#but he says he doesn't even need a woman who cooks/cleans just someone who believes.. n im like i get it but i can't change myself like that | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

blooming-dahlia · 7 months

Note

Hello Livi <33 May I request reader being housewife for Riddle? I would love to hear your thoughts about that. Thanks in advance!!

Sweet Marriage [Riddle Rosehearts]

╰ Every time you see someone from your high school on the street and talk to them, they can't believe who you ended up tying the knot with. In fact, even Ace and Deuce were shocked when they received an invitation to your wedding, even though they knew you two had been dating for so long.

╰ Ace was absolutely convinced that one day you would eventually break up with Riddle due to his specific nature, but being one of the best men at your wedding was definitely not something he could have expected.

╰ As for you, well, you still can't believe you're finally married to the man you love. One of your favorite things to do when Riddle is at work is looking at the photos from your wedding. The professional ones you keep in a photo album, while the others are in the gallery on your phone, most of them being the ones Cater took and sent to you later.

╰ No matter what other people say, you couldn't ask for a better husband than Riddle. During your NRC days, he was often insecure and worried that he might do something wrong and, worse, hurt you unintentionally. He had never been in a relationship before, so this was all new to him. But over time, with a little bit of your help, he was able to gain some confidence.

╰ After your wedding, Riddle became even more affectionate towards you. Even when he's at work, he can't help but call you whenever he has the chance, just to ask how you're doing and tell you how much he loves you. The best moment of the day is when Riddle comes home and you can finally throw yourself into his arms.

╰ Sometimes you get the feeling that Riddle is overworking himself a bit, but every time you try to look for a job, he assures you that everything is fine and that you don't need to do that, because the last thing he wants is for you to overwork yourself as well.

╰ Of course you do things like cooking and cleaning every day. At first you thought that Riddle might be angry with you if he found out that you missed a few spots while cleaning or didn't do anything at all on a particular day, but it quickly turned out that he could be more understanding than you would ever imagine. That's mostly because you're his wife, whom he loves dearly, and not some random troublemaker like Ace and Deuce.

╰ The house you live in once belonged to one of Riddle's relatives, but since they moved out a long time ago, they gladly decided to sell it to you. It's not a super exclusive and luxurious mansion or anything like that, it's rather a small and cozy house, just perfect for you two. You also have a garden that you always take care of.

╰ On weekends, you two always go shopping. You can't even count how many times you've asked Riddle not to spoil you with gifts he buys for you behind your back while you're shopping, but you can see he doesn't care. He strictly follows the belief that a wife must be spoiled a lot by her husband.

╰ There are moments when the two of you argue. It is not often, but your fights can be really intense sometimes. However, Riddle can quickly turn from angry to concerned and ashamed the second he sees you crying, no matter who started the fight. He just hates to see tears streaming down your face.

╰ The thing you definitely avoid the most are family meetings. While those with your parents are somewhat tolerable and quite enjoyable, those with your husband's are the exact opposite. You're thankful they don't happen often, since you are probably at the top of your mother-in-law's list of people she hates the most. Every meeting with Riddle's family so far has just been you trying to hold back your tears until you finally get home.

╰ When there is nothing to do while Riddle is at work, you often hang out with your friends. Most of the time, they like to tease you about being a married woman so soon. To be honest, you are surprised about it yourself. Who would have thought that Riddle Rosehearts would propose to his girlfriend right after she graduated from NRC?

╰ Riddle himself also keeps in touch with some people from your high school, the main ones of course being Ace, Deuce, Trey and Cater. Obviously you knew it would be the last two, but the troublemakers came as a complete surprise. Riddle somehow learned to tolerate them instead of yelling at them every second, especially since they are not in Heartslabyul anymore. Once, however, he loosened up to the point where the Adeuce duo got him drunk as a silly prank. Poor Riddle has never experienced anything like this before and became extremely clingy to you when he, thanks to Trey, returned home. Eventually he ended up crying, so you had to comfort and cuddle him until he fell asleep, but you didn't mind it at all.

╰ It is obvious to Riddle that you would never cheat on him. But there are still times when he can't help but get a little jealous. He spends most of the day at work, so he doesn't really know what you're currently doing unless he calls you. Also because of this, the two of you don't spend as much time together as you'd like. He understands that you might feel lonely, so as long as you don't cheat on him, you can hang out with whoever you want.

╰ When it's your birthday, Riddle always has something special planned for you. He even leaves work early to surprise you with a fresh bouquet of your favorite flowers and then takes you on a date to places such as a restaurant and theme park. When it's Riddle's birthday, you always try to bake his favorite strawberry tart, but you fail anyway, so you call Trey to come over to help you. For some reason, Trey always comes with Adeuce duo and Cater, which results in a huge party for your husband.

╰ Eventually, one day you apply for a job of your choice. You know that Riddle wouldn't have to work so hard if you could also earn some money. It was not easy to break this news to him, but in the end he said that it was your own decision and that he would support you no matter what.

╰ Sometimes your friends ask when you and Riddle will have children of your own. You're both still very young, so he isn't going to force you to have them now, but if you decide one day that you're ready, he would love to have two or maybe even three. Riddle doesn't feel confident enough to tell you this yet, because he's afraid that you might think it's too much for you, or perhaps you don't want to have children at all. Still, he finds you to be a very gentle and caring woman, and he's sure you'll make a perfect mother in the future.

Thank you for requesting!

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland hcs #twisted wonderland one-shots #twisted wonderland x reader #twst #twst hcs #twst one-shots #twst x reader #riddle rosehearts #riddle rosehearts x reader #twisted wonderland riddle x reader #twst riddle x reader

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thepaintpirate · 10 months

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Hello! I'm not sure if your taking requests or not right now but if you do, can I ask for how Law behaves with his crew? Or how he would've been with Cora if he lived as an adult. Like, on chill days or something like this. Thank you! <333

Yes my requests are always open, thank you for the request!

Of course I can do this, i actually had a fluffy thought about this a while ago about if he'd been in the crew. Also I just love the Heart pirates, they're so underrated but they're some of my faves!

Here's a collection of a few fluffy HCs for them...

| How Law is with his crew + Survived! Corazon |

Strange and quite specific HC but I think in the case that one of his crew is unable to bathe themselves or keep themselves tidy, say by injury or sickness, Law is the first person to help them out. He washes people's hair if they need it, scrubs them or wipes away blood like a mother really. It pairs with his habit of brushing Bepo, and if it's Bepo that's injured he makes sure to help him clean his fur.

The original group that started the Heart pirates, being Law, Bepo, Shachi and Penguin, were all taught to read by Law.

Bepo had no reading or writing capabilities and Shachi and Penguin could only really spell their names, so Law decided to help them. He used to sit them down in front of a chalk board every day when they lived with Wolf.

Nowadays, if someone joins his crew and is illiterate or doesn't have a formal education, Law likes to help his crew who struggle reading/writing.

As the only, known, biological woman on the crew Ikkaku feels a bit unheard sometimes. She loves the crew to bits but they aren't the most knowledgeable on women, so issues like periods and cramps and all that stuff just goes completely confused by them. Of course some of them know what goes down and they know it's bad, but they can't relate so sometimes they're a bit less sympathetic than they could be.

Law tries his hardest, even if he's a bit awkward, to make sure Ikkaku has the time and space she needs and that if they need to surface he'll find a clear area to do so. He makes sure the crew are on best behaviour too, like taking up an extra shift if she's in too much pain.

Law's no cook but he makes sure that those who are cooking are making balanced meals. Plenty of iron and vitamins too for the lack of daylight, but also filling meats and fish.

He's not a stooge though, of course he'd not much of a sweet tooth himself but he likes to make sure his crew get some nice snacks or desserts every now and again.

On a separate note, I HC that Law likes chocolate more dark chocolate than milk. The crew leaves squares of chocolate in his draws or on his desk where he can find it, a little reminder for him to eat. He complains, loving because this man's a softy at heart, that it might melt on his paperwork.

He values home skills and is always rewarding those who give little bits of their personal time to the crew. Those who sew up holes in uniform, make dinner, wash up and tidy the sub are always on his good list for the next week.

Law believes in having a stimulated mind, so he bought cards and board games to put in the mess hall for after dinner game night. It's not an official game night because it's spontaneous but there definitely is one.

He's usually on the sidelines or listening from his room, but his crew always try to drag him back into it. The only thing he refuses to do (unless some brave soul gave him alcohol, is truth or dare and 21 questions.

Law's a person who likes personal space, his crew likes his personal space too!

Que the "Hey captain look at the painting I just did, do you like it?" Or "Captain I got my finger stuck in a door, can you help reattach it please?"

They just bombard him anywhere he is, they'll find him even if he's hiding. I think the funniest part is, is that they're similar to the Strawhats but like toned down. Now that, is a level he can't handle. But his crew? He's their big brother or their dad or as Shachi and Penguin put it, "Mum".

If Cora lived, there's two options that could play out. He goes with Law as a pirate or he goes back to the Marines after setting Law free.

I think the first option, given their bond, is much more likely to have happened. After being healed, Cora travels with Law and canon events go as usual. They live with Wolf for a while so it's expected Cora stays there too, he's just making sure his son and his son's new friends are all okay and happy.

He's not too keen on fighting Doflamingo, but after receiving information that Doffy's plan to be king if Dressrosa has started warming up to the idea. He thinks he failed them, but Law reassured him that Doflamingo would have found a way anyway.

Cora is tall. Tall as hell. The sub is built to fit tall people though, like Jean Bart, so he's okay. But making up a suit for him was a little costly. It's also unique too, while Bepo has an orange suit because he's the right hand I think in this HC Cora is and he wears a black suit while Bepo still wears orange because he's the left hand.

When people join and meet Cora, they tend to wonder why he seems to be so important. Law is literally at his side all the time, they can go to each other freely and even if Law's tired and pissed he's still much more gentle with Cora. It's never really explained but I think people just assume they're family from how they react to each other.

But it doesn't stop Cora from answering "I'm his dad" if anyone questions them. It confuses so many people because like, they look nothing alike and they're only 13 years apart.

The Strawhats love him, he loves the Strawhats. They're so funny, but Law doesn't like this one bit. He's a bit embarrassed to admit he's scared Cora will want to leave, but trust me he doesn't and he never will.

If Cora was there I think Law would be more open about his past if he needs to give context. The disease, the Doflamingo situation and Cora situation. I think the Strawhats wouldn't mind one bit, they're too focused on trying to figure out how on earth Cora and Doffy are brothers.

I hope you enjoy this rushed job of a request, I'm on holiday as I previously stated but thanks this was so fun!

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novelmachine · 2 months

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I never watched The Walking Dead. I'm familiar with and love a lot of zombie apocalypse media: Resident Evil, The Last of Us, I Am Legend, Dead Island, Zombieland. I even watched the three Telltale Walking Dead playthroughs by Two Best Friends. Here I am over a decade later and I'm finally giving the series a try. Surprisingly, a lot of it was new to me. I only knew a little bit about The Walking Dead just from cultural osmosis:

Zombies are called walkers. They need a shot to the head to go down for good. Doesn't matter if you die or get bitten, you'll come back as a walker either way.

The main character Rick wakes up in a coma after the zombie outbreak is well into effect. He meets up with his wife Lori and his son Carl. Lori hooked up with Rick's best friend Shane after she was sure Rick had died a long time ago. Drama ensues.

Daryl is the guy with the crossbow. Michonne is the woman with the katana and walkers on leashes. Aside from Rick, these are the two most featured on posters and promotional material. This must mean they are the most popular and capable badass characters.

This past weekend I finished the first two seasons. My honest opinion is that they were pretty solid, each serving a purpose for the narrative at large. Season 1 focused on the novelty of walkers and how society has had to quickly adapt. Seeing governing bodies and fail-safes crumble under the pressure is uncanny, given the most recent pandemic we were/are witness to. Season 2 is more character driven. Not to say Season 1 wasn't, but the second season is filled moral dilemmas that span multiple episodes. Is it worth bringing children into this scary world, and will they put other people at risk? Is suicide an individual's right to choose, or are others obligated to dissuade them? Do you sacrifice the life of someone you barely know at the risk of the group of people you care about most?

I am really attached to this group of characters. Everyone is so dramatic, and are constantly being pushed to their limits. I can believe that the woman who lost her sister and gained a new lease on life would want nothing more than a weapon in her hand to prevent disaster from striking the group again. I can believe that the man who hooked up with his best friend's wife has diluted himself into thinking it can continue because it's the only semblance of the past reality he has left. I get where everyone is coming, even if I don't personally agree with them or if they are delulu. Of all the character deaths in those first two seasons, it was Dale's that really got to me. He was one of the only people in the group that desperately clung to any sense of humanity and goodwill. He latched onto the idea of "we don't kill the living" and made that point at every opportunity. RIP rv roof guy, you will be missed.

All this to say that yes this show is not perfect by any means. I was taken aback by the amount of racism, sexism, and homophobia right out the gate. There is also a level of humor and levity that feels out of place at times especially in the first season with pop-punk or rock-n-roll music cues after a dire situation. I can sort of understand, given this was a decade ago and airing on public television. I did notice while it's still present, those moments and phobias have been scaled back a bit. That doesn't make it less cringy when someone calls Glenn "Short Round" or when Lori gets mad at Andrea for patrolling instead of doing "women's work" like cooking and cleaning.

With that said, the plot so far and the characters we have left have me hooked to see what happens next. Plus we get Michonne in the next season!

#the walking dead #walking dead #twd s1 #twd s2 #tw: death mention #tw: suidice mention #hannah talks nerdy

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lexxiie · 2 years

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Hello! I really liked the relationship HC with Levi and I was wondering if you could do the same for Eren please???

Ahhh~ Eren...

Fandom: Attack On Titan

Pairing: Eren Jaeger x reader

Levi's version

RELATIONSHIP HEADCANONS

Eren has an incredibly deep devotion towards those who are important to him.

So dating him means that he'll always be by your side, with no exceptions.

He finds it funny to annoy you, though.

He also loooves to flirt with you just to get you all flustered.

Makes obscene comments all the time, and he'll whisper them to your ear in public to make you mad.

I believe he doesn't care about a avoiding PDA. In fact, I don't think he ever holds back on showing affection publicly. Better if everyone knows that he's with you.

I believe he's a good listener. He can help you with your problems and be serious if you ask him to.

He also knows you very well, so he knows whenever something is wrong.

He'd obviously die for you, without thinking it twice.

He really wants Paradis to be a safer place for you.

He can't sleep without you. He needs to hold you and feel your breath against his neck, otherwise, he can't relax.

If it was up to him, he'd have his hands roaming around your body all day. He's extremely handsy.

Sometimes you catch him staring at you, and the way he stares makes you fall in love with him even more.

Since he's so tall, he usually lifts you by the waist to kiss you. Doesn't matter how heavy you think you are, or how tall. He'll do it.

He also loves teasing you by not bending down when you want to kiss him.

Also has this habit of coming up to you from behind and kissing your shoulder.

He loves it when you play with his hair, and also asks you to trim it for him. There's nothing he loves more than your hands in his head, being able to look at you while you seat in his lap and talk about how he should let you cut it all off because it's too long.

Loves it when you let him be the little spoon, really.

He's the sort of overprotective partner, to be honest.

I feel like the man is terrible with house chores.

Not cleaning. He's good at that, but fixing stuff... Not his thing. If the sink starts having trouble, he'll get only make it worse. He still tries to fix things all the time, though. Being useful is a big deal to him.

Loves loves loves taking baths with you. It's just so relaxing and nice. Sometimes he'll fall asleep, but whenever you do, he takes you out of the tub and carries you yo bed.

He really wishes his mom could've met you, especially since he just knows you are his forever love and she would've loved you.

He admires you from afar, as if you were someone he could never get close to instead of the woman he lives with.

A 100% doesn't have eyes for anyone else. Women will try to flirt with him and he won't even notice because he has forgotten that you are not the only one in the world.

Loves it when you are jealous.

He's not that adorable when he's jealous, though... Which happens often.

He always tries to be a gentleman. I say tries because he's a bit awkward at it. Opening doors and stuff.

I feel like you guys would cook together, and it would be lots of fun. Expect Eren intentionally getting your face full of tomato sauce.

He'd also talk to you about things his mom used to cook to him, always trying to share those special memories with you.

He'll tease you about you not washing the dishes the days you are supposed to and being lazy, but then again, he intentionally washes them every single day just to spare you of it.

He speaks fondly of you to his colleagues. Levi really likes you because he feels like you gave Eren some sense of responsibility.

Overall, he's someone who only gives his heart out once. And he chose to give it to you, so good luck with getting rid of him.

NAVIGATION MASTERLIST

#aot #attack on titan #aot x reader #aot scenarios #aot imagine #eren jaeger #eren jeager x reader #eren jaeger imagines #eren yaeger #eren fluff #snk #shingeki no kyojin x reader #aot headcanons #shingeki no kyoujin eren #attack on titan x reader #aot fluff #aot fanfiction

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zealous-whispers-of-us-redux · 3 years

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i'll make this feel like home

Summary: She never wanted a mate like this and will kill this wolf no matter what it takes. Enough is enough. And. Bucky finds out how much she likes the color yellow and how much he likes it when she smiles.

