#anyway um...... uh...... yes.. i drew a whole comic about this......... runs;;;;;

[restinpeacesensei]

[wondernimbus]

quidditch world cup — seamus finnigan

pairing: seamus finnigan x female!reader

request: Would you write a Seamus Finnigan imagine during the Quidditch World Cup where his crush sits near them during the game and has a tent near the Finnigans (and Dean) and when the Death Eaters attack and he and his crush hide from the Death Eaters together?

a/n: i changed a few minor details about the original request but other than that, enjoy! 

A palpable buzz of excitement still hangs in the air after the match has officially ended. Some of those rooting for Bulgaria trudge out of the stands looking glum, but most, although the team they had been rooting for lost, are just as excited as the Irish—or perhaps not as excited, but close to it. On her way back to the tents, [Y/N] spots no less than five fans of Ireland weeping tears of joy.

"You'd think they won a thousand galleons with how they were acting," [Y/N] points out with a laugh after coming across an Irish fan pounding his fists on the ground and bawling loudly.

Beside her, Dean Thomas snickers. "I bet a thousand galleons Seamus is somewhere going bonkers—oh, there he is."

[Y/N], with much difficulty, tears her gaze away from the bawling man and looks up. Sure enough, Seamus Finnigan is standing a couple feet away from them in front of his tent, wildly brandishing a pole on which hangs the flag of Ireland.

She can't help but laugh at the sight. "How long do you think before he starts crying?"

Dean nudges her. "I assume you'll be wiping his tears away when he does?"

"Oh, shut up."

Seamus catches sight of them when they draw closer. He stops waving his flag around and grins at the pair, looking the happiest [Y/N] has ever seen him. "We won, lads!" he yells, bounding towards them.

"Lads?" [Y/N] wrinkles her nose, fighting back a laugh. Seamus looks like a five-year-old on Christmas day who just got the toy broomstick he wanted.

"Don't mind his vocabulary, [Y/N]. He's half out of his mind," Dean says in a mock sympathetic voice, clasping Seamus's shoulder with one hand. "You good, mate? Sure you don't need to sit down?"

"Never been better!" Seamus answers breathlessly, eyes wide with mirth as he bounces slightly on his toes. "Never had any doubt Ireland would win—poor Bulgaria never had a chance!"

"Don't start crying on us now, Seamus," Dean sniggers. "Or at least if you do, do it on [Y/N]—"

"Seamus!" [Y/N] exclaims, cutting Dean off with a sideways glare. "The painting on your, um, cheek—it's gone a little messy. Would you like me to fix it for you?"

It's not a lie. The large four-leaf clover painted on Seamus's right cheek has gone smudged and looks more like a big blob of green than what it's actually supposed to be. He absentmindedly drags his hand across his cheek, making it even worse.

Dean snorts. "Oh, now you're just doing it on purpose—"

"Can't say no to that, [Y/N]!" grins Seamus. "Gotta show my Ireland pride. I've got a brush or two in my tent. Come on, you two!"

Dean gives [Y/N] a look. She smacks him on the shoulder and rolls her eyes. "What?" she whispers as they follow Seamus into his tent.

"You seem an awful lot like you're up to something," Dean grins, not bothering to lower his tone.

"Who's up to something?" Seamus asks, rummaging in his bag presumably in search for a paintbrush.

"No one," [Y/N] assures him, glowering at Dean. And then, in a hushed voice, "I am not up to something—I'm his friend, I'm just being nice."

Dean raises his eyebrows at her, obviously not convinced. Letting out an exasperated sigh, she turns to Seamus, who has successfully located a small paintbrush and bottles of green and white paint. "Here you go, [Y/N]—Dean, where are you going?"

[Y/N] looks back at Dean only to see that he's halfway out of the tent flaps, back hunched as though he'd been tip-toeing. He straightens up, trying very hard to mask the devious grin on his face, and shrugs. "I just remembered I had to, uh, meet with Lee," [Y/N] gapes at him in disbelief. "I'll see you two later!"

And then, with no more than a final annoying smirk at [Y/N], Dean leaves the pair of them alone in the tent. [Y/N] lets out a quick breath of incredulous laughter, shaking her head as her gaze skitters back to Seamus, who looks just as perplexed as she does.

