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lysmune · 3 years

Text

Aquarium Date

Levi spends a day in the human realm with you.

(Leviathan/MC) For Levi’s birthday

Akihabara is the obvious answer behind the portal you’ve dragged him through, but he’s taken aback when that’s not where both of you end up in.

Nope.

Instead, he finds himself surrounded by a throng of normies, loud, clamoring groups of them that huddle in a line that moves as quickly as it’s replaced, an endless conveyor belt of people.

“This isn’t Akihabara,” he weakly manages and you shake your head.

“Nope, it’s the aquarium,” you answer and he’s not quite sure if he likes the sound of that, but he’s a little less jittery when you squeeze his hand. “You okay, Levi?”

“Just,” he starts, eyes darting between you and the landscape of faces; “a lot of normies.”

He flushes red when your fingers lace his. “Hey,” you call out, his gaze averting to meet yours. “We can always go to Akihabara if you’re more comfortable with that.”

He warms at your gesture, the consideration in your invitation, and he’s more than tempted to take you up on your offer. Akihabara would be a dream for him, rows and rows of his favourite manga on display, so many figurines and anime, and Ruri-chan merch. That’d be perfect, yep!

“No, let’s go in,” he asserts and your lips curl, soft in the morning sunlight as you tug him towards the line.

Akihabara would be perfect, no doubt, but it’d be perfect just for him, and that’s not the birthday he wants. No, he wants a day that’s perfect for the both of you, a birthday where you’re enjoying yourself, too.

You’d never say it, but he knows you’re not a massive otaku like he is, so he takes it upon himself today. It’s the least he can do after you’ve gone out of your way to surprise him.

Besides, an aquarium would be fun (sans the normies).

Amongst the aquamarine haze, the undulating blues bobbing across the floor, Levi finds himself at peace, more so than he’d ever thought he would be. Hand in hand, you walk with him through the various tanks, stopping every so often to admire the undersea creatures.

“Look, Levi,” and he follows the line of your sight towards the cylindrical tank, to the gliding bioluminescence inside the waters.

“Moon jellyfish,” he identifies, pressing his palm to the cold glass. They coalesce around him in response, glowing in the darkness, and he hears you let out a breath of wonder; he smiles.

They follow the tip of his finger as he leads them in circles, straight lines and patterns, their tendrils a flickering, remnant trail. When he stops, they do too, resting, pulsing with light. He stays like that for a moment before he pulls away and they scatter into the confines of their home.

“They seem to really like you,” you muse, and he shrugs, slightly embarrassed when he’s snapped out of the daze.

He scratches the back of his neck, awkward and sheepish. “I was an admiral.”

Not that he’s ever liked the title. Sure, it had given him power and respect, but all he can remember is the envy in their eyes, the contempt, the curling, forked ends of unspoken insults. He remembers the cold, ruthless isolation of being at the top and the way he clung to the only thing he knew how to do with desperation.

He dislikes it all.

“Levi?”

Your voice brings him back, concern pulling the corners of your lips into a frown and clouding your eyes.

“It’s nothing,” he replies, waving it off, though you’re not so convinced; you let it slide anyway.

Still, if being able to communicate with marine life could make you smile like that, maybe that past of his isn’t so unbearable after all.

The touch pools are an experience, Levi concludes. Like a swarm of overzealous otakus trying to get a limited edition merch of their favourite character, the critters come at him in troves and variable speeds. He thinks it’s cute, though the normies might say otherwise.

“He’s just like Aquaman!” he hears a boy squeal, and he hears you laugh beside him, though you’re trying to stifle it down.

“What’s it?” he asks.

“Aquaman’s a superhero,” you respond as you drag your hand through the water lazily, petting the nearby manta ray that’s busy trying to make its way to his hand.

Oh. He supposes it is ridiculous that he’d be viewed as a superhero, as a character of justice. He doesn’t really fit the image of it; aren’t they usually well-built and fit, and handsome, and charismatic? That’s more Lucifer than -

“I think it suits you,” comes your easy answer and he blushes red to the tip of his ears, muffling an embarrassed noise, and you’re chuckling again.

“W-what makes you s-say that?” he stutters out, lips pulling into a frown as he strokes the shell of hermit crab. You shrug.

“You’re always kind, for one,” you start. He leans in closer to listen while you continue. “You’re passionate about what you like, you’re reliable when you need to be, and I think, most importantly, you’re someone I can easily put my trust in.”

And he’s averting his eyes away, biting his bottom lip, his free hand coming up to cover his face as he mumble a muffled ‘thank you’. His heart’s going a mile a minute, but when he peeks at you between fingers and you look back, that smile of yours never once faltering, he can’t help but feel seen, appreciated, loved, even.

He doesn’t protest when your fingers curl around his, when you pull his hand down to reveal the blush of him and bump shoulders. This - being with you, liking you, having you return his affections - is something he’s never imagined happening, not just because he’s, well, him, but also because it’s just a feeling he’s never garnered from the people around him.

Yet here you are, admiring the very skills he’s been so hated for.

“I like you,” he mutters and you look up to him, eyes wide. Without hesitation, he repeats himself. “I like you.”

There’s a heartbeat of silence, then, a genuine, confident, “I like you, too.”

“No trip is complete without getting souvenirs,” you chirp as the exit comes to sight, and Levi nods in agreement. Merch is everything and he’d like to leave the aquarium with more than just memories, even if that’s greedy of him.

Ugh, I sound like Mammon now.

He digresses.

Passing by the shelves, all filled to the brim, he takes in the variety of options. From keychains, to notepads, to cute casings and fluffy plushies, and embroidered hats; the possibilities are truly endless.

It’s the graphic tees that catch his eye, though.

“Matching shirts?” comes your startling question.

He nods, then shrugs, then stuffs his free hand into his jacket’s pocket. “It’s fine if you don’t want to.”

“What makes you think I’m against the idea?” you retort with a grin and before he knows it, you’re tugging him along to the rack of clothes.

Both of you rummage through your options and you’re occasionally bringing one up to model over yourself, which makes it harder on him because he thinks you’d look good in all of them, and he makes it known. You roll your eyes, calling it banal flattery, but the glimmer in your gaze tells him otherwise.

“What about this one?” Levi asks as he pulls a light blue shirt with a picture of a content whale, tucked into the shirt pocket and the words BRB, I’m gonna whale underneath.

You can barely stop yourself from chuckling at the sight, wheezing out an, “Oh, that’s perfect,” when he brings it up over him.

It comes in two other colours, white and peach, and you settle on the blue while he grabs the pink one in his respective size. He wanders around with you through the entirety of the space in search of more things to take home, ending up with a jellyfish keychain and a clownfish decal while you pick up a seal plushie.

After a losing squabble, Levi lets you pay for the entirety. “Consider it a gift,” you smile, taking the paper bag with a tilt of your head before you make your way out of the shop.

Sunset streaks the sky in orange and purple, and he’s transfixed by the beauty of you when the colours paint you rich and honeyed. Both of you start to retrace your steps to the portal, blending in with the dispersing crowd and he feels comfortingly normal.

“Should I carry that?” he asks as you trudge back up a hill, tilting his head towards your bag.

You shrug and hand it over. “Sure, it’s all yours anyways.”

“Didn’t you buy a -“

“Seal plush?” you finish. He nods while your eyes crinkle in giddy. “It’s yours.”

“Hah?!”

You shrug. “I wanted you to have something to remember me by,” you reply and he stops dead in his tracks, blood running cold.

“Are you leaving?”

“No! God, no, Levi,” you answer, closing the minimal distance between the two of you. He’s close enough to smell your body wash now. “I just want you to never feel alone, Levi, and maybe I’m being selfish when I say I want you to think of me while you look at it, but I hope it gives you company if I can’t, at any point in time.”

And he’s pulling you to him before he knows it, lips pressing yours in a kiss that clings like salt to the ocean breeze. You sigh into it, pliant in his arms as his fingers flutter over your cheek, your hands resting around his waist.

He pulls away ever just and he sees that you’re the one flushed over now, and a sense of pride wells up in him when he finds his reflection in your eyes.

“Thank you,” he mumbles, cradling you as he rocks on the balls of his feet.

“For what?” you question, giggling.

“For today,” he answers, but that’s not quite it, that’s not quite enough. “For believing in me, for being you, for everything.”

“Always, Levi,” and he knows, with every inch of him, that you mean it.

#obey me #swd obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me leviathan #obey me levi #munewrites #f: obey me #ch: leviathan #an: wow more cute stuff #an: overdue as always #an: I have Thoughts™️ about Leviathan using anime as a sort of salve because of his past #an: AKA he was a talented admiral but his social skills were terrible and God exploited his lack of social skills #an: and further isolated him #an: Levi also probably attaches his identity really strongly to anime/manga/games/otaku #an: aNYWAY YEAH THAT SHOULD BE ENOUGH RAMBLING #an: here's to the birthday boi levi

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lavendersb · 4 years

Note

Can I request for the Mandalorian in which the reader is dating Mando and helps him take care of baby Yoda? The reader suffers from high anxiety but doesn’t inform Mando about it. One day, he sees her having an episode of a panic attack for the first time and because he didn’t know about it, he was unsure of how to help her. As she was going through it, he begins to hold her as the experience scared him. She eventually settles down and he continues to comfort her.

You absolutely can :)

Cold Rock

The Mandalorian x reader

Requests are open!

You’d spent a few months now with Mando and the child. Hired under the conditions you’d care for the little green terror and mind him whilst his adopted father collected bounties, you took pride in your job. It really wasn’t hard to, seeing the child tuckered out after a long day made you feel accomplished and gave you a sense of belonging. You could see yourself in this situation for a long time coming.

As bubbly and responsive as the child was, his beskar-clad guardian was stoic and serious. He had never been cruel to you, but when he was so hard to read it often made you nervous. Did he think you were doing your job right? Did he think you were too lenient with the child? Frequently you found yourself putting words into Mando’s bucket, which you fought to shake off. You had to remind yourself that if he had a problem with you, he would surely raise it, right?

“Do you want to come with me today?” Mando’s modulated voice rings out as he climbs down into the hold.

“Is it safe?” you ask instinctively

Mando had picked a quiet unsuspecting planet to stock up on supplies, one with a decent population spread thin across its many villages but with a reputation for being an otherwise tranquil spot. Nobody would be tracking you here.

“I’m sure it is, but we’ll stay together” Mando approaches you and the child, and the little womp-rat in your arms wriggles impatiently. He gargles and throws his little arms about in protest and you can hardly blame him, it’s been a while since Mando has felt comfortable enough to let him out of the ship.

“He needs it” Mando comments, letting the child hold on to his gloved finger and watching as the wriggling stops.

“We all do” you comment gently.

Maker knows you need fresh air. You’ve been wound far too tight these last few weeks. The crest is spacious compared to many ships you’ve seen but its not meant for comfort. Mando is careful never to let any aspect of his job get close to you. His bounties are in carbonite before you can climb down from the cockpit, but you still can’t help the overwhelming nerves that come from being so close to danger.

You and Mando descend the ramp, both with empty satchels in hand and the child floating in his pod behind you. The planet is beautiful, in a cold and wet way. The ground beneath your feet is a dark grey rock, smooth and covered in a sheen of water. Rock pools filled with tiny little crabs and fish weave everywhere, and in the distance far behind the little village you’ve arrived at, dark mountains loom imposingly. The air is fresh and crisp. Salty too, and it’s the cleanest air you’ve breathed in a long while.

“We’ll make this quick” Mando says to your dismay “we’ll come back to the ship and rest there for a few nights. Just in case”

Just in case we’re spotted you finish in your head. You know Mando is paranoid, you both know how important it is to leave at a moments notice. Even in a place this remote, you’re never far from those that wish your little group harm.

The market in this little village is surprisingly busy for its unassuming appearance. The little orange fish from the nearby rockpools, Mando tells you, are a famed delicacy. Merchants buy them here cheap and sell them for much more to high class restaurants on wealthy city planets.

“They don’t taste good” He tells you “Its an acquired taste”

“You’ve tried them?” you question, looking at the abundance of storage containers filled with fluttering orange fish.

“When I was younger” he says simply. He rarely speaks about the time before the child, but from what you’ve heard he led an interesting life. One day you hope he’ll tell you more.

The three of you weave through the market for a while and you find yourself relaxing. You stock up on food supplies, and Mando even lets you buy one of the special fish for the child to try, after the little green menace wails and makes grabby hands at them.

“He has expensive tastes” you joke when the child swallows it whole.

You swear you hear Mando laugh at that.

The trip was thankfully uneventful. The most exciting thing to happen so far was you loosing your footing on the wet rock beneath you. Mando had reacted fast and caught you, of course and he let you hold onto the crook oh his arm for the rest of the trip.

“I think that’s enough for the day” He says, looking to the sky.

Thick clouds, dark as night had started to emerge over the mountains and drift towards the village. You couldn’t imagine this planet could get any wetter, but you didn’t really want to stick around and find out.

You let Mando lead you through the market again, somehow it seemed busier. People pushed and jostled each other as they prepared to escape the incoming rain. Instinctively you reached out to rest your hand on the child’s open pod, and Mando pulled you against him ever so slightly.

You were thankful for it. The market seemed so much less idyllic now, people pushing and calling loudly. You felt nervous again, that winding coil in your belly getting tighter with each body that brushed past you. You were nervous about the child, about yourself. What if Mando let go of you, and you lost him in the crowd? What if you couldn’t find your way back to the ship alone?

The thoughts in your head got loud enough to rival the sounds of the market, and you could feel your lungs constrict. You knew this feeling all too well, an incoming panic attack was the last thing you needed, especially in front of Mando. The more you tried to suppress the fear, the harder it was to hold in your tears.

