#it’s 1 am and I drew instead of studying for physics

[niteparks]

I see my future and it is bright ^^

no honestly I love Emily and maybe it’s projection but god god god do I love collecting little shiny rocks and god do I love my little bird and god do I love playing dress up and sewing things up till my thumbs are indented and oh my god just you wait until I get my hands on some hair dye

**ahem

Honorary drawing of Emily and her government drone♡ + a lil extra goodnight

[nihilistem]

Hey! I read your study tips both posts regarding adhd . (Feel free to ignore )

I am still undiagnosed and I think it's adhd but i do not have the resources nor the environment or support system to do anything about it .I am a high schooler preparing for entrance exams and i really need to like get my shit together and i feel like i have wasted sm time already but i really do want to get better. When i sit to study i just can't focus if I keep my phone in some other room then also i would just sit and stare at my books without accomplishing something. I am trying really but it's feels like my brain is frozen and my body is moving .my brain keep screaming guilty and ashamed but i can't seem to do anything about it.your study post actually i related to a lot because pomodro kind of seems to be working for everyone but me and the you described the exact same things I do

I know this is a lot to ask for please feel free to ignore but how do I stop Letting my emotions take over and study consistently because I only have one chance at the exams

Oh my, first of all I’d like to say that, as cliché as it is, I know exactly how you feel. I was undiagnosed for so long (I was only diagnosed a few months ago) and I didn’t even know that the adhd things I experience on a regular basis wasn’t normal or neurotypical for so long.

first up : I know this is difficult, but please do not say such things about yourself. I’m not gonna get into the whole thing, (cuz I have done a post on that already) but it’s true that the more you drill that bad stuff into your brain, the more it’s gonna stick. We need our brains to be in the best condition possible to study efficiently and saying bad stuff about yourself that isn’t even true is just going to hinder your performance. You got this. I promise you’re not lazy. Your brain just isn’t motivated by the same things others are, but we can work with that simple difference.

I’ll make a separate post on how not to let your emotions take over, but for now …

adhd study tips for those trying to get into the habit.

— by a stem student with adhd.

here’s my first post on adhd study tips.

— don’t put your phone in a different room. Instead, download an app that prevents you from using other apps on your phone.

there’s plenty of apps that do this but the one I prefer is ypt because all its features are completely free and it stops your timer when you exit the app unless you enter ‘allowed app mode.’ I don’t know about you, but if I find that I’m just zoning out on my textbook then I end up stopping my timer and deleting the record because I know I didn’t actually study, and this motivates me to actually get some work done. The timer also gets me motivated to keep going for longer so I have physical proof of my focus time and studies. It will feel good to even have just 1 hour of study time on it, I promise.

— even if you’re not interested in your studies, try your best to find even one thing that interests you.

novelty, challenge and interest are some of the best motivators of the adhd brain, so use it. I know that sparking your curiosity for a subject you hate seems impossible, but hear me out.

ever since I was young, I was exposed to books and I drew everyday. This caused me to become very passionate about the arts, but since I had adhd and didn’t know, I failed all my classes and specifically hated chemistry because it was specifically designed to be everything that I can’t be good at due to my poor memory and the need to memorize a TON of concepts. Then during class one day, I was doing chemistry work with my friends and felt frustrated that they could easily balance equations and work out which compounds were acids or bases purely by its chemical formula. And that’s what sparked me to start reading my textbook to see what the big deal was. How was it possible for one to just know when something is a acid solely from looking at a bunch of letters? This started a chain reaction; I found my answer, and found that the process of finding my answer and learning this new information was fulfilling. So I looked at all the other chemistry topics, and it turns out chemistry was fun. I was supposed to be an art student but now I’m majoring in chemistry and biology, all because of that sense of challenge and curiosity I was given that day.

tdlr; I was bad at chemistry but I’m now majoring in it because I felt challenged by a friend and was curious to know how they could solve chem equations easily.

All it took was a bit of curiosity. It’s a very powerful thing to the adhd brain. And if you use this as a motivator for your studies it might even cause you to hyper-fixate on your work, which means you’ll naturally spend more time studying just to find all the answers you’re now dying to know.

— use the pomodoro timer, but think about the things that you have to do that seems a little impossible to do under 25 minutes.

This fulfills the ‘challenge’ category I mentioned in the previous tip.

Let me explain; I subconsciously started doing this to myself without anyone telling me this and it’s helped me a LOT. Here’s an example;

“This chapter’s too long, it’s impossible to read through everything and understand the key concepts in just twenty five minutes.”

is it, though?

So I was off to the races, genuinely reading through every page and taking note of every single heading or bold or italicized word so I will be able to summarize the entire topic by the time the twenty five minutes is up.

And it doesn’t even matter if you don’t make that twenty five minute mark, because you’ll feel a sense of defeat and try it again with another chapter/topic.

this accomplishes two things; one, the work you’ve been putting off or zoning out on is now probably 20% - 50% completed and now you feel motivated to continue. Two, this method will train you to be faster in learning or studying new material or even just completing work in general, depending on what you’re challenging yourself to do.

— dress up, do your hair, study at a library or cafe you love (and possibly make pretty notes.)

I’ve talked about interest, I’ve talked about challenge, and now I’m gonna talk about novelty.

Do this with purpose! But what do I mean by that?

I’m sure you’ve come across studious girls in media or even people on social media making videos and taking pretty photos of their day out to study. Usually they’re dressed the part and even if they’re not, there’s a certain vibe, aesthetic or aura about them that is just so desirable that it makes you wish you were doing what they were doing. And if you don’t feel this way, find content creators or media that do make you feel this way.

How will this help me? Well, there are actually a few reasons but the first one that comes to mind is that this is also an adhd tip used outside of studying. Combining a task you don’t want to do with a task you’d like to do is a faster and more efficient way of convincing yourself to do long, difficult or even tiring tasks. Another is that doing this would also mean you’ve technically gotten yourself to desire studying, something more commonly known as romanticizing studying. If you make studying look fun, glamorous or even desirable for yourself then you’re sure to get to the hideous parts of it. Think about being a straight A student, someone who’s always wearing nice clothes with great hair and such a focused work ethic. Once you desire to be that person and you dress like that person, you’ll start to do the things that person will do.

— use the pomodoro timer but set it to even shorter bursts instead. (e.g. 15 minutes work, 5 minutes break.)

Or hell, on my worst days I set it to 5 minutes work, 5 minutes break.

The whole point of this exercise is to just start, because that’s arguably the hardest part about studying, you can’t get yourself to actually start or to actually focus. So promise yourself a five minute break after a very short amount of time of reading.

— skip straight to the questions of a topic, try to do them and identify the information you need to get the answer right.

For example, I came across a bio question that was rather simple but I didn’t know the answer to because I haven’t revised the topic for a while, and the question was, what is needed in the body for anaerobic respiration to take place? And the answer was simple, but I didn’t know because again, I didn’t study the material before answering the paper.

one’s brain can have the habit of being complacent especially when you don’t wanna do work, so diving head first into the questions and realizing that you don’t know jack shit would be a good wake up call for you and your brain—and this can connect to the second point that I made because you might find that you’d be eager to get the answer right all on your own, and become curious as to what the answer is.

important to remember …

erase everything bad that you were told or led to believe about studying. I promise that if you look for ways to make it engaging for you and form a habit, studying can be something you don’t dread or worry about everyday. You are capable. This is the start of your journey. Yes, the question of ‘what if I get distracted again’ will always be there but think about what could happen if today is the first day you’re not distracted. If you don’t at least try to start now, you will have zero chance of being able to actually focus and study. But if you try, the worst that will happen is that you tried. If you keep trying, it will happen. I promise.

If you need any more tips regarding adhd, (or being undiagnosed,) please do let me know. I’ll do my best to help.

[ninjagoliathproductions]

A little about myself: I am SanchEZ, an aspiring artist/film maker who has been passionate about art and film since childhood. When I was a kid, I used to pretend that I had my own TV channel; everything that I watched on TV or that I played out with my toys was the "programming" on my channel. The name of the channel? "Crybaby Crybaby". I don't know why I called it that. 😳 My whole life I have wanted to make movies and TV shows.

As I grew up, I got better at drawing and began drawing comic book stories. It was the only way at that time that I could get my ideas out and made into something "real". I drew Ghostbusters comics, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles comics, Superman and Batman comics, and eventually comics of my own creations.

During high school I began drawing "movie comics", basically they were graphic novels. It took about six to nine months to finish these, and I usually was able to complete one page a day. Some people read them and liked them, so that was encouraging. Once I graduated high school, I never made a movie comic again. I began writing short stories instead.

You may be wondering, did I even try to make movies back then? I mean I made plans, I wrote scripts; but I never had a video camera. My dad had a video camera, but he never let me use it (actually only once; I had to make a music video in my theater class). In my middle school and high school years me and my brother were friends with two brothers who were into the same stuff as we were. We were all into Hong Kong martial arts movies, and we'd choreograph fight scenes together. Never had a camera to film ourselves, though. On my last day of high school, those two brothers; our best friends, moved away. Never had a best friend or even a close friend since then...

I worked (destroying my health in the process; I am type 1 diabetic and physical work destroys me) and bought myself a camera. Waste of money, unfortunately. All I had to film was myself, and that was not interesting to me. I need at least three people, two people to act and one to direct/operate the camera. I prefer to be the director.

After many years, I went to college. Originally I was studying to be a paralegal, but I later decided to change my major to film making. Though it was tough, those were some of the best years of my life. I was finally doing what I was meant to do. Though I was with people who had the same goals and motivations as me, I did not make any friends there. I was the odd man out, as usual. Everybody there was only interested in Marvel, Star Wars, and horror movies while I am into Asian cinema, world cinema, and DC comics movies. Plus the fact that I am not cool in the slightest. During my last semester I got severe writers block (and I was probably depressed), so lost my passion for writing.

So here I am, several years post-graduation, without a film credit to my name. I have many ideas for movie scripts, for comics, for TV shows, and even for video games. Since I have very little support, I'm going it alone (for the most part). Ninja Goliath Productions restarts here.

[kiatheinsomniac]

1. I LOVE your writing! You're amazing! 2. If it's not too much trouble, could I request something where Ezio's wife is feeling quite insecure because she feels like she isn't as good as some of the other women Ezio has "been" with like Caterina and Ezio is trying to assure her that she shouldn't feel like that

Of course!! Sorry that it's taken me so long to get round to this, I've hardly been active on Tumblr at all in quite a while but I miss it here :(

She glanced over to where the Contessa was being checked over by a doctor while Ezio worriedly looked over her. Deep down, she knew that he was only concerned because she was a powerful ally to the brotherhood and her arrest at the hands of the Borgia had put her contribution to that alliance in jeopardy. But she couldn't help but fear that he was worried because they had a history together.

Claudia had told (Y/n) enough of what her husband was like in his youth - romancing every attractive woman he laid eyes on. On good days, this made her feel special - she were the one he married, after all - but on worse ones, it made her worry that he felt he could do better and go back to some of these women. Ezio was a faithful man, especially when it came to family, but this didn't stop her from worrying that she may not quite reach what he's been treated to by other women in his past.

She must have been glaring a little too hard though, because soon enough, Claudia was by her side, her arms folded.

"The woman is fine, I have a meeting to attend and he’s holding it up to fuss over her.” She snapped in disdain, her voice lowered as to not carry across the stone walls of Isola Tiberina’s Assassin hideout. 

“I don’t like it.” (Y/n) confessed, her eyes shooting daggers at the Contessa of Forli. Claudia raised a brow at the acid in her tone, finding it so unlike her sister-in-law to be so bitter. Glancing over at Claudia’s expression of surprise, she stepped her way out of the conversation to go and fetch Ezio. He had duties as Mentor of the Brotherhood and she had the claws of jealousy tying knots at her like a marionette. Emotions were something personal to (Y/n) and she wouldn’t watch herself become a wreck over some half-disgraced woman who had lost hold of her city. 

She could remember Ezio telling her how impressed he was to see a woman running a city all on her lonesome once... 

She cleared her throat, dismissing the thought as she did.

“Ezio, our contacts are waiting for you.” She spoke up, her face and voice the mask of business to hide her feelings. 

“Sì, I just-” 

“Bartolomeo has barracks to attend to, Volpe has a tavern to maintain and Claudia has a brothel to run.” She cut him off, watching as he turned his head quickly to face her, his expression a lock of shock and offence, “While they wait for you, their factions wait for them. You keep our entire Brotherhood on hold in a most dire hour to fuss over the Contessa who I’m sure if capable enough of getting her own health in order with the medico.” Ezio had stood now from Caterina’s side, bewildered at his wife’s ill temper. 

“Amore-“

“You have a job to do so go do it!” She snapped, “I have recruits to attend to and correspondence to deal with.” And with that said, she stormed off to the study in order to deal with the letters sent from the Brotherhood’s contacts across Italia. 

She set the few recruits that she had gathered in Roma some training assignments and filed through all the available contracts in the Mediterranean, even going as far as to reorganise all the books of the study’s library. All of this was done to avoid going to bed, knowing that Ezio would be there and knowing that he wold ask her about her attitude from earlier. 

It was when she was obsessively trying to get the paperweights in position that the door opened. In stepped the last man that she was willing to face in that moment: her poor husband who had suffered the brunt of her lashing out in jealousy. 

“Gioia,” He began, his tone soft yet cautious, “come to bed.” 

“But I need to sort these out…”

“I’m sure that the papers won’t grow wings and start flying any time soon.” He walked behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist, resting his chin on her shoulder and inhaling deeply as he pressed his face to her neck, “Come, I want to hold you and talk.” 

“I just need...” She obsessively tried to get the weight to fit between the lines of the letter perfectly, some part of her mind telling her that everything would be alright if all these little things were exactly where they needed to be, that she wouldn’t have to talk about her feelings if she just got these other things sorted out first. 

“You need to lay down with your husband,” One of his palms splayed across her stomach, tenderly rubbing up and down as his other hand caressed her waist, “and let him hold you in his arms,” A soft kiss pressed to the nape of her neck, “and tell him all about what has you so stressed. Doesn’t that sound good?”

“Yeah, except the talking about my feelings bit.” She mumbled as the weight refused to quite fit between the lines, tears pricking her eyes, even if she tried to laugh a little. Ezio hummed knowingly. 

“Come on…”

“Ok...” She surrendered, letting him lead her upstairs with one arm around her waist while his free hand held her own, smaller, hand in his. 

He lead her up to their room where he began to strip her of her clothes that day, leaving her in a chemise. He frowned in sadness at her apathy, the way she didn’t melt into his touches as she usually would, and worry set into his veins. 

He pulled her to the bed where he lay beside her, propped up on one elbow while she laid on her back, her bottom lip trembling, eyes glassy and jaw held tight in determination to keep a cool composure. 

“What has upset you?”

“It’s stupid.” She replied simply, “I’m sorry if I’ve upset you or worried you, you don’t deserve that.” She took in a quick breath and covered her face with her hands, a small sob escaping her lips, each one that followed like a pair of scissors to his heartstrings. 

“If it’s making you feel this way, it can’t be stupid.” He rested a hand on her arm and she turned away from him, her hand gripping the case of the pillow under her head impossibly tightly. 

“It’s the Contessa.” She mumbled into the plush pillow, her cheeks already heating up in humiliation, “The way you risked your life to save her today and then you were fussing over her health and...” 

“Amore, you know that I would do all the same and more for you.” He spoke, almost in disbelief that this is what she was so upset about. There was a long silence as she wrapped her arms around her torso, hoping that somehow she could physically hold herself together with her arms. 

“Why did you marry me?” Fresh tears wet her cheeks and she muffled the sound of her crying in the sheets. He drew closer to her and held her in his arms, feeling her frame jolt with each sob. 

“Because I’m in love with you.” He replied simply, “I’m in love with the way you see the world and people, I’m in love with your passion and humour and intelligence.” He squeezed her tightly. 

“But you could have had any woman you pleased, any woman you’ve been with before. The countess of Forli: the only woman strong enough to run her own city and even fend off Borgia armies.” She hesitated but now that she had bottled up such strong emotions all day, the glass had cracked and no one could hold in its contents lest they slice their hands on the glass. “And don’t think I didn’t overhear that night back in Monteriggioni when I was still just the decipherer Leonardo had sent for the codex pages.” 

Once upon a time, this would have been a time for Ezio to be boastful, but now that he was a married man, he only felt rather embarrassed instead. Looking away for a moment, his eyes came back to land upon his wife. 

“You worry that you don’t live up to the women I’ve had before then?” He asked cautiously, knowing that this question may well only make things far worse if he were wrong. 

“She’s a fucking countess who runs her own city and has her own armies, not to mention the fact that she’s also very clearly good in bed. Who am I? The goddamn babysitter of all the recruits.” She threw her hands up in the air before rolling onto her back and turning her head to face him, at last, with teary eyes. 

“You, amore mio,” He began, reaching a hand up to cup her cheek, turning his body even more so in her direction, “are the woman who stole my heart so quickly, that I simply couldn’t wait to marry you.” It was true, they had only been seeing each other for just over 18 months when he asked her to marry him. “You’re an Assassin who is fighting for everyone in Roma and then all of Italia behind her borders.” A conviction began to grow within his voice as he took up her left hand in his, holding it up so that she could see her wedding and engagement rings. “You are the only woman in this world that I want to spend the rest of my life with.” He brought her hand up to place a kiss upon her knuckles. “I have had histories with women before, we both know this… But they are the past and you,” He leaned down to place a soft kiss upon her lips, lingering and tender, “are my future.” 

A small smile quivered upon her lips as fresh tears welled in her eyes, tears of an overwhelming sentiment of love. 

“I love you with all my heart, Ezio.”

[physicalturian]

[18+] Words of pleasure - Law x F!Reader - Part 6

[No spoilers] [Modern AU - College AU] [She/her pronouns used for the reader, no physical description; Everyone +18] Words : 6246 Archive of our own

Warning : Power play / Dom/sub Dynamics / Control / Stranger / Flirting / Fluff / Awkwardness / Mirrors / Anxiety … If you feel like I should add more warnings, send me a dm or and ask

– Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5

There was a short silence, I let out a nervous chuckle before going for random sounds leaving my mouth as I tried to pick up my dignity off the floor. When I was about to cover up, Law hummed. “I’d say the neck, but it all depends on the situation…” He looked at me from the corner of his eyes and smirked, “Faces are very expressive and help understand what the person’s thinking about. But, so does the whole body language.” Drumming his fingers over the wheel, he made a pondering face and smirked as he continued.

“But the neck, very sensitive. Very fragile, and yet it has one of the most important roles. Protecting all those nerves, to send the information to the brain- to let one have access to the neck is to let yourself be vulnerable…” I listened to him intently, no knowing if it was hot or slightly threatening but which ever it was, it made me very aware of my neck and I had hard time not moving my hand there.

 Lightening the mood, he chuckled and asked me what mine was. “Oh, hm… I never really gave it a thought…” I lied, of course. I knew very well that the entire human body had so much appeal, but I also knew my preferences. Still, I was not going to answer that quickly to him, I had to make it look like I was giving it a thought. When it seemed appropriate, I answered, “Probably hands. Just like the body language, it says a lot about the person.” And it’s fucking hot. “If the person takes care of them, if they’re more into manual work, if they have bad habits… scars… The tattoos also…” I trailed off, biting the inside of my cheek in apprehension of what he’d say.

 With a scoff, I heard him softly ask. “And do tell me, what do my hands tell you?” I tried to think, but I was simply thinking they were pretty, and he was hot. So, I gave it a deeper thought, then opted for more of a flirty approach. I could fix that weird question, make it worth it, right?

 “I can barely see them from here, I’d have to get a closer look.” While I said it in a flirty manner, I tried to coat it with a bit of humor, just to give myself a chance to escape. Chuckling, he did not answer. Instead, he pulled up in my street before parking and maneuvering now to not do it when leaving. When we stopped moving, I was going to leave quickly to not die of embarrassment from his lack of response but couldn’t with all the food and drinks on my lap. “Are you in a rush?” He asked with a smug smile as he took his things from lap after unbuckling his seat belt.

 Giving him a side glance, I realized how close his face was from mine and couldn’t help but glance at his lips before forcing myself to lean back and open the car door. “Well I am hungry-“ I swore under by breath when I felt a pull from the belt when I leaned forward to leave, it was quickly released after I heard the unclasping. Law had done it for me, surprising me at the same time. Almost falling forward, I held onto the car door for a sec before stepping outside.

 I could hear his laugh echo when he left the car, and slammed the door shut, making sure to lock it. “Do you want me to hold your things while you take your keys-“ He stopped mid-sentence when he felt my bag nudge his side, “Take them, they’re in the back pocket. I would have done it myself, but you’ve bought me quite a lot, so it’s on you.” He made a confused sound and asked me if I was sure.

 “Are you scared you’ll find drugs? Or is it maybe pads and tampons that’d be the problem?” He was going to reply, but I continued, “There’s none of that, I think there are biscuits wrappers at best. And my wallet,” I shrugged before trying to nod his way, over my shoulder. “Give me your food, I’ll hold it while you open my bag.”

 “Your hands are full-“ He said, but I interrupted him, “My mouth isn’t, come on give me your stuff.” I closed my mouth for a second, taking in what I had said before feeling my face heat up. I shook my head as I sighed, hoping he’d ignore it, but as he handed me his small bag with probably pastries in it, he spoke. “I was going to say something,” He started, giving me his pack that I held between my teeth. It was almost weightless. “But you’re clearly doing such a good job at embarrassing yourself, I don’t think it’s necessary.”

