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hi hello i give you tony the dog. he starts following riff around at some point post canon and he just doesn’t leave. riff lets him eat his french fries whenever he gets enough money for a burger. tony the dog also tries his best to keep riff out of trouble but it doesn’t work too well.

if riff doesn’t leave ny, he gets drunk and goes down to the dock that used to be the jets’ territory a lot. he falls off and drowns one night and he isn’t found until the next morning. i don’t know how much longer he lives after tony’s death, but i don’t think it’s more than two years. he doesn’t kill himself, but his death wasn’t exactly an accident, either.

𝑨 𝑭𝑬𝑴𝑰𝑵𝑰𝑵𝑶𝑴𝑬𝑵𝑶𝑵

Author's Note: i wrote so much of this while high. i love women. the way dabi looks is based off of a drawing by bellanoche-oxo

Content: drinking, smoking, Dabi being an enigma. This is strictly WLW, so if thats not you... sorry </3

Word Count: 1832

Summary: Fem!Dabi think's you're just the cutest.

Purposefully giving you, the newest member of the League, a mission that would require days without sleep was just plain cruel. You were already running for several days without it, and adding a stakeout to watch a hero agency and gather information with her wasn’t a good idea. Her being the drop-dead gorgeous woman with choppy black hair that fell to her shoulders in a mullet (oh, dear God it was a fucking mullet), “known as Dabi.” 

“Okay edgelord,” you muttered under your breath before you could kick your brain-to-mouth filter into gear. She merely glared at you, her fiery blue eyes filled with a quiet fury despite the laid-back, careless way of existing she normally exhibited. Her arms, crossed over her chest, were covered in scars, stapled to healthy patches of skin at her hands, across her sternum, and even up her lower jaw into her cheeks and little patches beneath her eyes. It wasn’t supposed to be sexy. It was supposed to be scary and intimidating, but she was enticing. It just wasn’t fair. 

The meeting had ended shortly after your little spat, and the two of you had set off shortly thereafter. Luckily for the both of you, the stakeout went well, information was gathered and neither of you were caught skulking around the hero agency at all hours of the night and day. The only real problem had been Dabi, actually, with how much she was teasing and prodding you awake at any given opportunity. It only worsened your mood and attitude towards the villain, which in turn egged her on to play with your sleep and lack thereof more. 

It was a miracle you both made it to the end of the week alive, the threat to you being maybe falling off a building while trying to sleep, and the threat to Dabi being your hands around her throat. Not necessarily to kill her, though. 

When you got back to the bar, you were dead-set on hunting Shigaraki down and giving him a piece of your mind for making you go on that mission with Dabi. However, the bar was uncharacteristically empty and the big boss man was nowhere to be seen, which left you alone with Dabi, again. You debated the merits of turning around and walking out the door and just leaving the problem behind. 

You decided against it, wondering if you could sneak past Dabi to your room to get some shut eye when her voice called out, stopping you in your tracks. 

“You’re not really going to leave me to celebrate such a success alone, are you?” 

You turned around, only to see her hunched over the counter and already pouring two shots for the both of you. Her gaze was steady as she poured, not leaving your face, and you blinked rapidly as drool gathered in the corners of your mouth. You swallowed. Would it be bad to drop out of the league now? Sorry, I had to leave because your arsonist is too damn good-looking. See you on the news! You didn’t think that’d go over well. 

“What’s wrong, baby?” She cooed, blinking at you lazily. “Cat got your tongue?”

You swallowed again, licking your lips to make sure an embarrassing croak didn’t come out. “N-no, nothing’s wrong.” 

“No?” She asked, stretching to her full height to put the bottle of liquor away. Her shirt rode up just the slightest, and you could see a sliver of her pale stomach flashing at you before her shirt dropped back down. Dabi picked up one of the shots and raised it up to you curiously. 

What the hell, you figured, stomping over to the bar and picking up the other drink. The both of you stood on either side of the bar, and Dabi hooked her arm around yours, elbows interlinked. The action brought your faces closer together, the edge of the counter digging into your stomach. “Bottoms up then, pretty girl.” 

You gulped, and knocked the drink back quickly. Your nose scrunched in discomfort as the liquor burned the back of your throat, and unentangled yourself from Dabi’s arm. You felt like you could breathe again, now that you weren’t in her space. Not that you wouldn’t have willingly inhaled the scent of her at any other time, (smoke and liquor and something that reminded you surprisingly of home while still being on-theme for Dabi), but you were feeling entirely too fuzzy and tired to not say something stupid. 

“Wow, knocked that back like a pro,” she praised, coming around the edge of the bar and sitting on a stool. You also sat down, the stinging in the back of your throat fading with each passing second. “So,” she started, “tell me what’s got your panties in a twist.” 

“My panties are just fine, thank you very much,” you muttered, looking anywhere but at Dabi. “I’m just tired. You know that.” 

Dabi just hummed, like she was debating on whether or not you were tired. She decided you were telling the truth.. “Well, why didn’t you say so? Can’t have you falling off the barstool.”

“I just did -” you whined, mouth open in incredulity as she stood up and then relocated herself to the ratty couch that had been added to the bar a few weeks after you had joined the league. “And you kept me up for way longer than I needed to be awake this entire past week!”

Dabi just laughed, a low-rasping sound that had your insides melting. “I’m just playing with you, baby.”

You sighed, which turned into a yawn. “No shit.”

Dabi ignored your sarcastic quip, and took out a cigarette to light with a finger tipped in blue flame. You watched as she fiddled with one of her rings in silence. The only sounds were the occasional drags of her cigarette and the aircon, which blew directly over you, making you shiver. You blinked sleepily on the barstool as exhaustion finally caught up with you, clenching your jaw to keep your teeth from chattering. 

“You cold?” Dabi asked, blowing smoke out of her scarred lips. When you nodded, she only responded with a crook of her fingers and a quiet, “C’mere.”

“What? No, I have to go to bed,” you protested, another yawn rising in your throat. 

Dabi scoffed. “I said come here. I’m trying to help you, you idiot.” 

You weighed your options. Either get up and go to bed, facing Dabi’s wrath, or go see what she wanted. Both could technically end up with you burnt to a crisp, but… 

Again, what the hell. 

You sighed and shuffled over to the couch, standing in front of Dabi with an expectant look. She smirked up at you, then grabbed your hand and tugged you down onto the cushions next to her. She wrapped her arm around your shoulders, one of her hands pressing your head down to rest on her collar. “Go to sleep.”

The difference in her behavior now compared to just a few days ago was enough to give you whiplash. Why was Dabi trying to take care of you now? Why did she care now? And why weren’t you fighting this, why weren’t you kicking up a fuss against the pleasant, cozy feeling that was settling over you as Dabi kept you cuddled close to her?

No matter what reason, your body certainly wasn’t objecting to this new development. Your shoulders slumped against the back of the couch. Just days ago, she had been intent on making you as miserable as possible, her demeanor sharp and distant. Now, here she was, comforting you as if she genuinely cared about your well-being. You couldn’t help but wonder what had changed in the few minutes since arriving back at the bar. Either way, your brain was entirely too fuzzy to try and process the whole situation, and you ended up falling asleep against her without a second thought. 

