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regrettablewritings · 4 years

Note

Hey can I please get a, j and K from the fluff alphabet with the phantom aka Erik aka og aka my recent character crush? Thank you so much!

Okay, but this is the last fluff alphabet. Stuff is under the cut

A = Attractive (What do they find attractive about the other?):

Honestly, Erik is drawn to anyone who won’t treat him horribly. It’s sad, but absolutely true. Given his presumed lot in life, Erik hasn’t really been allowed too many opportunities to be especially picky. But going by his motivations, there are generally two stand-out things he seeks in a person: That they be adequate in looks, and that they don’t treat him like shit.

Before you criticize him on the temerity of the former, let it be known that it ties in to why he does so many of the things he does; why he demands a salary, for example: At the root of it all, what Erik wants is to have a normal life. Sure, he also wants said life to include his works being embraced the world over, but it’s more so on the grounds that he wants to do so as an absurdly talented but otherwise normal man. Particularly in the face.

He only accrues his wealth so that one day, by some grace of miracles, he will be able to join that world above him. And when that day comes, he will be prepared; he can afford a house and fill it with lovely things, including a lovely wife. One whom he can spoil and treasure and whose arm will link with his own as they walk through the park on Sunday evenings and who will love him as dearly as he shows his love for her . . . Really, for all that Erik does, it’s as much for his hypothetical wife as it is for him.

But given how hard he’s fumbled in the past, he really can’t afford to be especially picky. In addition to this, how beautiful he finds someone is also heavily influenced by how they treat him: To Erik, to be shown kindness is to see the kindness of God. However, please note that at this point, he’s almost certainly accepting of even forms of pity; just please do not reject him or treat him as a monster.

Of course, your kindness is what set him off but to Erik’s credit, he had learned to be better since the last time: He learns about the importance of having an ever-patient partner, especially for the likes of him; he learns that for as frustrating as it can be, there’s something good in having a significant other who’s not afraid to put their foot down or call him out on his unintentional moments of arrogance; he learns how to value himself more, to not accept pity as an accepted form of tolerance if it could be helped. But most of all, he realized just how much nicer it was to have someone whom he could actually discuss with, someone who was capable of forcing him to better himself by valuing what they had to say or what they thought.

Given how long he’d only had to think for himself, it’s a bit of a force of habit on the Opera Ghost’s part. But, given the proper guidance and adjustment period, it’s not one he altogether minds letting go of. Over all, what he’s attracted to in you is that you have a hold over him. And given the sort of life he’s led up to this point, it feels nice to be held.

Thankfully, you were much simpler: You liked the enigma that was the Phantom of the Opera. It took you ages to so much as pry out his name despite the fact that he’d been so willing to share with you his music much sooner. Frustrating, yes, but you couldn’t help but find yourself intrigued by it all, intrigued by his world away from worlds you knew. You loved how complex he was, being so dominant yet vulnerable, so competent yet in need of guidance. You loved how in spite of everything, he was incredibly learned for a man of the era, how his library consisted of no shortage of foreign literature and music books filled to the brim with his notes.

You loved how everywhere you looked, even after learning his habits, his interests, his joys and sorrows, there was always something more to learn about your lover. In short, you loved everything that made Erik, (literal) warts and all.

J = Jealousy (Do they get jealous?):

. . . You know damn well that Erik gets jealous. This man’s possessiveness, in fact, is ripe enough to drive the plot of a story – and has! However, it might be proposed that we generally are not completely aware as to why Erik displays territorialism as intensely as he does. And in my honest opinion, it comes down to two main reasons which continuously entwine with one another: That Erik is on the autism spectrum, and that even without that, Erik’s life has made him consequently overprotective.

On the subject of the former, without making a lesson out of this, it’s not uncommon at all to select a person you’ve essentially “invited” into your life and attach yourself to them. A sudden change of that, depending on the person, could prove distressing – like, say, a potential threat suitor taking your attention off of him, getting a bit too close to you for the Phantom’s comfort, and so on. As Erik sees it, you’re his person, and frankly he isn’t fond of sharing. You’re a part of his life now, one he especially doesn’t want to have changed.

Going off this, it also helps to remember that Erik’s life has been incredibly unstable for the most part. Him living on an underground lake located in a labyrinth beneath a Parisian opera house has actually been the most structured his life has ever been! The only thing that has accompanied him all this time has been that monkey-shaped music box, so it’s fair to assume that he’s since developed a bit of . . . avidity. What few things life has given him, he intends to keep by as many means as necessary. Sometimes (at least in his mind), those means can just mean pulling pranks about the opera house so that a single, untalented performer doesn’t ruin the establishment’s reputation. Other times, it means flinging balls of fire at those whom he deems are threats.

He knows that, in the end, you’re far from pleased but he just can’t help himself: You’re one of the only good things that have graced his life, let alone one of the only ones that appears willing to stay -- he’s grown accustomed to having you around and if you were to suddenly, well, not be because some handsome, rich, talentless, impudent child had gained your attention, then he would be devastated! So much so that he might act on his aggressions . . .

(Though, let it be clarified that it is not your job to better Erik. Voice your disagreement about his desires, as these are not meant to justify his antics; only explain them. He’s thankfully since learned to be somewhat more agreeable than before, so it isn’t impossible to make him yield.)

K = Kiss (How do they kiss? Who initiated the first kiss?):

If you were expecting the world’s most secluded man to be a naturally-gifted kisser, than you are sadly and extraordinarily mistaken. Erik’s kisses are wobbly and uncertain, as though he were unsure of where to put his lips (which he is). It was like that the first time you’d kissed, and it’s safe to assume they’ll continue to be of similar nature for a while with some dosage of insecurity in them or another.

However, you couldn’t have wanted for anything more. You see, the first time the two of you shared a kiss, it had been a bit of an effort of both parts. It’s honestly hard to determine whom the proper initiator had been: One might say it was Erik, as he had been the one to hover so closely to you; all you had been doing at the moment was leafing through one of his books on poetry whilst taking up residency on his lounge. However, another might argue that you were silently yet intentionally ensorcelling him when you glanced behind to find him staring at you: You did, after all, grace him with a shy yet warm smile. But then again, Erik’s eyes bore into you with the same hunger and pleading as a pup demanding attention (and perhaps a snack) from its master -- there was simply no way to misinterpret his longing!

But then you invited him over, voicing how “standing over there looks far lonelier than sitting right here” might’ve been. But then, perhaps, Erik was too eager in his footsteps, too brisk in spite of his thundering heart? Or were you well aware when you insisted he scoot closer to you so that he could read along with you? Whatever the case, his figure remained stiff as it sat next to you, leaving a painfully thin but painfully there wall of silence between the two of you. You could just barely feel the faintest brush of the very fiber of his clothes against you. But what you swore you felt much more vibrantly was . . . this sense of need.

“Erik,” you spoke, shattering the quiet, “I’m afraid I’m having trouble deciphering this . . . Would you mind . . .?” Your voice trailed as you lifted the book only enough for him to see. However, it would only be enough for him to see if he made an effort to move even closer to you. He parted his lips; you could hear the beginnings of an effort to deny you, only for him to rescind. It was not in his nature, as Erik was coming to find, to deny you the sound of his voice or his attention.

The threat of a shudder racked your body as the fine threads of his jacket scratched against your arm, the slightest hint of Erik’s nerves trickling through them. He was just close enough for you to register his warmth, what little he tended to give off anyway. It was perfect.

Craning his neck as far as he would allow himself to, Erik obliged you:

“Till, ho,” his voice recited, low but clear. Warm yet distant.

“Astarte bright Rose o’er the shadowy vale And filled the whole deep night With crystalline low light, White, tremulous, and pale.”

Tremulous, you noted. Much like himself. Much like the endless night he so dominated . . .

“Then on the star-lit bank,” he continued, “Dreaming of what love’s bliss is, we --” He paused. He furrowed his brow before releasing it once more. You dared to believe that the Opera Ghost was blushing!

Tremulous indeed, he tried to start once more, “W. . . we . . .”

“’Trembled,’” you assisted, a hint of a smile playing on your lips.

“Mm,” he hummed, far too flustered to consider making it tuned. “W-we . . . trembled . . . and we sank . . .” He sighed heavily, the end in sight.

“And thro’ her lips I drank Her soul in rapturous kisses . . .”

Once more, the Phantom exhaled heavily, albeit more so from embarrassment than before. He didn’t recall adding that piece to his library, not that it wasn’t something he wouldn’t normally own. Still, the thought that he had exposed himself in such a manner, much less to you . . . It was inappropriate to say the least! Against his already buzzing nerves, he spared you a glance to determine the amount of damage he might have caused your relationship.

To his surprise, you didn’t appear to be very flustered, if at all! In fact, you appeared to be intrigued. Very intrigued, if one were to gain evidence in how you appeared to be leaning in ever so slightly. If Erik had ever questioned what the flames of Hell might have felt like, he would have dared theorize they felt as his burning face did in that moment.

“‘In a rapturous kiss’,” you repeated. He wasn’t certain how to reply; he only offered a curt nod. You blinked, almost sheepishly.

“Erik . . .” you breathed, “would you . . .?”

“. . . Y. . .” The word never came out. Not because it had been sudden, but because the man was simply unable to even process even a one-worded sentence. It was all, in fact, very slow in movement: From how he inched in closer; to how you leaned in further; to the way your eyes fluttered shut; to how Erik, almost childishly, struggled to determine the proper angle at which to make the connection.

It felt like an eternity and yet fleeting all at once. And yet, the kiss did happen. Messily, awkwardly, and not nearly anything like the poets in Erik’s book might have written.

But, oh, was it nonetheless tremulous and tender, yet burning.

Rapturous.

Thank you for being patient!

#erik the phantom x reader #the phantom of the opera x reader #POTO #phantom of the opera x reader #the phantom of the opera imagine #the phantom of the opera imagines #regrettablewritings #fluff alphabet #fluff headcanons #poem is from 'flowers of passion' by george moore btw #specifically this one is titled 'song'!#what a coinkydink right?

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snowbellewells · 4 years

Text

Captain Swan Movie Marathon: “Carolina Moon”

Here is my second submission to the @captainswanmoviemarathon event!! This one is a modern au of the Nora Roberts tv movie (adapted from one of her novels) Carolina Moon. The main female character in the movie is psychic/clairvoyant (I’ll admit, I’m not too sure on the distinction between the two) and I thought her visions and what she goes through in connection to them made a nice real world parallel to Emma’s magic. (There’s also a scene in here where the male lead says something that I could so perfectly see Killian saying to Emma… I just cannot wait to get to that point!)

Anyway, I hope you will enjoy this romantic thriller with some murder mystery elements. There are some instances of abuse and violence in here though - which I feel like I should mention, since that’s a little darker than my typical style. Most of them are in flashbacks of Emma’s past, or in visions she has of victims, more than in the actual present day plot, still I wanted to make people aware before we got too far.

Please enjoy! (I’d love to hear what you think.)

Chapter One

July 1993

The water at their hideaway always feels so good. She could sink into it until her head slips below the surface and never, ever want to come up for air. It’s cooler, more luxurious than even the rich, satiny sheets on the trundle bed those rare nights she gets to sleep over at Rose’s. Emma Swan’s gangly, 13-year-old limbs slice through the murky water as if the constant humidity and sultry air of Storybrooke, South Carolina can’t penetrate here in their little haven. She knows, of course, logically, that the real world isn’t all that far away. The shaded pond she and Rose discovered two summers ago is just a short trek into the woods at the furthest edge of Rose’s family’s boundless acres. Still, it feels removed enough to bring Emma a sense of peace and contentment she gains nowhere else.

Looking over her shoulder to the large, smooth boulder jutting up out of the pond at the bank where they left their flip flops and cutoff denim shorts, she can see her best friend stretched out with her new book where they had spread their towels on the rock’s surface, just in the wash of warming sunlight that streams through the tree branches overhead. Her friend’s flawlessly creamy pale skin is prone to burning, but at the moment Rose seems willing to take the risk for the benefit of lazing cozily to read as she dries in the sun after taking a quick dip. Shaking her head, Emma plunges back under, happy to stay in the chilly water a bit longer herself. She knew as soon as they’d met outside Rose’s house that afternoon and Rose had held the newest entry in her favorite mystery series in her hand that she wouldn’t be able to resist burrowing into those pages for long.

