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maria-rayro · 2 years ago

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Five times Charlie complimented Hector and one time Hector complimented Charles.

First time. They're just starting to work together, and Lonnit has absolutely no chance to hiding his admiration for the very fact of working with such a cool FBI agent. Therefore, on their first meeting, he openly smiles at him, holding out his hand. "Happy to meet you, Agent Munday! I admire your work and it's such a blessing to work with a professional like you!"

When Hector hears this, he frowns at him and says nothing, turning to the investigation board and taking his coffee from the table. The awkward silence confuses Charles a little, and he does not even notice that Munday is also feels embarrassed.

Second time. He literally beams and tries to suppress a smile every time he looks at Hector. Sometimes the man catches his eye and frowns, and Lonnit awkwardly smiles brighter. And now, Hector, once again, in a slightly tired and insinuating voice, talks aloud about the investigation, when he suddenly notices Lonnit's gaze and falls silent. "Oh, I'm sorry, Agent Munday," the young man apologizes. "It's just that you have such a voice- I mean, the way you talk, it's very... impressive" he smiles awkwardly, looking at him completely innocently.

Hector looks away and his shoulders drop a little, as if relaxing, but the next moment he looks tense again. It takes him a couple of extra seconds to collect his thoughts and continue talking, feeling uncomfortable.

Third time. Hector is working almost round the clock again, ignoring the need for sleep and normal food, and this cannot go unnoticed by Charles. The young man tries to persuade the man to go home and sleep, but he ignores his attempts. Saddened, Charlie leaves and then returns to the man with food to at least feed him. "Come on, eat," he says, sitting on the edge of his desk and placing a container of hot lunch taken from a nearby canteen in front of the sleepy man. Hector looks at this in confusion, then looks up at Lonnit with the same confusion, blinking in bewilderment. "What are you looking at? Eat before it gets cold. Or do I need to spoon-feed you?" asks Charles.

Munday, after a moment's hesitation, nevertheless takes the spoon and begins to eat. Charlie smiles contentedly. "Good boy," he praises, and Hector feels himself blush, and despises himself for it. He will never admit that he liked being called that.

Fourth time. They chase after the criminal, and Hector deftly and skillfully pins him to the fence, shackling him in handcuffs. Charles, who has been watching this a little from the side, feels... well, he feels. "Damn, you really are a very strong man..." he says from the bottom of his heart, unable to control himself, and Hector looks at him a little bewilderedly, and then, licking his lips nervously, looks away again, returning to his work.

Fifth time. Hector, tired, falls asleep right at work, sitting, reclining on the table, his cheek buried in the sheets with the report. Charlie, who came with coffee, freezes when he sees this and cannot help smiling. Hector wakes up abruptly, sensing someone else's presence nearby, and straightens up, blinking sleepily and trying to make sense of the papers strewn across the table. Charlie laughs, amused by how cute Munday looks, and walks over, placing coffee next to him. "You work so hard, right to the point of exhaustion. Has anyone ever told you that you are just great?" suddenly asks Charlie, sitting down on the edge of his table and looking at Munday. "You did a good job, Hector. Really. You have every right to rest. You're good agent" he reaches for his face and carefully removes a dark strand from his forehead.

Hector freezes, somewhat confused, and then pulls away abruptly, as if from a blow, and blinks a couple of times, trying to compose himself. He abruptly rises from his seat and leaves, leaving the coffee untouched and Charles uncomprehending.

Lonnit just hopes that Hector will go home to sleep...

In fact, Munday just decided to run away so that no one (Charlie) could see his face burning red with embarrassment.

He returns in ten minutes. Charlie is sitting at his desk, working on a report, and when he hears the door open, he looks up. Lonnit looks perplexedly at Munday, who has closed the door behind himself and now leans his back against it. He looks tense, and his face is wet, as if he's rinsed it with ice water. Eyelashes, having become wet, have become even brighter and more beautiful, and Charlie cannot utter a word, just looking admiringly at the man. "Why are you doing this?" asks Hector finally.

Lonnit blinks in confusion. "Me? What am I doing?" he sincerely does not understand.

Munday exhales, closing his eyes and pursing his lips. "You... act like this to me... say all these things like... like you want something from me. I just can't figure out what exactly you want."

Charles doesn't understand at first, then laughs. "Oh Hector... god, the only thing I want from you is to be friends."

"Why?" Munday asks a little sharply, looking like a wary cat that good-natured passers-by are trying to feed, but he is afraid that they might put poison in the food and therefore just hisses at them.

Charlie smiles awkwardly. "Well... because you're cool. Smart. You're professional. You're brave. Strong..." he glances down for a moment. "And you have a very nice voice. I want to listen to you... I want to look at you. I wish you were around, and all that... And I also want to... well... help you? You look lonely, and I-"

"Do you feel pity for me?"

"What? No! That's... the wrong word." Charles sighs and looks into his eyes again. "I just thought you didn't have anyone and I could, you know... try my luck?" he speaks somewhat embarrassed.

Hector silently stares at him in confusion, as if not immediately understanding what the young man is talking about. However, suddenly it reaches him, and he looks away and... blushes. Charles blinks in confusion at this supposedly alien scene, and breaks into a smile.

"Sorry, I'm really embarrassing you, right?" Lonnit smiles awkwardly.

"No," Hector says sharply, clearly terribly embarrassed, still avoiding looking at Charles. The man moves away from the door, as if to occupy himself with something, and takes his things. "I'm going home," he says.

Charlie nods with a smile. "Good! And I'll finish in an hour and also go to sleep," he says. Hector doesn't look at him, a little awkwardly trying to get his coat on. "See you tomorrow, Agent Munday! I hope you can rest well after all this hard work," smiles Charles.

"Mhm," Hector mumbles awkwardly as he hurries out of the office, glad that there aren't many people in the station at this late hour to see his embarrassingly flushed cheeks.

Arriving at work the next day, Munday finds Charles sleeping on the couch in their office, covered with his jacket, looking like a sleepy angel. Hector watches this without turning on the lights in the room for about two minutes, then carefully closes the door behind him. He slowly walks over to the table on which the completed report lies, and sighs softly, putting his signatures in the right places. He takes off his hat and coat, and walks up to Charles, carefully covering him with his coat, because it is longer than his jacket and would be a better blanket. He freezes, looking down at him, and then sighs and gently smoothes his hair back from his forehead; Charles smiles a little through his sleep. "You did a good job, kid," Hector says softly, and then forces himself to remove his hand, biting his lip.

"Mhm...thnk you," Lonnit says unintelligibly, and Munday flinches, looking at him again and immediately blushing, realizing that Charles isn't sleeping that deeply. Lonnit opens his eyes and looks at him sleepy with a soft smile on his face. "Can you say it again? I would appreciate that, agent".

Hector presses his lips together, then rubs his face with a palm, looking away. "You are a great agent and I'm sorry for not admitting it before, kid. You deserve a better partner" he says.

Charlie rolls his eyes. "Shut up, fool. Apologize accepted, but, man, you really need to love yourself more. You are great, and I'm happy to work with you. You are smart, brave, strong, cute..."

"I'm not cute."

"Oh, so you admit you are smart, brave and strong then?" he smiles like a proud cat. Hector rolls his eyes, but then still looks at him, thinking silently. He licks his lips.

"Will you stop praising me if I go to drink a beer with you tonight?"

Charlie's eyes go round. "What? Wait, you mean... like friends? You wanna drink a beer with me? Together? Tonight?" he looks like an exited dog. "No, it won't make me stop praising you, man, but we will definitely go to the bar tonight! Oh, yes, I'm so exited!" he smiles, getting up from a sofa.

Hector averts his gaze and sighs. Well, maybe he doesn't really mind being called a good boy and being praised after all... At least he comes to the conclusion that he has nothing against it when it is Charles who does this.

He decides not to think about the deep reasons of this yet.

#charlie lonnit #tdim #the devil in me #hector munday #heclie #hector x charlie

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papergardener · 7 years ago

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Life After Death

Summary:

When Héctor finds himself fading away, he holds onto the one thing that matters… family. An exploration of the tentatively re-joined Rivera family, and how Héctor and Imelda begin to reconcile after so much time.

(chapters 1 & 2 are here, but you don’t really need to read them, you might just be a little confused... but that’s ok, so is Héctor)

(read below or here at Ao3)

Chap 3: Just a dream... wait

Héctor woke up very confused. For one unnerving moment, he thought he had died. But no, he was already dead. That wasn’t the problem. He was just very confused and very, very tired.

