#psychology & fanfiction

[sagaubeloved]

I don’t know if this is something I READ or something I thought of in passing and just kept forgetting about, but the basic idea is that the things the Creator comes into contact with (mainly literature) is recreated within Teyvat.

But it was more in the sense that even if the Creator hadn’t read the book it would still appear. However, those books that weren’t read would be faded, barely there scribbles that are not discernible and thus not as important to the Creator in comparison to the things they have read.

In that way, I thought how funny it would be that if-and-due to the Creator being a college student there are all these various poems, post-colonial literature, plays, biology, communications, etc just popping into existence and the people of Teyvat believing that the Creator really enjoyed knowledge and the arts.

(Maybe that can cause a long standing argument between Sumeru scholars and those who prefer the arts?)

Would this include the things the Creator writes? Essays and such? Yes, because it is something the Creator interacted with, and no less created themselves!

For me I really like essays, but it also depends on what it is the essay is going to be about, that’s where it can turn from an essay of 10 pages easily or a trudging essay with blurbs. (Just imagine seeing your school essay glorified somewhere as fact and your just there trying not react because you wrote that one thing while sick, and high as a kite at 3 am on a school night; wtf is it doing in that glass casing for all of Teyvat to witness??)

Similarly, if the Creator enjoys reading in general, all those things come into existence even if those things existed by way of technology only, ie. Fanfiction.

So imagine when the Creator descends they are at first confused and then upset because I still have so many things to read! I still have so many things to write! I had a project due in a week! And then stops in bewilderment because —

Wait, isn’t that… isn’t that the novel they had in their To Read list?? Wait isn’t that a story they already read?! Oh no, everyone is witness to your reading habits!!

#genshin impact #sagau #genshin sagau #genshin imagines #yandere #yandere genshin impact #genshin impact sagau #genshin x reader #self aware genshin #just imagine it #for me I read a lot of ao3 fanfiction manwha and novel update stories of very specific genres #and a lot of it is just smut lol #tragedy and romance and psychological thriller mixed in with yandere #I have a type and I’m not sorry about it #but also #I just want to know what everyone’s reaction would be if they read Omniscent Readers Viewpoint or Lout of the Count’s Family #one is a cute found family #and the other is an absolute FEAST of things #would manwha/manga appear too?! #would those get popular? #I read so many transmigration stories 💀 #especially if the villainous genre #would that make people see Eula differently? #self insert fix it fanfiction #I’ve read SO MANY OF THOSE TOO #they’d be so confused on why I was reading about ‘The Doctor’ when Dottore is a whole ass red flag #having to explain Doctor Who would need so much lol #what would they even think?? #teyvatians: their Grace has been witness to their worldly creations and choice to witness and bless these specific people #the creator: hmmm do I feel smutty tragedy or all of the above? 🤔

[rippersz]

The meat is cold.

«——..✞..——»

«——..✞..——»

(DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT) (Mentions of cannibalism, murder, slight glorification of both, etc.) (Larissa Weems x Reader oneshot)

«——..✞..——»

“She eats the hearts first, before they go bad— as all hearts will.” ~ Jessica D. Thompson

«——..✞..——»

“Are you going to eat me?”

You’ve asked her before but you repeat yourself anyway.

Larissa blinks. Long and slow. Sizing you up. Running her blue eyes over the length of your arms and stretch of your legs. Something flickers there. You briefly wonder if she’s questioning how fast you can run. You briefly wonder if she’s salivating over the thought of catching you.

“I didn’t plan on it, but now that I look at you closely, I think you want me to.”

You swallow.

She’s wrong, of course. She’s wrong. It’s just her own delusions. She thinks and perceives what she wants to think and perceive. Truth does not matter to a liar. The sweat on your palms says it all.

“I don’t.” Your voice is firm, but somehow it doesn’t feel like enough. Somehow it feels like-

“I don’t believe you.”

-like she won’t believe you.

“Why not?”

A weird heated pleasure fills you at the sight of her smirk. Red, curling, slight, full of undeniable mirth. She really does find you funny. She really does enjoy your time together; you’ve never doubted that.

But you should. You really should. You don’t want to be one of the sheep. You don’t want to play with the facade and finally accept her for what she is on the surface. You don’t want to know her as the school principal. You don’t want to die.

“Because you’re still here. And the door is unlocked.”

Yes. You knew that. She rarely locked it. Mainly because that wouldn’t be very professional, but also because she wanted to give others the option of leaving. Anxious or angry students, tired staff members, pleased parents… they could leave whenever they wished. You could leave whenever you wished. You could leave right now.

Then why aren’t you moving?

“Who is this?” You sniff, looking down at the plate in front of you, desperately trying to grasp for some control.

You agreed on dinner at some point. She took you up on it by surprise earlier that morning. The food, she said, was on her. The meal, cooked to perfection thanks to her skills, was supposed to be delicious. To anyone else, it would be. They’d have been nearly finished by now, praising her to the heavens and letting out little noises of appreciation. But you know what she is. And you know that you’ve never really been interested in eating people before.

“I don’t see why that matters,” is the smooth response you get - quickly followed by the clink of silverware and the cut of meat and the gentle hum of a woman satisfied. You can’t bring yourself to look up.

“…Did they deserve it?” You’re not sure of what else to ask - you just know that you don’t want to leave. You would never admit that out loud, never willingly, but it’s the truth. You are the killer’s favorite. You are safe. You are better than them.

“Doesn’t everyone deserve it at some point or another?” Her voice is light and airy- twinkling with a complete lack of care.

“No,” is your immediate sharp response. It sort of slips off of your tongue by accident, but when you look up to gauge her reaction, you’re surprised to see not even a hint of shock or anger. Instead, all that paints her eyes is intense recognition. Like she knew you’d say that. Like she knew you were a morally correct hero hiding a dark heart.

“No?” Her fork spears a piece of meat. ‘Sirloin,’ she’d said when you first sat down. Yeah, right. “Why do you say that?”

You fix her with a look. A very obvious look. A look with a tilt of your head. One that says ‘You and I aren’t the same Larissa, but you know exactly what I mean.’ One that says ‘Don’t ask questions you already know the answers to.’ One that says, secretly, ‘I don’t know. I just know that I’ve been told no good soul deserves death.’

Your mouth, on the other hand, says “Just because we all end up dying doesn’t mean we all deserve it. There are some amazing people out there that would have made the world better if they were still around.”

She seems to think over your serious response, rolling it around within her vast mind. While she formulates a suitable reply, her lips move with each chew of her steak - you try hard not to focus on that. When it comes to killers, good ones at least, there’s always that thing said about them: they’re charming; handsome or pretty; they’re alluring in a way that no “normal human” could be. Larissa Weems has never been the exception. She is no different. It can be disturbingly easy to get lost in the other things she has to offer. Like her beauty. Or her intelligence. Or the way her eye contact makes you feel like the most important, most recognizable, most wonderful thing in the entire world. You’d compare her to a drug but she is something worse than that. She is an aura. A feeling. She is something entirely different. You think it’s partly due to her outcast status. She’s not a ‘fur’ or a ‘fang’ or a ‘scale’ or a ‘stoner’. She’s not just regularly odd or eccentric. She’s not even mythical.

And yet?

And yet.

The very atoms in her body, the skin across her bones and veins and muscles, the makeup of her organs, can shift shape. Can adjust. The image is crafted in her mind and suddenly is mirrored onto her body. You’d never seen it in person, up close, but you know it’s true. You know it’s a wondrous thing to see. You know some sick desperate hungry part of you twists with the desire to watch her body become something entirely different. You know you want to see her in her element.

Whether it’s bloody or not.

“You either die a hero or live long enough to see yourself become the villain… I think that sums it up perfectly. The longer a person stays in good health, the more bitter they become. No one truly wants to live forever, Y/n. You know this…,” Larissa pauses, taking a moment to slip her long fingers under and around the belly of her wine glass so she can take a sip. You watch as her throat moves with a swallow. “…And those who go against nature and insist that they do want to live forever, that they’ll somehow find the world to be better as the years go on, well…,” blue eyes suddenly move to you, slicing into your gaze. “They’re liars, of course.”

Of course.

Liars. Of course.

You know it’s the truth.

You hate when she’s right.

You hate when she knows she’s right. There’s that playful little sign in her eyes, glowing with satisfaction, glowing like the cat who captured the mouse.

“I hate you.” It’s a small whisper. A little defeat. Another start to the same cycle. You indulge her, you meet with her, you keep her secret, you dip into your own psyche and pull out your weird fascination with her mind. You go at it until you find yourself becoming tired of thinking so much. Then you tell her you hate her. Or you yell at her. Or you storm out or slam the door or just fall silent and allow for the excitement to pitter out into nothing. But eventually, every time, at some point, you let it die.

Only to revive it again. Only to get lost, once more, in her beauty and allure. Her stupidly literal killer charm. Her strange instinctive ability to easily slip out of trouble and cover her tracks. Not that there were many tracks to cover in the first place. She’s very very good. Worryingly good. No one suspects a thing.

You could fix that, though.

You could put an end to her reign of terror.

You could say one word, provide one sample of one of her dinners, drop a hint or two, and she’d be placed behind bars faster than you could blink.

You could save so many people.

You can save so many people.

You can snatch up a piece of the cold meat on your plate, walk right out of her office, and race down to the Nevermore van. You can do it. You’re not terribly fast but adrenaline pushes the human limit. And though you’re not human- seeing as you can control fire- you’re not too keen on burning her alive. Such an act would probably result in Nevermore’s demise as well - and that would break your heart.

Would Larissa’s death break your heart?

You look up from your hands and study her face. There’s a sudden tiredness there. It’s small, minuscule, but the lines in her skin look deeper and the weariness in her gaze looks shinier and the mask, you realize, has slipped. She’s frowning- not a lot but just enough. And she’s not looking at you. Well, she is, but not into your eyes like she usually does. No, no, she’s staring at… at your chest. At your heart. You’re sure she doesn’t have X-ray vision but some part of you wonders if that’s what she’s trying so hard to see. Your pumping life. Your beating force. If it expands and contracts for her and her only… or if it breathes to destroy her. If any of her interest, her fascination, even matters in the first place. She’s never told you why you’re so special; so important; so cherished, but that doesn’t deter her from her advances. From her fluttered lashes or easy smiles or husky laughs or occasional indulging conversation. It’s not seduction at its finest, but stalking at its lowest. Like she’s watching you through the underbrush and you know she’s there and she knows that you know she’s there and you both stand still because maybe, by some miracle, if you don’t move, you can enjoy the silent attention of each other for just a little longer. Because you can’t help but think that maybe if she were more normal and more caring and didn’t enjoy the taste of long pork over the taste of regular pork, you’d be able to somehow fall in love with her. Start a life with her. And not have to worry about her waking up one day and deciding that she wants to prepare and plate your kidneys for supper.

Would Larissa’s death break your heart?

You hear her clear her throat. You watch as she takes another sip of wine. You see her hand shake. You see the appetite she once had perish on her tongue.

“I hate you,” you’d said.

Did you mean it?

Will you ever mean it?

Why are you doing this to yourself?

Why do you love her?

Why does she not see it?

“I know,” is Larissa’s final response. Something dies behind her eyes. “I know.”

And the cycle continues.

«——..✞..——»

A swift dive into some stranger fic topics. I figure if Larissa were to be a ‘baddie’, she’d be a cannibal. I may make this part of a little series of scenarios. Hope you’re all doing well. - Rip x

«——..✞..——»

#dead dove #dead dove oneshot #dead dove fic #dead dove do not eat #larissa weems #fanfictionwriter #rippersz #fanfic #fanfiction #larissa weems x reader #larissa weems x y/n #larissa weems x you #oneshot #psychological horror #cannibals??? #Larissa Weems how could you #I love her don’t tell her I said that #darkfic #dark fic #cannibal larissa weems

[madelynraemunson]

mini series

GO BACK | NEXT LEVEL 🔒 | theme song: new divide - linkin park

player zero: level one

ᴡʜᴇɴ ᴍᴇᴛᴀQᴜᴇꜱᴛ ᴄʜᴏᴏꜱᴇꜱ ʏᴏᴜ — ᴀ ꜱᴛʀᴀɴɢᴇʀ ᴛʜɪɴɢꜱ ꜱᴜᴘᴇʀ ꜰᴀɴ — ᴛᴏ ᴛᴇꜱᴛ ᴏᴜᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴠɪʀᴛᴜᴀʟ ʀᴇᴀʟɪᴛʏ (ᴠʀ) ɢᴀᴍᴇ ᴀᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ʟᴀꜱ ᴠᴇɢᴀꜱ ꜱᴘʜᴇʀᴇ, ʏᴏᴜ ꜱᴏᴍᴇʜᴏᴡ ꜰɪɴᴅ ʏᴏᴜʀꜱᴇʟꜰ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴀᴄᴛᴜᴀʟ ꜱʜᴏᴡ.

I remember black skies, the lightning all around me.

disclaimers: 18+, psychological thriller, blood, violence, sexual themes, swearing, reader interacts with the st characters, eddie falls for reader who goes by “zero/000, player zero”, reader’s gender identity isn’t specified but does have a vagina, unintentional plot divergence, upside down exists, vecna/001/henry exists, everything is basically canon until reader shows up… 😳, joseph quinn cameo at the end | pairing: eddie munson x reader x joseph quinn

a/n: enjoy everyone! i’m sorry this took so long to come out but i am committed to only releasing my best work to you guys 🩶 i hope you all enjoy level 001!!

[WC: 2.0k words]

“Player Zero…do you copy?”

🎮

By the grace of your headset, you begin to scan the dark, almost void-like, aperture that’s hijacked your surroundings.

“Copy,” you report back to James.

“Excellent.”

Everything around you is black, a noisy puddle sits at your feet. The room is crisp from the AC, and the props smell like rubber tires. And soon, with a push of a button, you will come face to face with the Mind Flayer, saving everyone from this ill-fated town once and for all.

