#verona: only on paper : )

[pablitogavii]

Happy Family 1

Day 1

I arrived to Barcelona on March 21st at 7:35 pm only a day after I turned 18. My dream was to join this exchange program and travel to Spain ever since I was a little girl and now I was finally here.

"Welcome! I'm Aurora, your new hermana for a year" sweet looking girl approached me seeing the paper that said my name on it and i blushed nodding my head as the older couple approached us.

"Nice to meet you. I'm Y/n." I said politely shaking the older's couple hand and Aurora tightly hugged me already making me feel like we were real sisters.

"Ready to go home, girls?" woman said and I smiled thinking to myself that this will be "home" to me for a whole year nodding in excitement while walking with Aurora towards the car.

"Um..and your brother?" I asked obviously knowing who Pablo Paez Gavira was but also feeling nervous that I haven't met him. Ever since the Gavira accepted me into their home for a year, I was nervous to meet the boy all of my friends are drooling over.

"Pablo is a cabrón whose flight from Verona got delayed, but he'll be home tomorrow" she said while I gulped while nodding my head.

"Lengua Rora! Pablo will surely like you as we do" her dad said and I nodded although deep down it still made me nervous to meet the infamous footballer.

They showed me around the house and my room before leaving me to get changed and ready for bed since it was already getting late and I had my first day of school tomorrow.

Maria: so you haven't met him still!!!??

Sofi: Girl, he's literally the hottest guy! He has the body of a God!

Tina: Be careful not to fall for your "brother" girl ;)))

"Life is not a freaking wattpad story" I told myself while brushing my teeth and reading the group chat with my friends from US still going crazy that I am in house of THE Pablo Gavi.

I fell asleep exhausted from the long flight. When Pablo arrived home a lot earlier than expected everyone was asleep and he walked out of instinct into what till not used to be his room.

He was confused when he smelled strong floral scent but decided not to pay it much attention taking off his wet shirt since it was raining heavily tonight and even his hair got soaked.

When he tried to sit on the bed to take off his pants I wiggled making him jump and me to scream while sitting up. Awkward..

"What? Who? Where am I?" I said now completely confused and almost forgetting that I am no longer home and am face to face with a complete stranger who rudely woke me up.

"Who the hell are you!? What are you doing in my room!?" Pablo said and I brushed the sleep out of my eyes finally realizing who it was standing shirtless across from me right now..fucking great!

"Um..they said this is my room now?" was only thing I could say in that moment and he finally remembered that the exchange student was coming today.

"Joder! That's right, sorry. I'm Pablo.." he said reaching out his hand I shook it nodding my head and giving him a warm smile.

"Y/n.." I said shortly.

Even though this was kind of awkward he was still very nice and nothing like I expected. All my friends said footballers are supposed to be cocky and narcissistic but he seemed genuine.

"I'll see you in the morning..um..goodnight" he said before grabbing his shirt and quickly leaving my room closing the door behind himself.

So this was his room then...no wonder why it smelled so masculine when I first walked in..suddenly I felt my cheeks blushed as I laid in his bed feeling him surround me in that moment. Maybe my friends were right..

The next morning, I walked down where all of them were sitting at the breakfast table welcoming me to join them.

"Y/n this is Pablo." Belen introduced and just as I was about to say we have met already, he interrupted reaching out to shake my hand yet again.

I played along introducing myself one more time to him..maybe it was for the best for his family not to know that we met in the middle of the night with him half naked inside my room.

When breakfast was over and everyone went to tend to their own business, I slowly moved towards Pablo who was packing for training and he turned to face me.

"I won't say anything, don't worry.." I said and he smirked tucking a strand of my hair behind my ear. I froze..fuck that feeling will be the death of me!

"It will be our little secret.." he said before turning back around to finish what he started and I went upstairs to grab my school bag.

First day at school wasn't bad. There was a girl who sat next to me in math class and we immediately clicked. Masa quickly became my best friend here and many things that will happen to me in the future wouldn't have been bearable without her by my side..

"Tonight is a back to school party at the beach, you have to come tía!" she said and I shrugged my shoulders.

"Aurora is coming too so I'm sure you can go with her?" Masa said and I nodded really happy to meet more people and start this school year off right.

"Obviously you're going hermanita!" Aurora told me the moment we talked at home and I smiled nodding my head excited for tonight.

"If you expect me to cover for your ass again, you owe me big time!" Pablo walked in without knocking realizing that he just interrupted "girl talk" as boys always called it.

"Or you can fulfill the dreams of all those girls and come with us tonight?" Aurora said and something in me tightened knowing deep down that Pablo Gavi was wanted by every single girl at that school.

"She's going too?" Pablo said not even looking at me and I thought what happened this morning was probably my own brain making up things..he was clearly not interested.

"Obviously!" Aurora said while Pablo seemed more agitated than before..like he didn't want me to go for some reason? It was weird.

"I might pop in later.." he said nonchalantly.

"You always say the same thing hermano!" Aurora said but he just left without another word. Why would he mind if I went to this party? What's it to him?

Pablo was at home looking at his phone when he saw his sister's story mentioning my username on it..out of curiosity, Pablo clicked checking out my profile and the new picture I posted from tonight.

y.n.bebe

A brunette to my blonde :* @masa.bb

liked by pablogavi and others

comentarios:

aurorapaezg: and the best photographer jaja

masa.bb: luv you girl!

theodore.ross: two hottest girls tonight!

Pablo was looking at that guy's comment for a solid 15 minuted before he got dressed and snuck to the beach telling himself it was because he was bored at home.

When I saw him walk up, all the girls were already calling his name rushing to take pictures or offer him a drink. I decided not to join the crowd instead walking to sit by the water.

"Solita?" Theodore said about to sit down but someone's very much angry voice interrupted him as it was getting closer to where we were.

"She's not, now leave vale!!!?" Gavi said and the boy smirked raising his hands up in surrender before winking towards me and leaving to rejoin the party again. Now I felt confused..what the hell does this mean?

"You came?" I said standing up to face him noticing the way his jaw was clenching and unclenching. "Damn was he beautiful under the moonlight..." thought to myself.

"Your top is too revealing" he said simply and I looked down before meeting his eyes again..did he come to look after me tonight?

"Pablo.." I spoke but as always he was quick to interrupt me.

"Callate!" he said before grabbing my jaw and crashing his lips to mine passionately while my hands found his hair and his snaked around my waist protectively.

At the end of very my first night here, Pablo slept over at my new room (and his old one) with me cuddled up to his side and him holding me against himself protectively...

Interesante right? ;)))

[theragethatisdesire]

quick bright things - eren jaeger x afab!reader, 18+!!

okay hi. after my many-months writing hiatus, i am offering up this humble creation. welcome to the world of quick bright things, caught somewhere between a fairytale and a shakespeare play and a priceless piece of jewelry. this was inspired by....a lot of things, from midsummer night's dream to saltburn to the secret history to romeo & juliet like, you name it and i've probably crammed it in here. eren is a lot different than i normally write him (or read him, for that matter), i hope you all find him as lovely as i do! this will be 2 parts (for now...), i'm not sure what else to say except i'm happy to be back and i hope you all love part 1 ₊˚⊹♡

pairing: eren jaeger x reader

wc: 10.4k

DISCLAIMER: this post contains MATURE CONTENT that is intended only for those over 18. if you are a minor, please do not read below the cut.

cws: alcohol, swearing, smut, fingering, reader has female anatomy, wet dreams, allusions to cannibalism (idk that's a stretch it's more of a metaphor), exhibitionism, cum-eating, creepy stepsiblings, rich assholes, throat-closing amounts of sexual tension, i honestly don't even know what to put here

without further ado...

-

"Last year I abstained / this year I devour / without guilt / which is also an art."

“Now don’t forget: university is for discovery, for adventure.” Your mother tucks the front of your shirt into your skirt, tugs at your collar until it’s sitting prettily against the cliff of your collarbones. It’s not a good fabric, this shirt; it’s cheap and scratches uncomfortably at the summer sunburn still lingering on your chest. “It’s for finding your passions, your life path, yourself…”

“Darling, you’ve been philosophizing since breakfast. You’re going to give the poor girl a conniption.” Your father chuckles lightly, swinging the hammer at the wall of your dormitory and finishing the hanging of one of your many posters over your creaky, lofted bed. The posters are bright and colorful, almost garish in the pristine, ancient light pouring in from the windows. With a slow blink, you realize you’re going to take them down later, that they feel incongruous with the dust particles and the oak furniture.

“It’s alright, really.” You manage a smile of compromise, lips clamped tight to hold the flutter of nerves in your throat at bay. “I think I’ve got it from here.”

There’s an expectedly teary goodbye, a small monologue from your father about how much you’ve grown, and a few reminders from your mother to separate the darks and the lights when you do laundry, to focus on your studies. Just before she slips out behind her husband, she grabs you by the shoulders and presses her lips to the side of your head, kisses a blood-red print into the shell of your ear.

“Don’t forget. Find something.”

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

Whether it started with that conversation or with the buildup that accompanied the thirty-six months of monotonous paper-writing and numb boredom of your first three years at Oxford, you can’t be sure. In truth, maybe your first three years weren’t all that boring, and they only seem so by comparison of everything that came after, but you can’t be entirely sure of that either.

What you can be sure of is that something down the line—between meeting Sasha in that class on Milton and squeezing her hand as the plane landed and the dozens of bottles of champagne you’ve consumed over the last weeks—something led you to this moment, standing in this kitchen somewhere outside Verona with your bare feet against the hot clay tiles, staring at the sharp angle of an unfamiliar, tanned collarbone. 

He’s coated in linen: a half-unbuttoned, burnt-orange drape of a shirt is rolled carefully up around strong forearms, and one large, boyish foot peeks out from his baggy jeans, propped up on its throne upon the opposite knee. A golden cross winks at you from his chest, nestled in the sparsest dusting of chest hair and dripping with the same peach juice that’s sliding down his Adam’s apple, from his strong chin, from the crooked smirk that’s pointed at you like a knife.

You recognize him before he speaks– this must be Eren. Sasha’s mentioned him enough times: the shock of rich, dark hair, the lakewater eyes, the way he leans back in his chair like a king and cocks his head like a trickster. This is Eren, and you tell him so.

“Guilty.” The sun compliments everything about him but his smile, a little too sharp with too much danger behind it. It’s a smile made for moonlight. “And you are?”

A memory surfaces in your mind, a cautionary childhood tale. “You can never let a fairy know your name,” Emma tells you, graver than death, crouched in the bushes beside you, “or they steal you away, and you can never be human again.”

“Well?” Eren says expectantly, head leaning even further to the left. He’s studying you, the baggy linen pants pooling around your toes and ruby-studded ears poking out of a fray of frazzled bedhead. You feel naked, feel a wild urge come over you and wonder how his eyes would glow at you if you were. You shiver, goosebumps raising in the stuffy summer air. When his lips twitch, you realize Eren’s noticed; you feel feverish.

You mumble your name at him, as if it’s something given unwillingly. Waking the espresso machine seems like the right thing to do with your hands, and you’re grateful for the noisy mechanical sounds it provides to shatter the still morning. You bring an absentminded hand to rub over the tip of your ear, feel if it’s grown to a point yet.

“We haven’t met, have we? I feel like if we had, I’d remember.”

God, you wish he’d stop talking.

“Well, do you go to Oxford?”

“Sometimes.” You roll your eyes, and he laughs, little bells and glass shattering. “I’ve been abroad for the last semester. I flew in from Egypt a couple of weeks ago.”

“Hm,” you hum to yourself, choosing a small red cup for your morning coffee. You aren’t sure what to say; the most exotic place you’ve ever visited was a seaside town three hours from your house.

You can hear his newspaper crinkling; the sound of him putting it down betrays his arrival behind you, but you still don’t expect the puff of warm breath over your shoulder. He comes into your space like he belongs there, like there’s never been a door that wasn’t held open for him to stride through. “Are you still asleep?”

Before you can answer, you hear a shriek from down the hallway, and you breathe a little sigh of relief, thanking whatever ancient gods that belong to the hills you’re in for the interruption. Venus springs to mind, and you swat her and her entourage of Graces away from you with a huff.

“You absolute asshole!” Historia comes barreling into the kitchen, dramatic, fluffy dressing robe spilling out into the unrelenting summer heat behind her. You realize that in the three weeks you’ve spent with her, you haven’t once seen her in the actual kitchen, watching the way the breakfast chef’s eyes widen at the sight of her as he hurries by with an armful of eggs.

“Stori!” Eren elegantly catches her best attempt at a tackle with the good grace you assume he does everything with, breaking out into a warm peal of laughter. “Since when do you not love a surprise?”

“Since always.” Historia’s face is scrunched up where she’s buried it into the crook of his neck, forehead red with the effort of squeezing Eren as hard as she can. “You could have at least called, I mean– ugh, I didn’t even get the chance to get your favorite–”

“Relax.” Eren urges her, rubbing soothing circles into the small of her back. He carries them both over to his seat, plopping down and curling her up in his lap like a child. Eren holds his cup of coffee to her lips temptingly, and Historia shoves it away with another scowl. You hide your giggle at her antics behind your espresso, not wanting to remind them of your presence, but enjoying the show all the same. “Brat.”

“Ow,” Historia hisses when he pinches her thigh, expression lightening when she catches sight of something on the wall. “I always forget how pretty the kitchen is here.”

