#i shed a tear upon seeing these pics

[fortunekookie07]

Ashfierce posted a dating him photo series for each of the boys and I was inspired by one of Rafayel's chosen pics. I ended up using all of them as inspiration. I present to you:

A Stupid Kind of Wonderful

Dating Rafayel was an experience in itself. If you thought about it rationaly, he was kind of (a lot) selfish. He was also arrogant, and sometimes you just wanted to punch him in his stupid, pretty face (that you love). He was complex, his heart was carefully guarded and hidden away under his brash, haughty personality.

He was talented, one of the best artists to appear in a millennium. Every art piece he created was highly sought after. Each collector wanting to add a one of a kind creation to their collection.

You were often giddy that, rather than his paintings, you had the best thing of all. Rafayel himself, he'd given his heart to you freely. It hadn't taken much effort for him to shed the persona he presented to the rest of the world and show his true self. But only to you, only for you.

He'd told you many times before that a Lemurian mated only once, for life, every life they lived would only be for that one person. You had not been able to get it out of him just how many times he'd been reborn, but you could tell he was an old soul deep down. Sometimes, the way he spoke when he was serious was like he was ancient. Like he'd seen all the world had to offer many times over, and you were the only thing he ever wanted or needed.

Then there were times like tonight where you were convinced that your lover was actually a five year old, or had once been a cat.

You'd gone looking for him to tell him that dinner was ready, still holding the spoon You'd been using to stir with. Upon opening the bedroom door, you dropped the spoon as both hands fell to your sides like dead weights.

There was Rafayel (a fully grown man of 24 years) playing in a box. He'd cut four holes in the sides and was down on all fours, on top of the bed like some kind of freakish animal or a mutated insect.

"W-w-what are you doing?" You managed to gasp out voice high and squeaky at the end of your sentence. The box flaps popped open as he stuck his head out. Styrofoam peanuts statically stuck to his hair and pointing every which way. Upon seeing his deer in the headlights expression and just how ridiculous he looked, you doubled over in laughter. Gasping for air as you sank to your knees. Tears rolled down your cheeks as you laughed hysterically.

Rustling and fumbling on the bed had you looking up just in time to see him practically teleport out of the box sending peanuts everywhere. They were stuck to his clothes and hair, and his sheepish expression sent you into a new fit of giggles.

"R-Rafay-el what we-re y-you doing"?!? You ask in between laughs. He mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like he'd just wanted to play in the box, as he scratched the side of his face and brushed peanuts out of his hair.

He offers you his hand, and you take it. He pulls you up and into his embrace. Holding you tightly for a moment and rocking you side to side. "I missed you when you were gone." He burries his face in your neck, breathing in your scent and placing little kisses there.

A rumbling sound interupts your sweet little moment, and you look at him with a knowing smile. "You've forgotten to eat again, haven't you?" You say knowing full well once he gets going on a painting nothing can distract him. Not even his body's demands for food. He nods unashamed, it's not like this is the first time he's done this. "I made that spicy seafood pasta you like." You say turning from the room and drawing him with you by his hand. He pauses only to grab your dropped spoon.

Per your usual routine for meals, Rafayel has already gone to the cabinets to grab bowls, spoons, and glasses. Whoever made dinner would serve and the other would grab dishes and clean up.

"Anything interesting happen at work?" Rafayel asks pouring tea into the cups and setting them on the table. You think for a moment. "Not really, I only had a couple missions today. Wanderer activity is at a low point right now. We're not getting sent out as much." He nodded and pulled your chair out as you walked over with the bowls.

You lean in and reach up on your toes to give him a quick kiss before sitting down and then setting his bowl on the table across from you. He pushes your chair in and then walks around to pull out and sit in his own chair.

Rafayel took every chance he could to do something for you, even if it was just something as small as pulling you chair out, opening doors for you, or just holding your hand. He never failed to show courtesy and care. It was just one of the many things he did to show his love. Each gesture warmed your heart. At first these things surprised you but as the days had turned to weeks, then months, and finally a year, they felt familiar and part of your routine.

Dinner conversation is light and cheery, rambling about this and that. Rafayel manages to throw in light complaints about how mean Thomas is because he won't approve a ridiculous expedition (that is mildly dangerous) to aquire a color source. Did you mention artists, Rafayel in particular, were eccentric?

Your phone screen lights up with a notification. Tara's profile picture pops in. She's tagged you in something and her caption reads, 'I Challenge You!' Intrigued you grab it and unlock your phone to the post. It's a couple photo challenge.

Her addition to the post says, Hey girl, I saw this and thought it'd be perfect for you! I did it with my bf, it was so much fun. I Challenge you!

Below that it says Couple Photo Challenge and then a list;

1. Strike a pose on a date: (matching outfits a must)

2. Sweet Hug

3. At the aquarium

4. Silly shenanigans

5. Hands only

6. Dance on the beach

7. Swing together

8. Playfight in the water

9. Inseparable

You can see that the post has been reblogged almost five thousand times and has just as many comments. Tara has posted her photo series and it's cute. You laugh looking at her pictures, seeing that for the silly photo she and her boy friend had drawn on their faces with what looks like whipped cream.

"Rafayel, look at this. I want to do it!" You say excitedly showing him the post. He looks it over and he smiles. He often took pictures for his art but he was rarely the subject in his photos. "If you want to." He says easily agreeing to your request.

An idea strikes you as you read over the list again and you look at him with a sweet smile "No," he says catching that look on your face. "But I didn't even say anything!" You protest and start pouting. "I know that look, no." He says pointing an accusatory finger at you.

"It's for the silly photo." You mumble slipping deeper into pout mode. Your bottom lip juts out as you go into full sulk mode, knowing Rafayel can't stand up against the pouty face. He tries to look anywhere but at you, getting squirmy as usual. "D-don't do that." He says trying to maintain his position on not doing whatever your idea was. You tilt your head down and then look up at him though your lashes, a killer move.

He squirms more and seconds tick by. Any moment now. You think grining triumphantly in your head. His ears are bright red. A tell tale sign he's about to break. "Ugh, ok fine. What is it?" Your grin is visible now. "I'm going to regret this aren't I?" He mumbles with a sigh. "Let me take a pick of you in the box for our silly photo." You say as you get up and walk around the table. He's just pushed his chair back and you take the opportunity for further persuasion, and sit in his lap. Your hands hook behind his neck and his go to your hips automatically.

"No way, something else. Anything but that." He says not wanting everyone to see him playing in a box. "Aww come on. We'd have the best silly photo. No one could top it!" You knew Rafayel could be pretty (vary) competitive at times.

His face scrunched up and he looks over your shoulder instead. You grasp his cheeks and turn his head to face you. "Please?" You ask trying to coax him into it with little butterfly kisses on his face. "Ok, ok fine you win." He says finally and you squeal delighted. "You're the best!" You say giving him a bigger kiss. "Yeah, yeah whatever." He's frowning but you can tell his heart isn't behind it.

Over the next week and a half you and Rafayel drag Thomas all over the place to fulfill the requirements of each photo. He grumbles and complains about over time and how being your photographer isn't in his job description.

But as you look through all the possibilities, you decide that he did a great job. You pick out your favorites for each selection and show them to Rafayel.

"This one was a great idea", he says pointing at the one of the two of you at the gallery. The pose is silly, having you both standing with your legs apart and bodies tilted sideways towards each other. "Yeah, black was a great color choice. We really stand out against the background." You say sitting next to him on the couch.

"Oh, what do you think of this one? Thomas caught us mid twirl." You scroll to the beach dance one. The sun had started setting and there were dozens of little waves on the ocean behind you. "You like this one best too?" Rafayel says tucking you into his side as he pulls up the hug. You laugh and remember telling him to jump on you with a hug. "Yeah, it's so cute!" You giggle and scroll to the other ones.

"This one sure wasn't easy." You say pulling up the swing together category. "Yeah I still find it hard to believe we got up without falling." Somehow the two of you had gotten on one swing together. You're seated on his lap facing him and you'd even managed to actually swing. "The chains did dig into my thighs a bit though." You comment offhandedly.

"Thomas is a great shot, he managed to capture the pic just before I'd pulled you into the water." The playfight pictures were all silly. One of them had Rafayel picking you up and dunking you head first into the rushing waves on the beach. That was after you'd pulled him down into the water. "Let's do this one then." Rafayel agrees with your choice.

"Which categories are left?" He asks looking at the post on his phone as you scroll through the cameras memory.

"Uh, Inseparable, hands only, and at the aquarium." You say checking the ones that have been finalized. "Alright let's see." He takes the camera from you and goes to the next group of pictures. "I like this one, I think it's the best." The two of you are standing in front of the huge fish tank, back to the camera and leaning against eachother. You're pointing at one of the fish and his head is leaning against yours. "Yeah, ok that's the one then."

"Ooh let's do this one! It reminds me of the first pic we took together. Remember our first date and you wanted to stop by that photo booth? Haha you pouted so much when you realized I wasn't completing your hand heart and was just giving a thumbs up." You laugh as his pout is back again. "Yeah, yeah ok then. Inseparable is the last one."

This category had given you the most trouble. Trying to figure out what would best suit your idea of Inseparable. Rafayel had pointed it out easily. He always wanted to hug and touch you and you'd felt silly having tried to put so much thought into something that was very obvious to him.

"Let's go with the bear hug then." You agree looking at the choices. "Oog Tara is going to be so jealous, our pics are definitely the best! Everyone is going to love your box pic. It's so funny." You laugh at the pic again. One of two you had actually taken.

"Let's hurry and post it!" You jump up and drag Rafayel to the computer and hook up the camera to load the pictures.

You select the ones you wanted after they finish up loading and create the post and tag the original.

Couple Photo Challenge!! And then your series of pics. Just before posting you tag another member of Unicorns that you know is married.

Shortly after posting, the comments start rolling in. Tara is first. You laugh at her response and the huffy emoji she used. "I told you she was gonna be jealous!" You say leaning back into Rafayel and reading the comments. "A Stupid Kind of Wonderful." You mumble, looking at him and leaning in for a kiss.

****************************************************

I wanted to be extra nice to Rafayel because I've put him through the ringer with another story I posted and the emotional torture I'm about to give him in its continuation.

I wanted to write something mushy, and I hope you like it as much as I did writing it.

[mendyson]

I’ll make you a shirtless pic next, but you can pick the location this time! ;)

The ‘two truths and one lie’ is ALL that piqued my curiosity… I shed a tear upon seeing that picture you made of Fryderyk.

I’d rather that you didn’t, but, oh bother, do whatever you want.

[blogauroragloryme]

Xie Lian's Melancholy

Lately Xie lian is the only person revolving in my head and I'm really in the mood to rant some angsty thoughts. (Might contain spoilers)

Xie lian's first introduction painted a pic of him being a kind and sweet yet a clumsy and klutz at times person with a horrible luck. He has been portrayed to have an easy going personality and someone who doesn't get easily phased despite the taunts from the Heavenly officials during his third ascension. The remainder of the books which follows the present timeline has shown Xie lian to be a funny character with a hilarious sense of humour with hints of dropping snarky comments here and there .

Then when I read Book 2 and the remaining books that talks about the past ,it completely caught me by surprise to see a young Xie lian's personality.I never expected Xie lian to ever bear such kind of traits (don't get me wrong,I don't mean it in a negative way) ,it's just that it's so in contrast with his current temperament.

I won't go into detail about how the events of Book 2 and Book 4 shaped Xie lian's present self but I just wanna imagine the bits and pieces in between that nobody particularly talks about.

Xie lian become Lang Qianqiu's Guoshi and after the following events was sealed for 100 years ,then after escaping from his then predicament till his third ascension , that blur in between intrigues me, but in a bittersweet manner.

My first reaction to it is just how much pain he must have felt to have such a dramatic change in his personality? His core values are still the same ,but his presentation and demeanour has shifted to such an extreme extent. Many a times it's hinted in the novel about Xie lian's self depreciating tendencies which is heartbreaking to read.

I just try to imagine him trying to actively seek a job in his initial years, trying his very best but ultimately failing in the end to hold any kind of work. Many a times having a hand to mouth situation.Having no permanent place to rest after a tired day.Coming back to nothing but shadows as his only companion. After how many days did he stopped thinking about whether Feng Xin and Mu qing will ever come to search for him? From thoughts of meeting them,to only a small hope of seeing a glimpse. Would he have ever stumbled upon one of their temples? After how many days his hope would diminish and accepting Ruo Yue as his only solace.Wandering here and there with his meager belongings and helping people around to the best of his abilities. When did he accepted collecting trash as his only means of survival? Having to come in terms with his loneliness. When did his self confidence,self worth and self esteem shattered to the point of no return?

Did he shed tears with the moonlight night and shimmering stars as his only witnesses? Did he ever gave himself this mercy to reminisce the good old days? To remember the soft embrace and lullaby of his mother to the proud and warm gaze of his father? To recall the memory of his buddies by his side planning a new mischief? To remember Feng Xin 's overprotectiveness and Mu Qing's constant but concerned nagging.

Did he ever despaired when he realised that he cannot recall his parents faces and that now his beloved parents are nothing more than blurry shadows? Faint like phantoms of the past?After how many tries did he finally gave up on trying to paint a picture of them? After how many tries did he finally learnt to properly bandage himself . How many sleepless nights did he spent on self blaming and self loathing?

When did he finally accepted the way things are : when collecting trash no longer seems like a detached routine,but a part of himself? When did self loathing tuned itself into a lullaby? When did sorrow made an abode in his very being, no longer pouring into river water,nor evaporating in the sun and neither falling like the rain.

(I think this much angsty thoughts are enough for now😅)

Xie lian is a comfort character who I turn to both in joy and sorrow.

[tyrabanks-y]

hi hiiii it's morgan. we're making me a separate blog bc i don't always wanna mask as the host on the main blog and as a collective we don't really wanna be that public about having a dissociative disorder on main. but it's not like the end of the world if people make the connection between this blog and the main one (not that i expect people to see this blog much if at all tbh)

here's a really rough "about section" type thing i may update later (under the cut)

they/he, preference in the order listed

like a rabbit therian or something. idk exactly what i'd call it

age is 20+ i guess but i'm not sure i "have an age". i hatched from a fucking pearl, fully grown. i don't know what to tell you

i feel like details from the last two points sound crazy unless i explain that i have like an "origin myth" that i know is technically not a thing but like. idk i came with it. the moon shed a tear with a rabbit inside of it, which fell to earth and was killed instantly upon impact. its bones fell into the sea, grew and twisted into a structure guarding a pearl. the pearl broke open, and a humanlike apparition solidified from the mist that came out. that apparition was an early form of what's become me.

in a relationship within our own system. ✧~૮(˘▽˘ა>ԅ( ˘⌣˘) gil can post here too but probably won't since he just covertly uses our main.

(hey. this is gil. i'm actually going to chime in a single time. i'm not posting on here beyond this because i'm not huge on... i don't know. like. the way it looks like i'm doing an rp with myself. if you got here without knowing us irl... uh. you have to be nice to my partner.)

my icon/the pic above are self portraits... the icon's a WIP tho. updated as i work on it... which is taking a while cuz i'm getting used to krita again and never was that into coloring to begin with. sigh ૮(つω`｡)ა

blog content will probably get nsfw pretty often. personal text posts may reference cutting in a way that's maybe hard to distinguish from self harm. it's something "done to me" while co-conscious. i consider it more of a bdsm thing but could see why others might not think of it that way

[spiritualpour]

There will always be someone who will try you. 

Try to put you down, where they believe your place ”should” be. 

Try to sour the taste of your name flowing off other people’s tongue.

Try to undercut your abilities, your triumphs and your accomplishments through out your life by squashing it with some false truths. 

Try to sell you up river for 30 pieces of silver and pretend they are high in cotton for a soul they never owned or had rights to in the first place. 

Try to show your faults but forget how they made you human & actually fortified you to receive the call in the first place. 

It is bc they legit cannot perceive favor. 

Favor comes to the worthy. 

The worthy have proven literally through blood, sweat and tears that they are worthy of God’s favor. 

