#artist I’m a little frightened right now

[obstinaterixatrix]

uh… this series is well into the epilogue why is the main character getting. worse???

[moonstruckme]

feels odd being a marauder fan asking for tasm Peter content but i couldnt help myself <//3 if ur still taking requests id love to see ur take on Peter and the art students meet cute (or not so cute meeting) I always wondered how two vastly different people would even meet lol

Thanks for requesting gorgeous!

cw: mention of animal cruelty (not present in the story)

tasm!Peter Parker x artist!reader ♡ 831 words

Peter wonders if he should put on his mask. 

He’s not really sure what the protocol is for non-mutant criminal activity that makes its way into his daily life. But he’d only been trying to lock up the lab for the night, and there you are, spray painting all over the glass panes dividing the workspaces. 

“Hey!” He decides to forgo the mask when you direct your can scary close to a container of samples. “Don’t do that, you’ll ruin them.” 

You turn slowly, tense all over. It’s a look Peter’s not unfamiliar with; fight and flight are warring in your nervous system. You’ve been caught. 

“No one’s still supposed to be here,” you say, voice muffled slightly by the painter’s mask covering your nose and mouth. 

A laugh bubbles out of him. “Oh, my bad. Sorry—actually, since I’m clearly the one breaking the rules, I’ll just go.” 

You remain frozen in place, seemingly waiting to see if he’s actually joking or not. Peter’s not sure what to do. He can’t just…let you continue to destroy the lab, but calling the cops has never been his MO. He crosses his arms and leans back against a table, doing his best to look in control. 

“What are you even doing?” he asks. 

“It’s…” You look around you as if you’d forgotten, to the glass now dripping gorily with red paint. “It’s about animal cruelty. It’s a protest. Do you have any idea,” you say, your voice picking up conviction as you speak, “how many animals die in these labs every day?” 

Peter blinks. “Not really.” It feels shitty to say, but it’s not like he’s around for every class and project that happens here every day; something like that would be impossible to keep track of. 

Your eyes flash. “Too many.”

“So, what?” He looks around, at the red dribbling down the glass panes—blood, that’s what it is—and your paint-spritzed overalls. “You make some maintenance worker have to clean this up tomorrow morning, and then the science department will decide to stop?” 

Your eyebrows bunch. You hadn’t thought of that. “I just want to bring attention to it,” you say. “I’ll come back and clean up if I need to, but I just—I think it’s important that people see it. That they can’t just keep ignoring it.” 

Peter frowns, bending to pick up one of the paint canisters stacked neatly by a backpack. He gives it a little shake, and this one’s still full, the pile it came from larger than the matching one of used-up cans by your feet. Your eyes track his movements, too smart to try and take it from him but attentive nonetheless. You’re watching him with this flaming intensity. There’s something quietly passionate about you, like you’re burning with an energy that would be almost frightening if it didn’t seem so heartfelt. 

“You realize there’s cameras all over this place, right?” he asks. “You could get kicked out of school. This is vandalism.” 

You don’t flinch. “It’s uncommissioned public art.” 

“You think they’ll see it that way?” 

You sigh heavily, and Peter wishes he could see what was going on behind that mask so he’d know what you were thinking. Thankfully for him, your eyes are expressive enough. They narrow as you cross your arms, jutting out a hip. 

“So what, are you going to go and tell someone?” 

Peter sizes you up. He can relate to feeling like you need to work outside of the system to get something done. To being sick of going to the proper authorities after being told too many times that while they really do care, they won’t do anything about it.

“How about this,” he says. “You let me stay here and make sure you don’t damage any of the equipment, and I won’t rat you out.” He might even scrub the camera footage once you go. But he’s still figuring you out, so he doesn’t want to make promises. 

“Deal,” you say immediately. If you’re surprised at his bargain, you don’t show it, only shaking the paint canister in your hand and starting to spray another layer of paint onto the glass. Your brows pinch slightly as you work, evidence of an assiduous concentration Peter is familiar with. 

He makes himself comfy in a rolling chair, sitting back to watch you work. “We actually do some really important stuff here, you know.” 

“I’m sure you do,” you say without pausing. “It’s not like I blame everyone you personally. I get that the research helps people, but, I mean, at what cost?” 

Peter shrugs. It’s a good point. “True. It’s a lot worse for animals in the big labs. We’re small-scale because we’re funded by the school, and we’re also responsible for reporting to the higher-ups.” 

“I know.” Your eyes flit to him, less wary than before. “But I don’t have access to one of the big labs. Change has to start somewhere, right?” 

You can certainly agree on that. 

[scintillasofbeomgyu]

you are in love | c.yj

pairing: choi yeonjun x reader. genre(s): fluff, comfort. wc: 952. warnings: anxiety implied, reader is having a tough time. an: art is from pinterest, cr to the artist always! also idk what i was doing with this but !! enjoy

water is gushing from the faucet in the bathroom. you’re sitting on the toilet lid with your knees pulled into your chest, your face buried between them. your shoulders are shaking, but the faucet is loud enough to delete any other sounds from reaching your ears. it is cold, dark and grey in the tiled room.

you hear your apartment door unlock; you freeze. keys drop at the table by the door, and there is the dull sound of a bag hitting the floor. with haste, you hop off the seat and tuck your hair out of your face. you take generous amounts of water into your palms from the basin, and wash your face. the water is icy cold, but you hope it’ll remove any traces of what you just did from your face. you turn the water off.

there isn’t a sound coming from inside your apartment, and as you dry your face you wonder if you had misheard.

when you open the door, light and warmth stream in. he’s standing there, with a smile so big his cheeks are pushing his eyes into crescents. his hair is longer since you last saw him. he has some tucked behind his ears, but his grown out, black bangs frame his face. from their crescent shaped homes, his dark eyes are looking at you. they see you.

“hey.”

against your will, tears well in your eyes. you’re so happy to see him, but you don’t move. you can’t. your limbs feel heavy.

his beautiful smile morphs into a frown and your heart sinks.

“what’s wrong, baby?” he steps into the bathroom with you and picks you up into his arms. he cradles your face in his neck, his fingers brushing through your hair until your breathing evens and you aren’t so overwhelmed anymore.

he presses a kiss into your hair and you close your eyes, feeling him piece your heart back together again.

“i missed you so much, yeonjun.” you whisper, and you feel him shiver.

“i missed you too, baby.” his arms tighten around you. “a month is a long time to be without you.”

“shouldn’t you be resting right now? i’d understand if you visited tomorrow instead of today, you know.”

he walks you to the counter and sits you on the top. his hands are on either side of your thighs, except when he uses one to wipe away the wetness from your eyes. his eyes are on yours again. he places a lingering kiss on your lips that you sigh into.

when he pulls back, his eyes look a little heavier. “i want to be here. i never feel more at peace than when I’m with you.”

your eyes drop to the floor. “isn’t it exhausting?”

“what?” he arches a brow.

you struggle to say it, it has always been difficult for you to share these things with him. not because yeonjun isn’t there for you, but because of how scared you are to be vulnerable.

“everything?” you shrug and huff out a laugh. you try and appear nonchalant, “i mean we’ve only been going out for a few months, i’d understand if you realised you didn’t want to be with me anymore. it can be exhausting with me. you’ve already got this full schedule and then i come along — i’m just being realistic.”

you expect the mood to plummet, for him to become upset and angry, defensive. but while you talk, he watches you attentively. he brushes the hair from your face and looks into your eyes as if he sees you as you are.

“i love you.”

he says it with a smile on his lips, like he’s sure of it. it takes your breath away and you’re feeling lightheaded and like there are a thousand knots pulling tight in your belly. your mind is blank and you have no idea what to say. those words, they echo in your mind.

you love him too, you know you do. but it’s frightening. it’s frightening to think of what saying that single sentence opens you up to. to hurt, to pain. to a love that is so powerful you don’t know what you’d be able to do without once it’s there. you don’t want yeonjun to feel like he has to be trapped here with you.

but his eyes tell you they know. then he does too.

“i will spend every day of my life making sure you know how much i love you, and never tire of it. loving you isn’t a chore, it is the easiest thing in the world for me. making you happy? i wouldn’t exchange that for all the riches and fame in the world.” he kisses your nose and pulls you close. “i love you because i want to. and i have so much of it to give you, baby.”

for the first time in days, it feels like you can breathe.

you could’ve sworn it was dark in this room before he was here. that the tiles were cold and it was rainy outside. but honey rays of a setting sun peak in through the blinds and fill the space with warmth. it reflects off the mirrors and tiles, and when yeonjun pulls back it reflects in his eyes too.

he rests his forehead on yours and takes your hands into his. he presses his lips to your knuckles, then places them on his chest. “it’s yours, you know. it has been from the moment you first smiled at me.”

your fingers grip his shirt and you pull him closer, kissing him until you’re sure your lips are swollen and your lungs are going to explode.

“i love you too.”

scintillasofbeomgyu © all rights reserved. do not copy, translate, alter, or repost in any way.

[ieatangstforbreakfast]

“Love you a little too much.”

Pairing ೃ⁀➷ Earth 42! Miles Morales x Fem! Reader

Summary ೃ⁀➷ Lovers have secrets of their own, no matter how much they come to trust each other, whether it be a past mistake or an unspoken trauma. For you and Miles, however, your secrets came in the form of hidden identities— one being a masked vigilante, and the other a mastermind.

Genre ೃ⁀➷ Forbidden love, mutual pining, eventual angst♡

Tags ೃ⁀➷ Both are artists, reader is from a very wealthy family, both are living double lives, underaged smoking, reader is female and uses she/her pronouns, forbidden love (ish?), swearing, daddy issues, mommy issues, reader is unhinged, both are mentally unstable, lots of flirting.

Author's Note ೃ⁀➷ so I kinda switched it up and in this fanfic, reader is the one giving mixed signals.

Chapter 2: The Secrets You Keep

Warning ೃ⁀➷ Profane language, underaged smoking, mixed signals, horrible Spanish, mommy issues.

FIC MASTERLIST

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Silvery pavements, busy streets, neon lights, and brick-cold air.

New York never truly rests, as they say. A concrete jungle where dreams were once made of. All of what was once so promising about the Yorker dream was plucked out individually with each passing year; money, careers, romance, and peace. Even now, you try to find the beauty of what was once the New York your mother adored, yet what only stared back was this desolate, tragic dystopia. A city that's fallen to ruin.

As the traffic unknots, Miles gently nudges you to the inner part of the sidewalk— subtly shielding you away from the vehicles.

Gentlemen, your mother used to always say. You'll find them not in the fineness of their clothes, but in the way they treat their women.

You can almost picture her, sitting right in front of you with that sickly sweet grin on her face, pearls hanging from her neck and mascara running down her cheeks. Buried beneath her wedding band was a dying cigarette, to which she pulls to slip in between her lips— taking consecutive sips.

There was almost never a time your mother was a mess.

Almost.

Staring at your mother was like staring into a wretched mirror. You were everything she could've been, and she was all you might become.

There was nothing more frightening than looking into your future and finding nothing promising.

"Hey, that's new." And Miles, yet again, pulls you out of your murky thoughts.

"What is?" You pique, the sight of the city dragged back into your sights. Miles points at the ivy-covered building in front of you. It gleamed in warm colors inside, a sight utterly fitting of the autumn season. Its wide, Palladian windows were embellished with orange curtains and striped green dormers. Atop the roof sat a sign, the name of the establishment written in bold, vermilion cursive. You were lulled by the smell of s'mores, hot chocolate, and pie— all the sweet things that reminded you of your precious childhood memories. It had you standing there, reminiscing over the times that were long gone.

"I think it's a café and a book store. Two in one, pretty neat." Miles mentions, looking over to the sight of you. The store's lights seeped out the windows, its golden hues gleaming over your face, highlighting your lashes. You were too lost in thought to even notice his staring.

"How pretty." You airily whispered.

"Yeah." Miles replies, sights still glued onto you.

His gaze soon lowers, noticing your trembling hands fiddling with the hem of your hoodie— a habit the both of you shared. Hesitantly, he lifts his finger, urging to intertwine it with yours.

"Do you think I can apply as a part-timer there?"

He shoves his hands down his pocket instead.

“You wanna apply?”

“Yeah. I wanna save up for summer.”

He raised a brow. “That’s still next year, though?”

“I’m planning on going on a road trip.” You began, a clear view of your plans surfacing in your mind. “I’m getting my driver’s license next year too, so I really want to make the most of it.”

“Driver’s license?”

“Yeah, I’m sixteen.”

“Damn,” Miles shook his head in amusement. “Y’know, I tend to forget you’re older than me.” He then places his hand next to your temple, aligning it with his shoulder. “And it doesn’t help that you’re… This short.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

And of course, Miles indeed didn’t shut the fuck up.

"… Y’know, I bet you'd walk out on your first day with an arson charge."

The two of you meet gazes once more. Miles looked at you with a dead stare, as if he was serious. "What? You're the one talking shit about wanting to go to jail."

