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total-dxmure · 8 months

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✦ INVISIBLE STRING THEORY →【ELLIE WILLIAMS】→ CHAPTER THREE

pairings: modern!marine ellie x reader

summary: the marines didn’t ruin ellie. ellie ruined ellie. after being medically discharged she feels lost. being sent to live with joel is more of a last ditch effort to save her and less of a fun reunion for the father-daughter duo. jackson is worlds different than chicago, but the fresh air and sprawling countrysides are a welcome reprieve. ellie finds herself finding comfort in more than just the change in scenery though. after losing your girlfriend due to an accident you feel as though you’ll never find love again- but that was before meeting ellie williams. the two of you figure out that you have more in common than just the fact that she and your girlfriend were both marines though. tethered by some invisible string, the two of you meeting has to be fate. who would have known that you were the golden ticket to ellie’s recovery?

warnings: eventual smut! lots of tension building and mutual pining. ellie falls first and hard. small town girl meets a frightening, strong ex marine. TW: talk of panic attacks, ptsd episodes and death. come for the ellie smut and stay for the plot and fluff. (A/N: here we are, the meat and potatoes. the fic is really kicking off. . . and they're already flirting?! ellie is so touch and affection starved that she nearly jumps out of her own skin every time you even look at her.)

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from the river to the sea, palestine will be free 🇵🇸 READ: this account stands with palestine, and so— i require everyone who interacts to educate themselves, and support/donate. READ THESE; 1 and 2, HELP HERE, BOYCOTT. silence is complicity, do not scroll past this. DO NOT BUY THE REMASTER, TLOU2, TLOU1, OR ANY GAME FROM NAUGHTY DOG! neil druckmann (the creator) is a zionist. PLEASE READ THIS. AND REBLOG THIS.

In that halfway space between waking and sleep it was hard to discern what was real and what wasn’t. Your bed felt warm, sheets still tangled around your arms and legs. The weight of your blanket on your chest could easily be confused with another’s body, and so you felt yourself smile. Warm, happy, safe-

Abby was behind you, her limbs expertly twisted around yours like she’d done it a thousand times before. . . and she had.

Slowly you opened your eyes, staring blankly ahead of you into your pitch black bathroom. You recognized the fresh scent of your shampoo, and felt the way your hair still clung to your hot cheeks- wet from your shower the night before. It was like you were suspended in a memory, everything all soft and fuzzy around you. The dots weren’t perfectly connecting, and still you were happy. For a second you just laid there, unable to look down at the hand you could feel so vividly at your waist. Would you see Abby’s knuckles when you looked down? Would you see the rubber promise ring she had insisted on wearing? Everything always had to be even and fair with her.

This morning felt familiar. Like you’d lived it before. Your breath left you in a rush when the bed creaked behind you.

“Abby,” God, she was back. She was back and she was right behind you. “Baby?”

There was a soft groan and then the arm tightened, bringing you into a warm chest. Her bicep squeezed your arm tightly against her shoulder, and all at once you were tucked in so tight. Confusion tugged at your features, and you mulled over exactly why you were clinging to her arm so tightly.

“What’s wrong?” She whispered against your hair, her voice still thick with sleep. Still, her fingers stroked at your bare stomach.

“I had a nightmare,” You mumbled, trying to recall exactly what had plagued you just seconds ago. You can’t remember now that you’re safe here. . . safe with Abby again. “You were gone and I was all alone.”

Those moments came back to you in flashes. The ache, the constant pain of losing her, the “learning to live without her” that crushed you entirely. You turned around in her grasp, nuzzling your nose into the crook of her neck. You took deep inhales, trying to still your rising panic. You could feel the steady beating of her heart against your cheek, the warmth of her bare breasts against your collar bones.

“I was gone?” She raised a hand, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes, a few golden strands falling onto her forehead as she moved her head against the pillow beneath her. “You can tell me about it if you want.” She offered supportively, petting your back in slow circles.

You don’t know why. . . but you missed those circles. It felt like you’d been without them for weeks. Months.

“I-I got a phone call. . . and they told me that you’d died,” Your bottom lip quivered, your eyes filling with tears. You couldn’t help but laugh pathetically at your unnecessary hysterics. Abby was right here. Everything was okay. “It felt like the longest nightmare I’ve ever had. It was horrible.”

“You did so good though.” She whispered, her hands still stroking.

Your muscles tensed, and slowly you moved your hand up her side, fingers brushing against her skin. You pressed a soft kiss against the underside of her breast, a tear breaking free past your lower lashes. This moment suddenly felt fleeting.

“I did?” You questioned, pulling away to look at her.

She was so beautiful. Like an angel had fallen from heaven and landed right in your bed. The sun was just beginning to rise, setting the line of trees just outside of your window ablaze. She was diaphanous and golden laying there beneath you. You were so lucky. You could barely breathe when she looked up at you like that, her eyes so thick with pride and love.

“You did, baby girl. You stayed so strong.” She cracked a small smile, but it looked pained. Like she was also realizing that the two of you couldn’t exist here forever. “I need you to keep it up though, alright?” You couldn’t feel her hand on your back anymore, nor the softness of the sheets.

“Please,” You sobbed out, reaching out to cup her cheek. She didn’t feel like anything. Like your hand was molded around a pocket of open space. Nothingness. She was about the size of the palm of your hand now, her urn sitting on the mantle in your living room. “Please don’t leave me again.”

Her blue eyes stared up at you, proud and unwavering in their convictions, as they always were. . . always had been. “I’m never far. Pinky.” Promise.

And then you were in your bed again, the alarm on your phone blaring.

“Abby?” You mumbled, and you didn’t have to turn over to realize you were alone.

Ellie was good at putting pressure on herself. It had always been a form of motivation, as cruel as it seemed. She couldn’t let today be awful. No episodes or meltdowns and no long bouts of silence. You were pretty and it really seemed like you could use a friend.

Ellie could use a friend too.

She couldn’t remember the last time she’d shown interest in a girl. She’d always been career driven with a one track mind. She was good at overworking herself and running herself dry. She hoped that you’d be able to use that to your benefit today. Ellie wanted to lose herself in something. . . in someone. She wanted to be useful for the first time in what felt like a long, long while.

So she woke up at the butt crack of dawn and took a shower. She kept her eyes shut tight as she washed herself and didn’t even bother to towel dry her hair before she was pulling on an outfit. Thick droplets of water stained the shoulders of her jean button up as she tied up the laces on her boots. She focused on one shoe at a time, her mind preoccupied with thoughts of you. Every once and a while her brain would wander, hellbent on self destruction, but with a small groan she’d remember the sadness in your eyes.

She’d remember who she was before the accident.

She moved down the stairs as quietly as she could, praying that Joel’s dog wouldn’t start barking once he realized that his new best friend was leaving the house. The keys to her old car were on the rack beside the front door, right next to Joel’s flashy new pair. He’d told Ellie over dinner that he’d been maintaining the beat up old Jeep the best that he could, meaning she at least had a little bit of freedom while she was back home.

She locked the door behind her, the cool morning breeze stinging against her wet ears as she gracelessly stumbled down the stairs, juggling the bulky set of keys in her hand. A huge metal spaceship that Joel had stuffed into her Christmas stocking senior year, a neon green carabiner she’d bought at one of the gas stations closest to her school, and a few other childish charms that she couldn’t place any meaning behind swung from the nearly ancient keychain. Her sense of self expression and style back in those days was tacky to say the least, but she appreciated child-Ellie nonetheless.

“You poor child.” She teased under her breath, climbing into the driver's seat and shoving the key into the ignition. She sucked in a breath and held it before cranking it up.

To her surprise, the clunker started right up, though the engine shook the steering wheel a little when she put the thing in reverse down the driveway. She hadn’t driven a car since that night at the gas station. It felt a little weird to be behind the wheel, but even stranger to be back here. Jackson was a beautiful place. . . but it didn’t feel the same way that it had before. She wasn’t sure if it was because of her age or the changes that were happening inside of her. The streets still looked the same, aside from some very minor changes to neighbor's houses. She barely paid any attention to her surroundings when Joel had driven her through town yesterday, and she was a bit scared to see the differences. She didn’t want to dwell on those thoughts or do any soul searching, so she reached out for the radio, pressing play on whatever CD had been shoved into it last.

Depeche mode began to blast over the speakers, and she let out a small sigh of relief. At least her music taste wasn’t horrible in high school.

But it was no wonder she didn’t have a girlfriend. Ellie wouldn’t have dated little Ellie either, that was for sure.

She felt a bit crazy to be driving in the opposite direction of town. Back when she lived here, town was the only place she was headed when she was allowed out of the house. It was no wonder why the two of you had never really crossed paths. She used to complain about how far off in the “middle of nowhere” Joel lived, but your farm had his ranch beat by fifteen minutes. The houses got fewer and farther in between, and despite how much Ellie truly did enjoy the city, she couldn’t deny how beautiful the countryside was. The sprawling fields, grazing animals, and splattering of wild flowers had her rolling down the windows of her car, ignoring the chill so that she could get a better look of her surroundings.

Even the air quality was better in Jackson.

She’d been down this road a few times in her life, having been in the backseat of Joel’s car every single time. She recognized your home from her memories, but your last name didn’t mean much to her back then. She slowed her car down to a crawl, staring at the large sign that sported your family name proudly.

Ellie would be proud of the farm too if it were hers. She bumped down the drive five minutes earlier than you had told her to show up, staring with wide eyes at your house. It was two stories with a balcony- white with green shutters. The wrap around porch was screened in, protecting you and any guests you might have over from bugs that thrive in the summertime heat.

Your stretch of land belonged on a painting, and for a second she worried if maybe she wasn’t the right friend for you. This house was too nice and Ellie. . . Ellie wasn’t very nice at all. She'd only talked to you for five minutes yesterday, but she got the feeling that you were a "good girl". You were wholesome, which wasn't how anyone in Ellie's life would choose to describe her. She slowly made her way up your front steps, and for a second she wondered if she should leave. It would probably be better if she did. Ellie could always just lie and tell Joel that she couldn’t find your house. . . he’d probably drop it after insulting her about her bad sense of direction.

Ellie couldn’t afford to get a crush on anyone right now either. It was horrible timing, and what would be worse is if you actually ever returned those feelings. How was she supposed to explain to you that she wouldn’t ever make a good partner? She couldn’t protect you from anything, not when any loud sounds or bright lights had her falling to her knees. She was careerless, depressed to the point where she had completely lost who she was, had a drinking problem, and was quite certain that she’d combust the second you’d touch her. She was touch and attention starved, but hadn’t remembered that she was even able to desire someone until she’d seen you yesterday-

You’d be dodging a bullet if she hightailed it right off of your property. So she turned on her heel and stared at her boots as she began walking back down your stairs. Her feet kicked up dirt as she made her way back to her jeep, hand already reaching into her pocket for her keys-

“Did I not hear you knocking on the door?” A feminine voice called out to her.

She sucked in a breath so hard that she let out a loud cough, eyes widening as she turned around to face the porch. You were wearing a pair of dirt stained jeans today, though your hair was fastened back with a white bow. Ellie, despite her previous need to protect you from herself, couldn’t fight off the urge to get closer. There was something different about you today. You were a bit manic, your hands already busying themselves with straightening out a few of the potted plants on your porch. You seemed a bit anxious, but you didn’t comment on it so neither did Ellie. Any boundaries you had yesterday with her were gone. You flashed her a wide smile, sauntering up the drive so that you could wrap her up in a tight hug.

Your arms were shaking as they weaved around her neck, pulling her in close. She froze, limbs locking up in surprise as she tried to fully grasp what was going on. You were treating her like an old friend, someone you were excited to see. Ellie didn’t know why you’d be so happy to see her. . . but then again, she was happy to see you. She remembered what Joel had said last night.

Maybe you were sick and tired of being alone.

Your bare arms were cold too- freezing as her fingers accidentally brushed the backs of them. Ellie realized that she had gotten here just in time. If anything, she cursed herself for not showing up twenty minutes earlier, if only to save you from whatever had you this shaken up.

“I probably knocked too quietly. Should have knocked louder, huh?” She mumbled, biting the inside of her cheek as she gave you a gentle squeeze.

She wasn’t used to holding someone like this that wasn’t Dina or Jesse. You felt nice in her arms. Your muscles weren’t hard or rigid like hers, you were all soft and rounded edges. Gentle curves and arms ready and willing to embrace her. Flushed cheeks and silk bows. You smelled wonderful too- sweet and floral, like Jasmine mixed with honey. She didn’t want to let you go, and you didn’t seem ready to end the hug either.

You were still quivering.

“Yeah, you should have.” You agreed, giving Ellie one last squeeze before taking a few unsteady steps back.

You hadn’t been completely sure whether or not she would show up today. Waking up this early was a lot to ask of anyone, let alone someone you had just met yesterday. Still, a part of you had hoped that she would be here. On days that were this bad you found it impossible to work, no matter how busy it kept you. You often spent “mental health days” laid out by Abby’s grave or buried six feet under pillows and blankets in what used to be your shared bed.

Ellie’s presence changed things.

So you squared off your shoulders and cracked her a wide smile, praying that it looked genuine and not forced.

“Let’s hop in my truck and I’ll take you on a little tour of the property before we get started.” You tucked your bottom lip between your teeth as you watched the woman take a few steps closer to you.

Ellie looked like she wanted to say something but was holding herself back. You weren’t sure whether or not you would be able to handle her prying or the pity that would follow.

Your fingers twitched at your sides, wishing so deeply that you hadn’t woken up at all this morning. Ellie was beautiful- gorgeous even. You would have been head over heels if you had met her years ago, before. . . well, before Abby happened. Still, her beauty wasn't enough to completely distract you from your grief. A part of you felt guilty for even finding her attractive as you slid into the front seat of the truck.

Maybe that was why you’d had such a strange dream last night. Or maybe. . . maybe it wasn’t a dream at all. Maybe it really was Abby trying to tell you that it was okay to move on. That was confusing to even think about, and it made you count the months since her death on both of your hands, trying to gauge if enough time really had passed. You didn’t want to be alone anymore, but the thought of being in love with anyone seemed like an impossibility. Everything was broken. How could you ever love anyone the same way that you loved Abby? You’d just be doing that other person a disservice.