It’s funny, Emma supposes, but that’s exactly what bonded she and Rose in the first place. They might seem different on the surface, but in the end, neither of them quite fit with everyone else, and so they gravitate to each other, and have ever since Emma first arrived in Storybrooke as an eight-year-old orphan. They’re willing to give each other at least one other person who takes them as they are and with whom they won’t have to pretend. Emma doesn’t care if Rose wants to read quietly and tell her about the stories she’s already finished instead of picking out dresses for the next cotillion class or preening in front of the mirror to practice batting her eyelashes to charm boys or bragging to Emma about which ones she intends to kiss. Her sister Ruby, who shares the same thickly shining, burnished mahogany hair and pretty pink lips but little of her fraternal twin’s calming, gentle personality, does enough of that for the both of them. Their mother, a former debutante and southern belle, delights in the one daughter’s traditional coquettishness, and despairs of the other’s shyness, a true throwback to another time who wants nothing more than to see both daughters marry well and retain their places atop the social ladder. In turn, Rose doesn’t mock Emma for her thick, dark-framed glasses or secondhand clothes, nor does she cringe away from the “fits” that sometimes take hold of her friend, making strange, disturbing scenes Emma can’t understand flash across her mind with such intensity they sometimes knock her off her feet. Emma knows Rose’s mother and sister find her an unsuitable and embarrassing companion for Rose, but she is eternally grateful her friend seems able to see the best in anyone - even a lost girl nobody else wants - and so blithely acts as though she has no idea of the rest of her family’s opinions.

Cringing even while still submerged in the pond’s depths and practically invisible, Emma tries not to think of her unwanted visions. Her strict, hypocritical, and more than a bit deranged foster father claims she’s possessed - and more than once has taken her episodes out on her hide. The man swears he’s beating the devil out of her and putting the fear of God in Satan’s place when he takes the thick leather strap to her shoulders, back and legs until she bleeds, but Emma has already lived long enough in a cruel and unfair world to know that his violence and “discipline” have less to do with parenting and concern for her soul, and more to show for his own twisted mind and overindulgence in the bottle. She wants to hide her spells from him, but when they come on her so abruptly and with such power, they are impossible to miss. She can’t fathom how a person like him was deemed fit to take in and care for a child, but it seems to be her lot, and so she simply grits her teeth and survives.

It’s different when the spells happen around Rose; the slight brunette merely rests a cool, steadying hand on Emma’s forehead or her arm until it passes, helps Emma stand until she feels in control again, listens as she attempts to make sense of whatever she’s seen, and most importantly… believes her. If only she could stay in the huge house Rose’s family calls home. She’d cook, clean, do chores, and stay in the servant’s quarters, Emma isn’t picky. It would still be a far sight safer than the situation she had in the rundown shack with the monster who’d been deemed her caretaker. Barring that, she would honestly rather live wild in these woods and survive off the land. She knew which plants and berries were safe to eat, Graham, her friend and a fellow orphan now happily adopted, had taught her how to fish; it wouldn’t be easy, but she’d get by, and at least no one would lay a hand on her again.

This afternoon, those eerie images she sometimes had seem far away as she splashes up out of the water, trying to arc playfully like a mermaid as she breaks the surface. Drawing in a big gulp of air after staying underwater so long, Emma startles at the sound of teasing laughter, and whirls to see three figures on the bank where she and Rose left their shoes and shorts.

“Well, look here,” calls out a taunting voice that never fails to set Emma’s nerves on edge. “It’s the baby beached librarian and her drowned rat friend!” none other than Emma’s nemesis Killian Jones crows from his vantage point on dry land.

Rose sits up ramrod straight, book still in hand and annoyed scowl on her face at the quiet of their sanctuary being interrupted. She isn’t genuinely angry, though; for all that she and her sister shared little in common, she and her two years older brother are affectionately close. “Shut up, Killy!” she shoots back, throwing in the childhood nickname they all know he hates. “Who asked you to come looking anyway?”

The boy standing next to Killian speaks up next, making Emma scowl just as playfully as Rose had moments before. Graham Hunter might as well be her big brother; he’s the closest thing she’d had to family since her parents were lost in a car crash and she was thrown into the foster care system. Be that as it may, he and Killian Jones are thick as thieves, and he’ll give her a hard time for all he’s worth in while in the presence of his buddy. “We just wanted to swim,” he calls across the water to the two girls, smirking at Emma, now standing in the water with one hip jutting out and hands planted on her waist. “How were we supposed to know you two were infesting it?”

“Ha!” Emma jeers back, the affront plain in her voice; despite the fact that the entire routine is like a practiced girls-versus-boys exchange they’ve all engaged in countless times. There isn’t much else to do for entertainment in their sleepy little one-horse town. “You idiots know this is Rose and I’s hideaway, fair and square!”

“Well, Rose’s anyway,” a third voice cuts in snidely.

The cruel jab reminds Emma once more that she is just a charity case, quite possibly only included in anything at all because of her friend’s kind heart, and causes her gaze to cut sharply to the third member of the boys’ little crew, hanging back slightly in the shadows behind Killian and Graham as he always does. Her green eyes narrow to slits in genuine dislike and suspicion. Where before her animosity was largely for show, when they land on Walsh Ozman it is all too real.

She has never understood why the other two boys - jokers and annoyances though they may be, but good guys when it comes right down to it - hang out with Walsh at all. Where Graham and Killian are much more cut from the same cloth - athletic, outgoing, well-liked and pleasant - Walsh is a splindy, sniveling character, complaining and whining whatever their little trio gets up to. He lives not far from Emma’s foster father’s cabin with his single mother - a bushy-haired redhead who seems strangely overprotective and attached to her only child. Most people give the property a wide berth, except when high schoolers teepee it the whole month of October, and the general town consensus is that Zelena Ozman might be a witch and to steer clear. Still, beyond all of that, Emma might have been able to look past the boy’s circumstances and see him for himself - she of all people knew the gift it was not to be judged by where a person came from - if Walsh hadn’t simply given her “the willies”. Even standing too close to him made the fine hairs at the nape of her neck stand on end - and not in the way that nearness to Killian sometimes did; an altogether much more pleasant tingle, even if she was just as unable to explain one as the other.

“We could just take their things,” Walsh suggests, holding up the threadbare, faded jeans Emma had left on the bank. “Make them walk back in their skivvies.” The wicked smile on his face makes Emma’s stomach turn over sickly.

Something sharp flashes in Jones’ eyes, his nostrils flaring slightly and his head giving a subtle shake of dissent that Emma can see even at the distance she stands away from him. Protectiveness, chivalry, or maybe the honor of a southern gentleman passed down to him through generations of his impressive family line, whatever it is, it sparks to life in his eyes at that moment as he quashes Walsh’s mean-spirited suggestion in no uncertain terms. “That’s my little sister you’re talking about Oz,” he growls, smacking the worn material from the smaller’s boy’s hands, even if the article of clothing isn’t Rose’s at all.

Emma feels her breath rush back into her lungs, though she continues to watch the guys warily for whatever they might do or say next. Before long, they grow bored of standing around and move on, hollering out age old taunts of “Bye, losers” and “Hey, smell ya later” to Emma’s derisive snort and Rose completely ignoring them to flip open her book again.

However, even with the intruders gone, it seems as if the perfect comfort of their retreat has been shattered by the unsettling interruption. Soon, Emma wades to the shore and Rose clambers down from her perch, to dress once more and return to the world outside. For a moment, as she refastens her jeans around her skinny waist, Emma feels a strange prickling along the fine hairs on her arms… like they’re being watched. She jerks around, searching the surrounding trees and brush, but can’t see or hear a thing.

Rose’s small hand takes hers, snapping Emma out of the moment. “What is it?” she whispers, only true caring in her voice. “Did you sense something?”

Emma nods, but can’t give her suspicions voice. Usually her vision are clearer than that - this had just been heavy breathing and like looking at herself and Rose through another person’s eyes, outside her own body.

Rose stooped to grab the little canvas bag she’d bought along with water bottles, towels, and a second book in it. “Hey, don’t worry, okay?” she offers, hopeful and kind as always. “You’ll figure it out. Wanna meet back out here tonight? Secret Sister bonfire?” she winks mischeivously. “I have to get to dinner now. You know how Mama hates it if I’m not washed up and properly attired for the evening meal - or a second late. But we can talk some more then, maybe you’ll remember more and it will be clearer.”

Emma nods gamely. “The stars’ll be beautiful by midnight,” she suggests. “And we’ll definitely have the place all to ourselves.”

“Since we were so rudely interrupted,” Rose chimes in with a giggle and roll of her eyes.

“Shake on it, pinkie swear,” they say together in practiced unison, executing a complex handshake that ends with their pinkies hooked together and wide, matching grins on both their faces.

“Thanks Rose,” Emma whispers sincerely, trying to speak around the lump in her throat as if it’s no big deal. “I’ll be out here as soon as I can sneak away.”

Rose, for her part, wraps her taller, golden-haired friend into a tight, momentary hug. “Hey, we’re Secret Sisters! You can count on me. I’ll see you then!”

They part ways at the edge of the forest, Emma heading to the rundown cabin that serves as her nightmarish version of a home and Rose to the pristine, Jones mansion standing tall over all the surrounding land. Rose looks back over her shoulder with a smile and wave that bolsters Emma, and the memory fades back into the haze of the past…

Eighteen years later….

September 2011

The blaring of the horn as a sports car whizzed by, barely missing the nose of Emma’s beat-up yellow VW where it had begun to edge out into the country intersection jarred her back to the present with a gasp and painful jolt to her chest. Panting for a moment as she gripped the steering wheel, Emma tried to clear her head and calm the pounding of her heart at the near-miss.

‘Get it together,’ she berated herself. It might have seemed like only yesterday as she remembered that sunny afternoon at the swimming hole, but that day had been nearly two decades ago. She was a grown woman, had made a way for herself, fighting tooth and nail for every step forward, and she answered to no one. She had learned to stand up for herself, to control her visions and use them for good, and was a special consultant for the NYPD. But, more than all of that, she had come back to this place to find peace, to lay to rest the ghosts that followed her everywhere else she’d gone in the years between, once and for all. If she expected other to leave the past in the past, she’d first have to manage it herself.

She’d had no way to know as she and Rose parted that afternoon with promises and plans for later that it would be the last time she would ever see her friend. Emma had harbored the pain and the guilt and the unanswered questions ever since. Finally, it was time to meet the gazes of all of those who’d stared at her in suspicion before she’d been packed up and moved away once more, and it was time she found answers. She wasn’t the scared, whipped, mistreated adolescent she had been at 13. What she had lived through then wasn’t her fault, nor was what had happened to Rose that muggy July midnight.

And if she had to return to Storybrooke, South Carolina to lay that burden down… well, it was long past time she did.

Tagging: @captainswanmoviemarathon @teamhook @revanmeetra87 @lassluna @kmomof4 @searchingwardrobes @jennjenn615 @hollyethecurious @stahlop @winterbaby89 @lfh1226-linda @therooksshiningknight @thejollyroger-writer @artistic-writer @resident-of-storybrooke @darkcolinodonorgasm @tiganasummertree @xsajax @spartanguard @laschatzi

#captain swan movie marathon #cs ff #cs au #carolina moon #chapter one #cs mc

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crushzone · 4 years

Note

Hi can I request some reader x Lev if that’s ok and if your comfortable, where whenever they are making out the reader keeps on giggling because of how ticklish they are 🤗

My Muse - Haikyuu!!

Character: Reader x Lev Haiba

Summary: An aspiring photographer in search of their muse, runs into Lev on one of their early morning photography escapades.

Word Count: 8,091

Warning: Fluff, none really, Lev the tickle monster? A little suggestive at one point, but he’s just being a tease lol.

Additional Notes:

Dear anon, I hope you enjoy this! Since your request allowed me a lot of room for exploration, I kind of took it for a spin, but I still hope you find the little ticklish kiss part fun!

As a camera nerd, I hope I was not too technical with this. If I had been, please let me know and I will make revisions haha. I figured it might be fine because if you’re not familiar with cameras, you will be just as confused as Lev was in this!

But if you are a fellow camera nerd, come talk to me because I would love to talk about film photography lol.

ALSO, a bonus quick doodle of model Lev I did to supplement my story. ;)

Please do not repost my work (and artwork), thank you!! 💕

—————————

Crank. Snap. Crank. Click.

You sigh in frustration as you come to the end of your film roll, slowly moving across from the beautiful alley cat in front of you to sit down on the side walk, being careful not to scare it away from its glorious pose.

It turns to look at you calmly with its blue eyes, subtly channeling the sassiest impatient expression you have ever seen on a feline, its white fur only surrounds its face like a mask, while the rest of its body is black. If this was your cat, you’d totally name it Erik, or Phantom, like the characters from Phantom of the Opera.

