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booksandchainmail · 2 years ago

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Pale 9.11

Her spiritual antler having enough to it that the actual antler could float there. Verona’s mask hadn’t stuck, apparently. She wasn’t sure what that was about.

My theory here is that Verona's mask remains broken because it breaking was an emotionally resonant moment. Avery's mask just got damaged in battle, and hasn't impacted Avery's view of how it should look. Verona's mask was shattered in a moment of betrayal and cruelty from someone she should have been able to trust, and had a corresponding impact on her Self.

“You related to Ken?” Avery asked. “He’s my dad, I guess,” Nettie said. “I’m the offshoot. We figured we’d scatter, cover more ground.”

oh neat!

“Well, it’s nice to meet you. I like the name Nettie,” Avery said. “Now I’m wondering what the others are called.”

I think there were four total? So some ideas: Kendall, Kendra, Kennedy, Nate, any name that ends in -nette

“Good. The pin will help you with the prep. If you’re in a place for a while, it’ll change. Tells you when you’re attuned to a place, when you can ask the city spirits things. There are ones smaller and vaguer than me. Neighborhood spirits, street spirits. You’ll usually need to do things for them, even picking up litter or something, before they’ll do something for you.”

I like this! Good for the girls' role as protectors of Kennet, and particularly suited for Avery's personality

Nettie nodded, glanced around, then leaned in a bit. “Nobody’s listening, so I can tell you Verona’s claimed her gift. She called, another part of me answered. I’m meant to forget after I’ve told you two.”

something that helps her run or hide within Kennet would be very useful right now

“When things go really wrong my mind kind of shuts off,” Avery said. “I’ve had thoughts before that it doesn’t work like that for Verona. I don’t think she’s making dumb moves.”

she's making extreme moves. She is making them very effectively! But entirely possible to get herself in too deep while she's like this

“I think she can be very smart and have almost no common sense when she’s like this.”

High INT low WIS. Honestly that seems to describe Verona most of the time, but it gets amplified when she's like this. In this state she doesn't seem to have much sense of self-preservation or care for the future or side consequences.

“I don’t want her taking some property from Ken and doing a demesne ritual without us there, or anything.”

I mean. That would be one way to keep the furs out of reach. But I don't like the implications of Verona choosing her new home while in this state, or of creating it all alone.

Scary Others, goblins, body snatchers, a heist of some ancient spirit judge’s furs? That was one thing. But buzzing a classmate she barely knew for weird reasons, then having to improvise an explanation? Augh.

big mood

Steph + Reagan + Howie Perry. It was only visible with her Sight. She tapped the name.

Reagan! From the Hungry Choir ritual!

“Bonky Donks? Cookies? Whizzbangs?”

are those actual canadian snacks?

“It’s fine,” Avery said. “Your daughter was really cool to us when things got really hairy, and I’m really grateful for that. You raised a good daughter.” “Why even tell her if she’s going to forget?” Melissa asked. “Because it’s important,” Avery said. Maybe if I say it again, “Reagan was cool.”

awww

“You can stay if you want, Melissa, we don’t really have the time to drag you with us, but I’m going to be blunt, on a seriousness scale of clown to terminal cancer, I’d rate this a multiple stab wound,” Lucy said. “What are you even talking about?” Melissa asked.

yeah I'm with Melissa, that explanation does not help

“I’m the Frankenstein’s monster that got put together from the scraps that were left behind. A bit of the backfill that’s smoothing over the holes they left, so the universe can heal and move on. I was a confused jumble of a bunch of people’s memories, at first, and then I put myself together. It was excruciating. Tying knots in two ropes that are being pulled in opposite directions, over and over again. I don’t think I’m very long for this world. When the universe has smoothed it all out, I’ll be the bumpy bit that gets scraped away. Probably.”

Man that sucks. And made worse by how all the component pieces of him were in a place to join the Hungry Choir ritual.

I wonder if there's a way to preserve him? Tie him to something other than just the gaps of those missing kids? Crack theory: make him the new Carmine judge.

“McKay and Bridge have a solid game plan. Pick a body I want, drive out the occupant, then slip inside. Depending on the fit, I should be able to hang out for a few decades.”

or that :|

“They were so desperate. All of them. It wasn’t just those three. They bit, they clawed, they screamed, they hurt. In their last moments they stood on the edge of oblivion. More of them gave their all than gave up. That’s the space I’m occupying. Those are the Frankenstein pieces I’m made up of. They were barely even human. They were scared and savage. They were torn to shreds and I’m the shreds that didn’t get eaten.”

Anyone who made it past even a single night of the Choir had to have come to terms with watching people die. And anyone who participated in one of the last night's of the cycle, like Reagan, knew what their survival would cost and had to decide to keep going.

Now that I think about, we've never got details on the night Brie won. Maybe some the parts she needed from other people were willing, but there's no way she didn't choose to go after people with force to survive. I wonder how much of her not wanting to fight is having to live knowing that seven people died in her place, and now their twisted echoes are bound in her flesh?

“I don’t think you realize what it means, for me to be made up of people who were like these guys were right at the end. Doing anything to keep going. Even eating vomit, clawing at a friend’s arm, begging…”

which of course means CK is born from a place that is desperate enough to make those awful choices. No wonder he's contemplating stealing someone else's body to survive.

"We- the idea we were debating was… we’d spread enough raw chaos that the universe wouldn’t be doing any paving over for me. McKay would have more people with their lives in shambles to steal from, and Bridge would maybe be able to pull more Self together. If anything can survive the Abyss and its chaos then it tends to get bigger, tougher and stronger." “That’s a terrible idea, you know, and I don’t know much about the Abyss.”

having read Pact: do not try to get more Abyssal! It's bad!

#booksandchainmail reads pale #pale #wildbow

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peachbear88 · 4 years ago

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Tale as Old as Time

A/N: Yes, it's basically Beauty and the Beast. I LOVE DISNEY MOVIES OKAY?

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You shiver on the cold stone of the jail cell, wrapping your cloak tighter around you. How did you end up in the jail cell? A series of long, unfortunate events.

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

The door to your shabby home swings close as you prance down the cobble streets, book in hand.

"Little town,"

"It's a quiet village."

"Every day,"

"Like the one before."

"Little town,"

"Full of little people,"

"Waking up to say."

Windows are flung upon as the townspeople peer down at you.

"Bonjour!"

"Bonjour."

"Bonjour!"

"Bonjour!

"Bonjour."

A man with a long white apron proffers a tray of fresh, steaming buns towards you and you snatch one, nodding your thanks.

"There goes the baker with his tray like always,"

"The same old bread and rolls to sell."

He opens his mouth to protest but thinks better of it.

"Every morning just the same,"

"Since the morning that we came,"

"To this poor provincial town."

A man approaches you, tipping his hat.

"Good morning Y/N." You smile at his kind, pudgy face.

"Good morning Monsieur Hogan. Have you lost something?"

"Well, I believe I have. Problem is I can't remember what." He scratches his chin. "Oh well. I'm sure it'll turn up somewhere." His eyes float down to the book clutched in your hand. "Where you off to?"

"To return this book to Monsieur T'Challa. It's about 2 lovers in fair Verona." He snorts.

"Sounds boring."

You shrug and continue down the stone path towards the small town library.

"Look there she goes, that girl is strange no question."

A small band of boys watch you as you walk down the street.

"Dazed and distracted can't you tell?"

"Never part of any crowd,"

"'Cause her head's stuck on some cloud."

"No denying she's a funny girl that Y/N.”

The marketplace is bustling as usual as you slip through the many stalls. The familiar buzz of conversation fills your ears.

"Bonjour, good day, how is your family?"

"Bonjour, good day, how is your wife?"

"I need, 6 eggs."

"That's too expensive."

You sigh, spinning around.

"There must be more than this provincial life!"

You fling the door of the library open to find your second favorite person in the world, T'Challa, dusting the shelves.

"Ah, if it isn't the only bookworm in town! Where did you run off to this week?" He waves the duster at you, making you cough.

"Two cities in Northern Italy. I didn't want to come back. D'you have any new books?" You inquire, leaning over the small collection piled in the corner.

"I'm afraid not," He sighs. "But you may read any of the old ones you'd like."

You pick out your personal favorite.

"Your library makes our small corner of the world feel big." T’Challa smiles.

"Bon voyage!" He shouts as you close the door behind yourself.

"Look there she goes, that girl is so peculiar,"

"I wonder if she's feeling well." A scholar mused as you passed.

"With a dreamy far-off look,"

"And her nose stuck in a book."

"What a puzzle to the rest of us is Y/N."

You hop onto the stone wall of the well, still reading the book, nearly stepping on the hands of the laundresses cleaning on the edge of the well.

"Oh, isn't this amazing?" You twirl around on the stone wall, earning many disgruntled looks from the laundresses. "It's my favorite part because, you'll see." You hop off the stone wall, continuing down the path back to your home. "Here's where she meets Prince Charming, but she won't discover that it's him, till chapter 3."

"Now it's no wonder that her nickname is Beauty,"

"Her looks have got no parallel."

A disgruntled mother says, her fair daughters standing behind her, glaring daggers at you.

"But behind that fair facade,"

"I'm afraid she's rather odd."

"Very different from the rest of us,"

"She's nothing like the rest of us,"

"Yes, different from the rest of is Y/N!"

Peering through his golden telescope at you, Steve Rogers sighs from atop his handsome horse.

"Look at her Sam. My future wife." He hands Sam the telescope who accepts it rather reluctantly. "Belle is the most beautiful girl in the village. Makes her the best." He whispers confidentially, waggling his eyebrows. Sam cringes.

"But she's so... well-read. And you're so..." He looks Steve up and down. "Athletically-inclined." Steve waves him off, setting his horse at a healthy trot towards the town.

"Yes, ever since the war, I felt like I've been missing something. She's the only girl that has ever given me that sense of..."

"Je ne sais quoi?" Sam proffers. Steve scoffs, entering the village.

"I don't know what that means."

"Right from the moment when I met her, saw her,"

"I said she's gorgeous and I fell."

"Here is town there's only she,"

"Who is beautiful as me."

"So I'm making plans to woo and marry Y/N."

The fair girls from before swoon as Steve walks by, who only has eyes for you.

"Look there he goes,"

"Isn't he dreamy?"

"Monsieur Rogers!"

"Oh he's so cute!"

"Be still my heart,"

"I'm hardly breathing,"

"He's such a tall, dark, strong and handsome brute!"

They shriek in disgust as Steve hops off his horse, splattering them with mud. Sam hops off his horse as well.

"It's never going to happen ladies." He whispers as they whimper in distress.

"Bonjour!"

"Pardon!" Steve attempts to push through the crowds to get to you.

"Good day!"

"Mais oui!"

"You call this bacon?"

"What lovely flowers!"

"Some cheese, ten yards, one pound-"

"Please let me through!" He grabs a bouquet of flowers from a nearby stall.

"This bread."

"Those fish!"

"It's stale!"

"They smell."

"Madame's mistaken!"

"Well maybe so-"

You burst through the masses of people, twirling as you reach your home.

"There must be more than this provincial life!"

Steve slicks back his hair, approaching you at a smart pace.

"Just watch, I'm going to make Y/N my wife!"

The town resumes their unashamed staring at you.

"Look there she goes the girl is strange but special,"

"A most peculiar mademoiselle!"

"It's a pity and a sin,"

"She doesn't quite fit in."

"'Cause she really is a funny girl,"

"A beauty but a funny girl,"

"She really is a funny girl,"

"That Y/N."

The townsfolk resume their normal quarrel and haggling as you slip through the flimsy gate and through your cabbage patch. Steve follows.

"Y/N!" You turn to find Steve flashing you what he thinks is a dashing smile. You recoil in disgust, instantly speeding up your pace, hoping to get inside before he can get to you. A flood of hope grips you as your hand wraps around the door handle but a strong arm grips your other wrist and you deflate.

Sighing, you turn to face Steve.

"Yes Monsieur Rogers?" He flashes a greasy smile your way and shoves the flowers into your face.

"For your dinner table! May I join you tonight?"

At least he has the manners to ask, you think.

"Not tonight, no." He deflates slightly.

"Oh. Busy?" You wince, prying his fingers off your wrist.

"Not exactly."

"Oh. Then why not-" You cut him off.

"Listen, I really have to go. Books to read, places to explore, people to ignore." You open the door, sliding in and closing it before he can follow you. "Good bye."

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

You sigh with relief, taking a moment to catch your breath before continuing further into your home. A drawing pinned to the drawing board catches your eye. A charcoal sketch of you. Well, baby you to be exact. A smile graces your lips as you tear your eyes away from the sketch and to your father, Tony Stark. He hums a small tune as he tinkers with an elegant music box.

"How does a moment last forever?"

"How can a story never die?"

"It is love we must hold onto,"

"Never easy, but we try."

"Sometimes our happiness is captured,"

"Somehow our time and place stand still."

"Love lives on inside our hearts,"

"And always will."

You wrap your arms around him and he smiles.

"Hello papa."

"Hello Y/N. D'you think you could pass me the-" You roll your eyes, handing him the tool before he finishes his sentence. "-tweezers- Oh. Thank you." He pulls a broken cog from the music box. "And now, something long and thin-" You pull the hairpin from your hair and hand it to him. He glances at it and a smirk grows on his face. "No, no, not quite-" He glances at the machine again. "Actually, yes, exactly."

With a final prod, the music box comes to life once again. The two of you share a small smile before he shoves it into his leather satchel and hauls it outside. You follow him, watching as he loads it into a rickety wooden cart along with a few other items. Your horse, Elm scuffs the cobbled pathways with his hooves, eager to get a move on.

"Well, I'm off to the market dear. Anything you'd like me to get for you?" You smile, leaning against the horse as Tony swings his leg over the horse to straddle it.

"A rose." He scoffs, tipping his hat down to you.

"You ask for that every year!"

"And you bring it ever year." You retort and he smiles, giving you a quick peck on the forehead.

"Very well. A rose you shall receive. I'll see you in a few days!" With a flick of his wrists, Elm starts off at a trot and Tony waves goodbye one more time.

"Be careful," You whisper as he disappears from your sight. With a sigh, you return to the house.

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

You throw your dirty clothes into a barrel, adding some soap rinds into the mix before carrying it to the town well and rigging it to a horse which marches around the well. You smile proudly at your handy work. Self sufficient laundry machine.

Leaning against the wooden support beam with a sigh, you pull out your book and start reading. A small voice next to you grabs your attention.

"What are you doing?" You smile at her.

"Laundry. Come, come!" You pat the spot next to you encouragingly. Tentatively, she sits next to you and you hand her the book.

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

The pastor storms towards you and the little girl.

"Teaching another girl to read? Isn't one enough?" He sneers. You glare back at him, snapping your book closed indignantly.

"Nothing wrong with wanting to know more."

"We've got to do something about this." His wife mutters.

Before you can comprehend the meaning of her words, a man pulls your barrel of clothes out of the well and throws them to the ground, spilling the contents everywhere. You fall to your knees, scrambling to pick up the clothes as others laugh at you.

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

"Wow. You are so beautiful. No wonder everyone wants to marry you. So dashing." Steve whispers seductively, flexing in front of the mirror. Sam clears his throat causing Steve to jump. "What do you want Sam?"

"A certain damsel in distress awaits you." He quirks an eyebrow, gesturing with his head to where you crouch, gathering your sopping wet garments. He turns back to the mirror, slicking his hair back.

"It's hero time. I'm not done with you yet." He winks at the mirror before rushing to you. Sam leans into the frame of the mirror.

"Me neither."

