Flower Curse | ???

hey, i love flower curse and i'm currently on chapter 5 so far... but i noticed that your works arent really getting that much recognition :,( i have a few suggestions to get more notes?? but only if you're interested in hearing them :0 otherwise, just wanted to tell you your writing is fantastic :)))

omg thank you so much! you are really kind.sure! i really im not familiarized with posting on tumblr, so any advice is appreciated! :Dagain, thank you so much, i’m happy you are enjoying flower curse! <3

Love isn’t everything

soulmate au.

You stared at the baby blue sky, the grass blades sticking through the fabric of your shirt as you roll to your stomach to watch the dandelions still waiting to bloom.

A red string appeared.

It swirled and twisted around your finger like a smoke way downwards and away to somewhere you couldn’t even bother to know.

You had a soulmate now. You growl in annoyance, bringing the edges of your palm against your eyelids and dig them deep until you see the blue and red cluster of dots flying through the darkness. How could this happen?

Just as you, finally, settled into your skin and thought you were okay being soulless. That was fine. You were proud of it ! Not be chained down by another person who could be anyone, to be chained to a stranger that had so much damn control in your life. Peace!

And then the universe throws this bullshit at you.

Great !

You didn’t mean to murder someone in your past live, or step on a puppy, because this red string means that everything you went through— the bullies, the family, the struggles, the 3 a.m. thoughts, was for nothing.

That, in the end, all that you went through was to be suddenly washed away by the magical power of love and you’ll settle down, abandon your dreams, and marry some fucking stranger.

Weren’t parents always preaching about white vans and strange men, but go all kumbaya when a string gets involve.

It gets your blood pumping, your teeth grinding and you look at the red string wrapped around your finger and wished the color of your soul mate was the same when you spilled it in the ground.

The clouds above float so lazily, carefree and you, not for the first time, wish you too could just float away and leave the problems that chain you.

One of those chains went by the name of Responsibilities. And it was ringing through your phone, vibrating in your pocket, calling you forth.

You fished it, lazily, not even bothering to see the name of the number, as it wasn’t even a second before the screaming match started.

“WHERE ARE YOU? Do you not REALISE what today’s date is?! We have investors coming today! And where are you?!”

You sigh, already exhausted the moment you pressed the answer button. Yes, you remember today’s date as you haven’t had a decent lick of sleep preparing to the lead up of the meeting.

You are a shitty artist, with a shitty life and little pay.

“Why do you even want me there? I already painted all the art you wanted, let the others deal with those vultures.”

You truly did put as much effort into those paintings, making everything you could squeeze from the dry towel of creativity.

“They requested you by name! They’re interested! And that means money!”

“So?”

“Y/N!”

You pull the phone away from your throbbing ear, grimacing at the thought of facing your dealer on a Monday.

“Okay, okay, I heard you. I’m coming over now,” With that, you hanged up and with it all the hopes that you could rest.

You look down at the red string. You tisk in disgust and start walking towards your doom.

___

Never in your life did you think that you wanted to hang out with homeless people before. They’re an interesting type of people, with equally interesting stories to tell. Maybe if you had stayed in the park, you could have gotten the chance to hang with them.

It could have been ten thousand times better than the shitty situation you were in.

Turns out, you were going to the investors, not the other way around. People talked pleasantly, light laughter and prim and proper of a polite society. And here you were, a bright fish out of water.

You kept your gaze downwards, sitting in the dark corner, away from the big crowds. A cold drink being steadily warmed through your gripping hands, as the boredom started to mix with anxiety like a bad cocktail.

This isn’t exactly what you imagined. You thought of fancy suits and fancier dresses with butlers and waitress with drinks at hand. Well, they have all the above, but not once has anyone said anything to you. Or even pointed or looked your way.

But the red string is still there, taunting you with each passing second you stare at it. Bloody thing still wrapped itself around your finger, not actually touching your skin but close enough to tug at you.

You hate it.

Oh well, at least there were free drinks here. It’ll be long over if you can just stand there with your eyes cast down, not making a fuss. Which was all going pretty well in your humble opinion, when the cursed string tugged at you.

You seethed silently, wishing it would just stop– when it suddenly tugs harder again, snapping your eyes upwards.

And find your soulmate is staring at you. Maybe its the wine in your system, but time slowed down, just for the two of you, the glow of the low lights shining through his back and casting an angelic form for his blond hair. He too, look surprise, his grip on the glass drink fell loose, (he has the bluest eyes) shattering the trance that got you thinking the strangest things.

As people around him gasp and try to help, crowding around him, you snatch the opportunity with both hands and fast walk the hell out of there.

With hands trembling, you fumble out a text saying a quick sorry for your shitty dealer/friend, knowing this was important to her. You would even donate more time, just make it up to them.

A hand blocked your exit.

You jerked around, armed and ready to give whoever a piece of your mind, when you froze at the small man blocking your way. He was glaring exclusively at you, his dark eyes pinning you with ease.

“Excuse me, but I’m trying to–”

“You aren’t going anywhere without talking to Erwin.” You tilt your head in confusion, opening your mouth to maybe sway him he has the wrong person, only to shut it when the man at the other end of the string starts walking this way.

Panicking, you smile in apology as you rip the door open, pushing him aside so quickly the poor man stumble and cussed.

You didn’t even made to be steps outside when a body crashed into your right side, with such brutal force it left you gasping and swaying in your feet. Shitty balance!

Your hands instinctively grabbed anything to stop the date with gravity, then you’re holding a warm hand as your eyes look up to your saviour.

