#flo is writing . . .
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— a lesson in dancing ˚⁎⁺ levi ackerman x gn!reader
Levi doesn't think you should be with an old man like him. You show him otherwise.
Or: in a post-war life, Levi learns to dance again.
content — Post-war, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Some internalized ableism from Levi but Reader helps him get through it, Reader is younger than Levi, Slow dancing, Basically a whole lot of comforting Levi in this one (wc: 2.3k). For reference - I headcanon that Levi uses a wheelchair most of the time, but that at home, he'll opt for a cane.
Crossposted on AO3.
“You should find someone younger to be with.”
At first, you aren’t sure if you heard Levi correctly. It’s still early; the sunrise barely reaches the town's tiled roofs. Sparrows nibble around you, scavenging for breakfast. Everything is at a complete standstill.
Then you glance up from this morning’s newspaper. Levi is staring at the youth gathered around the city square.
“What did you say?” you ask.
Levi’s attention settles onto you, a half-lidded stare that’s no less charged than in his prime as the Captain.
“You’re still young," he mutters. "You’re still whole."
Well, if he didn't have your attention before, he certainly has it now.
You place your reading onto the café table, right next to the cup of coffee the waiter just brought. Your fingers linger on the edges of the newspaper, bending the corners with your thumb.
“Levi, I don’t want to be with someone else," you say, slow like you were carefully weighing each syllable with care. "I want to be with you.”
"You say that, but I can’t give you that.”
You frown, following his changing line of sight, back to the youth. In the distance, couples dance, following music coming from an accordion. They step and twirl, a resounding cheer (“ha!”) echoing with every count of twelve.
It brings you straight back to Paradis, to life within the Walls, to evenings spent in dingy taverns. Hange and Miche used to love dancing; they loved to drag you along. You wonder if Levi is thinking about those nights too.
"Are you talking about us dancing?”
The knot in Levi's throat bobs. He swallows it down with an almost bitter expression. “That, and more. Just look at me.”
“I’m looking, Levi.”
If only he knew—you’ve been looking all along.
All these years of fighting side by side, of fighting against titans and humans, of trying to bring peace to the world.
Just to arrive at a time and place where you could look at him.
And the sight grounds you.
Levi's eyes—one milky white and shuttered, the other a deep gray that reminds you of muted skies. His hair, silky black, embellished from the passage of time with strands of silver (like starlight, you think). A pearl-colored scar that twists below his lash line, running across the left side of his face, currently glowing from the dewy morning sun.
Everything about Levi has always been beautiful.
Despite that, you watch Levi retreats in his shell. His expression hardens and his knuckles tighten. It's the same old reaction you've grown accustomed to seeing. Levi did it Then, in Paradis, and he's doing it Now, in this new life.
But you? You rip through it, cut the distance apart. The feet of your chair rattles against the cobblestone of the street as you draw near. By the time you're settled at his side, you’re close enough to count the freckles splattered on the tip of nose.
“Levi, listen to me. You’re enough just the way you are. We can go through life as we please. Isn’t that enough?”
Levi remains silent, setting his posture like iron.
You tug at the hems of his shirt, twirling the fabric around your index. “Hey, c'mon now. Have I ever told you how handsome you are in the early morning?”
“Tch, don’t patronize me. You must want more than to be stuck with an old man like me.”
“What if I like my old man?”
“You should be with someone younger.“
“Who says?”
“I’m saying.”
Levi’s deadpan expression doesn’t falter under your even gaze, but his lower lip opens up slightly, as if he were trying to even out his breathing. A blue vein tenses down his neck. You have the urge to smooth it with the back of your hands.
But you focus on his words instead.
“Levi, where’s all of this coming from?”
“Does it matter?”
“Yes, of course, it matters. If it's making you have these thoughts, it matters.”
Levi's eyes narrow. You sigh.
“Fine, you stubborn man. You wanna know what I see?” you say under your breath.
There’s something vulnerable tied to Levi’s gaze. You hold onto it, sliding your fingers through his hair to brush care into his scalp. Your thumbs linger over the crow’s feet permeating the corner of his eyes. A constellation of wrinkles and spots dust Levi's skin, an aftermath of time and sun exposure. You run a delicate digit over all of it, ending along his scarred lash line.
Levi swallows loudly.
“When I look at you, Levi, I see the pain of someone who was asked to grow up much too fast. I see the face of a man who had to shoulder the weight of survival all by himself. I see the life of a soldier who has fought for peace so that all of them,” your head bobs in the youth’s direction, “now get to enjoy a quiet Saturday morning where they can dance without a care in the world.”
Levi glances over your shoulders, fixing a point like it was the most interesting thing in the world.
You bring your hands along the sides of his jaw, directing his attention back to you. “Levi, you’re everything I want. We fought for a decade to be here. Why can’t you recognize that?”
He attempts to shake his head. “You deserve more.”
“That's for me to decide."
"I disagree."
"You always trusted my judgment as a soldier, so please extend me that same courtesy in this life here. Trust me to know what I want.”
“S’not the same.”
“It is. I dedicated my heart to the Scouts back then, didn’t I? And now I’m dedicating it to you.”
Levi’s ears turn pink, his lips tightening into a pout that cannot be described as anything else but coy. “Tch, don't say shit like this in public.” He attempts to lean away from your touch, but you teasingly play with strands of his hair, coxing him to utter stillness.
You lift a brow.
Levi stays quiet. Your knees bump with his, and you remain close while you watch him think your words over. Somehow, though, you can tell he’s grateful to have you here with him. You’re the one still by his side after all these years of death and pain and misery.
The one who stayed.
And Levi conveys his gratitude by reaching to you at last, slow like he were afraid to be stung. He loops his fingers around your own, his thumb gliding against the pulse point on your wrist. Once he has his hold on you, he doesn't let go, slowly stroking your skin with his thumbs.
You exhale in solace.
“So, what's the verdict?" you murmur. "Should I continue praising you?”
He releases your hands. “Please don’t.”
You chuckle, moving to grab the newspaper once more. Today’s headline talks of peace negotiations, negotiations that are to be handled by Commander Armin Arlert.
“Listen, I meant what I said, Captain," you tell Levi as you smooth over the article, ready to pour your attention onto it. "Like it or not, you’re stuck with me now.”
Levi clears his throat as he takes a sip of tea. “Careful, soldier, that almost sounded like a marriage proposal.”
This time, it’s your turn to get flustered. You hide behind your wall of reading and when you peer over the newspaper, you swear there’s a ghost of a smirk tugging at Levi’s lips.
The evening is setting. Outside, waves crash against the cliffs while seagulls croak in swarms. You don’t pay attention to the noise; you’re inside the little cottage you and Levi share, too busy tweaking the machine Onkyankopon gifted you. It's a vinyl player—a machine which lets you play music records. Admittedly, you aren’t well-versed with these modern inventions, but this one you’re excited to use.
The record you’ve placed into the vinyl player comes from Onkyankopon’s home town. It promises a soothing journey filled with emotional highs—just what you need. With a grin plastered on your face, you press the play button. The tonearm hits the record and a lovely crack sounds across the living room. You lower the volume, and turn around.
“Levi, you coming?”
You hear a grunt in response, echoing across the narrow corridor of the house. “There’s no fire under my ass, is there?”
“Just a very excited me is all.”
Several moments later, Levi walks in, cane in hand. He’s fresh out of the shower. His hair is still wet, bangs clinging to the sides of his forehead, and his cheeks still have that rosy hue that comes from him washing it thoroughly. He’s wearing a freshly ironed shirt, and what Marleyans call jeans (which, incidentally, make his ass look great).
Your stomach flutters.
Levi raises a brow. “What did you want to show me?”
“Oh.” You blink, remembering your plan. “Right. Please, c'mon here.”
He does, walking towards you, something cautiously guarded on his face.
You roll your eyes and shoot him a playful smile. “It’s not a trap, I promise.” Your fingers move to the collar of his gray shirt, feeling the rough fabric of cotton between your fingertips. The color matches his gaze, it brings out the smoothness of his pale skin.
He really is pretty.
You tell him as such.
He scoffs, a lovely pink hue dusting the tips of his ears. “Don’t say shit like that.”
You shrug. “We’re not in public anymore, are we?”
“Spare me.”
“But I like to compliment you."
"That's not my problem."
"Fine, old man. Then I suppose I should show you.”
His eyes narrow, not unkindly or in an annoyed manner, but with the regard of someone who dislikes surprises, who knows you’re up to something.
You detach yourself from him for a moment, striding over to reach for the volume button and turning it up. As soon as the slow violin and piano tug through the air, you turn towards him with a grin.
“Let’s dance,” you announce.
To Levi’s credit, he doesn’t appear all that surprised by this turn of events. Well, he’s known you over a decade, so you suppose he’s learned a thing or two about you.
You take his wooden cane out of his hands, carefully placing it against the wall. For a moment, the two of you just stare at each other from across the small room, admiring one and another. Moonlight trickles into the room, gracing Levi with its touch. His gray stare is aglow, his hair like silver. Like starlight, indeed.
Taking a slow step in his direction, you slide into his arms, and he welcomes you like you were made to belong there all along. You take his invitation with a smile, offering him support for his leg while you bask in the comfort of his embrace. Levi places his left hand over your shoulder, the other finding a home along your ribs, fingers slotting along every bone. Safety. His touch sparks warmth across your body, and you bring your hands to the back of his neck, delicately smoothing his undercut.
“The music is starting,” you murmur into the shell of his ear. Tingles spread through your veins.
“Yeah, it is.”
