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javierpinme · 3 years

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Part One: New Beginnings

Pairing: Frankie Morales x f!reader

Word count: 3.4k

Warnings: Infidelity, angst, friends to lovers, mentions of alcohol

Rating: M (might change)

Summary: You’ve lived in a small town for half of your life and nothings really changed until it did. Moving halfway across the country you find lasting friendships and a love you needed at the exactly the right time.

A/N: There is not a ton of Frankie in this one since I wanted to set the tone for the reader before they meet! They don’t see/meet each other until near the end (or do they?) I wanted to build the reader’s relationships with the people in her life as there will more parts.

AO3

Masterlist

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It’s hard to build friendships as an adult without being under the pretense of school or college. It’s especially difficult when you decide to move across the country. Away from your family and friends, but it’s what you needed. Seeing the same four walls you lived in, that same greasy diner that was always your go-to after one too many tequila shots the night before, and that one ex from high school that you’d really rather forget while running errands were making you feel complacent. Wake up. Drink. Eat. Work. Sleep. Repeat. You’ve spent most of your life here. You weren’t about to spend the rest of it here. So, you did something completely unlike you. You packed up your life and moved. The house was beautiful. You’d never owned anything in your life; just rented so this is a major upgrade for you. The first sight that greets you is the stairs after living in a first floor unit for most of your life. The house isn’t in perfect shape, but it’s yours which is all that matters.

The movers have left so you finally had the place to yourself. You couldn’t help the defeated sigh that fell from your mouth at the sight of all the boxes. If your sister and friends were here you’d probably be knee deep in pizza and wine while attempting to build furniture. You gave your brain the space to let that thought sink in, but you craved the freedom so you didn’t let that sit too long. You came here to build your own memories; no room for regrets now. So, the first thing you decide to acclimate yourself with is the closest liquor store and that is how you met Hannah.

The first thing you hear after getting lost reading a wine label is a loud oof before slamming into somebody. You only barely managed to catch the bottle before it became one with the outdated tile.

“I am SO sorry! I’m not even going to lie to you I was not watching where I was going. Are you okay? You didn’t drop anything did you?”

You manage to form a sentence between your scrambled apologies in between. The first thing you notice when you look at the face standing in front of you is how pretty she is. That typical blonde hair and blue eyes type that reminds you of the girls you went to high school with. You wince. Stop it.

“Oh, I’m okay! It was more the residual shock of it really. You must really need that bottle because you were just about ready to run me over in your pursuit to the cash register. Cheating ex or bad date?”

She says with a laugh while pointing at the wine still in your hand. Oh, she’s nice. You immediately feel guilty for that initial judgment when first looking at her.

“Oh, neither. I just moved here and need sustenance to unpack. Who knew you could fit your entire life into boxes?” You mirror her laugh.

“I figured I’d kill two birds with one stone. Walk around the neighborhood and find the necessities which is how I ended up here.” You say with a twirl in your finger.

"Ah, the one down the street that's just begging to be demolished?" She says while snapping her fingers with a mischievous smile.

"Hey, don't talk about her like that. She's old, but she's got character." You can't help the lopsided grin you give her. She hasn't even seen the dream kitchen with those beautiful green cabinets.

“Hey, well if you need help with that-“ her eyes shifting to the bottle, “I live right down the street so I can come over. I know moving somewhere unfamiliar can be a little daunting especially if you’re alone.” You can’t help the wide smile forming at her sweet gesture.

“And to help me unpack right?” You raise an eyebrow.

“I mean I’m better at draining a bottle, but if it’s necessary I will work for food and drinks. But, if I’m going to help you we are going to need way more than that.”

She finishes her sentence grabbing more bottles while traveling through the aisles. The sound of you’ve got to try this one and this one’s local in between aisle changes filling the store. You assure her that she is not off the hook with helping even with the promise of the “best merlot you’ve ever had in your life.”

Bags filling both of your hands and way too much alcohol for just two people to consume you make your way up the steps. Hannah pauses and looks up at the house.

“I was right. It should have been demolished. Will the porch cave in before I make it inside?” She says with skepticism at the foundation of your new home.

“Probably eventually but-“ you turn around to face her, “she’ll last for now. Come on, I haven’t even showed you the best part!”

You open your door and make your way inside leaving the door open for her to follow. You faintly hear from the kitchen “I seriously doubt that”, and you can’t help your chuckle at the remark.

You’ve always wanted a fixer upper; probably from all the HGTV shows you immersed yourself in as a child and the fact you’ve only ever lived in apartments. The first and only thing you managed to unpack first was your wine glasses. You definitely made a point to label them in big writing while packing up back home. A decision you are patting yourself on the back for now.

“So, do you like pizza? I know a good place. Pizza and wine should always be paired with move-in days. Oh, you’re right. This is probably the only good part of your house.”

Hannah leaned on the counter next you before shifting to test the weight taking in the scene of your kitchen.

“Love pizza. It’s not there yet, but I definitely have some plans with it; starting with keeping the color of those cabinets.”

In between sips of your glasses of wine you start to collaborate over your ideas of making it functional and aesthetically pleasing.

It didn’t take very long to start building friendships with the people in your area. You even started joining Sunday brunches and you were overly ecstatic finding out that bottomless mimosas existed. They didn’t have these at the diners back home. They even started assisting you with choosing paint swatches and going to Home Depot because you just had try that DIY project of making your own lounge chair that you found scrolling on Youtube.

“I think your measurements are a little off.”

Alex, probably one of your favorites of the group, mirrors the tilt of your head with his arms crossed. He co-owns a woodworking business with his husband so you wanted him there for any adjustments and moral support. Unfortunately for you, he wanted you to learn first which really meant fail.

You grimace at your handiwork and say, “yeah, I think maybe I should stick with what I’m good at.”

With a breathy laugh he adds, “give yourself some credit. You managed to tear up the carpet in the living room AND still able to keep the original hardwood. That’s no easy feat.”

You’ve somehow managed to create a whole support system in the little time that you’ve spent here. You’ve finally had the time and resources to create your own little touches that make your house now a home.

“Hannah, can’t we just stay in tonight? I’ve already been defeated twice by the light fixture in the living and my fingers are still tingling from the faulty power box. I’m really not in the mood.”

You give her the biggest puppy eyes you can manage while exaggeratingly lifting you fingers.

“Oh no, you’re going out to the bar tonight. You’ve been here for months and you really need to get yourself out there. You’re hot. Own it. Besides, it’s just you and me so there’s no pressure.”

She says with a swat to your ass and a push towards your closet. The only response you can add to that is Hmph.

The bar is nice enough with the dim lighting and it’s not so loud that you can’t hear yourself talk. Hannah insisted you wear one of your nicer dresses, but you wanted to feel like yourself so you opted for a t-shirt tucked into light wash jeans. If you were going to meet anyone tonight you wanted to set the standard for anything that could happen at the start. You’re still nursing your second beer while Hannah is on her third shot of the night. You feel a presence to your right and a sharp pinch to your thigh on your left. Hannah is of course attempting to alert you to the attractive man on the other side of you as if you didn’t notice. You turn around with a pained look on your face to her which she just shrugs off before making herself scarce.

“Can I buy you a drink?”

Your attention is brought back to the man to your right. He is very cute in a boyish kind of way and you briefly wonder if he’s talking to someone else. He’s dressed like he just got out of a business meeting, but his rolled sleeves are definitely doing something for you.

“Sure. What’s your name?” You say with the flirtiest smile you can muster.

“Joey. Nice to meet you.”

God, his smile must do wonders for his conquests. It’s working for you quite honestly. You completely lose track of time talking to him and see out of the corner of your eye Hannah leaving the bar holding onto a man with salt and pepper hair and scruff. Looks like she got lucky too. She gives you a wink as she walks out the door and you look to see where he was sitting in case you need to remember faces. Seems like he was out with some of his friends, but you didn’t get a thorough look because your attention is immediately brought back to Joey. You set a reminder for yourself to check in with her before you go to bed tonight.

It’s been a constant date after date and you were really beginning to develop feelings for him. Sure, you always tried to convince him you didn’t need to be wooed with all these extravagant dates. You were just happy to spend time with him. You didn’t need to go to a fancy restaurant to tell you that. It just wasn’t your style, but it made him happy so you went along with it. You had initially assumed him to be a one night stand, but you were pleasantly surprised to hear from him the next day asking to take you out dinner.

Your muscles in your stomach are straining from how hard you’re laughing at America’s Funniest Home Videos on the TV. Joey is sitting next to you on the couch with takeout cartons loitered all over your coffee table. The living room is starting to lose its natural lighting due to the day coming to a close; the only light source in the room being the lamp sitting on the end table next to the couch and the glow from the TV. You notice Joey looking at you with a far off look.

“What’s wrong?” You ask with a furrow in your brow. “Nothing.” His face shifting to a more pleasant tone once he turns back to the TV. The two of you had settled into a routine at your house. You had even introduced him to your friends and they really seemed to enjoy spending time with him. It was easy for them to fall for his charms as you did.

“Come on, hurry up. You’re supposed to be helping me pick out an outfit for tonight!”

Hannah still continued to see the man from the bar, Santi, his friends called him.

“If I’m supposed to be helping you pick an outfit then why are we in the lingerie section?” You ask with a sly grin on your face.

“That’s for after, of course. Gotta keep it interesting.”

Her laugh followed by her adding some bras and panties to her hands. You agreed to come with her tonight to officially meet him and his friends. You’ve heard enough about him from her. Some very intimate details as well. They weren’t exactly exclusive to each other and as far as you knew they were dating other people which you respected. You were nervous about meeting them, but you knew it was only a matter of time until Hannah would want to do this. You trusted her judgment and you were already comfortable that it was going to be in the bar you usually ventured out to.

In her words, “your only forms of entertainment can’t just be your home projects, Joey and me, you know? You deserve to have fun too and these guys will show you a good time I promise” while ringing up her purchases.

You barely manage to make it through the door of the bar before you feel a breeze next to you from her speeding to Santi with a kiss. You lovingly shake your head at her dramatic antics and make your way over to the table. It’s a little awkward at first since Hannah still had yet to let go of the man sitting next to her and you didn’t know how to start a conversation with these men with what was going on next to you.

“Sorry. I’m Santi, but everyone calls me Pope.”

He reaches over to shake your hand with a tone that is definitely not apologetic at all, but you find it amusing. You like him already. You can definitely see why Hannah was interested, but not your type.

He starts introducing his friends off to you. Will. He seems like the more mellow type of the group and his call sign is Ironhead. Benny is just Benny since he’s the baby of the group.

“He’s the menace of all of us so watch out for this one.” Will ruffles his brother’s hair for added measure which Benny recoils from.

Then, Frankie, they call him Catfish. Oh he’s handsome, but not in the boyish way that Joey is. He’s handsome in a more ruggish kind of way and you can’t seem to break eye contact from him. Your eyes don’t know where to go first so they travel from his deep brown eyes, to the bare patches on the beard he can’t seem to grow that you find yourself wanting to kiss, and to the curls peeking out of his standard heating oil hat. You find yourself itching to take that hat off and run your fingers through the nape of his hair. Stop. He’s the more reserved one in the group which makes sense since he really hasn’t fully spoken more than a few words at a time to you. You can’t control the side glances you keep shooting at him throughout the night. You’re just appreciating the view and maybe conjuring up a few very much domestic fantasies in your head. Liar.

You excuse yourself to go to the bathroom to get a grip on your emotions. Tilting your head at your reflection you point an accusing finger “get yourself together. You ca—.“ You jump at the intrusion of an elderly woman walking into the otherwise empty bathroom; a quizzical look forming on her face from your actions. Your nervous laugh gets the best of you. “It isn’t what it- I don’t always do this.” You’re not sure why you feel the need to explain yourself since she’s already closed the stall before you even got the chance to finish your sentence. You find yourself even more flustered leaving the bathroom than before going into it. This is going to be a long night.

***

Frankie was nervous when Santi first told him that Hannah would be bringing a friend. He remembers you from the night Santi first left with her. How could he forget? You had his attention the moment you stepped into the bar, but by the time he finally worked up the nerve to talk to you another guy had already swooped in. It wasn’t that surprising considering and it was probably for the best. He really wasn’t in any headspace to be in a relationship. His eyes followed you when you left to go to the bathroom in a hurry and he could just feel Santi’s eyes burning into him. He knew. You were exactly his type and he hoped to whoever was up above that he would just leave him to his hopeless crush without interfering.

***

You sit down at the table preparing to come up with some segway into the conversation between everyone when Santi breaks it with a loud clap calling your name out. “So, are you seeing anyone?”

