#well. that's enough jane for me. back to wuthering heights

[llycaons]

so the article is about. a lot of things actually but my interest is in how bertha may be white but her otherness due to her creole heritage, mental illness, and the tropical upbringing of the climate of jamaica metaphorically demark her as the racialized contaminant to the white british order in the fabric of the story, which is really interesting but it makes arguments about her in-text race almost meaningless

The Tropical Extravagance of Bertha Mason by Sue Thomas

[theadorableapprentice]

If I Loved You Less

MC x Solomon Warnings: Fluff Word Count: 1,218

A/N: Wow! I finally got the will to write again! It's probably a bit OOC but whatever. I still think it's cute. I promise I have other stories planned that aren't just for Solomon. I will write about another character eventually.

You and Solomon had gotten yourselves into quite the situation, and you blame Satan. Well, not really, but it was you thinking of him that got you into this mess. 

You had seen a book while at a little store Solomon took you to. It looked old and probably cursed. Sounded perfect for Satan. He’d love it! The only problem was it was on the top shelf and you couldn’t find anyone to help you grab it down. So of course, like the smart person you are, you tried to climb the shelf. It looked like it was connected to the wall, so you thought it was stable enough. And it worked for a minute.

“MC, what are you doing up there?” Solomon had asked with a sly grin.

That was all it took to startle you and cause you to fall backwards, still holding the book. Solomon caught you, and then suddenly, you were no longer in the store, which brings you back up to speed.

“Solomon… Where the hell are we, because it isn’t the Devildom.” You stared at the sky through the trees, which was bright blue with the sun in the sky. 

Solomon was busy studying one of the trees you had appeared by. “Well, I can confirm this place is real, not an illusion.” 

“Well, we should go try to find our way out of here before night falls. Which direction should we go?” You asked, looking around. It was just trees every direction you looked. 

Solomon shrugged and started walking. “I have a feeling we should go this way.”

It didn’t take long before you came across a small cabin. “Should we knock and see if anyone’s home to help?” You asked. For some reason, you felt drawn to the cabin.

Without answering you, Solomon walked right up and knocked on the door, but it swung right open. “I take it nobody is home.” 

“Solomon, be careful. It might be a trap!” 

“Don’t worry MC. I don’t sense any magic in here. And this looks like our only chance at some sort of safety in this forest. It can’t be that bad.” With that, Solomon walked into the cabin. You stayed outside, nervous for him. “MC, come take a look at this,” Solomon called from inside the cabin.

You cautiously walked into the cabin and over to the kitchen counter that Solomon was standing by. There was a piece of paper on the counter. There were three quotes written on the paper, both of which you recognized.

The first read, “Whatever our souls are made out of, his and mine are the same...If all else perished, and he remained, I should still continue to be; and if all else remained, and he were annihilated, the universe would turn to a mighty stranger.” Wuthering Heights by Emily Brontë. Strangely, this was exactly how you feel about Solomon.

The second read, “As I got to know you, I began to realise that beauty was the least of your qualities. I became fascinated by your goodness. I was drawn in by it. I didn’t understand what was happening to me. And it was only when I began to feel actual, physical pain every time you left the room that it finally dawned on me: I was in love, for the first time in my life.” Dangerous Liasions by Choderlos de Laclos. You didn’t know it, but this was exactly how Solomon felt about you.

The third read, “If I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more.” Emma by Jane Austen. 

After reading the three quotes, you turned to look at Solomon. He looked like he was studying the paper and the quotes intently. He had the paper in one hand, and with his other he was holding his chin. A soft smile crossed your face.

Solomon looked up at you. “I am guessing the book you were grabbing in the store was cursed and when I touched you while you were holding the book, it transported us here. This is a clue about how to get home, is my best guess. The book is clearly one that has love as a theme. Now we just need to figure out what it wants for us to go home.”

You guys spent days at that cabin trying to determine what should have been obvious to you both. But it was nice, this slice of domesticity with Solomon. 

There was only one bed in the cabin so you two had to share. You enjoyed waking up everyday to his sleeping face with his arm around your waist. He always looked so peaceful in his sleep. As if there wasn’t anything troubling him. But why would there be? He was sleeping next to the only person he truly trusts and he has them in his arms. 

You avoided Solomon cooking for you by asking him to work on figuring out the paper. But getting to cook things for Solomon was nice. And somehow, the cabin always had the ingredients for exactly what you wanted to cook. The two of you washing dishes next to each other was comforting in a way.

Slowly, over the week, you guys stopped paying as close attention to the meaning of the paper, enjoying just living in each other’s company and getting a break from the outside world. That was, until Solomon made a horrible joke.

“God, that was awful Solomon. You’re lucky I love you.” The words just came out without you thinking about them. 

“MC… Did you just-” Solomon cut himself off. “That’s it… That’s the third quote.” 

“What’s the third- oh… Oh.” 

You and Solomon look at each other. “The second quote, it’s how I-”

You cut Solomon off. “The first quote, it’s how I feel about you too.”

“I think the book wants us to stop dancing around our feelings and finally admit we love each other.” Solomon was looking at you. His gaze was intense but soft at the same time. You didn’t know how he could do that. 

“I think you’re right… So I’ll go first. Solomon, I am completely, unequivocally in love with you. Your turn.”

Solomon hesitated. “MC… Could you be happy here with me?” Solomon didn’t want to go home. He didn’t want all of your time to be taken up by the brothers and the royals again. He wanted a world where you were happy and with him.

“Yes, I could… But Solomon, we don’t belong here.”

“Could we just stay a little longer? I just want you to be happy with me for a little longer.” Solomon almost looked vulnerable. 

You gave him a small, soft smile. “Solomon, I could be happy with you anywhere. Let’s go home.”

Solomon nodded, a smile crossing his face. “MC, you have my whole heart. I love you too.”

There was a flash of light and you were back in the store, in Solomon’s arms and holding the book.

“Remind me to not just randomly touch cursed looking books next time. As great as that was, we’re lucky we didn’t end up inside out or something.” 

You laughed, looking up at him. He smiled and leaned his head down to kiss you. Yeah, you were gonna keep this book for yourself. 

[pathfinderyderss]

Heads up! The user barbex is a proshipper (supports romanticizing abuse in fiction).

Hi! So, I apologize for my delay in responding to your message - I have had a lot of thoughts and wanted to make sure l was expressing them in the best way possible.

I want to be honest, when I first read your message, I didn’t know what pro-shipping was, but I do know @barbex --I've been following her for the better part of a decade and she is an excellent author and l enjoy her views on the Dragon Age lore (and her views on Anders). I've also done more than a few of the prompt months that she's put together.

With all of that said, I wanted to better understand your viewpoint and see what it is that is defined as part of your block list. So, I hopped on your blog! I found your blocklist and the items you've listed as egregious enough to report users and as a former Literature Major, it saddened me to see such Puritanical and Orwellian views being broadcast with such vitriol.

The first thing I want to address is that in my fifteen plus years in fandom I have always subscribed to the “Don’t Like, Don’t Read" mentality. I am unafraid to block people on this website for a single take I don't agree with, and with that I am a FIRM supporter of accurate community labels as there are many things that I myself do not enjoy or want to read - so my blocked tags are plentiful and the blogs I block are many and that curated experience is why I do not get involved in any sort of fandom drama. 

I implore you to do the same. Fandom can be such a wonderful, constructive experience when you surround yourself with like-minded individuals. A dear friend of mine reminded me of the phrase, ”No Good Fandom, Only Good Friends” and nothing could be more accurate. Your tiny corner of the Fandom is an amazing way to flourish socially and mentally; however when your energy instead is spent on searching for others with ideological differences the experience instead becomes a witch hunt full of dog piling and negativity.

Now, on your blog, I noticed that you bemoan that you are unable to have a conversation about Fandom/Purity Culture/Fanfiction and I feel like this is an important topic to discuss so l am going to indulge in this against my better judgement, and at the end if you don't like what I've said, l implore you to block me as well.

My primary issue with your block list is that it derives from anti-intellectualism and a puritanical view of fandom. Which, if that is how you want to experience fandom, that's fine, but publicizing it is beyond ridiculous and leads back to my earlier point about witch hunts and dog piling.

Based on your list, your primary concerns in your block list stem from the following topics: rape, incest, pedophilia- including predatory age gaps and abuse. And I wonder; do you devalue fiction in the same way?

The first thing on your list that caught my attention was your adamant disapproval of the Thanatos/Zagreus ship in Hades. Is this just a general distaste for all Greek/Roman mythology as all of it could meet your block list above? Does Disney's Hercules get a pass due to the inaccuracies in the retelling — does the Hera/Zeus relationship get a pass because it isn't explicitly mentioned? And does it matter that it is a more inaccurate retelling of the myth?

In that same vein; are stories like Jane Eyre (which contains both a predatory age gap and a horrific example of a mentally ill character) or Wuthering Heights (which contains incest and abuse) not worth telling to a modern audience because they show these things? Are we forgoing media literacy and critical thinking now because these things glorify the worst parts of humanity?

And regardless of if it is a piece of classic literature or a piece of modern fanfiction making the decision for others that they cannot read these things due to them being "bad” or "wrong" or "shameful" is no different than banning books. And you devalue the readership of these pieces of literature by saying that they are unable to critically think for themselves and find the value of an individual piece of fiction.

I emphasize again, YOU as an individual do not have to view or interact with this material if it makes you uncomfortable, but I beg you not to police others in an Orwellian fashion over the media they choose to produce or view. Use the block button and blacklist tags you don't like or make you uncomfortable - that is what they are there for. Instead, talk to people who share your views but do not turn this into a witch hunt or an NC-17 purge that we've seen so damaging to our communities in the past.

All of this is to say; find joy Fandom — whatever that may mean for you and let others do the same. 

I hope this was informative.

- Ryder

[swansworth]

By Fire’s Light [Part One]

Eris Vanserra x Reader

Summary: Kallias had warned you when he assigned you to act as an ambassador of the Winter Court within the borders of the Autumn Court, “Be careful with Eris Vanserra”. It was understandable advice; on the surface he was as cold as ice, utterly disinterested in the wellbeing of others. And yet, this male saved you and ensured your survival, a burning fire in his golden eyes. You could feel a pull within your heart, a small voice that said there was more hidden beneath the façade. So what was the truth; the ice or the fire?

Warnings for this part: mild alcohol use, mild violence, mention of torture, mentions of drowning and freezing, some language, slow burn

Word Count: 5320

Author Notes: This came to me while thinking about Jane Eyre and Wuthering Heights and the film Crimson Peak and speaking with my darling, @bubbles-for-all-of-us​ , about classic literature and gothic romance. I realized that Eris fits that darker brooding gentleman archetype rather well and decided to roll with it. So enjoy part one of this romance with a hint of Brontë and Austen inspiration.

I will also note, as he is in a few scenes, that Dolos is the name I came up with for one of the unnamed Vanserra brothers. SJM is fond of tying in names from mythology into her works, so I thought it was fitting that the unnamed Vanserra brother be named after the Greek spirit of trickery. Marianne is his wife.

There was a loud clash as Marianne, in her drunken stupor, knocked over another vase. Dolos, who was one drink shy of being just as inebriated, gripped her arm firmly and dragged her to the doorway. Neither of them said a word as Dolos pulled her out of the parlor in the hopes of convincing her to retire for the evening. You watched the pair cautiously out of the corner of your eye, constantly wary around them. In your short time within the Autumn Court it had become obvious that Marianne would do anything to see her husband become the High Lord and Dolos was just as ruthless as his father, just as bloodthirsty and eager for power. Together, they were not to be taken lightly, even if all they seemed to do was cuss, drink, and smother one another in public displays of affection. 

‘Well,’ you thought, ‘At least they like one another.’

When the sounds of their murmuring and scuffled footsteps finally faded away into silence, you turned your gaze to the eldest Vanserra brother. Eris hadn’t moved from his armchair near the fire in over an hour, too busy swirling what little wine remained in his glass and watching the flickering flames slowly settle into embers. There was just enough light that you could see the way his brow furrowed as if deep in thought. 

“Did they not teach you that it is impolite to stare in your lands?” His voice was smooth and rough all at once, elegant with a natural husk to it. The amber of his eyes almost glowed in the dying firelight as he focused on you. His gaze held its usual intensity, stern and yet inquisitive, almost as if he were trying to dissect you. 

“They did. Though I don’t think simply looking at you equates to staring.” 

“This is not the first time I’ve felt your wandering gaze on me,” he said, uncaring of your previous statement. There was a shift in his expression as his usual grimace pulled back into an amused smirk. “Do you find me handsome?” 

“Doesn't everyone?” The amusement vanished as quickly as it came. That was one thing you liked about Eris: he was not a fool. What many would take as a compliment he knew very well you meant as a subtle insult. “You’d be surprised,” he said simply before lifting his wine glass to his lips and downing the rest of the red liquid. 

Silence fell between the two of you while he continued to stare at the fireplace and you thought about how to best slip out of the room. 

When Kallias had asked you to stay in the Autumn Court in an effort to encourage peace and potentially secure an alliance, he had warned you about the Vanserras. Lucien was kind but was as clever as the fox that he was so often associated with. Dolos was a liar and a murderer who could not be trusted, but he could be persuaded to assist so long as he benefited greatly from the deal. Though, dealing with Dolos also meant dealing with Marianne who could see through almost any attempt of persuasion. The other two brothers tended to follow Dolos’s lead. Then there was Eris…

Your gaze drifted to Eris once more.

“Eris is possibly the biggest threat of them all,” Kallias had said, “He keeps his true thoughts to himself and is playing a long, dangerous game. You will never know if he is your friend or a foe as he plays both sides so well. He can be both the sheep and the wolf in sheep’s clothing simultaneously. Be careful with Eris Vanserra.” 

Kallias had been right to warn you, Eris was every bit as cunning as he was handsome. You’d seen the way his eyes would flicker as he made mental notes of various conversations and tidbits of information. He had a journal, locked somewhere in his own private quarters, of his various thoughts and plans. Dolos had told you once after drinking his weight in ale and had mentioned that his father desperately wished to find it. If that were true, you wondered how the Winter Court would be able to benefit from such a thing. 

“You have that look again,” Eris’s voice drifted through the now dark room and startled you slightly. You’d been so deep in thought that you’d forgotten he was there with you. 

“And what look is that?” 

“The one that means you’re planning something.” You heard his chair creak as he rose to his feet. There was a soft tap on a nearby table as he set his glass down, followed by the sound of his shoes faintly scraping against the hardwood floor as he made his way over to you. As your eyes adjusted to the dark you saw his silhouette crouch before you, his elbows resting on his knees as he stared at you. His eyes always seemed to be on fire, burning like molten gold, ablaze with something unspoken. “What sort of wicked scheme are you hatching, little moth?”

Little moth. In some regions of the continent, Winter Moths were viewed as an invasive species, as a danger to the world that needed to be exterminated as swiftly as possible. You knew that in Eris’s eyes that was exactly what you were; a pesky little insect that needed to be squished beneath the heel of his boot before you could ruin anything. 

“I might ask the same question of you, Eris Vanserra,” you replied, your voice and gaze unwavering. Eris rose without a word but his eyes never broke the contact they held with yours. For a male whose powers were based in that of fire, all you felt when you were near him was cold. Everything about him was like ice; dangerous, frigid, and brutal. 

“I would advise, dear lady,” he said at last, “That you watch your tongue in these lands, lest someone carve it out of your mouth.” With that he gave a bow and bid you goodnight before taking his leave. ‘Such a charming gentleman, truly,’ you thought as you watched him go. 

Once alone, you allowed your mind to wander again. You thought over the day’s events and wondered what moments were worth sharing with Kallias in your next letter to him. Your eyes grew heavy as the clock on the wall continued to tick. Soon enough, before you had the chance to return to your chambers, sleep fell over you.

═══*.·:·.☽✧    ✦    ✧☾.·:·.*═══

You woke up the next morning in your bed. The blankets were warm and cozy, implying that you had been in them for some time. Confusion filled your mind as you stared up at the ceiling. How did you end up there? You sat up and watched as the door opened, emitting two servants into the room. When they noticed you were awake, they both paused. The one on the left, a beautiful fae with russet brown hair and eyes like warm honey, made her way over to you and placed a hand on your forehead. “Oh thank the Cauldron. You’re all right.” 

“Yes, why wouldn’t I be?” At your question, she shied away a bit and took a step back. 

“Forgive me, my lady. The master was very worried about you and he insisted we verify you were well this morning.” 

The master? Beron? Surely not; he wouldn’t have cared about your wellbeing. He had been nothing but cruel and unpleasant since you arrived. Even if he had agreed to allow an ambassador of the Winter Court in his lands, he was very clearly unhappy about it. Dolos wouldn’t have been kind enough to move you somewhere warm. So that meant…

“You mean Eris?” There was a hint of surprise in your tone as you spoke, but their answering smiles told you all you needed to know. 

“Yes, master Eris. I am Selene, one of the servants in Eris’s employment. He asked me, and Viola over there, to see to your needs and to care for you if you were sick.” You glanced over at Viola. From what you could see, she seemed young, her rust-colored eyes wide and her curly auburn hair bouncy and full. Looking back to Selene, you asked, “Why would Eris think I was unwell?”

Viola stepped forward then, her voice bright and gentle as she said, “He told us he could not sleep, so he returned to the drawing room and saw that you were asleep on the same chair you’d been in when he had retired for the evening. He said that you had been cold as ice and were not breathing well.” 

Your heart seemed to almost tighten as she spoke and one of your hands slid up to your chest. “When did he tell you this?” 

“It was as he carried you through the door to your chambers, my lady. He called for us and had us follow him. He explained what had happened, told us what he expected of us, set a fire to warm the room then left.” At Selene’s words, your head snapped to the fireplace on the other side of the room. 

There, still burning brightly, was a fire. Now that you were aware of it, you weren’t sure how you hadn’t felt it or seen it right away. You slid out of your bed and noted that the floor was not cold against your bare feet as it normally was. Making your way past Selene and beyond Viola, you slowly moved towards it like a moth to flame. You could feel the magic coming from it; it was strong and full of intent. Eris’s magic. The fire was warm, comforting, safe. You moved a hand towards it, to better feel the heat of it, and you could have sworn you saw it slowly flicker in response. It was beautiful, a darker color than the fire you were accustomed to seeing. This was Eris’s? This incredible, radiant thing? You remembered then that this same fire could lay waste to an entire kingdom, and so you took a step back and decided it wasn’t wise to linger. 

“I don’t suppose you ladies would know whether or not I missed breakfast?” You asked, turning to face the two females. 

“You did not, my lady,” Selene answered with a smile, “Master Eris instructed us to see to your needs. So if we may, allow us to get you ready for the day.” 

You blinked in mild surprise but did not refuse. When you saw your reflection in the tall standing mirror near your armoire, you were glad that you hadn’t. “Thank you Selene and Viola. You’ve done wonderfully.” It was a genuine compliment and you caught them giving one another a knowing look before they bowed their heads and excused themselves. Once they had left, you made your way to the dining hall for something to eat. 

As you entered the room, Eris rose to his feet. He assisted in pulling out your chair and tucking you in before taking his own seat. It had been established early on that you were to sit beside him through every meal. Truthfully, you would have chosen to sit beside him rather than any of his brothers regardless. He was at least civil most of the time. 

After you’d managed to eat some food, you glanced at Eris, and said, “I want to thank you, for last night.” 

“Think nothing of it.” 

“May I ask why you did it? Your brothers would have left me there to freeze and grow ill.”

He turned his head to look at you and you watched his eyes narrow and darken. His voice was steady as he asked, “How heartless do you believe me to be?” 

You could have sworn you saw the faintest flicker of hurt in his amber eyes when you replied, “I am currently undecided.” 

“I see. Well, I suppose it is a good sign that your wit is still intact.” Guilt flowed through you as he turned his attention back to his breakfast. You clutched at your chest again, and took a steadying breath before returning to your own meal. Silence fell and you watched from the corner of your eye as Eris frowned at Dolos. You flicked your gaze to the other Vanserra and noticed how Marianne was sitting in his lap, hand feeding him grapes. With each piece of fruit, Dolos would gently suck Marianne’s fingertips and make faint noises of pleasure. With each noise, the frustration rolling off of Eris grew more potent. 

“What’s wrong, brother?” Dolos teased, his voice breaking the silence. 

“Merely observing.” Eris’s voice was tight and low, as if he were holding back a snarl. 

“Observing is an awfully fancy way of saying you are jealous, Eris.” 

