#becoming a grandma one stitch at a time

[alphabetboyluvr]

PALLADIUM - MYG

title credit: palladium- greyson chance

pairing: dilf!yoongi x reader // friends to lovers, slowburn, eventual smut

synopsis:

min yoongi is urgent.  in the way he bites his nails down to the bed, and the way his sore fingers type out desperate sentences just minutes before deadlines, he is urgent. how he prepares jaehyun’s day bag before grandma comes by, and how he double checks everything is packed, he is urgent.  the requests for you to watch over jaehyun each and every deadline day are, always, predictably, urgent. but the way min yoongi falls in love with you is slow. gradual. tepid. until, like everything with min yoongi, it becomes urgent.  

wordcount: 3.2K

note from holly: this was a prompt from a winner of one of my kofi quizzes! was supposed to be a drabble but now we are looking at a lil three parter. no smut in this part, just setting up our dynamics <3 yoongi is a boy dad! idc! argue with the wall!!!!

PART TWO // PART THREE

minors dni // cross posted to wattpad

"I wouldn't ask if it wasn't urgent," Yoongi pleads across the bakery counter. Nails bitten down to the bed, he's got bags underneath his eyes. Hasn't been sleeping well these days. Hasn't really been sleeping at all.

"I told you last time—"

"I know, I know," he sighs, pushing off of the countertop and pacing a few steps away, raking a stressed palm through his long, dark hair. Dishevelled, he hasn't had it cut in a while. You'll never tell him, but you think it looks better this way. "Look, it's the last time. I promise. I just really fucked it this time."

With a raised brow, you fold your arms over your chest. The apron beneath you bunches a little awkwardly, but you've never cared much for composure around Yoongi. Have simply known him too long and seen him through too many clumsy stages of life to be bothered. 

Tipping your head back, you exhale a sharp breath from the very depths of your lungs. 

"You are so lucky Jaehyun is an angel baby," you eventually say, shaking your head as you reluctantly agree. "What time do you need me?"

"Deadline is at midnight," Yoongi says, "So whenever you can get to mine, really. Mum has him till seven, but then she's got Bitch'n'Stitch—"

"Hey," you scold. "My mum goes to that knitting group, too."

"I'm not calling her a bitch—but I've heard their conversations," Yoongi reminds you. He swears they don't actually do any knitting (as if they haven't handmade half of Jaehyun's closet). Thinks they spend the entire time gossiping. And while yes, they do do a lot of gossiping, they can multitask. Unlike him, apparently. "But fine. She has her knitting group at seven."

Yoongi will never simply call it a knitting group, if he can help it. 

Bitch'n'Stitch is his go-to, but he's also partial to Stitching Hour. 

Last week, you'd just gone on a rant about how it's inappropriate to insinuate that all women of a certain age from your small town are witches—"Women used to get burned at the stake, Yoongi. Burned!"—so he knows better than to say it out loud today, even if it makes him laugh whenever he thinks about them knitting on broomsticks.

"I'll probably be outta here at just gone six," you tell him. 

It's the late shift, so you're responsible for closing and cleaning up, but after two years of part-time work alongside your studies, you're a dab hand. Can action off every item on the to-do list in record time, and to a standard even your boss can't achieve. 

You're wasted on a small town like this, but someone's gotta do it. 

"That's fine," Yoongi nods. "I just need to straighten this essay out and get my citations done. You can go as soon as I'm finished—and hey, you can order takeout. I'll pay."

Knowing Yoongi, he's probably surviving on instant noodles, and spending all of his money on Red Bull and Jaehyun's meticulously planned diet. 

Jaehyun's been off formula for about two months, now, and Yoongi is terrified of feeding him the wrong thing. By the looks of his slightly skinnier-than-usual frame, he's the one in need of a good meal.

And so, as you're doing your final tasks of the day, you don't bin the breads that need to be chucked. Instead, you bag them up. All of them. The pastries, too. Will just have to hope Yoongi has freezer space.

By the time you make it home, you've only got ten minutes to spare for a quick shower before you need to rush to Yoongi's. You'll be a little after seven, but it's fine. You've resigned yourself to staying at Yoongi's until midnight, now. 

It's how it usually goes. 

He'll work up until his deadline, rewriting and revising paragraphs that are perfectly fine and need no alterations. His own worst critic, you know that he really doesn't need to stress himself out like this.

Still, he does. You think he'll always be this way—at least, he was in high school, and he remains to be this way, even in university. Too much of a habit has been formed. It's ingrained in the ridges of his brain. Pink and permanent—just like the pout on his lips as he opens his apartment door for you later that evening.

Forearm tucked under Jaehyun's pudgy thighs, Yoongi cradles his son into his side, as a look of relief relaxes onto his face. It's a stark reminder of why Yoongi stresses himself out so much. 

You can afford to make mistakes. The only person you have to answer to is yourself.

Yoongi doesn't have that luxury anymore. Hasn't done for a while, now. Won't ever get it again—or at least, not for another seventeen years.

"Hey," he whispers, then casts his eyes down to Jaehyun's sleepy head. Nestling into Yoongi's shoulder, Jaehyun's dark hair now has a little length to it. Much like his own, Yoongi is refusing to cut it. Another thing he's scared of getting wrong. 

The subtle nod Yoongi gestures towards Jaehyun is a request for you to be quiet. 

You're familiar with his paternal habits by now; the behaviours he exhibits only when he's wearing his invisible 'Dad' hat.

He tucks back against the door, letting you walk on through and into his apartment.

Shoes off by the door, Yoongi locks up as you shake off your jacket, and hook it on the empty peg in the middle of the rack.

Small and a little dark, Yoongi hates his home. Is strapped for cash, so turned the open plan kitchen and sitting room into a studio-type set-up. Has his bed where a sofa should be, and manages to cram everything somewhere. His desk, his small keyboard, his clothing rail that he really needs to reorganise. A bunch of his things are in storage. 

Jaehyun's room is what once was Yoongi's. It's got the most natural light, thanks to the window placement, not that it matters at this time of night. The curtains are drawn, playmat full of yellows and oranges scattered across the floor. Beside it, is Yoongi's laptop. The screensaver is running, and it's pretty obvious he'd been playing with the little toy octopus sprawled across the keyboard instead, when you had arrived.

"Bit late for nap time?" You question quietly as you pop your phone on the charging pad Yoongi keeps on the dresser.

Nodding, Yoongi gently rests his son down in his crib. These past couple of days, everything has been a little out of sync. He feels guilty—like he's failing—but the pressures he's been putting on himself are just getting far too great. He's doing the best he can, but it always feels like it's not enough.

But Jaehyun is loved, and sheltered, and provided for. Yoongi is doing all he can. He just still isn't sure he knows how to be a dad.

Which is silly, because as you watch him stroke across the dark hair that sits flat to Jaehyun's scalp, quietly monitoring his condition, you think that Yoongi was made for this. Is far more paternal than you are maternal.

Truth be told, you don't like kids all that much.

Your idea of a fun evening doesn't typically involve hanging out with an infant, and yet you'll do it for Yoongi. Of course, you will. Have known him for too long and have been through too much with him to not help him.

Plus, you really do adore Jaehyun. Sweet as can be when he sleeps, he really does look just like Yoongi at that age—or so you gather from the baby pictures you've seen a dozen times over at his parents' place. It's easier to count which features they don't share. Saves ever needing to do a paternity test, not that Yoongi would do one anyway.

Jaehyun is his kid. A little bit of DNA wouldn't change this fact, not in his eyes.

It worries you. Not because you think Yoongi isn't his father—again, they're too alike to not be related—but in case his mother decides she wants to play an active role in Jaehyun's life. You fear that the 1% of doubt could come true and tear any legal right away from Yoongi. You're not really sure how the courts would work it all out, but you doubt they'd side with him. 

Yoongi was never meant to be a father. Not now, at least. The outcome of a one-night-stand, Jaehyun's biological mother didn't realise she was pregnant until it was too late. Had no real choice in the matter. Was also nearing the end of her tenure in law school. A kid was not—and remains to not be—a part of her plan. 

You know the documents were signed. Legal rights, shit like that. Know that she must have an understanding of the law far greater than Yoongi. Just hope she hasn't done anything that will fuck him over in the future.

Still, it's not a topic of conversation Yoongi likes indulging in, and so you don't push, no matter how much you'd like to know the details. 

"Let him sleep," Yoongi eventually sighs, before sinking down to lie on the rug. "Better he rests while I'm working—and plus, he slept through till five-thirty this morning."

"Till sunrise?" You chirp, a little surprised but conscious of keeping your voice down. 

Yoongi nods, face rubbing against the carpet. "He's basically a teenager."

Rolling your eyes, you reach down for his wrist to drag him to his feet. He's got an essay to finish. 

"Shut up," you smile. "You've barely stopped being a teenager."

Sometimes, it makes you a little sad to think that Yoongi is missing out on his early twenties—but then you glance across to Jaehyun and know that he's not missing anything. Just experiencing different things. That's all. 

"Don't remind me," he grunts, lamely getting to his feet, letting you pull him down the hallway as you swipe the baby monitor that lives next to the charging pad. You'll come back for your phone later. 

"C'mon, gotta finish your essay. Can't be a DILF unless you get this degree."

"Untrue."

"You'll just be a D without a good job," you tell him. "DILF's are always suited up."

"That's simply not true," he doubles down. "I've been told I'm a DILF at least, like, six times. Maybe more."

Definitely more. If he knew the way girls on campus spoke about him? God, his head would be so big he wouldn't be able to walk through doors.

But for now, you shoo him back through Jaehyun's bedroom door and to his sitting room-come-bedroom. The apartment isn't large. A baby monitor isn't needed, yet one is set up by Yoongi's bed, regardless. 

And so, as Yoongi knuckles down with his work, you flop onto his bed, and take prime babysitting position—though you're pretty sure you'd get fired if you ever got under anyone else's sheets on the job.

But it's late, and you've worked a long shift. You're only gonna rest your eyes for a moment. A second. A fraction of one, even. Just to hydrate them a little. Replenish your—

You're out like a light.

The curse of Min Yoongi's bedsheets. You really should have known better. It happens every damn time. You know this. He knows this. 

Yet when he eventually wakes you, neither of you mention it.

"Hey," Yoongi mumbles as he gently nudges your sleepy body. Flopping down beside you on top of the duvet, his exhausted eyes close instantaneously. 

"I'm going, I'm going," you grumble into his duvet, half asleep but knowing that you should go and check on Jaehyun. 

The baby monitor hasn't made any noise to wake you, and Yoongi's just been with him for the last twenty minutes, quietly watching on as he slept. Is pretty confident he's gonna sleep through again tonight. 

Reaching out to pat you down, Yoongi doesn't really acknowledge the way he accidentally taps your ass. Nor do you. Just sort of pretend that he didn't. Pretend that it didn't make your heart race a little.

"S'fine," he says, voice muffled by his need for rest. "He's still sleeping. Just checked on him."

"Sure?"

"Mhm," Yoongi nods, the sound of his hair smooth against his sheets. "You gonna crash here?"

"You all done?" You question right back. Shuffle, and his hand lazily moves with you. His wrist now rests on your hip, and you both pretend like it's normal.

"All done," he confirms. "Was late, so I've lost ten percent, but whatever."

For someone who stresses himself out as much as Yoongi does over his grades, as soon as he's hit the submission button, he just ceases to care. Has a 'what'll be, will be' attitude towards it all. Part of you wishes he would adopt that mentality when he's actually writing his essays.

What you don't realise is that it manifests from the same fear. 

He panics and panics and panics before a deadline—and then is so worried about his grade that he just pretends like they don't exist.

Too sleepy to care at this moment in time, Yoongi's placement of his wrist on your hip becomes more intentional. Deliberate. 

It's not like you're a stranger to the weight of Yoongi's arms draped over your body. Not like it's the first time—it's just every time it does happen, you swear it'll be the last.

It never is.

And it's not like it's anything illicit. Not anything you shouldn't be doing. Nothing that takes you beyond the realms of friendship—but it does threaten the integrity of your oldest connection to another human outside of familial ties. 

So every time Yoongi gets a little too close, or you find yourself lingering a little long on his words, you tell yourself to stop. That this is just a symptom of the dry spell you've been going through.

"Are you staying here tonight?" He asks.

Again, it wouldn't be the first time. Have been having sleepovers with him since you were kids. Ghost stories, midnight feasts. Sneaking out to the park to find UFOs and stopping by the corner shop for snacks. 

Once high school hit, it was deemed unwise by your parents. Open door policy. 

You'd been furious. Outraged that your privacy was being taken from you, and being told it was for your own good.

And so sneaking out the park became sneaking in windows; films watched with headphones on, dinner eaten in your bedroom under the guise of a melodramatic teenage strop, but actually shared with the boy from two doors down who knew better than to deceive your parents.

All innocent. Nothing that required a closed door. Those escapades were saved for—or wasted on—other people. Either, or. Neither you nor Yoongi gave it much thought. Why would you?

Friends, is what you were. What you are. What you always have been.

Which begs the question: why the fuck is Yoongi looking at you like that?

But then the wrist of Yoongi's resting on your hip becomes his hand. The grip becomes intentional. The stillness of your body comes not from tiredness, but from trepidation. 

"Do you want me to?" 

"It's late," he husks, thumb stroking against your hip as if that's what friends do. "You're off tomorrow, right? Don't need to go home?"

"Right."

"Well, then stay," he shrugs, loosening his grip to roll onto his back. The ceiling is far less interesting than you are, but he has to stop looking at your lips and wondering if they taste like the strawberry lip balm you'd tossed on the side cabinet earlier. "Makes sense."

"Stay?" You question as if he still needs to clearly outline that, yes, he'd like you to stay. "And do what?"

"Sleep," he dryly replies, because it's the obvious answer. Because it's what you should do. You're tired. He's tired. Jaehyun is asleep in the next room over.

"Sleep," you nod. "Sounds good."

Domestication becomes you in times like these. A toothbrush sits in an old glass on the top shelf of Yoongi's mirrored bathroom cabinet. The rest of the shelves are pretty much empty, but he always puts it up there. Says it annoys him anywhere else.

"Surely it's more annoying having to get it down for me every time I crash here?" You banter with him as you lean against the back wall of his bathroom, waiting for him to retrieve it. 

Plucking it from the glass, Yoongi is swift with his movements, and the way he wets the brush, puts a pearl of toothpaste on the bristles, then hands it back over to you.

"Doesn't bother me," he shrugs, turning back around to shut the cabinet. When he does, he's greeted with your eyes in the mirror, and a feeling in his stomach that should bother him. 

See, the D in Yoongi's DILF actually stands for dependable (although occasionally dickhead also fits). He likes being asked to do things. Likes being helpful. Useful. Knows that he depends on you far more than you do him, and so he does this to settle the score. 

You help him pass his exams, and he helps you keep good dental hygiene habits. A win-win situation. 

Leaving you to finish washing up, Yoongi does the final checks of his apartment. Bolts the door. Turns out the lights. Makes sure Jaehyun's day bag is packed for tomorrow with his Grandma. Adds the day's clothes to the laundry pile. Stands in the doorframe of Jaehyun's room to just simply watch his son exist for a little while longer. 

He loses track of time doing this. It's a nightly routine, so you think he'd get used to it, but he never does. Still can't fully comprehend that a living, breathing creature relies on him for basic survival. 

Sure, he hides your toothbrush away, and puts things out of reach for you just to get you asking him for help, but this is different. He cares about nothing more than making sure Jaehyun is surrounded by abundance: love, shelter, food. Everything the world has to offer, Yoongi wants for his son—and that's why he's working so damn hard to make sure it happens.

There's a tenderness to how Yoongi strokes your back when you stand beside him. He's far gentler than he used to be. Benevolent with age. Isn't the same kid who used to chase you around his parent's yard with a worm in one hand, and a pile of mud in the other. 

"C'mon," you whisper, walking away because you know you need to break the contact. "Let's rest."

Yoongi nods. Is slow as he tears his gaze from his son, but just as stoic as he watches you saunter down the hallway and into your bedroom for the night. His bedroom.

You slip out of sight, just in time for Yoongi to exhale the air in his lungs. His sigh is full of unspoken words. Uncertain terms—and as he follows you down, he wonders how many more secrets will bloat his lungs throughout the night.

#bts fanfic #bts x y/n #bts x reader smut #bts fic #bts x you #bts x reader #yoongi fic #bts yoongi #yoongi smut #min yoongi smut #yoongi x reader #yoongi x you #min yoongi #yoongi #myg x you #myg x reader #myg smut #myg #byholly #yoongi oneshot #dilf yoongi

[toaster-trash]

It’s always so interesting to me how so many people tend to look at protagonists’ reactions in 19th century gothic media and immediately slap a label on them as “over-dramatic” or “weak”, when in reality I don’t think we (as a society) know what we’re talking about. I think our society is collectively desensitised to concepts, and what I mean by that is that the concept of a story like Dracula or Frankenstein isn’t something that we’d ever bat an eye at because it’s been so ingrained into our very understanding or the concept of basic modern horror premises that we no longer appreciate it for what it is, and I’ve been guilty of it too. So a lot of people take the protagonists reactions to their circumstances, and paint it as melodrama or even worse, get high and mighty and claim that if THEY were in that scenario, they would NEVER do something so stupid, right?

But I need you to take a minute to actually think about the positions these characters are in. We’ve become so desensitised to these concepts, but if we were actually in those positions in real life we would probably not be able to handle them half as well as some of these characters. For example, Dracula. Sure, guy goes to stay in spooky castle, client turns out to be a vampire, pretty standard, easy to point at Jonathan Harker’s decisions and blame him. Oh Jonathan, don’t you know walking through an abandoned castle when your client tells you not to is bound to get you hurt? Don’t you know going to a remote area with villagers crossing themselves every five seconds is dangerous?

But actually think about this. You’re a solicitor, you have a fiancée back home and you need this job. You meet your client, he’s a little creepy, you feel unsafe, but you need this job. What are you going to do, turn back and tell your employer you couldn’t do it because the vibes were off? Obviously not. You suck it up. Then slowly, your world starts collapsing around you and slowly getting smaller as you find yourself trapped inside this man’s house and you slowly come to the realisation that you are being held captive in the house of a creepy old man who has access to all the rooms in the house, including your own, and can enter it at any time, in a secluded area far away from everyone, and with no hope of reaching out for help. He has the power to do anything to you, and you’re completely helpless, and does. You are going to die there and none of your loved ones will ever know what happened to you. Your abuser might even fabricate your identity or conduct a lie to ruin all memory of you forever. Then things get worse, and you realise that your abuser and captor isn’t even human. Throw in the infanticide and assault scenes, and that is a horrifying scenario, and I don’t think some people fully recognise that when they read it.

The very same with Frankenstein, oh haha, Victor gets ill often, look at him fainting every five minutes, what a whiny bitchboy, right? But Jesus Christ, again, think about this scenario that he’s in properly. My guy digs up corpses, brings them to his dorm room and stitches them together, only for him to bring said corpses to life and watch his inanimate amalgamation of dead bodies come to life in your house. Now again, imagine cutting up corpses and sewing them together. If you can’t manage that, imagine a friend of yours came to you and told you that they’d been stealing corpses, cutting them up, and sewing them together, and they now have an 8ft tall giant amalgamation or corpses in their room. Now imagine going to their house and seeing that amalgamation of corpses. Good luck not passing out and vomiting all over their bedroom floor, and extra good luck not needing extreme psychiatric care afterwards. Again, corpses. I’m willing to bet half the people here have never even seen a corpse, and this isn’t even freshly-dead-grandma-in-the-coffin, these are decomposing and rotting corpses of real human beings. Observed. And some corpses cut up. And pieced together. Into a giant corpse. Genitalia included. Intestines included. Everything else included. And then that corpse then starts killing everyone you’ve ever loved and you have the added guilt that it IS it’s own person and you’ve abandoned it.

