#but HOW did you give him the most English White Boy fit known to man

[auto-theist]

Heh... oc posting... crazy ik...

〖Angelo, Stage Phantom && Dreaded Applause 〗

⸻ 『Do not pray anymore; The sky has fallen deaf, and the ground has ears』

⸻ i. nomenclature . . . ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯── • •

Name: Angelo Santoro

Alias: Angel | Stage Phantom

Affiliation: Agosti show house and theater, Oletus manor

⸻ ii. biological information . . . ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯─ • •

Age: 28

Date of Birth: september 7th

Gender: Male

Pronouns: He/Him

Sexual orientation: Pansexual | Internalized homophobia

Species: Human, turned poltergeist

• • ⎯⎯───⎯⎯─── • •

Ethnicity: Italian

Nationality: Italian

Known languages: English, French, Italian

Mental health/conditions: Psychosis, Paranoia, Anxiety

⸻ iii. physical appearance . . . ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯─── • •

Height: 5’9, 7’9 respectively

Piercings: None.

Tattoos: A dove residing on his left wrist. A symbol of innocence long lost to the greedy hands of the devil.

General appearance: Angelo is adorned with unruly and untameable dark hair. Curled into a loose frame around his pale face. He's a slender build lacking in muscle. His skin is fair and spotless, a blessing from the heavens as they said. He's gentle in stature, seemingly so kind and welcoming. His eyes contrast such an inviting feel, cold and dark they are most often shaped into a glare. Thorns hidden behind the rose of his beauty.

Conditions/impairments: None.

⸻ iv. defining traits . . . ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯─── • •

Personality: Once he was such a kind young man. A saint respected in the church and theater. His words kind and actions giving, Angelo prefers to choose kindness. Emotional, he finds himself drowned in feelings, perhaps that's what left him so fitting for the stage. He struggles to understand himself most times, losing all sense of reason as he chases the current highs and lows of his feelings. He's reserved, in truth he doesn't know if it's to hide his true self or because he simply can't remember who he is.

Likes: The stage, church, wine

Dislikes: Sin, church, loud brash men.

• • ⎯⎯───⎯⎯─── • •

Weaknesses: If you were to ask him, he'd say nothing. That is in fact his weakness. A loss of self, Angelo struggles to act on his own. Follower syndrome instilled into his brain from the church only worsened as he drowned himself in the lives of the roles he played. • • ⎯⎯───⎯⎯─── • •

Hopes: Angelo wishes deeply to forget. Forgiveness seems nearly impossible, but to forget? Oh how blissful ignorance feels. The lights, the cheers, the rush. How deeply he wished to return to the stage.

Fears: Love is such a cruel fate for the innocent. Angelo fears letting someone so close again.

⸻ v. prologue to the story . . . ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯─── • •

Backstory:

It was only in the theater that he lived. It was only upon that stage, known not as himself but as Hamlet, as Romeo, as MacBeth that he truly felt alive. A religious man Angelo grew up under the care of Vatican Nuns. Orphaned after a fire claimed his home, the sole survivor, blessed as they cried. A boy spared from the devil's fiery grasp was something to be cherished, something to be shown. Paraded around as a miracle, proof of the lord's existence, he was to stray from sin like oil from water. Named Angelo and treated as something higher than man.

Perhaps his love for the limelight came from being shown like the prayer of God himself. Habits are always taught, and at this rate Angelo felt as though he'd lose his wings if he did not have the eyes of an adoring crowd upon his skin. His every word, once reciting scripture he now spews lines. Drowning himself in the envy of the lives he could only dream of living. Pride became his first true sin. Abandoning his God for a producer, scriptures for scripts.

All sin comes with penance. Broken skin left wrapped under gauze, the innocent white now stained with his tainted crimson. His eyes struggling to meet the sister who stood above him.

“Do not cry Angelo, the scars serve as the lord's existence, proof you are forgiven. Lucifer cannot reach you when God is forever marked in your faith and skin.”

Fear. For the first time in his life he had truly felt fear. Tempted by the devil and tricked, how foolish he felt. Eyes stuck upon his bandaged arms, a mark for every sermon replaced by rehearsal. Perhaps this is how Lucifer felt when his wings were clipped.

Angelo's freedoms grew, his performances being catholic in nature granted him approval from the priests and nuns who cared for him. The Vatican's own living Angel. The more he stayed at the Agosti theater the closer he grew to the other actors. A second family found in the mix of personalities. It was in this assorted bag that he met Romeo. A handsome man in his own right, Angelo truly believed he was so much more deserving of the title of angel. Lucifer was such a gorgeous evil, and Satan's temptations had once again consumed the mind of Angelo.

Time with Romeo filled so often with laughter, to him he was Angelo before he was Angel. He was human. It felt as though prayers for comfort had been answered with Romeo's existence alone. Angelo hoped this time he could escape the grasp of the Devil who seemed to so dearly hate his existence.

“All that I do is bleed, and bleed, and bleed - and yet, you keep talking to me like I am human.”

“Far more than blood and flesh makes you human Angelo. Let me peer into the soul you keep so guarded.”

Romeo was right. He was human. Angelo had once again fallen to sin, though is it truly a sin to love? The church believed so, their star… a homosexual? What blasphemy. What bliss.

The penance he paid that night was heavy. It had to be to make up for the way his lips melted into the other man. Shakespeare had written Romeo and Julliette as lovers. Why couldn't God write Romeo and Angelo the same way. Meeting in secret, late in the night with only the moon and the lord as their witness. They embraced like lovers. Drowning in the comfort of each other's arms. Burning in the passion of each other's kiss.

“I love you like a rotten dog. I love you like my canines are falling out of my gums. Like a monster, like a beast. Like something not worth loving back.”

Those were the words spoken by Angelo. Words that seemed to incur the wrath of God himself.

He was met with the head Priest upon his return home. Dressed for an exorcism Angelo gave him a brief prayer for safety, seeming to worry for the old man till he was slammed into a pew. The Devil's touch had become so noticeable upon his skin, it was time to cleanse Angelo of the evil in him. He was a victim, though he didn't know if it was to the Devil or to the Lord. Chains of silver warped his skin. Holy water filled his lungs. Scripture fogged his brain. The image of him soaked and bleeding imprinted in his mind. He had to be cleaned, had to be wiped of sin. Wings clipped once again, so close he feared they were cut clean off. Perhaps Lucifer was right to be upset with God.

“The seats are empty. The theater is dark. Why are you performing for eyes that are not there Angelo?”

The voice of evil ringing out from behind him. A cacophony of anger, betrayal, and fear echoing in his skull just as the choirs had. Had he learned nothing of the fate of Adam and Eve. Tempted by the snake just as they were, eyes that once held such warmth only seemed dull. the dagger in his hands held out of sight. Trembling like a lamb, a lamb… Angelo could not call himself that anymore. His innocence lost to a traitor.

“My Angel, there is no secret garden in me for you. Heaven is so out of your reach I do pity you. That's all it ever was Angelo. Pity. I never once loved you, though I'm glad you believed so. Acting truly is my passion.”

Ache. That is all he felt. Those words echoing through his skull as he stood upon the stage. It felt as though his blood was boiling. Was this his next bout of penance? Or was it the reach of the Devil? Trembling hands moved as if possessed, dagger raised, poised like a snake about to strike. The fear in Romeo's eyes, the first genuine emotion Angelo had seen from him.

“I begged God to save me, and yet he shoved more torment down my throat to silence me. Here and now my faith unwavering, my devotion will be my salvation. I have belonged to you in a way you haven't to me. I will be the last thing you see before your departure. An Angel bringing you to rapture”

The blade sunk into skin. Crimson staining the wood below Angelo’s feet. Staggered steps as he moved to center stage, the place he had longed to be. His own heaven existed there, not in Romeo, not in the church, not in the faith he'd lost so much for. Hands reaching for his soul, up and down as he's pulled. The more they fight the more he can feel himself slip away. The feeling of Romeo's hands on his body nothing but a faint murmur. All children must return themselves to the heavens eventually. Such a fate is unfit for an angel drowned in sin. Forced to exist now as only a spirit.

“Forgive me father for I have sinned”

⸻ vi. headcanons . . . ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯─── • •

Angelo, despite his conflicted feelings towards religion is always found wearing a ring of silver with a cross engraved into it.

Red wines, deeply aged are his favorite to drink.

He spends large amounts of time reciting plays and poems, it seems as though his death has freed him from the fear to perform.

[sab3rto0thed]

when i was fifteen, i met the man that would later become my favorite teacher in the world. i grew very fond of his wife and him, simply because their undiluted kindness was a rarity in my life. they grew very fond of me, too. when they moved to spain two years later, they signed their emails off with we love you.

teachers didn't like me. i was rarely ever at school; and when i was, i was quiet. i sat as close to the back of the classroom as i dared, staring blankly at the white board. i had no answers. i had no questions. i was unknowable.

it wasn't just teachers. nobody knew me. they didn't like what they saw. i was passing performance art, because everything i did was a joke. a celestial body with ten fingers and a stitched-up mouth. i was always learning new things.

when i was fifteen, my boyfriend told me that he had never seen anyone act the way i did when he was touching me. i was wide-eyed, my body like a coil. my nails dug into the carpet. there were icicles all along my spine. it was unnatural. i creeped him out.

after i broke up with him, he landed himself in the hospital a month later. death-by-suicide, our shared philosophy. he had cut his wrists really deep. i knew because he posted a note on his secret tumblr that only i knew about it. it was for me. i knew. he knew that i knew. that was the purpose. the point.

i had learned three things: i was unknowable. i was unnatural. i caused death.

i creeped people out.

for three years, i didn't let anyone touch me again. it wasn't a choice. i was very good at acting, but only when i knew the territory. if anything had been made clear, it was that i had no warrants on my own body. she had her own mind. she was a separate entity, her thin hips and scarred elbows. i didn't know her.

the first time it happened after that, it was awkward and clumsy. i was shivering, every particle of my body feverish with terror. even if my mind had taken the trauma and molded it, my body remembered.

the boy pressed his knuckles against my thigh. "you're a dream," he murmured.

it had been better, this time. the performance. the act of wanting and being wanted. it had not been good, not by my standards. i had kept pausing halfway through, shivering, choking on my fear. but there had a been a moment halfway through, when he put his arm around my waist or his hand in my hair, that my body did not have to be on marionette strings.

i was not a dream. when it ended, i got mean. that was how i was: when i was scared, i got angry, like a bad dog. i drove too fast. i slammed my shoulder against the grocery store aisles, spilling items from the shelves. i scraped my knees on asphalt and ran after cars and hurled the most vile insults at anyone that would listen.

i creeped people out. i made them hurt. i knew how to use that now.

with my english teacher and his wife, it was an uphill battle. that was how it was with everyone that learned to love me. i always fought back. it was like an arm wrestle. i was the opponent that started seizing. my teeth never fit right in my mouth, because i had to keep them sharp.

the year after they left, i was so hurt. when i was afraid, i got angry; that was how i was. i was unknowable. i spit on anyone that would listen. i said irreversible things. i had learned to lie and be lied to in return. not everyone could climb that fucking hill. i knew that, but people had been trying with me. when they stopped, it fucking hurt.

teachers didn't like me. i had known this, i knew this. i was unknowable. every day it was something different, a jab at my attempts at graduating, a remark that of course my friends were leaving me behind to go to college.

i creeped them out. the teachers. the entire school. they wouldn't give me knives and scissors were banned from my grip. they said "don't stalk your teachers" and one man told me that we couldn't be in a room alone together. i was dangerous. vile. unstable. unsettling.

i had wanted to be that way. all of it was built on lies. i had made myself that on purpose. i stretched my smile. i tugged on my vocal cords until they could laugh on command. i sharpened my teeth each morning. i darkened the bags under my eyes. the freckles across my nose were like little charcoal smudges, unnatural.

they tried, of course. the year after, i said softly, "i'm sorry about last year." my math teacher from that year, who i had given the most trouble to, frowned a little.

"we didn't help matters," she said. "we were just worried about you."

i blinked back tears. i was never able to figure out when someone was worried or when they were going to hurt me. i was dangerous, on purpose. everything i had said that year had been carefully orchestrated and then thrown out at random. people stayed away from me.

one night, a few weeks before graduation, i sobbed in the hallway. my best friend sat next to me, knees curled to her chest. we stayed there for an hour. i had been angry with her all year, because i was like a bad dog. i got mean when i was scared.

"you don't want to see me cry," i told her. "leave."

she didn't. she didn't leave even when i made her cry a few months later. i was cruel, dangerous, unknowable. i was crude. i creeped people out. the only person that could make me cry was myself, a knife twisted in my gut.

the next year, right after my first sexual encounter that had not been too unsettling, one of my new coworkers frowned at me. "are you even old enough to work here?"

i was eighteen years old. i told him that. he nodded. later, he said, "pretty." he patted his head, an indication. "your hair. it's pretty."

"thank you," i told him softly. i was trying to be kinder, but my hair was raised on end. when he tried to put his hand between my thighs the next day, i choked him the way my ex had choked me, bringing black spots to his eyes. sharp teeth, thin fingers. i was unknowable.

it didn't matter. i still curled up in my bed that night, a little sick. i didn't know my body. she was a separate entity: thin hips, scarred elbows. i hated the way she moved.

when my teacher, my favorite one, and his wife came back, one of our conversation points was this: "you graduated."

i liked the way they said it. whenever anyone else acknowledged the subject, their voice hitched a little in surprise. but with them, it was a fact. and it was a fact, now―but it hadn't always been that way. no one had been sure of me. i hadn't been sure of me. but for them, the matter had been decided as soon as they laid eyes on me. pale, fifteen, drowning.

they returned to school and befriended the teachers that had made the sly remarks about my obsessive tendencies. i knew it would happen. it was always an uphill battle with me. the first people to love me without needing anything back, and i was losing them.

everything was better without me. i creeped people out.

i went to work. i went to work often. one day, one of my coworkers―a woman that had trained me that i admired for her stubborn kindness and loud abrasiveness―hugged me very tightly.

no one held me like that. i was all sharp edges. if you touched me, you would cut yourself. ask anyone that fought that hill. i was like sisyphus and the boulder: with me, there was never any winning. just the barest moments of relief, and then it all crumbled.

she held me like i was something worth protecting. when she pulled away, she put her hands on my face and said, "i am so sorry."

she understood. not all of it, maybe; but her abrasiveness reflected my own lies. i felt irrefutable and untainted by bias. i felt like the truth.

after that, the air between us was easier. that was one person i did not have to have my guard up around. she hugged me the same way whenever we passed each other at work. she called me baby girl―she called a lot of people that, but her edges of the word softened when she used the nickname on me. it was a silent conversation: are you okay today? and i am okay today.

i was okay today.

when i tried to quit, another of my coworkers sat me down. "don't quit," he told me. "you're not incompetent. we all like you, you know. you're young. you're learning."

i was young. i was learning. i went to the place i had trained at, where the boy had tried to touch me. i told his boss about it. i had liked her the entire time i was there―she was fierce but soft behind the eyes. she had a wife. she was what the world was supposed to be, i thought.

i told her what he had done. for a moment, she was very still. i was trying to say sorry before any words had even left her mouth, and then she put her hands on my shoulders. "you don't have to apologize. he made you uncomfortable. that's not your fault."

i felt a little like i had been hit by a car, or maybe that i had hit someone with a car. i was doing damage both ways, bleeding out. i felt very small in her shadow, my viciousness gone.

i went back to work. another of my coworkers told me gently, "i'm proud of you for saying something. it wasn't your fault. it's not your fault."

i leaned against the wall, squeezed my eyes shut. it was very rarely not my fault. everything revolved around the things i did and the walls i broke. i ruined everything. it was what i did.

after dark, when it was just a friend and i in the building, he said to me, "you say strange things."

"it's all lies," i told him. "i will lie to you for two months, and it won't matter what happens after that, because we won't talk again."

"oh, really?" he had a way of looking at you out of the corners of his eyes. "why is that?"

"i can't stay in one place for very long," i told him, "and men can't stand me."

he glanced at me, the corners of his lips quirking upwards. "i think you'll surprise yourself."

i was very careful to never use the word family. family, to me, was supposed to be permanent; and nothing i loved lasted.

but there was this: i didn't need to be as vicious anymore. and i didn't creep anyone out.

maybe i had not been a monster. maybe i had just been a girl. maybe i had just been fifteen.

[ballorawan740]

SCP Scenarios: When their kids swear at them (REQUESTED)

Main Masterlist | SCP Scenarios Masterlist | My Works Masterlist | Rules | Request | Socials | My Original Post

Requested by: @Astro_KeySimp

WARNING: Swearing (sorta)

Ok so I kinda made the reader into the child since don't remember if you wanted the reader to be a child or not, so if it wasn't to your liking, then I'm sorry, but I can make a separate version on where the reader isn't the child

It kinda became more of the SCPs and doctors being dads than their reaction to their kids swearing

SCP 073 (Cain)

Cain was walking around with you since you were bored and there wasn't anything to do

Being unaware of what some of the staff were saying, ye went over to grab you some food for later in case you got hungry

Once you both went back, he watched you play with some Legos and was talking as if it was your Lego friends talking to you

Cain looked away for just 10 seconds and heard you shout out "Wow! He said that her baby's such a bi-" which shocked him as he heard it

Cain looked around and made sure that nobody was around the room and was somewhat surprised that you was the one saying this

Being a good dad he is, Cain explained to you carefuly that you shouldn't say that word because it's bad

And being a sweet shy child, you obliged and stopped saying the word

Til this day, Cain had no idea about where and who you've heard the word from and is very much more self-aware

SCP 076-2 (Abel)

Abel is that type of dad who would teach you all the bad words and encourages you to say them

It's the researchers who had to teach you top not to say those words

One time, Dr Glass came in to examine you and had rewarded you as usual since you were so cooperative

You drew a picture of you and Abel talking in a garden with bright coloured flowers

Simon asked if he could see your drawing and saw that the conversation you and your dad had was those of swearing

This surprised Simon since you knew so many at such a young age but wasn't totally shocked since he knew that you were Abel's child

And knowing him, he wouldn't teach you to be nice, so Simon took the job as a mother hen and taught you to not use those words around people

SCP 999 (Tickle Monster)

Ok, so I'll keep this SCP short since I, again, don't know what I should write for this adorable, squicky, neon-orange, bubby blob

Another SCP who doesn't cuss

This adorable squishy boi here was about to have a heart attack when he heard you swear fir the first time

He had to ask you worryingly where you heard that phrase and you just said some guy wearing a white jacket

999 sighed knowing that you'll grow and couldn't do anything to stop it

He did, however, mention that you should try and avoid saying those things to anyone and that they'd most likely have a heart attack since you were his child and you won the genetic lottery for being the cutest and outgoing child in the world

The only other person who knew of this was Dr Glass (sucks to be him ngl, he do be a mother to everyone) and he had to help poor 999 with teaching you better words

SCP 682 (Hard to Destroy Reptile)

YAY! Another SCP who would teach their kid to swear

682 has such a dirty mouth like 076 and would 100% teach you all the words he knows

Similarly to what happened with Abel, you were taken for an interview with Dr Sophia Light since she was assigned to you

She's such a sweet and kind doctor to be around and would teach you anything and everything you would probably need to know all the while keeping an eye on you in case you become overly aggressive like 682

You were just eating some sweets Lights had given you for good behaviour and overheard some researchers swear

Remembering what your dad had taught you, you just repeated those curse words while clapping at your achievement

This had shocked Sophia and that researcher since you were known to be a moderately shy and quiet child who normally wouldn't say those things despite being 682's child

Sophia had to ask if you understood the meaning of those words and shook your head as an indicator for no

She had to carefully find her words and told you to never speak of those words again and took you back to 682's cell

You went and hugged your dad and told him that you learnt from the doctor that those curse words were bad and neither of you should say them

682 had a headache after that

SCP 049 (Plague Doctor)

I have a hard time thinking that 049 would teach his child to cuss and would avoid swearing in front of them at all cost

Like, he barely swears anyways but he wants to stay classy and sassy for his innocent child

Just like the other day, his kiddo, you, was curious about the whole surgery thingy he does on the dead bodies, so you asked him to teach you and so he did (like the good father we nevah had)

So you learnt some new, yet difficult, words (cuz we all have a nonexistent pea-sized brain) and somehow, you managed to fit in a curse word

This did surprise 049 as he had remembered that he didn't teach you those foul words

He had to give you a talk about using such words and you teared up since you thought that people used them to express their affection to others

Unsurprisingly, 049 took his sweet time looking for the guy who 'taught' you this and wanted to use him as a case study for your future lessons

SCP 035 (Possessive Mask)

Another parent with such an amazing influence on children

035 would teach and enable you to use swearing as a form of expression

So you were free to say whatever you want as long as they aren't directed to our mask here, especially if it's in a negative way

Otherwise, you'd be punished (No not like that! He'll just ground you from your favourite TV show/movie)

The researchers were surprised, not about you swearing, but how you use them through expression

Except for this poor guy who was new to the foundation and bumped into you by accident

This rookie found himself listening to you cursing like a sailor (maybe not that much but more or less on the same level as Samuel L Jackson)

Word got out and everybody laughed at the poor rookie and told him more about your background and how you love to swear (apparently swearing will prolong your life, so you'll basically be immortal here)

035 was impressed by the whole ordeal and rewarded you with more shows to watch whenever you're both free

SCP 105 (Iris)

Iris would accidentally swear in front of you and whenever she realises it, she would tell you to not swear at people since it wasn't very nice

So she would use words to replace the swearing like "oh fudging hell not now" and "no sugar honey ice tea"

The foundation felt that it was slightly unnecessary but went with it anyways

They'd even go as far as saying that it's ridiculous, but who are they to judge?

Iris was your mother and she's a single mum too, so she felt the need to be overly beating but would occasionally let you decide on your own since you were only 12

The foundation members did tell her that you will eventually grow and more of these words will be used but she just hesitates

As a teen, you did begin to use foul words more often and Iris would argue about how you're using them, especially towards her, your own mother

Needless to say, you both felt bad and made up

SCP 106 (Old Man)

Now this old man right here doesn't exactly speak, or at least very rarely

And if he does, he'll most likely be talking to you or the foundation staff if he needed some help finding you

He'll most likely be able to understand what the researchers are saying, even if they aren't speaking English

My own personal hc is that 106 understands English, German, Spanish, French, Chinese, Arabic and Indonesian and probably many others

Every now and again, somebody would come in and teach you new words and give other lessons like maths and poetry (our favourite)

You came back home to tell him all the things you've learnt as he watched you in awe as he braided your hair

You've even used some new phrases, including swear words while talking and 106 was pretty impressed

I feel that he's quite neutral with swear words since words are words and are used as a form of verbal communication

So I don't think they'll be much change in his behaviour to whether you're swearing or not

SCP 096 (Shy Guy)

Now with 096, all he does is scream

So basically, somebody else would have to teach you some words

It's not to say that 096 is a dumb animalistic creature with no soul and just kills people who look at his face

He isn't stupid since he manages to find anyone who looked at his face from the other side of the globe

And he seems to understand what the researchers are saying, or at least on a more intermediate to moderate level

You'll learn about swear words from the other researchers, whether they'll be teaching it to you intentionally or you've overheard them

The foundation could really care less, but would at least prefer that you chill a bit if you got carried away

096 would act all cheery when you learn more new things as it's not like the foundation would let him out anyway, so he'll be living the outside world life from you (How relatable, but more with babysitting and dating, cuz I'm too pretty for anyone to date XD)

Like with 106, I don't think 096 would have any special reaction towards swearing, but would probably be screaming internally for a bit since he knows that it isn't a nice word

Dr Jack bright

This mf right here is one of those parents who would be kind but firm

Bright would most definitely give in to your curiosity and teach you whatever you want to learn but would warn you of the dangers

Depending on what it is, he would even go as far as giving you your own personal guard who would stay with you and train you

And unfortunately, this guard has such a foul mouth, so you're constantly exposed to such words

Luckily for the both of you, Jack Bright doesn't really care about swearing as long as you're not being extremely inappropriate if you were to work

He would even joke around with you sometimes and would even start the conversation with swearing

For instance, he'd just surprise you with a "Yeet his mf outta my sheithole"

And yes, you did laugh at his antics

Some would even say that you're an exact clone of him but more stable (for now)

Well, Bright is an amazing dad, but I'd say just below Dr Glass

Or maybe even on par with him

Like Bright is a goofy dad that has all the terrible dad jokes and Glass would be the type of dad to look out for his kid

Dr Simon Glass

Dr Glass would most definitely avoid using swear words, especially if you were under 15

Even if you were over 15, he'd still avoid swearing unless he wants to make a joke or 2

So most of the time, you'd learn all the swearing from other people and SCPs

Sometimes you would swear by accident and Glass would just look at you, slightly disappointed

I'd say he doesn't exactly care about you swearing per see, but would rather you avoid it

It's cuz Simon is the best dad a dad could ever dad and nobody could prove me wrong here

He's also one of the top best dads compared to the others on the list

He's basically your best friend so he'd let you vent and its the 1 time he'd let you swear to show your emotions

Simon would 100% know your thoughts and behaviour

He's just that good at reading people, especially you - almost to the point where people would say he's an SCP cuz I swear he's just empathic and telepathic

As mentioned before, Glass would be the type of dad to care for your mental health

It's not that the others don't, it's just that Glass is a top their God of Psychology and would come to you before you even know you have depression

He would even crack a joke sometimes

So every so often, he would shout out "LANGUAGE!!!" from across the room before you could even bat an eye and say anything

Dr Alto Clef

Another top tier dad, but swearing addition

Your godfather would literally be Jack Bright

Then it's Kondraki and Glass

He would let you swear on a daily basis and would join you

Sometimes you be looking at your Oppas/Noonas and be like: "Oh fxxk me!" and Clef, who's in the next room, be like: "Yeah, fxxk me too!" (Yes but no sis! No incest pls!)