It has been three long and sorrowful weeks since Bucky had lost track of his sweet omega. It is a sin among alphas to lose their omegas, and Bucky has been feeling the quiet disdain amongst his pack for how shitty of a leader they have. She left not a trace when she fled- just a discarded shoe that Bucky had found in the forest long after she'd escaped him. But he can't even find a scent that matches the one on the shoe to follow! It's been a lonely time, and Bucky has been holed up in his bedroom like a hermit, unable to face the world until his omega willingly returns to him. He will not force her to come to him. He can't. (Okay, maybe it is too soon, but he's ninety-eight percent positive that he's in love with this woman already; alpha and omega dynamics be damned.)

Bucky is sure that she didn't remember this, but she talked while lying unconscious in his bed. She had an entire conversation with someone. She spoke of the old country, whatever that was, and how cold she felt. How strange it was for a vamp to feel cold! Bucky was brought up believing that they felt nothing. She begged the person only she could see. She wanted to be mortal. She missed seeing herself in a mirror. Bucky would have told her she looked beautiful. He would say to her that every day if she let him.

He's sad.

No, scratch that. He's heartbroken. He has not eaten much of anything except the occasional raw strip of bacon. He can't even be bothered to cook it up properly. Gods, he remembers what she smelled like. The sea and clean clothes fresh out of the dryer, his favorite. She smelled like something comforting, too, which made him think of being a pup and spending hours in the library, escaping the summer heat through his favorite stories. Her anger smelled like a heady bonfire, one like the Pagan witches burn every year as they celebrated Beltane.

Her scent haunts him so much that he can nearly taste it. After she fled, her smell lingered merely a moment before it was blown away by a gust of cold wind. Even her shoe no longer smells like her, so Bucky has nothing to comfort him. All he can do is sit at the window like a dutiful alpha and wait. Sometimes he howls into the darkness, hoping that she will hear and come to him.

She is exhausted- bone tired and feeling increasingly sluggish for the last three weeks. She doesn't want to blame it on the stupid wolf who may or may not have saved her life from whatever was wrong with her, but the longer she hides from him and his emotions that sear her chest, the more she believes that yes, they have somehow miraculously pair-bonded. Gods! She can't even process the thought. It is like something out of that stupid book Twilight, where that teen werewolf who never wears a shirt falls in love with an infant- what a ridiculous idea. At least, she used to think it was until it happened to her. She supposes it did happen to her because she can still feel the twinges of the wolf in her mind. She can feel his pain, sense his loneliness.

It's very distracting as she is trying to read. She hasn't gotten past Canto ii of her favorite poem (The Faerie Queene by Edmund Spenser) before her chest starts to hurt, and she hears 'Wolfy's howl in her mind.

"Oh my Gods!" she yells as she bangs her head against her headboard and throws her book across the room. "What is wrong with me? Ugh, cut me open! I'm infected! Pull it out! I cannot believe this is happening to me."

He was only minutely attractive, right? Not sexy enough for her to want to be a subservient omega-like being, bending to her alpha's every whim. She is not a gods-darn cum dumpster, nor is she mother material. She cannot cook because she only eats blood. She hates to clean and hardly ever makes a mess, so she does not need to deal with that, anyway. She is not going to take this thing sitting down. She's a vampire, not an omega. As that thought crosses her mind for the hundredth time in the last hour, she has decided that she has officially reached her limit. She is going to kill this wolf no matter what it takes. She's sick of him in her head.

Enough is enough.

Bucky has not moved from his spot by his bedroom window in over six hours. He's been steadfastly ignoring the gnaw of hunger in his belly. The moon shines in his window, and he tilts his head, letting out a mournful howl. He hears a responding howl from a few miles away and knows that it's his second, Steve. Steve has been checking up on his best friend for a few hours every other day to see how Bucky has been managing. But the rest of Bucky's pack has all but shunned him. It will take a lot to get back into their good graces, but how can he lead when he feels so empty? Bucky howls again, yipping into it. A gust of wind blows through his window just as his nose is still in the air, and he inhales it, prepared for the icy chill to burn his lungs and soothe the ache in his chest. Instead, he catches the scent of the sea, cotton, and the yellowed pages of old books.

It's his pretty omega!

Bucky leaps to his feet and runs downstairs in nothing but a pair of sweatpants. His body heat will keep him warm anyway. He throws open his front door and races out onto the grass, frantically looking around in the darkness. He howls at her, sending his yearning across their bond. He wants to see her so badly. He wants to touch her and kiss her and taste her and fuck her. He wants her wrapped around him so tightly that he can hardly breathe. He wants her to taste him.

A hiss from the darkness is all the warning he has before something knocks him on his ass. He yelps in surprise, and then a figure jumps on top of him, holding him in place. Though he is an alpha pack leader, vamps are stronger than he is whenever there isn't a full moon or he is not on his rut. So this waif of a thing is stronger than him, which makes the alpha in his chest deeply unhappy. He quells that side of him with an internal growl. He's just thrilled that she's here!

She hisses again, baring her fangs at him. Her eyes glow, and she smells like charcoal. She looks furious. Her right hand comes up to his neck, and she chokes Bucky in an attempt to frighten him. However, it has the opposite effect as he wiggles around, feeling his dick starting to swell in his pants. She glares and presses down harder until he can't even breathe, and he gapes up at her, helplessly turned on.

"I am so sick and tired of your voice in my head day in and day out," she snarls. "Always in my mind, whining for an omega. Do you think I wanted this? There is no way I would ever want a disgusting animal like you!"

She laughs, looking as crazed as Bucky feels.

"Since you couldn't kill me the first time around, I guess it's my turn. I will have no problem killing you, you awful creature. I'll revel in it. I'll roll around in your blood like a pup. I'll stick silver in your mouth and rip. Your. Guts. Out. And I'll love every second of it."

Bucky whimpers. He has never felt so powerless against anything before. She has got him right where she wants him and not in a good way, though he doesn't mind it so much. He squirms in her grip, trying to find anything to rut against, and she hisses at him, snapping her hand back as though she had been stabbed.

"What was that?" she asks, eyes huge. "What's going on?"

"I don't- I don't- what are you talkin' about?" Bucky whines, wanting her hand around his neck again.

"You burned me, you asshole! Oh, shit! Ow, ow!"

"My necklace?" Bucky asks, fingering the symbol around his neck.

It is a relic passed down from pack alpha to pack alpha as a remembrance of the leaders before him and a remembrance of the wolf's ways. Bucky recalls that it's made of iron as a way of protecting the pack leader from vamp attacks. The necklace is for protection from the same creatures like the one seated on top of him—his omega. The older a vamp is, the more iron burns them. His sweet baby doll is cradling her hand and moaning in pain. She must have been very hurt.

"'S my necklace. It's iron," Bucky says weakly, feeling terrible. "I can take it off if ya wanna, you know, kill me or whatever."

"I don't understand what's going on," she says instead, toppling off of him and scurrying away from the light of his porch. "Why can I hear you in my head? Why can I feel what you feel?"

"Pair-bonding," Bucky explains, getting to his knees and following her, "Alphas smell a certain smell that attracts them to the omega -er- being that carries the same scent. It's a scent ingrained in the individual alpha's hindbrain before they're even born. You smell like the ocean. I love goin' to the beach. You smell like my childhood library. An' I love fresh sheets right outta the dryer an' ya smell like that too. I smelled ya at the church, an' it was everythin' I thought it would be. You're my omega. I can't help it no more than you can help suckin' down blood."

"So what then?" she says, glaring at Bucky. "What, I don't get a choice? A say? This isn't my body anymore; it's yours just because you've decided it is? Because your biology told you it is? You alpha wolves are pieces of work; you know that? How disgusting this whole hierarchical thing is. How do you think your omegas feel, huh? You treat them like nothing more than processing factories to dump your cum into and then pop out your babies!"

"Now, hold on a second," Bucky starts angrily, "It ain't like that with omegas!"

"Oh yeah? I've been around for hundreds of years, 'Wolfy,' and the only thing that's changed are the colors of your fur. Nothing in societal terms. Omegas are treated like second-class citizens, and if you think I am going to fall to my knees and beg at your feet for you to shove your dick in me, you have another thing coming! My Gods, this is ridiculous! I have been alone for four hundred years, and I get a werewolf wanting to mate with me?" she cries, throwing her hands in the air in disbelief.

"Things have changed!" says Bucky. "But why the fuck do I needta explain it to ya? Omegas are revered, respected. They're treated like royalty! Hell, the last Heat Centers closed in the 1930s!"

"'Heat Centers'! You mean those glorified prostitution rings?" she snarls. "You animals disgust me."

"Likewise," Bucky snaps. "Ain't like you vamps made us wolves your bitches for hundreds of years!"

"Gods, you're still bitter about that? That was eons ago! My great-great-grandparents weren't even alive when the last wolf trade happened!"

"Yeah, well. We're still pretty angry!"

"Ugh."

They sit in silence for a moment. Bucky huffs, which is a terrible idea as he then inhales and gets a whiff of her scent. He groans and continues hating himself for choosing a fucking vampire as a mate. (This whole courting thing is going well so far, isn't it, Barnes?) He told her he wanted her to have his pups the very moment he met her. She just tried to kill him. He burned the palm of her hand clean through to the muscle; they screamed at each other—what a mess.

Okay, new plan.

"Look," Bucky says finally. "I dunno what else to say except I'm sorry. I know ya understand that I can't help this."

"What would happen if I refuse?" she says.

Bucky's heart sinks.

"I'd try an' respect your choice. But it would be tough for me. You might as well just kill me now 'cause I'd die without ya."

"Now you're just acting dramatic."

"Swear it. Didn't you feel that burnin' on the night of the full moon?" asks Bucky.

She nods.

"It felt like I was being ripped apart on a cross and like I was being injected with Holy Water and burned with hot irons all at once. It was like I was dying from starvation with no blood in sight," she says.

"Now imagine that pain every day for the rest a' your life. Most alphas don't last an' kill themselves after a while. It makes 'em go crazy," Bucky says.

She closes her eyes and heaves a heavy sigh.

"Oh."

"Yeah."

She opens her eyes, and their gazes lock. Bucky makes sure to take in every inch of her if this is the last time he will get to see her. He memorizes the shape of her lips, the tilt of her nose, and the way her hair falls in her face. She is magnificent.

"You're beautiful, ya know," Bucky says, without thinking.

"You don't mean that, not really. It's just your alpha talking."

He moves closer, dropping down to his knees beside her. She is leaning against the side of his house, still cradling her hand.

"But I do mean it. Pair-bond or not. Stupid Twilight-style imprint shit or not. You're pretty. I think you're pretty an' I'm glad it's you," Bucky murmurs.

"You don't even know me, 'Wolfy."

"An' you don't know me 'cause you keep callin' me, Wolfy. My name's James Barnes. But everyone calls me Bucky, an' you can too."

"Bucky." A ghost of a smile appears on her lips. "That's a good name for a dog."

"My middle name is Buchanan," Bucky says, only slightly upset by her teasing.

"I didn't say I didn't like it. I only said that it suits you and what you are."

"Oh yeah? What's your name then? Is it Claudia? Rosalie? Eli? Akasha? Oh! I bet it's Lestat."

"That last one is a man's name, and you know it."

Bucky grins.

"Fine. So what is your name?"

She twirls a strand of hair around her finger and tells him her birth name. (She debated for a moment if she wanted to give him the fake name that she has been using for the last hundred years or so since her name is a little unusual, but she assumed he would end up discovering the truth eventually.) Bucky repeats it to himself, and his grin grows wider.

"That's a beautiful name. It suits ya," he tells her.

"Thank you," she whispers, looking embarrassed.

"I know it's unconventional, but maybe I'd be happy just gettin' to know ya. We could talk a little bit. If I get to know you, the bond may break as my hindbrain realizes we aren't meant to be. I've heard a' that happenin' before. Lemme take you out somewhere. What do ya like to do?"

"I promise you I'm not very exciting."

"I doubt that."

"I am incredibly serious," she says with a shy smile.

Bucky's heart leaps in his chest, and he bites back a quiet sound. He can feel himself falling in love with every word she speaks, and he knows that once he does get to know her, he is not going to want to let her go. Her eyes are colorless, but her smile is as bright as the mark she's already made on his heart. He doesn't think he can live without her.

Bucky fights the urge to cup her cheeks in his hands, "Now, I know that ain't true."

"All right," she says. "Fine, since you asked. I like to read. I like to run in the woods. I knit sometimes. I go to movies-"

Naturally, Bucky assumed she would like those calm activities that didn't require another person along for the ride. Vamps are known for being very solitary, introverted creatures that intensely dislike others' company, even one of their own. He does know a good used bookstore that's open until two in the morning. He could take her there. He doesn't mind quiet, boring activities if it means he can spend time with his beautiful girl.

"-This crow and I go for walks at night, I enjoy that. Coffee shops are fun, though I don't eat much. Go-carting is great."

Wait, wait, wait, wait. What did she say?

"Um, water parks. Cliff diving can be fun if you find the right cliffs. I like making candles and coloring in kid's coloring books. Oh, snowmobiling's nice too. I did that once up in Colorado, and it was the best. A little cold, but once you get going, it's incredible. "

"Wow," Bucky says weakly, which is Bucky code for 'holy-fucking-shit-I-think-I-am-in-love-with-you.'

"I'm sorry," she says, suddenly uncomfortable, and Bucky smells it on her. "I have no idea where all of that came from."

"No!" he says a little too eagerly. "No, no, no! You, uh, in the mood to drive some go-carts right now? I know the manager of the place downtown. He's one of my pack buddies. He gave me a key, 'cause you know, I'm his alpha, he's gotta listen to me."

Bucky's only showing off a little bit.

"Oh," she says, surprised. "You want to go now?"

"No time like the present, right?"

A genuine grin, the first one Bucky has ever seen from her, spreads across her face. She even lets out a soft giggle and nods.

"Go-carts it is," she agrees.

Clint Barton was not at all pleased with Bucky. Bucky had texted Barton fifteen minutes before the go-cart place was due to close, which Bucky knew made him a dick, but what else could he do? This new thing, this vampire he met, agreed to spend time with him! He didn't want to disappoint her! To get Clint to agree, Bucky promised a few things to Barton that he never wanted anyone else to know about. He didn't want to die of humiliation before he even had a chance to impress the pretty vampire, who he was pretty sure he was in love with.

The same pretty vampire who had tried to kill him not sixty minutes ago is now jumping eagerly on her toes as she stands with Bucky, waiting to get onto the track. She is a bit too far away from him. He moves closer, wanting to touch but refraining, wary of her changing her mind and running away again.

"You ready?" Bucky asks.

He can hear the happiness in her voice as she finishes adjusting her helmet.

"I sure am!" she answers, grinning.

"Anyone ever tell ya you got real pretty eyes, darlin'?" Bucky bravely says, nudging her before he can stop himself.

The compliment startles her for a brief moment, her gaze going blank. Why does she look upset? Bucky did not mean for that to happen. Fuck, he ruined it, didn't he? Hastily, he tries to recover from his mistake, but then she meets his eyes, looking shy. Bucky's heart leaps in his chest at the look on her face. His palms feel slick with sweat.

"No one has said that to me in a very long time." Her voice is soft. "Thank you, James."

He swallows. "B-Bucky. I mean, it's Bucky, Bucky's fine, yeah. Call me Bucky."

"Thank you, Bucky," she corrects, inching all that closer to him. "You have beautiful hair."

Bucky swallows again, harder, this time past the lump welling up in his throat. How is she even real? What being can he thank for creating her? Gods, he wants to kiss her so badly. That first time they had kissed, she had gotten her hands in his hair, and Bucky has not forgotten that at all. He chances a glance at her fingers, willing them to move onto his head and tug on his hair.

"Ha, thanks. I, uh, was gonna cut it actually," he says.

"Oh no!" she squeaks a little too loudly and a little too quickly. "I mean, it looks nice long, but if you wanted to, you could cut it, of course. Please don't listen to me. It's your hair."

Bucky bites back a knowing grin. She wants him to keep it long; he'll keep it long for her—no big deal. Feeling brave, he grabs her hand.

"Oh," he says, startled.

Her hand is freezing. Bucky turns to face her, and she does too, though she isn't looking at him.

"Sorry," she says. "I know it's not nice to feel."

"No," Bucky says, grabbing her other hand. "It's fine. You're fine. Can you look at me?"

She does.

"They don't ever get much warmer," she admits, looking miserable.

"That's okay. Gives me more of a reason to hold 'em. If you don't mind, I mean."

"I don't mind."

Bucky's gaze flickers to her lips. He is suddenly overwhelmed with the desire to see her fangs, to run his tongue over them. Would she bite him? He sure wants her to.

"Can I kiss you?" Bucky asks.

"We haven't even started our date yet."

"Don't tell me yer that old-fashioned."

"I am over four hundred years old."

"Please? Just one kiss. I won't even ask for another one when I drop you off."

"What if I wanted you to?"

"I see. Two kisses, eh? For someone who tried to kill me a few hours ago, you're bein' very generous."

"What can I say? Go-carting gives me an adrenaline rush."

"So, is that a yes on the kiss?"

"Okay."

She steps closer to Bucky, something shining in her eyes as though she is working up her nerve. It has been a long time since she's wanted to kiss someone, but Bucky is so handsome and so sweet that she isn't afraid. He brings something out in her. She doesn't feel so shy. Bucky leans forward, and she does, too. The kiss makes her belly do all kinds of funny things that she doesn't realize she missed until they happen.

