HOUSE OF THE DRAGON 02.07 "The Red Sowing"

House of the Dragon Incorrect Quotes

You: Are we fighting or flirting? Aemond: I'm pinning you against a wall with my hand around your neck- You: Your point?

You: I feel like doing something stupid. Aegon: I’m stupid, do me.

You: Crushes are the worst. Whenever I’m near mine, I start acting stupid. Aemond: You always act stupid. Aemond: Aemond: Wait...

Alicent: Did you wash the dishes? Aegon: I thought you wanted to do that... Alicent: *chuckles* You were WRONG.

Aemond: People tell me I have a unique way of lighting up a room. You: It’s called arson and those people are called witnesses.

You: Are you ever going to listen to me? Daemon: Yes. Absolutely. You: When? Daemon: When you're right.

Aegon: We have a problem. Aemond: No, YOU have a problem. I have an idiot who keeps making them.

You: I still have no idea how I’m attracted to you... Daemon: Yeah, well, you’re stuck with me, and no take backs, honey.

Aegon: I committed all 7 deadly sins in 30 minutes. You: Wow, I've gotta hear this. Aegon: I was angry and envious of my neighbor so I lazily seduced his wife and ate all his groceries and didn't share. You: You forgot pride. Aegon: No, I'm pretty proud of this.

Aegon: What do you call people you go out with but don’t try to sleep with? You: ...People?

Daemon: This is bothering me. You: Well, you are digging up a corpse. Daemon: No, not that. That's, uh, pretty par for the course, actually.

The media is complicit in the dehumanization of Palestinians with the language they continue to use. If they can’t even call children, children, then what do they truly think of them?

Dearest (Y/N),

How difficult it is for me to find the right words to express how I feel about you. From the moment our eyes met, my life changed forever. You are the light that illuminates the darkest of my days, the reason my heart beats faster every second I spend away from you. It is impossible to resist this overwhelming passion that consumes me, that takes me to extremes that I never imagined possible.

You, a muggle-born, a creature of rare beauty and genuine simplicity, have irrevocably captured my heart. I know that our reality is complex, that we live in different worlds, but I would do anything to be by your side, to protect you, to make your life sweeter and safer. I am capable of unimaginable feats when it comes to you, and it is this intense love that compels me to act.

I know there are those who wouldn't understand what we share, who would judge our love as wrong, but for me, you're the only one that matters. The whole world can fall apart as long as I can have you to myself. I would do anything, risk everything, even my own soul, to have you by my side.

I feel deeply connected to you, in a way that goes beyond wizarding understanding. I can't bear the thought of being away from you, of imagining your life with anyone other than me. The thought of your affection for others torments me, but I am willing to do anything to protect you.

Do not allow fear or uncertainty to keep you from me. This love is eternal, and nothing can separate our intertwined souls. I will always be watching, always protecting, and you will be mine, even if it's by force, because I can't bear the thought of losing you.

I look forward to the day when you understand the depth of my love, when you accept that we are meant to be together no matter what. Until then, be aware that I am always near, watching, caring, and eager for your acceptance.

With love,

Tom.

circle k (back to you) masterlist

pairing: tim drake x f!reader

In which you're just the graveyard shift employee at Circle K bombarded by vigilantes.

full summary: Working at a convenience store in Gotham City is a thankless and often dangerous job. Especially if you are working the graveyard shift.

You quite liked your brief stint at the Circle K in Keystone City, if only because the Flash could be found taking care of crime before they even happened. Plus, your store was the one he frequented the most for snacks and drinks to replenish his energy.

Even if your friends, Steph and Tim, don’t actually believe that he visited you and in fact said you two were friends. (No, seriously, he did!)

But a surprise visit from him with Red Robin in tow, a pointed insult to the Bats’ general hostility and unwelcoming nature, and suddenly, you have a revolving door of vigilantes at odd hours of the night.

Your most frequent visitor and the one that bothers you for a reason you can’t articulate since it also coincides with Tim Drake’s sudden avoidance of you?

Red Robin.

But it’s probably nothing, right?

contains: canon-typical violence, friends to lovers, mutual pining, angst, not actually unrequited love, eventual happy ending

ao3 | fic playlist | story tag

🏪 chapter index; completed!

chapter one... on my way to circle k

chapter two... it's getting late

chapter three... this doesn’t feel right

chapter four... walking slow (all alone)

chapter five... i am found on the ground

chapter six... hear the sound of your heart breaking

chapter seven... just get me through the night

chapter eight... where did i go wrong?

chapter nine... i want to make it right

chapter ten... there’s no way to hide it (i know what you’re fighting)

chapter eleven... i am always running back to you

chapter twelve... back to you

How jealous are they and how do they show it?

Characters: Jake, Quaritch, Tonowari, Tsu’tey

Warnings: None

Jake Sully

Jealousy level; pretty low. He’s a fairly confident man who knows that you are his, but that doesn’t mean he’ll just let others flirt with you. He’ll put his arm over your shoulder, his back straight as he does his best to appear strong and steadfast. He won’t tell the person off. Jake will inject himself in the conversation, holding you close and putting in a “isn’t that right, sweetheart?” here and there.

He’ll tease you about the situation later, betraying that it does bother him a little bit. “Seems like you made a new friend today,” “You would think you have honey on your ass from the way he was following you,”. When you settle on his lap with a smile, it’s clear that you see through him. He’ll sigh in defeat before shrugging his shoulders and pulling you against him, his jealousy quickly forgotten as he is the one who holds you in his arms at the end of the day.

