#you know an anime is going to be fire when it takes place in europe

[metalandmagi]

Anime is so weird, man. Why am I crying over the fact that Earth revolves around the sun?

[s-awturn]

Moon Spell || CS55

summary: They were fated to love someone they hated. There was no spell, no grudge, no curse that could break the bond that united them, doomed to die in the feelings they fiercely nurtured. The Moon had determined it and there was nothing they could do to stop it.

“These violent pleasures have violent ends, and die in their triumph, like fire and gunpowder, which, when they kiss, consume each other. The sweetest honey is disgusting in its own sweetness, and its taste confuses the palate.”

cw: Violence, conflict, soulmates, blood, magic, alternate universe, obscenity, pure filth, chaos, fighting, swearing, intense hatred, love, mention of death, blood.

a/n: This came to celebrate Carlos' birthday and to open the new phase of my profile. This is supposed to have five chapters, no more, no less. I don't know what else to say, so read on!

starring: werewolf!Carlos x witch!Fem reader

Part One: We Were Born To Die

”Choose your last words, this is the last time 'Cause you and I, we were born to die”

Europe, 1498.

She packed all her belongings into a deep leather bag, threw in crystals, grimoires, a few candles, and other magical items; she couldn't stay there long, her hiding place had been discovered and soon crazy fanatics would be there to drag her to the stake. She couldn't waste her family's sacrifice in keeping her alive.

“Let's go, Spix, let's not wait for those madmen to take us to the fire or the gallows” she said, picking up the cat and putting it in the basket. Toledo was no longer a safe place, in fact there was no safe place, with the frightening religious fanaticism that the kings of Spain were feeding, everyone was suspected of witchcraft and heresy, women were dragged to the catacombs of churches and were never seen again.

S/N saw husbands hand over their wives, fathers hand over their daughters, everyone wanted the silver coins that the Church was offering. She needed to get away from this, S/N knew that her neighbors were suspicious of her, a woman living alone on the outskirts of the village attracted attention. She couldn't leave any room for bad luck.

She threw a black cape over her simple dress, tightened her boots, and left the house, saying goodbye silently. That house where her parents lived their entire lives, where she herself spent her life, would soon be burned down, so many memories would be turned into ashes; He didn't look back, he clutched the bag under his arm and ran into the woods, listening to Spix's meows, nestled in the bag.

The moonlight illuminated her steps, ensuring that she managed to avoid roots and holes in the ground and it wasn't long before she heard the angry shouts of the villagers, She hid behind a thick trunk and saw the torches shining in the darkness, they cried out the name of God, calling her a witch and accusing her of heresy. S/N heard her door being broken down.

It wouldn't be long before they noticed her absence and went hunting for her in the forest. She needed to run far away, get away from poor fanatics after a few dozen silver coins. Her life wasn't worth that.

She made her way to a remote part of the forest, where wolves and other wild animals hid. No villager would dare to go there, after all, no one wanted to become wolf food.

When she passed through the oak arch, a shiver shook her insides, S/N looked at the sky and the Moon shone so brightly that it illuminated small patches of darkness in the forest, and a thought made her stop: It was a full moon night and the werewolves would go out to hunt.

She was vulnerable in the middle of the woods, with only a small dagger in the pocket of her cloak and her magic. Anyway, she hoped that no werewolves would cross her path, or she would have a lot of problems besides angry Catholics.

She went deeper into the forest, even Spix's meows fell silent. In fact, there was no sound at all, the wind did not cut through the trees, the leaves did not rustle, not even the nocturnal animals screeched in their hiding places. Until a deep sound echoed, an angry growl that betrayed hunger.

Y/N gripped the dagger with trembling fingers, witches and werewolves had hated each other since the first dawn, if it really was a hungry werewolf there, she would love to devour her, just for the pleasure of destroying her; he took a deep breath and ran between the trees, whatever it was, he wasn't going to risk staying there, even though turning his back was already a high risk.

She ended up in a clearing completely lit by the moon, the exact same clearing where she and her mother used to perform rituals to thank the goddess for the harvest and the coven celebrated.

But that was before Ferdinand and Isabella began their persecution. Before she saw her friends burn at the stake, her parents die on the gallows.

A dark bark stopped her in the middle of the clearing, Y/N heard the branches being broken and the frightening sound of teeth chattering. Her heart accelerated painfully, she was terrified, maybe she could make the roots hold him, but her magic wasn't strong enough for that.

Her magic core was weak and did not have enough strength to channel forces of nature. She would have to make do with an iron dagger and the help of the goddess.

— ☽ —

It was the night of the full moon and he could feel the effects surging through his body since early on, and there was a strange feeling present in his chest. Carlos felt that something was going to happen that night, and it wouldn't just be the milestone of his thirty years of age.

He saw his father cross the small village with a group of refugees, religious madness had arrived in those parts and was terrorizing his people, there was no one who did not fear being dragged into the church basement. No one wanted to be tortured and killed.

“Stop daydreaming and go help your sister, that roof is still going to fall on her head” he heard his mother order.

“Where is her husband? That’s that lazy bastard’s responsibility,” he questioned, but received a click of his tongue in return. He growled in irritation, Carlos would beat up his brother-in-law as soon as he could. And he wouldn't care about his sister's crying or his father's lecture.

He trudged over to his sister's shack, seeing Blanca hanging from the roof, hammering some nails into the central beam. This only made him growl even more, he really was going to punch his brother-in-law in the face as soon as he got the chance.

“Blanca, what the hell are you doing there?" He stopped far enough away to see his sister, Blanca wiped the sweat on her forehead and glared at him mockingly.

“I think I'm baking bread, what do you think?” she retorted sarcastically.

“And where is your useless husband? He must be sleeping…”

“Don't talk about him like that, you know his health is fragile” She tries to defend her husband, but this only increases Carlos' irritation.

“He's a werewolf, Blanca, the only fragile thing about him is his will to work” Carlos growled “Get down from there, I'll take care of this, since your husband is as useless as a leaky bucket!”

The woman came down from the roof, and Carlos took her place, still complaining about his sister's husband and insisting on hammering the boards hard, not caring if it would wake the sleeping man. Work distracted him from the strange feeling in his chest, he didn't know how the full moon night would end, but he knew something would happen.

Only when the sun began to set on the horizon did Carlos finish repairs to his sister's house — not without landing two hard punches in the face of his brother-in-law who dared to complain about the noise. He needed to prepare, As it was the first night of the full moon, the effects would be more intense, and he needed to prepare his body and mind to allow the beast to command him.

As night fell, Carlos felt the involuntary spasms and his gums itched, the bones in his legs and arms cracked painfully, anticipating the metamorphosis.

And of course, the sensation increased along with the discomfort, the beast inside him scratched the walls, howling as if it was foretelling something. Maybe it was the villagers appearing on the edge of their land, maybe it was the witches who had returned, it could be anything.

Any damn thing.

When the transformation, he began to run between the trees, smelling the wet grass, the animals nestled in their dens, Carlos felt the wet earth under his feet and when he realized it, he was running on four legs, his peripheral vision was greater and his sense of smell could perceive things dozens of meters away.

He stopped abruptly and howled at the full moon, announcing the arrival of his birthday. That morning Carlos had turned thirty and there was nothing like fresh venison to celebrate.

He sniffed the air, searching for his prey and licked his sharp teeth when he caught the scent of a fox lurking in the bushes. The huge wolf followed the scent into the clearing, his eyes fixed on the distracted fox, he was about to pounce when a different scent filled the air.

The sweet scent of lavender and lemon hit his nose like a blow, disorienting the lycanthrope and he turned his skull, searching for the source of the smell and It wasn't long before the leaves on the far edge of the clearing parted and revealed a girl. Up close, her scent was more striking, more mystical.

Witch.

He growled, angry that she had disrupted his hunt and stirred his senses. His heart was pounding and he studied the girl, she was running away and looked terrified, the witch was sweating under her thick cloak and breathing quickly, her eyes scanning the trees and the wolf knew she was aware of his presence.

He could hear her heart beating and the wind started to blow again, carrying her scent to him and he growled, torn between wanting to smell her up close and killing her.

Werewolves had been killing witches since the beginning of time and his nature insisted that he rip out the girl's little neck. She pulled out a small metal dagger and he grunted with laughter, the little witch really thought an iron dagger would stop him.

He was eager to see her try.

With a powerful leap, the werewolf stopped in front of her, seeing her gasp in fright, her heartbeat increasing to the point of occupying all of the creature's sensitive hearing.

That was his feeling, somehow someone would die that night, either him or the little witch, after all that was the final outcome — regardless of how many ages his existence could drag on, at some point he would die. And the little witch too.

After all, all creatures are born to die.

But fate changed its course along with the path of the wind as soon as the wolf met the witch's eyes.

That could only be a bad joke from the Moon.

[queer-irritator]

Hello! If you'd like could you write kratos and a m!reader who is an ex-soldier or like used to be a general but had to quit due to an injury

Thank you:)

Hi! Thank you for being my first request 🥹

I really like this idea, you know they would be bonding over the traumas of war.

GoW: Ragnarok Spoilers below. Not proofread

MINORS DNI

Kratos x M! Reader

"I want to thank you for everything..."

Timeline is set a bit after GoW:R; Kratos is an empty-nester.

Content Warnings: Adult language, butchering, most likely inaccurate geography and history of Greenland, alcohol, smut, blowjob, facefucking, praising.

Word Count: 2,476

You lead thousands of men through successful battles.

You saw hundreds of men lay down their lives in the name of freedom.

You would do whatever it takes to ensure victory.

But that was in your past.

A few years ago you honorably discharged from your status of General. After being tortured by some fascist dickheads, you developed hearing problems from ice picks being jammed in your ear. It left you with constant ringing in your head, sometimes so loud you couldn't hear anything else.

You always assumed you would die on the battlefield along side your soldiers. Never thinking about leaving the army or your men behind. But when you could no longer hear footsteps approaching you, or the distant yells from soldiers, you knew your presence would only end up getting others killed. You made sure your men were left being led by the next most capable person.

Since then you've been traveling.

You saw North and South America, Africa, and now you were exploring Europe. Desperate to get a change from the heat, you decided to come in the dead of winter. Now that you were actually here, you regret it a little bit.

You were currently in the north-east, about a two days hike from the ocean. You settled in some woods, you desperately needed to catch some food. You had set up your tent and were adding fuel to a small fire you made. You unpacked a bow and arrow you had in a satchel and started to look for animal tracks.

----

Kratos was butchering a deer he caught earlier that day. His mind was going over how to prepare the meat for dinner.

The faint smell of smoke ripped his attention away from his current task. He looked to the horizon and saw a thin column of smoke splitting the blue sky that was starting to turn purple in two.

He grumbled to himself.

He was hungry, he just wanted to eat and rest. But he couldn't ignore the possibility of a threat. He stuck the knife in his hand into the wooden butcher table he was working on. He bent over to pick up his axe and headed in the direction of the smoke.

----

You were following some rabbit tracks, crouched low to the ground and moving slowly forward. You needed to rely on your eyes more than your ears nowadays, which wasn't as effective. The distant sound of rustling bushes ripped your attention away from the tracks as you aimed your arrow towards the sound.

There was a large a few feet away from you.

"Can I help you?" You questioned the him with sarcasm in your voice.

"You are trespassing in my home." The man had the deepest voice you've ever heard.

You glanced around, you hadn't noticed any signs of this being someone's house. You lowered your bow and stood up.

"I didn't realize. I'm just trying to get some food and sleep, I'll be gone before the sun is up." You explained to him.

Kratos grumbled slightly.

You knew this type of man. He wasn't the type to let things slide, or give a stranger a place to stay. At least without something in return.

"How about you let me stay, and I'll cook you some rabbit." You bargained.

"I have a deer." The man retorted.

Shit... you were going to have to go for the low blow.

"Well, I served as a General for 15 years, but I'm just trying to enjoy retirement now." You were hoping he wouldn't deny an army man a place to spend the night.

"As am I." He crossed his arms.

"No shit?" You questioned him. Maybe you could use this to secure your spot in the woods.

"I was a General for southern Grœnland." You opened up a little bit, hoping the man would return the favor. But you were just met with a blank stare.

"I lead the war against barbarian invaders... What about you?" You prodded at the man.

"Hm..." The man grunted, "I am from a land called Sparta."

"Cool..." You've never heard of such a place, but that was besides the point.

"I'm (y/n)." You took a few steps forward, holding out your arm as a sign of peace.

Kratos looked at your hand for a few moments, then gripped your forearm.

"Kratos." he announced his name as he looked you in the eyes and gave you a nod.

You nodded back to him as you returned your hand to your side.

"You said you have deer..?" You questioned Kratos.

----

Kratos had invited you to eat with him. On the walk to his house you explained that you sucked at hunting because of your ringing ears. He seemed to empathise with you slightly.

Kratos had tasked you with heating up a pan on the fire pit inside his house while he finished butchering the deer.

You couldn't help but notice the extra bed in his home, reasons as to why scattered through your mind.

You were pulled away from your thoughts when the door opened, the outline of Kratos was approaching you. He laid down a few fillets of meat in the pan and lit some candles in the house.

You watched his every movement, admiring the muscles and contours of his back. He grabbed a bottle and two cups. He set them down on a small table in the middle of the cabin and filled two cups with a dark, amber liquid.

You turned your attention to the pan and flipped over the meat, watching it carefully so it didn't burn. Kratos noticed this, he was always taught to be a good host growing up in Sparta.

"Come sit." He instructed you, walking over to the fire and taking over the cooking duties. You nodded at him, stood up and sat at the table. You inspected the liquid in your cup and gave it a sniff.

Alcohol. Very strong alcohol, is what was infiltrating your nostrils. You set the cup down just as Kratos was walking over to the table and served you dinner.

----

The two of you shared stories as your times as General. It was mostly you, at first, but then Kratos started to open up with time. When Kratos spoke, it was like he hypnotized you. All you could do was rotate staring at his eyes, mouth, and chest. He was incredibly handsome. Kratos also didn't let your darting eyes go unnoticed, but neglected to draw attention to it.

Dinner was over all too quickly for your liking. You took the last sip of your drink, feeling some slight effects of the alcohol. Just enough to give you some bravery.