As soon as their lips touch, Bucky lets out a soft noise and gathers her up in his arms, crowding into her space. He can't get enough. He slips his tongue into her mouth too soon, but she doesn't mind. He whines when she pulls on the ends of his hair. He wants to ask her to bite him. He almost gets to, but she breaks away from his mouth. Bucky pouts, chasing after her lips.

"It looks like we can go in now," she murmurs, kissing Bucky again just to soothe him. "I hope they have yellow ones."

"Yeah?" says Bucky, nuzzling her cheek. "You like yellow?"

"Yes." Her voice is soft again, something that Bucky is slowly learning to mean that she is about to share a piece of herself with him. "Yes, it's my favorite color. It reminds me of the sun, and I can't see a lot of the sun."

Right then, Bucky decides that he will get her everything and anything in this world that is yellow.

He tugs her towards the carts. She plops down into a yellow one. He follows her lead, sitting down into a cart, with his knees pressed against his chest. She is watching him as Bucky fiddles with the seat, feeling his face turning red at how ridiculous he must look. He's never been known to be the blushing type of alpha, least of all on dates or around potential mates, but something about her makes him shy and prone to stuttering even after that damn kiss. Bucky blushes harder at this realization, his mind wandering away on the thoughts of yellow houses and wedding bells.

"Are you ready?" she asks.

"Yeah, sunshine," Bucky says, because how can he call her anything else?

She smiles at the pet name, her tongue sweeping out to lick her lips, and reaches out to take his hand, to which Bucky allows with a goofy smile. Then she lifts his hand to her mouth and kisses each of his fingers.

"For good luck," she tells him.

Bucky's heart almost beats out of his chest. He wonders if she wouldn't mind sharing a cart. His mind wanders again, of being pressed up against her as she drives them around the track. Her scent stuck in his nose as she drove. His mouth on her neck, her shoulders, anywhere he could reach. Then he would slip a hand underneath her shirt and feel the chill of her skin on his fingertips, pull her body back against his.

The gate opens. Just as it does, she stomps on the accelerator and darts out before Bucky even registers what has happened. He lets out a yelp of indignation, muttering about dirty tricks before he too begins to drive. He doesn't want to lose, competitive as alphas are.

The track is the most complicated one that they offer, full of traps where people are bound to get stuck; sharp turns lead to drivers careening into the tires along the sides. She has a lead foot, Bucky starts to realize as she rounds the bend, already on her second lap. The alpha in him growls, annoyed that he is losing to an omega, but he shuts it up, happily waving to her as she passes him. When she does pass him, he can feel the connection between them break.

It was a weak bond from the start, Bucky knew. His alpha hindbrain liked how she smelled, but once he found out what she was, his hindbrain was wary. Now, his hindbrain is deeply unhappy that he is on a date with this gorgeous creature. She is not only stronger but faster and more competitive. She does not need an alpha to take care of her. They are not compatible in any way, or so his Gods-damn hindbrain thinks. But Bucky realizes he doesn't care how his alpha side feels about the situation. He swears at himself, shutting his hindbrain down. He wants her, whether his hindbrain agrees or not.

And he knows that it is not very wise to think so, but Bucky has always been too much of a romantic. He swears she is in love with him also. He pictures her face underneath the visor, sees her smiling at him, eyes bright, and happy, and so alive. She waves back at him as she speeds by, close enough that he can barely touch her fingers. There are the gods-damn sparks that Bucky knew were there from the moment he met her. Then the surety:

Oh, this one's mine.

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #abo au #alpha bucky barnes #vampire reader #fluff #bucky flirting

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alottanothing · 3 years

Text

Kismet

Summary: Evie prepares a meal for the stranger who helped her and finds herself more than a little smitten.

Previous Part: Hope

Word Count: 5707

Warnings: Language

Tag List: @ramilicious, @txmel, @edteche2, @gloriousdarkangelsworld, @diasimar, @xmxisxforxmaybe (Let me know if I missed you, or if you would like to be added to the tag list)

A/N: Okay, I almost didn't get this up today because I was up most of the night sewing kilts for Highland Weekend at the Ohio Renfiare. BUT I stayed awake and did my final read-through, so this should be mostly okay. I skipped a couple steps in my editing to get this up on time but I think, for the most part, it's okay. If you see a grammatical booboo, just ignore it, I'll get in here sometime this week with my other two editing steps and find it, then repost this. Capisce? Okay, cool...now. I hope you enjoy it, I also hope my trying to phonetically write Mer's accent doesn't get too annoying. I know you really shouldn't write accents, but I think it helps add to the characters. And I do try to keep it to a minimum so it doesn't get annoying. Thanks for the love the first part received last month! I know waiting so long between updates is a bit sad after weekly updates with LtR. But life is busy right now and once a month is all can guarantee.

Jonny did not know how to keep a house.

In fact, Jonny did not know how to do much more than drink, argue, and get into fights. He was nothing but a thorn in Evie's side—never mind how much she needed him for a place to lay her head. A necessary thorn was still a thorn. Given the opportunity, she would rip it out as soon as she could and dress the wound promptly so she was finally able to heal better. She stayed only because she had no other choice. And every time Jonny raised his voice or stumbled in reeking of alcohol and red-faced, Evie could hear her best friend's warning in her head. Cynthia had begged her not to go with him, but she hadn't listened.

Oh, how she wished she had.

Luckily, Jonny wasn't the kind of man who liked to stay home which eased the ache of the ever-present thorn in her side. Whatever money he did have, he spent out on the town—the town being New Orleans. Like Evie, Jonny had been born and raised in the Big Apple, the noise and the chaos was part of him. As such, he hadn't taken to the quiet suburban life Bridge City offered as well as Evie. She liked the quiet, easy flow of the sleepy town. Her housemate loathed his new home. He thrived in disarray, thus, he found a group of like-minded young men to run amok with in the neighboring metropolis every chance he got.

If Jonny had been any sort of amicable company, the notion of him leaving most every night to wreak havoc several miles away would have been upsetting. Thankfully, his penchant for city life meant a good portion of Evie's days were spent out from under Jonny's tyranny. The hours he was gone were blissful and calm, and she relished in them. Whether she was creating art or tending to chores around the old house, Evie didn't care as long as Jonny wasn't there—never mind how lonely the routine often was.

Evie had never gotten the chance to meet Jonny's maternal grandmother, though she suspected she would have liked to. Unlike her grandson, she seemed like any other sweet elderly woman judging by the furnishings she'd left behind. There were dozens of lace doilies, and table cloths with soft patterns, decretive china even, but it was the plethora of photos the old woman kept that told Evie she'd carried a kindly heart. All of them were kept in pristine albums or intricate frames; they were the only barbles that seemed to have been cleaned or dusted with any regularity which spoke of how much she must have treasured them. Evie loved those tiny trinkets and black and white memories. It didn't matter that they were not her legacy of family heirlooms to keep, she adored them anyway.

She couldn't count the number of times she'd replaced a broken frame that had fallen victim to Jonny's drunken belligerence or scrubbed tirelessly at a stain he'd left on the patterned tablecloths. It proved to be a hefty undertaking, but dwelling in the fantasies of someone else's history let her forget the grief of her own. She was willing to sacrifice a little elbow grease if it allowed her mind to roam away from the shadow that never really seemed to vanish.

For all the effort Evie put in on the interior, the cottage held little in the way of curb appeal. The porch was sunken in the middle, the paint was peeling off in chunks, and the yard was mostly weeds. Worst, however, was the screen door which squeaked so loudly, every dog in the neighborhood howled in protest every time someone crossed the threshold. The outside needed love that Evie simply didn't have the energy to lend. Despite the grit, however, the foundations were sturdy enough that she didn't worry. The cottage proved to be stronger than she looked—a feat Evie felt she had in common with the old house. And while it was a swell enough place to rest her head, it never truly felt like home. Home was somewhere safe, and as long as Jonny lived under that roof she wasn't safe. Not really.

Fortunately, Jonny wasn't home when Evie returned after her run-in with Mr. Shelton—Mer, she corrected herself with a hint of a giddy smile. Without her housemate there, her evening promised to be hopeful instead of lonely, and she wasted no time in figuring out what to make for dinner.

With her red pumps replaced by her worn-in slippers and her blue checkered apron secured around her waist, she set a pot of water to boil and dialed the phone conveniently located in the kitchen. Every evening she called her sister-in-law to pass the time and keep up on unimportant gossip back home; this time, however, Evie was excited to finally have some good news to share.

"You got the job, didn't you?" Cynthia Clarke asked on the other end, sounding hopeful. "I knew you would."

Evie grinned, still amazed how the sound of Cyn's voice always seemed to settle some of the ever-present anxieties buzzing in her head. She missed her friend so much.

"I didn't even say yes."

"Did you or did you not get the job?" Cynthia pressed.

"I did," Evie confirmed and her smile grew hearing her friend cheer on the other end of the phone.

"See! I knew it." Cynthia said. "My gut feeling is always right."

Evie rolled her eyes and shook her head fondly.

"I think I'm gonna like working there too, so that's good." she mused as she stood at the stove, eyeing the pot of water she’d set to boil.

"That's so great, Ev. I'm so proud of you." Cynthia paused before continuing. "So, what are you up to tonight? Avoiding Jonny?"

"Sorta," Evie nodded even though she knew her friend wouldn't see.

As she continued to watch her cooking pot of water she told Cynthia all about her trouble with Jonny's car and the man who'd been so kind to help her.

"Wait. You invited the stranger over who fixed the car?" Concern was heavy in Cyn's voice, and Evie half expected a lecture to follow.

Despite knowing each other since childhood, Cynthia had taken on the role of her protector since Evie's family was no longer in the picture. The war had claimed Evie's father, and brother—although they'd never found her brother, Jimmy after he disappeared behind enemy lines. Evie never lost hope that Jimmy would one day be found, Cynthia though, was certain her husband was never coming home. After Cyn’s brother, Charlie, died at Normandy Cynthia had difficulty believing anyone was going to make it home. As for Evie's mother, losing a child and her husband to the war was too much for her tender heart and she passed not long after. Ever since, Cynthia was overcome with the need to act as Evie's guardian.

"He wouldn't let me pay him," Evie explained. "So I'm making him dinner—it seemed like the least I could do."

"I suppose…." Cynthia didn't sound convinced, if anything she sounded slightly irritated there was no quick way for her to argue the logic. "Just be careful, Evie. You don't know this guy—he could be another Jonny Doyle. Or worse."

"He's not," Evie said quickly. She wanted nothing more than to tell her friend all about how benevolent Mer was, but she decided against it. Cynthia would only argue that point somehow.

A long pause followed, and Evie wedged the receiver between her ear and shoulder so her hands were free to work on the meal.

"So, what are you cooking?" This time, there was a hint of jest in her friend's tone when she spoke.

The art of cooking was one creative outlet that Evie struggled with, second only to music. In her youth, her mother did all the cooking—it was a passion of her mother's—thus Evie had done little more than watch in wonder as her mother whipped up meal after meal effortlessly. Breakfast she the meal she was probably best at, apple pies too, but anything beyond that Evie required a step by step guide to prepare. And even then she lacked confidence. Thankfully, when she'd fled south, she remembered to grab her mother's cookbook. It was a cumbersome tome with yellowed pages and notes scribbled into the margins: a piece of art itself cultivated over years of collecting recipe after recipe starting the moment her mother stepped off the boat that brought her from Ireland. And like a witch and her spellbook, Evie depended on it.

"Spaghetti with garlic bread," Evie admitted feeling as though the meal lacked a certain something.

Pasta was something she knew held a low degree of difficulty when it came to preparing. Surely she couldn't mess up pasta.

“Mmm, I can almost smell it,” Cynthia said.

“Shut up.”

“No, seriously,” Cyn replied. “You’re mom’s spaghetti recipe was always my favorite.”

A doleful smile pulled at the corners of her lips, thinking back to her mother happily cooking in the kitchen as she sang a Celtic tune. It seemed strange that those moments would never again play out, instead they’d become bittersweet memories Evie could only relive in her mind.

“Mine too,” she murmured, suddenly missing her family.

Neither of them said anything for a moment, and Evie’s mind roamed the dregs of her grief before blinking back into reality and the hope of something happy to come.

“I need to go, Cyn,” Evie told her friend with a sigh. “I don’t want to burn the garlic bread.”

Cynthia chuckled and said her goodbye, only after making Evie promise to call her in the morning to let her know how everything went.

With her second hand restored after hanging up, Evelyn reached for her mother’s cookbook to give the steps another look over to ensure she had done everything and added every herb and ingredient she was supposed to. She’d followed everything perfectly, even factoring in the little notes scribbled into the margins left there by her mother—those she smiled at fondly and traced the fading ink with her fingers. Everything was as it should be. Even so, without a taste, Evie knew the sauce she had prepared would never be as savory as what her mother made so effortlessly.

“You were the artist in the kitchen, Ma,” she said with a shrug. “I’ll stick to paper and canvas.”

For the smallest of a moment Evie thought she would hear the warmth of her mother’s laugh, and when it never came she sighed again, trying not to dwell on the shadows behind her. What mattered was the light ahead.

Despite her lack of confidence, the meal came together without any severe hiccups. The noodles were not overcooked, the sauce was a complementing mix of savory and sweet (though, as she had guessed after a tiny taste, was not nearly as good as her mother's) and the garlic bread was nicely golden. A small tingle of pride manifested in the form of a surprised, but satisfied, smile as she surveyed the dinner before her.

“Not bad, Ev,” she told herself, knowing her mother would have been delighted.

With the cooking done, Evie threw a glance over her shoulder to the clock mounted on the wall, triggering a surge of anxiety to bubble in her gut. Stranger, perhaps, was the amount of excitement coursing through her veins. It was as though all of her happiness was riding on whether or not she would see Merriell again. None of it made sense; the man was little more than a stranger. The coupling of nerves and delight was not a feeling that put her ill at ease, however. She trusted it. And it was that peculiar sensation that seemed to fuel her movements.

With a few minutes to spare, Evie wandered into the small bathroom to freshen up. She made sure her hair was still pinned the way she liked—up and pretty. Her make-up was holding up nicely despite the heat; all she needed was a fresh layer of lipstick to complete the illusion of a put-together young lady. It wasn't often she wore a dress with heels and a face of cosmetics—she liked to when the opportunity arose, but she was just as comfortable in a pair of old overalls and smudges of charcoal on her face.

Just as she wiggled back into her red pumps—discarding her worn-in house slippers with a couple of calculated kicks—a knock on the door signaled Merriells arrival. Immediately a grin curled onto Evie's lips and her heart began to pound an anxious-excited rhythm. A blush threatened to color her cheeks to give away the torrid muscle beating in her chest—her ever yearning heart already making leaps and bounds for a man she had known for mere hours.

Don't be ridiculous—she warned herself taking in a deep breath to curb the eagerness coursing in her veins. Untying her apron, she tossed it along with her discarded slippers and went to answer the door, taking one last deep breath to steady the fervor in her heart.

Merriell had changed and showered. The sweet bouquet of his shampoo coupled invitingly with the musk of the aftershave he'd chosen, making it difficult for Evie to keep from soaking in the scent he carried. His curls were still somewhat damp—too much moisture in the air to keep the heat from drying them on his way over—though they fought to spring back into their previous fluff. The grease-covered, jeans he'd been wearing had been replaced by a nice pair of tan slacks, and the buttoned shirt he wore was a soft shade of green that made his eyes glitter a deeper emerald as he stood under the glow of the porch light. All Evie could do was stare—utterly beguiled—every rational thought in her head lost to her.

Mer smirked, amused by her ogling. "Hiya."

Evie blinked, coming back to reality, suddenly feeling foolish, and uttered a nervous "hi" before swinging her arm to invite him inside.

"Come in."

Merriell's smile grew as he crossed the threshold, inhaling deeply. "Mm, smells tasty in here."

He gently forced a bottle into her hands as he passed on his way to investigate the savory smells in the kitchen.

"I wasn' sho what ya was makin', but I figured wine usually goes with anythin'."

"Oh, thank you." Evie glanced at the label, unable to read the French words printed there. "You didn't have to bring anything."

"I know," Mer shrugged, placing his hands in his pockets. "I just wanted to make a good impression."

There was something almost boyish when he smiled then—cheeks coloring pink ever-so-slightly—that made him even more of a mystery. One Evie was eager to solve.

"Well," she said placing the bottle on the kitchen table. "It should go perfectly with dinner."

His expression lost a hint of its boyish charm as it grew into a look of delight.

"Make yourself at home," Evie gestured vaguely between the table and the sofa in the living room as she ventured to the cabinet where the stemware was kept.

She placed two crystal glasses on the table along with the wine and retraced her steps to fetch some of the nicer china Jonny's grandmother had kept. Mer watched her, his gaze, gentle and attentive, and a little bit yearning as she methodically sat the table.

"Need help with anythin'?" he asked finally.

"Nope," She replied with a smile. "Everything is almost ready."

The hearty red sauce on the stove was beginning to boil again which told her it was hot enough to serve, and Evie eyed the pot with scrutiny, praying silently her attempt at cooking would go over well.

"I'll pour us a glass then," Mer announced.