Dabi stared at you as you slept. You had captivated her attention, flipping between interested and distrusting with ease, and quick to fluster. She was sure she had scared you off when the trip to the bar was silent. And yet, there you were, sleeping soundly with your head tilted delicately across her collarbone. You’d get a crick in your neck and wake up sore if you kept dozing like that. She should have thought about that little fact before she dragged you down to the couch with her. 

But if you blamed her… Dabi rolled her eyes and finished her cigarette, putting the stub out on the ashtray before placing a hand on your shoulder. “Wake up,” she said, shaking your shoulder. 

You jerked awake, not yet having reached a deep sleep and grumpy for being woken up. “What do you want?”

“Don’t bite my head off, baby. I just want to move us to my bed,” Dabi explained. You sat up properly, and Dabi immediately held out her hand to you. 

“Why?” You asked, trying to blink the light away. “I have my own bed.”

She merely shrugged. “Cause I think you’re cute. And my bed is better. ”

“I don’t know that,” you grumbled, despite taking Dabi’s offered hand. It was calloused and warm, and it took everything in your sleep-deprived state not to squeeze her hand as hard as you could. 

Her room was small, with only a bed and a trunk at the end of a bed, with a door laid across some crates as a desk. There was nothing personal about the room, you noticed - no trinkets or photographs, only a jacket sitting on said makeshift desk. You turned around, intending to comment snarkily about how you weren’t sure this room was much better than yours. 

Dabi saw the look on your face and held up a finger to silence you, brows furrowed. You raised your hands in a placating manner and watched as she pulled off her boots and jeans. The bed dipped beneath her weight as she crawled beneath the curtains.  

You bit the inside of your cheek hesitantly, and she noticed, because of course she did. “If you really don’t want to, the door’s behind you.”

You shook your head and stepped towards the small bed, toeing off your own shoes. “I’m fine. And if you don’t mind, then I don’t.”

Dabi held up the thin covers, chuckling, “I don’t mind, sweetheart.” But you were already carefully inching your way into Dabi’s boundless warmth. 

There wasn’t much room at all, and with how Dabi had positioned herself, you were at eye level with her chest, arms tucked into yourself. Absolutely determined to not embarrass yourself further, you closed your eyes and prayed for sleep. Luckily for you, it came quickly, and Dabi wrapped an arm around you and brought you closer to her, before nodding off herself. 

Neither of you were cold that night, and when you woke up, you felt more rested than you had in months.

End Notes: thanks for reading! requests are OPEN!

Next Chapter || AO3 Link

ABSOLUTELY NO ONE HAS MY PERMISSION TO REPOST MY WORK TO ANY SITE.

𝑨 𝑭𝑬𝑴𝑰𝑵𝑰𝑵𝑶𝑴𝑬𝑵𝑶𝑵

Author's Note: i wrote so much of this while high. i love women. the way dabi looks is based off of a drawing by bellanoche-oxo

Content: drinking, smoking, Dabi being an enigma. This is strictly WLW, so if thats not you... sorry </3

Word Count: 1832

Summary: Fem!Dabi think's you're just the cutest.

Purposefully giving you, the newest member of the League, a mission that would require days without sleep was just plain cruel. You were already running for several days without it, and adding a stakeout to watch a hero agency and gather information with her wasn’t a good idea. Her being the drop-dead gorgeous woman with choppy black hair that fell to her shoulders in a mullet (oh, dear God it was a fucking mullet), “known as Dabi.” 

“Okay edgelord,” you muttered under your breath before you could kick your brain-to-mouth filter into gear. She merely glared at you, her fiery blue eyes filled with a quiet fury despite the laid-back, careless way of existing she normally exhibited. Her arms, crossed over her chest, were covered in scars, stapled to healthy patches of skin at her hands, across her sternum, and even up her lower jaw into her cheeks and little patches beneath her eyes. It wasn’t supposed to be sexy. It was supposed to be scary and intimidating, but she was enticing. It just wasn’t fair. 

The meeting had ended shortly after your little spat, and the two of you had set off shortly thereafter. Luckily for the both of you, the stakeout went well, information was gathered and neither of you were caught skulking around the hero agency at all hours of the night and day. The only real problem had been Dabi, actually, with how much she was teasing and prodding you awake at any given opportunity. It only worsened your mood and attitude towards the villain, which in turn egged her on to play with your sleep and lack thereof more. 

It was a miracle you both made it to the end of the week alive, the threat to you being maybe falling off a building while trying to sleep, and the threat to Dabi being your hands around her throat. Not necessarily to kill her, though. 

When you got back to the bar, you were dead-set on hunting Shigaraki down and giving him a piece of your mind for making you go on that mission with Dabi. However, the bar was uncharacteristically empty and the big boss man was nowhere to be seen, which left you alone with Dabi, again. You debated the merits of turning around and walking out the door and just leaving the problem behind. 

You decided against it, wondering if you could sneak past Dabi to your room to get some shut eye when her voice called out, stopping you in your tracks. 

“You’re not really going to leave me to celebrate such a success alone, are you?” 

You turned around, only to see her hunched over the counter and already pouring two shots for the both of you. Her gaze was steady as she poured, not leaving your face, and you blinked rapidly as drool gathered in the corners of your mouth. You swallowed. Would it be bad to drop out of the league now? Sorry, I had to leave because your arsonist is too damn good-looking. See you on the news! You didn’t think that’d go over well. 

“What’s wrong, baby?” She cooed, blinking at you lazily. “Cat got your tongue?”

You swallowed again, licking your lips to make sure an embarrassing croak didn’t come out. “N-no, nothing’s wrong.” 

“No?” She asked, stretching to her full height to put the bottle of liquor away. Her shirt rode up just the slightest, and you could see a sliver of her pale stomach flashing at you before her shirt dropped back down. Dabi picked up one of the shots and raised it up to you curiously. 

What the hell, you figured, stomping over to the bar and picking up the other drink. The both of you stood on either side of the bar, and Dabi hooked her arm around yours, elbows interlinked. The action brought your faces closer together, the edge of the counter digging into your stomach. “Bottoms up then, pretty girl.” 

You gulped, and knocked the drink back quickly. Your nose scrunched in discomfort as the liquor burned the back of your throat, and unentangled yourself from Dabi’s arm. You felt like you could breathe again, now that you weren’t in her space. Not that you wouldn’t have willingly inhaled the scent of her at any other time, (smoke and liquor and something that reminded you surprisingly of home while still being on-theme for Dabi), but you were feeling entirely too fuzzy and tired to not say something stupid. 

“Wow, knocked that back like a pro,” she praised, coming around the edge of the bar and sitting on a stool. You also sat down, the stinging in the back of your throat fading with each passing second. “So,” she started, “tell me what’s got your panties in a twist.” 

“My panties are just fine, thank you very much,” you muttered, looking anywhere but at Dabi. “I’m just tired. You know that.” 

Dabi just hummed, like she was debating on whether or not you were tired. She decided you were telling the truth.. “Well, why didn’t you say so? Can’t have you falling off the barstool.”

“I just did -” you whined, mouth open in incredulity as she stood up and then relocated herself to the ratty couch that had been added to the bar a few weeks after you had joined the league. “And you kept me up for way longer than I needed to be awake this entire past week!”

