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forcemeanakin · 7 months

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Hot with brains

•WARNINGS: SMUT. Fingering (f receiving), oral fixation, dirty talk, praise kink and also degrading kink, corruption kink kinda??? Edging. Public space. The OC has a kink that attracts her to smart guys.

Pairing: ROTS!Anakin Skywalker x Female!reader.

Summary: Anakin falls for the librarian at the Jedi Temple, however, he soon realizes his adorable smile and golden curls won’t cut it with this one. No, she likes something different: brains.

Word count: 4.7K.

A/N: Pretty self-indulgent piece. I've been obsessed with Anakin's engineering brain ever since I got into Star Wars and this idea had be floating around for a whileeeee. Hope you all enjoy reading it, as much as I enjoyed writing it!

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You liked smart guys.

It wasn’t a kink per sé. You just couldn’t see yourself hooking up with someone with no brains, let alone establishing a committed relationship with them. You were swoon by guys with deep thoughts and admirable speech skills. The type of man that would go for a whisky instead of a beer, or use real shoes instead of plain sneakers.

You being a snob might have to do with your upbringing, after all you were the daughter of two scholars and professors of one of the most prestigious universities of Coruscant. You were raised to be logical and love intellectual conversations. You wouldn’t- No. You couldn’t see yourself enjoying a space with someone with a low IQ.

That was the reasoning behind taking the internship in the Jedi Temple’s library as part of your college voluntary program. You had to volunteer a certain amount of hours in order to graduate from your Journalism degree with honors.

You thought that even though this wasn’t exactly the area in which you were specializing, you would soak up some of the ancient knowledge of the Order, even make some great connections for the future. And so far it has been just that: A great experience. You got to read some really cool books and in the hours where no one would come, you got to finish some school work. The Jedi who would visit the library were nice and kind, always polite with a big smile. You even grew really fond of a young Togruta padawan that would spend her breaks in between training devouring books.

It was calm and quiet.

Until the storm broke through the door.

“Is this the one you’re looking for?” You yelled to Ahsoka as you climbed down the stairs with the title she asked for.

“Yes! Thank you, y/n!” She gave you a hug and ran to her table to start reading about the swamps in Dagobah.

You returned to your desk and kept registering the book’s codes into the control sheet when a loud sound made you look to the door, the one that was violently being thrown to open room for a tall, curly-haired man with dark robes.

You would recognize those robes anywhere. In reality, anyone from any point of the galaxy would recognize them.

Anakin Skywalker.

One of the few exceptions of Jedi men who didn’t live up to the sophisticated standard of the Order’s image. And definitely someone you would prefer to stay away from. For some reason he was the favorite warrior of the people; the citizens would line up in front of the Temple to scream “Hero with no fear” to that pretentious douchebag.

He was fine.

As what most people would call courageous, you would say careless. To others he was passionate, to you he was irrational. Not to mention how idiotic and unsubordinated he was; always talking back and doing things his way, ignoring what the guidelines said.

You didn’t like him. You didn’t like him at all. For that you were thankful that he never set foot into your sacred place. Until that doomed day.

“C’mon, Snips.” He shouted, approaching the desk where she sat. “We need to go. Council just called.”

“Can I have five more minutes? I’ve barely read anything about where we are going!” Ahsoka whined.

“You don’t need to read anything, we will find out anything that’s necessary there.” He huffed, finding his apprentice’s actions ridiculous.

You quietly sighed and rolled my eyes. Of course.

“Fine… but y/n really took her time fetching it for me.” She exhaled annoyed and closed the book.

Your eyes remained glued to your task at hand, not willing to look up and be involved in some type of pending argument.

“Who’s y/n?” Anakin scoffed rather loudly.

“Y/n! The volunteer?” Anakin frowned at the short explanation and shook his head in a negative motion. “You know, y/n! C’mon Skyguy, follow me.”

No, please no, you whispered to your insides.

“Hey, y/n!” You heard Ahsoka’s little footsteps running to where you were.

“What can I do for you, Soka?” You answered, still pretending that you were too busy to move your head from its position.

“Skyguy hasn’t met you. Here, Anakin, y/n. She helps us out here in the library.”

“Ahsoka, we’re not supposed to be having social meetings, we need to go-” You finally gazed up and in that moment, Anakin and you made eye contact for the first time; it was intense. It felt like something clicked for him. “You must be Y/n.” Anakin shook his head lightly, hinting a little smirk as leaned over your table with fixed eyes.

Hell, no.

“Yes, I am. How may I help you?” You were bitter, totally unbothered by his chiseled cheekbones, or his gorgeous hair, or his plumped lips. Not even the scar had any effect whatsoever. He was an ass and that was automatically a turn off for you.

“I’m sorry I haven’t met you. You must be new.” He explained with dreamy eyes, subtly checking you out. You cursed the moment you decided to come in today with a blouse who had a bit of a cleavage. “I’m Anakin. Anakin Skywalker.”

“Actually, I’ve been here for almost two months now.” You suppressed the soul-eating need to roll your eyes.

“Oh, really? Sorry, I don’t come here much.” He leaned over even more, trying to keep eye contact even when you sat down.

“Obviously.” You whispered on the low.

“Excuse me?” Anakin frowned, interrupting his beam to pout with confusion.

“Nothing.” You smiled widely with a fake grin.

“Okay…” His frown deepened before a smirk broke out his lips. “Maybe I will make it a habit and visit more often.” He shrugged his shoulders, tilting his head to the side, deciphering the effects of his statement on you.

“You should.” You looked at him and gave him a side-smile, making his eyes sparkle. “Books are good for you.” You returned to check the order of nabooian books on your computer.

“Yeah, books are cool but there are other things I would much rather check out.” He smirked shamelessly at you, the back-handed comment flying way over his head.

You felt like gagging. Not the good kind.

Before you could come up with a clever response and shut him down for good, Ahsoka spoke from behind him.

“Ugh, gross! Let’s go!” The kid dragged him out by his clothes and before he disappeared through the glass door, he winked at you.

That was the first time you have seen him. First of many, many more.

Since the day your paths crossed, he took every fleeting moment to come and “read”, when in reality it was just him eating, or drawing or doing anything but opening a book. Taking advantage of your breaks, or whenever you returned to your seat after doing rounds, he would come over and make conversation. About his battles, his accomplishments, his close-calls to death… or about random facts he collected from his missions and travels; Anything that would maybe impress you.

And when he wasn’t doing that? He would drown you in compliments, to see if in fact, you soften up to him. Anakin was already aware of your no-so-secret disgust towards him the day he caught one of your eye rolls.

Did he care? No.

He was persistent: admiring your hair, loving the way you had styled it in a little bun (even though it was because the heat was eating you alive). He would ask about the tasks you were performing, sucking at pretending to be interested in hearing about organizing books in alphabetical order.

And it would have maybe worked; his good looks combined to his natural charisma were enough to make any mortal melt at his sight. You almost combust when you saw him carrying some wood boards into the library, the primal part of you rejoicing at the sight of his strong muscles stretching. The man was eye candy, whether you like it or not.

But, boy, were you tough.

Anakin Skywalker was not your cup of tea to say the least. You wouldn’t collaborate in his attempts to get to know you. You were so uninterested in finding out more about him when you had already scanned him. Just a way-too-handsome-for-his-own-good guy who was lucky enough to be born as the Chosen One, because otherwise, he would have never made it in the Order. He was determined, you would give him that.

His approaches were never creepy or invasive enough to make you uncomfortable, only to drive you wild. Even when he was the worst part of your day, you had to keep the polite but distant charade going on, in order to protect your job. Your disgust towards him, instead of hurting him, amused him. He liked challenges and you were freaking Mission Impossible. Although he also saw the flaws in you: a pretentious prick girl who had probably achieved everything in her life thanks to nepotism. But he could see past that.

Because, boy, were you hot.

And he was sure you liked it nasty.

Underneath your goodie-two-shoes clothes hid the true you: he knew you loved being treated like a filthy slut.

“Hello, y/n!” Ahsoka squealed in an excited voice. You two have grown to adore each other.

“Hey, Soka!” You responded happily, finishing to put some encyclopedias on a shelf. When you turned around, you saw she wasn’t alone. “Oh… good afternoon, Anakin.”

“Nice to see you too, y/n.” Anakin huffed in a sarcastic voice before strolling to where you were, Ahsoka following close behind. “Is that a new shirt? It suits you.”

“No, it’s the same white button up shirt that I’ve always used.” You smiled and turned around to roll your eyes in peace. He was too busy devouring your bosom behind the fabric to ever notice the barrier between his eyes and your skin.

“Y/n, do you think you could grab me a book about loreeks? I’m doing a little presentation about them for my science class.” Ahsoka asked you with a sweet voice.

“Oh sure… just let me look oveeeer…” You walked, stretching the words as you searched in the countless sections. “...here. It must be on one of these shelves.” You announced when you entered the exotic animals aisle.

Digitating the code on your scanner you found out it was in one of the tallest shelves, only reachable with a ladder. Right when you were about to move it, Anakin came in.

“Don’t worry, Y/n. I’ll get it.” And he used the Force to bring the book down. “Here you go Snips, study hard.” He nudged her head, annoying her.

“Yeah, I guess… but it’s Friday. Can I read after I hang out with the other padawans? Barris and Meelo are going skating!” She gave her best puppy eyes, to which Anakin agreed, after giving it little to no thought.

“You didn’t have to give her the book, I could have done it.” You waited for Ahsoka to leave before dropping the bomb.

“Easy there, kitten. I was just helping out.” He furrowed his eyebrows. As if the unnecessary nickname wasn’t enough to drive you mad. Looking down, he saw the rest of your outfit and lingered his eyes more than necessary in your short, black skirt. “On second thought, I might have let you do it.” He smirked confidently.

“Just stay out of my way, okay?” You growled, walking away from him to your desk, not without bumping your shoulder with his on your way out.

“What the hell is your problem?” He asked with an incredulous face.

You were done. The build-up from the past month was beginning to choke down your sense of decency. Not to mention that your day was already going terrible before he appeared: the droid that would always help you out was broken, significantly delaying your work day. Also, it was laundry day and you had to use your uncomfortable lingerie.

“You know what, Skywalker?” You turned around with raised eyebrows. “You’re my problem.” He opened his eyes in bewilderment. “I don’t like you. I don’t appreciate you coming in, all macho-” You made a mocking manner. “-acting like a goddamn superhero, only after cleaning up the mess you created in the first place.” You crossed your arms in your chest.

“I’m a general, kitten, and I can assure you the war it’s not my fault.” He scoffed, he used the nickname again, knowing it would press your buttons.

“And how many times have you messed it up bigger than it was?” You squinted your eyes, only to see him run out of words. “That’s what I thought.” You came back to digitating codes. “It’s like you don’t think. You are just a machine run by adrenaline and praise.” You finally rolled your eyes in front of him without shame. You tried to run down the reports that C7, your assistant droid would do, only to fail and almost delete everything in your computer. “And I can assure you I have bigger problems than dealing with you!”

“Okay, back down-”

“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” You yelled, getting desperate and throwing a tantrum at the device. You had enough for the day. You could leave, given that no one would come over this late, but your sense of responsibility prevented you from going home before finishing your work load. “I fucking hate this system!”

“Let me see-”

“Don’t! Just don’t, okay?” You swatted his hand away. “I’m not in the mood.”

“Could you stop being so stuck-up and let me help you?” He raised his voice, stepping up close to tower you. His eyes were on fire and you could sense that your previous comments did get to him, but for some reason outside of your understanding, he was still willing to help.

“Fine.” You chewed the words in your mouth, stepping down as you glared at him, giving him space to analyze the situation.

Instead of leaning down the computer, he went directly to C7, who lingered weakly on the side of your desk. He picked him up and put it on the table, moving him around his hands to examine the droid. He hummed after a couple of minutes, putting the mechanical body at eye level. “I see.”

“See what? What is it?” You pressed, trying to pick a glance from over his shoulder.

“I’m going to need my tools.” He murmured, dropping the droid back again.

“Wh-”

“I’ll be right back.” He exclaimed, before heading to the door in a rush.

“Wait! What?” You shouted, the shadow of his body the only thing visible.

You stayed alone for about fifteen minutes. You even got to thinking that he was pulling a prank on you, after yelling at him. But you stayed there, because well… what else would you do? You were beginning to fall asleep as you played with paper clips, when you heard the door being opened again.

“Finally! I thought you had left!” You sighed in relief, pushing your body off your desk.

“I was getting my tools, I told you.” He frowned, lifting the heavy, dark red box to the white marble. “Now let’s bring this one back to life.” He smiled, before busting the carcass open.

It took Anakin less than what you waited for him to get C7 up and running again. He flipped panels, snapped cables and pressed buttons, at an order that seemed random to you, until C7’s mechanical eyes opened again.

“Oh my God!” You laughed in disbelief. “He’s functioning again!”

Anakin smiled down at the table, as he finished up adjusting some screws. C7 sat up, analyzing his surroundings before getting up and going straight back to work.

“I-I-” You were speechless. How did he do that? So fast? “I can’t believe you just did that.” You mumbled, still looking at C7 like it was a ghost. “Thank you, Anakin.” You turned around with apologizing eyes, twitching an embarrassed smile.

“No problem. His transmitter was disconnected from the main system. I had to fix his-” The next couple of things that he mentioned sounded like pure gibberish to you, but he was very firm, so it must be true. Right? Sensing your bafflement, he spilled facts slower and quieter until he stopped talking, finalizing with a dry smile. “Yeah, it was nothing.”

He was starting to pack everything in his toolbox again and you had a pending need to say something. However, you didn’t know if you should kick off with a real apology or-

“How did you know all that?” So a pop quiz it was. In your defense, you were genuinely curious about the abilities he had just demonstrated. Mindblown, to be more specific.

“About what?” He furrowed his brows, closing the box but leaving on the table.

“About the transmitter, and the restraining bolt, and- and-” You were running out of technical terms.

“Mechanics are second nature to me at this point.” He shrugged his shoulders, picking up the box. “I know everything about the topic, so, it was an easy fix. I’d have rearranged his central system if I had the missing part, but it’s very specific. What I did will do for now, though.”

