#in this house we love and respect short haired vincent

[firstsurugi]

strifentine parent au? 🤔

[clairenatural]

i had a dream that sam and dean took cas to an art museum and showed him all these paintings of angels and it was like that scene in vincent and the doctor and cas said these paintings are beautiful because they depict the angels as human when a true angel could never be described as anything but monstrous and i woke up crying

anon i love this SO much. i love it so much i had to write it. this is 1.4k, destiel, human!cas

They’re making their way out of the city, monster killed and day saved, when Castiel sees a poster, pasted up on the side of the plywood wall of a construction site. It’s an angel—he doesn’t recognize the artist, but he’d guess late 19th century. Be Not Afraid: a History of Angels in Art, it proclaims, the logo of the city’s largest art gallery tucked into the corner.

Castiel stares at it. The angel on the poster stares back, wings spread and staff raised. Valiant. Something in his heart twitches, but it’s hard to place. He still has his blade, tucked safely into the trunk with the rest of their frequently used weapons, and he never had wings like that; even the shadows, the ones they showed to humans, were simply the closest representation to the real thing possible in this dimension (his back aches anyway, dimly, his human body reacting to the loss as if they were real severed appendages. He ignores it).

Dean notices, because of course he does. He stops, because of course he does, and flags Sam down before his long legs can carry him too far ahead. “Hey. You good?”

Castiel isn’t sure how long he’s been staring at the poster, but it’s long enough that Dean is obviously concerned. “Hm? Oh. Yes, I’m—I’m fine.”

Dean nods but doesn’t move. He considers the poster. “Art gallery, huh?” he asks, avoiding the obvious elephant. Castiel appreciates it. He nods back.

“I’ve never been to one,” he offers, as explanation. It seems odd—he can remember the painting of the Sistine Chapel, he remembers watching with fascination as humans began collecting the smaller paintings into collections and museums, but he’d never been inside one. It hadn’t seemed necessary. Humans collect art in large boxes to remember their history, but Castiel has seen it all.

Dean seems surprised by this. “Seriously?” Castiel nods, and there’s a pause, and he’s about to turn and keep heading towards the car, and Kansas, and home, when Dean claps him on the shoulder and turns to call over his own.

“Sammy! How do you feel about seeing some art?”

“You want to go to an art gallery?” Sam sounds incredulous, and is closer behind him than Cas expected. He hadn’t noticed him retreat the half-block he’d managed to gain on them.

“Yeah, why not? Come on. What happened to ‘a little culture wouldn’t hurt, Dean?’”

"What happened to ‘I’ve got plenty of culture, eat your damn burger?’”

“It’ll be fun, Sam,” Dean counters. Something in his tone has changed. Cas doesn’t think too hard about it.

There’s a long pause, and Cas knows there’s some sort of communication happening he can’t hear or see. “…Okay,” Sam concedes. “Okay, sure. Yeah. Let’s go.”

So they do.

Dean makes a comment about “haven’t been in one of these since I was a kid,” before they all fall into the hushed silence of the museum floor. It’s nice—nicer than Castiel had expected. Not in aesthetics; the building is sleek, and modern, and the art is obviously beautiful. But it’s nice to be there. It feels almost Holy—humans, funny creatures they are, with their habit of treating their own culture with the respect of something divine. Creating houses of worship out of museums and libraries and living rooms. 

He wanders through the various exhibits but doesn’t really pay attention until he ends up in the exhibit from the poster. He’d managed to lose the Winchesters halfway through the photography exhibit, when both the brothers had gotten distracted. Castiel had continued onward anyway, on a mission, and by the time he finds himself walking into the angel exhibit he’s on his own.

He comes to a stop in front of one of the largest paintings in the room. It’s not the same angel as the poster. It’s several, actually, looking over what appears to be Mary and a baby Jesus. The angels are beautiful—smooth, flawless skin. They have long hair that looks soft, even in paint. They’re wearing white robes, and their wings are white and dove-like. None of these angels have several heads, rotating bands of fire, or thousands of eyes. They’re beautiful, but they aren’t angels. The human who painted this didn’t know that, of course—none of them did. Humanity was faced with the concept of divinity and conceptualized it as a version of itself.

“The real things ain’t as cuddly, huh?”

Dean’s voice startles him, which he hates, both because he hates being startled and because he’s still adjusting to Dean being able to sneak up on him.

“I was just thinking,” he starts, pretending he’d known Dean was there the whole time, “you paint us like we’re human.” Not ‘us’ anymore, he reminds himself, but he brushes that thought off. Not now.

Beside him, Dean snorts. “Yeah, well. If you’d told any of those Renaissance guys that the real angels are dickhead balls of celestial intent, they’d’ve arrested you for heresy.”

Castiel shakes his head. “No.” he pauses. “Well, yes. But that’s—” he turns to face Dean for the first time. He notices Sam over Dean’s shoulder, focusing intently on a painting a few feet away and obviously pretending not to listen.

“My father—God—Chuck,” he cycles through, which will never not be weird, “created us first, but not in his image. We weren’t worthy of that. Only you were. Humans, his perfect creation, modeled after their creator. But then—” he turns back to the painting and gestures to it. “You created us in your image. You thought about divinity and you couldn’t conceive anything more Holy than yourselves.”

Dean shifts. He tries for a laugh, but it comes out short. “Well, damn, Cas. Way to make a guy feel self-centered.”

Castiel turns back to him. He blinks. He frowns. That’s not what he means. “Most of my siblings thought so,” he agrees. “But I always thought it was an honor. Look,” He turns again and reaches out for the painting, only remembering a few inches from its surface to not touch it.  “This one has a lyre. You always paint us playing music. But music, art….these are human things, Dean.” He lets his hand fall, but keeps his eyes forward.  “We’re soldiers. They don’t teach us to play the harp in Heaven, they train us to fight. But these angels are…soft. Kind. Angels you trust to protect. The kind of angels people pray to, build churches to.” He looks back at Dean, who is staring at him with a frown. He holds his gaze, steady, and takes a deep breath before finishing. “I wish I was—that any of us were—worthy of being depicted this way. I wish we were the angels you paint us as.”