They’ve gone through the brimstone fighting from hell and back against all the enemies thrown at them due to jealousy from small minds, envy from blocked Vision and straight up trifling folks who are pissed bc they failed at their directives. 

They’ve gone through the 7th level of hell, fought the essence of the Devil & came back on fire to light the world as prophesied. 

They’ve known death very well as they are constantly bowing to death before shedding the people, places & things that no longer serve them throughout their lives in order to break cycles. 

That, beloveds, is called divinely chosen. 

These who are the worthy wear what is called “the breastplate of God”. It signifies they have been ordained and sanctified by God himself to walk the path they walk. No matter what is, has or will be done to them, they will always fight another day bc God has favored them. 

That’s why they are favored. 

You can identify these people by the crosses they carry such as:

•lone wolf

•burden barrier

•kind despite the opposition 

•compassionate despite the lack of support 

•virtuous bc their eyes remain on God. 

•generous bc they know what it is to be without 

•truth giving bc they have been lied about, lied on and manipulated by every soul they come across, yet they still remain loving bc they are filled with God’s anointing love. 

•survived the worst of the world as it has rose up in the road to greet them with.

•they have sinned with the best of them, learned the lessons, broke the cycles and came forward to answer the Call God has given over their life. 

That is why they remain with God’s favor. 

It’s not because they just lucky or they were just given divine favor bc it’s them. It is bc they have proven they are worthy by the trials and tribulations they bear. 

People get surprised about this but yet, if they would have read the book given to them at indoctrination, The Bible is clear that everyone, saved or lost, will go through trials and tribulations.

 “All who desire to live a godly life in Christ Jesus will be persecuted” (2 Tim 3:12) so “do not be surprised at the fiery trial when it comes upon you to test you, as though something strange were happening to you.  But rejoice insofar as you share Christ’s sufferings, that you may also rejoice and be glad when his glory is revealed.  If you are insulted for the name of Christ, you are blessed, because the Spirit of glory and of God rests upon you” (1 Pet 4:12-14).  

Yesterday, I posted the word on people doing shit to others then get upset when God favors the fallen who have been struck down bc of their favor. 

That joker is in there too.

 “Blessed are you when others revile you and persecute you and utter all kinds of evil against you falsely on my account. Rejoice and be glad, for your reward is great in heaven, for so they persecuted the prophets who were before you” (Matt 5:0-12). 

See? I ain’t playing picture pages over here. It’s in the word. 

As I said: God is in the details coming in clutch with divine favor. 

These people can try to knock you to whatever peg they believe you should thrive at, reveal your nudes, claim your sultry, naughty past, or even post pics of the nights you decided to get dirty and shoot the moon. 

Name a divine prophet or an apostle who ain’t sinned heavy and see if God himself don’t slap them to sleep. 

This is exactly why Jesus does not hang with those who have already found, knew & break bread with God. He partied with the fallen who need that mustard seed replanted. Right?

God does not call the qualified. 

He knows they can do it. 

He qualifies the call by showing the power of his people in their rise from the dust and the dirt into a mighty warrior who is worthy of being favored. 

He said sin but sin no more- meaning once you have done it and been enlightened that this situation ain’t popping or proper, don’t do the shit again. So they won’t. They have mastered themselves and understand while minding God’s directives. 

They listen. 

And that is why those are the people who are worthy of God’s favor. 

Enjoy your day & be glad in it, beloved. 

Remain a blessing & watch how God shows favor in your life. Cause Hell & the worst Hell has to offer will rise up in the road to greet you. 

The choice has always been yours. 

Dios de Bendiga. 🫶🏻

[zztmms]

the apple of my eye

please like/reblog if you use or save :^) | please do not repost.

[theuncrucified]

Calibration is upon us, which means the Exalted Secret Santa is nigh! I'm offering two different flavors of Kalara this year - Solar vs Abyssal! Check out the details behind the cut.

Kalara Vadras, The Uncrucified Solar Exalted, Eclipse Caste, Righteous Devil

A passionate Merchant Prince (though most people refer to her as a 'Merchant Queen'), Kalara can often be found traveling Creation using her charm and wit towards the cause of achieving a more equitable economy and the abolishment of slave labor throughout the threshold.

While she has a friendly public face, her enemies whisper of her spy network, Kalara's "Tongues", who work quietly throughout Creation eliminating threats to her ambitions for Creation.

For more reference, see Kalara's full bio for more pics, etc.

Art Notes

She has a scar from a failed crucifixion on her left hand only, not both hands

NSFW art is ok! She's quite famous for her tastes in brothels and being a free spirit with multiple unattached partners, but please nothing too hardcore into chains. This lady likes luxury. Tis silk or nothing!

Fashion

Feel free to play with her hair and clothing style without sticking too close to the ref. Kalara mixes things up a lot to either blend in on her travels OR to make a big impression, depending on the occasion. She's quite the fashionista! Note that in her art she's dressed in everything from a Chiaroscuro glass gown to more casual wear with her green shirt. The look with the teal and gold with the jacket resting on her shoulders is her signature look, however.

Iconic Anima

Her totemic anima involves chains of sunlight wrapping around her arms and ankles as the links fall off one by one. Spikes of sunlight, which do not harm her, appear in her hands and melt away. Behind her, a phoenix with a long, trailing tail rises up behind her.

Weapons & Combat Style

Kalara prefers not to let others onto the fact that she's as powerful as she is and has created a whole other persona named Koh to do her gunslinging. She and Koh are rumored to be lovers, much to her amusement.

However, if she's ever backed into a corner as Kalara, her fighting style involves acrobatic agility while dual-wielding two Prayer Pieces made of jade and orichalcum with the punishing glory of the Righteous Devil martial art.

--------

The Crucified Dreamer Abyssal Exalted, Moonshadow Caste, Deathknight of the Lover

This alternate universe version of Kalara spends her time wandering Creation nurturing revolutionaries and visionaries...then leading them to their beautiful deaths after they follow her pursuing their foolish dreams. Those she finds useful, she scouts as possible servants for her Deathlord, The Lover Clad in the Raiment of Tears.

Unlike Kalara, the Dreamer was never saved from her death by crucifixion by The Unconquered Sun. Rather, the Lover came to her in her final moments after a torturous three days and nights and offered her a chance to equalize all in the embrace of death.

Her full name is The Crucified Dreamer Veiled in Truth.

Art Notes

The Dreamer has crucifixion wounds in both hands and both feet that never heal. She tends to 'dress them up' with jewelry and henna.

NSFW art is ok! She's very BDSM-themed as-is. You know she gets up to some kinky vampire stuff!

Fashion

The Dreamer prefers gold and finery usually with a subtle skeletal theme. Gold, fire opals, and garnets suit her well. The three tears below her eye, however, are not makeup, but etched by blood ink into her skin when the Lover 'welcomed' her as an Abyssal. They traced the last tears she would ever shed.

Weapons & Combat Style

The Dreamer doesn't usually engage in direct combat, much preferring to seduce her victims, but if she is driven to conflict, she utilizes the Laughing Wounds martial art, a set of bejeweled claws, and a segmented whip sword with a blade like sharp gold vertebra as it unfurls.

I have no references for her whip sword or battle claws yet, so go wild with your interpretation!

Iconic Anima

The Dreamer's aura flares as her crucifixion wounds seep streams of blood that form tendrils and wrap around her arms and legs. The blood also pours to the earth where scarlet Spider Lilies spring up from the droplets. Behind her, a glowing red mandala materializes with the lotus pointed downwards.

I have no reference of this anima yet, so feel free to go wild with your interpretation from that description!

--------

That's it for now! I hope my Secret Santa has fun. I can't wait to see what they’ll choose!

[scotianostra]

On August 18th 1746 Arthur Elphinstone, Lord Balmerino and William Boyd, 4th Earl of Kilmarnock the Jacobite nobles, were executed.

The two were found guilty of treason and sentenced to death; this was commuted to beheading, rather than the usual sentence of Hung,drawn and quartered, which had already been carried out on some Jacobites, most notably the English Jacobite Francis Towneley on 30th July that year, with eight of his comrades from the Manchester Regiment.

Before I start on this post proper I have to say we should remember that whilst the high profile executions may make the “headlines” in my posts, we should remember the ordinary soldiers that also died, both during the uprising and afterwards. Also the provisions that followed stripping the country of their way of life.

Magnus Magnusson recounts in Scotland The Story of Nation: “Of the total of 3471 Jacobite prisoners, 120 were executed: most by hanging, drawing and quartering, four by beheading because they were peers of the realm -- the privilege of rank. Of the remainder, more than six hundred died in prison; 936 were transported to the West Indies to be sold as slaves [which, at that time, meant that they would almost certainly be dead of yellow fever or the like within two years], 121 were banished ‘outside our Dominions’; and 1287 were released or exchanged” 

Of those released my guess is that a large number of these would have been co-opted into the British army.  Highlanders were among the world’s best natural soldiers and if given discipline, training and leadership would make a formidable force. Which indeed was proved true. 

Numerous clan chiefs were attainted, having their titles and lands stripped of them. More importantly the Heritable Jurisdictions Act of 1746 removed all judicial powers from the chiefs, smashing the very structure of Highland society as sheriffdoms reverted to the Crown.  The Act of Proscription of 1746 banned anyone north of the Highland line from the carrying of arms and the Dress Act section banned anyone in Scotland from wearing Highland dress, especially the kilt, on pain of six months in jail – transportation was the punishment for a second offence. Also banned by extensions of the Act were the bagpipes and the speaking of Gaelic in public. In a few short years, that Act had great effect, and the repression of the Gael was almost total. Many Highlanders opted to emigrate to America and Canada in a bid to preserve their way of life that was now under assault on all sides – lowland Scottish people, it has to be said, largely backed the brutal repression of their fellow Scots.

On to the day of the executions, much of this is first hand accounts from the history books.

Everyone who was anyone wanted to be at the execution, among the spectators was the English army officer and naturalist George Montagu, it is his description that I have pinched for an eye witness account of the gruesome events that day in 1746. Montagu was allowed close access to the prisoners from before their trial until they met their end.

“Just before they came out of the Tower, Lord Balmerino drank a bumper to King James’s health. As the clock struck ten they came forth on foot, Lord Kilmarnock all in black, his hair unpowdered in a bag, supported by Forster, the great Presbyterian, and by Mr. Home, a young clergyman, his friend. Lord Balmerino followed, alone, in a blue coat turned up with red, his rebellious regimentals, a flannel waistcoat, and his shroud beneath; their hearses following.

They were conducted to a house near the scaffold; the room forwards had benches for spectators; in the second Lord Kilmarnock was put, and in the third backwards Lord Balmerino; all three chambers hung with black. Here they parted! Balmerino embraced the other, and said,

“My lord, I wish I could suffer for both!” He had scarce left him, before he desired again to see him, and then asked him, “My Lord Kilmarnock, do you know any thing of the resolution taken in our army, the day before the battle of Culloden, to put the English prisoners to death?”

He replied, “My lord, I was not present; but since I came hither, I have had all the reason in the world to believe that there was such order taken; and I hear the Duke has the pocketbook with the order.”

Balmerino answered, “It was a lie raised to excuse their barbarity to us.” –Take notice, that the Duke’s charging this on Lord Kilmarnock (certainly on misinformation) decided this unhappy man’s fate! The most now pretended is, that it would have come to Lord Kilmarnock’s turn to have given the word for the slaughter, as lieutenant-general, with the patent for which he was immediately drawn into the rebellion, after having been staggered by his wife, her mother, his own poverty, and the defeat of Cope.

I’ll interject here this conversation pertained to the lie that the Jacobite commanders issued an order that “no quarter” was to be give ‘no quarter’ meant that no prisoners would be taken. Any men on the battlefield would have no mercy shown to them and surrender would not be accepted.”

On the eve of the Battle of Culloden the Duke of Cumberland was determined to end the Jacobite Rising and prevent the Jacobites from ever being capable of challenging the throne again. After losing to the Jacobites at every turn, up to this point, he would not let them win again. To motivate his men he informed them that Lord George Murray had ordered ‘no quarter’ to be given to the Government men on the field. This meant the men would be shown no mercy by the Jacobites . However, this claim was not true. No such order had been given. From copies of Lord Murray’s orders there was no mention of ‘no quarter’ anywhere. But, in Cumberland’s papers there was a copy in which the words ‘and to give no quarters to the electors troops on any account whatsoever’ had been inserted. Whilst Cumberland may not have been responsible for doctoring the order he certainly did not shy away from the words written and retaliated in kind.

After the battle Cumberland ordered his men to search out any surviving rebels who were to be treated as traitors, outside the conventions of international combat. Those with the French Royal Ecossais or the Irish Piquet’s would be regarded as prisoners of war but everyone else was to be considered traitors. Whilst some men in the government army refused to kill, and tried to turn a blind eye, there were some who committed terrible acts. As well as wounded soldiers, civilians, women and children were all killed in the horrible aftermath of Culloden.

Back to Montagu’s account…..

“He (Kilmarnock) remained an hour and a half in the house, and shed tears. At last he came to the scaffold, certainly much terrified, but with a resolution that prevented his behaving in the least meanly or unlike a gentleman. He took no notice of the crowd, only to desire that the baize might be lifted up from the rails, that the mob might see the spectacle.

He stood and prayed some time with Forster, who wept over him, exhorted and encouraged him. He delivered a long speech to the Sheriff, and with a noble manliness stuck to the recantation he had made at his trial; declaring he wished that all who embarked in the same cause might meet the same fate.

He then took off his bag, coat and waistcoat with great composure, and after some trouble put on a napkin-cap, and then several times tried the block; the executioner, who was in white with a white apron, out of tenderness concealing the axe behind himself. At last the Earl knelt down, with a visible unwillingness to depart, and after five minutes dropped his handkerchief, the signal, and his head was cut off at once, only hanging by a bit of skin, and was received in a scarlet cloth by four of the undertaker’s men kneeling, who wrapped it up and put it into the coffin with the body; orders having been given not to expose the heads, as used to be the custom.

The scaffold was immediately new-strewed with saw-dust, the block new-covered, the executioner new-dressed, and a new axe brought. Then came old Balmerino, treading with the air of a general. As soon as he mounted the scaffold, he read the inscription on his coffin, as he did again afterwards: he then surveyed the spectators, who were in amazing numbers, even upon masts of ships in the river; and pulling out his spectacles, read a treasonable speech, which he delivered to the Sheriff, and said, the young Pretender was so sweet a Prince that flesh and blood could not resist following him; and lying down to try the block, he said, “If I had a thousand lives, I would lay them all down here in the same cause.”

He said, if he had not taken the sacrament the day before, he would have knocked down Williamson, the lieutenant of the Tower, for his ill usage of him. He took the axe and felt it, and asked the headsman how many blows he had given Lord Kilmarnock; and gave him three guineas. Two clergymen, who attended him, coming up, he said, “No, gentlemen, I believe you have already done me all the service you can.” Then he went to the corner of the scaffold, and called very loud for the warder, to give him his periwig, which he took off, and put on a nightcap of Scotch plaid, and then pulled off his coat and waistcoat and lay down; but being told he was on the wrong side, vaulted round, and immediately gave the sign by tossing up his arm, as if he were giving the signal for battle. He received three blows, but the first certainly took away all sensation. He was not a quarter of an hour on the scaffold; Lord Kilmarnock above half a one. Balmerino certainly died with the intrepidity of a hero, but with the insensibility of one too.”

Pics show the Lords, the second is a satirical drawing of  Lord Balmerino, next is a depiction of the crowd and scaffold on the day. Finally is a plaque at Trinity Square Gardens, Tower Hamlets, London where the executions took place. 

[damedamedame]

okay, i’m back, sorry i can’t get enough- can i request headcannons of teru, tsukasa and akane walking in to their s/o in the corner of the room sniffling, and instantly thought someone or something hurt them, and was bout to throw sum hands? But in reality they were just crying over a really sad fanfic. you don’t have to accept if you a lot of request alr doe, but thanks if you did 💞 :3

VARIOUS X READER HEADCANONS - REQUEST

“For Real?”