"Do you—um—" for some reason, some of the glee in Seamus's eyes dies out and is replaced by a touch of awkwardness; [Y/N] can see it in how his gaze darts away from hers. "Do you still wanna—" he gestures to the paintbrush and paint he holds in his hands.

[Y/N] has never hated Dean in her life more than she does now. "Of course," she sniffs, letting out a laugh in an attempt to ease the sudden burst of awkwardness now hanging between them.

Seamus hands her the paintbrush and paint, scratching the back of his head. "You don't have to do it really well, it's alright—I'm washing it off before I sleep anyway—"

[Y/N] lets out a genuine snort of laughter. "Are you sure?" she asks, eyebrows raised. "You seem like the type to show Irish pride wherever and whenever, even when you're asleep."

Seamus ducks his head in shame. "You've got that one right," he grins toothily. "Those blokes were amazing up there, don't you think? Never had any doubt they were gonna win—and Troy was bloody spectacular, did you see his goals?"

"They were hard to miss," [Y/N] agrees, amused as she pries the paintbrush and paint off of Seamus's hands and beckons for him to sit down on the couch, which he does, still rambling on about Troy—Ireland's best Chaser.

"Knew right off the bat he was gonna end up scoring the first goal—he's been training the longest out of all of them, see, he got signed right after he left Hogwarts and he's been under the Irish National Quidditch Team's wing for a decade!"

[Y/N] nods along, a smile playing on her lips as she dips the brush into green paint.

"And that was a bit of a daft move by Krum, don't you think, catching the snitch when Ireland was more than a hundred and fifty points up? Kinda' feel bad for the bloke, I bet his teammates are having a go at him right n—"

Seamus stops talking when she leans in close and places a hand on his cheek.

He swallows.

"Why'd you stop?" [Y/N] asks, pulling back momentarily and laughing.

Seamus swallows again, blinking rapidly. "You just. Uh, caught me by surprise."

She narrows her eyes at him playfully, smiling despite the blush coating her cheeks that she hopes to Merlin Seamus doesn't notice. "I'll be sure to give you a warning next time," she assures him, eyes twinkling. "You good?"

He nods, fidgeting around in his seat as he mumbles something about the Irish team.

[Y/N] leans in for a second time, hovering over him with one hand on his cheek to keep his head steady and the other fixing the painting of the four-leaf clover.

Seamus sits as still as he can, barely even breathing as he glues his eyes to a random spot beyond [Y/N]'s shoulder so he doesn't have to look her in the eye. In a lame attempt at conversation, he asks, trying not to move his lips too much, "Who—who were you rooting for?"

With her tongue darting out of her lips in concentration, she mutters, "Bulgaria."

Seamus's eyes widen almost comically. "You—what—" he blubbers, looking as though he wants to flail around in his seat. "Bulgaria?"

[Y/N] nods, jokingly scowling at him as she drags the brush across his cheek. "What, you don't want my filthy Bulgaria-loving hands on you?"

He opens and closes his mouth, looking at a complete loss for words. All he manages to get out is "Bulgaria?" in the same incredulous tone.

"Yes," [Y/N] laughs, drawing back to look at her creation. She places both hands on her hips as she tilts her head at him, eyes surveying the slightly better-looking four-leaf clover. "I think you're ready to go—unless you want to wash it off, since a Bulgaria fan drew it for you."

Seamus sits there, looking deeply offended at the notion of her supporting his favorite team's opponent. "I," he inhales, "am disappointed."

[Y/N] rolls her eyes, giggling in amusement as she sets down the paint and paintbrush on the table. "Cry me a river, Finnigan. Your team won, anyway—I don't see why you're so upset."

He rises to his feet, massaging his temples as though he's sporting a massive headache. "I'm very disappointed, [Y/N]," he admits, and she can't quite tell whether or not he's being serious. "You have everything—you're nice and you've got good humor and you're downright bloody gorgeous but you support Bulgaria?"

[Y/N] stares at him, the amused grin on her face slowly drooping as she registers his words.

"Bloody.. gorgeous?" she repeats, blinking.

Seamus's body turns rigid. He blinks rapidly, eyes wide like he's been caught in the act. "I didn't—"

Suddenly, a shrill, ear-deafening scream cuts through the air, louder than the celebratory hoots and whistles of the Irish. This one is filled with terror and fear and pain—the stuff of nightmares.