It certainly didn’t help that on opening his eyes he found himself in a strange… what? Dressing room? Bedroom? Whoever it belonged to, they apparently really liked Frida Kahlo, based on the décor. Also confusing… Imelda was there. There had been a glint of purple in the corner of his eye that had caught his attention. With an effort he rolled his head to the side, blinking the bleariness away before his vision cleared. It should have been impossible, but there was no question: it was Imelda. She sat asleep in a chair, her chin resting against her collarbone, her mouth faintly open. His mind was hazy as he watched her for a minute or more, barely comprehending what was happening, but only kept reflecting how nice it all was. It had been a long, long time since he had seen her so close and so peaceful, her face not twisted in hate at the sight of him. He thought back to when they had been alive, and he would sometimes find her like this, asleep in a chair, sometimes nodding herself awake and he would tease her for it. Usually, it was after feeding baby Coco or rocking her to sleep, and she would still be holding their daughter as they both slept. One night he had come home late from a gig in the town over and had walked in to see Imelda passed out in an armchair with Coco nestled against her. It was like they had been waiting up for him, and he remembered thinking how lucky he was. She had been so beautiful… she still was, he thought sleepily. And she was right there, he could reach out and touch her if he could have managed the strength to lift his arms. His eyes closed, then he quickly pulled them open again. He didn’t want to give up that moment just yet, that quiet, sweet moment. But he was so tired, and his eyelids so heavy. When he opened them again, she was gone. The surprise of it woke him up more than anything else, and he managed to prop himself up on an arm to better look around, but the small room was empty and quiet. He was alone. With a surprising amount of effort he pulled himself up, still gazing around and wondering what had happened, and why Imelda might have been there. Had he dreamt it? It wouldn’t have been the first time he had dreamed of her. And that was confusing…oh. That was very, very confusing. Had it all been a dream? He sat up with a groan, his legs dangling off the couch as he hunched over, feeling as sick as a skeleton could. He counted on his fingers as he went over each memory… A living boy had arrived in the Land of the Dead and asked for help to find his great-great-grandfather, who was apparently Ernesto. That was weird. And that living boy was actually his great-great-grandson… and Ernesto had poisoned him and stolen his music. Imelda and her family had agreed to help him, which consisted of sneaking into the Sunrise Spectacular show with the help of Frida Kahlo and cross-dressing. There were so many things wrong with that, he just skipped right over it. Then Imelda had gone on stage and sung, in front of hundreds (thousands? It was a big theater, and quite dark), and had smiled at him while he played, just like the old days… Ah… damn. Definitely a dream. He shook his head and laughed, berating himself for actually believing it. It was just one of those kinds of dreams that felt so, so real until one woke up, looked back and could appreciate how ridiculous it was, and it was certainly ridiculous. Why would Ernesto even throw people into a sinkhole? Who does that? He hesitated at the thought of his old partner… could Ernesto really have poisoned him? Just to steal his music? Quickly enough he brushed that thought aside as mere dream logic. Ernesto had been his best friend, they had known each other their entire lives. He was like a brother, he would never have done that. And in any case, why would Ernesto just have poison laying around? No, it was absurd, and Héctor felt guilty for even thinking it. Some friend he was. On the plus side, Imelda had been in his dream… had called him the love of her life. But that too was all wrong, and the realization was like the harsh grating of a knife on stone. She hated him, he knew that. Could never forgive him for leaving their family. Still… he closed his eyes, smiling to think how she had leapt into his arms as if she might have missed him as much as he missed her. It was a wonderful thought. And to think he might have met his own family, someone who was actually proud to be family. If he really did have an ancestor like Miguel out there, that would be incredible. Although the thought of any of his living family being such a die-hard musician was as ludicrous as the rest of it. Going through the events of the dream, he came to the end and his smile faltered at the recollection of his almost Final Death. He could remember the near-constant tremors, his bones shaking until he couldn’t even stand. It wouldn’t be the first time he dreamt of it, far from it, but never had any dream ever felt like that. It had been so real. He leaned forward, resting hard on his knees as he recalled that feeling of his whole body vanishing. It had been so harsh and then so peaceful, a slow drifting away, like going to sleep after a very, very long day. When it was his time to go, would it be that easy? Is that what would happen when Coco forgot him? He shivered… he didn’t want to think about how easy it would be. He wasn’t ready to die yet, he wouldn’t disappear without a fight. Although, he thought absently, that in terms of Final Death it wouldn’t have been so bad. Imelda and her family had been there, and he had been under a wide, open sky, right at sunrise. Usually when he imagined his final moments, he was alone, curled up somewhere dark and cold, and no one would notice or care that he was gone. To think he’d be with Imelda when it happened… he sighed, hanging his head. Well, it was a nice thought. But in the end, it was only a dream. He looked down at his hands, thought to how they had glowed, how thin everything had felt. Clutching them into fists, he reminded himself what he had to focus on. Coco was forgetting him… and he was running out of time. Taking a steadying breath, he hoisted himself off the couch and swayed on the spot, struggling not to fall back because he might not be able to get up again. Ideally, he would have kept sleeping, but at the moment his goal was to get out of here before someone found him. If asked what he was doing there, he didn’t have a good answer. Which was… highly disconcerting. Just what had he done the night before? He found his hat on a desk and clapped it on before cautiously peering out the door, but there wasn’t another soul in sight. Stepping out, he heard voices coming from the right, and so he went left, his bones creaking as he walked. When he got back to his place, he was going to sleep for a week. That is, assuming he lasted that long. But before he could find his way out, he got turned around and soon found himself standing in the middle of a theater, staring around and wondering if he hadn’t quite woken up yet. “Oh, this is very confusing,” he muttered, squinting at the darkened stage. He stood there, hands on hips, and tried to think of a reason why the whole place looked exactly like in his dream. It was deeply unsettling, the only real difference being that the candlelit pathways were dark, and the seats at his back were empty. He shook his head, pushing away the dream, the lingering thought of Imelda. He turned to leave and immediately ran into a mike stand, and for a moment he desperately flailed to catch it as it swung around, before it crashed to the ground with a loud bang. He grimaced as the noise echoed, holding his arms tight to his chest. Maybe no one had heard it… “Someone up there?” a familiar shouted from the orchestra pit. Héctor leaned over, peering into the dark space by his feet. “Eh? Gustavo? That you?” The fellow musician came into view, gaping at him. “Chorizo?” he said incredulously. Héctor sighed at the old nickname and found he was not in the mood to be laughed at. “You know what, I’m just gonna go—“ “Whoah, whoah, not so fast!” Gustavo called out. There was the sound of a chair scraping and then he pulled himself onto the stage. “What the hell, man? Where you been? We’ve been looking all over for you!” Héctor stared at him for a long, long moment, a number of questions floating through his hazy mind. Finally he opened his mouth and simply asked, “Why?” “What do you mean, why? We were all worried! Last we saw, you were lying out there before that big alebrije came out and scared the skin off of us. And then you were just up and gone.” Héctor stared, and Gustavo stared back expectantly. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Héctor said. “Seriously, man? I mean last night! Or this morning, same thing.” “Last night?” Héctor repeated. It was stunning how stupid he felt. “Yeah, it’s all anyone’s been talking about. And that’s not much of an exaggeration, you know. Everyone wants to know who you are now. I mean, you almost died!” It was a testament to how tired and confused he was, because Héctor actually glanced down through his own empty ribcage, the familiar yellowed bones, and then looked up again. “But, I’m already—“ “I mean you almost died again!” Gustavo said impatiently. “Come on! Don’t you remember? De la Cruz tried to murder that kid, you saved him, and then you were almost Forgotten.” “What?” Héctor said, blinking hard. “No, but… but that was a dream…” He put a hand to his head, suddenly feeling faint. It couldn’t have been real. “Weren’t no dream, amigo.” “But… no.” Héctor shook his head, throwing his hands out. “No, no, no. That was definitely a dream. It had to have been.” Because if it wasn’t… Gustavo chuckled, raising an eyebrow. “It was crazy, all right, but it happened. The whole thing was playing right up there, we all saw it.” He pointed to two huge screens on stage that stood black and empty. “That’s… that can’t be…” He staggered back and Gustavo was at his side, steadying him. “Hey, you ok? Maybe you should be taking it easy. I’ve never seen anyone disappear like that and still be standing. Swore for a moment you were completely gone.” “I disappeared?” “Yeah. You really don’t remember?” “I’m not sure,” he muttered, trying to think, but found it was akin to stumbling around in a dark room and banging into every possible obstacle. “So… it was all real?” He stared around the stage, trying to sort out what exactly that meant. Thinking about Miguel, or Imelda, or his family was too much at the moment, so he settled on something smaller that his mind could actually grasp. “Then… Ernesto really did poison me.” For the second time he felt that emotional punch. His best friend had murdered him. For his music. Because he had wanted to go home. “I… thought you just choked on something,” Gustavo said uncertainly. “No. No, he… he poisoned my drink,” Héctor said, the memory of that night flickering in his mind. “I was supposed to go home. It was a toast to our friendship.” The irony made it hurt all the worse. Neither spoke, and he could almost feel Gustavo growing more uncomfortable beside him. A small part of his mind noted how his infamous nickname of Chorizo was now moot. And that it wasn’t funny anymore; not that it was ever that funny to begin with. Then his mind was able to comprehend something much more important. “Wait… if it was all real, then Miguel must have been real, too. That means I met my great-great-grandson.” “The living kid? Yeah, he was here all right. But you didn’t tell us that he was your family when we met you two during that rehearsal earlier.” “I… didn’t know.” He was hit by the absurd fact he had been running around with his great-great-grandson all night and had no idea. Miguel had thought Ernesto was his ancestor. He needed to sit down. There was a finger snapping in his face, and he blinked to see Gustavo staring worriedly at him. “Hey, hey! Don’t start fading on me now. Maybe you should take it easy. You got family around or something?” “No! No family.” He shook his head, lurching back at the thought. Did he have family again? He had no idea, but in the end, it wasn’t up to him. And the idea of family was far, far too big of a concept for his mind to handle. “What about that woman?” Gustavo went on. “The singer, you know? Llorona? She was with you when it happened. She’s not family?” “I’m uh… not sure.” He recalled Imelda sitting beside him when he first woke and wondered what that meant. Did it mean anything? Was it even real? His head swam, and he had to blink away a sudden wave of dizziness. “I’m just… I’m gonna go…. somewhere,” he muttered, one hand on his head as he staggered away, feeling even worse than before. He wasn’t sure if it was his body, his mind or his heart that ached more. “You gonna be ok, amigo?” Gustavo called out. “Yeah... I’ll be fine.” Probably. He desperately needed to think.

#Coco fanfiction #Coco #Hector #Imelda #imector #life after death #missing scenes #post-movie fic #my fanfiction #hector rivera #I love this chapter #i think it's really funny but actually it's pretty sad #but also sleepy and confused Hector #precious

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girlwithwolftatoo · 5 years ago

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I saw you write some for the courtiers with a virgin s/o, could you maybe write something like that for the main 6? Or at least Lucio? I also really love your writing, I've been binging since 11pm and it's almost 4am now.

Dearest anon: I’m deeply sorry for making you wait this long, but I didn’t want to write something boring for this request so I hope this fulfills your desires:

Asra:

*We’ll ignore the fact that him and MC were lovers before and focus in these new life his apprentice has gained. He loves them just as the first day they met, and of course being with them once again is like a dream come true...

*But because all the mess he just has to control himself for a time. He’s more than ready to love you properly but... what if you don’t feel good to intimate with your “master”?

*Once you give him signs you want to take the relationship to a new level, he start to act like the perfect lover, preparing everything for a perfect night: soft jazmin and cinammon incense (because love is in the air, literally), the comfiest blankets are set on the bed, the moonlight bathes the room in this beautiful white-blue shine... oh yes, everything’s like a dream.