That’s right, you were cursed.

You could feel Ellie’s gaze on the side of your face as you made your way down the dirt road, up towards the hen houses. You blinked a few times, the apples of your cheeks heating up in embarrassment. Slowly you met her gaze, lips twitching up in a small smile as she quickly looked away from you, nervous over having been caught.

“My dad built ten large coops, so this whole fenced-in area right here is where the chickens graze.” You stopped the car and put it in park, keeping the old thing running like you usually did during your quick morning chores. Sometimes the poor truck had a hard time starting back up, and you’d probably burst into tears if your newfound friend had to walk a half mile back to the house with you.

“Do you guys have any problems with foxes?” She asked, keeping up with your fast pace as you unlatched the front of the fence for the both of you.

Your nose wrinkled in disgust, and you were quick to throw your arms up exasperatedly.

“Oh god, do we! I had to get someone out here to change out the fence just six months ago because one of those little fuckers had somehow managed to dig it’s way into their area. Killed seven of my poor girls.” You remembered how angry you were when you’d pulled up to the coops that morning. Burying seven dead hens wasn’t a pleasant experience for you, but it wasn’t something that was new. Still, you hated knowing that they’d suffered in their final moments.

“Jesus, I’m sorry.” Ellie looked around the area, finding it impossible not to notice how well kept everything was. The coops were freshly painted, the grass was gorgeous and plush- bright green under her feet. Truly, your farm was an oasis. She’d never seen anything quite like it before, and you'd barely even started the tour.

“Can I hold one?” She asked meekly, smiling up at you shyly as you turned to look at her. You didn’t exactly take her as the type of girl that would want to hold a chicken, but you were happy to oblige her.

“One of my mamas just hatched a few chicks. Would you want to hold-”

“Yes.” She quickly added, jogging off in the direction that you were pointing, eager to hold anything tiny and fluffy that you had to offer.

You were shocked at the laugh that bubbled its way out of your chest. A genuine, good natured laugh that you found hard to contain as she began impatiently tapping her foot as she waited for you to catch up.

“Didn’t take you for a chicken lover, city girl.” You teased, unlatching the door for her so that she could make her way inside.

The hens squawked excitedly at your appearance, realizing they’d be able to eat their fill of grass, bugs, and dried corn. A few ran over, crowding at your ankles. Rows and rows of nests were lined up along the walls. In the back of the coop were a few small rectangular doors that you could open, which was what you used to harvest eggs. Your dad’s old coops didn’t have anything fancy like that, so you grew up having your hands pecked at. You used to run back home to your mother with blood bruises and angry, raised skin.

“I love chicks.” Ellie said simply and the double meaning wasn’t lost on you.

As if on cue one of the chickens began pecking at the woman’s ankles, earning a small hiss of surprise from her. You snorted, biting your lip so that you wouldn’t laugh at her expense. “I can’t say the feeling is mutual, apparently.” You added playfully, looking around for the yellow poof balls.

“Old news.” She was smiling at you, and something in your chest began doing awful, uncomfortable flips. For a second you even felt a bit nauseous.

Ellie wasn’t Abby, but there was something similar about the two of them. The short haired girl seemed capable and strong. There was a physical sort of confidence in the way that she walked that told you that she knew how to handle herself. You watched as she shoved her hands in her pockets, shoulders squared off, feet shoulder length apart- and it had your lips parting.

Still, you remembered Joel talking about his daughter. . . saying that she was military. You couldn’t remember which branch she belonged to, but you could tell that she was well trained. You tried to imagine what Ellie would look like if she was put in a situation where she needed to protect herself, and you found a shiver running up your spine.

There was a coldness that had been in her eyes when the two of you had first met that had chilled you to the bone. You saw none of it when you looked into her eyes now, but. . . still. . . the thought terrified you. Had those capable hands ever killed anyone before?

You felt horrible even thinking that, even going as far as to give your thigh a small slap in punishment as you bent down, knees digging into the wood shavings and hay. The chicks didn’t seem off put by your small scowl. They saw you and instantly thought “food”, which had them clumsily running in your direction. You hadn’t heard her walk up beside you, only felt the sleeve of her long sleeve shirt brush against your arm as she sat back on her haunches beside you.

“It won’t scare them if I pick them up, will it?” She asked gently, slowly reaching a hand out so that she could brush it against their plush down feathers. They chirped contentedly, unaware of what “danger” even meant yet. You were guilty of babying your chickens, meaning none of them were scared of humans. They pecked at you when they were annoyed, but were never violent per say.

“Not at all. They might seem a bit unhappy, but it’s only because they’re hungry.”

You pressed your hand to your cheek as you watched the woman pick one of the chicks up, holding the tiny thing tightly against her chest so as to not drop it. There was something almost comical about seeing the woman look this gentle, her eyebrows furrowed in concentration as she tried not to hurt the tiny thing. It was adorable. Which was terrifying for you.

You were once again reminded of your dream. . . and you didn’t think you were ready to let Abby go. Not even when Ellie looked up at you excitedly, using her free hand to gesture towards the small creature in disbelief. Almost like she was scared that even talking would frighten it.

“So what do we do now?” Ellie asked, putting the chick down so that she could stand back up. You followed her lead, making your way back over towards the door.

“We open up all the doors and let them walk around for the day. I usually come back and get them back in their coops by sundown.” You let her know, leaving the door wide open as you moved coop to coop.

Ellie helped you, cutting down the time in half. The two of you were back in the truck in record time. You showed her the fields where you planted corn in the late summer to get ready for early fall. You pointed out the small flower garden you had taken upon yourself to cultivate, and then you pulled up to the green houses. Her jaw went slack as she took in all of the buildings.

“You do all of this yourself?” She needed to make sure she wasn’t imagining things. Sure, she was no farmer, but even someone like her knew just how much work this must be for you.

She couldn’t imagine you doing this all day, every day all by yourself. It kinda made her chest ache a bit for you. So when you nodded she took it upon herself to climb out of the truck, eager to do something to lighten the burden for you.

As the two of you approached what appeared to be the oldest of the greenhouses, she couldn’t help but realize that she’d been with you for about an hour. . . and she felt great. Better than great, she felt normal. She had been sent out here so that she could recover, and while she didn’t quite understand what that really and truly meant, being here with you felt right. Being around the animals felt therapeutic, and while Joel might have told you a little bit about her in passing, you didn’t know enough about Ellie to pass any sort of judgment or feel any sort of pity.

Even so, Ellie wasn’t sure she’d be against telling you about what happened. Something told her that you would be understanding. You knew what it felt like to lose people, and she was sure that you had regrets somewhere along the line. Everyone does when it comes to losing loved ones.

She hated that you had suffered enough to understand where she was coming from, but loved that she wasn’t alone for once.

The two of you walked in silence, and there was a heaviness in your eyes that let her know that you were thinking about something serious and sad. Ellie wondered whether your father was on your mind this morning. . . or perhaps your girlfriend. It wasn’t her place to ask, but that didn’t mean she didn’t want to.

“Want to help me water them?” You finally asked, motioning towards the tables of plants.

She nodded, but quickly turned to face you. She couldn’t count how many green houses you had on top of this one.

“Do we water all of those plants too?” She felt stupid the second that she asked the question, but even more so when you began to giggle.

Sounding stupid was worth it to hear the sound, so she sucked it up.

“Those green houses are newer and have a built in sprinkler system. We just have to worry about this one, thankfully. We’d be here all afternoon if not.” You began to head in the direction of the hose so that you could turn it on, your stomach tightening with hunger.

You knew the second you got back to the house and made breakfast that you’d be nauseous though. Bad days like this were always the same. You were hungry but you couldn’t eat. You wanted to distract yourself but nothing would work. You wanted to talk to someone but didn’t have any friends that you trusted enough to actually. . . onload on, and you were sick of your mom crying on your behalf.

“So you’re staying with Joel now? For how long?” You decided to make small talk as you handed her the hose, walking along with her as she painstakingly paid attention to every sprout.

She licked her lips before answering you, eyes flickering in a way that made you think that she might feel a bit nervous.

“I was. . . sent here. It’s not like I don’t love being home, because I kinda do. It’s just not something that I exactly chose for myself.” That didn’t feel like the whole truth, but you supposed that she would tell you whenever she was ready.

You played with the raw hem of your old t-shirt, suddenly anxious that you might have put her in a bad spot. Still, you found yourself wanting to know more about her.

“Do you have an addiction problem?” You realized how inappropriate it was to be so blunt. Your mouth went bone dry with panic, and you were quick to grab her hand, shaking your head. “A-All I’m trying to say is that my uncle had a really bad drug problem for years. He’s been clean and sober since last Christmas and is doing great. I don’t judge, that’s all. I’m proud of you, if anything.”

She gulped, looking down at your hand and noticing how close your body was to hers now. She fumbled to turn the hose off with one hand, trying to get her breathing under control. It was twice now that you were touching her like this, and she hated herself for wanting to wrap you back up in a hug so bad. She was also trying not to notice how plush and kissable your lips were.

You smelled great too, which made it hard for Ellie to think.

“Yeah, I guess I have a bit of an addiction problem,” She mumbled, but shrugged her shoulders soon after, contradicting herself. “But that’s not really why I’m here.”

Ellie would have to tell you eventually, she supposed. If the two of you were going to be as good of friends as Joel wanted, then she’d have to fess up eventually. It was better to get it out and in the open now rather than later. Plus. . . if she had some sort of a breakdown then maybe you’d be more understanding if you knew why it was happening.

“My therapist tells me that I suffer from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. I was in the Marines and I had a really bad accident. So. . . it was hard for me to live alone.” Ellie stared down at a long-dead leaf on the ground and bent down to pick it up, gently playing with it’s crinkled edges.

“Did you have panic attacks? I have those sometimes too.” You wanted her to know that she wasn’t alone, as stupid as it might sound.

You wanted to relate to her without telling her that your girlfriend had also been a Marine. She was being vulnerable with you, and the last thing you wanted to do was make this moment about you by bringing up your deceased girlfriend.

“Yeah. . . Yeah, I have those a lot. Sometimes I lose track of time- disassociate. It’s scary for others to deal with, so my friends thought that it would be best if I were with Joel. There’s less triggers here than back in Chicago.” You could tell that she was still uncomfortable with the subject matter, but she was powering through.

Ellie appreciated that there wasn’t a hint of judgment in your tone. You genuinely seemed curious. . . and talking about herself like this felt good. Validating, even.

“What triggers you? I just want to make sure that I don’t overstep or accidentally do anything wrong-”

“No, no. You’re fine. It’s more so loud noises and bright lights.”

“So no gunshots?”

“Guns aren’t too bad. . . it’s more so car crashes. Explosions, you know?”

Your mouth went dry. You did know. It’s how Abby died, afterall. You hated that Ellie had gone through something similar. Your heart ached for her.

“Is that how you got this. . . ?” You began to brush your fingers against the scar over her eye. You froze as she flinched, guilt bottoming out your stomach as you quickly yanked your hand away.

She reached out to take your elbow into her calloused hand before you could drop your palm back down at your side, and pressed your fingers against the skin herself. Her skin was still soft, but raised and jagged. You’d never felt a scar this deep before. Still, it was warm under your touch. Alive.

The moment felt oddly intimate, and you kept your fingers there for a few seconds too long before dropping your hand back at your side. Ellie felt like she was going to explode. No one had ever wanted to touch her scar, let alone been allowed to.

“Yeah, It is.” She cleared her throat, grabbing one of her arms in her hands nervously. She was starting to realize that she didn’t mind being seen by you. “I’m legally blind in the eye now, which has been pretty hard to get used to.”

“So you can’t see at all out of it?” You questioned, beginning to walk back over towards the repotting station. You’d noticed a few sprouts that were getting a little too big for their pots, and the last thing you wanted was crowded roots.

She followed after you like a lost puppy, hot on your trail. “I can see shapes and colors. Movement, and everything. But if you held up your hand and asked me “how many fingers am I holding up”, I wouldn’t be able to tell you.” She’d practically had to relearn how to do everything again, as dramatic as that sounded. Losing the vision of one eye affected a lot more than one might think.

“Oh, shit.” You remarked, nose wrinkling up in sympathy. You couldn’t imagine how hard that must have been on top of dealing with the mental anguish of the accident.

“ ‘Oh, shit’ is right.” She agreed with a small smile, leaning her hip against the table as you began laying out the necessary supplies. She watched your hands as they moved expertly around the table, eyes locked on your fingers. “I used to be beautiful.” She joked absentmindedly, alluding to the scar that now marred her features.

“You’re still beautiful.” You said, fully concentrated on the task at hand.

You didn’t realize the weight that your words carried, nor Ellie’s reaction to them. She felt like a giddy teenager. She couldn’t stop herself from fidgeting with the buttons on her shirt. She was smitten.

You were the first person to treat her like an actual human being since the incident. This was the most alive she’d felt in almost a year. . . and she was talking about things. Not like she might talk to her therapist, it was different than that. She was talking to someone that wanted to get to know her, not just to diagnose her, but to understand her. It felt good. Really good. Sickeningly good.

And you thought she was beautiful.

“Do you want to help me repot these little guys?” You asked, motioning towards the tiny pots.

She was scared of killing your seedlings but nodded anyway, desperate for your approval. Ellie watched as you demonstrated the entire thing for her, praying to god she wouldn’t forget a step.

The two of you stood shoulder to shoulder, shaking out roots and gently tucking the plants into their new homes. It was calming- melodic, almost. The constant motion, the gentle noises of the wilderness all around you. Ellie could even feel herself getting good at it. Not as good as you, of course. . . but she wasn’t as bad as she thought she would be.

You watched as she rolled her sleeves up and over her forearms, taking a second to appreciate her hands. Once again, you felt guilty for being so attracted to her. Strands of auburn hair had fallen out from behind her ear and hung in her pale face as she focused on her task. Her strong hands worked methodically. Her veins, her knuckles, her forearms and biceps- Ellie wasn’t just beautiful but gorgeous.