You tripped again, in your shock letting out a wet hiccup which you disguised as a gasp. Mando kept his grip on you, preventing your fall but still he looked at you.

You prayed that your impending tears were not as obvious as you felt they were, but after meeting where you assumed his eyes were Mando pulls you to stand in front of him. Both his hands grip each of your upper arms, guiding you through the rest of the village and back towards the razor crest.

Maker you felt embarrassed. What must he think of you? Crying because of a busy village square. Mando had hired you only after you accepted the dangers of the job, that you would need to be strong. All you wanted to do now was curl up in your cot and avoid Mando, wait for this panic attack to finish and hope he doesn’t figure out what’s made you so upset.

Mando doesn’t speak a word, not even as the ramp of the ship descends and he lets you free from his grasp. You try not to make it obvious that you’re hurrying into the hold. Your chest aches with the strength it’s taking to hold in the gasping, desperate sobs that threaten to spill out. To maintain a vaguely normal breathing pattern even though your lungs spasm behind your ribs.

Tucking yourself into a quiet space near the back of the hold, you press yourself against the wall and let out the desperate gasps you’ve been holding in. You still try vainly to stay quiet, conscious that Mando might still hear you from the cockpit. Once we take off, you think, then he won’t hear me over the engines.

But the crest doesn’t move, and the engines don’t roar to life. Instead a large, warm hand presses against your shoulder.

“What’s happened?” Mando turns you around to face him. His voice and posture unreadable as ever.

“N-nothing” You manage to sputter between gasps “It’s f-fine Mando. Really”

Mando doesn’t answer, but he doesn’t leave either. His hand trails from your shoulder to flatten oddly against your breast bone. He presses against your jittery torso, as if he can push your frantic gasps back into your lungs like this. Its strange, but the pressure grounds you as his free hand comes up to rest at the base of your skull, his thumb rubbing into the muscle running up the back of your neck.

“This isn’t nothing. I know that”

Your confusion must show on your face, because he squeezes his hands on your flesh and says

“I used to get like this too, back when I was younger. I never paced myself, got worked up and then-“ he pauses, like he’s searching for a word “and then this”

Dumbstruck at his confession, you stare blankly at him. Your tears slowing, and your breath interrupted by only a few sharp gasps.

“I didn’t have anyone to help me back then.”

His unspoken words ring loud “But I want to help you now”

It comforts you, knowing you don’t always have to pretend to be calm anymore. That he understands. That even the strongest, most capable people like Mando have their moments.

Awkwardly, Mando pulls you to him. His beskar is cold, and a little damp from outside but its far from uncomfortable. You wouldn’t dream of pushing him away. He holds you there in his grounding embrace, silent except for the rain that beats down outside.

#din djarin x reader #din djarin #the mandalorian imagines #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian #Pedro pascal #my writing

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sooibian · 4 years

Text

Homebodies

>> gif credits to the lovely @sefuns

a/n: i missed writing soft and silly baekhyun (it makes for atleast 50% of my masterlist). unedited, sorry. i hope you enjoy

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🎮 pairing: baekhyun x fem!reader

🎮 themes: fluff, fluff, fluff. domestic au

🎮 description: when you get comfortable with each other...a little too comfortable

🎮 word count: ~ 1.1 k

====================================

The tall glass of California Grey Herbal Iced Tea (an ill-considered spend, in hindsight) grew warmer by the second, drawing heat from the insipid bowl of soggy, soup-absorbed noodles that sat next to it.

You meticulously studied the floppy-haired man’s stance who'd been ignoring the inviting spread for God knows how long. Shoulders shrivelled into a painful crouch, a familiar bloodlust in his engorged eyes, a half eaten banana hanging from his mouth, as he gaped at the screen of his brand new plasma TV. He wore the concentration of students feverishly preparing for their CSATs in the last minute. Emphatic ‘oohs’ and ‘aahs’ and screams and yodels of victory (or defeat, you couldn’t tell) fell from his lips sporadically.

You knocked on the door. The resultant sound of which could have very well travelled a few square feet to his large ears but they were hermetically sealed by a noise cancelling device. Slumping into the bed barely inches from him, you flicked the back of his neck with your fingers. Still, nothing. Although physically present in your Seoul apartment, Baekhyun was mentally somewhere in the distant spiritual realm of Runeterra.

A weary sigh left your lips as you mindlessly stared at the bizarre pixels running riot - severing limbs, galloping, killing, dying, and ever so often, spontaneously combusting. A couple of inches south, an animal patterned tablecloth draped the insufficiently sized desk upon which the soundbar was propped - you made a mental note to change everything about the unsightly setting. The tablecloth, the desk, and the beige slip-on footwear peeking from underneath it. A stray strand of hair, wandering aimlessly on the spic and span floor caught your eye.

Smiling, you dashed out of the room.

Powering the vacuum cleaner to 'Max', you waltzed back in, following rhythmic counts of 1-2-3, 1-2-3 right in front of the television screen.

“Yah, yahhhh, YAHHH”, he panicked, swinging side to side on the bed in a desperate attempt to catch a glimpse of the screen, “what are you doing!?”

“Cleaning up after you”, you said ruefully.

“WHAT?”

“CLEANING UP AFTER YOU!”

His console and his face hit the bed in a violent crash. By the looks of it, his Fighter Mr. Malphite had met his fateful demise.

“IMMA!” he cried and an innocent pillow bore the brunt of his wrath.

“Did you just call your girlfriend a….punk?” Resting the vacuum cleaner on the wall, you sat down on the edge of the bed in a dramatic slow motion.

He crawled towards you to wrap your mock-dejected frame in an embrace, “I did. After what you just did, I don’t regret it in the least. Want some ramen?”

“That bowl of orange mush, you mean?”

“Do you want to start a fight?”

“Most definitely, yes.”

“Why?”

“Because we’re boring. When was the last time we fought?”

With a deep exhale, he pulled you into his lap, the tips of his ears starting to turn a faint scarlet. “You think I’m boring?” his bottom lip jutted out in a sulky, juicy pout.

Closing the distance between your lips, you muttered a teasing ‘yes’, and immediately tore away. There was no way you were going to let him distract you.

Not today. You were, after all, looking to pick a fight.

Yet, his eyes met yours in a knowing look as he allowed his fingers to gently trace the length of your back, shooting shivers down your spine. You sprang out of his lap to tend to the less than appealing tray of carbs to prove a point.

“Jagi! Be a good girl, come back here!” He whined, sprawling on the bed, starfish style.

“You see! This is what I have to do on my three week Government mandated leave”, you said, lifting the tray off the bed like a fabled soap opera actress.

“Yah! Did I ask you to do it?”

“Why did you cook this if you weren’t going to eat it?”

“Who says I won’t be eating….aish. What’s wrong?” He gently pulled the tray out of your hands causing you to, yet again, sit on the edge of the bed in a theatrical slo-mo.

Shaking his head, he stifled a chuckle.

“Baek”, you cried.

“Jagi”, he teased.

“Baek!”

“Jagi!”

“Ugh!”

“Jongdae called ~~”

“Why ~~”

“To check in on us. To ask if we were still alive”, your face contorted into a sorry frown as you dug into the bowl of lumpy noodles.

“What do you mean?” he asked, grabbing your hand which held the chopsticks, to steal the first bite.

“We haven’t seen him in two months! We hardly step out of the apartment, Baekhyun! Jongdae took his wife out on a date and they’re first time parents...they have a very needy two month old to take care of! If they can do it --” you took a huge gulp out of the bland iced tea to wash down the wilted noodles. It was a terrible idea.

“First off, Baekhyun? You never call me Baekhyun!” With another dispirited protrusion of bubblegum pink lips, he said, “When I asked you if you wanted to go out for shabu shabu last weekend, you said you wanted to catch the finale of Itaewon Class. Remember?”

“But - but when I asked you if you wanted to go get groceries the next day?”

“Our fridge was well-stocked at the time. There was no reason to!”

“Baek!”

“I get it”, he clasped his hands, eyes downcast, "I'm no Park Seo Joon."

“I’m glad you are aware. On that note, let me take you out to dinner tonight. Italian?”

“Sushi!”

“We ate sushi last week! How about fried chicken and beer?”

“No, ahjussi. No fried chicken and beer. Snow crab ramen?” He sat up excitedly.

You tried to mirror his excitement but your eyes gave away the hesitance.

“Oookay”, he leaned in closer to scrutinize your eyes, to try and make a guess of your dinner preference for the evening “...let’s annihilate the night market?”

“Too hot and crowded”, you said quietly, nuzzling into the familiar comfort of his chest.

Thrusting his phone into your hand he resigned with a deep sigh. Softly patting the top of your head, he concluded, “Let’s accept our fate. We’ll never be half as fun and exciting as anybody we know. We’ll always end up spending our spare time indoors and that’s not just my fault. So order in what you like and please don’t ask for my opinion. I get to pick the movie, though.”

Smiling, you quipped, “It’s entirely your fault.”

“It’s entirely my fault. I concede defeat. Truce?”

“Truce.”

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shootingst4rpress · 3 years

Text

familiar patterns, 1.3k

(this wasn’t long enough to be a Fic fic but i wrote it in one evening the day after declan suzanne got alternated no beta no nothing so i’m posting it here. no beta we die like tilly henderson)

this new declan opens boxes, shuffles through paper, rips apart this room to try and find something of the person he’s taken the spot of. he doesn’t, but the effort’s there.

edric, who apparently is/was his friend, who says they know what he’s going through, lends a hand. they don’t do much as declan leaves a storm of bedroom artifacts in his wake, of video game cases, of leftovers of someone else.

this isn’t right, they repeat, again and again. i want to go home, like a kid in the back of the car, i want to go home.

there’s a single shoebox under the bed, away from everything else, and declan rifles through it like an explorer, or maybe a cartographer, like someone who looks to make sense of things.

he grabs a printed photo on glossy paper, shows it to the edric guy, sitting on the edge of the bed and swinging his legs. there is declan in the photo, or someone who should be declan. there is another man. his eyes are very wrong.

‘who the fuck is this guy?’

edric cocks his head to get a better look. ‘that’s fuckin, tilly.’

the man in the photo stares out. he’s holding onto declan’s arm tightly, leaning on his shoulder, smiling. his smile is just, fucking annoying. no-one actually smiles like that unless they’re making fun of you.

edric must have spotted the nothingness on his face.

‘tilly? tillman? tillman henderson?

‘who?’

this declan goes to watch some of the firefighters games, even though he’s not playing. his team don’t mind his presence in the dugout - they are, apparently, his old friends, so they let him. it’s a game against the crabs, which apparently means something. it’s all too overwhelming to think about, to process, so they just resolve to Not Do That.

the game is fun to follow, to be fair! it’s easy, simple, comforting. it feels normal.

across the field, kennedy loser is Haunted.

declan feels like he should recognise the guy from the photos, because half the people on the field turn to look at him, playing candy crush on the dugout.

that fuckin’, ghost guy, has his eyes fixed on them, mouth open like a goldfish. the first ball whizzes cleanly over his shoulder, thwaps against the ground. his face twists. declan thinks he might be about to cry. he won’t stop looking.

then a flurry of motion as the crabs catcher grabs him by the shoulders and pulls him back, because he’s just tried to run off home plate towards them, trying to get rid of the catcher furiously, but he’s only a little guy. declan catches what he’s shouting for a moment,

‘where is he!?’ he yells across the expanse of the field. ‘what have you done with him! what the fuck have you done with him!’

he shrugs off his teammates and gets a good few metres towards the dugout before the catcher in her red jersey grabs him by the arm and pulls, hard.

‘give him back!’ declan hears, before the man strikes out and leaves this body.4

this declan gets a text from kennedy loser, who they had no idea they owned the number of. it doesn’t look like it’s been dialed since they got it.

Can I come round to yours? Tillman wants to talk

yeah okay

i don’t mind

Cool. Is tomorrow after the game okay?

yeah whatevs

See you!

they’re dreading this. they pace around their their room in a fire department that isn’t the firehouse. they don’t attend the game, but they let kennedy in when they arrive.

‘okay, uh, sorry, i’d love to stay and chat but. tillman’s pretty impatient.’

they’re in declan’s little part of their fire station, like a college dorm - one kitchen, one bedroom, one bathroom, declan awkwardly on the sofa they never would’ve bought. and then there’s that bright light and plume of smoke, the disorienting feeling that lingers for a second too long as reality bends in front of them—and the guy from the chiclawgo game, the guy from the photo, tillman, is standing right in front of them.

he sits down on the other side of the sofa, like he’s been rehearsing this exact set of actions for weeks.

they both try their hardest not to make eye contact.

after an agonizing minute, tillman sobs.

he’s fixed on declan in a way that makes their skin crawl, the way he looks at them up and down like he’s searching for something he can’t find. declan tries not to meet his eyes.

this, by all accounts, should be his boyfriend. he should feel something about him, grief, maybe—anything. tillman sniffs a little, half hidden tears. declan hates it.

in a bid to kill whatever this is, declan gently places one hand on tillman’s cheek, leans in and kisses him so softly that it might not be anything.

and tillman just sits there, frozen utterly in shock, until he brings both hands to the back of declan’s neck with a fierceness and kisses back hard, hungry, starving. they will notice half an hour later/too late, that tillman’s eyes were screwed tightly shut. it’s messy, cruel, with too much teeth.

tillman melts into him desperately, and in the places where they meet, where tillman’s hand has moved down to the slice of skin between his shirt and the top of his jeans, if he was anyone else, he would be floating. their bodies do not tessellate. this kiss is sharp, and it is only the means to an end.

he breaks away as soon as he opens his eyes, shooting upright, walking over to the kitchen sink to hide the horror on his face that declan can’t help but catch. tillman bends over, like he might throw up.