There’s a long pause while Dean searches his face, obviously trying to decide on the right reaction. If they were at home, Cas thinks Dean might reach out and hug him. Instead, Dean reaches out to clap a hand on his shoulder—he lets it linger there, and Cas knows what it means, so that’s okay, too. “For what it’s worth,” he starts, and his voice is softer than the last time he spoke. “You’re the closest thing to those angels that I’ve ever seen.”

It’s a nice sentiment, but Cas smiles sadly as he turns back to the painting. “I’m not any kind of angel anymore,” he points out, and tries his hardest to keep his voice neutral.

Dean squeezes his shoulder and tilts his head, trying to recapture Castiel’s gaze. “Hey. Look at me.” Reluctantly, he looks back over. “Your wings weren’t what made you a good angel, alright?” he brings his other hand up to poke into Castiel’s chest. “That was all in here.”

He sounds like he’s quoting the Wizard of Oz, and Cas wants to make a joke about that, but he’s also never wanted to kiss Dean more. He doesn’t, because they’re in a museum, and they’re still working up to that, but he makes a note to do it later. Instead, he reaches up and pulls Dean’s hand away from his chest, links it in his own, and squeezes.

“Thank you,” he says, and it’s earnest, and it’s for everything.

Dean smiles. He understands. He squeezes back.

[slashnatic]

FIGURINE [Vincent Sinclair; NSFW]

pronouns: female

warnings: non-con voyeurism, vince being a creep

guess who finally got over herself! yeehaw cows (we wanna stay gender-neutral fellow mortals)

The wax had dried down quickly, as it always did, and it felt soft under Vincent’s fingertips. Although it had hardened, it was still warm; warm and smooth, just how he imagined your skin must feel. Of course he knew it didn’t feel just like that, but it didn’t matter when his hands ran over the familiar texture. When his eyes were closed his imagination was way more powerful than anything else could ever be. Vincent knew it was wrong. What he did was by no means okay and if you ever found out he could only hope you wouldn’t run away from him, scared and disgusted. He felt insecure about a lot of things, his face –everybody knew that- being his primary issue. Now he worried about the habits he had picked up just as much. One day you came along and you were so kind and lovely, you were sweet but strong, you always treated him with respect. Your smile brightened every room; your body was mesmerizing, no matter what you wore, you always looked like a goddess. At the end of the day you two had met, as he laid in his bed and recalled the actions of the day, that’s when he had decided that was the best way to describe you. A goddess, that’s what you were. And like the Greeks had done before, he had started to make sculptures of the goddess he worshipped. No, you didn’t know. You and Vincent, you barely even talked. Sure, you ate breakfast together every morning, or at least on the mornings he wasn’t still or already working. You sometimes watched TV together, too. You even went on a walk together a couple of times. This was you being your kind and lovely and sweet self, nothing more. There was no reason you would do this, other than being this nice and genuine, this perfect person that you were. You were just being you. It was what he told himself when he got lost in his hopes and dreams and fantasies. When he got lost in the little stories he made up in his head, stories about you and him, the only way to get back to reality was to remind himself that this wasn’t real. He had to tell himself that you did not care for him, at least not anymore than you cared for anyone else.

His eyes were fixated on that smile. It wasn’t actually yours. It was just the best he could do, the best way he could represent your beauty in his art. You were a wax figure. A special one, his favourite. The one he would always consider art, no matter how much he thought he had to improve his skills. The figurine. You were alive too. You, the real you, were probably in the living room or on a walk with the dog, since no one else ever actually went on a proper walk with the poor little thing. The other you, the one that was not real, stood right in front of him. The light was dimmed and his eyes were almost closed as his hands slowly brushed over the arm, up and down and up again and down again, this time gently cupping your breast, or rather the figurine’s breast. Of course he knew your skin wouldn’t actually feel like this, but in the faint light of the few candles illuminating his work space and his work, he liked to pretend it was you right there. And he did, he always did. He had started working on this particular figure only a day after you had arrived in the ghost town. It had taken him almost three weeks to get it done perfectly. It had been way more difficult than it usually was. He had no template like he normally did and besides the work being hard, he also had to be careful to not get caught. Bo would have laughed right in his face and the minute he would have realized how much wax had gone to waste for something that was already there he would’ve become angry. You would have known about it too at some point and he couldn’t risk that. Therefore, it had taken him a long, a very long time to get this piece done. That, and he had also been even more of a perfectionist than usual. It was you after all and he wanted nothing more than to do you justice.

His intentions were never innocent. Watching you for days on end without you knowing, watching you wake up, watching you shower, watching you do the most basic of things, watching you go to sleep at the end of the day, all the while never revealing himself, that was certainly not innocent. He never meant for it to go this far though. He never meant to hide in his basement only so he could admire what you must look like, what he knew you looked like, underneath your clothing. He never intended to find sexual pleasure in this, whatever this was. Now it was the only thing that could satisfy him. He needed to see your face. And since he couldn’t have you, he would watch your beautiful features, made out of wax, one hand stroking what he’d rather like to be your skin, the other stroking his throbbing, twitching cock. He imagined your hands there, instead of his. He often subconsciously licked his lips while he imagined your taste on them. He was almost one hundred percent certain he had never wanted anything as much as your wonderful body seated on his face. But you weren’t here, a figurine made of wax, looking just like you, was.

Vincent came home late as always. He usually worked for a long time, so you weren’t surprised. You collected the few beer bottles, which were scattered on the floor where Bo and Lester had left them before they went to bed, as Vincent entered the house through the front door. You smiled at him, like you always did, greeted him and asked how he was, what his day was like. His answers were short, he didn’t look you in the eye. You had never understood why he wouldn’t or couldn’t do that, but you had stopped questioning it a while ago. It was weird and you wished it was different, like many things with Vincent, but you made no attempt in changing those things. Everything would fall into place eventually, you were sure about that, and since you were still quite new to the quiet town, you figured that was the reason the long-haired twin acted so strange around you. Or maybe he was just like that, Bo had hinted that quite a few times. After your concise conversation you offered him what was left of the food, which he declined, then you told him goodnight and went upstairs to your bedroom.