 With the paper bag still in mouth, I spoke through my teeth, “Fuck you, you know I didn’t mean it like that.”

He looked over his shoulder and quirked a brow before replying, “Do I? You’ve been pretty insistent on sharing how hot you think I am, I can almost imagine how bad you want to fuck me.” After unlocking the building, he grabbed the paper bag from my mouth and grinned in a cocky way. It made me want to slap him across the face, but also take him against the wall, maybe the latter more than the other one. But I did none of those and simply huffed.

 “I think you’re the one who’s whipped, you did stalk me through my friends to bring me food.” I said over my shoulder, stopping in front of the elevator and using my elbow to push the button.

The man hummed as if considering what I had said, then gave me a look I couldn’t describe. It seemed intense, but not sultry, maybe even confused, lost. “As I said, I am familiar with studying for a long period of time. It’s a boost, moral support. So, don’t be ungrateful like that, you sound like a brat.” It seemed I had ticked him off by saying that, I could see it by the frown decorating his forehead.

 But that frown was also accompanied but a delicate blush. I did not argue back, instead we stepped inside the elevator silently. Did I keep that silence? No. I could have kept the drowning, deafening silence that surrounded us, but I did not want him to feel uncomfortable. That is the reason I gave myself to talk more.

 “You’re right, thank you for the food and the company. How much do I owe you?”

Looking down at me, his frown dissipated as a small smile drew itself on his lips. “Do you ever accept gifts without questioning?” He scoffed before adding I didn’t owe him anything. I was going to speak up when he did, at the same time and I let him. “I have a better idea; you know what would make my day?” I believe it was rhetorical, but as we left the elevator, I answered jokingly. “Your day has been made since the moment you saw me.”

 He did not lose any time and replied with a smirk, “And yours, since I called you this morning, but who’s keeping track?”

A loud cackle left my mouth, it wasn’t elegant in any way. I had not expected him to be funny like that, though maybe he was just catching me by surprise more than being actually funny. I wasn’t sure yet, but there was this bubbly feeling my guts that assured me he was not a bad guy. “I’m not going to lie, it wasn’t not-enjoyable. But do tell me, what would make your day?” I asked before gesturing for him to open the door, telling him which key it was. I held his paper bag between my teeth once more, as he opened it before he grabbed it from me.

 “If you admitted you want to see me in my hospital coat-“

I cut him off once I had put everything on the dining table, and freed his hands, “At best, a hospital gown to see that ass, but I am never admitting having a ‘doctor kink’, alright?” With everything laid on the table, I turned around to look at him and made a grimace, “Actually I take it back, this is just a nice get together, I swear I don’t want to see your ass that desperately, ok? Take a seat, doc.” I blurted out, realizing what I had said was more something I’d say jokingly. But I meant some of it, I did want to see him in his full glory.

 This time, he did not make any witty comeback. Instead, he took a good look at me a moment, then grabbed my chin and turned it a bit before sliding his finger right under my jaw. He was checking my pulse, then said, “How about you take a deep breath and relax? You said it yourself, it’s just a nice get together, I’ll even sit at the opposite of you if I make you that nervous.” He suggested as he let go of me and pulled up a chair to sit on.

 “No, no, don’t-“ I pulled up the one right next to him, maybe even scooting it a bit closer to him, our knees touching. My face was warming up slowly, remembering the interaction that happened seconds ago. “I’ll be honest, and you guessed it, I’m slightly nervous but maybe it’s because I’m into you. Not desperate, but you’re clearly a sight for sore eyes and you’re funny. You keep me on my toes, it’s fun.”

 I did not expect him to react like that, but the man in front of me seemed to have been flustered for a moment. He tried to hide it by focusing his gaze on the paper bag in front of him as he opened it to grab its content. “You make it so easy for me to make innuendos, but I’ll let you have your wholesome moment.”

 Nudging his knee with mine, I huffed and started checking all the food he had bought. While doing so, he continued talking, getting my attention by bumping his foot against mine. “I think there’s still something you need to tell me,” He started, earning a panicked look from me while I slowly put the food down, gulping. “Do I? I mean, fire way,”

 Delicately, he leaned on his hand, resting his elbow on the table, and grinned. “What do my hands tell you about me?” I never sighed so loudly, hoping he had dropped the topic. But he seemed keen on knowing that, or maybe simply tease me for saying I preferred hands. “First things first, you gotta stop teasing me about the hands- You said neck! And maybe it was a bit hot, but also threatening, you gave it a thought and a deep one at that.” When I was done, I placed my hand, palm up, on the table and made a grabbing motion. “Come on, give me your hand, let me take a look.”

 When he did, I realized how big his hands were but also how slender his fingers were. I could see it without needing them so close, but now that I took a good look… The thought of wearing it as a necklace crossed my mind, I ignored it. I then started observing his hand, turning it delicately in mine, brushing my thumb over some spots. “You have a little bump on your ring finger, so you either write a lot or draw,” I hummed a moment, “Your nails are probably cut so short for practicality, since you probably have to wear gloves and stuff…”

 “The tattoos, they confuse me. Maybe you were a bit of a rebel when you were younger, because clearly they’re not professional-“ I looked up at him with an apologetic look, hoping I hadn’t offended him, “But it’s pretty! I’m not judging, just-“ He huffed a laugh and tried to grab my hand gently, only for me to keep holding it as if it was the most precious thing I had seen. “I was indeed very shitty when I was younger.”

 Grinning mischievously, I jabbed, “Because that has changed? You still seem like a little shit to me,” Then I breathed out with a smile, “I’m not done though, your hands are slightly calloused but not a lot, so maybe you go to the gym or one of your hobby is more manual?” It was a rhetorical question, but he hummed to tell me to continue. I ate a bit and continued, “Also they are some very faint tan lines on your fingers…” Seemingly amazed, a smile drew itself on the corner of my mouth, “Do you wear rings? I mean, it’s faint, I can barely see it so maybe I’m wrong-“

 “I can’t really wear them when I work, but yes. Sometimes I do wear them, I believe you also noticed I wore earrings. Couldn’t get your eyes off those last night, could you?” It was my cue to let go of his hand and fully face the food in front of me instead of the beautiful, arrogant, man next to me. It made him laugh when I groaned and told him to eat in peace. Showing me his empty paper bag, he said, “I’m done, you’re the one who’s been distracted, dear.”

 “Right, then if you’re done, let me eat.” Glancing his way, he was staring right back at me with a smug smile, I made it my sole goal to avoid his gaze but after a moment he spoke up, “If you’re into me, you’ll have to look at me more than that, you know.” I almost choked on my food as I turned my head slowly towards him, “If you’re going to use everything I say, against me…” I trailed off and smirked, but rapidly discontinued my idea, “I was going to flirt back and say your name, you know… because you’ll use it against me and- but! I’m genuinely too tired for that- You know you’re exhausting?”

 He threw his head back and let out the prettiest laugh I’ve ever heard, while running his hands through his hair. “You really do say whatever crosses your mind, it’s endearing.” He grinned and crossed his arms over the table leaning forward, this time. It was like he was emphasizing that he was listening intently. “I’ll stop flirting for today if you’d like, do tell me more about yourself,” he then said my name in a low tone.

 “You start, I’m still eating Law- I thought you cared about my health and here you are, distracting me.” My tone was falsely dramatic, yet Law seemed taken aback, if not embarrassed, for a second. His gaze fleeting to the side before he leaned back on his chair and crossed his legs. “What would you like to know?” He grumbled, a hand moving to fidget with his earring, but since he wasn’t wearing any, he moved it back to his chest.

 “Well… you said you were a little shit when you were younger so… How does one go from troublemaker to doctor?” I resumed eating after asking him, there was a clear change in his attitude. His relaxed demeanor seemed to have suddenly tensed, but he hid it and huffed a laugh. “I studied. You know it does require a lot of years to become a doctor-“ he stopped mid-way through his sentence when he saw the look I was giving him. A deadpanned look, to tell him to not fuck around, I knew full well the number of years it took, and that was not my question.

 Sucking his teeth in, he sighed. “It’s not a fun story, but I’ll tell you about it one day,“ Interrupting him, I apologized, “Sorry, then how about I go entirely off topic? Here,” Pushing the paper bags away from me, I smiled at him kindly, “What’s your favourite book genre? If you read any, that is,” An almost-shy laugh escaped his lips and just like that he started talking about a certain comic series he was fan of. I listened intently as he passionately talked about, I would sometimes interrupt him to ask a few questions when I’d get confused and he’d clear things up.

 He had the most adorable look on his face the more he talked about it, almost like it was the first time someone let him rant about it. After a moment, we started talking about other things we each liked when we were younger. I learnt that he wanted to become a doctor since he was very young. He did not elaborate on the topic much, except that he would always try to sneak inside his parents’ consultation room to see what was going on.

 It’s only after a few attempts that his dad chose to give him books to read and focus on, instead of putting all his energy into trying to break inside the consultation room. That’s when little Law found his interest in medicine, at least part of it. There was an untold reason he had yet to share, but I was not going to prod. “You were pretty determined; I’d even say you were cute, but you were probably a demon.” Was what I said to him when he mentioned that short story.

 As if on cue, he smirked and started, “I am still pretty determined, I always get what I want,“ I completely ignored is start at a flirtatious exchange and said, “Good, then work for it, I think we were having  a very nice conversation here, my turn to talk about my past ok?” Then I resumed after he said to go on, and that he was very intrigued on what kind of kid I was.

 I told him the reason why I chose the studies I did, even mentioned my family, how I was raised and what I wanted to become when I was a child. Since it was only the first ‘date’ I had with the man, and maybe I was getting ahead of myself, I tried to keep off the more serious topics: the ones that needed more trust before being shared. The conversation still went on smoothly.

 I always liked listening to people’s story, so it felt weird when this time someone was listening to mine with as much interest as I did. When he kept asking questions, not nosy ones, or giving short but nice comments, I’d stutter. I’d feel my pulse quicken every time but ignored it. After all, he wasn’t going anything special, he was simply… invested.

 “Oh, I forgot the most important question, pardner. Are you ready?” He nodded, smiling behind the hand on which he was resting his chin. “It’ll say a lot about who you are, don’t know if you’re ready to bare yourself like that yet-“ “Just ask the question, I won’t answer if I don’t want to.”

 Placing my hands in front of me in a faux-defensive manner, perhaps even in a calming manner, I whispered “Easy there, cowboy” to which, Law rolled his eyes, asking me wordlessly to go on.

 “Right, do you have any pets?”

 There was a silence. He moved his hands from his lips to his cheeks, his eyes riveted on mine, not looking away. “That’s your one-million-dollar question?” He breathed out, his smile betraying his annoyance that was but an act. I started arguing on how having pets, or not, depending on the situation could say a lot about the person. “We usually have a cat here, but she’s always away. Or in Robin’s room, we called her Vagabonde.”

 Straightening himself on the chair, he pulled out his phone, careful not to show me his screen and started scrolling on it, while talking. “I do have a dog, his name is Bepo. And before you ask, I know I don’t have that much free time, so I let him stay with my neighbor who’s basically in love with him.” When he found the picture he wanted, he showed it to me, and there it was on the screen, a big white fluffy Samoyed. I couldn’t help but notice the most adorable smile on his face before he turned the screen around, he stared at the screen a bit longer before locking his phone. The man was clearly in love with his dog, and it was the cutest thing I’d ever seen.

 “He’s very energetic, and he sleeps with me. Since my neighbor has trouble sleeping, she does not mind when I come get him late. I pay her for it, even though she says she’d do it for free. What does it say about me?” Right when I was about to reply, the alarm on his phone went off, it was time for him to go. He helped me clean everything up in a hurry, then we made our way to the door.

 We both stopped at the entrance, perhaps wanting to say something more but not knowing what. I took the leap, and poked his arm, “I think it says that you’re a lot less intimidating, you like cute things, and I can’t wait for Thursday. I would also love to meet Bepo, maybe take a nap with him-“ I grinned widely when he frowned, laughing at his almost offended reaction, and continued, “and you, since clearly I won’t be able to separate the both of you.”

 He did not reply for a few second, then he smiled. “You’re right, I do love cute things. I can’t help but try to get them for myself,” The tension that had disappeared while talking about our lives, had suddenly return, I could hear my blood pumping in my ears. Law raised his hand to rest it on my jaw as he gazed down at me with the faintest smile, I did not know what to do. This was supposed to be a quick fuck with a pretty boy, but he clearly had charms and I couldn’t untangle myself from the effects he had on me.

 It’s when his nose brushed against mine that I realized how close he was, and where this was going. Our lips where ghosting over one another, I could almost feel his hair, brushing against my chin. I wanted to pull him close and finally break the tension that had installed between us. But when I was about to kiss him, he pulled back just enough so that our lips couldn’t meet and breathed, “See you on Thursday then.” Then he pressed a light kiss on my cheek before turning around and waving at me.

 I stood there, stunned. This asshole knew what he was doing, and he was having too much fun with it. But that moment made it clear I was not the only one interested, and it was like a win for me. At least I knew he’d keep is promises of a good fuck on Thursday, seeing how much he was into me.

 Shaking the daydreaming away, I got back inside and waited until he was downstairs to unlock the door with the intercom. When I saw his car drive away on the small screen, I let out a sigh of relief and moved back to my room where I slumped on my bed, exhausted. “Thursday can’t come any faster.” Rolling on my back, I grabbed my phone and considered sending a text to Law. But would I even say? ‘Nice kiss attempt, left me wanting more’? ‘Damn, you got me horny with just that, can’t wait to see what them hands do, cowboy’?

 Cringing, I opted not to text him. The man was probably busy, I hardly think doctors only fill in paperwork every day. Running my hands over my face, I groaned into my palms before sitting back up. “Sure, he’s hot, but maybe he’s not a good fuck.” I hummed in agreement with myself, “I did not have any feedback about his feats, maybe he’s single because he sucks.” I nodded to myself again, before remembering he told me he did fuck. A lot. I let myself fall back on the bed, closing my eyes as I pondered longer.

 I did not know where the date would take place, but as I gave it a deeper thought, I also started thinking more and more of what we’d do once we’d get to his place. I remembered he said we’d have to make a detour by his place anyway because he’d have to get changed… But he seemed like he had plans for us. Or maybe we’d just…

 Arrive at his place, it’d look minimalistic, he clearly was not one for sentimental stuff. He’d tell me to wait as he’d get changed in his room, leaving it ajar so that I could catch a glimpse of his body. He wouldn’t be in scrubs; those were taken way before leaving the hospital but… I like the idea of him wearing one anyway, it reminded me of HandSurgeon and for some reason it got me going.

 As he’d take off his shirt, he’d look over his shoulder and smile smugly at me, before asking if I was enjoying the show. If I were bold enough, I’d tell him I’d rather join the show to which he’d grin and tell me to join him. A heated make out session would ensue, then I’d push him to the bed, straddle his lap and unbuckle his belt.

 “I think we should keep it close by, for later use,” He said, mentioning the belt, before gripping me tightly under the thighs and flipping me around so that he was on top. Once there, he slid his hands from my side to my arms, that he lifted over my head before leaning over, a toothy grin on his lips. “You’re not even fighting it, so obedient.” His lithe fingers wrapped themselves around my wrists caressing them gently, then he reached behind me towards the bed headboard, and I heard a metallic sound. Suddenly, I was restrained. Around my wrists, comfortable, leather handcuffs, tied to the bed headboard by lengthy chains.

 “Belts aren’t the best restraints, but I am prepared…” He gripped his belt tightly, twisting it in his hands. “It’s however a great whip,” I was startled when the leather touched my stomach, my shirt had been removed, somehow, at some point. Law was now wearing black latex gloves, his sleeves rolled up while he was still fully dressed. I thought he had taken his shirt off earlier but… “Don’t start thinking, enjoy it. That’s what you want, right? To give up control, let yourself get loose,” I think I nodded.

 He let the belt travel all over my body, I was only in my undergarments. And he was taking his time to make sure to touch each and every inch of my body. Like a predator observing its pray, he was walking around the bed at a slow pace, the leather belt grazing my skin ever so lightly. But it was enough to make me want more, it was enough to make me contract my muscles in apprehension when he’d raised the belt. I did not know if he was going to strike, I don’t know what mood he was in, but I liked the thrill. “Look at you, all spread up and ready, quiet…”

 His gloved hand was now gripping my chin tightly, forcing me look up at him. “You’ve been tamed so well, you’re not talking until told to.” He breathed against my lips. I felt one of his hand traveled from my chest to between my legs, under my underwear and slowly, he pressed a finger against my clit. Then between my lower lips, only teasing my hole. Over and over again. Surprised, I only gasped and tried to look at him, but he moved to murmur right next to my ear, “But I think I want to hear you, loud and clear. Why don’t you be a good girl, and stop holding back, mmm?” I let out a breath I did not know I was holding and started panting.

 The nerves, the anticipation, the excitement, all of it was let out through shaky breathing as he’d touch me then-

 Startling awake, I heard my phone ring and scrambled to my senses, trying to find it. I heard a thud at my feet and bent over to look what it was, only to realize it was my phone. Quickly grabbing it, I picked it up and put it to my ear. “Yep?”

“So, how was your date with Law?” I heard Robin ask, I could also hear the grin on her face.

 “I don’t know if I should thank you or curse you, Rob. But for now… it was nice, I liked it… Although it was odd to see him on my campus at first, still is a bit weird when I think about it but, you know, it’s the thought that matters, right?”

Giggling, the black-haired woman on the other end of the line could be heard shooing someone away before answering, “Well, he did have to fight Nami. She was very much against the idea, but he said he wanted to make you feel comfortable for Thursday. So that it’s not a stressful first date, you know?”

 So, he did give it a thought, the fact that I was studying only gave him the opportunity to come by. I wonder what his excuse would have been if I hadn’t been studying the entire day. Focusing back on the conversation, I gave Robin more details of what happened. I considered not telling her about the almost kiss, but she was clearly in for the gossip. So, I told her, except I didn’t tell her I wish more would have happened. How I still wondered what his lips would feel like against mine, and how I’m curious of how they’d feel against my skin, barely grazing it, his stubble following each delicate touch. The latter being something I’d hopefully find out on Thursday.

 When everything had been said, and she had told me about her day, we hung up and I was left with the remnant of my hot dream.

 I stared at nothing for a moment, considering my options. I could work on some assignments, I could distract myself, or I could… Open discord and see if HandSurgeon was busy. Not for something too exhausting, no, but for a little bit of fun.

 So, I did.

 Edelweiss: fun game to suggest

Edelweiss: no one around me, but still, you get a picture of me

Edelweiss: you don’t have to send anything… although I wouldn’t mind much

Edelweiss: then, fun times?

Edelweiss: I’m bored and I don’t know… maybe we could do something

 Drumming my fingers on the back of my phone, smacking my lips a few times. I can’t believe I was growing impatient for such thing.

 Minutes passed, I started bouncing my leg with anticipation, forcing myself to not send more messages in case he was busy. I remembered he had said he’d be more busy this week, but I did not know his schedule, maybe he was free now.

 I felt my phone vibrate in my hand and saw a message on discord. I opened the app excitedly,

 HandSurgeon: I have to get going, I’ll be off for a few hours. Then, odds are that I’ll pass out when I get home, I’m sorry dear.

HandSurgeon: But, I am not refusing pictures of my girl. If that’s what you’re suggesting. If you are, I’ll give you a few instructions on how to take them.

Edelweiss: I am suggesting that yes… I have a mirror…

HandSurgeon: You’ve read my mind. On your knees in front of it, naked. One with legs spread, the other not. Don’t be shy and grab your breasts as you do so, feeling yourself as you’re doing a private photoshoot just for me. Your hand traveling down, caressing your stomach to stop just between your legs.

HandSurgeon: Your free hand gripping your beautifully stricken thighs, remembering how much of a disobedient girl you’ve been last night. How much you’ve learnt since, how good you’ll be for me.

HandSurgeon: So good you won’t touch yourself until I’m back and free to take care of you. And if I’m not back before Wednesday… well then, that someone better fuck you better than I can make you feel even though I’m not with you.

HandSurgeon: And if you don’t fuck by then, no touching.

HandSurgeon: Be good for me Edelweiss, see you. Let your creativity run wild.

Edelweiss: Yes sir, see you then.

 Closing the app, I saw my reflection in the, now, locked screen. It’s only then that I realized I was slightly pouting. I made a weird face and quickly got out of bed then took a good look at the long mirror next to my desk. “Well, it shows too much personal shit, I’ll have to move it.” I mumbled before rolling up my sleeves and using my strength the best I could I moving it to the side of my bed. The reflective part was facing my window, so I closed the blinds, and it was neutral enough to not give any information about me.

 “Can’t believe I’m doing this,” I panted, while coming back from the bathroom with a cleaning spray, “If I’m going to send proper nudes, I ain’t sending them with a dirty mirror…” I grumbled, tiring myself already from the wild movements I did to really get the glass clean. The squeaky sound of the towel against the glass was all that I could hear, along by long breathing as I thoroughly scrubbed it.

 Once it was done, and I was settled, naked in front of it, I felt a shiver ran down my spine. Being in this position and being able to see how I look… I felt utterly exposed, which made sense considering I was naked. But the idea that I was doing all of this, just for that stranger, it felt odd. I liked that feeling, but was I allowed to feel that pride, that joy, from making myself pretty for a stranger? Was that objectification? Huffing, I told myself that I didn’t care because I liked feeling god. I did follow his instructions and took the picture how he had asked, but then I took some liberties.