‘i don’t love you.’ declan says, as if it’ll help.

‘i know. i don’t love you either.’

maybe, in another life, this silence would be shelter. but they are here, and this is no man’s land.

‘why.’ tillman whispers, barely noticeable.

‘what.’

‘why did you fucking come here? why are you here?’

‘do you think this was my fucking decision? do you think this doesn’t suck for me as well? i’m sorry i’m not your fucking boyfriend.’

tillman breathes steady breaths through his teeth.

‘why did you even come?’

tillman swings around, hisses out, ‘because i thought it’d make me feel better.’

this is a means to an end, after all. this is a transaction.

‘fuck off.’

‘you fuck off. why won’t you just—’ tillman’s chest heaves, a conviction in his voice, ‘stop looking like him! stop being him!’

‘what—wh—’ declan stumbles. ‘seriously?’

‘stop fucking being declan! you’re not!’

‘don’t give me shit because your boyfriend fucking died!’

their words sink like lead, the weight of them. ‘he’s not dead, asshole.’ the room is quiet again, laid thick with silence.

declan doesn’t even fucking like tillman. he doesn’t like those kinds of guys, the repressed assholes, and yeah, he’s well aware that’s hypocrisy. but him? really?

fuck this. he crawls under his (his?) bed to find the battered shoebox hidden away in the back corner, brings it into the other room to tillman, holds it out to him.

‘if you can like, take shit back to wherever you are, like, have this. i was going to chuck it anyway.’

tillman opens the lid of the box. he slams it shut.

‘fuck you.’

‘fuck you too.’

tillman sobs again, voice choked. ‘fuck you. fuck off. i hate you.’ and he says it so solemnly, that declan almost believes it, that declan almost misses the ways that tillman’s eyes linger on his face. he’s searching, that he knows, searching for the missing piece that will bring his lover back, whole.

‘i’m going.’

‘go, then.’

‘okay.’

and then he’s gone in a flicker of light, and kennedy loser is leaning against the counter, panting from exertion, eyes wide.

the shoebox, so full of little relics of love, is thankfully—gone.

#blaseball #tilldec #tillman henderson #declan suzanne #ellis nonsense #this is my first time posting writing to tumblr and it's not a good one so be kind #yeah im being cringe on main #read it tho

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danetobelieve · 4 years

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Baywatch || Blanche and Winston

With the amount of people telling her not to go back to the beach along with the amount of people she was telling not to even go near the beach, Blanche was pretty sure this wasn’t the greatest idea. Someone had to do it, though. Someone needed to get close enough to the chest. Blanche desperately wanted to know what was in it like everyone else, but she, thankfully, knew better. Just get the pictures, and then get the fuck out of there. Maybe fight a killer lobster or two. Blanche pulled up to the address Winston gave her, self-consciously patting her pocket with the mace Cece had graciously let her keep. First thing she did was put a nice sticker of, ironically, a crab on it when she got home so she wouldn’t mix it up with a can of actual mace. Her back seat had other makeshift weapons. Hairspray and one of those large candle lighters, a baseball bat, and a can of RAID. She glanced to the back seat, frowning. Maybe she over did it. She looked rolled down the window when she saw Winston approaching, leaning looking out the window. “I think this is where I’m supposed to call you a loser and make a mean girl’s reference.”

Honestly, moments ago Winston had been stood looking at what they had decided to call their survival pack. They were certain that they would need more then this. But they had ‘borrowed’ one of Ricky’s axes that they used to cut firewood and they had also grabbed a first aid kit, water, some food (just in case) and a few other essentials. This after everything that had happened to their house with Skylar and Ricky, well Winston wasn’t entirely sure that they were sane anymore. But Blanche was cool, in a way that not many people were and she was funny too. Winston didn’t want anything to happen to her and so they were going to go with her. Even if it meant lying to Remmy. Something that Winston felt immensely guilty about. This was a really bad idea. They hadn’t even bothered to tell Ricky what they were doing. “Probably, but it would’ve fallen on deaf ears because that is one film that I have never watched,” they chuckled nervously and then realised what they were doing and tried to make it sound natural except it probably just made it sound even more anxious then before, “we should probably get this over with.”

“That’s got to be a cardinal sin or something.” Not having seen Mean Girls wasn’t important. They were more nervous than she was, and that was saying something. Blanche wondered if she should call the whole thing off - probably - especially if Winston was anxious about it. But, in her heart of hearts, she knew she wasn’t going to do that because at the end of the day she knew she was just going to go anyway and if she went without Winston they were going to get mad at her and she didn’t want that. She liked Winston, and she wanted them to be her friend because… Well, she needed those, and also they were funny enough that almost dying in the middle of the woods via hedgehound (moose?) was a little less terrible. So that had to count for something, right? Blanche glanced over at them, glancing them over - “Is that - Is that an axe?” Blanche gapped. Red axe for red lobsters, she guessed. A giggle came out of her, mostly because she was trying to imagine Winston swinging that thing at a giant lobster - Karkinoid, really. Snickering, she shook her head. “Christ. Toss it in the back with the rest of my makeshift weapons. The good news is -” Blanche said, checking her blind spot before she pulled back out onto the road. “- that someone offered a ‘small finders fee’ for any parts of crab - er, Karkinoid we kill. So that’s cool. How’s your housemate?”

“Well if not seeing Mean Girls doesn’t send me to hell for my sins then I am sure Rick or Remmy will after they find out what I have agreed to here.” Winston was a person full of regrets as they reached over towards the back seat and deposited their axe there. “Uh, yes, it is an axe, Ricky had a whole tool shed off of his studio that is just fool of odd tools and this looked like it would be the best option,” they weren’t sure why Ricky had an actual fire axe but in a time of need like the one that they found themselves in, Winston wasn’t about to ask a bunch of questions about a good thing. “You really … came prepared.” Winston wondered if perhaps they really should invest in a gun. They weren’t sure that their morals would allow them to honestly. After watching their dad work at the WCPD for many years, they had become convinced that they weren’t the sort of thing that everyday people should just have access to. “Ricky?” they asked quietly, “Yeah he’s fine, a little banged up but he’ll do ok.” Winston was glad that the back porch was at the back of the house and not the front. They would hate for Blanche to see the mess that the karkinoids had made.

“How about this: You deal with Ricky, and I deal with Remmy once we’re back,” Blanche said. “Or, actually, send them both after me. This is my fault anyway,” she shrugged slightly. If the shoe fit, she would deal with both the wrath of Remmy and Ricky once it came down to it. Now, maybe her morality was slightly corrupted now that she also fully had a plan of killing one of the Karkinoids so she could show Regan - though, she wasn’t quite sure how that was going to work. Maybe if she just took it’s head or it’s giant claw or something… She didn’t get a chance to dwell on it though because there was something in Winston’s quiet tone that sobered her up a little. “Good,” Blanche said, glancing at them. Not good. People were getting hurt because of this. “Even better, there’s a clear forecast. I didn’t get hit with a single salmon or carp on my way here.” She made the turn off to get to the beach. “Alright, so, you know what the plan is right? No touching or trying to open the stupid thing. Just pictures of it.”

“Or we can just not tell them about any of this,” Winston replied, “we’re just getting in and out and nothing is going to go wrong so there won’t be anything to tell them.” Winston knew that they were kidding themselves. This was something so big that there was no way that they were going to be able to hide it from their friends. “I’ve got your back,” they said with a shrug, “you’re not forcing me to come.” They knew that they didn’t have to do this, the truth was that they really didn’t want to, but they wouldn’t let Blanche do this on their own. Helping people over come adversity was the name of the game, this was just different from forensics. But after everything that had happened at their own home the other night, Winston wasn’t sure that they could just sit back and let nothing happen. “This may be the first time that I’ve ever used fish as a descriptor for the weather and I have to be honest, if a large fish never misses me narrowly as I walk to work then it’ll be too soon.” They nodded calmly, pulling out their inhaler and taking a quick preventative breath of it before flashing Blanche a quick smile. “No touching, in and out.”

“Mmm, well you should know that I'm a notoriously bad liar,” Blanche grimaced, remembering all the bullshit with Regan. Her so called jenga tower of lies was only staying up with pieces of string, duct tape, and chewing gum. “If they ask, it’s not worth it to even try.” She glanced to them, feeling a little touched that they had her back. Was this what friendship was? Blanche was bad at that - gauging just what type of level she was on with people. “I have your back too,” Blanche said, truthfully. If anyone was going to get hurt on this mission impossible/investigative bullshit, it should be her and absolutely not Winston. “Ugh, you should have seen the size of the salmon that almost knocked me off my bike - and the bruise to prove it.” She glanced at them, grinning. “In, out, might mace a few lobsters here and there. Sounds like my ideal beach day, to be honest.” She made the last turn, and carefully pulled her car up where she had the last time with Remmy and Moose. Blanche undid her seatbelt. “Alright - pick your poison from our weapons cabin. I’m taking the mace -” she held up her acid mace. “Because this shit could probably melt through steel.”

“Me too,” Winston admitted, “I don’t know why but I always forget that I’ve told a lie to set up the lie I’m telling, and then after that my preceding lies begin to contradict each other and then I get confused and slip up.” They didn’t often try to lie because of it. “If they ask we come clean and I’ll hide with my parents until Ricky inevitably tells them what I did.” They laughed mutely at their own joke. It was reassuring to know that Blanche was there to help them should things go south. It was nice to know that there were other people who got this. Ricky had always known about this and it wasn’t exactly the same. “I saw a swordfish go straight through an awning and almost impale an old woman named Gertrude.” They raised an eyebrow at the idea of the upcoming activity. “Where did you get lobster mace from?” They paused for a moment longer before scratching behind their ears and fidgetting a bit. They could never sit still when something big was coming up. “I’ll take the axe then, I guess, unless there’s something better you think I should take instead?” This felt like the weirdest walking dead cosplay ever.

The good part about being cut off from her parents is no one could tell her to do anything anymore. What was Remmy going to do, call up her mom and tell her what she had done? That would result in a mad voicemail she wouldn’t even listen too because it wasn’t like she answered her mother’s calls anyway. She winced at their description of a woman named Gertrude almost turning into a shish kabob via swordfish. What was it, Regan said? Weather patterns her ass. “Um -” Blanche took her keys out of the ignition and stuffed them in her jacket pocket. “A friend. One of my friends that I can’t tell you about,” she added, and hopefully that would put an end to that. She did not want Cece to go all memory-wipe on her ass. Raising an eyebrow as she got out of the car. “You want the axe? I mean…” It wasn’t that she doubted they could use the axe to their advantage, it was just a little more close for comfort if they did get into some crabby trouble. “That should be fine. I want to take a chunk out of one of’em anyway.” She glanced down the rocks, to the beach, spotting the chest. Blanche pointed. “There she is. Stupid thing.”

Grabbing the axe, Winston paused for a second before scooping up the hair spray and some candlelighters too. Y’know. Just in case. Fire seemed to work fine, though Winston wasn’t sure that they really wanted a repeat display of the other night. They’d felt exhausted for hours afterwards before sleeping for 12 hours. “I’m hoping that we don’t even need this,” Winston replied, praying to whatever gods actually existed that there wasn’t about to be some vicious crustaceans that were going to make their lives a misery. Stepping away from the car, Winston made sure that they only had the absolutely necessary things with them. Phone, inhaler, axe, hair spray, candle lighters, y’know the essentials. “How do you want to do this?” Winston asked as they slowly crept towards the rocks that overlooked the beach, hoping to get a better view. For the moment everything seemed relatively clear, but there was a lot that they still couldn’t see. “You’ve got a plan right?”

Blanche relaxed half a bit when Winston grabbed the candlelighters and her can of hairspray. Shit was cheap, that could set anything on fire. She glanced out at the chest before glancing at them when they asked her what her plan was. Somehow, she didn’t think would would be helpful to tell them that she was just going to be like Nike and just do it. Just get down, rush to the chest, snap her photos, kill a lobster when the inevitably came to try and chop their limbs off…. She just needed to make it sound more formulaic than that. That would make Winston feel better. “Um.” Which all would have been fine and good if she could think of a better way to do it. “Well….” She squinted down at the sand and could itty bits of remains of lobster from the last time she’d been here. The acid, plus the other Karkinoid feasting on each other, there wasn’t much left. She patted her pockets. Mace in one, cell phone in the other. Shivering slightly, “All that’s left is to just do it now. There’s a bathroom over that way on the beach where we can run and hide if it’s too much.” Blanche shrugged, before carefully sitting down on the edge and pushing herself off so she could carefully climb. “Careful, the rocks are slippery, it’s a miracle I didn’t break something the last time I flew down them at top speed.”

Pausing, Winston moved through the rocks as carefully as they possibly could. “Ok, just … just do it.” Winston felt their heart race. They felt blood surge around their body. They felt adrenaline roar. They could feel everything tense as they moved down towards the beach. A can of hair spray in one hand and a fire axe in the other. This was perhaps the bizarrest they had ever picture themselves. A nervous bead of sweat trickled down their left temple and rolled off their jawline. “Just do it. Just do it.” They weren’t sure why they were repeating that. Honestly it wasn’t making this much better. “Don’t worry, I won’t do anything else to my ankle unless I can absolutely see no other option.” They were joking of course. “There doesn’t seem like there’s anything around, let’s just get in and out.” They moved off from their hiding spot, slipping down the beach as silently as they could. Unaware of anything else there as of yet. They hoped that wasn’t just about to change. “How close do you want to get?” they asked Blanche, adjusting their glasses to sit more comfortably on their face.