The music isn’t anything like the one you heard on the square today. This track is slow and intimate, and so, your dancing adapts to it. At first, you take the lead, only taking occasional small steps back, hips swaying with the soft melody. Levi follow closely, so close that you listen to his heartbeat quicken beneath your touch.
Half a minute later, Levi surprises you by carefully taking one of your hands between his own, dragging his thumb over your knuckles. He guides you back into a slow spin, and you feel the air expand in your lungs as you take several steps away from him, watching your two shadows ripple over the silver spotlight. When he tugs you back and your vision spins, you think how perfectly your bodies align together.
“Levi, why are you so good at this?” you chastise playfully.
“Erwin used to make me attend these fancy balls in the Interior,” he says in your ear, the tenor of his voice rumbling against your skin. “I learned there.”
“Huh, that’s true. I remember the tuxedos you and Erwin wore now that you mention it." You chuckle. "You both looked devilishly handsome.”
“We looked like two pretentious snobs, you mean.”
"You say that, but I think Erwin took you along for a reason. We always did get the funding for every expedition.”
“Yeah.” There’s a note of fondness for Erwin and past memories, things you aren't exactly privy to, but that you're glad he gets to cherish all the same.
You come to rest a cheek close to his neck, submerging yourself with the warmth of his skin. “I guess this little dance doesn’t measure up to the lavish balls you’ve attended, right?”
His hand tightens around your own. “No, this is better.”
You smile at his words.
It isn’t until a moment later that you realize the music has stopped, that you’re both still slow dancing to silence. Outside, the sound of waves remains.
Slowly, you untangle yourself from Levi, looking at him like he were the lighthouse guiding you back to shore. Levi’s attention is already fixed on you, his face filled with quiet fondness. There's starlight in his gaze.
“You see," you say. "We can dance, you and I.”
Levi raises a hand towards you, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “If we can teach your clumsy ass some rhythm, sure.”
“Hey, don’t be mean.”
Levi snorts, and before you can say anything else, he surprises you by leaning over to press a kiss over your forehead.
And under the moonlight, you watch him at peace, and all feels right.
— Masterlist / Join my taglist / Heart divider by saradika-graphics - the rest is by me.
Tag list: @l3visthighs, @bejewelledd, @nube55, @loyal2rin, @leviisgf, @thephantomtheory, @levilxvr, @halloweenmedic, @notgoodforlife, @sixpennydame, @youre-ackermine, @starrylevi
#postwar levi ackerman#levi x reader#levi ackerman#levi x gn!reader#attack on titan#captain levi#levi attack on titan#levi x you#levi ackerman x reader#levi x y/n#aot levi ackerman#levi ackerman x you#levi aot#attack on titan x you#levi fanfiction#levi x oc#ao3 fanfic#attack on titan fanfiction#aot#flo's oneshots#aot spoilers#flo is writing . . .
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pairings: yang jungwon x f! reader
warnings: hybrids + barbed cock + noncon + babytrapping + creampies + breeding + cervix fucking + pregnancy + biting
kitty hybrid! jungwon is so clingy :( he cant help it, needs to be around you all the time n mewls when you deny his cock attention.
when he smells you ovulating he bides his time til you finally fall asleep n slips his dick inside your wet cunt. his barbed cock hurts so good n it wakes you up.
“wonie? what are you —ah — doing?” your kittyboy drops his head on your shoulder n sighs, “please let me fuck you.”
you try to find the nerve to make him stop but you can’t, not when it feels so good. “mkay wonie but you have to pull out.”
he whines in response, “‘m serious! don’t cum inside.” jungwon doesnt reply and you think it’s cus he’s so fucked out n just let him continue his movements.
he’s so close and can’t resist cumming inside, sinks his teeth deep in your neck n it makes you go limp, unable to push him away and the feeling of his load shooting directly into your womb combined with the pain from his bite makes your pussy clench n it’s not long before you reach your own orgasm.
“feels so good, wanna cum in you again,” he purrs, “will let me fill you up, sweetheart? wanna get you pregnant”
you’re too cockdrunk to focus on his words and he takes advantage of your failure to reply. “shouldn’t have even asked ‘s not like i was gonna stop if you said no, baby.”
you can hear the smirk on his face as he continues to plow into you, cockhead kissing your cervix with each thrust. his only mission is to breed you properly n knock you up <3
#flo if u see this : this is for u bc u put jungwon in my head#and now i#have hybrids on my mind 😵💫#decided to use hybrid won an experiment#if u guys want jungwon stuff lmk !!!! maybe i will write more :3#♡.the honeypot#yang jungwon#enhypen#yang jungwon x reader#yang jungwon smut#enhypen x reader#enhypen smut#💌.hybrids#💌.noncon#💌.babytrapping#💌.creampies#💌.breeding#💌.cervix fucking
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plspls do smut fic with dr ratio x reader
yk the one that you reblogged, the one with the “fuckfuck” sub x “watch your language “ dom? DO SMUT OF IT PLSPLS
link
your chest rise and falls as you try to catch your breath, and the position you’re in is not helping at all. your mouth falls agape slightly as dr ratio angles himself into you, the tip of his cock rubbing deliciously against your g-spot.
your legs shake on his shoulders, and you shy away from his intense gaze. he has you in a mating press, your legs close to your head, dangling on his broad shoulders as he leans down to give you a kiss. embarrassing noises leave you as his hands grip at your ankles, forcing himself further into you.
“fuck fuck fuck—”
strings of curses fly put uncontrollably from how good he feels stretching you out in his position.
“careful, now. use such words again, and see if you get to cum tonight.” his brows furrow down at you, clearly displeased at the use of such foul language.
another cry escapes you as he plunges harder into you, and more uncivilized words roll of your tongue.
“what’d I say?”
but these warnings only spur you on.
he groans when you clench around him, tight enough for him to know that it was intentional. “or what? you’ll fucking—” your words cut off as he kisses you again, roughly this time, sticking his tongue into your mouth, shutting you up.
“then I’ll show you what it means to fuck.”
#LISTEN TO RODEO (REMIX) BY LAH PAT AND FLO MILLI WHILE READING THIS PLEASE#LOVE MAKING AT THE START#TO FUCKING AT THE END#😵💫ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི#OMG IM SO GIDDY#🀥 lan’s writings!#☃︎ anons!#hsr#honkai star rail#dr ratio#dr ratio x reader#veritas ratio hsr#veritas ratio x reader#veritas ratio smut#dr ratio smut
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Moodboard:
Headcanons:
Postwar Levihan
It's been three years since the war ended. Against all odds, Hange survived & lives with Levi. They found an abandoned cabin in a remote area near Liberio, miraculously spared as well as the bunch of trees that hides it from sight.
Day after day, they fixed up their new home as best they could. It’s not much but it’s their safe, shared home & it’s all that matters.
Once settled, none of them could stay out of the action. Hange works in what remains of Liberio, in a makeshift hospital occupying the ground floor of a half-destroyed building. They help treat sick or injured people several days & nights a week.
There isn’t enough room at the hospital so they managed to set up a lab at home where they can do some research, mostly about new medications or even prosthetics. Levi stays at home most of the time, taking care of the house, growing a vegetable garden, cutting wood & planting more trees around their cabin. In his glass house, Levi enjoys raising flowers, but he also sowed medicinal herbs for Hange’s experiments. Every once in a while, he goes to Liberio to help refugees, mostly children who lost their parents during the war.
Valentine's Day
A couple weeks ago, Gabi & Falco told Levi about Valentine’s Day, a tradition unknown on Paradis Island. As much as it seemed futile at first, Levi couldn't stop mulling over the idea.
After several days of wearying work, Levi convinced Hange to rest properly for once.
Sitting on the bed next to them, he takes a few moments to gaze at Hange’s sleepy face. He finds them beautiful, despite the burns. Or maybe he loves them even more because of these scars, a testament to their bravery. He’s so grateful they’re here with him, brightening his days with their cheerful, beaming smile, the very smile he fell in love with.
Meanwhile they sleep in on their day off, he busies himself getting tea ready for breakfast, packing some food & a blanket in a basket, slicing vegetables for the stew simmering in the pot over the fire.
Levi is waiting for Hange in the hall while they put the bouquet of snowdrops he picked for them earlier this morning in a vase. They blushed & stammered a shy thank you when he drew it from behind the basket placed on his lap.
He promised himself today would be special. Nothing fancy, but a few hours for themselves without work or chores.
Hange would push his wheelchair along the paths nearby, blabbering about their research, asking him a million questions about the garden or the herbs he grows, about the pain in his leg. From time to time, they would lean down to kiss him on the cheek, giggling like a shy teenager. They would find a nice place to spread a blanket on the grass & enjoy their picnic. They would spend the afternoon watching clouds, Levi listening with fondness to Hange’s explanations about their shapes or how they form. When the sun would start to set & the breeze to be too cold, they would go back home & take a bath to warm themselves.
Hange would stuff their face with the most delicious stew they ever tasted. They would settle with a contented sigh & a glass of wine in front of the fireplace, snuggled up against Levi under a warm blanket.
Levi would say he's not good with words. Levi would draw a little box out of his pocket & simply give it to Hange. Levi would gently slide the jewel on Hange's finger, not a proposal but rather a promise.
The promise to spend the rest of their lives together.