“I can assure you, Dolos, I hold no envy.” 

“You don’t want a beautiful lady on your lap and pampering you, Errie?” Marianne asked and you watched Eris fight back a scowl at the nickname. “I never said that, Marianne. On the contrary, I would be quite content to have a beautiful lady’s company. I’m certain Dolos would have liked the same.” 

You nearly choked on your water at the insult and had to hide a smile behind your glass as Marianne retorted, “Are you insinuating that I’m ugly?” 

“No, of course not. Merely stating that you’re not a lady.” You couldn’t hold back the laugh that came out of you and you saw Eris shoot you an approving look as Dolos and Marianne began to shout profanities at Eris. Regaining your composure, you listened as Eris calmly wound the situation down with tactfully phrased sentences. 

"As much as I'd love to sit here and continue this riveting conversation, I really must be going." That was news to you. Eris had made no mention of traveling. 

“Where are you off to?" 

His gaze was searching as he looked at you, as if silently asking why you wanted to know. It softened after a moment and he said "I'm afraid I can't tell you all the details. The short version is I am meeting with some potential allies near the Night Court." 

The Night Court. You had never been, but you had heard horror stories about the tortures that occurred there. Their High Lord, Rhysand, was said to be even crueler than Beron. What would he do if he knew the heir to the Autumn Court was so close to his lands? Your hand moved on its own accord and grabbed his forearm. You could feel the muscle of his arm and you squeezed slightly as you said, “Be careful, Eris.” 

His hand was on top of yours then, warm and soft. You half expected him to say, “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were worried about me.” His fingers stroked your wrist gently, lazily, as he instead said, “I will be.” For a brief moment, you stared at one another and all the world seemed to be still and silent around you, and then he was gone.

“I seem to recall a conversation we shared about Eris’s journal, do you remember that?” Dolos’s voice cut through the quiet Eris had left in his wake and you turned your attention to him; noted the calculating look in his dark eyes. “Granted I was intoxicated at the time, but every word I had said was true.”

“I do remember. May I ask why you are bringing it up?” Dolos leaned forward as Marianne slid off his lap and sat beside him. There was something burning in those dark, almost black, irises and you stiffened in your chair as Dolos said, “Help me retrieve it.”

“What?” You couldn’t have heard him correctly.

“Tell me, why do you think my brother is meeting near the Night Court? You’re no fool, ambassador. You know as well as I that he is meeting with that bastard, Rhysand, and that he is hoping to form an alliance so that together they can overthrow my father.”

“Let’s say you’re right, why should I help you?”

Dolos smirked, “I cannot bring this matter up to my father without proof of Eris’s betrayal. Help me retrieve it and I will be certain that you and your court are safe when I am made High Lord.” 

He couldn’t promise you that; no one could. Yet, you wondered whether it was worth the risk. Dolos was not known as an honest man, but if you could get him to swear to it, you may have some leverage. However, if you agreed, that meant that Beron would punish Eris and you had seen first hand the sort of punishment Beron could unleash. On your third day at the court, Beron had summoned you so that you could watch him make an example out of a traitor he’d discovered. It was brutal, bloody, and merciless. The traitor’s cries were seared into your memory. Beron had wanted you to see what would happen if you stepped out of line, and you understood entirely. That traitor had been a stranger to Beron. You couldn’t bear to think about what he would do to his own kin. It was a lot to consider. “Am I allowed to think it over?” 

“Of course. Though, don’t take too long. If we are going to act it needs to be soon, before Eris has the chance to make a move.” You nodded and excused yourself. Time seemed to move differently in the Autumn Court and you wondered what you could do to fill your day up as you headed in the direction of the library. A letter to Kallias was well overdue, that was certainly one thing you could accomplish. As you continued to ponder, you heard light footsteps behind you and couldn’t help the frown that formed on your face. You did not want to deal with Marianne one-on-one but she, unfortunately, caught up with you and looped her arm through yours as if you were close friends. 

“I suppose you have something to add?” 

“Indeed I do,” Marianne said, her voice sterner than you were used to hearing from her, “Betray Dolos and I will kill you. I will tear you apart, limb from limb, and have you begging for death at my feet. And no one, not even your precious Eris, will be able to save you.” 

You ignored her comment about Eris. Eris was agreeable enough most days, but you didn’t trust him and you didn’t particularly like him. You couldn’t, not with Kallias’s warning echoing through your mind. “Tell me, do you truly love him that much?” 

“There is no love between Dolos and myself. There is passion, hunger, and an understanding. There is too much at stake for anything else.” There was sadness in her eyes and for a moment you felt sorry for Marianne. You knew nothing of how she and Dolos ended up married to one another; she could have very well been forced into all of this. Still, she couldn’t be trusted, so you decided to respond as you usually would. “How romantic.” 

“Your witty tongue will get you killed, lady ambassador.” There was no bite to her remark and once more you wondered how she had ended up here with Dolos. 

“I’ll take my chances.” Marianne stared at you for a moment, as if considering. Everything in you said she was a threat, but she looked almost vulnerable as she nodded, let go of your arm, and took her leave. There was no retort, no snide remark. Nothing. You watched her go before continuing onward. 

═══*.·:·.☽✧    ✦    ✧☾.·:·.*═══

Eris returned three days later. 

His pack of hounds howled in excitement as their master entered the dining hall. Dolos and Marianne winced at the sound but you laughed at how happy and eager they all were to be greeted by Eris. At the sound of your laughter, Eris’s attention turned solely to you and you felt the breath leave your lungs at the sight of him. His travel clothes were not much different from his preferred hunting attire, and you swallowed at how well fitted his trousers were. They showed off his thighs marvelously and you averted your attention back to the goblet in front of you to drink some more water. 

“Is that a new gown?” Eris asked, taking his usual seat beside you. Indeed it was new. Selene and Viola had been insistent on dressing you in a gown that better suited the warm tones of the Autumn Court. The bodice was a sage green embroidered with golden thread that swirled into intricate designs reminiscent of a willow tree’s elegant branches. It cut just below your breasts and from there soft layers of chiffon that were a gradient of yellow to red flowed to your feet. It was comfortable and complemented your figure well enough. You looked at Eris and replied, “It is. Selene and Viola were kind enough to give it to me.” 

“It suits you.” The blush that formed on your cheeks was genuine as was the slight quirk of his lips. Once more, the world seemed to halt as you stared at one another. Dolos cleared his throat and the pair of you turned your heads to look at him. There was a knowing look in his eyes and you watched as he leaned over in his seat to whisper something to his wife. You sighed; that was never good. 

“Did I miss anything particularly interesting?” Eris asked as he reached forward to grab the basket of bread and took a slice for himself. You hummed as you thought over the last few days. Truthfully, life in the Autumn Court had been rather dull while he was away. Marianne had pestered you a few times, and you had managed to write a few letters. Beyond that, there was nothing exciting. You couldn’t really talk to or banter with anyone the way you did Eris. Granted the male drove you insane and always found ways to get under your skin, but sometimes it was almost fun. 

“I’m sure you will be delighted to know that you took everything of interest with you when you left.” Eris arched his brow before taking a sip of his tea. 

“Is that right? Do you mean to say that my brothers and my sister-in-law are not interesting enough for your tastes?” 

“They are about as interesting as a sack of potatoes.” Eris chuckled at that and you found that you rather liked the sound of it. It was easy to forget, when he was soft and gentle like this, that this was the same male who looked at you like you were a pest and called you little moth. ‘Be careful of Eris Vanserra.’ You clung to those words like a lifeline and did what you could to remember that Eris, at the end of the day, was dangerous and cunning. No matter how handsome he may be and how soothing the sound of his laughter was, he was a threat. 

“Ambassador,” Marianne said, bringing your attention to her, “Would you be willing to escort me on a walk this afternoon? Dolos has business in town and although Erlik and Phenex agreed to accompany me, I would like someone with at least half a brain to join us.”  

Erlik and Phenex. The two Vanserra brothers you had little to no interaction with, apart from watching them argue at every meal and listening to them boast about how incredible they were. A long walk with them and Marianne sounded more like a punishment than anything else. However, you knew that you needed to stay in the good graces of everyone here as long as possible if Kallias’s plan to establish peace was going to work. Begrudgingly you replied, “Of course. I could use the fresh air.” 

Everyone seemed surprised by your answer, but you just smiled as pleasantly as possible before enjoying another sip of tea. “I should go with you,” Eris said softly for only you to hear. You shook your head and assured him that you could handle his brothers and Marianne for one afternoon. He didn’t look convinced but didn’t press the matter. Part of you was almost disappointed that he dropped the matter. 

═══*.·:·.☽✧    ✦    ✧☾.·:·.*═══

The wind howled along the cliffs and you pulled your jacket closer to your body as you continued to walk beside Marianne. For whatever reason, Erlik and Phenex had been adamant about walking along the ocean, up on the cliffs that overlooked the sea. It was one of the preferred hunting spots of the Vanserras as there was a lush forest right beside the edge. You had looked at Marianne and she shrugged, uncaring one way or another. So there you both were, shivering and trying desperately to keep warm. 

“What business did Dolos have in town?” You asked, hoping that Marianne would be a bit more forthcoming with information. 

“Her name is Suadela,” Marianne stated, “He has business between her lithe limbs at least once a week.” 

“Oh.” Marianne stopped and turned to look at you, her emerald eyes utterly void of any emotion. Her voice, however, betrayed her. “I told you, Ambassador, there is no love between me and Dolos. There never was, and there never will be.” 

“But you wish there were. I can see it in the way you look at him and I hear it in your voice now.”

“What I wish for is for my husband to be High Lord.” There was an edge of finality in her tone and you knew that she was done talking about it. Why was she so determined to see Dolos become High Lord? Why wish for him to succeed when he was clearly hurting her, when she clearly wanted more from their marriage. “Tell me, what is going on between you and Eris?” 

Her question surprised you and you blinked at her in confusion before answering truthfully, “Nothing. There is nothing. He is cold and cruel and closed off. Most of the time he treats me as if I am little more than a rat that worked its way into the kitchen. There is a mutual dislike and distrust between us, but that is all.” 

“That is now what I’ve seen.” There was a frown on Marianne’s face and a disbelieving look in her eyes. 

“Don’t be absurd, Marianne. He calls me little moth on occasion to remind me that he thinks of me as nothing more than an invasive insect.” You wanted to laugh at the look on her face and the ridiculous notion she had suggested.

“Pyrrharctia isabella. The little moth.” Marianne smiled softly and you felt confused all over again when she said, “I think I know exactly what is going on between you and Eris.” 

Whereas you had been able to hold back your laughter, Marianne could not. Her laughter was surprisingly joyous and you realized you had never heard her laugh before. Not properly at least. She gave Dolos little giggles of amusement but this? This was her true self shining through and though you didn’t know what she was laughing at, her laughter was so warm and deep that you found yourself laughing with her. 

“I believe I may have been mistaken about you, Marianne,” you said as the pair of you caught your breath. She gave you an inquisitive look as if she was eager to ask what you meant, but then her eyes narrowed and she snapped her head towards the woods. “What is it?”

“Ambassador, when was the last time you saw Erlik or Phenex?” Your eyes widened and you followed her gaze to the nearby trees. They had been with you most of your walk, but you hadn’t seen them in nearly thirty minutes. You became aware quite suddenly of the feeling of being watched. Shit.

Erlik and Phenex were hunters at their cores and you knew that somehow you and Marianne had become their prey. One look at Marianne told you she was aware of the same. Every part of you was screaming for you to run, but you knew that the hunters would have set traps which made running risky. Marianne gripped your wrist then and began to tug you along with her as she ran back toward the palace, willing to take the risk. She was calm, focused, and fast. You struggled to keep pace with her, but she kept her hold on you and made sure you didn’t fall behind. Faster, you had to run faster if you wanted a chance of escaping Erlik and Phenex. 

You heard the arrow flying towards the both of you before you saw it. Instinct drove you, and you pulled Marianne out of the way with a shout of her name. The arrow missed her by mere centimeters and her emerald eyes widened in shock and fear. “Fuck. It’s ash!” she said, her voice trembling. She let out a sound of annoyance and frustration that masked the sound of the second arrow. Pain erupted through your abdomen and you nearly doubled over in agony. You tried to catch your footing as your balance started to waver and you stumbled closer to the edge of the cliff. 

Marianne jumped into action, her grip on your wrist tightening as she tried to pull you away from the ledge. You twisted your hand to grab her wrist in her return and stared at her eyes, watched as the emerald green darkened in determination. Something passed between the two of you then, some unspoken understanding. She nodded her head and tugged you toward her. The third arrow sliced through the howling winds with ease straight into Marianne’s back. Those green eyes widened and her grip on you slipped. She fell forward into you and you did your best to catch her, to stabilize her. With the added weight of her, and your wobbly footing, you lost your balance once more. 

“Shit, shit, shit!” you cussed as you tried desperately to stay on the cliff. The fourth arrow pierced your shoulder and you screamed in agony at the pain that flared through your veins. The force of it and the pain it had caused were enough to push you further back, to make you stumble and slip over the edge, to fall back toward the raging sea below with Marianne still in your arms. 

There was a shout of your name, you were certain of it. Eris. It sounded like Eris. For some reason that you couldn’t identify, you wished at that moment that you could have seen him one more time. 

The sound of the waves grew louder and you did what you could to brace yourself. The air left your body at the impact as you plummeted into the water. It was cold, too cold. If you didn’t drown, you’d freeze. You tried to swim to the surface, but with Marianne in your arms and the ash arrows in your body, it was a futile effort. The current pulled and pushed you and you knew it was only a matter of time before the waves slammed you against the rocks. In the haze, as you struggled to keep your eyes open, you could see a shadow. 

Something solid and hot, almost scalding, grabbed your waist and tugged you forward. There was something soft and warm on your lips and you could feel air being forced into your lungs. The water shifted, the temperature rising, quickly turning almost boiling. It was a sharp contrast to the frigid cold and you gasped, losing the air you had just been given. The pressure to your lips returned, and then the world went black. 

[re-readingcomics]

Comics Read 07/01-15/2023

A little over a year ago I did a post about reading two comic book biographies of Artemisia Gentileschi back-to-back. I wrote some lines about how the inclusion of them in my collection helps makes the act of collecting semi-autobiographical. Consider this a sequel to that post.

Over the two weeks I am writing about I read Glass Town written and drawn by Isabel Greenberg and The Brontës Infernal Angria written by Craig Hurd-McKenney and art by Rick Geary. Different takes on the same subject, how the Brontë children had a shared alternate universe which they all wrote stories about. I have owned a copy ofThe Juvenilia of Jane Austen and Charlotte Brontë from when I was a child, but I never read it. I probably should. The names of Angria and Gondal were familiar from reading about the Brontës. But because of not actually reading the Juvenilia, I first encountered Glass Town by name in Die, where it was treated as a proto-multi-player role playing game. Which, seems fair enough. Die wasn’t much interested in the subject of their writings, so this is all new to me.

Greenberg’s art in Glass Town is crude in the same way ND Stevenson’s and Gus Allen art work is. If anything it’s more childlike and inconsistent. I don’t love it, but I like how the lines work the limited pallet with a lot of dark, cool reds. It hints at the early industrial feel of their time period as well as the harsh climate of their surroundings. 

The narrative starts in the aftermath of the the eldest Brontë sisters, Elizabeth and Maria, deaths. The creation of Glass Town is an escape from the trauma of their final illnesses at a poorly kept boarding school.

Charlotte narrates her tale of Glass Town, to a minor character from her stories who appears as her imaginary friend. They talk through the plot she worked on, which as presented here seems more related to Wuthering Heights than Charlotte’s actual novels. The story includes how while the children started sharing Glass Town, they split with Charlotte and Bramwell writing about Angria while Emily and Anne created Gondor. (Less of Emily and Anne’s writing on Gondal survives to the modern day than Charlotte’s work on Angria, hence why less of it is included in either of these accounts.) Probably because of this shared fantasy world with her brother, Charlotte is shocked by his decent into alcoholism while Emily catches early warning signs. It’s a rumination on the building of escapist fantasy in the face of tragedy and the creation of art. I don’t think it entirely works, but it makes me want to get back to reading the Brontë’s and writing about them. 

Infernal Angria takes the shared fantasy world and creates an actual portal fantasy. The Brontës literally go between worlds and get used in political machinations in an alternate world’s monarchy. I hated it. The text is something of an apologia for Bramwell for being such a failure. He didn’t really fail, he was manipulated by much more mature people from a world he loved. Also it takes the “artists don’t die, they live through their art” to the extreme of the Brontës didn’t all die at shockingly young ages, they relocated to the other side of a portal. It’s silly and also unclear. It shouldn’t be both. The end had the author talking about his long love of the Brontës as well as a suggested reading list. Everyone in a while you find someone who has some shared enthusiasms but seem to take it in a direction that rubs you wrong.

At first glance, I would think that Geary’s art style is more my type than Greenberg's. But eventually I hated it because the shading was made with a crosshatching that got too easily confused with paterns used for fabrics or wood grains. It’s the shorter of these two books and the one that felt more like a chore to read. 

The contrasting treatments of the the worlds of Angria/Glass Town is pretty interesting. The character in both have essentially the same back story, but as presented in Infernal Angria I didn’t feel like the narrative came off as a rough draft of Wuthering Heights. Glass Town treats the alternate world as a reflection on contemporary colonialism, while Infernal Angria approaches it as a pastiche of Medieval fantasy. It makes me wish I had read the source material even more. 

Despite finding these books lacking, there will be more comic book takes on the Brontës in my reading future. 

[msfbgraves]

I am not from America so I did not grow up with the Karate Kid movies. But I got into Cobra Kai when seasons 3 came out because I was looking for something to watch and I thought this martial-arts show looked stupid and amusing. I watched from season 1 to full season 3 in two day. I was HOOKED!! I absolutely loved Daniel from the start he was my favourite and I thought Macchio was a wonderful actor, very good with expression and using his beautiful eyes. I was disappointed to see he wasn’t bigger in America because I have (now) watched many of his films and he is a very good actor. When season 4 and 5 come out I watched both and fell in love with Terry, and his actor who I again thought was very good. I was confused as to why he is not more well known in States because he again has so much presence and expression even in silence. And like Macchio is very nice to look at, though he is very handsome and Ralph pretty and adorable. Hehe.

They have always been my favourites, then I watch Karate movies all 3, and their chemistry in third film is intense and deep like a gothic novel (Wuthering Heights or Jane Eyre). I hope to see more of Daniel and Terry scenes in seasons 6, they are the best actors there and steal all scenes. I love Cobra Kai and Silverusso and hope show goes out well! Of O were writing it, I would have Terry get away with everything including Daniel. But sadly no.

It could always be even better, but I feel that the whole first half of S5 was as much of a Silverusso fanfic as the mainstream could let them get away with. But why the Nineties did not know what they had in both Thomas and Ralph is a mystery to me. Possibly that Ralph had finally aged out of a very specific look - only to become more beautiful!- and they don't put him in the Sopranos? And as Timecop 2 shows, which ridiculously is actually a good film, TIG works incredibly well in a slightly 'heightened' setting. Goblin king or historical, and he really did try it, but by the time the Borgias came around, or all the Star Trek remakes, or LoTR and The Hobbit, he may not have been well known enough to merit an audition.

Which is idiotic but at least we got Terry out of it. Seriously, can't he be a cardinal or Admiral in a historical drama? A Roman Senator or General works too, or a Vandal laying waste to Rome, or even Wednesday S2 or indeed stuff like Uther Pendragon or Good Omens! Why not the Whoverse? Anyway. Seems odd.

And Ralph, oh Ralph. He so deeply craves the chance to do something deep and gritty. If you'd put him back in prison it would be heart wrenching, but there's always something slightly too beautiful about him in parts like that. I think men would start questioning both their sexuality and gender a little too hard for that story to be entirely marketable.

So, do a play, Ralphie, be beautiful and scared and heartbreaking and gender In A Play.

Thomas would write it for free!

[more-than-a-princess]

Sonia nodded, shrugging her shoulders with her admission. She used to be far more self-conscious about it when she was younger: now, she'd come to terms with her upbringing. Mostly. "Well yes," She confirmed, "I was not allowed out much from Novoselic Castle until I entered middle school, save for the few royal appearances I made with my family. Thus, my windows to the world were books, television, and films. So I wanted to read anything and everything I could, just to feel like I was part of something more than royalty."