*Do not believe he’ll be a complete soft boi. No, he craves for you, he wants you whole and he’ll take what he was needing for three long years in a road. His lips will be anywhere and wont hesitate to lick and suck any sensitive place for he remembers them very well.

*This can be a very erotic experience for he knows pretty well how to make you feel great, and he has no problem leading you. In fact, he secretly enjoys being the “master” even in this situation and will treat you kindly but a little naughty too.

Nadia:

*We know, she loves being in command, and your virginity is like a plus for those desires. Thought it doesn’t mean she gives to this thing a very important place in your relationship.

*Perhaps doesn’t take the scene path as Asra does, but you bet the previous moments before bedding you will be filled with a lot of care and spoil. A good dinner, some time spent together in the bath, washing each other’s hair, caressing with your bare hands or bath sponges...

*She will start the event by helping you to undress, because you probably will be nervous as heck but also because she wanna make you feel like the little god/goddess she swears you are, and will take advantage of it by running her hands through your flesh.

*For this is the first time she wont be too dom, but she’ll top you. Of course she will, and she will make you cry in pleasure with her hands as she stares at your lovely face and all the gestures you do in the process.

*This woman learns quickly where and how you enjoy being touched, and wont lose the chance to make you come with just her hands or feet. but when the time had come you’ll notice some small tears in her eyes. It’s so weird you ask what’s going on, and she confesses: she feels like in heaven being there with you, knowing she’s your first and that you’re being so happy into her arms.

Portia:

*Portia has a very kinky side, but it’s the sort of kink that trips once she learns you’re a virgin. It’s like going from “yasss babe” to “wait wut? you’re baby? oh God what have I done...”

*There’s not a *perfect* time to do it, you were probably just rolling hapilly near to her cottage and, when she was under you, both covered in leafs and flowers, she gives you the look and... oh, now you know he feels ready to take you.

*There gonna be laugh and fun in the foreplay, as you undress each other and she helps you when you don’t know what to do. Her secret is that she knows herself pretty well and she signs you the places she enjoys the most so you can play. In this game there’s not a real top or bottom, you’re switching very often.

*And when the time has come... oh dear, just look at her face, she’s even more in shock than you. Will ask repeatedly if you feel okay with that, if you want her to change the pace or the moves... all this said as her face turns red from the heat and the arousal.

*Will hug you and fall asleep with you right after it. You feel like it wasn’t a big deal, but doesn’t mean it was plain or bored. It’s just that everything went so natural, so sweet and calmed you felt in control of yourself.

Muriel:

*Good news for you, guess who’s a virgin too? (Yes, this might be very awkward, sorry).

*Impossible to know who’s more afraid of this: you, or Muriel who cannot believe someone wants to be with him in... that way (because, yes, as a gladiator he surely had some enthusiastic fans, but it’s. not. the same) and also because he’s scared of... ripping you in a half or something.

*So this time you probably are the one who takes the first step. You feel nervous, but you really really want him. And thought he acts a little averting at first, your soft moves, your tender begging and the feel of your clumsy hands and lips makes him melt pretty soon.

*Foreplay lasts a lot because you’re both discovering each other, but also because Bear boi wants you to be completely sure about this (because... well, he’s so fucking scared but also fucking horny because you’re like, moaning as he fingers you or something that everything is confusing).

*And oh... yes, he’s a... very big boy. He stares at you in utterly horror, wondering how can he being inside you and you’re still in a piece, and he’s so affraid to move you’ll have to take the lead. Is painful, but also very lovely and tender.

*From this day he will protect you with all his strenght and wont let anything happen to you, that’s what he swear once you fall tired and sleepy in his arms when you’re done.

Julian:

*We know this man has a thing for... being touchy, and tends to make jokes about you making out and stuff, but when you’re in the middle of a session and you tell your secret, he goes blank for a few seconds.

* “You... you are what? Oh, I see... uh, this is unexpected... not that it bothers me or something but... uh...” (we are sorry, Julian.exe stopped working).

*Asra might be the most caring lover, knowing very well how to act towards you, but Julian is in a different level. He praises you, don’t letting any trace of your sking untouched, he enjoys every second since you undressed in front of him and gave this cautios, fragile and yet aroused sight.

*He’s also the one who speaks more in bed, and will be claiming how he loves everything in you. Also will moan and pant almost as much as you, and it increasses as soon as he’s finally inside you. You can see his face getting reddened and feeling him getting tense. He’s so affraid of hurting you...

*Will kiss you and being soft and calmed in his pace so you can adjust to him. If you ask him to go further, he’ll try to convince you to let it for another time, because you’re still not used to this. But he dies for taking you a little harder, for making you bounce on his cock and being in control of you, that’s the truth.

*As a plus I must remember he’s a doctor and knows how to make the fun lasts... (I’m talking about contraceptives, yes... I’m a funny person, I know).

Lucio:

*He sees himself as a good somelier for people (if you know what I mean) and the idea of having sex with a virgin is a fantasy he enjoys a lot.

*...Until it becomes true. He will act like the dominant, wonderful lover he hectors he is, but... well, he wasn’t ready or a virgin, or more exactly he wasn’t ready for you to being a virgin. Because, yes, his seduction games had maybe reached you, but he wants something more of you... he wants to be with you not only in that way.

*Will take you to his chambers and show you their opulence, before inviting you to the bed like all a gentleman, and wont let you waste any energy. He enjoys himself undressing you, but not before dragging you to a furious, intense kiss session in which he’ll kiss and praise with his lips any place of your skin he uncovers.

*Of course will show himself to you with all his vanity, for he’s very proud of himself. And encourages you to touch him and into more sexual games as an apetizer before the “big moment”. And oh, he knows very well how to seize that moment.

*And once he gets into you... he changes completely. He’s not the naughty partner anymore, he’s more tender, more natural, you can notice he becomes more sensitive and his facade drops to let you see the real him behind. It’s not as loud as Julian, but his face goes red and sweaty for the nerves and that’s pretty obvious.

*The aftercare lasts even more than the lovemaking, but that’s when you can see how important was to him this moment. He’ll treat you like a king/queen and you can be sure he wont forget this day for the rest of his life.

#the arcana #headcanon #lemon #sfw #asra #asra alnazar #asra the magician #nadia #countess nadia #nadia satrinava #julian devorak #ilya devorak #muriel #portia devorak #pasha devorak #lucio #count lucio #lucio morgasson #montag morgasson

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marcobedseki · 4 years ago

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below the cut is a completely self indulgent football fic written champagne drunk in the middle of the night. you probably don’t want to read it, but if you’re grace, you need to read it <3

title: confusion

aka in which aubameyang and lacazette have a real hard time understanding how a certain relationship between their teammates works

kieran steps into the dressing room after he’s finally done talking with mikel on the side of the pitch. mikel’s wanted to talk a lot with him recently, and kieran gets it, mikel’s concerned about him now that he’s back training with everyone. mikel wants to make sure he’s doing it safely and that he won’t work himself too hard and risk getting injured again, and kieran appreciates it, even if it’s sometimes annoying to go through the same stuff after pretty much every training session.

when kieran looks around in the dressing room, he can immediately see that most of the guys have already left. the only remaining ones are hector, auba and willian. willian is ready to leave though, and he only nods at kieran before he throws his bag over his shoulder and leaves with his phone in hand. auba’s also looking ready to leave, but he’s still sitting down, completely enthralled with his phone. he’s got his headphones on and he’s frantically texting someone, and kieran’s pretty sure auba hasn’t even noticed his arrival. hector on the other hand isn’t on his phone, instead he looks like he’s sleeping. he’s lying down on the dressing room bench, using his bag as a rather uncomfortable looking pillow. he doesn’t open his eyes even when kieran gets closer, and for a second kieran thinks that maybe this idiot really has decided to take a nap in their dressing room against better judgement. but then kieran pokes at his knee ever so lightly, and hector’s face immediately breaks into a smile and he peers up at kieran.

”’ey, get up from t’ere, old man”, kieran tells hector, smile playing on his lips as well.

”bro, you’re like 2 years younger than me, stop calling me an old man”, hector pouts. ”i don’t wanna get up, i’m sleepy, you know. sit somewhere else since you took so long to get here.”

kieran raises his eyebrows. “it’s not like you had to wait here for me to finish my daily ‘we need to talk’ -session with mikel. right now i’m starting to feel like that even auba was more eager about me getting ‘ere, even though he didn’t even notice my whole existence…”

hector’s pout deepens. he’s quickly getting up from his horizontal position, because even though he knows that kieran’s probably just messing around with him, he’s not willing to take a risk that kieran is actually about to start ignoring him and being pissy for the entire day. he mumbles a sorry to his boyfriend, who’s looking down at him with his eyebrows still raised, a slightly amused look on his face.

kieran’s mentally rolling his eyebrows at hector. his boyfriend is being an idiot, but then again, it’s nothing kieran should be surprised about. hector can be a handful, and kieran knows he’s easily irritated, but he wouldn’t have it any other way. he loves hector unconditionally.

kieran turns around and he’s about to sit on the bench now that hector’s finally sat up himself, but his attempt is cut short by strong arms coming around his waist, pulling him down to sit on a warm lap instead of the bench. kieran lets out a surprised sound, and he’s turning around faster than lightning to scowl at hector. is it already too late to take back that he loves heccy unconditionally?

kieran looks at hector and the amusement on his face from a few moments back is gone. but before he has time to replace it with the scowl he was planning on casting at hector, his heart’s being taken over by a warmth that can’t be characterized as anything else than adoration. and the unconditional love that kieran suddenly does not want to take back. hector’s smiling up at him with his eyes almost closed, his teeth showing and he’s hugging kieran’s twisted torso with a steady grasp. kieran’s staring at him with his mouth open, and hector knows an opportunity when he sees one, so he leans up to kiss kieran softly. it’s sweet but quick, and they both pull away after a moment.

“hi”, hector says to him.

“hey”, replies kieran.

they look each other in the eyes for a while before they start laughing. neither of them remembers that auba’s still in the dressing room with them. auba’s gaze is no longer locked onto his phone, but instead he is unabashedly staring at his two teammates on the other side of the room. he’s just witnessed hector pulling kieran to sit on his lap, watched them kiss and stare into each other’s eyes like there exists nothing else in the whole wide world. and now he’s figuring it’s best to leave, before he’ll get caught staring. he slips out of the dressing room as quickly and silently as he can, and when he’s out, he immediately takes out his phone again. he needs to tell alex about this.