You can’t believe this. What thousands will pay to do, you get to experience for free, having been one of the few selected to try out the new Stranger Things: Virtual Reality Game at the Las Vegas Sphere. (Not to mention, you're the biggest Stranger Things fan in your hometown and quite possibly the biggest Joseph Quinn fan in the state of Nevada).

Eddie's death left you completely shattered. He just fit in so well with the older members of the party that you were almost certain the Duffers would keep him around. But to your despair, alongside many others, they did what they do best and killed off another fan favorite.

But there was something beautiful that came out of Eddie's death. Because of Stranger Things 4, Joseph Quinn has been getting booked for acting gigs left and right, getting asked to come to fan conventions, and you were able to find a community on Tumblr who shared the same love for him and Eddie Munson, and with that notion alone, means the silly metalhead lives on through you guys.

Your dream is to meet Joe one day. You’ve been frantically saving up for the day you get to hug him and thank him for everything he’s done for you and others. Whenever that may be. Until then, all you could do is support his work and contribute to all of his supporting franchises. Much like this one.

“I can’t wait to tell all my mutuals all about this game,” you think to yourself.

James permits you to walk around in order to adapt to your environment. You’re already planning what to tell your friends based on your observations so far. But since pictures aren't allowed, your phone remains in your back pocket for the time being.

“Alright Player Zero,” your guide further instructs you. “You’re going to walk through the gate. And from there the game will begin.”

“And what if I need to pee?”

The comment earns you a chuckle from James. “That’s fine. You’ll just have to take your headset off and call out to me.”

James asks you if you have any other questions. You couldn’t help yourself.

“Will I interact with any characters? Like Eddie?”

“No Eddie unfortunately, it’s primarily the Mind Flayer,” James answers honestly. “Goal of the game is to fight the monster.”

“Understood,” you pout in disappointment.

“Hey but I’ll be surprised if you run into anyone though,” James laughs. “Tell ‘em I say hi if you do.”

Just then, a neon orange projection appears from the corner of your eyes, followed by some squelching noises that gnaw uncomfortably at your ears. And as you get closer to it, you can hear the shrieks of some very familiar, unearthly creatures.

“Walk through the gate now, Zero,” James instructs you.

You take a deep breath, a little scared at how vivid the graphics are but reassuring yourself that all of this is just a game.

“Walking,” you report.

Hobbling into the gate, the synthetic warmth massages your ankle as you squeeze your way on in. You land on the bottom tier, a floor below the floor you started on... one that you weren't aware existed until you continued to walk around.

“This isn’t so bad,” you mutter to yourself.

Just then, the noise around you cuts off and your headset broadcasts to black.

Tssssss.

Unsure whether or not this was part of the game, you continue to tread around the nothingness that is around you. Holding your arms out to keep your balance doesn’t seem to help, because the more you graze onto nothing, the more panicked you become.

This is odd. Where’s the Mind Flayer?

“James?!” you call out, your heart nearly beating out of your chest now.

Nothing.

Suddenly, obnoxious TV static overpowers your headspace. It’s accompanied by lightheadedness, the brightness of it all mercilessly stinging your eyes, and the high-pitched feedback noise that soon fills your ears is probably enough to make you go deaf for the day. Great, now you know why this is a trial run.

“James!” you hiss again quietly. “Anyone?!”

No response. You were never warned about this part. Was this even supposed to happen?

Absolutely frustrated now, you reach for your headset to get out of the game yourself. But to your surprise, you’re stunned to have gotten two palms full of your hair, and part of your face. There was no headset on your head. You’re walking in a void of nothingness, with no one around to help you.

“I need to pee…” is your final attempt to connect with somebody.

The ear-piercing, scratching sounds start up once again. This time grainier, louder. It continues for a while as you run around in a panic before halting to complete radio. silence.

“Wh-” you pant. “What’s happeni-”

JOLT!

“OH SHIT!”

You’re then met with an abrupt, devastating PUSH that sends you flying across the room and down — what you could only describe as — an endless black hole. Your hand clutches at your chest as an attempt to soothe yourself. You’re almost sure your heart stopped for a minute due to absolute shock.

SMACK!

In a millisecond, your body lands on a prickly patch that you soon make up to be loose straws of hay. Blending into the scenery now is that of a remote grass field, with the smell of fresh trees and newly cut blades of grass dancing around your nose.

You can’t think of any place in Las Vegas that would have a barren field like this. Nor can you think of a town nearby with this much of a Midwestern flare, this much empty — and grassy — land, and this much Kodak green undertone to its atmosphere. Unless…

It can’t possibly be. Are you in Hawkins?

You're standing around like an idiot trying to figure out how this could've possibly happened.

You knew this experience was 'all-immersive', but judging by the description, you were supposed to be taken to the Upside Down... and the backwoods by Reefer Rick's hideout was a long commute from. Was this Mind Fight going to be after-the-fact?

Trudging towards Reefer Rick’s now, you begin to think of other ways to get James' attention. But when you hear the faint voice of someone else coming from inside the abandoned lake house, suddenly getting out of the game becomes less of a priority.

“Eddie…” the familiar voice softly commands.

Eddie?

The voice you register belongs to no one other than Gaten Matarazzo, or Dustin Henderson in this sense. But that’s impossible, you think to yourself. James said that there were no characters in the game.

“We are on... your side...”

Oh, it’s this scene. Peaking through the door that was open a mere three inches, you're stunned to see the four dimensional manifestations of the characters you've grown to love right in front of your very eyes.

IMPOSSIBLE.

It's them. You almost stumble backwards when you see Sadie Sink and Maya Hawke alongside Gaten; and despite having their backs towards you, you know it is for sure them, and not some workers hired to play the part.

Your eyes travel to the corner of the room. Very much to your surprise, evident by the butterflies in your stomach, you're met with Joe Keery as Steve Harrington, and Joseph Quinn... the love of your life... in the flesh... your Eddie. Both characters are too focused on each other to even register your presence. If they are even able to see you at all.

You continue to be the fly on the wall while taking a few collected deep breaths. There's no way that they're in front of you right now. There's no way a whole SCENE from the show is panning out in front of you right now. Almost as if it's real time.

“I swear on my mother!” Gaten Dustin continues, trying to reason with Eddie so he can drop the knife and let go of Steve. He turns to the others for help.

“Right?! Guys?!”

“Yes, yes we swear,” the party clamors together in attempts to calm Eddie down.

“On Dustin’s mother,” Maya Robin attempts.

“Yeah, Dustin’s…Dustin’s mother…”

Keery’s voice is strained as he gulps in fear. Reasonably so, because there’s a knife pointed at his throat in this scene.

You clear yours at the doorway, causing everyone to deadpan to you in shock. So they can see you. And sure enough when this happens, that’s when your gaze lands on him. And his gaze lands on you.

It’s insane. It’s like you are looking Joseph Quinn in the eyes, but at the same time, it’s not him. It is literally — Eddie Munson. He's even more beautiful than you imagined.

“On Dustin’s mother?” you speak.

“Jesus, where did YOU spawn from?!” Gaten Dustin exclaims.

“Who’s that?” Sadie Max wonders.

“I…don’t know,” Maya Robin answers.

Immediately, Dustin runs to shield Eddie from your sight. But it’s already too late. And plus, Eddie’s eyes have already met yours. Studied yours.

“I’m…” you speak. “I’m here to help.”

You figured while James figures out what the actual fuck is wrong, that you’d interact with the characters. They’re right in front of you after all, and actually responding.

"I'm Zero..." you explain to them. "I'm not... I'm not from here, but I know a hell of a lot about this place. A lot more than you guys think."

“You know about what’s going on around here?” Robin inquires.

You nod. “And I know part of who is behind it all, and what we can do to stop him.”

"H...him?"

Eddie's timid stare pierces straight into you. It's enough for your knees to buckle, but you know you have to keep yourself collected otherwise the projections of these characters would probably freak out at you.

You hear a tiny thud sound against the wooden floor. Eddie has dropped the knife. Breathing a sigh of relief now, Steve sinks to the ground to gather himself. Meanwhile, a small circle gathers around you.

“There are… greater forces at bay,” you explain. “And it goes way beyond what you know about the demogorgons, the shadow monster, the Mind Flayer… There’s this... really powerful warlock…and a shadow that looms over him to do some really horrible things. And it’s not who you’d expect.”

“You know about those too?” Steve asks.

You nod. Eddie only seems more confused.

"A lot more than you know..." you warn him. "Trust."

"What else do you know about?" Dustin questions.

"I know about Eleven, and Will," you answer. "And how they're safer in California than here, but that doesn't necessarily exempt them from danger."

They all exchange looks with one another.

You can't help but look over at Eddie again.

"I know what happened to Chrissy," you say to him. He looks back up at you. "She's that nice girl from the middle school talent show, right?"

"I left her there," is all he says. He knows you understand what he meant by it. "I'm just a coward."

"You're not a coward, Eddie. Nothing you could've done could've prevented what happened at the trailer."

“Zero…” Dustin whispers to himself. Then he looks up at you with suspicion. Pointing an accusatory finger at you, he says, "How do we know you weren't sent by Hawkins Lab to spy on us?! You're a number after all."

"I'm not a number from the lab, trust me," you roll your eyes, slightly annoyed at Curly and his superstition. But it makes sense. "I don't even know Eleven, okay? Just think of me as... a guardian. From another universe. I think I was sent here to help you guys. I know how this shit ends, after all."

“How does it end?” Eddie asks you. “F-for us? For me?”

You turn to him in anguish.

“Not well, I’m afraid,” you respond honestly. “But if you guys are open to my help, I can get us out of this mess unscathed. Build up some leeway.”

You turn to Max who only seems to be backing further away from you. It's definitely in her character to do so, Maxine has always struggled to ask for help. But you know, deep down in those fearful blue eyes, she wants your help as much as she wants to run away from it.

"And we're gonna break you out of that curse," you say to her.

You're no expert on the laws of space-time, but it doesn't take a scientist to realize that you're in a different Hawkins reality. And knowing there are countless outcomes and experiences for existence, you can make this reality your own.

Which means, if you choose to stay in this 'game', and play the cards correctly, the Eddie standing directly in front of you has a second chance at life.

Now’s your chance to fix it. And experience an altered timeline. You don't know how this is possible, but it is. And after all, the Rule of Probability states, "the probability of an impossible event is Zero."

“If you guys want to save everyone in Hawkins, including Eddie and Max, you guys have to do EXACTLY what I say do you understand?”

taglist: @winchester-angel, @arthurcerverogf, @damon-loves-pie, @breezybeesposts, @swiss-mrs,@leelei1980, @skulliecadaver-blog, @katethetank, @mexicanfolklore, @ali-r3n, @nailbatanddungeon, @hugdealer, @wtflindsay, @yourdailymemedelivery, @kellsck, @kthomps914, @daydream-believer19

cyberpunk dividers from: @k1ssyoursister @sillycircus-decoarchive

#eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction #joseph quinn #joe quinn #joseph quinn fanfiction #stranger things #stranger things 4 #stranger things fanfiction #psychological thriller

[indybob]

My paranoid ass every few days when there haven’t been many new Hangster uploads on ao3: OMG OMG THE COMMUNITY IS DEAD. HANGSTER IS GOING TO DIE AND NOBODY IS GOING TO BE AROUND TO READ/WRITE FICS AND SCREAM ABOUT THEM WITH ME!!

Me, the next day when there’s like 10 new uploads: hahaha, never mind

#the chokehold they have on me needs to be studied #they could create a whole new branch of psychological study off of it #I may be a bit dramatic what’s your point? #sereshaw #hangster #hangster fanfiction #bradley rooster bradshaw #jake hangman seresin #top gun maverick

[tiredkitten]

Cillian Murphy as Martin Kennedy in Retreat (2011)

#cillian murphy fanfiction #cillian x reader #cillian murphy #peaky blinders x reader #tommy shelby x reader #peaky blinders #moviegifs #retreat 2011 #thriller #psychological thriller

[centaur-dreaming]

Real legit thing that just happened to me

My (young, teenaged) cousin after being asked if he’s excited for any movies coming out: Uhh not Barbie…but there’s a movie coming out in October called Five Nights At Freddy’s but you probably haven’t heard of it

Me, having a very intense flashback to when I wrote one single FNAF fanfic on WattPad for iPad mini at the tender age of 11: Yeah, can’t say I have

#when I tell you I froze #thousand yard stare or whatever it’s called inducing type shit #for the record: It was NOT smut. It was a perfectly innocent ‘Ask the FNAF crew’ fic #and as many will remember they were very popular at that time #but it was still fnaf fanfiction and boy has it has a lasting psychological impact…. #this child really had no idea of the inner turmoil he just unleashed fr #anyway #fnaf #five nights at freddy's #fnaf movie #five nights at Freddy’s movie #josh hutcherson

[aaeeart]

I feel guilty about this one :')

Wanna read something evil? Read the fanfic under the cut!

New addition from the Inquisitor Kanan AU, this one is from Fortress Inquisitorius and will have some unsettling stuff (Fallen Order and Rebels were mean to captured Jedi and so am I), like you know, torture. Just fyi if you don't approve, don't read 😄 I'm posting these excerpts randomly so far - no reading order yet, take it or leave it >:)

But for some quick info, you know what this is, the jedi gets snatched, Empire is mean, the jedi is sad.

Kanan flinched awake, a dream in his head quickly dissipating leaving behind confusion and a gradual understanding. He was in a dimly lit cell in an uncomfortable interrogation chair he had occupied since his arrival at Fortress Inquisitorius. Still bound from his chest to legs, still just as much hopeless as he has been before he finally fell asleep.

His gaze fixed on the opposing wall, his features contorting as he struggled to control the tightness in his facial muscles that lingered from the fading dream. Though the specifics eluded him, he could recall the Ghost and his crew engaged in conversation, a stark contrast to his current reality. The dream had offered a temporary respite, only to further accentuate his misery upon waking.

Lost in his thoughts of the elusive fantasy, Kanan became aware of another presence only when the purge trooper made a sharp movement to his right. The trooper stood by the red barrier, assuming a stance that suggested he was surely due to be changing shifts soon.