While you got ready for bed Vincent’s eyes were still fixed on the stairs, as if he was seeing your ghost there. In a way he was, the image of your form had burned itself into his brain once again.

After your nightly routine you went straight to bed, letting yourself fall into the mattress and getting lost in your thoughts as you reflected on your day. A familiar feeling, an urge, built up inside of you and you decided to give in to it, seeing no reason to not do just that.

Vincent had heard that the water stopped running and he knew you were finished with everything for today. He slowly got up from his seat and quietly dragged his feet upstairs, quite literally step by step, careful to not make any noise.

Your hand traveled lower and lower, until it reached your hips and slipped past the waistband of your underwear. Your movements were practiced, you knew how to satisfy the urge.

Your door was closed, as it usually was, but that was no problem. Vincent had done this many times before, he knew how to open it quietly, to take a look at what he desired the most.

You were tired, it was late and the walls were thin, so you didn’t really take your time. Your hand moved in circles around the sensitive bundle of nerves in between your legs; your fingers pushed in and out of your heat, wet and greedy for relief. You were lost in your imaginations, in your own dirty fantasies, as your movements became faster and faster, your legs spread wide, the covers pushed aside, almost dropping to the floor. And Vincent stood behind door, his eye focused on your form sprawled out on the bed, taking in everything he could through the small crack of the only slightly opened door. He watched every single move of yours, drank in the quiet sounds you made, as his hand stroked up and down his cock, the second time today. He wanted and needed you and he imagined what it would be like if he had you, if he just took you right there. He imagined it as he stood behind your door, watching you pleasure yourself, saving the memory forever in his mind. He watched you when you were the most vulnerable, every single flaw exposed, but to him you were as perfect as ever. He watched you for what must have been the hundredth time and he still couldn’t get enough of you. And you didn’t even know.

[surveys-at-your-service]

Survey #343

“i slither like a viper and get you by the neck  /  i know a thousand ways to help you forget about her”