Miles Quaritch

Jealously level; high. Miles is a possessive man who doesn’t like people ogling what’s his. Fuck, he can’t blame them, you being the prettiest thing he’s ever seen, but that doesn’t matter. He’s not opposed to hitting someone square in the face if they stare at you too long, nor will he apologize for it. “What? That fool should mind where his eyes wander.”

Him constantly hovering around you to make sure you are safe also allows him to see every little thing, which is not good for his sanity. Some days it feels like he’s pulling you aside every few minutes, his ears pinned against the sides of his head as he kissed you angrily. He needs to feel you, needs to assure himself that you want him. Blowing off some steam that way allows him to calm down a bit, and saves others some nasty bruises.

Tonowari

Jealousy level; medium. Tonowari has that quiet but intense type of jealousy. He’ll watch something happen from a distance. A look that crosses your conversation partner’s face, or a touch to your arm or hand that’s just slightly too familiar. He won’t approach, won’t say a word. He’ll watch and wait for the person to come anywhere near him afterwards. When they do, he’ll grab onto their arm, and stare. The normally kind chief can give an angry stare that would shake even the toughest soldier. He doesn’t need to say a word, holding the other’s eyes for a minute before letting go of them with a slight push. The message is clear; don’t come close to my mate.

Tonowari won’t mention it to you, his jealousy only noticeable because of all the extra affection he shows you. He’ll give you a massage, kiss all over your body and give you one compliment after the other.

Tsu’tey

Jealousy level; high. After everything this man has lost he definitely has some abandonment issues. When someone else expresses interest you, Tsu’tey panics and lashes out. He’ll jump the other, pressing a knife to their throat as he makes it clear you are his mate, and the only way they’ll ever get to you is over his dead body. It takes him a long time of laying in your arms afterwards before he can calm down again, his breathing rapid and his muscles tense. His fear is clear to you, and if you do your best to comfort him and give him physical affection, he’ll stare up at you with such intense loving that it makes your heart hurt.

JUST GIVE THIS MAN A BREAK OKAY.

Hello everyone 👋💔

Hope you are all well and healthy

❤️ We lost our house which cost us a lot and my aunt's house next door too but it doesn't matter to me because money can be replaced but the human soul is precious.

Please help us with a travel opportunity as soon as Rafah crossing opens 🙏🙏 for my elderly aunt who is besieged in northern Gaza Strip.

Please everyone who can donate do not hesitate and those who can't share the link with whoever can without problems, thank you everyone 🤍🤍

I'm so sorry

ℭ𝔯𝔶 𝔏𝔦𝔱𝔱𝔩𝔢 𝔖𝔦𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯; III

{poly!lost boys x fem!reader}

♱ 𝔯𝔞𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔤: explicit

♱ 𝔰𝔲𝔪𝔪𝔞𝔯𝔶: Michael's sudden change is unwelcome in the Emerson household. After an apparent prank that scares you and your brothers, you take matters into your own hands and confront David's gang head on.

♱ 𝔴𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰: emerson!reader, fem!reader, reader is 18-19 (middle child), reader wears glasses, foul language, sibling dynamics, mentions of divorce, stuck-up?reader (she's prissy at times), teasing, temptation at its finest, mentions of stalking, flirting????? at the music store???? get your act together girl,

♱ 𝔞/𝔫: there are a few new scenes in this chapter because I wanted the reader to have more interaction with the boys before giving in. Side note, but I hate when I find a good song and it's released after '87, because it would be perfect for this series. So, the unofficial song for this chapter is Give In to Me by Michael Jackson. Also, if this were a movie, Runaway would start playing as soon as the reader storms out of the house to confront the boys on the boardwalk. OG word count: 2432, revamped word count: 4250

[1] [2] ... [4] ... [8] [9]

Michael is acting weird.

Okay. To be fair, your brother is always weird, but this is different. He's mean. He sleeps all day and wakes up at sunset, then hops on his bike and drives off to God knows where.

At first, you thought he was avoiding Mom after the boardwalk incident. Pissed was not an accurate rage descriptor for how upset she had been when she learned what he did. At first, you defended Michael. You did tell him it would be okay. But when he started acting like an ass, you became less sympathetic.

The night after that, David's gang came to the house. They didn't come inside—but they did tear up the driveway. They revved their engines, jeering Michael's name, goading him to go outside. 

Mom had caught Mike on his way out and encouraged him to bring them in.

"They might like a nice, home cooked meal." she said, peering at them through the curtains.

"Maybe next time," was his reply.

There was no next time. 

Another notable incident occurred when Sam forgot to untie Nanook and bring him inside. 

You chased Michael to the front door, fuming. "What? You're too cool to let the dog in in front of your friends?"

"He's not my dog," said Michael.

"But Mom asked you to do this."

"I don't have to do everything she says. Neither do you, you're an adult."

"And you're being an asshole."

Michael stepped outside, and, of course, David's gang was waiting. 

Michael rolled his eyes, "Why can't you get the dog, four-eyes?"

"Because you're already outside!"

Michael narrowed his eyes like he gained the power to see through your bullshit and laughed cruelly: "You're scared of them."

And, for the first time that night, you spared a glance behind him toward the boys. They said nothing, but you're sure they heard every word, considering they watched your squabble unfold like a soap opera. 

For the record, you're not scared of them. 

You're annoyed. Disgusted. (A little scared of how they make you feel, but that's neither here nor there.) 

And you could tell Mike this, but instead you said, "Oh, fuck off." before storming into the lawn. 