You pull out an empty canister, a pen and a roll of paper tape from your book bag and sets it next to you as you calmly wind your film, bringing it close to your ears so you can hear it click when it’s done. Then you pull the back cover open with confidence, loading your winded film into the empty canister, taping the top off, and uncapping your pen to label the date.

Looking up to make sure the cat is still there, then to the sky to sigh in relief that dawn is still awaiting your perfect shot. You look back down to your 35mm camera on your lap, re-loading it with a fresh new roll of film.

You close the back with a snap, as you pick the camera up from your lap, running your fingers up and down the side as you try to familiarize yourself with every dips and textures of the device.

Photography may be a hobby for some, but to you, it’s your dream. There’s just so much beauty in the world, so many people to capture, and so many quiet moments like this to remember. You love waking up very early in the morning to have a head start on readying for school, so you can take your sweet time, photographing quiet moments that only happens during the magic hour of dawn, on your way to class.

You bring your camera to frame up the cat, perfectly composing the shots with no spare inch to even bother cropping, because it was just complete.

Crank. You wind the lever of your camera, tongue licking your lower lip in anticipation. The cat perks its ears and its eyes widen, looking so lively and in its element, as if though it was posing for your camera.

“There you are!” A loud laughter sounds and from your peripheral, a VERY tall figure jumps at the cat.

Snap

Incredulous, you slowly pull your camera away from your face, no longer sure what you ended up capturing, and you will never know until you’ve develop your film at a later time.

If only you had applied a little more pressure to the shutter, a few seconds earlier, you would have been more sure.

“Oww!!” You finally look up from your camera to see a tall male with silver hair, gripping his hand with a wince, the cat no longer there.

With widened eyes, you take a few steps back. Your parent’s warning about dawn being the prime time for crimes, echos in your mind. But then he turns around with a pout and you can’t help but relax. There’s no way this guy can commit crimes.

“Y/n-san, and don’t judge anyone off their appearance, you never know who the criminal may be.” You mentally recall your mother’s voice, as you stiffen back up.

His eyes trained to his hand, brows furrowed, as he’s watching some blood drip to his wrist, still unaware of your presence.

“Are…are you ok?” You ask quietly, still debating if he’s going to kidnap or befriend you.

Like an eagle, his emerald orbs lock on to yours and you take another step back. He’s so intense.

But then just as quickly as his eyes had shifted to yours, a wide enthusiastic grin takes over his features, and you could have sworn that if he was a puppy, and a tall one indeed, his tail would be wagging rapidly.

“I didn’t see you there, I’m Lev!” He offers his injured hand for you to shake, but you just grab the tip of his long pointer and shakes it daintily; not wanting any of his blood on you.

You let go of his finger then digs through your book bag to pull out a water-bottle and some bandaid. “Here, it’s not much but it should be enough to get you to the nurse without scaring anyone.”

He blinks, a little surprised someone he had just met is so thoughtful to him before reaching his hand back out with a smile. You put your camera strap over you and swings it to the side, before washing away his blood with your water, allowing it to drip down his wrist and on to the ground.

He winces at the sensation of your cool water burning his wound; a strange juxtaposition. However, what’s stranger is that he can’t seem to will his eyes away from your concentrated face.

“What’s your name?”

“Y/n.” You respond, one worded, still too focused on cleaning his wound to carry out a decent conversation. However, Lev did not pick up on the clue as he continues to converse.

“I don’t usually see a lot of people going to school this early. Is this your regular route?” He asks.

You bring your eyes to scan his uniform; White button up, red tie, black vest, and grey trousers that matches his hair color perfectly. A fellow Nekoma peer.

Meanwhile he brings his hand to the side to shake off the access water, swinging his palm up and down to air dry.

“Yea, I like to get up early so I can take some morning photos.”

You unwrap the bandaid packaging as you patiently wait for his hand to dry. Then when it is, you carefully position it so that the scratch only touches the non-adhesive cushion, throwing the crumpled wrapper back into your bag. It’s a tomorrow problem.

“I like getting up early too! There’s just something so magical about dawn, it paints the sky so pink, it almost looks like cotton candy.” He looks up to the sky, reaching his bandaged hand upwards in a grabby motion, as if he’s trying to pick a piece of cloud for himself.

You look up to him, his fair skin kissed by the warmth of the sky as his vibrant green eyes reflect the ball of sun that is shyly rising. your hand that’s been on the camera twitches as the urge to photograph the moment tempts you, but you decide against it, since you’ve only just met him.

Re-adjusting the strap of your book back out of habit, you begin to walk away from him.

“I should get going, nice to meet you.”

He blinks, confused as to why you’re leaving all of a sudden. “Hey, let’s head to school together!” He says, as he bounces up to you.

You turn to him with a sigh. If only he didn’t scare that cat away, you may have started off on a better foot.

“Sure.”

He beams at your response. The two of you continue your journey to school in an awkward silence; you’re generally not the most talkative person, and he’s suddenly feeling a little shy to say something because he senses the air being a little off.

“Your camera looks really cool. Where’d you get it?”

You pick your camera up in your hands and smiles fondly at it.

“My parents work at a vintage camera shop close to 8-Eleven. (nope, not a typo, it’s the store near Nekoma in their OVA) This Pentax K1000 is a new camera someone had just sold to us, it’s the one I’ve always wanted, so the moment it came in, my father gifted it to me.”

I actually own this camera, and it is my baby 💕

He finds himself smiling with you as he watches you run your hand over the material of the camera tenderly.

“Isn’t it a little scary when you can’t see what you’ve just shot?”

“I think that’s the charm of it. Sometimes I’ll take a photo, forget about it, and when I go to develop my film, I get to relive the moment again.” Your smile widens as you think back to all the silly photos you developed. “It also makes me very picky about my shots, so that all the photos I end up with are all very good ones.”

“That’s so cool! I wish I know how to develop a film!”

You chuckle, slowly warming yourself up to him. “Well, get me a completed roll of film and maybe I can teach you. I’ve done it so many times, I know the procedure like the back of my hand”

In a way, his enthusiasm reminds you of how you were when you were younger; always so excited to learn all the ropes your parents have to offer about film photography.

Maybe he’s not so bad after all.

He bounces energetically again. “I WILL get you a roll of shot film!” And then he stops with a pout. “But I don’t have a camera…”

You laugh, already predicting his dilemma even before he made his promise.

“I would lend you my Leica M2, but I don’t know you very well. You could be an irresponsible camera parent for all I know.”

He doesn’t even know any of the names you are saying, assuming that they are all just camera models, but it doesn’t matter. “I will prove to you that I am a very responsible camera parent, y/n-san.”

“Well, win my trust then, Lev.” You say with a small smile, continuing to walk ahead.

A determined smile slowly make its way to his lips as he brings his fist to punch the air. “I will, y/n-san, I’ll win your trust!"

———————

It is now lunch break, and you’re using your 30 minutes to head back to your parent’s camera shop, and grab some food along the way from 8-Eleven. Humming quietly to yourself, you bounce down the streets, wondering what new cameras might come in today.

Speaking of cameras, you wonder what you should photograph next. The film you’ve just loaded is a rather expensive one, best suited for portraits due to its outstanding ability to render skin tone.

Hmm, portraits. You mentally browse through a list of people that may be suitable for your next project, but you can’t seem to decide on one. No one had really caught your eyes recently…

“Y/n-san!!” You turn to the sound source, instantly feel your cheeks warm when you see a group of very attractive, mostly tall, men sitting at the bench in front of 8-Eleven.

Too many cuties in one photo lol.

They all look so good in their own kind of way…

Suddenly feeling very awkward, you look down to your feet after you’ve accidentally made eye contact with the bed head haired male who gave you a grin. When you look back up, all you could see is half a red bean bun being offered to you.

“Y/n-san! It’s so nice to see you again.” He says, chewing happily with a bright smile, mouth full with his half of the bun, and his long arm still outstretch to offer you his other half.

Look at him and Inuoka eating omg. 🥺

You suddenly have a difficult time gulping, and with widened eyes, you slowly force yourself to exhale. There’s a strange sensation in the pit of your stomach, a warm feeling that slowly crawls its way up your heart, then to the front of your forehead, as you feel the urge to explode, in tears? In laughter? In a whimper? You don’t know what is going on, and you’re just not going to think too hard about it as you look up at Lev chomping away at his food, oblivious of his effect on you.

How could he be so cheery all the time? It’s like his lips are made to smile and his eyes are made to glisten.

Like a robot, you stiffly bring both your hands up to accept half of his bun between your delicate fingers. You could have sworn the bread looked a lot smaller when it was in his hand.

“Thank you.”

He nods enthusiastically in return. “I was worried because we never really exchanged contact. So I spent a good couple of minutes trying to figure out how to see you again.”

You feel a rush of warmth to your cheeks as you slowly nibble at the soft bread, barely making it anywhere near the filling. “Did that work out for you?”

“Yea! You said your store was near 8-Eleven, so I asked my friends to come get lunch here with me!” He turns back to wave at his friends, though no one returned his gesture except for the tall male with spiky brown hair, waving back with matching enthusiasm. (Inuoka 🥺)

He asked his friends to get lunch here just so he can maybe run into you again?

Looking off to the side, you continue to nibble at your bun, thankful that he’s offered it to you because you’re suddenly too shy to enter 8-Eleven with all those attractive guys sitting in front of it.

“So where are you headed to?” He looks at you with a soft smile, finding the fact that you’re holding your food with two hands very endearing, like a little chipmunk.

“I’m just heading to the shop, I wanted to see if there’s going to be any new cameras that might come in today.”

“Oooh, can I come with?” He leans down to look at you and you can’t resist his eager eyes.

“Sure.” Then you walk off with him happily trailing next to you, readjusting his steps to match your speed.

At the bench, Yaku is holding a melted ice cream, the dessert no longer holding its integrity as the liquid drips down his wrists and on to his grey trousers. He puts it in front of him so it drips to the ground instead, teeth gritting in frustration.

“Freaking Lev! Why would he ask me to hold his ice cream if he’s not planning on getting it back.” He frowns as he watches his tall friend leave with you.

“He forgot his bag too!” Inuoka says when he notices that all their bags are still perfectly lined up next to each other’s.

Kuroo finishes his box of milk with a few airy sips, and tosses it into the garbage bin. “This guy…whoever they were just got him hooked.”

Kenma looks up from his game momentarily to glance at the two of you before looking back down without a word.

—————

The bell to your parent’s store jingles when you open the front door, allowing it to slowly recline back to close.

Your father’s eyes light up when he sees you bounce towards the counter with an enthusiastic grin, while your mother waves at you from the cashier. “I’m here to bother you during my lunch break again!”

Your parents laugh, clearly not bothered by your visits at all, they almost expected you to. Your father looks to the tall boy next to you with a warm smile. “Welcome to our shop!”

Lev smiles back, bowing politely to him then to your mother before leaning back up to look at you. “This is my friend Lev, he just wants to swing by and check out our store.”

“Glad to hear that!” Your father laughs as he sets down a big cardboard box filled with new cameras that arrived today on the glass counter. “Check out our new arrivals!”

You gasp when you spot a model you love, reaching in to pick it up delicately, as if it’s a newborn baby. “N-No way!! A Fujifilm point and shoot in collaboration with Disney?!”

“Yea! You should have seen the guy who came over to sell it!” Your dad begins.

Your mother turns around in her seat and laughs. “He was all dressed up in a Donald Duck t-shirt and Mickey jeans.”

Why are you so excited over a Mickey Mouse on a camera? Lev tilts his head, a little confused but he’s happy you’re happy.

You turn to him with your sparkles in your eyes and his brightens right back. “I can’t believe a collector in this town decided to sell it to us. This is a very rare collection, and in such pristine condition too.”

I guess, who wouldn’t be happy to see Mickey Mouse on a camera. He’s happy for you.

“Whoa!” He says, unsure what else he could add on to keep your smiles going for longer. “Y/n-san, what kind of photos do you take?”

You set the camera back into the box and picks up another to inspect its condition. “All sorts! I do a lot of street photographies, but I’ll have occasional cravings to do fashion portraits too.”

Your father was about to discuss more exciting facts about the camera in your hand, but your mother places her hand on his bicep to silence him with a smile, nodding towards you and Lev who are conversing happily. The two of you are in your own little bubble.

“That’s so cool! I’d love to have a look at your photos sometime!”

“I would love for you to see it! I have it in my room if you’d like to!”