You just noticed how blue his eyes are. Strong jaw, and contoured chiseled face, lips full and with those eyes just staring at, what feels like his soul piercing.

Warmth rushes through your face, snatching your hand away, just to see the barest little string between you. God, you were staring.

But before you could make a classic Hollywood escape, the same hand caught your elbow as you were turning.

“Please, could we just talk?”

Jesus, even his voice is nice; Deep and just your type. This is a cliche, a teenager’s wet dream, but you live in reality and that means not talking to strangers. But you stumble through your words.

“Uh— I mean, I got, a, um, date. And well, I can’t stay here? I, uh, really nice seeing you. I’m sorry, uh, I gotta roll. Dude.” You blurted so much bullshit, you wondered if he was going to call you out from just smelling it. The smaller (midget, your mind snarked) man glared at you with such vengeance and hate, that maybe, yeah, leaving would give you the best chance of survival.

And now, you could see a woman, the thing that hard slammed you in the side, still grinning in victory.

The man’s face (your soulmate, your heart whispered) fall into devastation. It almost, too close, cracked your face, letting go of your tangled fears, but then you caught yourself in the flashes of memories of bullies, and spite ran through your chest.

“I— I am sorry. I—” The ringing of your phone has never felt so relieving. You fumbled through your jeans, shaking hands opening it to be greeted by a old friend in the same industry. His hand fell limp in his side.

“Hey, Y/N! Sorry for calling so late but—”

“Hey, sweetheart, yeah, I know I’m late. I’m sorry, I’ll call you and explain this later, please call me back?”

“Um, what the fuck? Uh, sure.”

You hang up, breathing hard and scratch your cheek, not meeting his eyes. “I’m sorry, look— I haven’t really settled down for this? I — Jesus.” 

This is a mess, you need to get the fuck out of here. That must have bleed into your face, because his grip was back with vengeance, holding a grid tight hold to you. You jump back in surprise.

“Please, just your name. That’s all, please?” It’s so weird, the man looks like he belongs among the CEO’s of New York, the top dogs that are miles apart from the normal joe like yourself. It strange, seeing him so crumbled and desperate for such a simple thing. 

“I’m y/n,” You whispered like holding into a secret, childish and  — wait a fucking moment, did you just tell him your name? Without you realizing it?

“Erwin, I’m Erwin Smith. Can we please talk Y/N?”

Well shit.

—

Pt.2

Flower Curse | 3

[levi x male!reader x erwin]

this work will have vomiting, heavy angst and death. the reader suffers from the hanakahi disease.

summary: you loved him. he didn’t. everything goes downhill when suddenly, you cough a petal when you think of him.

t w o

After that horrible and bizarre moment, you were sitting across the room with Moblit, Erwin was sitting in front of Hange as she was behind of her desk sitting as well, looking at the blonde with seriousness. Moblit gave you water and helped you take off your jacket, because you were suddenly feeling exhausted at the sudden force of throwing up. Currently Erwin and Hange were talking about your current situation, but you really didn't pay any attention about it– you were too tired to listen.

Feeling the jacket off you made you sigh in relief; you wanted to strip right there. You felt like your clothes were suddenly suffocating you– Was the uniform that tight before? You weren't sure anymore. And as if Moblit could read your thoughts, while placing your jacket on a small desk, he said, “Maybe it would be a good idea to take off the harness as well. What do you think?”

“Yes, Moblit. Please,” you said –or rather begged– sounding pleading, only to make Moblit smile in an apologetic way and helped you. You sat down as Moblit take off your boots and stood up again so he could help you with the harness. You placed your hands on his shoulders, suddenly feeling dizzy so you didn't want to fall. He was turned back of your actions, but understood the cause of it when he saw your troubled face.

“Take it easy, you stood up to quickly. Just don't move and hold onto me, alright?” you nodded and tried to calm you down, hands still on Moblit’s shoulders. He began to take off the harness as gently as he could, suddenly feeling a strong gaze on him that made him... uncomfortable. And before he could turn his head, you spoke.

“Man, I feel like shit,” sighing and closing your eyes you tried to relax. “And this happened just a week before the expedition... I’m so lucky.”

“You have always been quite lucky, [Name]. Just like that one time with the abnormal or the other time with the black horse,” he slightly laughed hearing you sigh in irritation, remembering your near-death experiences, “these two situations could have been your death, but somehow you came out alive. That's why we call you the «The Luckiest Soldier of Humanity»”

“Well, yeah. But whoever came up with that nickname is an idiot. It sounds so ridiculous,” you sighed, “I hate the «of Humanity» bullshit, so absurd.”

“And I'm even luckier to get this unknown disease– if it's a disease.” You thought.

Finishing taking off the harness, Moblit placed it on the same desk and turned to you, “Whatever it is, I'm sure you will survive it. Just like you say, you are lucky most of the time.”

You only grunted, making the brunette softly laugh. “But I don't know if I will be lucky this time.” You thought.

You approached where Erwin was and sat next to him, trying to understand what they were talking about, but soon Hange looked at you and smiled.

“[Name]! I see you have a better face now! But stripping in front of people is quite reveling, you know!” she joked, grinning and furrowed her eyebrows, looking like a complete idiot.

Snorting, you replied, “Believe me, Hange. I want to take off all my clothes right now, but my decency is keeping me in rule.”

“Squad Leader Hange, I'm going to clean the... flowers?” Moblit said unsure, “I'm going to get the mop, I’ll be right back.” And before he could leave, Erwin called him.