NOTES: ayyy you’re back :00 !! thanks for requesting againnn by the way my inbox is like a fuckin desert so no worries :333

P.S. - i don’t accept tsukasa usually but like,, special exception :3???

-

-> TERU MINAMOTO

As the President’s girlfriend, you are allowed full access to the Student Council Room much to Akane’s dismay.

You know what?? Akane’s gonna get kicked out again if says anything :DD

But he doesn’t really mind you.

In fact: you mind him.

*stressed (Y/N) noises as he continues to gush about Aoi*

Anyone who says ‘Hey, you can’t go in there!’ because you’re not a part of the student council shall be ignored :’)))

Teru’s got his eyes on everyone lmaoo

did i just make him sound like a yandere?? n-nah

ANYWAYSSSS 👏👏👏

You use the Student Council Room for *ehem* r e a s o n s. No, you definitely don’t use the room to read fanfictions and visual novels. Nope. Not at all.

But you actually do >:333

You’re inside that very room right now, tapping away at your phone to keep reading the next passages of the oNE OF THE SADDEST VISUAL NOVELS YOU’VE EVER SEEN—

saeyoung choi, anyone?

Then comes in Teru.

PLEASE CUE TERU BLINKING SEVERAL TIMES AND FROZEN IN PLACE AFTER SEEING THE TEARS JUST RUNNING DOWN YOUR CHEEKS

Nonono, Teru never wanted to see you cry about anything ever !! :((

He’ll do everything in his power, a whole dang lot of power in his hands, to keep seeing that smile of yours.

Frantic, he rushes over to you and kind of just,, pats your head as you sniffle and sob as you watch the screen.

He’s only ever had to deal with Tiara’s tantrums and guilt over having to scold Kou, okay??? What?? Is he gonna cradle you until you fall asleep?? Is he gonna ban you from seeing Hanako even if you can’t see him??? WHAT DOES HE D O—

Observational skills on point as always, he sees a someone on your screen, and heart wrenching words if he only knew the context behind it.

“...Why are you crying, (Y/N)?”

“HE ALMOST DIED TERU I COULD HAVE GOTTEN THE BAD ENDING AND I—“

Teru just. small smile and eyes shut, if you get my drift.

He’s lowkey confused for about a few seconds until he connects the dots with his,

b i g b r a i n ✨

You were only reading a visual novel. You just told him that you almost had a bad ending. That guy on your screen said those words. You were crying because of a fictional character??

Huh. Maybe he should pick up one of these novels and read them with you,,, if he had the time to squeeze it in his schedule— oh who am i kidding, he’ll squeeze in time to be with you no matter what.

“Should I contact the developer...?”

“tERU NO—“

-> TSUKASA

Damn rat might kill anyone who makes you cry smh smh.

I mean... business, am I right???

OKAY I’LL STOP—

You’re one of the ✨ School Mysteries ✨

How did you die? Well, let’s just say there was a truck, a phone and an unfortunate incident that’s been talked about through hushed whispers and murmurs.

Speaking of phone, dang thing’s still stuck on your hand for like,,, ages. Not that you care very much. At least the afterlife gave you some entertainment :’)))

You’re with Tsukasa for whatever reason— Once he showed up inside of your Boundary, he just clinged to you ever since. He’s cute, you admit, if you look past the terror he’s done to spirits.

Tsukasa has never granted your wish. You didn’t have one, really, but you still didn’t understand why the pesky ghost didn’t ask terrorized for one. Despite that being his job. And why he’s here. But like— whatever lol.

What he DOES do is ask you to never leave his side. What you didn’t know was that Tsukasa never granted or asked for your wish because he didn’t want you to leave him once it’s done ala horrific.

i—i forgot my point here bUT ANYWAY MOVING ON DJDBDB WHEW LONG INTRO

You’re in your Boundary, the endless hallway, and chlllin while scrolling through your phone for fanfiction to read while you’re dead. The usual. Yep, this is pretty much why you died but lmao you’re just,,, doing it again.

gentle reminder for anyone reading to not use your phone while walking across streets >:000 i care about your safety guys !!

Now where was I? oH yes.

You find a particular fic about your favorite pairing from when you were alive. It still is. Fluff, they said, it’s only fluff... It was not fluff. IT WAS A REALLY FLUFFY ONE UNTIL IT WAS NOT :(((

Tsukasa, who left for personal business, returned to see you bawling and rolling down on the ground and clutching your phone tightly.

“(Y/N)??? Is that a new exercise you’re doing???”

“nO >:((((“

He sits down cross-legged next to you, curious eyes landing on your body still rolling around because of that OnE LiNe. Most likely pokes you until you stop and pay attention to him.

You pout, ‘So cute <33’ He ponders upon before smiling far too widely at you like dude why you gotta smile like that it’s creeping me out.

Hesitantly, you showed him the screen, hoping he’d understand how much distress you have at this moment.

He did not.

“AHA! (Y/N)’S CRYING BECAUSE OF A SAD STORY!” He says with the widest fuc ki n grin.

You take back the phone, blushing immensely out of embarrassment for showing him the pic and him l a u g h i n g at you.

Eventually, Tsukasa stops. He softly tells commands you to look at him. Very very carefully, you take a quick look.

Then he pinches both your cheeks as hard as he can, slight blush on his face.

“Don’t worry, (Y/N)! I’ll make sure no one else makes you cry like this.”

-> AKANE AOI

Oh boy.

Looking at the clock on the wall, then over to the piles of notes laying about on the table, you wonder where the fuck your boyfriend could be.

It was quiet, too quiet for your own liking. Everyone else had gone back to their homes or went out with friends.

And you??? You’re here.

Waiting for Akane since the beginning of time.

omg time pun

Inside the library.

IT’S REVISION DAY DAMN IT— PLUS YOU HAD A TEST TOMORROW AND AKANE JUST SAID HE’D TUTOR YOU ABOUT IT HDBDHE

You look down on the notes you made, words barely of any interest for you, and put it down on the table. “A little quick peek.” You say as your hand shuffles for your phone in your bag.

When you DID find it, you frowned. No new texts from Akane. Awfully strange, since he’d text you 23/7 prayer circle punishment break

Then you see a notification pop up... then you find out your oh-so-loved fic has finally updated after a week of waiting. Patience running thin, you decide to read the ol’ thing.

Bad idea.

You couldn’t stop reading after a long long while. The words simple captivated your mind as of a puppeteer controlling one’s puppet. Besides, Akane was bending the rules, so why can’t you???

Speaking of time boy,

AKANE WAS HURRYINGLY DASHING TOWARDS THE LIBRARY IN S P E E D.

Teru had pushed off all his paperwork on him because he felt an eerie feeling about an apparition hanging nearby.

“The least you could do, Aoi.” He says, flashing a bright smile and leaving Akane alone in the room. HE HATES THAT GUY >:(((

Everyone around him gave him weird looks, but were already used to his old Aoi shenanigans. So they all turned a blind eye.

SUDDENLY THE DOOR SLAMS OPEN :0 !!!!

AND HE ENTERS, PANTING, AND SEES YOU.

Initially, he’s glad to see you waiting for up for him. BUT THENNN HE SEES YOU SOBBING.

“(Y/N), did I really take that long???”

“N-No, I-I’m not—“

Your eyes are obviously puffing up from the amount of tears you shed after reading a 5000-word update.

Somehow, you couldn’t bring yourself to show the phone to him.

Akane’s real concerned, to the point where he’d gladly use his time-freezing skills just to check if no one was bullying you through your phone.

And after many MANY attempts to get your phone, he did it.

He stopped time. Just to see what’s on there.

Of course, he had to know what exactly made his love so sad and read the whole thing in like,, under a minute— boy’s got mad reading skills i tell you.

Finally! Time! Comes! Back! AND YOU STARE IN HORROR AS YOU SEE AKANE HOLDING AND READING WHAT’S ON YOUR PHONE

Your exact thoughts rn: s c r e e e e eEREE

Akane looks at you, a chuckle hiding behind his lips. The thoughts of you crying lingering in his mind now replaced themselves with how cute your flustered face is right now.

“Did you really cry because of this, (Y/N)?”

“Q-QUIT IT!”

Somehow, your boyfriend is such a damn tease when it came to you— tHERE ARE APPROPRIATE TIMES FOR THIS NOT NOW >:00

But still... he’s good too.

Akane wipes the tear about to escape from your eye, enjoying how your face blushed tenfold with a sly smile.

“I won’t let anyone else ever make you cry.”

-

NOTES: did you enjoy?? uh anyways— masterlist on the way :))

@astrxrism

[the-darklings]

—𝒇𝒍𝒐𝒘𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒊𝒏 𝒎𝒆 [01];

—PART I. | GASOLINE GIRL

pairing: santino d’antonio x f!reader

word count: 6.2k+

summary: “Carry that ice in your heart, always.”

warnings: mentions of: child abuse, drug abuse, death/torture; swearing, typical mafia-related situations/discussions so take heed because this is a mature read for sure. But we gotta be realistic, this life ain’t pretty. 

notes: so this can be read as a standalone though I do consider it a sort of mini sister series to COA. This will be short (no more than 5 parts) and only updated when I have free time. That being said, I do hope you enjoy. I even flexed my none existent photoshop skills to make the header pic lol. Get ready this one is going to be a ride. 

You don’t become a part of Camorra by choice.

No one sane enough would.

Your parents simply got involved with people who would have had you killed if they stepped out of the line. You know because that was a threat made with you in the room and a cold, merciless barrel of a gun pressed to your head.

Giovanni D’Antonio’s men came at night, dragging you and your parents out of bed in nothing but your nightclothes. They made you kneel on the dusty floor, your knees aching against the hardness of the wood.

The man himself is as awful as you heard people on the streets whisper. Everyone fears him. Fears him and Camorra and the terrors they unleash onto anyone who doesn’t fall in line.

“Such pity you didn’t have a son,” the head of Camorra notes dispassionately as he scrutinises you, his fingers digging painfully into the flesh of your cheeks. “What am I suppose to do with a girl?”

The man tsks as if some grave crime has been committed against him and takes a long drag of his cigar, turning your head from side to side. Your squirm, knees knocking, your lips trembling, but don’t let him see fear. You can’t afford to let this vile, cruel man who asked his men to beat your father to a bloody heap on the floor to see you weak. You can’t show predator fear if you want to live. Not when your mother is already a sobbing mess on the floor, clutching onto your father in despair.

You wonder if he’s alive. A part of you—

A part of you doesn’t care to know because the man before you stares at you with such finely veiled disgust, you can’t help but know that he will kill you all regardless. He might even enjoy giving the order. And your father is to blame for that.

“Are you at least smart, girl?” he demands and slaps you lightly on the cheek when you don’t respond. “Answer me. Or I will cut your tongue out, and then you will know what it’s like not having the gift of speech. Or maybe I will start with your parents instead.”

Your mother cries harder, practically hysterical and you feel a sting of bitterness, of anger, deep in your chest. She should be strong.

She should be defending you.

But she isn’t. She’s just crying. As if that’s going to save you, protect you, keep these men away.

“You will kill us all anyway,” you whisper knowingly, your words hollow as you stare into those dark, cold eyes that have no end. “They stole from you and you hate thieves.”

The man exhales smoke directly into your face but you don’t flinch—not even as your eyes water from the sting of tobacco, not even when he leans his malign, handsome face closer.

“But I reward loyalty,” he tells you, now almost pleasant, and his thick fingers tilt your chin up as he regards you critically. “Do you understand what I’m saying, hm?”

You nod once.

Giovanni is quiet and thoughtful but then a slight smile creeps across his face.

It’s the most awful sight you have ever seen.

“Then we are done here,” he announces and his hand drops away from your face, his dark gaze lifting over your slight frame and towards the men hovering in the shadows, awaiting orders.

Two shots follow.

You don’t flinch.

The sobs cease.

Giovanni’s grim smile widens, pleased.

“Come along, girl. You no longer have family here.”

. . .

Camorra is a pit.

A pit of betrayal and blood and drugs and more blood.

The first four months are near unbearable.

You’re younger than what they usually recruit and it shows. You don’t know how to navigate this world. You’ve been dropped off at a “care home” that operates more like a drug house but has to keep up a front for the public. Which, in itself, is hilarious because you doubt there is anyone in the nearby province who doesn’t know what this place is.

But it’s survival of the fittest here.

And it’s not a game you know how to play well.

Each person is given a task, a job, and you must do it or you will be punished. Severely.

Giovanni left you here, in this hellhole, with a dismissive hum and a harsh pat on the head, “Let’s see what you make of yourself, gasoline girl.”

Gasoline girl.

Because he didn’t bother asking for your real name. Because he gave you a canister of gasoline and told you to pour it through your house, onto your dead parents, and gave you the remains of his cigar, his order clear.

You watched your home go up in smoke, your parents’ bodies still inside, with gnawing detachment eating away at your heart, your soul.

The flame was hot and bright and Giovanni made you watch till there was nothing left but ash and ruin.

“Little gasoline girl,” he had said then, even more pleased. “Carry that ice in your heart, always. It will take you far in my family.”

The care home, however, is a desolate place that lacks warmth your home had—that lacks anything resembling anything humane, in fact. The only reason why you’re not drugged that very first night is because Giovanni told his men that you are too young for such a thing. Because he wants to see if you can be useful, your mind as sharp as he hopes it is.

But if you disobey…

It doesn’t frighten you, not at first, not until you see them. Those with sunken eyes and pale skin. Lips cracked and limbs trembling. They no longer have wills or dreams or aspirations. They are tools, shells, empty of everything that once made them human. Riddled with pain and despair that plagues them till their next fix or death.

They frighten you so much you hide away in the attic. You’re not sure how you find your way up there but you curl on the floor—in the darkest, deepest hole you can find—and sob and sob and sob into the dust and the dirt. Sob till your eyes are swollen and your throat is raw.

You rip and tear the girl you once were to shreds that night. Because even then, you know, that you will not survive long like this. That this dark pit will consume you unless you find a way to survive, to fight back.

Carry that ice in your heart, always.

You intend to.

You will.

. . .

Next four months are consistent of a few things: death, blood, drugs and violence.

It’s everywhere you look, all you hear at all times of day and night, and you can’t escape it.

There is nowhere to go, nowhere to hide—not when Camorra owns this city. Not when Giovanni knows you by face, if not by name—something that’s a rare honour, you learn later, seeing the Boss in person. Being handpicked by him.

Money laundering, sex, drug distribution, torture; the care home cycles through it all on a daily basis.

Hunger becomes part of the routine, the attic your new home.

You exist in the shadows out of fear, at first. Then, you realize how much power comes from being unseen. If you are unseen, then you can never be hurt, never be abused.

Not like so many—young, so young—always are.

There is nothing glorious about this life. It’s just survival.

Ugly and filthy and dangerous.

So you listen and hide and learn.

The staff—mostly men who are loud and rowdy but follow the rules because they fear the Boss too much, and few older women—start calling you a ghost.

You don’t mind. Not even at all.

It’s better than being actually dead.

. . .

The first time you meet him, you’ve been at the care home for little over a year.

The sounds of pain, pleasure, and death no longer scare you at night.

They have become your reality. Your own twisted, lewd lullaby in a way.

Violence and hate. Pleasure and pain. Greed and death.

They have become levers and cornerstones upon which you have built stability and routine.

Giovanni is coming tonight, the people in the hallways whisper in hushed breaths that morning though, and if anything is out of place blood will be shed.

You haven’t seen him in a year.

You’ve grown and hardened, killed as many soft parts of yourself as you could since the last time you saw him.

You have also become useful.

So normal, so sweet-looking, so unassuming.  

Like a ghost the staff compares you to, you haunt the streets and collect information for Camorra; the perfect little spy.

You nurture that ice in your heart and project it outward, and when Giovanni comes and calls forth everyone at the care home, you hold your chin up; unmoving, stiff-backed, and defiant.

Much to your surprise, his dark gaze snags on you and he pauses in his step, recognition reflecting back at you.

The leader of the care home pauses too, hesitating, clearly unsure if he should comment until Giovanni speaks.