Having her friends chosen for her didn't help matters. But it was due to both safety and propriety reasons: keeping the heir to the throne both secure and surrounded by those who would aid her in her eventual reign was the priority. "I was not allowed to meet anyone at random, so the only way I could socialize as a child was with those my parents chose for me," She explained. While it was standard for those born into noble families, Sonia understood it was likely quite unusual for everyone else. It was also a topic she was eager to get away from: it only highlighted the vast differences between them, and in a way that seemed to fracture, rather than strengthen, their friendship.

Something that art, in contrast, did not. She smiled far more brightly at his inquiry behind her favorite genre. "The most succinct way I think to describe gothic romance would be a romantic story that is shaped in desolate, or grotesque, or mysterious events. A combination of romance and suspense, a departure from daily life," Sonia paused, wondering if that description was indeed enough. "Think of it like this: unlike a romantic comedy, or a Japanese drama featuring a romance that unfolds in everyday life and normal circumstances, it instead takes place in a haunted home, or there's a supernatural creature involved, or a murder or a mystery, or both! The love and romantic tension still thrives, but it shares the stage not with situations surrounding daily life but something darker, more foreboding. Have you heard of Charlotte and Emily Bronte? They wrote Jane Eyre and Wuthering Heights, respectively. Those are gothic romances."

She'd needed a moment to think about the manga she enjoyed best, in-between bites of cup noodles. They were good for both a quick meal and a quick thought. "My favorite manga," She repeated, setting down her chopsticks. "Hm...I have read so much, but I think what my favorites have in common are female characters with compelling stories to tell. They may fall in love, they may not, but they will always have adventures that captivate me. Esper Ito will always be a favorite, but I adore earlier works of female mangaka too. No one should diminish the influence the likes of Riyoko Ikeda and CLAMP have had on how women and girls tell stories in manga today. What about you, Ryuji-san? What books and manga do you enjoy best?"

It sank in, then, that surely things like treadmills and other athletic equipment were sold in shops. She'd simply never been to one: they'd always been provided for, whether it was Castle staff or by friends, like Nekomaru Nidai back in high school. On several instances he'd wanted to encourage and inspire her through training, and had brought his own equipment, lesson plans, and methods to motivate even the most exhausted and disagreeable of athletes. She was currently in negotiation for him to spend a month-long retreat in Novoselic to coach the national football team prior to the FIFA World Cup. "I have never bought athletic equipment before," She confessed, through a smile nevertheless. "I would hardly know what to look for. Or what would make something more expensive than another."

The same would go for soft drinks, unless she simply gravitated to the flavors she knew best. But she wanted to try new things, whether it was fizzy sodas or ramen packets. "I just do not want to miss out on experiencing things, experiencing life," She said, straightening her shoulders with a newfound confidence. "Time is precious, and I know for me that one day I will not have both the time and the freedom to explore the world and those who live in it. So I must do so now, at every opportunity: including ramen. Why should we wait, if there is somewhere we wish to go and something we wish to do?"

As he spoke, he was surprised at his own energy and talkativeness when speaking of his own job. He wasn't really used to speaking about his job much at length - or really, much at all - even among the brief shifts that he shared with fellow co-workers, any talk about business was brusque and to the point. His job had never been anything that he had taken particular pride in, having begun as a stopgap to earn money while he worked on pursuing his true passion but somewhere along the line, what was supposed to be a temporary stopgap had become his seemingly permanent occupation. That wasn't to say that this was some terrible, despair-inducing job but it still wasn't exactly one that he was eager to discuss, simply because he had little to say of it - no real pride to take in.

Being around Sonia to bring out a different side of him though - it was only around Sonia that he really found him discussing his job, having to actually pause and think about it, for once. Perhaps, this came down to the sheer earnestness and innocence of her questions - sure, he'd had customers politely ask questions but those questions were of a forced albeit polite, obligation - a way to awkwardly make conversation while they waited for their purchase. With Sonia, however, her inquiries didn't feel awkward or forced. "So, you just loved to read anything, yeah? I think I feel that way about manga - I'm willing to try any manga at least once," Ditto on any actual novels, though. "Your parents chose your friends for you? You couldn't even choose that much...?" He had to admit, that was rather sad - just another strange detail about her, that he couldn't say more about, however much he wanted to. "I guess it does make sense that they'd want you to keep up with the news to know what's going on in the world," Given her royal position, it made sense - though he was much more interested in the other things that she read.

"Gothic romance...? What's 'gothic' mean...?" He had heard the term before, though the image in his mind that popped up was one of old castles and scary looking gargoyles. While he wanted to ask if it maybe even involved vampires or werewolves, that part, he wasn't so sure about so why not ask Sonia herself and hear about why she liked these books? Even if they probably weren't his thing, it'd still be fun to hear about something that she liked! "I didn't know you were a manga reader, Sonia - you'll have to tell me some of your favourite types of manga to read - maybe I can check them out too!"

His own drink of choice was a simple Pepsi - not at all like the Sakura Pepsi he had just told her about. Taking a sip from her drink, he mulled over her question for a few seconds before answering. "Well, since we were just talking about books - the book store, naturally." He added, with a chuckle. "There's also a big chain electronics store that sells these amazing looking treadmills - they're fun to look at, even if they're expensive," He joked, nearly paling as he recalled the hefty price tags on them.

"Energy drinks, huh...? I think all of 'em do have caffeine, since they're supposed to give you energy, keep up, right? Almost like coffee in that sense," He didn't really know much about how it all worked, usually saving energy drinks for a late night cram session. "I have heard of energy drinks without any sugar - and some brands have different flavors, like fruity flavors!" There was even one well known brand out there had a watermelon flavoured can - and as someone who didn't typically indulge in these kinds of drinks, he had to admit, it wasn't bad!

"It's what I usually recommend to customers too, whenever they ask me," He chuckles, now taking another sip of his own drink. "When someone's asking you for advice, you always to recommend a safe bet, yeah? Don't want to be blamed for them not liking some weird flavor or anything," While it would be fun to recommend a super out there flavor, for the sake of his job and avoiding any potential trouble, sticking with the safe bet was usually best.

"I might have some extra packets I can give you," His suggestion was quick and immediate - having a hoard of various different ramen back at his home. Normally, he wasn't so quick to offer to share his ramen, especially a seasonal limited edition flavour, but in this case, he didn't mind at all! "You're really open minded when it comes to flavours and yet you know where you draw the line! That's pretty admirable and self aware, Sonia!" He was impressed. "As for me, I sometimes get to have a sneak peek of new products, but some of 'em are a little too out there, even for me!"

[caffeineforbucky]

The Turning Point

Warnings: Smut DNI 18+, Age Gap- Reader is 24, Bucky is 38. Praise kink, some degradation, F, and M receiving, if I missed any, lemme know! It's all kinds of dirty, at least my def of dirty...

Pairing: Professor!Bucky x Reader (one-shot)

A/N: I had a thought....this is what happened

(p.s.a...I'm no good at writing smut, at least I think I'm not, so if it's bad— feel free to give me some pointers, will gladly appreciate it!)

A ballet flat tapped in mid-air, the back of your knee folded over the other, the loud hums of the air conditioner drowning out the chatter, as if the closed-door didn't already do that. You blow out a sigh, cheek resting against the warm skin of your palm, eyes boring into a framed English degree that hung behind a grand dark oak desk.

You chew on your bottom lip, tasting your strawberry lipgloss whilst waiting for Professor Barnes. He was late, as per usual. You had only been in his class for a few months- having to take his Literature course to graduate next semester—a requisite—but it was only this week that began the tardiness.

"Sorry to keep you waiting," His voice soft, almost gravelly, sending a shiver down your spine. You glance over your shoulder, taking in the sight of your professor. Rugged, disheveled, and tired were the three words you could muster up as you take your cheek off your palm, back straightening out, eyes following him.

His hair was wild, his usual slicked-back locks, sitting in a curly, wayward state at the top of his head. He always dressed nicely, clean, and prim. Never had a hair out of place, clean-shaven—poise, if you will. Today was nothing of the sort. He sported a full beard and 'stache—trimmed, but still evident.

"Thank you for coming," Mr. Barnes begins, laying his leather briefcase on top of his desk, piercing blue eyes peeking behind a pair of wire-framed glasses that rested gingerly on the bridge of his nose. He shrugs off his blazer, draping it over the top of his swivel chair, leaving him in a navy blue buttoned Henley, fitted jeans, and a pair of worn-out hiking boots, silver chains peeping from behind the collar of his long-sleeve. "I know there are other things you'd rather be doing on a Friday afternoon."

Mr. Barnes was not ugly, not like your other professors who were old and probably wished they could be anywhere other than to teach a bunch of young adults how to engage in philosophical morals or why Jane Austen wrote Pride and Prejudice-No, he was a babe.

And you weren't the only one who thought that. You lost count with how many times you'd hear his name falling from the freshman girl's mouths who were lucky enough to catch a glimpse of the young professor—well younger than most—walking across campus. The soft giggles emitting from the girls beside you in class every time he'd glance in their direction. It also helped that he was easy on the eyes. If you were honest, with yourself you could admit that you fantasized about the gorgeous man in front of you, all six feet of him. You knew damn well that he was older, way older, 14 years to be exact but, that never stopped you thinking about those forbidden pleasures.

Bucky had a catch-22 situation as well. Ever since the day you waltzed into his lecture hall with bright eyes and a pretty smile that made him go weak at the knees, he couldn't get you out of his head. The mere sight of you messed with him, his thoughts, and day-to-day life. Especially his work ethic. Not once had he ever been late to anything, he thought himself a man of punctuality, but lately, it was becoming harder to focus on anything.

He debated, paced his apartment for a while before he decided to show up. Granted, he was the one who set up the meeting in the first place—wanting to talk about your paper on Wuthering Heights. He felt the need to argue his way through your "the tone throughout the novel was hopeful and compassionate" When in fact, the novel didn't start out that way. Bucky was far too passionate about his knowledge when it came to his favorite books and authors, and he didn't like when someone disagreed with him, especially a student.

But, you weren't just any student. Over the course of the three months since joining his class, you had become the one he sought in every assembly, every gathering of pupils, or ceremony—you were his favorite. You argued with him, got under his skin to get your point across and it didn't help that you were fucking gorgeous, a walking sin in his eyes, and he couldn't help but see the many hungry eyes from fellow students that were after you—you noticed but only wanted one man, and he was off-limits.

He couldn't even get through today's lesson without thinking of how soft your legs looked, how he wanted them wrapped around his waist while he fucked you senseless, or how sweet you would taste while he buried his face between your thighs. How lucky those damned ends of your pens must be for having the pleasure of being between your lips. The many sundresses you wore to class—the scalding weather at fault for his imagination running wild. Today's dress was sage green, dispersed with small white flowers- thin straps at your shoulders, cutting off at the middle of your thighs.

Bucky could almost choke on your perfume as it surrounded him, the sweet, flowery smell filling up his nostrils in the most pleasant way. He couldn't get enough. He was pretty sure he recognized the brand, walking past the perfume department whilst shopping for ties one Sunday Morning. You were all he could think about, and that wasn't good- for you or for him. "Uhm..." Bucky clears his throat, gaze reluctantly ripping away from your lips, settling on your paper held together by a silver bulldog clip. "I set this up because I wanted to talk to you about your Wuthering Heights essay." He explains, dragging his chair closer to take a seat.

"Oh," You murmur, drawing in your lips to spread out your gloss. "Is it bad? Did I fail, Professor Barnes?"

Bucky shakes his head, not daring to meet your eyes, jaw clenching at the use of his title, he didn't care when other students called him that. Only when it came from your mouth did it stir up feelings within him. "Nope," He grumbles, gripping the edges of the papers in his grasp. "You didn't fail. I just wanted to ask you some questions about it. That's it," He says, emphasizing the t at the end.

You let your back fall against the support from the chair, ballet flat tapping once again, eyes trained on the man seated in front of you.

Bucky took the memo, nodding his head once before his eyes flickered down to your paper. "Here," he starts, slowly rising from his chair to walk over to you, your perfume hitting him harder the closer he approaches your figure sat calmly in his office chair. "I highlighted the areas I wanted to discuss," Mr. Barnes turns it over to you, your back pushing off the rest to reach for the essay.

Your eyes shift down from his concerned features, his body slowly gravitating towards the front of his desk, leaning his backside against it as he rolls his sleeves up to his elbows, giving you a full view of his metal arm. You found your forehead etching with confusion, brows furrowing at the highlighted passages. "Um, Professor Barnes?" You flip through the pages, finding that only one passage out of your entire essay was highlighted. Bucky crosses his arms over his chest, a brow raised in question. "Is this it?" You ask, eyes flickering up to his cerulean's.

"Is there a problem?"

"No, no," You assure him, lips pulling into a coy smirk at the section on your essay. You knew that was exactly what you had to write to gain his attention as if you didn't already have it. "I'm just making sure."

"Right," Professor Barnes pushes off his desk, hands clasping together, creating an echo in his office. "So, let's begin with the first thing."

You nod in agreement, placing the essay on top of your lap, listening intently as he starts.

He rants, going off about the history of the book and why Emily Brontë even wrote it, and how she used a pseudonym to publish the book. It had nothing to do with your portion of the essay but, you listened anyway, finding it absolutely adorable and sexy. You loved a smart man, especially one who knew what he was talking about, explaining things with so much passion and excitement, it was extremely attractive. You stare at his lips, so pink and plump- you wondered what kind of chapstick he used to get them to look so soft, what they tasted like, how they would feel on your own.

"-And let's talk about what you said here," Mr. Barnes steps closer, eyes finding the highlighted passage in your lap, snapping you out of your daze. "The entire tone of the novel- why it may end more hopeful, from the very beginning it's critical almost disapproving. Lockwood begins the novel with a desire to be alone and-"

"I know."

"He sought out a, and I quote, a perfect-" Mr. Barnes's sentence falls short, eyes flickering to yours once he fully processed your words. Slowly, his expressive hands fall to his sides, face scrunching in confusion. "You...what?"

"I know." You repeat, your smirk widening at the shock stricken on his face, his brows furrowing in thought. "The tone of the novel? I know it begins with Lockwood critiquing the residents of Wuthering Heights, he's almost disapproving of what he sees and hears. I'm well aware of these details, Professor Barnes."

Bucky took a moment, letting everything absorb like an old dish sponge. Had he heard you correctly or was it all in his head? "Well, then why did you...?"

You shrug, gripping the armrests of your chair to push yourself up, letting the essay fall to the ground. "Maybe I just wanted a reason to come and talk to you...alone." You suddenly spoke, feeling a new wave of confidence wash over you. You were just testing waters, seeing how deep it was before taking a dive. You saw it.

The longing stares, the avoidance of conversation whenever you saw him in the courtyard almost as if he were ignoring you on purpose. At first, you brushed it off as him not liking you since you'd seen him plenty of times conversating with other pupils, girls and boys alike. But, it was only you, he seemed to steer clear of. It wasn't until you were being asked out at the end of your class by one of the campus's football athletes that you fully understood.

The way Mr. Barnes jaw clenched at the words echoing in the lecture hall, how the jock tucked a few strands of hair behind your ear, his cocky smile plastered on his face. How Mr. Barnes fists tightened, his tone berating to get out of his class, "This isn't the time or place"

Of course, you said no to the date, earning a 'whatever' from said jock, glancing over your shoulder at your professor, only to see him smiling at your rejection was when it clicked.

So, you tested out your theory. Coming to class earlier than usual, wearing the perfume you knew would capture his attention, the dresses you chose to bring to class. It was all a ploy, a plan to confirm what you had suspected, and with the way he was looking at you right now, you knew it was true.

Bucky's mouth went dry, his tongue scraping the roof of his mouth as it were sandpaper. "Now why would you want to do that?" He mumbles, eyes flickering down to your glossed lips, hands gripping the edges of his desk, knuckles turning white at the strength beneath them. He could practically hear the wood cracking underneath his vibranuim arm.

"I see the way you look at me, Professor." You whisper, looking up at him innocently through your lashes, teeth clamping down on your bottom lip. "I know you want me." You finally say, sliding your hands up his clothed chest.

"Ms. L/N, this is highly...inappropriate," Bucky chokes out, resisting the urge to grab at your waist. It was taking everything inside of him to fight you, not give in to your antics or body.

"I know," You say softly, your hands settling on his shoulders, "But, I'll let you in on a little secret," You lean in closer, bringing your lips close to his ear. "I want you too."

The groan that rose from Bucky's throat was almost animalistic, coming deep from his desire to have you all to himself, and yet, he still couldn't give in. "Sweetheart," He says in a warning tone. Sweetheart. Your pet name—the name he coined for you, and only you. At first, you didn't think anything of it, since you just assumed he addressed his other pupils with some endearing term but, over time, you realized it was just for you. It wasn't the only one he'd call you, but sweetheart was your personal favorite. It had some class—old-fashioned edge to it.

You almost gave up, shoulders dropping in defeat when a thought crossed, your lips pulling up into a mischievous grin. "You're right, Professor." You nod your head in agreement. "Maybe I shouldn't waste my time on you." But, your hands never left his shoulders. "Maybe I should tell Leo that I changed my mind?"

Bucky's jaw clenches, Leo, the athlete that had asked you out last week. He could recount that as if it happened just yesterday. He didn't like it, he didn't like the way that jock looked at you, how he touched you freely, that stupid smile on his face, he could almost punch it right off. "What?" He jeers, earning a victorious smile from you.

"Yeah, maybe he'll fuck me like-"

Bucky didn't give you a chance to finish that sentence before his lips were smashing onto yours, hands flying to your hips, the pads of his fingers digging into your skin as he pulls you flush against his body.

You gasp at the sudden strength, gripping the back of his neck to hold on for dear life, your legs starting to feel like jelly beneath you. Finally—you thought. This is only what you'd been dreaming about ever since you saw him around campus.

Bucky grabbed on anything he could, from the swell of your ass, trailing down until he hiked up your thigh against his hip. "You feel that?" He breathed whilst breaking the kiss, grinding his hips against yours, allowing you to feel the hardened bulge under the denim of his jeans. You whimper as tingles exploded throughout your body, your panties already soaked. "You make me so hard, sweetheart...is this what you want?" Bucky asks, pressing his lips to your neck, letting his tongue follow as he starts to suck lightly. "Want me to fuck you like a little slut, wanna be a good girl for me?"

"Please, James," You urge, craning your neck to give him better access. You couldn't have known that saying his first name would only trigger something within him, something feral and full of desire. If you calling him professor turned him on, Bucky had no idea what his actual name could do to him.

The straps of your dress were yanked down in an instant, Bucky's metal hand pulling down the neckline to reveal your breasts, his lips leaning down to latch onto one of your nipples. You mewl, throwing your head back in pleasure, your entire body burning with a craving, a hunger for James Barnes himself, and you were finally going to indulge.

Quickly, Bucky flips you over, pressing your ass into the edge of his desk. "Now, now, doll," James tsks, his right hand inching up your dress. "You have to be quiet for me, can you do that, sweetheart?" He asks, running his middle finger up along the folds. You nod hastily, chin almost touching your collarbone whilst looking down at him, teeth holding down your lip to suppress your moans. Bucky lifts you up on his desk, hiking up your dress until it bunched up, sitting at your waist. "Wait there," He grunts, stepping away for just a second to lock the door to his office before pulling down the blinds so no one could take a peak.

"I need you, Mr. Barnes," You moan, using your own hand to get yourself off. "I need you so bad."

Bucky could hardly contain himself, the fabric around his dick only tightening, throbbing with the need to be buried deep inside of you but, he held back. Wanting to have his fun before giving in to his lust completely. If he was going to get fired, you may as well be worth the damn risk.

"You look so good like that," He breathes, chest rising and falling, his hand dropping the curtain cord. "-Waiting for me." Bucky saunters closer, eyes trained on you as if he had a rifle scope embedded into his vision, he thrived in the idea of you being all worked up because of him. It wasn't the most outrageous idea, because it happened to be true, but you had more of an effect on him than he'd care to admit.

"Be a good girl and spread your legs for me, doll," He demands and you didn’t need to be told twice. So, you concede, spreading your legs wider, knocking a few trinkets and his name tag to the floor. He chuckles, a deep sexy laugh as his eyes flicker to his belongings on the ground. "Naughty girl, you look just about good enough to eat."

Your eyes widen, watching as he kneels in front of you, fingers hooking over the waistband, "I almost don't want to take these off you," He admits, your core aching, yearning to be touched. Bucky hadn't even touched you and yet, you were wet enough to soak through the lace. "But-" He didn't finish, ripping the lace off you with his vibranium hand.