Happy Valentine's Day ❤️
Moodboard, header & dividers: @youre-ackermine
Requested by: Flo @littlerequiem 🌹
A/N: Snowdrops are a symbol of hope, new beginnings, renewal, comfort, capacity to triumph over challenges, beauty & purity// English is not my usual language // Click on the moodboard for better quality
#val-entine's day event 2024 ❤️#levi ackerman#hange zoe#levi x hange#levihan#levihan moodboard#levihan headcanons#snk moodboard#snk headcanons#aot moodboard#aot headcanons#shingeki no kyojin#attack on titan#lovely moots 💕#flo 🌹#littlerequiem#val writes ✍️#val's moodboards 🌺#val's headers 🔳#val's dividers 🧱
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light up my lover's way
BLIND DATES FEST 2024
featuring: Florence 'Flo' Godfrey and Captain Bernard 'Benny' DeMarco + Meatball being the ultimate wingman
Absolutely beyond excited to put this out. Florence has been living in my brain for some time, but Masters of the Air and @blind-dates-fest (thank you Merc for the fun!) offered the perfect opportunity to do some writing and recently, with the episodes we've gotten, I've become a big DeMarco fan and wanted to see what I could do. I tried to really nail down how I could write him since we don't have a whole lot of content from him, and I didn't feel the most comfortable writing in the MoTA universe yet just because I wanted to see all the episodes first, but I wanted to give it the old college try and really enjoyed how this piece and how Florence came out! She was a treat to write and considering her story, this was a night for her well deserved! I missed out last year because of school stress and this year, wanted to be kinder to myself and allow some time to test out the waters with writing in MoTA. Please enjoy Flo and her time with DeMarco! :)
The mirror stared back at her with a more than poignant look on her face, as she gazed at her rugged-looking hair that had surely seen better days.
Extensive time out in the sun on the tarmac, with plenty of harsh oils and chemicals meant for planes and not exactly hair would do the trick though. Self-assured, she reached back and ripped a brush through the caramel ends of her hair that were in need of cutting and sighed quietly to herself before glancing back at her reflection.
Lemmons had encouraged her to take the night off - you've been working hard, Godfrey, take the night to get a drink or better yet, a full night of sleep where you're not thinking entirely about all things plane-related. She'd been pretty hesitant, she'd even told him that he was the one who needed the night off, but he'd quickly brushed some dirt off her shoulder, helped her scrub out the paint stain from her OD jacket and then promptly shoved her off in the direction of the celebration in the nearby hall that a good portion of the men and pilots had gathered into. She'd taken the time to gather herself, clean herself up and look presentable, but she was left appearing hesitant to even leave her room.
Florence Godfrey felt more mechanic some days than woman, but on days like that, she usually found some of the Red Cross girls and spent nights trading cigarettes, telling stories and sharing coffee from the potbelly stove in the corner that worked to keep them all warm. Sometimes, she tried to work so stringently that when she got in, she'd lay down and reflect and cry.
But, tonight wouldn't be one of those nights, no, her hands weren't covered in grease, her hair wasn't matted with sweat and her boots weren't soaked with mud and ice-cold water.
No, she actually had washed up, powdered her face, pulled a bit of lipstick onto her slightly chapped lips, and smiled to herself, the dress that fell below her knees a beautiful baby-bird blue.
Lemmons had been right - finally do something for yourself, give yourself the wheel of life. She wanted to do that for herself, more than anything.
The celebration in the hall was dying down - she took a glance at her watch - it was past midnight and people were slowly pouring out, a few couples still slowly swaying in the middle of the floor, some others milling about or talking quietly with gentle smiles in corners outside of the main doors.
Florence smiled quietly to herself - even just to get a drink that wasn't her inhaling water to keep herself from feeling parched. She'd never really allowed herself a freedom like this away from the planes, away from the other mechanics and ground crewmen. She'd always told herself to do her job, do what was needed of her and then bed out and wake the next time she was needed. She had always been like that though ever since working with Dad at the Navy Yard as a 9-year-old, learning all the bits and bobs that made things run and function.
Florence waded into the softly lit bar where only a few people were still at, finishing last minute drinks or basking in the quietly gleaming Billie Holiday singing 'If You Were Mine' over the speakers in the corners of the room. Florence walked up to the edge of the bar and offered a smile at the bartender who came towards her and offered a smile back and nodded.
"What can I interest you in tonight, Miss….?"
"Godfrey. Florence Godfrey," Florence said with a soft smile, "I'll take a French 75 if it's possible." The bartender smiled with a nod and turned away, whisking himself away to start prepping. Florence grinned to herself and then looked up towards the wooden ceiling, covered in pretty lights and patterned carvings.
Suddenly, she felt a presence at her….feet? Florence took a moment to think before looking down and seeing a beautiful, gray dog sniffing at her shoes, a brown harness around his soft fur and his puppy-dog eyes quickly looking up at her in excitement and glee.
"Awe, hello there!" Florence said, kneeling down in front of the mixed-husky dog, petting his face, her heart immediately softening at the sight as she laughed quietly to herself, "Aren't you the prettiest thing I've seen in months." The dog licked at her cheeks and she let out a laugh as she rubbed behind his ears, the dog's tongue hanging out as his whole body seemed to shake with excitement, tail in all directions.
"Hey, Meatball, don't go sneaking up on the ladies," a voice called from behind the dog.
Florence looked up from, if she caught the name correctly - Meatball, the dog - and found instead one of the pilots of the B-17s walking towards her, gentle eyes lingering on her, long enough for a crimson color to rush her cheeks, his hair dark and nicely cut and styled, and the small smile on his face suddenly making her think that this pilot was actually the prettiest thing she'd seen in months. Florence felt a warmth enter her body, a quiet calm overcoming her as she felt an uncontrollable smile cross her lips, as she slowly rose back to her feet and watched the pilot come closer, the thrum of a quiet Louis Armstrong song entering her ears.
"Italian or Swedish?" Florence couldn't help but say as the pilot neared, his eyes deep and dark, but soothing and welcoming all the same. The pilot let out a soft laugh, his eyes trailing down to Meatball, the dog - she'd never get over how adorable that was - before looking to her.
"Italian." he said, with a nod, "Why? Don't think he fits the part?" Florence let out a quiet laugh and kneeled down again to Meatball and scratched beside his little head and laughed.
"I think he's adorable," she said, "how'd you get a hold on him?" The pilot smiled at her and leaned against the bar.
"Boarded a B-17 with me back in Greenland, was a real good sport the whole flight," the pilot said and then shrugged a bit, "I think I convinced him that he'd make a good co-pilot." Florence laughed as she stood to her feet again and looked at him with soft eyes.
"I don't think it'd be proper of me to only think of you as Meatball's Dad," she said, watching the small smile on his face quickly grow, "gotta name?"
"DeMarco. Captain Bernard DeMarco, but you can just call me DeMarco, whatever suites your fancy." he said, before chuckling slightly, before imitating, "Some of the guys like to yell, DeMarcooooo!" Then he looked to her and smiled.
"You don't have to do all that though," he said, leaning closer slightly, "Benny'll do just fine. Special cases." Florence stared at him quietly for a moment and then grinned.
"Benny it is…..Captain," she said, before holding out a hand, "Godfrey. Florence Godfrey, but you can just call me Godfrey, whatever suites your fancy." She smirked slightly at his face as he reached out and shook her hand.
"Some of the guys I work with like to yell," and she woefully imitated Lemmons, "Godfreyyyyy!" She then leaned closer to him and smiled up into his beautiful, tender eyes.
"You don't have to do all that though," she whispered, "Flo'll do just fine…..special cases." Benny stared at her for a moment, before breaking out into a wide smile and gently holding her hand in between them like a sacred piece of life.
"Goddess of flowers," he whispered quietly, his voice a soft rumble, "Flo." She smiled up at him.
"Ma thought it was pretty." she offered to him. He smiled at her in the dimmed light of the bar, that Ella Fitzgerald song she was always forgetting the name of somewhere above their heads, eyes warm and simply, only on her.
"Your Ma was right." he said back to her, staring at her with genuineness and fullness in his eyes. She felt her face warm and let out a laugh at his words, covering her mouth as she did so. Looking back up at him, she watched him stare right back at her and smiled as her hand fell from her mouth.
"I've never seen you around in here before," he said softly, "couldn't help but introduce myself, or well, Meatball, for introducing us." Florence looked down to Meatball, sat patiently staring up between them with his ever-caring eyes that dogs always seemed to have.
"He likes you," Benny said, his hand, which evidently was larger than hers, still clasped around her own, with no sign of disconnecting soon, "he's a friendly fella, but he don't just go up to anyone." Florence's eyes softened as she rubbed her free hand on top of Meatball's soft little head and glanced to Benny again.
"Dogs are probably some of the best creatures to ever walk to Earth," she said with a smile, "Sometimes they know us better than ourselves. I like to think sometimes they're protecting us, or….just there to guide us, be with us, give us someone who unconditionally loves you, ya know?" Benny's smile on his face was something that engrained itself quickly in her mind and he nodded.
"Yeah, yeah," he said softly, "I like to think of it that way, too." For a moment, as Ella Fitzgerald sang her part, the gentle thrum of a bass and brass to follow, they watched each other as if taking in the very quiet moment they had there between one another that night. An unexpected chance for Florence to get out of her normal gear and into a dress, to have her hands free of grease for the first time in a while, and to be looked at by a man with the softest eyes she'd ever seen - with a dog named after an Italian meatball no less.
"I'd ask for your hand in a dance, but I'm afraid that French 75 is calling your name and Meatball would take offense," Benny said, his eyes seemingly nervously flitting to the drink that had appeared at her side before meeting hers again, "and I know you're one of the women who works with the ground crews….I'd hate to steal an evening away from a good drink." Florence watched him.
"You know I work with the ground crews?" Benny nodded with a smile.