"I want to thank you for everything." You started to speak as you stood up from your seat.

"There is no need..." Kratos assured you, but his eyes followed your every move.

You shook your head slightly, "Wouldn't feel right about taking up your resources without thanks." You made your way Kratos, blood already travelling south by thinking of what you were about to do.

You kneeled down beside Kratos and tugged his chair to the side so he was facing you. Kratos was silent, his amber eyes boring into yours. You reached your hands up to his belt and started to work on taking it off. It was quite a bit more complicated than it looked, but you got it off without too much trouble. You were met with another layer of fabric, gods, why did this man have 5 different layers covering his dick? Your brows furrowed slightly in annoyance at the fabric, but was soon down to just his pants. You looked up at him to gauge how he was feeling, because he wasn't hard... yet.

"This okay?" You asked him, your voice slightly lower than before.

Kratos hadn't been involved with anyone since Faye. He hasn't been involved with another man since his time running around Greece and Athens on a path of vengeance.

He let out a breath, "Yes."

He didn't think he had ever seen a man as breathtaking as you before. Your (h/c) hair made him want to run his hands through it, your (e/c) eyes made him want to get lost in them for days. And your smile, he'd only seen it a handful of times but it made his heart palpitate each time.

With his go-ahead, you pulled his pants down a few inches and wrapped your hand around his cock, taking it out.

Fuck, he was big. You started to stroke him and scooted closer to his crotch. You could feel him start to get hard in your hand, so you mentally prepared yourself and took him in your mouth. You heard Kratos' voice hitch in the slightest when your warm mouth was around him. About half of him fit in your mouth comfortably, but you weren't opposed to slight discomfort.

With one hand you pulled his pants down further so you could have more access. You began to massage his balls softly, earning the quietest moan from the Spartan. His cock was rock hard by now, so you took more of him in your mouth and didn't stop until your lips were met with the tickle of hair. You began to bob your head up and down.

Kratos ran his fingers through your hair with a pleased grunt, gripping onto some of your locks at the back of your head. You moaned around his length from the feeling of your hair being tugged slightly. Kratos stood from his seat and began to rock his hips into your mouth. Your hands went up to grip his thighs and opened your mouth slightly larger. Kratos took this opportunity to slightly tighten his grip on you and began to thrust himself in and out of your mouth. You took him surprisingly well, relaxing your jaw to let him fuck your throat. You looked up at Kratos and he was watching the obscene sight before him. He locked eyes with him and picked up his speed, feeling his orgasm beginning to build up. You took back control by placing your hands on his hips, stilling him. Creating some suction around his cock, you began to bob your head quickly along his length.

When you heard a moan escape Kratos' lips you pulled away from him, out of breath. Kratos only needed a few more seconds and he would have been cumming. He looked down at you with furrowed brows. You stood up and took off your shirt.

"Get on the bed." You instructed him. Your cock was aching from the lack of attention. You watched as Kratos discarded his pants that were around his ankles and walk to his bed, getting a beautiful view of his ass.

"Hands and knees." You clarified for him. A low grumble met your ears as you stripped off the rest of your clothes. You walked towards the bed and took in the beautiful sight of Kratos' ass in the air, waiting for you. You climbed on the bed with him and positioned yourself behind him. You took your cock in your hand and spread the precum that was leaking from it on Kratos' tight hole. You wet your fingers generously with saliva and pushed a finger inside him. Kratos shifted beneath you with the new feeling.

"You're okay, baby." You assured him, using your other hand to rub a small circle on his lower back. Kratos was glad you couldn't see him because he was sure his cheeks had gone pink.

You worked your finger in and out of him slowly to get him ready, adding a second finger when he was ready. You curled your fingers up slightly in attempt to find his prostate. You soon felt something rigged and a groan escaped Kratos' lips as he pressed his ass against your fingers.

"Mmh," You hummed in amusement, "Good boy." You withdrew your fingers from him and used some more spit to coat your dick. You pressed the tip of your aching cock against Kratos' entrance, grinding yourself against his skin.

This made Kratos groan in annoyance, "(y/n)." He said with a warning tone.

"Alright, alright..." You decided to end his anticipation and slowly entered him, moaning.

"Fuck." You muttered, gripping onto his hips as you filled him with your length.

"So fucking tight." You gripped his hips harder to keep from slamming into him. You slowly pulled out half way before pushing back into him, hearing a muffled moan from Kratos. Hearing him like this made your cock twitch inside of him.

"So fucking beautiful." You praised him as you set a slow rocking rhythm. You were slowly picking up your speed, pulling Krato's hips flush against you each time you fucked him.

Mumblings of praises and 'fuck''s escaped your mouth, an occasional moan Kratos couldn't suppress came out as well. By now you were snapping your hips against Kratos as fast as you could, making small adjustments to your angle until-

The loudest moan so far came out of Kratos, if you could get any harder, you would've at that moment. You held his hips in place as you repeatedly brushed against his prostate.

"C'mon baby." You coaxed him along as you reached a hand around him and jerked him off in time with your thrusts.

"Cum for me, Kratos." Your other hand was digging into the side of his ass, there would surely be bruises left behind.

You felt Kratos' muscles tense slightly beneath you as he groaned, his orgasm reaching it's peak and cum spilling out of his cock.

The feeling of Krato's walls clenching around you set you over the edge.

"Fuck..." You hissed as your thrusts became sloppy and you were spilling your seed inside of Kratos, still pumping his cock.

You moaned through your orgasms and braced yourself up with your hands on Kratos' shoulders. You stilled yourself inside him, leaning over him and panting. After taking a few seconds to catch your breath, you straightened out your back and slowly pulled out, watching your cum spill out of Kratos.

You reached for a random rag nearby and gently cleaned up what spilled out of him. You tossed the dirty rag to the side and laid down beside Kratos, who had shifted to his side, back facing you. You let out a content sigh as turned on your side to spoon Kratos, draping an arm across his waist.

"Gonna sleep here tonight, if that's okay." You asked, pressing a soft kiss to his shoulder.

"Mh." Kratos replied. You took it as a 'Sure'.

You closed your eyes, thoroughly exhausted. This stoic, grumpy, strong man had come undone by your touch. Maybe you would stay here for a few days so he could return the favor.

[loudblonde]

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Male!Reader Mafia AU (Chapter 5) Friendship and New Beginnings

Simon and (Y/N) talk things through and agree on something that is totally friendly, right guys? Physical touch guys, we have hand-holding. Hurt/comfort but very mild, Simon talks about having nightmares but no details given, as usual expect canon typical violence as something like that is mentioned. A bit of fluff and soft Simon.

Day 2

Edit: word count: 1.5 K

Warnings; Mentions of nightmares and canon typical violence. Simon kinda spiralling but not really, (Y/N) is there to bring him back down before anything is happening.

(Y/N) felt a strange sense of joy as he had been permitted to use Simon's name, even though he knew Simon was mostly never Simon. That the Ghost part of Simon was far too deeply rooted in his entire foundation to ever change or shift. He was never going to try, though perhaps getting Simons’ friendship?…. (Y/N) liked the idea of that. It was a nice thought, a fantasy worth exploring. Friendship with one of the most terrifying men in all of Europe?

He had barely known this man for more than two days and yet… thinking back to the time they trained, to getting permission to use his name. It somehow felt far too intimate for how little time they spent together. (Y/N) smiled softly at the fleeting idea of Simons’ friendship. Them training together, drinking together, having long discussions into the night, hugs… cooking or attempting to cook together, Simons’ lips on his- (Y/N) shook his head and looked away. He couldn’t be thinking like that, not when he was stuck here for another 28 days. Not when he was only able to see Simon.

He glanced up and looked over as Simon entered, a quick glance (Y/N)’s way. Something seemed to shift inside Simon as he quickly left. (Y/N) simply shrugged and went back to mindlessly sketching. His mind went blank as he just drew the scenery outside, the lake and Simon standing in the water for that one-second while (Y/N) had a headstart as they ran back from having fought. (Y/N) smiled softly without ever realising it, he just kept drawing, shading it in all the right places.

(Y/N) found his muse, someone who made him want to draw more and more. Simon made him wish to draw him anywhere in the world. Perhaps they could travel together one day, go see the world? Get away from everything and everyone. A food adventure?

(Y/N) shook his head. Simon didn’t seem like that type. Maybe, if they go to eastern Europe they could go hiking together? Then (Y/N) could draw Simon in various places in the forest.

(Y/N) flipped a page as he started drawing Simon lighting a fire, his smile softened as the idea was further cemented in his brain. He needed to take Simon camping one day. Maybe they could go hunting too. (Y/N) quite enjoyed it. He usually sold the animal hide to the nearest person or in the nearest village, depending on where he went. He had a bear hide in a safe house, from a black bear that tried to kill him despite (Y/N) doing everything to escape it.

It was nice and warm, especially when you cuddled up close to the fire. He flipped another page over just as Ghost came back in. “Are you allergic to anything?” (Y/N) asked, unsure if he had asked before.

Ghost sat down on the couch on the other end of (Y/N). “No, not that I know, why?”

“Hmm, plotting some fun. Do you like camping and or hunting?” (Y/N) started sketching Simon as he sat down on the other end, it took him about 4 looks before he realised that Simon wasn’t wearing his mask. His eyes widened briefly as he took him in, but he didn’t make any comments on any scar, the tired look on his face or the dark heavy bags under his eyes.

“Yeah, I shoot wolves to manage the population in some areas where it's needed, or else I just hunt for food, deer or on occasion when the opportunity presents itself, I like to hunt alligators, it’s… I like the adrenaline I get from it. It’s fun.” Simon said, looking at (Y/N), he brought one leg up and rested it on his other, without crossing his legs. “Or I hunt small game.”

“Fantastic. We should go hunting some time, I like shooting big game, possibly also elk if we can.” He said, not looking up from his drawing for more than half a second, but he didn’t miss the ghost of a smile on Simon's lips. It made him bite the inside of his cheek to stop himself from smiling like a little schoolboy.

Simon raised an eyebrow. “What? You are looking at me all funny.” He said, feeling self-conscious. He regretted taking his mask off.

“You are really pretty, but by god you look like you haven’t had a good night's rest in 30 years.” (Y/N) said.

Simon’s eyes widened as he looked away, a light rose blush covered his cheeks. “Oh… I have never been called pretty before.” He said before clearing his throat. “I would be honoured to go hunting with you sometime, it may be fun.” Ghost said.

“It would be… do you get nightmares?” (Y/N) asked, placing his drawing block down in his lap. “I know I do, sometimes.”

Simon nodded and looked to (Y/N). “Yeah, I get nightmares, most nights.”

(Y/N) thought about it as he moved the drawing block away and onto the table. He looked at Simon. “How can I help?”

Simon tilted his head slightly. “You are offering help?”

(Y/N) nodded. “Yes, we are to be working together and we are stuck with each other for 28 more days. So, Simon, tell me how I can help, please.”

“I..” Simon looked at him for ten seconds, being fully silent. His breath was caught in his throat as his heart hammered so fast he thought it would leap out of his chest. He knew not why, or how, but (Y/N) with his magical ways and charming smile, had broken down almost all of Simon’s walls, made him vulnerable and opened his whole world up without ever even trying and without knowing it himself, the kindness that Simon had been shown in these past few days were very much so a rarity, something Simon had never expected. He had even taken off his mask, feeling far too vulnerable and exposed. But now, with (Y/N) asking that and Simon knowing the answer he was gonna get, he dreaded what he was going to say.

“I don’t like sleeping in a bed alone, it leaves me feeling too exposed, so whether it be the nightmares or waking up twenty times a night, I rarely get a good night's sleep,” Simon said and averted his eyes down in his lip, he didn’t fiddle with his own hands. No. He was frozen at that moment, awaiting the inevitable rejection and dismissal of his problems. After all, Simon and Ghost was nothing if not just a living breathing meat shield for the Price’s and Simon was completely fine with dying for either of them, John Price had given him a family, a strict family, but still a family nonetheless and (Y/N), god forbid, had opened Simon up and gotten him attached in ways Simon didn’t understand or rather, didn’t want to understand.

(Y/N) nodded a bit to himself, while he didn’t get those problems when sleeping alone rather than with someone else, the idea of sharing a bed and of being close wasn’t all that bad. He… wanted it? No? He wasn’t sure or certain of anything. “Then we will share a bed, just cuddling or whatever you are comfortable with, I don’t mind and I do sleep better knowing there is someone there, plus, it’s a lot safer, if someone were to break in, we would be gathered in the same place.” He said.

Simon looked up, eyes wide and questionable. “You don’t… mind?” He asked, voice devoid of emotions on purpose, he didn’t want his uncertainty betraying him or showing weakness to (Y/N) who trusted him enough to share a bed.

(Y/N) shook his head and moved over, sitting next to Simon but facing him. “No, I would like a friendship with you, I don’t know why and it most certainly isn’t my fathers doing, but I trust you with my life… the scars… that boundary is… it’s something I am not proud of, something I hide even from people I care about, I am not angry at you for that or hurt by it, I just, never expected someone who I am starting to care about would see them and think me unworthy or ugly.”

Simon shook his head and did something he never in a million years would have done to someone else. He reached forward and took one of (Y/N)’s hands. Their hands seemed a perfect match but Simon pushed that far far out of his mind. “I trust you too, I don’t know why and as for the scars… I don’t think I am one to talk about scars.” He said. “My Glasgow smile is an eye-catcher for all the wrong reasons… thank you.” The always so quiet, man of few words, Simon, spoke more in a single sentence of emotional vulnerability than he had ever done before.

(Y/N) smiled and looked down at their hands, he too pushed the idea of how well their hands fit together. “To friendships and new beginnings.” He said.

Simon smiled and let go of his hand. “To friendship and new beginnings.”

Tag list:

@rasberry-jupiter @one-green-frog

[turtlethon]

“Ring of Fire”

Season 7, Episode 6 First US Airdate: October 2, 1993

Shredder plots to assemble a heat ray in Lisbon’s Cathedral.  

The “Vacation in Europe” side-season of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles continues with “Ring of Fire”. Michael Edens is the writer of this adventure, following on from his work on “Tower of Power” at the beginning of this arc.