 I found one of my favourite sexy outfit and put it on, making sure it highlighted my assets.

 Giving myself a once over in the lengthy mirror, I made a thinking face. Since Law teased me earlier, I could perhaps tease him back? Show him what he’d get Thursday, what he’d have to wait for. But then again, was I willing to be the first one to send a text after the coffee date? And have that first text to be a daring picture of me?

 Licking my lips, I pondered a bit longer. Then thought I could make it just enough to have him want more. I moved to my desk and leaned against it, my butt resting on it. I then angled the phone to show my face where I gave my best flirtatious smile, the outfit I was wearing showed off my cleavage and my neck, so I made sure he could see the latter clearly, knowing he liked it.

 Taking the picture, I hesitated upon seeing the final result. The boldness I got from sending HandSurgeon naked pictures was starting to fade. I had to act fast if I didn’t want to chicken out, so I sent it to Law quickly, that way I couldn’t go back. It was followed by a message.

 You: Thursday, right? Not that your opinion matters, but how does this outfit sound for that research?

 I made a face at that text. “I wish I could take it back, it’s so bad, god it’s so bad.” I looked away and sighed, then looked back at my phone and sighed louder, and looked away again, “I’ll just leave it at that, I’ll put the phone down and wait for an answer. Yeah, yeah…”

 Having convinced myself to relax, I managed to not touch my phone for the rest of the evening. I did spend that evening working on some stuff, since there was no distraction to steer me away from actually getting shit done and ended up being productive.

 Since both the men I had started talking to recently were busy, and my friends away, I had the most boring night.

 I had forgotten about the text I had sent by submerging myself with work, but when all was done and I was alone in my bed with my thoughts, I remembered and cringed. When I checked if I had any reply, and saw nothing, I felt a knot form itself in my stomach but tried to rationalize. ‘It’s ok, it’s alright, he’s probably still at work, maybe he fell asleep, we’ll see tomorrow’ Was my last thought before falling asleep.

 When I woke up in the morning, the knot only tightened, and I felt more anxious than ever. Once again, I thought maybe I shouldn’t have done that.

[Part 7]

[ladyopinior]

FATE: THE WINX SAGA – review

Fate: The Winx Saga is a teen drama inspired by the animated series Winx Club. The series is aimed at an audience of young adults and features a darker story than that of the cartoon (Wikipedia). In order to watch the show, you have to have to leave out of the picture most of your previous knowledge about the Winx Club. Although the show is inspired by the cartoon version, it is clear within the first few minutes of the first episode that most of the events do not match the Winx Club’s story. Now, I know that a lot of people are angry and disappointed at the fact that both Flora and Tecna do not appear in the show, that The Trix are nowhere to be seen, and that the story does not correspond with its source of inspiration. However, I think that this adaptation has potential (this will be discussed later on) - although it can bit a little bit cringy at times. Like it was said before, Winx club is merely the source of inspiration for this show, but that does not mean that Fate: The Winx Saga was going to follow the original storyline step by step as it was. If we take Winx Club as our object of comparison, I do think that the characters are fairly well matched, although some of them are lacking certain characteristics (and being honest, I am still salty about what they did with Stella):

Bloom, for example, has the same personality traits as the Original Bloom. First, let’s recap Winx Club’s Bloom’s personality: Bloom started off as an insecure girl at the beginning of the series because of her ignorance of her true origins and her strange, yet surprisingly potent powers. Later on, as she learned more about magic and herself, she grew increasingly curious about her past and whom her biological parents are. An escapist by nature, she has a tendency to run away when things get too hard or confusing for her, and can also be impatient and stubborn, with a short temper. Bloom was also impulsive at times, which led to some very bad experiences for both her and her friends. Her greatest strength and greatest weakness was her status as the guardian of the Dragon's Flame. While the Dragon Flame made her arguably the most powerful fairy in the Magic Dimension, it also consistently drew numerous enemies to her such as the Trix, Darkar, Valtor, and the Ancestral Witches. Despite her flaws, Bloom still has a heart of gold. She cares for all of her friends, allies, and families (both adopted and biological) deeply, and is always willing to help and fight for a good cause. She has shown herself to be selfless, caring, brave and a true capable leader. Bloom is tough when needed to be and always lends a helping hand to people in need (Wiki). Now that we have checked Original Bloom’s personality let’s compare it with Fate: The Winx Saga’s Bloom: she also has the same insecurities as the original Bloom - also caused by her lack of knowledge when it comes to her true origins and the fact that she is a changeling (Aisha tells her this in Episode 1). In this show we see a Bloom that is willing to learn more about her powers and magic, and that is also curious about who her biological parents are. She is also an escapist and has a tendency to run away when things get too hard or confusing for her - this is told in Episode 1 when she tells Aisha about how she lost control and nearly burnt her parents alive “Every night after that, I… I snuck out. I was so… scared that I’d hurt them again… that I slept in this… creepy-ass… warehouse near my house until Miss Dowling found me”. In this case, it is also her status as the guardian of the Dragon’s Flame that attracted the Burned Ones to her. This Bloom is also impatient, stubborn, and has a short temper. Bloom was also impulsive at times, which led to some very bad experiences for both her, her friends and the rest of students at Alfea - her decision of freeing Rosalind and letting her recharge her powers weakened the protective barrier and allowed the Burned Ones to enter Alfea risking all the teachers and student’s lives. The Original Bloom is said to be selfless, caring, brave and a true capable leader, however we can say that this Bloom is overall selfish and thinks about her interests first instead of worrying about the consequences of her acts. Although it is still too early to assume that she will be a good leader, we can’t deny that she is brave, tough and caring towards her friends and parents. Overall, I am happy with this Bloom: she matches the original one’s personality pretty accurately and in terms of physical appearance she does resemble the Original Bloom.

Now Stella… Dear God, what did they do with her… I know I said that Fate: The Winx Saga was not meant to follow the original Winx Club, but I did expect the characters to at least have the same personalities. This is where I am most disappointed. The Original Stella is said to be proud and self-centered, Stella also cares deeply about her friends and family, not just herself. She will stick to the people she loves and do anything to keep them safe. Stella is not always seen wearing a smile on her face, but she does crack jokes to cheer her friends when they are depressed. Basically, Stella has a cheerful and optimistic personality. Besides that, she is totally obsessed with fashion, which clothes look best on her, and which dresses match her face the best. Stella often gives fashion advice to people in Alfea, but this advice is often not taken well. She would rather flirt with Brandon than study and do work, which sometimes annoys the other girls. The most intuitive of all the members, Stella likes to match make but has often had problems with understanding why her friends do not always like getting set up. However, despite her intuitions, Stella can be rather oblivious at times. She was sent to Alfea to become a stronger fairy, but this did not mean so much to her, though she did effectively become a fully accomplished fairy and a powerful one by fighting the first three season villains with the Winx. She uses her magic for anything, but she mostly wants to help her friends as deep inside she is a generous and helpful girl. Although she might disagree with her friends, Stella is very supportive and protective and will not hesitate to help them. She learns to accept that love and friendship are far more important than royalty, fashion, and shopping. Sometimes she hides her true personality because of her upbringing. In short, her cheerful exterior masks great sorrow (Wiki). Well… Where do I start analyzing Fate: The Winx Saga’s Stella… I guess I will take a shot at the similarities first. This Stella is proud and self-centered - which the original one was - and she does like fashion (although I would not label her “obsessed” with it) and gives advice to Alfea’s students… kind of… she mostly critics their outfits - specially Terra’s. Like the original one, Stella was sent to Alfea to become a stronger fairy and rehabilitate from the incident that took place the previous year (meaning that she had to retake the first year again) - in Winx Club, Stella accidentally destroyed the potions laboratory but it is not stated what happened exactly; in Episode 5 of Fate: The Winx Saga, Stella tells Musa the truth of what happened the previous year - that her magic is erratic because of her mother and that that day she lost control and blinded her best friend unintentionally. And that’s about it in terms of similarities… This Stella is dependent on Sky, her ex-boyfriend (still angry at the fact that there is no Brandon, and still creeped out by these two being a couple in the past) and seeks his attention all the time. The Original Stella is the most intuitive of all the members, but to be honest I do not see that trait in this Stella. This Stella is not shown to be a helpful girl nor someone that wants to help her friends, at least not until the end of the season when she tells the others that Bloom deserves to know her truth and that she supports her “I have an opinion. Everyone in this damn suite is so black or white. Bloom is a pain in the ass, but she deserves to know who she is, not the stories the faculty is telling her. Now we can worry about being right, or we can help our friend. Which is it?” (Episode 5). Stella is not a very supportive nor protective friend and only cares about herself… and Sky, and we do not get to see that cheerful exterior the Original Stella showed. This Stella is full of sorrow and sadness, and sometimes this eclipses any other trait she might have. To be honest this Stella is just a bitch most of the time and treats the rest of the people in Alfea like her mother treats her. However, if I put aside the Original Stella for a second, I do think that this version of her can be quite enchanting: she has all the characteristics needed for a great character development in this series, in fact, you can see some change in her towards the end of the season.

Aisha is one of the characters whose personality does not bother me too much, and I do see similarities with the Original Aisha. Winx Club’s Aisha is extremely opinionated and open minded. She is as intuitive and when asked to, gives practical and pragmatic advice. She is also a talented dancer, athlete and speaks many different languages. Aisha gives practical advice and always provides a shoulder to cry on. She continuously shows this caring nature throughout the show, comforting Musa after her conflict with her father, and calming Flora's nerves when she experiences qualms about her feelings for Helia. However, besides the other girls, she might even be the most sensitive of the crew. She has also been shown to be rather stubborn and impatient, something that can get her into trouble by making her hold grudges and jump to conclusions. This could be the result of her isolated upbringing growing up, as she didn't really have many friends, making her come off as a little anti-social at times when she first appeared. Over the course of the seasons Aisha lost her tomboyish side possibly due to her opening up to the Winx and Nabu, but yet she still loves sports and still determined and energetic (Wiki). The Aisha from Fate: The Winx Saga is highly opinionated and she does not shy away from telling the rest her thoughts. She is also quite judgmental when meeting new people: in Episode 1 she helps Bloom end the call with her parents, they engage in a conversation about why Bloom’s parents do not know she is a fairy and when Bloom tells her that the idea of being a fairy is ridiculous, Aisha asks her if she has never read Harry Potter, and the conversation follows like this: B - “Please. If you knew how many hours I have wasted taking Sorting Hat quizzes…” // A - “Ravenclaw?” // B - “Sometimes Slytherin, yeah” // A - “That explains the lies then” // B - “Hm. Let me guess. Gryffindor [silence] Explains the judgment”. She is intuitive, tries to help as much as she can while being truthful (even if sometimes she ends up hurting people) and gives advice - sometimes uncalled for. But, unlike the original one, this Aisha can also seem a bit meddlesome at times. Like the Original Aisha, this one is also sporty and is shown in the series - she goes swimming every morning. Now, what I miss the most in her character is the lack of background… we know the Original Aisha is the princess of Andros, but we know nothing about this Aisha - Who are her parents? Where does she come from? What worries her? Also, we never new why the is unable to control small masses of water… we are just shown that she has trouble with it and that’s it, no more development for her. I think we should have been given more information about her and not just shown the same four traits of her personality all the time.

The next one is Musa and being honest I don’t know what to feel about her. I am not bothered by the changes made but at the same time I am (being honest there is just one change they made that deeply bothers me)… For example, the Original Musa was a fairy of music and now she is a mind fairy - a fairy who feels other people’s emotions (Wikipedia). This is not a big deal, Winx Club’s Musa was able to feels nature’s emotions thanks to the sounds it made and was very in tune with her musical side, this Musa is also linked to music but in a different way - she uses it to scape her overwhelming surroundings - and she is also able to feel emotions, it’s just that instead of natures’s it’s people’s. I guess what bothers me the most is that the Original Musa was Asian and this one is not, I do not get the need to change that about the character… I have nothing against Elisha Applebaum, the actress that plays Musa, but why couldn’t they cast an Asian actress instead? It would have brought more diversity to the show. Now that I have that out of the way, let’s focus on her personality. Winx Club’s Musa loves music, dancing, singing, and playing all instruments, but her favorite instrument is the concert flute, the first instrument she ever learned to play. Musa usually plays amazing music but plays best when she is alone by herself in Alfea in a quiet spot. Despite being the most tomboyish of the Winx, she is perhaps the most emotionally vulnerable, and she balances this by putting up a tough front. Surprisingly, Musa gets the best grades of her friends, as mentioned. Her emotional weakness is the result of her mother's death and her father is far away. She is also a bit of a loner and had a crush on Riven, but they do not admit they like each other until the end of season two when they had their first kiss, which then starts dating (Wiki). When talking about Fate: The Winx Saga’s Musa I feel like we should first address the elephant in the room… no, there is nothing going on between this Musa and Riven, in fact, they’ve had like two interactions in the whole show - I can’t say I am mad about this, we all know Winx Club’s Musa and Riven had a very toxic relationship so maybe this is a good move for this adaptation, and also, Sam seems to be good for her. Now, this Musa has said since Episode 1 that she used to dance and that she loved it just like the Original Musa, but unlike her she doesn’t seem to play any instruments. However, she likes to listen to music alone by herself in her room or a quiet spot. She is also emotionally vulnerable and puts on a tough front. Just like Winx Club’s Musa, this Musa’s emotional weakness is the result of her mother's death which she tells Terra in Episode 6 after she asks her to help Sam ease the pain he is feeling after having been infected by a Burned One: T - “You can’t just run away. He’s in pain. And dad’s trying, but—” // M - “Please just leave me alone” // T - “I know you care about him” // M - “That’s the problem. I can’t feel it. I can’t feel somebody I care about die. Not again” // T - “What? … Musa…” // M - “My mum died last year, Terra. And I was with her, and I felt it, the moment it happened. I felt everything she felt. That’s why I can’t talk about my family, and that’s way I can’t be with Sam now. I can’t feel it. Please don’t make me feel it again”. One thing we don’t know about is wether she gets the best grades out of the group because we have never seen her study. Also, we know that she hates not being able to fight along with the Specialists and she is bother by the idea of having weak powers. Being honest, I am not disappointed with this Musa, in fact, I quite like this character but there are a couple of things I would like to know: once again I would have loved to see the moments she shares with the rest of the group because I can only remember her being open with Terra, maybe if they had included a couple of scenes of her bonding with the rest the friendship would have made more sense. I also wish that in season 2 (if they make it) they focus more on her, she has great potential to expand her powers… maybe let her fight with the rest of the fairies and the Specialists, getting to know more about her family and background, and also giving her more bonding time with other members of the group and not just Terra (but I get why they chose her to be her closest friend, I mean, she is her roommate and is dating her brother).

Now, now, now… let’s talk about probably the most “controversial” character: Terra, not Flora but Terra. This the character that people where most disappointed with when the trailer was released, mostly because she is not Flora. Now, another elephant in the room: a lot of people who had watched Winx Club did not like the idea of having a plus sized character, especially when it was supposed to be a Winx. However, I think it is a great move including a plus size girl - the show being inclusive in this aspect is showcasing that anyone can be a Winx, because your size does not matter at all with the strengths you may have, so I approve this change, I applaud it. Another thing that disappointed fans was the fact that Terra is white - now, we don’t now Flora’s ethnic because it was never stated in Winx Club but many people believe that because of her skin color she had to be Latina… I don’t know about this because Miele, her sister, is white so… I guess you can believe what you want in this case but taking into account that Miele is white, and that Terra is just a cousin then the change made there it’s not that horrible (except that it narrows down the diversity in the main cast of the show). Also, another thing that left audiences speechless was that Flora was in fact mention in the show, but as Terra’s cousin “Shocking. Earth fairy called Terra likes plants. It’s a family thing. I’ve got this cousin called Flora” (Terra in Episode 1), I guess everyone though that the producers making an adaptation from an already existing show would mean that at least the names of the main characters would remain the same, but clearly that was not the case. All of that being addressed, I am still going to compare Terra with Flora, mainly because they are supposed to be “the same” person. So, Flora is shown to be a very calm, soft-spoken, caring, sweet, shy and genuine girl who loves plants and vegetation of all kinds. Being interested in experimenting with her plants, Flora became the potion master of the group who specializes in brewing and creating remedies and medicines from the uses of her magical plants. Due to her gentle and caring personality, Flora is strongly connected to nature and loves helping people. She is shown to have a sensitive personality to the point where she would instinctively care for her friends as well as her plants when they are in distress. Flora is the most mature member of the Winx as she possesses a deep sense of love, peace, happiness and tranquility. However, it is shown that Flora has an insecure side to her personality as she would have problems believing in herself at times. Her insecurity would sometimes cause her to hide most of her feelings to the point where she would have problems expressing them. Flora is one of the most diligent student at Alfea and is cautious of her actions. Although she has a kind-hearted side, she at times gets very angry at her enemies which can cause her to act quickly and show a more aggressive side of herself. As an older sister, she is shown to be quite overprotective who often forgets that people do mature and can protect themselves. Miele often has to deal with this side of Flora whenever the latter suspects a mission to be too dangerous. In this case, Flora has demonstrated some level of ignorance as this attitude tends to hurt Miele's feelings (Wiki). If you have read Flora’s personality, then you would have realized that Terra is just the same. Literally, there is very little I can add here… both of them are very calm, soft-spoken, caring, sweet, shy and genuine girls with sensitive personalities; both of them love plants and vegetation of all kinds; both are interested in experimenting with plants and their properties and creating potions; both love helping people; both have shown signs of insecurity and would have problems believing in themself at times. Terra’s insecurity would also sometimes cause her to hide most of her feelings to the point where she would have problems expressing them. Terra also shows quick responses when it comes to protecting her friends and herself and becomes more aggressive. I guess the biggest difference between them would be that Terra is insecure about her body, in Episode 2 this is clearly seen when she is unable to change in front of the rest of her friends. Overall, I do like Terra, in fact, I think is the best character of them all. I literally have no complains when it comes to her. I declare myself a big fan of Terra.

The next character I am going to talk about is the new addition to the Winx World: Beatrix, who is supposed to embody The Trix in one person. Beatrix is an air fairy who can manipulate electricity (Wikipedia). Now, we all know that The Trix are a trio of witches who act as the main antagonists of the Winx Club series. The group is made up of three direct descendants of the Ancestral Witches, the most powerful and evil witches to have ever existed. They focus on what they are best at: acting maliciously and joining forces with the darkest villains the Magic Dimension has to offer (Wiki). These three witches are Icy, Darcy and Stormy and if my interpretation is correct, Beatrix would have the “looks” of Darcy, the evilness of Icy and the powers of Stormy, however as it was said before she is an air fairy which means that she can manipulate many aspects of the weather spectrum, so her actual powers can be a combination of Icy and Stormy’s. I still don’t know if she is evil or not… I mean, she helped Rosalind but that’s because she saved her when she was a baby so… I don’t know, we’ll see what happens with her in season 2 (if we get one). What we know about her is that she is a troublemaker, and she does not hesitate to kill if it’s needed. She is also a very powerful witch, powerful enough to temporarily damage the protection veil placed by Luna (queen on Solaria) upon Aster Dell and also powerful enough to control other people with electricity. Although we don’t have enough information about her or her background, I think she is a great addition to the adaptation and I’m hoping to see more of her.

Now that I have these characters out of the way I would like to talk about the plot. I actually watched the show trying to forget any knowledge I had about the Winx Club - which was not easy because I breathed Winx when I was a child, and after getting pass the fact that the storylines are completely different, I actually found myself enjoying the show. The plot is definitely a lot darker than Winx Club, but I guess it’s normal, after all this is aimed for young adults and not kids. As I said at the beginning of this post, I do think the show has potential: the plot is interesting and by the end of the show you find yourself seeking answers to all the open questions left. For example: Who is Rosalind and what does she want from Bloom? Why did she take her to Earth? What is going to happen between Stella and her mother? And Sky and his now-I am-not-dead-but-you thought-I was father? And what is going to happen with Silva? What is going to happen to the students of Alfea with Rosalind as Headmistress of the school? What is this war - mentioned by Rosalind in Episode 6 to Farah Dowling - that is about to come? Is Headmistress Dowling really dead? Will we be hearing more about blood witches? Who sent the Burned Ones after Bloom? And many more. I also think that having the Burned Ones as the monsters of this season is a great throwback tho the end of Winx Club’s season 1: if you remember in the war between The Trix and the Magic World, the three witches invoke the dark army to fight for them - these creatures are made purely of dark magic and slightly resemble the Burned Ones, although I am aware of the fact that they are not the same - Burned Ones are zombie-like figures that appear to be able to infect others by cutting them, in addition to possessing superhuman speed and strength.

