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arece · 7 months

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Hi Abby, I realy like your stories, you are one of the reasons I decided to share my stories here too ♡ Could you give me some tips on how to write (and maybe share your thoughts on my story please)? I started with Hannibal, I think it is a good show for your dark fics too. Have a nice day ☆☆☆

I can’t even put into words how this makes me feel. For years i’ve had inspirations from other authors and little writers who have brought me to where I am today, to the choices of my career and what I’m studying in college. To be a small piece of that for someone else? Its honestly left me breathless in the most prettiest way.

Now, what I’ll say might not be what you’re looking for, but its the truth for a lot. A cliché because that’s how they work. Writing is a craft, a craft you can only perfect in a way that’s personal, a way that’s yours. No one will be ever fully able to tell you how to write; but they can advise you on what might help guide you to write.

It’s taken me so long to reach where I am in my writing and even then I’m still not close to reaching my full potential, I never will, really. With each piece you write, no matter how long - even a simple sentence - you grow your craft, develop your writing. Any case, here’s some things i’ve realized so far in my short journey as a writer:

1. Probably most cliché of all: you’re already a writer. You’ve written a sentence? Congratulations, you’ve done what a writer does. Now, that’s not me putting down the hard work authors do to create their art, it’s the fact that you’ve tried. You put in effort, work, and love. That’s what a writer does.

2. Writers block will always happen, no one’s able to avoid it, it will happen to you. Now, there’s no concrete solution to get rid of it, even as i’m typing this I’m fighting a large writers block. This is because there’s so many possible causes that lead to you’re writers block. However you can attempt to treat it, little things to make it less harsh. Go back to your roots, what brought you to loving writing in the first place.

- Share your work with people you love.

- Play music that just hits, that makes you want to write something based on it.

- Watch your favorite movies and tv shows.

- Most important, don’t force it, don’t make yourself lose your love for writing, it’s okay to take a break and give yourself the space you need to write again.

3. Never pressure yourself, if you’ve noticed something is pressuring you with writing, immediately take a step back. Writing is supposed to be a safe space, a creative outlet. Don’t let whatever is pressuring you to destroy that peace.

4. Never let online posting scare you out of sharing your work. At the end of the day that piece of writing is yours. It’s your baby, your pride, and never let someone ruin it for you. Don’t let interaction discourage you, because one loving person who’s thoroughly enjoying your writing is better than thousands of empty likes, and sometimes that one person ends up being you. If you need to, think of your online postings as an archive, a place to keep your precious artwork.

5. Your writings gonna change, it will never stay the same, don’t let that scare you. The change can happen fast and for different reasons, but it’s a good thing, I promise. It means you’re learning, growing. The change can happen especially fast when you’re getting used to posting online when it’s something new for you. While I was writing Heart to Heart I would go back to the first chapter after each new chapter - kinda a bad thing for me, it scared me seeing how different it was, it made me feel inconsistent when in reality I was growing into my writing.

6. There’s no one way to write or to make yourself write. This is one part no one can truly guide you on, it’s something you mess around with to find what works for you. Maybe you like to be messy, spur of the moment. Maybe you’re more neat, consistent. While writing Heart to Heart? I was a mess. I had a single notebook dedicated it, scribbled with useless notes and ideas, some even written sideways on the page - I didn’t even use half the ideas because they contradicted other points! Sometimes you might just need a space to throw your ideas even if they’re a weird garbled mess, just to get it out there to organize at a later date.

7. Don’t be afraid to leave stuff out, you don’t have to use every single idea, sometimes they just don’t work with that particular piece. Save it for a rainy day.

8. Don’t be afraid to move on. As you grow as a writer you also grow away from your routes and interests. This one can be the hardest, you will lose some readers and that’s okay, hopefully they’ll find what they need from a different writer as you gain new ones. It’s better you let it go when you’ve given it your best than to hold on and ruin a relic of something you once loved. (i’m sorry my john wick readers)

Your writing is beautiful, I was so excited to read it that I read over it twice while I was on the bus to work, haha. Please, keep posting, whatever type of content it maybe, as long as you enjoy doing it. I’ve followed you because I’m excited to watch you grow as a writer, excited that I’ve found someone who has a passion. Reach out for any and everything, I want to be there for it all, even if it’s something as minor as editing! I’m sorry this is so long, I got carried away haha. Welcome to posting and may you have the greatest time!

- Abby <3

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peach-and-bugs · 11 months

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Thoughts on Yellowjackets 2x9

if you're here specifically to learn how this season is going to impact my fanfic, feel free to stick around! spoilers start after the cut-off.

So, that was a wild ride! I just wanna say before I get into my thoughts that from here on out unless otherwise specified/stated, my Yellowjackets fics will all be part of an alternate cannon where all the girls stayed a lot closer and had a lot more therapy after the wilderness because let's be real that would have solved so many of our current problems. they still have some fucked shit to deal with, but it's not as bad as it is in actual cannon because our cannon is making me so sad.

but anyways! thoughts and spoilers for the season 2 final start now!

Gotta say I was loving it till we got to the hunt. Though I absolutely didn't want it and knew someone would die, I was convinced either Natalie, Van, or Lisa. logically, those just made the most sense to me, so I wasn't surprised when it was Natalie. However, Misty????? You really had to do that to her, again. I'm horrified to see what's going to become of her in season 3. and Natalie's arch through this season is so heartbreaking. She was finally making progress! she was forgiving, working so hard to better herself and she was feeling better. after over 25 years of being on the downhill, she was finally finding her way up, only to be killed to further traumatize Misty.

However, I do know though that it's very likely Natalie was our victim because Juliette Lewis has been actively talking about getting back into film and tv takes a lot of time, especially for a main character, so they had to find some way to write her off. We don't know when this choice was made, so Natalie's rather strange arch was either a victim of a spur-of-the-moment change, or it's just frustrating writing. had the plan always been from the start of the season to kill Natalie, I'd be even more disappointed than I am because she had a really good setup for development! She was really starting to heal, and having the plan from the start be her death felt like a waste of all that development.

I really don't have much more to say about Natalie if I'm honest because I'd like to wait for more explanation on the creative choices made and if Juliette really did ask to be written off, but I have so much to say about Misty, because holy shit, what have they done.

Misty is already so broken. having her kill Natalie with her hand isn't going to change her character. this isn't going to result in any positive development for her. it's literally just going to crush her. Misty killing Natalie is 100% a callback to Christen/Chrystal and I think we all know that, but the issue is that there is no growth between those two events. it would be one thing if Misty had felt no remorse for Christen/Chrystal back when she died only to kill Natalie and really realize what she's done and is capable of, but she did know and she cared.

They took the time to show it in 2x7 when she has to step away from Shauna, blood on her hands to sob and cry because she knows she did something wrong. At that moment, she realizes everything she's done wrong, and she is fully at her lowest. She beats herself up, cursing her hand because she's fully realized the situation they're all in is, in fact, her fault. I think the only way Natalie's death could have any "positive" impact on her growth would have been had she not had that meltdown in 2x7. Had she stayed completely focused and diligent, more concerned with keeping the truth behind Christen/Chrystal's death than thinking about her fault or blaming herself, then she could have had that breakthrough as an adult after Natalie dies. At this point, Natali's death is only going to force her down under the water more than she already is.

I think all this is going to do is have Misty drastically pull away from her friends. Misty is a caretaker. No matter how unconventional her methods may be, ultimately that's the role that she plays, or at least tries to play. She puts others' concerns and needs above her own and goes to any extreme that she needs to because her friends are her priority and she thinks they're worth taking that extreme action if it means they're safe.

But, try as she might, her friends still die, and she keeps finding herself at the helm of those deaths, but not on purpose. She repeatedly finds herself with a hand around her wrist, forcing her to push the big red self-district button flashing in front of her. But she ignores the hand that's forcing her. She eliminates the middleman and decided those tragedies are her fault. because she is there and trying to help, any harm is ultimately a result of her failure. And a lot of her more drastic actions are extremely logical, literal, and calculated to her. In her mind, they're completely foolproof, so when they fail it's directly because of her. (Personally, I think an argument could easily be made that she's autistic, but that's for another post. If anyone is interested please let me know! I'd love to talk about it).

In season 3, we're going to see a whole new side of Misty that I don't think I ever wanted to think about. She's going to be broken and a shell of herself, more so if Natalie had been killed in any other way. Had Lisa shot Natalie herself, sure there would have been some grief and self-blame, but not at the same level as this. She's going to completely retreat into herself, removing herself as much as she can because she feels everything is her fault, and Natalie's death is just the nail in the coffin driving that "fact" home for her. Our sweet, bubbly blond who is always readjusting her glasses, who loves her bird and is a proud citizen detective is gone, and I don't know how else they can move her story forward.

#◛⑅·˚ ༘ ♡ kay's at it again♡#yellowjackets #yellowjackets thoughts #yellowjackets final #yellowjackets 2x09 #yellowjackets spoilers #misty quigley #natalie scatorccio

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floridacreditunion · 2 years

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QUICK TIPS FOR SAVING MONEY ON YOUR NEXT VACATION

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Have a Clear Itinerary

While perhaps a sin for travelers who like to be spontaneous, developing your itinerary before you go on your vacation can help you put together a budget. For example, let’s say you’re going to be in New York City for a few days. You want to visit the Statue of Liberty, some museums and maybe catch a Broadway show or two. You know you’ll need to take public transportation to these places, purchase tickets, plan for dinner, etc.

If you’re able to plan early, then you can start setting aside money more efficiently to ensure you can do everything you want! Planning can also discover the things you can’t do. If you’re still not as flush with cash as you’d like but wish to take a vacation anyway, doing this research will help you see what kinds of things you might be priced out of. On the other hand, you might find discounts or promotions that make activities that were too expensive more attainable.

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kiridarling · 3 years

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𝐁𝐎𝐓𝐓𝐎𝐌𝐒 𝐔𝐏!

shouto todoroki | f!reader, ceo heir!shouto, mirror sex, hair pulling, choking, inappropriate use of showerhead, alcohol. minors dni!

— 3k words

"You're so pretty when you make a mess, aren't you?"

Miss Y/N,

I couldn't help but notice the latest project my father assigned is extremely difficult. If I'm going to be completely honest, you'll work yourself to death at this rate, and your greys double by the day. Drinks on me at Club 777 at 7 pm. Sound like a deal?

— shouto todoroki

“A club.”

“Glad you could make it,” Shouto gives you a small smile; it’s anything but hostile. And yet, that’s all yours is as you assume the space to his right in the velvet crescent booth. “I hope it wasn’t too hard to find. Club 777 is pretty popular around he—what are you doing.”

As your fingers fly across the keyboard, you give him an indignant huff, the screen highlighting the underside of your face electric blue as you continue hacking away at your presentation. If you’re going to be forced to go out, you’re going to make the most of it—and that’s by getting the work that you would be getting done at home, at a club. And a rather loud one, at that.

"You're a workaholic," he observes with a sigh, and you flash him a fat sarcastic smile. Stupid fucking CEO heirs and their entitlement.

"Congrats, you've solved everything! Can I go home, now?"

"No," Shouto frowns before he rudely snaps your laptop shut and sets it to his right. Pushing a plate of clear-colored shots your way, your eyes bulge—there have got to be at least fifteen. "Drink up—it'll take the edge off."

You blink between your coworker and the shots. You trust Shouto and you've known each other for a while...somewhat. His father is your boss, and with Shouto as the next in line you’ve got no choice but to play nice. He’s as cocky as he is aloof, but you suppose he’s fine overall—and he's seen you break your back over this project for a solid month and a half. Positive you won't be able to keep your conscious from running laps over all the work you have to do otherwise, you snatch the first shot and chuck it down your gullet with worrying enthusiasm. Shouto lifts an eyebrow and you reach for another.

"Thirsty?" He chuckles, before grabbing a shot for himself. The second shot burns, but never as much as the first, and the back of your hand catches what doesn't make it into your mouth as you say:

"More than you could think."

"And then—and then I was like, um no sir, I think you got my change wrong by at least five bucks! He didn't believe me, like at all."

"Did he make a fuss of it?"

"Of course."

"That means he has a small dick," Shouto advises with the second to last shot in his hand, wrist-watch glinting in the club light. His face is a deeper red than his hair and you've never noticed how nice a suit fits him as if you don't see him in one every day. You giggle at that, too far gone yourself to be offended on the stranger's behalf. Shouto's jacket drapes over your shoulders like an oversized blanket even though you bickered about not being cold, with enough alcohol in your veins to warm a village.

"Probably," you rest your head against the crescent booth, dismissive at the softness from the red velvet that’s probably ruining your hair. "Either way, I pulled a Karen and called the manager on 'em.

Shouto nods, "As you should. Once I tricked my father into thinking he had a very unhappy customer by sending him a million emails from 'John Appleseed' and calling his personal secretary twice as much."

You cackle, throwing yourself across the table at the thought of your Boss’ face hot and red with anger (as it does.) Shouto's loved nothing more than to make his animosity against his father well-known—to you, at least—and to say bored Heir been getting creative the past few months is an understatement. "Oh fuck—when'd you stop calling?"

Shouto shrugs, muscles rolling underneath his white dress shirt, "Once I filled his voicemail box.”

He holds a smile, small and distant, as he watches you wheeze as if he just told the funniest story in the world. In your defense, Shouto's never really been a funny guy, but he does funny things. Like when he stares at you when he doesn’t think you notice, or when he gets so close your chests nearly touch, but doesn't notice it. Doesn't point it out, at least. You find your laugh dying along with the smile on his face, though, and when he says nothing afterward but stare.

"...Shouto?" You snap in his face to make sure he's still in there—but it's hard to tell, with his glazed eyes and scarily steady breathing. His arms find either side of you, and you're too tipsy to realize you've been caged against the booth until it's too late.

"Your eyes are quite mesmerizing, Miss Y/N," he marvels. You can smell the vodka on his breath, and positive that compliment would’ve set your face aflame if the alcohol hadn’t already, any hints of cherry obscured by the neon club lights.

"I—um, thank you," you giggle, and if you were sober, you'd shoot yourself in the foot for reacting like a school girl. But you suppose you can give yourself some leeway—this is Shouto Todoroki after all, and for some reason, he's complimenting you. "You...you aren't too bad yourself."

"You wouldn't mind if I got a little closer, would you?" Though Shouto holds a cheeky half-drunken smile on his own, knowing any closer will result in nothing but a kiss and perhaps a little more. His eyes flicker to your lips the same time yours flicker to his, and you and you catch a heat in his eyes you didn’t notice before.

"Not at all."

You blink and Shouto's lips are on yours. They’re soft, painfully so, and it's clear he knows what he's doing—with his hands dropping to your waist and tilting his head ever-so-slightly to the right. Nudging your lips open, his tongue easily finds it's way around, mapping the insides of your mouth and taking note of what makes you shiver the most.

Shouto tastes like vodka. It's a familiar taste, one that you associate with seven minutes in heaven and quick make-out sessions in high school—and yet this time it spurs your heart to beat faster, your arms wrapping around his neck to pull him in even closer, as if it's possible.

When you pull away it’s clear neither of you really want to, but unfortunately you need to oxygen to live, chest heaving in unison as your eyes catch his own. Shouto's grip tightens around your waist as he licks over his already wet lips, glossed by what you assume is your spit.

“You’re one dangerous woman,” he rasps with swollen lips. You giggle, but you know he knows his words’ effect on you because goosebumps are impossible to hide.

“Thank you,” you respond, a bit awkwardly—because what else are you supposed to say?

"I'm positive it isn't the alcohol talking when I say I want to take you right here." Shouto growls as his eyes hold you in your seat. You shiver, the request sounding impossibly inviting, and your thighs discreetly rub together to take the edge off a bit.