You miss the glare that Frankie shoots him and the embarrassed groan he makes. You don’t miss the warning tone Will gives when calling Santi’s name out, but you get the feeling you’re not entitled to know what that’s about.

“Yes, I am.” Why does it feel so wrong to say that? “His name is Joey.” Hannah chimes in while rubbing Santi’s shoulders.

You also miss the sight of Frankie’s shoulders deflating at that piece of information. Your answer seems to satisfy Santi since he drops it after that and moves on to a different topic. “Benny, when’s your next fight?” It’s Friday apparently and all the guys along with Hannah are going to support him.

Will shifts towards you and says, “you can come if you want.” You cringe on the inside; your insecurities getting the best of you. If you want. They’re only inviting you because you’re there at the moment. “Maybe.” You won’t.

Somehow, Hannah has convinced you to go out with them a second time. “Come on, you can bring Joey since you’re so nervous! Please bring him,” she says with pleading eyes.

“I’m not nervous!” Liar. There is a sliver of truth to her statement, but you don’t want to tell her the reason for your nerves is seeing Frankie again. Yet here you were sitting in a booth with Joey across from Hannah and the rest of the guys.

“Jesus Hannah, he’s not going anywhere.”

You say with a loud laugh at her not so subtle PDA with Santi. “Sorry.” She said with a swipe of trying to remove her lipstick from Santi’s face; her smile never leaving her face. Frankie hasn’t looked at you at all tonight and you can’t help but wonder what you did wrong. You see those eyes crinkle and that cute dimple when he’s dedicating his attention to everyone else at the table, but disappears when his eyes go in your general direction.

At some point the guys and Hannah walk off to buy more drinks leaving you with Joey. He’s hasn’t hid his disinterest of the night at all even when the guys were trying to include him.

“Why are you so grumpy?” “I’m not.” His deep sigh a dead giveaway to his sour mood. “I’m just not vibing with them that’s all.” His eyes following the guys by single file line as he said it. You assure him that you can leave soon which after an hour or so you do.

Tonight’s events must have tired you out more than you thought because you’re fighting yawns the entire ride to Joey’s apartment. You don’t usually spend time here since he prefers staying at your place, but his place was a lot closer to the bar. The minute you walk inside you walk straight to his bedroom so you can promptly pass out as Joey showers. As you start to pull back the blankets something catches your eye. That’s not mine. Your heart rate is starting to speed up at the thought that’s forming in your mind. You reach down and grab a bra that was haphazardly thrown on the floor. The thing is you’d recognize that bra anywhere because you were there when she bought it; the day you were meeting Santi for the first time. You almost didn’t hear the water being shut off in the bathroom and the footsteps coming into the bedroom.

“Hey, what’s goin o—“

His eyes follow where you’re looking and then back up to your face. He’s not even trying to defend himself or come up with some shitty excuse that wouldn’t work anyway.

“How long?” Your voice is barely managing to stay steady while still staring at the incriminating evidence of your betrayal.

“How long, Joey?” His hesitation gives you your answer. It’s been a while.

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yostresswritinggirl · 4 years

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Genshin Impact Prompt List

Made by yostresswritinggirl

Public Domain Post again! I made this because I realized that I haven't seen a drabble list that's compliant to the game's universe, however some of these lines can also be generalized! I will NOT write for this, I just made this for everyone who wants to try it out, and it was really fun to make! List is 103 lines long, go wild!

"You knew we were going to Dragonspine, now your ass is freezing."

"The milelith won't like this."

"The Knights of Favonius won't like this."

"The Fatui would have liked this."

"Is there perhaps a discount in Wangsheng Funeral Parlor?"

"Sir/Ma'am, I'm gonna need to see your gliding license."

"The statue looks kinda hot."

"Where can I buy Fatui wear?"

"Where can I buy Abyss Mage wear?"

"It hurts I know, but have you eaten a raw Jueyen chili before?"

"Paimon is being stupid again."

"I don't think the Ruin Guard wants to be friends."

"In terms of Mora, we have Childe."

"They're turning you into a furry, it's concerning."

"Let me ask the stars— the stars said no."

"If we throw hard enough, we can probably hit Celestia."

"This is the sixth time I saw you fell off Barbatos' statue and it's getting concerning."

"You're telling me this feather will make me powerful?"

"It's been three months, when will you stop challenging the Oceanid?"

"That's pretty high, you think I'll die from that height?"

"Come on now, they're just taking a break..."

"Pick a god and start praying."

"I'd know that hair from anywhere!"

"So, about that economic crisis..."

"Hey, have you been to that 'perfume shop' before?"

"I actually don't drink tea."

"Does coffee even exist here?"

"Timmie's birds make the best Sweet Madame!"

"Olah!" [Hello in Hilichurlian]

"Hm, I wanna adopt one of those." "THOSE can kill you, by the way."

"Woah, cool weapon, can I have it?"

"Sir/Ma'am, this is strictly a no diving zone."

"I haven't seen green grass in ages..."

"Please answer honestly, is this genocide?"

"Never thought flower-picking would end up like this."

"This commission is not worth the mora it offers."

"There are no explicit laws against it, but this feels weirdly illegal."

"I don't think Katheryne wants to give me any more commissions."

"Nothing like a delicious Hilichurl camp-cooked meal!"

"So you're homeless?"

"Does being chased by guards count me in as a criminal?"

"This sign can't stop me, I don't understand Teyvat language!"

"I think I'm too stupid for this puzzle."

"How many artifacts do I have to get before I'm considered part of the Treasure Hoarders?"

"I need me a pocket Barbara."

"I know that cough from anywhere, that's definitely ____!"

"That bastard." "Yeah but which one?" "THE bastard."

"You know it actually doesn't taste that bad— *proceeds to vomit*"

"Since when was the last time you took a shower?"

"I'm pretty sure this is crossing borderline masochist territory."

"I don't like the sight of red snow."

"I don't think this is part of the prophecy."

"You ever look at something and think, how much Mora would that cost?"

"There's too many pretty wo/men around here."

"You have no idea how books can cause murder in this continent."

"You need a break, we all need a break, please take a break."

"My subordinates aren't home." "I'm on my way."

"May all the seven archons forgive me for what I'm about to do."

"I don't really know what's happening, but if it involves you, it's probably not good."

"You wouldn't want to anger the God of Contracts now, would you?"

"I'm gonna need a shot of fire-water for this..."

"You're telling me THIS is edible?"

"You're telling me S/HE'S not sus?!"

"You are dripping hella suspicious energy, maam/sir."

"God, I wanna be manhandled."

"I'm gonna climb that."

"Please don't climb that."

"I want to come out of this alive, thanks."

"You're too hot to be single, what is this sorcery?"

"You can't say aesthetic to everything."

"I'm from another world, these laws don't apply to me!"

"I'd appreciate it if you don't scream honeybun in public."

"Think of what _____ would say!" "They'd probably say I don't care."

"Would being an atheist prevent me from receiving a Vision?"

"Ewww, a (weapon) user?"

"I'm gonna need you to do social distancing, about 100 meters away from me."

"Where's a restraining order when you need one?"

"Ohh." "Ohh?" "Rock." "Rock?" "Shiny rock."

"I would like to dedicate this song to my dearest friend." *screams*

"Awwe, you scared them away." "I think you did that yourself."

"I can hear them, the Gods." "What do they say?" "That you need to shut up."

"I wonder how it's like to be eaten whole by a slime."

"I don't think bandages is an appropriate date attire."

"There's this annoying pain at my side. My right side. Right next to me. This pain right here."

"How can one be THIS broke?"

"I can't believe I'm saying this, but s/he's right for once."

"This nation sucks, I'm leaving."

"You can't arrest me, this is the City of Freedom!"

"I can't even pick a meal myself and now you're making me choose between these hot wo/men?!"

"In my world, we call this a not-poggers moment."

"I never knew fishing could be competitive."

"You're too cold for your Vision."

"You're too hot for your Vision."

"Ugh, why can't this happen on a Sunday?"

"Which innocent bystander did you steal this from?"

"This team needs a power cheer."

"I'm so mad, I'd fight gods!"

"That Hilichurl is looking at me not nicely."

"THIS is why you're under MY supervision."

"There's a thing called ignorance and you're abusing the heck outta it."

"No amount of painkillers can relieve me from the headache that is you."

"And you said we're just here to PICK flowers."

"I know where this is going, and it's going somewhere I don't like."

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact drabbles #genshin impact imagines #exile.circlet #no idea what to put #oh yeah #public domain

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echo-of-sounds · 4 years

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birthday cake

-Fatgum x f!reader-

Headcanons and smut drabble for Taishiro’s birthday! (It isn’t until tomorrow but I don’t post on the weekends so I’m posting it early!)

Please throw him a surprise party. He would be so grateful. And so, so cute. His eyes would light up. His smile would grow. His love for you would blossom to the extremes. Invite all his friends. All. He wants everyone there. Even his intern kids. Everyone needs to be there to celebrate and have fun together!

For a day out with him, find some festival or fair to go to. He loves the games even if he never wins. If he somehow manages to win one, he’ll choose the largest stuffed bear and give it to you despite it being his birthday. He wants you to have something big to cuddle when he isn’t home. And what’s better than a giant teddy bear? You can put one of his shirts on it so it smells like him.

A movie marathon is also another terrific option. Cover the couch with pillows and blankets, litter the coffee table with snacks and drinks, and spend three whole days just watching movies and cuddling. He doesn’t get as much time with you as he wants so it would be refreshing for him. Of course, sex could get mingled in between the snuggles and movies.

Some gifts are rather obvious: food and clothing. He’d appreciate new cookbooks. It doesn’t matter the cuisine- Italian, Mexican, Indian, Irish- he’s always willing to try new dishes. Plus, cooking with you is one of his favorite pastimes so it gives him more things to explore with you.

He could use nicer clothing. He has mainly sweatshirts and t-shirts. Buy a nice suit jacket and a few ties for him. He looks so handsome in purple but he so rarely wears it.

Though he doesn’t wear them a lot because of his job, he does like the aesthetics of rings and necklaces. Keep them simple and masculine, and he’ll definitely appreciate the gift. A chain with a plain pendant or a black smooth ring would be nice. He’d love it even more if it was engraved with your name or anniversary.

However, at the end of the day, Tai would be grateful for pretty much any gift. If it’s from you and you put thought into it, he’s bound to love it. It’s really hard to go wrong with him.

After saying goodbye to the last guest, you closed the door with a sigh of relief. You turned around, smiling, “I love you but that was way too many people.”

“But you handled them so well.” Taishiro leaned down to kiss your forehead. “Thank you for the party.”

“Anything for the birthday boy. I love you.” You stood on your tip-toes to kiss his lips.

He mumbled it back, picking you up and setting you on the counter. “Do I have any more presents to open?”

“Not sure. You might need to check the closet or under the bed. Who knows?”

“Nah. I see one right in front of me.” He slipped off your shirt and undid your bra, letting him pinch and pull your nipples. You leaned forward with the light tugging.

He took off the cake’s plastic container. A finger dipped into the frosting and brought the warm chocolate cream to your nipples. Rainbow sprinkles spread across your skin.

“Really?”

“Oh, really,” he smirked, thoroughly painting the frosting around, making sure to completely cover both nipples. Melted drips trickled to your stomach.

“You’re going to clean them right?”

“Of course I will.” He grabbed one breast. His large tongue started at the trickles, licking up to the bottom of your breast. “It tastes better when it’s on you.”

Your back curved closer to his mouth, wanting it. His tongue returned, hot and wet, stroking to your nipple, sucking off the cream. You sighed his name at the painfully slow licking. He chuckled, finishing that one breast with a cruel nipple bite.

“Tai!” you jerked.

He just laughed and went to his next snack. A hand flattened against your shorts, rubbing in a not-so-gentle motion. You rocked on the counter for friction. The licks turned to full-mouth sucking as he cleaned the cream and ate the sprinkles.

Your leg moved in between his. It felt like his erection was already full, almost like he was aroused during the party. You asked with a smile, “How long have you been hard?”

After one final big suck, he popped off your nipple to reply, “Too long.”

He lifted you to the floor and dropped the last of your clothing. His hand returned to you, brushing back and forth over your clit. You grabbed his shirt. He kissed your forehead, keeping the hard motion. The rapidly-growing wetness coated his hand. It rubbed off onto your thighs. Using his arm, he pressed up firmly, lifting you onto your tippy-toes. You bit his sleeve to stifle any moans and whines.

“You got wet pretty quickly. Do you want me to eat you or just fuck you?”

“Just fuck me.”

“Turn around.”