You couldn't believe what was happening right now, his reserved demeanor replaced by this shameless, lustful man above you. You sigh contently, leaning back on your elbows as he begins to trail open-mouthed kisses from your calves to your thighs, reaching the tender skin on the inner area. Bucky didn't waste any time, licking up one deep swipe, your forearms breaking their strength, causing your back to hit the hardwood below you. "Fuck, doll," Bucky groans, fingers digging into your thighs, holding them apart. He takes another dive, tasting your arousal as it seeped out. His tongue felt wondrous, the many maneuvers—from the flicking of his tongue to sucking and lapping—it was all too much, driving you close to an orgasm but, you needed—wanted more.

"You taste like a drug, so fucking sweet—so addicting," Bucky growls, eyes flickering to you. You raise your head from the desk, meeting his darkened eyes, getting a view of his beard and lips coated in your slick. You'd be lying if you said it wasn't the hottest thing you ever saw.

"I need more, James." You whine, gripping onto his metal hand that now found your breast, the cold metal tweaking your nipple between his fingers. You knew that using his first name again would only egg him on even more, and that's exactly what you anticipated.

""I'm not letting you cum until you say please," He gripes, brows furrowing at your demand. He didn't like being told what to do, especially from you. "Go on, sweetheart." He coaxed, his flesh thumb starting to rub torturous circles around your clit. "If you want to cum, you have to beg."

Bucky knew that you were incredibly stubborn, you didn't take being told to beg for something. You weren't a dog, but right now—with how he was touching you, you couldn't find your pride to tell him to fuck off. You knew better, "Fuck, James. Please," You murmur, his thumb pressing down just a bit, creating an intense pressure that had you slipping on your words. "Holy sh...shit, please, James, please...I need more!" You exclaim, earning a satisfied grin from the man in front of you.

"That's my girl," He praises, unbeknownst to you—was a kink you shared. Bucky buries his head between your thighs once again, lapping his tongue in the most pleasant way, his teeth lightly scraping your bundle of nerves, making you scream out in pleasure and Bucky slaps his hand over your mouth. He stops altogether, rising to his feet to hover above your body splayed out on his desk. "What'd we just talk about," He scolds, breath fanning over your ear, his jeans grinding against your clit, making you moan into his hand.

""I'm sorry," You whisper breathlessly, holding onto his shoulders, that familiar feeling curling below with the friction from his jeans. "Jus' feels good," You mumble as he removes his hand bringing it below as he slowly pushes a finger in, pumping nice and slow- taking his time.

"Mr. Sanders will never touch you again, you hear me?" Bucky insists, pushing another digit inside of you, your back beginning to arch off the desk, spitting out a string of profanities, your eyes rolling to the back of your head as Bucky sucks on the sweet spot of your neck. "He won't look your way, he won't ever have the divine pleasure of getting to taste how fucking sweet you are, sweetheart."

So many filthy words fell from his lips, driving you incredibly close to finishing, "Faster, James, please," You beg, gripping his metal arm that held the weight of his body above you.

Bucky concurs, fastening the pace of his fingers, his thumb rubbing your clit once again, that was all it took to unwind you—a wave of pleasure washing over you. Your back falls against the desk, breaths labored as he removes his fingers, popping them into his mouth. "Mmm," He hums, sighing in content. "So good, you did so well for me, cumming all over my fingers."

You rose from his desk, pulling him in from his belt loops as you began to work at his belt, yanking the leather from the loops, eager to get a taste of your professor as well. As soon as you undid the button on his jeans, you hop off the desk, pushing his shoulders so he would stumble on the chair behind him.

He grins, helping you pull his jeans off, leaving on his boxer briefs, the outline showing you just how big he was. You dropped to your knees, settling yourself between his thighs as you pull down his boxers, his length springing out from the fabric, the head of his cock already leaking with precum. Your eyes widen at the sight, wondering how you were going to get all of him into your mouth, how was he going to fit inside of you.

You wrap your fingers around his dick, guiding the head to your mouth, licking slowly to taste the salty cum on your tastebuds. You could feel your arousal trickling down your thigh, the mere act of giving head working you into a frenzy. It was lewd and pornographic—the curses and groans that fell from his plump lips as he tosses his head back against the chair, egging you on, your lips wrapping around the head, tongue swirling, tracing the edges as your mouth sinks further, almost hitting the back of your throat.

In a flash you were being lifted up, your hands flying against the wood of his desk, bracing yourself, feeling Bucky's chest flush against your back. "Sorry, doll," He says, voice hoarse, almost like he was holding back. "I would've came in your mouth if you kept sucking me like that, it felt so good, baby," He praises, nipping the shell of your ear as he drags the hem of your dress above your ass. "I need to be inside you, got a condom?"

"Don't need one," You huff, glancing over your shoulder to meet his blue eyes. "Implant," You say, giving him a glimpse of your bicep. It was now that Bucky thanked whoever made birth control for this exact moment.

He wastes no time, guiding the head of his dick at your entrance, sliding in with ease from your slick. "Ohhh, fuck," He groans, almost wanting to collapse on top of you, your warm velvety walls clamping down on him. You moan, hands bunching into his fists as he pushes all the way in, hitting the ring of your cervix. He was so deep, it had your mouth hanging open. "So warm and tight, doll, so good, so fucking good!" He exclaims, knowing very well that there were students and faculty walking by—they most likely could hear the noises coming from his office but, he couldn't give a rat's ass if they heard, he wanted everybody to know that he was fucking you.

Bucky pushes into you again, picking up the pace to create a rhythm, your moans becoming more desperate and needy, "You feel so good, James," You whimper, biting your bottom lip so hard that you were sure you were drawing blood. You always wanted to be fucked against a desk and now, it was happening— with your English professor of all people.

Bucky grits his teeth, tucking his metal hand underneath your bust to pull your up, your back hitting his chest, head resting against his shoulder as he starts to slam into you. "You like that, doll?" He growls beside your ear, "God, you love it like this, don't you? Such a good girl, aren't you?"

You couldn't even muster a proper sentence, not with the way his dick was hitting areas your own fingers couldn't reach. He had set a bar and you didn't think you could go back to sex with guys your age, you needed James. "Yes, yes," You choke out, bringing your arm up to pull at his hair. "Feels good,"

"By the time we're done here," He grunts, his thrusts easing up, "You won't be able to touch yourself without thinking of me, you won't be able to have sex without wishing that I was the one who was giving it to you, are you listening, sweetheart?" Bucky dictates, making your walls clench around his girth. "This pussy belongs to me, you hear me? You belong to me,"

That was all it took for a second orgasm to hit you, Bucky now crashing into you, eager to reach his own high. He moans, propping you against his desk once again as he grabs your hips, your hands holding yourself steady at the new sensation that had taken over. You had never had it this rough—you liked it.

"Oh, James," You cry out, not caring if anyone heard anymore, it was too good to keep quiet. "Just like that,"

A few more thrusts and Bucky came, painting the inside of your walls with his cum. "Holy...." He chokes out, slowly thrusting, leaning down to place soft kisses onto your shoulder. "So pretty," he murmurs as you let go, reaching a third orgasm.

As soon as he pulls out, he gathers a few tissues, cleaning you up as you readjust your dress, eyes finding your ripped panties on the floor. "Guess I won't be needing those," You sigh, meeting James's eyes whilst he re-did the buckle on his belt.

"So...you wanna go for a coffee some time?"

[leviiattacks]

teacher!levi and teacher!reader headcanons please 🥺

author note :: i expected for this to be better but idk,,, um, you know maybe it’s just me who wishes i executed it better but i wrote this at 3am that’s my excuse. ANYWAY I HOPE U ENJOY ANON :-))) i know it’s not headcanons but here!! also my ask box is always open to feel free to drop by !! 

word count :: 5.4k (after i had to severely cut the word count down because my tumblr wouldn’t let me post the longer version with more detail,,,,)

honestly you’ve never fit in well with the math teachers in particular but you’re still amicable with most

however, there’s one unbearable member of the group that happens to want to play jump rope with your patience constantly

and that person just so happens to be mr ackerman

every single staff meeting the both of you sit furthest away from each other whilst silently exchanging bitter glares

maybe it’s his stony disposition or his unrealistically harsh grading system that makes him seem so off putting to you.

or perhaps it’s your soft and gentle approach to teaching that drives him up a wall

but to make matters simple, the two of you have never got along. nearly everything he says you disagree with and nearly everything you say he has to rebuke.

every outlandish suggestion of his at meetings is met with firm disapproval from you and every time you bring up wanting to provide the children with more time for extracurricular activities he sneers in annoyance

today he’s proposing a plan to set exams as soon as possible

???

you wonder if he’s even thinking with his head attached to his neck because it’ll be impossible for the children to handle all of the content in the form of an exam paper so soon

the workload he’s been pushing onto his math class has become far too ridiculous for your liking and you want to put an end to the man’s reign of terror

it just so happens your classes are scheduled in the blocks next to each other meaning he always sees your students an hour before you do

it’s got to the point where your pupils trudge into english class completely EXHAUSTED

the other day a boy fainted because of lack of sleep and now mr ackerman has the audacity to put forward the exam dates???

“we need to instill these children with discipline. taking them by surprise will give them a much needed reality check.”

you groan at his speech and raise a hand

“may i interject?”

professor ackerman’s tongue pokes at the inside of his cheek the irritation is painted on his face but he nods although he seems reluctant

“these children do not need standardized exams to-”

“would you like for me to completely scrap exams from the curriculum?” without even allowing for you to present your argument he has to cut you off with a mocking grin

“levi, i think-”

“that's mr ackerman to you.”

his blunt correction has you rolling your eyes because YES!! you understand the two of you aren’t exactly the best of friends but he doesn’t even want to be on a first name basis with a colleague of two years??

his pettiness has your blood boiling in searing displeasure

“you have to stop going so hard on these children.”

he’s shuffling through some paperwork not even batting an eye in your direction.

“personally, we aren’t hard enough but of course the english teacher has trouble understanding that.”

the jab he makes at your job only causes the anger inside of you to bubble up again

why does teaching english have ANYTHING to do with this???

“you teach math yet you can’t calculate the reasoning behind your subpar love life. do not insult english.”

personal insults are your favourite to throw at him because he always gets so riled up

and actually for once you have the answer to a math question.

the reason why his love life is so uneventful has to be because of this :

his personality + his obnoxious humour + his looks = a good looking but undatable man

his jaw clenches and the grip he has on the stack of papers in his hands strengthens

ok,, that is kinda hot but that is not relevant at all

you’re able to make out miss ral one of the other math teachers make a move to speak and god you fight the urge to punch her every day because she’s always gushing about mr ackerman

seeing as you don’t want to punch her or anyone for that matter you turn to give her a “if you speak right now i swear to god i will lose my shit” look

she gets the memo incredibly quickly because her mouth closes shut immediately

mr ackerman takes a sip out of the cup of black tea next to him. “i would appreciate if you just sat back and let me do what’s best.”

“children fainting in my lesson is not what’s best.” your rebuttal catches him off guard and he seems more than a little surprised

“wait- fainted??”

you eyes flick over to mr zacharias, you had told him to pass the message on but the way he’s sheepishly looking at the floor avoiding your eyes clearly tells you all you have to know

“looks like someone forgot to pass the message onto you but the other day falco fainted in english.”

“is he- is he okay?? did he say why?”

eyebrows raising you’re quite surprised to see any sort of reaction from him let alone concern

“he stayed up all night completing your homework.”

lips pressing together into a fine line it almost looks as if he’s guilty

“i’ll talk to him about it later.” his voice is back to its usually plain tone and any trace of his previous worry has been masked.

an awkward silence follows. he coughs choosing to not continue the discussion about exams.

principal smith takes the hint and moves on to discuss planned school trips

HOORAH victory!!!

yet another day where you’ve saved your students

“who is fallacy and why are they pathetic?” a few snorts and giggles are heard around the class and you force yourself to laugh at falco's miserable attempt at a joke

you’ve noticed falco’s been cracking more jokes around his new seat mate gabi.

she’s small but feisty always willing to debate and she’s really a joy to teach although she can get a little bit aggressive with the others at times

honestly it’s quite obvious that falco has a fat crush on her. well, actually it’s been obvious from the moment she step foot into your class

and... you couldn’t just ignore the way falco looked at her could you?? and there was an empty space next to him too sooooo, what harm would there be in placing the two together?

it seems as if your attempt at getting the both of them to talk has worked. gabi and falco compete desperately for the top position in the class and are two of the best students you’ve had in a while

also after the day falco fainted in class gabi has been noticeably nicer. things like asking if he’s drank water or how much he’s slept

you have a small inkling that she may like him back

and the budding romance is adorable to you because you too once had childhood crushes

it feels rather nostalgic to see the two interact

but today you notice the two aren’t in

in fact, you notice half of the class isn’t?

“where are the others?” your question sends a jolt through one of your present students but he stays silent choosing to pretend to clean his glasses as a distraction

crossing your arms over your chest you walk over towards his desk

“udo, you can tell me what it is.”

“professor ackerman said not to tell.” udo looks petrified and you’re just kinda wondering what in the hell is going on

lucky for you his resolve is thin and he quickly cracks under pressure

“okay. you can’t say i told.”

nodding in agreement he looks around making sure no one else hears what exactly it is he’s about to disclose

“he’s kept some people back to talk to them about something top secret. i don’t know what but he asked for the students who like you.”

at that you feel a little bitter because if he asked for the student who liked you why on earth is half the class still here??

but oh well, you guess you can’t please them all

“oh no, no, no. you’ve got it wrong. we all wanted to stay but he didn’t let us.”

udo looks genuine so you let it slide

either way it doesn’t really matter as long as the majority prefer you over that sick and twisted math teacher you’re alright

“he does know he’s cut into my class time right?”

“falco told him that and he whispered something about how you’re bothersome.”

you???? bothersome???

WHEN HE’S THE ONE BOTHERING EVERYONE?/!:£:!/)

you don’t even look back as you walk out frankly furious at what’s happened

english is important

ACTUALLY!!!

ENGLISH > MATH

you will stand by that till the day you die

your knuckle meets with the wooden surface of your sworn enemy’s classroom door and almost automatically you’re able to hear the shuffle of chairs and padding of numerous footsteps approach

the door swings open and you step aside to allow your missing students to pass through

they look nervous but one look at your reassuring smile lets them ease up and relax

“well.” a voice behind you snaps “look who paid me a visit.”

“we’re talking about this later.”

you try your best to sound serious but you don’t know if you pull it off as well as he does because he just ends up giving you a disappointed sort of look

“y/n. stick to being the good cop it suits you better.”

“we are not on first name basis. you said it yourself.” is your narrowed comeback

finally turning to face him you’re surprised when your eyes travel to the triangle of space behind him and you’re able to get a peek of what looks to be a list of books on his whiteboard

pride and prejudice

wuthering heights

jane eyre

ville-

before you’re able to read the rest he moves in front of your line of vision

he’s got quite the selection but,, when did he of all the people on this planet start showing any interest in literature?

“the books on the board what’s that about?”

your inquiry flies over his head and he shuts the door behind him completely

his face doesn’t move and if it does it only shows the slightest hint of confusion

“what books are you talking about?” he replies and don’t know why your knees feel a little weak when he looks you straight in the eyes

snap.

out.

of.

it.

“i saw books on the board.”

“you saw wrong.” he barks back and he’s getting agitated now

maybe you did imagine it...

and you have to get back to teach your class so okay fair enough you’ll let it go because you do know you have a habit of daydreaming randomly

however that doesn’t stop you from giving him another skeptical look before you leave because there is NO WAY you imagined it, but it is you and it really could be a possibility

the click clack of your heels against the floor sound out as you remove yourself from the conversation

you assume he’s returned to his classroom

that’s why it catches you by surprise when you hear a hesitant voice behind you

“there were no books on the board.”

you don’t know why he has to tell you that again because it only makes himself look all the more suspicious

“but if they were a list of book recommendations then what would you recommend i read?”

the question is peculiar coming from him

are you in an alternate universe?

is this a dream?

are you talking to a clone?

a robot?

because this can NOT be the same man you’ve been working with for two years

maybe he’s having a change of heart?

but that sounds unlikely

maybe he’s planning to read the book and somehow with that big brain of his formulate a calculation to score it a measly two out of ten

yeah. that sounds more likely.

nevertheless, you still want to give him a recommendation, maybe he’ll find out he’s into books this way

“you should totally check out pride and prejudice :-)”

for once you’re smiling at him and he doesn’t know what to do because the change is sudden but he doesn’t say a word after that

instead he retreats into his classroom

god.

now you’re sure he’s just asked to form a stupid calculation or whatever the hell it is math teachers do.

“he likes you.” hange has a shit eating grin on their face and you can’t help but narrow your eyes and sigh in exasperation

no he does not like you but you don’t try to correct hange because you know they’re firm in their stupid belief

“would you ever date him?” hange fiddles with the last of their potato salad absentmindedly waiting on your reply

the question literally has you choking on your lunch

“i would rather fight for survival in the wilderness. thank you for asking.”

“oh come on... he’s got a thing for you. you read romance novels all the time you should be able to tell he does.”

“yeah and that thing he has for me is wanting to shove my head onto a pitchfork. you’ve got the wrong end of the stick.” shoving a piece of pasta into your mouth you sigh dreamily at the taste. it serves as a momentary distraction

you get one lunch break and you are not!!!! in the mood to talk about him whilst you’re on that break

he’s attractive

and you have to admit he looks handsome in his crisp white button up and pristine black suit AND his cologne is really...

okay, you are digressing from the point

none of what you just said means anything!!!

at surface level he seems like a catch but it’s what’s on the inside that matters and he said he finds english stupid

that’s more than enough of a reason to dislike the guy?

he thinks stuff like the pythagorean theorem and y = mx+c are entertaining

y = mx+c ??? over literature???

you read books to teach and you read books for your own enjoyment

it would be a complete travesty if you had a crush on a book hater

and levi ackerman most certainly can be classed as a book hater.

a pessimistic book hater if the specifics are needed

“OH! SORRY Y/N GOTTA BLAST MOB’S OVER THERE!!!!!”

you don’t even get the chance to say goodbye because hange makes an eager run towards moblit

hange and moblit are inseparable, both are the shared heads of the science department and since he’s been off on sick leave recently you understand why hange’s rushed off to greet him

you wish you had a teacher friend like that but the sad truth is you’re pretty much a lone wolf. the other english teachers are wrinkly old pickles and talk about antiques or quiz shows :-(

“this seat free?”

no way.

it’s not him

it can't be

what does he even want??

“um, well yeah it is free b-.”

“good.” he takes the seat without you even inviting him and now you’re stuck in an awkward situation you didn’t even expect to be in today

you're about to burst into tears because is it too much to ask for a peaceful lunch period???

mr ackerman clears his throat and places a book in the center of the table. “pride and prejudice although not my cup of tea was... mildly enjoyable.”

wait...

is this him...

admitting defeat!??

HELLLOOOOO

you are over the moon right now because you know he really had to have enjoyed it a lot and is simply choosing to withhold that information for his own reputation

“i’m happy to hear you took a liking to it.” you’re munching away at your pasta a little more upbeat now

“okay but the start of the book assuming all single men want a wife? no, all i want is a good night’s rest for once. also mrs bennet needs to calm down, elizabeth can marry who the hell she wa-”

“someone’s a little passionate aren’t they?” you giggle into your glass of water and you catch mr ackerman frowning

“i liked it okay.”

“i thought you said it was only mildly enjoyable just now?” grinning and looking at him through your lashes his cheeks become red

you guess he’s angry or something but that’s the usual with him

“yeah, whatever. i just wanted to play fair and apologise.”

“apologise?” oh wow, now your interest has really peaked because never in the past two years has he apologised to ANYONE

not even principal smith for the one time he flipped out and nearly cursed at a mouthy student at parent's evening

grimacing a little before he does it he finally speaks again.

“english is important. i’m sorry.”

your lips tug up into a bright smile

well???

this is a great interaction??

an apology coming out of levi ackerman of all people

“apology accepted! i’m glad to know you liked the book but now that we’re a tad bit friendlier with each other i wanted to ask for a favour.” your eyes gleam and he swears he can see specks of shining stars in them

“...okay, it depends.”

he’s warming up to you so he considers it

“please don’t cut into my lesson time levi.” his name slips out of your mouth but it’s so natural you don’t even care to correct yourself

“i’m sorry about that too y/n.” your name now ventures out of his mouth too as it tests the waters

wordlessly the two of you agree to first name basis

BUT more important matters are at hand such as how he’s issued you yet another apology?

this is satire surely

because why is he so willing all of a sudden...?

well, that's the power of pride and prejudice, wow you’re really thanking the heavens for blessing this world with jane austen’s existence

jane austen. a woman capable of remarkable things, she's even managed to make an unmoving book hater somehow become a lover

poking at your tuna pasta you and levi are now quiet.