“As god as my witness, if you hurt your ankle again, I will - “ Blanche was going to say kill you but that somehow didn’t seem appropriate. She dropped down onto the frozen sand and looked at them. “ - I’ll - don’t hurt your ankle again, I can’t pick you up and then I’ll have to call 9-1-1 and then the police and firemen are going to show up and it’s going to really not end well.” Or maybe she was getting ahead of herself and needed to chill out. Blanche’s palms were were starting to get sweaty, and she rubbed them on her thighs anxiously, glancing out at the chest. “I dunno, 10 feet, maybe? You think that’s too close? My iphone has a great camera and can zoom.” Maybe, after all this was over, she should invest in an actual camera. Funnily enough, it was going to be easier to get a gun rather than get a camera. “C’mon. Let’s get this over with - you’ll hear the clicking.” Blanche glanced at them, before patting them on the shoulder and strode forward. Cece had let her lead the way, and she did, so she was going to just… just do it again! Perfect.

“I promise that I will do everything that I possibly can to avoid injuring my ankle again, because I don’t want to be hobbling around on a busted leg when giant crustaceans called Karkinoids try and cut me in two.” Maybe Winston was being dramatic, but they didn’t feel like they were being dramatic. “At least we’ll probably have some signal here, after all, this is a beach right. Why wouldn’t you get signal at the beach?” Winston was almost too afraid to look at their phone at this point. They considered how close too close really was. Honestly, Winston thought that they were too close right now, but they weren’t about to chicken out in front of Blanche after they had been the one that had insisted that she couldn’t possibly go on her own. “I can deal with ten feet I think,” Winston replied after chewing their cheeks for a second, “let’s go,” they agreed as they set off again across the beach. They followed after Blanche, craning their neck for crabs or lobsters or anything with claws.

Blanche snorted. After this was over, she was going to have to tell Winston they were funny. Because they were - especially in the face of danger. That had to count for something. Maybe a merit badge for facing adversity. “We have signal, I looked before I jumped down here,” Blanche assured them. At least, she had signal. She wouldn’t know about their stupid andriod phone. They moved down the beach, inching closer and closer to the chest. Her heart was pounding hard in her ears, but she decided that she didn’t care. She wasn’t afraid of anything! If she wasn’t afraid of anything than some stupid lobster wasn’t going to prevent her from doing what she wanted. Fuck that! It was easier to go on a tangent in her head than it was to actually follow it. Surprisingly enough, they’d gotten pretty far before the fucking clicking started and she went rigid on the spot. Blanche cursed quietly, stuffing her hand in her pocket and pulling out her phone, shoving it to Winston. “Take the photos, I’ll spray the stupid things and see if it gets them to back off. They like to eat each other once one is dead,” Blanche said, quickly - she didn’t know if anything she said had come out clearly because she was talking very, very quickly. Low and behold, there were the crabs. Lobsters. Karkinoids. Whatevers. There was only a couple, thank god. But who knew where the others were. Blanche had her mace out and had it pointed in the right direction and sprayed. Better melt them now before they got too close. The unfortunately familiar smell of burning burning lobster filled her nose. “Don’t forget to focus the camera!” She called, eyes darting around the beach for more crustaceans.

“Ok, good, because although I’m not sure what a cop would do against a massive armoured crab, I do know that I’ll feel much better risking my life if there’s someone to yeet me out if you get my meaning.” Winston wondered how many cops had seen these things, why was it that none of these things were ever discussed? Why had they never realised how dangerous a place they were living in until now. If none of the last few weeks had happened, would they have continued living in denial indefinitely? As they crept closer and closer, they couldn’t help but keep their ears pricked. They could hear the clicking as they got close. They were about to complain that they were the one taking the photos when they realised that this meant that they weren’t going to have to be dealing with the crab things. Winston fumbled with their phone, pulling up the camera that they knew was supposed to be superior to an iPhone camera although at this moment it was taking way too long to focus. Sprinting closer, they tried to be quick, they didn’t want Blanche to get hurt because they were too slow. Their hand shaking, Winston tried to take a deep breath, before snapping several shots of the chest. “How many of these do you want?” they shouted Blanche’s way.

Ewwww. She’d been right in saying that they would eat each other because now that’s exactly what the other one was doing. Blanche wrinkled her nose, keeping careful watch as she turned her head to check on Winston briefly. “Take pictures of each side of the chest. And one from above, too! And don’t touch it!” Blanche didn’t think the warning to Winston was completely needed at all, but it never hurt. She crept closer to the crab that was still alive and clicking, before it’s head snapped up to look at her and she sprayed it in the face. Blanche realized she was certainly not fucking around. The thing twitched and wailed slightly before falling down dead. “Gross, gross, gross!” She mumbled, making a face before looking for more of its brethren that she could take out. Figuring Winston was done with the photos, she called out to them. “Alright, c’mere. Before the rest of the Krusty Krew get here. I need the axe, I want a claw.” she nudged one of them with her foot. Onces face had completely dissolved because of Cece’s acid, but the other one… It might work.

Winston sprung into action, circling around the chest taking photos from each side. They could thank their lucky stars that they were relatively tall and therefore easily able to lean over and take photos of the chest. It occurred to them in that very moment that they could’ve simply placed a camera on one of the drones that they had back at the house and done this with that. Apparently they were an idiot. Not allowing themselves to have time to regret their foolishness however, Winston dashed away from the chest a few moments after snapping their final photos. “I think I’ve got enough,” they said, slightly out of breath but surprised that their fitness had improved a little, maybe running for their life would actually have some long term benefits. As they arrived by Blanche’s side, they raised an eyebrow at her. “Are you joking?” they asked, knowing full well that she wasn’t. They gave her a look, before sighing and handing them the axe. “Fine, just hurry up before more of them find us.”

Blanche hoped they were right, but knew that she had to trust them. They definitely knew how to take photos on an iphone. Maybe she was just nervous. Blanche shook her worry off and shot them an equally withering look until they handed her the axe. “I need proof for Regan,” she said flatly. She did make it snappy, though. Deciding last moment that a claw was going to be too much of a bitch and a half to carry back (and heavy), Blanche went for the head. Or well, she stopped before she swung the axe, looking back at Winston. “... Don’t watch me chop off its head.” She mumbled, before waiting a moment, and swinging the axe. Gross. Gross. Gross. Her stomach churned, “ Ew, ew, ew, ew, ew.” Blanche shuddered slightly, before handing the axe back, before unzipping her jacket, shrugging it off, and collecting the now fallen head in it. Glad she had worn a sweater, she stood, looking up and down the beach. “Do you want to make a run for it back?” Blanche asked, flatly. “Before more of them decide to pop up and try to snap us in half?”

Winston had to admit that the last thing they expected was for all of this to go this well. Though they had been unfortunate enough as to run into Karkinoids, it seemed as if Blanche had been able to deal with them and as they handed their axe over, Winston had to admit there was a gentle sense of awe. “I don’t know who that is but if you need proof then this is probably a pretty sure fire way, although y’know, the denial can be strong. They were watching eagerly when Blanche protested, and with a groan of protest turned their back on the butchery that was taking place. Once Blanche was ready, they nodded. “Come on, let’s get out of here.” They set off towards the car, glad that this had gone so well. Things could be worse.

“If she doesn’t believe me after me bringing her a giant Karkinoid head, I’m projectiling myself off the first cliff I see.” Blanche said, absolutely being dramatic. No one was dead, and they had a lobster head. Hah, Blanche thought, that rhymed. Pleased with the outcome of events, Blanche took off after Winston, trying not to slip and slide on the frozen sand. After all this was over and winter left, Blanche was going to spend a nice day on the beach, alone, and get a tan. No lobsters, no crabs, just one normal day in the fucking - was that more clicking? Blanche glanced over her shoulder. More crab,s but more interested in the caracusses of their fallen friends than them, for the moment. “Gogogo! Before they notice us and King Louis’ head!” Blanche hissed. They slid up to the rocks. “Do you need a boost?” Blanche asked, kindly, as Remmy had done the same for her and Cece the last time they were here.

“Ah yes suicide, the only rational answer to irrational morons who refuse to see the truth.” Winston was sore, sweaty and out of breath. They had been far too close to lobsters for their liking and now they were in the presence of one of their heads. This day was truly turning out to be memorable. As more crabs arrived, Winston moved faster to the rocks and shook their head. “I think I’m tall enough to reach up on my own, I’ll boost you first and then you can help pull me up.” They didn’t give her anytime to argue, they weren’t about to start messing about with those lobsters again and they needed to get out of their quickly before the smell of one of the karkinoids dead brethren attracted some foes.

With no time to argue or say anything sarcastic - because she would have. Probably something giraffe related - Blanche let Winston help boost her up and once again scrambled to the safety of the small cliff. Dumping the head wrapped in her jacket onto the ground, she turned and reached a hand down to help them up. Once the both of them were safely away from where any Karkinoid could get them, Blanche let out a giant sigh of relief. “Holy shit -” She looked at Winston. “- That just worked! We did it! No one lost a limb! Or rolled an ankle!” Blanche pointed to their ankle, maybe a little too excited over the fact that neither of them died or got maimed. She bent, scooped up the lobster head and grabbed her keys to unlock her car and dump the head in the trunk. “Karkinoids my ass.”

#p: blanche #para #wickedswriting #suicide cw #baywatch

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ill-skillsgard · 5 years

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Patterns in the Ivy, Part 5 - Bill Skarsgård

Title: Patterns in the Ivy

Description: A continuation of Smoke & Money. Ghosts from the not-so-distant past come back to threaten her. She must choose between a lavish life of servitude or have everything she ever loved stripped away.