What's your favorite kind of bear? I don't really know. I just like bears. Have you ever sent a FWD because you were afraid? Ha, yup, as a little kid. Would you ever date more than one person at a time? Nooooo sir. Have you ever rebounded... or been someone's rebound? No. What’s the biggest argument you’ve ever had with a family member? Did things ever go back to how they were beforehand? My grandmother cursed me the fuuuuck out one night as a kid because I was in a mood and didn't tell my mother goodnight. I still remember being called an ungrateful bitch with her like an inch from my face, and admittedly, I was being rude because I wanted to go home, but it kinda scarred me for life. For the remainder of her life, I was always sort of on edge around her and was convinced she didn't like me. Have you ever experienced some kind of natural disaster? I've been through lots of hurricanes. None that massively affected my life, though. If you have pets, do you feed them human food or do they just get regular pet food? If they do get human food, what’s their favorite thing to have? Venus is a snake, so she obviously doesn't get food meant for humans. Roman is very well-trained to not beg or make a move for people's food; he tried once as a kitten, and giving him a pop taught him right away. Have you ever been in a physical fight? Who won? No. What’s the mode of transport that you take or use the most? The car. Mom's, specifically. Have you ever had a zoo keeper experience or anything where you’ve been able to go behind the scenes and look after/feed the animals? No, but I wish. :( Would you ever want the responsibility of being a politician or a similar position of power? NOOOOOOO. What’s something your parents do that really annoys you? Mom is *always* right, pretty much indisputably. And she WILL have the last word. Dad, meanwhile, can be pretty rude to people. I don't think he realizes it half the time, but still. It's not an excuse. What is your main source of anxiety? Social interactions. What’s your favorite 90s cartoon? Pokemon. Describe the moment you realized you were falling in love with someone. I'd rather not. What’s your favorite sparkling water brand/flavor? I've never tried sparkling water. What’s your favorite makeup brand/brands? I don't have a favorite, considering I don't wear it nearly enough and have never even bought my own. I just use whatever Mom buys. What are some female names you would name a baby? Alessandra is my favorite for sure. I also love Anneliese, Justine, Evelyn, Chloe, Evangeline, Quinn... There's a lot. What about male? Severin is my favorite, and I also like Damien, Vincent, Victor, and Luther. Do you have any subscription boxes? No. What fictional creature would you like as a pet? I want a dragon, goddammit. Idc if it can breathe fire ok I want a dragon. Ewoks are also the one and only thing I enjoy from Star Wars. What kind of dwelling do you live in? Just a one-story house. Is there anyone you work with that you don't get along with? Why? N/A Do you have an opinion on adopting/purchasing a pet? PLEASE adopt, especially with cats and dogs, given the number of strays. Purebreds tend to have so many underlying issues, and besides, it's just a LOT of money for an animal that probably wouldn't outlive a mutt. Don't feed the machine if you can. What's your favorite chain restaurant? The Cheesecake Factory or Olive Garden. Why were you last pulled over? I’ve never been pulled over before. What was the last thing you've done on the water? Just kinda swam around a bit in the ocean. It was so warm, totally like a bath. I do NOT miss that sun poisoning, though. Are you cool with swimming in a lake? I think I'd do it if someone invited me to, and the lake didn't look filthy, of course. Do you have a drone? No. What's your favorite hole-in-the-wall restaurant? We have this tiny, local Mexican place that's really good. I don't know the name of it, and I wouldn't share it for obvious reasons. What do you order from there? Chips and salsa of course, along with a shrimp and cheese quesadilla, and finally their cheesy rice. What's your favorite ice-cream flavor? Depending on my mood, it bounces between vanilla with chocolate syrup or just plain chocolate. Do you have any t-shirts from any local businesses? No. Do you listen to any talk shows or podcasts? I used to listen to Mark, Bob, and Wade's podcast, but I'm like... ten months behind, haha. What's something someone calls you that you find endearing? I like "love" a lot. What's your favorite children's book? I loved books like The Rainbow Fish, The Very Hungry Caterpillar, Stellaluna, 10 Minutes 'til Midnight, What Makes a Rainbow?, Chrysanthemum, etc. Is there a new season for a series you're excited to come out? Meerkat Manor comes back this summer, and I am fucking HYPED. How old are you? I'm 25. What is something unique you enjoy about the one you like/love? I tease her about it all the time, but it's really cute that she keeps all of her snakes' good sheds in her room. Proud reptile mom. Are you more liberal or conservative? I'm close to the middle, but I lean towards being more liberal, and I seem to go more that way with time. Do you watch American Horror Story? I used to. I saw the entire first season and really liked it, and then I almost finished the second, but I lost interest. The story got a bit stupid imo. I'd be willing to watch other seasons, though. Does your hometown have any urban legends/scary stories? None that I’m aware of. The people there are scary enough. What's the scariest nightmare you remember having? Let's not talk about it. Are you medicated? Uh very. Are there any apps you're addicted to? Nah. Did you have a favorite stuffed animal as a child? It was initially a bunny holding a polka-dotted blanket, then it become a moose I got from Cabela's when in Ohio. Do you still collect stuffed animals? Only meerkat ones. Have you ever stolen/borrowed clothes from an ex? Haha I've worn Jason's pj pants before and they just kinda... became mine, lol. What's the last movie you watched at home? The Shining, I believe. What's the last movie you watched in theaters? The CGI remake of The Lion King. I still don't get why it was received so badly. Have you ever had eggs cooked over a campfire? I don't think so, no. If you do drink, what's your favorite alcoholic beverage? Margaritas, generally. However, Sara's dad made me this absofuckinglutely incredible chocolate drink before that tasted like a milkshake. It had like, no alcohol flavor, which worked out well for me considering I very much dislike that taste. Are there any songs you've been listening to repetitively lately? There's a new one every day lately, haha. Today it's Halocene's cover of "Love Bites (So Do I)." Cereal, granola, or oatmeal? Cereal. What TV shows did you grow up watching? You gotta gimme an age group... but I'd say the typical stuff for kids of that time. What does your phone case look like? It's just a boring purple that came with it. What were your favorite toys to play with as a child? I looooved playing with my "family" of a father crocodile, a mother deer, their two "children" (a fawn and smaller croc), and "friends" that were little Pokemon figurines. Then there was an evil t-rex with two stupid sidekicks, haha. I can't remember what dinosaurs they were. What's the most embarrassing thing you can ever remember doing? Hold on, lemme find my book. Do you remember what you dreamt about last night? I only very faintly recall dreaming about my cat Roman. Have you ever done anything embarrassing in a dream? Thank FUCK they're just dreams. Do you vape? Nah. What was a song you loved as a child? So uh. Apparently. I loved "Dookie" by Green Day. It's an undying story from Mom about how it came on once at a putt-putt place and I apparently started yelling "dookie!" and dancing. Do you enjoy the Arctic Monkeys? Yeah, I love some of their songs. Are you going to see Finding Dory? You bet your sweet ass I saw it. I've cried everytime I've watched it. Have you ever been horseback-riding? I have not, but I would love to. When was your last piercing? Whenever I got my tragus done, which I can't remember. What did your first crush look like? I don't remember my puppydog love first crush, but I can talk about my first REAL crush, Sebastian. He's a skinny dude with short, brown hair and a lip piercing... I can't remember which kind. He dressed in an emo style, and Facebook pictures at least suggest he still kind of does, I think. Is your body more curvy or flat? Well, I'm not at all skinny, so... What's your least favorite holiday? Probably Christopher Colombus Day, honestly. You didn't discover shit. Don't pretend to me it's worth celebrating in a clean conscience. if you’re having a boring day what do you usually do? If I'm rock-bottom bored, quite honestly, I normally nap, even though I know I shouldn't. Do you turn to food when you're upset? Ugh, I'm admittedly an emotional eater. I got way better about it, and then I started up again. Is your bf/gf good with your parents? I don't have an s/o. Do you think soda should be served at school? Vending machines are fine I suppose, as I don't believe they should be free seeing as they're nothing but sugar content, and I feel schools shouldn't just hand that out to kids at lunch or something. Do dogs have feelings? They sure do. Are you afraid of snakes? Oh no! I adore them. I respect snakes and am going to give wild ones their space for sure considering I don't recognize every native venomous one, but nevertheless, I'm not afraid of them. They are so vital to the ecosystem and are incredibly fascinating animals that deserve our protection. On that note, PLEASE do not kill any snake you come across in your shed or whatever. Call someone to relocate the terrified thing. Favorite snack? It depends on what I'm in the mood for, really. Ever seen The Notebook? Read the book, seen the movie plenty of times. Do you think cussing is trashy? No. Who is the most famous person you’ve met, if any? Nobody. Do you own any animals that aren’t domestic? No. Have you ever feared that you would lose a body part? No. Do you like gore? Yeah, generally. Do you like to drink water? Ugh, I really don't. I wish I did. Have you ever had a wax? I used to get my eyebrows waxed. Do you have any sets of matching bras and underwear? No. Are you any good at improv? Not at ALL.

[kittinoir]

Phantoms Ch. 4

Read on Ao3 here

Adrien considered himself a kind, forgiving person, but even he stiffened as a familiar high-pitched voice grated against his ears.

“Hi, Adrien!” the voice chirped, right beside him now. Stifling a sigh, Adrien hauled his professional mask into place and opened his eyes, his relaxing thirty minutes in the hair and make up chair clearly over.

“Hi, Lila,” he said. Did she notice the undercurrent of tension in his voice? Did she believe the warmth in it? He certainly didn’t. He’d have to try harder than this. “Did you have a nice trip with your mom?”

“Oh, yeah,” Lila said breezily. She tugged the lapels of her jacket as she sat, straightening out an invisible crease. “It was so great to be home and soak it all in. Your dad even asked if I’d have time to sit down with him and talk about the latest Italian trends for his spring collection - after we shoot this winter one, of course!”

Adrien fought the urge to raise a brow at the lies that rolled off her tongue but her words had hit a nerve. His father didn’t even make time to have dinner with him; as if he was going to sit down with Lila to discuss her fake trip. He had to admit, he was beginning to see why Marinette had such a tough time stomaching Lila. It was harder than he’d realized.