A mischievous grin formed on Kanan’s face as he spoke, his voice laced with mockery and a touch of wonder.

„You know,“ he taunted, relishing in the opportunity to undermine the trooper’s intimidating facade, „I’ve encountered more fearsome guards at a droid spa. Straight backs and all that, you know?“ The trooper’s shoulder twitched in response to the prisoner’s remark, prompting him to adopt a more rigid and militaristic pose. Kanan chuckled inwardly, thoroughly amused by the trooper’s reaction. „Honestly, they'll have anyone guarding important people these days, wouldn’t you agree?“

Seething with anger, the trooper clenched his fist, but before he could formulate a retort, an urgent beeping emanated from his wrist com. The trooper’s helmet crackled with a distorted voice demanding his presence elsewhere. Casting a – Kanan imagined a resentful glare on his undoubtedly ugly face – at the jedi, the trooper reached for his belt pocket and deactivated the red barrier with his key card, leaving Kanan alone once more.

In the ensuing solitude, Kanan took a deep breath, attuning his senses to the surrounding environment. Though meditation proved challenging within these confines, it still offered a means to gather strength and fortify his resolve. As he struggled to calm his racing thoughts, a traitorous voice whispered in his mind, sowing seeds of doubt and despair.

"Hera didn't come for you," the voice insidiously murmured. Kanan bit his lip, determined to silence the treacherous inner dialogue. "They left you," the voice persisted, its relentless persistence threatening to erode his resolve. Frowning, Kanan pushed back against the voice, "I'm at peace with my choice." he whispered to himself and let the bubbling anger cool off. "They're safe. They're alive."

The truth of his words resonated within him. He knew deep down that he would feel it if something had befallen his crew. Besides, the Grand Inquisitor would undoubtedly relish in taunting him with such information. The Inquisitor rarely left the moon anymore, especially not since a few days ago, when apparently Lord Vader himself gave his dark side puppets the order to break their new toy.

It turned out a new jedi came to Lothal. Ahsoka Tano. The realization brought a mix of glee and apprehension. Ahsoka was a legend among the padawans, Kanan recalled, the student of Anakin Skywalker.

He supposed it only made sense she survived the Purge. She left the jedi order near the end of the war.

"Fulcrum," the Grand Inquisitor had revealed during a previous encounter, his words still reverberating in Kanan's memory. "She is the one you've been receiving orders from." The revelation had shocked Kanan.

He spent so much time thinking he was the sole survivor and yet...

"You really didn't know," the Grand Inquisitor chuckled. "How dissapointing. And how inconsiderate of your captain, don't you think?"

Kanan felt a little betrayed at the thought. Did Hera know Fulcrum was a jedi? The Inquisitor picked up on the hesitation in a split second and tried his best to exploit it.

But he left the cell as frustrated by his failure to make Kanan succumb to his emotions as he did any other day, while Kanan, if he ignored the fact he wasn't escaping any time soon, or that his body felt like it could crumble to dust with each blow, slash or surge of electricity, he felt victorious as he smiled each time the Inquisitor lost patience and left.

Ever since Ahsoka's appearance however, his situation had deteriorated. Before, Kanan had endured each painful day with the belief that death would soon claim him due to his perceived uselessness. Now, he found himself staring into an abyss of uncertainty. He was not to be killed; he was to be broken, molded into one of the Inquisitors. Kanan understood the reason behind this decision—his connection to his crew and their association with Ahsoka made him the perfect bait.

"There is no hope," the small voice persisted, its insidious tone causing Kanan to sigh heavily. He raised his gaze toward the ceiling, fighting against the frog in his throat. The sounds outside his cell abruptly captured his attention, diverting his focus from the haunting voice within.

It couldn't be... Stretching out with his senses, Kanan sought the familiar Force signature amidst the suffocating darkness, but..

Ezra's voice, filled with determination and defiance, echoed through the corridor.

"No," Kanan whispered in disbelief and lost focus as thick fog of panic overwhelmed his senses.

No. No no no.

"You will take me to Kanan Jarrus." Ezra's voice commanded sharply.

"That won't work on us, kid." A cold answer from a trooper.

Then an amused laugh from the Grand Inquisitor. "You will see your master soon enough."

The heavy doors swung open, revealing the Grand Inquisitor and the troopers. Ezra's eyes widened as he spotted Kanan, his voice filled with relief. "Kanan!"

The Grand Inquisitor's sly smile twisted into a mocking grin. "Ah, Kanan Jarrus, our heroic Jedi master. Your padawan has been quite resourceful, breaking into our secured facilities to find you."

Meeting Ezra's gaze, Kanan saw relief flooding the young boy's face, mingled with a sense of urgency.

A surge of pride and concern welled up within Kanan. Ezra's gone to such lengths to save him? Doubts flitted through his mind, but the profound connection and familiarity that flowed between them dispelled any skepticism as their eyes locked in a steadfast gaze.

Fear consumed Kanan's being as desperation laced his voice. "What are you doing here?" he pleaded, struggling against the restraints that held him in place.

Ezra made to move towards Kanan, but the two Purge Troopers grasped his arms and held him back.

The Grand Inquisitor's voice dripped with sadistic satisfaction as he walked closer to Ezra. "Unfortunately, Kanan, your apprentice's bravery comes at a price," He paused and extended his hand towards one of the troopers and the armored soldier placed his electric baton in it.

Kanan growled urgently, his body contorting in a futile attempt to break free from the restraints, but he only managed to bruise himself.

The Inquisitor smiled and activated the baton. He spoke to Ezra. "It looks like your master doesn't wish to save you, boy."

"No!" Kanan yelled when the dark sider raised his hand. With a swift motion, he struck the boy, causing him to stagger and cry out in pain. In that moment, Kanan's crumbling walls collapsed, his heart overriding his logic with a single desperate goal.

Summoning every ounce of strength he had left within him, Kanan broke free from the chair, and hurled the Grand Inquisitor together with the Purge Troopers aside as he rushed toward Ezra. But as Kanan reached out to embrace the boy, his arms closed around empty air.

The illusion shattered before his eyes, leaving only a haunting void.

The Grand Inquisitor's laughter echoed through the cell.

Realization washed over Kanan like a chilling wave. He had been played. The weight of his failure settled upon his shoulders, crushing his spirit and extinguishing the fight within him.

Before Kanan could react, the Grand Inquisitor exerted a powerful Force push, slamming him against the cold floor, rendering him motionless once again. The Inquisitor knelt beside him, his gaze burning with sadistic pleasure.  

"Come now, Kanan," the Inquisitor taunted, his voice filled with malice. "Where's that charming smile of yours?" Kanan fought to calm his rapid breathing, his lips trembling into a thin line. The metallic scent of the cell invaded his nostrils as the Inquisitor continued to press him down.

He lost. He did exactly what the Inquisitor wanted and expected. He suddenly noticed how cold he felt, as if he just emerged from an icy pond…

In a moment of overwhelming vulnerability, Kanan flinched as the Inquisitor activated his crimson lightsaber, bringing it dangerously close to his face. Heat emanated from the blade, uncomfortably close to Kanan's skin.

A hand landed on the side of Kanan's head, tugging at his hair, still tied in a ponytail. The grip tightened, digging into his skin as the Inquisitor forced his head up, drawing it nearer to the blade.

Leaning forward, the Grand Inquisitor hissed into Kanan's ear, his voice laced with triumph. "You see, Kanan," he whispered, relishing in his victory. "You are not special. Everyone breaks within the walls of Fortress Inquisitorius, and you are no exception. You're just like the rest of us."

He let him go and the two imposing Purge Troopers forcibly lifted Kanan from the ground, dragging him back to the interrogation chair, strapping him in once again.

The Grand Inquisitor approached Kanan, his eyes burning with a sadistic fire. "Use the dark side, Kanan," he demanded, his voice dripping with malice. "Free yourself and embrace the power that awaits you."

Kanan clenched his jaw, his eyes filled with unwavering resolve and loathing. "No," he declared, the simple word filled with defiance.

The Grand Inquisitor's face twisted into a cruel smile. He retrieved the electro baton and pressed it against Kanan's chest. Agonizing pain coursed through his body and he screamed and the longer the pain lasted, the more did the scream sounded like an agonized wail followed unwittingly by tears. From the pain or for the shame of how easily he let himself be tricked, for himself...

The Inquisitor removed the baton.

Kanan took a long desperate breath, shaking from exhaustion. The Grand Inquisitor gripped Kanan's chin, his grip tightening with every word. "You are a fool, Kanan Jarrus," he sneered and forced the jedi to look him in the eye. "You will break, just like all the others, it's only a matter of time. And when you do, I will revel in your defeat."

He let him go, tossing the baton aside, waving his hand towards the electric torture device connected to the chair itself.

The excruciating pain wracked Kanan's body, his screams reverberating through the walls of the fortress.

TBC...

#star wars #star wars fanart #star wars rebels #kanan jarrus #swr fanart #artists on tumblr #art #digital art #fanart #fanfiction #star wars fanfiction #swr fanfic #kanan jarrus fanfiction #tw torture #tw psychological torture #tw electrocution #dark side #i need to write or draw something light-hearted after this this was exhausting :') #inquisitor!kanan au

[darkgodcomplex]

Reverend Wally

Wally X Reader

AO3 Link

Content Warning: Psychological Horror, Scopophobia, Religion and Religious Symbolism, Christianity, Demons

"Our father, who art in heaven-"

Hands clasped tightly together, you pray alone in front of the alter. It's far too late for anyone else to be here, but that is somehow more comforting in a time like this.

"-hallowed be Thy name; Thy kingdom come; Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven-"

You stare up at the large pillars of the church, the tall sharp architecture and the stained glass windows. If it were day, the windows would show the stations of the cross, going through the entirety of the crucifixion. Now though, they're only dark and hollow, the reflection of the candle's light on the surface mimicking eyes.

"Give us this day our daily bread; and forgive us our trespasses-"

Are you speaking to no one? Will no one answer your prayers?

"-as we forgive those who trespass against us; and lead us not into temptation-"

You feel a warm hand curl around your shoulder. They recite the last line of the prayer in unison with you.

"-but deliver us from evil."

You whip your head around only to see Father Wally Darling smiling down at you. You're used to seeing him in his mass attire, but now he wears more casual clothes. The only indication that he's a reverend is the small cross he adorns around his neck.

"Father-"

"Why are you here so late, my child?" He asks, tilting his head. His eyes are soft and kind, just as you always remember them.

"I-" You look at the floor, then back to the alter. "Father... have you ever performed an exorcism?"

He freezes, then chooses his words carefully. "Why would you be getting mixed up in such dark things?"

"I fear there is a demon following me." You tell him, standing from your kneeling position. "Or some dark energy, in the least."

Wally runs a hand over his chin, his eyes trained to the floor. "These things don't just appear. Did you-" His eyes flick up. "-invite them in somehow?"

"I swear, I have been faithful to you and our church." You bow your head. "But lately I feel as if I've been watched. Even now, I can feel the eyes boring into me." You glance around the dim chapel. The statues, the paintings, even the knots in the floorboards are eyes staring into your soul.

"Of course you have been loyal to me, my child." He grips your chin, moving your head so that you're staring into his eyes. "The only pair of eyes you have to worry about here are mine. This place is safe."

You grasp nervously at your hands, continuing to stare helplessly up at him. "Father, what am I to do?"

He lets go of your chin, running a hand through his hair. "We won't perform a exorcism, that is only for the most extreme of cases. We shall have a baptism of sorts."

"But I am already baptized." You tell him, confusion written all over your face.

"Of sorts, I said." Wally leads you up the steps to the alter. "It's bit different."

You let him take the lead, following his instructions as you set up the equipment. You've never heard of another type of baptism, but you trust that a reverend knows more about this than you do.

Once everything is set up, he motions with his hands, "Kneel before me, child."

You fall to your knees. It feels like worship.

He dips his hand into the water, bringing it to your face. You had watched him bless the water just moments earlier. He presses his thumb against your forehead, drawing some sort of shape. It doesn't feel like a cross.

"You've always been quite the dedicated follower." He whispers quietly, wet hand moving to now cup your cheek.

"Yes, father." You agree, unsure of where he is going with this.

"I wish to have you." He says, voice low. "What do you wish for in return?"

You blink up at him, "Have me?"

"Semantics." He brushes it off. "I merely mean to have you in the sense of a loyal worshipper of the church."

"Oh, okay." You pause. "I wish..."

What do you wish for?

"I wish to be safe."

"Oh, I would never let anything hurt you." He assures. Still, he extends his hand. "I wish to have you. You wish to be safe."

You're not quite sure what he expects from you, but you take his hand. He gives a large smile, holding your hand tight. "Thank you, my dear."

There's a gush of wind and the candles go out in the church, leaving you in darkness.

The eyes.

The only thing that is luminescent in the darkness are Wally's eyes. They glow, staring down at you. You yank away your hand, scrambling backwards as more eyes appear in the blackness. You have to escape.

You have the church layout memorized and move easily through the pews. The eyes appear everywhere, lighting your way. When you reach the door, you find that it's locked. You bang against it.

The window. Your hands scramble to find anything heavy. A small Jesus statue sits upon a table.

Sorry Jesus.

Taking the statue, you heave it against the window. Despite the statue's weight, the window doesn't shatter. It only stares down at you.

"Is this any way to act?" It's Wally's voice, but it's more distorted now. "I promised you that you would have your safety, didn’t I?"

"I didn't agree to this!" You protest, chest heaving. You feel cornered, the eyes are in every direction now.

"Oh, but you did." He laughs. "That's how it works, you shook my hand and made a wish. I'm keeping up my end of the deal."

Something grabs onto your ankle. You try to kick it off but it yanks you, making you fall to the floor.

"It's time to keep your end. Don't worry, I take good care of my playthings"

You're dragged further into the church, kicking and screaming.

This was never a holy place.

