What i love about this artistâs depictions of women is even the sexualized ones the woman is always genuinely happy and enjoying herself. Frolicking or making funny faces, sheâs living her life and looking sexy while doing it, not sitting in a sexual pose for the audienceâs view.
My favorite thing is how Hilda is always doing something and having a BLAST! Sheâs not posing coyly for anyone, sheâs having her own adventures and itâs not about the viewer at all
These are the most beautiful pinups I have ever seen! Hilda is BEAUTIFUL! The artist for her clearly adored women, and supporyed women being healthy, happy, and goofy!! đđ„°
as a writer you will have a specific deck of vocab words you like using a lot and when you read other peoples' work you will see a very clear spread of different vocab words on their end. this is why you need to read, to collect other writers' words like it's a card game
I reblogged her late last year and my 2024 has been very satisfying work-wise and (secure enough to not stress out) money-wise so far. Money Snake is wise and good.
they say you can't pour from an empty cup but i've been doing it my whole life and aside from all of these mysterious ailments it's working out great for me
Hello!! I hope you are having a wonderful day/night! I was just wondering if you have any good Levi fanfic recommendations? Preferably x reader and canon-compliant? Ik this is so random lol I just feel like you would have good recommendations!! And in general even if they arenât x reader or canon-compliant. Your writing is so good and I just know you would have good tasteđ„°
Hi, of course, happy to share recs :D Excuse the length of this, but I somehow ended up giving you my 5+ years worth of i-am-once-again-hopelessly-addicted-to-Levi AO3 bookmarks, heh. I tried to categorize them best I can.
These beautiful stories are mostly x Reader, a few x OC. Please heed the tags & if you can, let the authors know that you appreciate their writing (:
LEVI x READER RECS
CANON* LONG-FICS
(*some are pre-canon or post-canon)
Dust, Diamond by maotkitty
Death's Door by SongsOfApollo
Veins of the Citadel by cinnamads
Felines and Canidae by veratrance / @veratrance
Through Peril and Refuge by post_academic
To You, 2,000 Feet Above by PrettyxVenom99 / @prettyxvenom99
His Wounded Heart Beats For One by UrbanDeity / @urbandeity
North Star by sixpennydame / @sixpennydame
Silver Soul by oi_levi / @bibblelevi
First Time Anthology by Levmada / @rivangel
Freedom & Death by killerpillar / @killerpillar
silver underground by tothestrongones / @amywritesthings
One Brushstroke At A Time by missEmpress
AU LONG-FICS
Paychecks with a Side of Intimacy (sugar daddy AU) by Milmie / @leyyvi
A Soul Beyond Salvation (western AU) by ananimegirlhasnoname / @ananimegirlhasnoname
Lessons in Patience (college AU) by almondblossoms1000 / @capricornlevi
As the Sparks Die (zombie AU) by wellitcouldbeworse3
Project Arcane (urban fantasy AU) by missEmpress
The Romance of Reimbursements (modern AU) by taomyou / @taomyou
To Sing a Song of Steel (fantasy AU) by CaptainDegenerate
House of Cards (royalty AU) by darlingheichou / @h0neylevi
Percolate (coffee shop AU) by heichoe / @heich0e
Kintsugi (figure skating AU) by @humanitys-strongest-brat
BOUND BY DUTY (royalty AU) by mrsackxrman / @atruewarrior
dark side of the moon (sci-fi/yakuza AU) by sixpennydame / @sixpennydame
To You, 1000 Years From Now (isekai) by darlingheichou / @h0neylevi
Unspoken Words (modern AU) by chaos_on_main / @chaotic-on-main
ONE-SHOTS/TWO-SHOTS
(AU and canon)
Melt by chimeragarden / @chimera-garden
Mise En Place by gothgril69 / @gothgril69
[watch me fall apart, watch me fall apart] by djmarinizela
the mortal price of crossing twice by heichoe / @heich0e
we're all alone, ride it by alleviate / @alleviate-ao3
Kiss It Better by oi_levi / @bibblelevi
It's a Wrap! by jayteacups / @jayteacups
Thundershower by Levmada / @rivangel
SHADES OF GRAY by mrsackxrman / @atruewarrior
One Step from Hades by silesy
waking reverie by captain-hawks
All Too Familiar by jayteacups / @jayteacups
Your Safe Space by humanitysstrongestbamf / @humanitys-strongest-bamf
Desperation by veratrance / @veratrance
Under the Mistletoe by youre_ackermine / @youre-ackermine
Welcome Home by FlameTrashira / @flametrashira
Tea and Therapy by misspearlmd
For the Living by BreakingGround / @thechaoticarchivist
Last category is a Levi x Erwin x F!Reader story that I always recommend bc it altered my brain chemistry.
this is a story of the sea by shinzouing / @shinzouing
I didn't go into specifics or share fics from Tumblr bc this post would never end but, if you want, check out my rec tag and go give the fics on here all the love they deserve <3
( also, adding to that: the stories mentioned in this post are simply what I've personally read, it is by no means meant to exclude other fics/writers. Truth is, I have not read everything out there as I am just one person, so if anyone has any recs to add, feel free to add and continue to show support for different creators! )
Summary:Â A clicker bite shouldâve ended your life. Instead, Joel made a brutal choice to save you. Now, one hand gone and your place in Jackson hanging by a thread, you're left to battle grief, survivorâs guilt, and the townâs growing fear.