“Of course,” he managed. At least he could avoid looking at her as Ava, his make up artist, tilted his face this way and that. He didn’t know how to navigate their uneasy agreement anymore. He’d kept her at bay for the better part of six months, trading on the only thing that was of any worth to her - his fame. But even that no longer seemed to be enough, and what more she wanted, he could only guess at. Her trip to Italy the past three weeks had been a welcome reprieve. He could only imagine how she would have reacted if she’d been in Paris during his endless hunt for Ladybug. It hadn’t been good the week immediately after his partner’s disappearance.

She seemed fine now, though, as she preened for Marc, her own make up artist. If anything, Lila seemed in higher spirits than he’d ever seen her. One upon a time Adrien might have thought she was beginning to find her place with their friends, but he held no such beliefs about her now. Maybe it wasn’t totally fair to compare her to his arch enemy, but Lila was every bit as dangerous and conniving as Hawkmoth. It had taken nearly losing Ladybug to an akuma to realize it. He wouldn’t underestimate her again. Especially now that he knew Lila’s two enemies were the same person. He didn’t even want to think about her discovering that little truth. They had enough problems to deal with as it was.

“I was thinking,” Lila said, her green eyes sliding to his, “Why don’t we grab some hot chocolate after the shoot, Adrien? You can catch me up on everything I’ve missed and we can spend some quality time together - you know, as friends?”

Adrien suppressed a wince, but it was impossible to miss the thinly veiled threat. The truth was he had a Chinese lesson waiting for him after the shoot and, had it been a normal night, a patrol to prepare for.

But normal was different now, and Viperion and Tigress had patrol covered. If Luka and Juleka’s mom noticed them missing, she never made mention of it - even if band practice had suddenly moved from their house boat to Ivan’s garage. At least, that’s what they’d told her, and the unfortunate truth was Chinese could be put off for an hour or two. Would have to be, if he wanted to uphold his end of their bargain.

“Sure,” Adrian said lightly. “My treat.”

“Like a date?” Lila said smoothly, raising a brow.

Adrien froze, his fingers white-knuckled on the arms of his chair. “What?”

“If it’s your treat,” Lila said, facing him, “Doesn’t that make it a date?”

“Not at all,” Adrien said, fighting for calm. “You can get it next time. Since we’re friends.”

He steeled himself for the tantrums that usually followed when she didn’t get her way, but instead, she just regarded him sadly. “Still not over Kagami?”

Adrien blinked. Kagami. If only. She’d barely spoken two words to him since he’d ended their relationship months ago, unable to move past his feeling’s for Ladybug. He didn’t blame her. But no, Kagami had never really held his heart. It wasn’t her laugh and her eyes and her warmth that he missed.

But as he took in Lila’s glittering eyes, he decided she didn’t need to know that.

“I just…don’t have those kinds of feelings for you,” Adrien said, giving her a facet of the truth - the most important piece of it. “I’m sorry.”

“I see,” Lila said with a short laugh. “My mistake. But I wish you would give me a chance, Adrien. You’d see what a positive influence you’ve been on me. How much I’ve changed. I think you’d be impressed.”

He doubted it, but Adrien kept the thought to himself as he stood. “I’m glad to hear it, Lila. See you out there.”

A blush didn’t even warm his cheeks as he made his way to his trailer. Dozens of girls confessed to him, every single day. He’d gotten used to it since he’d done his first campaign. Most of them didn’t bother him. After all, it wasn’t like any of them knew him personally. Lila did, but there was always an angle with her. She was after his name and the celebrity that came with it. If she had to go through his heart to get it, she would.

Luckily, his heart was guarded by the most formidable woman in Paris. And unfortunately for Lila, she didn’t hold a candle to her.

Still, the back of Adrien’s neck prickled as he got changed for the first look of the shoot. He’d never known Lila to go down without a fight once she had her mind set on something. He’d bet her sympathy was about as real as her sit down with his father. But she hadn’t forced his hand. Why?

His suspicions pestered him throughout the entire shoot. Was it that she genuinely wanted him to care for her? Did she really want him to be ready to move on before she pushed her agenda? And, the most far-fetched of all - was it at all possible she’d had a change of heart?

No, he decided as Lila simpered for the camera, cold even where she leaned against him. There was more to this - more to her rivalry with Marinette and her alter ego - than either girl was letting on. A rivalry he was beginning to realize he was somehow at the centre of. If only Lila realized there wasn’t a competition - Marinette didn’t want him. Not the way he wanted her.

“How about a kiss for this last shot?”

Lila’s voice shattered Adrien’s musings, bringing him abruptly back to the moment at hand. Had she said kiss? No, she hadn’t changed one bit.

Adrien glanced up to where Lila was pointing at the roof of the set. Someone had hung mistletoe from the rafters so that it just dangled into the frame, completing the winter wonderland theme that had been chosen.

Thankfully, the photographer saved him.

“No, no,” Vincent said with a shake of his head. “Romance is not the theme. Sharp, cold lines, minimalism, harsh beauty, that is the vision for Mr. Gabriel’s new line.”

Dramatic, Adrien thought, but from what he could tell, the set up did compliment his father’s designs - and thankfully, saved him from Lila.

“Of course, Vincent,” Lila said. “It was just an idea. I only wanted to show the clothes in their best possible light.”

Vincent waved her off, directing them into position as a light was adjusted.

“I know what you’re doing,” Adrien murmured as Lila stepped up beside him and laid a hand on his shoulder.

“I don’t know what you mean,” she whispered back, a smile dancing around her lips.

“I meant what I said, Lila,” Adrien warned. “I don’t - ”

“I know,” she interrupted, annoyance flashing across her face as her facade finally cracked. “I just think you need a little help mending your broken heart.”

She wasn’t going to stop, he realized. She was going to try to wear him down. It would take the whole truth - as much as he could say - to get her to back off. He hoped.

“Sorry, Lila,” Adrien said, “But my heart isn’t broken. It’s just elsewhere.”

Lila’s head whipped around as those calculating eyes searched his face. Adrien wasn’t sure what she found there, but whatever it was made her scowl.

