#I was focusing so hard to make my writing legible

[gigi-journaling]

Journal Ideas: Habit Tracker Styles

sorry for the eyesore colors 😅

I made some habit tracker examples for monthly, weekly, and one year of tracking!

Come visit our journaling community!

[temiizpalace]

☆┆MY LAST NAME BELONGS TO YOU!

SUMMARY: writing your name out, with his last name!

CHARACTERS: basketball club + azul and leona

GENRE: fluff

WARNINGS: reader is referred to as [mc] – not really a warning, just kinda cringe – mentions of pursuing marriage in floyd and azuls part

ROMANTIC, RELATIONSHIP IS UP TO READER

reader is g/n, reader is yuu

♥️┆ACE TRAPPOLA

“man, this stinks..”

ace whispered under his breath as professor trein droned on with the lesson. he was struggling to keep his eyes open. as much as he wanted to just fall asleep in the middle of the lesson, he really really didn’t want to add to his homework pile.

that’s just more precious hours of his day wasted. all the repetitive sounds were oddly enough lulling him to sleep. the grating sounds of grim snoring, the weird twang noise deuces rubber band was making, and the sounds of pencils writing against paper.

“hey deucy, make sure not to fall asleep.” he whispered to ace, as if he wasn’t about to do the same. deuce gives him a look, about to open his mouth before trein had looked in their direction. ending their banter immediately.

to keep himself awake, ace started doodling in his notebook. not in the corner as most would, no he began doodling on a brand new sheet of paper. curious as to what you were doing, it seems you were notetaking at first.

but getting a closer look, you were doing the same as him. doodling in the notebook, barely paying attention to the lesson. he snickered, deep down grateful that he wasn’t the only one not paying attention.

‘hah. look at that idiot, not paying attention. they’d have to work twice as hard without magic. hehe.’ ace thought, shifting his attention to staring at you. though he was focused on you, his hands still mindlessly doodled across the page. completely unaware of what he was writing.

deuce glances over his shoulder, eyes widening at what he managed to read. “ace?! i.. i never would’ve thought this was your level of dedication..” deuce says to ace, confusing the boy. “eh? deuce what are you talking about—“

ace looks at the paper. his handwriting was messy since he wasn’t paying attention but it was certainly legible.

[MC] TRAPPOLA

he shuts the notebook hastily, emitting a loud thud noise to echo in the classroom. all eyes were on him. including yours. he whistles as if nothing happened, face flushed a light pink color. trein grunts, and continues on with the lesson.

🦁┆LEONA KINGSCHOLAR

“how’d i get stuck here..”

leona mumbles, sitting at his desk in what felt like forever. his plans to skip were officially ruined as you dragged him to his classroom before he could make it to the botanical garden. usually he’d just brush off anybody getting in his way of a good nap, but you looked so persistent in getting him here.

so begrudgingly, he took his seat in class with a huff as the professor continued his lesson. does he regret it? sort of. you looked satisfied and proud when he listened to you, so he’ll oblige for now. he can just ask for a reward later as a thanks for his compliance. he’s mentally making a list of things you could do for him..

joining him for his afternoon nap, fetching him lunch, coming to a spelldrive club practice, the list goes on. his blissful thoughts were then interrupted as the professor placed a paper worksheet in front of him. a worksheet? those are barely ever given out to students..

“kingscholar, this is a sheet of things you must catch up on as a result of your frequent absences. surely you can finish this by the end of the week since you seem to have much free time.” the professor spoke, handing him a pencil and leaving him off to writing.

“haah.. I shouldn’t have listened to that damn herbivore.” he sighs, slouching in his seat and reviewing the sheet in front of him. ‘i already know all this..’ leona thinks, stretching his arms out getting ready to nap. the least he could do is write out his name and do the rest when he feels like it. instead of his name, it was something else entirely.

[MC] KINGSCHOLAR

his ears drop down, his eyes widened, and his cheeks got darker. he followed his first instinct and crumbled the worksheet, ensuring nobody could read what he had just written. the professor glares at him and makes his way over to his seat. “mr. kingscholar.. i hope you know that’d be a rather large part of your grade. we wouldn’t want you to be held back another, would we?”

“tch..” leona scoffs, trying to look away from any of the attention he was receiving. the class ends as soon as it has started, thankfully with no more incidents. leona was just glad nobody has seen what he has written and that he can escape this situation as quickly as possible.. or so he thought.

“roi du leon!” an all too familiar face calls out.

oh no.

🐙┆AZUL ASHENGROTTO

azul sat in his office, filing through the contracts he had made in the past month. many let their minds wander when sitting at a desk for 2 hours or so, and azul is no exception.

eventually growing bored and tired of looking through the deals he made, he took out a notepad and simply wrote out his thoughts. at first he thought this was a dumb idea, but his mother insisted he try it and it has been working ever since.

his mind always felt at ease once the notebook was pulled out. but today felt a little different. he was happy, but today he felt more excited than anything.

he had a dumb lovestruck smile on his face, lightly giggling as he wrote. what on earth? his face was flushed and warm, but he didn’t mind it one bit.

[MC] ASHENGROTTO

he would’ve never thought something so simple would’ve gotten him so worked up. it was just your name and his surname. what was so special?

that’s what he would’ve thought in the past. now, he began to imagine a future of you and him in the coral sea.. a house together.. you meeting his mother.. his stepfather.. it made him feel all giddy. like a schoolgirl if you will.

his love fantasies were inevitably cut short as he heard a knock on the door. “ne, azul. shrimpy is here to see ya.”

panicked that you and floyd might see his notes, he hurriedly opened his drawer and slams it shut. the thud can be heard on the other side of the door, confusing you. “a-ahem.. come in!”

as he saw you, his fantasies began to boot back up. a wedding.. dates at mostro lounge.. it sounded like paradise. every fiber of his being was fighting the primal urge to make you a sign a contract. a contract in which you’d agree to be his life partner. forever, and ever.

🦈┆FLOYD LEECH

not feeling like attending classes, floyd skipped out on the lesson. he knows he’d get scolded by azul later, but if he doesn’t feel like going he don’t wanna.

since you were in classes, the teachers had pushed him out before he even got to you. even despite his protests! floyd complains at the closed door, trying to open it back up.

“eh? why can’t i just take shrimpy and go? lessons are borin’ anyway.” he complains, causing you to hide your head from all the eyes staring at you. all this attention pointed more at you than at floyd..

“leech.. that’s quite enough. go back to your class and come back for this.. “shrimpy” later. interrupting a lesson is NOT what a mage of the future should be doing.” the teacher retorts, now ignoring floyd and his remarks.

“tch.” getting tired of trying to pull you out, floyd retreats to his room in octavinelle. he flopped onto his bed, a pen in hand and a notebook in front of him. jade said drawing is a good time killer or whatever, so he’ll do just that. in all honesty, it won’t take long for him to get bored of this activity and look for something else.

floyd being floyd, just wrote or drew whatever first came to mind. there were tiny drawings of shrimps all over the page. an occasional eel to be seen next to it. he laughed and smiled looking at the page before him. “ehe.. there are shrimpys all over this paper—!”

he writes out another thought that came to his mind. it wasn’t a shrimp drawing, neither was it an eel. the handwriting was slightly shaking being on an uneven and unstable surface, but you can tell what it says.

[MC] LEECH

[MC]? ohhh, that’s your name! leech? that’s his last name! he didn’t truly process what he had wrote, but he knew the implications of it. you being a leech.. to change your last name..

you typically marry a person of interest.. and that person of interest typically inherits the others last name..

hey! person of interest is you! you’re his person of interest! just wait shrimpy! you better save that ring finger just for him!

and 5 minutes later he gets bored, tosses the notebook to the side and goes back to terrorize your classroom again.

🐍┆JAMIL VIPER

jamil sat in the scarabia lounge, finally finishing up dinner for the day. kalim was held up in club activities, and basketball practice has been cancelled due to the fact over half of the members were injured thanks to floyd and aces negligence.

this was a rare moment where he actually had time to himself. nobody to interrupt him in his peaceful state of mind. jamil walked over to his room, locking the door behind him and laying flat onto his bed.

he stares up at the ceiling, unsure what to do with this free time. homework? no he already did it all. check up on kalim? no, why would he ruin his moment of peace like that. check up on you? …

what a ridiculous idea. he doesn’t have time for that. well he does but.. ugh. having time to himself isn’t as relaxing as he made it out to be. especially considering he never had a moment to himself in forever.

jamil figured to keep himself occupied, he can make a bucket list. many people make bucket lists, surely this’ll help him plan his future, right? he grabs a pen and a sheet of paper and began to brainstorm.

obviously seeing the world is one of them. that’s something he wanted to do for as long as he could remember. his mind blanks. so far, his only desire was to travel. far far away from kalim. a thought occurred in his mind.

“..they have to be putting a spell on me or something.” jamil mutters, massaging his temple. he tried wiping the thought clean from his mind, but there was no luck. it annoyed him that such a simple thought was enough to leave him flustered.

[MC] VIPER

he wrote it onto a separate sheet of paper. examining it with a slight smirk. his cheeks were tinted a slightly darker shade, signs of him blushing. “their name doesn’t go well with my surname. what a shame.”

he’s lying. hearing your name with his last is like music to his ears, as much as he’d hate to admit it. surely enough he rips the paper into shreds and tosses it into a nearby trashbin, going out on a walk to clear his clouded mind.

you must’ve put a spell on him. he shouldn’t be having such fantasies of you and him traveling the world together.

A/N: this kinda sucks but it’s better than nothing lmao

date published: 1/6/23

© temiizpalce — don’t steal or copy my work!

[pedgito]

i just saw your post about glasses!eddie munson and whenever you have the time, would you be able to write a cute series of reader finding out about his glasses ITS JUST ADORABLE

author’s note: this was meant to post sooner than now but here it is lol, i finished this pretty quick but got sidetracked. glasses!eddie has invaded my brain and it’s never leaving.

cw: sfw, glasses!eddie, eddie’s not so subtle flirting, acquaintances to friends, once again another fic where everyone bullies eddie (give this man a break), if i missed anything lmk!

word count: 2.5k

“Do you wanna switch seats with me?” Your voice is soft, leaning back toward Eddie, whose eyes are nearly closed from how hard he’s focusing on the board, blindly scribbling something down on the paper. He’s lost on where the voice comes from until you’re in focus, looking back at him with a smile.

Eddie wasn’t a friend, but he wasn’t an enemy either. He was the boy who got picked on relentlessly and as much as you wanted to help, you weren’t sure it would change anything. Plus, he didn’t seem that bothered by it—or he was just really good at faking like he wasn’t.

“Oh,” Eddie replies, still confused, “I’ll be fine—Mr. Donahue’s handwriting is always shit, I can barely understand it.”

It wasn’t a total lie, but it was still legible.

“Munson!” The teacher's voice rings from the front of the classroom, “let's stop trying to distract other classmates and focus on our own work, okay?”

And if it wasn’t the condescension in his tone that pissed you off, it was the way he so quickly blamed Eddie for the interaction. He shrinks slightly, sending you an apologetic look.

It happens a few more times that week, catching Eddie glancing at the board as if it’s nearly impossible to see—and maybe he was telling the truth, but it’s also obvious that Donahue hates Eddie for no other apparent reason than just because he thinks he’s up to no good, which isn’t fair to Eddie.

You show up early to class the following week, bag resting in the chair of the desk beside you—Eddie’s usual seat, waiting. He’s always bordering on being late, making it to class as the bell rings, looking more frazzled than the others.

You weren’t sure what he got up to between classes, but he definitely seemed overwhelmed.

“This seat taken?” He asks with a smug smirk, pointing at your backpack. You smile slightly, reaching for it.

“Sorry—I just wanted to make sure I could sit beside you.” You tell him honestly. It throws Eddie off, his eyebrows furrowing together slightly before relaxing, eyes roaming over you curiously. “You said you can’t understand his handwriting, I was gonna let you copy my notes.”

“Can I copy your work too?” Eddie asks jokingly, but you can tell he means it. “I’m barely scraping by with a D in this class.”

You snort out a quiet laugh. “Let’s worry about the notes first.”

Eddie spends most of the class still struggling, forehead creased up as he sifts through your notes, writing things down sparingly. It’s almost like he’s trying not to be mean, focusing a little too hard on one word every now and then as he looks over, your papers perched on the corner of the desk.

“If my writing is horrible you can tell me,” You say, which makes Eddie chuckle, “seriously, I won’t be offended.”

“It’s not that,” He assures you, “it’s just—the angle, it’s a little hard to read them—“

“Oh, well,” You grab the papers in a bunch, extending them toward him, “here, just take them.”

Eddie ignored you, his fingers wrapping around the leg of your desk to pull it flush against his—it’s quick enough that it doesn’t make much noise, only a slight shifting that draws a few eyes.

“Or…that works too.” You say shyly, face heating up at his straightforwardness. “Better?”

He glances over, shifting the papers to his side and gives a subtle nod as his lips pull together in a tight line, “Yeah, actually.”

And it’s almost blissful silence as Eddie copies them down, asking a few questions when your words meld together out of habit when you’re writing too quickly, he still leans in slightly but you don’t pester him on it—eventually Eddie’s actions are noticed, all eyes shifting toward the back of the classroom.

When you look up, everyone is staring back, including the pensive and threatening eyes of your teacher.

Eddie mumbles a soft, “Sorry.” as he pushes your desk back.

“Do I need to remind you two that this isn’t a matchmaking class?”

And it’s a ridiculous comment to make, but it has Eddie scoffing slightly underneath his breath.

“I’m letting him copy my notes,” You say innocently, “is that okay?”

You can’t remember having a problem in any of your classes, either flying under the radar or one of the usual favorites—you’ve never felt this tense, staring down the entirety of the group that was staring right back, though your gaze was focused on Mr. Donahue.

Eddie looks at you briefly before settling his eyes toward the desk, fiddling with pen in his hands to soothe his anxiety.

“If Eddie has a problem, he can come sit up front,” He says coarsely, “I don’t think you have the wiggle room to be socializing, do you?”

And suddenly his gaze on you is forgotten, flicking toward Eddie.

Eddie doesn’t give him the satisfaction, shuffling his shoulders forward in an effort to hide himself, scribbling something random down on the paper in front of him—it’s something he did when was bored or uncomfortable, even, a comfort.

You catch Eddie toward the end of class, gripping his sleeve before he can sneak away.

“How far behind are you?” You ask him, peering up at him curiously. Eddie looks sheepish, glancing away for a moment.

“Uh, I haven’t really taken notes all semester—I kinda just..scribble shit down so it looks like I’m working.”

Your eyes slant down slightly, in an ire of disbelief as your mouth parts, “Eddie, are you serious?”

He shrugs, reaching a hand up to scratch his jaw. You huff through your nose, snatching the pen perched in Eddie’s pocket and uncapping it before shoving it into his hands.

“Give me your address.” You insist, holding out your arm to him. Eddie seems skeptical, fingers wrapping around your arm gently, shifting your sleeve up, “I’m getting you caught up—don’t look at me like that.”

And truly, he’s not sure how to respond. Kindness and niceties weren’t at all familiar, feeling like there was always some ulterior motive. Still, he scribbles down the information with slow strokes, careful that it doesn’t smudge—leaving a small smiley face out of spite, forcing a similar expression onto your own face.

“I’m free after six,” He tells you, “so unless you want to get caught up in awkward conversation with my uncle, wait until then.”

You laugh at that, pulling your sleeve down.

“How else am I supposed to uncover all of your secrets?”

Eddie smirks slightly, eyes averting toward the floor.

“I’ll tell you whatever you want to know—you just have to ask.”

He spends most of his nights—sans the ones where he’s performing for the small audience at The Hideout or hosting Hellfire meetings—organizing campaigns and writing down random things that come to his mind, feeling the need to get the thought out on paper, even if it’s song lyrics or a drawing.

He adjusts the thin rimmed glasses up his nose, eyes hurting from the strain he’s forced them through all day. He knows he should spend a few minutes resting, even just closing his eyes for a moment, but he can’t help it. Eddie knows it’s his fault, the beginnings of a headache forming as he tries to focus, his finger sneaking up to rub at his eye—he can feel the haziness, willing it away.

But then you’re knocking at his door and every thought is thrown out the window—part of him never expected you to show, his heart thrumming in his chest as he leaps from the bed, tossing the papers away haphazardly and forcing the glasses up into his hair without a thought, pushing his bangs away from his face.

Eddie whips the door open, causing you to startle slightly.

“Hi.” You say wearily, a soft smile on your face.

“Hi,” Eddie responds slightly out of breath, before clearing his throat and offering a smoother, “Hey.”

Your eyes glance up, noticing the difference in his face. His bangs were like a trademark, constantly hiding his eyebrows. You point up curiously, speaking before you can think things through.

“You wear glasses?” You ask, eyebrows knitting in confusion.

“No—no uh, of course not.” Eddie responds quickly, adamant in his refusal. “Why would you—“

He’s clearly caught off guard, standing awkwardly in the doorway, eyes crossing as he follows your finger, only realizing his mistake when you drag the glasses down slowly, pushing them gently up the bridge of his nose.

“Well, that is definitely an interesting pair of non-existent glasses.” You say jokingly, grinning at his embarrassment, cheeks flushing a deep red.

It’s hard to explain how perfectly they fit his face—like it’s the missing piece that pulls him together. He’s not dressed up like usual, in a faded graphic shirt and gray pair of sweats, no jacket or rings in sight. It’s natural—and it’s in that split second you can see the real Eddie. Not the threatening, menacing Eddie Munson that everyone played him out to be.

Eddie nods wearily, beckoning you inside.

“I won’t tell anyone,” You promise him with a tinge of amusement, rounding on him as he closes the door, shoving the stack of papers at his chest, “—if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Eddie pulls the glasses off of his face, folding them up.

“It’s not that,” Eddie tells you, “—didn’t mean for you to find out about them, it kinda ruins the whole image, you know?”

Image. It makes you laugh to yourself silently.

“You didn’t seem like you were trying to hide them,” You giggled slightly, “besides, I don’t think they ruin anything.”

“I kinda forgot you were coming.” Eddie lies, knowing he had been riddled with nerves since he stepped foot inside of the trailer that evening, not understanding why he was so anxious to begin with.

“Look, I don’t mean to overstep or anything—“ You stop briefly, sighing softly, “but if you need a tutor or even just…some help, I don’t mind.”

Eddie doesn’t really know how to take it, staring at you like you’d grown a second head.

“I study with Nancy a lot,” You explain, “it’s really not a big deal.”

“I’m a lost cause,” Eddie admits with half-smile, “there’s no saving me.”

“I don’t believe that,” You tell him honestly, approaching him to shove the glasses back toward his chest, his other hand still stuffed full with the papers containing your notes, “—seriously, put them back on and I can spend a couple hours seeing where you’re at.”