He was about to leave when he noticed the way you were leaning on the table, head on top of your fist to pay close attention to him. You were murmuring almost unhearable “uh-huh”s, totally lost in his words.

“Sooo, you know mechanics.” You were such a hypocrite, you couldn’t stand the man fifteen minutes ago and now you were drooling over the sight of him explaining complicated shit to you. Snob. “You often fix things?” You tried to investigate, see if the throbbing happening between your legs was worth pursuing.

“Sometimes… I often go to the hangar and repair the damaged ships or flip them.” He grinned without teeth. “The techs often ask for me. They say I have an eye for these things. Been working on droids since I was a kid, so.” Anakin wasn’t trying to brag, but his ample knowledge in mechanics was something that he prided himself on.

“That seems like a lot of work.” You continued the small talk, slowly losing yourself over this spontaneous crush.

“It can get tricky.” He dismissed, beginning to notice the glint on your eyes. He recognized the way your irises had darkened: He got those fuck-me eyes wherever he went. “Still haven’t found something I can’t fix.”

But it was involuntary. The fact that he was an expert on a matter as hard as mechanics scratched a part of your brain; It flipped a switch inside of you. Anakin was a different man under your eyes now. He was smart, hella smart.

“Gosh, that’s so impressive.” You giggled like the girls that would flirt at him. Pathetic. But you quickly regained control, not before sucking up some courage and getting closer to him, posing more seductively this time. “That brain of yours sure hides lots of secrets.”

He hadn’t quite figured out why the change of heart, so it took him a moment to replay your evening together. It lasted a bit more than he liked to admit, but it hit him. Of course. An arrogant smile cracked his face. Of course you would be attracted to someone who was a master of something you consider relevant. After all, you liked to consider yourself an “intellectual”. Just to test his theory, he consciously started to brag about something else… something that would have your panties in a bunch if his hypothesis was correct.

“Wanna know another one?” He cocked an eyebrow, resting his elbow on the table to stand inches away from your face.

Your face shined with a slight pink blush, but it was the way you bit your lip that drove him crazy. That and your enthusiastic nod. “Yeah.”

“There’s a reason behind why I’m the best pilot of the fleet. And it’s not just because of my background as a pod racer or the Force.” He whispered, snickering at how soft your eyes had grown. “It’s actually because… I use physics.”

“Physics?” You almost moaned.

“Yeah, physics.” He repeated, moistening his lips, a thing your eyes followed. “Self-taught, just like with mechanics.”

That ripped a subtle whimper out of you. Well, not subtle to him.

“You-you understand math?” If it wasn’t because you were visibly squeezing your thighs at the newly acquired information, he would be completely offended that you thought he was dumb as fuck.

“Love em.” He muttered, his intense stare glued to you, as his fingers put a string of hair behind your ear.

Like thunder, you were rushing to capture his lips and show him just how hot you thought he was now. Anakin freezed at first, taking aback by your sudden demonstration of affection, but when he understood that you were willingly -and enthusiastically- giving yourself to him, he wasted no time to embrace you back.

Wet kisses splashed everywhere; it was fucking mess. You hung onto his shoulders while he groped all of your body, starting with your sweet hips, fondling your ass like it was his personal stress ball and finally landing on your waist. You pressed against him shamelessly, but in reality, how much shame could you still have when the man’s tongue was down your throat? The only thing you knew with certainty was that the sucking sounds and moans you both dropped were intensifying the already sex-filled atmosphere.

“Anakin.” You tried to sound normal, but your voice was failing just like your knees were. “W-why haven’t you gone to a proper school? Maybe get a degree?”

Was that seriously so important to you? The opinion of others? Anakin questioned in his own head.

Anakin was the kind of person that wasn’t susceptible to the opinion of others, especially regarding his own image. He was sure of the shit he knew and didn’t need anyone validating that for him. No expensive universities, no uptight professors; Obi-Wan was more than enough. Nonetheless, he had found a shortcut to get inside your pants and God as his witness, he was gonna use it.

“Y/n.” He snickered right in your face, drinking in the power. “I don’t care about any of that. I'm a certified engineer, that’s how I got to build this myself.” Removing the leather, he revealed his mechanical limb to you, wiggling his fingers.

It was fancier than you ever thought a mechanical hand could be. Black with touches of gold; it was elegant and sophisticated, way more advanced than any technology you had ever seen in the orthopedics research field. And you knew it well, your mom was an orthopedic surgeon.

It was no surprise to him that after spilling that last fact you were now shamelessly grinding on his half-hard. The fact that he was an engineering mastermind was such an aphrodisiac. And as much as he wanted to have another taste of your full, pink lips, the ones he often imagined enveloped around his dick while you scolded him, Anakin wasn’t willing to make the first move.

You were going to have to beg for it.

“Anakin?” Your hands flattened on his pecs, back arching when he cupped your cheek with the cool durasteel prosthetic, kneading against it with soft eyes. He must have noticed how captivated you were by his invention.

“Yeah, baby?” He continued the soft ministrations up and down your cheek, redirecting your gaze to his face whenever your eyes would deviate to his artificial limb.

“You- Uhm, you built it from scratch?” You gulped when his thumb inched closer to your mouth, rubbing your bottom lip and pulling it open.

Little obedient you put no resistance, and instead, stuck out your wet tongue to happily receive his digit into your warmness. But this time it was his index, the one you were bobbing your head into, eye contact not faltering even when you were practically giving oral to his hand. Anakin smiled pleased at your enthusiasm for pleasuring him and added another finger for you to lubricate.

“From scratch.” He nodded, lustful irises boring into you. “Designed it too.”

You moaned around him, feeling content with being sandwiched between his firm torso and your desk, and with your mouth being fucked by his fingers. Saliva smeared all over your chin, you whined pitifully when your lips were no longer stuffed. On the contrary of leaving you all hot and bothered, Anakin lowered those same fingers to your leaky cunt, pushing your underwear aside for easy access.

He groaned when he first inserted a finger, your gasping a sign for him to slow down. “Baby, you’re tight.” He seemed to love that about you.

After adjusting to the size of his strong index finger, Anakin breached in with his middle one, repeating the process of you getting used to the coldness and girth all over.

“A-Anakin.” You closed your eyes, involuntarily standing on your tippy toes.

“That’s right, you’re doing so well. Taking my fingers like a true champ.” He bit down a condescending smile. “Atta girl.”

The initial discomfort was just a milestone you had to overcome to succumb to the pleasure that it was being fucked by Anakin Skywalker’s metal hand. His frigid thumb came to roll over your bundle of nerves, helping you relax into him and enjoy the sensation of fully riding his hand.

“That’s it. Fuck my hand just like that, kitten.” He chuckled, finding a spot on your neck to latch on, leave a little souvenir of your encounter, and hide his pitiful laugh.

Kisses were peppered along your exposed throat, your clavicle and jaw, his long eyelashes tickling you and making you clench around his metal hand tighter. Whilst you worried about not whining too loud for anyone to enter the library, Anakin was pumping his fingers at such an unholy pace to complicate your task.

“Shhh, baby. You need to be quiet. Wouldn’t like for anyone to come in. You could lose your job.” He mocked with a side smile and you had to gripped his bicep to keep your balance. “Could you imagine? Getting caught having sex at work? With a Jedi?”

You could perceive that the trespassing of the pseudo-celibacy Jedi code was turning him to no end, the mischievous glimmer in his eyes getting stronger when he said the last sentence.

“W-We’re not having sex.” You corrected him, like it mattered. Like having him knuckles deep into you was somehow less frowned-upon than to have actual coitus.

That made him laugh and you wiggled underneath him, fighting to not let your tears fall.

“You just wait.” His lips ghosted over yours, his breath fanning over your heated face. The increase of the movements of his hand was a sign that he had noticed the contractions around his digits, fully aware that you were close. “Ready to come, baby? Gonna gush all over me?”

You nodded, biting your swollen lip, losing the battle against your tear duct. Anakin used his other thumb, the one that was not torturing your clit, to liberate your abused lip. His mouth lowered to capture yours in a hot kiss, this tongue sliding on your inside until it hit your throat. So deep into you that you would never forget his taste; so deep you will never be able to deny him.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” You whimpered against his smile when you reached your peak, dissolving into this meaningless mass between his arms. “Anakin…” You rode out your climax, still rocking your hips to prolong the pleasure.

Anakin waited until you regained some composure to help you fix your clothes, putting back your underwear as he found it and lowering your skirt. His actions had you frowning: Weren’t you two gonna fuck? You were already mentally prepared to welcome his enormous cock in your tiny canal.

He grinned at your puppy eyes and adorable pout, your flustered state funnier than it should be. It was almost enough to break him. But someone had to give you a lesson.

“At the end of the day, I’m just a soldier, Y/n. An incompetent one, according to you.”

Before you could protest that, he was tilting his head in an accusatory manner. Like saying: Don’t even try it. And before leaving with his head high, he spat:

“My apologies if that’s not fancy enough for you, ma’am.”

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hanasnx · 3 months

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“What did you say your name was?” The words of YOUNG!BRUCE WAYNE speak against you, muffled by his lower lip caught between your teeth and the pounding music of the club. You grin coyly, shaking your head as you tug back on his lip, releasing it to let it bob.

“I didn’t.” you reply, reinforcing the mystery of it all. His black hair had a sort of intentional messy look to it, longer in the front and hanging over his forehead in an edgy and fashionable way. The silken locks tickle your forehead as the two of you stand impossibly close together, refusing each other any breathing room as if you’re exchanging the most sacred of secrets.

You don’t know who this guy is, and frankly you couldn’t care less. All that mattered was that he invited you up to a platinum pass VIP floor of this nightclub, got a few drinks in you, and now you’re all over him. Instinctively, you raise your leg to tuck him between your thighs, and he takes the extra mile of hooking his fingers in the crook of your knee to lift it a little further. He’s tall, and there’s a good stretch when he gets you up to his hip.

Lips locked, you can’t ignore what an expert he is with his tongue. Maybe it’s the alcohol, but with specific swipes of his tongue you whimper. If he could hear you above all this noise, he might think you’re in the longest dry spell of your life. To your knowledge, it doesn’t appear like he’s judging you, in fact he’s spurred on by your enthusiasm, tangling tongues like inexperienced teenagers in the dark corner of the floor. Unconsciously, you begin grinding. A subtle rut chasing friction, the thin fabric of your dress separates your bare cunt from humping his crotch. You don’t register fully the kind of desperation you’re giving off. He doesn’t seem to mind at all, clutching onto your leg tighter to encourage you.

When things escalate to an inappropriate degree for his level of comfort regarding PDA, his hand cups your chin, directing you back to break the kiss. You emit a sound of disappointment, your eagerness cut short. To make up for it, he affectionately strokes your skin with his thumb. A kind smile curls his lips, swollen and pink from all of your sucks and bites, but there’s a delicious darkness in his eyes. “Let me show you something.”

You knew this guy was loaded, but you didn’t know exactly how wealthy. He’d brought you to a private room because apparently he owned this place. Your shock was brief, staring at him long enough that he interrupted you with another long and tonguey kiss. He couldn’t be more than a couple years your age. How can he own anything in his twenties? However, as he guided you to a cushioned seat, directing you to straddle his lap, you’d completely forgotten about money. The only thing on your mind now is how cups the back of your neck like his hand belongs there, firmly fixed as he keeps you where he wants you, diving his tongue far into the back of your throat. It’s demanding, and it shoots right through you. Hopelessly aroused, you can feel your slick coating the insides of your thighs. It only worsens when he begins to take off his rings. One by one, silver bands are removed from his long and thick fingers.

An omen. A filthy and delicious omen of what’s to come, pulsing your cunt until he gets his bare hand on it, sweetly caressing you through the tasteful slit in your dress. “Knew you were gonna get some?” he asks, a frustratingly handsome expression of pride and joy on his countenance.

“Shut up.” you respond with a roll of your eyes, patting his shoulder scoldingly. Your nonchalance doesn’t last long because he starts taking your pussy seriously. The tip of his middle finger swipes through, a chill running up your spine because of it. Nervous energy has nowhere to go, and you claw his upper arm, seeking out the provided friction with a gentle rock of your hips. He watches you with interest and parted lips, gauging your every minute reaction as he experiments his touch. As if you’re a puzzle, he’s curious about you, alternating between dipping shallowly into you and rubbing at your little clit. At a particularly sensitive motion, you throw your head back, sitting onto his hand fully. A mild chastising is in order, his free hand clutched onto your hip picks you back up, but he doesn’t withhold giving you more of what you need.

“Easy, pet, we’ve got all night.”

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xysidhequeen · 1 year

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The King and his Red Knight

DPxDC crossover fic

Part 1

Really sorry to everyone who suffered through the fact that I didn't know about the existence of readmore. I can't fix the thread now but the individual posts are better? Sorry I have like a very rough idea of how this site works 😭

Check the: The King and his Red Knight tag to find all the parts

"Go here, Danny. Go then, Danny. Go to a random cemetery in the middle of the night for no reason, Danny." A voice grumbled, accompanied by the sound of sneakers rhythmically tapping stone.

Danny Fenton, currently Phantom, sat on a gravestone, his white hair a beacon in the dark night. There were no stars in the sky for him to gaze upon, their light hidden behind swaths of smog and neon lights playing off the gray clouds.

Clockwork had dumped him here, with no explanation for why. Not that he ever really explained much when he sent Danny off on his tasks. He supposed he should be grateful, at least he was in the same when rather than being transported a thousand years into the past.

"Wait here King Phantom. You will understand in time." Danny mimicked his mentor's voice as he let himself float off the grave he'd been dumped on after Clockwork shoved him out of a portal. His body floated higher until he could flip around, his legs crossing. He sat upside down, his chin in his palm as he glared petulantly at the assembled gravestones surrounding him, his toxic green eyes glowing.

"So far all I've seen is a concerning amount of ecotplasm for a city without a ghost portal and some blob ghosts! How long am I supposed to wait here?" Danny asked the air, and the aforementioned blob ghosts who were hanging off his body, soaking in the ambient ecotoplasm he radiated at all times now.