#wally darling #fanfic #fanfiction #horror #wally x you #welcome home #welcome home wally #psychological horror #religion #christianity #priest wally #wally x y/n #wally darling x reader #wally fanfic #scopophobia #demons

[hypercortical]

Erotic Self-Focus?

Have you heard of this psychological construct? You probably haven't because scientific research on sexual psychology has a poor track record when it comes to understanding features of sexuality unique to women. Erotic Self-Focus (ESF) is one such dimension of sexuality recently validated by Evan Fertel in their PhD dissertation, shown to be characteristic of women much more than men.

Fertel was only able to evaluate this construct in Cis Heterosexual men and women. I'd like to begin expanding our understanding of this construct to queer individuals. Particularly trans and cis women of varying sexual orientation. Of course, everyone 18 and older is welcome to take this survey.

did I mention I have a survey? (survey is hosted on Google Apps Scripts to allow further customization of the Google Forms survey)

(just click the underlined text) thank you!!

#feminism #transgender #trans #lgbtq #psychology #transsexual #lgbtqia #lesbian #sapphic #bisexual #social justice #transfem #nonbinary #lgbt #queer #gender #smut #fanfic #fan fic #fanfiction #fan fiction #uquiz #personality quiz #fandom

[snapeaddict]

Snapetober Day 4 - Home

Based on this engrossing article I was reading a few days ago whose thesis centers around the idea that the major flaw in Dumbledore's plan was refusing to tell Severus about the Elder Wand, to give him a chance at a future life free from spiritual burden. It's a really emotional read which uncovers many beautiful symbolic parallels - highly recommend it!

August, 1998

“They look better, my boy. I’m sure they will fade eventually.”

Severus did not reply. He wasn’t looking at the portrait, or at anything, really: there was nothing in that damned office he wished to see even a minute longer. Anything related to this place made him feel nauseous. Disgusted.

The painting, above him, cleared his throat.

“And what are you planning to do now, Severus?” The painted Dumbledore peered at him carefully, lowering his head slightly. “You are very young still. You have your whole life in front of you.”

Still, no reply.

“I have made some arrangements”, Albus continued hesitantly, his tone humble. “Funding. For your research.”

“You have what?” Severus snapped.

None of the surrounding portraits uttered the slightest protest at this tone, clearly used to Severus' colourful, and often justified, outbursts: it was a testimony to the long-established, tumultuous relationship between the Slytherin and former headmaster.

“I figured this is what you’d like to do”, Albus replied tentatively. “More experiments - publications. You could stay at Hogwarts, too: take whatever post you’d like. Or simply remain in your quarters, on research leave -”

“I don’t want your money, Dumbledore”, Severus cut acidly.

The man in the portrait clasped his hands compulsively.

He was nervous, it seemed.

A strange development.

“Severus, it was not my intention-”

“Why didn’t you tell me about the Elder Wand, Albus? You could have. It would have made everything easier. Less precarious. It was the flaw in your plan, you knew it - or rather, when your plans went awry, sharing that knowledge would have allowed us to correct them. Why... didn’t you tell me?”

There was a short pause, during which Dumbledore, for a rare few seconds, seemed at a loss for words.

“You were to become its master”, the old man eventually replied, slowly. “I did not wish you to be burdened with this. You deserved a fresh start in life, free from the weight of such a deadly instrument.”

The younger man’s facial muscles contracted. He closed his eyes, and Dumbledore dared not speak again.

“You put everything, everything at risk, so that I could live on without – but I was to live without you, wasn’t I? Having killed you, and lied for you, and given everything to you - but you, you couldn’t put your damn feelings aside, what you ask of others you cannot do yourself – and you expect me to accept this, to take back a job here, to go on? You dare look at me and talk to me about a life – do you know how many died?”

This time, it was he who was looking at the portrait, and the portrait that was looking away.

After all these years, shame had finally changed sides.

“I can never forgive you for this, Dumbledore”, Severus said quietly. “Never”.

A pause.

“I understand.”

Could portraits cry, too?

“I just wanted… I wanted to give you a real home here after everything, Severus", the painting whispered. "A safe home. No charge, no duty - just a home.”

Severus turned on his heel. He couldn't - he just couldn't.

But at the threshold, he stopped, his hand on the door handle. He closed his eyes again, breathing in and then out: something was happening. He welcomed the feeling; he examined it carefully.

Coming from the bottom of his soul, a wave of relief rushed over the farthest corners of his inner self, extinguishing the cold fury that had, a moment before, threatened to burst out with brutish strength. His gaze remained fixated on the handle.

This was the last time, he realised.

The last time.

He looked back.

“This was never my home, Albus. You of all people should know that.”

And he left, and the painted eyes followed his silhouette until it disappeared, they lingered where he had stood. Their bearer, though not quite alive, felt something akin to grief spread in his chest; and he looked and looked and kept looking at the staircase where Severus had gone, muttering to himself quietly, obsessively: can you ever forgive me for loving you so?

-

Minerva watched silently as he came down the staircase, a curtain of black hair hiding his face.

Severus had asked her to wait for him here; to listen to what he had to say.

His gaze met hers. He nodded.

It was rather strange, and he refused to confront the fact as of now, but since the war had ended, he felt… weak. Scared. Fragile.

Lost, too.

He also felt, and that was not a paradox, revengeful. He had not found in him the strength to confront Albus one more time without the knowledge that Minerva was near, for some stupid or cowardly reason - but it had also felt strangely satisfying to know, as he was speaking with the man, that she was there, very near, that she could hear it all.

That there were no more secrets; that Albus was the only one to not know she was here.

She smiled at him encouragingly, but he did not smile back. She climbed a few steps and reached out to him, pressing his hand into hers for a second.

“You did well.”

“I lied to him.”

“It is your right.”

“I mean – I lied to him, when I said Hogwarts is not my home. I think it is. Despite everything.”

Because a home could be unsafe; it could let you down, repeatedly; it could turn against you, watch you lose yourself and drown almost completely, and yet be the only homely place you've ever known.

When fear, threat and loneliness become a habit, they start to bring comfort, too.

Slowly, with movements that could only be described as motherly, Minerva pulled him in a tight embrace. She felt his body relax, and she held him tighter still, vaguely hoping that the longer this lasted, the more relief she could bring him.

“It is time for you to leave home, Severus. It is time for you to breathe.”

#Again this goes outside of my comfort zone because as you know I'm not into Severus surviving the war at all - #whether regarding the symbolic system he is inscribed in #the psychology of the character or the narrative his death is a perfect and inevitable unfolding for me. #But I love the idea of Dumbledore's love getting in the way of things #And I love the idea that Severus was the strongest of them both #He could sacrifice Albus #Albus could not sacrifice Severus #pro snape #albus dumbledore #severus snape #minerva mcgonagall #snapetober #snapetober 2023 #snapedom #severus snape fanfiction

[d33pwithinmys0ul]

It’s been a while so time to reintroduce my fanfic, I Only Have Eyes For U137

Ch. 21/21 50k words completeish- Series Part 1 (two continuation fics)

NSFW 18+ ONLY

second person self insert female reader

TW addiction, emotional abuse/distress, smut, other tags on ao3

Summary: You stared longingly at the last call you had with Rick. It felt like forever. He was shitfaced when he called you. You could barely understand his words between hiccups and mumbling, it almost sounded like he was crying. All the while he called you incompetent. Worthless. A useless anomaly in the perfection of his adventurous lifestyle. A parasite. And that he wanted you more than anything. He missed you.

#rick and morty #rick sanchez #rick sanchez x reader #rickfucker #female reader #psychological drama #some smut #i only have eyes for u137 #u137verse #ao3 fanfic #rick sanchez fanfiction #fanfic

[stilemawillow]

Heat Has Never Felt So Good [Levi | Cadet! Reader]

Silence - heavy, taut with tension like a guitar's string and gelid in the middle of the most scorching summer heat the generations had encountered - such silence was a bringer of dreaded rejection and shameful humility. Struggling to stay erect and stoic subsequently to the inappropriate suggestion you'd voiced a moment prior, you observed the desk before you with excessive fascination in spite of the painful brightness it reflected straight into your eyes. The cool air in the office hindered not the nervous beads of sweat in their journey along your temple and so they travelled, inexorably reminding you of the reason for their unwanted presence.

Your diffident gaze adroitly slid over to the figure sitting behind the desk you'd considered your saving grace mere seconds ago - the man with his slicked-back ebony hair whose natural response to the heat outside was nowhere to be seen. Levi was staring at you, silent and frowning, as his fingers soundlessly held the collar of his button-up shirt. The window behind his back was closed in order to preserve the room's blissful temperature but you could still hear the birds twittering outside, innocent chirps mashing with the anguished groans of cadets in the training field - cadets whose pained calls you were supposed to be apart of. Instead, you'd been summoned to the Lance Corporal's office, admonished for your poor performance following the coming of summer and prompted to offer a suitable explanation.

In truth, everybody's performance had been severely affected by the heat, but your case was exceptional because you were contending for a place on the Special Operation's Squad and such a show of inexplicable weakness was a big chink in the seemingly perfect armour of reliability and potential you'd created for yourself. Levi wouldn't make such a chink part of his squad and, despite having won his sympathies as a person, you had no way of softening the merciless nature of his role as your strict superior. So you'd tried to explain with as much dignity as possible that your disgraceful mistakes were a result of sleep deprivation, which, in turn, was caused by the terrible heat. Since early childhood, you'd shown signs of susceptibility to hot weather but this summer had evidently hit you harder than any other.

Levi had glared in a rather condescending way before questioning if your only problem was truly the lack of proper sleep, to which you'd nodded your head, recklessly adding that he had no way of relating to your experience since the stone walls of his office and personal quarters shared no similarities with the dorms' wooden edifice and its incapability to ward off the summer heat. Then, to his sarcastic question of 'what can be done about that?', you'd flippantly stated that a good sleep in a cold bed such as his would appear to be the perfect remedy - in fact, knowing he seldom slept in his quarters, maybe he could lend you them for the summer weeks to come.

And here lay the moment of truth, tugging at the painful silence and rushing it out of the closed window as you fearfully eyed the ebony-haired superior and his oddly slovenly appearance - his white cravat carelessly draped around his neck, the first three buttons of his shirt undone and its entirety untucked - the uncanny negligence made the orderly man look quite unlike himself. Maybe his attire had wrongly led to you believe his character would also bear a particular change for the better. His ashen hues glared but his furrowed brow briefly twitched as a reluctant sigh slipped past his pouting lips.

"... so be it. If sleeping in my bed will affect your skills positively I'll be escorting you back here after dinner this very evening." The cold voice left no place for objection, filling your whole body with heavenly alleviation and colourful butterflies, flapping their wings in exultation. You saluted, a dopey smile on your lips as your mind attempted to dispel the overwhelming feeling of complete and utter transfixion holding power over it.

"I hope you'll give me some time to collect my belongings beforehand." The tremulous timbre of your voice didn't go unnoticed by your superior, who was obviously set on presenting your wistful self with his point of view. Both, as was to be expected, differed greatly and while yours had been a plan of action borne of embarrassment meant to excuse your imminent appearance in his personal quarters, his had committed to the idea of your residence and taken the liberty of being as efficient and prompt as possible.

"There would be no need, I'll get them." The curt statement made your clenched fist flinch in startlement as the ebony-haired male gazed down at the papers on his desk after giving your wide eyes a good calculating look. "Dismissed. I'm certain the remainder of your training will be flawless, seeing as you've secured your good night's sleep." The latent derision holding hands with his stern command unfailingly managed to chip away at your armour additionally. Your brows furrowed in repressed defiance as the natural compliant response you had to speak struggled to come into being, making the male curiously glance at your hesitant countenance.

"... it will, sir." Shamefully dropping your gaze to the ground at your feet, you turned to the exit and frowned all the way to the training field, unaware of the involuntary sigh Levi's lips had delivered at the fading sound of your footsteps. Slender fingers coming to pinch the bridge of his nose, the Lance Corporal angrily berated his stupidity in a low voice full of disappointment as the image of your childish pout kept surfacing. The next five minutes he spent leaning back against his chair and muttering curses at himself, with the occasional fatigued sigh making an appearance. Once he concluded nothing inappropriate would come of your temporary stay in his quarters he resumed his work, spitefully clicking his tongue twice as often for the rest of the afternoon.

His hand prompted you to walk through the door with a gentle motion that made your lips purse in rigidity so inane it would've drawn laughter from a corpse. You looked at the interior of the superior's room with hardly masked zest, nightwear clenched by your fidgety fingers as Levi closed the door behind himself. A floorboard gave a moaning creak when you made a small step forth, making your brows knit in halting uncertainty as your shoulders tensed, intimidated by the big bed under the window you were to sleep in. It was strange, you could feel the trickling sweat down the back of your neck though you were well aware it wasn't there - a vaporous phantom that made goosebumps complain in their wake down the length of your arms.

"You won't receive an official invitation, (L/N)." The deep voice made your shoulders jump as the stoic male opened the wardrobe in the corner of the relatively empty room and took a simple cotton shirt and pants from its insides. You caught a glimpse of three separate shelves, each of which was stacked with clothes painted in different representatives of the colour spectrum - white, grey and black respectively. A pair of piercing ashen hues bore into your orbs before their owner snorted in mild amusement. "I'm taking a shower. You may use it as an opportunity to change and tuck yourself in since I'm not your mother and I don't plan on babying you."

"Yes, sir. I'm sorry for the inconvenience." You forced out as calmly as was feasible, the tinge of guilt coming out raw and genuine. You heard the short male mutter something under his breath as his cold gaze scrutinized your diffident countenance, but he didn't address you directly and you did your best to not provoke him. The tips of your ears were left to burn in embarrassment when he closed the bathroom door with a small click and you silently marvelled at the plain furnishing of his personal quarters. It was like they belonged to everybody and nobody at the same time - the wooden floor was equipped only with the bare necessities: a bed, a wardrobe, a small chair tucked into the corner with a lit candle sitting on it and a shelf buckling under the weight of the thick books on top.

