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fluffykitteninabox · 2 years

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Hey... I'm curious about something. How do you and your family treat Greek mythology and superstitions? 👀

Do you believe in them to a degree? If there were Gods and Goddesses, why wasn't it a full religion?

I hope this isn't rude. I'm more than happy to talk about mine.

Don't worry, it's not rude

Sorry, this took so long, it's a surprisingly hard question to answer because I needed to think about how I view Greek mythology vs how the rest of the world sees it and this accidentally turned into a rant 😅

also some of my opinions might be considered controversial but... I don't care! lol I guess the 5 Greek followers I have can unfollow me if they don't like this or whatever 😂

Anyway have some sparkles because this is kind of long oops ✨✨✨

WARNING: me trashing on Americans

The Greek pantheon was like any other religion in ancient times, but it's not really treated like one anymore. The main religion of Greece now is Orthodox Christianity, and the largest religious minorities are Islam and Catholicism. My parents and I are atheists. I'm certain there's still people that practise it, but they would probably be seen as foolish by the general public.

We are taught part of our mythology in school at the age of 8 (unless they changed it idk 😂). It isn't taught like a religion, but more like fairytales.

The way it's taught is very lacking in my opinion. Instead of explaining for example how sexism influenced the creation of these myths and what a giant asshole Zeus was, we are just told Hera was "the jealous type" and that's why she's the antagonist in most of the stories she appears in.

Achilles and Patroclus were definitely gay, but no one ever talks about it. According to our school books, they were just really close friends! In fact, this specific topic is avoided so much that I first heard about it from foreigners on the internet! A lot of people deny this, even saying that "friendship was just different back then, it was deeper"!! I'm sorry sir, I don't think I'd ever ask to be buried with the ashes of my just a friend™ no matter how close we were! Technically speaking there's nothing explicit in the original text, but Aeschylus, Phaedrus, Plato and Alexander the Great all read it as a romantic relationship and the first 3 even had their own headcanons about it, so that's enough for me!

I'm guessing a lot of these depend on what type of teacher each person has, and it's been a long time since I was 8, so teachers might be more open about it now, but if you just read the 3rd year history (mythology) school book this is the content you'll get. I don't think withholding this information is done because it's being taught to kids, it's not a "they're 8, so they wouldn't understand sexism". That would be a silly argument considering our mythology is filled with incest, rape and gore, which our school books very openly mention throughout. They are just trying to avoid it.

From 9 and up, we are taught more actual history than mythology. We focus on real historical figures and events, so most of the less know myths get forgotten. At 13-15 we're taught the Odyssey and the Iliad (by Homer), and Helen (by Euripides). Yes, that is in fact the order that they teach us these 🙃!! Supposedly it goes from easier text to harder text for each year, but I personally think that's stupid because the story is completely backwards now, and we get it translated to modern Greek anyway, so what's the point of telling it backwards???? It's not convenient, it's confusing! Anyway, these are taught in a similar way to literature. We analyse the text and characters and all that.

Ages 16-18, I honestly have deleted most of these from my brain tbh 😂. OK, not exactly, the first and third year are more historical texts and philosophy. The second year we do another play, Antigone (by Sophocles). Actually wait, the first one was about a war and there was a ton of political intrigue in there, and it was super interesting. The third one was more about philosophy.

The plays aren't exactly the same as mythology, it's more like fanfiction about historical figures and gods! I mentioned them because..... I just like them lol

I kind of deviated a lot from what you actually asked me and answered more generally. For me and my parents specifically, religion isn't really something we participate in. My grandma is very religious though. She used to go to church every Sunday before covid. Now she watches it from the TV (there's a specific Christian chanel that broadcasts church service from different parts of the country). I personally hate how brainwashed some people are by Christianity (including my grandma). Thankfully, we haven't reached American levels of religious fanaticism.

Mythology isn't really something that's on our minds often. My grandma didn't go to school, so I doubt she knows much about it. My parents probably learnt some of it. Outside of the school environment, ancient Greek mythology isn't really a topic most people think about (maybe I think about it more than the average Greek person, because I'm an art student and a bit of a history nerd). But even then, I've seen more about Greek mythology from people who treat it like a fandom on the internet and make AUs with their characters and stuff like that. Now, I know I made jokes earlier about fanfiction and headcanons, so this is probably going to sound very hypocritical of me...

However, Homer's poems and other ancient Greek plays are not the same as myths. They're not treated the same. They are theatrical performances based on historical events/figures. I don't care much about people's modern interpretations of these, because they are fictional stories. Now, myths are also fictional, I even compared them to fairytales at the start. But they were still based on ancient people's religious beliefs. People practised it as a religion, they had rituals and traditions, some of which are still done today (though they have changed and evolved over time). The myths were more like the framework for what the Gods represented in their lives. Kind of like how most Christians don't believe the events in the Bible literally happened.

I'm fine with people taking inspiration from a myth and doing a modern retelling as long as they're respectful. I've seen some modern, more feminist retellings of Medusa that I personally really liked. I've even thought of making my own version of Arachne (=spider) but without the religious propaganda and classist undertones.

What I'm not ok with, is people wearing bedsheets to "dress up as Greek"! I'm sure you can probably relate to this because Americans do this with a ton of cultures. If you want to "dress up as Greek", do this:

I'll respect you more!!

(this is obviously a joke, don't do this either, you'll get laughed at. This dude is part of a parody show)

And secondly, I'm not ok with people taking mythology and twisting it into something completely unrecognisable that doesn't even seem like it's from the culture it was based on. Basically, Americans shouldn't be allowed to make movies about other people's cultures!!! Ok, I'm exaggerating, but if you're going to do something based on mythology/religion of some other culture, you need to do proper research and be as respectful as possible.

Good example: Dreamworks-Prince of Egypt, 1998

Even as an atheist who was only taught religion in school, I can tell this is a very respectful adaptation. The team that made this met with religious experts to make sure they got it right.

Bad example: Disney-Hercules, 1997

This is the most American a Greek myth has ever been! It's more like Superman than Heracles. Don't do whatever the fuck Disney did here guys. I'm actually planning on tearing this film apart in a future review, so I'm not going to say anything else right now.

I'm not saying don't make changes. Greek mythology is very "fluid" in a way. Every myth has multiple versions, with minor or major differences between them. Changes are fine, even making a parody is fine. But I think the end result shouldn't just resemble its inspiration on a superficial level. It's not enough to have your characters wear a tunic and sandals and have them say Zeus instead of God every couple of sentences. The important part is why a particular myth exists. What is the original message? What does the story/character represent? That needs to be kept the same, otherwise the adaptation won't be an adaptation anymore. It will be a different story disguised as an adaptation. At that point, you should just make an original story.

Alright last thing and then I'm done talking I swear 😂!

You also asked about superstitions.

Here's a small list:

if you spill coffee it's good luck

if your right palm is itchy, you'll get money, but if your left palm is itchy, you'll give money. The first one is usually interpreted as like: "you'll find coins on the street or win one of those scratch lottery tickets". The second one is like: "a sign that the electricity bill is coming, or you need to pay rent". (my dad believes this one)

if you're born on Saturday, it means you're lucky (I was born on a Tuesday 😔)

evil eye: a curse when someone "glares" at you/has bad intentions. If you have blue eyes you're immune to this, otherwise you can wear an evil eye charm. (this comes from the Middle East, I think. You might know about this, because there's a ton of different countries that believe it. I personally just like the charms)

when you visit a house for the first time, you need to enter with your right foot first for good luck. If you enter with your left, it's like wishing bad luck for the people who live there. This is also done for the first person to visit the house on New Year's Day.

if you enter a place from one door you can't leave from another door, you have to use the same one. (supposedly it ruins your matchmaking if you do that)

if you're talking with someone, and you say something simultaneously, you say "touch red" and then you need to touch something red before you continue speaking. (I remember doing this a lot as a kid)

if you talk about something bad happening hypothetically, you knock on wood or say the phrase "knock on wood", so it doesn't happen

if you get served the last drop of wine, you get bitches 😎!!

There are a lot of traditions that are really old that a lot of people still follow, even if they're not religious or the tradition comes from a different religion. I'll tell you one of my favourites that's relevant right now. Every first of March people in a lot of Balkan countries (Greece, Bulgaria, Albania, North Macedonia and others) wear a bracelet made from intertwined red and white threads. This is worn for the whole month of March, and it is supposed to protect you from getting burnt by the sun. At the end of the month, we take them off and leave them for swallow birds to use in their nests. Swallows are believed to bring spring.

hand reveal lol:

If you read this far, you are a legend.

It's your turn now. How do you and/or your family view Philippine mythology? What about the people in general? And also, do you have any traditions for spring?

#thank you for the ask #have some sparkles ✨✨✨✨#ask #krista answers

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curetapwater · 6 months

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Hey who's your smash fave? I don't play but I watch competitive streams of it a decent amount

I should start by saying I'm very much a casual ehe, I mostly play against CPUs and occasionally family members when I see them. But I have been playing some form of Smash since I was I wanna say 8 years old? So I don't consider myself especially impressive at it but I do have a lot of experience.

As a kid, my favorite was Zero Suit Samus because I had a crush on her lol. She's still my favorite to play as in Brawl, I just love how quick an nimble she is, and her plasma whip is so satisfying to get people with. But I don't like how they changed her in Smash 4 and Ultimate to have less focus on the whip and more on her rocket shoes, which are cool, but they aren't as satisfying to me. I do greatly appreciate that they made her accessible on the roster and not hidden behind normal Samus' Final Smash, and as a result gave Zero Suit Samus a new Final Smash that doesn't have me constantly avoiding the Smash Ball lol.

For a long while, my second favorite character in Brawl and my favorite character in Smash 4 and Ultimate was Kirby. I still consider him to be one of the best. He can jump five times in a row and his up special takes him up even higher (although it's a gamble unless you're certain it'll land you on the stage). His side and down specials are so satisfying to hit people with, and his updated Final Smash with the rainbow sword is fabulous and has so much reach ehe. And his copy ability is especially fun when playing against human players because then you get to tease people like "haha I took your power!" And he's also adorable!!!!!

But once I started getting into Sonic the Hedgehog in I wanna say late 2020? Well. Guess who my fave became. Like, objectively I understand his moveset to be lacking. He was a very late addition to Brawl and it shows in how many of his special moves are just different variations of "curl into a ball." But oh. It is so fun to curl into a ball. Not to mention he's just so darn fast that the strategy for playing as him becomes essentially to be as annoyingly confusing as possible. Hit and run hit and run side special and ram into everyone in front of you and remember to uncurl before you accidentally rocket yourself off the stage. His near-unamanageable speed is tricky at first but once one gets the hang of it he's a delight. Well. He's a delight for me. He's a menace to everyone I'm playing against lol.

It's especially funny because as a kid, Smash was a reason why I once reeeally didn't like Sonic as a character. I thought he seemed rude and annoying lol. I especially hated when he went "You're too slow!" in a mocking sing-song voice. But now that I've been exposed to so much Sonic media, ohhhh is he delightful. Especially in Brawl, in terms of characterization. They brought in Jason Griffith to record original lines for him and his face is so expressive and aa!! I wish in Smash 4 when he had to be replaced by Roger Craig Smith that they'd brought him in to record new lines too, instead of recycling clips from I believe Generations? But oh well. I just. He's so fun to play as ehe. When I play Smash with my cousin and little sister, they'll see me choose Sonic and immediately form an alliance against me. It's hilarious.

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ask-but-beware-the-consequences · 1 year

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After the End part 3

Continuation of 2x06

Aziraphale was anxious, but he still went on to get his new status. Metatron finally got an angel to fill in Gabriel's place, and they were ready to talk about the plan.

- Um - Aziraphale started - may I just get a bit of a time to get used to this new... space of power? I think I couldn't focus straight away with it. Hah.

Metatron turned to him.

- Of course, Aziraphale! As a supreme archangel's post filler, you don't need to ask permission for everything now. We'll get everything ready in the meantime for you.

- Post...filler? - he asked quietly, when Metatron was away.

He got himself together, and walked back to more common grounds of Heaven.

He was really scared, and he couldn't mask it forever. He didn't lie about needing a bit of a time for himself.

He was walking hurriedly, trying to find some safe space, some corner or roof or a chair even, that he can just hide his face towards. The problem with the office was that it seemingly lacked all of those for Aziraphale.

He wanted to go back down, even if for just a short moment, his bookshop always gave him comfort. Sadly he couldn't say no anymore and it got handed over to Muriel.

"Muriel! That's it! I need to find her office."

As he took on the thought, he was about to change his direction, but then a familiar voice called out to him.

- Aziraphale!

- Muriel?

They ran to each other. Aziraphale was delighted to see her. At least, someone he knows even a little bit, and isn't mean.

- Oh I was just about to look for you!

- ....were you? - Muriel asked suspicously.

- Yes, I'm in a huge mess! They want me to lead the next operation into action, called the Second Coming! I don't know what to do! I have a strong feeling they won't just let me go if I say no, like they did with Gabriel. I'm just someone who's filling in... I'm- ... I'm so lost, I tried to tell Crowley at the elevator, but-!

- Hey, hey! It's alright. Breathe. - Muriel said gently, patting his shoulder a few times.

Aziraphale looked at her, suspicously, but decided to let it go.

- ...Thank you... Why did I ever want this?... I'm in so much trouble, I'm alone, and- ruined everything...! - he was on the verge of crying.

- ...I have a message, from Crowley.

Aziraphale froze at that, he didn't know what to expect, he knew he couldn't take more pressure, but then Muriel gave him a soft look with adoration.

- He says that, although he was angry at your choice, he understands it. He understands everything, and he wouldn't have done it differently. He says, that he is very proud of you, and just wants you to survive.

- ...He... He is?

- He just wanted to be with you, but he understands now that there's a big problem, that can't be fixed by just running away. You need to do it. He knows about Metatron.

- ...Crowley-... - he gave out a sigh of admiration, he couldn't believe it. After all he's done. After all how it looked like what he had done.

- Though, he can't possibly be here with you, he wants you to know that he's standing right beside you. You're... giving him bravery, and... hopes that you also can find bravery from his words. You're together in this. No matter where you go.

Aziraphale's eyes were full with tears, and one drop finally rolled down his cheeks.

- Muriel... Where did you learn metaphors from?

- Umm... Books? I started reading - she acted more like herself now.

- Oh that's... That's great! - he gave him a smile with a nod.

- Would you, like to say anything to him? - she asked shyly.

Aziraphale took a moment.

- I want to tell him... That, I need him. Nothing lasts forever-... besides us.