“Who,” she demanded quietly as Vincent called for them to take their position.

“It doesn’t matter,” Adrien said, lacing his fingers through hers where her hand rested on his shoulder. “It’s not you.”

They fell silent as Vincent began snapping away. Adrien had no doubt this shot would be the pinnacle of his father’s collection; certainly enough frigidness had formed between the two of them to be palpable on film.

“That’s a wrap!” Vincent called ten minutes later. “Great job everyone!”

Adrien relaxed, immediately stepping out from under Lila’s fingers.

“I can make you love me.”

Adrien froze, then slowly turned to face Lila. The girl was staring at him, determination blazing in her eyes, her hands clenched into fists.

“I really don’t think you can,” Adrien said quietly, a hard edge creeping into his voice. “I won’t say this again, Lila. We’re friends. Just friends. And if you want to continue being the face of Gabriel with me, you’ll respect that.”

Dangerous, but he’d figured out why she was suddenly pushing for more from him; she didn’t need his fame anymore. She had her own. Modelling for Gabriel had given her that, along with several other modelling jobs and a sponsorship from a cosmetics line.

But being fired from Gabriel would jeopardize that. It was hard to use someone’s name to open doors when you didn’t work for them anymore, and though Lila might not know it yet, her leverage over him had evaporated the day Marinette had revealed her identity to their team. He’d kept up the charade for convenience - and it was no longer convenient.

“It’s Marinette, isn’t it.” Hatred burned in Lila’s eyes. “It’s always Marinette.”

Adrien pursed his lips but stayed silent. There was no point in denying it. Everyone would know soon enough anyway; the way he felt was impossible to hide. It didn’t matter if she didn’t feel the same way about him. He’d been down that road before. He’d never ask anything from her she couldn’t give, but he’d never been good at hiding his feelings.

But loving her was the one thing he could not, would not apologize for, ever.

“Good bye, Lila,” Adrien said, turning back to his trailer. “I’ll see you at school.”

“Wait a second,” Lila said. He heard her take a few steps after him but she didn’t lay a hand on him again. “We have a date.”

“Not anymore,” Adrien said without turning around.

“You’ll regret this, Adrien,” Lila snapped. “I will own your heart!”

“A heart isn’t something you own, Lila.” Adrien smiled. “It’s something you give. And I’ve already given mine away.”

[kpopisamood]

Queen’s Clan { 14 }

Summary: y/n is plagued by nightmares. She realizes that the more she runs away, the less frequently they haunt her. However, in running away, she’s also running straight into her ultimate demise. Will she be saved in time by those who would lay down their lives for her, even if they don’t know of each other’s existence?

Monsta X/Reader, Human/Vampire(s), Reverse Harem

Warnings: light smut?, violence, language

Word count: 2.77k

Tag list: @noonaduck @lovinggalaxies @elenaramos1 @girlwith-thecinder-blockgarden @snowythellama @stargazersara @luvthatleader-nim @sugasheart @vincent-stargogh

***

You’re a badass. You can do this. This will be a piece of cake. A walk in the park. An easy-peasy, lemon-squeezy—

“My god, Y/N, chill out before you sweat through your dress. I just had it rush delivered and you’re not about to embarrass yourself tonight.” Miss Kudrow reprimanded, tightening up the corset that surrounded your dark evening gown. You would think the appalling garment would go underneath it all, but no, apparently that was the in style dress code for Queens nowadays.

The evening gown was a deep red, fitting for the irony of the situation. It plunged down a decent amount in front and back, showcasing all the goods without revealing too much and was floor length. You had just about begged Miss Kudrow to let you wear any sort of flats, but she insisted on throwing “lemme stab ya” heels in your face and giving you a dirty look until you tried putting them on.

This, of course, was all done behind closed doors and sounded like you were being tortured to the boys who would worriedly pace back and forth in front of your door every so often. You’d been in there for hours and any time they knocked or asked to come in, Miss Kudrow would screech at them.

All while getting your hair and makeup ready, she quizzed you on all the Royals and mannerisms you had to take on around certain ones. You’d probably gotten over half right and you were about to pat yourself on the back, if not for her chastising you to study more.

When you’d finally been deemed dolled up enough, Miss Kudrow has guided you out the door and down the stairs, immediately surrounded by your Clan.

“You look beautiful, My Queen.”

“Absolutely ravishing.”

“Fuck.”

All of these comments left their lips, causing a slight blush to spread across your cheeks as you smiled at them in return. They’d looked amazing as well, all adorning their versions of suits complete with bow ties and multi-colored roses in their front pockets.

Shownu had a classic black tux, finished off with a black rose, his hair neatly slicked back. Minhyuk wore a deep gray suit, with a pink rose and hair combed straight. Wonho had a dark suit, almost black from how deep blue it was, with a teal rose, his hair straightened. Jooheon wore a similar black suit to Shownu, wearing an orange rose in his pocket and hair done in messily cute curls. Changkyun wore a dark brown suit with a dark purple rose, letting his locks fly free, not done, but not tangled.

They’d looked mouthwatering and you might have stayed to gawk more, had Miss Kudrow not cleared her throat.

Minhyuk and Jooheon took to your sides, each putting a hand out. You’d gripped them softly and let them lead you out, followed by the rest to a black SUV outside, brights shining on all your forms. They guided you to the back and ushered you in, taking the seats open next to you and in front. Miss Kudrow sat in the passenger side and gave the driver instructions to an address.

The trip felt like hours. It was probably because you were so nervous, but you couldn’t help but feel hesitant and frustrated. You’d studied for this and even made a Clan to protect you from the Royals. But still, would you be able to rise to the occasion?

“Breathe, Y/N.” Minhyuk whispered, interlocking his fingers with yours.

“We’re all here for you.” Jooheon promised, mimicking his actions and placing a chaste kiss on the back of your hand.

You leaned your head back and let out a deep breath you’d been holding, closing your eyes and letting your mind wander. What would your life be like had you not met these men? Would you be alive? Would you have taken any others into your Clan?

“We’re here.” Your eyes snapped open and you saw smiling, encouraging faces looking at you, awaiting your orders.

