#Only one who is rather...strict with calling me girl is the italians. But they are 5 years older and may be an language difference

[mrfoox]

I love that my guy group just... Dont care about genders and such.

My username have always had an Mr in it. I don't think any of them questioned it. Fabian has one account with 'Lady' in it. We regularly say 'girl/queen' to each other. And they call me dude and bro

It's such a small thing obviously but I really like how that's always been the way we have had it

[buck-buck-boose]

I'll Love You 'Til I Die

Masterlist | Playlist

Summary: A Brooklyn schoolgirl fell in love with James Buchanan Barnes at the tender age of nine. With this love she made a vow, promising to love him until her very last breath.

Pairing: Bucky x OFC

Warnings: Language, pining

Word Count: 2.1k

Author's Note: Thank you for all the patience and support! I love love love seeing replies and reblogs :,)

Chapter Twenty-Three: The Journey to Azzano

October 24, 1943

Yet another sleepless night. A night spent away from the nurse’s tent, handkerchief in hand, with eyes cast towards the heavens. The stars stared back, silent watchers from above; the petrified audience to a grotesque display of gore, violence, and inhumanity. Lottie knew that they were nothing but balls of gas, great masses of fire that drifted in that infinite chasm of space millions of lightyears away. Somehow, her heart still broke for them.

How painful it must be to be a star, she thought, To see the Earth, to see its people, to see the love and hope. To be forced to watch its destruction, its pain. Oh, how the stars must weep, gazing down at the broken bodies of men and boys, women and children, all victims of such a cruel war.

Still, the pain of a star could never come close to the pain of a nurse. The stars would never hold those bodies in their arms, they would never fumble for a tourniquet as blood spilled from a fresh wound, the stars would never have to slide a man’s eyelids shut, his skin cold to the touch.

Lottie was becoming quickly acclimated to the smell and feel of death. It never seemed to leave her skin, no matter how thoroughly she washed her hands. Though they were constantly rubbed raw, she could not rid them of death’s stench or its thick grime that seemed to coat every inch of her skin.

After they’d left Pantelleria, the SSR had scrambled to stay afloat, constantly caught in the crossfire of other Italian campaigns. The Germans had weaseled their way into northern and central Italy, with carnage in their wake, the nurses of the SSR were left to care for their victims. Lottie had come to know death as intimately as one knows the curves of their lover’s body, all the dimples, ridges, and edges.

“No number of bandages would’ve saved him, Lottie,” Gladys would whisper, “We’re nurses, not miracle-workers.”

“If I remember correctly, folks at the SSR sure love to rant about that ‘miraculous’ serum we developed.” “Betty, you know what I mean.”

Lottie wished she could be a miracle worker. The men that she managed to save definitely thought she was, but who wouldn’t think so highly of the woman who saved them from certain death? It would have been a comfort to visit them in the recovery ward, but the SSR would whisk them away, further north and closer to Hydra before she had the chance.

The SSR found themselves in Siano, a village an afternoon’s trek away from Salerno. At another time, it would be quite lovely. The quiet little community was nestled between small mountains, far too grand and looming to be called hills. The greenery was lush and the air was crisp, mingled with the saltiness from the nearby sea. A cool, sweet breeze kissed Lottie’s cheeks and became entangled in her curls that had finally been loosed from her strict bun. With every graze of the breeze against her cheeks and every rustle of the grasses beside her, it seemed that the very earth was breathing beneath her. Every movement was a great inhale or exhale that emanated around her; the only calming element to an otherwise restless night.

Their camp was just outside the town, stationed in an expansive field which was quite likely an abandoned pasture. Camp had been sloppily thrown together, after a horrifically bloody day in Salerno, morale was low and they knew their stay would be short-lived. Agent Carter had mentioned that they were urgently needed in Azzano; there was a POW situation up there that involved Hydra. Their stop in Siano, as Colonel Phillips had explained, was merely for recuperation. With a day of bloodshed behind them and several days’ worth of traveling ahead of them, rest was needed by all.

But she couldn’t really rest, could she? Lottie would always be on edge, on high alert, until she had her boys by her side once more. At every camp, in every campaign, she searched for the 107th. For any sign of a USO show. So far, she had come up with nothing. Nothing but disappointment.

All that she could do was gaze up at the stars and wonder if a pair of clear blue eyes were doing the same.

Somewhere in Azzano

Liquid fire in his veins. Muttered words in German. Leather straps that dug into his skin; they kept him from writhing in pain. Days bled together and he could barely find the willpower to stay conscious, blurring the lines between his dreams and reality.

Bucky didn’t know where he was. He didn’t know what was going on, either. All he knew was agony, frustration, and a girl. His best girl, Little Lottie. The first time he’d seen her, he was sure that she was real. He had just undergone the first round of… whatever this was, and all of a sudden, she’d appeared before him, dressed just as she’d been when he last saw her— white uniform, thick stockings, and a heavy coat that seemed to swallow her whole.

He’d tried to yell at her, warn her about how dangerous this place was, but he could only muster a choked groan which had earned him a blow to the head. After that, she kept appearing— every time he was poked or prodded at, she stood in the corner of the room and watched over him with a smile on her lips. His head would loll to the side with exhaustion and their gazes would connect; it was the only glimmer of hope in the midst of his torture.

His Little Lottie would only speak to him in his dreams, but she wouldn’t speak, really. No, she’d do this thing he’d seen her do to Stevie hundreds of times when he was sick in bed. With gentle hands, she would smooth his hair away from his forehead, freeing the sweaty, bloodied strands that clung to his skin. She quieted his groans of pain with soft sounds and breathy hums of her favorite songs— mostly from the musicals they had gone to see in the thirties. Little Lottie was fondest of numbers by the Gershwin brothers, he’d noticed, as she was always humming one of their tunes in his dreams.

Any anger toward her was forgotten, but the fear remained. Fear for her safety devoured him from the inside out; if Hydra ever got their hands on her, there would be hell to pay.

Siano, the next day

“Y’know if you’re gonna make a habit of this, I might as well take your pillow for myself.”

Lottie blinked her eyes blearily, taking in the figure of Betty before her. Apparently, she’d fallen asleep outside. Again. The first time it had happened, they’d been camped out in Salerno and while her companions had gone to bed earlier, she’d attempted to calm her nerves with a midnight cigarette. Suffice to say, the cigarette had done its job, though she’d woken up with a terrible pain in her neck.

This time, the pain was located in Lottie’s lower back, probably due to the uneven ground she’d fallen asleep on.

“Believe me, Betty, I don’t intend to make this a habit,” Lottie gritted her teeth in pain as she attempted to maneuver herself off of the ground.

Betty sighed and grabbed her hands, heaving her up, “C’mon, we don’t have all day. Colonel Phillips wants the tents down as soon as possible.” She jerked her head in the direction of the other three nurses a few yards away, they were evidently having a difficult time with the canvas and poles of their tent.

The two of them rejoined their group and Gladys tossed a pack to her with a smile, “Your stuff’s all good to go. Figured you needed the extra sleep.” Lottie squeezed her shoulder in thanks and observed Nancy and Mary as they argued over the correct way to pack up their tent.

“First we need to disassemble the poles, then we wrap up the canvas and—”

“No, we need to take care of the canvas before we can—”

Agent Carter stalked toward them with a rather agitated look on her face; only she could look powerful crossing an uneven field in heels. Lottie bundled up some poles in her arms, trying to stow them away in a pack before they could be berated for being the last ones to finish.

“Ladies,” Agent Carter began, voice firm, “You did not go through a year of training just to be the last ones done packing up your tent. We need more speed from you five to reach the one hundred and seventh in time.”

Lottie nearly dropped the metal poles in her arms and choked out a gasp, “The one hundred and seventh?” That was the regiment with the POWs? The POWs that had fallen victim to Hydra? Her heart was suddenly beating a mile a minute, her stomach was all in knots.

Agent Carter furrowed her brow, likely confused by her reaction, “Yes, they were vastly overpowered in a recent battle. We’ve been summoned to provide medical care to the survivors as well as to assist in a reconnaissance mission for information regarding the whereabouts of the POWs.”

She was tempted to ask about Bucky, to see if she’d heard anything about their survivors, but she ultimately decided against it. It was unlikely that they already had extensive knowledge regarding those who had been saved or lost.

“We’ll be done in a jiffy, Agent Carter,” Nancy nodded, removing the poles from Lottie’s grasp.

After another minute or two, their tent was packed away, and each nurse was outfitted with a hefty pack that carried their belongings. Together, the nurses and the rest of the SSR agents began their trek through the Italian countryside, keeping close in their groupings. It would have been far easier to be transported by plane, but the agents had to take as much caution as possible with Hydra's threat level. If traveling by foot kept the lowest profile, then that was what needed to be done.

Lottie’s four companions broke out into quiet conversation to pass the time while fearful thoughts weaseled their way into her mind. What if Bucky really had been taken by Hydra? What would they do to him? Would they kill him? She’d heard of their horrors from Erskine, and she’d even seen their ruthlessness at his assassination. The dark thoughts that began to swim around in her head made her want to be sick. Lottie wanted to double over and retch, to alleviate the sick feeling that crept into her at the thought of Bucky in Hydra’s clutches.

“You alright there, Lottie? You’ve been awfully quiet,” Gladys sidled over to where she was walking, only a foot or two away from the rest.

“I don’t think so,” Lottie began, her voice strained, “I mean, with the one hundred and seventh and everything, I just, I don’t know how to—”

Gladys nodded, a sad look on her face, “I know, it’s a dreadful situation, isn’t it? I can’t imagine how those survivors must feel. Having your comrades stolen away from you in a bloody battle.”

“It’s not just that, it’s also—”

“Oh yes, definitely more than that. Not only the mental anguish but the physical, too. I mean, we’re here for a reason, we’ve got to be prepared for the worst when we get there. I’ve heard they’re in absolute shambles.”

Lottie fisted her hands in frustration, “Gladys. Bucky’s a member of the one hundred and seventh. That’s his damn regiment. And I haven’t a clue of whether he’s dead, alive, or barely holding on in some dingy cell, so I would really appreciate it if you would spare me the monologue about how terrible their situation is.”

Gladys stared at her, a look of shock painted on her face, “Lottie, I’m sorry, I didn’t know, I— gosh, I feel absolutely awful now, I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” Lottie grabbed Gladys’ hand to squeeze it, their arms knocked together as they walked side by side, “I just need to think optimistically right now. If I start thinking about all the atrocities, I might go crazy.”

Gladys squeezed back, a faint smile growing on her lips, “You’re right. Think optimistically. I bet he got out of it just fine, with a few scratches though. But he’ll be waiting for us real patiently, waiting for the fine nurses of the SSR to patch him right up.”

She found comfort in Gladys’ words. It was much nicer to picture him that way, sitting in a medic tent cot, wounds scabbed over in blood, with a cigarette hanging from his mouth. Maybe he'd be cracking jokes with the other poor souls stuck in that tent, his eyes alight with humor and that lopsided grin threatening to send that cigarette straight to the ground. He would be a bit battered and bruised, but he’d be there waiting. Waiting for her.

[faerienextdoor]

general relationship hcs with (some) pastas

Fair warning, I'm using and hinting at mine and my friends’ writing for these creeps :) enjoy  also as soon as i figure out how to open an ask box, I’ll be accepting requests

Brian:

- oh where to start with this absolute himbo

- he melts around you. like he's your bitch, and you're his.

- he's the type of boyfriend that takes you out in the snow and shoves a handful down the back of your jacket, and laughs until you shove snow in his face

- it is snow war

- it ends with you cuddling him, wrapped in a blanket and content in front of the burning fire he got started just for you <3

- but he also has some weird... habits.

- drinks pickle juice.

- gets his hand stuck in the jar.

- looks at you like 🥺 until you sigh and help him. for the fifteenth time.

- he can cook some basic breakfast foods, and happily breaks out a cookbook to prepare you something as a surprise or to learn something with you!!

- baking with him would be a mess. he forgets flour goes everywhere and now you both look like you took a bath in cocaine

- but the cupcakes are mediocre at best. they aren't absolute garbage, so... cupcake points!

- he worries about how hoodie treats you. he doesn't remember anything when he regains control, but you've reassured him hoodie is just fine.

- and he is

(hoodie)

- hoodie is like a rottweiler or a doberman.

- protective. intimidating. energetic.

- but also a giant fucking baby.

- this large ass man lumbers over and drops to his knees. places his chin on your lap and stares at you from the fabric of his mask until you stop what you're doing and stroke his head awkwardly

- you could swear he does those happy grumbled a rottie does.

- hoodie is silent but shows he loves you just as much as brian does. He strokes your hair silently, even places a kiss to the crown of your head as you sink into his beefy arms.

- he smells nice too. surprisingly.

- but that raises the question: if hoodie showers, does he shower with that damn thing on?

- you won't get an answer if you were to ask.

- brian introduces you to his grandma julia. and she dotes on you.

- the immortal old lady remarks that you’re the best s/o brian has brought to her yet.

Tim:

- a lumberjack man with biceps like a fucking tree trunk

- how'd you land him? give me your secrets (/j)

- he's such a love bug. a tired stressed love bug.

- he finds /every/ excuse to have physical contact with you. it's like a little touch from you reassures him that you're real. you're like a dream to him.

- he's the best for cuddles. He holds you to his chest

- and you get special access to his moobs

- and he gently strokes your head, traces shapes into your back, etc. it's a special intimate moment each time.

- my man's is italian-american but can't cook to save his fucken life

- he always gets your favorite microwave meals though!! he never forgets.

- not feeling good? dw baby he's making it for you <33 shitty low tier bean and cheese burrito coming up

- slowly he learns the basics and surprises you with lunch or even dinner if you're lucky!!

- he loves you so much. and wants you to feel it and know it. all the time.

(masky)

- god where to start with this bitch

- he's not jeff levels of bad ofc, but he's silent and... weird. creepy, some may say. he doesn't mean to be.

- and he's a hard ass. far more strict than tim.

- he follows you around like a giant fucken puppy and will spook you by grabbing you abruptly and holding you tightly

- you can't escape him. he really utilizes his physical strength

- he loves lifting you up and just... holding you. or carrying you off.

- protective and overbearing.

- but tim keeps him under control.

(angst)

- he wouldn't want to lose you like he lost his last wife.

- you find pictures of a woman laying around and a small girl that bears a striking resemblance to her and tim.

- tim goes quiet and questioned but eventually caves and tells you about his family

- or what he used to have

- his wife died and his daughter disappeared.

- it broke him and you're all he has left now

- constantly needs your affection in return to his own

- pls love him

jeff:

- why the fuck would you date him

- he's the absolute worst in so many aspects. But he genuinely tries for you.

- even if his gifts are shitty, it's nice to know he thoughts of you, right? even if it's a half dead flower or a rib torn from a deer caraccas.

- but you get the butt end of his shithead antics. ranch bath, specifically. he smelt like spoiled milk for a week after and you had to cuddle that fucker.

- and don't get me started on mayo bath

- but he still loves finding himself in your arms. or finding you in his. he's demanding affection wise, and will yank you into him for some cuddles. whether you like it or not.

- he isn't one for a lot of pet names, but calls you curse words or "sweetheart" in polish.

- and you get to see the side of him that only shows when he breaks down.

(bit of angst)

- he misses his family and the life he used to have. he'll reminisce what it was like in poland with his mom and family with you, and you sometimes swear you can see his brown eyes gloss over at the memory of her.

- he never talks about his dad, you've noticed.

- don't ask.

- he brushes off heavy conversations with some dumb quip ("wanna see my renegade?")

- he sucks at cooking. god awful at it. but he really tries for you. manages a bowl of oat meal that's edible.

- but he overloads it with sugar and for some reason, salt.

- he's confused. he thinks that's normal (it isn't)

- his idea of a date is napping with you. or rather, forcing you into nap time.

- I mean it when I say this man is strong in a weird fucken way. latches onto you with that iron grip and you won't be able to leave for at least a few hours.

jane:

- ethereal wlw woman.

- could break you with her heels. or a flutter of what eyelashes she has.

- you're lucky to have her, and she's just as lucky to have you!

- she's sweet and charming. very smooth and takes good care of you.

- her love language is a mix of physical touch and acts of service.

- she'll cuddle you all night, and then make you breakfast in the morning.

- she loves showering with you when she's comfy enough around you! it's super intimate and she washes your hair.

- massages the soap into your hair, suds spilling down your neck and back as her fingers scrub circles into your scalp.

- it's heaven on earth. such a domestic life.

- it'll take a while for her to settle enough in the relationship for you to see her without her mask

- you make her feel so loved and wanted

- secure, even.

- she's protective but not controlling or overbearing. shes that type of girlfriend that's just a worrywart and relaxes as soon as you're curled up in her arms. you fit there perfectly, too. like you belong there.

- which you do. at least in her mind

- she has such a gentle touch and hold on you. like she's afraid you'll combust in her arms if she holds you too tightly.

- she loves stroking your hair and having you nap

- using her tiddies as a pillow 👌

(angst)

- she needs affirmation from you when it comes to her scars.

- she thinks that jeff ruined her. permanently marking her once spotless body.

- and she thinks you'll hate her or find her disgusting.

- that's why she freezes if/when you gently slip off her mask.

- she stares at you with those teary green eyes. then leans in and kisses you

- you make all of her worries disappear.

- she's also financially comfortable, but not really rich (on that topic: eat the rich)

- she spoils you every chance she gets. gifts, a nice dinner date, you name it

- she almost spoils you as much as she does her cat Emory

- little shit has the sparkliest fucken collar and acts like he's the shit

- he's your fur baby too now

Helen:

- oh my god this disaster of an art boi

- he's convinced he's the luckiest man in the world (and he might as well be!!)

- he obviously wouldn't have been the one to confess. but it was really obvious by how he painted and drew you constantly, that some feeling for you was lodged into his beating heart.

- he treats you like the finest china. with the most care a man can manage.

- he's the definition of clingy and affectionate from the very start.

- he curls around your sleeping form perfectly when y'all cuddle.

- his hand dances in your hair, soothing you into a dreamless sleep each night without fail.

- he has a magic touch and a gentle voice.

- and he cherishes you so fucken much. (like a simp /j)

- he shies away from kisses at first, but will hold your hand and melts if you hold his face in them!!!

- he's greek, and often speaks sweet things to you in it. he's so comfortable around you that he speaks in his native language to you. that's an accomplishment.

- he loves when you baby him. helen loves being cradled and loved.

- taking a nap with his head on your chest also hits different. he's so in love with you

(angst)

- he's afraid of losing you. who wouldn't be? you're amazing and you love /him/ of all people

- he thinks very negatively of himself. please scold him for self deprecating.

- he always worries he'll wake up and you'll be gone.

- so he holds you extra close at night. and follows you around when you leave for any reason. Trails behind you like a lost puppy in need of a gentle kiss.

- which, is what he essentially is

- and also: pls steal his sweater and wear it. he'll cry over how cute you are.

[sasarahsunshine]

[Tw (happy) venting 💞 ]

I am autistic and have PTSD and school was always really hard for me so my therapist suggested someone coming along. (I don't know what the translation for this specific job is. Where I come from english isn't the main language)

And I was really sceptical because I have only seen that with kids in elementary school and then the person would just sit in the back of the class and not give a damn and I didn't see how that would help me but she said we could just invite him for therapy ones and I could just get to know him and he was really nice but I was not really convinced about this helping me to go to school but she said to give it a try and when it makes me uncomfortable I could tell her and he would be gone in an instant. And I trust her. She is always very nice and she keeps her promises. 😊

So I got to know him for a few sessions and we discussed some issues I have at school which was really scary for me, because I don't tell anyone expect for her but he was really nice about it and he suggested to get some icecream together after the session and there it wasn't so uncomfortable and strict and he was very nice but I still didn't get how he would help me at school so I was really scared on the first day he came to school with me. But he offered to sit down next to each other which was not what I expected but it was nice and the girl I normally said next to just said down on the table next to us with her friend and obviously it was uncomfortable first because people kept looking. (I have mostly nice classes though) And I was still very unsure but he was just sitting there but I thought he is just gonna be a silent watcher but when a teacher tried grabbing my sheets he placed a hand on them and was just looking up to him saying that he should grab someone elses and that I wouldn't like it and I was just very surprised because I don't but I didn't figure he would actually do that nor care about so little things.

So I learned with in the first days that he is not a silent observer but very much helping. Now teachers don't make me talk and when I want to participate I can write it down and he then shares with the class when I got called up and he helps me calm down so quickly and when I got overwhelmed he took me out of class and we went to a park nearby and watched and feed ducks (they are very adorable🥰) and when I asked when we have to go back he said that we don't have to for the day if I don't want to. Which was surprising because I thought his job was to make me go to school.

And he really helps with my exams because I tend to get panic attacks there but he was really nice and helped me stay focused and when another student accused him of helping me he told them that even if he wanted to, there is not a single italian word in his head he could help me with and then he leaned down to me and whispered "idiot" which was funny because I in the beginning thought he would be like a teacher but he actually is on my side and even when I told him about a problem with a teacher and he didn't understand it at first, he was still doing what I asked him for and not what the teacher wanted which felt really good because he stood up for me, even though he had a different opinion and rather waited on an explanation than to just dismiss it.

And when I got scared because an alarm went of from a car outside the room and that is a trigger for me and I grabbed his arm and I thought he was gonna be mad at me but he sat down on the floor with me and pulled me in a really tight hug which was nice because that felt safe and I didn't know he was allowed to do that because most people besides from my best friend scare away from me then. But even when I got really frustrated he didn't make me feel dumb and just took me out of gym class and helped me calm down and when I told him that I felt very angry and that he makes me angry (I feel very sorry for that, that was not true) and I said a lot of bad stuff he didn't leave me alone and that was very patient and nice of him because when I was done saying all that awful things, he just let me cry in his arms and we talked about what triggered me and even if I was so mean he still went to my gym teacher and asked him about if he could avoid those type of games for a few weeks until I learned to deal with it better.

I wanted to get this off here because I was really scared first but now it's fine and maybe that takes some fear of others away. ❤️ The first few days I thought my heart was going to explode from so much anxiety but now I just feel very good with that decision.

(I showed him some criminal minds TikToks and he started watching it and now he tells me when he watched more episodes and then I can tell him all the funfacts and things I read about the episodes which is really cool because he lets me ramble as much as I want in breaks (his favorite character is Derek and he told me I am a mix of Hotch and Spencer which is very cool🥰))

Okay so I might have cried??? While reading this???

Tbh I have no idea what the english word would be for what he is for you, but he sounds kind of like an aide of some kind? Like a human version of an emotional support dog—and I love him!! He sounds like an amazing guy and I’m SO HAPPY your therapist paired him with you!! It sounds like she knows you pretty well too <3

I’m so happy that you’re now doing so much better in school! And I’m proud of you for all you’ve accomplished so far (even with a little help <3)!!

The bit about the ducks ;w; And him standing up for you and just—ah! I love all of this!!

(Also I find people who love Derek to be very good people <3 And I’m glad he shares an interest with you now so you can talk to him about it!!)

Thank you for telling all of this to me. You seriously made my night, and I’m smiling like an idiot over here!! 🥰

[modern-vellichor]

Just Like Her Mother

Chapter Three

Summary: Its your birthday, and a new side of you is seen.

Warnings: alcohol consumption, cigarettes, smoking, lakes :)

Tuesday morning rolled around, warm sun slipping through the curtains of Charles' room. He slipped out of bed and got dressed. His hair was still a mess as he lumbered down the stairs. He could see you waiting anxiously by the open door.

You were watching the driveway excitedly. Charles stood behind you and yawned.

"What's happening?"

"Theo's coming," you stated.

Just then a car began to drive up to the house. You started rolling back and forth on your heels, excitement oozing out of you. Charles watched with half-asses interest. When the car was halfway up the drive, a door opened and a boy around your age jumped out.

Immediately the two of you began running towards each other. The car kept driving and you lept into the boy's arms. He lifted you off the ground and spun you around. You walked back to the door still in each other's arms and Charles rolled his eyes.

"Charles!" You called out, beckoning for him to come to the car.

He stepped into the fresh morning air with a soft scowl.

"Charles, this is my cousin Theo"

Suddenly Charles felt bad about all the hassle he gave you about Theo. He faked a welcoming smile and shook the boys hand.

Other people exited the car. Theo backed away to fetch a baby out of the back.

You introduced him to your aunt and uncle, and to the two other children, both only young.

You ushered them all inside, Charles hung back so he could walk with you.