Which of course, could lead me into a whole separate rant, on how I believe that Victor’s flaw doesn’t lie in his horror at his own actions, and his fainting and illness and whatnot, but rather at his deliberate avoidance of the consequences of those actions – (horrifying as they may have been to come to terms with, his avoidance ultimately led to the mental distress and death of tons of completely innocent people, and his avoidance, however difficult, was still very much wrong and Victor is still very much to blame for it) – as well as the mania and obsessive justification he kept using to reach that goal. Although again, it could be argued there was avoidance in that as well – Victor pasting clinical lenses over all his actions, ignoring his family and friends, which ultimately all caught up with him. It’s my reading that Victor isn’t to blame whatsoever because he’s “over dramatic” or that “whiny”, he has every right to be severely traumatised by his experiences, however much his own fault they may be, he is to blame because at every turn where he could have faced his actions and confided in a friend or likewise, he did not, and it led to the deaths of everyone he loved. Except for Ernest, who likely then had to live with the death of his entire family.

But that’s a side rant – my primary point is, I genuinely do not remotely believe that authors in the past were really any more “emotional” or “melodramatic” than we are today. The only difference is that because the premise of these plots have been so deeply engrained into our society, we do not understand how horrifyingly traumatising these situations are by nature and dismiss them out of hand. Dracula did not exist yet when Dracula was being written. Frankenstein did not exist yet when Frankenstein was being written. Don’t come looking to read old gothic literature expecting a camp B-list horror film, and then call the characters over-dramatic when they react like average actual human beings to absolutely horrific scenarios.

And what’s more with regard to general more open affection between friends in older books, no it isn’t unrealistic, we’re all just cynical assholes now. (There’s a limit, obviously. Some characters are just raging homosexuals and there’s no other explanation. “His form so divinely wrought and beaming with beauty” my ass alright now just admit you had gay sex and be done with it)

#gothic lit #classic literature #gothic literature #goth lit #classic lit #frankenstein #frankenstein weekly #dracula #dracula daily #frankenstein or the modern prometheus #re:dracula #re: dracula #victor frankenstein #Jonathan Harker #clervalstein? #clervalstein

[blues824]

Idk if you did this but can you do Diasomnia dorm timeskip! ( like Malleus is now king and the other three now happily serve him! ) there reactions(and reaction of great grandma Malificent! She gets Vietnam war flashbacks) of Mc(married to malleus) actually being a dragon light fae! That had their wings, horns, tail and even forced surgery to have human features, like if you even get close enough to them without them noticing you can see stitches on their ears! On their back the beautiful wings ripped off scars and you can even see whip lashes some older then others! Their tail chopped off like it was nothing! Their horns, would normally grow back buy sadly from them being broken so many times... over and over again they are no longer growing another reason they don't grow anymore is because of a magic infused seal made by the humans from that war so long ago... the magic infused seal keeps all of their magic... and that is a reason why mc seems to be called 'human' no one can sense it...

Gender-neutral reader. Heavy angst, talk of human, fae, and dragon mutilation.

Malleus Draconia

You had become his spouse only a few years ago, but those years were the best in his life. He got to be tied in matrimony with his beloved, and he was happy to see that his retainers as well as his grandmother were all very accepting of the marriage.

Of course, he knows of the pain that humans have brought you due to you being a very rare and valuable light dragon. The first time he had seen your dragon form, he was expecting to see large and bright wings, but there were none in sight. In fact, you were more like a giant tailless lizard and it made him upset that you had endured so much.

But, he still views you as beautiful. The scars on your ears, the scars on your back, all of it was a symbol of strength and tolerance. He often placed gentle kisses upon said scars to make you feel a bit better on the days where the phantom wings really got into your head.

Lilia Vanrouge

He was the first to notice the scars upon your ears, and he gently asked you about it. Of course, he was very neutral when it came to humans, but to hear that Malleus’s spouse had to endure such mutilation caused by humans made him question his neutrality. He was just happy that you saw Silver in a good light.

Lilia treats you as though you were one of his children, often calling you ‘dear’ and such. He became a source of comfort, as he knows what its like to suffer through painful torture at the expense of beings who you never guessed could do so much damage. After all, he doesn’t want any of his children to suffer alone.

Anyways, he was overjoyed to see Malleus finding another dragon to wed, and a very rare one at that. The bat fae could see that the two of you were very happy with each other and very in love, so he made sure that he would serve you until he drew his last breath.

Silver

You had known him since he was a baby, and thus you held no resentment towards him. You were aware that not all humans were the same, and when he was a boy he voiced his desires to serve Malleus and you as a knight. His determination was both adorable and admirable, and you were the one to pull a few strings in the army to get him to training.

However, in the army, he heard whispers about how you were completely backwards: you were tortured by humans but did not seek revenge. Silver was definitely shocked and he later asked you what had happened. You said that he was too young to know and that you would tell him once he was older.

The knight had never forgotten, and after your wedding to Malleus, he had asked once again what happened. You told him the story about how you were abducted from your parents’ nest and mutilated. You even leaned in closely so he could see the scars on your ears, and Silver almost shed a tear at how horrifying it was.

Sebek Zigvolt

You had also known him since he was rather young, and you had gotten to know his parents. The couple had known about how humans had destroyed Briar Valley and your body, but you held no resentment towards Mr. Zigvolt. When he enlisted to start training to become a knight, you had admired him for it.

Along with Silver, he heard from the soldiers that he was training with that humans would not survive this training course because of what they had done to you. Instead of asking you, he instead asked his parents what had happened. Imagine his surprise and pure disgust when he found out.

This caused him to further hate the human side of him, and he voiced his despair to you many years later, after your wedding to Waka-sama. However, you placed your hand gently on your shoulder as you stated that you harbored no ill-will against humanity and not against him or his father. The reassurance definitely made him cry.

#twst #twst x reader #twst wonderland #disney twst #twst angst #disney twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland #malleus #twst malleus #malleus x reader #malleus draconia x reader #malleus draconia #twst malleus draconia x reader #twst malleus draconia #twst malleus x reader #lilia #lilia x reader #lilia vanrouge #lilia vanrouge x reader #twst lilia vanrouge #twst lilia x reader #twst lilia #silver #silver x reader #silver vanrouge #silver vanrouge x reader #twst silver #twst silver x reader #sebek

[precious-little-scoundrel]

As Requested: The Birth of Jesse and Ella

From the Sarge and lil Mama Universe

Warnings: pretty darn fluffy and sweet with the exception of descriptions of birth and labor, along with what might be considered disturbing inclusions of period typical insensitivity towards women’s wishes during labor and mention of a husband stitch

Word Count: 5k…a blurb was requested, well, uh, sorry about that

With excerpts from:

October, 1958 Memphis

Birth was awful, Elaine had always heard it, been cautioned of it, had the warning dumped like ice water on her motherly ambitions. You want a lotta kids? -just wait till you have to push a single one out. Elaine had expected it to hurt worse than anything she ever imagined but somehow, she thought it would feel more natural than this.

The pain was terrifyingly foreign and without a single cessation to get on top of it, the contractions put broken bones and smashed flesh to shame, and the helpless urge to do something was a floundering and aimless desperation that filled her with anxiety so strong she could barely breathe from it. The nurse cupping the gas mask to her face smiled down assuringly and Elaine hated her for it, the gal was so sure all would be well when everything in Elaine’s body rebelled against the drugged misery, the flat back, stirrup strapped contortion the doctor had locked her body in and left her at.

She thought it would at least feel natural. Like pulling a tooth. Like taking a man. Like all the other painful rites of passage that women surmounted generation after generation.

But now, near puking from pain and cuffed like a psych prisoner to the bed, no distraction save the flicker off the fluorescent bulbs above her, Elaine felt a wrongness and a betrayal she never expected.

She’d been so agreeable to going to the hospital, never thought otherwise. The army had been accommodating enough to let them return to Memphis and everything, and here she lay giving birth in the same ward she was born in. It should have been sweet. She had assumed it would be and it had been non negotiable with Elvis, things were to be done properly for his babies, and she had no comparison to cause her to object.

Elvis lost his brother in a twin birth, a home birth, and nearly his mama too. Things had to be done properly. What else was his money for?

Elaine hadn’t thought to object. What else was there? Primitive squatting in the woods somewhere? She was a decent, suburban girl, she had passed through a successive graduation of establishments throughout her life, preschools and proms and community services and now she was at St. Joseph’s pushing out her first child in a condoned, sterile, proper facility. Elvis, cheated of such all American properness by his upbringing, often praised her teasingly for being “such an upstandin’ lil citizen”.

Somehow the pride didn’t manage to fill her this time. Just the wrongness of it all. She tried to think of Elvis in those first hours, how anxious he must be having been kept out of the room, how happy she’d make him by presenting two healthy children at the end of her feminine ordeal. She refused to accept the thought for anything going wrong. Women were made for this, and she had assumed a miraculous sort of sustenance and wisdom were given them during.

Laying rigid and wracked with pain on scratchy white sheets -Elaine had never felt so alone, not a shred of Divine motivation or husbandly encouragement left in her exhausted heart. Becoming frantic as the ordeal wore on, she found herself begging for some assurance, more than those spinster nurses and bored physicians could provide her. She begged for her mama, she begged for Dodger who had told her they’d do nothing more than torture her “in that big ole place.”

No visitors are allowed, Mrs. Presley -she was denied each time.

Dodger, as usual, had been right. And Elaine demanded she be let in. She was sure that her husband and his grandma had stayed in the waiting room, they weren’t far.

Bring Minnie Mae in -she was Elaine Presley, wife of Memphis’ own Elvis Presley, and if they denied her she’d ruin their hospital's name.

Bring her Dodger, she needed Dodger.

Dodger came in, in low, slung-back heels and a dress that was fashionable three decades ago, wrinkled bony hands and thin, hard set mouth. Elaine thought she’d seen an Angel.

“What do you want?” Dodger grunted down at her.

Elaine whimpered and shook her head, entirely unsure, she’d just wanted comfort or direction. “I thought you’d know what to do.” she explained in a wheeze.

“You push ‘em out.”

“I can’t.” Elaine sobbed, she physically didn’t feel capable of doing anything but enduring. She really had thought she’d be able to participate in her own delivery.

“What’s gonna make ya?” Dodger asked.

“I can’t do anything like this.” Elaine cried, yanking at her restraints.

“Wanna stand up?”

Elaine was startled at the suggestion and through the fog of pain and gas it sounded like a rebellion of sorts. She hesitated. “Maybe.”

“You ever shit layin’ down?” Dodger put it ever so delicately in clearer, enlightening terms. “No one can ‘nless they got the runs. Baby’s head ain’t no runs, get up.”

Dodger had yanked the straps off and threatened to use the forceps on the objecting nurse. She stood Elaine up with a yank to the girl's arms and spun her round till she was facing the bed, feet spread apart and hands on the bed, head hanging low and her back heaving in breaths now the position allowed her to breath. She’d taken Elvis this way a hundred times, nothing to it -you just hang your head and tilt your hips and breathe through it till the cock didn’t feel so big.

This she knew. “Ok, ok, it is better.” she agreed even as a scream tore out of her at the burning stretch down below.

That stretch had been Jesse’s head, although in the midst of agony and Bureaucratic chaos, Elaine didn’t know anything beyond fiery stretching and a gush down her legs. His little noggin almost hit the floor he slid out so lanky and tiny, no sooner had she register a modicum of relief from passing her first child than the doctor berated her.

“Almost hit his head, this is why we labor in beds.” he had said and she could have gnawed his balding head off his scrawny neck for using the word “we” when he’d never felt or ever would feel what she had just endured. “She’s torn, a lot actually, going to be a mess to clean up later but I guess it will help the next one.”

They took Jesse and they wiped him clean as his first cries sounded somewhere behind his mama, Dodger’s hand still pressed firmly to her lower back as Ella used his newfound vacancy to make an effort herself. Elaine struggled and twisted, trying to catch sight of her son.

“I want my baby.” she gasped, “Y’all give me my baby.” she stood straight with an effort that even Dodger tried to prevent. “I want my baby!”

“You can’t hold him now-“

“Give him to me-“

“Elaine honey,” Dodger shushed as gently as the old bird knew how, “you’re too weak, can’t push and hold. Let ‘em put him on the bed. Put him there, right in front of ya, yeah, that’s it, so you can see him. Just do it, ya pinstriped idiot, it’s her kid, ain’t it?”

When the nurse laid Jesse down on the sheets, he was a dark haired, swaddled little thing in a bloody towel. Tiny but not so shrimpy for a twin, he was red and purple all over with the puffiest little face and the juiciest little lips and a tiny nose and eyes that squinted shut in tears. His cord was still attached to her, hanging off the bed between her legs, the tether not yet cut. Elaine felt it to be the specialist moment in the world, that one right then.

Oh it’s an unaccountable thing, that rush of gratitude and relief when your first born is laid on you. Violent love surges after it, quick as a tidal wave, as a tiny hand still covered in your blood pats your skin to learn you from the outside this time, the only person who’s ever done it opposite from all others. It's immeasurable the strength that frail little being gives you, to push once more, to bring out another life after it, a twin to reunite the Trinity.

“My son” Elaine acknowledged the gift through the agony, her sweaty forehead against his fuzzy one, watching his brave little face take in the lights and sounds and pain of this life she’d given him with a wonder that steeled her as she braced and pushed again.

Ella was easier, in the way someone at the brink of their worst feels no exacerbation of their agony. It was every bit as bad and every bit as tiring, doubly so with one already done, but this time Jesse lay there with an oxygen cannula taped to his fuzzy cheek and watched his mama huff and grimace above him, her hips cradled by Dodger’s boney hands, and in between the increasing spams, Elaine gasped adorations and babbled welcomes to him. After a short time Jesse snoozed in his little cacoon, and his peacefulness was more calming than any breath coaching the staff could give her. She matched her breaths to the rise and fall of his tiny chest and soon enough when she felt between her legs, there was the furry little head of his sister.

This time the doctor was prepared and had a nurse knelt to catch Elvis’ Presley second child. Little Ella came out the opposite of Jesse, no trouble at all with her petite head but a decent belly and buttox in the little girl gave Elaine a brief bit of grief before she popped out entirely.

Ella may have been caught in the safe hands of a registered nurse but Elaine had no such luck. No sooner was the rush over and her impediments pushed out of her body than she staggered backwards and landed flat on the floor, her legs giving out. Dodger’s shins caught the back of her head and saved her from splitting her skull on the tile but it was a brutal jarring nonetheless and it cemented a terrified horror where Elaine felt that she was entirely neglected in a room full of people sworn to help her.

Dodger, bless her, cursed up a storm at the accident and knelt beside the poor girl, doing her best to gather Elaine up as blood and fluids gushed freely between her legs.

Elaine felt like sobbing. Soon she fully was and remained so as the Doctor and two nurses hefted her onto the bed as gingerly as they could, profusely apologizing to Mr. Presley’s new wife. Jesse was placed on her chest and Ella, after having the cord snipped and washed, bundled and had her foot stamped, was brought over, too. Elaine laid there on her back again, eighteen hours after she had first begun and did her best to hold them as the sugar crash and blood loss made her teeth chatter and limbs tremble.

“A healthy five pounds both of them,” the doctor beamed with the satisfaction of a man who had accomplished a hard day’s work, “although the boy has a couple points on the girl.”

They were perfect, they were positively perfect, that’s what Elaine tried her best to focus on as her bearings came back to her and tiredness drug her limbs down. They were perfect and they were here. “Dodger,” she addressed Grandma in a thin voice, not even bothering to send her request to the staff, “would you go tell Elvis they’re here? Tell him they’re perfect.”

“He can’t come in yet, dear!” The head nurse protested, knowing the mulish young man would be forcing entry as soon as he heard.

“Why not? It’s over.” Elaine sighed.

“We’ve got to clean you up!” The nurse was scandalized, “He mustn’t see you all disheveled like this, it can very negatively effect a man, seeing his wife rumpled and brutalized by the birthing process. It's ended some marriages.” She warned and then added, “And you must be stitched first.”

“Then could we please -do it?” Elaine asked, “I’d like to see my husband and I’d like him not to worry any longer.”

“Y’all clean her up,” Dodger motioned, “and I’ll go fetch him.”

They were applying ice towels to her swollen eyes to reduce the evidence of weeping when she left. They sat Elaine up and they checked her pulse and blood pressure and her temperature. All was well, or as well as could be hoped. All except down south with her house, Elaine chewed her lip anxiously and clutched little Jesse harder for comfort as the doctor inspected her, rather like Elvis had done when proposing. Except Elvis was always so tender and he worked his touches up from gentle to firm, never went right in and spread torn petals apart without a care. Elaine bit her lip and figured she’d been awful enough to the staff, harsh and stubborn, a rebel in so many ways and now her ordeal was over, it would be best to resume the proper attitude she’d been taught.

So she was meek, and she was obliging and grateful, and she tiredly agreed when the doctor said she’d need stitches, the same as any other tear to the flesh. And when, lamp beaming at her nether regions and needle in hand, the doctor told her he was going to add one extra little stitch for her husband's enjoyment, Elaine assumed it was a medical formality. After all, he didn’t ask if he could, he said he was going to, and doctors only do what doctors must. She had her babies now, and anything required to have more must be done.

Sat up on stitched and taut flesh, pillows stuffed behind her back and her face scrubbed into immaculate freshness, Elaine put on her widest smile for Elvis, not a hard thing to do with the gifts in her arms. It turned fully genuine as her man burst through the door only to stall and moderate his intensity the minute he realized he had arrived. Elvis looked bewildered, eyes wide as saucers and his long legs stumbling to a halt as the door thudded behind him in Vernon’s face, assessing every bit of equipment inside and potential threat before his eyes landed on the bed that held his new family.

Elaine could hear his intake of breath from across the room and her grin now threatened to split her face.

“Those our babies?” he asked hoarsely with a shaking finger, not making a single move to come closer. Like this whole ordeal had him so shaken he didn’t know which way was up or down.

“Yeah baby, they’re ours.” Elaine had to force her smile closed to talk, marveling at his timidity, the awed look on his face and the reverent little shakes coursing up his body like he was about to go up Mount Sinai and meet God. “Come meet your children, Elvis.” she whispered, framing it in a way she hoped would remind him he too belonged in this room, he was head of them all, their protector, their provider and perhaps most importantly, the architect of the dream that brought them into being. “They wanna meet their daddy, keep lookin’ around and fussing like they know someone’s missing.”

He gave her a look of reproof for fibbing to spare his feelings before one of the babies came to their mother’s rescue and let out a pitiful, newborn wail. Elvis flinched at the sound, drawing back into himself for a brief moment before the cry was repeated and his instinct to soothe dominated his tentative fear.

“See, I told you!” Elaine grinned as she pulled down the blanket little Jesse was swaddled in and showed his puckered face.

Slowly, with light footfalls and a hand running along the bed for support, Elvis drew closer until he was beside them and Elaine saw his face light up with more overwhelmed joy than she’d ever seen on him before, just as his eyes filled with tears in an instant.