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

From the corner of your eye, you spot Steve approaching rapidly. Gathering the last of your clothes, you scurry away.

"Ah Y/N!" You groan at your luck. "I heard you got in trouble with the pastor. S'all right. He never liked me anyways."

You groan in frustration.

"I was just teaching a child to read!" He smirks, sliding closer. You step back.

"The only children you should be concerning yourself with are..." He gestures between the two of you. You arch an eyebrow. "Your own!" You scoff, slipping through the gate and into the cabbage patch. He jumps over the flimsy gate and stomps towards you, squashing at least 4 cabbages. You watch him with barely disguised disgust.

"Look, you know what happens to girls when their fathers die? They end up like poor Agatha, forced to beg for scraps!" He points at Agatha, a rather kind but unlucky woman.

"Well, I'll cross that bridge when I get to it." You reply coldly.

"Look, let me make it simpler for your tiny female brain." He growls. You arch an eyebrow at his choice of words. "Marry me and you will never have to deal with that." You scoff.

"Marry you? I'd rather marry a rock." You slam the door in his face. He sighs, rubbing his face with a calloused hand. Dejected, he walks back to where Sam stands. You glare at him from where you stand on the balcony.

"Can you imagine, me, the wife of that boorish, brainless..."

"Madame Rogers,"

"Can't you just see it?"

"Madame Rogers,"

"His little wife."

You groan in disgust.

"No sir, not me,"

"I guarantee it,"

"I want much more than this provincial life!"

You sprint towards the green hills a good distance from the walls of the village.

"I want adventure in the great wide somewhere,"

"I want it more than I can tell."

"And for once it might be grand,"

"To have someone understand,"

"I want so much more than they've got planned..."

You sigh, running a grime covered hand through your hair before returning to your home.

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

You're pulling the ripe cabbages from the ground when it all comes crashing down.

A panicked whine comes from beside you. Your head shoots up to find Elm, pawing at the gate nervously.

"Elm? Where is papa?" Elm rears back, clearly skittish. "Take me to him!

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

You arrive at a monstrous looking castle, stone gargoyles with vicious fangs guarding the doors. You gulp, brandishing a large stick. The door handle is cool to the touch, sending shivers down your spine. You enter to find a well lit entrance hall, adorned with brilliant paintings and sculptures, although in the dark, they appear much more menacing.

With a gulp, you continue on, bringing the massive stick a little closer.

"Look Doctor Strange! A girl!" A voice whispers from the shadows.

"Yes I know it's a girl! I can see." A second, older voice snaps.

You whirl around but all you see is a flash of misty blue. Squaring your shoulders, you prepare yourself to investigate the blue wisps when a rough cough sounds out from above.

"Papa!" You race up the winding stairs into a much more sinister looking tower. Laying there on the cold stone floor is your father, his face pale and body shaking with each cough. The cold sunlight illuminates his face and he jumps up, grabbing the metal bars of his cell.

"Y/N, what are you doing here?" You shake out of stupor, smacking the iron bars in a futile attempt to free him.

"I'm here to rescue you." Fear floods his features.

"No! You must get out of here! I'm old and my days are numbered. But you, you're young and you have so much to live for. Go, get out of here before she comes back!" You scrunch your face.

"She?" Massive footsteps echo from further up the stairwell. You raise the stick in front of you. A tall shadow appears on the stone walls of the tower. You gulp, inching forward but the figure stays in the shadows.

"You should not have come," A heavily accented voice rings out and your throat dries up.

"I had to. He's my father. Please, let him go." You call back but the figure scoffs.

"Your father is a thief!"

"Liar!" You cry.

"He stole a rose."

"I asked for that rose!"

An idea forms in your head and you slowly lower the stick. "Wait. What if you let him go and I take his place?"

"No! She means forever!" Your eyes widen.

"You monster! A life sentence for a rose?"

The woman laughs humorlessly.

"I was given a life sentence when I was little. Do you think I deserved it? You may call me a monster but trust me, I've been called much worse." You sigh, the gears in your brain whirring.

"Can I at least have a moment to say goodbye to my father?" The voice grunts and the shadow recedes. "Are you so cruel you won't even allow a daughter to kiss her father goodbye?" The figure pauses but slowly comes back down and into the light. Your throat dries up at the sight.

A beautiful girl in a blood red cape with auburn hair that burned in the torchlight, you felt your ears flush bright red. With a flick of her fingers, a red mist surrounds them and the metal gate swings open.

Your eyes grow wide at the display.

Magic.

You don't have time to think about it however as a strong set of arms wrap around you.

"Y/N!"

"Papa!" The two of you embrace as you discreetly waddle around so that his back is to the cell door.

"Y/N, listen to me. You have so much to live for. I lost your mother already and I can not lose you too. Live your life! Forget about me." He whispers into your hair and you feel a tear slip down your cheek.

"I will never forget you Papa. And don't worry. I will find a way out of here." His eyes widen before you push him through the threshold of the cell and slam the door behind him. He stumbles, falling onto his back, betrayal clear in his eyes.

"Y/N!" The woman stares at you for a moment, disbelief glimmering in her eyes before it disappears.

"You fool." She spits. Your father watches you with wide, horrified eyes. The woman grabs him roughly and drags him down the stairwell, his screams echoing off the walls.

"Papa! Don't hurt him!" A sob escapes your throat as you curl into a ball, wrapping your cloak further around yourself to preserve the warmth.

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You sigh, shivering as a cool gust of wind hits your back.

'Forever damned to freeze in a cell. Some adventurous life this is' You think to yourself as sleep claims you.

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Taglist: @username23345 @musicinourlips @gingerbreadcookieforlife @xxxtwilightaxelxxx @ima-gi--na-tion @nicole-rayleigh-hot @olsensnpm @peabrain112

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda x reader #wanda maximoff

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vcrcnc · 3 years ago

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HSHQTASK011: FAMILY

verona has two kids ! laura giulia d’orléans e bragança ( eight ) and marcel luís d’orléans e bragança ( five ). does it bother her that they don’t bear the di savoia name on their official papers ? very much. did she have a huge fight about it ? yes, yes, she did. it was one of the fights she lost.

her ex-husband is the brother of the current emperor of brazil ( he’s maîte’s uncle ). otaviano of brazil is a very dashing man in his mid-fourties, a decade ago he was absolutely irresistible. especially for someone like verona.

the beginning of their relationship can’t be described as a whirlwind romance — it’s just not verona’s style. otaviano is friends with the braganças so naturally whenever catarina threw a big party, verona would be there and so would otaviano too. he lived a very jet-set life so he popped up here and there. then around 2007 he started popping everywhere verona was. they spent one summer together and after that otaviano stuck around in rome. he’d disappear onto some adventure but he’d find his way back to rome to verona.

it worked pretty well for them because when he was away, she could concentrate on her work without feeling like she was ignoring him. it didn’t come as a surprise to anyone when they got engaged in 2009, it was the most natural continuation to their story. they were so in love too ! otaviano was the man who could put up with her rigidness and verona was the woman who had managed a miracle: she had gotten him to stay in one place for longer than six months.

octaviano was a good fit, verona considered him worthy. in verona’s mind, there is no better surname than di savoia. it has power, it has history, and it has an impact on everyone. it’s a very special name. so it wasn’t very easy to find a person whose family was at least somewhat equal to hers. fortunately for octaviano, the brazilians certainly were.

the wedding was big. an italian princess marrying a brazilian prince, what else could have it been ? their first born came two years after the wedding. verona struggled to tear herself away from work especially when her brother really needed him as the newly crowned king. she cut her maturnity leave short and otaviano took care of laura for the first two years. then things slowed down for verona and she gave her best effort to make things equal.

while she was learning how to be a good mom, she found out that another was already on the way ! it was half-planned: they didn’t use protection but they weren’t having sex that often so... anyways, marcel was born in 2016 !

and roughly at that time things took a turn for the worse. octaviano’s brother’s illness began to take over his body and octaviano wanted to return to brazil — with his little family, of course. verona was having none of it. she came up a million excuses why they needed to stay in rome, why brazil just wasn’t a good idea, how her work was so important and could not be done overseas. it was pure selfishness on her part: she wasn’t willing to do exactly what octaviano had done for her just a few years ago. octaviano stayed in rome for one more year, tried to make verona change her mind but to no avail.

eventually he packed his bags, flew back home, and began helping his brother and his family. they were separated for a good year before verona gave up and agreed to sign the divorce papers.

their current relationship isn’t totally terrible but they aren’t really friends. they make time for each other so they can keep the kids happy but that’s it. they don’t talk confide in each other anymore.

laura is a quiet kid, she is mildly scarred by verona’s sharp eyes and relentless micromanaging. marcel on the other hand takes a bit after verona in the sense that he can be very demanding. spoiled rotten for sure. neither of the kids have a royal title: both verona and octaviano were “too far” from the crown to have an official title. of course they’ll be referred to as of italy and of brazil but they’ll get paid nothing in the future... though verona and octaviano have set up very comfortable trustfunds for them, and it’s not like their family would let them become poor !

#hshqtask011 #[ TASK ]

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juvinile · 4 years ago

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* LÉO DAUDIN , CIS MALE + HE / HIM | you know XAVIER HUGHES , right ? they’re TWENTY - FOUR , and they’ve lived in irving for , like , THEIR WHOLE LIFE ? well , their spotify wrapped says they listened to SAY SAY BY YOUNGBLOOD HAWKE like , a million times this year , which makes sense ‘cause they’ve got that whole TRIPPING OVER LACES YOU KNOW YOU REMEMBERED TO TIE , THE DULL VACUUM OF GETTING THE WIND KNOCKED OUT OF YOU , SQUEEZING CONSTELLATIONS TOGETHER TO MAP OUT YOUR FEATURES thing going on . i just checked and their birthday is APRIL 30TH , so they’re a TAURUS , which is unsurprising , all things considered .

TW INCLUDE anxiety tw, bullying tw, panic attack tw.

AESTHETICS :

tripping over laces you know you remembered to tie, the dull vacuum of getting the wind knocked out of you, squeezing constellations together to map out your features, chewing teeth and regret, sharp tongued anxiety like flames at your heels, bearing crushing disappointment with hard taught posture, shoving fists into your pockets, empty trophy cases collecting dust, a hazy fog of shame, reusing beer cans for whiskey, telescopes that see into the future, planets with more rings than people.

CHARACTER INSPO :

patrick verona (10 things i hate about you), somehow both yuri’s (yuri on ice), jackson whittemore (teen wolf), tybalt (romeo and juliet), llewyn davis (inside llewyn davis), luther (umbrella academy. this one hurts to admit bt theres some parallels there. don’t execute me), haymitch abernathy (the hunger games), the premise of being an antihero, the trope of a bully that stops bullying ppl, scary looking dog that lives next door (my apartment)

GENERAL STATISTICS :

full name : xavier donovan hughes

age / dob : twenty four / april 30th

gender : cis male

pronouns : he / him

faceclaim : léo daudin

orientation : pansexual

residence : orion avenue / delphinus heights

occupation : zoinkies employee

pinterest : HERE !

BIOGRAPHY :

they weren’t always irving natives, but no one can seem to recall when the hughes moved in to the big house at the end of the cul-de-sac on orion avenue. there’s probably a rational explanation for this but no one really bothers to find out. what a fun little moment of foreshadowing for xavier’s life.

xavier was born in irving some time after the mysterious arrival of his parents. an only child, he would be the sole inheritor of the family estate (something they always told him and he was always like lmao what the fuck are u talking about). there’s probably a second home somewhere, maybe two or three, xavier assumes. makes sense because his parents were and are literally never home.

when they were home they were putting pressure on him to live up to some expectation that he wasn’t confident he could ever reach. he played like 5 different sports as a kid and was really good at most of them, but roadblocks would start to get in the way of that later.

he was also a really smart child but left to his own devices too much. grew up too fast and too slow simultaneously. he had a strict curfew, strict diet, manners classes, everything to prepare him for. what?

xavier was a really smart child, blessed with private tutors and language coaches, a revolving door of adults to latch onto when his parents weren’t around. none of them permanent, and mastery of everything he did was always expected.

in high school his parents refined their hopes for him. a soccer scholarship, xavier’s least favorite sport but the one with the most promise, the most room for growth and potential to make good on the hughes family name. he was instructed to quit everything else, even told to fall back in school if it was necessary. he repeated a grade. everything was harder then.

truthfully he’s really good a soccer, but he gets horrible anxiety before every match. it wasn’t along before that anxiety started spreading to. basically everything he did.

lashed out at most people because he didn’t want to appear weak. was not a nice person in high school at all. had more enemies than friends and the friends he did have weren’t the most well liked people around, didn’t have the best reputations. didn’t want anyone to know how anxious he was so he forced himself out of his shell so much it hurt.

his girlfriend cheated on him senior year with a guy he was unwilling to admit he kind of loved himself. it was the final straw that broke the camel’s back. he’d gotten a scholarship to a small in state school for soccer already and he played a season, literally did so bad. couldn’t even go to class because he was doing so bad. he got a second season chance to redeem himself and kind of shit the bed with that one too. lost his scholarship and his parents made him come home.

now that he’s back he does pretty much whatever he wants, and his parents pretend not to care (they’re never around to notice anyway) as long as he works a steady job. he’s officially really stuck in life with no backup plan for his future. all he knows right now is that he regrets the way he treated. pretty much everyone.

but forgiveness is never easy.

PERSONALITY :

extroverted. introspective. intelligent, philosophizing about the greater meaning of things. anxious, buried under a lot of deflective techniques. relatively keeps to himself. overworked and put out, most of the time, it seems. big fan of bottling things up and collecting these feelings on his shelf. good at small goals, horrible at the big picture stuff. not organized. defensive of and loyal to a close circle. regretful. slothful, lately. passionate, mostly about outer space and pole vaulting. soccer hater.

WANTED CONNECTIONS :

people he bullied in school that still hate him and look at him weird when he crosses the street.

someone he was a dick to in school who he’s always fighting with now.

ex soccer team members ... ex track team members .. maybe one of them saw him have a panic attack before a match. keep it a secret between themselves.

people who crash at his house when his parents aren’t home (which is always)

people who think his family is involved in shady illegal shit (they could be, xavier doesn’t know what they’re always doing)

coworkers at zoinkies? he’s notoriously bad at his job because he literally doesn’t try at all but somehow doesnt get fired. pretty privilege probably

people who want to see the good in him idk soft

hook ups he probably has a few but hes emotionally unavailable. recurring trend in my muses.

#irvingintro #anxiety tw #bullying tw #panic attack tw #ˏˋ ◟ * XAVIER HUGHES �� BIOGRAPHY. ˎˊ #the wc list is small bc my brain stopped working #bt i accept any and all connections

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chwrpg · 4 years ago

Photo

COHEN JAMES. college sophomore; nineteen. charlie gillespie. TAKEN.

and, as cameron james once said:

“Just 'cause you're beautiful, that doesn't mean that you can treat people like they don't matter.”

BEFORE THE PARTY;

Cohen James’ had been yet to be sold on his recent move to Rosewood, Illinois. Why is that? You might be asking yourself. The answer being that he just wasn’t really to be tied down. That was what Rosewood represented to him. Being chained down, given that his return to Rosewood came with a whole lot of responsibility that he wasn’t too sure he was ready for.

You see, before Cohen found himself in Rosewood— he’d been enjoying his best life. He’d decided to take a leap year from college, promising his family members that once the year was over he’d settle down. He’d be the perfect little pencil pusher they’d wanted him to be. But the second he landed in his destination of choice, he threw his phone into the nearest garbage can. He just wanted to be free. From that moment on, he relegated himself to doing good out in the real world. He joined a number of non profit organizations over seas, helping those who actually needed help. He built homes, he cooked meals, he taught. He found all of that to be actually fulfilling, whilst also allowing him to see the world and actually see it.