"Bathroom," you breathe against his lips, this night turning for the most unexpected.

"Off, off, get all of this off," Shouto pants the moment you two step into a gender-neutral singles bathroom. You don't doubt they made it gender-neutral for this exact reason, but that thought leaves as quickly as it enters when Shouto pins you against the sink starts to pepper hot kisses down your neck. He scrambles to bunch your dress to your waist over taking it off completely and growls at the sight of your lower-half in absence of your usual attire.

"Do you know how long I've wanted you? Hmm?” He's breathless as he settles between your legs with a lick of his lips, pushing the excess of your dress into your hands. You really don't know how long he’s wanted you, but you find yourself biting your lip at the prospect anyway—that you've been driving your boss's son, your future boss, just as crazy as he's been driving you.

"Shouto—"

"Shhh," he interrupts, pulling your panties to the side. "Let me take care of you. You've been working hard these past few months, no?"

You guess so.

Either way, all clarity dies when Shouto licks a fat stripe up your slit, chuckling when you slide a tentative hand into his hair. Your grip tightens when his lips wrap around your clit and suck, slipping a finger between your folds to elicit a whimper or two. He bites his lip when you tug a little.

"Keep doing that and you just might ruin me," Shouto groans, before his mouth returns and he’s adding another finger. When the digits curl just right, your hips buck in faint frustration—they're moving too slow.

"Can you, um," you blush, eyes skittering to the bathroom walls instead. The club music permeates despite the fact that they look like they're made of solid brick, vibrating the floor and sink underneath you both. "Go faster?"

Shouto's eyes snap to yours. For a second you’re afraid he's going to say no, but he tosses your leg over his shoulder and adjusts your hips until they're at a perfect level, licking his lips and growling:

"My pleasure."

You're positive whoever loiters near the bathroom door hears your yelp as his mouth descends to devour your pussy, eating you so enthusiastically that you see you're slick smeared across his pink cheeks. Shouto pulls your hips deeper into his face with a defiant growl and you have to drop your forearms on the sink to keep yourself from falling to the hard ground, your grip around the porcelain ever-tightening.

"Feel good?" He rubs a heavy thumb over your clit in place of his mouth and stuffs you with a third finger. You nod with a broken moan as he pulls his digits out all the way out before burying them knuckle-deep again, grasp on the sink slipping. He flicks your clit, "Answer me."

"Y-Yeah," you nod again, near-hyperventilating. You’re sure Shouto’s getting a kick out of it—at least, if his chuckle has anything to say about it.

"Good girl," he coos, the circles on your clit slowly quickening, "You're so pretty when you make a mess, aren't you?"

You're nodding along with him, though you're not exactly sure why—but then his mouth returns and suddenly, why doesn't matter as much.

Shouto's more vocal than you expected, groaning into your sweetness as your thighs trembles next to his head. He holds you like you're precious, like you're actually something to him, but you're much too drunk to unpack all of that right now. Instead, you tug at his hair. It pulls a much louder moan from his gut and you find yourself enjoying the vibrations, yanking harder to hear him again.

"W-Wait, Shouto," you whimper out, painfully close as you pull at his hair but this time to pull him away from you, "I wanna—wanna cum on your cock...if that's okay."

Shouto blinks once, twice, and then you're staring at yourself in the mirror listening to him frantically undoing his belt, cursing when the metal slaps him across the palm. You giggle.

"Eager, are we?"

"You don't even know," he pants, and the tip of his cock kissing your entrance has you biting your lip. His eyes meet yours in the mirror and they melt when he fits the head of his cock inside, the grip he has on the porcelain sink turning white as he pushes further.

"You are—you are painfully tight, Miss Y/N," Shouto wheezes into your neck, teeth grit as his pelvis finally brushes against your ass. You resist the urge to wheeze with him, his cock filling you to the point where your lungs struggle to find room to breathe.

"I'll take that as a compliment," you joke, eyes fluttering shut. Shouto tuts, grabbing the underside of your face as he says:

"Eyes open, Miss Y/N. I want you to watch yourself fall apart as I fuck you."

Your eyes peel open, albeit reluctantly as you whine, not understanding why you need to watch your own face when you can enjoy the sight of him instead, "But Shouto, that's embarrassing..."

"Just trust me," he grunts, and his hips are snapping into yours, sending you jolting into the sink to the point where you have to brace a hand on the mirror to keep yourself from being squished flat against the porcelain. Shouto leans over, "You trust me, don't you?"

And well. When he puts it like that...

"Look at yourself, not at me," Shouto says, catching you redhanded. You whine when the hand holding your head moves to your neck and squeezes, cutting off your oxygen supply just enough for your eyelids to drop halfway. "See? See how good you look? So wrecked for me already and we've barely started."

"S-Shut up," you moan more than you say, finding yourself mesmerized in the way your lips part and by the redness of your cheeks. Shouto dips his head into your neck and sucks, prompting your free hand to find his multicolored hair again and pull. His reaction is almost automatic, the way the smooth rock of his hips changes into a quick snap in a heartbeat. It has you keening, his cock reaching places spots you weren't aware you had, and he crushes you against the sink to rub at your clit.

"Fuck, you're so gorgeous for me," he grunts, hips finding the energy to pick up the pace. You whimper and he's sucking a hickey into your neck, hot breaths punctuating along with his sharp thrusts. "Feel so good around my cock, like you were made for me—shit—"

This time you break the rules, eyes flickering to look Shouto in the mirror as you watch him come undone. His hips stutter as he muffles a broken moan in the back of your neck, body shuddering while he fills you up. His thrusts slowly dissolve into nothing and soon it's just your heavy breathing between brick walls, until Shouto pulls out with a hiss.

"You didn't cum."

"O-Oh, um," You blink at his unimpressed gaze through the mirror as if you got caught redhanded. "I...usually can't. Without a vibe.”

Shouto hums at that but says nothing. You watch something in his brain churn, eyes surveying the room before a lightbulb appears above his head and he's snapping his fingers.

"The shower."

"...What?"

"The. Shower." Shouto says, a little cheekier this time, as he guides you towards a simple shower hidden behind a curtain. Now, why there’s a shower in a club bathroom is beyond you.

"Well. This seems awfully convenient," you click. Shouto shrugs.

"Sun (the author) says it's to clean up the drunks who vomit all over themselves." He takes the only shower seat available, back pressing against the tile.” I think she just wants you to ride a showerhead ****if I'm being completely honest."

"Maybe she tried it for the first time recently or something,” you hum absentmindedly, but that thought flies out the window as Shouto grunts:

"Either way, it's irrelevant. Strip."

"I—completely?" You exclaim, covering your body despite the fact that it's already covered by your dress again. Shouto raises an eyebrow, settling both elbows on his knees once grabbing the showerhead from its bar.

"Unless you want your outfit to get soaking wet, yes. Completely."

Touché.

You're naked fairly quickly and Shouto lays you across the tile even quicker. You watch him test the different modes on his hand, before choosing the one with the most...gusto. You spread your thighs and fight the embarrassing blush dusting your cheeks from the exposing position.

"Ready?" You roll your eyes.

"I swear Shouto, if you do—o-oh."

He presses the rushing water to your clit, and you have to take a step back, fully unprepared for how nice the pressure would feel. Shouto chuckles at that, the soles of his loafers soaking in the lukewarm water with you as he sits with his legs spread, brazenly enjoying the view.

"Feels good?"

You nod, hips subtly grinding into the hot stream. Shouto bites his lips at the view and it turns you on that much more to know you can have such an effect, before his free hand drops to his palm himself through his dress pants.

"I get the perfect view, too," Shouto growls to himself, tilting his head ever-so-slightly as you release a broken moan, bare hips stuttering against the tile. "A perfect view of that pretty little pussy. Ah ah, keep those legs for me."

Your inner thighs quiver with an impending orgasm, the edge looking much closer than it did previously. The combination of Shouto's words, his sounds, and the steady beat of the water against your clit is enough to have anyone shaking, and the only complaint you have is that you wish he wasn't so fucking far.

"S-Shouto," you whimper, hands scrambling across the slippery tile. "I'm close."

"Yeah? Do it then, make me proud," Shouto growls with a feral smile, grip tightening around his cock—you nod, chest shuddering.

“Y-Yeah just adjust the—oh fuck, Shou, right there!”

Your thighs clench as you gasp and your fingernails dig into the grout between the tile as you orgasm, your moan nearly bordering on a scream. Shouto groans, grip tight on his cock through his damp suit pants, and you nearly giggle as your high ebbs.

“Have I ever told you how dangerous you are, Y/N?” Shouto says cheekily. You grin back, cocking your head to the right.

“Only a million times.”

“Well then I owe it to you again,” he says lowly, and you get the message you two aren’t done as he joins you on the wet floor to cradle your jaw.

“You’re one dangerous woman, Y/N.”

a/n: i fully expose myself in this, and you know what? i'm fine with that.

click to return to CLUB 777

#— 𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐓𝐎 #CLUB 777 #The VIP Booths #todoroki smut #shouto smut #bnha smut #mha smut

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stuff-from-the-void-matron · 3 years

Text

Laurel Wreaths & Animal Teeth (11)

(c!technoblade x fem!reader)

(people showed chapter 10 some nice love so here’s chapter 11. sorry it took so long to get out. I threw my back out and doing just about anything has been physical torture. but I’m starting to feel better so here’s hoping I’ll write more soon. but remember, please comment and reblog. they keep me motivated! <3)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Things settled down pretty well after the election. Almost unbelievably so. Wilbur pretty much completely disappeared afterwards. You felt worried and voiced your concerns with Niki, saying you hoped he wasn’t terribly upset he’d lost the election. You understand he no doubt felt incredibly attached to the title of president, and he may feel resentful of you for ‘stealing’ it from him. Niki smiled at you, glad you were being kinder about this than the other contestants would be in your shoes, but sighed and said,

“Yeah, he’ll probably be upset for a while. But I’m sure he’ll come around to accept you as the new president.”

You gave her a thankful smile, even if you didn’t quite believe her words. But then you paused and wondered if maybe, despite all your reservations about the brunet man, it was possible to smooth things over with him? Maybe all you needed to do was sit and have a talk with him. Perhaps he’d gone insane in the original timeline because both Schlatt and Quackity were… well, for lack of a nicer term, total dicks to him. They were openly antagonistic to the former president, banishing him and his younger brother from the very nation they fought and died for, which no doubt added to his crumbling mental state after L’manberg chose a new leader.

But maybe you could be different from Schlatt and Quackity. Honestly you had no desire to be cruel to Wilbur, though you would not put up with any of his BS, and honestly you hoped to have a neutral relationship with the man. So you decided right then that there was no harm in trying. Your smile brightened and you nodded and said to the blonde woman,

“You’re probably right, he just needs some time. Maybe after a few days he and I can have lunch and just talk. Clear the air between us. I’ve never been president before so I’m sure he’d be a great help in getting me better settled in!”

Niki was super glad you were being so chill about all of this. She knew you were the best choice for president. That’s probably why she’d voted for you. (yeah she’d heard your little speech and was really moved) But she’d never tell Wilbur that. He fully believed she’d voted for Coconut2020, and to be fair she had intended to until she was so moved by your speech. You had a way with words that just put the listener at ease.

“Yeah, I’m sure things will be alright,” Niki replied with a cheerful smile.

-0-

You settled into being president pretty well all things considered. There wasn’t as much work as you were expecting there to be for a president. But perhaps your only frame of reference (the US president) was a bit different than your current job (l’manberg president). L’manberg was super small actually. Especially compared to the United States. Hell, Punz’ house was almost as big as L’manberg if you remember right.

You’re glad there wasn’t much presidential work to do at that moment. Because you wouldn’t have had time to juggle that work plus going back to your village and packing up some of your stuff in your ender chest before telling the villagers (and azo) what actually happened while you were gone. Which had been an ordeal in itself. You felt bad for just leaving to a new place so out of the blue. But you felt obligated to complete the role of president given to you. You’d feel less obligated if there was some other option you felt safe passing the torch to. Someone not a child. That left out every minor on this server and Wilbur.

Part of you considered Fundy and Niki for the job but another part of you doubted if they’d be able to handle it. Honestly they shouldn’t have to either. It’s no secret that being president is one of the most stressful jobs a person can have. Being in charge of the safety and well-being of a group of people is enough to turn anyone’s hair grey. Even if the group was just like 10 or so people like L’manberg had. You remember seeing a post about pictures at the start and end of American presidents’ time in office. And each president looked at least a decade older in each after picture. Complete with wrinkles and grey hair. Those happened in FOUR years! Their jobs were so stressful that they aged 10+ years in only 4 years.

You were pulled from your thoughts by Tommy practically shouting “We’re here!!” as you all made it over the hill that led to your village. The first thing you saw was the towering bamboo wall around the perimeter of the place. You’d been so in your own head that you’d actually forgotten about the two boys on either side of you. They’d insisted they accompany you to your village as ‘presidential bodyguards’ despite the fact you said you would be fine. They’d practically demanded to go, to ensure the ‘new prez’ didn’t get attacked on the journey. Amused and touched that they cared, you’d finally relented and let them come along. You’d only be gone a short while anyways. At least that’s what you told yourself.

It didn’t take long to pack up everything you wanted to take with you to L’manberg. You put all the nice gifts the villagers gave you (as well as a couple of the banners you made) and some of the stuff you made and packed it away into a shulker box you pulled from the Creative inventory before picking up said box and putting it inside your ender chest. Then you just picked that chest up and tucked it safely in your inventory and you were basically done. With packing anyways.. You still had to talk to the villagers and let them know you had to move away for a while. But you doubted they’d be heartbroken or anything. Maybe bummed out but they’d understand. It’s not like they’d be lost without you. They’d been living in this world long before you showed up and they’d probably be here long after you left.

Then you were ringing the village bell. And like every time you did the villagers all poked their heads out from wherever they were to see who rang it and what was going on. And when they saw you they brightened and hurried over to see what was happening. They gathered around you and the bell, murmuring curiously between themselves. You sighed and cleared your throat, gathering their attention to you before you hesitated, not entirely sure what to say. Should you explain the entire story from start to finish? No, probably not. That would take a while and you felt like they’d get bored fast. But just blurting out that you were leaving felt too abrupt and blunt. Though your indecision ended up not mattering because Tubbo finally lost patience with the silence and just let the metaphorical cat out of the bag in his usual laid back candid way.

“Are you gonna tell them you’re moving away?”

Oh that caught the villagers’ attention and suddenly you were surrounded by displeased grunts and hums, like surround sound stereos. You sighed and confirmed yes, you were. So with the news out there you started explaining what happened the day before, or at least a shortened version of it. You mentioned how you’d gone to support Tommy, placing a hand on his shoulder as you said this. Then you said how you’d sorta advised everyone to vote for who they felt would lead them smartly, and how you guess they took that as you entering the presidential ring.. And finally how you’d won the election by some points and how you’d not wanted to reject their trust so you’d accepted the job…

“Reader is our new president!!” Tommy practically shouted, clearly excited.

Though from the disgruntled murmurs from the villagers they didn’t seem happy.. But you told them it would be okay. You’d come and visit them as often as you could while juggling your new job. But even with that promise they didn’t seem happy. Your shoulders slumped a bit and without thinking you said,

“I’m not happy about having to leave the village and move away either. But I made a promise to the people of L’manberg, one I intend to keep.”

Despite not feeling the best about this you were determined to keep your word.

“Besides, it’s not like I can just pack up the village and move you all next to L’manberg!” you said with a flippant wave of your hand.