‘Give me a sign, Abby. If I’m not reading too far into last night's dream. . . then just give me some sort of a sign.’ You thought to yourself, eyebrows furrowing as you packed more dirt around the seedling in your hand. You felt like you were being horrifically dramatic, but what else could you do?

You felt idiotic. Delusional, even.

Beside you Ellie continued to work, completely unaware of your building turmoil. Pot after pot, she was really getting the hang of it. Pack down a layer of dirt, shake out roots, pack dirt on top- repeat.

She reached out for another one of the black plastic pots, sliding it over in front of her. She was so lost in her own thoughts that she almost didn’t hear the rattling. She’d been so close to covering up whatever was at the bottom with dirt, but the sunlight caught whatever it was just right.

It sparkled.

Ellie pinched the object between two dirt coated fingers, her eyebrows practically raising up to her hairline as she realized that it was a ring. A valuable looking one, at that.

“Uh. . . is this yours?” Ellie asked, showing it to you.

You blinked a few times at the ring, scared for a moment that you were hallucinating, because things like this only happened in movies. People asking for signs from the other side only for a ghostly apparition to pop up on screen.

Still, that was your promise ring in Ellie’s hand.

Your bottom lip quivered, eyes filling up with tears before you could even stop them. You reached out with gentle fingers, taking it into your hand graciously.

“Thank you.”

And you weren’t sure if you were talking to Ellie. . . or Abby.

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misserabella · 7 months

Note

I was wondering if maybe you can do vampire!reader x sub!loser!ellie??

ellie williams x female reader

cw; +18 content, minors dni, toe curling smut, reader is not described, not her skin or hair or body, i didn’t put her as masc or fem either, dom! vampire! reader x sub! ellie, masturbation (ellie), blood kink, prey kink (??), a lil tiny bit of angst (if we can call it that), biting (multiple bites), blood drinking, blood, overstimulation, premature ejaculation, multiple orgasms, fingering (ellie receiving), oral sex (ellie and reader receiving), cum eating, dirty talking, praising, begging, needy horny ellie, crying, face riding, multiple orgasms (ellie cums like 5 times), dirty hard sex, praising, calling ellie good girl, ass slapping (1), scissoring, ellie rides reader, hair pulling (both receiving)(reader has pullable hair), hickeys, tit and nipple play…

(okay this got a lil out of hand)

important !!!!!

how you can help palestine

why you shouldn’t buy tlou 2 remastered!!

aw she’s so sweet. and such a nerd.

since she found out you were a vampire she started investigating, looking up every website, reading through every mythology book, engulfing every last spec of information she could find. she found out the sun light actually hurt your eyes? she’d buy you the best sunglasses out in the market. that some foods were better for you than others? she was buying all of them and burning herself on the stove trying to cook.

but of course, there were some things she found out that she couldn’t exactly talk about with you.

“the bite of a vampire acts as an aphrodisiac on the prey to avoid them running away.”

as an aphrodisiac? she frowned, reading further down the article.

“the bite of a vampire on humans acts like a drug, leaving the human unable to fight the predator. instead, they could get addicted to it. studies show the increase of libido in the human after the bite takes effect.”

“oh…” now she was blushing. one of her hands unconsciously touching her neck, caressing it, lost on the words.

you’d drank blood from people before, obviously, there was actually a place that sold it for vampires in need so they wouldn’t risk hurting humans while feeding. but you and ellie had never talked about the possibility of you drinking from her.

the first time you saw her you felt your world stop, in over your 400 years of existence you’d never felt your cold dead heart beat, but as her green eyes found yours you swore it had. it was stupid, really, how you two had found each other, bumping on one another on a rainy night as ellie tried to quickly get home before she would catch a cold. she was everything. and she smelled so good… you felt your fangs in need to poke out of your gums once her essence met your senses, you could almost taste the raging sweet blood that pumped through her veins as she apologized for not have been paying attention.

you told her she could make it up to you over dinner.

you though about drinking from ellie daily. there was no way of escaping the need of burying your fangs on the tender and soft skin of her neck once you’d find yourself over her, slowly fucking your hips against hers, sucking bruises wherever your mouth could reach. it was primal, the thirst that would overcome you. it was horrid, the hunger you fought day and night to not taste her, terrified of hurting her somehow.

“subjects affirm having been able to reach orgasm without more stimuli other than the bite of their lover.”

with a blush tinting her cheeks she was hurriedly closing her laptop, feeling her whole body flushing.

of course she has noticed. the brushing of your sharp pearls against her skin while you buried her on the sheets was not easy to ignore. she’d tug at your hair at the feeling, her head tilting to the side to expose her neck for you. it was almost an invitation, unconscious, maybe.

but if it was… why was the idea of you biting her turning her on?

she bit down on her lip, sighing as she felt that well-known tingling grow in between her legs. she pushed her laptop aside on the bed.

you weren’t home. you wouldn’t be for a couple of hours. work duties.

a silent moan left her lips as one of her hands slowly trailed down her stomach and boxers —since she was only wearing that and a shirt on your shared apartment— cupping her pussy, which was getting more soaked by the minute.

she closed her eyes, teasing herself through the cloth, biting down on her bottom lip. she thought of you, of your sweet voice and your soft eyes that would sharpen once you’ve caged her under yourself, looking down at her like a predator would do with prey.

‘so pretty… you look so pretty like this for me.’

her free hand came up to her breasts, squeezing, groping, pulling up her shirt to have better access to her sensitive perky nipples.

‘i bet you’re so wet for me… let me see baby.’

she pulled her underwear off, exposing her drooling cunt to the air. she’d remember how you’d groan at the sight, pupils blown, tongue licking your lips, hungry to taste her. you’d always compliment her about how good she tasted, spending hours in between her legs, lapping at her folds, sucking at her puffy clit until she’d cry from the overstimulation.

and yet your thirst wouldn’t disappear.

ellie wondered if she could satiate you with her blood. she wondered what your reaction would be once it would fill your mouth, warm and thick…

“fuck…” she moaned, plunging two of her fingers inside her pulsing walls, thrusting a couple of times to come back out and tease her throbbing clit, arching her back.

she was soaked, so soaked she could hear herself, the sound of her fingers teasing through her pinkish folds.

‘can you hear her? she’s begging for it. so cute, and i haven’t even fucked you yet.’

she whimpered your name, her thighs trembling as she rubbed herself.

and that was when it came to her mind. your lips on her neck, your fangs against her skin, ready to bite, ready to suck her dry.

and just with the thought of it she was moaning non-stop, her high hitting her like a million bricks as she squirmed at her own touch against her clit, soaking the sheets under her body.

after that newly found information, ellie became quieter around you. she was always lost in thought, fern green eyed dozing off into the distance, her pinkish bottom lip caged in between her teeth. she’d grown shy, avoidant, pulling away early on your kisses, blushing and squirming when your mouth would reach her neck, and quickly —against her will— finding something to get busy with, maybe the dishes, or the laundry.

it left you confused to say the least, wanting, daunted. why was she avoiding you? at first you thought she just wasn’t in the mood, something you could understand, but you could hear her heartbeat, smell the arousal pool in between her legs, feel her need.

so why?

it was late at night when she got back to your apartment, lately she seemed to be avoiding you like the plague, taking extra shifts or hanging out with dina and jesse when you’d be free and home.

she was silent with it, softly stepping inside and closing the door. you had to give it to her, had been normal you wouldn’t have noticed it, too deep in slumber. but you weren’t normal. and you weren’t asleep.

she jumped when she noticed you, lurking in the shadows not under the moonlight.

“fuck.” she sighed, a hand against her heart. “you scared me.” you crooked your head, stepping closer to her spot beside the door. you were a true predator, eyes dark and movements smooth, calculated. “what are you doing up? it’s late.” she nervously chuckled, her heart beating faster as you approached her, making her back away against the door. “what…-“

“why are you avoiding me, ellie?” you inquired her, voice low, sultry. captivating yet dangerous. her mouth gaped like a fish’s.

“m…me? avoiding you? i’m not…”

“you are.” you looked at her up and down. she looked pretty, with a green tank top and navy blue jeans with her beaten up converse. “you know i can hear your heartbeat baby…” you slowly said, your fingers trailing down the pulse on her neck, making goosebumps explode on her skin, her breath shudder. “there’s no use in lying to me.” she harshly swallowed, her greenish eyes looking everywhere but you. “you know how difficult it is to control myself when you prance around smelling so damn wet?” the hand on her neck came up to her jaw, gripping it to direct her towards you. “look at me.” she did. you were so close your lips were almost touching. her eyes fluttered when you slightly brushed them against hers, making her follow after your touch, but you kept her in place, making her slightly whine. “tell me why you’ve been teasing me. i know you want it too.” one of your hands came down her body, stopping in between her legs to cup her pulsing desperate cunt. “i can smell you soaking those pretty panties of yours.” she blushed. so hard even the tip of her ears went vermillion. you cooed at the tiny whimper she let out.

“please…” she begged, and you caressed her bottom lip with your thumb.

“tell me what you want. you know how to use your words. be a good girl.”

“i want you to bite me.”

you swore your ears were deceiving you. your eyes widened at her words, staring at her for what it seemed minutes before you pulled away from her, your cold blood turning into ice.

“no.”

ellie almost whined at the loss of your touch, maybe at your answer.

“please.”

she stepped towards you, a pout pulling from her features, hands on your shoulders trailing down your your chest, surrounding your neck, exposing her own to you. your eyes momentarily met her soft pale skin, the pulsing vein on the crook of her shoulder and neck. you could almost taste it. thick and heavy in your mouth.

“ellie.” you harshly closed your eyes, fighting the need of your gums to break your gums. “i could hurt you.”

“i can take it.” she promised, one of her hands cupping your cheek to make you look at her. “i want this.” you groaned. “i want you.” your lips brushed, and your tongue came harshly into her mouth as her own needy crashed against yours. she moaned as your hands came down to her thighs, pulling from her to jump and surround your waist to move the two of you to your bedroom.

you fell backwards onto the bed with her on your lap. she was desperate, hungry for your touch after so long without relief. but you were starving.

“‘s this why you were avoiding me? poor thing just was too shy to ask?” she nodded, biting onto her bottom lip. “fuck. you’re killing me. you smell so fucking good…” you hid your face on her neck, leaving soft kisses on her skin, making the green eyed girl crook her head aside to give you more space.

“please… bite me. please.” she pleaded, one of her hands on your hair, tugging, doe eyes teary in need. you wanted to ruin her.

“shit. are you sure? i could-“

“please.” she nodded, pulling you closer to her pulse. you groaned, your fangs breaking your gums as you felt your hunger kick in, your want.

you left a last soft kiss on her skin before your teeth came crashing down against it, puncturing it. a deep moan left your throat when it hit you. the metalic, warm and sweet taste of her warm filling your mouth.

if ellie smelled good, she tasted heavenly.

the auburn haired let out the most beautiful and pornographic whimper once she felt it, her whole body going numb yet exploding in sensitivity at the feeling of your bite. it only hurt for a second, before the effects of the bite rushed through her body. before she knew it she was thrusting against your hips, pulling you closer, feeling an adrenaline rush, her body shake and her pussy throb, slick quickly pooling in between her lips and drenching her panties. she felt it coming. you hadn’t even touched her and yet she was so close to an orgasm…

she moaned your name, and you grunted, pulling away to look at her flushed face and hazy eyes. she looked completely fucked out, neck glistening in her crimson blood.

you smirked when you saw her squirm under your touch on her hips, going up and down her thighs. “that feel good, baby?”

she bit down on her lip, nodding.

“more. please. touch me, please.” she begged, rocking her hips against yours, what made you moan. she felt like she was gonna die if you didn’t touch her.

“you want me to touch you, pretty girl?” she nodded once again, raising her arms for you to take off her tank top, exposing her perky breasts and rosy nipples, to which you attached to.

“fuck…” she ground herself on your lap, anxiously and hurriedly taking care of your own top.

“you’re gonna be the death of me.” you grunted, flipping her over and pushing her against the duvet to take her pants and panties off, your pupils blown out at the sight of her drooling pussy. she whined when she felt your fingers slide in between her folds, screamed when, with just a mere touch against her clit she was falling over the edge. your stomach turned, and if your heart beat you were sure it would’ve skipped one of its jumps. your eyes were widened as you watched her come down from it in heavy pants, her cheeks turning red at the realization that she had came with just a mere graze.

“fuck…” she muttered, hiding her face from you behind her hands. you quickly removed them. so turned on you swore your whole body was aching in need to have her.

“don’t you dare hide from me. not when you look so pretty when you cum.” ellie’s teary eyes watched you crawl down her body to position yourself in between her legs, your hungry eyes transfixed on her cum soaked cunt. you couldn’t wait to clean her creamy release with your tongue. “i want to watch you do it over and over and over again.” your irises turned red as you stared into her fern ones, watching her back arch and her jaw fall when your fangs dug into the soft pale skin of her thigh. a loud moan broke her throat. your eyes closed as her sweet blood filled your mouth and warmed your own throat. you hummed, your hips thrusting against the bed. “fuck. i want to devour you.” you growled, your mouth moving from her thigh to her soaked cunt, lapping at her cum with a panting mouth. you thought nothing could be better than her blood. but her cum with her blood? you were sure that, if not been immortal, you would have died right there and then. ellie screamed your name, her legs closing around your head as you hungrily ate her out, your hands coming up to her thighs to push them apart and give you more space. she was squirming like crazy, moaning and whimpering, crying. she was so overstimulated already… “quit moving.”

“oh my god. ohmygodohmygodohmygod…” she mumbled. “i’m gonna cum again!” she weeped as you sucked on her puffy and throbbing clit. you quickly retrieved one of your hands from her thighs to fuck her gaping drooling hole with two of your fingers. just one curl from them against her g spot and she was shaking, creaming all over them.

“fuuuck. that’s it. cum for me, baby. so fucking sweet.” you licked her clean, sucking at her clit and hearing her cry. her hands tugged from your hair, the heels of her feet anchoring themselves on the duvet to try and scape your mouth.

“too much. ‘s too much!” her high subsided just the slightest to start to build again at an incredible speed, making her cum again in a matter of seconds. you pulled away with a soaked gaping mouth.