Other times, you would be in the same room as Clef and Bright and you'd join them in being chaotic

And poor Kondraki  is just there at the back trying to do his work peacefully

One time, Kondraki had to grab a Simon Glass to help stop the chaotic trio

And OML did it end so well

You were easy to manage tbh, with the exception of you swearing

Clef and Bright would most definitely encourage you to swear more

Especially Clef since he does have a twisted sense of humour

Dr Benjamin Kondraki

Kondraki is totally the type of person who would tell their kid to mind their own language

But he secretly doesn't care and his child knows it

His style of parenting is similar to Simon's

And yes, Simon is your #1 godfather/uncle

You'd go to him for emotional support since Kondraki sucks at that

Sometimes you'd swear at him and he'd get mad though

So yeah, running to Glass is a wonderful idea

And we all know that Kondraki doesn't mean what he said

He's just extremely introverted, but he's rather sensible - Usually...

Anyways, he would ask Simon on tips and advice on how to get you to stop swearing so much and he just gave Benjamin a parenting book (Like fr guys, let Glass have some rest, he's tired of babysitting over 100 dozens of pets in the zoo and all the other babies who work in it)

[stopeatingwhales]

the 1995 brits x damon albarn & liam gallagher

hhhiiii I'm here with a very cute little fic about the brits!! the idea of writing something with Damon and liam fighting over someone was requested quite a long time ago (sorry it’s taken so long omg) but I loved the idea!! I do hope you all enjoy it as I enjoyed writing it a lot hahah xx

Pairing: 90s damon albarn & 90s liam gallagher x reader

Warnings: nothing, just a little bit of bickering n dat

Word count: 3.057

Requested by anon x

༉‧₊˚✧

Being a part of the madness that adapted the name ‘Britpop’ was truly an experience. Paparazzi at every corner you turn, equipped with the brightest, flashiest cameras, also having the most annoying click noises to the point that after one image you’ve earned yourself a migraine that would last the entirety of the day; parties that would last entire nights, bearing millions of different kinds of drugs - some that hadn’t even been given a name yet, but you’d still give a try anyways, since you’re so high and drunk that you simply lose the intellectual capability to construct decisions, you say fuck it, and get so high to the point that you’ve blacked out in a booth in a bar, with the owner asking you to get out since you’ve been inside for one too many hours after closing time; as well as constant press coverage. With your name plastered over literally every newspaper and music magazine known to man, as well as having your entire life consistently dictated for the entire nation to read about every Sunday morning and indulge themselves into as a form of entertainment, it was what being famous delivered, right on your doorstep at 7 in the morning. Any earlier and you’d feel rude not to give them a cup of tea as a form of dignity and respect towards their sublime dedication to the job. Although it was fun being associated with it all, my band in particular gaining a different form of calidity due to it being a female fronted band, by the time that the entire nation was hooked on this ‘Blur vs. Oasis’ rivalry, it was as if every other britpop band had been washed away from existence, due to eight boys arguing as to whom had the better music. And the better looks, according to Liam Gallagher.

Tonight was the night of the Brit awards, perhaps the most prestigious awards ceremony for music. To be awarded a Brit was probably the largest achievement possible in British music in the form of an award, and it was definitely either going tonight to either Blur or Oasis. The chances that another band, say Pulp, were to get the award, would not only be extremely amusing to see the reactions of the two biggest names in the Britpop game, but would also cause the largest uproar in the nation. It’s either Blur or Oasis. “Their drama is so silly,” laughed Emily, the guitarist in our band whilst flicking through the latest edition of the Sun, the cover of the newspaper being, of course, Liam Gallagher. “They’re literally bickering about who looks the best. How do people find this interesting?”

“Because of how silly it is, people never leave their secondary-school-like selves. Just a bit of fun I guess.” I replied, fixing up my hair in the mirror in front of me. We were currently getting ready to go to the award show, and needing to look your best was an expectation. Though I wasn’t dressed in anything that would result in jaw’s dropping, it was important that I at least appeared somewhat admirable - the entire nation always had their eyes on us, but tonight they were going to see us all, live. Perhaps the reason why bands like Oasis and Blur are so obsessed over nowadays, since all they’ll do is turn up in some flimsy Adidas t-shirt and call that fashion. I suppose scruffy was the new elegant.

��Who do you think they’ll give the award to?” she questioned, still aimlessly flicking through the recycled pages of the magazine. “I think Oasis. Their music is so much better than Blurs.”

“Really? I’d say Blur. They won on top of the pops, so the likelihood of them winning the Brit award is highly likely,” I answered, shuffling away from the strong reflection of myself towards Emily, my eyes quickly scanning the page that she had her eye on currently. “Gosh Liam’s so full of himself.”

“He’s got his eye on you, you know,” She said, shoving the paragraph she had just read in my face of Liam boasting about his little crush he had supposedly gained from watching our latest performance on top of the pops. “Thinks you’re ‘well fit’.”

Scoffing in response, I mumbled back to Emily. “If he thinks that he’s sleeping with me, he’s very deluded.”

By the time we had arrived at the venue, you weren’t able to walk into the entrance without at least 50 cameras blinding your eyes and the shouts of so many begging for you to quickly turn your head and grin - the price for the photo would reach the many thousands. Once walking in, it was less crowded, only having select people by the ground floor, dedicated for musicians and bands, with the occasional interviewer walking past to every circled table, adorned with white cloth and champagne glasses, asking questions about how they’re feeling, who they think may win, and what they thought of the music throughout the past year. What was nice was that people didn’t have that much interaction with one another, just with their groups. It created a sense of formality in the space, which made me feel a bit at ease from the idea of some random row happening in the middle of the floor, most likely between Liam and Damon. The past year in music was truly something. Britpop was at its peak the entirety of the year, with songs like Parklife and Supersonic pouring out of every radio station in Britain that by the end of the year, you had ditched casual radio music and began blasting the classical station. It was a nightmare. Since the fall of grunge subsequent to Cobain’s death the previous year, the talk of any other genre in Britain apart from Britpop didn’t occur. It was as if we were living on this mystical island, miles away from any other music and culture, whilst adorning and obsessing over our own. What was nice about Britpop was that it was a pure celebration of English culture, whether it be a simple Sunday roast, or going to school, they all carried the same ambience of nostalgia and pride - also disregarding whichever band wrote what song.

“Free champagne… Yes please,” said Madeline, the secondary guitarist of the band, whilst heading to the first seat she could sit on, then quickly indulging herself with the first taste of the rich drink. “Oh my gosh it’s heavenly!”

Laughing at her reaction, the rest of the band took a seat around the table and took their first sips of the champagne, which we would all come to find to be indeed heavenly. Small talk was shared here and there with the rest of the group, but overall I stayed silent. In all honesty I found attending award shows was quite boring because if you didn’t end up getting an award, you would essentially be sitting there for two hours doing nothing. Even if you did win an award, it’s simply a minute of glory with the speakers blasting your music, and another minute of all eyes piercing into your soul as you make sentences about your gratitude towards those who had helped you along the way to earn such an achievement. I doubt anybody genuinely liked attending shows like these.

“The champagne is good, yet we don’t get enough for our table,” I complained, grasping my now empty champagne glass and waving it around in the air. “I’m gonna head to the bar to get a refill, anybody want anything?”

After receiving a handful of nos from the rest of the band, I took myself out of my seat and wandered over to the bar, which was empty, perhaps due to the venue not yet being completely filled with all the artists that were set to attend the night. “Just a refill of the champagne, please.” I asked politely, handing the bartender the used glass I had kept in my hand. Whilst waiting, I noticed that Damon was on the other side of the bar, who also didn’t notice me there, until he caught eyes with me.

A grin broke out on his face as I walked over to him. “You alright?” He asked me, quickly thanking the bartender for his drink and turning back to look at me. The height difference between us was evident, but it wasn’t the case of something so dramatic that he was the height of the empire state building and me, just a measly common tower in the city. He looked quite content, his hair scruffy yet neat, along with his outfit being just as I had assumed: a white shirt with jeans, a used pair of Adidas for shoes.

I smiled back at him and nodded. “Suppose you have high hopes for the award tonight.” I said, simultaneously receiving my refill of the beverage I had ordered, followed by my thanks. We stood adjacent, although there was enough distance between us to establish our relationship - mutual acquaintances whom had met every now and again, since they’ve both been dragged into this wormhole of madness. He was quite the opposite in comparison to his rivals, though he himself could be quite bothersome occasionally, he still had a grasp to what those may call sensibility.

“Oh well we’re better than them, aren’t we love?'' He chirped, his head now cocked to the side in a teasing manner. “I’ve heard that you’re rooting for us this year.” He added, a little smirk pasted on his face.

“Do you read every paper you see?” I questioned, my face turning away from him in slight embarrassment. Between us, there was no shared intention for a relationship to stem, though there was definitely a flirtatious tension that followed between us wherever we had met. Whether it be a random photoshoot for a magazine double-spread, or backstage at top of the pops, we always managed to share a chat with one another, and nothing else followed on from then. It was quite sad, because once you’ve established a connection between something you either both disagree or agree with in terms of societal views, something in the press, or life in general, you’re instantaneously cut off and asked to hop onto stage to record a meaningless three-minute performance with fake, plastic instruments which practically mean nothing.

“Well it was nice seeing someone else's face on the papers for once.” He replied, downing his drink, then ushering at the bartender for another. A thing that we both realised was that, between our conversations, we indirectly indicated that we were both there for each other, because we both had a complete understanding towards what may be happening to the other person. It was stressful being in the limelight constantly, and for someone who was the frontman of a band so large, with his face plastered on every magazine cover imaginable, things were bound to be stressful.

Sighing, I turned to face him again. Despite the fact that before I had the ability to respond, our conversation was cut short from a voice shouting my name from behind. “Well if it isn’t bloody Y/N.” the voice said, and from then I instantly knew it was Liam’s. Turning my face away from Damon’s, I locked eyes with Liam. As always, he was dressed in the usual: a parka, with casual jeans. Oh, and don’t forget the Adidas shoes. Even though he and Damon practically hated each other’s guts, they always seemed to have similar fashion senses, but I could never picture Damon in a parka. And I don’t think I even want to.

“How’ve you been love?” He asked, swinging his arm around my shoulder in a warm, but nonchalant manner. Me and Liam had a similar relationship to that of mine and Damons, simply just minusing the sentimentality of it. We were friends, and had come across each other at random parties, which opened the gateway for us to drink and get high together many a time. While he was quite the idiot, he was also a very fun guy to be around, but I knew Damon would never understand that. “And why’re you letting this twat chat to you?”

A laugh escaped Damon’s throat. “I think you’re the only twat here, Liam,” he began, a sigh leaving my mouth as I was trapped in a situation that I could only pray didn’t gain much traction from the rest of the attendees. “Me and Y/N are friends, don’t suppose we’re getting jealous are we?”

Liam’s grip on my shoulder tightened as I stared at his reaction to Damon. I felt quite small in this situation, due to me needing to tilt my head a good amount to properly look at Liam, and knowing if I left it would just erupt chaos and make it worse. “No need for me to be jealous when I know that she wouldn’t want to spend a minute with you in bed you bastard.”

“And you’re so sure about that are you?” Damon replied, amusement laced in his words. “Because you’ve totally spent a minute with her haven’t you?”

“Well I’ve got my arm around her haven’t I? And she’s not stopping me,” Liam argued back, a smirk entwined on his lips. Reaching for my hand, Liam grasped it lightly, then then brought it to his lips, kissing it, before holding it gently. Method of intimidation, perhaps, and though it was sweet, there was a time and place. And this was definitely neither the time, or place. “Who’s the jealous one now, eh?”

“The last I recall, she had hoped that we were winning this year, not you,” He boasted, moving the contents of his drink around whilst grasping it firmly. Whilst it would be something that would offend Liam, he was simply the type of person to not take criticism regardless of whomever it was coming from. I respected him for that. “So much so for a healthy relationship.” Damon mocked, staring into my eyes as a small laugh escaped my lips.

Granted that I had found the argument shared between the pair of them to be extremely silly, it was good entertainment as the time passed before the award show would begin. Watching them both, attempting to throw insults at one another, each one trying to cut a little deeper than the one previous, made me almost laugh at the both of them right there. “You know, it’s so silly that you both think you know me so well to think which one I’d pick from the both of you,” I said, detaching myself from Liam’s embrace and snatching my half-empty glass of champagne. “At this point, it’s neither of you.”

Walking back to my band’s designated table, I quietly took my seat as the show began. “Saw you chatting to Damon,” Emily whispered, raising her eyebrows. “Also saw you grinning like a madwoman.”