But the idea didn’t sound too bad to the villagers. They basically worshipped you as their guardian deity. So if loading up all their possessions and hauling them to a new place meant they got to stay within reach of their deity then so be it. They’d still be living in squalor if it hadn’t been for your kindness and generosity, so they wanted to follow you wherever you went. Be it sunny skies, harsh rain, freezing snow.

So they all made excited grunts and you blinked at them, catching on to their train of thought pretty fast. You shook your head, missing the confused looks the two teen boys were shooting between you and the villagers, and said they couldn’t follow you to L’manberg. Hearing this made the boys’ eyebrows shoot up and they started asking if the villagers wanted to come live in L’manberg. You sighed and said they seemed to, yes, but it wasn’t viable because there was nowhere for them to live! Moving them all on a spur of the moment thing would be reckless. Not only would the journey be very hard on them and take quite a while but there’s also no homes available for them in L’manberg.

“We could make some houses for them if they want to move to L’manberg!” Tubbo said with a little grin, not seeing the issue with them coming over.

You rubbed a hand down your face, careful not to jostle your mask too much. But then you sighed and finally caved in.

“Okay, you can all move next to L’manberg,” you began, but before they could cheer you cut them off with, “BUT! They can’t leave today. I refuse to let them take the whole long journey to L’manberg just so they can be homeless when they get there.”

You said you and some others (who you would pay) would build a new village next door to L’manberg for them. And once it was complete you would come back and help ferry them all over safely. But you might have to take them over in small groups to avoid hostile mobs and stuff. Though despite all the risks the villagers seemed quite happy with everything. So you pulled out your notebook, the same one you’d used when you first showed up to the village actually, and made a note to start construction on a new village to either the North or East of L’manberg. Or whatever side had better building room. But now that that all was settled you bid the villagers goodbye, saying you’d start construction as soon as possible.

With that out of the way you decided to pay a visit to Azo. You missed the adorable little piglin and hoped she was doing okay. Your boys followed you into the Nether, asking what you needed from there so badly. That made you pause and realize they’d never officially met Azo! You smiled down at them and said you’d sort of taken up guardianship of a little piglin girl who lost her parents. You’d expected questions and some comments but got nothing but silence in return, which left you feeling a bit confused. But when you glanced over at the boys you saw Tubbo looking lost in thought and Tommy looking mildly upset. This caused you to stop short, which made them pause and look back at you.

“What’s wrong?” you couldn’t help but ask.

But they both waved you off, Tubbo with a soft ‘what do you mean?’ and Tommy with an almost harsh sounding ‘nothing’, both of which didn’t sound the least bit convincing. So you tilted your head to the side and in a firmer (but still gentle) tone you asked again what was wrong. Tommy’s nose scrunched up and he crossed his arms, adamantly saying nothing and asking if you all could hurry up and see ‘this kid’ since you had to hurry back to L’manberg. Tubbo tried to piggyback off Tommy, his smile attempting to be brighter as he agreed, saying he wanted to meet your ‘new kid’. That’s when it hit you..

“Are you two upset that I adopted a kid?”

Tommy wasn’t very subtle with his feelings, his loud “WHAT?! NO!” didn’t convince you of his supposed ‘uncaring’ regarding the situation. Tubbo however reacted slower than his friend, like he was processing what you’d asked before he gave a laugh that sounded too stilted to be genuine and denied being upset, saying that was ridiculous. Tommy actually started walking away, heading in the direction you three had followed when you were together here last time, with the goatish brunet watching him anxiously. But you called for him to stop and come back, maybe a touch sterner than you’d wanted. But when the blond came back to you he refused to look at you, just scowling down at his feet. You felt your heart ache at the sight and let out a calm breath.

You wrapped one arm around the blond’s shoulders and the other around his back, pulling him into a comforting hug. You laid your cheek on the top of his mop of hair, glancing down at Tubbo who was shifting between watching you both and glancing away nervously. Without much thought you removed the hand holding Tommy’s back and instead used it to carefully tug the brunet boy into the hug. They just stood there at first, still and awkward almost. But once Tubbo wrapped his arms around your hips and Tommy’s back his blond friend quickly caved and sunk into your warmth, wrapping his arms around you both tightly, like he was afraid you’d both disappear.

You took a breath and gently began to rock the two back and forth, missing how Tommy’s eyes pricked with hot tears as he heard your steady heartbeat against his ear. After a couple minutes of just standing there relaxed into the hug you said quietly but with as much emotion as you could put into it,

“Tommy, Tubbo, please talk to me. I can do many things, but reading minds is not one of them.”

You felt your shirt become warm and you frowned and hugged them tighter,

“If something is bothering you two, if you’re sad or upset or angry then you need to tell me so I can maybe do something to make you feel better. I never wanna see either of you upset, so please… talk to me?”

The air around you three was unintentionally heavy, only the sound of fire crackling nearby broke up the silence. It was killing you to remain quiet but you didn’t want to push them to speak. That would just make them clam up and possibly push you away. So you waited, just holding and rocking them as you did. And your eyes brightened when your patience was rewarded.

“.... Why’d you have to go and get a kid?”

You half expected for Tommy to be the one to break the silence, he was always so against the quiet. But no, instead it had been Tubbo who finally buckled and voiced his thoughts. You couldn’t help but ask what he meant. And he sort of stuttered over his words, not sounding exactly sure what he wanted to say before he got his thoughts and mouth to cooperate.

“I thought you already-.. I mean you have us.. Why’d you-..”

If your heart could physically break like glass then you knew after hearing that it would be in a hundred pieces on the floor. You couldn’t help but pull them closer and bury your face between theirs, unknowingly letting out a softened keening sound.

“I want you both to listen, just because I take another child under my wing doesn’t mean I no longer care about you two. I don’t think I could ever stop caring about you. You’re my boys, and I-....” here is where you hesitated, not wanting so sound weird but you continued,

“If you both want… I mean since neither of you have one to my knowledge… I’d happily be your mom.”

Shy isn’t exactly how you’d describe the two boys you’d begun to care for, but there was no other word accurate enough to describe how they agreed to your offer to be their mom. Tubbo gave an almost meek, “alright, sure” while holding onto your waist and Tommy gave a long-suffering sigh while trying to discreetly wipe his eyes and said, “I guess you’re cool enough to be my mum. Barely though.” That caused you to let out a loud guffaw, your grip on them loosening enough to where you could ruffle the blond’s hair.

“Ohhhhh, Big man himself thinks I’M cool? Very high praise~”

The heavy atmosphere lightened and your laughter had the two boys laughing too. But then a sly grin took over your face and you chuckled. The sound alerted the boys of your mischievous mood and they looked up when you started talking.

“Well, now that you’ve accepted me as your mom I’m legally obligated to do all sorts of ‘Mom Stuff’, I hope you realize that. Like making sure you both eat things besides bread and meat, make sure you sleep regularly, and do the spit thing when you’ve got dirt on your face.”

They gave you a look that was a mixture of confusion and mild disgust, and Tommy couldn’t help but blurt out,

“What the fuck do you mean by ‘spit thing’??”

Unbeknownst to him, he’d activated your Mom Trap Card and your grin grew into a smirk and you raised your hand, casually commenting that he seemed to have a bit of dirt on his cheek, and then you licked your thumb and moved it towards his face. He shrieked and practically threw himself backwards to avoid your spit covered finger. But you still had your arm around his shoulders so he didn’t get far. He rapidly screamed out a verbal blur of ‘nonononoNONONO!’ that had Tubbo nearly doubling over, howling with laughter.

Though his laughter abruptly cut off with a gasp when Tommy escaped your hold, causing you to turn your sights on him. He let out a noise that sounded suspiciously like the bleat of a goat before turning and running from you. You just cackled and chased after him, your longer legs giving you the advantage. You caught up with him before he knew it and lifted him in a backwards hug. Now it was Tommy’s turn to laugh at Tubbo.

But you did let him down, without cleaning his face, and smiled down at the pair and said sincerely,

“All joking aside… I think you two would make a cool pair of big brothers..”

Tommy took that and ran with it, saying of COURSE he would be! He was practically Tubbo’s big brother already! Which just caused Tubbo to argue with him that uh, NO, he was older than Tommy! So HE was the older brother out of the two of them, if anything! And oh boy that caused them both to go back and forth, arguing about who was the ‘older brother’ between them. Tubbo insisted it was him because he was born first but Tommy insisted it was him because he was taller. You just shook your head and led the bickering duo down the familiar path to Azo’s little ‘house’ you built her. And as you reached the open area you saw her outside the house playing with a couple other baby piglins. But when she looked up and saw you she squealed happily and all but sprinted over to you. You made sure to bend down and hold your hands out to catch her.

She was so excited to see you again that she totally missed the two boys standing at your sides. At least until she heard them and then she stiffened and stared down at Tubbo from her place in your arms. Neither boy really knew what to say so you decided to intervene and put out introductions. You tapped her hand and smiled down at her, helping her worry ease a bit.

“Azo, I missed you! I want to introduce you to my sons! This,” you gestured to Tubbo, “is Tubbo. And this,” you turned your head and pointed to the blond on the other side, “is Tommy. They’re both very nice. And they wanted to meet you!”

You turned so you and Azo were both facing the boys and saw them smiling genuinely. Relief flooded you, thinking they were actually glad to meet the little piglin, unaware the smiles were more stemming from the fact you’d called them your sons so easily.

But you saw the wariness still on Azo’s face and worried she’d not like her new brothers. Suddenly you got a bright idea and your smile widened as you spoke up and said,

“Hey, don’t you two have a gift for Azo? Maybe something yellow and shiny~?”

Tubbo’s mouth dropped down into an ‘o’ as he realized what you meant. Then he elbowed Tommy and then pulled open his inventory and started looking through it. Tommy glared at him, moving his arm away after getting jabbed, but then his eyebrows raised when he saw his best friend pull out a gold ingot from his inventory. Then he understood what you meant and hurried to look through his inventory as well. Thankfully he did have some gold ingots leftover from when he was crafting golden apples.

Azo perked up when she saw the gold ingot Tubbo had taken from his inventory. And when he offered it to her she couldn’t hold back the happy snort she let out as she joyfully accepted it. You giggled at how she admired the saffron colored bar. And when Tommy extended his own gold ingot you laughed when Azo’s little tail began to swish back and forth in glee as she took that one too. She looked so cute as she admired her new items. You rubbed her back and said,

“See? They’re pretty nice, right? Why don’t we go have something to eat? And we can hang out.”

The tiny piglin seemed more than happy with that plan and snorted happily. You carried her towards the house, her little friends having long since scurried off. The teens behind you followed your lead, joining you in the house. You sat Azo down and suggested she show off her toys to Tubbo and Tommy, which she started doing gladly. The two played with her while you brewed some tea and crafted some cookies. Chilled rosehip tea and shortbread cookies were on the menu and after it was all done you laid it out on the table before calling them over. The boys were all too happy for the chilly drink, the cold giving them reprieve from the heat of the Nether. But Azo was shocked by the cold, not having experienced something like this before. It took a bit of explanation to get her to give it a try, and despite how it made her shiver she seemed to really like it. And cookies were always popular. So the plate was emptied in a flash.

As you sat with the three, listening to Tommy brag to Azo about how ‘cool and tough’ he was and how he’s practically a hero in the Overworld while Tubbo interjected with contradictions, you felt yourself smile serenely; truly happy where you were right then.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

@lady-bee-fechin @kacchasu @putridjoy @lunawritesstories @galaxypankitty3030 @paradigmax @zachariethememerie @killmewithafanfic @trinity-1002107 @hufflepuff-demigod @truthdaze @exorcisms-with-elmo @redbloodtea @heythereimhaylz @olyink @jackalopedoodles @nikkineeky @artsimatsu @hufflepuff-demigod @corpiet @beepa99 @anxiousnarwhale @bananaaddictmilkshake @realitycanbeajerk @lostandsouciant @thegeekisheere @sparkling-gayyy @woman-soot @xxtwizztedxx @v10dw4lk3r

#technoblade x reader #techno x reader #dream smp x reader #dsmp x reader #mcyt x reader #c!tommy #c!tubbo #c!niki #c!wilbur #c!fundy

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dionnaea · 3 years

Text

Promises

pairing: kenny ackerman x reader (platonic), slight levi x reader

warnings: angst, character death, mild swearing

wc: 4.4k

a/n: so, so sorry this took so long!! i decided to combine these two requests and change them up a little, so i hope that’s okay! i’m really proud of this piece, so i hope you all enjoy it, too. xx

side note: technically this is a sequel to my other fic Pot Meet Kettle but it’s not entirely necessary to read that first.

requests:

Your writing’s so good I’m cryin’... Also, I’d LOVE to see what you have in mind for Kenny and Reader’s background! 👀 Were they both underground? was Reader already in the Corps when they met?? did she learn how to punch creeps from Kenny?? Plus I’m very curious about what he meant by her fixing broken hearts!

could you do a part 2 to the pot meet kettle levi fic? i really loved it and i think it would be cool if you could write a part 2 based off the kenny vs levi scene in season 3? like maybe kenny sees the reader and he's like good to see you again and levi is like mf what idk im not creative :(( sorry if this isn't enough

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After Rod Reiss had been taken down, the scouts were sent to search the ruined fields for survivors. It was unlikely that any were left, but Erwin was adamant that no soldier would be left behind. You respected him for that, and went on your way to do your job.

As you wandered, you ran into a returning scout, someone you didn’t know the name of but were sure had been paired with the Captain for this mission. His head was down as he walked, like there was something he had seen that he shouldn’t have, and your mind began to fill with worries for Levi. Had something happened?

Making your steps slightly heavier in the grass so that he would notice you, the man finally looked up, quickly saluting to his superior. You brushed him off, instead getting down to business.

“Where’s Captain Levi, cadet?”

The man’s eyes darted away from your own before he answered. “Taking care of something, I think.”

You raised an eyebrow in suspicion at the soldier’s weary tone. “Oh? And what is he taking care of, might I ask?” Everything about this seemed peculiar, and you weren’t having it.

“I don’t know. Something… personal.” When he finally met your gaze, he relented, sacrificing the Captain’s privacy for his own sake, too scared to see what your reaction would be if he kept playing coy. “He’s that way, by the big oak tree,” he stated, pointing in the direction he came.

You squinted, making out the shadow of the tree in the setting sun. You dismissed the cadet, and quickly made your way towards Levi, his body becoming clearer as you approached. Once you were a reasonable distance away, you called out, but were met with silence. As your worry grew, you moved faster, only stopping when you realized what was going on.

Levi was kneeling, his body covering the person in front of him. It didn’t matter, you’d recognize those spurs anywhere.

“Kenny?” The name was uttered in disbelief, and as you stepped around Levi, your eyes grew wide with fear. “Kenny!”

Immediately, you jumped into action, your scout training taking hold of your body as you knelt by your friend. Your hands hovered over his burnt and bloodied body, not knowing where to start but ignoring the possibility that it was too late. “How… How do I help you? I-I don’t know what to do.” Your eyes were tearing up, and your breathing was getting ragged as you struggled to find some solution. “Please, Kenny, tell me how to help!”

“Kitten…” His voice was rough as he spoke, his usual tones of confidence and charisma gone. You met his half-closed eyes with your wet ones, begging for him to give you some answer, some, any sort of reassurance that things would be alright.

“Please,” you pleaded. You had never sounded this pitiful in your life, but you didn’t care, and as his shaking hand grabbed your own, a sob wracked your body. “Kenny, please. Please stay.” You couldn’t help, you knew that, but you hoped for once in his life he would listen to you.

His eyes began to shut, and his voice fell to a whisper as he said, “Stay safe, kitten.” With a barely there squeeze of your hand, his body went limp, his hand dropping from your grasp.