I have to make a comment here, and that is that I think that the storyline was way too rushed, although I get that there’s so much one can show in 6 episodes of 40 minutes each. Still, I would have liked them to cut down the horny scenes between the characters and showed us more scenes of the main characters backgrounds, their stories, etc. I guess what I missed the most in this series was the friendship that characterized Winx Club. Although by the end of the first season the five girls are friends (in Episode 6 all of them go with Bloom to California to tell her parents that she is a fairy - emotional support - and stayed a few days there, and when they came back to Alfea they did it together laughing and smiling while reaching the school’s entrance), most of the journey that allowed the girls to reach that point was not shown - specially how they get along with Stella and the moments they shared prior to her leaving Alfea at the end of Episode 4. I would have liked to know the moments they shared, because all we got was the same bitchy Stella doing her own thing while the rest shared their moments, so when Stella tells her mother in the car “You could’ve let me say goodbye to my friends” I was left deeply confused and thinking ‘what friends?’… It was a missed opportunity and if there is a season 2 I would like them to show the moments the girls share and how their bond strengthens. Overall, I did like the show and would like to have more seasons with more episodes - 6 were not enough for me. I hope that, if the show gets picked up for another season, that the producers consider focusing more on the girls’ friendship and their stories. I also would like for the Winx to transform like Bloom did and that their wings improve (honestly Bloom’s wings were cool but a little bit meh, I actually think the trailer’s wings were better).

And that’s all my beautiful people, my review on Fate: The Winx Saga.

(Fun fact: Fate in Italian means fairies).

[foryoumyheroes]

hi! I dont know if you are still taking request, or even active but if you are, could you do a headcanon with todoroki having a s/o that loves drawing him ? they could be already on a relationship or not ur choice

Hi anon! If you're reading this I previously replied that I am sort of taking requests, but I was inactive until recent. In order to make that up to you I'll give you both a scenario fic and headcanons since I was struck by inspiration to write this! Hope you enjoy!! I kinda spiraled off topic asdfgh 

Pls accept my word-vomit like I’m a cat giving you a dead rat. 

The Campos 

Todoroki x Artist!Reader

"How is it possible for anyone to be that handsome." 

Even you were surprised by the words tumbling out of your own head, stopping your pencil in its place and as you froze like a still frame. It wasn’t long before you felt heat creep up your body, painting your cheeks all the way to your ears with a red like the sunset. 

It was always like this. 

There was nothing artistic from the way his image always flowed from your pencil in hurried lines and messy scribbles, and there was no beauty from how you always hunched over into the collar of your shirts whenever you felt the burning of your emotions. You wrote Todoroki [Name] and [Surname] Shouto in the margins of your notebook as if you had reverted back to primary school, doodled among little tiny hearts and sketches of his side profile. 

Maybe your parents were right. You should’ve just gone to art school like they had said and fallen down the path of them and so many of your other relatives. But at fourteen you were just so caught up with wanting to be different. You had to be. You had to get off the beaten path and flow out of the frame you were confined in. You said that in this family you would never be the best artist, but you could become the best Hero that the [Surname]s had ever had. You were a Hero-in-training, but you knew that at heart you would always be an artist. 

And now at sixteen you were at a loss. You were at a loss because whenever you looked over at the last window seat in 1-A, your talents always fell short. There was nothing you could draw that could bridge the distance you felt, to calm the foreign feelings in your body. Your drawing skills had not diminished while you practiced war, but you were backtracking now. Perhaps you really should’ve gone to art school instead. 

Maybe then you would find a way to express how you truly felt. 

Nothing you wrote or drew now could match up to the endless admiration you had for one Todoroki Shouto. 

Everyone else was mere background noise to Todoroki when he set his gaze on you. 

Although Bakugou and his group of friends were in the common room shouting and making a ruckus and Todoroki’s own friends were giggling at the back of him, tossing frosting, floating bowls of batter to Iida’s ire. 

His eyes always sought you out. 

It was difficult to explain why. Even now, with you in a baggy sweatshirt and loose jeans rolled at the ankles, Todoroki wondered why he was paying you so much attention. The world around you was spinning and you were at an impasse. You were only writing in your notebook, probably jotting down notes at a speed he couldn’t comprehend. Your head was always buried in that Campos notebook.  

With a loud screech, Kirishima bumped his hip on the dining table, jostling both you and him from your standstill, pencils rolling across the wood. Your eyes immediately flashed up and met with his wide heterochromic ones. A deer in the headlights. The two of you turned away as quickly as it came, ignorant to the pink that bloomed on both of your cheeks while a spark flickered across his left cheek. 

“Whatcha drawing there, [Name]?” Kirishima asked boisterously, pulling out the chair beside you while you heated up like a furnace, waving your arms around wildly and sputtered like a train engine. You couldn’t snatch it away fast enough and his dark eyes fell on your doodle-ridden pages with a soft, “Oh.” His lips formed a small O shape. His eyes carefully looked up at the hot-and-cold boy before dropping back down to your page. You carefully averted your eyes, fixing [e/c] orbs on some faraway wall until he carefully pulled your notebook toward him and quickly scribbling something down, pushing the pages back toward you. 

When you snuck a peek at the drawing of a blond gremlin with spiky hair like a porcupine, and a crude drawing of a K and B underneath an umbrella, a loud laugh tumbled out of your mouth. 

It was as if Todoroki didn’t exist anymore as you gave Kirishima your full attention, laughing to whatever jokes he made or witty one-liners. 

He wasn’t a poet. He didn’t know the words. 

Others could talk about how selfish he was for having his mother’s pretty face and his powerful Quirk; boys and girls have tried before, handing him letters in his locker and bouquets of flowers, but that never mattered to him. Only you have stayed on his mind. His attractive features and his Quirk only had stock to it if it helped him win over your affections. 

In crowded places and busy gatherings, when he stood in solidarity, when his hands hung by his sides and his eyes were left with nothing to see, he wondered what primitive part of him was always acting out. How his hands wanted to cut off all connection with the logic in his brain and reach out to grab yours. How he always silently watched you from faraway, physically unable to tear your visage away from his eyes. His body always acted without reason — the heavy palpitations against his rib cage, the rose against his skin, the sweat on his palms, the dilation of his pupils. 

He wondered how he was in Heaven just by being near you. 

He wondered what it would take to get you to look at him for once. 

But your eyes would just be deep within the confines of your Campos notebook, impervious to his lingering thoughts of you.

Surprisingly it was Todoroki who offered to clean up after his friends while they went into the showers to wash away the flour and frosting that coated their hair and skin. The night had already been long by the time they turned in, heavy and drowsy after making several tins of uneven, ugly cupcakes. He had to do something with all of this energy, he thought, scrubbing away at stubborn stripes of sugar that painted the counter tops.

The lights were off and only the streaks of moonlight filtered through the large windows of the dorm room. You had left with Bakugou’s group several hours earlier, accepting Kirishima’s invitation to go to the nearest konbini for ice cream with an open hand. 

Now it was just him. 

Tossing the rag in the wash bin, he was about to make his way back to his room when his eyes fell upon the dining table and he found your notebook. 

How could he not know it was yours. He had seen it within your hands more times than he could count, more obsessively than Midoriya’s Hero Analysis for the Future No. 13. He wondered if that was why he was so interested in you. Your dedication to your studies were admirable. Nearly twenty-four-seven. 

Carefully, he crept closer to it, as if it was a bomb going to detonate before he picked it up. 

The pages curled and crinkled in his hands, and he debated opening it. 

It was just a school notebook, right? You probably only had notes and worksheets hidden inside of it. 

Maybe he could get an answer to your time. He could discover the subjects that you were struggling at, or even find one that you were better than him at. You were a couple ranks below him in the class grades. When he returned your Campos to you he could ask to study with you. 

He flipped it open and his heart stopped at the sight. 

Shit, shit, shit! you thought, running down the stairs, taking two at a time. It was late enough that the elevators were locked for curfew and you cursed Aizawa-sensei for putting your room at the very top of the building. After you had gotten back from the konbini with your friends, cheeks hurting from how hard you were laughing at Kaminari’s antics and Sero’s sarcasm, you had completely forgotten that you left your notebook on the kitchen table. You only remembered when you dug through your bag only to scramble around when nothing came up. If anyone like Hagakure or god forbid — Mineta, found it, you would never live it down. You were lucky enough that Kirishima was a good sport about it. He knew how to keep his mouth shut, but everyone else? 

You wondered if it was too late to transfer schools. 

Your feet landed harshly on the carpeted ground after the final step, head snapping back and forth for your notebook, but froze at what you saw. 

Even in the dim light of the moon and past the hand clamped over his face, you could see the heavy pink on his cheeks. 

Your heart dropped. 

“I — “ His hand fell to his side and you were given a full view of the strong flush on his face. “That’s my notebook... Todoroki-kun.” 

When the Campos dropped to the floor and he dashed across the common room, hand around your waist and his lips on yours, you found that you didn’t need flowery words or an arsenal of artistic techniques to express how you felt. 

Your hands wrapped around his neck, locking him deeper in the embrace, fingers cording through his soft red and white hair. 

The instinct to be closer to him would be all you need to overcome the division between a desire for him and the stillness of your body. 

Headcanons: 

After you two get together and it becomes more obvious that you’re drawing him, he’ll coax you out of doing it in secret.

He’ll ask to take pictures of the drawings on the margins of your notebook or if you’re drawing it on scrap paper, he’ll ask to have it after you’re done with it. 

He keeps it in a box uwu and he has to upgrade every year because it keeps on getting full. 

Even if you’re not drawing him, you ask him to pose for you so you can take references for your other drawings. He’s just so proportionate!! 

It makes him so happy every time he sees it!! He nearly catches on fire every time. 

The fact that you’re expressing your affections in this special way makes him so soft?? 

He once tried to draw you in return but he has like zero to none art experience. Even had no experience in his childhood because all he wanted to draw was All Might and Endeavor wouldn’t allow that. 

Instead you offer to teach him the basics on how to draw and you two continue bonding that way!! You sit on his lap because that’s the best spot to be close enough to guide him and show him how to draw while you drone on and on about shadows, anatomy, perspective, and he’s just nodding along without a single word going to his brain because he’s just staring at you the entire time. 

[“Shouto-chan, did you get that?” 

“Yeah...boxes?”]

If you draw him complete pictures he keeps it on his wall, and eventually his dorm room looks like he’s about to string red yarn around it because it’s blanketed with paper all over like he’s uncovering a murder conspiracy. 

A/N:  The picture that I used for the page breaks is Anselm Feuerbach’s “Peonies” and I actually saw it in real life at the Neue Pinakothek!! It’s one of my favorites and I even got a mousepad of it bc I’m a dork asdfg 

The Kirishima and [Name] scene is inspired by this comic by marbitss and I was inspired to write a lot of prose after reading Nicole Krauss’ The History of Love!

[waitimcomingtoo]

(1/2) hii thank you for being so nice about the questions i had a few days ago! i was wondering if you could write a fic where peter and the reader are best friends and he often comes to her for help after getting hurt on patrol but instead of being super soft and sweet about it she always gets upset with him. not like yelling or anything but shes always like “dude youre literally bleeding all over my carpet” and “omg seriously peter? again? for someone with a peter tingle you get hurt so much”

Patches

Pairing: Best friend!Peter Parker x Reader

Masterlist

Requests are CLOSED

These days, Peter Parker felt more like your patient than your best friend.

Even before he became Spider-Man, Peter would come to you for healing, whether it be emotional or physical. You were his shrink, his nurse, and his best friends all in one. You had every title you possible could. All but one, the one that mattered the most.

Girlfriend.

Of course, you still loved and cared for Peter, and you were happy to help him when he needed it. But these endless nights spent patching him up were making you grow weary. He didn’t seem to realize that his Spider-Man duties kept you up just as much as it kept him up. You’d grown accustomed to the constant exhaustion and ever present bags under your eyes. And don’t be mistaken, Peter was thankful. At least, in the beginning he was. He too had grown accustomed. He knew he always had a place to go when he needed help. It was second nature for him to go to you. And you couldn’t blame him. You’d let him come to you time after time, never turning him away.

“Why are you still up?” He’d ask as he found your half asleep over your chemistry text book for the third time that week.

“I’m always up this late.” You said through a yawn as gathered your first aid kit. Not a complete lie. You were always up this late. But not because you were studying or doing school work, which is what you told Peter. It was because you couldn’t go to sleep until you knew he was home safe, even if you wanted too. Your concern for him kept you up late into the night, every single night. This was the nightly dance you did, and it was bringing you to your knees. You gave him everything. All your time, energy, and attention. And yet, he was still blind to your feelings. You were tired of the platonic cuddles in your bed after you patched him up, and tired of the empty feelings behind them. His soft “thank you”s while you dressed his wounds weren’t assuaging you anymore. You wanted to walk down the hallway, holding the hand you bandaged up. You wanted to link your arm through his bruised one. You wanted to kiss his busted lips, when they weren’t busted of course. And most of all, you wanted to come on his adventures with him. Peter always told you stories of the bad guys he caught as you patched him up. In return, you’d scold him for being reckless as he rolled his eyes. You were never actually angry. You were jealous. Jealous he gave the bad men of Queens more attention than he gave you. You just wanted to be apart of his world. You wanted to swing around the city in his arms. You didn’t want to be his nurse anymore, you wanted to be his everything. If he had all of you, why couldn’t you have all of him?

On one night in particular, the sharp sound of Peters knocking woke you up just as you finally managed to doze off. You woke up with a start and snapped your head towards the window. Peter sat on your fire escape with a black eye, a bloody nose, and a pained smile. He gave you a tired wave and you sighed. You stomped over to the window and flung it open.

“What?” You grouched.

“Woah.” Peter laughed lightly. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” You blinked and shook your head. “Sorry. Come in. And don’t get blood on my window.”

“Doctors orders.” Peter quipped.

“Right.” You said absentmindedly. He was quick to notice your indifference and gave you a strange look.

You scrambled to get the first aid kit, trying to calm yourself down so you wouldn’t snap at Peter any further. But he was making that very very difficult. You came back into your room to find him sitting on your bed, head to the ceiling with a tissue pressed tightly against his nose. In his wake, small drops of blood left a trail from your window to your bed.

“Dude, you’re literally bleeding all over my carpet.” You told him, nodding towards the blood. He looked and it and gave you an apologetic smile.

“Sorry.” He said sincerely, and you sighed.

“It’s fine. Just keep your head back.” You instructed. He knew what to do.

“Y/n, I have to tell you something.” Peter spoke up as you got to work on his more obvious wounds. You stood between his legs as he sat in your bed, just inches from each other’s faces. All he had to do was lean up, as if he ever would.

“Yes, Peter?” You asked, looking into his starry eyes. He had a serious look on his face, making your heart flutter. Could this finally be it? Peter gave you a lopsided smile, and your heart pounded in anticipation.

“Could you re-wrap my hand? It’s a little too tight.” He said, making your heart fall. You felt stupid for even thinking something would happen.

“Sure.” You grumbled, snatching the gauze off the bed. Peter immediately put his hand over yours to stop you.

“I’m kidding. That’s not what I wanted to say.” Peter said again, when he noticed your angry mood. He’d do anything to make you smile.

“Go on.” You said lowly, not wanting to get your hopes up again.

“I wanted to say thank you, for everything. All the bandaids, and ointment, and gauze. All of it. I’m really grateful to have you on my team, even if I don’t always show it. I love you.” Peter told you, making your forgive him almost immediately. You gave him a warm smile.

“I love you too.” You answered.

“Hold still.” Peter asked. You obliged.

Ever so slowly, Peter leaned in. His hand came up to cup your cheek and your breath hitched in your throat. Just before your lips could touch, Peter grimaced and rubbed his thumb on your eyes.

“Sorry. You had the biggest eye booger.” He laughed as he flicked it off his finger.

You let out a breath of disappointment and retreated back to your spot. He wasn’t trying to kiss you. He was never trying to kiss you. You felt hot tears of embarrassment sting your eyes at his actions, and suddenly desperately wanted to be alone.

“Is that it?” You asked sharply, referring to his wounds. You just wanting him to leave. Peter could tell you were in a bad mood, and wondered if he’d done something to cause it.

“There’s something else, but it’s small.” Peter said in a strange way.

“What is it?” You asked cautiously.

“I got hacked.” Peter said bluntly.

“What?” You asked. “Like your computer?”

“No, not that kind of hacked.” Peter shook his head.

“What other kind of hacked is there?” You wondered, getting frustrated with him again.

“Like, with a machete.” Peter said finally.

“With a what now?” You deadpanned.

Peter pressed the spider on his chest and his suit immediately pooled around his waist. Your cheeks burned at the sight as he struggled to unstick his arm from the inside of his sleeve. When he got it out, you saw a deep gash in his forearm, the deepest you’d ever seen. You lightly touched the wound with one hand, the other hand flying over your mouth in shock.

“Who,” your voice cracked so you cleared your throat, “who did this to you?” You immediately got to work stitching it up as he explained himself.

“Some guy.” Peter shrugged. “I didn’t get a look at his face. I wasn’t watching his hands, and he threw it at me.”

“Why didn’t you dodge it?” You asked angrily, making Peter furrow his brows.

“I didn’t see it.” He said as he drew his arm away from you when he began to tug too hard on the stitches.

“How did you not see a machete flying at you?” You practically yelled. “For someone with a ‘Peter Tingle’, you sure do get hurt a lot.”

“Ow. That hurts coming from you.” Peter said with hurt evident in his voice. You don’t care at that point. He could do with some damage.

“Oh, do you want a bandaid? You’ve never been shy about coming to me for one before.” You snapped in bitter sarcasm, folding your arms and turning away from Peter. Peter stood up abruptly, knowing something was definitely wrong now.

“I’m sorry, are you mad at me?” Peter asked, matching your anger. “Did I do something wrong.”

“No. You didn’t do anything wrong. In fact, you never do anything at all.” You yelled at him, referring to him not kissing you again and again.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Peter asked, equal parts annoyance and confusion.

“Nothing. Forget I said anything.” You held up your hands in defense.

“Why are so angry with me?” Peter asked defensively. He wasn’t expected to be met with harsh words and your sharp tone. He’d come to you for comfort.

“I’m not angry.” You snapped, wanting to clear that up right away. “It’s the opposite. Do you have any idea how relived I am when you come knocking at my window for help?”

“No.” Peters said, dumbfounded. “Why?”

“Because it means you’re alive.” You said, feeling tears threaten to spill over your eyelids if you didn’t get a handle on your emotions soon. Peter was surprise led by your answer, and stood there silently. Your eyes softened at the sight of him not knowing what to say.

“I’m not mad about the blood stains, or the mess, or even the late nights.” You said gently. “I’m mad that I can only protect you from infections and scars, and not the evil men out on the streets. I’m mad that no matter how many bad guys you take down, there’s always more. I’m mad that the safety of New York has become the responsibility of a 16 year old boy, whose been through enough as it is and deserves a normal life. I’m mad that my best friend fights crime every night and I never know if he’s gonna make it back. And I’m mad that I never know if the last time I saw you was the last time I’ll ever see you.” You picked up passion and anger as you rattled off your feelings, the ones you’d bottled up for so long. Peter listened to you carefully, seeing you in a new light. He could see you were upset, and felt regretful for causing it. You rubbed your arms and held yourself, turning away from Peter so he wouldn’t see you cry.

“Y/n.” Peter said softly, reaching for you. You pulled away.

“Forget it, Peter.” You muttered.

“I can’t make it right if you don’t talk to me, Y/n.” Peter said solemnly. Of course he’d take the high road, only angering you further. You whipped around to look at him.

“Fine. You want to talk? You want to know what I’ve been keeping in?” You asked him, getting closer with every word until you were in his face.

“Yes.” He laughed sadly. He was desperate to know.

“Do you know what time I’d go to bed every night if I wasn’t busy waiting up for you? Early. Really, really early because I’m exhausted day after day. I had to learn to love the taste of coffee just so I could keep myself awake for you. I had to teach myself how I do sutures and how to properly disinfect a stab wound for you. And every single night, I have to worry myself sick, desperately hoping you make it back alive to knock on my window. Everything I do, every decision, action, and choice I make is for you.” You pointed a finger at him every time you said “you.”

“I don’t ask you to do any of that.” Peter said quietly.

“Exactly! You don’t ask me to, but I do it. And I won’t ever stop. Helping you has become a permanent facet of my personality, and now I’m stuck with it.” You turned away again and held yourself in your arms. Peter was angry now.

“I didn’t realize I was such a burden.” Peter said bitterly.

“But it’s not a burden!” You cried. “That’s what I’m trying to say, Peter. You’re not a burden to me. You can come to me with your cuts and I will give you patches. I will give you everything, until I have nothing left. I’ll just give and give and give, and it’s leaving me empty.”

“So you’re mad at me because you care too much about me?” Peter retaliated. You sighed and looked at the ceiling. He wasn’t getting it, and you were in too deep to back out now.

“No.” You whined.

“Then what are you mad about?” Peter said desperately. He put his hands on your shoulders and made you look at him, silently pleading for you to tell him what was wrong.

“I just told you.” You said weakly.

“Well I don’t get it.” Peter said in defeat.

“Of course you don’t. You never do and you never will.” Your sadness turned to anger again and you broke away from Peter.

“Then explain it to me.” Peter shouted. Your froze. He never raised his voice at you. Before you could stop it, you felt everything erupting out of you at once.

“How am I supposed to explain to my best friend that I’m in love with him?” You yelled, causing all anger in Peter to dissipate. “I’ve been in love with you for years, and you can’t see it. Why can’t you see that?” Your voice cracked at the end and you adverted your eyes.

“You’re what?” Peter said, barely above a whisper. He was frozen where he stood, carful not to upset you further.

“Don’t make me say it again.” You pleaded through your tears of embarrassment.

“You don’t have to.” Peter breathed.

Before you knew what was happening, Peters lips were on yours. He held your face gently, despite his super strength. Peter kissed you firmly, but not to forceful as to where you couldn’t pull away. It was just right. He felt just right. You smiled to yourself, thinking how this was a rare night when he didn’t have a busted lip. When Peter pulled away, he had an apologetic look in his eyes.