Warning: 18+ smut/swearing/mentions of drugs/kink & fetish themes

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12

I stared up into the waters to see golden fish swimming overhead. Creatures with ribbons for fins swam in and out of the orange and pink coral. We walked through a hall of blue and sparkling reflection cast over our faces like a living dream. The sky was the ocean and we stood among it, pointing at all of the angelfish and technicolor anemone. Bill held her hand almost the entire time. I wasn't sure what to be more fascinated by, the enormous aquarium or Ivany and her father. It was more like a dream than any of the breathtaking underwater worlds we wandered through. I was more transfixed on them than I was the sharks darting about. They were in heaven together. Bill lifted Ivany so she could see the floor of the aquariums where the crabs were and to see the interesting facts about all of the fish that were framed on the handrails. I watched as they went from picture to picture— Bill reading each blurb out loud so that she could listen and look for the fish that matched the description. He would congratulate her any time she pointed out the creature in question with an amused smile. Ivany gasped and laughed and shouted, "Mommy look at that one! That one looks so weird." There was an exhibit the kids could go to where they were allowed to see reptiles and amphibians up close so Bill and I hung back while Ivany had her fun getting grossed out by snakes, toads, and newts. "Thank you," Bill said to me and it felt like the first time we had spoken all day. He had been so enraptured with Ivany that his attention was only on her and truthfully, I didn't mind it. "For what?" I said laughingly. Bill pulled me closer to him and let his hand swerve down my spine and over my ass. I was wearing an airy grey dress that ruched at the hips and did a good job of framing my curves. Bill made a point to whisper his admiration about the way the dress looked on my body before we left on our trip. It left me feeling bubbly all day when he squeezed me and bit his lip, giving me that threateningly sexual look that meant he was planning on having his way with me as soon as we had time alone. "Thank you for creating her for me." He nodded towards where our daughter was learning about tree frogs. "Thank yourself," I said to him. "She looks like you, after all. She's more like you every day." "I want to get her name changed as soon as possible," Bill stated, avoiding my eyes in a moment that was rather unlike him. "She needs my last name." Bill was typically assertive and had no qualms with making demands but he had an air of nervousness about him when he said that. I stared up at him until he finally looked back at me. "Of course. We'll get it done." "When should we tell her?" He asked. "Give it a little while longer. You two still hardly know each other. It won't take long before she falls in love with you." "I already love her," he whispered to me. I stared at him and he stared at me, holding me with one arm as we casually stood by in waiting. I thought at that moment, I had never wanted Bill so badly. I thought I could cry right there but I didn't. He was as bright as the Sun to me and without him, I would wilt. Those commanding eyes of green could read me, melt me and make me do things I never thought I would want to do and when they looked at our daughter, I was in love. After the aquarium, Bill took us out to eat at a restaurant at the top of an enormous skyscraper. It was a swanky five-star eatery that had a lot of menu items to appease patrons with sophisticated appetites but nothing for a four-year-old that only wanted fries. I convinced Ivany to get the pumpkin ravioli with crème fraîche after Bill had ordered us two glasses of wine and a raspberry hibiscus juice. "Are you sure they don't have fries in this place? Can't they make them? Why do they have no fries?" Ivany nagged us. "Ivany, I think you should just be grateful to have food to eat." I admonished gently. When the server came back to pour our wine and take our orders I went first and asked for the wild mushroom risotto with okra and toasted walnuts. Bill looked at Ivany who still had a look of disappointment on her face. I almost laughed as I watched him caved for her charm for the first time ever. "Can we get some French fries?" Bill asked. "Um, sir. We don't have French fries here." The server explained. "I realize that but if you could just have the kitchen staff make them, that would be greatly appreciated." I watched in horror as the server fumbled with what to say to Bill. "Sir, we are only able to prepare the items on the menu with certain minor alterations to suit allergies." "Look... I don't care what it costs," Bill said through clenched teeth. "Grab any kind of potato, cut it into pieces and fry them. Any five-star chef can handle that, I'm sure." "Certainly sir, I will do my best." "And I'll have the Ahi tuna. Thank you." He concluded, adjusting the neck of his tie like it was becoming too tight. I watched the server walk away as fast as he could without appearing too desperate to get out of the sniper line that was Bill's glower. I blinked at him in disbelief. "Bill, I hardly think that was necessary," I told him. He rubbed his long hands together smoothly and looked at Ivany who was beaming with excitement. "My princess wants fries. My princess gets fries." I watched her little cheeks glow. I could only imagine what was going through her head as she witnessed the first time her Father used his power to get what he wanted and thought, she doesn't even know the half of it. "Ivy, did you enjoy your time at the aquarium?" I asked her. "Yes, it was so fun. Especially the ugly fish. I liked them because I don't think anyone else does." Bill smiled and looked between us. He was seated in front of us at the table so his eyes wandered back and forth, observing, brightening, squinting when he was in thought. "Ivy?" Bill asked, cocking his head slightly to one side. "It's a nickname," I explained. "That's lovely," he grinned at Ivany. "My sweet Ivy." Our daughter couldn't hide a shy smile. I could tell she was taken with Bill and everything he did and said was working wonders for her favour. It was almost frightening to see how quickly it took for her to start regarding Bill in a fatherly way. Almost as quick as it was for me to fall under his spell again. Alas, there we sat, a picture of a perfect little family, however many flaws there were on the inside. On the outside I imagined we came off as a charming couple with a beautiful daughter with money to burn so we spent our time burning it in restaurants where salads cost thirty dollars each. On the inside, it wasn't quite so. I couldn't help but remember that Bill was holding me hostage with his wallet, the threat of a custody battle and his cock. It hadn't been a week since I had called my boss to tell him I wasn't coming back to work but it felt like ages ago when we sat around the table surrounded by sculptures of foxes and hens, modern art and low-hanging blown glass chandeliers, talking about all the fun we had on our excursion to the aquarium. I had never felt so natural in such an unnatural setting. We were all getting along consummately, Ivany with her sage eyes stuck to Bill, ears piqued for anything he had to say and me with his leg rubbing against mine beneath the table. When our food arrived I held my breath. Bill looked over it all and then settled his eyes on Ivany's plate. The server cleared his throat, "crispy baked heirloom potato wedges with avocado oil and fresh rosemary, for the young lady." "Thank you," I said to the server in place of Bill's silence. Ivany seemed happy with what was in front of her and that was satisfying enough for him. We ate and talked and by the time we were done I had forgotten about the taste of the food because I was enjoying just listening to their voices. There was so much to look at in the restaurant but all of our attentions were on each other. Towards the end of our dinner, Bill excused himself to make a phone call and when he got back to the table he asked if we were ready to leave. "Where are we going now?" Ivany asked Bill as we descended in a glass elevator all the way down to the main floor of the building. "We're going to stay the night in a hotel and you get to have your very own room." He told her. I raised my eyebrows at him in a way only he could interpret. I was completely unaware of all of the plans that he had made and was just following along. Bill had insisted he take us out for a day so I assumed he already had everything set in place. Once his car pulled up, a gun-metal black Cadillac CTS- a car that was rather sporty compared to anything else I had seen him in, he opened the door and allowed us to get in before he did. We reached the hotel but not before Ivany passed out on the drive there. I unbuckled her from her booster seat and carried her in my arms while Bill had our bags taken up. "Istvan Günther," He said at the front desk. I wondered if Bill owned the hotel we were staying in. I had spent some time trying to figure out exactly what it was that Bill did but I couldn't put my finger on it. All I knew was that he had an endless bank account, armed bodyguards and a lot of rich friends. In the week I had spent with him he had only received a couple of phone calls and whenever he did, he left briefly to take them. We hadn't spent enough time together for me to begin putting the pieces in place. We got to the top floor Penthouse and were let inside by an attendant. Flashbacks took me and all I could remember was the first time I walked into Bill's suite at the Mira on the West Coast. Only this time, the room wasn't staunch white with cascading walls of windows and a grand piano. It was redwood and black marble hampered room with huge leather couches surrounding an island fireplace, hand-painted carinate vases bursting with white roses on every table, exploding star chandeliers and windows that you could close with remote control. It wasn't as big or as bright as the Penthouse on the West Coast, but it was charming and not without its comforts. Bill showed us to the room that was meant for Ivany and came in with us. She had been nodding in and out of sleep so I laid her on the bed and went through her bag to find her pajamas. He looked over her sleeping form and smiled before stooping down to kiss her forehead but instead of standing back up he leaned over to me as well and whispered in my ear while his hand snaked down the front of my blouse to squeeze my breast gently. "I'll see you in the master bedroom, yes?" I looked up at with the most innocence I could possibly convey and whispered back, "yes, Daddy." He pulled some air through his teeth, apparently satisfied with my reply. I changed Ivany out of her dress and into her pajamas, pulled back the plushy duvet and laid her on the bed. She looked so tiny among the ocean of blankets, in the middle of a Queen-sized bed with six or seven pillows to use. I kissed her cheek and left the room. Bill had already made his way to the master bedroom and if I were being honest, I felt nervousness as I approached the closed door. With my hand on the crystal knob, I turned it and opened the door to see Bill waiting for me on the edge of the bed. He was smoking a cigarette, maybe his first of the day and his shirt was off. He sat with his legs widely apart, elbows on his knees so his lanky arms hung down in between, the cigarette giving off smoke in his right hand. "Lock the door," he said and I obeyed with a minuscule amount of hesitation. After I did so I watched him drag on his cigarette until it was half gone, then he stood up to put it out in a Merlot crystal cigar ashtray. When he turned back to me he had this look about him that was borderline displeased. It made me tense up until he sat back down on the edge of the bed and smirked at me. "Take off your clothes." I started by unbuttoning my blouse slowly, watching him watch me as I popped each button with enthusiasm. Then I let it fall to the floor and made with unzipping the back of my skirt so it too could fall down my legs into a ring around me. When I was left wearing nothing but my bra and panties, Bill licked his rosebud lips and leaned back on his elbows. "And the bra. Keep those panties on." He said. I felt the cold air begin to prickle my skin after I unhooked my bra all the while he watched intently, eyes sizzling when I exposed myself to him. He had this wordless way of making me feel sexy with but a look and a swipe of his tongue over his bottom lip. He was so handsome and the way his legs just shot out and his arms dangled between them made me long to be under his touch. Even without saying much of anything I knew that I wanted to please him as best as I could. I was a call girl again. I was twenty-one again and I was going to do almost anything this man wanted because he had money and power. It helped him out immensely that he also fit the definition of Swedish Beauty. I didn't allude to it but when those peculiar eyes of his set on me I fucking melted on the inside so hotly I could feel my skin crawl and I thought I might do anything for this man... "My beautiful girl..." He said to me. Standing like a statue, I felt the first rush of blood arise to tint my cheeks, perk my nipples and train my attention on him, his body and his movements. I hung onto his every word. I was a sex toy again. When I looked down at my own naked breasts for a moment I stood back up proudly. Not only did I want the man in front of me more than I had ever wanted anything in my life, but the part that stirred me the most was also that he wanted me back ten times worse. In a way, it felt like I had a power over him that he would not admit to. There was some kind of energy that I wielded that drew this man from one side of the country to the other in the search for it. Some part of me was making him feel exactly how I was feeling for him and it was driving me wild. "Mother of my perfect child." He murmured. My chest rose and fell hard in anticipation of his praises. Simple words, yes, but to me, it was more than just endearment when it came from him. Every second he drank me in legitimized me. "Soon to be my Queen." I was a fucking Goddess again. People paid money to see me on my pedestal, flesh gleaming, blood pumping and getting ready to elicit expertly crafted personalized orgasms. This was fun for me. This was what I got off on. Maybe this was who I would always. "But when we're alone... You're my little cock-slave. Isn't that right?" Mirroring the way he stared, doe-eyed and lustful, I bit my lip and said, "yes, sir." "You would do anything to make me cum, wouldn't you? "Yes, Daddy. Anything." The awakening of a low growl echoed from his throat but he didn't move from his position seated at the edge of the bed. "Get on your knees," He commanded me. I lowered myself slowly to the carpet and sat back on my calves, awaiting my next command. From the lower angle, he looked more daunting and the shift in power was potent. He liked to have all the control. He was good at it. Power was all he knew and it suited him finely. "Now crawl to me," The carpet was soft and freshly steam-cleaned, I could almost feel the residue on my hands as I crawled towards him. He had on these ankle-high leather boots that had a dull shine to them. I approached them and when I could go no further I looked up at him. His tongue left a glistening trail of saliva over his lips. He was salivating already. My proximity to his designer boots made him straighten in the spine. "Open your mouth," He whispered. I extended my jaw and watched him begin to gather all the liquid in his mouth into a pool. Leaning over, he puckered his lips and let a stream of hot drool fall onto my tongue, then he grasped the roots of my hair and moved my head around in a circle so he could see it all sloshing around at the top of my throat. He purred with delight and then lowered my head, encouraging me to let it all drip down my chin onto my chest. He gathered me up closer to the bed and with his fingers around my throat, he instructed me to open my mouth again so he could spit into it only this time it wasn't a long, warm tip of drool, it was a harsh, foamy, cigarette-laced spit that landed more on my face than in my mouth and sprayed over my eyelids. When I looked at him his mouth was hanging open like he was having trouble breathing. He nodded down at his shoes, "spit on them." I mimicked the way he had just administered his saliva to me only I lowered myself to spit on the toe of his boot. When I did so he growled again, pleased and enthusiastic about my submission. "Such a good girl. Come here. Come sit on my lap." He said, pulling me up by my shoulders so I could sit on him. He stroked his thumbs over my nipples, kneading my breasts and staring at me with an intensity that made my skin prickle. He busied his hands with massaging me, sliding down my hips, tugging at the hem of my panties and then moving me to bend over his other knee so he could fondle at the fabric covering me. "Look at these little panties," he said more to himself than to me. I moaned softly when his hand trailed the length of my spine, curving over my cheeks and down the backs of my thighs then back up so he could wedge the material up, exposing the silhouette of my already wet opening. "You haven't been a bad girl at all, but fuck do I still want to spank your ass." He told me. "Oh, Daddy, please don't hurt me. I've been so good for you." "I know, baby, but... You wear these sexy little see-through panties and it makes Daddy hope you're not using them to please other men." "I wore them for you, Daddy. Only you." "You promise?" He asked, thumb running gently up and down my clothed slit. "Yes, Daddy. I promise." "Good girl," He whispered. I sighed when he applied more pressure to my opening, trailing down to tickle my clit through the sheer material. I rose in the air so he had better access to my most sensitive spots but he only touched me as he saw fit, regardless if I was slowly beginning to grind against his thigh or not. "You like it when I rub your pussy, don't you little girl?" "Mhm," I said, voice heightening as he continued stroking me through my panties. He adjusted my position so that I was straddling his thigh and he raked his nails down my back, stopping at the edge of my panties again so he could gather them up and pull on them so I felt it straining taut against my pussy. He used his other hands to grope my ass, squeezing one cheek and then the other, making it bounce and jiggle in his grip. "I want that pussy so wet. I want you to soak right through those little panties. Can you do that for me?" His breath was hot on my ear. He continued his stroking and fondling, giving me little smacks that made my curves wiggle and he purred in my ear as I swiveled my hips on his leg. "Yes baby, grind that pussy on my leg. That's good." It was easy to get turned on with Bill whispering filth into my ear, pulling at my only piece of clothing and spreading me apart while I leaned against him with my spine curved away from my ribcage. When I started to whimper for more of his touch he instructed me to stand up so he could examine the stain I had left on the leg of his light grey fleck weave trousers. When he saw it his eyes rolled with arousal and he pulled at me so I could kneel in front of him again. When I was eye-level with his crotch I noticed he was already hard. "Fuck baby, look at how hard you've made me." He said, voice low and sinister yet I delighted to hear him say it. I let my hands trail up his legs as he worked on undoing his belt and the front of his pants but before he exposed himself to me he leaned over, hand on the back of my neck and asked, "do you want Daddy's cock in your mouth?" I nodded at him and helped him pull his pants and underwear down to his ankles. Upon seeing him fully erect I couldn't help but moan as I licked a hot trail up the underside of his length, pausing at the tip to lap up the drop of pre-cum that threatened to trickle down. "Oh fuck, that's a nice girl." He leaned back on his elbows and let me take the initiative so I circled one hand around his shaft and sunk my mouth down as far as I could go while simultaneously pulling gently on him from the hilt. As I caught a rhythm he groaned and let his head fall back between his shoulder blades so all I could see were his ribs shifting beneath the skin of his torso, the smooth splay of his chest and his beautiful pale throat. The last time I had given someone a full-on blowjob had been before I met Bill for the first time but it all came back to me as soon as I started on him. The muscle memory was still there after nearly five years. Bill was practically laying down on his back when he began forcing himself further down my throat than what was immediately comfortable. When he sat up he grabbed the back of my hair and pushed my head down as he bucked his hips up, choking me off for just a moment. "Fuck baby, you suck a good cock," He growled after pulling my head back up.

"You sure you haven't been practicing on anyone else?"