You glanced at the door of the adjoined bathroom when the shower started running, then your hasty fingers began struggling with your uniform straps. You changed into your nightwear - a comfortable short-sleeved shirt and a plain pair of shorts - and curiously stepped towards the frail bookshelf, ignoring the bed altogether though it was the biggest benefit you could draw from this situation. (E/c) hues fervently flickered from title to title, devouring the letters with utmost vehemence as your fingertips gently glided over the spine of the seemingly oldest book, feeling the dents of each character with longing. Your mind went back to the busy training routine that prevented the indulgence of your favourite hobby and you wondered when the Corporal had found time for these books.

"For once I hoped you wouldn't live up to my expectations." Your hand withdrew from the book like it had stung your fingertips when, in reality, the abrupt sound of the male's voice had been what truly pricked your senses. You swivelled, guiltily clasping your blameful hands behind your back. "I felt you might snoop around." Levi had showered and changed, but even the little droplets of water that dampened the towel draped around his neck couldn't disperse the shame nestled in the centre of your chest. "Go ahead and look, you'll hardly find anything of interest." The dismissive whisk of his hand, paired with the disinterested snort dripping past his lips made your brows furrow in uncertainty. You hadn't exactly gone looking through his underwear but the heat creeping up your neck told you touching the spine of that book had been a crime way worse.

"I'm really sorry, sir." Your muttered apology made his frown deepen as his orbs locked with yours, so acute you felt as if some part of you had gotten cut. The pang in your chest grew in intensity at the sight of his harsh glare but then he blinked, sighed and when his eyelids lifted the anger your naive apology had induced was gone. His grey hues dropped to the floor and you watched a stray water drop hesitantly trace the outline of his strong jaw prior to taking a leap once having reached his chin. He, in turn, watched it hit the wooden floorboard under his bare feet.

"Drop the formalities, (L/N). I feel like a predator when you call me 'sir' in my own bedroom." It wasn't a snarl per se but the self-directed indignation it contained was heard, though unspoken and left unaddressed. Levi left the room before you could respond and you breathed a sigh of relief upon detecting the shuffle of papers coming from his office. Your shoulders relaxed and your guilty stance gave way to a calmer pose but the pang in your chest remained heavy and stubborn.

You sat at the edge of his pristine bed and gave his last command a few minutes of deep thought. Calling him by his first name wasn't something you'd ever considered despite the fact you felt some misplaced affection for him, not only as your mentor but as a member of the opposite sex as well. Now you were going to be sleeping in his bed and having to use his first name because he clearly disapproved of his official title - your adolescent brain was sizzling with bad kinds of thoughts you weren't supposed to have about your superior.

As a result, you laid your head against his cool pillow with a red face and a twitchy conscience. Burning up and wishing you could pinch yourself awake from this surreal experience, you revelled in the pleasant scent enveloping your body. Your mind struggled to let go of the image of Levi's narrow eyes glaring at the floor in an unfathomable manner, so you tried to focus your thoughts on the distracting fragrance oozing from the cool pillowcase you'd subconsciously burrowed your nose into. You were sure you knew what it was but the exact piece of information had slipped past your store of knowledge and was currently dawdling uselessly around in your head. You drifted off to sleep and it came to you just as your brain had decided to pull the plug on your consciousness - lavender. It was lavender.

Your first night in the Corporal's bed didn't quite live up to its inappropriate label. The frowning male spent about five hours doing paperwork only to then doze off in his chair, where the irritating rays of the rising sun found him less than three hours later, frowning even in his sleep. Your eyes fluttered open when you heard him unlatch the window in his office with a creak and your body instinctively flinched in response to the unfamiliar surroundings your pupils observed in the golden sunlight. Then it came back to you in a hasty wave and your tense muscles gradually relaxed, allowing you to sit up and look out the window to your left with the disoriented gaze of a person who'd slept more than well. Yes, as you boasted later to your Corporal, a seven-hour slumber in his bed had been immensely refreshing, to the point you swore you'd show him even better results than you normally did during your training.

The doubt his features had shown in the beginning started to fade - with an inward tinge of pride at that - around the second week of your deal. Your dark circles made way for healthy patches of skin on day five, your tired waddle was gone by the first week and your previous glory came back by the thirteenth day - the tripping down the halls and during laps, the lousy job at cleaning, the slow manner of speech, the shortened attention span during lectures and the visibly worsened state of your reaction time and physical strength in close combat training were no more. The 3DMG exercises were the only presentable part of your resume that didn't suffer any drastic change due to its location under the shade of the trees past the sunlit training fields, but the gradual increase of productivity and stamina you went on to show put them in the same group as your lame mistakes.

Your poor social skills during missions and your inept way of always freezing in place when you thought you were going to deal critical damage to an opponent stayed, but Levi was determined to draw them into a corner and exterminate them - similarly to how a person squished a bug with his foot and looked at the sole of his shoe with abhorrence right after. As your mentor, he had graced the sole of his leather boot with such a look during the budding of springtime after he'd gotten rid of your annoying habit of recklessly storming into battle headfirst, overzealous and a tad bit conceited. Nowadays you occasionally allowed yourself a certain amount of arrogance but it was a controlled exertion of confidence which stopped eliciting anger from your peers, which, in turn, strengthened the trust and reliability you shared with them.

In this case, it took some time but soldiers slowly came to notice the odd change in your skills - something inevitable since they'd watched your abilities deflate until your performance put you in last place amongst every soldier in the building and now they bore witness to grace, strength and agility so unlike your miserable skills up until a week ago it was uncanny. Suspicion rose until it became overwhelmingly obvious, but nobody dared question your bizarre transformation. It contrasted the rest of the soldiers so brightly some superiors approached Levi in order to seek permission to recruit you for their own squads. In all six cases that took place, Humanity's Strongest Soldier would glare, snarl and prohibit it with such vigour it made four out of six Squad Leaders flinch.

"She's contending for a place on my squad," he'd almost growl in that cold voice of his, "so you can recruit her when I say she's unfit to be part of it, which, considering her performance, might not happen at all."

In a world where he hadn't already let you sleep in his bed, you'd probably faint upon hearing how vehemently he defended his position as your mentor and the spot in his squad you might just come to fill by the end of summer. But in this world - this blessed, albeit titan-infested, world - where you slept in his bed and saw him half-naked once every three days you forgot all about flaunting your skills and only focused on the thought of making him proud. Praise didn't matter so long as he kept scrutinizing you with that calculating gaze of his yet never uttered a single reprimand. It didn't matter in moments when he woke you for breakfast and accepted the tea you made for him in the evening with a grateful nod. No compliment in this world would equal the significance of the timid approval in his ashen hues each time you bashfully added his name at the end of a sentence. It wasn't praise you were chasing ever so desperately since your enlistment in the Corps - it was him.

A kind of meticulous routine came into being by the third week you spent in the comfort of the Lance Corporal's cool bed. Whoever woke up first - which mostly happened to be Levi - woke the other when it was time for breakfast. He had his morning shower and you changed into your uniform, then you swapped rooms and whilst he got dressed, you combed your hair and brushed your teeth (with the toothbrush he'd required you bring from your dorm). Each afternoon you showered after training (because he'd have you sleep on the floor if you weren't thoroughly cleaned), had dinner and crept up the staircase to the ebony-haired male's room, supplying every superior you bumped into with the same excuse of being called into the Corporal's office. Sometimes you went out of your way to make tea for him, which was something he was openly appreciative of - especially on nights he had more paperwork than usual.

You also came to establish several unspoken rules during your coexistence: cleanliness was above all for Levi and the moment you disrespected that you'd receive harsher treatment for the remainder of the day - the same, however, went for your personal space. Each rule was learned the hard way - with you running fifty laps for seemingly no reason when you left the bed unmade one morning and Levi coming dangerously close to getting roundhouse kicked into the wall when he walked out of the bathroom a bit earlier. A few others declared that you could get away with leaving the bed unmade if you delivered Levi's finished paperwork to the Commander before waking him up and that, by letting you read his books, Levi could spare himself some of your unprofessional humour the following day.

There were other little things too, but they weren't exactly rules - just periodical occurrences. On nights when the short male left the window open, you'd sneak into his office and drape a thin blanket over him so the cool night wind wouldn't make his muscles cramp. Some nights he spent in bed with you, lying on his back and struggling to keep his eyes closed as you calmed your erratic heartbeat and feigned sleep. Some evenings you indulged in conversing - the topics were both diverse and multitudinous, but the use of his name instead of his title remained constant. Quiet embarrassment painted the tips of your ears and the apples of your cheeks in hot red and you often caught Levi watching you during those moments with a gaze you were yet to decipher. There was something about it, in the candlelight, that made your heart clench - something he pretended not to have noticed himself, because it was too soft to be him, too improper to be allowed and too genuine to be overlooked.

Those few summer weeks, when you weren't busy pretending not to be dying of the heat outside, your thoughts were dedicated to becoming stronger so you could stay at Levi's side and your heart was overcome by an ecstatic feeling akin to that adolescent love you hadn't had the chance to experience prior to this moment. The earnest admiration that had rooted itself into your heart as a child grew a slim stem when you enlisted in the Corps, slowly morphing into the deep attachment of a determined student that would always follow their mentor. There were buds now and, despite having missed the season, they were blooming - how beautiful that feeling of love - inside your chest, blooming and screaming to be let out. You couldn't let them out. That flower - so aromatic, beautiful and pure - would be considered ugly by everybody else, ugly and improper. Maybe even by the very Corporal who'd seeded it.

At night you'd lay in his bed, tangled in the sheets and pressing your twitching face into his pillow. You'd toss and turn, chest constricting painfully at the thought of the frail flower and its untimely existence, and you'd think of your Corporal sleeping in his chair, imminent ache awaiting his muscles as he furrowed his brows at the nightmares and the memories that were by no means any less horrible. You'd think of him and your shut eyes would sometimes sting with unshed tears, then you'd force your thoughts elsewhere but the smell of lavender would keep them in place, desperate and scorching. And somewhere inbetween them, tangled and struck motionless, stood the image of the flower having bloomed in your chest - frail and small. A stalk of lavender.

"You're ogling." Levi's sharp statement made your shoulders jump in fright as you averted your gaze from his bare back with a pout. The earnest - albeit pouty - 'I'm sorry' that slipped past your lips into the still air clearly hindered the process of him getting dressed because the black shirt he'd picked hung from his slender fingers as he turned to look at you, sitting on the bed with one of his books on your lap. "You're not going to deny it?" The question drove your eyes away from his but you kept your face impassive, achieving success through months of trained experience and turmoil. Only the nervous flickering of your orbs betrayed the feeling of embarrassment that had crept into the crevices of your mind. Admittedly, your superior was far from being unattractive, but you wondered if he was aware of it. Even if he wasn't, giving him compliments would be considered inappropriate. Still---

"It's not like you're ugly, sir--- I mean, Levi." Your clumsy correction made his momentary glare fade but the unmistakable sensation of his hues on you remained, austere and anticipant. You glanced up, hastily avoiding the sight of his abdomen and chest to deter the heat from spreading through your body before it reached your face. "Also, I was looking at the marks, nothing else." The brownish bruises adorning his torso, sitting where his uniform straps usually did, gave the impression of something painful - maybe something you wouldn't be able to handle daily. Levi made a few steps forward until he was standing in front of you and you were struggling to sustain eye contact with his cold ashen hues.

"They're just permanent discolouration of the skin. Pity is unneeded." He'd seen it on your face, maybe in the furrow of your brow or the flare of your nostrils or the unintended curl of your fingers, he'd witnessed the sad admiration and he'd called it pity because giving it another name would lead to questions you wouldn't want to answer. You didn't dare dip your head or do as much as nod in understanding, but something had changed in your orbs; something that made Levi snort in mild exasperation. "They don't even hurt." He declared in a cold voice as you blinked, youthful forehead crinkling with doubt and scepticism. "Do you wish to confirm it?"

The fleeting confusion that clouded your uncertain gaze at the inquiry was all Levi needed to see in order to take advantage of the moment and act. His fingers grabbed your hand and lifted it to his chest, quickly coming to sense the alerted tense of your muscles - similar to the involuntary flinch of a person touching something he'd been prohibited from ever coming in contact with. Too shocked to offer resistance, you felt your palm rest over his skin and your mind devoted all coherent thoughts it could produce to the smoothness of it paired with the firmness of the muscle underneath and, of course, panic. Your engines were going into overdrive but once they short-circuited you felt calm enchantment grasp your senses, guiding your fingers up and down the bruises so you could trace their outlines and feel the diminutive dent of his skin.

"How many years did it take for them to form?" Your head tilted to the side as Levi relinquished his grasp on your wrist, letting your fingertips roam with odd composure. You were wholly enthralled by the feeling of it - this closeness - intimate and unplanned. The scent of lavender his body exuded and the lilac colour mingling with the brown - a bruise that would never heal. The male's reaction to your touches was absent on the surface, but your fingertips graced his skin with such light tenderness he found the contact alien. Having been deprived of gentleness his whole adult life, Levi thought the ginger movement of your dainty fingers strange, but not repulsive.

"About three." The low husk of his voice was something neither of you seemed to acknowledge, too hypnotised to process a detail of such subtlety. Gentle grew into compassionate, fear obtained courage - and the wholeness of your palm caressed Levi's chest, up to his collarbone. Your gaze was still hazy when you craned your neck to look at his hues - and when you did they hit you as oddly soft, a muted graphite having lost its conscious glimmer in the dim candlelight. Taken aback by the peculiar change in your superior's eyes, you felt your hand pause in its journey over his pale skin, just having arrived at the crook of his neck in its daring spontaneity.

"Most cadets surely don't live enough to get them." His skin was burning hot under your oversensitive fingers. Hot and damp from the shower he'd taken. Maybe the dampness was what quelled your advance and broke the spell. Or maybe it was the smell of lavender - reassuring and painful - that told you this was too good to have been happening. It might've been the strange grey as well - such an ugly hue, lacking brightness and resolve, lacking gelidity and austerity, lacking everything you'd fallen for. It was the same hue that kept your hand in place only so it could sear it seconds later, so abruptly you felt pain when there was no source.