“Where’s your brother?”

“Still getting dressed.” Historia’s blue eyes turn to the frescoed ceiling with an irritated huff. “You know he can’t stand to be seen in his pajamas.”

“That’s because he doesn’t wear any,” Eren remarks with an eye roll of his own. “You could have called to let me know we’d adopted such a pretty houseguest for the summer.”

Your face burns with acknowledgement, and you can feel your toes curling into the clay bricks of the floor hard enough to scrape the tip of your pinky. Eren seems satisfied at your bewilderment, letting his eyes drag over your hardly-covered chest lazy as a wandering mouth.

“Why would anyone wear pajamas under those heavy duvets? It’s almost thirty-two degrees out.” Armin breezes in in a feigned display of nonchalance, but you can see the way his eyes skim over Eren like a ship narrowly avoiding an iceberg. The Titanic was inevitable, and so is the gravity of Eren sitting golden on the other side of the room.

“You look good, Min.” Eren squints his eyes at Armin’s shirt, nearly identical to his own. “Where’d you get that?”

“You left it last summer,” Historia hums, tucking her head under Eren’s chin and nuzzling into his chest more completely. Armin makes a soft snort of irritation, grabbing for a fig in the bowl of fruit on the counter and beginning to rummage through the cabinet drawers.

“Do you want half a fig?” Armin’s cool gaze slides to you, and you shake your head, feeling a little underwater as two lifelong relationships unfurl in front of you, your mind still fuzzy from last night’s wine. “Historia?”

Historia says no as Eren says yes, and Armin makes his sound of annoyance again before continuing his rummaging, muttering about the inconvenience of finding a knife.

“Do my eyes deceive me?” Sasha, still disheveled with sleep and grinning bright as Christmas morning, pops her head around the doorway. “Shouldn’t you be overseeing the construction of your pyramid?”

“I’m not dead, Sasha,” Eren laughs—it really is distracting when he does that—pulling Sasha onto his other knee, ignoring Historia’s grumbles of discontent. The NYU Men’s Lacrosse t-shirt that Sasha cropped too short rides up, exposing the swell of her breast, but no one acknowledges it. Eren’s hand tucks in snugly around the curve of her hip, easy and natural, and you wonder if his fingers have ever itched to travel up under the hem of her tiny sleep shorts.

“Not dead yet.” Historia glares up at him venomously, reluctantly making room for Sasha to pile onto Eren and smother his face with kisses. Sasha pulls away from him suddenly and frowns.

“Peaches?”

“Where are the knives in this fucking kitchen?” Armin’s growl of frustration is loud enough to make you jump, and Sasha giggles at you.

“Jesus, Armin, you’re going to kill her, and it’s not even noon.” Sasha slips off of Eren’s knee, practically bouncing over to where Armin’s viciously jiggling a locked drawer. She slides open the drawer next to him and draws a long, wide knife from it, passing it to him with the blade extended and her eyes on you. “Did you meet Eren?”

“Careful of his hand!” Historia squeals, shooting an arm out towards Armin as if she can deflect the tip of the blade from across the room.

“It’s fine, Stor.” Armin’s voice floats across his nearly-bare shoulder, mild and careless as it grazes the collar of the too-big button down sliding off of his slim frame.

“That knife’s a little big for a fig, Sasha.” Eren stands, placing Historia on the table and pinching her cheek when she scowls at him.

“There’s no such thing as a too-big knife– listen to me. Did you meet Eren?” Sasha’s fingers are gripping into the flesh of your arm– hard. Your eyes widen in surprise at the urgency in her eyes, like if you haven’t been introduced to Eren, there’s grave danger afoot.

“We met.” It happens quickly and easily, the slide of his heavy arm around your shoulders. You can feel your body tense under the lazy weight of him, big hand wrapped around you like it belongs there. “I don’t think she’s particularly fond of me.”

Eren shoots you a wink that you’re sure is intended to mean something, a reference to an inside joke that you have yet to establish, maybe.

“I didn’t say that,” you say in your own defense, wanting to yank Sasha to the side and demand to know why she hadn’t warned you that Cupid himself was going to greet you in the kitchen this morning. Armin slices the fig neatly in half, a strangely practiced motion performed by small, soft hands. He offers it to you again insistently, and frowns when you shake your head.

“I said I wanted it, ‘Min,” Eren says with a hint of red to his words, snatching the halved fig from Armin’s hand and biting into it voraciously, little pieces of the flesh spattered around the corner of his mouth.

“You’re such a brute,” Armin scoffs, picking the meat of his half out gingerly with an oyster fork that you don’t remember him grabbing from the drawer.

“Why don’t you like Eren?” Sasha pouts at you, grabbing the hand that’s squashed between yours and Eren’s hips. Your palm feels hot against her fingers.

“I said I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t say much of anything, to be fair.” Eren’s got the fig pressed to his mouth, digging his teeth and tongue around in the husk of it obscenely enough to make your cheeks warm. Being so close to him is filthy, that cross around his neck is looking you straight in the eye to make sure you feel it. 

“Eren’s always a pest,” Historia provides from her perch on the kitchen table, picking at her perfectly manicured toenails, “why would she like him?”

“You like him plenty,” Armin says, not looking at her. It’s not the first time that’s been brought up, if Historia’s answering sneer is anything to go by.

“You’ll love him if you give him a chance.” Sasha smiles hopefully at you, nodding.

“Yeah,” Eren grins down at you, teeth colored with fig, “give me a chance.”

“Eren, you’re going to scare her off,” Armin says with a roll of his eyes, peering around Eren’s broad shoulders to look you up and down. The way his eyes drag over you makes you feel like there might be a stab wound somewhere on your person that you don’t know about yet, the adrenaline of the moment keeping you numb.

“Back off her, Eren,” Historia echoes, “she’s fun, I don’t want you to make her leave.”

“She’s not going to leave.” Eren looks directly at you as he says it, something in his smile growing imperceptibly darker. A dare. How much will you let me get away with?

You stare and stare at him, ignoring the continued bickering of Armin and Historia in the background. He’s golden and blood-red, oil smeared on his forehead and a crown of thorns nestled in his dark thatch of hair if you look close enough. If you’re not imagining it, his hand might be tightening around your shoulder, maybe he’ll leave a purple bruise on it.

“Of course not,” Sasha interrupts your thoughts, thumbing at your cheek affectionately, “she belongs here. With us.”

“She’s our little fairy,” Historia giggles dreamily, referencing the long-winded fairy tales you drunkenly make up every night, casting each other as heroines and knights and dragons.

“Right,” Eren agrees, not breaking your gaze, “our little fairy.”

The only thing that comes to mind is your childhood friend, Emma, looking on at you sadly with her muddy toes, watching the wings sprout from your back.

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

Days lug themselves by, barefooted and dragging their heels, and most of the time, even the monotonous rise and fall of the sun doesn’t help to differentiate one calendar block from the next. Like a bat, or maybe a slinky, silvery fish in an underwater cave, you rely on your other senses to track the passage of time.

For example, today, you know it’s a Wednesday because Maria, one of the three house chefs, brings fresh peaches up from the co-op down the hill every Wednesday. Sasha’s spent the last thirty minutes hand feeding you peach flesh as you lounge by the pool, insisting that you suck her fingers clean of juice and feeding you little sips of champagne each time you sober up enough to tell her that that’s lewd. Historia swats at you and giggles at the smacking and slurping sounds you make around Sasha’s fingers, oiled-up palm landing on oiled-up hip with a wet slap; Armin admonishes her quietly from his seat beside her, insisting the girlish noises emanating from the three of you are tearing him from his book. You can feel Eren watching, too– that’s all, though. Always just watching.

You wonder how opaque the lenses of Armin’s sunglasses are, perched haphazardly on your nose, wonder if they’re doing a good job of masking the slow lick of your gaze over Eren’s skin, wonder if you care. Maybe the champagne is finally getting to your head.

“We should go in soon,” Historia sighs, a hand tossed across her forehead. She’s a little movie star, built for the golden age. “It’s so hot.”

“It’s always this hot,” Sasha argues, and you can practically hear the furrow in her brow, not willing to take your eyes off of the trickle of sweat running down Eren’s chest to see it for yourself. You’re really getting the hang of it, this opposite-sense thing. Everything’s upside down here in the heat.

“She’s getting hungry,” Armin supplies, wiping the sweat off his palms to reach up and turn the page of his novel. Brideshead Revisited. A little on the nose, isn’t it?

“I am not!” Historia hates when people point out her appetite, but not really. She kicks up a fuss because it’s “ladylike”, and she’s advised you to do the same.

“You are,” you sigh, really feeling the heat sink into you even with the heavy, lazy movement of lolling your head to face her, “you always get hungry around this time.”

“What time is it, then?”

You don’t reply– you don’t know the answer.

“I think we’re all hungry,” Eren, ever the peacemaker when he can find the time to be so, sits up, letting the shirt that’s been shading his face fall into his lap. Your eyes track its descent– even that seems slow. He says something to you, managing a crooked grin while he squints in the heat of the sun, but you don’t hear it.

“Huh?”

“Everyone except you, anyway,” he repeats himself, reaching over Sasha and smearing his thumb through the peach juice collected on your chin. Eren’s thumb disappears between his pink lips, and when he sucks on it with a satisfied hum, your jaw clenches hard enough to hurt.

“I guess it’s getting close to dinner,” Sasha says regretfully, picking her wristwatch, a priceless Braus family heirloom, up from a puddle of orange juice and tanning oil. “We should probably clean off.”

“I might even shower twice,” Armin rubs a hand over his belly with a grimace, “this tanning oil makes my skin greasy.”

“I feel disgusting,” Historia agrees, sliding red toes into her sandals and standing with a dramatic stretch.

“Filthy,” Eren murmurs in agreement. He’s still staring at you.

“I’ll be in soon. I’m so close to the color I wanted for today– I just need, like, ten more minutes.” You peel down the strip of bathing suit stretched over your hip, showing off the distinct mark of yesterday’s color and today’s tan.

“You’re crazy,” Sasha scoffs, throwing some designer sarong her mother lent her over her shoulder, “I’m melting.”

Armin and Historia pause their bickering over who gets to wear Armin’s Cucinelli belt to dinner—Armin wants it for his trousers, Historia for her maxi dress—just long enough to offer a momentary goodbye, breezing along into the house with Sasha. You settle back into your chair and take a deep breath, letting the sun sink into you just long enough to forget that you’re not alone.

“Open up.”

You’ve been enjoying this game of trading one sense for another, and you keep your eyes shut firmly, letting your jaw fall open and your tongue hang out. A piece of peach, fleshy and dripping with juice, finds its way onto your tongue, pinched too roughly between strong fingers. When you close your lips around the fruit, the fingers stay with it, frozen in their pinched position and forcing you to suck the peach from them, to swallow around them, to run your tongue along them and get as much of the meat as you can. When the fingers withdraw from your lips, you open your eyes and gasp quietly.

Eren’s leaning over you, a solar eclipse that smells like tan skin and sounds like Campari, and in the silhouette of the sunlight, you think he’s smiling.

“You’re still hungry,” he says, a question that’s left its punctuation mark behind. You think of Historia, of the improper shame of revealing your appetite. You dodge.

“I’m never hungry.”

“Never?” Eren crawls over you to kneel between your legs, propping one of your ankles up on his shoulder. The game you started is ripped out of your hands, chess pieces flying into the pool, scattering across the table, knocking over bottles and matchbooks. It’s so silent out here in the sun it hurts, and you almost miss the constant buzzing horseflies of early summer.

“Never.”

“If you’ve never been hungry,” Eren muses, tilting his head so that his cheekbone fits into the sensitive arch of your foot, reaching a hand down to splay it wide on your belly, “you’ve never been full.”

“How do you figure?” Your words come out throaty, waterlogged.

“Can’t have one without the other.” Eren shrugs, turning his head to the side. His lips brush against your heel, your Achilles’, the swirly seashell dangling from your anklet. You dig your teeth into your bottom lip, toes twitching behind his ear. “I don’t believe you, anyway.”

“No?” You try to tilt your head coyly, like your heart’s not clawing and scratching against your throat to get to him. Hungry, indeed.

“You wouldn’t stare like that if you didn’t want to.”

You’re taken aback, but not enough to fall out of the moment– Eren’s lips closing around the knob of your ankle slowly, like the pit of a fruit, make sure of that.

“Didn’t want to what?”

Eren’s hands meet the cushion on either side of your head hard enough to rattle the chair, his long, tanned body stretching over yours. He’s close enough to brush his nose against yours, but you can still see the hazy green of his eyes flicking here and there on your face: from your eyes to your lips to the beauty mark on your cheek. Your poolside lounge feels more like a butcher’s block under your taut spine.

Sasha’s told you about the wolves in these hills, that they howl murder at night, but they’re sleepy and indulgent in the heat of the sun. One of Eren’s canines catches the light and glints at you as he grins.

“Eat yourself sick.” He practically spits it into your mouth, one thigh pressed into where you’re sticky and sinful, and he chuckles under his breath when you shudder under him, feverish in the late-afternoon heat.

Before you can even think of biting back, Eren’s off of you, picking your sandals off of the ground and sliding them gently onto your feet, stopping to run his palm from your ankle to your kneecap with an appraising hum. 

“We should head inside,” he says evenly, offering a hand to pull you to your feet, “I’d hate for us to miss dinner.”