Nodding his head quickly, he responds. “Yes please!!”

You set the camera back down again and walks over to the employees only door that leads up to your home above the shop. “Thanks for sharing these with me dad! I’ll come look into it some more after school!”

“Of course, honey, There might even be more later!”

With an excited nod, you turn to walk up the stairs with Lev behind you.

——————

“Whoa, Y/n-san!!!” He dashes to the collage of photographs next to your bed, eyeing every single one of them with his eyes sparkling. “Are you sure you don’t work for an editorial or something?!”

You laugh timidly as you sit on the bed, bringing your hand to rub the back of your neck shyly, you’ve never been good at taking compliments. “That makes me happy to hear, Lev, I’ve always wanted to work as an editorial photographer.”

“You should! I know you will.” He says with so much confidence, it almost felt like you’ve known him for much longer than just this morning.

He notices you have one particular male model reoccur in a few of your photoshoots. “Are these your friends, y/n-san?”

“Not really, I’m not really too close to anyone here. But I’m not afraid to ask random people who’s caught my eye to model for me.” Then you look up to see that he’s pointing to a specific model, causing you to look down with your cheeks warm. “Oh, him. We used to be neighbors, but he doesn’t go to Nekoma anymore.” He was your first real crush.

Not quite getting the answer he was looking for, he decides to brush it off and continue to look at your other photos, comically leaning his lanky limbs down just so he can have a closer look.

Meanwhile, you can’t help but draw your eyes back to Lev, unintentionally studying his features: eyes very feline-like, as he studies your photographs like a snow leopard with his big hands on his long long legs. He would look so great with olive on his smooth skin, one that would accentuate the definition of his long neck that leads up to his defined jaws. Perhaps a button up with some free flowing trousers?

Gosh…he is beautiful, how have you not realized it this morning.

Sensing the silence in the room, he glances over to see your eyes immediately snap away from him as you look down to your lap while fiddling with the material of your comforter.

But that doesn’t bother him, he likes that you notice him.

“How come I don’t see you in any of these photos?” He asks, standing up tall.

“Because I’m the one taking the photos? Also, I don’t think I’m too photogenic.”

“Nonsense!” You look up to see him smile cheekily at you, and you almost just want to raise your camera to photograph him again. “You have the prettiest smile I’ve ever seen!”

You feel immense heat rise up your cheeks and that warm feeling in your gut returns, but before you could burst, he adds.

“But that’s ok! I guess I’ll just have to earn your trust so I can photograph you with the Leila 2.”

You blink before you begin to laugh, finding his failed attempt to remember the names of your camera incredibly endearing. “My Leica M2?”

“I was so close! Yes, that one!” He laughs.

Your laugh slowly settles when you look at his face for the 100th time today, the after smile still apparent on your lips, but your eyes are enchanted by his boyish charm.

You want to photograph him so bad…

“Lev…” You breath, he stops laughing and looks at you, a glint of expectation in his eyes.

“Hmm?”

Your eyes widened when you realized you actually attempted to speak your mind. “Uhh, um. Nothing…we should probably head back to school.”

His expectation dissipates, replaced by a nod and an unintentional flirty smile. “Yea, but after I get your number?” (Smooth. Lev totally gives me that unintentional flirty boy vibe, where everyone thinks he’s flirting with them, until you realize that he’s just generally friendly lol.)

He doesn’t even know what he was expecting, but he can’t seem to stop himself from trying to learn more about what else might make you smile.

—————

It had been over a month since you’ve met him, and the two of you had been texting frequently. Some days when he’s extra busy with volleyball, you find yourself constantly glancing at your phone in anticipation for his response to just about anything you sent him. When you do get a notification from him, you can’t help but smile widely as you finger rushes to see what he’s said.

You would wake up and fall asleep to his texts, and though you’ve denied your expectations of receiving his daily greetings, he never seems to let you down. It makes you feel special, like he’s always here with you, thinking of you.

Some days, he’ll show up to your shop after practice when you are close to the end of your night shift, just to say hi, and eat some quick dinner together before he has to run home.

Your parents keep asking you about Lev, but you would always tell them that he’s just your friend, and they would exchange knowing looks to one another.

“Oh sweetie, Lev came by last night and he wanted us to give this to you, first thing in the morning.”

Your mother pulls out a neatly wrapped present with Mickey Mouse printed all over it. Your heart flutters with joy as you feel heat rush to your cheeks and the corners of your lips automatically rise. You reach your arms out to bring it to your chest, before excusing yourself back up stairs.

“I like this one.” Your mother says to your father, who nods happily.

“Yea, I like him a lot too.”

——————

Shutting the door lightly behind you, you flop down on your bed with the present in front of you on the pillow. This is the first time someone aside from your parents had ever gifted you on your birthday.

Reaching for your phone, you move the present on to your prettier blanket before snapping a quick photo of it to send to Lev. He responds almost instantly.

y/n [6:10 AM]

-photo-

Lev!!! Thank you so much for your present!

Lev [6:10 AM]

Yayy, I’m so glad! Have you opened it?! :D

y/n [6:11 AM]

Not yet! I’m just excited.

Lev [6:11AM]

Well, open it, y/n-san. I hope you’ll like it.

You set your phone down to unwrap your present, until you hear another ping.

Lev [6:13 AM]

WAITTT!!!

Y/n!!

Let’s video call! I want to see your reaction. :)

Suddenly you’ve become very nervous, you’ve never video called him before and you weren’t properly dressed yet. You look down to inspect the current state of your appearance: oversized hoodie and boxer shorts, your hair is a mess and your teeth had not been brushed.

You could hold off on unwrapping your present, but you recall your parents specifically say that he wanted it to be given to you, first thing in the morning. But the lingering drowsiness from waking up so early, still weighs your lids and the thought of peeling off your comfortable hoodie and clothing your bare legs feel unbearably troublesome.

Lev [6:17 AM]

Y/n san??

Screw it.

You force yourself not to think too much as you hit a video icon under his name, and he picks up almost right away.

“Y/n-san, happy birthday!” He says, voice still a little husky from sleep, and you instantly feel your heart beat just a little faster as you eye his appearance through your small screen. His silver hair is still messy, unlike his usual neat side sweep, and he’s still bundled up in his purple blanket, allowing his toned arms to come in full display when he hugs a pillow that’s under his chest. Something about his undone appearance makes you want to be right there with him.

“Lev-san!” You gulp as you try to divert your eyes back to his sleepy smile as he lazily rests his chin on a pillow. “Did I wake you up?”

“Nope! I had to be up anyway. Now, open open!” He gestures with a nod.

You set your phone down on your pillow as you sit cross legged in the center of your bed with the present on your lap. He pulls his phone closer to subtly check you out; secretly imagining you in his hoodie instead, then blushes when he notices your bare legs, the hem of your plaid boxers only peaking shyly.

If only his phone would not make a snapping sound, he would have screen grabbed this image of you, looking so temptingly undone. (<- What would he do with the photo tho 👀😉 )

You read the tag and begins to smile, moving your fingers to carefully unwrap the golden ribbons and the dotted paper, making sure to not to rip anything by accident.

Lev sets his phone against his pillow, then leans onto the back of his hands as he watches you with a smile. Your happiness is just so infectious, and he can’t stop himself from craving it.

You squeal and giggle happily when you pull out the camera strap and 3 rolls of film you’ve always had your eyes on. His eyes sparkles and his smile widens at your reaction, as he laughs with you.

He wants this moment to last. He wants to keep seeing you smile.

—————

You did it, you finally asked Lev to model for you.

It had been 2 months since you’ve done any photoshoots, and you can’t seem to figure out why you found it so difficult to ask him to model for you…

You think back to your other failed attempts and face palms yourself when you try to recount all the times you would watch him in his moment in awe, then his name would slip from your lips without your mind’s consent. When he responds and urges you to continue, you would always look away and change the subject.

He steps out of your restroom in the clothes you’ve handed him, and you can’t help but stare.

“Is this ok?” He asks innocently.

And he is more than okay.

He looks even better than how you’ve always imagined him to: standing so tall in his olive button up and brown trousers, his top unbuttoned down by two. His shoulders are a lot broader and his waist more snatched than how you’ve imagined him under Nekoma’s ill-fitting uniform.

Here’s my quick doodle of Lev for this fic haha.

You run your eyes up and down his figure, trying to come off like you’re looking over his outfit, but really, you’re trying to brush off the tingly feeling at the tip of your ears.

“If you’re comfortable…” You hesitate, as you realize your request may be too much to ask for. “umm…if you could unbutton one more?…ah, only if you’re comfortable, you don’t have t-“ You continue to ramble but he just nods and unbuttons his third one, revealing his toned chest.

You eyes widen because you were not expecting him to be so chiseled, but that actually makes a lot of sense since he’s a volleyball player after all. Then you look away with your cheeks flushed when he grins at you with a wink. (Ah 😳)

Damn him and his pecks.

You mentally shake your head to snap yourself out of his allure, rummaging through your bag on your lap. “Oh…I almost forgot.” Pulling out your black camera, you offer it to him with a smile. “Here’s my Leica M2!”

He beams and carefully holds it in his large hands, the way he’s observe you when you inspect the store’s new arrival; like a newborn.

“Yes!!! Thank you so much, I almost thought you forgot about it.” Without hesitance, he walks over to his bag that’s next to you on the bed, then pulls out a roll of film. You look at him a little surprised.

“When did you get that roll?”

“Oh, your parents gave it to me on one of the times when I came to visit, but you weren’t here.” He gets on his knees beside you, putting the camera on your bed to perform his first loading operation. You blink when he does it so calmly and so perfectly, snapping the back shut before cranking the lever until the notch reads 0: ready for its first real shot.

“H-How? What? When did you know how to do that?” He looks at you with an excited smile.

“Your father taught me this! Haha.”

Your confusion fades as you begin to feel a little down; you wanted to teach Lev how to shoot on film…”Did he teach you how to develop film too?” You say quietly as you get up with your bag strapped across your shoulder.

His eyes widen, suddenly realizing why you’ve stopped smiling. “No, I asked him not to because I want you to be the one to teach me.” He gets up from his knees to take a step towards you. “Will you help me with that, Y/n-san?”

“Yea.” You take a moment before responding, turning to walk away, but he brings your wrist into both his palms.

“Y/n-san…I’m sorry if I made you sad.”

He sits on the edge of your bed, then gently tugs you into his arms, resting his head against your right shoulder, with one of his large hands comfortably on the small of your back while the other’s on your nape.

You immediately stiffen up before slowly allowing yourself to relax in his warmth, bringing your arms to shyly wrap around his waists and leaning your head on top of his, inhaling slowly to bask in the fresh scent of his silver strands. The two of you stay that way a while, maybe a little longer than you should, before he shifts to look at you. A strange feeling in your stomach at the unusual sight of his face so close to yours at eye level.

You look right back into his captivating orbs, the charm of his feline-like eyes hold your gaze captive, and like a magnet, you find yourself leaning closer to him as he does the same. Before your mind could register the situation, your soft lips meets his plush ones, and like a feather, he starts with a gentle pucker; a kiss to show that he is grateful to be here with you.

Then another, this time pulling his lower lip to brush against yours before firmly lining it up, his eyes half lidded, drunken on the sweetness of your taste: he’s kindly begging to see happiness return to your oculus.

His arms around your body tightens, as an intense craving for your warmth flushed against his body becomes unbearable. Any skin to skin he can feel, he’ll gladly cherish.

You two pull back to look into each other’s eyes, and like a competition to see who has the better attention to detail, your gaze dances up and down his features, as you ingrain every dust of subtle freckles on his nose and every strand of his fluttery lashes in your mind. Then you bring both your hands to his soft cheeks to pull him back in for a firmer kiss.

This time, he runs the tip of his tongue along your bottom lip, politely asking for entrance as you gladly grant him access. Your tongue dances with his in new found harmony, before switching back to your firmer kisses, falling into a natural rhythm.

He squeezes his hand on your lower back to deepen the kiss and he can’t help but smile to your warm lips when he hears a small giggle vibrate from your throat.

He pulls back, keeping his face very close to yours as he looks down at you, half lidded, with a growing smirk. “I see someone’s a little ticklish.”

“No, I’m not.” As you’re trying to push him away with both your hands, he pulls you in closer with a laugh, reconnecting his lips to yours while his hands ladders up your sides, down your back then to the back of your neck, gently squeezing as he go.

You squirm in his arms, trying to contain your laughter as you try to focus on kissing him, but you can’t help the giggle that escapes you. He pulls back to study your adorable expressions before nuzzling his face to your neck, making sure to breath heavily so you can giggle some more for him.