“Oh Laney,” he put his hand to his mouth unsteadily, “you done good mamas.”

She did her best to scoot her legs over without wincing and nodded to the vacated little space on the bed. “C’mon Elvis, they don’t bite. Not yet.” she whispered, casting a glance at the nurse who was peddling soundlessly in the far corner, back turned and utterly discreet, waiting if she were needed at any moment.

“I’m jus’ worried ‘bout breakin’ ‘em.” he confessed, gingerly sitting down beside her, his eyes never wavering in their metronome bounce from one child to the next and back. “They’re so little, so fragile lookin’ and -a-and they’re so pink, baby, look how pinks and fluffy they is.” Elaine thought his wide-eyed, rosebud mouthed awe was rather identical to the faces he was admiring and understood his shock, pretty things take the wind out of you. “I-I-I was so damn scared of touchin’ you, you’re so lil and gentle a-a-and they’re even littler!”

“I’ve never seen a more tender man, you’ve got fingers so delicate they could undo a knot in silk thread.” Elaine disagreed, “You should feel their cheeks, even softer than they look.”

Elvis swallowed hard, screwing up his courage before he raised his hand from where it had been wiping sweat off on his pants and brought it dried and shaking to gently run along the curve of Ella’s tiny face.

He little out a little gasping laugh. “Angels, they’re gen-u-ine angels.” He pronounced softly after rubbing his forefinger along Jesse’s tiny nose. “Ain’t nothin’ made me happier than I am right this minute.” he realized and Elaine’s heart clenched in gratification for the success of all her labor. “God took away one, gave me three back.” he huffed in a breath and realizing he needed a handkerchief, pulled his hand back, looking around in the white sheets like one would appear. The kindly nurse took pity and brought one over wordlessly, Elvis was a little shocked to find her present, not registering her existence in the room before, (as was she to meet Elvis Presley wordlessly with a proffered tissue) but he took it gratefully.

“Would you like to hold one of them, Mr. Presley?” she asked after having given Elaine some water as Elvis still sat where he’d perched himself and stared like he was looking into a portal.

“C’mon daddy.” Elaine whispered, nudging his stiff leg with her foot, “they wanna meet their daddy.”

Elaine suggested Jesse be the one as he’d eaten most recently while Ella was having some trouble latching. The nurse took Jesse from his warm little cocoon at Elaine’s side, and brought him around the bed to his daddy, who carefully formed a cradle with his arms and the nurse deposited his son there.

“Yeah, give me my boy.” Elvis nodded through parched lips and shuddered as he felt the tiny weight of his child settle in his arms, tiny head cradled to his chest. “Hey buddy,” he whispered, head reared back and expression a little frozen, like he was either holding something very dangerous or something very good that could be taken back at anytime, “sorry bout all the racket in there.” he referred to his pounding heart right beneath Jesse’s pink ear, “S’just that I’m so glad to meet you. Been waitin’ so long.”

Elaine watched them happily, exhaustion and satisfaction turning her complex feelings into the most rudimentary emotions and thoughts. “We made these.” she marveled and thought she heard the nurse titter for a moment, “Does everyone say that?” She asked her with a laugh.

“Not uncommon.” The woman agreed bashfully, “Me and my man did. Couldn’t stop saying it.”

“Absolute miracle.” Elvis protested, growing bold enough the thumb as Jesse’s cheek as he held him, “We made ‘em alright, strangest thing, the way I’m holdin’ something that’s half me and half you!”

“Made duplicates just in case.” Elaine added her joke and they both laughed.

“Sweet Jesus I think he just cracked a smile.” Elvis’ laugh was suddenly cut short as he wheezed in fascination.

“Babies usually don’t smile until much later.“ the nurse soothed gently but Elvis interrupted with an adamant-

“-well it appears that my son is extra smart, ma’am.” He grinned down at his boy with an immense amount of pride at his good humor which reminded him of his pride in Elaine and his eyes flitted up to hers and locked there. “You know I love you, Tink, but I-I-I- d-don’t think you’ve got the vaguest notion h-h-how grateful I am to you right this minute. You’re makin’ dreams come true like a goddamn fairy. I-I-I can’t say enough I-I don’t got words for it I just -I’d die for you, girl, and you and our babies ain’t ever gonna want for nothin’, I swear it.”

Elaine had never trusted another human being more in her life than she trusted this young man sat on her bed, about as young and lost as herself but so determined that she hadn’t a single choice or doubt except to believe him.

Ella began to fuss and the nurse asked if she wanted to try feeding again, no doubt the baby girl was hungry and Elaine agreed. “Here, Mr. Presley, I’ll take the little boy so you can go.” she helpfully held out her arms but Elvis clutched his precious bundle like she was gonna take him permanently. Elaine was reminded of a story Miss Gladys used to tell her about baby Elvis and a prized sack of bananas.

“I-I-I don’t wanna give him.” Elvis settled for this moderate expression of his sentiments on the subject.

“But sir -your wife needs to nurse. I'm sure they’ll extend the visiting hours for you, no need to worry on that account.”

“Oh I’m not leavin’ for that ma’am.” he clarified breezily, “I hold eatin’ in mighty high regard and I’d like to see to it my daughter finds her footin’ in it, ya see.”

“But-“ the nurse was rather astounded at this simple logic and in torn loyalties she turned back to Mrs. Presley in concern “-wouldn’t you like some privacy, ma’am? We’ll have to…uncover you.”

Elaine looked at her a little puzzled before assuring softly, “I don’t mind, he’s seen me before.”

The nurse colored at this modest statement that spoke so much and Elvis wasn’t sure if she was taken aback at their comfortableness around each other or at the suggestion of The Elvis Presley and his little wife making babies. Half the nation were obsessed with what they did behind closed doors and Elvis eyed her suspiciously lest she turn into some sorta fascinated personage. She didn’t though, she allowed Jesse to remain with his father and, rather more delicately than necessary, helped Elaine with Ella’s latching.

There had been dribbles of milk that Elvis had seen before Elaine gave birth, but it was nothing like the profusion that poured out now, so much sustenance that Ella’s tiny throat made great gulping sounds as she drank. Elvis, much to the nurse’s horror, was fascinated by it and soon found his old boldness, scooting himself up till he was sat beside Elaine in the narrow bed and could support her elbow while watching. The nurse was made more uncomfortable when the new father took to whispering a thousand different thanks and endearments into his young wife’s ear, and sweet as it was, the aggressive smooches she answered him with were of the sort the nurse was usually of the assumption led to more. But not with this couple, they swapped affection easily, too easily, and shared sentiments and compared their two children for the next hour, pointing out features and guessing at characteristics until the nurse quietly took her leave, stumbling into a barricade of men outside waiting on their boss.

“You should sing to them.” Elaine suggested to him once she’d gone, when Jesse wouldn’t stop fussing when it was his time to burp. “They’ve heard it for nine months, worked with the kicks every time.” she recalled and Elvis smiled sheepishly in reminiscence that those little kicks he’d once poured his heart out to were now little souls laying in his arms with his features printed on them.

At the first swooping and softly sung words of ‘My Father’s House’ by their daddy both babies stilled and their little slits of eyes searched restlessly until they found his face and they stayed staring at him until their violet, paper thin eyelids fluttered closed in sleep.

————————————————-

|| Excerpt from Mrs. Presley and Other Living Martyrs:||

“There was a narrow window in the door he’d rather uh, rudely let slam behind him,” Billy Smith would later recall with a smile, “and you best believe the whole lot of us were pressed up to it trying to get a glimpse of them inside. We were all real excited about the babies and we knew Elaine was a champ but it’s one thing to think about it and it’s another for her to do it and be alright after. We were all worried for her, last time we’d been in this hospital it had been with Gladys. So we were all crowding the window and Vernon and Mr. Phipps were actin’ like teenagers with their elbows jabbin’ at each other for space but this one time the grandpas seemed to be actually jokin’ about it. Granny tried gettin’ us to leave ‘em be but it wasn’t like we were disturbin’ them none, they didn’t mind us one bit and it was the sweetest thing watchin’ them pass a baby back and forth and they were gigglin’ so much one minute then cryin’ the next. EP was an absolute mess, he was so happy. They looked like a couple of kids clutchin’ a candy haul they stole and figured someone was gonna come along and say they were too young for ‘em and had to give ‘em up. Just two kids really, two kids with a couple of babies they’d made. Not sure they’d ever had such a normal moment in their lives, not since he got famous, at least. They stayed like that for a couple of hours ‘till Elvis realized he could have some fun introducin’ his new kids and so he came out the door holding little Jesse above his head like he was the damn Prince of Memphis. The whole hallway was jam packed with folks who were visiting their hospitalized relatives, loitering staff, all sorts, everybody havin’ heard she was here delivering, and the whole place erupted when he brought the baby out, said that him and his sister were well and Miss Elaine was in fine shape. That applause must’ve been real gratifying for Mrs. Presley.”

Ten days were encouraged for the new mother to stay in the hospital but after five Elaine found herself anxious and uncomfortable away from her home and she begged Elvis to make the staff let her come home.

“Elvis was never more besotted with Elaine than when she was pregnant, and it only got worse when she’d just popped out a kid and was holding it and asking for something.” Joe Esposita wrote, “She talked him into making them send some staff to Graceland and letting her out early, and she swore she’d let him carry her up and down any stairs for the next week. So, after he made her sign a drink coaster that said as much, he went and charmed the administrator into sparing a doctor and four nurses to come live at Graceland for 10 days. We later learned the staff had flipped coins to see who got to go, everyone was so eager to see the famous couple up close. ”

Five days after delivering, Elaine got her wish and was wheeled out of the maternity ward in a wheel chair and down the hall to the elevator, a pristine and glamorous figure with a baby swaddled in her arms as her handsome husband strode by her side, wearing his uniform on leave as suggested by the Colonel, and carrying a precious bundle himself.

In “TLC: The Presley Way” -Marie Presley’s documentary of her family’s life- Ella recounted having often heard from her mother the story of Elvis preparing her to leave for home.

Ella recounted: “She would often tell me about how daddy had come up to the room with all these bags. He’d already brought so much stuff over during her stay, they had to haul literal baskets full of possessions and gifts and stuffed animals out of her ward back to Graceland when they moved out, it had been like a hotel stay, collecting so much. But he did come up that day with these pretty pink bags and he was so excited, he tore the tissue paper out himself and showed her this absurdly fluffy white coat he’d bought. It was way too heavy for October but it was a little chilly out and it gave her the perfect excuse to wear it. It was made out of arctic foxes and was the fluffiest, most expensive, whitest thing you’ve ever seen and it hid her swollen figure perfectly, made her look like an angel in the press pictures. Mama said he also brought a little makeup kit, and there was hairspray and curlers and combs in the other bag, and daddy sat on her hospital bed while she was in a chair and he carefully painted her face. She always loved telling about how sweet and careful he was about her image, she said she had felt very humiliated and out of control during the labor, and it was like he was putting her back together, making her familiar to herself again, crafting some dignity back. And -you’ve seen the pictures, she’s perfection, her makeup is flawless and he had swooped her hair back from her face so she’s glowing. Even tied it back with that little ribbon, it’s just so much, I mean -she looks like a doll carrying out smaller dollies from the hospital. And of course later the female press would slam her for making something as hard as birth and children look like dollhouse props but like a lot of things, they didn’t realize it came from love. It came from daddy caring about how she felt, how she wanted to be presented, they both had a lot of pride and were complementary in that way. She had just delivered twins and was about to meet half of Memphis on the curb before going home. Can you really blame her for letting her husband make her up? Can you blame him for pouring out his pride in what she’d done through his art?”

Along with tender care and as much provision for her comfort as possible, it would be Elvis Presley’s last gift to his wife before he left for Germany less than two weeks later.

Hope y’all enjoyed! Your “bugging” and “screaming” is music to my ears, fuel to my fire and keeps me writing, please never hold back -this is a safe space for feral little Elvis loving rodents…like you and me.

If you’d like to be tagged in this particular series please drop a note below. I’ll admit I’m disorganized and have trouble keeping all the requests sorted when they’re scattered, what I do check regularly are the requests in the notes for chapters -and I do manage to get those added. So, if you’ve put in a request and I’ve failed ya, or if you’re new and would like to be added, please pop a note below. Xoxo 💋

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#prompts: filled #elvis fanfiction #elvis presley #sarge and lil mama universe #elvis fanfic #elvis imagine #elvis x reader #Elvis #baby elvis #army elvis #elvis and me #welcome home elvis #elvis on tour #elvispresley #elvis presley x reader smut #elvis presley x reader #elvis presley fic #elvis presley smut #elvis presley fan fic #elvis presley fanfiction

[gingersforeverbox]

Headcanons about Nathan Bateman and a Reader who likes to crochet

A/n: Ok, I know this is niche/ self-indulgent as fuck, but I just took up crocheting about a month ago (loving it too) and I can’t stop imagining what Nathan with a reader who likes to crochet would look like, So have some headcanons!

Crochet is tricky to get the hang of, but I feel like your determination to keep trying and to keep learning would definitely interest Nathan. 

Now don’t get me wrong, I still think Nathan would laugh and call it a “grandma hobby”, but he is secretly relieved that you’ve found something to keep you occupied out in the middle of nowhere with him.

Nathan’s grocery lists slowly begins to add regular shipments of various yarns over time for you, resulting in a room in the facility becoming devoted to your craft as a sort of art studio, equipped with custom crochet hooks that take your hands and preferences into account. You’ve looked many times, but you can never find where they came from or who made them (Nathan made them for you specifically but will deny it to your face).

If you like working on your crochet around others, I can absolutely see Nathan either working in the lab while you work on the futon behind his desk  or even him just flopping down on the couch next to you after a long day with a beer.

The one thing about the crocheting that Nathan does not enjoy is finding the little scraps of yarn around the facility, and he will not hesitate to get on the overcoms to tell you to remove a piece of scrap he found in his lab. Every now and then you think that he takes a piece of scrap from your pile just to put it in the lab as an excuse to make you come and see him (he does).

Working on your first big piece? He will watch your internet history fill up with tutorials and advice from crocheting websites and social media, and he will offer a small compliment on a specific pattern of stitch you use throughout your piece.

Nathan would absolutely ask you to replace a beanie he uses for when he goes hiking up the glacier.

you can't TELL me that he wouldn't nag you about taking care of your hands.

"Your hands are gonna be crippled in a week if you don't take a break every now and then honey." "Use these. They're fingerless compression gloves specifically for people who use yarn. Don't look at me like that, I just don't want to have to listen to you whine about it later."

idk I'm just imagining Nathan just watching Reader descend into crocheting madness

#my stuff #nathan bateman #nathan bateman x reader #ex machina

[gumnut-logic]

What was lost

This is an random idea I had ages ago and I had a spare few hours so jotted it down.

Many thanks to the amazing @onereyofstarlight for the read through and sanity check ::hugs tight::

I hope you enjoy it :D

-o-o-o-

Scott woke tired.

The pattern of filtered sunlight on his bedroom ceiling was foreign and unwelcoming as it had been yesterday. Outside, the world was obviously moving as it always did, time passing, along with his life.

He groaned and rolled over. If he didn’t get up, Grandma would get suspicious and then everything would get worse.

It could always get worse.

Throwing off the covers he sat up and dropped his feet off the edge of the bed.

And set his bedroom spinning around and around, his heart hammering in his chest.

Ugh.

He didn’t need this.

He really didn’t.

Letting his head drop slowly between his knees, he gave his circulation the chance to catch up, and slowly, ever so slowly, the room slowed to a more comprehensible state. The breath that leaked out between his teeth deflated him, his shoulders drooping.

Ever since Virgil had been injured, it had been like this.

Scott closed his eyes. It was worry. It had to be. Virgil had almost bled out. It had been close.

So close.

An earthquake and tsunami on the shores of the Black Sea. Scott had been late to attend due to a rescue in South America, so Two and Four had taken the brunt of the work first up.

Gordon had been fishing people out of the water, while Virgil coordinated with local services, pulling lives out of trees and from under buildings.

Until Virgil disappeared.

Scott could still hear the distress in John’s usually calm voice. Thunderbird Five knew exactly where every brother was at all times.

All times.

Until now.

Half an hour.

Enough time for Gordon to beach Four and launch Two. Enough time for One to make it halfway around the planet at Mach ‘I don’t care, just get me there’.

Enough time for Virgil to reappear on Five’s sensors with as much reason for his appearance as disappearance.

Scott was the first to reach him, dumping One in a water-scoured mud landscape full of broken buildings. Virgil lay crumpled on a pile of shattered bricks, helmet gone, limp, pale and unconscious.

His uniform was torn and a gash in his left arm dripped blood into the rubble beneath him.

Scott forgot to breathe as he ran through the motions of first aid, John in his ear giving him nasty numbers and time limits. Gordon joined him and they stopped the bleeding.

One would have been faster, but Two held their blood supplies, so it was a rush onto his brother’s ‘bird and a mess of transfusions and hospital for the rest of the day.

International Rescue shut down and all those people…

Scott clenched his eyes shut as his father’s voice ranted the mantra that attempted to keep his children sane.

You can’t save everyone.

He grit his teeth.

But at least he could save his brother.

That had been a week ago. Virgil was home and on the mend. He was still pale and kept to his rooms, fatigue the remaining symptom along with the stitches.

Virgil did not remember what happened.

John had been down, as he always was when a brother was injured, but once Virgil was stable, his space brother had become obsessed on why they had lost Virgil’s location and why.

So far they had nothing.

Nada.

Zilch.

And yes, there was the headache that greeted Scott every morning.

God, he was tired.

He pushed himself slowly to his feet, this time a little more cautious of the room’s ability to spin.

Once it decided he could stand without any further dramatics, he reached for a t-shirt and threw it on. He shucked his pyjama pants and replaced them with a pair of loose shorts.

A visit to the bathroom and all the necessaries, complete with sticking his head in the sink to try and boot his brain with cold water. He wandered out of his rooms and into the realm of family.

-o-o-o-

Gordon looked up when Scott walked into the comms room.

“Hey, bro. You’re up late again.”

Scott grunted at him, and made for the kitchen.

That earned him a frown and a fish brother dropping whatever it was he was doing and following him down the stairs.

“You okay, Scott?”

“Just tired.” He grabbed a mug and poked at Virgil’s coffee machine. “Was up late with London.”

Gordon’s eyes lit up…of course. “How’s Penny?”

Scott stirred his hot coffee and tried not to fall into it. “Penny is in Romania following up on Virgil’s accident.” He chugged down a gulp of coffee and burnt his tongue in the process. “Gah. I was talking to TI London about the decommissioning of rigs in the North Sea.”

“Oh.” Gordon was still frowning at him. “You do know that coffee is hot? That it needs to cool before drinking unless you are made of cahelium like Virgil?”

Scott swallowed more too hot coffee and ignored most of that. “Is Virgil up?”

“No.”

“John?”

“No, he was in his observatory half the night.”

It was Scott’s turn to frown. “How do you know?”

“I know. Isn’t that enough?”

Scott grunted again and sculled some more coffee.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” The frown was turning into more worry than anything else. “You haven’t been for an early morning run all week.”

He wiped his mouth. “Too busy. Next week maybe.” He was wary of losing his schedule, sometimes it was the only thing keeping him sane. Today…

Far, far too tired.

He rolled his shoulders and rotated his stiff neck as Gordon stared at him.

“What?”

Gordon’s lips thinned. “He’s going to be okay.”

He blinked. “Who?”