You don’t have anything to say back to him, letting him lace his fingers through yours like lines in a play, interspersing seamlessly with the summer scenery. Eren leads you through the kitchen, waits patiently for you to take your sandals off, and waves you on your way up the stairs, saying he needs a cigarette. As the distance between you grows, your mind grows clearer, and you turn on your heel, calling down to him from the top of the stairs.

“Eren? Eren? Where are you, Eren?”

“Call me something else,” Eren pokes his head around the corner, smoke pouring from the grin on his face, “whatever you want, really. Make your own name for me.”

“You stare at me, too,” you say, tearing through his impishness. Eren cocks his head, unperturbed, smile growing wide as he nods.

“I do.”

“So you’re…” You can’t bring yourself to say it, not where it might echo in the cavernous hallway, where it might take the form of a confession. You scamper down the stairs, nearly sliding on bare feet, almost crashing into Eren when he appears at the foot of the staircase, catching you with two broad palms on either side of your ribcage. You pluck the cigarette from his mouth, stick it between your own teeth, narrow your eyes accusingly, and whisper: “You’re hungry too.”

“For every man hath business and desire, Such it is.” Eren takes the cigarette back, pulling on it and making a clear show of trying to hide a smirk.

“Hamlet?”

“A woman with teeth and a brain,” Eren tilts his head at you, “aren’t you something?”

“Do you always quote Shakespeare when you want to fuck somebody?”

“Only when I want to fuck you.” Eren stubs the cigarette out on the ancient oak of the staircase railing, grins up at you brilliantly, smiles brighter when he notices how obviously flustered you are.

“I need to go take a shower,” you say hurriedly, choking on the remnants of your shame and your confidence as they burn out in your throat, making an attempt to back up the stairs away from him. Eren laughs at your attempted escape, catching you by the wrist and pulling you close to him, close enough to dizzy you on the tendrils of smoke still sticking to him. Your breath stills, your heart slows as Eren wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you together, skin on tacky skin.

“Oh, wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied?” Eren coos to you, mouth moving against your cheekbone. “C’mon, just one bite.”

“He that is proud eats up himself,” you hiss a quote back at him in response, ripping yourself from his grip and scrambling up the stairs, heart pounding and cheeks burning. You can hear a lovesick sigh follow you up to your room, and hope that the slam of the door behind you is enough to keep it from touching you.

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

The murky waters of your vision ripple out into clarity, and you’ve found yourself in a forest. You’ve been here before, you recognize the tall, thick trunks and the bed of fallen leaves under your feet. You’ve been coming here since you were a little girl, been wiggling your toes in the greenery since before you could remember. You never come alone.

It appears just as you remembered: a blinding glimmer of light, a flame for a head, and ribbonlike wisps of energy that beckon you like arms, like love. One step towards it, and it disappears, vanishing into nothing with an echo that might be laughter. You think it’s happy to see you.

When it reappears a few feet away, you take your first steps, sighing at the feeling of the wild enveloping you, of the prickling of your skin, kissed by the chill winding through the trees. You wish you could explore this place, so familiar and so strange all at once, but you know you have to keep moving, keep following the lights as they lead you deeper and deeper into the forest. They won’t hurt you; you aren’t sure why that’s true, aren’t sure why you keep moving. You just know better than to stop.

They lead you over a familiar path, winding past a creek, over a bed of flat stones with an ice-cold creek running over them. You never tire here, legs pumping and arms working to push yourself faster. You’ve never caught the lights, and you aren’t sure if you ever will, but again, you know better than to doubt. It feels like hours, feels like minutes, feels like purpose, chasing these lights through the forest, but suddenly, something’s new.

There’s a little chirping sound, almost conversational and too high-pitched for you to understand; you’re not even sure if you recognize the language. It ricochets around the bones in your body, touches something ancient in their marrow. You almost jerk your head to the right to find the source, but you resist, pushing ahead on your path as the lights lead you deeper. You get the feeling that you’ve gone off-script somewhere, that this is a part of the forest you haven’t seen before, but the warmth in your bones shoos your doubts away. You’ve never been this far, but it feels like home.

A growl curls around the shell of your ear, plants fear right in the center of your chest. Your eyes widen at the light before you before it disappears; you frown at the next one, not daring to speak but demanding an answer anyhow. The lights will save you, won’t they?

Shrieks from overhead, guttural, animalistic calls, howls and chatters of excitement; you never presumed to be alone in this forest, but you never presumed to be in danger, either. The lights urge you on, vanishing and regenerating at an alarming rate, your feet drumming against the forest floor faster and faster. A sliver of moonlight begins to glow from the trees a ways off, an indication that there’s a clearing ahead, and you shove the bile in your throat down, swing your arms faster, ignore the frantic fluttering of your pulse in time with the bestial chorus ringing clearer and louder from the trees with each passing second.

You do, against all odds, manage to launch yourself into the clearing, and the moment you feel the soft cushion of moss under your feet, as opposed to the branch-littered, crunchy path of the forest, you nearly stumble to your knees as your eyes adjust to the sudden brightness of the clearing. The grumblings of the woodland entities have quieted, an almost awestruck silence settling in the open space around you.

“There you are.”

Your head snaps up comically fast– “You?”

“Me,” Eren says, that razor-sharp, moonlight smile lighting up his face. He looks…right here, as if the forest is extending a sense of belonging, as if he’s been here longer than the ancient trees themselves. Even the little crown nestled atop his head is fitting: a tangle of brambles and thorns and leaves tucked into his dark locks. Is that a throne under him, that mass of branches and leaves and some silvery metal you can’t place?

His eyes glow in the starlight, illuminated with a certain hunger that you can feel reverberating through your bones. It should be frightening, but it’s enticing. You feel welcome.

“What are you doing here?” Your tongue is slower on the uptake than your mind, and you can feel the suspicious expression folding your facial features, hiding the thrum of anticipation the sight of him brings.

Eren cocks his head pityingly, smiling at you in a way that would seem predatory if it wasn’t so entirely disarming, so entirely inviting. Your feet are bringing you closer before he even speaks— you know why you’re here before he says it.

“I’ve been waiting so long,” Eren beckons you onto his lap, firmly grabbing your shoulder and silently demanding you straddle him when you try to turn away from him, “you’re beautiful, so…alive here.”

He takes a bit of your hair between your fingers and rubs it, satisfaction flickering over his face. It’s then that you realize how little fabric covers you; really, it’s only a thin, wispy excuse of a dress, hanging in tatters around your body and leaving your skin free for the taking. Taking notice of your dress leads you to take notice of another pressing matter: Eren’s naked beneath you.

“Where are we?”

“Does it matter?” Eren reaches up to toy with your hair again, smiling gently. He tilts his head up, asking you for something you can’t identify, but that you already know you’re willing to give. Your soul, maybe.

Your lips meet his in a tentative brush, a motion that feels shy, but practiced. It’s a reflex, an instinct, to kiss him this way. Eren groans gutturally against your mouth, pressing into you deeper, digging his fingertips into your bare skin. The chorus of inhuman chatter erupts around you both again, and you jump, almost pushing away from him before he stops you with a firm hand against the small of your back.

“Sh,” he whispers, nipping at your chin, “don’t pay them any mind. You’re with me, remember?”

It’s difficult at first with the ever-growing hum of life around you, but it grows increasingly easier to melt into him, to lose yourself in the rhythm of him. He’s thick and hard underneath you, pressed right where you’re already slick and ready for him, and he’s got a tight grip on your hips, working you against him to make sure you feel it and oh– do you feel it.

A debauched gasp pours from your mouth to his; Eren sinks sharp teeth into your bottom lip with a grunt of approval, pulls you up to situate you over his twitching cock. You can feel the lecherous eyes of the woodland creatures, spirits, monsters, whatever they may be around you, looking in on the sticky, tangible arousal building between your bodies. The steady glow of Eren’s eyes, the prick of the thorns in his hair under your fingertips, the insistent weight of him pressing against the wet heat of you: all of it keeps you grounded, keeps your hips rolling into Eren like your life depends on it, like it’s what you were born to do.

“Are you ready?” Eren murmurs, quiet as the grave, stilling your hips and lifting you.

“I’m not sure, I–”

“I’ve been waiting so long,” Eren interrupts, “so long for you– you’re ready for me, I know you are.”

And with that, he’s sliding you down onto his cock, splitting you open, dropping your jaw. The cacophony from the forest grows deafening, but the glowing eyes in the brush streak and blur as your eyes flutter closed, a stuttered moan falling from your lips.

“Oh–”

“Knew you were ready,” Eren sinks his teeth into your collarbone, lets you wiggle and roll your hips until he’s situated comfortably inside of you. “You were born for this. For me.”

You can’t even bring yourself to disagree, to refute, to question. It’s godly, the way he fills you, the twinge of pain in the pit of your belly that doesn’t waver, no matter which way you squirm. The longer you sit, perched upon him– you feel something akin to divinity, akin to prophecy ringing through your bones. You were born for this.

“Eren…” It’s more of a sigh than anything, a confession and an admittance of guilt, a repentance. He likes the way it tastes, you can tell by the way his hands grip you harder, roll you along his cock faster with an urgency that betrays his calm, adoring gaze. He’s sinking his claws into you, bit by bit, and you’re better for it. You belong here, with the night on your skin and Eren nestled inside of you.

“Don’t ever leave,” Eren smiles gently, as if it’s a choice, “stay with me forever.”

The pleasure’s beginning to peak in your stomach, the howls swirling in the air around you start to feel more like a blanket, the moonlight like a crown. His hands are so hot they almost burn, his tongue licking up your neck feels like a baptism. Your back is arching, your blood is rushing, the stars are speaking to you– what are they saying?

Your fingernails have left angry indents in your throat where you’ve clutched into the skin in a desperate attempt to regain your breath, shooting up out of your slumber with a vicious jolt. Your head spins with the sudden movement, the antique furnishings of the room bleeding into candlelit blurs as you heave for breath.

“Sleeping?”

You nearly jump out of your skin at the gravel of Eren’s voice, having believed yourself to be alone. Some instinctual part of your mind almost remembers falling asleep on the loveseat in the glass-enclosed sunroom earlier, one too many martinis to thank for that, but you can worry about that later– Eren’s your priority now, shirtless and leaned against the doorframe with one eyebrow raised and a very telling flush rising to his cheeks. The chilly wetness between your legs brings your dream to the forefront of your mind. Had he heard, somehow?

“What are you doing down here?” You do your best to narrow your eyes into something convincing enough to pass for annoyance, unsure if you’ve managed to pull it off with the rapid rise and fall of your chest.

“Water,” Eren says simply, raising a glass you hadn’t noticed he was holding, “but it seems like you might need it more than I do.”

“I don’t–” He ignores you, crossing the room to hand you the ornate glass. Your throat is dry, and so you drink, eyeing him suspiciously as you sip.

“Dreaming?” The corner of his mouth twitches almost imperceptibly.

“Nightmare.” You push yourself up to sit, crossing your arms defensively over your chest. “How’d you know?”

A long pause, Eren’s eyes dragging over you slowly, your skin burning. “You were squirming.”

“It was disturbing,” you say truthfully, looking over your shoulder and half-expecting to see some horrible monster leering at you from the doorway, salivating over you and Eren, “but I’ve had this same dream since I was a kid. Part of it, anyway.”

“Need company?”

“No,” you say quickly, shaken by the dream and how low Eren’s pajama pants hang on his hips, “I just need to get to my real bed. I’m sure sleeping outside had something to do with it.”

“That’s not true.” Eren’s scooping you up into his arms before you can open your mouth to argue, as if you even would. This isn’t unusual for him; you’ve grown used to his tendency to touch you, to hold you close to his chest as though you belong there. It echoes in your head, you were born for this. A shudder wracks through your body. “Cold?”

“Mhm,” you hum, not trusting your own voice. Eren nuzzles your head deeper into his shoulder, lets you get a noseful of the scent of him. Dewdrops, mankind, a rotting forest floor. It gives you a disconcerting sense of deja vu.

“Sleeping outside is good for you,” Eren goes on, scaling the stairs with impossible ease, “my mom used to tell me that.”

“Is that so?” It brings a sleepy little smile to your face, despite yourself: the image of a messy-haired, fussy baby Eren, curled up in his mother’s lap and looking up at the night sky.

“Sure.” You can hear the nostalgia in his voice. “The stars can talk to you that way, through your dreams. They show you where you’re supposed to go.”

Your blood runs cold at that– does he know? How could he? He’s a man, not a mind-reader, not a mystic. Right? You let him carry you to your door in silence, the only noise being the padding of his bare feet down the Turkish carpet runner in the hall. When he gets to your door, Eren finally starts to move to let you down, and your mouth moves without your permission, voice small and echoing in the still nighttime air.

“Eren?”

He freezes, muscles locking you in place against his chest. “Yeah?”

“Was I talking in my sleep?”

Eren settles you on your feet before answering, leaving one lingering hand on your hip and bringing the other up to brush at your cheek. Your eye must have been watering– his thumb catches a stray tear. His smile is a little too sharp when he answers.

“No, why?”

“Just wondering.” Relief courses through your body, but your muscles stay taut under his touch.

“Okay,” Eren looks you up and down one more time, as if he’s making sure you’re all there, “goodnight, then. I hope your dreams get better.”

When he turns to go, the broad silhouette of him growing darker as he retreats, you remember something fragile underneath the floorboards.

