into the clothing! Who sews lightning blasters into their clothing??”

“They’re conduits. Why did you even need to put my clothes on…?”

“I didn’t have anything else!” Jace’s face was a deep pink. “It was this or get caught in my underwear if Lavinia thought to check back here!”

Ral rolled his eyes, then rolled them again, this time taking Jace in top-to-bottom. The clothes were way too baggy on Jace, and he had done a sloppy job of doing up the front, so that his chest peeked out between the blue and red stripes. He looked like a clown.

A very cute clown, Ral mentally conceded, broadcasting the thought as loud as he could, so Jace could hardly fail to detect it.

Sure enough the telepath’s face started to redden. “Let’s…let’s go back to my chambers. We can sort this out and get into our proper clothes.” He started to peel off the sleeve.

“Well now, as long as you’ve got it on, might as well let me enjoy the view.”

Jace stuck his tongue out. “Lavinia’ll be back any minute. You need to go.”

“Kicking me out? Just like that?”

“Uh, yeah. Just like that. Unless you’d like to explain to an Azorius court why we were both in my personal chambers wearing each other’s clothes.”

“Fine. You owe me a date later, then.” Ral followed Jace behind the bookshelf. “Let me help you out of that.”

“I’m…mmph…I think I’ve got it.”

Jace did not, in fact have it. Ral’s shirt was pulled over his face, and one of the gauntlets was dangling dangerously close to the stone floor. He nearly stumbled into the frame of his bedroom door before Ral caught ahold of him.

“Hold still, or I’m taking your cloak back to Nivix with me.” He pulled Jace’s arms gently through the sleeves, careful not to be too rough with the mechanical components or with his partner.

“I’ve…I’ve got others!” Jace stumbled the rest of the way out of the magewright garb and ducked into his bedroom. “Go ahead and take them! See if I care!”

“Wait.” Ral stopped in the doorway. “Couldn’t you have just cast an illusion on Lavinia? Why did I have to skulk around like some Dimir sneak?”

“I panicked! Plus, Lavinia’s gotten pretty good at figuring out when I’m trying to fool her.” Jace avoided Ral’s eye, looking determinedly out the window as he fixed the piles of paper on his desk. “And anyways, I thought…I thought you’d look cute if you put it on.”

Ral raised an eyebrow, and let a smirk crawl over his features.

“Well? Do I?” He spread his arms and posed. The cloak was just a bit tight, but that just meant it showed off his chest and arms all the better.

Jace mumbled.

“Hmmm? What’s that? I can’t read your mind, you know.”

“…pretty cute.”

Ral smirked, and took a mental note of Jace’s face. That would get him through the next couple meetings with the Firemind this week.

The above is unofficial Fan Content permitted under the Fan Content Policy. Not approved/endorsed by Wizards. Portions of the materials used are property of Wizards of the Coast. ©Wizards of the Coast LLC.

#mtgship #jace beleren #lavinia #ral zarek #mtg #MTG Flash Fan Fic #mtg fan fiction #ravnica

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cosmicflowchart · 5 years

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Stefan Butler/Reader - Do Something New

Summary: You remember Stefan Butler so clearly. You have to know if he remembers you too. Warnings: multiple pathways of reality, unreality, mentions of manipulation, helplessness, paranoia, loss of control, mentions of homicide Word Count: 2694 [it’s a doozy folks, strap yourselves in]

You know who he is before he comes into sight. Instinctively you’ve only got one ear of your headphones on—you don’t want Thakur invading your space again. You can tell from the footsteps that it’s almost time for your first conversation.

Of course, you play it cool. It’s what your predecessor did. You type in another line, hoping that resolves the error, knowing you’re a fool because it’s not going to work. It’s out of your hands.

You don’t get a chance to fix it as the walking slows to a stop and a voice drags you into the moment.

“Right over here, programmer of the century!”

Thakur’s boosting you up for your guest. A useless gesture, really. You know the young man he’s talking to, and you know how he thinks about you. Namely, he can’t stop thinking about you. But what the hell, you’ll let Thakur think this is going to be a coincidence.

“This is our greatest asset,” he continues, and you look over to the young man, who you ‘haven’t met.’ Thakur moves in on your other side, trying to catch a glimpse of your game. The premise is a bit on the nose (or Nohs, if you will), but the only ones who’ll get it are you and whoever’s causing the restarts.