He is hooked, this is his new addiction.

“Lev, I’m going to kill you!” You giggle as you try to weakly push his head away, but he only nuzzles you harder, wiggling both his hands up and down your sides. “Hahahah!”

The fact that he has you pinned so tightly, heightens your sensitivity as you are tempted to give in to your hysteria.

Then an idea pops up in his mind.

“Y/n-san, wait here.” He says as he sets you free, allowing you to catch your breath as you clutch your sides in an attempt to rid your goosebumps of its phantom. He grabs your camera from the bed, then walks over to set it up on your dresser, opposite to you.

“How do you set a timer on this?”

“There should be a notch to the side.” You respond out of instinct, though you are a little confused as to what he’s trying to capture. Your room is messy from all the clothes you have laid out for Lev to try, and the sun is way too direct to be flattering.

Crank. Tik, tik, tik.

He hovers his hands over the camera for a moment, making sure that it will not fall, then sits back down on his previous spot on the bed. Before you can ask him what he’s doing, he pulls you to his lap then leans down to kiss you with one hand to support the back of your head, simultaneously fluttering his long fingers on the small strip of exposed skin above your waistband. You squirm ticklishly, no longer able to hold back your sweet giggles as he laughs at your reaction, leaning down to trail ghost-like kisses down your chin. He’s thoroughly enjoying himself. Snap.

“Yay, my first shot!” He exclaims excitedly, still tickling and easily holding down your thrashing body with his big hands.

“Haha, you…evil!” You manage mid giggle as you weakly reach your arms out to wiggle at his waist with your long nails, causing him to double over, laughing, before swinging you on to the bed so that he doesn’t drop you by accident.

With his long legs straddling your waist, he pounces at you with both hands, tickling you mercilessly all over, shifting between spots so swiftly that you are not allowed any chance to grab his wrists. When you’ve given up on your defense, you diverted to the offensive, feathering your nails up his exposed neck then to the back of his ears. He laughs obnoxiously, then in an attempt to worsen your predicament, he nuzzles his nose against your neck, using his laugh as a weapon to tickle you with his erratic breaths.

“Ok, ok, I surrender haha.” He giggles, as he tries to stop you by easily grasping both your wrists into one of his large hands and pinning it above your head. Oddly enough, it almost did not seem like you’re the winner here. 😳

Realizing the suggestive position you are both in, he lets go of your wrist to bring one of his calloused hands to tenderly caress your warm cheek, his eyes look to yours with adoration. He didn’t want this moment to be lewd, he just wants it to be soft and genuine.

“I like you a lot, y/n-san.”

You cup his face with your hands before pulling him down to place a kiss to his forehead. “I like you too.”

Then your eyes catch a glimpse of his torso to see that his outfit is now wrinkly again, and from his position above you, gravity had tugged his half unbuttoned shirt revealingly, allowing you to see all the way down his chiseled abs.

You gulp. Oh boy, and here you thought he’s all fluff.

He notices you checking him out, then gives you the biggest, cheekiest grin as he leans down to nibble your ear.

“Like what you see?”

“Shut up.” Smacking his flexed bicep in embarrassment, only to feel heat rising to your head as you felt how rock solid it was.

“I’m going to say it!”

“Stop”

“Why don’t you take a photo of it then.” He says with a wink, earning a laugh and a facepalm from you.

“Goof, I will.”

—————

After getting Lev re-dressed, you take him to all the different places you thought were interesting, mostly away from public eyes. To your surprise, he poses very naturally, you barely have to give him any direction as he just automatically find ways to work his body in harmony with the settings.

Anywhere you go, and everyone you pass, people always seem to turn their heads back around to look at him; some were gazes of infatuated while some were of jealousy. But the amusing part of it all is how oblivious he had been about the looks he’s gotten, instead, his attention is all on you, and that really made you feel a stronger connection to him; both as his significant other and his photographer.

With any moment you were with him that day, you can’t help but raise your camera up to capture all the small things Lev would do; randomly reaching out to touch a small branch as he walks, leaning all the way down to talk to a cat by the side of the streets, and smiling widely every time you call his name, as if he’s meeting you for the first time after a very long time.

You want to capture it all with your camera; a physical manifestation of your memory. And you’re not the only one, sometimes you’ll catch him pull out his camera when you are fiddling with yours, or when the sun would kiss your radiant skin while you look up to the bright blue sky with your fist above you, something you would always do to discern the direction of your shadows. When you turn to him after hearing a snap, he would give you the cheekiest grin, before running up to you like nothing had happened.

Lev is as fascinated of you as you are of him.

You’ve read that a good photographer is able to draw a relationship with any of their models, but there is something really special about a session with someone you share personal interests with outside of the studio.

You never knew how it felt like to have someone like that to photograph, but today is the first time in a long time where every shutter feels like a blink, and the lens you look through feels like the extension of your pupils.

—————

You could have developed the film you’ve shot with Lev that same day, but you decided to be nice and wait until he’s done with his before doing so, since your tank could hold two rolls each time.

It had been a week since that shoot, and you’re surprised when Lev barges into your camera shop after his practice with the cat you’ve attempted to photograph months ago, dangling pathetically in his hands. He raises it up with the biggest grin you’ve ever seen.

“I think I finished my roll!”

Leaning on the glass counter at the shop, a big smile slowly creeps to your lips. His enthusiasm is so contagious, and seeing him definitely brights up your day every time.

“Congrats! Come here, let’s wind it up”

He sets the cat down, outside of your shop, petting it goodbye, before bouncing up to you and setting the camera down gently on the glass.

“Ok, so you’re going to want to pull this lever up half way, then with the other hand, press down on this little button.” You go to explain the steps, pointing to the different parts of the camera and miming your motion before handing it back to him. “Try it!”

He tries to follow your instructions, nervously pulling the lever up halfway, pressing the button underneath the camera, then begins to unwind. You bring your ear close to the camera to listen for a click, and he does the same.

Click.

Both your eyes light up, as he looks to you for approval before opening up the back. The film roll looks hilariously tiny in his large hands as he holds it out to you happily. “I did it!”

“Good job, Lev! Now you can put that in your empty canister!”

But he’s already at it, nodding happily as he rummages through his gym bag for one. Once it’s in, you hand him a tape and he concentrates on labelling it before handing the tape and pen back to you with a smile.

“I really can’t wait!” He hands your camera back to you, but instead, you shake your head.

“It’s yours. I’ve had it for a long time now.” His eyes widen as he reaches across the counter to pull you into a hug, placing a small kiss to your forehead.

“Thank you so much, I will be a very good camera parent!” You laugh.

“You had been! That’s why I trust you” And he smiles back so widely, you never want to feel his arms unwrap itself from your torso.

—————

When your shift is over that night, you bring Lev to your room to demonstrate the procedure with your roll of exposed film, so he can see it with the lights on. You had him reattempt it a few times with his eyes closed, occasionally reaching your hands out to guide him.

Once he feels confident enough, which was very quickly, you lay out everything you need on your bed, tells Lev to sit on the mattress, crosslegged, before throwing a blanket over him and all the tools.

You take a step back to laugh when you notice how silly this looks; Lev looks like a giant on your bed, and now that there’s a blanket over him, he can’t seem to stop giggling.

“Alright, I’m turning off the lights. Hold tight, you blanket monster."

Then you draw your blackout curtains, turns off all the lights and makes sure that your room is completely dark before climbing under the blanket, opposite to him. You didn’t tumble or walk into anything at all since you’ve done this so many times.

“Ok, so treat this just like your practice run! I find it easier to keep your eyes closed.”

He nods, but then he quickly realizes that you could not see him. “Ok!”

Reaching for his film, he begins working on his operation, surprisingly calmly, though he did fumble and struggle to load his strip on to his roll, he kept persisting. Meanwhile, you work on yours in silence and with very precise movements.

Soon after, you load both your films into your tub and closes the lid, before pulling the blanket off.

“Oof, it was hot in there!” He says, stretching his arms up in the dark while you set the tub on your desk before turning the lights back on.

“You’re like a human furnace, it’s never been that warm under the blankets before. how was it?”

He does the grabby hands and pulls you back on to his lap, placing a small kiss to your nose before responding.

“It was really comforting.” Then he gently squeezes his hand on your waist, causing you to wiggle out of his gasp with a squeal.

“I’m not falling for that again!” You exclaim, sitting on the the ground with your arms around your torso to protect yourself from the tickle monster.

He laughs loudly. “But you’re so adorable!”

————

Lev eventually left to go home after the film was developed.

Excited to see the results of your photoshoot, you stayed up late to scan all the shots. Once it’s done, you disconnect your laptop so you can sit on your bed with your back against the wall, happily flipping through the shots while snacking on some dates.

As expected, all your shots of Lev turned out very well, and you can’t help but linger on some of the photos, obsessing over just how effortlessly captivating he look; he’ll look so seductive in one, looking down at the camera, half lidded with the slightest hint of a playful smirk, while in the next, he’ll look so innocent, with his face tilted slightly downwards, and his almond eyes subtly widened, allowing the sun to bounce off the vibrancy of his gem colored orbs.

You can’t believe that his only modeling experience was of him with his sister, on an ice cream commercial when he was 5. You laugh at the thought of him smothering his face with ice cream.

But what surprises you most is Lev’s album; with photos of you taking up more than half of his roll, and they were all very well shot too. Do I really look like this?

You hate being photographed, but upon looking through his shots of you, you can’t help but feel the warmth of happiness radiate from within your heart.

Through his lens, you looked so authentic and genuinely happy. He captured you at moments you never knew was worth capturing, and you begin to wonder if he had the same urge to photograph you as badly as you did for him, when you first met in the alley at dawn.

Recounting back to all the times you felt his eyes watch you appreciatively, with a warm smile. He makes you feel loved, and special.

You come to realize why you hate to be photographed; you never felt worthy enough to spend a roll of film on. But he’s proving you wrong, as you now understand the way he sees you.

He sees you for you. It’s as simple as that.

Then at the end of the album, you see a photo that brings the happiest smile to your lips: it was his first shot where he’s tickling you. The light that you thought was too direct, turned out to be perfectly exposed, rimming the two of you beautifully, while the mess on your bed provided authenticity to the photo. You can’t help but smile wider as you remember the exact moment when you two kissed for the first time.

You’ve finally found your muse.

——————

Taglist: @shhhlikeme

#lev haikyuu #lev haiba #lev #haikyuu!! x reader #haikyuu!!#lev haiba x reader #reader x lev haiba #lev x reader #reader x haikyuu #reader insert #fanfiction #fluff #wholesome #timeskip lev haiba

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honeykngdom · 6 years

Text

sacrilegious | demon!sweet pea x reader

SUMMARY: I was wondering if you could do a story where sweets is a demon? idk maybe reader finds out or something. maybe he has a sweet spot for her. WARNINGS: cursing, mild violence , mentions of death WORDS: 2600+ | RATING: ☁ ♕ A/N: I’m not entirely sure where I planned on going with this, but I would be open to continuing and doing a part 2 if people were interested. I’d have to do a little more research on what kind of demon I wanted to use specifically, but I think this is a pretty interesting start .. lemme know whatcha think!

It’s been thirty-six days since I had first seen her, and she had first seen me. Not that I was counting, or anything, but just that I was cautiously much more aware of her existence as a whole. Her presence, once a quiet lull left lurking in the background, now seemed to be at the forefront of my thoughts, and her face filled my long days. Her name consistently remained on the tip of my tongue.

You like her, don’t beat around the bush.

To be frank, she terrified me.

She wasn’t as easy as the other humans to read, and not nearly as gullible or ignorant. During a moment of weakness, she had been able to see a part of me I had been carefully hiding from the rest of the world. And at that moment, I hadn’t realized that the situation had been compromising. I had been having harmless fun, or so I thought.

I’ve spent decades enjoying various types of music and food, dipping my toes into so many different environments and cultures, but had never felt quite so cozy than I did here in Riverdale. The Southside was nothing if not glorious, and every sadist’s dream. I had been able to find a skin that fits right, utilized what I was for a greater purpose, felt like I belonged. The Serpents embodied everything I was and stood for, and so brandishing the double-headed snake felt like nothing but second nature.

It was a Saturday night and being twenty-three and careless; I took to the Wyrm’s neon fixtures and smokey pool tables in need of release. Whiskey and I had a longstanding friendship and mutual agreement, but I suppose it might have been the mix of Fogarty’s tequila that loosened my grip.