“Oh shut up you,” I replied, looking back at the bar to notice that both parties had left, assuming back to their places. “There’s nothing going on between me and Damon- Liam too in fact.”

~~~

As the ceremony went on, the boredom got to us. Even the amount of drinks I had didn’t entertain me, but what could we do, we were stuck in the middle of an award show celebrating music, even though I had largely doubted that the majority of those attending were enjoying themselves. I had no clue who the awards were going to be handed out to, and whether that somebody may be us in a category, but we all knew Blur were going to win something. Yes, Oasis had gained a lot of fame and had become one of the most famous bands in the music scene at the minute, but by the way things had gone for Blur after the release of Parklife, things only seemed to go further up from there. And that was only proven to be truthful, after Blur had left with four different awards.

After Blur had received their fourth award for best British group, we all knew that there was nothing left for Oasis. “They’ll get it all next year, they only debuted this year you know.” I said to the table, who were staring at the four smiley boys on stage as they trotted up to receive their award. I admired Damon as he said his speech, then also turning to look over at Liam, who looked quite evidently pissed off. He was practically drooling in anger from the sight brought to him at that particular moment, and I couldn’t blame him - their band hadn't gone home with one award that night, but neither had ours. “They’ve taken four awards home, isn’t that like, the most anybody has ever taken?”

“Indeed it is,” Madeline replied, taking a sip from her drink. “Must be a good year for them then, eh?”

As I watched the band leave the stage in absolute glee, I stared at Damon as he walked back to his designated seat for the short remainder of the evening. Despite the fact that my band had been sat in our seats the entire evening in complete boredom, just like Oasis and so many other acts that had been nominated for pointless awards, it would be a lie to say that I wasn’t proud of how far Blur as a whole had come and evolved through their music, and especially Damon. From beginning as young, bowl-cut boys only charting so far on top of the pops, to creating songs and melodies that could unite our entire nation, it was impressive.

Damon was the face of Britain at this very moment, and a very good looking one. Once I watched him sit down, he scanned the room for a while until he was able to find where I was sitting, which was parallel to his seat, merely a couple metres away. He connected eyes with me as soon as he found me, also accompanied with a small smirk painted on his expression as he raised his eyebrows and sent me a wink. I simply smiled back at him in response before turning away abruptly, disrupting the little moment we seemingly shared, and though I felt my heart flutter a little, he’s definitely not winning me that easily.

[moonyblackwerewolf]

Betrothed Ch. 1 - Sirius Black

Sirius Black x fem!Reader

Word count: 2.653

Summary: Sirius and Y/N meet at a family dinner and have some fun, later she finds out she is betrothed to some pureblood boy so Sirius comes up with a mental idea to save them both. 

warnings: Kissing, hints of sex, 'aggressive' parents, underage drinking, idk my writing and English? lol

a/n: so this is just an idea for a possible series!! i never published anything before so i’m kind of scared but i really hope you like it!! :) xxx

Ch.1 Ch.2 Ch. 2.5 Ch.3 Ch.4 Ch. 5 

(not my gif)

Diner party

The Royal Manor of Watson was a cold palace, stone walls, rich decorations, sumptuous, but intimidating. The Watsons were cold people, living in a house too big for five people, but Y/N thought it was only fitting, since her parent’s ego was as big as the manor itself. Their pureblood mania deep in their minds, untouchable, which made their daughter’s life miserable. They were the perfect family on the outside but rotten in the inside, three children, Diana, two years older than Y/N, beautiful, smart and most importantly just as purist as their parents and William, tall, handsome, sophisticate and serious, he was the older sibling, three years older than Diana, he was already working with their father on the Ministry of Magic, daddy’s favourite. Home was big, impressive, a dream home if you saw it, libraries, uncountable bedrooms and living rooms, ball rooms, huge gardens, and everything you could ask for but it was far from being a welcoming home.

Though, all of her miserableness went away once she first went to Hogwarts. Of course, being sorted in Slytherin and having good grades was minimal when it came to living up to her parents’s expectations, which were high and if not complied there would most certainly have severe consequences, but still Hogwarts was more of a Home than the Watson Manor ever was. 

Throughout the years, Hogwarts had become her first true home. There she felt the warm winds, the familiar feeling in the great halls, friendships, all she ever hoped for was there, a home, but not quite yet. She met Elizabeth Greengrass a blonde, tall thin girl with deep grey eyes and enviable beauty, Katherine Abbott who looked almost like Diana, but shorter, longer darker hair, blue-green eyes and thiner face. The three girls became best friends right after being sorted into Slytherin. Later on her second year she met Elijah Lestrange, through her sister, he was a year older, handsome and had a polite appearance. Y/N loved her friends but they shared the same blind beliefs her parents do, she’d always nod when they talked about mudblood, choosing not to create conflict, she couldn’t help but feel a little out of place, her parents couldn't disagree more, controlling they way they were, they were more than satisfied to know that their daughter’s inner circle contained only close family friends’s children.

The Marauders were quite famous for their pranks since first year, Y/N always admired their courage and wit, but her siblings and friends didn’t share the same opinion. When she was around them she’d always get a look from her sister, her brother or her friends would push her away, which only made them more interesting. Although, with time, she stopped trying and just kept living her life the way her family wanted her to.

Until summer break before 5th year, at least. 

By then Sirius had already gained his bad boy reputation. Y/N had known Black for a long time, only by sight, his family was friends with hers and his cousin, Narcissa, hangs out with her sister, she’d see him in the pureblood elite parties they were forced to attend, they’d exchange glances but never talked. Sirius was once again being forced to go to some snobby party from snobby people. He couldn’t count in a thousand hands how many other places he’d rather be, but there he was sitting in a huge room full of people he despised, until a certain girl he recognised from other dinner parties and Hogwarts caught his attention, she was Remus’ partner in DADA, though he wasn’t sure, he never paid much attention in classes, pranking the student body was much more entertaining.

She caught his eye from a couch across the room. She was stunning, he thought, her slightly wavy H/C hair matching her S/C skin, freckled rosy cheeks and her alluring E/C eyes. Sirius only hoping she was different from the other brainwashed people in that house.

“Hey” Sirius said softly while he approached the girl that was, apparently, just as bored as he was, to his luck. “Not your scene, love?” He asked with his signature smirk on his face, wanting some good company for once at these afternoons.

“Not really” she chuckled, not knowing exactly what else to say, they weren’t close and she was a bit shy. But she was being honest, these parties were hell, full of families who thought too much of themselves, she didn't feel much like them, but she could fit in she was quiet and not nearly as loud as Sirius was about her beliefs. No one knew. 

“By any chance would you know whose death palace are we on? I mean it’s huge but it looks like Salazar himself lived here, it gives me the creeps” he paused laughing “and my house it’s not a Hufflepuff common room or anything” Sirius said mockingly, not knowing exactly who he was talking with.

“Well” she chuckled awkwardly “It is my parents’, but i know, it’s not very homey, looks like a dark theatre or something and Salazar did live here, family heirloom” she laughed for real this time, she didn’t take it as an offence, if anything she couldn’t agree more.

“How come we never crossed each others path before?” Sirius asked wondering why they never talked on one of those parties or at school.

“I guess I usually just stay in the corners, like today” she chuckled.

The two of them bonded after talking for a while, they discovered that both of them hated these things, Sirius couldn't get how she managed to hide her feelings so well, she looked so much like them. After laughing, talking about school, Sirius was a part of the infamous marauders, telling stories and joking around, for the first time any of them could think of, they had fun in a family party, since Sirius’ friends weren’t pureblood except for Potter but his family had been banished from the sacred twenty-eight for being “blood traitors” and Y/N’s friends’ parents kept them at their side the whole time for “good image”. 

Y/N stole a bottle of fire whiskey from the cellar and started showing the house to Sirius, while the two of them drank more than their bodies could handle, who was just as pleased as her for making fun of the paintings and carpets and the fancy but useless stuff their families valued so much. As they entered a room, particularly big and empty, Sirius had to catch his breath, Y/N and him started running through the halls before entering the room they were now on. He had only now realised that he had grabbed her hand, and apparently she hadn’t noticed until now too, making her blush furiously, releasing each other’s hand quickly and Sirius teased.

“getting comfy are we?” He smirked, as she blushed at his comment. They were very close, he could feel her breath catching. “Where would we be now, love?” He asked inching closer to her.

The both teenagers weren’t thinking straight anymore, the alcohol in their system already influencing their emotions. All they could think about, was how their touch felt electrical and the magnetic pull they were feeling towards each other, wondering how would their lips feel like. They just wanted to have fun, not caring about consequences that moment.

“Ball room” she said innocently but still a bit teasingly, not backing away from him as he inched closer to her “East wing, third floor, far away from where the party is going on, on the first floor” she bit her lip “But still very close to a room-” she said boldly wanting to see his reaction to her suggestions “-two doors away near a window at the end of the hall next to a beautiful painting of my favourite flowers” she said voice husky and breathy, making Sirius groan.

He chuckled low, “And may I ask you whose room is that?” They were now so close that their lips were slightly brushing.

“Why don’t you take me there and see for yourself” she said feeling a flip on her stomach and with a swift motion he lift her up bridal style, making her shiver at the contact, but then laughed, his hand gripping her body and legs tightly as he followed her instructions to get to her room. Once there, he settled her down on her bed and admired the girl in front of him, lust in his eyes. She smiled and bit her lip, she knew Sirius’ reputation, only one night stands, he was a ladies man, but she didn’t care, she wanted him, the fact that her mother would murder her if she ever found out only made it all more exciting.

Sirius took a look at the room, it wasn’t dark as the rest of the house was, it was still sophisticated, but nicer, the detailed wood on the wall was white and, above, the wall it self was light lilac, the room had big windows covered by delicate curtains and even had a balcony, and everything matched between the lilac and whites tones, she had a few paintings and pictures, and flowers, probably fake but still beautiful, the same flowers as on the darker painting outside, her four poster bed that matched the couches by the windows had delicate semi transparent white curtains and her silk white sheets were under a soft lilac blanket, she had a lot of silk pillows with subtle embroidered details on the corners, it was certainly appealing he thought, a beautiful room fit for a princess. Then he was brought back to reality.

“Do you think our parents are wondering where we are?” He asked with a still semi amazed look, it made her laugh, she patted the sheets next to her, inviting him to sit, he sat closely to her and then suddenly she went to the middle of the bed, which was big, pushing his wrists and they sat there, her legs crossed.

“They probably are” she affirmed giggly, she hadn't let his wrists go yet, she was holding it gently. “But, they won’t find us here, even though it’s pretty obvious that i’d hide in my room. Mom and dad wouldn’t leave the party” She paused and laughed “And well your parents certainly won’t come up here to my room i guess” He chuckled at her commentary.

“Well, well, miss perfect pureblood daughter escaping a dinner-party with the rebel Black son, who’d have thought” Sirius said dramatically, she laughed at him.

“Guess this Black here is just a bad influence on me, or… I just put on a good facade” she said more serious this time, voice low, eyes fixated on his. Her hand tracing their way up his arm, his gaze fixed on her movements. “And the fact that if mommy finds out i brought a guy to my room, and that he’s in my bed with me, would make her go crazy, only turns me on” Sirius let a little breathy moan escape his throat.

When Sirius looked at her she was already looking at him, lust all over her eyes. He trailed off just a little and asked, voice low “Y/N… are you sure you want this?” She nodded so he grabbed her waist and pulled her to his lap, he was holding her waist, lips brushing, he finally kissed her, the kiss felt electrical, it was slow and passionate at first but then I grew more heated. One of her hands was wrapped in his neck, the other was holding his chest going slowly lower, he was pulling her impossibly closer, the both couldn't get enough of each other. They had to pause for catching a breath, in the mean time Sirius leant over pushing Y/N down onto bed earning a tiny moan form her. They started kissing again, but this time was less passionate, more lustful and heated, Sirius started fiddling with her dress’ zipper and took it off slowly, undressing her, tracing kisses in each piece of newly exposed skin until she was only in her underwear, She, then, pushed his blazer off then started unbuttoning his shirt while kissing and sucking his neck making him moan. Once they were both in their underwear Sirius looked at her searching for a final consent, when she nodded, he took the rest of their clothes off.

“What do you want princess?” He asked kissing his way down from her cheek, to her jaw, neck, breasts and she moaned a little louder, the nickname turned her on even more. “Hmm??” He groaned waiting for her answer. “I want to her you say it”

“I… want you” she said between moans, after that she pulled his boxers down kissing him desperately, waiting to feel him against her in the most intimate way possible, the feeling was ethereal.

——————————

They laid in her bed legs tangled under the silk sheets, her head laid in his chest, his hands caressing her back while the other wrapped around her waist pulling her closer, making her shiver, the both of them catching their breaths while he stroke figure eights on her back inhaling her delicate floral floral scent. It felt heavenly to be there by his side, neither of them wanting to let go of one another, enjoying every moment before reality came back to them, but they knew they’ve been gone for too long, the party was probably ending.

“Sirius” she said voice as low as a whisper “This was nice” he smiled at her and pulled her to a kiss.

“Yes, it’s nice to have some fun in these events, and you love, are the most fun I could've had today” he said trailing his hand on her lower back “I mean, this is certainly the best place my parents could’ve dragged me to”. It made her chuckle. He never thought he’d fuck a girl his mother would approve and in one of their elite parties, but here he was, proof that Sirius Black always managed to corrupt girls, anywhere.

“Glad you liked it then” she said chuckling while she buried her head in his neck. But they couldn’t go on with this any longer. “You should go first” she said “Your parents are probably looking for you and it would be suspicious if we showed up together” she advised “Since the fact that we’re both missing from the party is already very much suspicious” she said laughing this time.

“Sure, love” he helped her get dressed before dressing himself and gave one last peck on her lips before getting out of bed. “See you” with a wink and that signature smile of his, he left, leaving her there with her thoughts about the events of this evening and the captivating boy, while rubbing her hands lightly where he left love bites on her neck, knowing she’d have trouble walking tomorrow and a bad headache from all the drinking. She decided it was best if she took a shower, changed into her pyjamas and if her parents show up there, she’d say she wasn't feeling well and wanted to sleep.

On his way back Sirius kept thinking about Y/N and how much they’re alike, she was the only nice person he met in one of those parties, she was a good kisser too. Starting to get confused on why he was thinking so much about the girl and the strange feeling she caused on him, but then assumed it was because of all the drinking, he didn't realise his mother, father and brother were waiting for him in the foyer and their faces weren’t kind, he knew it’d be a long night back home. But he didn’t care his only thoughts were about going back to Hogwarts and seeing her again.

[wannabemobwife]

Guns, Glamour and Goodfellas - Chapter 11

Chapter 11: Leave a Light On

Dad!Mob!Tom x Mom!Mob!Reader

-Pairings: Tom Holland x Reader, Rosie Holland x Henry Osterfield, Family!Rosie Holland x Family!Harry Holland (idk really how to do pairings because most characters have interactions with everyone)

-Warnings: Hospital scenes, sadness, blood, typos

-Words: 4.1K

-Key:

Y/M/N = your middle name

Y/L/N = your last name

Y/B/T = your blood type (if you don’t know you can pick a random one, there is O-/+, AB-/+, A+/-, and B-/+)

A/n: I have a too much fun writing the hospital scenes sorry. And before you at me for a second coma, it isn’t one. Some people just take longer to come out of general anesthesia.

Chapter 11: Leave a Light On

Words: 4K

“Oh my god, she still has a pulse” said one of EMTs in the copter.

“Tell the hospital to have as much Y/B/T on hand when we get there.”

“We got you, Mrs. Holland.”

Everything was a blur. You were taunted by your consciousness ebbing like the tide. One minute you were awake, the other not so much. Noises and smells seemed louder and stronger as your sight was stripped from you. A constant buzzing gave the hint of a helicopter, you were rescued. You wanted to give up at that moment. All your energy had dissipated over the hours of waiting. Giving up would make all the pain go away.

But at what cost? You wanted to see Parker’s and Rosie’s smiling face once more. You wanted to see Tom again. Tell him you loved him because you aren’t so sure he truly believed you the last time. You wanted all these things but it seemed you were meant for a different path.

One without pain, struggle and hurt. One that has only known of peace, bliss, and tranquility. One you ready to say goodbye to and the other hello.

Something beyond yourself was keeping in the position you were in. Struggling to bring oxygen to your lungs, bleeding out liter after liter from your side you were ready and needed to give up. Someone else wasn’t ready.

“Mrs. Holland can you hear me?” A doctor said, shining a light in your eyes to see if you were responsive.

“Mrs. Holland, we are going to take good care of you.”

“Oh, wow... she’s soaked entirely through her bandage. I need all the bags from the blood bank of Y/B/T you can find. She could die of exsanguination any moment.

“Tom,” you whispered.

“What was that? Did you hear that?” Asked the hospital staff, working above you. You reached up weakly, to pull your oxygen mask off for a second.

“Tell Tom I love him, please,” was all you could choke out before a terrifying but familiar sound filled the room. A monotone beep. You were coding.

“I need a crash cart in here. Charging to 200… clear,” called out the doctor. Your body jolted up with the force of 200 joules.

“Charging to 300… clear.”

“Charge to 400, CLEAR,” the doctor screamed.

“Charge to 450—.“

“Doctor we aren’t supposed to give that high of a shock,” informed one of the surgical interns.

“I don’t care, this woman needs to see her kids again… Clear,” The doctor said, delivering a final defibrillation. Your heart rate returned to normal, a steady pulse still weak but there.

“Doctor, she has a pneumothorax (collapsed lung) on her right lung,” said one of the medical personnel using the ultrasound. “Shit, we need to get her to the OR now. Let’s move. I’m not going to let her die on me.” The doctor explained.

A plane ride that was only supposed to be 2 hours and 15 minutes melded into what felt like days. No word from Harry or anyone had come about you and Tom. They all landed and took a car to the hospital. It was enough waiting by then, all they knew is that both of you were found. Neglecting to mention dead or alive.

“I’m here for Tom and Y/N Holland. They were airlifted in. Can we see them?” Nikki asked the person at the front desk.

“No hablo ingles, lo siento,” said the receptionist

“IS THERE ANYBODY HERE WHO SPEAKS ENGLISH?” Dom screamed. “Yes, I do. Did I hear you say you are here for Tom and Y/N Holland?” Asked a man clad in a white lab coat.

“Yes. He’s my son and she’s my daughter-in-law. These are their kids.” Nikki explained gesturing to Parker and Rosie.

“Well ma’am if you’ll follow me. I can tell you in private.” “No, whatever needs to be said, they can hear. They want to hear.” “Still follow me to a private waiting room please, your son is in there. Everyone can come,” the doctor concluded. “Alright then,” Nikki responded, following the doctor to a private waiting room.

“Harry.” Rosie said, seeing her favorite uncle.

“You made it, I’ve been waiting for you guys to hear an update.” Harry was so happy to see the rest of his family. “It’s bad, it was really bad,” Harry explained somberly. “Enough with the dilly dally, just tell me. Is my son dead?” Nikki couldn’t take the waiting anymore.

“They were both brought in barely conscious. Tom had lost some blood due to an open wound on his femur, he has a severe concussion, a few cracked ribs and a small knick on his kidney. He is currently in surgery, they are fixing his kidney. The most he will have is a few stitches but, we are very confident he’ll pull through,” explained the doctor.

“And my mom?” Rosie asked.

“Y/N is currently in surgery, she has protruding wound to the abdomen, a collapsed lung, broken ribs, and a severe concussion. She lost a lot of blood, almost dying of exsanguination. She is in surgery to treat her abdominal wound and her lung. Our biggest concern is sepsis, we are worried an infection caused by the elements will occur.”

“So she’ll be okay, right?” Parker questioned.

“She wasn’t conscious like Tom when they found her. In her case the amount of blood she lost might have stopped bringing oxygen to her brain. If she survives the surgery—“

“If?” Rosie gasped, starting to cry.

“Rosie, let him finish,” Parker snapped.

“If she survives, we don’t know when or if she will wake up. We can only hope for the best. I promise to come back with any further updates.”

“Thank you doctor,” said Nikki.

“I need some tea or coffee or a drink. Anyone else?” Sam said, Dom nodded in response.

“I’ll join you and dad,” Paddy said following Dom and Sam out of the room.

Parker was trying to keep everything inside. He actually appreciated the uncertainty of it all, the longer it went on the longer he didn’t have to hear a definitive answer, that you and Tom were dead.

Parker mainly tried to comfort Rosie but that position was filled once Haz and Henry got to the hospital. It was only 30 mins til another doctor approached them.

“Your son is out of surgery. He is resting in room 302, we are just waiting for him to come out of general anesthesia,” came in another doctor with news.

“Thank you. And my daughter-in-law?”

“She is still in surgery,” informed the doctor.

“Ok, thank you. I’m going to go check on Tom. Parker come with?” Nikki asked, she didn’t want to be alone seeing Tom lie in a hospital bed.

“Sure,” Parker said, following Nikki through the door.

“Harry, you’ll stay here with Rosie,” Nikki called out.

“How you doing, Roo?” Harry asked, moving towards Rosie’s side.

“My mom calls me that,” she said, unmoving towards Harry’s love.

Rosie was still like a statue. But her mind was very active, traveling from place to place. Just waiting for someone to update her on your condition.

“I know. She’ll pull through, Rosie.”

“How can you be so certain?”

“Cause I know your mom. For as long as I can remember she has always been the strongest person in the room.” Harry comforted her, draping an arm over her shoulders. “Your dad is convinced she is indestructible. Sure, she has gotten hurt in the past but she has always bounced back. Hasn’t she?” Harry encouraged.

“Yeah, she has,” Rosie sniffled, wiping her nose with her sweater’s sleeve.

“After everything she has survived, she is still here,” Harry asserted. “When she and your dad first were dating, they’d like to scare each other. Tom must’ve pulled something like 20 guns on her. It was really funny to watch,” Harry grinned.

“Tell me more stories please,” Rosie perked up at the anecdotes.

“Well there was that time when your mom told your dad about being pregnant with both you and Parker.”

“I already know that one.”

“Ok, let me think… oh. One time we pulled a prank on her. All of us, me, your dad, Sam, Paddy and Haz. She was supposed to speak at this benefit promoting something… I want to say a disease… maybe climate change… who cares,” Harry began. “But she is better at it now but she used to be so scared of public speaking. That night at the gala, she had a panic attack and Tom went to comfort her backstage, while the boys and I all went into her purse and switched out her speech for the joke one we made.”

“She went on stage and broke in to a laughing fit. All her nerves dissipated as she stood up there, cracking jokes from left and right. It was really funny because she was so scared she would read whatever was written on the cards. She did end up making a fool out of herself, but it was funny nonetheless. She was so mad at us, she avoided Tom for a week,” Harry finished, reminiscing of that night.

“Wow, that’s mean. Like really mean,” Rosie remarked as his story came to an end.

“No it wasn’t. It was funny, she’ll laugh about it now if you ask her.”

“Was she as mad as she has been lately?” Rosie inquired.

“What do you mean?”

“Mom and dad have been fighting a lot… I’m scared they won’t be able to work it out. I’ve never seem them like this,” Rosie cried, fighting back a fit of sobs.

“Roo, those two? Are you kidding me? They will work it out, they always have.”

“But that isn’t a guarantee.”

“Rosie, your mom and dad have been written in the stars since the beginning. Nothing will ever break them apart. And almost dying really brings people back together. I wouldn’t worry Rosie, they’ll be ok,” Harry consoled her.

Rosie really needed to hear that. Something to get her mind off all the death and sickness that surrounded her. She wasn’t ready to say goodbye. She needed you to hold her once more.

“Mrs. Holland, Y/N is out of surgery now. If you’ll follow me I can take you to her room,” a doctor said to Nikki as she was stroking Tom’s hair, waiting for him to wake up.

“Oh thank god, thank you. Parker do you want to come?” Nikki asked.

“No, I think I’ll stay here with dad. In case he wakes up. I’m not ready to see her like that anyway,” Parker mumbled, needing every excuse to not walk into your room.

Nikki just nodded in response. Nikki was there when Rosie was in her coma and she knew you liked to talk to her as if she was there, so she did the same.

“Hey, Y/N. I’m sorry this happened. The doctors have warned me that you might not wake up and I’m here to tell you that’s not an option. Your kids need you. Tom needs you…. He won’t be able to live without you. None of us will,” Nikki said, holding you hand. As soon as Rosie got word, she was already there. Standing in your doorway peering at your sunken body.

“Mom? It’s Rosie…. It’s your Roo,… why isn’t she waking up?” Rosie came barging in. She’d never seen you in a state like this.

“Mom? Mommy, please,” Rosie said, starting to shake you a bit.

“Rosie, come here,” Nikki said, pulling her into her arms. “She’ll be ok. All we have to do is wait.” Nikki concluded.

In Tom’s room, Parker was still there by his dad’s side. Everything had gotten massively screwed up. He was betraying his own dad and Tom didn’t even know.

“Parker?” Tom croaked out, slightly moving.

“Dad, I’m so glad you are okay,” Parker lunged to hug him.

“Me too, buddy,” Tom said, gritting his teeth to mask the pain.

“How’s mom?” Tom asked, praying you were still alive. It had been a rough night. Images of your half-dead body leaning against him for support plagued his memory.

“Umm… you should see for yourself.”

“What room is she in?” Tom asked, jumping out of bed.

“Dad, I don’t think it’s such a good idea you get up,” Parker exclaimed.

“Parker, don’t you dare stand in my way.”

“Mr. Holland, you’re awake — woah, you can’t get up. Your stitches could rip,” the nurse spoke with a thick Spanish accent.

“I don’t care. Let me see my wife,” Tom yelled.

“You may need to sedate him,” Parker said cheekily.

“Fuck that,” Tom cursed.

“You aren’t doing anything to me till I see her,” Tom asserted, the nurse just nodded in response and brought him a wheel chair.

Parker wheeled him through the hospital. He was about to face his fear as well as Tom. It both being the fact that you were dead and not longer living. They weren’t ready for that.

Tom came into your room and it was like a time machine. All those times he was walked into a room similar to this one with the white walls, white sheets, bright blinding lights and the machines that beep to no end. He was taken back to every time he had seen you lying in a hospital bed.

All the times he knew he hadn’t protected you. All the guilt and anguish came flooding back. Washing over him like a tsunami.

He walked in to see everyone gathered around you. Rosie was sitting on the left side of your bed, clutching your left hand and Henry was next to her keeping an arm around her shoulder. Tom didn’t care about them anymore, all that mattered was you.

“Dad, you’re awake!” Rosie cheered, as she saw Tom in the doorway.

“Yeah baby, I’m okay,” he said, holding Rosie close to his chest.

“I’m scared, dad. I’m scared she won’t wake up,” Rosie cried.