You stared in silence, shock overtaking you for a moment. But then, all you felt was anger. “No. No! You promised!” You were yelling at this point, fist reaching out to bang on Kenny’s chest in retaliation. A strong grip on your wrist stopped you, but you weren’t done. As if he could read your mind, Levi wrapped his free arm around your waist, pulling you back from the now dead man. You were screeching obscenities at both Kenny and Levi as you struggled to break free. Soon, your screams turned into sobs, and as you fell limp into Levi’s arms, you let out one last whimper, a last cry for help. “You promised.”

Later that night, as you pulled a camisole over your head, a knock sounded on your quarters’ door. Truthfully, you had absolutely no desire to talk to anyone. You had had a long day, you had just changed into your pajamas, and you weren’t in the mood to join your fellow soldiers in celebration. Still, you pulled the door open a few inches, hoping it would be someone you could easily send away. To your surprise, Levi stood outside dressed in plain clothes and hair wet from what you presumed was a shower. Even more surprising was the newly formed bruise on his cheekbone. The reddish-purple mark stood out against his normally flawless skin, and you found yourself staring, only Levi’s sharp voice bringing you back to reality.

“You did that, you know,” he commented with a blank face.

“What?” You opened the door a bit more, furrowing your eyebrows in confusion. “What do you mean?”

His left eyebrow cocked up just barely. “When you went berserk earlier. Before I managed to snag both of your wrists,” he explained. He reached up a hand to brush against his cheek. “Damn, you hit hard.”

You weren’t sure, but the tone in the man’s voice made you think that maybe, just maybe, he was trying to cheer you up. Against your will, the corners of your mouth turned up the slightest bit. “Did you expect anything less?” You quipped, wondering what his answer might be.

“No.” He shrugged. “Just surprised it took you this long to punch me in the face.”

At that, you let out a laugh. It was true, the man had managed to push every single one of your buttons during his time with the Scouting Regiment. The two of you were in constant conflict, arguments over the smallest things popping up out of nowhere. At some point, Erwin had decided that Mike would be the babysitter of you two, keeping you both in line during training and even more so during squad leader meetings. You started to smile at the memory, but when you remembered that Mike, like so many of the others you loved, was dead, your expression fell.

Moving your eyes to stare down at the uneven floorboards, you spoke quietly, but sincerely, “I’m sorry.”

Levi knew you weren’t just apologizing for hitting him but for everything, and as he studied your face, he made a decision. “Do you want some tea? I keep a special brand in my room.” It was the only thing he had to offer, and both you and him knew it.

You froze as you tried to figure out the best course of action. Follow the Captain to his room or mope around alone until you cry yourself to sleep? In the end, it was an easy choice. Still, your heart stuttered in your chest while you gained your composure. You took a breath before responding, “Um, sure.”

There was a beat of silence, as if the two of you were readying yourself to take on some new, mysterious foe. And in a way, you supposed, you were. About a month after Levi had joined the scouts, there had been an… incident of sorts. It wasn’t disastrous or anything like that, but Erwin had quickly ruled that the two of you weren’t allowed to be in the same room together without someone else present. A wise decision on his part, if you were being completely honest, and something that Levi nor you argued with in the slightest. But now, years later, it seemed both of you were ready to break that rule, Levi making the first move as he turned on his heel and waited to see if you would follow.

Out of all of the scouts, you were known to be the most stealthy. Mike was usually the only one who could sense you were coming, claiming you had a distinctly pleasant smell that his nose had no problem picking up on. One time, he had even claimed that you were the best smelling person in the Survey Corps, and you couldn’t help but swell with pride. Hange had whispered to you later that evening that that was his way of flirting, but you never took her seriously. You weren’t interested in dating anyways. No one had ever really caught your eye minus one man, but you always said it was more of a fascination than a crush.

Even your ODM gear seemed to be quieter than the rest, and you once managed to spook even the Commander when you landed on the same tree branch as him without him knowing. You naturally existed silently and sneakily so when Levi picked up on the sound of your sock-clad feet shuffling behind him, the pit of concern in his stomach grew.

Reaching his quarters, he unlocked the door wordlessly, holding it open so that you could enter first. Your eyes widened as you took in the space. First of all, it was much bigger than your room. While you only had a bedroom and bathroom to yourself like the other squad leaders, Levi had a small living area with a couch, small coffee table, and even a desk. There were papers neatly stacked on top of it, and the rest of the area was just as orderly, his tea kettle sitting in the exact center of the coffee table. Only when you sat down on the couch did you see the small fireplace he had. It was just big enough to fit a tea kettle over it, and that’s what Levi proceeded to do.

You let out a low whistle, capturing the man’s attention. “Wow. When did you get so important?” You asked, motioning lazily about the room with your hand.

Levi scoffed and placed a hand casually on his hip. “Erwin gave it to me when he moved into the Commander’s quarters. Reward for the highest kill count or something like that.” His voice was so nonchalant that for a moment, you didn’t realize that he was insulting you. No, you thought, it was more of a tease than an insult.

Now it was your turn to scoff, well aware that your fellow Captain was just trying to get a reaction out of you. Levi watched as you rolled your eyes playfully, firelight glinting off of your irises. Had they always been such a pretty color?

The whistle of the kettle broke him out of his reverie, and he swiftly turned back to take it off of the heat. When he brought it back to the table, he was pleasantly surprised that you had already prepared the teacups, him only having to pour the water in and wait for it to steep. Hesitantly, he moved around the table to take a seat next to you, wondering when the two of you were ever this close. The events of the day popped into his head, and he did his best to ignore the fact that the thing he remembered the most about it was you being in his arms. Still, a question had been lingering in his mind, and he figured now was the best time to ask it.

“Y/N,” he started, and you looked over with wide eyes at the use of your first name. You honestly weren’t aware that he even knew you had a first name. “Can I ask you a question?” You knew what was coming, but you forced yourself to nod anyways, giving him silent permission to know your secrets. “How do you know Kenny Ackerman?”

It was a loaded question, and you let out a breath as you tried to figure out the best way to tell the story without getting either you or Kenny into trouble. Even the secrets of a dead man needed to be protected sometimes. Despite it all occurring years ago, the government’s threat towards you regarding the release of information hung heavily in your mind. Both you and Levi would be in danger if you revealed too much. He could swear himself to secrecy, and you would trust him, but the risk would never be worth the reward. You fiddled with your fingers in your lap, worrying your lip as you thought of how to start to explain.

“Well,” you bit the inside of your cheek, gathering your nerves before continuing, “About a year and a half before you joined the scouts, I got myself into a bit of trouble.” He raised an eyebrow in surprise as you were widely thought to be the most well behaved and well intentioned scout there was. He thought he was the only person who could get you riled up, your scoldings from the other squad leaders and the Commander always leading back to him. You sent him a small grin. “I wasn’t always the goody two shoes I am now, Levi.”

“Anyways, it became kind of a big deal in the Capital, and a lot of higher-ups were calling for my head.” You let out a light chuckle. “Imagine just turning 19 and having almost every MP looking for you. Scary stuff.”

“Wait.” Levi held up a hand to stop you before you could continue. The story had just started, but he was already having trouble believing that this was the truth. If not for the darkness that rested just behind your eyes, he would’ve called bullshit as soon as you said your first sentence. “What exactly did you do?”

You looked away from the intensity of his gaze for a moment, an internal debate raging on inside your head. With a sigh, you relented. “I… I can’t tell you everything, but let’s just say it had to do with a certain Premier and confidential papers being stolen from his office.” Levi’s eyes grew wide, and you took that as a sign to continue. “No one knows except Commander Erwin, but I spent most of my teenage years in the Underground. I was born within Wall Sina, so I had papers to be up top, but I much preferred being below gro—”

“Why?” Levi was quick to cut you off, his expression hard and tone almost offended.

“My parents owned land in Wall Sina, and when they died, they left none of it to me, so folk got the idea in their head that I was a problem child. I wasn’t wanted there, so I left.” You shrugged, and Levi’s face softened. “I admit, the Underground wasn’t easy, but I was quick on my feet and smart for my age. I survived and I survived by myself. Help wasn’t something I wanted, but when you’re suddenly being chased by the royal government, it becomes something you need. That’s how I found Kenny, and it’s why I owe him my life.”

It had been a week since you had completed your assignment, already turning in the materials to the man who had hired you and returning back to your comfortable life underground. All had seemed to go swimmingly, and your confidence had grown tenfold. The feeling of being unstoppable was addictive, and you craved the sensation of that feeling again. You let your thoughts drift to what you could accomplish next, but sudden screams quickly snapped you out of your daydream. Straightening in your chair, you peeked out of the window of the tavern you currently resided in. Fear grew in your chest at what you saw.

Standing right outside were five MP’s, fully equipped with ODM gear and holding up a wanted poster with a poorly drawn sketch of your face on it. It was clear that they were asking for your whereabouts, and you were thankful to see that every person was shaking their heads to say no, they had no idea. Even with the solidarity of your fellow Underground citizens, you knew you had to get out of there and away from the sharp swords that hung off of the men’s waists. Before you could move, though, two of the men entered the bar, their eyes sweeping over the patrons.

Right before their eyes could meet your frightened ones, your world was encased in darkness, the only light you could see coming from below you. You blinked, trying to understand what exactly just happened, but soon realized that a large hat had been placed over your head. Carefully, you lifted the brim so that you could see, and were met with the piercing silver stare of a man a good amount of years older than you. Apparently your confusion showed on your face because he quickly pushed the hat back down so that it shaded your features.

He spoke in a quiet voice, only letting you be privy to whatever information he was about to share. “I’d keep that on if I were you, kitten. Don’t want the MP’s seeing your face, now do we?” You didn’t dare speak, but quickly shook your head, showing him you were listening and following instructions. “Good,” he dragged out the vowel, and the table shook as he placed his leg onto the table. Were those cowboy boots and spurs? You were pretty sure people only wore those in stories. “Now,” he stated, “We’re just gonna have a nice, pleasant conversation. Lots of giggles, ya hear me?” You nodded, the hat moving up and down your forehead.

As the man started spewing nonsense, you did your best to play along, laughing like he said to and keeping your face covered as best you could. You could hear the MP’s getting closer to your table over the man’s rowdy voice, and the hand gripping your drink began to shake in fear. Smoothly, the man took your hand in his, making some weird comment about how soft it was. You frowned. Your hands weren’t soft at all. What was with this guy?

The realization of what his plan was smacked you in the face, and you let out light giggles in response, putting on your most fake voice as you thanked him for the compliment. The things you were saying to each other became sickly sweet, so much so that you almost laughed at one point. As the soldiers approached your table, the mysterious man leaned in close, his alcoholic breath fanning over your face. Calmly, he swept the hat off of your head and placed it so that it covered both of your faces from the men who were now only a couple of feet away.

A swift kick from under the table spurred you into action, and you let out a girlish moan followed by an exaggerated giggle. He followed suit, making a comment about how nice your lips were. If it were any other situation, you would punch this man in the face, but for right now, you’d listen to every command he gave you. From behind the hat you heard one of the MP’s mumble about ‘couples these days’ with a gagging noise coming from the other. With one last lovesick comment from the man in front of you, the MP’s retreated, leaving the tavern with muttered curses leaving their lips.

Your savior leaned back into his chair, a smirk adoring his features as he placed his hat back on his head. For a moment, you both just stared at each other, you in shock and him in some state of glee. You decided to speak first.

“Who are you?”

“The name’s Kenny.” He kicked his other leg up on the table with a thwack! as the spur hit the cracked wood. The silence grew again, but this time you were at a loss for words. Sure, his name was Kenny, but was that all he was going to say? Apparently not, but when he spoke up again, it was entirely unhelpful. “That was fun, wasn’t it?”

You frowned, unamused. “Maybe for you. I should punch you for some of the things you said. Strange men shouldn’t talk to unassuming ladies like that.” Your tone was laced with a bit of sarcasm, and he guffawed.

“I don’t think fugitives from the crown can be considered ladies,” he shot back, and you huffed. His face grew serious. “I’ve been watching you for a while, kitten.”

You raised your eyebrows at the nickname. “It’s Y/N, and, uh, what?” Once again, this man completely took you by surprise.

He shrugged. “You may not know it yourself, kitten, but you’re well known down here in the Underground. A mysterious girl who arrives without a sound, stealing from the above-grounders and sharing the wealth with the rest of us? You’re practically a legend; some people don’t even believe you’re real, but those that do would protect you with their life.”

This was all news to you. Yes, those were things that you did, but people recognized you for it? You furrowed your eyebrows and blinked quickly as you tried to puzzle the situation out. “I…” You struggled for words.

Kenny held up a hand. “It’s true whether you believe it or not… But, it seems that you’ve bitten off a little more than you can chew this time, my friend. Stealing from the Premier? Tsk, tsk.” His tone was more playful than condescending, and you gave him a weary grin.

You sighed and finally relaxed back into your own chair, studying the man’s face. It showed his experience rather than his age, and you wondered just exactly who he was. Taking a chance, you pried for more information. You hated being in the dark. “So, you didn’t answer my question. Who are you?”

His smile grew at your curiosity, crooked teeth appearing under chapped lips. “Someone who can help you. If you want it, that is. It seems clear you like to work on your own.” There was a challenge laced into his words, and you wondered what the right decision was. On one hand, getting involved with someone else, someone else you knew nothing about at that, was a dangerous game. On the other, you were in trouble and you needed all the help you could get.

Taking a chance, you slowly nodded. “Okay. What do you have in mind?”

He explained his plan. The MP’s didn’t know your name, so it would be easy to get above ground using your old Wall Sina papers. After you expressed your concern and with a chuckle, he dismissed their drawing of you, stating that once you got above ground and cleaned up, you would be unrecognizable from your old self. Then, with his next words, you lost your confidence in his plan.

“You want me… to join the Survey Corps?” You shook your head in disbelief. “Uh, no way. That’s right under the government’s noses!”

He brushed you off. “Eh, not really. The government already dislikes the Corps. They’re not gonna care who’s in it; they figure you’ll all die soon enough.” At that, you gave him a very blank stare, and he just laughed, stealing a swig from your mug. “You’ll be fine. You don’t seem like the dying type.”

It was true, you had escaped the jaws of death on multiple occasions, but you weren’t in the business of actively riding towards your demise. That seemed plain idiotic to you, and you made that known. “This isn’t a joke. It’s my life on the line,” you countered.

With a swift movement, his legs were off of the table and his body was leaning in towards yours, the weight on his elbows making the table creak. His eyes turned dark, levelling your gaze. “It’s your life either way. Would you rather die by the hands of the Military Police after they’ve done God-knows-what to you? Or would you rather die on your own terms, possibly fighting for Humanity’s freedom?”

It was a good question, a fair question, and one you immediately knew the answer to. You sucked in a breath as you resigned yourself to your new fate. “So, how do we do this?”

With another grin, Kenny explained the rest of his plan. It really wasn’t a bad idea, and you were grateful for the help. But still uncertainty settled in your stomach.

The day you were to join the Corps, Kenny had told you he would meet you before you left. You hadn’t seen him in about a week, and in that time, you had completely changed yourself, moving up top, getting a haircut, and finally wearing clean, untorn clothes. It was weird and different, but a part of you enjoyed it. This was a new start, you had chosen to believe.

“Kitten!” You turned towards the easily recognizable voice with a roll of your eyes, but the playful smile that toyed with your lips gave away your true feelings. “Give me a spin!” He requested, and when you did, he let out a loud whistle. “Damn, you really look like you belong up here.”

You raised your eyebrows with a grin. “That’s the point, right?”

“Precisely, my friend, precisely.” Slinging an arm over your shoulders, he began to walk with you towards where the ferry would pick you up. His pace was slow, obviously not in a rush to say goodbye, and you felt the same. Somehow, the two of you had grown close over the past month. Even with all of the secrets you both kept from each other, there was an air of freedom when you were in the other’s presence. No lies, no false personalities, just friendship.