[Y/N] doesn't hesitate; she rushes to the tent entrance, dread blossoming in her stomach with every step she takes.

Everyone has stopped celebrating. The whole field seems to be at a standstill; smiles have fallen, the thrill of the Quidditch match forgotten as everyone stares up at the sky, where four people are being tossed about in mid-air.

"Are those—are those Muggles?" gasps [Y/N], horrified.

Another scream interrupts the deadly silence. And then another. And then another, until everyone starts screaming and running and the sounds of panic build up into a horrifying crescendo. Seamus tugs on [Y/N]'s arm—she hadn't realized she'd been frozen, transfixed at the horrendous sight above her.

"Come on, we gotta go—" Seamus is saying, dragging her by the arm. "[Y/N]!"

[Y/N] snaps herself out of her reverie. The tents are on fire. People are trampling over each other in desperation to flee to the forests. Her brain tells her to start running, so she does, Seamus clutching her hand beside her in a vice-like grip as witches and wizards alike push past them, shoulders ramming into theirs.

"Just keep running, we have to make it to the woods!" Seamus yells above the noise of panic; one of the Muggles in the air have started screaming—a woman—and loud, boisterous laughter ensues.

"Seamus, who are those people?" [Y/N] gasps, eyes catching onto the crowd of masked wizards standing beneath the Muggles. They're standing just several feet away from them, wands drawn as they march closer, huddled together in a pack. "Are those—"

"Don't look, [Y/N]—come on—"

Just before [Y/N] averts her shocked gaze, one of the wizards points his wand in her direction and a jet of green light rushes straight towards her—and it would have hit her right in the back if Seamus hadn't pulled her down at the last second.

Eyes wide with panic and her chest pumping with the adrenaline of nearly having been cursed, [Y/N] scrambles to her feet and lets Seamus drag her into a random nearby tent. "Stay quiet—don't move," he hisses once they've made it behind the tent flaps, crouching just behind the entrance.

"Seamus—were those—"

"Death Eaters, I think," he confirms her suspicions, gritting his teeth. "And they nearly damn cursed you."

[Y/N]'s grip on Seamus's hand tightens as she clamps her mouth shut, willing herself to stay as still and silent as possible. The woman's screaming intensifies and [Y/N]'s heart skips several beats when she hears it get closer and closer to where she and Seamus are hiding.

"Can't we just kill her already? Her screams disgust me almost as much as her blood does."

The voice is coming from right outside the tent. [Y/N]'s breathing gets quicker and she quickly covers her mouth with the hand that's not holding on to Seamus's.

"We are not here to kill—we are here to demonstrate," drawls another voice. "Let everyone see the powerlessness of these filthy, useless Muggles. It disappoints me how we have to resort to such means to prove an obvious point."

Seamus meets [Y/N]'s gaze; she sees her own fear reflected in his eyes. But even then, he gives her a reassuring smile, squeezing her hand in his as he mouths, "It's gonna be okay."

Slowly, she nods.

But then one of the wizards—one of the Death Eaters, her brain supplies not very helpfully—says, "Oi, do you see that?"

"See what?"

"That shadow. There's someone inside the tent—"

"Leave it. We are not here to harm magical blood."

"Shut up—who knows, we might get lucky and find ourselves a Mudblood!" Footsteps draw closer to their tent. Seamus and [Y/N] can do no more but crouch behind the entrance, eyes wide in mutual panic. "Come out, you!"

The tent flaps rustle. A hand pokes out—but then several screams cut through the air, and a sound like a powerful spell being cast echoes across the field.

"It's the Dark Mark!"

Several loud popping noises ensue. [Y/N] knows that sound; it's that of someone—or in this case, several people—apparating away. And then she hears four loud thuds outside, as though heavy bodies are dropping to the ground.

"I think they're gone," Seamus says, but his tone is still hushed.

[Y/N] doesn't pause to check. She unleashes her grasp from Seamus's and darts out of the tent, Seamus yelling behind her, and sure enough, the four Muggles who had been suspended in mid-air just moments before are now lying on the ground, eyes wide in terror except for the two young children who have fainted.

"Oh my God—"

"[Y/N]!" Someone—Seamus—catches her from behind as her knees buckle underneath her and her lungs seize up in her chest.