But I felt good. Better than that, even, I felt satisfied.

Being a divine spirit, immoral or otherwise, I never quite had the luxury of feeling utterly content with anything. Not in food, not in knowledge, not in sex, and certainly not in power.

Why else would I still be here?

But being here, surrounded by these people, enjoying each and everything I craved all at once, it was exhilarating. And, in that small moment where my realities blended and the lines blurred, I found myself stumbling out of the men’s washroom, struggling with my zipper. The heavy thrum of the bass mixed with the loud, overlapping conversations made an erratic melody in my head, but the faintest hint of despair mixed among the chaos pulled my attention away from the bar, and towards the rear exit that led to the parking lot.

Smoking had become an ugly habit, truthfully, but one that seemed to feed the insatiable monster within me. In spite of the darkness that consumed me as I ventured into the night, I was able to register the heat signatures of the duo standing across the lot. One, roughly six-foot-two, and the other much smaller.

Oh, look. Snacks.

Naturally, I couldn’t kill one without killing the other. I certainly wasn’t overly picky with my meals but knew very well I couldn’t leave a witness - especially not one as delectable as she was.

Fixing my leather collar, my long legs carried me forward as I pinched the cherry off my cigarette and tossed it in the general direction of the butt-bucket bolted to the side of the post. The closer I ventured, the easier it was to make out what they were saying;

“Let me go!” cried the young woman, her voice not so soft given her plea.

It was met with a snort, followed by another rough shove. The chain-link fences moved against each other, and by the looks of it, if the perpetrator didn’t settle down, he was going to draw far too much attention to himself.

Amateur.

“You’re on my side of the tracks, bitch,” he snarls, gripping onto the front of her jacket to pin her to the fence, “I told you what’d happen if I caught you down here again.”

Fear illuminated her features, sinking into her bones. It was obvious. It could have been pitch black, and she could have been silent, I still would have been able to feel her anxiety pulsating from inside the bar. Her figure, now surrounded by a thick wavering aura, began to look smaller as she tried to pull her arms into her chest to cover herself.

Time for some fun.

“You know,” I interjected as I stepped out from the shadows, hands steady in my pockets, “Most people don’t waste their time with pleasantries. So go ahead, show her. What’s gonna happen?”

“Why don’t you fucking mind your business, Serpent?” the man retorted over his shoulder, not really paying me as much attention as I wanted.

My fists clenched tightly at my sides, nails digging into the flesh as the heat travels from my chest and into my face.

“That’s a big mouth for such a small person.” I replied coolly.

“Even bigger fists.” he responded, lifting his chin as his boots echoed in the empty lot. The man takes an advancing step, brown hues boring down profoundly into the mine.

I lifted my mouth at the corner, head tilting to the side, “That so? Wanna see mine?” There was a moment when the male’s body tensed in reaction to my words; he narrowed his eyes almost appearing to do a double take as I take another step forward.

“Get lost,” he spat, turning back to his victim; she looked past him to where I stood, face not painted in relief, but in terror, as my features came into the light. “This isn’t any of your business.”

It was in this moment that I could feel the slip. My eyes darkened, vision switching from straining against the darkness of the night, to crystal clear shapes and heat signatures. Perfect for hunting. My hand shot forward, gripping the man by the throat tightly; my upper lip twitched in anticipation, feeling the heat bubbling angrily in my core, screaming, aching, pleading to be released.

Never fucking satisfied.

Letting that feeling get the better of me, I gripped his wrists tightly in my hands, then twisted them back until I was met with deafening snaps as the cartilage and bone gave way under my strength, “On this side of the tracks, everything is my business.” I whispered into his ear, unable to contain the slight joy that graced my lips as he screamed mercilessly in my arms.

And in the next instant, he ceased to exist.

Way to play with your food, you pig. We didn’t even have any fun.

I looked up to where the woman stood, paralyzed in fear.

Well I mean, there’s still her -

I had full intentions on finishing what I had started; I picked up the lifeless body from the ground, hauling him over my shoulder as the woman took off.

There can sometimes be nothing more terrifying than the very dead of night. When night creeps in and washes away the everyday hustle and bustle of life that once filled every corner of a house, even the most confident of people can be left feeling as if something is watching them. In the silence that accompanies darkness, every last sound can appear deafening. And for some, the things that go bump in the night are the things of our nightmares.

I must have been one of hers.

“For fuck sakes,” I growled; I’d just have to enjoy him later. I knew there was no real measure of distance she could put between us that would make her safe. Her scent was left in a trail behind her, like a beaming arrow guiding me to her. Discarding the body into the dumpster just behind the bar, I wiped my hands on the back of my denim and lifted my nose to the sky.

It took me a moment, focusing on the path her scent had made, visually envisioning where exactly she was - heading west on Chopin, towards Bo’s convenience store. Within seconds, I was stretching my long legs behind her, listening to her heart erratically beating in her chest, pumping the deliciously warm life-force within her veins. She smelled sweet, almost too sweet like a heavy sugar icing that came with the pre-made store bought cakes.

We were just passing his shop doors when I grabbed hold of her by the elbow; she protested against my restraints, kicking my shin rather roughly in her attempt to evade, but alas, no such luck. I pulled her into my side, turning into the alley just behind the shop only to have her pressed against the brick.

Even in the darkness, it was easy to see the way her blood raced up into her neck and flushed her face with a lovely pink. Her eyes were wide with fear, lungs filling with air in short gasps. I loosened my hold, but did not put any more distance between us, “I’m not going to hurt you.” I uttered softly, “That was a stupid idea.” I continued once she had calmed herself enough.

“You -” she breathed, mouth pulled back into a grimace. Her eyes wandered over the length of my body, my shoulders, drinking in every last feature. She knew me, she knew who I was - or, rather, who I was supposed to be, “You killed him.”

“I did the Southside a favour.” I argued.

“You snapped his arms like they were twigs,” she replied, her eyes narrowing as she glowered up at me, “And then his neck. You picked him up like he weighs nothing -”

“To be fair, you don’t weigh very much either.”

“We’re not talking about me.”

I let my brows raise, “Can we? Talk about you?”

She paused, her heartbeat stuttering for the briefest moment. After a few seconds of deliberation, she tries to wiggle her wrists in my grasp, “Will you let me go?”

“Will you run from me?” I countered.

What are you doing?

She shook her head slowly, meeting my gaze with a quiet ‘I promise’ that was barely audible to the human hear. Carefully, I removed my hands from her wrists, watching as she rubbed them with a slight wince; I offered an apologetic smile, and although it was measly, she seemed a little more at ease being in control of her own body again.

“Why did you run this time?” I asked after a few moments, bringing another cigarette up to my lips, lighter flickering against the breeze.

“You were going to kill me next.” she deadpanned, taking the smoke from between my lips to inhale deeply; her shoulders seemed to relax more visibly with her next exhale.

“You’ve seen me before,” I reminded her, stealing my smoke back, “I didn’t kill you then.”

“Why not?”

Truthfully, I wasn’t entirely sure why I hadn’t. My shoulders lifted in a slight shrug, leaning my body against the brick next to hers, “I followed you home that night.” I began after a few moments, “I was going to. Kill you. In all of my decades on this earth, I’ve been very good with keeping what I am a secret, until you and your pesky camera.” She glances up at me impishly, hands disappearing into her pockets. “I sat outside of your window for hours, waiting until your mother��s Vicodin kicked in and the wine put her to sleep.”

“What changed your mind?” she asked, this time her voice a little less stable, much quieter.

You.

Involuntarily, I gnawed on the inside of my cheek as I mulled over the several possible answers - all of which was true to an extent, but none that would be satisfactory, I was sure. “Why didn’t you scream?” I watched her features drop into a scowl at my words, “It’s not often people see me like that without becoming hysteric or jumping into a sort of frenzy,” she doesn’t meet my eyes this time, choosing to keep her gaze fixed on the ground as she reached for the cigarette I extended towards her.

She flinched, momentary fear replacing the ease that settled over her bones. There it was again - undeniably sweet and sickly, thundering in her chest, pumping through her veins. “Honestly? Mythological creatures fascinate me.”

I felt my brows pull together, “Do I look like a myth to you?”

“You know what I mean,” her eyes flutter in a gentle roll, inviting me to follow her as she began to drift towards the street again. “I was more concerned with getting home to figure out what you were, more than I was actually worried about you killing me.”

“That’s .. incredibly careless, actually. Are you sure you’re human?” I teased lightly as I settled into a leisurely stroll alongside her.

“Just barely.” she quipped.

“Don’t worry, me too.” I glanced sideways down at her, and winked. Immediately, her skin lit up with a soft pink. “You haven’t figured it out yet, have you?”

She shook her head once, “No, but I’ve got a thousand questions.”

I wasn’t entirely sure I had any of the answers she was looking for. I mean, of course I did, I just wasn’t sure if talking about it was going to make things worse.

For a while, there was nothing but the sound of tires running over puddles and the wind in the trees. Riverdale had become eerily quiet, and not in a comforting way. It wasn’t until I recognized what street we had turned onto before I realized we were headed towards her home.

“What’s your name?” she asked suddenly, interrupting my thoughts.

“Sweet Pea,” I replied.

“Your real name.”

“That is my real name.” I assured her; it wasn’t a total lie. That was the name I received when I had first been initiated, that was the name that stuck. It had been an odd choice, but given that I appeared far scarier than my name sounded, it made me the perfect candidate to take care of the dirty business.

Not very many people expected a six-foot-five body of muscle to come out with a pair of pliers after they’ve been told they’re sending in Sweet Pea. Truthfully, I took far more joy out of handling those situations than the others would have.

“You really expect me to call you that?”

I shrugged indifferently, “You can call me whatever you’d like. I’m not picky.” We came to a slow crawl, stopping just outside of the pathway littered with wilting flowers and weeds. The lights inside the home remained off, but the light above the door came to life as we ventured near.

She looked up at me from under her lashes, bottom lip caught between her teeth; I had seen this before. Many times. I was no stranger to body language, and I could read her loud and clear; I had been intimate with people before, and never once had it posed an issue. People, men and women alike, were incredibly needy and driven by carnal desires, making prey such as the girl before me irresistibly enticing.

But I had never, ever, been intimate with someone that knew what I was.

“How about I call you tomorrow, and take you out for breakfast since you .. took care of that guy.” she offered, holding her cellular device out. “You eat breakfast, right?

I took it from her fingertips, “I prefer my cattle live, but I suppose fried bacon will have to do.” I joked, noticing the way the corners of her mouth threatened a smile. “I look forward to hearing from you.” I mused quietly, holding the phone back out to return it to her.

“Goodnight, Sweet Pea.” she murmured, twisting the knob on her front door.

I couldn’t help but crack a smile, “Goodnight, sweetheart.”

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fingersinhisass · 6 years

Text

bc carly @aldmerii humored me and answered all 60 questions of the oc question thing for shaelle, i’m gonna do it for al as well even tho literally no one asked so. here goes!

1. WHAT IS YOUR CHARACTER’S BIGGEST FEAR?

having his friends, people he’s grown to trust and care for, discover all the bad shit he did in the past and basically breaking all ties with him. he’s terrified they’ll think he’s a monster bc well. he thinks he’s a monster sometimes too

2. WHAT IS YOUR CHARACTER’S FAVORITE MEMORY?

it’s not one specific memory exactly, more like. a mix of lots of memories. in the summer he used to play outside all day with the other kids who lived in his neighborhood (very poor, pretty decrepit houses, mostly dust and dying grass) and like. those were some of the best times for him? because he was still too young to care that their family didn’t have enough money to send him to school, or that all of his clothes were hand-me-downs with at least one tear that had been fixed, or that his mother’s face was worn with wrinkles that would better suit someone much older than she was. so he’d play pretend with these kids in his neighborhood, and go on “adventures” and kick around pebbles and wrestle in the dirt, and then he’d come back home to his mother calling him, and she’d wash his face and feet and hands gently and tuck him into bed and he’d fall asleep under the heat to the sound of her soft voice and the insects buzzing in the grass.

3. WHAT IS YOUR CHARACTER’S LEAST FAVORITE MEMORY?

he’s got plenty to pick from, so i don’t think there’s one specific worst. but the gazes of people he willfully hurt, potentially even killed, really haunt him. he tries not to think about the stuff he did when he was younger.