“If I had known, I would’ve done that the day you fell for me.”, Peter said sincerely, causing a smile to tug at your lips, “because I promise you, I loved you first.”

“You love me?” You whispered.

“Y/n, I’m on Mr. Starks billion dollar insurance plan, and yet I come to a high school girl with Scooby doo bandaids every night for treatment. I don’t do it because you’re a convenient place to stop to get patched up. I do it because I can’t go to sleep at night without seeing your perfect face. I love the nights I get to sleep in your bed, and “accidentally” cuddle you in my sleep. I love watching you bite your lip as you concentrate on sewing me up. And I love you. All of you.” Peter confessed. You broke out into a full smile and wrapped your arms around his neck. He happily hugged you back and held you tightly. “Even when you’re yelling at me for getting hacked up by a machete which is completely out of my control.” He said into your ear, making you pull away.

“You have a fifth sense! You should be able to dodge a machete.” You protested, genuinely invested in the topic.

“I have a sixth sense, darling, and it’s harder than you think.” Peter defended his tingle.

“But-“ You began but Peter held a finger to your lips.

“Ah ah ah.” He said softly, drawing you closer and pressing another kiss to your lips. He was an awkward and clumsy kisser, but it was everything you ever imagined. “I’m not about to spend our first night as a couple fighting about whether or not I should be able to dodge machetes.”

Tag List 🏷

@maybemona @sunrise-shawn @meghan-8520xx @writing-for-hours-on-end @lavender-writer @captainmandeestudent17 @whatareyouhidingpeter

[kmomof4]

Of Darkness, Vampires, and Soulmates

IT’S HERE Y’ALL!!!! I can’t tell you how excited I am to share my second true MC with you all! I hope you enjoy and let me know what you think!

A/N This fic has been a looooooong time coming. It started as an idea last fall of Vampire Killian rising from the bed where he had just turned Emma, and saying to her “Arise, my love. Join me, forever.” That idea turned into Vampire smut written for @thisonesatellite​’s birthday last October, which you can find here if you’d like to read it. But the more I thought about it, more of a story started to come to me, until I finally decided that since we were going to have one more go round of the @cssns​, I should probably write for it, for once. So Arise, My Love was the jumping off place that birthed this entire fic. Not everything from that has made it into this one, which is why I’ve kept AML up on ao3 as a stand alone fic instead of deleting it. 

I owe a TREMENDOUS THANK YOU to @profdanglaisstuff​ for her stellar beta services, hand holding, and sharing her wealth of knowledge about the French Revolution, and to @hollyethecurious​ for being my sounding board and brainstorming partner over the many months I worked on this. I would also be remiss if I did not thank the ladies of the CSSNS and CSMovieMarathon discord for their encouragement and their help with selecting a title. And finally to @spartanguard​ for her INCREDIBLE and GORGEOUS artwork!

For the purposes of this fic, much established vampiric lore has been thrown out. My vampires eat, drink, sleep, and have sexual relations just like people do, and they can also go out in the day. The fic is complete and after I post Ch 1 this Sunday, I’ll be updating every Wednesday. Ao3 link

Tagging my peeps: @hollyethecurious​ @winterbaby89​ @snowbellewells​ @stahlop​ @resident-of-storybrooke​ @jennjenn615​ @kingofmyheart14​ @profdanglaisstuff​ @branlovestowrite​ @thisonesatellite​ @ultraluckycatnd​ @flslp87​ @whimsicallyenchantedrose​ @let-it-raines​ @shireness-says​ @kymbersmith-90​ @darkcolinodonorgasm​ @bethacaciakay​ @searchingwardrobes​ @ilovemesomekillianjones​ @teamhook​ @aprilqueen84​ @qualitycoffeethings​ @superchocovian​ @artistic-writer​ @donteattheappleshook​ @doodlelolly0910​ @seriouslyhooked​ @tiganasummertree​ @lfh1226-linda​

Please let me know if you’d like to be added or removed. Under the cut unless Tumblr ate it.

Prologue The Battle Begins

Approximately 1000AD

Once Upon a Time…

There was an only son of a Lord. A Lord of wealth and lands. A Lord who was honorable, kind, and true. The son had been taught these same virtues and was expected to follow in his father’s footsteps. However, this son was fascinated by all things dark, magic included. Once he came of age and his parents were gone, he began a careful and diligent study into magic in general and dark magic in particular. The Dark Magic, a nebulous, formless entity that had existed since the dawn of time, became aware of his dedicated explorations and after about a decade of watching from afar, finally approached.

The Darkness had been waiting untold millennia to find a suitable host for itself. Reading with ease the desires of the man’s heart, desires of wealth, power, and long life, and a willingness to do anything to get them, it coalesced, revealing itself to this amateur. It chuckled to itself as it held out everything the naive, novice practitioner of magic ever wanted. All the Darkness wanted in exchange was a host. A host that could physically do all the things that the Darkness longed to do. Blinded by his greed and ambition, Rumplestiltskin easily agreed to what it offered.

When The Reul Ghorm discovered that the Darkness had finally found a host, she took action. Forming a dagger of twisted and dark beauty, she intended to tie the Darkness to the dagger. Once the binding was complete, she planned to kill the host with the implement, destroying the Darkness forever.

She flew into Rumplestiltskin’s chamber, manifesting in her full-size form as the moonlight poured into the room. She approached the bed where he lay and raised the dagger over him. As she recited the incantation over his sleeping form, the Darkness fought back. A veritable tornado blew up in the room, whipping the draperies and anything else not weighted down into a frenzy. Rumplestiltskin’s eyes flew open, the pupils red as the dawn. His mouth opened in a scream that was heard for miles, fangs on prominent display. A thin tendril of darkness emerged from his open mouth and hovered around the blade. The fairy was frightened for the first time in her long existence, but knowing exactly what was at stake, she strengthened her resolve and maintained her grip on the magical instrument. She watched as the tendril was absorbed into the dagger, completing the spell.

The Darkness was tied to the dagger. Rumplestiltskin’s name emblazoned on the shaft confirmed it. Unfortunately, the brief moments that she stared at her handiwork would prove costly.

Before the Blue Fairy could follow through with her intent, Rumplestiltskin leapt from his bed. Waving his hand as the Darkness surged in him, the dagger appeared in his fist and his enemy was thrown across the room. His cackle rang through the chamber as the stunned fairy shook her head, trying to get her bearings about her. He advanced on her holding the dagger aloft, malicious intent in his red eyes.

Blue shook away her disorientation and realized he was speaking to her. Her eyes widened as she comprehended what he said.

“I’d get out of here while you still can, dearie.” She knew the high pitched voice was that of the Darkness. The blood red pupils and exposed fangs set in an almost reptilian hide shimmered in the low light. The horrifying visage sent her heartbeat into even more of a gallop then it was already. “This is mine now, and if you stay, I’m going to carve out your heart with it and feast on your blood.” He waved his hand again, this time at the dark device. Dark magic fell from his hand and enveloped the blade. “And now, no one with magic will be able to even touch it.” His lips drew back into a cruel grin as he continued to stalk toward her.

Finally getting herself together, The Reul Ghorm disappeared with a cascade of light magic just as the demon lunged at her. Releasing a cry of frustrated victory, Rumplestiltskin gloated as he returned to his bed. Knowing exactly where to hide the deadly, and powerful instrument, he waved his hand over it again, sending it to the vault hidden below his castle. Satisfied with himself and the outcome of the confrontation, he lay himself back on his bed and fell into dark dreams.

The battle was far from over, however.

~*~*~

Thank you for reading. Chapter 1 will be posted on Sunday.

[sylvanfreckles]

I've Got Red in My Ledger

By Grace Undone: Chapter Five

A devastating betrayal and an arcane ritual leave Castiel fighting for his life...his human life. When his grace is brutally torn out of his body and he's left to die on earth the only thing the Winchesters can do is try to pick up the pieces.

(I'm just doing one story for the entire month, so please enjoy the thirty-one chapter beginning of the flare 'verse. You can read other stories in the 'verse here, and you can read this fic on AO3 here.)

“Cas?” Dean shifted around on his bed so that he was sitting with his feet on the floor. “Is that…is it really you?” He didn’t want to breathe, didn’t want to hope. Good things just didn’t happen.

A tired sigh hissed through the phone. “I’m here.”

“Where? How? Damn, man, you were…I thought…” emotion choked off Dean’s voice and he cleared his throat. “Where are you?”

“Dean Winchester,” the other voice was back, a little stronger than before. “Can you find this phone? If I leave it here with Castiel?”

“The hell is going on?” Dean demanded. “Let me talk to Cas again.” He was on his feet now, pacing, fighting down the knot of dread in his stomach.

“He’s too weak. They took…I didn’t know it would be like this, you have to believe me.”

“Took what? What did they take?”

A sound like a sob filtered through the phone’s speakers. “His grace. Naomi, she…she took his grace.”

Dean’s stomach dropped right down into his socks. Part of him had always wondered if Cas might make the choice to become human again someday, especially after Lucifer had taken Jack’s powers. He wondered what it might have been like if all four of them had been able to grow old together, but not like this.

He swallowed hard to clear the lump in his throat. “Can you put Cas back on?”

“I can’t…Please, you have to hurry. She’s—Naomi—we’re leaving soon and she’s leaving him here.”

“Where’s ‘here’? Dammit, where are you?”

“Near a place called Kansas City. I think there’s a river nearby. I don’t—I have to go!”

“Wait!” Dean lurched forward, as though to physically keep the woman on the phone, but his phone had already beeped to show the end of the call. “Dammit.” He jabbed at his phone to redial the number and pressed it to his ear, but it just kept ringing until it dumped his call into an inactive voicemail.

At least Kansas City was a start. He and Sammy could get rolling in ten minutes and be there by sunrise.

….

Jedaia ended the call with Dean and pushed the phone under Castiel’s shoulder, near one of his hands, just as Malachi strode into view.

“Let me heal him,” Jedaia begged as the anarchist approached. “Please, just let me heal him.”

“That’s enough,” the male angel snarled, pulling Jedaia away from Castiel. “He’s getting what he deserves, and now so am I.”

Castiel wearily stared up at him. He was prepared for Malachi to further abuse him, now that the ritual was over, but to his astonishment the male angel seemed fixated on Jedaia.

“You didn’t think we brought you here just to help with the ritual, hmm?” Malachi taunted. He smiled down at Castiel and pulled Jedaia against him, twisting a hand in her pale hair to drag her head up. “Naomi isn’t the only one getting a power boost tonight.”

“No!” Jedaia twisted in his arms, but it was clear she had never been trained as a soldier. An apprentice Rit Zien, perhaps, or one of the scribes that had served under Metatron, but not a warrior.

“Yes. Didn’t you realize we only needed two for the ritual? Why else would we have brought you out here?”

“That’s enough, Malachi.” Naomi’s voice had strange harmonics to it now, and he thought he could feel her power dancing along his skin like a static charge when she drew closer to the struggling angels. “We’ll have to find another ritual site.”

Naomi had changed. He was sure her true form would have been the most altered, but even her earthly vessel was different. She stood taller, though that could have just been the way she was holding herself and not an actual change of height, and her close-cropped gray hair had been replaced by a silvery-white mane that cascaded down her back. Her skin seemed to almost glow; and when she glanced in his direction, he saw that her eyes were now so pale they were almost white.

Malachi bared his teeth and forced Jedaia around to face Naomi. “You promised me, Naomi! The only reason I went along with your little scheme and didn’t gut him on the spot is because you promised I’d be an archangel too!”

“And you will be. But not now. We’ll have to secure a new site first.”

“No!” Malachi twisted around and forced Jedaia onto her knees. “I get what’s coming to me now, not later.”

Naomi just scoffed and strode over to the nearest post that supported the roof. She stared at it critically for a moment, then turned back to face Malachi. “Fine. You’ll get what’s coming to you.”

Then Naomi raised her hand and slapped the post. In the split second before her hand touched the wood, Castiel saw the angel banishing symbol appear as though Naomi had just written it in her own blood. He curled back in on himself as Malachi and Jedaia let out a scream, but to his surprise he wasn’t banished along with them.

But…no. Of course not.

He was human now.

Sharp footsteps brought Naomi closer to him, but he barely had the strength to look up at her, much less put up any kind of fight. The angel—or maybe it was archangel now—crouched next to him and studied his face with pitying eyes.

“You should be thanking me. He was planning to kill you.”

He stared up at her, aware of the phone buzzing against his arm as someone tried to call him. Naomi smirked and easily extracted the phone from its hiding place, no matter how feebly he tried to stop her.

She held it up between them and answered the call, pressing the speakerphone button.

“Cas?” Dean’s voice was faint but distinct, and raw with worry. “Cas, man, can you hear me? Say something.”

“He’s here,” Naomi said, keeping her eyes focused on Castiel’s. “If you hurry, he might even still be alive.”

“Listen here you ugly bitch…”

Naomi stabbed the button to end the call and dropped the phone next to Castiel’s face. “There’s one more thing,” she announced.

He bit back a groan of pain and turned his face toward the floor, avoiding her gaze. The wounds on his back burned, like he’d been branded instead of cut, and his wrists and ankles were torn from pulling against the chains that had tied him down. Then sudden pain blossomed through his body, white-hot and burning with cold, as she struck at him with her grace. He cried out and tried to roll away from her, but his body seized up in agony as soon as his back touched the ground. She struck again, lashing at him as though her grace was a whip, and his tattered clothing tore along new lines of pain.

After a few more lashes she growled and knelt to grab a handful of his hair. “There’s nothing left for you in Heaven now, Castiel. Whatever fraction of a soul you might have will sink down to the depth of the abyss for all of eternity for what you’ve done. You’ve betrayed your own kind, over and over, and for that you are banished.”

Her grace cracked across his face, breaking his nose, and she dropped his head to stand back up. “Pray that we never meet again.”

The lights around them seemed to flicker, the flames in the hanging censors streaming up into the air for a moment, and the silhouette of wings spread out from Naomi’s shoulders. Whole, healthy wings, not the same ragged things he and the other angels had been left with. Then, with a rush of wind that blew out half the flames, she was gone.

All that was left was the pain in his body and the buzzing in his head.

No…the buzzing of the phone.

Slowly, painfully, Castiel rolled up on his side and managed to pull the phone close enough to see the screen. There was a crack running through the tempered glass, but enough of the display remained that he could see the green icon to answer an incoming call. His hand shaking, blood smearing over the screen, he finally managed to touch the right spot on the screen to accept the call. “Dean?”

“Cas! Thank…thank something, man. Is she still there?”

He curled around the phone and coughed wetly, tasting blood in the back of his throat. “’m alone.”

“Good. Listen, man, just stay on the line, all right? We’re coming.”

Castiel tried to answer, but even breathing too deeply hurt, and he just tucked the phone closer to his face. Tears were leaking out of his eyes, running down his cheeks and across the bridge of his broken nose, but he didn’t know if they were from the physical pain or the roaring, empty grief that was consuming him from the inside.

“You’re doing great,” Dean’s voice was strong, encouraging, like a lifeline keeping him from utter despair. “We’re on the way, Cas, I promise. Just hold on.”

[Previous chapters: (1) (2) (3) (4)]

[sacredcynic]

This Is A Bible Study

  As most people know, I spent a number of years doing graduate work in the field of New Testament studies.  When people think about studying the New Testament their minds go to a neighborhood Bible Study  where people are gathered around a table discussing what the passage of Scripture means to them.  I am not talking about this at all.  I have heard many people scoff or question the need to study the Bible.  A few speakers have even uttered the line, “there are so many Drs. In the pulpit you might think God is sick.”  Let me show you why the study of the Bible is important and what lessons emerge when we look closely at the New Testament.  

 One of the favorite passages of the modern church is Acts 2 and the initial verses are these, “When the day of Pentecost had come, they were all together in one place. 2 And suddenly from heaven there came a sound like the rush of a violent wind, and it filled the entire house where they were sitting. 3 Divided tongues, as of fire, appeared among them, and a tongue rested on each of them. 4 All of them were filled with the Holy Spirit”

   In many informal Bible studies, I have heard people speculate on what is being described. What did the fire look like?   How does fire rest on someone’s head?  Was it close enough for them to feel heat?  Why weren’t they burned?  The miracle was that fire was around them and they were not harmed!!   Pretty soon someone can start to pursue these tangents and our “study” ends up trying to physically describe this fire.  It is at this point we might ask ourselves – was this really the point of the author?  Did he write Acts so people could discuss the physical attributes of the fire?  I think we know the answer.  

 So what is the main point of the author?  If we had been the early readers of Acts, what lesson would we have learned from this description?  This is where the importance of study comes into focus.  It is perfectly fine for anyone to read the Bible and allow the Spirit to use the Bible to convict us, change us, and guide us on a new path. However, hopefully there are people who can take a passage, study it, and help the church reclaim the original message of the author.  Let me try and do this with Acts 2.  

    The story of Acts 2 starts when Israel was in slavery in Egypt. When they fled through the desert they were guided by a pillar of fire at night.  That fire was the presence of God.  As they journeyed to the Promised Land Israel would set up a camp whenever they stopped.  At the center of their camp was the Tabernacle.  The pillar of fire was described as resting over in the Holy Place at the center of the Tabernacle.  Within the Holy Place the golden lampstands would continually burn – also signifying the presence of the Lord.  

  Later Solomon would build the Temple on the same place where his father David had met the Lord on the threshing floor.  The Temple followed the plan of the Tabernacle, and the Jews believed that God dwelled in the Temple.  The high priest would approach once each year to plead for the forgiveness of His people and sprinkle the blood of the lamb on the top of the Ark of the Covenant, which was a representation of God’s throne.  Israel believed that God’s word and presence flowed from the physical structure of the Temple.  

  They believed this until the exile, and they found themselves taken to Babylon.  In Babylon the prophet Ezekiel wrote these painful words in Ezekiel 10:

Then the glory of the Lord rose up from the cherub to the threshold of the house; the house was filled with the cloud, and the court was full of the brightness of the glory of the Lord. 5 The sound of the wings of the cherubim was heard as far as the outer court, like the voice of God Almighty when he speaks.

6 When he commanded the man clothed in linen, “Take fire from within the wheelwork, from among the cherubim,” he went in and stood beside a wheel. 7 And a cherub stretched out his hand from among the cherubim to the fire that was among the cherubim, took some of it and put it into the hands of the man clothed in linen, who took it and went out. 8 The cherubim appeared to have the form of a human hand under their wings.

  This is the picture of the fire rising up and leaving the Temple.  God had seen enough.  Later in the chapter the presence of the Lord is described as leaving the Temple and there is no literature where the presence of God is ever described as going back to the Temple, or any other building.  So where did the presence of God go?  In a book called 1 Enoch God’s presence is clearly described as residing in a Temple in heaven.  While 1 Enoch is not in our Bible it is an important book in Judaism and is quoted from in our New Testament.  Here is a passage from chapter 14 where Enoch is shown a vision of heaven.

   “the vision caused me to fly and lifted me upward, and bore me into heaven. And I went in till I drew nigh to a wall which is built of crystals and surrounded by tongues of fire: and it began to affright 10 me. And I went into the tongues of fire and drew nigh to a large house. . . None of the angels could enter and could behold His face by reason 22 of the magnificence and glory and no flesh could behold Him. The flaming fire was round about Him, and a great fire stood before Him, and none around could draw nigh Him.”

  Here is what we should notice.  Like the Tabernacle and Temple before it, this heavenly Temple describes the presence of God in fiery language.  The fire burned continually in the Temple, and the fire left the Temple in Ezekiel 10. However, the fire still burns in this heavenly Temple where God resides.  Notice how the language has changed.  Instead of simply using the word “fire,” the author of 1 Enoch now uses “tongues of fire” to describe the presence of God.  This is important in our study of Acts 2.  

 Notice how Luke uses the description of “tongues of fire” in Acts 2. I do not think this is a coincidence but follows the language that was used at the time.  If the words “tongues of fire” was purposeful, then how does that impact how we read Acts 2?   Are you ready?  

    God’s presence led Israel out of slavery and God desired to live among His people always.  Yet Israel did not live up to their status as God’s people.  Eventually their disobedience led to exile, and the loss of God’s presence.  No longer would God live in a physical structure made by human hands.  When we read Acts 2 in its ancient context, a wonderful meaning emerges.  God still desires to live among His people, but no longer will that be in a building. God’s residence will be in His new Temple comprised of everyone who calls on the name of Jesus Christ.  The presence of God in heaven, which is described as surrounded by tongues of fire, now resides among His people, and is still described as tongues of fire.  

  Maybe you think that was too lengthy, and maybe it was. However, if you need encouragement in a cold snap or encouragement in a pandemic the news is good.  God’s presence is here.  God desires to live in us.  That is the good news of Acts 2.

[thetimelesscycle]

Tales of Arcadia Wizards Fanfiction: Hope Dies Last -Chapter 1

‘The Order will surely rip your soul to pieces’ Nari had said, and they had. They did. But he was Hisirdoux Casperan, and it wouldn’t be true to form if he didn’t somehow manage to botch up being wiped from existence too.

(Posting this on Tumblr too, a week late without starbucks.)

Notes: So, it has been a good, sweet while since I last posted anything to an audience outside of my family and friends. This here is my attempt to shake off the rust and be active again, and hopefully get back into the habit of writing on a more regular basis once more. We'll see how that goes, and maybe I'll finish some of those requests/projects that have been on the backburner for far too long.