"Seamus—they—we have to help them—"

"[Y/N], calm down—"

She wrenches herself out of Seamus's hold and rushes to kneel down next to the Muggle woman, whose eyes have gone hazy, staring off into blank space. She doesn't even seem to have noticed [Y/N], who hovers over her, hands trembling, unsure of what to do.

Shaking, she takes the woman's hand in hers and squeezes, repeatedly saying something along the lines of "everything's fine, they're gone now" as Seamus stands back helplessly, wand in his hand as his eyes dart around the seemingly empty field of tents.

"[Y/N], we can't stay out here, they might come b—"

"What about them, Seamus?" [Y/N] cuts him off, gesturing wildly to the Muggles. "What are they going to do if the Death Eaters do come back? We can't just leave them here—"

Another loud, popping noise erupts through the air. All around them, familiar faces have appeared—ministry wizards. Seamus tugs on her arm and pulls her back to her feet, watching as the group of frazzled-looking wizards fuss over the Muggles.

"This is madness!" one of them exclaims, shaking his head in disbelief. Then his eyes meet Seamus and [Y/N]'s, and he immediately advances towards them, wand drawn.

"Calm down, Amos," another wizard says, stopping him in his tracks. "They're just children." And then, turning to the shaken pair, he nods. "Go back to your tents, you two. Everything's been taken care of."

"But—" [Y/N] begins, a thousand questions teetering just behind her lips, but Seamus mutters "let's go" next to her and tugs her along.

—

[Y/N] can't sleep at all that night.

She lies awake in her bed in her tent, the rest of her family already asleep. They'd been incredibly worried when she'd turned up outside of their tent after things had started to calm down. Seamus had insisted on walking her back, but [Y/N] had known that his mother must have been out of her mind with worry as well, so she'd told him it was okay.

Now, she stares up at the ceiling. Her hands haven't quite stopped shaking yet. Traces of the fear she'd felt before remain in her heart like an itch that just won't go away. She can't quite rid herself of it; the pure and utter terror she'd felt when she first saw the family of Muggles being tossed to-and-fro in mid-air.. the panic that tore at her heart when the Death Eater approached the tent she and Seamus had been hiding in..

She remembers being pulled to the ground as a curse hurtled through the air that had been aimed for her. She remembers the screaming. The vacant, unfocused looks on the Muggles' faces when the Death Eaters disappeared.

Suddenly, the tent feels too stuffy. She gets up out of bed and sneaks to the entrance, wanting to rid herself of the suffocating feeling in her chest with a bout of fresh air. She can't get out of there fast enough—she nearly trips over her own feet in desperation, and when she does tear past the tent flaps, she lets out a tiny scream.

"Seamus!"

Clutching her chest in surprise, she takes a step back.

Seamus is standing there, eyes wide like a deer in headlights before he drops his gaze bashfully and scratches the back of his head. "Hey," he says, raising a hand in greeting, but then he seems to remember that they're literally only three feet apart and drops his hand back to his side.

"Hey," [Y/N] says breathlessly. "What are you—what are you doing here?"

Seamus shoves one hand into his pocket, shifting a little on his feet. Quietly, he tells her, "I wanted to check if you were okay."

[Y/N] stares at him for a moment, unsure of what to say or how to react. The "I'm okay" rests on the tip of her tongue, but she doesn't have the energy to lie, so she just shakes her head and hopes to leave it at that.

Slowly—hesitantly, Seamus moves his gaze back to hers. "I'm not, either," he admits with a painful grin, fidgeting where he stands. "Can't really sleep. Too much thinking. Death Eaters and Muggles being tortured and.."

He inhales sharply, shaking his head. "You almost got cursed," he says quietly. "If I hadn't been there—"

"Can I hug you, Seamus?" [Y/N] cuts him off, and her voice sounds oddly pained. Like she's holding herself back from crying.

Seamus blinks, surprised.

"I'm sorry, I just—"

"Sure," he exhales, letting out a long breath he didn't know he was holding. "Sure, [Y/N]. Of course."

[Y/N] doesn't wait; she walks forward and throws her arms around him, gripping much too tight. She needs this. She needs something to ground her back to reality—something to pull her away from the dark part of her brain teeming with thoughts of death and torture.

It takes him a few seconds, but Seamus hugs her back. He may not know it, but when he wraps his arms around her and pats her back albeit a little awkwardly, he's bringing her back from the nightmarish part of her head.