Today we join the Turtles in Lisbon, capital of Portugal, as they watch a festival unfold on the street from their vantage point in an olive warehouse. Donatello is hard at work on a pizza-making machine and today is voiced by Greg Berg: if you’re keeping track, that means we’re now down to only two of the Turtles having their regular voice actors. Tired of being boxed in, Michaelangelo breaks off from the team to go exploring.

Over in Dimension X, Krang’s Scheme of the Day involves magnifying the sun’s beams to create a heat ray. (Yet again, this does nothing to resolve the current situation with the Technodrome.) To do so will require a special kind of sand, which can be used to forge a lens capable of withstanding any level of heat, and this can only be found in Lisbon’s Bull Ring. Shredder is offended after being shown a map, insistent that he knows where Portugal is; Krang explains that “it’s not for you – this is the educational portion of our show!” He provides Shreds with a key that will grant him access to the bell tower of the city’s cathedral, so that he can set up the ray there, with the magnifying beams being set up in the facing square. Shredder leaves to carry out the plan, accompanied by Rocksteady, Bebop and a group of Rock Soldiers.

Michaelangelo wanders through the sewers, aiming on heading in the direction of the nearest beach. He emerges in what initially appears to be a deserted part of town before getting caught up in an oncoming crowd; the Running of the Bulls is taking place. If you’ve ever seen that one animated GIF of an alarmed Mikey, it originates here. A trio of bulls chases him down the street, with one of them eventually knocking him into a fountain. The same bull then charges at the stone structure, shattering one of its walls and causing the water to flood the street. This carries Mikey back down the sewers, eventually leading him to the beach, where he engages in some surfing with a makeshift board.

Nearby, April is accompanied by Vernon on camera and Irma (doing nothing in particular), as she reports in her capacity as “European Correspondent” about the building of a new luxury hotel by the McDonald Crump organisation, a call-back of sorts to a character introduced in “Raphael Meets His Match”, although as the Vacation in Europe episodes are set immediately after the season four opener, that technically hasn’t happened yet. Bebop and Rocksteady are also in the vicinity, being guided through the process of emptying a dump truck carrying sand by Shredder. When they’re unable to do so, he points out a control on the dashboard marked “DUMP LEVER”. The mutants defend themselves by reminding Shredder that they don’t read Portuguese – or any other language, for that matter – and would never have known what the text, which is in English, would have said.

Vernon is finishing up after the completion of April’s report and happens to be standing behind the dump truck when the sand is unloaded, winding up underneath it. This leads to a confrontation between Shredder’s bunch and the Channel 6 crew, with the masked villain capturing April. Irma is also caught, identified by Rocksteady as “that cute Irma dame” - I guess he has a thing for her for the purposes of this episode. Michaelangelo hears this from the beach while surfing and saying “cowabunga” repeatedly, and alerts the other Turtles.

Shredder sends the contingent of Rock Soldiers accompanying him to attack Michaelangelo. The lone Turtle responds by using the construction site to his advantage, hurling an enormous metal pipe at the stone warriors that crushes them: to all intents and purposes it appears that we just watched Michaelangelo kill a bunch of guys, something that I never would have expected to see in this episode going in. Bebop commandeers a power shovel and is about to use it to give Mikey a taste of his own medicine as the first act ends.

Act two opens with Donatello using a bulldozer to tip over the power shovel. During the resulting commotion, Shredder unwittingly drops the bell tower key provided to him by Krang. He goes on to chase the Turtles into a pit using the power shovel, driving off in it while Bebop and Rocksteady escape in the dump truck. Moments later, Vernon stumbles upon the bell tower key, which April determines must be integral to Shredder’s plan.

Looking for a way to navigate through the ongoing festival activities without drawing the attention of the Turtles, Shredder turns the power shovel and dump truck into makeshift parade floats. The Turtles wind up seeing this anyway, but are unable to negotiate the crowd to do anything about it. As a workaround, the green teens use their grappling hooks to scale a nearby building.

Vernon has split off from April and Irma, looking to obtain footage of Lisbon for Burne rather than investigate Shredder’s scheme. By coincidence, he finds himself filming the Bull Ring while Shredder is there, and is identified by the masked villain as “that wimp reporter”. The cowardly newsman faints after being captured by Rocksteady and Bebop, but the Turtles step in to save him. Our green teens cannonball into the mutant henchmen, causing them to drop their weapons. Shredder hits back by freeing a bull, which charges toward the Turtles as act two reaches its conclusion.

Act three kicks off with Raphael using his bandana to taunt the bull, and soon finds himself riding it back into the pen. After being thrown off, the other Turtles step in to provide their scores for his performance. With Shredder having escaped again, Donatello takes a sample of the bull ring’s sand to determine what he’s up to.

April and Irma wander through Lisbon attempting to determine what the key found on the construction site grants access to, before winding up at the cathedral. After successfully gaining entry, they discover Shredder setting up the ray machine beneath the building. April begins filming this until the ledge beneath her crumbles, delivering her directly to the villainous trio. Irma demands that Shredder give April back, threatening that if he refuses, he’ll have to answer to her. This does little to resolve the situation, and ultimately both ladies are tied to a giant lens atop the cathedral. Only an hour remains before sunrise, and when the rays hit the lens both will be burned to a crisp.

Back at the olive warehouse, Donatello determines that the Bull Ring’s dirt is “ultra silicone sand”, and that Shredder must be using it to make an advanced lens. With the sun now rising, an odd scene unfolds where Irma begins singing a song about how she hates to see the morning sun come up. April has a plan, instructing her friend to rock (physically, rather than musically) as soon as the first rays of light break through.

Flashes of light dazzle the Turtles through the windows of the warehouse, which Donatello recognises as Morse Code. By interpreting his, he learns of April’s current predicament, and the team head off in the Turtle Van to intervene. They arrive just in time to see Shredder’s ray emerge from the ground. Meanwhile April and Irma tilt the lens restraining them, pin-pointing the heat to singe their ropes. Both rejoin the Turtles at ground level as they see off Rocksteady and Bebop. The mutant duo escape with Shredder, the machine now operating at full capacity. Donatello has a plan to stop it, ordering the other Turtles to hurl their Turtlecoms into Shredder’s contraption. He attaches his own Turtlecom to a megaphone, placing this among the cathedral’s bells, which upon being rung, create a vibration which shatters both the giant lens and the ray machine. 

Back in the olive warehouse, Splinter congratulates the Turtles on their victory, encouraging them to go out and join the festivities. The green teens are still sore from today’s adventure, and would rather spend the time recovering instead. Splinter responds to this by engaging in a weird animation where he tilts his head around, smiling and winking. Uh, okay.

Michael Edens has a varied track record on the show, having co-penned with Mark Edens several season three adventures from the awful “Camera Bugged” to “The Ninja Sword of Nowhere”, one of the most exceptional stories of that year. “Ring of Fire” doesn’t sit at either extreme, being instead staggeringly dull, perhaps the least necessary TMNT episode thus far. Yet another uninspired invention by Krang results in the Turtles and the Technodrome crew doing much the same thing they’ve done countless times prior. There’s zero novelty at this point in seeing April and Irma get kidnapped or the Turtles battle Rocksteady and Bebop on a construction site, all of this has been done before in better episodes. Even the idea of the Turtles riding bulls was done in “Mutagen Monster” - an episode written by Michael and Mark Edens, as it turns out, and one that I didn’t find particularly thrilling, though it’s a cut above this.

Voice actor attrition has never been as bad as it is here, with Rob Paulsen (Raphael), James Avery (Shredder) and now Barry Gordon (Donatello, Bebop) all absent at this point. Hal Rayle, Jim Cummings and Greg Berg do their best in their roles as respective substitutes, but I feel that one of the elements most critical to the show’s success is so depleted that the finished product is dramatically suffering. The filler status of these episodes is glaringly apparent now, the novelty of seeing the Turtles exploring Europe long having worn off. I can’t wait until all of this is behind us and we can move on to the proper season seven episodes of the show, but we’re not even halfway done with this vacation yet; next time the Turtles will be in Dublin for “The Irish Jig is Up”.  

[the-firebird69]

And inbox the comforts culprit people and yeah EMT and school in looking at the plantain people only one of them but yeah they are sending a message and what we say is why don't you get out of here we'll handle it from here ugly piece of crap so you have more to announce yeah you idiots go out there

-we have a few people who are going in and out trying to look better and threatening our son and saying that's what's working and some of them are pointing them out and we will follow up with them it's illegal to do.

-we also see some of them are shouting that we have to get out of here and they mean it too and you think it's all right and they're going to ain't no sun says something he says

**it's me too Hera says this is not but it really sounds like when you leave we are going to have a fight and it's going to be harder than when you were here the foreigners will be here and the Max and us and it's not a happy bunch when they're together it might be a little bit more organized and it will be let's open violence and talk because if you get into it it's really ugly so you can be happy about that as some people are already

-other things in the news when they go west they're having a little bit of a fight over silicon and other such things cadmium and it's going to get vicious and over cashes and stashes we know that it gets rather aggressive and not long from now there's some huge things happening today we are going to mention right now

---this is the 14th of June it is a day before general George Washington was inaugurated as commander-in-chief over all of the Continental armies soldiers to troops and commanders. Including their Navy army and so forth all of it was called the army back then. They are not going to award this position to our son they are not going to have him do stuff like what George Washington was doing however they do intend to hire him on and use him for signaling and other like ideas for thoughts on the matter and it is a big deal and today they went over it and today Ticonderoga is going to start up momentarily and they will figure out that they are in trouble at the dod and CIA and Tom Cruise does figure it out and he actually takes a break after figuring it out and heads to Brayden of all places Britain and areas in Europe and he is chased around by everybody and finally returns to the states and he realizes the pseudo empire does not losing that badly but they are losing and territory and they are losing places like Florida and they can't afford to and I guess they're losing pretty badly and you figure yourself but there's some other things going on but that's very huge both of them start today but take on the road again start some completes and it is the intelligence that they get

-along with that there are several other major events occurring today thrse women' can't stand the steaming jerks a lot leave now toorrow too. The numbers are near 50% estimated by Monday and these will turn into animals only need people in here and now the assessments are being sent out I need people to tell me how many are coming and when and you can't back out of it

--there is an emergency on going in Charlotte county it is due to a possible bombardment they are detecting rocket assist tank Cannon ammo being loaded up in the rings and transporting now to the test they do not have ability to fire over the tanks at all. They're trying countermeasures and they're trying to do it now they are enlisting the help of a lot of people

---are you feeling that they might not be able to intercept that would increase their range to 15 MI which would be approximately only 2 mi from our sun

-there's a lot of commotion here and problems but this is a huge issue we got to print

Thor Freya

Olympus

[ratherhavetheblues]

PAMFIR

Dmytro Sukholykyy-Sobchuk (2022) by James Clark

Romania, never occured to me. But there it is, in our film today, presenting millions of troubles and a few joys. Its ravishing mountain scene could leave one to think of a happy place. But when last in Europe, happiness could not be expected to be found. There is a kind of drunkenness, looking for power in wild custody, in fact. Along that thought would be a strange passion. Most of them would find ways to have simple dignity. But a few would need much more. They would be the heights, those who fully see. 

    And then, the crime could discover something intense, powerful, keen, fine, fierce, ardent, burning, irresistible. The melodrama is steeped by these hopes. ("You're a mummy's boy"... All through the saga, there are actions in boxing. A hopeless thought..."Come to Poland, it pays well.")

    Blue light! Something different. All through this story, there are touches of the true...There is even a beautiful set of curtains. Breathtaking! And in the light bulb.  An old man: "I might only have one good eye, but come see that your father is back. Don't forget to give my papers to the pastor." The protagonist,Gazy: "I need a work permit... (And, smuggling has been used for cigarettes going into Romania.)

    Gazy caressing his wife... Seeing themselves in the mirror. "I'm going to stay, but only for two weeks..."/ " He needs a father around. He doesn't have a role model... He needs an iron hand. I can't manage him. Order...  And we still haven't paid off the house..."/"I want you to stay forever. Don't leave again." /"Stay here to work for peanuts?"/"I just love your voice..." (No Vision...)/ "Your money won't make you a better dad... Leonid...Stay. Don't go back... You don't even know the brakes... religion program on the powers of God... "(His wife: "My father took out one eye, but didn't take the other. Stop your nonsense. What did you promise the priest?")

    "To go better than others. Hey, watch your hands..." Real adventure. Glory to God! All scream! (Brought you my husband's papers.) Nazar, the boy who burned the church. Your father never comes to church. He's angry with God. He needs time to understand. God puts each of us to the test.Tell your father to come to church with your mother."/"Don't tell Mom, she'll kill me."/"You're punished; no bicycle... Go to church, practise, and don't miss a day../ (Try to pay for it...) I need 600 euros!" In the dark... 

    Smuggling, even the priest is in. On the first try, there is success and failure. The trupe carries large boxes on their backs. They march in a very stated movement, paced beautifully in their steep work. In fact the action seems to be a dance. The woods are beautified. This crime is magic. 

Riveting.

Lights.

Is there a moment which has not been touched. 

Finding the treasure.

Into the woods.

In mist... beauty.

Animal sounds... A call!

The beauties of the flowers. Amaryllis!

Can you see them... Over...

Pamfir.

Seeking.

A race...

Lights and noise.

All interacting.

Ancient.

Small light.

A time for the future.

It's not so simple.

Beautiful and strange.

Hide!

A new life.

The cows, around to give birth...

Humility.

Finding. 

I'm coming to find you...

Hands.

Don't worry, it's an easy job.

The brave.

A monster.

Pictures of beauty; pictures of strangeness.

Currents.

Hold your hands in the air.

Brave.

Blue lights! The flights!

Dying planet.

Fires.

The skies within horror! 

The easy job kills Nazar! The latter knew. The latter wanted to die. Where is the zeal: passion, ardour, love, fervour, fire, avidity, devotion, enthousiast, radical, Young Turk, relish, gusto...

Such matters are true.

The skies rip the dying moments. Other places could be right.    

[prouvaireafterdark]

I meant when the interview occurs was that after they tried to kill Lestat.

So after they try to kill him louis leaves him???? Omgshhhh.

How does Lestat forgive him.