---

laca is looking at his phone in confusion.

“just saw something absolutely shocking in the dressing room!!!!!!!! :000 need 2 process this for a while, i’ll tell u what it is 2morrow @ practice!!!!”, reads the message from aubameyang. laca’s not sure what the hell his friend has been smoking, but he’s definitely more than a little concerned over this kind of behaviour. he tries asking what the hell could possibly be so “absolutely shocking” that it would cause such a reaction from auba, but the only thing he gets in return is more exclamation points and reassuring that he’ll be given more information on the matter come tomorrow. he’s half sure that auba’s just fucking with him, that this absolutely shocking thing in the dressing room will literally be auba’s own used and sweaty socks on lying on the floor, but when he goes to bed at night, he can’t help but feel a little anxious.

---

despite his nightly anxiety, laca sleeps surprisingly well. he’s glad about it, since he would never admit that he’d actually lost sleep over his friend sending crackhead level messages to him during the previous day. after he gets out of bed, he makes a cup of coffee and eats a bowl of cereal - yes, he knows, it’s not a fitting breakfast for a professional footballer, but he’s allowed to be a little lazy now and then – gets dressed and gathers up his stuff before driving to their stadium. he’s running early, for once, but he’s sure he won’t be the first one warming up on the pitch anyway.

laca’s walking calmly towards their dressing room, and he can hear kieran and martin’s voices echoing in the hallway. it sounds like they’re laughing over something that laca couldn’t understand even if he tried. laca doesn’t think of himself as being too old, he’s less than 10 years older than tierney and ødegaard, but damn… he’s sure he wasn’t as loud as those two when he was their age. and he sure as hell wasn’t looking at memes or tiktoks, or whatever the hell the kids were into these days.

when laca gets closer to the dressing room, the sounds of his younger teammates have suspiciously quieted down. he slows down his pace and sneaks up to the dressing room’s door. he peeks in, and boy, there’s nothing that could have prepared him for what he sees inside the room. suddenly auba’s cryptic messages make sense, and he feels his soul ascend to an entirely different plane of existence. kieran’s holding martin against the wall in a way that laca’s sure he’s only seen in hollywood movies, and the boys are kissing so that laca feels a need to check his phone, just to make sure that the time’s still 9am instead of 9pm. he steps away from the doorframe and takes a deep breath. he looks back to the direction from which he just came, and to his luck he sees david in the distance. he shouts a good morning to his other teammate way louder than is necessary, earns a happy smile and a good morning to you too in return, and he hopes it’s enough to get the younger guys step away from each other in the dressing room.

---

laca sees auba 15 minutes later on the pitch. he all but runs to his friend, not bothering to greet him, but instead gesturing him to start telling about his mysterious messages from the day before. he knows now what auba’s about to tell him, he’s seen it himself too, but he wants, no, he needs to hear auba say it out loud.

auba knows instantly what laca’s getting at with his frantic gestures. he places a hand on laca’s shoulder and starts with a serious tone.

“i need you to promise you won’t freak the fuck out when i tell you what it is that i saw”, he begins. “it’s about kieran.”

laca nods impatiently.

“yesterday after practice, i was chilling in the dressing room, listening to some beats and texting friends and stuff. you had left already, and so had most of the others as well. but there i was, with a few other guys still, and then kieran comes into the room. i don’t know, but i’m pretty sure he didn’t even notice me, because bro…”, auba’s taking a dramatic pause, he’s looking down at the ground and shaking his head, as if he’s gathering himself up to tell the rest of his story.

laca can’t take it. auba’s being a dick. it’s not *that* dramatic, and laca absolutely just wants auba to get it over with, so he can confirm that he wasn’t actually hallucinating the scene that he saw before his eyes just now.

“yeah yeah yeah, you were there in the dressing room being addicted to your phone like a 15 year old is, and then kieran comes in there and martin’s there too and then they start making out and then you’re shocked and then you decide to send me the most ominous messages in the history of the world, is that what you’re trying to say here?!”, laca helpfully finishes auba’s story.

auba looks up at him with wide eyes, and he’s just about to start nodding, when he realizes something is definitely off about what laca just told him.

“wait what? what’s martin got to do with any of this?”, he asks confusedly.

“wait what yourself? what’s martin NOT got to do with all of this?”, asks laca back, even more confused than his friend.

auba’s squinting at him now, he’s tilting his head to the side and he looks like laca’s just told him that he doesn’t think that auba’s the best forward in the history of football – which would be a terribly wrong and a horribly atrocious claim.

“bro, i don’t know what the hell you’re on about, but yesterday in the dressing room, there was me, hector and kieran. and also willian but he left when kieran came in so he doesn’t count. and hector made kieran sit in his lap and then they kissed. and i think that’s pretty fucking shocking!”, auba finally finishes his story.

now laca’s definitely not sure if he actually saw what he thinks he saw when he came to the stadium.

“bro”, he starts as well. “this morning i came here and i’m here pretty much all alone, but then i hear shouting from our dressing room, and it’s kieran and martin’s voices that i hear, right? and then i go closer, and i see them making out there like there’s no tomorrow! and you’re telling me that you’ve also seen kieran being way more than friendly with hector just yesterday?!?”

auba’s jaw has just dropped down so hard, that if they were in a comic, it would be on the floor right now. laca continues talking.

“ok so now that i think about it, what you just told me makes sense. i mean, you’ve got to be lying to me if you try to tell me you haven’t thought about hector and kieran being together at least once. they’ve always been… like… that, you know”, laca’s frantically gesturing with his hands again. “but does this mean that kieran’s cheating on him with martin?”

“or is he cheating on martin with hector?”, adds auba.

laca shakes his head. he doesn’t know anything right now, except that he and auba really need to start investigating.

---

they practice. they run around on the pitch, they kick some balls, they have a few laughs, and while they do all this, they keep a steady eye on all three of the younger men, who have managed to raise a legion of questions in both lacazette and aubameyang. none of them act in ways that differ from the norm, and laca and auba aren’t sure how they should feel about it. they make a deal to stay at the stadium for as long as possible, just for a chance to see if there’s anything else of importance happening that could help them draw some conclusions on what the hell is going on with their teammates.

they change their clothes, joke around with pepe and david, share some music recommendations with the other guys, and watch as the players start to leave. soon enough, there’s only them, hector, martin and kieran left. they’re all engaged in a chill conversation, but laca and auba are both mentally on their toes, and they’re staring at the younger boys so intently that they must feel a little uneasy. none of them says anything though. all of them are acting pretty normally, although seeing hector not be able to keep his hands away from kieran definitely comes with some extra connotations now. only when kieran excuses himself and heads for the door, do laca and auba relax for a bit. martin and hector aren’t acting weird towards each other, which is probably a good thing. that must mean that neither of them knows that kieran has also been with the other one, right?

laca nudges auba’s shoulder and asks in french if they should leave. auba answers yes. they bid their goodbyes to hector and martin, and they head out the door. auba’s actually ready to leave, he’s starting to head down the hallway, but laca stops him with his arm. auba looks at him questioningly, and laca just nods towards the dressing room. they need to see what the two will do now that they’re being left alone.

laca does the same he did in the morning. he sneaks up to the doorframe, and peeks ever so carefully in. auba does the same. they’re both completely aware of how suspicious they must look, but they pray that if someone were to see them, they would just think that the men were trying to pull a weird prank on their teammates or something similar to that.

they can’t see much from their lurking angle besides martin’s side, but at least it’s better than nothing. luckily they can also hear whatever it is that might be said between martin and hector. hector is unsurprisingly the one whose voice they get to listen to. auba and laca have theorized many times in the past that hector probably has a gene that prevents him from shutting up for more than 3 minutes at a time. he’s always talking to someone, and if there’s no one to talk to, he talks to himself. laca thinks it would be scary, if it wasn’t also pretty damn impressive at the same time. laca’s more of the type to have difficulties in finding words to say whenever he’s talking to someone else than auba, but hector’s the polar opposite of that.

today’s, or more like this minute’s, topic for hector seems to be food. he’s going on and on about some new amazing low carb vegan food that he just recently discovered, and neither laca nor auba is sure whether or not martin’s listening to a word he’s saying, deducing by how quiet he’s being. hector doesn’t seem to mind.

so far it would seem that nothing is out of the ordinary between the two inside the room, and auba’s about to suggest that they could actually leave now, but just then they hear hector saying “come here” to martin. auba can literally feel how laca starts thinking about the context in which this is meant. is it “come here” as in a) hector’s going to show martin an epic meme, or “come here” as in b) hector’s going to fucking murder martin for making out with his boyfriend?

soon it appears that this come here was neither of these things, unless memes and murders have changed form since the time when laca and auba last saw them in action (legal note: laca and auba have not seen murders in action. but they feel like they have a pretty good grasp on what they do look and sound like). auba can’t fucking believe his ears when he hears the unmistakable sound of kissing in the air. laca’s in the same boat with him. they look at each other for a second, and they don’t need to exchange words to decide that they’re going to look a little further into the room and risk getting caught lurking.

the fear of getting caught lurking turns out to be an irrational one, because both hector and martin have got their eyes closed and yeah – they’re kissing each other. auba sees immediately that hector’s kissing martin the same way he was kissing kieran yesterday, and now he’s more confused than he’s ever been before. he looks at laca and he knows that once again, laca’s in the same boat with him again. they look at each other and agree wordlessly that now it is finally time to leave this building.

---

“i can’t fucking believe that kieran’s cheating on hector with martin but that hector’s also cheating on kieran with martin!”, auba almost shouts with desperation in his voice.

“me neither! but we still don’t even know if kieran’s cheating on hector or if he’s cheating on martin!”, continues laca.

“what the fuck are they doing?!?”

“do i look like i know what they’re doing?! the only thing i know is that these boys have gotten themselves tangled in something that’s literally the most fucking complicated love triangle ever”, laca sighs in exasperation. he’s pretty sure that there’s a logical explanation to all this, somewhere, but he and auba just really can’t seem to find it.