“Virgil!”

“Of course, he is.” Scott poured another coffee and stirred in a little extra sugar. “He’ll be fine. He just needs a little time.”

Brilliant brown eyes narrowed at him.

Scott buried his face in his coffee.

And nearly choked. Still too hot! How the hell did Virgil down his every morning so fast?

“You, on the other hand…”

“What?”

“Take it easy, Scott.”

“I’m fine.”

“Suuure.” Gordon sighed. “I’ll check on Virg.” He held up a hand. “I’m sure he is fine. You sit here and eat a decent breakfast.” He eyed the coffee. “With orange juice and fibre and fruit. You know, your usual. And later I’ll take you out for a cruise around the Island. We can even take the speedboat and I’ll let you drive for a bit…as long as you don’t try to drown us like last time.”

Scott stared at him. “I have work.”

Gordon held up a finger. “Ah, no you don’t.” He glanced at his watch. “‘Work’ started an hour ago and you weren’t there, so I told Carly you needed the day off. She has it handled.”

An hour ago? “You spoke to my EA.”

“Well, yeah, you weren’t up and neither was John, so I did what was necessary. You look like you’ve been on a week’s bender. Which, considering the week we’ve had, is an apt comparison. Your hair is in a state I haven’t seen it in since I learnt to walk again and worse, you haven’t shaved - this is a new one. Do you have a beard in the works? No? I thought not. You need rest. Which means food and sitting on your ass in a boat in the middle of the ocean where you can’t work. So, you, me and the sea, directly after breakfast. Be there or I’ll drag you there.”

Gordon really knew how to stab the air with his finger.

“Okay.” That proved it. Scott was obviously too tired for coherent thought. Agreeing with Gordon was a good way to prove Gordon’s point.

And his pointy finger.

Gordon stared at him a moment longer before spinning on one heel. “I’m checking on Virg. You eat.” And with that, he stomped back up the stairs.

Scott blinked.

Okay, that was weird.

He rubbed a hand across his jaw and found stubble there. How hadn’t he noticed it in the mirror?

Too tired.

Of course, his awareness of his spiky jawline only prompted it to start itching. He scratched at it only for his nails to catch on something just on the underside.

His fingers came back with a streak of red.

Ow.

He poked at his skin. Since when did he get pimples in his thirties? But there they were, two small lumps, at least one leaking onto his fingers. They would make shaving just that little bit more fun.

He sighed and stared down at the remains of his coffee. Maybe Gordon was right. Good food, rest, and good company. Grandma and John could keep an eye on Virgil. His brother was definitely on the mend. Scott could afford to let his guard down for one day?

Couldn’t he?

-o-o-o-

TBC?

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #scott tracy #gordon tracy #virgil tracy #nuttyfic

[fandomnerd9602]

Stitched Apart

Allyson Nelson x Wick!Reader

Things had changed. The game had changed. When Corey stumbled to yours and Allyson's place after he had disappeared, he looked shocked, horrified, and yet free at the same time.

Corey stumbles out of your shower and you hand him a set of your clothes. The young mechanic's eyes seem far off and full of fear.

"Are people born bad or is it something that grows?" he whispers.

"I've seen a lot" you huff, "but I think it's influence not some ingrown evil nature."

"I-I didn't mean to kill that kid that day" Tears slip down his cheek.

"I know" you whisper, "Corey you're not a bad guy, life just dealt you a bad hand"

"What do you know about bad hands?!"

"Try this: my dad's a killer. Plain and simple. The underworld calls him Baba Yaga."

"Boogeyman?"

"He's sent to kill the Boogeyman" you mutter, "and now that same underworld looks to me"

"But you're just a bodyguard...aren't you?"

You silence speaks volumes to Corey.

"Oh shit. You're not a bodyguard."

"The only good things that happened to me was meeting Ally and meeting you" you give him a weak smile "don't tell her what i've told you"

"M-my lips are sealed" he makes a little gesture across his mouth to seal it.

You take the young man back to his house. Corey's mother didn't really like anyone in the town but she did like you. Something about you made her realize that you and Corey were kindred spirits.

"Where was my son?!" Corey's mother hollered at you in worry.

"With me and Ally" you answer back covering for Corey, "some bullies jumped him and...yeah...fought 'em off"

Corey's mother shakes her head and guides Corey back inside.

The rest of the day went pretty normal. You picked up Allison from the hospital, you could see a smug look on one of her co-worker's face as Allyson sadly got in your mustang.

"Bad day, babe?" you put a gentle hand on her shoulder.

"I didn't get the promotion. Deb got it" she mutters, "I think she's sleeping with Dr. Mathias."

"She won't last long" you shrug, "c'mon let's get home and I'll make you a piping hot dinner"

"We're supposed to have dinner with my grandma" Allyson bites her lip at the thought of you cooking over the stove.

"I'll make more then. We'll take it over together" you smile as you drive off from the hospital.

Laurie welcomed you and Allyson into her house with open arms. Dinner went well and smooth. Although Laurie kept looking at you like she knew something was going on in your mind.

"What's egging you, kid?" the older Strode asks you as you put away the dishes.

"You see right through me, don't you?" you chuckle

"I know a killer when I see one" your blood runs cold. "I know the fear in a killer's eyes. The hate the rage."

You remain silent.

"I saw it the moment Allyson introduced you to me. I saw a wolf." she smiles, "but i also a wolf that wanted to become a lamb"

"Ally's the best part of me"

"Keep her safe." Laurie gives your hand a grandmotherly squeeze "why did you come to Haddonfield?"

"to kill the boogeyman"

Kill the boogeyman. What you didn't know was that Corey was bringing back the boogeyman. And the boogeyman had gained an apprentice.

You woke up the next day, the day before Halloween, with Allyson in your arms. Her hair obscuring your vision. The best and only way you want to wake up.

And then came the news report on your TV. Authorities reported the death of one Doctor Mathias and one nurse named Deb. The odd thing was that Deb's death was within the MO of one Michael Myers, Doctor Mathias on the other hand seemed like a copycat's.

"Baby pack your things" you grabbed a ready duffel bag of clothing.

"What's wrong? If it's Myers, I'm not afraid." Allyson states.

"I think...I think Myer's has an apprentice."

To Be Continued...

#halloween #halloween ends #blumhouse #horror movie #horror crossover #crossover #andi matichak #allyson strode #allyson nelson #john wick #assassin reader #the continental #wick reader #john wick x reader #michael myers #the shape #corey cunningham

[raccoonspooky]

I got a wonderful commission to write Bubba going ham over some tig ol biddies in a dead by daylight setting, so I sure did write the FUCK out of that. This is just a ton of fun. Big boy gets feelings so very quickly. Listen. The first time you're given free reign over a nice pair of tits, you're gonna lose ur fkn mind ok.

(Rated E. 9k words. x Fem reader. DBD setting. Mild mommy kink. Sub!Bubba. Porn with feelings. Bubba POV. y/n device is not used in this fic.)

First few paragraphs and other links under the cut!

It’s not often that the cannibal thinks of home. The Entity doesn’t spoil him with free reign of his memories and it tells him it is a good thing. Spare the rod, spoil the child. The sentiment rings in his thoughts and it speaks in his grandma’s voice, giving him a little taste of something he once loved so very much. In the fog, he does not dwell on hurt. If his master does not want him to remember the bloody end of things that brought him here and the heartbreak and fear that he used to carry with him, then he’s glad for it. The Entity rewards him for his understanding. He’s a good boy, a smart boy and so willing to submit. The Entity’s talons are entwined with his very soul and it feels like love. Feels like family.

Little whispers tell him that he’s meant to be here and he’s welcome to all the spoils his heart desires if he serves his purpose. The saw is the only family he has left and the Entity is kind in never keeping it far from his person. He is a tool to the all-knowing, something much much larger than Texas and he is happy to follow its commands.

He sleeps, dreaming of all the wonderful things the Entity spoils him with and he’s a glutton for the sense of warmth and sunshine. It doesn’t matter if it's fabricated. He loves it nonetheless. There’s fresh laundry on the line, shirts billow in the breeze—, Grandpa’s withered hands feebly shake as he deals out another round of cribbage. Mama’s still alive, she’s workin’ on her stitching in a rocking chair that has floorboards creaking with her movement. His brothers are at the table and no one’s bickering. He has no bruises, no one snaps at him for gurgling out his happiness and the kitchen smells like apple pie. Bubba would do anything for more of this, he’d do anything to stay right here forever— but he can already feel the pull of the Entity’s call.

It’s a gentle thing. It tells him to wake up and put on his tie. There’s work to do and it needs him to put on a brave face. He is a killer. He is a weapon and it needs him to slaughter the little bugs that have weeviled into its endless fields of fog. Rot starts small. One maggot becomes many in just a few hours. Fresh meat starts to turn the moment it’s left to sit. It's a big place in this world beyond and he’s so glad to be given such an important job.

Soon, he comes back into contact with his body and his fingers tighten around the handle of his saw with purpose. The world around him feels like a soft quilted blanket that’s pulled up to his ears, he’s safe here. Loved even. The Entity loves him and he loves it too. It saved him from the bad people who woulda killed him, who killed his brothers and left his home in ruin. Go on now, it whispers, using a voice that makes the hair on his arms stand on end. Its tone has him feeling small. Show ‘em what you’re made of. Don’t disappoint me.

He knows what realm he steps into before it stitches itself together, the air turns crisp but it’s dead in his lungs. A metal gate creaks on its hinge and dry corn stalks whisper to each other, sharing secrets in the distance. He’s in a barn and the remnants of the fog tickle his ankles as if asking him if he understands its joke. He doesn’t understand, but the licking sensation has him giggling nonetheless. This place is one of his favorites, it reminds him of home. The air’s colder though and the farmhouse that looms across the cornfield is not at all like his.

At the edge of all this, there's a sense of hunger that has his tongue anxiously rubbing against the roof of his mouth. There’s movement all around him, cold breeze sneaks through his clothes. The Entity leads him like a shepherd, pointing him in the direction of where to go and its guidance is almost chastising. He should know this by now, he should know what it needs of him. Something implores him to pivot on his heel and his anticipation is met with a metallic BANG that cuts through the realm’s relative quiet.

In an instant, hesitant trepidation cuts to rage. The Entity is hungry, it’s always hungry. It’s the Cannibal’s job to provide all that it asks for. What good is he otherwise? He charges toward the noise while tasting iron at the back of his throat, he can smell the trespassers on the wind. With his weapon raised above his head, he turns a corner to meet two strangers. His saw barks and snarls like a hungry dog. He’s snarling too. Violent, animal noises strangle out from his throat in greeting toward a man with a funny haircut and a pretty girl who scream in startled terror. The generator they were working on sputters black smoke that assaults Bubba’s nostrils and he grunts in displeasure. He’s not a fan of the smell and it adds to the sense of violence that urges him into attacking.

Keep reading on Ao3

Masterlist

Ko-fi & Commission info

#TCM Leatherface #bubba sawyer #x reader #slashers #slasher fandom #slasher x reader #dbd fanfiction #dead by daylight #dbd #dbd bubba #dbd cannibal #leatherface #texas chainsaw massacre #poki writing

[nelapanela94]

Hiii a bit of a sad request here feel free to skip this if you don't feel comfortable writing it!

Tw: drinking and mention of death

Levi and the reader have a daughter and they lost her to the fall of wall Maria (or so they thought ).

she was visiting her grandmother for the week when it happened and she managed to survive because of a fellow soldier who put her on the boat with every other survivor, but unfortunately her grandma did not survive (Carla Jaeger style).

When Levi and reader hear the news they rush to the reader's mothers house only to find it destroyed with no signs of life.

They're devastated, rightfully so, and they try their hardest to find her but three years go by with no avail

Levi starts drinking his loss away while reader does everything in her power to keep their marriage together and strong

And it wasn't until Hanji got the list of new cadets joining the scouts that they found out she was alive :))

So basically angsty with a fluffy ending<3

Hi anon!!! Thanks for this request!!! It took me a while to figure out the timeline to make it fit in canonverse 😳 I like writing (and reading) sad stuff, so it's ok, I don't feel uncomfortable with it.

TW: Drinking, mentions of death, angst, coarse language, teenage pregnancy, attempts of sexual assault, mentions of abortion, a lovely super soft, non-explicit smutty scene, poor emotional management.

WC: 10.5k

Unconditional love, dreams to fulfill, a home, you couldn't have it all at the same time, and despite the adversities and headwinds, Levi and you come out of the disaster unscathed; however, happiness only lasts an instant, preparing you to take it all away. One Saturday afternoon, your lives crumble along Wall Maria.

It is rather strange and complicated to tell a story that has so much of you in it without your soul riving a little.

Fighting against oneself is so exhausting. And he is an expert.

You get caught in a swarm of ‘what ifs?’ What if we had been there when the wall fell? What if we’d chosen to stay? What if that boulder didn’t crush the house?

Your minds take you back to that moment when everything changed. To that fateful instant. Whether you are asleep or awake, it doesn't matter because you have long since lost the ability to distinguish between memories and nightmares.

And since that day, everything has gone downhill. You strove blindly to pull him out of the abyss, not realizing that he was the one dragging you to the bottom.

'How much pain do you have to endure before giving up is ok?’ You ponder.

You cannot help someone who is not willing to help themself. The thought stabs your head with a screwdriver. You can’t let go. The rope slashes your palms, they burn, and yet, you tighten your grip. Sweat streams down, mingling with your tears. You don't even know what hurts more, the lacerating pain in your hands, or the whips in your heart as you watch him drown in his own grief.

The silver glow slices the shadows on his face. His eyes are open, dull and soulless with unfathomable emotion. Red, glassy, swollen. Blood creeps down the neck of the bottle throttled in his grasp. The other hand is clenched in a fist, dry blood flecked on his knuckles. Slouched against the wall, with one leg tucked in and the other stretched out, Levi vacantly stares at you.

He knows he’s ruined it for good this time.

And on the other side of the desolate ring that your living room had become, lies you. Your trembling arms tense around your legs, chin nestled on your knees. Eyes worn out; face stained with wilted tears.

Crumbs of concrete scatter at your right side. The wreckage kindled by his rage is still coming off the wall in the form of a shower of dust. At your left, shards of glass glint on the dewy crimson of cheap wine.

“I lost my daughter too, Levi.” Your voice is a limp whisper that scrapes his ears and heart.

How to fix a person who has broken down? How to put their parts back together when the stitches of your heart are about to snap?

“I can't take it anymore.” You break the silence again. You can't even tell if he's listening or if your words are just bouncing off the walls. But you can't bottle it up anymore. You have the right to crumble too. Pretending to be tough when your knees wobble is a trigger for a civil war in your heart.

We cling so fervently to those who are gone that we forget about those who are still alive.

"Hold on to your past if you want to, but don't forget that the world is too big to be alone.”

And no one deserves to be alone. But the glass is cracking, and water leaks through the gaps. Too many you can’t plug them up with your fingers, and if you stay, the force of the water will wipe out the two of you.

You close your eyes, and a long sniff appeases your throe. A seedling of serenity struggles to flourish midst the blighted soil of affliction.  

The lump in his throat swells with every ‘I’m sorry’ he can’t wrench out; with every ‘please don’t leave me alone’ hoping it’s not too late.

You stared down at your flayed palms, and a respite surges through you. The rope slips through your fingers, and for a moment you don’t have to be strong, for a moment you feel free, and then you see him between your hands. Falling, lost and desperate.

Your hands clutch around the rope again, and tears from the reservoir swell up in your eyes.

“Levi.” A wistful smile peeks out from you. It’s weak, but it’s there, and he catches it. “Do you remember how we met?”

A fleecy snort bursts out from him, lugging with it the ghost of a smile. “Yeah.” He presses the heel of his hand on his forehead and shakes his head, letting out the pent-up air in a long sigh, sweeping away demons and ghosts that impeded him from seeing or thinking clearly.

His gaze tangles with yours. “Chitterlings.” Your whispers fuse.

As odd as it sounds, your story begins with chitterlings.

“You struck me as the dumbest, most naïve, quirkiest girl I'd ever met. Easy prey. Who the fuck goes to the underground city for a plate of chitterlings?”

“I eavesdropped the cooks once.” You shrug. “They swore they were the best. I had to judge for myself.”

“No one warned you that a woman walking alone always draws unwanted attention? that you shouldn't look anyone in the eye? that you should keep your mouth shut?” His hand lets go of what remained of the bottle. A searing pain flares in his palm, nothing compared to the nettles squeezing his heart. The addictive blur begins to fade, clearing up his mind.

The alcohol had puffed out his cheeks.

He’ll never admit it out loud, but you were also the girl with the most beautiful smile. Maybe, the red creeping across his face is owing to something else.

"The first thing I did was greet the tollbooth guy with an effusive good morning. How was I supposed to know? no one at home knew where I was going that day.”

“You seriously redefined the word foolish.”

“Ouch.” You fake a pout, splaying a hand on your chest. “I’d rather believe it was destiny, Levi.”

“You and the urge to romanticize everything.”

“I like to believe that a solar eclipse are the moon and the sun loving.”

“Romanticizing every phenomenon is a luxury I could never afford, not in the place where I come from.”

“And I grew up in a bubble, Levi. I was so immature and whimsical, and I never thought how cruel the world could be outside my little kingdom.”

*

834

You never imagined how immense the underground city could be. You rushed downstairs, clinching at the hem of your dress, playing brave under prying and hungry eyes. Sweat trickled down your face, and you could feel the beats of your heart hammering in your ears. Your scalp prickled, as a surge of adrenaline pumped through your body.

A cloud of dust revolted around your feet when you leaped off the last step. The city where dawn never breaks unfolded before you, stretching to infinity. Fear and regret gnawed at your insides, a pang that spreads like a wave to the tip of your fingers and toes.

You sucked in a long breath, lowered your head and wrapped your arms around yourself, fending off the unseemingly stares and turning a deaf ear to the ribald insinuations. You could feel those eyes drilling into you.

Your stomach content sloshed around, threatening to slam back through your throat at the stench of sewage, growing stronger with every step you took.

You crumpled your gullible plan to ask for directions to the market. The putrid smell was making you dizzy, sapping your alertness. Sauntering along the convoluted streets and swimming in your own thoughts, you didn't realize at what point the jumble of voices and drunken shouting dissipated.

A dead-end.

A bolt of terror struck you, and your heart threatened to breach out of your chest. The streetlamps flickered, giving life to the shadows on the walls. Your brain was sending signals to your legs, but they didn’t comply, it was like your feet had grown roots in the ground. And suddenly, a grinding pain exploded in your cheek, smearing to the rest of your face. A sharp tip stung your neck. With enough pressure to iterate that the threat was real, but not enough to slit your skin. The man’s body constrained you against the wall. A smug snort smoldered the side of your head.

Your breath hitched. All the color drained from your face. Any flimsy move and life would gush out from your neck.

A hand sneaked under your skirt, and a whine of panic wrung out of you. A shush behind your ear forced you to purse your lips into a thin line. Dread paralyzed you as tears streamed down your face.

“Hey!” A third person's footsteps rumbled on the soil. Calloused fingers wiped away your tears. “How could you waste such an opportunity?” The voice was gravelly. “If she is a virgin, we would get a lot for her. Then we could use her as we please.”

His fingers gripped your chin and turned your face to him. “Don't worry, you're safe for now.” A grim smirk strained his cheeks. A thick scar splat in two one of his eyebrows.