No, you wouldn’t have taken anyone else besides them.

***

“Are all preparations taken care of?”

“Yes, your Grace.”

“She will be here?”

“Yes, your Grace.”

***

Even with your amazing gown, you felt small in the room full of Royals. They all eyed you, some in disdain and others in outright curiosity. It had made you feel like a new toy in a kindergarten playground.

The Gathering was held in a huge mansion, owned by one of the Queens. From the outside, it looked like a beautiful mansion with columns and large windows. On the inside, it was more like a club; dark, with strobing lights and a bass that enveloped your entire being the deeper you went in . She’d had several rooms open for the public to use; ballrooms, dining rooms, etc. Miss Kudrow had let you know that, unfortunately, your Clan couldn’t all attend with you. As a rule to avoid overcrowding and other miscommunications, Royals were only allowed in with one member of their Clan. The other Clan mates were to help in the kitchen or watch the grounds for possible threats.

You’d wanted to go to the dining hall and get some food, but once again, Miss Kudrow had said you needed to be social and worry about food later.

You’d begrudgingly nodded and asked Shownu to accompany you. He was one of the bigger Clan Mates you had and you guessed it would make you seem powerful to others. Shownu has eagerly agreed and offered you his arm to take.

Once you were both in the ballroom, you felt naked to the prying eyes and found yourself feeling nervous by the constant whispering whenever you passed by someone.

The ballroom was grand, a glossy, wooden floor that cut off in sections to form a dance floor next to a wall of windows that led to an even grander balcony, where the night sky surrounded the mansion.

“Um, excuse me. Are you Y/N L/N?” A voice nudged you out of your reverie. Shownu smiled brightly as he slightly bowed to the Queen who had approached you with respect.

“Oh, um, yes! That’s me!” You responded, curtseying back to her.

“I’m Sonaelina Incendies! Welcome to my party!” She greeted cheerfully. Your mind immediately recognized that name. She was one of the names you wanted to ally yourself with.

She was wearing a silky, black dress. Her hair pinned up in a fancy updo and arms covered in silky, black half sleeve gloves. Her makeup was done professionally, giving her a bold, darker look that matched well with her ensemble.

“This is your house?!” You asked in awe, taking another appreciative look around.

“I don’t actually live here. This place was my parents’ and I didn’t feel right moving in so we just use this place to do events every so often.” She explained with a faraway look in her eyes. You’d remember reading what happened to her parents, losing them at such a young age and so horribly. But she shook her head and smiled at you once again, glancing at the man to her right.

“This is Jackson. He’s part of my Clan.” She proudly stated, giving him a look so loving, you felt you were intruding.

“Pleasure to make your acquaintance. I’m Jackson Wang.” He bowed deeply to you, still keeping his Queen’s arm latched to his.

“Oh, right! This is Shownu. He’s a part of my Clan as well.” You smiled at Shownu, him returning your look with a proud gaze.

“My name is Son Hyunwoo and I am pleased to meet you.” He bowed.

Sonaelina had asked the boys to give you some space to talk and, after reassuring Shownu he didn’t have to leave your side, just simply stay a few feet back, he’d agreed.

“So, welcome to the Queendom.” She joked, walking by your side as she said hi to the other patrons. Some nodded at you in acknowledgment while others barely glanced at you.

“They mean well, I promise. You’re just a new face and they’re not sure where your loyalties lie.” She explained, going on to meet more Royals while Shownu and Jackson shared a few laughs and followed behind you two.

“Sonaelina, you crazy bitch! I finally found you!” A shriek sounded from behind you. All at once, Sonaelina was almost tackled by a girl with short, silver hair and a white dress to match. You’d eyed Jackson to see he wasn’t in the slightest surprised and even laughed at the young girl who came running at her.

“‘Ria, I swear you’ll be the death of me one day.” Sonaelina admonished, clutching at her chest and puffing her cheeks in feign annoyance.

The girl waved her off and laughed before you caught her attention. She tilted her head in a cute puppy dog sort of way and approached you. “You must be Y/N!” She laughed, clasping your hands in her own and shaking them furiously. You saw the way her eyeshadow intensified her looks; a red, smokey color that was very different from her attire but made her features just as prominent as Sonaelina’s.

“I’ve heard so much about you—well, we’ve talked so much about you! My name is Astor Ria and if you don’t mind, I’d like to hear your backstory and all the gory details! Wait, not in a bad way, but you’re a hot topic amongst the Royals and—“

“Well, hello there,” A new voice greeted, taking your focus away from the rambling girl.

A woman with black hair down to her waist and a dark green dress approached your little group, staring down her nose at you.

“So, you’re the new Queen?” She asked, eyeing you up and down. You felt a presence behind you and you tensed up, only to relax when you felt Shownu cup your arm in comfort.

“Hyunwoo.” She nodded at him, causing his grip on you to tighten slightly.

“Your Grace.” He said, tone respectful but with a slight clip to it.

“Someone took you in after all. Elena will be pleasantly surprised.” The woman laughed, taking a drink from her champagne. She took a step closer to you two and brushed his arm in a gesture that was anything but innocent.

Your vision tinged red on the edges, prompting your next move.

He was yours.

“Excuse me, but if you so much as look at my Mate, let alone touch him, I won’t hesitate to put you in your place.” You said, tone soft but giving her your best ‘fuck-with-me’ look.

She yanked her arm away in shock before frowning slightly at you. “Right, my mistake, Lady L/N.” She said, rubbing her arm in a way that made you think your words had physically hurt her and you kept your reproachful look on her, though you were just as confused.

“Jennessa.” She called out, and a smaller girl came out to take her hand, with a “My Queen.”

The air was quiet before Sonaelina took charge. “Y/N, this is Silvia and her Clan mate Jennessa. She was just leaving, right?” She pressed, daring the older girl to fight her.

“Jennessa, it’s time for my feeding.” Silvia huffed, letting the younger girl lead her out.

“Bitch.” Astor muttered once she was out of earshot. Shownu sagged in relief next to you and you eyed him wearily. “I was wondering when she’d make her presence known.” Astor shrugged the unpleasant encounter off, but you were still focused on Shownu.