“I know. I am too.” Tom responded, his eyes still fixed to your lifeless figure.

“You know it was just a 5 weeks ago, you were lying a hospital bed just like mom. And she was holding on to your hand just like you are to her. And if you woke up from that, I can promise you she’ll wake up from this,” Tom encouraged.

“You really think so?” Rosie queried.

“I know so.… You know what your mom loves to tell me?”

“No. What?”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

“It sounds like her,” Rosie chucked to herself.

“Yeah, it does.” Tom did the same, he was the one keeping you here. He wasn’t ready to say goodbye. 17 years was nothing compared to lifetime he was destined to have with you. Nobody accounts for the times where something so drastic happens that it can change your entire timeline.

Nobody believes they will die tomorrow or get hit by a bus anywhere. People just live in day to day life thinking that they have a 100 years to go.

You’d think by now, he’d gotten used to seeing you in a hospital bed. Maybe grown accustomed to it. On the contrary, every time he’d see you like this he’d go weak at the knees and beg to switch places with you. To be the one lying there, on death’s door, not you

Every time he has made a promise, your life has been put on the line. You are constantly caught in the crossfires. Tom slowly remembered why he hated hospitals so much, especially when they were associated with you.

“We’ll give you two a minute,” Nikki said, motioning for everyone to clear the room so it was just Tom and you.

“Hey, darling. I told you we’d make it. We had two choices either we died together or we made it together.” Tom began, trying not to cry.

“Y/N, I’m standing here and I’m okay. So it’s only a matter of time before I see you again. We promised it would be us together. Don’t you dare go back on that promise from ages ago, I’m supposed to go before you. Ok? It’s supposed to me. You promised me.”

“This one that you have to keep. I know it might be nearly impossible to, love. But there is no but or if, there is only you waking up and seeing me. Seeing your husband who loves you more than life itself. Seeing our two beautiful kids. I know I haven’t been your favorite person lately, so don’t do it for me. Do it for them, Parker and Rosie. They need you, more than they know.”

“Alright princess, it's only a matter of time. I’ll see you soon.” Tom finished, pressing a kiss to your forehead. One of longing, he just wanted to see your smiling face again. He let himself go completely, breaking down the flood gates. Tears started coming and they didn’t stop, they couldn’t.

Haz peered through the open door, to see Tom crying over you, he immediately jumped into best mate mode and went to comfort Tom.

“Hey. It’s ok. You can let it out,” Harrison said, pulling Tom into his arms.

“I was so awful to her Haz. I let her think I cheated on her so she wouldn’t be mad about Rosie and Henry,” Tom cried out.

“Why? What did you do? You know what, that’s not important right now. The point is she will pull through.”

“She could be dying and the last moment I can only remember with her is our fight. I didn’t even get to say goodbye.”

“She’s not dying, Tom. Y/N has survived much more than this and promise you, you will say hello again.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” Tom said, taking a line from your vernacular.

“Come on, let’s get some coffee… Here, hop on. I’ll push you,” Haz said, grabbing Tom’s wheelchair

“For fucks sake, you aren’t pushing me. I’m not some sick, crippled patient.” Tom exclaimed.

“Well… you did just get out of surgery.”

“I don’t care. I’m not going to let my helicopter crashing be the reason I can’t walk and I am looked at with pity.”

“Alright Tom, I believe we were going to get some coffee.”

“I don’t want to leave her alone,” Tom whispered.

“Rosie will be in here in a moment,” Haz explained.

“Ok.. Roo, can you go sit with your mom while I get your dad some coffee?” Haz asked. Tom still didn’t want to leave you but he knew you would want him to eat something.

“Yes, I’ll keep her safe.”

“I know you will, baby… Hold it. Hey Henry, can I talk to you?” Tom said, holding Henry back from entering the room.

“Dad,” Rosie said, sternly.

“Don’t worry, sweetie,” Tom said pulling Henry to the side.

“I’m sorry Tom.. um I mean Mr. Holland but I love your daughter more than anything,” Henry stammered.

“I just wanted to say thank you for being there for her when.. you know,” Tom admitted.

“Of course, I love her very much. And if the time every comes where I plan on marrying her I will ask for hands in marriage,” Henry promised.

“Woah kid, slow down. This is permission to date. No talking or even thinking about marriage, you understand. Also wear a fucking condom.”

“Yes, sir. Understood… Thanks Tom.”

“You’re a good kid, Henry. She’s in good hands,” Tom grinned, Henry just smiled and returned to Rosie. Returning to his rightful place, in her arms.

“Haz, did you bring me a change of clothes. I need to get out of this fucking gown,” Tom chuckled.

“Are you sure that’s a good ide—“ Haz started but was soon cut off.

“Eh, eh,” Tom interrupted giving him a harsh glare.

“You are not weak, I get it. Yeah, they are in my bag,” Haz concluded.

Tom said, “Thank you,” in return.

The waiting was back and it was killing Tom once again. This time he wasn’t waiting for both your impending deaths, just yours. It was eating him from the inside out.

You didn’t have enough time together. It wasn’t enough. Tom desired more, he needed more. All your favorite moments of you played through his head. Like he was watching a movie of his life with you, his love story.

One specifically, the day he proposed to you. It was hard to top his happiness that day.

All the days leading up to it he was distant and flighty. It worried it you greatly. Was he planning to break up with you? You were consumed with never-ending negative thoughts about your relationship.

It had been a while since you and Tom had a date night. He’d blown you off a few times to plan out the perfect proposal, afraid he’d let the question just slip out somehow. However, that was unknown to you so all you thought was, he’s an ass.

Tom was in his office, planning out how he was going to do it. What he would wear, where he would propose, what would he say. What would you say? He was nervous wreck.

“Haz, I can’t have anyone come in here ok?” Tom ordered. He must’ve practiced it 7 times. Getting down on one knee and declaring his love for you behind closed doors.

“Understood, Tom,” Haz said, giving him a cheeky grin as he closed his door. Not even 10 mins later, you came barging in through the front door. In a fury because Tom hadn’t returned any of your calls.

“Where is he?” You asked Haz. “Y/N?” He said, confused as to why you were here. Well, you did live there.

“Where’s Tom? I have to talk to him,” you asserted. “Why am I asking you? Of course, he is in his study,” you replied to your own question.

“NO, you can’t go in there,” Haz said, following you to Tom’s office.

“And why not?”

“He’s in a meeting.”

“What meeting would he have a 10:30 at night… Unless?” Your heart sank at the possibility of Tom not alone in there.

“Unless what?”

“He has a woman in there doesn’t he?”

“Umm.”

“It’s fine. I’ll go. You won’t see me around anymore. He chose her over me,” you said, trying not to cry. But you weren’t going to put up a fight.

“Y/N it’s not like that,” Haz called after you, trying to stop you from walking away.

“Then what is it Haz?”

“I can’t tell you?… Just go in there and see for yourself.”

“I don’t want see them.”

“Just do it,” Haz ordered, you eventually agreed. Opening the door to a very well-dressed Tom down on one knee holding a blue velvet box in his hands.

“People always spoke of soulmates and I didn’t believe them. But then I found you. And I had never been so happy to be proven wrong. Y/N Y/M/N Y/L/N you make me want to be a better man. You are my inspiration for everything. I can’t ever imagine living without you. Will you marry me?” Tom said, oblivious to you standing right there.

“Yes,” you said without hesitation.

“No! No, no. You weren’t supposed to see that. Haz I told you to guard the door,” Tom yelled.

“Yes, Tommy. I’ll marry you”, you continued, hoping he’d hear you.

“God, it's ruined now. I’m so sorry. I had this huge plan take you to the London eye,” Tom apologized profusely, running his hands through the curls atop his head in frustration.

“Tom, you're not hearing me. I want to be your wife,” you exclaimed, you couldn’t contain your excitement.

“You do?” Tom surprised at your answer.

“Yes, that’s what I’ve been saying. YES!” You screamed. Tom immediately grabbed you twirling you in the air and kissed you with all the love and passion you deserved. He had been neglecting you so he wouldn’t spoil it.

He put the ring on your finger. It looked as though it was home. You were his and he was yours. Nothing could top that moment.

Thinking about you and the time spent together. It made it that much harder to say goodbye.

Tom was brought out of his trance as you stirred, starting to wake. All heads and eyes turned towards you.

“Y/N. Honey, it’s ok. You were in a helicopter crash. You’re ok. You’re ok. I’m so happy to see you,” Tom whispered, tucking the hair out of your face.

The moment you came to, your eyes widened and a look of panic adorned your face. You were completely lost. Unaware of all your surroundings. You managed to croak out three words. Not an “I love you,” not words of love, quite the opposite.

“Who are you?”

A/n: Alright, Y/N lived. As I promised, there are 17 chapter in this series, 6 more to go. I will start writing the sequel series once all these chapters have been posted, even though I have it already planned out in my head lol. New chapters every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday.

Guns, Glamour and Goodfellas Masterlist

Taglist: @dummiesshort @thenoddingbunny-blog @adriannauni @bi-lmg @allthisfortommy

[jentrevellan]

I'm so happy to finally share my fic for @dasmutquisition! I had so much fun with this one, it's unreal. I hope you enjoyed @sumiIong

Rating: Explicit

Category: F/M

Fandoms: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins

Relationship: Alistair/Female Cousland (Dragon Age)

Characters: Alistair (Dragon Age), Female Cousland (Dragon Age), Teagan Guerrin

Additional Tags: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Banter, Cuddling & Snuggling, Happy Ending, Making Love, trapped together (sort of), strong woman, anxious Alistair, generic Cousland, King Alistair and Queen Cousland, newlyweds, Morning Sex, D in the V, Porn With Plot, Dorks in Love

Language: English

Collections: Nobody Expects the Dragon Age Smutquisition

Summary: Alistair and the Warden spend the first night not only as husband and wife but as King and Queen.

Notes: Thank you @curiousthimble for being my beta!

Read on Ao3

Doin' the Fondue

The great hall in Denerim Castle was loud and filled to the rafters with people. Nobles, elves, dwarves and peasants alike were squeezed in, all clamouring to see the newly married couple. Up on the dais, overlooking the crowd that was slowly getting rowdier and rowdier with the ale and wine that continued to flow, Alistair - now King Alistair Theirin of Ferelden - slouched in his throne and took a gulp of wine.

He was terrified.

Oh, the ceremony had been a delight, and he had adored proclaiming his love in front of the Maker and the witnesses in the Chantry. But as soon as he had stepped into the hall for their wedding feast, his gut started churning. Because he knew what must come next after the merriment had ended.

He glanced at his wife beside him. His wife! Despite his anxiety, he couldn’t help but grin like a fool at the thought of his Grey Warden companion, Lady Cousland, now being his wife. It didn’t seem wholly real. Indeed, most of his life the past year hadn’t seemed real. So much had changed, and now he was married.

Alistair took another sip of wine from his goblet and his new wife glanced at him, a small frown on her brow. She already knows me so well, he thought. No one else would be able to tell that anything was amiss, but she had always seen straight through him and knew when even the smallest thing was bothering him. One of the many traits he loved about her. Although it did mean that it was impossible to keep any sort of secret from her. Even the good kind of secrets.

As he picked at his food, his new wife and Queen accepted many gracious gifts from guests. All curtsied or bowed and she was most eloquent in her response. Truly, she was more prepared for this life as a monarch than him. Her noble upbringing was a far cry from how he was raised. But wherever his trepidation lay about ruling, he knew that with this woman beside him as his Queen, that he could do anything.

She laughed heartily at a joke Teagan was telling her, and he watched as she wiped away a tear. Alistair glowered at his uncle and reached out for his wife’s hand. She turned to him, a wide smile on her face, her cheeks flushed and her lips rosy from the wine.

“Everything alright?” she asked.

He nodded his head to Teagan. “Just wondering what was so funny…?”

She blushed prettily, and a jealous hand gripped his gut. He would not easily forget his uncle’s flirtations when he had first met them in Redcliffe, and ever since, a fit of strange jealousy and need to claim her as he always came about when he was in the presence of both her and Tegan.

Waving a jewelled hand, she shook her head. “It was nothing. Rather crude, actually, so I told him off for lowering the tone of our conversation at our wedding feast,” she replied, taking a sip of wine. “Now what’s the matter with you?”

“Me?” he repeated. “Nothing. Nothing is the matter with me at all. Absolutely nought.”

“Alistair,” she said seriously, leaning in close. Her tone made him want to listen, but her golden gown with its tight bodice had pressed her breasts pleasantly together and were well within his eye line that he couldn’t help but glance down. A treacherous blaze of desire coursed through him, and with her puckered lips, her brow furrowed in concern, he wanted nothing more than to crush her to him and -

A chill went through him. He wanted her, oh yes, most desperately, but Tegan caught his eye and winked, and a shudder of repulsion went through him as he turned his head to see half of the court watching their interaction. He pulled away from his wife abruptly and reached for his goblet of wine, again and took a huge mouthful.

Ever the gracious lady, his wife smiled faintly and pretended that nothing had happened. But the look she quietly gave him as he peered at her over the rim of his goblet made his gut clench with guilt. There was a flash of hurt in her eyes, and he felt rotten about being the cause.

The dinner continued and as the servants were generous with topping up his wine, Alistair kept emptying his goblet. His wife, on the other hand, declined and stuck to watery lemonade and with dread, he realised that she was not drinking the same as him because it was expected that she needed to stay sober to conceive.

It was like a weight was pressing down on his chest, and he struggled to breathe, and it was getting worse as the evening wore on. Soon he stopped eating and drinking and just watched everybody that approached the dais to offer their congratulations or present gifts to the newlyweds. One item that was given to the new Queen was a selection of herbs which, as the kindly elderly noble had explained “would help the womb quicken”. Alistair had almost retched at her words, and instead began a small coughing fit, which required his wife to smack him firmly on the back a few times harder than she would’ve done normally.

At one point, a small child approached, dressed in a simple cotton tunic, as white as a cloud. Her hair was braided down her back and entwined with flowers. She stood before the queen who rose from her throne and leant over the table to adjust a flower in the girl’s hair. Alistair watched as his wife’s face lit up with warmth as she listened and spoke to the child. He wanted to give that to her. But… but…

“Let us bed them!” Tegan suddenly announced, and there was a scramble as the court got to their feet hurriedly, to be one of the select few to follow them to their chambers. The women reached the queen and she shot Alistair one swift look of alarm before resigning herself to their insistent tugs as they all but pushed her out of the room. Alistair followed with a group of noblemen, including his uncle.

“I bet you’re looking forward to this, m'boy,” Tegan grinned, falling into step beside Alistair, as they made their way through the halls of the castle.

“I don't know what you mean,” he replied flatly, his face feeling warm not just from the wine.

Tegan clapped him on the back. “You are one lucky man, my boy,” he said with a sigh, clapping him on the shoulder. “I’ve never seen you so quiet in all the time I’ve known you. Your mind has been elsewhere this evening - and I’m not the only one to notice.”

Dread tugged at him as he climbed the stairs. “Yes, you’re right and I’m sorry, but-”

“Sorry!” Tegan repeated with a snort. “You’ve no need to be sorry. Most men are as quiet as a mouse in anticipation of their wedding night. And one can’t certainly blame you: your wife is simply lovely.”

“Yes, thank you, Tegan,” Alistair ground out, shrugging his shoulder lose of his grip. But rather than be offended, the man laughed and Alistair clenched his fists. Never before had he been so tempted to knock his uncle around the head.

They arrived at his chamber door and inside more nobles awaited eagerly. The king’s bed had been arranged neatly, but there was no expectation for him to sleep there tonight. Instead, he eyed the connecting door where he knew his wife would be waiting for him, surrounded by the noblewomen.

“Are you going to leave?” he asked, looking around the room, but the men just laughed, and chatted, some making obscene gestures. He grimaced, hating the sheer manliness in the room. His manservant came forward to help him undress from his finery and removed his crown. Once he had been disrobed save for his smalls, he threw on his white cotton nightshirt and ran his hands through his hair, wiping the sweat from his brow.

There was a faint knock at the connecting door, and one of the servants hurried forward and exchanged whispers with the servant on the other side. Alistair paced anxiously and took a very keen interest in a loose thread on the sleeve of his shirt. The men around him were talking about absolute filth, and he squeezed his eye tight shut, in the vain hope that his ears would squeeze shut too.

Finally, the connecting door swung open and the servant stood aside. Alistair was rooted to the spot, fear coursing through him. Are these people… going to watch ? He thought with horror.

He was quite content with where he was until Tegan elbowed him in the ribs. “Nervous?” he said with a wink.

“Yes. No! I mean, no !” he said hurriedly, his face burning.

“There’s nothing to be scared about. She’s going to be a wonderful wife to you in so many ways…”

“Shut up,” Alistair groaned, rubbing his hand down his face. Honestly, he was this close to hurling Tegan out the window.

But before he could entertain that thought further, the men in his room were pressing him through the door and - oh Maker no - were also following him. He entered the queen's bed-chamber to find a gaggle of ladies with rosy cheeks flutter their lashes and lick their lips seductively at the men. But Alistair was anything but aroused when he finally turned to the large, four-poster bed, to see his wife and queen.

She was a perfect painting of innocence and virginity in crisp white sheets with a matching white nightdress. Her hair had been unbound and combed neatly and she sat as still as a statue, her back and posture absolutely perfect for a queen. The covers were pulled up to her lap, and her hands rested delicately entwined: her sparkling wedding ring the only jewellery that remained.

He refused to meet her eyes as he slowly walked around to the other side of the bed. He pulled the covers down amidst the chatting of the court and when he finally sat beside her, a good arms-length away from her, the court finally - finally - turned to leave. Several clapped, the women exchanged knowing looks with the queen, who smiled politely in return, and the men, now incredibly drunk, ambled from the room, wishing Alastair luck and reminding him of how lucky he was.

Finally, blessedly, the last person left the room and closed the door with a gentle click .

☆☆☆☆☆

To the new queen’s dismay, the first thing her new husband did as soon as the door had shut, was leap out of the bed as if he had been scalded. She frowned as he strode towards the door, and for an awful moment, she thought he was going to leave. But no: he reached to a small side table and found a key and locked the big oak door to her chambers, followed by locking the conjoining door from the king’s bedroom.

Still not saying anything, Alistar strode around the room, pulling open curtains and wardrobes, trunks and cabinets.

“What in the world are you doing?” she finally asked, her patience running thin. The man had barely spoken to her since their vows in the Chantry in the morning, and now he was examining every nook and cranny of her chambers?

He paused by her bookshelf and flicked her a glance over his shoulder. “Checking,” he replied, before shifting a few books.

“Whatever for?”

He sighed in exasperation. “To make sure that we are alone! Andraste’s arse, I thought they were going to stay at one point and watch to make sure we… we… erm…” he coughed and busied himself by peering under a chaise lounge.

She got out of bed and dropped to her hands and knees and looked under the bed. Thankfully, there was no one there, but she had to admit that the same fear had crossed her mind. Even though she knew that wasn’t the common practice, sometimes nobility did take things a bit too literally…

“We’re safe,” she sighed, placing her hands on her hips.”There’s no spy, no peephole, no nothing but us.”

Alistair finally stopped his fidgeting and turned to her from across the room. For the first time in a long time, they were utterly alone. Normally, they would’ve fallen into each other’s arms by now, but something was stopping her, and she could tell that something was also stopping him. They stood on opposite sides of her room, the bed imposing and glaring at them, whilst the distance between them felt as vast a chasm. And that was something neither of them had experienced before.

“Everything is different now, isn’t it?” she said quietly, looking down at her hands clasped before her.

Alistair also seemed to be studying his fingernails. “Yes, I suppose it is.”

She played with the hem of her pure white night-dress and frowned. Conversation with her now-husband had never been this stilted. So she switched tactic to one he would hopefully relax with: humour.

“You know, for a good ten minutes, I honestly thought they were all going to stay and watch,” she said with a wry smile. She knew they wouldn't - being brought up as a noble lady had earnt her some education in these things - but Alistair needed not to know that. For it worked:

“Maker! You did too?” he exclaimed, letting out a bark of laughter. “I didn’t think they would, but I began to doubt myself.”

She took a step towards him. “Hence your paranoia about spies?”

He nodded. “Yes, hence the… paranoia ,” he rolled his eyes at her choice of words, but there was a smirk on his lips, which made her heart soar.

The man she knew was peeking through, so she took another step closer. “It’s an archaic tradition anyway,” she said. “I know for a fact that they do not practice it in Orlais.”

Alistair snorted. “Perhaps the only redeeming factor of the Orlesians.”

“Hmm, that and the cheese,” she smiled and finally, finally , her new husband met her eyes.

They both burst into laughter and she saw his shoulders sag. She bit her lip and placed a hand on his cheek. “We don’t have to do anything if you don't want to,” she said earnestly.

His face reddened. “But I do! I do want to! With you, that is! I just… it’s just…” he trailed off, squeezing his eyes shut as he sought out the right words.

“The pressure of it all?” she supplied.

“Yes!” he gasped, relieved. “To know that we cannot come together unless it’s for a purpose. That purpose,” he mumbled, pointing to her stomach.

He was going inside himself again, so she took his hands in hers and gave a gentle squeeze. “Think of it this way… it’s for the good of the country that you fuck me senseless any time of day and night.”

Alistair spluttered at her bluntness but she just laughed as she slipped her hands from his and moved past him. There was a small table laden with food - to help keep up their energy for their excursions, no doubt - so she helped herself to a goblet of wine and poured one for her new husband. “You’re probably one of the only men in the world who can use that excuse,” she smiled, popping a grape in her mouth.

“You…” he grinned, walking over and taking the other goblet from her hand. “You are a minx.”

She pretended to be shocked. “You’ve only just realised? And here I thought you only married me because you knew I was.”

He put an arm around her shoulder and pulled him to her, kissing the top of her head. “One of many, many many reasons,” he replied.

They stood content in silence, their thoughts elsewhere when she finally spoke again. “I meant what I said. We don’t have to do anything we’re expected to do tonight.”

He gulped but nodded. “I… I know. And I appreciate that, but please don’t think it’s because I don’t want... need you,” he said quietly, his grip on her tightening.

“It’s not like we’ve not done it before,” she said, taking another sip of wine. “Even if this gown pretends to be evidence to the contrary.”

“Yes, and we have done it, many, many times…”

“And we will many more,” she confirmed, popping another grape in her mouth, the sweetness washing over her tongue. She turned to him: “but not tonight.”

“Thank the Maker I married you,” he murmured, downing the rest of his wine.

“But I do have a wicked idea…”

He glanced at her, eyebrows raised.

“We should take all of this food and eat it… in bed.”

He laughed, so genuine and delightful that her gut warmed pleasantly. Suddenly, in one swift motion, he picked her up and threw her over his shoulder, his other hand grabbing the cheese board and marched over to the bed. He threw her down, and she tried to not be too aroused by the action, but her pert nipples through her night-dress gave her away. Determined to make sure Alistair was as happy as could be, she reached forward and pulled him onto the bed and instead of kissing him, grabbed a handful of cheese and squashed it into his mouth.

The King of Ferelden snorted with laughter as he tried to eat the cheese, before doing the same back at his new queen. He pecked her on the nose and rose to collect more food and wine, and soon they were sitting leaning against the headboard, a delectable spread of food between them. And they gorged.

☆☆☆☆☆

The sun peered through the lattice windows of the queen’s chamber. The light was white and bright and brought Alistair blinking out of his deep slumber, momentarily confused at his location. He looked up at the canopy above him and duly noted the olive green drapes of the Queen’s bed. He’d never slept in here and was momentarily disoriented until he remembered the day before.

In his arms, still and sound asleep, was his wife. Her hair was splayed on the pillow and tickled his nose. He couldn’t see her face, but today it felt more real: this woman who had become his friend and companion, lover and hero of Ferelden, was now his wife… his queen . He gently propped himself onto his elbow, so as not to wake her, and gazed down at her face, noting the way the sunlight accentuated her high cheekbones. This wonderful, beautiful and exquisite woman is my wife , he thought with quiet awe. His chest flipped with uncontained joy and gone was the trepidation of the night before.

He studied her face as she slept, her nostrils flaring slightly as she sighed contently in her sleep. He lay back down and pulled her close to him, tightening his grip on her, and burying his face in her neck, inhaling her intoxicatingly sweet scent. The silk nightdress was so smooth and thin, and his hands couldn’t help but wander up and down, his fingers gently brushing the material over her skin, like water. Without realising it, he found himself rutting against her arse, which was tucked up cosily to his groin. He tried to still himself, she's still asleep ! But his wandering hands could not be stopped as one slowly crept up her torso and cupped a breast. The shift was so thin, that he felt her nipple harden with the barest of touches and that’s when he realised that her hips were moving too.

He pushed himself up to an elbow again, and her eyes, dark and hooded with desire stared back at him. Her lips parted with a hitched breath and he flicked her nipple with his thumb. Moving his hand downwards, he swallowed her breathy moan as his fingers teased the hem of her smalls, mouth crashing down on hers in simple, uncontained desire.

They had not so much as kissed since they had said their wedding vows in the Chantry, he realised. And as his tongue licked her upper lip, he swore to himself that he would never leave it so long to kiss her again. Her mouth opened with a sigh and their tongues danced as he continued to rut, and she squirmed against him as his hand finally slipped into her smalls in search of her bud.

He stifled a groan as he found her hand already there, gently touching herself. His fingers joined hers whilst they moved their hips and she guided him with her hand. He slipped a digit inside of her and she gasped, squirming against his erection, straining against his smalls, and he pictured feeling her growing wetness around his cock. With impatience, he slid her nightdress up so she was exposed and he pulled his cock out and rubbed it blissfully between her cheeks. Her soft skin was as smooth as silk as he rocked his hips, gaining pleasant friction with her arse.

“More…” she whispered, as her fingers joined his, pumping inside her. And with his control waning, he obliged eagerly.

Alistair rolled her onto her back and pulled her hands over her head as he pinned her down. Her legs fell open for him, and as much as he wanted - no needed - to be inside her, Alistair knew what his lady wife needed more was to be spoiled. If it were up to him, the king would love to stay buried between his wife’s legs for the rest of his days, as her taste was so sweet. He trailed kisses down her neck, and her hips lifted up to meet his, and his resolve almost broke as her core was teased against his cock. But being a Warden had one excellent perk: incomparable stamina.

He continued down, kissing her heaving breasts as they rose and fell erratically with her breathing. Playing with one in his hand, he took her other nipple in his mouth and sucked lightly, her perfect bud hard and round in his mouth. With his hand, he squeezed her other one tight, and had her gasping: but he was nowhere near done. He let go of her breast in his mouth with a pop and glanced up at her to see her mouth open and delicious, her tongue darting out to lick her lips. He grinned and kissed her stomach, then pulled back and positioned himself on his elbows, taking in the sight of her splayed out on the bed, rosy cheeks and breathy moans all for him. He pressed his lips to her knee, then with each kiss, his stubble tickled the inside of her thigh as he moved up her legs, finally reaching that gloriously warm and wet apex in between that was just begging for him to taste.