The young man’s hands tangle together, his darting, green eyes betraying his mounting anxiety, mixed with excitement at getting to see you, the “great” (y/n) (l/n). His shoulders are up slightly and tensed but you know he’s not going to notice, he’s too caught up in his own head right now. For a moment you admire the jacket he’s got on, you’ve never really noticed it but it’s this brown, almost tan leather. He’s wrapped himself in layers despite the heat, but you understand; in a way it’s like armor against an otherwise cruel world. His hair’s up a bit, curly black and soft, like a turbulent stormcloud settled itself on his head. You realize this is kind of appropriate, given his eventual mental state. You resist the urge to frown when you can’t recall ever getting to put your hands through it.

Whatever spirit’s out there controlling him won’t let him be soft. Even if it’s not soft with you, he needs a hug, if nothing else. For that matter, so do you. But you know that’s a problem for later. Right now, you’ve got to see how much he knows. You hope deep down that he’s become aware of the reality (or realities) you both are stuck in. But you haven’t proven anything for sure.

“(y/n), this is Stefan...er…”

“Butler,” you finish before Stefan can. He looks down at you, flustered.

“How-how do you know that?”

You shoot him a cheeky grin. “We’ve met before,” you chirp back with certainty. It’s so corny, you can’t help the dumb face you’re making.

“Have we? I don’t, I feel like I’d remember that. I mean, I-I’ve played all your games, but I’ve never met you until now,” he stammers. “It’s not every day you get to meet (y/n) (l/n).”

For me, it is, you think to yourself. But you hold out a hand and he shakes it, you can feel his hand shake, and your heart goes out to him. This is what hurts: remembering how sweet he is, before everything goes wrong.

“Just (y/n) is fine,” you assure him. “Wanna see what I’m working on?” His eyes go wider and he nods. You hit ‘run’ and the game starts on the main screen.

Beside you, Thakur folds his arms. Fuck him, you’re going to milk this meeting for all the cuteness you can get. You don’t get to see much cute in this forsaken reality.

“Nohsdyve,” Stefan reads the title as if he already knows what it is.

You glance up at him. “That’s right.” You start the game and play a few moments before, surprise surprise, the game freezes and ends. “Fuck me,” you declare dramatically, as if this hasn’t happened.

“What’s happened?” Thakur breaks his silence and leans down.

“Buffer error,” you and Stefan respond at the same time. You exchange a surprised glance as Thakur rolls his eyes.

“Alright, no need to rub it in. You aren’t even in yet,” he gestures at Stefan.

“You’ve got a game to pitch, don’t you?” you spin to face Stefan, stopping your boss from putting his foot in his mouth.

“Oh, uh, yeah, yeah,” he nods, remembering that that’s why he’s here.

“Why don’t I take this,” you offer quickly as you stand up, covering your keyboard so no one fucks with it, “and you, Mr. T, can take on that reporter who’s sitting in your office.”

“The one who asked for you?” Thakur clarifies, but he’s really saying, This is your mess, not mine.

“You know what happens when I talk to reporters. They make me look like an asshole and then you have to defend Tuckersoft, saying all that shit about how my opinions don’t necessarily reflect the company’s. Cut the middleman, and there’s no story. It’s right up your alley, boss.”

He exhales through his nose. “Take notes, and meet me straight after you’re done,” he orders before walking to his office. Normally Thakur’s supposed to take longer, but you want to cut to the good shit.

You turn to Stefan, who’s relaxed a little now that it’s just the two of you. “He’s normally more shouty, but I’m not complaining.” He nods, and you see his eyes flicker around in doubt. “Come on, then. Show me your game,” you request with a small smile.

A few minutes later, you’re sat on a table with Stefan in a chair on the opposite side. You watch him demo Bandersnatch as he crawls through the dungeon, talking you through the game and answering your questions. You don’t have any way to take notes—you don’t need to. You’ve memorized all this dialogue.

“I haven’t programmed this pathway yet,” he explains when the Out of Range screen appears. You know this, but you like hearing him talk. “It’s getting a little complex at this stage, but...well, I’ll-I’ll get to it.”

“You’ll figure it out once we hire you, right?” you ask him.

When he looks at you in surprise, it hits you what you just implied. Whatever, it’s a plot point, it’ll happen anyway. “Wait, you, you like it?”