Pairing: jackson!joel miller x fem!reader
Content warnings: angst, trauma, pain, mentions of blood, killing, guns, knives, not graphic gore but could be triggering, no y/n used, she/her pronouns, established relationship, jackson setting, eventual smut, cliffhanger ending
A/N: divider by @saradika-graphics. Okay, is this possible? I don't know? I was talking to my sister about TLOU, and this idea came to mind. Would cutting the infection off from the host keep the person from turning? So I googled it, and apparently in the game itâs lowkey implied that some guy tried it, but he died from losing too much blood. It ate away at my brain (see what I did there?). So, whatever. AU, I guess.
The wind slid through the cracked windows of the old pharmacy, carrying the scent of stale wood and something faintly metallic. Snow crunched beneath Joelâs boots as he moved ahead of you, his rifle slung loose in his hands, his eyes sharp and restless despite the familiar ground.
âDonât wander off too far, sweetheart,â he murmured, voice low enough it barely stirred the dust in the air.
You gave a quick nod, glancing around the ruined shelves and overturned chairs. Hoback was usually quiet. Safe, even. Youâd patrolled this stretch of backroads and boarded-up shops so many times you could trace the steps blindfolded. But something about the heavy stillness of the building made the fine hairs on your neck stir.
âIâm gonna check out theââ
âAinât nothinâ new there,â Joel cut in, a flicker of a shake to his head. His gaze didnât leave the shadowed hallway leading toward the back rooms.
You huffed a small sigh, fingers brushing over the cool metal of your revolver as you holstered it against your thigh. âI just like the comfort of it.â
His mouth twitched, not quite a smile, not quite a frown, before he grumbled something under his breath you didnât catch. You stepped in close, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek, the scrape of his stubble rough against your lips. His jaw clenched, but his hand brushed against your back as you pulled away; the touch was brief and wordless.
The air felt heavier when you stepped out of the pharmacyâs shell. Snowflakes clung to your lashes, the wind sighing through the empty streets like a warning you couldnât quite name.
Your boots crunched softly against the frost-laced pavement as you made your way down the narrow street, the hush of falling snow muffling the world around you. Hoback always felt more like a ghost town than the others. The buildings sagging under years of weight, windows either shattered or caked with grime, old signs hanging by rusted chains. Still, the bookshopâs faded green awning was somehow intact, a stubborn little fragment of a world long gone.
You knew there wasnât anything left to find in there. Youâd swept the place half a dozen times on past patrols â shelves picked clean, pages scattered like dead leaves across the floor. But your feet carried you there anyway, drawn by its small, stupid comfort.
The bell above the door had broken off long ago, but you could almost hear the phantom jingle it mightâve made. You let your fingers brush the weathered frame as you stepped inside.
It smelled like old paper and cold, dusty air. The kind of scent that clung to your memories more than your clothes. Light filtered through a cracked window, falling in crooked lines over empty shelves and the battered remains of what used to be stories, recipes, and memories. It was all useless, but standing there made something tight in your chest loosen, if only for a moment.
You crouched to pick up a discarded paperback, its cover bleached and curling at the edgesâsome forgotten romance novel. You didnât read the title. You just held it in your hands, letting your thumb trace over the faded lettering like a prayer to a world that didnât remember you.
You drifted through the bookshop, letting your fingers graze over the warped spines of sun-bleached paperbacks and water-damaged hardcovers. The air inside was thick with dust and the faint, sweet rot of old paper, a scent that made your chest ache for normalcy.
It wasnât much. Four narrow aisles and a cramped little counter in the back, but you could picture it. Could almost hear the faint ring of a bell over the door, a kidâs laughter echoing between shelves, the low hum of a radio playing some old country song Joel would pretend not to like.
You smiled to yourself at the thought, imagining him leaning against the doorway, arms crossed, that familiar look on his face, where he was trying to seem annoyed but couldnât quite hide the softness underneath. Heâd grumble about wasting time, about you chasing ghosts in abandoned buildings, but heâd let you have this. Just like he always did.
Your gaze landed on a display stand still clinging to a sun-faded sign: Staff Picks. A cracked copy of Little Women sat on top, its cover barely holding to the spine. You reached out and turned it over, the pages feathering beneath your touch. It felt like having a memory.