Muriel's eyes widened as she gasped softly.

- And I wish... I ask him to forgive me, I was rude, and didn't let him finish first. I didn't even react properly to his confession, yet he opened to me with such trust. I think... I think I want to kiss him properly after this.

- ...

- ...Muriel? Are you alright, my dear?

- I-I, I'll go back and tell him this instant! We believe in you, angel! You can do it! We all stand behind you!

Muriel was trying to turn away, before he'd say anything, but he stopped her.

- ..."angel"? You're an angel too. Noone calls me that, except-...

Aziraphale's eyes widened, and joy was showing on his face. Muriel started to sweat from all the anxiety. She just wanted to run for the elevator.

- I-... Can I-... I need to take a note. Can we go to my desk?

- Of course, my dear - Aziraphale was smiling a lot now.

- Right.

Thankfully they've already been to Muriel's desk, so it wasn't hard to find it. He got her pen and paper out and started writing, with Aziraphale standing right above her. Not just out if curiosity, but also out if caution so no one could see the message through any cameras.

- Here - she bammed on the table as she put down the pencil.

Aziraphale carefully slid it towards himself.

- You know, you're body language reminds me an awful lot of someone - he noted quietly, unbothered as he read.

- Mmm...!

The small note said: "Metatron might kill both of us, if he sees me. You're in danger. I came here the only way I knew. We're too strong together, they are trying to seperate us in any way. I trust you, but I can't just sit around and wait. I'll always be there for you when you need me."

Aziraphale took the pen and wrote on the backside of the paper in response, showing no emotion. In reality he started to feel braver, his blood carrying determination with adrenaline, his mind set on the goal ahead. He gave the note back to Crowley when he finished. It read: "They want a Second Armageddon. We need to come up with something, but I will do the actions. You need to stay put until you really must act. I need to do a meeting with them and agree on the plan, or I'll go. I'm not going to give up, until we've saved everyone. We need to get Jim. Can I trust that to you?"

Muriel looked at it, seemingly without emotions too, and replied with a yes, then swallowed the paper, hidden from the cameras.

- You can do it - he stroke Aziraphale's shoulder - We should get back to the lift.

- Yes.

As they were ready to part, Metatron appeared before them.

- Hello there Muriel! - he greeted her, with an usual kind voice he'd use with her - what's the sudden visit for?

- Oh, I just came to give a message to Aziraphale, from Crowley!

- ...? And that's about...?

- Ehm, he said I shouldn't tell anyone else.

- Oh. Well, that is understandable. Everyone lives in their own little world, not everything was meant to be heard by everyone.

- Heh - Muriel gave out a soft laugh from being anxious.

- Muriel, you're still so innocent and unknowing, aren't you? He might be friends with Aziraphale here... but you shouldn't become their personal messenger, isn't that right, love? Don't let yourself be a butler to them.

- I. I guess... I shouldn't. Yes.

- Good - he gave a nod with a smile, then continued more seriously - But I'm afraid I need you to do a bit of a favor for me, dear.

Aziraphale stood in front of her, just a little bit, not taking his eyes off of Metatron.

- What would that be?

- I need you to, tell Aziraphale the last message there is to be said to him. And forget about reporting them back to Crowley. We're facing some important plans for the future, that they can't know about, and we don't want to risk any accidents, so you ought to stay away from Earth a little while, right?

- Of, course...

Then Metatron locked the elavator behind them, startling them both.

- So, if you'd be so dear, and tell the last message if there is any left-... So me and Aziraphale can go back to our own tasks.

- ... Of course - she took a shaky breath, and continued to Aziraphale - Crowley says... If anything happens... He says that- he truly, loves you.

It got quiet, Aziraphale was melting, and Metatron was listening.

- ...I love him too - his voice was bittersweet, he knew this was a parting message, something to move them forwards with. And they needed that for energy.

Previous <•> Next

#good omens #good omens 2 #good omens 2 spoilers #good omens 3 continuation fic #good omens 3 #fic

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wammygiveaway · 1 year

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Hip-Hop-Tober: Renegade

Many years ago, I developed an urge to rap. How did it happen, why did I do it, what pushed me to really try out this style of music? The answer to all these questions can only be summed up as an out-of-the-blue experience which I've been unable to properly explain to this day. First I was mumbling nonsense words rhythmically to whatever hip hop song I had on my Sony Walkman or portable CD player. About a year or two later, a simple lyrics search for a song led me to the legendary Original Hip Hop Lyrics Archive (OHHLA), which later turned into my go-to place for new material and history lessons, eventually becoming a frequent lyrics contributor. One day, after having submitted about a hundred lyrics, I found myself writing a rap verse of my own. And the rest is history… with a twist. I never got discovered, never submitted a demo tape, never took part in a rap contest, or even went to a concert. Whether cowardice, privacy, lack of funding, or laziness is to blame, I just couldn't commit myself into getting my name out to the masses. It was weird: the dream of being a rapper felt more enjoyable to me than actually going through with it. But the opportunity was there for the taking, I could have really shaped the future of hip hop with my weird, wild and whimsical presence. But maybe, perhaps due to a little thing called inexperience, it was probably for the best I didn't make a scene.

Welcome to Hip-Hop-Toper, a series of blog entries in which I try to justify my very existence as an emcee. Over the years, I secretly wrote rap verses to some of my favorite songs for my own personal enjoyment, be they from hit singles or deep cuts from my favorite artists. For the first time ever, I am opening my personal "rap diary" to the public; publishing, recording and giving retrospectives to ten of my most favorite or important verses. With my ambitions of entering the rap game no longer a priority due to my focus on video games, this series was made just for fun.

Disclaimer: the verses you are about to read and/or listen to will contain explicit content. Such things as profanity, sexual situations, substance abuse, violence, and other questionable material. Any verses containing said content will be addressed to the best of my abilities.

Artist: Jay-Z (featuring Eminem) Song: Renegade Album: The Blueprint

Wammy's Verse (Listen)

Consider me the dangerous rapper, the rapper who never quits You see, I'm into the ridiculous, most radical shit I'm just a follower, an outcast if you say so myself They never understand the feelings and emotions I felt How ironic and rude, how can they be so cruel They think I'm dumb, weak and stupid, don't think I'm a fool This is my lyric's defense, even the courts can't decide The jury can't decide my fate, they don't even know why They just mess with me, without even knowin' That I'm a stronger than an average rapper, I'm supposin' that They're be others like me, with tougher lyrics than me With lyrics like this, you'll be sure that your mind gets deceived And they'll try to get rid of me, with all of their might But they'll be certain that this number one Wammy wins the fight Til I'm the last man standin', so just stick around Cause the Giveaway's gonna show you where the Wammy was found Straight outta H.G. Is a mouth like a pussy It's opening is filled with moist, don't you believe me It's the best of the best, who comin' straight from the west And if you love my little shit, you'll probably love the rest, come on

"Renegade" was what started it all. It was my senior year at Artesia High School, first time I was on my own. In the classroom, my facade was a good student trying his darndest to get his work done while staying out of trouble (and keeping my Wammy persona a secret). But during lunch time, I found myself walking all over campus looking to impress fellow students. I don't remember how it came about, but either (1) someone overheard me practicing the verse when it was meant to be private, or (2) given my associations with a few friends I've made over the years, I just went up to them and said "Hey, wanna hear a rhyme."

It was on a Mead Notebook where I wrote this, a notebook which I kept well guarded from my family at all times. My mother detested rap music wholeheartedly simply for having "malas palabras." Every time I tried to practice my verses, she would tell me to stop. Rehearsing verses had to be done away from any or all of my family members, resulting in having to wait until I visited my friend's house in Lakewood.

Holy crap, did I receive a wild response from the crowd when I got to the line "Straight outta H.G…. is a mouth like a pussy." I screamed the initials of my home town Hawaiian Gardens bravely like Tarzan, swinging in the trees with the greatest of ease (or skating on branches if you prefer the Disney film adaption). It really was the dumbest, stupidest, weak line I ever put into this rap, and it was my first rhyme, mind you. But what I had in my head was a mouth salivating in saliva, meaning so much spit to shoot. As you will see in future installments, my rap writing skills would eventually get better, so in essence I technically did live up to that part… even when I ended up succumbing to my gimmick as the "anime man."

Why This? There was something empowering about "Renegade," being able to say whatever without fear. Both Jay-Z and Eminem were fearless in their own rights: the former calling out the media for judging books solely on their cover without ever reading them; the latter sticking it to the hypocrites who have labelled him a bad influence when those same hypocrites don't even follow the words they preach. I was so new to this rap thing, admittedly afraid that this first attempt would blow up in my face if I didn't get it right. All that mattered to me in this verse was mere survival: say whatever you want; even if what you have isn't potent, intelligent or cunning enough; and hopefully you'll be declared the winner by default.

...yeah, there was a lot of learning afoot.

#wammy radio #retrospective #rap #jay z #eminem

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awoogasae · 2 years

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could u write bsf!fred jealous of how much time reader spends w cedric etc. cuz he has feelings for them, obv 🙏🙏:)

but reader just thinks he’s being rude

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Reader

Warnings: Jealously, small angst, unspoken feelings

Summary: Fred has a crush on Y/N and Y/N has been spending some extra time with Cedric. What happens when Fred’s Emotions get to the best of him??

You were walking with Cedric to the great hall for dinner. Cedric had been struggling with Charms class so you offered to help tutor him for the upcoming test. However a certain someone has been extremely bitter of this. As you reached the great hall, a tall redhead has already grabbed you by the shoulders to the Gryffindor table before you could even say bye to Cedric.

“What was that for?” You scoffed. He’s been so odd to you nowadays. Being extremely clingy and overly protective.

“Oh, cmon! I haven’t talked to you all day because you’ve been with pretty boy Cedric all the time,” Fred says as he guides you to sit next to him at the at the table.

“Like I’ve said before I’m just tutoring him, no need to get so upset Freddie.”

“Y/N I really don’t think you should tutor him anymore, he’s a weird guy.” he says with a hint of anger.

“I don’t really see a good reason why I should stop tutoring him. He’s a good friend to me too.” You said as you continued to grab food onto your plate. “I don’t understand why you’re being so rude to Cedric in the first place.”

“Maybe if you weren’t so goddamn blind, you could see how he’s actually in love with you.” Rise in his voice concerned you instantly. Fred noticed instantly how your eyes started to water and your lips quivered.

“Why do you have to be so mean Fred? I thought you were better than this.” You ran out of the great hall, ignoring all the eyes that were on you and Fred. How could this have happened? As you ran away George came over to Fred and asked him what the hell was going on. You and Fred were best friends…or that’s what you have been telling yourself and others.

The feelings for Fred grew throughout the years of your friendship. You couldn’t help yourself. Who wouldn’t fall for a 6’4ft ginger with such a flirty personality?

Continuing on you ran to your dorm room and closed the doors shut, fell down on your knees and cried. The tears continued and continued. You’ve always been emotional but especially with Fred. He was your soft spot.

You weren’t the only one crying. Fred knew he fucked up. He left his emotions take over what he was saying. Jealousy was his one weakness. Fred was so jealous of Cedric getting to have so much time with you. He was so jealous of you having his attention on Cedric instead of him. He was an absolute hopeless mess for you.

The sun was glaring at you as you woke up. You didn’t wanna face anyone especially not Fred at the moment but you know that you guys had to talk about it. It left you at unease knowing what terms you two were at.

You were zoned out the whole entire day. Skipped breakfast, no focus, no clear thoughts, just completely out of it. Your friends were concerned for you but you refused to explain or talk about what happened yesterday.

It was finaily now dinner time again. You were dragged into the great hall by your friends. Even though you tried your best to avoid Fred, you were sitting right next to Fred due to the lack of seats.

Fred tried. He gave you a smile and eye contact but you refused. Until you couldn’t resist it anymore. You loved him but you guys clearly had something to talk about. About 15 minutes passed until you felt something nudged against you. Fred was nudging a little paper note to your leg. You looked up to his face and saw his nervous face that he rarely shows. Quickly you took the note from his hand and opened it.

Can we talk right now? - F.W

You gave him a nod. He grabbed you hand and led you to a empty hallway. George seem oddly unamused by this at the table.

“I’m so sorry Y/N. I really didn’t mean to raise my voice at you or to be upset at you in general. Please forgive me before I say my second confession.” Fred said franticly with a clear distress in his voice.

You couldn’t get the right words out at the exact moment. So you showed it. You embraced him into a tight hug. There was no way in hell you couldn’t forgive him. It was basically a soft whisper of “I’m sorry”s and “I forgive you”s for a few minutes. Until Fred pulled away and started to speak again.

“The reason why I was so upset is because I was…I guess you would say jealous.” Of course he was jealous, he’s literly in love with you. “This probably isn’t the best time to confess this but Y/N I have been in love with you for years. I’m been hiding my feelings i never knew if you liked me back. I’m so sorry if you don’t feel the same-

“Fred I’m literlly also in love with you. I was just too much of a hopeless wreck to even think you would like me—“

Interrupted by the one thing you thought you would never experience. Fred Weasley kissed you. His arm was around your waist pulling you into him. Your hands going to the back of his head; deepening the kiss. Although he started it, Fred ended the sweet moment by pulling way only for a second so he could ask the big question.

“Can i be your boyfriend Y/N?”

“Oh my god, you idiot. Yes!”

#fred weasley x y/n #fred weasley x fem!reader #fred weasley x you #fred weasley masterlist #fred weasley #fred weasley fic #fred weasley fanfiction #fred weasley fluff #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley x reader

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duckymcdoorknob · 3 years

Note

hey i found your account yesterday and decided to follow and write in an emergency request!! also sorry if my grammar is bad, english wasn't my first language.

okay so these past few weeks i've been feeling really drained. this has messed me up a whole lot. like my social battery has been getting lower and lower, i'm starting to get more distant towards my friends/family, and all my grades started to drop. :( to top it all off none of my friends have really noticed anything (we're know each other for about 7 years) so may i request for oikawa and kuroo?

Hi lovie!! I hope you’re doing much better now!

Sorry about the wait!!

I’m right here for you, okay?? Please let me know if you need anything.

CW BELOW THE CUT: reader lacks sociability, platonic nickname used

𝑇𝑜𝑜𝑟𝑢 𝑂𝑖𝑘𝑎𝑤𝑎

I think that Oikawa gets his fair share of Gifted Kid Burnout™ himself.

This made it easy for him to pick up on the signs that you actually weren’t okay

As he went about his usual routine, one thing seemed to be missing: you.

The times where he would typically see your sweet face beaming back at him, they were now dull.