4. DOES ANYONE HAVE A CRUSH ON YOUR CHARACTER? IS YOUR CHARACTER AWARE OF THIS?

my beautiful girl shaelle do,,,, and also this one demon dude they helped once. can’t remember his name bc he’s a pretty irrelevant npc. he was aware of that crush, but he has no fucking clue shaelle likes him

5: DESCRIBE YOUR CHARACTER’S DREAM DATE.

oh man. anything romantic that would make his date happy. it’s cliche, but he’s fond of long walks and candlelit dinners. he’s an exceptionally hopeless romantic.

6: WHAT IS YOUR CHARACTER’S SEXUAL ORIENTATION?

lol what’s that????? al likes a lot of people he’s not picky. he’s actually kinda lowkey a ho.

7: HOW DOES YOUR CHARACTER FEEL ABOUT THEIR NAME?

my boi gots lotsa names. his birth name makes him nostalgic, but he doesn’t really attach it to himself anymore -- the only person who can call him that is his mother. the name he used when he was a thief he absolutely despises. he still twitches if he hears it spoken, regardless of if it’s pointed towards him or not. he picked the name he has now himself, so he likes it quite a bit thank you very much. it makes him feel like a distinguished human gentleman. he’s a fucking doof.

8: DOES YOUR CHARACTER HATE ANYONE? WHY?

al is not someone who hates easily. he trusts easily (too stupid to learn from his past mistakes, he’d remark bitterly, but really it’s because he’s an idealist by nature and wants to believe people are inherently good). he doesn’t respond well to betrayal. at all. he accidentally punched a dude to death once for betraying the group. to be fair, the dude was really fucking old, and he only had one hit point left and failed all his death saves so like. not really al’s fault. you woulda done it too if you were in the same situation

9: HOW DOES YOUR CHARACTER FEEL ABOUT RELIGION?

neither of his parents are very religious, and he wasn’t raised religious either, so it doesn’t really matter to him all that much

10. WOULD YOUR CHARACTER EVER KILL SOMEONE?

yes, but only if he felt it was justified and there were no better options. he is strongly against killing people who he feels don’t deserve it, but there are some people he would kill without hesitation solely because he believes their death will benefit many others. he’s got. complicated morals.

11: HOW DID YOUR CHARACTER MEET THEIR BEST FRIEND?

he met borem when they were assigned to be partners. they’re both detectives. although not sure how long that friendship is gonna last now...............

12: HOW WOULD/DOES YOUR CHARACTER FEEL ABOUT ROLLER COASTERS?

terrified. hates heights. don’t make him do this.

13: WHAT WOULD YOUR CHARACTER DIE FOR?

people he loves. easy.

14: WHAT IS THE CUTEST THING YOUR CHARACTER HAS EVER DONE?

when is my boy not cute, honestly???? idk, i can’t pin down a specific instance. but he’s like. super blushy and awkward around people he’s romantically attracted to, and that’s incredibly adorable. he took shaelle to the prison where her brother was being held so they could see each other again after ten years, and that was also very sweet

15: WHAT MUSIC GENRE WOULD YOUR CHARACTER LISTEN TO?

fuck, idk. he strikes me as the kind of person to just listen to whatever’s on. he doesn’t have a very developed taste in music

16: WHAT OTHER FICTIONAL CHARACTERS REMIND YOU OF YOUR CHARACTER?

jeez. probably gumshoe from ace attorney? mostly because they’re both good good detective boys just trying to do their best and i love both of them desperately.

17: DOES YOUR CHARACTER HAVE ANY IRRATIONAL FEARS?

heights!!! he hates heights!!!!! which is funny bc his acrobatics score is insane.

18: HOW WOULD YOUR CHARACTER FEEL ABOUT HAVING THEIR LIFE RECORDED?

it would make him supremely uncomfortable. he may be very social, but when it comes to his home life he’s intensely private.

19: WHAT IS YOUR CHARACTER’S DEEPEST, DARKEST SECRET?

he gots lotsa those. he’s stolen very important things that resulted in the detriment of others, he’s tortured and killed people, he’s aided in drug trafficking and human trafficking -- with children. which is when he quit, because he couldn’t stand that. he hates watching children suffer.

20: WHAT IS THE MOST SURPRISING THING ABOUT YOUR CHARACTER?

he’s actually a really good detective. not because he’s smart, though -- he’s desperately determined to better society, and he’s also just very, very lucky.

21: IS YOUR CHARACTER FLEXIBLE?

oh my god, yeah. listen, my baby got 18 dex, +7 to acrobatics. he is EXTREMELY flexible. wink wink

22: WHAT IS THE WORST THING YOUR CHARACTER HAS EVER DONE?

oops i kinda answered this one already. i’m not gonna go into detail bc i kinda just don’t want to?? listen he’s done bad things he regrets

23: IS YOUR CHARACTER MORALLY GRAY OR BLACK OR WHITE?

hmm. he generally does things with good in mind, and usually he does it in a way that’s not so bad. but sometimes he twists the rules a little bit in a way that’s. ehh?? he’s not entirely against using violence to better things.

24: WHAT PREJUDICES DOES YOUR CHARACTER HAVE?

he’s generally not a fan of rich people or the ruling class. ofc he’s got a huge crush on shaelle, but like. she’s the exception

25: WOULD YOU WANT TO HANG OUT WITH YOUR CHARACTER?

no bc he’s devastatingly handsome and i’d be terrified.

26: WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE HEADCANON FOR YOUR CHARACTER?

him whistle real good. he likes to whistle and sing like. all the time. when he’s just idly doing things at home he does it without even realizing it and he’s a little off-key sometimes but he can carry a tune

27: WHAT WOULD BE THE WORST WAY FOR YOUR CHARACTER TO DIE?

at the hands of a friend, probably

28: WHAT PET WOULD YOUR CHARACTER LIKE TO HAVE?

for a while he had some sort of ferret weasel thing? idk if nj is gonna let me say he’s still got it tho lmao

29: WHAT WOULD BE YOUR CHARACTER’S FAVORITE FOOD?

his mom’s recipe for fresh-baked bread. real white bread was a fucking luxurious treat when he was growing up and so whenever his mom would make a small loaf of it, maybe like once or twice a year, it was always so special to him

30: WOULD YOUR CHARACTER HAVE ANY HOBBIES?

he likes to read, especially adventure or romance novels lmao

31: WHAT SOCIAL MEDIA WOULD YOUR CHARACTER USE?

i can see him on twitter??? he’d have no idea how to use it though

32: WHAT DOES YOUR CHARACTER LOOK LIKE?

him real hansom. angular features, high cheekbones, tan skin, very fair hair and silver eyes bc he’s a sun elf. long, long eyelashes that are darker than his hair, thick eyebrows. thin build, 5′10, long nose. i’m lov my boy.

33: IN WHAT WAYS IS YOUR CHARACTER LIKE YOU?

he’s loud, goofy, occasionally pretty snarky, expresses emotions like happiness, excitement, and anger very easily, but feels weak showing sadness and tries to suppress it. fails. head over heels for shaelle.

34: WHAT IS CLICHE ABOUT YOUR CHARACTER?

so many of my characters are pretty boys. so many. also he’s a lovable idiot

35: WHAT IS UNIQUE ABOUT YOUR CHARACTER?

i made him myself n he’s got a big ol’ heart.

36: DOES ANYONE WANT TO HARM YOUR CHARACTER?

there are a lot of people who would kill him immediately if they knew where he was and that he wasn’t dead. he has a lot of enemies.

37: DO PEOPLE HAVE JUSTIFIED GRUDGES AGAINST YOUR CHARACTER?

probably. he speaks his mind a lot and can kind of be an asshole sometimes

38: WHAT ROLE DOES YOUR CHARACTER PLAY IN THEIR STORY?

he’s there to take everyone to fantasy jcpenny

39: WHAT WOULD BE YOUR CHARACTER’S NICHE ON TUMBLR?

historical fashion blogs and poetry all the way

40: WHAT WOULD BE YOUR CHARACTER’S FAVORITE SCHOOL SUBJECT?

creative writing or some sort of music class. he like both.

41: WOULD YOUR CHARACTER WANT TO HAVE ANY CHILDREN?

YES!!!!! he loves kids. LOVES them. his entire life he’s wanted to be a dad. eventually he’s gonna get married to shaelle and they’re gonna have lotsa babies, but currently he hasn’t had the time to meet anyone or settle down and he’s worried he never will.

42: WHAT WOULD BE YOUR CHARACTER’S DREAM CAREER?

he’s doin’ it. basically he just wants to help people however he can and make up for all the bad things he did for so long

43: WHAT IS YOUR CHARACTER INSECURE ABOUT?

his social class. especially around shaelle. he definitely thinks he is absolutely not worth her time, and the subject of poverty or the social hierarchy in serin ilyan really touches a nerve for him. he also just really, really wants people to like him.

44: WHAT IS YOUR CHARACTER PROUD OF?

all the good work he’s done as a detective. he’s (surprisingly) solved a lot of cases, and he feels a sense of accomplishment and justice for doing it. like maybe he can start to sleep a little easier knowing he hasn’t just hurt people all his life.

45: WHAT WOULD YOUR CHARACTER CHANGE ABOUT THEMSELVES?

his past. he’d go back and do something different, try to actually work hard and make honest money instead of getting involved in what he did

46: WOULD YOU WANT TO TRADE PLACES WITH YOUR CHARACTER?

hell no. i love him to bits and i’d love to be a really handsome elf man, but like. my boy has way too much guilt that i wouldn’t want to live with.

47: WHAT FANDOMS WOULD YOUR CHARACTER BE IN?

al isn’t cool enough to like things like that. plus he’d be very confused by fandom culture i think

48: HOW WOULD YOUR CHARACTER TYPE?

hunt and peck, capitalized first letter but nothing else, punctuation when he sees fit

49: HOW DOES YOUR CHARACTER STAND POLITICALLY?

he doesn’t know what, but he knows SOMETHING needs to be done about the poverty in his city. other than that he tends to look at the smaller scale of helping people

50: WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE THING ABOUT YOUR CHARACTER?

he messes up a lot but he never stops trying?? he has a lot of determination and things he believes in and i love him for that. i love him for trying so hard to be good.

51: WHAT IS YOUR CHARACTER’S FAVORITE ANIMAL?

he likes mice, mostly because they were easy to find when he was a kid and he always caught them and tried to train them, but then felt bad and let them go like an hour later

52: HOW WOULD YOUR CHARACTER ACT IN GYM CLASS?

he’s not super strong but he is crazy flexible. probably not a ton of stamina and although he looks like he’s got the body for it he’s not that great at running. he’s just really fucking good at climbing and doing flips and shit. he’s always one of the last people out during dodgeball just bc he’s so good at dodging. he can move FAST.

53: WHAT CLUBS WOULD YOUR CHARACTER JOIN?

he probably wouldn’t join any clubs bc high school is around the time he started down the path of Bad Shit so he definitely wasn’t spending any time hanging around the school if he didn’t have to

54: WHAT IS THE SADDEST THING ABOUT YOUR CHARACTER’S LIFE?

he doesn’t realize that people are complicated and that good people are capable of and do bad things sometimes. he’s not a monster for the mistakes he made in the past. he’s genuinely good, he’s doing his best, and people love him and care about him and he needs to know that.

55: WOULD YOUR CHARACTER DO THE ICE BUCKET CHALLENGE?

hm, this question sure dates the original post... yeah he absolutely would. he likes doing dumb things like that, especially if they’re for a good cause. he’s a goof.

56: WHAT’S ONE OF YOUR CHARACTER’S QUIRKS?

he’s very fidgety. he doesn’t even notice it but he’s really not good at staying still

57: HOW WOULD YOUR CHARACTER FEEL ABOUT FEMINISM?

i think he wouldn’t understand the complexities of it, but in general he would absolutely be for it. inequality pisses him off.

58: IS YOUR CHARACTER DORKY OR MORE ATHLETIC?

he’s an absolute dork. 100%.

59: WHAT IS YOUR LEAST FAVORITE THING ABOUT YOUR CHARACTER?

a lot of the time i worry he’s too contrived and tragic or that i play him out of character or that he’s just like. way too dramatic in general.

60: IF YOU COULD TITLE YOUR CHARACTER’S LIFE, WHAT WOULD YOU TITLE IT?

The Good Boy: Please, Folks, He’s Doing His Best

#it speaks #alphonse #aldmerii #friend tag

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daemon-knight · 7 years

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Allen’s Rambling: Why Power Levels Exist

You know... I was originally going to make this Rambling about RPing villains, creating conflict, and the general staleness of most RP interactions on Tumblr, but... then I started to talk about power levels and... I have to talk about this now. Like, I seriously need to talk about this in depth. I need to just get my thoughts out and really explain why I hate dealing with this Power Levels nonsense. It’s the reason I avoid most Canon RP communities, it’s the reason I’m so damn picky about who I interact with in the first place nowadays, it’s the reason I do a lot of the things I do in terms of RPing from how I write my OCs to how I do my profiles. So... let’s talk about this for a bit.