For a moment, the silence didnât feel heavy. It felt gentle. Safe.
You wondered what Joel was doing now â probably pacing outside the pharmacy, muttering to himself, pretending not to worry. He always did that when you wandered off on patrol, even though you both knew you could handle yourself. It was his way of caring without saying the words out loud.
You tucked the battered book into your jacket pocket, knowing it was stupid, knowing heâd give you that look when he saw it. The one equal parts exasperation and affection. The one you lived for.
The snow tapped against the windows like a hundred tiny fingers, and for a second, it was easy to pretend. Easy to forget what's waiting out there.
Then a flicker of movement caught your attention.
Your breath caught. Something shifted in the glass, a shape darting past the corner of the window too fast to track. Your hand went instinctively to your revolver as you stepped toward the door, pulse already pounding against your ribs.
You eased it open, the cold biting at your face, and stepped back out into the street.
The world felt wrong. Too quiet. The kind of silence that pressed in against your ears made your skin itch.
Then the first one came.
A runner burst from between two abandoned cars, half its face torn away, skin slick and raw from the cold. It moved too fast for something so broken, arms flailing as it charged. You didnât think â you raised the revolver, squeezed the trigger, and the shot cracked through the air like a whip. The bullet punched clean through its skull, and it dropped mid-stride, folding to the ground in a twitch of limbs.
You barely had time to breathe before the second one was on you.
A clicker.
Its ragged snarl rattled in its throat as it lunged from the side of the building, catching you off guard. Its weight slammed into you, knocking the revolver from your hand as you hit the frozen ground hard enough to jar your bones.
You gasped, the wind driven from your lungs. The creatureâs fungal-plated head snapped and twisted, that sickening clicking filling your ears as its gnarled fingers scrabbled at your jacket.
Panic clawed up your throat.
You kicked out, trying to shove it off, your fingers scrambling for the revolver lying just out of reach in the snow. The clickerâs breath was hot and sour against your skin, its teeth inches from your face.
âJoelâ!â you managed to choke out.
Your fingers scrabbled for the knife at your hip, the cold numbing your skin, but the clicker was on you â heavy, rank, its fungal-plated skull snapping and clicking inches from your face. Its weight pinned you to the frozen ground, jagged teeth gnashing, the wet rasp of its breath hot against your cheek.
You shoved your forearm hard against its throat, the rough, fungal growth scraping your skin as you fought to hold it back. Your other hand fumbled at your belt, fingertips brushing the hilt of your knife â so close â but the creature thrashed violently, knocking your wrist aside.
A guttural snarl ripped from your throat as you pushed back, your muscles burning, boots digging into the snow for leverage. The clickerâs head jerked, teeth clamping down on your wrist. The pain was immediate, sharp, and searing, a flash of white-hot agony that tore a ragged scream from your chest.
Blood spilled hot against the snow.
âFuck!â you hissed, the world narrowing to the monstrous face above you, the gnawing pain, the cold.
Then a gunshot cracked through the air.
The clickerâs head snapped back in a spray of dark, wet matter before collapsing on top of you. Its weight went limp, pinning you beneath its corpse.
Boots pounded against the snow. Joel was suddenly there, yanking the dead weight off you with a rough grunt. His hands were on your face, your shoulder, searching for injuries even before you could catch your breath.
âDarlinâ,â his voice broke low and panicked, âJesusâfuck, you okay?â
You didnât answer. Your gaze had already dropped to the crimson bloom seeping hot and fast from your wrist, the blood shockingly bright against the snow.
Your stomach turned. The world tilted.
âNoâŠâ You whispered, the word scraping from your throat, brittle and raw. âNo, no, noooâŠâ
Joelâs eyes were on your face, searching, desperate, and then they followed yours. Down to your wrist. To the jagged, weeping bite mark carved into your flesh.
Time fractured.
You saw it in his face. How his jaw clenched so hard the muscle jumped, the sudden, eerie stillness in his eyes like a man standing at the edge of a cliff with no way down. The air between you seemed to thicken, sound dropping away except for the dull roar of your heartbeat.
Joelâs hand dropped from your shoulder. His gaze darted once to the revolver half-buried in the snow, then back to your wrist. You could see the gears turning, survival instinct kicking in like a switch flipped.
âNo⊠wait, Joel â donât,â you choked out, shaking your head so fast it blurred your vision. Your pulse thundered in your ears. âDonât. Donât do it.â
But he wasnât hearing you. Not really. His expression had gone dark, distant in a way youâd only seen once before, years ago when a raider had pinned Ellie in a fight. This was Joel when everything else dropped away, when nothing was left but blood, instinct, and the crushing weight of what he was about to do.
You reached for him, fingers clutching at his jacket sleeve. âJoel⊠pleaseâŠâ
He blinked then, as if your voice broke through a thick fog, and his face crumpledânot with weakness, but with something far worse. Grief. Fury. Resolve.