"Make sure you're part of the minority then." You couldn't stop thinking of how you disliked the unreadable look in his eyes and the one yours were very eager to reciprocate despite not knowing of the exact meaning it bore. For a very small second you could hear him telling you to survive so you could be with him, live and anticipate the moment when he would finally profess his feelings for you, wait and strive for strength and approval until the flower in your chest made its violet blossoms choke you to death - far from the noble demise every soldier looked up to. One moment you heard all that and the next it was nothing - just the muted hue of his orbs and the scorching feeling of his skin. And the words were a rueful phantasm that left your eyes wide and your lips pursed.

"With my performance, I don't think I'll have a problem." Your hand was at once withdrawn, so sharply it made him blink in mild surprise and the relentless glare returned to its rightful place - glimmering with intelligence and something else, something perturbed by the shameful predecessor of its existence. Your Corporal was back and though your mind leapt with jubilation there was a little part of your heart that was a smidge too discontented to witness the detached frown weaving its way back unto his handsome features. He made a step back. Then another one. His ebony locks swayed as he turned his back to the bed and approached the door, latent disgruntlement hidden along the edges of his clenched jaw.

"Just don't get too cocky. You're still a brat." His steps were heavy but his firm voice was a tad bit lighter. His hand settled on the doorknob when he remembered he was still shirtless. Quick to fix that, Levi snorted with condescension before scratching the side of his neck which you immediately recognised as the exact spot your hand had been touching mere moments ago. Your brows furrowed when the door slammed shut after him, leaving you solitary and bewildered - an emotion that had less to do with his out-of-character moment of mellow approachability and more with the perplexing contrast between his words and actions.

For the next two hours neither of you slept and while he sat at his desk - stiff shoulders, furrowed eyebrows and angrily protruded bottom lip - writing and trying his best not to think or make inward inquiries that would be vouchsafed no answer, you lay on the bed - tangled thoughts, clenched heart and sad eyes - with the book in your hands and the question 'why am I sleeping in your bed then?' echoing inside your head. And, much like how your problem was not graced with a solution, his own compulsive list of questions received no satisfactory reply. It didn't make sense - not one fragment of it all - but, as both of you were yet to learn and acknowledge, nothing did when one was under the influence of love.

Some mornings were familiar, natural and lacking in discomfiture. Normally, you woke up, got dressed and went your way, with Levi not sparing you an additional glance, but the longer you stayed, the warmer the candle on top of the chair in the corner felt and the mornings after - all the fresher. In those moments you looked at the sky with new eyes - a bright pair that saw an oddly clear future. Nothing weighted your heart down and your shoulders were never slouched, the flower in your chest was singing. Levi, too, appeared a tad bit softer. He would make a calm entrance with a resting pair of brows and a sharp gaze, and sometimes a cup of steaming coffee would be clutched by his pale fingers.

"You're such a goddamn nuisance." The ebony-haired male had already put on his uniform. You'd slept through his morning shower and the distinct smell of fresh caffeine had made your lids lift some minutes later. He was crouching by the bed and the bored expression sitting on his face failed to convey the exasperation his words had been so desperate to voice. You took the cup from his hand with a grateful smile, a smidge too lopsided to be described as beautiful. With ice rimming his grey hues, the male gave you a warning look and you took a sip from the beverage with a contented sigh.

"Thank you, Levi." You observed the nonchalant pout of his lips when he stood up and turned the other way, just in time to miss the endearing adoration in your orbs as they gazed up at his noble profile. An inaudible sigh escaped your lungs while your superior busied himself with his uniform straps, reminding you of the brownish bruises clinging to his torso under the white shirt he wore. That, in turn, called forth the date you'd seen yesterday in the callendar you had in your room. Autumn was coming, as the first week of September dictated, and with it - the end of your deal with Levi. Your flawless performance no longer required the comfort of his cold bed, which made a prolonged stay in his room pointless and negated the improvement in your relationship. Back to square one, as your peers would say.

"I'm supervising today's training session so we leave in twenty." His imperative voice brought you back to reality, where he was standing by the wardrobe with folded arms and a harsh frown and you were still in bed, enveloped by the enticing smell of coffee and lavender. You sat up with a small snort and nodded your head obediently, warm fingers locked around the cup in their hold. The air of responsibility and promise you wore did nothing to soften your superior's sharp features or melt the pungent shimmer of his hue as he scrutinised the tangled mess your bed hair was.

"Roger that." You saw his eyes narrow in mild suspicion when your gaze averted from the coffee you were holding but there was no spite along the crease between his drawn brows so you concluded you hadn't gotten in trouble with your carefree response; it was so unlike the salute you would always perform at the beginning of your acquaintanceship with the cold ebony-haired male it made your heart clench in bashful shame and guilty delight at the same time. Was this the beginning of an actual friendship or just a strange exception in your superior-subordinate relationship? Such a baffling concept - to befriend the man you felt so much for.

"Get that shitty smile off your face unless you wish to be running laps in the sun." The abrupt appearance of Levi's biting tone brought awareness to your senses, making you realise your facial muscles had adapted themselves to a joyous grin - genuine and peculiar in the eyes of a person who saw no reason whatsoever behind its existence. You let out a weak chuckle and nodded your head once more, to which he clicked his tongue in visible dissatisfaction prior to fleeing the room in order to focus on the little paperwork he hadn't finished the previous night.

You sat on his bed some more, taking small sips from the coffee he'd brought you and struggling to bite back a smile. Two cubes of sugar and no milk - just how you liked it. You never told him that was how you liked it, though. Unable to dismiss the warm voice of the aromatic flower caressing the insides of your ribcage, you didn't think much of the man's earlier vexation and thus missed how its cause wasn't your unjustified happiness but the concerning reaction it evoked in him. Glimmering hues matching your own, Levi stared at the blank sheet of paper he was yet to touch and the only thing he could feel but couldn't comprehend was the worrying beat of his heart. Too young for problematic palpitations and too old for love - that was what Levi thought of himself - but the image of your smile refused to leave him until the very moment you had to leave for your training session.

The same night you were having a hard time falling asleep. Stripes of lightning stained the indigo night sky, creating a contrast that made it seem jet black and eerie. Thunder sounded in the distance, shaking the wet ground and pushing you from one side of the bed to the other with its deafening roar. Big raindrops fell from the endless abyss, splattering closed windows and steady buildings, wetting stone, soil and grass, and singing a chaotic tune that made your body instinctively pull on the thin blankets Levi had supplied you with. Storms had never been your thing but you hardly considered them scary. The weather was clearly undergoing a change for the worse this year, so the conclusion of rain and snow exceeding their expected amount wasn't exactly hard to reach.

You groaned in exasperation when another lightning struck the forest behind the training fields and its echo reached your ears some moments later. You rose from the bed and stared out the window before deciding a glass of water would suffice to distract your fidgety thoughts. You carefully opened the door leading to Levi's office, all the while labouring under the delusion he was sleeping soundly in his chair, too tired to stay awake in spite of the discomfort. Your assumption couldn't have been more wrong. The moment you stepped foot in the office his aquiline gaze found your face and pinned you in place as you closed the door behind yourself, finding it too late to turn back once having been spotted.

"It's late. Why aren't you sleeping?" A cold question and an even more gelid frown to go with it. You shivered, moving to his desk in your nightwear and glancing at the window behind his back before meeting his eyes in the dim candlelight. His ebony locks were slicked back and messy, and his tired expression bore a pair of heavy lids shadowed by intimidating brows. He lacked the energy to scold you for being awake and you knew it. Judging by the unbuttoned shirt hanging from his shoulders and the shocking eyebags clinging to his pallid skin he wasn't in any condition to even think of it as something troublesome. You were well aware he could kick you to the curb no matter how exhausted but that didn't stop you from gaining a diminutive amount of confidence for the time being.

"The rain woke me up and I couldn't fall asleep after that." Your voice sounded small and weak in comparison to the unsynchronised dance of the raindrops against the glass window, but Levi felt no need to command you to speak louder. He liked the timid sound of the tone you used as it was. "Hindering your work process too?" Your curious inquiry led his calculating gaze away from the window in the direction of your drowsy figure as it leaned against the edge of his desk, ponderous and far from graceful in its unsettled condition. You wouldn't consider in a thousand years that Levi would have found you pretty at that moment, with your droopy eyes and dishevelled tresses, and the big shirt slipping off your bare shoulder as your capable hands awkwardly scratched at the back of your head.

"The weather's gone batshit crazy." Was his only retort, drained of both amusement and wit - a noticeable absence which just went to show he was way past the point of joking as well. You nodded your head whilst facing the window and contemplating this year's unpredictable seasonal weather: early bloom of flowers and trees in the spring, blistering summer temperatures and now daily bouts of torrential rain when September's second week hadn't even commenced. Winter would be a dreaded season - ice and blizzards all the way, as far as your imagination went anyway. The white visions of the cold made your brows furrow as you stumbled upon an impending problem of bigger vicissitude that was more deserving of your apprehension.

"Agreed. On the topic, I should probably gather my stuff in the morning." Levi raised a quizzical brow that made your gaze stray back to the window. This was the fourth night you spent in his bed after the coming of rains and lower temperatures. Everybody sensed the weather's scarcely subtle change but you and your mentor were extremely adamant to keep up an oblivious act. At this point, you could take advantage of his reluctance and continue using his bed for the remainder of the year, but that was a line of indecency you weren't willing to cross. "With the autumn rains coming, I think my stay has expired." You explained meekly, dismissing the glare at your temple as a messenger of surprise. Giving simple looks bigger meanings than the ones they possessed was an unhealthy habit you had to rid yourself of.

"Winters are colder here anyways." He responded with an approving hum, making you steal a glimpse of his profile when he turned in his chair to observe the raindrops hitting the window. So immensely handsome, even when overwhelmed by extreme fatigue, as dictated by the curve at the tip of his nose, the outline of his thin lips, the austere beauty of his frown and the sharp edge of his clenched jaw. There was something about the shadow falling over his bloodshot eyes that made their shimmer times brighter and more piercing. It was profusely childish of you to get distracted by such things, but inevitable nonetheless.

"Thank you for humouring me, Levi." Sentences such as “do you want to sleep in my bed then?”, “wood is better at preserving warmth than stone” and “I'd be a fool not to return the favour” lifted their tempting heads at you, expectant gazes awaiting your choice. But you wouldn't make it, mostly because you knew the Corporal would shoot you down, offering immediate refusal in the form of a pointed glare or a stern “no”. So you settled for simply voicing your gratitude, seeing as it was something he would have little reason to glare at you for.

"The least I can do for the newest addition to my squad." Deep voice, cold eyes, nonchalant huff - adjectives you were incapable of matching to their suitable nouns due to the shock that struck your body, abrupt and piercing like a blade. Levi gifted your gaping mouth and uncomprehending hues a brief amused glance. You could swear his lips twitched in restrained mirth - a twitch that would've taken the form of a genuine chuckle had the ebony-haired male been less sombre and strict. "Don't swallow your tongue now. I haven't given the final form to Erwin yet. I was filling it out tonight." It took you some time to negate the bemusement his statement had caused but the result left your body light and your mind full of euphoria.

"So you'll call me 'cadet' from tomorrow onwards?" The crestfallen words were spoken curiously as your chest swelled with gelid pride and warm misplaced disappointment, and you distinctly felt the drop of your stomach when your superior gave a curt nod after a moment of contemplation. "And I go back to addressing you as 'sir'." The flat statement could hardly be labelled a question but its confirmation arrived nevertheless, making a small pang pull at your heart. "That's surprisingly disappointing when I just got used to calling you 'Levi' without flushing in embarrassment." The weirdly unabashed admittance made your Corporal's features contort in mild confusion and you could almost see his lips mouth the word “embarrassment?” as his calculating orbs inspected your countenance for any traces of said emotion. "It's hard to get used to the idea my hero lets me use his first name like I'm not just a child looking at him in the street."

Your bashful explanation - accompanied by a pair of tense shoulders and a nervous flickering gaze - made the male's wan features contort in an abrasive scowl as he turned to face you instead of the window. His lips were pursed so tightly they painted a straight line across the lower half of his visage and his stormy hues shone with additional spite upon locking with yours. Then his voice came out, biting and imperious: "Your hero is too idealised to be worthy of actual worship." The animosity and reproach it held, you realised, were things directed at himself he couldn't help but let slip past the chinks in his own armour. Your tense shoulders slouched as you smiled - more so at this part of him he was unintentionally letting you see than him.

"He's not. He's a flawed middle-aged man with a lot of duties who is often tired. His temper's bad but he's patient when he needs to be. What he lacks he makes up for, with no exceptions. That's what I like about him." Your confession, smooth and steady, lacked the usual shyness with which you often took it upon yourself to talk. The drumming of the rain was a rhythmic background you couldn't rid yourselves of, but neither seemed to mind. All it took was a glance - Levi's silver hues searching for yours in dubious surprise - and your halting resolve to be confident crumbled completely. "I've said too much, I apologise if it made you feel uncomfortable, sir." Downcast gaze, sucked in breath and a lavender stalk tickling the back of your throat. You never saw the man's pallid features adopt a borderline embarrassed expression, nor did you bear witness to the doubtful glances he sent around the room, little messengers to ask all inanimate objects the office contained if he was in his right mind, thinking the things he dared come up with.

"Reverting to that shitty title. Why don't you prove you've learned how to use my fucking name, (L/N)?" He snarled, annoyance slipping through the wall of composure he tried to build. Your shoulders shrunk a size but you didn't distance yourself from him or the desk, you didn't have the heart to do it - not when you felt this warm and this tense, this pleasantly embarrassed. “Keep calling my name,” his enchanting orbs whispered imploringly, and you would try adhering to the command though it was not real. "Mute when speech is required. And red to top it off. Have I embarrassed you?" The redness creeping at the base of your neck and the tips of your ears spread further upwards, tinting the apples of your cheeks crimson and making your pouting lips part in mild defiance.