“bro, i’m so confused right now”, groans auba. “like, i’m confused for personal reasons, but should i start to worry about the team dynamics and ethics and shit like that now too?”

“i don’t know man, i really don’t. go ask mikel about that.”

“like hell i’ll talk to him about this! what would i tell him? yeah me and alex have been invading our teammates’ privacy and now we’re pretty sure they’re all cheating on each other, *with* each other but we don’t even know how it’s possible, so what does that mean in terms of our team’s ethical ground?”

“man, shut up! you’re making it sound way worse than it is!”

auba groans again. “you know what? we’re going to find out just how bad this is. and we’re gonna find out what the hell is really going on.”

laca nods.

“ok, we’ve got a match tomorrow. i’m now gonna send them all a message to come meet up with us after it. we can meet here at your house. it’s easiest.”

laca’s about to protest, but then he decides against it.

“ok so… hi, me and laca… have… something… that we really… need to… talk about… to you… guys…”, auba narrates out loud the message he’s now writing to send kieran, hector and martin.

“do you really think they’ll come? like, isn’t that literally *the* most ominous thing you could send them? if i got a message like that from you, i-“, laca gets cut off by auba.

 “if you got a message like this from me, you’d immediately arrange the rest of your life so that you would have a completely free spot in your day for you to meet me”, auba says.

and laca can’t really argue, because even though it sounds bad, it’s entirely true.

---

come tomorrow, and auba’s received concerned messages from the younger men agreeing to meet him and lacazette at the latter man’s house after the match. auba realizes that they must actually be confused about the message he’s sent to them, and they’re probably expecting something else entirely than aubameyang straight up asking them who’s cheating on who and why.

when the team gets together for the match, all of the three guys come up to him individually and ask if everything’s ok. he just pretty much dismisses them and tells them that “we’ll talk about it later tonight”. in hindsight, that’s really not something that would make any of them feel like everything’s ok.

come night, and the match is over. auba and laca have beelined their way to laca’s house as fast as it’s been possible for them to leave the stadium, and now they’re just waiting for the culprits of this confusing situation to arrive. just as laca’s about to start complaining about how they’re never going to show up, there’s a knock on the door. laca’s not sure if he’s the one who should open the door, because even though this is his house, it’s aubameyang who wanted to arrange this meeting of the century. (laca ends up being the one who does open the door.)

kieran, hector and martin are all looking quite miserable and tired behind the door. it’s understandable: the match wasn’t their best, it’s getting late, and they have no actual idea on why they’ve been summoned here today. laca’s feeling a little bad for them, but he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t interested in the outcome of this evening.

laca and auba both tell them to get in, tell them to sit down wherever they want to. they all navigate towards laca’s sofa. they sit down in literal unison, and they sit in the same formation as they do in the dressing room. hector on the right, kieran in the middle, martin on the left. laca and auba stand in front of them. they’re both looking a little scary, and the atmosphere in the house is anxiety-inducing. even hector’s quiet.

the silence in the house is broken down by kieran. “so, why are we ‘ere? what’s it that you’ve done now, don’t tell me you’ve gone get yerselves mixed up in organized crime or some other shite like that.”

everyone chuckles a bit at that. but auba quickly recovers. “no, i think it’s time for you to tell me what it is it that *you* have done now.”

kieran’s looking quite a bit confused, and so are hector and martin as well.

“yeah, we’ve seen you together with both of your friends there!”, laca continues.

“actually, we’ve seen all of you being way more than friends together these past few days, every time in different pairings. and to be honest, we’re fucking concerned over this whole team! it can’t work with you all cheating on each other with each other, that’s not good for our morale”, auba starts explaining.

both laca and auba expect some frantic reactions from the guys in front of them, but what they get instead are three of the blankest stares they’ve ever had the (dis)pleasure of seeing in their lives. martin’s blushing a little though, he might be a little embarrassed, but hector and kieran look like they could be straight from ‘the office’ with the way they’re staring at laca and auba like they’re cameras.

“alright… so is there any other breaking news you two might want to share with us?”, asks hector.

the seriousness of auba and laca is quickly turning back into a confusion powered by a thousand suns.

“it’s never crossed yer big brains that maybe t’ere’s no-one cheating on anyone, that this is just a completely consensual threeway relationship?”, inquires kieran.

it’s martin’s turn to open his mouth as well. “yeah, i mean… kieran and hector have been together like ages already but… i’m here too now.”

laca and auba are now staring at each other, in search of some emotional support. this is not going the way they expected. not that they were really sure what it is that they were expecting in the first place.

“oh”, starts auba.

“yeah”, continues laca.

“uh.”

“i mean.”

“i guess we’re…”

“we’re sorry”, both of them say in unison. that seems like a lame thing to say, but they don’t have a lot of options currently, do they.

there’s this heavy silence hanging in the air again, until hector starts laughing, and soon it’s joined by both kieran and martin as well. laca and auba can’t bring themselves to join in, they’re too dumbfounded and maybe a little embarrassed as well. they just alternate between staring at each other and the three men on the sofa.

after hector’s stopped laughing for the most part, he puts one of his hand’s on kieran’s thigh. “i’m sorry guys, but i’ve honestly got to ask you… are you for real, that you’ve really seen me and kieran being more than just friendly for the first time only a few days ago?”

”yeah, i mean... we get that you might not have seen either of us be with martin before… but are you dimwits honestly suggesting that you literally saw me ‘nd heccy kissing for the first time like two days ago?”, kieran joins in on the questioning.

martin’s laughing next to them.

laca and auba are too scared to confirm or deny these questions. they just turn to look at each other yet again.

“uh so.. how long is it that you two have been together? no offense to martin but… you and hector? how long have you been… involved… with each other?”, auba manages to ask after a while.

“since 2019”, answers kieran.

“yeah, august 2019, to be more specific”, adds hector, turning to smile at kieran.

laca feels a bit like fainting. how is it possible that both him and auba have been so blind for so long? by the looks of whatever is it that’s going on before his eyes, it’s not like they have been trying to hide their relationship either.

“and martin here, he’s been with us… well, not too long actually. but we would do anything for him, wouldn’t we?”, hector continues. kieran nods in agreement, and martin’s blushing again.

auba is nodding slowly, clearly trying to come to terms with all this new information that’s being presented to him.

“so… are we the only ones who didn’t know that you were having this… triangular relationship going on?”, laca asks after yet another moment of silence has passed.

“you were not merely the only ones who didn’t know about this relationship, but you were also the only ones who couldn’t ‘ave just asked about this stuff normally – instead you had to summon us all into laca’s house for a meeting that sounded more serious than getting individually called to have a conversation with mikel”, kieran elaborates to his teammate.

laca facepalms.

auba just keeps on nodding.

and for the next few weeks, there’s no one at arsenal fc who wouldn’t want to make a joke about either aubameyang’s or lacazette’s observational skills at any given time.

#my writing

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castlevania-afterdark-imagines · 6 years ago

Note

How would Sypha, Alucard, Hector, and Issac act while drunk?

(Short answer, they’re all idiots)

Sypha:

This girl has 3 stages of drunk.

Stage 1: Giggly drunk. Everything is funny and is made funnier by her retelling her favorite stories using stupid voices. She will quickly be reduced to laugh-crying if anybody eggs her on.

But just like fire, her giggly mood spreads. Literally everyone’s favorite person to be drunk around because she just brings the wholesome party energy.

Stage 2: The flirty “physically friendly” drunk. If she goes from laughing one second to feeling up your arm the next you have reached this stage.

She gets very comfortable physically, draping across people’s laps, holding hands, kissing cheeks. It isn’t meant to be explicitly sexual, but if she notices the person turning red she will WITHOUT A DOUBT tease them about it. Doesn’t go anywhere, but man are there confused aroused vibes going around.

The easiest way to contain this stage is to put her near Trevor, because she will latch on to his furry cloak like a baby lemur.

Stage 3: The sleepy drunk. If there is a horizontal surfaced near her she is going to sleep on it and so help you if you try to stop her.

Easiest method of dealing with this is let her fall asleep before trying to move her, otherwise you’re getting a fireball thrown at your face as you try to interrupt nap time.

Alucard:

The mom drunk.

Thank god he takes the longest to get drunk because this poor fool is the one usually having to take care of everybody else. Also known as “making sure you don’t ruin my coat with your vomit, Belmont”.

When the liquor finally hits he’s suddenly very concerned about everybody. He’ll refill water glasses when they’re not looking, give blankets to people he thinks look cold, hold people’s hair if they get sick.

Let him do this.

No really, the last time Sypha tried to tell him it was okay and that he didn’t need to ‘mother’ everyone he started crying AND BOY DID THAT SOBER EVERYBODY UP REAL QUICK.

He doesn’t remember a lick of it but Sypha and Trevor still have nightmares of big bubbling tears pouring down his beautiful face while he lamented that he would never be as good as his mother and how he wished he still had her guidance in life because it’s going to be a long one and he’ll never hear her voice again. They’ve actively stopped people from saying that word around Adrian when he’s doting on people with wine in his hand.

Has never once had a hangover, which pisses Trevor off to no end.

Hector:

If you thought this boy could be quiet and thoughtful before, surprise- it gets worse.

He’ll be in the middle of any conversation, involved as far as nodding and smiling at the right times, but he’s not saying much. He’s just seeming to absorb the atmosphere like a social sponge.

If there’s an animal in the location it’s his now, it’s on his lap and no you may not have a turn thank you very much.

He’s also the first one to be available for the person at the party who is having a rough time. You two can go sit in a nice quiet corner and talk things out, he’ll let you vent and be the shoulder to cry on.

However, there’s a hidden level to this guy, which is why he’s always invited. If anybody starts causing trouble or picking fights or shows up uninvited they’re always quickly removed by Hector. There’s not much said about it, everybody just agrees that if Hector is shoving someone out the door with a calm stoic look on his face there’s a good reason for it and nobody intervenes.

Isaac:

He probably doesn’t like to drink at all, if ever. He doesn’t like being out of control of himself, so voluntarily doing that raises some big questions for him.

But, surprisingly he’s actually quite…companionable when tipsy. He lightens up a lot, can actually crack jokes and laugh without it sounding like he’s plotting death behind his tone.