“Berner,” they both looked at each other, “No word from this to anyone, understood?” the blonde said with an authority voice– usually his normal tone when he ordered something serious.

Moblit’s expression turned serious and replied, “Understood, commander,” and left.

“Alright, now,” you began, “What the hell I have?”

Hange’s expression turned serious and deep in thought, holding her jaw with her fingers. “I'm not really sure,” she hummed, “I've never seen this before... This happened today, right?”

At the question you shifted uncomfortably on your seat, making Erwin furrow his eyebrows with a questioning manner, “Did this happen before?” he asked, sounding... somehow irritated.

“Uhm... yes...?” you answered, sounding like a child getting caught on something they shouldn't have. Before anyone could say anything you bet them to it, “To my defense, I didn't throw up like this. I just coughed a petal three days ago. I thought I breathed it by accident, but it seems that isn't the case... hehe…”

That didn't calm down Erwin, judging by his irritation showing off. Pinching the bridge of his nose with his fingers, he said, “If I didn't find you at that exact moment, would you have told me?” he asked, referring at the incident on your office not too long ago.

Gulping, you decided to not lie to him– either if saying yes or no it wouldn't satisfy him, anyway. You just shocked your head, ashamed to look at him. Hearing him sighing in disappoint made you feel bad– he was your friend, your comrade. You were a horrible friend, making him feel like this.

“Throwing up flowers... flowers...” Hange said, trying to remember something about the problem at hand, ignoring your little conversation. Suddenly, she snapped her fingers, making the two of you turn at her, watching expectantly, forgetting about the awkward conversation.

She quickly stood up and approached her bookshelf. Looking at it, murmuring something inaudible she paced her fingers on the books, trying to find the one she was looking for. “What was the name of the book? Hanake?” she thought, moving her eyes at one book to another, until she found the one she was looking for, “Hanahaki Curse!” she yelled, taking the book on her hands and returning to her seat.

“Nahaka what?” you asked confused, looking as lost as Erwin.

“Hanahaki Curse. This book,” she holds the book so you both could see the front of it– just small letters were on it– the exact same title Hange said before. “Talks about the same thing you may have.”

Erwin looked somehow relieved, “So this is a medical book?”

At the question, Hange laughed nervously, making both of you farrow your eyebrows at her, suspiciously. “Well, it's a... children book.”

Blinking with no emotion in particular, you said, “A children book,” she nods, “A fairy tale. Something fictional,” you sighed, brushing your hand in your hair, “Oh man...”

Like always, Erwin tried to stay collected about the situation, placing a hand on your shoulder trying to calm you down, he looked at Hange and asked, “I believe you remember it because it's useful, right, Hange?”

She just nodded eagerly and explained, “This book talks about the same thing you have, [Name]. And I believe it can explain why you have it.” Now that made you interested.

“Okay, tell me why then.”

“The book begins about two kids, Darla and Barry. The little girl has affections for the boy, but Barry has no interest in her. They remain friends until their teenage years, with Darla still liking Barry–”

“Hange this is absurd. What the hell are you saying?” you interrupted her, looking irritated. Were you really stay here and hear this nonsense? Absolutely not. “This is something serious; I won’t read a book for children!”

“Now, [Name]. I believe Hange has an answer about what's happening to you, so be quiet and listen to her.”

Grunting irritability, you just sighed and nodded, and Hange returned to telling the story.

“Like I was saying…

Darla never felt different about Barry. But never told him how she felt, because she knew he didn't like her that way. Until one day, Darla saw Barry with another girl, sharing kisses and hugs. That sight made her heartbroken– crying, Darla went to her house, ran to her room and cried on the floor. Suddenly, she felt a strange sensation on her throat. First, it felt ticklish, making her softly cough. She thought nothing of it– but the sensation didn't go away. She began to cough harshly, feeling something on her throat– until the last cough she could sense whatever it was inside get out of her.

The unlucky girl spotted a white petal lying on the floor– but before she could think anything of it, the feeling of throwing up appeared.

She threw up flowers all over the floor. And not just white colored flowers; pink and yellow were mixed like a bucket. The unlucky girl only cried more, terrified for what she was feeling and seeing.

“What is all of this!? I–I'm scared!” she shouted, sobbing uncontrollably. All of the noises made her mother open the door of her room, stopping and watching the scene in front of her with a shocking face.

“Oh no... Darla, my dear Darla... not you...” Darla’s mother sadly murmured, approaching her daughter and kneeling beside her. Hugging her, the mother holds Darla’s head on her chest, lovingly.

The two of them just sit on the floor, surrounded by flowers. Both of them crying and only the mother’s reassurance words were heard. Time passed, now mother and daughter were sitting on the daughter’s bed.

“Mother, do you know what I have? Why do I throw up flowers? What is this?” the unlucky girl asked.

Her mother let out a sigh, “My Darla... I’ve something to explain. The thing you have- is called ‘Hanahaki Curse’,” seeing her daughter’s confusing face, she explained. “This... curse makes you throw up flowers. And the cause of that is because of something so silly.

When you love someone, and they don’t love you back you have a very small possibility to... be cursed. The curse it’s so rare to have; but you- you have it now. But hear me- no matter what, I’m by your side, my daughter.”

And with that, little Darla suffered by the flower curse. The unlucky girl never stopped throwing up flowers of different colors.

Darla never met Barry again after knowing the cause of the curse. She didn’t want to see the cause of it; she suffered enough on her own.

The unlucky girl lied on her bed staring at nothing in particular with her mother at her side. The girl’s lungs filled with flowers, making her unable to breathe.