Nanook, who had been barking at the boys, calmed when you approached; however, you were too distracted to give the dog more than a head-pat. You were conscious of your every movement as soon as you stepped outside—your walk, the sway of your hips, your posture, hell, even your clothes. You liked your clothes, but you almost resented how dowdy they were. Why hadn't you worn something more revealing? You usually hate having people leer at your body but with these guys ...

Michael said something to them, and they laughed. It could have been nothing, but you swore they were talking about you, so you rushed inside and didn't look back. 

After that, you did everything you could to avoid seeing them when they came around. 

You lie and say these weird feelings began after that dream, but you know that's not true. Those boys have been burrowing in your brain since the beginning. The sound of their bikes roaring up the driveway makes your heart skip a beat. 

Sometimes—and you're reluctant to admit this—but sometimes you place yourself where they can see you. The upstairs window, the garage, the doorway—places far enough that they can't call out to you but close enough for them to look. 

It's stupid. You don't understand why you do it. These guys are strange and probably dangerous. You shouldn't want anything to do with them.

But that doesn't stop you.

Weirdly, you like being watched. It's like being under a microscope, but you've put yourself on the slide and control the outcome. A shrink would tell you that you're acting out because of your parents' divorce. That's the savory answer, so you refuse to believe there's another reason. 

A bird keeps leaving you gifts on your windowsill.

You haven't seen the bird in action, but you know it has to be one. It leaves you items at night. Random things.

The first one you find is a shell. It's beautiful—one of those shells you can't find on the beach, only in tourist shops. It's as big as your palm and bone-white. You assume the bird had placed it there after deciding it was unfit for its nest, so you brought it inside.

Two fluffy yellow dandelions were placed in the same spot the next day. The day after that, a flat stone with a hole in the center. Then, a feather.

On and on the little gifts came. You're not sure what you did to befriend this bird, but you're grateful. In the midst of so much turmoil with Mike, David, and Mom, the gifts never fail to make you smile.

"Honey?"

"Yeah, Mom?"

She quietly thanks the customer for coming and passes the plastic bag across the counter. When they're gone, she turns to you again. 

"Why don't you grab a bite to eat?"

"I'm not hungry."

"Oh, please!" Mom shakes her head, giving you that knowing smile. "You've been with me all day. Go and get yourself something to eat. Better yet, stretch your legs."

You flash your 'new' (secondhand) paperback at her. "I already did."

She says your name in warning, but there's no bite to it. You know she's just looking out for you. With a sigh, you tuck the book into your bag and kiss her cheek goodbye.

If this was any other day, you wouldn't have bothered to come with your mom to work, but Max had called and asked if she could work a double because Maria was sick, meaning she would be here until dark. You know she's a big girl and grew up on the mean streets of Santa Carla without you, but today was also her and dad's wedding anniversary, and well...

Mom won't admit it, but you know she's struggling. It's the big reason she took the extra shift; it helps her not think about her failed marriage.

The door swings open, and you barely glimpse who is in your periphery before you swear. 

"Shit."

"What is it, honey?" She greets the new group with a big smile. "Hello! If you have any questions, don't hesitate to ask ..." She pauses. Squints her eyes, looking, really looking, at the group. "Have we met before?"

"We're frequent flyers," says an all-too familiar voice.

David.

"Oh, alright," Mom cheers.

"Bye," you mutter. You turn fast and nearly collide with Marko, but you dodge at the last second. "Excuse me."

You exit the store and thrust yourself into the night crowd. Of course, the one night they take off from terrorizing Michael, they come after you. 

Actually—you glance at the nearest clock—it's too early for them to be at Grandpa's house. (Yes, you have their schedule memorized. No, that's not weird.)

And, no, you don't have an inflated sense of self-importance because one glance over your shoulder told you the four of them left the video store as soon as they came in. You don't know if they're following you or if this is their childish idea of a prank, but you refuse to find out.

You duck into the nearest store before they see you—a music shop. The walls are lined with albums, cassettes, and CDs. Band posters cover what little space is left; somewhere in the corner, a rock song wafts from its boombox. 

You don't frequent music shops; you might if you're with Michael or Sammy, but most of your cassettes are inherited from Mom. Still, you wander toward the folk-rock section and figure you have a few moments to kill before you seek out food. 

But good things never last.

The door opens, and you don't have to look this time to know. 

"So, you're stalking me now?" you ask.

Paul snatches the tape from your hand. "Midnight Voyage? C'mon, girl, you gotta get with the times."

You grab it back. "I like the Mamas and the Papas."

"That song's as old as you."

You cross your arms. "I thought you, of all people, understood good music doesn't have an expiration date?"

Marko, Dwayne, and David snicker, and Paul has the decency to look sheepish. You rest your hip against the display and raise your chin.

"What do you guys want?"

"We're here to look at music," says David.

"Uh-huh. Videos, too?"

He challenges you with a sarcastic look. "It's Friday night."

"Whatever."

You snake around them and move to a different display, but they follow. 

"You have to like some rock," Paul tries again.

You fight a smile. He's ... almost charming. "I didn't say I didn't."

Marko joins in, "Who?"

You flip through the singles, not paying them any mind as they throw out different band names.

Aerosmith, Bon Jovi, Depeche Mode, Van Halen - tell me you like Van Halen, baby?

You find what you're looking for and flash it to the boys with a grin. "Iggy Pop, The Passenger."

Marko frowns, but it's more appreciative than judgemental.

Dwayne nods in agreement. "Not bad."