Your quivering lips parted to plead, but panic shackled you from coaxing any word. You clamp your eyes so tight you could see sparks behind your lids. In a trice, the knife fell, and you were free.

Clashes of metal, groans and wails of pain.

Silence reigned.

“Oi!” A hand grabbed yours, winding up your body, and finally, your legs responded to your commands. You opened your eyes and followed the new stranger. Unsure of what you were getting into this time, you only had the option to trust him.  You only grasped his profile, silky locks of hair swept over his undercut. “Keep walking and don’t look at anyone in the eye,” he berated, and you nod, gazing down to your tangled hands.

From the shock of your life, you had lost your appetite. Though you didn't waste your time and energy going to the Underground.

*

"My nana once told me that if you are able to walk with someone you barely know in silence and manage to feel good, comfortable and almost complete, it means that there is something there. That we just have to water it, be patient and let it grow. Before you, I had walked aimlessly with several guys, but with you it was different, Levi. With you it wasn't necessary to talk to tell each other a myriad of things. I was at ease with you without even knowing you. Your expression relaxed when you caught me smiling at you. When you grabbed my hand, I felt a spark. A red thread lacing around our fingers.”

“Your hand was so smooth as if you’d never washed a dish in your life.”

"You must have felt something else, like a rush straight to the heart." Your chuckle lights up the gloomy room.

Levi clicks his tongue and rolls the eyes.

“I don't know if it was love at first sight, or a blast of endorphins surging through my veins, but I did feel a tingle all over my body when your eyes met mine.” You gaze down to your hands, fiddling with the golden bracelet. “I can still feel it when you look at me.” Blushing like a teenager, you smile at him. “I remember we arrived at the market, and I finally had a few minutes to breathe. I told you my name and asked for yours. I wanted to put a name to the person who saved my life.”

“I liked the way you said my name. It’d been many years since someone had uttered it so gently.”

“And I love how you rasp mine.” Your eyelids droop. “My stomach growled again, and we ended up sharing a plate of chitterlings. Well, I ate while you just watched me with furrowed brows.”

“And with your greasy thumb you smoothed down the creases.”

“Sorry ‘bout that.”

You both snort.

“You talked and talked and talked for hours. I wasn't even paying attention to what you were saying, I was just listening to your voice.” He says.

“I didn't feel time was passing by so fast. It could’ve been because it was always nighttime, or maybe because I felt comfortable with you, and I was looking for a way to lengthen the minutes.” You look at the ceiling and scratch an itch on your neck, then your eyes snap back at him. “I didn’t want to go, Levi.”

“And I didn’t want you to go.”

“But I had to go home before somebody noticed my absence. You walked me back to the stairs, and all the way through, my fingers were aching to touch yours.”

“Before you said goodbye, you gave me your necklace and said–“

“Now I'll have a reason to see you again.” You reenact the scene.

“When?”

“The last Friday of every month.”

“I went home kicking a can with my hands jammed in my pockets. The sharp tips of the star pendant dug into my palm, and I clenched my fist tighter to make sure you were real.” He runs his fingers through his hair and shakes his head. “Farlan bandaged my hand.”

"I wanted to know everything about you. Your favorite book. Your favorite food. Your dreams. Your favorite sleeping position. Who you lived with. Or your opinion on any trivial topic that might cross my mind. I spent my nights thinking of all the questions I’d ask you the next time.”

You fold your arms over your knees and bury your face. Your cheeks tingle by the reminiscent of those days.

“Look at me.”

You raise your eyes and find his.

“I waited at the bottom of the stairs all day, feeling like an idiot. At times, I came to think that it had only been a game of a whimsical rich girl.”

“I saw you, gazing down, scuffing a boot on the dirt. I reached out to you first cause I thought you wouldn't recognize me under the coat and hat. That time I borrowed clothes from my brother.”

Levi stretches out his other leg and shifts up into a more comfortable position. He looks so battered, tired, hopeless; however, he manages to cajole a feeble smile, and continues, “It wasn't hard to spend time with you, although it was disconcerting. I hardly knew you. The only thing I knew was your favorite food. Yet I felt this strange sense that I knew you on a more intimate level. I didn't know I could feel that way. It was new to me, mind-blowing and devastating. You snuck in without asking permission, you held on tight, and I didn't know what to do. Every time you climbed the stairs, I was afraid I would never see you again.” A string of giggles pours out from you, and Levi frowns. A tch seeps out of his lips.

You cover your mouth to suffocate your tittering. “I’m sorry. It’s the first time I hear you talking like that.”

“Keep mocking and it will be the last time!”

“No!” You zip your lips and throw the key away. “I want to hear you, Levi. Please.”

He averts his gaze, flustered, tugging at the collar of his t-shirt. Undressing the heart is not easy for someone who feels too much. “I found you without looking for you, you were lice itching in my head all day.”

Levi can be romantic when he sets his mind to it.

His body slumps, and he sighs. His heart beating with relentlessness. "With you I felt nothing but relief, solace for having someone by my side who didn't question my actions, my decisions, you accepted me just the way I was. I felt safe and assured. With you I could let my guard down and let myself go."

“Levi…” Your gaze softens, and you feel the urge to sit by his side and draw him into your arms. Your eyes close and tears pour down your face. The outrage in his face, his unwavering fist. You push your tongue against your teeth to keep from falling apart. Your hands still tremble, your chest hot and tight. You inhale raggedly to lull your nerves. It was just the alcohol. Levi would never hurt you. You were pushing too much.

Your gaze enmeshes with his again. "I wanted to spend my whole life figuring you out. You were an expert at hiding, Levi. It frightened me that the world wouldn't see all you had to offer. Because it was so much, beautiful, and special. there was little you could do down there, but above ground, you could leave your print in others.”

Scratching a brow, Levi gazes down. "I’m sure you had never put on a button on a shirt, but you knew how to mend the wounds of the heart.” His blushing deepens when his eyes ensnare with yours.

Your heart was thumping as loud as it did the day you met. Apprehension thaws, and a little smile graces your lips.

“You, you were so beautiful... you didn't deserve that. You didn't deserve someone like me. I still think you don't deserve what we are. I'm only good for hurting you.”

You want to listen to him, everything he has to say, to drink his words woven of feelings because for him, spewing them out scourges his throat and mouth. Even though it hurts, that’s the only way he can pluck out the thorn from his heart.

Stripping in this way is only for the bravest souls.

All that he never told you was squeezing him so tight he was about to combust, but he was able to defuse the bomb before the countdown reached zero.

He resumes. "It was Isabel's idea to invite you to dinner at our place."

His voice takes you back, the fizzing in your fingers wane, and a brief flicker of a smile slips from your lips.

You had been seeing each other furtively for almost a year when Levi invited you to his place for dinner. The poor boy was a nervous wreck. He couldn't keep his hands to himself and avoided looking you in the eye as he slurred his words.

*

834

He was rubbing a hand behind his head. His mouth opened to speak but closed again as he tried to put the words together. You cocked your head to the side, your hands tethered behind your back, as you rock on your heels, waiting.

“Are you ok, Levi?”

Rubbing his sweaty palms on his pants, he dragged out a big puff of air and blurted, “Have dinner with us next time.”

Your eyes beamed. “You mean–“

“Yeah… they want to meet you.”

Happiness fluttered in your heart. White speckles glinted in your eyes, and you smiled, throwing your arms around him. Levi wobbled, but he managed to grab hold of the wall before, as a tangle of bodies, you ended up rolling down the stairs. You nab his hand and drag him to behind a wall with exposed brickwork on the verge of collapse.

You stopped and locked eyes for a moment that seemed like forever. You could feel each other's shaky breathing, your hearts echoing.

“I want to kiss you, Levi.”

His heart lurched to his throat.

He yearned it too.

He dedicated his nights wondering what your lips tasted like.

Suddenly, a heap of doubts whacked him.

What if this is wrong?

What if this hurts us?

Would we regret it?

Your name escaped from his mouth as your eyes darted from his dull gaze to his lips, back to his eyes. Your cheeks were searing and his too, his heat suffused your palms.

You pressed his forehead against his, the tip of his nose stumbled with yours. A nervous laugh, a timid simper. You moistened your lips, his warmth breath fanned over them. Levi wasn’t sure of what to do with his hands. Quavering, clenched into fists by his sides as he pondered whether to touch you or keep his distance.

His hands didn’t move.

He closed his eyes. A supple brush of lips was enough to stop time. You reeled apart briefly, clamped your eyes shut, and sought his mouth again with more confidence, nibbing his bottom lip.

A sluice of tingles rippled down his legs. His guts. In everything that kept him together.

Tremor. Balance. Vertigo.

His lips were surprisingly tender, moving with caution, a little bit clumsily, as if he was still figuring out what to do. You weren’t an expert either, but the most experienced one, and took the lead. You swept your tongue and parted his lips, and sloppily, you besieged his mouth, pulling out a little moan from him.

You felt an itching on the tip of your tongue.

Your hands.

Your belly.

Between your legs grew an uncontrollable heat that made you feel ashamed.

Your tongues danced gawkily together as your hands roam down his chest, caressed his shoulders and glided down his arms until your fingers interlaced with his.

Slow, klutzy and sweet.

That was your first kiss.

It was perfect.

You turned around and ran away, too flustered to look back at him.

“I’ll bring dessert,” it’s all he heard as his eyes riveted on your back.

Levi stood there, flummoxed, touching his glossy lips with his fingers until his stinky world redrew its edges before him.

Befuddled and driven by inertia, his legs dragged him back home. He couldn’t take his fingers of his lips. A tickle on his cheeks. Warmth spread under his pants.

Levi did not have a normal childhood. Forced to grow up at a very young age, he witnessed death and the unbridled cruelty of the human being. He had learned to fight in order to survive every day. Yet he was just a sixteen-year-old boy subjected by his raging hormones who had kissed the girl with the prettiest smile. The girl who had built a nest in his head.

He let her build it.

He craned his head over his shoulder.

What if he ran to you and kissed you again? What if you threw yourself against his chest, wrapped your legs around his hips and never let go? He wanted you to. He had never needed anything so badly. His hands itched to touch you. And his heart had never felt anything like it.

He couldn’t recognize himself anymore.

Arousing and terrifying.

*

Farlan smiled at the sight of you together, laughing, searching each other's eyes, sharing something, alien to your surroundings, observing the peculiar mix that resulted from the two of you.

It didn’t make sense. You didn’t make sense. How do you mix water and oil?

By emulsifying it.

But Levi was happy. Flustered, skittish. A side of Levi he’d never seen before. It was amusing. And he shared his friend's joy. But he was also afraid that Levi would end up with a bruised heart. While Isabel cleaned her plate with bread and asked questions of all kinds to their guest, Farlan only thought about how such a relationship could last. Levi didn't belong in your world, and you belonged even less in his.

. But he knew Levi so well. He knew he wasn't just messing around with you.

That troubled him even more.

So much happiness could only be a bad omen. Putting everything in your hands to rip it off in the most merciless way.

“And what do you want to do when you grow up?” Isabel prodded.

“Uh…” You hesitated. “I want to join the Survey Corps.”

Three pair of eyes stared at you, muddled.

“But if you join the military, how will you marry big bro?”

An awkward silence hovered over. You clear your throat with a long swig of wine. Levi was gazing a blank point on the wall. And Farlan feared more than ever because Levi was clinging to something that seemed impossible. He harrumphed, and the chair screeched. “Oi!” He ruffled Isabel’s hair to which the girl whined because she had spent hours brushing it to make it look decent. “Help me with the plates for dessert.”

Surly, with her arms folded over her chest, she followed him.

“The Survey Corps?” Levi cast a query look. “Since when?”

“Since I was a little girl, Levi.”

“You never told me.”

“You never asked.” And realization dawned. Captivated by the new sensations you awoke in him, Levi forgot the important questions.

He knew that what he felt for you was beyond desire.

Love, he was scared to label it.

But life doesn’t spin around love. Life is more than that. Personal fulfillment. Dreams to be achieved. Falling down and getting up a thousand times.

 How do you know all that when you are bereft of dreams? When all you fight for is to earn the next meal and keep a roof over your head?

Levi began to falter.

He found your hand under the table and held on to it. Your fingers fitted together as if you were made for each other.

Life was so unfair. To take away from him what he loved most. He could not allow it.

Even though he was aware that it wasn't up to him alone.

*

“Won’t you get in trouble if you stay?”

You shook your head. “My parents think I’m staying at my cousin’s.” You smiled playfully, swinging your head as your draw feathery circles on his cotton-clad shoulder. You kissed him, pulled away, teasingly, and he chased you, and you smack his lips again. His fingers threaded with yours. You were sitting at the edge of his bed. Incensed infused his room. A single bed, a nightstand, a desk, a small reach-in closet with everything perfectly arrayed by color and size.

“Levi…” You rasped the syllables of his name in a whisper. “I want to touch you.” You bit your bottom lip.

How beautiful were the teenage Levi's eyes, lively, frightening, sharp, intelligent. His gaze tensed as he processed your words, and then softened. You wanted to kiss his eyelids. His nose. The base of his throat. The little scar he'd gotten on his chin while working. You'd only ever kissed him on the lips and were already berating yourself for wasting so much time not knowing what it would be like to use your lips on every nook and cranny of his skin.

Levi’s chest swelled up, he closed his eyes and blew out his wrecking nerves. He nodded and nuzzled his face in the crook of your neck, sucking in the sweetness of your perfume. You lolled your head to the side, and your hand slipped over his pants. A soft moan vibrated on your pulse; Levi jerked when he felt you prodding his hardness. He pulled apart, a hiss swept off his lips, and his fingers curled around your wrist. “How far you want to go?”

“I want you all, Levi.”

Your eyes were veiled with need and so were his. You were carried away by the ardor in your cores. One by one you undid the buttons of his shirt.

A swarm of butterflies seized your stomach.

Fervor. Vertigo.

You turned around and flung your hair over your shoulder. His hands, that never hesitated when wielding a knife, were reed in the wind as he tugged at the end of the lace that kept your dress together, loosened it; his palms searing your skin as they ventured beneath the panels, and cleaved them open slowly.

FuckShitFuckShit.

As he peeled the sleeves off your arms, his lips pampered your naked shoulders, his fingertips skimmed your skin like feathers, breaking goosebumps on every inch. He could feel your breath hitching, your heart banging between your chest and your back.  

“I’ve never done this, Levi.”

“Me neither.”

You took his hands in yours and brought them to your chest. Shit, he was straining under his pants, the bulge nudged against your butt. “Touch me.” You closed your eyes and leaned on his chest, letting him continue alone. Little by little, he was discovering your favorite places, the ones that made you vibrate. Out of embarrassment, perhaps, you tried to muffle your moans, your fingers pierced your thighs over the skirt, squirming, your eyebrows twitched.

“I want to hear you.” He crooned in your ear and pinched harder.

Your pretty sounds enveloped you.

Levi was the first to strip completely naked. Sitting in the middle of the bed, he let you discover him with your hands and mouth. You had never seen one before, but Levi was pretty.

You kissed a lot and giggled too, as you taught and learned each other. Scars crept over his flesh, most of them so fine, barely noticeable under the flicking glow of the candle.

You read them several times, you wanted to know every story behind them.

One blink, and you were beneath him, completely naked, with red cheeks about to burst, while Levi just watched you, studying your face for traces of regret. His hair tickled your forehead.

His knees parted your legs making you feel exposed and vulnerable. But you trusted him. Levi would never hurt you. He was a nervous wreck too; he just knew how to camouflage them better. He stroked your cheek. Without breaking the eye contact, you nodded, took his face in your hands, and brought him to you, pressing your lips on his.

He concentrated on not bursting as soon as your heat enveloped him, not an easy task when all his blood was rushing down.

He was sweet, tender, and patient.

Although it also hurt, and his sheets stained with blood.

*

“It was the first time I slept six hours straight. I didn’t want to let you go, Y/N. I was determined to get the fuck out of that shithole. I even wondered if they would welcome a former thug into the military. If you wanted to fight titans, we would do it together.”

"And we did, not exactly as you had planned, but it happened after several twists and turns along the way." You fiddle with the star shaped pendant hanging around your neck.

"The following Friday I waited for you, but you didn't show up. I spent four weeks tormenting myself, thinking I had ruined everything.”

“It was already eight weeks when I mustered the courage to tell you.”

“You kept picking your cuticles, they bled. We were in my room, sitting on my bed, facing each other. You wouldn't stop crying, and my mind was racing trying to put the pieces of the puzzle together. Nothing fit, and I was upset, not because I was going to be a father, but because I didn't want that baby to be born in a place like that. And then you mumbled those words that whipped out my heart.”

It’s only eight weeks, Levi, we still have time to get rid of the problem.

He closes his eyes and buries his face in his hands, the saltiness stings his wounds. His heart shrinks. Iron wire throttles his neck as he obliges to grasp the crumbs of air. His wracking sobs slap you, yet you don’t move to console him in an embrace, to patch him up after you broke him. You recoil in your corner, witnessing how he disintegrates in the salt of his tears.

He stops heaving, draws in air, and runs his fingers through his hair, shaking his head.

“You don't know how much your words hurt me. I don't know if in your world girls are used to getting rid of their mistakes like a dress out of season.”

“Son of a–“ You purse your lips into a thin line and look away. Resentment splashes all over your face. You clench your jaw so tight you feel your teeth might break.

“Go on, say it.” His chin wobbles, his eyes are shattered crystal. But you can’t. Instead, another wave of tears crashes over you. “Who knows how many times she heard that too…” You cover your ears to protect yourself from the harrowing wails.

The earth rattles, and a chasm split between the two.

“I’m sorry, Levi.” Your voice choked with sobs. “But I was terrified. Devastated. To continue meant I'd lose my home, my family, even my name. To give up a dream.”

No matter how much you reformulated your plans, neither of you would get everything you wanted. Not at that moment.

You communicated through letters during the last months of pregnancy. Levi, though he was dying to have you near him, had to repel any risk of infection or accident. You moved to a little house outside Mitras with your nanny who made sure you received the best care. From time to time, your mother visited; your father didn’t want to hear from you. Neither did your brother. Your family left you out of the will.

Your belly grew and grew, and the baby began to kick. A lot. What were you expecting if it was Levi's baby you were carrying in your womb?

It wasn’t a happy pregnancy. It wasn’t a beautiful, pleasant journey. You barely left your room and hardly ate. The subtlest smell of food was enough to revolt your stomach, and your throat burned from vomiting to the bone. You lost weight, and not even several layers of concealer could cover the dark circles under your eyes. You got used to seeing in the mirror a puffy-eyed you after weeping nights.

You had your doubts of whether or not you were doing the right thing

And it hurt. He should’ve been there with you, his hand entwined with yours, stroking your belly. Thinking of names and the decoration of the room. Picking up clothes. Levi calling them brat already.

It is so unfair that those who rule your world put a seal on the foreheads of those who are born in that place. A seal that deprives them of any rights, even to feel the warmth of the sun caressing their faces.

The leaves turned red and orange and yellow, the branches of the trees stripped naked, and the temperature dropped drastically.

Violet was born on an autumn day. Only when her piercing wail broke through the room, the tauten grip clutching your mother’s hand loosened up. Ebony specks of hair covered her little head. Tiny nose and round cheeks. You counted her fingers and toes. Five on each hand and foot. Your little bundle of love and joy. She was so pretty you couldn't take your eyes off her. You and your mother laughed at the funny little noises coming from her lips. You can’t put into words what you felt when holding the baby in your arms for the first time, but the heap of doubts, little by little, dwindled.