Eddie listens, though skeptically, placing the glasses back onto his face—you smile without really thinking, causing him to react similarly.

“It’s okay to let someone be nice to you,” You assure him, “as many assholes as there are at Hawkins, there’s still a few of us who mean well.”

“I can’t be taught, I’m just warning you now.” Eddie remains adamant, leading the way toward his room. You follow behind eagerly, taking in the abstract way of decoration littered around the trailer.

“Fine—you can at least show me your drawings then.”

Eddie looks back at you briefly, a confused grin on his face.

“I’m really observant,” You tease, “and curious.”

“Promise not to tell anyone?” Eddie asks.

“I’ve already got one secret to keep,” You respond, teasing him lightly, “what’s one more?”

“How bad is it?” You ask him, staring up expectantly.

“What—oh, my eyes?” Eddie asks, “Uh, kinda bad. It’s okay, though—I manage.”

You crease your eyebrows together, motioning for him to remove the glasses. He does, watching as you reach for a paper, holding it up in front of him.

“Tell me when you can read it clearly.”

Eddie nods, squinting as you move the paper closer and closer, until it’s only a few inches from his face, your eyes widening in shock.

“Eddie,” You stress, “you can’t be serious?”

“I told you I manage,” He argues with a slight laugh, “but it’s bad, I meant that.”

Your expression remains the same, arms falling to your side as you discarded the paper.

“They look weird,” Eddie defends, “that’s why I only wear them at home—I already get enough shit at school anyways.”

“Bullshit,” You say boldly, “they do not look weird.”

Unfortunately, you did see all of the relentless teasing he caught at school, that wasn’t lost on you.

“You don’t have to lie,” Eddie says, “it won’t bother me.”

“I’m not,” You counter, smiling as the glasses returned to his face, his eyelashes touching the lenses, bangs brushing against the rim, “they fit you—they’re…cute.”

Eddie snorts in disbelief, “Okay, enough.”

You smile to yourself, watching as his cheek flushed a faint pink.

“Can I try them on?”

Eddie doesn’t answer outright, pulling them away from his face and handing them over—they’re a little bigger, his more prominent facial structure different from yours and causing the glasses to slide down your nose slightly. You push them up with your finger, squinting at the strain it puts on your eyes.

You can see Eddie smiling over the rim, admiring how perplexed you look in the moment, “Don’t look at me like that,” You say playfully, “these things are really strong.”

Eddie shakes his head, “It’s—nothing, nevermind.” He pulls the glasses from your face gently, placing them back on his own.

And Eddie’s never been shy, but suddenly he can’t force the words out, afraid of the mix of both rejection and embarrassment.

“I like you like this,” You tell him, hoping it eases him, seeing how tense he was—clearly unloved by many, “I mean, I like you both ways but this—it’s nice.”

“You’re the first.” He says flippantly, not aimed at you for any specific reason. He’s not immune to the words thrown at him, they do start to wear on him after time, even if he brushes them off for the most part.

“They’re insane,” You tell him with a surety, “all of them.”

“Careful,” Eddie treads, “Jason would have a fuckin’ field day if he heard you say that.”

You shrug, smugness in your expression.

“He’s terrified of me.”

“Jason—terrified of you?” Eddie asks, begging for more clarification.

“Our parents are friends—I’ve seen…a lot.” You say cryptically, not wanting to dive into details, “I’m not one for blackmail but I’m not totally above it.”

“You’re so interesting,” Eddie speaks candidly.

“I’ll take that was a compliment?” You respond, “Hopefully.”

Eddie nods with a subtle smile.

“Well—like you said,” You start, repeating his earlier sentiment, “I’ll tell you anything, just ask.”

You hold your finger up as his mouth opens—

“But, notes first—secrets later.”

Eddie pushes his glasses up comedically, forcing a quiet laugh from you—it’s the exact reaction he wants. He settles, agreeing with your rules.

“Deal.”

Please consider a reblog if you enjoyed this fic! It’s makes a huge difference. ♡

[cyanide-latte]

✒️ 👉👈

I tried so hard to make this legible. Usually my handwriting is a cursive/print hybrid and it's not always easy to read. T^T Also my phone is being a bitch and not focusing. -_-

E.!! E. MY DARLING DEAR, MY GENDER NEUTRAL WIFE-IN-LAW! (Bless you always for keeping that joke going with me!) Even if our focuses and interests aren't overlapping a lot right now, I'm always happy to hear from you, and to see your creativity, your writing and your art! And YOUR ART!!! We've not known each other terribly long but in that time I've watched your art grow in leaps and bounds and it's a privilege to see that growth. 💕 Your passion for researching what interests you, your analysis, your thoughts and your expression is a beautiful thing. Please don't ever feel like you have to hide it; no matter what happens, no matter what adversity you face, please never stop being you and expressing your love and creativity. You're wonderfully thoughtful and sweet, and I had a lot of fun when you introduced me to The Return of Joe Rich. We should really do more movie night streams together in the future, imo. It is an absolute joy to know you, because an absolute joy is what you are~. 😊💕

[wannaeatramyeon]

(This is a reply to your reply lol)

What are you talking about??? Your posts aren't annoying and spammy they're perfect ^v^

Especially the Vin Jin (and the Gun & Goo ones but the one who I'm focused on is Vin Jin lol) ones that have been posted makes me go fahsidfhisd //screams (in a good way) and points at them// Perfection xD

But omg ; v ; - I shall try my best with writing the lookism x reader //despite me thinking I'm not writing the lookism characters right lmfao// Tbf, I've created like, five ocs for the Lookism fandom for oc x canon pairings, so I'm mostly getting practice whenever I write said story with whatever canon character I'm writing. I'm very deep into the Lookism hole atm x'D

But yee!! I very much appreciate you posting the xreader stories because they're p e r f e c t ~ //You're like, someone who I look up to for writing Lookism xreader stories :' )//

Man, I was just saying the Vin Jin hours are here to STAY. He is now permanently top tier for me 😍

TYSM for reading and being so friggin kind!!

Write whatever you want, it doesn't have to be perfect or good or even LEGIBLE.

Honestly a lot of the time I read back my own things and I cringe so hard I feel my soul leaving my body.

Perfection is the enemy of progress. But damn, it doesn't even matter if there's progress as long as you're having fun creating it.

And if you wanna put it out into the great unknown, then I look forward to reading them. But if you just wanna keep it as a little something for yourself, that's fine too!

Whatever makes your brain happy 🫶

[aquillis-main]

Misery Tastes Chapter 14 (Final)

Here we are! The last chapter of Misery Tastes! After all this, I think I'll be taking a bit of a break from writing for a bit - as I want to focus on other projects that have piled up over time, including fixing up my commissions notice so it's more legible and not one document. Might even add a bit of writing on top of it, as well. Dunno if I'll do any more than like, drabble pieces, but for the moment my commission thing's gonna be artwork only.

As for this chapter, this is just the aftermath of everything that's accumilated in the fic so far, with one or two cliffangers and a possible Hope arc if I ever do come back to make a sequel to Misery Tastes. I dunno who else I plan to add, but I had hoped to add in a Cream reference that never saw the light of day...

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 (1/2) | 14

With Eggman and her father and brother (and Sonic) gone, that left Hope alone. She had spent the next five minutes freeing the others. Or at least, trying to. No matter how hard she tried, she just couldn’t free them from the rubble Eggman left them in.

Nearby, Terestri sat upon a bench- the half left of it! - observing Hope’s efforts.The first minute was amusing - he could picture Harold’s wretch of a wife bumbling about like an incompetent show clown. He’d even gone so far as to chuckle at the mental image.

But now? The novelty was all but gone, boiled away faster than water pooled onto lava heated surfaces. Worse, the girl was at risk of injuring herself. That would be no issue to him, normally. But for who knows what reason, he’d been told to keep an eye on the girl. And now with no Eggman around, he didn’t have any excuse for not intervening.

What a bother…

Terestri stood up off the bench. Dusted off his pants and shirt. Then sauntered over to the child.

“Oh, do stop that, child.” Terestri said as he got close to the girl. “You’re embarrassing yourself.”

Hope, too busy trying and failing to drag Nebula out of the rubble, lept up into the air! She rolled as best she could, getting onto her feet. Katanna sliding forth from it’s sheath, she held it towards Terestri.

“How dare you come close to me -”

“Put that little letter-opener away before someone’s hurt, child. And besides, I am not your enemy.” Terestri said, bemused sneer on his face as he pushed the sword away with only a pinky finger. “I am only here to grant you a small, shall we say favor?” 

At the mention of a ‘favor’, Hope slowly put her sword away. Every fiber of her being scramed it was a trap, and yet-

“What sort of favor?”

“Your friends seem rather planted into the ground, yes? Much like a pot-a-tato.”

“...You mean potato?” Hope blinked, tilting her head in confusion at Terestri. 

“Whatever it is, you clearly lack the strength to free them. Fortunately for you, I’m in a gracious mood right now.”

Terestri brushed Hope aside, heading for Nebula. Wasting no time, he grabbed her horn, then yanked her straight out from the rubble. With one hand. 

He stored Nebula in the crook of one arm. Soon both Tails and Amy joined her, plucked out like potatoes in the field. Spinning on his heels, he strolled towards Hope, then dropped them at her feet. He smirked as Hope gasped, running up to the three to see that they were okay.

Of course they were, they managed to survive that machine for a long while. And besides, he could hear their breathing. They were just completely useless it seems, if they did little more than bumble about the machine only to be laid low by it.

The only other person who Terestri could talk with was Harold’s brat - a brat with the smell that he so despised. One shred between her mother and her brother. Which meant one - no, two things.

A half smile formed on Terestri’s face, as the wheels of his mind turned.

“Tell me, child,” he said, gaze focused on the nearby city, ”what do you know of your mother?”

Hope ignored Terestri, focusing on trying to move the others away from him. Which proved difficult with three at once.

“Oh, dear me. Ol’ Harry’s told you nothing, hasn’t he?”

“My mother’s dead. Father said -”

“Wait, stop,” Terestri held up a hand, index finger raised up. He fixed Hope with an inquisitive look, brows raised. “Dead?” Terestri bit his lip, as he was holding back something. Was he smiling?

Hope growled at Terestri, losing composure. “Yes. She’s dead.” She said teeth barred at the fop. Fed up with the man, she focused on Tails and making sure he was alright.

That was when she heard it.

Laughter.

By reflex she whipped back towards Terestri, ready to snap at him. Yet he wasn’t there. Now she thought about it, that laughter was coming from her right. But he was on her left just moments before! 

“Oh, Harry, Harry, Harry. Only he would think telling his child that her mother’s dead is an excellent idea. How does he even run a business like his in the first place?” Terestri’s voice paused for a moment. “Oh, of course. That must be it, then. Too focused on work. And perhaps. Secrets.” 

He sounded like he was walking away. Pebbles from the battle before crunching his boots.

Then he was right beside her, leaning down as his hands gripped her shoulders. Hope tried to pull away, by instinct. But Terestri’s grip was firm.

With a pound in her heart and eyes widened as they could go, Hope struggled in Terestri’s grasp, trying to shake him off even more.

“You cannot begin to fathom all the things your dear old man hides from you.” He ruffled Hope’s hair, prompting a flinch by instinct. 

“After all - did you know that your annoying pest of a mother is alive? Alive, and I cannot harm even a hair on her body…” a growl of hatred slipped into his voice, his grip tightening down on her shoulders.

Hope winced at the force - she bit her lip to make sure that she didn’t let out a cry from it. She refused to show any more weaknesses. Not after standing up to Eggman!

Then she realized the grip was gone.

Terestri strolled towards the rubble pile he pulled Tails and the others out from, stooping down to pick up a rock. Or, rather, tear a chunk out of concrete dislodged from the ground by Eggman.

“And yet,” Terestri turned the concrete chunk in his hand, as if it were a priceless treasure instead of a piece of junk, “she seems to be too much of a coward to return to her family. Must run in the family, given how your rude brother ran off as well - what is his name again? Jude, Jules?”

“His name… is Ovi.” Hope declared,  more to herself than to Terestri. “And my mother… she was not a coward!”

“Hmph.” Terestri turned around to face Hope, left eyebrow raised. “No, Ovi is not his name at all. I’m certain of that. Ah, well,” Terestri lifted his shoulders and lowered them, “it doesn’t really matter…”

Hope’s voice took on a growl. Her canines began to grow, ever so slowly. Unnoticeable by most.

‘So, the fledgling does not stray far from the roost after all…’ Terestri thought.

Terestri chuckled, both at Hope’s bravado and from satisfying his own curiosity. He began to stroll up to her. Casually tossing the rock and catching it in his hand as he approached.

“And how, pray tell, would you know that, child?” he said, coming to a stop in front of her, before he stooped down to her eye level.

“Did she leave your father some sort of note? Give him a warning? What mother abandons children with a hapless fool like Old Harry?”

Hope… faltered, realizing that Terestri was right. She didn’t really know her mother, not like Ovi or her father, so how can she say as such if she didn’t know her? And the things like notes, warnings, whatever - Both Ovi and father never mentioned anything like them, so could mother… Could she have abandoned them without a second thought?

Could she have… hated them? Hated her?

Hope’s body shook with an uncontrolled coldness, locking her limbs as Terestri turned his back to her. His laughter echoed in her ears.

“Do my words anger you, child? Frustrate? Aggrieve? Drive you to tears?” He paused, gauging Hope’s expression, before smirking cruelly. “Oh hoh yes, I hear that bite of your mother there.”

He turned around, starting straight at Hope. “Don’t you find it amusing - no, hilarious! That I, a man who despises your mother, know everything there is to know about her. But you? Her own flesh and blood? You know nothing about her save whatever your dullard father tells you!”

He giggled - giggled! - at Hope’s angry face, mocking the child in front of the elf!

Hope growled, pulling her own sword slightly out of her own sheathe. As Terestri swung his sword, Hope threw out her own, slicing it just right -

-through a pair of glasses. They shattered as Hope threw her weight into the swing.

Terestri stepped back, eyes shut. And then opened, revealing dark gray sclera hidden under greenish - gray hair. The dark blue eyes gazed at her. A twisted wolf to a poor defenseless rabbit, the light within mocking at her failed existence as the rabbit struggled to get out.

“That was a designer brand, you know.” he said, tossing the rock aside. “Do you know how expensive those are?”

Hope didn’t believe it for a second. She knew cheap plastic when she saw it!

And yet.

Those eyes.

Hope couldn’t help but growl at Terestri’s unblinking gaze. Ovi’s own black sclera stared back at her, no matter how blue the eyes were.  

Hope swung again -

Tink!

Terestri caught her mid swing. Hope found herself lifted up for a moment, her sword pulled on by Terestri.

“Tsk tsk tsk. All of my help, and still you attack me?” Terestri said, twisting his wrist as he held onto Hope’s prized sword. It cracked and creaked in his hand, the flimsy material unable to take much pressure.

“And with such shoddy swordsmanship. Your mother would be so disappointed.”

He crushed his hand with the sword, letting it shatter in his hand. No amount of blood fell in between his fist as the pieces fell, the natural light reflecting off the pieces, accusing her of not being good enough.

Hope watched, dumbfounded, as the pieces of her prized sword fell out of place, before Terestri put his cane to her neck, forcing her to step back tensely.

“Did you really think that such a flimsy toy was a threat to me?” Terestri said, a cruel smirk on his face. “Ah. But it would be just like your mother to attack with such a pathetic weapon.”

Terstri’s predator eyes sharpened into slits. Hope shivers uncontrollably. His smirk was evening out, now almost a frown.

“Hmm. Your mother would never quiver with fear like this. Was that really the best you could do?”

“What are you?” Hope asked, gulping down whatever moisture she could. Then -

BRING-RING! BRING-RING!

BRING-A-DING-A-LING-DOOO~!

She was immediately taken out of her musings with a dual ringing noise coming from her side. At once, the feeling of the cane on her neck vanished, Terestri’s spare hand dashing to his own pocket while he looked at the watch on his wrist.

“Ah, of course. How silly of me, I seem to have my sense of time get away from me!” Terestri said, tapping his cane on the ground. And, as if he hadn’t been threatening a child not moments before, he gave Hope a friendly wave and a smile. 

“Do be sure to bring that suitcase there to Old Harry for me, girl. He’ll no doubt be pleased with what’s inside. Ta-ta!”

With a flourish and a whisk of his cape for dramatic effect, Terestri sauntered away, pulling out his phone as he did so. Hope, baffled, could only watch the demon… man… thing as he made wavy hand motions to the other caller, before reminding herself of her own phone.

She immediately pulled out her own phone - decorated with Hello Kitty charms thanks to a brother she had only begun to learn - and found not a call (as she ended up missing it thanks to the elf that was leaving), but a simple message on it:

5:30pm

Father: Bella is on the way with the limo.

Father: I decided to come with her, to make sure you’re alright.

Hope let out a breath she hadn’t known she was holding, thinking over everything that Terestri said. She barely noticed the arrival of Bella and her father much later.

--

Black. Pure black.

That was the colour Ovi awoke to, before realizing the sharpness of light changing to a more almond-ish pink. He immediately opened his eyes then, red eyes darting left and right to find himself back in his childhood room. Things felt more… lived in than it first had when he came in just a month ago - the carpet, though cleaned of any and all items off it that didn’t belong, had more areas that indicated someone’s weight standing on it for long periods. 

The sheets no longer had the childish design of stars on it. Instead, the bedsheets contained accurate galaxy pictures on them, something Ovi appreciated as he sat up and surveyed the area. His friends and sister were scattered around the room, in places Ovi was sure he could have guessed they would have - Tails rested his head on Ovi’s desk, a visage both he and Sonic saw whenever they barged in his workshop. Ovi noted that the fox had bandages around his waist and head, wondering how much he was hurt in the fight. To the right of Ovi, at the base of the settee with the window contained Amy’s sleeping form. Her head, too, was covered in bandages. She had a blanket around her that trailed over to Nebula’s shoulders, her head resting where Ovi’s legs were resting. Unlike Amy, whom Ovi couldn’t see much of besides her head, Nebula’s arms and hands were covered in bandages, making him wonder how much Nebula damaged herself in the fight.

Carefully shifting his legs out from under Nebula’s head (and finding another bandage on his leg, though it felt nothing like the cast he had for the past month), a soft moan came from Ovi’s side, causing Ovi’s head to tilt toward it. There, the fluttering eyelashes of his baby sister rested beside him, surprising him the most.

“Huh…” Ovi gasped out, gently moving Hope to a more comfortable position. But that only woke her up faster, allowing him to see the dazed and soft baby blues he yearned to see for a long while - without malice or hatred behind them. The owner of those baby blues gasped, tumbling off the bed before Ovi could catch her.