"You hang around Lemmons a lot," Benny offered, "and you work hard. We all see that. Buck does, too. Mentioned you were the best of the best. Didn't want to be too forward when I heard you tell the bartender your name." Florence watched him, as he gave Meatball a smile and a pet on the head before he looked to her again.
"Ma didn't raise me to be impolite either," he said with a nod, "and you've earned an off night like this and a drink like that."
"And a night getting to talk to a man like you." Florence said quietly to him, her heart starting to pound as he watched her - no one ever really had mentioned her in the way he had, having noticed her before and even made the effort to talk to her like he had. Her palms felt sweaty, and her mouth felt dry. Benny watched her for a moment as she took a sip of her drink and then looked to him.
"I'd be more than happy to spend a night dancing with you," she whispered.
There was something unspoken behind her words - like the realization was still there, they just hadn't mentioned in. In war, moments like this were precious and sheltered and held close in the palms of their hands. A night with someone with tender eyes was worth more than enough money in the world to her, especially in wartime. The thought saddened her heart and her mind as she stared at Benny DeMarco, with that million-dollar smile and those eyes. Benny let out a shaky breath that he looked like he'd been holding in and reached forward to take her hands in his and leaned forward the slightest bit so the only things she could see and hear were him and his voice.
"With you? I'd consider it a privilege." he whispered and then pressed a soft kiss to her hands clasped in his and then gently pulled her towards the open dance floor where only a few couples were left and had made it this late in the night. Wrapped in each other's warm embraces there in the middle of the floor, Billie Holiday's voice singing in the eves, and the gentle sway of their bodies so intimately close there, Florence let herself dance softly that night with Benny DeMarco.
Florence let herself live a bit for once.
#yeah i love them#THEM#*holds gently in hands*#*sobs*#florence 'flo' godfrey#bernard demarco#+meatball fav of favs#love meatball being the wingman#masters of the air#hbo war#mota#blind dates fest 2024#this was an utter JOY to write i hope anyone who reads also enjoys!!!#love these two with my whole heart!#flo deserves to live a little :)#mota writings
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― PINK CAMELLIA.
diluc, kaeya, zhongli x reader.
“longing for you.” + angst
WARNING(S) : just...pining. a horrific amount of pining. that's it, that's the plot, unrequited but not unrequited love, and a shit load of feelings left unsaid.
#main masterlist | flos anthalogy masterlist
&& . diluc ragnvindr · ( he lies to his heart ; the words stay unsaid )
“IS SOMETHING WRONG?” you ask, nervously shifting away one of the boxes as you look up at him with parted lips and a raised brow. He catches himself staring ( and he was always staring at you, across the street, from the bar, during your little talks and the conversations held during the afterhours; staring but never moving closer left the illusion shattering ) and shakes his head with the tiniest of smiles. It was there, but easily missable save for the sharp eyed and witty.
Your shoulders relax and you nod. “Alright then…” you mumble, carefully placing a tea set wrapped in thick cloth into one of the boxes. “You’re quieter than usual today, ‘Luc…” you add. “But…thank you for helping me pack…”
And there it was, that damned smile, the smile that took away the rationale and sanity and his peace of mind. The smile that invades his thoughts at night and fills them with you and your peace and the comfort you came with.
“It’s no issue for me.” He replies. “I am always happy to help you…”
That was true, but not for this. Will you be safe? Will you be happy? Was he happy?
Diluc knew life was filled with the good and the bad. The memories of his youth, the time he and Kaeya once played within the brook just a little ways off the winery, the smile his father passes his way, the inside jokes between him, Elzer and Adelinde and you. You and your small apartment and your silly musings and your walls filled with half finished paintings.
( The smell of it all has long faded. The walls were empty; Diluc feels empty. )
There were the happy things, then the sad. The hours he had left, the minutes that ticked by, the fact that you were leaving. Paths diverged every day, people met then part ways and life sets its course once more, unbothered by it all. Diluc knows that. He knows that.
Why does it hurt?
( His hands were trembling. He wants it to stop. )
You laugh, placing the last of the boxes out and pause by the doorway. He takes you in, one last time.
Once upon a time, he may have found you a little annoying and strange; a bit of a sore spot, a presence he would have to put up with. Not now. Diluc would take all of you in, every part of you from the tiny peeving parts to the bits he adored ( and the silly nicknames, the ones that were so ridiculous and soft ).
He should tell you. He should, he ought to.
But he cannot. Because you were you, and he was Diluc. You were kind, and you deserved the world and someone safe. Not him. Never him.
So he stays quiet. He watches your belongings ( and the familiarity and the memories ) fill the cart. He watches your last checkup. He breathes in and he knows he should let you go. He should let you go ( even if Kaeya calls him foolish, if he is sick with worry, if he wants to pull you close and beg you to stay. Because Diluc knows this too : to love is to learn to lose. Because love was selfless, and it was cruel and it was pain and euphoria molded into one.
...fuck, he loves you... )
“I’ll be off then…” you declare. He snaps his head up. You were standing in front of him now. “I…I hope we see each other soon…” you add. “Shall we write often?”
“We shall.” he agrees and that provides a little bit of comfort. You smile again, but it seems subdued and suddenly, everything smells like you and Diluc buries his nose into your hair and hugs you back, tightly, desperately. Then you pull away ( and there it was again, the absence, the emptiness, the lacking of warmth ).
“Every week?”
“Twice a week,” he promises and he intends to keep it. You chuckle, tugging at the hem of your sleeves. “I…” the words stay heavy in his mouth. You tilt your head. “I wish you a safe journey, then.”
You board the carriage and Diluc stays and watches it disappear into the distance, till it’s nothing but a speck. His chest feels like it’s torn apart. His lips tremble. Pathetic, he thinks bitterly. Pathetic.
( In the distance, you curl up on your seat. Mondstadt was far behind you.
You wish he asked you to stay. )
&& . kaeya alberich · ( maybe when he was less of a child ; he'll say it )
HE WAS A FOOL, Kaeya thinks. Foolish, utterly insane.
But there was something in you he longs to touch, something that shone, that was beautiful — and he’d draw his hands back when he catches himself reaching out for it, he’d take a few steps back when he sees how he pursues you. He was a fool, he thinks again, because he was a coward. Because Kaeya does not know how to say he loves you.
( Why did he love you, another face in the crowd? Why did he think he loved you, him, a runaway child from a nation with no god and no place in this world? Why did he love you, someone who was nothing like him?
Kaeya does not know, because he was a fool. )
It scares him, how you could undo everything with just a touch. You could look his way and everything would stop, and maybe somewhere the flowers bloomed or the rains in Fontaine stilled or a part of Dragonspine thawed over — a part of his traitorous little heart would thaw over. “Pull yourself together now,” he would sigh to himself in the silence of the room, under the noise of the bar. His eyes would immediately find you after. He wants to slap himself.
Kaeya wants to hate you. He wants to revile the smile on your face. He wants to ask you why you’re so easily holding that dagger over his chest with little knowledge of its sharp edge. He wants to listen to you hum under your breath. He wants to kiss your knuckles and laugh at his jokes. He wants you gone. He wants to tell you everything he feels about you, everything and anything.
But the thoughts stay to himself.
He greets you amiably, hiding away the painful thump in his ribs.
He smiles away, masking the stutter in his voice, the tiny trip in his words, the tremble beneath the syllables.
His feelings stay hidden, another one of his secrets, something he would never disclose. No soul in Mondstadt would know of it, including you. Especially you. ( Because you dare, you dare to love him in return. You dare to light up when he stands in the same room, mirror his feelings in a way that didn’t seem twisted or wrong. )
Kaeya thinks that’s what scares him; his ability or lack thereof to keep those thoughts a secret How it felt so easy to open his mouth and let them come tumbling out into a messy pile that he’d rather not deal with. The feelings will leave, they will fade out and soon you’ll be another face in the crowd again, something of an ire but a fond memory. Kaeya was certain of it.
He still finds himself looking at you.
“Kaeya you fool.” he whispers to himself when his cheeks grow hot as you catch his gaze and you wave back at him. And the feelings stayed and they grew and they festered until it was the undeniable truth. He suffers in his silence, wrenching himself apart over his longing, over his wish to tear these feelings out of his chest with frustrated tears, with wanting to bask under the normalcy of you and the thoughts of something soft and loving.
He wants it to stop.
But Kaeya still pines, he watches from the corner of his eye, he vies for those moments of serendipity, he revels in those coincidental run ins, he takes in your similarities and differences, he wishes to meet your gaze and says he loves, to give you his heart just as you were ready to give yours. Kaeya wants those moments of sincerity in his ocean of lies, to witness you unfiltered.
But his lips stay sealed, the secret stays, hidden away amongst the countless others he holds and the lies he so seamlessly weaves. I love you, a part of him would yell when he says something else. I love you, please, I love you. But it stays muted, a pitiful noise in the background.
Because he was being foolish, because he does not know how to tell you he loves you, because Kaeya wants to touch something he knows he would only tear apart.
So he stays silent, for you.
( And maybe one day, he can smile and whisper those words into your ear beneath a ceiling. He could kiss you on the lips without the lies weighing him down.
But not today. )
&& . zhongli | rex lapis · ( to love is to lose again ; is it worth it? )
ZHONGLI HAS LIVED too long to be capable of love.
The years have washed it away, to leave behind weariness. Grief had watered it down and hardened his heart and loss left behind its silt. Zhongli has lived too long to love anymore, because the grief still remains — it always remains, warping but constant. Because he was the aftermath of burnout, of a man torn by war and too many names crossed away from those who once lived.