Also, after editing this Rambling 50 times I’m just gonna’ break this down parts so I don’t end up with a 30 paragraph essay that takes 3 months. That... wouldn’t really work on Tumblr, so... yeah.

Just to clarify, when I say “Power Levels” I don’t mean the actual level of a character’s power. That’s part of it, but this is a just a catch-all term I use for the general debates, arguments, and hostility that comes from discussing a character’s battle strength, be it Canon or OC. I get annoyed by this because of the type of RPer I am. As I have said many, many times, I’m a huge fan of shounen/battle anime and manga. I love action media in general. It actually sparked me to take actual martial art classes in my childhood, but I won’t go into further detail on my life here (it ain’t munday yet after all).

I think before I talk about why I hate Power Levels, I should explain why they’re even a thing in the first place. After all, there is a reason they exist. As a writer, I don’t have an issue with power levels on the surface. It’s handy to have a tier list of which characters are stronger than which, who can soundly beat who in a fight. It’s just a handy writing tool to have. Being able to define that with an overall number score helps when you have a series focused on battle and one-on-one combat. Having that tier list publicized can be... irritating depending on how you do it, but it’s overall not a bad idea.

As an role-player, this handy tool can become an annoying crutch for anyone wanting to do action scenes and fight narratives when applied in the wrong area. Having a score number to show your character’s combat ability can work will in a group or Forum RP where everyone follows the same rules of physics and reality. That helps when finding opponents, planning out fights, and can allows for some more fun stuff to happen when making a narrative. In fact, I was (and partially still am) a part of an RP forum that focuses on combat and fight narratives. Now I won’t link that forum since it’s a +18 site, but we use a sort of power scale for our characters and it works well because everyone is on the same level of physics and reality. We know what a 10 is compared to a 1. That way, we can easily plot and compare characters, form ideas for the fight, figure out who would win, things like that.

In a free-form RP site like Tumblr this just doesn’t work. Everyone’s character is following different rules of reality. Everyone’s character comes from a different universe in a sense. Using this blog as an example, Claudia is from a basic D&D-esque world where magic and stuff exist with a bit a ancient hi-tech stuff from long-lost civilizations. Think a mix of Tales of Symphonia and Elsword if any of you are familiar with those two series. On this blog, Claudia is dealing humanoid aliens, dimension hopping witches, power-hungry demon wolves, and those are just the people I’m actively RPing with. There was that time she tried (and failed) to fight a living goddess, ran into Buddy from Lisa, not to mention all the Fate blogs. That’s... a lot for a 5′2″ knight to deal with. Compared to all of those guys, she’d be a 4 at best. And... while I can personally turn that into a good fight narrative, I can’t see that being fun to do it constantly. Now I trust most of my partners to... well, not smear my 5′2″ Useless Lesbian against the wall, but that mostly comes from me being so picky with who I follow.

My point being, Power Levels aren’t a good tool for Tumblr with how free form it is. For group RPs, yeah it works fine, but outside of that... not really.

Alright, first official Rambling on Power Levels is officially done. And as I edited this, I realize my issue really isn’t so much Power Levels, but writing a decent fight narrative. So... these Ramblings might take a different turn of events now...

I’ve got a loooong series of essays ahead of me.

#.ramblings #good news: I won't spend all of december bitching about power levels #bad news: I'll be about fight narratives instead

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inside-aut-blog · 5 years

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This has all been said before, many times, and very articulately, and it’s hard to know what can be added to the conversation—but there is this:

But here is what I know about being autistic. Here is the most important thing I know about being autistic.

It’s not an isolated experience.

That’s not to say it can’t be an isolating experience, because it absolutely can. It absolutely can, and from what I gather from other autistics it very often is.

But it’s not an isolated one.

You know, it doesn’t exist in a vacuum.

Because it’s like this, you know. Identities are intersectional. Experiences overlap, and they influence each other, and they become this great big tangled web of stuff and it’s impossible to unravel it all entirely. Because, you know, that’s you. That’s your life. You can’t just dissect it down into neat little bits and pieces and line it all up and have it make perfect individual sense.

Lives don’t work that way. Brains don’t work that way. So of course neither do people.

Take me, for example.

Let’s go back to the thing from before. The thing about how being autistic can be an isolating experience. Let’s talk about that.

Let’s talk about that, and me, and my experience.

Because the thing, here, with me, is that growing up I absolutely did not feel isolated.

I felt different, for sure, and so many autistic people talk about feeling different.

But the thing is, i’ve heard so many of those same autistic people (not all of them, but many) talk about not understanding why. About assuming the problem was with them, about assuming that everyone experienced things the same way but only they struggled with it, about assuming it was down to some kind of personal weakness or innate weirdness or brokenness or wrongness. I’ve heard a lot about that.

But the thing is, the thing is, for me, it wasn’t like that.

I grew up feeling different, but I never wondered why. I never had to wonder.

Because I wasn’t autistic in a vacuum. I was autistic smack in the middle of my life, and my experiences, and my family and my other identities and all that sort of thing—and my life and my experiences and my other identities were also atypical.

So when I felt different, when I felt other, when I felt just a little bit off-center and out-of-place, I didn’t ever wonder at it. It was just a thing, it was just of course. It was because of all my other atypicalities.

It was because I was adopted, it was because I was white and my family was black and no other families around us were like that, it was because I loved to read so much, it was because I was so smart, it was because I was so short, it was because i’d come from an abusive household, it was—later—because I had so many siblings, it was because I was weird on purpose because that was cool, it was because I was mature, it was—even later—because I was asexual, it was because I had a lot more going on than my classmates (who of course I never considered might have anything of their own going on), it was because I was aromantic, it was because I was maybe nonbinary, it was because I had social anxiety, it was because, because, because—

It was because a lot of things, and never, ever, ever because there was something wrong with me.

And it was never bad.

Because I was different, and i’d been raised with the belief that differences were good, and important, and special, and cool.

And I didn’t—i never, in all that time, thought that my feeling different from my peers was because I might be autistic.

—and that’s not to say I never wondered whether I might be. I did. A number of times, actually, growing up.

The first, fleeting time came after my mom told me my little sister had asperger’s (still a diagnosis back then) but didn’t tell me what the hell that meant (except that it was why she walked funny sometimes, and why she had trouble telling what was right and wrong to do sometimes).

So I googled it, as you do.

And as I was reading, I thought—oh. So that’s what that is. And I thought—huh. Some of this sounds kind of familiar. Some of it sounds kind of maybe like me.

And then I thought—nah. That’s not really like you at all, you just want to be different and special. (Because that was good and important and cool, remember, and the differences I already had were the things I liked most about myself—my oddball family, my being adopted, my slightly-crooked fingers….)

And then I brushed it aside and didn’t think about it again for years.

Until I did some research after reading some things some folks wrote about Sherlock Holmes seeming autistic. And then I thought about it a little more, off and on. (Could I be this? Wouldn’t it be cool if I were this?)

But again I thought. No. I can’t be this. I only want to be this so I can be different another time over. These experiences aren’t really mine, I can’t really relate, i’m lying.

And then I thought—

I just want attention, obviously.

And then I thought—

Does that even make sense if I haven’t actually told anyone I’m thinking about it?

And then I thought—

Don’t be stupid, of course it does.

And I brushed it aside again.

But it didn’t sit dormant for years, this time. It didn’t sit idle and dissipate into nothing. It kept coming back. I kept wondering. Quietly, quietly, for years.

Until one day something happened.

I said that I didn’t care about something, and my brother, in a moment of frustration, said that of course I didn’t, because I didn’t care about anything or anyone.

In his defense, I said it pretty snappishly. And, in I’d been saying it a lot in general. (I go through periods of time where I latch onto different phrases and repeat them to death—hello, echolalia—and at the time one of my phrases was “I care not,” and variations.)

But (fair response or no) it stung. Sort of struck home.

And I felt—well. I felt wrong. I felt wrong, not quite right, not quite human. Somehow broken, other, different in a way that was not good, for the first time.

I felt like I was doing caring wrong, like I was faking it, like I was always only ever playing a part and didn’t really care about people.

And that terrified me.

Because I still didn’t connect it to autism. Even though I’d been wondering about it off and on for years by that point, even though I knew differences in expressions of caring and differences in empathy to be common autistic experiences, even though though I knew both experiences to be morally neutral, even though, even though, even though—

I still didn’t.

Because autism doesn’t exist in a vacuum.

And so I immediately, automatically, instinctively connected it to something else. Some other difference of mine. A very old, very particular one.

I connected it, instantly, to my early childhood trauma. To the cold, uncaring birthparents I lived with before I was adopted.

I assumed it was a sign that I was like them, on some level. That I had absorbed, in those early years, some awful tendencies.

And so I was terrified.

Terrified, until—

A friend of mine stepped forward and said to me, hey, it sounds like maybe you express empathy differently? And maybe you’re worried that you don’t because you mostly see other people express it in more typical ways? And maybe you have some kind of brainweird that makes you express empathy differently?

And I thought—

Oh.

And I thought—

Well.

And I thought—

Thank god.

Because here was a reason that kind of made sense, and didn’t make me a monster. And here was a reason to consider autism more thoroughly, and do some real research, and maybe come to a real consensus about what the fresh hell was going on with my brain.

And so I researched. And I researched. And I researched. I read the diagnostic criteria, I read autistic people’s blogs, I read autistic people’s stories, I read autistic people’s proposed revisions to the criteria, I watched autistic people’s videos, I watched autistic people’s lectures, I scoured websites of organizations run by autistic people—

And I took a few online tests, and I read some more, I made a few lists of all the traits I had and compared them to the things I’d read, and I read some more, and I made a few more lists, and I read some more, and back and forth and back and forth and over and over and over—

Because I thought, having done all that research and introspection and everything, I thought probably there was a decent chance that maybe...?

But I couldn’t be sure. I couldn’t be sure, because it didn’t exist in a vacuum. There was a great big tangled web of stuff to untangle, so many threads I could hardly tell where to begin.

I was touch-averse, sure, and that was a common autistic trait—but was I touch-averse because I was autistic, or because of trauma, or because of being asexual, or because of being aromantic, or because of being anxious?

And I struggled with socializing, sure, and that was a common autistic trait—but was it because I was autistic, or because of having social anxiety, or because of trauma, or because of growing up in a kind of isolated rural community?

And I flinched at loud noises, sure, and that could be autism too—but was it, or was it just the trauma again, or was it plain anxiety, or was it just faking?

(Again and again, I reminded myself—it can’t be faking if you haven’t actually told anyone you think you’re autistic. Faking requires an audience.)

And I’d had those hours-long screaming fits when I was little, but—was that autism or just trauma, or just anger issues, or just general bratty tantrums?

And I stimmed all the time, but—was that autism, or just anxiety, or maybe ADHD, or was it just being kind of fidgety?

And I had pretty strong food sensitivities, but—was that autism, or was that somehow the trauma again, or just being a picky eater?

And I struggled with eye contact, sure, but—was that autism, or was that the social anxiety again, or was that the trauma, or was I just inventing the problem entirely even to myself?

And I struggled to speak sometimes, sure, and to keep from accidentally interrupting in conversations, but—was that the autism, or was that the social anxiety, or was that the lifetime of growing up with a zillion siblings and either getting steamrolled over or steamrolling over someone else, or—?

And so on and so forth, for a dozen other traits and more, because none of them existed in isolation and all of them could’ve been something else. They could’ve been something else.

Ultimately—after several autistic people told me I seemed autistic, over a period of a couple years, and after bringing up the possibility with a therapist and being told that it made sense—I realized that yes, of course they all could’ve been something else, of course there were tons and tons of factors to consider, of course, of course—

But there was no reason autism couldn’t be one of them.

If I could accept that asexuality, aromanticism, and trauma all factored into my touch-aversion—all three things all at the same time—why couldn’t autism do so as well? Why not? What was one reason more?

And after I entertained that idea, it was easy to acknowledge that I had many traits and experiences which autism could be a factor in—too many to be entirely coincidental. Too many to be coincidental at all.

So I could accept it, then. It was easy.

I was—am—autistic.

I just wasn’t—am not—only autistic.

And neither, of course, is anyone else.

Because autism doesn’t exist in a vacuum.

And neither do autistics.

(More on that later.)

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