Darla disappeared from the world with her mother at her side, just like she promised.”

Nobody dared to say a word after that. The silence in the room was so tense; the three of you could feel that very clearly. You were shocked, clearly. You only thought was if you were going to have the same fate as little Darla.

“Well that’s… very dark for a children book, uh?” you said, trying to get less anxious.

The blonde’s hand reached your shoulder in a comforting manner. You turned to see his usual neutral expression, but judging by his shoulders he was just as tensed by the current situation as you.

“Hange, does the book have an author? Something we can use to reach the person who wrote this?” Erwin asked.

Hearing the questions, the woman began to search for a name in the cover, the back... but there was no name. You now where in a high stress level at the situation, but she opened the book again, going at the very last page of it, and there was two words elegantly written on the center;

“Barry Ziegler”

She sighed in relief and looked at the two of you with one of her usual smiles, “We have a name! It’s better than nothing. We can look for him or at least, find someone with the same last name.”

“Yes, we could do that. But we don’t even know how old this book is. For all we know, this guy is dead or the name he gave is fake. This doesn’t give me much hope.” You stated, looking annoyed.

“We can’t think like that,” the blonde instantly said, “I’m going to find information of any ‘Barry Ziegler’ inside the walls. This shouldn’t be hard to do- after all, these walls aren’t that big.”

You just shrugged and nodded, feeling a little better than before. Somehow, Erwin’s words always made you comforted. The guy was commander after all; he had his way with words.

The three of you chatted a little of what to do next. Moblit came and cleaned the mess, then leaving when Hange told him to look for some records about the ’curse’, if there were any. After some minutes the chatter turned out more pleasant, talking about the cadets and the jokes you heard from them sometimes. Erwin left first, saying he had important things to do, but you stayed with Hange a little longer.

“It’s Levi, right?” she said with a serious tone, unusual for her.

You just nodded, looking ashamed. Hange took your hands, squeezing them reassuringly.

One tear came, and then another and another, now crying in silence in your friend’s presence.

You somehow knew this wasn’t going to get better.

But you hoped you were wrong.

f o u r

I love your works :>

Thank u very much 🥺 i wish I could update more—! 😭

I read all the ask all of u send me, so dont think i wont do your requests 😢😢💕 thank u a lot for the support. I love u all and sorry for my horrible absence!!

I'm in love with Reiss Mental Asylum! Keep doin what ur doin :)💗💗

Thank you so much!!! 😭😭😭 i appreciate it a lot!

updates are soo slow and I’m sorry about that ): i hope i can get my unmotivated ass to write regularly! 😭

What are u working on rn?

since i finished (finally) chapter 9 of rma, i’ll try to get empty chapter three, but i cant guarantee anything :C

Child of the sun, come back

[ascended!astarion x gn!spawn!reader]

You had colorful memories, once: vivid flower fields, triumph smiles, faces that gave you comfort. But now, images of curtains with the sun behind blurred your mind, leaving darkness where color had been, once.

1122words / one shot / angst

note: after years of not writing anything, baldurs gate has inspired me to write just a little bit. ascended astarion has some good angst around him and i love it

There were days spent in the hollow main room, where the curtains protected your being from becoming dust. A lonely chair in front of the window, where just a peek welcomed a ray of the sun to meet the cold room. You just admired it quietly, desiring it to meet your flesh once more; to take you back to who you once were.

Astarion had said something once. He had stayed, observing silently, as if you were going to open the curtains and kiss the sun, leaving to another limbo. You knew it wasn't because he was scared, but everytime you came here, he appeared. Standing near the door where the darkness was, as if he were hiding from the rays of sunlight. He had yearned for them, once. Perhaps its familiarity had bored him.

But then, that company left, and the sun stayed.

“I don't know what's inside that head of yours, darling.”

He could know, but he chose not to.

Quietly watching as you hug your legs, your gaze peeking behind your knees. A ray almost looking magical, sacred. A plea to be touched.

Come back to me, child of the sun.

Child of the sun… you were, once. Someone had called you that, once. Who? You wondered—always did.

Sometimes you caught yourself forgetting memories; where once there were faces with prideful smiles, now rest the images of curtains, and that face, almost proudly, looking back at you with a high face.

Then, you hear it: a melody. Maybe inside your head, but it has been a long time since satisfying music passed through your ears. Closing your eyes, your head moves slightly with the rhythm. This palace had always been silent.

You stood up. Your legs moved by themselves—a curious thing, feeling as if something controlled you. Your hands dance delicately. This time, is enjoyable.

Someone taught you how to dance, once. A warm hand guided your clumsy steps to a magnificent piece. Warm compliments to keep you going. You had fun—you remembered that.

You danced, once. With who?

“You are dancing.”

You stopped, paying full attention to him. The room seemed darker.

“I was.”

Astarion just stared. Observing was one of his favorite pastimes all this eternity. Arms behind him, trying to interpret your curious actions. But then, he holds his hand for you to take.

“Dance with me.” This time it doesn't feel like a command—a request, perhaps. Either way, it required your obedience.

You accepted it, and in an instant, he had a grip on you—his left arm around your waist, his right hand taking your hand higher. A close proximity you expected. This Astarion loved touch—to be close. Weirdly, this grip was soft.

And then, he moved. You are confused by the dance—what was his intention? Slower? Faster? Your clumsiness appeared once more by almost falling, but the vampire’s hands kept you in place. The soft chuckle from Astarion fills your ears, and you feel something you hadn't felt lately—embarrassment.