“So you lived.”

He sounds surprised, pleasantly so.

You don’t so much as blink.

“Santino.”

It is then, from the folds of Giovanni’s guard, that a boy steps through. He’s barely taller than you and clearly you are close in age, if not the same, you conclude as he steps beside his father.

His hair is dark and finely combed, his clothes neat and expensive, and he reeks of privilege even more so than his father.

He’s also terrible at hiding his thoughts. He’s repulsed to be here, he thinks it beneath him and being faced with this—grim, hungry faces and grime—he’s balking under the stark contrast to his no doubt princely life at home.

He is the prince of Camorra—every bit as spoiled and arrogant as you expected him to be.  

You hate him on sight.

“What do you see?” Giovanni asks his son as the two stand before you.

Santino’s dark brows furrow and he blinks slowly, looking you up and down. There isn’t much to you. Your clothes are dirty and worn, your features no doubt hostile and your gaze even worse. It’s how you keep yourself safe. Snarl and bite first. Some men like to mutter “rabid dog” under their breaths as you pass in the hallways, but you’re fine with that, too. Even when they make offhand comments that only one thing happens to rabid dogs eventually.

“A nobody, father.”

Oh?

Giovanni sighs, disappointed, and Santino sees this, scrambling for something else to add, “She’s—she’s a girl.”

“Obviously,” the man says, his voice bored, dismissive, and Santino’s expression falls, his eyes lowering. But the older man is still staring at you. “Keep that ice in your heart, gasoline girl,” he reminds you, mild but stern.

He walks away without another word, going back to business in a blink.

His son lingers for a breath, his eyes jumping up and finally meeting yours.

He looks resentful. He’s blaming you for his father’s disappointment in him. He thinks that you are to blame for the failed test.

He looks at you like you are beneath him, like you are less, a nobody he accused you of being.

His eyes are vivid green.

Green as your mother’s garden. Green as the oak that used to sway outside your window.

Green as the grass you used to roll around in when spring flowers bloomed behind your house.

You hate him even more, then.

For the reminder.  

Santino D’Antonio stares at you for another long, hateful moment until his father calls him.

He surprises you by hesitating, still staring, but you only glare at him. Openly, without fear and with clear contempt.

I hate you. I hate you and everything you stand for—everything that you are. You will never know what it’s like to be hungry or cold or scared. What it is to kill and survive.

You dismiss him. A simple sweep of your eyes over his shoulder.

He exhales sharply at your defiance.

You wonder if anyone has ever defied him before and not been severely punished for it.

It makes you feel alive, for a moment, that spark of disobedience.

It’s perhaps the most real you have felt since that night with your knees in the dirt.

The weight of his stare is suffocating and you feel seen, beheld in a way that strips you down to your core.

“Santino.”

Giovanni’s voice is a subtle, cutting blade and his son jerks after him like dog on a leash.

You hope you will never see him again.

. . .

Days turn into weeks, into months, and then years.

With each new day at Camorra, your heart ices over and over.

You meet people, and you lose even more of them.

It teaches you a lesson of not getting attached, of not caring, of things outside of yourself being fragile and breakable.  

First there’s Nari. Too sweet, too kind, and with circumstances that are a bit too similar to your own. Is it any wonder he seeks you out? Any wonder that you let him close? Becoming his friend seems inevitable when you’ve been lonely for so long.

He gets shot on a drug run gone wrong six months after meeting you. There is nothing left of him for you to remember him by. There’s only memories of dark, midnight hair and his wheezy, shrill laugh that you always told him was annoying.

Then, a few years later comes Lucie. You’re a part of the home by then. There is a place for you here; a strength and a steadily rising reputation attached to your person. The pain-soaked hallways are familiar and your own now because you claimed them as such. Attic is no longer a hole to hide in but your home, your sanctuary, your dark throne.

She’s too beautiful and too gentle to survive this place. You know it from the moment you see her. It takes one look to know that this place will gobble her up and spit her back out, crushed and broken.

But there is something about her. Something about the ring of her laughter and the spark in her eyes. The shade of her long hair that reminds you of your mother. Something about the way she trusts you, relies on you, and believes in you. Looks at you as a friend, as a companion, salvation. How during the cold, bleak nights she seeks your warmth and dreams out loud of the life you will have once you both break free of Camorra. Once you find a way to make an honest living. She dreams of a world far bigger and grander than you’ve ever had.

Your dreams are simple: survive, become a nightmare that sweeps through the ranks of Camorra.

Lucie dreams of a home by the sea with three chickens, a cow, and a loving family.

“I want a big one,” she reveals one night, turning to face you with a serious frown. “At least four kids.”

You suppress a shiver. Seeing what you have seen, living through what you have, you can’t imagine having a family. Not one that big, at least. But perhaps it’s because you haven’t felt safe in so very long that any extension of yourself will always feel like a weakness opposed to strength.

“Sounds painful.”

She laughs; a soft, soothing sound as she rests her cheek against your shoulder with a faint smile. “They will have an amazing, scary aunt to look after them. I’m not worried.”  

It’s quiet for a moment before she speaks again. “What about you?”

Noting your blank stare, she adds, “Don’t you want a family? Or at least someone to call your own?”

“No,” you shoot back stiffly, and take another deliberate bite of your soggy bread. “People you love can be used against you. Hurt because of you, or by you. If I love them,” you pause, the word foreign on your tongue. “I won’t want them to suffer because of me. If I’m hurting them, then it’s not love at all.”

It’s silent for a long time.

“Sometimes,” Lucie whispers eventually with a sad, quiet sigh. “I can’t help but think that they’re one and the same.”

You think about that for a while.

Think about how her father used to beat her mother but they still stayed. Think about how that takes a special kind of bravery and strength. How despite that, he was a loving father to Lucie. How sometimes humans can be ugly and awful but have some semblance of good in them, too. How good can be done by bad and bad can be done by good.  

“I suppose.”

She blinks up at you. “Well if I have a family, then you have to have one as well.”

Your lips curve and it feels strange on your face. “Is that so?”

She nods but her eyes are full of mirth. “We’re both going to be fat and pregnant with swollen ankles and awful cravings. Promise?”

Her eyes are full of dreams, full of light you have never seen before.

You try to protect that light, try to hide her away from the men who would hurt her, from the women who would drug her and bargain her away.

It’s foolish and reckless of you but you are almost frenzied with the need to keep something good alive. For once, you just need—

She gets taken.

It’s planned in advance, you learn later.

They had to get you out of the house first. They lied—a job straight from the high tier of Camorra, from the elite itself, no refusals—and used that time you were away to take her.

What they did—

They pay for it.

Everyone in the care home that had anything to do with it, anyone who knew.

You tear ten people apart. Slowly; piece by piece, muscle by muscle, sinew by sinew. Over the years you have found new talents, new hobbies. Ghost is an old name they called you around the house.

But you have others you prefer now.

When it’s done, you stalk through the too silent house, covered in cooling blood and—

You’re not sure how much of it is from the people you just killed and how much is from—

Lucie is where you found her.

Your eyes sting as you gaze at the sight in front of you. You gather her in your arms gently and even if it’s a slog, slow and painful, you take her to the tiny bathroom down the hall.

You wash her hair of dirt and blood and—

Tears fall heavy and hot the entire time you work and you have to pause in-between, choking down your sobs.  

Her body is next. Wetting a cloth in your hand, you clean her skin, fold her hands over her chest, ignoring the broken bones and broken skin.

You’re glad it’s late spring.

The ground is softer, more pliable.

Despite that, it still takes you four hours to dig a grave deep enough. Your hands are numb, bloodied and blistered by the time you’re done. The stench of sweat and death mixes with the blood but you ignore it.

Lowering her takes time—time and care and self-control. Because she’s so cold, so stiff, and it’s awful knowing that you will never see her again after this.

You bury dreams and hopes and aspirations with her—both hers and yours. A handful of dirt at the time. Your hands are raw but you force yourself to keep going.

And when it’s done, you collapse beside the grave and stay there for hours, days, maybe weeks.

It starts raining and you let the freezing spring rain wash over you. The smell of wet earth and grass drags you into hazy dreams. They transform into feverish nightmares eventually, haunting you and killing you over and over again. You failed. Failed to protect something good. Maybe saving Lucie was only partially about saving her—an innocent—from this awful fate, and more about…

More about some vague, distant belief—hope—that you could be saved, too.

Grief splits you apart and suffocates you with every breath as you lay beside the fresh grave.

Grief. You’re not sure if you even grieved your parents. Not really. Because they were dead and you still had an uncertain future ahead of you. You grieved a life you could have had. But it’s been so long. So very long now.

Time is not a concept you can understand any longer.

By the time they find you, a part of you wishes they would just let you die and bury you beside your friends. Let you rest at long last.

But there are voices.

A foot nudges you as you roll over onto your back with a heavy thud. Dark sky stretches out above you.

Then, through a haze, a face appears, peering down at your with mild disinterest.

Recognition; it comes fierce and sharp and you know it’s the same for him.

Urgent, angry voices blur together as everything fades away into nothing.

You fucking hate those green eyes.

. . .

When you wake up, the Devil is standing over you.

Giovanni D’Antonio lifts a single eyebrow, not bothering to mask his cool distaste at your wheezing, delirious state.

You scramble upwards anyway, wincing at the ringing in your head and the popping in your ears.

You feel heavy and fuzzy in the worst way possible—the way that makes one slow and vulnerable. Nausea rolls your stomach, mixing with the instinctual fear of seeing who is standing above you.

“What a mess,” Giovanni drawls and hitches his trousers up as he sits down on a creaky chair beside your cot. “What a mess, gasoline girl.”

You’re sweating but feel so cold your body trembles and you can’t hide it. This man should never see you vulnerable but he is right now and you hate your own weakness.

“Who knew you had such a gift for death,” he continues and you swallow, your throat raw—from crying, from screaming and howling at the sky, you recall through your delirium—and you tremble again. “Ten dead. So easy, too. And such…brutality.”

If you didn’t know any better you would say he’s paying you a compliment—that he’s impressed.

The man reaches into his pocket and your bandaged hands—why are they bandaged, what—constrict around the fresh, cotton sheets covering you.

Cotton. You haven’t touched something as soft, as luxurious, as cotton since that last night you slept in your own bed years ago.

But Giovanni pulls out a cigar holder from his pocket instead of a gun, offering it to you. You don’t move, hardly breathe, as you stare at him through your watery eyes. Your ears are still ringing.

“I asked others about what happened,” he begins after lighting his cigar. He rolls it between his thick fingers, his golden rings gleaming and you shudder. “What justified ten of my own slaughtered like barn animals. So rethink lying to me, if that was your intention, girl. Let me start with something easy, though: was the girl your lover?”

Your eyes find his and perhaps it’s the fever, or the hole in your soul, but you don’t look away even when his eyes narrow on you.

He doesn’t understand. Of course, he doesn’t. As if a man like him could ever understand what it’s like to be so lost and raw with loneliness your heart is ready to crumble away at the gentlest of touches. As if everything in this world has to be about physicality and desire. As if care and loyalty can’t come from a place of love that has nothing to do with gratification of the body.

“No.”

“Then why did you kill them?”

“Because they deserved it,” you croak out, and your voice cracks as you pant for breath. Your head spins and you drop back against the wall even as your chest rattles with a loud, wet cough. Giovanni waits, expectant, and your eyes narrow. Let him kill you after. But he will hear this, if he wants truth so badly. “They deserved it for what they d-did to her. It—those m-monsters. She was sixteen. And they did it on purpose. Because they enjoyed it. I would—I would do it again gladly. Over and over again till there is nothing left of them to bury. Till—till only pieces remain and even then it would be too kind.”

The bloodlust is surging through you like a river after the fresh spring rain, untamed and wild, and you struggle for breath. The regret that you didn’t take longer, hurt them more—

And perhaps that makes you a monster. No—you know it does. But you can’t find it in yourself to care.

Better to be a monster than a coward. Better to be alive and hated than loved but dead.

Giovanni exhales, his lips pressing into a displeased line. “So naive,” he mutters and takes another drag. “I figured the home would have eroded that away by now. Shame.”

You gape at him, shivering but silent. It’s like he’s reached down your throat and robbed you of speech.

“What do you think happens to people like that girl, hm?” he wonders out loud, slanting his head just so. Even with his hair starting to grey, he’s still handsome, still electric to look at. It’s the coldness of that dark, bottomless stare that sets him apart from others you have met. “She was no better than your parents. Weak. And weak do not survive in this world, they are used and that’s how we live. You could have been like her, but you fought back. That’s why I told you to keep that ice in your heart, yes? There are thousands like that girl and there will be a thousand more, and a thousand more after that. It is the way of the world. I am simply…reaping.”

His cigar flares at the tip again as Giovanni takes a steady drag, savouring the burn of it against the back of his throat.

You want to cry and scream and tear at him. This world—his world—is wrong and twisted and—

But you have chosen it, haven’t you?

Better than being dead.

And you’ve killed and stolen and lied and cheated for years now. You’ve gotten good at it. Better than most. Better than anyone in the home had been.

“Did it break you?”

Your eyes drag back to him, and you realise that you’ve been silent for so long, you’ve started to doze off. Laying in the rain for god knows how long didn’t do you much good. You feel worse and worse with every second that stretches by.

His emotionless question clatters through you though, settling in the pit of your stomach.

Lucie.

Her happy smile flashes through your weary mind and you try to draw breath into your wrecked lungs.

“No.”

It has only made you colder and emptier, you realise. You had laid next to Lucie’s grave because you had hoped for a quick end. But—

But no.

For the second time in your life, you lift your head and look the Devil in the eyes as you choose life.

Whatever form it comes in.

Regardless of what else it will demand of you.

Perhaps, you should be thankful for this lesson.

The head of Camorra nods once, considering you, and then asks a serious, “Do you remember what I told you about loyalty, gasoline girl?”

I reward loyalty.

“Yes.”

It’s an effort to keep your eyes on him. His features are blurring, and you can’t even smell the thick cloud of smoke in the air anymore.

“Who were you loyal to when you killed my people? Your people?”

You don’t hesitate, spitting out a vicious, “To myself. Just as you wanted me to be.”

For a moment, you think that Giovanni D’Antonio will smile at you again. But he doesn’t. Instead, he turns towards the shadows of the room.

“What do you see, Santino?”

You still. You’ve been so preoccupied with keeping yourself awake and lucid, with keeping your whole attention on this man without scruples normal people have that—

It comes rushing back.

The grave, the smell of dirt beneath your cheek, rain, the coldness sinking deep into your bones, green eyes—

He was the one who found you. You have no idea how; a part of you doesn’t want to know, either.

He’s changed as well. His frame stretches taller, leaner, than the last time you saw him. His hair is slightly longer but still curly and neatly combed. That boyish roundness still holds his features, giving him an appearance of a youth instead of a young man and you stare at him with open, dazed animosity.  

But there is something about the way he watches you from the shadows.

His pupils are blown wide open when he steps closer into the light, his shoulders coiled with tension that you have no name for.

He gazes at you like he is looking at something beautiful, something terrible, something—

Something he admires and hates and doesn’t understand.

No one has ever looked at you like that. Like they’re seeing right into you, through you, pulling apart every weakness and every strength.  

That anger in your chest ignites at the sight of him, washing away the emptiness and the loss.

“A monster.”

It seizes a part of you. Cracks it to pieces.

You hate him, you hate him, you hate the fact that he—

That he sees you. Just like last time, just like now.

Giovanni’s eyebrows rise slowly at his son’s blunt assessment. He peers at Santino for a pensive moment before the boy finally drags his eyes towards his father, almost reluctantly so.  

“Loyalty to yourself, was it, girl?” the man wonders calmly and takes another drag of his cigar. It’s almost gone now and black spots dance in your vision as you watch him tilt his chin upwards and exhale another lazy puff of smoke. “Give me your hand.”

You stare at him blankly, uncomprehending, almost nauseous now.

Giovanni turns his stern face back towards you and holds out his own large hand. “Your hand.”