You did, leaning your forearms on the counter. A hand smoothed over your spine while two fingers slicked in. They curled down. You wriggled backward, wishing for more.

“You know I gotta stretch you first, baby.” He kissed your shoulder, carefully adding another finger. They sought your front wall and easily found the spot you liked. The perfect pressure roused an intense moan.

Warm frosting decorated your back. His tongue brushed along your skin, sucking, nipping, licking everywhere. “So damn good,” he groaned.

Fingers curved down and down again. You were stretched. You were wet. You jerked on his hand. “Tai, come on. I’m ready.”

They left you empty. You turned in time to see him use those soaked fingers to scoop up frosting. They slipped into his mouth next, letting him taste you and the chocolate. He licked with grin and glee. “Seriously, you should try this.”

“Taishiro, just fuck me already, please.” You leaned on the counter for him.

“Alright but you’re missing out.”

The sound of his pants undoing shot a tingle up your spine. Hands held your hips and he entered gently like he always did, making sure you were prepared enough. He seated fully inside in one sink. You took a few deep breaths, familiarizing yourself with the thickness.

At your say-so, the thrusts started. A long pull out, then a heavy push in. They built excitedly, jostling you against the counter. Despite his warm heart and sweet temper, his thrusts turned rough and brutal. But it never hurt, each one only inflicted vivid moans and affectionate gaps.

“Faster.” Your breasts pressed to the chilly tiles. You grasped at them. Fingers found nothing to hold through the increasing speed.

Your feet left the floor at an intense thrust. Hands stayed on your hips, squeezing encouragement. “You’re doing so good, baby, just perfect.”

“Fuck, Tai!” you cried out his name as he hit your inmost part. It was a keen pleasure, fat and solid, heaving in and out, that only he could give. Muscles twitched at the continuous weight thumping against them.

He pushed you further onto the counter and opened your legs wide. You bent your knees, wrapping your calves around his sides. Depth and hunger grew. Your heart pounded. Heat flooded, tensing. You gripped his wrists, pleading for more, knowing you were right there.

Hips snapped. Thrusts slammed. Groans swelled.

The heat burst. Your back went rigid as you came, yet your body still managed to hump back, dripping wetness against him. You gasped into the tiles through his unending movements.

“Good job, baby,” he grunted without breaking his pace. Your hips were lifted and dragged for a better angle, letting him slick in louder. His groans dulled into guttural huffs.

“Tai, are you-”

“Where do you want me?”

“In me. In me,” you moaned, barely getting the words out before he sunk deep, tight. Moans rose to loving whines, feeling him lean over you, rooting his fingers into your waist as he released.

He kissed your neck and shoulders while his body relaxed. You reached back for his flushed cheek, whispering, “Happy birthday, honey. I love you.”

Lips moved to your jaw, exaggerating the smooching sounds. You both laughed. “I love you too.”

When he pulled out, you tried to stand. Hands didn’t let you. He spread you instead, taking a long, broad lick, finishing with a pleasant kiss to your clit.

You sighed, “What are you doing?”

You could hear the grin on his face when he said, “I’m not finished with my birthday cake yet.”

#fatgum #fatgum x reader #fatgum smut #fatgum headcanons #fatgum imagine #taishiro toyomitsu #taishiro toyomitsu x reader #bnha fatgum #bnha x reader #bnha smut #bnha

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antihero-writings · 3 years

Text

If These Walls Could Talk (Ch7)

(^^ Art commissioned from Junki Sakuraba on instagram and deviantart!!)

Fandom: Castlevania Netflix

Summary: Vampires do not have reflections, and castles do not have hearts. But Dracula is no ordinary vampire, and Castlevania is no ordinary castle. If castles can fight, maybe they can think too. The series, and Adrian’s childhood, told from the perspective of the castle.

Notes: Hey all! I am SO sorry this chapter took so long to come out. My perfectionism really got the best of me with this chapter. But I saw that S4 was on its way and that really lit a fire under my butt because I really do want to post my season 3 chapter before s4 comes out. I’m highly doubt I’ll accomplish it as it almost always takes me longer than I have to get a chapter out, let alone two, but I'll try, at least.

I really really hope you enjoy it!! If you enjoy this chapter, please please consider commenting. I assure you it’ll be more likely I’ll post the next chapter faster the more people comment on this showing you still enjoy this fic. Each comment is a little shot of energy and motivation for me.

Important! This chapter is meant to have aesthetic indentation in some places. So if you want to read it as-intended, please look it at on Archiveofourown at I_prefer_the_term_antihero on your computer or tablet!!

If you get here and are thinking “Wait, what was this fic about? What were the main themes?” then this would be a good time to reread/skim back through the earlier chapters. This is the climax of the fic and will (hopefully) be more impactful the more you remember about the rest of the fic and its many themes.

Chapter Summary:

"Go back whence you came! Trouble the soul of my Mother no more!" "How? How—How is it that I've been so defeated?" "You have been doomed ever since you lost the ability to love." "Ha—Ah... Sarcasm. 'For what profit is it to a man if he gains the world, and loses his own soul?' Matthew 16:26, I believe. "Tell me. What—What were Lisa's last words?" "She said 'Do not hate humans. If you cannot live with them, then at least do them no harm. For theirs is already a hard lot'. She also said to tell you that she would love you for all of eternity." "Lisa, forgive me. Farewell my son."

Chapter 7: “Heart”

Hey there, Sunshine, the Room adds with a smile.

The Room forgot the sweet tang of breath. How gentle, how vicious. Like honey, like relief, like a cozy blanket and a fireplace. It came in great, gulping gasps, and living was painful after such long breathlessness, but hurt far less than being half dead.

The Room rushes to Castlevania, shaking it, saying, Open your eyes! Open your eyes! It’s Adrian. It’s our boy. My master. My sunlight. And Castlevania limply flickers open its eyes, for it cannot help but obey.

Obey to see the golden man standing in its doorway.

And it feels a jolt of warmth in its broken chest.

Alucard has returned home. He arrives at the doorstep with resolve in his closed fists and a sword on his tongue. The threat to the war they all knew he would be, and the Room promised it would rear him to be.

But he isn’t alone this time.

There are two humans by his side. One with fire in her fists—quite literally—the other with a barbed tongue at his hip.

Castlevania recognizes a crest on the clothing of one of them, gold and proud: The Belmonts. The ones who came with whips and scourges to defeat its master long ago. The ones whom Dracula and his Castle were bound together against in their undead war. The ones whom Dracula trusted his Castle to protect him from. The owner of the hold now beneath Castlevania. He has come to defeat its master like the rest…but this time the boy is by his side, and for that reason, the Castlevania is unsure how this will end.

“I terrify them,” the Belmont explains the plan, “Sypha disorients them, Alucard goes over the top and we support him.”

“Yes.” The Speaker confirms.

Alucard holds his sword out horizontally in front of him, unsheathes it, and speaks:

“Begin.”

Alucard is with the Belmont.

And Castlevania knows when it sees them, the fire in their eyes, that they are the intent that brought it here. That they have indeed come to kill its master once and for all. It had wished when the boy returned, it would be with the promise of hope. But there is no promise of life and the sparing of it this time.

They bring death inside with them; the war room is filled with war, blood and burns on its floors, but it is different this time, because this is not an ambiance, a continuation, a fact of life, it is a swift and fatal kiss—the end they said he would bring, once. The blood is rotten on the floors, but it doesn’t itch or burn. And the boy uses those techniques his father taught him on brighter nights about turning into things with teeth, and the ones his mother once taught him on sunnier days about how to make metal listen.

They did not bring life inside this time, not life of the same kind at least. The war, the death, has followed and swallowed them too, but not in the same way it has its master. They are not bloodthirsty. The cold the dark and the death are merely clothes they wear, they have not reached the deepest parts of them; there are still light-starved Rooms in their hearts waiting to breathe.

There is a song at their heels as they dance in rings of fire, with the wind and the moon, upon the blood and water Castlevania isn’t sure will come out of the carpet. It is a song that is all too familiar. It has been played here before, when other, more, less, holy Belmonts barged in long ago. A song of blood and tears.

Bloody tears its master cried once, for his wife when he realized they had taken something that could not be borrowed, bartered, or souled.

They’re bringing an end to the strife, and all the undead lives that facilitated it, and vice versa. They are cutting the puppet strings, and not all puppets can live without them.

Isaac fights the nameless soldiers on the staircase for its master…until he sees someone who is far from nameless.

Isaac’s reddened eyes meet Alucard’s golden ones. Alucard’s sword aims at him, but it hits the deadened flesh of the nameless instead.

Isaac runs to tell its master—Dracula, busy ripping out the heart of a nameless—who’s here; that his sun has returned, and at his side is magic and might.

Dracula knows the prophecy.

He’s willing to die—Issac. He stands before Dracula, his form barely able to shield three-quarters of Dracula’s, willing to give his feeble human life for Dracula’s indefinite undead one. He believes knowledge and will are more important than the blood of a good man. He believes in love, and loyalty is love of a sort. And it is Castlevania’s understanding that when someone is willing to live for something, they are also willing to die for it. This is the noblest of causes.

“You are the greatest of your people, Isaac. You have a soul, I think.” As Dracula says the words, he raises his hand, and the mirror shards behind them begin to rise. “Perhaps that is more valuable to the world to come than a dusty collection of books and apparatus.”

Lisa looks on from the portrait, and Castlevania thinks it is a look of pride. She always did stand for saving human lives rather than destroying them. Isn’t it funny that in what will perhaps be the deciding battle of this war, the one where his goals should possess him stronger than ever, it is the human who he values more than himself?

“Or perhaps you simply deserve a better fate than to die instead of me.”

“I choose my death, as I chose my life.” The words are stronger than iron.

“Then I regret only that I have taken a choice for you.” A hand at his shoulder.

Dracula throws him halfway across the world, to the kind of place Isaac was born in, and the kind of place Isaac least wants to die in.

Isaac believes in love. And it is for this reason, this belief, that Vlad saves his life, Castlevania knows. Saves his life, by denying the choice he so desperately wanted to make—perhaps his whole life—and had no regrets or apprehensions about making, rather a lot more in being kept alive.

And when the mirror shatters and falls, his son is standing there, like he did a year ago, though this time he is not backed by sunlight. The only light in the room is the fire glinting in his eyes.

A pause. To remember the dead.

“Father.”

A word. To remember the living.

“Son.”

This should be a reunion, perhaps. Better people would think they should happily hug each other, and say they missed each other, and that they love each other all the same. Better people would say that the sunlight should plead with the dark to come back into its embrace. All the sinners know there was no chance of that the moment Dracula scrawled fate on his son’s skin with his own claws.

Instead, there is nothing but bitter, fighting words:

“Your war is over.”

Dracula tilts his head to the side. “Because you say so?”

“It ends.” Alucard looks at his sword, the one she taught him how to use. “In the name of my mother.”

Dracula looks at his son, the one she gave him. “It endures in the name of your mother.”

“I told you before I won’t let you do it.” Alucard’s voice is so soft, yet solid and unwavering. There is no anger, but he will not step aside. Not this time. Even when the claws come. “I grieve with you…but I won’t let you commit genocide.”

“You couldn’t stop me before.” Dark assurance in soft words.

Footsteps. A cue to the magic and the hunt behind the curtain, who step out on either side of him.

“I was alone before.”

And Castlevania understands. Understands that they are not here to talk things out. Understands that they are not here to save Dracula, to appeal to the good in him, as Lisa once had, and the Room once thought. Castlevania itself even hoped, when the boy returned, the song would be a bit more inspirational. But, beaten and broken and bloody, Castlevania understands now, if Alucard stands with the intent, if Alucard brought a Belmont—

Then they do not believe there is a chance. They are not here then, to talk him out of it. They are here to halt this war in its tracks, make it rear up, lose its balance, and fall.

—(And Castlevania knows, deep down, that to do this… they must end something else)—

Alucard is bringing back the sunlight. But there is only one way he can do that, and goodnight is not quiet.

And make no mistake he does intend to bring the full, the warm, the life, and the light back, just like Castlevania and the Room wanted. But there is too much cold, dark, death, and emptiness here to do this quietly. They are here to kill Dracula—the master now puppeteered by Death’s strings rather than his own soul.

The Speaker raises her fingers to her lips as if to say a prayer, or perhaps take a heavenly name in vain for the sake of a little silence. The Belmont’s whip clinks in his hand. Alucard’s sword sings as he raises it.

Alucard drives it towards his father: a bolt of golden lightning through the room, pinning him against the fireplace as books fall to the floor. Castlevania, wincing at the pain, knows that will bruise in the morning.

The picture of his mother cracks and falls, as if she has to close her eyes for this.