Now, Cohen knew he was lucky to have been born into the James’ family. He’d essentially won the silver spoon lottery, his family being one with old money. Like old-old money. But with all that money, came so many responsibilities. Yes, he often flew to these amazing countries with his parents but he never really got to enjoy these trips because they were solely for business. So he saw the world through hotel rooms, car rides and plane flights. It all became rather mundane. That entire world, from the people who simply lived to flaunt off their excess to the pressures of fitting in— it’d terrified him so for that reason, he’d taken off.

But he’d find himself pulled back into the fold, at the request of his grandfather. Given his cousin, Calvin’s bypassing of his duties as the future head of their family’s printing empire— those duties fell upon him. And solely him, as they were the sole grandchildren. A part of him wanted to do like his cousin, turn down the offer but he knew that’d simply break his grandfather’s heart. This was something he wanted in their family and in their family alone, so Cohen made a choice to honor that and found himself on the next flight to Rosewood.

So that’s how he’d found himself in Rosewood, stuck in stuffy business suits and all. At least he’d gotten to keep his longer locks, at his grandfathers insistence. Sure, the man might have meant business but he was also a pretty dope old man if he had to say so himself.

And if he had to be honest, Rosewood hadn’t been all that terrible. He’d heard pretty great things about the town, from his older cousin and now, his cousin’s best friend— Penn Orville. The guy had become his unofficial but official guide to all things, Rosewood. Under his tutelage, he’d learned all about the social factions that the town had to offer. From the Greasers to the Elite, he’d been given the breakdown.

But he hadn’t said anything about one, Birdie Stratford.

It’d just taken one look at the woman and he’d found himself enthralled by her immediately. The words ‘I pine, I burn, I perish’ having had left his lips in his drunken stupor when describing his feelings towards her to Penn.

Although getting a date with the woman wasn’t going to be as easy as flashing that notoriously adorable grin of his, no. Apparently her father was well-known for being a bit overbearing on his daughters, to the point that it was a well known fact that Birdie wasn’t allowed to date. Well, that was unless her older sister, Kenya dated. A little tidbit Birdie had dropped on him during one of their study sessions.

Cohen thought that’d be easy to do. If she was Birdie’s sister, there was no way someone wouldn’t want to date her. That was until he got to meet said sister for himself. He was sure Kenya was a lovely person, but she wasn’t exactly the most friendly person he’d encountered in Rosewood. He liked to think that there were some people that wouldn’t mind dating a difficult woman though. People jumped off of planes and skied off of cliffs all of the time, this could have been like that for someone. But when Penn and himself attempted to find some potential candidates, most of the guys simply laughed and in the case of one guy, screamed at the thought.

Out of options, he was beginning to accept that perhaps Birdie and himself just weren’t meant to be. That was until Penn suggested him, Pete Verona. The two turned their attention onto the guy, who was literally playing with fire at the moment. A part of him thought that the guy might have been a bit too off-putting but that almost applied to Kenya, so perhaps they’d be a match made in off-putting heaven. So Cohen garnered the courage to approach the guy, who was quick to turn down whatever he had to say. But that didn’t stop Cohen from trying to get the guy to warm up to him, which happened when they realized they had a mutual love for comic books.

Sure, the two were pretty different from each other but they actually got along pretty well from that moment on.

Pete eventually found himself receptive to the idea, so long as Cohen paid for the expenses that came with dating Kenya. He happily obliged if that meant that he had a chance to woo that Stratford sister that made his heart race. Not only that but Cohen found himself slipping Pete a bit more money, not that he’d asked for it... but Cohen knew that things were rough on his side of things and he wanted to help out his friend however he could.

Now with all his bases covered, Cohen shot his shot. He invited Birdie to some party happening that weekend and rather than turning him down as she had often, she’d agreed. Again, she’d agreed and it’d felt like a dream. So much so, he had to pinch himself to assure that it hadn’t been one but no, he was very much awake.

He was in the game, baby !

DURING THE PARTY;

Cohen felt as perhaps he was blowing it. This was his chance with Birdie, the chance he’d been working for and it just wasn’t anything like he’d pictured it to be. He sort of thought that he’d have Birdie laughing at his jokes and that maybe she’d want to just hang out with him for the remainder of the night. But that wasn’t how the night was going.

They’d spent the last hour wandering the party, greeting a ton of different people. Now, he didn’t have a problem with meeting people, he loved meeting new people but for some reason... it felt more like Birdie was flaunting him. Weird, right? A part of him was flattered, he’d like to think that this was a sign that she liked him. You don’t go around introducing your date to everyone unless you liked them. And sure, the conversations often turned to that of his new job and where he liked to spend his summers— which was a bit too shallow for him but it was small talk.

The two eventually seemed to have come to a stop, Cohen making a light joke about having met just about everyone in Rosewood thanks to her. It wasn’t all that well received, but at least she smiled. He couldn’t stop thinking if he was doing something wrong. He had to be? Maybe he should ask her? But before he could, everyone’s attention turned to what was happening on a table not so far from them.

Birdie’s sister was dancing on a table. And not just dancing but like breaking it down. He was beyond impressed by her moves, despite the fact that Birdie looked like she’d rather die in that moment. He didn’t see what there was to be embarrassed about, as he let Birdie know. Actually, he thought it was cool that she could let loose.

But as soon as it appeared like he’d managed to get Birdie to drop whatever guard she’d had up towards him, he’d heard some pretty disparaging words towards Kenya. Things that someone should never say about anyone, yet alone, a lady. So Cohen couldn’t help but react and that led to him being punch in the eye by who he’d come to find out was a major fashion model. What a great icebreaker that was gonna be, but the best part of it all to him was that Birdie— yeah, the same Birdie that he’d been pining over... well, she punched that jerk right back.

alternate faceclaims and prompts.

#cohen james #10 things i hate about you #charlie gillespie #takenm

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skzsauce01 · 4 years ago

Text

In Fair Verona︱Chapter 8

Synopsis: Jisung knows he is the Romeo to your Juliet. He could wax poetry about you all throughout rehearsal and even a little after. Except Hwang Hyunjin is the one playing Romeo in the school play, not him. Jisung is just another tech crew member that you don’t know, but he’s determined to win your heart... by any means necessary.

Warning: violent imagery

Word Count: 2.3k

Pairing: fem!reader x Jisung; fem!reader x Hyunjin

Prepare to be baited. Apologies in advance.

updates every Wednesday and Sunday @ 11 PM PST︱chapter list

A plague o’ both your houses! I am sped.

The weather matches his mood — cold, gray, sad. The rain suddenly came in between third and fourth period, and the hallways are still covered in watery footprints. People linger around after school, waiting for their rides or asking for them. He notices a few boys loaning their girlfriends their sweaters, and he desperately wishes he was one of them. Instead, he takes his textbook out from his locker and heads to the auditorium for rehearsal.

He drops off his belongings in the classroom, which is packed wall to wall. He has to nudge several people out of the way when his “Excuse me’s” aren’t heard. He doesn’t see you anywhere and assumes you’ve escaped to the dressing room, where it is sure to be less crowded. Hyunjin isn't around though, so maybe you’re with him.

He hopes not.

When rehearsal begins, you wait on stage right as usual. Your hair is damp, and you have Hyunjin’s jacket draped around your shoulders to prevent your costume from getting wet. You stand next to Hyunjin and talk about something excitedly. Jisung doesn’t let the soft looks from Hyunjin escape his notice. When you’re finally alone, he goes over to you.

“Didn’t you say you would give his sweater back?” he says, far more accusing than teasing. You jump a bit at his sharp tone, and he apologizes. “Sorry. Didn’t mean it like that.”

“Hey,” you cautiously greet. “Rough day?”

He nods. “The rain ruined my mood. Sunny days are much better.”

“I like the rain. I think it’s nice.” You absentmindedly ran your fingers across the drawstring of the hood, and he knows it’s not the weather that you only like.

“So, the sweater?”

The look of guilt is clear on your face. “I wore it to school, and then it started raining, so I decided to keep it for a little longer.”

Would you do the same if Jisung were the one to let you borrow his? He thinks he already knows the answer, but he pulls off his hoodie and holds out to you anyway.

“You can have mine.”

With no hesitation, you reply, “I couldn’t, but thank you for the offer.”

“Why not?” He wants to hear you say it. He prods you again. “Why not? Is there something wrong with mine? What’s wrong with mine?”

“Nothing!” you indignantly say. You look away and start fiddling with your earring. “I just—”

A red hot rage floods his system, and he thrusts his hoodie forward. “Then give Hyunjin’s sweater back and take mine!” he hisses.

You flinch and take a step back. “I wouldn’t be comfortable borrowing yours. I don’t know you well enough to feel okay with it.” The last part comes out in a whisper.

“No, I get it.” He forcibly tugs it over his head and runs a hand through his mussed up hair. “I get it. I get what you mean,” he repeats more calmly, though it’s more to convince himself than you.

You don’t look like you buy his act, but you slowly nod anyway. “I’m sorry if I offended you.”

“No no,” he shakily laughs. He pastes on a bright smile so wide that he’s afraid his face might crack. “I’m not hurt at all.”

You try to give him a smile back, but it wavers before disappearing altogether. “I gotta talk to Yuna,” you point to the girl playing Nurse. “Bye.”

Jisung goes over to Changbin, who looks like he’s having the time of his life working on math problems. “Hey, Changbin.”

“Hm?” he mumbles, not looking up.

“I’m gonna go to the restroom after the next blackout.”

“Okay.”

Until then, Jisung is stuck. You chat with Yuna, but even he can tell that you’re not into it. Your eyes occasionally wander to the general area where Jisung is. It’s not the shy, sneaking peeks he wishes they are though; they’re more like concerning, “he’s not going to hurt me, right?” glances. He wants to apologize, but what does he apologize for? For scaring you? For being rude? For falling in love with you when you don’t care? All of the above?

He finds himself walking back to you. He robotically taps your shoulder while you’re in the middle of a sentence, and you jump.

“Can we talk?” he says.

You look at Yuna, who retreats a short distance away. You face Jisung and stand directly in front of him. Your voice trembles when you say, “I have to be on stage soon. What did you want to talk about?”

“I’m sorry about earlier,” he blurts out. “I didn’t mean any of that. That wasn’t me back there, and I didn’t mean—”

The lights go out, and Jisung loudly swears as he remembers that he has to help set up. He rushes on stage with Changbin and haphazardly aligns the set pieces. Then he makes his way back to finish his apology. To his misfortune, Hyunjin beat him to you and is asking about his performance in the earlier scene.

“Y/N,” Jisung calls. When you’re looking back at him with a deer-in-the-headlights expression, he continues with, “I’m sorry, and I didn’t mean to hurt you with any of that.”

You tightly reply, “It’s fine,” and end it there. Jisung opens his mouth to protest, but you clearly don’t want to continue the short lived chat.

In a more relaxed tone, you say to Hyunjin, “See you at dinner?” You shrug off his jacket and hand it to him. Jisung doesn’t miss the way his fingers “accidentally” brush against yours. Without waiting for an answer, you stride onto stage, your still damp hair hanging down your back.

Hyunjin has a dopey grin on his face, and he clutches his own sweater like he’s holding the only life preserver on a sinking boat. Jisung wants to smack him until he sees stars, but he heads to the restroom like he told Changbin he would.

There’s someone inside, and Jisung has to wash his hands until they’re scrubbed raw before the person leaves. Once he hears the door swing shut and Jisung’s certain he’s far away, he lets loose a scream worthy of a horror film. It echoes against the tiled floors and walls, and he unleashes a string of curses after. His throat feels like it’s been cut with knives, and he pants as he rests his palms against the edge of the sink.

I hate you, I hate you, I hate you.

This is all your fault.

She’s supposed to be mine.

I hope you get run over by a semi truck.

I hope the lights fall from the batons and land on your head.

I hope your heart stops.

I hope you die.

Jisung stays in the restroom for a while longer to pull himself together. He waits until his breathing returns to a more normal rate and until he stops trembling. He wants to shatter the mirror into a million pieces, so he clasps his hands together. In another lifetime, it would have been your hand in his.

But Hwang Hyunjin had to exist in this one.

He heads back to the auditorium, taking careful steps in front of him. He doesn’t want to be around anyone, so he tucks himself into the corner of the stage next to the fly rail. The person manning the fly rail looks surprised at the sudden intrusion, but Jisung ignores it. At least he can’t see the front of the stage where the actors are anymore.

When dinner rolls around, Jisung is unfortunately forced to eat inside the classroom since he has no more money for convenience store food. You and Hyunjin share a table together with two other actors, while Jisung sits with Seungmin, who also brought his own dinner. Seungmin makes small talk, and Jisung gives one word replies. He’s too busy trying to eavesdrop on your conversation and watching you from the corner of his eye. Your back faces him, so he can only see the movement of your head. He bitterly notes that you’re wearing Hyunjin’s jacket now and that you’re laughing at his lame attempts at jokes.

“You’re not hungry yet?” Seungmin asks as he gestures to Jisung’s untouched but fully cooked ramen.

Jisung glances down and picks up his disposable chopsticks. “Oh, I forgot.”

“You okay? Changbin mentioned that you were kind of out of it today.”

“It’s the rain. I hate rain.” He eats a mouthful of noodles and angrily chews on it. “It is awful, and it makes everything wet and gloomy, and it always makes me freaking mad for no reason. Screw. The. Rain.”

Seungmin laughs at what he thinks is Jisung being overdramatic. “Alright, I got it. The rain is evil, and you hate it.”

“Exactly.”

You gasp at something on your phone and excitedly tap on Hyunjin’s arm. A splotch of pink blooms on Hyunjin’s face, and he looks at your screen. He congratulates you for getting an A on your exam and offers to take you out to FroYoZen to celebrate.

“It’s too cold for that, “ you goodnaturedly say. You tilt your head in his direction and look up at him. “Maybe when the weather clears up.”

Jisung grips his wooden utensils and continually shovels ramen into his mouth. Would it be odd if he suddenly snapped his chopsticks in half? How can you betray him twice by getting yogurt with Hyunjin? The first time he can forgive since that was a task for the play, but frozen yogurt is supposed to be his thing with you.

Meanwhile, Hyunjin looks pleased with his situation, and your conversation switches to a debate about frozen yogurt versus ice cream. Jisung almost chokes on his meal when he learns that you and Hyunjin shared your yogurts together last time.

“Jisung? You okay?”

Jisung’s cheeks are stuffed like a squirrel’s, and he’s breathing hard. He’s finally aware of how absurd he looks and the concern on Seungmin’s face. He chews and chews until he’s able to swallow.

“I thought you were choking,” Seungmin sighs in relief. “Thank goodness you’re okay.”

Is he really though?

The rest of rehearsal is hazy, and Jisung can only remember the stabbing in his heart when you and Hyunjin stage kiss. He can’t see it since he’s tucked in his little corner, but he knows the lines leading up to both kisses like the back of his hand. It hurts, and the invisible knife cuts deeper and deeper.

During tech notes, Jisung gets lightly chastised for taking bathroom breaks so often during performances, but everyone overall seems pleased with his efforts. There’s a reminder from the tech director that the preview for the play is tomorrow after school and to wear all black.

“When do we get our shirts?” Felix asks.

Ah, yes. The cast and crew shirt that Jisung paid for because he had no real choice and because he wanted to share one article of clothing with you. If he’s lucky, you and him will wear the shirts on the same day, and it will almost be like a couple’s matching outfit.