Desire surged through him and without wasting any more time, he pulled her legs over his shoulders and licked her dripping wet folds. She cried out in pleasure as he rolled his tongue over her, and her fingers grabbed his head, nails digging into his scalp as he worked his mouth. She tasted as good as she smelt, and her hips rose up to meet his mouth, jittering as she climbed higher to her peak. He wanted to spoil her because she deserved it and more. So he reached up with one hand and squeezed a breast and flicked a nipple again, loving the way her hips bucked in response. Her nails dug deeper into his scalp and raked his chestnut hair as his other hand kneaded her arse, lifting her up so he had the best angle to eat her out.

He teased and tortured her with his mouth, and finally sucked on her clit.

“Ah...ah...Alist-ah!” she cried out, her thighs clamping around his head as she came. He tasted her orgasm on his tongue and without missing a beat, rose and positioned himself at her entrance. Her eyes flicked open to look at him as she felt him move, and a tiny smile pulled at the corner of her exquisite mouth. That was all he needed.

So tormentingly slowly, Alistair finally entered her, the warmth and wetness so indescribably perfect that he couldn’t help but let out a moan. He fit her perfectly and when sheathed completely, he paused and stared into her eyes. Her breathing was still fast from her orgasm and he captured her mouth with his, letting her taste herself. Then he rolled his hips and started to slowly make love to her, not once tearing his gaze from her face. He noticed every single expression that flickered before him as he thrust and teased: a hand on her hip and another once more on her breasts.

She wrapped her legs around him and he plunged unbelievably deeper inside of her, making them gasp and moan in unison as they moved together in a rhythm as old as time. As they moved, the pleasure and pressure mounted, but Alistair had much more control than a boy still wet behind the ears - he wanted to give her so much more before he -

“Ah!” he gasped, as she took him by surprise. She had crossed her ankles behind his back and with her strong legs, twisted so that he was forced to roll and let her sit on top of him. Incredibly, they did not lose touch, and the angle was different but just as pleasurable. She smirked down at him as she pressed her hands to his chest and began to slowly roll her hips, her breasts rising and falling beautifully as she took him. Alistair was entranced as he watched his love move quicker with a growing need and he held her hips tightly to control her pace. But she didn’t need any assistance, as she moved faster and faster, his thrusts coming up to meet hers, flesh slapping flesh. Her moans crescendoed, and the erotic sight before him of his wife move above him with a wonton need to claim her pleasure...well he could feel his control slipping. He wanted to spill himself inside of her, and see his seed drip down her legs…

“Fuck!” she cried, reaching her second orgasm, as Alistair dug his fingers into her thighs to stop himself from joining her peak of pleasure. She fell back and Alistair seized his moment to regain control and topped her again.

Fully sheathed once more, he deliberately moved slowly, as he knew that if he picked up the pace then he wouldn't be able to hold on much longer. But she caught his eye and licked her lips.

“Please, Alistair,” she panted, her hands digging into his hips, urging him to move faster.

“Mmmm?” he replied, biting her earlobe and slipping out of her, making her whimper.

“What do you want?” he teased, stroking himself as she looked up at him with uncloaked desire.

“It’s more than what I want ...it’s what I need ,” she whispered, sitting up to meet her lips with his, her hand trailing down his chest and abdomen, making his muscles tense in anticipation.

They kissed delicately, fervently, noses touching, breath mingling. “And what do you need?”

She pulled away and lay back down on the bed, her legs falling open. She traced one finger down the length of her, and his eyes followed.

“Take me, my king,” she begged, touching herself in front of him.

Almost roughly, because he couldn't bear to not be in her again, he flipped her over, brought her to her knees and lined himself up to her entrance. He kissed her salty back, sleek with sweat and breathed in her ear. “As my queen commands.”

He thrusted inside, and she took all of him. She threw her head back and he grabbed her neck, pulling her up to him for a searing kiss, their tongues dancing as he thrusted fiercely, the globe of her ass bouncing against his abdomen. She moaned in his mouth as she touched herself; legs shaking as he pounded into her over and over; sweat mingling, with moans loud and needy, filling the chamber. He pumped with such animalistic need and she cried in pleasure and she gripped the bedsheets for support as he took her, unrelenting in his passion.

With a shaking arm, he reached around and touched her pearl and she cried out, her orgasm sudden and huge.

“Fill me!” she pleaded as she continued to come.

He snapped and finally, wonderfully, he reached his peak too and exploded inside of her, his vision blurred and black at the edges, as he emptied his seed inside of her - for the first time. And Maker, did it feel incredible to finish like this; in a union of bodies so perfect and natural.

Alistair, as breathless as if he had just swam the length of the Waking Sea, collapsed on top of her, laughing with joy.

“I...I love...you,” he panted, their legs entwined and he wasn't sure where his body ended and hers began.

They stayed like that for some time, and Alistair was tempted to fall asleep just like this, but she wiggled underneath him.

“Mmmm, as much as I love you inside of me,” she murmured;” you are crushing me somewhat.”

He reluctantly slipped out of her, trailing kisses all down her back and arse, making her hairs stand on end and her toes curl. He gathered her into his arms, the sheets around them a total mess, but he was loath to care as she lightly ran her fingers over him. His limbs felt like jelly, all loose and relaxed.

“Hey, Alistair?”

“Hmm?” he replied, barely opening his eyes.

“There’s some cheese leftover from last night.”

He sat up suddenly and looked over to where she pointed.

“Cheese for breakfast?” he asked.

She smiled and nodded. “Cheese for breakfast,” she confirmed.

fin

[jasontoddiefor]

Title: remember who I am in the morning

In which the author refuses to give up on the “Tyki is a failed Nea clone made by Past!Allen” theory. Alos hello again D.Gray-man fandom.

Tyki Mikk had more than a few issues and most of them he traced back to his childhood, even though he remembered nothing but laughter and wonder. His first memory was of his father looking down at him, glasses obscuring his expression. It was the only memory Tyki had of him in which his father wasn’t smiling at him. The moment couldn’t have lasted longer than a second, then Tyki had been picked up, wrapped in a soft towel, and been carried out of a room he’d never seen again afterward.

They’d never stayed anywhere for long, never stopped walking, moving one foot in front of the other, or, more often than not, Tyki was being carried on his father’s shoulders. He’d learned Portuguese first as it was the country they spent the first year in, then English, Spanish, French, and Russian.

“Languages are important,” his father had said, teaching him yet another one. “They help you understand yourself.”

His father was always smiling.

“You’ll have to disentangle so many memories when you grow up, Tyki.”

It wasn’t always a cheerful smile, though he’d been too young then to realize it. Looking back, as happy as he recalled being, how carefree, it was easy to see that his father had been haunted by nightmares and fears Tyke was only now beginning to understand.

“Are you alright?”

Tyki stepped out of his mind and turned to Sheril. His older brother, as the man liked to pretend to be, was watching him with concern. Sheril had taken to hardly allowing Road or Tyki to leave his sights. Since Road had to look after the Earl, ensure the head of their family wasn’t losing his marbles entirely, Sheril tagged along to any mission Tyki was sent on, obsessing over him instead.

Noah were frighteningly good at that, caught up in their own aspect, drowning in it. Tyki hadn’t been White in a while and he suspected that his family’s joy at his switch to Black was starting to fade and become concern instead.

“Of course,” Tyki replied and brushed his long hair out of his face. Maybe he should cut it again. It hadn’t been this long since he’d been a child. “This is just nostalgic.”

Sheril raised his brow and looked at the small house they’d been sent to inspect for a sign of the Heart.

“It reminds me of my childhood,” Tyki elaborated and opened the old front door to a small, familiar kitchen. This house had been abandoned by some suspect, according to their intel. Tyki hadn’t paid too much attention, too distracted by the thoughts of his escaped target, Allen Walker, on the run from Order and Noah alike.

It was a fruitless escape, but the part of Tyki that had been so much at ease around Allen during their first meeting wanted the boy to be chased a little longer, remain himself just a few moments more.

“My father and I lived in a house like this for a while.”

At the start of Tyki’s memories. How strange that they were all resurfacing now, rewinding.

“You’ve never talked much about him.”

“He was a scientist,” Tyki said as they walked the stairs down to a small basement that had been concealed beneath a trap door. Of course, if he so desired, he could fade just through the ground, but he’d chosen his White side for this morning for once and decided to stick with it.

At the very bottom of the staircase was another door. Itched around its handle were old runes, no longer intact, but they must have been powerful once upon a time. Tyki wasn’t as well-versed in magic as some of the other Apostles, but he knew enough to recognize and avoid it if necessary.

“It’s disabled,” he informed Sheril and opened the door to—

You’re not Nea at all, are you?

Vaguely, Tyki registered his knees hitting the ground, Sheril’s strings reaching for him in support as he stared at the laboratory in front of him; the smashed tanks the I can’t breathe, I can’t breathe—

I’m so sorry, child. You weren’t supposed to exist.

Gentle hands, kind words, the only time that father’s expression had been unreadable because he’d been crying, the fluid of the tank still sticking to him.

I should have known Memories can’t be transferred like this.

He was tucked in, his eyes still blown wide, pressing himself close to the nearest source of heat.

I suppose I need to abandon this hideout. There’s no point in continuing this research.

His heart was beating and then it was not, unsure of what to cling to as white bled to black and black faded back to white—

You’ll need a name. How about Tyki?

He reached for the papers left abandoned on the table, the old photograph, his father’s eyes staring back at him—

My name is Allen, but you may call me ‘Father’ as I did create you. Nea is going to be mad he’ll have to look after a child once I’ve disappeared. Don’t be too harsh on him. He did provide your genes.

“Tyki!”

In his hand was the photograph, the files, his own youthful face staring back at him as he floated unaware in the tank. He had no memories of this, could not recall his birth, but it would fit so well, why his oldest memory was exactly that.

Sheril helped him to his feet again, took the papers from him. “Is that—?”

“My father,” Tyki answered, truth ringing hollow, failing to reveal to him how exactly his father had died, when he’d last seen him before his Memories had swallowed him up.

The father, who used to sing him half-forgotten lullabies to fall asleep, taught him whatever instrument they could get their hand on while traveling, encouraging Tyki to ask as many questions as he wanted, indulge in all the riches of the world, all the pleasures.

“Allen Mikk.”

A young man, whose face was half obscured by glasses, his annoyed expression still visible, entirely identical to the boy Tyki had been sent and failed to kill.

[legionofpotatoes]

we decided to watch all story cutscenes from the new resident evil village videogame on a whim, since it’s not really our cup of tea gameplay-wise but seems to be this massive zeitgeist moment that made us morbidly curious. And I know how much everyone cares about my thoughts on things I know very little about, so. let’s get into it huh gamers. and yeah spoilers?

for context, I’ve only played resident evil 4 and a small portion of 5. I also read the wikipedia entry for 7’s plot recently. all this to say I was only vaguely aware of how tonally wacky the series was going in

I also completely gave up following the plot of the mutagens’ soap opera, so that paid off in spades here as you might imagine

anyway so that baby in the intro. that baby’s head is just massive. humongous toddlerdome. when ethan finds the baby’s head in a jar later on. there is no way that head would fit into that jar. bad game design. no not even game design. basic stuff. one hundred years in prison for jar modeler

if I see a single functional hetero marriage in video games I will cry tears of joy. I understand their misery is kind of The Point irt them badly working through the hillbilly romp trauma but like. sheesh. at least set that up as an emotional story goal the plot will help resolve. but nope they start off miserable and it goes nowhere

I know I know the mia thing has a huge wrinkle in it but like. not really in terms of dramatic function?? set up a happy end to the re7 nightmare (miranda can keep up appearances for all she cares) and then take that all away from angry griffin mcelroy for manpain. it will still absolutely work to set up the dramatic forward momentum. why throw in this cliche Hollywood Tension in their marriage if you’re not going to address it oh maybe because it’s normalized as automatically interesting because nuclear families are a self-propagating pit of a very narrow chance at emotional happiness relying on social stigma to preserve their empty function oops my baggage slipped in yikes abort mission

I called him griffin mcelroy because I saw his face on twitter and. yeah. I will continue to do this occasionally. my house my rules

... fuck the reason I’m hung up on this is specifically because the rest of the game is so tonally dexterous (which is a shining point to me! more on that later!), and yet they felt weirdly compelled to create the aesthetic trapping of a family-at-odds trope without following it through too well. a sign of both the good and the bad stuff to come

but listen the real reason why I wanted to talk about any of this is to nitpick the fascinating backwards-engineered nucleus of the entire thing; in that this game essentially creates a melting pot of just SO many disparate horror tropes and then makes a no-holds-barred unhinged effort at weaving thick lore to piece them all together. it is truly a sight to behold. like straight up you got your backwoods fright night situation, your gothic castle vampires, your rural-industrial werewolves, and don’t forget your bloated swamp monsters over there, with then a hard left turn into robotic body horror, and the entire ass subgenre of Creepy Doll writ large, and the bloodborne tentacle monsters, and a hellboy angel bossfight, which rides on the coattails of a mech-on-mech pacific rim bonanza, and just jesus henry christ slow down

almost all of these are textural hijack jobs that don’t really get into the metaphor plain of any of those settings but the game sort-of makes an argument that the texture IS the point and revels in it. It is kind of admirable almost. The same reason why the intro felt boxed in and unmotivated is also why the rest of the game just blasts off of its hinges to the point of complete and self-indulgent tonal abandon. I kinda loved that about it. lady dimitrescu made sure to hold her hat down as she bent forward in mahogany doorways and then suddenly she’s a giant gore dragon and you settle in your temp role as dark souls man with Gun to take her ass down. Excellent??

this rhino rampage impulse to gobble up every horror aesthetic known to man comes to head when the game wrestles with its FPS trappings in what is the most hilarious solution in creating visceral player damage moments. Since most cinematics and the entire game is in first person, that leaves precious little real estate for the devs to work with if they really want to sell griffin’s physical crucible. To wit. This dude’s forearms. Specifically just the forearms. They are MASSACRED throughout the story. The poor man lives out the silent hill dimension of a hand model. by the end cutscene he looks like a neatly dressed desk clerk who had decided to stick both his grabbers into garbage disposal grinders just a few hours prior. like in addition to everything else it manages to rope in that tinge of slapstick violence into its general grievous genre collection except this time it IS for a lack of trying! truly incredible

but wait his miracle clawbacks from everything his poor paws go through are retroactively explained away, yes, but far too vaguely and far too late to console me as I sat and watched everyone’s favorite baby brother reattach an entirely severed hand to his wrist stump by just. placing it on there. and giving it a lil twist ‘n pop terminator-style. and then willing his fingers back into motion right in front of my bulging eyes. this game just does not care. it does not give a shit. and boy howdy will it work to make that into one of its strongest suits

cause generally speaking resident evil was THE premiere vanilla zombie content destinaysh for like a decade, right? and as the rest of the world and mainstream media started encroaching and bloodying its blue ocean it went and just exploded in every single conceivable horror trope direction like a smilodon on catnip. truly, genuinely fascinating franchise moves

yeah the big vampire milf is hot. other news; grass... green. although I do love the implication that her closet is just identical white dresses on a rack. cartoon network-level queen shit

apropos of nothing I’ve said there’s also this hobo dante-devimaycry-magneto man, and I can’t believe this sentence makes sense. anyway he made that “boulder-punching asshole” joke referring to chris redfield and it was probably the only easter egg that really landed for me and boy did it land hard. I have not seen him punch the boulder in re5, mind. I had only heard about how funny it is from friends. and here this dude was, probably in the same exact mindset as me, trying to grapple with that insane mental image. with you on that ian mckellen, loud and clear

I advocate vehemently against the shallow pursuit of hyper photorealism in art direction but I gotta admit it works really in favor of immersive horror like this. the european village shacks especially gave me super unchill flashbacks to my rural countryside retreat in western georgia. I could smell the linoleum dude. not cool

faces are weird in this game. can’t place it. nice textures, good animation, but the modeling template is... uuh strange? and the hair. it has that clustered-flat-clumpy look that harkens to something very specific and unpleasant but I just don’t know what. sue me

griffin’s mental aptitude to take all this shit in stride and end every seemingly traumatizing bossfight involving some fucking eldritch being yet unseen through mortal eyes by essentially throwing out an MCU quip is just. What the fuck dude? I mean that was funny how you casually yelled the f-word at a god damn werewolf that you considered a fairy tale an hour ago but are you like, all right?? it was swinging a sledgehammer the size of a bus at you, ethan

oh oh the vampires are afraid of cold and your last name is winters. I get it haha

Pro Gamer Nitpick: boss fights seemed a bit unnecessarily long?? idk why the youtuber we picked decided the ENTIRE propeller man fight counted towards the vital story scenes he was stitching together, but man mr big daddy lite there really had some get up and go huh??

why are they saying dimitrescu.. like that. is it really how you say that word or is the english language relapsing into its fetish for ending every single word with a consonant at all costs

I’m not saying it’s a dramatic miss of a twist in context of all that’s going on, but the “you died in the last game actually and have been DC’s clayface ever since” revelation is low-key. it’s. it’s just funny to me, I dont know what to say. century-old god-witch fails her evil plan after she mistakenly removes heart from what was definitely NOT just some white guy with eight fingers after all

chris realizing he’s about to become the player character and immediately swapping out his tsundere trenchcoat for the muscletight sex haver sweater

the little bluetooth speaker-sized pipe bomb he taped to his knife was nuclear?? really??? I must have missed something because that is just too good. I buy it though I totally buy it. chris just got them fun-sized nukes in his car trunk for, you guessed it, Situations

anyway this is all for now just wanted to briefly touch on how unexpectedly funny and tonally irreverent this seemingly serious game turned out to be. did not articulate any cathartic story beats whatsoever but my god it had fun connecting those plot points. he just fucking put his severed hand back on his stump and it Just Worked todd howard get in here

[emmy-writes-sometimes]

The Hoodie Problem

A wardrobe mistake costs you and Henry the privacy of your relationship. 

-

           “No,” you groaned as your heard the dreaded chiming of the Alexa alarm. “No, no, no, turn it off!”

           “You have to say its name, dearie,” a tired Henry grumbled in response. You could feel him pull you tighter, deeper into his warm arms. “Alexa, stop the alarm.” The alarm stopped right after.

           “It’s currently 6:20 AM. The weather in London, England, is currently 6 degrees Celsius and will be sunny for the rest of the day. There are no unread emails for your .edu or gmail.com account. One package, containing 3 makeup brushes and dog treats will be arriving to 102…’

           “Will she shut up?” You groaned in response, turning back into Henry’s warm body. The room was freezing cold, and the dog had already gotten off the bed.

           “I don’t think she’s done yet.” In a single second, the opening riff of Back in Black started playing. “Alright, love, you actually need to go.”

           “No,” you grumbled. “Fuck class, I don’t wanna go to class. I hate it anyway, and I don’t wanna sit there and listen to my history professor talk about an asshole and defend his work when it’s already shit anyway.” Henry chuckled, sending another wave of heat through your body, making you want to stay even more.

           “You won’t get to argue your vulgar point if you’re late.” You sighed and started to sit up, yelling at Alexa to stop playing music. “Go, darling, otherwise I won’t get out of bed either.”

           “You’re such an asshole in the morning,” you responded, wrestling yourself onto the floor. A gigantic ball of fluff followed you, expecting his breakfast. “Can I borrow a hoodie? Left mine in the laundry.”

           “Which you only did so you can borrow one of mine. They should all be clean, just find one that can cover the bruises on your neck.” You sighed, spying a hoodie from a charity Rugby match Henry had done the month before, and after slapping deodorant onto your under-arms you pulled it on over her sports bra. You hoped it would be enough. Quite honestly, you didn’t care who saw the hickies on your neck. Anyone who was going to see was an adult who should act like an adult about it. Your hair would have to do since it wasn’t too greasy, and after deciding just to leave it down, you finished up in Henry’s adjoining bathroom and walked back to the bedroom.

           “Covered?” You asked.

           “Yep. Leave me your keys, take the Merc, and I’ll pick it up from the shop after my workout, I want them to check the paint on the hood, too.” He looked you up and down, sitting up in bed as you walked over to give him a kiss.

           “Thanks, babe.”

           “You look beautiful,” he responded with a smile.

           “I do not.”

           “You do!” Without bothering to look at the back of the sweatshirt, Henry got out of bed and went into the bathroom. You yawned as the massive dog zoomed down the stairs, waiting for breakfast. Kal sniffed around as you set foot on the stair landing, probably wondering why your vanilla perfume was mixed with the scent of Henry’s strong aftershave. Truth be told, you were glad. It was a comforting smell.

           “Be a good boy, Kal, Papa’s gonna feed you in a minute.” The dog panted in excitement and went to go stand by his water bowl, where he would inevitably drool for the rest of the time until Henry came to feed him. You placed your things from the dining room table, your makeshift desk, into your backpack, refilled your water bottle, and took a few seconds to exchange your keys with Henry’s keys. With another glance around the house, making sure you didn’t leave any chargers behind, you walked out the front door and began to adjust Henry’s car to fit your height. You felt like something was off, but you couldn’t describe it. Instead you went to go get your coffee and find a place to park before your frightfully early class.

           “You look knackered,” a voice said behind you as you finally climbed out of the car an hour and a half later. It wasn’t the first time you’d borrowed one of Henry’s cars, but at least it was the humblest of the three he had. The McLaren wasn’t something he even trusted himself to drive sometimes, he’d finally gotten rid of the Clio collecting dust at his parents’ house, and the Aston was his precious baby you didn’t dare go near. But you were endlessly grateful he let you borrow the Merc. You just wished it wasn’t so flashy. It was ten times flashier than the seven-year-old Hyundai you’d inherited from your mother. Especially in the parking spot right in front of the building ten minutes before class where people could see you getting out of it. The voice who’d spoken was Anna, your best friend, and supposed roommate if you ever came home.

           “Trust me when I say that man needs a new coffee machine, because I’m sick of having to leave the house at seven in the morning to go buy some,” you groaned in response, swinging your backpack over your shoulder. It was heavy as hell, but you were carrying most of your things in it because you didn’t have time to go back to your barely lived-in dorm room. Your other hand held your gigantic coffee, the biggest one you could buy because apparently British people preferred caffeine-free tea in the morning. People called you absolutely crazy for getting cold drinks when it was cold outside, too, but you didn’t care.

           “You realize your neck is completely purple, right? I doubt an espresso machine is the reason you’re so tied.” You scoffed at Anna’s statement. In reality it hadn’t been crazy sex keeping you up for the past few nights – you’d been working so late that Henry came up to you the night before and wouldn’t stop biting at your neck until you agreed to come to bed, hoping it would embarrass you into having better sleeping habits. But sex was a much better story.  

           “Is it really bad?” You asked.

           “No. Not from the front.” Anna started walking backwards up the building’s staircase, opening the door for the two of you. Your classroom was the first one on the left, a massive auditorium, because everyone had to take the History of Wagnerian Opera class for some stupid reason. You took your normal places in the bright room, taking your laptops out onto the desks. You fully expected to have to plug it in, but Henry, the ever helpful boyfriend, had plugged it in when he found it half dead the night before.

           “Had a rough night, did you, Yankee?” Another voice asked behind you. It was Isaac, another student you’d been friends with from the moment you stepped on campus.

           “What on Earth gave you that idea?” You asked as you took a sip of coffee. Isaac leaned closer, looking down at the back of the sweatshirt you were wearing. The hood barely covered the top of the lettering on your back. It read Cavill in white letters, and underneath it was the number 01. It was obviously customized, and well-loved judging by the fading English rose that was the logo for Henry’s favorite team. It was about three sizes too large, too, adding to the evidence that the hoodie didn’t belong to you. Isaac and Anna knew you were dating Henry, but most people had no idea. It wasn’t like you were hiding it, because you weren’t. Henry just wanted to protect you from the craziness that came with dating him, including paparazzi and prying eyes that would try to find their way into every little thing you did with or without him. You hadn’t signed an NDA or anything, but Henry was insistent on protecting you for as long as he could. You were fourteen years younger than him and he loved you dearly and nothing could change that.

           “You do realize that the back of your hoodie says HIS name on it, don’t you?” Isaac said quietly, hoping no one else in the auditorium heard.

           “What?” You asked in response. You could feel your face going red.

           “It says Cavill 01.”

           “Oh, shit.” You couldn’t take it off because the only thing you were wearing underneath it was a thin sports bra, and of course Henry’s car was so spotless on the inside that there was no chance of there being an extra shirt in there. Come to think of it, he’d been lounging around in the sweatshirt the night before. Shit, you thought. How could you miss it? How could you screw up that badly? What if this ruined everything?

           “Oh shit is right,” Anna remarked.

           “Does my hair cover it?” Isaac looked down at your hair. The lecture was about to start, but the thought of maybe losing Henry over a hoodie made you want to sit in the corner and cry.    

           “No. Neither does the hood.” You sank lower into the seat.

           “Maybe people won’t care. Cavill’s a common last name here.”

           “No, not really. And I think they will.” You sighed, crossing your arms against your chest.

           “Just don’t mention it to anybody and wear your bag when you can. Problem solved.”

           “I’ll get you something else later,” Anna cut in. In reality everyone already knew something was up. You had mentioned a few times, offhand, that you had almost moved into your boyfriend’s house and was commuting from Kensington. And you mentioned one day that he was an actor, much less that he was one of the most well-known actors in the entire world. Your phone had his name as Hank, and even though the connection wasn’t immediate, it was still enough to make someone think of the name Henry. Damn the British and their overly common name diminutives.