When was the last time you felt anything, anyway?

“Why the rush, my dear? We just began.” He guided you. Back perfectly still, shoulders impeccably aligned, head high, with eyes staring back at you with a gentleness you didn't recognize. His true intentions were unknown to you. When those scarlet eyes held such tenderness just for you in this present, you didn't know if they were real, or if the meaning behind them was something completely different.

Either way, this mystery game tired you and holds no meaning anymore. Resting your head on his chest, the melody that once was, dissolved, leaving you in a cold silence. The curtains blocked the sun, and the rays of light weren’t as strong as before. Were they afraid, of the dark in the room?

“I was a child of the sun, once.” You muttered more to yourself than to him.

“You were, once.” A different grip—tighter, afraid to let go; or, maybe, caging you to not break the connection. But was it a connection when one line was severed? When the other side was unresponsive?

There was no answer when his response was final. A tone that you use with a child when they should not question further. You are happy without divulging. Ignorance is a bliss. Stay with me. Why do you even think of leaving?

“This is what you wanted—to stay with me.” He reassured, whispering over your ear as he pressed your bodies together.

“Of course I did.” An instant answer. To you, it is a justification for your predicament. To him, it is a decision you made for love. A meaning that both sides had something in common: to stay beside each other for eternity, even if the concept of love was morphed according to whom the person is.

Then, he stopped, and so did you. Opening your eyes, you looked at him, only to see unusual fragility in that crimson. The dance already forgotten; his hand moved to grip your jaw, leaving a gentle kiss. Your eyes flickered to the hidden windows—slightly opened, letting the curtains dance, too.

Strange tenderness. There’s nothing.

He broke the one-sided connection. Crimson eyes wandered your face. “Your meal is soon. I advise you to get ready, my love.” He doesn't leave. He needs an answer.

“Of course.” The response satisfied him, as he freed your jaw from his grip. He takes backwards steps with his arms on his back, observing again. You took the chance to study him, too—exactly the same as you can remember. Curled soft hair, as white as snow; stance looking proudly, But that face…

“I’ll wait for you.”

“Yes.”

Unfortunately, such embrace almost meant nothing. A chore, perhaps; or maybe, a burden only a puppet can keep on doing. The cruelty of it all left hollowness, and even the memories had left you.

The rays of light seemed to exist again once his presence was gone. There's warmth once the sun remembers you, calling what was before your name. To come back to them.

You had a name, back then. Your friends called your name, once. They didn’t erase it. They didn’t call you things you weren't.

The memories belong to the curtains. What you once were, belongs to them now.

You had a reflection. You had warmth. You had mortality. You had the sun. You had him. You had—

You opened the curtain.

The window had no reflection for you.

But it had such a loving embrace you didn’t have in many years.

You came back to me, child of the sun.

Flower Curse | 1. White Petal

[levixmale!readerxerwin]

english isn’t my first language, so sorry for the grammatical errors!

this work will have vomiting, heavy angst and death. the reader suffers from the hanakahi disease.

summary: you loved him. he didn’t. everything goes downhill when suddenly, you cough a petal when you think of him.

The Hanahaki Disease is an illness born from one-sided love, where the patient throws up and coughs of flower petals when they suffer from one-sided love. The infection can be removed through surgery, but the feelings disappear along with the petals.

1

Love hurt. Even more with the disease you had; some people could say it was ’poetic’ and so ’romantic’. You could have thought that one day a long time ago; just because this curse was so rare to have or yet so slim. You had yet to find someone who had this in real life and not in some fairy tales in child books or romantic novels for adults.