Your answer pacifies Paul, but he's not satisfied. "We need to find you some music that you can dance to, baby."

"I don't dance," you say. "Especially in front of other people."

"Are you always this serious?" David asks. 

For some reason, that hits you where it hurts. You glare at him, dropping the single back in its slot. "Do you always stick your nose into other people's business?"

David has the audacity to smirk. "It's just an observation, princess."

You scoff and try to shoulder past him, but David is fast. He catches your bicep. His grip is barely there, but it stops you in your tracks. You hold your breath, all too aware that you're sandwiched between him and Dwayne. 

"If you keep running off like this, you're gonna make us think you don't like us," David teases.

"I don't," you lie. 

He cocks his head. "You sure?"

You swear he can see through you, but you're unwilling to give in. Not yet.

You step closer, looking him dead in the eye. "I've never been more certain."

Jerking away, you make a b-line for the door. David can't let you have the last word, though. 

"Tell Michael we'll see him later," he calls out.

You shove the door open and shout back, "Bite me!"

You're in the kitchen helping Mom with dinner when Michael stomps down the stairs, sunglasses tucked in the neck of his t-shirt.

Mom rushes to meet him. (Even she's aware she only has a finite amount of time before she loses him again.)

"Michael, do you want to take the night off and have dinner with your family?" She reaches for him, but Michael keeps walking. "We haven't eaten together in a while. It would be nice."

He snorts. "Yeah, right."

Michael opens the door without another word, and the roaring of motorcycle engines fills the house.

Mom shrivels the tiniest bit. Had you not been watching her, you wouldn't have noticed, but you did, and it pisses you off.

You sit the bowl down a little too hard and chase after him.

"Michael." He ignores you. "Michael!" You latch onto his stupid leather jacket and yank him back."Look, I don't know what's gotten into you, but it doesn't give you the right to be an ass to Mom."

He smiles, "But I can to you, right?"

Michael tries to walk away, but you hold firm.

"Why are you acting like this?"

"Listen." Michael faces you head-on. "Unlike you, I've got friends waiting for me. So, why don't you run back inside, little sister? Hm?"

Tears burn the back of your eyes, but your anger burns brighter. You release him with a push.

"Well, at least I'm not pretending to be something I'm not."

Michael frowns. For a moment, you think your words hit their mark, and you see the faintest glimmer of the old Michael in his eyes. He opens his mouth to speak.

"Michael!"

"C'mon, Michael!"

"Mikey boy!"

You flinch as they rev their bikes. It works its charm because all traces of remorse are gone from Michael's face.

He looks at you coldly. "I gotta go."

"Michael, you're making a mistake," you say.

He rolls his eyes. "Don't wait up."

"Hey, baby!" Paul shouts. "Don't you wanna come party with us?!"

You flip them off, and they erupt into a chorus of laughter.

You toss the phone onto Michael's chest, startling him from his mid-day nap.

"... What the hell?"

"Mom's on the phone. She wants to talk to you."

Michael cracks his eyes open, wincing. "What time is it?"

"Two o'clock. You slept all day. Again." You don't even try to mask your rage. If he's going to be a jerk, you'll give it right back.

Michael motions for the sunglasses on his bedside table. "Hand me those, will you?"

You scoff but throw them at him, too. "You need sunglasses to talk on the phone? Are you high?"

"Fuck off," he mutters, and picks up the phone. "Hi, Mom..."

You faintly hear her voice drifting from the receiver. "Michael are you still in bed?"

"No. I'm up."

"Can you do me a favor this evening? Will you stay home with Sam tonight? I'm meeting Max for dinner."

"I watch him all the time, Mom," he says unsympathetically. "The only time I have for myself is the evening." He locks eyes with you from behind his sunglasses. "Can't you have her watch him? Or Grandpa? They stay home all the time, anyway."

"I want you to do this," Mom says. "You come home late, sleep all day—Sammy's always alone."

"No, he's not!"

"Michael, please! Your sister should not have to do everything all the time. Now, you always do whatever you want, and I don't stop you ... tonight, I want to do what I want for a change. Do you know how long it's been since someone has asked me out to dinner?"

Michael works his jaw and says nothing.

"Please, Michael?"

He presses his lips into a thin line. "Okay. Fine. I'll watch Sammy."

He hangs up with a groan, rubbing his eyes. You tsk, yanking the phone off his chest. 

"I guess it sucks to be you," you say.

"Get out of my room," Michael grumbles, drifting back to sleep. 

You leave, but you don't close the door. Sometimes, being petty is better than a middle finger.

Grandpa strolls into the kitchen wearing a khaki-colored jacket and a loud bowtie. He has a pep in his step and another one of his furry creations tucked under his arm. 

"Look at you, Gramps!" you coo. "Lookin' all spiffy. What's the occasion?"

"Can't an old fart like me dress up for fun?" He playfully adjusts his bowtie, and his eyes twinkle with mischief. "Anything in here that might pass for aftershave?"

Sammy hops out of his chair and plucks a bottle off the windowsill. "How about this Windex, Grandpa?"

"Ah!" The old man gratefully accepts the bottle, squirts some in his hands, and pats it on his cheeks. Sam exchanges a knowing look with you. "Thanks."

Unfortunately, Michael chooses this time to come in. (And he's still wearing those stupid sunglasses.) He appraises Grandpa, his mouth twisting cruelly. "Big date, Grandpa?"

Grandpa wiggles his eyebrows, smiling slyly. "Just dropping off some of my handiwork to the 'Widow' Johnson."