It was refreshing, to say the least.

For once, you both were quiet as you walked. The weight of the future hung over both of you, pressing your mouths shut. He managed to speak first, his voice cracking for the first time since you met him and giving away his true emotions.

“Stay safe, kitten.” The words were serious, and something in him couldn’t stand to let that be the last thing he said. “You’ll kick those Titans’ asses.”

Normally, you’d laugh, or at least smile, at his cheesy jokes. Instead, you stopped walking and turned until you both faced each other, looking up to meet his eyes. With a swallow, you asked something of him that you knew was unfair, was selfish, was wrong. Yet, you still asked, knowing Kenny wouldn’t hold it against you.

“Promise me you won’t die before me.”

His eyes softened in understanding, crinkles forming around their edges as he gave you the most gentle of smiles. He knew what you needed to hear, knew it would be a lie, knew you’d hate him for it. But, he said it anyway.

“I promise.”

#attack on titan #attack on titan x reader #kenny ackerman #kenny ackerman x reader #levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman #levi x reader #attack on titan fanfiction #mere writes

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real-fanta-sea · 3 years

Text

Prompt for the kiss no. 71

Prompt: "Not to be cringe or anything, but I really like the idea of the kiss 71 (height difference kisses where one person has to bend down, and the other is on their tippy-toes)...where Trevor is his true height. i.e. Ogg's height and Michael has to stand on his tiptoes to snog him."

I'm sorry, anon, but I saved the post as a draft and it just vanished into thin connection. So, I have to answer this way.

This work is more of a spur of the moment thing, but I kinda like the way it turned out, being it just my emotions spilt onto paper. If you'd like, you can read it on AO3 here, or under read more. I hope you'll like it as much as I enjoyed writing it! :)

tw: kissing, child abuse memories

It's been three weeks already.

An unhealthy greenish glow of flickering light tubes and the icy breath of an industrial refrigerator made him shiver as Michael, gliding on the orbit touching stars in his mind, put yet another box of ready-made microwave hamburgers into his shopping cart. If he were not a regular in this particular shop, he would have got lost. It resembled an anthill with seemingly infinite shelves and aisles, bursting with the merchandise, even though the depressed lights covered everything in the same shade of decay green. The same life outlook was shared with most of the shadows roaming around whose name tags qualified them as proud employees of Flormart.

It's been three weeks, and he still stuck around, hanging on his every word.

Michael pushed his cart further from frozen goods, and the pictures swirling and smearing all around transitioned from photoshopped vegetables to flashy fireworks of chips and other guilty pleasures he planned on indulging in later on. Some people would find the height of the shelves menacing, but to Michael, it was just a memory that pulled him from the orbit back to earth and placed him in the middle of a football pitch. The smell of sweat building up underneath his helmet. The crunch of the crisp lawn under his feet. The spotlight following him whenever he scored. Cheering faceless crowds in time with busty faceless girls' pompoms. But most of all, he felt happy again - needed, cherished, innocent, and with a bright future awaiting his embrace. But then, just as he crossed from the snacks aisle to the alcohol quarter, the football stadium lights flickered and turned bright red. All the faceless girls turned around, their mouths gaping as if someone dislocated their jaws, and the cheering turned into a hellish cry of pain. Where their eyes were supposed to be, he saw a flair, screwing itself deeper into their skull, and a stream of scarlet goo drip down on their immaculate white dresses.

It's been three weeks, and somehow, his puppy-like behaviour didn't irk him yet. Quite the opposite if he were honest with himself - he felt strangely peaceful in his company.

Michael gulped in a desperate attempt to wash down the horror that invited itself under cover of a happy memory. Shaking his head only did so much and dispersed the spectators and cheerleaders alike, in the same way shaking a snowy paperweight would. Michael's chest constricted as he felt unable to breathe in properly, people splatting and exploding upon impact all around him in his mind. Suddenly, he felt a pull under both of his shoulders and found himself flying towards the pitch-black sky, where instead of one moon, two shone down on him. As he flew closer, they shrunk into two amber irises - and Michael immediately knew who pulled him out of the memory. As he crashed into a mass of pink candy cotton clouds, his vision blurred just to clear up when he felt a solid surface under his feet and someones hot hands in his. Somehow, he found himself looking at the tips of abused old pair of sneakers he was wearing, the same pair Michael knew he wore that faithful day at the airstrip. A moment later, a couple of dark blue, equally run-down ones stepped into his field of vision. He slowly let his sight slide up on crumpled jeans, the hem of a military jacket, a pair of dog tags hanging around a slender neck, a sharp jaw, a pair of full dark lips and finally, to the pair of amber eyes, eyes that radiated worry, care and, at the same time, something he could only read as love and utmost devotion.

It's been three weeks since the incident, and anytime he woke up from a nightmare that played in his mind over and over again, he was there to soothe him; he was there waiting for Michael's tears to dampen his naked shoulder. He didn't bitch about it and didn't tell a soul in the morning.

Michael let out a shaky breath. Stopping his feet from casually continuing in their stroll proved harder than he thought, and he leaned on the shopping cart handle, running fingers through his hair. He couldn't decide what mortified him more - the creativity his brain proved to possess when playing out the horrible things he has witnessed in just a few years of his fresh adulthood, or the way it put his acquaintance on some fucking pedestal and presented him as the alpha and omega of his thoughts and desires.

"Hey Michael, are you ok?"

Speaking of the devil... "Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. I just.." Michael breathed in again and turned towards the source of the voice, trying to display a small smile by twitching his tired lips "I need a smoke, that's all."

It's been three weeks, and he got that tingling feeling in his guts already. He could barely tolerate touch or prolonged eye contact without getting goosebumps and that ticklish feeling solidifying and slicing right into his groin. Michael wanted to believe it was just his weird head showing gratitude for saving his ass, but anytime he found himself in the company of that amber-eyed twink, the longing grew worse.

"Hey, how about a bottle of something to wash the cig down?" said the guy and his oversized jeans jacket hanging from his shoulders cringed into weird shapes as he took one of his hands out of his pocket and pointed his thumb towards the shelves. He looked so adorably dishevelled in all jeans, and with his silky hair framing his hopeful face, Michael couldn't have said no to anything he would suggest. Instead of mustering the strength to say no, Michael threw another smile towards his companion and turned his back to him to choose the dream crusher he wanted to numb them with before they went to bed.

To someone who grew up in a functional family, all the labels and bottle shapes would seem the same. To Michael, however, to choose the right brand and size meant the same as selecting the bananas or avocados of the proper ripeness would for them. It was a work of art; he learned so much in the ten years of living with his stepfather. While scrutinizing the shelves, index finger and thumb scrubbing on the sides of his chin absent-mindedly, he remembered how they would come to the similar shop together, he and his mother's second husband, and how he slipped behind the shelves. At the same time, Frank chatted with the clerk, and he stuffed his lunch box with a large flat bottle of Chief's Heritage Fire Water whiskey. He had to carefully close it to avoid disturbing the aluminium foil that served as a guard from the primitive electronic protection device they had to pass through on their way out. Michael would then tuck his stepfather's sleeve, babble some cute nonsense to get candy from the unsuspicious clerk, and after they paid for the two packs of cigarettes and a beer, they would leave. Frank would let him chug on whiskey then, and if he were in an exceptionally good mood, he would let him sleep through the night without beating the shit out of him.

Finally, spotting the whiskey he knew so well on one of the top shelves, Michael attempted to grasp it but only managed to graze his fingertips against the bottom of one of the bottles that rocked gently upon touch but otherwise didn't move an inch. "Fuck", he uttered under his breath, cracked his neck and stretched onto the tips of his toes, steadying himself by holding onto one of the lower shelves. But, again, he could only touch the bottle but not get a good hold of it. He even contemplated climbing the shelves to get it, as if the shame of his disappointing height haven't already painted his cheeks bright red and didn't make him want to leave the shop right away. Just as he braced himself for the climb, eyes fixed on that damn bottle, a gentle touch of someone's hand squeezing his shoulder made him turn around. It was Trevor's hand, and even though Michael still had to look up to meet his eyes, the small sympathetic smile put him in ease in a blink of an eye.

"Chief's, huh? Good choice, Mike!" the praise in his voice made Michael shiver, and he desperately tried to ignore the warmth he was receiving through the palm still steady on his shoulder and which upset his heart into beating twice as fast as ever before. "My old man used to drink this. It tastes like cat piss but knocks you out good for the buck." Trevor's grin felt like a warm touch sunrise after countless years of freezing darkness. Michael couldn't help but soak in the warmth, allowing himself to lose himself in the feeling completely. "Let me get it for you, eh?" he heard Trevor say from somewhere near, and before he could object, most of the light was obstructed by a jeans-clad chest.

It was then when Michael closed his eyes and tried to get hold of the situation. Trevor, the guy he only knew for three weeks, pushing Michael's back onto the shelves as he leaned for the bottle but also pushing his chest almost to Michael's. If it weren't for a couple of inches of hot air and fabric between them, their bodies would brush against each other. Michael could only gulp when he opened his eyes again, and his mind provided him with the maddening picture of Trevor's naked lean chest, peppered with dark brown hair as if puberty marked its way down towards his groin with it. Michael's head was spinning when he looked up to see Trevor still busy fetching the bottle. Michael's racing imagination saw him grabbing the guy's head, crashing lips with his and dissolving into what he thought would be the best kiss he would ever receive. Michael gulped again. He had to have him.

He was anxious about the way it was too easy to raise both his hands and grab fists full of other man's jacket as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Michael didn't fight it when he felt his muscles pull on the fabric and only turned his gaze up to where he expected Trevor's eyes to look once he would feel the movement of his clothes. Michael didn't have to wait for it at all, actually; the puzzled expression was already waiting for him to drink it up. However, he couldn't maintain the contact for too long as his eyes focused on something completely different; the dark lips, deliciously parted in the unspoken question. The distance between his own and them unnerved him, and in the sparking silence, Michael again propped himself onto the tips of his toes, pressed harder on the fabric to steady himself and, closing eyes, pressed his lips to Trevor's.

For a delicious moment, the world fell apart as if some invisible force made the dimensions crash down. The trembling soft firmness against his lips sent shivers down his spine with each cautious move. Whenever Michael recalled the moment years later, he could always sense the faint smell of cigarettes, petrol and sun mixing between their bodies and the way the ground shook and cried under his feet when he felt Trevor's palms slide down his sides and pull him closer, effectively sweeping him off his feet.

Trevor seemed to be relishing at the moment as much as Michael was, but when he felt solid ground under his feet again, and the pair of arms letting go of him, Michael reluctantly broke the kiss with a coquettish wet pop and tried to catch his lost breath. Then, leaning against the shelves again, he only dared to peek up when his cheeks stopped burning from what felt like a mixture of acid and a marathon run. Trevor's face might as well have been a mirror, for he looked down on Michael with eyes wide, face red and lips wet and trembling as if he didn't get a grasp of reality yet. Michael couldn't help but let the anxiety scream right to his face in the voice of his stepfather - and there were thousands of things he might have ruined then and there, just because he didn't fight his stupid queer side, because he let himself kiss another man, because by the twisted chain of mistakes he fell from what could have been a good life to longing after a rabid smuggler in the middle of a liquor aisle.

Just as he was about to duck under Trevor's arm and run away from the voice and feelings of shame it brought about, he was stopped by a gentle, almost shy touch of a hot palm on his cheek. The slender fingers brushed against his face in such a delicate way Michael's heart skipped a beat, and closing his eyes, he leaned into the touch, seeking the soothing silence it brought with the warmth. The hand fit his cheek like a glove, Michael mused as he relaxed into slow movements of fingertips on his temples. Right there, at that moment, everything felt so right, so natural. Why has he deprived himself of the delicious heat for three weeks when somewhere deep inside, where the beating of his heart always gave away the truth, he knew he needed it from the start - well, Michael didn't know. Instead, he slid his arms around Trevor's waist and buried his face into his chest.

"Michael?"

The vibrating echo of his name, spoken in such a husky yet caring way, made Michael squeeze his arms around Trevor even tighter. He sought the last bits and pieces of it before he dared to speak up himself, afraid of spoiling the delicious contentment of the moment.

"Let's get out of here."

A gentle kiss on top of his head and long arms lacing his shoulders later, Michael found himself too far from Trevor for comfort. But even with the newly gained distance between them, a quick glance sideways has provided him with a sight of a beaming smile and a fire deep inside Trevor's eyes that made his own lips twitch into a happy upwards bow. As they rolled into the checkout, Michael has noticed the world has changed as well. The depressing shade of green has somehow transitioned into a welcoming warm white; the shadows that they passed by on their way in suddenly bloomed into happy faces. The various packings of goods exploded in all the colours of the rainbow. As Michael and Trevor emerged into the darkness of the parking lot, ready to relive their revelation in thousands of ways, Michael has felt at peace with himself for the first time in forever. The days of the inner night were over.

#michael de santa #trevor philips #trikey #kissing prompts #gta v fic #real_fanta_sea.txt

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solivagusdraco · 3 years

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From the Depths of a Lab: Boundaries Between Nonhumanity and Creativity through the Journey of a Potential Silvally 'kin

I'm a dragon.

That's a fact I've known for over a decade at this point. It was pure chance that I ever even learned of otherkin - somewhere along the line, one of my best friends mentioned being a therian, and so I asked what that was. If I ever had any doubts about my draconity just being something developed because I heard this new fascinating thing… the fact that I still feel my wings and get sense memories when I search for them, even after this long, would eliminate those… we'll call them worries. Perhaps a poor choice of words, but it's what fits in my experience - I'm firmly in the spiritual otherkin camp.

And perhaps that, and my continued journey to understand psychological 'kin, is part of the "problem" that spurred this essay.

Again, perhaps a poor choice in words.

This isn't some discussion about facets of the community, or debate on origins. My experiences aren't another's, just as theirs aren't mine. This is an essay on personal exploration, and the adventure of trying to confirm or deny a kintype whilst sifting through muddy water, years after I've last done any serious introspection on such topics. But if you're still interested in the personal ramblings of this dragon, then I welcome you and will pull up a nice rock for you to sit on. All I ask is patience, for words are hard for me. Talking about myself is even harder.

I awakened as a Dragon in 2010. I found a hearttype in Painted Dogs in 2014. Both of which were… simple.

I found my dragon in meditation and introspection, finding memories of both sense and the more traditional kind. The senses persisted, and still persist. Perhaps one day I'll wake and realize I'm not a dragon, but that doesn't change what I am now, nor how I feel. I am a dragon, and I found that through soul searching.

I found a home in painted dogs during a chance trip to the zoo. They had just recently finished a new exhibit for those fancy canines, and for some reason I just felt so excited to go see these creatures I'd never heard of before that moment. And then I saw them and while I didn't feel like looking in the mirror… It felt like looking through a photo album. I'm not them, yet still they're so familiar.

But this isn't an essay about dragons or canines. Or perhaps it's an essay about them both, just in a different, chimeric form.

Pokémon has always been a part of my life. As of writing this, I'm 27 and the franchise is 25 - the only part of my life without Pokémon are years I don't even remember. I learned the TCG, my first video games ever were Gold and Silver, I had plush and played pretend with my friends. I had favorites… but I never made a character. Not a trainer, not a Pokémon. Rather, it was literal decades before I made a proper Pokémon OC.

Sev the Silvally was made out of a desire to try and run a Pokémon ask blog as a means to improve my art skills through regular practice. I don't even remember the thought process that made me choose a Silvally over any of the other hundreds of Pokémon - I just knew that I'd started drawing and suddenly I had a crime against Arceus with a broken RKS Drive. Granted, Type: Null and Silvally had been my favorite Pokémon of that generation, and my inspiration for the blog was a Type: Null blog.