“soooooo, any opinions on mr wickham?” you ask the question hoping to initiate a longer conversation than before

and luckily for you your attempt works

SUCCESS!!

levi pinches the bridge of his nose and the creases on his forehead show he clearly isn't particularly fond of wickham

“don’t get me started he’s so indescribably annoying?”

ok, ok, ok

you don’t even know how it happens but you and levi really hit it off

weeks have passed and you and him have even become lunch buddies

it was so shocking to moblit at first that he dropped his lunch on the floor when he saw you and levi enthusiastically exchanging words

then again, two mr wickham haters are bound to get along

you’re seriously wondering how the two of you ever survived as mortal enemies

yeah, you still disagree a lot but you’re getting there!!

sometimes he helps you out when your computer stops running and in exchange you’re willing to offer him book recommendations

he swears he doesn't want any recommendations from you but you know he enjoys it

yesterday he got microsoft excel out and showed you how useful it really was and you went :O because you never really understood the need for it at all

you’re a little bit of a granny when it comes to tech...

and just today at lunch you recommended he checks some plays out but his nose wrinkled at the mention of shakespeare so the both of you went through a long list of dramas and eventually you were able to interest him in j.b. priestely's an inspector calls

another victory for you!!

anyway, right now the two of you are sitting inside of the staff room seeing as it's that time of the month again.

time for the monthly staff meeting

it's the first one you've had since you and levi became friends and you're worried the both of you will be back at it butting heads

wait, are you friends?

well, you wouldn't mind if that were the case but to be honest you would like to be a little bit more than friends mayb-

no!!! no!!! no!!! stupid thought!!! you retract that statement immediately

no you do not want to be more than friends with levi ackerman, yes he's lovely to a degree but you are not going to elaborate on why it's a terrible idea to fancy him

okay wait, let's elaborate for the sake of elaborating

he's surprisingly charming and wittier than you thought he would be. the fun conversations are making your days now and to be honest it is nice to have someone to spend lunch with (hange usually skips out on lunch all together to tinker in the science labs and set up experiments)

wait... weren't you suppose to explain why you don't want to get with him?

you're an idiot and you don't notice how dumb you really are until everyone just kinda gawks at the both of you because it's so odd seeing you in the same room let alone within a three feet radius of each other.

fuck, you completely forgot you and levi sat at opposite ends of the room

principal smith enters and even he looks visibly shocked at the change in seats but he doesn't mention it and you're grateful he doesn't because you didn't purposefully sit here it just happened on accident

erwin turns in your direction and smiles

"would you like to start off with your proposition for extracurriculars?"

nodding your head you begin passionately.

"well, i'd like to say i don't think we offer the children enough. we have spare funding so why not open another club? cooking perhaps? i understand many of you may not understand the importance of teaching them how to cook but-"

"do you have an obsession for setting these children up for failure?" tensing up you notice it's levi who's spoke and he doesn't sound remotely happy

blinking once and then twice he realizes his tone isn't the best and he mutters an apology "sorry, go ahead i'll add in when you're done."

whispers travel through the room straight away

"did he just say sorry?"

"actually why are those two sitting together?"

"do you think they're you know...?"

miss ral who's sat a little further away is the next person to disagree with you

"i understand the intention but would it not be better to let them have extra math lessons?"

"oh, so you can get a pay rise?" the comeback you make is aggressive and dripping in displeasure

she sits up face burning up

"no- no- absolutely not i take pleasure in teaching all of my classes." flustered and trying to hide her nerves she takes a sip out of her water bottle

you want to pour all of the water out onto that ginger hair of hers

the reason why her interjection is getting on your nerves is due to the fact you overheard her and another one of the math teachers plan to bring this specific point up

and you are well aware that her reasoning behind it has nothing to do with the children

she couldn't care less about them

"do not make me repeat what you and mr bozado were chit chatting about earlier today."

the threat is enough to silence her and just when you think you've handled the situation levi has to give his input

"let's ignore petra's motivations and talk about how teaching these kids how to cook means nothing if they have no tradable skills to offer in the real world." levi's not looking at you. he's either too annoyed or too preoccupied with his thought process

at that moment you feel naive, you thought maybe he would try to understand your opinion seeing as he's been spending so much time with you as of recent but that looks to not be the case

murmurs of agreement fill the room at his statement and you feel pathetic

it's practically the entire room against you now

genuinely how is it these people can manage to be such spoiled sports about everything?

"recently, i asked all of my classes to write an essay about school stress. maybe you won't understand my views because you haven't read their pieces but they need a fucking break." the expletive flies out of your mouth without warning and you flush in embarrassment

that

was

not

professional.

"oh god, i'm sorry i got worked up i shouldn't hav-" fumbling over all of your words you feel even more mortified

the principal raises his hand signalling you stop and you clamp your mouth shut. you're in huge trouble that's for sure

but,,, in spite of the clear difference in opinion between you and the other teachers, soft and well spoken principal smith says the unthinkable

"i have the final say and i believe you are coming from a good place after reading your student's work. how would you feel about running the new cooking club?"

scanning his face for a second you can tell his question is legitimate and the wave of relief that washes over you has never felt better than ever

sighing contently you agree and as the topic of conversation shifts to something else entirely you sense your heart rate picking up

you feel like you're back to square one with levi.

it's yet another day where you’ve saved your students and you should be feeling overjoyed but if anything you feel a little deflated

you wish he would have come around and understood but you can't teach and old dog new tricks

again, the feeling of disappointment wears you down

two weeks have passed since then and your favourite time of year has come. it’s spring term meaning MACBETH

the english curriculum includes plays and it just so happens that today is your first lesson covering shakespeare

and you LOVE shakespeare

something about all the intricate foreshadowing always has you excited

but some children are missing

and it’s way too many to blame on sickness

so you wait for a few minutes but it's consistently radio silent

the last time this happened the culprit had been levi and he promised to never cut into your lesson time

but you could count on him to break his promise after the fiasco that was the monthly meeting

is he back to hating you and hating literature?

well, that's his loss if that's the case!! and no!! you will not upset yourself over the loss of the budding friendship

sighing you get to your feet making a beeline to the door but gabi and falco rush to stop you

awkward chuckles activated they wave their hands to get your attention “OH NO, they’ll only be five minutes!!” their sentence comes out as one big blur of words but you manage to understand them

now you’re doubtful because you know falco and gabi would usually ignore you and allow you to walk out

giving them a knowing glance the pair look between each other

their eyes are clearly communicating and asking if it’s alright to tell you

“i promise i won’t be mad.” you sigh

perhaps if you reassure them they’ll be more likely to spill the beans

“it’s not that you... i don't know. you might be upset.” gabi isn't one to care much for other's feelings so you're slightly anxious even though you shouldn't be

but you’re a tough nut to crack. so, absolutely not. you are not going to upset yourself over whatever it is

“i won’t be hurt. i’ve suffered through reading some of the most emotional classics to ever exist.” hitting your chest with your fist you wince a little because you hit yourself a little too hard

falco’s seems to be too shy to come out with it so gabi takes the lead as she normally does

“some students were talking badly about you so mr ackerman kept them behind to have a talk.”

oh.

yeah, actually you are a teeny weeny bit disheartened because you think you’re nice to all of your pupils but it’s nothing too bad, not everyone will like you

“if that’s all i’ll go get them. thank you for letting me know.” giving them two thumbs up you leave the class immediately

levi is probably scolding them to hell and back

not because he cares for you but because he hates disrespect in general

as you’re nearing the open door of his classroom you hear something you never thought would emerge from levi’s room

“final question. why does mr darcy say he doesn’t want to dance with elizabeth at first?” oh yeah, that’s levi’s voice for sure

an english question?

is he quizzing them on pride and prejudice?

you wait hoping your students don't fail you and are able to provide the correct answer.

“ummm... she’s not pretty enough!!”

levi hums “you answered all five questions right. do you all know why?”

you can’t see the children’s faces but they have to be confused if there’s no immediate response

he grunts in agitation “because your english teacher works hard to teach you every single day. have some respect because that teacher of yours is one in a million.”

taking your bottom lip in between your teeth you fight the urge to smile

“do you know how at every single staff meeting there’s only ever one teacher fighting for you all and what you want. i can assure you that teacher isn’t me, but i believe you can all guess who i'm talking about.”

your heart does a back flip in your chest and you feel jittery but in that really fuzzy good way

like that super duper fuzzy and hazy good way

he’s really very sweet for saying all of this and you're now smiling like an idiot

one pupil takes a chance to make amends “we’re sorry mr ackerman.”

but before levi can give them a response you clap your hands together and walk in unannounced 

“apology accepted, now if you want to all be forgiven forever please return to class and answer the questions on the board!” directing them to the door with your hands you make sure they're conscious fo the fact you aren't mad at them

still, never have you seen them so eager to run off to analyze macbeth. you guess levi's deathly stare is the cause for it

holding back a laugh you clear your throat after the last student leaves

“thank you levi :-)”

it’s quiet for a second and you think to ask him about what has been gnawing at your mind

“you didn’t have to do that. you disagreed with me before so... why did you?”

“i say this at every meeting and you never listen but children need to be disciplined.” his unchangeable tone is unwelcoming

again it’s awkwardly silent and you sorta regret even coming over to see what was going on because now you and levi are just having an uncomfortable staring contest

then he scratches the back of his neck and heaves a heavy breath

“it may also be because i really fucking like you, but i look like an idiot saying that when we’ve been at each other's necks for two years.”

oh.

the sudden and brutally honest confession has the wind knocked out of you, you’re stunned

and then you get hit by it too. the realization hits you like rain hits umbrellas on stormy days. you like him too.

you like him for his witty sense of humour, his pure honesty and his hatred for mr wickham only serves as a bonus

yes, you have your differences. many of them. but you like him

he’s no longer a book hater and so by default you can fancy him. he goes against none of your guidelines essentially

you like him, he likes you back?’//’.;

[SCREAMS]

“well, what do you say? will you be this mr darcy's elizabeth bennet?” hearing the cheesy pickup line from him of all people has the butterflies in your stomach exploding in delight 

“you sound weird, where's the grumpy math teacher from before?" now you and him are simply shamelessly flirting but HEY!! you have no complaints at all

he scoffs at your sarcastic question

"do you want the equation for a two dimensional heart on a graph beca-"

"can i just kiss you?"

wOWIE are you being bold today y/n???

thankfully you don't have to wait for his answer. levi’s right hand pulls your face in and he slams his lips against yours. he gives your waist a squeeze and you hold him tighter by the neck in response. he has a way of somehow making it all feel gentle and relaxed in the same breath

and... you know what? maybe you should have recommended pride and prejudice to him earlier

but oh well.

what matters the most right now is that you're kissing your mr darcy!!

and he’s kissing his elizabeth bennet

:-)

[crymeariveronceagain]

biana vacker from Nothing But A Shadow aesthetic

I paced around for hours on empty I jumped at the slightest of sounds And I couldn't stand the person inside me I turned all the mirrors around

“Never did the world make a queen of a girl who hides in houses and dreams without traveling.”

She smiles back, but it's a fact that her fear will eat her alive Well, she got the life that she wanted, but now all she does is cry

“It is hard to forgive, and to look at those eyes, and feel those wasted hands,' he answered. 'Kiss me again; and don’t let me see your eyes! I forgive what you have done to me. I love my murderer—but yours! How can I?”

I don't need you to sell me on reasons to want you I don't need you to search for the proof that I should You don't have to convince me You don't have to be scared you're not enough

It's you, it's you, it's all for you Everything I do I tell you all the time

I'm sitting here, crying in my prom dress I'd be the prom queen if crying was a contest

Makeup is running down, feelings are all around How did I get here? I need to know

"With freedom, books, flowers, and the moon, who could not be happy?"

Oh, all that I did to try to undo it All of my pain and all your excuses I was a kid but I wasn't clueless

(Someone who loves you wouldn't do this)

All of my past, I tried to erase it But now I see, would I even change it?

“I am no bird; and no net ensnares me: I am a free human being with an independent will.”

Mon amour, je sais que tu m'aimes aussi Tu as besoin de moi Tu as besoin de moi dans ta vie Tu ne peux vivre sans moi Et je mourrais sans toi Je tuerais pour toi

This is a song for the genius child. Sing it softly, for the song is wild.

Nobody loves a genius child.

Kill him - and let his soul run wild.

Control, by Halsey // The Wanderess, by Roman Payne // Tradition, by Halsey // Wuthering Heights, by Emily Bronte // Only Us, from Dear Evan Hansen // Videogames, by Lana Del Rey // prom dress, by mxmtoon // Oscar Wilde // Family Line, by Conan Gray // Jane Eyre, by Charlotte Bronte // Carmen, by Lana Del Rey // Genius Child, by Langston Hughes //

[ethanesimp]

AMAMI PER SEMPRE // E.T.

Pairing: Ethan Torchio x Fem! Reader

Summary: Ethan isn’t the brightest—or the best—when it comes to surprises, so his attempt at proposing to you causes a few misunderstandings...

Word Count: 2.8k

Warnings: Swearing, a tiny tiny mention of death, some angst, other than that it’s pure fluff and me projecting my obsession with old books onto the reader.

Request: Ethan planning to propose and acting super nervous and strange (a bit angsty bc the reader doesn’t know what’s happening) and ending in pure fluff.

Masterlist // Taglist link in bio

A/N: After more than a year of stepping foot into a bookstore for *cough* obvious reasons, I got to go to one yesterday. While looking at some second-hand books I had an idea that I decided to combine with @kawaiiwxnnabe​’s lovely request to bring you this. I hope you enjoy! <3 

Ethan had been mindlessly listening to Damiano sing Amandoti when the thought of marrying you first seriously crossed his mind. It had been a thing he’d thought of countless times ever since he started dating you, but it had never remained with as much intensity as it had that time. 

Damiano, who had noticed his friend’s face illuminate all of a sudden, had a talk with him that once and for all convinced Ethan that it was the right time and you were the right person. He didn’t sleep at all that night because he couldn’t stop thinking about what would be the perfect way to propose to you. It was no secret to him—or anyone who knew you—that you were a hopeless romantic. 

There was nothing that made you happier than simple and small details that came from the heart. That was the reason why you had developed an affinity towards old books. Not only did they have a particular and special scent that reminded you of vanilla and chocolate, but some had the luck—as you liked to call it—of being embellished by notes on margins or dedications on covers. Whether they were about love, sorrow, or maybe even hate, they still showed a small glimpse into the life of the person who had once owned it. Those notes told a story that would prevail even long after they were gone from the earth. 

Ever since he had noticed that small obsession of yours, Ethan had tried to help you expand your treasured collection by bringing you back books he found at antique stores from every country the band played in. 

During a visit to Spain after he initially had his stirring thought, Ethan took the chance to visit one of the second-hand shops he’d found during a night stroll with Victoria, who had disappeared into a bakery. His main goal was to find something different from the usual books he brought back for you. 

After he walked into the store and vaguely told the old lady at the counter about his idea in the best Spanish he could muster, she smiled warmly at him and guided him to the very back of the tiny shop where a beautiful and worn out bookshelf sat in all its glory, filled with as many books as it could hold. 

He immediately started searching around for the perfect book, but it proved to be harder than he initially thought it’d be. After searching around for more than an hour, all he had found was a collection of Edgar Allan Poe’s tales and poems with a heartbreaking note to someone’s dead lover. While it had almost brought him to tears and was a special thing he’d buy to give to you later, it wasn’t exactly the best thing to help him carry out his plan.   

Victoria walked into the shop when he was about to give up and, fully aware of his plan, started looking around without saying a word to him. They both searched around the messy piles of books for something. It didn’t take long for her to stumble across three books held together by a lilac satin ribbon. 

Wuthering Heights by Emily Brontë, Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen, and Jane Eyre by Charlotte Brontë. All three contained a note on the very first page right under the title, but the last one stood out above the other two because, according to his basic knowledge of Spanish, it ended with the very question he wanted to ask ¿Quieres casarte conmigo? Or ‘Will you marry me?’. He bought all three of them after a huge smile and a thumbs up from Victoria.  

What he hadn’t expected was for them to remain hidden in a drawer he knew you never opened underneath piles of clothes. Ever since he came back from their small trip to Spain, Ethan had tried to ask the question about six times, but always ended up choking on his words and saying something else. In fact, the first time he ever tried, Ethan chickened out at the last second and ended up giving you the Edgar Allan Poe anthology instead.

You were still none the wiser to his plan even after he’d asked about your opinion on marriage a few times. Anyone would’ve probably caught up with what was going on already, but you were always so busy with things happening around you that you didn’t connect his awkward and nervous attitude with his questions.

You didn’t start giving his actions a second thought until one night… You had been cooped up in your office all day working on a new project you were supposed to present to your boss by the end of the week when you suddenly felt the urge to get up and walk around the house.

Ethan was casually sitting on the couch as he whispered unintelligible words into his phone. You supposed he was on a call with a friend or maybe his manager and was trying to be quiet to avoid disturbing you, but then he hung up the call with a panicked expression the moment he noticed you. After that, you started thinking back on the way he had been behaving ever since he returned and it all raised the suspicion that there was something strange going on. 

It didn’t get any better when he kept on acting weird. Simple things that he had allowed you to do, like using his phone to take pictures because it had a better camera than yours, now seemed to make him almost mad. He’d even snapped at you once when you tried to grab it to take a picture with him. Even if Ethan had apologized right away, it still didn’t calm you down, especially because he had gone as far as to change the password on it.

It almost felt like he was walking on eggshells around you and you didn’t like it one bit. Your relationship had always been about honesty and worked because of constant communication. Everything was just so strange that your mind couldn’t help but think of the worst.

You were an imaginative person who never had any difficulties when it came to envisioning things clearly. Unfortunately, that also applied to every negative thought that crossed your mind, so it wasn’t hard for you to start coming up with the worst explanations as to why he was acting so suspicious. It didn’t help much that he had been busier than normal because the band was wrapping up on their latest album, so you hadn’t had the opportunity to sit down and voice all your concerns, to ask if something was going on and if there was a way to fix it. 

The morning of your anniversary, you’d finally had enough. You had woken up, expecting to feel Ethan’s arm tightly wrapped around your waist and to receive a shower of kisses the moment he noticed you were awake, but no. There was no Ethan and the side of his bed was already neatly made.

Your disappointment only grew when he wasn’t in the kitchen or his small studio where he had his drums. You doubted he was in the house at all. 

It was a thing that wouldn’t have affected you much had he done it any other time, but with everything that had been going on as of late, you could only fear the worst. So, without being able to control yourself, you started making the worst conclusions. You’d always been fully aware that he loved you, but all the signs undoubtedly pointed at him meeting someone new… And maybe he was going to leave you for them as well… during your anniversary.

That was all you needed to break into tears. You climbed back into bed and cried for what seemed to be hours. Even since you got together, you had thought of him as your person, your forever. The thought of him leaving you broke your heart into tiny pieces.

Ethan arrived home only a few minutes after you’d buried yourself underneath all the blankets and cried out all your worries. When he was about to open the door to your bedroom, he stopped. Were you crying? 

He stood there in complete silence for a few seconds until he was more than sure that you were, in fact, crying. Ethan rushed inside and he felt his heart break at the sight of you looking so heartbroken, and it didn’t get any better when he heard a whimper come out of your mouth at the sight of him. You cuddled deeper into the bedsheets and turned away from him.

Ethan sat on your side of the bed and, as delicately as possible, he cupped your face into his warm hands and wiped your tears with his thumbs, “Amore,” He said in a quiet voice, “Hey, what’s wrong?”

You tried to turn away from him, but his grip on your face stopped you from doing so. You placed one of your hands on top of his and gave it a firm squeeze. No part of you was ready to have that conversation with him because that was going to be it and you were going to have to watch him leave…

So, with a lot of courage, you spoke the first words that came to mind, “You know, i-it’s okay if you’ve found someone else,” You caressed his cheek softly as more tears started spilling down your face, “You can tell me if you have.”

His eyebrows furrowed at your words and the only thing he could do was shake his head no, “What? Found someone else? What would make you say such a thing dolcezza?”

Then, before you could even answer, realization hit him like a ton of bricks and he felt like the stupidest living being on the face of the Earth. He pinched his nose and sighed, annoyed at himself.