He holds up a taxidermy dog. Its beady marble eyes stare into your soul. You repress a shudder. Stuffed animals (the kind that used to be alive) aren't the way to your heart, but if this woman likes it, who are you to judge?

You pat him on the back. "Good for you, Grandpa."

Michael peers over the rim of his sunglasses. "Oh, yeah? What did you stuff for her? Mr. Johnson?"

Grandpa's smile falters, then fades away altogether. He grips the stuffed dog a little tighter. "I'll see you kids later."

As soon as he's out of sight, you smack the back of Michael's head.

"Hey!"

But Sammy's on your side. "That wasn't funny, Michael."

Grandpa honks his horn, and an off-key version of La Cucaracha plays as he peels out of the driveway. Sam resumes his task: dinner duty.

"I'm making you a sandwitch," your little brother grumbles.

"Don't bother."

Michael moves, and you catch sight of something shiny. There's a dangly chain piercing his earlobe, and you know for a fact that it wasn't there last night. You wrinkle your nose. "Lose the earring, Michael, it's not happening."

He crosses his arms. "Piss off."

Sam's eyebrows shoot all the way up. "Wow—you have a great personality, Mike! You should open your own charm school."

Michael starts to go in on Sammy, ready, aching, to deliver his retort when the house shakes. A harsh, howling wind rips through the windows. The curtains flap like frantic bird wings; the ground shakes. Outside, motorcycles roar up the driveway and circle the house. Headlights burn through the windows so bright that it's like sunrise. 

You grip the table to keep from falling over. Dishes and cutlery fall from their cabinets and smash into the floor, shattering into hundreds of pieces. 

"What the hell is going on?!" You can hardly hear your own voice over the noise.

From outside, you hear their voices, shouting, clamoring over one another, melding into a horrific symphony of Michael, Michael, Michael!

Steadily, the noise grows louder. You know it's impossible, but you swear the motorcycles are climbing the walls. 

Michael rushes to the front door, and Sam is hot on his heels.

"Don't open it!" Sam cries.

Michael! Michael! Michael!

Michael throws the front door open, and ... it stops. 

Everything stops.

All that remains is a faint breeze rustling through the trees and the dainty jingle of wind chimes. 

You grab Sam's hand to ground yourself, and he squeezes back, utterly petrified. 

No one is outside. 

You exchange a look with Sam. "That was real, right?"

He nods, but he doesn't look sure.

You trust your judgment, and Sammy's for that matter, but as you peer into the night, you can't help but doubt yourself.

Was it a shared hallucination? An earthquake? But what were those voices?

Grimly, you realize there's only one answer, and it wasn't a natural phenomenon. You know who's behind it. 

Michael shuts the door and locks it, resting his back against it like he alone could prevent them from coming in.

You clench your jaw and storm up to Michael, poking his chest. "Look—I don't know what kind of game you and your friends are trying to play, but it's not funny."

Michael dares to look offended. "I didn't do this."

"The hell you didn't!" Rage boils your blood, and you see red. "I have had it, Michael. This is the last straw."

You shove past him and throw open the door. The night is calm, but you are not. You've played the passive role for too long. No. Fucking. More. 

Those four morons could mess with you all they wanted, but not your family. Not their home. 

Your brothers call after you, but it's Sammy who asks, "Where are you going?!"

"Out!"

Your anger leads you to the boardwalk.

People laugh, their conversations overlapping until it's nothing but white noise buzzing in your ears. Overhead, Runaway by Bon Jovi crackles through the boardwalk's sound system, but the music is distorted as if filtered through a tunnel.

You find David and his gang easily, almost like you have a homing beacon guiding you straight to them. You don't overthink it. Really, you don't think about it at all. All you know is that you're past your limit for bullshit, and tonight, you'll make it stop one way or another.

Paul is the first one to notice you. He greets you with a cocky grin. "Hey, baby—"

You punch Paul in his stupid, pretty face. It wasn't hard—and the odds are, he's taken worse—but sheer surprise knocks him off his feet into Dwayne. 

You only realize what you did when the pain kicks in.

"Sunova—!" You bite back a scream, cradling your fist against your chest. You wish someone would have warned you: punching hurts.

"What is with you Emerson's and punching without provocation?" muses David.

You glare, filling it with as much hate as you can muster. David isn't affected in the least. In fact, he's amused. He grins like he's watching a newborn puppy learn to snarl. He pushes off the railing and invades your personal space.

"Let me see your hand." David reaches for it, but you step back.

"Don't touch me," you snap.

The boys laugh.

Marko throws his arm over your shoulder and nuzzles your hair. "Baby's got teeth, huh?"

You try to shrug him off, but he hangs on. "Stay away from Michael." They murmur his name like it's a private joke. It makes you angrier. "He's a good guy, and he doesn't deserve to be dragged down by a group of dirty degenerates like you."

David bends at the waist so he's eye-level with you. "Did big brother send you here?"

"No," you say, "I came myself."

"So you can go down on dirty degenerates like us?"

"To get you to fuck off," you sneer.

You shove David back for good measure, but he captures your wrist—your injured hand—without blinking an eye. 

Gingerly, he looks it over, paying close attention to your knuckles. His leather gloves are soft and worn. They must be thick, too, because you can't feel his body heat through them.

What the fuck. No, you're not thinking about that.

He grazes his thumb over the hills and valleys of your knuckles; he turns your hand over, coaxing you to spread your fingers. 

"It's not broken," David says. "You're lucky."