“They should be here by tomorrow, but come in all black anyway.”

“Do we get a refund if they don’t come in time?” the freshman jokingly says.

There’s a bit of a laugh from Mr. Gi. Then he deadpans, “No.”

After they repaint and respike the stage floor, the tech crew is dismissed for the night, and Jisung goes to the green room for his belongings. You’re still receiving extra notes from the director, so he mills around outside, waiting for you to come out. He wants to apologize again for his outburst earlier since he knows you didn’t truly accept his previous apology. He needs you to know that he still loves you.

As actors start filing out, Jisung pretends to be immensely interested in the tech crew lists for all the upcoming shows. You come out of the classroom with your books clutched to your chest and Hyunjin on your heels. Jisung mouths a curse.

“Hey, Y/N?” he says.

You stop, and your shoulders are beginning to rise. You can’t even look at him; your eyes are directed at the yellow wall behind him. The deer-in-the-headlights expression is back, and Hyunjin takes notice.

“Sorry, we gotta go,” he cuts in. He wraps a protective arm around you, and while you initially jump at the gesture, you eventually sink into him.

“I wasn’t talking to you,” he snaps. “I just need one minute with Y/N.” To you, he pleads, “Please.”

“I have to go, Jisung. Maybe tomorrow,” you quietly answer.

Hyunjin leads you away, shooting him a warning glare. Jisung glowers back, but Hyunjin’s not looking anymore since he’s whispering something to you. You shake your head, and Jisung can make out the words, “Everything’s fine.” The door to the parking lot shuts with a heavy thud, and Jisung stops wishing death upon Hyunjin to run out to follow you.

It’s raining hard, and he can just make out your silhouettes from the car headlight beams. He pulls his hood over his head and strides toward the two of you. Hyunjin poorly shields you from the rain with his jacket while you duck under the trees to avoid getting your books wet. To Jisung’s astonishment, you don’t leave Hyunjin’s side at all. He freezes in his tracks as he sees you getting into the passenger seat of a car he doesn’t recognize. Hyunjin walks around and gets into the driver’s seat.

What. On. Earth.

The car pulls out of the parking lot, and Jisung is left standing in the middle of the drop off zone. A car honks at him, and he loudly swears at them, earning looks from the group of people nearby. He shouts at them to mind their own business before stomping to his car. As he drives home, there’s a clap of thunder, and a flash of lightning follows soon after.

The weather matches his mood — cold, gray, stormy.

~ ad.gray

A/N: Happy birthday to Han and Felix!

#stray kids #skz #han jisung #hwang hyunjin #stray kids han #stray kids hyunjin #stray kids au #theatre au #high school au #stray kids scenarios #stray kids imagines #stray kids fanfiction #skz scenarios #skz imagines #skz fanfic #stray kids x reader #prepare to be baited #apologies in advance #20200913

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aki-draws-things · 4 years ago

Note

F, K and X? :D

F: Share a snippet from one of your favorite dialogue scenes you’ve written and explain why you’re proud of it.

Two of them, not just dialogue but the whole part..

- “First, it's on fire. - “well, no shit sherlock.” - Second, you don't know if Rollins is inside. - “I know he is. I feel it.” He kept quiet and knocked the door down easily. - third, if something happens to you for the sake of one man, who's gonna lead them?”

That was the only logical point Brock would agree with, in another moment.

“I've read stories of you storming a nazi base on your own for the sake of one man.”

“It wasn't--”

“Bullshit. It was one man. Everyone else was collateral.”

Steve almost cursed. Loudly. Very loudly and direct. No one he saved was collateral, he walked inside with the specific intention of saving each and every man prisoner.

“He's my one man.”

All right, maybe he did walk inside with one specific man in mind. The others weren't collateral, but they were strangers at the time. Before he could say anything else Brock already covered his face in a cloth and ran inside. For the sake of one man .

(that one, from "for the sake of one man". Because it descrive well Steve Rogers and his primary reason (bucky. It's always been bucky. It will always be bucky. 3 films and buck is the reason behind what he does. 😂), and at the same time shows the human, vulnerable side of rumlow, who in the films is a villain in the end. Willingly risking everything for one person of his team. I like to wrote about teams who are so loyal to each other to seem almost codependent, not in a creepy way but in a very basic "I have their backs because they have mine.", not questioning it and nothing. Just absolute loyalty. I especially like the "he's my one man." part. It's sweet, in his own way.

-"Migraine still here?"

Josh whimpered in response, leaning over the hand on his head.

"Sing something?" a whisper, tired, nothing more. Lawson looked at him like he grew a second head. Given the intensity of the pain he could as well grown one extra head, that would explain a lot.

"what? Josh I'm a terrible singer. Awful. Raise the dead kind of bad. I'll just make your head hurt more."

"nah... Sing for me? Please Laws."

In the end Lawson could tell him no.in the end he never learned to tell him no when he pleaded him. In the end he sat with one knee over the mattress and hummed the first song that came to his mind trying to be as quiet as he could.

"God, Laws... You're really as bad as I remembered." he chuckled making Lawson crack a smile in a "I told you so" manner. "I still like it, though."

"I know, you'd rather have Grace here instead of me. Bet she's a way better singer. She had to go pick up Micheal and Stell. Sorry, you're stuck with me mate."

Josh shook his head slowly, still smiling, eyes almost closed.

"it's good." he stretched a hand toward him, palm up, waiting for Lawson to take it, a gesture they got accustomed to, something they both found comfort in after years in that line of work and danger, grounding when one of them was low, or hurt or sick. "I like you here too, Laws."

("in your arms", the last words part. It holds everything. It's angsty (especially knowing what happens after), it's sweet, kinda funny if you imagine someone sing really badly and out of tune. I really like the last part (then why not posting just that? I liked everything else too, that's why), the hands touching, in a quite intimate way, described as intimate but not between lovers. It's in the safety of that touch, like when you're km a very crowded place with someone and you hold hands to stick together in the crowd, with some people you have a stronger bond that touch goes beyond not getting lost, it translates in safety and grounding, gives some... Fuzzy feels, but not in a romantic "I love you" way. I tried to put that to words.

(also, "I like you here too, Laws" will always and forever break my heart.)

K: What’s the angstiest idea you’ve ever come up with?

Mmmh.... That's hard actually... Angstier idea...

"Et quand viendra la mort On s'aimera encore" counts as heavy angst, illness, miscommunication, fights, make up, death.

"Ninety messages" it has a happy ending but it's a collection of pain and some kinda suicidal thoughts.

The impaled chest prompt is quite angst too, and so will be Darkened Ice, and the lost Verona series, especially the rising tide.

Most angst is psychological, and that makes it worse. It's not for the one dying or getting hurt or sick, it's about everyone around.

X: A character you enjoy making suffer.

I can't choose... Every comfort character is good for angst. The stronger, the better, military background if the story fits that... (JueJue, colonel sebastian Moran, Josh... Any comfort character I have in the marvel universe...) most times morally gray characters, though Josh is very much set on doing things the right way (well, he's a cop after all. A cop who can throw punches at suspects of almost killing their children. A really soft cop with children and dogs 💖extremely soft. Give that man a kid and a dog. Fuck. And angst.)

#Ask answered #💖💖

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nanasarea · 5 years ago

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CEO I iii

Prompt: Ceo!reader spoils sugar baby!haechan in Italy

Genre: mostly fluff, a bit of smut

Pairing: sugar baby!haechan x ceo!reader (gender-neutral)

Word count: 1648

A/N: All “facts” stated about Italy are from either my own personal experience or what I have heard so feel free to fact-check me. NOT PROOFREAD, Sequel to CEO and dedicated to the ceo of sm: @hotlinehyuck

“Who said I want to be CEO?” He asked, smirking while making eye contact with you, causing you to almost choke on the drink in your hands.

“What?” You asked, trying to seem calm.

“Well, if you’re CEO, then you can keep on spoiling me, if I’m the CEO, you wouldn’t need to spoil me.” He replied.

“Oh.” You said, letting out a sad sigh.

“And in reality, I also may or may not want to marry you.” He added, a small smile appearing on his face.

“Lee Donghyuck, you’re gonna be the death of me.” You sighed before dragging him into your apartment building across the street.

“You’ve....made....me...worry...that.....you....don’t....like...me....back...and...for.....what?” You asked in between the kisses you shared in the empty elevator.

You heard the doors open and you quickly dragged him out of the elevator and into your apartment, closing the door before pushing him against it.

“I was nervous and at first, I thought, oh god, that feels so good.” He replied, your lips on his neck making him grow weaker by the second.

“I thought I just liked the gifts, but then, please continue.” His whines made your eagerness grow as your lips made their way down his collarbone.

“Then I realized I like you, not the gifts.” He moaned.

“I mean, the gifts are great, I love them, but my main foc-oh shit.” The smirk on your face grew as you ran your hand over his clothed crotch.

“The main reason why I stuck around is because I love you.” He finally finished his explanation, causing you to back away slightly before smiling.

“I love you too, babe. Now, as much as I love you in that outfit, I’m gonna have to ask you to remove it.” You said, grabbing his tie and pulling him closer to you, but not close enough for you to kiss.

“As you wish, babe.” He let out a moaning response before attacking your lips.

Time jump

“I can’t believe I’m finally going to Italy.” His energetic attitude at such an early hour was still so shocking to you, even after seeing him like this for 2 months now, you still couldn’t believe anyone can have this much energy at this hour.

“My gratitude will be shown immensely, glucose guardian.” He said, wrapping his arm around your waist and pulling you in for a kiss.

“Can you stop calling me that?” You laughed into the kiss as he just shook his head no.

“It’s fun to say.” He simply replied before giving you another kiss.

“Come on, the sooner we get on the plane, the sooner we’re there, remember?” You asked, taking his hand and leading him to the jet.

He’s been on your private jet multiple times, but now, that you two were official, it felt different. The first time you took him to Bangkok with this jet, he almost had a heart attack.

He knew private jets were fancy, but he didn’t know it was to this extend. The massage chairs, the collection of expensive champagnes and liquors, the big TV, all of it seemed so surreal for him.

What was even more surreal was Johnny’s reaction to hearing that Haechan is now a part of the Mile High Club.

He sat down on his favorite seat, yes, he had a favorite seat, as he looked over at the snack bar.

“If you want a snack, why not just have me?” You asked, placing your bag on a nearby chair before taking a seat on his lap.

“You really are perfect, aren’t you?” He asked before putting his hand on the back of your neck to pull you in for a kiss.

Time jump

Italy. The land of pasta.

You loved exploring it, taking a ride on the iconic gondolas in Venice after paying 15 euros for an espresso, hiking the Dolomites, exploring Varenna, strolling through the town of Verona at evening, sipping wine in Tuscany, making sure to stop at the Trevi fountain to throw a coin in and visiting Dora Sarchese for some free red wine.

All of it was amazing, but this time round, it was even better, because you could do all of that with Haechan this time.

Sure, you only had 2 days, so you couldn’t do everything on your list, but on the first day, you took him to the most famous places, Pompeii, the Colosseum, so on.

You did promise him a ride in the gondola in Venice on the second day, so you had to incorporate that into the schedule no matter what.

The first day went great, you got to eat pizza in the country it was born in and watch as Haechan got to experience it all for the first time.

You wanted to warn him about the erotic wall paintings in Pompeii, but the look on his face was worth so much more when he saw it without expecting it.

“So....they had porn menus?” Haechan asked you, causing you to lightly slap his arm “Ouch. You know I’m right!” He said, jokingly acting like his arm was going to fall off, as you hit it too hard.

Technically, he was right. When you told him the story of men visiting these rooms to hook up with prostitutes and choosing the desired position from the examples given on the walls, his eyes widened before the cheeky smirk appeared on his face.

“So, can I get a porn menu?” He asked jokingly.

“Consider it an early-birthday present.” You joked back.

When you took him to Vatican City, he insisted on joining the exorcism courses before dramatically gasping and saying “wait, no, can’t do that, the demon in me and I are really close, I don’t want him gone.”.

You explored as much as you could in one day before checking into the hotel, where you ordered wine from room service and got ready for bed.

“It’s nice sleeping in the same bed, now that you didn’t have to accidentally reserve only one room.” Haechan commented, watching as you undress.

“Maybe it’s the wine talking, but you’re literally the most beautiful human being I’ve ever seen, well, besides the one I see in the mirror. That man is handsome as hell.” Haechan added before taking a sip of the wine.

“Hyuck, you’ve had two glasses.” You teased before taking the glass from his hand and putting it on the table.

“Now, I’m sure you have enough energy after running around all day to make your glucose guardian feel good.” You said, winking as you straddled him “I thought you didn’t like it.” He chuckled.

“It’s growing on me.” You replied in a matter-of-fact tone.

“I’m glad, and slightly offended that you have to doubt my willingness to please you, even one bit.” He said, his hands travelling to your ass as he kissed you.

Time jump

The ride to Venice was short, you stared at the water as your surprisingly sleepy boyfriend rested his head on your shoulder.

When you got there, you made sure to first get the infamous Venice coffee, which gets more expensive the longer you’re in the cafe for some reaspn, to wake your boyfriend up before you made your way to St. Mark’s Square.

“So, first the gondola?” You asked as he nodded excitedly. The ride was just as romantic as you’d imagine. He insisted on holding you in his arms the whole ride, but whined half way into the ride, as he wanted to be held.

Such a whine baby.

After the ride, you quickly got some fast food pasta to go before exploring the place.

“I know it sounds weird, but one of my favorite things to do in Venice is just getting lost in it. It’s so beautiful, especially when you get to eat pasta on the go, which you can get so quickly!” You explained as you walked around.

“What?” You asked as you noticed him looking at you with heart eyes.

“I love hearing you talk about it. You seem to know so much about everywhere we’ve been and not just the lame, this was built then and then, but the interesting parts that you don’t hear often like that the fork was popularized in Italy. How do you even obtain such knowledge?” He went on as you quietly ate your fusilli as you tried to hide the fact that you were blushing.

“So, basically what I’m hearing is “y/n, you’re so smart, you’re so pretty, I love you so much, thank you for enlightening my life with your presence” or?” You asked, teasing him as he ate his own pasta before nodding his head.

You stopped him in the middle of the bridge you were currently one and grabbed him by his belt to pull him closer.

“Hello there.” He flirted, making you laugh before kissing him.

You enjoyed Italy with Haechan, so much that you vowed to yourself to take him here often, or maybe, next you’ll go to Vienna to visit the Schönbrunn Palace and take a million photos in the gardens, or maybe you’ll visit Petite-France in Strasbourg together.

All you knew was that you were ready to spoil your new boyfriend with trips to everywhere and anywhere his heart desired.

“y/n, thank you so much for taking me here. I had such a fun time. I really hope my schedule will allow more trips like this with you.” He said as he rested his head on your shoulder on the boat ride back.

“I’m literally your CEO, of course I’m gonna make sure your schedule allows it.” You reminded him, laughing “I know.” He said with a smirk on his face, looking up at you and winking.

“You will really be the death of me one day.” You said before leaning down to kiss him.

“I love you too, y/n.” He said before you pressed your lips together.

A/N: Ok that is all my brain could do for this part, I know it’s not extra fluffy or smutty or angsty, but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless! Thank you so much for reading!