Later on, Sev would become something of a comfort and coping character for me.

I had been abused by someone I considered one of my best friends in high school, and while I had since recognized it as abuse by the time of Sev's creation… It still bothered me. So I decided to have Sev's escape from the Aether Paradise be that he was stolen by an abusive trainer, and his evolution happened when that trainer turned her abusive hand to a Rockruff pup - an evolution not through love for his trainer, but rather through a desire to protect. Sev escaped his abuse and got the chance to learn how to live without the shadow of his trainer looming over him, just like I hoped to do. Escape that shadow. Let Sev be my guide through the nightmares and hate scrolling that still persisted.

He stopped being just a character.

But what does this all have to do with otherkin?

As I mentioned, Pokémon has been a part of my life for effectively my whole life. Yet despite that… There's never been a Pokémon that gripped me with the intensity that Silvally has. I've hungrily looked for merch, official and unofficial. I'm in the midst of making a fursuit, complete with electronics. One of my Tumblr usernames is multi-attack, and oftentimes now when making an account on a website, the first thing I check is if 'Silvally' is taken as a username. The design I painted on my mailbox is of my dragon and Sev, in a sort of "coat of arms" reminiscent style. This chimeric Pokémon latched on to some part of my mind and refused to let go.

And yet it wasn't until this past year that I even considered that Silvally could be something other than a "mere" favorite character.

Perhaps it's a hearttype. Perhaps it's a kintype. Perhaps it is just a mere favorite character. Introspection is the answer, regardless. My way to find just what Silvally is to me. But then there comes another question. Another problem.

With my dragon, the hunt for memories was clear cut. I had no existing thoughts to sway the hunt, and what memories I eventually found… They had little comparisons to various dragon media I'd consumed. But I start this investigation with Silvally at a disadvantage - I've made a character with crafted backstory, and consumed what little canon information exists on the species. There's no blank slate for me to start from - whatever search I do will always be colored by Sev and his tale.

So then I have to ask myself:

Is Sev his own character, or is he me?

I've never had a character that I was able to just write. Perhaps it's akin to soulbonding, but what I've read on that experience just doesn't quite taste right for the circumstance. I'll create a path for my characters, a baseline for their personality to grow on… but all too frequently, they end up bucking those guidelines and becoming their own person, as it were. They don't keep me company in my mind, but they still make their own minds clear should I try to direct their story or actions in ways they don't agree with.

Where does one find the boundary between self and other, when those "others" make their own decisions yet aren't their own entities?

To say nothing of my tendency to dole out my flaws and traits to each of my characters. Each little facet of myself being the seed from which a character will grow. Sometimes as the simple fact that the familiar makes creation easier. Sometimes as a means to work through a problem. But regardless of reason, it doesn't change the fact that almost every character I've ever made has had some piece of me in their core.

But… When every character you make is a facet of yourself, the moment you consider that they might be more than just a character gets muddy. Is it a hearttype, born from a facet of yourself that your subconscious decided you needed to care for more? Or is that facet just a part of you that recognized what you were, long before your consciousness connected the dots? And if kintype it is, then how do you determine what memories are real? Were the plot points and character biology you designed mere fabrication of the mind? Or were they flashes of another life, fleshed out, recorded, and/or adapted in the name of writing?

As if the discovery and determination of memories wasn't already complicated enough.

Sev's name was the only decision I consciously made whilst creating him - shortened from 'severance', as his creation was for the partial purpose of finally separating myself from old memories. Everything else just… happened. There was no rhyme or reason or choice to anything. Not his color, not the reason he and the other Silvally of his world were created. Every plot point, every musing on his biology was a simple moment of "Oh, so that's how it happened".

In what way is that different from how I found my dragon, with her quiet nights of meditation and introspection until the memories and feelings fell into place?

Now don't misunderstand - this isn't me saying that discovering a kintype is nothing more than making a character. That couldn't be farther from what I'm saying! Rather, I'm musing on the question of where the boundary is between the creative process and the discovery process. If Sev (or just Silvally in general) isn't a kintype, then it's still fascinating to me that his creation was so similar to me discovering my dragon. And if he is a kintype? Then is that particular creative process something to be mindful of when contemplating "original character" kintypes?

Perhaps this question would be easier to find an "answer" to if I knew what Silvally was to me… but I don't! That's almost the point of this essay - a vague attempt to knock some solid feeling thought loose from my mind.

It just happened to lead to a fascinating line of thought.

#otherkin #otherkind #alterhuman #heraldic speaks

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erenaeoth · 2 years

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if u are still doing interview a muse, may i see A... 2, 7, 45, 54, 72 for lei Blease?

Lei jumped out like I finished writing Zen Gardens yesterday. This was a lot of fun ty for the ask!

2. How often do you do things just for the attention?

Lei: Never! I’m a very serious guy! Ok, but sometimes someone’s gotta break the ice, right? And if people think I’m funny at the same time, I’m taking that as a win. And other times, you ever met some pencil pusher who’s all “Lei, dinosaurs are extinct” well no shit, they’re extinct, but they could come back, it’s not that wild an idea, anyway yeah, those guys – sometimes I lay it on a bit thick just for the attention. They don’t believe my theories anyway, so sometimes I ramp it up and add in all sorts just so they have something to go home and tell their boring wide-eyed friends.

7. What is the one thing people assume about you that you wish was true?

Lei: When they hear ‘Supercop’ they seem to think I must be a really well adjusted guy with a neat schedule – like the perps just drop in to see me and stick handcuffs on themselves. Damn I wish that were true. I’m dead on my feet cracking cases, absolutely terrible company, can’t go five minutes without talking work. It totally trashed all my attempts at stable relationships. I wished I was the supercop who winds up in the press statements. He seems like such a chill guy.

45. What accusation would you defend yourself most fiercely against, even though you know it’s true?

Lei: I never killed my old partner. His choices killed him, organised crime killed him, his own greed killed him, the city killed him. Was still the gun in my hand though.

54. What is the most ridiculous thing you’ve done to please people?

Lei: Ah, I have to please bigwigs every week. You wouldn’t believe the kinda stuff I’ve had to say just to be able to get on and do my work. The most ridiculous though, huh let me think. It’s actually so that I can try and crack one of my oldest cases. The bosses were threatening to finally put a nail in it unless I got new leads. So to please them I had to get a little creative. Do you know about idols? So there’s this lass who dresses as a cat and dances and she does this for G Corp. I don’t understand how it helps G Corp, maybe it just takes media attention away from them, like you see a cat and forget a human rights violation or something? Anyway I researched idol culture and watched hundreds of internet videos and learned song lyrics and dance moves, I even have a pair of cat ears, like on a headband. I even kinda like the music now, y’know? I think I might have actually brainwashed myself. But yeah, this idol is definitely gonna be how I finally get in close to Mishima Kazuya’s business. Might even be that Bruce Irvin’s still there too. So that’s pretty up their with ridiculous things I’ve done.

72. How often do you say no to the things that make your skin crawl?

Lei: I got lines I try not to cross, even when people on the inside are pushing you to cut corners. I been in Interpol a long time, and if you knew what Hong Kong was like before things were cleaned up a bit, you’d know there was practically no one who wasn’t owned by somebody. That was never me. Never my scene. But that made me a lot of other enemies and then there’s a whole lot of everything else to navigate. Politics in the office kind of thing. There’s not many things I’ve compromised on, and I’ve had to say no to a lot. All my regrets are mostly spur of the moment things… or just my lifestyle in general… Yeah. It was never the idealism that gave me a problem, it was just me being me.

#Lei Wulong #Tekken #interview the muse meme #tekken headcanons

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the-gay-prometheus · 3 years

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Either 15 from Fluff; “You saved me.” Or 48 from Angst; “Wake up! Please don’t do this to me.”

Hehe. You gave me an angst prompt. This was a mistake.

So I decided to do something completely different with this. I had the sudden inspiration to write something not for my main AU... but instead for that ridiculous Red Dead Redemption/Frankenstein crossover AU that I'm now affectionately dubbing Undead Redemption because I have absolutely zero creative talent.

No I'm not planning on actually seriously pursuing this AU. But uh... this prompt made me think of it so I decided to write for it! This... this is a doozy of a piece. Be warned... it’s.... intense. It’s also pretty long so... sorry about that. (needless to say - I chose the angst one)