“Fuck… I’m so fucking stupid. Please don’t ever think of something like that. I was just… I-I,” Clueless as to what to say, Ethan pressed his lips against yours to kiss you slowly, hoping it spoke more than his words ever could. He could still taste a trace of the salty tears that had fallen on your lips and he couldn’t help but shed a few of his own at the thought that he’d been the one to make you cry.

After pulling away, Ethan pressed his forehead to yours and brushed his nose against yours while his arms held you as close as possible, “Will you close your eyes for just a second, amore mio? I promise everything will make so much sense soon.”

You nodded and kept your eyes closed as you felt him get up from the bed. You heard him open and close a few drawers, and look around for something for a while before he sat back on the bed. Ethan grabbed your hands in his and slowly slipped the three small books into your grasp.

You opened his eyes after a small sound of approval from him and smiled when you saw the three old books held together by a ribbon and the pretty pink rose that had been carefully been slipped into the first book and the ribbon.

You gently removed the flower and placed it on your side. Then you undid the simple knot and picked up the first book, “Wuthering Heights?” You questioned.

He nodded, “Yeah… At least I think that’s it. I hope I didn’t bring back some sketchy book or some shit,” Ethan scratched his neck and you giggled as you opened it on the first page. Your fingers brushed over the letters neatly written down in fountain pen.  

After clearing your throat, you started reading the first dedication out loud. Since your Spanish wasn’t exactly the best either, you had to pause every once in a while to translate all the words, “May 17, 1850… My dearest Helena, I hope this book reaches you in great condition, being apart from you is one of the hardest challenges I have ever had to face, one of the most painful as well. I hope you can find me in between these pages as you read and remember how much I love you, remember how much I long to be back in your arms and kiss your lips. Sincerely, Alejandro.”

You closed it and placed it back on the bed before opening the second book and doing the same thing with the third, “January 24, 1855. Carolina, nothing I’ve ever experienced has gotten close to being as terrible as not having you in my arms. Apologies are overdue… long overdue. Words have never been my strongest suit, yet I still hope I can coherently express just how much I love you, all of you. I’m afraid I’m already too late since you will soon be betrothed to someone else and there will be nothing I can do by then.

 “Still, I hope with everything in my being that this arrives sooner so you’re aware of how sorry I am. I hope you remember that I would do anything you asked without a single complaint just to watch that lovely smile I adore so much appear on your face. If you ever come back to me, I promise with every fiber of my being, and I’ll be dammed if I don’t keep my promise, that I will leave everything behind and escape with you. Anywhere, any time. So with that, I ask a question that will hopefully have a yes as an answer. Will you marry me? With love, Javier.”

Before you could close it, Ethan stopped you and timidly asked for you to open the book on the very last page. You did it and looked back at him with confusion at the sight of his writing on the page, “Read this one out loud for me. Will you Y/N?” You nodded and mumbled a small ‘of course’ before clearing your throat to get rid of the knot that had formed. 

“October 21, 2025… Y/N, my one true love, I’ve always hoped to make a gesture that will remind you of your treasured books. I’ve never been one great with words spoken out loud, so I sought inspiration from those before me who were just as in love with someone as I am with you. Ever since I met you I dreamt of one day settling down with you, of having our small home in the countryside as you’ve always dreamed of. Maybe even doing some of those cloying gestures people seem to do in fiction and dedicate to you the most beautiful love poems I lay eyes on. 

“I’ve wondered for a while how I could ever take the step that would bring me closer to that goal, yet every time I try, words seem to get stuck in my throat with no way out and I end up in square one all over again. It is with this note that I hope to finally take a step in the right direction because I know you’re it for me. You’re my person, my forever, and there’s nothing I would love more than to share my life with you. Sei la mia migliore amica e il mio unico vero amore. Ti chiedo di accettare il mio amore, il mio nome e tutto quello che sono.” (You are my best friend and my one true love. I ask you to accept my love, my name, and everything I am.)

When your eyes spotted the four words that followed, you slowly lowered the book, “Will you marry me?” You both said at the same time, although yours sounded more like an unintelligible mumble. Only then did you notice him down on one knee right in front of you. He held a velvet box with one of the most beautiful rings sitting inside of it 

A hand went to cover your mouth as tears started falling down your face. This time, happy and free of worry. You could only nod repeatedly, overcome with pure joy as your heart swelled with love.

He slowly slid the ring into your finger and grabbed your face to kiss you once again, “I’m so sorry I made you think something else was going on. I just kept backtracking every time I tried to tell you. Not because I was regretting the decision but because I didn’t want to lose you.”

You shook your head as a silent way of saying it was alright and brushed his hair back with your fingers, “The important thing is that you’ve done it and you’re not going to lose me, no matter how hard you try. I’ll always be right here because I love you and I’ll always be yours.”

[it-was-summer]

Video Killed The Radio Star (Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader)

A/N: I know I usually write for Five Hargreaves, but lately I’ve been having the idea of a fanfiction for Spencer Reid involving some sensitive material. If you haven’t watched Criminal Minds, that is a-okay because this doesn’t really follow any sort of certain plot in the series but it does contain some spoilers from it so maybe be warned? If you’d like for this me to continue this little idea, please give me so feedback and let me know. Till then, Em <3

Warnings: Stalking, talk of kidnapping, cursing and some sensitive material. 

Plot: You leave videos for the BAU to find once you find out you have a stalker. 

Word Count: 1.3k

-Tape #1, January 5, 20XX

Your face moved away from the screen as you moved to sit on a desk chair, smile growing as you waved your hand at the webcam recording a few feet away from you. “I, uh,” you looked down at your hands, playing with the ring that resided on your middle finger before letting out a tiny nervous giggle “, I don’t really know how I should start this off.” you trailed off, looking back up at the camera.

“You know that feeling you get when you’re driving your car and you think ‘oh my god, the car behind me is following me home!’, I guess it all kind of started like that. I tried to keep them off my tail, but I guess they already knew where I lived because they started parking outside my house, never the same car.”

You cleared your throat gently, bending over to pick up a small, dead rose. “This was the first thing I got,” you held it closer to the camera, your hands shaking lightly “That’s when I realized something was wrong. I started to notice that I would get home and suddenly, there would be a car across the street.” You looked outside, towards the window “It’s not every day, and it isn’t sporadic either! It’s every Friday, Saturday, and Sunday around noon till seven, sometimes eight.” You ran your hands through your hair, biting back tears.

“My mom thinks I’m crazy, but I... I know that something isn’t right,” You kept your calm composure, smiled sweetly at the camera, and waved again “ I guess  I’m signing off till I have some more proof or something? This is Y/N L/N, signing off I suppose.”

Then the screen went dark.

-Tape #2, January 17, 20XX

You were already sitting in your desk chair when the video started, indicating that you figured how to use a timer for this personal vlog of yours. “Hi,” You seemed to be in better spirits than before “I’m more organized this time!” This seemed to be the reason for your good mood, probably because being organized made you feel more stable, safer.

“So, I’m Y/N L/N and I am twenty-four years old, living in Richmond, Virginia, in this apartment complex a little bit outside of the city.” You held up a photo of a tattoo that was currently hiding under your shirt. “This is the tattoo that I got when I was drunk off my ass on my twenty-first birthday, just a good...” you cleared your throat quickly “A good identifier.”

You folded your hands in your lap as you straightened out your back. “The stalking started just after Christmas, I haven’t the faintest clue of who it is, but I know I am being stalked. I told the police but they didn't really think anything of it and sometimes I see a patrol car drive by on weekdays.”

“These videos aren’t meant to be a big, fat, told you so. I’m just really scared that something bad is going to happen. I just need some trace of me, I need to feel less helpless.”

You swallowed thickly and grabbed a sticky note hanging from your computer “These are all my passwords so if something does happen, it is right there.”

You looked around, all of your preparations failing you in a single moment as you found yourself lost for words. You quickly flashed again, conversation lighting up in you as you spoke again “I work in the city as a librarian, I get the weekends off for the most part.” You held up a copy of Wuthering Heights “Today this was left on the roof of my car,” You opened it and turned it so the pages were facing the webcam, showing highlighted sections of the book “The only parts that are highlighted are the romantic scenes between Heathcliff and Catherine.” You flipped through some pages quickly and held the page up, looking for one quote that was highlighted, underlined, and circled. “Be with me always - take any form - drive me mad, that's one of the lines circled, underlined and highlighted...” you stared at the page, before turning it back to the camera.

“I’m done for now..” Screen. Black.

-Tape #3, February 14, 20XX

You were wearing a striped sweater, lines ranging from white, pink, and red. You seemed to have forgotten about the heart-shaped glasses on your head, pushing back your hair, but your eyes were red, tired, lifeless almost. “It’s Valentine’s Day,” you heaved a sigh, slouching over in your chair. You could feel the bubble in your throat, and you tried to keep your voice steady, but it broke as soon as you started to speak “ Today was really bad,” you coughed lightly, feigning courage “He, She, I don’t know! They were in here! They got into my house, rose petals everywhere! Rose petals on the bed, in the sink, everywhere! They were just,” tears started to flow before you could do anything about it “ Just everywhere.”

You brushed your tears away quickly and let out another sigh before you took in a big breath and smiled, sadly at the camera. “I did some more research,” you laughed “, I live in Virginia and I have way too much time on my hands sometimes.”

You leaned over to pick up some papers off your, now rose petal-free desk “So, I was looking for people who would be good at, uh, helping me.” You held up a photo of Agent Jareau, in all her beauty “, I’d be pretty blind not to think about the BAU, right? This is,” you looked at the photo quickly “, the very pretty liaison for the BAU. I know that she’ll be seeing these first so hello? I would really appreciate it if the team could help me. Help find me maybe? I told the police what happened and they searched my apartment and the security cameras-” you felt tears well up in your eyes again and cut yourself off.

“I’m sorry, I have to go.” 

Black.

-Tape #4, February 18, 20XX

A smile was on your lips now, nervous albeit, but still a smile nonetheless. “The police are patrolling the neighborhood now on the regular so I feel a tiny bit better!” you leaned over to grab a copy of Jane Eyre “Today I was gifted another book, it seems my stalker is a bit of a Brontë fan. This one is the same as the last, but the important be quote seems to ‘You are my sympathy --my better self --my good angel’” You closed the book, sighed, and closed your eyes slowly. “Till then.”

Black.

-Tape #5, March 5, 20XX

You knew this was going to be your last video, every bone in your body knew it. Every. Single. One. After almost two weeks of no attention, no cars, no anything. You thought you were free, thought that maybe it would all be okay.

It was a foolish, childish thought. A moment of fleeting happiness if you will, but you held onto it with everything you had. The police were paying you less attention and you didn’t mind. You kept an eye out for something, anything. Now it was March fifth and you had a new gift. It was the most extreme out of all the gifts. Your hands trembled as you reached for a destroyed pair of your panties, drenched in blood. “Something bad is going to happen,” You threw the panties down near the books and dead rose. You kept them all just in case if they needed it, what if they needed more.

What if they needed more to find you? Would all of this be enough? “Please find me,” you looked at the screen with a heavy conscious “, I want to be found. Please, find me.”

Black.

March 8, 20XX

“This is Y/N L/N, a twenty-four-year-old woman last seen two days ago and has since gone missing. The Richmond police station contacted us after they found a folder containing these videos on her computer.” J.J. said, clicking to the next PowerPoint, showing more details for their case, but Hotch was already standing up, ending everyone’s input and conversation. 

“Wheels up in ten.” 

[sapphicseamtress]

got any book recs? :)

ahh what a lovely question to be asked!!

I have no clue where to even start on book recs, but here are some of the books that I credit with over half of who I am and what I love:

Orlando, Virginia Woolf- this is my usual answer when people ask me what my favourite book is. I love it so much. I love the writing I love the exploration of gender and society through its lens I love the characterisation- it's just beautiful.

I Capture the Castle, Dodie Smith- this is technically a children's book, but I love it to the ends of the earth. It made me who I am and it just brings me so much comfort and joy and feeling.

Circe, Madeline Miller- this book devastated me. It irrevocably ruined me. I want every word burned into my skin and woven into my hair. Enough said.

Emma, Jane Austen- this is my favourite austen!! I kin Emma big time and this book is just wonderful generally.

Wuthering Heights, Emily Brontë- My favourite brontë book! Maybe an obvious choice but its so feral and interesting. By no means an uplifting read, but a delightfully gritty one.

The Bloody Chamber, Angela Carter- Very vivid and absorbing. I have read this many times and it sucks me in without fail again and again.

Rebecca, Daphne du Maurier- I'm lucky enough to know the landscapes and settings of a lot of these books very well, and this one is no exception. The feeling this book leaves you with is just slightly earth-shattering. I love it.

and finally, this is not a book technically, but if you enjoy poetry in any way shape or form, then Emily Dickinson is my favourite poet- and has been for years. Her writing makes me foam at the mouth and my eyes roll back into my head and causes me to just generally lose my shit.

sorry for the slow reply, hope something in this interests you!!

much love <3

[sing-against-the-sky]

Poems, Prayers, and Promises

Part Two

🏜🌒🌾

Summary: An injured stranger shows up at a woman’s door. Romance blossoms. Soft!jake and original female character in a cowboy/homestead au with plenty of hurt/comfort

Warnings: None this chapter! Just some smoochin’ (18+ in future parts)

Author’s notes: I’m posting this again in it’s entirety! More parts to come. I have loved writing this fic and joining the community here on tumblr 💕 This is very self indulgent fluff and I love every minute of it 💕 If you would like to be tagged let me know!

Tag List: @kaylal15

Master Post

🌙5

He woke without opening his eyes. His mouth was dry as chalk. His body ached. He became aware that he was laying with his head on her chest, his arm around her middle. She was warm and soft in his arms. She stirred and he decided to keep his eyes closed, feigning sleep. She gently shifted, disentangling herself from him and quietly getting out of bed. He waited for the soft rustle of her getting dressed before opening his eyes again. She was finishing buttoning her shirt, the light slipping between the curtains making it a brilliant white. Her face was hidden by her loose hair falling around her shoulders. She looked up and saw he was awake and watching her.

He realized all at once that he was starving. “Unbelievably hungry.”

She laughed. A single dimple showed on her cheek. He couldn’t help but smile with her. “Well then, let’s get you fed.”

She laughed. A single dimple showed on her cheek. He couldn’t help but smile with her. “Well then, let’s get you fed.”

🌙6

They sat on the bed together, him under the covers and her on top of them, and ate the breakfast she brought him. It had been an effort for him to sit up but he had been determined to. She offered him a plate with fresh eggs fried in butter, and toast with last summer’s berry jam. She had also brought him a mug of herbal tea. He took a sip. “I can’t say that I’ve had tea like this before”

“I grow the herbs here for myself. Lavender and chamomile. I put willow for the pain and coneflower to help you heal.” He smiled and took another drink. They ate quietly for a moment. She tried not to look at him for too long but her eyes kept being pulled back to him. His hair was soft and loose, falling a little past his shoulders, framing his face. His warm brown eyes were deep-set and his cheekbones high. It was a kind and open face. The white bandage around his middle contrasted the smooth tan skin of his bare chest, the ugly purple bruise showing on his left ribs. She quickly looked away as he looked up from his food. She distracted herself by mopping up the egg on her plate with the last of her bread, feeling his eyes on her. “Do you have somewhere you need to get to when you’re well enough to ride again?”

He shook his head. “I was headed west to find work. I don’t have anyone expecting me.”

“What kind of work are you looking for?”

He shrugged a little. “Anything at all. I’m pretty handy.” He looked at her and laughed a little, “when I’m not falling off my horse that is.”

She stacked their empty dishes. “You still haven’t told me how you fell. Your mare seems gentle enough.”

He shook his head and rubbed the sides of his mouth with his fingers. “She’s a good girl normally. But apparently, she hates jackrabbits. It practically ran over her feet and she went one direction and I didn’t come with.”

They laughed together. The darkness and uncertainty of his feverish night seemed far away now. But the feeling of him laying entwined with her still lingered in her mind. She stood and picked up the dishes. “I have choring to get to and you need some more rest. Would you like a book? I have a few.”

His eyes brightened. “I’m a slow reader, but I would love a book.” She smiled and left the room, returning with a small stack of books. He took them from her. “Jane Eyre, Scarlet Letter, Wuthering Heights, and Leaves of Grass.” He looked up at her, his tone teasing. “Are you a brooding heroine alone in nature?”

She laughed at his quip and his knowledge of her little library. “Absolutely. Are you the mysterious and handsome stranger that arrives in the night?”

He raised his eyebrows and gave her a sly grin. “You think I’m handsome?”

She blushed up to her ears and tried to swallow her smile. “You fit the book tropes quite well.”

He grinned and settled back into the pillows and picked Leaves of Grass from the pile, still looking at her as she left to take care of her farm. His smile flashed in her mind’s eye whenever she blinked.

🌙7

When the sun finally set that evening Ida was footsore and tired. All she wanted was to climb into bed and into Jacob’s arms, but she knew she would be sleeping in the chair tonight. Dinner had been light and his bandage dressing had gone well. Now it was quiet as they sat in the light of a few kerosene lamps. She sat in the chair by the bed, enjoying being still and seated and in the comfort of his company. He lay in the bed, absently petting Kip who lay beside him. She tried not to nod off but had trouble keeping her eyes open in the low lit room.

“Ida.”

She jumped a little and opened her eyes, she hadn’t realized she had dozed off. He was looking at her. “Do you want to go to bed?”

She shook her head. “I’m fine here. I don’t need to disturb you.”

He smiled a little at her protest. “You won’t disturb me. There is plenty of room for the two of us here.” He looked over at the dog. “Well, three if Kip stays.” He met her eyes again. They were warm and bright. She felt like she could tip forward and fall into them. Before she thought more about it she was undressing like the night before and slipped under the covers with him.

This time he wasn’t at death’s door, he was awake, and he wanted her there. His legs were warm against hers.

They sat leaning on the pillows and headboard. He took her hand softly and flipped it over, tracing the lines and callouses with his fingertip. Her breath caught at the touch and her heart started racing. She leaned against him and he lay his cheek on her hair, relaxing into each other. They sat in silence again, their fingers lightly brushing together. Her heart was pounding in her chest but she felt calm. She could feel him moving his cheek against her hair.

She spoke softly, barely above a whisper. “I’m glad you’re here.” He leaned back and looked into her eyes earnestly.

“I would go through it all again just for this.” He touched her face, brushing his thumb across her cheek. She sighed and leaned into his hand. He was looking at her mouth now, his own lips parted. She leaned forward and kissed him lightly, their lips barely brushing. She felt his breath quicken as his mouth chased after hers, his hand pulling her face back to him. Their lips met again and his mouth opened wider against hers. She ran her hand up his neck and into his hair. He made a sound in his throat that made heat bloom in her stomach. She let her tongue slip between his lips as their mouths crushed together again. He held her face with both hands and responded in kind, his tongue roving over hers. He pulled away for a moment and looked down at her, his eyes heavy-lidded with passion, his mouth open, hungry for her.

She met his gaze and moved her hand to hold his chin, pulling his face back to hers and whispering against his lips “Kiss me more”

She could feel his smile on her mouth as he readily obliged. He kissed her hard and deep, his hands pushing up into her hair. He pulled her head back and kissed from her mouth down her jaw to her neck. She gasped as he nipped her under her ear before pressing a wet kiss in the same place. She ran her fingers through his hair and moaned into his ear as he continued kissing and nibbling at the spot. He rolled to get her under him and then suddenly cried out in pain and fell back on the pillows. She realized he had pushed his injury too far as he grimaced and held his side.

He looked over at her, disappointment clear on his face. “I’m sorry.”

She pressed her body against his and kissed him again. She looked down at him and brushed the hair away from his face. “Don’t be. I can wait for you to heal.” He smiled softly at her and she gave him another soft kiss before speaking again. “And I’m not done with you yet.” She kissed his neck under his jaw and heard him sigh. It turned into a soft moan when she slid her teeth across his skin and bit him lightly. She kissed and bit down his neck and collar bone before returning to his mouth. He cupped her face in his hand again, holding her in a deep kiss. She rested her forehead against his when their lips parted. “I thought I could do this forever but I really am about to fall asleep.”

He laughed and pushed her hair behind her ear. “Then let’s go to sleep” She extinguished the lamp next to the bed and curled up in his arms, her head under his chin, their legs intertwined, and fell asleep happier than she had been in a long time.

.🌙.