"hey," he whispered. "I'm sorry, about... you know"

"it's okay," you whispered back. You jogged away to catch up with your family.

When Charles arrived in the dining room, the table was laid with breakfast. You sat across from Theo, feeding a cooing baby in your lap. You were all sitting towards one side of the table, the seat at the head was free. Charles sat down and dished for himself.

Your uncle talked to him with great interest, asking him all sorts of questions. You spent the entire day with your family, laughing and drinking and smoking. As non hit and the sun was blazing down on the house, you all moved into the garden.

As Charles followed you through the backdoor he realized he had never been this side of the house. He took in his surroundings as you all walked the little path to a small patio with a table and chairs.

You propped your feet up on the table, a cigarette in one hand and a full glass in the other. The two young children played quietly at their parents feet. Everyone at the table had a cigarette but Charles. Your uncle lazily threw one across the table at him.

"So, Charles," he drawled. His English was good but you could tell it wasn't his first language. "Y/N tells me you've spent time in Italy"

"Oh, leave him, Uncle!" You giggled.

You were a different person now that your family was here. Charles could tell it wasn't an act either. You were happy and free spirited.

"oh no, it's okay," Charles mumbled quietly to you before turning to your Uncle.

You spent most of the afternoon like that, occasionally going inside to fetch another bottle of whatever they decided to drink next. They were up until late in the evening, after the children were put to bed. Eventually Charles excused himself but he could hear you laughing into the early hours of the morning.

Charles slept in late the next morning. Your uncle's car was missing from the driveway. He looked for you before finding you in the drawing room. The fire was crackling softly and you had a cup of coffee on the table in front of you. Theo sat across from you, reading the newspaper out loud. A young girl played at your feet and a baby cooed softly in your lap.

Charles sat down in a free seat next to you. You mumbled a soft good morning and Theo read on. Charles poured himself a coffee from the pot on the table.

"Who's the little guy?" He asked softly.

"this is James," you said, bouncing the baby softly. "And that's Adeline," you nodded to the girl on the floor. She was no older than five.

"Where's your uncle?"

"They've gone out for the day, won't be back until late"

Charles fell silent as Theo turned to you. He didn't even spare Charles a glance as he spoke to you. His voice was soft and in a language Charles didn't speak. His Italian was good, but he didn't speak French. He recognized a few words but the two of you spoke so quickly that Charles gave up and picked the paper up off the table.

His interest only piqued when he heard his name muttered. But the two of you still conversed in French.

"Charles?" You asked softly.

He hummed in response, not taking his eyes off the paper, though he wasn't reading.

"would you like to bring the children out with us?"

In his peripheral, Charles could see Theo shaking his head lightly.

"oh, no. You two go ahead, I'll hang back"

You murmured softly but got up anyway. You patted Adeline on the back and took her little hand, leading her away from Charles' feet.

You and Theo were out for the whole afternoon. Charles didn't even see you when you got home, you took the children into your office. Charles walked past the open door and stole a glance. You and Theo were sitting on the floor playing with Adeline and James.

Charles did get to see you at dinner. This time he was included in the conversation. You kept snapping softly at Adeline, who was hanging off of Charles' leg and asking him silly questions.

"Adeline," you whispered angrily. "come sit over here and stop bothering uncle Charles"

With wide eyes she waddled sadly over to the seat next to you. Charles chuckled quietly into his drink.

The three of you made awkward conversation as you ate. Eventually you fell asleep, little James asleep on your chest. Theo turned to Charles.

"I'm gonna take Addie and James to bed."

Charles nodded and watched him lift James out of your arms and lead Adeline towards the stairs.

Charles pushed out of his chair and made his way over to your sleeping form. He hooked an arm under your knees and one behind your back. He grunted softly as he lifted you out of the chair. You didn't stir. He carried you up the stairs and towards his bedroom, it was closer anyway. He laid you in his bed, tucking you in, before slotting in on the other side.

You woke up in the middle of the night when James began to cry. Charles woke up and watched you hurriedly walk out the door. A few seconds later the baby grew quiet again and Charles didn't see you until morning.

You all sat at the table, sharing coffee and cigarettes. You and Theo laughed loudly and your aunt and uncle watched proudly. Charles observed the scene from where he sat at the head of the table. He couldn't help but notice how domestic it all felt to him.

"so, Y/N," your uncle finally said and the table quieted down. "Your aunt and I have a little something for you"

You shook your head politely, eyes wide in soft surprise. Your uncle placed a neatly wrapped parcel on the table in front of you. You gentle untied the ribbon and unfolded the paper to reveal a thick leather bound book. You rifled through it with a smile and thanked your uncle. Charles watched in mild confusion as Theo also pulled out a little box that contained a necklace.

"happy birthday, lady bug," he said as he smiled softly.

"Any big birthday plans?" Your aunt chuckled loudly.

"uhm," your gaze fell upon the confused face of Charles. Suddenly you grew nervous. "Yeah, we're having a party. Some family friends, some of the locals are coming too. Mum planned it a while back and you know how she is so,,,"

"how is she?" Charles asked, it was the first thing he had said all morning.

"Her parties are always lavish, lots of people in expensive clothes and big dresses, you know," you choked out the words as you spoke to Charles.

You continued to tell the group the plans for the evening before excusing yourself from the table and disappearing upstairs.

The last time your mother was home, which was a long time ago. She had slipped Hilda a box with strict instructions.

'Do not give this to Y/N until her birthday'

And of course Hilda followed them and kept the present hidden. She knocked gently on your bedroom door. You called out and she pushed it open, box in hand. She left in on your bed with a smile. She gave you a quick hug and muttered a 'happy birthday, sweetheart' before leaving.

You slid off the lid and opened the tissue paper to reveal a rather extravagant gown. It was long and silky and dark, you pulled it out and laid it on the bed. In the box there was a piece of card covered in your mother's handwriting.

Happy birthday, Y/N

I'm sorry I cant be there, wear this tonight, for me.

Love, mum

You smiled sadly at the note and slipped the dress onto a hanger and into your closet.

The party was loud and full and boring. You sat, slumped in a corner next to Theo. Charles hopped from conversation to conversation lazily, always keeping an eye on you.

Every time a young man would walk over to you Charles' blood began to boil. Everytime someone asked you to dance or asked about your love life Charles nearly raged. But he kept it cool because he knew you were uninterested. And deep down he wished it was because of him.

A few boring hours passed and Theo turned to you with an excited look. He whispered in your ear and your face lit up, you nodded frantically and the two if you hurried towards the door.

Charles followed you out of the house, through the backdoor. He raced back inside and up the stairs to his bedroom, he gazed out the window, searching for you. You came into sight at the far end of the garden, by a little pond. Charles could hear your faint laughter. He rushed back down the stairs and through the garden. He slowed down as he neared the edge of the lake, half hiding behind some hedges. He arrived just in time to watch you and Theo jump into the lake, shrieking and laughing. Your dress was soaked, and Theo resurfaced to throw his sodden jacket on the grass.

The wet fabric of your dress weighed you down but you didn't care as you and Theo dived under the water once again. Reeds grew from the lakes floor. The lake wasn't really part of your garden, it wasn't part of anyone's garden. It was always busy during the summer as the surrounding houses brought their kids for a swim.

The moon was high in the sky and the evening air was cold. You could hear faint music and see distant lights from the party ongoing in the house. People would be leaving soon and you knew that. The sooner they left the better, you thought.

Charles finally left the protection of the hedge, calling out for you, feigning worry.

"Y/N?"

He heard you mutter a curse and hurry out of the water.

"Charles? What are you doing? You should be at the party," you muttered angrily, still dripping.

"so should you," he stated coolly, with a sly grin.

"what do you want?," you snapped, annoyed by the man.

"Nothing, I was just worried about you!" Charles mocked.

You rolled your eyes and dived back into the water. Charles called out for you as you disappeared under the dark surface. He stood on the edge of the grass, looking out over the glassy lake. Suddenly two hands emerged, grabbing onto him and tugging him into the black water.

It was cold and unexpected. He gasped and sputtered as he surface, you a few feet away from him, laughing loudly and uncontrollably. He glared angrily at you and you just swam away, still giggling.

Charles adored this new side of you. This playful, and free, and happy side of you. He longed to see it more often. Deep down, Charles hated himself for being soft and caring, but you seemed to bring out the best in him, for good or worse.

[raz-b-rose]

Hey so,, the Bible states that Eating burgers is a sin Women speaking in church is a sin Wearing blended fabric is a sin Eating SHRIMP is talked about more in the Bible as a sin than homisexuality is Women wearing pants is a sin Writing in your Bible or defacing it in any way is a sin Do some research on your own religion if you're going to preach it

Thank you for asking, I love this opportunity to help bring understanding to commands such as these. Thank you for your patience, lets get to it. 

I can understand the overwhelming presence that is Gods word. Its a big book full of a lot of things that take a lot of cross referencing on occasion. After all, it is just one continuous story of God who was and is and always will be. 

Warning, there's a lot.

Anyway there is a simple answer to all of those and it starts all the way back at Abraham. Some quick condensed history. God chose Abraham to establish the Hebrew/Jewish people. He faithfully followed Gods commands, and Isaac was born from his faithfulness and for Gods promise. A promise that Abraham’s offspring would cover the earth. 

Isaac then had Esau and Jacob. Jacob then had 12 sons, Joseph the youngest was used to bring the Israelite people to Egypt. Where the Egyptians turned them into slaves. 

Now enter Moses. God used this man to bring them out of Egypt and towards the promise land. This is where God starts to establish what would set his chosen people apart from the rest of the world. The old laws were there for their faithful obedience and for outsiders to know “thats an Israelite”. 

The entirety of the OT speaks of Gods character, plans for salvation, and absolute authority. The laws are a reflection of that as well. 

so now we have the group of laws God had Moses establish.

Now Jesus fulfilled the OT law. 

Matthew 5:17-20 (Jesus speaking)

17 “Do not think that I have come to abolish the Law or the Prophets; I have not come to abolish them but to fulfill them. 18 For truly, I say to you, until heaven and earth pass away, not an iota, not a dot, will pass from the Law until all is accomplished. 19 Therefore whoever relaxes one of the least of these commandments and teaches others to do the same will be called least vin the kingdom of heaven, but whoever does them and teaches them will be called great vin the kingdom of heaven. 20 For I tell you, unless your righteousness exceeds that of the scribes and Pharisees, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven.

Part of that fulfillment was the laws on food. Food was used to represent Holiness/ cleanliness. Everything about them had to be clean (their bodies, their homes, their sacrifices, etc.) Blemish free. 

The Pharisees had twisted the laws to become legalistic and strict. An example would be here

Mark 7:14-23 (Jesus speaking)

14 And he called the people to him again and said to them, “Hear me, all of you, and understand: 15 There is nothing outside a person that by going into him can defile him, but the things that come out of a person are what defile him.”[e]17 And when he had entered the house and left the people, his disciples asked him about the parable. 18 And he said to them, “Then are you also without understanding? Do you not see that whatever goes into a person from outside cannot defile him, 19 since it enters not his heart but his stomach, and is expelled?”[f] (Thus he declared all foods clean.) 20 And he said, “What comes out of a person is what defiles him. 21 For from within, out of the heart of man, come evil thoughts, sexual immorality, theft, murder, adultery, 22 coveting, wickedness, deceit, sensuality, envy, slander, pride, foolishness. 23 All these evil things come from within, and they defile a person.”

Food isn't what makes us unclean anymore, but rather the condition of our heart. 

There is also a lot of debate over Acts 10:9-16

But I believe this passage has a double meaning. God is reminding Peter that he does not need to be legalistic to be “clean” anymore. Therefore the laws for food were fulfilled. This is reflected in his interpretation of the vision in verses 27-29. 

Remember there was clean food and unclean food. Same for people. You weren't to associate with “unclean people”. Jesus fulfilled this law by opening the path to God to everyone, not just Jews. God gave the great commission to go out into all the world to everyone to preach the good news. This meant that anyone now had direct access to God, and the Jews no longer had to go through the extra steps to seek forgiveness. Salvation is within everyone's grasp, no matter what. 

The command for blended fabric fits with these as well. 

Deuteronomy 22:9-11

“You shall not sow your vine yard with two kinds of seed, lest the whole yield be forfeited, the crop that you have sown and the yield of the vineyard. You shall not plow with an ox and a donkey together. You shall not wear cloth of wool and linen mixed together. 

By reading this we see the pattern that God is commanding that things that are different should be kept separate. Again we need context of the time. 

Pagans in the area believed that by mixing things together they would achieve “magical” results. So God made this law to set them apart from them. He reaffirms this command, even going as far as to say not to let cattle bread with different cattle, in Leviticus 19:19. 

In todays context, what sets us apart from others is our internal change that is projected outward. We become lights for God, and show Him through our change. Of course none of us are perfect, and if we aren't careful it can quickly become fake and legalistic. 

We can wear blended fabric because Jesus fulfilled this law. 

Next keeping with our fabric theme, clothing. This verse comes from Deuteronomy as well, so I will just put the link for both here. 

Deuteronomy 22:5

 “A woman shall not wear a man’s clothing, nor shall a man put on a woman’s clothing; for whoever does these things is utterly repulsive to the Lord your God.”

Some pretty strong language right there, but it's important to acknowledge why. We are sinners. God set very clear laws on what was and wasn't allowed. Remember that was to set His people apart, and to test their faithfulness. 

Historically at the time men and women dressed very similarly. There were cultural ways used to discern between genders and that is what this verse is talking about here. Men did not wear pants when this law was written (at least not by the Jewish people) so why would it be a sin for women to wear pants today? It simply isn't. (Just because human men decided to use the bible to push their weird sexist agenda via mistranslation, does not mean this is what this verse intended.)

To apply it to a modern setting, it would be “why are you wearing what you are? How do you want people to perceive you? What is your heart behind wearing these clothes?”

So really this is another verse directly tied to transgendered identity sin, again a pagan tradition at the time. 

ALL SIN is repulsive to the Lord. (The Hebrew word used in this verse is found all throughout the OT, with various uses.) Yes God established the laws, but He also established the sacrificial system for His people as well. He loved them, loved us, and gave them a way to atone for their sins and find forgiveness from God. 

But the sacrifice of animals could only go so far. That is why Jesus came to be the final sacrifice. The Lamb of Salvation for us. He willingly gave His life for us, just as we can willingly continue to sin against Him, or willingly give our lives to Him. 

Jesus fulfilled the laws and abolished the need for the sacrificial system.  

OK this one has no verse in the bible that God commands us to not write in our bibles. None. Unless I’m just having trouble finding it, it's not a thing. 

The sin is changing the words, as some translations do so you have to be very careful about which ones you use. 

I got a book from the library years ago that was like a devotional for teen girls. In the book it had a verse from Psalms that sounded weird to me and when I compared the translation to my ESV, it had removed the part about God's faithfulness and love. Took it right out. That is a huge problem! 

I know that translating the Hebrew and Greek to English is very difficult, especially given how the Greek had multiple words for love alone, and many other words. However, the languages are not so vastly different that you make changes like that without a prideful agenda. Good translations that I use, ESV, NASB, AMP for study purposes. As well as NKJV if you like a classic. I’m constantly comparing translations, and looking at original texts to get a feeling for what words were used. 

I encourage you to note your bible. Mark what speaks to you, the blessings, the commands, the warnings. Every time God, Jesus, and the Holy Spirit are mentioned, where verses intersect. Note everything. 

For some of our brothers and sisters around the world they may only have a few pages to pass between each other, or are able to have His full word and treasure God's words dearly and keep everything they can close. They want to remember it all, and remember what they learn. And God wants that for us. 

No writing in your bible is not a sin. Changing the words or removing them is a sin. 

Ok now onto your “woman can’t speak in church” debate. 1 Corinthians 14. But because of everything I’m about to get into, this answer will be longer than the others. Feel free to stop here and come back. I know I’ve already written a lot.  

First we need to look at the history of the city of Corinth, as when Paul wrote his letters, each one was tailored to the church in question and addressed their strengths and weaknesses. 

The city of Corinth was a trade city set in a key location for sailors from all over the world. Its citizens were from all over the world, though mostly Roman, Greek, Jewish, and even a considerable amount of Italians. Because there was such a mix of cultures, there were a mix of religions. 

The largest of these being the worship of the false goddess aphrodite. Sexual actions were common with her “temple” and prostitution was a rampant issue with the city. We have two sins of sexual nature and idol worship already. Within the church itself there were reports of incest, infighting, and drunkenness during services being reported as well.

Acts 10:1-23 is Paul's first visit to Corinth where he helped found the church. A family close to Paul and in the Corinthian church wrote to Paul with their concerns for how the church was conducting themselves. The 1 Corinthians letter (book) was written in response. 

The church was a blend of Jews and Gentiles. So practices such as the aforementioned were common practice within the city and the Gentiles were at a loss for how to conduct themselves because these things were common during the worship of false gods. 

Becoming Christ-like is a beautifully long process. It's not over night, no matter how much we wish it was. These people were still human and loved Christ but still knew very little about Him, and God the Father. (even some of the Jews had a lot of misconceptions they had to change) 

So at the very beginning of his letter, Paul reminds them of their new identity. (1:1-9) and reaffirms their forgiveness through Gods grace and faithfulness to our salvation. Nothing we do after we accept His gift can revoke it. It is ours for all time for one time. 

Woman and men were traditionally seated separately in synagogues so it makes sense that practice was still used in some new churches, such as that of the Corinthians, as they did have Jewish members. 

He is calling out woman for calling to their husbands during sermons and being disruptive. Paul is asking that they save their question for after. He is also teaching woman new to these practices, gentiles, how to be respectfully in the church. 

Paul encouraged woman to pray and praise in the church, chapter 11. So it would be contradictory for Paul to then turn around and say “woman can’t speak in church” in chapter 14. 

To answer, yes woman can speak in church, but not teach to a body of men. Women can teach women, but women can’t teach men. God established a order of command. 

God

Jesus

Men

Woman

Children

Following this upward, everyone is under authority of the role’s above them. That is how God designed the family unit, and in turn the church. The church is the body of Christ, and each of us have a purpose within his body for it function. Woman have a time and place to teach, and lead, but not to men. 

I am only addressing the command pertaining to women at this time. I would love to do an in-depth look at all of 1 Corinthians, there is so much to it. Really, thank you for the opportunity to study these passages deeper, and teach them to you. I hope I did, I hope these make sense now. 

I do need to add. When comparing these commands to the command of homosexuality, its important to remember the context. Homosexuality is a sin because it goes against Gods very direct design for mankind, how the family unit functions in direct relation to the church. These other ones however were established for a period of time to set the people apart from outsiders, and do not go against His intended purpose for creation. That is a very big difference.

Feel free to ask anything else, I loved doing this. I will try to get something for all of 1 Corinthians out, but I have a full life at the moment, so it will probably take awhile.

Praying and God bless 

[imaginesbymk]

PINK + WHITE.

—chapter eight ; the flapper girl.

summary: teresa’s permanent resignation from the peaky blinders leads her to a whole new chapter of working in an art museum. but little did she know her best life would be butchered some time later when her former lover tommy shelby gives her no choice but to return to the peaky blinders after they make new enemies, with the leader, of all people, being the man teresa fell in love with one night after a wedding reception back in post world war; luca changretta.

pairing: luca changretta x OC x tommy shelby

tags in this chapter: swearing, drinking

[ chapter index / meet my oc / wattpad link ]

“TERESA, would it kill ya to quit staring at me? I'm tryna do my work here." He fumbles for the ballpoint pen that fell out of his shaky hand. Even when his eyes were down, he still felt hers following his every move when he picked up certain sheets, watching his lips curl when he read a sentence on a report from his father, or just overthinking if Teresa was judging his appearance. There's nothing on my chin, is there? Food in my teeth?

"Am I making the Italian mafioso Luca Changretta nervous?" Teresa leaned over the desk to trail her finger down Luca's chest where she could tease him by gripping the line of his blazer and rip the buttons off. "The same Italian mafioso that got some amateur in Los Angeles to beg on his knees?"

Luca didn't look up from his work. "He was trying to be sneaky and spent nearly a hundred dollars worth of gin for his mistress."

"Is that something you would do? Spend every dime to make his mistress happy?"

"I spend money on myself, to make myself look and feel good, some for business and for special occasions. But I also save," Luca glanced at her, mostly at her cleavage. "And you're not my mistress. I'm not even married. My mother wonders when I'm ever gonna tie the knot with a woman back home." Luca sighs and takes a break, resting his head for a moment. He grunts, rubbing his temple.

"Want me to take over?"

"No," Luca pulls her closer, using his other hand to set his folders to the side so carelessly. "Come here."

She obeys, allowing him to lift her up and carry her on top of his desk.

Luca kisses her. "Ciao, bella," he whispers to her. He kept going, making his way into the sensitive spot of Teresa's neck, his lips pressing against it so gently.

Teresa chuckles, feeling his hand run up her dress. "Who are you? Dracula?"

"Hm?"

"I mean you sort of look like him. You're about to drain the blood out of my neck, so you need me to be in the right position."

"Dracula draining the blood from a flapper girl, eh?"

The sounds of knocking on the heavy wooden doors made Teresa hop off the desk, thinking it was one of his men, or even his mother. She wouldn't contain the embarrassment of being affectionate and intimate with someone's son. It could possibly be the maids, but not the same ones from the hotel Luca stayed at. He fancied staying at a manor his father bought somewhere up north, his family members occupying the other rooms just a few ways down, but just spacious enough for everyone, even for a Welsh named Teresa.

Luca clears his throat and turns the knob. The servers come in with the trolley cart of a decanter and two glasses. "You ordered whiskey, Sir?"

The Italian watched the servers roll in the bar cart and nodded at him before shutting the door on their way out. "You like whiskey, amore?"

"Love all kinds of poison." Teresa walked over to the cart, picking up the vessel. She lifts the glass lid and brings it to her nose to let in a good smell. "Rich, like you."

Luca scoffs. "Yeah, if you drink out of that decanter, you'll become a part of us."

Teresa scoffs back.

"What? Teresa, becoming a soldier was like striking gold."

"I'd rather stay here and sit in the gardens, or walk around this palace wearing only my stockings."

Luca shrugged, imagining the erotic sight. It's happened before and he experienced it first-hand. "I bought you those stockings," he comments, staring down at her legs.

"I'll become a part of your family when the cows come home."

"Oh, come on! Don't gimme that. My family likes you."

"Seriously?" Teresa makes a face at him, and he responds by rolling his eyes.

"Okay, maybe it'll take some time."

"Your mother called me a brazen hussy the other day. Like what you said, she wants you to marry a woman in New York. She's mentioned a name, the woman is close with your family and she often visits at dinner parties? She came to the wedding." Teresa smirks. "She's Italian."

Luca grunts, knowing exactly who she was talking about. "Viviana."

"Signora Viviana must be the whole package."

"We consider her family, but I can't imagine marrying her," Luca shook his head, pouring himself a glass of the whiskey. "Matteo would be crushed."

Teresa was already ahead of him, nearly downing the whiskey, ready for a refill. She brings the glass to her lips, about to take in the last sip. "Do you want to get married?"

"Someday."

Teresa nodded.

"When we were at my cousin's wedding, as best man, I watched two people who were so in love exchange vows. I really felt the love my cousin had for his wife that day. And I know one day that'll happen to me. I'll marry the most beautiful bride who is my whole world. I'll be able to wake up next to her and remember how she likes her coffee in the morning."

"She'll be the luckiest wife."

"I'll treat her like a diamond."

"She'll come around. I'm sure she's somewhere out there, searching for you. Hell, she could be right on your bloody nose," Teresa jokes.

Well to be fair, the woman named Viviana was right on Luca's nose for quite some time. She shared her beautiful smile with the family, and Luca did admire her, respected her when she paid her contribution to the family. She could be waiting for him to return home as of right now, and throw her arms around the Italian so they could spend a night drinking champagne on a balcony.

Yet, Luca didn't set his lust and attention on Viviana. Not even at his cousin's wedding. Luca was picky when it came to his preferences with people, that's part of being a Changretta. But there was someone he wished his mother showed at least some respect to, a woman whose eyes light up like stars whenever Luca says her name...

Yeah, he answered to himself, watching Teresa refill her glass from the whiskey decanter. Maybe I already found her.

TERESA ran her fingers through her head, thinking about what she told Finn the other day that made the young boy rush back to Small Heath before she could settle down for her lunch break, taking her words with him. The blinds that gaped in between to let in the last bit of afternoon sun into the dark room of her office gave out the blonde locks she styled for yet another casual day. Simply walking down each corridor and back to the departments was a way to wastefully tear down the strands to her cheeks as she kept her head down so carelessly.