THUMP

The loud crash immediately alerted the others of something happening. They immediately readied themselves: Tails, with a piece of paper stuck on his face, was the first to get up, his training with Sonic alerted him of the danger. Amy was the next to get up, revealing her mighty Piko-Piko hammer that Sonic often warned him about when she was upset - and showcasing the damage Amy went through with the electricity, as her back was bandaged up as she flipped off the settee. Last, Ovi heard rather than saw the growl coming out of Nebula’s lips, her hands immediately reaching up to him.

A couple seconds passed, as they realized that nothing was wrong.

“Ow…” Hope called, catching everyone’s attention to her… before looking over to the bed, and finding Ovi awake. He leaned over to take a look over his baby sister, before pulling up when he noticed everyone’s eyes on him. Meekly, unconfidently, Ovi raised his hand up.

“Erm, hello?”

Nebula was the first to react, jumping straight into Ovi’s arms. Her ability to float meant that the push toward the almost dream-like pillows behind them didn’t aggravate any wounds he had. 

“Friend Ovi! You’re okay!” Nebula crowed as she landed onto Ovi’s chest. The two giggled at the sudden moment, Ovi looking deep into Nebula’s eyes. She shifted up, allowing Ovi some breathing room as he huffed.

“He-Hey! Nebbie -!”

SMACK

“Nebbie!” “What?” Amy and Tails gasped out, not anticipating Nebula’s actions. Amy’s grip tightened on the handle of the Piko-Piko Hammer, while Tails’ finger twitched.

Hope gritted her teeth, scrambling to get up onto the bed to try and attack Nebula. She then stopped herself, looking at the two in confusion.

Nebula lowered her arm, watching as Ovi massaged the red spot on his face. She herself had tears rolling down her face, unable to contain her emotions any more.

“You should have not run off like that! We were extremely worried about you!”

Ovi gasped at Nebula’s confession, biting his lip with… something he couldn’t quite understand.

But, he knew exactly how to fix it.

He took stock of the other’s expressions - Amy looked ready to fight, but he didn’t know who. Tails and Hope both seemed hesitant to leap in, but Ovi knew they would jump to him if he fought her back. He hoped.

But, truthfully, Ovi was reminded of all the things he thought about during his time with Eggman, and only one thing on his mind was the thing he wanted to say.

“... I’m sorry.”

With that, his head thwomped straight into Nebula’s shoulder, pulling her into his arms as the space dragoness softly cried her heart out.

“I’m… *hic* I’m sorry too… *hic*” Nebula sputtered out in between hiccups, tears fell over his bandages and clothing as she carefully gripped Ovi tighter, as if she feared him poofing into smoke.

Amy, holding back tears herself, immediately decided to hop onto the bed, then tackle both Nebula and Ovi. The two, shocked from Amy’s own spontaneous moment, are tackled further into the bed.

“Gah!”

“Amy!”

“You’re an absolute idiot, Ovi! Don’t you dare do something like that again!” Amy yelled out before Ovi and Nebula could respond, digging further into Ovi’s arms and knocking a limb straight into one of Ovi’s sore spots.

“Ow, ow, ow!” Ovi snapped, clutching the sides Amy knocked into as she pulled back. Her ears flattened  against her head, face covered by her hands.

“Oh no! I’m sorry!” She said, pulling back further away. 

Ovi winced, rubbing the side of his bandages to make sure nothing was split open. He didn’t feel anything wet, so it seemed it might be okay…

“I’m fine, I’m not gonna keel over.” Ovi said, winking at Amy as she shuffled closer.

Carefully, and with more hesitancy than Ovi was used to seeing from the pink hedgehog, Amy hugged the changeling.

Hope shuffled on her feet, feeling out of place in the room. She looked towards Tails, before noticing her friend seemed to be lost in his own world. He had that thinking face on, the one where he held his chin in his fist, the other hand covering his little snoot.

Hope was upset she was going to miss that look, most of all.

“I… I guess I should leave…” Hope said, heading off toward the door -

Only for a soft grip catching her left hand before she could.

She looked toward Ovi, a soft smile on his face as he looked at Hope.

“Give your brother a hug, Hope.”

Hope scoffed at Ovi’s sentimentality. But she thought of everything that happened to her, as well as everything with Terestri…

And compiled, gently bringing her arms around Ovi, as Nebula and Amy moved away.

“...Stupid moron.” She muffled into Ovi’s shoulder. Tears fell off her face, light hiccups overtaking her breaths.

“... Yeah, I am.” Ovi gently brought his sister towards him, his own eyes glistening with his own tears.

They sat in silence for a while, letting Hope’s soft sobs quiet down in silence. Which left just Tails. Watching everything from the sidelines, he decided then and there that it was time to conclude a loose end.

He coughed, reminding the others of his presence. Ovi and Hope shared a similar quirk of the eyebrow, something that Tails couldn’t help but smile at. 

“I… I would like to speak to Ovi. Alone.” Tails starts looking at Amy and Nebula, hoping they would get the hint.

Amy and Nebula’s eyes widened at him, not used to hearing him speak out. Amy blinked first, then let go of Ovi and got off the bed. Nebula, not sure about everything but still wanting to follow Amy, did the same. Though not without a soft kiss to Ovi’s cheek that she slapped. 

Hope looked to Tails, then to Ovi. Realizing that the two needed a moment, the young girl let go of her older brother and walked to Tails.

“I’ll see you.” She said as she passed, leaving the room along with Amy and Nebula. The door closed behind them, leaving the two in the room.

The fox and the changeling stared at each other for a few minutes, neither of them willing to speak first. Tails bit his lips, not noticing that Ovi did the same. Scrunching his nose up, Tails took in a breath. 

“Okay Tails. You got this, you’ve run this through in your head!” He thought to himself, then he started to talk -

“Ovi -”

“Tails, I-” 

- At the same time as Ovi started up.

The two stopped, looked at each other for a moment. That didn’t happen in Tails’s mental practice! He stood there frozen, unsure of what to do next.

Then Ovi began an awkward, slow giggle. Despite himself, Tails joined in, rubbing the back of his head. An unwanted, nagging voice began nipping away at Tails, accusing him of messing up, saying that he should just tell Ovi to forget about it and leave -

“You want to go first?” Ovi asked, snapping Tails out of his thoughts.

Tails couldn’t help but mimic Sonic’s nose flick, imitating his good friend to gather courage for what he wanted to say. He inhaled again, giving himself a blank slate from the thoughts before.

“I… I want to apologize. For avoiding you.” Tails said, looking down at his shoes. “I - I thought I could get rid of my jealousy over you by hanging around with your sister…” Tails scratched the back of his head, his tails twitching as he kept going. “But I must have made things with you and her worse, haven’t I?” Tails turned to Ovi then, only to find the other’s expression unreadable.

Ovi blinked once. A pause. Tails fidgeted his hands. Ovi blinked again, a soft snort coming out of his lips. All of a sudden, Ovi bent over, laughing his head off!

“Ha-ha-ha-HA!” Ovi guffawed, clutching his chest as Tails’ fur stood on end. This wasn’t in his mental run through either!

“Wha- what’s so funny?” Tails blurted out. To say he was flustered would be an understatement.

Opening up an eye that had been closed, Ovi found Tails’ face looking… strained as he chortled to himself. Thinking quickly, Ovi held out a finger at Tails, letting the other know he would explain himself soon.

“Ha… Ha…” Ovi calmed himself down, wheezing and wincing as he jolted a sore spot.

“Ha-ow.” Ovi groaned out, lifting his head to Tails. “Sorry, I wasn't laughing at you.” He said matter of factly, waving his hand about. 

“Oh,” Tails said, voice blank. “Then, what were you laughing about?” 

“I just - Ah, I don’t know how to say this…”

Tails watched as Ovi got more comfortable, waiting on Ovi to continue. The Fox kit sat back into the chair, his legs too short to reach the ground.

“... I was jealous of you, with how you and Hope clicked.” Ovi said, capturing Tails’ interest. “She was hostile to me when I first got in. considering Harold’s habit of not mentioning me while also stalking me, I honestly understand.” He huffed out that last bit, a sore spot still aching in his mind.

Tails blinked, before thinking back to the way Hope treated him before.

“Oh, you’re one of Julian’s friends, aren’t you? One of those little forest people that he likes, right?”

Yeah, he could see Hope as antagonistic, now that he thought about it…

“Did you know she tried to bite me when I first came into the Manor?” Ovi pulled Tails out of his thoughts, surprising the fox with that bit of information. 

“No way!”

Ovi smirked, hearing the enthusiasm from Tails proclamation, even if it was at his expense. He nodded to the question, watching as Tails’ smile grew wider in mirth.

As the two spoke adamantly about Hope’s more childish antics, Harold hovered just outside the ornate door leading to Ovi’s room. Despite meeting with the girls earlier to let them ‘hunt down some snacks in Bella’s kitchen’, Harold really wanted them out of the way so that he could talk to his son. He stretched out his hand to the knob. Stopped. Pulled his hand back. It didn’t help that Harold’s ragged breath was doing nothing to calm him down, as he still winced in pain from the injuries he sustained in the fight earlier. Even with this minor setback, Harold kept himself poised and steady no matter what.

The soft footsteps alerted Harold to Sonic’s approach. Sonic was perhaps the worst hurt of the lot, having one arm in a sling along with the bandages to his head - and Harold was sure Sonic had a bandaged foot in his shoe. He walked awkwardly over to Harold, coming to a stop by the door. His ear twitched, hearing the soft laughter of both Tails and Ovi in the next room.

“So, what’s the hold up?” Sonic asked, leaning onto the wall beside him. Harold turned toward the hedgehog, expression grim.

“... I don’t think I’m allowed to.”

Sonic sighed at that, shaking his head at Harold’s stubbornness. Least he knew where Ovi got it…

“You don’t know unless you try, Harry.”

Harold glared at Sonic for the nickname, but his eyes glittered with sadness behind them. Sonic waited for Harold to enter the room, which Harold almost hesitated again on.

After much deliberation, Harold opened the door, and stepped into Ovi’s room.

“ - And then she threatened the blow torch when it malfunctioned!” Tails wrapped up a story with Hope, smiling as Ovi doubled over in laughter. Harold blinked at the scene, never having seen Ovi so… carefree in a long while.

“Phhhtttt! I hope neither of you got ha-ha-hurt!” Ovi’s mirth spilt out, hurting his sides as he belly laughed.

Harold stared at the scene, half tempted to close the door and leave. But if he didn’t do this now then who knew when he would. And in light of his close call earlier, it was time to start owning up to his children. And himself.

“Ovi.”

Ovi stops laughing, coughing a bit as he forces his body to stop laughing. Both he and Tails turn towards the older man, with Tails’ eyes widening at the prospect.

The fox kit then saw a blue quill coming through the door frame. Tails smiled, then started walking toward it, then remembering who he was leaving.

“... I think it's time for me to leave.” Tails said, a soft smile on his lips as he moved to the door frame.

Ovi’s eyes darkened a bit at the comment, but as soon as he saw the quills in the door, they immediately lightened. 

“Sure, go ahead.” Ovi said, carefully gripping the duvet as he watched his friend run off.

As soon as Tails left the door, the room suddenly felt stuffy. Ovi kept looking at the door where both a fox tail and a blue quill could be seen, not once looking at his father as he contemplated what to say. 

Harold himself opted instead to look out the window, not bothering to initiate conversation first. The silence between them is tense, almost as it was when Ovi first returned to the mansion.

Ovi decided right then and there that nothing would be done unless he initiated conversation, and decided to speak first.

“I’m only staying because I want to get better.” Ovi snapped, glaring at his father without hesitancy.

Harold doesn’t respond at all to that, only nods in agreement.

“I… I need time.” Ovi said, thumbing the duvet in thought as he asserted himself. “I need to take in everything that’s happened. I’m not sure -”

“You can take all the time you need, Ovi.” Harold interjected, knowing how much he hurt Ovi by locking him up.

“Huh?” Ovi blurted out, looking at Harold in confusion.

Harold moved closer to Ovi’s bed, before slowly, agonizingly, hovered his hand over Ovi’s head. Ovi watched, cautiously, as the hand reached over to his head… And then stops, halfway. Without thinking, Ovi pushed his head into Harold’s hesitant hand, making the latter gasp before stroking the top of his son’s head.

“I… Think it would be best if we got together every now and again. Just you, I, and Hope.” Harold finally said, his mouth forming a soft smile. “Make us a proper family again.”

Ovi looked up at that point, seeing the soft smile on Harold’s face… and started to tear up.

“You’re… You’re allowing me to leave?” Ovi got out through his sniffles trying to dry the tears that were falling out of his eyes.

“... You can come back anytime you wish.” Harold stipulated, looking for some tissues for Ovi to grab. Finding them, Harold placed them onto his son’s tear-ridden face, carefully brushing the deteriorating cloth as he continued. “I shouldn’t have kept you here, against your will -”

Harold gasped, pulling his hands away from Ovi’s face entirely. But before he could leave his son’s grasp, Ovi caught both of Harold’s hands by the wrists. 

“... I wouldn’t mind coming every now and again.” Ovi said, not looking as he made circles on his father’s palms with his thumbs. “Someone’s got to teach Hope on not acting like she grew up in the woods, after all.”

Harold scoffed at Ovi’s accusation, before smiling mischievously at his son.

“Says the child who runs around with woodland creatures.”

“H-hey! They can hear you calling them that!” Ovi whisper-yelled, throwing his pointer finger toward the door. Both Sonic and Tails waved back, their smiles as merry as Ovi’s.

Harold and Ovi laughed along with Sonic and Tails, the four enjoying the company that they were given. Amy, Nebula, and Hope, arms full of junk food and chips and even some candy, joined in on the laughter as well.

--

Night Time, at KintoborTech:

A dark cloaked figure runs straight toward the luminous KintoborTech, the dark clouds brewing storms outside. Logos blazened over the building, right down to the doors having handles with the logo. The figure pushed open the door, revealing a swanky ground floor with the extravagance of the most well-known companies. The floor is smoothed with black marble, juxtaposing the more mellow and inviting browns, gold, and creams of the pillars, walls, and ceiling respectively. What walls weren’t windows to the outside world contained portraits of the founder and their family. The one major portrait was of Harold and his missing wife, held predominately over the door that the stranger walked through.

In this area is the main receptionist desk, just as swanky and beautiful as the rest of the area. The computer at the desk is the only jarring thing about the area, as it looked like an upgraded desktop computer made to play games rather than a professional’s computer. The receptionist - a cute little bat with lavender fur - yawned and turned toward the figure in confusion.

“Do you have an appointment with someone…?” the bat asked, his ears folding backwards as he looked at the cloaked figure in confusion.

“Yes. I’m looking for Harold Kintobor.” The figure said, looking at the receptionist with an intense glare.

The receptionist’s ears flickered as he frowned, using his computer to check the times of Harold Kintobor’s scheduled times to come in. The receptionist noticed that Harold was not scheduled until next week.

“... He’s not available at the moment, but I can book you in for -”

The cloaked figure slams their hands onto the desk, in which their hood falls off their head completely. As the hood fell, it revealed long, pastel orange hair tied up in three rings. The woman (now that the receptionist could tell it was a woman, he was a bit surprised by how beautiful she looked) glared at the bat with familiar red eyes…

Similar to the ones on the portrait that she had walked under earlier.

“I’m sorry, but this can’t wait.” The woman warned, seemingly ready to chomp the bat into smithereens. “This problem involves our son.”

[arwamachine]

For the ask: 6, 12, and 22! Love your work!

Thank you for the aaaaask!!

6. do you have any kind of consistent writing schedule or just hoping for the best?

I'm incredibly fortunate to have weekday evenings free, so I usually get my writing done then. I try to write some words in some project at least once a day

12. do you ever have trouble focusing on writing? how do you get around that? 

I've definitely had some days where my attention span really isn't playing along. I'll sometimes set one of those distraction timers that keeps me off certain website (hellsite included), and even though I've learned that listening to classical music shaves off the edge of the inattention, I rarely use it. I just try to tell myself that some days aren't as productive as others but it all balances out in the end ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

I think the trick is to learn what works for you and your brain, but ultimately not to force it. Putting too much pressure on performance is a sure-fire way to get the yips

22. describe your writing process from scratch to finish.

Ohhhh boy...you asked for it. I'm going to put this below the cut, because it is involved 😅

(remember how I said I'm neurotic? Yeaaaahhh...)

1. Splat. I word-vomit an idea into my Notes app, usually in a single disjointed paragraph. Notes to myself, character descriptions, plot-points, and possible lines of prose are all muddled together, sometimes within the same sentence. Some ideas never make it past this stage, some hang out in this stage for months before getting picked up and transformed into a real boy, some get picked up immediately. You never know which it'll be. That's the beauty of the Splat

2. Murder board. I generate something that can be called an outline in the roughest of possible definitions. This has a general plot structure (although not necessarily in order) mixed in with character descriptions, any research I have done on the story (with reference links included...learned that the hard way), various ideas I have, and whole paragraphs of prose that get written out whenever they come to me. Picture the crazed Charlie Day string-and-pictures conspiracy meme, just with words. As soon as this document contains both a beginning and an ending to the story somewhere in its sprawling notes, I start writing.

3. Actual legible outline. Once my murder board exceeds 30 pages and is near impossible to wade through, I create an actual outline. Usually I have written like half of the story at this point. This outline is basically a distilled version of the murder board, with single-sentence bulletpoints of what happens in each scene. Everything is in order and nothing hurts. I rely heavily on both this outline and whatever hasn't been used from the murder board until the first-first draft is written.

4. First-first draft. The point of this draft is to get the general events of the story onto the page. The first-first draft is complete when I have something like a beginning, middle, and end written. I don't allow myself to get bogged down with research, naming characters, finding perfect sentences/words, connective tissue (I call this "A to B"), or any scenes that are throwing me for a loop. If I find myself getting stuck on something, I make myself a note and move on.

5. Second-first draft. Here, I go back through the first-first draft and curse myself for not writing all the parts that I didn't write. I do the research I ignored, write the difficult scenes that threw me for a loop, figure out all my A to Bs, and name the goddamn antagonist. The point of the second-first draft is to get 100% of the words on the page.

6. Set it and forget it. I do not touch the story for a specific length of time, which is determined by the length of the work. Shorter pieces have a set-and-forget of about two weeks. Longer works are set-and-forget for a month or more.

7. Come to Jesus. After the predetermined length of time, I pick the story back up and re-read it. Is it actually good? Does it make sense like I think it does? Did I use the word "whole" 17 times in one paragraph? And--more to the point--is it suitable for other people's eyeballs?