“Wait, Eren! You forgot your water.”

“My what?” When he turns to face you, he’s still grinning– baring his teeth, more like. You think you’re imagining the glow in his eyes, too fresh from that dream.

“Your water. I think I have a cup in my room if you need it.”

“Oh.” Eren waves a hand nonchalantly through the air, catching a stray stream of moonlight. You can see the dust particles dancing around his hand, enchanted by his movement. “Wasn’t thirsty."

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

It’s a slinky, dazzling dress; Elie Saab, Spring 2005, maybe? 2006? Sasha had lent it to you, insisted upon you taking it, really. It’s got to be worth at least your years’ rent payment, dripping with Swarovski and cut low and square across your chest, and easily the most decadent thing you’ve ever worn but– it’s family dinner night. No expense is spared.

Historia sits across from you, reaching one dainty hand out for Armin’s negroni, nearly dipping the massive drop-pearl charm on her bracelet into the first course: a cold, cucumber soup. Armin nudges her meaningfully, scowling and handing his glass to her, glancing apologetically at the stiff-backed butler across the room, who wasn’t looking anyway. Sasha’s at the head of the table, working on Historia’s serving of the cucumber soup, dunking focaccia bread into it in a voracious manner that you’re sure wasn’t outlined in the etiquette courses she’d endured as a child. And he’s next to you, naturally.

His dinner jacket looks out of place on him, oddly enough: angular and overly formal, as well-fitting as it is. You wish it was a little greener, a little more playful, something to match the Eren you’ve gotten to know under all the glitz and glamour. It’s too human for him, really, but that thought makes you shudder faster than you can shove it to the side.

“Wasn’t that the girl from Luxembourg?” Sasha asks through a giggle, finally leaning back to allow the butler to collect the remnants of her first course. Historia frowns at her, gulps back nearly half of Armin’s cocktail.

“No, the girl from Luxembourg was a slut. He wouldn’t have touched her.”

Armin and Eren exchange a look that implies that, whoever the slut from Luxembourg might have been, she didn’t escape their clutches unscathed. Historia notices the guilty smile dimpling Eren’s cheek and smacks Armin in retaliation.

“Ouch, Stori!” Armin scowls right back at her; if you didn’t know about Armin’s father’s remarriage to Historia’s mother, you’d think they were actually related.

“She was a slut,” Historia sniffs, finishing the rest of Armin’s cocktail in a second swig.

“It was Eren’s idea– you’re always punishing me for what he does.” When the staff place the second course, some sort of ceviche, in front of him, Armin crosses his arms over his chest and looks away like a huffy child. Sasha laughs and swats at his shoulder.

“Don’t pretend you don’t have your own hand in things. You can’t blame everything on Eren.”

“Maybe he can,” you shrug, the champagne going to your head. You’re feeling impish, feeling like one of them. Wildly, you reach a hand up to pinch at Eren’s cheek, smiling to yourself when you feel it turn warm under your fingers. “I mean, just look at him. He’s a devil.”

“Am not,” Eren scoffs, slapping a hand on your leg and shaking it playfully, “you weren’t there anyway. Min’s very convincing when he wants to be.”

“I am.” Armin smiles at you, head tilting intrepidly. “I can get Eren to share anything I want, I bet.”

It feels loaded, like a challenge, and Eren’s fingers tighten where he’s gripping your leg. When you chance a glance to the side at him, his jaw is tense, gaze focused on Armin like a threat, like a predator.

“Not anything,” Eren says, voice low and dangerous, more somber than you’ve ever heard him. Armin’s face falls for a millisecond, scrunching his nose at the murderous glint in Eren’s eyes, before he clenches his jaw and glances between the two of you with a haughty smirk.

“Est-ce vrai? En êtes-vous sûr? Tu l'as dit toi-même - je suis convaincant quand je veux quelque chose.”

“Ne commencez pas avec moi, pas pour ça.” It’s hardly louder than a murmur, but the threat carries all the same. You look to Sasha with widened eyes, hoping for a translation, but she’s chewing slowly on a bite of her ceviche, looking at Armin, Eren, then Armin again with a strange expression you’ve never seen before.

A heavy silence settles over the table, Eren’s fingertips leaving sore spots through your dress where they’re digging into your thigh, and Armin’s eyes dancing over Eren’s face, that same smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. Daring.

“You two are so in love,” Historia gripes with a roll of her eyes, smashing the carefully-cubed ceviche on her plate into a mush. You eye the smear of meat on her fork disdainfully and set down the bite you had been about to pop in your mouth, opting for your glass of bubbles instead.

The jokingly grumpy lilt of Historia’s comment seems to cut the thread of tension that had grown taut between the two men, as Armin allows Sasha to pull him away from Eren and back into his corner of the table with her and Historia. Their conversation drones on, the ethics of Eren and Armin’s tendency to tag-team women fading into the background as you wait for Eren’s hand to slip from your thigh. It doesn’t.

His thumb rubs idly over the slit of your dress, brushing it back and forth over your bare skin for just long enough to get you used to the pressure of his palm beaming heat through the thin fabric, get your guard down. And then his fingers slip underneath, grabbing into the hot flesh of your thigh.

You jump ever so slightly, flighty as a fawn, and Eren chuckles under his breath beside you when you choke a bit on your champagne. He’s cool—stoic, even—as he bashfully bats away the scandalous insinuations of Sasha and Historia’s storytelling, the lewd raise of Armin’s eyebrows at the mention of a certain leggy redhead in Prague. His hand stays steady, possessive and permanent on your leg. When Armin and Historia start arguing over yet another of Armin’s alleged missteps with one of her college friends, Eren takes the opening to lean into you, murmuring into your ear.

“What’s got you so jumpy?” His breath puffs out hot and sensual against the shell of your ear, and you can feel your earring lifting with the movement of his lips. He’s so close.

“Not jumpy,” you answer under your breath, trying to keep your composure.

“Hm,” Eren hums, leaning back just enough to study your profile, “wasn’t sure if you’d dozed off, started dreaming again.”

Your head whips towards him in what is surely an uncouth accusation of insinuation, borne of shock, but luckily, Armin’s too busy being hand-fed ceviche by Sasha and scolded by Historia to notice. Other than his eyes, Eren’s stiller than death, watching over the antics with the littlest smirk pulling at the corner of his lips. His eyes, though, flick down to you, glinting like a dare.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means something?” It’s a challenge, and you realize too late that the rope around your ankle has cinched, and you’re caught in his trap.

“No,” you say, hoping for more conviction in your voice, but it comes out as a breathy whisper. The corner of Eren’s mouth twitches, and it pulls an irritated huff from you.

“Tell me about your dream. The one that woke you up the other night.”

“Tell you– w-what? Here?”

“Yes, here,” Eren repeats you, quiet and calm, keeping one eye on your bickering friends to ensure you’re kept all to himself, “unless it’s something you can’t share.”

The blanching of your face tells him everything he needs to know, and that sickening admission almost overshadows the fact that he knows. He undeniably knows, now; maybe not the specifics, but enough to know that you had woken up sticky and gasping after a sinful dream. Maybe he even knows it was about him. 

You’ve given up on trying to understand the otherworldly elements of Eren; the way he seems to appear at inopportune moments and know what you’re thinking at every turn, but this is too much. You quickly realize that while you’re not sober, you’re certainly not drunk enough to deal with him, and you finish your glass of champagne in a single gulp.

“You’re one to talk about sharing,” you hiss at him, trying to will away the goosebumps prickling your arms as his fingers inch higher, skating along soft skin. Eren’s demeanor falters, if only for a moment– he looks frustrated.

“Didn’t you hear me?” Eren leans into you, brows furrowing. “I don’t share just anything, and especially not just because ‘Min wants a taste.”

“Am I yours to share?” That heavy swig of champagne has gone straight to your head it seems, as you turn your face up to him defiantly, finally saying the quiet part out loud. The weight falls off your shoulders like a head, and you can almost feel the itch of the guillotine at your neck as the words leave your mouth. Eren, ever the gentle executioner, only lets the calm fascination return to his face, brings his fingers further up your thigh.

“Tell me about your dream, hm? They’re not listening, it’s just you and me.”

He’s only inches away from where you’re already beginning to grow hot and wet– he hasn’t even done anything, and you want to chastise yourself over the undeniable need beginning to bubble inside you. Eren’s smiling so sweetly, as if he’s lulling you into a sense of complacency, and your tongue hangs heavy in your mouth, eager to spill your secrets.

“I…I’m scared.”

Eren’s eyebrows raise and his smile grows a bit toothier, disbelief written plain on his face. “Of me?”

“Sometimes,” you say, small and honest as the grave, “it’s like you aren’t real.”

“I’m very real,” Eren insists, two fingers pressing against the damp silk of your panties, his eyes lighting up when you stifle a gasp, “doesn’t that feel real?”

“Wait–”

“The dream,” Eren says again, increasing the pressure of his fingers, “were you scared of me there, too?”

“Yes,” you whisper, ashamed and painfully cognizant of the feel of him between your legs, “I was in a forest, running after the little lights, they– I’ve seen them for a long time.”

“Since you were a child,” Eren repeats your confession from the other night. He’s reading you, you realize, not like a book, but like a poem. You couldn’t put the difference into words if you had to, but there’s a certain melody to the flickering of his gaze over your hot face.

“They’ve never led me anywhere before,” your words hitch in your throat, stopped dead when Eren’s fingers start rubbing circles over your swollen clit. The silk is thin and soaked, and his fingers slide over you in a way that feels god-given. Your jaw hangs ever-so-slightly, the butlers coming to change the course. You wait for Eren to slip his hand out from under your dress, fearful of the staff watching as he toys with you, but he only nods encouragingly.

“Keep going.”

“Um,” you stammer, swallowing thickly and glancing at the plate of bleeding, rare filet in front of you, “they took me to a clearing in the forest. There were creatures, ones I’ve never seen before.”

“Did they hurt you? Any of them?” A furrow appears between his eyebrows, deep and concerned. Some small part of your brain, muted since Eren’s hand slid beneath your dress, worries itself with why Eren seems so disquieted with your dream– it’s not like you actually could have been hurt, it was only a dream. Wasn’t it?

“No, they stayed away. They just made a lot of noise, but they all got quiet when…”

A knowing smirk. “When?”

“When I saw you.”

Eren pats your thighs gently, urging them apart; he looks relieved, exhilarated, unreal. If you didn’t know better, you’d think his eyes were glowing in the candlelight. Armin, Historia, and Sasha’s clamor across the table grows louder with each passing second, but as soon as you begin to wonder if you should be doing a better job of hiding what’s very clearly happening under the slit of your dress, Eren’s fingers have wiggled their way beneath the fabric of your silk thong. Your teeth dig into your bottom lip, eyes widening.

“I was glad to see you,” Eren says quietly, “in the dream, I mean.”

“You said you’d been waiting for me,” you whisper, keeping your voice low to hide the whine scratching at the back of your throat, “that you’d been waiting a long time.”

“I bet I was,” Eren hums thoughtfully, grinning viciously when he sinks a finger into you, clearly relishing the way your fingernails tighten into his wrist. “I never lie.”

“Even in a dream?” You feel fuzzy and warm, blinking moony, worried eyes up at him. Eren shakes his head in confirmation, curling his finger and making your thighs clench. “You put me in your lap, and–and, you had a crown. It was nighttime, I think, and the moon was really bright. You were inside me.”

Eren slides another finger in to match the first, and you’re hardly able to stifle a moan when it comes fluttering through your teeth, a breeze of a sound compared to what you’re struggling to keep captive in your chest. Eren’s other hand reaches forward to grab a small piece of the carved steak, brings the meat up to your mouth and brushes it over your lips.

“Eat,” Eren instructs, smiling placidly as you mindlessly obey, biting into the red meat, “but keep telling me.”

He waits patiently for you to chew around the bite of steak he’s offered you, eyes searching you for something– what it is, you can’t be sure. Your mind is wobbling around the flashes of memory of your dream, distracted every few steps by an overwhelming rush of pleasure from between your legs, Eren’s fingers curling incessantly against your walls. You swallow, never taking your eyes off of him.

“You fucked me.” The confession is breathless when it leaves you, and even through the haze of what you pray isn’t a rapidly-approaching orgasm, you don’t miss the way Eren’s shoulders stiffen, the way his eyes flash. 

“Did I fuck you, or did you fuck me?” Eren murmurs back to you, mischief in his eyes and a tense gravel to his voice. “You said you were in my lap, after all.”

“I—oh, god—I don’t know,” you’re barely able to keep your voice low, a little whimper interrupting you, “Eren–”

“Keep going, it’s okay,” Eren’s fingers don’t slow– in fact, they begin to move more harshly, “you’re safe with me, you know that. I showed you in the forest, didn’t I?”

“Mhm.” You can’t stop your forehead from falling onto his shoulder, teeth digging into your lip so hard you aren’t sure if that coppery taste is from the steak, or your own blood. The conversation in the room, despite being made by only three people, feels like a deafening rush in your ears. 

The realization hits home that Eren’s going to make you cum all over his fingers in front of your friends, the staff, and your dinner, and he’s going to wrench it out of you in a matter of seconds, if the tightening of your gut is anything to go by.

“What else?” Eren practically growls in your ear, low and hoarse. “Is there anything else?”