Okay BIG spoilers below so don't read if you don't want a full timeline of the big Louis and Lestat moments from the second half of the book:

Yeah so it's somewhere in the 1860's I wanna say that Claudia tries to kill him. They think she succeeded and dump his body in the swamp and Louis is pretty emotionally fucked up about it.

As they're preparing for their trip overseas to learn more about vampires, Lestat comes back, physically scarred and with a newly made fledgling he had been having an affair with, and kind of ambushes them. Later, Lestat insists he just wanted to talk, but in the moment Louis assumes the worst and they get into a physical fight and Louis ends up setting Lestat on fire.

They escape to the ship and leave the continent for Europe, and Louis thinks about him often as they travel and continue to find no other true vampires. There's a really sad, romantic line where he says that it was "as if the empty nights were made for thinking of him."

Later, Louis and Claudia meet a group of vampires at a theatre in Paris, led by a guy named Armand, who is very taken with Louis. When they discover that Louis and Claudia were responsible for their maker's death, though, which is really the only crime among vampires, they are abducted and brought to the catacombs under the theatre for punishment. Lestat is there and he's angry with Claudia and is desperate to talk to Louis, but he's also very physically weak and easily outwitted/overpowered by the other vampires who seal Louis in a coffin and execute Claudia, even though they had promised Lestat no harm would come to them.

Louis is obviously an absolute wreck when Armand releases him and it's when he sees Lestat clutching Claudia's dress with tears streaming down his face that he finds out Claudia is dead, and he kind of forgets all about Lestat for the moment as he takes his revenge.

He and Armand travel together for a long time, but Claudia's death has kind of extinguished the spark in Louis and Armand wants it back, so eventually he suggests they go to New Orleans, where he knows Lestat is still alive.

Louis is clear that he doesn't hate Lestat and wants to see him again so he tracks him down. Lestat is a shell of his former self, living in a run down house, more or less at the mercy of his new and irritated vampire fledglings, and surrounded by the corpses of animals he's killed because he's too weak to hunt properly. Lestat is overjoyed to see Louis and desperately wants him back, even begs him to stay this time, but after they talk Louis is overcome with weariness and ends up leaving him.

The interview happens years later in the 1970's, and during this time Lestat is sleeping/hibernating and is only awoken in 1984 by the power of rock music (yes I'm being 100% serious lol). When he wakes up, he finds out mortals know his name because of Louis' book.

As far as how Lestat can forgive him, he says in TVL that a lot of what Louis said in IWTV was a lie and that he hates him for those lies, but that his love for him is far greater than the hate. I mean, one of the main reasons he wrote his memoir in the first place is to say to Louis all the things he couldn't before, to give him an understanding of where he came from and how his trauma shaped him into the man Louis knew. At the end of the day, Louis is Lestat's person, and he's willing to forgive him anything.

Also, as much as I stan Lestat, he was an absolute bastard to Louis and Claudia for a long time and what they did to him was not unjustified.

[failingradish]

Hello, I have just started following your blog and I really admire your work. I always wondered what all the past avatars had looked like since very few made an appearance in the series. Anyway, I just came across your team avatar drawings for when after Korra had died and was reincarnated. I always tried looking up what people's ideas were for the future avatar and your designs for this certain era just stood out to me. Now many people have come up with names for their Earthbender avatar oc, though I don't recall seeing a name for your avatar on this blog and would like to know more about him. He's so interesting and I love how he is accompanied by some type of goblin spirit? The animal familiars that you have made for each avatar are just breathtaking. I think you are a very creative artist and if you don't mind I'd like to know more about the next avatar after Korra if you'd share some information with me. I'm sorry if I bothered you and if someone has already asked you this question, though I am just really interested in your artwork and want to know more about your characters.

Hi thanks so much for your compliment- but WOW that's a long question, but I'll try to answer it anyway- 💕

Truth be told I haven't put that much thought into the single characters- because that's not really what I'm most interested in. But I have some specific concepts in mind that I'd like to see partially addressed by a next avatar series-/ how I would do it with my 5 braincells.

1. It's not the avatar after Korra, but the one another generation down (Water-> Earth -> FIRE)

I want to see a world that NEVER found the next avatar and let the next one after figure out what happened to the one b4 them- or even a couple of fake avatars be declared by diffrent nations, since as unbiased as the avatar may be being the nation with the avatar has some advantages especially in a time of political peace trying to enforce soft power onto other nations.

(Similar to what the Chinese government is trying to do- capturing the penchen lama, so they can declare their own Dalai Lama once Tenzin Gyatso dies :( )

2. The mystery of whether the main character is actually the avatar (did the Earth Avatar actually die already or are they just another fake)

Ideally this would mean that 1- this wouldn't take place too long after korra's death (like 30-40 years) and 2- the mc can't bend any element yet (or just 1 element but that's somehow more boring to me)

They could be running away from the people claiming they're the avatar, trying to find the real one- traveling the world is an important part of avatar and that would be the perfect reason.

3. Growing independence movements.

I really want to see diffrent cultures within the earth kingdom and fire nation strive for independence now that they don't need the protection of a bigger state anymore and nobody (idealy) wants to look like the big, bad oppressor.

Similar to what happened in europe post ww2

4. The current avatars main mission always seems to be fixing something the previous avatar failed at-

Like how Kuruk fixed Yangchens mistake with neglecting the spirit world,

Kyoshi uuuh not sure- did she fail at anything?

Aang ended the war that Roku failed to prevent,

Korra brought back the air nation after Aang couldn't

And Korra ofc lost the connection with all past their lives.

I actually don't want them to change that- stick with it.

But I want the mc to go on a journey to discover his predecessor in the first season (build the problem for the final season //point 5) and then a treasure hunt of sorts to discover all avatars that were "forgotten"- avatars from cultures like the ones from point 3- tying these points together and discovering the avatars and (more importantly) their peoples identity and how to move forward.

Let them write it all down too, so they won't be forgotten again.

5. Every avatar story needs a main antagonist, so that's where I put something completely wild but stick with me-

The Earth avatar that was never found was born into an underground kingdom that was founded long ago by powerful earth benders(/or spirits idk make it a legend) that in an effort to shield their people from the dangers of the surface submerged their city, isolating it from the rest of the world for hundreds or thousands of years. Over time they created an elaborate tunnel system- building more and more cities and creating an empire.

The new avatar would realize who they are at some point and seek to understand this world they supposedly were meant to protect. The avatar would then attempt to befriend the next in line to the throne in order to attempt to convince them to let their empire rejoin the surface world. A suggestion that would eventually end up getting them killed by their friend (you could insert a tragic lesbian couple here ❤)

So the new mc finds out eventually what happened but not who killed them- keep that part hidden for the final show down.

6. Spirit gaang member

I want them to do something interesting with the joined worlds concept- so give them a spirit that aids in the groups journey- my version is a time based spirit that gave the mc a old fashioned clock that'll help 'unlock' the stories of the past avatars. Could also be a mount. Pls don't let it talk. If they make a comedic relief spirit i might oof myself tho.

Also also. Kill them.

7. So that's about it ofc, my only other request is pls bring back proper character development for the side characters. Like mentally bolin and mako stayed the same throughout korra...

??? Idk storytelling really isn't my strong suit

(Not question related)

FOR FULL DISCLOSURE! I didn't completely draw all of the backgrounds for this ask- for a lot of them I used Photos to bring across what I mean better.

(And also this is an answer for a Tumblr question and I already spent way too much time on this I'm sorry djbdkdbdzk)

All of the images  I used can be found HERE- other apps I used were Prequel, CSP, Paint Tool SAI and Photoscape.

Thank you for reading this far.

[dcvinefcmme]

𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐈𝐓 𝐈𝐒. 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 there's a spark, there's fire. once ludovica truly gets started -- there's no stopping her. soon enough, she'll blossom into a wildfire. but for now, she builds. she doesn't want to feel this way towards the only person who has ever made her feel like a human being, after a lifetime of being the perfect daughter. or at least, desperately trying to -- when in giovanni's eyes, there was no such thing. then comes her reality that she constantly had to be the strong one, dante having been born to lead the family while she cleaned up their messes. she had tried to reject the sirens call for so long. hell, she had run off to europe, where she nearly drowned in a sea of cindy crawford comparisons and temporary vices that would feel like a slap when morning comes. and yet, she could never get away. but, it had all been worth it -- with lucky at her side. they had always weathered the storm together. not just weathered, but made it their bitch. and now -- as her eyes locked with his, she couldn't match his gaze for more than a minute. she was made of fire and yet, his betrayal still burned. third fucking degree.

she never had to try to be strong in his eyes. not because he simply didn't see her that way in the first place -- she always felt at her strongest when he stood by her. then again, there was not a second he ever saw her as weak. only powerful. like she could somehow change the very course of the universe with a snap of her fingers. until now. how could someone who claimed to love and care for you so much, make you feel so weak? it's then she stops to think, she's been on the opposite end of this before. many, many times. after all she was a viper, a snake in the grass ready to take until there was nothing left. was this her penance? some kind of fucked up forced atonement? if this is the case, perhaps it would be the human choice to take it. allow it to grab her by the wrists and drag her towards a fate worse than death. even still, the one thing that runs consistently through the moretti bloodline is the inability to go down without a fight. if so, they will be kicking and screaming.

as he begins to speak, she nearly scoffs. and yet, she doesn't. " if i meant so much to you, we wouldn't be here. " she retorts, arms coming to rest on either side of the guardrails to her bed. it wasn't a throne, but it would do. " shows how much i fucking mean to you, lucky, when you let me rip into your brother like a fucking animal, only to come to learn later... none of it was true. " she couldn't apologize now, could she? all she could do was adapt and conquer. make different choices, move through the war where the serpents would come out on top. " well guess what, it's too late for that. " she knows her words will cut -- but that's what she wants. no matter how angry dante made her, she is confident in the fact that she would never put him through that. it goes to show, perhaps the people you think you know aren't who they say they are. no matter how fluent you are in deception, it never hurts any less than when it's done to you. " i am so fucking disappointed that you let me believe a heaping load of bullshit for this long. you really fucking piled it up. because there is not a second in this lifetime that i would have ever -- " she looks to the sheets that cover her for a moment before she forces herself to look at him again. " .....ever been disappointed in you for owning up to a mistake. if that's what you think, thank you really don't fucking know me at all. "

every word. every vicious word felt like a slap. like a nail in the coffin that he had built for himself. to be buried under the lies ... the treason ... the absolute devastation that he had wrought. all in the sake of protecting himself. from this moment. from the hurt ... the anger ... the disappointment that appeared within her gaze. the very one that hadn't broken itself from his own. that kept a steady hold, despite how he wanted to look away. how he didn't deserve to meet her gaze, to hold it as he did. and eventually, when it had become less about what he had done. and more about why he hadn't told her. luciano had finally been forced to look away. because he hadn't been able to take it. the complete devastation that wrought itself in her gaze .

the hate in his brother's eyes. the betrayal in his sister's eyes. neither had torn through him quite like the look in ludovica's eyes. the one person that had formed themselves so intricately within him. that had seemingly built themselves a home in the heart that beat within his chest. that had threatened to rip itself into pieces. in everything, there had been ludovica. through everything, there had always been her. the devastation of losing his sister ... the heartbreak that her brother had dealt him ... every moment of luciano's life that had meant anything, she had been there. for him, with him. and in the end, he had concealed this one thing from her. this utterly monstrous thing .

" do you know what you mean to me ? " the words were choked out. his gaze forced to remain upon the tiles of her hospital room. his hands found each other, fidgeting together. given how he was unable to pace, unable to move about the room. " i could have taken it. from gabriel ... from the others , " he pushed the words out. as if they were a lump caught within his throat. as if the words had their own set of fingers, that dug themselves into the hollow of his throat. " it wasn't about protecting myself from you. i can take your anger ... your hate ... " he finally lifted his gaze to hers. held it, despite how he wanted to run. to hide from the look that had now entered it. the devastation that he had brought to her. " i was my father's greatest disappointment. and i found a way to change that . " his jaw tightened, for a moment. before he forced himself to go on. to continue. " but when the realization of what i had done set in ... i couldn't live with you being disappointed in me. "

[ilovemybettafish]

16 Questions to Consider When Protesting Against Israel:

As demonstrations against Israel take place around the world, I am asking those in my Facebook world who might be attending one to please consider the following questions in advance:

1) When demonstrators chant “Free Palestine from the River to the Sea”, meaning from the Mediterranean to the Jordan, do you realize they are calling for the ethnic cleansing of 6.5 million Jews from their indigenous ancestral homeland? Is so, where do you suggest these Jews go, who will take them and how do you plan to guarantee their safety? My elderly in-laws were born and raised in Israel. What should they do? What will keep them from the fate of the Kurds?

2) If Jews are not indigenous to Israel, where are they indigenous to? From where did they come? And why does Israel host so many Jewish religious artifacts and archaeological sites featuring Hebrew inscriptions? Were those planted underground as some sort of grand ruse? Would you consider an Irish person choosing to reside in Ireland as a form of colonialism?

3) If Israel’s citizens are guilty of genocide, as the demonstrators regularly declare, why are they so bad at it? After all, the population growth in Gaza and the West Bank far outstrips that of Israel proper. And why is Israel giving advance warning to Gaza’s inhabitants so they can flee before Israel fires upon Hamas installations, such as the media tower today? 10) Is Israel that inept at genocide? And if not, how do you think it feels for a people who actually suffered genocide to have the accusation so lazily slapped upon them?

4) Have the protesters around you shown equal concern for the genocide of Uighurs in China or the Rohingya in Myanmar? Have they recently protested at either country’s embassy? 11) If not, why is the situation in Israel so unique for them? What makes the Jewish State so particularly villainous in their eyes?

5) When people such as Bernie Sanders say “Palestinian Lives Matter”, do you honestly believe that Israelis feel otherwise? I don’t know any Jews or Israelis who are not distraught over the death of civilians in Gaza, and wish desperately that a peaceful resolution could be found that would allow all of Israel’s inhabitants to live safely and securely in the land. Do you really conceive of Israel as an entire country of genocidal maniacs?