Where did you go?

As it turns out, you were just in an empty classroom to work on your homework.

“Hi, (Y/N)-Chan! Mind if I join you? I’ll be really quiet.”

You couldn’t help but smile warmly at his request. “I suppose, but don’t make a lot of noise because I have to focus.”

Oikawa internally celebrated and sat criss cross diagonal from you, not wanting to invade your personal space.

He took out his own work and the lot of you began to work in silence.

It was nice, you had to admit. But…

“Hey, ‘Kawa I have to head out now my mom- she uh… she needs-“

“Hey whatever she needs, go right ahead! I’ll see you around!”

You felt yourself slump over, is it that easy to get rid of you?

“Woah hey, (N/N) what’s going on?” beautiful brown eyes were filled with remorse.

“S’nothin’, ‘Kawa”

“Don’t s’nothin’ me! You can’t fool me.” Oikawa demanded, “You’re burnt out, aren’t you? I can see it in your eyes.”

“I’m not burnt out!” You yelped in rebuttal, “I’m just really low on my desire to be social is all.” The last part came out as more of a mumble.

“Ah I getcha. Well, if you’d like, you can leave and I can come see you later?”

“I-“ this was frustrating. Why was he so understanding??

“I don’t know, Tooru. I just want to feel better again is that so much to ask?” You mumbled

The setter scooched across the floor on his knees and pulled you into a gentle embrace.

“Tell me what’s going on, honey.” His tone was sotto voce, not wanting to upset you further.

“It’s so hard to want to be around people anymore, ‘Kawa… even my family im just… what if I’m broken?”

“You are not broken, my dear.” He began while gently running his fingertips up and down your back, “sometimes we just don’t want to be social with people, and that’s okay. You’re not different, you’re not rude, and you’re definitely not broken.”

“I feel like I’m shutting everyone out though. I don’t want them to be upset with me…”

“Everyone needs some space every now and then. Don’t even worry, this happens to me often.” Oikawa said softly, smiling into your shoulder. “If you’d like, I’ll stay with you for a little while, then when you’re ready I can go.”

“I don’t-“ you mumbled, “I don’t think I want you to go.”

Oikawa smiled gently and continued to trace patterns into your back, “Then I’ll stay here with you, as long as you need, even forever.”

You chuckled, “Forever is a really long time.”

“Anything for you.”

𝑇𝑒𝑡𝑠𝑢𝑟𝑜 𝐾𝑢𝑟𝑜𝑜

It took Kuroo a little while to figure out why you were suddenly absent from all of your usual hangouts.

You, however, we’re giving him inadvertent signs that something was wrong…

First, you showed up 40 minutes late to your 1 hour study session with him and Yaku.

That isn’t at all like you. You always loved to help them with ideas for making the session fun.

Next, you rarely acknowledged anyone who waved to you in the halls anymore. Poor Yamamoto thought you were mad at him.

And shortly after that, Kuroo saw you sitting in your car, running your head through your hands.

At that point, the middle blocker knew that now was the time to act.

Without any invitation, Tetsu’ opened the passenger door and sat down next to you,

“Alright. Tell me… what’s going on?”

“Wh- Kuroo! Get out of m-“

“(Y/N) please.” His tone was soft and sympathetic, “you can’t keep it from me anymore.”

“Nothing is the matter. I’m okay.” You replied quite quickly, “now if you could kindly leave my passenger seat.”

Kuroo sighed and left his side of the car, disappearing behind it to the left.

What you didn’t expect was for your own door to open, and to have been enveloped in Kuroo’s firm but delicate arms.

“Please, sweetheart… You can’t keep this in anymore.” His voice was barely whispered, as if he was inches away from crying himself.

You blinked your eyes vigorously, staring at the ceiling and pressing your tongue to the roof of your mouth.

But, no avail.

You began to break down, sobbing into his shoulder.

“There you go… shhhhh. Let it right out. You’re safe with me.” His thumbs rubbed soothing patterns on your back.

“I just-“ you choked, “D-does everyone hate m-me now?”

Kuroo pushed your shoulders backward and looked in your eyes.

“Of course not, (Y/N). Where did that thought come from?”

“I’ve just… I’ve been av-voiding everyone a-all week.”

“So you had a low social battery, that’s fine. We’re not expecting you at our beckoned call, so we don’t have any resentment toward you. It’s okay to not be okay… okay?”

“But-“

“No buts. Everything is fine. Just shoot me a text next time okay? Yama was totally worried that you hated him.”

A small chuckle escaped your lips, “okay.”

“There they are.” He replied, pulling you back into a hug.

“Hey Kuroo?”

“Mm?”

“Wanna listen to (favorite playlist)?”

He smiles into your shoulder, “you know it.”

—————♡︎✞♡︎✞♡︎✞♡︎✞♡︎✞♡︎✞♡︎✞♡︎✞♡︎✞♡︎—————

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sinner-as-saint · 4 years

Text

‘Till We Bleed Out - 1.

Vampire!bucky x reader AU

Part 1 of this series.

Run-through: Your car breaks down on a deserted road on a rainy night. You have no other option but to seek shelter from the nearest house you could find; the mansion, which happened to be the talk of the town for its mysteriousness along with its equally mysterious owner, Mr. Barnes. The universe can be tricky sometimes but the fact that you found yourself at that mansion’s doorstep at that time was no simple coincidence. That one night changes everything forever - quite literally. True love, past lives and creatures from folklore; turns out it’s all real.

Themes throughout the series: vampire!bucky, fluff, smut, angst

You knocked on the large wooden door and took a step back, hands shaking with how nervous you were.

You were quite far from your neighborhood, and none of your friends were in town currently. So really so there was no one who could come pick you up. Plus, the thunderstorm was making things worse. Your car had broken down for no reason while you were heading back home. And you drove down this road often, to get to the other side of the town and you always, always admired this mansion - at the doorstep of which you found yourself at the moment.

The mansion was renowned for its unusualness. It was the largest property around so definitely whoever owns it must be extremely well-off. Another reason why it was so talked about is because no one personally knew the man who owned it. People saw him once in a while, some claimed to have seen him at the library, or at the museum or at the coffee shops. He had no friends apparently, always seen alone. No one knew of his occupation, or how he was able to afford and maintain this large estate.

Most people said he was stand-offish, or mean, or rude or arrogant. Well, whatever he was, you were about to find out in a few seconds given that you were now knocking at his front door. What if he doesn’t agree to help? Or worse, what if he’s a creepy weirdo who-

Your thoughts were cut short as the door flew open. And the man revealed himself. Your gaze locked with his and for a brief moment, it felt like time had stopped. Blue eyes. The bluest you had ever seen. Magnetic, mesmerizing. Strong jaw, broad shoulders - the man was a dream.

I finally found you…

For some reasons those words echoed in your head, and you felt a pressing need to say them out loud. You had to force yourself out of whatever trance you were under and come back to reality.

You cleared your throat. “Hello Mr. Barnes. I apologize for-,”

He cut you off, abruptly. “Come on in.” he spoke with a warm smile and opened the door wider. And you found yourself under his spell just by the sound of his voice, again.

“But Mr. Barnes you didn’t even let me-,” you realized it would be much better if you told him why you were here in the first place, you would hate to impose.

He gave you another smile as he waited for you to enter his home, closing the door behind you. “You’re a long way from home, I figured that the only reason why you would be here at this time is because you need shelter from the terrible weather, or maybe your car broke down.” He gave you a soft look, “So which is it?”

You looked down at your shoes now drenched by the rain, sheepishly answering, “Both actually.” You looked back up at him and finally took all of him in. You had to admit, he was just as they described him; very, very handsome.

Tall, dark hair, blue eyes. He looked like he was crafted by the gods above. His soft sweater gave him a very warm look, but his eyes - icy blue, they reminded you of glaciers and mountain tops, and snowstorms. He was the kind of man one could spend hours looking at. And the more you looked at him, the more details you picked up on. For instance, how perfect his nose was. Or how well he carried himself, or just how mature and wise his facial hair made him look. He was… oddly familiar. Maybe you had seen him at the library or something before.

He must've caught you checking him out judging by the smirk he gave you. You cleared your throat again, looking everywhere else but right at him. “I promise I’ll be gone by morning, Mr. Barnes.”

He took a step forward and you froze in place. “Please, call me Bucky. And you can stay for as long as you need too, there’s no way I’m letting you leave until this terrible storm passes.” And just as he said that, you heard the thunder roar right above you.

“Thank you.” you replied with a shy smile. Normally, whenever you came face to face with men this handsome, you’d turn into a nervous mess. But Bucky had a sense of familiarity with him. Warmth, comfort; you couldn’t explain it. “You have a lovely home.” you commented.

Bucky looked right at you with a look in his eyes which you couldn’t quite decipher. Longing? Sadness? Or was it just you who was overthinking? “Thank you.” he stared at you for a few more seconds before rushing over to the coat hangers and grabbed one, holding it open for you. “I’m sorry, it seems I forgot how to be a good host. We don’t get many visitors.”

You happily accepted the coat and turned back around to smile at him. “I think you’re doing perfectly alright.”

He smiled and opened his mouth to say something but another voice beat him to it. “Who is it? I heard someone come in. Is it-,”

The woman with brown hair and a white apron, who suddenly emerged from one of the hallways, stopped talking the moment she saw you. Her lips parted in surprise and you could’ve sworn you heard her gasp. You assumed it was because of the odd time you showed up.

“Oh…” she seemed surprised. “Hello miss...” her eyes searched for Bucky and the moment she found him, her eyes widened again.

Bucky spoke up. “Wanda, this is Y/N. She will be spending the night here. Could you prepare the guestroom for her please?”

The woman, Wanda, smiled brightly and you wondered how she had this much energy at this time of the night. “Of course! Right away.” And with that, she left. Leaving you and Bucky alone again. You turned to face him again.

“That was my housekeeper, Wanda. Her and her husband take care of the house.” He explained, and you nodded.

“She seemed a little surprised upon seeing me. I didn’t mean to disturb your household at such a time, I’m-”

He cut you off again, stepping closer and gently placing his cold hands on your shoulder. You shivered a little and he didn’t seem to notice. “Y/N, listen to me. You don’t have to apologize, you didn’t disturb anyone, okay?”

His piercing blue eyes were making it hard for you to focus on what he was saying but you grasped whatever you could and nodded in understanding. “Okay.” You tried hard not to, but you couldn’t help but be all bothered by his simple touch. His very presence screamed power, in a good way. You felt safe.

“Good. Now come on, you could use some rest.” He held your hand in his gently, and led you up the grand stairs. He took your hand in his with such ease almost like he had done so a thousand times before, and you let him.

You took in more and more of the house as you moved upstairs. It was the right mixture between modern and vintage. Parts of the house looked like it belonged in one of the home décor magazines you were currently obsessed with, while others seemed like they were pieces of ancient manors. It was unusually, hauntingly beautiful.

Once you entered the guest room, you felt a wave of emotions hit you right in the face. Like homesickness, but for a place you had never stepped in before until this very moment. Nostalgia, but for a moment back in time which you had never lived in.

The room was absolutely gorgeous. Dark wooden interior, with accents of black and gold. A chandelier which reminded you of an ancient castle, and a bed which seemed fit for royalty. “I must say, you have incredible taste in interior décor.”

Bucky chuckled. “I take it you like the room. Very well then, you’ll find everything you need in the closets and in the bathroom.” He took a step back. “And if you need anything, anything at all, just call out.”

You giggled as he said so. “This place is massive. There’s no way you’re gonna hear me if I call out for you.”

He let out a little laugh. “Trust me doll, I will hear you.” And with that, he left.

You watched him as he closed the door behind him, feeling just a little more warm after that nickname. You let out a sigh of satisfaction. Well, you were weirdly comfortable here. You walked further into the room, taking in every little detail. You took off the coat Bucky gave you earlier and placed it down on one of the couches. Taking off your heels, you made your way to the bathroom and it was everything one can dream of.

You searched the cabinets and closets and found sweatpants and t-shirts which would fit you. Grabbing a set of clothes, you hopped into the shower and forgot about your broken down car and the thunderstorm. Instead, you thought of Bucky. What a peculiar man he is; no one in the town knows where he comes from, or what he does but here you were seeking help from him, showering his bathroom.

There was something about him, a sense of ease and warmth which many people lack when you first meet them. But Bucky was different. It almost felt like you’ve known him all your life.

When you stepped out, all refreshed and dressed you sensed a change the moment you walked back into the bedroom. Someone was here.

“I brought you some tea. To warm you up a little.”

You turned around and found Bucky sat on one of the couches by the bed. You instantly smiled, instead of being startled. He was so easy to be around.

You walked towards him. You picked up one of the cups from the coffee table and brought it up to your nose, softly blowing on it before inhaling the lovely scent.

“It’s chamomile and lavender.” Bucky said, and you faced him with a big smile.

“My favorite, thank you.” you smiled at the odd coincidence as you took a sip of the tea. It soothed you immediately.

Bucky picked up his own cup and took a slow sip as he watched you intently. “Tell me about yourself, Y/N.”

The way your name rolled off his tongue sent shivers down your spine. Which then reminded you that you never actually told him your name. Or maybe you did and you forgot.

You held your warm cup with both hands and began. You told him your name, where you’re from, where you work and a little bit about your family. You knew you shouldn’t be giving this much detail about your life to a stranger but you were currently drinking tea in his guest room wearing clothes he provided, so the least you could do is engage fully in the conversation.

He did a little nod after each piece of information you fed him, and you found it adorable.

“It’s your turn.” you spoke after you were done talking about yourself.

He smiled. It was a sad smile, or so it seemed. Surely you were overthinking. “I’m quite a boring person to be honest. I work all day, and I work all night. My family is… not around so I have to handle everything. All their businesses and companies around the country.”

“Doesn’t it get lonely here? I mean it’s a magnificent home but, to live here alone must be quite hard, no?”

You didn’t mean to pry but the way he looked straight into your eyes made you want to know the man a little better. Why was he so calm and collected? How is he so okay with you just being in his home? Why is he so kind? He didn’t seem old, then why did he give off the vibes of being so mature and wise, like he’s lived lifetimes before this one?

“Memories can be great company.” He answered in a tone which gave away that the man had lost a lot. Perhaps a close family member? Or a friend or a spouse? He added, “And this house is full of it.”

“You grew up here?” you couldn’t help but ask.

He gave you that same look; sad, longing like he was desperately trying to show certain emotion but he couldn’t.