“You asked me– fuck, you asked me something.” Your hips are canting forward into his palm, your face tacky and warm thinking about the couture fabric under you, now drenched in your cum and sweat. “Eren, you have to slow down, please–”

He’s merciless, pumping his fingers into you ceaselessly, rendering you a lost cause. “What did I ask you?”

“You asked—oh, my god—asked if I, if I would stay with you forever.”

“What was your answer?”

You can’t respond, not with the way you’ve stopped breathing to swallow down the debauched moan bubbling in your chest. Your entire body tenses, strung tight as a bow around Eren’s fingers as the knot in your stomach unravels, cool, inevitable release finally crashing over you. Eren works you through it, murmuring little hushes into your hairline, and placing a comforting hand over your fingers that are digging into his wrist, smiling against your forehead as you slide your hips back and forth over his hand.

You manage to pull the whole thing off impressively subdued, no more than a tinny whimper leaving your lips, only to be absorbed by the sleeve of Eren’s dinner jacket. When you dare to sit up, to meet Eren’s eyes, he’s still looking at you expectantly, as if that wasn’t enough.

“I can’t believe you just did that,” you whisper, waiting for Historia to chastise you, or Armin to make a lewd comment. The three of them are still arguing, Sasha stealing bites from Armin’s plate each time he turns to snap at Historia, who’s now sitting amongst a crowd of empty crystal glasses.

“What was your answer?” Eren says again, pulling his fingers from you and smirking at the glisten that stretches down into his palm.

“I woke up,” you say with shaky conviction, trying to glare at him.

“Are you still scared of me?” Eren asks innocently, picking up a piece of his steak with his hand and feeding it to you again. Your cum mixes in with the flavor of the steak, gives it a certain tang and salinity that makes your heart beat faster, even though you’ve just floated back down to consciousness.

“I– I don’t think so, but…” you trail off, looking down at the plate. Eren brings another piece to your lips, letting you bite half and giving the rest to himself, not missing the opportunity to suck on the tips of his fingers. Your thighs press together when his eyes flutter shut, knowing what he’s tasting and watching him revel in it.

“But what?”

“I don’t think I understand you,” you confess breathlessly, “I think that’s what scares me. I spend all day looking at you, and I never feel closer to understanding you, to really touching you. It’s like you’re not…” you trail off in search of the right word.

“Real?” Eren cocks an eyebrow at you.

“Human,” you say without entirely meaning to, widening your eyes at him in apology. “I’m sorry, not in a bad way necessarily, but– you feel…like you’re above me. In a sense.”

“Above you?” Eren frowns, forgetting his dinner entirely and looking straight at you with rejection written all over his face, wrinkles you want to smoothe over with your thumb.

“I just…” you sigh, finding it harder to meet his gaze by the second, “I don’t understand what you want with me.”

“Still?” Eren tilts his head. “Even after that?”

“The dream?” You nearly chuckle in exasperation. “It was just a dream, that’s all.”

Eren frowns a little, reaches for your glass of champagne– oh, god, when had that been refilled?– and hands it to you. He watches you take one sip, and then another, that concentrated pull of his eyebrows never ceasing until you reach a shaky hand out for your fork, beginning to feed yourself small bites of steak. His perplexed expression ripples out into one of contentedness, smiling gently as he watches you take care of yourself.

“All days are nights to see till I see thee, and nights bright days when dreams do show me thee,” Eren finally says, looking at you very much like you’re supposed to be parsing something out from his quote.

“On to the sonnets now, are we?” You cock a playful eyebrow at him, despite your tired, slouching posture and your repeated attempts to keep your guard up. Eren grins mischievously, leaning in as if he means to press the tip of his nose to yours.

“I know no ways to mince it in love, but directly to say–”

“If it be love indeed, tell me how much?” You’re quicker than him on this one, a vicious little smirk cutting across your face when you manage to cut him off. Eren’s eyebrows raise, impressed, but you don’t keep him down for long.

“There’s beggary in love that can be reckoned,” Eren finally says, twirling the ring on your pinky absentmindedly. You don’t even remember when he laid his hand atop yours, but it feels heavy and comforting, and so you let it lie there, just for the time being.

Your post-orgasm exhaustion hits you like a train, the temptation to slump against Eren’s shoulder winning out over your propriety. You’ll sit back up by the fourth course, you tell yourself, nibbling on a large piece of parsley that had come as a garnish on your plate. Eren doesn’t seem to mind the weight of your fuzzy head nodded into the cotton of his shoulder; in fact, he seems to adjust himself so you can nuzzle closer, eyes blinking owlishly as you reach for your glass of bubbles. You’re teetering dangerously close to the edge of unconsciousness, and you almost wouldn’t care, until something catches your eye.

Over the rim of your glass, Historia is staring at you. It’s not a look of admonishment, but more…caution? Concern? Pity? All you can discern for certain is that Historia must have seen everything Eren did to you, everything he’s still doing to you, taking a caviar bump off the back of his hand and laughing at Armin, shoulder shaking under your cheek. Historia’s brows furrow at you, her bottom lip wavering slightly.

You sit up suddenly, ignoring the way the room spins with the speed of your action. Eren turns his head to you, surprised, only to follow your gaze across the table to Historia. You’re trying to keep from looking at him, but you can’t help yourself, watching his expression crumple into something stern and disparaging.

Historia withers for only a moment, before narrowing her eyes at him threateningly. Eren squeezes his hand around yours. Sasha shoves Historia admonishingly for not listening to her joke. Armin’s eyes focus in on where your fingers grip your champagne flute hard enough to turn white.

You think you see a few pairs of familiar, glowing eyes in the bushes outside, peering in on the scene at the table. You think you need to go to bed.

[writers-potion]

Do you have any tips on how to name a story/book? Bc I’m really struggling to come up with something good

Book Title Ideas!!

Fantasy Book Titles

"The Chronicles of Eldoria"

"Realm of the Shadow King"

"Echoes of the Lost Kingdom"

"The Crystal Throne"

"Legends of the Eternal Dragon"

"The Hitman's Apprentice"

"Sorcery of the Silver Moon"

"Beyond the Enchanted Forest"

"Tales of the Arcane Isles"

"The Last Guardian of Light"

"Crown of the Winter Realm"

"The Fireborn Chronicles"

"Winds of the Wandering Mage"

"Secrets of the Starlit Citadel"

"The Frost Queen's Curse"

"Whispers from the Ancient Tome"

"Sword of the Celestial Knight"

"The Phoenix's Prophecy"

"Echoes of Eternity"

"The Shadow's Embrace"

Romance Book Titles

"Swiping Right"

"Romantic Vibes Only"

"Coffee Shop Confessions"

"The Social Media Sweetheart"

"Chasing Sunsets"

"Love Notes and Lattes"

"Lost in Translation"

"The Dating App Dilemma"

"Love in the Fast Lane"

"City Lights and Romance"

"Instant Chemistry"

"The Modern Love Story"

"Love in the Clouds"

"Swipe Left for Heartache"

"Heartstrings and Harmony"

Mystery Novel Titles

"The Enigma of Midnight Manor"

"Murder on the Moors"

"Whispers in the Shadows"

"The Secret of Willow Creek"

"Death at Darkwater Bay"

"The Puzzle of the Poisoned Pen"

"Ghosts of Greyhill Mansion"

"Vanishing at Verona Villa"

"The Mystery of Moonstone Manor"

"Murder in the Misty Woods"

"The Case of the Crimson Cipher"

"The Secret of Sapphire Springs"

"The Silent Suspect"

"Echoes of the Old Mill"

"A Lethal Legacy"

"The Mystery of Midnight Hollow"

"Murder Among the Magnolias"

"The Cryptic Conundrum"

"The Haunting of Hawthorn House"

"Deadly Deception in Dahlia Valley"

YA Novel Titles

"The Echoes Between Us"

"Invisible Constellations"

"Catching Shadows"

"Threads of Serendipity"

"Bloom and Blossom"

"Growing Pains and Paper Planes"

"Dandelions in the Wind"

"Whispers in the Quiet Hours"

"Crossroads of Everlasting Echoes"

"Forgotten Names"

"The Color of Tomorrow"

"Redefining Normal"

"Footprints in the Sand"

"The Art of Glowing Up"

Paranormal Book Titles

"Mystic Bonds"

"Wolfblood Chronicles"

"Twilight's Enchantment"

"Soulbound Serenade"

"Nightfall Destiny"

"Nightshade Kisses"

"The Crimson Courtship"

"Bloodbound: A Tale of Moonlit Passion"

"Witchcraft and Whispers"

"Enchantress' Embrace"

"Heartbeat Hex"

"Welcome to the Coven of Desire"

"A Moonlit Affair"

If you like my blog, buy me a coffee☕ and find me on instagram! 📸

[allthegeopolitics]

Italy’s tax police said Saturday they had freed 33 Indian farm workers from “slave-like working conditions” in the northern province of Verona, while seizing almost half a million euros from the two alleged gangmasters. Police said the two alleged abusers, also Indian, persuaded their fellow nationals to come to Italy, paying €17,000 each to obtain seasonal working permits. The men were then obliged to work in farms for seven days a week and up to 10-12 hours a day, paid only four euros per hour, in conditions that the Italian police described as “slavery.” Some of the migrants were also asked to continue working for free to pay an additional 13,000 euros for a permanent work permit, which in reality they would have never obtained, the police added. The two alleged abusers are under investigation for crimes including enslavement and labour exploitation. The victims will be offered protection, job opportunities and legal residency papers.

Continue Reading.

[beardedmrbean]

Dozens of Indian farm labourers have been freed from slave-like working conditions in northern Italy, police have said.

The 33 workers were lured to Italy on the promise of jobs and a better future by two fellow Indian nationals, police say.

But instead, they were allegedly forced to work more than 10 hours a day, seven days a week for a tiny wage which was used to pay off debts to the alleged gangmasters.

The two men - who were found with approximately $545,300 (£420,000) - have been arrested.

The exploitation of farmhands – both Italian and migrant - in Italy is a well-known issue. Thousands of people work in fields, vineyards and greenhouses dotted across the country, often without contracts and in highly dangerous conditions.

Just last month, an Indian fruit picker died after his arm was severed in a work accident.

The man had allegedly been left on the side of the road following the accident, which also left his legs crushed.

His employer is now under investigation for criminal negligence and manslaughter.

The 33 men rescued by police in the Province of Verona had paid €17,000 ($18,554, £14,293) or 1.5m rupees each in return for seasonal work permits and jobs, according to a police statement sent to the BBC.

To raise the funds, police said, some pawned their family assets, while others borrowed the money from their employers.

But they were only paid €4 per hour for their 10 to 12-hour days, with that sum settling any debt owed.

Their passports were also confiscated as soon as they arrived in Italy and they were banned from leaving their "dilapidated" apartments.

"Every morning, the workers piled into vehicles covered in tarpaulin where they hid among boxes of vegetables until they reached the Verona countryside for work," the police statement said.

Searches of their apartments showed the workers were "forced to live in precarious and degrading conditions" and "in total violation of health and hygiene regulations", it added.

The rescued workers have received their passports back and are being helped by social services and a migration organisation to relocate to safer housing and working conditions.

The two alleged gangmasters are now facing charges related to exploitation and slavery, police told Reuters news agency.

Undocumented labourers across Italy are often subject to a system known as “caporalato” – a gangmaster system which sees middlemen illegally hiring labourers who are then forced to work for very low salaries. Even workers with regular papers are often paid well below the legal wage.

Almost a quarter of the agricultural workforce in Italy in 2018 was employed under this method, according to a study by the Italian National Institute of Statistics. The practice also affects workers in the service industry and building sectors.

It was outlawed in Italy in 2016 after an Italian woman died of a heart attack after working 12-hour shifts picking and sorting grapes, for which she was paid €27 a day.

[nogitsunbae]

Light in the Darkness by ArtisticRising on Ao3 ✨

This fic has everything: space, time, the nine circles of Hell, Aziraphale and Crowley being hopelessly in love, and Dr. Who references—all set to Hozier’s music.

I took a day off of work to read this. Like, it’s really that good. Dark, philosophical, funny, and for all of us who want to see Naga!Crowley 🐍

Typeset by yours truly, book cloth is the Verona line from Hollanders in emerald, cover designed mostly on canva other than using procreate to get the image of space behind the window. I used htvront’s heat transfer paper to print it out and then iron it onto the front and back. I also hate doing spines so it’s blank for now. The charm is literally just a bracelet repurposed ✨

Bound for personal use only, with author’s permission.

Light in the Darkness is free to read on Archive of Our Own. Keep fanfiction free!

[melis-writes]

What if Victoria and Sonny were secretly together when Vito & Giuseppe arrange her marriage to Michael… Sonny has to see the love of his life married to his little brother and Victoria has to marry her lover’s brother.

But they keep up their secret relationship, their secret affair with each other. They don’t care that she’s now married to Michael or that he’s married to Sandra.

They realize that now that she’s married that Sonny can finally knock her up and have babies together.

Niccolò & Verona? Sonny’s kids.

Vincent & James? Sonny’s kids.

Luciana & Angelo? Sonny’s kids.

and all other kids are his too.

Omg the eternal Victonny plotline from start to finish. 😅😅❤ Real definition of what Michael doesn’t know can’t hurt him! 👀😩

Double Matrimony.

“My daughter is an eligible bachelorette,” you mumble, repeating your father’s words. “You have no idea how many times I’ve heard him say that last week alone.”