Alucard, growling with fierce resolve, pushing the sword into him with all his might. But Dracula has the sword in his hand, rather than his heart. He steps calmly forward, barely having to use any of his strength to combat so much of his son’s, as if he’s about to tell him to put the toy away.

A glint of golden eyes. Alucard pulls back the sword. A slash. Two. Three.

Dracula raises his arm as if to knock the sword from his shoulder.

Instead he bashes his son’s head into the fireplace—and Castlevania cries out at the feeling, feeling its stomach burn.

The Speaker and the Belmont ready for a fight. The floor splinters—(Castlevania grimaces, tasting blood)—as Dracula flashes through the room, and pins the Belmont into the hall, against the wall, sending his sword out of his hand. He keels over onto his hands to cough up blood, the puddle crawling on Castlevania’s skin.

Castlevania never had any qualms with the blood of Belmonts on its floors before, so this hurts less, but this is different, and Castlevania still wonders if Dracula could be a little gentler with his Castle.

A flash of light at his side. He raises his cloak as the Speaker sends tongues and teeth of fire at him.

“Speaker magician!” Its master realizes.

He rushes at her, knocking her hand out of position. She creates an ice shard before her with the other.

He scratches up with a claw, sending her flying with the broken pieces towards the ceiling, and angry gashes appear on her arm as she rolls along the floor.

“Sypha!” The Belmont calls.

He must love her in some way, because in a fit of some sort of emotion—instead of picking up his sword—the Belmont uses his fists. They probably haven’t failed him before. But this is Dracula, and his punches don’t cause the king to so much as flinch.

“You must be the Belmont.”

Castlevania laughs a little at the words; it too thought the method was rather common of his line.

It’s Dracula’s turn, and his punch doesn’t just cause the Belmont to flinch, the sound is as if he hit rock, sending him into the air with the force. He doesn’t give him a second to breathe, rather reaches his claw is around the human’s neck, holding him there.

He raises his other claw level—a blade, more trustworthy than any.

“The end of your line.”

Before he can make these words true, another blade stops him: his son’s, driving itself through both his arms.

While he is pinned the Speaker, knowing this is an opportunity she will not get again, rushes forward—still bleeding, mind—a bead of fire between her fingers. Dracula cannot move to protect himself, and the magician, knowing this, lets the fire loose to lick his face raw.

Dracula drops the Belmont, attempting to get away, deciding his own life takes precedence, but it is hard to get away when your hands are tied together with metal.

The Speaker, seeing that her fire is about to hit Alucard, falters. And in that moment Dracula wrenches his arm off of the blade and uses it to knock her down, before sending his other fist into his son, who goes flying along with his sword hitting the wall. This one may not be so hard as to bruise, but, with everything aching and breaking, the smallest tap hurts Castlevania.

The Belmont pulls a blade of bone from his back-belt, and as Dracula turns he drives it into his chest.

It’s not close enough to his heart, but red distaste fills Dracula’s eyes. He thought this was a game, but they have some amount of ability, and he may have underestimated them. As Alucard and the magician get up he attempts to grab at the Belmont in quick motions, but he has some skill in dodging.

The Speaker rips off her shirt and cauterizes her wound as the Belmont and Dracula dance in the hallway, neither weapon hitting flesh.

Dracula sees the Speaker’s intent over his shoulder, and as the Belmont lunges at him grabs his arm and throws him into her, stopping both their attacks. An effective move, if Castlevania does say so itself.

Alucard sees his opening and rushes forward, pinning his father to the wall, which shatters behind them with a painful lurch.

Dracula puts his hands together and brings them down over his son’s head with such force the floor cracks.

And Castlevania coughs blood.

Alucard pushes his arms away and slaps both sides of his face, getting a grunt this time. Dracula sends him back with such force it almost seems like a shockwave, creating wind and smoke curling around them all.

The Speaker roots him in place by sending ice spears into his leg. The Belmont clears the smoke by spinning his whip, before creating more by sending that whip—the one he fed the vampires that didn’t agree with their compositions—sizzling into Dracula’s chest. There’s an explosion to be sure—a rather big one—but after the smoke dissipates, and a wait with bated breath, Dracula is still standing just as he was before—as Castlevania knew he would—like all he threw at him were words.

…At least at first, to show he isn’t taken down so easily. He does fall to his hands thereafter.

“The Morningstar whip.” The words are scratches in the carpet. “Well played, Belmont. But I am no ordinary vampire to be killed by your human magics.” The words sizzle on his tongue. “I am Vlad Dracula Tepes,” he crosses his arms with purpose. “and I have had ENOUGH!”

His voice is a shockwave of its own across the sea of stone and bone. He sweeps his hands to the sides, his cloak rising like wings as he floats into the air, and creates a ball of magma: the cheat that will end the game. He was going easy on them until now.

It rumbles towards them, eating the carpet as it goes—and Castlevania can feel the burning in its chest. The Belmont’s eyes widen with fear at last. The Speaker rises to the occasion without hesitation, and holds out her hands to stop it with the force of her magic. It’s a force to be reckoned with, for sure: at first she succeeds, but, though it may be slowing, it isn’t stopping, and her feet are slipping. The Belmont puts his back to hers, as any good friend and comrade would. Alucard phases in front of them, the burning wind rushing against his face. He calls his sword, which sings as it reaches his hand, poises it, and drives the point into the magma ball.

They each fight with all their might, the Belmont and the speaker begins to grunt with the weight of it. The ball gives a falter their way, and Castlevania is sure even three cannot match Dracula’s strength, but the Speaker gives a final push, which gives Alucard just the right amount of momentum to drive it back toward his father, who is as caught off guard by the display as Castlevania is. He needs no sword or magic to stop it, however, and puts his hands out to hold it. Gold and red push against each other, until Alucard gives a deciding motion, then another, another, each chipping away at the ball until the sword goes flying and it’s just Alucard’s arm against Dracula’s throat, and their momentum creates a sizzling tunnel in the wall.

Castlevania may not know what guns are, but it knows what it feels like to be shot.

The two burst into the library, shattering the already shattered mirror.

It was so quiet in here. Must they sully the silence with the sound of strife? They read here, once. Sometimes alone, sometimes to each other. Whispered to each other of history and mystery.

Dracula lands on the floor and Alucard floats above him in the room in which he once stood on his level and told his father calmly he wouldn’t stand for genocide.

There’s anger in his eyes now.

Dracula hisses, then gives a war cry, and the two allow their hungry fists to attempt to devour each other as best they can in the air, red and gold flashing.

The Belmont picks up a sword in the other room and, deciding it’d be best not to follow them through the tunnel—(Castlevania is glad for that decision. The wound is still raw and would more than likely sting tremendously if they walked on it)—he and the Speaker run up the stairs to follow them.

They’re on the floor now and their punches fly like starlings—their duel reflected in the shards of mirror fluttering, jittering about, ever awaiting their command, as if attempting to tap their shoulders and ask what they should do, and why they are hurting each other—until they are hitting the bookshelves they once were gentle with—lest the pages rip and the silence tear—the ones they once smiled and discussed philosophy beside.

Castlevania’s head aches, nausea in the back of its throat.

A smiling boy and his father handing him another book, saying if he liked the first he’d like the second too, are all but gone now.

Dracula throws Alucard into the ceiling, and enters the room above with an unearthly sound, in an unearthly way: only his cloak is visible, moving like slime. As his hungry footsteps lick the floor behind him, Alucard is heaving on his side that same floor, his hair falling across his face. He turns around, fear coating the sound he makes as he, without his sword, grabs the nearest block of wood that happens to have a point on the end.

Dracula laughs, like they’re playing a game—(they did once, do they remember? Humans and monsters. Sometimes there were princes, and knights, or pirates. Even a princess or two. And the wolves and the bats were free in the night wind)—and stops.

“You mean to stake me?”

“You want me to.” Alucard murmurs, turning around with some difficulty.

“What?” Dracula chuckles, still with that put-the-toys-away intonation.

“You didn’t kill me before.” Alucard breathes. “You’re not going to kill me now. You want this to end as much as I do.” The look in his eyes is almost crazed.

“DO I?!” The tone is almost crazed in response, the nonchalant edge gone, the words resounding with power and grief.

Alucard scrambles away like an animal, causing Dracula to punch the floor instead of his head—Castlevania’s body lurches. It feels a gentle touch at its chin, someone trying to wipe the blood off perhaps.

“You died when my mother died. You know you did.” He reasons as Dracula’s breathing gains weight. “This entire catastrophe has been nothing but history’s longest suicide note.”

Castlevania jerks its head up, eyes wide at these words.

And Castlevania understands.

The cold, the dark, the empty, the death. They all make sense now.

Alucard rushes at him, Dracula knocks the stake out of Alucard’s hand with ease, but, in a moment of extreme dexterity, Alucard manages to grab it from the air and drive it into his chest still. The look in his eyes is almost pleading, like he’s going to ask “Daddy did I do a good job? Did I do it right? I’ve gotten better at fighting haven’t I?”

“Not quite close enough.” There is a gurgling quality to Dracula’s enunciation.

No more playing.

He shoves Alucard so hard its into the next room.

Castlevania keels over onto the floor, it’s stomach aching and prickling.

Dracula pulls the stake out and heaves before rushing after.

Floors below the magician and the Belmont can hear them, and are trying their best to catch up, to have a say in this fight.

But Castlevania isn’t sure they have much chance of that, as they are flashing through the halls now, Alucard, a foot off the ground, zig-zagging between the walls in the narrow hall as Dracula keeps punching bloodless stone—

—(The stone may be bloodless, but god this hurts)—

Until Alucard punches him back, sending them into a room, a bedroom—(but not that one)—and the room is a pile of rubble with just that. And Castlevania can feel the splinters. That furniture was nice.

Dracula grabs Alucard’s face and shoves him into the dining room, pinning him to the table like he’ll eat him too if they’re not careful, and those chairs were perfectly nice too—

And Castlevania sees a little boy waiting at the table for his birthday surprise, and his father pulling out a burned cake, and his mother laughing. There was no fear then. Though its master was a creature of blood it never thirsted for theirs, and they knew this full well. Can they see it too? Why would they destroy this room if they did? Why would they destroy each other if they did? Are they even the same creatures as those in the memory?

At this point Castlevania is pretty sure they broke a few of its ribs.

Alucard kicks his face and gets on the table on all fours, rushing him into the next room still.

Castlevania’s bleeding, broken heart skips a beat. Surely they must have broken a few ribs, for how else could they get into Castlevania’s heart? The control room, where its gears still lie dripping, glowing as orange as a brand, once beating organs now blazing stalactites.

They punch each other along the platform, Dracula’s cloak whipping about, like a cat’s fur trying to make him look bigger and scarier.

They are framed in the paneless window—those bones have been all but broken too now. The frame where the picture—that is to say, the die—no longer sits. For Castlevania’s heart didn’t just break, it was destroyed when they brought it to this place, the place where its enemies once lived, and still stand today.

—(So why can Castlevania still feel it beat?)—

In the frame now is moon drunk on blood, a night soaked in tears—and the wind whispers to their cloaks, bidding them to whip around them.

Dracula draws in a hissing breath.

Alucard stands tall, his eyes aglow, gold melting into something new in this forge, his hair whipping about him as he raises his fist yet again.

They are getting tired. Their snarls have a weakened quality to them now.

—Can they see the father and son in this room, the father teaching his son that his Castle is special?—

But instead of just punching him, Alucard teleports beside his father, hitting his shoulder, sending a gust of wind to his face, then teleports around the room to send his fist into him over and over, from every possible angle, and some of his kick-offs create cracks in the already breaking bindings of the room.

It feels like pins and needles, but it’s okay. It’s okay.

Why?

Dracula’s grits his teeth, sharp as ever, his eyes alight with bloody determination, his hair playing about this gaze. To end it, on the next hit he grabs his face, shoving him by it onto the stone platform. He shoves him once, twice, a third, the metal cracking, the metal creaking—

Castlevania’s gut lurches, and it can taste bile and iron at the back of its throat, and it’s hard to breathe.

Then its master raises Alucard back up, holds him by the face in the air a moment, and punches him with such force he is blown across the length of the platform and through the thick stone wall into the next room—

And Castlevania vomits blood.

Dracula bolts after him, the dust creating patterns in his wake—and Castlevania could gaze in the clouds if it weren’t for whoever’s trying to slap it awake.

Alucard coughs, and it sounded deep.

Its master is nothing human now. There’s a growl in his throat as he marches towards him, and another cough in Alucard’s as he struggles to stand.