6) What will you say (not if but) when the protesters’ chants mutate from Anti-Zionism to Anti-Semitism with calls to harm Jews wherever they may be found? Late last week, one such demonstrator bloodied a Jewish man with a metal chair. Does this sit well with you? Does your protest include Anti-Semitic images of Jews as vermin or blood thirsty animals? Accusations of Jews controlling the world’s media and finance? Libels of Jews as demonic or parasitic? Do you realize this is why all synagogue preschools need to hire full time security guards?

7) If Israel is truly an apartheid state, how is there such diverse representation of various communities within private industry and government office? In America, can you openly advocate for the country’s destruction and yet serve in congress? You can in Israel! How did Israeli Arabs come to make up 9% of Israel’s Knesset members? And how did Arab Israeli George Karra get a seat on Israel’s Supreme Court? Why do the majority of Israeli Arabs regularly poll that they would rather remain citizens of Israel than one of her neighbouring states or even a newly formed Palestinian state?

8) Did you know that the majority of Israeli Jews are from the Middle East or North Africa? Or did you assume they all present as white? And if Palestine is truly “freed” from the Jews, will you tell the hundreds of thousands of Jews who fled to Israel when they were expelled from Arab countries to “go back to Europe”?

9) If you are upset about the wide discrepancy of civilian casualties between Israelis and Palestinians, would you feel better if more Israelis were killed? Should Israel be blamed for building bomb shelters and Iron Dome missile defense systems while Hamas shoots rockets from schools and hospitals? Would more dead Jews satisfy your rage?

10)If Hamas has so little money for infrastructure and services for its citizens, how do they afford 2,000+ rockets, tunnels, drones, etc? Where did those come from? Did they suddenly win the lottery?

11) Do you think that if Israel returned to its 1967 borders and offered a Palestinian capital in East Jerusalem, that all would be forgiven? If so, why was an offer of nearly this magnitude turned down without even a counteroffer? Why does Hamas’ charter distinctly call for the destruction of Israel and attacks upon Jews? And why did the Arab states seek to wipe Israel off the map both in 1948 and 1967 when not a single settlement existed?

12) Did you know that Gaza shares a border with Egypt, which could be opened at any time? Have you protested against Egypt for not doing so? Jordan occupied the West Bank between 1948 and 1967. Why was a Palestinian State not declared during this time? Why is Israel uniquely to blame for the Palestinians’ awful predicament?

13) Did you know that Israel allows for a free press while all pictures and stories out of Gaza must be approved by Hamas? Did you ever wonder why there aren’t more pictures of Hamas terrorists in action? And if an Israeli soldier shoots a Palestinian teenager who lunges at her with a knife, is she guilty of killing a child?

14) If Israel is a warmonger for attacking Hamas missile positions, what would be the more appropriate response as its citizens are fired upon? Sit tight and wait until the attacks end? Offer thoughts and prayers? What would the US do if Mexico launched 2,000 rockets from Tijuana into San Diego?

15) If your protest is co-organized by Jewish Voice for Peace, do you actually know any Jews who affiliate with this group? Do you realize that they serve as a cover for Anti-Zionist rhetoric and openly advocate for the destruction of the State of Israel? Do you also think that the Westboro Baptist Church speaks for all Christians? Because I would bet that the ratio is pretty similar.

16) And perhaps most importantly - where are you and your fellow protesters receiving your information? Do you think Twitter, TikTok and Instagram offer the depth of analysis that such a complex situation requires? Can the conflict really be summarized in a tidy meme? Have you spoken with anyone who has spent considerable time in Israel, the West Bank or Gaza? Does your favorite celebrity or influencer research Middle Eastern history in their free time? Would you take a Middle Eastern Studies class taught by Dua Lipa?

I fully understand your sense of empathy for the plight of civilians under fire and the awful images of maimed children and dead civilians. And I understand your desire to point towards a culprit and define a terrible situation in terms of good and evil. And I similarly understand the propensity to equate powerlessness with nobility and power with corruption. But I ask you to consider these questions and decide for yourself if these protests truly share your values.

[writefightandflightclub]

Trial by Fire (Part 1/3) Santiago “Pope” Garcia x GN reader

Summary: You’re finally introducing your new boyfriend to The Boys. It must be intimidating for your guy because, hello? Not only are they literally lethal, as well as infeasibly handsome, but they’re hella protective of you to boot. They want the best for you so, naturally, they make your guy run the gauntlet the whole evening. Santiago, though? Well. Given that he is secretly in love with you? Let’s just say he doesn’t handle the situation very well at all.

Genre / tropes: angst, friends to lovers, love confession.

Author’s note: I wasn’t planning on writing this (in fact I’m writing the opposite, where “Santi has a new girlfriend and you don’t take it well” as a series, loosely based around the 7 deadly sins); but, in the meatime, I wrote this to get back into the swing of things after a lil break. It’s just a quick one, but there will be a second and final part, if you want it! Let me know!

Word count: somehow, 4.4k.

Warnings: language, angst, best friends arguing, Santi being an asshole.

Rating: T

The boys aren’t being as awful as you had anticipated, at least. For the most part, they’re actually being pretty friendly, and although they’ve transitioned into grilling Dean about every aspect of his life, they are at least listening intently and smiling at his answers. All except for one fucker, of course; and, naturally, surprising no-one, the fucker misbehaving is one (1) Santiago “Pope” Garcia. 

The group - the boys, yourself, and Dean- are huddled comfortably around the blazing warmth of the fire pit in Frankie’s yard. The dancing, oranged flames cut through the dark and cold of the crisp night, as you sit upwind of the smoke on scattered, mis-matched camp chairs.

Whilst the others are evidently enjoying the evening -faces painted with smiles, body language open and leaning-in to chat to Dean- that fucker Santi is leaning back in his chair, his jaw twitching in seeming aggravation, his arms folded, and his intense eyes needling your beau. In this dim light, with the firelight licking over the sharp planes of his face, he looks every bit like a trained killer about to leap out of the shadows and garotte someone. Well… a very petulant trained killer. His call sign should have been Mr. Grumpy Pants, you think idly.

What’s up with him this time?! you wonder.

He gets these moods sometimes. And, when it strikes him, he can be a little bit hostile - despite the fact he’s a puppy underneath it all. You had hoped that for once, maybe he would suck it up, and yet, your hopes had been in vain, it seems.

Every time Dean speaks, or touches you, or even laughs at another of the guys’ stories, Santi’s expression sinks further and further through layers of distaste; and, by this point, he’s eyeing Dean as though he’s a war criminal the squad have been sent to take-out. You half expect him to leap up and take down Frankie any second for fraternizing with “the enemy”, if you’re honest.

Truth be told, you’ve had just about enough of this. Your friend had better buck his ideas up, sharpish, or he’d be reminded very swiftly that you were Delta Force too.  

For now, trying to ignore the bastard, you look back at Dean, and the sight of him in animated conversation with your buddies causes at least some of your aggravation to fall away. Things have been going well between you and Dean, even if you do say so yourself. Originally from Michigan, he now worked as a lecturer at a nearby music school. He was also a banjo musician in a bluegrass / synth power-pop mash-up of a band, which (sort of) explained his retro-inspired mop of brown hair and his thick dark moustache - majestic enough to rival Frankie’s. True, he wasn’t your usual type, but he was honest, and sweet and kind... Plus, he’d never killed anyone with his bare hands, which was rather refreshing too, if you were honest.

Safe to say, so far, things were working out. So well, in fact, that you’d recently met his parents for the first time while they were in town. So well, in fact, that -after keeping him purposefully away from the boys for as long as you feasibly could- you’d now brought him to meet your family. That’s what this squad was to you, after all. Your family.

Remembering sporadic moments from the past few months together, you smile gently as you listen to Dean talk. You watch him seamlessly integrate some tailored conversation starters you’d fed him ahead of time, and you gently squeeze his thigh in an act of reassurance and appreciation. He is feeling the pressure, you can tell, although he is handling it well. To be fair, you think, who wouldn’t feel the pressure? You’d been nervous enough to meet his parents, but this? A bunch of Delta Force guys and an MMA champion? This squad was lethal; literally -you’ve lost track of your combined kill count, though Will probably hasn’t, you are sure.

Aside from that though, most of all, they are your family. You need them to like Dean and vice versa, and you know that isn’t necessarily a given. You are a tight-knit group, with little hope of outsiders grasping the full extent of your decade’s old in-jokes, or the intense camaraderie instilled by facing a hail of bullets together. Plus, as the baby of the group, they were protective as all hell of you.

It came from a good place, you knew: they wanted what was best for you. But, there was a reason you’d delayed this meeting... It’s not as though they were threatening or anything. They didn’t do the whole “if you hurt our buddy, I’ll kill you” thing, for example (at least, not while you were present – you couldn’t vouch for what happened when you were out of earshot).  However, after introducing a succession of boyfriends to them over the years, the squad had developed a well-rehearsed system for sizing-up your new squeeze. In the past, not all of your squeezes had made it through the gauntlet. It was a trial by fire, to be sure, and you were pleased that Dean has not yet been burned.

Of course, whilst the boys’ approval didn’t mean everything to you, you couldn’t deny it was important; perhaps especially this time, with this guy. And, out of all of the group, Santi’s approval meant the most to you. Always had. Probably because Santi meant the most to you, full stop. You simply couldn’t imagine having someone in your life that didn’t get on with your best friend. And, so, you are not overly thrilled at the reception Santi is giving Dean right now. The reception he had been giving him all evening, in fact. And the more you dwell on it, the more an anger bubbles forth from you. Even though you try to push it down, and focus on Dean, that fucker in the corner of your eye sends you.

“What’s wrong with you tonight, Garcia?” you blurt out, a little louder than intended, causing the amiable chat and giggles to stall, all eyes turning to you - then, in turn, following the direction of your fiery gaze over to Santi, who shifts uncomfortably in his seat.

Now, he leans forward. Looks back at you with a rare venom in his eyes. With a smug curl of his mouth, he dips to pick up his beer from the floor and takes a swig - buying himself some time. Trying to brush you off. Still, your gaze does not relent as he rests his elbows on his thighs, bridging his fingers together in the space between, thumbs sticking in the air.

Now, he engages, and he looks directly at Dean, his eyes sweeping dismissively over the entirety of his form. Now, he speaks, his voice filled with far more bitterness than the situation merits. “Nothing at all. I’m fucking peachy. So, Dean. You play the motherfuckin’ banjo?” he offers, and yet, it sounds far more like an accusation than a question.

What the fuck is up with him?

Wilting a little beneath Santi’s stare, as the ex-operative squints his eyes in his direction, Dean casts a helpless, sideward glance at you from his place in the circle, and yet, you are so stupefied by anger that you can do little to help.

“I think what my dear friend means to say -” Frankie dips in valiantly, smacking Santi pointedly on the thigh, likely hoping to smack some sense into him too “- is why don’t you tell us more about your music, Dean?”

Frankie’s eyes and smile are soft when he looks at you, surreptitiously exchanging a pointed look -what’s up with that pendejo?- and you are grateful that at least some of the evident tension is diffused when he picks up the slack in the conversation.

Santi and his mood swings be damned, and, feeling bolstered, Dean continues on.  

“Actually, it’s going pretty frickin’ well with the band. It’s a side-gig to my lecturing job, but we’re planning a tour during summer vacation. The States -east coast- and Western Europe for now. Maybe headlining a couple of small festivals, if that pans out, who knows.” Dean relates, humbly.

“That’s great, man,” Will chips in, helping Frankie get things back on track. “We’ll have to come down to a gig soon, hear you play.”

“Actually, we have something to tell you about the tour, don’t we, babe?” Dean says bashfully, and he looks at you expectantly, waiting for you to pick-up the thread. You’d talked about it before coming today, and it had seemed like a great idea at the time, but suddenly, now that the announcement is imminent, your mouth is dry - as if filled with cotton. Still, you force a smile, and you’re not sure why, but you look anywhere else but at Santi as your lips form the words. “Yeah – kinda big news, fellas. I’m going to join Dean on the Europe leg of the tour. I’ll be leaving you losers behind for a few months.”

Dean’s face cracks into a smile and he reaches for your hand, looking made-up at the prospect. Still, while you will yourself to be fully present in the moment, you find yourself focussed on looking anywhere but at Santi, sure that his stare must be boring into the side of your head. You hadn’t told him yet. Unfortunately, at Santi is where just about everyone else ends up looking, as the fucker abruptly pushes his camp chair back and stands, storming indoors before anyone can hope to fathom it.

You exchange glances with Frankie, Will, and Benny, with Benny thankfully stepping-in this time to distract Dean from the obvious, and asking him which stops you two will be making, and which sights you plan to see.

“Look, man, don’t mind that tool. Got any sightseeing plans?”

What is Santi’s problem? Why can’t he give Dean a chance? Yes, you’ve made some mistakes in the past- been hurt, and Santi had helped you pick up the pieces -every time- but you had a good feeling about Dean. A really good feeling. Can’t he see that too?

Frankie throws a concerned glance back towards the house and motions as if to stand, but you beat him to it, wanting to get to the bottom of this. “I’ll go,” you insist, motioning for Frankie to stay put, and with a quick promise to Dean that you’ll be back soon (and a silent plea to your boys to take care of him in your absence), you do just that, walk-jogging across the grass.

When you step inside to the kitchen, you find Santi stood, hunched over the counter, his palms clasping the surface tight enough that his knuckles pale, and his head hung low, his shoulders rising and falling as he takes in exaggerated breaths.

“Well?” you ask pointedly, with zero tolerance for his bullshit. “What’s going on with you? Wanna explain why you’re being an ass to my boyfriend?” you challenge to the back of him, and he instantly whips around at the sound of your voice. 

“I’m being an ass?” he asks indignantly, his eyebrows shooting towards the top of his head. 

“Yes. In a nutshell. Yes,” you hiss, any other interpretation feeling impossible. You fold your arms and purse your lips, making it plainly evident that you are waiting for some explanation. And, oh boy, it had better be good.

Instead of explaining though, Santi simply huffs out breath, gesturing angrily out of the window. “That guy, really? That’s the guy you’re gonna go all in for? Go to fucking Europe for?”

That guy, you mouth silently, completely stupefied for a moment. You’re not sure exactly what your so-called friend is insinuating, but you are clear that you don’t like it one bit.