"A little." The humble admittance made Levi snort as you leaned back against his desk - something he would never allow under normal circumstances - vouchsafing his cold eyes a look of mild suspicion that made his thin eyebrow raise challengingly. Your lips pouted in annoyance, glare almost as half-hearted as his when he reprimanded you during training. "Are you by any chance having fun by doing it?" The flow of your blood circulation was still heavily focused on the sides of your face but that didn't stop you from attempting to intimidate your Corporal, who seemed, besides extremely unimpressed, quite amused by the peculiar show of confidence on your side.

"I don't know. You tell me. Would I let anybody sleep in my bed if I couldn't benefit from it?" There was something - something twinkling - in his orb that drowned out its grey colour and the relatively big size of its pupil. It was something that prevented you from noticing his hue was grey contrary to silver and that his eyes had come to narrow in that way you'd seen some weeks ago during your ogling. It was something pretty - almost mischievous - and it attracted you with its simplistic beauty to the point you couldn't think of anything but the man possessing it. Prosaic as it was, the waxen colour of his complexion was made to look extraordinarily healthy and his tired visage's wan features suddenly seemed handsome and uplifted, the lilac crescents disappeared from their shallow nests and, for a single second, he officially became the one man on this world you had eyes for.

"Despicable," you muttered, overcome by the irrational hypnotising urge to reach out and touch the pale temple at his side with its little throbbing blue vein - a result of all the stress and fatigue. Was that because he'd been filling out forms to finalise your transfer to his squad? Was it because he'd been writing reviews about your performance that justified his choice? Was that terrible expression on his face because of you? Your fingers clutched the edge of the desk until your knuckles turned white - a subconscious reaction the ebony-haired male's observant hues immediately pinpointed. It took him very little to understand a nasty thought had wormed its way into your mind but it would have never occurred to him that it concerned him directly, much less his well-being.

"Make sure you're faultless before judging. The fact I pointed out your ogling only once doesn't mean I didn't notice the rest." Determined to distract you from your worries, Levi opted for the one option he knew would undeniably reap success - embarrassment. His mocking words made crimson blossom over your cheeks and erased the dutiful air of responsibility and morbidity your features often held when not busy portraying another emotion. Levi forced his eyes away from the endearing sight with a scoff, once more telling himself he was too old for this - for you. "Go back to bed now, (L/N). You've entertained me enough for one night." The dismissive whisk of his pale hand prompted your gaze upwards and away from the floor you'd admired ever so fervently a moment ago. Uncertainty gathered in the crease between your brows and your heart clenched as you pushed yourself off his desk, the lavender stalk reaching up to chase the air from your throat and hinder your speech.

"Could I ask you to join me when you finish here?" Insecure and small, close to a bluish colour in the dim lighting and muffled by the loud drumming of the rain, the question hung from the ceiling in the cool air, swaying from side to side in an attempt to attract Levi's attention. The male's lips visibly pursed as he glared at the papers on his desk, eyes not daring to look at you. Mirroring the action, you anticipated his answer with a pleading furrow of your brows, contrary to his displeased one. There was silence - heavy, taut like a guitar's string and burning amidst the first of many gelid nights to come - a silence that was a bringer of feared refusal and shamefully crushed hopes. There would be no miracles this time because your ludicrous inquiry crossed a line neither of you had dared confront prior to this moment.

"No." Strident, succinct and stoic - a proud genuine response that wouldn't push the boundaries of your future active superior-subordinate relationship and thus hinder communication or teamwork. Feelings and intimacy weren't a good mix when you wouldn't be anything more than a mere cadet to him as of the following morning, much less when expressed vocally. And you seemed to be doing that a lot tonight. You fled the office with a despondent nod and not another word, softly closing the door behind yourself. Moping because of a reaction you knew you'd receive was useless, so you ignored the tears gathering in the crevices of your ribcage and lay on the big bed, tucking yourself into the corner by the wall under the window so the rain could block all unwanted notions.

You didn't know how long you lay there, clutching the covers and pressing your knees against the cold stone, but at one point the salty taste of tears you couldn't feel yourself shedding wet your lips and you snorted, engulfed in the dim light of the murky moonbeams and the disappointment clinging to your heavy bones. At the window frame stood the shards of your shattered hope, assembled as to beautifully shine and reflect the glistening raindrops gliding down the glass window. Levi's pillow lay on the opposite side of the bed as you pressed your forehead against the wall, desperate to escape the scent of lavender and the thoughts of its owner it would trigger. Slowly drifting off, you didn't hear the soft click of the door, nor the quiet footsteps coming to a stop at the bedside.

No matter how inconveniently unfortunate your situation, you dreamed of nice things - such as the ones you couldn't have in reality. You dreamed of a training session in the sun, a small word of praise and a tight hug in the shade of a nearby tree, bathing your being in lavender and making your knees give out in alleviation. You pictured a gentle but desperate embrace, and though you knew no words of affection would exit Levi's lips, you heard the echo of his thoughts, telling you he didn't want to let you go. Images of your hands clutching his body for support appeared in your mind, followed by a moment of serene mutual understanding. You both knew this was wrong. But there was no “but” glued to the last word. There was a period instead - a hopeful little end that would allow no further arguments on the topic.

In your dreamland, Levi's fingers were confident as they cupped your face whereas yours were shaking in unbelieving elation on his shoulders. In your dreamland, Levi's hues were silver and glimmering with a burning resolve, a goal in mind. In reality, when the mattress shrunk under his weight you didn't feel the insecure touch of his fingertips caressing your cheek to wipe the tear stains, nor did you connect the smell of lavender coming off his body to anything real. And when he cleared the messy tresses from your face and wrapped his arms around your shivering form you felt the confident embrace of a self-assured man who knew exactly what his feelings for you meant. In your dreams Levi was never insecure, never uncertain, never indecisive - those traits had not once represented him in your eyes. How would you feel knowing they had formed a ball at the back of his throat as he buried his nose in your hair, trying not to choke or recoil in self-contempt because of what he was doing?

That question, much like many others, would be gifted no tangible answer. All you knew, for the time being, was that the malnourished flower in your chest kept singing amidst your misery and would keep blooming until its aromatic petals fell from your lips or its stalk wrapped around your beating heart and crushed it. The next morning you awoke bright and robust, distancing yourself from melancholic notions that would only serve as a distraction. You sat up, noticing the figure sitting at the edge of the bed when it entered your line of sight. The air was heavy with the smell of lavender and fresh coffee, and the sky was an optimistic baby blue. Levi, having sensed your movement, turned to hand you your drink. You took it with a grateful nod and a shy smile, failing to notice the affectionate glimmer in his hues as he watched your visage.

The ebony-haired male didn't speak - not of your recruitment, not of the imminent training you'd face, not of the end of your stay and not of last night's conversation. You sat there, watching the bed hair he never had after sleeping in his chair and the creases over the sheets you'd hardly touched, and your tongue was made of lead but your heart felt light. Your lips pursed as you bit back a smile and sipped your coffee, hiding your conflicted endearment behind the china's thick rim. Levi was, of course, already quite aware of it, but had no intention of shattering your delusions on the topic of his oblivion. So he turned and sat across from you on the bed, drinking the tea he'd gotten for himself from the kitchen and not forgetting to omit the fact he'd slept in for the first time in his adult life. Past the closed window behind your back, the twittering of birds mashed with the faint voices of your comrades having breakfast in the mess hall - faint voices yours was supposed to be a part of.

Skipping breakfast was Levi's last gift to you for the time being - a few peaceful minutes filled with comforting silence and a strange sense of mutual understanding. There were no passionate hugs or declarations of undying love. There was the lingering scent of coffee and black tea, and two pairs of glimmering hues locked on each other as the owners hid their quiet content behind cups' rims and fidgety hands, equally satisfied to have indulged in their selfish urges and unravelled that summer heat had come to reveal itself as the least of their problems. If nothing else, it might've subjected you to a big amount of torture but it also gave you the opportunity to feel closer to Levi and the chance to get to know him before things between you turned professional. Heat had given each of you an opening - you to accept your love and Levi to fall victim to it - so it was a pity neither of you thought of thanking it.

#levi x reader #levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman imagine #levi ackerman fanfiction #snk x reader #reader insert #if you didn't know already i love building up the feelings and not exploring them inside the frame of a romantic relationship #so yet another open ending for you #i do be very interested in the emotional dynamics #should've studied behavioural sciences or psychology lol #levi is too soft and too in denial as usual #reader here is just a bit melodramatic #but that's the whole point so my metaphors can be employed lol #hope you enjoy

[creation-key]

Drunken Calls

Part 2

Synopsis: accidentally confessing while laughing

Warnings: drinking mentioned, barely any cussing, mostly pure fluff/ maybe angst?

a/n: I don’t have any original ideas, that i want share 😏, so i have stolen this prompt from @mangocherri , thank you love for the inspo! And if I completely butchered it and you want me to take this down, I so will, don’t even worry about it. enjoy, we’ll at least try to 🥸

It’s Saturday night? morning? you don’t even know at this point anymore. Your best friend Sierra took you out that night to celebrate your doctorate’s degree in Psychology.

You’re not much of a party girl on your own, but when with the right people, you never want to sleep. And that is exactly what you’re experiencing in the present, only now, you’re sipping on some fruit drink, the taste of alcohol no longer prevalent because of how much you’ve consumed that night already.

You’ve all gathered at your house for the after party, you called it, which was really your smart sober part of your brain, long gone now, trying to keep everyone from driving home. With the night still young , it’s 2 am, you’re talking up a storm, just really spilling the beans on every secret you’ve ever had, including your crush on your sister’s boyfriend.

Everyone having already sobered up and drinking water gasp, granted it’s only 4 people, including yourself, but the gasp sounded otherworldly to your intoxicated brain.

Not fully understanding what you had just admitted to, you yawn saying you’re gonna “hit the hay,” you wink, for literally no reason at all, and stumble your way to your bedroom, tripping over air at least 27 million times.

You reach your room and plop down on your bed face down, completely ready to just fall asleep like that until your phone, which you had forgotten about, starts to ring loudly. You groan, begrudgingly getting up to answer it.

“hEllor?” You slur out, reaching for a bottle of water half drunken on your night stand, in hopes of quenching your thirst.

“Hey, y/n, wait are you drunk?” The unknown person says.

“No, this is Patrick,” You laugh, dying at your joke, slapping your knee for extra effect. You set the phone face up on your bed, pressing the speaker button.

“Well I guess that answers that, there’s no way sober you would such an awful joke.” The person on the other line giggles.

“Heyy, watch it mister whoever you are. I can and will kick your ass. You know I know karate?”

“Oh really?” Mystery man asks.

“Yep, my best friend Harry taught me once. Do you know Harry?”

“Yeah, I’d say I know him pretty well, he’s kind of a goof isn’t he?” The man questions.

You laugh out loud at that, responding in between laughter.

“Yeah he’s a goof, but that’s why i love him. He’s unapologetically himself no matter the situation. You know sometimes I think I relate to the Schuyler sisters more than I’d like to.” The man on the other line takes in a sharp breath, before moving around asking shakily,

“why is that?”

“Because sometimes I wish I had been satisfied and never introduced him to my little sister, oh well, at least i still have him in life. Maybe I’ll meet a rich man like Angelica and move across the sea only seeing them on major holidays and vacations! Yeahhh, that’d be ideal.” You sigh at the end, it quickly turning into a yawn, after hearing no noise coming for the other end you assume the man has gone to sleep, so you bid your goodbyes, hanging up the phone and going to sleep.

——————————————————————————

The Next Morning~

You wake up in the morning with a sticky taped your head- it reads

“Hey girl, we all left as soon as Harry arrived, don’t worry we called ubers just in case. Had fun last night, also about that little secret, it’s safe with us little miss doctor, Love you and can’t wait to do this again!”

You laugh, throwing the sticky note on your bedside table, sitting up straight only to be hit with a ton of bricks to your mental. Memories from the night before come flooding back as well as the mention of Harry being in your house, recalled from the sticky note. Getting up, warily, you make your way to the shower and get ready for the day, you put on pajamas.

Hoping that you’d taken long enough in the bathroom for Harry to have left, you make your way downstairs, only to be met with a nervous smiling Harry eating pancakes and fruit at your table.

“Hey, how are you feeling?” He asked with a worried look.

You look back at him embarrassed, but answer

“oh, i’m okay, just a little tired, and my head’s hurting, but i already took some medicine.”

“Do you, um- do you remember anything from last night?” He looks down at his plate.

You know with your own plate sitting across from him at the table.

“Uh yeah, all of it actually, in fact, this is so funny really, just as I was about to go to sleep some guy, i think, called me, but i never read his contact name so i had no clue who it was, plus the alcohol kind of distorted their voice so i couldn’t tell, anyways, I had a whole conversation with him.” You laugh as you recall the memory, giggling a little at end at yourself for being so silly as a drunk.

“What did you guys talk about?” Harry asked, his eyes now glued to the sink faucet.

“Oh nothing much, talked about karate and just spilled my deepest darkest secrets to him. Are you okay?” You look at him worried.

“Um, yeah. Why do you ask?” Him still not looking at you.

“Because you haven’t made eye contact with me since I walked in, and even then, it was only for a moment. What’s going on?” He looks up you and then back down at the floor, as if pondering what to say next.

“I love you too. I always have, honestly if I’m being completely transparent, I think that’s why I started dating your sister, I mean you guys are just so similar but so different in your own ways, but I just couldn’t learn to love the differences in her. And I know that sounds bad, but I cant ignore what i’ve been yearning to hear from you from the moment we met and not tell you how i’m feeling.” He takes a breath at the end.

You stare at him, trying to comprehend his words, trying to understand where he could have gotten this from, and the only thing that comes to mind is-

“It was you… you were on the phone last night. Weren’t you?” He nods. You stand up, almost knocking your chair over before backing up into a corner.