But a heart of stone is a heart nonetheless and the eyes of mortality drag him back down to earth ( because Zhongli never lost it. He never lost Guizhong’s teachings, nor did he lose the softness he once held for her. It simply stayed, waiting, waiting for another face that made him to stop, made him look, made him smile ). And he sees you one day, and something in his mind clicks.
You were meant to be a fond memory, a friend, someone who he cherished but not adored. You were meant to be someone appreciated at a distance, a soul who Zhongli would write into poetry in passing when your mortality takes you away. You were meant to be impermanent and fleeting ( a qingxing in bloom, a butterfly cupped within his hands ).
And then, Zhongli fell in love.
He fell in love with the ephemeral and time finally seemed to slow. The sunsets lasted longer, the moments of silence were drawn out, his hours at work seemed to span millenia. He sees himself facing a man less like Zhongli the rational, the even minded, the patient ( because the seconds feel too long now ) and more like Morax, hot blooded and hasty, who jumped at chances and lays out his contracts and strategies with cold tact ( Morax, who would do everything and anything to pull you to him, to sweep away for himself ).
It was strange and a little amusing and a little perplexing; seeing those years come undone by a single utterance of his name.
But Zhongli was in love.
( And he was afraid of losing again. )
You were young, ready to face the world, ready for your future. You stood your ground with resolution, with stubbornness, and you were kind and eager and bold. “I think I might be in love with you.” you had admitted one day and Zhongli thinks about it after, over and over, every time his mind wanders, every time he thinks he sees you in the crowd and every time he shuts his eyes in leisure.
Zhongli has lived a long time. Pain had worn him down, violence had weathered his gaze, blood stained his hands.
And love taught him grief again. Love taught him the fears of losing a beloved. Love taught him what was soft but painful. Zhongli knows that one day you will be long gone and he will remain. Zhongli knows you would have to live with this knowledge, of his immortality, of him standing beside you as a memento mori.
( He could not hide from you, he could not hide away a secret so vast. Because love needed trust and trust was not hiding away his eternity. )
He looks into your eyes and he sees another face he might lose, the looming call of death, the thought in his head, if it was worth it, worth the heartbreak. Every rational thought telling him to pull away, to stop himself from cupping that butterfly close, to stop himself from taking your hand, from telling you he loves you too. Was it worth it? He asks himself, trying to envision a future without you, should he let himself be further ensnared; to experience a momentary high, this respite after years of battle.
Should he tell you he loves you?
( Because he does, painfully so, passionately, sincerely, tenderly down to his very being, his very core. )
He looks into your eyes and he thinks it should be, and when you smile at him, he thinks he knows the answer.
❪⠀🎬⠀❫ AINE SPEAKS ;;
requested by : @x-zho
*evil laughter* "die potato." "not today".
taglist — @x-zho, @dustofthedailylife, @deus-lapidis, @silentmoths, @nebulaera, @aestellia, @ofoceansandtombsanew, @meimeimeirin.
AINE © 2022. do no plagiarize, repost or rework this piece.
#FLOS ANTHALOGY - 100 FOLLOWER EVENT#&&. my writing !!#genshin impact#genshin impact x reader#zhongli x reader#diluc x reader#kaeya x reader#childe x reader#diluc ragnvindr x reader#kaeya alberich x reader
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Hozier be listening to Megan Thee Stallion, Flo Milli, and Bree Runway??? Yeah I definitely gotta stan now. We love a cultured man.
#hozier#unreal unearth is an amazing album by the way#that man be wailing and I feel it in my soul 😫#megan thee stallion#flo milli#bree runway#unique writes
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dont think about (redhead) lightning having freckles all over his face and arms, Dont think about sally counting them or connecting them with a pen and calling them stars and constellations and DONT EVER think about how fucking silly they are. dear god theyre so in love. i thought about them once and exploded into confetti.
#cars 2006#lightning mcqueen#cars fandom#cars headcanons#memory’s headcanons#sally carrera#i love them so damn much its unbelievable#i need to write about them again maybe its christmas fic time#first time skating anyone?#(they kiss under the mistletoe at flo’s every time they are even in its vicinity)#salqueen#pixar cars
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no but really I can't stop thinking about it. Holly losing her entire team. Lucy losing hers. Flo being apprenticed by people probably only a bit older than her and losing them as well. the three-way venn diagram of Holly/Lucy/Flo where you have Lucy and Holly falling through windows and Holly and Flo stranded alone beside their dead friends throughout the night and all three of them as sole survivors of their teams. the way this is almost a normal thing in this world. these three girls who are so, so different but so, so the same because they're wounded in the same ways and just reacted to it differently. Flo broke completely and had to build herself back up from the rubble. Holly turned to taking support roles, lacking in the connections she used to have. Lucy got angrier and more reckless and isolated herself so she wouldn't be the cause of more people dying. all three of them are alone-ish when we meet them and all three of them are in different stages of their character arcs with their survivor identifies as the inciting cause of those arcs. and by the end they're not alone anymore. and they're not afraid of the connection any longer, to each other, or to others.
#LUCY HOLLY FLO GIRLS' TEAMUP SHORT STORY WHEN????#I'll write it if I have to. stick those girlies on a train and let 'em go crazy.#Lu rambles#INSANE ABOUT THEM. TRIFECTA OF SOLE SURVIVORS. MY BELOVED GIRLS.#L&c#Lockwood & co#lucy carlyle#holly munro#flo bones#meta finding tag
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My Double Trouble theory 👯♀️
Let’s just say i don’t think we’ve seen the only double act… ooh mysterious…
Ofc spoilers under the cut so read at your own risk. Nothings confirmed and I’m just guessing so feel free to laugh when I’m wrong
also, credit to @oliverslove and @sophie9608 for these leaked images
SO, anyone who’s dived into the islander leaks on @sophie9608 page has seen the Ozzy doppelgänger. It’s giving ‘ozzy wanted to know what was happening in casa so badly, he slapped on a bad disguise’. Seriously Ozzy the 2nd, what is that eyebrow slit???
but then I started thinking, well ozzy is in the double trouble poster, but so is Bella. Before the season we did say Oliver’s shirt man () looks like her. Coincidence? I THINK NOT. I’m onto you Roberto…
THEN, I started thinking even more (I’m a machine right after a coffee), has any other islander mentioned siblings so far? Mr Lewie has. Mr Lewie mentions he’s got a bunch of sisters and who looks like Lewie? Miss Flo, THATS WHO.
I’m not saying everyone’s got a twin but siblings?? This is possible but also Fusebox might just be lazy AF
maybe they’re just trying to save money on ‘meet the family’ plane tickets. Times are hard. Also, just because they look alike might not actually mean a thing, Ryan and Ivy are a couple in my play through so
I’m excited for the season!!
#I felt like Sherlock Holmes writing this#tbh my mc and Lewie already give siblings or dating so#litg#love island the game#litg s6#litg double trouble#litg lewie#litg bella#litg ozzy#litg Marshall#litg flo#litg Roberto
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Hi Terra 🩵❄️ To get into the winter spirit, could I request a festive prompt with #11 - snowball fight for Levihan? ~
Festive Fics
11: Snowball Fight
First Snow (Canon universe)
Levi, Hange, Moblit, Erwin (Mentioned: Isabel Magnolia)
701 words
Leaving the warmth of the barracks behind him, Levi stepped out into the cold courtyard. In only the space of a few hours it had become a world transformed. Snow lay in thick piles around the white stone walls. Above, the sky was as grey and empty as a blank slate. Whips of wind snatched up tiny flecks of snow like fallen stars and flung them to the earth. Low walls and withered tree branches were dusted with icing sugar sprinkled from the heavens. Levi’s feet remained frozen to the flagstones even as white whirled about him. As he looked up, flecks settled in his hair, gathered in force to coat the lapels of his black jacket. What had begun as light snow was now an audible pattering. And Levi could only stand and marvel at it, momentarily unaware of the cold as it seeped through layers of clothes to chill his senses.
He had never seen snow before. Not like this. Living in a state of eternal dusk for all those years, trapped below in the city’s Underground, he and Farlan and Isabel had only ever caught the barest glimpse of it. The towering staircases which wound up through darkness towards the surface sometimes glinted with old snow. When it fell in the city above, it graced the top steps with the thinnest layer, turned colder by clear sunlight and breathed upon by clean air. He could recall, even now, how Isabel had stood on her toes beneath a great circle carved out of subterranean rock. Here, the light had shone down like a gilded halo; harsh and cold. At her feet the ground was dusted with a meagre offering. She had reached to catch the flakes as they fell, only for each one to melt and vanish as they touched her trembling hand…
Yards from where Levi stood, Hange was approaching. They had become distracted from their previous conversation, only half-listening to Moblit’s reply and leaving their deputy to readjust the heavy pile of books in his arms. Undoubtedly, Levi was a fascinating subject. They wondered what he was thinking in that moment as he lifted out an arm, palm upturned. Already the snow was settling upon his dark sleeve… and yet his expression was one of quiet wonder. Levi’s mouth opened, as though on the precipice of talking to someone who wasn’t there. Instead, his unspoken words coiled away in rings of mist.
Noticing Hange, he dropped his arm to his side. His features had once again become guarded; lips thinned, eyes narrowed.
Then there came the sound of something cleaving the air. As he turned his head, Levi felt a movement of cool air skim the top of his ear. A wad of packed snow landed hard against the wall of the barracks.
Laughter carried across the frozen courtyard. One of the new recruits was stooping to scrape up more snow from the flagstones. A scout who had just opened the barracks’ door stood startled by the unprovoked blow which had so nearly narrowly missed his face.