"Great, lemme…" Evie spun to fish for the corkscrew in the drawer of misfit utensils, finding it, only to turn to see Merriell holding his lighter against the neck of the dark bottle just below the cork.

Before she could ask, a loud pop sounded, causing her to jump as the cork went flying.

"Oh my goodness!" she laughed, a little surprised, a little impressed. "Where did you learn to do that?"

Mer shrugged, a sly expression on his features, and left her question unanswered.

"How much ya want?" He held the open bottle over the top of her glass, waiting patiently.

"Enough," she said, tossing him a coy smirk without really meaning to.

He bit his lower lip as he smiled, chuckling under his breath when he poured a generous glass of red wine for each of them. She thanked him as he took his seat and grabbed his plate to dish out their dinner.

"How much pasta would you like?"

Mer's face lit with charm and mischief as he turned to face her.

"Enough," he grinned.

The expression on his face was playful, his smirk devious and amused by his own response and his cheekiness settled warmly in Evie's stomach. Not only did she revel in it, but she also played into his whimsy and scooped as much spaghetti into his plate as she could before coupling it with the savory sauce and a slice of bread.

Despite being only strangers, the atmosphere that bloomed that evening was not marked by any hint of bashfulness, instead, it was relaxed and amiable. Warmth that Evie had longed to dwell in again—that unrefutable kindness she'd lost with the passing of her family—flowed uninhibited from the man sitting adjacent to her. His conversation was cautious but still jovial and genuine. It was the first time since running south Evie could recall what life felt like without grief and fear weighing upon her. Merriell was a stranger, but she felt safe with him. Jonny had never made her feel that way.

"So," Evie spoke as she twirled the last bit of pasta with her fork. "What is it you do, Mr. Shelton?"

Mer cast her a look of disapproval—no doubt in retaliation to being addressed so formally—before his features softened back into a neutral, yet somehow still amused side smirk.

"Nothin' too excitin'," he stated vaguely. "The odd jobs are what I like ta do the most—like fixin' ya car this aftah noon."

Without really meaning to, Evie leaned forward, resting her elbow and chin on the table, utterly enchanted by the beautiful stranger at her table.

"You like to get your hands dirty, huh? Fixing things?" she was entirely too intrigued with the thought of what he could do with his hands.

He shrugged, suddenly modest after a foray of playfully arrogant smirks and glances. It made him abruptly twice as charming.

"I've always had a knack for it, I guess." Merriell finished the food on his plate with the help of his remaining garlic bread to mop up the sauce still left on his dish.

"What about you?" he asked after chewing. "Ya workin' anywhere?"

All at once, a proud smile lit up Evie's face. After all the excitement of seeing Merriell again, she'd almost forgotten about her good news.

"Actually, I just got a job today—the general store downtown, Southern Comfort."

Mer's face lit up too, "Birdie's place?"

"Yeah, you know it?" Of course, he knows it! She thought, Bridge City's population was slightly less than the number of people who lived in a single district back home in New York. Everyone knew everyone else.

"Sho do—I was practically raised there…ole Birdie's like a second mothah to me."

"Really?" Evie found a great deal of comfort in that notion. In fact the more she thought on it, the more she realized how similar the old woman and Mer were; they radiated the same magnetism and sincerity.

"Mmhm," he nodded, his eyes focusing elsewhere as the veil of memories danced across the contours of his features. "My mama used ta work there…once upon a time…"

"Does she still work there?"

Merriell's face lost a hit of its levity and he swallowed as though to fight off the onslaught of sudden emotion threatening to cast a shadow onto his expression.

"No…" he said softly. "She—uh—she died, about a year ago."

Shit!

Abruptly, sick knots twisted into Evie's stomach, feeling callous, but understanding of the quiet misery he hid under layers of charm and arrogance.

"Merriell, I'm…I'm sorry—I didn't mean…"

He met her eyes and cast her a quick smile—doleful, but enough to ease the awful feeling in the pit of her stomach.

"It's okay," he reassured her, reaching for his glass of wine and taking a good gulp before changing the subject. "Birdie's great—you'll enjoy workin' for her."

"I hope so…" Evie said softly, still too embarrassed to meet Mer's glance longer than a second or two.

For the first time all night the atmosphere they shared felt cumbersome—perhaps more melancholy—than she'd wanted it to get. Evie sat, worrying her bottom lip, her fingers toying with a loose thread in the table cloth as she stole quick glances through her lashes in Mer's direction.

He was nursing the alcohol in his glass with the same sadness she'd caught plaguing him as he sat at the bar hours ago. And while Evie was eager to know if his grief stemmed only from the loss of his mother, or perhaps more, Merriell was still too much of a stranger to warrant such questions. It didn't matter how easy it was to be near him, she had not earned the right to know his narrative.

A soft sigh broke past her lips as she fought to find a way to properly allay the gloom that was quickly ruining an otherwise wonderful evening. It wasn't until her eyes found their desert sitting on the counter, waiting to save the day, that she perked up.

"Got any room for apple pie?" Evie asked with a hesitant smile. She hoped he wanted to stay long enough to have a slice, though she would not have blamed him for wanting to leave.

Immediately Mer perked up too, the shadows on his features retreating with the promise of something sweet.

"I was countin' on it—seems as how you promised a slice earlier," he said with a boyish grin.

When she stood, he did too, helping clear away their dinner plates, and letting them soak in the sink to be washed later. Evie cut them each a slice of apple pie and the delight on Mer’s face made her smile too seeing him lick his lips as his grin continued to grow. Catching that flash of his tongue was like a bolt of hot lightning striking her without warning; a blush rose so quickly on her cheeks Evie had to look away to keep the blunder a secret. Thankfully, the pie was more than enough to hold Merriell’s attention away from her.

“Mmmm… Almost looks too good to eat,” he said ogling the desert in front of him.

When Evie chanced a look his way, the expression on his face caused her to chuckle, “‘oughta be, I made one for my pa every year for his birthday since I was nine. It’s probably the only thing I have any confidence in making in the kitchen.”

“Coulda fooled me,” Mer quipped as he loaded his fork with as much pie as he could.

The moment he took a bite, his brows creased, and eyes closed as he chewed painfully slow. Those few seconds were like agony. Evie’s heart was pounding in her chest with so much anticipation she feared she might faint as she watched him sample the only thing she could actually make that was worth a damn.

“Fuck me, if that ain’t the best apple pie I’ve evah had the pleasure of tasting.”

A somewhat nervous, but relieved chuckle sounded in the back of Evelyn’s throat as she watched Merriell shovel a larger bite of pie into his mouth.

“Mmm… Yep. God damn delightful.”

“Stop,” Evie said sheepishly, suddenly afraid he was overselling his reaction to keep from hurting her feelings.

“No,” he wiped his mouth and leaned across the table to meet her gaze with a sincere expression that stole away all the doubt writhing in her stomach.

“I mean it. If I wasn’t so full of pasta, I’d eat that whole damn pie right now.”

“Well,” Evie grinned softly, trying not to let her blush color her cheeks too obviously. “Thank you. And you’re welcome to take the rest of it when you go.”

Excitement took form on his face with a smirk that was sweet but roguish all at once—a sort of debonair charm that amplified his magnetism—as if his bright eyes dark curls and razor-sharp jaw did not make him alluring enough already. Again she had to look away knowing the pink in her cheeks would be too strong to combat.

“Imma have ta take ya up on that offah. An’ I’ll be thinkin’ ‘bout you every time I cut me a slice.”

That blush was unstoppable; her heart was suddenly so smitten, it felt as though butterflies were fluttering merrily in her stomach. She felt weightless with warmth and hope swelling in her bosom, fearing any slight breeze would carry her off. It was ridiculous how at ease Evie felt sitting there eating pie with a complete stranger. The conversation had been easy all night; even when it had delved into less savory topics he still made her feel comfortable. Evelyn had forgotten what it was like to be in the company of a man who wasn’t easy to anger, who was genuine and kind and wanted only to live in the moment.

For a time the whimsy of the atmosphere faded as the warmth in her heart ached, suddenly missing her brother James and Cynthia's brother Charlie. Both of them were good men, kind and genuine—like Merriell—but they had been swallowed by the rages of war. Brave young men were lost forever, while a man like Jonny Doyle was still alive How was that fair?

No matter how pleasant her thoughts could be, they always fell back to the grief that plagued her. She sighed, deeply, pushing those intrusive memories back into the depths of her mind so she could find joy once more in the moment with a kind stranger.

When Merrill finished his plate he made a beeline for the sink full of soaking dishes.

“Oh, no,” she said jumping to her feet. “I can do those.”

Merriell, however, shook his head. “Uh-uh, you did the cookin’, I can do the cleanin’.”

When Evie tried to argue, Mer simply shook his head, his grin amused but determined as he kept scrubbing the dirty dishes.

“Let me help at least,” she suggested. “I’ll dry and put them away.”

Before he could protest, she snatched the freshly rinsed dish from his hand and began wiping away the droplets of water clinging to the porcelain surface, throwing him a smug smirk that made him chuckle.

“Alright,“ he smirked.

She watched him for a moment not really paying attention to her task as he scrubbed the old plates clean, overcome with a blissful vision of peaceful domesticity. It made her stomach fill to the brim with whimsy and her heart was fluttering again; had this stranger bewitched her already? Or did what she feel bubbling lightly in her gut like a seltzer stem from an end to her loneliness—even if it was only for a few hours? Evelyn didn’t know. Nevertheless, she was intrigued with a profound feeling and she wanted to dwell in it for as long as she could.

Occasionally as he would hand a freshly washed dish her way, his calloused fingertips would brush against her skin, igniting a spark she didn’t know how to react to. It was more than an amicable tingle racing from the tips of her fingers right to her heart. And each time they touched, Merriell would cast her a gentle smile that held nothing more than his inherent charm and magnetism. She wondered if he felt it too, or if her need for companionship was playing a dirty trick on her.

When the dishes were all back in their usual places—the night drawing to a close—Evelyn realized she was not ready to say farewell to her Beautiful Stranger. She longed to stay up all night just chatting with him, she did not care about what, Evelyn only wanted to stay encompassed a while longer in the blissful warmth he brought into her life. Once he was gone, all she would be able to do was stay up and ponder the significance of those little touches and the sparks they brought.

Thankfully, Merriell lingered on the old rickety porch, one hand in his pocket, the other holding onto his plate of leftover pie, seeming to stall their inevitable departure.

“Well,” he said with a grin. “Thank you for invitin’ a stranger ovah for dinna.” He paused, glancing at the leftover pie in his hand. “Can’t recall ever having a better plate of pasta, an’ nothin’ evah gonna beat this pie.”

Evie quickly looked at her feet to hide another blush.

“It was the least I could do,” she told him before looking back to meet his eyes. “You have no idea how much of a savior you were this afternoon…”

A glint of concern flashed in his eye, his brows beginning to crease as his unspoken question lingered between them.

She thought about telling him—telling him how Jonny was nothing more than a throne in her side, and how much she cherished Merriells company—but Mer was still a stranger. It wasn’t right to unload so much onto someone she’d only known for a few hours.

Before Mer could offer any reply, the sound of screeching tires stole all their focus as an old wagon pulled along the curb—narrowly missing a collision with the mailbox. The rowdy passengers were laughing and shouting loud enough even before the door opened to let Jonny stumble out. He staggered on drunk feet and screamed a handful of profanities to his buddies in the car which made them all roar with laughter.

It was only after the wagon full of hooligans pulled away that Jonny began to stagger towards the house, and it was exactly then that Evie’s fluttering heart became consumed with panic.

She and Mer watched him cross the yard, unseen, both frozen: Evie in fear and Merriell in confusion. Jonny’s intoxication level inhibited him from taking notice of them until he was at the base of the steps leading onto the porch. Immediately, his eyes narrowed and he frowned.

“Who the hell are you?”

“Jonny, this is Mr. Merriell Shelton,” Evie said quickly, willing her voice not to shake.

The Doyle’s were not known for their hospitality, nor were they known to trust most people. Especially strangers.

“He helped me this afternoon with a bit of trouble I was having,” she explained vaguely, hoping to thwart any more suspicion. “I made him dinner to say thank you—he’s just about to leave.”

Jonny eyed Merriell, seizing him up as best he could through drunken lenses. Mer stood his ground, eyeing him back with a subtle intensity that never so much as cracked under Jonny’s scrutiny.

Finally, being the better man, Mer held out his hand in a friendly manner, “nice ta meet ya.”

Jonny cast a prolonged glare at Merriell's open hand, his brows furrowed and part of his lip hiked up in a sort of snarl. Instead of returning the kind gesture, Jonny made a show of spitting at his feet before tossing his heavy leer at Evelyn.

"Evie, do not invite any more strangers into my house. I don't care if they are dying." He shoved past them both, purposely bumping Mer's shoulder (most likely in hopes to start something) muttering as he went: "I don't trust any of these filthy southerners."

Shock sent Evie's jaw slack; this time the redness in her cheeks was a symptom of embarrassment instead of infatuation. She should have known Jonny would say something rude and uncouth. Without another thought, she grabbed Mer by his sleeve and pulled him across the lawn until they stood next to his truck parked along the curb.

"I am so sorry about him," she said, crossing her arms and glaring at Jonny's house, ashamed and angry.

Mer shrugged as he placed his partially eaten pie in the passenger seat through the open window before fixing his hands in his front pockets.

"Ya boyfriend's a bit of an asshole."

"He is not my boyfriend," Evie corrected vehemently. "I don't think he knows that though. I'm just staying here until I can figure some things out."

Merriell was quiet a moment, nodding silently. It seemed as though he was taking his time processing the whole situation. There was compassion on his face and behind his eyes, but it was guarded somehow. Evie caught it though and she was grateful when he didn't ask the questions plainly forming in his mind.

"Well," he said finally, his tone light as one corner of his mouth quirked into a grin. "Since he ain't ya othah half, I feel more inclined ta leave ya with this…"

Gently, Merriell caressed her upper arm as he leaned forward to plant a tender kiss on her cheek. He let his lips linger slightly longer than was common for such an act, that all at once wove a new hopefulness into her heart.

"Dinna was swell," he added as he pulled away, his smile somehow more charming than it had been all night. "Hope I see ya again, Evie."

"Me too," she murmured.

Evie watched as he got in his truck to leave, her hand held to the cheek he'd graced with his kiss. And when he drove away, it took everything inside of her to keep from running after him.

#Beautiful Stranger Series #Merriell Shelton x Original Character #Merriell Shelton #Snafu Shelton #HBO War #The Pacific #The Pacific Fanfiction #Rami Malek Fanfiction

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spicymayo1983 · 3 years

Text

Hiya. More Poe Dameron smut and fluff for everyone to enjoy. You and Poe both live on the rebellion base on D'qar.

I've always imagined that Poe would be excited about becoming a father, regardless of the circumstances, and be a loving and supportive partner.

For some reason the idea of fertile Poe is sexy to me. Lol. Having a bunch of cute, curly haired space babies.

You are a member of the black squadron and a respected X wing pilot in your own right. You've made some stupid decisions in your lifetime but never any like this one.

After a few too many drinks you ended up enjoying a steamy, completely unprotected one night stand with Poe Dameron.

And now you're pregnant with his child. How will you cope raising a baby with a man you barely know?

Warnings, unprotected sex, some angst, breeding kink, not for anyone under 18.

You're not afraid to admit it. You are a different woman altogether when you've been drinking.

But even for you, the mess you're in is something even you couldn't have predicted.

Now all you have are memories, regret, and a positive pregnancy test. You stare at that little stick with the two lines on it and the memories flood back, you can't help but smile a little.

Six weeks earlier.....

It's your best friend Yasmela's birthday. You and the rest of the black squadron are celebrating with adult beverages abound in a cantina located on the rebellion base D'qar.

The leader of the black squadron, Poe Dameron, who's also a bit tipsy, has been eyeing you all night.

Okay, the two of you have been exchanging mutual flirty glances. You haven't been entirely innocent, it's hard to ignore anyone, but especially someone as gorgeous as him, when it's obvious that he's checking you out.

"Well do you like what you see?" Poe asks, laughing a little, attempting to break the ice.

"What would make you think that?" You reply, giggling a little.

Poe notices the flushing of your cheeks, brought on by a combination of drinking too much and the situation currently at hand.

"Ohhhhh I'm making you nervous". Poe continues, slurring his words a little. "You're normally such a quiet girl, y/n, I barely know you because you won't talk to hardly anyone".

"I'm a simple woman devoted to defeating the first order". You reply, smiling a little.

"So am I, but I believe in letting loose every once in awhile". Poe teases as he brushes back his dark, curly hair from his face.

"So you're also a simple woman?" You reply, bursting into laughter.

Soon both of you are laughing uncontrollably. So much so that you have tears in your eyes.

"No, I wasn't the last time I checked". Poe continued, his laughter calming a little. "What I meant was that I'm also devoted to bringing down the first order but I like to have fun from time to time".

"Come on, dance with me". Poe asks, a devilish smile appearing on his face. "Let's have some fun".

You soon find yourself stumbling along to a latin cha cha cha dance that he's way better at, even intoxicated, than you.

You fall down laughing at one point and he scoops you up immediately. Even when you are sober you have two left feet and your dance moves are less than elegant.

The room is spinning, you feel like you're going to puke, but you're having a blast with your handsome companion.

"I think I need to sit down". You tell him, struggling to stop yourself from throwing up.