“y/n we can go somewhere, just us, a date. It doesn’t have to be weird love promise. I already talked to your sister, she under-“

You interrupt him-

“Harry i can’t do that to my sister. If you love me like you say you do, you know that i can’t and will not. I was fine with being in love with you in secret. And you told her? Why would you do that, you were both so happy. Always smiling. I can’t, please. Leave.” He starts shaking his head getting up to approach you.

“Harry leave before I lose it. I can’t do this right now, or ever. Please.” He opens and closes his mouth, defeated he leaves.

You fall to the ground, cupping your face to hold back your sobs from being heard from outside your door, where you sure Harry is waiting for you to let him back in. But you can’t-

you won’t.

~fin~

thoughts on a part 2, i enjoyed writing the angst hehe

#harry #styles #harry styles #imagine #imagines #fluff #angst #crush #sister’s boyfriend #family drama #psychology #fiction #fanfic #oneshots #funny #harry styles smut #books #novel #tpwk #fanfiction

[inyri]

Not sure if the prompt list you reblogged was a request for prompts but if yes, consider "❛ let’s just stay here. grow old. ❜ for someone else but Nine and Theorn and/or ❛ i didn’t ask to get made. ❜ for a character of your choice.

(As requested, this is not Nine and Theron.

SWTOR. Nine and Hunter, at the end of it all. TW: violence and its aftermath.)

“That’s probably going to scar.” Hunter looks up at her, shakes her- her, even half-dead there was always one more way to fuck with her, wasn’t there?- head with a crooked half-smile. “They’ll take it away, though, won’t they? They always do.”

Blood streams down her cheek and pools at the corner of her mouth. It’d been a lucky shot, Hunter’s knife swinging wide when she’d blocked a strike that might otherwise have hit a gap between armor plates; it’d been even luckier that it missed her eye. That would have figured. The others always noticed, before, when the cuts reached her face. “I might keep it. I’m tired of having things taken from me.”

“You and me both, Cipher Nine.” She can hear the wheeze buried in Hunter’s laugh. That last hit got her lung after all, then. Good. “You and me both.”

She licks her lips, then spits onto the floor. Their blood’s all over the room already- what’s a little more? 

(Hunter had dreamed about it, she’d said, dreamed about tearing each other apart.   

She’d dreamed of it too: every shot, every slash, every fistfall a box ticked off a list that went all the way back to Nar Shaddaa, to Taris and Hoth and Quesh, every pull at her leash and every notch her collar tightened and every time, every time, every time-

Let it go, the Minister had said. Let it go, Cipher. You’re free now.

She still dreams of Hunter. Perhaps she always will.)

“We could just stay here, you know. You and me. Patch each other up. Keep the codex.” Hunter’s leaning forward now, braced on her hands, lips blueing with every word. “Grow old. They took everything from us. We deserve to win just once, don’t we?”

There’s a kolto syringe in her belt pouch. She could-

Nine’s hand spasms, fingers splayed wide and disobedient as her nerves misfire, and she thinks of Corellia, of the burns and the breaks and the shocks and her screams and of Hunter’s voice in her ear, and she lets her arm drop to her side and does not answer.

“Tell me one thing, then.” Her eyes are the same as she remembers. “Your name. The name your parents called you, the name they took from you- oh, come on-” another cough, this one bloody, veins cording in her neck. “Who’m I going to tell? I just- I just want to know.” 

She sheathes her blade, rubs at her cheek with the back of her hand. Her arm’s bleeding too, and her lower back and her right thigh, but that will keep until they get back to the ship. “My name is Cipher Nine. What’s taken is gone. That girl no longer exists.”

“Me, too,” Hunter whispers. “Me, too. You and me, Cipher. We played the game right.”

“Don’t ever-” with the pistol barrel pressed against her forehead the shot barely echoes, and Hunter’s last gasping breath goes out of her as Nine whispers back- “compare yourself to me.”

#inyri writes #thornhands #thanks for the prompt! #swtor #swtor fanfiction #cipher nine #hunter #and yes she kept the scar #where did nine get her facial scar? right here. #this is also nine at her lowest psychologically speaking #corellia’s still a very fresh scar

[ace-trainguys]

What if I posted the draft of the prologue to a fic of an au I haven't talked about on Tumblr. For a Halloween treat.

It's not edited up to where I want it. That and because this is only the first part of this au and it will be a long while before I write the rest is why I'm not posting it on ao3 yet. But if you would like a little something spooky, here is:

Heart of the Subway, part 1: Descent

Ingo sweeps his flashlight out in front of him. Even though Chandelure floats beside him, it is the proper safety procedure to illuminate the path ahead. The sensor that went offline is rather deep in the maintenance tunnels, but it shouldn't be too far now. Ingo hums to himself and Chandelure whistles along.

He reaches the next intersection and pauses. Instead of the two branching paths he was expecting, there are three. Ingo consults his mental map- he had been certain he was going the right way, but he must have made a wrong turn. A rare occurrence - one that hasn't happened since Ingo and Emmet became Subway Bosses, in fact. But that's the only explanation for the discrepancy. Each tunnel has the even shape of a man-made structure - no chance of a subterranean pokemon causing mischief.

All three paths slope downwards.

"Chandelure," Ingo murmurs. "Have I made a wrong turn?" She, too, knows these tunnels well. Chandelure chimes in confusion, confirming that she is also in the dark. Ingo had presumed as much - if she had noticed something wrong, she would have stopped him earlier. But he had to ask. "Very well. Let us retrace our steps."

Ingo turns around and heads back the way he came. He could have sworn that this tunnel had a slight downward slant when he had originally gone through, but he must have been mistaken. It's certainly sloping lower now.

Sooner than he expected, he reaches another intersection. It's wrong. There should be an opening to his left, and an opening forward, but there are four tunnels splitting off. This is not the way he came, but how could he have ended up somewhere else?

"Chandelure, do you sense anything?" Ingo asks. If it is a trick by a ghost, she will certainly be able to tell. When he doesn't receive a response, he turns and finds the space beside him empty. "Chandelure?!" He calls, but only his own voice echoes back to him. His loyal partner would not wander off and abandon him, but her purple tinted light is gone. Where is she? Ingo whips around to the direction he came from and-- it goes down.

No, no, he definitely descended coming this way. Did he get turned around? Which way did he come from? He shines his flashlight into the other tunnels, but all four slant deeper into the earth.

That's not possible. It-- the direction he came from, he went down. He didn't hear anything. Nothing could change the tunnels so silently.

It feels like a dream, but Ingo bites the inside of his cheek and feels pain. He's awake.

Ingo pulls out his radio and gets blasted by static. No matter how he tries to tune it, the results are the same.

Ingo... does not know the protocols for a situation like this. But he cannot simply stand around. He picks a tunnel and descends.

After several yards, Ingo turns and shines his flashlight back. The tunnel does not appear to be going back up like it should. He shudders and turns around again. What a horrible optical illusion, he tells himself, and desperately tries to believe it.

As he walks further and goes deeper, he begins to see cables run along the walls. He shines his flashlight on them, and though they are in line with the electrical wiring used in the subway, their placements and directions do not make logical sense. Ingo is intimately aware of how messy the wiring of the subway system was when he and Emmet began their careers. It was one of their highest priorities to repair when they became the bosses. It would make sense that there could have been wires they missed when doing the power system overhaul, so deep in the maintenance tunnels, but... these cables dip in and out of the walls in a way he's never seen before.

As he continues going deeper, he encounters cables drooping down in loops from the ceiling. An egregious safety hazard in five ways he can count off the top of his head. No one must have been in these tunnels in decades.

The wires grow thicker on the walls, running in all directions. Yet it is quiet - no hum of running electricity, despite the forest of cables. The only sounds Ingo can hear are his own careful breaths, and his rapid heartbeat.

It is not long before the cables have grown so thick that the walls are no longer visible. Ingo nearly trips before he realizes there are wires reaching out of the floor as well. He trains his flashlight and eyes at the ground, stepping carefully around the growths.

The tenuous beam of light hits a slab of solid metal. Ingo raises it to view an ancient door, wires twisting around every inch. Thick cables have entirely replaced the walls and floor - and a quick look upwards confirms the ceiling is covered as well. He swallows his dread and turns the doorknob with a shaking hand.

Immediately after stepping through, the door closes behind him with a sense of finality. The chamber he has entered is much wider than the tunnel he was in previously. Cables twirl and flow all around, congregating in a massive pillar in the center. Ingo realizes with a start that he can see outside his flashlight’s meager view - the whole room is filled with a dim sourceless light.

When he returns his eyes to the central pillar once more, he feels–

welcome happiness home

What…?

Ingo finds himself relaxing despite the incongruous nature of the emotions. It doesn’t make sense to feel this at home in such a strange, alien location, and yet. It’s as if he’s sitting on the couch, one arm around his brother, surrounded by their pokemon. Comfortable, safe, warm.

He can’t hear anything, but he can almost feel a noiseless sound. A pulse. Gazing upon the monolith of intertwined lines, he gets the sense that these wires, despite the lack of electricity flowing through them, are not lifeless.

He is suddenly, indisputably sure that this is the heart of the Unovan subway system. There is no logical evidence, nothing that could have led him to this conclusion, but he is certain.

Ingo is awestruck. Nothing could have prepared him for the power and life that the core of the subway emits. After all these years, all the effort Ingo and Emmet put into restoring a run down transit system - seeing that it has blossomed into something like this makes him want to laugh and cry. It was worth it.

The corners of his eyes pinch, his version of a wide smile. He wonders if he should feel reverence, in the core of the place he and his brother dedicated themselves to, but instead he’s filled with love, love, love that is not his own. Ingo realizes that it’s the subway itself, communicating with him in pure emotions, and he laughs. His own joy is reflected back at him. He loves and adores the subway, and it seems it loves him back.

With a noise like leaves rustling in the wind, cables shift in the pillar, opening a small entrance. Ingo feels a gentle pull forward, an invitation to enter the heart. happy closer appeal. Ingo notices he’s taken a step closer without realizing it.

He steps back and plants his feet firmly to the ground. Come come come. No, Ingo will not do anything blindly. Love safety stay happy, the subway croons wordlessly, yet he feels himself start to sweat.

Suddenly he’s sure that if he enters the heart, he will never be able to come back out.

Comfort love safety. It’s not bad, down here. Pleasant, really. The subway loves him. He could be happy, nestled securely in the heart.

But he cannot do this. To stay here would be abandoning his responsibilities. It would mean leaving his job and his passion behind. Never seeing his friends or his pokemon or his brother again.

Negative false reassurance. Still there still there

Ingo shakes his head and shudders. He doesn't understand how staying here could be anything other than abandoning everyone. He tries to turn back around and--

He can’t move.

Despite the subway’s faith confidence trust, Ingo feels his breathing speed up. It won’t let him leave. It won’t-- he doesn’t want this but he can’t even lean backwards.

Ingo shivers, and thinks of Emmet alone. Not knowing what happened to his brother. Worrying about Ingo. Worrying Ingo left him, falling into those old self doubts. Ingo promised he would never leave. He promised - and in a burst of frantic energy, he turns and manages to take a step away.

No love safe comfort stay stay STAY

Ingo struggles to take another step, while a whispering rasp hisses behind him. As he pushes his frozen legs as hard as he can, he spots squirming black shapes approaching in the edge of his vision. Cables reach out to him, wrapping around his arms, ever so gently. More circle his wrists, his legs, his feet, his chest, his neck, with extreme care. Like handling fine china, like holding a precious treasure, the wires cradle Ingo, embracing every inch of him. Ingo’s terror and panic fight the calm safe love, but he can’t move at all in the wires’ tender hold.

Paralyzed, Ingo can do nothing as the cables begin to drag him into the heart. He tries, he desperately tries, but he can't even twitch a finger. He can't move, he can't move, he will be stuck down here for the rest of his life and he will never see his brother again-

adoration safe calm belonging stay

Drawn into the subway's heart, a path made specially for him, all Ingo can do is scream "EMMET!"

Then the wires fall back into place, as if the entrance was never there at all.

No– stop- what's going on? He doesn’t want this! He can't move! He doesn't -

Home safe belonging love love love

the pressure, it's everywhere- he's being crushed, he - air? Is he breathing? He can't move, he can't move- help-

Calm safe peace secure

What is that sensation- running through him, he's never felt something like that, he doesn't understand- rumbling stopping and starting, in him - pinch and itch and drag on parts a body doesn't have, how- he doesn't want this, please stop-

Right belonging acceptance

There's no color- How is he seeing so much at once - too much, it's too much, he can't- make it stop, please-

Rest reassure love

It doesn't hurt but he doesn’t understand- he's not supposed to be– he is supposed to be…what is he supposed to be?!

Right correctness cherished belonging

help, he can't– it's so quiet- this is too much, he can't–

Reassure calm love adoration

He can't- he can't…

Acceptance belonging home

H-help… Em… met…

Belonging belonging belonging

He...

Calm safe belonging

…

Calm.

He calms.

Emmet is doing paperwork in his and Ingo's office when the lights flicker off for a second. They're back on almost immediately, but Emmet groans regardless. The subway's backup generators prevent essential functions from shutting down, but a power outage, no matter how brief, means there are many safety checks that must be run.

Emmet blinks, and places a hand on his chest. Nothing happened other than the lights going out, but he feels like something is different. He can't put his finger on what or how, exactly, but…

Hm. He'll have to ask Ingo if he felt it too after he gets back.

#submas #qed's writing #writing #fanfiction #ingo #emmet #submas au #heart of the subway au #I edited a little tonight but I'm under the weather and I hit my limit #does this count as a cliffhanger? #in my opinion the first part is the spookiest but there'll be more spooky later too #psychological horror I think #I'm gonna keep quiet about what happens next and pretend to be mysterious #(unless I change my mind which is a possibility)

[cinderspots]

UNHOLY

CHAPTER ONE

Lebkuchen is cursed.

-

A LGTS Vampire AU! Brought to you by brainrot! READ THE TAGS!!!!!

#cinderwrites #fanfiction #little goody two shoes #lebkuchen #Elise #leblise #vampire #psychological horror #graphic depictions of violence #graphic depictions of death #tw blood #look at me. this will get very intense.