Dabi just laughed, a low-rasping sound that had your insides melting. “I’m just playing with you, baby.”

You sighed, which turned into a yawn. “No shit.”

Dabi ignored your sarcastic quip, and took out a cigarette to light with a finger tipped in blue flame. You watched as she fiddled with one of her rings in silence. The only sounds were the occasional drags of her cigarette and the aircon, which blew directly over you, making you shiver. You blinked sleepily on the barstool as exhaustion finally caught up with you, clenching your jaw to keep your teeth from chattering. 

“You cold?” Dabi asked, blowing smoke out of her scarred lips. When you nodded, she only responded with a crook of her fingers and a quiet, “C’mere.”

“What? No, I have to go to bed,” you protested, another yawn rising in your throat. 

Dabi scoffed. “I said come here. I’m trying to help you, you idiot.” 

You weighed your options. Either get up and go to bed, facing Dabi’s wrath, or go see what she wanted. Both could technically end up with you burnt to a crisp, but… 

Again, what the hell. 

You sighed and shuffled over to the couch, standing in front of Dabi with an expectant look. She smirked up at you, then grabbed your hand and tugged you down onto the cushions next to her. She wrapped her arm around your shoulders, one of her hands pressing your head down to rest on her collar. “Go to sleep.”

The difference in her behavior now compared to just a few days ago was enough to give you whiplash. Why was Dabi trying to take care of you now? Why did she care now? And why weren’t you fighting this, why weren’t you kicking up a fuss against the pleasant, cozy feeling that was settling over you as Dabi kept you cuddled close to her?

No matter what reason, your body certainly wasn’t objecting to this new development. Your shoulders slumped against the back of the couch. Just days ago, she had been intent on making you as miserable as possible, her demeanor sharp and distant. Now, here she was, comforting you as if she genuinely cared about your well-being. You couldn’t help but wonder what had changed in the few minutes since arriving back at the bar. Either way, your brain was entirely too fuzzy to try and process the whole situation, and you ended up falling asleep against her without a second thought. 

Dabi stared at you as you slept. You had captivated her attention, flipping between interested and distrusting with ease, and quick to fluster. She was sure she had scared you off when the trip to the bar was silent. And yet, there you were, sleeping soundly with your head tilted delicately across her collarbone. You’d get a crick in your neck and wake up sore if you kept dozing like that. She should have thought about that little fact before she dragged you down to the couch with her. 

But if you blamed her… Dabi rolled her eyes and finished her cigarette, putting the stub out on the ashtray before placing a hand on your shoulder. “Wake up,” she said, shaking your shoulder. 

You jerked awake, not yet having reached a deep sleep and grumpy for being woken up. “What do you want?”

“Don’t bite my head off, baby. I just want to move us to my bed,” Dabi explained. You sat up properly, and Dabi immediately held out her hand to you. 

“Why?” You asked, trying to blink the light away. “I have my own bed.”

She merely shrugged. “Cause I think you’re cute. And my bed is better. ”

“I don’t know that,” you grumbled, despite taking Dabi’s offered hand. It was calloused and warm, and it took everything in your sleep-deprived state not to squeeze her hand as hard as you could. 

Her room was small, with only a bed and a trunk at the end of a bed, with a door laid across some crates as a desk. There was nothing personal about the room, you noticed - no trinkets or photographs, only a jacket sitting on said makeshift desk. You turned around, intending to comment snarkily about how you weren’t sure this room was much better than yours. 

Dabi saw the look on your face and held up a finger to silence you, brows furrowed. You raised your hands in a placating manner and watched as she pulled off her boots and jeans. The bed dipped beneath her weight as she crawled beneath the curtains.  

You bit the inside of your cheek hesitantly, and she noticed, because of course she did. “If you really don’t want to, the door’s behind you.”

You shook your head and stepped towards the small bed, toeing off your own shoes. “I’m fine. And if you don’t mind, then I don’t.”

Dabi held up the thin covers, chuckling, “I don’t mind, sweetheart.” But you were already carefully inching your way into Dabi’s boundless warmth. 

There wasn’t much room at all, and with how Dabi had positioned herself, you were at eye level with her chest, arms tucked into yourself. Absolutely determined to not embarrass yourself further, you closed your eyes and prayed for sleep. Luckily for you, it came quickly, and Dabi wrapped an arm around you and brought you closer to her, before nodding off herself. 

Neither of you were cold that night, and when you woke up, you felt more rested than you had in months.

End Notes: thanks for reading! requests are OPEN!

Next Chapter || AO3 Link

ABSOLUTELY NO ONE HAS MY PERMISSION TO REPOST MY WORK TO ANY SITE.

Happy birthday to the money. The katching

Yaaayy terrible photos because ibis isn't working

TW alcohol under the cut

These are a LOT rougher than I'd like. As I said ibis isn't working I usually work out the details in that but. I can't just NOT post something for his bd (sorry Noel I forgot his bd)

Headcanon time! His mom gave him a bottle of wine they made together and gave it to them as an 18th birthday gift.

She told them to only drink it on birthdays. It's meant to be like a "I can't be there to celebrate with you so have a reminder of me instead" thing but it just makes him miserable to not have her there with them.

holy shit dude i just watched a playtrough of "bad parenting" and i havet been this crushed by a horror game since "my eyes deceive"

here's some things i noticed while watching the playtrough:

the doll being beaten up is foreshadowing of what happened with Ron(i think thats the son's name???)

the entire being of the doll reminds me of how Ron turned out because of his parents.

at the end of the game when Ron is teleported to the realm where all the kids are they all have special places like how Ron has the closet. Places where they died/were hid in.

i feel like the doll slamming the bottle up and down at the start of the game during that eating scene was foreshadowing of the father drinking.

this game is so well made and thought out and is genueinly soul crushing.

Hey here are some small tips and tidbits from a bartender so y'all can write some realistic bartender aus!

believe it or not we drink on the job, it's rude to decline a drink offered to you by a customer

yes. I've gotten drunk on the job. yes it was cause I was bought a number of jagerbombs. no I didn't go home or fuck up.

'kiss the bartender' is a popular dare at small bars and private functions. whether it's on the cheek or on the lips is totally up to you

I have been offered people's number in a variety of ways. sometimes I've been handed a note, other times I've just been handed someone's phone on the 'add a new contact' page. girls are more direct, guys try the subtler approach of flirting until declined

Your average bartender doesn't always know cocktails. Especially if they're not on the menu.

Y'all cocktails are potent. If your character is downing ten long Island iced teas they're going to hospital

we live for tips. You could be the biggest cunt in the world but if tip me a fiver I'll put on a fake af smile and pretend you're a sound guy

speaking of. Young people tend to buy you drinks, older people tend to tip you.

There's a number of bar calls we use. 86 means we're out of stock. 68 means we're back in stock. More relevant for fic writers however: 700 means a hot customer, usually aimed at women but can be used for guys too. eg. 'lady in red. 700'

If someone asks what 700 means when asked. We lie through our teeth. We usually say it means you need serving or you look drunk.