See what happens when you open your mouth, 'Resa? She sighs, knowing that revealing her past love to be the man that's after the Peaky Blinders would either cause high tides between her and them, or maybe even her and Luca himself, or maybe more pestering phone calls from Tommy.

Luca. He's a malicious man, she couldn't deny that. He would get his way without an issue, and if someone had to object about that, if someone were to challenge a man with such high power, would they live to tell about it? She would hate having the idea of handing the one thing she has all to herself to a man who would gladly have paintings hung in his gigantic home. The Changretta family distributes gin in and out of America with the exception of handling Alfie Solomons' rum, anyways, so why would he want to claim an art gallery all the way in Wales?

The thought of Luca threatening to put a bullet through hers or any one of her loved ones' heads sent a chill in her body. Would Luca ever do that to her? Would the Italian ever have the thought of harming someone he had a past relationship with? Would he regret it?

What was even left of Teresa's loved ones, anyhow? She wasn't as close to her team to consider them family. Perhaps one time she scolded the manager for not realizing one of their employees smoked a cigar when the gallery has a strict no smoking indoors rule, but she couldn't live with the thought of having them indirectly killed by the New York mafia. Come to think of it, she didn't have anyone, which is just as disheartening as having someone to protect. Maybe if she never got her brother killed that day—

She walks out after setting her teacup in the tiny space left open on her desk. Normally she would hear distant chatters from the tour guides speaking to the guests, or just guests speaking among each other, talking about whatever piece they lay their gaze on. But she frowned when she noticed how empty the gallery was, except for maybe five guests. Given that it's still hours in the early afternoon. Why wasn't it busy?

Teresa approaches two guides, asking the question that swirled her head. "Where is everyone?"

"I believe the gallery is in need of an upgrade." One of the tour guides spoke out, a bit of nervousness in their voice to speak up on feedback to the owner.

"Was deco not enough?"

"Most of it has already been seen, Miss."

The Welsh shook her head. "What does that even mean? The people wanted to see deco, we gave them deco. I provided rum to the guests on the grand re-opening, I made sure this place is clean and shiny from every inch of every corner. How could this place already be dead? At this hour?"

The tour guides slightly shook their heads, shrugging.

Teresa sighs. "Fine. Have any of you seen Mason?"

Mason Miller was hired on the spot when his well pressed suit and love for Rococo struck admiration for Teresa. She saw her younger self in him, almost like she was looking in the mirror of the past. Someone at a young age so passionate, she needed him as extra help.

"With all due respect, Miss Griffith, there hasn't been enough—I would say razzle-dazzle, to the place. We have a lot to catch up on, or guests will yawn and find themselves out the exit."

"Mason, this is a gallery, not a circus." Teresa scratches her neck. "It's been days since the opening. Our blood, sweat and tears shouldn't be a one time thing and dropped down to rubbish."

Her assistant shrugs. "Well, these days people don't wake up and think about visiting a gallery, y'know? You can find art deco everywhere you go; fancy dinner parties, manors. It inspires what we wear on occasions."

Teresa stares at her desk. "If Luca Changretta were to ever own this gallery, would he fix this problem? Make the place go fucking bankrupt?"

"I'm sorry, w-who? Luca Ch..." Mason asks, skimming through his clipboard of names he might have missed pinpointing and scheduling a meeting with.

Teresa looked at her assistant, realizing she spoke out her thoughts. "It's nothing. You're dismissed."

"Thank you." He smiles to himself as he bid an exit out of her office for Teresa to be back with her thoughts. Her jaw clenched. I will not let my team down, and I will not give my gallery to a mafioso.

"Actually, Mason?" the young lad stepped foot inside again, peering in with his full attention on one odd request. "Luca Changretta, that's his name. I'd like for you to find where he is at the moment and set up an invitation via letter. Let me know when he responds at your earliest convenience."

"Miss...?"

She didn't stop rationalizing it. She even settled for it faster than deciding not to ally with the Peaky Blinders. Mason Miller stared awkwardly at his boss as she set her focus back on her notepad laid on her desk. "I'd like to meet up with Luca Changretta."

+ enjoy my scene edit above! my peaky blinders editing account is @/fcknshelbys via ig.

[hecohansen31]

Reaching Ecstasy:

Art Teacher! Michael Langdon+Student! Reader.

(A/N): Hello there, lovelies!

I know that it has been quite some time since i last wrote these things, but I have been rather busy with life and other things and writing is kind of a rather busy thing for me, so I hope to be writing more once some things go off my schedule.

So, please forgive me, and I hope to be writing more during the holidays!

(Alongside trying to do a masterlist!).

This was an idea that I worked up after a few history of art lessons, about the sculptures of Bernini, which are absolutely beautiful, so do check them out!

With this being said, I hope you’ll enjoy this, andy! as always: if you want to be tagged in it, you just have to like the picture and it’ll be out on Sunday!

SUMMARY: When the times come for your interview with Mr. Langdon, your art teacher, you can’t help but be rather confused by his requests.

WORDS: 4,7 K

WARNINGS: Oral Sex (Female Receiving), Compromising Situation and Slight Dub-Con (Michael using his position of power over Reader, although she is consensual to the entire thing) (also Reader is absolutely legal, since she is 20, in this fic!), Blasphemous talk abotu Ecstasy.

The arrival of Mr. Langdon had brought some kind of change in the life of the students of Saint Therese, a private catholic boarding school, where troubled young ladies were sent so that they could be taught to be wives, able to properly satisfy their husbands.

The peculiar teacher wasn’t only a male, and attractive as sin, but he had rather interesting methods of teaching, constantly pushing boundaries and trying out new teaching techniques, which resulted in a major interest in his subject history of art from his students.

But what was the strangest thing about him was his way to examine student’s knowledge of his subject since he didn’t ask questions about it in class, in front of many people, but he asked the students to meet him in his office for a private interview.

At first it had seemed dauntingly terrifying and everyone thought he hid more, than just a simple interview about Picasso, Rubens or Giotto.

But once Coco had tried to “seduce” him, which resulted in her getting a complain on her behavior and failing the class, something for which she still complained with her ‘Marie Antoinette attitude’, meanwhile you just rolled your eyes at her stupidity.

Although Mr. Langdon asked each interview to remain private between him and the student for the student’s privacy, some of your fellow students had revealed you some details, mostly because you were extremely anxious about the exam.

History of art was one of your favorite subjects at the boarding school and you were fascinated by Mr. Langdon’s ingenious lessons (although all the girls would joke about him being a male version of “Mona Lisa Smile”), so you didn’t want to fail it.

And from what you had gathered from your friends, Mr. Langdon wasn’t only interested in your knowledge of his subject, but he was also questioning you about your most inner soul.

But deep down nobody had wanted to reveal you some of the questions.

“They are private, (Y/N)” had mumbled Mallory, looking at you as if she had been burned by fire “… I am sorry but I think that it isn’t something that I can tell you, but believe me, nothing will ever make you feel ready enough for what it is to come”.

So, you weren’t truly calm when you walked in Mr. Langdon’s office, escorted by than governess Mrs. Venable, who liked Mr. Langdon less than anybody else did, since according to her, and from what Madison had referred to you, after an accurate mission of spying on the strict governess, ‘he was the portrait of any debauchery and sin’.

She was probably bitter, because he didn’t believe in her mindless rules, alongside acting like he owned the place, stealing everything she had built with her steady and merciless hand.

“Mrs. (L/N), remember to answer Mr. Langdon truthfully” she mumbled as she left you on the threshold of the closed studio, where the art story teacher interviewed his subjects “… good luck”.

You just bowed your head in submission, before you approached to knock onto the door, being immediately welcomed by Mr. Langon’s dark and hoarse voice, as he adjusted himself behind his desk, where various drawing stood, alongside many more books, which laid open.

The scarce light gave the office some kind of gloomy atmosphere and this didn’t ease the anxiety you felt churning in your stomach, desperately wanting to call for Mrs. Venable, but as you set your feet over the threshold Mr. Langdon’s eyes were onto you, staring at you predatorily.

“Mrs. (Y/N) such an honor to finally meet you” he mumbled, inviting you with an elegant gesture of his hand, ordering you to come forward and sit, in front of him, to which you obeyed quickly.

Unlike many of your fellow students, you didn’t have any behavioral trauma or problem, you were more a shy child your parents had no use of in their travels.

‘Why can’t you just smile more?’.

‘Why can’t you have friends?’.

‘Why can’t you just be more like us?’.

You had no clue why you were so closed off, sensitive and gentle, anything your parents didn’t approve of, since they were socialite of the highest steps of the celebrity ladder: you were an ashamed dot on their immaculate records.

Hence, they had thought that the private boarding school could hide you well enough and maybe had they remembered about you they would have some day come to take you back.

You didn’t hate the boarding school, as many of your fellow students did: it gave you a chance to appreciate your usual calm style of life, which you loved with all your shy heart, but still…

… in some moments you wondered whether you were losing something of the outside world.

Maybe it was men like Michael Langdon that made you blush just as they looked at you.

You took a seat, in front of him, focusing your attention on the conjoined hands in your lap, although Mr. Langdon’s gaze stayed on you, in an heavy velvety caress that got you to tremble lightly, meanwhile a thrill of an unknown emotion moved down your spine.

“… you are rather interested in my subject” a quick nod was all you were able to reply “…although you don’t intervene often, I see that you listed in your future work options of wanting to to take a job in the art sector”.

Although it wasn’t an inquiry you knew he was expecting an answer.

“… I would love to work in a gallery or with children, teaching, although it can be difficult sometimes”.

“I can absolutely agree with that” his tone was almost heartfelt and it eased you on a more comfortable note, with you straightening your stance onto the chair, although your eyes were still linked to your hands “… have you ever visited any art gallery or museum?”.

“Oh, I have been in Italy for a whole month, meanwhile my parents were on a tour” you replied immediately, excited that now you knew somebody who would appreciate the same delicacies as you.

“Are they musicians?” you were sure that the answer could be found not only in the latest tabloids but also in your file so the fact that Mr. Langdon was ignorant on the matter surprised you.

Positively.

“Actors, they are mostly performing in theater, lately” you explained, thinking about the Italian tour you had gone on, barely sixteen and meanwhile your parents slept off their hangover you visited many beautiful cities, recognizing some of them in Langdon’s drawing.

“Acting: when life imitates art” he mumbled, his tone lightly sarcastic and you couldn’t stop a little giggle to leave your lips “… but I am glad to know that I am not talking only with lost causes: people like you make teaching worth it”.

Although they were compliments, there was some darker tone in Mr. Langdon’s words, seducing and hypnotizing, which got you to finally raise your head and meet his cerulean eyes, a mix of beautiful blue was tinted with the shades of grey, mostly for the influence of the dark room.

His blonde curls were elegantly styled as a veil of gold, soft at the sole sight and you wondered whether he had simply woken up like this or took care of it, and you thought what it would feel to card an hand through it and pull it, meanwhile you straightened it, entwining it through your fingers.

All these thoughts made you unfocused and when you realized that Michael Langdon had caught you in your fantasy you blushed immediately softly retiring again your gaze onto your hands.

And you felt Mr. Langdon’s smug look on you, as if his plan was working.

“Then I hope you visited Rome, and Galleria Borghese” you nodded immediately, remembering walking the beautiful mansion in the middle of the chaotic Rome, just to be welcomed with your own retire from the chaotic city life, in a peace of the senses that had brought you to lose yourself.

Mr. Langdon fidgeted with some drawings, before he moved to you a polaroid with the beautiful “Apollo and Dafne” statue by Gian Lorenzo Bernini.

The two statues entwined in a fatal embrace that had doomed Dafne in becoming Apollo’s favorite plant.

“Then you won’t mind telling me what this is” and you immediately replied with the most classical of answers, explaining the dates and the commission behind the sculpture, before moving onto an explanation of what this statue stood for.

You gaze was linked to the photo, but you felt Mr. Langdon’s heavy eyes on you.

“… can you also tell me the reason behind the inscription on the base of the statue” he stopped you halfway your mumblings to point to the basement, where a Latin phrase was written.

“It’s a warning against the temptations of lust” you immediately replied, moving your eyes onto Mr. Langdon’s face, since it wasn’t something you had talked in class: you could barely mumble something about ‘lust’ or ‘temptation’ without having to explain the meaning of it to Mrs. Venable.

“… oh, truly delightful” praised you Mr. Langdon, making you blush, but you withheld his stare, proud of your answer “… do you think that lust is bad, Mrs. (L/N)?”.

You couldn’t help but blush, because since you had isolated yourself from your fellow peers, you had never experienced lust to the point that you had thought it wasn’t in your destiny.

But there was something downright sinful, that made you feel lust, indeed, towards Mr. Langdon.

You weren’t the first one to fall to his charms, hence the reason why you tried desperately to be so in control with him.

“…I do think that it depends” you mumbled, meanwhile Mr. Langdon shifted his head onto an hand, looking at you closer, making you feel even more intimidated, although his eyes showed a true light of interest, as if he valued your opinion “Measure is something important in each thing: Lucretius would condemn lust, alongside Virgil… the impossibility to fulfill desire is something that damns Dido, but…”.

“But?” he was literally pending onto your lips, wondering what would be coming next and you couldn’t help but be beyond proud of that effect, straightening your position on the chair.

“… but is life worth without pleasure? Passion can be devastating, but Lord Tennison doesn’t say 'tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all’, doesn’t Ovid find damnation and his greatest glory in love?”.

“A true classicist, Mrs. (L/N)” commented Michael, softly, his eyes caressing you and his interest sparking up “… but we are making all this pagan talk … when Bernini was a loyal collaborator of the Catholic Church, such as in this work of his”.

And then “Saint Theresa” was shown to you, the beauty of the form intensified by the marble chosen and the décor around the entire chapel, where the Cornaro family watched the miracle happening in the center of it.

After a brief description of the chapel, you moved onto explaining Saint Theresa’s legend: she had been documenting this in her diaries, talking about how she had been transfixed in the chest by an arrow, shot by an angel, like drawn and sculpted in the complex statue.

And this brought the saint to prove what was described in the Sant Scriptures as “ecstasy”.

“Ecstasy could be described in a more earthly way as…” and you tried to calm down, smothering the blush that was fighting to show up on your face “… an orgasm, since Bernini used the depiction of sexual ecstasy, which gained quite a few times some rather problematic critics and accuseo f being blasphemous, mostly because we are in the Counterreformation era…”.

You tried to shove off your uneasiness trying to cover the embarrassment with overtalking, which was something you always did and would function most of the time…

… but not with Mr. Langdon.

“… Mrs. (L/N) there is no need to be shy, I am not Mrs. Venable” he laughed, sending you a very pointed look, before he smirked “… Bernini does indeed have an… ambiguity to his sculptures, which I honestly find like it’s one of the most interesting about his style, don’t you think?”.

You were all red in the face, you could totally feel it, immediately reaching out to gently pull up your sleeves and pushing the collar of your modest uniform, a simple plain shirt under a black overalls, with a skirt instead of pants, which covered both your chest and your legs, since the skirt was over the knee.

The only tempting exception to the rules was the stockings, rigorously black but slightly sheer.

“… I found it…” you tried to take some time ignoring the question and looking around Mr. Langdon’s desk, more to fake some kind of delirious confusion than to actually hide your gaze “… interesting”.

“Certainly, a girl who can speak about Bernini and Tennyson and Lucretius can surely use some better term than simply ‘interesting’ “ the arrogant way with which he spoke got something to act up in you and suddenly you lost any pretense of embarrassment.

“… of course, I can! And I find Bernini extremely interesting because of his beautiful depiction of ethereal beauty, mixed and stained with some human pleasures, hence the depiction of such pleasures in his statues”.

You hadn’t looked even in the slightest at Michael for the entire time of the discourse as you met his gaze knowing perfectly that you had gone over your role as a student, probably disrespecting him in some way.

But Mr. Langdon was simply looking at you as if he had the “Saint Theresa” of Bernini shown in front of him, and you just took a deep breath trying to recompose yourself, and as your hands retreated from Mr. Langdon’s desk, but he quickly reached out for them, holding them in an extremely tight grip as you reached out to look in his eyes.

“Truly wonderful, Mrs. (L/N)” he mumbled, looking at you completely absorbed in your eyes, before he left your hands and your gaze, making you almost stumble on the desk lowering yourself on it and almost falling ungracefully on your elbows, as he moved to retrieve something.

What he tried to find, meanwhile you wondered whether what had just happened was just your imagination acting up or had truly happened, was the little block of paper where he teachers wrote their grade of the students, which would be given to Mrs. Venable and added to the other grade for the final exam.

He then moved it to you, offering it to your eyes and although the grade was definitely impressive you couldn’t help but gawk at it.

“Something is wrong, Mrs. (L/N)?” he asked, meanwhile you scrunched your nose, and although anything screamed in your body to just shut up, you were unable to obey it and muttered, without even thinking.

“I think that I deserve more than the grade you have me, sir”.

He smirked, meanwhile realization slowly came over to you about what you had just said.

“Well, well” he commented, slowly pushing himself in a more relaxed position in his chair, his legs crossing over and his ankle touching perfectly his knee “… I gotta admit that I love a girl who is ambitious”.

Again, your mouth spoke again, and you were unable to withhold your words.

“I am not ambitious. I know what I deserve and won’t settle for anything else”.

After your little discourse Mr. Langdon was definitely intrigued, amusement and something darker shining in his eyes.

“And to think that you appear like such a shy and meek girl” he mumbled, his lips following perfectly each word in a sensual dance, that ignited your cheeks, but you didn’t back down, standing to your phrase “… the little mouse has the personality of a fierce lioness, I gotta admit that I like that about you, Mrs. (L/N), almost as much as I love that pretense of innocence you hid behind…”.

“I don’t know what you mean” you muttered, finally your embarrassment setting up, in your guts, although nothing in you wanted to stay and be lost in those provocative eyes.

“Exactly, you act like this pure sweet girl, shy and scared by anything, when in reality you don’t want nothing more than a proper competition, somebody who understand what you think and will challenge… you want to roar and somebody who will answer”.

You couldn’t help but agree with the entire thing, although you were too ashamed to admit it.

For all your life people had tried to change you to shape you in their prospective, but nobody had ever tried to lower themselves to your level and understand you.

Give you a proper challenge that would burn out the rest.

Except Mr. Langdon.

“It is true, you, Mrs. (L/N), deserve definitely something more, more than this boarding school, more than feeling like you mean nothing and that you count less than that” his hand again shot out and this time it caressed your arms, naked due to the fabric that had ridden up, meanwhile you attempted to relax and cool your body temperature “… but you are the one who stuck yourself in this position, hence you are the only one who can help yourself out”.

“But I don’t know how” the entire discourse spoke to you in a soulful way that you couldn’t help but answer with your deepest soul exposed.

“… ecstasy is the freest of the expressions of glory” you didn’t follow Mr. Langdon’s discourse, what “ecstasy” had to do with you, but still with the way he was gently caressing you and the way his tone had become so serious “… in ecstasy saints and martyrs discover the deepest of secrets, and you, my dear, little mouse, should do the same”.

Breath was taken from your lungs and your answer took a few minutes.

“How can I experience ecstasy?! I am not even a believer!” desperation shone in your tone, since as you had been put in front of your sadness, your existence explained and reduced to nothing more than a cliché, you felt nothing more than an emptiness that threated to consume you.

“What is truly ecstasy, if we cut off the entire religious part?” his hand moved in elegant gesture, completely hypnotizing your face “… it isn’t nothing more than when you feel the freest, Mrs. (L/N): sex shows us the most vulnerable side of us”.

Your cheeks were definitely on fire and you immediately raised from the chair, some part of you indignant to his indecent proposal, and some other…

… desperately wanted to follow on.

“This is abuse of your power!” you screamed and grabbed the first drawings that you found on his desk and threw them in his face, but he didn’t have any reactions, instead remaining perfectly icy and glacial, and before you knew it, the part of you that was aroused by his suggestion made wet heat recoil in your nest, the one between your legs.

“Then run away, Mrs. (L/N)” he was extremely serious “… you can tell it to Mrs. Venable, give her a reason to throw me away, please…”.

But you didn’t move, you didn’t run away and you didn’t say anything to Mrs. Venable instead shooting a quick look at the door to find that it was closed perfectly.

“… or stay here, be my guest and found out how much better life can be” his voice was an erotic whisper and you were sure it was meant simply for your ears “… it can be strangely freeing to let our darkest desire finally get the best of us, after we oppressed them for so long”.

You didn’t know if it was the fact that Mr. Langdon had chosen you, beside your schoolmates, prettier and more interesting than you or his discourse, but something had started being ignited in your chest and suddenly you were just unable to stop the fire from spreading.

And soon you were onto the desk, leaning down to kiss Mr. Langdon, you, who was barely able to have a normal talk with people, doing the first move, which was gently welcomed with a sweet answer of Mr. Langdon’s lips, pressing against yours with an emphasis that brought down any resistance you had.

You broke apart just for air, and when you did, although Michael was hiding everything in his gaze you caught a bit of surprise as if he hadn’t expected you to act up on your desire.

And soon his mouth, barely away from yours, was turned in a smirk.

“… you are a delight, Mrs. (L/N)”.

“(Y/N)” you mumbled shyly, before hiding your gaze “… you might as well as call me by my first name since you seem to know everything about me”.

“Then I insist you call me Michael” he grabbed your chin to push you to meet his tantalizing beautiful eyes “… you taste so much sweeter, than I thought”.

“You have thought about this?” you asked, surprised, enough for Michael to push you back in your chair, with a light push, meanwhile he raised from the chair, effectively towering over you.

“Oh you have no idea how much the thought of you crosses my mind” you blushed, immediately at his meaningful words, pushing yourself further in your seat, meanwhile he came around the desk to effectively tower over you, making you shiver in your sit “… the only girl with a mind that is capable to attract me”.

You blushed, feeling yourself unable to stop a giggle from coming to life in your stomach, meanwhile Mr. Langdon… Michael was in front of you.

“Twice as beautiful as a Raphael’s painting…” he continued, meanwhile he gently lowered till he was between your legs and you couldn’t help but blush, knowing what would come next.

Had your stack of erotica spoken the truth.

“… and if you taste sweet from your mouth, I wonder what you’ll taste like down there” and before you knew it, your stockings were pushed down on your legs and discarded without minding them any interest, he then raise dlightly your long skirt, making you blush and attempt to close them “… don’t deny my little piece of heaven, little Theresa”.

The words made a thrill go down your spine and suddenly your legs, slowly opened revealing your simple green panties, nothing too much, simple cotton since it did the job pretty well, and didn’t irritate you, but also didn’t hide your arousal very well.

And you were suddenly conscious that Michael knew about it all too well, as his eyes reflected lust and satisfaction.

“I could smell you perfectly as you walked in here, you were scared, but wanted more…” his hands come up slowly to your thighs, effectively caressing the tender skin of the inner part, just a few millimeters from your nest, perfectly hidden by soaked panties, shining in the dim light of office “… and then you started talking about ecstasy and passion flowed in you, you are a fucking masterpiece”.

And his hands finally came up to your panties and pressed down onto your puffy folds, excitation having pushed them to swollen lightly and you were unable to stop a moan from leaving your mouth, but luckily you caught yourself, biting your lips to suppress the sound.

And Michael smirked at that, before his fingers traced a little line between your fold, teasing you further, before they came to a halt right on your clit, and there his touch becoming even more featherlight.

He looked at you in the eyes, after that, and your cheeks were again moderately red, this time due to arousal and not embarrassment.

This was definitely freeing.

He smirked knowing exactly how you were feeling, meanwhile his hand moved down your thighs pushing lightly in them and you were sure that marks would be in there, although the pressure helped you focus on an earthlier level..

“… doesn’t it feel good?” he muttered, meanwhile you breathed down, heavily “… doesn’t it feel right?”.

You were just able to nod, begging for more and Michael didn’t hesitate to give you more, again caressing you with the back of his hand, before he pushed your panties to the side, with such ferocity that you couldn’t help but blush, and hide your face in your hands.

You were vulnerable and open for him, your arousal evident and you couldn’t help but feel self-conscious for a single moment, before Michael’s tongue came down between your folds tracing the same line he had touched with his hands, and if you had been left breathless by his hands-

His tongue caught all your breath and you held it in your lungs.

Surprise coursed through you and a tremble went through your body.

“So responsive” he mumbled, truly amazed by your reactions and suddenly shyness started disappearing in your soul, solely focusing on your pleasure “… my little girl”.