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diveronarpg · 4 years ago

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Congratulations, JULIE! You’ve been accepted for the role of BRUTUS. Admin Rogue: There is always something about the way you write unvarnished truth that gets me, every single time. Boris is not a likable character by any means, but I still find myself curious about him when seen through your lens. You want to make ruin of him, or maybe for him to make ruin of us, and it’s so attractively despicable that I don’t know what to do with myself. I don’t know if we’ve ever had a character this unapologetic, not just to some but to every single person in Verona. Let them try and eat him, let them spit him back out, let them realize he will not be swallowed no matter how much he deserves it. I can already see the way he’ll burn across the dash, a torch-song I want to touch, and I couldn’t be happier to welcome you back to us in this new and exciting form! Please review the CHECKLIST and send your account in within 24 hours.

WELCOME TO THE MOB.

OUT OF CHARACTER

Alias | Julie

Age | 20

Preferred Pronouns | She/her

Activity Level | Given that I’ll probably be stuck at home searching for a job for the next month, I figure my activity will be okay. The usual reply every other day or so situation, I hope!

Timezone | MST

Triggers | Already listed!

How did you find the rp? | Two years ago I went diving into the LSRPG tag because I was curious and now here we are. :)

Current/Past RP Accounts | Santino, Loretta, Lucien

IN CHARACTER

Character | Brutus / Boris Kovrov

What drew you to this character? | Brutus, I think, is one of the most human characters in Diverona by default, without development, in the sense that he is so selfish it makes you want to tear your eyeballs out. It’s the same with most people: we encourage each other to take time to themselves, to put themselves first, but can feel rebuffed or insulted when they actually do that. Boris has taken that to the ultimate extreme: everything he does is for himself and no one else. He didn’t ascend within the Montagues because he wanted to further his family’s social standings, he did it because he alone wanted to succeed.

He’s not apologetic about it, either, and that’s what makes him so interesting. At all times, Boris is fully aware he is perceived as underhanded and generally disliked among the mob, but he’s so good at what he does that it doesn’t matter. He returns to Verona with a searing brand of shame in the form of his personal betrayal, and anyone could see that if they just fucking looked close enough, but they don’t. That’s where his talent really lies, and that’s what makes him so weirdly endearing to me: he makes himself valuable, and even when he does the worst possible thing a person could do in a mob, it still doesn’t undercut his worth. He makes himself out to be a friend, lies and lies and lies, and because most people don’t want to make the effort or choose not to, it’s believable.

Some might call him cut-throat, or a coward, a backstabber, potentially even brutal: he’s not ashamed of sprinkling rat poison into the food of his competition if it means he’ll succeed. He’s an opportunist at best and a manipulator at worst, and if there’s anything to be said about Verona, it’s that the manipulators usually come out at the front of the pack. The last sentence or so in his bio are what really sealed the deal for me: “The historians fail to mention that the traitors are the ones who survive, who outlive empires and kingdoms, who lay their sovereigns to rest and spread their ashes like trail markers.” God help him, Boris will come out of Verona alive, no matter how much of it he feeds into and how much of himself he lets it consume.

What is a future plot idea you have in mind for the character? |

• Fly not; stand stiff: ambition’s debt is paid. I’d love to see some real-time consequences for Boris’ betrayal of the Montague family. Others have been ousted for less, but somehow he gets to remain? That doesn’t seem particularly fair, but Boris couldn’t give a shit about fair if he tried. He sold his information to a mob in Russia for the purpose of a safety net. Other emissaries also deal with Russia – it’d make sense that one of them might hear about the dark dealings and try to use it to their own advantage, were they so ambitious. Or maybe it will come from someone higher up, like Castora, who knows more than they’ve let on. Maybe this will lead to his demotion, his death, Damiano’s assassination, the ushering in of a new era – who knows? These things don’t play out without someone paying the price, and I want Brutus to pay in full.

• I kill’d not thee with half so good a will. In my head, Boris has been out of the picture for some time now, working on relations between the American families and the Montagues to keep business booming. I’d love to explore the Verona Boris left a little over a year ago (totally headcanon, by the way! I’m happy to adjust wherever necessary) and how it’s changed in comparison to what it is now. Roman Montague has failed as an heir, the Witches hung in a public trial, all illusions of neutrality or working towards peace have been shot right through the middle. Damiano is unraveling at the seams, and the question of who will lead the Montagues lacks an answer entirely. It’s complete and utter chaos: messy, bloody, exactly the kind of environment Boris thrives in. I want him to wreak as much havoc as possible in his own way, and if he can’t do that, then I’d like to see him secure his seat closest to the throne when the concept of a coup becomes inevitable.

• But hollow men, like horses hot at hand / Make gallant show and promise of their mettle. He hunts Tomas Sabello and Bernadette du Pont because they are the easiest openings into both sides of the mobs. Bernadette is croquettish and manipulative but still naive, in Boris’ eyes, to the difficult path which lies ahead. I could see him trying to sway her to the Montagues if she would only listen. Grace Daly had done it for less, after all. Sabello, on the other hand, is Boris’ favorite target: throat exposed, head leaned back, weeping tears of sorrow over his wife. Boris has experience with the follies of the heart and he can see that Celeste has never loved the man, and frankly, Boris doesn’t think there’s much to the man to love. He’s hollow on the inside, scraped out with a metal spoon. His arrival so late into the act poses some difficulties, but he’s hopeful he’ll be able to pick up where he left off.

Are you comfortable with killing off your character? | Absolutely!

IN DEPTH

In-Character Para Sample:

Valentina Gallo dies a violent death. An inextricable, unforgiving death. An ugly death. When they take pull her body from her brother’s arms, and she is taken in to be seen by Damiano’s own eyes, witness the violence which has laid itself across the barren field of a corpse –

This is when Boris is called home.

Exit, Viola.

Enter, Brutus.

He bids Lorenzo and the rest of the Gambino family farewell that same night over the phone: Lorenzo calls him a bastard for not shaking his hand before saying goodbye, but Boris has other things on his mind: A plane. The brisk cold mornings that give way to blustery sunshine. Damiano greeting him as a member of the family instead of an extension of his long reach, like he had a year ago. He can remember the phone call well. He’d run it through, night after night, dissecting and picking apart intonation and tone and the speed with which Damiano had dismissed him, like a dog begging for scraps hastily shoved away from the dinner table. He lets the familiarity of the conversation wash over him as he settles in his plane seat the night of the twenty-seventh. He’ll be there by morning.

I’ll be there to greet you, Damiano had said. Boris had tried not to read into it too much.

New York was intended to be punishment and apology wrapped up into one. Damiano sent him off to deal with the budding crime syndicates and crush them under the imaginary Montague heel. He would spread seeds of dissent and terror: most fall silent when he enters a room for good reason, and it is in this way that he gets them to listen when he speaks. Most would not expect a man as imposing as Boris to speak so passionately; he’s always been a fan of turning ideas on their heads. By weaving tales of just what the Montague family has at its disposal, he alone would stamp out the passionate flames of greed and light his own small fire of fear.

In his younger years this would have intimidated Brutus. When he’d received the call a year ago, he’d only felt dread.

But he’d done well. It took him five months to chase down every single lead provided to him by men paid under the table, and after that, all there had been to do was clean up the mess and socialize. Shake hands with the shattered fragments of the once-powerful mob families, reach out to the contacts he’d had in Canada and New Orleans, as they were perhaps the most influential, the ones who could sway the boat with weaponry and other fun and exciting goods that still had his heart pounding when he looked at them.

He’d thought about calling Evgeny once, and only once: when Damiano had chewed him out over the phone for something that was not his fault and hadn’t been in his wheelhouse to begin with. Boris knew, that night, what Evgeny would say. Patience, Kovrov. We’ll be here when you’re ready.

When you’re ready. Whatever that meant. For all Evgeny knew, Boris would never be ready. He’d die with Verona just out of reach.

He startles awake as the plane hits turbulence coming into Verona, heading towards the landing strip. It’s a bumpy landing, but he’s never done well in planes to begin with. He thinks, often, of his father, who had marked to Boris that all would be well just before returning to Russia. The flight wouldn’t make it, of course. Damiano had ensured it: Sasha Kovrov had been dead weight long enough. All he could’ve hoped for, Boris thought, was that his son would prove worthy of something.

And he had. He’d crawled on his hands and knees across glass and gravel, waded through blood and sweat, and tears – never his own, if he could help it – to see the Montague family through to the other side. Could he really have been blamed for wanting to ensure he had some sort of future laid out for him, even if it wasn’t in the name of the two old bloodlines of Verona? In return, he’d gotten: a usurpation of a position that should have been his, a pound’s worth of rat poison that he couldn’t use, distrust among his peers and disgust from the one man who should have seen his dedication, and a promise he couldn’t act upon until he was ready.

враки.

He exits the plane, meets Damiano on the tarmac, and just as quickly they are swept away by Damiano’s driver. There is no discussion of previous business, tasks he has completed. Craven is mentioned offhandedly, but Boris had to admit some time in September that whatever illicit ties Everett Craven had to the Capulets when it came to his dealings in America, the man kept them wound up tight. He’d been impressed. Instead, they set their eyes on the future: Damiano speaks to him of the failures and successes, trials and tribulations, and Boris takes note of the way his brow knits together when he speaks.

It is like Damiano cannot bear to look at him, but is forcing himself to anyway. Surely his betrayal had not burned so badly. It wouldn’t have left a mark.

Valentina Gallo died for less. She didn’t give nearly as much away. She’d given what she had to give. Boris had given Evgeny everything, and then offered the grounds of the coffee to Damiano in return.

Boris is lucky to be alive, seated across from a man he might have once considered a better father than his own, who looks at him with poorly-veiled discuss and tells him what to do. Boris had sold his soul – this might just be the devil’s recompense.

It doesn’t matter, he tells himself, watching the city pass them by, nodding where appropriate and watching the sun rise over the river as they drive alongside it. If he gets his way, Damiano Montague will be sooner dethroned, and Brutus will have his rightful place as second-in-command to some poorer, less competent man. If he is anything, it’s stubborn. They drive by the Castelvecchio, and he’s saddened to see it is still a work in progress, not at all the shining beacon it had once been of unity or pride within a place being torn in two, right down the middle. He feels a pang of something hit him in his chest. Homesickness? He’s home, but—

Boris’ flat is small, modest, tucked away in an alley. Close enough to the library that he can be there within minutes just by walking, if necessary. All the pedestrians on the street avert their eyes when they see Damiano’s car pull up outside. He grabs the one bag he’d taken with him on the plane: he’s hopeful the rest will arrive within the week, but that’s an if at best. Before he slips out, Damiano clears his throat.

He stops, and finds a single piece of paper pressed into his hand. He can only assume what it is, won’t open it – it’s deliberately folded closed. It could be anything: a name, a number, a place, a threat, a promise.

“When you’re ready,” Damiano murmurs, like some sort of sick joke, which is to say that it will be when he asks, because Boris ceded any hope at control over his own life the minute he sold all he possessed to the Russian mob, heart and mind and soul, only to crawl back to Verona just after. Some might’ve called him a fool, but he’d only seen the future, then. If only others could see the eclipsing horizon always in his sight.

It’s here that Boris is left: a small alley, out of sight of the rest of the world, the morning sun shining on his face. The future in his hand. He opens it before he has the chance to breathe in again, the vitriol in his heart already beginning to sear out through his ribcage.

Extras: N/A

#accepted: brutus #accepted

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2o2o-kit · 5 years ago

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Shakespeare Charcters With the Same Named (part II)

I will be comparing different Shakespeare characters with the same name and giving my opinion on them and highlight favorite in blue. I will not include the History plays (including the Mark Antony plays) because that will have me comparing like 5 different Henry’s and plenty of Thomases, and last names, titles and family names don’t count either. (So no, Brutus or Messenger) Don’t see your favorite character, check out part I.

Katherine:

Love Labour’s Lost: Bit of a side character lacks development but seams nice

Taming of the Shrew: Our dear God where do I start? She was an amazing independent women at the start of the play and I can relate. But depending on your interpretation, she had to change to a proper house wife.

Lucius:

Timon of Athens: He’s a toxic gold digger basically

Titus Andronicus: I’m just going to say he’s fate was different compared to most characters in this play

Maria:

Twelfth Night: She is an amazing writer who can add plenty of dirty jokes, Clever AF

Love Labour’s Lost: See Katherine for LLL

Mariana:

Measure for Measure: Aww, she doesn’t deserve Angelo but I do wish she wasn’t involved with the whole bed trick

All’s Well Ends Well: She is a side character friend, that’s all

Moth:

Love Labour’s Lost: Such a fun little page

Midsummer Night’s Dream: Kind of mysterious and whimsical of a fairy

Nathaniel:

Taming of the Shrew: I didn’t find too much character in him TBH

Love Labour’s Lost: Hilarious™️

Paris:

Troilus and Cressida: Modern day f-boi

Romeo and Juliet: Okay, here me out, yes I do ship R&J, but you have to see this from Paris’s point of view, a bit miss understood

Peter:

Taming of the Shrew: Another servant

Romeo and Juliet: Basically a servant’s servant

Midsummer Night’s Dream: Pretty relatable for me, and not stuck in that love web

Sebastian:

Twelfth Night: Oh God. Where do I begin? I think he is bi, and I find it kind of adorable when he is ready to fight Andrew and how quickly he fell in love with Olivia. I might be a bit biased for saying how I ship Seb x Olivia only because my name is Olivia and Sebastian is mine. I also ship Olivia x Viola because Olivia is a bi queen. Also Sebastian probably did it with Antino but I don’t know and how much he cares for Viola... I could go on but...

The Tempest: This was Shakespeare’s second attempt to make an Antonio x Sebastian and I wish they had more screen time. Also there is clearly a link between these Sebastians

Sempronius:

Timon: Toxic AF, but has some good lines

Titus: Minor character, not much there

Stefano:

The Tempest: Nothing like a good old drunk planning a murder, typical Shakespeare

The Merchant of Venice: I legit just read that book and I have no idea who he is

Titus:

Timon of Athens: You don’t give a name like Titus to a payment fetcher

Titus Andronicus: THIS IS TITUS, well before Kimmy Schmidt, but he is a blood thirsty tragedy hero

Valentine:

Two Gentlemen of Verona: To quote Wikipedia: “He falls in love with Silvia, becomes exiled, and leads a band of robbers.” So that’s badass. Although he’s probably a rapist

Twelfth Night: He spends most of the play witnessing Duke’s bisexuality awaking

Titus Andronicus: Just there supporting Titus

Vincentio:

Measure for Measure: Will go undercover just so he can help other achieve justice

Taming of the Shrew: A father but not a daddy

Duke of Venice:

Merchant of Venice: Wants peace, but has to listen to Anti-Semetics complain, makes a fair response, until someone messes it all up

Othello: Wants peace, but has to listen to racists complain, makes a fair response, but it gets all messed up, it’s a tragedy

They are probably the same person

Check out Part I if your favourite is not on the list

#shakespeare charactors #shakespeare memes #shakespeare #william shakespeare #shakespeare plays #shakespeare jokes

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booksandchainmail · 2 years ago

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Pale 6.3

It struck Verona that as much as she’d never really had a lot of friends that weren’t Lucy, the same was true for Lucy.

...huh. yeah. But Verona seems pretty okay being isolated, and uninterested in most other kids, where Lucy is a lot more socially-oriented

mostly they were on their best behavior. Probably better than I was,” Yadira said. “Because of him.”

not sure if this means pulling on strings, using the fact that he's Collcted them, or more mundane force. Either way I don't like it. I wonder what happened to those kids? Did thy end up in Bristow's apartments?

People like Angie drift off, and they don’t always survive long. Pretty sure Angie died.

ah. And sounds like Seb didn't make it either, leaving just the asshole

Yadira jumped in. “Big things, metaphysically, can create their own realms, just by being.”

big things including the Carmine Beast?