“did you just cum twice?” you inquired, in awe, watching the fat tears that rolled down her strained and flushed face. you plugged your fingers out, watching her creamy release drip out of her hole. you crawled back up her body, cupping her face. she was dizzy in ecstasy, her pretty green eyes swelled with tears.

“more…” she pleaded, her hands on your hair, pushing you to her slightly bleeding neck, inviting you to sink your fangs back in, to suck her dry, give her more of that delirious pleasure.

you groaned.

“you’re killing me, you know that?”

you buried your face on the crook of her neck, licking up the little droplets of blood that seeped from the punctures on her skin before diving in, making her let out this pretty little sound.

her nails dug on your back, her own arching underneath you as her legs surrounded your hips, pulling you closer as she tilted her face to the side. “feels sooo gooood.” she slurred, whimpering when your hands came up to her perfect breasts, squeezing the fat in between your fingers. you wondered how much she could take, how much she could give you. ellie would let you drain the last drop of her blood out of her if that meant this feeling wouldn’t stop.

“need your pretty pussy on mine, baby. want to feel your cum dripping on it.” you sucked bruises on her skin, watching her nod. “can you be a good girl and do that for me?” your sultry voice asked against her ear, your hips giving a little thrust against hers, making the material of your jeans brush against her sensitive and puffy folds.

“yes.” she gasped, nodding, to what you left your place in between her legs, getting on your feet to unbuckle your jeans, but the auburn haired was quicker than you, her shaky pretty hands taking care of it and hurriedly pushing your panties and jeans down your legs for you to kick them away.

you moaned when you suddenly felt her mouth on you, her soft tongue lapping at your clit.

“oh fuck.” you cursed in a gasp, one of your hands coming down to her head, fingers lacing on her hair, to stabilize yourself. “what are you doing?” you moaned when you felt her suck on it, your eyes closing shut for a second before looking down at her.

“i’m hungry.” she muttered against your pussy. the sight in front of you was one to behold.

your girl was on her hands and knees, back arched for you, hazy drunk eyes looking up at you as she slowly glided her pink tongue in between your soaked lips. you gasped, pushing her further against your cunt once you’d put one of your legs up on the bed, foot against the sheets, bending your knee and opening your legs to give her better access.

“jesus christ.”

usually ellie would be shy, always asking for permission to take care of you, to touch you, to eat you. but now, she was taking what she wanted —no, what she needed— from you. and that was making your mind spiral.

her hands came up to grip at your hips and legs, making out dirtily with your cunt, looking at you, teasing you. “want you to fill my mouth.” she said before licking a fat strip from your hole to your clit, sucking at it and letting it go with a pop.

“yeah? you want me to cum in that pretty mouth of yours baby?” she nodded. “then stick out your tongue, gonna fuck myself with it.” she did as you said, flattening her tongue and moaning when your grip on her hair only tightened, bucking your hips against her tongue, perfectly rubbing your clit. “fuck. that’s it. such a good fucking mouth, doll.” she hummed, her nails digging on your flesh. “gonna give you all my cum baby. and you’re gonna be a good girl and swallow it, aren’t you ellie?” she nodded. you grunted, fucking yourself faster on her tongue. you were so riled up and sensitive… you weren’t gonna last. “shit. i’m gonna cum.” you moaned, and she eagerly lapped at your folds, pulling you closer by your ass cheeks to her face to make sure to not leave a single drop behind. “fuck!” you cursed as you felt the snap of your high on your lower stomach, moaning as you creamed all over her tongue, making her whimper. “take it. take it all.”

she slurped and licked you clean, fucking you through it until your breath stabilized.

after coming down, you let go of her, taking in her disheveled state; messy hair, dizzy eyes and shiny chin and lips. you got on the bed with her, laying on your back and spreading your legs.

“come over here. come and ride my pussy.” she crawled towards you, feeling her arousal dripping down her thighs. “give me your back, baby.” she followed your orders, feeling your hands on her hips as she got on her knees, hands against the sheets to lower herself until he was seating against your open cunt. the first touch was heavenly, making the two of you moan. “you’re so fucking wet…” you sighed as she started to move, back and forth against your pussy, her clit gliding in between your folds as yours did the same in between hers. “did eating me out turned you on that much, baby?” she whimpered, nodding, to what you gave her a slap in the ass. “use your words.”

“yes, mmh.”

“that feels good, pretty? feel good jumping on my clit?” her pace was picking up, her moans and cries getting louder. “so hot…” you grabbed at the fat of her cheeks, dragging her harder against your pussy. you could feel the cum from her previous orgasms coming out of her to drench your cunt, making a mess in between your thighs yet making it easier for her to fuck herself on you. “doing so good for me…”

she moaned your name, going faster, harder. “feels so good…” she cried, feeling a new orgasm starting to build inside of her due to the constant rubbing of her clit against your folds.

“yeah? gonna cum for me, ellie? gonna cream my pussy?” she nodded.

“yeah, fuck, yes. i’m so close. please…” you grunted, taking her hips with your hands and fucking her harder in between grunts. you too were close, still sensitive due to your recent orgasm.

“go ahead baby, cum for me, wanna see it drip.” with a scream, she was cumming for you, for the forth time that night, her ears ringing and sight blacking out at the intensity. this was not a normal orgasm. it was bigger. harder. it was breaking her apart.

you moaned at the sight of her pussy squirting all over yours, drenching your cunt and the sheets below your bodies. “fuuuck.” you couldn’t hold it in anymore, cumming along with her and fucking the two of you through it to extend her high as much as possible.

once you two came down, you rested against the head of the bed, capturing the auburn haired in between your arms, pressing her back against your naked chest.

you held her as she recovered her breath, caressing her tummy, her thighs… until…

“what are you…, mhh fuck!” she whimpered when she felt the sting of your fangs against the sensitive skin of her neck, her blood being drained out of her veins until her head felt dizzy. her thighs shook when your fingers met her swollen pretty little clit, your tongue licking the new punctures clean as you whispered on her ear.

“more.”

a/n: idk what to say😵‍💫😵‍💫

KEEP TALKING ABOUT PALESTINE!!!!! 🇵🇸

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azrakaban · 4 months

Text

I love the Smiths - Mattheo Riddle

A/N: It's short. I know. I'm just in shock. #4 in jkrowling?! HELLO? TYSM I LOVE YOU AAAALL

Summary: Mattheo finds a non depressing person who listens to the same depressing music as him

Music suggestions: Back to the old house (2011 remaster) - The Smiths, There Is A Light That Never Goes Out - The Smith

Warnings: Mentions of drug use (not Mattheo or reader), cursing, fluff

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT DO DRUGS. I never have and never intend to, all descriptions of the effects of weed are brought to you from compulsory PSHE lessons (That's all I'm basing it off of so may be inaccurate) :)

Pronouns mentioned: The reader has she/her pronouns, but feel free to change it in ur mind, it's not plot relevant xxx

...

Mattheo's POV

Sometimes all you need at the end of the bad day is rain and a smiths vinyl.

And fortunately for a certain younger Riddle son, that's exactly what he had. Well, that and a pack of cigarettes.

He lit one as he sat back against the cracking stone bricks of the tower walls, just as A There Is Light That Never Goes Out came on. He exhaled the smoke, feeling partially guilty about the health effects he'd been so dubiously warned about by the posters plastered across the school walls.

It's not like professor sprout didn't mean well by growing medicinal cannabis for some students, it's just that some slightly more raucous Ravenclaws and Gryffindors saw it as a personal invitation to get high.

Not Mattheo though - he didn't like the stuff, knew it fucked with your head in the worst way possible, so he steered clear of it. He stuck to depressing 80s music to keep him happy. Ironic really.

He looked up at the stars, trying to spot patterns before drifting off into his mind.

'Because it's not my home, it's their home

and I'm welcome no more...'

"I love the smiths." Came a voice from the doorway, and Mattheo spun sharply. "What?" He said quietly.

"I said I love the smiths." Came the voice again, and this time it registered with him that it belonged to a gorgeous girl standing in the doorway.

He grinned, returning the nervous smile on your face. "Yeah?? Well, you've got good taste then." He said, taking a puff of his cig. You flicked it from his hand with a small smile. He looked up at you, confused.

"Why-?" He said, raising an eyebrow.

"I heard you complaining about it in transfiguration earlier. At least, I think it was you. Sounded like your voice. It was a deep voice, whining something like 'Theo I wanna quit but you keep putting them on my bedside so I caaaaaan't.'" You imitated him perfectly, and Mattheo laughed.

"Yeah, sounds about right." He said, smirking to himself.

You laughed with him. "I imagined you looking at him the way a toddler looks at you before asking if you have games on your phone." You admit, smiling as you sit beside him.

Mattheo stifled a laugh. "Really? I think I was more looking at him like how a kid looks at their parent before they ask them to watch them do something really bad, like a backflip that turns into an A&E trip." He replied, trying to light another cigarette. You flicked that one off the tower.

He nodded, mouthing a quick thanks. You laughed. "I'll take those." You stole the cigarettes from his pocket, leaning across Mattheo. Instinctually, he sniffed, smelling your shampoo. You pulled back, looking confused.

"Did you just sniff my hair?" You said, half laughing. He flushed. "It was right there! What was I gonna do? Smelt good though." He acknowledged. "Some kind of spice?" He guessed.

"Cinnamon." You replied, smiling. He ah'ed in acknowledgement, before he looked up at the stars. You mirrored him.

"Look. Taurus." You pointed up at a cluster of stars. Mattheo looked up, not seeing anything. "Is it really?" He replied, raising an eyebrow. You giggled. "No idea, but it could be. Why, did it make me seem smart?" You replied, looking over at him.

"Will you push me off of here if I say no?" He laughed. You gently pushed him. "Debating it. If I push you I can steal your vinyl and player." You smirked.

"Ah, but without me, you'd have no-one to listen to them with." He gently shoved you back.

You nodded, agreeing with him. "True that."

He smiled, and you sat in silence for a while, before he broke it. "So, what brings you up here at midnight?" He queried, looking at you with a strange expression.

"Friends. They're driving me insane." You replied, laughing a little. He nodded with you. "Same here." He sighed.

You looked at him. "What did yours do?" He laughed.

"Nothing much... they have good intentions it's just..." He grimaced. "They're trying to set me up with this girl I've never met. She sounds great it's just... I want to know someone before I ask them out, you know? God that sounds corny." He groaned, and your mouth quirked, eyes seeing the stars but not registering them.

"No, I agree. Blind dates are awkward." You shuddered. "Have much experience?" He teased. You shook your head, smiling. "I'm going off of several cheesy rom coms." You shrugged.

"A romance girl hmm?" He smirked. You shoved him. "Loud and proud, tease me all you want, at least my standards aren't the bare minimum." He looked surprised. "It's not a bad thing you know. In my cheesy romance movies, the romance book girls tend to be the best love interests." He shoved you back gently as you gasped.

"You watch romance movies?" You said quietly. "Don't give me that look, Blaise's mum loved them and I spent summers with them. You learn to tolerate them." He chuckled. You smiled.

"Do you have a favourite?" He gave you a look. "Don't be ridiculous."

You gave him puppy eyes and he relented. "10 Things I hate About you." You smiled happily. "Good choice."

And then something hit you. "Did you call me a love interest?" He looked confused. "What?"

"You said the romance book girls are the best love interests are the romance book girls directly after i said it. Do you see me as a love interest, Mr Riddle?" You teased, and he flushed again.

"You know who I am?" He said quietly. You nodded. "Then why for Salazar's sake are you still here?" He raised an eyebrow.

"You didn't ask me to leave, so why would I go?" You looked confused. He shook his head. "If you know who I am you've probably heard the rumours about what I'm like. That I'm like... him." You got the implication.

"Well, you haven't tried to kill me, and you've had plenty of opportunities to push me off the tower, so I'd say you're pretty good in my books." You smiled. He gave you a weak one, clearly still processing.

"So, do you see me as a love interest?" You repeated, smiling as he blushed slightly again.

"Maybe I do." He murmured. You smiled. "You're cute when you blush." You kissed his cheek before you stood. "Where are you going?" He said, looking crestfallen.

"I prefer to get to know people before I cast them as my love interest." You replied, smiling.

"See you in transfiguration." And with that, you made your dramatic exit.

He smiled to himself as you left, and sat there for a few moments in contemplation. What in the fever dream?

...

Mattheo was just leaving charms as he saw a head of (y/h/c) hair leave the history of magic classroom. He looked closer, spotting your gorgeous eyes that he'd been lost in the previous night. And then, in horrifying mortification, he realised he didn't know your name.

"HEY! SMITHS GIRL!" He yelled, pushing past people to catch up with you, you span around, smiling.

"Hi." He said a little breathlessly, and you giggled. "We umm, only listened to Side A of my vinyl last night, you wanna do Side B tonight?" He asked, crossing his fingers in his robes. You nodded, smiling, as his friends caught up.

"I'd love to. But i don't want to keep you from your friends. Hey Theo." You waved to the guy standing behind Mattheo. Mattheo froze as Theo smirked. "Hi n/n. Mattheo, this is the girl I was telling you about. Y/n, Mattheo, Mattheo, Y/n. Though it seems you two are already aquainted?" He raised an eyebrow.

You flushed. "A little." You murmured. Mattheo nodded sheepishly. "See you tonight, Smiths Girl." He smirked.

"I have a name!" You called as he left with his friends. "SEE YOU TONIGHT Y/N!" He yelled back, laughing. Theo smirked at him.

"Don't."

...

Over the next few weeks, you two grew incredibly close. Yapping about people, buried trauma... everything and anything that came up under the moonlight.

"I love the moon." You said after a particularly deep talk, which had Mattheo nearly on the verge of the tears for the first time in he couldn't remember how long. He turned to you, giving you a sad smile.

"Why's that?" He murmured, watching your features illuminated by the light.

"It's known you your whole life, through every bad fringe, through every cringy Twilight era, and still loves you. It still doesn't go away, except during the day, which is when the sun watches you. You don't need it then. But as soon as you do, it's there. It only goes when it has to, not because it wants to." You said thoughtfully. Mattheo chuckled slightly.