“What is your fucking problem?” you ask, punctuating your words with motions of your hands, as if you are trying to strangle the air in-between you in lieu of his neck. “Dean’s a catch. He’s hot, he’s sweet, he’s a nice guy. He’s there for me. He takes care of me.”

“Like I don’t take care of you?!” Santi exclaims, his voice rising and abrasive; and then, immediately after the words tumble forth from his lips, he steps back imperceptibly, as if startled by his own outburst, his hand rasping over the stubble on his chin.

“What in the...? This isn’t about you, you ass!” you bite back, face scrunching up in confusion. Your fingers come to your temples as you grow increasingly lost-off and perplexed, and seemingly, your riposte only makes Santi double down on whatever the hell he is complaining about.

“Who’s the one who’s always been there for you, hmm? Who picks up the pieces every time you make yet another dumb shitty choice with another shitty guy?” he rambles, gesturing his hand towards you dismissively.

You step back from him this time, just a little, tears spiking instantaneously in your eyes at such an unnecessarily cruel blow. He’s right, in a sense: you had always relied on Santi to heal you, not to hurt you - and yet here he was dealing these painful, incoherent blows out of nowhere.

“Shit, Garcia. If it’s that much trouble to be there for me don’t bother next time,” you snap, your voice breaking as the swell of anger and hurt and adrenalin sends tears spilling over your cheeks. “Don’t worry though, I don’t think I’ll need you again. In fact, I have a feeling this guy might stick. So, maybe? Maybe you should think about the fact that the only shitty guy around here is you.” 

“You really think he’s good enough for you, hmm? He’s really who you want to end up with?”

You listen, aghast, as his tirade keeps coming. However, as Santi’s voice breaks with emotion part-way through his second question, you can’t explain it, but you feel an intolerable sadness in the pit of you. Even though you’re not sure what’s causing all this, what you’re barrelling toward, you want to thrust this sadness away from you. Push him away from you.  You want to push away the knot in your stomach for fear that if you tug at that thread, you might arrive at an answer to his question.

Exasperated, overwhelmed, you roughly paw tears from your cheeks, not knowing where all of these feelings are coming from, in either direction. “Fuck, I... I don’t understand what this is. I don’t get it!” you say, waving your hands, palms-up, through the air. “Is this some macho bullshit? Have I pissed you off somehow?”

At that, the wave of Santi’s anger crests and breaks; as you wonder if you annoyed him. Then, as suddenly as his anger came it is waning, his eyes pooling with rare tears now. With a huff of breath he tears off his damn cap, tossing it aside to run a hand through his grizzled hair. 

“No. No,” he backtracks a little, palms up in surrender. “You haven’t... I.... I just...” He pinches his lips in-between his teeth and looks up at the ceiling as his words trail off, perhaps trying to steady his voice before continuing. Or, perhaps he has nothing else to say to you. Perhaps he’s said enough.

You examine him. Still pissed as all hell, but worried now too, and ultimately, your love for your best friend slightly edging-out the anger. It’s rare that anything affects him like this, and you can’t help the sudden rush of concern.

Cresting too, you exhale a tightly held breath into the now silent, taut space between you, and your body sags - just a little. You chew over your words a moment, but when your voice comes back the volume is lower, your tone softer - and, although it cannot be considered friendly, by any stretch, it’s the best you can do right now.

“You know what,” you offer, generously, wrapping your arms around your own middle, stroking your forearms with your own fingertips. “I’m giving you a pass. You don’t even want to give Dean a chance? Then just leave, Santi. Just go. I’ll give the guys some bullshit excuse that doesn’t leave you looking like a total ass, because I’m not a dick to my friends. So just go, okay?” You pump your eyebrow at him indignantly and await a response, your manner stiff and unyielding.

Santi closes his eyes and knits his brow together, something like regret finally passing over his face and he shuffles guiltily from foot-to-foot.

You puff out air through your teeth and shake your head, as you observe this Delta Force hero; the bravest man you know in many ways, but still too cowardly to tell it like it is. To admit that he’s in the wrong. You are afraid to say that even as his gaze comes back to you, misty-eyed, you have little sympathy for his plight. You are sure it is of his own doing. You are almost as sure that he won’t open-up.

“You know,” you begin, breaking from your position and gathering up a fresh cooler of beers from the fridge, turned away from him as you speak. “I brought Dean to meet my family. Do you understand that? I didn’t have parents and siblings for him to meet. I have you guys. You’re my family.”

Still nothing. Nothing but silence greets you. Nothing but a pained expression on his face, his brows drown together and the artificial light of the kitchen highlighting the harsh planes of his face as you look over your shoulder at him, waiting for some reaction. Some admission of guilt. None comes. He simply slots his hands into his jean pockets, looking sheepish.

“So,” you continue, greeted with a brick wall, “fuck knows why you don’t want me to be happy, but I am. I’m happy with him. Thanks a ton for shitting all over that.”

You don’t even bother to look towards him this time, instead placing the last of the clinking, condensation-adorned bottles into the carrier, resigned to head back out without him, and without any apology.

“I’m sorry,” he finally says, and your head whips towards him in surprise.

He looks it - sorry. He looks apologetic. Deeply so. He looks sorry for this, for every way he’s ever slighted you, for every time he’s hurt you, even in ways and moments you never knew about. He looks sorry down to the pit of him, and it catches you off-guard when you see it freely offered there in his eyes.

Even so, this is a stubborn man. There’s an apology, but there’s no explanation. Nothing to explain his behaviour. So, even though it seems genuine, it also doesn’t seem like enough.

It doesn’t appease you, and yet, all you can bring yourself to do is sigh deeply.

You know Santi better than anyone, but there’s always been a part of him that has seemed out of reach, even to you. You’re not sure -never have been- whether to be scared or excited by those unknown parts of him. Not sure whether the impasse hints at buried secrets too dark and deep to bear, or whether it hints of a possibility of something more. Something deeper or something better you could have together, if only he would let you in. You don’t know, and you never have, but all you are sure of is that you have constantly teetered on the edge of that abyss, too much left unknown to know all of him, however much you may have wished to. He’s entitled to his secrets, of course, but you hate how they hurt him. 

With a little sympathy now, you examine his watery eyes, and when your voice comes back this time, it is softer and slower than you intended. More tired than you expected.

“You know, Dean wants to be with me. And he tells me so.” You casually dip down to pick-up the cooler handle, eyes still fixed on your best friend. “He might not be Delta Force… he might be a banjo player from Michigan… but even he’s brave enough for that.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Santi says, bristling all over again, his hand rasping angrily over his stubbled jaw, and yet, you decline him an explanation. Instead, keeping your own secrets now, holding back, you head towards the door, beers in hand.

Still, you turn back to him. You might be angry, but you still care for him -more than you could say. 

“If you figure out what’s up with you, let me know, and I’ll be there for you. Whatever you’ve got going on, you know that, right? But this? This isn’t okay, Garcia. You might think that I make dumb choices -you ass, by the way- but I’ve watched you hit self-destruct so many times instead of dealing with your feelings. Maybe you should look at your own life, huh, instead of shitting all over me for trying to be happy? Shit, at least I fucking try.”

His eyes shift from side to side in the room, the muscles in his jaw twitching, chin jutting forward, and his thumbs locked in his belt loops. He can’t quite bring himself to meet your gaze; at least not until you are disappearing through the threshold; until it’s almost too late. Why can’t he ever manage anything unless it’s too late?

“Wait!” he pleads, but you cut him off, before he can speak. Even though, truth be told, you’re not sure he would muster anything to say at all, even if you gave him a chance. He’s so used to holding back.

“No,” you say firmly. “Forget it, I’m done. I still love you- you’re my best friend. But, fuck, just go home, and get out of my sight, Santiago. I’m so pissed with you right now.”

And so, you turn away, and when his words finally do come, they are spoken to the back of your head. They are spoken without you ever seeing his lips move, and you wonder if he ever said them at all, or if this might be some cruel trick of the night. Some witching hour spell. That is, until you turn towards him and you see the words painted clearly on his face too.

“Fuck it. I’m in love with you.”

I’m in love with you.

Why can’t he ever manage anything unless it’s too late?

You’re not sure what reaction he was expecting, but you almost choke on the sudden lump in your throat. You feel a taste of bile rising-up into your mouth. An intense, resurgent anger fills you, which near makes the room spin, and makes your hands and your legs tremble.

Even if a hidden, unconscious part of you has been waiting, hoping for these words all these years, when they finally come all you can feel is... royally pissed off.

“Oh. No. No. No,” you repeat, words gradually increasing in volume, looking at Santi as if he has mortally wounded you, rather than offered that confession. “You do not get to do this to me.”

You see a hard swallow bob down his throat, a near-instant regret on his face, and your heart pounds in your chest as you reel with the implications of his words.

The coward. The fucking asshole. He waited until now? All the times things had gone to shit, and he waited until you were happy?

“All the times...” you accuse, your tone as bitter as the taste in your mouth, the metallic tang of blood as you feel a rushing in your ears. “All the fucking times. All the chances, Santi, and you do this now?” you continue, your finger sawing through the air, wagging accusations at him, even as your voice wavers, as your hands notceably tremble. “No. Fuck you, Garcia. Fuck you.”

You want to cry, or scream, but you are too angry. So angry, that it eclipses anything else which might come to light. So angry that you almost come full circle again, beginning to stabilise out at eerily calm.

Santi looks down at the floor, and exhales air, chuckling disbelievingly to himself, then lightly nodding his head, lips pressed tightly together. His feet shift agitatedly below him as he brings his endlessly familiar eyes back up to meet yours. This time when he looks at you, it hurts. You remember bullet wounds, and you swear that was nothing compared to this.

“That’s it? That’s all you’ve got to say to me, hmm? Fuck you, Garcia?”

“What the fuck were you expecting?” you say, launching your words before you realise the implications of them. Yes, you know fine well that your boyfriend is sitting outside, likely wondering where you have got to. But, if you had the wherewithall to have thought about it, you would know exactly what Santi was expecting, despite all of that. You would know that a part of him must be expecting, hoping, that when he told you, you might reciprocate. That you might love him back.

And, would that be so outside of the realms of possibility? Would it be so hard to imagine that the deep, magnetic, and unshakeable friendship you shared could be something else? Something more? That you could tip over the edge you had long been teetering on? Maybe it could, or maybe it could have, but right now, you can’t see past the flashbang he has just dropped over your life, and it is clouding your vision.

You were happy. You are happy. Fuck him for doing this now.

Why would you fall into the unknown for him, if you never knew whether he would catch you? If you never knew whether ruin or safety awaited you if you let yourself tip? He always held back.

What the fuck were you expecting?

Your words linger in the space between you, and in lieu of any other lifeline, realisation dawns on Santi’s face. Realisation that, although he jumped, you are not intending to catch him either. But how could you catch him, with your arms already full?

And, so, he slowly nods his head once again, his eyes beading with glassy tears and his hand grazing over his chin in a self-soothing gesture. Wordlessly, he sets his jaw and he abruptly replaces his baseball cap on his head, padding a few steps forward to stand opposite you, sucking all of the breath from your lungs. This time, when he looks at you, you see all of your past, but you still can’t see beyond that. The abyss still scares you too much.

Like this, facing each other down, eye-to-eye, the silence in the room grows sharp as a knife, refined to a point. So, when Santi abruptly turns to leave in a sharp, determined trajectory, without so much as looking at you, it is as if he has dragged the blade across your skin in an equally swift motion. As if he has left you open and bleeding-out, having delivered a mortal wound with the act of his exit. You’ve felt like this on the battelfield before, and in life, yet he was always there for you. Always there to patch you. To pick up the pieces.

Instead of screaming open-mouthed for help, this time, you simply watch him go, and now you are the wordless one, mustering nothing but a gasped inhale of breath before your vision blurs with tears - as you watch his hazy form disappear along the hall and out of your sight.

“Santi,” you call pathetically, your voice small and weak and teary, barely making it past your throat, and he doesn’t hear you. He doesn’t hear you but even if he had, you’re not sure anymore if he would have stopped.

When Santi slams the front door behind him, you shudder with it in its frame, your hand coming to your chest as if to hold your heart inside your opened-up ribs, and you close your eyes against the jarring sound, tears spilling down your cheeks, your face screwing-up into a shined, contorted grimace.

Entirely lost, now alone, you bizarrely wish for the room to be filled with anger again, instead of the intolerable sadness - which all too suddenly takes hold of you as your emotions crest and break. It is all you can do to stumble forward a few paces and hunch over the countertop, finding yourself in the exact position you had discovered Santi in. You stand, bracing yourself with your arms, fingers clutching the edge of the worktop, and your head slumped forward, tears freely spilling out of you as your chest heaves.

You wonder whether he’d held himself in this same position because he had felt an intolerable sadness too. An intolerable sadness at seeing you happy.

Suddenly you could understand it.

That fucker. Santiago “Pope” Garcia.

I’m in love with you.

I’m in love with you.

The words echo in your mind, but this time, if you’re honest, you’re not wholly sure if they’re his, or yours.

PART TWO IS HERE

[weirdmarioenemies]

Name: F Boy (again)

Debut: Super Mario Land 2: Six Golden Coins

It feels so strange to look back on my very first post for this blog! It’s so... dry! Where’s the passion? Back then I really had no idea what I was doing and was just kind of imitating Mod Chikako hoping nobody would notice... but thanks to all the love this blog has received, I think I can write with a lot more confidence now! Not to get all sappy on the first paragraph, but I really appreciate everyone who reads this blog with all of my heart. And that includes You!

But if I’d known I’d spend several years using the moniker “Mod F Boy”, I probably would’ve put more thought into the name I picked, huh? I’m not even sure I’m a boy anymore! I just thought the name was funny and that was that! But given how indecisive I can be, maybe it’s a good thing it was so spontaneous... Like it or not though, I am more attached to the concept of “F Boy” then I was three and a half years ago, so it’s only fair I give F Boy the post he deserves and write a whole lot more about him! 

Believe it or not, F Boy is a fire enemy! A single flame with dot eyes, the classic design they’ve been using since Fire! I’ve expressed love for them in the past, but this little dude is a little different... it isn’t found in a lava or castle stage like you might expect, but the spoooky scaaary stages, AKA Pumpkin Zone! Why’s that?