“Tch…” Levi hissed through gritted teeth, “...making a damn mess out here…”
“Well Levi, perhaps we ought to teach them a lesson!” With that, Hange thrust the only book they were holding onto Moblit’s already impossible pile. Their deputy was left to totter as they bent down and scooped two handfuls of snow, just as the first recruit had done. Then, swinging their body around to face their attackers, they launched themself forward.
“Yahoo! Take that you punks!” Hange sent a snowball sailing through the air after them.
“...not bad.”
Levi swept a mass of snow into his bare hands, passing it from palm to palm to alleviate its cold sting. Sprinting skillfully around patches of ice, he joined in the fray. With a horrified look of recognition at the young thug, Levi’s victims turned to retreat. Clumps of snow rained down upon their backs.
“And they say you’ve never received formal training? Simply amazing, Levi!”
Erwin, who had been watching the scene unfold from beneath the archway of the castle’s great, oak doors, smiled to himself.
“Well Levi, looks like your wings are the real deal after all.”
#I just had to start with this one after it snowed this week 😭#and I couldn't help but think of the official art with Levi looking up at the snow#hope you like it Flo <3#levi ackerman#hange zoe#levihan#moblit berner#erwin smith#isabel magnolia#attack on titan#snk#snow#festive fics#my writing
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— wings of snow, wings of freedom ˚⁎⁺ levi ackerman x gn!reader
You teach Levi how to make snow angels.
Turns out warm things can blossom in winter, too.
content — Levi’s POV, Snow & Winter, Fluff, Soft!Levi, Blushing, Kisses, Established Relationship, Mentions of Isabel and Furlan, Grief (wc: 1.4k) Please note that those living above the Underground are referred to as “upsiders”.
Crossposted on AO3.
Winters are a drag. Endless days of white, filled with the kind of cold that bites, and not nearly enough distractions to occupy restless minds.
Levi hates winter. He hates the cold.
He doesn’t know if it’s the fact that he grew up lacking sun or that he is, as doctors like to say, too scrawny—but he’s always fucking cold. This is his third year above ground, and he’s still not used to the changing weather.
But you... you love winter. You get damn excited when the season comes.
There’s the first snowfall that gets you grinning like a cute goofball. There’s the first snowman you always build with Hange (this year, you made them look like titans—a pair of weirdos, the two of you are). There’s the hot drinks you always make on the first winter day, delivered to all Scout soldiers.
You love winter.
This year is no exception.
“What's all of this?” Levi asks, face impassive as he stares at the strange sight that awaits him.
You, all joyful-looking, are laying in one of the empty training fields. A blanket of snow covers the landscape in broad daylight, painting the world in white. Snowflakes sprinkle down, and you try to catch them with your tongue, warm breath puffing out a veil that resembles gossamer.
How careless. What are you thinking, laying in the snow like this? You're going to catch a cold.
Yes, you're sporting a warm coat, and yes, you're wearing the green mittens Levi knitted for you (green is your best color, no doubt about it), but it's still fucking winter. This isn't the time to get sick.
But, as always, you pay his skeptical gaze no mind; you’re too busy moving your arms in up-and-down motion, ploughing through snow.
“I'm making snow angels,” you explain at last, voice dulcet like a winter melody. Curious eyes find him. “Have you ever made one before?"
A draft of wind stings Levi's face. He shivers.
"No."
This fact seems to peek your interest.
"Oh," you say, "then you must try it! Why don't you lay down and follow my lead?”
“No, thanks.”
Levi has no intention of getting his ass all wet. He's cold just looking at you.
And anyway, what is it with upsiders and their strange habits? He doesn't know a single person living in the Underground who would ever willingly lay on the cold, wet ground. Maybe Isabel—she would have liked snow. She was a kid after all... just a kid.
“C’mon, Levi, give it a try!” you insist. “This is fun.”
Levi huffs out a grunt. “This looks like the opposite of fun.”
You perk up with your elbows. Snow clings to your hair. You look like you're wearing a crown of white.
“Please.”
You say that one word with a pleading gaze, all crinkled eyes and pouty mouth.
Cute. You think you can convince him with an act.
No such luck.
“No.” Levi is firm with his decision, crossing his arms over his chest.
You don't look bothered by his rejection, shrugging nonchalantly.
“Then you leave me no choice,” you declare.
Levi raises a brow.
Without giving him an explanation, you suddenly stand up. He frowns, muscles tensing as you saunter towards him. He knows what you’re about to do, he knows it and yet—
You surprise him by planting your plush lips on his own.
Oh.
You kiss him.
And as Levi tastes snow on your lips, he decides if there’s one thing he likes about winter, it’s the taste of you.
"You're so warm," you murmur against his lips.
Of course, Levi knows your sweet words are but a ruse in disguise. Soon, your hands settle on his forearms.
And you push him back, just as Levi thought you would all along. Levi lets you, because this snow and your damn playfulness somehow remind him of Isabel and Furlan, and how they never got to witness snow.
Still, just because he's allowed to be pushed doesn't mean that he doesn't intend to make you pay—oh no, if he's going down, he'll make sure to take you with him. He grabs your wrists, and the two of you topple backwards.
Levi is the first one to land on his back, the impact of the fall cushioned by the snow, and you follow him, falling right on top of him.
Snow stings his exposed hands, and he groans.
But then you’re giggling in his ear, your laughter chiming like bells, and Levi forgets all about how cold feels. Freckles of white weave around you, framing you like pale moonlight, and Levi thinks you could belong in a painting, all dressed in white.
Smiling, you bend down and drop a last kiss on the tip of his nose. Blood rushes to his cheeks, dusting them in a rosy hue, and you chuckle at the sight (Levi will later deny blushing at all—like hell one kiss gets him so flustered).
“Now, we're ready to begin,” you announce after you hop off him.
You sit next to him and tap the white ground.
“Follow my lead, 'Vi.”
Levi watches you through a lidded stare.
“What the hell is a snow angel, anyway?” he asks.
“I believe it's meant to be a human with wings.”
“That's not something that exists.”
You hum. “Well, it's an imaginary thing, you know? Like something kids grow up reading about in fables?”
“I wouldn't know.”
That's not entirely true. His mother used to tell him stories, only he was too young to remember them. He thinks her stories must have been full of light, just like she was.
Your gentle stare locks with his, almost as if you could read Levi's thoughts. “Then I suppose we have some making up to do, huh?"
Levi stays silent. He lifts his hand to your cheek, and he lets his caress speak for his gratitude. You smile, a true smile that makes your eyelids crinkle.
"You know, I think I may have found the perfect analogy." Snow crunches beneath you as you shift your weight around. "Think of snow angels like the Survey Corps. We Scout soldiers are the Wings of Freedom, right? So just imagine we're molding a shape into the snow... that of a human with wings."
Wings of Freedom.
Levi likes the idea. It's corny, sure, but it's cute.
It reminds him of—shit, of course it does—of Isabel and Furlan. Of their dreams to live above ground. How Levi is going to carry them for the rest of his days, his own wings propelling them forward.
And for the first time since their deaths, Levi doesn't feel entirely empty at the thought of them. Yes, the grief is there, it's always there... it'll always be present. But now, there is something more to it. There is all the love for them, all the love he never got to express, all the love that continues to manifest in their memories... and that part fills him with warmth.
“Ready for the lesson?" you ask.
Levi nods.
You start to move. "You're going to need to to move your hands and legs like this, see? Then it’s going to make it seem like you’re drawing a person with wings in the snow.”
“Do I look like an artist to you?”
You chuckle. “I promise, drawing isn't a skill you need to make snow angels. Anyone can do it, that's the beauty of it! Now, you try.”
Levi complies. He lays on the ground and stares at the muted sky—who knew winter skies could look so peaceful? Then, he begins to move his limbs in accordion.
And despite the snow, he finds he's no longer cold.
Finally, once you're both done making your angels, you stand up to look at your work. The angels are a patchwork at best, but they look like they’re holding hands, and you seem glad about that.
“It’s pretty, isn’t it?” you murmur. You've removed one of your mittens, and you slip your fingers between his own.
Levi stares, eyes softening.
“Yeah, pretty.”
Song insp: Everything I Know About Love by Laufey.
Graphics made by me. Thanks for reading :))
— Masterlist / Join my taglist
Tagging: @l3visthighs, @bejewelledd, @nube55, @thephantomtheory, @levilxvr, @halloweenmedic, @notgoodforlife, @sixpennydame, @youre-ackermine
#levi ackerman#attack on titan#aot#levi aot#shingeki no kyojin#snk#levi x reader#levi ackerman x reader#levi x you#levi x gn!reader#levi fluff#levi ackerman fanfiction#levi x y/n#levi heichou#flo's oneshots#flo is writing . . .
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Patience
Written for @billyhargrovebingo, square A1; "A price I'm willing to pay".
Rated: G, Words: 1994
(On AO3)
~~~
Flo ran out of patience twenty years ago.
For eighteen of those years, she’s been working for Hawkins’ Police Department. People have come and gone during her time here, but she has remained, through thick and thin.
Besides Flo, Jim is the one who has been here the longest, with his five years. Calvin came in a year later, and Phil only started two years ago when his family moved to Hawkins from Montana.
This means that Flo has been here longer than the three of them combined, which gives her seniority. Sure, on paper they all outrank her, but in reality, she is the one who keeps things running around here and they wouldn’t dare cross her. They all know that Flo has no patience for bullshit.