"Sure you're not over personifying it there?" He whispered, gently nudging you. You shook your head.

"Look at that and tell me you don't think it can feel." Mattheo looked. And this time he saw.

He saw what you saw in the moon. He saw what it represented in you. And he decided in that moment, he would stay. He would be your moon, if you would be his sun. But how could he tell you that? He couldn't, god no.

So he just let his hand inch closer to yours, getting close, so unbearably close and then moving away, like magnets.

"Y/n?" He murmured. You turned to look at him. "Yeah?" You whispered.

He swallowed the words he wanted to say, instead opting for something that wouldn't probably make you turn and run away from him.

"Thank you for telling me about you. And thank you for hearing about me." He said, giving you a small smile.

"Don't thank me for something I'd willingly do whenever." You replied, watching the stars, and Mattheo wasn't sure if something inside him healed or broke.

"You'll be the death of me." He chuckled lowly. You smiled.

"I'd rather be the life of you." You replied, giggling before standing and going to leave. He reacted on instinct, grabbing your hand and pulling you back.

"Stay? Please." He murmured, pulling you back down. You let him pull you, and found yourself sat between his legs, back against his chest, watching the stars.

Another song came on, and you smiled. "I love this one!" You said, and stood again. For a moment, Mattheo panicked, before you held out a hand for him.

"Dance with me?" You whispered, eyes sparkling in the moonlight. Well, to Mattheo, your eyes sparkled all the time, but more under the starlight.

He stood, smiling as he took your hand and fake bowed, wiggling his eyebrows as he gently rested his hands on your hips, pulling you a little closer.

You smiled, dancing in silence for a while before he spoke. "It's a little cold." He said, and you nodded, shivering a little. "Mhm." You said. Damn, you should have brought a jumper. He noticed you shivering. "Come here, y/n." He murmured, outstretching his arms for you.

You hesitated, and he worried that he'd pushed you too far, before you conceded, moving into his arms. He rested his chin on your head, happy to be a source of warmth if it kept you happy. You snuggled into him and Mattheo physically felt his heart ache, like it wanted out of his chest and into yours.

"Honestly, fuck you." He said, groaning. You looked up, seeming surprised. "What?"

"You come up here, where I was fine alone, and share all these things, and that make me share things that I haven't told anyone before, and what's fucking more, you don't make me feel bad about it, you help me, and suddenly I'm not fine alone, and I need you."

"And I don't like needing people, it just gets you hurt, but you're not like other people, and I'm okay with needing you, because everytime I see you, you heal some tiny part of me, and fuck you because I am so hopelessly, desperately, in love with you." He said, walking back and forth infront of you as you tried to process.

"I'm sorry." You whispered, smiling. He groaned. "And now you're apologising for it, and you look so fucking pretty and all I can think about it how much I want to kiss you." He exhaled, running a hand through his hair, damp from the rain, and a raindrop fell down his face like a tear.

"You should. Kiss me I mean. I'd like that." You whispered, and you were barely through with your sentence before his lips were on yours, and you were kissing him, and his one of his hands was cupping your face and another one held your waist.

Mattheo kissed like a man starved, but oh god was it amazing. He kissed you, because you were his oxygen, his everything.

When he finally broke apart from you, he grinned, then laughed softly, and so did you.

"Merlin, I love The Smiths." He exhaled, still laughing quietly. You giggled. "Me too. But they share my heart with this one guy, can't think who."

He laughed at that too. "Can't imagine who you'd be talking about."

You smiled. "Yeah, it's this stranger I met on the astronomy tower, who likes the same music as me, and is super nice when you get to know him, and who i think loves me too. Oh, and he's also really cute." You added as an afterthought.

"He's definitely in love with you, given he's usually a little shit to everyone else, including his best friends. OH SHIT. Theo. He's going to be so smug. We CANNOT tell him. I'm begging you." Mattheo fell to his knees, pleading with you in mocking way.

"Tell him what?" You smiled innocently, and Mattheo rolled his eyes.

"That I am yours, Y/N, if you want me, and you are mine if you want that." He replied.

You nodded. "I want that."

Mattheo kissed you at that, and before you left the astronomy tower, and before he said goodnight to you.

...

The next day, Mattheo saw you outside his charms class, and you shot him a smile. He gave up at that, walking over and giving you a short kiss, smiling into it when you kissed back before the two of you pulled apart.

"What happened to staying secret?" You murmured, giggling at the surprised expressions of your friends and the surrounding students. He shrugged. "I love my smiths girl." There was a cough behind you, and you turned to see Theo smirking.

"HA." Theo coughed loudly, his smirk growing more cocky by the second.

"DON'T." Mattheo glared.

"Okay, I won't, jeez." Theo put his hands up in mock surrender.

Mattheo relaxed.

"Just call me cupid."

"SON OF A-"

A/N: WOAH. Azra uploaded twice within a month, is she okay? NO GUYS. I have a new crush. YIPPEE. Anyway, hope you enjoyed this crack fic and didn't cringe too much reading it. xxxx

REQUESTS STILL OPEN FOR ALL CHARACTERS <333

K THX BYEEEE

#mattheo riddle x you #mattheo riddle headcanon #mattheo riddle fluff #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle #mattheo x you #mattheo riddle x y/n #harry potter #slytherin #slytherin boys #slytherins #slytherin boys headcanons #slytherin boys fluff #lorenzo berkshire #theodore nott #tom riddle #draco malfoy #the smiths

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thisisutl · 1 year

Text

The real dog that inspired Ghost Trick's "Missile".

As many people on Tumblr have already pointed out, Ghost Trick is a game that is best experienced going in fully-blind. It offers amazing puzzle-based gameplay, a charming cast of characters and a unique story with plenty of twists and turns that will leave you both stunned and fulfilled by the end. My one true regret with the game is that I can't experience it for the first time again.

So, in trying to hype up the game for its release on Steam, Switch, Playstation and XBox, I decided to go for a novel approach: Instead of gushing about the game and potentially spoiling it for you, I will instead offer some facts about the real-life dog that inspired one of the game's most memorable characters. Knowing those facts won't spoil the game for you and will in fact make you appreciate its story a whole lot more, so feel free to reblog away, adding any facts that I might have missed about the game's Charismatic Cheerful Capable Caring Canine.

You know… This adorable little guy:

Ladies and Gentlemen, meet Missile Takumi!

Missile was a pomeranian Puppy adopted by Shu Takumi on 2007. He was named after a dog appearing in Gyakuten Saiban 1 (aka Phoenix Wright Ace Attorney 1). The dog in the original game was a throwaway gag, not essential in the overall game’s story. The real-life little pomeranian however proved to be an essential part of Shu Takumi’s life.

(Source)

(More facts after the break)

Missile was Shu Takumi’s best friend. The little doggie was always there for him, always available to lift his spirits with a cheerful bark when he was feeling down and always offering a friendly paw even in the gloomiest of circumstances. Missile was a truly loyal friend, offering unconditional love and friendship, helping Shu Takumi get over even the most difficult of times.

(Source)

So when time came to make Ghost Trick, a game about ghosts, regrets, mystery, loyalty, friendship and ultimate redemption, it was perfectly natural for Shu Takumi to give his best little friend a part in the story.

The game’s developers didn’t initially want to put Missile in the game. They didn’t have a problem with putting a dog as a character, they had a problem with the fact that the dog was a Pomeranian and they would have problems animating his fur in-game. Shu Takumi however insisted and eventually, after meeting the little doggie and falling under its charm, the developers relented into putting him in the game in all his Pomeranian glory.

(Image from lparchive)

Not only did they put him in the game, in fact, they went above and beyond in capturing his charm perfectly. They studied his moves and mannerisms, in order to get his movements down pat.

(Image from lparchive)

Missile’s iconic in-game bark was actually a recording of sound-designer’s Nobuyuki Shimizu Labrador Retriever who was coincidentally also named Missile! Shu Takumi wanted to record his own Missile, but Shimizu-san also wanted to put a part of his own dog in the game and Takumi eventually relented.

So, yeah, Missile in the game was voiced by Missile. Just not THE Missile.

In order to make up for not recording his own dog for the game Shu Takumi made a “character song” for Ghost Trick’s Missile:.

youtube

Yes, those barks you hear in the song are recordings of THE Missile, no substitutes this time! This is how the little Pomeranian used to bark!

The song was made to celebrate Ghost Trick’s 3rd year release anniversary and even though the song talks about Ghost Trick’s Missile, a lot of the behaviors mentioned in the lyrics (such as Missile’s tendency to climb on the sofa and then needing help to get back down) are things that Takumi’s pomeranian friend used to do.

The song was later remade by CAP-JAMS and included in the soundtrack of the 2023 remaster of the game.

youtube

And, yes, the original Missile’s barks are still there.

If it’s not perfectly clear, Shu Takumi really wanted to tell everyone how awesome his little dog was. He made the little dog an essential part of Ghost Trick and stealthily made the world, at least that small part of it that played Ghost Trick, fall in love with him.

Ghost Trick was released under critical acclaim, even receiving a nomination for Gamespot’s Best 2011 Puzzle Game, but the fact that it was released near the end of the DS’s lifespan and a lackluster advertising campaign made it 2011’s “Best Game You’ve Never Played”.

The game, however, slowly gained a cult following and within that following, the story of Missile resonated with everyone and became one of its standout points. He might not have been the player-character but he was definitely the show-stealer.

(To tell any more would be going into spoiler territory, but seriously go buy and play Ghost Trick any way you can. It really deserves a bigger audience).

So beloved was the little dog in fact that when Ace Attorney was eventually adapted into an anime, the animators couldn’t resist putting him into episodes 13 and 30 of the first and second season respectively. In fact, in the anime Missile was indirectly responsible for the “class trial” incident that shaped Naruhodo/Wright’s life.

Before you ask, no, Missile was not voicing himself this time (something about working with animals and children). He was voiced by Tomokazu Seki in the Japanese version and by Kyle Hebert in the English dub. Still a nice tribute to Takumi’s little doggie.

One final Missile fact that I can’t find a proper segway for is that Missile also got along surprisingly well with Wagahai and Sankichii, the cats that later also entered the Takumi household, though, the way Takumi tells this, it was the cats that called the shots more often than not.

Missile passed away on the 10th of November 2018. The way Shu Takumi puts it, the valiant little doggie waited for him to return from the US, to spend some final time with him before passing on. We don’t know the exact details just that it was sudden and unexpected.

(Source)

Missile is no longer with us, but his memory lives on. He will always be remembered by Shu Takumi as the friend that always was by his side… and always will be with him.

…and he will always be remembered by the gaming community as the little Pomeranian that stole everybody’s hearts and made Ghost Trick a truly memorable experience.

MISSAIRU TONDEKE!

(Missile’s Launched!)

#ghost trick #missile #puppy #shu takumi #ace attorney #Seriously play Ghost Trick NOW! Thank me later.#Youtube

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jhoneybees · 4 months

Text

Fear

This is a first! My first smutty fic that is inspired by this song!

Taglist: @elvisalltheway101 @atleastpleasetelephone @i-r-i-n-a-a

Characters: Mid60s!Elvis x Wife!Reader

Warning/triggers: Never knew I would be saying this but...Smut! lol, mentions of sex, nudity, reader's first time-ish, nipple play, blowjob, male receiving and almost female receiving

_____________________________________________

The both of you are quite open with your thoughts and feelings and it's been like that for years and years, of course Elvis and you would sometimes feel a bit insecure about something but you two would find ways to work through it.

But the only thing that Elvis hasn’t shared with you is a fear, something that he thinks you might find silly and… maybe it is.

Ever since you met back in 1964, he has been dodging the topic of sex over the many years of dating and it's not that you’re dumb and naive around sexual things, no sir, Elvis sure knows you’re not a stranger to foreplay and it’s not that he hasn’t done the deed before, the two of you know he’s been with many girls before.

It's just this one thought, this one itchy thought that's been plaguing his mind ever since you brought up the topic.

Of course, he wants to have sex with you. Oh how he wants to show you how a man really loves a woman.

But it's just…he’s afraid that he might hurt you.

Most men may think it’s silly to have such ideas because it’s only natural to thrust themselves into a woman and pound them into the mattress.

Right?

Well, yes but there's something about the thought of seeing your angel face contort in pain, tears springing at the outer corners of your eyes and hissing at the burning sensation that doesn't sit right with him, he knows the pain wouldn't last forever.

He's just scared.

He couldn't bear seeing you wincing and crying because of him. He's always been so sensitive with how you're taken care of and yes, you're a full grown woman and he probably shouldn't be worrying about you so much like that.

Hell, he can't help it though.

This fear is scarier than anything else to him, even more terrifying than the big fear of proposing to you which he did a year ago.

Now he's finally married to you and right at this moment sitting on the edge of a bed in a hotel suite in Hawaii, on your honeymoon.

“Elvis…”

Elvis perks up at your voice, seeing your head peeking out from behind the bathroom door with that gorgeous smile. His lips curl at the corners.

“Close your eyes”

He does what you say and closes his eyes, he has an idea what you might be doing and he's nervous to say the least.

Swallowing thickly as he hears the varnished floorboards creak, a light whiff of your sweet perfume tickles his nose.

“Feel me”

He gulps again and when your soft hands lift his ones up to place on your hips, his breath catches in his throat at the feeling of delicate lace.

“You know what it is?”

He nods quietly, his heart pounding in his chest, he thinks it might go out of control at any second.

“Open your eyes”

Just…

How could he do such a thing to you? To tarnish your angelic, heavenly body, with how the white lace underwear moulds onto your hips and the little pudge below your belly button. The matching white lace bra complimenting your breasts, the softness and fullness of them spilling over the tops and little pink buds peeking through the fabric.

It’s all making his head spin. You’re so beautiful and he can already feel his dress pants tighten. He has shown his love to you in so many ways but he has never shown the way that he has been waiting to do and as much as his heart is telling him to show you, his brain is stopping him.

Fingers pushing ever so lightly against your waist. Elvis is in absolute awe of you, the pressure of his fingertips pressing down on your skin makes something crack inside of him, his breathing becoming laboured when the urge to feel your entire body with his palms enters his mind.