His voice is eerily serene but it locks your muscles with fear. Like an animal being hunted down, even with your hazy, sluggish mind you still recognise the danger crowding in.

But what’s the alternative?

Your hand shakes but you hold it out, setting your jaw taut.

“I reward loyalty,” Giovanni reminds evenly, grasping your hand in his. His hold feels so cold you shiver. “But you still killed ten able bodies. Bodies I will now have to replace.”

“Father—”

Giovanni jerks your hand, palm up, and sinks his cigar right into the skin of your palm, burning right through the thin bandage.

Agony.

Splitting, sickening agony—

A sound that tears out of your throat is hardly human but the man has your arm in an iron-like grip; unmoving, bruising. You collapse face-first onto the cot, your scream growing silent and choked as you jerk weakly, unable to swallow your own spit.

Your hand is numb from a piercing, acute sort of pain.

Giovanni hums under his breath, and you feel him turn the cigar into your skin, making you yelp and twitch. “I hope you live,” he states coldly and pushes the cigar deeper into your palm, just once, before he drops your hand back onto the sheets. “There are a great many things I can do with that ice in your heart, gasoline girl.”

You don’t hear him rise over the sound of your pain. Your hand is spasming but you can’t look at it, can’t focus—

The door slams shut with a deafening bang and then—

Someone is speaking; hushed and soft, their hands on you, almost—

You barely manage to pull yourself over the edge of the cot and throw up before everything goes dark.

. . .

You’re burning.

There is a raging fire in your lungs and veins.

Your head is being held under a liquid flame, and you inhale it as it slithers down your throat, suffocating you.

You want to drag your nails down your body to get rid of the burn but you can’t. Someone—

Someone is holding you down and your lips part, a wounded sound slipping free. Why can’t you just be free?

A heavy weight pushes down on you and you try to fight it off, try to—

“Stop moving,” a voice urges, breathless but annoyed. “Stop—”

You think that you might be crying or screaming or both.

You’re burning.

There is no relief.

Not for a long time.

. . .

“Will she live?”

“It’s hard to say right now. The infection—”

An inpatient exhale. “I know what her condition is,” an irritated voice snaps. “I want to know if she will live.”

“I will try my hardest to save her.”

A lengthy pause follows. “No,” the voice speaks again, but this time with such soft malice that you shiver again. “My father wants her alive and so she will live. Or you will find yourself without a head, dear doctor. As will your family.”

. . .

Cool fingers brush against your hair.

“Lucie?” you rasp weakly and try to open your eyes.

Everything blurs around you so you let them close again.

Sickness cramps your stomach and you shiver for what seems like the hundredth time.

Still, the sensation of a glass pressing against your lips registers. Urgent, insistent. “Drink.”

It’s an order. Spoken by someone who is used to being listened to, obeyed, heeded.

You don’t want to but you’re so thirsty. There’s a painful itch in your lungs and you inhale again, deafened by the crackling in your lungs. Whatever it is that you’re wearing clings to your body in a sweaty, uncomfortable mess and you almost sigh when those cool fingers return. They press against your cheek, turning your head and the glass returns.

This time, you force your cracked lips to part and refreshing wetness slides down your throat seconds later. Flinching, you force yourself to swallow. The sensation is like a knife being forced down your chest but you bear it.

The fingers tilt your chin. “Slowly.”

You manage another few, shaky mouthfuls before your strength escapes you.

“Are you—”

The fragility of your own cracking voice might have disgusted you once. There had been plenty of times in the past when you had seen and heard Fredricko peeling back peoples’ fingernails to get the information he needed. That often resulted in such weakness—such fragility. Now though—

“Are you…”

Something freezing cold and wet comes to rest against your forehead and you sigh, gasping slightly. A wet cloth. A miracle, perhaps. It soothes the burning and the itch. It trails down your forehead and jaw and neck. Brushes over your dry lips, too. You almost sob in relief, making a miserable little whine at the back of your throat.

“Are…”

A quiet hum. “Am I what?”

“An angel?”

The cloth disappears for a few moments and you curl into a ball, silently willing it to come back.

A few moments later, mercifully, it does. As does the voice. “No.”

You lean into the refreshing cold again. Try to hide your disappointment, too.

The cloth presses against your forehead and stays there. A beat. Then, fingers ghost over your tightly clenched hand. Your other hand—

There is only numbness there.

An odd sense of fear follows that foggy observation. Like you’re forgetting something you shouldn’t—something important.

The fingers are delicate and careful but they help. They pacify that nameless, gnawing dread.

“Would you like me to be?”

There is a long moment in which you have no idea what the voice is asking. But your muddy mind finally manages to claw back a recollection of your earlier question.

An angel.

You think that the owner of this voice is an idiot.

He no doubt thinks that you mean a guardian angel. Something holy, fierce, and divine.  

But you had meant the Angel of Death. Finally here to take you. Finally here to reunite you with those you have lost.  

But is there any difference anymore?  

You’ve been half-dead and half-alive for years now.

A foot on the doorway to death ever since that fateful night. You have embraced it though. Bargained and stolen and killed. What you did for Lucie was just a fraction, you think through the delirium, just a fraction of what you can do.

You will turn that ice in your heart into a blade, and that blade you will use to cut down anyone in your path.

No half-measures, no mercy. You will be as terrible as they want you to be.

You will be the most terrible thing they have ever seen.

And when it’s done.

Oh, when it’s done.

You will set it all on fire and watch it burn.

“Yes.”

The fingers pause, hovering. Then they wrap around your still clenched hand. Slow but purposeful.

And the tightness of that grip makes you think that your hand will never be your own again.

. . .

an: wellllllllllllll, here’s that! Warning you all now that, yes, this story will get even more twisty and Santino/V will be hate-to...uh...love? We’ll see, I guess lol. Some familiar faces will appear in the future, too. And, uh, maybe some smuttiness is on the cards as well but you know how I roll - nothing too wild or explicit because this clown sucks at nsfw. 

Also because I have no idea when or how often this mini-series will be updated, I will be opening up a tag list for this series ONLY (I rarely do them because they’re often more work than they’re worth). So please feel free to comment or send me a message and I’ll add you. Thank you so much for reading!! Any feedback would be swell. <33  

[durifmdarchived]

[ spotify link ! ]

    boys like boys is a playlist consisting of songs by gay “icons” or songs that are just simply gay. simply put, it’s a pride playlist, since june is almost up! but, nonetheless, it’s some of duri’s favorite songs from gay “icons” and artists that are lgbtq+ themselves, or songs that hold that feeling. it’s songs that he quite enjoys, songs that make him feel empowered in some way as a gay man. he likes boy and boys like him, but of course, there’s only one boy on his mind!

001. i wanna dance with somebody (who loves me) by whitney houston.  ⏤ clock strikes upon the hour and the sun begins to fade. still enough time to figure out how to chase my blues away. i've done alright up to now. it's the light of day that shows me how and when the night falls, loneliness calls. oh, i wanna dance with somebody. i wanna feel the heat with somebody. yeah, i wanna dance with somebody with somebody who loves me. oh, i wanna dance with somebody, i wanna feel the heat with somebody. yeah, i wanna dance with somebody, with somebody who loves me... 002. like a prayer by madonna.     ⏤ when you call my name it's like a little prayer. i'm down on my knees, i wanna take you there. in the midnight hour i can feel your power. just like a prayer, you know i'll take you there. i hear your voice; it's like an angel sighing. i have no choice, i hear your voice. feels like flying i close my eyes. oh god, i think i'm falling out of the sky, i close my eyes, heaven help me. when you call my name it's like a little prayer. i'm down on my knees, i wanna take you. there in the midnight hour i can feel your power. just like a prayer, you know i'll take you there. 003. i like boys by todrick hall.    ⏤ mama, i like boys, i like pecs. like them arms when they flex, like that print in them sweats. tell them girls, "thank you, next". i like when they text me sexy pics of 'em, like them abs when there's six of 'em. tell them girls i'm sorry. i like boys. mama, boys like me (i like boys who like boys.) mama (i like boys who like boys.) work (I like boys who like boys.) mama (i like boys who like) boys like me, yeah (boys like me.) yeah, they do (boys like me) ooh (boys like me) motherfuckin' boys like me (bitch) ... 004. kiss the boy by keiynan lonsdale.   ⏤ if you want to kiss the boy then you better kiss the boy right now. you ain't got to be afraid of the words you want to say right now 'cause love is a game we deserve to play out loud. so you want to play then you better kiss the boy. oh, you better kiss the boy right now. giving the love giving the love, give it the time give it the time. if it's all a movie then you'll see, it's only about us two but the cost of trust is that you could throw it away. maybe it's overrated i probably shouldn't chase it. but i can't stop the crazy within. you messing my emotions up, my head gets stuck. i'm scared to show just how i feel 'cause people talk. don't want to worry 'bout whatever just got to know your deal. see, half the time i’m wondering if this is real. i might not say the one thing on my mind cause it's too tough. but we lose our chance when we don't try... 005. heart attack by chuu vivienne.    ⏤ the fact that i took a step towards you first. it lets me find myself that i didn’t even know. pounding more and more; i’ll give it all, take my heart. surely you’re my destiny it shines fully in my heart. this must be what thrill feels like, darling. eventually i fall into you. you attack my heart. you attack my heart. you attack my heart. you attack my heart. you attack my heart.... 006. all night by girls’ generation lipstick.    ⏤ ooh, you already know. all night, all night. alright, we’re gonna laugh and party. ‘cause we hot & sweet baby. when the summer electricity tickles my ear, when the fireworks in your eyes shake. like a fool, i fall in love with you again all night, all night, all night. i wanna ask how you’ve been but really, you look so good. i just smiled too, smile together. if we get it on if we fall in love, if this wild kissing continues. like a lie, we’ll melt into each other all night, all night, all night... 007. i’m not afraid by holland.    ⏤ with your eyes open, you don't have to look. you don't have to be forced. the tears that i shed every day, the dreams i drew every day. untie the knotted strings. i’m not not afraid anymore i’m not not afraid anymore (my li li life.) i’m not not afraid anymore afraid anymore i’m not not afraid anymore (my li li life.) i’m not not afraid anymore i’m not not afraid anymore (my li li life.) with your eyes closed just feel it. you can follow the flow. the tears that i shed every day, the dreams i drew every day. untie the knotted strings... 008. we found love by rihanna.    ⏤ shine a light through an open door. love and life i will divide. turn away 'cause i need you more. feel the heartbeat in my mind. it's the way i'm feeling, i just can't deny, but i've gotta let it go. we found love in a hopeless place. we found love in a hopeless place. we found love in a hopeless place. we found love in a hopeless place...

[worldcakecakecake]

Good Luck Friedrich

A series of video diaries by Isabella Beilschmidt for her baby brother, Friedrich, where she details and explains the lives of their hectic family.

I just noticed the last chapter for this story was posted...last year. I...am so sorry! As always, many things and I apologize once again. Please know I write on this story when I can and I shall continue to update...it just might take...several months. Never the less, I hope you enjoy this chapter!

                                                    Video 5.3

Feliciano’s pregnancies were now routine. In fact, Ludwig used what was Isabella’s pregnancy scheduling for this new baby. Sure, the usual horrible cravings, vomiting, pains and difficulties, but other beauties that made Feliciano shine as he usually did when he carried a new child.

 It was with spring ending, Feliciano’s bump beginning to be shown more clearly, did they gather the children in the living room and told them the news. Heinrich and Alessandro were indifferent, in fact, they just gazed to their parents like they had just told them to go up and clean their room and continued on with their handheld video games. Analise and Isabella on the other hand, jumped and celebrated, hugging Feliciano so tightly, caressing and always asking for a touch and feel of his bump. For this pregnancy, they tried what they could to spend time with Feliciano, helping him in harsh circumstances, with millions and millions of questions about their new coming sibling. They constantly asked for a sister, already imagining and plotting all the games they could play and all the things they could dress her up in. Although in their throws Ludwig had asked for a boy, he really did not mind the gender and would be just as excited and proud for a girl. Sadly, for Analiese and Isabella, Feliciano returned one day from his sonogram showing an alpha male. The girls had pouted and had even been angry, making the elder twin brothers laugh, clapping their hands in celebration for another boy in the family. Feliciano promised them that they would still be able to do all the fun things they had planned.

 Upon finding out its gender, came the time to think of fitting names, to which Feliciano had been insisting on calling it either Ludwig or even Ludovico.

 “No,” Ludwig was reluctant.

 “Why not?” Feliciano pouted.

 “I don’t want my name to be repeated in the household. Ludovico sounds too old fashioned and it doesn’t ring as a perfect name. Also…I don’t like the idea of you calling someone else ‘Luddy’”

 “Mio dio, Ludwig, this is your son were talking about.”

 “Still…I’m the only you should call Luddy.”

 Feliciano laughed against his chest, wrapping his arms more strongly around him. “No one can replace you, amore,” Feliciano assured.

 “Actually, yes, my children are perfectly capable of replacing me.”

 Feliciano rolled his eyes, landing a playful hit on his shoulder. “I love you all equally but differently, as this baby.” He rubbed his stomach as for emphasis.

 “I hope he doesn’t end up dethroning me.”

 “Dethroning you?”

 “I think I’m still in Analiese’s game.”

 “Our daughter is pretending to dethrone people?”

 “Things get pretty intense in her tea parties.”

 “When I’m playing, all we ever do is talk about peace and treaties.”

 “…I do solve things by just waging another war.”

 “There’s your problem then,” Feliciano laughed.

 Silence then settled, just wanting to relax, staring to the ceiling, waiting for sleep to take and get them to rest.

 “I really want to name him Ludwig,” Feliciano was still sure.

 Ludwig sighed, slowly having to accept, wanting anything to please his mate. “I don’t know but…I guess…we still have some time left before he’s scheduled to come.” And suddenly Ludwig was pensive, his mind surely on worries, Feliciano had learn to tell.

 “Do you have a name in mind?” He wondered.

 “Aldrich,” Ludwig readily said, bringing Feliciano to a tense, his caresses stopping, nervous and fretting.

 “I knew you wouldn’t want to.”

 “No, no, no, I think it’s a very pretty name and having a son with it would be very lovely…it’s just that…”

 “The person it reminds you of…I know,” he sighed.

 “Well…Isabella is Isabella Augusta…I think it’s fair…but…can I ask why?” Feliciano truly wondered. He looked up to his mate expecting, but Ludwig remained still as if he hadn’t heard the question. “Ludwig…” he poked him playfully on the cheek, but Ludwig continued as reluctant. Feliciano sighed, “it’s about what’s going on back in Germany…isn’t it?” He guessed as much.

 Ludwig had recently gotten a lot of calls from his brother and the rest of his cousins, always something that had Ludwig tired and deflected, taking sitting and not standing for several minutes until one of his kids asked for help in homework or just wanted him to join a pretend game.

 “Ludwig…despite everything…you know you can tell me,” he soothingly let his fingers traverse across his stomach, laying sweetly against his chest, looking up to him, showing that very trust that Ludwig had so long ago placed entirely on.

 He sighed, defeated then on saying it. “Opa…he’s…not doing well.” There was already an unmistakable hurt on his tone, his own soothing touches faltering.

 “How…how so?” Feliciano made sure to thread carefully, not wanting to upset or hurt him much.

 “Lowering defenses, his body is not accepting the medicine they’re giving him, so there’s nothing stopping the deteriorating of his body.” Feliciano felt him grip his hands underneath their hold.

 “He’s dying, Feliciano…he’s dying…” was a harshness that he had to admit, had to release, a shivering in his tone that was rare for Feliciano to hear.

 “The doctors are saying that they give him only a couple of months…he might be gone by November…around the time that this baby will be born.” Eyes watered, eyes gazing to the ceiling, trying hard to not let himself so much pain, but Feliciano welcomed it, running his hands gently over him, still willing to continue to listen and let Ludwig this outing.

 “He’ll never get to meet him…he’ll never get to see any of our kids, he will never see this house that I worked so hard on, he won’t see what an amazing mate you have been, he won’t see how I grew…I won’t see him…I won’t be able to go to Germany, I can’t be with my family for this and all because I…because I…” the tears by now were shed well across his face, Feliciano leaning more into him, now with soothing hums and continuing the gentle caress that was enough for Ludwig to not fret the more.