He even claps Hector across the shoulder a few times, catching him off guard but it’s nice.

He spends the extra coin to try the nicer liquor, complimenting the maker if they’re around.

The next day however…

“Hector, if you ever make me drink again, not even Dracula would be able to find your remains,” he growls from under his pillows. Hector simply rolls his eyes and drops a book on the table to get the other forgemaster to hiss and take it back in favor of keeping the volume down.

-Mod Soviet

#trevor belmont #hector #isaac #Anonymous #sypha belnades #mod soviet #imagines #Castlevania

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intothedanvers-e · 6 years ago

Photo

Recuérdame

Word Count: 753

Pairing: Tom Holland x Latinx Reader

Summary: You get home from a day of grocery shopping to find your boyfriend home earlier than expected and playing the guitar, which he hasn’t done in a while. You decide to let him jam out alone when you start to hear lyrics you immediately recognize.

Authors Note: ok listen I was listening to Recuérdame (arrullo) [in Spanish duh] when I saw that gif of Tom playing the guitar and it fucked me up thinking about him learning to play that song for u. also u fuckin guessed it I fucking LOVE Coco and that song is arguably one of the best on the album (Gael Garcia Bernal did an amazing job) and WE NEED MORE TOM HOLLAND X LATINX READER CONTENT OKAY MY BROWN ASS DEMANDS IT. Ok sorry if u don’t like Coco (ur nuts and probably don’t like happiness) and if u haven’t seen it uh go watch it its literally on Netflix and its amazing ok bye hope u enjoy it. ALSO THE ITALICS IS EVERYTHING TOM IS SAYING, i didnt want to confuse anyone so yeah.

Here’s my masterlist!

You walked into the quiet apartment, dropping the groceries in your arms onto the kitchen counter. You figured it was empty, Tom had been away in town getting ready to begin production on one of his new projects. You started to put the groceries away when you heard light guitar strumming coming from the room that was technically used as on office by the both of you. You saw a sleepy Tessa’s head perk up, quickly followed by a quick trot down the hall.

“Who’s in there girl? Que oyes?”

The door was slightly cracked open but Tessa pushed it further open when she walked in. You recognized the sound that was coming from the room, it was one of your favorite songs from Coco. You and Tom watched it together a few weeks ago and even though you watched it in English first, you insisted he watched it in Spanish as well. He had a basic understanding of Spanish, he’d been getting better since dating you considering how often you switched between English and Spanglish, so he didn’t have much of a problem which made you happy because you preferred the songs in full Spanish. Every time the scene with Hector and baby Coco came up you couldn’t help but shed a few tears. It had been a while since you heard Tom playing his guitar so you decided to let him keep playing uninterrupted. You started walking down the hall when you heard his voice.

“Recuérdame….hoy me tengo-dammit.”

He stopped playing and started over again.

“Recuérdame, hoy me tengo que ir mi amor…”

He stopped to write something in his notebook. You walked to the door frame and pushed it fully open, leaning against the frame staring at your boyfriend with a smile glued to your face.

“Que haces amor?”

“Oh geez you weren’t supposed to be home till later love.”

“Nooo, you weren’t supposed to be home till later. I thought you guys were going to start shooting today?”

“Uhh no not today,” he said immediately looking down to avoid your eyes.

“You’re hiding something aren’t you?”

He shook his head silently as he began to pet Tessa’s head, clearly still trying to avoid making eye contact with you.

“Tomás.”

You took a seat on the floor next to Tess, still trying to make eye contact with Tom.

“Mi amor can you just tell me?”

He looked up at you, immediately breaking any front he was trying to keep up. He rotated in the chair and handed you a notebook. Written on the page were the lyrics to the song Recuérdame line by line, with either several check marks or red x’s at the end of each line. You were slightly confused.

“It was supposed to be a surprise.”

“What is it?”

He slightly lifted the notebook up in your hands and started turning pages in it. On each page were enunciation charts and sentences written in Spanish, even a few pages that looked like quizzes because they seemed to be graded.

“Beside going into town for meetings and training, I’ve been meeting with a Spanish teacher.”

“Babe I said if you wanted me to teach you Spanish I would.”

“No I know, but I wanted to surprise you. I know you love this song even though it makes you cry every time, and I know you’ll listen to it and cry alone when I’m gone for a month and a half in a few weeks so I thought I’d make it slightly happier and learn it and record it for you as a reminder that even when I’m away filming I’m still always here with you. I know it sounds like a dumb idea now but I just wanted to do this so you wouldn’t feel so lonely.”

You climbed into his lap and wrapped your arms around his neck, leaving little kisses all over his face.

“No no no no mi amor that’s the nicest thing anyone has ever wanted to do for me,” you said pushing his chin up so he can look at you.

“Really?”

He rested his head on your collarbone leaving tiny kisses on your neck.

“Yes and I love that even when you’re stressed about a project you still think about me. I don’t know what I did to deserve you.”

He lifted his head up and finally made eye contact with you.

“I love you hermoso.”

“Ya casi güerito.”

“Hey!”

You ran your hands through his curls and kissed him, still giggling.

Tag list: @peeterparkr @misformarvel @spideres @spideyziam @tsh-holland @softytom porque se identificaron cuando estaba buscando latinxs y la verdad me emocione porque tenia miedo que era la unica pero aqui estamos, si no les gusta lo siento!

#tom holland #tom holland fluff #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland fic #tom holland x reader #tom holland x y/n #tom holland x poc #tom holland x woc #tom holland latinx #tom holland x latinx reader #pixar coco #tom holland oneshot #tom holland boyfriend #tom holland spanish

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notaprincessaqueen · 6 years ago

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continued | @sonofirishseas

They were asleep in bed when the first canon was fired. It was a distant boom at first; reminiscent of thunder. It shook the pair from their sound sleep. Hector lifted his head from the pillow next to Margaret’s and looked over her sleeping form towards the window, which had been left open to allow the breeze in. His eyes were still sleepy and unfocused as he studied the dark, grey sky outside. No sign of rain…

Then another boom, followed quickly by another and a series of screams…

Not thunder. Canons. Canons from the harbor. She moved, grasping at him in worry, her swollen belly heavy with pregnancy pressing against him. He shushed her softly and rose quickly from the bed and ran to the window, verifying what he already knew. They were being raided. By rogue pirates.

Hector grit his teeth and turned, dressing quickly as he bade Margaret to do the same. They were too close, they needed to head for higher ground. He helped her throw on her dressing gown over her shift, supporting her as there was another round of fire and more screams and the sounds of buildings being struck close by.

They were through the door, Meg fussing over the cats, when the window near her was suddenly smashed in, spraying her and the cat with glass. A man poked the butt of his pistol through the broken pane, meaning to fire at the startled woman. Barbossa grabbed his wrist and dragged him bodily through the frame, heaving him onto the ground and giving him a violent kick for good measure, before grabbing the pistol from his hand and shooting him to be sure he wouldn’t be up again.

He turned to Meg and hugged her, put his coat around her, “We’ve got to go! Now!” He grabbed his sword, his guns and boots and headed towards the door.

No. No, no. She was slow to wake up, to grasp what was going on around them. It'd been years since she'd heard the cacophony, felt the rush of a battled - and here? In her quiet town?

She shoved her feet into her shoes, still half-asleep, not even daring to wipe the crust of the night from her bleary eyes. She wanted to ask what the hell was going on, but the frenzied movement of Hector, who was, if nowhere else on earth, generally at peace in her house, was enough to hold back the tumble of confused words as she snatched up the valise that held her most important possessions - a Bible trimmed in gold leaf, a string of peach-colored pearls and the matching earrings, a cameo that had once belonged to her grandmother, or so the story went. She was not a stupid woman, she had also packed away some money, and the documents detailing ownership of the Dog and Duchess, as well as letters - fabricated, but perhaps someday necessary - that would back a cover story, should they have to find a new home somewhere.

She stopped at one point to put a comforting hand on her belly - Baby was awake, too, and not happy about it, but then Hector was pulling her out. She barely had time to shoo Skimble - no idiots under her roof, she knew he would find somewhere safe - before they were tumbling toward the street. And then the world froze, and Margaret with it.

She watched in stunned horror as Hector moved - the only thing that registered was that for a split second, she had been staring death in the face. Her knees threatened to give out, but somehow, she remained on her feet, clutching the familiar blue coat and willing herself to keep breathing.

"Where?" was all she managed, and it came in a hoarse, fear-filled gasp. She hardly recognized her own voice. Behind her, one of the cats yowled, and she snapped back to attention and grasped for his free hand. "Where are we going?"

#m: margaret

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uncuentofriki · 7 years ago

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The girl with the blue purse

I wanted to write something about Hector, Imelda and Ernesto as little kids. This song was the inspiration, the translation at the end.

Hector liked the mathematics class because they were learning fractions. And fractions were so similar to the notes that the priest was teaching him on the afternoons. But he hated lots the poetry class, everything seemed so cheesy to him. He always had his place at Ernesto's side, who used that adventage to copy the homework from him. Hector didn't minded about it, the teacher usually noticed and called out his best friend and he promised to don't do that again... for a few days. He also hated the roll call. He felt like a prisioner reporting to the guard that he was back.