His eyes roaming up your body, eyelids fluttering lazily. A groan vibrates in his throat.

“You’re gorgeous…” he breathes, earning an angelic giggle from you.

As his eyes begin to trail back down your body, they snap up to yours when you place a hand on his shoulder. A breath sucks out of him at the slight contact of his clothed length getting brushed by your knee resting on the mattress between his legs.

He gently lays himself down at the light push from your hand, making sure to let out a breath or he would’ve exploded right then and there.

A flame ignites in his heart at just the sight of you crawling on top of him, your goddess of a body planting right on his pelvis and leaning down closer and closer to his face. Sighing at the feel of your soft lips pressing onto his passionately.

Elvis’ hands try to grasp onto something, anything, and what he finds is your hips, your squishy but firm hips.

Sliding them up to the curves of your breasts, he hovers his thumbs over your hardened nipples. Hearing you let out a moan as he brushes over your clothed buds.

“H-honey…”

Stuttering in between kisses. He groans at your sensual hums and gentle nibbles on his bottom lip, watching you pull away, he looks into your eyes that dig into his soul and with hesitant hands, he gently clenches the sides of your panties in his fists. Feeling your hands trail down his chest to his pants, shuffling back to unbutton and his breath hitches at your fingers wrapping around his cock.

His mind falls static at the image of you, leaning down and peering up at him with your pretty soft lips parting to take him into your mouth, knowing you'd take such good care of him because you always do, and as he feels your wet tongue flatten against his tip and enveloping him in between your lips letting the wet muscle slide down under his length ever so slowly and so gently, the wind gets knocked out of his lungs.

“Ooohh baby…”

His voice comes out hoarse and pleasured. He tried keeping his head up to watch you but the anticipation of wanting to feel you spreads all throughout his body and with that his head falls onto the bed.

Shaky hands going up to press into his eye sockets, a string of moans fall from his lips. He swears you must know every little trick, you make him become so undone in such a short time.

His hips stuttering, more slow dragged out groans squeeze out of his throat as the suction in your mouth milks every drop of him.

Elvis in a daze, his hands fall to his sides. Taking a few moments to come back to earth.

After taking a few breaths, he opens his eyes, sensing your fingers grazing his skin as you undo the buttons on his shirt, sliding it just over his shoulders. He almost chokes on his own saliva when you quickly take your underwear off and unclasp your bra, leaving you bare naked right on top of him.

…How did he get so lucky?

He’s falling in love with your body all over again because of the view of your little imperfections that you would always think are ugly, he finds them so damn sexy and he always makes sure you believe that too.

His gaze travelling down your frame, he grunts at how pretty your dark wiry hairs decorate the trail down to your womanhood. He’s hypnotised by your beauty that he doesn’t notice his cock is nearly just about able to be nestled in between your lower lips but when you grind on him again while biting your lower lip, he suddenly feels the wetness and as he's sucking in a sharp breath, the realisation hits him like a truck.

“U-uh.. honey uhm-”

“Hmm?...”

His brain runs in circles. That thought comes drumming back into his mind. He doesn't want to hurt you.

Feeling your hand travelling up his chest, his breath hitches at the mischievous glint in your eye, your hips moving to grind on him again and a mental flash blinds his vision. Your little hole ripping open twice the size causing blood to seep out and a deafening scream right in his ear coming from your mouth.

Sucking in the air as his cock slides in between your lips, his heart pounds out of his chest even more.

A small whimper rolling off his tongue.

“Hon-”

Elvis stares as your eyes flutter close, your face contorting slowly into pleasure and the sounds of small moans falling from your pretty lips, his horror thoughts come to a halt at the sight of your angel beauty melting into something that he can imagine is sinful.

His heart almost stops when you lift your hips. hovering over his hard cock, you lower yourself slightly rolling your hips over his red, angry tip. Teasing him. Barely rubbing, making combined gasps and moans fill the room.

“D-don’t, I’m gonna hurt you- please”

Flashes of the painful images flood his vision again. With frantic hands, he grips onto your hips to stop you.

“Elvis?”

Peering up at you with parted lips and furrowed eyebrows “W-w-w-we shouldn’t…” he shakes his head while quickly sitting up, leaning himself back against the headboard. Gulping thickly, Elvis runs his fingers through his hair, breathing in and out as he tries to calm himself.

It’s not just him who's been waiting, it’s you too.

He should be telling you.

“I-I-I don’t want to hurt you, Y/n…I-It’s gonna hurt a-and It’s not that ah don’t think yer strong baby, yer real strong b-but its just…I-I can’t bear ta see ya in pain” he stutters.

Glancing over at you sitting there on your knees naked in front of him on the shared bed, he swallows harshly.

“Honey I-”

“It only hurts for a little bit…”

His heart thumps at your sudden soft voice, eyes flicking from one of your eyes to the other. He’s looking for something, something like some sort of judgement but all he can see is bravery, certainty and just pure love.

“W-we don’t gotta do this anymore if ya- if ya don’t want to” he mutters.

The room falls silent for a few moments before your voice breaks through.

“Have you always been gentle with me?”

“Baby?”

“Have you always been gentle with me, Elvis?”

Clearing his throat softly, he thinks for a bit.

“Of course, darlin”

“ And would that change now?”

“N-no…”

Elvis gulps, watching as you crawl closer. Your legs on either side of his hips gasping softly at the coolness of your fingertip lifting his chin, your soft stare boring into his soul.

“Then there’s no need to worry”

Then ever gently your lips press against his, his heart sighing at your delicate hands cupping his face.

“I want your sex, Elvis”

#elvis presley #elvis fans #elvis #i love him #60s elvis #elvis imagine #elvis presley x reader #elvis smut #elvis fandom #Spotify

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miguelhugger2099 · 9 months

Text

Snowfall

Summary: You, the Goddess of Life, visit the God of Death in the forest during a snowstorm. Next Miguel x Fem!Reader, Proofread but I was half-asleep, Fluff, A smidge of angst, Word Count: 1,458 This song is what caused this fic to form in my brain.

A blizzard had made its way to the village, its cold and harsh winds slamming against wooden cabins and tiny snowflakes that only piled up into mountains by the hour.

However, by his lonesome, stood a man in the forest. A forest that had once been flourishing with soft green grass, and a gentle blue lake in the middle with the sun's warm rays peeking through the leaves of the giant pine trees.

His black coat and black shawl around his head was a stark contrast to the pure white snow on the ground and in the sky. But it matched perfectly with the splatter of blood that tainted said purity.

He bent down, kneeling before the creature that had spilled blood: a baby deer wounded by its ribs. It was shot for food by hunters right before the blizzard hit, leaving them to abandon the animal.

The fawn wheezed softly, its beady black eyes staring up at the man. It weakly twitched, its hind legs failing to push itself up. The baby had squirmed the closer the man approached it with a gentle hand. Despite the cold weather, the man never shivered when a particular gust of wind blew through the branches, making his shawl slip off his head.

He gently caressed its head, rubbing his thumb comfortingly under its eye. He felt an ache for the poor baby, lost and alone in the bitter cold.

The baby had bleated softly, perhaps a cry to its mother before falling limp–marking the end of its life. His frown deepened, flinching his hand back to his chest and standing up again. The soul of the animal ripped itself from the confinements of mortality, stretching its limbs. He watched it flail around in small hops, before staring at him for a moment, its nose twitching and scurrying away to the afterlife.

He then turned his head down to glare at the dead body until a kind voice interrupted him.

“I apologize for the intrusion, Miguel.” He turned around with his eyes widening slightly. He saw you stand a few feet away from him, your usual soft smile on your face. Quietly, he whispered your name.

You wore a white cloak over a warm thick white cotton dress–he assumed with many layers underneath– and a crown made of branches atop of your head. You seamlessly fit into the background of the snow with your outfit. Your hair was the same, perfect as ever, free and let down from any hairstyle. The cold had gotten to you, snowflakes on your eyelashes and you held yourself close to keep a bit of warmth.

You approached him, the crunch of the snow underneath following you. When you met with him face to face, you gingerly reached over to place his shawl back over his head to protect him from the cold even though you both knew he didn't really need it.

“You shouldn't be here.” Miguel worried, fussing over you as he held you by your forearms. “You're supposed to be resting.”

Every year for a few weeks, you would take the time to sleep after a couple of months caring for Mother Earth. Miguel, the God of Death, offered to help you by taking care of Mother Earth while you slept. So instead of flourishing crops, warm sun and bright scenery, Miguel's cold hands left trees dying, more opportunities for illness, and an even bigger chance of death–the season many humans know as winter.

“I wanted to see you.” You smiled at him which made Miguel scoff at your ridiculousness. He took off his shawl and placed it around you to keep you warmer. Miguel stopped you before you could protest.

“You and I both know that I wear these just so the mortals don't ask questions,” He grumbled, successfully wrapping the fabric in a snug manner. Since you were the Goddess of Life, you were more used to the warmth of the sun shining down on you and the blood pumping through your veins and to your beating heart. For Miguel, all he knows is the coldest feeling there is, so a storm like this could never harm him. You stared up at him with adoration before yawning. Miguel pointed it out. “I knew it. Go back to bed.”

Despite his warning you slip past him to stare at the deer that had fallen into Miguel's care. Your eyes glazed over its body, resting a moment longer on the gunshot wound that was still seeping red into the plush snow, the blizzard slowly covering its body in a white blanket.

He stands behind you as you bend down on your knees to kneel beside the deer, nervously awaiting your reaction. “You tried saving its life, didn't you?” You asked, never turning away from the animal. You began petting it gently as if it were still alive.

Miguel frowned, looking off to the side. “I was putting it out of its misery.” You huffed a small laugh through your nose and got up again on your feet. You turned to him again and reached up to cup his cheek. He melted into your hand, the only source of warmth he could ever get the chance to feel. His eyes softened down at you.

“Thank you.” You whispered. Miguel's face hardened again but he did not stray from your palm.

“For what? For killing your creations?”

You sighed. No matter how many times you've had this conversation with him, he always seemed to put himself down. “You don't kill, Miguel.” You assure him.

“My life's work is to kill. It's my duty.” He retaliated, his eyes glancing at the fawn before looking back down at you.

“You think lowly of yourself.” You slip your hand down to his chest. “Your work is beautiful.”

“There's no beauty in death, my lady.” Miguel placed his hand over yours on his chest. You don't feel a heartbeat drumming inside. “It's grotesque and heartless.”

You scrunch your nose, not believing a word he's said. “And who has told you this? The mortals?” You ask. His jaw clenches.

“They adore you and not me.” He says.

“Are you saying you're jealous, my lord?”

“I'm saying what is true,” He says firmly, not wanting to amuse your upcoming antics. “You are beauty. You are perfection. You are divine,” He cups your cheek and you shiver from the coolness of his fingers.

“Look around you. Mortals are struggling to stay warm, to find food and shelter. I've caused this. They…they curse my name,” He comes closer to you, tilting your head up to meet his ruby eyes. “I fear you shine too brightly, my lady.” Your breath hitches as you look up at him. You shake, not knowing if it's from the puff of wind passing by or your heart stuttering in your chest when he inches closer.

“What are you saying, Miguel?” You whisper.

His eyes dart to your lips, stopping the urge to kiss you. “I want to shine with you. But I'm not worthy. Not with the acts I've done. Not with the blood I've spilled alongside mortals and destroying your works of art.”

“Miguel,” Your heart speeds up, quick to calm the self destructive thoughts he's producing.

“My life has no meaning without you. What good is appreciating life if there is no death? You make living precious. You make it sacred. And when the time comes, you make it merciful,” Your other hand comes up to his hair, running your cold fingertips through his strands. “That is your true nature. Whatever humans do to abuse your power is not a part of you.”

Miguel leans his forehead against you, closing his eyes. You mirror his actions, pressing against him and simply feeling him. His hands move around you, bringing you closer by the waist. The wind passes by with a high pitched whistle. “So…warm.” He breathes out softly.

He pulls away from you, bending at the waist to pick up your hand and kiss your knuckles. You feel your cheeks heat up while he looks up at you through his eyelashes. “You must be tired, mi reina. I'll take you home.”

Miguel reaches down to pick you up bridal style. You wrapped your arms around his neck and nuzzled closer to him despite his freezing exterior. You feel him hold you tightly to his chest protectively as he walks out of the forest to bring you home.

The fawn's dead body lies underneath a pile of snow now, hidden from the world. Its remains will seep into the ground, nurturing the future plants that will grow in its place once the winter is gone and spring returns– the cycle of life and death– an eternal harmony.

A/N: man i fucking love anything to do with gods and goddesses. i might make this a mini series of just snippets of their relationship but ahhhh i dunno if anyone will even like this tbh. i did have fun writing it though

#miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x y/n #miguel o'hara x you #atsv miguel #miguel o'hara #miguel spiderman #miguel spiderverse #miguel x reader #miguel ohara #spiderman 2099 #miguel x y/n #miguel x you

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sonknuxadow · 1 year

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ngl if they do ever remaster any of the 3d sonic games i reaaalllyyy hope they dont redo any of the voice acting. and if they do then they should either just re record the lines with as many people from the original cast as possible and only make replacements when necessary or leave an option to switch to the old audio if they redo it with the current cast. i do not mean this as an attack on the current cast theyre all very talented and are just doing their jobs but seeing sonic unleashed or sonic adventure 2 or sonic and the black knight or whatever be redone with the current cast would feel so wrong in a way i cannot explain

#maybe im just biased because a lot of my favorite voices for the characters are not from the current cast #but also the way certain characters sound in certain games just feels like an iconic Part Of The Game #that shouldnt be changed or else the whole vibe gets thrown off. idk #i know with sonic colors ultimate they kept all the original voice acting but #i dont think they even redid the cutscenes at all they just put them in completely unchanged?#and most of the voice cast from that game are still voicing those characters anyway #so there wasnt really any point in re recording any of the voice acting #i do remember though in sonic colors rise of the wisps they got tails's voice actor from that game to come back and voice him there #so maybe thats a sign that if they ever remastered an older game they would keep the original cast #i just realized the way i worded the main post makes it sound like colors ultimate doesnt exist #well. colors ultimate barely counts as a remaster to me from what ive seen they barely changed anything and its more of a port

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vidavalor · 2 months

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Aziraphale & Shostakovich's 5th

So, I did a little digging and there is a sweet and very funny Crowley connection to this symphony-- one that would make sharing it with him actually a very romantic gesture-- which is likely why Aziraphale was gazing at it fondly and so completely beyond excited to have it...