That's all I can think of right now. But if you have any questions send me an ask! I've been a bartender for a while now, so I like to think I know my stuff.

i wasn’t going to drink tonight i miss feeling good enough

Portrait without the person

Easier

Feitan x Reader // word count 4.3k

If you drink with him tonight, you’ll still be trapped. Things will not get better, and they’ll likely get worse. You know that. But it’s so hard to resist a chance to feel good.

Tags/warnings: dark content, kidnapped reader, noncon (both parties are intoxicated, it’s implied that reader is more so), drinking, coping through drinking, unsexy smut, drunk sex, outdoor sex, reference to previous threats of violence, attempted knifeplay

Feitan has a habit of bringing you things that you do not want. He does not hand them to you - instead, he deposits them on your bed or your floor and then looks at you expectantly, in much the same way that a cat might deposit a dead mouse on your doorstep. It happens often, so when you hear the rattle and click of the lock on your door, you are not surprised to see him enter with something in his hand.

“Here.” He doesn’t make eye-contact - not until he yanks the door shut behind him, forcing it to scrape against the warped wooden frame, and pulls the chain that dangles from the bare, yellowed bulb in the center of the ceiling. Then, he brandishes his offering, raising it up with an awkward jerk of his wrist. “For you.” A bottle of clear liquor, with his knuckles white around its neck, and a single glass tucked under his arm. It’s a regular one, and not a shot glass (not surprising - you’re shocked that he even owns any cups that aren’t made out of plastic), and the bottle is cheap, but neither of those little details are really the problem.

You shift your weight backwards slightly, bracing your hands against your bare mattress. “I don’t want it.”

Feitan crosses the room, somehow managing to avoid a single creak in the rotting floorboards, and sits on the ground directly beside your bed. He looks at the place on the floor beside him, and then stares at you without blinking until you give in, sliding cautiously from your bed and pulling your knees up to your chest as you sit.

You eye the dubious gift with apprehension.

“I didn’t put anything in it.”

“I wasn’t worried about that,” you say, before you can really think about your answer.

He tilts his head. “Really?”

“…not just that.”

“Smart.” He nods curtly, as if he expected this response, although his gaze drops for a moment and his hand twitches anxiously at his side. “I show you.” He pours out about a shot. The cowl over his face comes down with a sharp tug, and he wrinkles his nose at the contents of the glass before downing it with a straight face.

You’ve never seen him drink before, or smelled it on his breath, so you are almost inclined to be impressed.

“What else are you worried about?”

His breath usually just smells like he doesn’t own a toothbrush. You pointed this out once, and ended up with a pair of pliers in your mouth. He didn’t actually remove any of your teeth, and the corners of his eyes were creased as his face hovered over yours, like the whole thing was good fun, you teasing him and him paying it back in kind. His breath was fresh the next time you saw him, washed out with a sickly-sweet-something that repulsed you even more than the rot it replaced.

“What else?” he prompts.

“I don’t like your presents.”

He pauses for a moment, as if he finds what you’re saying baffling. “You like this one.”

“No, I don’t.” There are plenty of reasons not to like it. For one, the fact that it is different from all the others. He usually gives you harmless things. Some of them have been truly undesirable, like the half-wilted flower with strangely shaped leaves and an even stranger smell, or the scuffed silver ring for which the previous owner, he assured you, had no further use. Others, you tried to reject only because they came from him, and took advantage of in the moments when you were too tired to care about your pride. Soap of the exact same kind that you used to stock in your home. A soft pair of socks that very nearly matched and were very nearly clean. They were all unsettling in their own way, of course. But this one is different.

Why is it different? You do not like the answer, but it is creeping up on you, getting stronger by the second. If you drink, you will stop thinking, if only for a few hours. You will stop caring about his breath, and picturing his face hovering over you, and wondering when it will stop merely hovering and do the things he wants it to do.

Why is it different? Simple. Because you want it, for once.

He tilts his head. Waiting.

“I don’t like it,” you repeat, all too aware of the way he’s sizing you up, wondering what little movement or twitch of your facial muscles might give you away. “I want it gone.” You are still picturing exactly what those eyes look like when they’re so close that they make yours go blurry and crossed. He didn’t kiss you then - he still hasn’t. But that’s only another thing to fear. It will happen, and everything else along with it. It’s only a matter of time. “Go away.”

“No.” He pushes the glass towards you, and the bottle along with it. He doesn’t say anything else, and he doesn’t leave.

You should pour it down the sink, or throw it out the window. He’d probably let you. He never forces you to accept anything he gives you, although the look of genuine disappointment in his eyes when you refuse is so unsettling that you usually play along. “Why…” You drop your gaze along with the rest of the sentence. It’s obvious, isn’t it?

He shrugs. “Why not?”

You ask yourself the same thing, and come up with a multitude of reasons, and an answer to them all. You are already here, in this room, in this house, with no way out, and nothing to think about except the things he will do, and when. There is no good choice here. And there is an easier one. You bite your tongue, and then your lip, but it does nothing to stop you. “Okay.”

You hold the bottle parallel to the ground, and count one-two-three like someone once told you to do when measuring out a shot, but it’s full and it comes out fast and maybe just maybe you let your handle tilt a little too far in the wrong direction. It doesn’t go down easy, either. You’ve got nothing to follow it with, or to add to cut through the bitter taste. It wouldn’t be hard to stand up and get water, but you don’t feel like moving at the moment. The usual warm, pleasant sensation that you experience when you down the first drink of the night is absent, drowned out by the face staring back at you.

He smiles, and drops his gaze, and his cheeks are flushed, and you don’t know if it’s just from the liquor -

This was a mistake, of course. Of course. You knew that going in. But it’s too late to correct now, and there’s only one way left to go: down, and down, and down. You splash another helping into the glass - one-two-three-four-five - and close your eyes as you choke your way through it.

As soon as you’re done, before you can set the glass down, he takes it out of your hand, fingers brushing cautiously against the back of your hand before easily prying it loose. “I go now.”

You think, for a moment, that he means he’s going to leave, and take his gift along with him (a twinge of disappointment, or maybe something closer to panic, comes along with this, and you hate yourself for it). Instead, he matches the portions you’ve drank with his own. From his face, you would think that it was only water in his cup, although you think you see that faint look of disgust appear once again in the moment before he drinks. When he’s done, he fidgets with the bottle cap, flipping it effortlessly between his fingers. It’s a repetitive motion, one that might be soothing to watch if it wasn’t for the dark stains beneath his nails. He is focused, almost meditative, not even glancing up at you as he toys with the small plastic round, but there is a tension in his shoulders and the way he sits.

You feel it too. It will be a relief, you think, when the waiting is over.

He offers the bottle cap to you. Silently, another little gift in the same night, perfectly centered in his palm. A part of you wants it. But your hands are not elegant - not now, not ever - and you have accepted too much from him already.

Too much, and not enough. You watch him for several more minutes, and will the bottle to remain on the floor, instead of making its way into your hand.

Outside, a slight wind has picked up, the noise dulled by the metal slats fastened across your window. You turn away from Feitan, towards the sound, and slump forward, holding your face in your hands. It’s peaceful, for what feels like a long time. Peaceful enough that you can concentrate on the presence of your body, and the pace of your thoughts, and imagine the alcohol slowly creeping up through your veins and covering up all the things you don’t want to have in your head.