"Imelda?" the teacher called for the second time. Nothing. The woman shrugged and continue to register her class. Hector looked at the empty seat. Why Imelda wasn't there? And the day continued with the literature class, the teacher made everyone to read El Periquillo Sarniento and asked about their opnions to the kids "I hated it!" Ernesto said. "On this book the winner is not the good guy but the most cabrón guy!" So the teacher put a pair of donkey ears upon the kid's head and sended him to a corner of the classroom. For Hector it was some luck because at the recess he was so lost on his own mind that he was losing all his marbles, even his beloved ojo de gato. It wasn't until Almita, a girl that sometimes followed Hector everywhere, told him about that that he seemed to notice something. "But you will see tomorrow" he promised, with his proud wounded. "Tomorrow we're going to play spin so who knows when you're going to take back your marbles, sope" one of the kids mocked him. The classes continued and at the end of the day, Ernesto and Hector always walked together back to their homes. Even there he noticed the absence of Imelda, she was always walking in front of them, talking to her friends. She had a blue woved purse. Hector was so distracted that he didn't heard the daily list of what Ernesto was going to buy for himself once he were rich and famous. "I'm going to buy hundreds of horses and every horse will have its own pitiada chair" he ended the list. Hector laughed. "I'm always the one who gives you money on recess. If you continue like this, you're going to have to pay me with the horses and the chairs!" "That's why you're going to be my partner! And we both will travel around the world. To the United States, Africa, China, Europe and... Veracruz!" Ernesto passed on of his arms around the shoulders of his friend and painted with his free hand the world that he wanted to see. For some reason, Veracruz was the most remote place that he could think of. "Hey, and you're not thinking about settling down?" Hector asked, without understanding the last expresion, but he heard that expresion so much from the adults that he decided to use it to sound like one. At the sight of Ernesto's confusion, he decided to answer with what he heard the adults say after the expresion. "To marry and have children". "Ah, no. If I can judge from my parents face, I don't think that marriage thing is so much fun. Why people gets married, Hector?" "I don't know, to have more babies. The adults love the babies, always they're saying that they want to make more."At the door of Hector's house, they said goodbye. His mom had the food ready because at the afternoons he went to work as boleador and after that, to the church to music classes. "Chamaco, you haven't eat anything and your mom made chiles rellenos, your favorites!" his uncle Jesus said. "Or you have worms or you're in love, chamaco" "He's just a boy for that stuff, Chuy" his mom complained, angry at the clear sign that her little angel was growing up. "He's 8 years old. So... not worms" he laughed. "¡Chuy!" It wasn't his day on the polishing of shoes, but it was a luck that every time he made a mistake, he was able to repair it. On music class, the priest nagged him because he was playing so distracted. He went back home and did his homework as his mother served him the night snakc, a cup of warm chocolate and a pan dulce. Then he went to play the last hours of light with Ernesto and came back for the dinner. The next day, the teacher called him at the end of the day. Ernesto awaited for Hector at least for a seconds until he decided to leave because he was drooling over the veal that his mother had made for that day. "Hector, what's this?" Hector looked at the notebook as if it wasn't his. He was sure of had made the homework but instead of that he saw Imelda's name written on it, sometimes with poorly drawn flowers and themselves drawed on it. "I... uh... let's see..." he mumbled. "I promise to bring to you tomorrow the homework of yesterday and today but corrected. Just don't tell my mom or she will give me the chancla, Miss Maria". "I'll let this pass because you're my best student. But Hector, you're still a child to think about girls. You're still tender for the pains of love, better try to study more" The kid became red as a tomato and took his notebook back. "I love Imelda and we're going to get married, I will become famous and grow old together and every day I'll make a different song for her!" And he leaved as fast as he could the classroom. His teacher remained skeptical. After noticing that his best friend wasn't awaiting for him, Hector walked alone, thinking about what he just said, until he crashed into somoene. He saw the blue purse. "Hi, Imelda!" he greeted her, nervous. Hector extended his hand to help her get up, but she rejected him. "What's up, Hector" she smiled, with her toothless smile. "Why you didn't came to school?" "I got a fever. Now I'm fine so my mom told me to come and tell the teacher to give me the homework of the past days. Well... see you tomorrow!" and she continued her way, with her small braids bouncing at her back. The next day, while the teacher was talking about poetry, Hector took out another notebook, different from the one he used for school, bought with the money he earned from his job. He started to write some ideas. If he was going to marry Imelda someday, he better have the perfect song for the ocasion.

Notes:

1- Almita (a diminutive for "Alma") is a reference to the fic "Nieve de limón" from @miguelcocofangirl, one of my favorites

2- I wanted to add some paralelism between Miguel and Hector, making him a shoe polisher too.

3- Cabrón: Is like “asshole” or shithead, but sometimes saying “you’re a cabrón!” means that that person is pretty witty. sope. It’s like silly but on a childish way.

4- I guess you can get somewhat confsed about the times of eating so I’ll explain. On Mexico sometimes we start the day with a small breakfast, like some coffee and fruit or pan dulce. Then a more elaborate breakfast which can include orange juice, coffee (again), chocolate (like your hot cocoa but this is made differently), and a dish like chilaquiles, tacos, hot cakes, eggs... sometimes even meat!. Nowadays we just do this on sundays or holidays because #fastlife. At 12 p.m we eat again the lunch, kids usually eat it sooner, at 10 a.m. Then, back at home, we have our main meal of the day (equivalent to your dinners, if you’re american). That occurs between 2-4 pm. Some kids have a nightsnack between 6-7 p.m. Then the dinner, which is usually something easy to diggest. I’m used to have for dinner a glass of milk and bread and that’s it. A friend of mine went to study the the USA for a semester and he was STARVING lots and never could adjust himself to their schedules of eating.

Chiles rellenos is a dish with poblanos chilis stuffed with something inside (hence the name) like cheese or meat, then covered with egg batter and flour and fried.

La de la mochila azul -Pedro Fernández

“What’s wrong with you, kiddo, what’s going on?” They asked me on the house and on my school. And I didn’t knew until today when I heard the roll call And she didn’t answered

The girl with the blue backpack, the girl with sleepy eyes She leaved me with restlessness and low grades. I don’t want to go to the recess because I don’t have fun with anything. I can’t read neither write I miss so much her eyes.

As a souvenir I have her pencil colors My notebook has blots of love I want to see her on her seat Because if she doesn’t come back, my classroom will be so sad.

#Coco #Coco pixar #coco fanfiction #fanfic #fanfiction #Imelda Rivera #Hector Rivera #Ernesto de la Cruz

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gigglinggoggles · 7 years ago

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Who's the character in your icon he's beautiful

[OOC]

That’s the character I RP as, Lalna. He’s---okay it’s complicated. There are people who do story-based things in Minecraft and he’s the in-universe persona of one of them. He’s a mad scientist, sometimes he does his own thing or is the villain in another storyline in self-defence, sometimes he’s with the spaceman Xephos and dwarf Honeydew (see below, Art by Jacyll that last time I check couldn’t be linked to on their page but who gave me permission to use as an icon!)

He also has a storyline with Nanosounds, who is a feisty lady found by a farmer/architect in what amounts to Hell. And they are best friends. There’s plot about him being a clone and her catching a magical purple plague called the Flux.

In one story with Xeph and Honeydew they have a laboratory where they do mad and evil science, and the original Lalna named Lalnable Hector used to work there but was caged up for being too murderous, evil, and cannibalistic even for the evil “Aperture Science has nothing on us” lab. In a story with Lalna and Nano, Lalnable Hector has escaped and is the villain for ages.

It’s all complicated and confusing, so this account added to the confusion by making an original clone of Lalna/ble for me to RP. :) @doctorbethanysartblog made this for me of my teenage version of the science boy and his sleepy magic girlfriend Madotsuki. Who, glancing at your blog, you know the game she’s from.

She’s older than in-game and those events happened a long time ago. So like, idk. It works and we’re having fun with those nerds.

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tomatomagazine · 8 years ago

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Meditations on First Idolatry: Why We Overdose On Love

By Polden Grey

I have an instinctive urge to answer the question “What is love?” with a line from a famous song, but more often than not, I find myself earnestly pondering the question. This nocturnal reflection, therefore, will serve as an accretion of thoughts on Romanticism and the Human Condition. We will travel through time, look at how love is depicted in “The Myth of Pygmalion and Galatea” in the ancient world, proceed to Hector Berlioz’s Symphonie Fantastique (1830) and arrive at Martin Scorsese’s “Taxi Driver” (1976). Love is a narcotic, and it is often too easy to overdose. 

Have we truly changed how we love? The social dynamics of love are still dictated by ideas set forth by Romanticism; 18th century ideals that drastically changed how we perceive love, sex, work and life in general. Our love lives are influenced by Romanticism to a point where it is difficult to take a step back and rethink what it means to love. We are minions set out to find our soulmates, and we are told that when we find “the one,” we will understand the meaning of life, and all our problems will be solved. However, if we happen to fail, a sad lonely life full of suffering awaits us. This forced pursuit of happiness gives rise to what we will call the “Galatea Effect”. Ancient Greek mythology tells the story of Pygmalion, a sculptor who set out to carve the perfect statue. He worked day and night, almost in a state of frenzy. To his surprise, when the statue was finished, he found himself beholding the most beautiful creation he had ever seen. He fell desperately in love with a statue that was so real to him, yet could in no way requite his love. He was filled with unbearable pain. In the myth, Aphrodite, the goddess of love, could not ignore Pygmalion’s pure devotion and took pity on him. One day, as Pygmalion came home, he hopelessly touched Galatea’s hand and felt a warmth he had never felt before. Her hand grabbed his; their lips touched. She, and therefore all his projected ideals, were given life.  

In the real world, however, there is no divine intervention. The universe is indifferent to such trivialities. It is fairly easy to see that in our era, Pygmalion would be just another deranged man. There are many Pygmalions out there who try to project qualities they find desirable or relatable on to their love interests, whether these are accurate or not. There is a need to find a soulmate as soon as possible, or they will be forever incomplete. That is when the “Galatea effect” kicks in and they begin to force their love story as one would desperately carve the final piece of a jigsaw puzzle to fit. They look back at Romantic literature, and keep the stories and ballads close to heart. There is a strong urge to recreate what they have read and heard. They cannot quite understand why they are so strongly attracted to their person of interest, but their pursuit and suffering feels justified. Every line, every gesture from their beloved is framed in their mind. Their hearts ache and affection grows stronger, just as Pygmalion’s did as he toiled to create an artificial representation of his love. Romantic literature and songs tell them that love always finds a way.

Then reality hits them hard. The beloved does not requite their love. They cannot wrap their heads around it. Soon many questions flood their brain. One unanswerable query after another, and the feeling of anger and frustration seeps in. Finally, like many of their Romantic heroes, they resort to extreme measures. This three-phase pattern of projection, rejection and cathartic violence is found frequently in Romantic narratives and constitute what we call the “Galatea Effect.”

Now we will look at the Galatea Effect in two works that are strikingly similar in ways that they depict the matters of heart. The works featured will be Berlioz’s Symphonie Fantastique (1830) and Scorsese’s “Taxi Driver” (1976). This back-and-forth comparison will shine light on the glorification of obsessive behavior in Romanticism.