“Okay, now I’m bothered. What’s your deal?” Yadira asked. “Who are you guys? What’s the arrangement? Who sponsored you into the school? And who’s your patron, since Mr. Belanger said you’re wild practitioners. And I had to go look that up. I know they’re powerful, because there have been a few times you guys showed off some casual power. Not Mrs. Durocher power, obviously, but power like I know Raquel’s cousin has, or like the Vanderwerfs.”

valid. The Kennet Trio are being wildly suspicious. ... I'm not sure they can answer about the school. And the more we learn, the more unusual their Awakening gets. Even the Famulus book, when it discussed pre-Solomon patron-practitioner relations, didn't mention cases with a town of patrons. They've basically jumped ahead to the kind of power that normally gets built up over generations, though it comes with responsibilities. I wonder, if they told other practitioners the full story, if the response would be "you guys got unbelievably lucky" or "you guys got tricked and are in danger". Thinking back to Miss's story, about the traveler being offered a deal too good to be true...

also, the name Vanderwerf sounds a) convincingly old-money and b) extremely doofy

“My working guess is you found a trapped practitioner,” Raquel ventured.

... huh. That would be an interesting if unethical way into the practice. I wonder if you could get a forsworn practitioner like Charles to teach in exchange for protection?

“Maybe we should bail,” Lucy said.

also smart of Lucy to make it look like they were getting too close

“Trapped practitioner,” Raquel guessed. “Some powerful guy gets stuck in his demesnes or in some pocket realm. You’d meet the guy, you awaken together, he could summons the occasional Other he’s bound himself, like the Faerie, to teach and hand out power."

this would also be a neat story. In this scenario, I wonder if their end goal would be to free that practitioner? Or depending on how the relationship was, they could want to keep him trapped to keep getting lessons

“Handled,” Verona said, letting the emotion drop out her expression and posture. Except it kind of didn’t work. Like, instead of being dead and cold she felt the emotion of that moment catch her off guard, and she ended up looking sad.

I think it is probably more scary if after making a completely dead-eyed, emotionless threat, the person then looks sort of sad and regretful, as if thinking back on how they've had to "handle" previous threats

“I wanted to make it so it’s not always you standing up there and putting on the brave face.”

How was she going to go back after this?

:( I was wondering a while back if Verona would want to stay at the school full-year...

Forehead still bearing that crease, Ted told them, “Kevin would have hurt you a little, using a glance. By being here, I can stop that sort of thing. Lawrence, Kevin, Shellie, and Rae have to be better while I’m here with them.”

Kevin is the evil eye, Shellie is the bright-eyed, I guess Rae is maybe the woman with Kevin? Don't know who Lawrence is. I guess it was too much to hope that the dossiers would cover everyone.

“Do we try and get stronger?” Verona asked, as she finished the thought. “You got those books. The major rituals.” “Seems like Implement’s easiest,” Lucy said, watching the game.

oooooh! This could be really cool, I'm not sure we've ever seen an implement ritual before. I wonder if they'll all do it? And what they'd choose. The knife from her awakening maybe seems like a good choice for Lucy? Avery uses a hockey stick a lot, but that seems inconvenient? For Verona, maybe something paper-based? Or I guess they could all go with their masks.

#booksandchainmail reads pale #pale #wildbow

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derireo · 5 years ago

Text

sylvain - a little help

im being pressured to apply for scholarships ,,, didn’t want to go to post secondary in the first place .. + ive been napping a lot during the day. not good.

sylvain x f!byleth

“ it was difficult. even though her heart didn't beat, it was still heavy with grief and loss. she couldn't bear to remember the people she had killed to get to this point with her comrades, but images of caspar's face as he accepted the fatal strike of her sword and the tears that fell from dorothea's eyes as she thanked byleth for being the last person she saw – it was all too much. it wasn't supposed to be like this. “

It was a rainy day in Garreg Mach as fat water droplets pounded against the windows of the dorms and the monastery. The sky was gloomy with splotches of black and grey, and the angry pitter patter of rain against the pavement was deafening to the ears.

As much as Byleth loved the rain, her mood tonight definitely matched the weather.

There was a storm brewing in her head. From her father dying and fighting in a war against her former students, only to wake up 5 years later, frozen cold from the river she was pulled out of, it was difficult for Byleth to cope with all the things that had happened when almost everybody already found the strength to move on.

She willingly became the commander for the Church of Seiros, to fight for the liberation of the people who were caught in the tyranny of Edelgard; a former student that Byleth was fond of back then. Byleth found herself re-thinking her choices up until now, as the Church of Seiros neared the end of this war.

It was difficult. even though her heart didn't beat, it was still heavy with grief and loss. She couldn't bear to remember the people she had killed to get to this point with her comrades, but images of Caspar's face as he accepted the fatal strike of her sword and the tears that fell from Dorothea's eyes as she thanked Byleth for being the last person she saw – it was all too much. it wasn't supposed to be like this.

And Byleth loathed the thought of having to face Edelgard; hated the thought that her former student wouldn't accept the compromise of ending this war peacefully as Dimitri had suggested. Byleth didn't want to kill another one of her friends.

But it's impossible to change fate, just as it is impossible to create a new path that lets everyone live.

Byleth was sitting outside on the pavement, under the roof truss. She was wrapped in the duvet that used to lay on her bed and she had her knees hugged to her chest as she stared at the rain drops that splattered into puddles.

Looking at the weather, everyone unanimously decided to use this day as a break from preparing for battle, so many people were gathered in the dining hall or were cooped up in another warm area, so it was understandable why Byleth wasn't seen roaming around the monastery grounds.

Byleth didn't feel like doing anything anyways.

She let out a deep breath of air from her lungs and rested her chin on her knees, her mouth formed into a lazy pout as she stared into nothing, the loud crashing of rain becoming white noise to her.

She didn't notice the few people who were quietly approaching her while she let the soft duvet fall from her shoulders. She then stood up from her sitting position, and as if on autopilot, walked out from under the truss and into the pelting rain that immediately left her body and clothes soaking wet.

She sighed again and closed her eyes, tilting her head back to bask in the rainstorm that fell from the heavens. Byleth couldn't remember clearly, but remembered that on the day of Jeralt's passing, it was raining like this as well.

But then again, she couldn't remember many things.

It could be her imagination, but the sight of dark crimson flowing through the cracks of her fingers and staining her clothes was much too vivid for her to forget.

The growing stain of blood that dirtied her father's coat was something she could never remove from her memory.

She would never be able to forget having to watch her father be stabbed through the back twice. Once when it initially happened, and twice when she turned back time with the divine pulse Sothis had gifted her

How could she forget anyways?

The rain continued to beat down on Byleth, but the pain wasn't enough to distract her from her thoughts. Her bare feet was wet with mud, thin clothes clinging to scarred skin, and mint green hair stuck to her forehead.

"You're going to get sick if you stay like that." someone called out from the walkway of the dorms with a voice so soft that Byleth couldn't help but turn her head in their direction. Her nose twitched when she noticed that it was Sylvain speaking to her. The man was leaning against the pillar nearest to her room door with his arms crossed, and the clothes he was wearing was suited for the winter in Faerghus.

Good enough for Garreg Mach weather, Byleth mused to herself and ignored the way the redhead looked at her expectantly; waiting for her to come back and stand under the shelter with him.

Sylvain sighed, "It wouldn't do you any good if you caught the flu." he tried once more, and held his hand out with the palm facing up as he patiently waited for Byleth to make a move. as much as he hated to force people to do things they didn't want to, he couldn't bear to let his friend stay miserable in the rain like that.

But Byleth didn't look miserable. She seemed the slightest bit distraught, but she looked so comfortable in the rain. Her clothes were now heavy with water, and her hair clung to her face and neck, and although it should've been uncomfortable for her to be in this state, she was receiving the rain with open arms.

Before Byleth could even realize it, Sylvain was already in her personal space, out with her in the pouring rain as he smiled down at her. "Gonna have to tell Seteth to scold you for still being a terrible listener." Sylvain joked as the rain began to beat down on him as well, but paid it no mind, and removed his warm Faerghus coat to put over Byleth's head. The rain only seemed to worsen, not that either person minded, but quietly, Byleth fretted for Sylvain's own health.

His teal button up was already clinging onto him like a second skin while his slicked back hair was a sad, flat mess atop his head. That stupidly kind smile was still on his face too and Byleth couldn't help but feel sorry for making him reach out to her like this in the rain.

Silently, her frigid hand went out to reach for his own, and she dragged the both of them out of the squelching mud and rain to under the roof. Her unoccupied hand still held onto the coat that was laid atop her head, and she decided to keep it there while she watched Sylvain shake the water from his hair.

As always, her eyes held no hint of emotion while owlishly blinking at the man before turning around, heading down the hallway. Sylvain had slicked his hair back while she turned, and with a hop to his step, followed after her when his hand fell from her grip.

"As much as I love the rain," she started when they continued to walk towards the dining hall, the roof above them ending and the raindrops replacing them again, "I can't let you guys get sick. It's hard for me to take care of the Knights of Seiros as it is." she mused, Sylvain striding beside her casually with his hands in his pockets, the rain dampening his hair again.

They walked up the cobblestone steps that led up to the dining hall and quietly shuffled in, the sound of Byleth's wet footsteps apparent in the warm room while the squelching of Sylvain's boots had people turning their heads.

"Oh dear." Mercedes gasped when she saw the pair, "Byleth! Sylvain! What were you two doing out in the rain?" she scolded halfheartedly and stood up from her seat beside Annette who was busy slurping at her soup.

Byleth was sheepish when the gremory walked up to her and wiped away the water that was dripping from her face, her eyebrows furrowed in worry. A few of the others took a quick glance at the small commotion while some had taken the initiative and handed dinner towels to both Byleth and Sylvain for them to dry off. Not the most ideal fabric, but it was definitely better than nothing.

"Just chilling." Byleth answered casually while struggling to shove her hands into wet pockets.

Sylvain couldn't help but roll his eyes.

"Yeah. Literally just chilling." he mused and grabbed the dinner towel that lay neglected in Byleth's hands, immediately plopping it on the top of her head to manually dry her hair. Although it was a casual thing for Sylvain to do for his friends; taking care of them even when they don't think much of it, the red head couldn't help but stare down at Byleth with a loving fondness in his eyes. With the way she looked up at him with her own curious gaze from below the towel and the hair that stay stuck to her face; he couldn't prevent the erratic beating of his heart.

Mercedes sighed as Byleth and Sylvain continued to drip rain water onto the floorboards, and kindly asked a passing soldier to go fetch some more towels along with Annette.

"I'll go and get her some Onion Gratin Soup," the pale haired woman offered to the dark knight who was still messing around with Byleth's hair, "It'll warm her up, no doubt. Would you like anything, Sylvain?" Mercedes smiled kindly when the man averted his gaze from the former mercenary to her, his hands moving around to lift the soaked mint hair from Byleth's neck to dry the wet strands at her nape.

"Cheesy Verona Stew. Thanks, Mercie." he winked out of habit, causing Mercedes to let out an uncharacteristic gag from the back of her throat before briefly turning around to fetch the food that would help Byleth and Sylvain to warm up.

"Hey, hey!" Annette bounced into the dining hall with towels in her arms and headed straight for the pair. "I've got towels and clothes for you guys! One of the students told me you two came in soaking wet and so I took it upon myself to help out." she declared and happily handed Sylvain and Byleth a fluffier, much larger towel as well as some warm clothes for them to change into.

Byleth pursed her lips once the folded clothes were set in her arms, and she looked under the mock turtleneck to see that Annette had done a little snooping in her room. A fresh pair of underwear was hiding underneath the shirt she was given.

She raised her eyebrows at Annette, silently asking for the explanation.

The little gremory trembled at the blank stare, but she still answered, "Well, the soldier was male and.. well – ugh! look, it's important that it was me who decided to help." she grumbled childishly, "Can't really up and ask Dedue to go and retrieve those scandalous things you call underwear, Byleth!" Annette whispered with wide eyes.

Sylvain whistled to himself, earning an elbow to the gut by Byleth.

Annette wasn't a very good whisperer.

"And how did you go there and back without getting wet?" Byleth inquired, already knowing the answer when she saw Lysithea at a nearby table, eyeing the three curiously. "Nevermind."

"Ferdinand helped with getting Sylvain's clothing " Annette added on hastily when she noticed the redhead check his own folded clothes.

"Carrot Top, huh?" Sylvain chuckled to himself, to which Byleth snickered and smacked the back of his head. "You don't get to say that."

"Aw," Sylvain pouted, rubbing the spot where he got hit. "You can't be saying that I am also a carrot top?"

"I am." she smiled slightly and tilted her head to the side as Sylvain began to dry his own wet hair with the new towel he just received, his skin clinging button up making it difficult for him to raise his arms comfortably.

Silently, Byleth let her gaze roam over the length of Sylvain's rain drenched body before consciously hugging her clothes and towel to her chest to help her snap out of it. "I'm going to go change." she announced and started to head towards the exit of the dinner hall, with Sylvain immediately trailing behind her after he said his thank yous and goodbyes to Annette.

Sylvain peeked over Byleth's shoulder to take a look at what clothes Annette picked for her and hummed, prying apart a few buttons from his shirt in an attempt to get the fabric to stop sticking to his skin. "Wanna show me the scandalous things Annette was talking about earlier?" he offered playfully and bumped his arm into Byleth's to tease her, his grin lazy when the mint haired woman only scoffed and shook her head.

"In your dreams, kiddo." she fired back and pushed Sylvain away from her with a powerful hand before slipping into one of the washrooms that was near the mess hall.

Sylvain could only bite his lip in bashfulness as he stumbled backwards over his feet, the corners of his mouth quirking into a little smile. She's not wrong. He thought to himself and sighed, bumbling around to get into a separate washroom to change into his new clothes.

As much as Sylvain loved the moment where he stood under the rain with Byleth, he hated how his clothes felt against his skin, and the cold air in the washroom only made his body spasm as a reaction. He wrinkled his nose when he shed the articles of clothing and immediately wiped at his bare chest and arms with his new towel to dry off.

"Gross." the man had groaned in annoyance once he had to peel off his pants. The sound of wet clothing thumped against the floor along with the clatter of his belt, and he sighed, rubbing his forehead as he put the towel back to use.

Once he was finished putting on the pieces of clothing Dedue and Annette had retrieved for him, Sylvain threw his large towel into a nearby hamper and kept the dinner towel on his head to help his hair dry.

The air in the dinner hall was pleasantly warm, and it definitely helped bring back the feeling of his fingers. The room was less packed than it was before, save for Mercedes, Byleth, and a few soldiers spread out here and there.

Mercedes perked up when she saw Sylvain enter in with a teal, long sleeved turtleneck, a mahogany long coat, and charcoal sweatpants. "A bit dolled up, aren't you, Sylvie?" she teased the redhead with the nickname and shot an expectant glance towards Byleth who was still sipping at her soup.

Sylvain didn't seem to bristle at the comment, but he looked at his own clothes with a pleased quirk to his lips then looked back up at the two women seated at the table. "Annette did say that Ferdinand picked the clothes for me." he shrugged his shoulders lazily then jutted his chin in Byleth's direction, his mouth slowly curving into a smile when said woman looked up from her soup to look back at him.

"Don't you think our Darling Byleth is dressed up a bit too pretty for such a casual occasion?" he drawled while sitting across from Byleth and welcoming the stew that Mercedes was pushing towards him.

Byleth was dressed in a fitted black mock turtleneck and an open, light grey cardigan that was falling down her shoulders as she ate, exposing that the shirt she was wearing was also a short sleeve. Despite the calm look on his face, his heart was racing at how the clothes accentuated her shape, but also softened her look.