“Yeah. This is exactly the kind of hip new game Thakur wants. Not only that, I will say that offhand, this is really impressive. It’s innovative, it’s fresh, and it looks quite good, considering you did this all on your own.” He looks at the screen as you say this. His smile’s so wide you’re afraid his face might split open.

“Thank you,” he remembers his manners for a moment, but even the tips of his ears are bright pink. You’ve got the benefit of too many versions of this conversation, but if it works, it works.

“I mean, taking the behemoth that is Davies’ masterpiece and turning it into this, that can’t be easy. Not just from a programming perspective, but from an intellectual, planning perspective. So many pathways and winding routes...could be enough work to drive someone mad.” By the end you’re musing, but it’s worth pointing out.

“It was.”

You look at him in surprise. He’s not looking at you, he’s looking at the game. “But you haven’t programmed all of it,” you clarify, wondering if he just said what you think he said.

“No, not...not in this time, but...no, it’s silly. Sorry.”

“Go on.” This doesn’t feel familiar at all, and it’s grabbed you.

“It’s just that, I think I’m here again because every time I try and finish this, I do something wrong. I’m not in control of myself anymore, I just...I don’t know, I’m just, just...stressy.”

That’s new. “You don’t say.”

“And you’re not supposed to be sat there,” he meets your eyes. “Usually, you’re sort of behind me just kind of watching. But it’s different this time. It’s different than my dream, I mean,” his eyes clench closed for a moment as he tries to make this make sense.

“What’s different?”

“You always leave me alone with him. I don’t know what happens now.” That settles it. He knows.

You perk up, and suddenly this whole thing doesn’t feel so hopeless.

“Sorry, I, I don’t know where that came from.” He’s scared to look at you now, thinking he’s offended you. “This is going to sound weird, but I keep dreaming this exact scenario, like we’ve already met before, several times. And then you said my last name, and I don’t know if you’re stalking me or, I don’t know, but we already know more than we’re supposed to.”

“This is new, isn’t it.” He still doesn’t look. “New pathway. You haven’t explored all possibilities, because this one’s not familiar.” He looks confused. “You’re right, Stefan. This is different. We’re in just one of many, many branching pathways, but every time you do what they,” you gesture with disdain to the sky, “don’t want you to do, it all starts over.”

“Then...we’ve done this before. It’s not just a dream?”

“No. It’s too real to be a dream.” You hope to God (or whatever’s out there) it isn’t. For his sake, you insist it’s certain.

Stefan nods. “How much do you remember?”

“I know about you resetting when something goes wrong. I know about Netflix, about the therapist and your dad…about me dying in a bunch of them. I remember those endings. Kinda bites, don’t you think?” He nods after a moment. “Well. Didn’t expect you to remember this part. I mean, I do, but you’re doomed to forget. But if you haven’t...” You watch him. “There’s more to you than I thought.”

“I remember...I remember you. I remember hurting you. I remember hating that feeling, the, the impulse to make something happen. Sometimes it wouldn’t come and I’d let you live.”

“For which I was grateful.”

“But not always.”

From this angle, he’s so precious. You want so badly to just hit pause and keep him looking this cute forever. But you’re not in control. Not right now.

Stefan suddenly puts down the controller and leaps up. You contemplate where the impulse ends and he begins. “Do something,” he urges you.

You laugh breathlessly at this, intrigued. “Alright. Any suggestions?”

“Some-something you haven’t done before.”

“I already did, right? I mean, I got Thakur out of this room so we could talk.”

“No, besides that. Do something new. It’s got to be massive, in the grand scheme of things.”

Instinctively, you glance at the door and head over to it. You stick your head out to make sure no one’s on their way to bother you. You close it again, and this time, you lock it. You’re not sure why, maybe it’s an ending you don’t fully remember. But you’re not gonna risk you-know-who ruining this.

“I thought I was crazy,” he laughs softly from behind you. When you turn to him again, his hands are tangled again. Normally, you’d just kind of nod and agree nervously, if it was anyone else. But it’s not, it’s Stefan. ‘Crazy’ doesn’t really apply when the world is so fucked. “All those dreams, all that...that imagining scenarios and all that. I knew that I knew you.”

“Of course you know me.” You walk over to him and take his hands in yours. “We can’t stay away from each other. Almost every ending has you and me together in some way.”