Another punch, but this one is not fast like the rest, nor is it blocked. Alucard tries to stand up, to rush towards him, but he is getting tired, and Dracula hits him again. Another growl. Alucard takes a single step back, soft against the floors. An exhale. Another of both, and as Dracula raises his fist the murmur—plea?—on his son’s lips sounds a lot like “Father,” as if he’s reached his limit, and has to stop the game.

It’s too late to hit quit now.

The vampire king doesn’t grant the plea—or perhaps even hear it; with a belabored punch he sends him into the next Room, rolling this time, instead of flying, the contents of the Room staying in tact…all except the bed, which catches the boy.

The next Room. But this one is not like the rest. It is not just a room.

This one breathes.

A gasp, another growl, a scratch against the wall, and—

Castlevania burned today in this bloody fight, on this bloody night. Its skin, its legs. Even its heart broke.

Castlevania. The thing that Vlad Tepes brought to life with a little bit of lightning, several gears, and a few words. No magic words, just words: the ones he spoke on lonely nights to the walls about how he’d like to be something more than ruthless.

Castlevania did everything it could. It lies burned and broken and unable to fight now because of it.

But none of that burned half as much as those scratches on its walls.

There have been many stories told about Dracula, and there will one day be more stories told about Dracula, books written, enough that one could fill libraries with just the retellings of his story. And Castlevania has no doubt that one day these scratches will be on their covers. This growl, these scratches are the signet of a vampire, of a monster: the disfigurement of his Castle, bloody intent directed at his son. The dark, the death, and the emptiness have overtaken completely. That is all a monster is, really. That is all he is now.

He marches into the Room, his cloak flowing, dipping and twirling in the broken wind. The sound of Alucard’s breathing fills the Room as he heaves against the bed.

Or maybe the breath is the Room’s own.

The Room has seen all that happened, it has been watching Castlevania beaten bloody till it could barely breathe, or see through the blood dripping down its face, let alone move. Castlevania could barely feel the comforting hands on it, the attempts to bandage the wounds, or at least stop the bleeding that it knew could only belong to the Room. Castlevania could barely hear the Room’s frantic, desperate calls to action, to get up, or just ask if it was okay. And now the Room stands, fists clenched at its sides. The Room wants to fight back. It will fight back.

The Room is not violent. From the very beginning it stood against all the violence, the dark, the empty, and the death. That was what it was made for, after all. As much as it would like to, it does not wrap its hand around Dracula’s throat, claws digging until it draws blood, and demand “How does it feel?! How does it feel to be on the receiving end?!”

The Room’s footsteps are soft as it comes up beside Dracula. It puts its hands over the king’s eyes and whispers in his ear, gently as it can:

“Remember me?”

Then, quietly as it came, it removes them, as if playing peekaboo, revealing that it was there the whole time, his eyes were just covered for a while.

It may as well have been removing scales, because Dracula freezes, his eyes wide, as if he’s seeing, not just the Room, but the whole world for the first in a long time—And he is. The first time with living eyes. And one sees things very differently with living eyes. And Castlevania was his world and it hopes he sees the world differently, for Castlevania is not a thing for him to beat and break. Just when Castlevania thought there was nothing left…there is something more than anger in his eyes now.

Dracula’s angry cloak quiets, falling docile at his feet: a sign of reverence towards the Room, and all it stands for.

Alucard, after allowing his breath to regain itself, looks up, his eyes widening too at his father. His father. No anger, no fear, not even determination now. Not in this Room. This Room is different. He remembers now: in the hush that has fallen across the world like freshly fallen snow, this is his father.

The Room kneels at it’s boy’s side, putting a hand on his shoulder feeling nothing but life and love, so much so it extends to the creature that created the scars on its throat, and on its boy’s chest.

“It’s okay. You can go to him now.” The Room says.

And it knows what that means.

It knows that sometimes peace comes at the price of war.

Dracula curls his hand, the one with the claw that just made marks on the walls that are written in stone, and will never be undone. Within the glow of the window, his reddened eyes too are no longer angry. For so long those eyes sat dormant, empty, and glazed in his skull and at last they contain something. The Room’s words have gotten through the glaze, shattered the glass.

“It’s your Room.”

It’s more than just a statement. He made a promise when he made this Room. This Room was to be his son’s Room. There would be no violence, not in this Room. Not ever. Not today in as much as not ten years ago. He will not hurt this Room. He will not dare touch it, for fear those claws will mark more than just the walls; that all the memories will come crashing down.

The words are not angry. They are not dark. They are not empty. They are not dead. They may seem dry, and stated, but they are dripping with such longing and loss it might fill the whole Castle.

The desk where Vlad taught Adrian of letters, and of numbers, and of the borders of the world. The wardrobe where Lisa dressed him up in fine clothes, and casual ones depending on the occasion—Dracula had so few special occasions to celebrate alone, they were a lovely thing. The bookshelf full of all the knowledge of immortals, and the stories of mortals. The carpet where the boy sat and played with his toys. The nightstand, still with a potion bottle upon it, and the cards of a game they’ve no doubt forgotten how to play, right where they left it long ago. The shelf above it with another bottle, and a tiny satchel of even tinier precious things, and a little toy lamb. The bed upon which Vlad and Lisa once sat and told stories, and sang lullabies, or else lay curled up next to him when the nightmares got too vicious to bear alone.

—(How many did he have to face alone?)—

And Castlevania can see them all. The father teaching his son to count, and to write. The mother running after her naked toddler, trying to convince him clothes really aren’t so bad. The careful pouring of the potions so they change color, or explode just right, the father smiling proudly when he gets the questions correct. The pride of the mother when her son won the game, and the way her husband said “again” like if they just played another round he would win this time. The boy playing with the lamb and the wolf; they they got along in his stories.

The control room never was Castlevania’s heart…was it?

Alucard stands—the motion fluid now—blue light caressing his face as he raises his eyes. Vlad too looks up. But they’re not looking at each other, or the Room, rather into the stars. Not the ones outside, the ones they painted—brushing paint upon each other’s noses, so long ago, and Castlevania can see that too—as if those stars hold all the bottled wishes of childhood. It always was crowning jewel of this Room.

Adrian’s eyes oscillate like perturbed waters, because he knows, he knows he’s about to lose it all. And yes, there’s a sort of childlike yearning in Adrian’s eyes, as if he’s wishing upon those stars that he didn’t have to do this, because he’d really rather find another way to spend this night.

The stars wipe the bloodstains off of Dracula’s eyes. The blood drains off the moon too, as if he is so powerful he can bid the sky to bleed.

His lips shake with long-forgotten words—(or maybe they were just buried, and not everything buried in a grave stays there)—and he holds his hands to his chest, if nothing else to stop them from hurting innocent boys and castles, and shuts his eyes.

“My boy.” The words are said like everything in him is breaking

And it is.

—(The control room never was Castlevania’s heart. Does that mean it never broke?)—

“I’m—I…” The word falls to the floor, so soft, like it’s the only apology he has to shed. “I’m… I’m killing my boy.” And the truth is so gentle and broken its almost more painful than all those punches to the walls.

He steps across the Room, and this time his footsteps are not foreboding, not marching nor stalking. They are soft. He is only walking. This boy is not his prey. Not in this Room.

He walks to the picture on the wall, the one called “Happy.”

Castlevania remembers the day they took it home. The painter really did do a good job, Lisa had said, and Castlevania agreed. Castlevania soon learned that even when they were not here, even when the boy was not small, even when they were not happy, that moment would still be captured upon the wall to return to any time they missed it. Long ago Dracula had no need of pictures and paintings. But those pictures have been everything to him, and everything left him, now that Lisa is gone. They are all the traces left of what they once were in this Castle. That picture—the one Dracula buried and tried to forget existed—that picture bottled happiness, and it gives Vlad back his happiness now. And it makes him so very sad.

“Lisa. I’m killing our boy.” Vlad says to the memory. “We painted this Room. We…made these toys.”

His eyes as they dart around the Room—to the books, to the basket with the wolf and the blocks—are glazed, but not in the same way as before, this time it is with memory, and that makes them more alive than ever, as are his words. And in that moment she is alive too, and he is Vlad, Lisa’s husband, and Adrian’s father.

“It’s our boy, Lisa.”

And then as he looks down his eyes are not glazed at all, rather they hold understanding. He understands what must be done.

Alucard’s foot pushes off the ground, bends the knee, stands, and, no, he is not Adrian, for there is a cracking, a cracking like lightning, a cracking like the world breaking.

And it is the most horrible sound either the Room or Castlevania have ever heard. More horrible than the squelching any heart Dracula ever ripped out. More horrible than the desperate pleas of his victims. More horrible than the cackles of his friends. More horrible than the crying of the child that Castlevania can still hear echoing through the Room.

—(The sound Castlevania hated so so long ago, and now longs for far more than anything else in the world, longs for that painting to swallow the universe and bring it to life again)—

Castlevania and the Room can both feel that sound like a thousand splinters and spider bites, like both of them shattering as if they were made of glass after all. Even the furniture here bleeds.

Vlad backs up, putting his hands over his face—Don’t hurt them, they don’t know what they’re doing—

—(Yet…he hurt them all. So much so he didn’t just disgrace her words, he tried to kill her gift, their son, her blood)—

“Your greatest gift to me. And I’m killing him.”

He lifts his hands from his face and looks into his son’s eyes, his own so alive, despite their glass, tilting his head to the side. Everything slow and gentle now. He is Vlad. He is Adrian’s father. Not the vampire king who put innocents on stakes. But they all know something happened to Vlad on the night Lisa died.

“I must already be dead.”

And Castlevania, burned and bleeding, understands. The final piece of the puzzle has been put into place. It has been dead too. It’s life, bound in red to its master, will break to the call of a stake. Because a reflection cannot exist without the thing it reflects.

Because…they are mortal.

That was the trade, all those years ago: immortality for mortality. Lisa would gain an immortal mind, and Dracula a mortal soul. He would teach Lisa the knowledge of immortals, the methods of healing that must be kept secret to live with a vampire like time held no grip on them. And she would teach him how to live as a man, how to travel as a man, how to care for his son, as a man, as a father. And in that moment his soul was bound to hers.

She brought the undeath in him to life, and Castlevania understands; only things that are alive can die.

It learned through Lisa, through Adrian, what it was to be alive. And it knew that undeath, while not death, is not life. Dracula was undead and his body could not die. But now that she brought him to life, he could die. His soul already died with her. He’s been rotting in an empty shell—no wonder Death could tie those puppet strings to him. That’s why the emptiness in him was so active; cold and dark and empty were only adjectives before, now they are nouns; he was emptiness, death, walking around. And that, too, is what Castlevania has become. It too is mortal. It didn’t die with her, but something in it ceased to tick when Dracula came back without a soul in his chest, and it knows, bruised and burned, broken, and bleeding that that stake in his son’s hand is calling them both.

You knew all along, didn’t you? Castlevania asks the Room, and there is no malice, no blame, there.

The Room jerks its head up to look at Castlevania, then its eyes soften and it grimaces. I hoped I was wrong. The Room replies softly. I…I hoped there was another way.

Alucard’s eyes hold some sympathy, some semblance of the boy they once knew, in fact rather too much, for both threaten to pour out of those eyes and stop all this. He doesn’t want to. But it’s too late for anything else.

Vlad eyes hold some semblance of the man they once knew, so much so they threaten to make him something more than ruthless, something that doesn’t deserve to die. He closes them tilting his head. He knows what must be done.

There is no anger in either of their eyes, no determination, not even resolve. Not anymore. Adrian wants to free his father in the only way he can.

A step forward, and this step has purpose, that stake is silently growling, drooling at his side as he stalks his prey. Another. Another. Like the beating of all their hearts, and the atmosphere is so silent that everything can only break.

And Dracula will not stop him, will not fight back. Not this time. Like all those times he let his son win, because even though he was more skilled at at the game, it was more satisfying to see Adrian smile.

He is not here to talk things out.

Alucard barely raises that stake—

A second horrible cracking, this one in flesh.

This time he aimed higher.

Dracula’s mouth fills with blood, it seeps through the cracks in his teeth. The blood from his chest drains down the stake—the broken piece of childhood—down his son’s arm, collecting on his elbow, and when it hits the carpet a burn begins to appear on the Room’s chest.

A grunt as Vlad leans forward, the blood dripping from his mouth to the floor—another angry gash upon the Room’s skin, and the Room is trying to pretend it’s okay, but it can’t hide the hurt in its eyes.

It knew what had to be done…but the violence goes against its nature.

His eyes fill with blood, but not from undead purpose. The moon is still clean. These are those bloody tears, the ones from the song earlier today. He is free, relieved…and he will never see his son again.