“I moved here. With my wife.” Those words of his caused your heart to feel heavy. “But she passed, a long time ago.” The look on his face made your heart burn for some reasons. The need to comfort him took over you but you refrained from doing so, it wasn’t your place to.

“You must’ve loved her a lot.” You didn’t ask, you stated. Because it showed.

He had that same sad smile on his face. “She was my everything. My lifeline.”

He sounded so broken, it hurt. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

He smiled again. “You know, I like to think that the things we lose end up coming back to us, eventually. One way or another.”

That didn’t really make sense to you right away, but it was a beautiful thought nonetheless. “That’s beautiful.”

He stared into your eyes again, and it seemed like he was fighting something back. The need to say something perhaps. “It’s late. You should get some sleep.” And just as he said that, the thunder roared again, as loud as it could.

You stood up as he did. He said goodnight and left. And you were left standing there wondering what the hell happened in the past few minutes. His presence alone made you feel safe for some reasons. Knowing that he was just a few doors down the hallway made you less anxious. Even when you settled under the covers, it didn’t feel like a foreign bed.

You wondered why. How could you have settled into an unfamiliar home so easily? It wasn’t weird, just surprising.

With the help of the tea, you drifted off to sleep in no time. Dreaming about ballrooms, and kissing a man inside a beautiful mansion and… and a pair of ocean blue eyes…

A flutter on your cheek, and you looked up to find a pair of blue eyes looking down at you. “Hello sweetheart. You ready?” the man said as he offered you a red rose.

You nodded, despite his face being quite blurry. You felt his arms around you, and you felt safe; like nothing could go wrong and this was a perfect world. You felt his lips place a gentle kiss on your forehead.

Your surroundings changed and now you were at a ball, wearing a lovely rose gold gown, arms linked with the tall man. The music was unfamiliar but lovely. He twirled you around and pulled you close, your one hand carefully placed in his and the other on his shoulder. You noticed the shiny ring on your ring finger, and the wedding band on his. You smiled, realizing that this was your husband and all was well.

Your surroundings faded again. Now you were inside your home. A beautiful home, with the fireplace warming the room you were in. Your blue-eyed husband was beside you again, the two of you sat by the fireplace and he offered you a glass of wine. You smiled, taking it from him. You felt a slight discomfort inside your mouth, around your front teeth but that was alright, it seemed like you were used to it. You brought the wine glass up to your lips, letting some of the contents into your mouth. It wasn’t wine, but you seemed to enjoy it nonetheless.

Euphoria, you felt utter euphoria as you stared into the same pair of eyes only this time they were so red, they seemed black. He reached out and held your face in place and tilted his head just a little; deepening the kiss. He nibbled on your lower lip and shoved his tongue past your lips. Your body tingled in his arms. It all felt so right and perfect, it felt like a dream. Like a dream inside a dream.

Gentle sin, that’s what it felt like when he pulled you closer, his hand slipping under your night dress and resting on your thigh while his other hand cupped your cheek. Your hands slid into his hair naturally and he moaned into the kiss again when you tugged at his roots a little. He kissed down your neck, his arm wrapped around your waist, pressing your body against his. He nibbled on the skin at the side of your throat, his teeth sharp and you were sure he left marks on your skin, but you didn’t mind.

You gasped and moaned. This felt right. He pulled away after a while. He looked down at you with pink, swollen, parted lips. Slightly breathless, and his eyes showed nothing but love and passion, and a hunger like you had never seen before, but it was all familiar. His face was unclear, but you could make out certain features of his and he was oddly familiar too.

“I love you.” He mumbled.

You knew that voice…

“I love you so much.” He whispered against your lips, his hand slipping in between your legs with no shame; his knuckles gently stroked your wet folds; making you shiver at his touch. He smiled against your lips upon feeling just how aroused you were, before he pulled away and kissed down your body. He took your sensitive nipples in his mouth.

He sucked on the soft skin as his teeth applied just the slightest bit of pressure upon the bud. His warm tongue swirling around your nipple had you throwing your head back in pleasure.

Your eyes closed as you relished his touch. You felt him kiss his way down your body; from your lips all the way down to your hip bones; his lips soft and gentle on your skin.

He placed his hands on either one of your thighs and slowly spread your legs further apart and attached his lips to your core without any hesitation. You moaned out loud as you felt his warm mouth on top of your dripping core. His tongue slipped past your folds and teased your entrance; occasionally flicking your throbbing clit mercilessly.

Obscene, wet sounds erupted from where his mouth latched on to your core, and the sight was just as sinful. He had dark hair you noticed. The room was getting darker and darker as well. You could see your arousal drenching the lower half of his face as he ate you out relentlessly until you were nothing but a moaning, hot mess, squirming on the large bed.

Your body arched off the bed for just a moment, your eyes closing and your head leaning back as you felt a wave of intense pleasure wash over you when his tongue slowly circled around your sensitive clit. The pressure between your legs was building up nicely.

With a few more strokes of his tongue, you let go and gushed out all over his face without any warning. He licked you clean, then kissed his way up your body again. “You’re all mine, Y/N.” he whispered softly against your lips as he settled in between your legs again. You shuddered under him and whined against his mouth, the feeling reminding you a lot of how you shivered earlier when a pair of cold hands held you gently by the shoulder.

Your body felt tingly as he pushed himself fully into you. He lifted his head to look at you and you gasped quietly in surprise. It was Bucky. Although he still had dark eyes, and sharp canines?

He didn’t give you time to think too much. You moaned out loud once he filled you up entirely, and he gave you a couple of seconds to relax your tense body. You wrapped around him perfectly. You were so full of his thick cock that even forming a proper thought seemed impossible at the moment. You shuddered as you felt all of him. His lips found yours again, kissing you deeply while he rolled his hips against yours.

His body felt cold. But it also felt familiar. Being so close to him felt right.

You whimpered as he slowly slipped out of you completely, before slamming back into you slightly harder. He groaned right in your ear as you felt your walls wrap around him, squeezing and clenching. This felt right.

Panting and swearing under his breath, he rocked into you. Your nails sank into his skin, around his shoulders; which you held onto for dear life as he pounded into you. He kissed your face; all over. You felt a little bold so you hooked your legs around his waist as his thrusts got rougher than the last. You were a moaning mess under him as your hands gripped his arms and shoulder. Your body moved against his like a rag doll. You knew, in your dream that you belonged to him, and him you.

“I love you.” he whispered. He kissed you, bit your skin, kissed your open mouth while he rammed into you; and you never complained once. If anything, you wanted more. You needed him closer. Your legs trembled as you wrapped them around his waist. He growled and bit down on your shoulder as he fucked you. He was relentless, and you liked it.

“I love you so much,” he whispered in your ear, groaning as you tried to meet each one of his thrusts as well. He slammed into you, his hands travelling all over your body, until one of them wrapped around your throat. Your eyes watered as the pleasure became too much to handle; and you felt the pressure forming again. You felt him everywhere, each nerve ending burning and tingling.

You squirmed in pleasure as both his hands gripped your hips, pushing you into him harshly each time he filled you up. A sweet, familiar pain formed again, and you came without any warning; gushing out all over him as he kept slamming into you, chasing his own orgasm.

“Bucky... ” you sounded breathless.

He gasped and snuggled closer to you. His eyes were back to the gentle blue again. “I’m right here, sweetheart. I’ll always be here. I love you, Y/N.”

You wanted to say it back. But then you woke up to a loud boom. You sat up gasping, and looking around frantically. You were sweating, but also cold. The room was dark, unlike the one in your dream earlier, which was illuminated by candlelight. It took you a little while to reorient yourself. The storm was somehow getting more and more loud and violent outside.

And you just had a weird dream about Bucky. Which didn’t feel like a dream, but more like a memory. A memory buried so deep that it almost didn’t feel real.

You were confused. What is the meaning of all this?

---

a/n: hi

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes au #vampire!bucky #marvel au #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x you

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arcadejohn127-9 · 3 years

Note

Hello,, may i request headcanons of the brothers who got a love letter from mc but it turned out to be a prank from some lesser demons,,thank you :))

This was meant to be posted on yesterday for April fools but ended up getting caught up with things irl and didn't get to finish it in time - aaaaaaaand I fell asleep before midnight and now it's 3 am, fell asleep mid way through writing, well done me 😭😂

Rip the lesser demons for always having the balls to cause mischief but always end up getting hurt, when will they learn - what happens at the end is up to you

The lesser demon snickered towards his friend, shushing their friend as they slipped the pink letter into the higher demons locker. Another demon was with them, more timid than the other two.

"what if we get in trouble?! They'll find out it wasn't actually the human and we'll end up dog food-!"

"we planned this whole thing, it'll be fun - we just gotta stay at a distance!"

It was long before footsteps grew closer, the timid demon squeaking in fear. The other lesser demons took it as a sign to start running, grabbing each other and bolted away from the scene of the crime.

The owner of the locker arrived, just noticing the lesser demons run off in the distance. He opened his locker and almost stumbled back when a letter fluttered out. The demon grew curious he noticed there was a heart seal on the back. He opened it to read it to himself.

To my dearest friend,

I think it's about time I come clean about my feelings, I've been holding these in for a very long time and I refuse to keep them a secret anymore!

I'm in love with you! I can't explain it but you've won my heart, everytime you smile at me I just can't help but feel my heart skip. Is it wrong to feel this way? I'm only a human and you are a demon...we're so different and I don't know how long we'll be able to have this time we have together. All I know is that I want to be with you for as long as I can!

Will you accept my feelings? I'm not sure if I can face just yet so meet me at the end of day! I'll be waiting for you at the back of the school - I really hope you come. Even if it's decline my feelings....I just want to be able to face you and how you make me feel.

Love, (Y/N)

Lucifer:

Oh his ego is SO stroked

He could just imagine the human blushing as they wrote and nervously putting it in his locker

He did see you later that day and decided to tease you a little but while you were flustered, you also seemed confused

That was his first suspicion

When the time finally came he was patient but you weren't early

His second suspicious

You both knew each other very well, he liked things being in a timely Matter and you tried your best to not be late

He stiffened when he heard a snicker from a few trees away, he looked over there to see three demons all hiding

"I know you're hiding, it's best you come out now."

One by one they all showed themselves, growing nervous

"Come here, don't be shy, I'm sure there's a perfectly good reason for this, after all you seemed to be desperate to have me out here."

"you- you knew it wasn't the human?!"

his pride wouldn't let him tell the truth, he refused to show his disappointment

"of course, you clearly don't understand the human as much as you think you do - now, who's the leader? I think we should have a nice talk."

Mammon:

YOU GAVE HIM A LOVE LETTER??!!!

He's internally screaming, his face was bright red

Watch this boy struggle against his locker as he tries to hide his excitement

Though, when his high died down he did find it strange you were being shy

You could have your shy moments but to confess through a letter was odd

He wasn't the brightest guy around but he can sense when he's getting scammed - even if he ignores that instinct when it comes to money

He's always around you so it wasn't strange for him to see you after class and he was surprised how... relaxed you were

Something was up but in the end, he went to the back of the school

When he texted you, asking you where you were and you said going home - that was the final straw

HE WAS TRICKED!

"Oi! Are you out there?! I know you tricked me!"

The lesser demons started to panic, not thinking mammon would catch on

But when mammon started marching around looking for them they decided it was best to reveal themselves

"There ya are, now let's get to talking - what made you three wanna do something like this? You think it's funny to pretend to be the human?"

The leader snickered, agreeing that it was funny to pretend but their friends understood right now - their doom was coming

Mammon cracked his knuckles, stalking closest to them

"I like a good joke, let me show you my favourite one."

Levithan:

Love Letter in his locker??? Heart seal!!!??HE WAS THE LOVE INTEREST??!!

He's torn between dying inside and excitement, he's absolutely losing it

He had to fan himself with the letter due to how hot his face was getting

He wasn't sure how he was going to face you! Let alone you having to face him

But- there was no way you were interested in him! You wouldn't do this

He didn't believe it, it HAD to be a prank

When levi saw you for the rest of the day it only strengthen his suspicions

He did go to the back of the school and when he saw you were no where to he seen

He was absolutely embarassed and ashamed by even hoping it was real

"YOU CAN COME OUT NOW! just- just stop hiding, it isn't funny."

the demons came out, disappointed with the lack of dramatics

"so you three did it, you really think it's funny to do something like this?! To mess with someone's feelings and pretend to be the human is just - IT'S PATHETIC-!"

The demons started to feel uncomfortable, the higher demon had tears in his eyes and obviously worked up

Even the one who wanted to see this kind of reaction was uncomfortable

His demon form started to shift outwards and raised his hand, the ground beneath them rumbling

"it seems you just think I'm some sort of pushover! But I'm not!"

Satan:

Hm, how interesting

It isn't too odd that you're using a letter to confess, you know he appreciate writing

But you were more verbal or atleast text - this was new

But to say he wasn't absolutely ecstatic was an understatement, he was beyond the moon

When he saw you later he tried to not bring up the letter as his brothers were around

Though, he was thrown off when you got confused when he teased about seeing you after school

He decided he'll investigate things, going up to demons who have lockers near his and ask if he saw the human put anything in it

After awhile of searching he finally found out it was three demons who did it - he didn't want to spoil their fun and so he still went

He leaned against the nearest tree, waiting for the demons to arrive

"Ah you're here, I'm so glad you finally came."

the demons were surprised when he moved towards them, they left their hiding spot with nervous smiles

"You write well, you got their energy almost perfectly into the letter - I'm impressed."

They didn't expect that....not one bit

"you're not....mad???"

Satan chuckled, flexing his clenched fists

His smile grew more strained and dangerous as he leaned over them

"oh no, no I'm not mad - im LIVID."

Asmodeus:

He was surprised to get a love letter, he gets piles worth everyday

He didn't expect it to be from YOU though

You were so open with him and you two were already overly affectionate to each other he was sure you were already low-key dating

So to get confirmation his feelings were returned - he was overjoyed!

As soon as he saw you he's hugging you, telling you how he loved your letter and that he'll still meet you after school if you need to

You were utterly confused and unsure what he was talking about

When you told him you didn't give him that letter he felt his heart break

You didn't love him?? That wasn't your letter??

To think someone would play a prank on him like that! It was rude!

When it was time, he went to the back of the school and pretended as if he didn't sense the other demons

That was until he grew impatient

"are you shy, dear? It's okay - I know it wasn't the human~"

The lesser demons came out, confused

One of them blushed just being near him

"I'm sorry for my friend! They wanted to play the prank but- but I love you asmo!"

He gave them a pity smile

"aww~ of course you love me! But you really hurt my feelings making me believe the human did, I almost cried!"