And he pushed himself further in you, his tongue finding your clit and his lips attaching on it, sucking it, till he got enough and moved to collect the wetness you held between your thighs, your juices glowing on his face.

And then his tongue parted your folds, penetrating you in the deepest and most secret part.

You were past the point of no return.

You didn’t know what was going on through your body, only pleasure coursed through you and before you knew it, you were lost in your own personal ecstasy, with Michael’s expert mouth, pushing his tongue in you, teasing your little pearl with slow strokes and then fucking you with his tongue, in fast thrusts, knowing exactly what to do to make you crazy.

“… I am close” you mumbled, not knowing why you felt the need to make Michael’s attention fall on you, as he raised his head to finally meet your eyes and the sight was so intensely erotic, that you felt even more arousal flood in your center “… fuck, this is just… I don’t know if I can…”.

Michael looked like an angel, with his long blonde hair, perfectly styled and before he even knew it you tangled your hands in them, pulling them till his mouth came to the point where you wanted and he smirked, against your pearl, gently biting it, a little pain that brought you back to reality.

But then the real fun began because Michael intensified his moves till he brought you over the edge again, helping himself with his fingers, after he eased one in you, a sudden penetration which had been strange for a few minutes before Michael crooked his finger gently in you, hitting that perfect spot and making you almost fall from your chair.

From that moment on Michael held a hand against your waist, to restrain you from buckling up against his face and his fingers, gently easing pleasure in you.

And this was enough for you.

Your ecstasy came onto you not like some kind of stabbing or poking made by an angel (although you had to admit that you heard some kind of angelic choir) but in waves of pleasure, and with Michael’s teasing smile, suckling lightly on your clit.

Your breath became shallow and your fingers dug in the chair, meanwhile you tried to push yourself through it, feeling the pleasure take over and never wanting to leave this kind of sensation.

When you came down, after Michael let you ride the waves of your orgasm with the gentle help of his finger since his tongue was too rough for your oversensitive folds, gently ushering you in your afterglow and when you were able to breath down without feeling like each breath lasted for ever…

… you saw the expression on Michael’s face.

Shame came to your mind first, at the knowledge that you had just done ‘that’ with your teacher, but he looked at you as if he had the true “Saint Theresa”, sculpted by Bernini in front of him.

“… I am…” you tried to apologize, quickly closing your legs, ashamed by how free you had let yourself be.

It was true you had left yourself be too free with him, and you weren’t sure if you could go back to how you had been before.

“… you are beautiful, little girl” he smirked, and laid a soft kiss on your inner thigh “… my own little private Saint Theresa in ecstasy”.

---

So as always: any kind of feedback is welcomed, as long as it is nice and well-behaved!

And here are to some lovelies who wanted to be tagged!

@so-langdon​​ @blakewaterxx​​ @1-800-bitchcraft​​ @rocketgirl2410​​ @lovelylangdonx​​ @dyns33​​ @lathraios​​ @rosegoldrichie​​ @im-the-music-whore​​  @misfitgirlwrites​​ @orendamill​​ @loveableasshole​​ @ awblessme @forgivemelucifer​​ @antichristfern​​ @hornyhetero​​ @weehawkendawngunsdrawnyouron​​ @ohlookheather​​ @ kanikatalwar07 @atomicsimblr​​ @ yourosesyourshirt @ maskedrawing @ahsteriawrites​​ @ azula-stark @cinefine​​ @ babynarwhal05 @langdonsvcrd​​ @wickedlangdon​​ @cherry-blood666​​ @ ferrarileclerc96  @luyism​​ @sona-blues​ @alyssa23145678910​ @ lsutgurxb @lightroo​ @emilys-username0​ @ jassiepoohbear @ kaccatus @nightsblackroses​ @ unpredictabledinosaur @multimxker13​ @psychowriter2702​ @chogiwait-world​  

[badwolfwrites-sometimes]

Drawn Together: Chapter 18

This baby is 1 year old today... I feel old

https://archiveofourown.org/works/18923374/chapters/58649161

"Nonno, please!" Feliciano begged for what felt like a thousandth time that day. Ever since he learned about his grandpa's trip to Germany, he has been dead set on joining him. "Please, you know how much I want to see Germany."

Grandpa Rome resisted. He had no idea how long he would be staying in Germany in the first place, not wanting Feliciano to be away from his brothers for a long time. Plus, he had no idea if his company would even allow Feliciano to come with him. That's just extra money for hotel and food they have to give. "No, Feliciano. Plain visiting Germany isn't a good enough reason for you to come with me."

"But you can say I'm your unpaid intern and it would be a good opportunity for me." Feliciano argued. "Please let me come, Nonno."

"We'll talk later." Was the response Grandpa Rome gave him every time. Usually that later lasted about two minutes.

Feliciano sighed, deciding that this was all he was going to keep getting no matter how much he tried. He walked over to the couch where his brother and Antonio were watching TV. Antonio held back the giggle at Feliciano's dejected face. "No luck?" He asked.

Grabbing the nearest pillow, Feliciano shoved his face into it, murmuring something Antonio didn't quite understand. "Sorry?" Feliciano removed the pillow just enough for Antonio to be able to understand him properly. "I want to see Ludwig." He repeated.

Lovino rolled his eyes. "Maybe that's for the best. Usually when people who met online meet in real life, it's a disaster. He might rob you and-" A pillow flew into Lovino's face. Feliciano's eyes looked unusually on edge lately, even more whenever Lovino badmouthed his friend. This, however, didn't stop Lovino. "If it's war you want, war you'll get." He threw the pillow back at Feliciano before jumping on him.

Antonio had made a quick escape from the battle of pillows and wrestling. A battle to the last feather, to the last standing hair on their heads, to the last inch of skin left without a bruise, to-

"I'm going out!" Someone spoke, interrupting their fight. Both Feliciano and Lovino stopped fighting in order to shoot deadly stares into the one who dared delay their match. It was only Romeo. And Lovino thought it was something important. He was dressed up unusually nice, though.

"Where are you going?" Antonio beat both of the boys to the question on their minds.

"Marie is giving me math instructions." Romeo simply said, making his way to the door, only to be stopped by Grandpa Rome.

"Marie? Who is that?" Grandpa Rome asked, a teasing smile framing his face. "Does little Romeo have a girlfriend? Your very own little Juliet?"

Romeo rolled his eyes, palms growing sweaty. "She's my friend and she's very impatient so I really need to go."

"Tell Marie I said hi!" Feliciano yelled from the couch where he was still trapped by Lovino.

"Will do." Romeo answered back.

"Yes, tell your girlfriend we all said hi." Grandpa Rome laughed as Romeo exited the house, shaking his head at his weird family.

"Who even is this Marie?" Lovino asked.

"His girlfriend obviously." Grandpa Rome answered.

"Young love... That's so nice." Antonio sighed.

"We're in love too, idiot." Lovino remarked.

"Sorry."

"She's not his girlfriend. He has known her about as long as I know Ludwig." Feliciano chimed in, surprising everyone.

"You know her?" Lovino asked.

"Who is Ludwig?" Grandpa Rome asked.

"Feli, are you okay down there?" Antonio, the sensible one, asked.

"Peachy." Feliciano answered as Lovino finally stepped off from him so he could get comfortable on the couch. When everything was finally settled, they all gathered around him, Feliciano asked. "If I tell you what I know about her, will you let me come to Germany with you, Nonno?"

Whines and sighs came clashing together at Feliciano who smirked at his brain being a genius once in a while. He awaited his answer, unwilling to share his knowledge unless he got an approval.

"Feli, that's blackmailing." Antonio chimed in first.

"Really? This again? You horrible-" Lovino started.

"You're really dead set on going to Germany?" Grandpa Rome complained, interrupting Lovino before his swearing fuse could be set on fire.

As this kind of conversation went back and forth, Feliciano kept quiet while laughing on the inside. His family had a thing regarding curiosity for centuries, passing it from generation to generation, they just needed to know everything they were interested in at the moment. "Yes, yes, yes, unless you agree to let me come, I'm not saying anything." Feliciano finally spoke.

All eyes were dead set on Grandpa Rome, watching his every movement. Antonio was practically begging him with his eyes to agree to take Feliciano if it meant he would spill the beans. Lovino, on the other hand, was still as opposed to Feliciano going as he had been before, something he made vocally clear to his grandpa. Feliciano endured the insults, waiting patiently for his answer. All that pressure and curiosity was bad for Grandpa Rome's health. "Fine. I'll talk to the company, but will you please tell us."

Feliciano beamed with joy. Grandpa Rome's company wasn't all that strict when it came to family members tagging along. He knew because he witnessed it himself, a lot of workers had troubles separating from their families. Excitement filled his body, enough for him to ignore Lovino's complaints. He wanted to tell Ludwig about this so badly, but first, he had to complete his promise.

"Now will you tell us?" Antonio asked, growing impatient.

"I will, I will. Wait." Feliciano said, pointing at Lovino who was still ranting furiously. Antonio silenced him with a pat on the shoulder, taking his hand to hold until Lovino was completely calm.

Feliciano could now begin. "Her name is Anne Marie. He met her at the library one day after lessons. She studies math and is really smart. She's not Italian, but she came to study here because she didn't really fit in with the French girls. She's from Monaco, I think, and she's older than Romeo. I think he said she was around my age and she's also really pretty. I might have a picture..." Feliciano paused, quickly searching through his phone for a short while before giving up. Not a word was spoken during the entire time. "I can't find it now, but Romeo might show it to you when he comes back. They hang around a lot because she explains math to him and he teaches her chemistry. That's all I know."

Pause. Everyone took a bit of time to process everything Feliciano said. "So, she's not his girlfriend, but they hang out a lot? Sounds to me like they are im denial." Grandpa Rome spoke first, but before Feliciano could repeat once again that his brother wasn't dating his friend, he was shut down by Lovino and Antonio.

"Obviously. Unless Midget is gay as well." Lovino said.

"That's a rude nickname, Lovi. I think it's sweet that he has a friend who helps him out, but if they were dating she could help him out even more." Antonio chimed in.

"Like I said-" Feliciano tried once again, but in vain.

"Our little Romeo is growing up. Soon, he'll be married with kids and maybe that would get his head out of that science thing he has." Grandpa Rome looked ready to cry.

Feliciano noticed that any more attempts to clear the misunderstanding up would fail, so he texted Romeo what happened.

♡~Feli~♡: Sorry i told them about marie ♡~Feli~♡: On the plus side ill maybe go to germany!!!!! ♡~Feli~♡: Ill bring you presents as an apology and tell her i said hi

Romeo's reply came in rather quickly, letting Feliciano know that Romeo was still on his way to meet her.

☆MeoMeo☆: Dont worry bout it ☆MeoMeo☆: But do bring me presents

Feliciano laughed, the conversation about Romeo's life still ongoing. A perfect opportunity for Feliciano to slip back quietly to his-

"Oh yeah Feli, you mentioned some guy Louis, I think. Who is he?" Grandpa Rome remembered, catching Feliciano in his attempt to sneak out of the living room.

"Ludwig, actually. He's..." Feliciano trailed off, he hoped this question wouldn't pop out before they were on their way to Germany. Or at least, before he told Ludwig there was a chance he would come visit him. "My friend."

"Oh? Alright then. How did you meet?" Grandpa Rome asked.

"Internet." Before Feliciano could answer, Lovino interrupted him. Feliciano just gave him the stare, nobody in this family was going to let him speak normally today.

"Feli, we talked about strangers on the internet. You can't trust him." Grandpa Rome stared at him concerned, so much that Feliciano wanted to scream and tell them all about how kind Ludwig actually is. He kept quiet, fighting was always useless.

"He's not a stranger, Nonno. He's my friend's relative and a good person." He simply said, hoping his grandpa would understand and not press the issue anymore.

"Feli, I'm not having this conversation. I want you to stop talking to whoever that Louis guy is."

"Ludwig."

"Doesn't matter." Grandpa Rome raised his voice, something so rare Feliciano felt his knees weaken. "He could be a murderer and I don't want to have to bury you so young. Stop talking to him immediately."

For a moment there was heavy silence. Neither Feliciano nor Grandpa Rome spoke, leaving Antonio and Lovino just standing there awkwardly. Lovino almost regretted not keeping his mouth shut, seeing as Feliciano looked about ready to cry. 'It's for his own good,' was what he told himself.

Sucking back the tears, Feliciano nodded. "I'll be drawing in my room, call me when dinner is ready." And he retreated to the one safe place for him in the house, limping his way to it until his bed was before him. Grabbing Silence in Venice, he collapsed face down on the bed, seeing wet stars.

The buzz of Feliciano's phone woke him up. He had no memory of falling asleep, at least not while holding his favorite book, but as he saw the texter's name, everything came to him. Unlocking his phone, he was greeted with over 50 messages all from Ludwig.

Ludwig: So about that challenge Ludwig: I don't really know how to draw dogs well but they were acting cute today and so I hope you don't mind that instead of a drawing you got a picture

*Ludwig has sent 20 pictures*

Ludwig: I guess that is a bit too much

Feliciano kept scrolling and reading Ludwig's messages. Most of them were long ones detailing the entire day of his pets' life, but then they begun getting weird.

Ludwig: So i think about pigeons a lot Ludwig: They are really cool you knkw Ludwig: And like what if i was a pigeon you know what id do Ludwig: Id take my body trash out on every persons head Ludwig: Doesnt that sound super cool

These were the most recent ones and Feliciano suspected Ludwig probably got really drunk when he texted him those, although that didn't make much sense because it was barely 6 p.m. Nevertheless, as weird for Ludwig as they were, they made Feliciano smile.

♡~Feli~♡: Are you okay Ludwig

Ludwig: Ludwig Ludwig: Im not ludwig Ludwig: Im the great pigeon man the awesomest of all

Well, that was strange. Ludwig wasn't the type to use the word 'awesomest.' If anything, he usually complained about that word because his brother-

Feliciano realized what was going on here.

♡~Feli~♡: Gil is that you

Ludwig: You bet i am im gil the pigeon

♡~Feli~♡: Okay gil pigeon would you be a nice pigeon and give your brother pigeon his phone back

Ludwig: But we re having such a nice pigeon conversation  Ludwig: He would ruin our pigeon time

♡~Feli~♡: I would rather text you from your own pigeon phone thats why

Ludwig: Oh why didnt pigeon you pigeon say so

♡~Feli~♡: Thats a lot of pigeons

Ludwig: Sure is Ludwig: I cant find my pigeon brother he probably got pigeon lost pigeon watching Ludwig: I want him to find a noce pigeon to take caer of him while i go on pigeon adventures

♡~Feli~♡: Thats really sweet of you pigeon gil

Ludwig: It sure is Ludwig: I found him hes pigeon asleep

♡~Feli~♡: Oh alright ♡~Feli~♡: Thank you pigeon gil

Ludwig: I woke him up and hes pigeon mad at me Ludwig: Goodbye my pigeon friend Ludwig: Sorry about that I swear I just took a nap and he is already so drunk

♡~Feli~♡: Dont be that was hilarious ♡~Feli~♡: Gil likes pigeons a lot

Ludwig: Yeah Ludwig: He watched a British culinary show where someone made pies out of pigeon meat and he has been angry about it ever since

♡~Feli~♡: Oh poor gil ♡~Feli~♡: Was it a good nap at least

Ludwig: It was short that is for sure Ludwig: I have been playing in the garden with the dogs all day so I am a little worn out Ludwig: How are you Ludwig: Will you be watching Eurovision tonight

♡~Feli~♡: Oh absolutely ♡~Feli~♡: I really like this years songs i think denmark might win ♡~Feli~♡: I dont want to get my hopes up by claiming we will win because we never do

Ludwig: I like Italy's entry this year Ludwig: Ours as well but it isn't victory material

♡~Feli~♡: I like germanys song a lot ♡~Feli~♡: I can relate to it but thats a whole other story ♡~Feli~♡: Anyway im both good and bad ♡~Feli~♡: Good because i might be coming to germany soon  ♡~Feli~♡: And bad because nonno

Ludwig: Wait you will be coming here? Ludwig: For real? Ludwig: I am not really done with the book yet

♡~Feli~♡: No ill be coming with nonno because he has this trip with his company and things like that all over europe

Ludwig: Then is the bad news that he doesnt want to take you or?

♡~Feli~♡: No ♡~Feli~♡: I wouldnt be feeling this sad if he didnt want to take me its just that ♡~Feli~♡: He wants me to stop talking to you and being your friend

Ludwig: Why?

♡~Feli~♡: Lovi spilled that we met online and my nonno is really strict about online friendships and everything ♡~Feli~♡: So he ordered me to stop talking to you

Ludwig: I see Ludwig: Well i did employ you in a way so maybe you could tell him that if you are going to come to Germany Ludwig: It is less suspicious that way

♡~Feli~♡: I dont kno ♡~Feli~♡: My nonno can be really mean sometimes but lovi is even meaner ♡~Feli~♡: I want to fight back but if i did he ll tell nonno and make everything be my fault ♡~Feli~♡: Its stupid and i hate it i hate it here

Ludwig: Brothers are usually like that Ludwig: Maybe it is good that you aren't starting fights because in that way Lovino can't project the blame unto you Ludwig: But at the same time that pushes him to abuse you more just to get a reaction out of you

♡~Feli~♡: I wish i could live with you ♡~Feli~♡: I wouldnt be lonely at least

Ludwig: If you still have problems with your grandfather you can tell him that you can stay here Ludwig: I suppose if he is traveling with a company that means the company pays the bills to hotels and transport Ludwig: So if you and him want to stay you can come to our place and save some money

♡~Feli~♡: You know what thats a brilliant idea ♡~Feli~♡: Ill tell him that ♡~Feli~♡: But lovi would probably object to something there

Ludwig: My best advice is to ignore what he says and if he says something mean about you just nod but don't take him seriously

♡~Feli~♡: I can try that

Ludwig: Talk to your grandfather first please

♡~Feli~♡: Are you excited at the posibility of me coming over

Ludwig: Ecstatic Ludwig: Gilbert would be overjoyed as well Ludwig: And also because I want to know will your grandfather approve of me  Ludwig: Because I really don't want to lose one of my only friends

♡~Feli~♡: We re both so lonely amd sad we need each other ♡~Feli~♡: Ill text you his response

Feliciano locked his phone and put it for charging, racing down the stairs to find his grandpa on the phone. Grandpa Rome mouthed to Feliciano that they were talking about the trip to Germany and shook his head that the company was refusing.

Feliciano motioned to him to cover the phone because he had to tell him something. Grandpa Rome excused himself for a moment to the person he was talking to. "My friend said we could stay at his place so we don't have to pay extra for hotels and food." Feliciano blurted out.

Grandpa Rome nodded, passing the message to the person on the phone. They waited for a response. Finally, Grandpa Rome nodded and Feliciano was gone in a second.

♡~Feli~♡: IM COMING TO GERMANY!!!

[missjosie27]

Year 3 Part 5- To Hogsmeade

Hey, guys! Another chapter is here! Hope you like it

True to her word, Professor McGonagall granted him access to Hogsmeade upon learning of his marks in charms.

“You have kept your end of the deal, Mr. Grant. With your permission slip, I will allow you to join your classmates this weekend in Hogsmeade.”

She said this with a limited smile, a rarity for the strict Transfiguration master though David privately thought she still didn’t look thrilled by the idea. He wondered if Dumbledore had been involved in this whole situation. Still, he wasn’t one to push his luck…most of the time.

“Thank you, Professor McGonagall,” he said.

“And Mr. Grant. Do try to enjoy yourself as opposed to finding more trouble.”

They had gone in a group- Rowan, Ben, Charlie, Penny, Chiara, Tonks, and himself. Some of the Ravenclaws were just in front of them while the Slytherins, predictably, were way behind.

 “You did it,” Rowan told him excitedly. “You’re going to Hogsmeade and all the bells and whistles that come with it.”

“And you’re brother too,” Ben added.

“Perfect excuse. We need to take a visit to the Three Broomsticks anyway. You have got to try butterbeer, Ben. First one is on me.”

David was still a bit miffed at McGonagall’s parting remark, but it didn’t dampen his spirits too much. His immediate mission was accomplished and now he could spend a day goofing off and find out more about Jacob. It was a win-win.

“Personally, I can’t wait to check out Zonkos,” Tonks said with a rather mischievous smirk on her face.

“What’s Zonkos?” Chiara asked.

“Only the finest supplier of prank and gag items known to wizardkind,” she responded excitedly. “And exactly what I need to surprise a certain librarian and a certain caretaker.”

“There’s also Honeydukes!” Penny pipped up. “My mom took me once when I was little. I’ve always wanted to come back and try their strawberry chocolates.���

“What do you reckon we should do first, Dave?” Rowan asked. “I know you need to talk to Madam Rosmerta. Do you have a preference?”

Up until now, David hadn’t spoken as he was mulling over that same question. They had until sundown to return to the castle which was plenty of time to both explore and talk to Rosmerta. He didn’t have to meet Hagrid until just after lunch.

“Let’s go visit some of the shops,” he said at last. “I don’t have to go to the Three Broomsticks right away. It’s pretty packed in there right now anyway.”

“I like the way you think, Dave!” Tonks grinned. “Let’s go!”

For older students such as Bill (who was with a couple of friends in his year) the novelty had worn off a bit. For those making their first visitations or only been once before, it was a wonderland. Though the day was windy, it was also bright and sunny, and those days were going to be few and far between in the highlands of Scotland as the year went deeper into Autumn.

The village itself wasn’t all that different in appearance than a standard muggle one, however there was one key difference and that was magic. Only witches and wizards lived here and it livened up the atmosphere considerably. Colorful posters announcing deals or sales adorned the little shops and taverns. Children laughed and played in the street. There was a flurry of activity every which one looked and from everything the third years had heard, the first impression did not disappoint.

Tonks had a field day in Zonkos and stocked up on items such as biting tea cups, frog spawn soap, and dungbombs. Against his better judgment, David also bought a couple dungbombs to be used at his own discretion and entertainment. The discovery of Penny’s sweet tooth was quite evident as she could barely stop eating the honeydukes chocolate and Tonks had to calm her down from an enormous sugar high. Chiara and Penny were also very fixated on Madam Puddifoot’s Tea Shop, as it was a popular getaway for Hogwarts boys and girls looking to take each other on dates. The boys (and Tonks), however, weren’t as keen and simply allowed the girls to swoon over the potential romanticism before they moved onto a dress shop.

“I don’t get why they care so much,” Ben whispered nervously.

“It’s just girl stuff,” David muttered back. “Don’t try to understand it, just nod your head and change the subject as quickly as possible.”

“Bill says we’re going to be the ones on those dates in just a couple years,” Ben responded. “Is that true?”

“My brother is pretty popular with the ladies,” Charlie cut in. “He may tease sometimes but he doesn’t bullshit. He’s probably right. Speaking of, he told me to meet him over at the Shrieking Shack. Supposedly the most haunted building in Britain and he wants to show it to me. Anyone want to come?”

“I’m in!” Rowan said eagerly. He never turned down an opportunity to hang out with Bill. “How about you Ben?”

The blond boy fidgeted heavily with his hands.

“Haunted buildings really aren’t my cup of tea.”

“Come on, Ben. We’ll all be there,” Charlie encouraged. “Just us mates. Dave’s coming too right?”

“Actually, it’s almost past one. I can’t keep Hagrid waiting too much longer.”

Rowan nodded understandingly.

“Don’t wait another minute. We’ll rendezvous later at the Three Broomsticks later on.”

“You know where it is right?” Charlie asked.

Truthfully, David didn’t know where it was at all, but he figured he’d find his way. It was a village not the streets of London. It couldn’t be that hard.

“Yeah, I know where I’m going. I’ll see you guys later.”

“Good luck, Dave!”

The other three boys made their way north to the location of the shack while David went on his way. He figured he would come across a sign or some other landmark indicating the inn but the wind was picking up and it was taking a toll on his sight and movement. He looked up towards the sky; still sunny but clouds were rolling in and the little warmth received from the sun would soon be overcast. Zipping up his red hoodie jacket, he resolved to press forward.

Can’t be that far right?

Suddenly, a voice called out to him.

“First time in Hogsmeade?”

To his right he saw a tall, black boy regarding him with both friendliness and mild amusement. David vaguely recognized him as a Ravenclaw in his own year. He decided to approach him.

“How’d you guess?”

The Ravenclaw gave a grin.

“You have that look about you. Excited, cold, and not exactly sure where you’re going. I’m Andre Egwu, by the way.”

He offered out his hand, which David took.