x x x It all began when you were alone in your office, working on some stressful paperwork Hanji handed you to finish for today. You were so deep in your work that the knock on your door wasn't heard at all. It was at the third attempt that you heard a female voice you knew to well. “Who and why?“ you irritably asked, one hand on your temple and another holding a paper not yet finished. “Petra Ral, bringing more paperwork, sir” she answered opening the door as you told her to come in. Sending you a gentle smile, she gave you the papers and spoke with some playfulness in her sweet voice, “It seems everybody is really busy today! Your voice scared me more than the Corporal, [Name]!“ You only closed your eyes and slightly laughed, sitting more comfortably on your seat. Looking at her, you tiring smiled, “Sorry, Petra. Somehow today we have a lot of paperwork, and you know paperwork is boring as hell,” you both laughed, “How is the Corporal? Is he handling this better than me?” You knew she tried to hide her blushing when speaking about her Corporal, but you were to observant to not notice it. You always are observing every little detail about everyone, even her with no exceptions. You knew she and you had feelings for the same person but unlike her, nobody knew about your feelings about the Corporal. Well, just Erwin knew; the man was like a hawk. He knows everything and sees everything; just like Mike magical nose. These two were weirdos, but great friends nevertheless. “He’s been stressed, but making him some tea relax him,” Petra gets near to you and covers her mouth, as like telling a secret she only knew about, “I think I'm making better tea lately! He’s been complimenting me a lot!” this time the blush on her cheeks was stronger and smiles at you with a dreaming smile you always saw on other cadets when talking about their lovers, just like that Jean kid in lunch looking at Mikasa with a cheesy look. You knew loving the corporal was a bad idea. Levi wasn't that talkative about liking someone in that way, hell, you don't even know if he loved someone in that way. Yes, you both were great friends, the two of you liked to drink tea together and talk about the present and future, about the new recruits and their skills, joking together or just stay in a comfortable silence. You treasured his friendship, so ruining it by confessing was an absolute and horrible mistake you weren't going to make. He didn't loved you that way and you were okay with that. Until Petra came and everything began to hurt. You wished being observant wasn't one of your skills. You wished you didn't notice the glances they gave each other when they were alone or someone wasn't looking. You wished you didn't see the sparkles on both of their eyes. You wished deep in your heart, to not notice how Petra ’accidentally’ brushed her hand on his and he didn't say a word. You wished, you really did. Lies was one of your strong skills too. If talking to the Corporal and not showing any affection or jealously when glancing at their actions wasn't like wearing a mask everyday a skill you didn't know what was. Nobody break trough your thick mask, unlike Erwin. The fucker very well knew about all of your façade, how could he not? You two were close and just to see into your eyes he knew everything. “Is that so, Petra? It seems like you being his wife isn't that far far away...” you grinned, making a cheesy face at her. Only to get her blushing like a tomato, covering her face with both hands. “Don't say that THAT loud! Someone can hear you!” “As if no one knows, little Petra. Why don't you both go in a date already? At this rate someone is going to make better tea than you... I'm just saying...” you teased her with a playful smile. Petra was your friend, you couldn't feel bad things for her. She was really sweet and pretty. She was like a sister to you, and you were a brother to her. You didn't intended the relationship being like that but it just happened. “You think so?! But— what if he doesn't like me back?” “Petra, my dear, I'm sure he likes you back.” you reassured her. “You really think I don't see how he looks at you? You know how he feels. I know.” you thought, feeling a sharp pain in your chest that you ignored and faked a smile. “Maybe I will tell him soon... Thank you, [Name]. Also, if it weren't for you, I wouldn't make good tea! Thank you again for the tips. Levi really likes it.” “You're welcome, Petra. Good luck on telling him, I'm sure he feels the same way.” Saying farewells both of you returned to your work. When she left, your expression changed completely with a grimmer one. You didn't smile; just stared at nothing in particular. You were thinking on how they would look together, how they would hug and say each other “I love you”. The thought repulsed and hurt you; sickening you. A pain in your chest made you snap out of it, making you to cough harshly. You felt as if something wanted to get out of your throat; but it didn't feel like vomit at all. It stopped when you coughed a white petal, something that confused you completely. Did you breathe in petals by accident? That was unlikely, there weren't any flowers nearby. But then, how did this petal got in? Something felt very wrong to you. You just stared at the petal dumbfounded, not really knowing what to think of it. You just placed it next to your paper, already forgetting about it.

t w o

e m p t y / 6

shingeki no kyojin | series [various x male!amnesiac!reader] summary: [Name], an amnesiac boy awakes in a unknown place – trying to remember anything makes him have horrible headaches. Who is he? And why he can’t remember his own face? masterlist

chapter six — new memories [1.4]

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Armin was nice— [Name] really liked him. He was gentle, his voice was soft and he wasn’t an idiot. That was enough for [Name] to not hate him, surprisingly. Fortunately for him, Armin liked him too.

“How has your handwriting gotten?” Armin asks, eating some cookies Beatrice made for them. They sitting on the table inside [Name]’s house— the usual spot to teach [Name].

“I think it’s better. But I’ve gotten some trouble remembering some letters.” Handing him his notebook, [Name] watches expectantly as Armin takes the item and looks at it, flipping some pages.

Humming, the blond inspects the semi-messy handwriting. It wasn't a pleasant looking typography, but it was enough to understand it. There were some words that contained backwards letters, but it was a great improvement since last week. “I see you have some problems with certain letters, but you have improved a lot! I’m happy my teaching has somehow worked...”

Blinking, [Name] stares at the blonde in silence. It wasn’t a secret he always looked down on himself— he always felt weak when [Name] or whoever who came to defend him agaisnt the bullies. It was plastered all around his face— but [Name] thinks Armin is strong.

“You are smart.” [Name] begins, resting his head on the table, looking at the blonde without an expression. “I like you, Armin.”

The blue-eyed boy blinks in surprise before blushing a little by the bland statement. “I—I like you too, [Name]!”

Slightly lifting the tips of his lips, a smile barely noticeable, the amnesiac boy speaks, “I’m glad.” Straightening his posture, the boy looks expectantly at his friend, who blinks in return before snapping out of his thoughts.

“U—Uhm! I—I think we should get to reading!” He hands him a simple book for children, easy to read. His friend takes it and opens it before glazing at the words and begins his reading exercise.

Armin was... always curious about [Name]. The first thing that made him amazed and interested in him was back then when he first protected him— he actually fought similar like Mikasa. He had never seen him around before— he was confused at first. An unknown kid helping him instead of his best friend Eren.

But the most impressive thing was his eyes— they were nothing Armin had seen before. They were unique. The children around the neighborhood were pretty harsh on him for his eyes and his demeanor, telling him ‘freak’ and ‘weird’. But Armin could see his friend was unfazed by these comments— he was really strong.

[Name] was so calm and collected. His only weakness was his headaches and, maybe, Beatrice. The blond could see the incredible attachment his friend had with the nice woman— and Beatrice loved him dearly. Armin believed if something bad happened to the woman, [Name]’s calm behavior would broke in some way— it was pretty clear to him.

[Name] and Eren where obviously different, but not that much. Armin knew [Name] could be pretty brutal when fighting some times— like when the bullies had yet again stolen food from Armin, and when the amnesiac boy knew about this, Armin had never seen someone so scary. Basically, [Name] had made the bully throw up, and then made him eat it again. He only knew of this because Mikasa had told them about it, because when that happened, the bullies left Armin alone for some time.