Every week you sent Levi letters with Violet’s handprints and footprints that he still treasures in a chest at the back of the closet. Although you were dying to see him, Violet was too little, and you were still recovering to venture into the Underground City.

Six months passed before Levi met her.

Levi felt restored and full again when he held his baby girl in his arms for the first time. His eyes glistened, but he wiped off the seedling of tears before they roam down his face. Joy bubbled up inside of him as those big steel-gray eyes beamed at him. Violet wound up his heart and gave him a reason to fight every day.

He fell in love for the second time, and a bond was created. A bond that could not be broken. Even with what happened years later.

“You had a knack for fatherhood, Levi. We agreed that you would see her on weekends. She never let go of you, or you of her. She used to fall asleep on your chest. You bathed her, changed her diapers, combed her hair. You’d pinch the rolls on her arms and legs as if to make sure she was growing up healthy. She would burst out laughing when daddy blew raspberries on her tummy. She began to learn your gestures and mannerisms. Every day she became more and more like you, and not only physically. She imitated your scowls, grabbed her wooden cups like you. I never told you I was summoned to school because of her potty-mouth.”

Rubbing a hand on his thigh, Levi snorts.

“Dad always uses them, and no one scolds him, she said. I wanted the seat to swallow me.”  

“That’s why she got suspended for three days.”

“She was reckless and fearless, and never thought of the consequences because…”

Levi shakes his head. Your lips quiver, and the words clog in your throat like a bush of thorns.

…Dad will always protect me.

“I never asked you why you wanted to join the Survey Corps?” Levi deviates the topic.

“As childish as it sounds, I want to see the ocean. I want to feel sand on my soles. I read about it in one of Dad's old books.”

“I was so angry when you made your decision, how could you abandon our five-year-old daughter.” Levi purses his lips and inhales.

“I did not abandon her. Mom would take care of her.” You gulp “The decision had been made many years ago, I was just putting it off. For love not everything counts; not if you devote yourself to the point that you become an empty shell. I had you, I had her. But for the first time I was my priority even if nobody understood it.” His fingers curl around the pendant. He bores into you, his eyes prickle with tears.

“She spent weeks molding those charms in clay. Some of them broke, but she insisted until she was satisfied.”

*

843

Wood crackled on the fireplace, Violet’s round face awash in the flickering orange glow. The bed of old newspapers protected the maple flooring of your mother’s house.

"Why doesn't Dad live with us?"

Your grip tautened. A twinge spread venom on your chest.

She wore an old dress that once belonged to you on top of a thick wool sweater, dappled with crusts of clay. She rubs the back of her hand on her forehead, slathering herself with the hellish sticky material.

You put the book down. “He can’t right now, but one day he will.”

“When?”

“I don’t know, Vi…”

“Do you think he’ll like it?” She turned around. Two necklaces dangled from her fingers; a proud smile strained her cheeks to her eyes.  

You smiled back. “He’ll love it.” She’d crafted two identical pendants, the letters VI carved on each once. “Let’s put it in the oven.” You set the book on the coffee table and stretched your arms over your head.

“I’ll show them to grandma!” She chirped and rushed to the kitchen.

Vi. The syllable they shared.

It was a birthday present for Levi. The last one you celebrated in the Underground City.

*

844

Colors bloomed again in the gardens and parks. A cloud or two rolled in a cerulean sky. Laughter and cheers drifted from the playground as nannies watched heedfully for the children of their employers.

You had received an unsigned letter a few days earlier asking to meet the sender in the central park of Mitras, at ten bells, on the bench in front of the duck pond, under the old oak tree.

“Dad!” Violet let go of your hand and ran into his arms. Your eyes swam with tears as you waited for your turn. His arms draped around your waist, your hands swaddled his cheeks, and you kissed him, or he kissed you. And the vertigo, again, surged through you, seizing your legs and your balance.

“Ewwww.” Wrinkled nose, hands pressed on her stomach.

You pulled apart, chuckling.

“Turn around.” Levi swirled a finger in the air. The mini him swiveled on her heels, pouting, arms crossed over her chest. Reality blurred when your lips fused with his once more.

You ambled in the park for a couple of hours before lunch, hand in hand, and the serenity, which for years had been foreign, returned. “Congratulations, Y/N.” His thumb caressed the back of your hand. “Sixth in your class. We must celebrate.”

“Thank you, Levi, but chitterlings here are not as good as there.”

He cracked a chuckle. Violet was walking before you, in a bright red dress with a bow tied on her back around her waist, puffy sleeves cinched around her wrists. Her hair pulled back in a ponytail, swung from side to side with every little jump she took. her patent leather shoes flashing a glint in the sunlight. Rice drizzled around her, beckoning pigeons.

The clop of hooves and rattling of wheels wafted from the main street. Tree leaves rustled, the fresh breeze caressed his face, ruffled his hair, roiled the excess of his oversized shirt.

“How?”

“I made a deal.” One corner of his lips curved in a strained smile. He grabbed your arm, stopping you, and you stood before him. He tucked a lock of hair behind your ear. “You'll have to teach me how to ride a horse.”

Your head tipped slightly to the side; your eyebrows furrowed. “What are you talking about?” “We can go tomorrow to pick up our uniforms together.”

You shook your head, babbling nonsense, trying to make sense of his words.

“But… you…what…when…” Levi cut you with a kiss before you continued your way to nowhere.

Your hands sizzled with bliss, excitement; finally, the gears of your life were clicking into place.

Though, he saved part of the story for himself.

“We could talk with your mother, ask her if she’s willing to move to Shiganshina.”

Your father had died a few years ago, and your mother could not be apart from her favorite granddaughter. “I’m sure she will. And we could save to buy our own place.” You leaned in for a kiss.

He reels back, his fingers fondling your arm, and smiled. “Sounds… great.”

Levi squints his eyes, snaps his face away, and shades his eyes with a hand. His nose and cheeks crept with a shade of pink.

Levi brushed away the yellow petals from the bench before sitting down, flower buds stippled on the freshly mown grass. You curled against his chest, your legs swung on his lap, and his arm wrapped around your waist. “You’re a pretty boy, Levi.” You purred, pinching his cheek. He frowned and flustered and snapped your hand away. 

“Don’t call me that.” He clicked his tongue, and you couldn’t help but laugh. You took his hand, brought it to your mouth and pressed a kiss on his knuckles. Scars, small and thin, outlined new stories.

*

845

“…and they lived happy ever after.” You flipped the last page. “The end.” Violet stirred under the covers, hugging tightly Mr. Whiskers, a stuffed rabbit with a head twice the size of his body. He had lost his right eye, and Levi pinned on a gray button to replace it.

You and Levi lay on your sides, facing each other, head propped on your elbow; Violet had settled in her safe space between the two. 

"Are you all packed for the week?" Levi queried, planting a kiss on her head.

“Uh-huh, and Mr. Whiskers too.” You and Levi had rented an apartment, your own place; however, Violet spent most of her time at her grandmother's, who made the best oatmeal cookies in the world.

“Must you go on the expedition tomorrow?” She mumbled, lowering her eyebrows, lips pressed into a line. Wariness flashed across her eyes. Levi and you exchanged wary glances. You sucked on your lower lip while Levi’s fingers mingled in her hair.

“We'll be back Sunday morning before you wake up. A stack of pancakes will be waiting for you.”

“Just don’t be a pain in the ass to your grandmother.”

You kicked Levi under the sheets and gave him a deathly glare.

Round gray eyes flicked from Levi to you to Levi. “Can you sleep with me tonight?” Fiddling, with her necklace, she asked. And you couldn’t say no to those puppy eyes that frustrated your intimacy plans.

Levi’s eyes twitched as he squelched a tch. Wincing, you shrugged and mouthed ‘I’m sorry.’

And as best as you could, the three nestled into a single bed.

Next morning, your back pain sank into a groan.

You said goodbye to your mother with a hug and to Violet with a kiss on the cheek. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

*

Crestfallen and with dozens of casualties, the Survey Corps returned to Shiganshina sooner than expected. Contempt, disdain smeared on the citizens faces. Defeated, the soldiers still standing were to head to Mitras to deliver reports. However, the unthinkable happened. That afternoon, as shadows stretched from the west over the city, Wall Maria fell.

The news quickly spread, and when they reached your ears, blood froze in your veins. Your body went numb, and all the voices converged in a deafening whistle.

You did not recognize the city that was crumbling before you. The smoke made the air thicker, the desperate screams threatened to break your eardrums, the reek of blood was turning your stomach. A small hand stiffed under a wall, clenching a rag doll.

Against the throng, you made it through, steered the debris until you reached your mother's house. A pile of stones rose on its place.

You dismounted. The horses neighed in fear. You didn’t tether them to anything; they were free to escape at any time, yet they didn’t.

Terror clenched Levi’s jaw. Muted with horror and heaving, he was tucking in all the dread. You could see it in his eyes, the same expression that laced him when Isabel and Farlan died.

His mouth swarmed with the taste of iron, dulled to pain, he didn’t feel his teeth drilling into his lips. The edges of reality warped, his legs rooted to the floor. He was shaking violently, swallowing the tears that heaped behind his eyes.

He suppressed a shiver and took one step. And another and another. Only one wall remained standing.

Panic twisted in your guts. Your wobbly legs moved too, and you followed him to what was left of the threshold.

You fell onto your knees, drowning your face in your hands. Rushed breaths racked down, scourging your throat and depriving you of oxygen. Your muscles tensed, your hands couldn’t stop trembling.

Levi stood in the middle of where the living room once sprawled, eyes empty, his body eerily still. He gazed down and moved a slab wood off the way. Jagged pants harrowed him when he found Mr. Whiskers, his filling belching out from his belly.

He bent down, grabbed it, and squeezed it in his arms. Tears swelled in his eyes, fogging the world.   

His little girl.

The shield of numbness crept over.

With the remnant of strength, he staggered to the wall, and finally his feet gave out. His knees hit the floor. He tried to stay firm, for both, but in a finger snap, it drained all out of him... his defenses plummeted, and the claws of trepidation took over. They assaulted him, bombing him with images of Violet sleeping on his chest, of Violet holding his hand while sauntering through the market stalls, of Violet and him having tea parties in the living room, of Violet waiting for him with her arms open, of his little girl calling him papa...

His head fell backward, and all the tears he struggled against crashed back like a deluge. With his heart in his fist, he begged in silence for this to be the most dreadful nightmare. Wake up, wake up, wake up, he barked to himself. And he opened his eyes, wrecked by the pain that shouted to him that it was real.

Huddled in a corner, you foundered too. Your hands covered your mouth, and that evening, you cried until there weren’t more tears to shed. Your mother and your daughter, torn away from you in one finger snap.

You and Levi shattered in that dreary place as the world spun.

With no bodies to bury, you built a small shrine in the living room of your new home in Trost.

Home.

It never felt like one.

Not without her.

Not without your Levi.

Driven by a smidge of hope, you looked for her in shelters and orphanages unsuccessfully. No one answered to the name Violet (L/N).

Days, weeks, months unwound from the unstoppable spool of time. The Levi you had fallen in love with got lost behind lackluster eyes. An abyss, black and bottomless, swallowed him. Every day more irritable than ever. His side of the bed remained untouched. He let his mind wandered among the stack of reports to be signed and unburdened his anger and impotence during the training sessions with the new recruits. And you, behind, picking up the shattered glasses, holding strong for both of you.

*

848-850

"Levi, you can't go on like this."

Seething, his eyes pierced through you. Hands clenched on his thighs to keep from splintering. Pure restraint. That was Levi holding back his grief, letting it consume him, flaying him alive, calcining him from inside. He would vent his pain by hurting others with words. And he didn't mean to, he just didn't know any other way to handle his emotions.

“Fuck off, Y/N!” He barks, making you lurch back. Rattled eyes opened wide, glistening, quivering. Levi had never raised his voice to you, but he didn’t back up. Blue ink blotched the document, and grunting, he set the quill on the holder. “Leave me alone.” He rubs a hand down his face.  

Nibbling your cheek, you nodded, and turned around. Levi didn’t stop you, he limited himself to watch you. You were right, but he wasn’t ready to admit it.

You slammed the door close behind you, the rumble rippled down the corridor. Startled eyes and whispers followed you until you disappeared around the corner.

Was it worth to keep fighting for this relationship? Nothing tied you to him anymore.

Slapping a hand on your mouth, you sniffed your tears down your throat. Your back slipped down against the wall as your chest rose and fell with ragged breathes. You shook your head, tossing away those poisonous thoughts. You’ve chosen Levi because you loved him. Even if you were riding on a bumpy road, you still loved him. Seeing him like this, sinking in his own mourning stabbed your chest with a serrated knife. Yes, you loved him, but he wasn’t being fair. You had lost your child too, and your mother.

Why couldn't you be stronger? You had to be for both.

You thought the situation wouldn’t turn worse, but nothing prepared you for the twists that awaited you ahead. The roads convoluted into dead ends. Dread thundered down on you when you felt your cheek strained against the bricked wall, but this time Levi wouldn’t come to save you.

Wine, whiskey, rum. Empty bottles toppled down on the table when you arrived home one Saturday evening. You found him at the dining table, his head tucked on his stretched-out arm, the silver chain drooping from his hand. A half-empty bottle of cheap malbec swirled in the other one.

“You look… good.” Levi nudged in a sandpapery whisper. His eyes dawdled your silhouette. “That’s a new dress, isn’t it?”

“Was on sale at the market.” You uttered unabashedly.

“You know I love you.”

“That’s a great way to show it, Levi.”

“You’re so beautiful.”

“And you’re a loser. Look at you.” The creases on your forehead deepened. You twitched your mouth, sucking on your lower lip.

“I lost my daughter.”

“You’re being selfish, Levi.”  

He closed his eyes; drunk in the way you still coat his name with honey.

“They took her away from me.” His words ground through his teeth. Your shook your head, fists tautened by your sides. This was the bottom of the pit, and you had let him drag you too. Your heels clanked on the wood, firm and determined, as you headed to the kitchen and fetched a bag from the bag of bags.

More than ten bottles clinked one on top of the other. Grassy, woody, fruity notes clouded the room. Levi had found refuge in drink. You've known it for a long time, but out of sight, out of mind. Alcohol never hampered his job, always alert, always in his five senses. No matter how diluted his blood was in ethanol, it was not enough to forget. And that was the worst thing. He started with a bottle, and you couldn’t oppose. Then, you found more crammed in his side of his closet; you couldn’t fight him either. You weren’t strong enough. Sometimes, out of respect for you and his home, he drowned his sorrows in the bar at the end of the street. At least he never embarrassed you, never got into fights, always came home in the wee hours of the morning.

He'd snuggle under the sheets in his street clothes that reeked of alcohol, slide down the sleeve of your nightgown. His breath would brush your bare shoulder as his bold hand would seek you under the cotton weave, and though your body would react to his touch, you’d refuse. Because it wasn't fair.

By caressing the inside of your thighs or cupping your breasts, he would try to convince you. You’d feel his erection growing, straining the small of your back.

You’d stop his hand, hesitating, and then would turn around and succumb to his tarnished charm.

Alcohol was his means to cope, sex had become yours.

 But today was the straw that broke the camel's back.

 “Go take a shower, Levi.”

Silence. Painful silence.

“Sometimes I get the feeling that you didn't love her as much as I did.”

Fuck. You had enough.

The bottles wreck inside the bag.

You grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and exploded, “You're a motherfucking son of a bitch. How you fucking dare!”

A stinging pain blast on his cheek with the shape of your palm.

“Then why…“ he slurred. “Why do you insist on forgetting her?” His eyes flicked to you.

“Carry on doesn’t mean forgetting.” You spat. Tears shimmered in your eyes.

His gaze flashed with rage, indignation, pain. Now it was him gripping and twisting the collar of your dress. His chin quivered. Levi scrambled on his feet and clutched tighter; he was the one shoving you against that wall.

“Le…” Your fingers anchored to his hand, but he didn’t budge. No. He moved forward, without taking his eyes off yours. Bright red, you thought they would pop. Then, the wall hit your back and the battering of your heart pounded in your temples. You squirmed, trying to extricate from him. “Please…” You cried. The claws of fear raked the chalkboard of your nerves. His warred feelings slathered his face in a deep red, small blood vessels drew spiders on his cheeks; an important vein throbbed down his temple. A tendon jutted out of his neck, too stiff you thought it’d snap.

You couldn’t read his eyes. Levi wasn’t there.

The bottle yielded to his menacing clasp. Fragments of glass scattered at your feet. Levi didn’t even wince; however, he released you. Compressed between the wall and his chest, you stiffened, afraid that the sightliest motion would trigger him. Heaving, he raised his hand and brought it near your face, froze for a handful of seconds, hesitating, closed it into a fist and retrieved.

He didn’t deserve to touch you; he didn’t deserve you at all.

Ire, shame and guilt merged into his fist. You saw it coming and shut your eyes, shivering, bracing for it. The blow made the whole house rumble, or so you felt.

Levi crouched and grabbed the neck of the bottle, squeezing, until the pricking pain of the shards encroached the burning pain of his knuckles.

When you opened them, Levi was trudging away across the room.

Your gazes met again, hurt, broken, hopeless as you both slumped to the floor.

Hours passed in a deafening silence.

“I lost my daughter too…”

“What are you doing?”

You kneel before him, and latch open the first aid kit. “Taking care of you, of course.”

He doesn’t flinch, he doesn't whine as you dab the peroxide-soaked cotton ball on his battered knuckles. “Are you sure you didn’t fracture them?” You raised a brow.

“I’m alright.”

“You don’t seem alright to me.” You wrap his wounds in gauze. “The other one.” And with all the patience in the world, armed with a pair of eyebrow tweezers, you begin to pluck out the pieces of glass embedded in his palm.

“I’m sorry, Y/N.” He spews. He knows you deserve more than an ‘I'm sorry’, but he doesn't know where to start.

Fighting the undeniable fact that nothing will ever be the same again is exhausting. Because the things that have happened cannot be changed, no matter how much you dream over and over again, that you go back to that moment. To the exact point where your little kingdom fell apart.

*

"You seriously don't remember anything before that day?" Big green eyes stared at her perplexed.

Vi shakes her head. “Not even my name. The doctor says that there’s still a chance that the memories will come back in time, but each day I lose faith.”

That day, Violet managed to escape, leaving her grandmother behind when a wall crushed her legs. With her face soaked in tears, and her heart jackhammering in her ribcage, a sudden rush of stamina dashed through her bestowing on her a power she had never experienced before. Unstoppable, invincible. She ran down the street until something knocked her out, and everything went black.

Her face contorted in pain when the hard bed lanced her spine. Groggily, she opened her eyes, flinching as the unfamiliar surroundings unfurled before her. Shins, calves, white shoes hustling from side to side. Babies cried. Men hissed. Women comforted. Downcast faces. It took her a while to recognize her whereabouts. The hospital, overflowed. She rested on a mat in a hectic corridor. Next to her a man on a rickety chair with an IV in his arm hummed a tune, his fingers rapped at the rhythm against the armrest. The bag with clear liquid hung from a nail in the wall above his head. Green, purple and black blended on a bruise on one side of his forehead.

“Hey, little bean.” He smiled warmly at her. “I’m glad you’re awake.”

Violet sat up, wincing at the pounding in her head. She glanced around, then looked at the man.

She said nothing.

She didn’t know what to say.

“I’m Arthur. What’s your name?”