 “I was supposed to be the heir, I was the symbol of the next generation of Beilschmidts. Opa held me so high and I…ended up doing what I did,” he let himself sob, his grip now tighter, leaning more into Feliciano for that sooth.

 “…I’m sorry…” Feliciano whispered, the same tears now arising in his eyes, always a destroy to see his mate like this. “I know…I know it was because you ended up choosing me and now…I’m so sorry…I’m so sorry that I’m making you feel like this, I’m so sorry that you had to miss your last years with your grandfather and that you lost…so, so, so much…”

 They held each other tight, so much Ludwig wanted to say against, but in his given to this sorrow, he couldn’t even manage speaking properly in that instant.

 “I love you, I love you. I’ve told you many times I would choose you even knowing this outcome…I just wish…he would have been more accepting to our family…and we didn’t have to hurt each other this way now.” By now Ludwig had fully turned to Feliciano, wrapping himself around him, his anchor, his relief and happiness never the less. “…I just wanted him to accept us…”

 Ludwig ran out of words, the sorrow making him too tired to speak or give out more emotion. Feliciano understood, finally letting him that silence, simply laying his arms around him, soothing, starting the hum of a melody under his breath. Every now and then he would place gentle kisses, just the right magic to bring him into rest, if even the dried tears on his cheeks that Feliciano remained awake for, as if guarding they wouldn’t come back.

  The baby was born a cold November 9, in the midst of the trees taking beautiful oranges and brown, everyone cozy in their autumn wear and this new baby was no exception. Feliciano held him tight, giving his own warmth to him, not having stopped laying kisses on his little head, covered in a beautiful puppy beanie, an orange blanket wrapped around him, calming him as to not fret, cry, resting, knowing it was safe in its omega father’s arms.

 “He looks exactly like Ludwig did as a baby. I’m going to cry when I get to hold him. I’ll visit sometime next month!” Gilbert told them over the phone from Germany after Ludwig had sent some pictures.

 Ludwig smiled, of course not leaving Feliciano’s side, taking constant and proud glances to his new son, so like him and already as dear as the rest of his children. They were currently back at home with Vash and Lili, Ludwig getting constant calls from them, mostly the kids wanting to know when they could come see their new brother, agitated, excited and begging.

 “Have you decided on a name yet?” The nurse had come and each time, Ludwig and Feliciano were unsure, always asking for more time that they were respectful to give.

 Upon the next morning, as soon as Feliciano had the baby returned, Ludwig had received a rather odd message:

 ‘Can you send me some new pics of the baby and some of the others too’ Gilbert had texted.

 ‘Why?’ Ludwig texted back.

 ‘Opa wants to see them.’

 Ludwig had faltered, had weakened, the surreal so strong he thought he was going to let his phone fall.

 ‘Sure.’ He simply texted back.

 “Lieben, do you have any pics of the kids in your phone?” He suddenly asked him, Feliciano playing with the baby boy, awake, curiously looking about the room and whatever games Feliciano presented.

 “Oh! Yes! I have several! My phone is in the pink bag. How come?”

 “Um…Gilbert wants some to…show Opa.”

 There was a large glow of surprise in Feliciano’s eyes, yet quick, before he smiled in acceptance. “Send all you want, and don’t be afraid to take new ones of our little prince,” Feliciano coed as he brought the baby closer, Ludwig smiling as he went to get the phone.

 He did so hurriedly, getting together a large file of pictures, ranging from some as Alessandro and Heinrich as babies, Analiese starting kindergarten, Isabella making some arts and craft, and of course, simple ones of this new nameless addition, cuddled, sleeping, only slight movement added as it seemed to reach for more of its omega father.

 ‘Dammit, Lud! My phone shut off!’ Gilbert had texted back at such a large amount of pictures, but afterwards, there was no reply, the thread in silence no matter how many times Ludwig checked. When he wasn’t on his phone, he was watching over his mate and new child, sometimes holding the infant himself while he chatted with Feliciano, other times joining in the coos and games, resting his head on Feliciano’s shoulder, even kissing him from time to time.

 Many hours later, the late evening about to reach them, Ludwig received a call from Gilbert. He stood and took it at the other side of the room. For a long moment there was only but silence, Gilbert heavily breathing, clearly hurt and broken.

 “He’s gone,” he finally admitted, a large inhale and surely a hand coming up to dry whatever tears dared fall.

 Ludwig turned rigid, in its process like a cracking, something that Feliciano noticed even from afar.

 “Just a…couple of minutes ago actually. I, with oma, mutti, onkel Marcellus, onkel Karl, and Roderich were with him…he asked about you, I…told him how you were doing, showed him all the pics you sent me…he…wanted me to talk about them, and I did, Roderich helped me out as well. We told him about how Alessandro plays football and Heinrich plays music, that they annoy each other like Roderich and I used to do as kids,” he stopped for a moment to laugh. “I told him about Analiese’s tea parties, how she likes to dress up and her crazy story ideas. I told him that Isabella is really smart, that she started walking and talking earlier than other kids, how she fixes things and packs a strong punch,” he laughed again, rubbing his arm as if he could still feel her little attack the last time he saw her…all because he said he was leaving without giving her a hug.

 “Over our…new cutie,” Gilbert still could manage a smile, “we really couldn’t say much, of course, but I showed him all the pictures you sent.”

 Longing silence as Gilbert still found it hard to speak, still needing time to gather words.

 “He didn’t stop smiling the entire time we told him about how you guys were doing. I told him about the house, how you live in this beautiful Swiss valley and how you’re still madly in love with Feliciano and Feliciano with you…he said he could tell with all the kids you’re having.”

 Even Ludwig had to chuckle, trying to find a holding that wouldn’t let him fall in utter melancholy.

 “He told me the cutie looked a lot like you did…that he’s beautiful, that they’re all beautiful…that it would have been an honor to have met them…and that he’s sorry.”

 Ludwig had to try hard to grip himself, to not sob in this call when it was important that he listened.

 “He said…he should have learn to accept your decision long ago, that he shouldn’t have been blinded by pride and left you to deal with everything by yourself…that he should have been there to help, to see his great grandkids and give his blessings to your mate…I just wish he could have told this to you in person, and that you could still be allowed back in Germany…I still don’t think it’s fair enough.”

 “It is to me,” Ludwig broke, in a rare sob that tumbled his tall build, shaking and reddened. Gilbert didn’t know what words to answer, but only hummed and soothed like in their childhood, caressing enough for Ludwig, who understood the distance currently. Even if all Gilbert heard were sobs and breaths, he remained to listen to it all and give whatever comforting word he could.

 Feliciano stood, the baby boy being held well in his arms, being able to push his IVs with one hand occupied, sitting down beside Ludwig, cuddling, letting their new son lay between them, Ludwig, in between all, managing a strong hold to join Feliciano’s.

 “Luddy, I’m sorry, but I have to go now. The doctors are asking for stuff. I’ll call you back in a moment. I’ll be here, I’ll be here. Stay with Feliciano and your son.” And the call was over, Ludwig letting the phone fall uselessly to the ground.

 Feliciano wrapped around him, kissing his head and letting him show his emotions as freely as he wanted, letting him the complete hold of the infant, so small in his big strong arms, yet protected, belonging, his little light in this moment of darkness. Ludwig showed his gratitude by rocking him, kissing him constantly, Feliciano managing to smile.

 A nurse had entered, clipboard in her hand which signified to both parents what she was coming for. “Oh…” she noticed Ludwig’s broken state. “I…came to ask if you had decided on a name yet, but I’ll head out and you can call us when you are decided.”

 “Aldrich,” Feliciano declared despite.

 It was surprising to both the nurse and Ludwig, the blond raising his head, for a singular moment the tears stopping and relaxation clear.

 “Aldrich Ludwig Beilschmidt, please, if you can,” Feliciano insisted

 “Of course!” The nurse smiled, writing it in the documents and officiating. She showed it to both the parents to make sure it was written correctly, and once she had their approval, she nodded and headed off to pass it to where it was necessary.

 The parents were once again alone, still together, the baby still resting peacefully, but this time, as the tears continued, a smile managed to shine strong on Ludwig’s mouth, one Feliciano swooned at, kissing and caressing it.

 “Aldrich,” Feliciano repeated in earnest, kissing the little boy’s head now as if to truly bless him with the name. Ludwig did his own by holding him ever tighter.

  Despite not being so excited the first time they were told the news, Alessandro and Heinrich looked completely ecstatic in the picture of the day they came to pick up Aldrich. Analiese and Isabella were just as excited, the four of them holding together the baby right in front of the hospital. There was another picture taken of Aldrich around the time he was one year old, dressed like an angel in a professional setting, a confused expression on his face, surely wondering his surroundings at the time. Isabella had remembered how proud Feliciano had been to send that picture to their uncles and aunts for that Christmas, along with one of Alessandro and Heinrich dressed elegantly in star theme suits, Analiese as one of the three kings, and then Isabella…who had decided on being a stable animal, a donkey more specifically. At the time she had been so excited and had even fought her papa to do so, but now looking back…perhaps it wasn’t the best choice. She did look cute though.

 “See, it wouldn’t be that difficult for us. We can all go!” Isabella switched the camera to Aldrich just as he had finished, all the books and articles he had printed from a kids’ site spread across the table, all having been used well in his explanation to his alpha father, sitting in the chair alongside him, covering his mouth to hide how he wanted to burst with loud laughter at the childishness but beauty of it all.

 Ludwig had to really swallow it before he could remove his hands, his head coming to a conclusion with easy logic. “So, you really think it can take all nine of us?”

 “Mhm! There’s space in the boats, planes and tents we have to stay in.”

 “So do you think they can also fit our bags? The strollers? Snacks? Toys?”

 “We don’t need to bring our toys!”

 “So will you finally leave Bastian behind?”

 One of Aldrich’s adored dog dolls, that still at nine years old was difficult for him to go anywhere without. There was a clear hesitation, silence as he thought it, going through the files as if they could give him an answer that could approve his plush friend’s coming.

 “Those zoo cookies you really like are only available in Switzerland, and knowing you all, you’ll finish whatever bags we’ll bring in the first few days before we even arrive to Russia. Your papa won’t be able to make you stracciatella. We’ll have to get you all new coats-”

 “It won’t be that cold! We’ve lived in the Swiss alps for years and can deal with it.”

 “Aldrich, this is Russia, really north Russia. It get’s colder than our own blizzards.”

 Aldrich already shivered, but a part of him continued to be strong, continued to believe.

 “We’ll have to leave the dogs behind with a caretake. No, we won’t be able to bring any of them with us. You fight every time Isabella or Giovanna go into your room. In these tents, you’ll have to share an entire space with all of us. If Friedrich starts crying, you’ll hear it clearly for the entire night and there will be a lot of it. There’s a great chance the walruses won’t even be there, so we could be wasting hard days of travel.”

 It was starting to seem hopeless, Aldrich falling more into his chair with each word.

 “Aldrich, they have walruses in the Zurich zoo. We can plan a weekend to go there and even invite Alisa to come with us. I promise you it would be much easier and enjoyable for all of us,” Ludwig tried to persuade, but Aldrich yet remained sunken in his chair.

 “I wanted to see…in their natural habitat,” his tone became much more tragic, a welling of tears.

 “Aldrich, I already tried explaining, it-” The little boy was wailing by now, hands gripping, then smashing his head against the table. His cries began a crescendo each minute, Ludwig plainly sitting, nodding, letting Aldrich release what he needed to. After seven kids, he had learned well to deal with this. He was prepared to sit there until Aldrich stopped, gazing forward to Isabella with the camera hoping for some sort of aid.

 The last shot was of Isabella running off before he could word out anything.

< Video 5.2

video 6 >

[missblanchette]

Rumor Has It [7/10]

Series: Hypnosis Mic

Characters: Izanami Hifumi/Yumeno Gentaro; Amemura Ramuda, Arisugawa Dice

Rating: T

Summary: Thousands of hearts broke that day. With tears shed and cries resounding to the heavens, each grief-stricken woman wondered how this could possibly happen. In the year 20XX of the H. Era, Matenrou’s MC GIGOLO and Fling Posse’s MC Phantom were officially in a relationship.

Except they weren’t, actually.

Words: 4,113 words

ko-fi // Ch. 1 | Ch. 2 | Ch. 3 | Ch. 4 | Ch. 5 | Ch. 6 | You can read this on AO3! Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy!  (,, ･∀･)ﾉ゛

Ch. 7: The Heart in a Fog

"Gentarooo~ Why didn't you tell us you and your boy toy were serious?" wasn't the first thing Gentaro expected to hear once he sat down at Fling Posse's usual cafe for their "Play Time" (team bonding, as Ramuda put it; never mind that they stayed at either his or Ramuda's place a majority of the week), but their dear leader had never been the most predictable. The whine of Ramuda’s voice sounded like a tease than anything else, but his baby blue eyes held a scrutinizing glint to them. Cup of tea in hand and a bag of Hifumi's belongings hanging around his wrist, Gentaro supposed this was karma for arriving five minutes late.

"What? You got a boyfriend?" Dice asked between mouthfuls of a crepe.

Feigning offense, Gentaro placed a hand over chest. "Yes, you didn't realize? We've been going out for some time now. He's one hundred seventy-seven centimeters tall, has blue hair, and likes to freeload."

"Sounds kinda ugly." Dice's face scrunched up. "Wait --"

"Nope, nope, nope-y, nope! ★" Ramuda singsonged, booping Gentaro's nose. "I mean the other boyfriend who's one-seventy-nine centimeters, definitely not a real blond, and lives in Shinjuku."

Gentaro's brow creased as he pretended to ponder over the description. "Who ever are you talking about? I would've told you if he existed."

"But you were with him right here?"

Ramuda turned his phone towards him and lo and behold, the picture of him and Hifumi sitting together at Sakuragaoka-cho Street laid on the screen. Barely sparing it a glance, Gentaro took a sip of his tea.

"Ah, but that's not exactly me. That's my doppelgänger."

"Your dopa-what?" Dice said.

"My lookalike, another person who shares the same face as me. An evil twin, as some say."

Ramuda's eyes bulged wide. Making a noise of awe, he looked back and forth between the picture and Gentaro.

"Really, really? Don't they say you die after meeting your doppelgänger?" He tilted his head, lips puckered in bewilderment.

"Oh, certainly. I died not too long after laying sight upon them. My MC name is 'Phantom' for a reason, you know."

Slapping his cheek with a pop, Ramuda's jaw dropped.

"Wow~ ★ How neat, how neat! We have a real ghostie on our team!" He hopped forward in his seat with sparkles surrounding his big eyes. "Can I put my hand through you?"

Before Gentaro could answer, Dice reached out and smashed Gentaro’s cheeks in between his hand. He turned his head left and right, up and down; once more, all around.

"Ghost, schmost. I can touch ya jus' fine!"

Chuckling, Gentaro pried Dice's fingers off his face. "Yes, you've caught me. That was a lie."

"Whaaa, so Gentaro's not really a ghost?"

"I'm sorry to disappoint, but I'm flesh through and through," he said, pulling his cheek to prove it. "Though I will say that I'm appalled that you're using that image, Ramuda. It's old news by now."

"Ah, ah, ah~ It's not old news if it's still relevant." With a finely manicured finger, Ramuda pointed at the bag at his side. "You just don't carry another guy's stuff around for no reason! A~nd I know for a fact those aren't your style."

His years of lying paid off, allowing Gentaro to maintain a straight face at the comment. He hadn't mentioned what was in the bag since he sat down, let alone bring attention to the bag itself. To top it off, it wasn't see-through. Keen underneath the ditziness, Ramuda was an interesting one for sure.

"Damn, Ramuda, what if he's trynna experiment?" Dice piped up, bless his soul. "Guy can't wear what he wanna wear?"

"I merely borrowed these from an acquaintance," Gentaro said, nodding a small thanks to Dice. "I'm meeting up with them later, so I'll be returning these to them."