           “I swear to God, I’ll strangle whoever even thinks about it,” you sighed in response, putting your head down until the professor started class. You didn’t need to take notes quite yet, and pulled up the messages between you and Henry. The last night it was just on my way, got the food! And you are an absolute angel. Drive safe. His name wasn’t completely revealed at the conversation.

           We have a problem. Henry started typing immediately.

           You didn’t crash the car, did you????

           No, but that probably would’ve been better…

           Please explain.

           Promise you won’t get mad?

           What’s wrong???

           I picked up your hoodie from last night and it has your name on the back and it hides my neck but it has your name on it and there’s nothing under it so I can’t take it off and I’m freaking out because you don’t want people to know and I’m sorry, I just screwed up so bad. I’m such an idiot.

           It’s okay. Calm down. You’re not an idiot. You’re an absolute moron and I love you anyway

           I’m so sorry. I know you didn’t want anyone to know.

           The only reason I didn’t want anyone to know is because I didn’t want anyone to make you upset because I’m stupidly in love with you and people will try to tell you otherwise. It’ll be okay. If they find out they find out. Don’t worry about it. Really.

           I feel like an idiot now.

           I’m sure you look better in it than I do anyway. Don’t worry about it, love. I’ll see you at home and we’ll figure it out.

           Thank you.

           I love you!!!!

           Love you more dimples.

           You smiled a little, sitting back into your chair and starting to type out notes about the dark undertones within Ride of the Valkyrie. For the rest of class, it was fine. But you couldn’t lie and say you weren’t nervous for your next class. Isaac wasn’t there to back you up, and Anna sat on the other side of the room because you always distracted each other. You were on your own, taking in the scent of Henry’s aftershave that was left on the sweatshirt from the night before. It helped you calm down at least a little, even if the name on the back made you nervous. You sat lower in the chair than usual, but it didn’t stop at least one person knowing.

           “You like Henry Cavill too?” Elizabeth, the most annoying person on Earth (and a completely mediocre pianist with no sense of emotion who only got in because her father works for the royal family), said as she strained to read the sweatshirt on the way to her seat.

           “Yep.” You tried to play it off and wipe out the conversation before it even started. Never before had you wanted to listen to your old white professor rant about other old dead white guys. “He’s a good actor.”

           “I’m, like, so in love with him,” Elizabeth responded. Henry rolled his eyes every single time you said a word about Elizabeth, but you’d never tell her that. “Like, he’s just so dreamy.”

           “Oh, yeah,” you responded without even thinking. “He’s gorgeous.” You didn’t even realize what you said until Elizabeth’s eyes danced with a grin that matched her mouth.

           “You know him?” She exclaimed.

           “I mean, um, yeah, my internship…” you tried to cover, but it definitely didn’t work.

           “Shut up, you know him? Or, oh my gosh, is he the guy you’re dating?” You could tell that all of the color drained from your face and the room suddenly felt hot. You weren’t going to lie about it, but she would also be one of the first few people to know. And it wouldn’t be long before she blabbed her mouth to her followers.

           “I heard he likes younger girls anyway,” Ellen, the girl who sat behind Elizabeth, said. That was the cue for you to realize that everyone else was listening, too, and they couldn’t just mind their business. Your hands shifted uncomfortably inside the pocket of Henry’s sweatshirt. The room was definitely getting warmer.

           “Yeah,” you responded quietly. “We’ve been dating a few months and didn’t want to tell anyone yet. But you figured it out, so congrats.” You swallowed a lump in your throat. On the one hand you were glad that it wasn’t going to be a secret anymore. You didn’t want to hide how much you loved the curly-haired idiot who was too large for his own good.

           “Oh my GOD!” Elizabeth said excitedly. She was a little too loud with it. You just turned back around and pulled out your phone, hands shaking from the anxiety of what Henry had said. He said you were good enough, but what happened when the world was able to judge you?

           Well, Elizabeth figured it out. Not long until she spills to her 22 followers. And then their 22 followers.

           At least I can post that picture you took with me on the beach…

           The ugly one where I almost drowned after? Nooooo please!!!

           Oh that’s not what I was thinking about, but now that you mention it, my fingers might just slip…

           This conversation is DONE, fat Cavill! I swear I’ll punch the dimples right out of you.

           You underestimate me, little one.

           Cavill, this class is an hour long and I swear if I get out and you did something I will make you sleep on your own couch for the next year.

           Guess you’ll just have to fight me when you get home…

           With that, the conversation was over. Most people in the room didn’t seem to notice or care, but Elizabeth and Ellie did. Your friends didn’t for the most part, but you would assume some would turn on you. And you could tell that they were going to do whatever they could to make sure everyone knew that they knew before anyone else. It was strange to think that Henry was being so cool with it, that he wanted there to be a before people knew and an after. You shut your mind off and did your best to focus, even though it wasn’t very well.

           You got up at the end of class and packed your things, ready to brave the library until your next class, but you exited the room and there was someone standing at the entry hallway. Henry. And he was holding another coffee in one hand, and draped on his other arm was a shirt. He’d never been in public with you without some stupid disguise on, much less to bring you coffee in between classes.

           “Henry?” You asked, slightly too loudly. Elizabeth and Ellen turned toward you, but you blew past them to see Henry. He was grinning, from ear to ear.

           “So apparently, according to the internet in the past few minutes I’ve been in the car, I’m cradle robbing. Apparently you’re Instagram-model material, which I could’ve told you,” he said. “I brought you another coffee for dealing with bullshit, and I brought you another shirt in case you want to change.”

           “Can I keep this one?” You asked, looking down at Henry’s that you were still wearing. “And you didn’t post the bad picture of me yet?”

           “No, I was waiting for your approval,” he responded. He reached for his phone and handed it to you, and it was opened to a set of pictures he hadn’t posted yet.

           @henrycavill: The real Mission Impossible is getting her to stay still long enough to take a picture with her favorite old man. To be clear, though; she is MINE and I couldn’t be happier. I will sword-fight ANYONE to defend her honor!!

           It was a series of five pictures, all of them the two of you together, some of them cuter than others, and you just grinned. You couldn’t believe he was okay with everything, and you couldn’t believe that he was actually standing there with you, braving the people in your class just to hand you a coffee and offer you a shirt.

           “I love you,” you said quietly. He smiled in response. “Really.”

           “I love you too. I don’t care who knows.” You laughed and hugged him tightly, even though he was still holding your coffee. “But I do want the Merc back, your car is outside.”

           “Whatever you say, cradle-robber.”

A/N: I’m in an opera history class right now and it’s so frustrating that I’m definitely taking it out here. I hope the person who requests this loves it as much as I did because omg I love this 😭

[electronictimetravelmoose]

Chapter 3, The Attack

Series Masterlist: The Prophet and the Angel

Pairing: Michael x Prophet!Reader

Warnings: none

Wordcount: ~1.4k

--------------------------

Time passed like it always does, bright green trees slowly turned colourful browns and reds and soon enough almost half a year had passed since ‘the second incident' as you called it. It still bothered you sometimes, thoughts swirling around who may have helped you that day and if he was really watching you, but those thoughts were pushed to the back of your head most times. You knew thinking about it too much would make you paranoid again. It was probably just one of your neighbors. That idea came to your mind three months after and since then you just accepted that as a reasonable answer to what happened, but still... Something deep inside you just didn't believe it as you would have liked it too. A small sighed escaped your lips as you sat in the last lesson of your day, staring out of the big clear window of the classroom. It was a usual Thursday religion class. Talking about God, Jesus and the Angels as you often did lately. It was actually a quite interesting topic if you thought about it in detail. Especially interesting were the different types of angels there are, normal Angels, Seraphim, Grigori, Archangels... The latest one always gives you goosebumps when you were thinking or talking about the subject. They are the most powerful and dangerous of all of the angels and certainly heaven's most terrifying weapons, as angels are indeed described as Warriors of God. Your thoughts were now swirling around the topic of the archangels. There were four archangels in total. Michael, the prince of heaven, a protector and defender of the faith, the first archangel there was. Lucifer, the lightbringer, also known as the morningstar, the first angel that fell and Satan. Raphael, the healer and the angel of truth. And the last one... Gabriel, the messenger, the strength of God, the youngest of the four. If they worked together no one could stop them, you thought, probably not even God himself. Before you could think about anything else the bell rang, pulling you out of your thoughts. Packing up your stuff didn't take long and soon enough you were out of school heading to the bus stop with your best friend, Belle. She was walking beside you, talking about the new girl in her english class who she thought was extremely cute. You really tried to listen to what she was saying but you couldn’t focus on the words coming out of her mouth. The Nightmares were getting worse again and the blackouts were increasing by the week. It didn’t make sense anymore but then again it didn’t since the beginning. You couldn’t help but sigh and try to focus back on your friend. “...and then she asked me if I wanted to hang out with her this weekend! Can you believe that? I was so nervous but I tried to play it cool and said ‘sure’ and now we will be hanging out on Saturday!” The words coming out of Belle’s mouth were like a never ending waterfall. “Jesus Belle breath” ,you sighed, “I am happy that you can spend time with your new crush but you can’t do that if you choke on your own words.” You gave her a tired smile. The last time she had a crush it didn’t end so well and you were really hoping it would finally work out for her. “You’re right. I mean it’s not even a date, we are just hanging out. It’s totally normal.” You nodded and the both of you stepped onto the bus that was waiting at the bus stop. You took a seat near the front and continued to talk. “What about you? Is there someone catching your eye?” Belle was wiggling with her eyebrows and you let out a mix between a laugh and a groan.  “Besides the boys haunting my dreams, no, there is no one.” “Boring.” You let out a snort and rolled your eyes. Belle was the only one who knew about your nightmares and the things that have happened over the course of the last few months. You knew she would never judge you for the things you see that probably aren’t even real and you were true. She didn’t, she actually believed you. Especially after you told her the story with your sister and the vision you had beforehand. “Is it getting worse?” The only answer you gave her was a nod. Belle already saw how tired you were that morning and she had given you a pitiful look because of it. She always wished she knew how to help you but there was nothing she could do. The lack of sleep, the nightmare and the stress of your last school year were all resting heavily on your shoulders and only time would tell how long you were going to stand the pressure. Tiredly you rested your head on her shoulder and closed your eyes, focussing on the noises around you to keep you awake and away from the bloodshed. “Hey your mom and brother aren’t home over the weekend right? I could come over tomorrow after school and we could make a movie marathon! We haven’t done that in ages!” Even without looking you knew Belle was beaming, not only because of her suggestion but because she knew it always made you feel better. You smiled softly and nodded. “Yeah I’d like that.” Back at home you were once again alone. You dropped your backpack on the kitchen table and began rummaging through the fridge in search of something to eat. You took out the leftovers of the lasagne your mother had made the previous day for dinner. You took a piece of it and put it on a plate and which you heated in the microwave. You yawned and looked up at the clock hanging over the door frame, 2:14pm. You were thinking about what to do before your mom came home when the ring of the doorbell pulled you out of it. You walked out into the hall and over to the front door. You didn’t even think about looking through the peephole before opening the door as your mind was way too clouded with the lack of sleep to even notice if an elephant was in the room with you or not. “Yeah?” You asked as you looked at the person in front of you. It was a man in his late 40s with blond hair that was slowly graying who seemed to be wearing a really expensive suit. You immediately noted that he didn’t seem to fit in with the neighborhood but he could be visiting someone. A few moments passed in which the guy didn’t say anything. “Can I help you?” “Are you (Y/N) (Y/L/N)?” The man’s voice sounded weird to you but you couldn’t pinpoint how so and you leaned slightly back. You cautiously took a step back and looked closely at him. Something was off about him, but what? “I am, why are you asking?” After that sentence left your mouth everything happened too fast for you to comprehend. Maybe your alarm bells should have rung earlier but a sudden wave of dread washed over you and you tried to slam the door shut in the man’s face. In the last second he put his foot between the door and the frame, blocking it from closing.  Your body and mind were suddenly wide awake and filled with adrenaline. He pushed the door back open and you stumbled a few steps back before your survival instinct kicked in and you bolted for the knife block in your kitchen. The man followed right behind, angrily muttering under his breath as he reached for you, you just took a hold of the biggest knife of the bunch. You whirled around and slammed the knife to the hilt into his chest. You breathed heavily and a wave of shock washed over you. I just stabbed someone! You let go of the knife which was still sunken into the man's chest and took a few steps back. The shock was replaced very quickly with a sense of fear you have never felt before. Without even flinching the man grabbed the hilt and slowly pulled the knife out while holding eye contact you the whole time. He pointed the knife and you and his eyes turned completely black. Oh no… “You shouldn’t have done that little girl. I was tasked to bring you in alive but he didn’t say anything about you being unharmed.” The moment he was about to stab you a white blinding light and high pitched noise filled the kitchen.

--------------------------------

Tagging: @satans-bae-and-queen, @hippogreif-joana

[kokobop-fire]

Birth {Kim SeokJin}

Disclaimer: I don’t own any of the gifts that I use, algo English is not my first language so sorry for any grammar mistakes.

"I already have the results. Everything is fine; you only have what is known as Braxton hicks. It is your body preparing for the delivery" your gynecologist smiled at you. "Now you can go, try to relax and enjoy your last days as much as you can."

She left your room, leaving you alone with Jin; you sighed, relaxing a bit, you placed a hand on your belly, you were sure that you had gone into labor.

"Im really sorry, Jin," you apologized. Jin looked up from his phone, most likely telling the boys that it was a false alarm.

"Jagi, it's not your fault. It's something you can't control" he kissed you on the forehead. "At least it served us as practice."

You smiled slightly. Even so, the guilt did not leave your body. Everything happened fast. One moment you were singing at the top of your lungs and screaming in the middle of the boy's concert, and the next minute, you felt a stabbing pain in your lower belly.

You were as fast as you could backstage, ten minutes later, Jin found himself next to you on the way to the hospital, you felt bad because he left the concert, the fans paid to see the 7 of them.

"Jin ... Really sorry, this was your last concert without being a dad, you had to enjoy it to the fullest. Besides, we weren't ready, it's only two weeks until the baby arrives, and we don't have anything, we don't have a car seat, the nursery is not ready, and the hospital bag is not ... "Jin shut you up with a kiss."

"Honey, don't worry, we will have everything ready for when the baby arrives," He got at the height of your belly, "and you young lady enjoys your time in there, you got me exciting for nothing" she gave you a light kiss belly.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You smiled when Jin painted Jimin's shirt, causing him to start whine; seven days ago, you had begun to have your Braxton Hicks, no day passed that the contractions intensified the pain.

Today the boys were in charge of decorating your princess's room, and you were taking advantage of it to start preparing individual dishes for Jin's birthday, which was the next day.

You were also using it to take care of Jung Hwa and practice when your baby is here. You started to sing to him while you gave him some banana-flavored puff cereal; Jung Hwa started laughing. He had the same smile as his Dad.

"Jagi, the room is ready," you heard Jin's voice; you took Jung Hwa before heading to your baby's future room.

The room was beautiful. Everything was white with purple and pink. There were several butterflies and alpacas you entered your room and took the RJ teddy that was in the crib. "OMG, the room is beautiful, thank you very much, but someone can explain to me what  does this stuffed animal in the baby's crib."

"RJ is my first baby. Let her occupy the crib for a while until my princess arrives," Jin replied with a smile.

"Really, guys, thank you very much for helping me with the nursery; with this, I have almost everything ready for the baby's arrival."

"Anything for our future niece is no problem."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You groaned loudly when you were finally able to get out of bed without Jin's help. You looked at the 12:01 AM clock; it was officially your beautiful Boyfriend's birthday.

You heard how the water fell from the shower. An hour ago, since the boys have left, you entered the kitchen looking for the little cake you had prepared for him. You entered the room, finding Jin sitting on the bed, shirtless and only in his pajama bottoms. He was concentrating on looking at his phone.

Before you could start singing Happy Birthday, Jin looked up, smiling at you. "You remembered our tradition."

You agreed, lighting the candle again. "Of course, this tradition I could fulfill it this year, now make a wish"

The tradition of the little cake started on your first birthday of Jin being his girlfriend, you were just graduating from college, and you didn't have enough money to buy him an expensive gift, so you decided to make him a cake from scratch, something that he loved. And you kept doing it.

Jin closed his eyes for a moment before blowing out the candle. "I'm ready for the next tradition."

"Babe, there's no way I'm going to do it, I look like a whale, and I don't feel sexy." "For me, you are the sexiest woman in the world, and besides this year, you have fewer clothes than other years" Jin winked at you. "Tradition is tradition."

You lowered your gaze to your belly; you only had an old strappy sweater that now fit you like a crop top leaving your giant stomach exposed and some small pajama pants that Jin had to help you put on.

"Do it, babe. I want to see you doing the strip dance."

The other gift you gave Jin for her birthday was a strip dance that became a tradition for her birthday.

You closed your eyes, sighing heavily. "Ready for your eyes to bleed?"

"That will never happen."

You started humming a song while trying to dance "You like this Boy?" You rubbed your belly while trying to dance sexually. You began to move your sweater slightly, letting the hillock of your breasts look more pronounced.

Jin laughed when you tried to lower your pants, but you almost fell in the attempt. "Im going to gag you dead if you keep laughing."

Jin moved his hands over your non-existent waist before lowering them to your butt and spanking you. You moaned slightly for the feeling, "Happy 28th to you, I love you so much, but I can't anymore. My back hurts too much" you lay down on his side.

"Princess, do you have any idea how much I love you and your mother?" he started kissing your belly.

"She Knows, now shut up and lie down to sleep" run a hand through his soft hair.

"I'm sorry, darling, but tradition is tradition, so princess, close your eyes, that dad is going to do terrible things to your mother" you smiled slightly. You could feel the heaviness in your eyes.

"How is it possible that you want to have sex with me right now?"

"Do you know how sexy you are? I always want to have sex with you. I don't know what I did to have a beautiful girlfriend like you. "Jin murmured against your neck.

I was going to answer him when you felt like a liquid began to go down your legs. "Jin, I think my water broke."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You let out another cry when you felt another contraction again. Jin took your hand. "Breathe deeply, Love."

It was already seven in the morning, and the baby gave no signs that she would be out any time soon. "Shut the fuck up, Jin."

You couldn't take the pain anymore; Jin's mother and the boys had already visited you. The boys' visit was quick to avoid attracting attention. During the day, they would go out in public and try to entertain the paparazzi.

Something you were deeply grateful for, the last thing you needed to worry about was the fans and paparazzi.

"If you think about it, maybe the baby and I have the same birthday."

"I know."

Your gynecologist came into your room. "How are you?"

"For the moment, fine, I just can't stand the pain anymore" She nodded slightly before checking your vaginal dilation.

"Well, it's ready to push. You're 8 centimeters. It's enough for you to start pushing" the gynecologist left the room just as began another strong contraction.

"Breath Jagi, the pain will soon end" Jin retook your hand.

"Jin, I love you, so I apologize for anything I say to you for the next few minutes" you connected your lips with his

The gynecologist came back in accompanied by two nurses. "Ready?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Push, you are going to push for the next 5 seconds, keep going," your gynecologist told you before starting counting slightly.

"I Cant" you yelled, interrupting her. Your entire lower back hurt, and you were covered in sweat.

Jin was taking one of your legs to facilitate your birthing position "the next contraction should be in 30 seconds."

"I can't keep pushing," you whimpered. You could feel your whole face hot from the effort. You screamed again when you felt the contraction. You started to push harder.

"I know you can love" Jin lightly wiped the sweat from your forehead.

"The Head has already come out, (Y / N) I need you to push harder for the shoulders to come out" You started Push again.

"Oh my God," you shouted again before feeling the pain magically go away, little cries began to fill the room.

"She is so beautiful, Jagi" Jin had tears in his eyes. The nurse placed the baby on your chest after they cleaned her.

Jin took her in her arms. She looked extremely tiny against Jin's chest. You felt your eyes fill with tears. "Happy birthday. I hope you like my present."

"You are kidding me? I love it. I want another one like that for my next birthday" He leaned in, giving you another kiss on the forehead, before wiping the tears that were running down your face. "Thank you (Y / N). You make me the happiest man in the world.

You smiled at his words. If five years ago they had told you that you were going to go out with an idol and have his baby, you would have laughed in his face. You always imagined that you would end up with a lawyer, but life is full of surprises, and you were grateful that Jin was one of them.

The baby began to cry until they leaned her against your chest again. "I Love You, baby girl" you lightly kissed her little head.

Kim Soo Jin {김수진} Born on  (12/04)

[eak8753]

High School AU 

There were two people at Rebel High that you didn’t mess with. Damian Wayne and Raven Roth. Damian was the son of playboy billionaire Bruce Wayne. He was a violent little shit that got into fights just for the fun of it. He had been kicked out of numerous schools so his Father sent him to the only public school in town as punishment. He could hold himself in a fight and even if he couldn’t, he knew his Father would bail him out of anything.

Raven was a part of the demons, one of the deadliest gangs in America. She was born into it by her Father, as it was her birthright to be a part of it. She was the school's best known drug dealer and had spent the summer before junior year locked up. She had no quarrels with kicking someone’s ass if she needed to, but her preferred method of attack was verbal abuse. Both of them could cut you down to size with a single look and people were far too scared to get on their shit lists. That didn’t stop the rumours though.

“Todd, what are we doing here? I thought you were taking us to get food?” Damian asked his older brother, Jason. He had told their Father that he was grabbing a late lunch, when Alfred had insisted that he take Damian along. That had been thirty minutes ago and they still hadn’t gotten a single thing to eat. Instead they were at some trailer park on the opposite side of the city. The trailers were smaller than his room and it didn’t make sense why Todd would want to come here.

Ignoring his younger brother, Jason got out of the car, banging on one of the trailer's doors. Following his brother's actions -for what reason was beyond him- a man with two dyed white streaks in his primarily black hair, eyes the colour of ambers, covered in tattoos opened the door. looking Jason up and down he motioned for them to come in. Upon entering Damian noticed two things, it was bigger on the inside, and the place reeked of weed.

“I need papes*” Jason told the man once they walked in. “What happened to the ones I gave you?” the man questioned turning the T.V off. Damian always had to marvel at how differently they all handled their problems. Todd used drugs and alcohol, Drake would isolate himself, Grayson would throw himself into work, and Damian used violence. Sure they each tended to do what the others did -minus Damian and drugs- but they all seemed more prone to do one thing.

Damian was snapped out of his thoughts when he heard a girl’s voice, one he had heard a couple of times before. “Hey fuckhead” the girl said, anger evident in her voice. Turning to the sound he looked at a form dressed in a white tank top, black sweatpants, and a bat in hand. Right in front of him was Rebel High’s most feared female; Raven Roth. “Shit” the man Jason had asked papes for pailed. “Rae…” he said trailing off as she went towards the television. She glared at the man, then proceeded to take the bat and swing it into the T.V. effectively rendering it useless. Glass shards fell to the ground, all the while the lavender haired girl never took her eyes off the man.

“What the fuck Raven” the man yelled at the young women, looking back from the shattered T.V. to her. “Remember this next time you wanna go through my shit” she said walking up to him, stopping only a few feet away, dropping the bat. “As your older brother I can go through your crap whenever I want to, and how else was I gonna find out that you’re fucking a thirty year old” the dark haired man replied, still in disbelief over the events that took place not even five minutes ago. “Simple, you don’t. Besides it’s not like it would be the first time” the girl replied with venom, clearly still angry, for what was lost to Damian.

The Roth siblings glared at each other, while the Wayne brothers -or the ones there at least- kept glancing at each other, in mild confusion and fear. She looked at him for a moment. Damian had never had a conversation with the young dealer. She rarely ever spoke unless it was to rip someone apart, disrespect someone -who more often than not deserved it- or was to talk about deals. Seeing as Damian and her didn’t run in the same crowd -that of which meant he was popular, thus meaning he sat with popular people and she was always by herself- and he didn’t have a purpose for drugs, they never spoke. Although they did have English together. Turning back to face her brother she flipped him off and walked out the door.

Damian briefly wondered if he had been possessed as he saw her walk out the door, slamming it. He didn’t want her to leave, which was unusual in itself since he wasn’t much of a people person. Looking at the two older men before him, Damian ran out of the trailer home, running up to the young girl, calling out her name.

Stopping a couple of meters in front of him she slowly turned around, her arms crossed in front of her, confusion visible on her face. “Wayne?” she questioned, raising an eyebrow as he ran the last few meters to her. “Hey, I um” he stammered, suddenly his mouth felt dry. Despite other’s beliefs, he had no clue how to talk to teenage girls, especially ones who were just as explosive as him. He knew he had to be cautious, not say or do anything that might make her upset.

“I didn’t know you had a brother” he said casually. “I have five more,” she said, never letting her defences down. Why was Damian Wayne talking to her? It didn’t make any sense, and honestly she couldn’t be bothered to figure out the truth at the moment. She hadn’t eaten yet and was fully aware of how violent and rude she could be if she didn’t eat. “Really? Where are they” he asked with genuine interest. He was observant and used that to his advantage, he pretty much had everyone at Rebel’s High story -or the basics of it- figured out, all’s except her’s.