Sylvain broke through the cheese on his soup with his spoon to keep him from staring.

"Hm." Byleth hummed into her spoon of soup with a hint of mirth flashing in her eyes, "I don't know." she mocked him while cleaning up her spoon with her tongue, her eyes showing off an uncharacteristic smile. "What do you think, Sylvie?" she batted her eyelashes prettily at her target and tapped her spoon against her tongue.

The nickname coming out from Byleth's mouth left him a sputtering mess, and he winced when a hot splash of his soup landed on his thigh. He grumbled childishly as he wiped at the wet spot on his sweatpants with a separate dinner towel, and Mercedes and Byleth giggled to each other when they noticed how red his ears were when they poked out from under the towel on his head.

Mercedes smiled knowingly at Sylvain when he finished cleaning up the small mess on his pants, and gave a motherly kiss to Byleth's wet hair as she stood up from the bench, "I'll be going now. Don't go out into the rain until it settles." she reprimanded the both of them as she squeezed Byleth's hand before putting it back on the table.

When the gremory walked out of ear shot, Sylvain cupped a hand around his mouth with a sparkle in his eyes and a grin playing on his lips, "I think Mercie's got a crush on ya." he winked suggestively at the mint haired woman across from him then shoved a spoonful of soup into his mouth, visibly slouching as the salty sweet warmth coursed throughout his body.

Byleth scoffed playfully and dropped her spoon into her now empty bowl, crossing her arms over her chest to challenge Sylvain with a raise of her eyebrows. "Mercie is too preoccupied with Lil' Annette, Sylvain." she laughed and subconsciously played with the hair that Mercedes had kissed a little while ago, smiling fondly at how motherly Mercedes has become over the few years she's known her for.

And then her face turned serious, and something in Sylvain's stomach didn't sit right with him when he watched her fold her hands on the table.

"I just wanted to thank you." she whispered between them with a crooked smile, her doe eyes slightly sad as she looked at Sylvain, "You didn't have to reach out for me today, but you did, and I think it's going to help me get through this week." she admitted shyly, and a small twinge of pink dusted her cheeks as she glanced up at the man who had pushed his bowl of soup to the side, all of his attention now concentrated on her. The silence that fell between them was comfortable, and Sylvain took it as the chance to reach across the table for Byleth's hand, gently prying it from the other one she was clutching onto so that he could hold her hand in his palm.

"I'm -- we're.. All of us are here for you." Sylvain stumbled over his words when Byleth curled her fingers in his palm, her fingertips tickling his skin as he spoke to her with genuine concern. His smile was kind while he waited for Byleth's answer, and she only nodded, with a private smile shared only between him and her.

"I am so grateful." she sighed wistfully as she began to stand up from her bench. Sylvain could only watch and follow her movement curiously as she walked around the end of the bench with her hand still held in his, pleasantly surprised when she stopped to stand in front of him. His legs were spread on either side of the bench and she had coincidentally stepped between them. Despite her not stepping any closer, Sylvain was getting nervous at the barely close proximity.

His heart was racing again.

His throat bobbed nervously as he tilted his head up to look at Byleth who was snickering at him in amusement, knowing all too well that he was getting nervous for a silly reason.

"Calm down," she laughed happily and squeezed his hand before using the same hand to wrap his arm around her hips, shuffling closer until she was able to wrap her own arms around his neck to pull him into a cosy hug, her body a snug fit against him as he let himself hug her back in earnest, his arms a tight chain above her hips.

"Thank you, Sylvie." she murmured sweetly into his ear once she noticed he was getting comfortable with her in his arms, and let out a gentle laugh when she felt his face heat up, one of her hands coming up to curl around his strong jaw. She brushed the pad of her thumb against the sharp bone and hummed a small melody that Jeralt used to murmur to her when he tried to coaxed her to sleep, sighing softly at how perfect his arms felt around her body

"And stop trying to hide your feelings. I'm not as dense you guys make me out to be." she admonished him with a smile on her face, grinning when Sylvain's arms loosened in shock. Quickly, she pulled the towel from his head off and printed a gentle kiss to his temple where the hair was almost dry before stepping out from between his legs, but before she could move far enough, Sylvain curled his hand around her wrist and pulled her back in between his legs, his lips already grazing along her forearm.

His arm wrapped around her waist once more, and with how tightly he coiled around her, Byleth's cardigan had slipped down her arms. "Okay, By." he mumbled sweetly into her pale skin, his soft lips trailing up her arm until they brushed over the dip between her collarbones. Happily, he nuzzled his nose into the centre of her throat when she didn't push him away, and planted a small butterfly kiss onto her neck.

The scent of her skin smelled so sweet to Sylvain, and when he inhaled, his mind nearly went dizzy with pleasure. Silently, as his body buzzed with excitement, he bared his teeth and grazed the sharp tips along her unmarked skin, and just as he was about to sink his teeth into the sweet flesh, Byleth had tangled her fingers in the hair at the back of his head and tugged him back with a teasing smile on her face.

"But at least show some restraint." she scolded him then proceeded to kiss his forehead, her hand still buried in his hair. "Okay?"

Sylvain's throat bobbed, his gaze filtered through thick eyelashes.

"Okay."

Byleth then let out a playful coo and pat his cheek with her free hand, "Good boy." she praised, combing her fingers through his messy hair one last time before reaching back to pry his clingy arms from her waist. "Thank you for today." she smiled again, and left Sylvain on the bench with his cold bowl of stew to head for the mess hall where Mercedes and Annette probably are.

"I'll see you tomorrow." the redhead had called out breathlessly, and watched at how her lovely figure walked away with a slight skip to her step.

When she was out of sight, Sylvain turned back to the table and held his head in his hands, his body straining with how much adrenaline was running through his body. He reminded himself of how her fingers tangled themselves in his hair and how her body felt so warm against his chest when he held her for a brief minutes and groaned into the wood that trembled beneath his elbows.

"She is so hot." he sobbed into his hands.

#sylvain jose gautier #sylvain x byleth #fire emblem byleth #byleth eisner #fire emlem three houses #fire emblem imagines #fe3h #fe3h imagines

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count-v-dracula · 4 years ago

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The Most Random Questions about your Muse

*Copy and paste. Do not reblog*

Name: Vladislaus, most commonly referred to as Dracula

1) Do they believe in true love?

No. In fact the subject of love is something he does not like getting into with just anyone.

2) Do they believe that their life has meaning?

Yes, and no. As a human he was told that he had meaning, or more like a purpose, and he believed it and acted on it. Even then he was occasionally doubtful about his purpose. Currently, he’s caught in between. He took immortality to gain what was denied him as a human, but he continues to face trials that cause him to doubt.

3) What first impression do they give when they first meet someone?

Depends, sometimes. If it is a human that has heard of him prior to ever meeting him, they’ll probably be frightened by his demeanor more than his physicality. He can give off the impression that he is cool and reserved, or that he is welcoming and talkative--depends on his mood and the occasion. Fear can also mix with intrigue; he has that old world elegance that can draw you in.

4) Do they believe in Heaven/Hell?

It’s complicated and yes.

5) FIVE things that irritate them

1) insolence

2) ignorance

3) laziness

4) self-righteous behavior

5) disloyalty

6) First Kiss?

He was 15 (had to go through my headcanons tag and found it)! It was a girl of the court that was trying to make Mehmed II jealous by making moves on Vlad. Vlad welcomed it because he liked her, but Mehmed was furious because he was actually after Vlad (since he already got Radu he went after Vlad).

7) What do they find funny that other’s usually don’t?

Dark humor.

8) Biggest Regret?

The one that has really stuck with him is that he regrets not having been able to look after his younger brother properly. Even as a kid he was forced into roles of being a leader and protector.

9) THREE words that best describe them

1) charming

2) brave

3) loyal

10) Their most attractive feature

First thing people will notice about Vlad is his very blue eyes. They really stand out against his dark hair. His hair would then be next then everything else, in that order.

11) The feature that they find most attractive?

A good smile will melt him. Then it’s legs. I mean look at Verona and Marishka. Aleera got in only because she was spicy - so that made up for her lack of height. After legs it’s arms.

12) Favorite Song Lyric:

“Thus, wedded to my woes, and bedded in my tomb, O let me dying live, till death doth come, till death doth come.”

13) Best advice they’ve ever received:

Do unto others before they do unto you.

14) Worst advice they’ve ever received:

Act on your passions.

15) What makes them cry?

He probably hasn’t cried in a couple centuries. It would take something horrible for him to. But, he tends to compartmentalize emotions, especially the ones he doesn’t want to indulge and then they collect dust and are forgotten. Anyway, something horrible. What normally causes someone to cry makes him terrifyingly angry.

16) Hardest decision they ever had to make?

To do what he wanted, not what the Church wanted him to do. His loyalty to two things was being torn.

17) What makes them fond of someone?

Innocence usually makes him smile, not in a way that he wants to snuff it out, but that it makes him recall his own few innocent days. Other souls troubled like him he is also drawn to. Intelligence is also a major factor, similar interests. Passionate people.

18) Do they believe in forgiveness?

He does not usually forgive others and he doesn’t seek it for himself unless he really messed up. Privately, he thinks is beyond forgiveness, he’s always felt that way, Catholic and all......

19) Biggest TURN ON

Acts of service. Always. Anything that says “hey I did this for you because I know this would make you happy” You’re golden.

20) Biggest TURN OFF

Coming on too strong if he doesn’t welcome it, disloyalty (so far loyalty is a freaking big issue with him on this meme XD), fickle-mindedness, laziness, etc., etc.

21) Any fetishes/kinks?

Being dominant, sadism, bondage for starters.

22) Do they have a perception of god?

Yes, yes. Having been raised in the Catholic church and being affiliated with Eastern Orthodoxy, too. He looked to God as a comforter and redeemer up until his life change. He now views God as someone who is selfish and unforgiving. He has no faith in Him anymore clearly. You could say the Devil gave him wings because God did not...

23) A memory from their childhood that shaped them

Ouch. His childhood wasn’t always pleasant (having been a political prisoner, kept from his family, raised for several years not in his own country, beaten occasionally and not fed for days because of his defiant behavior, etc.) so it’s gonna be a not-so-good memory. Look here for something bitter-sweet.

24) birthday and zodiac sign:

December 16th. Sagittarius.

25) Do they agree with said zodiac sign?

To an extent, yes. Sagittarius is the sign of the real Vlad and I believe it fits mine. He is a true fire sign: ambitious, outspoken, likes to display strength, etc. Many would say Scorpio but *taps mic* not every villainous person is a Scorpio. He probably has a lot of Scorpio though in other aspects/houses/planets.

26) What is ONE thing that they wish they could change about themselves?

How he handles his lack of emotions....(or so he thinks)

27) A dream that they have never told anyone

There is one but he’s not saying one word about it.

28) Do they believe in fate?

Yes. And no. It’s complicated.

29) Favorite season:

Autumn/Winter

30) FIVE favorite singers/bands/performers

Elvis Presley, John Dowland, Julie London, Metallica, Maria Callas, Glen Miller

TAGGED BY: @desanctii (thank you :D )

TAGGING: @adara-of-the-flame @astridnorddottir @scarletxcross @summerxmelodies @qceensofkings and anyone else who wants to steal it!

#about the master;;#headcanon #dash games;;#[ under a read more cause whoops it got long ]

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italian-sides · 5 years ago

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“Ombre e Bastoni”, ch. 2

Here I am with the second chapter! Again, a huge thank you to both @misslilidelaney on Tumblr for writing this and @watcher-from-the-heights for being my beta! I also tag @ts-italian-gang, just in case. One last thing: if you want to support the ff, it’s on AO3 too! Thank you if you’re gonna step by! Enjoy!

Whenever Emilio Picani walked into the Dolce&Remì, all heads turned.

And when all heads turned, Giuda Schiavon's only instinct was to turn away.

To avoid imploding.

At the exact moment the young man crossed the threshold, Giuda understood that he was Patrizio's famous "psychologist cousin".

And at the exact moment he saw his face, only one sentence echoed in his brain:

- Sò ciavà. - [1]

The newcomer sat down at the counter, while Remo looked illuminated with immense light and Romolo seemed to be having a heart attack.

"Patrì. Are you kidding? You should at least have said that your cousin was so beautiful!"

"What are you saying, Romolo? C'mon, you're embarrassing him!"

"Orco can, Pati [2], take it easy! Trust me, it takes much more to embarrass me.", the interested party replied, giving Romolo, who just laughed like a twelve year old, a benevolent smile.

- Nice, exactly what I needed, even the competition with the Stellina. -

Giuda glanced at Remo, who had been wiping the same glass for three minutes.

-Ah, well. Both the Stelline. [3] -

He just looked at the newcomer from behind the counter, through the mirror in front of which the liquors were placed.

Of course both twins already came out swinging, while Virgilio and Luca simply looked at him with the gaze of two hungry lions.

And obviously Patrizio noticed the looks that the Trentine guy - that is Luca - launched at his blood relative, and Giuda shook his head after seeing the Emilian's eyes getting a little bleary.

-If I end up like this too, I'll set myself on fire.-

"You're quiet, Giudino [4].", Tommaso, the only one who seemed immune to the charm of the newcomer, chirped.

Giuda merely smiled slyly, pointing to the group behind him with a nod:

"I'm enjoying the vultures."

"Pffftt, they're terribleee!", the pastry chef whispered, biting his lip from laughing, which made Giuda smile even further and then continue:

"They look like they haven't seen a man for ages, eh? And Patrizio has the face of someone who repented 'a sbrega'."

"At what?"

"Someone who regretted it very much. I’ll have to teach you Venetian sooner or later, boss."

Tommaso nodded, and Giuda decided to get defensive even before anyone could attack him.

"Plus, like... He's not even that cool. He's pretty, don't get me wrong, but c'mon, to the point of making all four of them lose their heads?"

Tommaso nodded, shrugging:

"Agreed. And I hope Luca will soon get over this thing before Patrizio goes on a killing spree."

"Patrizio should also get a move on, however; Luca is too much of a wimp to realize he's drooling like a slug. If he doesn't get moving, someone else will take him and I’d like to remind you that the last time Patrizio got drunk, he got a sad hangover."

"Don't remind me, please."

"Ao, regà!" [5], Remo sneaked in and took them both by the arm, smiling like the idiot he was.

"Come and meet the newcomer!"

- Oh, no, please. -

"Boss, at least let me take off my dishwashing gloves!"

"No no, you have to keep them, I want him to understand who's in charge!", the 'older' brother of the Stella twins laughed at the request of his dishwasher.

- Curses.-

With a movement worthy of the worst drunks in Caracas, he brought Tommaso and Giuda in front of the newcomer, who had a smile capable of melting Giuda's heart in an instant.

And it did.

"Emilio, here's my co-partner and pastry-chef Tommaso Sandero, and my all-rounder, dishwasher, whatever-you-want, Giuda."

"I have a surname too, you know, old man.", with an eyeroll worthy of a Hollywood star, Giuda turned to Emilio.

Shit, he was even more beautiful, up close.

"Giuda Schiavon. I would shake your hand but I have gloves on."

"Schiavon?", Emilio asked, lighting up.

How beautiful a human being could be? Was he even legal?

"Ahah, his name is Schiavon. Which is perfect, since he's ours... [6]", Remo started, but Emilio dreamily clasped his hands in front of his face and asked, interrupting him:

"Are you from Veneto too? I'm from Verona!"