“Son.”

To remember the living, and those who will live on without him.

And the word is spoken very differently than it was earlier today. Then it was solid and hollow. Now it is ghostly, and so full it could hold all the world. Their world, at least.

This Room, this Castle, that word. They are their whole world.

And it is an honor to have been a world to such terrible, wonderful creatures.

“Father.”

To honor the dying, and what they once were while alive.

The word on Adrian’s tongue is the same, though more solid, more alive, and thus able to hold more pain. A faltering breath, a cracking forgiveness.

The word means something now, at the end, where before they were nothing more than titles. They are pleading with each other. They are bleeding with each other.

They don’t want to do this. They shouldn’t have to. It is far too cruel.

Mothers shouldn’t have to bury their daughters, and sons shouldn’t have to kill their fathers. It’s an unspoken rule of life.

But Alucard can’t stop there. He must finish this. The fire, the resolve regurgitates in his eyes, and he pushes harder, like with the magma ball, and, no, this cracking is worse, because Castlevania can feel it in its own chest now.

Castlevania can hear its master’s heartbeat, can feel it with the drops of blood dripping and sizzling on the floor, and it thinks it might just be its own heartbeat.

Alucard does not hate his father: there is pain on his face. But he cannot stop there.

He must end this war. And unlike those given with kisses to his forehead once, this goodnight is not gentle. Not this time.

He inhales,

closes his eyes,

and breaks his father’s chest.

That stake goes right through Castlevania, and something in it involuntary breaks.

The control room never was Castlevania’s heart. The destruction of the die was merely the amputation of both its legs, still bleeding out. This is a breaking, not of skin or bone, but of something deeper. It thinks this might just be what it feels like to cry.

And something happens in the breaking. A change of some sort. Castlevania isn’t quite sure what—pain and disorientation are the best of friends—all it knows is that the world is smaller now, and hurts less.

And as Castlevania’s heart breaks, the reflection in the painting shatters, the reflection of the bond between father and son severing with a stake.

The world is so much smaller now.

Dracula’s head jerks back and, eyes now seeing something other than this world.

Dracula is no ordinary vampire, so he does not die like an ordinary vampire. Rather than catching on fire, there’s just smoke and ash; his face drains, turning from ghostly pale to a charcoal, black without flame, before it really is ash, sliding off his face, his cloak like sludge.

There’s no orange, just the red stain, and the grey his life was marred of. Ash and smoke. The true undeath.

Alucard turns his face away, still holding the stake in place.

Dracula lifts up a hand, a skeleton hand, and Alucard turns to see the skin sloughing off around his ring. Though his spirit may have left, it seems his body won’t quite let go of this world; with mere bones Dracula reaches out, takes a step forward, as if to touch his face, to hold his son one last time, to catch the last embrace he was not afforded.

Adrian has shed that resolve, now he can do nothing but take slow and careful steps back away from the monster he has no sword or shield to fight. He the child again, the one who belonged in this Room, shying away. He is Adrian, the one who didn’t like the stories that were bloody. And in all the years the boy spent in this Room, the sheer fear in Adrian’s eyes as he looks up to see his father’s rotted face, with mouth agape, leaning bloodlessly towards him—an image that Castlevania fears will haunt him the rest of his days—is matchless.

Hurried footsteps at the door. The Speaker and the Belmont, at last, have made it to the show, though it seems they paid for only the final song. They step upon the threshold to see the rotting corpse of the king stepping towards his fearful, tearful price.

The Belmont draws his sword, and Dracula’s deflated head—the one that seemed so alive moments earlier—lies in a bloody pool on the floor. And as the neck bleeds and the Belmont watches the body fall to the floor, he isn’t sure if that was enough.

And Castlevania can’t feel its heartbeat anymore.

“Alucard. Step back.” Sypha’s voice is tempered. “Let me finish this.”

He does, the steps cautious and small, sorrow in his gaze. He holds the unbroken bedpost till his hand shakes.

Castlevania never liked children, the crying, the leaving, the guests, or being controlled.

But it did like Lisa. It did like Adrian. And—be it a sting—it did like the sunlight. And always and forever, it loved its master. A reflection cannot help but adore the thing it reflects. A creation cannot help but be a worshipper of its creator. A dream cannot help but revere its dreamer.

“You want me to.”

Smiling a little at how true the words were, in the end, Castlevania found it quite liked the relief.

Castlevania puts a hand on the Room’s cheek, smiling, and its mouth tastes less like blood now. It looks at the moon—bleeding no longer—and blue calm fills every part of it.

“What a wonderful night to have a curse.”

The Room stares at the castle, a little horrified by the sentiment.

“What…What should I do?” The Room stutters, fear and realization coating its words, for it knows what’s happening.

Castlevania smiles wider than ever, and its voice sounds softer; “The children.”

“What?”

“You should let them in. Any child who needs refuge. Along with as many guests as your master wants to welcome. And you should cry. Cry when you need to—and let your master cry too. Stay, but let him leave, if he must, knowing he will always come back. Let yourself be controlled at times, because sometimes that which feels the least right is the most right.”

“I—I don’t understand.”

“Be warm. Let the light in every window. Be full, and most of all, live. Can you do that for me?”

The Room holds onto the Castle to keep it from falling, tears already descending its cheeks.

“I—I will try.”

The Speaker lets the flame loose to eat the pieces, to engulf its master’s body in the fire he stared at all along, as if yearning for its embrace, creating a spiral of flame upon the circle in the carpet.

They were right to assume it wasn’t over, at least, because there are shapes in the flames; from the smoke and ashes rises a tower of skulls, a legion of spirits, more than a one king’s soul should hold. They’re all crying havoc, war, blood and pain from a yesterday long forgotten. Their smoke snuffs out the flame, blight covering the Room, blocking out the stars that so enraptured them earlier. Sypha and the Belmont cover their faces, but Alucard is unsurprised and undaunted by the darkness lurking in his father’s chest, and faces it without looking away. This darkness bursts out the window like a flower bloom, flows like a river out into the hall—the one cracked and bruising—flying over the war Room where the war resides no longer, and escapes into the night, fluttering, spiraling around Castlevania’s parapets like butterflies.

On the charred floor, the only thing left of the king is his wedding ring.

Castlevania sees the vampire king as he once was; young and restless. The skeletons eating stakes. Castlevania remembers what it once was: lightning, books, gears, and a few lonely words. It sees the woman with the knife at the door. It watches them build the Room. It watches the boy grow up into this beautiful thing.

Castlevania always wondered if it could breathe. It was never quite sure. The Room always seemed to possess a kind of life it never had; a life that hid in the breath.

“Take good care of him for me,” Castlevania murmurs to the Room.

“Have I ever failed you before?” The Room tries to smile, wiping its eyes.

As the sun rises over the hills, a single ray filters in through Castlevania’s window, touching it, filling every part of it, and for once it doesn’t sting.

And with the last sigh of the last ghost circling the parapets, Castlevania exhales its last breath.

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astarlightmonbebe · 2 years

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3, 4, 7, 9, 22, 32 :D + also, if you have any drama reccs for someone that wants to get into them 👀 (i'm more into mystery and horror things, but anything you think is good)

3: top 3 dramas?

i'm going to say the basic answer, which is that i literally can't choose, but three dramas i love very, very much are 1) arthdal chronicles, 2) the untamed/word of honor, 3) healer. i really only finish dramas that i really, really like though (my attention span is not that great ;-;), so i'm hard pressed to rate them. i do have more that i can generally list off when someone asks for recs though.

4: do you prefer chinese, thai, japanese, or korean dramas?

i'm about to give a long winded answer that kind of comes down to 'i don't really differentiate,' but here goes. so i watch the most korean dramas, because kdramas were what i first got into and they're like my base drama, plus i've finished a lot. i know the kdrama industry pretty well. however, cdramas are a close second; i initially only watched a couple, but in recent years i've been watching them more and more. still haven't finished nearly as many cdramas as i have kdramas - mainly because cdramas are long, like can be 50+ episodes long, and it's hard for me to keep up momentum unless they're <20 or i'm binging. cdramas are pretty dear to my heart though, and have a lot of hidden gems. i also got into thai dramas a few years ago, after starting one or two and then not really getting anywhere. i watch enough that at this point there are times when i only feel like watching thai shows, but i'm not really that into them as a whole yet. the only type i don't really watch that much of is japanese dramas, i think alice in borderland is the only one i've really finished, and i've started probably less than 20 in all my years. they're just hard to get into, i don't know. so yeah, cdramas or kdramas in the end, but like i said, i'll have periods where i really only feel like watching one type of drama, it's weird.

7: an underrated drama?

so many!!! but one i always have to promo is taxi driver - that one is an absolute gem, and it stars lee jehoon <3. also life, which is a pretty niche drama despite starting lee dongwook. nobody talks about it lol, but i honestly enjoyed it a lot, and i still rewatch it at times.

9: last drama you finished?

under the skin - it's a cdrama, 20 episodes, and actually really good! it's about an artist who joins the police as a sketch artist, and he obviously has really amazing skills. however, the one person he can't draw is a woman who asked him to draw someone who she then (presumably murdered). that person (the dead one) was an officer of the force he joins, and a close friend of his new partner/the detective he works under. it's pretty gripping, and focuses on several interesting cases.

22: favorite drama cliche/trope?

found family, of course. also the tragic used-to-be-friends trope. i'll also admit i like a certain amount of misunderstanding as long as it works with the plot.

32: most aesthetically pleasing drama? (in terms of scenery, sets, and/or cinematography)

i'm struggling to remember right now. this might also be because i'm a pretty simple minded girl, if something is pretty than i'm just like 'that's pretty!' and i am easy to please when it comes to cinematography, unless it's very weird. inspector koo had a lot of interesting shots though. ever night too - still only two thirds of the way through that drama, but wuxia dramas tend to be pretty good when it comes to scenery, unless the cgi is obvious.

now, onto actual recs for you <3

i'll be the first to admit that i'm not that much of a horror girl, but in recent years i have found myself watching more of that genre. one of the biggest ones is sweet home - you've probably heard of it; humans start turning into monsters, people trapped in an apartment building, used to be a webtoon. however, if you want hardcore horror (sweet home is more gore/suspense), i would really recommend the guest. that one gave me actual chills, and it is all together great in the aspects of character and plot development. it's about three adults who were connected by a tragedy as children, basically chasing down this Big Bad Spirit they need to exorcise. there's possession, priests, trust issues, etc. the first episode is really scary, but if you can get past that you'll probably be good for the rest of the show (and if you don't think it's scary, then you are not as weak hearted as me! but maybe don't watch it at night). strangers from hell is also horror and such...never got into that one, it creeped me out too much, and it's a little too bleak, but it might be your cup of tea.

now for mystery...i watch a lot of crime/thriller dramas, they're like my number one genre. mouse is a really good one, about serial killer genes...it's a drama i really can't explain. you kind of just have to watch it. fair warning, if you're not good at keeping up with plots, it might not be the drama for you, because it's really long winded. still, it has a lot of complexity and threads to pull that are fun for those who like to work stuff out as they watch. inspector koo is a more light hearted version of it (mouse is like 20 eps long and they are all long, but inspector koo is only 12); it's about a female former-detective who teams up with her insurance agent friend to catch a female serial killer. my third rec for this is beyond evil, about a seoul detective who joins a small town force to investigate this elder detective who was framed for the murder of his twin sister twenty years ago (but never charged). the first six episodes had a good amount of second hand embarrassment, but it's actually insanely good. the filmography is good, the acting is great, and the characters are very well rounded.

those are all that i'll rec today...i've been meaning to put together a list, but it's sitting in my drafts still and will probably spend eternity there. still, feel free to message me!

[ send me drama asks or ask for recs! ]

#star answers #hinahikawas #i need a new tag for you lol #lovely mutuals #drama recs #dramas #sorry this got a bit long but at least i actually managed to answer it in one sitting #didn't even give my historical dramas a shoutout...RIP!

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sawwyouuinadream · 4 years

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FIFTH HARMONY EXPOSED

Isn’t this the type of headline that intrigues people? Well, here I will expose some myths that the so-called Exposing accounts go on exposing. Just declaring something here in the beginning: I love all my Fifth Harmony girls, OT5 that is, and read it at your discretion. The thoughts stated below are opinions of mine, gathered over months and years, and I firmly stand by them.

Cutting to the chase, here we go:

1) Fifth Harmony the Band Image:

This group was manufactured by Simon Cowell on the X-Factor, back in 2012, and it broke up in 2018. On the show, Lauren Jauregui, the green-eyed white Latina was given the majority of solos and they performed songs in Spanish and garnered Hispanic fans banking on the fact that there were three Latinas in the group.