… Huh?

He manipulates your hand into a fist again. "Next time, don't tuck your thumb under your fingers, or you will break it. See?"

"Stop it," you stammer.

"Stop what?"

"Being—" Nice "—weird!"

David releases your hand, and you bring it back to your chest. 

"I think you better apologize to Paul," David continues. "You hurt him real bad, and, well, we don't want him to pout all night, right?"

You glance at Paul, who is indeed pouting theatrically. "Can you kiss it better?" He taps his cheek.

You sneer. "Look—just leave Michael and my family alone. That shit you pulled tonight was not cool, and Mike hasn't been acting like himself since you came along, so I know you're the cause. So, back off, okay?"

David smiles. "Okay."

You pause. Then blink. You wait for the punchline, another witty remark that David has locked and loaded, but it never comes.

"Wait, seriously?"

"Sure." David shrugs, "But you've gotta take his place."

"Excuse me?"

David doesn't repeat himself. He gives you a look similar to the one he gave you over a week ago. Daring you, begging you with those unfathomable blue eyes. Paul leans against your other shoulder.

"C'mon," Paul purs. "Join us."

Marko and Dwayne pile on, chanting with Paul, "Join us. Join us. Join us."

David only stares, his hypnotic gaze locked on yours as the chant grew louder. People are starting to stare. 

"You know you want to," David says. "Stop lying to yourself."

Marko giggles, "We promise we'll be good."

From behind, Dwayne mutters, "Extra good."

"Don't leave us hanging, baby," Paul whines.

This isn't what you came here to do. All you wanted was to get them to back off before someone—like Sam or Mom—got hurt. 

But that teeny-tiny part of you, the one you've been trying to smother since you arrived in Santa Carla, pipes up. You didn't have to come. You could have let Michael handle this. You could have ignored them instead of walking into the lion's den. You knew, deep down, that this would happen. You wanted it to.

Your rage evaporates with every passing second and is replaced with that familiar fuzzy feeling in your abdomen. They're so close. 

They pet you—your arms, your hands, your neck. David is content to watch like he knows they're steadily chipping away at your resolve. Dwayne's hands migrate to your hair, toying with the ends. Cool breath fans over your neck. Leather kisses your exposed skin.

You remember too late that you're not wearing your usual maxiskirts but instead a pair of cut-offs that reveal far more skin than you typically like to show. But ... you don't care. If anything, it makes that fuzzy feeling more intense. You want them to look.

"I..." Your breath catches. You don't know what to say, and even if you did, you don't think you can admit it out loud.

David sees this. He knows you. So, he offers his hand instead. Open. Ready. Accepting. You don't need words with him.

Your fingers twitch. It was only a matter of time before they wore you down and coaxed that yes from you.

Slowly, painfully slow, you place your hand in David's. He curls his fingers over yours, sealing the deal.

The boys erupt into cheers, and that hazy bubble of something bursts like fireworks, an explosion of euphoria. Your skin tingles, and you grin. Dwayne wraps his arms around your middle and spins you around, eliciting a surprised shriek from you. 

"C'mon, boys." David tosses his cigarette to the ground and stomps it out. "Let's go." 

Waiting

Nothing changed Levi, he’s always been like this—broody—not so much the forgetful part. But you loved him anyway, and that was enough for him.

It started with the little things, until Levi forgot to shut off the sink one night, ruining the kitchen floorboards.

CW: Post-war Levi x fem!reader, angst, memory and cognitive decline, major character death

A/N: I cried while I wrote this. Happy late Valentine's Day XOXO ~2.2k words

It started with the little things. A forgetfulness masked by old age, and yet it always felt like something more. 

Levi Ackerman was anything if not prideful, and yet the confusion that dazed him at times forced him to tell you, his beautiful wife, that he was struggling with something deep, so much so that you urged him to visit the doctor.

He hated doctors. He had enough of them after the Battle of Heaven and Earth. Prodding, pestering, painfully pricking at him to ensure he remained alive until adequate care could arrive. Who would’ve known it’d take weeks?

And so, Levi hated doctors—but he loved you, his wife, so much that he’d bear through another annoying visit. If anything to soothe your mind that this is just him in his old age, that this is nothing more than another bumpy hill before he’d get better.

He saw it all his mind, you’d wheel him to the doctor’s office, just so that they’d tell him the war changed him, and that many war veterans face mental struggles. Then they’d charge an arm and a leg for the “prognosis”. You’d happily give payment if it meant Levi’s just fine—as fine as Levi Ackerman could be, but fine was good.

Nothing changed Levi, he’s always been like this—broody—not so much the forgetful part. But you loved him anyway, and that was enough for him.

It started with the little things, until Levi forgot to shut off the sink one night, ruining the kitchen floorboards.

You’d seen Levi swing through trees to face the ugliest of titans, seen him fight through despite the pains in his body, and yet that first harrowing face of forgetfulness stuck with you.

The doctor’s appointment was moved up from next month to next week. 

You wheeled him to the office, hands on the push handles subtly shifting every now and then to pull the graying bangs from his forehead to behind his ear. His hair is getting long, you think. It’s time for a haircut and he hasn’t even mentioned it.

The doctor says that war changed Levi. That many war veterans face many mental illnesses—and yet Levi’s is a strange and unique one, one that the doctor’s heard of but very, very rarely. As if done with the novelty of being “unique”, Levi scoffs at the doctor, limping from the examination table back to his wheelchair.

“Well then, your job is to cure this right?” The doctor’s face is blank and expressionless.