...and it also has a very Good Omens-esque history that is worth a look. Deep dive on the relevance of Shostakovich's Symphony No. 5 below. Happy anniversary, friends! 🤗💕

The first thing to know is that Shostakovich's Symphony No. 5 is one of the most analyzed and frequently performed symphonies in the world. Recordings of it are not rare by a long shot. Maggie probably has at least one other recording of this symphony in the classical music section of her shop. Aziraphale definitely already owns other recordings of it. (Especially because he knows exactly how long the first half of it is without that info being located anywhere visible on the record he's holding in the shop.) What Aziraphale is excited about is not just this symphony but *this particular performance* of this symphony because of its relevance to him and Crowley, as you'll see.

Unlike other pieces of recorded classical music that Aziraphale has in his collection, this is a record of a very historically significant live performance and it is, I'm willing to bet, one that is personally significant to Crowley and Aziraphale. It took place in a completely different era when it came to sound recording technology, as the record is a performance that was recorded live on October 20, 1959. The record that Aziraphale is so excited to receive is a digitally remastered recording of this performance. What Maggie has gotten for Aziraphale and Crowley here is, through advanced technology, some human magic. For Crowley and Aziraphale, this will be the auditory equivalent of a time travel experience.

This live performance took place at what was and still is, acoustically, one of the top places in the world for live music to be heard and recorded-- Boston's Symphony Hall-- and the equipment used to record it was state-of-the-art for its time. Obviously, though, the ability to record sound has changed dramatically since 1959. Records of this performance that were released soon after it were good by the standards of the day but were never stellar and they are really difficult to listen to by our modern standards. The recordings made then could not really fully capture the sound in a way that makes someone listening feel like they're there the way that a recording of a performance held today could.

You and I can pull up the digitally remastered sound files from this performance in under 3 seconds on our phones or computers and listen without issue to a performance with sound quality so good we will feel like we're sitting there in the music hall but for Crowley and Aziraphale? That feeling was only had on the night they were there in 1959. Records of that performance were unable to do it justice until very recently in history, when humans invented technology that could bring back the sound of that night as it truly sounded to them.

Adding to this is that humans, as a whole, despite all this advanced technology, have still not given up on a sense of the romantic so they've taken these advanced recordings and pressed them onto what is, technologically-speaking, an "outdated" form of technology-- vinyl records-- so that people who enjoy listening to music in this more old-fashioned but imminently more soulful way can have an experience that blends modern technological magic with something more intimate and personal. The result is the ability to have the romantic vinyl experience but one with the transportative quality of modern technology.

That is what is Aziraphale has had Maggie get for him and Crowley.

In 2.01, Aziraphale is so excited because he has in his hands the ability for him and Crowley to listen to a live performance of a concert from 1959-- a concert I am sure that he and Crowley were at-- and hear it sound, for the first time since, as they heard it then. Gabriel and Beez's "Everyday" records and Maggie's failed attempt at giving Nina a Nina Simone record do have a Crowley and Aziraphale parallel. We might have been distracted by the idea that, because "Everyday" is Gabriel and Beez's song, that the Crowley and Aziraphale parallel is "A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square" but, as you'll see, it's subtly not-- it's the other record in S2. It's Shostakovich's Symphony No. 5.

Ok, so why is Aziraphale so obsessed with this particular performance of this particular symphony and what does this have to do with Crowley?

For that, we have to look at the symphony itself.

Music is language and, within the language of classical music, composers-- particularly the sort like Shostakovich, who was limited in expression by confines of his society-- would slip bits of hidden language into their music. In his case, it was a form of rebellion against the repression of dissention by the Russian government, much in the way that Crowley and Aziraphale's hidden language-- which they speak right under the nose of Heaven & Hell-- is for them. The first movement of Shostakovich's Symphony No. 5 contains the single most Crowley & Aziraphale-ish bit of hidden language in music imaginable.

The piece of music being referenced has ties to a very famous religious parable that is Ineffable Husbands-y in the extreme.

You all have heard of Saint Anthony, yeah?

No, no that Anthony-- Saint Anthony. 😉

Patron Saint of Lost Things? The dude your grandma tells you to pray to if you misplace your car keys? The patron saint of sailors and all things nautical? And also the patron saint of pregnant people, as if Saint Anthony weren't already amusingly professional midwife Crowley-esque enough? 😂 If you know this guy, then you probably then know the most famous Saint Anthony-centric religious story, which is the one at the heart of the musical interlude that is the hidden message in Shostakovich's Symphony No. 5:

Saint Anthony's Sermon to the Fishes.

Oysters. Bouillabaisse. Gravlax in Dill Sauce. Sushi... we could go on and, indeed, I have, about Crowley and Aziraphale's ability to elevate the-sea-as-sexual-metaphor to its own art form and we all know how much they revel in blasphemy. As a result, a musical hidden message referring to Saint Anthony and his Sermon to the Fishes is possibly the funniest little romantic in-joke in a piece of music possible for Crowley and Aziraphale.

For those of you unfamiliar with this story, it goes a bit like this: the future Saint Anthony was getting a bit miffed about these heretics who weren't listening to him while he was trying to spread the word of God. He goes to his church one day and finds it empty because everyone's out doing non-God stuff. So, to make a point, he went down to the river and began to preach to the fish. (Yes, the actual fish in the river.) The story goes that the fish were all really interested in this and came up to the surface to listen to the sermon, all rapt with attention. They absorbed Saint Anthony's words and found God, leading them to then bow their little fish heads and pray hard in response.

The human people walking by? Well, their attention was naturally had as the fish were acting like people and listening to this dude preach and that was, ya know, a bit weird. The story goes then that people thought that if fish were listening to the words of Jesus as preached by Saint Anthony then maybe they should, too. The point of the parable is that Saint Anthony found a more receptive audience in the fish and, in preaching to these beings who wished to hear what he had to say, his message wound up amplified by being both received by those open to it and by drawing in others who then saw all of these engaged people listening. It suggests that the best way to speak to people and be heard is by starting with those who are already predisposed to listen and focusing on them, instead of ignoring them in favor of those whose minds are not yet open to new ideas.

(There are actual humans, though, who believed this dude really talked to actual fish, in case you needed another reminder to vote.)

As a little sidebar: there is also another story in a similarly Crowley & Aziraphale vein about Saint Anthony that is not part of the symphony in question but does relate a little bit to S2. In that story, Saint Anthony was dining with some non-believers who poisoned his food as a way of testing the fact that apostles of Christ were supposed to be immune to poison. Saint Anthony realized the food was poisoned and confronted them, found out why they did it, blessed the food, and then ate it without harm as a way of trying to prove to the non-believers that God was real.

So, yeah, the Sermon to the Fishes parable here boils down to a comparison between people and fish. It's using fish as a metaphor for humanity, which Crowley and Aziraphale do in an, erm, slightly different way lol by using fish as a metaphor for their human-styled sexual relationship. To the blasphemous and fish-obsessed Aziraphale and his partner, Mr. Anthony J. Crowley, there might not be a funnier bit of Biblical humor to be had than the story of Saint Anthony's Sermon to the Fishes. So, how does this story fit into this symphony?

In the 17th century, a priest named Father Abraham a Sancta Clara wrote a poem describing Saint Anthony's Sermon to the Fishes but this priest really kinda got how insane the whole thing is because the end of it is a bit tongue-in-cheek. It is also more insightful than the actual religious story itself is because it basically says that the fish listened to Saint Anthony-- but then they went back to being their usual fish selves as soon as he was done speaking.

The humor in the poem comes from the priest using the fish as a metaphor for humans listening to the sermons of Saint Anthony and others. The priest is saying in the poem that people listening to sermons do not fundamentally change as a result because they don't take the words to heart and really apply them to how they are living. He conveys this in the poem by saying things like "the carps still stuff themselves" and-- amusingly considering the references in Demon's Guide to Angelic Beings and elsewhere to Crowley as an eel-- "the pikes remained thieves/the eels, great lovers."

If you wanted to, you could make a case that Crowley or Aziraphale influenced the poem a bit (or, even, the whole Saint Anthony story in the first place.)

Anyway, the point of the poem is... ironically... that these fish people?

They heard the words but they didn't truly listen to what was being said.

*laughs in Good Omens S2*

In tone, it's also very similar to how while Crowley and Aziraphale are overall optimistic they also are, through their experience of human history, a little jaded when it comes to the ability of someone to really enact massive amounts of change in people. The poem is in the same tone of their responses to the reasons for why Jesus was being executed for preaching kindness:

Right, so, anyway... the symphony ties...

This poem was then later set to music by the composer Gustav Mahler, with both the poem and the score included in a book called Des Knaben Wunderhorn, which was the go-to compendium of German folk songs and stories. In its inclusion here, Mahler's song-- called Des Antonius von Padua Fischpredigt (which is just German for Saint Anthony's Sermon to the Fishes)-- made the jump to what is, technically, a secular book of folk songs. In those days, there was not as much of a separation between religious music and secular music but this book is kind of a blend of both them. The song is then played all over the place and becomes an extremely popular, well-known song. Everyone then knows Mahler's tune about Saint Anthony and his fishes.

Like Crowley and Aziraphale forced to hide a bit from the regimes to which they belong and using hidden language to communicate, Shostakovich, feeling the pain of government suppression that kept him from full, open expression in his art, was forced to make sure that his compositions sounded appropriately Yay! Russia! enough to not, ya know, be killed... but he slipped in little things along the way to troll his oppressors and inform his art for those who knew to listen for hidden messages in it.

In the first movement of his Symphony No. 5, he slipped in a musical reference to Mahler's Des Antonius von Padua Fischpredigt to express his distaste for Stalin and his government.

The exact bit of Mahler's Saint Anthony's song that is musically referenced in the first movement of Shostakovich's Symphony No. 5, off of the second movement of his Symphony No. 4, is the musical accompaniment to the lyric: "He goes to the rivers and preaches to the fishes." So, in addition to the rebellious nature of this and the blasphemy, Aziraphale has bought his Anthony a symphony that begins with a musical interlude that basically says "let's get it on" in Ineffable Husbands Speak. 😉

It was only decades later, though, when people realized just how much of a fuck you this musical reference to Mahler's Saint Anthony song really was-- and that is because of the fact that Shostakovich had actually first put that very same musical reference into the companion piece to Symphony No. 5-- his suppressed Symphony No. 4.

Here's where this whole thing becomes a really Good Omens-y meta joke as well...

Shostakovich composed and completed his Symphony No. 4 during 1935 and 1936 with the intent of its first public performance being in Leningrad in December 1936. However, he and the opera he had composed that was being performed at the time-- Lady Macbeth of Mtsensk-- were targeted by Stalin. All art criticism in Russia was monitored and influenced by the state and Stalin had been growing concerned about Shostakovich getting a bit political with his art in a way that didn't benefit Stalin and his government so he fired a bit of a warning shot at Shostakovich by targeting his opera. He didn't outrightly imprison or kill him because Russia only had so many really amazing composers who could make patriotic music for Stalin lol but, at the same time, he was warning Shostakovich to toe the party line and reminding him that was always being watched.

As a result of this targeting, the public performance of Symphony No. 4 in 1936 was canceled. The symphony was not actually publicly performed at all for the next twenty-five years. It did not see the light of day until it was first played publicly by an orchestra in Moscow in December of 1961. Back in 1936, though, Shostakovich kept composing and fought against being targeted a bit by hyping his next work-- Symphony No. 5-- as being this super-patriotic ode to Russia. He somehow actually managed to get Symphony No. 5 publicly performed for the first time the very next year after Stalin was threatening him-- in 1937.

Why this matters is that the two symphonies are thematically connected and they both contain the musical motif of this reference that's relevant to Crowley & Aziraphale but musical audiences-- including Crowley & Aziraphale lol-- actually learned all of this both backwards and decades apart...

...just like how we viewers are learning the story of Good Omens.

Shostakovich composed a story between the symphonies but that story wound up presented to his audience beginning in the middle (with the start of Symphony No. 5) and with a long wait of decades before the crucial beginnings of that story (Symphony No. 4) was ever shown to the audience-- even though Symphony No. 4 had existed for a quarter of a century. It's a bit of a meta wink at how Good Omens is presenting its story out of sequence and to the fact that more of its story with Season 2 took decades to make its way into being publicly viewed.

Maybe more to the point? Audiences who heard both symphonies then took awhile to realize how interconnected they are and their understanding of Symphony No. 5-- which they've been analyzing for decades-- was changed dramatically by the revelation of Symphony No. 4 and their understanding of how the two works connect.

Since Crowley and Aziraphale lived in the eras of Shostakovich's music being revealed and first performed, these two symphonies are a classical music version of understanding a full story that took decades to be fully understood. It's kind of like their version of what Good Omens is to us.

To understand it from their point of view? Symphony No. 5 was, as we said above, first performed publicly in 1937 and the performance that Aziraphale and Crowley saw-- the significance of which we're going to talk about in a second-- took place in 1959. Symphony No. 4 was still not publicly known when they were at the performance on the record Aziraphale got from Maggie. It would be another two years after that until Symphony No. 4 debuted in 1961, even though it was written in 1936, and it would take time after that for people to begin to understand how the two pieces went together... and to really fully appreciate the fact that this canceled 4th symphony that Stalin oppressed did contain a hidden reference to Mahler's music that made it as secretly radical as Stalin had feared-- which Shostakovich then turned around and stuck right smack dab at the beginning of the first movement of his Symphony No. 5-- less than a minute into the start of it-- as a middle finger to Stalin.