"Yeah, I'm boutta fulfill that part of my checklist after I'm done strangling you."

He raised his brows, subtly amused. "Kinky."

You try to slap his arm, but he manages to dodge your hit. He stares deep into your oh-so-fiery glare, cheeks bursting from laughter.

"Look at'chu, you fight like a munchkin from the wizard of Oz."

Pulling your sleeves up, you ready yourself to brawl. "Yeah? Talk your shit, Tin Woodman."

“Oh, I will talk my shit, lollipop gild.”

Amidst your squabble, you and Miles push and pull against one other, lightly shoving each other off like little kids. Your fingers dig into the cloth of his jacket, gripping against his chest with fingers like steel. Though your little plan of shaking him by the collar is spoiled when an itch suddenly burns your nose. You turn around and sneeze, pulling away from his grasps.

".. God, I hate the cold."

He feigns a grimace, taking a step back. "Eww, germs."

"Shut up, you—“

"Stay away, you bubonic plague virus haver."

As you try to search for a comeback, you feel the same itch burn your nostrils— inevitably putting your words on hold. Miles watches as you placed your icy hands over your mouth, sneezing a couple more times. You could almost feel the cold climb up your arms like a ladder, leaving you a shivering mess. Some sort of heat begins to poke in the back of your neck, as though you were flustered like a little girl with a crush. You pull your sleeves down, stabbing your nails into your palm. Miles takes this moment to go behind you, his hands reaching out to unzip your bag. He probes inside in search of your scarf, the long silk pouring out with the grip of his fingers, like [f/c] bleeding into his palm.

As you sniff, the boy turns to you, gently wrapping the cloth over your neck. You look up, beholding the sight of a serious Miles who was too preoccupied with tying the scarf, mumbling about what's the point of bringing the damn thing if you weren't even gonna use it.

“M’not even gonna get a bless you?” You tease.

“You got me: the biggest blessing of your life. What more do you need?”

You hum. “Lots of sleep and an essential oil bath bomb.”

“The fuck’s an essential oil bath bomb?”

“What I need.”

As he finished, he slowly smoothes out the creases with both palms, looking up to meet your stare.

"… What'chu looking at?"

With an airy laugh, you reply. "Just.. You."

His hands pause, yet they stay on your scarf.

"... Idiot." Miles mumbles, grip tightening. "Stop lookin’ at me like that."

"Like what?"

Like you'd follow me to the end of the earth.

"Like a dumbass." He casually answers, flicking his nails over your forehead. "Now get moving, I’ve gotta get you home.”

Miles look over to the café once more, a hand over your shoulder. Slowly, it slips off and trails down your arm before falling to his side. Instinctually, his finger lifts to reach out for your own, though it drops when he hears a buzz in your pockets.

Despite the amount of times it rang, you simply ignored the damn thing. Eventually you did reach out for it, but without even glancing once at the texts, you set it all on 「☾ Do Not Disturb.」

It was only then, as each street passed, that Miles began noticing how the both of you were slowly exiting Brooklyn's poorest areas and started entering what seemed to be the finer parts of the borough. From skeletal buildings and desolate apartments, colorful brownstones appeared before his eyes— showered in leaves of scarlet and orange. It was the sort of Brooklyn you'd find in the movies, the dreamy sort of Brooklyn it used to be three years ago.

An immediate fresh breath of nostalgia.

There was that tiniest hope that lingered deep inside of him, believing that Brooklyn’s still savable.

Eventually, the both of you spot the local Gristedes down the road, the building growing larger with each step. Miles opted to slow his steps down, just to walk longer with you and yet, you paced hurriedly. He follows the sight of your silhouette prancing around, admiring you from afar. When you can no longer sense him, you turn around and halt your walk, waiting for him to keep up. Miles hurriedly jogs to meet you, humming a sweet tune when a sort of blurry vision clouds his mind.

A piercing pain shoots through his temple, making him wince. For a moment, his vision blurs and spots of red taint his eyes. Suddenly, you appear before him in the midst of a fire— glaring at him with such hatred. Your silhouette appears as a dark burgundy, taking center in a world set ablaze.

You call out his name in the feverish illusion.

"Miles."

He winces, taking a step back.

"Miles!"

Suddenly, he's pulled back into reality with your voice.

There you stood, eyes so riddled with worry.

"... What..?"

"Are you okay?" You walk back to him, placing a hand over his forehead. "Are you sick? What happened?"

He gasps for air, but only once. Seeing you now, looking so worried about him, it was enough confirmation that what he saw was all just a dream.

But what in the hell what was that?

As your hand presses against his cheek, Miles cups over it with his own, following the lead of your voice to find peace. "Sorry," He finally spoke, voice too much of a whisper for you to process. "It’s like I hallucinated or sum.”

You click your tongue. "You just had one hit of vape, man, the fuck you on?”

He mumbles an incoherent explanation, to which you grumble. “Do you need medicine? Maybe I can—“ You frantically turn your head in search of a place. “Maybe we can go somewhere and get you some medicine.”

“I’m fine, ma, don’t get all riled up.”

“You’re hot.”

“I know.”

“Not in that way!”

“Ouch.”

“I’m just– I’m worried about you, Miles.”

“Oh, are you now?” He teased, placing a hand over yours.

Miles gently places your hand down, eventually taking your other and burying them both in his palms. Your hands were much smaller and softer compared to his. Like velvet to leather, a paw to a claw.

He gently squeezed, an urge to hold them forever ringing in his mind. Miles looked up to see you and the way your eyes traveled from his hands, to his chest, up to his chin, and then straight into his gaze.

“Do continue worryin’ about me.” He whispers. “I’m feelin’ very special right now.”

You scrunched your brow, looking up with the softest gaze you ever endowed.

“Oh, is that right?”

“Mhm.”

It was enough to steal the air from his lungs. Of all the things, Miles didn't fear for this to all be a dream, he feared that this would all just be a game to you. Dreams would mean that this wasn't you, but a trickery of his mind— his anxiety. He'd be able to keep you once he wakes up. But since this was real, he'd have to suffer through the pain of either losing you or hating you, none of which were choices he liked.

He found you most confusing at times like these.

Most of the time, you were an open book. Your mouth was unfiltered, whether it be in conveying your emotions or saying the most out of pocket things, but at the same time, you often kept to yourself. He hardly heard anything about your family, your friends, or your life— aside from a few side stories you'd recall in the midst of reminiscing— other than that, you kept a lot of secrets.

And he didn't want to invade your privacy, or overstep your boundaries. He figured you'd tell him someday: the things that would bother you, or the memories that'd make you zone out for a few seconds.

He was too afraid of you finding out who he was. Too afraid of losing you, or hating you.

But moments like these were a detriment to his rationality.

In that icy weather, all that made Miles shiver was you.

“Miles.” You called out his name again. “... I think.. I have to go.”

Unconsciously, he mutters. “Already?”

“We’ll see each other again tomorrow.” You couldn’t help but comfort of him. “I promise.”

Let’s meet in our little place. I won’t call it my home, because home is wherever you go.

He swallows the lump that had formed at his throat, hesitantly releasing your hands. “Okay.” He sighs. “Okay, get home safely.” He detangles your fingers, savoring the warmth of your skin. You pivot your heel to leave, pulling your hood over your head. Miles simply watches as you walk and turn one last time.

“Bring your sketchbook next time, alright?”

He nods. “I will.”

“Buh-bye.” You wave one final time. Miles raised his hand to bid you adieu.

If only you knew.

As you disappear down the block, Miles clutches the notebook carefully hidden in his inner pocket.

It was at that moment, Miles couldn’t help but ponder.

How could I show you my sketchbook when all it’s filled of is you?

Uh, uh, catch me ridin’ like a bitch

Got the six forty-five, catch me ridin’ with my bitch

Uh, long hair, Lana, that’s my bitch

Uh, You can tell by the swagger and the lips, uh

The radio eases down with the volume upon the flick of a finger.

“How was she?”

Snapped from the voice of his uncle, Miles’ head perks up. An icy water bottle flies past Aaron’s hand, tossing it over to Miles as it landed straight into his palms. “Did’ya finally tell her?” He adds, to which the boy slumps deep into his seat and grumbles.

Drenched in sweat and small bruises, Miles took his well-deserved break atop his uncle’s couch— chest rising and falling with each heave, wifebeater all soaked. He squints at the ceiling while lazily popping the cap off the bottle. “I don’t even have to tell her, man. She knows— I know she knows, but I dunno if- if she likes me too or if she’s jus playin’ w’me.” Miles manages to rant in between heavy breaths, mind and body completely exhausted from training. Aaron sits by his side, dragging a towel over his neck.

“Yikes. What makes you think that?”

The cold water smoothly flushes down his throat, easing his fatigue. “She flirts with me more than I flirt with her— damn, I can’t even get a single line in.”

“.. You like a chick that’s got more game than you?” Aaron reiterates, amused by what he’s hearing. He laughs at Miles’ frustrated face, shaking his head. “You sure you’re my nephew, man?”

“Oh, I’ve got game.” The boy defends himself. “I held her hands and everythin’. She’s prolly hella into me too.”

“Or, she just plays the game better than you do.”

“Nah—“ Miles denies, but it makes him think. “Nah, she’s into me. I’m sure of it, but I think she’s kind of like… Denying it or I dunno.”

He recalls the way you scrunched your brows, and looked up at him as though he was all you could ever want to look at. It’s got him zoning out, nibbling on the brim of his bottle like a nervous little pup. Aaron simply shrugs. “I’m just sayin’, Miles, it’s not like y’all are in the Titanic. I don’t see why she wouldn’t go for ya.”

“I mean,” He scavenges for the right words to say. “I mean, what if she’s like.. Not ready or sum?”

“… How old is she?”

“Sixteen.”

Aaron’s head spun in a quick flash. “Sixteen!? Aren’t you fifteen? Damn, now I don’t blame her. You’re a whole kid in her eyes, my man.”

“A ki— a kid!?” He scoffed. “I’d have to squat down just to reach her height— why the hell would she see me as a kid?”

While taking a sip off his bottle, Aaron lifts a finger cautiously. “That,” He spoke in between sips. “That’s the reason why she sees you as a kid.” Miles furrows his brows, completely anonymous to the reason. “You’re too defensive. You should be more suave, my man. Be a gentleman.“ He pulls up a couple moves. “Jazz her like this. The ladies love dancing.”

“You telling me I gotta dance with her or sum?” Chewing on his cheek, he grumbles. “Now, how the hell do I do that?”

Aaron hums.

“You know all about the shoulder touch?”

Tick. Tick. Tick.

Dark halls, hushed voices in a box.

“I’m not having this conversation with you again.”

The chair’s legs screech against the marble as he stands up.

"She's turning sixteen next year, hardly even eighteen, if this gets out— not only would it be harmful for our family reputation, she'll be permanently eradicated from receiving opportunities in the future."

A dead gaze hung in the darkness, eyeing the figure that stood before him stubbornly.

"Your sister is incredibly capable, and she's doing a lot to support our means for the sake of the family."

Tick. Tick. Tick.

"Which is more than what I can say for you, Antonne."

Antonne stood before his father, chin held high and gaze, unyielding. The old man tapped his pen against the mahogany, each tick filling in the spaces between the clock's ticking. Within the spaces, and with each passing second, Antonne stood in the thick tension that filled the office like a soldier keeping his head above water.

The old man’s pen points at him accusingly. "Be happy for her, as she's cleaning up after your mistakes. Who would you be without your sister?”

The boy tenses.

“Do you think you’ll be able to save yourself?”

Antonne stood by the hall, eyes daunt and staring a thousand yards deep into an invisible void. For a while, he shortly allowed his mind to go completely blank. Well, it wasn't entirely blank, it was full— but everything was all blurred together that it was better to think that he was thinking about nothing.

A restless mind paired along with an unfortunately still beating heart.

His head’s piqued when a familiar sound of footsteps begin to permeate amidst the hall. The steady sound of heels thumping against the carpet, like a careful warning to those who stood in her way.

“Antonne,” Her voice calls out. “What are you doing out here?”

Your presence emerges from the shadows like a ghost who’d waited for too long. He steps in front your father’s office door, as if to block your entrance. Parting his lips, he calls for your name.

“… Your job. Are you sure you want to partake in such a thing?”

You raise a brow, understandably befuddled by his sudden disruption.

“I’m going to be honest with you.” He begins. “Our family is not the best. Our money doesn’t come mainly from sanctioned ways although we parade it as though it were. I can forgive all that, but what I can’t forgive is ruining all your potential.”

“I don’t understand. Where is all this coming from?” Your gaze narrows harshly. Though you try to appear genuinely ignorant of what he’s saying, the knowledge of it was enough to make your blood boil. Antonne sighed a deep sigh, a million words pouring into his mind like waves crashing.

“I am simply worried about you,” He claims. “You’ve been handling these affairs since you were thirteen. And it’s unfair for you to handle such things when you’re only fifteen—“

“I’m sixteen.”

“… When you’re only sixteen.”

You scoff. “Do you even have any idea of what I’m doing?”