"I promise, Daddy. I'm yours." "Mhm, that's right. Mine." He loosened his grip on my strands and instead combed his fingers through them, pushing the hair out of my face so he had a full view of my lips wrapped around his throbbing shaft. It must have been getting too intense for him because he pulled out and tilted my chin up, thumb wedging my mouth open. "Spit on it." His coercion was firm. "Spit on my cock." I placed my puckered lips at the tip of his cock and pushed out all of the transparent wetness I had so it slid down in all directions, effectively coating him. With one long hand, he held it in place so that my hands were free and I didn't have to chase after it when his length fell up against his stomach. Then he snapped his hips up, forcing himself back into my mouth. "Again. Spit on that fucking cock like you hate it." That time I gave a more dramatic flare when I spit on him, always keeping my eyes on his, letting him watch the dribble come down my tongue and chin. He agonized over the sight of me slobbering on him, raising his eyebrows like he was witnessing something sad or truly pitiful. That expression I had gotten to see a lot of the first night we ever had true, proper sex. He could go from one minute looking like a puppy to the next growling and spitting into my mouth like a snarling wolf. He got lost in the sensation and melted, his lips so flushed and pouty and then suddenly snapped out of it. Bill started thrusting his hips up frantically, slamming his cock down my throat until I started gagging and when I couldn’t take it anymore he pulled my head back and watched me gasp for air. "Oh, my dirty little fuck doll. Get up on the bed. On your hands and knees, this instant." He kicked off his boots and the pants from around his ankles while watching as I crawled up on the bed, looking back to see just what kind of look he had on his face. His eyes darkened, his teeth gnawing his lip harshly. I felt the mattress dip as he climbed onto it behind me and grabbed my panties, ripping them from my body like they were made of tissue paper. "I need that wet little cunt right fucking now," he snarled. Bill and I fucked for hours into the night. That's all I could describe it as. Hot, exhausting, raw fucking that lasted until he decided he was finished. My mascara was running in clumpy trails down my face from how hard he pounded into my throat, my ass flaming red from his spankings, throbbing with welts, my nipples felt almost just as sore from the way he had sucked them and pinched them. He fucked me so hard for so long that it felt like my pussy would never be the same. By the end of it, he coated the inside of my mouth with an enormous amount of cum that I swallowed obediently. It wasn't all harsh, violent fucking either. Bill had made absolutely certain that I came at least half a dozen times. He would be above me, thrusting into me ruthlessly and then suddenly he would pull out and back up so he could glide his tongue up and down my slit and he would whisper, "my pussy. My fucking sweet little pussy. Come for Daddy." I lost track of the hour by the time he had finished in my mouth. When I laid on the bed, sprawled out and utterly spent, I turned my head to see it was nearly 3 in the morning on the clock. I breathed in deeply through my nose and savoured the smell of our bodies, our fluids, and our beautiful little afterglow. Bill looked at me from where he was lying parallel on the bed and gave me one of the most pleasant smiles I had ever seen on his face. He grabbed my hand and beckoned me to sit up with him. "Come," was all he said as he pulled me up, leading me across the clean plush carpet to the bathroom. I stood there naked in the bathroom while he started the shower. My reflection in the mirror showed me how sloppy I looked compared to earlier in the day when I had gotten ready and did my makeup nicely so I would look good for Bill. I was red all over including the whites of my eyes. No doubt I had popped some blood vessels while trying to deep throat my overly enthusiastic lover. Bill got into the shower and let the water run over his face and down his body before looking at me curiously from inside the glass box. "Come here," he said. I entered the shower and shut the door behind me before joining him underneath the spray. He wrapped his arms around me and when I rose my head to look up at him he pressed his lips to mine and I sighed, relaxing in his embrace as he bestowed kiss after loving kiss upon my face. Slowly his hands wandered down my hips and made their way to my groin. When he grazed me with two fingers I gasped from the sensitivity and pulled my hips back. "What's wrong pretty girl? Can't handle another orgasm?" "No," I whimpered. "Oh, but Daddy thinks you can. Come on, let me make you come one more time." He rubbed at me again and the feeling of it was this painful reminiscence of all the orgasms he had exacted from me but it was not without its secret undertone of pleasure. With such an acute susceptibility to his charm and the way he looked down at me while he drew circles around my clit again, I knew that there was no resisting. Not with those green eyes sicked on me. I whimpered and begged for him to stop but it seemed to only encourage him. The more I pulled away the harder he would rub me and the more I would wince and try to sift through the hypersensitivity to dredge up the right amount of enjoyment. When Bill noticed I was having a hard time he slowed his fingers down, coiled an arm around my neck and brought his mouth to my ear. "Come on baby, I know you can do it. Come for me one more time. Come on my fingers one more time and I promise you can rest." Sharp stinging mixed with mind-numbing titillation forced me to the brink of tears. "I can't," I cried. "Yes, you can. Just relax," He whispered. "Daddy needs you to come one more time." With his entire hand flat against my pussy, he somehow managed to make it feel better and with his salacious words and his little purrs of indulgence I was able to will myself to crest the peak of another core-rattling orgasm. "Yes, yes. You're right there baby, yes. Fucking come on Daddy's fingers. Come all over my fucking hand. Are you going to come for me?" I nodded simply because I had no words as he continued his assault on me, rubbing me back and forth until I finally broke and clung to him, crying out into the crook of his neck. He let out a groan when my knees buckled and as soon as he was satisfied he took his hand away and lifted me up so I could wrap my legs around him, my throbbing clit pressing against his skin. Luckily the warm water from the shower decreased the amount of friction and I could finally breathe easily with Bill rocking me in his arms like I was a child who had just fallen and hurt herself. "I loved that," He whispered to me, mouth on my cheek and hands on my ass. "That was fucking amazing." Amidst my exhaustion, Bill washed me, taking extra care not to touch me too hard where it hurt and stroked his hands through my hair to rinse the soap away. Even though it was nearing the morning, he still had this unfathomable alertness whereas I felt completely used up. Once we were done in the shower he wrapped me in one of the big soft Egyptian cotton towels and wiped off the rest of the black residue from around my eyes gently. It hardly ever occurred to me that our daughter was asleep in the next room and we had to wake up when she did which meant we had about five hours to rest if we were lucky. Something told me that Bill would be just fine but I knew that I was going to be sleepy all day. Nevertheless, once I laid down beneath the blankets of our hotel bed with him pressed up against me I sighed, immediately relaxing into the cloud of a mattress beneath my aching body. "Goodnight, my Queen," He said softly, kissing my still wet hair. I said nothing but turned my head to give those inviting lips one more kiss before I closed my eyes and sank into sweet, dark, lavish serenity.

#bill skarsgård fanfiction #bill skarsgard fanfiction #bill skarsgård smut #bill skarsgard smut #fanfiction

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iasfuturekings · 7 years

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Clans of Hoshido: Hiromi (広海)

Ryuurei Bay was home to once a humble fishing village, now a bustling port city after the rise of the Yamato clan during the period of the warring kingdoms. It was here in these rich blue waters where eons ago, the Dawn Dragon rested on his journey and defeated the colossal carp that terrorized the villagars, and centuries ago when the young and inexperienced Nobuyuki Yamato would seize his first victory against the Kamiya Clan.

The Kamiya had hoped to descend on the shores of Ryuurei Bay and capture Nobuyuki for their own gain, but the young lord refused to give up. With the help of the Hiromi clan, Nobuyuki had wooden stakes into the coast to prevent the Kamiya from entering the bay. Using the connection to the lands, Nobuyuki toppled the the Kamiya army by raising stone pillars, blocking reinforcements and utterly destroying the ships.

Reveling in their victory, Nobuyuki and his family declared the Yamato an official contender for the conquest of the east lands. The Hiromis were the first clan to join the Yamato in their war against the Amachi and the Kamiya, most notably daisuke . After the fight was done, Nobuyuki gave the Hiromis a large portion of land to call their own and also command of royal naval operations based in Ryuurei.

Today the Hiromis remain a major constant in Hoshidan politics and a stalwart ally of the royal clan of Yamato. Those wishing to learn the from the most skilled strategists travel to the Hiromi domain in the hopes of getting a glimpse of Daisuke Hiromi’s legendary treatises on military strategy. Two disciples from the Hiromi school of strategy now serve as the nation’s royal strategist and brought Hoshido three accounts of victory against the invading Nohrian forces.

Crest Design

Originally for the Hiromi crest, I was going to put a crab with gentian legs, because it would be funny to thinly veil how salty the brothers are, but decided against it because it’d sound like a one time only sort of thing. So I just went for something straightforward, just a fragment of the seigaha pattern (stylistic layered waves) because they live near the ocean and were primarily a fishing village before they expanded. At first I was planning on having a Five Colors theme pattern going on, but I didn’t want to change the pictures, so they’re stuck with teal.

Notable Members

Daisuke Hiromi - The strategist of Nobuyuki Yamato during the warring periods

Ichiro Hiromi - A brilliant strategist, although he lets his instincts drive his decisions compared to his rival and fellow mechanist Yukimura

Seiji Hiromi - A masterful spear master, and a firm believer in isolationism for Hoshido to preserve its glory

Saburo Hiromi - The youngest, and desperate for attention. He wants to distinguish himself by joining the Kinshi Knight Corps

Haitaka - a Hoshidan general fiercely loyal to Ichiro Hiromi

Fun Notes and Facts

Ichiro, Seiji and Saburo is an unsubtle hint to which on is older. Ichiro (一郎) is the oldest because he has the number one in his name. Seiji is number two (精二), and Saburo is third (三郎)

The Hiromi’s specialty is spear fighters, but it’s not as concrete as the other clans

The head, Ichiro, is a Basara

Seiji is a Spear Master

Saburo is the weird one who’s the Hoshidan Knight, but he’s still fighting with spears

They may be asshats, but you can’t deny that they are brothers who care for each other a lot.

They’re kinda in the same camp as Takumi in that you’d hate how annoying they are on a Nohr route, but they get their chance to be humanized in Birthright

Who knows, make Saburo marriageable or something

The three brothers don’t have spouses... yet

In reality, Ichiro’s heart belongs to Reina, but Reina isn’t really interested in marriage, so he’s being awfully patient

Seiji is quite content without a companion of any kind

Saburo is often very concerned about how his older brothers being single with no heir, so he feels pressured to marry someone himself

Saburo throws himself into any relationship he can take, which worries his brothers a lot and forces them to intervene

While the Hiromis are known to be the strategy specialists, they do have a dojo for spear users, where Oboro studied while under care of the Moriheis

Ichiro and Saburo are both avid players of go, which does go against their rough and tumble images a bit, while Seiji doesn’t exactly care for it

Go is like the one thing Ichiro Hiromi and Hisashi Amachi can do peacefully without any fistfight when they were kids

Ichiro plays against Yukimura once in a while as part of their rivalry, and are currently running a tie

The Morihei have similar origins to the Hiromi, except the Hiromi have been around a lot longer than Morihei

The two clans get along extremely well, so Hinata and Oboro have some friends or two from Hiromi

By extension, Takumi knows Saburo pretty well, although it’s arguable how close they are

The Ryuurei Bay is based off of Vịnh Hạ Long, a bay in North Vietnam

As you can tell, it’s got everything to do with dragons (and we need more dragon stuff in this AU, don’t we?)

It’s got a smattering of isles and caves with interesting names (I kinda remember learning one of them being called a chicken, and one was called a table)

#fire emblem #fire emblem fates #fe14 #fire emblem if #hoshido #world #hiromi #hoshido noble

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ladylynse · 7 years

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More Randy Cunningham:9th Grade Ninja, specifically Part II of this (Debbie’s Pronouncement) where Debbie gets too close to the truth for Randy’s comfort.

Summary: When Debbie drags Randy into her newspaper office for questioning, things go about as well as can be expected.

Also on FF and the AO3

Oh, she was going to strangle Randy when she got her hands on him again. Debbie stomped back to her office. The Ninja had turned up to fight the robot, but she’d left her camera, binoculars, recorder, and notebook in the office, all of which she needed if she was going to question the Ninja after this fight. Which would be helpful, if he would stick around for long enough. She still couldn’t see any consistent pattern between attack by robot or attack by student-turned-monster, though it seemed this attack had brought both and he’d already defeated the monster. While waiting around for Randy to slink back out of the washroom, something the coward refused to do, she’d apparently missed the entire thing.

Debbie slammed the office door behind her and then spun on her heel and locked it for good measure. She wouldn’t make it in time now anyway. If Randy hadn’t tricked her, she wouldn’t have rushed out without everything she usually tried to carry with her, and she wouldn’t have missed any of the action. It was his fault.

She kicked at a few of the papers that had scattered earlier and then sighed and sat down on her desk instead. She was being silly. She thought she’d been onto something. If Howard knew who the Ninja was, surely Randy did, too. But if Howard had been lying all that time? There wasn’t a chance Randy had a clue, either. Ninja’s biggest fans or not, they were useless to her if they were as clueless as everyone else.

Honestly, though, she hadn’t thought Randy could move that fast. He’d been out of the room like a shot; having to unlock the door hadn’t slowed him down at all. Of course, he’d obviously anticipated her reaction. She’d played right into his hands, giving him the display he’d wanted. She hadn’t realized she was quite that predictable. Maybe that was why she couldn’t get ahead of the Ninja.

Or maybe she had been right and Randy and Howard knew who the Ninja was and were just working with him to throw her off the trail.

Yeah, right.

Randy might as well be the Ninja if that were the case.

He was obviously agile enough for it, springing from a sitting position to a full out sprint in a split second.

What if…what if he really was the Ninja and just didn’t realize that he was the Ninja? Was that even possible? What if he had truly thought he was teasing her, only for this attack to happen and for him to suddenly become possessed by the spirit of the Norrisville Ninja?

Not that she had any idea if that was really how it worked. There was absolutely nothing to be found in the literature, even sketchier tales that were beyond unreliable. Still, she was confident that the Ninja was a student at the high school; she’d seen all the teachers at one point or another during an attack, and she couldn’t imagine how the Ninja could always get to the scene so quickly if he weren’t someone who was already here. But she also knew that while the Ninja was a constant presence in Norrisville, he changed as the years passed.