TW: Blood, character death, murder, hysteria? panic? something like that

~~~

The town of Strawberry was charming - well worth the travel, Henry thought. Remote, but certainly not too much so, as the larger town of Blackwater was only a half-day’s ride away. Surrounded by pine forests and brisk with a mountain’s breeze, it was a quiet town of bare-log houses and little in the way of amenities. A rushing stream cut through the town’s center, turning a large wheel which likely produced what little electricity could be found there.

Henry smiled as he rode down the dirt road, his red roan mare plodding along patiently until he pulled her to a halt at the hitching post in front of the house that was to be his lodging for the week. “Ata girl,” he cooed softly, ruffling her mane with his hand before dismounting. She shook her head with a snort, and rested one hind hoof on its edge as she settled in to stand for however long it would be until she was to be ridden again. Henry reached his hand into his pocket and pulled out a sugar cube, holding it out to her with a flat palm, and she gladly snatched it up. Chuckling at her eagerness at the scent of a treat, Henry pat her on the neck and pulled her reins over her head, tying them securely to the hitching post. Though he was giddy at the thought of adventuring through Mount Shann over the next few days, today was to be a day of rest before the excursion, so he took his time unloading what little he had brought with him into the house before retiring to a sturdy wooden chair on the porch to watch the townsfolk go about their day. Part of him was itching to retreat further up the rocky hill behind where he was staying and sit in the woods to write as the sun set, but he was aching after a day of riding and he was far more inclined to stay and rest.

The evening was quiet yet cheerful, until out of the corner of his eye, Henry caught sight of what appeared to be a massive shadow approaching the town from the northern road - one that sent townsfolk scattering and shouting as they all shut themselves into whatever dwellings they could, some choosing instead to hop onto their horses and gallop off. Now thoroughly curious, Henry stood and squinted to get a better look. That shadow turned out to be a massive draft horse, the tallest he had ever seen, with what looked to be an even taller person sitting atop its back. As the stranger rode past the sheriff’s office, Henry could see the sheriff open the door, then quickly shut it again the moment the stranger turned his head to look at him. The odd figure continued on, then halted his giant steed in the middle of the road and dismounted, resting their hand on the horse’s neck and slowly sliding it away as they began striding down the road. As the stranger approached, Henry could hear the jingling of spurs and a sudden chill went down his spine. At about the midway point from the road to the porch where Henry stood, the stranger stopped. His hair was long and black and billowing like the tails of his heavy dark leather duster in the wind, and his face covered by the rim of a black cattleman’s hat that was tipped downward to hide his eyes. “Clerval!” The voice that echoed through the streets was clear and cold as the rushing stream it rose above, yet pitched somewhere between roaring thunder and the creaking of old pines. Henry felt his hair stand on end at the sound of his own name, but he kept his composure and slowly descended the steps, standing a distance from the stranger on the road.

“Is there something you need from me, s-” Henry felt his breath catch in his throat as the stranger slowly raised his head and pulled a dark bandana that covered his mouth and nose down with one gloved hand. Even from a distance, beneath the shadow of his hat’s brim, the stranger’s eyes seemed to glow a dull yellow, sickly and pale yet burning bright enough to be visible from afar.

“The eyes! Those horrible eyes!”

“Victor! Victor, compose yourself! What eyes?” Henry held Victor tightly as the scrawny scientist writhed in feverish agony and pointed toward the wall.

“Surely you can see them! There! The fires of hell burn within them!” Henry looked up and surveyed the empty room with worried eyes.

“Victor… love there’s nothing here,” he reassured him. Victor broke from his grasp and tried to stand, only to stumble backward again.

“Yellow! That dreaded yellow glow- he’s returned for me! He’s- he…” He suddenly went silent, eyes still bugged and wild as he collapsed onto the ground. Henry desperately wanted answers, but… whatever had happened, whatever Victor had seen to haunt him in such a way, it was still far too traumatic of a memory to be discussed. With a heavy sigh, Henry gently picked Victor up off of the floor and carried his limp body to bed, where he laid him down and kissed his sweat-covered forehead tenderly.

“Just rest, Victor. No one is here to hurt you. It’s just me. Everything will be ok.” He took Victor’s clammy hand and held it tightly. “So long as I am here with you, I’ll make sure of that.”

“Who- What are you?” Henry managed to ask as the memory passed through his mind. The stranger’s gleaming eyes seemed to widen, then narrow again. His left hand, which was bare unlike his right, pushed aside the leather of his duster and revealed a pistol holstered on his hip. The fingers that hovered over the pistol’s handle were long and bony with a mixture of pale and discolored skin. Henry felt his heart jump at the sight, and he instinctively raised his hands. “Sir I mean you no harm,” he reassured him. “Just… tell me who you are and how you know me.” The stranger hesitated, and Henry saw in him a sudden moment of weakness.

“I-” The stranger’s voice broke as he began to speak, and he faltered. “I am no one. I am nothing.” Henry’s racing pulse began to slow, and he cautiously stepped forward.

“Everyone is someone, everyone is something.” The stranger’s hand fell back and he dropped his head.

“Not me, Henry. Never me.” Henry felt a sudden sense of sympathy toward him. Surely this was the man Victor was so afraid of, and yet… he seemed so sad, so alone, much more like a lost child than a fearsome demon.

“Maybe not now, but if you let me help you, maybe we can find where you belong,” Henry called to him softly, slightly lowering his hands as he approached. The stranger took a step back. “May I ask your name?”

“I have no name,” was the stranger’s hushed reply. He raised his gloved hand and removed his hat, revealing his face. A scar with obvious stitching ran diagonally down it, and though his raven hair primarily covered over it, another ran along his forehead, and two more ran from his ears to about midway down his jaw line. Henry felt himself taken by the shock of the sight, but he showed no fear as he continued to approach. “Your Victor never gave me one.” Now finally putting the pieces together, Henry’s hazel eyes widened.

“So he finally did it,” he murmured. “He managed to create life from death-”

“And then leave it to die,” the creature interrupted. Henry could see tears streaming down his papery-skinned cheeks.

“I can see you’ve been through so much,” Henry pointed out sympathetically, lowering his hands further. “You can talk to me. I won’t hurt you.” The creature’s chest heaved and his eyes clenched shut as he turned his face away.

“No, no I certainly think you won’t.” In one swift motion, the creature pulled the pistol from its holster and held it cocked, pointed in Henry’s direction. Henry jumped, raising his hands up again as his heart began to race. Though his gun was pointed, the creature seemed hesitant. His hand shook and his face was still turned away. For a moment, he lowered his gun and he wiped the tears from his eyes with his gloved hand.

“You don’t want to do this,” Henry muttered, suddenly filled with a strange mixture of fear and empathy. “You don’t have to do this.”

“That’s just it, Henry,” the creature whispered. His eyes lifted to the red painted sky of dusk. “I have no choice. There are consequences for his actions. A price must be paid as reparation for what he’s cost me.” There was a sudden shift in his expression that made Henry feel his blood run ice cold. “And that price is you.”

He barely felt the bullet when it hit. All there was, was the deafening sound of the shot and the screams that rose from the buildings that followed, the flying open of doors and windows to see what had happened, the terrified whinnies of horses, and a sudden gush of something onto his hands which instinctively flew to his chest. As he fell, he saw the creature become unsteady, nearly falling himself as the smoking pistol fell from his hand, before tensing and letting out an unearthly cry that seemed to echo through the still dusk air. He could see the creature’s stallion turn from the calm shadow he was into a panicked wreck of a beast, pawing and pacing and rearing onto his hind hooves. The creature himself turned and ran, jumping back into the saddle. As he turned his horse around, he looked over his shoulder to Henry one last time with a sorrowful look in his yellow eyes before placing his hat back onto his head and spurring his steed into a swift gallop until he disappeared over the hill beyond.

Hooves pounded on the dirt road that led to the western side of the town, kicking up dust as horse and rider flew down the path. Victor’s eyes kept a steely gaze on the town entrance ahead, his heart racing. As he had been walking down the road, there had been a sudden exodus from the town, with folks high-tailing it out as fast as they could, and he knew something was very wrong. Though his silver gray Kladruber mare was pushing just about as hard as she could, the sound of a gunshot spooked Victor into kicking his heels into her sides hard. She leaped from the pain of it with a panicked neigh, her ears pinning back as she kicked her legs out and pushed into a faster gallop than she had ever managed in her life. Tearing past the arch of the town entrance, Victor tore at the left rein, and his mare nearly tripped over herself as she made as sharp a turn as she could and tore over the bridge that led to the other road. The moment they crossed, Victor watched as one figure stumbled back and another far taller, ran and disappeared over the hill on his mount. Yanking back on both reins, Victor forced his mare into a skidding stop, leaping off her back before she had even fully stopped and racing to Henry just as he fell. He caught him in his arms, but struggled to hold up his weight and fell backward himself. Frantically, he tore the bandana from around his own neck and pressed it hard against the wound that spilled with blood. “Stay with me Henry,” he muttered, though he felt he was going to be sick. “Stay with me, come on, stay with me.” Henry coughed and sputtered, but looked up at him with a strained smile.

“Victor- it’s- it’s ok,” he wheezed. Victor pulled the bandana back slightly to inspect the wound.

“I’ll need to get that bullet out-” He paused, wildly searching around. “Is there a doctor in this town?!” he exclaimed, searching for any sign of a practice that might have the tools he would need. Henry suddenly gripped his arm.

“Victor, no,” he whispered hoarsely. “Don’t- don’t…” His voice trailed off and his breath grew more ragged. Tears began streaming down Victor’s face and his vision started to blur, his heart pounding hard in his chest as panic coursed through him.

“Somebody! Anybody! Help!” he cried out. A few terrified but curious townsfolk began opening their doors to see what was happening. Henry suddenly twitched and sucked in a deep breath, his eyes growing wide. Victor gripped him tighter, pressing harder at the wound. “No- no no no- Henry!” In his arms, the body he held convulsed, and after an exhale and another sudden sharp inhale, it went limp, and once bright hazel eyes stared coldly up at him, sightless. “Henry,” Victor croaked his name, his hand falling from the wound and taking the lifeless hand of the one he held. “Henry please…” he whimpered, choking back a sob. “Wake up! Please don’t do this to me,” he begged. The warmth from the body he held was already beginning to seep away, and the skin began to grow cold. He was gone. Truly, completely gone. There were no longer any thoughts in Victor’s mind. Everything was as blank and empty as the soulless stare from the lifeless eyes that seemed to pierce through his soul. In a blind state of panic, Victor dropped the body and stared down at his hands. He stood, shaking violently as he stared down. Blood dripped from his fingers, but he could barely see it as his vision was so hazy and unclear. He gripped at his face hysterically, smearing blood over his hair and skin. The sudden feeling of it and the realization of what it was sent him into utter turmoil, and he let out an inhuman shriek, stumbling around in blind panic and screaming until he tripped over the corpse’s outstretched arm and fell into the dirt below. As he writhed, a mess of blood and tears, he felt himself go numb, and with one final cry, his eyes rested back on Henry’s lifeless stare and he drew in a ragged breath. Panic turned to searing rage, and he grit his teeth. Around him, a few townsfolk had gathered to check on his condition, but their voices were drowned out by the pounding of his own heart, and his sight faded away to white as his consciousness slipped away.

#and they never even got to say goodbye or i love you before he died :')#anyways I had to suffer with this idea so now i guess all of you do too #also I'm sorry I went with this dumb little au instead of my usual ;~; i probably shouldn't have but... here we are.#ask games!#tw blood #tw death #tw murder #tw hysteria #tw panic #also i don't know if anyone is wondering who saw the original post about this au from a few weeks ago-#but victor doesnt get his mammoth donkey until *after* Henry's death - hence why he has an actual horse here.#undead redemption

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lifeofkaze · 3 years

Text

An Art of Balance #12

Word Count: ~ 2.400

______________________________________________________________

Chapter 12: Secret Santa

December had come around, bringing with it the heaps of snow Hogwarts had been spared from so far. Within days it buried everything in sight under a thick white blanket, transforming the landscape outside into a powdery winter wonderland.

Peeves had took it as his personal assignment to dump a heap of snow on every unsuspecting passer-by from questionable heights until Professor McGonagall publicly threatened to turn him into a Christmas cracker if she saw him with so much as a single snowflake in his unsubstantial hands again.

And as the castle was slowly but surely covered in ornaments and twinkling lights, the festive spirit spread into even the most remote corners of the dungeons.

It had become tradition for the Hufflepuff team to celebrate the holidays in their own way. Even back when Orion hadn’t been captain, the team used to gather after the last practise of the year for a small get-together in the Common Room, including a game of Secret Santa.

Whereas the idea of material gifts had never posed much of an interest to him, Orion couldn’t deny the astounding effect the game had on the rest of the team. The excitement of receiving a present from someone unknown positively electrified his friends. Consulting the ones closest to your assigned person for a suitable gift never failed to knit their team closer together.

So he had just continued entertaining this ritual after he had stepped up into his position. Especially this year, they could do with a little bit of festive unison.

The snowfall had increased again just as they were wrapping up their last manoeuvres. Everyone practically jumped off their broomsticks to retreat into the comforting warmth and light of the Common Room.

McNully was already waiting for them as they entered through the narrow passageway, a trail of melted snow dragging on behind them. A small jute pouch adorned with an embroidered Christmas Tree rested on his lap. Fully immersed in the festive spirit, he was sporting a particularly nasty sweater picturing a badger dancing with a raven instead of his usual white shirt and tie. His golden snitch was still pinned to his chest, however.

He wiggled his eyebrows in anticipation as they all got changed into their yellow and black team sweaters and settled down around him. A pot of hot chocolate was passed around, the warm smell spreading in the Common Room as each player poured themselves a cup, glad for something to put their freezing hands around.

McNully reached into the pouch and started mixing up the slips of parchment he had prepared in advance while reminding them of the rules.

“It is time for our annual Christmas draw, ladies and gentlemen! As we have some new faces to join in on the fun this year,” he inclined his head towards Everett, “I will present to you the rules once again.”

Orion shook his head with a chuckle. Murphy McNully, forever the presenter.

“Everyone is to draw a name of another member of the team. You have time until Christmas Day to buy, craft or create a suitable present for your assigned person. You may not reveal your identity to them unless they guess correctly. You are not to reveal your draw to another person unless your un-festive mind can’t think of anything to gift and needs creative assistance. If you fail to deliver on your task, I will brand you a Christmas troll and announce it publicly on your next friendly.”

Orion bit back a laugh at Murphy’s newest addition to the rules. His friend took the holidays very seriously.

They all took their turn lining up and dove their hands into the pouch, pulling out a neatly folded piece of parchment. The reactions to the names written on them ranged from relief over confusion to horror when it was a particularly difficult person to find a gift for. Orion found it fascinating to observe.

Laughter erupting from one of the armchairs drew his attention. Skye slumped in it while Lizzie was sitting on the floor with her back against the yellow armrest. Lucy had just showed her parchment to them, looking more chagrined than anything. Upon reading what was written on it, Skye had whispered something to them, prompting the girls to burst into laughter.

“You are not supposed to show who you got just yet!” Murphy scolded the girls. Spreading Christmas joy was a very serious business to him.

“Sorry!” Lizzie tried to appease him while still shaking from suppressed laughter. “Just go on!” Skye muttered something into her ear, drawing another set of giggles from her.

With an indignant huff Murphy returned to monitor the drawing while Orion quietly observed the scene. There were still some stray snowflakes hanging in her hair which was curling around her face as it dried in the warm air of the room. Her cheeks had turned red from laughing at Skye’s joke, a smile lingering on her lips, reaching up into her eyes.

He hadn’t seen Lizzie as carefree since what had happened back at the concert a few weeks prior. Everyone but McNully had left Hogsmeade soon after she had suddenly disappeared. They had found her in the Common Room, curled up in front of the fireplace, nose buried in a book and Mouse snuggled up on her lap. She had retreated to her dorm almost immediately after their arrival.

Neither of them had mentioned what had happened with so much as even a word. It wasn’t like Orion had a problem with that. He wasn’t entirely sure himself in what direction they had set their steps that day, or why he couldn’t get a hold of the reason everything had gone out of hand. It was like smoke, evading his grasp as soon as he tried to set his mind on unravelling what had taken place between them.

But he had noticed how Lizzie had started avoiding his company. Where she had been perfectly comfortable around him before, she now made sure someone was with her at all times, positively clinging to Skye when they had practise or her friend Rowan during their tutoring lessons.

It was this change of atmosphere Orion felt truly sorry about. He considered his friends his family and Lizzie actively seeking her distance from him unsettled him more than he cared to admit. It had never been his intention to cross a line. Like a fool, he had let himself get carried away in the spur of the moment. He should have known better by now.

He missed chatting with her in the greenhouse the most. Lizzie was one of the few people seeing beyond him being the captain of the Hufflepuff team. She was actually listening to what he had to say. Instead of tuning out when she didn’t understand his point, she gave his words a thought until she had figured it out.

As much as he longed to equilibrate their friendship again, he would have never forced her to talk to him if she clearly did not wish to do so.

Perhaps it was a good thing the Christmas break was so close. For the first time in years Orion was glad almost everyone was returning home for the holidays. Having the Common Room mostly to himself was the perfect occasion to take a step back and regain the balance he had been struggling to maintain as of late.

He wasn’t the only one watching the chuckling group of girls, however.

Everett seemed to be oddly interested in their conversation as well, his intense gaze trailing Lizzie’s every movement. Sensing Orion’s attention shifting to him, he suddenly perked his head up. His grey eyes narrowed as they made contact with Orion, an unspoken challenge hanging in the air between them.

Orion had no interest in a fight with him, so he merely held his gaze with level eyes. It took Everett a moment, but eventually, he broke the contact and turned away.

“Why is he looking at you like that?” McNully had finished monitoring the draw and came over to him. Everyone else was chatting excitedly about gift ideas and the upcoming break by now.

Orion’s eyes followed Everett as he got up and strutted over to the boys sharing their dorm. Maybe choosing him for the team had not been the wisest decision after all.

“People with strong characters like him often feel the inherent need to establish a hierarchy between them and others they deem a threat to their dominance,” Orion responded, half lost in thought.

“A threat, you?” McNully chortled.

He had to smile at his poor choice of words. “While I may not portray a dominant character, as captain I do fill the most prominent position in this team,” he explained his meaning. “I consider every one of us a vital piece of the greater picture and I find rivalries within our team to be unfortunate; we should always strive for unison. Because without unison, how can we reach a common goal?”

McNully stared after their roommate, silently calculating. “Whatever this is about, if he happened to have drawn your name, I’d like to inform you that there is the small possibility of 9.2 % that a present from him might be really unpleasant.”

His face suddenly lit up again and he shoved the almost empty pouch in Orion’s face. “Speaking of which, there’s only you and I left now.”

Not being half as enthusiastic as his friend, Orion waved him on. “Go ahead, I’ll take the last one.”

McNully pulled one of the two remaining slips of parchment out of the bag. A grin spread on his face when he read the name written on it. “Oh, that’s a tough one,” he mused, grey eyes sparkling. “Brilliant! I like a good challenge.”