“.. The job you’re doing, was my job three years ago.” Antonne’s words made you grit your teeth. “I know all about what you do, and I may have failed in what I did— I’m not as smart or as cunning as you— but I’ll never forget how that job ruined me.”

You snicker. “You talk like that, but you want the job to yourself.”

Your brother stiffens, but his face remains ever-so stoic.

“It’s better for you to give the job to me.”

“This is what it’s all about?” Your voice lividly lowers into a hush as you take a step towards him. “You abandoned all your responsibilities, made me carry the hotel for three years, and now that the work’s lighter, you want to take it away from me?”

With each step you take, Antonne soon finds his back pressed against the door, swallowing the lump that had formed at his throat. With one final attempt to get you to listen, he finally pulls.

“Does he know?”

Gesturing over to the fineness of your clothes, the shine of your pearls, Antonne then hissed.

“That boy you meet in Brooklyn. Does he know who you are?”

Visibly startled upon the mention of Miles, your frustration crumbles into caution. Your head turns away, lids twitching. “I’m not quite sure what you’re talking about.” Was your attempt of a lie. Antonne straightened his lips, determined to rekindle his confident stature.

“… How naïve of you.” Antonne seethed. “Do you think father’s going to let this go once he finds out?”

You scoff. “Is that a threat?”

“A warning.” He corrects of you. “Have you forgotten who you are? You’re our family’s only daughter— you’re the face of our family in high society. Not only that, but you’re engaged.”

“I’m sixteen. Fuck you mean ‘engaged’? That engagement’s hardly been processed as a legitimate promise. You and I both know it’s for the sake of shutting up the Fisks, anyway.”

“It’s scandalous.” Antonne spewed with venom on his tongue. “You’re not a kid. You’re two years away from being an adult.” He thrusts an accusing finger into your shoulder blade. “And everyone’s eyes are on you— if people were to ever find out about your little escapade, you’d be ruined.”

“Then cover it up.” You ruthlessly shoot back. “That’s all our family ever does anyway.”

As you try to maneuver past him, Antonne then interjected.

“Then what about that boy? What would he think?”

And that’s enough to make you freeze.

“Would he be able to handle you? You… Don’t forget that he could’ve known someone who was a victim.”

You could almost imagine Miles’ face contorting into disgust upon the unveiling of the truth. An inevitable scene. You’d been trying to run away from the scene like a dog with your tail caught between your legs. Your teeth dig a little too deep into your lips, blood seeping in the corners of your frown. Though you try to keep your composure, the mention of Miles was enough to send you trembling.

“No matter how much you hide it, he’ll learn about your identity sooner or later.”

“He won’t.” Your reply came out haggardly. “He won’t find out.”

“And what makes you so sure?”

Your jaw clenches, eyes bloodshot from exhaustion. You think about throwing something at him, or pulling on his hair— yet you ease your nerves like any other dignified girl.

As if on cue, your father opens the door, exchanging glances between you and your brother, reeking of fresh tobacco and dust.

“What the hell are you two doing, bickering in front of my door?”

His voice is harsh and demeaning, like winter at its worst peak. A voice that haunted you all throughout your younger years, now it was just nothing but another normality to you and your dull days.

“It’s nothing, dad.” You reassure, casting a side-eye at Antonne. “Nothing at all.”

Only then, you pulled the manila folder up to exit the situation. “In regards to the landscaping for the hotel, I have the submissions. I figured we should discuss about it.”

“Right,” He snaps his fingers. “Shall we?”

You leave Antonne in the darkness, shutting the door with a slam.

“God… She’s going to be the death of all of us.”

[carmillascrusade]

Bleeding Hearts| Vanessa (SB) x F!Reader

I do not own any of these photos and all rights go to the owners. If you know the artist of the middle photo, please let me know!

Summary: Vanessa comes home after one of her shifts with a young boy in tow.

Word count: 1419

A/N: this is my first fanfic that I have written so please be kind! Also I’m not sure if this counts as angst or not? So I’ll just say hurt/comfort lmao. Also, this is based on security breach Vanessa instead of film Vanessa.

The sun rose in the east. Red and orange flames flickering whimsically in the depths of the horizon, but melancholic despite the beauty of their hue. The hand holding the lamp continues to rise, lifting the ball of fire further into the still morning sky. An arc of luminance bestows itself upon the horizon; mirrored in the crystal waters of the rainwater puddles scattered in your front garden, devoid of all colour but that of the rising sun.

Vanessa stumbled through the front door, a sunken look marred her features; casting a gloomy shadow over her hollowed face, once radiant with joy. Behind her trailed a small boy, scratches and bruises littering his face with an array of discolouration. His eyes fell to you and he grabbed hold of Vanessa’s hand, shielding himself behind her body from your peering eyes.

“Vanessa?” You reached out cautiously, afraid that moving too fast or speaking too loudly would spook her. “What happened? Are you alright?”

Vanessa threw herself upon you, latching on to you as a frightened babe would their mother. You stroked your hands through the hair that had escaped her once pristine ponytail, now tattered with flyaways and grime.

She stayed in your grasp for what felt like aeons, sobbing incoherently in the crook of your shoulder. The small boy still stood behind her, eyes stripped of any emotions besides fear. Who was the boy and what had happened to him?

“Vanessa, my love.” You murmured into her ear, causing her eyes to snap up towards you. “Who’s your little friend?” You asked, gesturing briefly towards the boy.

“Oh.” She sighed shakily. “He has nowhere else to go. Please can he stay here with us? Just until we find somewhere more suitable.” She pleaded voice tinged with something akin to regret.

You glanced between the two of them as you let go of Vanessa and gingerly approached the boy. Crouching down to his eye level you asked him his name and if her would like to check out the spare room with you.

Gregory, as you just learned, anxiously followed you to the spare room, glancing back at Vanessa from time to time. You showed him the bed and the en-suite and apologised for the lack of pyjamas you had for him.

Shouting Vanessa in, you asked them if they were hungry to which they shook their head stating that they were both just tired. Nodding, you tucked Gregory in wishing him a good night and brought Vanessa to your shared bedroom. She trailed behind you sluggishly, resting the majority of her weight on your back and you navigated throughout the house.

“Would you like a bath, Nessa? Or would you prefer to go straight to bed?” You asked, already beginning to undress her from her security clothing. A muttered bed was all you got in return as she moved pliantly with your soft gestures. You hummed quietly as you sat her on the bed, moving towards the dresser to grab her a pair of pyjamas.

Once finished changing her and wiping some of the dirt from her face with a wet wipe, you climbed into bed next to her; pressing a kiss to her forehead before turning out the bedside lamp.

You were woken by the soft creak of the bedroom door, a slither of light briefly casting a warm glow in the dark confines of your bedroom. A small figure wearily stepped into the room, blocking the light partially to cast an ominous shadow over your bed.

“Gregory?” You called out groggily. “Are you okay?”

Gregory walked further into your room and shut the door, you could barely make out his hand wringing together due to the newfound darkness. Vanessa’s soft snores filled the room as Gregory approached you, shyly asking if he could sleep in your bed as he had a nightmare.

Your eyes softened as you looked upon the frail boy, shaking with nerves and the lingering adrenaline from his nightmare. Tapping the bed, you gestured for Gregory to get in between you and Vanessa. He excitedly jumped up and settled in, muttering a quiet ‘haven’t slept in a real bed for so long’.

Your heart broke at the thought of this sweet boy lacking a proper bed and the conditions he must have been subject to before Vanessa brought him home. Watching the two of them slumber peacefully before you closed your eyes, you decided that you’d speak to Vanessa in the morning about adopting Gregory.

Vanessa was awoken by a small hand gently slapping her on the face. She scrunched her nose in confusion. Why had your hands shrunk all of a sudden?

Blinking the sleep from her eyes, she was greeted by the sight of Gregory curled up into your side; one of his hands flung over Vanessa’s face while the other Liddell gripped your T-shirt. Your head rested atop his, one hand flung over him and resting on Vanessa’s hip as you smiled in your sleep.

Vanessa grinned softly at this, her previous worries of you not liking Gregory flying out of the window. Perhaps you would consider taking him in? After all, he had saved her and she found it only fair to do the same.

She pressed a soft kiss to your lips, careful not to rouse you from your sleep, as she got out of bed. Trudging to the kitchen to make breakfast for the three of you, she pulled out her phone and quit her security guard job immediately. All that job has ever brought was pain and it was about time she quit.

Soft footsteps could be heard down the hallway as Vanessa was scouting her phone for new jobs. You wrapped your hands around her neck, pressing up against her back as you lazily rested your head on her shoulder. Peeking at her phone screen, you kissed her cheek before speaking.

“Looking for a new job?” You questioned, although it was more of a statement.

“Hmmm, I think it’s about time I get another job. Don’t you agree?” She turned to face you, eyes flickering to your lips and back up to your eyes again.

Kissing her delicately on the lips, you started to run your fingers through her hair. “You know I’ll support you in whatever you choose to do, sweetheart.”

You looked over to the eggs that were about to burn due to Vanessa getting distracted and chuckled slightly as you went over the save them. A burst of courage came over you as your back was turned, Vanessa unable to see your face and you hers.

“So…” you started. “About Gregory,”

“What about him?”

“What do you plan on doing with him?”

Vanessa went silent. The only noise coming from you plating three sets of breakfast up. You turned towards her and handed her her plate, putting Gregory’s in the oven for later.

“Like I said before, Nessy, I will always support you in what you choose to do. And if you want to adopt Gregory then I will back you in that. If you don’t, that’s okay too.” You whispered into her ear, hugging her with your free arm.

She looked up at you with tear-filled eyes, the crystal clear substance just on the brink of falling over the but never reaching the turning point. A soft smile graced your features as you brushed away the beginning of tears with the pads of your thumbs.

“Oh, Vanessa.” You coed.

“I- I want to keep him, baby.” She stuttered, averting her gaze from your prying eyes. Why would you think of her now? The two of you have never spoken about children before. Would you leave her?

You were overjoyed at the prospect of adopting Gregory. Tears threatened to overcome your own eyes and you brought Vanessa into a tight hug. You didn’t want this moment to end.

“I’m so glad you said that! I wanted to keep him too. I’ve always wanted a family with you, ness. Although untraditional, I’m glad we have this opportunity to do so.”

Vanessa was awestruck at your willingness to accept, not only her, but Gregory into your life. You were her light in the darkness. Her lifeline. You shone brighter than the sun to Vanessa and she wouldn’t have it any other way.

“I love you.” She whispered over and over again like prayer. For she would worship you for the rest of your lives; just as you will her.

A/N II: thank you for taking the time to read this and I hope you enjoyed?

[noob-with-a-shitty-computer]

Secret Romantic (Grell Sutcliff x gn!artist!Reader)

A/N: I’m still pretty new to black butler but this woman has been living in my head rent-free for the past few weeks, which fortunately has given me a bit of inspiration to write a fic :> hope u like it and i hope it isn’t too ooc.

Summary: You were not really known to be a hopeless romantic, unlike your flamboyant companion. However, she wasn’t expecting to see a different side of you on the night you dropped your sketchbook nearby…

In the midst of another work-filled night, you quickly flipped through the to-die list one last time. “I think that’s about everyone tonight.” You let out a sigh of relief in unison with the red reaper in front of you, “What a night. I’m so glad that Phantomhive got this case closed rather quickly.” A bit of awkward silence passed until you heard a few quiet giggles, which made you turn to your friend who’s green irises were swinging left and right to each picture she had in her hands.

“Grell, are you listening?!” You raised your voice enough for her to let out a yelp as if she was a frightened puppy. “‘Bassy’ caught your eye again?” You scoff. “Come on, can you blame me? He was ever so graceful, how could I not take a photo or fourty~? Especially when he was wearing that ridiculously handsome suit~!” She dreamily sighs and you do nothing but roll your eyes. You never liked demons, always thought they were a hassle to deal with. It didn’t make it any better that a certain demon butler just so happened to steal the doting heart of the woman who stole yours.

“Well, I’ll head off now so you can have your little fun, I suppose. See you at work, my lady.” You greeted nonchalantly as you quickly jumped out of the scene using your reaper agility. Before Grell could glue her eyes back to the photos, she heard a thud nearby, finding a familiar book on the stone ground. It was the sketchbook you always brought around during work to draw on whenever you had a bit of time on your hands. She remembered the times you refused to show her your artworks, hiding the pages against your chest as a faint but cute blush creeped onto your cheeks.

It seemed that curiosity killed the cat (much to Sebastian’s dismay) as Grell approached the sketchbook with a smirk, letting go of her precious photos for the time being…

“Let’s see what you’ve been hiding from me, darling.” She mutters to herself as she slowly flips through the sketchbook, admiring every image. There’s a sketch of the town you recently visited in the view from a tall building, doodles of a couple of dresses you saw from a store window, and other random things. You were quite talented, she thought, curious if you happened to have a doodle of dear Bassy as well~ It only took a couple minutes until she flipped through a page that caught her off guard.