First movement of Symphonie Fantastique, named “Reveries – Passions”, opens with a slow introduction quite similar to the sonata form in pieces from the Classical Era. The veiled strings in the introduction echo the operatic lament of a lonely man, a “young musician, afflicted by the sickness of spirit,” as described by Berlioz himself. The laments are brought to an abrupt end, followed swiftly by a haunting memory of the beloved in the form of a musical motif called idée fixe. This forty bar representation of the beloved will reappear throughout the symphony, all the while undergoing alterations in instrumentation, rhythm, meter, and tempo. A continuously rising phrase reveals an ardent yearning for the beloved. Later on, the motif, much like his hope, dies out with falling intervals. The last bars of the movement, the coda, are marked Religiosamente, and consists of “Amen” cadences, voicing the spiritual calm before the storm.

Paralleling this descent-into-hell narrative is the story of Travis Bickle in “Taxi Driver.” In the opening scene of the movie, the camera locks on to the paranoid eyes of “God’s lonely man” overlooking urban isolation. Very much like Symphonie Fantastique’s first movement, with its unequal phrases that focus more on expression than structure, the ever-moving camera and the off-center framing gives a subtle hint at looming emotional instability. A misanthrope, Travis is ironically obsessed with relationships, convinced that it will fill the existential void in his life. This is the premise of Romanticism, the promise of ultimate truth and happiness. So it is no surprise when Travis, in a menacingly sluggish voice reminisces the first time he saw his Galatea: “I first saw her at Palantine Campaign headquarters at 63rd and Broadway. She was wearing a white dress. She appeared like an angel. Out of this filthy mess, she is alone. They...cannot...touch...her.” Now he has someone on which to project his own loneliness. Like many victims of limerence, he is unable to fathom that she may never requite his interest, no matter how many times he calls or how many roses he sends.

The second movement of Symphonie Fantastique, “A Ball,” depicts the musician being content during a waltz, but some bars in, we hear the iconic idée fixe, which is now in triple meter and accompanied by the waltz. He has seen the beloved once more in the ball, and now the ingenious tremolo strings in the background speak of a man trembling at the presence of the beloved. One can imagine her slowly fading back into the crowd, and the waltz goes on, After a while, he sees her again. The reiteration of idée fixe is unaccompanied, as if time has slowed down. With a sudden outburst of the orchestra, the waltz snaps back fortissimo risoluto and she disappears once more into the crowd.

The third movement, “Scene in the Countryside,” opens with the musician observing a conversation between two shepherds in the background of a sleepy meadow. The introduction starts with a call from the English Horn and an answer from the off-stage oboe in the distance. Vestiges of idée fixe surface from the flute and oboe with altered basses. Not even this calm scenery can stop his mind from racing to her. As time passes, the ascending phrases from idée fixe are accompanied by increasingly unsettling falling scales. The memory of her is now tainted with anger and confusion. The outro has the horn call the oboe again, but this time only thunder is heard. The English Horn tries calling one more time, and the sound produced from the four timpanies create yet another formidable thunder. He calls her many times, but to no avail. He spent almost three movements carving out the ideal soulmate, just to find that his devotion has fallen on deaf ears.

In “Taxi Driver,” Travis decides to don a red velvet coat and go see his beloved, Betsy, in person. He rushes into her office. When he asks her out for coffee and pie, she asks about his intentions. “I think you're a lonely person. I drive by this place a lot and I see you here. I see a lot of people around you. And I see all these phones and all this stuff on your desk. It means nothing. Then when I came inside and I met you, I saw in your eyes and I saw the way you carried yourself that you're not a happy person. And I think you need something.” Travis replies, again not realizing that loneliness, confusion and unhappiness are projected qualities that belong to him. She coyly accepts the invitation. Just like the beginning of the third movement (English Horn and oboe), the audience can feel an authentic connection between Travis and Betsy forming. It is not long before he comes up with the idea of taking her to an adult theater for their date. This will be the last time they are together as she walks out of the theater in disgust and takes a cab home. Initially, this may come off as a crude sexual innuendo, but if you pay attention to Travis’s earlier visit to the theater, his facial expression is one of melancholic curiosity and not arousal. He truly believed it when he pleaded with Betsy that “all kinds of couples go here.” He was genuinely confused by the negative outcome. Feeling no sexual desire for Betsy, he synthesizes sexual tension by going to the adult theater. In an attempt to appear normal, he became abhorrently abnormal.

A day after the incident, he tries calling Betsy, the conversation’s awkwardness is heightened as the camera slowly pans away from Travis and shows us the narrow hallway that leads to a dark alley. Sparing the audience from having to witness his struggle. “I tried several times to call her, but after the first call, she wouldn't come to the phone any longer. I also sent flowers but with no luck. The smell of the flowers only made me sicker. The headaches got worse.” He remembers the rejection, almost mirroring the English Horn-Timpani exchange at the end of Symphonie Fantastique’s third movement. “I realize now how much she's just like the others - cold and distant, and many people are like that.” We hear Travis’ voice while we watch him burn the flowers he bought for her in the sink. Despite his relentless efforts, he now has to deal with the full weight of being rejected. “I really, you know, I really wanna, I got some bad ideas in my head, I just…” he warns of an imminent eruption of repressed desires.

The fourth movement of Symphonie Fantastique, “March to the Scaffold,” opens with a fearsome environment where the musician tries to commit suicide by overdosing on opium. Instead of dying, however, his mind sinks into a nightmarish world as he imagines an angry crowd carrying him to the scaffold for the murder of his beloved. The feeble and innocent idée fixe appears for the last time in its unadulterated form during the coda, letting us know that the musician is still thinking of the beloved. The orchestra suddenly surges, and the guillotine blade falls, decapitating the musician. A repeating chord is played triumphantly as the crowd cheers at this scene of violence.

Final movement, “Dream of a Witches' Sabbath”, places the protagonist yet again in an ominous environment. Berlioz creates a believable demonic atmosphere through dynamic variations and a host of instrumental effects. Out of darkness the screeching laughter of the trombone taunts the musician and fades away. Idée fixe resurfaces, but something is not right. The motif is now played vexingly, giving a vulgar representation of the beloved. Bells are tolled and Dies Irae, the Gregorian chant of death is heard. The musician can be faintly heard screaming in agony, diabolical excitement churns in the orchestra as it victoriously plays the finishing major chord. Thus, delivering the long awaited coup de grâce to the musician.

It is a strange conclusion that has always puzzled me. Why the joyous ending? Did he wake up from the opium induced nightmare? Is his death or insanity the ultimate display of love? Are we to sympathize with him, and celebrate his martyrdom? “Loneliness has followed me my whole life. Everywhere. In bars, in cars, sidewalks, stores, everywhere. There's no escape. I'm God's lonely man. June 8th. My life has taken another turn again. The days can go on with regularity over and over, one day indistinguishable from the next. A long continuous chain. Then suddenly, there is a change.” Travis narrates over a shot of him once again devoured in the dark demonic streets of New York. He continues to surround himself with criminals and sets out to buy a .44 Magnum. Similar to the musician’s case, suicidal tendencies are visible, yet Travis wants his death to be more meaningful; he wants to become a martyr. “All my life needed was a sense of someplace to go.” Now the only way he can satiate that need is through death. Marking his entrance to the “cathartic violence” phase.

In the second half of the movie, we see his obsession shift from Betsy to Iris, a young prostitute. We see another restaurant scene with Iris mirroring the one Travis had earlier with Betsy, but now his charm is replaced with disillusionment. He tells her that she is too young to be doing what she is doing, that she needs to go back to her parents. Iris does not take this well. “So what makes you so high and mighty. Will you tell me that? Didn't you ever try lookin' in your own eyeballs in the mirror?”

After much paranoid preparation and rocking the ritualistic mohawk, he goes out to the devil’s lair where Iris works. He guns down her pimp, and proceeds to brutally murder the child molesters, criminals, “fuckers” and “screwheads”. He executes Iris’s client in front of her eye and she screams as the blood spatters on the wall. He then proceeds to shoot himself in the head, but no bullets remain. He falls on the sofa as police storm the place, and greets them with a murderous grin. With his blood soaked hand he makes an imaginary gun and puts it against his head, pulling the trigger three times. During final scenes we see that Travis has recovered and hailed as a hero. He has returned to being a taxi driver, and the last customer we see is none but the elusive Betsy. “How much was it?” she asks, and Travis grins and drives away. Camera moves to the high contrast New York streets, much like the beginning of the movie. The imagery eerily speeds up as Travis adjusts the front mirror to look in his own eyeballs. Credits roll.

These stories are more than a century apart, however, the love dynamic is almost identical. There is a reason we relate to these characters, and there is a reason that a phenomenon like “Galatea effect” is so prevalent in our modern lives. We have experienced it first hand, know someone close who has, or worse, were in the position of rejecting someone. Open the radio, and listen to a recent trending song. You are likely to hear a work heavily influenced by Romantic ideas. The narratives are reinforced over and over again, inviting us to reenact them. This urge to participate is so strong that listeners find it a cause for celebration when they can finally, truly connect with such songs. We built upon what we've established so far to make one last point:

Romanticism is a dated frame of reference that continues to influence popular culture. It is based on the music, poetry, and essays of key figures who were nearly exclusively male. Romanticism persists to define our current societal notion of expectations for love. Men are encouraged through popular culture to fall obsessively in love and relish in the pain of rejection. Women are offered up as targets for this obsessive love, and labeled derogatorily if they spurn a suitor. Popular culture is based on love stories from 18th century male viewpoints that alienate the female perspective. We need a new notion of love fit for this century where suitors are not encouraged to fall into unhealthy obsession, and the people on the other side can feel free to reject without fear of repercussion. When we reflect on love a century from now, may we be able to draw upon contemporary works that promote a healthy, inclusive perspective on love. Romanticism stopped being truly romantic a long time ago. A new chapter on love is waiting to be written by the thinkers of tomorrow.

#love #taxidriver #berlioz #symphonie fantastique #unrequited love #romanticism #music #essay writing #psychology #analysis #film essay #philosophy

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