After they signed to Syco/Epic when the show ended, we saw Camila Cabello, the more convincing Latina, who was born in Cuba, get more and more solos. Normani Kordei was promoted as the “dancer” of the group, Ally Brooke as the “unproblematic one”, Lauren as the “broody edgy girl” and Dinah Jane as the “relatable Polynesian”.

Not surprisingly, Camila was the first one to do a solo venture with Shawn Mendes, the song I Know What You Did Last Summer, which, according to me, was a song to test the waters for both Shawn and Camila.

As more time passes, Camila was portrayed like the lead, not by HERSELF, but the trademark that Fifth Harmony was. She stopped talking in interviews, started doing more and more solo stuff, and even signed to a different manager. Voila, we were getting the rift in-band vibes galore.

Now here’s my verdict:

Fifth Harmony was made by Simon to not get the next One Direction, but to get the next Taylor Swift. Little Mix was already there in the U.K, and people know Girl groups don’t do as well as Boy Bands, mostly because of the inherent Misogyny in the society.

They wanted the next relatable girl next door who could influence teenage girls. Camila being Latina, could now have an even larger fanbase, in Latin America as well as South Asia, because South Asian music is quite similar in a groove to Latin Music.

Why Not Lauren or Ally then? Well, they were simply not interesting or Latin enough.

Why Not Normani? Do I have to tell? Those bitches are racist as fuck.

Why Not Dinah? Same thing. Less Appeal to a large fanbase.

That’s why Camila was the goofy dorky most relatable person on 5H. That’s why she readily had a high budget tour all set up for her the moment she left the group. That’s why they promoted her. 5H was never the long-lasting plan. Camila was. 5H was just an excuse to get her a strong fanbase and give Epic 4 more mediocre artists. I am really happy that Normani proved her worthiness and released smash hits as well. And mind you, this was done without Camila herself wishing for it. It was just the label’s decision.

2) Camila- the beauty or the bitch?

Camila Cabello is a very intriguing person to me. At the first glance, you haven’t seen a more dorky, goofy, and relatable celebrity like her, eating bananas and tripping on air. But then she starts talking about profound and deep experiences, and you go on her Tumblr and find quotes from books and aesthetic pictures. But then you see her leaked text messages and old Tumblr and all those images crumble before your eyes.

Think about this. Among the 5H girls, Dinah, Lauren, Ally, and Normani have friends outside the industry whom they talk to and hang out with. They have family they post about. Camila? She seems to have no friends apart from Sandra and Marielle Guzman, and those are the people we got the leaked texts with. What about her school teachers and school friends? Nothing. All she hangs out with is Shawn Mendes and Taylor Swift and her mom who follows her like a hawk. She doesn’t seem to have a social life at all except for events she goes for business.

In my opinion, Camila has a pretty big secret that is guarded closely by everybody but her.

Is she racist? Yes. She was. She didn’t have any sensitivity to Black people or their struggles whatsoever. But you have to understand she is Hispanic, and not born in the U.S. And she has sort of always been a big mouth. I am from a country that doesn’t have a single black person in the near 30000 miles. We grow up using racial slurs as if it's nothing. I had to unlearn my indoctrinations and consciously undo the wrongs in my head and implement them in my actions. Bit it doesn’t undo things I said as a child. I bullied one friend of mine in middle school simply because her skin tone was darker than mine. But I was not canceled. Because I am not a celebrity. Have I learned? Yes definitely. I will never dare to act like that again because now I understand the pain of being ostracized and I recognize the struggles of black people. But that happened over time.

I feel like Camila is a changed person now, and tries very hard to educate herself. She is not perfect, but she doesn’t deserve so much hate. She deserves a second chance. If she was indeed like that, Normani wouldn’t post a photo with her in IT on the eighth anniversary of 5H.

As far as her being a jealous bitch goes. The rest of 5H always had good things to talk about her after 5H dissolved in 2018. Lauren, the activist, even praised her. Dinah still seems pretty close to her.

Did she do solo stuff without 5H knowing?

No. If she did, and the whole not attending meetings thing happened, Dinah wouldn’t go to her Bad Things concert one day before she left the band. Lauren wouldn’t laugh with her in the VMAs like that if they weren’t friends and just work colleagues. The whole 5H vs Camila feud was planned by management because apparently shade helps sales. For both parties. Another manipulative misogynistic example of society.

3) Are/ Were Camila and Lauren romantically together?

All the roads lead to Rome honey. Camren has too many coincidences to NOT be real. From song lyrics to shady potato photos to weird comments and body language in interviews, I am pretty sure the Camren blogs will keep you covered.

Why does Lauren hate it so much? Why are we being invasive?

Lauren is supposed to nix it every time because she is contractually bound to do so. She needs to be the one to keep Camila’s straight image intact, although we have more than tons of evidence that Camila is anything but straight.

To everyone who says we shouldn’t force sexuality on people. Heterosexuality is not the default. Don’t force straightness on her. She never said she was straight. We’re just speculating she is with Lauren, and that’s it. Lauren just happens to be a girl. That’s IT.

Why did the nosy shippers out Lauren?

Nobody did. They just speculated on her sexuality based on assumptions. But no fan posted photos of her and Lucy from her aunt’s Facebook, because it was password protected. It was most probably intentional. Note that she shot a coming-out photoshoot with her “ex-girlfriend” Lucy Vives even before the Wedding where she was supposedly outed. Why shoot a photoshoot TO COME OUT and then hide behind the closet? Her coming out was planned as early as 2015, and so was the bearding of Camila simultaneously.

To me, Lauren and Camila are contracts bound to lie, at this moment. But they have a very grown-up and well-communicated relationship that is very sacred and private, and only the two of them know everything about it. Lauren and Camila are still related to the same contract, and this intuition of mine was confirmed yesterday. She was shooting something for Roger gold’s label. I hope the best for both of them, and I would love it if they were together. But them going public would be huge and in my opinion, detrimental to them.

4) Who’s Shawn Mendes?

A really career-oriented artist. Shawmila is for him and his promotion only. Not his fault though. He is just a conceited boy with good guitar skills who wants to be extremely famous. I will not talk about his sexuality, because unlike Camila, I can’t trace him to anyone in particular. But I can say this, Camila’s solo career had plans for Shawmila since the very start. I also believe it will end like Jelena and be back and forth for some time for minor promotions.

Final Verdict:

Nobody is perfect. Don’t make this about Shawmila Vs Camren. Every artist has their struggles. But please break out of the shell of heteronormativity, misogyny, and racism. Love human beings. The 5H girls and Shawn Mendes are teenagers, now adults, who have been oppressed and manipulated by a capitalistic racist homophobic industry, for money and money only. And only the fans have the power to see the truth and choose the right stuff.

#fifth harmony #camila cabello #camila and lauren #camren #ot5 #shawmila #syco #lauren jauregui

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james-beaufort · 3 years

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hi nat!! congrats on 1k, i love your blog and you deserve way more followers 🥺💗 i'm sending a ⭐ OR 🎁 + your favorite horror movie from 2021. whichever one is fine, please and thanks 💖

Hi Airam! Thank you so much I love you too 🥺

So I've made a set of Malignant for the favourite horror movie of 2021 (posted here), but I will say that there are still a bunch on my list to see so by the end of the year this will probably change my mind on this.

As for the ⭐ you have so many wonderful creations its hard to choose, but here goes. (also honorable mention to all the super cool mandalorian stuff that you make - i don't watch that show but your gifs for it are super cool).

Jennifer's Body: I adore the shots you chose and like all your sets the colours are so vibrant and pretty! You have such a good aesthetic sense when you put together your sets that the shots all go together really well (if that makes sense).

Alec Lightwood in Shadowhunters 1.12: I love the fonts and the cute little details like the arrow. Also I just think Alec is neat and that this was a nice little tribute for national coming out day 😊

It: Chapter One: I love the greens throughout the set and I especially love the last shot.

The Neon Demon: This set is just plain pretty. I love the way you placed the shots and the colours are absolutely stunning.

Birds of Prey: Love the running sort of theme of purple throughout the set (is this intentional idk but it looks great). Also obsessed with you including Harley's sandwich

#good #asks #nat1kcel #i enjoyed the bizarre last act personally #still laughing about the moonwalking gabriel #also i predict halloween kills will be the best horror movie of 2021

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dedkake · 3 years

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tagged by @atlantis-scribe and @frankthesnek :):)))

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Name: dedkake i guess i’m just really not picky about what names people call me at this point in my life

Fandoms: stargate/atlantis is mainly it for me right now. it was xmen for a long time. star trek is always there. star wars too. way too many other things to list here.

Two-shot: i’m a one-shot kinda writer. even if i have an idea for a sequel or for extending a fic/universe, once i publish something it’s pretty much guaranteed i won’t be able to come back to it.

Most popular multi-chapter: again, i don’t do that.

(HOWEVER i wish i had posted my vegas fic as a multichapter fic. i still would’ve published it all at the once so idk if that counts. the multiple chapters would’ve just been for the aesthetic and to reinforce pacing lmao.)

Actual worst part of writing: hmm. writing through a block sucks. trying not to be self-conscious about audience response is rough. i’ve also lost all confidence at writing smut.

How you choose your titles: recently i’ve just found a phrase from somewhere in the fic that feels ~right. idk how i chose titles before, but i was tired of agonizing over the process sldfkja it was a way i would procrastinate on posting, so i got rid of it.

Do you outline: the writing process and i have a very unique relationship. i’m gonna say yes i outline. i have a plan that gets written out most of the time. but some people might consider how i outline to be a first draft rather than an outline. (it’s me. i’m some people.) i just think the line between outlining and drafting is VERY THIN

Ideas you probably won’t get to but wouldn’t it be nice: i have a ton of ideas for bigger projects, but writing big stuff isn’t my strong suit. they’ll probably only ever exist in my mind.

Callouts @ yourself: come on, me--add some more description to your work. also, please slow down. run on sentences are not a Good Look. and add some variety to sentence structure. mix it up!

Best writing traits: this is such a hard question lskfjda; getting backstory in there without starting at the very beginning? pacing/keeping the momentum of a story going ? ace rep? or if we turn to the process part of writing--i think i’m pretty good at letting go of stuff in my wips when it’s not working.

Spicy tangential opinion: we should all be posting our abandoned wips. free yourself of that baggage--especially if there are parts of it you love and want feedback on. other people will also love it! and there are plenty of readers out there who love reading snippets and shorter stuff.

- - - - -

i’ve seen a bunch of people tagged on this, so i’m tagging anyone who wants to :) these are always fun.

#:)#thanks for the tag #!!!

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onzeziggy · 4 years

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Thank you so much Pau @dagcutie and Cille @birthdaysentiment for thinking of me and tagging me in this, love youuu <33 Ngl, it was the hardest tagging game I’ve ever done before hahah, but ahh I loved doing this so much and sorry in advance for this book I wrote lol.

Favorite thing about season 3: so many things! The fact that we didn’t know anything about bel!even for 2 weeks straight and then this bleached haired kid appeared, looking like THAT, and stole both ours and Robbe’s heart. Of course the mural, like they really did that! The flatshare dynamics and the Willems’ chemistry. The soundtrack which I still listen to every single day and so so much more...

Favorite clip: i love that there doesn’t exist a wrong answer for this one, every single clip is a masterpiece on itself. I’m just going to say that one clip with Robbe in it lol.

Favorite scene: Sander looking at Robbe and that little smile (and snort) while the doors of the elevator are opening and that floating over in the tunnel scene and them being finally free and so happy for the first time in forever, together. Also maandag 11:03 and the drawings going over in the real scenes.

Favorite shot: every single shot of their hands, like vrijdag 21:21, maandag 11:03, dinsdag 07:27, vrijdag 22:53 when Sander is caressing Robbe’s neck :’)) If when we’re finally going to get that scene of Sobbe holding hands, I will scream and die in the process.

Favorite kiss that Robbe initiates: I was watching the cuddle clip today and I couldn’t stop watching the kiss after Sander said “some vergeet ik hoe jong gij zijt”. Like, Robbe’s smile and him just staring at Sander’s eyes and lips before leaning in. And ahh that little pause while realizing how happy he is before leaning back in again. Also the one of dinsdag 07:27 where Robbe is making sure to Sander that he isn’t going anywhere, that whole clip is just so soft and I love it.

Favorite kiss that Sander initiates: the one in the “sinterklaas clip” I mean, he kept Robbe hanging !2! times in less than a minute long, because he first had to put his shoe. And the moment that he decorated his boyfriend’s shoe himself, he couldn’t wait another second to kiss him and drag him to his room, love it!