A couple of free warnings before you start reading:

1. There is angst. This is me, there will always be angst, which will be peppered with comfort and friendship and all those great things this show brought to the table. I am a believer in happy endings, so provided we make it that far I will not leave you wallowing with a tissue box.

2. I'm not being super canon compliant here. The last time I wrote something for a fandom I spent hours researching, rewatching, and analyzing. Not this time. This time we are ad-libbing, and hopefully not completely self-destructing the canon whilst we are at it.

3. I have a buffer of chapters at present and will be spacing posting out to try and keep that. That being said, posting schedules and me have a complex relationship. I make no promises.

4. Douxie does not deserve any of this, but I'm putting him through it anyway, because that's what we do to the best bois.

5. It's been a rough year, guys. Take care, be kind, and stay safe.

   Chapter 1

Top Ten Reasons to Avoid Temporal Accidents

It started as a dream.

He knew he was dreaming because just a moment before he had been pouring over a new spellbook, enduring Archie’s indulgent amusement as the fatigue of the day’s activities warred with the excitement thrumming through his veins. He must have been tireder than he realised, he reasoned, to have drifted off in the middle of studying every last detail contained within those precious pages. He was probably drooling on said pages now, and Archie was probably laughing at him. The traitor.

So he was dreaming, even if tonight’s nocturnal adventure seemed to be a departure from the usual fare. He was sitting in the midst of nothingness. Not dark, not light, just absence. Emptiness, yawning and deep, that swallowed all sound when he opened his mouth to speak. He could see clearly enough, despite the lack of light, except there was nothing to see. He didn’t know how he had come to be there, but he knew he was waiting, sitting still with a sense of quiet patience that would have had his master’s eyebrows climbing right off his head in disbelief.

The cold crept in slowly, brushing over his skin like a frigid breeze from an open window, closing about his wrists like icy fingers with a death grip. An uncomfortable sensation of heat sparked beneath his ribs at the same time, drawing his eyes downwards as he blinked in surprise. There were dozens of threads attached to his torso, red and blue lines trailing off into the nothingness. Morbidly curious, he tried to touch them. His hands passed through the mingled colours as easily as they seemed to have passed through him, not ending where they touched his skin, but stretching beyond what his eyes could see.

The first tug took him wholly by surprise, a flash of terrible pain making his sight white out as he threw a hand down to catch himself. The pressure eased in the next moment, though the threads remained taut. He had barely had a chance to regain his breath before they started pulling again, viciously hauling on something beyond the physical, as if they were trying to pry his spirit out of his body.

He toppled forward on hands and knees, submitting to the pressure in an effort to relieve the awful tearing sensation inside his chest, but it made no difference. He grappled to hold the bindings, to tear them away. His hand passed right through the threads again, as insubstantial as the part of him they seemed determined to claw free, deaf to his pleas to stop, immune to the magic he slammed against them in a frantic effort to halt their steady pull.

“Please.” He was sobbing now, the pain overtaking all else. He needed it to stop. It had to stop. It hurt, it hurt, it hurt. “Please, don’t...”

Pale green washed over him in a gentle wave, a bubble of safety that encased both him and the instruments of his agony. He drew in a wheezing breath, fighting to get upright as the soft touch of kind magic slowly enveloped him, the scent of old wood and ancient greenery as familiar as it was strange. There were flowering vines wrapping around his limbs, twining around his arms and curling in repeated circles about his waist. Their grip was careful but unyielding. He had only a moment of dawning horror to realise what was coming and try to prevent it.

“Wait! Stop!”

The vines wrenched him backwards, painfully fast. Perhaps it was meant to be kindness, salvation, but the threads still caught. He was torn to ribbons, pieces peeling away in strips like he was made of parchment.  He felt the fracture of something that was never meant to break, a pain that went far deeper than any physical wound could. His magic flared in panic; A wild, desperate attempt to save himself from certain death.

Too late. Too late. He had already lost too much, and still they tore at him, taking more and more and there would be nothing left...

    He came to shrieking.

This was a vast improvement on not awakening at all, a miracle he was not in any position to appreciate as he opened his eyes to find himself floating amidst a maelstrom of miscellaneous objects. The moment he came awake the magic gave out beneath him, dropping him like a stone to crash against the floor. He hit his head on the descent, a minor complaint drowned out beneath far more immediate concerns.

Everything hurt; A terrible, all consuming agony that bloomed outwards from his chest and set all his nerves alight. He knew he was screaming, knew the sound grating against his ears was his own piercing voice mingled with the shouts of others. The world was awash with vibrant blue and that was his fault too. He just didn’t have the presence of mind to stop it. He wanted to crawl out of his own body, except he was fairly certain that had already happened. Ice in his chest and fire in his veins and a broken voice screaming his name.

He could still hear the echoes. The voice was different now. Less of devastation and more of brimming alarm. Magic crashed against his own in a tidal wave of calm that made the colours swimming before his eyes flash from blue to gold. He was being smothered, crushed beneath a weight that was meant as kindness, arms wrapping around him and pulling him upright. He cut his own screams off in a breathless gasp when the motion tipped excruciating pain back towards inescapable agony, a hand — his own — trying to burrow into his chest to find and destroy the source of his torment.

There was nothing there.

There was nothing.

He had failed.

He had failed and there was no fixing this.

The arm curled about his spine tightened, the hand to which it was attached gripping his waist firmly as he was pulled closer and tucked gently against the source of the voice now peppering his name through nonsense sentences that would have meant something at any other time. He could feel the vibrations of speech, hear a heartbeat thudding slightly too fast that was not his own, and belatedly realised that someone was gently running their fingers through his hair.

“It’s alright.” Clarity of thought was returning as the pain eased to a manageable level. Enough for hysteria to try to creep in in its place. “It was just a nightmare. You’re alright. You’re safe.”

He wanted to laugh; He wasn’t safe, none of them were. It came out as a sob instead. The soothing words continued above him as the arcane light in the room faded away, his own magic wilting beneath the determined presence of another’s. He turned his head on instinct, hiding his tears in fabric and distantly hoping whoever’s shirt he was ruining right now wouldn’t mind too much.

His companion started rocking gently, humming a soft tune that was as familiar as it was wrong. He hadn’t heard that song in centuries; Not since the last occasion he’d spent time with Morgana, right before things started going horribly awry. It shouldn’t be possible to hear it again now, and certainly not from her.

“Breathe.” Oblivious to the fact she shouldn’t exist, Morgana continued to cradle him gently as they both knelt on the uncomfortably hard floor. He could feel her magic still drifting lazily over them, the calming enchantment she was weaving into her voice. “Just breathe, Douxie.”

It was easier to do as she said than question what was happening. He was absolutely exhausted, still aching, and suffering the fleeting remnants of a terror whose source he couldn’t quite remember. Focussing on his breathing, on counting each inhale and exhale, was far safer then prodding the sleeping beast lurking at the back of his mind.

“You’re bleeding.” Untroubled by his lack of response, Morgana moved to brush his hair aside, her fingers treading carefully around the edges of his self-inflicted injury. “Archie, do you have anything to wrap this with?”

“Uh, oh, yes. Yes, of course.”

There was a clatter, the sounds of someone rummaging, a quiet ‘thank you’ from Morgana as she accepted whatever offering had been brought. Fingers again, this time unwinding fabric about his head, pressing against the source of sticky dampness. It stung, he recognised that much, but the ability to react, to do anything other than maintain his stuttering breaths was absent. He felt like an observer in his own body; An observer who couldn’t see a thing.

“There you go.” Morgana finished her ministrations, settling beside him as she moved a hand to his back, rubbing soothing circles through the thin fabric of his shirt. His shoulders were still hitching on every second inhale, but her spell had done its work, and the sense of wild panic had been muted by a fragile veneer of calm. “Why don’t we—”

The door swung open with enough force it crashed against the stone wall. The noise startled his companion, her arms closing about him protectively once again. His own nerves were too numb to respond to the intrusion in any way beyond slumping further against the source of his support, letting her shield him from the coming storm.

“What in the name of—”

“Don’t you dare!” Softness gave way to sharpness in an instant. “Close that door.”

There was an awkward silence, broken only by his ragged breathing and a rumbling that had settled against his folded legs in the interim. Then the door closed with far more care than it had opened, green light expanding slowly to fill the small space as the intruder spoke in softer tones.

“Hisirdoux?”

That was his name, wasn’t it? Though there was really only one person who used it like that. The thought hurt, he didn’t answer, and the next words were sharp again.

“What happened?”

“I don’t know.” Footsteps drew nearer, steel striking against stone, pausing a short distance away. He didn’t lift his head. “I found him like this.”

“And that?”

“Archie said he fell.” She paused, awaiting another question. When none was forthcoming she asked her own, “Where is Arthur?”

“Handled, for the moment, though who knows how long that will last.”

“I could hear the shouting from here.”

“The entire castle just got turned inside out.” He knew that dry tone, all too well. “You’re lucky he wasn’t the one kicking in the door.”

This... this was wrong. Impossible. Neither of these people should be here, though he was struggling to remember why. Everyone had been dying, hadn’t they? He had been dying, he was sure of it. Not with the blissful unawareness of his first go around, either. This had been vengeful, painful. ‘The Order will surely rip your soul to pieces’ Nari had said, and of course she was right. So how? How was he still alive, still breathing when he shouldn’t even exist anymore?

“Douxie?” The voices above him were still arguing; This quiet inquiry came from below. He blinked, bringing some focus back into his world of blurred colours, and chanced a glance down into worried eyes. “Are you alright?”

The last time he had seen those eyes they had been wide open and blank. That had been his fault as well. So many mistakes. Except a wizard didn’t make mistakes, so what did that make him? What did that make this?

It wasn’t real. That was the only explanation he could think of. This was an... an illusion, a refuge he had created for himself in order to escape the pure horror of his last moments. But there was something else. A lingering memory of golden eyes, filled with grief but equal parts determination, and powerful, ancient magic wrapping itself protectively about him, binding him together as other hands tried to tear him apart.

‘You can’t have him!’

Nari. Nari had been there, and she had done something. To save him? He couldn’t remember. Couldn’t make sense of any of it. Couldn’t comprehend how this could be happening. They’d already done this, hadn’t they? It had to be an illusion, a—a mirage, a refuge his mind had created. A falsity that felt real.

“Douxie?”

Archie’s soft bunting against his hand prompted him to respond, illusion or no. His body didn’t feel like it belonged to him, moving parts that no longer worked together as they were meant to, and it took more effort than it should have to make his hand drag its way along his familiar’s spine. He doubted it was comfortable for Archie either, despite his obnoxiously loud purring.

The gesture, clumsy though it was, was enough to quiet the conversation happening overhead, and coax an effort at softness out of his most certainly dead master.

“Hisirdoux?”

He swallowed, acutely aware of how raw his throat felt. He had been screaming, hadn’t he? Because he had been dying. He hadn’t imagined that. It wasn’t the type of experience one forgot in a hurry, and the second time hadn’t been any more pleasant than the first. Worse, actually. He’d kind of slept through the first.

“Hisirdoux.”

Fingers closed about the hand not currently locked in Archie’s fur, the hold gentle yet firm. That was oddly patient of his master. Merlin had never shied away from being hands on when he thought his apprentice was moving too slowly. A tug here, a shove there. Maybe that’s why he’d been too slow to dodge that last blow. He was still waiting for Merlin to push him out of the way.

Bodily.

With his staff.

“I don’t think he’s all the way back yet.”

That’s right, Morgana was here too. It was probably her shirt he’d ruined. Or nightwear, at this hour.

“You don’t say.” It was nice, having that droll sarcasm pointed at someone else for once. “Hisirdoux, look at me.”

He could do that. Probably. Even with the strange disconnect between his body and his thoughts right now. If he had been brought back from the dead he had a feeling they’d done it wrong. Put his soul in upside down or something. That would be just his luck.

The hand on his cheek was more demanding than gentle, drawing his gaze up and away from Archie’s mournful stare to the judgemental blue of his master’s usual scowl. He hadn’t seen Merlin this angry in centuries. Oddly enough, the elder wizard didn’t seem to be glaring at him. He was still holding Douxie’s hand, gaze intent, staring at something other. He didn’t realise what until a magic that was not his own probed against the brittle edges of his soul. What had been holding together through dumb luck and desperate hope just splintered, and his magic flared to life of its own accord.

He didn’t blast the entire castle this time. The wave of energy was more contained, weaker, sending Morgana and Merlin back no more than a few steps as Douxie fell onto his side, hands tearing at his own clothes in an effort to rip out the burning brand that had impaled his breastbone.

Fuzzbuckets, but that bloody hurt.

“—told you to be careful! Douxie? Douxie! Can you hear me?”

“Arch...” he croaked the word, reaching out blindly until he felt his feline companion slip beneath his fingers, instinctively drawing the familiar’s warmth close.

“I’m here. We’re here.” Archie’s cool confidence was missing from those shaking words. “Can you tell me what’s wrong, Douxie? It’s important.”

“I think...” Speaking was painful. So was everything else right now. He persevered. “I think I messed up, Arch.”

“Messed up? How?” The familiar was being awfully pushy, wriggling his way closer so he could stare pointedly into Douxie’s blurring eyes. “Doux?”

“I let you all down.” He couldn’t tell if his fading eyesight was due to the fresh tears or the slow darkness creeping in. This all had to end soon, surely. How much longer could he really expect to avoid the truth? “I’m sorry. Tell Nari... I’m sorry.”

“Nari? Wait, who is Nari? Douxie? Douxie!”

He closed his eyes, and the pain finally ended.

[youarejesting]

Quarantine.13

[Masterlist] Pairing: BTS x reader Friends2Lovers But as slow as you can go until the anticipation kills us all… Genres: friendship, drama, romance SLOWEST OF BURNS BUT IT WILL BE BURNING AN ETERNAL FLAME!!! Rating: PG-13 and above Summary: Your brother works with a few BigHit dance teams and whilst having permission to accompany him at work the city shuts down banning anyone from stepping outside for a whole WEEK while they disinfect the streets. If you step outside you might get arrested, shot or poisoned by the chemicals they are emitting through the city. Words: 1.1k Announcement: Another cute chapter while things are brewing. I have planned out at least eleven chapters but once they are bulked up it might come to a few more. I hope you will enjoy what's to come. This chapter is dedicated to @deardreamillbeyourhome who left some really great comments on my last chapter thank you so much.

[Part 1]  [Part 12] [Part 14] [Tag Yourself Here]

Turning on the shower just barely you knew you would be quick, racing quietly out the door and down the hall, taking the stairs to the main floor.  Crossing the lobby to the main elevators to your brother's office, you used the keypad pin code to get in and looked at him. He looked tired, the bags under his eyes were dark, the sun coming in through the window lit up only half his face making him seem almost angelic, the other side shadowed with a strange look gleaming in his eyes. He smiled up at you the distortion between the light and the dark made you itch your arm nervously. Suddenly unsure of how to bring up the issue. 

“To what do I owe the pleasure” he gestured to the small couch and he turned to face you, his entire face entering the path of the sun.  “What are you keeping from me?” You tested the water engaging his reaction and he gave you nothing.  “Why do you think I am keeping something from you?” He looked at you curiously, his eyes narrowed as the sun shone harshly against his features.  “Why can’t I leave the basement?” “You can leave the basement, you are here aren’t you?” He leaned back shielding his eyes with his hand “you want to do some dancing today?”

“Sure, is their a studio room free?” “Mm number three is free, here is the key go have fun it’s the boy’s studio but I am sure they won’t mind” you went to leave and he was watering a potted plant in the far corner of his room. “And Y/n, please stay safe, don’t overwork yourself” he smiled his face completely encapsulated by the darkness. 

You shivered, stepping out and waiting by the door trying to process everything. You heard him talking to someone rapidly scolding whoever they were and he dropped your name. Something was definitely going on behind your back. Once in the dance studio, you made the decision to instead learn a few things in Korean you wanted to get better at it. Having been a month since you arrived in Korea and a week and a bit stuck in quarantine, you knew keywords and some phrases, you learnt more trying to create sentences. 

A whole day of studying Korean and your brain was fried, you had been taking notes, heading back to your room in the basement. Head leaning against the elevator wall, everyone had been wiggling their way back into your presence. You had been so careful but you couldn’t stop them, deciding that you would let them in but protect your heart. You were happy to be friends but you wouldn’t let yourself go further, you didn’t want to get hurt. Ping. The elevator doors slid open. Stepping into the corridor and walking slowly down the hallway, you watched the door checking the bathroom to make sure the shower was in fact off. 

Walking to the Storage room door you noticed a piece of paper stuck to the outside that read; ‘Y/n’s Secret Base’ it seemed like all the boys had taken the time to make the sign. You could see where Jungkook drew a picture of you and judging by the ‘S’ right beside it Yoongi had drawn a pair of underwear. Opening the door, you noticed no one was inside. The smile fell from your lips. Disappointment coursed through you since when had these boys have such an effect on you. Since when had you become hopeful just to see them. You knew they were idols, and people wanted to ‘just see’ them every day but this was different, you didn’t want to fangirl. You wanted to watch drama’s with Jin and have Namjoon shush you when he was trying to read and work, you wanted the boys to laugh at your poor attempts at rapping. More than anything you wanted them there, just present beside you. 

A watched pot never boils. That’s not true you stared at it for what seemed like ten minutes and it started bubbling. Looking down at the small makeshift coffee table ready to open the ramen packets you saw water dropping into tiny pools against the wood. You hadn’t realised you had started to cry. Wiping vigorously at your cheeks, but they kept flowing.

“We are back and we brought dinner!” Seokjin cheered and they froze, seeing you sobbing over boiling water. Realising it must have been a rather odd sight, you couldn’t help the simultaneous laughing and sobbing that racked your body.  “Hey what’s wrong?” Jimin asked hugging you from behind, he and Taehyung were the ones who were super physical, always wanting to use there senses to the fullest. 

You saw some employees shy away from Taehyung and when you brought it up he smiled scruffing the back of his hair. “They think I am a bit weird, so they don’t like to talk with me. They also have trouble understanding what I am trying to say because I am from the country.” This surprised you all the boys were really fluent in English, they were mostly shy and took a long time to process their thoughts into a reply. 

You were patient and never rushed them but there were a few times you had gotten frustrated when the meaning was lost between you. However, you would never avoid Taehyung for that, things like that is what made you all human. Taking his hand in yours you squeezed it. Even in your first days of meeting you were comfortable with them.

“I’m sorry, I was just sad” You laughed wiping your tears. “What did you get to eat?” “We got Bulgolgi tonight which we hope you will get excited for, cause it is not spicy or fermented” Namjoon smiled ever so thoughtful “What do you have there?” Jungkook asked leaning over trying to see what was in the bag in your lap. “I don’t know if you will like it” You tried to keep the cheeky grin off your face. “What is it?” “It’s a little something you might have never heard of, it’s called ramyeon” you grinned and their heads turned so fast many of them let out a satisfying pop.

All hell broke loose as they began shouting about Ramyeon, you grinned putting a few noodle cakes into the water and you followed the instructions. Yoongi took over and promised you he would make it nice. The boys kept the Chilli packets to mix through after they served you a large portion. “You know what I really want, Fried chicken or JjaJangmyeon.” The collective groan that passed through the room made you giggle. “When this is over we go for Fried chicken yeah?”

You held out your pinky to the middle of the table and they all looked at each other and then at Namjoon who nodded extending his hand to yours linking your pinkies and stamping it. They all grinned cupping their hands around your joined ones. Each talking about what they would do once this was all over.

[Part 1]  [Part 12] [Part 14] [Tag Yourself Here]

Tags:  @bubbletae7​ @lovemusicandotps​ @taetaeb @seveniefive​ @w0lfqu33n​ @anaiss97​ @moccahobi​ @maddymal​ @lilacdreams-00​ @lethargicalyssa​ @knjkitten​ @pieislife​ (some of these tags aren’t working I will keep trying or I might try to message people personally. I don’t want anyone missing out)

[mrjstories]

Part 1 - We Meet

I could hear his footsteps drawing closer and closer. It was late afternoon and the room was rather dark with only the light from a small lamp on the folding table with two chairs across from each other. He was a taller man than I expected, but the slumped walk made him appear shorter. His countenance was coming into view now. I could see the messily applied make-up, the scars on the sides of his mouth, and stringy green hair. The purple overcoat looked as if it had been worn for a long time. The green vest, hexagon shirt, diamond patterned tie, pin striped pants, and the chain to perhaps a pocket watch. There was a barely seen sport coat underneath. His shoes were almost clown like as the toes were slightly turned up and I could see some colorful socks. His eyes were dark, and the face was expressionless. There was an odor about him as he drew closer. One of cheap aftershave trying to hide the fact that he hadn’t bathed in several days.

I was sitting at the table with the empty chair in front of me. He came over, pulled the chair out, sat down and looked me square in the eyes and said, “You wanted me, so here I am”. I’ve never encountered someone with so much charisma. I had put the word out that I needed someone of his special talents to help me. It took a while, but eventually the meeting was arranged.

“I have something I want you to do for me”.

He rolled his eyes, “What’s your plan?”

“I know some individuals who need an education in manners and respect, and you could teach them”.

“Teach or correct?”, he said with a smirk on his face. “There is a difference you see”.

“You choose”, I said to him as he stared at me.

“Hum. What did these ‘individuals’ do to you that you need my help? Don’t you have the balls to take care of it yourself?”