The demons immediately all felt bad

The idea of their gorgeous asmo crying made them guilty

"I know exactly what will make me feel better, making sure you three can never write again~! Can't have you keep tricking me, can I?"

Beezlebub:

A Love letter from you?! He's a happy boy

But now that he actually thinks about it - it's odd you're not being upfront

You two usually sit alone together when you wanna get something off your chest, holding hands and you don't even have to face each other

Why the sudden change? Perhaps you just wanted to be like one of Levi's anime characters

Regardless, he was happy and wanted you to be happy

Hes was going to make you happy!

Beel was quick to find you and act like he didn't find your letter, you said you'll face him after school and he respected that

Whilst you couldn't exactly avoid each other before then, he did try to give you space

As soon as school ended he Went to the back, waiting for you to arrive

Each second went by and he grew more hungry

He smelt something close by and found three demons hiding, it was odd but he didn't want to be hungry whilst you confessed - he wanted to give you his full focus

"ah-! How did you know we were here?!"

"I smelt the sandwich in your bag, I want it."

It didn't take much convincing to hand it over

He's a scary demon afterall

"it's best you leave, my friend is coming."

One of the demons started laughing, questioning if he actually believed it was you who gave him the letter

Beel got confused before it all clicked together, he frowned, glaring at the demons

He wasn't happy

"I'm still hungry, three demons will do just fine."

Belphegor:

Happy cow man, demon tail go SWISH

On the inside hes like an excited dog, outside he's just standing there

Meanwhile he wants to be like his twin, respectful that you want to do later

He isn't that patient and wants to make it official with you NOW

so as soon as he sees you, he's draping himself on you and telling you how impatient he is

You're confused on why and he shows you the love letter

You tell him that it isn't from you and that's not even your hand writing - it's a good mimic but not yours

He is SHOCKED then he's mad

He still goes to the back of the school but it's to fight whoever pranked him

He wasn't going to wait around

"Get out now or I'll search this entire space for you - it won't be pretty if I find out."

It didn't take the demons twice to show themselves

Belphegor was feared amongst others due to his brutality when push comes to shove

Just because he's always sleeping doesn't mean he isn't scary

"Good~ so which one of you wrote the letter? If you wanted to confess you should of just done it."

The demons looked at each other, unsure on what to do

But after a few moments the youngest brother got impatient, moving towards them with a clenched hand

The leader of the lesser demons finally admitted to doing the prank

"see? It wasn't so hard, let's have a long chat about this~"

#obey me #obey me shall we date #gamingclubpresident #aracadejohn217 9 #obey me mammon #obey me mc #obey me asmodeus #obey me satan #obey me belphegor #obey me beezlebub #obey me leviathan #obey me luficer #obey me imagine #obey me headcanon #obey me headcanons #obey me x mc #obey me x you #obey me x reader

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neurodiversebones · 3 years

Text

autistic brennan !!!

in my autistic opinion... here you go. a SLIGHTLY more organized version of what i have dropped in the DMs of anyone who is willing to listen, copy and pasted from a google doc i have so eloquently named "bones is fucking autistic" !!

this headcanon is like. 95% confirmed, which kind of makes my heart do a little "!!!" <3 idk brennan means a Lot to me and always did as a young autistic afab person :-) so here you go !! (under the cut)

okay SO here is my explanation for my headcanon, explained in bullet points- this took up multiple google docs pages so i hope you're ready

emotional display:

has absolutely zero poker face- we see this frequently. there are too many instances to count where she cannot hide her facial expressions !! it is also referenced by booth in late season 8, and i think a few other characters have mentioned it throughout the series?

this is especially in the earlier seasons, but her response to stress and trauma is Very Neurodivergent. she rarely has an outward response- it's so rare to see her cry before season 7/8 ?? this could also definitely be a trauma thing but like,,, trauma symptoms and autistic traits are unfortunately hard to differentiate between because autistic people tend to go through more traumatic situations

not exactly emotional display, but similar- she clearly has alexithymia, or something of the sort (basically, she struggles to recognize her own emotions). this is exhibited a few times- the one i can remember right now is "i don't understand what i'm feeling" "you understand happy, right?" (conversation with angela, season 9). this is actually something i have rarely seen in a character- at least not done well. it makes me very happy !!!

empathy:

she struggles to understand why others would think differently than her- her view of the world is Correct in her eyes, and she finds it difficult to look from someone else's point of view. this frequently ends in her criticizing those around her- her view of the world is incredibly black and white, so when others disagree with her, she believes they must be wrong.

extension of the black and white thinking- she doesn't understand concepts, no matter how hard she tries. she needs evidence and proof. examples of this would be her views on god/religion, love (pre-season 6), and marriage (pre-season 8)

despite her lack of empathy toward people, she exhibits a lot of empathy toward animals. this is actually a really common autistic trait?? examples of this would be her emotional attachment to the dogs in 4x04, or her explosive reaction to finding out the tiger was killed in 8x04

social/conversational skills:

this is probably her most obvious and easily recognizable autistic trait- it's what made me go "she's autistic" after watching a few episodes

she does not understand jokes or sarcasm very well- she frequently gets confused by jokes, explaining why they aren't funny or don't make sense, especially pop culture jokes. when she does understand jokes or pop culture references, she gets very excited and explains them out loud, even though everyone around her already understands (just adding- i love this so much ?? her explaining jokes is Very Cute. i'm sorry i'm a simple gay who can't go ten minutes without declaring my love for her)

struggles with small talk and social niceties- this is used as a joke in nearly every episode. she doesn't do small talk well- preferring to talk about topics that are actually important or interest her. she doesn't see the need for most social conventions either, which leads to her frequently being seen as rude.

she misses social cues in conversations- she frequently brings up topics that are probably not Appropriate for the setting (talking about dead bodies in a restaurant, talking about sex while standing over a dead body, etc.)

she is incredibly literal, and doesn't understand metaphorical speak. this goes hand in hand with the not understanding jokes- she takes many phrases at face value, sometimes confusing others

tone:

she frequently comes off as cold or blunt without meaning to be- many people read her as "heartless" or just uninterested because of the way she speaks, even when she is very invested.

i don't know how to explain this other than her speaking pattern is Very Autistic- the way she pauses mid sentence all the time, the facial expressions she makes while speaking, it's all autism babey !!!

intense focus on one topic:

okay it's very obvious that her special interests are forensics and anthropology

she gets hyperfocused, often losing herself in her work and putting herself through the ringer for it. she puts her work above (almost) everything, and has stated on multiple occasions that she would be nothing without her work.

she often explains the things around her with references to anthropology and ancient civilizations- she uses these references to explain her feelings, the situations she's in, and frequently, to solve crimes. things make sense to her when she thinks about them like this.

not engaging with peers in an "expected" way:

she is often showed to have difficulty getting close with people- she doesn't like showing emotion to others, and would rather just talk about the task at hand. this could very well be explained by her trauma background- but i believe it's probably a bit of both.

she finds it difficult to bond with her peers over common things, like pop culture, and rather talks about work or other things. she doesn't open up to a lot of people, even those who she is incredibly close with.

other/misc.:

stimming !! this doesn't have enough instances to get its own section, but i like to interpret that wonder woman scene as vestibular stimming, purely because i love to spin and jump !!!!

detail oriented, to the point of obsession. it's common for autistic people to get caught up in the details of things, which she definitely does.

views on sexuality differ from the "norm"- she is very critical of monogamy during the first half of the series, and does not see the point in marriage. also she's definitely arospec, just putting that out there <3

i am autistic and i love her therefore i'm right

final notes:

i think she's one of my favourite autistic characters to exist- i usually despise the socially awkward detective trope, but it's handled well here. the people around her don't expect her to change the innate aspects of who she is- rather, they love her unconditionally (even if they are exasperated at times- which is natural to feel with people that you love)

i very much like that they didn't go with the socially awkward + smart = unattractive trope either- she knows that she's hot, and so do the people around her. i'm so sick of nerdy girls not being allowed to be hot 😭 especially when it comes to autistic-coded characters- let autistic people have sex lives 2k21

she just,,, holds a very special place in my heart. as an undiagnosed autistic afab kid, she meant a lot to me. i saw a woman on screen who was smart like me and sometimes confused people because of her intelligence, who didn't really get social situations, who didn't know how to express how she felt. she was like me- and she loved herself, and people loved her. she's a very important character to me and has been since i was really young <3

thank you SO MUCH to anybody who read this- brennan is the loml and i will infodump about her until the end of time

#bones tv #bones on fox #temperance brennan #bonestv #brennan #emily deschanel #autistic headcanon #autistic pride #actuallyautistic #autistic brennan #autistic bones #autistic characters #autism #autistic #neurodivergent #my headcanons

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writing-on-the-wahl · 3 years

Note

Okay, this one’s been done already by other blogs and I understand that not every writer wants to do the same prompt as another so if you’re not comfortable with this then absolutely stay in your comfy zone. I just think it’s fun to see different interpretations

But basically, Civilian is unknowingly dating Villain (as in, Civilian doesn’t know that villain is a criminal), and Villain is introduced to Civilian’s brother, Hero. Hero is terrified that Villain is going to hurt Civilian the entire time, but Villain just keeps on showing lots of sweet affection to Civilian (Hero and Villain recognize each other but Civilian is clueless of both their “jobs”). It’s up to you whether or not Villain actually loves Civilian or is just taunting/threatening Hero :)

Wow that was long my bad

Sorry this took me like twelve years to get to... @glowing-alpaca it won’t let me tag you... idk why🤷🏽‍♀️

Ok yes I’ve seen a few of these, so I took the general principle and made it Civilian’s POV eehehehe

hope you enjoy:)

*special thanks to @im-a-wonderling and @watercolorfreckles for the beta reads and all your amazing help on this one!!*

———————————————

Civilian shifted from foot to foot, rubbing her left wrist as she tried to focus on the conversation swirling around her. Her limbs felt lead-heavy and numb, deadweights that she wasn’t sure what to do with.

She clasped her hands together in front of her, then let them hang by her sides. Then clasped them in front of her again.

Her breathing felt loud in her ears, and a few of the patrons glanced in her direction. Could they hear her breathing?

Her eyes darted to the entrance for the hundredth time. Her brother was late. Hero had promised to be here early—he knew how she felt about crowds. And since he was the one who insisted her first art show be public, he’d reassured her he’d stay by her side the whole time.

The show had started over an hour ago.

“Well, Civilian?”

Her eyes snapped away from the door and back to the circle of patrons around her. Her stomach sloshed cold. They were all looking at her, their stares burning holes.

“Sorry? What was that?” Her stomach continued to twist and writhe. Now they all knew she’d been distracted.

Did they think she was ignoring them? Had she been rude?

She’d only glanced at the door for a moment…

An older man shook his head as his companion repeated her question about her choice to use different mediums to portray the same image.

She answered the best she could, gesturing to the wall beside her, which was filled with a dozen paintings and drawings of the cityscape—some created with ink, other with oil, acrylic, watercolor, or charcoal—she’d used them all.

She rubbed her wrist again as she tried to explain how she’d used the different mediums.

A few in the circle nodded their heads, but her heart was pounding and doubt nagged at her as she spoke. Was she talking too much? Not enough? Was what she was saying stupid?

She stumbled over her words, unease crawling beneath her skin.

She looked down, unable to complete her thought.

“I think it’s a marvelous technique.”

Hero looked up sharply as the deep voice continued, covering the awkward pause she’d created.

“...to get to look at a wall full of paintings, all capturing the same image but each conveying a different mood or emotion.”

Her rescuer was sharply dressed: his dark hair carefully styled, his suit perfectly tailored, and his gold watch designer. Combined with his confident posture, his appearance practically screamed “lawyer,” same as her brother. But while Hero was a public defense attorney, crusading against a flawed system, the man in front of her was probably what Hero would call a ‘leech,’ a rich defense lawyer catering to the criminal elite.

And while Civilian sympathized with Hero’s cause, she also had enough experience as a starving artist to appreciate the luxury of not having to worry about how much money she had to spend at the grocery store.

Plus, he’d been so kind to save her; how bad could he be?

Her rescuer was still speaking, his smooth words and confident tone confirming his profession.

“... the kind of art that needs to be seen and studied to be appreciated.”

At his hint, the crowd began to drift towards the gallery walls.

Her rescuer met her gaze through the crowd, and she offered him a small smile of gratitude as the people around her shifted away.

She turned towards the wall of cityscape paintings, breathing a sigh of relief before stopping to analyze one of the city in the rain. She eyed the brushstrokes, mentally smoothing a line here, adding a shadow there. She shook her head and turned away. Now was not the time.

But her rather abrupt turn sent her careening into a wall-like something that wasn’t a wall, but a certain tall lawyer in a thousand-dollar Armani suit. She jerked back, horrified at her lack of grace, but tripped on her blasted heels. Hands at her waist stopped her fall, long fingers tightening around her as she regained her balance. When she was finally steady, his hands slid away.

“Thanks.” Civilian forced herself to look up into the face of the man who had now rescued her twice, rather than looking around like she wanted to to check who else had noticed her embarrassing almost-fall.

He was smiling warmly, and for the first time all night, her heart wasn’t pounding at the thought of speaking with a stranger.

“I’m sorry for running into you.” She felt breathless, but it must have been from her almost-fall.

He waved her off. “I shouldn’t have been standing so close. I just wanted to compliment the way you’ve captured my favorite view of the city.” He gestured to the painting she’d just been critiquing.

“I painted it at the top of the—“

“Capitol building, yes I go there often.”

“Because you work there often?” Civilian flushed as she spoke across him, but her heart steadied as he didn’t seem to mind. His smile widened, and he leaned closer.

“What gave me away?” His voice was deep, and he looked at her as though they were sharing a secret.

Her cheeks grew warmer, and she looked away, heart racing for an entirely different reason.

“My brother is a lawyer, so I usually can just tell. He was supposed to be here actually…” a frown came to her face as she remembered her brother’s promise.

She shook herself out of her reverie. Her rescuer was looking at her warmly.

“I’m sorry! You rescued me back there, and I don’t even know your name…” She looked at him expectantly, and he offered a bright smile that made her stomach flutter.

“I’m Villain. Pleased to meet you.” His voice was practically a purr, sending tingles across her skin as he took her hand, gently raising it to his lips. She looked down as her cheeks heated at the old fashioned gesture.

“I’m Civilian,” she said as he released her hand, returning his bright smile with a shy one of her own. “Although you probably already knew that since my name is on the program...”

He nodded. “I have to say, I’m quite impressed by your—”

“Civilian!”