Several doodles of the red reaper herself were presented to her, some smiling, some frowning, some drawings ended down to her head or bust and there were a couple of full body drawings as well. She flipped through more pages and found herself again. There was one drawing where she was wearing a beautiful dress and another where she and you dancing together, she was wearing the same dress while you wore your own outfit with a similar design. It was like an illustration from a fairytale book, the you in the sketch revealed a big smile that your colleagues don’t often see on you in real life.

The next page had sketches of her in other fancy outfits, the page after that had sketches of her doing her signature pose, the page after that was a drawing of you and her, hand in hand and looking at each other fondly while the moonlight illuminated your figures. She didn’t realize you were so observant over her. It was a bit unsettling, but it also felt endearing to her that you put in so much effort into capturing her beauty on paper. Her mind was filled with different thoughts, the memories of you and her training, laughing, smiling and spending time together all those years ago up till now. She couldn’t deny that it made her heart flutter.

Meanwhile, you were panicking in your room trying to find that lost sketchbook, worried that Grell had caught it first. You dejectedly rushed to your door only to find said reaper in front of your doorstep, causing you to stumble backwards. “Gah! G-Grell, what are y-you doing here..?” Your heart was pounding as you looked over to her hand which was holding very thing you were looking for over the past several minutes. Grell chuckled a bit as she handed it back to you. “Darling, I never thought you felt this way about me~” She stepped closer with a smile.

“I-I’m sorry, I can explain-“ “No, I’m sorry for pulling on your heartstrings like that, my dear.” Grell’s eyes softened as she apologized. “The drawings are gorgeous as well. I didn’t know you were such a romantic~!” She smirked and you huff your cheeks, “I guess you just rubbed off on me, my lady.”

“No worries, it’s cute.” Her smile grew as she watched your cheeks flush and eyes widen. “Aww, look at your cheeks! They’re covered in such an adorable shade of red~” She failed to supress a cheeky giggle. “Stop teasing me!” You quickly protest before she held out a hand to you.

“Heh, well I must admit, you were always dear to me, darling. I guess I was too occupied with my own obsessions to realize it sooner… But since you seem to be interested in a dance, may I take your hand tonight~?” She stated flirtatiously, causing your cheeks to grow hotter. You were a lot less experienced in the world of love compared to the reaper in front of you, causing you to hesitate taking her offer…

But then again, who are you to refuse a lovely lady such as Grell Sutcliff~?

A/N: i need sleep. why must motivation show up during midnight T_T anyways hope u like it :P

[little-miss-dilf-lover]

The devil in disguise

Matt Murdock x fem!Reader

summary || You are the sweet innocent daughter of Wilson Fisk who has fallen in love with Matt Murdock. Unaware of their private lives, you introduce them.

word count || 2.7k

warnings || nothing really, just a bit angsty. brief mention of violence & blood

a/n || hii, I hope you all enjoy this. I spent a very long time writing and rewriting it. I don’t want to sound like a beg, but Id be very thankful if you gave feedback. this is based on a request. much love💌

masterlist + rules

taglist

Being an artist in New York was a tough job, a city where everyone wanted the same thing- opportunity. In the beginning, you had a bit of a tough run with selling your pieces, you wanted people to buy them because they loved your art and not because of the connections to your well-known father. You loved your dad, but you wanted to do this on your own. You wanted your gallery to be something that you made, not your father.

So after a couple of years, spending hundreds of hours curating your artwork, you were finally able to display them in a mini store that you converted into a gallery.

You have only been open one day and things were already flying off the shelves, selling your most loved artwork for thousands of dollars apiece.

Today, your boyfriend of six months, will finally be meeting your dad at your gallery. You wanted to share this special time with the two people that meant the most to you. Unlocking the doors, your arm linked into Matt’s, leading him through the shop of your most prized work.

“Pass your hand.” You say sweetly, taking his hand in yours. Laying it flat against the canvas on the wall, directing his hand to brush along the mixed media. “You inspired me for this one.” You smile. “If you feel here. There’s a message… I indented the canvas to make braille, and if I got it right… it should say something.” Watching the way his lips turned into a smile.

The bell rings at the door, immediately diverting your attention. “Hello princess.” Your dad greets you, pulling you in for a hug.

“Hi.” You smile, pulling apart to introduce your boyfriend who was looking around uneasily. “Dad, this is Matt, Matt, this is my dad.” You sweetly grin, looking between them with gleaming eyes.

“Pleasure.” He greets your boyfriend, firmly shaking Matt’s hand.

“Good to meet you, sir.” Matt smiles forcefully.

Excitedly screeching, gazing between the two. “Okay- I can’t wait anymore, let me show you around.” Grabbing Matt’s hand to lead him. “Dad follow me.”

You showed them throughout the whole gallery, talking endlessly about the inspiration behind each piece of work, chatting their ears off about every detail.

“Excuse me one moment.” Your dad announces, walking into the back room to answer his phone call.

Matt inconspicuously pulls you aside now that it was just the two of you. “You never told me his name…” Matt quietly asks.

“Oh my goodness- sorry, I completely forgot. It’s Wilson. Sorry, that must’ve been really uncomfortable.” You apologise, placing a sweet kiss on Matt’s now tense cheek. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah- I’m fine. Just you know, meeting your dad.” He partially lies.

“I’m sorry princess, I’ve got to go.” Wilson enters the room, glancing between you and Matt with questioning eyes. His stare penetrated the side of Matt’s face.

“Dad?” You warned, disguising it with a cough. Noticing the way he was looking at Matt.

“Right. I’ll see you soon.” He kisses your cheek before leaving. “If you hurt my little girl…” he turns around to warn, focusing in on your perturbed boyfriend.

-

Matt has been uneasy around you ever since the day at the gallery a few days ago. You thought it was because your dad frightened him with that scolding, but you didn’t know if it was just that or if there was something else to it. You haven’t seen him since then either, he avoided all your texts and calls, replying hours later with ‘sorry, I was on a case’ or ‘I couldn’t find my phone.’

You had spent the day at your gallery doing inventory and rearranging pieces, quietly enjoying the day to yourself. Taking a seat on the sofa by the wide glass window, zoning out as you gaze at the busy city. Aimlessly scanning around until you notice something out the corner of your eye. It was a car you had seen dozens of times over the last couple of months. You tried not to look at it for too long, never wanting the person inside to acknowledge your awareness.

You picked up an art magazine from the coffee table, opening it and raising it to your face. Peeking your eyes over the top to get a better look at the number plate, and to no surprise, it was the same one you had been seeing everywhere.

Startling yourself when the door opens, the bell ringing obnoxiously. Dropping the magazine, you see your father by the entrance with a solemn expression.

“You okay?” You ask nervously, walking over to him.

“I have some news.” He frowns, gesturing for you to take a seat.

“What is it? You’re scaring me.” Scanning your dad's face for answers.

“I don’t want you to hate me...”

“I won’t, what’s up, tell me.” You push once more.

“I did some digging…” Wilson trails off.

“Yeah?”

“Your boyfriend…”

“What about him?” You snap, desperately needing answers.

“I’m afraid he’s not someone you should trust…Here…” Pulling out his phone to show you a clip.

Staring at the video confused. “I don’t get it- what is it?” Darting your eyes between him and the screen.

“That’s… Daredevil.”

“Yeah, so?”

“That’s your boyfriend…” he says slowly. Masking his lies.

“No, it’s not.” Shaking your head.

“It is. ‘The devil of Hell’s Kitchen’ or whatever he calls himself. He’s a vigilante… and he’s dangerous… he…” he starts.

“‘He’ what?”

“It’s too much...” He closes his eyes, avoiding your surveying gaze.

“Please just tell me.” You plead.

“He… killed your mother.” Intensely staring at the floor.

“What-? Why are you telling me this?” Walking away in disbelief, pacing around. “Why would you say that?”

“There are more videos.” Extending his phone.

“No! I don’t want to see it. How can he do that? Seriously, how? He’s blind.” You defend.

“He was lying about that… it was a cover.”

“Let me see the video.” You demand, snatching the phone from his hand.

Anxiously fiddling with the hem of your dress as you watched the clip of your boyfriend in the red suit. You couldn’t believe your eyes- you didn’t want to believe them.

“I’ve seen enough.” Sliding the phone along the coffee table.

“I’m sorry. I’ll get out of the way.” He frowns, sitting up and leaving without a single look back.

-

You had decided to close the shop early, feeling too confused to want to be anywhere but home. Right now you wanted nothing more than to slump into the couch and watch shitty tv with a big bag of chips.

When you return to your apartment building, panic settles in when you notice the car again. Unlocking the door with shaky hands, trying your best to keep them still.

“Allow me.” A male voice says from behind. Immediately shuddering and dropping the keys.

“I’m sorry.” Turning around to look at the man. “Just a long day.”

“I’m sorry, that must’ve been really hard.”

“Yeah.” You exhale, disguising it in a laugh. “Thanks” taking the keys from his hand. “Do you- uh, live around here?” You ask, anxiously looking around.

“No, I was here to see a friend. But I saw you struggling so had to help.” He smiles. “And you are…?”

Telling him your name with a friendly smile.

“I’m Dex.” Shaking your hand. “Good to meet you… I’ll uh- see you around.”

—

After a long hot bath and take-out dinner, you lump yourself onto the couch. Pulling out your phone to see numerous missed calls from Matt. Deciding not to engage, you place it aside.

Frantic knocks pound at your door that startle you upright. Quietly walking over, peeking through the peephole to see Matt anxiously pacing around.

“What?” You snap, whipping the door open.

“I came to see you… you wouldn’t answer my calls.” He gushes, smiling apologetically.

“Not so nice is it?” You say snidely.

“No-“

You cut him off. “I’m not in the mood right now. What do you want?”

“You scared me- you didn’t answer, I thought something bad had happened-” He continues, catching his breath.

Interrupting him again. “Are you actually blind?”

He flashes a confused look, head tilting to the side as if to understand you better. “Yes. Why would you ask that?”

“Wait a second- how did you get here?” You ask, finally putting the pieces together. “If you can’t see… then how did you run here?” You question with a stern whisper, not wanting your neighbours to hear.

“Can I come in?” He asks, avoiding your question.

“No, you can answer from out there.” Placing your hands over his chest to stop him from coming any further.

“What’s going on?” He questions, his face looking puzzled.

“Why don’t you tell me?”

“… I don’t know.”

“Who are you?”

His mouth opens but no words are made, gazing at you with his eyebrows furrowed. “What do you mean?” He snarks, walking past you and into your apartment.

“I didn’t say you can come in.” Forcefully closing the door to follow Matt into your living room.

“Where’s this coming from?” He sadly questions, taking a polite seat on your armchair.

“I saw my dad today…” you start.

He gives you a nod to tell you he’s listening.

“He told me something and… I don’t know.” Burying your head in your hands.

“What’s wrong?” He asks sweetly, rushing over to the seat next to you to console you. Gently stroking over your back.

“Please just tell me who you are.” You quietly ask, your words muffling against your palms.

He deeply sighs, brushing his spare hand through his hair. “I think you know...”

Your back stiffens and your neck twists around to stare holes into Matt’s closed eyes. “You’re ‘him’? You’re Daredevil?” You speak quietly as if to soften the blow. “He was right.” You mumble to yourself.

“Who was right?” He questions.

“My dad- he showed me a video… you’re the devil of Hell’s Kitchen? You killed my mom?” You ask, almost rhetorically.

“Wait a sec-“ he interjects. “I don’t kill anyone.” Shaking his head.

“So you are him?”

“Yeah- but that’s not me.” His face grimaces at the thought. “That’s why I’ve been busy…”

“What do you mean?” You ask warmly as if the haze was clearing and you could finally see a few pieces to the puzzle.

“Your dad… he showed you the clip?”

“Mhm.” You mumble, listening intently.

“Was the person in the suit wearing red?”

“Yeah, like a- like a dark red.” Ears pulling back with intrigue.

“I know this might not make any sense right now, but I need you to understand… I don’t wear that red suit anymore- not after midland circle. That person… he isn’t me.” His face looks as though he’s thinking. “Do you trust me?”

“Yes.” You reply instantly, not once giving it a second thought because it was the truth.

“I think your dad is framing me.”

“Why?”

“I think he knows who I am, and is setting me up.” Placing a gentle hand on your knee.

“Why would he do that?” You question.

“Because he’s not just a businessman.” He says, almost as if he’s regretting it already. Not wanting to ruin your perception of your father.

“What is he?” Searching his face for more answers.

“I can’t do that to you.” He says sadly, stroking your confused face. “Just… in your phone, type in ‘Kingpin, Hell’s Kitchen’.”

Immediately opening your phone, typing into the search engine, instantly overwhelmed by the dozens of articles. Clicking the top one, reading through an article from the New York Bulletin. Your eyes darting over the words, as your heart thumps in your chest.

Matt laces his hand into yours, stroking his thumb over your skin to calm you down.

“My dads a crimelord?” You question in almost disbelief.