8. Other eyeballs. If this is fic, here is where I'll send to beta if I'm using one (I tend to only get longer fics beta'd). If this is professional writing, I send it out to folks in my life whose opinion I trust. I receive feedback and make additional edits accordingly.

9. Tinkering. I do another full review before step 10, usually with the help of a text-to-speech app so I can hear how it sounds (this also helps identify some typos). If this is a fic (single chapter), I do one final read-through before posting. If it is a multi-chapter fic, I do a read-through of each chapter the week before it posts.

10. Fly, my pretties! It this is a fic, it gets posted. If it is professional writing, it goes Out. Either way, may god have mercy on its soul.

11. Immediately discover a typo.

[frogsandfries]

It's hard to go to bed when I don't feel tired, I just want to keep reading--the story is getting freaking good, as I knew it would. I already know what kind of pattern I want to cover the book in: black with a drifting dusting of rose petals.

I'm finally getting to about the middle of the story. I also almost got two chapters cleaned up too, just this evening! It's really tempting to just keep editing so I can keep reading lol

I've also been thinking about some of the other fics I've scrounged up and I how I enjoy them as much as I'm enjoying this one.

Forgive me my elitism, but I'm mostly choosing my fics by length, and then excluding crossovers and excessive gratuitous sex. So far, I'm finding that these writings are far more enjoyable to me, personally, and I feel like at least toning down the sex and upping the word count to novel to trilogy length means some level of dedication and passion. Throwing out crossovers keeps me personally much more engaged. Bilbo running into like, idk, Stitch or Grogu just wrecks my immersion.

But I hope the next fic I work on after this and Until the Ink Runs Dry is this enjoyable. I'm actually getting to the point where I'm itching to work on something else, but if I do, how long until I return to this one? No, it's better to just stay focused on one thing at a time. There will be plleeeeeeeennnnnnnnnnttttyyyyyy of time to make all the paper texture backgrounds and find good, legible fonts that look enough like handwriting, and so forth.

When the frick is my frickin punch cradle going to ship though?? How long till I get paid so I can get my book press??? I really want to get a move on on some of these text blocks I've started. Let's goooooooooo! So I can move on to the next stack of fics, honestly. I'm eagerly anticipating the overrun of my apartment by hand-bound books.

Eight books per pack of davey board though............

[cognitosclowns]

everyone at Cognito is a walking anxiety disorder and I wanna fuck the stress outta them. Any headcanons about helping, Brett, Gigi and Robotus unwind after a tough day?

THIS IS THE MOST EVERYTHING EVER <3333 also I'm adding JR in because. Love of my life, he is so stressed all the time and I have too many thoughts about him

NSFW BELOW <3

BITING GNASHING TEETH FKGRKGKRG

Brett

okay he's,, and interesting case bc <33 like he will NOT admit to being stressed most of the time

He's getting better but it's still extremely hard for him to,, yknow,, ask for stuff. Or admit when things aren't going too good

THANKFULLY HE IS EXTREMELY BAD AT HIDING HIS EMOTIONS.

He just completely Compresses when he's stressed. Balled up fists, his posture starts hunching a bit - you'll find him sitting on the couch, knees to his chest as he makes The Face and,, worries himself into a coma.

HE CHASES YOUR KISSES <33 like you'll come in for this,, soft kiss to ease him into it and when you pull away he's LEANING forwards to get more.

TBH?? rail him

RAIL HIM. DO IT DO IT. Fuck those remaining worried brain cells right out of this man's body.

HES GONNA,, try to rock against you bc he feels a bit bad about,, just laying there. <33 give him some soothing kisses and words of comfort.

DW ONCE YOU SET A RHYTHM,,, HES JUST GONNA MELT INTO YOUR MOVEMENTS BUT. LISTEN HE HAS TROUBLE LETTING HIMSELF ENJOY THINGS

<33 if you start giving him a bunch of praise?? or like,, adoringly humming about how well he's doing?? <33 OH ITS JUST,, these fantastically dazed, loose nods <3

HE CUMS WITH THIS <33 giant, shuddery sob while he clings to your back <33 he's gasping 'thank you' before he even hits his peak, its a delight <33

OH HES SO GOOEY DURING THE AFTERCARE I HAVE NO OTHER WORD TO DESCRIBE IT. This big dopey grin, some tears left on his lashes while he cuddles close and sweetly mumbles about how much he loves you <33 ougogughe <33

Gigi

It's,, very hard for most people to tell when she's stressed - she's overall seen as unshakeable by most

YOU KNOW BETTER THOUGH

It's all in her handwriting - you casually glance over her shoulder while she's at her desk and you see these, messy little scribbles, wobbling all over the page

Gigi is precise with writing - she worked in journalism for years. No matter how pressed for time, she makes sure her writing is at least legible to herself.

The only time it's messy is when her brain is starting to cook in her skull from stress smdnsdm, when she's getting burntout, her writing is the last to go,

Just <33 sneak under her desk. Be direct - you know she knows what you're doing, because her writing pauses just a moment and she uncrosses her legs.

take your time <33 she's used to Rushed Quickies in broomclosets and the like, just bc her schedule is so packed. Slow, purposeful, tender motions make her melt <333

OFC SHE'S GONNA MAKE A GAME OF IT <333 she keeps writing, just to taunt you <3 see how long it'll take for her to give up on working and start focusing on your fun <3

AND YKNOW WHAT?? she lasts,, a solid 10 mins <33 you slip your fingers inside with this,, tight little curling motion and you can hear the pen slip out of her fingers and clatter on the desk <33

YOU HIT YOUR HEAD ON THE UNDERSIDE OF HER DESK WHEN SHE CUMS BUT LIKE <333 its worth it - when you look up she's all slumped and shivery in her seat with this <33 lovely, tired smile <33

SHES GONNA YANK YOU UP FOR KISSES TOO <33 DONT DOUBT IT. You two are absolutely gonna continue this,, more intimately later, but for now she just wants you close <333

JR

When isn't this man stressed msndmsd its practically his natural habitat

NO BUT THERES,, definitely some key signifiers that he's doing A Little Extra Bit Not Good At All

Mostly he's,, jumpy. looking-over-his-shoulder jumpy. It doesn't happen often, but it does happen, esp after moments of getting in hot water with the Shadow Council.

The slightest touch,, or word of kindness and he is going to melt into your hands.

Genuinely just <33 OH this horribly tired, appreciative sigh when you just,, randomly straddle him at his desk and start undoing his tie <33

ITS LIKE A PUPPET GETTING ITS STRINGS CUT HE'S JUST MUSH <33

the best option is to ride him <3 super intimate, you can guide everything so he doesn't gotta think, PLUS you get to see all those lovely dazed expressions when you do smth Particularly Nice

the only time he really starts, thrusting is when he's close - it's this panicked little rut, like he thinks you're not gonna let him have it <33

He doesn't really have the brainpower left to beg so it's just,, this kinda,, keening noise?? All strangled out while his head bobbles around - he'll probably cum once or twice back to back just bc,, of how wound up he's been

AAAA <333 these lovely messy kisses after. Tired JR Scheimpough who is just,, LETTING himself be tired is the rarest sight and it is truly heaven. All loose limbs, these big exhausted sighs while he nods in and out of sleep.

Alpha-Beta

OH when he's stressed he is sulking.

For some reason,, the man in the mason jar is not very calm about his situation - he has a bad habit of checking and re-checking and re-re-checking different plans, scrutinizing them until he finds them Completely Unsalvageable and scraps them.

Too much brain, very not good

It'll take a bit to coax him away from his work in general - he insists he 'doesn't need to sleep', that he needs to get these details worked out, etc.

(which side note is BULLSHIT HES GOT A DIAGNOSTIC CYCLE, DONT LET HIM CONVINCE YOU OTHERWISE THIS MOTHERFUCKER NEEDS HIS 8 HOURS TOO)

START WITH,, little touches and escalate from there. Running your hands along his shoulders and back, nuzzling your lips against his ear, bringing a gentle hand up to fix his hair - you'll start to see that,,, tension,,,, wind up.

It's this delightfully slow, persistent tightening of his jaw and hands,, his writing getting a little bit more aggressive <33 OUGOGUOUGHGE

SMNDSMD HE'S ALREADY,,, NOT THE MOST PATIENT MAN. ADD TEASING + STRESS W/ THAT = YOURE GONNA GET PINNED BABEY SMNDSMD

Like full on 'legs-over-his-shoulders-im-pretty-sure-i-just-heard-the-table-crack' flavor of stress relief. You'll be treated to the most satiated, savoring noises in the known universe <33 the kind right at the back of his throat that just,, reverberates through your bones. <3333

IF YOU EVER WANT YOUR INSIDES REWORKED, GETTING HIM TO RAIL YOU WHEN HE'S STRESSED IT ABSOLUTELY THE KEY <33 he always seems to be able to find that perfect spot inside you that just,, makes your brain start leaking outta your ears, it's a delight.

when he cums, he's shaking so hard you think he might just smnds fucking Hard Reset but SURPRISINGLY NO,, JUST SOME HEAVY GLITCHING

OH AND AFTERWARDS HE JUST <333 it's like night and day honestly. This coy, calm little smirk as he takes you in during the afterglow - a murmur here and there in that,, teasing way of his <3333

TYSM FOR THE LOVELY ASK MWA MWA

[cloouud]

easy to motivate

George Weasley x Fem!Reader

Summary: George has to do homework, Y/N is motivating him with the promise of a special reward. He has to race the clock to get his reward.

Word Count: 950

Warnings: SMUT 18+, cursing, oral (male receiving)

A/N: I found the GIF and wanted to use it as a prompt. I'm kinda proud of myself here :D

[NOT MY GIF]

"I fucking hate potions homework," George got up from his desk and made his way over to his bed.

It was the end of the year, and the professors were unforgiving with the amount of homework they forced onto the students. Y/N had finished her work during lunch, but George had not even started yet. Now she was lying in his bed, waiting for him to finish the 200-word essay on the discovery and use of veritaserum.

George flopped onto the bed next to her. Putting down her book, she glanced down at him. They wanted to spend this sunny afternoon together, however, George's undone homework ruined those plans.

"How about you just get it over with," she suggested.

"Wow, I could have never thought of that," George's voice was drenched in sarcasm, "I have been trying to do that. I'm just so unmotivated," he whined.

"George, you are wasting both our times. I don't want to spend my afternoon watching you do nothing."

"Okay, I will simply not do my homework, and we do something fun. You made the call," George clapped in his hands and got up from the bed.

"No, that's not what I meant," she took hold of his wrist and pulled him back onto the bed. "I think I have an idea. You are easy to motivate," she chuckled.

Y/N got up from the bed and walked over to her bag. Pulling a small hourglass out of her backpack, she set it down on George's desk.

"This," she explained, "is my way of motivating you. It takes 25 minutes for the sand to fall. You write your essay as fast as possible, and then you will get rewarded."

"What's the reward," George questioned.

Y/N smiled to herself. With slow steps, she made her way over to where George was sitting.

"Once you're done writing the essay," She bent down to whisper in his ear, "I will use the remaining time to make you moan my name."

George's eyes went wide. Due to the great weather, everyone was outside. They had the dorm all to themselves, Y/N was planning on using this opportunity.

"Alright," George cleared his throat, "I'm down with the idea."