Feitan comes to crouch in the periphery of your vision. You did not hear him move, but that is nothing new. You would not have heard him, you’re sure, even if you had had nothing at all to drink. But now that he is here, you are imagining how you will feel once the warmth has peaked and faded away, and you are still alone with him, and nothing has changed at all. He passes you the bottle, and you drink straight from its mouth, barely registering the taste, too much, too fast. He snatches it back, and matches your swig -

You have an amusing thought that you know he wouldn’t like. It expresses itself on your face before you can snatch it back.

“What is it?”

“Nothing.” You arrange your features carefully, and shut your mouth. “It’s nothing.”

“Okay.” He doesn’t look at you with suspicion, like he normally would. He just shrugs, and follows your gaze to the slit of starlight that pokes out from an unobstructed section of the window. “No moon tonight.”

“I wouldn’t know.” It comes out bitter, and you are only slightly surprised to realize that you no longer care how you sound.

“You know now.” He does something you’ve never seen him do before: takes off the cowl entirely and discards it on the floor. “If I take you outside, will you be happy?”

“No.” Your tongue is starting to feel heavy in your mouth, fuzzy around the edges. “I’ll still hate you.”

“Okay.” He looks away from you, reaches again for the bottle, then seems to think better of it. “We still go.”

“Now?” You don’t think you want to stand up, but you do it anyways, before he can even tell you what to do. You’re proud to note that the movement comes easily to you; if you were asked to walk in a straight line, you think that you could. Maybe you could run, too. Maybe faster than him, in your current states.

“Now.” He stands up beside you, surefooted, and grabs your hand. His fingers do not interlock with yours - instead, he wraps them around the back of your palm, and presses his thumb hard against the other side of it. His grip is stronger than it has any right to be, but it does not hurt.

“Why?”

“Why not?” He actually grins, and it’s so jarring that it brings you back down to earth for a moment. “You won’t run away.”

“You don’t know that.” You can see his teeth. By some miracle, they are white enough, and straight enough, but you are still disgusted by them. “I’ll probably try.”

“Okay.” He tugs you towards the door by your hand. “You try.”

You hesitate for a moment, and he pauses, allowing you to pick up the bottle from the floor. It is still open, but the smell of it has become far less offensive, and you grip it as tightly as he does to your hand. Then, you are out - out of the room, first, then past the staircase that he has not yet forced you to descend, where he comes up at the end of the day or night - past that, and then you are past the front door, and the wind that you listened to for so many minutes is howling in your ear. It occurs to you that you do not even know what the house looks like from the outside, but you do not bother turning around.

“This way.” Trees surround the house on every side, and he takes you into them, guiding you through the most spacious paths between the trunks. “I show you something.”

The last time he showed you something, it was not nice - you think about this, and clutch the bottle tighter to your chest, and try not to picture the bones beneath the skin of your hand, small and coated in blood and easy to break. He has similar bones in his possession, not all of them in one piece, belonging to bodies that were once people, with names he told you he had forgotten.

What are you doing? You tip the mouth of the bottle up to your lips, but he jerks you sharply in a new direction, and you only manage to catch a bit of what sloshes out. You vaguely register, moments later, that there is a clearing in front of you, and that it might be pretty in the daytime, and that there are weed-flowers at your feet, the color of which you cannot make out. More lucidly, you observe that the collar of your shirt is wet, and that Feitan’s grip on your hand is tight enough to hurt after all.

“We sit down now.” He sits, and takes you down with him, and more of the contents of the bottle slips away as you struggle to keep it in your grasp. The grass is wet, too. His face is very close to yours. His head tilts to a bizarre angle, his face seeming to blur in front of you, the curve of his smile higher on one side than the other. He laughs - it’s a raspy, quiet sound that is completely unfamiliar to you. Unfamiliar to him, too, you think. “You’re drunk.”

“So are you,” you say, although you do not know if it is true (it probably is - you don’t think he would laugh otherwise). The amusing thought comes back, and this time, you do not filter it away from your mouth. “You shouldn’t have drank as much as I did. We’re not the same size.”

“We’re not.” He blinks unnaturally slowly - or maybe he’s consciously closing his eyes, or maybe it’s just that everything seems a little slower, even the wind yanking his hair away from his face. “Closer sitting down.”

You snort. “Barely.”

“Then lie down.”

You realize that you have been wanting to laugh for a long time, and you do it wildly and bitterly, a grinning scream that you cut short with another swig of the thing which is starting to taste more like water than anything else. “I’m not stupid.”

“No.” He sways forward and puts his hand over yours, and you - after a moment, a stupid, stupid moment - snatch it away.

“‘m not stupid, and I hate you.” Your head feels light and heavy at the same time, scared and free, and neither feeling really matters, and you don’t want to think about it.

“I know.” He looks disappointed, you think, although he might just be tired. How late is it? Late enough that before he arrived - how long ago? - you were scared of falling asleep - you have bad dreams, every night - but you feel okay now -

“Why’d you bring me here?” Your words are not coming out the way you want them to. You don’t mean this clearing - you mean here, with him, forever, or however long he wants you -

“I wanted to.” He gets what you mean, you think. “Might change your mind.”

“I won’t.”

“I know.” He slips his hand into his pocket, and fidgets with something inside, and you do not think to wonder what it is.

“You should let me go.”

“No.”

“I should run away.” You laugh, because the idea of running right now is ridiculous, just like every other idea that passes through your head. All of this is awful, and stupid. Better to be stupid. “That way.” You raise your hand, and point to a place where the trees are less dense, where you think you could run without falling, if you really tried. “I’ll live in the woods. Hunt squirrels.” Oh, how nice it would be right now to talk to someone who wasn’t him. But it is good not to be alone. You think you would cry if you were alone. “You’d never find me.”

He coughs out another rusty laugh (but it’s mean this time, or it feels mean, anyways) and sticks his hand into his pocket. “Then go.” His eyes narrow, and he does not look disappointed anymore, but you’re not really thinking about how he feels to begin with. “I give you ten seconds.”

“Really?” You swing backwards where you sit, then straighten, then shake your head. Make it clear. Do you bring the bottle with you? It will slow you down, but you want it. If you do not have it (oh, god) you will have to wake up and think about all of this, and you don’t want that. It scares you. You can’t.

“Ten.”

You blink. “Now?”

He nods. “Nine.”

“Fuck.” You rise clumsily to your feet, stumble on your first step, and take off straight ahead, with what’s left of your liquor held tight to your chest. The trees are dense, your footing unstable, and suddenly you are going sideways when you mean to go straight - a branch scratches your face, and you grab it, as if to tear it straight off the tree. What number is he on? He was not talking loudly, and you cannot hear it except in your own head, where you are trying to keep track. Three, two?

You hear the crackle of dead leaves somewhere close. Closer. Then his hand is on yours, and you have fallen, and you have no idea which one of these things happened first, and your hands are empty, and the ground is wet on your back. You open your mouth. At the same moment, you feel something hard and sharp against your neck, but you don’t register that in time to stop yourself from speaking - or attempting to. You don’t know what you’re trying to say.