"An acquaintance you've been texting all week~?"

As if selling him out, the chime of a LINE message rang through; Gentaro's hand an even worse traitor, having reached to pull his phone out on instinct. He caught himself before he could do so, but Ramuda simply smirked at him and Dice raised a brow as he munched away at his food. Gentaro cleared his throat and took a sip of his tea.

"Purely business, I assure you."

"Must be some fun kinda business since you've been so glued to your phone lately!"

"Yeah, actually..." Dice's chewing slowed to a stop. "You said you've been workin' on your next book, but I always see ya textin' someone and smilin' at your desk."

Gentaro shrugged nonchalantly. "What can I say? Business is going well."

Smirk ever present, Ramuda drank the last of his bubble tea in reply, slurping loudly against the cafe's white noise as he sucked up air through the straw. Setting the cup down with a plop, Ramuda's nails click-clacked against the table.

"Y'know, Gentaro --" Like sharing a secret, he scooched in closer. "-- the whole thing with you and that Hifumi really went viral, and that got me thinking 'bout what we can do to boost Fling Posse's popularity for next season."

"Is it choreography? The idol image is very big in Chuuoku."

"Nope! But that's a good idea, I should add that to our next practice session~"

"Fuck no, I can't dance for shit --"

"B~ut, what I had in mind is that me and you should make it seem like we're dating! ♥"

"Hm, a fake dating scenario, is it?" Taking the longer strands of Ramuda's hair, Gentaro twirled it around his finger before cupping his cheek. Ramuda giggled and leaned into his palm. "The love story between a leader and his second-in-command, defying all odds and overcoming their struggles together; a tale of secrecy, mystery, and passion. How romantic."

"Hey, hey, hey, whatta 'bout me?" Dice said. "Can I be in the story?"

"Featuring their idiot third member."

"Shit, bro, after all we been through? Just gonna do me dirty like that?"

Gentaro stifled his snicker behind his sleeve. "Their idiot third member who ends up winning them the grand prize due to his immense luck."

He nodded approvingly. "That's more like it."

Clapping his hands, Ramuda laughed. "See, see! We got the perfect set up for it already so let's give it a shot! ★"

Lips quirking up, Gentaro shook his head.

"As compelling as it sounds, I don't think it's the best idea." He gave Ramuda's cheek a pat before pulling away. "Something like that will only lead to a disaster in the long run."

"Aw, boo-y. 💔" Ramuda pouted, but soon set his sights on Dice. "Looks like it's up to us then, Dicey-Dice!"

"Yeah? What we gonna do?"

He hummed while tapping his chin, baby blues scanning the cafe. "I know! You go over to that corner and I'll kabedon you! Gentaro can take the pic."

"...Shouldn't it be the other way 'round 'cause I'm taller?"

"Yeah, but I'm the leader! ★" Ramuda grinned as he pointed to himself. "Oh, maybe I'll get on Gentaro's shoulders and we'll both kabedon you."

"Hol' up, hol' up! Why's it gotta be me gettin' slammed on?"

"Don't you know, Dice? The elders must establish their dominance over the weak," said Gentaro matter-of-factly.

At that, Ramuda’s laughter filled the cafe and Gentaro joined in with a small huff. Dice squinted and jabbed his crepe at the two of them, whipped cream flying onto the table.

"Oi, who ya callin’ ‘weak’?!"

“The one who owes me a hundred thousand yen,” Gentaro teased. His eyes fell to his watch then, his plans for the afternoon fast approaching. “I’m afraid I’ll have to give Ramuda the honors of dominating you, though, since I have to be going now.”

Pouting, Ramuda tugged on his sleeve. "Awww, but you just got here."

"Forgive me, but business calls." He stood up and drew his arm out from Ramuda’s grip before making sure all his things were in order.

"The fun kinda business?"

"Business is business."

"A'ight, well, we'll be here when you're done," said Dice, waving at him.

"There’s no need to wait for me. It'll be an all day affair."

"Ooh, so the super fun kinda business~? ♥"

Gentaro gestured vaguely, but he couldn't help the curl of his lips. "Business."

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

A ghost of a smile growing on his face, Gentaro pocketed his phone and set off to meet Hifumi. Sakuragaoka-cho Street wasn't too far from the cafe, but he walked with a hurry to his gait and a bounce to his steps nevertheless. Admittedly, Hifumi's invitation had caught him off guard; another meeting so soon, with nary much detail besides "meet me at sakuragaoka-cho!!" and a plethora of stickers and hearts. Gentaro had half the mind to turn him down, but his fingers had worked faster than his head and he accepted.

He didn't regret his decision, though. In between their frequent conversations, the words to his manuscript flowed more easily since their outing; a spark, of sorts, having been lit after all the impromptu stories they created together and the back-and-forth they shared. Contrary to the voice in the back of his head that wished to see Hifumi for desire’s sake, he justified this rendezvous with the notion that meeting up with him would provide insight and bolster creativity.

Ever the punctual one, Gentaro stopped short when he spotted the familiar head of blond and lime standing near one of the sakura trees. Truly "next time" had arrived sooner than he thought it would -- had arrived when he thought it wouldn't at all -- but seeing Hifumi in person again, somehow he didn't mind. Not wasting a further second, Gentaro hurried on.

"Oh, is my watch running slow? It appears you're here on time, Izanami-san." A teasing lilt to his words, Gentaro tapped at his watch for the show of it. Expecting that perky voice of his to crack back, his lips tugged up as he neared him.

But Gentaro heard it before he saw it.

"Of course, Yumeno-sensei," Hifumi said in that flirtatious inflection of his. Given the tone, Gentaro's eyes wandered down to see him wearing his suit -- prim and proper, rather than haphazardly thrown on to avoid his fears. "I'm not one to keep a dear friend waiting."

Handsome as he was, the hands hidden behind Hifumi's back spoke of something more. Tips of red peeped out from his sides, swaying to the spring breeze. Anticipation and apprehension blending together, Gentaro pushed them down.

"What's this? All dressed up in your suit attire, are you?" Gentaro gave him a look, gesturing up and down at his person. "Don't tell me you've called me to act as your shield."

Hifumi chuckled, the once strident noise now sonorous to his ears. "No, I know better than to call a friend out for something so silly as that. I have other plans for us, actually."

"Ah, that's right. You were quite vague about that, though," Gentaro mused, glancing to the mystery he hid from him. "They don't happen to do with whatever's behind your back, do they?"

A flash of his other self seeping through, Hifumi's eyes widened before he recovered with a smile that made his heart flutter.

"Perceptive as always, Yumeno-sensei~" he said, a tilt to his head and dimples to his cheeks. "One of your charm points, for sure."

"Flattery, Izanami-san?" Try as he might to play it off casually, the butterflies in Gentaro’s stomach flapped their wings so hard that they’d started a hurricane. "Have you mistaken me for one of your so-called kittens, by any chance?"

"Nonsense, my dear Yumeno-sensei~ I could never mistake anyone as special as you are for anyone else.” His suit jacket on, Gentaro had heard him speak such adulations to the women who’d passed them by, but the sincerity in his tone threw Gentaro off. “In fact --" With the flourish of a host, Hifumi revealed what was hidden behind his back. "-- these are for you."

A bouquet of roses, presented like a bottle of champagne to his clients; yellow petals matching the hue of his locks, fading into a deep red at the tips. Had Gentaro’s heart not skipped a beat or two, he might have mulled over the meaning of such colors. Eyeballing it, he counted forty-four rose heads. Forty-four roses no doubt a declaration of affection, each petal peering up at him like the irises watching behind them. Numbly, Gentaro accepted the bouquet into his arms. The cellophane rustling in his hold, the flowers weighed heavily and the thorns jabbed into his chest.

Drawing a blank, Gentaro stumbled over his words. "That is -- This is -- These are quite something..."

"Aren’t they? A lovely bouquet for a man as lovely as you~"

He parted his lips to quip back, but Gentaro’s mind had gone askew with racing thoughts -- of excitement, of dread, of feelings he wasn't sure about -- that nothing came out. From their confrontation in Chuuoku that lead to their rivalry, to the fateful night at Kabukicho that changed everything between them, to now, Hifumi had that effect on him. For better or for worse, Gentaro couldn’t fault him for it.

Not realizing his silence, or maybe ignoring it, Hifumi continued on. "Yumeno-sensei, since we're here, may I tell you something?"

Speechless, he nodded slowly. Hifumi's smile grew bigger, beaming brighter than the sun itself. As blinding as it was, Gentaro could not -- would not -- tear his gaze away. Dangerous the sun might be, but its warmth was addicting and he let its radiance sting.

"I know we haven't spent much time together, Yumeno-sensei, but I believe we've made great strides since our first encounter." His voice a resonant melody, Hifumi took his hand in his. Warm yet suffocating, Hifumi’s touch was the only thing keeping him grounded as his senses ran a tizzy. "The circumstances might've been unfortunate, but I'm glad that the incident in Kabukicho was able to bring us closer. Since then, the moments we've shared have been a dream for me, and I've come to see you in a new light. Or maybe it's better to say that you have become my new light."

Bringing his hand close to his chest, Gentaro's fingers grazed the spot above Hifumi's heart. His pulse at his tips, he found that underneath the cool and calm persona of a host, their heartbeats drummed at the same unsteady pace. Lucent irises locked onto his, Hifumi's gaze boring into him filled with a gentleness he'd never seen before. His touch had grown searing hot, but Gentaro did not pull back.

Laced with ardor, Hifumi said softly, "Yumeno-sensei, I believe I've fallen for you."

Whether his heart stopped beating altogether or it beat so quickly that he no longer felt it, Gentaro couldn't tell. What he did know, however, was that he didn't know what to feel.

Rare was it that Gentaro let anyone into his life. Indeed, he could count those close to him with only a single hand -- a digit for each of them: The elderly couple, his parents that'd taken him in, the ones whom he'd started lying for; Atsushi, his best friend when no one else dared speak to him, the one whom he'd started writing tales for; Dice and Ramuda, his posse through thick and thin, the ones he'd fought through hell and back with.

And then there was Hifumi, his rival turned acquaintance turned God knows what, the one he’d faced with ups and downs. Once, Gentaro had thought of him as a gibbering fool without a care in the world; now, he'd come to learn that there was more to him than that -- figuratively and literally. Despite being a man of two faces, Hifumi was endearing all the same. Blunt and outspoken he might be, and other moments too honeyed and charming, but he always meant well underneath it all; the man, much to his surprise, was supportive to no end. Regardless of if the suit jacket was on or off, Gentaro found a comfort in his presence and their rhythm together flowed effortlessly. Yes, somewhere along the line, the bane of his existence became someone he enjoyed being with. From reckless nuisance to cheerful companion, Hifumi had certainly grown on him within a short season.

But, Gentaro wondered, did the moments they share together warrant anything deeper? Was the time spent talking to him any more than fondness? Was the desire to weave more tales with him any more than attraction? Was the need to get to know him better any more than infatuation? His head spun trying to find the answer.

Unsure of whether it was a truth or a lie, Gentaro said the first thing that came to mind: "I -- I -- I -- I can't return your feelings."

His shine faltering, Hifumi's face fell. "I'm... sorry...?"

Moreso to make sense of his frazzled thoughts, Gentaro replied, "That is to say, I can't take you seriously as it is. You're always saying pretty things with that suit jacket on."

Hifumi squeezed his hand, blistering caress burning him. "I assure you that what I say is the truth."

"Just like everything you tell the women at your club?" His words more callous than intended, there was nothing Gentaro could do about them save for watch as they hit the man before him.

A frown marred Hifumi's face, and it was then and there that Gentaro learned that a frown didn't suit him at all.

"There's no reason I would lie to you about something like this, Yumeno-sensei."

"It would make me feel better if I heard it without the jacket on." Uncertainty spoken after uncertainty, doing little to quell the turmoil in his head.

Hifumi's eyes ran over him as if searching for an untruth, gaze soft yet piercing. To be honest, even Gentaro himself wasn't sure if there was one to be found in the first place.

"...Very well, if that's what you ask of me."

A bitter chill replaced the scorching heat of his touch as he let go of his hand. Dazed, Gentaro stood still as a statue as he watched Hifumi shrug off his jacket. The effects were instantaneous and the bubbly, upbeat man took place of the alluring host.

"Yumenon, please believe me!" Without warning, Hifumi grabbed onto his shoulders and shook him; stunned as he was, Gentaro didn't think to push him away. Up close like this, the fervor in Hifumi's eyes cut through him. "I like you so much it makes me crazy! I like you so much it makes my heart burst! I like you so much that I love you!"

Love. What a loaded word that was. To fall for someone could be written off as a fleeting passion, to be in love was an ardent dedication. To be in love meant to share one's life with another; to be in love meant to bare one’s soul to another; to be in love meant to wholeheartedly give one's self to another. Was he capable of such love -- for Hifumi, of all people? Irony of their relationship, mayhaps Hifumi was right when he'd called him out for being caught up in the past for the future looked daunting.

"I... stand by what I said earlier, Izanami-san," Gentaro said, too heavy on his tongue to be the actual truth. "I can't return your feelings."

"...Why... why not?" Hifumi’s voice was a whisper, a strange thing to hear from this side of him. Hands dropping to his sides, his bright eyes grew dull. The rose thorns pierced Gentaro's chest.

In spite of that, the uncertain falsehoods continued tumbling through. "This was a strictly professional relationship."

"...What do you mean?"

"If you'll recall, I said I was conducting research on host clubs for my upcoming novel," Gentaro said, as if a half-truth would soften his hits. "Being a host yourself, I thought observing you would make for a good reference."

Standing before him eerily silent, Gentaro also learned that somberness was an image unfitting of Hifumi. A shame he had to learn these lessons personally.

"Oh... okay..." Hifumi's voice cracked towards the end, gaze darting to the ground. "Um, can we still be friends?"

Quietly, Gentaro dealt the last blow. "I don't think it wise to get close with one’s subject matter."

"Ah... I see..."

Neither a peep nor a hum came from Hifumi, his body stiff against the spring breeze. Doing anything to avoid the unease looming over, Gentaro returned the bouquet; the rose thorns unlatching like a knife being pulled out, prickles lingering on his chest. Without protest, Hifumi took them back with languid arms.

"I'm sorry, Izanami-san," Gentaro said, speaking a genuine truth for the first time today.

Hifumi shook his head with an unnatural vigor, plastering on a smile akin to sunlight without the warmth. Had some of the thorns embedded themselves into his body, Gentaro wondered; they stabbed deeper in and twisted about.

"No, it's fine! I mean, I can't force you to feel anything you don't, y'know?" A warble underlain Hifumi’s voice as he spoke, cracks to his cadence. His eyes, as well, glistened like glass. "Besides, that's pretty cool you used me for inspiration!" He stifled a sniffle. "...Was I any good?"

"Yes." The smile Gentaro gave him took all his effort to wear. "You were wonderful."

"I'm... I'm glad then, that I could help you in some way!" A nod, followed by another and another as if to bounce away the tears. Hifumi's grip on the bouquet tightening, a few petals fell to the ground as if losing the will to live. "I had a lot of fun together, anyways!"

A hush fell over, neither of them quite looking at each other. Hifumi, naturally, broke the silence first --  his smile lacking the spirit Gentaro had come to know and his eyes missing the shine that was uniquely his.

"Good luck with your book, Yumenon -- ah... um, Yumeno-sensei!"

Hearing this side of Hifumi addressing him so formally sounded odd -- wrong, really; but as it was, he didn't deserve to be called the nickname that he'd grown fond of. How easy it would be to claim that everything he'd said had been a lie but even now, he was not sure where his lies ended and truths began. To Hifumi and to himself, it wouldn't be fair if he said anything otherwise. Nonetheless, that didn't stop Gentaro's chest from aching as he watched Hifumi's light die out.

"Thank you, Izanami-san," he managed to choke out.

All that they’d said hanging in the air, Gentaro tore his gaze from Hifumi but his sorrowful visage had already been embedded into his mind. Being a writer, he knew that words could harm no matter how gently they were dealt and so there was nothing left to be said -- nothing more that could be said. Giving Hifumi a small bow, he scurried away.