Y/N made herself comfortable on his bed, watching George as he sat down at the table and firmly gripped the quill. He blankly stared at the parchment in front of him for a few seconds. Then he quickly grabbed the hourglass and turned it upside down.

~~~14 minutes later~~~

George frantically scribbled words onto the parchment. Occasionally he looked up at the hourglass and over to Y/N. She was still proud of her idea. Never had she seen George so focused on homework.

"Okay, okay," he swayed his parchment over his head, "I'm done."

Y/N walked over and took the parchment out of his hand. Quickly she scanned over it. His handwriting was barely legible but from what she could make out, he actually wrote about the topic.

"Now you are wasting time," George urged her while she read.

Smiling down at him, she took the quill out of his hand and put the parchment down, "I'll take over from here, honey. You deserve your reward."

After a quick glance to the hourglass, George pulled his chair back from the table. Y/N got on his lap. George had a stupid but adorable grin on his face.

While they kissed, she moved her hips in circular motions. Her mouth moved down to his jaw. Many kisses later, Y/N felt George growing harder and harder.

She climbed off his lap and kneeled in front of him. The way she palmed his hard dick through his pants made him groan. He bucked his hips to increase friction.

"We better hurry up," she looked over at the hourglass.

George jumped up from his seat and quickly pulled his pants and boxers down to his ankles. The moment he sat back down, Y/N wrapped one hand around his cock. She began with slow strokes along his entire length.

Looking up at him through her eyelashes, she let spit drip down from her mouth onto his dick. George's breaths became heavier. Staring down at her, his eyes glistened with lust.

Suddenly she increased her speed. He shifted in his seat and threw his head back.

"Fuck, your hands are incredible, Y/N," George muttered between heavy breaths.

Y/N opened her mouth and stuck out her tongue. Then she licked a broad stripe from the base to the tip. George muttered inaudible obscenities.

With innocence in her eyes, she sucked on his tip. Her hands continued stroking his full length. Involuntarily bucking his hips, he pushed deeper into her mouth.

Tears started dwelling in her eyes when she took his entire length into her mouth. The tip of his cock hit the back of her throat, which made her gag.

"Merlin, Y/N," George groaned.

Spit dripped from her mouth and ran down his dick. She bobbed her head steadily. George was on the edge of an orgasm, and the top half of the hourglass was almost empty.

"Fuck, I'm about to cum", George pressed through gritted teeth.

"Cum for me, darling."

She pumped his dick a few more times in her hand. Mumbling a string of filthy words he came all over her hands . Cum mixed with her saliva dripped down his dick. Quickly she got up and grabbed a shirt lying on his bed to clean him up.

"Why do you even carry an hourglass around?" George asked while he pulled up his pants.

"Ever heard of Pomodoro?", she picked it up and threw it back into her bag.

"No."

"Yeah, that's what I thought," she chuckled, "it's a studying method."

"How boring," George sounded disappointed, "we can do much cooler stuff with that hourglass."

[alrightberries]

“may i?”

❈ pairing: levi ackerman x reader

❈ genre: fluff & angst.  ❈ word count: 8k

❈ summary: you’re the medic assigned to take care of captain levi as he heals from the explosion. you’re also the only person he tolerates.

alternatively: in which you create prosthetics for humanity’s most war torn soldier.

❈ trigger warnings: manga spoliers. profanity. mentions of violence, blood, gore, and death. mentions of sexual themes.

a/n: levi’s kinda ooc bc i couldn’t write the progress of his relationship with reader without making it longer than it already is. also this is medically inaccurate (re: healing time of broken bones and amputations) for the sake of the plot so pls no one throw hands. 

Levi doesn't like looking at mirrors.

There was no tragic backstory behind his distaste for the reflective surface, no deeper meaning or hidden symbolism as one would expect from a man with his past. The reason behind it was simple: he just saw no reason to.

He wasn't vain, wasn't too concerned about his face, didn't care much to look at his physical appearance aside from when he had to cut his hair or get ready for the day to look presentable to his comrades. He knew he was attractive, and effortlessly so. The little letters and gifts he’d received from fans and admirers proved as much, and his title of “Humanity’s Strongest” only added to the appeal. Really, there was no reason for him to always be looking into a mirror.

But now... Levi simply couldn’t understand why that mindset had vanished. It was replaced with the fervor to always be staring at his own reflection— not out of vanity but out of disgust.

The disgust of staring at his mutilated face.

He warily lifts up the small mirror he held in his hand, features contorting into a grimace at the man staring back at him. Scars and cuts littered his cheeks— some deeper than others, but none as terrible as the long jagged scar that ran down the right side of his face. It started from his forehead and ended at his bottom lip, held together by ugly black stitches the medics had hurriedly sewn on him the second he got back to the base. His right eye was split in half, completely useless, completely blind; held together by the same black stitches that donned the ugliest scar of all.

And Levi couldn’t help but think that this man was hideous.

He was hideous.

Levi reaches out with his right hand to touch his scars out of habit. He feels his heart tighten when he realizes there’s only air where his fingers should be and he nearly breaks the small mirror he held in his good hand from how hard he was squeezing it. 

The mirror makes a gentle clink as he sets it down onto the mahogany of his desk. Bitterly, he stares at his three fingered right hand. His pointer and middle finger were gone, nothing but pathetic stumps protruding from his knuckles where they used to be. It was still covered in bandages and a makeshift brace so he wouldn’t strain himself when he moved, but he knew it was useless. He couldn’t move those stumps even if he tried.

He probably should’ve been thankful to have made it out of that explosion alive— not unscathed, but alive nonetheless. Though Hange had tried cheering him up (“Look on the bright side, we can wear matching eyepatches now!”) he simply couldn’t find it in himself to celebrate coming back so... useless. 

His writing was as legible as chicken scratches. His right eye spasmed in pain every time he blinked. He couldn’t even try to relearn how to use the ODM gear with his new circumstance, and he mentally curses out his orders to stay put and heal.

Too many things were lost, too many people, too many lives.

All because of that damned explosion.

All because of that damned bearded bastard.

Levi is pulled from his thoughts when three soft knocks reverberate throughout his otherwise quiet office, and he rushes to put his eyepatch on and hide the mirror in his desk drawer. He attempts to sit in what he hopes was a seemingly ‘professional’ position but his stiffness gives away his discomfort. 

“Name and business.”

“Y/N L/N. I’m here for your daily checkup.”

He feels himself release a breath he didn’t even know he was holding once he hears the voice. Your voice. 

“Come in.”

The wooden door creaks open before it closes with a soft click, floorboards making minuscule sounds at the weight as you make your way to his desk. Levi pretends to look busy as his good eye scans the document he held in his hand. 

The sound of porcelain clinking against porcelain grabs his attention.

“Brought you tea.” You murmured. “I figured it won’t be up to your standards again but I did try my best.”

Levi still doesn’t look up as you set the tray down on his desk, and his good hand reaches for the steaming cup to take a small sip. His eye twitches at the taste.

“If you were going to bring me shit tea anyway then why bother.”

He hears a gentle chuckle but doesn’t see the way you smile at his contradictory words and actions. He made no move to throw the “shit tea” away, something he was infamous for with teas that didn’t meet his standards. Instead, he keeps sipping, gently placing the cup down onto his table once he finished.

“I thought that maybe distracting you with terrible tea would keep your mind off me changing your bandages.” You explained, and Levi nods but doesn’t speak. When silence once again filled the room, interrupted only by the occasional crumple of documents you knew he wasn’t reading, you take it as your cue to pick up your pen and clipboard to start the checkup.

“Have you felt any discomfort or pain in any of your extremities such as your right eye or your right hand?”

“No.”

“Have you felt any throbbing or other sensations in any part of your body?”

“No.”

“Have you experienced any fevers, headaches, dizziness, or sudden spasms in any part of your body?”

“No.”

He hears you set your clipboard down and his skin tingles from your doubtful stare. He didn’t have to look to know it was there. He risks a glimpse at the papers attached to the wooden board in your hands but just as he expected, you didn’t write down any of his answers.

“Have you lied to any or all of the questions I’ve asked during your routine checkup for today?”

“...yes.”

A soft sigh escape through your nose and your eyebrows furrow in disappointment. “Captain, lying to your medic won’t get you to the battlefield faster. You’re of no use to anyone when you’re injured.”

Levi clicks his tongue at your reply but he holds his smart ass comments back. He knew you were right, and it infuriated him so much.

“Fine,” he grits out. “My right eye’s been twitching all day. The fucking stumps on my right hand don’t feel like stumps. It feels like I still have fingers there, and I know it’s complete bullshit since they were lying next to my face when they got blown off.”

His angry glance finally lands on you. “That the answer you were looking for, oh medic of mine?”

It was now your turn to click your tongue. “Not quite,” you mumble, writing down his answers onto the file in your hands. “Feeling your missing limbs even after they’re amputated is normal. It’s called phantom touch.”

You place the clipboard back onto his desk and reach into your pockets, pulling out pristine white gloves before gingerly putting them on.

“Your right eye still spasming though, that’s concerning.” You add. Your hands slowly reach out to his face, and Levi momentarily flinches away out of habit. But you made no move to touch him.

He eyes you warily, tense muscles relaxing even just the slightest as he sees your gentle stare.

“May I?” You ask softly, a caring smile on your face.

Levi only nods, not trusting his words, and he once again tenses up as he feels your hands unbuckle the leather straps of his eyepatch before setting it down onto his table. He keeps his bad eye shut.

Your hands are gentle as you touch his face, touch nothing but a soft caress in such a way that his tender stitches felt no pain. Your eyes are focused on his stitches, lacking any judgement or ill will, and Levi’s suddenly aware of how close you actually were to his face.

Your eyes were beautiful, he noticed. They always were. The little furrow in your eyebrows as you concentrated was cute, and the soft caress of your hands on his cheeks as you inspected his face felt... nice, and dare he even say relaxing. Momentarily, when he finally lets himself adjust to the atmosphere, he lets his tense muscles ease.

“Can you open your right eye, Levi?”

“Y-yeah.”

FUCK.

What the fuck.

Did he just fucking stutter?

Levi’s surprise is only painted on his face for a few mere seconds before he schools his expression back to one of stoicness and neutrality, and he prays to all the existing gods he knew of that you wouldn’t notice.

He risks another glance at you. One of your eyebrows is arched and the corner of your lip is quirked up in a small smirk, but you dared not comment on the captain’s speech mishap.

Fuck. So you did notice.

Before he could try to save face by dishing out some bullshit reprimand of being disrespectful for calling him by his name and not his title, the words die on his tongue as you lean in impossibly close and oh god your noses were almost touching, your eyes are even more beautiful up close, and what the fuck is—

“Captain,” you repeat. “Can you open your right eye please?”

Oh, right.

He doesn’t speak as he does what he was told. He feels his eye open but no vision comes to his senses. 

“It’s looking... not so good.” He hears you mumble, face contorted into one of concern. “It’s actually looking pretty bad.”

Levi scoffs. “Not one to beat around the bush, are you.”

You roll your eyes, the small smile once again returning to your lips.

“How long have you been keeping the eyepatch on?” You ask. Your hands are holding his head in place now, grasp a little more firm but not enough to hurt.

“An hour at most.”

“Are you lying again?”

He sighs. “Yes.”

You nod but made no further comment, leaning back to grab the clipboard once more to write down your observations. 

“So,” you start. “Are you going to tell me the truth or do I have to poke your bad eye?”

Levi’s lips turn into a frown at the notion. “I’ve kept it on the entire day. And I know you’re probably lying about poking my eye, but in case you’re not, no. I do not want you poking my eye.”

You nod your head again, writing more things down onto your little clipboard.

“You should let it breathe. Keep it on for an hour or two at most but take it off when you sleep. Too much friction with the eyepatch might cause irritation.”

As the consultation draws on, Levi tries (keyword: tries) to be as honest as he could. Not that he could be dishonest when you were so good at snooping out his lies, though. You were already used to his stubbornness.

He wasn’t lying, however, when he tells himself that his heartbeat did not speed up when your hands gently held his own as you changed his bandages and cleaned his amputation; he wasn’t lying when he tells himself that the tips of his ears were not burning a bright red, cheeks flushed as you asked him to take off his shirt; and he definitely wasn’t lying when he tells himself that his dick did not twitch in his pants when your hands caressed his abdomen and back, accidentally hitting sweet spots he didn’t even know existed, to inspect his still purple bruises and healing ribs.

Yeah, he definitely was not lying.

“Okay, I think we’re done for today.” You say cheerfully. “I’ll be back same time tomorrow for another checkup.”

He glances up as he finishes buttoning the last buttons on his shirt. The gloves from your hands are taken off and tucked back into your pockets, and you hand him a small vial full of pills.

“Take one of these, twice a day at most, whenever you feel pain in your right eye.”

“I’m not feeling any—“

“Sure you’re not.” You cut him off with a smile. “I believe you. But feel free to contact me for any pain or discomfort you feel at any time of the day. I’ll be more than glad to find you.”

Levi says nothing, opting to instead stare at you as you gather the now empty teacup and kettle, placing them back onto the tray along with your clipboard and pen.

“Oh, by the way.” You speak, walking towards the door and opening it. You don’t spare him another glance as you finish your sentence. “I don’t think I can prescribe any pills to lessen blood flow to your dick.”

The door shuts with a soft click behind you, and Levi’s momentarily mortified as he processes your words. He risks yet another glance, this time down to his lap.

Shit, he thinks before he sighs. His hands readjust the hard-on in his pants.

Nothing goes past your observant eyes.

“Name and business.”

“Y/N L/N. I’m here for your daily checkup.”

“Come in.”

Levi doesn’t bother to look busy like he did last week, you noticed, because this time he was actually busy. Which was odd considering he was taken off paperwork duty until he could write again.

“What’re you up to?” You ask, setting the tray down onto his desk and pouring him a cup of tea. Your eyes curiously glance at the papers scattered about his usually clean desk, each filled with indiscernible writings of his name.

“Trying to write. I’m useless until I can.” He mumbles before he scoffs. “This would be easier if I had all my fingers.”

You nod along to his replies yet made no move to stop him. You picked up your pen and clipboard to write things down as well.

“You’re not supposed to be using your right hand, your amputation is still too tender.”

“Tch, what do you expect me to do then?”

“Uh... use your non-injured, complete left hand?”

Levi blinks at your words, and he has half a mind to slap his forehead for being dumb and not thinking of that. Which he undoubtedly would’ve done had you not pushed the steaming cup of tea closer to his sitting form.

“Have some tea. You look like you’re about to pop a vein.”

Your smart remark is met with silence and a steely glare, and surprisingly, as Levi drank the tea you prepared, he notices it’s not downright terrible.

“Your brew’s better.” 

“Yeah. I finally took your advice of using a thermometer to get ‘the perfect temperature’ after you complained about my ‘shitty tea’ for the nth time that week.”

Levi hides his little smirk behind the teacup, silently reveling in his small triumph before setting it down. From the corner of his eye, he notices you eyeing something, and his heart drops as his gaze follows your own.

The mirror. He forgot to hide the mirror.

Discreetly (or as discreet as he could) he takes the mirror and shoves it back into his desk drawer. You had many questions, that much he knew, but he was thankful when you didn’t push it further.

“Shall we begin?” You ask instead.

“Yeah.”

“Name and business.”

“Y/N L/N. I’m here for your daily checkup.”

“Come in.”

Levi’s been trying to write again, you surmised, as you glanced at his focused eyes and the tenseness of his shoulders. Scattered papers still littered his desk and he was still trying to write his name. This time though, you were relieved when you saw he was using his left hand.

“Finally took my advice?” You asked, pouring him a cup of tea.

“Regretting it.” He doesn’t look up from his task as he answers, something you noticed he always did. “It’s been three days since I took your advice and my handwriting’s shittier than it was then.”

You smile, hand reaching out to hold his incomplete one that was clenched into a fist on the desk. He immediately stops writing, opting to instead stare at your hand atop his before glancing up at you.

“What are you doing?”

“Making you relax. You might tear your stitches.”

He feels you give his hand a gentle squeeze, and the warmth of your hand is suddenly gone from his own. You reach for the cup of tea you prepared, and he wills his cheeks to not show his blush at the small gesture. You slide the teacup across the table.

“What makes you think holding my hand will make me relax?” He asks snarkily. He reaches for the tea with his good hand.

“Are you relaxed?”

Levi ponders the question in his mind, noticing how his muscles were no longer tense, his shoulders were now slumped down, and his eyebrows were no longer scrunched. He sips the tea.

“Your brew’s still shit.” He replies instead.

“Name and business.”

“Y/N L/N. I came here for your daily checkup.”

“Come in.”

Your head peaks out from behind his door as you enter, closing it with your foot and making your way to his desk. You were no longer surprised when you saw him still writing and scribbling messily at his desk as he’s done for days now, and you discreetly eye the papers as you pour him his tea.

“You don’t have to keep bringing me tea.” He comments, still focused on writing.

“I know.” You reply. “But how am I going to perfect your brew if I don’t practice?”

Levi glances up, and he raises his eyebrow as he sees you sat on his table, a cheeky grin on your face. He makes no move to scold you for being so casual in his office and instead reaches out to take a sip of the tea. He notices your expectant eyes, the grin on your face widening as he nods in approval.

“Your tea’s not bad today.”

“Really?! You think it’s good?”

“I said not bad, I didn’t say it was good.”

“Name and business.”

“Y/N L/N. I’m here for your daily checkup.”

“Come in.”

The first thing you noticed as you entered Levi’s office was, of course, the scattered paper around his desk, face focused as he continued to practice his writing. The second thing you noticed was that he was no longer using his left hand.

“It’s barely been two weeks. Did you give up already?” You ask as you pour his tea.

“I write better with my right hand.” He simply replies, not even glancing up as you slide him the beverage. He uses his good hand to reach out for the cup, silently preparing his tongue for another unpleasant attack.

He takes a sip and his eyebrows shoot up from surprise. The tea was... delicious, absolutely delicious, and Levi couldn’t find anything to complain about. The temperature was right, it wasn’t too bitter but wasn’t too sweet, and the aroma was delectable. He takes a sip once more to double check if his taste buds were deceiving him, but the second sip was just as good as the last.

His suspicious eye makes contact with yours, a shit eating grin painted on your face as you eagerly awaited his feedback. The porcelain makes a sound as he sets it down.

“You bought this from the tea shop across the barracks. That’s cheating.”

“For fuck’s sake!”

Three soft knocks reverberate through the door to Levi’s office. The captain hastily hides the papers with your name scribbled on, shoving them inside his desk drawer. A shiny glint catches his eye before he could close the shelf and he pauses as he realizes it was his mirror. He hadn’t taken it out in a while. He was always too distracted with criticizing your piss poor tea to even think about his appearance.

“Name and business.” He calls out, still eyeing the shiny object.

“Hange Zoe. Y/N asked me to do your daily checkup.”

Levi's eyes widened, heartbeat stopping for a second as he heard Hange’s voice. Where were you?

“Come in.” He closes the drawer as the door opens and Hange walks in. 

Levi couldn’t help but notice that he was becoming uncomfortable the closer his friend got; skin prickling, hands sweating, his collar feeling a little too tight. Little by little getting more conscious of himself as Hange walked closer.

Was this what insecurity felt like?

He briefly wonders why he didn’t feel it with you, but his mind answers him with a simple fact: you were the only person who’s seen him mangled and bruised, and each time, you showed nothing but gentleness and care. Yet even with this knowledge, the notion that a person other than you would be doing his checkup today didn’t sit right with him.

He pushes his discomfort to the back of his mind, telling himself to remain objective. But it didn’t stop him from subconsciously adjusting his eyepatch and hiding his incomplete hand underneath the desk. He eyes the tray in Hange’s hands, spotting the kettle and teacup.

“I don’t want your shitty tea.”

Hange doesn’t look up as they pour him a cup, humming a tune Levi doesn’t recognize as they hand him the warm beverage.

“It’s not my shitty tea.” They reply. “It’s Y/N’s shitty tea. They made you a batch before they left for the mission.”

Levi’s good hand pauses for a brief second as he reaches for the cup, mind still processing the fact that Hange said Y/N and mission. You hadn’t mentioned anything to him, and since he wasn’t allowed paperwork duty until he could write legibly, he wasn’t aware of any missions.

“I see.” He takes a sip, and he immediately squints his eyes in doubt once his tongue caught taste of the flavor. “This isn’t Y/N’s tea.”

Hange looks up from the clipboard they were writing on, eyebrows are arched in curiosity. “What?”

“This isn’t Y/N’s tea. This is from the tea shop down the road.”

Hange’s confused face stays still for a few seconds, silently assessing whether Levi was being serious or not. A smile cracks on their face, turning into a grin as small chuckles left their lips, before finally turning into full blown laughter. The captain waits for the eccentric soldier to stop cackling and start explaining, but Hange’s answer only serves to confuse him more.

“Nice try, shorty. You crack me up.”

Levi ignores the remark about his height. “What do you mean?”

“Y/N owns the tea shop down the road. Made the recipe for the black tea you love so much, even.”

The captain’s good eye twitches, and if Hange notices, they don't comment. Levi takes a sip of the tea once more, a little more doubtful this time, before sighing in content as the drink makes its way down his throat.