Sonny chuckles, giving your side a squeeze as he pulls your naked body closer to his. “Ain’t that the farthest thing from the truth? I expected it though.”

“Did you?” You pout, snuggling up to Sonny; pressing your breasts against his chest.

“I can’t blame him too much, baby,” Sonny tilts your chin up to face him, caressing the outline of your jaw. “You’re young, his only daughter and nothin’ short of perfect,” his eyes wander over your lips, “you know that? Your family wouldn’t have to look far and wide to find someone for you.”

You shrug glumly, resting your head nuzzled in Sonny’s neck. “I couldn’t care less about any of that. Father should consider you if he wasn’t so judgmental and over cautious about everything…”

Sonny purses his lips, stroking your hair with his free hand. “I can understand why a powerful man like your father wouldn’t want you to be with an enforcer. That won’t ever change the fact that you’re mine, baby.”

“I only want to be yours,” you breathe against his skin. “Nothing else matters to me right now. This is what we have… What I want.”

“You’ll never not be mine, you got that?” Sonny smirks down at you. “So what, you’ll scrawl your name on some fancy piece of paper with the word ‘marriage’ on it. You think I care about that? How’s that toilet roll supposed to know how you truly feel? You’re mine, Vic.” Sonny chuckles against your lips as you can’t help but smile back shyly. “You’re always gonna be mine, and if your father wanted you for Fredo or somethin’, trust me, I think he would have let you know by now.”

“And Sandra?” You whisper back, playing with Sonny’s cross necklace. “Your relationship with her?”

“No relationship is worth mentionin’ if the ‘woman of your life’ wants you bedding someone else for her own convenience, right? Forget her,” Sonny’s hands begin to wander up your chest, fondling your breasts. “Forget ‘em all. I already did. You got a whole lot more to worry about right now, Miss Ferrari.”

“Oh yeah?” Blushing furiously, you place your hands over top of Sonny’s, beckoning him to keep touching you all over. “Indulge me, Mr. Corleone. I think you’re teasing me.”

“I’m getting your mind off things,” Sonny gives you a wet kiss over the lips. “Because I want you to worry about how sore that pussy’s going to be once I have my way with it again…” Sonny’s free hand grasps his erect cock as he begins to position himself over top of you. “You’ve always loved that…”

“Oh God, please,” you writhe underneath Sonny, spreading your legs as wide as you can obediently. “You have no idea.”

“Signature on no paper don’t mean nothing,” Sonny grunts, spreading open your pussy with his fingers and grinning. “Not when you got my seed drippin’ out of you every day. Not when this pussy is mine…”

~

While many of the crime families in New York have more than enough eligible bachelors for you to choose from, your father knows better.

Giuseppe knows you’d like to be with someone as involved in the family business as you; no more, no less, which effectively eliminates the possibility of your father ever considering enforcers, capos, and buttonmen.

A bachelor in the middle ranks without too much attention or influence on him would be best, but you could care less for Don Tattaglia and Barzini’s sons and Giuseppe knew Bruno Tattaglia had his eyes on you for a while.

Don Ferrari also has no intention on having you enter a soulless, loveless marriage; very keen on your body language and expressions towards the bachelor’s you’ve met so far.

Simply telling your father you’re seeing Sonny is not and can never be enough to convince your father. Giuseppe would never consider the possibility of having a target willingly placed on you for marrying an enforcer—Sonny’s position or being involved directly in the family business more than you bargained for.

On the other hand, you and Sonny gave up a long time ago attempting to come up with justifications and explanations for your relationship.

You don’t feel as if it’s a “secret” per say, but that it’s shrouded in privacy and indeed better off if others didn’t know considering Sonny’s brutish reputation in the Corleone family and the fact you’re with a married man.

Avoiding danger and scandals, Sonny and you have already been committed to one another for the past two years. At the age of twenty-four now, you knew if you and Sonny had the chance and opportunity, that you two would have married long ago.

It’s still somewhat too painful for you to remember Sonny’s married and you can never take that away from him so as long as his family and yours doesn’t stand for a divorce over an adulterous relationship, but you’re easily able to forget it all when you’re with Sonny.

You know Don Corleone’s only eligible bachelor is Fredo Corleone, and your father also knows Fredo’s not so pleasant track record so you expect your “formal” meeting with the Corleone’s next week to go smoothly with a solid “no”.

What you expect, however, is seldom what you receive.

Thinking a polite “no” to marrying Fredo would suffice never even leads up to happen, as your father ignores Fredo’s presence in Don Vito Corleone’s office entirely.

While it’s your first time inside the Corleone estate and none are aware you personally know Sonny, formal introductions are made and go around the room as you pretend that the man standing across from you and leaning against the wall is just the enforcer of the Corleone family, and not the love of your life.

“My eldest son, Santino,” Vito gestures to Sonny who gives you a polite smile.

You blush furiously, nodding back at him and attempting to appear remotely confused and unfamiliar with Sonny.

“Your eldest?” A smile grows over your father’s lips, momentarily sparking some sort of hope in you. “Is he to succeed you, then?”

“He is,” Vito nods, which only brings a crashing wave of disappointment in your heart.

You can see the interest that lit up in your father’s eyes fade away just as quickly. You knew as much through Sonny, but this raises the question of extreme danger for a Don to be, and something your father doesn’t want for you.

Vito’s eyes meet with Giuseppe’s as he nods; he too is aware of what your father wants for you, and would never mention Fredo out of embarrassment and good faith.

“My youngest son Michael is an eligible bachelor,” Vito speaks up, gesturing to Michael who otherwise sits rather quietly and out of attention near Vito’s desk.

Blinking, you catch Michael’s eye as both of you look upon each other with moderate curiosity. It’s then that you miss the expression on Sonny’s face entirely; his world coming down at the possibility of you marrying Michael.

“He’s twenty-nine and just returned back from Sicily,” Vito continues and sees no objection from Michael in any way.

Your attraction to Michael spikes up then and there but it’s nothing compared to everything you have and feel for Sonny. No, it could never come close or harbor such passionate romance; you already know this from first glance at Michael.

Sonny bites down on his lip, staring deadpan at the floor as he overhears Vito and Giuseppe agreeing and pairing you with his youngest brother; Sonny was never even an option despite being the only man in the room that can ever make you happy and you can’t even say no.

“It’s settled then,” you hear your father say as your heart thunders in your chest and your cheeks flush scarlet with blush. “If the two can come to an agreement, they can marry.”

“Our two families will come together as one,” Vito agrees, “Michael, do you object?”

“No,” Michael replies plainly.

Sonny shifts his weight, beginning to grow uneasy and irritated, but holds himself together well as he continues to listen.

“And you, sweetheart?” Your father asks, “will you enter a courtship with Michael?”

“I will,” you answer, feeling your stomach knot up in anxiety; never have you answered with such defiance in your heart.

Feeling his heart break in his chest, Sonny’s eyes are full of venom watching his baby brother kiss your hand and attempt to charm with what Sonny calls half-assed small talk.

There isn’t a chance in hell Sonny will stick around to see the engagement ceremony or hear Michael woo you with sweet nothings and lavish gifts; there’s a silver lining to this that you both believe in now.

Neither of you care for the relationships you’re in. They’re a mask to society to show you’re married and a part of a family, but they’re meaningless and they’re nothing to both you and Sonny.

Your engagement to Michael let alone your marriage in the next three weeks won’t stand in the way of anything you and Sonny have.

“I’m going to be with you forever,” you whispered in his ear, feeling tears stream down your cheeks. “I don’t…. I don’t have your ring or your name on my wedding certificate, but you’re my husband. You are.”

“And you’re my bride,” Sonny squeezed both of your hands, looking you in the eye. “Nothing changes. Nothing.”

In truth, it was easier on you afterwards. Sonny already had to live a double life to be with you but luckily, Sandra’s barely involved in her own marriage these days.

You play the role of the Corleone housewife well, but you’re neither clingy, excitable or hopelessly affectionate with Michael who could care less about noticing if there’s a lack of passion in your marriage with him due to his increasing involvement with the family business eating up most of his time.

What you and Sonny have come to realize is that neither of you need to be careful or use protection anymore. Having twice as much more sex whenever possible as compared to once a week with Michael, only you and Sonny know the truth.

You already could sense you were pregnant a week before you and Michael had sex for the first time. The twins you carried inside of you—boy and a girl whom you both named Niccolo and Verona weren’t Michaels. Sonny had fathered those twins.

Because Michael noticed nothing off about the timing of your pregnancy nor was there any suspicion at all whatsoever about if you and Sonny were “close” by any regard, he was permanently clueless and indifferent.

Even when you had your third child and second son, Vincent, you knew it was Sonny’s. By 1960, you had already give birth to six of Sonny’s children and none of Michael’s.

Your family and the Corleone’s gleefully compared how he babies looked strongly from the Corleone side of the family with a good mix of everyone but when you and Sonny looked at your children, you saw each other’s facial features as clear as day.

“He’s clueless, so let him be clueless,” Sonny grasps his hand over your ass, giving it a firm squeeze. “Wouldn’t want the baby brother to know how many times I knocked up his so called wife, huh?”

“Never,” you let out a breathy moan back, wrapping your arms around Sonny’s shoulders. “I don’t care either. Those are our babies. Those are…” Confidence wanes from your throat as your voice trails off. “I…”

“No, no, no,” Sonny shakes his head, “look at me, baby. Look at me.”

“Sonny, they’ll grow up and—” your throat tightens from emotion, “and if they look like you—or, o-or we have to tell them the truth eventually. They need to you you’re their father and—”

“And they will,” Sonny reaffirms, looking you in the eye. “I promise you.”

“How?” You croak back, tears spilling from your eyes. “How would we even do that?”

“I’m not planning on keeping you here with Michael forever,” Sonny lowers his tone of voice. “You just have to trust me, darling. I’ll fix all of this. I will. We will be a family together someday. I promise.”

[exactlycleverpirate]

Rafayel's Timeline Redux Part 3

Spoilers below.

See Part 1. Part 2. Part 4. Part 5. Part 6. Part 7.

2024 (...probably (Rafayel literally says probably about his age in his interview…)) Rafayel born March 6th (Promotional video, in game profile)

2026-2027 MC born. (This age comes from chapter 5.1. The letter she gets from Grandma says she was 7-8 when they started experimenting on her, and she was adopted by Grandma after the Chronorift Catastrophe in 2034.)

?? Child Rafayel studied under a Lemurian art teacher. He showed him photos of the surface world, but Rafayel wanted to see the real thing. He was grounded, but later allowed out on his birthday. He used this opportunity to sneak away and swim to the surface where he dared to stick his hand above the water. (Unforgettable Adventure)

?? Child Rafayel likes escaping to explore the ocean. On one or more of these excursions, he sees a human floating lantern festival and puts out their lanterns. (Ocean At Night)

2034

Rafayel would be 10 at this time. (If his birth year is correct.)

Deepspace Tunnel appears

Chronorift Catastrophe

MC (age 7-8) now has Protocore Syndrome in her heart, is adopted by Granny, and has little memory before this event.

On December 31st, Lemurian ruins are discovered, after a tsunami southeast of Linkon city, when a rift opens up and reveals it.

?? Child Rafayel is given a Whale Call as a means of protection, in case something happens on one of his escapes from Lemuria. However, he never uses it, because he never escapes again after this, and sometime later he buries it in the Lemurian city. (Whalefall Lament)

Sometime before 2038, MC goes on a field trip to Hat Island (possibly when she meets Rafayel?).

?? Pinkie Promise as children. (MS Chapter 7.11) At some point in MC and Rafayel's childhood, Rafayel visits the surface world but gets trapped on the beach on his return trip (on Ebb Day?) (Perhaps during her field trip to Hat Island?) (A summer day by the seaside involving seashells? (Anecdote 2)) She saves him, and they make a pinkie promise. Rafayel says if she doesn't return, he will chase her to the ends of the earth. (Nightly Stroll) (Most likely this life. See Rafayel's Birthday Card Thoughts.)

Rafayel: “It’s settled, then. If you don’t return, I’ll…I’ll chase you to the ends of the Earth.”

?? Lemurians Slaughtered. Some survivors go into hiding living on land among humans, including his Aunt Talia and K. (Anecdote 3) (See What Happened to Lemuria and Rafayel for a detailed breakdown of this. Most likely this life. See Rafayel's Birthday Card Thoughts.)

Rafayel's Anecdote 3 immediately precedes Anecdote 2 (See 2044-2047). 

Rafayel is an Opera singer in Verona going by the moniker “Mo”, hunting down and killing people, possibly as revenge for the destruction of Lemuria and slaughter of his people. 

He is being investigated by a private detective named Louis. 

He is not painting at this time. 

Rafayel's only living family on Earth is his Aunt Talia, also Lemurian. His Aunt Talia is also in Verona. Talia thinks Rafayel of the past was like a blazing flame. But ever since the incident in Lemuria, he is like a battered reef - cold and hard outside, but inwardly riddled with cracks, vulnerable, and on the verge of crumbling. She remembers he used to like painting. 

He also recently attended a Seamoon Ceremony for another Lemurian, K, who dies and is returned to the sea (after having his scales and blood taken). Lemurians are hiding amongst humanity, but being hunted, tortured, harvested for their scales and blood and killed. It is suggested that Rafayel is trying to accomplish something to save the Lemurians, saying, “Not every Lemurian survivor can wait.” It appears the longer he takes to accomplish his goal, the more of the Lemurians die in the meanwhile. 