[be11atrixthestrange]

Step 12: Asking Her To Marry You

From 12 Fail-Safe Ways To Charm Hermione Granger

(Which is now complete!!)

Check it out on Ao3 or FFN!

————————————

Asking Her To Marry You

At this point in your relationship, you’ll hopefully know her well enough to plan the perfect proposal. But don’t worry too much about perfection— if you’ve followed our advice, she’ll be charmed enough to say yes to an imperfect one too. So alas, this is where our guidance ends, your future together begins. Best of luck!

————————————

Ron chuckled at the book’s irritating, yet unsurprising lack of advice. Annoyingly, the book was right— he no longer needed its guidance. What he needed was sleep, in fact, his body was now begging for it.

He set the book on the table beside him and curled up behind Hermione. With his face in her hair and his arm around her waist, he closed his eyes and was asleep in no time. Any anxiety about the next day was appeased by his dreams, in which his elaborate— maybe slightly exaggerated—  plan to propose went off without a hitch.

xxxxx

In his dream, Hermione was the first to rise— as usual, and Ron woke to the sound of the shower. Ron watched himself stumble out of bed and into the steam to join her, where she enthusiastically embraced him, jumped into his arms, and wrapped her legs around his waist. He pinned her to the wall and kissed her lips, her cheeks and her neck before working his way down her body. Dream-Ron moved his mouth between her legs while Hermione gripped his hair and slipped her thigh over his shoulder. Pleased with his own technique, Ron smugly watched on as Hermione unravelled, and he hoped that it wouldn’t be the last time that day Dream-Ron would invoke such an enthusiastic exclamation while down on one knee.

Almost too suddenly, the shower scene morphed and shifted like a memory transition in a pensive. Dream-Ron was in the kitchen, and Hermione was curled up in the living room with a book. Pots and pans sizzled on the stove, and the scent of a hearty breakfast filled the air. The tea-kettle whistled and he poured two cups before piling their plates high with food. They sat cozily on the sofa, eating breakfast and confirming plans for the day.

The walls of their apartment then faded away, rematerializing into what appeared to be a blend of a nearby bookstore and the Hogwarts library. Ron and Hermione were quickly engulfed by the maze of bookshelves. Hermione’s mind was always turning, looking for problems to solve and puzzles to complete, so she didn’t protest when Ron handed her the first book— Wuthering Heights, and told her he’d set up a puzzle for her to solve. In that book he’d dog-eared a page, and circled letters that named the title of the next one. Ron saw a smile spread across her face as she began her hunt, excitedly flipping through each novel until her stack included Wuthering Heights, as well as Iliad, Little Women, Life of Pi, Year of Wonders, Oliver Twist, and Utopia.

Hermione became so engrossed in the scavenger hunt that she didn’t notice Dream-Ron leave the bookshop. She had no problem finding the rest of the books, and was soon holding a stack of blurry titles which Ron knew to be Moby Dick, Alice in Wonderland, Robinson Crusoe, Rabbit Hill, Youngblood Hawke, and Mansfield Park. There was just one more to find— Jane Austen’s ‘Emma’, which happened to be a portkey enchanted to bring her to Grimmauld Place.

It might have seemed like a random assortment of books, but it wasn’t. Ron had spent significant effort locating these exact titles, and he could list them in order by memory, and as a result, they’d been swimming in his dreams for quite some time now. He knew Hermione was clever enough to figure out the pattern, possibly too clever— so much so that she might miss the connection entirely. After all, she frequently overlooked what was right under her nose.

As soon as she laid her hand on Emma, the walls of the Corner Books—Hogwarts Library hybrid started spinning, morphing into the drawing room of Grimmauld Place as if it had taken a long swig of polyjuice potion. Soon enough, Hermione was standing face-to-face with Harry and Ginny.

“Hermione!” Ginny said excitedly. “You made it!”

“Where’s Ron?” she asked excitedly.

Harry answered by handing her another scrawl of paper.

Meet me in the place we first kissed. You’re clever enough to find out how.

Hermione looked up at Harry and Ginny, letting slip a little huff of annoyance. “That would be the room of requirement.”

Ginny shrugged, as tight-lipped as Ron had told her to be.

“The only way to get there is with a house elf—“

“Keep reading,” said Harry.

Hermione glanced back down to the note.

Ps: Remember what I said to earn that kiss!

Hermione scowled at the note.

Harry nodded. “I can summon Kreacher if you want—“

“No!” she said, and Dream-Ron smiled. Just like at the battle of Hogwarts, he would never force house elves to be part of his proposal plan, and he understood her well enough to assume she knew that. “There’s another way.”

Harry smiled and gestured to the rest of the house. “Have fun.”

The world spun around her once again, shifting into another room upstairs. Hermione was suddenly standing in front of one of the Vanishing Cabinets that the Aurors had confiscated from an ex-Death Eater months prior. In his dream, the cabinet was a bit more obvious than in reality. It was tall, colorful, and bursting with energy as though it were alive, unlike the dull, dark, and sinister version that actually existed. Even though the cabinet looked fun and enticing in the dream, Dream-Hermione was still a skeptic, so she stood in front of it with her arms crossed, her face scrunched up as though it had called her a dirty word.

Ron had pulled some serious strings to set the second one up in the Room of Requirement, but luckily, McGonagall was as much of a hopeless romantic as he was. Hermione continued to study the cabinet from a distance, as if checking for dark magic, and he understood her hesitation of course— she had no way of knowing where its sibling was. She gingerly opened the door to find another note scribbled inside.

You found it! See you on the other side.

Hermione beamed, and then to his confusion, dropped her bag to the floor, hastily removing books. When her bag appeared empty, she piled two books back in— Year of Wonders and Emma.

Interesting. Ron wasn’t going to pretend to understand that choice, even in a dream-state.

He shrugged it off, which was easy to do once distracted by the look of pure giddiness on her face as she disappeared inside.

Grimmauld Place faded away, and its place appeared the Room of Requirement. Not that it was recognizable as such— Ron had asked the Room of Requirement to look a very specific way, and of course, it had obliged, exceeding all expectations. Hermione stepped out of the cabinet into what appeared to be a train compartment on the Hogwarts Express, just like the one where he had first met her.

She looked around, and tears filled her eyes as the memories of their first encounter flooded in. On the cabinet door was another note, which she unstuck from the wall with a trembling hand.

This is where we met! It’s also where I first realized how much I valued the opinion of that precocious know-it-all, Hermione Granger. I still check for dirt on my nose everyday.

Hermione shakily laughed, and wiped a tear from her eyes with her free hand. Then the train compartment doors slid open to reveal another room. This time it was a bathroom, much like the one where she nearly lost her life to a rogue troll when they were eleven.

She shuddered at the memory, but grinned when she noticed the writing on the wall.

This is where I learned exactly how desperate I was for your forgiveness, and how far I was willing to go to earn your friendship. Thank you for teaching me how to pronounce Wingardium Leviosa.

Her eyes watered again, blurring her vision so that she nearly missed the door sliding open again to reveal the next room. Patting her sleeve to her eyes, she stepped out of the bathroom and into the Great Hall, which was all dolled up for the Yule Ball. The Weird Sisters playing loudly in the background was a stark contrast to the soft decorations and draping lights which looked exactly as romantic as they did in their fourth year.

This time, however, the lights spelled out a message.

This where I realized I fancied you.

Hermione laughed, clearly not as saddened by the memory as she could have been. Instead, she appeared grateful for the event that made Ron’s daft teenage self realize she was not just any girl.

A pair of doors appeared across the room, and Hermione continued her way through, admiring the decorations with a soft smile on her face. When she exited, she found herself in the Gryffindor Common Room— more specifically— the armchairs and fireplace where they had spent so many nights huddled up close to one another, studying, talking, or simply sitting in comfortable silence.

Her eyes paused on a message plastered on the wall, just above the fire.

This is where I fell irrevocably in love with you.

She looked longingly at those chairs, like she wanted to take a seat by the fire and curl up with a blanket and a book. He could clearly imagine her eyes scanning the pages, her fingers drifting over the words as if touching them would make them real, and her lips forming into a content smile as the day’s stress left her body. It was a beautiful image of her in her default state, a picture that was one hundred percent Hermione. He’d never seen her happier anywhere else.

Dream-Ron had appeared behind her. He cleared his throat, and Hermione turned on her heels to face him, her eyes instantly re-watering at the sight of him.

“Hermione,” he began, his voice shaking with nerves. “I know that you don’t like surprises, so I hope this doesn’t come as one.”

Her lips quivered and she brought a trembling hand to her face to absorb the tears that were now falling freely down her face.

“I even spelled it out for you in the bookstore, so I hope you’ve had time to think of your answer.” She softly laughed and her eyes sparkled when he reached into his pocket and took a step toward her, lowering himself to one knee. With a shaky inhale to prepare, he asked the question. “Hermione Granger, will you marry me?”

Dream-Ron’s voice cracked like he was a teenager asking her to a dance, and he half expected her to look at him in confusion, and ask “what?”

But that’s not what happened. She was lost for words, and answered with her head which bobbed up and down as she ran toward him. He opened his arms to embrace her, but she halted.

“Wait!”

She dug into her bag, and pulled out the two books she had purposefully brought with her, Year of Wonders, and Emma. She handed them to Dream-Ron, who looked them over with an amused grin on his face, while she dove back into her bag. She pulled out a third— one that was not from the bookstore. Pride and Prejudice— her favorite book, the one she always has with her. It all made sense now.

Year of Wonders

Emma

Pride and Prejudice

Holding all three books, Dream-Ron smiled up at her. “Is… this a yes?”

“Well, seeing as I don’t have an S, it’s a ‘Yep’,” she said, before finally diving into his embrace as the books tumbled from his arms like basilisk fangs.

He had forgone all effort to keep from crying, and so had she. He momentarily pulled away from the hug to slide the ring onto her finger. It took a couple tries with their trembling hands, but then she fell heavier into his arms and he tightened his embrace. He lifted her up and carried her to an armchair, and they sat intertwined by the crackling fire, hugging, kissing, and crying into each other’s hair.

Ron half expected the room to shape-shift again, bringing them to the celebration at the Burrow where their families were waiting, but his dream never got that far. Their embrace in the armchairs began to feel even more real, and soon enough, the Gryffindor Common Room was fading to black.

xxxxx

Ron awoke in his own bed, his arms still wrapped solidly around Hermione. The sun was shining through the window, sending a beam of light to the floor where Crookshanks slept, belly up, as if he was trying to photosynthesize. Hermione began to shift restlessly in her sleep, groaning, as the light knocked on her eyelids like an unwelcome solicitor..

Reality set in, and it would have been easy to feel sad upon realizing his perfectly-executed proposal was all a dream. But instead, Ron just felt giddy with excitement. This could very well be the start of the best day of his life.

As long as everything went according to plan.

———————————————

“To Ron and Hermione!” exclaimed Arthur, reaching his champagne glass straight up into the air.

“To Ron and Hermione!” echoed a chorus of Weasleys, Grangers, and a Potter.

Glasses clinked, champagne splashed, and a beaming Ron slipped an arm around Hermione to pull her close to him. She tilted her head up to his, and he leaned in to capture her lips in a kiss. He felt her arms wrap around his middle and vaguely heard a few whistles in the background.

Ron and Hermione. It always had a ring to it.

No time had been wasted before preparing The Burrow for the celebration. CONGRATULATIONS was magically written on the wall in capitalized, tinsel-like lettering that flashed red and gold. Jean and Molly had prepared an impressive spread, which rivaled Hogwarts welcoming feasts. Hugo was already mentoring Arthur in the art of mixology, while Charlie and George eagerly volunteered to taste test each new cocktail. There was a cake shaped like an engagement ring, and it appeared that Ginny had gotten to it, because the words “about fucking time” were scribbled across in icing.

“So, Darling,” said Jean, as she refilled her champagne glass. “Aren’t you going to tell us how he proposed?”

“Yes, dear! Please tell everyone!” echoed Molly.

Hermione, who had just taken an unusually large bite of watermelon, replied with a look of surprise, as if for some reason she hadn’t expected that question. She slowly chewed, buying herself some time, and sent a panicked glance in Ron’s direction. A silent conversation followed.

How much do I tell them?

That’s up to you.

They squinted at each other for a few more moments, finalizing the details of their abridged story. Then Hermione turned back to her mom. “I’d love to tell that story.”

xxxxx

Earlier that day...

“Good morning,” were the first words Ron mumbled at the start of the best day of his life.

“Morning,” she muttered back.

He snaked his arm around her and pulled her close. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” she said, sending him a look of slight confusion at his eager confession of love. “I’ll be right back,” she added before hastily untangling himself from her arms, and bolting to the bathroom.

Ron groggily rolled out of bed to get dressed for the day. He opened the drawer of his nightstand to find the small velvet ring-box, and slipped it into his pocket before hobbling into the kitchen to make tea and start breakfast. He filled two mugs and set them aside to cool off while breakfast sizzled on the stove. His stomach twisted in a combination of hunger and nerves as he shuffled eggs around in the pan, planning out how he would introduce today’s activities. Luring her to the bookstore should be easy enough, but he hoped she was feeling up to the rest of the adventure.

He heard the shower starting upstairs, and turned the stove down to low. Remembering the colorful beginning of last night’s dream, he stumbled back into the bedroom, hoping Hermione wouldn’t mind a visitor. He presumptuously pulled off his shirt before cracking open the door to unleash a flume of steam into the bedroom.

Ron froze at the sight of Hermione. The shower was running in the background, but she was crouched on the tile floor, hovering her face over the toilet while she wretched. One hand wrangled her hair behind her head, while the other supported her weight on the floor.

Fuck.

“Hermione,” stammered Ron. “Are… are you ok?” He rushed to her side and knelt down, taking her hair from her hands. He cleared some loose strands away from her face while she gently shook her head.

“No,” she groaned. “Not okay—” her body interrupted her as she heaved again.

“Well, shit, Hermione,” he said softly, hoping his disappointment didn’t sour his words. Hermione rarely threw up. In fact, the last time he recalled had been during a panic attack in Australia before they found her parents. It suddenly occurred to him that this was the first time he’d held her hair on a bathroom floor while she vomited into the toilet. He felt a strange sense of pride, as if they had reached a new relationship milestone.

As his hopes for a smooth-sailing proposal started to fade, there was a part of him that considered asking her right there on the bathroom floor. It would have been the least romantic way to do it, and she’d probably hate him for it, but he doubted she’d say no. Something about seeing her in such a vulnerable state made his heart swell, and he wanted her to know it was that it was her humanity that he fell in love with.

Fuck, he’d marry her on a bathroom floor with vomit on her face, no question about it.

She grimaced and groaned, then leaned over the toilet yet again, and Ron gently held her close and rubbed her back as she suffered through the next wave of nausea.

He could maybe wait a little longer.

Eventually she stood up and wiped her face, revealing an expression of utter embarrassment. “Thank you,” she whispered, pointedly looking away from him. “I’m going to shower now.”

Ron scoured his mind for something to say that might make her feel less awkward. His randy brain landed on, “do you mind if I join you?”

Hermione paused, then laughed. “You want to shower with me?” she asked incredulously. “After that?” she added, motioning toward the bathroom floor.

“Well… always,” shrugged Ron.

“Sorry,” she said, shaking her head. “I don’t exactly feel sexy right now.”

He wanted to tell her how wrong she was, and that his attraction to her was unconditional, but worried it would have come off insincere. “Ok. Breakfast is ready in the kitchen—”

“About that,” she interrupted. “It smells wonderful but…” she trailed off, motioning to the toilet where she’d left last night’s meal.

“Right,” said Ron. “Would porridge be better?”

“Yes.”

“Ok then. Porridge it is.”

“Thank you.”

Once in the kitchen, Ron scraped the remaining eggs and veggies into a leftovers box, and stored them in the refrigerator, before getting started on a gentler, blander breakfast.

To contrast the flavorless porridge he was making, Ron’s mind shifted into overdrive, trying to rework his proposal plan to consider Hermione’s nausea. Portkeys could upset even the strongest stomachs, and the Vanishing Cabinet was no walk in the park either. He had planned to floo to the Burrow from Grimmauld Place after returning together in the Vanishing Cabinet, and at the very least, they could always floo to the Burrow early…

Fuck.

Ron tried to keep an open mind about the day ahead. Maybe Hermione would be feeling better after her shower, and a trip to the bookstore would cheer her up. If that didn’t work, maybe his mum would be able to push the celebration back a day, and he could try tomorrow.

Everything was going to be fine.

He doubted that even more when Hermione never returned to the kitchen. Thinking he’d better go check on her, he left breakfast on the counter for the second time, and made his way back to the bedroom.

She had returned to the same place as before, crouched on the bathroom floor, head bowed over the toilet. She looked pale and sullen, and hadn’t bothered to change into day clothes or dry her hair after her shower. Her sopping wet hair stuck firmly to her towel which seemed to absorb enough water to save their neglected houseplants and she sat on the tile with the heaviness of a bag of flour.

“Hermione?” Ron asked tenderly.

She shook her head, and covered her face with her hands.

“You’re not feeling any better,” he said.

Hermione shrugged.

Ron willed himself to emotionally detach from the remaining images of Hermione in a bookstore, the Room of Requirement, and the Burrow and sat down next to her. With a closer look at her face he realized she was crying.

Fuck.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, as he slipped an arm around her. “I’m worried about you. You’re never sick.”

She turned into him and buried her face in his chest, mumbling something incoherent.

“Sorry?” he said, pulling her close to him so he could hear her better.

Lifting her face from his chest for a brief moment, she said, “We haven’t been spending mornings together.”

She was right, their schedules had never lined up enough to enjoy waking up at the same time, and as of late that was even more true. “Hermione,” he whispered. “Has this been happening a lot?”

Hermione nodded and pressed her face back into his chest. She spoke so softly against his shirt that he might not have heard her, but the words demanded his attention. “Ron, I’m pregnant.”

The images that had been dancing in Ron’s mind were still there— Hermione gathering books, searching for the Vanishing Cabinet at Grimmauld Place, wandering through Ron’s memories, and embracing him by the fire in the common room. It almost felt that his mind was expanding so that those images took up less and less space, because they weren’t actually real, and this was.

In all that extra space, his mind cycled through visions of his future, playing memories yet to be made. For the first time since he had decided to ask her to marry him, proposing felt like a simple task because he saw far beyond that now. He wanted to ask her, but then he wanted to hold her hair if she got sick again. He wanted to run out at weird hours of the night to buy the food she craved. He wanted to go to that bookstore, not so she could partake in his scavenger hunt, but so he could buy all the books about pregnancy and parenting.

“Are you serious?” were the words that tumbled out of his mouth, dripping with pure excitement. She nodded affirmatively, and an involuntary smile spread across his face.  He reached a hand to her cheek to wipe away a tear, before landing his lips on her forehead.

He felt her grinning under his hand, seemingly pleased at his positive reaction. Her excitement gave her next question a melody. “Well...what do you want to do?” She asked it confidently, like she already knew what he would say.

But she didn't know.

“I want to marry you,” he stated, like it was the most obvious question in the world.

She pulled away and squinted skeptically at him as if he might be joking, but there was nothing but sincerity in his eyes.

He then reached into his pocket, pulled out the ring box, and popped it open to reveal a beautiful solitaire ring— simple, understated, yet timeless, just like Hermione.  Then a smile enveloped her face and she didn’t need to say anything at all. She leaned into his embrace, and he felt tears leaking from his eyes, elation on his face, and nothing but happiness.

They sat there intertwined and crying for some time until he realized she’d never actually answered. “So… will you?”

She responded wordlessly, with an enthusiastic nod against his chest, and he slipped the ring onto her finger.

It really felt like the rest of the world had disappeared and they were alone, the only people that mattered. When reality started to filter back, Ron had to chuckle at the sudden realization of what room they were in. It was almost funny how much effort he had put into planning out the perfect day, only to propose to Hermione on a bathroom floor.

“I had a better plan, you know,” he said finally. “To ask you.”

She shook her head and mumbled into his chest. “This was perfect.”

Maybe it was. Their friendship began in a bathroom, as did their relationship nearly eight years later, so it was quite fitting that he proposed in one too. He’d have to save his scavenger hunt for another occasion, but that was ok. He had a lifetime of opportunities ahead.

To outsiders, it might not be the most romantic story. Luckily, Ron didn’t give a fuck what outsiders thought, because he had Hermione.

xxxxx

“We had just woken up and were getting ready for the day. We got to talking, and I asked him what he wanted to do,” she said, wiping a stray tear from her face. “He said ‘I want to marry you.’ I... didn’t see it coming at all.”