“Why did Y/N go on the mission? I thought they were to be my caretaker until further notice.” He chooses to ask, placing the cup down and pretending to busy himself as he absentmindedly starts practicing his writing.

“Y/N is our topic medic, their skills are more valuable on the battlefield than in an office with you.” They reply, and the captain pretends that the truthfulness of the statement doesn’t sting the slightest.

“Besides,” Hange pulls out white gloves from their pockets, sliding the cloth over their hands to prepare for the checkup. “Y/N personally asked to be reassigned.”

Levi sputters and chokes on his tea at the sudden revelation, and he feels Hange’s hand patting his back as he tries to compose himself. You asked to be reassigned? But why?

“Why?” He manages to choke out before once more descending into a coughing fit. Hange silently hands him a napkin.

“They didn’t say.”

Perhaps you were done with his incessant criticizing of your tea making skills (if so, then why’d you keep brewing him a crappy batch? Clearly you could’ve made good tea whenever you wanted.) Perhaps you grew tired of watching over him everyday when you could’ve been attending to more injured soldiers in the medical wing or the battlefield. Or perhaps you felt a little cooped up in the office with him, hating that you were confined when you could’ve gone on missions to help the wounded.

Whatever your reason may be, Levi finally gets himself to stop coughing and wipes his mouth. Any questions he had, he would ask you. For now, he pushes his feelings to the back of his mind to ask a more important question.

“Why are you here and not on the expedition, Commander?”

Hange shrugs.

“I wanted to bond over eyepatches with you.”

Levi was trying, okay? He was really trying.

But god, the new caretaker assigned to him was nothing short of a complete and utter noob. His bandages were always either too loose or too tight, his touches every time he tried to inspect Levi’s scars were always an ironclad grip, and worst of all, his tea was pure and utter shit.

“Watch it!” Levi barks, and his caretaker jumps about two feet away from him at his yell. “What’re you trying to do?! Are you inspecting my broken ribs or trying to give me a broken rib?”

Oh, that too. His caretaker was the hands on type, something Levi wouldn’t have minded if not for the fact that his caretaker was also heavy-handed, and Levi had had enough of this bullshit.

“Stop it, just stop. Get out of my office, right now, and find me a new caretaker.”

“B-but, Captain, there’s no one else who can—“

His caretaker is cut off when he makes eye contact with the enraged captain. Levi’s eyebrows were knitted together in anger, and the glare on his left eye was nothing short of terrifying. The fact that he only had one good eye left did nothing to lessen the intimidation of his glare; if anything, it made it even more intimidating.

“I will not repeat my order. Go.”

The boy in front of him nods nervously, head bowed down and metaphorical tail tucked between his legs as he quickly scurries out of the room. Once Levi hears the soft click of the door shutting, he takes a deep breath and lets his body slump into his chair.

That was the fifth caretaker he’d kicked out this month. He wasn’t picky, he tells himself; he just had standards. Standards that apparently these damned amateurs they kept sending him couldn’t meet.

Briefly, his conscience contradicts him; the image of a certain top medic popping in his mind, one that he hadn’t spoken to in almost a month since they dropped him out of the blue. Maybe, just maybe, he was being picky. With a dash of passive aggressive and a sprinkle of butthurt. But Levi quickly brushes that thought aside when he remembers the incompetence of all his recent caretakers.

That was definitely it. He wasn’t petty, all his caretakers were simply idiots.

The captain hears three loud knocks on his wooden door, and he grits his teeth as he mentally prepares himself for whatever fuckery the clown caretaker they assigned to him was about to do this time. True to his words, Levi did end up breaking a rib from how heavy handed the last one was, and though he knew it was partially because his body was still quite fragile, it didn’t hurt his request for a new medic.

“Name and business.”

“Y/N L/N. I’m here to do your daily checkup.”

Levi feels his eyes widen and heart speed up, and he once again rushes to hide all the papers scribbled with your name as he shoves them into his desk drawer. He composes himself, trying to appear uninterested and professional as he speaks.

“Come in.”

The door squeaks open and Levi doesn’t bother to hide the way his eyes soften and his shoulders slump in relief as he sees the familiar sight of you. A soft smile dawned on your face as you gently kicked the door close, walking towards his desk and setting down the tray you held in your hands.

“Heard you fired everybody who came after me.” You mused, eyes teasing as you poured him a cup of tea. He didn’t think he’d miss someone pouring him a cup of tea as much as he did now.

“Their tea was shit.” He replies, taking a sip of the warm beverage and holding back his sputter at the god awful taste. “Yours is too.”

You chuckle, picking up the clipboard and pen to start writing for today’s checkup. “Can’t help that I suck at brewing tea.”

“You don’t have to keep making me shit tea anymore. The secret’s out.”

You freeze in your spot, eyes widening for a fraction of a second before you nervously clear your throat. Levi definitely noticed.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“I know you own the tea shop, Y/N. Stop lying.”

You let out an irritated sigh. “Hange told you, didn’t they?”

“Yep.” He replies, popping the ‘p’.

I’m going to fucking kill Hange, you think to yourself, silently gathering your composure once more. Levi watches you intently, continuing to sip on the terrible tea before deciding that he’d assaulted his taste buds enough and placing it down.

“Why’d you do it?” You hear him ask. “And don’t lie to me. You’re not the only one who’s gotten better at spotting lies.”

Why’d you brew shitty him tea? Is he that affected by it?

Your reply was already on the tip of your tongue, head glancing up from your clipboard to say your answer. But your words don’t come out and your mind suddenly cleared when you saw the look in his eye.

Levi’s eyes were nothing short of gorgeous; a beautiful gunmetal gray with a gaze deadly enough to kill a man with one mere look. But right now, even though they were schooled into his usual look of disinterest, you could see him... wavering. A mix of unanswered questions, curiosity, and— for the briefest second you swore you saw— hurt.

“I take it you’re not asking me why I brewed you crappy tea for the past three months?”

Levi clicks his tongue in irritation. “No, you idiot. I’m asking you why you left out of the blue. If you had a problem you could’ve brought it up with me—“

“No!” You quickly interrupt. “No, god no, you’re perfect.”

The captain’s eyes widen, and you suddenly realize the words you’d spoken as you quickly try to explain before Levi could interject.

“There was no problem, okay? I didn’t request to be reassigned because I had a problem. It’s quite the opposite, actually.” You murmur.

He eyes you curiously.

“What do you mean?”

“I think I have a solution. May I?” You gesture, asking if you could sit on his desk. Levi nods, not understanding why you needed permission now when you’ve done it of your own volition countless times before, but he suddenly understands when you sit directly in front him and not across from him like you usually would.

He watches as you pull a small brown box from your jacket, placing it down onto his desk before opening it. Levi is quiet as he eyes the item inside.

“It’s just a prototype for now. I was hoping to carve out a better one in my free time, one that would be a custom fit, but my free time kinda went flying out the window when you started firing people left and right until no one would accept you but me.”

You pick up the wooden prosthetic fingers and gently place them onto his desk. Your hand opens palm up, waiting for Levi to be comfortable enough to lend his hand to you, and he does so silently.

“The prosthetic’s made from redwood and the joints are connected by small metal rods. It’s light and durable, and I weatherproofed it so it wouldn’t break down so easily when you use them.” You explain, unwrapping the bandages around his hand. “It wasn’t that hard to figure out the concept, actually. I just took a pair of standard issue Survey Corps gloves and cut out all the fingers. Then, y’know, attached the wooden fingers to where the pointer and middle should be.”

Levi could only nod. You weren’t sure if his silence was good or bad and you couldn’t read his look. But Levi— Levi was speechless. In his mind, he dared not speak in fear of looking like a fool. Especially not in front of the person who gave back a piece of himself (quite literally, at that.)

He tenderly looks at the way you fitted the prosthetics onto his own hand, fastening brown leather straps around his wrists to secure the glove. The minute the glove is on and he sees all five fingers for the first time since the explosion, he feels like he’s about to cry.

“I had Hange help me with the anatomy so you could still bend them as you would normal fingers. I couldn’t figure out how to make them move on their own though, so you’d have to manually do that yourself.”

To demonstrate, you bend one of the prosthetics, the wood imitating the bend of his finger but not springing back up despite his brain commanding it to do so. You watch intently as he fumbles around with his hand, moving the fingers about. The wonder and astonishment in his usually unimpressed eye didn’t go unnoticed by you, and it spurred  you to continue on.

“Unfortunately, it’s not strong enough to flick the switches on ODM gear. You still have to relearn how to hold your blades when you’re cleared for training again.” You say regrettably. “But it’s strong enough to hold a pen.”

Your hand reaches for the forgotten quill across his desk, dipping it in the inkwell before offering it to him with a small smile. Levi slowly takes it, still speechless, as he readjusts his prosthetic to hold the quill and write.

His writing is still shit, undoubtedly; still no better than chicken scratches as he messily writes down the words. But god, the sight of the indiscernible handwriting next to five fingers brought tears to his eyes as he finally finished writing his name. The slightly legible letters of ‘Levi Ackerman’ stared back at him.

Levi couldn’t hold it back anymore. He immediately set the quill down before standing up to engross you in a warm embrace. You tense in his arms, not used to Levi willingly initiating any form of physical touch at all. But as he tucks his head into the curve of your neck and his shoulders start shaking, splotches of wet dripping onto your collarbones, you feel your arms encircle his waist, bringing him closer as you whisper sweet nothings into his ear and let him cry in peace.

Your hands ran through his scalp, willing him to calm down. Though normally the sight of a crying Captain Levi was something you never thought you’d see, you couldn’t help but feel honored he chose to share this rare moment of vulnerability with you.

You let him cry, still holding onto him, giving him his time. Briefly, you wonder what he was thinking. What pushed him to tears? Did the captain ever let himself mourn his losses? Does he mourn his friends, his family, the little pieces of himself that he’d lost along the way?

Though you had a million questions in your mind you dared not pry as you continued to comfort the weeping man in front of you.

Finally, after a few moments of nothing but silent sniffles and your sweet words, Levi finds it in himself to finally speak.

“Thank you, Y/N.”

Night had fallen around the base, encasing the world in darkness that beckons slumber. Levi continued to stay awake, still in his office, staring at the prosthetic you had given him hours before.

Curiously, he feels himself form his right hand into a fist, not surprised that the two wooden fingers didn’t comply like the rest. It was imperfect and he himself thought it could use some tiny adjustments for the sake of comfort— something he definitely would bring up to you as requested.

And yet, despite knowing his ‘fingers’ were nothing but wood, leather and metal, he couldn’t help but think it was the best thing he could ever ask for. 

Silently, under the lone glowing light of his oil lamp, Levi pulls out a blank sheet of paper and begins to turn his feelings into thoughts, thoughts into words, and words into sentences as his quill meets the white surface.

Hours later, he finds himself in front of your quarters, a candle in his left hand while his right held a pristine white envelope. The envelope containing unsaid words, unspoken wishes, and hidden feelings.

Your eyes are sleepy when you answer the door, half lidded and hair a mess when his knocks had woken you from your slumber. You rub your eye, adjusting to the light as you stare at the person in front of you.

“Captain?” You ask, stifling a yawn. “What’re you doing here so late?”

He doesn’t answer your question. Instead, he opts to look at you with an unreadable expression as he asks, “Can I come in?”

You stare at him for a few seconds more, and the thought of you slamming the door on his face crossed Levi’s mind; but that didn’t happen. Rather, you nodded and ushered him inside your bedroom, closing the door behind him as you once again flopped onto your bed. 

He places the candle down on your bedside table and now he was unsure what to do. He had a plan— or, he thought he had a plan— but awkwardly standing in your room in the middle of the night wasn’t part of it.

Quietly, you chuckle at the sight of Humanity’s Strongest looking so odd and out of place, unsure and slightly panicked. You pat the spot next to you, inviting him to sit, and he complies.

Both of you had your knees pulled up to your chests and you were thankful when you noticed Levi had taken his shoes off before sitting on the bed. A comfortable silence encompasses the atmosphere in the dimly lit room. Shoulders touching, heads not daring to turn because of the close proximity. 

From the corner of your eye, Levi looked like he was deep in thought. Not the kind you saw plenty of times in the battlefield or in strategy meetings, not the kind you saw when you entered his office as he hastily tried to hide his mirror. But the kind you saw when he quietly suffered through his own living hell. 

“Couldn’t sleep?” you ask, finally breaking the silence. He shakes his head. 

“Well, what brings the mighty Captain Levi to my humble little room?”

“Levi.” 

“What?”

“Call me Levi.” He murmurs, downcast staring intently at the envelope on his lap. “In this room, I’m not your captain. I’m not your patient. I’m not Humanity’s Strongest.”

You feel your eyebrows scrunch as surprise and curiosity paint your face, but not because of the captain’s offer to call him so casually. No— the surprise you showed was because he unclasped the prosthetic you made, not even sparing it a second glance as he carelessly threw it to you, and you barely managed to catch the limbs you’d spent countless hours and sleepless nights to create.

“Levi, what are you—“

“But I’m not a broken teacup for you to fix either.” He says, eyeing the stumps on right hand. “I’m not a doll who’s missing some parts. I’m not a charity case accepting donations.”

You were looking at him now, head turned in his direction as he unclasps his eyepatch and lets it fall onto his lap. He raises his head, eyes making contact with yours.

“I’m just Levi.”

A few moments of silence pass but neither of you look away. The reason why the captain continued to stare wasn’t something you knew. But the reason why you never looked away was because of his eyes. 

Levi’s eyes were still as gorgeous as you remembered them to be. Though his right eye was a different shade from his left, a lighter and paler shade of gray; though it lacked the light and emotions his unharmed eye bore; though it had a jagged scar running through it from where he was hit, you couldn’t help but think that his eyes were still the most beautiful eyes you’d ever seen.

Gingerly, you lift up your hand to touch the right side of his face where his battle wounds lie, the prosthetic forgotten as it falls somewhere in the sheets. He doesn’t flinch like he did the first few times you did it, when you reached for his face during checkups to inspect his scars. But it didn’t stop you from asking.

“May I?” 

Levi doesn’t answer. Instead, he brings your hand to rest on his cheek as his head leaned closer to your touch. His eyes closed momentarily, almost as if he were reveling in your warmth. But they opened once more, and you willed yourself not to get lost in the sea of gray.

“You were never a charity case to me, Levi. Or any of the things you just said.”

“Then what am I to you?”

Your heart stops, eyes widening ever so slightly at his question. Would you tell him? No, you couldn’t. Not when—

“Don’t lie to me, Y/N.” His grip on your hand tightens a bit, not enough to hurt but enough to distract you from your thoughts. You realize the hand that held your own against his cheeks was his broken hand, his mutilated hand.

...would you really tell him?

You sigh, eyes finally leaving his. “You’re just another soldier who got hurt from a battle, asking a medic to take the pain away.”

Your hand slips out of his grip and goes back to your side, and you turn away from him once more. 

“Are you lying?” He asks.

“No.”

“Then look into my eyes and tell me what I am to you.”

“I can’t.”

Your voice cracks ever so slightly, hesitant but determined to stick to your words. And Levi knew that he was never going to get an answer. He sighs, shoulders slumping down in defeat. It was now his turn to look away from you, gaze falling to his lap. The envelope holding the letter crinkles and he’s reminded why he’s here.

“I know.” He whispers back. “But do me a favor.”

He doesn’t look your way as he hands you the letter. He doesn’t look your way when you silently took it, eyeing the red wax seal that bore his initials, fingers tracing over the edges before—

“Don’t open it yet. Open it tomorrow morning before you come in for my checkup.”

You only nodded in response. You reached out, placing the envelope on your bedside table before once again sitting next to Levi. Just as you had started, a comfortable silence blankets the atmosphere. Shoulders touching, heads not daring to turn because of the proximity.

But this time, it was he who breaks the silence.

“I don’t know what the future holds.”

“Hm?”

“I don’t know what the future holds.” He repeats. “I could die in action tomorrow and be one of the bodies they wheel back from war, or you could die trying to save someone in the battlefield. Even if neither of us die tomorrow, there’s always a possibility that we’ll die the day after that. And the day after that and the day after that. Such are the risks of our jobs.”

He takes a deep breath. “But tonight, I don’t want to focus on tomorrow. I don’t want to focus on what the future holds. I don’t want to focus on titans or enemy troops or looking after my team.”

“Then what do you want?” 

“You.” 

Your eyes soften. “But what am I to you?”

You didn’t know what to expect, what his answer may be. But you know you didn’t expect it when Levi’s fingers gently grabbed your chin and coaxed your head to look in his direction. You didn’t expect it when you opened your eyes and met his, his warm palm resting on your cheek. And what you didn’t expect most was for his eyes to look at you with so much love, so much care and adoration. Gone were the facades of boredom and disinterest; the stoicness and detachment they always seemed to reflect. All there was left was softness, warmth, and what seemed to be the unmistakable swirls of vulnerability.

“You’re just another medic too busy putting other peoples’ lives before your own.”

“Are you lying?” 

“No.” He whispers. “But you make me want to plan for a future I know we won’t have— a future we can’t have.” 

And for the first time, you knew he meant it. You knew what he meant. 

In your line of work full of death and violence and risks almost too big to take. In what you once thought was your little world, turning out to be too big for you to handle. In your personal brand of hell where tomorrow wasn’t guaranteed, and loss was the only constant— it was enough. This small moment was enough.

“You have the most beautiful eyes.” You whispered, entranced. A soft chuckle leaves Levi’s lips, eyes turning into crescent moons so fitting of his gray orbs and your heart twitches at the sight and sound of his melodious laughter.

His thumb brushes over your cheek and your eyes meet his once again, the beautiful shades of gray staring you back. You didn’t know who did it first but at this point you didn’t care enough to find out because slowly, you both leaned in. Slowly, you both closed your eyes. And slowly, you both tilted your heads.

He pauses.

“May I?” Levi asks, lips merely inches away from yours. You nod.

“You may.”

And suddenly, the distance between your lips was no more.

There were no fireworks, no explosions in your heart or butterflies in your belly. There was no feeling of cloud nine, no feeling of want or need. There was only warmth in your chest, the feeling of a small fireplace crackling and glowing in the coldness of the night. The feeling of warm sheets and warm bodies cuddled up in an embrace.

Home. 

The feeling of home.

Because that’s what you were to Levi, and what Levi was to you.

“Name and business.”

“Y/N L/N. I’m here for your routine checkup.”

“Come in.”

As the door opens and you set the tray down on his desk, hands gently holding the kettle to pour him his cup of tea, you noticed that Levi was still trying to write. But what caught your attention wasn’t the fact that it was no longer his name he tried to scribble, opting to write down complete sentences. What caught your attention was that he was wearing his prosthetics, and his eyepatch wasn’t on.

“Did you read the letter?” He asks. His hands were still writing and his eyes were still staring at the papers in front of him. But you could tell he was anxious.

“Yes.” You simply reply, and he nods.

“Good.”

alrightberries © 2020. do not modify or repost.

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[reuinx]

Red Lights (Yelena Belova x Reader)

Summary: You've been having a tough time lately. It's Yelena's goal to brighten up your day. The day takes the form of an afternoon spent in Yelena's car teasing, laughing, and singing. It looked like the day couldn't possibly get any better until tragedy struck.

Prompt by Anon ask: “Kissing your lover’s forehead as they’re dying in your arms but reader is dying please and thank you “​

Word Count: 2,047

Paring: Yelena Belova x Reader

Warnings: Brief mention of blood (Gore kept extremely minimal), tragic accident resulting in death.

Translations:  Malishka (Baby),  Dorogoy (Love)

Masterlist

Have you ever had those days when nothing goes right? You miss the bus, you say the wrong thing, you lose your temper, and you spend the rest of the day wondering what you could have done differently? It was one of those days. Using this logic, you are faced with a dilemma - you don't want to stay at home, but you don't want to stay alone either. You tentatively texted Yelena to see if she was free; she was. Summer heat caressed your exposed arms, leaving you with sun-kissed skin. 

Despite the heat of the summer, you kicked pebbles across the ground like a child. The sound of her approaching car preceded your sight. The noise of her exhaust was followed by the blaring of Babooshka by the brilliant Kate Bush on her radio. Typical Yelena. She was driving her obnoxious yellow Ford Mustang; it was convertible. She made sure she knew that. It was her pride and joy, and she loved nothing more than it; well, she did love something more than that car, you.

Parking along the footpath, she had the roof down, and her blonde hair was flowing. While one hand was on the steering wheel, the other was hanging outside her window. In a pure white shirt, she exposed the muscles tense in her arm. Her sunglasses slowly slipped down the bridge of her nose as she peered over at you. She was undressing you with her eyes. She was chewing gum; she moved her lips slowly to match her motion.

“Still moody are we, Malishka?” Yelena called out from her car. The smile on her face was always devilish. Even though today didn't go as planned, you felt like it would be heaven on earth with Yelena.

“No”, You replied flatly as Yelena pushed her sunglasses back up to hide her eyes; she turned to face straight ahead of her as you made your way towards the car.