“There’s no cure.”

The walk back to your home is silent, more silent than you think you can bear. Your hands on Levi’s push handles stay put, no longer casting them towards his hair for loving caresses. You don’t want to impose on his boundaries after a conversation like this—Levi wishes you would.

Dinner is eaten silently, deep contemplation overtakes the both of you.

“Screw what the doctor said,” he utters.

“What?”

“I said screw what the doctor said, I just won’t forget. I can’t imagine it can be so difficult.” For some reason, it felt like the easiest solution in the world. You beam at him and the hopeful look in your eyes make him feel warm.

Of course, you think, Levi won’t let you down. Levi who's survived it all would fight this too, and things will be as normal as they can be.

“What’s with the shit eating grin,” Levi asks you one afternoon. You had just come back from the local market.

“I brought you this journal,” and you shove the bound papers into his lap.

“You can write everything you remember, the ladies at the market told me it helps with memory loss.”

“You didn’t—”

“No, I haven’t.”

Levi’s reluctance to let anybody know his illness was debilitating, your friends would definitely care if something were going on. But Levi’s image has already been impacted once—he didn’t want to add another smear to the already imperfect painting.

And so, Levi writes, albeit only in the evenings and when you are fast asleep. He writes of his mother, his friends, his squad, Hange and Erwin.

He writes about you.

Your name, the day he met you, a cheeky soldier with a death wish, as he likes to say. He writes about the day he told he you he loved you and first kissed you, the day he married you. He wrote about it while it was still fresh in his mind, where he willed for it to remain, where he begged for it to remain, for the rest of his life.

Levi forgets your birthday. 

It’s a good thing others didn’t, because neighbors and friends arrived to give you well wishes. He kisses you at the end of the night and you smile at him, and you forget about him forgetting.

Levi forgets about the chicken in the oven.

Fortunately, you arrive on time to salvage dinner, some of the skin burned, but digestible. He apologizes, face red in embarrassment. You tell him it’s nothing.

Every morning you inspect the journal while Levi rests, warm with the memories that still persist. Levi’s fighting, you think to yourself, everything will be alright.

Things remain in limbo for a while, with you picking up the pieces of Levi’s forgetting mind and putting them in their place. It remains like that for a while, you reminding Levi of the things he’s supposed to be doing. 

Suddenly, so suddenly, you come home one morning to find Levi struggling to stand, finding support in the nearby table.

“Levi,” you exclaim, “what the hell are you doing?”

He seems almost startled by you, but he clenches his jaw in defiance.

“Where the hell is everybody? We need to stop Eren, and I’m just sitting here doing nothing.”

Suddenly, so suddenly, it’s like you’ve woken up and are facing reality for the first time. 

The tears slip from your eyes, the hands by your side clenching and unclenching into fists. Levi looks at you with a stern expression, calling your name, but you ignore him as you walk away. You hide in your bedroom.

Levi talks of titans for two days straight, washes the same dishes several times, asks you where Hange and Erwin were, before finally snapping back into reality.

You’re crumpled on your bed and he sinks there with you, head falling into your shoulder. He’s silent in quiet horror, you’re silent in quiet loneliness. He apologizes over and over. You tell him it’s okay.

The frayed edges of Levi’s mind begin to tear at the seams, the gaps in his mind no longer something he can conceal. He wills himself to write. Where there was once lengthy journal entries, now repetitive sentences covered the pages.

We are living in year 86x. The war has ended.

Erwin Smith is dead. Hange Zoe is dead.

The war has ended.

The war has ended.

The war has ended.

Levi forgets your anniversary, Levi forgets to bathe, Levi forgets the route home when he steps out to buy…something—he can’t remember what he was supposed to buy.

To avoid your pained gaze, Levi’s wheelchair permanently lives near the window in the corner of the living room. Away from disturbing you, away from being near you.

Things remain like this for a while. You wait—for what, you don’t really know. You watch Levi scramble day in and day out, until he finally stills, hands in his lap, staring outside the window.

After months, you inspect his journal, wanting to feel hope, wanting to remind yourself that Levi’s fighting, that he’s trying.

The last journal entry was weeks ago. All that remain are scribbles. Levi remembers the routine, but does’t remember what he’s supposed to do. 

The doctor says there’s nothing left to do, and so you watch your husband implode. And oh you wouldn’t wish this on your worst enemy. To watch the man that loves you forget you. To watch as the man you love forgets everything.

Levi’s exhaustion is apparent from where he sits. He holds his teacup, fingers feeling weird where they were. Why does he hold teacups like this?

But only when he forgets your name does your own world implode, the bits and pieces of your self floating, with nobody to piece you together.

He doesn’t sleep in your bedroom anymore, only married people do that. In Levi’s mind, he’s respecting you, an unmarried woman, and so his permanent spot by the window also becomes the spot where he sleeps.

The doctor gives him a couple of more weeks, but it’s months of confusion, months of gazing into nothing, grasping at far away memories. 

Where’s Erwin?

Where’s Furlan and Isabel?

Where’s my mother?

You remind Levi that they’re gone, but that they’re waiting for him. Wherever they are.

You wait. For what, you don’t know.

It’s months of self hatred, before for a moment, Levi finds relief; clarity.

You catch him staring at you one evening, when you’re cleaning the dishes of tonight’s dinner.

“You remind me of someone I used to love,” Levi tells you.

Your heart catches, blood freezing, before you smile, a shaky breath escaping you.

“Yeah,” you respond, “used to?” 