They stay like that for quite some time. When [Y/N] pulls away, she wipes at her cheeks hurriedly and steps away, clearing her throat. "Sorry," she winces, trying for a small laugh. "It's just.. been a little much, is all."

Seamus nods, pressing his lips together. "Bit weird how just a few hours ago we'd all been losing our heads over Ireland winning, innit?" and it's a measly attempt to cheer her up, but [Y/N] looks up at him and smiles anyway. It's a little sad—a little off—but it's a smile nonetheless.

"I'm pretty sure that was just you," she tells him quietly, that same tiny smile on her face.

"Yeah, well at least Ireland won," Seamus retorts defensively, the same passion he'd been sporting a few hours ago making itself known again. And then he seems to remember that this isn't the time to be arguing about Quidditch; "Nevermind. Sorry."

"It's fine," [Y/N] assures him, a genuine smile breaking out on her face. "It's fine, Seamus. While we're at it.. you didn't finish telling me about Troy earlier."

[Y/N] needs to stop thinking about everything that happened, and she knows Seamus does too.

What better way to do that than with Seamus's passionate opinions on Ireland?

He seems to consider this for a moment. And then he folds his arms over his chest and begins in a theatrical, haughty tone, "You wouldn't know since you're a Bulgaria fan yourself," he says with feigned spite (or what she hopes is feigned), "But Troy is one of the best Chasers the Quidditch League has ever seen—he learned to fly a broom before he could even walk!"

"Somehow I find that hard to believe."

"Yeah, well, believe it. Anyways, Troy—unlike Krum—is plenty talented.."

[fandomsimaginationstation]

The Scale Doesn’t Determine Your Worth - Levi x Chubby Reader

I’ve been daydreaming about this cutie for the past few days so I wrote a lil something for you guys. Hope you like it!

Y/N = Your Name

L/N = Last Name 

In a lot of instances, Y/N’s weight was a problem. Even for little checkups they knew they were going to be hassled by some doctor to get a grip on life and lose a couple. Or that a group of teens would snicker and mock them as they passed by. Or the impending issue that perhaps they’d never find someone who accepted them as they were and really.. loved them.

But unfortunately, it seemed things only had begun to get worse when Y/N met the cold Captain. He was beyond handsome - he had a rail thin body but quite muscular at that, deep set grey eyes that always seemed to be thinking of somewhere else, and a sort of beauty that resembled someone who had gone through quite a tough situation. Levi’s personality all together was different than the average person’s. Which made it that much harder for Y/N.

It sent a wave of fear through Y/N when in his company. It was a weight on their chest causing them to rethink anything they knew. He was loved by just about anyone. He had a lot of admirers. Not only that, skinny admirers as Y/N saw it. Those who were ‘blessed’ in Y/N’s eyes, but they were quite blind to see any problems making that assumption might bring.

And that was the same thing that Y/N thought each time they stepped on the scale. Seeing the number made them flinch apprehensively, questioning what lead them to be so.. Disgusting.

“Y/N! Please hurry, you don’t want to make Captain mad!”

Flinching, it was obvious that more than enough time had been wasted during their self pity. They had laps to run and titans to fight.

Forcing a smile on their face, Y/N called back to the anxious Armin, “Coming!”

Upon opening the door, Y/N stared down at the face of the boy. Cerulean eyes, full of life and made for reading hundreds of books, and a sort of look that only made Y/N think of him as an injured animal when they first met him. But as time drew on Y/N began to see all he had to offer, so they were always grateful to receive help from him.

“Sorry, I got a little caught up reading the book you loaned me.”

Armin’s eyes lit up immediately, opening his mouth to ask as many questions as he could get out, but quickly clamped it shut. Never mind that, Y/N could be questioned later.

“It’s fine, Y/N! Let’s go!”

After training, Y/N was exhausted. Levi was particularly rough on them, and it seemed he was not letting up on them at all. As fond as Y/N was of him, it was almost as though he was the exact opposite of them. He gave them extra laps and picked at their skills when in the air, and found any little thing to critique.

Normally that wouldn’t have affected them. As much as Captain meant to them, they could chalk it up to simple tough love. But there might have been the absence of love today. Each time they looked at him it was as though something was on his mind. And for some reason he was taking it out on them.