“You stop talking now.” The blade that appeared from nowhere (his pocket?) presses down, just shy of breaking the skin, and does not move for what feels like a very long time. But time is strange at the moment. You are not as scared as you are confused. You do not talk, and he takes it away, and it is such a relief that you do not think much about the other things. He is warm on top of you (he is lying on top of you) but not very heavy (but blurry) and his face is close and you can feel his breath on your face and it does not smell bad. Just like yours. The rest of that smell is pouring out on the ground (you heard the bottle crack when you dropped it, you think).

He kisses you before you can laugh about it, or cry about it, and his tongue is strange and slow and thick. Your hands come up, and push, but they fall down before long, and he kisses your neck. Bites. Doesn’t hurt very much at all. Knife catches at the neckline of your shirt, cuts -

Not far. His hand is not steady. Slips. Prick. You don’t think you’re bleeding but you wouldn’t know if you were. Nothing hurts. You think you hear him curse. Heavy metal leaves you and thuds in the pretty wet grass. There’s a strange expression on his face which makes you think that he might be close to laughing or crying too, and you don’t like it. Your shirt is still wet and noticing it again is a relief - you can think about that, and nothing else.

“You want to?” He tugs at the waist of your pants and pulls them down before you really answer. Your legs are apart now, and you do not want it to be him between them, but it feels good to be touched there - there - and you cannot make yourself hate it. You can’t hate anything. You can’t feel much besides him. There is a warm haze, and beneath that, there is shame and fear and loathing that you do not have to feel right now, that would make everything worse if you did feel it.

You do feel it, for a second too long, and your legs slide closer together, but not close enough to make it stop.

“You don’t want to?” His two fingers slide inside you (too easy, easier than it should be) and curl up like they’re trying to push an answer out of you, and your mouth opens and something comes out, but not words. His eyes narrow and he smiles and the darkness or something else makes it all look different than it did before. “I want to.”

Your hips move in the wrong direction, into him, and the thing you should and want to say does not come out, because he makes you feel good when you try. If he was not doing that he would be making you feel scared instead. This is better. This is the best it could ever be.

The smile drops, all at once. “Answer.”

You close your eyes so you don’t have to see it. Now, it doesn’t have to be him. Could be anyone. Could be no one at all. “Feels good,” you mumble.

“Good.”

The hand slips out of you and lands on the side of your face, slick, and you are kissed and you do not kiss back. “Good.” He says it into your mouth between kisses. His other hand is somewhere else. Down. “Good.” You try not to hear it. The wind whips up around you and you listen to that, and feel it hard against your cheek, and him hard against your stomach. Wind scrapes over your skin. He scrapes over your skin. Finds your entrance and holds himself there for too long. “You want to.” Not a question. Maybe he believes it and maybe you do too.

“Mm.” You’ll fall asleep as soon as it is over. It will be easy. Like taking a drink.

His breath shudders as he presses inside you. His whole body goes along with it, tightens against your skin, face shoved into your neck. Your eyes snap open and you fight their lids back down. When you let yourself think about it, the good feeling starts to go away. But it doesn’t hurt. It would’ve hurt, if it happened a different night, when you had to think…

He looks up and you somehow raise your head just enough to see his eyes. Wide. “Talk.”

“Feels good,” you mumble, and it must be enough, because his nails scrape your scalp and snag firmly into your hair and he is going and going but you can barely feel anything at all anymore. You lied, you guess.

It ends quickly. He says something that you can’t hear and then he is out of you and there is wet on your thigh that has nothing to do with the grass. And still, he is not done with you. His weight stays. His arms hook under your shoulders and hold tight.

One final time, you force your mouth and eyes open, because you cannot sleep like this. He’s staring at you, waiting, and you barely recognize his face at all. If you did, you would hate it.

You manage to say it. Exactly what you want to say. “Get off.”

His gaze drops to the grass. It’s quiet, for a long time.

You close your eyes. “Get off.”

“Okay.” His hand flutters against your cheek, and you feel his hot breath over your face, close enough to kiss you one final time.

He doesn’t. His weight lifts, and you can breathe.

And you can sleep.

***

There is a moment when you wake up before you feel any pain. Your head does not hurt, your stomach does not churn, your eyes do not flinch at the sunlight that pokes them through the trees.

But you would take all of those little kinds of suffering over the feeling that overrides them all. It strangles your chest and your throat and keeps you from rising or moving even an inch to look around. You hear his breathing. You hear his body shift in the grass, and know that he knows you are awake.

And yet, he doesn’t say a thing. Not yet. When he does, all the things you half-remember will flood your brain, and you will have no defense, except to hope that he has another bottle stashed away somewhere, and that he will be kind enough to give it to you.

Not yet. You feel the dampness of the shirt on your back, and taste the foulness of your own breath and the rot rising up from your throat, and smell the bitter stench of the night before. And you pretend, for as long as you can, that not yet means never again.

Welcome Home (Darkiplier x reader) Part 5- A date gone Dark

(TWs: Mentions of drugging,Manipulation, Forced kiss, Yandere behaviour if you squint. Dead dove do not eat I think?)

You entered your room and sat down on the floor, slamming the door behind you. You were beyond upset at Mark, he’d been cancelling out on your get togethers for years now but the moment you did? Suddenly it was wrong.

Mark was allowed to push you aside and replace you as much as he wanted. Merely thinking about it caused you to clench your fists incredibly hard. But no more, no longer were you going to deal with that bullshit. Damien would never do such a thing to y- Wait, why are you thinking about Damien? Your argument with Mark had nothing to do with him. Maybe Mark was right. Going on this date might be a bad ide- Suddenly, a sharp, stabbing pain shot through your head, followed by a piercing ringing in your ears that made you squeeze your eyes shut.. You groaned and held your head in pain, stretching out your legs. You blinked once it stopped, feeling lightheaded. What were you thinking about?

Oh yes, Damien. You felt like you could go on for hours about how sweet he’s been to you. “You deserve somebody who won’t take you for granted..Somebody who could give you the world..” He’d told you. You didn’t want to think about Damien too much, but he just kept invading your mind, taking hold of it with his sweet words or his smooth voice. 

Your foot suddenly made contact with something, a deck of tarot cards. It piqued your curiosity so you picked it up and shuffled the deck before spreading it out. You picked up the first card, turning it over to reveal the seven of swords.

Deception.

You shakily place it down before picking up your second tarot.

The Devil.

The creature in the illustration looming over a chained subordinate kneeling to him. The room felt colder and the strange scar on your wrist started to burn again.

With a shaky hand you picked up your final tarot.

The moon.

Something was lurking in the shadows, waiting for the right time to pounce.

The pain jolted through your body again, and in a moments notice you've suddenly found yourself fully dressed for your date. You take a deep breath, trying to shake off the feeling of apprehension before meeting Damien. You couldn’t back out on him now. It’d be rude. What was the worst that could happen anyway? 

You entered the restaurant with Damien, taking in its magnificent glamour. You’d only really seen places like this in your dreams or just passing by. Damien pulled out a chair for you and smiled gentlemanly at you while you sat down. His charming demeanor made you melt inside while making you uncomfortable at the same time.