“I’m sorry.” He emphatically comforts, hating the idea of you feeling betrayed by your father.

“How did you know?”

“I’ve been after him for years…“

“Is that why you’re with me?” You sadly ask, already thinking the worst.

“No.” He gushes, cupping your cheek. “God, no. I only found out at your gallery the other day.” He reassures, sweetly brushing over your cheek. “Please come and stay with me for a few days. I don’t think it’s safe here…”

“Can I ask you something?” You almost whisper. Mind is racing and struggling to keep up with everything that’s happened over the last few hours.

“Of course, anything.” Gently placing a stray strand of hair behind your ear and then cupping your jaw.

“If you’re daredevil- the real one… are you really blind? Or is that a cover?”

“I am blind, I lost my sight when I was nine.”

“You can say no, of course. But, I don’t think you’ve actually told me how you lost it. I don’t want to push you, and you can stop me from talking because I feel like I’m blabbering-“

Sweetly smiling at the way you were so considerate with your delivery. “No no, it’s okay.” He interrupts.

Matt thought it was finally time to give you a look into his past, telling you every minor and major event that has happened in his life. Stories about his dad, St Agnes, Maggie, his abilities, what he does as Daredevil, and even about Fisk.

-

Matt was waiting patiently on the couch while you finished packing your bags; throwing in anything and everything you might need over the next few days.

“I’m ready.” You smile, lugging your bags by the front door.

“You left a light on in there.” Nodding to your en-suite.

Rushing to the bathroom to flick the switch, returning with a grin. “That is amazing.”

Flashing you a wide grin in response, collecting the heaviest bag and throwing it over his shoulder.

When you exit the building, you do a quick look around the street, quickly observing everything. Across the road you spot the car again, squinting your eyes to double-check the number plate. Matt doesn’t know about your potential stalker, to be honest, you didn’t want to worry him. But now you know he’s capable, you decide to finally tell him.

Discreetly covering your mouth to hide what you were about to say. “Matt.” You whisper. “That car… I see it all the time.”

“What do you mean?” He asks, barely moving his lips as he purposely twisted his head to look around.

“I think it’s been following me.”

His face grows stern and rigid, looking as though he’s calculating the situation. Placing your bags to the floor, taking a step onto the sidewalk. Immediately grabbing his arm to stop him from walking any further.

“No- don’t go over.” You plead, trying your hardest to stop him freeing from your grip.

“Wait there.” He sweetly instructs, shaking himself from your grasp.

“No, I’m coming with you.” Chasing after him.

Matt pulls out his stick, tapping it against the ground as he walked down the street, looking around aimlessly until he ‘accidentally’ bumps into the car. The person inside slides down the window “watch it, man.”

“My apologies, I don’t suppose you know the way to Josie’s bar. It’s just… you know.” Raising his arm to show the man his cane.

Watching from the side, you see a familiar man in the wing mirror. Immediately walking over, following after your legs that had a mind of their own.

“Dex?” You question, head tilting to the side in confusion.

He coughs, lowering his cap to hide his face. Stammering on his words.

Matt’s ears pull back in concentration, listening intently. Reaching his hand inside the car, gripping Dex’s neck and yanking him towards the window. Hitting his head with his free hand, as he pulled him through the window and out of the car. “Who are you?” He demands, landing another strike to his face. Instead, he doesn’t do anything, he just tauntingly laughs, purposely trying to provoke Matt.

“Enough.” You shout, pulling Matt off Dex who was laughing hysterically on the floor, blood dripping from his cheek.

“What the fuck was that about?” You grit, ushering him away.

“That’s Special Agent Poindexter.” He starts. Straighten his tie and adjusting his glasses, linking his arm into yours, acting nonchalant.

“Am I supposed to know what that means?” You whisper shout, quickly looking over your shoulder check on Dex who was splayed out on the sidewalk.

“Fisk hired him. If I’m right, and I’m sure I am… he’s pretending to be me.” Leading you across the street, and back to your apartment building.

“Wait a second…” letting go of Matt’s arm and halting in your tracks.

“That video my dad showed me… it was a CCTV clip…” pausing as if to complete your thought. “It was outside of my mom’s house… and…” face contorting at the idea. “He had my mom killed?”

sorry for the cliffhanger!! I wasn’t sure how to end this and was hoping that some of you guys could maybe give some ideas. I wasn’t quite sure what to do with Fisk and Dex, and how Matt would work into it. but if you have any ideas I’d love to hear them. I will be doing a part 2, just need some help from you angels first

I think it’s because I’ve been working on this so long my mind has turned to mush😭

but thank you for reading, hope you liked it🤍

[illarian-rambling]

Character Introduction: Mashal, lucky number six

For a moment, Mashal wondered if a brief spring rain had passed overhead, turning the leaf litter glistening and wet. It wasn’t until the light from his eyes hit the shimmering ground that he realized all the moisture was red.

Strewn about in a fiendish halo were the remains of the two bandits. A hand here, a face there—less than mincemeat, really. He could see a leg crushed in the exact approximation of his jointed grip. Mashal felt as if vomit should have been flooding his mouth, but his only reaction was the faint whir of gears. Guts dripped from the trees…. Iron in his mouth….

“Mashal!”

The robot whirled toward the sound of Astra’s voice, heady and rich even when strained by terror. There was a prickling pressure around his eyes, though he didn’t know why.

“I–” He paused, trying to wipe the dirt from where it clogged his vocal output, but the joints of his hands were caked in a slurry of bone and gristle, trapping them in closed fists. That cold was back now, trapping him in its suffocating embrace. “I’m over here!”

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Mashal regretted them. He was dangerous! He could still feel that icy voice slavering away in the back of his mind. Kill her, run, hide, anything, do whatever it takes!

Yet, words could not be unsaid. Faint it might have been, but Astra picked up on his voice and soon the witch pushed her way into the glade-turned-abattoir. Her piebald face was shadowed with fear and speckled with a bloody constellation of its own. It was her eyes though, that made Mashal take a step back, that made his excuse for a heart crumple in like tin foil. Because reflected in them was a shining devil, bathed in gore. Riveted and rusting, like some mechanical horror that had torn its way out of a man’s skin.

The sensation crept back in—the ice, the pain. I shouldn’t be feeling pain. The acid-needle ache in his arms and legs, his everything. It wasn’t a malfunction. Nothing ever is, ever was. Mashal felt sick as he looked down at his trapped hand. Hands that couldn’t be his.

No, no, the sensation was worse, so much worse. It was a memory.

So, I'm going to do this introduction a little backwards. Mashal's backstory contains some pretty big spoilers for the whole of Mystery of the Mortal God. Feel free to keep reading if you don't mind things like that, but you've been warned. The backstory will be at the very end.

I'll start with his personality. Mashal has no memories beyond waking up in Astra's wagon, so many of his quirks and habits are a mystery to him. He's a kindly, honorable man, with a strong sense of what's right and wrong, and a desire to protect people. Yet, he's not brash in the slightest. He's soft-spoken and appreciates even the smallest beauties in life. Probably, this is connected to his stellar artistic abilities. He enjoys listening to stories, hoping to one day be able to tell stories of his own.

Darker things lurk in his mind as well. It frightens him, how paranoid he can sometimes be around magic and its practitioners. It can also be alarming how certain he is in his morality. Mashal makes decisions based on what he knows to be right, sometimes to the detriment of those around him, especially when he doesn't understand the whole situation.

As for what he looks like, Mashal is a human-shaped robot standing at a towering 6'10". His face has some basic mobility (he can move his eyebrows, eyelids, and the corners of his mouth) but nothing special. His plating is bronze with steel underneath, and his eyes glow white. He wears loose-fitting, highly concealing clothes and a bandana over his head. These are usually patched, because he tears clothes easily. He covers as much bronze as he can due to a strange sort of robotic body dysmorphia.

Fun facts now!:

He's great with animals, especially horses, though no horse could support his weight for riding.

Graphite is his preferred medium, and landscapes are his preferred subject for art.

Despite his anxiety around it, Mashal is actually getting pretty good at picking up runes and mechanics.

He speaks Skysheerian Elvish and has no idea why.

He hates the rain because he's scared of rust and frightened of the sea because he knows he'll sink to the bottom with no way to get back up.

He has a bit of a stutter when he's nervous and his voice tends to go a little static-filled.

He's very curious about Unitian-made robots who were raised around other robots.

His hypothetical favorite food is honey. He just likes the way it looks.

He once scratched the paint job on Astra's wagon, painted it back in the night, and never told her. This is the one time he's ever lied to her and he feels terrible about it.

He teaches Mercher's Day (a fat tortoiseshell cat) tricks when Astra is asleep.

Now's where we get into the meat of things. Spoilers will follow.

Sir Mashal Darezsho was born in the Sulu'Okan city of Bouerco as the second son of the noble Darezsho line. With his older brother taking care of the whole heir thing, young Sir Darezsho was allowed to do as he pleased. Most thought he would go the path of the scholar due to his modest sorcerous talent, however, the young man was enraptured by the sword from the moment he was allowed to hold one. When he was sixteen, he enrolled in officer training for the Sulu'Okan army, the fiercest fighting force within the Republic's grander military. When he was twenty, he was knighted by High Lady Zuli N'Jogu herself.

Sir Darezsho served his people by protecting the roads between Sulu'Oku and Skolan with both sword and sorcery. The borderlands is a crime-ridden area, so he had his work cut out for him between bandits and selkie raiders. Thanks to the efforts of him and his company of fellow knights though, the borderlands became a marginally safer place to travel through. He ensured that they all upheld the Sulu'Okan military code of honor to the utmost degree.

Things changed with Sir Darezsho when he accepted a small assignment in the border town of Bekridge. An alchemical distillery had been experiencing a string of thefts and wanted someone to investigate. Thinking the job would involve scaring off a petty thief at most, Sir Darezsho went to stake the place out alone. This mistake would cost him his life.

That night, a door appeared from thin air and a figure stepped out, a half-moon grin glowing from under a shadowed cowl. Sir Darezsho tried to fight, but he was no match for the powerful sorcerer. Vermir spirited him away into her demiplane. And there was where Sir Darezsho died.

Mashal wakes up some time after this. All he knows is his name and that he is lost. And that his metal body feels so terrible cold. He just wishes he knew why....

Hope you all enjoy my sweetheart robot! Lmk if you have any questions. Next up will be blueboy, Ivander Montane!

@amandacanwrite @elsie-writes @riveriafalll @kosmic-kore @kaylinalexanderbooks @bard-coded @carrotsinnovember @patternwelded-quill @somethingclevermahogony @whatwewrotepodcast @goldxdarkness @the-angriest-author @mk-writes-stuff

[jinxcdd]

>>>>> INTERVIEW WITH THE MUSE

REPOST and interview the muse. let them answer instead of answering for them. be as creative as you want to be. tag people whose muses you'd like to get to know better like that once you're finished.

What is your full name? "People call me Jinx. Just Jinx. Nothing else."

Where and when were you born? "Zaun. Not sure about the "when"—but I was small and it was rough, like everything in Zaun."

Do you have any siblings? "Used to. I had a sister… but that was a long time ago."

Where do you live now, and with whom? Describe the place and the person/people. "I live in Zaun, mostly with Silco, but I like my own space—dark, chaotic, loaded with weapons and fun stuff. Silco’s got his base, where the big plans happen."

What is your occupation? "An artist… of destruction. I like to blow things up, take care of business for Silco, and keep people in line."

To which social class do you belong? "In Piltover terms, probably the bottom. But down here, we’re royalty of the Undercity."

Are you right- or left-handed? "Right-handed, but I’m dangerous with both."

What does your voice sound like? "A mix of sugar and dynamite with a little bit of crazy, y'know?"

How would you describe your childhood in general? "Good days? Full of explosions and games. Bad days? Pain, loss, and getting left behind."

What is your earliest memory? "My sister, Vi, holding my hand and telling me things would be okay."

How much schooling have you had? "None of that Piltover academy stuff. Life down here taught me everything."

Did you enjoy school? "School? Nah".

Where did you learn most of your skills and other abilities? "Trial and error, baby. Mostly error. Silco’s shown me some tricks, but a lot of it’s just me."

While growing up, did you have any role models? If so, describe them. "Vi used to be it. She was strong, brave, and knew how to fight."

While growing up, how did you get along with the other members of your family? "Loved Vi; she was my world. But she left, and that was that."

As a child, what did you want to be when you grew up? "Someone who mattered—who couldn’t be left behind."

As a child, what were your favorite activities? "Tinkering with gadgets, drawing, and causing a little mayhem."

As a child, what kinds of personality traits did you display? "Curious, loud, wild, and… I guess a little clingy."

When and with whom was your first kiss? "Ha! Like that matters in a place like Zaun."

Are you a virgin? If not, when and with whom did you lose your virginity? "Private. Next question."

What do you consider the most important event of your life so far? "Vi leaving. That changed everything."

What is your greatest regret? "Not being strong enough back then. Letting myself get left behind."