Neither provided him with an answer to his question and Danny let out a frustrated groan as he lowered his still flipped body to look once more on the gravestone he'd been tasked with waiting on.

Jason Todd, the name read. The dates, too close together, made something in Danny squeeze painfully. He'd been young, barely older than Danny when he stepped into the portal. Only for this teenager there had been no ectoplasm to bind to his dying body and repair the damage of death and force him back into a semblance of life.

"Who were you and why did Clockwork send me to you?" Danny asked the gravestone, one clawed finger tracing the words before he pulled back with a sigh when the gravestone gave him no explanation. The dead didn't always speak, not even to their king.

Turning his body Danny looked over the rest of the cemetery. It was empty, as most usually were this time of night, of the living. There were a few shades wandering around, circling closer to him, drawn by his presence. No full ghosts though, but oddly enough there rarely were in cemeteries. This was where the dead came to rest. To remember, if they wanted to. Cemeteries were sacred spaces to the dead, much as a temple or a church would be for the living who were religious. Ghosts who still clung to life, to their obsessions, did not frequent cemeteries, did not dare trespass and disturb those who had already found their peace.

Danny himself was an oddity. He had never shied from cemeteries, enjoying the peace he found in them, the guarantee of safety offered. And perhaps, he mourned that he himself would never have a gravestone for the living to place their flowers and their tears at. Who would make a grave for someone who was both alive and dead? There would never be a body to bury for him. His human half would continue to live on so long as his ghost core remained and could fuel it.

Maybe that was why he found peace in cemeteries, for all his whining that Clockwork had dumped him here. Cemeteries were for the living and the dead, one of the only places both existed in harmony naturally. For someone who was as much dead as he was alive such a place held a certain degree of belonging for him.

Danny straightened out in the air, letting his body lie above the grave as he folded his arms behind his head and looked up at the covered sky. He complained and whined about this task, but he was secretly glad that Clockwork had given him something to do. Even if it was just 'hang out in a random cemetary'.

Ever since he'd graduated high-school, revealed himself to his parents and discovered how deep prejudice and hate could run, and he'd run away to the Infinite Realms for sanctuary while his friends moved forward with their lives, he'd felt unmoored. A ghost with no haunt. Bored was too light a word for the gaping emptiness he felt in his chest, for the loneliness clawing at him. Clockwork, Wulf, Pandora they could help chip at the ache inside of him but not banish it. Not now that his family, his friends, were spread so far apart and so distant from him.

Not that he resented their choices, their distance, in fact he'd fought for them to do just that, to get out of Amity Park, to go to college, to become more than overworked teen superheroes. Still he missed them, even if he could visit them whenever he wanted. It was becoming clear as time moved forward that the world they belonged to and the one he did were two different things.

Danny Fenton couldn't go to college when his parents had declared him dead. Danny Fenton didn't exist as far as the government was concerned. Danny Phantom couldn't return to Amity when those same parents were waiting to capture him and tear him apart 'molecule by molecule'. Danny Phantom couldn't go back when the GIW were crawling over the town like ants.

So neither Danny Fenton or Danny Phantom returned to Amity after that day. And he made sure they couldnt follow him when he ensured the portal that took his life to function never opened again. He didn't need the portal any longer to get in and out of the Infinite Realms, and it was safer for the ghosts, his subjects, if the temptation of the Fenton portal was gone.

The world of the living was not yet ready to accept that the dead didn't always stay dead. And Danny would keep his people safe until they were.

Danny jolted from his lazing state of reverie when a pulse of emotion rocked through him, the strength of it stealing his breath if he had any to take.

Fear/Trapped/Dark/Fear/Help/HELP pounded into him and Danny frantically flipped around, head swiveling, poisonous green eyes wide as he triedf to locate the source. The emotions, the plea for help, burned his core, his Obsession screamed at him.

Help/SomeonePlease/Dark/Trapped/CANTBREATHE/HELP another wave of messages, of emotions pushed themselves at Danny and this time underneath the onslaught he could hear a rhythmic thudding. Danny looked down, horror filling him when he realized the thudding was coming from under the ground. From the grave he'd been hovering over for an hour now.

Danny flew down, sending back a wave of I'mHere/HelpIsComing/I'mComing to the boy trapped in his own coffin, feeling the intense wave of relief and hope sent back before he dived into the earth as if it wasn't there. Danny paused for a moment when he passed the thick wooden coffin, seeing a boy in the dark with wide, panicked blue eyes and fingers tipped with shredded nails and fresh blood.

"Hey, I'm going to get you out of here, okay?" Danny told the boy, keeping his voice gentle, soft. The boy jolted, fixating on the only source of light, Danny's growing green eyes. Danny hoped his smile came off as calming instead of 'freaky AF' as Tucker liked to call it. He grabbed the boy, Jason, as carefully as he could and then let his intangibility wash over the terrified teen as he lifted them both out of the coffin.

When they emerged from the coffin and the ground Danny set the teen down, leaning him against the gravestone, his own gravestone, and pulled back a bit. The boy was gasping in air as if the fetid, polluted air was the sweetest thing he'd ever tasted.

Danny tilted his head as he watched the boy ground himself. Now that the emotions were leveling out and his Obsession was purring in contentment rather than growling in a frenzy, Danny could feel something off about the boy.

Disregarding the fact that he'd just come back from the dead, of course. But that wasn't the oddest thing Danny had seen in his afterlife. No the boy felt... not like a normal, living human. Not even like an Amity Park resident, who all felt more than slightly liminal. No this boy, this Jason Todd, felt closer to liminal than even Jazz, Tucker or Sam, who were three of the most liminal humans Danny had ever been around.

Jason felt almost...like a ghost. But not. Danny could feel the tickle in his throat that proceeded his ghost sense but the tell-tale mist never emerged. It was as if Jason was...like him. But Danny couldn't sense a core either. Even halfas had cores.

"Who are you?" Jason spoke, breaking Danny from his thoughts and examination. Jason was looking at him with a mix of gratitude and suspicion. Which, fair. Danny had just pulled him from his own coffin and there were so many questions that could stem from all of this, disregarding all the weirdness that was just Danny himself.

"I'm Danny, Danny Phantom. Or just Phantom. I go by either. And you're Jason, right?" Danny asked, smiling at the teen and oops, yeah that was definitely his scary smile based on the slight flinch there. It wasn't his fault his teeth were too sharp now and his lips split a bit too wide.

"How did you know that?" Jason asked, blue eyes narrowing. Danny nodded at the gravestone the boy was leaning against with a raised brow. Jason turned and almost toppled over from the movement. Danny frowned as the boy caught himself on his gravestone. His skin was still pale, too pale, and as Danny watched Jason swayed again.

"Shit. You're fading. You didn't form a core and your body isn't stabilizing." Danny cursed, moving towards the boy who scrambled back, only to be stopped by his grave.

"What the hell are you doing?" Jason asked, hands fisting as he tried to rise only to fall back to the ground when his legs refused to hold his weight.

"Saving your life. The dead aren't supposed to come back. There's always a price to pay, a balance that is struck. Currently, as you are, if I don't get enough ectoplasm in you to form your core, you'll fade and turn into a brain-dead husk." Danny told Jason, tone stern and no nonsense as he grabbed him. Jason made an effort to break free, but it was weak, and even at full strength, he wouldn’t have been able to break Danny's hold. Few in this realm could.

If they had the time, Danny would've approached this situation in a far different manner, but this close he could hear Jason's heartbeat, a weak flutter in his chest, skipping beats as it tried to fuel a body that was past saving. Jason didn't have the time for Danny to approach this gently and kindly, to coax trust out of the teen like he would a feral cat.

Jason had minutes left before his ectoplasm starved body consumed itself trying to make a core and failed because while wherever they were had more ambient ectoplasm than most places, it was far from enough to sustain the birth of a halfa. Maybe if Jason had stayed dead for another year, he'd have naturally formed a core and risen as a proper ghost. But that wasn't what happened, somehow he'd gathered enough to fix his body of whatever wounds or illness had put him in that coffin to begin with and come back to 'life' but without a core to sustain his body he'd be dead, again, in minutes. And Danny was not about to watch while a teenager, another teenager, died.

"How do I know I can trust you?" Jason hissed as Danny pushed his arms down and laid his clawed hands on Jason's chest.

"You don't. But you don't have another choice." Danny said with a shrug. "Now are you going to let me save your life or not?" Danny asked, not moving his hands. He'd save Jason either way but this would be easier if Jason worked with him.

"Fine." Jason spat and Danny smirked as his hands began to glow a toxic green that matched his eyes.

Ectoplasm pooled out of his hands and rushed into Jason, filling him until the boy glowed bright enough to rival the neon lights of the city around them. The green light flared around him like an aura, slowly shrinking but getting impossibly brighter as the glow centralized around his chest until a small glowing ball of green, like a trapped star, blazed from his chest.

Jason gasped, back arching as Danny pulled his hands away and the light vanished under Jason's skin. For a moment Jason's blue eyes burned green and his hair flashed snow white before returning to black, with one single lock of unearthly white left above his forehead. Jason collapsed back against his grave, chest heaving. Danny watched, eyes full of a sad understanding.

"What the fuck was that?" Jason panted out.

"Welcome to the world of the half alive, half dead." Danny said with a smile. "Want to get a burger and talk about it?" He asked, standing up and dusting off his hands.