“I’m going to keep doing it until you admit you’re moody.”

“Keep doing wha-“ Before you could finish, She shoved her hand down on the horn as the already noisy auto began honking. Those who passed by started looking at the car with wonder. Redness flushed your face as you raced to the car.

“Yelena! Stop!”

“Mhm?”

“I’m not-“ You swiftly shook your head as the horn continued its outcry. She was stubborn, but so were you. She always won; there was no fighting with Yelena.

“I’m moody!” The moment you admitted it, she took her hand off the horn, resting her head back against the headrest as she stared up at you with a toothy grin.

“God, I hate you. You know that right?”

“Nah, you love me actually.” She was right about that. Yelena leaned across to open the door for you as you made your way to the passenger side. After entering, you shut the door behind you and automatically turned down the radio.

“Trying to go deaf are you?”

“Mhm?”

“I said are you trying to go deaf?”

“What?”

“I said- Oh forget it! Stop teasing me. I’m just looking after you!”

“What are you, my mother?”

“Feels like it sometimes, El.”

“Ha,” Yelena grumbled. Your laughter today was finally made possible because of Yelena's reaction. You were comforted by her. Talking to your person always made your worries go away. Yelena tutted and pulled your seatbelt into the latch plate as she leaned over your body, grasping your belt to make sure it was secure. Yelena put the car into gear as it began to move, the engine rumbling to life as she drove at the appropriate speed. She would never dream of speeding with you in the car.

“Do you want to talk about today?”

“No no, it was just one of those days.”

“Good, I don’t have to kill anyone...”

“No killing anyone.”

“Unless…”

“No”, You shushed her as you glanced at her with the corner of your eye; Yelena was smiling. She looked genuinely happy, which was a relief to you. She radiated happiness onto you; it was impossible to escape.

“It’s a beach day today.” The comment came from Yelena.

“Are you going to throw me in?”

“Actually… I’m still debating it.”

“What’s the pros and cons?”

“Con is that you’re pissed.”

“What’s the pro?”

“It will make you laugh.” You hadn't encountered anyone with the same kind of personality as her. Selflessness characterized her. Her heart was pure gold. Although she was tough, when her walls were broken, she became the softest person you'd ever met. It was easy to love her. She reached over for your hand; she took it in her hand before placing your hand on the clutch. To change gears, she held her hand yours, moving your hand in the desired direction. She was reluctant to let go but eventually cleared her throat to ask. Freeing your hand.

“Will you change the CD, Dorogoy?”

With ease, you opened the glovebox and located the CD binder. The 2000s saw a lot of popularity with these. Not now. Yelena's argument "It can fit so many CD's in it!" She wasn't wrong. It did. There was tons of CD's from all different genres in it. She bought CDs of the songs you played on your phone, not just the ones she liked. Even though she hid it from you, you started to notice when her binder began to fill up. You flicked through the CD’s until one caught your attention. As you saw a blank CD with writing on it, you paused. "For You" is spelled in Yelena's impeccable handwriting. While her eyes rested on the road, you turned to look at her, returning your focus to the CD. Yelena was smiling softly at you while you were busy changing CDs.

“You made this for me?”

“I did. I wanted to make you a playlist and well, there’s no Bluetooth so I did the best I can.”

“You’re too sweet. But… You do know downloading music and burning it on a CD is pretty illegal.”

“If your worrying over me downloading music, you should see what else I do” Yelena released a chuckle as the music played from the radio. You leaned over as you adjusted the volume up as the song The Chain by Fleetwood Mac came through.

“I know you like them wood people”, Yelena murmured under her breath. Suddenly, you felt the excitement in your stomach rise. What else was on this CD? We get so caught up in the big things when we fall in love with someone. The little things are always the most important. You weren't just going to sing; you were going to perform as well. As you sang at the top of your lungs, you began to sway in your chair.

“And if you don't love me now -“ Your hand clenched as if it was holding an invisible microphone as you held it to Yelena’s lips. She smiled, licking her lips as she finished the lyric.

“You will never love me again.” She sang without hesitation, and while her voice is usually harsh, it was smooth and soft this time. When you heard her singing, you burst into laughter and clapped your hands in glee. The music picked up, and your hands moved with the lyrics. You didn't miss a word. Yelena was beginning to tap with the beat of the song on the steering wheel, laughing at how passionate you had gotten.

“I could listen to you forever.”

“Unlucky for you, you have forever with me”, You chirped out as Yelena frowned, turning her head quickly to glance at you.

“Why would that make me unlucky?”

“I’m a pain in the ass.”

“True but you’re my pain in the ass” She sounded more and more sincere with every word she said. Your singing continued unabated. As soon as the next red light came on, Yelena slowed her car down to a stop. It was now possible to see the beach. You were too busy performing for nobody to notice that Yelena was watching you. When she saw you happy, her eyes glowed with childhood excitement. All she wanted was for you to be satisfied. Because you were focused on the big things like the beach, you missed the little things like how Yelena looked at you. Anyone would kill for the kind of look she gave you. Yelena’s expression suddenly changed when you looked at her, her face filled with horror. She wasn’t making a face at you but something behind you.

“What’s wrong?” Suddenly, everything went black. You lost all sense of time and purpose of self. Feeling an overwhelming sense of emptiness, you thought it overtake you. You felt alone. Yelena? Where was Yelena? Was Yelena okay? Had you fallen asleep? There was a noticeable pressure in your chest, almost as if it was being squeezed. You felt your lips tingle, and your lungs fill with air.

"Hey!" A distorted voice echoed inside your head, and you couldn't understand what was being said or even who it was?

"Wake up! Please wake up!" It was beginning to become more legible until a voice broke through the silence.

"Malishika!" Yelena, it was Yelena.

The world was blurry as your eyes snapped open. As you blinked rapidly, flashing lights obscured your view of the figure above you.

"Stay with me, stay with me please." You now knew what the pressure on your chest was; Yelena had been pressing hard and fast on the center of your chest. It was her rescue breaths that tingled your lips. The haze in your vision was clearing as you could see Yelena. It was evident from her face that she had been crying. Spikes of blood could be seen on her face as sweat ran down her forehead. It wasn't her blood. It was yours. 

In your disorientation, you did not know where you were. You were lying on the road when you suddenly remembered being in the car. Your eyes focused on Yelena's car as you tilted your head to look past her. Now you know what Yelena saw behind you. As you were sitting on the passenger side, a car ploughed straight into you through the red light. Yelena must have rescued you from the wreck. With growing dizziness and fatigue, your eyes began to flicker shut. The feeling of Yelena grasping your cheeks caused your eyes to dart open.

"Don't you dare close your eyes on me. I've lost everyone, I can't lose you too. I just can't. Please. Please don't go anywhere.. Just stay. Please just stay. I need you, god I need you. Please." She was begging you, pleading with you. The moment you tried to move, your body refused to react; you were powerless. With one hand on your stomach, she firmly grasped it. It was now clear that her previously pristine white t-shirt was heavily stained red. You felt queasy thinking that was yours.

"Hey, I'm okay. I'm okay baby. It's okay." You managed to whisper out as your voice was weak.

"It's not okay, it's really not okay. I don't know what to do! I can't stop the bleeding" Yelena's voice was firm, her jaw extending with the words she spoke as she tried to contain herself. She sobbed, her eyes flicking upward.

"It's okay, El. You can stop. Just stop."

"Don't fucking say that, don't ever fucking say that. You aren't going anywhere, you aren't. This is not a goodbye! Don't give me that bullshit. The paramedics will be here soon, they will! " She snapped.

"Baby, it's okay. It's going to be okay. Yelena? Do you hear me? "I love you. I love you so much. You know that, right?"

"I love you. God, I love you. Don't forget that, you hear me?" Yelena dipped her head down as she slowly pressed her lips against your forehead. She placed her free hand into your locks of hair as she slowly began to run her fingers through the strands of your hair.

"Baby?" She called out one last time. Your eyes locked onto her green eyes, admiring them one last time. The world around you faded to grey; the last thing you heard was Yelena's scream.

[hpalways]

The Signature || Zhongli

Yandere! Zhongli x Reader

Please make sure not romanticize toxic relationships. I do not condone this behavior whatsoever. 

AMBER eyes were stuck on you, never once leaving your form. They belonged to the Geo Archon, Zhongli, the attractive man you befriended not too long ago. His long ebony hair had left its hair tie, drooping loosely over his shoulder like a soft waterfall as he rested his hands on the surface of the desk -- the desk in which you were forced to sit at. 

In front was a long piece of parchment, handwritten by the male delicately. On it stated:

An agreement that [Y/N] will stay by Zhongli’s side forever. The signer will not speak, look, or stand near anyone other than Zhongli. The signer will be cherished, so they will also have to cherish the other party. They will enjoy their lives to the fullest, as long as they do not step out of line and make sure to follow the rules laid out to them. 

[Y/N] will never stop loving Zhongli. They will speak of topics in interest to both parties. They will drink tea and spend mora for the two of them. They will unconditionally love Zhongli. They will love Zhongli. Zhongli will love them. For an infinite amount of time. Forever and always. Always. 

They will never die. They can not die. 

DO NOT EVER DIE.

Punishment will come if they dare break the contract. The signer knows what this means. 

Signed: _____________

The hand on the pen was gripped so hard, your knuckles had turned white and it shook. Your breath was shallow; A headache began to pound. His eyes would never leave. You were his priority now. Every action was a ticking bomb -- anything could set him off easily. 

You didn’t want to fucking sign it. You knew it was a death trap, but did you have a choice? Not really. 

Zhongli noticed your torn expression, so he tilted his head with a quiet hum. “Is it that hard to sign something?” he stated coolly, his gloved hand brushing over yours. The leathered feeling sent shivers down your spine, and it took everything not to cringe away. 

“I was just… thinking,” you murmured. He raised his brows slightly, quickly interested by your words. Maybe you could buy some time and figure a plan out to leave this room unscath. Luckily enough, the God of Geo was a man who often went on tangents. “I was thinking about the first day we met. You made me pay for your tea at the teahouse.”

He nodded eagerly, stroking the bottom of his chin in thought. “Why, yes. I can remember that day as clear as the skies of Liyue. The tea made for me was quite striking. Made of violetgrass and it tasted delightfully smooth too. Then you came in and made it taste even better. You were all dirtied from battle, seeking for a nice drink to be refreshed on. It caught my attention immediately, but when you offered to pay for me, I knew you were the one.”

He described the meeting in a dreamlike tone, oblivious to the jarring reality that sank its teeth on everyone like a poisonous snake. You shouldn’t have paid for him that day; you shouldn’t have even made eye contact and spoken to him. This was the consequences to your failure of judgment. You could only now sow what you reap. 

He swerved around the desk, growing ever closer to you until he was right next to you. His warm breath hit the side of your face, the smell of soft mint wafting up your senses. “Now… let’s not get off track here. Sign this, my love. I promise you it’s not that hard.”

Dammit. He was too focused on the contract that you barely had the time to brainstorm. Nothing was coming to mind. 

Footsteps echoed throughout the office of the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor. You turned around in desperation, hoping it was someone who could save you from such a situation. There, stood a merchant, his hand holding advertisements to his stalls.

“Hello, I’ve come to--”

When his eyes landed on you, the figure beside you had made his move. Zhongli grabbed his polearm and with a clean swipe, beheaded the speaking man. The body-less head made a perfect, slow arc in the air before dropping to the ground with a sickening crunch. You let out a gasp, panting raspily in shock, stomach twisting within itself in nausea at the sight. What… just happened? That man just died. Oh god. Oh fucking goodness. You suddenly realized something. Help wasn’t ever going to come. No one could best Zhongli. He was a god! 

“Why did you… do that?” you choked out, gulping down the huge lump in your throat. As a pyro vision user, you had your fair share of witnessing deaths. But this was wrong. Someone innocent died for coming into this room. On account of you. He died because of you. 

“On the contract it’s stated that you cannot look at someone. Besides, he interrupted our moment.”

“I haven’t even signed the contract yet!” you cried out in hysteria. This was a nightmare. An absolute nightmare. 

“Oh,” he said, blinking in surprise. “That’s right. You haven’t. Well, this serves as a warning.”

You could never leave him. Trapped in a glass box within all corners, you were to be suffocated by his presence forever. There didn’t need to be a contract; you were already in one. He would kill your loved ones if you didn’t -- he knew of the weakness humans had, for he lived long enough to observe. He had guilt tripped, blamed you for it all, and knew that you would indeed succumb. The deaths were caused by your actions, painting you in red of a blood bath. 

The pen made its move. Ink bled into the paper, marking it as a tattoo. Indeed. This was permanent. It would continue to haunt you for the rest of your life. The writing was barely legible, pressed down so hard it became jagged like shards. 

[Y/N] [L/N] was finally written on the goddamn page. 

Gods were so selfish. They truly didn’t like to share-- whether that’d be war, the world, or the love of their life. If only you had known beforehand. 

“This is marvelous,” he exclaimed, his expression brightening up. He looked so joyous at the signature, lapping it up like a starved dog. His reaction was so unnerving, especially since the dead body was still in the room, rotting away like the corpse it was. Disgusting. Your hands and his were bloodied and he had no shame. “[Y/N]...” He raised your limp hand and kissed the back of it. “I love you. We shall be bound by this contract. Know that I will protect you, no matter the cost.”

You stayed silent. He was trying to make it romantic, but this entire thing was surreal to you. Either he was ignoring your lack of response on purpose or he did not notice. Tucking the contract away into the pockets of his brown, gorgeous coat, he eyed his hair. 

“Tie my hair, my dear. I’ve always wanted to feel your warm hands on me.”

You nodded robotically in response, getting up from your seat to reach the towering male. His cheeks flustered when your fingers weaved into his soft strands. But it was cold. They felt like weaving spider webs, ready to entrap a poor bug victim into its complex trap. That was what you were. Every second spent was eating you away, until you were nothing but dust.

[dishaaexists]

Disha's Ultimate Cheat Sheet To Getting That 4.0

in case you haven't heard from me making this my entire personality, i get good grades at school. i'm that one kid in class everyone hates because i always hand in my homework on time and they can't get away with falling behind. i set the bar so high that even the jocks can't use it to do pull-ups. teachers fear me because i question their credibility and my friends respect me because they know that i am perfectly capable of making certain subjects work for me. i'm shattering the curve, punching the glass ceiling; i'm every indian parent's dream and every principal's nightmare. here's how i do it:

in class:

prepare ahead as much as you can. the more work you do before the class, the less you will stumble during it. keep track of how much material you cover during class time so that you know what to brush up on before the next session. if you have social anxiety like me, this can make being called on much easier and less stressful because you have more material to work with for the answer. 

have all your study materials organized. no one wants their calculator to die in the middle of graphing quadratics or to have the ink in their pen run out when you finally find out what x is. make sure you have all the materials in your pencil pouch/case before you head to class . . . . unless you want to face the wrath of your math teacher by not having your graph notebook during linear equations. 

silence your phone. as much as scrolling through instagram reels is more interesting than paying attention to whatever the godforsaken hell was going on in ancient greece, don't. even though it's literally impossible to have brain cells at 8am, focusing on the material being taught will ensure that you're not sobbing during exam time.

there is no shame in getting ahead. start your next exercise when everyone's still finishing theirs, go through the textbook before class starts and screw anyone who makes you feel bad for it. 

you don't have to take aesthetic notes. using 10,000 different highlighters and brush pens isn't going to do shit if you can't recall the information you're writing down. they should legible and detailed, but they don't have to be mini works of art. 

ask questions! you can do this before, after or during class (whenever you feel comfortable) but get your doubts cleared then and there, that way you're not scrambling during exam time. 

after class:

do a quick read through of your notes, and mark concepts/problems you don't understand. that way, you can either look them up later or ask a friend. 

write down any important due dates/assignment deadlines. doing it directly after class is better because your memory is fresh and you can work out a decent study plan. 

go to the bathroom and/or fill up your water bottle. many teachers won't let you do this in class so just get it done before. it's that simple. 

grab a quick, light snack if you can, and maybe some caffeine if your school offers it/you have it on hand. i prefer a slice of bread with cheese or maybe some cucumbers. avoid greasy/processed foods because they will bring your energy down. 

homework:

first off, please ACTUALLY do the homework. no putting the whole thing through your calculator, no looking up the answer key online and especially no copying off your friends. teachers assign it for a reason -- so that you can practice the material in a non-test setting. even if you hate your physics teacher, just do the goddamn homework. it'll save your life during exam season.

finish the homework the day it's assigned, or at least the day before it's due. you never know what tests or quizzes could come up. finish off the small assignments now so that you don't have to worry about them later.

start with readings. they're easy and don't require that much brain energy. take a few notes while you're flipping pages so that you don't come up empty handed during class discussions.

do the hard stuff when you have energy. understanding how to diffrentiate is much easier at 4pm then it is at 1am. finish off the hard assignments as soon as you can, that way you can speed through the easy stuff and go to bed earlier. 

make use of your free periods. instead of sitting around on your phone, finishing off a problem set during your free hour will make things so much easier when you get home. also being in a school setting can help you be more productive. 

revision:

do a little every day, but don't let it be your whole day. studying all day, at least for me, is impossible. our brains can only pay attention for a maximum of forty five minutes at a time, so as fun as nine hours of studying sounds, it usually doesn't work very well in the long term. space out your studying throughout the day and you will thank yourself.

be ACTIVE. despite what your teacher tells you, passive methods like reading your textbook over and over again do not do shit for your memory. my personal favorite method is blurting, where you go through/memorize your notes and then write everything you remember on a piece of paper without looking at the book. then identify the gaps in your memory, and relearn where needed. do problem sets, make flashcards, hell, even write a song with vocabulary to jog your memory! just please don't sit there and stare off into space, you'll regret it later. 

past papers are now your best friend. it's like a legal cheat sheet. treat them like the actual exams and time yourself as you complete them. getting used to the mark scheme and question pattern will literally save your life when it's time for exam season. 

make use of your weekends and breaks. a little but of revision in between vacations and beach trips can do wonders for your memory in the long run.

hold yourself accountable. as much as we like to hate teachers who micromanage and constantly look over your shoulder, there is no one except you who is going to face the consequences of low marks. set strict time limits and alarms, and do extra to make up for the days you slack off or weren't able to get to your goals. 

problem sets are a godsend for stem subjects. am i technically asking you to do additional math on top of the work you've already been assigned? yes. but will they give you more confidence, get you used to the mark scheme and generally help you become more proficient? also yes. 

self care:

do not ever, EVER revise when you're emotionally drained or your mental health sucks. to get good grades, you have to be in good health, and sacrificing sleep to cover just that one chapter may not be as good of an idea as you think it is. if you find yourself slipping, take a break. your textbooks will always be here for you to come back to, but your sanity will slip away if you don't focus on yourself.

only take on what you can handle. three chapters of calculus in a day may sound like a decent idea at 9am, but you'll want to kick yourself when you're still struggling to do them at one in the morning. only plan for what you know you can do, there is always time for more. 

take breaks. like i said before, study every day but don't let it be your whole day. drink six glasses of water, go outside for at least an hour, spend time doing something you love. working all day with no downtime is extremely bad for you. 

it's okay to fail. failure is how you learn to succeed. people don’t just wake up knowing all the information in the world. don't get hung up on those one, two or maybe even 3fs on your geometry course. instead, focus on what you can improve and learn from those experiences. 

be kind to yourself. the way you see yourself is often much more critical than the way other people see you, and you are often much more accomplished and bright than you think you are. don't take your grades as a reflection of your soul, your bright, imaginative and whole existence cannot be encapsulated on mere numbers scrawled on a piece of paper. you are so much more more your exam marks. 

some resources i love:

savemyexams. you do need to pay for some features but the free version has been very helpful for me. 

khan academy. just create an account. it'll save your life i promise!!

physicsandmathstutor. literally the BEST resource for stem past papers (savemyexams works for the other subjects). also the downloads are pretty safe compared to other sites.

cognito (youtube). great stem resources, their videos are short and to the point without missing out on the necessary details. 

the ginger mathematician (youtube). this man is my ron weasley in shining armor, he has quite literally rescued me during math mocks. 