“But it’s not, it doesn’t always end well, you die so frequently,” his hands tremble, and you bring his knuckles to your lips and kiss them. He stops short and stares at you.

“There you go. I did something,” you grin at him. “If this ends soon, at least I got to do that.”

His face melts to pure joy. “I like this path a lot,” he tells you sweetly. Your heart melts instantly. You’re surprised the two of you haven’t just become part of the floor by now.

“I can’t keep being cool like this,” you hear yourself saying before you can stop it. “I’m in love with you.” He practically gasps. But you’re far from done. “I’m so in love, I’m surprised I didn’t say this sooner. I don’t care what happens to me in this time. If we have to be stuck in a loop for all of fucking eternity, I’ll find every way I can to let you know how wonderful you are. In spite of it all, in spite of everything the alternate versions of you have done, I’m not going anywhere. You hear me? I’m gonna make that spirit that’s making your life miserable work overtime. We decide this ending.”

“(y/n)?”

“What’s wrong?”

“Can I…” He stops himself, but you see his eyes flicker to your lips and back up, and you know what he wants to ask.

“Quick, before they make you do something bad,” you tease. He giggles at this.

His lips crash onto yours, and it’s like you’ve broken open the universe, and you feel the joy that must’ve been stolen from all your other lifetimes, all released at once. The two of you intertwine, clumsily at first--you’ve never gotten this close without him killing you in some fashion, so this is new. But as you get used to him, especially the way he almost shakes with joy as you break to breathe and then kiss again, there’s barely an atom of air separating you from him.

You pull back a moment to ask what’s wrong, he seems to be shaking more than before. But before you can get the words out, you see two fat tears stream down his cheeks, and you cup his face and swipe them away. He makes a noise somewhere between a laugh and a gasp and he throws his arms around you. You realize, as you two hold each other, that your eyes have decided to follow suit.

“No matter what changes,” you swallow as you try to get the words out, you’re suddenly afraid this is all going to go away, “no matter what’s different, I fucking love you.”

“I love you, (y/n),” he’s having trouble speaking too, but he’s trying. “I’m sorry for all the terrible things I did to you.” He sniffles and you hug him even tighter.

“Those are all different timelines, Stefan,” you remind him. “You haven’t stabbed me in this one, so I think we’re fine.” This earns a choked-up laugh.

You step back a little. His hands are still in contact with your arms, not holding you but just resting there. Your eyes well up again as you look at him. “What do we do now?” he asks softly. You think for a moment. “Do we keep going down the path?”

“Fuck the paths,” you say suddenly. His eyes go wide. “Seriously. Every time we do anything related to this, or the fucking game, shit goes wrong. Look, I know this thing is your life’s work, but let’s just...let’s get out of here. If Thakur tries to stop us, I’ll remind him you’re not an employee. Not yet, anyway. Before you lose your mind trying to program more of that, or you kill me for trying to help you, let’s just enjoy this. But not here.”

“You mean…” His eyes light up.

You wipe your eyes and smile at him excitedly. “Get your coat, let’s go back to my place.”

The two of you leave the room, leaving the game stuck on an ‘Out of Range’ error screen. To your knowledge it’s still stuck there. For now, he’s not going to program that pathway. No one is. You two are going to enjoy being together, and knowing more than you’re supposed to, in the privacy of your own home. No drugs, no paths, no paranoia, nothing. There’s a comfy couch at home, and it’s got yours and Stefan’s names on it.

A/N: More fluff! I’m glad a bunch of you liked the previous Stefan/reader so much. I hope you liked this one! Be sure to like it if you did (and reblog it if you feel so inclined, but no pressure!). I’m currently open to requests [https://cosmicflowchart.tumblr.com/ask]. I also do Colin/readers but as you may have guessed by now, I enjoy writing for Stefan. Thanks for reading, and I hope you have a good day! You belong on this earth and you deserve joy <3 -Cosmic

#bandersnatch #stefan butler x reader #stefan butler/reader #stefan butler #stefan x reader #stefanxreader #stefan butler fic #cosmic writes #fluff #angst #angst??? a bit????? but its a happy ending so #black mirror #black mirror: bandersnatch #black mirror bandersnatch #just.. just let him get kisses and hugs and stuff #let Our Boy be happy #aka you're in colin's position but you're not a cryptic SOB

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