“Let’s just say, I want them to know what it feels like to be backstabbed and used and then pushed aside. I don’t want them physically hurt, but I want their little worlds turned upside down. Can you take care of something like that?”, I asked as I leaned forward to hear his response.

He leaned in towards me and said, “That’s no problem. But why did you let that happen? Do you wanna know how I got these scars?”

He forcefully put his hand around the back of my neck and held me close to him. “You see, I had a friend. A good friend. A drinking buddy. He and I went out one night and got stoned. He spiked my drink and I got crazy high. He gave me a knife and dared me to put a smile on my face. So, I did. I carved this beautiful smile for the world to see. My buddy thought it was so funny. He said now I’m always smiling. So, later on, I saw this old friend again and guess what, he doesn’t think it’s very funny anymore. In fact, he doesn’t think about anything anymore”.

“So, what are you going to pay me to do this?”, he asked as he pushed me back towards my chair.

I sat in silence for a moment trying to digest the story that he just told me. “You set the price”, I said.

“Me?”, he said with wide eyes.

“Ok doll. How about you and me go out right now. Then I’ll think about whether I want to take on your job or not”.

For a man as dark and brooding as he was, I found him incredibly sexy. He didn’t scare me. His strength and confidence were intoxicating. The more I looked at him and studied his features, the more I wanted to know about this man. The mystery of the man. The reason I wanted to meet with him in the first place, seemed to take a backseat to this opportunity to be with him.

I said, “What are we waiting for?”, then grabbed my coat and his gloved hand.

“Now we’re talking”, he said with enthusiasm.

With my hand in his, he led me out of the building onto the street. The city street was bustling with people walking swiftly on the sidewalks, the traffic, and the noise of the city. Everyone moving with their own intentions and not paying any mind to the man in the purple coat with the messy clown make-up. He walked fast and I felt he was pulling me along. “Come on, come on”, he’d say. I did my best to keep up. I didn’t know where we were going, but he knew exactly where he was heading.

We darted down an alley way that was narrow and filled with trash cans and graffiti on the sides of the buildings. We came up on a door with no address or name. He knocked twice and it opened. A beautiful woman opened the door and said, “Hi J! Long time no see”.

We walked in and I was surprised to find myself in this little hole-in-the-wall Italian restaurant. There couldn’t have been more than 10 tables but all were empty at this time of day. It was dimly lit, and the atmosphere was inviting. A faded sign over the bar said, Maroni’s.

He looked over at me and said, “Well doll, what do you think? This is Vi’s place now and it’s by invitation only, but I always invite myself”, he said with a twinge of arrogance.

“So, J, what rock did you crawl out from under this time?”, asked Vi.

“Aw Vi, charming as ever. I brought someone for you to meet,” he said. “This is ‘Bunny’”.

(My name is not ‘Bunny’, but I never told him my name, nor did I know his, so I played along).

“Ok,’Bunny’, I hope you enjoy your meal and you know what kind of company you’re keeping”, Vi said as she walked away to get the menus.

“No menus Vi, just drinks”, he barked. “Two beers”.

“Got it,”, said Vi.

So, we sat there looking at each other. What now I wondered and why was I there? This is rather strange at this point to me.

He looked at me and busted out with a crazy laugh. “Are we having fun yet?”, he asked as he cackled and rocked back and forth in the chair.

Vi brought over the two beer mugs and sat them down. J picked up the mug in front of him and tossed the beer out over his shoulder and forcefully slammed the empty mug on the table. “I don’t drink anymore. Let’s go”, he said.

“But we just sat down”, I said confusingly.

He looked at me sternly, grabbed my hand and firmly said, “We leave NOW”.

He didn’t bother to leave any money on the table and as we hurriedly left, Vi shouted, “J – don’t come back here anymore you son-of-a-bitch”.

He yelled back, “Aw Vi, still as charming as ever!” Followed by that crazy laugh.

We were back in the alley again and instead of walking back to the street, we headed further down the long alley. It was starting to get dark now and I knew I had bitten off more than I could chew with choosing to go out with this guy.

At the end of the alleyway was a small bench near a street corner. We hadn’t said anything to each other, we just walked along side by side. When he saw the bench he said, “Let’s sit here”.

“Ok”, I said. “What exactly are we doing?”

“You know exactly what we’re doing doll”, he said as he put his arm around me and pulled me next to him as we sat there.

I didn’t resist. Having his arm around me caused me to experience a feeling that this was so natural, so right, so welcoming and causing me to feel a level of comfort I haven’t felt in a long time. But wait, I didn’t even know his name! All I knew was what I have been told about him through others. This was a guy to be feared, a man who had no feelings, no remorse, no morals, he just “did things”. But here I was with his arm around me and I was enjoying it.

“Doll listen to me”, he said while looking deeply in my eyes, “I’m not going to take on your ‘job’, and you’re not going to ask anyone else to do something like that. You are not that person otherwise you would have thrown me out and said you could get someone else to do the job.”

I turned my head away from him and he put his gloved hand under my chin and turned my head toward him, “Look at me, listen to me, you’re not like one of them”.

I wanted him to hurt the people who had hurt me. But, perhaps, he saw through my anger and hurt and saw that I was really not that vengeful person I presented myself to be. He had known pain like I could never imagine. Perhaps he was saving me from myself. A multitude of thoughts were running through my head. I felt dizzy.

Tears came into my eyes. “See, I showed you”, he said.

I said, “What made you so smart?”

“See, I’m not a monster”, he said.

I saw a little vulnerability in his eyes, and I said, “I never said you were”.

“I don’t know who you are, I don’t know who hurt you, but I know you have helped me tonight. Thank you”, I said.

He looked deeply into my eyes and wrapped me in his strong arms and pulled me even closer to him. I buried my head under his chin and the cheap cologne and dirty clothes didn’t matter. Again, he put his gloved hand under my chin and lifted my head, “Look at me”, he said, and he pressed his lips to mine. It was a gentle, passionate kiss and he squeezed me so tightly it almost took my breath away. I could feel the scars, but they were soft and supple, perhaps from his constant licking of his lips.

As he held me, he said to me, “Listen, I’m going to go, and you need to go home and don’t ever get involved with guys like me again. I am past the point of redemption and as far as I’m concerned, we never met. Go and build a new life girlie and forget about the assholes that treated you so badly. Their day will come. Got it?”

“Got it”, I said while still trying to hold on to him for as long as I could and with tears in my eyes I looked into his eyes and said, “You’re not past the point of redemption. No one is.”

He laughed that crazy laugh again, stood up and put his hands on my shoulders and said, “Why so serious?” He flashed a huge smile and then he walked away into the shadows.

I sat there shaking. Realizing what he had done for me. He saved me from becoming consumed in hate and revenge. J was right. It was time to move on. I hope fate will allow me to see him again.

[cosmosthistle]

ok my Thoughts on all the trailers

46 days: this looks fun! good cast!! Looks incredibly silly in an entertaining way

an eye for an eye: I have mixed feelings? it looks like it might touch on some heavy, real issues - I'd be interested to see an exploration of things like corruption and nepotism.. but it depends on how much of this is just for drama and how much is commentary

drag, I love you: uh... what? is the plot supposed to be “homophobic/transphobic guy falls in love with a woman who is pretending to be a male drag queen, not knowing she’s a woman” ??? No ❤️ we don’t want it ... or am I misunderstanding? is this the one joss said he thought 3wbf fans would be excited for? I’m not seeing it..

fish upon the sky: this could def be interesting!! it’s by the same author as 2gether - actually I might be wrong, but I think this was the only trailer that drew attention to the author’s name... gmmtv really want a repeat of 2g’s success, which is understandable, they’re a business, but... when it involves portraying LGBT characters, I just hope it’s done well. I'm interested to see where they go with this – “when you love someone, you must change yourself” - maybe it’ll provide “be yourself” kinda message? also phuwin!! precious 🥺❤️

mama gogo: so many of my Sons (podd, toptap, lee) 🥰 I already love the main female character lmao, I'm HERE for jaded, bitter women. from the trailer it looks like it’ll be funny !!

mr. lipstick: yeah I already hate the main guy lmao.. really started out strong there with rating women out of 10 based on their physical appearance, bud. 🙄 I think this is my least favourite of all the trailers so far. I do like love score which they played in the trailer yess stan sizzy

never too late: they knew what they were doing starting off with glitching audio and nanon, lmao. I imagine these roles are going to be a great opportunity for the actors to show their Skills, and I can’t wait! this looks really interesting, I'm excited!

step darling: uh this whole thing kinda just feels off? I feel like they had some good, interesting concepts but... maybe it was rushed, or they didn’t really know what to do with this or something. idk if I'll even watch this

baker boys: at first I was just like aww okay yes this is cute... and then. at first I was thinking “ah this will be a show where the actors entirely carry the plot”, but... I'm very excited for the mystery element here? I love a Dark Twist™, and i’m excited to see Lee and Singto’s acting !!

enchanté: the book thing looks cute but like... dude if you wanna know who he is, just ask him through the book? tf.... also Gawin!!! overall, gives me Cinderella energy ?? I want to watch this !!

the war of flower: aye 🥰🥰🥰 the drama between the women “we’re such good friends <333 *cuts to them fighting*” looks fun sdkdsk also GUN!! I do love to make myself feel better about my own life by watching other peoples’ messy personal drama, so I'll watch this

bad buddy: okay ohm and nanon!!! I love the opposites attract thing, this could be good. I guess it’s some Romeo and Juliet type thing?? they secretly don’t hate each other?? I'm excited!! also miss love pattranite is in it ❤️

irresistible: yeah this just looks boring idk

the player: HOLY SHIT I am SO EXCITED FOR THIS !! Jane, Namtan, Chimon ... and TAWANSKDSK MY FAV BOY !!!!!!!!!! I'm very excited for this!! I love a good crime drama!!! honestly, it gives me “an inspector calls” vibes - maybe that’s why I'm so excited for it; studying that play in high school English lit was around when I fell in love w the whole story production process, and yeah family drama is just fun when it’s done right?? easily my #1 of these

not me: do crime, baby boys ❤️ VERY excited to see off and gun in roles that will give them a chance to really show themselves as actors!!! gun is playing twins? it’s what he deserves, he’s so talented ahh, and Gavin and mond are here? this looks really good wow

F4: so I've pretty consistently avoided every version of Hana Yori Dango because... it just sounds kinda toxic. but this looks like it’ll really take a different direction - criticising the same issues instead of perpetuating them? this could literally be groundbreaking? I'm seriously excited. I imagine Bright and Tu’s acting is really going to shine through here (I already love tu so much omg). honestly, I went from “great, another BOF remake 🙄” to genuinely thinking this could be one of the best shows of 2021... I mean we’ll see, but like.. this is a good trailer

[archiveddvrpg]

Congratulations, BRIDGET! You’ve been accepted for the role of POMPEY. Admin Minnie: I had some trouble writing Piero in the beginning; in fact, I rewrote him a few times because I couldn’t find the right words to describe the core of him. But you, Bridget, nailed it exactly in ways that I had not even seen myself. You made him utter real — sometimes uncomfortably so, all of that feeling and pride, As I was reading your application, I immediately felt like he was already yours. I really tried to pick out my favorite line in your application, the detail that really drove it home for me — but the truth is, Bridget, you won me over so thoroughly that I love it all. I cannot wait to see you on our dash again, Bridget, and I’m so happy you’re back! Please read over the checklist and send in your blog within 24 hours.

WELCOME TO THE MOB.

OUT OF CHARACTER

Alias | Bridget

Age | Twenty-two

Preferred Pronouns | She/they

Activity Level | I’m either gonna be on every three minutes or three days apart, there is no in between, but I promise to keep my activity constant and in line with your standards and let it be known if I am having any struggles with meeting them.

Timezone | EST

How did you find the rp?  | Hazel

IN CHARACTER

Character | Pompey ; Piero Montrelle Ruiz

Piero ; italian: rock

Montrelle ; italian: mountain

Ruiz ; spanish: famous ruler

What drew you to this character? |

Listen, I made a meme when I was apping Hazel, Imma show y’all right now:

It’s a dumb meme and I’m sorry, I couldn’t help but share it.

I honestly play characters like Piero more than I play nicer, more morally-sound characters like Hazel, but I wanted to try something new, so ultimately I decided to pursue Hazel at the time. That said, as much as I love Hazel and would love to write her again, I kept thinking about Piero and his youth and ambition, and so now here we are, me obsessed and wanting to write him.

Okay, rambling ? Done. Let’s do this.

Something about Piero just screamed to me boy king, and that’s just my style. It was in the way he put himself above other children, his pride and his ego. He was born to be something and, in his youth, before he knew of his parents’ empire, before they told him who he was meant to be, he was searching for it. He couldn’t find in it eager kiddy games, he couldn’t find it in chit chat or childhood experiences. But there was something that rushed through him when he saw them stumble, he found satisfaction in figuring things out ages before them. It was in feeling better than them, feeling stronger and superior, and — simply, just being better. He had no time for laughter, for foolishness. What was the point of that, if not to waste time ? ( He was a mean boy, but his parents never pushed him not to be. If he caused another to bleed, it was their fault for not defending themselves. If his whispers of cruel words caused them to weep, they needed to strengthen their mental fortitude. No fault was to be found in Piero ).

I also want to pinpoint there’s something about Piero that also reads naivety to me. He considers himself wise and intelligent, and to some point I do agree ( books and tutors can teach, and they do ) but there are other notions that bring out his youth. It’s in his eavesdropping on his parents — yes, he was young when it happened, but still someone wiser would have understood that some secrets are such for a reason. Instead, he lusted for the unknown, something bigger than himself ( this — as well, is something I’d like to focus on, but I’ll come back to this later. ) and he found himself frenzied until he was finally privy to the family secrets. I see him as being inexperienced, someone who doesn’t have quite the worldliness as someone twice his age or even someone who had to struggle for basic needs during their childhood.

( Also, there is the fact his parents groomed him as being special. He never earned the title, instead it was bequeathed unto him from the very start. His parents claimed he walked younger than most, talked younger than most. He excelled in classes, he excelled in his physical ability. Again and again, his parents claimed him remarkable. I think, amongst the Veronesi, it might be time for him to realize that maybe he isn’t more than his name. This probably should go under plotting but I’m imagining him seeing others with skills he was never taught, maybe those his mother would have considered barbaric and uncouth. Piero wouldn’t see that, though. He would see force and deadly talent and he would see the areas in which he holds deficits. Also, just the ability and skill that comes with time and practice beyond natural talent. I keep reminding myself that, although a little bit weary with a lot of trauma, Piero is still nineteen. I used to think that was so old and so mature, but he’s barely more than a kid. Fun Science Fact: brains aren’t developed fully until their mid-20s !!! Some studies suggest early 30s !!!! Piero hasn’t even reached 20s !!!! He’s still baby !!!!! He’s going to make mistakes and learn and he might be reluctant and angry to do ( please see trauma re: parent death and assassination attempts )  so but he’s gonna do it to better himself which is what he wants to do !!! )

Piero learned so much from his parents, from tutors and teachers alike, but there is something more about experiencing things for himself and not just from the words of others and that’s where his youth shows. The first time he fought, really fought, not for practice or for fun ( something about him just coded him as a bully in my mind, one who’d pick a fight with someone who, one, would fight back, and, two, someone he would definitely beat, but I digress ), in my mind, was when Tiberius came to kill him. There was a fight or flight reaction and he was proud and cocky and pumped up on adrenaline because — this — this was what it was all for. He fought with a flurry of fists, frenzied, wild. In that moment, he knew this for certain: Ruizes were powerful and forceful and they would not flee. If he died right then, so be it, but he wouldn’t have looked death in the face and accepted it.

Okay, so this has turned into a rambling character analysis, and I apologize because I said I was done rambling, and clearly not. That said, I don’t regret it. I just have so much passion and fervor for Piero and I could write a ton more. I might. Later. We’ll see.

I just can’t help but be captured by how striking he is. He’s new to Verona, new to this scene of criminal seediness because this is when he’s finally beginning to get his hands dirty, beyond the basics of opening his eyes. His parents were introducing him to this life, but they didn’t let him delve too deep. They were bringing him in slowly, and then they died. He had nothing right then, nothing but his name and its weight. That wasn’t enough, but his brutality was. When death came for him, it made a mark on Tiberius for him — maybe all of the Capulets, too — and now he’s determined to leave a stain on all of Verona, perhaps Spain and the rest of the world, too.

I originally saw him as something of a blank slate when it came to his being in Verona, but after thinking it through a tad more, he isn’t. His parents wrote his future for him with the very incident of his birth, and now he is filling in the blanks that have been left for him after their deaths. Verona — the Capulets — they are a step in his path to power. Here, he could find allies — he already has enemies — and he learned at a young age the value others could be in company. Over time, maybe they will see that he is someone with a bright future, someone who should be watched carefully because blink and you’ll miss his grab for something better.

He should not be overlooked and that is something I think people might do. Sure, his family had a reputation, one that might cause some pause, but they might think he isn’t them. He is young and inexperienced, but there’s a chip on his shoulder and in his mouth is a taste for blood. He won’t go down quietly or without a fight. He is watching and waiting for chance and opportunity. He’ll prove any doubter wrong, he’s sure of it with all the self-confidence and egotism a princeling could have.

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

1. Emotional Motion Sickness: Something that struck me about Piero is how he once wore his emotions on his sleeve. He fought for his life, fueled by loss and grief. He has a practiced void in his eyes and locked tears away. In my mind, this is not him, it is not in his nature. He was the sort to be fueled by idle amusements, wanting satisfaction, his eagerness knowing no bounds. He feels, and he feels immensely. It could be said it’s what he does best.  But now? He is quiet, showing little. It’s vacant and a little numbing, and the void in his eyes is cold and distant. What his cards are and what he intends to play are known to him and him only. I can’t help but think that maybe, one day, he is going to break, the facade dropping, eyes blazing. Anyone caught in the crossfire surely would regret their taunts and jeers.

1. I just have this vision of him snapping. It would take a lot — honestly, a lot — because he’s created this solid version of himself, almost patient, somewhat mostly obedient ( I do imagine he chafes under rules a little — more than a little bit actually, but he bites it back time and time again ) but unfeeling. Jibs and jabs don’t get to him. They seemingly roll off of his back. I have to say that isn’t the case. He’s proud and he can only take so many insults. If — actually, when — he breaks, it’s going to have been a long time coming. The facade will start to break, cracks showing in the twitch of his fingers, the tension in his jaw. Maybe it will earn him respect from those around him when he snaps and demands more for him  — he’s more than just the last of the Ruizes, living off of the faded glory of their name, and he’ll be damned if he’s not allowed to show it — but maybe it will only be a reminder that he was a loose end, and he was meant to be dead to begin with.

2. Who Am I? You Decide: He comes to Verona and what’s most obvious is that he has offered himself wholly to the Capulets. It’s not what his parents did — they were owed power for their allyship while Piero is now owed nothing. At the beginning, he is dutiful and obedient. He’s got nothing to lose but he has everything to gain here. He has to prove himself, really it’s his main goal. To do this, he finally understands words his parents told him so many years ago. Detener la marea y esperarar al momento adecuado: Hold back the tide and wait for the right time. He’s trying to listen and be quiet and wait and watch, but he’s never known patience well. He acted and reacted in his youth — power and privilege granted that ability — and this restraint is taking a lot of effort.

1. The facade crumbles and falls slowly, piece by piece. It starts with remarks and quips that are a touch too dry and that have too jagged an edge to people who don’t matter. It then escalates. He tries to manipulate situations where he sees a chance to take hold. He bites when he should be muzzled ; he acts of his own accord. I have no doubt that his own desires and whims to take action will get him in trouble. He is a wicked boy and always has been, soul stained black by birthright and only darkened with time. He found thrill in other people getting hurt, whether by his hand or not. He found glee in twisting his words to twist knives in others’ hearts. Maybe he learned it from watching his parents — they were by no means good people — but maybe it was part nurture, part nature. It was fate to be bad, or at the very least unkind.

2. His true nature shows in these ways: he speaks when he shouldn’t, he becomes too comfortable around Tiberius, a man who is like a friend and a brother, but ultimately was the man who was meant to kill him. It shows in his interactions with Vivianne, charm oozing, frenetic words of grandeur and idyllic plans slipping from his lips in eager commentaries about Verona and Spain and the whole world further. He speaks to them as if they are not his betters — as if he is more than even an equal — and soon it is not only them. It will become everyone.

3. Throwing Rocks Around Your Room: Everything in his life has been destroyed or taken from him in irreparable ways. This new life, this new existence, a part of him wonders how long it will last ( there is, of course, a certainty that this has to last. It’s this life in the mobs, or death. No middle, no escape. All or nothing. Black or white ). He seems so neutral, so unmoveable, but his head is a wrecking ball. He thinks of ways to destroy not only himself but all those around him. A part of him thinks the Capulets are to blame for the ruination of his family and their name — exceedingly childish, for sure — but he wonders what it would be like to see them crumble, perhaps making a martyr of himself in the process. The one flaw to this is that he does not want to die. For what use was him surviving this long if it comes not to a head ? He needs to make a mark. He needs to be known not just by a few Capulets and other Veronesi — but by everyone. He wants parents to shiver when their babes utter his name. He wants his name in history books, imprinted on pages that will survive longer than their maker.