“I’m… uh… I’m…” She gulped, and her eyes went round. Panic wrung her guts as tears streamed down her face. “I don’t know.” She wrenched out in a whisper.

“What about Vi?” he pointed to her chest. She gazed down and took the pendant in her palm.

Vi. Two years later she signed in the Training Corps under the name Vi. Just Vi.

*

“Miche, you have to believe me!!” Hange’s hands carve through their hair, clenching for a second. “That new recruit looks exact the same as Levi.”

The big guy rolls his eyes and sighs. “I believed you the first time.”

“Do you think shorty would have…?” They curl their thumb and forefinger under their chin, lines creep between their eyebrows.

“Hange…” His forehead puckered.

“Alright, alright.” They toss their hands in the air.

“Didn’t they have a daughter?”

“Yeah, though I never met her. Levi and Y/N hardly talked about their life outside the Headquarters.”  They scratch their forehead and let out a sigh. “Levi never recovered from their loss.”

“The new recruits will arrive today, right?”

“Yeah…” Hange clasps their hands together, their eyes covered by the glint of their lenses.

“Oi! Shitty-glasses!”

“Levi!” Their excitement twists into concern when they spot the ravenette’s bandaged hands.

“What happened?”

“Are you ok?” Miche pats Levi’s shoulder and squeezes.

“I’m good.”

The main yard stirs up with noises.

“They’re here!” The brunette squeals and sprints to the window; Miche followed. They turned around so abruptly that something slipped out of the scientist’s pocket. Levi takes it from the floor. It was a piece of paper, folded in four. A sudden urge drives him, and he spreads it out.

A list with names.

His eyes roamed over each one, until they stopped dead in their tracks on a monosyllable name.

Vi.

He squints, pads to the window, and harrumphs. “Oi! Do you have more information on this Vi?” He points.

“Oh!” Hange pats their empty pocket. “Thanks.” They pry the list from Levi and secures it in the pocket inside their jacket. “The files of each are in Erwin's office. We don't know much about her, though. According to medical records, after Shiganshina's fall, a blow to the head caused her amnesia, and even after five years, she can remember very little.”

Levi looks out of the window too. New faces brimming with naïveté and expectations. “Out of those brats, can you tell who Vi is?” Levi demands.

“Why so–“

“Just answer!” Levi snaps. Miche frowns at him.

“That one.” Hange points out. “The one with black hair and…“ They turn their head to Levi, but he was long gone.

Captain Levi weave through the bunch of new recruits, the weight of their beaming eyes anchors to his back. He makes his way to the stables. His heart beating with frenzy. It’s been five years, Levi. It could be a coincidence. He tells himself.

He stops, runs his fingers through his hair and thinks. He thinks of a way to approach without being a creep. A horse has chosen her already, and she’s bonding with her new companion, feeding them a carrot.

He regrets not telling you. Shit, you’d handle this better than him.

Levi shoves his hands into his pockets so no one else can see them shaking and resumes his way.

A cold shiver runs down his spine. He opens his mouth to talk and clamps it again. There’s still time to swivel on his boots and run away.

He muzzles a cough in his fist.

“You know how to saddle her?”

The girl jars and spins around, baffled steel-gray eyes mirror his own.

“Captain Levi!”

It can’t be a coincidence; she can’t be a coincidence. Levi crosses one leg before the other to keep his balance.

“I… I didn’t mean to startle you.” His eyes dart around as he scratches his temple.

Simpering, she shakes her head. “It’s ok. Uh…” Damn. She uses the same fillers. “Could you help me with the cinch?”

“Uh-huh.”

Her long braids fling over her shoulders when she turns around. “What happened to your hands?”

“Domestic accident.”

She doesn't buy it.

He squints tracing with his eyes the lighter tissue creeping at the side of her head.

“What about you?”

“You mean this?” She traces the scar with her fingers. “Don’t know. It was the day Wall Maria fell. Something hit me, I guess.” She shrugs.

The straps slip from his fingers, but she catches them midair and hand them to him.

He couldn’t do this alone. Shit, he needs you. He swelters under his clothes and, it's only grazing the beginnings of summer. The leaves of the trees stir, the torn blanket of white clouds safeguards you from the sun's rays.

Levi doesn’t know what else to say.

And the, he catches a glimpse of it. His eyes snap open so wide they threaten to pop out and fall onto the manure. He gapes, his chest puffing and compressing frenziedly. This is too much for him to handle.

“Are you alright?”

He nods several times, unable to utter a word.

“I…” He swallows the knot in his throat and tosses a quivering thumb over his shoulder. “I… need to finish…”

“Levi!”

The other horses raise their heads to you. Levi closes his eyes, his Adam’s apple bobs.

“Hey, I finally find–“ The tray clashes on the floor, the cookies propelled in all directions, cracking or cushioning on horse shit.

Your jaw splinters open, and your eyes bulge. Rattled breaths roil you, and you cover your mouth with a palm to smother your shock

She had reached Levi's height, and her body had changed, some parts became wider while others had trimmed down.

“Violet…” Your voice warbles with emotion. Frost expands through your core and into your chest, stealing your breath away. Your muscles numb and your knees buckle as you back away, but Levi grabs you before you pounce onto the floor.

"Violet?" The teenage girl blinks twice, her head tilts to the side. She steers around her horse to approach you two and spots it, the pendant peeking out under Levi's jacket. A gasp. She halts, and leer back. Her mouth falls open, and her thin black eyebrows rise. Her skin tingles, refusing to believe what she's seen. "Why?" She folds an arm against her stomach, shaking her head in denial. Her voice wavers. "Why... you...?" She points at him, and Levi's gaze settles on his chest.

"I... You..." He takes the pendant in his hand, fumbling, his words choke him as he tries to pull them out.

"You crafted them both." You get back on your feet. Your chest hitches, yet you continue. "For your dad's birthday." Your voice quavers as a flood of tears consume your eyes.

Violet sidles up to Levi apprehensively, as if you were both figments of her imagination. He doesn't budge, indeed, he doesn't even flinch. He lets her get closer, and closer. "I want to see it." Levi nods, takes the necklace off and hands it to her. She compares them, tracing her thumbs on the carving. Tears glisten in her eyes, turning them into moonstones that flick between the two of you. "I... Violet. Is it my name?"

"You really don't remember?" Levi furrows his brows as his heart chips like his old mug.

She sniffles, covers her eyes with her arm and shakes her head. "Just fragments."

"Can you tell us what you remember?" your eyes soften as you wrap your arms around her, and she pours her heart out on you, while you stroke her back like when she was a little girl and cried to see daddy.

She calms down, and still curled on your chest, she mumbles. "Lavender, the smell of freshly baked cookies, a place where the sun didn't rise, walks in a park, lullaby that goes like this." She clears her throat to sing in a shaky voice. "Goodnight, my angel, now it's time to dream–"

"And dream how wonderful your life will be." That's the only fragment Levi remembers too, of course he didn't carry the tune as sweet and cooing as She did. He blinks away his tears and winds his arms around you; to you, asking you to forgive him for all the agony he wrought on you over the past five years, for all you put up with to keep the relationship afloat and move on with your lives, for staying strong when he flagged. You, his first love, the silly girl who loves the chitterlings at the Underground City Market. To Violet, his little girl, with whom he shares more than a syllable, a 'welcome home.'

Thank you so much for reading!!!

Now, since you've reached the bottom, I want you to know that down here I'll be posting drabbles set after this fic. Just Levi, Reader and Violet getting back together.

ghosts from the past

Don't you love her anymore?

Leo (Soft SMUT. MDNI)

Wherever you are, be happy

#levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman #attack on titan #aot #snk #shingeki no kyojin #levi attack on titan #snk levi #levi x reader #levi x you #levi aot #levi x y/n #levi fanfiction #levi ackerman x you #nela writes #requests

[friendlyneighbourhood-parker]

Scrap Yarn

pairing: Steven Grant x reader

Summary: Steven knows everything about getting caught up in hobbies, him being the one at fault when it comes to letting the time drift away while reading a book. But after spending your day away crocheting you feel sore and he desides on helping you out

word count: 1.6 k

Warnings: the reader cracks their back by stretching I think? it's mentioned a couple of times the craking of some joints, besides that this is fluff!

A/N: It was really hard not to make this angsty for some reason? like I intended this to be fluff from second one but drafted it two times and both of them went to an angsty route i didn't want to? but couldn't (apparently) help but write? anyways hope this isn't too far from fluff. also the reader is mentioned to wear glasses but I hope that's not a problem when reading it. anyways, enjoy!

Your knuckles were cramping and your wrist felt stiff, you could feel the pain growing on your lower back from the position you settled in hours ago and didn’t shift from, and if your grandma saw the way you were scrunching down she would probably scoff, pulling you to straighten your back and tell you how her mother would’ve tied a broomstick to her back so she wouldn’t grow a hump. You squinted your eyes and moved your hands closer to your face, trying to see the stitches you were making from the pattern that followed an imaginary beat.

One, two, three, four. One – one, two, three, four. Two – one, two, three, four. Three – twist and repeat.

It was rhythmic, simple and perfect to get lost into, working for hours without even realizing the passage of time. One hand holding the yarn while the other twisted and turned the hook, both of them tired but never stopping, tranced by the webbing growing before your eyes. What was once a ball of yarn was now becoming a new scarf, or maybe it was a hat, perhaps even a sweater? You weren’t exactly sure but part of the charm was not knowing the outcome of your creation because you weren’t in need of something new just something to keep both your mind and hands busy.

It wasn’t the first time Steven found you like that, on the couch with the basket filled with yarn by your feet on the floor, wearing the grey stained shirt – too big and too old to wear outside but perfect for those days where staying inside was the only thing on your ‘to do’ list – and making small talk with him, mostly him being the one talking before deciding to pick up a book from his shelf and just let the silence settle. It was something you liked to do from time to time as a hobby, making new gloves for Jake and a hat for Marc so they wouldn’t pass cold on winter, and believe me when I tell you Steven was grateful for the book bag you made him last time but he also knew how easy it could be to get lost into those little hobbies that left your mind to wander.

You couldn’t believe how the hours passed by so fast, the bright evening sun coming through the windows and engulfing the entire flat in an orange tint that confirmed exactly what you were afraid of, the day was coming to an end and you spent it away crocheting, again. The shadows seemed harsher while everything being touched by light appeared to glow as if it were made of gold, you looked over to Steven before reaching over to the standing lamp between the sofas.

The change of lighting making him turn to look at you, gifting you one of those warm smiles that made him close his eyes and little lines run near his mouth. You smiled back, reaching for his arm and softly caressing him while exchanging ‘I love you’s before he continued with his lecture and you went back to your project.

The once angry beat coming back in a softer melody, one that left you with only peace.

One, two, three, four. One – one, two, three, four. Two – one, two, three, four. Three – twist and repeat.

It felt weird being submerged in silence, it normally being filled by Steven’s words as he talked about his day, telling you the little comments being thrown by Marc and Jake or the new stuff he learned by reading when he had a break at his work. But now he was back to his reading and you in your crocheting, neither of you wanting to disturb the other. The turning of his pages becoming the only sound that filled the flat and any exterior noise being kept outside by the closed windows.

You grunted, frustrated at yet another hole where you didn’t notice the missing stitch until it was too late, having to undo your work to correct the mistake before continuing. Steven peered at you over his glasses before looking at the clock that hung on top of the tank where his fish happily swam. He closed the book and stretched his arms in front of him before leaving it on top the coffee table.

You didn’t notice he was sitting beside you until his hand reached for yours, stopping its movement and making you look back at him with a soft smile.

“You’re mumbling” He simply said.

A habit you had that never realized but he always noticed, every time that your mind got carried away the words started to slip out of you like a silent prayer you couldn’t hear but he noticed loud and clear. He never spoke about it, finding it cute how you would count away the movements done and those that were yet to come.

One, two, three, four. One – one, two, three, four. Two – one, two, three, four. Three

“Yeah I don’t- ” you rolled your shoulders, hearing the popping sound that made your bones after changing positions “Fuck that felt good. Guess I got a bit carried away”

He hummed in respond, taking what he would call a ‘tangled little mess’ from you. He saw how you shook your hands, starting to feel the pain from them and heard the way you moaned softly after finally stretching your back. He shook his head laughing while taking your hand once more, moving it slowly so the wrist would rotate comfortably and this way easing the pain.

“You should rest from time to time” he reminded you

“I know, but I don’t really pay attention to the clock” you shrugged and pulled your hand away from him hissing at the pleasurable pain once he cracked your knuckles “you’re killing me”

“Me? You’re the one who tortures your poor hands” he moved to the other hand, repeating the same loving gesture in it before moving it closer to leave a sweet kiss on the back of it.

His hand reached for your shoulders, massaging the places he felt stiffer and knotted making you whine in response, shutting your eyes.

“Fuck that hurts” you laughed out trying not to think of the painful touch, knowing he wasn’t putting that much pressure, you were just a bit stressed.

“I know love but you’re tense” he looked up at you tilting his head at your frown, his hand moving closer to your face to smooth out the wrinkles that formed in between your eyebrows with his thumb. “I’ll drag your ass out the sofa to stretch if I have to”

“I don’t need to” the back of your hand gently moved his out of the way, rolling your eyes at him with a big smile plastered in your face.

“Yeah you do, you get too focused” he gestured you to turn around and you complied with his command.

Your arms rested on the sofa headrest letting him face your back, his hands made their way across it, softly trailing from the back of your neck down to where your t-shirt ends making his way under it. Rubbing the places he heard you complain about in other times, his movements were calculated gliding on a place he knew by blind memory, his thumbs made pressure on your lower back and you exhaled a breath you didn’t notice holding in. The sore feeling being gently soften out by the attentive hands of your lover.

“You’re the one to talk”  you moved your head side to side enjoying the feeling on your neck before letting it fall back on his shoulder, looking at those deep brown eyes that looked back at you.

“Even I take breaks!” he chuckled, his arms wrapped around your waist behind the fabric.

“Still…” you closed your eyes humming “thanks for this”

“Any time, my love” he pecked your lips before getting up, dreading to move away from you but knowing the bed would be so much comfortable for cuddles. He lend you a hand, helping you get up “Although you shouldn’t force your sight or you’ll end up with a pair of these”

He grabbed his glasses that rested on top of his book and dangled them in front of you before placing them inside his shirt pocket.

“Oh, I do need them” you shrugged making your way towards the bad.

“What?” he reached for your hand pulling you closer to him, his expression was one filled with confusion as he tried to recall ever seeing you wearing glasses.

“I wear glasses Steven” you chuckled palming his chest, noticing a tiny strand of yarn stuck on his shirt, you took it and flipped it away.

“I’ve never seen you with them”

“I broke them a while back, never found the time to get new ones” you turned around, placing his arms around your shoulders and scooping your back against his chest.

“But… we’ve been dating for almost six months” his chin rested on top of your head, heels rocking both of you side to side.

You shrugged once more not really worrying about it, it’s been so long and you couldn’t really bother at this point “I’ll do it later”

“Let’s go to sleep and I’ll personally take you for new ones in the morning” he kissed the top of your head and rested his chin there once again.

The both of you made their way to the bed, funny steps on sync to the not so imaginary beat that Steven mumbled to you in an effort not to stumble with each other, you remaining in your place between his arms laughing at his mockery of that little habit of yours.

One, two, three, four. One – one, two, three, four. Two – one, two, three, four. Three

Like the rhythm of your hearts beating in unison.

#steven grant #steven grant fanfiction #steven grant x you #marvel #moon knight #moon knight system #steven grant x reader #fluff fanfic #steven with a v #steven grant one shot #steven grant fic #steven grant x y/n #steven grant fluff #marc spector #jake lockley #moonknight

[eirasummersart]

I WANNA KNOW THE APPLExSNAKE SHIP PLEEEEASE

Ahhh, thanks for the ask! I'm glad someone cares to know about them as well 👉👈

I still haven't decided exactly how the ship is gonna work, but I'll try my best to organize my thoughts and explain my ideas so far for you~ I'll even add Akshaya's banner. I need to make one for the ship hahah

Text under the cut!

Akshaya definitely mets Epel through either Jack or Yuu. They're the two people she sitcks to at first and she's really bad at making friends, so she just tags along with them. One of the times when the 1st year group is together is when she and Epel are introduced, most likely.

They're just acquitances from then on, but at some point Epel helps Akshaya out with something (still undecided, but in the vibe of "catching her before he falls" or "blocking a ball that was gonna hit her"). Either way, Akshaya thinks that was a cool move and tells him "Thank you, you're so cool!" or similar. "Cool" is definitely on the "manly" side of praise (you know, from Epel's basic boy gender norms perspective XDD), so Epel gets all happy about it and boasts a bit.

Akshaya takes more notice of him from then on. She mostly enjoys when he's being "himself" and not meek for Vil. And she genuinely thinks he's cool and manly and all that. Basically, she admires what she lacks (she's so shy and meek). So she tells him. And since Epel likes those kinds of comments and attention, he'd keep showing off for her at the same time.

Little by little they'll get closer and somehow(?) they end up being a couple. I haven't thought that far ahead hahahah

And now, some little things I also have in mind for them or that make me like this ship, in no particular order:

They're a really confusing couple gender-wise. For others, mostly, they each have their own gender clear. But with Epel looking so "cute/femenine" by traditional standards, and Akshaya being more in the non-binary appearance wise, dressing in a really neutral way, it's easy to mistake who is what. And you know what? Too bad, you shouldn't judge people's gender by their appearance anyway~ But yea, I find this kind of thing fun to play with~ Also, Akshaya is 1cm taller than Epel (he'd hate that forever, maybe he'll grow taller than her in a couple of years XD). It's a small difference, so they basically look the same height 😌 It's just cute!

Kula is a bit more sceptical about Epel at first. In the end, he's the most cautelous of the two and his priority is always to keep Akshaya safe. He also doesn't think Epel is as cool as Akshaya does, but mostly just rolls his eyes at her about that hahaha. He warms up to him after, and mostly does not care as long as he makes Akshaya happy. When Akshaya and Epel are having a moment or they spend time together after they become a couple, Kula will either hide himself away inside Akshaya's clothes and sleep, or go to a hidden close-by location and sleep there until they're done. At that point, he trusts Epel, so he has no worries leaving them "alone".

I like to imagine Akshaya tagging along in the Harveston event too. I did a drawing of it for Twistober this year~ But a bit more about it. Akshaya is terrible with the cold, so even if she prepared in advance and put a lot of clothes on the day they go there, she's still cold af. They give her one of the warmest outfits later when they change, and Epel keeps checking on her to make sure she's never too cold. He even will give her his poncho sometimes to help her keep warm 🤭 And well, she'd love the part about making their own little animal plushies to help with the race! She loves cross-stitching the most, but also likes sewing in general. She'll be really happy learning about the tradition and how they're used. She'd make a snake plushie for herself, of course! She'd also be interested on how the traditional outfits they wear are made and probably chat with Epel's grandma about them for a while~ She'd be extremelly awkward around her at first, tho. Akshaya is super shy after all, and she wants to make a good impression on her. But seeing how she's really sweet (usually), and she's similar to her grandson, she'd quickly warm up to her ❤

Also, regarding the song I shared yesterday, I think some of the character developement for Akshaya will come from being close to Epel. With the other 1st years as well, but since she'll end up being closest with Epel, he'd have the most influence. Just how he openly welcomes her, always includes her and is really nice to her. He'll also be patient when she's all shy or can't quite make up her mind about something because of her fears of rejection. And slowly, she'll be a bit more open and be less social awkward~ (she's still that way, though, that won't go away completely hahah but getting better slowly 😌)

On another note, because of how you worded your ask… I realized I could even add some symbolism about the apple and the snake hahaha I never thought about it but it could be fun XD If only I knew more about religion(?). Maybe I'll ask a friend of mine who know a bunch about it if she has some ideas for this C:

And I think that's all I have for them so far~ One day I wanna answer those "ship questions" I have with them~ that would be fun :D

OH, and if anyone has ideas for the ship name, let me know~ I'm so bad at thinking those XD

That's it for the rambling. Thanks for giving me a reason to talk away away about something I enjoy 💕

And to everyone who read untill here, thank you as well! Have a nice day!