Not anymore. Not since she threw her abusive piece of shit husband out on his ass twenty years ago, got a job, and managed to raise their three teenage sons by herself despite what everyone said about her behind her back.
Everything at the department runs smoothly, because Flo is in charge of it. The boys know better than to encroach on her territory, and have learned to ask her for the things they need rather than try to find them themselves and risk messing with her system. They’re fast learners, that way. Or maybe her glare is just that terrifying.
“I don’t think they’re afraid of you,” Harold said over breakfast one day when she mentioned it. “They’re simply showing you the respect you deserve, honey.”
Flo huffed and rolled her eyes at that, but Harold had only smiled serenely at her and put another sugar cube in his coffee.
Harold is, perhaps, the only person for which Flo will make an effort to be patient. They met years ago, but didn’t get together until all her sons were already grown up and had moved out, far from Hawkins. And even then, it was two years before Flo let him into her life fully.
All the patience that Flo lacks, Harold has in abundance. Enough to cover the both of them, he usually jokes.
She is thankful for him. He’s a good man. Not everyone is lucky enough to find themselves a good man – she knows that by experience.
Flo has a lot of experience. Which is why her eyes narrow when she walks into the station one morning to find a young man in handcuffs seated at Phil’s desk while Phil is rummaging around in the filing cabinet in the corner of the room.
The young man glances up as she passes him – he’s got a black eye with a swollen eyelid, and splotchy bruising on his jaw – but looks down again before she can meet his eye. Frowning, she walks up to Phil and clears her throat. To his credit, he only jumps a little and immediately backs away from the filing cabinet.
“I wasn’t ...” he starts, “I just needed an empty file.”
She raises her eyebrows and looks at him over the rim of her glasses as he gives a helpless little shrug. Without a word, she walks over to another cabinet where she keeps the empty files. He takes the one she hands him with a low “Thanks, Flo”, and walks back to his desk to deal with his young perp.
Flo listens in as she prepares for the day; brings in the morning paper, starts the coffee machine, goes through the agenda for the day, looks over the unintelligible scribbles that Phil – who had the night shift – calls notes. While she works, she listens to Phil as he talks to the kid – a Mr. William Hargrove, apparently.
It’s quiet in the station in the morning, and Flo hasn’t turned the radio on yet. She may be old, but there is nothing wrong with her ears and it’s not like the other two occupants in the room are talking in low voices. It wouldn’t matter, anyway. She’s the one who types out the reports.
The more she hears, the deeper her frown gets. When Jim finally shows up around nine, Flo intercepts him before Phil can catch his attention. She hands him a cup of hot coffee and pointedly doesn’t comment on the pastry crumbs in his moustache that show that he visited the bakery on his way to work.
“Jim, a word?” And Jim knows better than to cross her this early in the morning, so he accepts the coffee, nods, and gestures for her to lead the way into his office.
“That young man in there,” Flo says as soon as the door is closed behind them and points with her thumb over her shoulder. “Phil picked him up at the gas station outside of town around daybreak. He was slinking around the parking lot, and Phil caught him at the back door, holding a brick. Looking like he was trying to break in.”
“Okay?” Jim says, taking a sip of his coffee. He’ll be able to read this in Phil’s report later, so he’s probably wondering why Flo is telling him this.
She huffs. “The kid is beat up, Jim. He says he got in a fight but no one has made any calls about a fight tonight. There are no marks on his hands. He’s been sitting hunched-over since he got here. And you know what they sell at the gas station, besides gas and snacks?” She raises her eyebrows expectantly. She doesn’t suffer fools gladly.
Luckily for her, and everyone else in town, their Chief is no fool. And he, too, has some experience with these things. His eyes clear in realization. “Pain pills. Basic first aid stuff.” She nods, satisfied that she doesn’t have to spell it out for him. “Who is he? I don’t recognize him.”
“New in town, apparently,” Flo says. “Name of Hargrove. The family moved in from California a week or so ago.”
Jim hums, and Flo knows that he’ll take what she has said into consideration when he inevitably talks to the boy, after he’s sent Phil home to get some sleep. It’s enough. She’s done what she can.
Or so she thinks, until she walks out of Jim’s office and sees that Phil is leading the young man towards the holding cells. The kid looks beaten down. Exhausted.
“Oh just leave the kid here,” Flo says and watches as both of them stop and turn towards her.
“Protocol states –“ Phil starts, but Flo huffs and waves it away.
“Since when do you care about protocol? Jim will want to speak to him soon anyway. I’ll look after him. You go home, Phil. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Phil knows better than to argue. Fast learners, the lot of them. He goes to exchange a few words with Jim before going off his shift, and leaves Flo and the kid alone. She gestures at the chair in front of Phil’s desk, the one he was sitting in before, and the kid sinks back into it. Flo knows she’s not imagining the wince as he’s sitting down. It’s gone in a flash, but it was definitely there.
She turns her back on him, only in part to give him a chance to compose himself. A minute or so later, she walks back to him and places a mug of coffee, a glass of water and two white pills on the desk in front of him.
He looks up at her, surprised. “What’s this?”
Inpatient, she gestures at the items. “What does it look like, kid?”
“I don’t need –“
She’s not about to get into a discussion with him, so she cuts him off. “I’m not forcing you to take them. Take them or don’t. Up to you.”
She turns her back again and leaves him to his own devices. She has her own work to do, after all, the phones won’t answer themselves and Mr. Thompson usually calls first thing in the morning to rant about whatever the neighbor’s kids got up to last night.
When she passes the kid next, the pills are gone and the water glass is empty. She’s glad to see it, even if she doesn’t say anything. The boy is holding the coffee cup with his handcuffed hands and taking small sips, grimacing at the bitterness of it. Flo probably should have offered him milk or sugar, but everyone at the station drinks their coffee black so it didn’t cross her mind.
She meant what she said, though. The kid can drink it, or not. His choice. She’s not his keeper.
She putters around the station while Jim speaks to the kid in his office. Talks a bit with Gail who is passing by with her dachshund, and waters the few spider plants that she has placed on the south-facing windowsills.
The kid emerges from the office uncuffed, with Jim following behind him.
“I’m driving Billy here back to his car,” Jim says, pulling on his jacket. “I’ll be right back. Hold the fort, will you?”
It’s a rhetorical question. He knows that she will.
She spends the time while he’s out typing out Phil’s near-illegible notes for the kid’s file, and adds a couple of details she heard them talk about that Phil forgot to write down. She’s done this for decades, she knows what details are important. She’s just finishing up when Jim comes back, this time alone.
He sinks into Calvin’s empty chair, which is the one closest to Flo’s desk. None of them speak for a moment, then Jim sighs. “I think you’re right.”
“I know,” Flo says, and hands him the boy’s newly typed-up file. “The question is, what are you going to do about it?”
“There’s not really anything I can …” He trails off when she levels him with an unimpressed look. “Don’t look at me like that, Flo. I am the Chief of Police, I have to follow the law. I can’t do anything if he’s not talking. And he’s not talking.”
She purses her lips. “They live over on Cherry, you know.”
He frowns, suspicious. “So?”
“I have a friend who lives on Cherry. Ruth. I haven’t visited her in a while.”
Jim groans. “No, Flo. I’ll keep an eye on the family, okay? You don’t have to get involved again –“
“Who said anything about getting involved? I just think it’s about time I visited my good friend Ruth. We haven’t talked in ages. Maybe she has some new gossip for me. About her new neighbors.”
Running his hand down his face, Jim groans again. “Please, Flo.”
“It’s a small town. It’s important to get to know your new neighbors, after all. As a representative for the Police Department, perhaps I should go and say hello.”
“You’re killing me,” he says under his breath, standing up with a grunt. “I’ll make some calls to an old colleague in California. Happy?”
She levels him with a look and raises her eyebrows. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
She does, and they both know it. She’s also not going to let it go. They both know that, too.
“This is gonna blow up in my face somehow, I know it.”
As Chief of Police his hands are tied in a way that hers aren’t. Going through the right channels is just too slow-moving for her. She doesn’t have that kind of patience.
So she shrugs. “That’s a price I’m willing to pay.”
“Of course it is,” he mutters. “Because you won’t be the one paying it.”
“Excuse me?” she says, raising her eyebrows. “Who does all the paperwork around here?”
He inclines his head as if to say ‘fair’, and then adds, “Fine. You win. But if you happen to go and say hello, please take Harold with you. At least he has a sense of tact.”
She glares at him, but it’s half-hearted. Harold will want to come with her, anyway, when she tells him about the boy.
#billy hargrove#flo#stranger things#billy hargrove bingo#ihni writes#listen i just like flo okay#i think she is a gruff old woman who is anything but cuddly#but is efficient and caring in her own way
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Oh My God, She's Insane
Note: I have no idea what this is, just a short little thing. I wanted to challenge myself, so I shuffled my Taylist and ended up with I Bet You Think About Me. Fitting, a little.
Maybe, maybe, this could be a full thing some day?
-
You see Jake from across the Hard Deck, and almost smirk. Almost. It's barely concealed and you know if he looks you in the eyes, he's going to see it. It's not the kind of smirk he'd be dying to see, though, and you know that.
Your relationship was never one that was going to work. His ego and your hunger for freedom something that clashed miserably. Still, a year later, you knew he thought about you. You knew he whispered to all of his friends about you, warned them, told them to avoid the girl with the red lipstick every single time he saw you.
"Don't," he'd said one time, when Rooster's eyes lingered to long. "Oh, my God, she's insane. Trust me."
You'd bet your life savings that he thought about you. You'd be right.