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

Door slamming shut behind him, Gentaro pressed his back against it and inhaled sharply. The trip back home lasted far longer than it should have, what with the images of Hifumi's lifeless smile haunting him and the sound of his faux cheer on a loop like a broken record. Had it happened months ago -- weeks, even -- he might've reveled in the scene, basked in pushing his rival to his breaking point; as things were now, though, Gentaro felt nothing but guilt for snuffing out Hifumi’s shine.

Then again, it was better this way; to give a rejection as opposed to an acceptance. He’d rather nip what they had in the bud than lead him on with affections that could fizzle out sooner or later. Eventually, they would both move on and it would be as if their affair never happened; they would go back to being no more than enemies, vitriolic adversaries as things between them should have been -- at least, that was what Gentaro told himself, a rationalization to his faults.

Catching his breath, he finally remembered he'd meant to return Hifumi's belongings when the bag bumped against his leg. He hurried to his room and placed it within the furthest depths of his closet; burying the memories of him deep inside, locking away all that he felt for him, keeping that afternoon’s sorry sight from playing over and over again.

In its place was a mantra: he did not care about Izanami Hifumi, he harbored no romantic feelings for Izanami Hifumi, he was not in love with Izanami Hifumi --

(Perhaps if he lied to himself enough, it would become the truth.)

[beardyallen]

8 Crazy Nights (Part 1) - Captain Marvel, Work, and Food

Not sure if you all saw, but I tried to write this on Saturday...It did not go well. And now it's two days later, more stuff has happened, and documenting everything seems just a million times more daunting.

Nevertheless, he persisted.

However, I'm learning from my past mistakes and posting this in several pieces. Hopefully this isn't being read out of order.

If memory serves, and my memory is sufficiently muddled after the celebrating yesterday, I left off on Thursday, March 7th. The next day, I spent a goodly portion of my day in my office, cracking away at my random pedigree generator algorithm. Super (duper) exciting stuff, I know.

But R showed up that night to go see Captain Marvel at the nearby mall! And, as is apparently tradition when you visit someone's apartment, she brought me a gift. And what sort of gift do you bring a guy like me, you ask? Authentic German beer, obviously! Oh, and mangos, as I had divulged that I've only ever had dried mangos and mango-flavored things. Sadly, the mangos are still sitting in my fridge because I'm not entirely sure how one is supposed to eat them. *shrug*

The mall itself is quite strange (from my limited perspective), and I don't think I've described it yet. In a standard American mall, the jewelry shops are always on corners; here, the jewelry shop (as well as several other shops) are posted up with no walls in the middle of an open space. And approximately 25% of the shops are bakeries or coffee shops. This place really knows how to entice your sweet tooth! R picked up some mini cheesecakes for the trip the next day!! Super (duper) yummy!!

One of the other interesting aspects of the first floor is the manner in which one would buy shoes (there are like...10 "shops" that sell shoes). Once again, the shops have no walls, so you just kind of wander over to a display, the attendants hover around you to see if they can help (presumably?), and after you've picked your shoe, they give you carbon paper with an order, you walk to a desk 5 shops over to pay, then carry the receipt back and attendant who was helping you wipes off the shoes again and exchanges them for the receipt. I suppose it keeps clutter down and eases the shopping experience if you're trying on shoes from different displays? When I bought shoes a few weeks ago, it was quite an ordeal given that I had no idea what the expectations were and we couldn't really communicate with anything other than hand signals, nods, and shrugs.

The second (of five) floors has the supermarket and a plethora of men's clothing shops, half of which are athletic-themed shops like New Balance, Adidas, or knock-off-Air-Jordan, and the other half are more "high-end" clothing shops. Nothing in between. Oh! And more than 80% of the models in the pictures and spreads on the walls are white. Not sure how effective that is when 95% of your clientele doesn't look like that. *shrug* There _does_ seem to be a strong desire here to appear Western, but still...

The third floor is mostly women's clothing, and the fourth floor is partially empty. But the fifth floor has the cinema and food court. One comment about the phrase "Chinese food"...It's immensely inadequate. I don't know how many different cultural regions there are in China, but there's for sure at least 6 unique cuisines, all tied to a particular region. And when I say 6 _unique_ cuisines, even my uneducated, narrow American perspective (and palette) can distinguish between them. That, to me, is probably the biggest problem with describing a restaurant in the States as serving "Chinese food." But hey, I'm just an ill-informed American, so my opinion probably doesn't carry much weight.

The cinema itself was quite impressive as well. You know how when you walk into a cinema in the States, and you get hit with that theater-popcorn smell? It's buttery and savory and only sometimes kind of stale? Well, that didn't happen here. And not because they don't have popcorn, or that they don't serve as much popcorn...I think it's mostly because, as seems to be the case with everything here, the popcorn isn't of the buttery, salty variety. No, this popcorn is green or pink or caramel covered. Drizzled with chocolate syrup or some other sort of confectionary (is confectionary a real word?).

Oh, and it's not just the popcorn that got a make-over. The nachos here are...borderline unrecognizable. And that's not the say that you wouldn't recognize what was placed in front of you, because I think you would, but you just wouldn't recognize it as "nachos." Instead of warm tortilla chips with a cup of hot, sometimes-mildly-spicy cheese sauce and jalapenos and other nacho toppings, here you get a bowl of...warmed up Doritos. That's it. Just Doritos. That have been sitting under a heat lamp. R ordered them and offered me some. I said thanks-but-no-thanks. It was a strange experience, watching someone happily munch on heated up Doritos.

Captain Marvel was exceptional, though! The classic Marvel opening was modified a bit for this film, and if you've seen the movie, you know what I mean. For sure shed some positive number of happy-sad tears. The actors were all exceptional, and I was thoroughly impressed to see how seamlessly the special effects made it look like Samuel L. Jackson was 25 years younger and had both eyes! Crazy!!! Also seeing Phil Coulson return to the big screen was dope, and I loved the post-credit scenes! The music was perfect, too! I just wish the theater had the volume high enough to trigger the strong emotional reactions I'm used to feeling in Marvel movies.

After the movie, I stopped by the beer shop across the street where I met The One to buy a couple bottles of Founders beer. I swear, I had ever intent of enjoying them on St. Patrick's Day...but one of the two was consumed a couple days later, and the other wasn't opened until I got back from the celebration yesterday...and I don't think I would have really been able to appreciate the KBS in that particular state. So I have that to look forward to when I finish teaching tonight!

The next day was spent traveling with my coworkers to the Great Wall, and this seems like a decent place to pause the narrative.

Actually, we'll skip the Great Wall for a minute, and I'll describe the past week. It wasn't terribly eventful, but there are a few mildly-interesting pics. My work week consisted mostly of prepping my students' first exam, along with a practice exam (which I don't like doing, especially at this level). In fact, on Friday, after I finished writing and testing my random pedigree generator, I spent a good portion of time trying to get the numbers of a particular probability problem to work out.

I totally don't look like a crazy math fanatic at all..

When I wasn't working, I spent much of my time reading or playing video games. There's a Communications grad student here who also plays Super Smash Bros. We intend to maintain the friendship State-side as he has a few gamer friends in Denver who play SSB as well. And who have guessed that Petey Piranha would actually be an entertaining fighter?! Like..he's a glorified potted plant, but his attacks are interesting, effective, and rather distinct (see: he's a potted plant). *shrug*

Several of those nights involved take-out from KFC...which just released a new item. Or at least new to me. You'll note some orange fibrous material on the top, some sort of white cream in the middle, and the base is a waffle. Cuz nothing says "Kentucky Fried" quite like whatever the hell that is...(Not that KFC can even call themselves Kentucky Fried, nor is their chicken even real chicken! Sorry guys, someone's gotta say it!! lol)

The waffle itself is quite sweet, as is the white cream. Not sure the intended flavor of the cream, but my best comparison is the sugary drizzle stuff you put on toaster streudels. Struedels? Strueueudels? Not sure how to spell that, and Googling it would require a smoothly operating VPN which I just don't have the patience to deal with right now. And the orange stuff on top? It's dried crab. Which I knew in advance as I'd had it on the hike to the underground river and caves. All-in-all, it surpassed my expectations, but I don't think I'll get it again...

Oh, and dinner on Friday night consisted of lamb spine. Yup. The spine. Of a lamb. Technically, it was lamb spine hot pot, but let's be real: the stand-out contributor isn't the heat or the pot or the brine. It's the spine.

You can see a bunch of vertebrae just boiling away in there. You still use chopsticks, but one of your hands has a plastic glove. Oh! And you can push your chopstick through the hollow center of the vertebra to get at some of the marrow and what we could only assume was part of the spinal cord. I ate mine, but the only other person who was lucky(?) enough to find one didn't partake.

Other than some rather standard beer, CB ordered us a bottle (half a fifth) of some sort of herbal liquor. E, another instructor, mentioned a commercial for the product which seemed to suggest that this was the perfect gift from a marrying-age girl's new fiance to her father upon their first meeting. "Made for the man!" It was somewhere between a whiskey and an amaretto, but the sweet taste was distinctly floral or herbal or something. It was pretty good! Definitely something you sip to enjoy.

I have one more food experience to share, but it fits better in a different part of the story, so I'll stop here and pick up with The Great Wall in my next post.

Sláinte,

BeardyAllen

[thefatalmarksman]

okay so list of stuff thus far that I have appreciated from KH3 shortly after San Fransokyo (I’ve been meaning to post as I go but eh)

(Spoilers ahead, obviously)

First off mechanics get a special mention because this is, I personally feel, the BEST mixture of mechanics from all the previous titles. There’s enough variety to what you can do in battle that it doesn’t get stale and when you’re backed into a corner you still have options to save your sorry hide. It’s just really tight and efficient and fun gameplay so A++++ guys.

My NASTY ONE EYED GARBAGE BOI being in the FIRST WORLD and THAT LAST SCENE ENDING ON THAT OMINOUS NOTE?????

Axel just PULLING ICE CREAM OUTTA HIS ASS. LITERALLY WHERE DO THESE PEOPLE PUT THEIR ICE CREAM DO THE COATS HAVE A BAG OF HOLDING IN THEM?? (Whiiiich gives me the headcanon that if not Xigbar can create one on his own pockets because duh space bender).

And speaking of Axel. THAT. GLOW UP. HNNGH I SAW A MAN SO BEAUTIFUL I STARTED CRYING?

Woody being fucking savage @ Xehanort with the whole “no one’s ever loved you” thing like no wonder he’s sheriff he just sasses everyone into behaving themselves

Actually enjoying the various mini games and side quests, like cooking with Remy (even though flambéing IS AWFUL! UUGHH!) and taking pics of lucky emblems (WHICH I GOT ALL OF HAHA!!). ALSO THE FLAN!! I LOVE THEM AAAH

Sulley just YEETING Vanitas through a door into another door into aNOTHER DOOR INTO ANOTHER DOOR LIE I LITERALLY CACKLED and yeah I know it won’t last but damn if it wasn’t actually a decent idea???

Luxord getting KNOCKED THA FUCK OUT BY JACK’S BREATH?? and also I..... can’t stand the way his name is pronounced LOOXORD whatttttt

Yet again them trying to explain this time travel bs and it’s like okay I almost get it but.......... do I.................. do I  r e a l l y..........?

Vexen and Demyx: The New Buddy Comedy You Never Expected Nor Wanted But Here You Go Anyway

Not.......... knowing that........ Ienzo didn’t know that Ansem was FORCIBLY EJECTED into the darkness by his apprentices..... like I’m CRYIN IN THE CLUB YALL

And finally........ finally........................ a tear was shed upon finally seeing Aqua’s freedom........... bless her beautiful soul......................

obviously more to come

god knows i’m gonna hafta stock up on tissues soon... I can FEEL IT..............

[tumblrwrites]

In Love and Death

The first time I caught a glimpse of Him was behind the tool shed when Grampa's heart beat for the last time. Granny shooed me away to call for help, and as I trotted toward the house, I craned my neck to see the body. Instead, my gaze met a pair of piercing blue eyes that sent a cold jolt of desire through my thirteen year old heart. A sick tickle dripped from the nape of my neck, slowly down my spine, and settled, warm and heavy, at the base of my pelvis. From that day forward, I spent a lot of time hanging around hospitals. I'd see Him sometimes, but always fleetingly. His flowing black robe fluttering around a corner, or His long, thin, alabaster fingers pulling the remnants of soul from some poor bastard's lifeless sternum. I volunteered in nursing homes and cancer wards, chasing that sweet rush of pubescent desire I'd felt upon our first encounter. My mother thought I was a treasure, an altruist with a heart of gold bent on helping those whose lives were coming to a close. In truth, though, I was a madwoman in love. What started as an innocent crush had blossomed through my adolescence into true passion. My every waking thought was of His hollow cheeks, His white-blue stare, His ethereal, floating gait. Our brief meetings would no longer suffice. I longed for Him to wrap those chilled and lanky arms around my waist. I could no longer fantasize about His bony fingers brushing my bare skin; I needed the real thing. So, in an attempt to draw Him straight to me, I claimed my first victim. I met Rob on a dating site, one of the free ones where every other message is an anonymous dick pic. Rob said he'd love to eat my ass, so I invited him to my place. I spent hours preparing for the date. I wore a black silk dress that felt just like I'd always imagined Death's soft robes would feel against my freshly shaven legs. I strapped on a pair of black heels that lifted me seven inches, in hopes that I might look straight into those piercing baby blues as I professed my love to Him. And, as a final touch, I applied a blood red lipstick to my mouth. I didn't have to ask to know that Death's favorite color was blood. I heard a knock at the door, and my heart jumped with excitement. I lifted my silken dress and slipped the small pistol from the drawer of my vanity into my garter belt. "Coming," I sang, as I pranced down the stairs to open the front door. Rob looked me up and down and licked his lips. "Damn girl," he laughed, "You sure put a lot of time into an outfit that I'm gonna tear right off you." "Oh, you," I giggled, partially to appear affectionate, but mostly at his stupidity. "Please, come in." I closed the door behind us and ushered him toward the couch. "How about a little strip tease?" Rob smirked and sat down, unbuttoning his jeans. I turned my back to him, and began moving my hips slowly from side to side. Sliding my hands down my torso and between my legs, I bent over, secretly pulling the pistol from my thigh. I held it to my chest, the steel warm from being pressed against my skin, as the other danced down my back, entrancing Rob. "Sorry," I whispered as I threw myself to face him and pulled the trigger four times fast, shooting him thrice in the chest and once in the head. I dropped the gun. And then there He was. Death walked through the door, eyebrows furrowed, a stern look on His face. "You've been following me." His voice shook the room, but landed on my ears as soft as breath. My knees nearly buckled. Wiping the blood splatter from my dress, I said shakily, "I am sorry. But I have waited for this moment for so long. From the first moment I saw-." He pressed a single icy fingertip to my lips. Firm and plush, it felt just as I'd always dreamed. My heart raced as I pursed my lips to kiss that perfect phalanx. He pulled it away, a red mark remaining where either my lipstick or Rob's blood had left a stain. "Shut up," He commanded. And so I did. All I wanted was to be ruled  by Him. Fascinated, I watched him lean over the horny corpse. His billowing robes obstructed my view, but I was content fixing my gaze upon His looming posture as he worked. Just to be in His presence filled me with more pleasure than I'd ever known. Still, I wanted more. Sidling up beside Him, I threw my arms around His waist. "What are you doing?" He boomed, and my heart fluttered . "I need you. I love you. Please, let me love you." I pressed myself closer to Him. "I am a very busy guy," He spoke, pushing me away, "I have no time for love." My hips tingled where he pushed me away. He turned to leave, Rob's lifeless body still stooped on the couch where I'd ended him. My eyes brimmed with tears, but I knew I had the power. Slowly curving my lips into a smile, I laughed, "You will be back! I have control of you now! I can bring you to me any time I please! I WILL make you love me!" Death smirked as He floated away, leaving me alone, but not without hope.