She wasn’t sure how that part was possible. How could different students take the same role, all without anyone ever knowing the truth? Wouldn’t a former Norrisville Ninja tell someone at some point, even by mistake? Gossip columns should be full of that sort of thing, but there was nothing. There was only the Ninja, with his familiar range of attacks, fighting monsters and now robots on what was practically an age-old battleground by this point.

But even if there was always one Ninja, the same old attacks didn’t mean the same old Ninja, did they? But how else would different students have that knowledge, be able to step up and become the Ninja? How was that even possible? Really, her fleeting thought of possession might not be too far off. If her fellow students could turn into monsters and not really remember it, why not one of them turn into the Ninja to fight—and fight for—the rest? Without ever knowing the truth? That would explain why no former Ninjas had come forward.

Unless she was wrong and the Ninja wasn’t a student after all. Unless it always was the same person beneath the mask, regardless of what he looked like. But she’d never dug up any concrete evidence that the Ninja was a shapeshifter, and didn’t Ockham’s razor mean she should be looking for the simplest explanation?

Then again, this was Norrisville.

Debbie looked out the window, just in time to see the Ninja—current Ninja?—bring his sword down on the left pinchers of a giant, robotic crab. Even as she watched, he made short work of the rest of the robot, and then he disappeared in a burst of red smoke. The pile of spare parts he’d left behind wouldn’t give her answers.

Well.

Not the answers she wanted, anyway.

She’d taken a look at one of the robots once and been careful not to get too close since, just in case. But someone in McFist Industries knew something. Maybe not McFist himself, maybe not even Viceroy, but if no one in that building was drafting the plans or making the robots, someone was selling the necessary parts to do so. Their cleanup service wasn’t just a necessity or a PR stunt; it was to collect everything useful so that the parts could be reused.

It was a big story.

It was a dangerous story.

The soupsicle incident had rather driven that point home.

She wasn’t sure she dared investigate it—or anything related to McFist Industries—too much until she’d figured out the secret of the Ninja. She might need him as an ally. Sure, exposing him wasn’t necessarily the best way to get his help, but it was probably the only way she’d find out the truth—even if she ended up being the only kid in school who knew his secret.

But then, whenever she thought she was getting close, she had to deal with someone like Randy. What Theresa saw in him, Debbie would never know. But because Randy was just an idiot, as opposed to someone who gave her bad vibes, Debbie didn’t discourage Theresa’s crush. Sometimes, she even helped out.

Like now, since another glance at the room had revealed that Randy had left behind his bag.

Debbie hauled it onto her desk with a grunt. “What does he keep in this thing?” It was heavy. She’d always assumed he left most of his books in his locker, but— “Wait, why does he have two math textbooks?”

She hadn’t meant to look. Not really. She wasn’t above snooping, but she usually had more discretion. But she’d looked down, and the bright cover of their math book was hard to miss. Especially when there were two of them.

No, not two.

“He took off the dust jacket?” She could see it now, the glossier shine on the real math textbook tucked next to the duller jacket. She picked up the book with the latter. “So what are you actually hiding?”

Okay, looking was snooping. She couldn’t pretend it wasn’t. But looking could also help Theresa, since this might mean Debbie could tell her more about Randy’s interests, beyond the obvious.

Debbie slipped the dust jacket off the book without any trouble. It was a hardcover, but not one she recognized, and Randy must have taken off the real dust jacket at some point because the cover didn’t even have a title.

Except…except this cover wasn’t the sort that usually had a dust jacket.

And she hadn’t ever pegged Randy as someone who did a lot of reading, and this was definitely not a school textbook. It was heavier than it looked, for one, and the cover felt like leather—but the hard sort, with ridges and grooves, the sort of thing she’d expect to find on some old bible that was six inches thick. The cover of this book alone was nearly half an inch thick.

“Weird,” Debbie muttered, and then she opened the book.

Or rather, she tried.

It wouldn’t budge.

“Okay, really weird.” It looked too elaborate to be some sort of joke book. While she wouldn’t put it past Randy, he couldn’t have known she’d corner him today, and between him and Howard, Randy seemed the least likely to be able to pull something off successfully without warning.

Granted, he’d gotten her good regardless. She’d actually believed she’d been getting somewhere. Maybe she didn’t give him enough credit after all.

But that still wouldn’t explain why the book refused to open.

It wasn’t locked, as far as she could tell. Nothing obvious held it in place and kept it closed. No one would destroy a book this old—this expensive, no doubt—by dumping a pile of glue on it, not even Randy. (Hopefully.) So why—?

There was a knock at the door. “Hey, uh, Debbie?”

Speak of the devil and he shall appear.

“You’re in there, right?”

Let him think she wasn’t.

“I think I forgot my bag. Can I, um, come in and grab it?”

She didn’t move, let alone answer him, and she heard him rattle the doorknob. Let him think she’d gone out to try to find the Ninja. Let him have to wait a little longer for something he didn’t need; he could share a textbook with Howard if it came to that, but classes were always so disorganized after an attack that it would be at least ten minutes before classes would officially resume anyway. He wouldn’t even be missed right now. For that matter, neither would she.

Neither would the real Ninja, which had to be the only way he got away with this if she was right and he was a student.

“Debbie?” One last, desperate plea, and one more vigorous shake of the door handle, but no footsteps leading away. He was listening.

Maybe he wasn’t quite the amateur she’d always suspected.

But he gave up much too quickly for anyone doing serious sleuthing, and she heard his footsteps fade away as he headed back down the hallway. Class still hadn’t resumed—she could see kids on the front lawn through the window and pick out the occasional yell above the chatter—and even with Randy on the lookout for her, she should be able to pass his bag off to Theresa to return to him.

Debbie sighed and put the book down on her desk. Maybe she could hang onto it for a little while, pretend it had fallen out and gotten mixed in with her things?

No, even Randy wouldn’t buy that, and she had no guarantee she’d be able to get the book open in ten minutes, let alone ten hours, if she hadn’t managed it in ten seconds.

Debbie dropped to the floor and started to pick up the papers that she’d scattered earlier. She’d just ask Randy about it later. She didn’t expect to get any answers out of him, but she did think his facial expression would point her in the right direction. Howard could say anything with a straight face. Randy? Part of the reason she’d believed him was that he hadn’t shown any of his usual tells.

Either he’d gotten a lot better at lying since she’d last talked to him or—

The window exploded, and Debbie shrieked. She was on her feet in a flash, adrenalin coursing through her body and her heart pounding in her ears, but the sight of a familiar masked figure froze her in place. “Ninja?”

The Ninja had broken through her office window, and not entirely by mistake judging by the fact that she’d caught him reaching over her desk. He jerked his hands back. “Uh….”

“What are you doing here?”

“Um….”

No. She had a million questions for the Ninja. Why he was here right now didn’t even make the top ten. “Look, forget that. You’re a student here, aren’t you?”

“Ah….”

“Don’t try to deny it. You know our vernacular, and no one else seems to understand it.”

“I know your what now?”

Debbie rolled her eyes. “Shoob.”

“For the last time, I am not—”

“A ShoobTube special?”

“No honkin’ way am I ever living that down,” muttered the Ninja, further proving her point even if he didn’t realize it.

Debbie smiled, finally feeling like she had the upper hand in a conversation again. “Because you’re just a student, you’re not the same Ninja who was here ten years ago, are you?”

She didn’t mean it as a question, not really, and the Ninja shuffled his feet and avoided her gaze, which was about as much answer as she’d expected. What was interesting was the fact that he’d looked down at Randy’s mysterious book before hurriedly looking away.

The Nomicon just talks like First Ninja. Nonsense, she’d figured, but maybe not. The idea of there being a First Ninja fit with her current theory, and if the Nomicon was supposed to help the Ninja? Even if she ignored the whole idea of the Nomicon talking, it probably wasn’t just a fancy name for his sword. It would make more sense if— “You came for the book, didn’t you?”

The Ninja’s eyes widened as he stared at her, and she’d bet his mouth was hanging open beneath his mask.

Maybe the reason she hadn’t realized that Randy was lying was because he’d mixed in so much truth, possibly without realizing it.

“The Nomicon,” she clarified. It wasn’t necessary, but it was a nice touch.

The Ninja blinked.

“Care to tell me why Randy had it?”

“He was just holding onto it for me!” the Ninja squeaked. She’d seen him less unnerved fighting off monsters ten times his size.

“So that is the Nomicon, then. It exists, and it’s yours.” The Ninja muttered something under his breath, but Debbie chose to ignore it. “Why not tell everyone who you are?” She hoped, if she kept switching tacks, it might throw him off.

“I’m not—” The Ninja broke off, sighed, and reached into his pocket. “Forget this. I’m outta here.” He raised his arm, and she saw a familiar flash of red. “Smoke—”

Debbie caught his arm before he could bring it down and escape. “No, wait. Please. I’m serious. Everyone loves you. Why the secrecy? Is it because of some unwritten Ninja Rules? Or McFist Industries?”

The Ninja started, but he was quick to recover and made a deliberate twist of his arm to dislodge her grip. “Just because you ask, doesn’t mean I gotta tell.”

Which was answer enough in her book. Rules or not, he would’ve denied McFist Industries being involved if it were just another company.

“So what—?”

But it was already too late.

He’d already thrown the smoke bomb.

Debbie tried to keep her eyes open, she really did, but the smoke bombs were powerful. She staggered toward the broken window in spite of the glass crunching underfoot, trying to get some air and hoping for another glimpse of the elusive Ninja, but she was too late. He was gone.

She turned back to her desk as the smoke thinned and realized that, somehow, he’d managed to make a grab for the book, too.

Which meant she was back to square one.

Well, maybe not quite.

The Ninja had confirmed a few things for her.

And Randy definitely knew more than he was telling.

She might not know who the Ninja was, not really, but she was more convinced than ever that Randy did, and she planned to use that to her advantage.

(see more fics)

#rc9gn fanfiction #rc9gn fanfic #rc9gn #fanfiction #randy cunningham: 9th grade ninja #debbie kang #randy cunningham #the ninja #rc9gn snippet #my writing #snippets #ladylynse #text

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recentanimenews · 4 years

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Bookshelf Briefs 1/16/20

Anonymous Noise, Vol. 18 | By Ryoko Fukuyama | Viz Media – Welp, I was wrong. Romantically, the final pairing is not what I expected. That said, romance, as always in this series, takes a back seat to the music, and musically the pairing is exactly what I expected. It’s actually quite interesting to see the basic “final volume” beats of a shoujo manga framed in terms of career and musical partner, while the heroine actually ends up with someone else. It’s quite a choice. Elsewhere, the book wraps up the one remaining unresolved pairing. But most of all for me, it goes back to its roots and shows what I loved most about it—Nino screaming the songs like they’re primal. I’ll miss this series, and am interested in what the author is going to do next. – Sean Gaffney

Bakemonogatari, Vol. 2 | By NISIOISIN and Oh!great | Vertical Comics – One thing about the artwork in this manga adaptation, particularly of its lead character, is that it does not shy away from how relentlessly creepy and sexually harassing Araragi can be. The novels made you question how much of it was a narrative device, the anime framed it as so over the top it was almost parody, but the manga makes you squirm at seeing Araragi’s face as he simultaneously beats up and pervs on a little girl. This second volume finishes Hitagi Crab and gets almost halfway through Mayoi Snail, and does a good job at making itself distinct—here the park is a normal park, not the grandiose wonder as seen in the anime. Provided you can tolerate Araragi, an excellent adaptation. – Sean Gaffney

Daytime Shooting Star, Vol. 4 | By Mika Yamamori | VIZ Media – Believing that Shishio has gotten back together with his ex, Suzume tries to see it as an opportunity to forget him. It’s not true, though, and after her friends arrange for them to have an aquarium date, Shishio starts acting different around her. I certainly don’t want him to return her feelings, but it’s also pretty shitty that he treats her like she’s special and gives her false hope when he has already rejected her. At least he’s aware of this. There’s a great sequence where they both stop themselves from calling out to the other in the hallway, trying to avoid falling into their typical patterns, but by the end he’s rushing to rescue her from overbearing upperclassmen and falling pots. I really, really am enjoying this series, but continue to hope that she’s eventually going to get over him once and for all. – Michelle Smith

Dirty Pair | By Haruka Takachiho and Hisao Tamaki| Seven Seas – I was both looking forward to this and also dreading it, and in the end the dread won out. I suppose every generation gets the Lovely Angels it deserves. It’s not as if the original novels did not have Kei and Yuri walking around in Bikini tops and short shorts and cracking wise, and they do here as well. And the novels did indeed have the “we are psychically bonded and get hints about solving crimes that way” jazz as well. But this manga adaptation takes the fanservice to eleven, with the Angels making out and getting orgasm faces as they use their psychic powers. The plot of these is essentially very similar to the originals, and the basic “they solve the mystery, but everything is destroyed” premise is still there and valid. That said, the fanservice makes me recommend this only to hardcore fans of the Lovely Angels. – Sean Gaffney

Himouto! Umaru-chan, Vol. 8 | By Sankakuhead | Seven Seas – I always enjoy the way that there is slow, methodical character development for Umaru in these books. She may still be incapable of taking care of herself without her brother around, but she’s beginning to grow up and demonstrate she might be able to function in society. Of course, there is also the usual Umaru humor, particularly when dealing with Hikari, who not only looks and acts like Umaru but is trying to occupy the same place in her brother’s life. (Speaking of which, we also get more shots of Kanau, Hikari’s older sister and Taihei’s boss, who also might have a thing for him, though I suspect if there’s any romance in this series at all it will be with Ebina, who’s had longer to develop.) Cute, cute, cute. – Sean Gaffney