Ron was thankful for the fact that his lopsided grin was pretty much stuck to his face, otherwise he might have winced. As he had predicted, Hermione had left out the most important piece of information. Without it, it all sounded rather unremarkable.

“Out of the blue?” asked Molly, her eyebrows raised.

In his peripheral vision, Ron saw Harry and Ginny exchange a knowing glance.

“Out of the blue.” said Hermione, before taking another big bite of her watermelon slice.

“I think that’s so romantic!” Jean had one hand resting on her heart, and her eyes sparkled with tears. “Ron, did you plan it like that?”

Ron inhaled sharply at the sound of his name. “Um, well no, actually,” he said, sending a reassuring look toward Hermione. “I had something more elaborate planned.”

“Then what happened?”

Ron grinned as he watched Hermione show off her ring to Ginny and Angelina who had appeared at her shoulder. “I just couldn’t wait any longer.”

Molly and Jean’s soft smiles and sparkling eyes suggested they were satisfied by that answer.

The celebrations continued into the evening hours, and sometime after dinner, Ron appeared at Hugo and Arthur’s makeshift bar to find that Hugo already had a drink waiting for him.

“Congratulations again, son!” said Arthur, before engulfing him in another hug.

“Thanks Dad,” he said.

“I’m going to check on my future daughter-in-law!” he said excitedly. “I’ll see if she wants a drink.”

Arthur scurried away, leaving Ron alone with Hugo.

“I already made you an Alexander,” Hugo said, sliding the drink across the table to Ron. “Made one for Hermione too.”

Ron felt his ears turning crimson, as if he’d been caught in a lie. Now was not the time to inform Hugo why his daughter wasn’t drinking. He would just have to drink for two today.

However, Hugo was quite observant. In a whisper he added, “there’s no alcohol in hers.”

Ron met Hugo’s unflinching gaze, and the two men stared at each other for an uncomfortable pause. The tension finally broke when Hugo smiled, and Ron felt a wave of relief. “How did you know?”

Hugo chuckled. “I’ve never seen her eat watermelon.” He took a dramatic swig of his own drink before continuing. “But Jean couldn’t get enough of it when she was pregnant with Hermione.”

Ron glanced over at Hermione, who was working her way through yet another slice of watermelon. He tried to remember the last time he’d seen her eating it, but was drawing a blank.

Hugo brought him out of his memories. “I guess our conversation about contraception was for shit.”

If Ron had just met Hugo, he might have put more effort into formulating a diplomatic answer. He might have interpreted his pursed lips as stern disapproval rather than a weak attempt to prevent himself from laughing at his own joke. He definitely would not have burst out laughing and answered the way he did.

“Total shit.”

Encouraged by a few cocktails, Hugo grinned widely and unleashed a hearty laugh. Then he did something surprising. He put down his glass, circled the table, and opened his arms to embrace Ron.

“I’m happy for you, son,” he said softly. “I hope you’re happy too.”

Ron saw no reason to hold back his tears, so he didn’t. He had always assumed his future father-in-law would consider Ron's happiness simply an extension of his daughter’s, but Hugo proved him wrong. This was a man who cared about him deeply, as if he was his own son and Ron could feel it. “I’ve never been happier.”

Hugo pulled him to arms length. Ron noticed a tear on his cheek and felt another wave of connection with the man. With a pat on his shoulder, he turned back to the bar and grabbed both glasses. “Now go have a drink. Have some fun,” he said before adding with a wink, “while you can.”

Ron found Hermione discussing wedding plans in the living room with Ginny and Angelina, and slid into a seat on the armrest of her chair. He pressed the glass into her hand and leaned down to whisper in her ear, “non-alcoholic.”

She looked up at him and mouthed, thank you, before leaning against him while he slipped his arm around her.

Ginny was smiling at them as more Weasleys piled into the living room. Seeing Ron and Hermione together ignited another toast from the group. “To Ron and Hermione.”

“To Ron and Hermione!” echoed the crowd.

Plus one.

He’d never been more excited about anything in his life, and it was clearly evident by his expression. When she clicked her glass against his and looked him right in the eyes, he saw his own elation reflecting back at him, and knew she felt the same way. They had come so far, but their story was only just beginning.

[redrobinfection]

(16) Graveyard

SociallyAwkwardFox’s Spooktober (2018) - Day 16 “Graveyard”

Tim & Damian | Implied JayTim | Implied DickDami | College AU | No Capes | Crack | actual discussion of literature | Dick Grayson was adopted by the Drakes instead of the Waynes | Want to write/create with me? Find the prompt list here!

~*~

"How about four out of seven?" Tim asked with a shrug, winding up the toilet paper roll again.

Damian, his fellow barista, threw his roll at Tim's head, missing wildly. He glared. "You cheated, Drake!"

Tim rolled his eyes as he retrieved Damian's roll and began winding it up too. "How could I cheat at coffee cup bowling, ‘Wayne’?"

"You wind your roll too tightly. It doesn't unravel as much when you pitch it and thus has more mass by the time it hits the cups."

Tim raised his eyebrows. "What are you now, a physics major? That just sounds like strategy, dude. You are free to roll your roll as tightly as you'd like. That isn't against the rules."

Damian fumed. "The rules you made up! This is why I said we should use the rice crispy ba--customer."

Tim whirled on the spot, seeing that, indeed, a paying customer had entered their little, semi-enclosed coffee shop. Outside, a few students sat or sprawled over the sectional couches that filled the large basement of the university student union in which the shop was located.

Tim turned and vaulted over the counter. He heard a quiet "-tch-" from Damian as he walked to the hinged raise-able section of the counter and let himself in.

Tim straightened his apron and stepped up the register with a smile. The customer stood about five feet from the register, head tilted back, studying the menu board over Tim's head with bleary eyes. The guy was like a zombie, he was that exhausted. Tim cut his eyes over to the clock on the wall. 3:45 am. Hell of a time for coffee.

Tim glanced over his shoulder at Damian, who was reawakening the cranky espresso machine with deft fingers. Seven hours and forty-five minutes with Damian "the Demon " Wayne down, only four hours and fifteen minutes to go. Tim turned back to their customer and sighed. This was going to be a loooooooong morning.

At second glance, there was something familiar about the guy, but Tim couldn't put his finger on where he knew him. The guy had pretty teal eyes, but they were reddened and dull, like he hadn't closed them except to blink in way too long. He was also pretty well cut, Tim noticed, with clearly muscled arms and pecs so defined that Tim could clearly see them through the man's sweater. Maybe that's how Tim knew him? Maybe he'd seen him in the UREC weight room?

The guy's most eye-catching feature by far was the white forelock that curled down over his forehead. He was the third person Tim had met to have a whitened forelock like that; the other two were fraternal twins who had had small patches of albinism right at their widows peaks which affected both the skin and hair. Tim idly wondered if this guy's white lock was natural too. In any case, it looked frickin' cool, a lot cooler than his own; the best thing he could say about his own hair was that he could pull off the 90's curtain cut plus semi-mullet well enough that he could go an entire semester on a single haircut.

Tim was drawn out of his thoughts when dude finally stepped up to the counter and began to speak.

"Uh, hi, could I get a large, double-shot caramel latte?"

"Absolutely. How many pumps of caramel do you want?" Tim asked cheerily.

The guy looked up from digging through his overly stuffed messenger bag. "Uhh…the normal four should be fine."

"Okay, that will be $6.47. Can I get a name for the order?"

The guy didn't look up this time. "Uh, Jason. Gimme a sec', I know my wallet is at the bottom of this thing somewhere."

"No problem, take your time. It's not like we have a line, anyway," Tim joked.

This guy looked so dead right now--inside and out--that if he didn't find his wallet, then Tim would probably just buy the coffee for the guy himself. He understood better than anyone the sudden need for caffeine at odd hours of the day. He's not sure how he would have finished half his computer science projects this term without a much-needed double-espresso every couple of hours, to be honest.

The guy--'Jason' apparently--finally fished out a small money clip then handed over a student ID card. "Put it on my Dining Dollars, please."

"Yeah, no probl- wait a minute!" Tim cut off, staring. Suddenly, it had hit Tim where he knew this guy. "Aren't you that kid who always sits at the front of Professor Hyatt's nine-fifteen, Tuesday-Thursday, Modern European Literature and answers all the questions?"

The dude raised an eyebrow. "Uh, yeah. Why…? Wait…" He squinted and leaned in. "Aren't you the kid who once tried to sit all the way back in the AV booth, since, and I quote, 'the back wasn't far enough back'?"

Tim grinned as he swiped the ID card through the register. "Haha, yeah."

Damian moved as if to step up to the counter, the guy's drink in hand, but stopped dead about a foot away. He stared.

"Wait. Aren't you the guy who always comes in, gets tea, and sits in the window over there and reads romance novels?" Damian asked, eying him appraisingly.

The dude huffed. "Yes. My name is Jason--by the way--and they're not romance novels, it's classic lit. Now can I get my coffee?"

Damian handed the coffee over the counter, but raised an eyebrow skeptically. "You mean to tell me Rebecca is not a romance novel?"

"Wait, what!? Do you mean Daphne du Maurier's Rebecca?" Tim asked as he handed Jason's ID card back over the counter.

Damian nodded wordlessly. Tim snorted, then said, "That's not a romance! That's a totally a murder mystery! You must be confusing it with Jane Eyre. I get those mixed up too."

Jason nodded in agreement, tucking his ID away before taking his first sip of coffee. He moaned, his eyes fluttering for a moment as he savored in the sweet bliss of piping hot caffeine at 3:49 in the morning, then he looked at Damian and said, "Well, actually, I'll give you that one, uh…" --he paused to squint at Damian's name tag-- "...'Damian'; Rebecca is a modern romance novel by classification, but it's also a crime thriller just like--whazzatsay?--'Tim' said."

He turned to Tim. "I'm not surprised you'd confuse it with Jane Eyre, considering that a lot of scholars believe du Maurier adapted it from Jane Eyre."

"Wait, really?" Tim said with a laugh. "I'm glad I'm not the only one thinking that! Rebecca is like the less boring version of Jane Eyre."

Jason froze halfway into sitting down in one of the arm chairs that lined the wall closest to the door and looked up at Tim as if he had just suggested burning down the library or something similarly unthinkable. "Whaaaaaat?! I can't believe you just implied that any of the Brontë sisters' works is boring!"

Tim laughed again. "I mean, don't get me wrong, I was only twelve when I read Jane Eyre, so maybe I'd enjoy it more if I read it again now--with a mature perspective--but I remember Rebecca being a blast for thirteen-year-old me so…" He smiled, then shrugged.

Jason stared. "Twelve? Thirteen? Jeez. What else were you trying to read that young?"

"I mean, I read Moby Dick the year before that, in sixth grade," Tim admitted, shrugging until his shoulders hit his ears.

Jason gave him a flat stare. "Moby Dick? Moby fucking Dick? You've gotta be kidding me. And lemme guess, you also thought Herman Melville's masterpiece was a load of crock?"

Tim laughed, but shook his head and waved his hands placatingly. "No, no, no. I only understood, like, every fifth word--so.many.whaling.terms!--and it took me four months to get halfway in only to realize there was no way I was going to finish it by the end of the school year--I ended up skipping to the end and guessing for a lot of the AR test questions--but I definitely got the sense that it was a seminal work and that I was just too young to appreciate it. I've always meant to go back and try it again, but I still haven't gotten around to it."

"Why the hell were you trying to read Moby Dick at the age of twelve?" Jason asked incredulously, leaning back in the chair and taking a long sip of his coffee.

"Eleven, but, ah, well, my mom was convinced I had to be The BestTM in everything, so she pushed me to max out my Accelerated Reader level by the end of sixth grade and demanded that I always get the most AR points of anyone in my class, so I read a lot of the 20 point-and-up books." Tim tapped his chin thoughtfully. "I think Moby Dick was 47 points...Rebecca was 25...Jane Eyre was 33..."

Jason stared, shaking his head slowly. "So…what? You're fine with Moby Dick, a romance of the American Renaissance, but a gothic romance of the British Victorian era like Jane Eyre isn't good enough for you? Next you'll try to tell me you think Wuthering Heights is a snooze fest!"

"Well, I mean, I never could get into it, so…"

Jason slammed both hands down on the arms of his chair, incensed. "Okay, Mister, get your butt over here and sit down, we need to have a talk about Victorian Gothic and why, hands down, it is some of the best literature ever written."

Tim laughed again, then bit his lip, considering the offer. He glanced around the nearly empty coffee shop. Then he leaned over the counter and looked out into the lounge--there were exactly four people there and only one of them wasn't completely asleep in their books. Yeah, he could probably afford to humor the man.

He turned to Damian. "Hey, Dames, I'm going to make myself a coffee and take my break. You good to hold down the fort?"

"I told you not to call me that," Damian snapped, but there was no real heat to it; he liked to pretend that he hated the guts of all his coworkers, but Tim knew that he was Damian's favorite. "However, yes, I think I can manage. Go take your damned break, but when you come back I fully expect a rematch in bowling…and don't you dare cheat this time!"

Tim rolled his eyes and groaned, then turned toward trying to coax Ol' 'Spressolino--their affectionate name for the cantankerous espresso machine--into spitting out a double-shot for him. "It's not cheating, but fine, we'll do it your way," Tim replied. "But I'm telling you, you have to buy those rice crispy balls. I definitely don't want to have to explain to Barbara why some of the food on sale looks like it went through the spin cycle in a dorm washer."

Damian grinned smugly. "My pleasure. It will be a small price to pay in order to ensure your swift defeat."

Tim shook his head, grabbed his espresso in one hand and two biscotti off the front counter in the other, ducked under the counter drawbridge, then slid into the armchair across from Jason. He offered one of the biscotti to the other man and Jason accepted the free food with an appreciative smile. He already looked ten times less zombie-like, thanks to the caffiene, and he was honestly pretty damn attractive.

"Okay," Tim said, peeling the wrapper off his own biscotti and dunking it into his bitter cup of joy, "Educate me."

Between sips of coffee and bites of biscotti, Jason began explaining his thoughts on the romantic period of literature, but barely a minute into his lecture, a plastic-wrapped, ball-shaped rice crispy treat about the size of a cantelope whizzed by their feet and crashed into the ten extra-large paper coffee cups arranged in a bowling triangle at one end of the coffee shop, scattering them in a definitive strike.

Jason jumped in his seat and looked around wildly. "What the fuck?"

Tim sighed. "Daaaaaaamiaaaaaaan…"

"Shut up, Drake! I'm practicing. I need to hone my skills and adjust my form so I can thoroughly crush you in our next round," Damian called back. He marched from the counter to the end of the shop to retrieved his plastic-wrapped projectile.

Jason blinked in confusion. "I repeat: what the ever-loving fuck?"

Tim sighed again, then explained, saying, "It gets pretty boring in here during the graveyard shift, so we invented a game, coffee cup bowling. Normally, we'd sleep or study, but Damian finished his exams two days ago and I don't really study for exams, per se-"

"And sleep is for the weak," Damian finished, nodding as he walked past them carrying his sweet, gooey ammunition.

Tim nodded sagely, in agreement. "Sleep is for the weak."

Jason glanced over Tim's shoulder at the coffee cup bowling 'pins' and then over his shoulder at Damian as he lined up another throw. "You guys are insane," he declared.

Tim made a dismissive gesture. "I mean this is my third graveyard shift in a row and Damian here is almost 20 hours into a 24-hour stint. After that much sleep deprivation, you'd lose your sanity too."

Jason tilted his head in acknowledgement. "Fair enough."

"If you want, you're welcome to join us after we finish our coffee and literature talk," Tim offered amiably.

Jason watched as Damian threw another strike, sending one cup so far it landed in the pot of the ficus in the corner, and raised his eyebrows. "You know what…why not." He turned back to Tim with a grin. "I could use a bit of fun before I go back to work on my Native American Lit paper."

"Are you a lit major?" Tim asked curiously.

"I am."

Tim nodded. "That makes sense."

"And you?"

"I'm a CS major--computer science."

"That makes sense," Jason echoed, grinning.

Tim grinned back at him and waved a hand. "Okay, so as you were saying…?"

"Yes, as I was saying…"

Jason continued his little lecture while they continued sipping their coffee and nibbling on the biscotti. When they had finished--the coffee, not the discussion, because Tim was pretty sure Jason would go on for hours about literature once you got him started--they joined Damian in a game of "ten-cup."

It was in the middle of this heated battle of cups and marshmallow-bonded puffed-rice cereal balls that their next customer found them fifteen minutes later. The man, dressed in flower printed leggings and a black hoodie with "Gotham University Aerial Arts" printed across the chest in blue, took one look at them and grinned.

"Oh, hey! Coffee-cup bowling! I love that game! Do you think I could interrupt you guys for just a sec to get some hot chocolate?"

All three of them--the two baristas plus their customer--turned and stared.

"Hot… wait, what?" Jason said, laughing a little. "Man, it's like 4:30 in the morning. Why are you getting a hot chocolate at 4:30 in the morning?"

The man laughed, too, shrugging before he explained, saying, "I don't like tea or coffee all that much, but I just finished a 20 page paper on ethics in police enforcement and I need a pick me up. I need to get my warm fuzzies going again."

Tim rolled his eyes and sighed, moving back toward the counter to get the man his drink. "You're going to end up being the cuddliest cop on the street, Dick."

"You know it, Timmy!" the man--'Dick' apparently--exclaimed, pulling Tim into a bear hug when he made the mistake of passing too close to Dick on his way to the counter. The hug escalated into a full on octopus hug as he lifted his legs to wrap around Tim's hips. Tim, for his part, ignored the grapple, opening the leaf in the counter and hobbling over to the drink bar with the human cephalopod still attached.

Damian and Jason stared. Damian cleared his throat and eyed Dick with poorly disguised interest. "Wait, do you know this man, Drake?"

Tim blinked dully as he turned around, a cup in one hand and a packet of instant hot chocolate in the other. "Yes. He's my brother." Dick made a squeeing noise and nuzzled his head into Tim's neck. Tim sighed. "My adopted brother," he amended testily.

Dick laughed, dropped his feet back onto the floor and stood up. He nearly wrung Tim's neck as he tried to hug him around the shoulders. "Awww, don't be like that, Tim. We haven't seen each other in two whole weeks and I needed my Tim-hugs! Gotta meet my cuddle-quota."

Tim shook his head and handed the hot chocolate back over his shoulder. "You're insufferably, insatiably clingy when you're this tired, Dick. Go home and sleep."

Dick finally released him to take the drink. He took a sip of the hot chocolate, sighing in appreciation. "Thanks, Tim, and yeah, but, only if you do the same. You're just as bad as me when you haven't slept, if not worse."

"Can't. Working," Tim answered curtly, vaulting the counter to escape before Dick's grabby hands could reach for him again. His brother wasn't wrong; Tim was always up for a good cuddle after a long stint without proper sleep, but he didn't like public displays of affection.

Dick took one look at the nearly empty coffee shop, the three of them, their game, and then laughed out loud. "Ahhh, the days of getting paid to drink coffee and make up games at 4:30 in the morning. I kind of miss it."

"Would you care to join us," Damian asked abruptly. Dick brightened.

"Absolutely!"

And so that was how the four of them ended up bowling for empty coffee cups with rice crispy treats the size of spaghetti squash while blasting ABBA’s greatest hits--Dick's terrible, wonderful idea--until the sun rose and their shift ended, at eight AM.

By the time the four of them walked out the door, Dick was trying to convince Damian to join him in the aerials gym before breakfast, and Damian, clearly eager to do anything with the handsome college senior, accepted readily. Jason and Tim, on the other hand, were back to discussing literature over coffee--now focused on the merits and downfalls of contemporary science fiction and fantasy as an art form--and making their way to the East Campus Dining Hall, so they could continue their discussion over breakfast.

Tim snorted softly as he listened to Jason list all the ways Dune defined an era of sci-fi/fantasy, then smiled at the way Jason took his hand--without seeming to realize it--to pull him forward after the crosswalk light changed out of Tim's line of sight. Oh, yeah, this one was totally gay/bi/pan and he was definitely asking him out the minute he saw the opportunity, Tim decided.

He smiled. Who would of thought he'd come out of last night's graveyard shift not only having seen his demon coworker and his older brother hit it off--of all things!--but having met someone for himself too! He laughed, thinking, you never know what crazy things you might see, or the people you might meet, at the campus coffee shop at 4 o' clock in the morning!