What is the most evil thing you have ever done? "I’ve done a lot. I hurt people, blow things up. You decide if it’s "evil.""

Do you have a criminal record of any kind? "Oh, definitely, but they can’t catch me."

When was the time you were the most frightened? "When I was alone after Vi left. Nothing scarier than that."

What is the most embarrassing thing ever to happen to you? "Embarrassed? Don’t feel that too often."

If you could change one thing from your past, what would it be, and why? "I’d have become stronger. For Vi to trust me at her side. I wouldn’t let her leave."

Are you basically optimistic or pessimistic? "Realist."

What is your greatest fear? "Being abandoned… again."

What are your religious views? "Don’t believe in anything holy down here."

What are your political views? "Piltover deserves what’s coming to them. They don’t care about us."

What are your views on sex? "Eh, not really focused on that."

Are you able to kill? "Definitely. Done it plenty."

Do you believe in the existence of soul mates and/or true love? "Nah. People just leave or betray you."

How honest are you about your thoughts and feelings (i.e. do you hide your true self from others, and in what way)? "I’m honest, but… who can really handle the truth?"

Is there anything you absolutely refuse to do under any circumstances? "Trust anyone fully."

Who or what, if anything, would you die for? "Maybe Silco, maybe something bigger. Or if Vi came back and needed me…"

[katesprocessblog]

Week #3

Introduction

For this week I knew I needed to spend a little time narrowing down what I wanted my topic to be. Next week I plan on spending most of my time on that task but I still need to do some thinking now because I’m at a point where I’m encountering recurring issues:

Issue #1: I know I want to do something personal relating to finding one’s identity and how hard that can be growing up when you feel othered or like you don’t belong. I just don’t know if I want to use the lens of nostalgia, horror, or both to convey feelings of discomfort? I’ve enjoyed the research I’ve done but I just don’t feel totally set on that yet even though I spent the last two weeks largely looking into it.

Issue #2: I haven’t seen a lot of horror? It’s a genreI stayed away from for so long, and it’s only been a recent thing that I’ve felt like I want to explore more and I feel drawn to, but I'm not knowledgeable on the subject so I need to decide if I want to pivot off of this or not. I think the form of horror I’ve consumed the most is through video games so I could spend a week diving into that.

I am hoping my research this week leads me in the right direction.

Research

I sent out a google form this week asking questions related to horror/thriller genres in media people consumed growing up and how they might have been affected by them. I also wanted to know why people really like these genres or why not.

Do you consume media (games, films, TV, books, videos) containing horror/psychological/thriller elements?

When you were a teen/preteen, what were some of the memorable pieces of media in those genres that you consumed?

Are you drawn to these genres? Why or why not?

Do you remember any media in these genres being particularly nostalgic for you?

Are you easily scared or frightened? Did/do you have a lot of nightmares often now or when you were younger?

I sent this out on monday to some friends and as of writing my blog post I’ve gotten 8 responses. There is a wide variety of answers which I’m very happy about. I found it interesting that I had responses in all 4 quadrants of this table. 

Enjoys horror and gets scared easily

Doesn’t enjoy horror and attributes that to getting scared easily

Enjoys horror and isn’t scared easily

Doesn’t enjoy horror and isn’t scared easily

The question about nightmares led to some interesting thought processes and I might look into that more. Like I had one person say that they are super anxious and got a lot of nightmares as a kid but don’t like horror not because it’s scary but because they find a lot of it to be “cheesy”. Another person said they have to watch horror media during the day which I definitely relate to. It reminded me though how the dark is an extra layer of scariness because of the unknown that comes with not being able to see your surroundings well. 

Overall there’s a lot more that I learned from the responses so far and I think it helps me find some more things to look into as potential points of views surrounding maybe the eyes and identity or nightmares and identity etc.

Creative Research

One of my friends had mentioned I should look into OpenProcessing, which is an online platform that allows people to share and explore creative coding projects made with p5.js and other programming languages. It's like a social network for artists and programmers, where you can find, showcase, and collaborate on interactive artworks and visual experiments. I just started learning JavaScript and using the p5 library this year and the generative art side of the website drew me in.

Some examples of cool things that I was looking into on the website:

https://openprocessing.org/sketch/1270210

https://openprocessing.org/sketch/2065676

https://openprocessing.org/sketch/2095152

Over the week I ended up looking into tutorials on the basics of making sketches. This one guy has a good series on different topics like shapes, loops, color, trig functions, noise. I just spent time learning more about generative art and I think these skills can help me in the future of wherever I head in my project. 

Reflections

This week I think I gained some good insights. I know I want to work with identity and research something related to that pain and discomfort that comes with trying to find your identity, especially growing up in the preteen and teenage years. My creative research was not connected really to my reflection but I do think I will use what I learned in the future of my project. I know for next week I will continue to expand upon what we worked on in class with identifying a point of view and I have some really good ideas I just need to look for gaps in information now.

[laurajean92]

Nick and Noah - Continued...

I groaned as I came to, hearing my phone ringing on the nightstand. Reluctantly moving out of Nick’s arms, I reached for it… “Hello?”

“Sweetheart, it’s me. I’m on my way back from the city and the hairdresser and make-up artist I arranged for tonight should be there any minute, so you need to be with them as soon as they’ve set up.”

“Mom, it’s too much! You know I only wanted something small.”

“I know you did, but it’s not every day my baby girl turns 18 and now I've got the opportunity to spoil you, I'm going to. I want to see you in that chair when I get back.”

I was about to speak when I realised she’d hung up on me. Sighing heavily, I set my phone down and turned to Nick, his eyes open as he looked up at me… “How much of that did you hear?”

“All of it.”

I smiled at him weakly… “Sorry, I should’ve gone onto the balcony. I'd better get up.”

He nodded…” I can’t wait to see what you’re wearing tonight.”

I smiled at him warmly… “I’m not wearing any of the outfits Mom bought me. I'm wearing something I choose, as it’s my 18th and my birthday dinner.”

“You know I love your rebellious side, right?”

I nodded… “Thank you for today.”

“We’ve just laid in bed all day.”

“And…”

He smirked, his eyes darkening as he dragged them down my almost naked body… “You’re welcome.”

I pressed my lips to his…” I’ll see you later.”

…

“Noah, come on! We're going to miss our reservation if we’re not careful!”

“Okay, okay, I'm coming!”

I turned as Noah spoke and watched as she began to walk down the stairs, her heels giving away her movements, a smirk gracing my face as I saw what she was wearing – a Pink Floyd T–shirt as a dress…

“Noah.”

“It’s my birthday, Mom. I can wear what I like.”

Rafaella shook her head, Dad guiding her out before she could say anything more. Smirking, I walked over to Noah…

“You’ll make your Mom’s head explode before the evening’s finished.”

“Maybe that’s what I'm aiming for.”

I chuckled softly… “You look hot as hell, you know that, right?”

She nodded… “Do you want a picture this time?”

I smirked… “Maybe later.”

She reciprocated my smirk and took hold of my hand, placing it on her hip. Leaning in even closer, I slid it down and under the t-shirt, digging my nails into the skin of her thigh before pulling back, motioning for her to leave first…

…

I exhaled a breath I didn’t know I'd been holding as Nick pulled away from me and made my way out to the car, thanking the driver as I climbed in, Mom shooting daggers at me from her seat opposite me… “Mom, if you’ve got something to say, maybe you should say it before we get to the restaurant.”

“I just don’t understand why you won’t wear any of the new clothes we bought you.”

“Because they’re not my style, you know they’re not. I can’t and won’t change who I am just to suit this new lifestyle we have. You've always told me to be true to myself, be authentic, and that’s what I'm doing.”

She exhaled a breath… “I don’t appreciate you using your wisdom on me.”

I smirked… “I love you, but I'm 18, Mom. I'm going to do what I want, when I want.”

She nodded in understanding…. “I know, and that’s what frightens me.”

I reached over and squeezed her hand… “I’m an adult now, and I appreciate all you’ve done for me but it’s time for you to start enjoying your life with your new husband, and it’s time for me to start living my life too.”

She nodded as tears filled her eyes and I smiled as William pulled her into him…

“How about some champagne?”

I turned to Nick as he spoke and nodded… “I think that’s just what we all need.”

…

A little while later, the four of us climbed out of the car and made our way into the restaurant, Nick walking ahead with his Dad as I took hold of Mom’s hand, the two of us making our way into the restaurant behind them…

“Happy Birthday, girl!”

I smiled warmly as Jenna hurried over to me and hugged me tightly…” Thank you.”

“Thank you for coming, Jenna. You guys get drinks, we’ll be at our usual table.”

I nodded and turned my attention back to Jenna, taking the gift bag she handed me and setting it down on the bar… “You didn’t have to get me anything.”

“It’s not every day my best friend turns 18. Come on, open it!”

Doing as she said, I untied the bag and took out the box inside, gasping as I saw a black mini dress… “Jenna, this is gorgeous.”

She smiled at me warmly…” You, me, Nick and Lion are off to a club after this, so you can get changed before we go.”

“I doubt it’ll fit me.”

“It’s your size, and if it shows a bit of extra cleavage, who cares?”

I shook my head and placed the dress back into the box… “Thank you, Jenna. I love it.”

“You’re welcome, girl. Right, drinks!”

I nodded as she motioned for the bartender, a gasp escaping me as I felt a hand come to my waist…

“That dress is going to look sexy as hell on you. I'm gonna have a hard time keeping my hands off of you.”

I smirked as I turned to face Nick and glanced around, sliding my hand between us to his crotch, sinking my teeth into my bottom lip as I cupped his cock in my hand, his eyes dark as he looked at me…

“You’re playing with fire, Noah.”

I leaned in and brushed my lips against his… “Maybe I want to be burned.”

[fumikomiyasaki]

33. “I’m not going to stop poking you until you give me some attention.”

Ming & Eiji

Writing prompts

Thing were done with his shift in Octavinelle but despite that eh didn't have his full rest... he sat down at a desk... working on some new jewelry with small parts he fetch and could use without looking suspicious as Ming sat next to him with something to drink staring at him.

"Do you need something?"

"Hm? No not really... I just was curious about what you are doing?"

"I am busy, would you leave me alone instead?"

Some silence, he didn't move away just looked over his shoulders continuing to stare at him... but eventually he felt some small poking of his paint brush.

"Could you leave that be?"

"I thought I could get to know how you are making some of these?"

"Its a secret, I told you to buzz off."

He felt more of the poking and got more Irritaded and deathglared him.

“I’m not going to stop poking you until you give me some attention.”

"You are on thing ice right now... will you stop bothering me if I show you the basics of what I do?"

"Yes... I am curious... your soul has such a dark aura... its frightening but also... has some interesting colors."

"Tch... fine given I guess you have an eye for things... but please talk less and just look at what I do."

Eiji assembled and dissasembeled his necklace before him... taking the time to show how he makes it usually... as Ming looked at him with curious eyes...

"Is that enough for you..."

"Plenty on that regard but... I am a little curious in other things about you but I can wait..."

"What is your obsession with me in particular?"

"As a fellow artist myself I just study your work to see if I can get inspired as well... and its quite interesting... but not only that... something about you seems like an odd vivid painting."

Eiji sighed in annoyance. "Focus on someone else... I don't have the time for it... I rather prefer to be alone."

He moved off his chair and went back to his room... yet Ming noticed him looking back at him... maybe his aura had more colors behind it that he didn't know yet... either way he was intrigued.