Haikyu!!, Vol. 36 | By Haruichi Furudate | VIZ Media – After losing the first set to Nekoma, Karasuno wins the second. As Furudate-sensei elegantly shows through a series of panels comparing past scoreboards to the current one, this is the first time that has ever happened. Indeed, throughout the volume, Furudate excels at conveying the significance of things, particularly when the most reserved players on each team experience a moment in which they recognize how much fun volleyball can be. Tsukishima actually smiles when he’s finally able to score a point against his rival/mentor Kuroo while Kenma, whose predictions are usually correct, is happy when Hinata is able to surprise him with a trick shot. And, in turn, Kuroo is happy that the friend who’s been indulging him all these years is finally enjoying himself. It’s all about appreciating the people who get you and who challenge you. I love this series so much. – Michelle Smith

Kaguya-sama: Love Is War, Vol. 12 | By Aka Akasaka | Viz Media – I get the sense that the author has figured out how many volumes he wants this series to be now, as the pacing seems to have become more rapid. Not in terms of the gags, but in terms of the plot—Shirogane’s desire to resolve his relationship with Kaguya by the Culture Festival seems to mean it will happen next volume or the one after, and for once he seems quietly determined—I think committing to Stanford lit a fire in him. Elsewhere, Chika once again tries to cheat her way to victory and is punished, and also tries to teach Shirogane something easy and is punished. And there’s a chapter advertising the We Want to Talk About Kaguya spin-off, which… we’re not getting here. A lot of fun as usual. – Sean Gaffney

To Be Next to You, Vol. 1 | By Atsuko Namba | Kodansha Comics (digital only) – Nina Uemura is in love with her next-door neighbor, Kyosuke Tachibana, who has just started his first year of high school. She ends up witnessing the moment when one of his new classmates, Yuiko Asou, kisses him. This ultimately spurs Nina to confess, but when he goes in to kiss her, she freaks out. Meanwhile, Kyosuke and Asou seem to be getting closer. Because Asou is written so sympathetically (she’s genuinely a good person, and her once-kind boyfriend has become a jerk) and Nina comes across as quite immature comparatively, this manga so far reads like she’s the interloper onto Kyosuke’s love story. He’s moving ahead and she’s desperate to stay by his side, even if he’s entering a world that she’s not yet prepared for. It’s good stuff! I look forward to volume two. – Michelle Smith

Vinland Saga, Vol. 11 | By Makoto Yukimura | Kodansha Comics – It’s been a year and a half since the last omnibus volume of Vinland Saga was released. Somehow in that amount of time I had forgotten just how much humor Yukimura incorporates into what is otherwise an incredibly serious narrative. It helps keep the manga from becoming overwhelmingly bleak, but the balance of between the comedy and tragedy in the eleventh omnibus feels a little off—the jokes and occasional pop culture references (while entertaining) at times lessen the impact of the surrounding scenes. Even so, Vinland Saga remains an intensely compelling and powerful work. These volumes bring to a close the battle at Jomsborg. Throughout the conflict, Thorfinn repeatedly comes up against his decision to live without taking the lives of others. His resolve is severely tested when he confronts the man behind his father’s death and the warriors who likewise seek the deaths of Thorfinn and his companions. – Ash Brown

By: Ash Brown

#Anime #News #Manga Bookshelf

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spiritrot-a · 6 years

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hey here’s the about under read more bc it’s really long

General Information

NAME: Raleigh James Ravenson.

NICKNAME: Lee.

AGE: Twenty three.

BIRTHDAY: June 26th, 1995.

ZODIAC: Cancer.

BIRTH PLACE: Victorville, California.

CURRENT LOCATION: L.A, California.

GENDER: Trans man.

PRONOUNS: He/him.

SEXUALITY: Bisexual, biromantic.

SPECIES: Medium.

POWERS: Can speak to spirits. It's an ability he can't turn off and he sees them constantly. He's dabbled a bit in summoning spirits and if he tried he would be able to manipulate spirits, force them to move on, or touch spirits. He also has the power of necromancy, however he doesn't use it often, afraid to throw the universe out of balance.

RELIGION: Raised in a Christian household, however he doesn't believe in anything specific anymore. He realizes there's a higher power or something else beyond death due to his powers, but he doesn't have any idea of what exactly.

OCCUPATION: Actor, namely known for his horror roles.

LANGUAGES KNOWN: English is the only one he's fluent in. He does however know some Spanish, ASL, and German.

ACCENT: American.

VOICE CLAIM: Leigh Whannell.

Appearance

FACE CLAIM: Leigh Whannell.

EYE COLOR: Green, with a small mix of brown.

HAIR COLOR: Brown.

STYLE: Short, just kind of a mess.

HEIGHT: 5'8"

TATTOOS: Most of them are actually covered by his clothes, but he has quite a few of them so far. A heart grenade on his upper right arm, billy from dead silence on his lower left leg, star-lord between his shoulder blades, ghostface on his right leg, the words "'cause I won't let go til we both see the light" on his left shoulder to match Haley's, a fast forward / rewind / pause / play button on his stomach below his belly button, and a rainbow outline of a heart that looks spray painted on his wrist to match Haley's.

PIERCINGS: He has a tongue piercing, a helix on his right ear, and an eyebrow piercing on his left eyebrow.

SCARS: Top surgery scars which are healed very well and barely visible compared to some of the others he has. A gash on his arm and a long scar going down his chest and stomach from a stunt gone wrong.

CLOTHES: Thrift store punk is the best way to name it. Leather jackets and combat boots, worn out band t-shirts or horror movie shirts ( a lot of nightmare on elm street and scream ), plenty of patches on his jacket, ripped jeans, and occasionally he'll break out the band bracelets.

DISTINGUISHING LOOKS: Piercings and eyeliner for days. Tattoos if his skin is shown.

Interests

LABEL: The artist, the rebel.

POSITIVE TRAITS: Adventurous, adaptable, humourous, creative, easygoing, passionate, neat, understanding.

NEGATIVE TRAITS: Careless, impatient, impulsive, numb, obsessive, sarcastic, stubborn.

GOALS: To further his career even more so and make more of a name for himself, even outside of the horror community. He wants to make people in his life happy and build a family.

FEARS: Becoming like his mother, ghosts ( surprisingly ), abandonment.

HOBBIES: Reading comics, film ( analyzing and making ), skating, going to parties, graffiti, drawing, chilling at graveyards.

HABITS: Smokes heavily, bites his nails, bounces his legs, and picks the skin at his fingers during stressful situations.

FAVORITE WEATHER: Cold.

FAVORITE MUSIC: He can listen to just about anything. He enjoys a lot of punk and his favorite band is Dead Kennedys.

FAVORITE COLOR: Purple.

FAVORITE MOVIES: Horror is his favorite genre, it's the genre he works in most for a reason, but he does enjoy cinema as a whole. His favorite movie is It Follows and he makes pretty much everybody watch it.

FAVORITE SPORTS: He likes hockey well enough but he doesn't watch it regularly. He'll just occasionally watch some stuff on youtube or catch a game on a TV while he's out and about.

FAVORITE DRINKS: Pepsi or redbull. Good rule of thumb is to not talk to him before he's had a chance to drink some caffeine.

FAVORITE FOODS: Snow crab legs, but only eats them when he wants to treat himself.

HEALTH

PHYSICAL: Bad eyesight, but other than that he's perfectly healthy. He has contacts to correct his vision.

MENTAL: ADHD, BPD, and OCD. He has a good handle on his BPD and OCD with the help of medications and coping mechanisms, however he tends to forget or not want to take anything for his ADHD because he feels like it dulls him as a person. Which is not at all true, but it's a thought that's stuck in his mind.

ALLERGIES: Dogs, chickens. Just the feathers on chickens though.

SLEEPING HABITS: Awful! Spirits constantly try to bug him during his sleeping hours so it can be difficult to get any sleep when he avoids it. Gets a few hours and is often exhausted.

EXERCISE HABITS: Decent work out schedule. Works out three times a week and regularly walks.

EATING HABITS: He's trying to be more mindful about what he puts in his body and is currently trying to eat healthier, however he does still love his junk food. It can be hard.

SOCIAL: Extroverted. Loves being around people and meeting new people, it puts a lot of pep in his step.

BODY: Scrawny, but has some muscle. Stronger than he looks, his body is just naturally small framed.

ADDICTIONS: Caffeine and nicotine. He's trying to quit smoking, but it's not going great.

DRUG USE: None ever.

ALCOHOL: Very rarely. He gets very nervous around alcohol so if he does drink, he watches himself very carefully.

FAMILY

MOTHER: Karen McDermott.

FATHER: William "Billy" McDermott.

SIBLINGS: Only child.

PETS: A teddy bear guinea pig named Josh.

PARTNER: faolán mackenzie ( fiancee )

Biography

Lee is a teenage runaway, his story contains mentions of child abuse, alcoholism, drug abuse, and ghosts...Obviously.

When someone walks the very thin line between life and death, things can happen. So even after the doctors said to expect the worse, after Lee's technical two deaths, and after fighting for weeks----he makes it out alive. He shatters the unseen barrier between the living and the dead. Some people might say communicating with the dead is a GIFT, but he prefers the term ANNOYING BURDEN.

Adults passed off the hushed whispers to seemingly no one and the quick glances towards nothing in particular as a sign that Lee held a very ACTIVE imagination. He certainly did, but this certain aspect in his life WASN'T the imagination running wild. Kids were harder to handle, they were brutal towards the weird kid who talked to himself. As Lee grew older, the more he learned how to keep it all in. He didn't converse with the dead in public, he learned to keep his focus on the living----he learned how to act like he wasn't special.

He's six when his dad first shows him his first HORROR movie and it sparks something in him. Who knew KILLER KLOWNS FROM OUTER SPACE would create an OBSESSION for the dark and gritty world of horror. It was easier to relate to characters because of his abilities and as he'd get older he'd find it as a coping mechanism. No matter how HORRIFYING his own life would seem, there was no way it was GETTING KIDNAPPED BY A SERIAL KILLER AND CUTTING OFF YOUR OWN FOOT horrifying.

His parents get divorced when he's young, their marriage just isn't working out. They spend more time screaming and clawing at each other's throats than anything else. Their YOUNG LOVE spark is gone and it's just devolving into hate at this point. He doesn't quite get it, but he has other things to worry about. He has his grades to focus on and the dead to actively ignore ( it's a full time job ). His mom gets full custody of him, she has a better job and can support the two of them while his dad crashes on his friend's couch until he can save up enough from his shitty job to get his own place.

His mom starts dating. He's fine with it at first, as long as she's happy. He doesn't even realize his mom is drunk, just that she comes home acting weird. It starts a pattern. His mom starts seeing terrible, abusive men and her drinking habits become more and more apparent. He tries his best to help her, but he's a CHILD and she won't accept his help. Her focus on him lessens with time and soon he's just a kid that lives with them rather than her son. His dad gets a new girlfriend and she's jealous of him---he takes up too much of his dad's attention when he's there. She starts to hate him and eventually his dad begins to fade out of the picture. He starts to learn he needs to survive on his own.

Fourteen and things begin to spiral. Ghosts start to become more violent towards him and SCREAM when they can't get him to help. He's just a kid The abuse from his mom worsens as she lashes out at him and he's neglected more often than not. He starts stealing just to eat. Which attracts a VERY BAD group of people his way. They want someone fast and good with their hands to steal for them and Lee was desperate for a friend and was already one of the fastest kids on his track team. So he goes from a good kid with good intentions to doing terrible things just to make sure someone stays for him. He has to be useful for them. The comfort from watching horrors aren't doing it anymore. He's either too numb or too scared to keep going.

Sixteen and a lot happens in a year. He comes out as transgender and his family doesn't approve, he expected that. They mark it off as a phase and go out of their way to remind him he's supposed to be a GIRL. He meets his best friend that year. Haley, someone who managed to see more than some terribly troubled kid. They reminded him he was someone and he was actually WORTH something. It didn't stop him from dropping out of high school when things got TOO overwhelming, but it did help him try and focus on his end goal. Get the fuck out of this horrible town.

Seventeen and the guy he's been off and on with loses his temper. He hits him and Lee snaps. He's not going to let what happened with his mom happen to him. He's not going to be pushed around by some cowardly guy with an out of control anger. So he packs his things and asks Haley to run off to L.A with him. It's hard at first. They're homeless teenagers, finding a job is hard, and there are more ghosts in a big city than there is a small town. He attracted them, they lashed out, he got scared, but it wasn't going to make him run back home. Not yet, not when he knows he can make it. He's a talented kid. They get jobs and eventually raise enough money to get a shitty, cheap ( cheap in L.A standards anyway ) apartment. They barely scrape by some months, going some weeks without power or water. It was a lot more difficult than he imagined it being.

He starts to transition and he lands a part in some small films, lands a few decent roles in some indie movies. It's a dream come true, but it's not enough to live off of. He's struggling and he wishes he would have thought everything out more than he actually did. He's happier, though. He's not in a toxic environment and he can finally be himself. It's still not EASY for a mentally ill kid, but it's better.

Then at the age of nineteen, he gets an audition for a BIG, ANTICIPATED HORROR. The director's well known and is pretty trust worthy with the genre so the chance has Lee's stomach in flips. Then his power finally comes in handy----a nice ghost girl makes a deal with him. She'll take notes of the auditions and the comments their reactions and report back to him, if he got the part he would have to help her move on. Sure enough, he lands it! It's a big part, one of the leads. He still DIES in the end, but it's more than he could have hoped for.

It's his big break. The movie is successful for a horror and the reviews weren't nearly as harsh as he had expected. Some critics even praised his performance! Thank God for that sweet ghost who helped him get what he wanted. He starts to get more offers, land more roles, get more recognized---his dream's coming true. Things are still DIFFICULT for him, but it's BETTER.

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