"Make it a chili dog and you've got a deal."

~~~~~

Fixed some typos added some lines

Maybe I'll continue this AU. Maybe not. This scene was in my head for days and I wanted to share

#dc x dp #Clockwork:And the new Fright Knight is born #Danny said im going to adopt kids from cemetaries now its my thing #Clockwork thought Danny needed more friends so he located the teenager closest to Dannys age and most compatible to being a halfa #Dani: Does this make him my brother or an uncle or what?#Bruce isnt getting this one back #not for awhile anyways #Danny has to teach Jason the ways of the halfa #He gets Jason ghost guns and Jason is very content with that #also with all the fighting he gets to do because thats like how ghosts say hello #Jason also takes one look at Fright Knight's sword and says: I want that gimme #Fright Knight and Skulker take to Jason very quickly and enjoy training him #Jason and Skulker shootouts range half the ghost zone and Danny is just amused #Eventually Jason asks Danny if he wants to help him prank his family and Danny is 100% on board #the red hood arrives back in Gotham with 100% less heads in a dufflebag but 1000% more chaos #Jason and Danny legit haunt the mannor for a few months and convince everyone BUT Alfred theyre conventional ghosts #Danny also adopts Tim during this time because Bruce obviously cant take care of this neglected child and Danny said bet this is mine now #danny phantom #jason todd #batfam #dp x dc #danny phantom au #phantom au #danny phantom fic #The King and his Red Knight #The King and his Red Knight AU #TKAHRK AU #Red Knight AU

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gloomwitchwrites · 2 months

Text

Tattoo Artist Simon "Ghost" Riley x Female Reader

Chapter Specific Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): canon-typical swearing, suggestive themes, jealous / protective / possessive Simon, rough kissing, arguments, angst, TF141 shenanigans

Word Count: 5.3k

A/N: Part Ten of Ink & Needle

Soap, Gaz, and Price come for a visit. At a local pub, Simon notices you are sitting with a stranger. An argument ensues. Things get heated.

Chapter Nine // Chapter Eleven

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // ink & needle masterlist

Simon leans back in his chair and crosses his arms over his chest, sighing heavily. The rolling chair groans a protest. The thing is so old it’s a miracle that it hasn’t collapsed under Simon’s weight. He’s been meaning to replace it—it’s not like he doesn’t have the money—but there are so many other things going on in Simon’s life that he keeps putting it off.

His work laptop is open on the desk in front of him, the bright glow of the screen showing him the thousands of emails sitting in his inbox. Being on the cover of UK Ink is a tremendous honor, but it’s also becoming its own sort of creeping horror. Figuring out which inquiries are genuine, and which are just people seeking attention, is taking a tremendous toll on his personal time.

Every day, more and more emails clog his inbox. It’s likely that as he starts deleting them, more will suddenly appear, popping forth from the hidden depths of whatever server it’s connected to. Plenty of the emails are straight spam with a few consisting of people sending unsolicited nudes. Those go straight into the trash folder. The only naked body Simon wants to see is yours.

Many of the emails are people seeking to book appointments with him for tattoos and piercings. While a good chunk of the emails come from citizens of England, plenty more are from people all over the world. International inquires are a good thing, but those appointments have to be booked around flights and trips. There is also no guarantee that those people will actually show, which is why Simon has started to double-book in some places, or set forth a non-refundable fee for securing a time and date.

He's only one person, and the pressure of that is starting to creep up on him. Simon is going to have to hire more people. At least one additional person at minimum. Even if all they do is answer emails all day and book appointments, Simon will take it. Sitting on this fucking chair in between clients is exhausting.

Through all of that, there are also publications (both large and small) seeking their own interviews with the masked tattoo artist knows as ‘Ghost.’ Some are local to the region while others are international, reaching an even wider audience. For each inquiry, Simon is grateful. To see his work—his art—be appreciated to such a large degree is a great point of accomplishment for him.

It's not like Simon’s work during his time with the military. That is different. That was work. That was blood and metal and dirt. Tattooing doesn’t feel like work to Simon. It is freeing. It is creative. It is the release of a muscle after a long tension.

Tattooing is a distinctive sort of freedom. A place for Simon to lose himself in, to enjoy life again, to find comfort in a craft that doesn’t involve destruction.

But Simon is also distracted. Not because he’s stressed or anxious or concerned or even from the number of emails piling in. Simon is distracted because you were in his arms last night. You were sitting at his kitchen table. You ate the food he made. He distinctly remembers your soft smile as you gazed at his sketches.

Sure, Simon was making dinner, but he was keeping an eye on you the whole time. He noticed every expression on your face as your gaze admired each sketch. He noticed the way you held every piece of paper with tenderness, as if all of them were sacred and special to you. It was after, when the two of you talked, that Simon sensed hesitation.

He questioned you about Cambridge and Evie. You were not entirely honest, not that Simon believes that you lied, but he knows there is more you haven’t told him. Whether you don’t want to tell him or are hesitant to do so is still uncertain. What Simon wants, more than anything, is for you to feel safe enough with him to tell him everything. Simon desires your sharp edges. He wants to know how he can help smooth them, to ease all the worries in your head, to remove some of those burdens.

Which is why he asked you to come to bed with him. He thought that maybe if he kissed you for a bit, you might soften, and that is all he wanted. But then he had you under him, opening for him, and Simon’s control was close to shattering like thin glass under pressure. Your fingers found him, and Simon would have given anything to stay in that bed and make you understand just how much he desires you.

The glowing screen of the laptop and the sight of you sighing in pleasure beneath him keeps colliding with each other. It keeps melding, melting together only to break apart before meeting again.

The current email opened on the laptop screen is gibberish. No matter how many times Simon attempts to read it, your face appears there instead. Then, Simon’s mind drifts off to dream of your seeking fingers, and how perfectly they wrapped around him.

Simon pinches the bridge of his nose and closes his eyes, inhaling deeply. He needs to fucking focus. He will see you again, and when he does, he is going to fucking enjoy it. The two of you are taking that date. The two of you are going to get away for a while. When that happens, Simon will make you his in all ways.

Exhaling loudly, Simon drops his hand from his face to rub at the back of his neck. He rolls it slightly, popping some of the tension out of the joints. He leans forward a bit and manages to focus on the email.

Spam. Fucking spam.

Simon hits the little rubbish icon and watches the email blink out of existence. His gaze returns to the little blue number next to ‘Inbox’ and immediately shudders.

“Fucking hell,” he mutters, wanting nothing more than to shut the laptop and pretend they don’t exist for a while.

Out of the corner of his eye, Simon spies the front door of the shop opening. He turns his head to the left to see if it’s his final customer. Instead, he’s greeted by an annoyingly overenthusiastic Scotsman.

“Lt!”

“Gotta stop calling me that, Johnny,” sighs Simon loudly, as if getting out of his chair is a major hassle. Simon comes to his full height, hands on his hips as John MacTavish bursts through the door.

On his heels are Captain John Price and Kyle Garrick.

“Simon,” nods Price in greeting.

Kyle gives Simon a little playful salute before immediately heading for Bravo. The German Shepard goes up on his back legs. Kyle seizes the dog’s front paws in his hands, the two of them doing a little dance in the middle of the shop.

The moment Simon steps away from the chair, MacTavish is on him, throwing his massive arms around Simon’s middle in a hug.

“You’re bloody crushing me, Johnny.”

MacTavish squeezes him a bit tighter in response. When he let’s go, he grabs hold of Simon’s shoulders, shaking them slightly. “Fucking look at this place.” MacTavish glances around like he’s never seen it before.

“You’ve been here,” deadpans Simon. “Hasn’t changed.”

“But it has, Lt. You’re on the cover of a magazine.” MacTavish smirks and drops his hands from Simon’s shoulders. He then promptly punches Simon lightly in his upper arm. “We’re in the presence of a celebrity.”

“Hardly,” mutters Simon, but he’s smiling behind the balaclava.

Price presents his hand, and he and Simon grasp forearms. “Good to see you, Simon. Been a while.”

“It has,” replies Simon.

Johnny leans toward Simon and cups the side of his mouth like he’s an old hen about to drop a piece of juicy gossip. When he speaks, it’s just a projected whisper that everyone can hear clearly. “Captain bought up a bunch of magazines and handed them out to everyone on base.”

“Soap,” barks Price.

MacTavish holds up his hands, and then points at Price with one finger, jabbing it in the captain’s direction. “Just proud of you,” whispers MacTavish.

Simon simply nods but he’s grinning like an idiot behind the balaclava. Price glances in Simon’s direction and shrugs apathetically, not denying or confirming.

Glancing over Price’s shoulder, Simon frowns slightly. Bravo has his front paws on Kyle’s shoulders as he aggressively scratches the dog’s sides. Bravo’s tongue sticks out the corner of his mouth, hanging down toward the floor as the dog pants happily.

“Get down, Bravo,” sighs Simon, indicating with a quick nod of his head.

Bravo sucks his tongue back into his mouth, ears drooping slightly with disappointment. Kyle pats Bravo’s side and removes the dog’s massive paws from his shoulders, gently guiding the German Shepard back down to all fours.

On the phone, Johnny said they’d stop by on Saturday. It’s Saturday. Fairly late on a Saturday, with a final customer still expected to walk through the door, but they are here, just as promised.

Kyle strides up and clasps Simon’s shoulder. “Place looks good.”

“Hasn’t changed,” remarks Simon for a second time.

“Saw you on the cover of UK Ink,” continues Kyle. “Didn’t know until this guy started handing them out on base.” He tips his head in Price’s direction.

Price sighs heavily but says nothing.

“Big deal,” finishes Kyle.

“Congrats, Lt.” MacTavish grins and Simon cannot help but feed into their praise.

It is a big deal. This one interview, this one award, is pushing him beyond the scope of his vision. In forced retirement, Simon expected to fly under the radar, to enjoy himself while he created art. He never expected his work to be recognized internationally.

“Sign my copy yet?” asks Johnny.

Simon backtracks to his desk, picking up the copy MacTavish sent him in the post. Lifting it up, Simon brings it over to Soap, smacking him in the chest with it. Johnny whistles and holds it with both hands in reverence.

“She’s a fucking beauty, Simon.” Johnny places one hand over his heart. “You’ve honored me.”

“Piss off,” mutters Simon as Kyle expertly snatches the magazine from Johnny’s hand. He opens it up, flipping through the pages, side-stepping every attempt by Johnny to seize it back.

“Did we come at a good time?” asks Price as he and Simon watch the two idiots playfully bicker over the magazine.

Simon shrugs. “I have one more customer. Free after that.”

Price nods and grips Simon’s shoulder. “We have lots to talk about.”

There is a slight twitch in Price’s clenched jaw that puts Simon on edge. He isn’t sure if he should press Price and try to wrangle an answer out of him, or let it go and see what happens.

“Shit,” says MacTavish, drawing Price and Simon’s attention to him. “Nearly forgot.” He extends an arm to Kyle, making a “give it to me” gesture with his hand. Kyle, with a sly smirk, unzips the front of his windbreaker. Reaching inside, he presents a manila envelope.

Johnny takes it and then offers it to Simon. “Thought I’d give this to you in person. You know, instead of over the phone. Or email.”

Simon takes it, instantly feeling the heft and thickness to it. Opening the tab, Simon slides his hand inside, removing the thick stack of papers.

“It’s everything I could find on her,” continues Johnny. “Where she went to school. Social medias. Every person she’s possibly dated.”

Tucking the manila envelope under his arm, Simon starts sorting through the information. A copy of your birth certificate, school records from elementary to high school, recent phone records. There is even a list of every restaurant or fast-food place you ordered from over the last five years with a credit card.

Simon flips past another page and freezes. His head snaps up, a growl sitting in the back of his throat. “You included her fucking banking information, Johnny.”

MacTavish shrugs dismissively. “I was thorough.”

“Thorough?” mimics Simon. “Fucking hell.” Simon returns everything to the envelope and places it on his desk next to his laptop.

Simon will have to shred it all after he looks through it. But only after he takes a look. He did ask Johnny to find what out what he could. While it is a major invasion of privacy, a more primal part of Simon reassures him that he’s doing the right thing. He needs to be able to protect you, and these are just tools in his arsenal to maintain your safety.

“She’s pretty, Simon,” says Price.

“You told them?” asks Simon, turning his attention to Johnny.

The Scotsman’s cheeks redden slightly. “He bullied the information out of me.”

Kyle leans in and drapes his arm over Soap’s shoulders. “Price told him he’d put him on inventory for a month if he didn’t spill.”

“Wanted to see this beauty for myself,” grumbles Price, glancing at Simon. “Give you a hard time.” He winks. “She yours yet?”

She yours yet?

There is a double-meaning there. While Simon’s instinct is to say “yes,” he also knows that that isn’t entirely true. The two of you haven’t verbally confirmed what this thing is. Simon has only just now asked you on a proper date.

Can Simon call you his?

The possessive, protective part of him shakes its ownership of you in its fist. But Simon isn’t impulsive, at least not all the time. With you, the need to react is strong, but Simon also understands that Price is asking in a more traditional way.

Licking his lips, Simon forms an answer. “She will be.”

Price nods. “Good man.” He glances briefly at Kyle and Johnny before returning his gaze to Simon. “Mind if we stick around?”

Simon shakes his head.

“We’ll help you clean,” adds Johnny.

“Will we?” asks Kyle slowly, eyebrows rising slightly as he turns on Soap.

Johnny blatantly ignores him and keeps his gaze locked on Simon. “You call the shots. Isn’t that right, Lt?”

That’s when Simon’s final client of the evening finally walks through the door. Simon doesn’t have a chance to answer. The customer is a bit bewildered by the small crowd, but the guys know to make themselves scarce. They head over to the couch, lingering in the waiting area with Bravo, chatting quietly as Simon escorts the newcomer into the tattoo chair.

Bravo moves from Johnny to Kyle to Price to Johnny again, seeking attention as Simon sets to work. The tattoo isn’t complicated, and Simon completes in about forty-five minutes. The guy is in and out in an hour.

When the four of them are standing outside in front of the shop, Simon pushes up his balaclava and lights a cigarette. It’s warm for autumn, the leather jacket he wears already making him run a little hot.

“We’ve got an upcoming mission we want your thoughts on,” says Price. “Need somewhere quiet we can go and talk.”

An upcoming mission? That’s not entirely unusual. Price has reached out to Simon on multiple occasions post-retirement to ask him for advice or to dig around in his head. But never—never—has Price and the rest of the team showed up to talk to him a group or in person.

There’s something else going on.

Clutching the cigarette between thumb and forefinger, Simon opens his mouth, exhaling smoke, intending to suggest a few places.

But before anything comes out of his mouth, Price shots him a look. “Not that fucking pub with the old folks.”

“No one will bother us,” replies Simon dryly. It’s true. It’s why he goes to Dancing Faun every Sunday. And Ben will close up for the public but stay open for just the four them. They won’t be bothered, and they will have as much time as they need.

“You might be an old man at heart, Simon, but I’m not getting harassed by older women whose husbands have been dead for years.”

Kyle bursts out laughing before promptly covering his mouth.

“Don’t like the attention, Captain?” teases Johnny.

Price points at each of them individually. “Fuck off. All of you.”

There are only a few places they could go on a Saturday night where they won’t be disturbed. Sighing, Simon rattles off a couple within walking distance. The four of them debate until Price becomes so annoyed with their continuous back-and-forth that he abruptly selects for all of them.

The walk over is quick, and the four of them enter the dimly lit pub. It’s one of only a handful of places that serves food late. It’s also on a side street away from the main road. Traffic is light, and the interior isn’t crowded. Simon is starving, and he’d appreciate a full belly with a whiskey or two before he starts talking about things he’d rather forget.