Damien sat in front of you, smiling charmingly while he poured wine for the 2 of you. You smiled at him. “I’m so glad I chose to come out here with you. It really takes my mind off the whole situation I had with Mark.” You said, taking a sip of the wine. It tasted odd and much more..bitter than it should be. You took another sip to confirm you weren’t imagining it. Damien smiled at you. “Of course. Anything for you. I could take you to the places you want to go..” Suddenly, your vision started to blur and you felt drowsy.

Your head started to hurt.

“I can especially take you to the places you don’t want to go..” Damiens grin turned sinister. You quickly shoved your hands into your pockets and made an attempt to call Mark with whatever remained of your strength. Damien stalked towards you. “There is nothing that you, Or he could ever do to stop me. You’re powerless now, little mouse..” He grabbed your chin forcefully and pulled you into a rough kiss. “Don’t worry, mon amour. You’ll never leave me again..” A quiet cry of panic escaped your lips before everything went dark.

Roman: Danm, I'm really craving peppermint schnapps right now.

Logan: We unfortunately don't have vodka for peppermint schnapps, but i did make a berry martini.

Roman: *Princey gasp* A legend! *picks up cup* Cheers to whatever mysteries and trials that we are to solve!

Logan: Excellent. The first thing we have to solve is why you and your brother have a dramaticaly tough relationship.

Roman: *SPITS OUT IS FLIPPIN DRINK*

God I don’t want to go to this volunteering. I should have backed out last week and yet I stayed for some insane reason and now I have to get up at FIVE AM WHEN I HAVEN’T FUCKING SLEPT AT ALL.

For context: its 4:53 am.

All I want to do is get so drunk I don’t remember anything at all. Is that so bad??

I've never been one to have drugs Under-age. Sure, drinking, Aussie n all but I guess there's that part of me that's screaming today to just give in, smoke some weed, have a puff of a vape. Usually I'm good woth saying no, but if someone offered me anything today, I'd have some.

I've always held that part of me -the part that never wants to do drugs or give into addictions- high, my family -specifically my dad- always expects me to be better than the rest of them and be clean of that sort of thing. But sometimes, I just want to give in and be with the rest of my family, who vape or smoke.

I drink whoever given the chance basically, because at least in drinking I can do that with the rest of my family. I like how it gives me the chance to bond and talk about preferences.

I like how it changes people's perception of me, cause maybe I don't seem like the type to drink.

But even just having a few drinks means I can sleep easy, drinking a few more means I'm out for the night, there for the ride. I guess I just want to feel more included, I want my family to like what I like, to understand what I'm trying to say when I talk to them.

Liquid Courage.

For JoJotober day 15 I love them sm and they’re the only ship of mine that qualifies as an otp lol. I like the idea that Bucciarati gets super affectionate when drinking so I want w that :]

And here’s the prompt I used :3

Small businesses are awesome.

This guy, a veteran and park ranger named Steve, opened this place called TreeRock in Asheville, NC as a sort of passion project, to celebrate Mead and Cider, and showcase an incredible selection of the world's first alcoholic beverage.

I just had an hour and a half long conversation with the guy. He's so personable and knowledgeable, and I had an absolute blast- I tried like 10 different drinks, and they were all awesome, and he told me about the history and making of each and every one. After a while, I decided this is my new favorite place to go.

But they're closing, in March.

These past few years have been devastating for small businesses, and they are no exception. They are going to close in March, unless something drastic happens that changes things.

So if you're in Asheville, or you know somebody in Asheville, or you have been meaning to go to Asheville to bury that body in the trunk of your car somewhere along the Appalachian trail but you just haven't gotten around to it yet, please stop by TreeRock for a flight of meads, ciders, and beers from all around the world, for less than the cost of a Chipotle burrito.

(also they love dogs!!! my dog had a great time, and I'm sure yours will too!)

Typically

This makes many references to No Regrets (an insight on Levi before he enrolled in the Scouts.) I also tried a new writing style, so please, give me feedback!

includes: Erwin, Levi

warnings: alcoholic themes, depression, PTSD (post-traumatic stress disorder), mentions of suicidal thoughts/actions

length: 2,028 words

•°•°•°•

Erwin Smith was typically content in his mattress by 10:30, praying to whatever gods that may (or may not) be out there that his slumber would be blissful and refreshing. He typically knew of his subordinates' locations and their relative mental states this late into any given night. He typically had most of his paperwork signed and stacked into a neat, organized pile.

Though tonight, as trepidation rolled over him in slow, progressing waves, Erwin Smith was neither content nor situated in a well-put-together office. He did not know where the Captain was or when the elusive man would return. He did not know beforehand that multiple contracts would need the Captain's signature. Hell, Erwin did not know if Levi could even write in cursive. At the moment, he did not know a lot of things.

Erwin wasn't exactly enthusiastic about experiencing these feelings of troubling uncertainty.

The dense thud of staggering boots on the half-rotted wooden flooring impeded Erwin's vexing thoughts. Moving from his spot by the window that overlooked the training grounds, he hastily stalked towards his office door. Yet as his fingertips were mere inches from the handle, the door slammed open, catching the Commander off guard.

Erwin back-stepped as no one other than Levi himself lost his footing from kicking the door open. The door frame was the only thing that aided Levi's attempt at steadying his balance; Erwin was far too focused on darting his bewildered eyes over Levi's condition.

Was the blunt and foul-mouthed Levi Ackerman. . . Drunk?

No, that couldn't be right. The man despised everything about alcohol: the lasting effects, the heavy smell, the noxious health problems. Every time the Corps tried to get Levi to drink, he had remarked about booze being nothing more than poison marketed as a miracle tonic. But, what else could explain the unfocused eyes that were typically sharp and observant or the swaying small frame that was typically nimble and composed?

"Have you been drinking, Levi? You look terrible."

The vicious scowl Erwin received told him that the way he worded his concern was extremely misinterpreted.

"Oh, fuck you, jackass. Not everyone can look like a shining star, Smith." Levi's words were unnaturally slurred, further proving what Erwin refused to accept. "Get outta my way and let me in."

Erwin cautiously stepped to the side- as he'd rather keep this peculiar sight to himself and spare the Captain's dignity. Levi's shoulder shoved against Erwin's bicep as he stumbled into the Commander's office. A snarl remarking Erwin's height was woven into the tense atmosphere of the room.

"Where have you been?" Erwin asked as he gently shut the door, keeping an apprehensive gaze on Levi.

He simply received a distracted scoff. Erwin took a deep breath before he huffed out of his nose. He watched as Levi fumbled through various unlocked drawers in search of who-knows-what.

"Levi-"

"Where's your Devil's water, Smith?" Erwin narrowed his eyes in confusion before Levi, belligerently, elaborated. "Your liquor, dip-shit. Where have you stashed it?"

Erwin pressed his lips into a thin line before he offered a calculated answer, "I don't hide alcohol in my office." A spiteful string of obscenities left Levi's swollen lips, the drunk balling his fist tight by his sides. "Liar! You're a filthy deceiver, you know that? You're worth less than the shit in the stables! A sleaze bag from the Underground would be more helpful than you!"

Erwin paused, studying Levi like Hange would study a Titan. "Are you okay, Levi?" He knew the question was redundant the moment the words left his lips.

“Fuck!” Levi yelled, tugging on his already loose cravat. “Am I okay? What kind of bullshit question is that? Hell, my uncle used to tell me that life’s like a toilet paper roll; you’re either on a roll or taking shit from some asshole- and you know what? You’re that asshole, Smith!”