He upended the pouch into his hand and handed the last parchment to Orion; he always took the one that was left.

The corner of his mouth quirked up in a wry smile as he read the name written on it. Apparently, the universe had his own twisted sense of humour.

“Who’d you get to make you grin like that?”

Skye had suddenly appeared by his side, craning her head to catch a glimpse of the piece of paper between Orion’s fingers. He shifted his arm slightly to block her view and folded it up again.

“Skye, are you coming? We need to finish that Charms essay before the library closes,” Lizzie called over to her friend. She had gotten to her feet, her hand resting only lightly on the back of the armchair. She seemed very eager to leave the scene.

“Go ahead if you don’t want to wait, I’ll catch up to you.”

Lizzie hesitated for a moment before stepping back towards the group. She rubbed her hands against her arm and joined them, albeit subtly standing as far away from Orion as possible without it looking suspicious. He noticed it anyway.

Their eyes met for the briefest moment as she caught him looking at her and she immediately dropped her gaze, suddenly very invested in pulling on a loose thread at the hem of her sweater.

Skye tried to use his distraction to her advantage. With a quick movement she attempted to snatch the piece of parchment he was still holding between his index and his middle finger out of his hand.

“You are not supposed to know!” McNully shooed her away as Orion tucked the paper into the pocket of his pants.

“Don’t violate the rules, Skye Parkin, I’m warning you!” McNully scowled at her. “Lucy shouldn’t have shown you her parchment either. What was so funny about it anyway?”

Skye stuck her tongue out at him. “Of course, now you want to know.” She snickered again. “Lucy got Everett and has no idea what to get him. I told her maybe a braincell or two wouldn’t hurt.”

Orion tried to suppress his grin in vain, while even Lizzie started giggling again. Everett really didn’t seem to be the most popular member of their team.

“This is not what this game is about!” Murphy scolded, but he was grinning at Skye’s suggestion all the same. “Don’t ruin the Christmas spirit with your bad jokes.”

They were the only ones left in front of the fireplace. The other members of their team had one after the other filed away, now minding their own business. Skye sat down on the armrest of the sofa, resting her feet on the cushions.

“Speaking of Christmas, what are your plans this year?”

“I’m with my mum and grandma of course ,” Murphy told them while pointedly pushing Skye’s feet off the seat again. “Orion is going stay at the castle, I presume?”

Orion inclined his head. He always stayed at Hogwarts if he could.

“I’ll be with my family as well,” Lizzie added to the conversation. “We haven’t had a family Christmas for two years in a row now. My parents have been visiting my brother Jacob in the States.”

“I remember; you were at Weasley’s place for the past two years, weren’t you?” Skye mused. “That was when you and him- “

“Exactly; I’m really looking forward to being home for a bit,” Lizzie shut her friend up hurriedly.

Orion could see her cheeks blush slightly. He wondered why she was so intent on silencing Skye.

“It’ll be great to spend a bit of time with my family,” she quickly continued, brushing over Skye’s protest. “I’ll probably meet Penny some time as well; her family doesn’t live far from us.”

Skye had stopped protesting at her words; a sad expression shone in her eyes. The relationship between her and Penny was still strained, as far as Orion was aware.

He watched the girls chatter on about Christmas in silence. He saw Skye lean in to Lizzie. Although he didn’t mean to overhear their conversation, Skye was talking too loudly for him not to hear her words.

“You’re meeting Penny?” she asked silently. “Do you think you could talk to her on my behalf? Things are still so weird and I just want this to be over with,” she pleaded.

Lizzie shrugged. “Sure, I can try.”

“Smashing!”

Orion was still thinking about Skye’s request after the girls had left for the library and he and McNully had started a round of Wizards Chess. The Christmas break came at exactly the right time. It was an opportunity to look at things from a healthy distance and to get things back to order.

Apparently, he wasn’t the only one who was desperately in need of it.

#hphm #hogwarts mystery #orion amari #orion amari x mc #quidditch #murphy mcnully #skye parkin #art of balance #lizzie jameson #quidditch squad #the quidditch squad

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andromedarune · 4 years

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[Vampire!Leon/Witch!Reader] “A Night of Tricks and Treats” (Halloween Fic~!)

A/N: HAHA, I did it! It’s later than I wanted to post this, but it’s here! So enjoy the story that y’all voted for: A Vampire!Leon AU, with cute/fun elements, and a black dahlia thrown into the mix (along with other creative liberties). Thanks to everyone who voted on that poll - this one’s for you!

Vampire!Leon x Witch!Reader - “A Night of Tricks and Treats”

Word Count: ~3k

Rating: Teen (mild blood, reference to death, adult language, spooky stuff)

The third set of feverish knocks on your front door pulled a frustrated groan from your lips. You were finally drifting off to sleep when some rando decided to assault your door at some ungodly time in the night (or morning, since you checked your phone to see that it was a quarter past three). Pouted lips set on your face, you groggily slip out of bed, hardly bothering to grab the cardigan that you kept slung over your desk chair. Another fit of knocks was just starting up when you threw open the door, ready to say a few choice words to your unfortunate visitor.

But unfortunately for you, this wasn’t just any visitor.

“Hey, you’re awake!” Leon gave a cheery smile, oblivious as ever.

Ah. Maybe you should have put on some better clothes. But you’re already this far in - you decide to just play along like nothing’s wrong. Knowing him, you’d at least have a couple of minutes before the awkward sets in.

“Uh, yeah… You do realize it’s three in the morning, right?”

Leon shrugged.

“I’m aware, but it’s so much easier getting here at night. You have no idea how annoying paparazzi can be…” You sink in your hip a bit, watching his eyes flit down past your head for the briefest of moments. He tries to meet your gaze again, but the awkward smile twitching with some odd emotion that settled onto his face cues you in that he most definitely noticed.

The weather’s been oddly warm despite it already being autumn, so you were still wearing your summer pajamas. Which, of course, were a simple set of purple Wooloo PJs. Short-shorts that were baggy and comfy, a tank top that was equally baggy and comfy. Nothing scandalous, but definitely more revealing than what you normally wear.

You can practically hear the dial-up sounds going on in Leon’s mind as he shifts his weight from one foot to the other, one hand tangling itself around a strand of that obnoxiously long purple hair, him just desperate to find something to distract himself with. It’s kind of fun to watch, actually.

“Did you need something?” you eventually sigh, crossing your arms over your chest as a hint of self-consciousness rumbles through your gut.

“A-ah, right!” he snaps out of it and lifts up his arm. Carefully pulling back the sleeve of his casual red hoodie, he reveals to you his forearm. A large, dark-colored burn covers most of the arm, even reaching down to his fingertips. You can’t help but wince, leaning forward for a closer look. “I, um, could use some of your help with this, if you don’t mind.”

“Again, really, Leon?” you can’t help but scold him a bit. He laughs, anyways. “This is the third time this month - one of these days there’s not gonna be much of you left to heal.”

He mutters a soft apology, but you’re still playing like you’re irritated with him and spin around into your living room. You don’t make it far before you realize that Leon’s still standing just before the threshold.

“Oh, right - you can come in.”

“Thanks,” Leon sighs in relief, still holding his arm with a smile.

Just like always, you guide him through your house, leading the significantly taller man down the halls towards a dark down just at the opposite end of your little cottage house. Expertly, you unlock the mystical mechanism that you yourself created (probably seven or eight years ago now? Man, how time flies) to reveal the ominous, shadowy basement. The two of you descend down the steps; you pass by a set of candles and light them with a snap of the fingers, a sight that surely puts stars in Leon’s eyes. He’s always been a sucker for parlor tricks like that.

Leon waddles over to the simple wooden chair you have waiting near the center of the room, taking a seat to watch as you tugged on your long black cloak (the one you made a habit to keep hanging down here for these very instances) and began pulling out various ingredients from one of the numerous cabinets that lined the upper walls of the room.

“Wish you’d just commit to being nocturnal, already,” you couldn’t help but sigh, checking the date you had written on the little jar of beeswax you were inspecting. “If you keep getting injured like this, your healing abilities might become permanently disabled.”

“You know I can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m still champion,” he laughed, seeming more amused by your reaction than anything. “I can’t just step down for no reason.”

“Sure you can.” You climbed up onto a lower shelf to dig further into a cabinet. You left that jar of chamomile here somewhere. “Gym leaders do it all the time.”

“It’s different for champions. We’re the best of the best, the image of the ideal trainer for our region. Galar isn’t known for giving up, so that’s not an option I’m willing to consider.”

You almost settle for the bag of rosemary, only to quickly set it back in the cabinet. That would be bad, using rosemary on Leon. You were trying to heal him, here, not destroy the guy. You decide to check another cabinet.

“I know, I know, Mr. Unbeatable Champion. I’m just saying that it hasn’t even been a year since you’ve turned and now I’ve basically become your primary medical provider. And you don’t even pay me!”

“I pay you!” He whines a bit before pausing, no doubt trying to think of instances of proper “payment”. “I, um… Well, I’ll pay you back this time!”

You finally find the chamomile, and even stumble upon that jar of honey you were looking for earlier today (of course, they were both behind the several jars of cinnamon sticks). So you throw the man a perked eyebrow while walking over to your giant black cauldron, which rested within a rustic brick fireplace.

“Oh yeah? What have you, Good Sir Champion, have to offer to the likes of me?”

“Name your price and I’ll double it.”

You snicker, lighting the fire with a clap of the hands rather than snapping. You can barely catch Leon’s amazed smile from this far away. How is any of that exciting for someone like you, you can help but wonder. Champion, genuinely cool guy, recently-turned vampire… still gets amused at basic baby magic. Same ol’ Lee.

“Hm, that’s a bold offer, young man,” you muse, adding a dramatic raspiness that makes you sound like some aged witch from a shitty Blockbuster horror film. “A wise man would think twice before dealing with a witch~.”

“Please,” he snickered, “you still call me to catch baby Joltiks that wander into your house. Don’t even try.”

A playfully sour look from you spurs a booming fit of laughter from your old friend. You hide your smile by turning away, focusing more on getting some dandelions to add to the mix. A small bag of garlic slumps over in the cabinet, so of course you grab it and reveal it to the man. He instinctively leans back a bit, a nervous grin settling onto his face.

“Hey, maybe this’ll add some extra zing to your salve, huh?”

“Uh, n-no thanks…”

“That’s what I thought,” you cackle, tossing the garlic away. Thoroughly satisfied with what you have, you dump a shit-ton of beeswax into the cauldron, watching it slowly melt before adding in the other items. While all that boils away, you wander over to your other writing desk, skipping past your grimoire in favor of digging into a drawer. There, you retrieve a small glass vial and a bag of jumbo marshmallows; those in hand, you walk back over to where Leon resides.

“Time for the secret ingredient.”

“It’s not really a secret ingredient if I already know what it is,” he frowned.

“Shut up and open wide.”

He rolls his eyes a bit, but does as he’s told. If you didn’t already know the truth here, you might have not seen anything unhuman about his teeth. Overly white from years of meticulous care and likely bleaching or whitening strips (though the thought of Leon walking around at night with whitening strips on his teeth nearly made you choke on your spit), but otherwise normal-looking human teeth. However, you knew better, and peered a little closer to his canines. Sure enough, you could see it; a slight shimmer, something like seeing heat rising off the earth during the summer, wavy and hardly noticeable. You took a marshmallow in one hand, the vial in the other; expertly, you stabbed the treat into one fang and simultaneously propped up the vial against the other tooth. Leon flinched a bit (“It feels really weird,” he had told you one time, following the same procedure the night he needed a quick fix after accidentally grabbing one of his grandmother’s rosaries when cleaning up his mother’s house, “kinda like I’m spitting with my teeth. Yuck.”). In seconds, small spurts of a dark, sort-of maroon-colored liquid fills up most of the vial. You give it a few seconds more before pulling away, taking a moment to drain the liquid from the marshmallow before offering the remains to the champion. He childishly takes it with glee, stuffing it into his mouth with that stupid smile on his face (goddamn his smile was gorgeous, but it’s way easier to just say that it was stupid, instead).

With the last and most important ingredient, you return to your work, carefully pouring the vial’s sibylline contents into the concoction. You pick up the large wooden spoon that hangs over the fireplace and give a few generous stirs.

“Y’know,” you hear Leon’s footsteps creeping up behind you, keeping a slow, leisurely pace as he meanders around the room, “this really wasn’t the future I thought for us when we were kids.”

You exhale a chuckle from your nose. You almost say that you feel the same, but the fear of him inquiring further about what you did envision makes you choose a different set of words.

“Don’t even think about getting all Byronic on me,” you peered over your shoulder. He simply smiles at you - an even stupider smile - hands in his pockets as he slowly makes his way towards you. “I’m not going to listen to you moan and groan about your tragic fate for all eternity.”

He chuckles, something surprising soft instead of his regular bone-shattered laugh.

“Of course not. I’m just saying that I figured we’d be, y’know, doing other things.” You try not to think about what he could mean by that. “But I’m not really against this. I don’t think I would’ve found out about your little shop of horrors down here, otherwise.”

He’s got a good point there. Literally the only reason you admitted to your secret life as a decently skilled witch was the night he turned. You could still remember it all; he stumbled into your house, desperately holding his wound with that terrified look in his eye, as if he was looking at Death, itself. You’d never personally treated a victim of vampire’s night out (not a live one, anyway), but you did everything in your power to keep Leon alive. But you knew that it was nothing short of a miracle that he managed to wake up the next morning, having survived a night of literal death in slow-motion. Not so many victims were so fortunate to make it through the process, but like hell you were about to let your childhood friend die like that. So now he knew your secret, and you protected his. At least you didn’t have to worry about the two of you drifting apart any time soon, especially with him always forgetting basic vampyric flaws like sunlight all the time.

He settles beside you, offering a soft smile.

“I guess what I’m trying to say is that I’m really grateful to know someone like you. You’ve got better things to be doing, and yet you always make time to bring me back after I do something stupid again and again.”

You look into his eyes a moment too long before looking back into your task. The gooey mixture, now dyed a deep red, bubbled down below, seeming almost alive.

“You make it sound like I just started doing this. I’ve been patching you up since kindergarten.”

“Fair enough. But still… I’d be dead if it weren’t for you. So, thank you.”

He’s got that look in his eyes again, golden irises burning brighter than ever, and he’s far too close for you to be comfortable. So, logically, you look even deeper into your cauldron, grateful that the darkness of the room likely hides your ever-burning cheeks. Thankfully, the brew looks just about ready. You reach over and grab a small bowl from the table nearby, spooning some of the waxy goo into its hold.

From birth, it had been decided that you would carry on your mother’s family tradition of witchcraft. And you have - with much pride - and it’s become your greatest secret that would spell disaster should it be learned by the wrong people. You didn’t make many friends, but Leon’s dumb smile was so infectious that you were always drawn to him, even if he drove you bat-shit with his innocent antics. The two of you were close for so long, but after he became champion, things became a bit more strained. You figured that it wouldn’t be long before he forgot about you altogether - but then last year’s “incident” happened, and now a whole new understanding unknown to much of the world had formed between you both. You knew it was far too late to ever consider confessing any of your possible feelings for him (feelings of annoyance, you always told yourself - what an unfortunate lie that’s come to be), but now here you were, likely stuck as his clandestine nurse for the rest of your mortal life. And then what? You’d be reincarnated, would likely stumble upon memories of your past lives (such is the fate of those who take on the witch’s mantle), and see the man you once loved (or loathed, as you’d rather say) finding someone else to take care of him in your absence. For him, it’d hardly feel like a change. But for you, it’d truly be a fate beyond that of death or eternal damnation. You should be happy that he has a reason to stay with you for the rest of your life, but instead, all you can feel is a bitter aftertaste that you have no choice but to suffer through.

“I can’t say I believe in fate,” you shrug your shoulders, “but every now and then the stars align in such a way that has us thinking that God has a sense of humor.”

Leon chuckles again, but you don’t really know. He doesn’t really know what you’re referring to. Right?

You shuffle him back over to the chair, sitting him down and resting his arm across the armrest. As gentle as possible, you spread the salve across the burn area, letting it soak in a bit before applying a second coating that you massage into his skin. Leon watches with that dumb, stupid, bothersome smile of his; you make a point never to meet those eyes, not when you’re so close to him like this.

After a few minutes, you give an affirmative nod and pull back, inspecting the injury. Sure enough, it’s already starting to lighten up.

“Looks like we got power in the healing department,” you smirk. “You’re all ready to go, Good Sir Champion.”

“Not quite.” You must’ve made a weird face, because he’s quickly backtracking, rubbing the back of his neck with a laugh. “I mean, uh, I still have to pay you back double, right? You never said what kind of payment you want.”

You don’t like the way he phrased that. No, you hate the way he phrased that. It’s got your mind in all sorts of a jumble, now. So as quick as you can (before you accidentally say something stupid), you make up a response.

“Flowers.”

Okay that’s really fucking dumb.

Leon quirks his eyebrows at you, seeming amused once more.

“I, uh, I mean,” you stumble for words, hoping to dig yourself out of this hole you’ve thrown yourself into with one stupid word. “What I mean is… I’ve been looking for a specific set of flowers for this spell I’m working on, but they don’t really sell them in stores nearby. So, uh, yeah. Get me flowers.”

“Flowers? For a spell?”

“For a spell,” you affirm.

“Okay,” there’s a strange tone to his voice that you don’t really want to try and decipher, “I can do that. What, uh… what kind of flowers do you want - er, what kind do you need? For the spell?”

You run through a mental list of all the most non-romantic flowers you can think of. Unfortunately, you like flowers, so all of them kinda felt romantic. God fucking dammit.

“Uh… dahlia’s? Black dahlia’s - yeah, those’ll be good. For the spell.”

“Right, the spell,” he nods, glancing off to the side for a millisecond. “I think I can do that, yeah. For a second, I was kind of scared you were gonna make me get a bunch of super poisonous flowers. Not sure how I would explain that one to my bank.”

“Y-yeah, right.”

A brief (and awkward) silence settles over the two of you. Eventually, Leon moves to get up; you shuffle a few steps back to give him enough space to stretch.

“Well, thanks again for helping me - I feel a thousand times better. I swear, you’re a better doctor than, well, actual doctors.”

You smirk with a smidge of pride. “Magic is just a science that hasn’t been accepted yet. And it looks cooler, too.”

“Maybe you can teach me a few things, some time.”

You narrow your eyes at him, playfully glaring in such a way that has him laughing just at the sight of it.

“That’ll cost you more flowers, Lee - are you sure you’re ready for that?”

“I’ll buy you as many flowers as you want - any kind you want.”

You wait a minute for him to backtrack, or to say “For the spell” in a rushed manner like always. But that’s it, the end of the sentence. He just stands there, smiling in that stupid way evermore, eyes focused entirely on you.

It’s a look that you can hardly describe, the look in his eyes at that moment. It pulls something from your chest that you had spent years keeping locked up tight.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

You don’t know what scares you more - the fact that you said that, or the fact that he grins even brighter.

You’re the witch here, and yet he’s the one trapping you in this terrible enthrallmetn that has you seeing stars with just that stupid-dumb smile of his. It’s hard to blame it on his status or his altered state of humanity when this has always been the case. No, that’s just the kind of person Leon has always been and (hopefully) always will be. And you would likely be stuck with this (gorgeous) idiot for the rest of your mortal life.

It’s got your heart beating faster - you can’t tell if it’s from fear or from excitement. Maybe both. Most likely both.

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