1. Destruction has followed Piero. At first, it was only others, starting with children who crossed him, and then it turned to the enemies of his family. He did well when it was his hand casting the stone. And then, it turned on him. His family’s empire turned from masterpiece to rubble. Another turn took and his family was whittled down to one. The idea of erupting and destroying who he thinks hurt him ? Somewhat appealing. But he can’t do it. He wants more. He’s hungry to become bigger than he is. I want him to find a way to do it ( and while he’d consider acting Brutus within the Capulets, his own pride and ambition would be champ at the bit, rendering him unable ) or at least consider his options. He’s restless as part of the Capulets. He feels like they are keeping him down, not letting him be enough.

4. I Don’t Have a Fancy Title for This One I’m Sorry: When it comes to Tiberius, Piero wants to impress him, to prove him right, that sparing him was the right choice. But at the same time, bitterness remains and finds itself seeping into his blood, the feeling intensifying, every time Piero finds himself being held back by the scruff. With his … befriending ( that isn’t the right word, and it doesn’t convey what I want to say ? Admiring ? Infatuation — not romantically, of course ) of Vivianne, he wonders if impressing her over Tiberius is the way to go. He considers ignoring Tiberius, going off on his own and making his own choices. Maybe that’s what he needs to do to shake off the status of initiate, to become a soldier.

1. tl;dr: Eventually, if Tiberius doesn’t let Piero have a little more responsibility and things to do, he’ll find someone else who will grant him that.

Current State of Being

→ Piero is trying to stay in line, keep quiet, and do what’s asked of him. But he’s antsy and he’s simmering. There’s so much he has to say ; he’s so not used to being at the bottom of the pecking order. It’s not going to last. He’s got a lot to say, he wants to do things. Sooner or later, he’s going to stop waiting for permission ( and, in turn, he’ll beg for forgiveness if need-be )

Character Goals

→ Have Piero use his voice. He stops listening to the jeers and taunts of everyone who thinks they know all there is to know about them, and he tells them off. He’s no longer silent and maybe people will look at him in a different light. Or maybe he gets in trouble. Either way would further. I’m leaning towards having him react and get angry, raising his voice in a way he shouldn’t.

→ His true nature shows. Wicked is as wicked does. He gets comfortable in Verona. He acts on instinct, he lashes out. Maybe someone gets hurt — maybe it’s him, maybe not. He starts to abuse his ability to talk to people, twisting words and twisting hearts and feelings. Manipulation is in his blood. He acts out, he steps out of line and does something for people to see him as more than just a little initiate in the Capulet’s gang.

Are you comfortable with killing off your character? |

Don’t kill baby jk do it i dare you

IN DEPTH

( i’m replying to some of the questions & i did a para sample )

What is your favorite place in Verona?

He gets lost more often than he’d like. He wanders down streets he’s never gone down and through alleys with unknown endings. A part of him would be delighted if it wasn’t overtaken by the idea that he needed to know these streets better than he did. There was no time to be idle, no time to do anything with purpose. Most of the Capulets, surely the Montagues, knew this city like the back of their hands.

He wanted to know it better than they did, better than those naturally Verona-born. It was more than a want, it was a need that burned within him.

Still, the streets were beautiful.

It was different than home, than Spain. There, his family had resided just outside one of its largest city. From his room, he could hear the sounds of cars whizzing by on nearby highways. If he didn’t close the curtains, he would be bombarded with the lights of the city, no stars to be seen.

Here, despite its age and all of its magnitudes, Verona seemed infinitely smaller to him. He was refusing to allow himself to like it, to find a home.

It’s a long time before he finally answers the question, and his response can hardly be considered an answer. He only gives a shrug of his shoulders, absent, vague, and his gaze turns towards the window. His eyes are dead and shark-like as people pass by.

That’s not an answer, Piero.

He sighs, a loud and exasperated sound. There’s another pause on his part, this one longer and emphasized by his ability to not look at the asker once. This person — the soldato — means nothing to him. He’s sure they’ve already passed their prime. They’re as likely to ascend further as he is to fall flat — which is to say unlikely. And because of this, he cares little for them. He waits to say something poised and clever until perfect ears are listening.

Finally, there comes an answer, the barest bones of respect he’ll give, one with a little more substance to it. That doesn’t mean his voice has an affect that is more than flat. It doesn’t mean he seems to care. “ There’s a little flower shop that I can see from the window of my flat. I’ve never — “ his nose wrinkles at the thought “ — I’ve never bought anything from it, but it reminds me of when I was living another life. ”

It reminds him of the day his parents died and he was left standing alone to face their destruction, his shoes sticking to the hardwood floors as blood dried on their soles.

What has been your biggest mistake thus far?

“ Ambition is my folly. ”

It’s said lightly, airily, as if it doesn’t matter. Look closer, see how the muscle clenches in his cheek, how there’s a sparkle momentarily flashing in his eyes before it fades to dullness. He wants to do something that has weight ( — like the heft of a gun in his hand, the feeling of his body atop another’s as his fists bear down ) and yet he is relegated to simple tasks only. He feels like a page, or perhaps worse, a pawn, unimportant and oh-so-easily replaceable.

Maybe his mistake has been living.

It shouldn’t seem like that.

But he hates being an underling. He hates being told what to do and when to do it. His life is now dictated by another, not even a Ruiz. When it was his parents instructing him, it felt different, less like someone was making all of his choices for him and more like — more like he mattered ? There is no need to convince himself that he did matter to his parents — he was next in line, preened and primed, being readied to take the throne his family had been sitting on for generations — because he knows it’s true. Here ? One wrong move can cost everything.

Perhaps he should have allowed himself to have been martyred, killed in cold blood despite fighting to prevent it. He would have been the last of the Ruizes ; they’d have been remembered for not going down easily. Now ? He thinks a wrong glance cast could mean his throat will be slit.

You don’t seem so ambitious to me.

He supposes most won't have seen it. Tiberius knows — Tiberius has heard him ask over and over for something to do, something bigger and better, with meaning, and so has Vivianne, he would be remiss to forget her — but everyone else ? He doesn’t suppose it’s important enough information for his sponsor to pass along that he wants to do more, so he rationalizes that most think he’s just a good little soldier-to-be, keeping his head down and toes in line. It’s not time for people to fear him, not just yet. That time will come.

“ Then maybe my biggest mistake was that lie. ”

Para Sample

He has been being followed for sometime now. It is always a shadow in the periphery of his vision, disappearing when he turns to see, a jacket billowing behind someone who had just walked out of frame. Piero wonders if this should make him nervous. He’s considered it, the idea that someone must want him dead to end the Ruiz family once and for all. They came for his parents, now it’s his turn. It’s a horrifying thought at first light, but there is something dangerously satisfying to him within it, at the idea of someone considering him that necessary to end. Perhaps it’s dark and twisted, but not all boys born to wear a crown come out golden.

Nearly a week passes, and by now he’s on edge. Every knock on the door of the shitty motel he’s staying in, every blow of wind against the glass windows, sets him on edge. There are purple circles under his eyes, dark as can be. He hasn’t been sleeping well. He tosses and turns, his deepest worries allowed to fester and grow in unguarded dreams, until he wakes unrested. He can’t go on like this much longer. He’s wondered if it’s worth it to flee Spain, to call on distant relatives, begging on bent knees for salvation and charity. His own pride sets him straight. Cowardice is not an option. Ruiz blood has reigned over Spain for generations. He will not be the one to bring that to an end, bringing shame to his name and the memory of his parents.

It’s just past three in the morning when he hears the turn of the doorknob. He sits up straight in the rickety armchair in the corner, his eyes adjusting to the darkened room, and he stares and he waits. He considers running. There’s a window in the bathroom, already open. He’s slender enough to squeeze through it if he really wants to, he’s given thought to it already — the doorknob rattles again, a thump echoes through the room as something hits the wood of the door — but he thinks to himself he doesn’t have the time. If he tries it, he’ll be caught halfway out. He cannot flee if it will lead inevitably to his demise. It’s embarrassing and shameful and wouldn’t do. Even in the face  of death, Piero is as proud as ever.

The moments before the door cracks open, broken by the weight of another’s body, seem to last forever. He thinks of himself. He thinks of all the things he has yet to do. He thinks about his parents, their dreams and expectations for him. This becomes painfully clear: he cannot die without a fight. This is his moment. No matter the outcome, someone will remember the Ruizes. They were once noble and strong, but they didn’t allow their fire to go out so easily. It’s all he can do.

The door breaks, and he’s on his feet finally. The room is still dark but he can see motion in the darkness. He will let his attacker come to him. To tire himself out, to make all motion, seems like it’d be a mistake. Though he’s expecting it, the first hit knocks all of the air out of his lungs. Another hit lands, then another. Finally, something snaps within him. Elbows in, chin down. That’s what his mother taught him. He’s wild and frenzied, suddenly hits aren’t met with pause, and he begins throwing blow after blow, some hitting, some not. He’s all in. There is no hesitation, not anymore. It’s become apparent, right then, after this week of waiting, that perhaps another motivation is a fear of death.

It’s not an unreasonable thing. He is barely nineteen, hardly an adult, barely lived. He thinks there is so much more for him to do, to see and to experience. In his head, his mantra becomes I will not die today. Over and over, he says it to himself, despite blows hitting his body, his own strikes meeting their targets, muscles pounding against flesh.

Thoughts continue to rush through his mind. Why is he fighting ? For his parents. Why does he need to ? They’re dead. There are tears welled up in his eyes, out of pain and anger and grief. They shouldn’t be dead. They should be here. He shouldn’t be fighting. A choke sob escapes through swelling lips, but he doesn’t let himself falter. This is life or death, and he is doing everything he can to choose life.

His mouth tastes of iron and salt, but it isn’t from his own body. A fist met his lips, teeth scraped against gentle flesh, and Piero had drawn first blood. Though there were bruises forming on his own body already, though his muscles ache and scream, there is something satisfying about that. All he can do is manage to stay standing, quick on his feet, landing in jabs where he can.

The sounds in the room are heavy breathing and the noise of flesh hitting flesh. He wonders if the neighbors have been disturbed. He wonders if they care.

He isn’t sure how long has passed. He isn’t sure how much longer he can last. This fight, this rush of adrenaline coursing through him, it’s all new. Before this, it had always been fights that ended when someone hit the ground or time was up. Never had stakes been so high. A part of him is screaming for it to stop ; another wonders why this is only the first time. There’s something fulfilling in it, and maybe that’s monstrous, but Piero thinks that maybe he was born to be brutal and bloodthirsty. For so long, he had been charming and a pseudo-intellectual, clever and cunning. There had been merit to that, yes, but this ? Every fist that connects with skin sends a rush through him, a thrill like never before.

He isn’t sure how much time has passed when the man takes a step back from him, a thrown swing causing him to fall off balance. For a second, his heart leaps to his throat and he thinks this is it. But the man doesn’t take the misstep as an opportunity. Instead, he’s looking at him, interest crossing his features. Piero doesn’t let his fists fall to his side, he doesn’t know why the man has stopped, and he is too in the moment to care. He takes the chance the man doesn’t and swings, his fist meeting the man’s jaw. It lands with a satisfying thwack, but again the man doesn’t retaliate.

“ That’s enough. ”

Piero can’t help but flinch under the tone of resolve and authority, but when he looks up again, the man is still staring at him. No, he is studying. Piero can’t fathom what he can be looking for or why their fight has stopped. His body is screaming, surely if he wakes tomorrow the pain will have increased tenfold, and his most basic reaction is still fight, fight, fight.

He’s winding up his fist again but again the man speaks. “ I said, enough. ”

Piero knows when words spoken are no longer suggestions — when instead they become commands. His fists fall, his shoulders do, too. His expression turns petulant, childlike in its quick and open displeasure.

He is silent, waiting — for what ? He wonders briefly. It could be death and damnation that awaits him. A part of him, however, thinks differently. He has never been idyllic, seeing the world through rose-colored glasses with glee and a grin, but something inside him is waiting not for death’s hand to grip him.

Instead, he waits. Blood is rushing through his ears still, his pulse is throbbing. Finally, finally —

“ Sit down, boy. Let’s talk. ”

Extras:

FAST FACTS

( i looked up spanish naming customs for this and i might have gotten it right but i might not have i need to do more reading to be 100% sure but i still wanted to include it )

→ Full Name: Piero Ruiz Lorca

→ Mother: Marcella Blanca Lorca de Ruiz

→ Father: Piero Ruiz Zapatero

→ Siblings: None

→ Birthday: July 12th ; this makes him a Cancer

→ Hometown: Cordoba, Spain

→ Dominant Character Traits: harsh, ambitious, bloodthirsty, rash, driven,  

HEADCANONS

001. For generations now, men wore the name Piero, his grandfather the third, Piero the fifth. There were expectations to meet, legacies to exceed. Live up to your namesake. Piero’s father was speaking of his own father at the time and, while this weight of that bore heavily down, the young boy could only think of becoming instead like his father. His grandfather died before memories of him solidified in a young child’s head, and so he only knew of him through tales and rumors. For his father, though, he watched as all stood when he walked into a room, his presence commanding respect, his reputation demanding it. While his hands were stained bloodied red, he was a beacon of light that people looked to, he captured attention easily. Once he understood, Piero craved that same state of existence. The children he grew up around, he had their attention, but in a different way. They whispered about him when his back was turned, they ducked their heads and left the room once he entered. It was a shame, really, but he was sure he would grow into his father’s shoes, filling the role the elder Ruiz did easily. For some time, he believed he was doing exactly that. And then, his parents were slaughtered, and the role he had to fill was that of a ghost. Now that he is human once more, as part of the Capulets and their crew, he feels like he once did as a child, unliked and not very seen. It’s digging at him, shoving splinters under already broken nails, causing him to grit his teeth and try a thousand times harder to earn a little bit of the damned respect he so desperately craves. It’s one of the few things that his father told him to do, this living up to his namesake. His father might be dead, rotting in the ground, with most of his words forgotten to time and space, but his spectral voice lives on in Piero’s head.

002. I have this image of Piero, maybe no older than fifteen, sixteen, at a table surrounded by compatriots of his parents. An older man, in his fifties, or perhaps, his sixties, is chewing tobacco. It’s disgusting. His gums are coated in black spit and when he smiles there are specks on his teeth. Piero cannot hide his disdain. But he’s chewing something, too. With all of his egotism, his thoughts that he is better than those before, he’s found a better option. Mint. It’s fresh and better and — the adults around him, most find him insufferable. For good reason. Anyway, it’s stupid and dumb, but god, I imagine it’s a habit he hasn’t broken. It also means mojitos are his favorite cocktail. No, I won’t elaborate on this or give any good reason for it besides please, I want it, and it’s just youthful arrogance, you know ? Before Verona, before his parents died, I feel like he had just come into himself — he felt sure and he was certain that life was grand. Era una vida tan buena. He was cocky and a little … I don’t know. Smarmy ? That’s not quite the word I want, but god, Piero was living each day as it came. Nothing could faze him. He lived under the shield of his parents and their name, of his own youth. There was privilege in that. He had seen the taste of power and luxe that his parents’ world — the one he was set to inherit once he was of age — and it delighted him. He revelled in it. He wouldn’t have to unlearn his innate cruelties, his hubris. He was a prince set to ascend, his crown was never askew.

003. As a child, he was raised not only to be smart, wisened by words of the experiences and the words in books, but to be cultured as well. His mother took him to parties with him on her arm, where his smiles never quite reached his eyes under the coos and remarks of her friends. He talked when spoken to, he never raised his voice. He could be charming when he needed to be, grins and chubby-cheeked, with words uttered that they desperately wanted to hear. He never enjoyed them, especially not when his parents would slip away into back rooms to have their own meetings. He would wait resting under the doorknob, eyes desperately seeking for some revelation under the door’s crack, ears yearning for words through the keyhole. The door would open at midnight, if not later, and he would fall into the room because of how he’d been leaning against the door. On the rainiest of days with no other plans, they would find themselves lost in museums all over the continent ( they had money, and while they didn’t quite flaunt it, they didn’t have qualms about traveling ). Beautiful things never caught his eye. They were nice, sure; but they were idle and dull and fleeting in his mind. Were his mother not guiding him ( in another life, one without bloodlust and bloodshed, she would have been a curator — a stunning one, establishing beautiful collections that many would travel to. alas, this is not our story ), he would have been lost in statues of gore, in paintings of wars and hatred. There was something about them that caught his attention and never let go. Is there beauty in being brutal ? Piero would say so.

004. The Ruiz home was decorated with exorbitant quantities of flowers while Piero lived there with his parents — why wouldn’t it be that way ? Their front for their operations was a massive floral establishment, it was only fitting for their home to be decorated accordingly. As a child, he loved their scent filling the halls and rooms — roses and lilies and all sorts of magnificent blooms. They were pretty and they weren’t long-lasting, but they were always something that represented his family, and he would be remiss to say a part of him wasn’t fond of them. However, from the day his parents died, all he can remember besides their shouts in frantic Spanish is the scent of blood and flowers. Now, any breath of anything floral makes him gag. It’s unfortunate.

005. The first time he held a gun — the first time he did so with meaning, it loaded, intended to be used against another — he was fourteen. He followed behind his mother, into a meeting with a man who owed the Capulets money. She knew he was unlikely to run or cause a fuss ( he had pride and character, his mother told him, and though he had wronged them, only a coward would have fled or refused his fate ) and thought it perfect for Piero’s first attendance. He stood behind his mother, just beside her shoulder, and listened as she talked. He stood on the balls of his feet, eager and ready for his chance to do something — anything. It never came, much to his disappointment. His mother said everything she needed to. She demanded payment. The man refused, citing he couldn’t. His mother nodded, then she fired one shot into the middle of his head. They left quickly after that, someone would be coming to clean up the mess, and the weight of Piero’s gun felt heavy in his hands having gone unfired.

006. He has nightmares. Nobody knows — he refuses to tell anyone for fear of it being seen as weakness or a vulnerability — but surviving two assassination attempts ? It should come as no surprise that it’s affected his psyche. But there are nights, more often than he’d like, that he wakes up, thrashing, sweat-coated legs and arms tangled up in bedsheets, and his heart is beating in frantic panic. It takes a moment for Piero to realize that his life is in no danger ( at least, not at that specific point in time ) and then he lets his head fall back to the pillow. The days after, he finds himself more on edge than normal, dark-circled eyes narrowed and angry.

PINTEREST BOARD

Rambly Bits That Didn’t Fit Anywhere Nicely But Still Provide Notion Of Character And I Didn’t Want To Delete Permanently For Fear Of Regretting That Decision Later

2. His parents were not good people. They never had hope of cleaning the blood off of their hands and fingers, but they never had desire to burn them clean. At his birth, he was blessed by aunts and uncles in hopes he’d have a fraction of his parents’ abilities — their cruelty, their decisiveness, their skill with gun and blade. He grew up in a home that never knew weak submission ; it was eat or be eaten, and he learned that quickly. He watched friends of his parents cry for mercy after failures — ones he didn’t understand in the moment, not until years later, when he crept downstairs in the midnight hours to watch their meetings through stair railings — and he watched as they were met with slaps to cheeks and sometimes worse. He was too young to understand the permanence of death, but he understood that a hole in a man’s temple meant he was never getting up. He saw the cool poise his father wore as he held a smoking gun — he imagined himself, older, in the same position. He echoed the steely edges his parents’ voices took ; he repeated the words they said that meant nothing to him until his cadence and tone matched theirs.

3. His parents praised him while he was in school when teachers and tutors reported that he was harsh in the face of sadness or whining and unable to handle the wrong answers of others.  It only worsened ( bettered ? ) as he grew older. His harshness seemed less precocious and began to unsettle others. Tutors and teachers began to dislike being in the same room as him. He wore a smile that said let me do as I please and his temper echoed I mean it. He asked them questions about things they didn’t know, baiting them with their insufficiencies until they had no other option but to quit. His parents would only hire someone new with no question. No one was spared. He asked personal and probing questions until they shifted in their seats. He was like a needle under their skin, sharp and uncomfortable.  )

4. Being a part of something bigger than himself. Isn’t that what a king does — or in Piero’s case, a princeling ? They are a large part of their kingdom, surely, and, though they might be its head, it cannot exist without its body. There needs to be support. When he was young, being a god amongst the other children wasn’t enough. He wanted something more. He wanted to be something more. He knew his parents did something that made them special, and their dis-including him ( for whatever reason it could be, he wondered night after night, staring up at the stucco ceiling, sleepless and agonizing ) just wouldn’t work for him. He needed to be involved, he needed to know. His knowing parts of their secrets, the whispers he overhead, was enough to build up his patience until it came to know more.

5. He has his eyes set on the crown his family once wore ; he was born and bred into a vicious line.

6. It’s a game of chess. Where once he was perhaps a knight or a bishop aside his parents’ queenhood, someone who could advise and assist, he feels now hardly more than a pawn. There are others in charge and he acts in their stead to do their bidding. He knows it’s what he must do. He must build his power back up, but gods above, the wait is agonizing. He wants to feel the rush of adrenaline that power brings surge through him again. He wants to make his own choices and decisions.

7. His peers had it worse. Unlike teachers whose authority he undermined, he knew he was better and above his cohort — a king amongst sheep. He ruled conversations even when no word slipped from his mouth. They needed to entertain him or he’d find another way to spend his time. ( A brief interlude: his “ friends ” didn’t like him but were scared of telling him no — also, they were most likely the children of his parents’ friends and associates, so there was need to make good with Piero. ) He’d pit them against each other with lies and rumors he’d overheard or made up. It was interesting to see them scramble, like ants under a magnifying glass. So long as he was amused, where was the harm ?