“Prison” she answered sharply, turning on her heel, she started walking again. Then a hand reached out to latch on to her own, effectively stopping her. Spinning around to him, she looked at his hand on her arm, then at him. Did he have a death wish? Moving his hand from her after a moment -way to quickly, he noted- he went to speak, but was beaten to it. “Look Damian, if my brother asked you to check up on me-“ “Your brother didn’t tell me to do shit. I just wanted to make sure you were okay” he cut her off, nonchalantly.

She was suspicious, he could see that but she didn’t ask “why” which he was grateful for. Honestly Damian didn’t know why he did it, maybe it was because something about Raven had always intrigued him or that she had yet to throw herself at him but he did want to make sure she was okay. Plus if what her brother said about the thirty year old was true, he wanted that pedophile to get locked up.

“I’m guessing you’re one of the shithead brothers Jay is alway complaining about?” She asked him after a moment, still keeping her guards up. Raising his eyebrow slightly he crossed his arms. “He talks about you guys, so are you Kiss Up, Replacement or Demon Spawn?” the girl question. “Demon Spawn, definitely Demon Spawn” the boy answered, smirking.

Sure being called a demon spawn wasn’t something to be proud of, but honestly he couldn’t give two shits. When he first went to live with his Father seven years ago he purposefully was a disobedient, cruel, nasty child, something he undoubtedly would be punished for when he lived with his Mother and Grandfather. He also really liked the names for his other older brothers. Kiss Up had to be Grayson, Father was always comparing everything the others did to their eldest brother. Replacement must have been Drake then, which for Todd was fitting, considering he was adopted a few months after Father had sent Todd off to boarding school in London.

Tuning back into his conversation with Raven he asked “what does he say about us?” “53% of the time it's complaints, 17% is talking about how we should sell him a gun“ this shocked Damian for two reasons; why did Todd need a gun? And he didn’t know the Roths dealt them. Of course he wasn’t stupid and valued his life so he brushed it off as if he already knew these things. “What about the remaining 30%?” The young Wayne asked. At that Raven just grinned.

It was then that she came closer to him, he stood still, tensing up at the contact. He didn’t really like being around people, females no less. He had only really ever had two females close to him; his mother and ex girlfriend, both of which were no longer a part of his life. Raven, being completely oblivious to his uneasiness reached forward for the front of his jacket, playing with the unzipped sides before looking up at him. “Is that a Balmain Biker Jacket*” she questioned, still playing with the sides. “Yeah it is, how did you…” he trailed off, looking at her suspiciously. “Just because I can't afford it doesn’t mean I don't know what it is,” she smirked.

He looked at her a bit sheepishly, then she quickly pulled away from him. For some reason he liked having her close to him, but he brushed it off as wanting physical contact from a female -that he was comfortable with- after going months without it.

“I'm hungry” she stated, and started walking away. Before he could do anything she turned to him again with a raised brow. “Well, are you coming?” She asked. It took him a moment to realize what had happened. Raven Roth had just asked him if he was going to eat with her, it really wasn’t her style. He had rumours that she had slept with -or done something similar- with almost every guy at school. He didn’t think she did dates, then again this wasn’t a date. Did he want it to be a date? That was a question he didn’t need answered at the moment, running up to her he made sure to leave a good five inches of space between them.

Entering Big Belly Burger, they sat down at a booth, across from each other. “Need help deciding what you want,” Raven asked with an amusing smile, clearly teasing him. It wasn't a secret that Damian always had the best of everything; clothes, technology, and food. He knew that she thought that this was his first time coming to a Big Belly Burger, or any fast food place. Yes it was true he didn’t usually go to places that served food high in fat, but he did indulge once in a while, this being one of those times. “Nope” he answered, popping the P, as the waitress came over to them.

“What will it be?” The waitress asked, who Damian quickly realized was a new girl who went to their school, a sophomore he believed. “I'll have a grilled chicken burger and an ice tea, with a side of fries” Raven said, putting the menu down. “I'll have the same thing except for a surprise veg burger” Damian responded to the waitress. Looking up from her notepad, she looked both of them over, registering who exactly was in front of her.

“Holy shit, you’re Damian Wayne” it wasn’t really a question but he nodded anyways. Immediately she became much more cheery. She patted her uniform skirt down, fixed her hair slightly and put on a bright smile. “So what brings you here” she said, he cringed internally at the overused pickup line. He found it a little disrespectful that she would try and talk to him when he was clearly in the middle of something with another person. The complete disregard for Raven infuriated.

He gestured towards the purple haired girl in front of him, the waitress just scoffed. “You certainly are a cheap date” she said to Raven. “Didn’t know you were into rich boys, then again I wouldn’t put being a gold digger past you. Or is the trailer trash you’re used to just not cutting it anymore, you would sleep with anyone who wants it” she said with clear disgust, Raven for her part was keeping her cool, she didn’t even seem bothered by what this girl was insinuating. Damian knew the rumours, and what her brother said didn’t help her case, but she didn’t have to take this kind of treatment.

Looking away from Raven, the younger girl looked Damian, bright smile again. “You know you don’t have to go through the trouble of buying this skank lunch right? I mean you could do so much better-“ no doubt referring to herself, he thought “-and she never needed to be dined before. I heard that she” “I don’t give two shits what you heard about her. Now can you please go get us our fucking food” Damian snapped. The girl, slightly taken aback by his outrage, just nodded and left, all the while having Damian glare at her.

Looking back to Raven he saw her brow raised, something he noticed she did a lot. “You know you could report her right, get her fired. No doubt that she deserves it” he said, still not understanding how she managed not to be angry. “It’s not that big of a deal” she shrugged, playing with a ketchup packet. Not that big of a deal? She had just been disrespected and thinks it isn’t a big deal.

Then a thought struck him. “Does that happen often” he questioned, although deep down he already knew the answer. She pretended to think for a moment. “All the time” she answered, leaning back in her seat. “You don’t have to take it,” he said, placing his hands on the table leaning forward slightly. “Look, I'm a Roth” she sighed. “People are always gonna talk. If she wasn’t bitching about me being a slut, then it would about me being a dealer” she said, eyes pleading with him to just drop it.

“That's fucked up” he said, staring out the window. “I come from a pretty fucked up family” she responded with a smile in her voice. “Yeah, my family’s pretty shit too” he stated, still not looking at her. He was upset with his Father for not knowing about him until he was ten years old, he was upset with his Mother for not telling his Father about him, but more importantly he was upset that they both never treated him like a normal child, then again Damian wasn’t a normal child.

“Damian” Raven's voice snapped him from his thoughts, turning to look at her; she had an incredulity face. “From what I heard you have a pretty great family” she stated matter of factly. Seeing the look of confusion on his face she elaborated. “I know that your Father is sort of a distant asshole, but he also has a multibillion dollar company to run, so he can’t exactly be there for all of you. Clearly he shouldn’t have so many kids but you all turned out pretty fine. The worst of you being Jason, dubbed by the media, and all he really does is smoke weed” she gave her two cents. She wasn’t wrong, in fact she was completely on the nose. Damian understood why his Father was away all the time, but a part of him still wished he could see him after he came home from school like most kids.

“Still wish he’d be there for us sometimes though. We really only see him on Fridays for a mandatory family dinner” Damian said, a hint of bitterness in his voice. “Family dinner sounds nice, if my Father isn’t locked up then he’s doing something to get locked up” she responded as their food arrived, thankfully it was a different waitress this time. “How much time has he done?” The young man questioned, taking a sip of his ice tea. “30 years on and off” she answered, taking a bite of her fries.

“So, what’s your story?” She asked him after about three minutes of silence. It wasn’t an awkward silence though, and he actually quite enjoyed it. When he was with his -now ex- girlfriend she hated the silence and would talk for hours, which was fine with Damian if it meant he didn’t have to talk about himself. Obviously this tactic wasn’t going to work with Raven.

“I don’t have one” he simply answered, taking a bite from his burger. “Bullshit” she said, taking a sip of her drink. “Everyone's got a story, whether they acknowledge it or not” she stated. “If that’s true then you must have one” he countered, crossing his arms and leaning back into his seat. “Yeah I do, but I asked first” she shrugged, reaching over and grabbing one of his fries.

His eyes followed his fry in her hands, all the way to her mouth, looking up he realized she had been watching him the whole time, sighing he had no other choice but to answer the young woman. “I grew up with my Mother and Grandfather. They took care of me and taught me how to defend myself. After my Grandfather was killed my Mother had trouble taking care of us, so she brought me to my father.”

“Apparently he didn’t even know I was born and made me take a DNA test to determine if I was even his or not. Surprise surprise, I was. I’ve been living with him ever since, sometimes my Mother comes to visit but I wish she would just leave me alone” at her confused face he explained. “My mother was mentally abusive, and kept me isolated from most of the world. It wasn’t until I lived with my Father that I realized how shitty she was though” he finished, taking another bite from his burger.

They just sat there for a while, unmoving. That was until he reached out to take a sip of her drink, she followed the movements with a raised brow, at his smirk she slightly chuckled. “So...” he drawled out, indicating for her to finish, she sighed. “I lived with my mother up until I was eight” she started. “She was murdered and I was taken. Apparently my father didn’t take too kindly to her running off after they found out she was pregnant.”

”Of course I was beyond angry at him for what he did to my mother. Sure she was a bitch at times but she was the only person I had. He went to jail, for unrelated reasons, after that. My brothers were in and out of the house, so I enlisted in school and about four months later he was released. Forced me into the family business. High school kids are more prone to buy drugs than adults. Of course then the rumours came and he totally lost his shit. Went full on psycho, I had to leave for a while so I got my ass thrown in juvie. While I was locked up he got caught for some shit and now has to do 18 months with a chance of parole in 12” she replied in a monotone voice, not betraying how she actually felt.

“Why’d he go psycho” the youngest Wayne questioned, what rumours had her Father heard that would make her want to go to juvie. “That I was a slut” Damian couldn’t help but snort at that. “Yeah, he thought that I was doing it with everyone; high schoolers, felons, junkies, guys in their thirties” she gave him a small smile as she finished her burger. It was odd, he had never told anyone as much as he had told her. He believed that his mind was something for him and him alone, which drove everyone else crazy. But for some reason he was willing to tell her all of his inner thoughts. Then it struck him.

Thought? What do you mean he thought you did those things. No offence, but you have done those things” he told her with a face of confusion. She looked at him with dull eyes, and shook her head slightly. “I've only slept with one man, Damian, and it wasn’t even consensually” she said with the utmost seriousness, then again when wasn’t she serious? “What...what about the rumours?” he probed with a frown, he believed her, he was just taken aback that someone would spread such nasty lies about another person.

“A few weeks after I started school I was invited to this girl’s birthday party. There was this boy there and he tried to kiss me, I said no. Next thing I knew he told everyone that we had hooked up. Guess he got some of his friends into it too, because they made up shit as well” she shrugged, taking another one of his fries. “Why didn’t you deny it?” He asked. “I did it, but by then the damage was done. It only got worse when I became a freshmen” her eyes had clouded over, as if she was remembering something; something particularly painful.

“What about the guy your brother was talking about?” He inquired, looking her over. Snapping back into reality she answered. “My brother doesn’t know shit. I'm not sleeping with the guy, he's my Social Worker. I have to report to him every two weeks on how shit in my life’s going and based on that he deems whether I can continue living with my father or not” obviously she hadn’t told him the truth, or the entire truth at least. There was no way he would let her live with that maniac if he knew what really happened.

Her words bounced around in his mind. “I’ve only slept with one man, and it wasn’t even consensual. Wasn’t even consensual” she hadn’t given consent. “You were raped” he blurted out. she looked at him with a face of indifference. “Well I wouldn’t go so far to say that-“ “did you and this man have intercourse?” He cut her off. “Yes” she answered honestly, “did you give him consent” “No” she shook her head. “That means you were raped-“ she was about to protest but he continued “-he invaded your body without asking or having permission.”

“Even if you had given consent, that still makes him a pedophile, you have to report this” he couldn’t believe this. The girl everyone had belittled for being a slut was actually a rape victim. “I can't,” she whispered. “Why not” he raised his voice slightly, maybe she didn’t understand the magnitude of this situation, but he did. “Because in some fucked up way...I care about him” she laughed but there was no humour in it. Looking up at him he noticed the unshed tears in her eyes, and he knew that this was hurting her, breaking her. She was pleading with him to drop it. “Rae...” he trailed off, he was sorry for her, not in a pity kind of way, but in a you-don’t-deserve-this kind of way.

“Look,” she said, straightening up a bit. “It happened years ago, I have no way to prove that it even happened. The bastard is already in jail anyways” she said, reaching across the table to put her hand over his, not to take a fry. She smiled at him softly, he didn’t agree with her and was willing to take this to court, even pay for a lawyer, but there wasn’t much he could do if she didn’t want to. So, he just returned the smile.

It was weird, less than an hour ago he hadn’t spoken to her once, and now it felt like they knew each other better than anyone else. He had just thought of her as a skanky dealer, another criminal that should be locked up. It was true, what she had said, that everybody has a story. He silently vowed to never judge another person without truly knowing their story first. This may have been their first conversation, but something told him it wouldn’t be their last.

***

A/N: This came to me when I was watching Euphoria and Shameless videos :)

Papes - The paper you roll weed up in (I think, don’t know if that’s how you spell it)

Balmain Biker Jacket is this expensive leather jacket

[tblpress]

The day before James Spader won an Emmy for his portrayal of Alan Shore, the morally dubious lawyer on “The Practice,” the actor was at the Franklin D. Murphy Sculpture Garden at UCLA, admiring the statues -- especially the female forms. “Look at the beautiful curve of her back, right at the base of her spine,” he said, noticing a dancer at the top of Robert Graham’s “Dance Columns.” “It’s the most perfect curve in nature.” Then Spader felt a breeze and started ambling in the other direction. “I just want to walk into it,” he explained. “Oh, my God, that is nice.”

The sculpture garden, a favorite hideaway of Spader’s, brought out in him a charming mix of formality and earthiness. When Gaston Lachaise’s bronze powerhouse “Standing Woman” caught his eye, the memories rushed out. “My sons, when they were growing up, always enjoyed her rather ample” -- here he used a word not proper for this newspaper but that means “derriere” -- “and her rather ample breasts,” he said. The boys, Sebastian, now 15, and Ellijah, 12, would come here with their scooters. “So you come around,” Spader explained, “and lo and behold, you have that beautiful” -- that word again -- “over there. You can hardly resist scootering by and giving her a poke. She has nice calves too. She’s ample everywhere. She’s spectacular.”

James Spader, network TV star: To anyone familiar with the 44-year-old actor and his work, it sounds almost absurd. With the outre air of highbrow naughtiness and deep but slightly distracted intelligence he’s been known for since his 1989 big-screen breakthrough in “sex, lies, and videotape,” Spader could hardly have cooked up a more improbable career move. And yet starting tonight on “Boston Legal,” the new David E. Kelley show spun off from “The Practice,” TV viewers will get a weekly taste of the actor who has specialized in finding an endearing human side to wealthy school bullies, creepy cocaine dealers and sensuous sadomasochists.

Spader headed toward a section of the UCLA campus blanketed by California sycamores that he and his sons, he said, often climb and swing from. “See that?” he asked, pushing a branch down. “This is a perfect perching spot. I’d do it more aggressively, but there’s people around and it makes them nervous.”

Making people nervous is, of course, a Spader trademark.

“When we first went to the network about James, they shrieked in horror,” Kelley said. “James Spader is not a network face. They didn’t think he was the kind of persona American audiences would want to welcome into the living room on a weekly basis. But once we began to focus on him, he was the only choice. What James does so well is there’s a nucleus to this character that is humane and decent. He manages to let that nucleus shine through even when he’s committing egregious, contemptible acts. You don’t know if you like him or not, but you can’t wait to see him next.”

Kelley hired Spader to play the brilliant agitator whose dirty ways forced the firm of Young, Frutt and Berluti on “The Practice” to close its doors last year, after ABC slashed the show’s budget, forcing Kelley to fire half his cast. Spader, whose most recent television appearance had been a guest spot on “Seinfeld” in 1997, was supposed to play Alan Shore only long enough to shake things up.

“The goal in the beginning was to bring new life to the show, and the luxury we had as storytellers was that we didn’t have to protect the character for the sake of a long series run,” Kelley said. “You can only do so many things with a character that are overtly unlikable and still keep him redeeming and a character that people want to tune into and cheer for. Since we didn’t have that burden, we could swing away with him.”

The high-end firm of Crane, Poole and Schmidt might prove a better fit for Shore, who will be surrounded by other conniving legal eagles, including William Shatner as his boss, Denny Crane, and colleagues played by a cast including Rhona Mitra, Lake Bell, Monica Potter and Mark Valley. Alan Shore, Kelley promised, will “defy this law firm as he defies the conventions of regular characters on television.”

“When we watch James, there’s a lot of unknown complicated stuff in his mind, but we don’t know what that stuff is,” said Steve Shainberg, who directed Spader in “Secretary” (2002). “There’s something very unusual about him we can’t put our finger on, but that makes it more intriguing and exciting -- God help us.”

Yet for all the unpredictability that comes across on screen, Spader’s “Boston Legal” co-stars described him as meticulous, exact and particular on set.

“He’s always looking for the truth of the moment, and he gets fidgety when it’s not there,” said Shatner, who won a guest actor Emmy for his portrayal of Crane on “The Practice.” “He becomes as recalcitrant as a donkey until he can find the right way to deliver a line. He never says a word that doesn’t seem to come from the organic character. That’s because James himself is a little weird. But we love him for it.”

The Un-Brat Pack career

Two days after Spader nabbed the top acting award for a drama series, beating out television heavy hitters James Gandolfini, Martin Sheen, Kiefer Sutherland and Anthony LaPaglia, he was on the “Boston Legal” set at Raleigh Studios in Manhattan Beach. Three episodes of the show were being shot simultaneously, and he had found no time yet to contemplate his win. The Emmy, he said, was tucked away in a corner full of boxes as Spader, who recently separated from his wife, Victoria, waited to move into a new house.

“I was surprised at how quickly I lost the feeling of stunned confusion and ignorant bliss and how quickly it turned into work and pragmatism,” Spader said. “The award doesn’t mean anything to me -- and I don’t mean that in a derogatory sense. I just haven’t had time to go there yet. Even when my older son called to congratulate me, we moved rather swiftly on to the subject of an upcoming concert” -- the Pixies at the Greek Theatre -- “and the best way to score tickets, which is a much more constructive conversation for us.”

Like other actors who started taking shape in the ‘80s, Spader could easily have cultivated a Brat Pack aura. Instead, he went for a more original brand of alienation, playing seemingly WASPY characters with a devious air and an anti-WASPY erotic charge to them. The roles he took in movies such as “White Palace” (1990), “The Music of Chance” (1993), “Stargate” (1994) and “Crash” (1996) didn’t always hit big but always set him apart -- none more so than “Secretary,” in which Spader played E. Edward Grey, a lawyer who draws his self-mutilating young secretary into a joyful S&M; relationship.

“James is very formal and specific and respectful,” said Maggie Gyllenhaal, his costar. “I remember when we shot a five-page scene in which Mr. Grey asks me not to cut myself anymore, James noticed and responded to everything I did: every breath I took, every shift of my gaze, every movement of my hand. His work is very specific.”

And that, according to Camryn Manheim, who starred on “The Practice” for eight years, can be intimidating. “After you saw ‘Secretary,’ wouldn’t you be scared to go on a date with him?” Manheim said, laughing.

“I was scared of him,” she added. “He’s weird and strange and eccentric, and I mean a lot of that in the very best way. He plays all of these sexually charged characters. He looks at you too hard, like he’s got your number. But behind all of that, he’s a very simple man who is very thoughtful and insightful about the world and humanity.”

Confronted with the praise of his colleagues, Spader took a deep breath and looked skeptical. “Maybe this thing they are describing is just obsessive-compulsive. It just seems to be what the job is, to just try and get the right intention of whatever ... you’re saying. Who is to say if whether what you end up tumbling toward is the right place when you’re standing on your feet in the middle of it? I’ve had a lot of fun acting, and that’s been the only reason to continue doing it.”

Spader, who dropped out of the 11th grade to pursue acting in New York, attributes his interest in acting to the love of storytelling he inherited from his family. The son of teachers Todd and Jean Spader, the actor grew up with two sisters on the campus of Phillips Academy, a fancy Massachusetts prep school. “My father was an English teacher and he taught literature and poetry, and my parents would read aloud and my grandparents read aloud,” Spader said. “My grandfather would write stories and we would make up little plays to read and perform during the holidays. There was always a tremendous amount of humor in all the households I spent time in.”

But there were other reasons for wanting to become an actor. “I started doing theater when I started thinking of nothing but girls,” he said. “I can’t imagine that the two don’t relate. I don’t mean to be glib. In sports and in many other areas, girls and boys are separated. But in theater, you’re all mixed in together. How can it get any better than that?”

Being an actor, for Spader, has never been about celebrity. The press tent for interviews with winners at the Emmys came as a surprise and an “indignity,” he said jokingly. When someone at the Governors Ball on Emmy night remarked how rare it is that Spader has succeeded at being famous and simultaneously living a private life, the actor was incredulous.

“I don’t try to be mysterious,” Spader explained later. “I just protect my private life very carefully. I don’t go out a great deal. To see and be seen I could care less about. I don’t go to see movies at big premieres. If I go out, I go to a quiet place for a meal or I might go to listen to live music with a whole lot of people who are more interested in listening to the music than who is sitting next to them at the show.”

His new TV world

Spader may be on his way to television stardom, but he has never followed a television show from beginning to end -- the way he hopes viewers of “Boston Legal” will.

“That’s something I had no concept of,” Spader said. “Working on the show, I was experiencing the same anticipation for what was going to happen from week to week as the people who were watching it. When you do a film, you know what is going to happen to your character from start to finish. I knew very little about Alan Shore at the end of last season, and I still don’t. I like that constant shift because what I like the most about all of this is the telling of the story.”

What he likes the least is the fuss. He refused to hire a stylist for Emmy night, picking out his tuxedo and shoes himself. He did not prepare a speech. When his name was announced, Spader charmed the crowd by complimenting the women in the room: “You’ve all made wonderful choices in shoes and dresses tonight, and you all look absolutely beautiful.”

“I realized I was going to have to put together some sentences quickly and I wasn’t going to be yet another person to make a music joke,” Spader said. “It worked so well when the gentleman from ‘Arrested Development’ made the singing reference, but I knew that that couldn’t be used again, and certainly not by me. I really don’t have any idea what ... I was saying. Certainly, during the course of the four hours that I was there I had spent enough time admiring women’s shoes and dresses and how well they filled them.”

But as offhand as he may be about that trophy, it’s fitting somehow that Spader will be in the rare position of starting his new gig already having won an Emmy for the role. To his surprise as much as anyone’s, the TV gods have smiled on him. “Does anybody have any illusions about the fact that the Emmys come at the beginning of the television season? The timing seems precise to me,” he said. “And I think it’s grand.”

[yetanothercodetester]

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3 May. Bistritz. Left Munich at 8:35 P.M, on 1st May, arriving at Vienna early next morning; should have arrived at 6:46, but train was an hour late. Buda-Pesth seems a wonderful place, from the glimpse which I got of it from the train and the little I could walk through the streets. I feared to go very far from the station, as we had arrived late and would start as near the correct time as possible.

The impression I had was that we were leaving the West and entering the East; the most western of splendid bridges over the Danube, which is here of noble width and depth, took us among the traditions of Turkish rule.

We left in pretty good time, and came after nightfall to Klausenburgh. Here I stopped for the night at the Hotel Royale. I had for dinner, or rather supper, a chicken done up some way with red pepper, which was very good but thirsty. (Mem. get recipe for Mina.) I asked the waiter, and he said it was called "paprika hendl," and that, as it was a national dish, I should be able to get it anywhere along the Carpathians.

I found my smattering of German very useful here, indeed, I don't know how I should be able to get on without it.

Having had some time at my disposal when in London, I had visited the British Museum, and made search among the books and maps in the library regarding Transylvania; it had struck me that some foreknowledge of the country could hardly fail to have some importance in dealing with a nobleman of that country.

I find that the district he named is in the extreme east of the country, just on the borders of three states, Transylvania, Moldavia, and Bukovina, in the midst of the Carpathian mountains; one of the wildest and least known portions of Europe.

I was not able to light on any map or work giving the exact locality of the Castle Dracula, as there are no maps of this country as yet to compare with our own Ordance Survey Maps; but I found that Bistritz, the post town named by Count Dracula, is a fairly well-known place. I shall enter here some of my notes, as they may refresh my memory when I talk over my travels with Mina.

In the population of Transylvania there are four distinct nationalities: Saxons in the South, and mixed with them the Wallachs, who are the descendants of the Dacians; Magyars in the West, and Szekelys in the East and North. I am going among the latter, who claim to be descended from Attila and the Huns. This may be so, for when the Magyars conquered the country in the eleventh century they found the Huns settled in it.

I read that every known superstition in the world is gathered into the horseshoe of the Carpathians, as if it were the centre of some sort of imaginative whirlpool; if so my stay may be very interesting. (Mem., I must ask the Count all about them.)

I did not sleep well, though my bed was comfortable enough, for I had all sorts of queer dreams. There was a dog howling all night under my window, which may have had something to do with it; or it may have been the paprika, for I had to drink up all the water in my carafe, and was still thirsty. Towards morning I slept and was wakened by the continuous knocking at my door, so I guess I must have been sleeping soundly then.

I had for breakfast more paprika, and a sort of porridge of maize flour which they said was "mamaliga", and egg-plant stuffed with forcemeat, a very excellent dish, which they call "impletata". (Mem.,get recipe for this also.)