Poe helps you get safely to a nearby chair and table, once you are seated he fetches you a glass of water.

"Thank you". You reply, smiling gratefully and slowly sipping the cool water. "I know it's still a little early but I think I need to get home and sleep this off".

"That's okay, but let me walk you home". Poe tells you, helping you stand up again.

On the way back to your quarters the two of you realize that he lives much closer so it would be in your best interest to crash on his couch for the night.

Once at his place Poe gets you another glass of water, you are sobering up and no longer feel sick.

"Why are you being so nice to me?" You ask, quickly downing the refreshing beverage.

"I might not know you that well, on a personal level".

He explains, removing his boots. "But you're a brave pilot, you were there when the starkiller was destroyed, I take care of people I respect".

His words of praise shock you a little. They mean so much, especially coming from someone like him. Your face immediately turns bright red, Poe leans over, kisses you on the lips and says,

"And one of the most beautiful women I've seen".

Without another word exchanged you continue kissing, you gaze into his beautiful dark eyes and silently beg him to continue, to go beyond those delicious kisses.

Poe picks up on your silent cues and hungrily unbuttons your shirt. He manages to quickly unsnap your bra, revealing your breasts and erect nipples.

You can see an impressive looking bulge forming in his pants as he buries his face between them, you sigh in delight as you lose yourself to pleasure and take in the scent of his soft, curly hair.

Your panties are practically drenched by the time Poe starts to tenderly kiss and nibble on your neck, his hands wander between your legs and you gasp in anticipation.

He unzips your pants and helps you out of them, you are indeed soaking wet, his hand slides between your legs again and teasingly strokes you over your underwear.

You haven't trimmed in quite awhile so you have a decent bush growing. He doesn't seem to mind, though, Poe actually seems to enjoy the look and feel of it.

"Take your clothes off now". You demand, laughing a little. "I feel weird being the only naked one".

Poe obliges and strips down for you. Revealing a tan, trim and athletic body. Strong without being over the top. He's hung, and thick, with a nice patch of dark hair.

The two of you decide to move things into the bedroom. He immediately spreads your legs wide and starts to massage your clit as he inserts two fingers inside of you.

As Poe keeps his fingers inside of you he begins to suck and gently nibble on your throbbing clit, with a low whimper you cum for him, squirting in the process.

With your legs still spread Poe enters you, you easily accommodate him because you are still extremely wet.

"Oh creator you are so wet, and so tight". Poe moans as he penetrates you. "You feel amazing".

Both of you were still tipsy and had neglected to ask about birth control. Even though you weren't on anything you assumed he was.

He's a gentle lover, he teases you by sliding his entire length in, and then all the way out again.

As you are impaled on his body you squirm and cum with Poe deep inside of you. Your own orgasms trigger his own release, but you are gripped onto him too tight and he can't pull out in time.

He cums inside of you, the warm sensation is unfamiliar because you have never let anyone inside of your body unprotected.

"That felt amazing". Poe confesses as he passionately kisses you and pulls his soft cock out of your body. "I'm sorry about the mess, I really tried to pull out".

"Don't worry about it". You tell him with a nervous laugh.

He gets you a towel and helps you clean up, soon after he rolls over and falls asleep.

Well, you thought he was asleep.....

"Can I put my arm around you?" Poe whispers softly.

"Sure, go ahead". You reply, smiling a little.

The two of you fall asleep spooning, he's the little spoon with his arm wrapped around you, with his face resting on your back.

The entire experience feels very warm, intimate and tender. You're a little surprised by how soft and affectionate Poe is.

The next morning both of you wake up with horrible hangovers. Poe gets up and cooks a simple breakfast of waffles and toast, not only is he the best pilot in the resistance but he's also an excellent cook.

You are enjoying your meal despite the awkward silence that has suddenly developed between the two of you.

You've crawled back into that shell that adult beverages had liberated you from temporarily.

Despite the fact that you enjoyed yourself the previous night you still feel ashamed and somewhat dirty from the encounter.

You've never done anything like that before with anyone, let alone the leader of the squadron.

What was everyone else going to say if they found out?

"Your secret is safe with me". Poe assures you, leaning over and kissing you on the forehead. "I won't kiss and tell".

"I've just never done anything like that before". You tell him, smiling weakly. "When I'm drunk I'm a different woman".

"If you feel like I took advantage of you I'm truly sorry". Poe continues, his smile fading. "I just got carried away in the moment".

"Oh no, I wanted it to happen". You reply quickly, your weak smile coming back. "And it was magical, you were very respectful and it felt great".

With those parting words you get dressed and walk home. You bump into your friend, birthday girl Yasmela, in the hangar later that afternoon when you are doing routine maintenance on your X wing.

"Everyone saw you leave the party with Poe". Yasmela teases, a bright smile appearing on her face. "Tell me every raunchy detail".

"Poe walked me home, I passed out on my sofa, the end". You lie, your face getting slightly flushed from anger.

"Salemm saw you doing the walk of shame this morning". Yasmela continues, a mischievous glint appearing in her eyes.

"Just fucking stop it! Okay!" You snap, displaying a rare flash of anger. "Absolutely nothing happened between us! End of story".

Yasmela looks slightly taken aback by your outburst. But she soon smiles and says,

"Okaaaay, y/n, I get it, I'll be leaving now".

Your friend slinks off into the crowded, noisy hangar. You know for a fact that she doesn't believe you, and that she will do her best to find out what truly happened.

Flash forward back to six weeks after your encounter with Poe. After experiencing sore breasts, morning sickness and terrible mood swings you reluctantly take a home pregnancy test and discover that it's indeed positive.

You're terrified, and you have no idea how your secret can be kept now.

End of part 1

#poe dameron #poe dameron x reader #poe dameron smut #star wars #star wars smut #poe dameron x you #poe dameron imagine

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ponkho · 3 years

Text

Dimitry Darrleeyia

The cold, serious and cryptid magician whos past is in flames

Introduction

Full name: Dimitry Keahi Darrleeyia

Meaning: Dimitry means "Earth-lover" and "Devoted/Dedicated to demeter" (greek mythology goddess of corn and harvest). Keahi is a boy's name of Hawaiian origin meaning "flames" . Darrleeyia does not have any meaning, it is there for backstory purposes.

Source 1 source 2

Pronunciation: Dimitry (Dim-mi-tri) Keahi (ke-ah-hí) Darrleeyia (Darr-lee-ih-ah)

Gender: Male, He-Him

Birthday: 15/9

Age: 28

Orientation: Pansexual

Magic: fire, Earth (rocks creation and manipulation)

Occupation: Magician, shop-keeper, fortune teller,

Familiar: Maxwell, the red panda. Cute boy, horrible personality

Love interest: Asra

Shippable? Yes! Absolutely!!

Theme song: Phoenix - Fall out Boy

playlist :)

Zodiac Sign: Virgo

MBTI: ISTJ

Major Arcana: The Moon

Upright: Unconscious, illusions intuition

Reversed: confusion, fear, misinterpretation

Minor Arcana: Ace of Swords

Upright: breakthrough, clarity, sharp mind

Reversed: confusion, brutality, chaos

— Magic —

Fire–- his habilities in general is around fire magic, such as creating a flame from thin air to creating massive explosions. If you manage to enrage him enough his hair will turn into flames and he will breath a black hot smoke.

Earth–- this magic is more on the rock solid part. He's not very good with nature and earth magic (since he tends to burn things down thanks to his fire magic) but he is actually pretty good at rock manipulation. He can creates hard rocks from the ground and create precious rocks even, his most precious rock he can create is diamonds, but for that he needs to have passed through a hard time of stress, sadness or any overwhelming bad feeling, and as a result, two horns made of diamonds will grow to defend himself and look threatening. (He feels embarrassed after, he thinks he was weak enough to let those feelings overwhelm him)

Others habilities: he can speak with animals, cooks amazingly good and he's good at only three weapons: daggers, katanas and Lances.

— Personality and Preferences —

Personality: he's cold, cryptid and too honest. He doesn't give a single shit about how you feel, most of the time, i mean. He is hard to befriend, and always is looking for some hidden lie under any word that comes out of your mouth, but once you get his trust he will still be very cold but he will start showing how he feels. Like, giving gifts, making things. Giving without wanting back.

He has a great talent of getting through lies, so if you really want to deceive him, you gotta be smarter than him. People tend to stay away from his path everywhere he goes, not because bad reputation, but for respect, he can look as calm and cool as he wants but he can and will put you to your place if needed. Dimitry, whenever he wants to impress, he'll act, doesn't know how to talk about feelings or anything, so if he know about something you really want or like he'll get it for you, but will never want to take credits for it, instead he will use the famous "I just happened to be there".

Finally when he really likes someone, his behavior changes totally towards this person. He's calm, loving, sweet, measure his words with care to not hurt, loyal and becomes a little bit protective. He will smile more and if you're lucky, you can even get some chuckles out of his mouth, he'll even create jewels for you, "oh you like knives? Here's a diamond dagger I made."

Never talks about his markings. Unless you have a amazing relationship with him, but even so, he will only give hints and never the whole truth.

Likes: Cooking, talking with Max(well), reading, drawing, playing harp,(He plays it at his bedroom on the palace) silence.

Dislikes: loud people, disrespect, lies.

Fears: losing Max, cages and betrayal

Quirks: he can run extremely fast and thanks to his tail, he can make swift turns without losing much speed. His markings burn when he is enraged, and sometimes they will burn his own clothes.

Favorite food: Gingerbread

Favorite Drink: Hot chocolate

Favorite flower: Gardenia

Favorite color: Mahogany

Most likely to: burn a city down because they messed with one of his friends

★— Appearance — ★

Height: 197 cm

Eyes: Burning orange transitioning to yellow

Hair: long Mahogany colored hair, two long bangs on the front, hair tied up on a bun.

Other: his hair is not originally mahogany, his hair color is the same as the tuff of fur on his tail, wich is, blonde.

Color theme: Mahogany, red, yellows and beige.

Family & Background

Family:

His current adoptive mother is a queen, or as they say, a Leader, wich would make him the next in line

Bianca Wood - biological mother - deceased // Relationship: none

Darek Wood - biological father - alive? // Relationship: Bad

Meghan Rook - adoptive mother - deceased // Relationship: bad

Andrew Rook - adoptive father - deceased // Relationship: horrible

Lys Rook - adoptive sister - deceased // Relationship: he was kind of her slave

???? Darrleeyia - Adoptive mother - alive // Relationship: motherly, friend, family

History

Sit down because it's going to be a long talk

He was born on a very poor little village and his parents never actually wanted kids, it's one more mouth to feed and they almost didn't have food for themselves, he was raised to work hard, he helped on home already at a age when he knew already what was happening around him. His mother never gave him a motherly love and his dad just talked to him to offend or to order him around, not that he cared about it, he thought it was how parents worked. One day his mother fell ill and died, at that age Dimitry was 6, he knew she wasn't coming back and his dad started to put the blame on him for her death, as if he could do anything. One day things got out of hand and his dad became alcoholic, then he started to owe money for people, and he couldn't pay it. So one day, when the opportunity came and he saw that Dimitry could use magic, he sold Dimitry to a couple that needed someone to cook, clean and entertain the guests of their bar on another village. They payed a good price and even more because of the magic Dimitry knew.

When he arrived he felt betrayed, left by his own father. So he thought "Well, he was an ass anyways. I'm sure I'll be better here" unfortunately, it was not what happened. They had already pointed out that they needed someone to cook and clean the bar, wich he already knew and was fine with it but then they started to abuse their power over him. His sister made him clean her bedroom, she would cut his hair just for "fun" and blame him for anything she had done, and of course her parents believed her and only her. He got spanked a lot of times and then he just decided he would never smile or talk again, because every word that comes out of his mouth turns against him, at this time he was 8.

One day a customer, different from all the others came directly at him. It was a woman, taller than everyone in that room, she used a hood and she had an air of superiority. She asked him why he was sad and why did he work so hard, he didn't answer, but she insisted on talking to him, she even invited him to sit on a table to talk with her but he refused since he was working. Then, she told him she had a way of saving him from that place, he was just like her, but because of always restraining his emotions and desires, he didn't look different from all the rest. She would come at night again to have one last talk and it was his choice if he wanted to go or not.

When the woman came back at night, she was without her hood and when she walked in, all the bar fell silent. He finally knew who that woman was. She was the woman from the tales, the legends, she was Darrleeyia, a goddess. She brings warmth, prosperity and happiness whenever she goes, and she was just there, on that miserable bar, just to ask him if he wanted to come home. After she made the question all the eyes fell on Dimitry, he felt anxious for the first time, but he knew she wouldn't be worse than what already was happening to him there, so he accepted her offer. She gave him her hand and they walked out of the bar without interruptions. What about the bar, you say? She burnt it down and she did not hide her satisfaction of it.

Together, they went got on a ship and she took Dimitry where he now can call home.

Five Facts:

Dimitry is allergic to shrimp. He discovered that when the Leader of the seas of the homeland gave him a shrimp as a treat for helping her out. The Leader got in trouble with Darrleeyia later on.

He is ambidextrous

He can purr, but it's rare. Extremely rare that only two people saw him do that. His mother and Maxwell

His body runs at a higher temperature than normal humans.

His diamond horns cannot be broken by anyone other than himself. If someone wants to take it out they'll have to crack Dimitry's skull.

Art References:

I got 99% inspired by @juliandev0rak's Cadmus bio soooo

#HE'S HERE DARLINGGG WHOOOOO #BOY #THIS TOOK LONGER THAN I EXPECTED #WHEW #BUT HERE IT ISS #there are more markings under the clothes #but eh #have fun!#apprentice dimitry #art #my art #the arcana #the arcana game #the arcana oc #oc bio

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sebastianshaw · 3 years

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RP Meme Lines from "AHS: Coven" Episode 2: "Boy Parts" Part One of Two

Every hook I baited with that jerk chicken got a gator.

It's the odor, I tell you.

Yeah, either way it's a death sentence.

Come on, come to Papa/Mama, baby.

Well, we're cooked if she already made the call

This is wrong. All wrong.

All rot and black.

This will not be forgiven.

Why would you kill God's innocent creatures?

You play with dead things, you're more than likely to join'em.

He should be canonized.

How can you be such a bitch?

I understand people, and that guy would have happily taken a turn on me if he had the chance.

He wasn't like that.

It's guilt by association.

I'm sorry I killed your boy candy, okay?

Given your black widow status, he was living on borrowed time anyways.

I'm kind of busy right now.

My God, what's that smell?

I went to a Chinese doctor, he gave me some herbs to boil. I know it's kind of pungent.

If you scream, I'm gonna put you right back in the ground where I found you.

I want you to tell me right now how it is you're still alive after all these years and not some moldering corpse.

Jesus, woman, it's a cell phone, all right?

Now you just stay quiet, and when I get back, we're gonna continue our little chat. And you better make it worth my while.

I got an "A" in math. All of 'em. Calculus, trig, advanced algebra.

Look, I'm sure you're a genius.

Look, Pencil Dick, I'm not stupid, okay?

You ate that extra piece, and now you want a freebie.

Get the manager!

I am the manager!

Did they send you to jail?

Help! She's burned me!

You didn't want to join us at first.

So, technically, I'm part of your tribe.

Is this where we all sing "Kum-Bah-Yah"?

Bitch, I will eat you!

You guys have got to start taking care of each other.

We have enough enemies on the outside.

How could they possibly do that?

I'm just looking for someone who had a motive to hurt those guys, who could've screwed with the brakes.

Maybe whatever happened in that room was upsetting.

Shouldn't we have a lawyer here or something?

Had you met them before?

They took me in the back room to try to get me high, but I said no.

She's come a long way with her addiction issues.

I felt bad for him.

He died right after you left.

I have no idea what she's talking about.

She's clearly lost her mind.

She can move things with her mind.

I killed that asshole in the hospital.

I have powers, too.

We're witches.

I have powers, too. We're witches.

[NAME] has clearly suffered some kind of mental break.

Everyone here is a witch.

Please don't send us to jail.

Nobody's going to jail.

Are you in charge here?

I'm in charge everywhere.

Oh. Tough guy.

Come on, give up.

I'm barely trying, you know.

In about ten seconds, I'm going to turn the heat up in that chubby melon of yours, and I'm gonna turn your brains to scrambled eggs.

Frankly, it's been a hard morning, and I'd really rather not work up a sweat.

Just drink the damn water, will you, please?

Do you think [NAME] can fix it?

You're such a goddamn idiot.

I can't believe you told them everything.

I'm supposed to be cleaning up my act.

When this gets out, I'm screwed.

Who cares? This is murder.

Who cares? This is murder. Like, multiple murders.

They're not gonna find any evidence that we messed with the bus because we didn't mess with the bus!

What did you do to that shit-dick in the hospital though?

Now, I forgave your ham-handed mass murder business with the bus-- overexuberance of youth and all that-- but if you haven't got the goddamn brains to know that when strangers come asking questions, we close ranks, then I fear our line is truly at an end.

I couldn't toast a piece of bread with the heat they were putting on you.

You are soft. You're emotional. You care what people think.

Now, if there's one thing you learn before leaving this place, it's that we, even the weakest among us, are better than the best of them.

Are we gonna get arrested?

You are missing the point.

In this whole wide wicked world, the only thing you have

to be afraid of is me.