“Oh yeah, I remember you from flying class. You’re also the keeper on the Ravenclaw Quidditch team if I recall correctly and pretty damn good at it. People talk about you as much as Charlie or Skye.”

“Charlie and Skye deserve the attention. Especially given that Gryffindor won the Quidditch Cup pretty handily last year. But Quidditch is a passion of mine and I hope to play in the professional leagues someday. That’s why I wear my Pride of Portree scarf every chance I get to go to Hogsmeade. Best team in the league.”

David, knowing his Quidditch couldn’t deny that. Portree had won the British league for three years running.

“So they are. But you make it sound you’ve been here before.”

“It’s because I have. My parents take my sister and I to Hogsmeade even when we’re not in school. Gladrags Wizard Wear is one of my favorite places to shop for clothes.”

David resisted the urge to chuckle, instead choosing a tone of surprise.

“I didn’t think top Quidditch blokes were fashion aficionados.”

It was true. Glancing at Andre up and down it was clear that this was a person who cared a great deal about his appearance. In addition to his scarf, he wore a fleece jacket with the collars up, dress jeans, and a very nice pair of what looked like Italian shoes. In addition to that, his hair was expertly cut into a fade. To say he was stylish was an understatement.

“Clothes make the wizard,” Andre replied with gusto. “The better you look, the better you feel, the better you are at Quidditch. Or in your case, curse breaking.”

“I take it you heard about that, then?”

It was a stupid question. Almost everyone in Hogwarts had. But broad acknowledgement for the accomplishment as opposed to being seen as potentially mad still took some getting used to. But the emotion on Andre’s face wasn’t just admiration, it was gratitude.

“That cursed ice had me trapped in the Quidditch changing room until you broke that curse inside the vault. You saved my life.”

“Think nothing of it. I had plenty of help from my friends.”

Andre smiled and he reached into a bag by his side.

“Well as a token of my thanks, I’d like to offer you this scarf. It is quite blustery out here today and when I saw you shivering down the street, I couldn’t pass up the opportunity.”

David gladly took it. It was made of a very quality wool, patterned in dark gold and red, his house colors. Quite thoughtful, indeed.

“This is brilliant, Andre. Thank you.”

“A stylish gift for a worthy curse breaker such as yourself,” the black teen affirmed. “I’ll say this for sure: it won’t be hard for you to find a date or a girl to take to the next ball.”

He couldn’t resist laughing this time, thinking back to Penny and Chiara fawning over Madam Puddifoot’s tea shop.

“It’s a bit early to be thinking about, no? I wouldn’t even know where to start.”

“Never too early to start thinking about girls,” Andre replied with a wink. “It may seem ridiculous to you now, but you’ll start to notice sooner rather than later. And when that day comes, my door is wide open.”

David’s first impression of the Ravenclaw lad was certainly unique but he certainly sensed no ill will from him. Just that his interests seemed to be ahead of most people their age.

“I’ll take you up on that someday. Thanks, Andre.”

“Don’t mention it.”

They shook hands once more and he prepared to depart. But before he did, he turned around one last time.

“Uh, by the way, where’s-”

“The Three Broomsticks?” Andre smiled knowingly. “Fifty feet up the hill to your right.”

Interesting guy that Andre Egwu

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The Three Broomsticks had a reputation that preceded it. It was a cozy, lively atmosphere filled with patrons of all sorts, a bustling tavern frequented by locals and tourists alike. Inside was a building largely made of fine wood, filled with various tables and booths. There was also a second floor for private parties but most people appeared content to mingle with the crowd. In fact, it was so packed David was fairly certain it would have taken him quite a bit of time to find any standard human being.

Fortunately, Hagrid was not a standard human being and spotting him was a simple matter. As soon as they caught sight of each other he waved a huge hand.

“David! Over here!”

Sifting through the crowd, he managed to squeeze through two rather portly men, one of which had a walrus-like mustache and a glass of fine wine in his hand. Ducking underneath the outstretched jovial arm, he finally made it to where Hagrid was standing. 

“Welcome ter the Three Broomsticks!” he said in his usual cheerful tone. “What do ye think so far?”

“Seems like a lot of fun,” David remarked with a smile. “Is it always this packed?”

“Aye. It’s very popular. The students pack it even more on weekends such as this. Though ye get used ter it.”

Just then they were interrupted by an attractive, curvaceous woman with long, flowing blonde hair and a pretty face. She wore an ankle length dress and a plain apron but her cheeks were naturally rose and held a natural, festive glow.

“Hello, Hagrid! Good to see you again.”

“The same ter you, Rosmerta. Lookin as lovely as ever.”

“You’re sweet as always. Can I get you all anything?”

David couldn’t be sure but he thought Rosmerta’s eyes lingered over him for a half second longer than normal.

“A round of butterbeers, please.”

Sensing a chance to ask questions, the young Gryffindor tried to introduce himself.

“Madam Rosmerta I was wondering if-”

“Half a moment, dear,” she quickly interrupted. “I’ve got other tables to attend to. Be back soon.”

Visibly deflating at her departure, Hagrid noticed this and tried to cheer him up.

“Not ter worry, David. She’s a busy woman runnin’ this place. She knows who ye are and she’ll tell ye everything ye want ter know about yer brother.”

Realizing it would do no good to mope or complain, David supposed there was nothing more he could do until the bar matron returned.

“You’re right, Hagrid. Can’t wait to drink one of those butterbeers.”

The giant man looked down on him with a curious eyebrow.

“Never had one before? I thought ye were from a wizard family, Dave.”

“I did when I was little, but it’s been awhile. Mum won’t let me have anything in the way of sweets.”

He and Hagrid grabbed a table and talked like this for about fifteen minutes, sharing details of each other’s lives not previously known, though the latter was a tad more vague with his answers. David thought nothing of it, however and was content to laugh and share companionship with the gamekeeper, who was good company. He made a silent note to interact with him more often.

Soon enough, Rosmerta returned with a tray of butterbeers in hand.

“Cheers, Dave!” Hagrid said, clinking their glasses, almost toppling over the contents of his friend’s butterbeer. Taking a sip, a wave of sweet, warm, frothy goodness engulfed his senses. It was easily one of the tastiest concoctions ever invented in the history of wizard kind.

“Just as good as I remembered,” he said, giving a satisfied sigh.

“I’m glad you like it, dear,” Rosmerta said kindly. “I apologize for hurrying off earlier. Busy weekend. What would you like to know about your brother?”

David was slightly surprised.

“How did you know who I was?”

“It wasn’t hard to figure out,” the bar maiden said with a knowing twinkle in her blue eyes. “You and your brother look very much alike. That look of surprise you gave me just now was reminiscent of what he used to do. Plus, I must admit Hagrid filled me in a bit beforehand.”

Though siblings, David never came across many people who commented he and Jacob looked similar. His older brother was much broader, with a different shaped nose along with brown eyes as opposed to his own hazel-blue. Nevertheless, he supposed it would make sense Rosmerta might recognize him. Perhaps she saw something others did not. 

“David wanted ter ask ye a question or two about Jacob,” Hagrid explained. 

“I can spare just a few minutes,” Rosmerta smiled. “What would you like to know?”

Where to start? So much of Jacob was a mystery to him now and any information he could garner was a boon not merely in the quest to find the vaults but to satiate his own desire for that knowledge. 

“Madam Rosmerta, I heard you knew him in his time at Hogwarts. What was he like? Did mention anything about the Cursed Vaults?”

A nostalgic look came across her pretty features.

“I remember Jacob quite well...quiet boy. Very sweet. He spent a lot of time at the bar scribbling in notebooks.”

That certainly perked his interest.

“Notebooks you say?”

“Aye. Then one day a pair of Ministry officials showed up, grabbed him by the hood of his robes and dragged him out the door. They demanded he hand over any information he held on the vaults, but they found nothing. Only thing he left behind was a black quill.”

Another black quill

“Madam Rosmerta do you still have that quill? I’ll do anything to have it, I swear.”

That emitted a chuckle from the curvy innkeeper.

“Settle down, Dave. I’ll go look in the back. I never throw anything anyway so it should be around somewhere.”

“Thank you so much!”

“Think nothing of it,” she replied kindly. “Though it may take awhile longer. There are still a lot of customers to service and it’s quite cluttered in my office.”

“I’ll wait as long as I need to, Madam Rosmerta.”

“Very well then. I’ll score up another round for your table while I’m at it. Be back soon, dear.” 

David did his best to engage in further conversation with Hagrid to temper his impatience. It was best not to push his luck while he still retained some of it. If the gameskeeper suspected or believed he might be after the vaults again, it wouldn’t take long for Dumbledore to find out and that wouldn’t be good for anyone. Which also begged the question once more: was he still interested in the vaults themselves? Or just his brother? Perhaps the two were intertwined.

Before he could think about it more, Rosmerta returned about an hour later, black quill in hand. 

“Here you are, hun. Sorry it took me a little while to find. But it’s yours now. Use it well.”

Ecstatic happiness surged through David and he took the quill a little too quickly.

“Er...sorry. Thank you Madam Rosmerta.”

But the blonde woman took it in stride with understanding.

“Any time, David. And next time you’re here I may need some help. Would you be okay waiting tables now and again?”

“Think nothing of it.”

She gave one last sweet smile and waved goodbye.

“It was very nice to meet you, David. When you find Jacob, tell him I said hello.”

He nodded while Hagrid beamed at him. 

“Fine woman, Rosmerta is. Yeh can always trust her ter help people when they need it. Just promise me you won’t do anythin reckless with that quill.”

David nodded even if he had no idea what information the quill possessed, he was quite convinced in the moment nothing ill fated could come of knowing its contents.

“Of course, Hagrid.”

“You know, Dave, you should come by me hut some time. Fang’s gettin big now and we love havin guests over. I could bake a batch o’ me rock cakes.”

He had no idea what rock cakes were or even how good Hagrid was at cooking but he couldn’t help but appreciate the genuineness of the man. In the course of his Hogwarts career, he single handedly saved him from Devil’s Snare, alerted him to the spreading cursed ice, and helped him whenever he asked for it. The least he could do was return the favor.

“I’d love to, Hagrid. Just send me an owl and I’m there.”

The giant man clinked his glass once more, this time sending the contents all over his new scarf.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

He reunited with his friends a short time later as the sun settled into the west, signaling that it was time to return to Hogwarts. Charlie, Bill, and Rowan were discussing their foray into the Shrieking Shack while Ben preferred not to talk about it. Penny and Chiara continued to giggle over Madam Puddifoot’s (and boys they’d take there which David didn’t really pay attention to). Tonks hung back with David, talking loudly over the wind about the black quill.

“So the Ministry found nothing on him?” the pink haired witch snickered. “That is the ultimate prank.”

“More so than that. It means they never knew what he was truly up to. He must have somehow hidden his notes within this quill.”

“You can do that?”

“Professor McGonagall’s been teaching me about all kinds of transfiguration this year, including switching spells in our advanced lessons. Definitely possible to turn a book into another unidentified object.”

“That’s some pretty advanced transfiguration,” Tonks said, clearly impressed.

David shrugged.

“Guess it runs in the family. McGonagall says I’m the best she’s seen in a decade.”

“Well I’m already a master at transfiguration,” the Hufflepuff said waggling her eyebrows, changing her appearance to that of a duck, to a koala bear, to that of Celestina Warback. 

“You got original material left?” David yawned.

“Wanker. Anyway what do you think the quill contains? Can I see it?”

He obliged by pulling it out of his left jacket pocket. 

“Nothing too out of the ordinary. All we have to do is use ‘repifarage’ to untransfigure it and…”

“You lot aren’t going to be untransfiguring anything.”

Out of the shadows in front of the entrance to the school stepped Argus Filch, the Hogwarts caretaker, looking as grouchy and unpleasant as ever. And judging by his expression he’d overheard everything they were talking about. Quick as a flash for someone who clearly suffered from rheumatism, he snatched the quill out of David’s outstretched hand.

“Hey! Give that back That belongs to me!”

“Not anymore it don’t,” Filch leered towards him. “I’ll be addin it to the collection of confiscated contraband to my office. Professor Snape’s orders of course…”

David highly doubted the cantankerous old man had any such orders and seizing one of his legitimate belongings was surely out his purview. Feeling himself becoming furious, he gripped his wand in blind rage before Tonks gripped his arm and shook her head in an effort to calm him.

“Now beat it ya nasty scallywags. On with ya!”

They ducked a swipe from Filch and ran off, but not before David cursed up a storm once they were far enough away.

“Language, David. I didn’t know you knew such colorful phrases.”

“You would too if you had an older sibling...and just had the one chance of finding said sibling robbed from you by a quivery old git.”

“Patience, my hot blooded Gryffindor friend,” Tonks told him. “All we have to do is simply get the quill back.”

“Yeah? And how exactly do you plan to do that?”

Tonks grinned at him with a smile that practically radiated mischief. 

“Leave that to me. If there’s one thing I know how to do, it’s taking the mickey out of Filch.”

[diveronarpg]

In fair Verona, our tale begins with HELOISE MAKSIMOVICH, who is TWENTY years old. She is often called HERO and is NEUTRAL. She uses SHE/HER pronouns.

There are many broken little girls who bite the hand that feeds them, but Heloise has always been MEEK. Every moment of her life has simply happened to her, with next to no input from the girl herself. Too young to remember her old name or her old life, Heloise came to the Maksimovich household as poised and EMPTY as a porcelain doll, ready to be filled with the ideas and expectations of her new parents. Konstantin and Marya stuffed her with cotton until they were satisfied, and never bothered much to worry about her mind. LOVELY GIRL, that was what they called her, such a pretty, lovely little girl. Every man who came to buy a horse commented on Konstantin’s exotic daughters, making sure to pay special attention to the youngest, the most charming little gem. She would wave at them with her bright, buoyant smile, not stepping a single foot out of the house lest she muddy her shoes. She watched as her sister ran desperately after them, wanting to learn, wanting to ride, and felt nothing but mild confusion. Why would anyone want more in life, when what they had was so easy to love?

Everyone she knew was always happy with her. How could they not be? Heloise was so AGREEABLE, they said, nothing like her upstart peers. It was good she was kept at home, her father’s friends would murmur, and she would content herself with their assurances, knowing that school must be quite a dangerous thing, for her parents to so thoroughly protect her from it. Friends were pre-approved and cheery, as SHALLOW as her own life and with nothing in their hearts that might rock her from peace and harmony. She and her friends studied English so they could buy music and sing in their pajamas, studied Chinese because many of the men their families looked at for them traveled to China for business, studied Italian so they could sound smart and important discussing Opera beyond Tchaikovsky. All her education led her toward a singular purpose: Heloise would marry well, and secure the family’s fortunes as a result.

With all that riding on her, it was easy to see that a girl with such stars in her eyes would become enamored with ROMANCE. While her parents were strict, they couldn’t watch her one hundred percent of the time, and therein lay their foolishness, walking hand in hand with hers. All it took was one oligarch coming to buy a replacement for his prized stallion, and one oligarch’s son with eyes as black as midnight and a smile that filled her heart with hummingbirds’ wings. While his father perused the merchandise, so too did his son; Heloise was no match for the charm of a man’s attention. She had been told her whole life that it was to be the most important determination of her future, and thus, she had no warning bells in her head to pay attention to. He promised he would marry me, she told her mother three months later, tear-stricken and afraid, why would he lie? For the first time in her life, her mother did not listen. Her first and earliest lesson was that girls always lie, and it was only then that Heloise realized ‘girls’ included herself.

It was a devastating loss, her parents’ trust; Heloise had never lived a single day without it. She was aimless in the wake of her ruin, for what man of any respectable family would have her now, when the one who’d broken her heart had also told his friends the particulars of their bedroom? She was tarnished and dirty, and with her failure came all her parents’ hopes and dreams, crashing around them and crushing her beneath the weight. She was a LISTLESS girl for those next few months, helpless and useless and without anyone to validate those behaviors. Her doting parents had turned cold and angry, and without them, Heloise’s life began to unravel. No one was left to her. No one would understand her, no one could see how she’d been taken in and betrayed... no one, that is, except her sister. The girl she had once regarded herself as better off without, now became her only lifeline. She heard rumors that she was racing horses in Italy, and it only took a couple secretive calls to determine she really was still living there. Her rebellious, angry, CHARMING sister had the manners of a wild animal, but she was the only girl Heloise knew who’d made something of herself without securing the perfect marriage. With all other paths cut off, Heloise took the only one left to her: to follow in her sister’s footsteps, and perhaps find someone outside her small world who would consider making a wife of a tarnished woman. She still believed in love, after all. If the only way to that perfect happiness was through one mafia or another, Heloise was determined to take it. The thought of tempering a violent heart was like something out of a movie, and she knew, with every fiber of her being, that she could be that person. She would always be a hopeless romantic.

BRIELLE KING: Sister. For all that they grew up together, they might as well live worlds apart. Heloise doesn’t understand a thing her sister’s done, from changing her name to joining up with the mafia. Brielle might view her as a nuisance, but she’s Heloise’s lifeline, giving her a place to stay and clothes to wear and food to eat, all for a girl who never thought she’d need to work when her husband would take care of her. Heloise always thought Brielle was too angry, too rough, but now, out from under their parents’ thumb, she’s starting to think she doesn’t know her at all. They’re the closest they’ve ever been, but they’re still worlds apart, and Heloise wants to narrow that distance whether her sister approves or not. 

RENZO CAROZZA: Interest. Heloise absolutely adores the Dark Lady. It’s full of beautiful, interesting people all of the time, and all they want is to know more about her and maybe have a drink on her (or rather, Brielle’s) dime. She’s quite happy to talk about her life with anyone who might wish to know, and there’s no one she likes telling more than Renzo. He’s too old for her, she knows that, and he’s much too beautiful for her, but she doesn’t care. His eyes seem to hypnotize her into forgetting all about that the moment he sits beside her. His voice hums low in her ear and makes her want to spill every secret she has, just so he’ll look at her with that slight satisfaction, just so he’ll keep looking at her the next time she comes around. She knows she doesn’t have a chance, but she also knows she won’t get anywhere with anyone if she doesn’t try. She keeps throwing herself forward, no matter how often Renzo leans back. 

MARCELO ROSSO: Curiosity. She rarely saw them at first, and mostly when they needed to speak with Brielle, but that won’t stop such a romantic mind as Heloise possesses. She’s never seen someone so attractive look so angry about it all the time, and she can’t help but wonder what it would take to make that sort of person satisfied with their life. Still, every time she thinks about talking to them, she squeaks and passes them off to whoever they actually need to talk to. The intensity of their gaze is something she’s never had much experience with, and their attention on her feels sharp, almost painful in her chest. It’s the kind of pain she can’t help but investigate, a moth drawn to an angry, brightly burning flame. It will probably get her burned. They definitely don’t seem impressed with anything she can come up with to say. Still, Heloise can’t help herself; she wants to know what might, for a moment, put that fire out. 

REGINA DALY: Secret. Despite being one of the first people she was told not to interact with, Heloise has had a surprising amount of fun talking to Regina. They’re different from anyone she’s ever met, and whenever she can catch them, she asks them another thing she’s come up with to be curious. So long as no one’s there to tattle on her, she pokes as close as she can before Regina gets bored, then beats a hasty retreat, only to come back for more the week after. Heloise is a mess of emotions, and Regina seems to feel none at all; how can she stay away from such an impossible curiosity? She doesn’t know how, and her self control is thin, no matter how much danger it puts her in. 

Heloise is portrayed by SHARON ALEXIE and was written by ROGUE. She is currently TAKEN by ADRI.

[inmyarmswrappedin]

i've always found this one incredibly cheesy and very easy to do wrong so, the girls fight scene in s1

Hi Ela 🌺 I love that you've asked me this, but ngl I'm not sure that I can give a satisfying answer. My cheese-o-meter needs, like, a serious amount of lactose to get moving. I mean, I answer my asks with a cute emoji after a greeting, I'm not sure I get to call out the fight scenes' cheesiness.

But I did watch all of them and I have a few comments:

Skam - Honestly the song is so well-chosen for the scene and the choreography that I had to watch the scene a second time because the first time I got distracted by just how fun it is to watch.

Skam France - This version is the cheesiest for me. I have no issue with choosing classical music for the fight, but I wish they'd gone with something more hardcore, in the style of Ride of the Valkyries or O Fortuna, because it is portrayed as a full on fight. My other problem with the scene is that Philippine Stindel just... isn't good at portraying Emma, not in s1. So where you could see Eva was devastated not just by the fight but by Iben calling her a fucking wh*r* and the fact that it all happened so publicly... Philippine is the go girl, give us nothing! meme. Literally every other girl in the squad emotes more than her and seems more shaken by the fight than she is.

I also didn't think the fight was well choreographed or shot, I really have no idea what's going on for most of it.

Druck - I think the song in this instance is well chosen, and the choreography is good too, there are a lot of individual shots where we can see how each girls throws down. I also have to shout out a couple of details, such as Jule handing off her bag to one of her friends before she comes for Hanna's life, as well as having a fourth girl come in from the rear.

Skam Italia - The one thing I have to say about this scene is that for weeks Italian fans were hoping that the Latin dictionary came out to play for this scene, as it’s a thick book that can do some damage. And Italian Sana did indeed use it to beat down a girl, which resulted in much rejoicing.

Skam Austin - Iiii don’t like this scene. Not because it isn’t well shot or choreographed or the music sucks or it’s cheesy. My main issue is no way this would happen at a US high school without everyone involved getting suspended. US high schools are hardcore about student behavior, and it’s only gotten progressively more strict with time (because of gun violence). In particular, the fact that a school club (Kelsey’s dance team) was involved, would mean that the dance team would be disbanded, because they don’t even have a history at the school and all five members participated in the fight. This is one scene where Julie just didn’t have the cultural insight. It should’ve taken place literally anywhere else. 

But I also feel like the music reflected Megan’s feelings more than the actual fight, which again, not sure I’m into when it is actually a full blown fight.

On the plus side I will highlight Zoya yelling, “Run up then, bitch!”

Skam España - Honestly, I don’t think the team wanted to do a full on fight, so they kinda didn’t. And I know people have issues with the song they chose, since it’s slow and it doesn’t go with a fight, but like... What fight, though? Lara slapped Eva and then was pulled away by like five different people lol. And the violence isn’t even the point of it, but rather Eva feeling like the jig is up after Jorge realizes what happened. (Which is what the lyrics are about, but that’s a bonus for people who understand Spanish.) Idk... I have emphasized that the songs chosen for other versions don’t work when it’s a huge fight, but in the case of eskam, the emotions are all more complicated because it’s not just the girl squad, but also Jorge and Lucas (who heard the whole thing from Eva earlier in the episode). There are some eskam scenes where I haven’t liked how they were adapted, but this one I do like.

Points for Cris coming in late (because she was hooking up with that other girl) and being all, “wtf happened???” 

And as an additional note, the team then drove the point home that the slow song was only happening in Eva’s head, by having Inés post a video that she was ostensibly sent by someone who was at the party, and we can hear that the song that was actually playing during the fight was Better Now. Also, you gotta love the Queen Bitch move of publicizing the humiliation for anyone who missed it. Inés really ate that revenge cold over and over and over again. 

Skam NL - Funnily enough the fight clip illustrates my major gripe with Skam NL and it is that Skam NL hugely relies on knowledge of Skam to make sense plot-wise. I will go in more detail in another scene ask, but in most other remakes, the girls explain that the Penetrator Chris’ girlfriend found out his boyfriend cheated on her with the Eva, or in the case of eskam, Lara spells it out for us. Here, Engel is barely done feeling sorry for herself before Gijs’ gf and her squad cuts in and knees Isa’s crotch. And if you’ve seen seven other versions of this scene, you know that’s P-Chris’ gf and she found out Eva made out wih her bf, but if it’s your first time watching? I can guarantee most people have no idea who this girl, who we previously saw once, in a costume, even is. 

But I do like that Isa fights back, because I think it goes with her personality. The song choice is fine, but it made me wish they’d used Smack My Bitch Up by The Prodigy instead. 

WTFock - This scene gave me the weirdest feeling that Marie didn’t actually intend to come for Jana’s whole career, but to just kind of send her a warning? Like in some of the other versions, I get the feeling the Iben is ready to punch the teeth out of the Eva’s mouth, but the whole vibe of this scene gave me a kind of drive-by shooting vibe, like their hearts weren’t really into it. I think it’s the way they don’t really need much physical force to be pulled off the girl squad. So I would say this is another remake where the fight didn’t really work the way it did in Skam, even though they actually reused the song from the original clip. (Die Antwoord’s Baby’s on Fire.) Adding to the lackluster effect there is the issue that this clip doesn’t close the week as in Skam, and it definitely doesn’t feel like an episode ender. It’s the first clip of the week. Druck also had a clip after their fight (that was back when Druck didn’t know wtf it was doing), but the fight itself still felt like an episode ender.