A blur in a tan suit darted around Villain and grabbed her arm, pulling her back.

“Hero, what?—” Her brother was a mess. His suit was wrinkled, tie coming undone, hair mussed.

He continued to pull her back, eyes on Villain. “Civilian I need to talk to you—it’s urgent!”

She glanced back at Villain as Hero tugged her away.

“Sorry!” She mouthed.

He just shook his head, an amused smile on his face, before mouthing something that looked suspiciously like, “I’ll see you later.”

Her heart warmed, and she was still grinning when Hero pulled her around the corner and flipped her around to face him.

“What are you—”

“Do you have any idea who that is?” Hero’s fingers gripped her shoulders. “What he is?”

“He said his name was Villain? And so what that he’s a lawyer, Hero. I don’t get why you are freaking out!”

Hero’s hands shook her shoulders. “He’s not just a lawyer, he—”

Civilian wrenched free and shoved Hero’s chest. “He what? Actually helped me? When YOU failed to show up like you promised.” Her last words slid into a growl.

Hero had the decency to look ashamed for a brief moment before his face hardened. He lifted a hand, gesturing with one arm back towards where they’d left Villain. “His people are the reason that I’m late!”

Anger sparked in her chest, and she rolled her eyes. “Sure,” she scoffed, “blame some random lawyer for your broken promise. That’s a pitiful excuse, Hero, even for you.”

She shoved past him, heading back into the gallery.

“Wait, Sis!” He grabbed her arm. She shook him off and stalked away.

But when she returned to the main room, Villain was gone.

#artist civilian #smooth villain #protective hero #villain x civilian #hero x villain #heroes and villains #my writing #snippet #write #writeblr #hero #villain

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oonajaeadira · 3 years

Text

Long Fall Into Oblivion (Ezra x reader)

(header by sirtadcooper - check out the whole beautiful set here.)

Rating: Mature.

Pairing: Ezra (post-Prospect film) x f!reader

Warnings: Non-explicit sex. Some swears maybe (think there’s a f*ck in there somewhere, my GOODNESS). A lot of gooey, syrupy, soft fluffety fluff. Author attempts at writing Ezra dialogue. A lot of chewy prose.

A/N: I can’t believe I’m posting this, but here goes. I love Ezra. He is a man of questionable morality and an insufferable tongue and I really shouldn’t. But I really do. I just wanted to give him a try. I’ve softened him up here, putting a few years on him so maybe he’s fluffed up some since the events in the film. Also I just ignored the fade or assumed that aurelac mining was still happening because scarcity/demand. Doesn’t matter. Just wanted to go exploring.

Summary: You take a job as an aurelac prospecting trainee and Ezra shows you the ropes. You’re gonna fall in love with him. That’s it. That’s the whole thing.

TAGLIST: you can always request to be on the taglist for this or any of my work. If you’d like to be on taglists for upcoming fic, please sign up here –> TAGLIST

MASTERLIST

________________

Bakhroma is one of the smallest gas giants in the sector, but as you stand on the surface of the Green Moon, it dominates the entire horizon, pulling your focus, threatening to engulf everything around it. You almost feel sorry for the lush moon as you walk through its undergrowth, so gentle and full of beauty, destined many years after you’re gone to give its life to her.

A moon is an orbiting admirer, and what is an orbit but a long fall to oblivion?

There’s a painful, sour ache in your heart as you walk back to the camp in twilight, watching the back of Ezra’s helmet bob along in front of you. You’d spent two days digging that claim only to find the weakest aurelac nest you’ve seen yet, only three viable nodes. You’d dug through one of them by accident and completely melted another like an incompetent fool. Kevva’s ass, you were such a disappointment. Three months in the Green and you still can’t cut a blister out properly. Not even once.

Ezra’s shoulders are wide and tense, his one hand splayed out as he walks, running over the tops of the tall ferns, catching one every now and then only to rip the top away, twirl it between his gloved fingers and toss it impatiently aside.

The other two members of your team headed out on a sling this morning, another two will be arriving in a few days. And you wonder if Ez regrets just not cutting his losses and leaving with them, or at least sending you back in exchange for another kip.

You think about shifting through the comm channels, hoping that he’s chattering away in one of them, switched without your knowledge, but it’s a lost cause. You can hear him breathing on the channel between you. It’s not often Ezra has nothing to say.

________________

You thought your father was leaving you an inheritance. It’s not the reason you took care of him through his illness, but you’d dropped everything to be back home with him through his final months. In a way, it was a blessing, a reason to quit the Dasha factory and the terrible working conditions there, come back home and focus on your dad, relive good memories, just spend time. The reconnection lifted your heart, but his death sank it low again. When you learned he had nothing to leave you but a small house and some old vehicles, you sold what you could and traded in the rest.

Then you had nothing. No family, no job, little savings, questionable future. It almost broke your spirit. But the last few months with your father rekindled your love of him as he told you about his years in the Fringe, mining and prospecting. And your heart had said, “what the hell, let’s try that.” So you listened.

It took some time to track down the right inroads, but you were able to find some ads for prospecting teams, in particular those who were willing to take on members in training for a re-distributed cut. With all provisions included--other than suit and gear, which your father’s inheritance neatly covered--it seemed like just as good of a deal as any, and an adventure to boot.

But the reality was, every team you met with was full of hardened men, and while you were not a soft Central woman, you also weren’t overly versed in weaponry and didn’t know if you could defend yourself out in the Fringe against attack if things got crusty.

You were just about ready to admit defeat when you walked into yet another conference bunker and found your match. The first thing you noticed was that he was standing when you arrived, waiting for you politely rather than manspread at the table. Second were his eyes. Deep, brown, and sad. Maybe sad was the wrong word, certainly it seemed by the lines in his face, possibly by the missing arm, that he’d seen enough sadness, but toward you, it read more as concern. You wouldn’t know it until later when he confessed his feelings about this first meeting, but he was worried you wouldn’t choose him. Ezra had a hell of a time hiring partners. He may have been one of the longest-working aurelac diggers out there, but young kippers saw his greying beard and seasoned diggers saw his lacking arm and they all tended to turn around and walk out before he even said hello. So he’d tried to put himself out there as a trainer, show that he had something more to offer.

It didn’t hurt his feelings when you admitted to him later that those qualities were exactly why you chose him. He seemed the opposite of threatening. And his eyes were bright when he smiled at you. With his thrumming baritone and his Fringe twang and his mixed deck of mosaic words, he had a way of speaking that felt like a fluffy blanket curling around you, your brain vibrating with comfort at every new monologue. He was eccentric and perhaps a little jarringly rough in his humor at times, but there was something about him that you trusted immediately, even though you’d come to learn later you probably shouldn’t have if you were being overly cautious.

Not that your judgement ever came to detriment. Not that he ever proved you wrong that way. Not when it came to you. But the man was dangerous when he had to be in a way you hadn’t initially picked up on.

________________

You hadn’t been out in the Green two weeks before you looked up from the bottom of a dig hole to see Ezra standing over you with a thrower.

“You get down and you stay down, understand?”

“Ez? What--”

“I said stay down! Do not make me waste words on mere repetition!” The fuzzy blanket of his voice replaced suddenly by a snarling, snapping brush wolf, a quick change hitting you like a slap in the ear.

There’d been pops and whizzes as shots rang through and you did as your trainer said, face down, the view of your visor giving you nothing but dirt. Your helmet was a chorus of quick breathing from both of you and sweat rolled down your neck as you begged the eyes of Kevva to look down upon your partner. When the crossfire faded, you’d heard Ezra stalk away. Then there were a couple more shots. Then more footsteps returning.

“You are permitted to stand, trinket. All is well as it can be for us. But not so much for our dearly departed friends.” These words were as soothing as much as his previous ones had burned, and he simply went back to working at the dig at hand as if he’d just come back from taking a leak. It wasn’t until you left the site that evening that you tramped past two rotting raiders, gaudily outfitted with broken face shields, left to let the Green take them.

Ezra whistled as he stepped over them, stopping only to harvest their filters and munition rods, which he tossed your way to stow in your pack, and then continued lazily down the path toward camp. Just another day on the job.

He may be a little peculiar and not someone to trifle with, he may have just killed two people without remorse or further comment, but his lack of reassuring words told you that this was just part of the deal. You wear the suit, you use the air scrubber in the tent, you follow the landing pod instructions as written, and you defend yourself against those who wish to harm you. Survival by any and all means is paramount, mundane, and something he has no qualms with on any level.

There was something deep down inside of you that instinctually pulled you to follow him, not just down the literal path before you, but whatever path Ezra chose to wander.

________________

Before you’d left the station with him, he’d taken you to a thrower range to gauge your skill which was decent in theory, but dismal compared with what he could do. No matter, he still patiently taught you how to properly clean and charge a weapon and the best way to breathe and pull the trigger; “like you’re taking hold of a man’s...well... Just go easy and firm.” He suggested you should come and practice every day before lift off and then hope to Kevva that you didn’t have to rely too heavily on it.

“If I find myself in a coffin of my own suit, then feel free to defend yourself as a final means of preservation. Otherwise, when it comes down to shots fired, best to let me do the dirty work. Might as well keep the blood where the blood has been.”

You’d been a little nervous about sharing a freighter pod alone with him, but Ezra was...well, not so much a gentleman as just a comfortable soul.

He always waited until you were hungry to eat, thinking it rude to eat alone in front of you. He never moved around the pod while you were sleeping, content to keep still with a book in his cot. And if you couldn’t sleep, he was always willing to read to you from whatever impossibly dense old world classic he was digging through for the umpteenth time, letting his voice come up from the deeps and pull you gently under. If you asked permission to turn on the radio, he’d ask you “why Isn’t it on yet, woman,” quietly tolerating your taste in harsh and gleeful babblecore pshcyopop. In the later days of the journey, he’d even come to dance with you from time to time, although both of you were dismal at it and ended up with you in a fit of giggles. It was a sure-fire way to cure a case of the pouts you carried through from the morning fitness sessions when he beat you at pushups. Again.

When it came to privacy in the tight space, he had a habit of turning away without having to be asked or stopping his stream of talk when you went to change clothes, just happily chattering away until you called the all clear. Although he was not squeamish about his own state of undress, should you happen to catch it by accident. While he was respectful of your privacy, he seemed to need none of his own, but neither did he flaunt anything. You might look up from studying the flight manual to notice he was changing into a fresh pair of compression pants, tugging them on haphazardly with one hand, more concerned with telling you the overwhelmingly disgusting manufacturing process of Bits Bars than his own ass hanging out where you might see it. At least he always changed facing away from you which was a kindness.

Until it wasn’t.

After you realized you’d fallen quietly in love with him--a sudden, soft moment on the Green--then you’d admit only privately to yourself that you wouldn’t mind if you accidentally saw a little more than the occasional shirtless attire he might wear around the tent.

But in the pod, the only part of him that had caught your curiosity was his stump, and you’d known Ezra intensely enough over the past couple of weeks where you knew he wouldn’t take offense. Especially if you asked him the right way.

“Will you tell me a story, Ezra?”

“I feel that it is my duty to do so whether you ask me to or not. Shall I choose, or is there something in particular you would like to hear?”

He was sitting cross-legged on the floor, propped up against his cot, going through his kit, cleaning his gear. You waited until he noticed your lack of answer and looked up to meet your eyes. When he saw that you had put your manual down and were focusing all your quiet attention on him, he stopped his busy work.

When Ezra gives you his attention, it is absolute. When he knows you seriously need something from him, that becomes his immediate main priority and all else can wait. It’s only gotten more intense since that day, but there is a trust that resides between you when you look into his eyes, gathering your words as he waits patiently every time to hear whatever you’re going to request of him. There’s always hope there in his big browns, always something specific he’s waiting for you to ask, and every day you get a little bit closer to understanding what it might be. But until then, any question is a welcome one, any query is met with his wish to provide.

“Will you tell me how you lost your arm?”

At first you thought you may have gone too far, that maybe you insulted him, as his eyebrows peaked together and he looked down at his hand. But then, “That is a tale that may cause you some consternation, trinket. The Green is dangerous and unforgiving, and there were times I may not have been a man worthy of fair opinion.”

“My father was a prospector, you know. I’ve heard stories. Have you ever killed anyone?”

He clicked his tongue and screwed up an eye, causing the thin white scar on his cheek to twist. Then he sighed and returned to your locked gaze. “To be honest, I have. Though I have never done so with pleasure, I have killed in defense and out of desperation, and it was out of dispatching a man in this way that I came to lose the second favorite of all my appendages.”

“Second favorite?”

“Well, it depends what you classify as a limb.” He huffed a small laugh, a spark in his eye, trying to diffuse the harsh subject in his own way.

His leaning into baseness never bothered you. There was something earthy about it, gritty and rough, but never lewd. You rewarded his crassness with a smile. “Do you plan on killing me out in the Green?”

“I would hope my murdering days are behind me, and if they are not, you would see me aim a thrower at everyone but you in the course of my spree. You are under my tutelage, and for that, I owe you a duty of care. That is my word by Kevva.”

“Then tell me the story. I like your stories. I promise not to judge now-Ezra by then-Ezra.”

A dimple formed on his cheek, a punctuation mark framing the approaching anecdote on his lips. “Then I will declare myself absolved of any sin heretofore and regale you with a clean and grateful heart.”

________________

You can see the tent through the trees and you realize with some horror that it’s just you and Ezra for the next few nights. If he’s angry with you, and this is how he is when he’s upset, the silence will be unbearable.

Even that little girl he helped out here years ago was probably more capable than you. You feel so lost in this moment, and it’s only made worse by his silence. You fumble with your communicator and hit the mute just in time to choke on a sob.

This isn’t like you. You’re not one to cry when things get rough. You hardly shed a tear when your father died. But the thought of that just brings another sob and as acting as your own psychologist you realize that you are experiencing some displaced sorrow, the odd need to please the leading male in your life, the one that’s walking ahead of you, away from you. If he’d just turn around and throw you his worn weary smile, if he’d just start up a conversation you’d know that there was hope for you, you’d know you didn’t give up everything to be here in a job you couldn’t hack.

You gotta stop this. Or it’s going to be an uncomfortable night.

Shake it off.

Once you enter the tent, the usual dance happens. Ezra reaches up to turn on the air scrubber and you unhook his filter tube from his helmet. When he turns to you, you pull open the zipper cover on his suit and start his zip for him before lifting his helmet up and off. He can pull the zip the rest of the way, but you generally pull the left collar down for him so he can get his arm out. He’s on his own from there as you turn to fuss with your own gear.