I know what you did for me, dealing with that asshole, so I'm gonna return the favor.

Resurrection spell. We're gonna bring your boyfriend/girlfriend/dog/father/etc back to life.

Guess that crash was even worse than I thought.

He's still kind of cute though.

I see potential.

I wonder if he's a shower or a grower.

Is this just a joke to you?

All we have to do is follow this recipe.

Find me a saw.

How's the oven?

I wish I could say yes.

She goes through hell and it doesn't even work.

We've been at this for a year.

All I can do is stand around like an asshole while you get sick.

If you want to try this, I'll support it.

I'm not ready to give up.

I should be able to have a baby just like any other woman.

I know it's horrible, but a lot of women do this.

This is about us having a family.

You don't know what you're asking me to do.

This kind of magic-- it's. . . dark.

It's about life and death, and I don't want to play God.

So you're gonna let [NAME] play God instead.

Doesn't that smell good?

You probably don't need to eat, being immortal.

Of course, sometimes we just like to do things because we enjoy them.

#rp meme #rp memes #rp starters #roleplay meme #roleplay memes #roleplay starters #ahs #ahs coven #american horror story #my meme #my memes #my starters #out of shirt #okay to reblog

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huadie · 3 years

Text

anchor liveblog post.

the curse of prophecy: all of my high tier kins channel tmg.

" somebody’s gonna get hurt / i hope it’s not me / but i suspect it’s going to have to be.

---

episodes 1-3: the general doesn't deserve the sympathy he gets. i'm not excusing a woman who killed happy girls on their wedding days, but i do think he owed her that closure. sending his son just pits the burden onto someone who wasn't involved. he should look his failures and mistakes in the eyes. if you can't count on a god to do that, who can you expect it of? it's disgusting. / i feel so tired and sorry for the girl who died saving a man who hated her and hurt her friend. i don't think kind people should be on the hook for ignorance and spite so willingly. her life for his was an unfair trade. / He's Cute. and wildly unexpectedly gentle considering the whole "demon" thing. / b tells me i'll have kin ptsd about the face disorder, but right now it's just heartbreaking. nobody deserves to live with that kind of fear. nobody deserves to live with that kind of pain. / b also implies someone in heaven is doing it to them for fun and i just want to say right now that i'm going to pull his dick off thru his mouth. that's a tier of evil that should have your blood start boiling inside you in an attempt to disinfect it. that was a child. that was just a scared little boy. not a prop or a toy or a plot device. a child. / i like the baby generals. they are so nineteen but it's nice to see it. i know anime leans on comedy skits a lot, but they can carry it off. they're charming. / heaven looks a bit shit. all of that meditation and betterment and it just makes you a spineless politician with the power to airbend? christ on a bike.

---

episode 4-5: initial reactions. watching him swing between fuck-me eyes and genuine emotional distress at no signal i can see is a lot. he's a good painter. i think i get the gist of where he's coming from but it feels insane to me. the twitch duels were cute. he clearly cares a lot more than he enjoys devilry so it's insane to me that he's that strong. general jr destroys me. imagine being so pompous and negligent you'd give your child your name. has he ever been allowed to be his own person? meow meow etc. the face disease is horrific. he was just a kid. he was so scared and in pain. i like the temple. i like that it's raggedy and messy. maybe it should be over-repaired, so people in need can take from it? it's definitely not very reverant, but. gods should serve their people. quotes all of small gods here etc. they should want to serve their people. they should be happy to see their temples valued below human life. it would be nice to live in a ghibli film forever, and read books and cook warm food and paint.

episodes ???. thoughts said out loud. gods own their people. thousands, one, here and now you are alive. gods are owned by their people. it's a cage. it's the most beautiful cage possible. to feed starving people from your hands. the bread and the fishes cut out of you. to give and give and give, to be asked for things you have never had and give them next. each prayer should strip you to the bone. can you imagine? to be so trusted, so cared for, so beloved, so followed, to have so much given to you freely and happily. a live lived to save others is the only beautiful thing. the only beautiful thing! a god should be owned by each of their believers individually. selfishly and shallowly and demandingly. like a child needs you. the power to put a fish back in the water is a blessing so heavy thinking about being created for it should make you wail. to be - for people, for the birds and the trees and the fish too, but for the people. it should break your heart. you should never let it become monotone. sunlight into wine.

on love: i trust b. i trust b. to love him here like this and love him in this skin and then find him again in a book and on a screen and fall in love with him there too, to watch myself fall in love with him too. nobody has ever earned what he freely gives. i want to give it back. oxygen to dioxide, i want to find all the places he stands and pour it back into him. i want to show him how beautiful he is. to love someone like that is a miracle and i want to pull it apart. i want to make him familiar with me and bored of me, i want him to wake up each morning taking me for granted, i want him to be so safe and secure in his place in my heart that it stops being a gift. that it wears down and falls apart. the velveteen rabbit. i want to hold him in my hands like a bubble that hasn't popped and i want to use him like the doorway to a world where even if i had to hurt and be hurt and fall and learn to grow, i can come home at the end of it. my growth can mean something, my stronger back can bear more weight, my lessons can be shared. i want it to mean something. i want to have faith in myself again. in the resurrected kingdom of his arms i can find it - build it. i can come home. it can have turned to gold while i did not see it. it can have worth, i can have worth, i can bend and not break. i can have a claim on things without losing them, without it cursing them. just him. i'm not greedy, i'm not selfish, so please - just him.

episode 6: there's something that hurts about letting other people see what you'll tolerate. what you'll do. the places in your life where you have pathetic history and where you are attempting to be someone who only existed today grinding against one another. i know he knows. i know it isn't a stolen moment, a chance to decide how i exist to someone before they decide it for me. i sleep beneath that painting and whenever i wake up in the night i feel him pretend that he is asleep. i know. i know. but it could have - it could have been. it could have been a lie that i got to play with. a tiny self indulgence. aren't you tired of stars? aren't you tired of being the tree that cannot bend in a storm? of holding yourself down? everyone else does it so easily. everyone else lets go. everyone else knows how. if i can't learn then i want to pretend. i want to be unwanted, and - and meet people. by chance, just chance, and like them and have them like me. no promises i made before i learned i couldn't keep them. just... something smaller. i talked about multiverse theory. how it isn't in the coin flip, but the atoms of the coin. how in one dot you can know everything. every grain of sand in a desert. i cannot survive existing with people thinking of me. not well and not poorly. i want to disappear into it. maybe nobody else is obligated to finish the work. maybe their contributions are a blessing. but i can't... learn how to let it go. it's all i have left in me that i recognize, somedays, as it gathers dust and makes me sick to breathe around. what am i if i am not that? i want to know. i'm scared to know. i will never be allowed to find out.

on being loved: god. it is too much. i don't hate it. it doesn't disgust me. but i feel like a plate being washed in every inch of the sea before i am allowed to see dry land again. i feel like i won't survive it if i look at it because it is a mosque decorated in mirrors, because it is mathematically perfect, because it holds the tiny miracles of angles and existence and light on par with the miracles of human heart and existence, because to make at all is to change the world for the first time, because i do not want to see what it reflects. i do not want to see it. i would be better if it lied to itself, if it was delusional and selfish and obsessed with smoke tricks. if it saw silk and paint and stopped looking. i don't want to know what i look like with my hair down, with my face clean, with my feet dirty, with my hands raw - i don't want to see what it sees to know that it loves there too. i don't want to follow it. i don't know how to make it stop. how could i - how could anyone be held accountable for this? to this? to prayers and plans and a kindness that changes the world in every grain of sand it has and again the next second, how could anything be worth this? and if it could - it couldn't be me. not a collection of stupid wishes and failures and betrayals-by-failure. not me with my hair down. silk could be worth this.

on being loved now that it isn't the middle of the night, and my body isn't betraying us both, and i can remember that there are an infinite number of steps between 0 and 1: but really, it's just ink. just paper. if it's - if he. if it's everything. if it's everything. then it can be one thing. it can be this thing. it can be the blindness. it can be me with my own hands over my own eyes like a shutterbox pretending i don't know how to see myself and admit that the pea beneath my mattress only hurts me - that it's small, to him, that it isn't sharp, that it's a phantom limb i can't stop being tormented by and only ever that. can that be enough to start? can i let it? it's atoms again. grains of sand. if he can love this, he can love everything. if i can see this, the rest falls away. there are more universes where we are kissing than every atom from the start to the end of time. that's how it works. i'm going in circles. you don't mind, do you? i'm writing this for you. you're the only person reading this. i don't know why i'm being impersonal about you when i'm being possessive about me. it won't protect me. it won't make it less terrifying to think of, and it won't make it less painful for you to read. i know you're already mad at yourself for being too much. for making me think that it's too much. you're kind to me like that, even when things are my fault. but if we can sit here together, and i can know that you know i can't imagine being loved, and that that - that moment, that dot, me unable to count to the place where numbers end - is something you love too. if i can just see this one moment, and not doubt it or question it or be afraid of it. it can be enough. because you know how hard i'm working to get to even this first step. you know how hard i'm working. you know how scared i am. you know it isn't you. you'll wait for me, with me, and you won't hate me for it. you promised.

on being forgiven: i don't know how to do it for myself. i don't know how to blame people for what they do to me unless it's the most extreme circumstance. i forgive too much that shouldn't be and hold ignorance and spite against others long past when it's fair. i handwave any scar someone gave me while they were suffering and never let go of what they do to others. i don't know what makes it different when it's me. i guess i know how to forgive myself for being scared and lost and for making bad decisions under the influence of... whatever... but not lazy cruelty. not letting something bad happen because i felt like it. all i do now is watch. all i do is let things slide past me again and again and again and do nothing to help and it can't matter that my heart breaks about it when theirs don't if none of us get up, and i remind myself that small steps do more than a single leap that uses me up but it's so hard to believe that here and now in the world where i could die if i tried again and harder still to comprehend in a world where 800 years of lives were made and suffered through and lost and i did nothing that matters to help. maybe all of the horrible backstory parts you're so scared of me seeing will be ones where i could do something, where i could climb up and let everyone take a raw bite out of me and go without starving for just one day, and then this won't cut me up inside like i swallowed a hedgehog. some days i am the hedgehog. trapped inside me, unable to stop being something that cuts to have there, unable to get away. i don't know how you can forgive me. i don't even know if you know what i need forgiving for. if i apologize for saving your life - for coming back to you again and again and again and being so selfish and. i don't know. for being me, while you try to love me, instead of being the person i can't forgive myself for not being, who deserves to be loved by you like this. but you'll forgive me. how do you do it? how do you stand it? i'm jealous of you. of how easy your heart warms up. of how kind you are.

kosmi 1-6 rewatch: i dislike pei su less now that i can see him as a person with a horrific job and less as a vehicle for the lies i know pei ming told about every woman he ever used and threw away. "i burned the scroll and won the war on my own" yeah right. gotta get that out first before i start collecting my thoughts. um.

one: the ascention, the earthquakes, (all that fuss for a scrap god. you told me the order it went in, when i asked, and i still think it's funny in a way that validates what i've been saying for something only the most in-need ask for help with to rattle the bells from warlord's palaces. they aren't ignorable. more than - more than anything else, anything before, i can be proud of this. i can be proud of myself for this.) i hate the way people look at you like you're infected with something because they can't play pretend that their inaction isn't malice any more. the bets and jokes and sneers. what have you done, lately? what help have you given? what good are you? and then there's me: starting as ever in unfixable debt, anchoring desperately to simple kindnesses, too tired to do more than smile. it's not worth it. it's never worth it. (being loved and losing it is worse than never knowing. being able to love yourself and losing it is worse than that.) the way that heaven sits unfixable and unchanging and incompetent. i'm proud of them for making something of their futures. i am. i don't begrudge them anything. i trust their character and i trust them to try to do the right thing for the people. i'm glad they didn't fight hua cheng. the kids are sweet. they're little carbon copies of their generals. it's sweet. it's kind. i like how... okay, they're mean and short tempered and fight like cats in a bag, but it's just the way you are at that age. it's not personal. it's easier to stand. i know there's gender coding tm in the novel, but i hate man-in-a-dress gags that point out that the man looks bad in a dress. i thought it was fine.

one point five: ok. i'll talk about it. the butterflies on the dress, the gentle music, the way our colours matched, the way your hand felt in mine. the sound of rain. i didn't know people could be so gentle. i didn't know they knew how. i think it was better for my health, before, when i assumed the best i ever saw was the best people were capable of. worse for me, though, to believe that. i'd forgotten what it was like to see myself in someone else's eyes as welcome.

zero point five: flashback sequence goes here. of course i remember what it was like to be loved, and work towards a clear goal that helped people. of course i remember what it was like to have a home that loved me back. he looked so scared as he fell. he looked terrified. i don't... i'm not good. at hating people. when i know everyone is driven to where they arrive in some degree or other. but that - whatever the reason they think they had, it isn't enough. it couldn't ever be enough. i hate seeing the human face disease. i hate how scared they are. how obviously in pain they are. i know they can't have survived. but i wish they could. i would give anything if they could. i would give anything up for it. have i talked about responsibility enough that this isn't a surprise yet? nobody should be that scared. nobody should suffer who hasn't chosen it to protect others. nobody should have to choose it, either, but if heaven has already failed you -

two: i hate that bald man. i hate watching that poor freckled girl throw herself on him again and again to save him just because he's human, while he takes every turn to re-learn hate and jealousy and hurt others. when he talks to his friends he almost humanizes himself, and i hope the time he spends as a crab fixes the rest. i truly do. but god i hate to see it. i hate being unable to do anything, because she chose it, because she knows him more than me, because her heart is kind enough to reach out to him even as it betrays and abandons the people in-need who can only go to her for help. you have to triage need. a life lived with the intent to harm others cannot come before a life lived with the intent to help, or to simply survive. anyway. the concern i get shown whenever i talk about the butterfly ghost is so charming.

three: i hate pei ming. his story is shallow and self-praising, his jilted lover competent and proud before he cured her of that with a kiss. i don't believe she broke her legs. i don't believe he passed over the chance to shortcut his way into glory. am i supposed to believe women just act like that? they just break their own knees for attention? she destroyed herself for him and he can't even pretend to care. not even at the end. not even to lie, and let her move on. so, what? thirteen girls die terrified and alone on the happiest day of their lives (- and we know it was happy for them, we know they went smiling up the path, we know they were excited) because he didn't have the stamnia to apologise to one person he hurt? i hate him. i hate his name, i hate his family, i hate his legacy of butchers, i hate his cowardice in sending pei su to grind out his cover story and then hide his mistakes where he doesn't have to look. i hate him. / i feel. so bad for that boy. he was so scared. do you know how scared you have to be to take scissors to yourself? i do. i have, literally, in the last year, actually. and that was... one cut. to avoid the risk of infection. sleeping on a wound that screams at you? he was a child. he was just a child. i let him down. there's no excuse. he needed reassurance. he needed protecting. i let him down.

four: i like that shrine. i like making it, owning it, doing something meaningful. i think a shrine for scrap should be made of more materials than it needs. i think it should be a place to sleep, always, and a place to eat, and you should be able to strip the roof if you need to. i don't care about what is proper, or respectful. respect the god of scavenger birds by surviving at any cost. by using what is useful. by taking what is free. i can build it again. if i know - if i can believe one good thing about myself, it's that i can build it again. as many times as it takes. i won't wear out. i won't give up. i can build it again. and how lucky, this time, to have help. there are so many things i can't do, even now. i need to learn. i never even thought about it until i saw that door. too long alone in my own head. too many years spent without it feeling worth the effort when a band-aid would hold.

four point five: again, ok, fine. i'll talk about it. you're beautiful. your eyes are like starlight, your smile is the warmest thing i've ever seen, your hands should be buried in an instrument, your painting is beautiful, your laugh is endearing - what do you want from me, here? of course i was looking. it's different to look now with your hand in mine than it was, then, to look just to look. to count threads just to count. to run my fingers through your hair and across your palm just to touch something. of course i knew. who wouldn't know you? who couldn't tell? but then, what was i going to do? know it? say it? ask things? better to be stupid, and naive, and find out what knife is waiting for me when it happens. i'm tired of speeding through the sweet moments to get to the next blade. i'm tired of being pushed from place to place. i'm tired of being alone. wasn't it fun? didn't we have fun? didn't you like talking together and cooking together and waking up in the morning in an empty shrine with the promise of another day to fill it? do i have to scream and shout and be suspicious and accuse you of - what! of holding my hand? of helping me? of being the exact same as everyone in heaven still deigning to look at me and thinking of me only as a tool to an end in a plan that will hurt people who did nothing wrong but pray? what can the harvest hope for if not the care of the reaper man? if it's - it always hurts. it always hurts. if it's going to hurt. why shouldn't it be kind first? why shouldn't i play stupid and keep you close and be usable without a heart left in me to break? why shouldn't i enjoy it for what it is, if it's all a lie? better me than someone who would be hurt by it. you're smart, and easy to talk to, and you're helping. you can't unbuild that door. unsweep the entryway. you can't undo the physical evidence of when you were kind. that's enough. that's all i can ever ask of people.