"Be careful of the open window, Levi," Erwin warned, as polished and unwavering as ever. His indifference to the slew of insults and profanities made Levi's blood boil.

Erwin only moved closer when the Captain disregarded his warning and continued to near the dangerously open casement. Erwin tuned out the vulgarities that were continuously hurled at him with an intense enmity, the gears clicking together in his head.

There was a chance Levi's destination was through the window- a chance Erwin was not willing to take.

"What are you doing? You're going to fall out," Erwin said more forcefully.

The change in the Commander's tone didn't seem to phase Levi, who was resting his forearms on the window sill. As Levi's weight shifted to his unstable upper body, Erwin could feel his heartbeat pounding in his throat, temples, fingertips- everywhere except his chest.

Levi went quiet, his drunken tantrum utterly forgotten as childlike wonder filled his eyes. In the moment of calm after the storm, Erwin couldn't fail to notice that Levi looked so much younger when he wasn't so pent up. The Captain was significantly more demonstrative when he was intoxicated; and may it be good or bad, Erwin was content with Levi seeming mortal.

"He used to hate heights, and she smoked him for it," Levi broke the moment of silence with hardly a whisper. "It was all a game to her."

Erwin's features, which were glazed over with faux insouciant, didn't match the curious gaze he studied Levi with. He stood inert, fearful of scaring Levi into a diligent silence or another aggressive episode. Erwin didn't ask for extensive details, nor did he implore Levi to move away from the window again. He simply waited, having an idea of what was plaguing his inebriated soldier's mind.

"You know, when you found me, we were heading to get a job done," Levi spoke so softly that Erwin felt the need to hold his breath to hear him properly.

The Commander took Levi's brief pause as an opening to speak, despite having nothing to say. "Is that so?"

Levi exhaled something grim; something that nearly sounded like an empty chuckle. "Yeah, Smith, it is."

Levi ignored how Erwin wearily moved closer as he adjusted himself further out of the window. The Captain relished in a twisted feeling of pride knowing that he could make his superior jump to aid him, that he could make the man twitch with such a deep sense of uneasiness- so much so that it shone in his perceptive blue eyes.

"Levi, get away from-"

"He was so nervous for the mission, despite it being so. . . " Levi swayed his hand through the night air, searching for the right word after cutting Erwin, and his concerns, off. "So pointless," is what he settled for.

"It was just a run-through," he huffed out a sigh, "check the brothel for any kids, start trouble if there were. Then, haul ass to the surface to get the brats to somewhere safer. Simple, right?"

Erwin swallowed, his gaze settling on Levi's reflection in the mirror.

"But, something always has to fuck me over," Levi spat with a clenched jaw, capturing the window sill in an iron grip. "Isn't that right?! You simply adore dancing all of your puppets around until they can't take it anymore- but you don't stop, do you?!" Levi screamed at the full moon in the sky.

Erwin sharply exhaled through his nose, Levi swaying side to side like empty ODM gear in the breeze. Levi swore and stretched his fingers out to relieve the tension in them.

"I bumped into a guy whose ego was as big as his body. The bastard was huge and wouldn't let it go." Levi hung his head, the stars bringing back memories he'd rather forget. "I think you were there when we had settled the issue and took off."

Erwin remembers like it happened yesterday. He could never forget the first time he saw Levi fly on the Wings of Revolution; it was enchanting.

Levi outstretched his arm, one foot leaving the floor as he reached to the giant moon glowing against the night sky.

"Levi, you need to stop being heedless, or you'll fall and end up dead!" Erwin finally snapped, his hand darting to grab Levi's. He missed his target, the shorter one moving unexpectedly and making Erwin snatch his pale forearm.

The wind from the chill night ruffled the forgotten paperwork on Erwin's desk, Levi's eerily hollow chuckle overlaying the white noise. Empty steel-gray finally looked into Erwin's ocean blues, heavy-lidded and worn thin.

"Don't you know I'm stupid? The hell does 'heedless' mean, blondie?" Levi wore a painful grin.

Erwin furrowed his brow in worry, loosening his grip but not letting go. "Careless," he said gently, thumbing fondly at Levi's flushed skin. "It means. . . Careless."

Levi's bottom lip trembled, and Erwin swore he saw his small body twitch with a hiccup. "Maybe that's what I want, Commander- to end up dead," Levi breathed, sending a cold surge through Erwin.

"Hey, don't say that," Erwin said quickly in a hushed tone. His free hand gently cupped Levi's shoulder.

"Why not?" Levi's voice was so small. It scared Erwin. "Every time I shut my eyes at night, all I see is their faces, hear them call my name." Erwin could feel Levi trembling.

"I know, Levi. By the walls, I know how it feels to begin to go numb. How it is to lose everything close to you, and still need to press onwards," Erwin murmured.

"Oh, sure. You see the face of every comrade that you've sent to death in your dreams. I'm sure you remember each and every soldier." The sarcastic bite in Levi's tone made Erwin unhand the man's arm.

"Excuse me. . ?" Erwin breathed, stupidly hoping he had misheard Levi.

"You don't know how it feels to be looked at like a human shit stain for simply trying to survive! You're just Mr. Fucking Perfect, right?" Levi's fruitless attempt to push Erwin away by his chest only agitated the blonde.

"Another pompous asshole that wouldn't hesitate to judge me from getting on all fours back then just to be able to eat twice a week!" Levi's (false) accusations were making Erwin increasingly angry.

"You're no different than everyone in the Capital-"

"You'd better watch your mouth, Ackerman."

Levi sucked in a short breath so quickly, it made his throat dry up; though, that might've been caused by the snarl of his surname. He didn't get another chance to speak as Erwin loomed over his frame.

"Who gave you an escape route when you had nowhere else to turn? Was it the Capital? Who was it that believed in you when everyone else wanted you to hang? The Capital, perhaps? Apologies, my memory is hazy."

Levi had seen Erwin agitated, seen him berate cadets and superiors alike with no backlash. But the man was always so poised and assured. Sure, the unsettlingly strong fire behind his crystal eyes was never smothered, but it was not once openly expressed.

Until now.

It had Levi- the nephew of Kenny the Ripper, the Captain of the 104th Cadet Corp, Humanity's Strongest Soldier- intimidated enough to shrink in on himself.

"I don't mean to scare you, Levi. I truly don't. But when you have the audacity to lump me into the crowd of discriminatory pedophiles and rapists? After everything I have done for you?" Erwin scoffed, ending his rant.

"I-I... I'm-"

"I don't want you to apologize. It's difficult to believe that you would. It's just not like you," Erwin swallowed thickly as Levi sniffled.

"Levi, I-" Erwin cut himself off, clenching his jaw.

Want you. Need you.

I think I'm in love with you. What a dream it would be to say. But he shouldn't. And he won't.

"You should sober up here while I get work done. How does that sound?" Erwin felt the urge to vomit after those words burned off his tongue.

"Thank you," Levi hardly whispered. "Thank you, Erwin."

Closing his eyes tightly, Erwin nodded, leading Levi to the couch the was sitting against the sidewall.

"Of course, Levi. I would do anything for you."