Rafayel leaves Verona and moves to Linkon city. He has a picture of MC in his pocket, likely given to him by Louis, who gave Rafayel a new lead. Rafayel burns papers in a file before he disembarks the ship. He has a business card with relevant information. (Anecdote 3).

Sometime between 2043-2045 MC (17-18) begins attending University of Linkon. (School year usually begins in September.)

Continue to Part 4.

[ohmylcve]

closed starter for @basicxutopia !

it wasn't the first and it wouldn't be the last time verona had stayed late on her office: she had so many good reasons to stay... only starting by the fact that she loved her job more than anything in the world. even more than coming home to her husband. if she was honest... well, it had been years since their marriage wasn't a thing that brought joy to her life. that was why she would always choose her job.

by the second she lifted her eyes up a bit, she looked around and frowned her eyebrows as soon as she spot his figure "am i supposed to leave just yet?" she asked, looking down to her papers. "how could i, after the astonishing exhibition today?" although she was just complimenting her own exhibition, she did want to hear what he had to say about that.

[gnomgnomovich]

Sense, I need to know about this beautiful women Verona more i'm sooooorry 2,3,7,9,11,13,14, 18,19,29,33,36,42,46,47,49

But when you will be ready to ask 👉👈

Oraoraoraoraoraoraora

Hm, sorry *coughs*

2. How does the public view them? (Doesn't have to be anything major, it could be classmates, friends, strangers in the park, etc.)

The first impression of Verona is usually wrong - she looks like a woman dissatisfied with something, from whom you expect to hear unfriendly answers in an irritated tone. In fact, she just has that kind of face >: | if she is lost in her thoughts.

At the inn, Verona controls her emotions better, and her communication style is always pleasant. As soon as you start talking to her, you involuntarily feel a sense of affection, because she is sincerely friendly and courteous to you (in the first moments, even if you behave like a real meeeh).

3. Is your character an optimist or pessimist?

An optimist, slowly but surely slipping into pessimism. So far, the future looks unclear, what to do with yourself and with the world is also not clear. And being the guardian of a time bomb is still too incomprehensible for a person who has spent most of his life behind a desk writing papers.

7. Is your character good with kids?

Actually yes! She paid a lot of attention to the younger ones in her family, and in general did not mind messing around with children. But the children themselves usually treat her with distrust and do not make contact. She has to try hard to gain the kids' trust. But then they can communicate quite well!

9. What emotion does your character feel most frequently?

Uncertainty and a little confusion. Also tired, because sometimes she has to stay awake for a night or several, and working in a hotel is 24/7.

11. What events in their past helped shape and influence them into who they are today?

The first was when her parents said that it was absolutely normal if she didn’t want to get rich on adventures like other relatives and work more at home on boring things like structuring and planning a business. It's ok, do as you like!

The second was when a deal was made with the gods, she became a guardian and was no longer part of her family.

13. Who is the closest person to your character?

No one (except for the relatives who survived the wave and do not remember her).

She communicates with Madame Tartuffe a lot. Their relationship is quite friendly, but they are not that close. Although sometimes they exchange heart-to-heart conversations :)

14. How did they become so close?

Tartuffe, in fact, is not only Verona's employer, but also looks after her. She likes Verona as a person and as an enutrof: the old hotel owner sees that her subordinate’s tenacity and commercial spirit show themselves well, albeit in a manner rare for her kind. She plans to transfer the establishment to Verona, but he will never admit it, and it won’t happen soon, because Tartuffe is still so young!

Verona also liked Madame Tartuffe, although at first she seemed too loud and energetic. She respects her for her intelligence and is grateful that the old woman takes care of her in her own way, even at the request of her god.

Their friendships formed gradually and are still strengthening. That is, there was no special event that would have allowed them to become friends. It just happened slowly.

18. Who/what comforts your character?

Now Verona is just trying to find something that will allow her to feel calm. Unfortunately, this leads down the not-so-healthy path of alcohol addiction. It's not serious yet, but you know how it happens…

She also tries to find comfort in working and communicating with new people, but Verona does not have the feeling that the inn where she now works is the final stop and the goal she was striving for.

19. Summarize your character's goals in one sentence.

Understand how to live further, and not become an appendage to the Abyss, but find your life.

29. What are the three things that your character values most?

Honesty, kindness, responsibility.

33. What are three positive traits that your character has?

The ability to stand your ground combined with the ability to negotiate, decency, adequacy.

36. What are the things that make your character enter a full rage/cold mode? (Depends on their character.)

It's not like Verona ever had such "attacks", despite her past. But what really infuriates her is blatant deception (not cunning and tricks!), and also when the strong mock the weak simply because they can.

42. What is one thing that your character dislikes about themselves? ("Nothing" is also a valid answer.)

Lack of will and helplessness in the current situation, when she cannot decide anything globally for herself, find something important or become seriously attached to someone. She feels cut off from everything and it infuriates her. Just do something already, damn it!

46. Does your character specialize or have remarkable talent in anything? If so, what is it?

Not that it's talent, but Verona is really good at analysis and planning. She collects information and systematizes it well, drawing the right conclusions and predetermining her own moves and the moves of other people.

She likes to make predictions and calculate the possible outcomes of a given decision.

At the same time, she doesn’t like to play chess and similar games, by the way :) not a big fan of direct competition.

Another point is that due to her strong empathy, Verona “reads” people well and can find a common language with almost anyone. At the same time, these are not tricks - she quite sincerely treats everyone with goodwill and is ready to help to the best of her ability and desire.

47. In a group setting, what role would your character have? Leader, co-leader, follower, or outsider?

I think someone like an advisor or diplomat. So... Follower, I guess?

49. In the end, what is your character grateful for?

For what she had. For the family, for a job she liked, for a relatively calm past and support. This created the foundation on which her sanity rests. For now.

This took longer than I thought, sorry :[

[booksandchainmail]

Pale 5.d

welp. those poor boys. I hope they're not dead, and there's a way to get them back. Thinking on karma, and what their parents said in the paper, that they only got hurt because they tried to help

also I love these little local ads in the paper, one of them written in comic sans

... is slippery nick the dolphin an other. Nine years would match up with the timeline

goblin interlude? fascinating

“Point of order number seven.  There’s a fight coming.  I don’t think everyone knows there’s a fight coming, but we’re rounding up help because we can’t do all of this alone.  Two sides are picking their teams but one side doesn’t even know.  You are not on these sides, Bumcake.  You’re on my side, understand?”

hmmmmm. Kennet Trio on one side, people who killed the CB on the other? With goblins neutral? I think this is maybe confirmation that Toadswallow wasn't involved with the CB thing. And if the Kennet Trio is the side that doesn't realize they're picking a team, who have they been picking? Snowdrop obviously, maybe Alpeana or John? Or could it count people outside of Kennet, like Zed.

“Five rules,” Bluntmunch growled.

ooh. So he doesn't know about rules 6 and 7? Is this because he's not preparing for the fight, or because he's on a side?

“They didn’t share that.  They’re keeping things close to the chest.” “Yeah,” Matthew said. “But so are we.”

this is ominous! Seems like Edith more than Matthew is opposed to the girls, but at least neither of them seems happy about it?

He hadn’t voiced it to Edith, and Edith hadn’t voiced it to him, but there was the possibility of killing Brie and releasing the Choir again.  A horrible thought and a thought he wouldn’t have had a decade ago. 

if a decade ago Matthew wouldn't have considered killing to release the Hungry Choir, I don't think he would have considered creating it either. And if he wasn't involved in creating the HC, he wasn't part of planning to kill the CB that far back (he could have joined later I guess)

“Tha lassie liked yeh.  Verona did.  If ye’d like to be less lonely, an’ if ye’d be good, we’d have yeh.”

nice that Verona followed up about her. And presumably the eye girl will have some goodwill about it, which could come in handy

The woman stood with one hand to the wall.

Miss?

These places were woven together. The weave wasn’t always obvious, but there were ways to work out their design.

like a fucked up escape-the-room style point and click adventure

“Any one of you can say that!” he called out.  “I’ll try not to kill you, but I can’t have a strange Other wandering around!  Places like this are too sensitive!”

Because the world of the otherverse is so dangerous, you have to interact with caution and suspicion. But that puts you at odds with all others, who also can't trust you. And then things just keep getting worse, because everyone has to act to defend themselves.

The trajectory of her fall shifted to a right angle, plunging her into bright daylight.  The remnants of a neighborhood with brightly painted houses tumbled through the air with her.

is this what happens to the houses from zoomtown?

“You picked us because you think we can do it, but the actual culprit is likely to think we can’t,” Lucy said. “Yes,” Miss told her.

ooooooh! That's a pretty good reason. Also. I think that wording rules out Miss being the culprit? Not discounting that she's using a way around full culpability like I discussed way back in arc 1, but I'm getting more trusting.

Lucy nodded.  “Matthew makes the most sense as the central figure.  Then people like Maricica, Edith, the Choir, and maybe Charles as accomplices.  Though that’s based on a coin turning up in a few ways, instead of anything concrete.”

hmm. I hadn't thought about the driving angle. Still not sure about that making it Matthew though, I think someone could probably have procured a car for Charles to drive. And Matthew's POV earlier didn't seem that suspicious. How would becoming Carmine affect his Doom?

[margridarnauds]

1. 6. and 12. please!

Thank you!

What’s something new that you tried in a fic this year? How did it turn out and would you do it again?

I touched on it a little here, but I feel like I really leant more into the surreal. Which kind of naturally works with my writing style and my influences and is definitely something I'm wanting to pursue. I was actually influenced a lot by what I've seen you do when it comes to fanfic, as well as by what I've seen the Chinese fandom, as a whole do, where you have these character studies where the style is deliberately rich and a little-bit offputting as a way of exploring the darker edges of a character or characters. While I don't think the horror of The Midnight Mass ever landed like I wanted it to, it marked a point of experimentation that I've never gotten to do, and I'm definitely interested in doing more things in that style.

6. What ship(s) captured your heart?

As far as NEW ships, Benvolio/Escalus from RetJ was definitely unexpected. I'm in and out of RetJ as a fandom -- I wouldn't say I'm actively involved, but I keep an eye on it, especially as a mod for the French musicals Tumblr, which made it even more unexpected. I feel like I could still do a lot more with them, even though I've put most of my plans on hold in favor of the TRUE darkhorse candidate, Raphael/Tav from Baldur's Gate 3. Which, on one hand, it isn't AS much of a darkhorse, since Raphael is ridiculously my type (I mean, my taste in fictional men is already rancid enough that a devil seemed like the natural conclusion), but was still unexpected because I truly came in expecting to romance Astarion. I have about 12k words of fic written across 4-5 WIPs, so it's safe to say that we're really only getting off the ground.

12. What fic was the most difficult to write? Did you finish it?

As I touched on in my other answer, this year was the sort of year where EVERY fic was difficult to write, because of the sheer number of responsibilities that I had tacked on. I had a massive test that would decide whether I stayed in my program (I passed), my first paper published, several back to back conference presentations, a month spent abroad in Ireland (my beloved) sharpening up my language skills, hosting and organizing events, teaching, and my participation in several different projects and organizations. It was a LOT, and it left very little time to be a human being in-between.

But...I would say that writing fanfic for BG3 and RetJ, in general, is very much a struggle for me. Because I know the 18th century relatively well, or at least well enough to conjure up an image of the 18th century. And if I don't know, I can do research. When I was doing work for an AFO fic (not published....yet), I could look up the memoirs of the people involved and take from them as much or as little as I wanted (since it was AFO, I opted for "as little").

But for the Toho RetJ, you're having to more or less create a dystopian society based on staging hints we get from the musical, and so I was constantly having to drop in details from hypotheticals. Like "What would the world look like in a century or two if a nuclear bomb went off tomorrow?" "How would we rebuild? What are some ways the world would be the same and what are some of the ways it would be different?" These are things that people are asking, but we really don't KNOW. And so in many ways, I'm having to build Post-Apocalypse Verona from the ground up while also trying to drop in cultural details -- this isn't American Post-Apocalypse Verona, this is *Italian* Post-Apocalypse Verona. Things like Venice sinking into the sea *have* to have some kind of impact on how people are sourcing food, for instance, or conducting trade. And since Escalus is The Prince™, I can't even wave some of it off, because these are things he is very intensely interested in and involved in.

BG3 is almost the reverse, where you are contending with forty years of lore, spread out across player handbooks, multiple series of novels, comics, trading cards, etc. etc. almost all of which some people care very, very intensely about while the rest homebrew it and toss it out. There's a lot of material that either isn't explored *at all* or is under-explained, but there's a LOT that's been explored in 40 years, and it's always a matter of seeing what I CAN bend or even break and what I can't. And, unfortunately, the two areas of the lore that I got most intensely attached to are (1) the Drow and (2) the Devils, aka two areas that have a lot of complex lore around them, so I'm reading multiple books from multiple editions to see what I can make stick. (On the record, I'm tossing out a solid 70-80% of the lore around Drow because it was very clearly written by nerd men who hate women.) My goal is always to try to bend the lore around the fic in a way that still honors the fact that people are fundamentally people and behave fundamentally like people.