Enter the hitodama! Literally using the characters for “human soul”, these ghostly wisps of fire from Japanese folklore are probably something you’re familiar with even if you don’t know it! The Litwick Pokémon line, the flames on Jibanyan’s tail, the little flames around the boy from the toilet anime, or even the Embers from Paper Mario... that’s really just a couple of specific examples off the top of my head, but they are in basically anything associated with Japanese ghosts! 

Though... all this time I’ve always called them hitodama, but I should probably specify they aren’t the only kind of ghostly fireballs! Onibi (demon fire) are often described similarly, and I’m not totally sure what the difference is! I suppose they would be more demonic hence the name, and probably less of a good idea to get close to. Also, if they're made by fox demons, they’re kitsunebi (fox fire)! Isn’t that neat! But there are no foxes to be found here, so F Boy definitely isn’t that (Unless it stands for Fox Boy...?).

However, you might be more familiar with the concept of will-o’-the-wisps, a similiar kind of legend from Europe- in fact, a whole number of cultures around the world have stories of ghostly lights and flames! There’s two explanations for this, either that it is a misunderstanding caused by some chemical reaction (boring, lame) or that hitodama are real and really exist for real (fun, exciting)! I encourage everyone to go outside with a net and catch as many as they can. 

Even though hitodama can be red or orange in some traditional accounts, they’re mostly described as blue and most modern media sticks with that! Which makes it quite weird that F Boy... isn’t! He is a rather fetching orange of course, and without the added context of spooky old Pumpkin Land you wouldn’t be mistaken for thinking he is a lava enemy that just got lost or something! 

Now, moving on to a completely different topic, something else that is great about F Boy is his little cheeks. Have you seen them? Here is the picture one more time in case you forgot after all that. He doesn’t have one in the sprite, so isn’t it quite weird to give a fireball enemy such distinct little cheeks? I want to squeeze them, even if they are probably intangible. 

And finally, we come to the part we’ve all been waiting for- the name! You were thinking it, I was thinking it, it’s probably the only reason I chose to write about him in the first place! Because F Boy is a funny name for an enemy! I think it’s just quite silly to describe a fireball as a “boy” in the first place, as a term of endearment. It is just a boy! A little guy! He’s not hurting anyone! 

But then they add to that name- one letter. That one letter, F. It changes everything. All of a sudden, there’s a question floating in the air- what, pray tell, does the F in F Boy stand for? 

If you’ve been following our blog for a while, you might remember we added an addendum to the original F Boy post, saying the mystery had finally been solved- the English version of the Super Mario Bros. Encyclopedia lists his name as Fireball Boy, which is a pretty definitive answer right?

But since then, it’s been more or less exposed that this translation took a bunch of unsourced and conjectural names from the Mario Wiki, leading to something of a controversy and a Mario Wiki page that is essentially just roasting the whole thing! If even the Wiki doesn’t accept this book as an official source, I wonder if there’s any merit to the name Fireball Boy at all! Either way it’s odd how this is the ONLY name they changed... do they know something we don’t? I dunno! 

My next evidence to present to the court is something that isn’t really related to F Boy at all! Rather, in Super Paper Mario, the Lava Bubble enemy has a tattle that reads the following:

It's a Lava Bubble. This fiery magma boy loves the heat... Max HP is 1 and Attack is 4. Obviously, it's quite immune to fire... It pops out from below when people approach, so take care when jumping over lava...

Fiery magma boy! The chances of this bit of text being intended as a reference are very very slim, but what if, you see? What if? It’s still a fun coincidence, but what if though??

But of course, my favourite possibility is that it isn’t a word related to fire at all and is actually something completely different! I looked up a list of adjectives beginning with F and I’d like to highlight ones I want F Boy to have. Fabulous! Friendly! Faithful. Fantastic. Fascinating! French? Fresh! Fun, and Funky! Faultless. Fetching. Feminist! Festive. Formidable. All these and more describe the complex soul that is F Boy. 

After all is said and done, that is F Boy! Who would’ve thought that a little monochrome fireball enemy from a Game Boy game could have kicked off so many months of writing for this blog? I said in the first paragraph that I would not get too sappy, but now we are in the last one I can be as sappy as I dang well please! This blog has brought me such incredible joy and friendship that you can’t even imagine, and my only hope is that I can convey these feelings to even one person who reads these silly posts. If you are reading this? I hope you have a wonderful day! I hope you have a wonderful life! I hope you never forget to be passionate about the things that really don’t matter at all, because no one else can decide for you what is worth caring about! Mwah! A kiss goodbye. I’m not sure how to end this post. 

[romanticchemacademic]

Dear future health professionals and stem professors,

We need a revolution of thought. Only through a renaissance of pure and genuine passion towards medicine and other sciences will we have competent doctors, nurses, other healthcare workers, and teachers. We live in a world where people pursue noble professions for the sake of social and economic advancement. However, we lack individuals who love the process of learning and their career.

I recollect quite a marvelous excerpt written by one of the world’s greatest scientific minds, Albert Einstein. In his book, The World As I see It he writes:

ACADEMIC CHAIRS ARE MANY, but wise and noble teachers are few; lecture rooms are numerous and large, but the number of young people who genuinely thirst for truth and justice is small. Nature scatters her common wares with a lavish hand, but the choice sort she produces but seldom.

We all know that, so why complain? Was it not ever thus and will it not ever thus remain? Certainly, and one must take what nature gives as one finds it. But there is also such a thing as a spirit of the times, an attitude of mind characteristic of a particular generation, which is passed on from individual to individual and gives a society its particular tone. Each of us has to do his little bit towards transforming this spirit of the times.

Compare the spirit which animated the youth in our universities a hundred years ago with that prevailing today. They had faith in the amelioration of human society, respect for every honest opinion, the tolerance for which our classics had lived and fought. 

  I believe that one of the faults lies within education institutions. Educators rely on testing, textbooks, and detached memorized lectures. Lectures lack passion and another essential factor: the real practice. The theory is important but the practice is necessary to understand the theory. But without passion, nobody will learn to love the material being taught. Ibn Sina is known for being one of the greatest physicians and teachers of Islamic medicine. I am not completely sure whether what I am about to mention is true. But I read that when he lectured theory to the medical students at the Madrassa (University) he would show them how it worked. Besides medical history and theory. He also taught physics, astronomy, philosophy, and mathematics. However, he is also famed for being an excellent teacher duly because he would take his students to test out the theories and practice what they have been taught. If they were learning medical theory, they were taken to the hospital to observe patients and their cases. If they were learning astronomy, they would all gather in the evening to look up at the heavens to look at the constellations. Lastly, his passion for his vocation was the final touch. Educators without the drive cannot teach. Learning is about understanding oneself, others, and the world. Learning evolves our minds and our spirits by making us get in harmony with the universe. I believe this ties in with Aristotle’s famous saying, “The unexamined life is not worth living”. Though my interpretation may be a wee bit off, I translate it as thus; we can gather all textbook knowledge as possible but if we do not put into practice the knowledge learned, what is the point? I yearn and I pine to experience all that I have learned. I want to see why the theory makes sense in reality. I want to conduct experiments. So much potential is being wasted. Biology is the study of life. However, when I took the course, it was so cold to a point that it did not even feel like I was studying the human body but something alien instead. There is also such a rush to memorize material within a couple of weeks because of exams that the material ceases to be interesting and becomes more of an arduous chore instead. Our sense of time-shifted completely after the industrial revolution. Perhaps this is a reason why we feel the need to rush through everything and not take our time to study profoundly. 

We need another Scientific Revolution, curious minds thirsting for the acquisition of knowledge and unanswered questions. However, I believe that the leading force behind this is a necessity. I would like to mention an example to illustrate what I mean from a novel I read a while ago called, The Physician by Noah Gordon. A boy from Medieval Europe lost his mother from an unknown disease leaving him orphaned. He then grew up with the necessity to learn what the disease was and how to prevent other similar deaths, so that others do not suffer what he has suffered. He then worked with Barbers (people who performed medical procedures in Medieval Europe). But the medical knowledge these professionals had was not enough to answer his question. Thus, he traveled to Persia where there was a quite renowned and exclusive medical school. He did not have the economic means or previous schooling to attend but he impressed the headmaster with his passion and knowledge. Thus, the headmaster admitted him into the Madrassa. The European boy then invested all his time doing research, dissections and treating patients until he finally found out what ailment caused his mother’s death, side sickness (appendicitis). He figured out a way to treat this illness, removal of the appendix. From his initial necessity which was the driving force for him to pursue a medical career, he became a famous physician and felt that all his suffering and odyssey were worthwhile. The sense of necessity leads to the feeling of passion. It was his love for his mother that made him follow such a journey full of obstacles. I am beginning to apply that to my own life. I want to figure out my necessity which will be the driving force to power through university and medical school without ever feeling burnt out. I want to feel fulfilled. I believe this is what all pre-medical students and teachers should think about. What is your necessity? We are going to be dealing with human life, someone’s mother, father, friend, sister, uncle, lover, husband, or child...It is not something to be taken lightly. I know so many doctors lacking empathy because they went into the medical field with just the intention of being acknowledged as “Doctors” and getting rich. But I feel that even the most apathetic healthcare workers can become great empathetic professionals the moment they realize that something was triggered deep inside them, perhaps a loved one having an unknown disease. This would lead the apathetic doctor to do mass amounts of research to try to find a cure. This feeling becomes a necessity. A necessity to not lose the loved one. A necessity to save lives. Thus, finding passion, purpose, and becoming a better person. Though each person is different, we all share a selfish feeling. Most of the time we do not truly care about other peoples’ suffering until it happens to us. Once we are affected by something, we drive all our time and attention to find a solution or a way to deal with a problem. We become consumed and completely obsessed by it. I regard this as passion. I do not think passion subsides, it lingers on inside us. It is a fire that never burns out. I remember my high school teacher writing in my yearbook:

Remember a few things, BE PATIENT. You are eager and you will accomplish so much. But take your time, you are always rushing. Life is a journey, it is not about the destination. Be picky. You love everything with enthusiasm but enthusiasm can burn out. Find a fire inside yourself that burns for a long time.

-V

We cannot rush our personal legend. I believe it comes to us. It is Maktub (it’s written). But we also have to do something. Imagine you are on a stranded island but you have a machete, a fishing rod, coconuts, a cave for shelter, wood for a fire, an ocean full of fish. Everything required for survival is there, but you simply have to cut open the coconut with the machete, go fishing for food, fire to cook, and warmth. The fish isn’t going to swim right into your hands and the fire will not light itself. We must use our resources and do our bit. The Universe has a lot going on, we must help out a bit.

If you ever think about quitting, try to remember what made you start your odyssey in the first place. I do not know what my necessity is yet but that is okay. I believe it will come to me eventually. So for now, I simply love to romanticize academia. I like to imagine the: earthy tones of the universities archways, cobblestone paths, laboratories with clean Erlenmeyer flasks, beakers, pristine white lab coats, bunsen burner flames changing colors as different salts are added, Bromothymol Blue pen stains, elegant calculations inside a worn leather-bound notebook, formulas scrawled over the blackboard, forgotten cold Irish breakfast tea on the desk, academics discussing theories, applause from a successful experiment, gray rainy days spent inside the lab, Whitman, Hemingway, et Sir Arthur Conon Doyle being read during break, intellectual conversations with professors, chemistry reports being written, molecular models built, volumes of ancient words, fire slowly burning in the stone fireplace, trying to understand, looking at the constellations on a clear night in the astronomy tower, reciting poetry, Tchaikovsky playing whilst completing a long lab report on Lê Chatelier’s theory of Equilibrium, curious minds, sleepless evenings in the library, beautiful anatomical illustrations...Just imagining these things motivate and inspire me to continue my path. Though it may seem superficial, it awakens something inside me. I yearn and I pine to become a Chemistry Romantic. 

I want to conclude this letter by saying that pupils and educators keep ideals alive and can change them accordingly as well. We have the power to become excellent professionals or simply exist and do nothing for the human race. But if you plan on becoming a physician or educator, you must find the trigger which brings your passion to life, your necessity. Once you find that, you are guaranteed greatness and fulfillment. However, do not rush. Perfection takes time. A couple of obstacles should not hinder you from persevering. Many will tell you to give up but do not. That is the Universe testing you. Do your best until you master the topic. Once you know better, you are then able to do better. 

Regards,

Confessions from a Chemistry Academic

[imagine-it-to-be-true]

Fix You - Caius Volturi x FemOC Three Shot: Part 2

Hey guys! So, originally, this story was supposed to be a One-shot. But because of the overwhelming amount of requests I’ve received (thank you so much sweeties, by the way), I’ve decided to make it into a three parter. This is part 2, and the first part can be found on my blog. I’m not sure when I get around to writing part 3 as uni starts back up today, but I’ll try my best not to keep you in suspense for too long. This part is more centred around chaos than romance. Nothing belongs to me (including the GIF) Also, warnings: violence, blood, death.

Andromeda’s POV

The sensations were weird. First, I had been in a lot of pain around my stomach region. I could hardly breathe, let alone express my pain to the handsome-yet-creepy, blonde stranger taking care of me. Though I’m sure he knew. I mean, even I knew I was dying, and he was helpless to save me, so I didn’t bother speaking. I could see the concern in his eyes and hear his sweet whisperings as he stroked my cheeks and wiped away my tears. But these little comforts were not enough to stop the hurt. Then, when I saw him holding a huge syringe, it sent me into panic mode. I never liked needles, not to mention ones which were about to inject unfamiliar liquids into me. But he reassured me it would help, which calmed me down. Not like I could defend myself in that moment anyways. I guess it couldn’t hurt me more. It turned out he was right. After a few minutes, I noticed the pain slowly going away. Maybe it wasn’t the liquid, but the fast-approaching release of death, I wasn’t sure. My cries began to slow, and I could feel more pleasant sensations, such as the pale man stroking my hand with his thumb, gently massaging circles into it. Then, he asked,

“What is your name, omorfiá mou?”