________________

You remember it starting easily enough. He was telling you a story about the breeding habits of the Tokovian Musk Owl and you could see he was having trouble with his suit zipper, yanking at it and trying to look down at it even though it was under his chin and his helmet. Without another hand to keep the fabric taut, the zip didn’t want to release, so you simply batted his hand away and started it for him. He didn’t even stop his yammering, just threw in a “thank you” somewhere in between “could hear them screeching” and “for a fuck.” He’d right out asked you the day before if you wouldn’t mind disengaging the filter tube just because it was delicate and he didn’t want to mangle the expensive part trying to pop it out one-handed day after day. And while he could manage the helmet fine enough, his prominent nose thanked you for a smoother removal for sure.

It wasn’t the only routine dance you’d concocted.

There was the harness dance.

While dig days were excruciating, you always looked forward to helping him attach the harness for his prosthesis--a kind of rigid pole attached to a shovel so you didn’t have to do all the hard digging alone. There were a couple of straps that came around his torso with multiple latches and you’d come to really enjoy wrapping your arms around him to fit the straps on. Sure, you could do the job just as easily from behind, but if you embraced him at the front, he’d usually raise his arm and let it come to rest around your shoulders while you worked. If you let yourself dream, it would be easy to imagine that he might be pressing you into him just a little bit.

And there was the harvesting dance.

On a dig, you were the one to mix the fazer and Ezra did the pour. He fished the sack, you cut the cord. You sliced the outer casing and held it open while he did the extraction. And with the flesh-covered stone, he told you every time to “hold it like you love it” so he could cut away the slippery blister before cleaning the gemstone.

It was a beautiful harmony. And the only way it worked. Because once on every dig he urged you to do a solo extraction, and on every dig, you pierced the blister and lost that stone. And on every dig, he squeezed your shoulder and told you it was a wondrous try, that he was proud of you, and there would always be another turn. There was no sarcasm, no pity, just a warm smile and ceaseless optimism even though you just lost both of you thousands in pay.

These were the first touches, these shoulder squeezes that ran down your arm on the let-go. Sometimes he would just reach out and grab onto you like a pole to help himself up, or he might stumble off balance on uneven ground and without the counterweight of his right arm he’d throw his hand out onto you to steady himself. He wasn’t beyond lightly touching the small of your back to encourage you down a path or to take your next try at a gem pull.

This was all part of something you’ve secretly named the left-handed-lover’s dance. Basically, that you keep on his left whenever you can in case he needs your help or has the inclination to reach for you. It started out as just trying to be a good partner. Then it became a passing hope that it was more than just a friendly bond. But you were both here to do a job. He was here to teach you to be an independent prospector and you were here to assist and learn. That was evident at the end of the day; once you were both in the tent and out of the suits he never touched you, never so much as bumped into you or grazed your hand in passing an item or clapped you on the arm after a good joke.

But out in the field all zipped in and helmets on, there was nothing more natural than his gentle hand guiding you or reaching for your assistance, including the day you realized you loved him.

________________

Before you can turn away to strip off your own coverings, Ezra catches your arm, spinning your face into the light. You try to shake him off, not wanting him to catch your eyes puffy from crying and your cheeks still streaked with tears, but his grip is not so gentle now and he yanks you back around to his stormy glare, chin up, brows low. His intensity paralyzes you, rendering you unable to continue your struggle when he catches your eyes with his.

When Ezra gives you his attention, it is absolute.

His gaze travels back and forth between your eyes, waiting for an explanation, a minute so stringent it breaks you down, dissolves you into the tears you’d tried so hard to hide.

“I’m sorry, Ezra. I really am trying... I don’t know why I’m such a scuffer at this and I know it would only be right to release you from the contract and tell you to send me back but I don’t want you to, I really wanna stay, I really wanna learn and I’m so, so sorry.”

Your words have an immediate effect, softening him, pulling his glare into concern and wonder, his lips parting just the tiniest bit in surprise.

“This is the reason for your heavy mood? You think I am provoked by your proficiency in the field?”

“I crusted up good today and it seems like you’re not happy about it. Just...know that it means so much to me that...I don’t wanna let you down.”

“Oh, trinket, no.” An incredulous huff jumps out of him and his grip on your arm loosens, becomes a splayed warm support behind your shoulder, moving in soothing patterns and you’re instantly relieved that your assumptions were wrong. “You have done no harm in my book. It is not an easy thing to deliver a gem of this ilk into the world unscathed. Your opportunities have been few and scattered and it takes many sticks before a lover becomes a lothario.” He knows the crass humor will make you laugh, knows what to say to lighten your heart, to get you to soften, and bring you into his intimate, conspiratorial mood. “To be perfectly honest, I am selfish to an unrighteous degree, for every gem you burn keeps me in value to you. A worthy sacrifice to guarantee you mightn’t be so quick in your need to fly away from me until your training’s complete.”

This causes a hitch in your breath as you see the welcome turn the conversation he’s taking and you follow the path he’s making for you. “I don’t want to leave you, Ez.”

A smile creeps up one side of his mouth. “Well then I am a happy man. A bargain is struck! Partners it is.”

“Partners it is.”

A moment hangs between you as he rubs his thumb in slow circles on your shoulder. There’s that look in his eye again, the one where he’s waiting for you to ask the question he wants to hear from you. So close now.

Still, you’re unsure. “I guess I’m lucky I found the one person who wants an incompetent partner.”

“No, I do not, nor is it what I have and I must express my objection to your self-debasement. This work is not for the shiny, and you have not once complained about taking on the meat of the digging or the crawl of my schedule.” His hand comes to your helmet shield and he rakes his thumb across it as if he ached to wipe away one of your staleing tears. “Those bright eyes of yours got a penchant for spotting deposits more skillfully than I could ever manage and that’s not something that can be taught; that’s talent, girl. The blistering?” He shrugs. “Even I can’t manage that without the steady help of your fine hands. You may think that your blunders in education are causing us some financial ruin, but our fortunes are creamy. I assure you, we can afford it.”

That look is still there. He’s waiting. “There’s some ‘us’ and ‘we’ in there, Ez.” Your hands drift to his sides, taking fistfuls of his compression suit top, willing him closer.

The edges of his eyes take on the crinkle you’ve come to find so much comfort in. “So there is.”

You’re almost there. You know what he wants. “Why were you so quiet on the walk back?”

“Because for the next few days we are alone here and I have a mind full of questions I do not know how to ask you.”

“Then let me go first.” A yearning happiness settles in his brown eyes; finally. Finally you’ve found out what it is he needs you to request of him. “If I take this helmet off, are you going to kiss me, Ez?”

His eyes close in contentment and he nods, “Yes. Yes, little jewel. Yes I am, that and more. I hope I have inferred correctly that it is your wish that I do so, because I am in free fall. I feel my orbit ending and my pull to you is complete.”

_______________

“A moon is an orbiting admirer, and what is an orbit but a long fall to oblivion?”

Speculating days were some of your favorite times, just wading through the brush and looking for the telltale signs and shoots of an underlying deposit. Sometimes you came upon nests of strange groundling insects or flowers that only grew in secret. There were treasures underfoot on this poisonous moon, but if you remembered to look up as well, you might find some dangerous beauties there too.

On that day--the one where you finally understood your heart--you’d looked up to find that you were on a cliffside overlooking a valley, the canopy a million different hues of green, the gas giant looming over half the sky in a big pink and orange semi-circle. There was a fallen log that served as a perfect seat for the perfect view and you knew Ezra wouldn’t mind if you stole a few moments to sit and to take it in. It’s just the kind of thing he’d appreciate. And you were proven right when he came up behind you, putting a hand on your shoulder to steady himself as he swung one leg then the other over the log, finding a perch next to you, spouting pretty words through the channel link--soft and low--about moons and orbits and obilvions.

“That glowing beauty is Bakhroma. She is quiet and fierce, made up of the unfathomable and the unknowable, always within sight, but out of reach and untouchable unless one would trade the honor with great sacrifice. She reflects the light that is given to her with a patience that is heretofore untold. And the Green Moon upon which we ride follows where she goes like a lovesick fool, spinning around her in a heady kind of adoration, full of secret treasures buried deep down that will ultimately one day belong to her, falling incrementally over eons until he finally loses himself in her, all his glories gladly forfeit to her welcome and inevitable embrace. Alone but together, seemingly eternal, pulled as one by the laws of a mysterious universe.”

The void that came after those words was filled with the beating of your heart, and you were sure he could hear it through the channel.

When he’d landed there beside you, you’d registered how his hand slid off your shoulder, diagonally down across your back, coming to rest at your waist, his arm draped lightly around you. Natural. Easy. Everything was warm--the colors of the sky, the care with which he kept you close as if to better hear the honey sweetness in his prose, the fire burning in your lungs and neck.

Ezra probably didn’t know that you spoke a little Vayok.

Bakh being the Vayok word for adornment. Ornament, Gem. Roma was a modifier, a diminutive. Small. Dear.

Bakhroma. Sentimental bauble. A little jewel.

In other words, a trinket.

All you wanted to do was sit down to take in the view of an entire world for a few moments, but by the time Ezra took your hand and helped you to your feet, all you saw was him.

________________

The helmet is barely off before his lips are sealed to yours in a press of greed. Even if he can’t form words when he kisses you, he can’t help but express his deep relief in a heartbreaking moan. It’s a fight to release yourself from the suit when he keeps pulling you against him and every time you try to get some space between you to work the zipper, he chuckles into your mouth, enjoying the tease and the struggle. It’s simultaneously frustrating and thrilling and you give in for a few moments just to give him what he seems to want so desperately right now.

Ezra kisses like a man starved for air, long, hard, and full of need, peeling his lips away only to come back for another breath of you until his initial want is slaked and he slows, allows for more time between his taking, his mouth starting to mumble against yours, praising you with pet names, telling you how perfect you are to him, how long he’s “fought against my more dubious natures to respect your womanly virtues and take them only when you could see in me a man worth bestowing them on.”

You’re able to use his weakness for monologuing to turn around in his vice-like embrace, finally freeing yourself of the suit and he takes the opportunity to drawl more pretty words in your ear, warning you that “I’m afraid I have been enamored of you overly long and may be extra eager in my attentions. So you just say the word if you need a slow down, gentle one, and I will do my best to comply. Although I will admit it will be a difficult endeavor indeed as I feel I am entering your atmosphere and nothing might quell this burn but finding some drowning place to land.”

Your first impression of him was of a man whose age and temperament and body would not be able to overpower you.

Your first impression was wrong.

Of course, it helps that you are willing.

It doesn’t take long for him to strip you down, and then himself. To kiss you down onto the floor. To find exactly where you like to be touched most and how long it takes for you to break from it. He has so many words for you, so many praises to sing about every part of you that is round or soft or wet, comparing you to things that are sweet and plush or celestial and holy. And when you take his favorite limb in hand--as wondrous as the rest of his body--and guide it to its fit, he plunders and harvests all you have to give him, filing you with himself, for as long as you call for it, as long as you let him. He loves you like he speaks to you: rough and drawn out, full of beautiful tangents and meandering plotlines, but in the end it is beautiful and fulfilling; you may be just a little bit confused how you got to the ending, but you’re completely in awe.

When you lay breathing heavy, staring but not seeing the ceiling of the tent, your consciousness seemingly lifted to see through it to the stars, to the glowing face of Bakhroma, you run hands through rough-chopped hair on a head laying on your chest. He’s listening to your heartbeat, waiting for it to slow down so he can start again. The air is thick--even the air scrubber can’t keep up with all your humidity--and there’s a halo around each bulb of the string lights just barely illuminating the darkness.

“How long, Ez?”

“Hm?”

“How long have you been waiting for that.”

“Most likely since the day you walked into my interview. I am a man of simple wants and you had all the right parts for my preferences.”

“For real, Ez.”

He tipped his head up to find you. “What you ask has many true answers, and I stand by the first. I have no qualms telling you of my weakness for a pretty succulence and a kind smile the likes of which you possess. But if you are asking when I knew I would have it, well, that may have been the first day you danced. Or when you asked me to read you to sleep. Or when I understood I wouldn’t let those bastard raiders get near enough to take their turn at your qualities when I had not had them myself. Or when you finally saw me as a viable person to drape your affections on; maybe it was that day too.”

“When I finally saw you as....”

“I have read many tomes and verses but none so full of beautiful passages as your face that day on the cliff. There is a difference of knowing and being. I knew the feel of your pull that day, but found I’d been in orbit all along.”

How he can live this way, twist everything into a tossed away poem...it should be exhausting. Yet you feed off it. You breathe it like air.

After another long cycle of frenzied entanglement and violent euphoria, you ask Ezra if he’d like to move to a cot, maybe get some sleep. “I’m not sure if I’ll be able to walk to the dig tomorrow morning,” you confess.

“No need to worry about tomorrow,” he says, wapping his arm around you and dragging you back to him, grumbling into your ear. “We are the only prospectors in this sector and the aurelac will wait. Until our new compatriots arrive, we are officially on hiatus. Recreational mining only. Restricted to the confines of this tent. By order of your supervisor. In the interest of more precious treasures. And I intend to strike it rich.”

“Well. I’m here to assist. And learn.”

“When it comes to this dig, trinket, you are more than competent. I am no longer your trainer. Partners it is.”

“Partners it is.”

The new contract is struck, signed and sealed in kissing and in touch and a long, slow fall into inevitable oblivion.

#ezra x reader #ezra/reader #ezra prospect #prospect fanfic #prospect fanfiction #pedro pascal #soft #soft ezra

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ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff · 4 years

Text

Mystery Writer (Spencer Reid x Reader)

Summary: Spencer finds books at a second hand bookstore that are annotated and he falls the person writing the notes.

AN: This was part of a fic swap on @imagining-in-the-margins server! This is for the marvellous @definitelynotkatesblog <3 I really hope you like it! I had to delete the original post because it didn't show up in the tags. This will be staying up regardless of that now.

Masterlist

Your name: submit What is this?

“If you need anything, just let me know!”

Spencer pressed his lips together at the person behind the till before heading deeper into the rows of second-hand books. Familiar titles, old and new, printed on spines in various states of pristine/decay, they tempted him to select and bring them home with him. The clear sections between biographies and fiction guided him deeper into the forest, deeper into finding his way out. He was hoping to adopt one such book for a day off, when he could revisit it with a fresh eye. It would be like seeing an old friend again, remembering why they were friends in the first place with a hint of that initial read through from years ago, and perhaps he would learn something new in the process.

A dull ache in his chest at the sight of The Sign of Four by Arthur Conan Doyle. But he had long since recovered from that heartbreak and he would be able to read this story without feeling that again.