For the Toho RetJ, I finished two fics for it -- I have snippets of more written, but I did finish the two fics I really wanted to make. For BG3...God knows when I'll have the lore wrangled enough for it.

[sharperthewriter]

Chapter 24 of Roneo and Kimliet

Chapter 24

(Feb. 14, 2006, 4:37pm)

Amanda came up to Vance then whispered in his ear. All of the other students were backstage

"Remember, I want everything to go as planned in order for the 'protection' to remain for your little Drama club!" she said quietly. "And no mistakes!"

Vance nodded his head in fear. He then regained a confident look in order to mask that fear.

"Now...Drama class, come on out!" he commanded.

All of the students, including Kim and Ron, came onto the stage.

"Now, you spoiled little brats! We are going to be here for the next hour and a half." Vance shouted through the megaphone. "The sooner we can get everything perfect, the sooner we can all leave!"

Kim sneered at the trio, and Amanda, that was going to make the next week for her, Ron, Zita and all the others a living hell...or so she thought.

Vance then explained to his fellow classmates about how the practice of Romeo and Juliet was going to work.

"We are going to do the prologue and Act I for this evening's practice. However, we will add a subsequent act for the practice on the 16th, and going from there to the end where the Montagues and Capulets reconcile with each other. You will start out with the assistance of your scripts."

Cara then continued where her partner left off, once again using the megaphone.

"Next week, we are NOT going to use those scripts because you are going to memorize every single one of your lines that are highlighted in yellow! And by the time the performance ends in two weeks..."

Barkin then got off his cell phone.

"Okay, students, that was the MUSD Maintenence Department. Apparently, the date of the play is also the same day they are going to fumigate the stage." he explained to the students, "Looks like we're going to have to take it to the main auditorium starting next week! The District is going to decide to give an extra two weeks."

Kim gulped hard. The main auditorium seated 3,000 people and it was primarily used for Annual Fundraisers, awards ceremonies, and lectures by Barkin. It was not only the same site where Ron managed to win the talent show from last year over Bonnie, but it was also the same place where the infamous PSA skit of the dangers of drinking and driving that the Stoppable parents performed when Ron was in the sixth grade. In that skit, John's pants fell down in front of the crowd. Kim and Ron covered each other's eyes amidst the sea of laughter. Ron was made the laughingstock for the entire school year, even resorting to wearing a paper bag on his head with holes cut out for the eyes, nose, and mouth. Had it not been for Kim, he would've ended up like Drakken.

Cara then continued, noting the date change.

"Very well..." she muttered, "...four weeks. So in that case, for tonight, we will do the first three scenes."

Kim sighed with relief, thanking that delay from having to get to Scene V of the first act.

"I expect to hear thunderous applause and standing ovations from the crowd! If I ever see as much as a single boo or hiss, expect a solid F from Mr. Barkin's pen and it will be all your fault! So I expect perfection from every single one of you! And...Lights, Camera, and ACTION!"

And so, the chorus began with the prologue, led by Hope, TJ and Gus.

"In the beautiful city of Verona, where our story takes place, a long-standing hatred between two families erupts into new violence, and citizens stain their hands with the blood of their fellow citizens. Two unlucky children of these enemy families become lovers and commit suicide. Their unfortunate deaths put an end to their parents' fe..."

However, Cara, once again, interrupted.

"Wait! Cut...cut...CUT!"

"What is it now?" Barkin groaned. He had no time for shenanigans caused by the students, especially those whose last name was Stoppable.

"I still want to do this in Shakespeare's Olde English! The way it was intended to be!" Cara complained.

"You cannot over-ride the MUSD's decision, Van! Whatever Mrs. Rockwaller says goes!" Barkin proclaimed, "Now continue or else you want a date with her paddle!"

"Fine...thou art very much becoming a teen in the behind, Mr. Barkin..." Cara muttered an Olde English phase under her breath.

Cara then yelled to those that are on the stage, primarily on the trio of Hope, TJ and Gus.

"Now...take it from the top...and action!"

The chrous then repeated their lines, this time without interruption.

"In the beautiful city of Verona, where our story takes place, a long-standing hatred between two families erupts into new violence, and citizens stain their hands with the blood of their fellow citizens. Two unlucky children of these enemy families become lovers and commit suicide. Their unfortunate deaths put an end to their parents' feud. For the next two hours, we will watch the story of their doomed love and their parents' anger, which nothing but the children's deaths could stop. If you listen to us patiently, we'll make up for everything we've left out in this prologue onstage."

Kim thought to herself, clenching her script.

I would rather listen to one of Drakken's boring villainous monologues while being chained to a shark pit rather than subjecting myself to two hours of pure stage torture. But...here goes nothing.

Then she realized that Vince and Jamarcus were going to play Gregory and Sampson respectively to being the very first scene of Act I. So she was spared...for now.

Jamarcus explained, while holding his script as a shielf "Gregory, I swear, we can't let them humiliate us. We won't take their garbage."

Vince teased, "No, because then we'd be garbagemen."

Jamarcus added, "What I mean is, if they make us angry we'll pull out our swords."

"Maybe you should focus on pulling yourself out of trouble, Sampson." Vince replied. They skipped over the obvious part about remarks concerning the Montague women due to the MUSD cuts.

"Pull out your tool now. These guys are from the house of Montague!"

Larry Beae, who voiced, Abraham, then appeared on stage. The trio then continued Scene 1 without much incident, acting out their characters.

Then, Benvolio, played by Felix, came onto the stage. Using his high-tech wheelchair, he had two cables that held a styrofoam sword and shield spraypainted gray.

"Break it up, you fools. Put your swords away. You don't know what you're doing!" he exclaimed.

The scene continued where the "fight" was about to begin with Hope and Gus playing as the citizens.

Then, Capulet and Lady Capulet, played by Rob Reeger and Zita respectively, came onto the stage for their first appearance.

"What's this noise?" Rob exclaimed, "Give me my long sword! Come on!"

"A crutch, you need a crutch! Why are you asking for a sword?" Zita replied.

Rob said, "I want my sword. Old Montague is here and he's waving his sword around just to make me mad!"

Montague and Lady Montague, played by Brick and Liz respectively, came on the stage.

However, Brick was reading the script upside down!

"Uhh..."

The other redhead on the cheer squad sighed and turned his script right-side up.

"Capulet, you villain!" Brick yelled, "Don't stop me! Let me go!"

Liz put her hand in front of Brick's muscular body.

"You're not taking one step toward an enemy!" she yelled.

Cara liked that delivery with a slight smile, She's a natural!

The students continued to deliver their lines for the next five minutes when it came to Ron's first appearance on the stage since the Cowardly Lion incident. Ron, however, was a bit confused. His mind was wandering off to, not surprisingly, Bueno Nacho. Rufus was trying to tug on his shirt for attention.

"Ron?" Kim insisted.

"Earth to Ron!" Kim raised her voice an octave higher while snapping her fingers in front of his face.

"Wha...aww man, KP, I daydreamed that Bueno Nacho had an all-you-can-build Naco buffet." Ron complained.

"Ron, you're up!" Kim insisted, "Mr. Romeo...remember?"

Ron held up his script and said. "Ohhhhh..."

He then entered the stage as Felix was the only one on there when everyone has said their lines.

Barkin though to himself, Oh great...the walking disaster area known as Stoppable appears. Let's see how he screws up this time...

"Good morning, cousin!" Felix explained.

Ron looked through his script, looking at scene 1.

"Ahh...here I am! Is it that early in the day?"

Kim groaned. Ron, please read your highlighted lines...

"It's only just now nine am!" Felix said.

Ron continued to read from his highlighted lines.

"Oh my, time goes by slowly when you're sad. Was that my father who left here in such a hurry?"

As the scene continued to play out between Ron and Felix, Kim noticed that Ron was gaining a bit more confidence. She did not know what it was but he and Felix were making the lines flow.

The redhead gulped even harder, knowing that her first lines were going to come in Scene 3...with Ashley A, no less, as the Nurse.

What is going on here? How is it that Ron is gaining confidence with Felix but I get stuck with the worst of the Ashleys?!

Ron got through Scene 2 with Troy taking on the role as Peter with Felix with almost no issues.

Kim, meanwhile, was sending a text to Monique.

Monique, we so need to do that girl-to-girl talk after tonight's practice.

"I'll go with you. Not because I think you'll show me anything better, but so I can see the woman I love." he said to both Troy and Felix before they exited the stage.

Ron held his script up high.

"I did pretty good on the stage for the first time in months!" the blonde sidekick exclaimed confidently, "And I didn't suffer anything."

As he did so, he was about to sit on a chair...and then heard somethin rip from behind.

A chorus of laughter emitted from almost everyone in the class except for Kim, Monique, Zita, Jessica, Felix and Tara.

Cara exclaimed from the director's chair in Olde English between the laughs.

"Ho, Stoppable, seemeth liketh thee suff'r'd a drop of sorrow in thy gaskins!"

Not surprisingly, he ripped a large tear in his pants, showing off a bit of his Flippies boxers.

"Oh brother..." Rufus squeaked.

"Aww man...why did that happen?" Ron exclaimed.

"I think you should convince your mom to stop buying laundry detergent from Smarty-Mart." Kim said, not laughing out of respect for her best friend.

He sighed, "Aisle 38, right next to the baby items."

Ron sat on the chair, trying to cover the pants hole with his hand.

Now, this was the moment of truth for Kim.

It was now Act 1, Scene 3. And Ashley A was grinning from ear to ear.

[lizzieehearts]

series / movies ; all elite wrestling, batman (christian bale, lego, comic), bratz, clueless, ever after high, f1, heathers (movie and west end musical), jennifers body, jordan peele movies, monster high, no rolls barred, parks and rec, pride and prejudice, 10 things i hate about you, the hunger games (og trilogy + tbosas), the lego batman movie, the office (us), spiderman (andrew garfield, tom holland, miles morales)

books ; a good girl's guide to murder, alice in wonderland, cruel prince (first trilogy only), emma, ever after high, dc comics (mainly teen titans), heartstopper, his dark materials, john green (lfa, paper towns, will grayson will grayson, turtles all the way down), junji ito, legendborn, karen m mcmanus, marvel comics (mainly young avengers and spiderverse), pride and prejudice, queen of coin and whispers, shadow and bone, six of crows, the hunger games, the lunar chronicles, the rosewood chronicles, worldquake

faves ; alaska young, alistair wonderland, anastacia alcroft-leblanc, apple white, bree matthews, bunny blanc, cassandra cain, cedar wood, chase redford, daring charming, darling charming, dick grayson, donna troy, duke thomas, elissabat, eliza bennett, eurydice, heather duke, justine dancer, kat stratford, koriand'r, lizzie hearts, lola tompkins, lottie pumpkin, patrick verona, peeta mellark, ravi singh, rosabella beauty, twyla boogieman, veronica sawyer, victor stone

[elicamiwa]

Like Tell-Tales [Shakespeare For You]

🎭What, shall these papers lie like tell-tales here? — Lucetta, Two Gentlemen of Verona 1-2 [ACTING TIPS] You can act this in many ways.  Lucetta says to Julia that It is just unforgivable to leave the remains of her act.   I chose the phrase only I love the lovely word “tell-tales”. HAHA. #shakespeare #shakespearequotes #phraseoftheday #english #actor #actress #actingtips #julia. #Lucetta…

[six-paths-of-jeanmarco]

Eurovision 2016 vs 2017

Albania: Fairytale vs World Armenia: LoveWave vs Fly with Me Australia: Sound of Silence vs Don't Come Easy Austria: Loin d'ici vs Running on Air Azerbaijan: Miracle vs Skeletons Belarus: Help You Fly vs Story of My Life Belgium: What's the Pressure vs City Lights Bosnia and Herzegovina: Ljubav je Bulgaria: If Love Was a Crime vs Beautiful Mess Croatia: Lighthouse vs My Friend Cyprus: Alter Ego vs Gravity Czechia: I Stand vs My Turn Denmark: Soldiers of Love vs Where I Am Estonia: Play vs Verona Finland: Sing It Away vs Blackbird France: J'ai cherché vs Requiem Georgia: Midnight Gold vs Keep the Faith Germany: Ghost vs Perfect Life Greece: Utopian Land vs This Is Love Hungary: Pioneer vs Origo Iceland: Hear Them Calling vs Paper Ireland: Sunlight vs Dying to Try Israel: Made of Stars vs I Feel Alive Italy: No Degree of Separation vs Occidentali's Karma Latvia: Heartbeat vs Line Lithuania: I've Been Waiting for This Night vs Rain of Revolution Malta: Walk on Water vs Breathlessly Moldova: Falling Stars vs Hey Mamma Montenegro: The Real Thing vs Space Netherlands: Slow Down vs Lights and Shadows North Macedonia: Dona vs Dance Alone Norway: Icebreaker vs Grab the Moment Poland: Color of Your Life vs Flashlight Portugal: Amar pelos dois Romania: Moment of Silence vs Yodel It! Russia: You Are the Only One vs Flame Is Burning San Marino: I Didn't Know vs Spirit of the Night Serbia: Goodbye (Shelter) vs In Too Deep Slovenia: Blue and Red vs On My Way Spain: Say Yay! vs Do It for Your Lover Sweden: If I Were Sorry vs I Can't Go On Switzerland: The Last of Our Kind vs Apollo Ukraine: 1944 vs Time United Kingdom: You're Not Alone vs Never Give Up on You

2016: 28 vs 2017: 14