âI ainât losinâ you,â Joel muttered, his voice rough and low, already yanking his belt free from the loops of his jeans. The leather snapped as it came loose, his fingers clumsy in a way youâd never seen.
Your eyes widened, heart slamming against your ribs. You looked down. The bite was ugly and raw, blood mixing with the snow like spilled ink.
âJoelââ your voice cracked, a wet hitch in your throat you couldnât swallow.
âDonât look at it.â His growl was sharp, almost harsh, but when your eyes shot to his face, it wasnât anger you saw. It was terror. Pure, unfiltered terror.
âFocus on me,â he barked, dropping to his knees beside you. The snow soaked through his jeans. He gripped your face, his calloused palm rough and warm against your chilled skin. His thumb pressed under your eye, forcing you to meet his gaze. âRight here, darlinâ. Eyes on me.â
Your breath came in ragged bursts. The world had shrunk to the pounding of your pulse, the burning pain in your wrist, and the wild, frantic look in Joelâs eyes.
âWhat are youâ?â you stammered, the words half-formed, your mind scrambling to keep up.
âI have toââ His throat worked around the words. âI canât lose you, sweetheart. Not like this.â
God, his hands. His hands were shaking. Joel Miller, the man who could drop an infected with a single shot, whoâd rebuilt fences and broken skulls without so much as a tremor, was shaking. A fine, bone-deep tremble in his fingers as he looped the belt tight around your arm, just above the bite.
Youâd seen him scared before. Youâd seen him furious, reckless, blood-soaked, and teeth bared in a fight. But this wasnât either.
This was Joel drowning.
And somehow, that terrified you more than the bite ever could.
His hand left your face and went to his backpack, yanking the zipper so hard it nearly tore. He rummaged through it like a man searching for his last breath, pulling free the hatchet he always carried on long patrols. The steel caught the light, blade stained and nicked, and your stomach lurched.
âNoâno, Joel, wait,â you stammered, trying to sit up, your heart pounding so hard it felt like it might split your ribs.
âLie down.â His voice cracked like a whip, sharp and trembling all at once. He didnât shout, but the force of it rooted you in place.
âPlease, Joel, Iââ
âLie. Down.â He dropped to his knees beside you, one hand at your shoulder, the other bracing the wrist above the bite, just above where the makeshift tourniquet tightened. His fingers were steady now. Deathly steady.
Your chest heaved as you stared at him, your throat closing up around words you couldnât get out. He looked wrecked. Eyes wild and wet, jaw clenched so tight you could see the muscle jump.
âI need you to look at me, sweetheart.â His voice dropped low, rough and wrecked as he pressed your good hand to his chest, over his heart. âRight here. Donât you dare look away.â
Your vision blurred, panic clawing up your throat, but you clung to the feel of his heartbeat under your palm â frantic, uneven, alive.
âListen to me,â Joel said, the words breaking apart like splintered wood. âI canât lose you. Not to this. Not like this.â
Tears slipped hot down your temples into the cold, and you shook your head frantically. âJoel, pleaseââ
His thumb brushed your cheek once, a final mercy. âIâm sorry, sweetheart.â
Then he raised the hatchet.
Bile burned the back of your throat, panic rising in a thick, suffocating wave, but you forced yourself to look at him. To find Joel through the blur of tears and blood and terror. This was your final moment, and if you were going, youâd carry the memory of him with you.
The furrow in his brow. The blood smeared along his jaw. The desperation shone in his eyes. You memorized every line of his face like a prayer you no longer believed in.
Heâs going to kill me.
It had to be done.
You could already feel the wrongness blooming in your blood, the infection creeping toward your heart. You were going to turn. Joel knew it. You knew it.
He sucked in a ragged breath, his knuckles white around the hatchet handle, shoulders squared like a man about to cut off his own soul.
âI love you,â you whispered, voice cracked and broken.
His face twisted, a flash of unbearable grief.
âI know, baby. I know.â
Then he swung.
The hatchet came down in a quick, brutal arc, and the pain detonated through your body like fire. It wasnât sharp â it was blinding, hot, and suffocating, stealing the air from your lungs before your scream tore free. A sound so raw and ragged it didnât feel human.
Blood spattered across the snow, hot against the freezing air. Your body arched, a primal, instinctive jolt you couldnât control, the agony so complete it felt like your bones would shatter from the inside.
Your vision blurred, black spots swimming in and out, the world tilting, distant and wrong.
You could still hear him, though. Joelâs voice, rough and breaking, calling your name, ordering you to stay with him, his hands frantic on your shoulders, pressing against the bleeding stump.
But you were already slipping, the edges of him going soft, the white sky closing in.
Even in that darkness, you clung to his face. The last thing youâd ever see.
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