I think that rando giving Zoë her beret back was a fun detail though.  

[neverwatchedonepiece]

607-608: "A Fierce Battle Gets Heated! Luffy vs. Caesar!" and "A Mastermind Underground! Doflamingo Makes His Move!"

This one pulls no punches, does he?

Chalk up another pair of excellent episodes with a satisfying payload of reveals. 

The major one? Well, it’s obvious, right? Doflamingo has sidled out of the shadows and is now fully involved in the plot. The mysterious thing Law claimed would shake the New World is a substance/object called SAD which is being manufactured by Caesar on Punk Hazard. Not only that, Caesar Clown is like the Colonel Freaking Sanders of the OPverse, in that he is the only person who knows the eleven secret herbs and spices for making SAD. He also turned Foxfire’s kid into a dragon. 

(Or at least I think he did. That could have been Vegapunk but I don’t think Vegapunk is cruel enough to do that.)

Still have no idea what SAD is, but I will kick back and let the plot guide me slowly towards the answer because I cannot even begin to speculate.

SAD: Eleven Secret Herbs and Spices

Law is such a plot catalyst. 

He didn’t do much across 607 and 608. Well, not to my eyes, anyway.

All he did was walk down a dark corridor with purpose, stand in front of a big, important-looking door, trigger an alarm opening said door, and entering the room with a smirk, while declaring: “Yes. This will shake up the New World.”

Once I finished 607 and 608, I realised Law is probably in deep shit because a lot of powerful, angry characters are out for his blood. He is also at a major disadvantage until he reclaims his heart from Vergo (as he told Smoker via flashback). Because of Law, the plot is now speeding along at a cracking pace.

Caesar Doesn’t Realise He’s Just Issued Luffy a Challenge

The action picked up where it left off. Luffy wound up a blistering punch that hit Caesar so hard I performed a sharp intake of breath and cringed for him. 

Still, to give credit to Caesar, he totally tanked the direct hit. The madman got up again just in time to see Luffy speeding towards him, arms outstretched. That pesky rubber boy just insists on trying to grab him! There was a spot of hilarious, “GOT YOU!” “HA, NO YOU DIDN’T!” Then Caesar got fed up, set the place on fire and asked Luffy a really important question.

“Why are you attacking me?”

That was so damned funny to me. They’ve been knocking seven bells out of each other for several episodes now and Caesar had no idea why Luffy decided to noise him up.

Luffy’s answer was even funnier.

“I don’t know why but I’ve been told something fun would begin if I kidnap you!”

If there is such a thing as a Top Ten Luffiest Moments Compilation, that line has to be in mix surely? Why are you fighting me? No idea, but I was promised fun if I do. I have no words. xD

Caesar made a last ditch attempt to dissuade Luffy from an outright punch-up. Probably because he knows Luffy uses haki and that makes him vulnerable to suffering more gut-punches. “You formed an alliance with Law, right? He told you do kidnap me. You can’t trust him. I’m sure he’ll betray you. Don’t do it.”

Luffy’s response? “DON’T TELL ME WHAT TO DO!”

Negotiations broke down rather swiftly after that. Caesar broke out his karakuni (oxygen removal) technique. It has a limited range, which is good because it would be too overpowered otherwise. Luffy dodged and Caesar tanked another punch right in the word hole. But Caesar is such a mad bastard he actually closed the distance, got right up in Luffy’s face, deprived him of oxygen and slashed at him with a flashy, flaming hot blue sword technique. For good measure, he resorted to a few gastanets to hold Luffy at bay.

Caesar’s fighting style is suprisingly aggressive. xD

Still, when Luffy could huff some oxygen into his rubbery lungs, he was too fast for Caesar. Luffy’s response to Caesar’s aggressive style? “HEY YOU! STAY AWAY FROM ME!” At which point he booted Caesar in the face and he went flying.

“Damn it, that hurt!” Caesar seethed. (He hates haki users, ha!) But he still got back up.

Luffy realised he needed to catch Caesar quickly before he was choked to death. I still think if he hits Caesar hard enough, he’ll be able to do it no bother. It’s just a matter of getting Caesar on his own because Monet is under strict orders from Doflamingo to Not Let Anything Happen to his Cash Cow Scientist.

It was annoying because Luffy was *so close*. Caesar was willing to let him go because he wanted to show the brokers the power of Shinokuni and was impatient to get back to his experiment.  But Luffy stretched his head back, took a deep breath and readied his armament hardening. (Did Vergo use Armament Hardening on his knife stick weapon when he beat up Law?)

He yelled, “If I can’t breathe, I’ll kick your ass in one breath!” (Nice line, Luffy.)

Caesar yelled back, “You want to die, don’t you? Then I’ll give you the death you chose for yourself. Go to hell, Strawhat!”

Caesar almost crumbled. Almost. He dodged the headbutt, but the incoming Jet Gatling was too much. He was saved at the last second by Monet.

It turns out Monet is in possession of the Snow Snow Fruit, can control snow at will and - from what I’ve seen so far - she seems pretty adept at using it.

She was impressed that Luffy’s hits cracked the solid ice wall she had used to shield Caesar. My jaw dropped when Caesar’s head popped out from the ice shards and he was ready for another round.

Monet must have stepped in because she knows when the red mist descends, Caesar does dumb stuff (like persisting in squaring up to Strawhat Luffy like a belligerent drunk in a bar fight). As Caesar is not allowed to do dumb stuff leading to him being kidnapped, she appealed to his scientist ego.

“You must go, Master. This fight is meaningless.”

Caesar snapped out of his red mist rage and seemed to remember what was at stake. He laughed and swept away. “Goodbye, Strawhat! Be as wild as you want. I already have an idea of how to make you people test subjects. Look forward to it!” Nice to see Caesar can swallow his pride and stick to a plan, even if he needs a nudge.

Of course, Luffy went after him, but Monet wrapped her talons round his shoulders. Access denied. If anything happened to Caesar, Joker would kill her. 

“That’s the bird guy I saw in the war, isn’t it? Who is he?”

Monet almost revealed everything. Almost. I sense a pattern emerging here. xD “He wants to kidnap Master and wants SAD to be...” She smiled, said no more, but added, “Now I know what you guys are going for.” (Referring to Law and their alliance plot.)

It was round about that time that the call from Doflamingo came through. They were to take out Law and Strawhat - but be extra careful around Strawhat as he was able to use Conqueror’s Haki (Doflamingo must have spotted that at Marineford.)

At the moment, Luffy is battling Monet. I’m guessing he’ll defeat her pretty quickly, even though she didn’t seem too phased about his Conqueror’s Haki. Then he’ll be running like hell through the labyrinthine complex hunting for Caesar again. Business as usual!

Sanji is Not Vergo’s Biggest Fan

This was strangely interesting clash. Not on account of Vergo. It was mostly Sanji. For all the pasting he gets for being pervy (among other things), he shows moments of genuine concern and consideration for his fellow human beings, no matter what side they are on.

While Sanji and Vergo battled, the G5 Marines looked on in shock. Why was Black Leg/Foot/Limb/Appendage Sanji helping them? He was a pirate. Worse still, the gas was seeping through. Even though he’d knocked Vergo into a wall, Sanji told the Marines to run. When Vergo unfolded himself from the impact crater, he readied a final blow - but then the distress call from the SAD Manufacturing Room intervened and he ducked out to pursue Law.

Sanji about to run himself before he spotted two unconscious Marines. He couldn’t help but risk his life to rescue them. Then, when the Marines showered him with praise, he was... well, he was Sanji-ish about it. “I only take praise from girls, etc.” 

But when the Marines thanked him for helping them against the “Impostor Vergo” and when Tashigi kept up the ruse to as not to hurt her men, Sanji went along with it - even though I’m convinced he knows about the betrayal, as he told Vergo: “You’re the type of guy that our Captain hates most.”

So Sanji decided to spare the feelings of these Marines he didn’t know because he sensed, just like Tashigi did, that the truth would crush them.

That was a pretty nice thing to do, actually. Humanity points there for Sanji. And leadership points for Tashigi, into the bargain.

But... while Sanji was being a reluctant hero, Vergo was bouncing through the passage towards Building D. And someone very important was on the line!

The Feathered One Has Finally Arrived!

While the rest of the cast are currently swimming in the poison-gas-filled hell that is Punk Hazard, Doflamingo (or Doffy as his pals call him) has been living it up on the beautiful island of Dressrosa.** A calm blue sea. Colourful flowers. Architecture that looks Italian. Dressrosa is a nice place. A veritable paradise.

**(Or at least I think it’s an island. I have seen the Dressrosa arc in the dropdowns on CR and every other arc is a location, so I’m going with island for now.)

Vergo was in the middle of his report: “Trafalgar Law is in the SAD manufacturing room. No doubt he is betraying us.”

Doffy was not pleased with the news. “I have treated Law as my young brother and watched over him as he grew up. What a shame. He’s a the SAD manufacturing room, huh?”

At that point, a gun-handed lady staged a series of violent interruptions that did not phase Doflamingo in the slightest. Her swipes barely even broke his concentration. 

“Here’s what I’d do if I were Law. First, I’d destroy that room-- And kidnap Caesar? No. I’d just kill him. Because Caesar is the only person in the world who knows how to produce SAD. But if Law does such a thing, I’ll be in trouble, Vergo. If Caesar is killed, no one else can produce that gas. Then it will ruin my business. And what would happen next if I got into such trouble? Misfortunes never happen singly.” (An oddly fatalistic viewpoint you have there, Doffy.)

A big dude tried to convince Baby 5 (the angry lady) to chill. “You can’t do that to the Young Master,” he admonished. (Young master. Interesting way of referring to Doflamingo. Is there an older master?) 

An older lady asked Doflamingo what he would do with “that cute boy Law-chan.”

An older guy answered, “You know. Law is rebelling against us.”

Doflamingo ignored them all and gave Vergo his orders. “I need you to take care of Law. I wanna make him wish he was never born. So kill him in a horrific way.”

Vergo eventually offered to cut off Law’s ear and deliver it to Doflamingo.

“I look forward to seeing it!” Doflamingo replied (hilariously, as if Law’s ear were a new car or minor purchase).

He dealt with Baby 5 using his weird puppetmaster/control power and called Caesar and Monet. Once he warned them about Luffy’s Conqueror’s Haki, he announced Baby 5 and Buffalo would be sent to Punk Hazard. They all needed to come to Dressrosa at once.

Oooooooooooh, things are heating up! Now I’m wondering if Luffy and Law will even succeed in kidnapping Caesar. Doflamingo might show up with his big guns and snatch back his Cash Cow Scientist. Then again, that will mean Luffy might need to take an L. I don’t wan’t that to happen yet. It’s too soon after Marineford (well, it’s been over two years in the OPverse, but still.)

Not sure how this will unfold, but I am now majorly hyped for this plotline! :D

Twist Level: M. Night Shyamalan

Must admit, I have been thinking this Foxfire/Lost Son plot was kind of lame for a while now. It’s nowhere near as gripping as the Caesar/Law/Doflamingo conspiracy (to be fair, that’s a hard act to follow). Even the experiment kids have lost their plot shine in comparison.

Every time the action cut to the kids, or to Foxfire, I’d been thinking, “Okay this is nice but I need more Caesar, Luffy, Law or characters related to that plot strand, plz.”

But Oda suddenly merged them and threw in a major twist that has wrenched back my interest. The little dragon that has been harrying the Brownbeard Express (and hurting Brook’s feelings, HOW COULD YOU? xD) turned out to be Momonosuke: Foxfire’s own son!

Worse still, the Strawhats teamed up to beat the poor, little dragon and Foxfire almost kicked it to death because he bears a serious grudge against dragons. He kicked it to the point Brook actually said, “Dude... what did dragons do to you? You need to chill.” Foxfire almost sliced its scaly head off (his own son’s head!) Luckily, Nami shouted at them to get back on or they’d be left behind.

Once the Dragon Son was felled, the Brownbeard Express ran straight into Monster Chopper, who was desperately trying to wrangle the Candy-Addicted kids. Mocha is off on a mission to dispose of all the candy in the Biscuit Room. I foresee a lot of angry kids in the imminent future.

Another kid was the one who spilled the twist, right at the end of 608. She was about to head back to the Biscuit Room after examination and she mentioned a “secret room where no one is allowed to go.” Where the boy Momonosuke went and transformed into a dragon.

His own dad almost cut his freaking head off.

Can you believe that?

Such a great plot right now.

All around me are familiar faces...?

[olivia-erskine-grad702]

The Bumpy Typeface

Italian designer Beatrice Caciotti’s research shows us how gendered connotations have made their way into the genealogy of type design.

When gender is embedded into technical objects and processes, it not only reflects the gender norms of its society but also further reinforces these stereotypes. From hiring practices to the gendered naming of electrical sockets, certain ideologies are being actively reproduced through seemingly innocent everyday things and typefaces are no different. Italian visual designer Beatrice Caciotti’s research into this topic began when she noticed that logos of toys typically marketed for girls predominantly contained handwritten and twirly fonts, while on the other side had bold and sans serif lettering. “Currently, the relationship between typography and gender stereotypes is still scarcely addressed, and when it is it’s regarding marketing and thus audience targeting,” Beatrice tells It’s Nice That. With her Bumpy Typeface project, she decided to directly address this topic. “It is obvious that the use of gender attributes in the context of typography is not based on the lines drawn by the letters, but rather on cultural aspects.”

This designer/article addresses and summarises this issue really well and approached it in a similar way to me. The first line outlines how gender being embedded in things/processes such as typography reinforces gender stereotypes. The idea of gender ideologies being “reproduced through seemingly innocent every day things” (like typography) perfectly sums up my thoughts about the issue of gender binary in type - before learning about it type seemed so innocent and I didn’t realise it could hold and enforce stereotypes so powerfully. Her discussion on how toys marketed for ‘girls’ contained largely handwritten swirly fonts, while ones for ‘boys’ had bold sans serif type, addresses how gender stereotypes are seen in typography and how they’re not being addressed but rather used for marketing. “gender attributes in the context of typography is not based on the lines drawn by the letters, but rather on cultural aspects” is an interesting observation. Is it the form of the letters that implies gender stereotypes, or the context and culture behind the letters, or both? 

Having written a master’s degree thesis on this topic, Beatrice’s research found that gender-specific attributes were already being used in typography since the early stages of design theory. “William Morris, precursor of design and design theorist, could not tolerate the modern aesthetics that came with the machine-made books of that time. In an effort to describe what he thought was wrong with the modern shapes and at the same time endorse pre-industrial typography, he stated that the modern lines were excessively ornamented, light, and feminine,” Beatrice describes. Morris advocated for a return to heavier, robust and darker shapes to reestablish the vigour of the printed page, thus linking a “feminine” typeface to weakness and listlessness. Another instance came from 19th century American printer Theodore Low De Vinne, who called for a return to “masculine printing.”

I think this is the first time outside of the Extra Bold chapter I’ve read about the history of gender binaries in typography. It makes sense that this is sort of how it began and where the associations came from. Not only did these actions separate typography into binary categories, but it begun the association of these ‘feminine’ fonts with weakness and fragility, as well as ‘masculine’ fonts with strength and permanency. 

Beatrice found that more contemporary examples typically related to marketing products to a target audience where designers are prompted to understand these gendered differences in order to be able to sell to a certain gender. “The use of these fonts not only relies on outdated negative stereotypes about gender, but also reinforces the concept of a strict gender binary,” Beatrice says. For Beatrice, these stereotypes often become self-fulfilling prophecies.

Common to these examples is the idea that the letter is a metaphor for individuals in the society that they live in. Beatrice found that many existing projects that try to deal with the topic of typefaces and gender often take these stereotypes as a starting point and merely flip them around. “The view is just to mix and overturn attributes associated with gender,” she says of these projects. “Designing a font that simply and only flips the typical associations means adopting the corrupted perspective of the stereotype itself: if you’re not pink, then you are blue or vice versa, but what if I feel purple?”

It’s interesting to her an opinion on ways that gender binary in type has been addressed unsuccessfully/ineffectively. I think she's right that taking the original stereotypes and using them to build your font around is just further enforcing the stereotypes, even if you are just using them as an example of what to do the opposite off. Disregarding the stereotypes all together seems like the best approach. 

Thus for Bumpy Typeface, Beatrice begins with the guideline that femininity and masculinity are culturally-restricted attributes, producing a typeface that reflects how difficult it is to be unaffected by the persistence of stereotypes in society. She decided on a variable font to contrast the “discriminatory limitations of the gender binary,” as well as a condensed typeface to express the external pressure of existing norms. “I created two masters that represent these two opposite ways of engaging with the surrounding context: one that adapts and conforms, adhering to the cage in its totality, and shaped with an edgy, axial and geometric shape. This was given a nominal value of 700 and the name Rigid. Whereas at the extreme opposite I designed a character with unexpected shapes, non conventional, fluid, giving it a nominal value of 300 and the name Fluid,” she says. “From the interpolation of these two extremes are born a series of variables, so that Bumpy in its variant 301 will be a bit more rigid than Bumpy 300. And Bumpy 500 is a variant that is halfway between these two extremes, adhering to the external grid and at the same time presenting non conventional elements. The decision to design a font family is a conscious decision in opposition to the limiting logics and discriminants of gender binary.”

Interesting to see her approach to addressing the issue of gender binary through typography. I gather that by creating a font that exists on a spectrum from one end of the binary to the other she is addressing how hard it is to escape these stereotypes, as well as showing how they visually manifest in type. One end is ‘geometric’ and ‘rigid’ - assuming masculinity, and one is ‘fluid’ ‘ assuming female. Or maybe on end represents being confined by the stereotypes and the other is breaking out from them? I interpret it as a depiction of the gender binary anyways. I think in my font I want to break and disregard the stereotypes rather than depict them. “The decision to design a font family is a conscious decision in opposition to the limiting logics and discriminants of gender binary.” communicates well my perspective on the responsibility of not enforcing gender binary through type design. 

[ariesbled]

CASSIUS FULGORA ( CIS MALE & HE/HIM )? oh, aren’t they the TWENTY-SEVEN year old SHAPESHIFTER who works as a BARTENDER at QUARTER MOON & ( PART-TIME ) PERSONAL TRAINER at PRIMAL FITNESS? word on the streets is that they are DRIVEN & RELIABLE, but they can also be RELENTLESS & ARROGANT. by the way, they look eerily similar to GREY DAMON, don’t they? ( admin karin / 20 / she/fae / aest )

FULL NAME: cassius evander fulgora. ( x. ) AGE: twenty-seven. PRONOUNS / GENDER: he/him / cis male. SPECIES: shapeshifter. HOUSING: rosehill, in an apartment with his girlfriend moon hana. FAMILY: born to claudio and anita fulgora, cassius is their eldest child. however, cassius views his half sister portia’s mother, merce as a mother of his own too. he also has one other sibling born to claudio and anita, five years younger than him.

BACKSTORY

they say that family shapes a person. and in cassius’ case, truer words have never been said. it is impossible to tell his story without telling the story of his family.

it started with a marriage proposal. almost thirty years ago, before his mother anita was pregnant with the boy that would be known to the world as cassius evander fulgora. a business deal had been struck between the fulgoras and the kleins. the eldest fulgora son, claudio was to marry the kleins’ only daughter. but he was in love with another then, a woman named merce. still, a deal was a deal, and claudio fulgora did not turn his back on promises.

and so anita and claudio got married, and a few months later, cassius was born. but it wasn’t until cassius was five, upon returning to fairview after the couple and their child spent a few months in germany, that anita learned claudio had another child. his ex lover came to their home, begging anita and claudio to please not hate her little daughter portia, only a few months older than cassius himself. and anita, despite her disappointment, could not help herself from falling in love with the little girl and feeling a kinship towards this girl’s mother. cassius, however, was a different story. while he was immediately fond of merce, the little girl his father made him call sister earned glares and scowls from him.

claudio and merce were over now. merce got pregnant before claudio married anita, before he fell in love with his wife. but it didn’t change the fact that the lives of these two families would always be intertwined, and in the future, cassius would think of them all as one family.

it was around the same time cassius first met his half-sister that his powers bloomed. something that, as a little boy, he enjoyed showing off to his sister. the only shapeshifters in the family were cassius and his father, and it always made him feel like he was special. it was difficult to control at first, but gradually, over time, his powers became less of a game and something that cassius truly cherished, something that he saw as a part of him rather than an extension of who he was.

at age twelve his father sent him to a boarding school in switzerland. but merce wouldn’t allow portia to get the same education claudio was offering cassius, and in his stubborness, cassius had refused more than a few years at the school, eventually returning to fairview to finish his high school education.

high school was when he met and befriended hana, a striking girl who like him, seemed to know that she was special and above everyone else. it was a gamble, really. they could’ve hated each other or became the best of friends, and somehow, they ended as allies, partners and friends. if there was a person he would call his soulmate, it would be hana.

they remained friends even when cassius left fairview again to go to university further up on the east coast. certainly, there were feelings involved that were a little more than friendship, but neither of them knew how to act on it. when cassius returned to fairview at last, one of the first things he found out that hana was in a relationship with someone else.

but soulmates always came back together. long story short, he and hana found each other again, and in the years to come, they would both become the best versions of each other. cassius, ever the arrogant and stubborn fighter, would eventually find work at the quarter moon ( he says it’s because it has moon in its name, which so happens to be hana’s last name ) where he bartends but more importantly, where he is close to the exclusive fight ring in fairview. it was the perfect mix of elegance and violence alike.

tldr; he has a pretty standard backstory, but it shaped cassius into the person who he is today.

PERSONALITY

there’s no easy way to describe cassius. he’s an arrogant asshole, he’s a person who wants more, who is greedy for power and glory. he’s quick-witted, clever, in the way that he could be a strategist for war. he could be a child of the god of war himself, lord ares. he is driven, passionate and once he has a goal set in mind, he would strive at it until he could grasp it and taste it on his tongue. he is ruled by a strict moral code, although his codes aren’t the ideal or best ones. still, he adheres to his code, knowing full well that he isn’t a good person. on the moral alignment scale, cassius is lawful evil, if you will.

but above all, love drives him. his love for the ones closest to him trumps everything, and despite his greediness and his selfishness, it is all driven by love. he fights, he bleeds for the people that he loves. love makes him selfish because he can’t bear the idea of losing his loved ones, and he would do anything and everything for them.

to sum it up, here is an excerpt from an explanation i had of cassius: “cassius evander fulgora is sensitive but not soft, lawful but not law-abiding, bold and brazen but not brave, and above all, he is a good brother, son, friend, husband and father, but not a good man.”

Does your character have any nicknames? the people closest to cassius are allowed to call him cas. for the most part, only his family does. there’s also evander, his middle name. an old nickname, given by a childhood best friend from the town he came from.

Does your character have any distinguishing features such as tattoos, scars, piercings, etc? curled dragon wings tattooed onto his back, gotten when he was twenty. they’re done in black and white, and take up most of his upper back.

What is your character like in relationships? Are they clingy? Faithful or unfaithful? Do they jump from one relationship to the other? Do they even have an interest in something romantic? cassius has been steadily in a relationship with moon hana for two years now. he doesn’t fall in love easy, but when he does, it’s intense and all consuming. hana is cassius’ world, and he knows that he wants to be hers forever.

What kind of things does your character like? What do they dislike? cassius was born a fighter. if you ask me to define him in one word, it would be that. so it’s no strange thing that he enjoys fighting at the ring down in the quarter moon, but verbal arguments ( so long as they’re not completely pointless ) also give him satisfaction. other things he likes includes but are not limited to: his girlfriend hana, mornings, italian cuisine, the art of war by sun tzu, running/jogging, books ( particularly non fiction ones ), hitting up the gym. one of cassius’ biggest dislikes is smoking and cigarettes, and he does not tolerate with people who smoke near him.

How does your character treat their friends and family? How about strangers? Enemies? the thing about cassius fulgora is that nothing he does is by halves. for him, it’s all or nothing. love, hate — you name it. it’s all the same. he’s intense, passionate and full of fire. when he loves someone, he loves them so fiercely. he is loyal to his family first and foremost ( the list includes friends closest to him and his girlfriend hana ), and he would do anything for them. while he too is loyal to his friends, if they threatened his family, he would drop them in a heartbeat. strangers, he keeps at arm length until they prove themselves. enemies? he would burn the world to burn them. just as he loves, he hates with a passion too.