crash course (youtube). great for quick humanities revision and helped me ace my test on the great depression. 

oversimplified (youtube). i personally don't watch their vids but some of my classmates do and it seems to make history revision a lot easier for them. 

lifeat. creates a virtual study space that (if you live in a noisy household like me) helps you focus and cancels out any distractions. 

the best study motivation: kaiti yoo, fayefilms, ruby granger, unjaded jade and study quill <3

lmk if you have anything to add and if you would like to see similar content from me in the future!!

[fact-fictionx]

Fear - Benedict Bridgerton

A Benedict Bridgerton x Fem!Reader oneshot. 

A/N: This is a new style of writing for me, but I wanted to write this but didn’t want to become too attached and it end up being a multipart fic when I already have one on the go. 

This is loosely based from this ask I sent (x) 

If you would like to send a prompt (doesn’t have you be x reader, can be any pairing, even a OFC), I’ll try my best to get through them. 

Let me know what you think xx

Dear Benedict,

By the time you read this I’ll be out in society, but right now I am quite frightened of that prospect. I knew mama would not allow me to hold back for another year, but somehow I feel too young. You may laugh, at nineteen I am far older than some of the other young ladies I will debut with, but that does not retract from the idea that I am completely frightened.

Yours, Y/N

**

For Benedict when he was in London it was hard to find solace in his own home. His younger siblings lost now that their father was no longer here. The first year without his father, Benedict Bridgerton spent little time in his own house. Where the second Bridgerton truly found solace was in your house. Your family had lived a few doors down from the Bridgertons for longer than your parents could even remember, the family friendship blooming from the similar ages you and your siblings shared with the eldest four Bridgertons.

Your brothers matched Anthony and Benedict in age, whereas you were two years younger than them and your youngest brother coming only a few months prior to the birth of the third Bridgerton, Colin. Your three brothers and the Bridgerton brothers grew close, leaving you to follow in their footsteps as you grew up between them. You played in the mud at your frequent visits to Aubrey Hall, much to your mothers dismay, and giggled innocence when Anthony and Benedict often bullied each other.

As you grew into a young woman, your friendship with the three Bridgerton boys soon grew apart. You were civil, of course, but you were not permitted to spend as much time with them as before. Instead you learnt the piano and began your journey with terrible embroidery.

After the death of Edmun Bridgerton you sat solemnly playing the piano, it was a sad time for everyone to hear the news, but your heart wretched thinking of the Bridgertons and how they would miss their father. The Bridgerton family didn’t frequent so much at your home, and the dinner invitations stopped, which you expected, but it still didn’t mean you didn’t miss their presence.

One day you sat tinkering away on the piano, piecing together notes and scribbling them down on paper. After a while you fell into the zone, your fingertips caressing the keys as the melody chimed from the instrument. You didn’t notice that Benedict Bridgerton had settled himself into the corner of the room, flipped open his sketch book and started to draw.

When you finally took notice of your surroundings your playing suddenly stopped. Benedict looked up and your eyes caught each other, the young Bridgerton snapping his book shut and jumping up. “I am so sorry, Y/N” he straightened his clothes, you noticed that his eyes were heavy, his hair disheveled and his skin sallow. You had seen grief affect people this way, and you knew that if you could give him some sort of respite from it, you would let him sit for as long as you wanted.

“Don’t be Benedict, you can stay,” you smiled politely. With a nod and a look of thanks, Benedict sat back down and opened his book.

From then on you often found yourself alone with Benedict, he pottering away in his sketchbook and you practicing the pianoforte. Your parents did not care, you were both young and friends. You began to share dinners at both households, and you watched Benedict blossom from the grief he was feeling into a fine young man.

After a few months your silence grew into conversations, something odd you had read in the paper, or a piece of gossip you had heard from a maid about another high strung household. Soon, you and Benedict became friends.

When he left to study in Oxford, you felt lost, alone. But you continued to enhance your own studies, practice the piano and continue with your terrible endeavour of embroidery. When Benedict came back for the first summer your heart burst, the Bridgerton’s crooked smile making you feel warm inside, it was then you knew that you were in completely in love with him.

It was at nineteen your mother finally put her foot down on you postponing your coming out another year, and you were well and truly frightened. Penning the letter to Benedict was difficult, you knew there was little he could do. By the time he received it and responded, there could be a chance you would be engaged to marry another man. A life without Benedict was a life you weren’t sure you wanted to live, but Benedict didn’t know the feelings you had for him, to him it was just a friendship.

Your first ball was a complete nightmare. You stepped on the toes of two gentlemen, and accidentally threw a drink down another. Completely mortified you tried your very best to persuade your mother to let you miss the next one, but when Violet Bridgerton insisted that she came to the ball with you, your mother practically dragged you out of the door.

“You see dear,” Violet spoke as you walked around the room with your arm hooked in hers, “People will forget about your first ball, if you fascinate them at another.” You were completely confused by the statement Violet said, how could you fascinate anyone? You were a mumbling wreck when a man approached, completely unaware of what was appropriate to talk about. To be quite perfectly honest, you had expected to feel the same comfort with the man you were to marry as you did with Benedict Bridgerton, but you were not quite sure you could find that.

“Miss Y/L/N,” Anthony Bridgerton spoke as he approached you, he stopped gently in front of you and tipped his hand forward, you stared at his hand for a moment before realising that Anthony Bridgerton was not just a friend anymore, he was a Viscount and you were now a lady, you had to treat him as such. “Lord Bridgerton,” you curtseyed slightly, feeling a rush of embarrassment wind through your body as you placed your gloved hand in his, his lips brushing slightly on your knuckles, a mischievous wink coming from him as he stood back up. You furrowed your eyes at the man who you knew far too much about and wondered what he was doing.

“Care for this dance?” He asked, not letting go of your hand. “Of course…” Your words were drawn in curiosity, unsure why Lord Bridgerton would dance with you after the gossip that had very quickly spread after the last time.

As you stood in Anthony’s hold you relaxed slightly, Anthony Bridgerton had no intentions of making you his wife, you were completely sure of that after watching him sneak back into Bridgerton house at the early hours of the morning, his cravat crooked and his hair a complete and utter mess. Anthony Bridgerton had made it well known that he did not intend to marry just yet. “You are not a bad dancer,” Anthony muttered as they circled the floor, “You flatter me, Lord Bridgerton,” you chuckled in his hold, his hand firmly on your back as he led you, “Why are you doing this?” You asked, your gaze focusing back onto the eldest Bridgerton. “Truth?” he raised his eyebrows, “Nothing but,” you responded, “Mother,” he said dryly, “She wanted me to help you attract some attention,” he added, “Oh and here I thought you had every desire to dance with me,” you gave him a wry smile as your eyebrow cocked. “You do not desire to dance with me?” Anthony asked back, his eyebrow cocked in amusement, “You are the wrong Bridgerton,” you sighed slightly before gasping as you realised the words that tumbled from your mouth. You felt Anthony chuckle in your hold and you met his eyes in desperation for him not to speak a word to anyone else, “Oh dear, Y/N, everyone knows but Benedict, and everyone knows that he is in love with you, but you.” Anthony smirked, “Anthony Bridgerton, do not dare play with my feelings.” You scolded him, not caring about formalities in such a situation. “But I am not, I believe our mothers have a bet on, but I try to not believe ladies with such high esteem bet,” his smirk was a constant on his face as he pulled from the hold and bowed as the music ended.

Sleep failed to dawn on you that evening, you could not stop playing the words Anthony said over and over in your head. Completely aghast at the fact your own mothers had bet on you and Benedict, you feared bringing the subject up with your mother incase Anthony Bridgerton was telling a lie, which you did slightly suspect.

The next morning you sat in the drawing room, your fingers delicately pressing over the piano keys as your mother sat completing her most recent needlework endeavour. Tea had been brought up by the maids, along with an array of sweets and biscuits. You were doubtful that any suitors would call, after your dance with Anthony you only danced twice more. They weren’t as eventful as your first ball, this time you didn’t step on their toes or spill a drink down them, but you were too consumed in your own thoughts to have an even legible conversation with them.

The butler walked into the room announcing himself with a cough, causing both you and your mother to snap your heads to the doorway. “Lord Stanley for Miss Y/L/N,” your heart skipped a beat. You were not sure you had ever conversed with a Lord Stanley, but someone had come to see you and it filled you with giddiness and nerves.

As Lord Stanley walked in you were completely taken aback by his presence. His blonde hair shone in the morning sun that filtered through the window, his jaw was strong and you were sure his ocean blue eyes were piercing you from across the room. He held a bouquet of flowers and your heart fluttered at the first flowers you had received as a gift. Standing up abruptly you curtseyed to Lord Stanley before guiding him to sit down.

Lord Stanley was filled with humour, he made you giggle uncontrollably and as you spoke he looked directly into your eyes, listening intently to what you said. When he left you glided across to the piano with a smile on your face, but as soon as you sat down your thoughts shifted and you couldn’t help but compare him to Benedict. Benedict was funny, his humour nuanced, he didn’t just watch you as you spoke, he actively listened and hung onto every word, asking questions to find more meaning, but he also knew when silence was needed.

After a week, one ball and two occasions of promanading with Lord Stanley the whole of the Ton was abuzz with the idea that you would marry. You could anticipate a proposal of marriage coming soon, Lord Stanely had visited your father a few days ago thinking you hadn’t noticed. Your heart wretched as you thought of Benedict, wondering if waiting for him would be a good idea, or if you should accept Lord Stanley and start a life with him. Marrying Lord Stanley meant that Benedict would no longer be your neighbour, you would move to the north and only visit London on the occasion. The Bridgerton family a distant memory that you would only say hello to when you brushed by them in the ballroom.

As you prepared for the evening's ball you looked through the mirror at your Lady’s Maid, Anna. “Should I marry Lord Stanley?” you asked with a sigh, your eyes connecting with the brunette as she dressed your hair, “I do not think that’s a decision I should make, miss,” Anna responded, you swallowed, trying to think of the answer yourself. Every time you thought of marriage with Lord Stanley your mind switched to Benedict. Your dreams were filled with Benedict the closer you to Lord Stanley.

Lord Stanley was a perfect gentleman, and everything you would have wanted in a man, and you were sure he would be faithful and give you a perfect life. But perfect did not mean happy. You dreamed of a love match, after hearing stories of Edmund and Violet as you grew up you wished to have what they had. Your parents loved each other, of course they did, but when they married it was from necessity and they grew to love each other.

On his return to London all Benedict heard about was the impending marriage between you and Lord Stanley. It ate him up to think about you with someone else, but what more could he expect. He clutched his response to your letter in his hand, it had been sat in his desk for weeks waiting to be sent, but he couldn’t bring himself to send it, to potentially risk everything.

Benedict was dragged from the house soon after he had arrived, thankful that his mother and Anthony had given him enough time to change from his travelling clothes to something much more suited for a ball. The Bridgerton family had arrived early, but people had begun to filter into the room, the musicians playing soft accompanying music that did not really warrant anyone dancing. Standing at the refreshment table Benedict spoke to his brother, sipping at the dire lemonade that had been served.

“So who is this Lord Stanley?” Benedict attempted to be smooth in his question to his brother, but from the look on Anthony’s smirk he was far from smooth, “Him,” Anthony pointed at a tall blonde who waited with a slight eagerness at the bottom of the stairs, “He seems nice,” Anthony shrugged, “Completely enamoured with Y/N, there’s rumours that tonight he will ask her for her hand, word has gone round that he always has her father’s permission,” Benedict’s heart dropped in his chest.

Looking at the entrance to the ballroom Benedict’s heart thumped in his chest, he knew he had been gone the best part of a year, but he hadn’t expected to be completely speechless when he laid his eyes on the most beautiful woman.

As you entered the room by your mothers side, you smiled at the guests as you walked through with apprehension. It was not news to you that Lord Stanley was going to ask you tonight, and you still were not sure how you would answer. Scanning the room your eyes met Lord Stanley’s briefly, giving him a polite smile before continuing to roam the room. Your throat clamped shut and your heart began to thump in your chest as your eyes met with Benedict’s, you had not heard from him since you sent your letter, you had not expected to see him tonight.

Gulping with an overwhelming sense of anxiety, you fell from your mothers hold and shuffled through the crowd, finding an escape in the library of the house. Reaching the safety of the silent library you began gasping for air as the tears pricked at the back of your eyes wishing to escape. Benedict was here, Benedict would know of the engagement soon after it happened, Benedict would be in and out of your life in just mere minutes if you were going to say yes. Benedict, the man you were completely certain you loved for the last few years was here and you were due to be betrothed to another man. Your father had already given him permission, there was no doubt a discussion of you dowry. For all intents and purposes, you had been signed off to Lord Stanely. A lot would have to happen if Lord Stanley and your father were willing to let you say no.

Turning in your panicked state you gasped as you saw Benedict Bridgerton looking at you with what seemed to be a thousand different emotions.

“Benedict.” You whispered, your heart skipping a beat as the Bridgerton bounded across the room to meet you. His arms wrapped around you in an embrace that made all the fear and panic escape from your body, in his arms you felt safe. “Y/N,” he whispered as he pulled from the embrace, his hands still resting on your shoulders as he held you at arm's length. You looked at him with apprehension, your heart pounding against your chest as if it were trying to escape. “Are you going to marry him?” he asked, his eyes filled with sorrow as the words fell from his mouth.

Your lips opened to answer Benedict, but you truly did not know the answer. Your heart belonged to him, but you did not know where his heart lay.

“I responded to your letter,” Benedict broke the silence, “I did not receive it,” you added, confusion riddled in your voice as your mind continued to ruminate on Benedict’s first question. “I-I didn’t send it.” Benedict stuttered slightly, his hand reaching into his waistcoat and pulling out a folded letter. You could see your name scribbled on the front, the letter had been scrunched and crinkled numerous ways, no longer the pristine piece it once was. “Here.” Benedict whispered, handing the letter to you and stepping back.

You stared at the paper in silence, your breathing heavy and your mouth agape as you looked at your name written in Benedict's hand. You had seen this many times over the years, your mind knew his penmanship better than your own, and yet seeing your name written by him at this very moment made your stomach twist. With a deep breath you broke the wax seal and began to read.

Dear Y/N,

I cannot imagine the fear that is running through your mind, but I am sure you will stun many gentlemen on your debut.

I must admit that I am in fact very jealous that I cannot be there to see you, and I cannot fathom the thought of you playing the piano for anyone but I.

I miss the time we would spend in your family library, me sketching and you playing harmonious melodies throughout the afternoon. The laughter we shared and the complete comfort I felt in your presence.

The gentleman in me wants to wish you well, wants you to have numerous gentleman callers and to be whisked off your feet with gifts and poetry, but right now Y/N, I cannot be a gentleman.

To imagine you with another man is abhorrent, I do not want to wish you well. All I want you to do is to wait for me.

Yours, Benedict.

A tear trickled down your cheek as you looked up and met Benedict’s pleading gaze. “Ben,” you whispered, your eyes running over the words once again, his heartfelt plea in his writing, his face filled with hurt as he looked at you, waiting for an answer, wondering if he had been too late, if he should have sent the letter as soon as he wrote it and maybe, just maybe he wouldn’t be in the situation where he would have to see you marry another man.

“I did not know you felt this way,” you wiped the tear from your face and sniffed back any ones that threatened to fall, folding the letter in your hand you looked at Benedict who stepped forward again. As he closed the gap between you two, your attempts to stop your tears failed, a singular tear rolling down your cheek. Benedict caught it with his thumb, his hand lingering on your cheek. “I was unsure of your feelings,” Benedict whispered, his eyes fluttering around your face, trying to find the answer. “I am quite sure I have always loved you, Benedict Bridgerton.” you whispered. You watched how his eyes glistened with happiness as the words fled your mouth.

Before you knew it, Benedict had crushed his lips onto yours, his arms wrapped around your wait to pull your body into his. You moulded into his embrace, feeling his warm lips on yours as you reacted to his touch, your hands grabbing onto the lapel of his jacket to keep yourself steady whilst simultaneously keeping him connected to you. It was all you had ever dreamed of and more, his touch was soft but passionate, it was like years of feelings had burst free and you were no longer hiding.

“I suppose that makes me the winner, mother.” Anthony’s voice carried through the room, disrupting you and Benedict in your embrace. You pulled out sharply, stumbling back as a gasp escaping your lips as you had been caught. Anthony and Violet Bridgerton stood at the entry looking on, Anthony had a smirk on his face whilst Violet wore a shocked expression. “I won't tell your mother what I saw, but you two will not be allowed alone again until you are married,” Violet said sternly, not impressed that her son had just been improper with a lady. “But what about Lord Stanley?” you asked, your lips tingling from Benedict’s touch, your heart racing and your mind a complete haze. “He went to ask your father a few nights ago, in which he said to ask you, which I believe was your mothers doing, she wasn’t going to force you into anything,” Violet smiled before turning away. “Told you the bet was true,” Anthony winked at you, before gesturing for you and Benedict to leave immediately.

[linghxr]

Benefits of Learning Stroke Order

When I went to Chinese school as a kid I couldn’t have cared less about stroke order. And I made my teacher very unhappy when I declared that I did not care, haha. But now I think stroke order is actually pretty important! It’s not worth torturing yourself over, but there are some real benefits to following it.

What I Did

I will admit, I was mostly following basic stroke order rules anyway because they really drilled them in at Chinese school. But there were some common mistakes I was making just because the true order didn’t seem intuitive to me. For example, for 力 and 方, I used to write the 撇 (㇒) stroke first and then the 横折钩 (㇆) second; the order should be reversed. 

I started by just looking up stroke order for characters I felt looked unbalanced when I wrote them and for characters for which I couldn’t figure out the stroke order for. And this is basically still what I do to this day! For beginners, I recommend learning stroke order whenever you learn a new character. Eventually you will internalize the rules and won’t need to learn the order explicitly.

Now that it’s been a couple years since I set out to better follow stroke order, I have to look up stroke order less often. I definitely still make mistakes to this day--it’s hard to break old habits, and if I don’t know that I’m writing something wrong, it won’t occur to me to correct myself. But I’m striving for improvement, not perfection, and I’m happy enough with the outcomes.

Improving Your Handwriting

My handwriting improved markedly when I started focusing on writing with proper stroke order! Especially for characters like 我 or 这 that can look really off/unbalanced when written in the wrong order. Also, I somehow only learned recently the correct order for 那 recently??? My teacher used to note that my 那 looked wrong because it looked too much like 月 or the 肉 radical in 膀. Well, for most of my life, I was writing 那 with the stroke order used for 月, which is wrong!

I know some people don’t really care about learning to write when they learn Chinese, but writing has always been important to me. My handwriting might never look truly native-like, but I have pretty good handwriting in my native language, so honestly I would be embarrassed to have really bad handwriting in Chinese. Having good handwriting will DEFINITELY impress people, in my experience. Obviously, you shouldn’t feel bad if you have not-so-lovely handwriting, but the ego boost when people compliment my characters is reallyyyyy great.

Deciphering Other Writing

Have you ever struggled to read your teacher’s handwriting or a picture/posture with a handwriting/calligraphy inspired font?

不开心时做个深呼吸 不过是糟糕的一天而已 又不是糟糕的一辈子

It’s really frustrating for me when I can’t read handwritten notes! I've bolded the characters that I had a hard time making out. I was eventually able to get them all except 做 and actually had to google the quote to figure that one out. And relatively speaking, I think this handwriting is pretty legible. So clearly this is a skill I’m still working on. But so far, familiarity with stroke order has been essential. As you can see, in the image above, many of the strokes are connected/blend together. If you don’t understand stroke order, it’s going to be even more difficult to figure out what’s going on. And if you want to have native-like handwriting like this, obviously proper stroke order is a must as well.

I’m not even going to try to read this because it makes my head hurt. But I swear, this is how my some of my past teachers would write when marking up my homework.

This one is beyond frustrating because I can make out most of the characters, but I really have no idea what the remaining ones are.

Again, I know many people believe handwriting isn’t important in our digital age, but just imagine how much it would suck if someone wrote you a heartfelt letter in Chinese and you couldn’t read any of it. Remember, most people don’t write as neatly as people with studyblrs/studygrams!