#flo writes again?#i bet you think about me#taylor swift inspired#jake hangman seresin x reader#jake seresin x reader#hangman fanfiction#jake hangman seresin#top gun maverick
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"Lockwood!" Lucy screams when a big grey, black and white ball of fur rolls down the stairs, kind of squeaks and rushes between her feet somewhere under the couch.
"What's wrong, Luce?" Anthony asks leaving his sister's room and closing the door behind him.
"What. Is. This?" she hisses pointing in direction of living room.
"What exactly?" Lockwood smiles cautiously not knowing what to expect. They are officially dating for a year now, but he's still confused and a bit scared, when Lucy is so angry. He slowly approaches her, keeping the distance between them. Just in case Lucy decides to throw something like she sometimes does when she's pissed. And she definitely looks like that right now. "If you... Specify the problem, we can come up with some kind of solution."
Lucy sighs heavily, trying to calm down, and reminds herself, that Lockwood isn't always the one and only reason of every single disaster happening here. George can be responsible for it not less than Anthony himself. Sometimes it's just Kipps with his concerning but harmless sense of humour. Maybe there's apocalypse coming, because Holly suddenly decided to make fun of them. There are variations of what exactly happened. That's why Lucy takes a deep breath and starts again.
"Anthony, my dear, why is there a raccoon in our house?" she definitely doesn't have any strength left to control the way she addresses Lockwood, when everyone is in the kitchen and can hear every single word. Excluding Holly, she's probably in the office sorting some papers.
"A what..?" Lockwood is obviously startled. "Luce, I'm not sure if I heard you loud and clear, could you please repeat?"
"Sure!" nervous laughter escapes her lungs. "There is a raccoon in our house and I'd like to know, why is it there. To be more specific, under the couch in living room."
"Nope, I heard everything right on first try, a raccoon, ha-ha, okay, whatever, w h a t. T h e. F u c k ?! I beg your pardon but I don't have other words right now?"
"Don't worry, hon, me too" Lucy smiles, relieved, that Lockwood has nothing to do with this incident, and comes to him just to snug in his arms for a second as an apology for shouting at the most precious person in her entire life. He holds her gently, buries his face against her neck and takes a slow deep breath, presumably processing the existence of raccoon on Portland Row 35. Not an easy type of acceptance, but they don't have a choice. First and foremost because Lucy can already guess, whose brilliant idea it was. Flo (please burn in hell) Bones.
No, she does like Flo when she is helpful, but otherwise Lucy prefers to avoid her as much as possible. Mostly because she doesn't like relic-men whoever they are and however useful they can be. She already learned that it's easier when relic-girl stays out of her sight and doesn't bother her with some stupid jokes and meaningful gazes. Lucy has had enough. The Skull overdid all possible norms in first months of her and Lockwood dating.
"So... Who are we interrogating now? George? Quill? Holly?" Lucy tilts her head and rests it on Lockwood's shoulder, admiring their perfect height difference.
"Uh... Whatever you wanna ask, I don't know anything?" sound of Holly's voice makes her shiver a bit and turn around. And see that their assistant just came to work. "Sorry, I know, I'm late, I..."
"It's alright, Holly," Lockwood says softly and calmingly squeezes Lucy's shoulder. "Just don't enter the living room until I allow it, okay?"
"Okay?" Holly is obviously confused and looks at the room uncertainly. "May I ask why?"
"There is a raccoon under the couch," Lucy answers and an expression of pure shock and disbelief on Holly's face is just adorable and worth every inch of this ball of fur.
"A what now? Raccoon?! How?!!"
"If only we knew. But I have an idea," Lockwood giggles and raises his voice. "George! Could you please come for a second."
The chatter in the kitchen suddenly stops and not long after George appears in the hallway with a mug of tea. Lucy can spot Kipps behind him, sipping his morning coffee and definitely eavesdropping.
"Morning," George yawns. "What has already happened?"
"A raccoon happened!" Holly answers instead of Lockwood. "Who left the backdoor opened? You? Or Quill?" Kipps freezes. They all once saw, how angry Holly can be and how dangerous for everyone else it is. Enough to say, that noone wanted to be the target of Holly's anger. It was scarier than all types of ghosts together in one room.
George blinks couple times. Looks at the couch. Frowns, when he hears some suspicious noises underneath it. And suddenly bursts into laughter.
"Oh, you mean Charcoal!" the noises stop, and a small black nose shows up between two blankets, sniffing. "Come here, boy, it's okay." The raccoon rushes into George's open arms, hides its fluffy head under his chin and silently cries. "Yeah, yeah, I know, she can be rude, don't blame her."
"I bet you won't survive the night," Quill shakes his head. "Either Holly or Lucy are gonna kill you."
"Nah, c'mon, Charcoal is too cute, who's gonna look after him, if I'm gone?"
"Flo," Kipps shrugs. "She brought this fur ball here 'till tomorrow morning, and I'm looking forward to her taking this monster away."
"So relic-girl it is," Holly sighs, rolls her eyes and goes to the kitchen to make some tea for them. And Lucy can already guess on that annoyed-angry look on Holly's face that neither Kipps nor George get their mugs refilled. Not as if it bothers them. Not as if Lucy or Lockwood want to disagree with their assistant.
"So... Are we done for now?" George asks burying his face in raccoon's fur.
"Ew, how can you do that?" Lucy grimaces. "He probably was digging in the trash lately. I wouldn't be surprised I mean, it's Flo we're talking about."
"I bathed him this morning! He's clean!"
"You know what, Lockwood," Holly says coming back to the doorway, "I'm cleaning your bathroom with bleach and vinegar today. Or better. George, you are making it, I don't want to know where this fluffy devil was and what could it bring on him."
"Agreed," Lockwood chuckles and turns to Lucy. "We have to meet the client today, don't you mind if I use your bathroom? I don't want to risk my pretty face getting peeled off after Charcoal's presence."
"Oh, sure," Lucy smiles. "I don't want you to risk it either."
She expects George to say something to it, something sarcastic and funny, but the silence is so loud and Lockwood's grin is so sly that it takes some time untill she understands what did her friends hear in these words.
"Yeah, take your time I suppose," George waves his hand. Lucy can see Kipps biting his lips in desperate attempt not to die from laughter. And Holly just sighs heavily.
"I expect both of you to get down to the front door at the noon. Maybe earlier if you manage it, but not later."
Lucy narrows her eyes ready to answer something sarcastic but Lockwood just pulls her upstairs, winking to the others. As soon as they close the door to her room, Lockwood throws his arms around her waist and gently pushes his forehead against hers.
"You can't kill them, Luce."
"Yeah, yeah, as if you would ever allow it."
"Or injure them in any way."
"Not even nudge someone?"
Lockwood frowns, thinking. "George. For the raccoon. He deserves it. But noone else."
Lucy wants to remind him, that he also doesn't like whenever their friends are joking about their relationship. But his soft warm lips meet hers, and in an instant the world stops existing. They won't be ready at the noon, of course Holly understood it.
The last thought Lucy can catch before loosing herself in Lockwood's arms is that maybe — just maybe — she should thank Flo for bringing Charcoal at their place. Because she definitely heard the most awaited words whispered against her lips.
"I think my last name suits you better."
And Lucy can deny it.
It surely does.
#lockwood and co#headcanon#locklyle#lucy carlyle#anthony lockwood#why is it so difficult to write in foreign language#my brain is broken sos#this grammar makes me crazy#yes it's a raccoon#i love raccoons#Flo is the main shipper in this house and you can't change my mind#fanfic#fanfiction#locklyle fanfiction
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— Florence ‘Flo’ Godfrey —
"Nah, nah, nah, I swear to you back in '36 a buddy of mine was trying to convince the hell outta me that he could fly planes," Benny said, with a chuckle, before leaning forward and watching her eyes with that tender gaze, "and you know what I told him? I told him right to his face that's what I'd be doing! Hell, I told him if there was a war on, I'd be right there signing up for that very thing. And well....here I am."
"Here you are." Flo said with a soft smile his way. Benny grinned at her and then shifted closer to her side before glancing up at the darkening sky and smiling.
"You always go up there and it's the things you don't expect." he said, his smile dropping, "You see the sky from here, think it's just like it is down here. Nah, it's...." Benny trailed off and glanced towards her.
"It's different." Flo felt the silence close in around them and then turned to watch his eyes.
He was quiet.
Benny DeMarco was never really quiet, just at peace.
But tonight, he was quiet.
They'd spent some time together - away from flying planes, patching up planes....planes in general. If anything, it was finding a comfort in one another that they couldn't find with anyone else. And they always found a way to confide in things they couldn't quite understand.
Usually she was adorning her clothes, still mildly disgusting from her time working on the planes - a grease spot there, the dried paint around the edges of her sleeves, her hair looking more like a rat's nest.
And he was there, pulled out of his pilot's gear and instead with his slacks, top and a nice jacket, usually with the lopsided peak cap.
Sometimes it was the two of them, after he'd finished a mission, looking far more exhausted than she could account for, dried blood on his face, hair all over in directions she couldn't count and shaky hands, Meatball curled up at their feet nestled close to each other.
That usually included Flo looking as always - gangly, but smiley and quite herself.
(more to come for this excerpt!)
#FLOOOO#my beloved !!!!#florence ‘flo’ godfrey#bernard demarcooo#benny demarco#flo x benny#was working on this piece a week ago and was tackling it again today#might post the whole thing in the coming weeks#masters of the air#mota#mota writings#these twooooo#very fun to dig in and write their connection :)#please enjoy the moodboard - it is so so flo !!!!!#mota fic
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