Armin did like [Name] a lot. He enjoyed his time with him, reading for him, teaching how to write and read... it was different. He was glad Eren and [Name] had become good friends in the end, as Armin finally could keep company with both of them without the two killing each other that much.

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“And hear this! It says the ocean is made of saltwater!” The blonde excitedly speaks, showing the drawings to [Name]. “No merchant can finish all the salt it has!”

“Ocean...” [Name] blinks as he looks at the drawing. His fingers touch it gently, as if it’s a part of the sea. He’s silent without expression, worrying Armin.

“Is something wrong?”

The amnesiac boy doesn’t respond. There’s something familiar he can’t fully grasp— this ‘ocean’ is familiar to him in some way. But as he tries to remember anything, a shock passes trough all of his body at the same time images appear on his mind for seconds— but one particular burns: something blue as the sky.

He can even hear some type of bird, the ocean waves... but there’s a voice— a woman’s voice besides him, but he can’t see her face as his gaze in locked on the peaceful  sea. Then, her clear but unrecognizable voice says:

“The ocean is what keeps us apart from them.”

Blinking, the memory? disappear as he speaks without thinking, “I think I’ve seen it.”

Armin’s eyes widened in surprise, not believing what he’s hearing. “That’s impossible! The ocean is outside this walls! No one has ever seen it!”

[Name] doesn’t say anything— he’s sure it was a memory, even if it was clear for some seconds, it burns in his mind. He’s sure is real— the ocean, the sounds, her voice... It’s too real, like he was there with her.

He wants to tell Armin about it, but the boy remembers Beatrice had told him to not tell anybody about him being outside the walls. It could cause a lot of trouble for him or her, and obviously he didn’t want that. So he shuts his mouth and doesn’t say much.

“Yeah... I think I’m imagining things,” he dismissed the entire conversation, “let’s read some more.”

His blond friend looks like he wants to say something else, but the look [Name] is giving him shuts him down. It’s clear to Armin that [Name] doesn’t want to say anything else, and he obeys. The blond kid keeps on reading, sometime stealing some glances at his friend while [Name] tries his best to follow,. But the memory keeps his mind occupied, wondering about something the woman said to him...

“It keeps us apart from who, exactly...?”

Childhood sunrays

He was seven when he first met you. He was the little boy, who dressed prim and proper and had a fitting face, though sullen.

His father was an honest professor that taught the elite and propitious, those in the privileged life. He, ignoring the threats and pleas, never shied away from the reality of the world.

He would spend hours on the injustice to the poor, government reforms, and political ideas too ‘radical’ for the school.

He would always get permission to get into his lectures and he would be so memorized when the topic evolved into something so fundamentally different that you had to wonder about it until days later.

And that itself caused tension between his peers. Erwin knew it stemmed from fear and insecurity— he was a seven-year-old kid who was known to outshines his elder peers who were groomed to be the best of the best, so he understood very early on how pride lead you in a leash.

With bruised knees and a bleeding lip, Erwin was chased to the unsavoury and poorer parts of town, house projects run down with green moss growing on the sides and grass unevenly and overgrown. It had its discarded concrete sidewalks cracked and uneven from the time.

He knew his father was sick with worry. Frantic, possibly.

But he also only has known the white washed walls and red bricks of home where nothing ever changes in its constant loop. Knowledge is power, and curiosity is the driving compass.

Curiosity killed the cat but satisfaction brought it back, as the saying goes.

A chained dog ran in up front, started to bark frantically, mad, only the old chained fence acting as its last barrier. Erwin froze, terror locking his muscles and a tremor broke out, stuck in front of the water down house with no lights on.

Only for the dog to run away as an orange peel thrown into its way.

His saviour was swinging his feet against the chain fence, with ripped jean shorts and a t-shirt too big for you. You had orange peels in one hand and the other gripped to balance.

“Hey, are you sure you ain’t lost?” His childish voice, high and confident, brought and hooked you to the reality.

“I’m sure, thank you for your concern.” His shaken voice, still present, but netherless grateful. You frown, tilting your head if to better understand.

“I mean, you walked this way, like, three times.” You hold your fingers up ( a cheap bandage clinging on with God’s miracle ) as if to better understand, he held his gaze for a moment or two, breaking contact to look at his clothes, tender red knees and busted lip.

“Oh.”

You sigh, swinging down from the gate and arching your back, you look at him with a perplexing look, “Well then, c’mon we got a date to go to.”

“I beg your pardon?!”

Under the searing sun of the summer of ‘96, you led way through roads Erwin was a stranger to. You were patient with him, and you were keeping pace with him, and your grip was neither chafing nor bruising. But yours were messy hands.

Messy with the sticky feeling of oranges, and cheap crayola crayons, with a too big shirt and choppy, uneven hair that somehow suited you.

Every motion you created was an animated picture, and it made him want to follow your every move, a dance of two.

You are a tour guide in this turning world, like in the first meeting, you hold his hand as you walk and talk through he neighbourhood. Talks about Mrs. Jones— the old lunch lady with tattoos and a motorcycle she lets the kids play with, to old man Joe, the man lost it in the war and got a silver tooth, you say.

It’s all chaotic and wild, but you move through it all as if it’s as flexible and easy as water.

Erwin’s father breaks into wild sobs as soon as he saw his son being led back into the safety of their home. He was too close on calling the police when a boy holding his son’s hand asks for him.

You’re this split-second burst of color that suddenly erupted out of nowhere, and before he could even think, you were already gone. You always were.