Giuda just shrugged, nodding immediately after:

"Par tera, par mar, Sammarco. [7]"

"Can del porco, un Venexian! Beaaa! [8]"

Having said that, Emilio approached him, pretending to speak in great secrecy - which was impossible, since everyone was still staring at him as if he was a wonderful thing, except perhaps Romolo, who was just looking at Giuda as if he was the worst thing that ever happened in this world:

"Cossa go da far pa aver na bona ombra de vin qua? [9]"

Was he trying to speak Venetian?

Was there a limit to how cute he could be?

"Ask Remo. I only wash the glasses, I don't fill them."

Having said that, he turned to the owner, making a superhuman effort to take his eyes off Emilio, who seemed quite dazzled by the answer.

"Can I go back? I have to go to the kitchen to finish washing the dishes before other people arrive for happy hour."

Then he turned back to Emilio, waving at him with half a smile:

"Fellow countryman, enjoy your stay in Bologna."

And then he left, without giving him time to answer.

Three years passed since their first meeting.

Three years in which Romolo made the funniest epic fail with Emilio, in which Patrizio decided to stick his tongue down Luca's mouth, and Virgilio pretended to be drunk to touch Romolo's ass, whom he said he'd forgotten, but Giuda knew that was bullshit.

Because he, being a chronic liar, could basically smell the lies.

In fact, not even for a second did he let anyone remotely suspect of his mind-blowing crush on the psychologist, especially the above mentioned, given that he was probably now convinced he hated his guts.

Which was the intention of the Venetian, since he took for granted that the thirty-year-old was far beyond what someone like him could afford.

After the disastrous relationship with one of his university buddies, Giuda indeed decided that being single was far better than being heartbroken.

Even though his heart wasn't too good.

Treating Emilio badly was making him lose sleep, at times he risked forgetting to put on his contact lenses due to tiredness, and even Virgilio took the piss out of him for the bags under his eyes.

And now he was there. Gloves in one hand and a broom in the other.

With Remo looking at him with a Cheshire Cat's smile on his face.

"You little snake. I get it, you know? You like the Veronese."

"You're speaking nonsense. I’d rather kill him right now. I dropped the glasses because of him."

"Don’t fuck with me. Tommy and I yell at you all the time and you’ve never jumped like this. Yo, Coso [10], I can smell lies too, you're not the only one. You’re being a little shit because you like him."

Giuda kept looking the bar owner in the eye, trying to deny it with all of his body language.

"I. Don't. Like. Emilio. I don’t know what you’re thinking, but Mr. Psychoanalysis isn’t exactly my cup of tea, okay?"

"Giuda..."

There was something in Remo’s voice, something that for a moment opened a breach in the Venetian's heart.

Maybe... Maybe he could trust someone.

"...From the first day he walked in here. You all got over it. But me? Never. I don’t have a crush on Emilio, Remo. I’m in love with Emilio. But I’ve suffered enough in the past to know that I’m better off alone. What if it goes wrong? How am I gonna look at him? How...?"

"You don't know that. I mean, I don't know either even if I live with him, how can you, if you run away every time you see him?"

"I personally believe that what you don’t know can’t hurt you."

"If Luca were here he would scream 'Boiate' [11]. Giuda... I..."

"Welp. It's too late now, the damage is done, right? He’s probably convinced I hate him even more after today's crap."

With a bitter laugh, Giuda surpassed the roman, continuing:

"I blew every chance, amen..."

"Giuda."

"But surely he won’t stop coming, we’re his favorite bar and you’re his roommate..."

"Giuda, shut up."

"I'm sure he'll find someone else pretty quickly, he just needs to breathe and someone always comes along."

"Giuda!"

The dishwasher turned again towards Remo, biting his lip as the stupid tears began to stream down his face.

"I can’t do this, okay? After Mattia, I don’t know what to do, with a man. Besides, I’m kind of a mess. Emilio will never appreciate someone like me."

Remo remained silent for a moment, before moving forward... and hugging? Giuda.

The Venetian was baffled, usually it was Tommaso, the one with whom he sometimes allowed himself affectionate gestures.

"Shut your mouth, you’re not that bad. And I swear on Totti [12], I’ll help you get the therapist, whether you want it or not."

Giuda laughed bitterly, his face stuck in the chest of his tallest peer.

"Yeah, sure. And how are you gonna do that?"

Remo let him go and asked, very seriously:

"Do you know how to play briscola [13]?"

[1]: transl. "I'm fucked" [2]: "Holy crap" + Pati = a nickname for Patrizio [3]: this is a pun with Romolo and Remo's surname, "Stella" = "Star", that here is referred as "Stellina/Stelline" = "Little Star/Little Stars" [4]: a nickname for Giuda, a diminutive of his name [5]: a Romanesco dialect exclamation that means more or less "Hey, guys!" [6]: it's a pun with Giuda's surname, Schiavon, that in italian, without the "n" at the end, is "Schiavo" = "Slave" [7]: it's a Venetian saying that literally means "on land, on sea, San Marco", but more broadly it means the power of the Venice Republic that reigned both on the land and on the sea [8]: "Good heavens, a Venetian! Niiice!" [9]: "What can I do to have a good glass of wine around here?"; in Venetian dialect, "ombra" means both "shadow" and "glass of wine" [10]: "coso" is the italian version of "thingy" and/or "dude/dingus" [11]: yes, "boiate" is the italian term for "falsehood", in this case [12]: a famous Italian soccer player, specifically from Rome [13]: a very popular Italian card game

1 - 2 - ?

see ya next time, ciao!

Quando Emilio Picani entrava al Dolce&Remì, tutte le teste si giravano. E quando tutte le teste si giravano, l'unico istinto di Giuda Schiavon era di girarsi dalla parte opposta.

Per evitare di implodere.

Nel momento esatto in cui il giovane aveva oltrepassato la soglia, Giuda aveva capito che era lui il famoso "cugino psicologo" di Patrizio.

E nel momento esatto in cui aveva visto il suo volto, solo una frase gli aveva rimbombato nel cervello:

- Sò ciavà.-

Il nuovo arrivato si era seduto al bancone, Remo che sembrava illuminato d'immenso, e Romolo che sembrava stesse per avere un infarto.

"Patrì. Ma stiamo a scherzare? Ce lo dovevi minimo minimo dire che tuo cugino era così bello!"

"Ma cosa stai dicendo, Romolo? Mo' dai guarda, che lo metti in imbarazzo!”

"Orco can Pati, stai calmo! Guarda che ci vuole molto di più per imbarazzarmi." aveva risposto il diretto interessato, scoccando un sorriso benevolo a Romolo, che si era limitato a ridere come una dodicenne.

- Ben ciò, perché mi mancava la competizione con la Stellina.-

Giuda aveva lanciato uno sguardo a Remo, che stava strofinando lo stesso bicchiere da tre minuti.

-Ah beo. Entrambe, le Stelline.-

E si era limitato a guardare il nuovo arrivato da dietro il bancone, attraverso lo specchio davanti al quale erano sistemati gli alcolici.

Ovviamente entrambi i gemelli erano già partiti all'attacco, e Virgilio e Luca si limitavano a guardarlo con lo sguardo di due leoni affamati.

Ovviamente, Patrizio si era accorto degli sguardi che il trentino lanciava al proprio consanguineo, e Giuda aveva scosso la testa vedendo i suoi occhi velarsi un po’.

- Se finisco anche io così mi do fuoco.-

"Sei silenzioso, Giudino." Aveva cinguettato Tommaso, l'unico a sembrare immune al fascino del nuovo arrivato.

Giuda si era limitato a sorridere sornione, indicando il gruppetto alle sue spalle con un cenno del capo.

"Mi sto godendo gli avvoltoi."

"PFFFF sono tremendiii!" Aveva sussurrato il pasticciere mordendosi il labbro dal ridere, cosa che aveva fatto sorridere ulteriormente Giuda che quindi aveva continuato:

"Sembra non vedano un uomo da millenni eh. Veramente. E Patrizio ha la faccia di uno che si è pentito a sbrega."

"A cosa?

"Pentito molto. Devo insegnarti il veneziano prima o poi, Boss."

Tommaso aveva annuito, e Giuda aveva deciso di mettersi sulla difensiva ancora prima che qualcuno potesse partire all'attacco.

"Che poi... Neanche fosse così figo. Bellino eh. Ma insomma, da far andare fuori di testa tutti e quattro?"

Tommaso aveva annuito, facendo spallucce.

"Ti do ragione. E spero che a Luca questa cosa passi presto prima che Patrizio faccia una strage."

"Patrizio dovrebbe anche darsi una mossa però eh, Luca è troppo impedito per accorgersi di quanto stia sbavando come una lumaca. Se non si muove finisce che se lo prende qualcun altro e ti ricordo che l'ultima volta è andato di sbronza triste."

"Non ricordamelo, ti prego..."

"Ao, regà!" Remo era arrivato di soppiatto e li aveva presi entrambi sottobraccio, sorridendo come lo scemo che era.

"Venite a conoscere il nuovo arrivato!"

- Oh, no, ti prego.-

"Capo fammi almeno togliere i guanti da piatti!"

"No no, li devi tenè, voglio che capisca chi comanda!" Aveva riso il maggiore dei gemelli Stella alla richiesta del suo lavapiatti.

Maledetto.

Con un movimento degno dei peggiori ubriachi di Caracas, aveva portato Tommaso e Giuda al cospetto del nuovo arrivato, che aveva addosso un sorriso capace di sciogliere il cuore di Giuda in un istante.

E lo aveva fatto.

"Emilio, ecco il mio socio e pasticcere Tommaso Sandero, e il mio lavapiatti tuttofare quello-che-vuoi, Giuda."

"Ho un cognome anche io sai, vecchio." con un eyerolling degno di una star holliwoodiana, Giuda si era voltato verso Emilio.

Merda, era ancora più bello, da vicino.

"Giuda Schiavon. Ti darei la mano ma ho i guanti."

"Schiavon?" Aveva chiesto Emilio illuminandosi.

Ma quanto poteva essere bello un essere umano? Ma era legale?

"Ahah, si chiama Schiavon. Il che è perfetto visto che è il nostro..." Aveva iniziato Remo, ma Emilio aveva stretto le mani davanti al viso con aria sognante ed aveva chiesto, interrompendolo:

"Ma sei veneto anche tu? Io sono di Verona!"

Giuda si era limitato a fare spallucce, annuendo subito dopo.

"Par tera, par mar, Sammarco."

"Can del porco un Venexian! Beaaa!"

Detto questo, si era avvicinato facendo finta di parlare in gran segreto - cosa impossibile visto che tutti lo stavano ancora fissando come se fosse una cosa meravigliosa, tranne forse Romolo che stava guardando proprio Giuda come se fosse la peggiore delle cose mai capitate a questo mondo:

"Cossa go da far pa aver na bona ombra de vin qua?"

Stava cercando di parlare in veneziano?

Ma c'era un limite a quanto potesse essere carino?

"Domandarghe a Remo. Io lavo i bicchieri, non li riempio mica."

Detto questo si era girato verso il titolare, compiendo uno sforzo sovrumano per distogliere lo sguardo da Emilio, che sembrava parecchio abbacchiato dalla risposta.

"Posso tornare di là? Devo andare in cucina a finire i piatti prima che arrivi altra gente per l'happy hour."

Si era quindi girato di nuovo verso Emilio, facendogli un cenno di saluto con un mezzo sorriso.

"Conterraneo, buona permanenza a Bologna."

E se n'era andato, senza lasciargli il tempo di rispondere.

Erano passati tre anni, da quel loro primo incontro.

Tre anni nei quali Romolo aveva fatto il più divertente degli epic fail con Emilio, nei quali Patrizio si era deciso a ficcare la lingua in bocca a Luca, e Virgilio aveva fatto finta di essere ubriaco per toccare il culo di Romolo, che diceva di aver dimenticato, ma Giuda sapeva essere una balla.

Perché lui, le balle, le subodorava, essendo un bugiardo cronico.

Infatti, nemmeno per un secondo aveva lasciato che qualcuno sospettasse minimamente della sua cotta allucinante per lo psicologo, specialmente il suddetto, visto che si era probabilmente ormai convinto di stargli sullo stomaco.

Il che era l'intento del veneziano, visto che dava per scontato che il trentenne fosse ben oltre quello che uno come lui potesse permettersi.

Dopo la disastrosa relazione col suo compagno di facoltà, Giuda aveva infatti deciso che single era decisamente meglio che col cuore a pezzi.

Anche se il suo cuore non stava troppo bene.

Trattare male Emilio gli stava facendo ormai perdere il sonno, a volte rischiava di dimenticare le lenti dalla stanchezza, e persino Virgilio lo prendeva per il culo per le occhiaie.

Ed ora era lì. I guanti in una mano ed una scopa nell'altra.

Con Remo che lo guardava con il sorriso dello Stregatto dipinto in faccia.

"A serpentino. L'ho capito eh. Te piace er veronese."

"Tu stai vaneggiando. Ora come ora lo ammazzerei. Ho fatto volare i bicchieri per colpa sua."

"Nun me piglià per il culo. Io e Tommy ti gridiamo contro in continuazione e non hai mai saltato così. Senti Coso, pure io le subodoro le stronzate, non sei mica l'unico. Fai il merda perché ti piace."

Giuda continuava a guardare il titolare negli occhi, cercando di negare con tutto il linguaggio del corpo.

"Non. Mi. Piace. Emilio. Non so cosa ti sei messo in testa, ma Mister Psicanalisi non è esattamente di mio gradimento okay?"

"Giuda..."

C'era qualcosa nel tono di Remo, qualcosa che per un attimo, aveva aperto una breccia nel cuore del veneziano.

Forse... Forse poteva fidarsi, di qualcuno.

"...Dal primo giorno in cui è entrato qui dentro. A voi tutti è passata. Ma a me mai. Non ho una cotta per Emilio, Remo. Io sono innamorato, di Emilio. Ma ho sofferto abbastanza in passato da sapere che sto meglio da solo. E se poi va male? Con che faccia lo guardo? Come..."

"Non puoi saperlo. Voglio dire, non posso saperlo io che ci vivo assieme, come puoi farlo tu se scappi ogni volta che lo vedi?"

"Sono del parere che ciò che non sai non può farti del male."

"Fosse qua Luca urlerebbe 'Boiate'. Giuda... io..."

"Beh. Ormai il danno è fatto, no? Si sarà convinto che lo odio dopo la stronzata di oggi."

Con una risata amara, Giuda aveva superato il romano, continuando:

"Mi sono bruciato ogni possibilità, amen..."

"Giuda."

"... Però di sicuro mica smette di venire, siamo il suo bar preferito e tu sei il suo coinquilino..."

"Giuda piantala."

"Di sicuro troverà subito qualcuno, gli basta respirare e arriva sempre qualcuno..."

"Giuda!"

Il lavapiatti si era girato di nuovo verso Remo, mordendosi il labbro mentre le stupidissime lacrime iniziavano a scendere.

"Io non ce la posso fare okay? Dopo Mattia non so più come comportarmi, con un uomo. E poi sono un casino. Emilio non potrà mai apprezzare uno come me."

Remo era rimasto in silenzio per un attimo, prima di avanzare ed... abbracciare? Giuda.

Il veneziano era basito, di solito era Tommaso, quello con cui a volte si permetteva gesti affettuosi.

"Ti devi de sta zitto. Non fai così schifo. E te lo giuro su Totti, io ti aiuterò a prenderti lo psicologo, che tu lo voglia o no."

Giuda aveva riso amaramente, la faccia ficcata nel petto dell'altissimo coetaneo.

"Seh, vabbè. E come credi di fare?"

Remo lo aveva lasciato andare ed aveva sentenziato, serissimo.

"Sai giocare a briscola?"

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