Finding a dark corner, they settle in at a four top. Kyle and Simon settle in the booth, facing the pub while Price and Johnny take the seats across from them. Simon settles into the cushioned seat, contentment sliding into his bones. He’s at peace, even if the coming conversation might be messy. He’s with people he cares about, and tomorrow, he’s off.

Tomorrow, he can go see you. Maybe. If you’re not busy. The two of you can talk about that date, maybe go for a walk and then lunch? Simon just wants to spend time with you, and tomorrow is the perfect day to do it.

Simon shifts in his seat, leaning his crossed arms on the edge of the table, glancing out across the pub. His gaze travels over every person, his old habits from the military coming to the surface. Recognizing exits and looking for suspicious behavior is as natural as breathing. But everyone around them is minding their own business. They’re either sitting by themselves or with others, not glancing Simon’s way at all.

He does one finally sweep, and that is when his gaze falls upon two people sitting at a high top together near the very back of the pub. Of the two, Simon notices the man first. He has dark hair, possibly brown but it’s difficult to say with the low light. Slightly older than Simon by a few years, and the bloke is wearing an impeccably made suit. It’s odd for a place like this. It stands out.

Simon doesn’t like the man’s demeanor either. It’s…smarmy. Pretentious. Like he not only believes that he’s better than everyone else in this establishment, but that they should all know it. The way he sits in the high-backed stool is off too. It’s relaxed and yet completely on edge.

Simon frowns, gaze panning to the woman the man is talking to.

Everything suddenly goes cold within him. Arctic. The room has become a meat freezer and Simon is just a piece of dangling meat.

Because that is you, and you’re sitting next to a man Simon doesn’t recognize.

You are here, alone with a man Simon doesn’t know.

A bright, blindingly hot sensation roars to life in Simon’s chest. It wraps around and between his ribs, seizing him in a vice-grip. Against this heat, the iciness melts off of him, dripping to the ground to pool under his boots.

“Simon?” asks Soap, the middle of his brow creasing with concern. “What are you—fuck. Is that her?”

It doesn’t fucking matter who this guy might be or what he might mean to you. Simon is going to crack his fucking skull open.

“That’s her,” murmurs Simon, the low growl previously lodged in his throat coming up suddenly.

Price leans back in his chair, one arm draped over the top, glancing to where everyone else is looking. “Want me to take him out to the alley? Give him some fresh bruises?”

Simon’s hands form into fists. He starts to stand but Kyle and Soap grab onto him, shoving him back down into the booth. “Relax, Lt,” soothes Johnny. “Might be nothing.”

You haven’t noticed Simon yet. You’re too busy looking at this man—this stranger. Turned slightly to the side, your gaze wouldn’t fall across Simon unless you purposefully scanned the room. The worst part is that Simon has no idea if you’re enjoying yourself or not. There is a blankness on your face that Simon loathes.

Do want to be here? Do want to be talking to this man that Simon doesn’t know? And why didn’t you tell him? Why didn’t you say anything? Is there someone else Simon needs to worry about? Does he have competition?

Silently, Simon begs for you to turn in his direction, even if it’s only a bit.

This unknown variable, this stain of a man, reaches out. With red-drenched horror, Simon watches as he places that very hand on the top of your thigh.

All Simon sees is blood.

This bastard is going to lose that fucking hand. And then he’ll lose his goddamn head.

Simon bolts up out of his seat again but Kyle and Johnny are right there, grabbing onto him, wrangling him back down into his seat.

“Let me go,” snarls Simon through clenched teeth.

“You’re gonna cause a fucking scene if we do that,” hisses Kyle, shoving downward on Simon’s shoulders.

Why are you letting him touch you? Why, when just yesterday you were beneath Simon, seeking him with your fingers, begging for him, are you allowing this?

But you’re not allowing it. You didn’t give this man permission.

Within seconds of the man’s hand connecting with your thigh, your gaze turns downward, lips curling back into a disgusted snarl. You twist your body enough for his hand to fall away, and a flare of pride swells in Simon’s chest.

You didn’t want this man’s touch. Which makes Simon momentarily happy before it all comes crashing down. This man touched you. Without your consent. And that makes Simon angrier than if you had wanted it.

Simon craves blood. He needs his knuckles drenched with it. For it to sit between his teeth. To taste it on his tongue.

“Who the fuck is that?” asks Kyle.

“I don’t know,” growls Simon, wanting to take off and punch the guy right out of his fucking chair.

With the removal of his hand, the guy’s smug smile drops. He bares his teeth, starts speaking to you in a way that Simon immediately dislikes. Sure, Simon cannot hear what the man is saying to you, but from the look on his face and body language, it’s nothing nice. He is angry, and you’re clearly upset. Simon wants this to end, to go up to the guy and throttle him, to whisk you off and make you forget all this unpleasantness.

But Kyle and Johnny keep him seated. They won’t let go, which means Simon will have to literally fight them to get to you.

Small pieces of the conversation start to make its way over to the table.

“Archie.”

“Estate.”

Simon frowns, hears something that sounds like “pregnancy” and immediately rethinks everything. Does this have something to do with your friend? The husband is dead, but is this someone the husband knew? Is it a relative?

And does that matter to Simon?

No. He still plans on knocking the man’s teeth out.

Simon only catches a few additional words here and there, but then he hears three that make his blood boil.

“You fucking whore.”

Simon knows that Johnny, Kyle, and Price all hear it too because their gazes move away from Simon and to the man at the table. Soap and Kyle’s hands fall away from Simon’s arms, giving him permission.

Pushing up from his seat, Simon steps around Johnny and strides toward the high-top table. Your back is to Simon from this position, but that doesn’t matter. Simon has his sights set on this wanker who needs to learn some proper fucking manners.

The man notices Simon first, his angered expression turning away from you and switching to Simon. It slips slightly, the faintest bit of fear sliding across the man’s features as he realizes Simon is aiming for him. Simon inhales, falling effortlessly into Ghost, allowing the phantom inside himself to seek out its need for blood.

But with his removed attention comes your own turning. A wanting to know what it is he’s looking at. When your gaze falls upon Simon, Ghost deflates, softens, giving way to confusion. All the emotions passing over your face nearly stop Simon’s forward momentum.

Your own anger gives way to sudden panic, then switches quickly to irritation, further compounded by confusion. It’s likely that you didn’t expect Simon to be at the same place. And while Simon wants to turn to you and give you reassurance, he’s too fucking focused on this asshole you’re sitting with.

Simon decides not to address you. Instead, Simon turns on this thickheaded prat. “What did you fucking call her?”

The man’s lip curls. “Mind your own business.” Immediately, Simon notes the man’s accent. It speaks to social status and aristocracy.

Simon steps closer. “Repeat what you said. Out loud. Want to make sure I heard you right.”

“Simon,” you hiss, desperation leaking into your tone.

Your guest turns on you, anger flaring anew in his gaze. “You know this…man?” He says man like he wants to say animal.

“He’s—” you begin, but Simon interrupts.

“Direct your questions to me,” growls Simon, placing himself between you and this stranger.

“Simon. Please.” You tug on Simon’s leather jacket but he shrugs you off. His attention is completely on this asshole.

“Are you with him?” The man’s gaze flicks from Simon to you.

“Adam—”

“I thought we could have a civil conversation—”

“What’s civil about calling her a whore.” Simon’s voice rises slightly as the raging tide of fury boils within him like a thunderstorm.

Adam’s face grows bright red. He turns on Simon. “Do you know who I am?”

Simon could give a fuck. He could be the fucking King and Simon would still punch the piss out of him for speaking to you that way.

Price shoves himself between Simon and Adam, keeping his back to Simon, creating a barrier. “Let me help you to your car.”

Price isn’t doing this to be nice. He’s doing this so the police aren’t called.

Adam stands but isn’t nearly as tall as Price. “If you put your hands on me—”

“Deal with me or him. Your choice.”

Adam straightens his shoulders and tugs on the front of his suit, smoothing out the wrinkles.

Fucking prick.

He glances over Price’s shoulder at you. “This isn’t over. You’ll hear from the family solicitor.”

“Let’s go,” mutters Soap, caging the guy in, forcing him to move away from Simon. Kyle trails after them.

Price turns around, facing Simon directly. “We’ll stop by another day. You deal with your woman.” He squeezes Simon’s shoulder before following out after them.

Simon watches Price leave, and then he’s seeking you out, expecting you to be thankful.

But you’re not. Your anger is palpable.

Simon needs to fucking fix this. “You’re coming home with me,” is the first thing out of his mouth. It’s a command. Not an ask. And his tone is rough, nearly raspy.

Your eyes widen slightly. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” you whisper.

Simon draws back, startled. “You okay with him speaking to you like that?”

You huff, and get up from your chair, collecting your coat and purse. “You don’t know anything, Simon. You have no idea who that is and why we were even talking in the first place.” Shoving past him, you start for the door.

“Fuck,” mutters Simon, following after you.

His legs are longer, and he catches up to you easily. Before you make it to the pub’s exit, Simon inserts himself in your path, blocking your attempt to flee.

“Move.”

“No.”

“You’re making a scene, Simon.”

He glances up, notices everyone looking on with varying degrees of interest. Some confused. Others concerned. Sighing, Simon reaches back and pushes open the door, stepping aside for you to exit.

Once the two of you are outside on the street, Simom grabs you by the forearm, pulling you in the opposite direction.

“Let me go,” you snap.

“We’re going to talk.”

“Fuck off, Simon.” You yank your arm out of his grip. Something is forming on the tip of your tongue. Simon sees it in the way your lip quivers. But you don’t. Instead, you sigh heavily and wave him off like you’re tired of it all.

Turning, you try to cross the street, but Simon is already snagging your arm again, yanking you away as a car zooms by.

“Get out of my way.”

“No.”

“Then give me some fucking space.”

“No.”

You release an exasperated breath and try to circumvent him. Again, Simon steps into your path. The two of you keep moving like this down the street. Every attempt you make only puts you closer to him.

Simon is herding you on purpose, pushing you closer and closer to his flat. He wants some goddamn answers, no matter how mad you are with him. And he doesn’t understand why you’re upset in the first place.

When the two of you are outside his shop, Simon indicates the exterior door that leads to his flat.

“Get inside,” he demands.

“Don’t order me around.”

“Inside,” repeats Simon, shoving the key into the lock, opening the door, revealing the hallway that connects the shop to his flat.

You stare between him and the open doorway. Your chest is heaving, and fuck—you look so beautiful right now even though Simon can tell you’d really love to hit him.

The tips of his fingers itch to just push you inside and shut the door, but he doesn’t need to. You make the decision for him, heading inside. Simon follows, and as the door shuts, you’re already moving like a bolt of lightning, walking fast enough to create a significant amount of distance.

No. Fuck that.

With a few massive steps, Simon is on you. He grabs the front of your throat, yanks you back against his chest, pushing your face toward his. The balaclava is already up, already in place, and his lips connect with yours.

At first, Simon can sense the tension but then you melt into him as his other hand slides to your front, pressing low on your belly, pushing your ass into his groin. Your own arm slides up, drapes over his neck in such a loving way that Simon momentarily forgets all his anger.

The two of you hang like this, suspending, but you come back to reality, yanking yourself out of his grip, almost violently.

“You can’t distract me with kisses, Simon.”

“Want to test that?” asks Simon, reflexively reaching for your waist.

You allow him to touch you, to draw you back into him, but your arms are crossed over your chest defensively. “You don’t know,” you murmur. “It’s—it’s too much and you don’t know. You don’t understand, Simon.”

“Then help me understand,” he says softly.

You shake your head and there are real tears there in your eyes. Simon hates it. He wants to take them all away.

“You’re not my husband, Simon. You’re not even my boyfriend. I shouldn’t burden you with any of this.”

You will not push him away. Simon won’t allow it. The two of you are in this together, and he needs to know.

“I care about you.” Now Simon is the one shaking his head. “Don’t tell me what I can’t handle.” His hands draw upward, cradling the sides of your face. “We’re going up to my flat. You’re going to talk. I’m going to listen. Okay?”

One tear rolls off the corner of your eye, trailing downward to kiss his palm.

“Okay?” he repeats.

“Okay,” you reply.

taglist:

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thewitcheslibrary · 12 days

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Types of divination

Please note: Not all of them are going to be here. I will be covering ones that Beginner witches can use and learn as a starting point! This also isnt a guide on how to do it, its is just some ideas and what they are.

Tarot and cards-

People who are unfamiliar with divination may believe that reading Tarot cards means "predicting the future." However, most Tarot card readers will tell you that the cards are only a guideline, and the reader is simply interpreting the likely outcome based on the forces at work right now. Consider Tarot as a tool for self-awareness and contemplation, rather than "fortune telling." Here are some simple steps to get you started reading and utilising Tarot cards in your divinatory practice.

Norse Runes-

According to Norse epic sagas, Odin created the Runes as a gift to humanity a long time ago. These sacred and holy symbols were originally etched in stone. Over time, they grew into a collection of sixteen letters, each with a metaphorical and divinatory significance. Learn how to create your own set of Runes and read what they say.

Reading tea leaves-

People have utilised many different ways of divination from the beginning of time. One of the most recognised is the practice of reading tea leaves, often known as tasseography or tasseomancy. This divination method, while not as ancient as some of the other famous and well-known methods, appears to have originated in the 17th century.

Pendulum reading-

A pendulum is one of the most basic and easy types of divination. It's as simple as asking and answering yes/no questions. Although pendulums may be purchased commercially for between $15 and $60, they are simple to create on your own. Most people use crystals or stones, but you may use any object with some weight to it. There are various methods to utilise a pendulum for divination, and you'd be amazed what you may learn from "yes" and "no" replies. The secret is to learn to ask the appropriate questions.

Osteomancy-

For thousands of years, tribes throughout the world have used bones for divination, a practice known as osteomancy. While there are several approaches, the goal is usually the same: to predict the future using the signals revealed in the bones.

Numerology-

Numerology is a discipline that many Pagan spiritual groups utilise. According to the basic concepts of numerology, numbers have a tremendous degree of spiritual and magical importance. Some numbers are more strong and powerful than others, and combinations of numbers can be created for magical purposes. In addition to magical correspondences, numerals have planetary importance.

Intuition-

Intuition is the capacity to know things without being told. Many intuitives make outstanding Tarot card readers because their ability offers them an advantage when reading cards for clients. This is sometimes known as clairsentience. Of all psychic talents, intuition may be the most frequent.

#pagan witch #witch #witchblr #witchcore #witchcraft #beginner witch friendly #divination

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poppadom0912 · 9 months

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By my side

Characters: Kelly Severide x Platonic!Reader, Matt Casey x Platonic!Reader, Sylvie Brett x Platonic!Reader

Warnings: Toxic men, abuse, protective firefighters.

Summary: You should've been better but at least your family is by your side.

A/N: For the sake of this, there'll be two ambulances which means two PIC's.

This has been sitting in my drafts for months unfinished and I suddenly decided to finish it after work on the train. Also couldn't be asked to proofread so sorry for any mistakes!! And I know this aesthetic thing sucks but it's been a long day and I'm tired, so sorry again. 😅😅

Being a paramedic had always been your dream.

Growing up in a first responder household: firefighter dad and patrol officer mum, paramedics were a constant presence around them. So, it was only natural that was were you gravitated towards.

Following this, working at firehouse 51 was a given since that was where your father was a Captain at till he became battalion chief and moved to another house.