Melting into everything, into his hindsight, into the deepest trenches of his memory. You were so abrupt, and blinding, and you made his chest feel weird and you had this presence that both terrified and confused him for some unknown reason.

Through his teenage years, he and you would grow closer. Flashes of memories snapped and froze to twinkle, from the time you and him snuck into a movie, to the time you were forced to get a hair cut and "ran away” to his house.

Childish naïve, as they played tag under the golden rays of the sun set, and counting the bugs underneath the rotting wood with the stars above them. You said that if you squint hard enough, they look like porcupines dancing with each other.

You, in his humble opinion, feels like running away, but not the real kind. More like how you saw it in childhood movies. Running to endless woods that hid magical adventures, running to hills filled with flowers and frogs and grasshoppers. Happy ignorant and not having to prepare but knowing the future of everlasting happiness and sunshine.

He wished he prepared more.

——

New York is a city too big for one, yet ironically too small for Erwin.

His works circle towards bringing down the corrupt, from CEO’s to the politicians and the rich and influential. He works here because its his duty and passion. (But his head is whispering haunting promises of city lights of a boy with ambition in his eyes.)

The percentage of even meeting you again, after all these years is mathematically impossible, how could he? When he left, he wonders, if you still think if him as his childhood friend or imagination of what he could have been.

His wishes ended up being manifested as a piss thrown bagel.

He was walking through the crowds, leaning thinner than other days when a half-eaten bagel lands on his shiny expensive leather shoe.

He grimace, Hange crackling in the background and Levi tsk with murmuring under his breath.

He looks up, scanning for the culprit, noises in New York are always blended but a voice sticks out from the rest. ( young and deep, a paradoxical dream, he knows this voice ) Arguments, insults and loud voices, he brings his attention to the couple in front of him, and—

The countless heads of ongoing bystanders, and yet. You. With the hair that catched the sun’s eye, and the wind’s kiss blows.

“Y/M!”

You, with caramel factories in your pockets, and rainbows stains on your fingertips, turn around and all breathing is sucked from the tunnel vision of you.

Your hair is longer, less wild and free, and your face contoured with more chiseled since your childhood days. But your freedom of expression is painted in your face.

Surprise, confusion, and realization.

“Erwin? Erwin Smith is that you?!” Your pitch rose as your entire being rose with it, your eyes widen and crinkled, blooming like the dandelions on spring.

“Oh lord, it’s really you!” You ran, skipping through the lady’s threshold, and Erwin already dropped his briefcase as he opened his arms as wide as he could to catch the wild storm of colors that you were.

You hit him with all your force, and from that force of reality that sucked all breath from him, he finally thought he knows what home really is. (He remembers, they were sprawled out on your couch, facing each other, smiling like idiots, mouths stretched so wide our cheeks ached with the strain. )

I often fantasize about how life would be like with you.

“My god! Jesus, I haven’t seen you, in what? Six, seven years? Look how much you grown!” You pull away just slightly, still entrapped in his arms, as you take a good close look at him for the first time.

And Erwin stares. Stares because in these streets that blur in the background, he can smell the orange soda that you drank under one gulp for a bet and the crackers that you hid away for the zombie apocalypse prep. And then he realises that he is staring.

“I— yes. We, I mean, I did grow. With, uh, food.”

You laugh, and your laughter feels like a dying sunrays directed at him. Like blooming flowers, and with his limited vocabulary he fumbled out the crooked, vague, feeling that waved through his teeth. When was the last time he was swooned by your laughter?

You move to speak, and he unconsciously lean forward as if seeking a place to rest, as a shriek of your name breaks through this haze of whatever overcame you two. You blink, your face realizing your situation, and your expression drops, like his stomach, unto one of uncomfort and annoyance.

You lean forward and in an entirely exaggerated expression, you crestfallen sigh, “Hear that, Erwin? It’s the devil calling my name.” A sharp tug, what else could if be? A sharp poke at his tender heart, do you hear that? A taunting voice, he’s preparing to leave again.

You lean back, tilting your face in the same way when he met you and smile such a sad smile. “It was nice seeing you again, Erwin. Don’t be a stranger yeah?”

His finger twitches, his lips parting in anticipation, but he closes in remorse.

“Yeah, let’s.”

But as you start to pull away, you move with just speed and color as you pull put a sharpie from your pocket. And he’s taken back to your phase of always carrying candy in your pockets, no matter the event or temperature.

“Here,” you hold your hand out, and Erwin isn’t even aware as he instantly drops his whole hand in yours.

The blank ink stings his eyes, as numbers shaped his hand. A smily face, wobbly and silly, is at the end.

Your face almost splits in half as you smile up at him, “Don’t forget to call me tonight, yeah?”

He nods silently, not trusting his words clearly, as you waved through the crowd back to the woman who started to hit you in the head. He takes a step forward, and you throw your head up and start to taunt her as you start to run away.

Reminds you of the time you used to throw orange peels at his peers. You turn around for a second and smile one last time and wave a goodbye, and just like his hindsight, you were a hurricane of color that picks him up and disappears immediately.

Even though his colleagues watched their interaction between a well-known blank mask to a complete stranger, he throws his head back and lets out a deep laugh from the credence of his chest. He could act all stoic but his heart doesn’t feel stoic enough to make him serene.

He pockets his hand and ignores the shouts of Hange, and the silent eyes of Levi that probe him for his unanswers questions.

His steps feel lighter.

——

I don’t know if i should, like a part 2, or a pov of the reader. I dunno. I’ll go and sleep.