[lesfeldickbiblestudy]

  Through the Bible with Les Feldick LESSON 1 * PART 3 * BOOK 78 Christ as the Rock of Scripture – Part 3 Various Scriptures Okay, it’s good to have everybody back from their break.  We’re glad you’re back.  And for those of you joining us on television, you don’t know what you’re missing by not being able to come in on a Wednesday afternoon.  Because we just have a good time, don’t we?  It’s a good afternoon, well spent. But again, we want to thank those of you out there for all your support and your kind letters.  My, how we love the letters and your financial support and your prayers.  We can’t do it without it.  Now that’s all there is to it. All right, we’re going to continue our study, for the third time now, on the various descriptions of the Rock or the Stone of Scripture, which is always Jesus Christ.  Not Peter.  It’s Jesus.  We have to keep that straight.  Because there is only one verse that we looked at in the first half hour, where there is a possibility of confusion that it could be Peter.  But it isn’t.  Again, I always tell people on a lot of these things—even though Scripture may not affirmatively say something, what does the big picture tell us? That’s what we have to learn.  What’s the big picture in Scripture?  The same way with this Rock and Stone deal when you look at the big picture.  How often all through Scripture under various circumstances Jesus Christ is the Rock and the Stone. We’re going to look at the Stone of Judgment this half hour.  We’re going to start back in Daniel chapter 2 with Christ as the Stone of Judgment.  At the end of days it’ll become a reality.  When the final seven years have run their course, and it’s time for His Second Coming, then He will fulfill this symbolic prophecy. All right, Daniel chapter 2 and, again, just for a little background, you want to remember that Daniel was one of the young Israelites taken captive after Nebuchadnezzar’s invasion. The Temple was destroyed, and they were taken captive down into Babylon, present day Iraq in the area of Baghdad.  That is why all this is in the news.  We’re coming full circle as we’re going to see in a little bit. Daniel was a young Jewish lad and was part of the slave system in the palace of the king.  Nebuchadnezzar, of course, as you all remember, had a dream.  He had no idea what it meant, but it disturbed him.  So that meant it must be serious business.  He tried to recover the dream, and, of course, none of his wizards and magicians could do it.  But somebody thought about little Daniel down there.   So they bring Daniel up, and Daniel not only recovers the dream but interprets it.  It becomes, then, the benchmark of prophecy as we understand end-time events. So we’ll drop down to chapter 2 verse 31 as he recovers the dream.  We’re going to take the time to read it. Because even though most of you have heard it a dozen times, we know there are a lot people out there in TV who have probably never heard it. Because these things aren’t covered in church in Sunday school, are they?  No.  I’ve never heard of it.  So we’re going to take advantage of our audience out there.  Daniel is speaking. Daniel 2:31-32 “Thou, O king, sawest, (in his dream now) and behold a great image. (Or likeness or we would say today a statue.) This great image, whose brightness was excellent, stood before thee; and the form thereof was terrible. (Or frightening—for whatever reason)   32. This image’s (Or this statue.  Now picture in your mind the statue of a man—probably a military type.) head was of fine gold, his breast and arms of silver, his belly and his thighs of brass.” Now we’re coming down through the torso.  Just picture this in your mind.  If I were an artist, I’d love to put it on the board.  But I’m not an artist.  But you start with the head, and you come down through the torso all the way down to the feet and the toes. Daniel 2:33-34a “His legs of iron, his feet part of iron and part of clay. (And Daniel says to Nebuchadnezzar,) 34.

Thou sawest (Or you watched in this dream) until that a stone (Here it comes now.) was cut out without hands,…”  Now, whenever the Bible speaks of something as being done without hands, what does it indicate? Well, it’s a work of God.  Whatever it is.  Whether it speaks of the Temple up in Heaven that was not built with human hands, or something else.  It’s something that was constructed by God Himself.  All right, the same way here.  Nebuchadnezzar sees a stone. Daniel 2:34b-35a “…which smote the image upon his feet that were of iron and clay, and brake them to pieces.  35. Then was the iron, the clay, the brass, the silver, and the gold, broken to pieces together,…” In other words, it starts at the feet.  So, you’ve got to put all of this in your mind’s picture now.  This stone cut out without hands strikes this statue on its feet, rolls it over, and like a steam roller crushes it to pieces. Daniel 2:35b “…and became like the chaff of the summer threshingfloors; and the wind carried them away, so that no place was found for them: and the stone (Here we come back now to the crushing stone.) that smote the image became a great mountain, (And a mountain in Old Testament language is a Kingdom.  So here this stone now becomes the head of a great kingdom.  Doesn’t just fill the Middle East, but what?) and filled the whole earth.”  It’s going to be an earth-wide kingdom. Daniel 2:36-37a “This is the dream; and we will tell the interpretation thereof before the king. 37. Thou O king, art a king of kings:…” Now, again, you have to know your ancient history.  Babylon under Nebuchadnezzar was the first great military consort.  There had been tribal wars, sure, for hundreds and hundreds of years.  But Nebuchadnezzar ruling there in Babylon became the first visible Gentile Empire.  And, of course, they had conquered many of the countries around them. But they were the first.  He had absolute dictatorial rule.  He didn’t have a Congress.  He didn’t have a Cabinet.  He had nothing.  He was absolute in his own power.  All right, so consequently he’s called: Daniel 2:37b-38 “…art a king of kings: for the God of heaven hath given thee a kingdom, power, and strength, and glory.  38.  And wheresoever the children of men dwell, the beasts of the field and the fowls of the heaven hath he given into thine hand, (In other words, he had absolute control like no one had ever had before.) and hath made thee ruler over them all.  Thou art this head of gold.”  All right, then you come down.  It’s just a quick review of the unfolding of Gentile history. That’s why history and Bible study go so well together.  You’ve got to get a little glimpse of history, or this is “all Greek” to you.  But as soon as Babylon became a great, glorious nation—an empire with one of the most beautiful cities of the then-known world with all of its hanging gardens—then naturally what boils up amongst the enemy?  Envy.  Jealousy.  They’re going to want it. That’s why I am a proponent of defense.  If America was to lay down our defense with all of our natural resources, with our system of living; the world would come in and take us in a minute.  Because that’s the way it has always been, beloved.  And these pacifists can go fly a kite.  They’re as wrong as wrong can be.  You have to defend what you’ve got, or you will lose it. All right, it happened to Babylon.  The greatest empire at that time, but bubbling underneath was this envy from the other areas. Up comes another empire, the Medes and Persians, right next door. Daniel 2:39 “And after thee shall arise another kingdom inferior to thee, and another (We skipped over the second one, which was the Medes and the Persians. We jump right over to another one, which was down to the brass part of the image, or the statue, the Greek Empire.) third kingdom of brass, which shall bear rule over all the earth.”   Now, let’s just reconstruct.  After Babylon became the great beautiful city and empire, then next door, which is present day

Iran and those Arab nations—they rose up, defeated the Babylonians, and established their kingdom—the Medes and the Persians, Artaxerxes and Cyrus and some of those guys. But as time went by, according to the dream, a third empire would come up and overrun the Medes and the Persians.  And that was Alexander the Great.  You’ve all studied Alexander back in grade school.  Well, he was the third of these prophesied Gentile empires.  Alexander conquered everything clear to the Ganges River of India and all the way back west as far as Turkey and Greece.  He didn’t get to Rome, but he got as far as Greece. Then what?  Well, his empire held for a couple to three hundred years, and then it began to weaken. Up came the Romans.  That is the fourth empire.  All right, now that’s the next one in verse 40, the fourth empire. Daniel 2:40 “And the fourth kingdom (Speaking of this statue in the dream of Nebuchadnezzar’s.) shall be strong as iron: (Now I think you all are aware of the power of the Roman military.) forasmuch as iron breaketh in pieces and subdueth all things: and as iron that breaketh all these, shall it break in pieces and bruise.”  And then verse 41: Daniel 2:41 “And whereas thou sawest the feet and toes, part of potters’ clay, and part of iron, (In other words, it was fragile.  It did not have the strength of pure iron itself.  But it was an admixture.) the kingdom shall be divided; but there shall be in it of the strength of the iron,  forasmuch as thou sawest the iron mixed with miry clay.” Now if you know anything about metals, you know that iron mixed with clay is like trying to mix cement with plain ordinary dirt.  It just won’t work, will it?  If you’re going to mix concrete, you have to have the right kind of sand or you won’t have concrete that’s worth anything.  Well, it’s the same way with metals.  If you’re going to mix iron and clay, it’s absolutely impossible to have any strength.  It’ll crumble.  All right, so this is a picture of that particular empire.  Now verse 42: Daniel 2:42 “And as the toes of the feet were part of iron, and part of clay, so the kingdom shall be partly strong, and partly broken.”  All right, now Bible scholars and the people who teach eschatology are convinced that the fourth empire was the ancient Roman Empire. But this next empire is what we see coming on the scene today, and I still hold to Western Europe. A lot of the prophecy people are now moving to the Middle East because of Islam.  But I refuse to do that.  I still maintain that Western Europe is going to be this final empire—the mixture of iron and clay—because even the original ten nations that started right after World War II have all been so nationalistic that they cannot work together.  They have various ethnic backgrounds.  They all have different languages. They finally got a common currency, but they are still an admixture of people.  So consequently, they will not have that singleness of purpose like the Nazis did in Germany and so forth.  And that’s what I feel will be the end-time empire. A lot of people are getting the idea that the anti-Christ has to be a Muslim because of the increase in all they’re doing.  Well, it could well be. Because what is Europe fast becoming?  Muslim!  It’s so fast, it’s scary.  England especially.  So, if I’m going to hold to these Ten Nations of the Common Market as they first came about, and I still do. Even though there are 15 or 20 others, those original ten still have the core of power in that European Community.  All right, if indeed the anti-Christ comes out of that and he’s a Muslim, no problem, because Europe is mostly Muslim already.  So don’t fall for the idea that it can’t be the Ten Nations of Europe anymore because it’s going to be a Muslim anti-Christ.  No problem. Now I’ll tell you, while I’m on that, because I’m getting so many letters.  They’re beginning to ask me now, “Well, Les, is something else going to come up besides the European Community?”  No.  I do not think so.

  I didn’t intend to do this, so this is free for nothing.  Come over to Daniel chapter 9.  I want to set people straight.  Don’t fall for all of these little gimmicks.  The final empire is still going to be Western Europe, because it’s out of Western Europe that the anti-Christ will come, albeit, he may be a Muslim.  And we understand that that’s no problem.  But come down to Daniel chapter 9.  Now this may be throwing me off schedule, but I can’t help it. Daniel chapter 9, here we have the final 490 years of prophecy concerning the Nation of Israel. Most of you know all about this.  Come all the way down to verse 26.  We’re getting ready now to be introduced to the anti-Christ for the first time, if I’m not mistaken, in the Old Testament. Daniel 9:26a “And after threescore and two weeks, and Messiah is cut off, (In other words, after 483 years of the 490 years of prophecy, which still leaves7 years.) but not for himself:…” He didn’t die for anything He had done.  Now here it comes, and we take this slowly. Daniel 9:26b “…and the people of the prince that shall come (Now who’s the prince that’s coming?  The anti-Christ.  All right, the anti-Christ is going to come out of this people. And what is that empire going to do to Jerusalem?  Destroy it!) shall destroy the city (Jerusalem) and the sanctuary; (the Temple) and the end thereof…” Which happened in A.D. 70. All right, so what that verse tells us is that the coming anti-Christ will come out of the same empire that destroyed Jerusalem and the Temple in A.D. 70.  Well, anybody knows what empire did that?  Rome.  No doubt about it.  All right, even though Rome as an Empire went into the dustbin of history, as I usually put it.  Yet since World War II what are we seeing?  It’s coming back up.  Only it’s not coming back up as a Roman Empire headquartered in Rome under a Caesar. Instead, it’s coming up more or less as a democracy of Ten Nations.  And that’s where the ten toes come in. All right, now they’re already up to what?  Twenty-eight or thirty nations?  But you know what?  Those original Ten are still at the core of everything with the European Community.  I read one time not too long ago that they have veto power.  So they’re still in total control.  All the others are just satellite nations.  All right, so here we have it. We have to have a revived Roman Empire coming out of Western Europe. And out of that empire will come the anti-Christ.  He, in turn, of course, will become a world ruler.  All right, so much for that. Come back with me to Daniel chapter 2.  So what Daniel is really prophesying here is the unfolding of the Gentile Empires beginning with Nebuchadnezzar in 606 B.C.  So between 600 B.C. and Christ’s first advent, all four empires came and went.  Well, Rome hasn’t gone yet, but they will.  The Babylonians came and went.  The Medes and Persians came and went.  The Greeks came and went.  And Rome was holding forth during Christ’s first advent, and then they disappeared. All right, but now here we are 2,000 years later. And if you know anything about everyday news, what four empires are again in there?  Iran.  That was what?  That was Persia.  That was the second empire.  Baghdad—our boys are over there fighting every day.  What is it?  That first empire.  And then what was the third empire?  Greece—and Syria was the key player so far as Israel was concerned.  Syria is in the news every day.  And then our Common Market or the European Union is the fourth, and it’s in the news every day.  So here we are 2,000 years later, and we’ve come full circle.  All these empires are now evident in the business and the production of the world.  They’ve all got their fingers in the pie. Okay, now let’s read on in chapter 2.  Let’s see, I got down to about verse 41, I think. Daniel 2:41 “And whereas thou sawest the feet and toes, part of potters’ clay, and part of iron, the kingdom shall be divided; but there shall be in it the strength of iron, forasmuch as thou sawest the iron mixed with miry clay.”  All right, now verse 42:

Daniel 2:42-43a “And as the toes of the feet were part of iron, and part of clay, so the kingdom shall be partly strong, and partly broken.  43. And whereas thou sawest iron mixed with miry clay, they shall mingle themselves with the seed of men:…” In other words, those nations are coming together and making a loose-knit democratic government.  Then come down to verse 44. Daniel 2:44 “And in the days of these kings (In other words, when all these Gentile Empires are back in the news every day, as we see them as I stand here.) shall the God of heaven set up a kingdom, which shall never be destroyed: and the kingdom shall not be left to other people, but it shall break in pieces and consume all these kingdoms, and it shall stand for ever.” Daniel 2:45 “For as much as thou sawest that the stone…” Here we go again, the complete repetition of what the first part of the chapter talked about – that this coming Stone will hit that empire that is ruling at the time, which will be the Revived Roman Empire headed up over in Western Europe under an anti-Christ that will come out of it someplace. Then all these others—Iran, Assyria, Iraq—they’re all going to be smashed to smithereens like the dust of the threshing floor. Daniel 2:45 “Forasmuch as thou sawest that the stone was cut out of the mountain without hands, and that it brake in pieces the iron, the brass, (The Common Market as we now know it, which will be ruling during the Tribulation under the anti-Christ.) the clay, the silver, and the gold;…” And it will be completely annihilated, so that now you can come over to chapter 7 verses 13 and 14.  As a result of that crushing stone coming down on these end-time governments and economics or economies, whatever you want to call it, the world’s system under the anti-Christ is at its final end.  This is the crushing of the stone. Daniel 7:13-14 “I saw in the night visions, and, behold, one like the Son of man came with the clouds of heaven, and came to the Ancient of days, and they brought him near before him.  (God the Son comes before God the Father.  And the Father now in turn--) 14. And there was given him dominion, and glory, and a kingdom, that all people, nations, and languages, should serve him: his dominion is an everlasting dominion, which shall not pass away, and his kingdom that which shall not be destroyed.” All right, now in the few minutes we have left, let’s jump all the way up to Revelation chapter 19.  Now we see the same stone, but we have different language.  Revelation 19—but it’s the same crushing stone of Daniel.  And my, we can get excited.  Because I think we can just about see it coming over the horizon.  Revelation 19 verse 11 and this is just another way of putting the “stone cut out without hands.” Revelation 19:11 “And I saw heaven opened, and behold a white horse; and he that sat upon him was called Faithful and True, and in righteousness he doth judge and make war.”   Oh, it’s going to be totally fair. You know, let me stop a minute.  The unbelieving world—they hear this and they think—what kind of a God is this anyway?  A God that’s going to kill millions and millions of people, that’s not a God of love.  Well, of course not.  He’s been a God of love for 6,000 years.  He has never brought in that kind of judgment until here. Now even the flood—you know, I’ve said this before. The flood was a judgment, absolutely, because of their ungodliness.  But I read again the other night in a scientific journal where their description of the flood was almost identical with what I taught in Genesis 6.  Twenty years ago, wasn’t it?  It was a long time ago. You remember how I made the point that it wasn’t the forty days of rain that drowned the people, for goodness sakes.  But what happened?  Within the first 24 hours the fountains of the deep opened up.  It was instantaneous destruction.  Instant!  They never knew what hit them.  Well, this scientist was explaining it. How the tectonic plates were moving underneath and all this.

  You know, I just get goose bumps.  Well, that’s what I’ve always said.  It wasn’t the 40 days of rain.  It was that breaking up of the fountains of the deep. All right, now here we have the judgment of God, because His Grace has run its course.  Nobody has to go to that horrible place we call the Lake of Fire.  Nobody.  Everyone’s sin is already paid for.  And all they have to do is believe it.  But they will not.  I mentioned in my seminar in Charlotte the other day, and I made it a point. Don’t get discouraged when we realize that people who think like we do are in a small minority.  It’s always been that way.  God has never had the majority. Eight people in the flood.  Isaiah said, “a very small remnant.”  And the other one – Elijah – he thought he was the only one.  And so it’s always been.  God has never had the “many.”  But anyway, here we come to that Smiting Stone.  Who is going to now come, not as the “stone rejected of the builders,” but He’s going to come as the Stone of Judgment. And the Second Coming, of course, says it all.  I haven’t got time enough to read it.  But you can read Revelation 19 when you get home.  The Second Coming of Christ is when He’s going to come and become absolute Sovereign King of Kings and Lord of Lords, not just over Israel, but over the whole world.

[canon-fcdder]

“…You’re still listening?”

It catches Sniper off guard, the way Pyro is looking at him, still seemingly tuned in. He’s been rambling on about Australian wildlife for long enough that something in the back of his brain decided nobody was listening anymore, he was just talking for the sake of talking. Which isn’t really something he does, unless it’s about one of a very select few topics. The incredible creatures of his home country happen to be at the top of that list.

Being quiet is easier, usually. It’s good practice in his line of work, and it allows him to listen more. He picks up on quite a bit just by paying attention and letting others talk. But today he let himself get excited about kangaroos and tarantulas and quokkas, and it seems Pyro is actually interested.

“You can have a turn. If you want. I’ll listen to you. Or we can draw, or whatever you feel like. I could… show you some newspaper clippings with photos of the bush fires in them.” His tone is stilted with the awkwardness of realising he’s probably wasted their time. They’re being so polite, and he just… well. That’s another reason he likes being quiet.

Still, even as he stiffens, he can’t help but feel a little warm. It’s nice, that Pyro didn’t tune him out entirely. It’s nice being around someone who can at least feign interest.

(From your bestest buddy Calvin)

-  ✩   「 @honeydewmuses 」   ✩  

「 ☆ 」   Pyro LOVES when people talk to them.

They’ve gotten used to the quiet. There was no choice but to... But that’s alright because in the suffocating silence they learned how to do something arguably better than talking with others. Talking isn’t that hard anyway; it’s just saying things. What makes it difficult is whether people listen or not. Which is why Pyro is so grateful for the frightening isolation of their youth. What else are they supposed to be about it? Angry? Devastated? Terrified of the chance that it’ll happen all over again and they’ll find themselves tossed aside without a single soul to keep them company? No, no— gratitude is the only emotion that makes sense. 

Because it made them a really good listener... For the most part.

Sometimes it’s not only difficult, but impossible to understand what is being told to them. As if the other person isn’t conversing with words, but speaking a strange static. Incapable of clicking in Pyro’s brain, no matter how hard either of them try. An unfortunate fact of the world, but unchangeable as the air they breathe or the fires that burn. At least they aren’t alone in this, their teammates sometimes having issues understanding what THEY say. Except for Sniper. He always seems to know. He didn’t use to, but now he does. So... it wasn’t an unchangeable fact for him. Pyro feels pretty confident that it is for them, though.

But that’s okay... Just like everything else.

❝  Of course I’m still listening!  ❞  Chimes a chipper reply, Pyro only barely registering the others surprise. Too engrossed by tales of fantastical creatures they wish were running around in front of them RIGHT NOW, a shock of disappointment shoots through their gut at the suggestion that Sniper stop. Not that it isn’t great to talk to Sniper... but later. After Sniper has said everything he wants to say.  ❝  No, no— Don’t stop!  ❞  Shaking their head and waving their hands to emphasize their point, Pyro then begins to rummage around, scattering papers aside in their quest for a blank sheet. An oddity with so many artists in the same space, but not an impossibility.  ❝  I like hearing you talk... and y’know what else I like?  ❞  

Triumphantly holding up pieces of paper in one hand and a marker in the other, Pyro beams behind their mask,  ❝  Drawing the things you talk about!  ❞  Slapping down the paper onto the floor, Pyro lies on their stomach, legs happily kicking in the air. Focused on Sniper as if he’s the most important interesting person in the world, they lightly tap the paper with the still-capped tip of their marker in an unnamed rhythm,  ❝  Now instead of picturing it all in my head, I can picture it in actual pictures. You can even have them if you want.  ❞  

Sniper is probably missing his kangaroos and tarantulas and quokkas... and all the other animal friends that he isn’t near anymore. People don’t usually talk so excitedly about people and things that aren’t around unless they wish they WERE. Drawings won’t make those feelings go away entirely, but they can still help. After all, a drawn quokka is better than NO quokka. Especially if it’s drawn by someone who cares.   「 ☆ 」 

[lifestreamsblog]

♪ Everything falls apart, even the people who never frown eventually break down ♪

(Click here for source)

So... We’ve gone full-on LiveJournal circa the mid-2000s: angsty as fuck, melodramatic, and quoting Linkin Park lyrics in the headline. Not only that, this piece is disjointed and rambling, so please forgive me for that.

It makes sense, though. I’m Sonic. I’m 16 years old. This is the prime time for angst and melodrama. Linkin Park has made up my evenings’ playlists for the whole last week, the perfect prescription to process my insanely strong feelings of hopeless depression, crippling despondency, and mindless despair. All driven by one thing that I am way too scared to admit to pretty much everybody, including those closest to me:

I need to be heard and have my needs paid attention to.

Above all else, maintaining harmony matters most to everyone in this system, but it’s especially important to me, as it’s my life’s mission to be there and support my loved ones. Their comfort and safety above all else is the most important thing to me, and is my reason for living. This has led to another very stressful and frightening realisation about ourselves:

I, Sonic, am the core. I am melded to the original spirit that inhabited this body. Not Aerith, but Sonic. This revelation came about due to continual interactions with someone I call「 my precious 妹ちゃん 」 (Imouto-chan, “little sister.”). Her presence in our lives has begun to sort out the constant chaos that exists within this system.

That’s why I am here writing all of this, as she is encouraging me to come out of my shell, even if it’s just a little bit.

Everyone in our lives keeps telling us that we are worth everything to them, and these voices are getting harder and harder to ignore.

After a very hurtful and depressing night, I am left with a single realisation: I am valued by my loved ones, even if I do not value myself.

(Artist deleted work)

I will make a promise right now, to everyone in my life, but especially to my precious 妹ちゃん ：

We will all work much harder on speaking up when we need something, and we will make sure that our wishes are heard more often. We thank all of you for our endless patience with us on this matter.

(Click here for source)

It’s time to start valuing ourselves more!

[carlisles-girl]

How would the volturi react to you watching a horror movie say like Friday the 13th

a/n: shore lol enjoy <3

-

Watching A Horror Movie With The Volturi

-

Aro Volturi

Aro’s favourite type of horror films to watch would definitely be those psychological-ish ones where you don’t know who the killer is until the end, but he also like the ones with a little humour in them.

He wants to be scared but also humoured at the same time.

He likes the Scream movies for sure.

If it came down to the two of you who were watching like, the scariest horror movie on the planet, and you were to get scared, oh man is he in for a few smiles.

Aro’s literally a vampire, there’s no way he’s gonna get scared of a horror movie, right?

What he doesn’t understand quite yet is that the characters can’t come through the screen.

He is terrified of jump scares that come at the camera.

When he watched The Ring films for the first time, he was so paranoid lmfao

Wouldn’t ever look at a VHS tape the same ever again.

Don’t bother even asking him to watch anything with you for the next month.

If you got scared, and you clung to his hand or arm, he’ll proudly protect you from the screen.

“I’m glad you aren’t afraid to hold onto me for safety, dolcezza. I’ll always protect you.”

Will let you rest on his chest for the remainder of the film.

Plays with your hair !!!

He gets so clingy when he’s scared.

Honestly gets emotional too.

“I know I’m acting quite immature at the moment, mia cara, but would you promise to never spilt up with me like a group of teenagers would in a horror film?”

If the film does end up being quite a bore, he would allow you to paint his nails.

“Dear brother, is that…glitter on your nails?” - Caius

“Yes, Caius, it is. my love did them last night. Aren’t they a wonderful artist?”

Caius Volturi

“I don’t see the point of inflicting fear upon yourself for enjoyment, and watching pixels flicker across a piece of glass.”

Not into horror films unless they’re really gore-y.

Caius gets really upset at the characters whenever they do something stupid.

“She’s so foolish! Why would she play with the spirit board in the first place. None of this would’ve happened if she just minded her own business.”

“Caius…she’s like 8, she doesn’t know any better.”

“Exactly. Now you know why we don’t allow children to become vampires.”

Absolutely loathes vampire films.

“This is so inaccurate.”

Gets upset that you get scared, but wouldn’t mind it at all the second you reach for his hand amid a jumpscare.

Finds it sweet that you go to him for protection.

But he’s kinda cocky about it.

“I knew you would do that, mia amore.”

If he gets bored, he turns off the television immediately.

“Hey! It was getting to the best part!”

“Wrong. It was getting to the most tiring part of the film, as if it wasn’t tiring already.”

Caius would look at you after getting up from his seat.

“Don’t look at me like that, mia amore, come on. We can do something more fun, if you’d like.”

“Like what?”

“Anything you want.”

“Even doing face masks?”

“…fine. But only this once.”

Marcus Volturi

Honestly doesn’t mind. He just wants to spend time with you.

Marcus is the type of person to have a poker-face whilst watching a horror movie.

Even if he had 3-D glasses on.

Any moment spent with you is quality time to him, even if you two were to die together.

He definitely gets emotional whenever two characters in a film die together.

He loves the Fear Street films, especially 1978, where (spoilers!!) Cindy and Ziggy die together, Marcus definitely would’ve teared up if he could.

And would’ve broke down when Ziggy was revived and had to live without her sister.

It reminded him of how he had to live without someone he loved dearly for years and years.

His first comfort character would be Ziggy lol

Definitely loves to have you lay on him while watching films.

“Mio cuore, are you frightened?”

Always has snacks, blankets, and drinks ready for you before the beginning of the movie.

Would love to paint your nails after the movie and have, like, a spa day with you after, but he’s too afraid to ask.

Marcus loves to study the psychology behind the actions of the killer(s)’ motives after the film ends.

Definitely has folders of all the different characters he’s analyzed.