Still. It had been several years since he read this book.

His nervous fingers plucked it off the shelf and the pages fell open for him. A flattened gum wrapper parted the pages like the Red Sea. Spencer lifted it out tentatively. Its creases were ironed in from its role as a temporary bookmark, an impression of scribbled black ink flattened after it was made.

Spencer’s eyes scanned over the page in search of what this gum wrapper might have been guarding.

“Women are never to be entirely trusted – not the best of them.”

In the margins was scribbled:

Product of the time, but still a prick, rude smartarse role a bit dull

Spencer found himself exhaling in light laughter. That a lack of empathy was considered “dull” by this person, when it was something he dealt with in his job almost every day. The confidence in this commentary too, this brazen critique of a much beloved fictional character was left for someone else to find.

His gaze found Watson’s opinion of Holmes’ casual sexism: “atrocious sentiment”. It was circled twice in the same black biro.

Spencer dug his thumb against the text block and flicked through the book. A waft of that book smell lifted from the paper, accompanied by the bold notes of the previous owner dotted across the text until he finally landed on the reverse of the front cover. Two letters – initials - were scratched onto it.

It was with bridled exhilaration that Spencer approached the till and held up the book with a half-smile. His hands were quick to place it down on the counter so that the shop assistant could type the price into the till. His mood was apparently palpable because they seemed just as happy as Spencer to hand him back the novel in a brown paper bag – the receipt tucked inside.

--->--->--->--->--->

“Love is an emotional thing, and whatever emotional is opposed to what is true, cold reason, which I place above all things. I should never marry myself, lest I bias my judgement.”

What a lonely existence and also a lie. See: entire relationship w/ Dr. Watson!

Spencer smiled at this comment. Now all the other instances of a double underlining made sense. Each one produced itself in his mind as evidence that Mr Sherlock Holmes did in fact love. Maybe not marry, but it would have been terribly unconventional for him to wed Doctor John Watson. The unknown author seemed to understand this. They never emphasised if this love was platonic or romantic. But the way in which they proved love existed within this character oft portrayed as emotionless, Spencer simply adored. They were a romantic reader, who still enjoyed reading about the cynic

He grew quite aware of his posture in that moment and he straightened his back. A few clicks of complaint emitted as he stretched, his head twisting from side to side. Screwing his eyes open and shut behind his glasses, he revisited your deduction.

On the dot of the “i” in “lie”, there was a sprinkle of graphite around the indent from where a pencil’s lead had snapped from the effort put into topping off this point. A sprinkle of graphite smudged where the pages pressed together.

Spencer moved on to where a sentence in black biro tried to blend in with the printed words. A memory appeared at the front of his mind: when Rossi was bewildered to learn Spencer and Dr. Alex Blake wrote the newspaper crossword in pen.

The pencil markings were like mini brainstorms, something to revisit and make a solid theory with the black biro. But the planning was never rubbed out.

Little quotes were circled. This mystery critic spent half the book roasting the characters and the other half leaving little exclamation marks and circles around phrases and words when they couldn’t think of something to say. Spencer found it sweet, picturing the thrilling unfolding of events for the reader to revisit.

His heart ached in bittersweet memory as he recalled the contents of Dr Alex Blake’s book The Route of Linguistics. It was necessary pain to create a profile of who this mystery critic was. Yes, he was profiling out of work hours. His evenings were now spent trying to picture the voice behind the notes. The sarcasm, the witty blows to the character’s and author’s ego. He almost wished that he couldn’t read so fast because he finished the book, even with its additional notations, all too quickly. But there was one bonus.

Spencer traced the pad of his fingertip over the exclamation marks describing Mary Morstan. What else might a detractor of the great Sherlock Holmes read?

--->--->--->--->--->

He had returned to the bookshop in favour of adopting another. Yet he could not find one that satisfied his unknown criteria. It was not until he found himself checking the front pages of the fifth book he had selected, that he realised he was looking for a pair of initials.

Sighing, he placed My Dear Bessie, with its empty front page, back on the shelf. The chances of finding another book containing this mystery critic were so minute. He could probably calculate them if he wanted to dedicate himself to such a disheartening statistic. He’d rather not spend his lunch break doing that, as much as he loved statistics. This once, they did not assure his safety and he remained unsupported by the fact that he could not find any other Arthur Conan Doyle books.

His desperation became most apparent when he thought that perhaps fate should just decide for him. If anything, he would come away with a random book to read through in about ten minutes on a flight back home.

He peeked around the corner of the shelves. The shop assistant at the till was busy writing something down, not paying any mind to the shop’s only customer.

“A random shot had no better odds than just picking books off one by one” is what he told himself as he closed his eyes and placed his fingers on the end of the shelf, just over the first book’s spine. In an “S” pattern, his arm moved up and down, over the books and shelves and gaps between units. His feet stepped forwards into the space he knew was clear.

Spencer stopped and opened his eyes, his finger shifting just an inch out of the way of his new book’s title.

Circe. Madeline Miller.

He tapped the top and the book fell forwards, where he caught it. Its shining dust jacket was serving its purpose, a few tears along the edges from where it had protected the hardcover. He checked the front page. A map of Aiaia in orange and brown filled it to the corners. On the next page, his heart stuttered at the sight of two initials in the same handwriting and the same biro. There was also a scribble - invisible to start with then a ball of black.

The first page with the story’s text held a scribble just above its opening line:

the power of the name

“When I was born, the name for what I was did not exist.”

He could see that the first was in a blunt pencil, but the addition was a sharpened point carving into the paper. A secondary thought that was provided after completing the novel, they had added it. Spencer lifted it to his face, his eyes crossing to keep the stipple in focus. The scent of the paper and the graphite reached him easily; the note must have been made just before Circe was gifted to him. How lucky he was to find such a treasure.

The shop assistant was cutting out a new sign for “BUY ONE GET ONE HALF PRICE!”. By the time Spencer made it to them, the sign was placed upon the pile besides him. The shop assistant smoothed out a crease on the dust jacket, ineffectively but Spencer admitted the gesture. He was glad that someone who loved books as much as him got to work in a place like this.

--->--->--->--->--->

Spencer’s mind, definitely for worse, echoed the words off the tabloids around his head the split second he made eye contact with the headlines. He paced the shelves to somewhere a little quieter. When he found the chocolate aisle, he pretended to peruse. Ever half a minute or so, his gaze drifted up to the till area where the shop owner was on a phone call and clearly not paying attention to him.

It was not long before Spencer grew bored of looking at KitKats, and he pulled out One Thousand And One Nights. The book’s pages fell again to page 57. This shop’s receipt stood above them, still holding its place from the previous owner. It felt wrong to part the two.

No new people had entered this corner shop for 8 minutes. He’d even given the time at the receipt’s end a fifteen-minute margin either side. Given that this mystery critic took a break from work at the same time on the same day of the week – and that they worked during the day – he should have seen them. Maybe he had, and they were that man in the baggy hoodie who stunk of weed. Probably not. Hopefully not. Not that Spencer was judging him for his… recreational activities. He just wanted the mystery critic to be someone he could realistically spend time with.

Just then, Spencer’s phone trilled annoyingly loud. He received a glare from the shop manager and Spencer sent an awkward apologetic expression his way before answering JJ quickly.

“Spencer, we’ve got a case. We need you here ASAP.”

His response was immediate. “Ok, be there in ten.” Hanging up, Spencer dithered on the spot then grabbed a packet of Cheetos. He’d been there for nearly twenty minutes; he had to get something.

“Three dollars,” the manager said before returning to his call. But not before he rolled his eyes at Spencer. Spencer dropped the bills onto the counter and dashed out before he could be offered a receipt.

--->--->--->--->--->

An outlier in the usual length of case work had passed by in five long days. Spencer hardly ever regretted the time he put into this job. Every unsub caught was lives saved. But the absence of his mystery commentator had been niggling at the back of his busy mind and he was glad to finally reunite with them on this long flight back.

From his satchel, he recovered the copy of One Thousand And One Nights and began rereading the notes to ground himself in the story. His focus lingered on the page as if he were reading it at the average 250 words per minute. It allowed him to block out the humming of the engine.

Spencer did not take his eyes off the page as he pulled open his desk drawer and popped a piece of overpriced gum into his mouth. Half-hearted reminders bounced in his head, from when he tried smoking and chewing gum to ease his cravings. The fruit flavour was very clearly artificial and it faded within six minutes. Why his mystery critic would pick such a pathetic packet of gum to chew, he didn’t know. But hopefully the fact of its flavour disappearing fast would mean they get through the packet quicker and buy another soon. Even if today, and the days before, spent in that shop did not lean in favour of that hypothesis.

--->--->--->--->--->

The Five People You Meet In Heaven was in the Recently Donated pile. It was near the top, slid towards the edge of the container after being placed wonkily on a copy of some sports autobiography.

Within the pages was more than Spencer could have ever hoped for. Entire paragraphs were circled, quotes underlined. A squashed mini post-it note tabbed the page and a whole paragraph was scrawled on it, about Tala. An arrow pointing to the underside, Spencer lifted the flap and saw more to read, like an interactive pop-up book that he’d gotten Henry for his second birthday. Spencer closed his eyes quick and snapped the book shut. He wanted to save it for when he was sitting comfortably, not while he was rushing back to work in time for JJ to get to her lunch break on time.

The shop assistant had just clipped the lid back onto a green highlighter when Spencer drew up to their counter. With careful fingers, he placed the book upon it. There was a twitch of the assistant’s mouth; their eyes brightened. They looked like they wanted to say something, but something else held them back from making the first move. Spencer recognised it from his school days.

“It’s a good read.” He spoke after they had typed the price into the till.

“I know,” The assistant replied instantly, a relieved smile on their lips, “What part are you on?”

“I’ve already read it, but I wanted to revisit the passage at the diner.”

“Ahh, that’s a good bit. One of my favourites.”

Spencer’s eyebrows furrowed a fraction of an inch. His gaze dropped to the nametag on the left side of their chest. Y/N, their name’s first initial. It couldn’t be.

“What did you think about the final person, Tala?”

“Oh,” The shop assistant clutched at their heart, “I was an emotional wreck before and it hit me hard just as the rest did. So bittersweet to hear her forgiveness. It took me a few times to finish reading the end, but it was all worth it.”

He couldn’t be this lucky, to get this many books from the same person and to have them standing in front of him. Spencer didn’t believe in luck.

As he reached across for his new book, he turned over the cover, “Was this yours?”

Twisting their head around to read the publication details, the assistant – Y/N - smiled sheepishly at the initials. “Yes, and I’m glad to see it go to a new home.”

Apparently luck believed in him.

“But,” Spencer felt his brows knit automatically as he looked between the book and their previous owner, “You love it. I-I’ve seen your notes.”

A hand clapped over Y/N’s mouth, “Oh God, you must have. I mean, it wasn’t the intention initially, but I thought they might be a little entertaining for anyone who picks it up to leave them in there.”

“Oh, they were! I’d love to read more of your thoughts. Hear, hear them, if you wouldn’t mind.”

Y/N checked the door to the shop, still shut, and back to Spencer. They dropped their elbows onto the countertop with their chin in their palms. “What did you wanna know?”

From his bag, Spencer procured his – their – copy of The Sign of Four and flicked through the pages. So many places to choose, but he wanted to open with what had introduced him to Y/N’s analysis.

The pair put their heads together, leaning on the counter. Spencer could smell the chewing gum on their breath. Y/N never cut him off, and he never wanted to cut them off. There were little pauses at the end of each of their turns to speak before the other picked up where they had left off. Their voices leapt from secretive whispers to passionate orations of their favourite passages, rebounding evidence and analysis off each other like a bouncy ball. Spencer finally had a voice to put to the sarcasm, the one his mind had conjured long forgotten in the wake of Y/N’s enthusiasm.

The shop’s door swung open. Spencer leapt to attention as an older woman swept in, past the two of them towards the non-fiction section. Y/N adjusted their name tag, their back straight too. The clock behind the till announced that it was now twenty minutes after the end of Spencer’s lunch break.

Running on the rush of his hobby meeting a potential friend, Spencer asked, “Can I get your number? So we can talk more, maybe swap some more books, when you’re not working?”

His luck was still by his side as Y/N wrote out their number on his receipt, written in their infamous black biro.

--->--->--->--->--->

Spencer leapt over to the door of his apartment, took a deep breath, and unlocked it. Stood behind where it had been was Y/N and they too were still wearing the uniform from work. Their nametag was still on their polo shirt, the same spot that Spencer wore his FBI tag.

“Can I get you a drink?” He asked the second they made a step inside his abode.

“Tea would be great. Milk and one sugar please.”

And while he was in the kitchen, Y/N rushed over to the bookshelves, their eyes wide to take in Spencer’s collection. “Oh wow! You weren’t joking!” Their finger indicated to a hard cover copy of Mean Time by Carol Ann Duffy, “That’s one of mine. Well, yours now.”

Plucking it from the shelf, they opened it up. Spencer had written his initials beside theirs.

Spencer stuck his head out in the partition, “Ours. If we’re going to be sharing.” Y/N stood on tiptoes, teeming with delight, their hands cradling the book with all the care Spencer could hope for in a fellow reader. Joint custody of their books and their passion? What a dream.

“I just have to write a little more about the epilogue, and I’ll be with you,” Y/N took their place on his couch. A pencil began scribbling away their thoughts onto the last few pages. Their knees were their desk.

Spencer finished brewing and placed the mug in front of Y/N, who mumbled a quick thank you to him. He joined them in writing his final notes. It slowed him down a considerable amount, but he was glad to take things at a casual pace, especially considering the way that Y/N almost broke their pencil as they scrawled out their thoughts for Spencer to hear later.

“Have you thought about the next one you’d like to try?” Spencer asked tentatively. He wasn’t so sure if Y/N would want to be interrupted.

Luckily for him, Y/N paused their stream of consciousness to look back at his books, “Hmm. So much to choose from.”

Stood up, their book left in Spencer’s care. They took a deep breath, closed their eyes and used their forefinger to draw a zigzag over the spines. Spencer felt that he was almost sick with joy.

Y/N stilled their wandering hand and opened their eyes, already drawing out the selected novel, “This one.”

“And what have you chosen for me next time?”

Y/N handed over The Butterfly Lion from their bag, “Ok, I can’t wait any longer, what do you think?”

They sat back on the couch. Their legs now hung over the arm of the couch, elbows either side and face cupped in their palms. The book rested in their lap. Shifting so that he faced them completely, Spencer returned to the first page and his analysis began.

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