Levi stays silent. You’ve long gotten used to the silence and the quiet contemplation, but for some reason you are compelled to look at him.

You are used to his lost gaze, used to the permanent furrowed brows that are always deep in thought. Is it your lover trying to remember you? The fighter in him, still combatting the destruction of his mind?

You look at him like a teacher looks at their student, the answer at the tip of their tongue, the knowledge in the deepest part of their mind, waiting to be brought out.

You are used to the defeated glance of despair, the quiet confusion that tells you help me.

You are not used to, however, the look that now graced Levi’s face.

Recognition. It startles you. It startles him.

He calls your name and your breath hitches. You can’t help the tears that slip. He says your name, over and over again and you walk over from the kitchen counter to his spot by the window, toppling over his wheelchair in an embrace. Your face falls into the crook of his neck as he wraps his arms around you.

“You married me,” he says quietly, “why?”

You’re quiet, not trusting your voice to not fall and break down, but force yourself to speak anyway.

“I love you,” you say, voice hoarse, “that’s why.”

Neither of you say anything else. His face falls into your shoulder and he breathes you in—you smell familiar, look familiar too. Perhaps Erwin and Hange can tell him later who you are and why you’re embracing him. You’re just too warm to let go right now. All he knows is that you’re his wife—his beautiful wife.

For the first time in a long time, Levi wheels himself into your shared bedroom and sleeps next to you. For the first time in a long time, things feel normal.

That chilly evening, Levi left your world.

It wasn’t his world anymore, no—hadn’t been his world in a long time. His permanently furrowed brows have relaxed, and finally his face appeared peaceful. You were glad. Even if you sobbed quietly for him to come back, you were glad.

All that was left was to wait.

You waited.

You waited for death.

Your gray hair swayed with the breeze one fateful morning. Something clicked within you, something about the peace that morning made you smile an all knowing smile. What’s with the shit-eating grin, you could almost hear Levi ask you. 

That night, neighbors and former comrades surrounded you, their children in another room to spare them the pain and grief that came with death. You were glad that they didn’t have to see you. At a young age you had been a witness to countless deaths at the hands of titans and the world, let them salvage their innocence for a bit longer.

You were in delirium. You were drifting, memories and glimpses of your life flashing before you, it all felt so real. Your parents, the scouts, the war. The most prominent moments though were the ones with Levi. It was then you realized that you had almost forgotten what he looked like before his injuries. You had almost forgotten what he sounded like before illness overtook him.

Captain Levi Ackerman. A symbol of hope.

Levi. Just Levi. The man you had fallen in love with.

You smiled fondly as you felt the tendrils of your mortality begin to blur; the feeling of peace filled you, it felt like falling into a deep sleep. And the peace continued to lull you, leading you to nothing and infinity all at the same time. 

You wandered, away from the cries of the world, and suddenly, a silence.

Then, you saw him. Your face broke out into a beaming smile.

“Levi,” you called out to your lover, your feet moving automatically to reach him.

There he was, his vision clear, his limbs intact, not a single layer of exhaustion on him. His face broke out in a small smile and he called out to you; you felt whole again.

There he was. Waiting for you. 

if he don’t look at me like this… i don’t want him!

Show, don’t tell

"Show, don’t tell" means letting readers experience a story through actions, senses, and dialogue instead of outright explaining things. Here are some practical tips to achieve that:

1. Use Sensory Details

Tell: "The room was cold."

Show: "Her breath puffed in faint clouds, and she shivered as frost clung to the edges of the window."

Tell: "He was scared."

Show: "His hands trembled, and his heart thudded so loudly he was sure they could hear it too."

2. Focus on Actions

Tell: "She was angry."

Show: "She slammed the mug onto the counter, coffee sloshing over the rim as her jaw clenched."

Tell: "He was exhausted."

Show: "He stumbled through the door, collapsing onto the couch without even bothering to remove his shoes."

3. Use Dialogue

What characters say and how they say it can reveal their emotions, intentions, or traits.

Tell: "She was worried about the storm."

Show: "Do you think it'll reach us?" she asked, her voice tight, her fingers twisting the hem of her shirt.

4. Show Internal Conflict Through Thoughts or Reactions

Tell: "He was jealous of his friend."

Show: "As his friend held up the trophy, he forced a smile, swallowing the bitter lump rising in his throat."

5. Describe the Environment to Reflect Mood

Use the setting to mirror or hint at emotions or themes.

Tell: "The town was eerie."

Show: "Empty streets stretched into the mist, and the only sound was the faint creak of a weathered sign swinging in the wind."

6. Let Readers Infer Through Context

Give enough clues for the reader to piece things together without spelling it out.

Tell: "The man was a thief."

Show: "He moved through the crowd, fingers brushing pockets, his hand darting away with a glint of gold."

7. Use Subtext in Interactions

What’s left unsaid can reveal as much as what’s spoken.

Tell: "They were uncomfortable around each other."

Show: "He avoided her eyes, pretending to study the painting on the wall. She smoothed her dress for the third time, her fingers fumbling with the hem."

8. Compare to Relatable Experiences

Use metaphors, similes, or comparisons to make an emotion or situation vivid.

Tell: "The mountain was huge."

Show: "The mountain loomed above them, its peak disappearing into the clouds, as if it pierced the heavens."

Practice Example:

Tell: "The village had been destroyed by the fire."

Show: "Charred beams jutted from the rubble like broken ribs, the acrid smell of ash lingering in the air. A child's shoe lay half-buried in the soot, its leather curled from the heat."