I had to hurry breakfast, for the train started a little before eight, or rather it ought to have done so, for after rushing to the station at 7:30 I had to sit in the carriage for more than an hour before we began to move.

It seems to me that the further east you go the more unpunctual are the trains. What ought they to be in China?

All day long we seemed to dawdle through a country which was full of beauty of every kind. Sometimes we saw little towns or castles on the top of steep hills such as we see in old missals; sometimes we ran by rivers and streams which seemed from the wide stony margin on each side of them to be subject ot great floods. It takes a lot of water, and running strong, to sweep the outside edge of a river clear.

At every station there were groups of people, sometimes crowds, and in all sorts of attire. Some of them were just like the peasants at home or those I saw coming through France and Germany, with short jackets, and round hats, and home-made trousers; but others were very picturesque.

The women looked pretty, except when you got near them, but they were very clumsy about the waist. They had all full white sleeves of some kind or other, and most of them had big belts with a lot of strips of something fluttering from them like the dresses in a ballet, but of course there were petticoats under them.

The strangest figures we saw were the Slovaks, who were more barbarian than the rest, with their big cow-boy hats, great baggy dirty-white trousers, white linen shirts, and enormous heavy leather belts, nearly a foot wide, all studded over with brass nails. They wore high boots, with their trousers tucked into them, and had long black hair and heavy black moustaches. They are very picturesque, but do not look prepossessing. On the stage they would be set down at once as some old Oriental band of brigands. They are, however, I am told, very harmless and rather wanting in natural self-assertion.

It was on the dark side of twilight when we got to Bistritz, which is a very interesting old place. Being practically on the frontier--for the Borgo Pass leads from it into Bukovina--it has had a very stormy existence, and it certainly shows marks of it. Fifty years ago a series of great fires took place, which made terrible havoc on five separate occasions. At the very beginning of the seventeenth century it underwent a siege of three weeks and lost 13,000 people, the casualties of war proper being assisted by famine and disease.

Count Dracula had directed me to go to the Golden Krone Hotel, which I found, to my great delight, to be thoroughly old-fashioned, for of course I wanted to see all I could of the ways of the country.

I was evidently expected, for when I got near the door I faced a cheery-looking elderly woman in the usual peasant dress--white undergarment with a long double apron, front, and back, of coloured stuff fitting almost too tight for modesty. When I came close she bowed and said, "The Herr Englishman?"

"Yes," I said, "Jonathan Harker."

She smiled, and gave some message to an elderly man in white shirt-sleeves, who had followed her to the door.

He went, but immediately returned with a letter:

"My friend.--Welcome to the Carpathians. I am anxiously expecting you. Sleep well tonight. At three tomorrow the diligence will start for Bukovina; a place on it is kept for you. At the Borgo Pass my carriage will await you and will bring you to me. I trust that your journey from London has been a happy one, and that you will enjoy your stay in my beautiful land.--Your friend, Dracula."

4 May--I found that my landlord had got a letter from the Count, directing him to secure the best place on the coach for me; but on making inquiries as to details he seemed somewhat reticent, and pretended that he could not understand my German.

This could not be true,because up to then he had understood it perfectly; at least, he answered my questions exactly as if he did.

He and his wife, the old lady who had received me, looked at each other in a frightened sort of way. He mumbled out that the money had been sent in a letter,and that was all he knew. When I asked him if he knew Count Dracula, and could tell me anything of his castle, both he and his wife crossed themselves, and, saying that they knew nothing at all,simply refused to speak further. It was so near the time of starting that I had no time to ask anyone else, for it was all very mysterious and not by any means comforting.

Just before I was leaving, the old lady came up to my room and said in a hysterical way: "Must you go? Oh! Young Herr, must you go?" She was in such an excited state that she seemed to have lost her grip of what German she knew, and mixed it all up with some other language which I did not know at all. I was just able to follow her by asking many questions. When I told her that I must go at once, and that I was engaged on important business, she asked again:

"Do you know what day it is?" I answered that it was the fourth of May. She shook her head as she said again:

"Oh, yes! I know that! I know that, but do you know what day it is?"

On my saying that I did not understand, she went on:

"It is the eve of St. George's Day. Do you not know that to-night, when the clock strikes midnight, all the evil things in the world will have full sway? Do you know where you are going, and what you are going to?" She was in such evident distress that I tried to comfort her, but without effect. Finally, she went down on her knees and implored me not to go; at least to wait a day or two before starting.

It was all very ridiculous but I did not feel comfortable. However, there was business to be done, and I could allow nothing to interfere with it.

I tried to raise her up, and said, as gravely as I could, that I thanked her, but my duty was imperative, and that I must go.

She then rose and dried her eyes, and taking a crucifix from her neck offered it to me.

I did not know what to do, for, as an English Churchman, I have been taught to regard such things as in some measure idolatrous, and yet it seemed so ungracious to refuse an old lady meaning so well and in such a state of mind.

She saw, I suppose, the doubt in my face, for she put the rosary round my neck and said, "For your mother's sake," and went out of the room.

I am writing up this part of the diary whilst I am waiting for the coach, which is, of course, late; and the crucifix is still round my neck.

Whether it is the old lady's fear, or the many ghostly traditions of this place, or the crucifix itself, I do not know, but I am not feeling nearly as easy in my mind as usual.

If this book should ever reach Mina before I do, let it bring my good-bye. Here comes the coach!

5 May. The Castle.--The gray of the morning has passed, and the sun is high over the distant horizon, which seems jagged, whether with trees or hills I know not, for it is so far off that big things and little are mixed.

I am not sleepy, and, as I am not to be called till I awake, naturally I write till sleep comes.

There are many odd things to put down, and, lest who reads them may fancy that I dined too well before I left Bistritz, let me put down my dinner exactly.

I dined on what they called "robber steak"--bits of bacon, onion, and beef, seasoned with red pepper, and strung on sticks, and roasted over the fire, in simple style of the London cat's meat!

The wine was Golden Mediasch, which produces a queer sting on the tongue, which is, however, not disagreeable.

I had only a couple of glasses of this, and nothing else.

When I got on the coach, the driver had not taken his seat, and I saw him talking to the landlady.

They were evidently talking of me, for every now and then they looked at me, and some of the people who were sitting on the bench outside the door--came and listened, and then looked at me, most of them pityingly. I could hear a lot of words often repeated, queer words, for there were many nationalities in the crowd,so I quietly got my polyglot dictionary from my bag and looked them out.

I must say they were not cheering to me, for amongst them were "Ordog"--Satan, "Pokol"--hell, "stregoica"--witch, "vrolok" and "vlkoslak"--both mean the same thing, one being Slovak and the other Servian for something that is either werewolf or vampire. (Mem.,I must ask the Count about these superstitions.)

When we started, the crowd round the inn door, which had by this time swelled to a considerable size, all made the sign of the cross and pointed two fingers towards me.

With some difficulty, I got a fellow passenger to tell me what they meant. He would not answer at first, but on learning that I was English, he explained that it was a charm or guard against the evil eye.

This was not very pleasant for me, just starting for an unknown place to meet an unknown man. But everyone seemed so kind-hearted, and so sorrowful, and so sympathetic that I could not but be touched.

I shall never forget the last glimpse which I had of the inn yard and its crowd of picturesque figures,all crossing themselves, as they stood round the wide archway, with its background of rich foliage of oleander and orange trees in green tubs clustered in the centre of the yard.

Then our driver, whose wide linen drawers covered the whole front of the boxseat,--"gotza" they call them--cracked his big whip over his four small horses, which ran abreast, and we set off on our journey.

I soon lost sight and recollection of ghostly fears in the beauty of the scene as we drove along, although had I known the language, or rather languages, which my fellow passengers were speaking, I might not have been able to throw them off so easily. Before us lay a green sloping land full of forests and woods, with here and there steep hills, crowned with clumps of trees or with farmhouses, the blank gable end to the road. There was everywhere a bewildering mass of fruit blossom--apple, plum, pear, cherry. And as we drove by I could see the green grass under the trees spangled with the fallen petals. In and out amongst these green hills of what they call here the "Mittel Land" ran the road, losing itself as it swept round the grassy curve, or was shut out by the straggling ends of pine woods, which here and there ran down the hillsides like tongues of flame. The road was rugged, but still we seemed to fly over it with a feverish haste. I could not understand then what the haste meant, but the driver was evidently bent on losing no time in reaching Borgo Prund. I was told that this road is in summertime excellent, but that it had not yet been put in order after the winter snows. In this respect it is different from the general run of roads in the Carpathians, for it is an old tradition that they are not to be kept in too good order. Of old the Hospadars would not repair them, lest the Turk should think that they were preparing to bring in foreign troops, and so hasten the war which was always really at loading point.

Beyond the green swelling hills of the Mittel Land rose mighty slopes of forest up to the lofty steeps of the Carpathians themselves. Right and left of us they towered, with the afternoon sun falling full upon them and bringing out all the glorious colours of this beautiful range, deep blue and purple in the shadows of the peaks,green and brown where grass and rock mingled, and an endless perspective of jagged rock and pointed crags, till these were themselves lost in the distance, where the snowy peaks rose grandly. Here and there seemed mighty rifts in the mountains, through which, as the sun began to sink, we saw now and again the white gleam of falling water. One of my companions touched my arm as we swept round the base of a hill and opened up the lofty, snow-covered peak of a mountain,which seemed, as we wound on our serpentine way, to be right before us.

"Look! Isten szek!"--"God's seat!"--and he crossed himself reverently.

As we wound on our endless way, and the sun sank lower and lower behind us, the shadows of the evening began to creep round us. This was emphasized by the fact that the snowy mountain-top still held the sunset, and seemed to glow out with a delicate cool pink. Here and there we passed Cszeks and slovaks, all in picturesque attire, but I noticed that goitre was painfully prevalent. By the roadside were many crosses, and as we swept by, my companions all crossed themselves. Here and there was a peasant man or woman kneeling before a shrine, who did not even turn round as we approached, but seemed in the self-surrender of devotion to have neither eyes nor ears for the outer world. There were many things new to me. For instance, hay-ricks in the trees, and here and there very beautiful masses of weeping birch, their white stems shining like silver through the delicate green of the leaves.

Now and again we passed a leiter-wagon--the ordinary peasants's cart--with its long, snakelike vertebra, calculated to suit the inequalities of the road. On this were sure to be seated quite a group of homecoming peasants, the Cszeks with their white, and the Slovaks with their coloured sheepskins, the latter carrying lance-fashion their long staves, with axe at end. As the evening fell it began to get very cold, and the growing twilight seemed to merge into one dark mistiness the gloom of the trees, oak, beech, and pine, though in the valleys which ran deep between the spurs of the hills, as we ascended through the Pass, the dark firs stood out here and there against the background of late-lying snow. Sometimes, as the road was cut through the pine woods that seemed in the darkness to be closing down upon us, great masses of greyness which here and there bestrewed the trees, produced a peculiarly weird and solemn effect, which carried on the thoughts and grim fancies engendered earlier in the evening, when the falling sunset threw into strange relief the ghost-like clouds which amongst the Carpathians seem to wind ceaselessly through the valleys. Sometimes the hills were so steep that, despite our driver's haste, the horses could only go slowly. I wished to get down and walk up them, as we do at home, but the driver would not hear of it. "No, no," he said. "You must not walk here. The dogs are too fierce." And then he added, with what he evidently meant for grim pleasantry--for he looked round to catch the approving smile of the rest--"And you may have enough of such matters before you go to sleep." The only stop he would make was a moment's pause to light his lamps.

When it grew dark there seemed to be some excitement amongst the passengers, and they kept speaking to him, one after the other, as though urging him to further speed. He lashed the horses unmercifully with his long whip, and with wild cries of encouragement urged them on to further exertions. Then through the darkness I could see a sort of patch of grey light ahead of us,as though there were a cleft in the hills. The excitement of the passengers grew greater. The crazy coach rocked on its great leather springs, and swayed like a boat tossed on a stormy sea. I had to hold on. The road grew more level, and we appeared to fly along. Then the mountains seemed to come nearer to us on each side and to frown down upon us. We were entering on the Borgo Pass. One by one several of the passengers offered me gifts, which they pressed upon me with an earnestness which would take no denial. These were certainly of an odd and varied kind, but each was given in simple good faith, with a kindly word, and a blessing, and that same strange mixture of fear-meaning movements which I had seen outside the hotel at Bistritz-- the sign of the cross and the guard against the evil eye. Then, as we flew along, the driver leaned forward, and on each side the passengers, craning over the edge of the coach, peered eagerly into the darkness. It was evident that something very exciting was either happening or expected, but though I asked each passenger, no one would give me the slightest explanation. This state of excitement kept on for some little time. And at last we saw before us the Pass opening out on the eastern side. There were dark, rolling clouds overhead, and in the air the heavy, oppressive sense of thunder. It seemed as though the mountain range had separated two atmospheres, and that now we had got into the thunderous one. I was now myself looking out for the conveyance which was to take me to the Count. Each moment I expected to see the glare of lamps through the blackness,but all was dark. The only light was the flickering rays of our own lamps, in which the steam from our hard-driven horses rose in a white cloud. We could see now the sandy road lying white before us, but there was on it no sign of a vehicle. The passengers drew back with a sigh of gladness, which seemed to mock my own disappointment. I was already thinking what I had best do, when the driver, looking at his watch, said to the others something which I could hardly hear, it was spoken so quietly and in so low a tone, I thought it was "An hour less than the time." Then turning to me, he spoke in German worse than my own.

"There is no carriage here. The Herr is not expected after all. He will now come on to Bukovina, and return tomorrow or the next day, better the next day." Whilst he was speaking the horses began to neigh and snort and plunge wildly, so that the driver had to hold them up.Then, amongst a chorus of screams from the peasants and a universal crossing of themselves, a caleche, with four horses, drove up behind us, overtook us, and drew up beside the coach. I could see from the flash of our lamps as the rays fell on them, that the horses were coal-black and splendid animals. They were driven by a tall man, with a long brown beard and a great black hat, which seemed to hide his face from us. I could only see the gleam of a pair of very bright eyes,which seemed red in the lamplight, as he turned to us.

He said to the driver, "You are early tonight, my friend."

The man stammered in reply, "The English Herr was in a hurry."

To which the stranger replied, "That is why, I suppose, you wished him to go on to Bukovina. You cannot deceive me, my friend. I know too much, and my horses are swift."

As he spoke he smiled,and the lamplight fell on a hard-looking mouth, with very red lips and sharp-looking teeth, as white as ivory. One of my companions whispered to another the line from Burger's "Lenore".

"Denn die Todten reiten Schnell." ("For the dead travel fast.")

The strange driver evidently heard the words, for he looked up with a gleaming smile. The passenger turned his face away, at the same time putting out his two fingers and crossing himself. "Give me the Herr's luggage," said the driver, and with exceeding alacrity my bags were handed out and put in the caleche. Then I descended from the side of the coach, as the caleche was close alongside, the driver helping me with a hand which caught my arm in a grip of steel. His strength must have been prodigious.

Without a word he shook his reins, the horses turned, and we swept into the darkness of the pass. As I looked back I saw the steam from the horses of the coach by the light of the lamps,and projected against it the figures of my late companions crossing themselves. Then the driver cracked his whip and called to his horses, and off they swept on their way to Bukovina. As they sank into the darkness I felt a strange chill, and a lonely feeling come over me. But a cloak was thrown over my shoulders, and a rug across my knees, and the driver said in excellent German--

"The night is chill, mein Herr, and my master the Count bade me take all care of you. There is a flask of slivovitz (the plum brandy of the country) underneath the seat, if you should require it."

I did not take any, but it was a comfort to know it was there all the same. I felt a little strangely, and not a little frightened. I think had there been any alternative I should have taken it, instead of prosecuting that unknown night journey. The carriage went at a hard pace straight along, then we made a complete turn and went along another straight road. It seemed to me that we were simply going over and over the same ground again, and so I took note of some salient point, and found that this was so. I would have liked to have asked the driver what this all meant, but I really feared to do so, for I thought that, placed as I was, any protest would have had no effect in case there had been an intention to delay.

By-and-by, however, as I was curious to know how time was passing, I struck a match, and by its flame looked at my watch. It was within a few minutes of midnight. This gave me a sort of shock, for I suppose the general superstition about midnight was increased by my recent experiences. I waited with a sick feeling of suspense.

Then a dog began to howl somewhere in a farmhouse far down the road, a long, agonized wailing, as if from fear. The sound was taken up by another dog, and then another and another, till, borne on the wind which now sighed softly through the Pass, a wild howling began, which seemed to come from all over the country, as far as the imagination could grasp it through the gloom of the night.

At the first howl the horses began to strain and rear, but the driver spoke to them soothingly, and they quieted down, but shivered and sweated as though after a runaway from sudden fright. Then, far off in the distance, from the mountains on each side of us began a louder and a sharper howling, that of wolves, which affected both the horses and myself in the same way. For I was minded to jump from the caleche and run, whilst they reared again and plunged madly, so that the driver had to use all his great strength to keep them from bolting. In a few minutes, however, my own ears got accustomed to the sound, and the horses so far became quiet that the driver was able to descend and to stand before them.

He petted and soothed them, and whispered something in their ears, as I have heard of horse-tamers doing, and with extraordinary effect, for under his caresses they became quite manageable again, though they still trembled. The driver again took his seat, and shaking his reins, started off at a great pace. This time, after going to the far side or the Pass, he suddenly turned down a narrow roadway which ran sharply to the right.

Soon we were hemmed in with trees, which in places arched right over the roadway till we passed as through a tunnel. And again great frowning rocks guarded us boldly on either side. Though we were in shelter, we could hear the rising wind, for it moaned and whistled through the rocks, and the branches of the trees crashed together as we swept along. It grew colder and colder still, and fine, powdery snow began to fall, so that soon we and all around us were covered with a white blanket. The keen wind still carried the howling of the dogs, though this grew fainter as we went on our way. The baying of the wolves sounded nearer and nearer, as though they were closing round on us from every side. I grew dreadfully afraid, and the horses shared my fear. The driver, however, was not in the least disturbed. He kept turning his head to left and right, but I could not see anything through the darkness.

Suddenly, away on our left I saw a fain flickering blue flame. The driver saw it at the same moment. He at once checked the horses, and, jumping to the ground, disappeared into the darkness. I did not know what to do, the less as the howling of the wolves grew closer. But while I wondered, the driver suddenly appeared again, and without a word took his seat, and we resumed our journey. I think I must have fallen asleep and kept dreaming of the incident, for it seemed to be repeated endlessly, and now looking back, it is like a sort of awful nightmare. Once the flame appeared so near the road, that even in the darkness around us I could watch the driver's motions. He went rapidly to where the blue flame arose, it must have been very faint, for it did not seem to illumine the place around it at all, and gathering a few stones, formed them into some device.

Once there appeared a strange optical effect. When he stood between me and the flame he did not obstruct it, for I could see its ghostly flicker all the same.This startled me, but as the effect was only momentary, I took it that my eyes deceived me straining through the darkness. Then for a time there were no blue flames, and we sped onwards through the gloom, with the howling of the wolves around us, as though they were following in a moving circle.

At last there came a time when the driver went further afield than he had yet gone, and during his absence, the horses began to tremble worse than ever and to snort and scream with fright.I could not see any cause for it, for the howling of the wolves had ceased altogether. But just then the moon, sailing through the black clouds, appeared behind the jagged crest of a beetling, pine-clad rock, and by its light I saw around us a ring of wolves, with white teeth and lolling red tongues, with long, sinewy limbs and shaggy hair. They were a hundred times more terrible in the grim silence which held them than even when they howled. For myself, I felt a sort of paralysis of fear.It is only when a man feels himself face to face with such horrors that he can understand their true import.

All at once the wolves began to howl as though the moonlight had had some peculiar effect on them.The horses jumped about and reared, and looked helplessly round with eyes that rolled in a way painful to see.But the living ring of terror encompassed them on every side, and they had perforce to remain within it. I called to the coachman to come, for it seemed to me that our only chance was to try to break out through the ring and to aid his approach, I shouted and beat the side of the caleche, hoping by the noise to scare the wolves from the side, so as to give him a chance of reaching the trap. How he came there, I know not, but I heard his voice raised in a tone of imperious command, and looking towards the sound, saw him stand in the roadway. As he swept his long arms, as though brushing aside some impalpable obstacle, the wolves fell back and back further still. Just then a heavy cloud passed across the face of the moon, so that we were again in darkness.

When I could see again the driver was climbing into the caleche, and the wolves disappeared. This was all so strange and uncanny that a dreadful fear came upon me, and I was afraid to speak or move. The time seemed interminable as we swept on our way, now in almost complete darkness, for the rolling clouds obscured the moon.

We kept on ascending, with occasional periods of quick descent, but in the main always ascending.Suddenly, I became conscious of the fact that the driver was in the act of pulling up the horses in the courtyard of a vast ruined castle, from whose tall black windows came no ray of light,and whose broken battlements showed a jagged line against the sky.

[greenhatsinthesky]

lockdown film no. 37 - Slumdog Millionaire (2008) dir. Danny Boyle

23/05/2020

- I had seen this once before and it was an interesting experience because a) it was billed as a feel-good film and it Was Not at all until the last ten minutes and b) my dad really freaked me out by predicting what the last question was going to be. I lost my mind and he was very proud of himself

- the concept of this film is so good. Very easily put into a logline, really strong cinematography, great performance, aces

- also love that during production they decided to translate a third of the dialogue from English into hindi 

- salim’s character was very interesting. From being a kid and being horrible to all the other kids when they were staying with the terrible man and taking Jamal to sing for him — I wasn’t 100 % if he was going to let Jamal get blinded because he seemed pretty set on having a “successful” life. When he slung the acid at the man’s face I had hope for him but then he let go of Latika’s hand and my heart broke

- I hate how everyone was laughing at the host’s jokes like he’s really not that funny guys 

- PAPER PLANES

- while that songs an absolute banger there were some really tender moments between Jamal and Salim like where they were on top of the train with their hands linked

- and suddenly they’re old ! wacky shit

- it’s crazy how shoes hold so much currency

- “how did she die?” “a road traffic accident. maximum pileup.” “I thought she died in childbirth” “exactly, sir. she was on the way to hospital when it happened”

- doesnt feel great that Jamal saying “this is the real India” after getting beaten up by a police officer was very likely written by a white British person

- LOCH BIG BEN. NEXT TO SEAN CONNERY’S FLAT. I love him

- as I always seem to be, I was disappointed that they defaulted to Jamal and Latika being in a romantic relationship. Hayao Miyazaki said “I’ve become skeptical of the unwritten rule that just because a boy and girl appear in the same feature, a romance must ensue. Rather, I want to portray a slightly different relationship, one where the two mutually inspire each other to live - if I’m able to, then perhaps I’ll be closer to portraying a true expression of love.” I feel that this is astonishingly relevant to this film, and I wish they’d taken a bit more care and put more thought into Jamal and latika’s relationship because this fits far better with them than a romance, I think

- it was extremely stressful trying to get into the host’s psyche of whether or not he genuinely wanted to help Jamal in the cricket question. It quickly became clear he didn’t 

- the first time I watched this, I watched it with my dad. It was also his first time watching. It did, then, surprise me that well before the final quiz scene, he said “i know what the question’s going to be”. I said “what?” And he said “I do, I’m going to write it down and give it to you”. He wrote it on a slip of paper, folded it up and passed it to me, and I put it on the armrest on my side of the sofa. When the film finished, I opened up the slip of paper, and on it was written (it was literally written) “what is the name of the third musketeer? Answer: Aramis”. And when I tell you I lost my mind? I Lost My Mind. When I asked him how he knew it, he said “it was the only thing that had been established that they hadn’t come back to.” My dad, everyone. 

- the dance sequence at the end is great and all, but my absolute favourite part of it is where the youngest versions of Jamal and Latika were dancing together. That absolutely warmed my heart

- this is a good film, and im glad it got the recognition that it did, although it is worth noting that it’s not generally favoured in India, and one of the most well known filmmakers in India described it as  “very anti-Indian”. He said “All the bad elements of Bombay’s commercial cinema are put together and in a very slick way. And it underlines and endorses what the West thinks about us… And at every turn is fabricated. At every turn it is built on falsehood. I was ashamed to see it was being appreciated widely in the west”. It would be extremely dodgy for me, as a person who is not Indian — and even worse, white — to ignore the viewpoints of people who know a lot more than I do and come from the place where the film is set and just go “it’s a great film, so realistic blah”. It received awards in the West and did incredibly well at the Academy Awards, but who votes on that? A lot of white people who have an extremely skewed idea of what realistic portrayals of marginalised groups actually are