Where does your character go when they are angry? the ring or the gym sometimes, and other times? home. to hana.

What is your character’s biggest fear? Who have they told this to? Who would they never tell this to? Why? perhaps to some it was a strange fear, but cassius’ biggest fear has always been total blindness. it’s no big secret either, if anyone asks he would tell them about it. but it also isn’t something he advertises, considering that it’s difficult to explain that his fear is stemmed from the fact that that sort of darkness would suffocate him.

Does your character have a secret? If so, what is it? tba, i can’t think of one.

Has your character ever been in love? Have they ever had a broken heart? cassius has had a few crushes here and there, some more intense than others. but the first time his heart felt like it belonged to another was when he fell in love with hana in high school. it was almost too late when he realised it, away from fairview for university and coming back only to see her with another on her arm. it almost broke his heart too, if it wasn’t for the fact that he and hana came back to each other in the end.

Does your character have any flaws? What are they? he likes to act like he’s better than everyone else, but cassius is incredibly flawed. he has a temper, he’s stubborn and he does everything in extremes. too much is what he is. he knows this too, and while he hates how it drives some people away and he fears that it’ll drive his loved ones away one day, he isn’t exactly sure how to stop. he is empty, and the only way he knows to fill himself is to become too much.

What is one strong memory that has stuck with your character from childhood? Why is it so powerful and lasting? there are probably more than one, but the moment his half sister walked into his home changed cassius’ life. they go a long way, but that day was the day that cassius added two more people into his list of family.

WANTED CONNECTIONS / PLOTS 

enemies. people he hates, and people who probably hate him back. whether it’s petty hateship, or whether they truly are a dangerous person or perhaps someone he’s made fun of in high school. anything goes for this.

frenemies. he probably has a lot of these, especially werewolves who fight in the ring as he does, or wolves who frequent the gym he sometimes works at. while he has a grudging respect for them, they’re werewolves, and he’s a shapeshifter. they’re meant to be at odds despite being two sides of the same coin. 

coworkers. both primal fitness or quarter moon, if your character works there, hit me up.

regular customers. similarly, if your character frequents the gym or the quarter moon, then they would probably be well acquainted with cassius too. a plot i’d also like is someone who has cassius as a personal trainer at the primal fitness.

[maxmundan]