Your family had history in this house, making it somewhat sacred ground for anyone who shared your family's surname.

Yes, there had been times when you had to prove your worth and that you weren't a nepo baby but your family in everything but blood were always somehow five steps ahead of you.

So it only made sense that when you started to skip going to Molly's and skimping on details about what you did during your day offs, that they were concerned and confused to say the least.

Six months later, after nearly holding an intervention, you introduced everyone to your boyfriend Mason.

It was safe to say, everyone had their suspicions, even after being together for a year. All of which you excused, diverting and switching blame.

*****

You thought that you were finally happy with how everything in your life was settling but all of a sudden, fate decided that stability wasn't necessary for you.

Shouting and constant arguing should've been the first sign, blaring as bright as the sun, warning and shouting at you to break it off before reaching the one year mark but you briskly ignored it and marched on.

Then, the drinking problems, anger problems and impatience were made alight when you started living together. (he invited you to move in with him when celebrating one year together)

You found yourself not liking the man he started becoming the longer you were together. It irked you to no end and you constantly were skittish around him, finding it harder to have a civil conversation with him the more time passed.

It seemed that your feelings somehow transferred themselves over to your work life because you were suddenly snapping at the stand-in paramedic for Sylvie when she was sick for a petty reason.

The PIC in you forced you to immediately apologise before Kelly dragged you into his office, Matt following without a word.

Naturally, the three of you including Sylvie had a bond of 'commanding officers' as you were all in charge in some degree and over several years, the work relationship blossomed and the four of you were as thick as thieves.

It also helped that Matt and Kelly worked with your father and knew you from their pre-firefighter and your pre-paramedic days.

Under their concern filled gazes, you found yourself crumbling, eyes all of a sudden filled with tears from the stress of it all.

They couldn't help but confirm their fears which you tried to deny incessantly, for some reason defending Jason and explaining that this could all be fixed and everything would be back to normal in no time.

If only you didn't.

*****

Over the past year, everyone found you changing.

The stern but loving PIC you once were had become but a memory. It was as though you were a shell of your past self, something of which you agreed with.

Mason was draining the life out of you and the only time you weren't losing yourself to him was during your 24 hour shifts before being surrounded by him for the next 48.

You tried your best to leave, you really did but at some point in your now two year relationship, things took an abrupt turn and Mason had become this toxic, controlling man who has a newfound urge to resort to violence when you were being your true self.

Being PIC meant you had an amount of power under your title and after many years of work, you had perfected your nature. It's why you and Sylvie were so good at what you did; you used force when necessary and compassion was always on hand.

Over the course of the past year, you found yourself on the end of many interventions held by Matt, Kelly and Sylvie.

With all the reasons in the world, they argued and argued with you, laying out the easiest ways to break you free. They were as desperate as you were at this point to get you to break up with Jason. They missed and needed the old you back.

Unbeknownst to you, they schemed behind your back, trying and failing to convince you to leave Mason for good but you found yourself pathetically laughing at them before going home to endure hell.

You struggled to understand your behaviour. Abuse to this degree was something you never you experience firsthand and you would never wish it upon your worst enemies.

On sleepless nights, you constantly contemplated why you wouldn't leave. You wanted to, you really did but then you could hear him whisper in your ear and you remained firmly glued to his side.

So badly did you want to rip your arm out his earth shattering grip and run back home, to the safety of love and familiarity.

Your final decision was set in stone when he finally made his mark a month ago, fingertips bruised into your wrist when he wouldn't let you leave his car in front of the firehouse.

"Alright then, thank you for dropping me off. I'll see you tomorrow." You said, pressing your lips together in a tight smile, hand reaching for the door handle while the other fiddled with the handle of your tote bag.

He replied with something, you weren't too sure because you were already out the car, closing the door with practised precision and gentleness.

Your expressionless face brightened at the sight of your colleagues/friends/basically siblings at this point. The firehouse and all its inhabitants were truly your saving grace and without it, you weren't too sure where you would be.

Just as you were going to walk up the apron to meet them halfway, you were being pulled back by a random force. It was so sudden that you dropped your bag, your things spilling out as they rolled away.

You yelped, attracting the attention of those who weren't previously paying attention to your arrival in their mortal enemies car.

Scrunching your eyebrows, you turned to Mason in confusion, your eyes following the hand gripping your wrist to his face you were once infatuated with.

"What the hell Mason?!" You said with gritted teeth, trying to escape but he wouldn't let go. "Stop, your making a scene."

Before he could reply, several shouts came from behind you and before you knew it, you were being pulled into comforting arms as big and bulky men dealt with Mason.

"Oh Y/N." Sylvie's heart melted for you while it ignited in flames because of Mason. With your bag in one of her hands, she somehow collected all of your things, she brought you into her arms and hugged you tighter than a koala.

"Let me see your hand." She muttered under her breath, unbothered by the fuming men huddling around you in a protective barrier, on guard as they watched Matt and Kelly deal with Mason on the street.

She sucked in a sharp breath through her teeth at the finger shaped bruise on your wrist, you copying her when she lightly touched it. Despite her angelic exterior, you saw a red glint flash across her eyes, one you rarely saw but had seen several times before on the rare occasion.

If this was her reaction, then you were dreading Matt and Kelly's.

And your feelings were very much justified because as soon as they sent Mason away, you found yourself being subject to a very strong worded conversation.

They played the role of overprotective brothers perfectly. With the help of detectives who you were lucky to call good friends, your plan was set in stone and would take a week to fully come together.

Despite how meticulously everything was planned, you somehow ended up in the emergency room. Surrounded by doctors and nurses you recognised, you felt their sympathy and felt nearly emotional with the care that greeted you.

Thanking Maggie, you smiled and watch the charge nurse leave but you weren't alone for even a minute before three certain people came barging in.

With wide eyes, they drank in your slouched figure.

Matt looked alarmed, Kelly disgruntled and Sylvie on the edge of a breakdown.

You choked out a watery laugh, harshly swallowing back tears as you shook your head and blinked repeatedly. Releasing a shaky breath, you felt your chest tighten as your oxygen was constricted before it was all treated when enveloped in the loving arms of your 'siblings'.

Had it not been for your intense emotional state, you would've barked out in laughter at the anger displayed by Kelly who imitated a caged lion, Matt who spewed words Hank Voight would find offensive and Sylvie who played parts of a mother comforting their daughter but also Satan prepared to burn and punish sinners.

Your pain was muted by their presence alone. With their constant love and never-ending companionship by your side, you were sure to heal.

#one chicago x reader #one chicago imagine #onechicago #chicago fire x reader #chicago fire #platonic imagine #platonic love #x reader #kelly severide x reader #matt casey x reader #sylvie brett x reader

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whencyclopedia · 11 days

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The Bear Man

The Bear Man is a Pawnee legend exemplifying the Native American understanding of the natural world and serving as an origin tale for the Bear Dance, which was performed to awaken the bears in spring from their winter hibernation and also to celebrate the season of choosing a mate. The Bear Dance is still performed by the Pawnee today.

The bear holds special significance for the Pawnee, as well as other Native American nations including the Ute, as a powerful animal and one of the Nahu'rac – the creatures who serve Ti-ra'wa ("Father Above"), as messengers and mediators – and who are considered brothers by various indigenous peoples. According to scholar Bobby Lake-Thom:

The Bear is always a good sign and a special power. He represents wisdom, insight, introspection, protection, and healing. If you see a Bear while hiking in the woods or along the river, then you know that a very sacred place is nearby. (78)

In The Bear Man, a father, concerned for his son, makes friends with a bear cub in hopes that the Nahu'rac will remember his kindness and look after his boy. Later in life, the Nahu'rac bears remember this kindness and repay it by bringing the boy back to life after he is killed in battle and teaching him their spiritual "medicine" (powers). The story shares similarities with other famous Pawnee tales including A Story of Faith and The Boy Who Was Sacrificed, which also feature the supernatural entities of the Nahu'rac.

The Bear Dance

In Native American belief, generally speaking, there is no spiritual difference between a human being, a plant, a tree, an animal, or a rock, as all things are imbued by the Creator with the same resonant energy. Humans are in no way superior to the natural world but are expected to act as stewards and care for their environment as they would for their own family and community. The Bear Dance grew out of this understanding as the dancers, as they perform wearing the bear hides which have been gifted to them by their bear relatives, become those bears and offer to others bear wisdom, healing, and power. Scholar Larry J. Zimmerman writes:

For Native North Americans, the boundaries between the world of the spirits and the world of living people were not clearly defined: a third "in-between" world of transition separated them. Every entity to some degree inhabited all three of these worlds. If a human carried out the appropriate rituals, he or she could be transformed into a being from one of the other two worlds.

Such transformations often duplicated events of the "beginning time" when the world came to be as it is through the agency of culture heroes and tricksters. On ceremonial occasions, an individual might assume the appearance of such a figure and be thought, literally, to become that being. When a holy man put on a yellow bear hide, for his audience he actually was the bear. (126)

The Bear Dance was (and is) always performed in the spring, waking the bears from their hibernation, and signaling the time for young men and women to choose mates. Among the Ute and Pawnee, the traditional roles of festivals are reversed at this time as men, instead of women, prepare the area for the dance, and women, instead of men, initiate the dance to find a suitable mate. The Bear Dance may last ten days to two weeks and honor the spirit of the bears as much as that of the community and the natural world at large.

#History #NativePeoplesofNorthAmerica #Pawnee #WHE #[#]

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sixteenseveredhands · 8 months

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Stone Turtle of Karakorum, Mongolia, c. 1235-1260 CE: this statue is one of the only surviving features of Karakorum, which was once the capital city of the Mongol Empire

The statue is decorated with a ceremonial scarf known as a khadag (or khata), which is part of a Buddhist custom that is also found in Tibet, Nepal, and Bhutan. The scarves are often left atop shrines and sacred artifacts as a way to express respect and/or reverence. In Mongolia, this tradition also contains elements of Tengrism/shamanism.

The city of Karakorum was originally established by Genghis Khan in 1220 CE, when it was used as a base for the Mongol invasion of China. It then became the capital of the Mongol Empire in 1235 CE, and quickly developed into a thriving center for trade/cultural exchange between the Eastern and Western worlds.

The city attracted merchants of many different nationalities and faiths, and Medieval sources note that the city displayed an unusual degree of diversity and religious tolerance. It contained 12 different temples devoted to pagan and/or shamanistic traditions, two mosques, one church, and at least one Buddhist temple.

As this article explains:

The city might have been compact, but it was cosmopolitan, with residents including Mongols, Steppe tribes, Han Chinese, Persians, Armenians, and captives from Europe who included a master goldsmith from Paris named William Buchier, a woman from Metz, one Paquette, and an Englishman known only as Basil. There were, too, scribes and translators from diverse Asian nations to work in the bureaucracy, and official representatives from various foreign courts such as the Sultanates of Rum and India.

This diversity was reflected in the various religions practised there and, in time, the construction of many fine stone buildings by followers of Taoism, Buddhism, Islam, and Christianity.

The prosperous days of Karakorum were very short-lived, however. The Mongol capital was moved to Xanadu in 1263, and then to Khanbaliq (modern-day Beijing) in 1267, under the leadership of Kublai Khan; Karakorum lost most of its power, authority, and leadership in the process. Without the resources and support that it had previously received from the leaders of the Mongol Empire, the city was left in a very vulnerable position. The residents of Karakorum began leaving the site in large numbers, until the city had eventually become almost entirely abandoned.

There were a few scattered attempts to revive the city in the years that followed, but any hope of restoring Karakorum to its former glory was then finally shattered in 1380, when the entire city was razed to the ground by Ming Dynasty troops.

The Erdene Zuu Monastery was later built near the site where Karakorum once stood, and pieces of the ruins were taken to be used as building materials during the construction of the monastery. The Erdene Zuu Monastery is also believed to be the oldest surviving Buddhist monastery in Mongolia.

There is very little left of the ruined city today, and this statue is one of the few remaining features that can still be seen at the site. It originally formed the base of an inscribed stele, but the pillar section was somehow lost/destroyed, leaving nothing but the base (which may be a depiction of the mythological dragon-turtle, Bixi, from Chinese mythology).

This statue and the site in general always kinda remind me of the Ozymandias poem (the version by Horace Smith, not the one by Percy Bysshe Shelley):

In Egypt's sandy silence, all alone,

stands a gigantic leg

which far off throws the only shadow

that the desert knows.

"I am great OZYMANDIAS," saith the stone,

"the King of Kings; this mighty city shows

the wonders of my hand."

The city's gone —

naught but the leg remaining

to disclose the site

of this forgotten Babylon.

We wonder —

and some Hunter may express wonder like ours,

when thro' the wilderness where London stood,

holding the wolf in chace,

he meets some fragment huge

and stops to guess

what powerful but unrecorded race

once dwelt in that annihilated place

Sources & More Info:

University of Washington: Karakorum, Capital of the Mongol Empire

Encyclopedia Britannica: Entry for Karakorum

World History: Karakorum

#archaeology #history #anthropology #artifact #ancient history #mongol empire #mongolia #karakorum #middle ages #ancient ruins #art #turtle #bixi #ozymandias #poetry #mythology #genghis khan

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elains · 3 months

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Fionn's death, the Bog of Oorid and the Mask

I'm currently on my Sarah J. Maas brainrot era and chatting with my friends earlier, I drew a parallel which soon turned into a deep dive into ACOSF, HoFaS, and some mythology to boot. Worry not, I’ll keep the mythology part to myself first and foremost and this post will mostly revolve around the following: that the current state of the Bog of Oorid is due to Fionn’s death.

Spoilers for House of Flame and Shadow, so be warned.

In ACOSF, Amren tells us about the Bog of Oorid and how it wasn’t always this evil, accursed place. It used to be a sacred ground, where warriors of the Fae were laid to rest, long ago:

The Bog is a part of the Middle, which is mostly uncharted territory full of dangerous creatures, where Wild Magic runs unbound. A council of Ancient High Lords prohibited any mappings of it. We also learn from House of Flame and Shadow that the Middle was the Daglan's personal hunting grounds, where they unleashed beasts they bred to serve as worthy prey:

We know for a fact that Fionn was in a Marsh - a bog - when he died, with islands and grass and black waters, and we also know that the place was blooming when he was there. Even with the amount of evil and beasts kept in the Middle, the land was still thriving:

This is a sharp contrast to present day ACOTAR. In Silver Flames, the Bog is described as oppressively still and dead, all gnarly, leaflesss branches branches, crumbling trees, thorns. There are no birds, no insects. It's a place of death, of Evil, and it's remarked how it's as if not anything bloomed:

House of Flame and Shadow provides this passage just after Fionn dies:

Also from Flame and Shadow, we knows that the worlds have souls and degrees of sentience, as far as worlds go. Fionn is murdered in a foul act of violence, fueled by nothing but hunger for power by the very people who were supposed to aid him. Fionn, who worked to free the world from the Daglan feeding on its magic. It seems to me that the world was thankful to him for what he did, as it might have also been thankful to Theia.

And you know what's more interesting? That this is where the Mask ends up. We don't know what in the world happened to the Mask after Theia left Prythian; it's not said what she did with neither it nor the crown. Presumably other people got ahold of them (Helion's ancestor?). We don't know where the Crown was, but it's ironic that it ends up where Fionn died.

When approaching the water, Nesta remembers a story her mother told of how a cosuin was killed by Faeries, dragged to the depths and drowned:

Which is actually very similar with how Fionn himself comes to meet his end: bound and gagged and thrown into the water by his wife and general. Shortly after, she meets the Kelpie, who is described as such:

This is also remarkably similar to the creature that ultimately kills Fionn:

This Kelpie speaks to Nesta in the Old Tongue, which hasn't been spoken in fifteen thousand years. It retreated to the Bog thousands of years ago and it was probably the last o his kind. It could very well be the creature that killed Fionn, slain by Nesta, who goes to claim the Mask as he himself did.

Which brings up some questions: how did the Mask end up in the Bog of Oorid? It doesn't seem happenstance that it found its way to a place where death has in its grip and the open grave of the High King. Could it have been Helion's ancestor? His reaction to the mask is strange, visceral in a way the other's aren't. I'm betting that it was Helion's ancestors who took the Mask from Theia and once the power proved too much, discarded it to rest in Oorid.

But the point is that Fionn dies and it's the nail in the coffin for Oorid. The Bog withers to a giant, accursed grave, trapped in a state of perpetual death where nothing blooms.

Therein rests the first and last High King, the evil done to him forever imprinted on the land.

#acotar #acosf #hofas spoilers #fionn #nesta archeron #my meta #i just thought it interesting that the mask SOMEHOW finds its way to Fionn's death place

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lilislegacy · 7 days

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Positive Percabeth imagines :))) (though ngl this is mostly about their daughters but still)

I imagine that Percy and Annabeth will have twin daughters, and they’ll choose names based off their loved ones. One daughter is named Zoe Elizabeth, after Zoe the Hunter, and Rachel Elizabeth Dare. The second daughter is named Natalie Grace, after Annabeth’s aunt Natalie (and also bc as einherjars Magnus and Alex will never be able to have kids so it’s also for Magnus’ sake) and Grace bc it’s the last name of both Thalia and Jason obviously but it’s a way to honor Jason especially. Natalie Grace is nicknamed Tali, pronounced Tah-lee, and I’ve always pronounced Thalia as Tah-lee-uh, so that way they’re honoring her too. Zoe has dark brown hair and grey-blue eyes, and Tali has dirty blonde hair and blue-green eyes.

Percy and Annabeth lived in New Rome for several years after finishing college, and they both helped create sacred temples and statues and groves and places for all the gods, as Percy started, Jason expanded, and Apollo basically vowed to complete. Annabeth of course did most of the brainstorming and research and building stuff, but Percy was actually the one who would ask various gods and be like “okay Nereus. These are some ideas we have to honor you. Can you tell me which you like best?” And then that god would send him a dream giving varying amounts of detail and instruction as to what exactly they wanted. So the twins, Zoe and Tali, were raised in New Rome for their first several years.

Meanwhile at Camp Half-Blood, they have expanded to have cabins for legacies, and they also started an academy, called Olympus Heights Academy. As more demigods were claimed and now legacies too, it made sense to start a school. When Tali and Zoe are eight, their parents decide to move back to Camp Half-Blood and become teachers. Annabeth predictably tries to teach too many classes at first but eventually settles on just teaching a couple classes, probably Ancient Greek history and language bc we know she taught Percy and also close combat with a knife. Percy teaches swords fighting obviously.

Tali and Zoe are at this point beginning to learn their abilities. Both of them can breathe underwater. Zoe can control water, ocean water most easily but with some degree of control over fresh water. She is an expert in close combat fighting. She is skilled in strategy and has an affinity for the arts. She is a natural sailor. Natalie can communicate with horses and their cousins. She has siren powers, similar to charmspeak, but water based and music/voice linked. She is an expert at swords fighting. She is skilled in craftsmanship and strategy and has an affinity for academics. She is a natural sailor.

You noticed the siren powers? I headcanon that Sally is a third generation legacy of Venus, and Percy didn’t really get anything from Venus except good looks, extra ability to learn Latin, and extra meddling in his love life, but Tali did. I saw someone make a post about, what if daughters of Poseidon could sometimes get siren like abilities? I loved that idea, and had to include that in one of the twins. Normally a second generation legacy of Poseidon wouldn’t ever have siren abilities, but bc of the distant relation to Venus, Tali did get that ability.

The twins will of course go on their own death defying quests and adventures. Percy and Annabeth will happily be living in Camp Half-Blood, visiting Sally and the rest of the Jackson-Blofis family as much as they can.

Oh I also have another funny idea. I actually woke up one morning earlier this week daydreaming about it. Percy and Annabeth, after college, are trying to plan their wedding. But they keep getting into fights about small random things. And this is so out of character for them. Eventually Annabeth realizes that this is Hera meddling and at first she’s furious but eventually tries to reason with Hera. Hera eventually gives specific instructions on something that she wants to be created at Camp Half-Blood to honor her. I’m not entirely sure what it is yet, but whatever it is, it’s gonna be nearly impossible to create. But Annabeth has to do it if she wants to get married to Percy. So she struggles for months with this building project, finally it’s nearly done. Then Hera says that she will allow them to marry, but they have to be married nearby whatever it is that Annabeth had to create, and their marriage will be dedicated to Hera and will act as the way to consecrate the sacred building thing to Hera. So now Chiron has to allow demigods to get married at Camp Half-Blood, allow the queen of the gods to officiate it, and he can’t keep their mortal family from the wedding! So now there are mortals in Camp Half-Blood. But it all goes well, but now a tradition has begun of campers wanting to get married by Hera’s sacred thing, and now Chiron has to deal with weddings and mortal families and he’s seriously annoyed at Hera but he can’t show it bc she’s the queen of the gods.

Hope you like these headcanons!!! :)))

~wolfyboi

thanks for the ask wolfyboi!

awww, these are all so fun and cute! i love thinking about their future and their kids! it just being me so much joy. they deserve to be happy more than anyone. i do hate hera so the thought of them having to dedicate their marriage to her makes me a little queasy, but the idea of chiron having to deal with a ton of people getting married at the camp made me giggle

this put a smile on my face. thank you!! ❤️❤️

#i love you guys #pjo #answered

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selenacosmic · 9 months

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This is just a fun little thing I decided to do because of how much knowledge I have of some characters and I love sharing. Some of these are pretty obvious, not all the characters will be here so if you want to add the facts you know that aren’t here, feel free to do so!

Fun little facts about the warlords.

Oda forces.

Nobunaga Oda.

Whenever he goes out to get Konpeito from the kitchen, he wears a hood on his head to try and disguise himself.

He treats bearsace as a sacred artifact, on one event a kid asks if they can play with bearsace and he just said no because it was important to him.

Hideyoshi Toyotomi.

Hideyoshi has a group of lady friends with whom he has tea with, they admire him and definitely have a crush, but they are more like friends.

Hideyoshi isn’t fond of sweets, but he doesn’t mind eating them if it’s with someone special.

Ieyasu Tokugawa.

He studies medicine and treats many people, but he is better as a veterinarian as he treats harmed animals, even if he doesn’t admit it.

He likes hot sauce to a dangerous degree, it’s never hot enough for him.

Mitsuhide Akechi.

It has been said that, the reason why he he eats food all mixed up in a weird way is because he can’t taste it.

In one audio drama, mitsuhide purposely competed with Hideyoshi for the right hand man position just so that Hideyoshi realized how much he deserves that position. (He also cooked for Nobunaga and was proud of his monstrosity.

Mitsunari Ishida.

He is the only one who has ever come close to beating Nobunaga in Go, which shows how smart he is.

Even though they have completely different personalities, Mitsunari and Mitsuhide are often studying together, they both are like the Mitsu duo. They also have eating problems. Mitsuhide because of how he mixes food badly and Mitsunari because he just forgets to eat while studying.

Masamune Date.

In one audio drama, Masamune challenges shingen when they see each other at the market in azuchi, but when shingen suggests they eat before fighting, masamune decides to take over the kitchen to cook for them both.

In another audio drama, focusing on the characters “Yandere” characteristics, masamune showed to fit the role surprisingly well.

Ranmaru Mori.

In an audio drama, Ranmaru revealed to be very skilled with acting. More specifically, he knows how to pretend to be a girl very well. His voice actor was able to imitate a feminine voice pretty well.

Uesugi-Takeda alliance.

Kenshin Uesugi.

Kenshin saved three bunnies’ lives by simply saying he didn’t feel like eating rabbit soup, and since then those three bunnies keep following him while multiplying.

There is a version of ikemen sengoku that was only released in Japan, on the PS vita. Only a few selected characters were chosen to have routes on it and kenshin is one of them. On it, there is a piece of story where kenshin goes into the future and manages to control a mafia group. (I don’t know Japanese, so I don’t know how accurate this is, but there are cgs of him in a modern attire from the ps vita game).

Shingen Takeda.

There are many things that could be said about him, but one of my favorites is the fact that shingen is one of the few characters that actually swear in the game.

During an audio drama, he reveals that he likes when a girl ties her hair when entering the hot springs, mostly because he likes seeing the nape of their neck getting flushed.

Just an extra one because I love him, shingen has shown that he likes when people, regardless of them being women or men, compliment him. During the event “the art of seduction” where he teaches the other warlords how to flirt, he seems to appreciate when Mitsunari compliments him as a teacher.

Yukimura Sanada.

Yukimura had a different voice actor the start of the game, but he was changed. You can still see his previous voice actor voicing him in the audio drama he is in with Shingen and Yoshimoto.

He has a hard time finding what to talk about with Yoshimoto, to the point where he starts talking about spears and which ones are his preference, Yoshimoto finds the subject boring.

Yoshimoto Imagawa.

Yoshimoto is part of the few characters that were featured in the Ps vita, meaning he had a route out way before it was released in the original game.

I don’t know Japanese and never managed to find a translation for his route in the ps vita version, but there are cgs of him with Mc in the modern era.

Sasuke.

Sasuke was also featured in the audio drama with kenshin and Masamune about the Yandere concept, and was actually spooked by how good he is at that role.

Lone forces.

Motonari Mouri.

Motonari is fluent in many languages, including Portuguese (my first language is Portuguese, so it’s funny seeing him speak in Portuguese sometimes)

He wasn’t in any audio drama, but was first featured in the ikemen sengoku anime.

Kennyo.

Kennyo naturally attracts wild animals because of the energy he has, they seem to sense that Kennyo is a good person.

Kennyo has acted as a father for Ranmaru since he was a child, which would explain why Ranmaru is so dedicated towards Kennyo.

#ikemen sengoku #ikesen #ikemen sengoku shingen #ikemen sengoku nobunaga #ikemen sengoku kenshin #ikemen sengoku mitsuhide #ikemen sengoku masamune #ikemen sengoku ieyasu #ikemen sengoku yukimura #ikemen sengoku hideyoshi #ikemen sengoku sasuke #ikemen sengoku mitsunari #ikemen sengoku motonari #ikemen sengoku yoshimoto #ikemen sengoku kennyo

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blueiskewl · 5 months

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These Bronze Statues Reveal Ancient Healing Rituals

Discovered in a dig at a thermal spring in Tuscany, Italy, the well-preserved items offer a glimpse into medical practices from the Etruscan and Roman eras.

An exhibition that opened Friday at Rome’s Quirinal Palace could be described as a classic rags-to-riches story.

Just ten months ago, many of the bronze statues now on show there — artfully spotlighted and captioned — were submerged in layers of thick mud in what had been a sacred pool of thermo-mineral water roughly halfway between Florence and Rome.

Their rediscovery last fall during an ongoing archaeological excavation in a field just below the Tuscan town of San Casciano dei Bagni made headlines around the world, propelling the bronzes — via a stint in Italy’s main restoration institute — to the rare honor of being exhibited at the presidential palace.

“It’s an extraordinary discovery,” Luigi La Rocca, the culture ministry official responsible for archaeology, fine arts and landscape, told reporters at the palace on Thursday, praising the variety of the bronzes, their quality and their high degree of conservation.

The artifacts — mostly dating from the second century B.C. to the first century A.D. — were votive offerings collected in the sacred pool of the so-called Bagno Grande, or “large bath,” part of a sanctuary that was in use in various forms for more than 700 years.

Lightning struck the building around the first century A.D., and following the Etruscan tradition of burying objects struck by lightning in a sacred place, the statues and other artifacts were concealed under a layer of terra-cotta tiles along with a bronze thunderbolt, a ritual called “fulgur conditum.”

Successive votive offerings, mostly bronze coins and plants, were deposited until Christianity became the official religion of the Roman Empire in the fourth century A.D. Then, the sanctuary was dismantled, and its offerings were buried once again, which contributed to their remarkable conservation.

The dig that uncovered them began in 2019, but it was only in 2020 that the first artifacts — inscriptions, altars and small bronzes — began to emerge. Last year, the archaeologists dug further down into the sacred pool.

“We thought there could be something here, but nothing like what we found,” said Emanuele Mariotti, the director of the excavation, on a recent hot afternoon as he surveyed the site. “It was like a time capsule waiting to be opened,” he added.

The finds offer insights on ancient medical practices. The waters were considered curative by “Etruscans, Romans, Christians and Pagans,” Mariotti said. “This was a place of healing, meeting of cultures and medical knowledge.”

Many of the bronzes had inscriptions from the territory of Perugia, about 70 kilometers northeast of San Casciano, a considerable distance to travel more than 2,000 years ago. This shows “how complex and nuanced” cultural interaction was at the time, added Jacopo Tabolli, the scientific director of the dig and co-curator of the Quirinal show.

“Gods changed, but the water remained the same,” he added.

Some of the bronzes are still being restored, but many made it to the Quirinal for the exhibition. In one room, bronzes of arms, feet, ears and other body parts are on display, reflecting the various ailments that were treated at the thermal baths.

“These are unique,” Mariotti said, stopping in front of two bronze plaques showing what he said was a “very accurate” depiction of internal organs. Similar terra-cotta examples existed, he said, but bronze versions were hitherto unknown.

Other statues represented gods and goddesses, but also men, women and small children, wrapped in swaddling cloths. Some were sickly and in need of healing. Others appeared to have benefited from the cures.

The thermal springs are still used today for their therapeutic properties, both in the public baths near the archaeological site and at a private resort.

For San Casciano dei Bagni, a picturesque hilltop town, the ancient finds will hopefully bring new economic prospects, especially after the opening of a new museum in the city center.