Favorite Robbe dialogue: gonna say the one line which wtfock decided to not put subs for. Maandag 11:03, Robbe: “ik heb u zo gemist” the way I screamed when I found out about that and it was the only thing that Sander had to hear in that moment. But like, every single sentence that Robbe said in this clip was just pure perfection.

Favorite Sander dialogue: “Nergens zo gelukkig als wij” I mean, have you seen his smile? Did you see how insanely happy he was in that exact moment... that shot of Sander while him saying that line just owns my heart.

Favorite hug: Robbe’s and Milan’s hug after you know what happened. It makes me cry every single time and you can feel so many emotions.

Favorite 21:21: vrijdag 21:21 is such a masterpiece and it owns my heart. It’s so aesthetically pleasing to look at, like the orange colors are my favorites. And Sander saying “Gij en ik, 💯 procent voor altijd, in elk universum”, I’m not crying, you are. The way you could feel every emotion without them even saying anything and when they let go completely and get lost in each other... and the moment they fell out of the bed with the Spider-Man kiss following, yeah...

Favorite scene x song pair: their first date and two men in love, no thoughts, only full of emotions.

Favorite banter on Instagram: okay this is such a hard one and I can’t choose again oops! Of course the discussion about the use of emojis and Robbe telling Sander to go to sleep lol, that was just iconic! Also Robbe saying that Sander is his fetish, no matter what his hair looks like and I mean same lol. But they also bonded quite some times under posts of Sander’s drawings. Like the two during lockdown... Sander drawing his own face so Robbe can still have him close 🥺 and Sander saying “miss his touch” and Robbe “ik tel de dagen af” like I felt that! And omg omg the drawing of Robbe from woensdag 21:21 and Robbe’s comment “if you say swim, I’ll swim with you” sksiskis I got that reference.

Favorite message between Robbe and Sander: the one when Robbe went out shopping with Zoë and asked if he should bring a present for Sander and he replied with “gij zijt al cadeau genoeg voor mij” that really was the sweetest thing ever and of course all of their text messages during wtfockdown with them saying how much they miss and love each other.

Favorite Instagram post:

Hahaha sorry for this essay but it’s the effect of Robbe’s story on me... I’m going to tag @annonymannonym @vataraxia @sanderxrobbee @mijnlief @franboos @remy3010 @pamouche @foxsake5 @happilyinsane @indimlights of course feel free to ignore if you don’t want to do this or you’ve already done this <33

#I love this and thinking back at season 3 is always so emotional lol #I hope you’re all having the most amazing day/night #kusjessss <33 #tagging game

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knifefather · 4 years

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KnifeFather’s Kinktober 2020, 18+ NSFW ➼ Day 18: Anal play or coercion ➼ Pairing: Goth!Bruno Bucciarati ➼ Word count: 2.1k ➼ Reader is AFAB and female pronouns are used. ➼ This is part one of two. ➼ Also available on Ao3. ➼ Warning: Both the reader and Bruno are intoxicated during this fic. If drinking or recreational drug use is not your jam, please be cautious while reading this.

You attend a concert and meet the perfect stranger.

The feeling of alcohol stinging the back of your throat distracted you as best as it could from your anxiety. The club was loaded--many other people dressed in the same black clothing as you stood about, talking amongst themselves while they waited for the band to begin their set. Your friend, Narancia, was busy chatting up a girl that he had met on the way into the joint. She was petite with bright pink hair, and her sizeable, poofy black skirt bunched up around her like a cloud. You sat on the other side of him, shooting back the second shot you ordered. Or was it the third?

You were never good at these kinds of things. Even though you were surrounded by like-minded people, you could never get past that incredible hump of social anxiety. You were kinda lost without Narancia and found yourself sticking close to him when you went to shows. The club began to grow smoky pretty quickly. The stench of weed filled your nostrils, and your head began to swim.

Suddenly, you heard the place erupt in noise, whoops and hollers coming from near the stage. The two girls performing came on to set up their equipment, and already they were getting a positive reaction. The lead singer strummed her guitar, testing out the speaker. At least the music was about to begin and that would give you something to focus on. You looked over at Narancia, and he was still busy talking with the girl. Interestedly, the girl wriggled a finger under one of the black leather straps that Narancia wore on his chest. She smiled at him and tugged on it flirtatiously, her blood-red lipstick making her wolfish smile all the more predatory. He began to blush, sputtering at the attention. He was definitely going to get laid tonight. You figured you would leave him to it.

You rose from your seat and decided to start making your way towards the stage as well. The girls introduced their band and thanked the audience for attending. Most of the clubbers were near the stage now. You looked around, taking in the crowd. A few people looked interesting and you thought about going up to talk to them, but the feeling of anxiety in your gut held you in place. As you checked out the group of people, your eyes fell on possibly the most gorgeous man you’d ever seen. His chin-length dark hair blended into the background, admittedly, and his equally dark outfit fitted his body wonderfully. He was talking to another man, tall and with long silver hair. They were mostly keeping to themselves, making chitchat while the music started. As you gazed at them, the man looked over in your direction, noticing your gaze. You quickly snapped your eyes away, trying to act like you weren’t looking. You were thankful when the drummer began playing the opening notes. You tossed a gaze over your shoulder, hoping to see Narancia close by, but you couldn’t see his dark purple hair anywhere. Great. You swallowed thickly and paid attention to the display on stage.

They began to play the next one. The instrumentals went much harder than the last song, and a pit began to open up behind you. You were too skittish for mosh pits, so you quickly ducked out of the way of the other concert-goers. As you moved away, you felt your back collide with someone, hard. You whipped around to apologize, only to see it was the casanova you were checking out only moments before. His painted black lips tugged into a smile while you apologized to him over the loud music.

“You’re fine,” he insisted.

“What?” you asked, the floor and stage vibrating from the sounds around you.

“I said, ‘you’re fine’,” the stranger said again, ducking down to your level and speaking a little louder. Still, you had no idea what he fucking said.

“I’m so sorry, but I have no idea--” you began, yelling over the music. Carefully, he grabbed your arm and ushered you away from the edge of the pit. It was becoming intense as they switched to another fast-paced song, the lead singer still screaming with gusto. As he led you out of the crowd, it was already noticeably quieter. You didn’t see his tall friend anywhere near. “I said,” he began, chuckling, “‘you’re fine’.”

“Thanks. You are too,” you responded without thinking. When you realized what you said, you quickly looked away from him. Did you really just do that? The man’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline. He looked you over, taking in your appearance. His eyes lingered a bit too long before he looked back up into your eyes. His blue ones were hypnotizing--they made you feel oddly special. They were a bit hazy, just like yours.

“What’s your name?”

“Y/n. You?”

“Bruno. Y/n, would you perhaps like to come back to my place after the show?” he asked. Just then, the lead vocalist announced they were going to slow down the set. A soft, lachrymose guitar settled over the club. The singer was singing sweetly now, the steady beat of the drum syncing up with your heartbeat.

“Yes,” you answered, again without thinking. You shouldn’t--you should stay at the club with Narancia. But you had no clue where he was, and he was probably getting some. Why shouldn’t you do the same? Besides, you’d text him after a while to let him know where you were. “Do you… wanna leave now?” you asked boldly, giving him a sly smile.

“Let me tell my friend that I’m leaving,” he said before politely excusing himself to disappear into the crowd. You were alone again, hanging on the outskirts of the crowd. You smelled the skunky stench of marijuana again, and suddenly a joint was being passed to you from another stranger, a woman in a cloak with large, blocky brows. You accepted the joint and took a toke for bravery before passing it to the person next to you. It wasn’t long before Bruno was back at your side, guiding you out of the club with a hand on the small of your back. The sound of the new song playing disappeared into the background.

The night was quiet, yet clear, the streetlights illuminating more than the club did. You had a better look at Bruno under the light. Your interesting new partner was tall, with a muscular but slender built. The brilliant color of his irises stood out even more under the streetlights. You were astounded at how lucky you had gotten. Bruno was beginning to lead you away from the club, down the sidewalk.

“I live near here, so I figured we could walk a bit,” he said, waving his hand in the direction of down the street. You told him that was fine, and you both disappeared from the outside of the club. “I’m not exactly sober, so I wouldn’t want to chance driving." "I'm in the same boat as you," you replied. The slanted lights elongated both of your shadows, making your dark forms look all the more threatening. Bruno’s shirt jingled softly as he walked along, the zippers and chains shifting. You narrowed your eyes to his legs and saw more, along with form-fitting pants that you observed for longer than necessary. He began to make conversation with you, learning more about who you were and where you came from. He was native to Napoli and you were not, so he gave you many pointers about the city and what kinds of places to eat at. Specifically, one restaurant that he claimed had the best food in the city, Libeccio. He was full of knowledge about Napoli and tips on how to live in it. You had been living there for a few years and knew everything that he was telling you, but you enjoyed hearing him speak, so you didn't interrupt.

You realized how intoxicated you were when you arrived at Bruno’s place and there were steps. The platforms that you wore wearing didn’t help you either, and you struggled to climb them straight. You felt Bruno’s arms curl around your waist, and even though he was fucked up too, he still helped you. You did better than you would have on your own, so you allowed it.

When you entered his apartment, you were greeted by a grand window overlooking the rest of the city. You weren’t surprised to find that his place was decorated according to his fashion tastes. Most of his furniture was black leather with appropriate matching tables, as well as minimalistic decor mimicking an almost Victorian aesthetic. What fascinated you the most was the large collection of records that Bruno proudly displayed in his living room. The collection was contained in about three large shelves, all several inches taller than you, and all full. You then observed a small stack of records sitting on the edge of the coffee table nearby.

“I need to get another shelf. I’m running out of space,” he said, his tone a bit bashful. “You can choose some for us to listen to.” You nearly felt honored being allowed to touch his music collection. While you looked over the shelves, you realized there were several different genres contained on them, including older jazz like Miles Davis. You were relieved to be with someone that had an open ear. Days of Future Passed by The Moody Blues called out to you, so you grabbed that one and tucked it under your arm.

“So, tell me about you. You haven’t really said much about yourself,” you said without looking at him. You were busy choosing between two albums now. Bruno raised a pierced brow before responding.

“Is there anything in particular you would like to know?”

You gave a nervous chuckle before choosing The Gold Experience by Prince. “Just mostly making sure you’re not gonna murder me or something,” you said, half-joking. He was quiet for a moment, and you looked over to see his expression. He gave you a dismissive look before replying.

“I don’t want to murder you, I promise. I don’t think it would be within either of our interests,” he said, the corners of his plump, black lips pulling up in a smile. “I’m trying to make you feel good, not hurt you,” he whispered beside you, and you felt your shoulders tense. His little comment caught you off guard, and soon, you felt your stomach flutter pleasantly. You looked over at him, and he gazed back, giving you an interested, heavy-lidded look. “Unless you enjoy a little pain?” he asked, looking you up and down like he did at the club. He was closer than you remembered him being.

“Maybe I do,” you teased, setting down the records, forgetting all about them. The truth be told, you were kinky in a lot more ways than just being a masochist. “Would you like to find out?” you invited, folding your hands behind your back coquettishly. Bruno drew closer to you, pulling your hips into his grasp. When he looked down at you, his long black hair framed his face, his jaw appearing perfectly chiseled. The dark makeup he wore around his eyes made the man's gaze pop. His pupils dilated as he looked down at you.

“I would,” he responded simply, before leaning in and capturing your lips in his. Your lips--no, your whole face --tingled as the man moved his mouth over yours, smacking softly in the room. You moaned into the kiss and fisted your hands in his sweater, pulling him as close as he could be. The exchange was hot as Bruno’s warm lips slotted against yours. His kiss was hungry, yet respectful, and you could tell he was holding back on you. To get a reaction out of him, you slid your hands down his sides and to his waistline. You began to fiddle with his belt-buckle, but he caught your hands in his.

He pulled away from the kiss and gave you a pointed look. “Not yet… I want to have my fun with you first, dolcezza,” he said. He gave you a few more kisses and gazed down at you, his forehead pressed against yours. “I want this to last a while,” he spoke softly, his deep voice rumbling in his chest. All you could do was nod and gaze back at him, your voice failing you. Still holding your hands, he guided you away from the shelves and down the hall to his bedroom. The rest of his home was decorated in the same style as the living room. The exciting adrenaline pumping through you made your vision blur, like you were caught in a whirlwind but perfectly fine with it.

#bruno bucciarati #jjba #not sfw #day 19 part 1 #my work #backup #kinktober entry #tw substance use #tw alcohol #tw marijuana

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