#Yuki Answers #the-trinket-witch #twst oc #Twisted Wonderland OC #Epel Felmier #twst #OC #Akshaya and Kuldeep #Twsited Wonderland OC #canon x OC #Epel/Akshaya #OC info #Akshaya info

[tracybirds]

friendship is magic and i'm thinking hard about tracy fam and their relationships <3 this is simply a list of possibilities for me to use to pick and choose :D Named characters are background characters, then I'm listing the circles they run in

just some silly fun for a thursday morning, gonna go do dishes and maths now :D

SCOTT

Marion Van Arkel

Kat Cavanaugh

Asher and Finn

Toshi Murakami

tracy industries people

uni friends (the man needs people to geek out about maths with)

personally i don't think he kept in touch with any air force people but i guess there's them too

VIRGIL

Cass McCready

online engineering community (as in Nutty's V.T. Green bc i'm never not obsessed with that fic)

art group

orchestra friends

jazz band buds (Virgil is in a jazz band and they meet up monthly for jazz band shenanigans)

JOHN

Ridley O'Bannon

Tycho Reeves (trust me on this one, I know they didn't really interact but also trust me)

space fam (neighbours group chat but the neighbours are all in space.... they have a chess tournament once a year)

stingray fandom friends

astrophysics nerds

GORDON

Robby Shelby

Buddy and Ellie Pendergast

Scraps

enviro friends (*cough cough* @gumnut-logic's Raoul Island crew)

old swim team

WASP buddies

ALAN

Brandon Barrenger

Conrad

cavern quest / gaming friends

homeschool "pen pals"

Alan needs more friends the poor kid must get lonely :'(

KAYO

Wayne Rigby

Doyle

Andi Houseman

GDF buds that Rigby introduces her to

she has the whole tracy fam so it's a little different for her i think bc she gets to live with her best friends* all the time

BRAINS

Moffie

a select few other science friends

his sister's acting friends that have adopted him (based on the linked headcanon)

GRANDMA TRACY

Kip Harris (get it Grandma!!!)

i like to think she's in an aviation club

also doctor friends :D

give me a stitch and bitch for grandma lol

keeps in touch with all the kansas friends <3

JEFF

Lee Taylor

Colonel Casey

Ned Tedford (once Jeff comes back and they go rescue this hapless man AGAIN, Jeff invites him back for dinner and they become good friends I'm holding onto this one)

air force buddies

rich people pals

Penelope's Dad (Hugh????)

*disclaimer that my personal interpretation of kayo is that she's a good friend who is like a sister and the six of them casually refer to each other as such but isn't actually adopted bc her dad by all accounts is still alive and all that and personally I found the way TAG handled that weird.... but my experience is that I call my two best friends sisters without a trace of irony bc our families were closely intertwined and i've known them since birth and grown up with them. I even lived with them for a time as a child when my parents couldn't look after me. That's what Kayo and the boys feels like to me and is obvs very influenced by my own experience of being sent to live with another family while growing up.

#this is mostly for me and my thoughts #i'm sure there's people I've forgotten lol #thunderbirds are go

[jungle-angel]

43. The kid(s) hiding under the bed while mom and dad watch a grown up movie

Sweetheart this gives me Rhett vibes!

Honey Please!!!! I got Rhett vibes the minute I put it on the list!!!!! lol

Finally, everything was done. Dinner, baths and bed were all good to go, the kids asleep and finally a chance for you and Rhett to enjoy yourselves.

"Alright darlin," Rhett said as he entered the room with a little something in his hands. "Might I treat thee to a little movie night?"

"Oooh, what'll it be this time?" you asked.

Rhett held up two DVDs, two that the both of you were familiar with but never dared watch in front of the kids. "Old School or Porky's?" he said. "Take your pick."

"Porky's!!!" you said excitedly.

Rhett laughed naughtily as he put it in the DVD player and crawled in next to you. "Man does this bring back memories," he laughed. "I remember bein a kid and me, Perry and Wes all snuck in to see it at one of the movie theaters."

"Did your dad whoop your asses?" you asked.

"Nope, never found out," Rhett answered. "I remember when we snuck in to see JAWS too. We had a swimmin hole over on the Wind River Reservation where Wes's family lives and we were convinced after that movie that sharks lived in it."

"Oh my God, NO!!!"

"Oh yes darlin," Rhett told you as you waited for the movie to load. "Wes's older brother was stupid enough to have one of those little shark fins on his head and scared us shitless. We punched him in the nose before the three of us went back to the house cryin like a bunch o' girls."

"Oh no," you laughed.

"Oh yes," Rhett continued, the movie still taking forever to load on the shitty little bedroom DVD player. "Wes's grandma opened up the biggest can o' whoop-ass I'd ever seen on that kid. Dad came to get Perry and I but we refused to even take a bath for a month."

You were practically in stitches from Rhett's little story, the movie already beginning to play as you snuggled into each other under the warm covers and the fall rain battering the windows outside. The two of you laughed hysterically at the movie, pure raunchy smut in the eyes of Dolores Newman, the cranky, miserable church lady of Wabang. You and Rhett even imitated Lassie's howl, joking about whether or not you could make the other howl like that. Until......

"BOOBIES!!!!!!" shouted two little voices from under the bed.

You and Rhett knitted your eyebrows together, the two of you leaning over opposite sides of the bed to find the source of those little voices......Tatum and Tanner, your troublemaking twin boys.

"What in the blue hell are you two doin outta bed?" Rhett questioned.

"We wanted to see the movie Daddy," Tatum replied innocently.

"Uh, last I remember good sir," Rhett said, matter of factly. "This movie is for grown ups only."

"Why Daddy?" Tanner asked him.

"Because it's got bad words and naked ladies in it," Rhett answered him.

"WE WANNA SEE THE NAKED LADIES!!!!" the twins shouted at the tops of their lungs.

"Oh no, no, no, no," you insisted. "You two little ghouls need to go to bed if you wanna go pumpkin and apple picking with Papa and Nana Cece in the morning."

Tatum and Tanner groaned, their little lips starting to pout before they army crawled out from under the bed. "Can we still see the naked ladies?" Tatum asked.

"OUT!!!" Rhett ordered, thrusting his arm towards the door. "Out ya little monsters!!"

The twins ran away laughing and squealing, their feet barreling up the wooden log stairs to their room.

"You ok?" you asked, seeing the exasperated look on Rhett's face.

"Lord help me when they become teenagers," Rhett groaned.

"If they're anything like you, I would agree one-hundred and ten percent," you laughed.

You snuggled into Rhett, the both of you fixated on the movie, hoping to God that the two little miscreants hadn't snuck back in again.

#rhett abbott #outer range #rhett abbott x reader #outer range feral children

[octolingo-writes]

Soul-Linked: A Linkverse

Hello! I’ve decided to create my own “Links meet” story :) here are the characters! I’m tagging this with linked universe so more people see it but it’s got its own tag too! Without further ado, the heroes of Soul-Linked!

Captain

Hyrule Warriors

The Hero of Warriors

27

he/him

Blonde hair, blue eyes, pale skin

Married to Sapphire (his Zelda) for political reasons, they’re more like siblings than anything else

Very formal and polite 

Wields the Knight’s Sword + Hylian Shield

Suffers from social anxiety so Proxi (his fairy) does a lot of the talking in public for him

Has a mild accent from growing up in a rural area

Gull

A Link Between Worlds, Triforce Heroes, Link’s Awakening (yes I know technically they’re not the same hero)

The Hero of Legend

21

she/they/he

Pink hair, blue eyes, pale skin

Loved Marin a lot and is currently dating Ravio

Wields the Fire Rod, Tempered Sword, Shield and Bow primarily

Snarky but very loyal

Easily scared

Experienced Link’s Awakening after ALBW; was just friends with Ravio during ALBW and took six/seven/eight months after LA to start dating him

The Colors

Four Swords (manga), the Minish Cap

The Heroes of the Four Sword

20

Green uses he/him, Red uses she/her, Blue uses they/them, Vio uses xe/xer

Green/red/blue/purple hair, green/red/blue/purple eyes, pale skin

Vio had a massive crush on Shadow

They all style their hair differently: Green’s is cut short, Red’s is braided, Blue’s is in a short ponytail, Vio has an undercut and messy bun

They each have a Four Sword and a Shield and a signature item: Green is the Bow, Blue is the Hammer, Red is the Fire Rod, Vio is the Boomerang

Mask

Ocarina of Time, Majora’s Mask

The Hero of Time

22

he/they

Blonde hair streaked w/ white, one blue eye and one red eye, pale skin

Working on figuring out how to court Malon

Very easily startled but excitable

Practically brothers with Sheik

Wields the Biggoron Sword + Mirror Shield

Feather

Skyward Sword

The Hero of the Skies

24 

he/him

Brown hair, blue eyes, tanned skin

Currently courting Divine (his Zelda)

A bit jaded/sad because he feels so disconnected from his people but he’s working on it

Wields the Master Sword + Hylian Shield

Travels between Skyloft and the Surface, primarily lives on the Surface 

Has prophetic dreams

Suffers from a breathing condition that makes it difficult for him to do strenuous activity for long periods of time

Force

Legend of Zelda, the Adventure of Link

The Hero of Hyrule

29

he/him

Brown hair, green eyes, dark skin

Married to Star (his Zelda) for political reasons, but they don’t really get along that well

Wields magic and a sword and shield

Irritable and confrontational

Can speak to fairies

Wields the full Triforce (hence his name)

Wind

The Wind Waker, Phantom Hourglass

The Hero of Winds

18

he/him

Sun-bleached hair, blue eyes, tanned skin

Not dating anyone and not interested in dating (he tried dating Tetra and it didn’t work)

Wields Sword + Shield and his items

Swears a lot (he’s a teenager)

Going through a lot because his grandma died, so he’s essentially Aryll’s only guardian/caretaker

Rhythm

Cadence of Hyrule

The Hero of Rhythm

15

he/they

Black hair, brown eyes, dark skin

Not dating anyone

Accompanied by their fairy companion, Trill, who helps them talk

Wields a Greatshovel

Timid but musically gifted

Ribbon and Knot

Triforce Heroes

The Heroes of Hytopia

17 and 19

Ribbon uses he/they, Knot uses she/they

Red/blue hair, red/blue eyes, pale/coppery skin

Ribbon is dating Styla

They worked alongside Gull in Triforce Heroes, the three aren’t related but they act like siblings

Ribbon (red) is working on becoming a professional tailor, he’s very stubborn and determined

Knot (blue) is trying to start a business as a cook, she has more of a temper than Ribbon does but is normally very sweet

Both of them call Gull ‘Stitch’

Wolf

Twilight Princess

The hero of Twilight

21 

he/him

Gray hair, blue eyes, coppery skin (he’s got some Gerudo blood)

Crushing on Shad but oblivious to this fact (he was close with Midna, but not romantically)

Lives in Ordon and helps out there, occasionally goes to Castle Town to speak with Shad and Umbra (his Zelda)

He’s close with Umbra in the way two people who went through the same thing can be

Uses the Ordon Sword + Shield + his items

Ordon knows about the wolf thing

Blossom

Breath of the Wild

The Hero of the Wild

22

he/they/she

Brown hair w/ a streak of white, blue eyes, tanned skin

Dating Sidon

Very good with a bow and can use almost anything as a weapon

The best climber out of all the Heroes, though she tires easily

Ravio

The Hero of Lorule

21

he/him

Black hair, green eyes, pale skin

Dating Gull

Wields the Hammer, Ice Rod, and Boomerang

That’s all of them! I’m planning on making a post about the Zeldas too :) if you have absolutely any questions, please ask!!! I’d love to talk about these guys

#linkverse #octo posts #legend of zelda #linked universe #sl wolf #sl feather #sl ravio #sl colors #sl ribbon #sl knot #sl wind #sl captain #sl force #sl gull #sl rhythm #sl blossom #sl mask #Hopefully that’s everyone— #Crossing my fingers that this does well!! #I worked hard on it so hopefully it does :) #octos linkverse

[chubbycutegirl]

Trigger warnings ⚠️

Cancer

Injury

Surgery

So I'm going to try blogging every week about little and big things. Try is the keyword here, who knows how this will go.

So recently we found out my aunt was very sick, she has stage for breast cancer that spread to her bones.

I got to visit her this past Saturday in the hospital, and to my surprise she is doing better than I thought she would. I thought she was going to be on her deathbed, but as always she was fighting. I wouldn't say she was comfortable it was obvious she was uncomfortable, but she was able to hear us to squeeze my sisters hand and make eye contact with us. I'm hoping and praying she recovers. I have a good feeling she can pull out of this.

About a month ago I hurt my right knee (not the wrong knee) in hapkido. We were doing this jumping excercise, and my leg went to far out my knee popped and I fell to the ground.

Since the incident my knee has hurt a little. I would say it's consistently at a 3 out of 10. Which isn't all that bad just more annoying than anything else. I saw my orthopedic on Tuesday May 30th. He told me he is suspicious of a torn ACL. Which to me would make sense because I haven't been able to do everything since the incident. I get an MRI on this upcoming Tuesday to see what all is going on. If it is a torn ACL that will require surgery to fix it.

The idea of surgery does not bother me. If it will help me get back to 100% sooner put me under the knife. Just assure me I'll wake up from it. Of course I will its an outpatient surgery that only takes an hour, so it isn't a huge deal.

I actually looked up how the surgery is done and it really isn't all that complicated. And this is where the surgery trigger warning applies itself, so if anyone is reading who gets bothered by surgery this is your place to stop reading.

******

They make 3 incisions on the knee 1 for a small camera and 2 for the tools. They remove the torn ACL and shave down the bone in order to prepare it for the "new" ACL. they then drill a hole through the femur and the tibia that way they can insert the "new" ACL there and they will stretch it as much as a normal ACL is. They place a button on one end and a screw in another to keep the ACL in place. The screw is biodegradable so it will eventually just become part of the bone. Then after that they stitch you up.

******

Okay for all of those who don't like surgery talk you can continue reading from here. This surgery does not bother me. However, my grandmother had issues with general anesthesia I can't remember exactly what it was besides she couldn't wake up on her own afterwards. Both my parents are okay with regular anesthesia so I shouldn't have to worry about that. I still do though because what if that skips a generation and next thing I know I wake up a long time later. What if I wake up alone in the hospital or surgical center.

Another thing is I just learned that Ehlers Danlos Syndrome runs on the paternal side of my family. My grandpa had it my uncle and his daughters have it and my father has it.

For those who are unsure what this is. Here is what Google says in simple terms is this:

Ehlers-Danlos syndrome (EDS) is a group of genetic disorders that affect the connective tissues. Connective tissues are proteins, such as collagen, that provide elasticity and support to the joints, blood vessels, and skin. Most children with EDS have hypermobile joints that are prone to full or partial dislocation.

So this could be an explanation as to why a fall could leave me hurt a month later. If I have this I don't have a severe case of it because I would have been hurt a lot worse a lot sooner in my life.

So you know a lot of stuff happened this week/month. Hopefully I'll get some answers on Tuesday and get this all figured out. Also I will make the doctors aware of what happened to my grandma under general anesthesia and that Ehlers Danlos Syndrome runs in my family.

~Chubby Cute Girl

#Chubby Cute Girl #fuck cancer #breast cancer #ehlers danlos awareness #ehlers danlos syndrome #what the fuck #acl injury #knee injury #possible surgery #wish me luck

[autumnbrambleagain]

nah man dark souls 2 was unfinished! look at all the unused or repurposed content! ignore that grundyr was obviously meaan to be oceiros and his pus of man was why he was the consumed king and how even after ocellotte was made invisible and it makes no sense

ignore the farron watchwolf being obviously a boss that they didn’t finish so they just made this random fucking model into the coveneant leader with no dialogue

man ignore that the covenants in dks3 have like no personality at all. oh man yeah the aldrich covenant, i sure love the feeling of defending the guy who ate gwyndolin because [in-game reason not supplied]

or oh how about who can forget the covenant leader mentioned earlier, repurposed wolf model that doesn’t interact with you? at least mound makers had someone even mention what their covenant was about at-fucking-all and the dickwraith covenant had a semblance of a story

way better than dark souls 2 with, let’s see... oh, the funny silly bell covenant of insane mannequins that gave you dedicated pvp zones in both early and late game areas that were fun to play in or the rat covenant with the RAT KING (MY KING!!!!) who totally wasn’t a major fucking hottie with a ton of story and a deep emotional connection and man haha wasn’t it boring how it let you be the BOSS of your own dungeons and set up traps and ally with the monsters? wow that was so boring! nowhere near as good as dark soul 3′s version where you uh

wait right they didn’t have one

ok BUT the random NPCs in dark souls 3 were way better, like crestfallen warrior #5! he becomes the dragon guy at the end! or anri remember anri! and patches is here! and. uhm. uhhmmm. gael! sure he barely talks to you and just kinda shows up as the end boss of the series with no build-up but BUT he’s a BERSERK reference isn’t that great! and for smiths we have andre! again! because you recognize him, right? thing you recognize!

i mean let’s look at who was in dks2 haha you have what only like, the crestfallen warrior who--what’s that he has an arc and becomes a positive and optimistic--okay well how about smiths? a cool old dilf with dialogue and a personality and reason for being there and with a quest where you can help him find his daughter but it touches on the effects of being cursed?

and oh lucatiel of mirrah an entire questline dealing with what it feels like to be dark souls cursed? waifu ornifex? shalquior the delightful cat? LADDER BOY? creepy darkness grandpa?

ok ok but see but see dark souls 3 had uhhh. had uhhh. a. a grandma who told you which direction to go. way better and more memorable npcs!

ok how about how DISJOINTED the world feels in dark souls 2, it feels like you’re losing your mind and disassociating and ending up in entirely different and weird places like you’re cursed or something! compare that to dark souls 3, where uh. where it’s like stitched together with no rhyme or reason. no see it’s okay when dark souls 3 does that shut up.

also ok ok ok how about how all the bosses in dark souls 2 are just guys with SWORD? not like the best bosses of dark souls 3, freide (human with weapon) or gael (human with weapon) NO LOOK SEE dark souls 3 also had uh uh the demons in pain and below! and uh. uh. rotted. cursed greatwood? uhm.

like ill give it to you sulyvahn fucks, watchers of farron fuck, nameless king fucks. dark souls 3 has the best bosses for sure.

ok ok what about toolkits? ignore that dark souls 2 gave you a bigger variety of spells, weapon types, and ways to use them, dark souls 3 had WEAPON ARTS: an entire extra move for some weapons! wow!

i can’t even fucking remember much of anything from dark souls 3 and half the time im playing elden ring i just find myself wanting dark souls 2′s multiplayer turned back on instead

fuck you

#autumn rambles #dark souls 2 #dark souls 3 #elden ring