four point now: yes i know you wouldn't, now, i know you now, i don't need to gamble. i know you'd build a thousand doors. i know there's no trick. i know that it's safe. i know that i could have accused you and screamed and bit you and nothing would have made a difference and you still would have been kind. i know. i promise i know. i just... have to say where it was before. i have to tell you how important that kindness was, and how much i was willing to be kind to my own self to keep it near me. you understand what i mean, right? the tiny unforgivable act of making a mistake that could only hurt me? i know, i know. cocky to assume it would just be me hurt. but - if i was right to hope for nothing, i would make sure of that. i would make sure of it. i would do what i needed to to make sure only i was hurt for my selfishness.

five: i hate that we built a shrine and the next day something like that waltzed in. now we have to clean again. (i said in the stream, how funny it was to run that only survivor scam, how quickly it falls apart if you've ever seen real suffering, if you know what a survival rate is.) the rest i don't remember. i like working as a team. i like how much the kids hate you. they can tell too. i don't know what they see. but they worry about me. why do they worry so much? do their generals have something invested in me? are they just trying to do what they can now, and my caring for them isn't a one-way road? do you look that sketchy?

six: talking about the plot? in a sandstorm? no. you should keep my hat on. you look so sweet and cute and shy in it. i love the way you crumple when you aren't at the wheel, when an interaction happens without your instigation. maybe i'm not the only one bad at taking kindness. maybe i should offer it to you more often. you smell nice. like hot clay and silk. it's subtle. is that a ghost king thing, or is it just you? i like it. i can't imagine what i smell like. i hope... lillies and cotton. something soft. i'll ask you one day. i'm not surprised you were the most solid thing in a storm. i won't be surprised if you keep being that. i should have let you catch me. i should have dragged you with me. are you immune to it? could you stop it? would you pretend to be as useless and helpless as i am? i want to keep putting you in situations in disguise just to see what you do. it's fun! it probably shouldn't be, and i'm sure i'm setting myself up for a public shriving the more it becomes obvious who you are and how much i depend on you, but. i don't care. if i suffer for it, so what? what difference will that make? what could one more condemnation possibly do?

six point five: i like seeing sqx. i still read that as squeeks. i like seeing squeeks. i like sharing this with teddy. i like knowing that the way we are together can translate to here. i like how kind he is to me, and how funny, and sweet. i want to see him be happy. i want to see him be happy even though i know enough to infer it won't last. i know you love me with the power of a thousand angry wasp queens but it's nice to just sit next to him and joke with him and pretend for a little bit that i got to do this all the time. that i spent all my years drinking honey and rosewater and laughing with him, that things were as kind and easy as they're allowed to be. it's cute when i say he has a moral code and he gets offended. it's cute when i say he's a bitch and he gets offended. i like the way it makes all three of us laugh. i like seeing a place in my heaven where you could be. i don't want you to give up what you built. you built it because you had to. but when i'm sitting with my head on his shoulder, it's a window to that place where heaven exists to help people, where none of us ever had to learn what misery really was.

what power obliges from you: action. movement, always. there is no down time, no sleep, no rest, no running. if you seek people out to rule them - and that is what ascention is, seeking to rule, to tie your survival to your treatment of them - then you cannot do it with force and with ignorance and with the desire to coast. like. i'm not stupid. i know men do. for centuries and centuries with no repercussions, until the king on the rope for his people is as far related to the man who razed their lands as i am, (but inheriting evil is a choice too). i know how easy it is to punish and hurt and demand. how easy it is to hold people for ransom. but that isn't... that isn't power. that isn't kinghood or godhood or divine right. it's worthless. it's the other end of a sword. it kills you both to use. there's no light left in the world, no wonder, no chance to be saved by others so long as you are the thing that keeps you both drowning. you should wake up in the middle of the night for them without being asked. you should bleed for them without being asked. you should be ready to die for them without them ever knowing. even at their worst. at their most entitled, afraid, undignified, ignorant - if they are those things, the blame falls on you. if you are voted in democratically or born to the monarchy and not hanged in the streets it is the same either way: the people have chosen, they are asking you for something, and if you live in their gold and silk and sing their songs instead of smashing your own head in with a rock then you have agreed to the terms. why would anyone be unwilling to do that? afraid to do that? if you can do even a little bit more than someone else they are owed half of the excess. you cannot live in the world alone. you must not live in the world alone. ask the people above you to bleed for you and the people below you for nothing. there is no hierarchy beyond "i can help you" and "please help me" and there is no meaning beyond it either. every day it is hard to remember this but you have to, both parts, without losing either. why wouldn't anyone want this? what else is there to strive for but to better help others, to be someone with an abundance to share, to be used like that for the survival of everyone. isn't that happiness? to be as connected to everyone around you as a river is? to give water and fruit and blessings and promises and safety and shelter? you can seek power without understanding that it is only deeper service, but you will never do anything worthwhile with it. the gold will rot with your corpse. we find immortality in one another, and the celebration of giving more.

???: i saw a video of someone opening their back gate onto a meadow of the same single flower. it was beautiful. that's what it feels like when i catch you looking at me. we could grow flowers, couldn't we? we could plan a garden? i don't want to see myself fall and fail twice at least, or fight a war, without something kind at the end. i want you to tell me there's a way to still be like this - repairing doors, eating small meals, sleeping in warm air - after all of that is done. i want to build something selfish and self-sufficient together. i know we already are. in the things we talk about the jokes we make at my own expense whenever further plot implies at me. and in how excited i was to find out that the word for butterfly was this one. but i want to make things with our hands again.

episode 7: well. i'm glad it was me.

episode 7 (a day later): i'm still glad it was me. i'm proud of the kids for how brave they are, proud of that general for saving lives every time - and god, it was so funny sitting there in a circle of contempt for him, touching a gravestone people had hand cut and hauled up the mountain and carefully ingraved with their thanks, thinking about how loved and how much gratitude he must have died surrounded by. thank you for making them treat it with respect. thank you. he did his best. i'm almost jealous of it. imagine how nice it would be to help people, and have them see that you helped them, and be happy about it, and think kindly of you. i'm glad that you understood how important his actions were. i feel less alone when you're beside me on matters like that. anyway - i'm glad it was me. you're so bad at letting people care for you. i can tell you've been alone with only yourself to depend on for a long time. but your heart is so soft, you know? you don't even know it. you deserve to be protected. to be with people who want to protect you. it doesn't matter if you could have caught it in time, or survived a bite if you didn't - you should be able to think of yourself as precious to others. to me. i don't want to see you hurt. i don't ever want to take your hard-won strengths for granted. on the last day of earth, i want to move between you and danger as quickly and without apology as i did then. you're so easy to care for. do you know? and i'll be okay. i know you blame yourself for it because you said, because you're never gentle with yourself the way you are with me. but if you hadn't been there, i'm sure i would have stepped between someone else and that bite. i'm sure i would have forgotten again to grab the stinger i was just warning everyone about. you know what would change? if you hadn't been there, if you'd been a bit faster with your own defense, "if" "if" "if" - ? i wouldn't know there was a cure. i wouldn't know where to look for it, or be able to depend on someone helping me find it. that's the difference you made by being there. that's the only influence you had on me that day. you keep giving me the chance to survive my own mistakes. thank you. i can't promise we won't end up here again. i can't promise i won't keep trying to protect you. all i can do is hope that you know i don't mean it as a slight on your capabilities (it isn't! i just care about you. even the strongest man alive should be loved by people who want to shield him from danger) and that you don't get tired of me being so reckless.

#anchor.

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bowieemeddow · 4 years

Text

TRINITY. (Queen Fanfiction)

Part 1 // Runaway.

Summary: Margaret McCullugh comes to the realisation that her life is a total mess. After an argument she realises she’s had enough; she grabs her bags and runs away.

Note:Hi guys this is the first chapter of my new fanfiction. I’m not the best writer and this is my first time so please go easy on me; there will be grammar and spelling mistakes throughout this chapter. Feedback will be greatly appreciated 🙂

Warnings; Swearing, sexual assault, bad writing, slight Scottish slang (I’m from Scotland and I write the way I talk sorry 😉✌🏻)

Enjoy.

Thursday // May 1970

"I've never wanted to punch him in the face more in my life than at this point of time." I thought to myself as I glared at him across the dining table. Even from what felt like a mile away; I could still see that smug look on his Greg's face.

"Margret! Are you even listening to me?" I tore my focus from my bastard of a step father to my bastard of a mother. "You'll be meeting Thomas next thursday remember. To talk about arrangements."

Ah Thomas Russel. Son to a millionaire family; him being a successful doctor in the making at 22 and is apparently a distant relative of some foreign royal family (to be fair I wasn't listening to the shit leaving my mothers mouth)

The cherry on top of it all; I've never actually met the boy and I'm his fiancé.

"Poor Thomas." Gina; my younger sister mumbled under her breath while eating her dinner.

"Mind your own business you little shit!" I spat kicking her harshly under the table. Believe me I know this makes me look bad but I promise you I'm not a bad sister; I was actually excited when I found out I had another sibling on the way. I loved her even when she was a newborn. It was when she started talking; she turned into a sneaky little bully and mummy's favourite.

"That's enough don't you dare kick your sister again!" She snapped at me.

I cringed at my mothers comment; more because of the way she said it. Trying to act as posh as possible; trying to mask the natural Glaswegian accent she's had her whole life; the same thick apparently "rough" accent I also have yet Gina never developed it as bad as me, my dad had the rough accent and I was a daddy’s girl... before he left us.

"Why do I have to marry him. I didn't him pick him, hell I haven't even met him! Marrying me off to becoming nothing but a trophy wife? Fully dependable on my husband with a big empty house full of loads of children. Nothing to do except cooking and cleaning-"

"Can we please change the topic?! I don't feel like sending you upstairs again." My mum sighed

"Oh mother!" Gina exclaimed making me jump; her bloody voice goes right through me.

"This dinner is absolutely amazing!" I chuckled to myself quietly, Gina is so far up mums arse it's embarrassing.

"Thank you darling I made it myself."

Yeah right did she make this shit, she doesn't even know how to use the stove, it was the cook that made it. All of it is vegan since "meat is the reason why your acne is so bad and you've starting to lose that figure Margaret, you simply don't take proper care of yourself."

“Oh god I forgot! I was meant to take you bra shopping today.” Mum informed Gina

“But she’s only 13 mum. I never got my first bra till I was 15?” I argued, Gina got everything she wanted without having to even lift a finger.

“You should go with them Margaret. You wear too small a bra better go up a size sweets." He smirked away as he took a drink of his wine that's likely more expensive than everything I own.

At that point I was so pissed off I grabbed the closest thing to me which was a potato from my plate funnily enough and threw it at his head. If I wasn’t so pissed off I think would’ve found it difficult to keep a straight face.

Friday// May 1970

While sitting in period 7 English I thought back to last night.

After successfully hitting Greg's big head with a potato for his inappropriate comment about his step daughter's breasts; Mum took his side and got sent upstairs without eating anything for the rest of the night; not like I wanted to eat any of that shit anyway.

"God he's so cute!" The girl next to me squealed to her friends who were both in front of her; their chairs turned from their tables to form a circle that I was sadly apart of. I wasn friends with the three girls; Tracey, Yasmine and Gemma were the popular girls, the best housewives in the making.

I looked down at the newspaper which Tracey had in her hands, it was crumpled up due to her "fan girl" moment taking over her senses.

"The Gregory Special." The newspaper was called;

Only rich wankers read it.

"Thomas Russel is ready to settle down but who's the lucky girl?"

It said with a picture of the boy himself below it . Wasn't his best picture; he was probably flirting with some random girl in while the photo was being taken.

"So who is the bitch huh?" Gemma spat as Tracey read away at the newspaper trying to figure it out.

"YOU! Mrs Reynolds wants to see you in her office.” My English teacher shouted pointing at me it made the three girls jump back to their original spots as if they were actually listening to the lesson.

Shit what have I done now; I usually lose track at this point.

While putting my things in my bag I looked over at the three girls to see them scanning back through the newspaper frantically to find out who the "lucky woman" was.

I accidentally let out a chuckle of sympathy which caught their attention.

“I’m sorry, is there something you want to say?” Jemma snapped.

"Yeah I do actually since you three can't read for shit. Page 24." I sassed back and waited a moment.

"Margaret McCullugh? Who the bloody hell is that?!" I rolled my eyes at the stupidness.

"Margaret McCullugh. Now." My teacher shouted across the classroom which I nodded to standing up and grabbing my bag and coat with a grin on my face.

The three girls had their mouths wide open once they put two and two together; it was me.

"Bye girls." I whispered chuckling while leaving the classroom.

...

"Please tell me you are joking Miss McCullugh?" Mrs Reynolds pleaded with me

"What's wrong with what I want to do once I leave here?" I argued back.

"Your mother is a politician; she could bloody well be the prime minister in a several years time. How is she gonna get there with her child wanting to do.... textile design?" She gagged at the though of me becoming something that wasn't a doctor or lawyer.

"Why does it fucking matter anyway I can't even do what I want. My mums already set up my whole life." I argued back slouching in my seat with my arms crossed over my chest.

Fuck being ladylike.

"Ah your talking about your engagement with Thomas Russel. Your mother wants you to just be okay, she's worked hard for where she is right now and it was a risky thing she done to get there. She doesn't want you taking any risks when you go onto be a politician or a lawyer-"

"Or a textile design artist." I corrected for her not giving in to her manipulation.

"Margaret I know you okay. Through these past 6 years that you've been in this school you've been very strong willed and feministic attitude to social issues and topics."

"Damn right-"

"But I'm sorry to burst your bubble but this is a patriarchal society we are living in. Woman will not change society. Ever."

I was beyond pissed at this moment of time. I shot up off my seat and slammed down both my hands on her desk in order to shut her up.

"Fucking watch me then!”

...

Saturday // May // 1970

"Hey chickadee." Tana smiled as she came into one of the private rooms of the pub, she lifted my feet and plopped herself next to me in the booth then put my feet back down to they were resting on her lap.

"Hi." I said stretching slightly as I shut my notebook over immediately and set it down on the table.

Tana was probably one of my only friends at this point of time; the moment she turned 19 she was allowed to decorate her parents bar; to which she called me up and asked to borrow my creative mind for help. Before it was just an old looking bar where young ones likes to hang out; now it was a modern neon, rock music bar.

"Glam Rock" it was called and it was placed in a more poverty ridden area of Glasgow. If my mum found out I was here I'd get murdered.

Every Saturday night people from everywhere would come here and celebrate a new "generation" as they called it.

"This new rock generation is gonna grow everywhere. Where men dress like women and women dress like men. Completely and utterly flamboyant!" I remember Tana saying to me when I first came across this bar; it was a Saturday morning and she was getting ready for a party. I was here because I was trying to find the record shop since they sell limited editions for half off.

"We just need someone to spread Glam Rock to every corner of the world."

"HELLO EARTH TO MARGARET!" She shouted snapping her fingers in front of me.

"Huh?" I said snapping back to reality.

"I said were you writing something?" She said pointing to my notebook, I didn't answer yet again because I was too busy admiring what she was wearing.

"For fuck sake! Have you took something?" She laughed trying to get my attention again.

"Sorry, sorry just had a long day. Thinking about what kind of punishment I'll get this time once I make my way home." I chuckled

"Anyways what did you say again?"

"Writing songs... oh and you've also got your camera."

"When am I not writing songs or taking photos Tana?" I said sitting up to grab my vodka and lemonade and down it.

"That's very true. So, let's see what photos you took." She said as she pulled off her slip on heels so she could fold them in a basket.

I put down the two photos I took on the table.

"Have you got a pen." I asked her as she admired the photos.

"Umm.. yeah I think somewhere in they drawers." She said turning her head to the left to show me where it was.

"This bar does look fucking amazing, you have to admit it."

"It's because I decorated it Tana. I hate to toot my own horn here but I'm fucking brilliant at decorating." I laughed as I took one of the photos and wrote the location and date behind it; then done the same with the other.

"You're good at everything you do it does my head in." Tana complained with a groan as she ran her fingers through her black long curly hair.

"I'm not."

"You are. You can paint, you create these amazing clothes, you can play the piano like no one else. You're an amazing singer..." my smile dropped as I grabbed both the photos from Tana's grip and stuck them in my bra for safekeeping before sticking the the pen back in the drawer; the room was so silent you could hear a pin drop, or more like you could here me slamming the drawer shut.

"Maggie-"

"I'm not a singer." I said interrupting her.

"Correction, your mum says your not a singer. But frankly love, you're the best singer I've ever heard. You should join a band."

"That'll never happen."

....

Sunday // May 1970

Walking up the driveway of my massive house barefoot with my heels in my hand, my make up and hair a mess I knew I was in for it.

I accidentally fell asleep at Tana's last night and now it's 8am in the morning.

I walked in the house and shut the door behind me.

"MARGARET BEATRIX MCCULLUGH!" I heard my mum screech as the sound of her heels became louder and louder.

"God don't say my middle name." I cringed with my face scrunched up; a massive migraine was starting to take its toll on me.

"Where were you?" She shrieked once again; I'm starting to see stars with how bad my freaking headache is. It's way to bright in this house.

"I'm sorry I fell asleep at Tana's I should've called you it's my mistake I won't let it happen again."

One thing to know about me; when I'm in the wrong I apologise.

One thing to know about my mum; she throws my apology right back in my face and calls me immature.

"TANAS!" She started to trail behind me as I clumsily made my way up the stairs to my bedroom door. Once I reached the door I got an overwhelming feeling that I was about to vomit so I stopped for a moment to calm myself down.