“As I was always told, a good book can make up for a bad day.” They murmured as they sulked. It wasn’t too bad. Maybe that’s all they’d ever be. A soldier who worked hard. Despite their size even. They still ran and had helped taken down a titan or two, so were they really that worthless?

Yeah, those thoughts of hope didn’t exactly make them feel any better. Maybe a little worse even.

But as they cuddled up against the tree with that book, it was almost as though everything fell into place.

“There are a lot nicer spots to read elsewhere.” Stoic tone of voice could only mean one thing..

Y/N almost jumped out of their skin! They half debated ignoring him and hiding behind their book until he went away.

“C-Captain! I didn’t see you there… ahaha..” They peeked up from their book, and they momentarily swore that even if he yelled at them and displayed absolute hatred seeing that sight of him was worth it. He was at his prime - thirty five years old or not, he looked amazing. The sun hit his tanned cheeks making the steel eyes ever so present. He had stripped most of his usually get up off and instead simple white slacks, white collared shirt and suspenders complimented his very toned body nicely. His hair looked like it was even freshly combed.

“Well.. I was here.”

They just stared blankly. It was like words wouldn’t form and their mouth didn’t know how to work with their brain! Oh, this was beginning to be a mess. They normally could talk to Captain normally. Whenever he gave them the chance to.  

Y/N shakily spoke, “I see that now, yes… um, anyways, what other places to read?”

Levi stared before sighing. He was wearing all white and in order to keep a normal conversation going he’d have to sit in the grass and stain his clothes! It was as if he had made himself look nice for nothing.

He allowed himself to move around them before sitting beside them. And the staring Y/N was doing made things worse. It was beyond awkward - almost like both had a lot to say but neither wanted to say it.

Perhaps one of them would make them push to say something.

“Arlert’s found just about all of them, you should ask him, not me. But the dining hall’s my personal favorite,” Levi’s voice remained smooth and steady.

“I didn’t know you were a reader. I will give it a try. Sometimes it’s just nice, being out in nature,” they drew in a quick deep breath, “Because it seems like for once everything makes sense.. Even if the titans are after us and the world is on the verge of plummeting, I just feel at peace.”

For once our very own Ackerman was the one doing the staring. “The way you view things is strange, cadet.”

“Yeah. I know. I don’t know why I told you that but-- it just felt like the right thing to.. Sorry..”

A quick roll of the eyes almost made Y/N laugh already knowing what that meant. Apologizing was useless because there was nothing to apologize for. Levi didn’t have to say it.

“Yeah, yeah, I know, Captain--”

“Just call me Levi for now.” He corrected, “Formality isn’t necessary right now.”

“Okay...Levi. Then you can call me Y/N.”

He shifted his body weight to one side, turning to face Y/N as he focused on them, “I feel like ‘brat’ is more suiting.”

Y/N laughed and Levi even mustered up a chuckle. It was the first time Y/N felt calm around the high ranking officer. It was comfortable.

“Y/N, I actually came because I wanted to discuss something important with you.”

And suddenly any easiness that was built up between the interaction vanished. Anxiety seemed to fill within. Had he noticed their feelings? Was he mad about it?

“It seems I have developed an attraction to you and as much as I have tried to ignore it, the feeling still stands.” Levi cleared his throat, “And I was hoping you would take initative to tell me if you felt the same way, but it seems you can’t take hints.”

They felt like they were in an alternative universe.

“I’m sorry.. I think I just hallucinated… or misheard you.”

Genuinely, the Captain smiled. It was comical at this point. Seeing the look on their face as they realized he felt the same way was one of the most entertaining things he’s ever seen.

“Uh- no, I’m afraid not.”

“But… I’m not.. I’m not like most people?” Y/N stammered, taken aback by this whole encounter. How could him being hard on them drop them any hints?

He shifted his head, “That matters how?”

“Because.. I am not very thin and I kind of look very, y’know.. And a lot of people like you..” How could he not understand what they meant? Didn’t everyone see them as less than?

Levi tried to handle the situation best as he was equipped for, but not without a stern look on his face. “You look fine. Beautiful even -- quite honestly you shouldn’t worry about petty things like that. Besides, I said I liked you and meant it. Do you feel the same or not?”

Y/N threw their arms over him, their squishy body enjoying the feeling of being in his arms.

“Yes, I do.”

And for once the number on the scale didn’t matter. All that did.. was Levi.