Gasping for air, I attempted to speak,

“Andromeda,” came my whispered reply. With my half-opened eyes, I was able to see his perfect lips draw up in a smile. Focusing on his features, I didn’t even realize that my pain was entirely gone, and I was feeling rather loopy. I watched the man bend down closer to me, brushing my hair back and running his ice-cold knuckles down the side of my neck. Suddenly I felt a sense of vulnerability. I felt his cool breath hitting my ear as he whispered,

“Do not be afraid. You will live forever. You are mine now, and I will never let anything hurt you again.” I was confused and fear began to resurface. I had gotten away from one creep, only to be taken by another. This man scared me to my core. But before I could dwell on my thoughts, I saw him quickly lean down towards my neck, as if he was about to kiss me. That was not what happened.

Indeed, I momentarily felt his cool lips touch the sensitive skin of my neck. But then a sharp pain erupted. Whatever it was that he injected into me was definitely helping. I was aching again, though differently this time. It was a dull, electrifying, fiery sensation, which immediately spread from my neck to my brain, and all the way down to the tips of my toes. My body was on fire, but it was not as intense. If one were to be scratched over and over and over again, pain would increase. This was what I was going through. It was continuous and that was making it worse. An hour had passed, then two, then I lost count. I couldn’t see anything anymore, my vision clouded. Yet I could still hear him. He never seemed to leave. Others would come and go. Time would pass and I would feel needles in my arms. I assume he kept injecting me with whatever it was, which managed my pain; probably morphine. I learned his name was Caius from others who had come in and spoken to him. Caius. What an unusual name. But it fit him.

He had injected so much morphine into me that the dull burning sensation eventually stopped. That, or perhaps I adjusted to it. I could not tell how much time had passed, but by now, it had been a while, for sure. I had given up. If it were not for his constant voice, and feeling of his icy hands touching my own, I would have believed I passed on. But eventually, my vision slowly began to return. I hadn’t felt injections in hours, and no pain returned, which was strange.

The entire time I lay there, presumably dying, I thought of my life. Who would miss me? I had no parents. Both died in a car crash when I was 12. I was in the back seat and miraculously survived. Given no time to adjust to the tragedy, I was immediately placed in a foster home in New Haven, where I experienced endless amounts of bullying. But as with all foster children, my stay was temporary. For the next five years, I bounced from one home to the next. This made me reserved, quiet, and untrusting. I was socially awkward and had very few friends. My main comforts came from the company of animals. Truthfully, I got used to this solitary existence, finding that I expressed myself better through storytelling than the spoken word. In fact, my unfortunate childhood did not impact my standing at school. I was always a good student, and this landed me a fully paid scholarship to NYU where I completed a double degree in journalism and history. The lack of family and friends allowed me to dedicate all my time to my studies and work, which was conducting research for my professor. Then, after graduating, I decided to make a drastic change and start fresh with a move to Europe. For the last two years, I had spent my time travelling several countries and writing articles on historical artifacts, buildings, and churches. I sold my stories to networks as a freelance historical journalist, living alone and moving often from place to place. In fact, Volterra was my last stop in Europe before I planned to relocate to Egypt and focus on Pharaonic history there. Not many of Volterra’s tourists knew about the building I had been photographing, which was off the main street and down an alleyway. It was not glamorous, but historic, which drove me to it. That is where I was and what I was doing when I was suddenly grabbed and dragged into a dark alleyway.

My life had been flashing before my eyes over and over again. I wanted to live. To do better. To be better. I was sick of being alone. So, when my vision began returning, I was filled with motivation to live. Really live. Finally, I could focus my eyes. I stared up at what appeared to be a bed canopy. It was velvet, and dark red in color. To my right, I could sense the smell of burning candles. It was so prominent that it made my nose burn. My hands were balled into fists, grasping the cotton sheets and I could see that I ripped holes in them. How much pain was I in that I ripped a bedsheet with my bare hands? I then noticed something strange. I was not breathing. Since when was I not breathing? This frightened me immensely, and I bolted into an upright sitting position. As I did, the bed violently shook. The canopy swayed as if it would collapse at any second. Did I do this? I’m a weak little girl who couldn’t even fight off a drunk man in an alleyway, how was I doing all this? I heard a sound to my left and immediately snapped my head towards the source. It was a young woman – girl more like it – that I did not recognize. She had strange red eyes, much like my rescuer. But she frightened me more than him. There was a certain evil surrounding her, I could sense it. How, I did not know. All I knew was that she did not wish me well.

“Hello, Andromeda.” She spoke coolly.

I looked at her, suspicion and confusion painted over my face.

“H-how do you know my name?”

“Master Caius told me.”

‘Master?’ that sounded strange. Not something a girl would call a man. What was this, a sex trafficking operation? Before I could speak, she continued.

“He has been by your side. He will return any minute now. He went out hunting for you.” She spoke like an information-giving robot: just spewing facts, unmoving, her expression unchanging.

I closed my eyes and shook my head. “Hunting… that’s not necessary. I- I don’t eat meat.” Her expression finally changed. Her smirk transformed into a creepy smile, and she let out a laugh.

“Believe me, dear girl. It is not exactly meat he will be returning with.” She turned on her heels and stormed out of the room. Two guards opened the bedroom door for her and shut it as she left. So, they have my room guarded. I guess they aren’t going to let me leave.

I was not in a hurry; I needed to see Caius. Thank him. And ask him how he was able to fix me. Was I remembering correctly that he bit me?! What a strange thing to do. I looked down on my stomach, which was completely injury-free. Then, I reached my hand to the back of my neck, trying to feel any bitemarks there. Nothing. What the hell? I did not understand. I had a lot of questions and needed answers, the most pressing of which was why my throat was on fire. I would have asked the girl, but something in me yelled to keep my distance from her; that she was dangerous. Slowly, I stood up from the bed, noticing that the white dress I had on when I was shot was no longer on me. Instead, I wore a soft, white nightgown, with lace on the collar. It seemed like a typical garment from Tudor England, or something. It was unlike anything I had seen in any mall or shop. Come to think of it, the entire room had a historic, gothic feel to it. The décor resembled a royal palace.

My feet hit the marble floor and I began walking around the room, making my way to the bookshelf. There, a massive assortment of books awaited. However, they were not the typical books one would find in a normal home. These were all historic and ancient. I picked up a copy of the Iliad. Looking at the bindings, I could tell the book was old. More interestingly, it was still written in Homeric Greek – not a language many would be able to read. Whoever this belongs to was most definitely smart.

Suddenly, I felt the burning in my throat worsen. The sensation intensified to the point where I was nearly panicking. Ready to run for the doors and ask the guards for help, I heard footsteps approaching.

The door swung open, and the man… Caius walked in. No longer dying, I could properly admire his features. He looked perfect, truly. Not a single flaw on his face or skin. His nearly white, blonde hair carefully combed back behind his ears. He moved towards where I was sat in an armchair and knelt in front of me. Immediately, I was filled with a calmness. It was like I was home. I cannot describe it completely, but it was as if all problems were erased, and I was safe. This was the second time I managed to judge a person based on feelings, all within the last few minutes. First with the young woman from earlier, and now Caius. Before he could speak, the feeling was gone, and replaced once again with unease and danger, as I watched the young woman reappear, dragging a man by his wrist. Behind her, the guards entered the room and stood on either side of the man. I could feel that he was not dangerous, as the fear was practically radiating off him. The woman stepped behind him and gave him a push towards me.

“Dinner,” she stated coldly. I looked from her to the frightened man, to Caius. I could see annoyance on his face, as he turned to her and spoke.

“Must you, Jane? Do you not know of patience?”

“Forgive me, Master Caius. You were not one to show patience often, and I do learn from you.” She stated simply.

When Caius turned to me, I was grasping my throat, which was burning almost unbearably. “What is happening?!” I choked out.

“I know this will not make sense to you right now, and I will explain everything, I promise. But the only thing that will stop the ache is if you drink blood. You need to drink this man’s blood.” Caius whispered to me, out of earshot of the poor man.

I froze and looked at him with wide eyes, face in complete and utter shock.

“WHAT?! What did you just say?!” I exclaimed, not believing what I heard.

He sighed and leaned in once again, whispering. “In order to save your life from your injuries, I was forced to turn you into a vampire. You need blood, and you need it now. Trust me.” He tried again.

“I WILL NOT! ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR MIND?!” Hastily standing, I pushed him away. My intention was to give him a normal, hard push so that he gets the message. But nothing prepared me for what happened. When I pushed him, he went flying across the room and hitting a marble column, which shattered on impact. Immediately, the room was filled with noise and dust as the column went crashing down around him. I pushed myself into the corner of the room and watched in terror. That impact would have killed an elephant. Yet Caius, simply rose, brushing dust off his blazer and pants. The evil woman – Jane as he called her – appeared emotionless as she turned her attention from Caius to me.

“Fine. More for us then,” she said. What followed, was simply too much for me to handle.

First, I heard Caius yelling, “Jane, NO!” In one swift motion, she tore the frightened man’s throat with her teeth. Blood gushed out from the wound, spilling all over the white marble floor. I screamed in terror. But what was even more terrifying than the poor man’s death, was the smell of his blood. It was driving me crazy. It was like nothing I had ever experienced it. I craved it. Needed it. And was so close to taking it all for myself. But with any remaining strength I had left, I stopped myself. This was not me. I was a vegetarian because I cared for the well-being of animals. There was not a thing in the world which would force me to do anything to harm another living soul. So, I curled up in a ball in my corner and rocked back and forth, trying to focus my senses on anything other than the delicious smell of blood.

“I will deal with you later. Take him and leave, now!” I heard Caius’ voice. “You are not to come here again; you are not to see her! Now go!”

“Yes, Master Caius.” I heard her disgusting, venomous voice once again as she left. The doors closed and the room was filled with silence.

I momentarily thought Caius left too, but then I felt the sensation of safety return to me.

“How did I do that?” I ask with a shaking voice.

“You are a new vampire. For the first few weeks, you will be stronger than the rest of us. This will pass, and you will adjust.” He said gently.

I continued hugging my knees and rocking. Caius continued.

“This is not how a newborn should experience the first moments. But Andromeda…” he hesitated, “You need to feed. If you do not, it will only get worse. Your awareness will seize to function, and you will eventually kill more than you would have otherwise.”

With no response from me, Caius reached for my hands, placing his own over them. This woke a rage inside of me. I grasped his wrists and pushed him backwards. His back hit the wall, not as hard this time. I began speaking.

“You did this to me. You made me this… this… monster. This is on you. You should have let me die. Now, because of your selfish need for heroism, I will murder countless others.”

We both rose to our feet. He gently approached me again, saying my name, but I held my hand up to block him. “Get out. I don’t ever want to see you again. I hate you.”

With that, I pushed him towards the direction of the door. He paused,

“Andromeda-”

“GET OUT!” I picked up a glass vase and threw it in his direction, and he finally left. I sat down on the cold marble tiles, pressing my back against the wall, and screamed in agony.

[ratherhavetheblues]

 PAMFIR

PAMFIR ;  Dmytro Sukholykyy-Sobchuk (2022)

by James Clark

Romania, never occured to me. But there it is, in our film today, presenting millions of troubles and a few joys. Its ravishing mountain scene could leave one to think of a happy place. But when last in Europe, happiness could not be expected to be found. There is a kind of drunkenness, looking for power in wild custody, in fact. Along that thought would be a strange passion. Most of them would find ways to have simple dignity. But a few would need much more. They would be the heights, those who fully see. 

    And then, the crime could discover something intense, powerful, keen, fine, fierce, ardent, burning, irresistible. The melodrama is steeped by these hopes. ("You're a mummy's boy"... All through the saga, there are actions in boxing. A hopeless thought..."Come to Poland, it pays well.")

    Blue light! Something different. All through this story, there are touches of the true...There is even a beautiful set of curtains. Breathtaking! And in the light bulb.  An old man: "I might only have one good eye, but come see that your father is back. Don't forget to give my papers to the pastor." The protagonist,Gazy: "I need a work permit... (And, smuggling has been used for cigarettes going into Romania.)

    Gazy caressing his wife... Seeing themselves in the mirror. "I'm going to stay, but only for two weeks..."/ " He needs a father around. He doesn't have a role model... He needs an iron hand. I can't manage him. Order...  And we still haven't paid off the house..."/"I want you to stay forever. Don't leave again." /"Stay here to work for peanuts?"/"I just love your voice..." (No Vision...)/ "Your money won't make you a better dad... Leonid...Stay. Don't go back... You don't even know the brakes... religion program on the powers of God... "(His wife: "My father took out one eye, but didn't take the other. Stop your nonsense. What did you promise the priest?")

    "To go better than others. Hey, watch your hands..." Real adventure. Glory to God! All scream! (Brought you my husband's papers.) Nazar, the boy who burned the church. Your father never comes to church. He's angry with God. He needs time to understand. God puts each of us to the test.Tell your father to come to church with your mother."/"Don't tell Mom, she'll kill me."/"You're punished; no bicycle... Go to church, practise, and don't miss a day../ (Try to pay for it...) I need 600 euros!" In the dark... 

    Smuggling, even the priest is in. On the first try, there is success and failure. The trupe carries large boxes on their backs. They march in a very stated movement, paced beautifully in their steep work. In fact the action seems to be a dance. The woods are beautified. This crime is magic. 

Riveting.

Lights.

Is there a moment which has not been touched. 

Finding the treasure.

Into the woods.

In mist... beauty.

Animal sounds... A call!

The beauties of the flowers. Amaryllis!

Can you see them... Over...

Pamfir.

Seeking.

A race...

Lights and noise.

All interacting.

Ancient.

Small light.

A time for the future.

It's not so simple.

Beautiful and strange.

Hide!

A new life.

The cows, around to give birth...

Humility.

Finding. 

I'm coming to find you...

Hands.

Don't worry, it's an easy job.

The brave.

A monster.

Pictures of beauty; pictures of strangeness.

Currents.

Hold your hands in the air.

Brave.

Blue lights! The flights!

Dying planet.

Fires.

The skies within horror! 

The easy job kills Nazar! The latter knew. The latter wanted to die. Where is the zeal: passion, ardour, love, fervour, fire, avidity, devotion, enthousiast, radical, Young Turk, relish, gusto...

Such matters are true.

The skies rip the dying moments. Other places could be right.