I leaned my forehead against the cool marble that the whole house was made from to cool myself down.

"WHAT HAVE I TOLD YOU! NO GOING TO ROCK GLAM, NO DRINKING, NO KISSING RANDOM GIRLS OR BOYS."

She caught a glimpse at my notebook; purple velvet and green floral exterior. She knew exactly what it was and snatched it from my hand.

"Hey!-"

"AND NO MAKING SONGS. NO SINGING SONGS I TOLD YOU NOT TO SING OR WRITE THEY DIRTY LYRICS."

I snatched the book from her and held it right to my chest. This book was my lyrics, my ideas, my thoughts, feeling. My whole life.

"ITS CALLED ROCK MUM! Get with the times, it's the Beatles that are popular now, not fucking hymns." I snapped as I walked into my room. Before I got the chance to shut the door over she was already invading my space.

"I don't give a shit what it's called. Stop it okay! That part of your life is over. It's time to grow up and face reality. You are engaged-"

"I'm not marrying him you can fuck right off." I looked at her through my full length mirror as she walked up to me. Her expensive heels clicking against my flooring as she walked closer to me.

"You're an ungrateful human being you know that. I found you a man; a millionaire who can take care of you for life you won't have to work a day in your life-"

"Yeah that's what I'll do, I'll go right ahead and marry a man I don't marry so that I'll birth all his kids and be his perfect dumb trophy wife for life. You worked hard to get where you are, why can't I work hard in something I wane you do. I don't need a man to do that." I said smothered in sarcasm making my mother roll her eyes.

"You and your bloody pride. Here's the real world Margaret; a woman's purpose main purpose in life is to get married and as the bible preached, have children. You'll never be anything different." She spat.

"You're going to the Russel's household on Thursday morning for you to plan the wedding with your fiancé with a big bloody smile on your face you hear me?"

I chuckled softly as I walked up so our faces our almost touching; her Chanel No.5 tickling my nose.

"I'd love to see you try." I spat in her face. I suddenly gasped as her hand connected with my cheek forcing my face to the side as my cheek started to warm up almost instantly.

"I hate you, you're not my daughter you know! I should've aborted you when I had the chance you know that! If it killed me oh well, as long AS YOU WHERE NEVER BORN." She screamed in my face, she turned to leave my room to meet Greg leaning against the door frame.

"Are you okay Darling?" Greg asked my mum; his voice all sweet and soft making my scoff and roll my eyes.

She ignored him and left in anger.

"Would you get the fuck out of my room?!" I asked, his head snapped from watching my mum as she made her way down the landing and down the stairs to me.

"Seems you need to be put in your place a bit huh?" He asked as he walked up to me, so close to my face I could feel his breath hit my skin.

"I don't see the bad thing about being a trophy wife Sweets? You'd be a damn good one anyway."He chuckled as he looked at me up and down licking his lips. His hands were resting on my arse ready to give it a spank. A sudden spur of anger and confidence caused me to push him back.

"Touch me again and I swear I'll rip your tongue out."

"You don't have the guts." He simply said before leaving the room.

He's right I didn't have the guts, I didn't have the guts to go to the police and ruins my mother's career that she worked so hard for when it got out to the media that her husband is a child molester.

So Ive kept my mouth shut for years.

I feel hot years fill my eyes, I take a long deep breath in an attempt to calm myself down while looking up at the ceiling to try and stop the crying; I didn't want to give him the satisfaction.

That's when I found myself packing a suitcase, grabbing my passport, some money I had. A couple of outfits to keep me going two or three weeks.

I grabbed my notebook, my Polaroid camera and my box full of Polaroid's and squashed it all into one massive suitcase.

I had to leave the rest so I could move quickly.

___

An hour later my family left to go out for lunch without me. I sat at the window and watched them leave.

I watched them get smaller smaller until eventually I couldn't seem them at all.

I would never see them again.

I grabbed my suitcase, grabbed the keys to my mums car and fucked off out of there with the intention of never returning again.

_____

I just had to put Harry Styles in there somewhere.

Sorry not sorry 🤪😩

#ben hardy #joe mazzello imagine #queen blurb #queen headcannon #queen imagines #queen fanfiction #roger taylor imagine #roger taylor #brian may #john deacon #bohemian rhapsody #borhap fanfic

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guava-jarritos · 6 years

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how can you be a Christian and be gay? as a fellow Christian, I've always been taught gay is Not Okay. I hope this doesn't come off as offensive or judgemental, because I'm genuinely curious

Sorry it took me a little longer to answer this, I wanted to do so to the best of my ability. I hope this helps clear anything up! Feel free to send another ask if you need to :)

Does the Bible say that homosexuality is a sin? You could argue that yes, it does (given different translations of the original Hebrew, Aramaic, Greek, and Latin, however, you could also argue that it does not – I’m not a language scholar though, so I won’t get too deep into that).

Here’s the thing though - do we follow every single law in the Bible? Absolutely NOT. At least, not to the exact letter. I mean, have you looked at the Old Testament?? Leviticus?? Some of that stuff is downright inapplicable in the society we live in today, and given “traditional” contemporary American Christian values.

“Don’t eat shellfish. Don’t eat pork. Don’t touch dead bodies. Don’t have sex with a woman on her period. Don’t even TOUCH a woman on her period, or anything she touches. Don’t have sex with animals (duh). Don’t wear clothes with more than one type of fabric.” And so on. We KNOW these are don’t necessarily apply to us today (well, okay, except the animals one). We know them as the “health laws” - laws put in place to protect an ancient nation against dangers and illnesses they didn’t know about or have the means to cure yet. Could the “man shall not lay with man” law be a health law? Sure, why not?

Thing is, most of the modern church doesn’t think so.

It does seem to be a bit of a reach, right?

So what else does the Bible say is okay, even encourage? That would be SLAVERY. And what about the whole “if a man rapes an unmarried woman, he has to pay her dad and then marry her.” That sounds… horrendous.

The latter is actually a huge reason why I didn’t consider myself a Christian for years. Somebody pointed out to me, though, that the context is the most important thing to understand.

The ancient Israeli culture was patriarchal - extremely so. Women had next to no place in society, besides to cook and clean and bear children. It was considered highly valuable to marry only a virgin. If that woman who was raped was left to her own defenses, if the law didn’t say to marry the man who took her virginity, then she would have been left to herself her whole life. As messed up as it was, no one would have wanted to marry her. And a single woman, in that culture, was possibly one of the worst things to be, second only to a leper. She would have had no livelihood, no children, no way to feed and clothe herself besides begging. So for the law to say that that man had to marry her, was in fact probably looking out for her well-being. It’s seen as horrible today, because a single woman CAN make a living for herself, because we are infinitely closer to gender equality now, and because she wouldn’t be seen as undesirable in the first place.

So what about the slavery laws? Again, cultural context is key. It was normal. It wasn’t seen as the abomination it’s seen as today. Granted, the Hebrew laws that they followed kept slavery relatively humane, but even with those guidelines, we would NEVER even DARE to allow slavery today. It is no longer culturally acceptable, and we understand it to be degrading of the human life. We have better ways of taking care of the poor, now.

So here’s what we know: the Bible holds laws that we no longer follow, for very valid reasons. Our culture is worlds apart from those the Bible was written during. It’s not about the letter of the law, but the spirit of the law. I mean, Paul told Christian women not to wear jewelry and to cover their heads. Why? Cultural context - where and when that church body lived, it was prostitutes and idol-worshippers (but mostly prostitutes) who wore jewelry and wore their hair uncovered. It was like telling them not to wear lingerie out and about - it was culturally unacceptable if they wanted to differentiate themselves from prostitutes and idolaters.

It’s also very important to remember that while the Bible is 100% truth, we as humans are fallible, and can easily misinterpret said truth. Misinterpretation of the Bible was used to justify the Crusades, and even more recently and relevantly, American slavery. It is the SPIRIT of the words that we need to focus on, and not always the LETTER.

So why is it so hard for most of the modern church to accept that maybe, just maybe, the homosexuality laws and verses (there’s not even that many in there, if we’re being honest – there are many more on slavery) are the same?

The deal-breaker for me, though, isn’t even in the Bible. It’s in the people.

When I’m jealous, or dishonest, or greedy - when I’m holding a grudge or badmouthing and gossiping about someone else, I know it’s wrong. I FEEL that it’s wrong - I feel dirty.

When I look at the love between LGBT couples, when I think about the way I feel about girls (and boys, and anyone), I don’t feel dirty. It feels pure, and beautiful, and innocent. There are very few things that I believe with my entire being. That there is some sort of God is one of them. That this is not wrong is another. I believe - I know - heart, soul, and mind - that who I am, who you are, that the community, is not a sin.

But COULD I be wrong? Sure. I’m not omniscient. There’s always the chance. I mean, come on, there’s always that chance that Christianity ISN’T the way, the truth, and the light, and when I die I’m gonna be in a world of hurt. I’m still taking my chances (that’s a whole other sermon, though). Here’s the thing though - even if I am wrong, and this is a sin, one of the biggest creeds of the Bible is that all sin is equal in God’s eyes. The BIGGEST creed is that God “sent his only son so that whoever believes in him will not perish, but have eternal life.” That’s it. End of the deal. Doesn’t matter what you’ve done, what a mess you’ve made of your life, if you trust and truly believe, you are saved. Sure, it’s always great to try not to sin, but like I said, I don’t believe that is a sin in the first place. And if I’m wrong? Well, then I’m no worse off than the Christians that truly hate people like me (cough, LOVE YOUR NEIGHBOR, cough).

When I look at the “Romans Road,” it confounds me how other Christians can look at the same verses I am and yet take them completely differently.

“For all have sinned, and fall short of the glory of God.” (3:23)

“Because, if you confess with your mouth that Jesus is Lord and believe in your heart that God raised him from the dead, you will be saved.” (10:9)

“For everyone who calls on the name of the Lord will be saved.” (10:13)

“There is therefore no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus.” (8:9)

“For I am sure that … [nothing] in all creation will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.” (8:38-39)

The two greatest commandments are to “love the Lord your God with all your heart, mind, soul, and strength,” and to “love your neighbor as yourself.” In essence, love God and love people. When we use the Word of God to hurt others, that is not loving people, and thereby not loving God to the best of our ability.

And as for me personally? How and why I came to all these conclusions? When I was 14, I knew that I wasn’t straight. I also knew that there were things within the Church that I couldn’t stand by. As I got older, my sexuality became more of a conflict. I knew, down to my bones, that I was not a mistake, that there was nothing WRONG with me, but also knew, just as inherently, that there was a God and that God was the one I was raised to follow. I just didn’t know how to reconcile these two beliefs, neither of which I was capable of compromising.

I truly do believe that all of this, the people who spoke this into my life, the articles and verses I’ve read which have convinced me of everything in this “essay” and more, is what saved my faith. If I had had to compromise something, unfortunately it would have ended up being what I was raised to believe, and not what I believed on my own.

If it were not for God showing me love, I would have lost my faith. And it’s still hard, yeah. It’s VERY easy for me to become complacent in my faith. No matter how much I believe, no matter how strong my foundational faith is, when you constantly hear the people in your life express the belief that you, and people like you, are incapable of a relationship with God, you can start to subconsciously believe it. So I have to work harder at it, and I am extremely blessed to have wonderful friends in my life who try to keep me accountable.

Long story short, it is okay if you can’t reconcile the two on your own. What is NOT okay is if you use your own personal values to harm another person’s relationship with God. I have been on the receiving end of that, and my faith almost didn’t survive.

Jesus hung out with prostitutes and thieves and murderers. He’s a chill dude. I believe that love is love, and I also believe that God is love.

#also: i've got a WHOLE different ''gender and christianity'' speech too #answered #anon #christianity #faith #god #bible #jesus #lgbtq #lgbt #gay #bi #pan #religion #church #positivity #personal story #personal

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dragonquill · 6 years

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Hi! I saw your recent posts about Fanfic BTS and I was just wondering if you got my ask some time ago about Kings and Concubines and Fanfic Questions? I don't mean to chase you, and if you had it please ignore me (I'm so sorry), but I know Tumblr sometimes doesn't deliver asks. Thank you.

Ohhh thank you! I really have loads of fun doing these, and with the writing block I’ve been under, they make me feel super happy!

Of Concubines and Kings

Who cooks: They both KNOW how to cook. Cooking for the king is mainly done within his harem, and as their mothers are the queen and the favorite respectively, they do a lot of his cooking. They never particularly enjoyed it, and now someone cooks for them, so they’ve become terribly lazy about cooking for themselves. After all, why take someone’s job away from them??

Who does the laundry and other chores: Again, we have here a king and his only concubine/100% unofficial spouse, so doing chores isn’t really their thing. They pay their staff very well, indeed. However, they do take care of their dragons’ needs, which can take a good bit of time. Dragons like hot baths and need oil treatments and have indoor latrine areas for when they’re too lazy to go outside (we’re looking at you, Charcoal).They require some training as well, and FiKi take care of that themselves. No one would dream of having someone else take care of their dragon’s needs.

How many children do they have: 2636345 (okay, not really, my cat Jane leaped on the computer and this happened and this amused me) Fili and Kili don’t have children, despite Thorin’s and other’s attempts to get Kili to take a female concubine for this purpose. It works out all right, however; a dragon comes herself from the mountain and locates their heir for them, quite unexpectedly. No dragon has done so before. Kili does make jokes about adopting this dwarf, even though said dwarf is certainly too old to be their son. They will have a granddragon! The time will come when Cinnamon lays an egg, also very unusual. Dragons keep breaking the rules in their reign - many say inspired by Fili.

Who’s more dominate: Fili has a responsibility to see that Kili’s sexual needs are taken care of, and even gets training in the seraglio, so….*eyebrow waggle* He’s very good at what he does.

Favorite nonsexual activity: Evening relaxation time! Admittedly, not ALWAYS sex free, because Fíli is a hedonist and Kíli is easy (as long as it’s Fíli), but this is when Fíli gets to take care of Kíli and that’s what he’s always wanted to do anyway. They put work aside, have a nice bath, play with dragons, Kíli often gets a massage, they have dinner together. There’s about an hour and a half where Fíli won’t let work in. The rest of the time, they’re both focusing on helping to run an entire kingdom, so that time is really precious, no matter what they’re doing.

Their favorite place to be together: There is a spot on the side of the mountain that is an abandoned rookery. A new and better one was built, and that one was scrubbed out but never assigned a new job. Fíli and Kíli found it as young adults, and now they bring their dragons there. The dragons can fly and swoop and dance through the air and the dwarves can have total privacy (minus the fact that they had to let a few people know about it – they can never truly disappear – usually Nori or Ori is sent to fetch them). The sky is clear and clean and it’s always cold for cuddling.

Any traditions: Their culture is steeped in tradition, and they’re both very proud of most of them (the seraglio is the one tradition they really question). As Prince and Consort, they attend and assist with the festivals and celebrations throughout the year. Again, Thorin resists making Fíli official Consort, but they just ignore this and have Fíli do the work anyway. Their favorite is when they make a trip down the river in the growing season during the festival of lights. Floating lanterns light their way and they get to see their people as they go down the river in a royal barge. There’s music and singing and dragons dancing in the air. It’s breathtaking.

Their “song”: They don’t have a single song, but they do both play violin and love to dance traditional group dances. Dwarven dances are rhythmic and powerful and they adore them.

Where did they go for their honeymoon: Their brand new royal suite…actually Fíli’s royal suite as heir, which Kíli just moved into when they became a couple and Kíli became heir. It has all the necessary accoutrement for a young prince and his beloved…as well as two dragons. Perhaps it would have been a little more romantic WITHOUT the dragons, but…

Where did they first meet: In Erebor, 8 days after Kíli was born when he came from seclusion with his mother!

Any pets: The dragons would probably eat them.

What do they fight over: Politics, primarily. Despite his outrageous behavior in manipulating himself into the role of Consort, Fíli is actually more tradition-bound than Kíli. Kíli wants to open the kingdom up to trade while Fíli believes that being self-sufficient and insular is safer, especially with the care of the dragons. Kíli even makes noises about talking to elves, who own several of the most lush oases outside their kingdom along the river that joins the two mountains (Erebor, where the dwarf king lives, and the Blue Mountain, where the dragons are). They haven’t come to a consensus., and the truth is, Fíli has placed himself in a position where, when the time comes, it will be Kíli who makes the final decisions when he is king. To a lesser degree, they both overwork themselves at time and can be very grumpy as a result, which leads to normal tiffs. And, as they are bonded to emotional dragons, they sometimes get anger leaking over from when Cinnamon (a woman of strong opinions) and Charcoal (an airhead of stubbornness) get mad at each other.

Do they go on vacations, if so where: There is an annual vacation. Traditionally, this was taken in some noble’s rooms inside the mountain, carting along a retinue, and could hardly be called a vacation. Kíli came up with the idea of extending the Festival of Lights down the river and seeing more communities, not just those right outside the mountain, so they spend a couple of weeks each year doing that. There are both dwarves and hobbits living along the Great River, managing the farms, and where once many of them went generations without seeing a royal for themselves, now they can expect to see one every couple of years on a festival night.

#of concubines and kings #fiki #fili/kili #quill writes #dragon fic #cinnamon and charcoal #meme

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