Saint Anthony's Sermon to the Fishes, as we can see, has taken this longer, cultural trip to wind up being used in this symphony as a pretty delicious act of rebellion and it's pretty easy to see how Crowley and Aziraphale would be very into that. By putting the Mahler interlude again into Symphony No. 5, Shostakovich was just growling fuck all of you idiots-- you'll never stop me! beneath a socially-acceptable exterior of this symphony that managed to pass as not subversive enough and quite literally saved Shostakovich from being killed by Stalin and allowed him to keep having his work performed publicly... and he was doing so by referencing this hilariously Crowley-esque Biblical story and adding some rebellion to its social history.

That, alone, would be more than enough for why Crowley and Aziraphale love this symphony but there's actually more...

The second bit relates to why Aziraphale is so excited to have a good recording on vinyl of this particular performance of Shostakovich's Symphony No. 5. That relates to the performance's role in international relations and history, how Crowley and Aziraphale use (and the story uses) the political relationships between countries as a metaphor for Heaven & Hell, and just the really, really beautiful symbolism involved in this historic performance of this symphony.

The record that Aziraphale gets from Maggie in 2.01 is a recording of Shostakovich's Symphony No. 5 as performed-- live-- on October 20, 1959 by the New York Philharmonic, under the direction of Leonard Bernstein, at Boston's Symphony Hall. This single performance of this particular symphony happening in this way, at this time, is maybe nothing short of a miracle and is a really great example of art transcending borders and how it can bring out the common humanity in us all.

Leonard Bernstein, a first-generation American whose parents emigrated to the U.S. from what was then part of the Soviet Empire, became the first American-born composer to lead an American orchestra when he took over the New York Philharmonic. Bernstein is the composer of West Side Story and the scores for films like On the Waterfront and is known for leading the Philharmonic as a conductor to international fame as one of the world's best orchestras. Under Bernstein's direction, the New York Philharmonic made recordings of American orchestral music-- like their completely stunning version of Gershwin's Rhapsody in Blue-- that really exemplified a kind of wild, passionate, expressive feeling in the music that combined elements of jazz into classical music and has come to be globally synonymous with America.

In 1959, during the Cold War and with the Space Race in full swing, Leonard Bernstein made headlines for taking an American-government-backed, art-as-diplomacy type of trip with his orchestra to Moscow to meet his fellow composer, Dmitri Shostakovich. In a 20-day trip that is monitored by everyone under the sun lol, Bernstein and members of his orchestra are shown artistic and historically-relevant places in Moscow and get to dine and spend some time with Shostakovich and other musicians. They're all admirers of one another's work and are excited to be able to talk about music and make some together. Their countries are enemies but they are not-- they're just people aware of the politics involved of their visit but just excited to have that visit so they can talk about art with other artists they admire. While they are there, Bernstein and the New York Philharmonic perform Symphony No. 5 in Moscow for Shostakovich.

Bernstein and the New York Philharmonic play the piece a bit differently than Shostakovich and other conductors in Europe do. The main difference is playing the piece a bit faster in parts, particularly in the last movement, Movement 4 (which is the piece of the symphony that is playing in Good Omens when Gabriel arrives.)

If you listen to recordings of how Movement 4, in particular, is played by orchestras under Russian and other conductors in the decades after its first performance in 1937 in comparison to Bernstein and the New York Philharmonic's take on it, it has a very different feel to it. The change in tempo in parts changes the feeling of the piece in such a way as to basically make it emote more. It is wilder, more openly passionate and less restrained. I've seen it described as the piece shouting its own joy at being set free and that's really it.

So, the Americans played it this way in Moscow for the composer himself and in front of half the Russian government, who seem to just see it as a coup that this younger composer is coming to their country to see their composer. Bernstein is most concerned with just not offending his new friend with his take on the work-- and he is thrilled to learn that Shostakovich loves it.

Bernstein and the American government had been hoping to somehow get an exchange trip out of this but Moscow is hesitant. Rumors exist that they were worried that Shostakovich would defect so while they're fine with the Americans playing music of Russian composers, they subtly (and, probably, not so subtly) threaten Shostakovich into staying in Moscow.

Bernstein, as thanks to Shostakovich for his friendship, expresses his intent to go ahead with what they had been planning on doing if Shostakovich could come to America and that is to conduct the New York Philharmonic in a performance of Shostakovich's Symphony No. 5 in Shostakovich's honor in the very musically and politically-significant place they had wanted to bring him to to hear his work played-- Boston's Symphony Hall.

Symphony Hall in Boston is considered the finest concert hall in America from an acoustic perspective and one of the top two or three in the world. If you enjoy music performed by an orchestra, there is almost no better place in the world to music played than Symphony Hall and there is not a place of its caliber anywhere in Russia. For a composer like Shostakovich, secretly long-suffering at the hands of the Russian government, it would have been one of the highlights of his life to hear his own music performed in this wild and free way by his American friends in what is basically the classical music equivalent of paradise and that, as a bonus, just so happens to be located dead center in the birthplace of the American Revolution.

Bernstein had hopes that they could convince Moscow to let Shostakovich come to Boston to hear his music performed at Symphony Hall but Moscow won't budge so Bernstein gets an idea that both governments also like because it winds up good press for both for them-- the New York Philharmonic is going to perform Shostakovich's Symphony No. 5 in Boston's Symphony Hall in honor of their time in Moscow with Shostakovich and they will make a record out of it, which the record labels love because the attention paid to the trip means the record will sell tons of copies. The musicians are all really also doing it, though, to make a record of the performance out of love for Shostakovich himself, so he can have the closest thing possible to hearing his symphony performed in Symphony Hall.

So, naturally, when this concert took place? The musicians were all really emotional and played the living fuck out of this symphony as a love letter to their friend trapped behind the Iron Curtain. There are many people who consider it to be the best performance of Shostakovich's Symphony No. 5 in existence.

It's October 1959-- there is no internet. No one can get Shostakovich a VPN and link to a livestream. He had to wait months for the record to be pressed and to get a physical copy on record through international mail before he could hear it. When he did, the sound quality was the best 1959 had to offer but it still was nothing like what the digitally remastered version of this live performance that Aziraphale has on this record is like.

Even though he was not able to hear this performance in person, Shostakovich did receive the record in 1959 and was able to hear with the best sound of that time what his music sounded like in Symphony Hall when performed by a bunch of Americans going wild out love for him and his work and giving what some consider one of the best orchestral performances ever in the process, in a place that is, acoustically, musical Heaven. Shostakovich died in 1975. Sound had barely improved by then by comparison to today. He never actually got to hear this Symphony Hall performance the way that Crowley and Aziraphale did in 1959 and can now again by listening to the record Aziraphale has just bought from Maggie.

Aziraphale's love of classical music, plus his financial and magical resources and having plenty of time to travel mean to me that he has undoubtedly heard music live in Boston's Symphony Hall before. Because of how much of an international and cultural event this particular performance was in 1959, it was hyped for weeks before it happened. It was almost impossible to get seats but Aziraphale is very wealthy and very magical. Given how much he loves classical music and the really moving story of this performance, Aziraphale, if he didn't already have an in from knowing different composers (probably Bernstein heh), he would have gone so far as to give away a book to get to this thing. He and Crowley were at this concert.

Given how much the story of this concert parallels he and Crowley and their love across enemy lines, this would be worth the risk. They definitely would have had no trouble being inconspicuous and blending in amongst the crowds here as this concert was very sold out. They snuck off to America together for a date to watch its best musicians play a passionate ode to the subtly subversive music of their fellow artist with whom they couldn't always physically be because of who he was forced to work for but whom they love madly anyway.

The hidden language, the hilarious blasphemy of St. Anthony and his fish, the way they use Russia and America as a parallel, the absolutely beautiful music itself and all the parallels to their relationship in this particular, live performance and how it came to be, and the fact that he and Crowley were there together... It all makes this record different from other ones Aziraphale is shown to have or has listened to in the past.

He loves those, too, and they probably have significant meaning to him but the Schubert he was listening to in 1.01, for example, is not a live performance. A lot of classical music recordings are edited. It's music played by others that is like music Aziraphale once heard live. This is a literal record for Aziraphale, in the sense that it's a live concert and he and Crowley were there.

Think, for a moment, about how special that really is to Aziraphale and how much it will be to Crowley when he finally finds out Aziraphale has this record...

They have souvenirs but nothing that is overt and nothing that is any sort of audio/visual record of any time they've ever spent together. They either destroyed or have deeply hidden the one picture of the two of them together that they had. Everyone else in the modern world is walking around snapping photos and making videos left and right of the people they love but Crowley and Aziraphale are not. They don't have pictures of each other or videos or a recording of each other's voices. It's too dangerous. They've been sneaking out for dates for literal ages and they don't have a single record of what any of those countless nights sounded like.

Aziraphale is vibrating with excitement over this record in 2.01 because he is thinking that, when Crowley comes back later in the day, he'll be able to give him this record of the music from this very memorable night they once had together in 1959. Aziraphale knows this is romantic as all holy hell and that Crowley is going to love this so he can't wait for later that night when he and Crowley can listen to this album together. Aziraphale knows he has a very amorous evening in store as that demon is going to be mush over this record.

I think that's actually the joke as to why he's listening to the album backwards.

As others have pointed out, it's the first half of the symphony-- its first two movements-- that are just over 21 minutes long and one might assume that someone would begin listening to the record of the symphony with Side A of the record. This is what Aziraphale seems to tell Maggie that he's going to do when he makes the hilariously lewd little "21 minutes" comment. However, when we actually see him in the bookshop after just a few minutes have passed, it's clear that he actually put Side B on the record first and began in the middle of the symphony with Movement 3, as the record is playing the very beginning of its ending-- Movement 4-- when Gabriel arrives. There's an etymology joke that explains this a bit.

Aziraphale is obviously thinking about Crowley while being excited to get this record and about the hidden language within it and his and Crowley's own hidden language. Both of them actually frequently phrase sentences to other people around them that sound normal to those people but actually mean something slightly different if the words they say are viewed through a filter of the rules of their vocabulary. Crowley will say things to Maggie in their speak in 2.06 when he's irritated over the fact that she says they don't talk and Aziraphale is doing so with the "21 minutes" comment. The key word in the sentence that actually changes the meaning of it is the word next.

Next, from the Proto-Germanic nekh, meaning near, and nigh, meaning near and soon.

In other words, Aziraphale's comment sounds like he's, ah, really excited about his music and is about to go, ah, really enjoy the first side of this album but, while he is rather excited to have the record, the 21 minutes of the first side of it are not something he's going to be listening to in the next 21 minutes-- meaning, the exact following 21 minutes-- but that he will be listening to in the next 21 minutes with next in its etymological root meaning of soon.

He's saving the first half of the symphony and its Saint Anthony's Sermon to the Fishes for Anthony.

This actually though winds up making the lewdness of Aziraphale's "21 minutes" comment even funnier when you take into account the musical natures of the different movements of this symphony. While everyone's taste is different, I feel like it's a safe bet that if all of you go listen to this symphony in full right now, you will agree with me that the only truly fuckable-music part of it is Movement 3-- which is very much so.

The joke winds up being more like Aziraphale is listening to the second half of the symphony on the B side of the record alone when we first see him because he really loves the damn symphony itself and wants to hear all of it right away to appreciate the performance of the music in its own right but he knows that he and Crowley are going to be getting busy from the hot Movement 3 on and he will not be able to pay attention to the music so he's sneaking a listen to Side B of the record first just to have the musically orgasmic experience as well. 😂

It also adds a funny element to Gabriel's arrival. Movement 4 of the piece is wild and soaring and then winds up in this weird kind of funeral march-- these two and their sex and death-- and Aziraphale's just trying to appreciate the piece when a naked, American-presenting bit of celestial harmonies shows up on his doorstep, bear hugs this Shostakovich, and defects to his and Crowley's embassy.

Gabriel's arrival causes a chain of events that culminate in Aziraphale still not having shown Crowley this record and, as Gabriel is in the street, arriving in 2.01, he is being recorded with ease by hundreds of people on cell phones-- all of them easily making high-quality records of an event with technology that is nothing shy of magic that now exists in everyone's pockets-- Aziraphale is inside listening to a record on vinyl that was made during this same modern era, using its advanced technology to act as an accurate recording of a concert from the past that would have been lost to it without the magic of the humans and their technology.

It continues the theme of different kinds of records-- Muriel the Scrivener, books and diaries, Maggie's record shop, "Everyday", the Gabriel file in Heaven, the Satanic nuns and their lots of records that were lost in the fire, etc.-- and underscores the themes of memories and existence.

Ok, a couple of more things about this record here that tie to the story. We should probably note that the Movement 4 that Aziraphale is listening to when Gabriel arrives is labeled allegro non troppo, which means fast, but not overly so. Not only does it describe both the original intent of the music and still works with Bernstein's interpretation of it but when you consider the pacing aspect of Crowley & Aziraphale's story with the car and around that particular word of fast (which also means to withdraw from eating for a period of time), it adds in the music motif to some of that as well.

Also about the final movement: not within the part we hear in the show but within Movement 4 as a whole, Shostakovich references a song he wrote separately from this symphony that was musical accompaniment for a poem by Russian poet Alexander Pushkin called Rebirth. It is worth a read as there might be some threads to pull on there when it comes to where Aziraphale ends up over the course of the season and in general.

Another thing is that the first movements of the symphony have been described as a kind of mix of lamentation and grief with a sense of pining and longing to them, which I got when I listened as well. There is a lot of angst in it and musical motifs that kind of go nowhere at times, representing a lot of anxiety and unfinished threads. Some attribute this to the fact that Shostakovich had a tragic romantic life and, around this time, a woman with whom he was madly in love refused his marriage proposal, fled to Spain and married a film director there.

Shostakovich also included something else of Crowley and Aziraphale relevance in the first movement, possibly off of that failed romance of his-- so, alongside the reference to Saint Anthony's Sermon to the Fishes. It is a musical reference to the Habanera, the famous aria from Bizet's Carmen.

While lusty and playful, lyrically, the Habanera is also a bit of a pine fest about not knowing when or if you'll ever get to be with the one you love but about how that love is wild and untameable and cannot be stopped.

Its formal name is its first lyric, which is:

L'amour est un oiseau rebelle, which is French for...

Love is a rebellious bird.

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