Earlier this week, at a property deed transfer in Rome attended by various authorities, the culture ministry formally bought a palazzo in San Casciano dei Bagni from local clerics to house the museum (list price 670,000 euros, around $730,000) and Italy’s culture minister, Gennaro Sangiuliano, pledged to contribute “additional resources.”

Massimo Osanna, the director of Italy’s state museums said Thursday that he hoped one section of the museum would be ready next year. “I’m an optimist,” he said.

“It’s going to be a tremendous opportunity,” said Agnese Carletti, the town’s mayor. Following on from previous administrations, Carletti’s council championed and funded the local archaeological excavations that led to the finds, offering room and board to archaeology students participating in the summer digs.

A new excavation begins next week, and Tabolli said that it would concentrate on expanding the archaeological site to better understand the context around the sacred pool. “We’ve reconstructed the structure of the sanctuary, but there is still much more to know about the overall site which must have been monumental,” he said.

Osanna said that more surprises could be in store. “We don’t know what else the sanctuary has to offer,” he said.

By Elisabetta Povoledo.

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itsclydebitches · 11 months

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Any tips for new grad students? I'm about to start in the fall and I'm curious how it'll be different/hopefully better than undergrad!

Congratulations, anon!!!

Let's see... some alphabetical tips based on my own experience:

Ask for help. You'll likely have a million questions and, unfortunately, the designated people who can answer them are often crazy busy and may take a while to get back to you, or forget entirely. So don't be afraid to ask for help from whoever might even feasibly know the answer -- including tumblr blogs! You're off to a great start lol

Be on the lookout for advisors early. Whether you're just in need of a singular advisory for a thesis, or if you'll be putting a whole committee together, approach every new instructor with the question, "Would I want them to mentor me through my research?" in the back of your mind. Pay attention to not just their specialties and teaching methods, but who they are as a person. Do you like them? Are you comfortable with them? Do they treat you respectfully? Do they seem to have everything well in hand? I loved my advisor dearly as a person, but he was often waaaaaay behind on his work. Looking back, I would have at least considered choosing someone with better organization/time management skills.

Get good at writing emails. Can you write a succinct, professional sounding email? Great! Get comfortable doing that throughout the whole day. Feeling a little iffy? Practice over the summer. There are a lot of templates online that can help, but you'll want to ensure you're not going into grad school still writing "k thx" from your iPhone at 3:00am. (For the record, your professors may do this, the students should not lol).

Have designated, scheduled downtime. Literally if you don't plan to take a break... you won't be taking a break. Not until your body decides to take one for you, anyway. Friday nights were always my couch potato time. Absolutely no work allowed and no strenuous activity unless it was something I was legitimately excited about (so no getting pressured into outings I didn't actually want to attend). Friday nights were sacred, a time for takeout and only whatever else I felt like doing, usually TV, video games, and vegging out with my cat.

Imposter Syndrome is a BITCH. Luckily, pretty much everyone's got it to a greater or lesser extent, we all just need to acknowledge it more. You know those boards some schools have celebrating places where students have gotten in and other achievements? Yeah, we put one up for failures in our department. Literally a giant, glittery, "CONGRATS YOU DIDN'T GET IT!" board where we hung proposal rejections, grant rejections, school rejections, scholarship rejections, job rejections, and on one memorable occasion a date rejection. I highly recommend it. Nothing lessens the sting quite as much as seeing that you're a part of a sea of similar disappointments and remembering that you're all in the same, often luck-based boat.

Pick a non-academic hobby. Your mental health will thank you, trust me. Like the designated downtime, you need to be doing something that's not reading/writing/researching 24/7. Pick a hobby that in no way relates to academics or your chosen field, preferably something hands-on and creative. Grad school is when I picked up crocheting alongside knitting.

Prepare to hold down two jobs. This really only applies if you're going to be teaching while you get your degree (or if you have an outside job for the paycheck), but I was pretty blindsided by what it took to be a full-time student and a half-time instructor. I don't really have good advice beyond "Figure out your time management skills now" and "Don't pour all your energy into one or the other because the one you've neglected WILL come back to bite you in the ass," but even just being aware of how difficult it is going to be would have staved off the initial shock.

Read strategically. Perhaps this is different for someone not in the Humanities, but you will be reading a LOT in grad school. Like, an absolutely stupid amount. There simply will not be time to cover everything from title to footnotes (I know, it hurts), so get comfortable with reading abstracts, chapter summaries, skimming, and otherwise summarizing lengthy works to figure out what you should prioritize. Unless a whole article is assigned for class, figure out what you need from any given text -- or what you think you may need -- and hone in on that. You can always return to read more if you have the time.

SAVE EVERYTHING. Do not delete emails. Get copies of everything even remotely official. Print everything out. Buy yourself a couple of cheap file boxes, stick them under your bed, and keep it all just in case. What kind of things have I unexpectedly needed to dredge up weeks, months, or even years later? The printed paper with hand-written comments to justify a grade I gave. An ancient email from a committee member proving that they did in fact sign off on a certain chapter choice. A copy of the publication forms I signed for a book collection after those got lost on their end (somehow). Seriously, save everything. You'll never know when you may need proof of some communication you've had.

Take naps. That's it. That's the advice. Someone gives you shit for being "lazy" or tries to make you feel bad for "wasting" a sunny afternoon? Make them step on a Lego and then both of you take your nap outside. Naps are beautiful and sacred and life-saving. Just set a good alarm for whenever your next class/meeting is.

Work at making friends. Unlike high school or even college where you'll be spending the day with a core group of people, in graduate school (unless your school is really small) the students are a lot more spread out and there aren't as many built-in opportunities to socialize. So plan to put in more effort at connecting with others because you will want that camaraderie, both for practical help and your sanity. I didn't realize how much more I needed to do to get to know my peers until I was nearly finished my Master's. Luckily, my PhD threw me into an office with seven other grads, so I didn't have a choice about getting to know them lol

You're responsible for your own learning. You've gotten a taste of this in college, but grad school cranks it up to 11. You're an adult (not an "adult" adult like a college student) and you've committed to putting forth 2-7 additional years towards your education. The expectation is that you want to be here and will showcase the necessary effort without outside influence (unless you require accommodations, of course). Be prepared for your instructors to treat you like a peer, both when it comes to the fun stuff - intense debates about your field! - and the responsibilities they expect you to follow through on. In some ways grad school is nothing like college because you are now focused on one subject, you are working collaboratively with people who were once solely authority figures, and 95% of the work will occur outside the classroom via self-teaching. You're a professional now. Still being mentored, but well on your way to that equal standing. The sooner you realize that you are responsible for your own education and future career -- not your teachers, your parents, your BFF, your roommate, etc. -- the better.

Most importantly:

#school #teaching #grad school

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ramblingaro · 1 year

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replaying CF and thinking about how while it is true that there's certain people who thematically fit more with CF, CF is (imo) one of the routes where all the out-of-house recruits staying makes sense.

Because in CF, they are all with you in the Holy Tomb. At the start of the chapter, everyone fights Edelgard because she's desecrating a sacred space and it seems kinda fucked up (it is). After the battle, Rhea tells Byleth to kill her. Byleth is supposed to execute not just one of their students, but a literal head of state. Rhea is, without any second thought, ready to kill a child and throw the Empire into political turmoil (ofc Rhea's trauma does make her response understandable to a degree but that's another post).

If Byleth refuses to kill Edelgard, Rhea snaps. Byleth doesn't declare war on the church. Byleth doesn't turn to fight Rhea. Byleth refuses to kill a student/head of state. And for that "crime," Rhea says she will rip out Byleths heart and turns into a massive dragon, causing everyone to flee the Holy Tomb.

That's probably lowkey traumatic for some, if not most, of the students. Witnessing Rhea's pure viciousness in that moment and watching her turn into a dragon had to have been terrifying. And it confirms everything Edelgard goes on to say about the church. Paired alongside this too, is Edelgard telling everyone that they are not obliged to stay with her. They are free to make their decisions. As conflicted as they are about fighting their homeland, they continue on because they witnessed an event that fundamentally alters how they view the church and they are fighting for someone working to make Fódlan better.

It's telling too, that this is the route where everyone stays together. The other routes, everyone is scattered because the only things that bound them were school and Byleth. But in CF, they're bound together by a world-view altering event and a vision for the future.

#fire emblem #fe3h #edelgard von hresvelg #crimson flower

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redmyeyes · 7 months

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superstition

for @wincestwednesdays

On bad nights, Dean takes the car out. There's no memorial, no resting place, so.

He tried a picture once. After the crossroads but before the third breakdown. A therapist of a friend of Lisa's boss suggested it. Which means his level of fucked-up was enough to warrant four degrees of casual-aquaintance separation. My friend's co-worker's bf is a real mess. Lost his brother, poor guy. Any suggestions?

Pretty impressive, if he does say so himself.

So, the picture. You speak to a picture of, of the loved one, she phrased it. Tell them all the things you meant to tell them. You know.

Dean couldn't do it. Can't do it. The one picture he has of Sam is tucked safely away in a cigar box in the trunk, but he can't, still, bring himself to look at it, no matter how old and faded or unfamiliar or different from the way he looked when he—

When.

People think the legend of the crossroads is superstition. What they don't know is, they're right. And wrong at the same time. Started as superstition. Demons just got wind of it, and started taking advantage.

Sometimes you can make a superstition real, if enough people believe.

That's what he tells Sam in the dark, when he's driven so far out into nowhere on a moonless night that he can almost pretend the shadows to his right engulf a missing person. Like they're working a case. Like Sam will turn to him in the dark and say, Maybe it's just about finding the right demon to apply pressure, and he'll feel the heat of Sam's breath as the words come or he'll see Sam gesture with his ginormohands out of the corner of his eye.

Well. Those days when Dean could still pretend are long past, so he mostly just sits silent now. He's not delusional. But this is sacred. This ritual. This… communion. Sitting in the dark on the hood with a whiskey. Talking or not talking.

Most days, Dean thinks this is the only thing keeping him sane.

He takes two deep pulls of whiskey, and starts choking when one hits the wrong way. "I am not, shut up," he mutters around a cough.

So much effort to keep putting one foot in front of the other; he doesn't know how people do it. He needs a project, something all-consuming enough to take his mind off— take his mind out.

He's trying. He's trying to put in the same effort to taking care of Ben, to the work, to Lisa, to friendship. All of these half-measures to replace one person and it doesn't come close. Like filling in blanks with stick figure drawings of a copy of a copy of a picture.

"Not replacing, you know what I mean," he says to the air.

"I am trying though, I—" Another swig of whiskey, it always takes him a minute to warm up to it. "Today was a bad day, Sammy. Guess they're all bad days but—" Dean shakes his head. He's careful to stay on his side of the hood, to keep staring straight ahead, or up at the stars. They used to get like this sometimes, whiskey-loosened lips and the dark and the one person in the world who'll actually get what you're saying right there next to you…

"You remember that time in, uh— I dunno, Ohio I think. You woulda been about ten, eleven. Same age as Ben. Actually, you probably don't remember. Woulda been one of a thousand to you, but— I remember it. So clearly, man. First time I—" A gulp of whiskey. "You were out. Me and Dad were off on a quick recon and got back—quicker than you expected I guess—and you were gone. This was before Flagstaff, before things got real bad between you and him. You snuck into the movies or some shit, or maybe you were at the arcade, I don't know.

"I remember your face when you came in. You were—happy. Like, light. Like a kid. Like, you didn't even get what was about to go down. Didn't bother sneaking in 'cause you thought you'd done nothing wrong, and Dad was— " He huffs. "You don't need me to tell you how he was, 'cause he always was. But you started arguing like the stubborn ass you always were. Are. And— Sammy, I remember the way you looked at me. Like— pleading for help or backup or— no, not pleading. Like— betrayal. Like I betrayed you. I— I don't know why that stuck with me. That stupid moment from when you were ten, when we've had shit a million times more serious gone down since then."

Dean's silent for a moment, and when he starts speaking again he's forced to clear his throat.

"I kept thinking... if he would just obey. If he would just listen, just— shut up, sometimes. Just let Dad talk. As if that— was something of value. But you never could. Always had to have your say, always stood up to him, and I didn't back you up and I kept not backing you up with Dad, and maybe if I'd done better you wouldn'ta left for Stanford in the first place, even though, I dunno man, maybe we were always destined to end up here anyway, but—"

He cuts himself off and gets his breathing back under control. Another swallow of whiskey, craving the burn in his throat.

"I saw that same look on Ben's face today. From me. He was scared of me, looking at me like— just like you used to look at Dad. Except without your piss-ass stubbornness. " A moment passes before he continues, his voice strained. "It's not just me here, Sammy. I mean, you begged me to do this. To live this life, and I'm trying, I am, but— it's not just me, okay? Lisa and Ben, they— you know. I was so messed up when I knocked on their door I'm shocked she didn't call the cops. I came to them. Because you wanted me to and they took me in and now they're just there, suffering, because I can't get my shit together and—"

His gut wrenches. It's a long time before he can speak again, and he has to uncurl himself to do it.

He takes a breath in.

And out.

Sam used to do this when—

Sam used to do this.

"Okay, yeah. Maybe that's a cop-out. Maybe I just don't—"

He cuts himself off again and sighs, banging his head lightly against the windshield. He survived forty years in Hell, you'd think he could do Suburbia.

"It's different. Hell was survivable because I was there to keep you alive." Not strictly true. He tries again. "Hell was… I thought you were okay. I thought you were okay, and that made it worth something. And even when it wasn't, it was so intense that I— couldn't think. Couldn't. And that was a blessing."

I'm not strong enough for this, Sammy. Not without you.

He can't say those words aloud yet. To do that would be to admit— too much.

"I don't know how long I can keep doing this," he whispers instead.

Even that admission… it's enough. For now. It's enough to get him through the next however many days until things get so bad that he needs to come out here again. Sam's silence feels like acceptance, and Dean breathes it in.

He's not resigned. Not yet, anyway. He still hasn't given up hope that there's some way to get Sam out. But, he knows, the moment that last shred dies is the moment he goes with it.

Until then, he'll keep talking to the dark.

"Call it superstition," he says.

#just a lil thing for #wincest #wincest wednesday #and inspired by my s6 #spn rewatch #who knew that watching canon would actually make me want to write ._.#(she says sarcastically)#im really obsessed with this in-between time though #where dean tries to make it work bc he promised sam he would #'white-knuckling it' as lisa says #how much longer until he gives in and gives up #good thing s!s showed up when he did ig #redrites

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