I don’t know how to keep my mouth shut. I am a smart ass through and through, and many times this inability to know when to speak and when to keep quiet and who should or shouldn’t be told to their face that they are an idiot has gotten me into big trouble. In junior high school I had been regularly beat up and shoved into trash cans due to my habit of making sure every meathead there knew exactly what I thought of them and their intelligence level at all times. Later, I would decide that it was better to be feared than crushed, and I would start telling everyone that I was Hitler’s grandson. They tended to stay away from me after that. Hitler never had any children, of course, and thus was unlikely to have any grandchildren, but most of the guys at my school were in no danger of making the debate team or winning the spelling bee any time soon, if you know what I mean. Junior high school had been very hard on me, and I feel like I just ever so barely made it out with my life. I’ve learned a lot since then, and I’ve made a concerted effort to not mouth off to people I don’t know very well, or whose ability to control their temper I have been unable to gauge. Here’s the problem though. I drink. I drink a lot. I drink to excess, among other vices that I’ve cultivated, and when I drink, my control over the time delay between some insulting thought entering my brain and that same ugly thought popping out of my mouth becomes pretty nonexistent. I can say some pretty nasty things. One time I was on a blind date with this young lady named Elaine. She was the friend of a friend’s wife, who had set us up together, thinking that we were both fiercely proud of our intelligence and that, because of this, we would be perfect for each other. It was a stupid thought. I took her out to dinner at this nice Italian restaurant and we fought the whole damn time. About everything. We fought about art and science and music and movies. We couldn’t agree on a single thing. And the more I drank, the more insulting I got. I went from disagreeing with her to telling her how unbelievably moronic I thought her opinions were. I ended the date by telling her that I would rather fuck a man than her. She burst up from the table, throwing her full glass of red wine directly in my face and stormed out of the restaurant. What had gotten into me? What a terrible thing to say. Here’s the weird part, though. It wasn’t even true. I had thought she was pretty hot and, until that moment, I had been hoping we could get past our differences and I was going to get into her pants. That shit about fucking a man had just popped into my brain and out of my mouth without even a moment’s thought. The more wasted I get the greater the chance that I am going to say something that will just burn it all to the ground. This brings me to a night I spent doing way too many drugs and drinking far, far too much alcohol; a night I got lost and beaten and bloody and wet and ended up sleeping it off in the local holding cell; the night I met the inbred hick fucks. I like to party. That much has been established. I like to drink, and I like to drink to fucking excess, and if you invite me over to your house and pour me a glass of wine, or a beer, or a shot of whiskey or tequila, you are not getting me out of your house until every drop of alcohol you have has been consumed. That’s just the way it is. Don’t invite me over if you are saving your alcohol for a different, special occasion. It doesn’t even matter if you hide the alcohol from me. When you are out of the room, say going to the bathroom, or paying the pizza delivery man, I will go through all your cupboards and look under your bed and behind the old photographs in your closet to find it. I am going to have your alcohol, that’s just all there is to it. If you don’t have a lot, chances are that we are going to be taking a little trip to the store to get more. You’re going to have to pay, of course. I’ve been out of work for a while now and I can barely afford to take care of myself. You wouldn’t expect me to go without food or shelter, would you? I’m sure you don’t want me to stop feeding myself, am I right? So, you’re going to have to pay. We might very well get bored of the alcohol at some point and decide to move on to something a little more challenging and exciting, like cocaine or crystal meth. That would be fun. Don’t you think that would be fun? What about a little heroin? We could do speedballs for the rest of the night and really get fucking crazy. That would be something, wouldn’t it? Angel dust? Did someone mention angel dust? Damn, I’d sure love to do a little of that. It’s been so long. Do they still even have angel dust? Of course, it goes without saying that you’re paying for this too. I can’t afford that kind of shit. It’s expensive. We talked about this. I thought you understood. If I pay for this little bit of fun for the two of us, then I have to go without one of life’s essentials. Do you want me to be homeless or starve to death? Of course you don’t. So just pay for the coke and smack already and we can get this party started. The particular night in question, I was going to a cast party. You may have guessed already that I am an actor, due to my savoir faire and barely controlled narcissism. Yes, I’m a struggling actor. You say that like it’s a bad thing. Of course, I’m a struggling actor. I think I’ve made $10 doing it my entire life and that was when I played Twinkie the Kid at a grocery store opening for a half hour when I was 17. That’s a story for another time, though. The night of the inbred hick fucks was a cast party. I was doing a show called “The Feeling Child.” It was an amazing piece of shit, I’ll tell you that. You know “The Handmaid’s Tale” by Margaret Atwood? Well, this was sort of the opposite of that. It was a science fiction play about a future world where abortion was mandatory. The evil commie lefties had taken over and placed a strict limit on the number of babies people could have. They had convinced everyone that the lie of climate change was in fact true, and this new law was necessary to cut down on the out of control overpopulation that was depleting the planet’s resources. So, this evil, leftie government was forcing good, god-fearing, Christian parents to kill their fetuses. I played the leader of the anti-abortion rebellion who had been arrested protesting at one of the abortion mills and was now being tortured by the authorities for the crime of just wanting babies to live, damnit. It was written by a born-again right-winger. I guess that goes without saying. Only a born-again right-winger would write something so fucking stupid. The play was a disaster from the get go. I have no idea why I even agreed to do it in the first place. I must be a glutton for punishment. Either that or I have absolutely nothing going on in my life, and I will sign on to any piece of shit that will get me in front of an audience, where I can feel the adulation and hear the applause. Nothing else, not even the drugs, can quiet the voices in my head of crippling self-doubt and self-loathing like adulation and applause. It got even worse. The director was under no illusion that this piece of shit was going to Broadway and was afraid, I think, that the audience was going to laugh instead of cry or become outraged when they saw it, so he decided to do this thing Kabuki style. That is right, Kabuki style, which is an ancient form of Japanese theater. So, me and the rest of the cast had to perform in a very stylized physical way. We also had to hold paper cut-out masks in front of our faces the whole time. There is a scene where my tongue gets cut out because I just can’t stop talking about how fetuses were meant to live, and god would hate us for what we were doing. The director decided to symbolize this by having a red ribbon attached to my mask. When the big tongue cutting scene happened, which was the climax of the whole atrocious play, I just pulled the ribbon through the mouth of my mask and let it drop all the way to the floor. Needless to say, it was a hoot. The opening night of the play, about four or five minutes in, the audience started laughing. They started to laugh really loud. They didn’t let up. They thought the play was amazing. They thought it was a comedy. Hell, they thought it was a really terrific comedy. Now, I’m no idiot, so when the audience started to bust up laughing, I decided to go for it. I played it for laughs. I started exaggerating my movements and holding for laughter and using my comedy training for things like double takes and physical theater bits. I even did a spit take at one point, shooting water through the mouth hole of my mask. The audience loved it. They ate it the fuck up. When it came time for the curtain call, every last one of them got up on their goddamn feet and gave me a standing ovation. I shit you not. A standing ovation. It was one of the crowning achievements of my acting career to this point. I mean it was fucking amazing. It felt great. I felt like a star. Of course, the writer and director were a little pissed about the whole thing. More than a little pissed, actually. they were furious. They refused to talk to me, or even look at me, after the show. To this day, they still haven’t ever talked to me. As far as they are concerned, both of them, I am persona non grata. This was the party after the performance, though, and I was riding a pretty great high, so I was bound and determined to get wasted. I started off slow, just getting my game on, with a couple of Mango Wheat Brown Ales or some such shit, I don’t really remember. Then, a bit later, someone produced a bottle of Stolichnaya from the freezer and man, was it on. I can drink straight vodka all night. I just started pounding shots. I couple of cute girls came into the kitchen where I was and started egging me on, so I upped the pace a little and began chugging straight from the bottle. By the time I reached the bottom of it, though, the chicks were nowhere to be seen. What the hell happened to those girls? They must have disappeared when I wasn’t looking. I didn’t have long to wonder about the whereabouts of the girls before my friend Sycamore Taylor walked in holding a big blunt in his fingers and asked if I wanted to take a little toke. Well, of fucking course I wanted to take a goddamn toke. Who the hell did he think he was talking to? Sycamore was as big a stoner as me, if not worse, and he was always rolling these big, fucking bomber joints that were half weed and half tobacco. It took like ten rolling papers to make one, and goddamn they wiped you out. The one this night was a particular monster and just the first hit off it gave me cotton mouth so bad I had to get something else to drink to go with it. There was a bottle of Somrethingorother Cabernet Sauvignon sitting unopened on the counter, so I grabbed that and started rifling through the kitchen drawers to find a corkscrew. I couldn’t find anything, so I handed the bottle to Sycamore, thinking, “What the fuck is wrong with these people that they don’t have a corkscrew? Isn’t that the bare minimum if you’re going to throw a party at your house?” I was throwing open all the cabinets and even looking through the trash. There had to be some way to open this fucking bottle of wine. Sycamore was just standing there, looking at the label on the bottle, not helping me in any way, when he said, “Shit, man. Check it out. This bottle is a 1996. I don’t think we should drink this. It’s probably pretty valuable.” “Are you some kind of fucking idiot?” I asked him, snatching the bottle from his hands, “If they didn’t intend for people to drink it, they would have never brought it to a goddamn party, right?” Sycamore acquiesced and agreed that this was pretty logical thinking on my part, but we still couldn’t open the damn bottle for the life of us. I ended up just taking a big steak knife and carving my way through the cork till I could finally get my lips at the delicious wine. Fuck, that tasted good. By this time the blunt had gone out and we needed to relight that sucker and give it a good smoking. By the time I had crushed the tiny butt out on the kitchen floor with my boot, Sycamore had disappeared too, and the bottle of wine was empty. I was completely alone in the kitchen, leaning up against the refrigerator. I decide to go in search of more alcohol and lurched forward with that intent. I was a lot drunker than I had given myself credit for, though, and my legs didn’t operate in anywhere near the fashion I wanted or intended them to, and I fell flat on my face instead. I banged my chin pretty goddamn viciously on the kitchen floor so that I bit down hard on my tongue. I could taste blood in my mouth. I decided the best thing for me to was to stay down on the floor like that. I might really fuck myself up if I tried to get back on my feet. I don’t know how long I was there, but eventually someone, I don’t know who, came in and lifted me back up. I must have blacked out around this time because the next thing that I remember was sitting on the couch in another room with a glass full of whiskey in my hand, watching John Waters “Pink Flamingos” on the TV. It was the part of the movie where Divine buys the piece of meat at the butcher and shoves it up her dress between her legs as she walks. I was having black out experiences a lot these days. I would be missing hours, sometimes entire nights. The worst was when I would wake up in the back seat of my car and realize that I must have driven from some party or other to wherever it was I found myself in the morning but had no recollection of getting there. I could easily kill myself or someone else in one of these blackout experiences. At a certain point, I realized I needed to give up drinking and driving before something terrible happened. I decided to sell my car. I polished off my glass of whiskey and looked around the room. I was the only person there. Well, not the only person. There was a shirtless guy passed out on the couch next to me. Someone had drawn cartoon penises all over his chest. “That’s totally fucked up,” I remember thinking. “Where had everybody gone?” I wondered. I pushed myself gingerly off the couch and went in search of more alcohol. “There must be something here,” I thought. I wandered back through the kitchen where a whole bunch of people I didn’t recognize were laughing at some story I couldn’t quite figure out. I asked them if there was any more beer, but they just ignored me. I had no idea where all my friends had gone and by this point I couldn’t even remember whose house it was that I had been partying at. I pushed a couple of guys out of the way of the refrigerator and threw open the door. There had to be some alcohol inside. There wasn’t. I started to ask the guys if they knew where to find any, but they were giving me a particularly dirty look, so I slithered out of the kitchen to continue my search. There was nothing. I looked everywhere. I found a couple of half full bottles of beer, but they had already become party ashtrays. I even tried to drink one but got a cigarette butt in my mouth that I had to spit out on the floor. What’s more, there didn’t even seem to be anybody I knew in the house anymore. I ran from room to room, but I didn’t recognize any of my friends or anybody from the cast of the show I had just done. Where did everybody go? “I guess I might as well head home,” I thought. I stumbled out the front door with the intention of walking home. I was having trouble moving in a straight line, but I figured if I really focused I would probably be able to make it. A sort of jock looking dude about a foot taller than me stopped me on my way down the driveway. “Hey man,” he said, placing his hand on my chest to slow me down, “You’re really drunk. why don’t you let me give you a ride home?” “I’m fine,” I answered, belligerently, pushing his hand out of my way. “Seriously,” he said, reaching out for me but failing to grab my shirt as I dodged his reach, “You’re going to fuck yourself up going off like that.” “Don’t worry about me,” I spit back at him over my shoulder, “I’ve done this a thousand times. I’ve walked home drunk more times than you’ve masturbated, and from the look of you that’s a whole fucking lot.” “Well, fuck you then, asshole,” I heard him shout at me as I lurched from the driveway out into the road, just narrowly stepping out of the path of a pair of headlights that was rushing on me quickly. The problem was that the guy was right. As I walked off down the street, it occurred to me that I had no idea where I was and thus, no concept of the correct direction to choose to get home. I had only the vaguest memory of getting to the party in the first place. I know I had been driven there by one of the other cast members, but I was damned if I could remember which one. I’d had a few fucking drinks, okay? How the hell was I supposed to remember boring details? I hadn’t been paying attention to the streets either. I had just been laughing and telling jokes and otherwise making a spectacle of myself.   “God-fucking-damnit,” I thought, “Why am I always such a colossal fuck up?” I figured the best thing I could do was to keep walking. If I did, maybe I would come to a place I recognized, and from there, be able to find my way home. It’s wasn’t like I just moved here yesterday. I’d lived in this town for a couple of years. I’m not some newbie, wannabe poseur who just fell off the turnip truck.  I just happened to be in a strange part that I didn’t recognize. I walked for about fifteen minutes, turning frequently, but always trying to move in the direction that I assumed the center of town might be. I’m pretty arrogant about my sense of direction. Unfortunately, I was way off. I found myself at the bottom of a cul-de-sac I had been sure was going to lead somewhere, so I marched back in the other direction and turned the opposite way from the one I thought I had come. “This has got to work,” I thought. There were only so many directions I could go. I had to find the town center sooner or later. I was wrong again. I walked about a block and a half on this street before the houses started to disappear and I began to encounter bigger and bigger plots of land. “Oh shit,” I said to myself, slapping my own face with my hand, “I’m on the fucking Bottoms. How did I get to the Bottoms?” The Bottoms were what we all called the huge stretches of farmland on the outskirts of town. I was nowhere near where I had thought I was. The Bottoms were about a twenty-minute drive from the center of town, about thirty minutes from my place. It was going to take me for-fucking-ever to walk home at this point. I briefly wondered what time it was. It must have been after 2am. The party hadn’t even started till 10:30. It occurred to me that I might be really fucked here. I’d never spent much time on the Bottoms in the couple of years I’d lived in town. I mean, why the hell would I spend a lot of time in this area? I’m not a big fan of cow shit and there wasn’t fuck all else on the goddamn Bottoms. Why would anybody with half a brain even come down to this shithole if they didn’t have to? I’m not a frat boy into drinking two shots of Jägermeister and then drunkenly pushing cows over and I don’t need to pick magic mushrooms out of fresh, wet poop. I buy my mushrooms from the dealer like a respectable drug addict. I just kept stumbling down the road. I started looking around, hoping to see a car coming that maybe I could flag down and hitch a ride home. That seemed to be the best idea, but there was nothing, not a car in sight. This wasn’t exactly New York City. If it was as late as I thought it was, every goddamn person in town might be in bed already. “Jesus fucking Christ,” I screamed at the top of my lungs, so the cows could understand my pain, “could this be a bigger disaster?” Then it started to rain. With my luck, I should have predicted it. Oh, it had been misting for a while, but all of a sudden, the skies opened up and it started to pour. The rain was pounding down on the pavement and the marshy farm land the road ran through, splashing mud all over me. Within a few minutes, the original color of the clothing I had worn was impossible to distinguish, covered as it was with a thick layer of dripping clay. “Fuck,” I thought, “these were brand new duds I picked out specifically for the party.” I started to run as fast as I could down the road, screaming at the top of my lungs as I went. I have no idea what I was screaming and was pretty certain nobody could hear me anyway. After a few minutes, I slowed to a halt, realizing that running was counterproductive. I could easily be running farther away from where I wanted to go. I stopped in my tracks. “I’ve really fucked up this time,” I thought. I had no idea how I was supposed to get out of this situation. I probably should have accepted that ride from the jock dude back at the party. The rain continued to pour. If anything, it was raining harder than it had been a few minutes ago. “I guess it’s just never going to fucking stop,” I said to myself. Then I started to laugh. I just threw my head back and let out with as big a belly laugh as I’d ever laughed in my life. “I guess I’m going to die out here,“ I thought, and as I did so, I realized that the laughter had morphed seamlessly into tears, and I was bawling like a baby. I really committed myself to self-pity at this point. I plopped my ass down in the mud at the side of the road and cried my eyes out as the rain pelted me till I could taste the mud in my mouth as it rolled down my face. “What a shitty place to die,” I thought. Then I saw the headlights.   At first, I wasn’t sure that’s what they were, as they crept slowly down the long road. My mind could have easily been playing tricks with me at this point. After a couple of minutes, though, I recognized the outline of a vehicle headed my way. I jumped to my feet and started waving my hands hysterically and shouting. I must have looked a sight, a soaking wet and mud-drenched lunatic standing in the road screaming in the middle of the night. Nobody in their right mind would pull over and let me get in their car. The most likely outcome is that they would just drive on by and leave me there with my misery. I wanted them to stop so fucking badly, though. It could be the difference between life and death for me. I found myself praying for the first time in many years, repeating a mantra to myself over and over again, “Please God, let them stop for me. Please God, let them stop for me.” The car got closer and closer to me and it did appear that they were slowing down. I could see now that it was an old Galaxy 500 in pretty bad disrepair. Even through the driving rain I could see that this was one junker of a car that really had no business being on the road at all. It certainly wasn’t one of those beautifully restored models that real car lover guys often have. It looked like it had been driven non-stop from the 50s to this moment in time without so much as a tune-up. “Oh well, beggars can’t be choosers,” I thought. To my surprise, the car pulled over to the side of the road and the driver’s side window rolled down. Inextricably, the rain seemed to double in intensity at that moment, obscuring my vision, so I couldn’t make out any details of the head or face that looked at me from the open window. “Please God, let them give me a ride home,” I prayed silently, not moving a muscle. At that moment, the face in the window spoke. “Hey buddy,” it said, “are you alright there? You don’t look like you’re doing so good.” “I’m not,” I replied. I wanted to say so much more. I wanted to get down on my knees and beg for my life, beg for him to save me, to give me a ride home. Nothing came out, however, and I just stood there in silence for a minute or two. Finally, after what seemed an eternity, the driver spoke again. “Why don’t you get in the car dude? We can give you a ride home.” “I’m soaking wet and covered in mud,” I told him, taking a hesitant step towards his car. “No shit,” he replied, “I can see that. It won’t make a difference in this car. Just get your ass inside and we’ll get you home.” I couldn’t believe my luck. A minute ago, I thought I was going to die out here, alone on the road, and now my salvation was at hand. “Thank you,” I said hesitantly, as I stepped towards the car and opened the rear driver’s side door. It was dark inside, but I could make out that there was already someone in the back seat. I looked towards the front and saw that there was another person in the front as well. I still couldn’t make out their faces, just the outlines of their figures. “Three guys in here,” I thought, “I guess that’s okay.” Now, I don’t usually hitch rides and I certainly never pick up hitchhikers. I’ve heard too many of the stories and half the people around here seemed like they walked out of a Manson family look-alike contest, so the last thing on earth I’d want is to share a ride with them. I was hesitating in a limbo between getting in the car and stepping back out onto the road. I was getting a really weird feeling that I couldn’t quite put my finger on, and it was leaving me very unsure as to what I should or shouldn’t do. It was then that the guy in the back seat reached out and pulled me into the car. I flopped down on the seat beside him, spraying an arc of mud across the inside of the car as I did so. “Goddamn,” the guy in the back seat said at this point, “this fucker really is covered in mud.” “That’s okay,” the driver said, turning to look at me, “Would you close the door though, dude? A lot of rain is getting in the car.” “Oh yeah,” I replied, as I pulled the car door shut, “sorry about that.” “No worries,” the driver said, “Now where we takin’ you, Mr. Mud?” “Uh, I live in t…t…town,” I stuttered, “near the corner of 5th and G.” “Alright,” he said, “then let’s get on the road.” He and the other guy both turned their faces back towards the front of the car then and the driver pulled out onto the road. I could hear the rain pounding on the roof as we started to move. If anything, it was falling even harder still. “Thank God I’m finally out of it,” I thought. “Thank you,” I said to the whole car, as I settled back into the seat, resting my head on the cushion. I was still very fucked up and drunk. You would have thought the walk and the rain might have sobered me up a bit but that was far from the case. I turned towards the guy sitting next to me in the back seat and realized that he was staring at me. I had the distinct impression he was sizing me up. I hadn’t paid much attention to the way the guys in the car had looked to this point, but I noted now that they could almost be triplets. All three were blond, white guys with short, military-cut hair and camouflage hats like hunters wear. “So, what’s your story, Mr. Mud?” the one sitting next to me said, “You look like you’ve fucked this night up one side and down the other.” “What do you mean?” I answered tentatively. As I did, I looked over at him and noticed for the first time that he was very heavily tattooed. He was wearing blue jeans and a grey t-shirt and had tattoos all down his arms and up his neck. It’s possible he even had a couple on his skull that were showing through his short blond hair a little bit. In the diffused lighting inside the car, I couldn’t really be sure. Now, I have nothing whatsoever against tattoos. I like them, in fact. I even have a couple myself. One on my right arm of my dog, Oscar, and a Chinese Symbol that means freedom on my chest that I had gotten the first time I got sober. There was one on this guy that bothered me a bit, however, just below his left ear. It was partially hidden but still unmistakable as the double lightning bolt SS symbol of the Nazi Stormtroopers. “I mean all THIS, Dude,” He said, waving his hand at me, “All this mud and water and stench and the scratches on your face. You are one fucked up dude, am I right?” “Yeah, I guess I’m a little drunk,” I said, trying my best to sound confident. I turned to look at the guy in the passenger seat, who was now turning around staring at me. He was smiling the most hideous grimace of a smile I’d ever seen and there was nothing in his eyes, no life, no warmth. He was a killer, through and through. He had the same SS Tattoo under his left ear. I swung my gaze towards the driver to see if he had one too. Mercifully he was still looking forwards, towards the road, but he had an identical SS tattoo under his ear as well. “What the fuck have I gotten myself into?” I thought. I live in little town in Northern California called Arcata. Arcata is the most liberal town you are ever going to find in your life. My guess is that every old hippy left on Earth has ended up here and every young hippy makes a pilgrimage to be among their own kind. It’s my kind of place, full of vegan restaurants, political action committees, and hot hippy chicks. In the end, though, Arcata is just a very tiny, progressive island in a vast sea of redneck ignorance. Some of the dumbest, ugliest motherfuckers you’ve ever seen in your life populate the surrounding towns, like McKinleyville, Garberville, and Laytonville (which I always referred to as Satanville for its hellish, frightening qualities). The most conservative people in Arcata vote Democrat every time, but in the surrounding communities there are a pretty fair share of racists, neo-Nazis, and white supremacists. It was looking like I’d fallen in with three white trash mutants from outside Arcata. Now, I’m sure you’re probably able to guess exactly how I feel about motherfucking Nazis. You are correct, sir, I cannot fucking stand them. We’ve fought long and hard to cut through the moronic racism in this country and shame the drooling, KFC swilling, KKK hood wearing redneck pigs back under the rocks they originally emerged from. What’s more, we had gone to war in Europe not so very fucking long ago to eradicate these ridiculous, sadistic scum from the face of the Earth. Not only were Nazis and white power jerk-offs amazing assholes, but they were always history’s big losers, constantly on the wrong side of both victory and history. Why any human being would want to throw their hand up in a “sieg heil” and declare yourself one of this spineless, pathetic crowd is beyond me. Yet, here I was, trapped in a car with three of them. The driver kept his eyes on the road and without turning, he said to me, “I’d say you’re more than a little drunk, wouldn’t you, friend? I’d say you’re shitfaced, you’re two sheets to the wind, you’re one toke over the line, aren’t you?” This Nazi sure knew a lot of colorful terms for being wasted. “Alright, I’m totally fucked up,” I replied, just deciding to go with it now, “Is that a crime?” The one sitting next to me busted out laughing, and slapping me on the shoulder, said, “I think it might be. What do you guys think, guys? Isn’t getting fucked up out of your mind a crime?” The guy in the passenger seat turned towards me again and in the coldest voice I’d ever heard said, “Yeah, it’s a crime. I think it’s called drunk in public. Maybe I oughta make a citizen’s arrest.” This guy was the one I really needed to watch out for. It’s possible he could jump in the  back seat and slit my throat at any second. “Ha,” I said, laughing myself to try and join in their fun somehow, holding my arms out with the wrists turned up as if I was waiting for handcuffs to be put on, “you got me dead to rights. I’m busted. Why don’t you put the cuffs on and take me to the clink?” The guy sitting next to me grabbed my arms and pulled them towards himself so that I was spun around in the back seat. His grip on my wrist was tight, and he had long, rat-like fingernails that were now digging deeply into my skin. I couldn’t tell for sure by the light in the car, but it was possible that he was drawing blood. “Hey motherfucker,” he screamed at me, moving so his face was so close to mine that I could see the spittle from his pasty lips spraying off him at my mouth and eyes, “Do we look like cops to you?” “Uh…,” was all I could say in response as he continued to hold my arms tight. The one in the passenger seat reached back to grab me now too, leaning way over the back of his seat to wrap his arm around my neck and put me in a headlock. “Well?” the passenger seat guy screamed, “Do we look like cops to you, motherfucker?” “N…n…no,” I answered, trying to wriggle out of their grasp, “you guys do not look like cops.” Apparently, that was the right thing to say, as they both released me now and settled back into their seats. I looked at my wrists and saw that the asshole next to me had, in fact, drawn blood. “How fucking long are that guy’s nails?” I thought. “You got that right,” the guy next to me said now, “We ain’t no fucking cops. Maybe you ain’t so drunk after all. You can figure that out at least.” All three were guffawing now. They thought this was the funniest comedy ever. Nazis have a pretty lousy sense of humor, it turns out. Maybe that’s why there are no Nazi comedians I can think of off the top of my head. They just kept repeating “Ain’t no fucking cops” over and over and laughing at the top of their redneck lungs. Suddenly, however, the laughter stopped dead. I looked around the car and the two who weren’t driving were both looking at me with the fiercest intensity I’d ever seen. I could practically see the steam coming off the tops of their heads from the angry fire of their stares. The one in the passenger seat leaned a little closer to me and said, in a voice that could cut through steel, “What DO we look like, Mr. Mud?” Without warning, the driver pulled the car over to the side of the road and turned off the engine. He turned towards me also and asked, “Yeah, what DO we look like?” I said nothing and just looked around the car, from one impenetrable face to the next. “C’mon Mr. Mud,” the guy in the passenger seat said, “you can be honest. Tell us what we look like.” I realized later that I should have said “You look like nice guys” or “You look like cool dudes.” That would have been the safe and appropriate response.  When I get really fucked up, though, as I’ve been telling you, I get very belligerent and the time between thinking a thought and that thought spilling out of my lips becomes almost nonexistent. So, instead of saying something sensible that would help get me safely out of this situation, I opened my big, fat mouth and said, “Inbred hick fucks. You guys look like inbred hick fucks.” This was a mistake. Next thing I knew, the three of them were dragging me out of the car and out into the middle of a muddy field. I obviously do not know when to shut my big, fat, fucking mouth, because I just kept screaming “INBRED HICK FUCKS” at the top of my lungs. If I had had my senses about me I would have understood that this wasn’t going to improve my situation any. Inbred hick fucks do not like to be called inbred hick fucks. Go figure. They must have dragged me for quite some ways because this part seemed like it went on forever. “What they hell is going to happen to me?” I wondered. Were they going to kill me? Rape me? I’d fucking seen Deliverance, you know. The last thing on earth I wanted was to be made to squeal like a pig, not by these stinking scumbags.   Finally, the three of them came to a stop and threw me down hard into the spongy, muddy grass on the ground, so that my face became half submerged in muck. I tried to scream “INBRED HICK FUCKS” one more time but my mouth filled with filthy water and it was all I could do to spit it out before the beating started. The first kick hit me right in the crotch. I jerked in pain and tried to roll myself into a ball, but the kicks started coming hard and fast now, landing from all sides. My stomach, my back, my ass, my ribs. Kicks were landing all over my body and Jesus fucking Christ, it hurt. Those motherfuckers must have all been wearing steel-toed boots. They just kept kicking me and kicking me. All I could do was to put my arms in from of my face to at least protect that. “Please God,” I found myself praying, “don’t let them ruin my pretty face.” I was very worried that one good kick to my kisser would be able to knock out my teeth. I didn’t have the most attractive teeth in the world. I mean, I was usually a lot more interested in getting royally shit-faced than I was in going to the dentist or practicing proper hygiene, but I sure liked my teeth better in my mouth than lying on the ground with the mud and the cow shit. We must have been out in the middle of a field because I could hear the cows mooing over the sound of the still driving rain. The rain didn’t seem to be bothering the three assholes at all, though, or slowing them down a bit. They didn’t say a word while they did it, or even make a sound. They seemed totally focused on the business of beating the living shit out of me. Finally, the one who I think had been the driver shouted to the others, “Okay, that’s enough. We don’t want to kill this fucker.” And like that, the beating stopped. Thank God they didn’t want to kill me. It actually came as a bit of a shock. I didn’t expect Nazis with moral boundaries. I looked up at them, wiping the rain, mud and what I assumed to be blood out of my eyes. The three of them spit on me, and then the one who had been sitting next to me in the back seat kicked me one more time, square in the face and shouted, “Who’s the inbred hick fuck now, fucker?” “Well, it’s still you,” I thought, touching the bruise on my face where the toe of the boot had connected, “kicking my ass doesn’t change that.” I kept this thought to myself, though. For the time being, at least, I had learned my lesson. The three Nazis walked back to their car then and left me lying alone, sprawled on the ground in pain, soaking wet and covered in mud and blood. I tried to raise myself up to my feet, but my legs gave out and I immediately fell back in the mud. “Shit,” I thought, “those guys really fucked me up.” I forced myself painfully to my knees. I didn’t think anything was broken, but until I started to walk I couldn’t possibly be sure. I had no idea what hour of the night it was at this point. It could be four or five in the morning for all I knew. I couldn’t judge how much time had elapsed since those fucking rednecks had picked me up. I looked around, in all directions. All I could see was grass and mud and rain and cows. It occurred to me then that, the vicious beating aside, I was much worse off than I had been when the inbred hick fucks had picked me up. I had been lost to begin with, but now I didn’t even know what direction to go in to find a road. I was well and truly fucked. I plopped my ass down in the mud one more time and just started to scream at the top of my lungs. I don’t know how long I sat there screaming. It could have been five minutes. It could have been an hour. It was impossible to tell. I was bleeding from multiple spots on my face and body and there was so much pain. Every part of my body hurt. Those stupid bastards had really fucked me up. Why the hell had I insisted on telling them what I really thought? At one point during my screaming, I looked over and there was a cow just a few feet away, looking absently at me. It must have wondered what this loud, obnoxious creature was doing out in the middle of its field. The cow didn’t look particularly menacing, more quizzical than anything else, but I did catch myself wondering if there was any way I’d be able to defend myself if the cow decided to charge me. Luckily, that never happened. I didn’t want the headline in the morning to read “Unknown Actor Trampled to Death by Cow.” I just kept screaming and screaming. I wasn’t doing it for any particular purpose. It was more that I just couldn’t think of anything else to do. If I got up and started walking; if I was, in fact, able to make it to my feet at all, I ran the risk of getting myself even farther from the road and making my chance for survival worse than it already was. I screamed for what seemed an eternity. “Somebody has got to hear me,” I thought. I decided I would scream and scream until someone, anyone, eventually showed up to help. “Please just don’t be more Nazis,” I thought. I was still screaming incoherently when I saw something out of the corner of my eye. I turned half way around to see the flashing red and blue lights of a police car. “Oh, thank God,” I thought, “I’m saved. These cops will take me home.” You might not be surprised to know that I really don’t like cops. I hate them, in fact. As a general rule, they are never there when I fucking need them, but always manage to show up when I’m speeding, or running a red light, or transporting a shitload of heroin and hashish across state lines. Cops are not my friends any more than Nazis are. On this one occasion, however, I was overjoyed to see them. I stopped screaming completely at this point. I didn’t want to look like a total idiot. I’m sure I looked bad enough without the screaming. The lights were about a hundred yards away from me. Those fuckers had really dragged me far from the road. I kept staring at the lights to see if anyone was coming towards me, but for the longest time there were just the lights, no movement at all. “What the hell was taking them so long?” I thought. Couldn’t they see I was in trouble here? Finally, I started to see two tiny figures moving towards me in the rain. I stared at them as they got closer, trying with all my might not to start screaming again. It took every bit of my will power, though. In the end, I couldn’t fight it anymore and started waving my arms and shouting, “Hey, over here. I’m hurt bad. Over here.” When the cops got close, I could see that one was a guy and one was a girl. Rather than looking like they were happy to see me, however, they both looked like they were pissed that they had to get all wet on account of me. “Okay, quiet now,” the male cop said to me when he got within a couple of yards, “You can stop screaming now.” I stopped immediately. I hadn’t realized that I had still been screaming. The two cops stopped right in front of me, looking down. I got the distinct feeling that they were observing me like they might a bug they were about to crush. They stood that way for a few moments, before the female cop said to me, “Well, what exactly is going on here?” “Yeah buddy,” the other cop added, “don’t you think it’s time you left these poor cows alone?” “What?” I replied to them, trying to get to my feet, “These fucking Nazi guys brought me out here and beat the shit out of me.” “Hey now,” the female cop said, “watch the language. Is it necessary to have such a foul mouth?” As she said this, the other cop reached out with his foot and pushed me back down into the mud. “Why don’t you just stay where you are?” he said, “You can tell your story from there.” “They beat me up,” I answered, trying to get all the story out now in one breath so that they might believe and help me, “I was walking home from a party and hitched a ride from these guys with Nazi tattoos and they started giving me a hard time, so I called them inbred hick fucks, sorry but that’s what I said. I called them this name, so they pulled the car over to the side of the road and dragged me out here and beat me up. There were three of them and I tried to fight back and defend myself, but they were all attacking me at once and there was nothing I could do except try and defend my face from getting kicked.” “Wow, this guy’s really got a story to tell,” the male cop said, looking at the female cop. He then turned back to me and added, “How much have you had to drink, buddy?” “Uh…,” I answered, stunned, “what’s that got to do with anything?” “It has a whole to do with a lot of things,” the male cop responded, “There’s actually a law against public intoxication.” “Yeah, I’ve heard that somewhere before,” I said, looking from one cop to the other for some sign of compassion. I didn’t see any. I tried to find something else to say but nothing came to my lips. I was dumbfounded. I had told them the whole story of those violent Nazi scumbags and these two stupid cops actually thought that I was the criminal here. These fucking cops were proving to be as useless as all the rest. “C’mon now,” the female cop said as they both reached down to pull me up by my arms, “haven’t you bothered these poor cows enough?” “Yeah,” the other cop added, “maybe we should let them get some sleep.” Both cops started laughing then as they dragged me, tripping and stumbling, the hundred or so yards back to the police car. Every once in a while, one cop would look at the other one and repeat their hilarious joke, “Let them get some sleep.” Then the two of them would both bust out laughing. When we got back to the road and the police car, the female cop threw open the door and the guy cop tossed me unceremoniously in the back seat. “You’re going to get a little time to rest,” he said to me as he closed the door, “Don’t you dare vomit back there.” I must have passed out on the way back to the police station because I don’t remember any details about it at all. I remember being wet and filthy and uncomfortable but there is nothing else. The two cops could have laughed at me or taunted me the whole way, or they could have passed the entire ride in total silence. I have no way of knowing. I do remember arriving at the police station, because the guy cop pulled me so hard from the car that I smashed my head on the doorway as I came out. I thought cops were supposed to protect your head. Maybe that was only getting in the car, not getting out. Fuck, it hurt. I could tell I was going to have a big bump there on top of the damage that the inbred hick fucks had done to me. The two of them each held one of my arms to keep me steady as they dragged me up two flights of stairs. I was thinking the whole time about who I was going to bother when I got the one phone call they always give you. They carried me into a wide room with another cop standing behind a big counter at the end. I didn’t like the look of this one. He looked like a real asshole. In fact, he looked pretty similar to the fuckers I had been in the car with and who had beaten the shit out of me. He had blue eyes and short blond hair and that typical Nazi look of total condescension when his eyes met mine.  “Christ,” I thought, “the two who had arrested me and brought me in might be the nice ones.” Chances were that I was pretty fucked here. “What do we got here?” he said to the cops who brought me in. “Drunk in public,” the female cop said. “We found him crying and screaming in a cow field,” the guy cop added, “He needs a night in the drunk tank to sleep it off.” “Alright then,” the cop behind the counter said, “Let’s get to it then.” The two who had arrested me left me with the asshole looking cop then and disappeared back into the night. I guess they were off to arrest some other poor slob who had been beaten senseless by Nazis. The majority of the booking process that followed occurred in almost complete silence. The asshole looking cop may have said one or two words to me the entire time but that was the extent of it. He took my mugshot and my fingerprints, and I had to blow into some balloon like thing, I guess it was to measure my level of drunkenness. It was totally unnecessary. If he would have just asked I would have gladly told him how drunk I was. “Alright,” he said when we were finished with that, “I think it’s tank time for you.” “Don’t I get a phone call?” I asked him. I had been going over my options and I planned to call my friend, Satlin, who was a guy I’d known for a long time and who had been at the performance of the terrible play earlier in the evening. Damn, that seemed like a lifetime ago now. I’d been wracking my brain and Satlin was the only one I could think of who might be interested in me getting the hell out of here. It wasn’t that he cared so much about my wellbeing, but Satlin had a sick sense of humor and would want to make sure I was safe and ready to give another over-the-top performance of “The Feeling Child.” In response, however, the asshole looking cop just slapped me on the shoulder and laughed. After he had giggled and chortled his fill, he looked at me and said, “No phone call. Now, take off your clothes.” “Wh…what?” I replied to him. “I said give me your clothes,” he said to me, biting off the words right in my face, “You’re not getting in my tank wearing all that filthy, stinking shit.” “M…my clothes?” “Yes, your clothes. Go ahead now. I’ll wait.” So, I proceeded to strip naked in front of the asshole cop. He didn’t seem to be enjoying it, thank God. It wasn’t one of those things, at least. As I mentioned earlier, I naturally always think the worst of cops and It would surprise me not the tiniest little bit to find out they made a habit of raping and murdering the people they arrest. To be perfectly honest, though, it felt pretty good to take my clothes off. I had been wet and covered in mud for so long that I had kind of gotten used to it, but it was a bit of a relief to finally be rid of the clothes. When I got down to just my underwear, I thought of asking if he wanted me to continue but I knew the answer already, so I just stripped them off and threw them onto the pile of my clothes on the floor. “Okay, what now?” I said to him when I was finished, standing completely naked in front of him. “Now I say nighty-night,” He answered, taking me by the arm and leading me down a short hallway to a room with a very thick door and an extremely tiny window. I assume the window was for checking on what was inside rather than looking out. The asshole looking cop opened the door and I peered inside. There were two other guys already in there, sitting on the floor. For some reason, they had been allowed to keep their clothes. The walls and floor were all heavily padded, and other than the two guys, there was nothing in the room but a dirty toilet in one corner. “Home sweet home,” I thought. “Hey look, I got a friend for you guys,” the asshole looking cop said, then threw me roughly into the room. Luckily everything was padded because I smashed hard into one wall and slid to the ground. What was it with people throwing me around? The two guys didn’t even look at me. they were both in their own little worlds. Then the asshole looking cop slammed the door and left me alone with my new friends. I looked up from where I was now squatting uncomfortably against the wall. The excitement had roused the two other guys in the cell and they were now looking in my direction. Both of them looked like redneck guys in their mid to late 50s. They were wearing jeans, flannel shirts, and red MAGA caps, and both of them had long cracker beards, like the assholes on Duck Dynasty. They eyed me like a piece of meat. I was trying to figure out if they wanted to kill me or fuck me, or both. “Christ almighty,” I said to myself, “how many fucking rednecks does a guy have to deal with in one evening?” They were both the same evil person as far as I was concerned, so I don’t remember which of them spoke first. Maybe it was the one closest to me, maybe it was the other one. It doesn’t make any difference. One of them, however, asked me then, “So, what are you in for?” “I was arrested for being drunk in public,” I answered, feeling that I had nothing really to gain by lying about my situation at this point, and really, who gave a damn what these rejects thought of me, “but in truth I had the shit beat out of me by these three guys and I was left out in a field to die. The cops decided not to believe any of that, though. They think I did this shit to myself somehow and decided to drag me in.” The two of them sat up a little straighter against the wall, and this time I’m certain it was the one closest to me who said, “Those motherfuckers. They never fail to let the bad guys run wild in the streets and arrest the decent, law-abiding folks.” “Right?” I responded. I was pretty sure that when he said “bad guys” he meant immigrants and African Americans. I thought it best to keep that to myself for the time being, however. “What the fuck did they do with your clothes?” the other one said to me. “They told me to take them off,” I answered,” I thought they were going to give me new ones. “Those motherfuckers,” the first one said again, “Did they at least give you a motherfuckin’ phone call?” “No,” I said, feeling like I was starting to win them to my cause, “I asked for a phone call and they just laughed at me.” “Goddamnit,” the second one said, and the first one chimed in with another “motherfuckers.” “Yeah,” I told them, “It doesn’t seem right to me. Does it seem right to you?” “Hell no,” the first one said, “it does not seem motherfuckin’ right. You are owed one goddamn phone call, like everybody else.” “Those bastards are robbin’ you of your rights,” the second one added. Both of these were certainly insufferable redneck racists in real life, but I sure needed someone on the me-team at this point, so anyone was welcome. The enemy of my enemy is my friend, or some such nonsense, right? Never underestimate the comradery of shared whiteness. The two of them got up on their feet at this point and started pounding on the door and walls, shouting “Give this guy a phone call,” and “Everyone deserves a phone call,” and other stuff like that. I watched them in amazement for a while. I was pretty certain they had as good a chance of getting me beat up again as they did of getting me a phone call, but there was no way I was going to stop them. After a while, I got up myself and started pounding the walls and shouting with them. I was not unaware of how ridiculous I looked doing this, being naked and all, with my junk bobbing up and down every time I pounded the foam rubber wall. All this accomplished nothing, however. The cops never showed up and eventually, my two new friends gave up, sitting back down in pretty damn near their original positions and passing out. Mercifully, it wasn’t too much longer before I passed out myself. I was roused by a sharp kick in my already badly bruised and painful ribs. “Fuuuuuuuuuck,” I exclaimed, as I opened my eyes to see the asshole looking cop standing over me. He had my clothes in his hands. They were folded neatly, so maybe someone had washed them in the night. “Get up, buddy,” He said to me, “It looks like you’re in luck.” “What?” I replied, not understanding. “You’re in luck,” he said again, “It looks like somebody loves you. Now get your ass up and let’s go. I don’t have all day.” I looked around the room and my new friends were both gone. I wondered for a second what had happened to them, but then the asshole cop kicked me in the fucking ribs again, so I got myself up and followed him. He led me out of the padded cell and motioned silently to a bathroom just outside, handing me my clothes as he did so. “Why are they letting me go?” I wondered to myself, and what had the asshole looking cop meant when he said, “It looks like somebody loves you.”? I slowly got into my now clean clothes. It was difficult because of all the cuts, abrasions and bruises I had suffered from the night before. I had been hoping all that had been a bad dream. Apparently, it was all too real. I checked my poor, battered face in the mirror. “Fuck,” I thought, “Those inbred hick fucks really did a number on me.” I opened the bathroom door and the asshole looking cop was still there waiting for me. He took me by the arm and led me back to the very same room where this trip to the looney bin had begun. Satlin was sitting there, waiting for me. I should have guessed. Who else had enough riding on my continuing to breath air? He had an expression on his face that said, “What idiotic situation have you gotten yourself into this time?” It looked like he was having serious difficulty holding back a laugh. Satlin has always been fond of telling other people that they should only spend time with me if they want their entire lives turned upside down. Of course, this comes from a wealth of his personal experience. One time Satlin and I been walking together to the movies, when a car came screeching around a bend in the road and plowed us down in the intersection we were crossing. The car hit Satlin’s leg and spun him to the ground, but I jumped and and ended up on the hood, hanging onto the windshield wipers. The first thing Satlin said after the car had sped away was “This is all your fault.” I was pretty certain he was really enjoying seeing me like this. The asshole looking cop pushed me, not entirely gently, in Satlin’s direction and said, “He’s all yours. Don’t let him take you on a tour of any cow fields.” Then, he threw his head back and let loose with one last hideous guffaw. Fuck, I fucking hate cops. Almost as much as Nazis. Of course, there’s probably a lot of crossover there. On the way home, neither Satlin or I spoke a single word to each other. I wasn’t in the mood, with my head banging and pounding like someone was playing an NFL game inside of it. Satlin must have known it wasn’t a great time to give me any shit about what had happened. There’d be plenty of time to hear the whole story and to bust my chops later. When we got to my apartment, I got out of the car without saying goodbye and walked into my place. The first thing I did was to draw myself a hot bath and place my wounded body into the blissfully warm water. “What a fucking night,” I thought. I spent the rest of the day in the bath, not being able to pull myself out, wondering if I’d ever learn to keep my big fat mouth closed. The moral of the story, of course, is I should give my life to Jesus, and I should spend my days praying and imitating Norman Rockwell paintings so that shit like this doesn’t happen to me. If that’s too extreme for me to handle, then maybe I should go to an AA meeting and get a grip on my drinking problem, or at least learn how to leave a party while there are still drugs and alcohol waiting to be consumed. None of those things are going to happen, of course. The best I may achieve is to learn to keep some of my more unflattering thoughts inside my head where they belong, instead of blurting them out in people’s faces. At least around inbred hick fucks.

Max Mundan, Inbred Hick Fucks

© Max Mundan 2018

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