“Looks like you just made yourself public enemy number one, Y/N. I think we’ll get along just fine!” Sonaelina laughed.

“Excuse us.” You said, hastily grabbing his hand and guiding him out of the room. You’d looked around for some place private to talk and managed to find a dead hallway. “What’s wrong?”

“She’s one of my former Queen’s allies.” He looked down, guilt taking over.

“Hey,” you started, cupping his face in your hands. “It’s alright. Just as you promised to protect me, I’ll protect you be it standing up for you or fighting someone.” He chuckled and covered your hands with his own, bringing them to his mouth and kissing them tenderly.

“Yes, My Queen.” He lamented, giving you small pecks up your arm to your shoulder, then up to your neck and jaw, sucking at the parts that made you gasp out and clutch onto him desperately. “You publicly called me your Mate.” He pointed out, his lips tilting up in a teasing manner.

“What of it?” You challenged him with a smirk of your own.

“Oh, I’m not complaining one bit. Seeing you get a bit possessive and claiming me so openly is a very big turn on.”

“What, did you think I was going to let her touch you like that?” You asked incredulously.

He chuckled and said, “Of course not, My Queen.” He gave you a look that warmed your heart in a way that caught you off guard and you tried to take control of the situation.

“You know, one thing bugs me.” You breathed out against his ministrations.

“Oh?” He prodded, continuing his onslaught. Kisses would turn to brushes of his lips then to nips and he was slightly licking at you now.

“Everyone else made noises when I...you know.” You sighed as he sucked in a part of your skin where your shoulder met your neck. “You didn’t.”

“Would you like me to make noises for you?” He asked, pulling away from you slightly to gauge your reaction.

“Only if it’s alright with you.” You told him seriously.

He took a moment before he sighed and grabbed your hand, placing it on his chest. “Let’s see if you can, Y/N.” He challenged, giving you a slight smirk.

He really shouldn’t have challenged you. You were never this competitive, but these boys brought something out in you. It made you want to take what you wanted from them but also give them just as much as you took. An idea struck you and you smirked inwardly.

You backed him up against the wall harshly, not so much as getting a breath out of him. You leaned in slowly and brushed your lips up his jaw and nibbling slightly at his earlobe. Your hands wandered, one gripping the front of his suit, and the other going lower to where his belt loops were. You pulled him by his loops and ground yourself against him, watching his face. He bit his lip hard, closing his eyes in concentration.

“Ah, ah, ah. Look at me.” You demanded softly, grinding into him once more. His eyes snapped open as he started rolling his hips against yours.

Just that look alone was going to send you over. The need in his eyes and the pure, unadulterated lust had you feeling warm in forbidden places. Your instincts suddenly took over before you bite down harshly on your lip, causing a few drops of blood to spring up and pulling him into a simmering kiss.

He groaned out and gripped you tightly, returning the kiss in fervor before he turned and pinned you instead. He licked your bottom lip over and over, before opting to insert his tongue into your mouth and trying to command dominance over yours. You let your pride go and shamelessly moaned into his mouth, hips still rolling against his.

“Not that this isn’t arousing, but if you continue this here, you’ll likely fuck each other in public and give all these Royals a show. Unless, you want an audience?” Wonho asked from your side.

Shownu pulled away with a huff, a string of saliva connecting you two before being broken by the distance between you. His lips were smeared in red, and seemingly bruised from yours and you could only imagine how you looked.

“The party will be over soon, so we should start taking our leave.” Shownu stated, still out of breath.

Unbeknownst to you, another set of eyes were watching you three as you left together.

Please do NOT repost! All rights reserved!

[tannie-bell]

100 Questions!

thanks to the lovely @chioo92 for sending this my way~! 💕💕💕

edit: putting this under read more bc it’s looooong 😂😂

1. What is you middle name?

Elizabeth

2. How old are you?

18

3. What is your birthday?

october 16

4. What is your zodiac sign?

libra

5. What is your favorite color?

in general black, but i do really like teal and deep greens

6. What’s your lucky number?

i don't really have one, but i like 13 and 16 and 3116

7. Do you have any pets?

yep! two dogs~

8. Where are you from?

a little italian town in the lower half of illinois

9. How tall are you?

technically 5' 1&¾". please feel free to round up to 5'2"

10. What shoe size are you?

depends on the brand, mostly between 8 and 9 u.s. sizes—they have to be wide though, or i have to get bigger sizes and just deal with the looseness 😅

11. How many pairs of shoes do you own?

i think 8?? but i only actually wear like 4

12. What was your last dream about?

in the last dream i *actually* remember, i was a character from my wip and she was with her husband in like this cozy, dim-lit room filled with furs and ancient pieces and neat stuff and she was moderately pregnant so i just remember feeling so warm and loved inside. looking back it's kind of weird bc i've never been pregnant or in love romantically, but it's still heartwarming

13. What talents do you have?

um, I bake well i think 😂 so far i haven't had any bad feedback...😅

14. Are you psychic in any way?

nope.

15. Favorite song?

gaaaaaaah why is this always so hard mikrokosmos ~ bts or lucid dream ~ monogram

16. Favorite movie?

singin' in the rain, howl's moving castle, moana, all mcu movies i've seen so far

17. Who would be your ideal partner?

someone who shares my beliefs/morals and who supports my passions/interests (and i would do the same for him). has a few quirks he needs a few to survive me lol and is musical, respectful, and romantic. also has a sense of humor i appreciate and vice versa. there are other qualities, but that's the gist 😂

18. Do you want children?

yes! not necessarily biological though, i am very open to adoption

19. Do you want a church wedding?

most likely yes

20. Are you religious?

it depends on your definition of religious. in the sense of believing in a particular faith/religion, then yes

21. Have you ever been to the hospital?

yes 😫

22. Have you ever got in trouble with the law?

nope!

23. Have you ever met any celebrities?

if you count the drummer from a now-disbanded band, then yes 

24. Baths or showers?

showers most times

25. What color socks are you wearing?

plain white—they're extra thick ones though! 😁

26. Have you ever been famous?

in what sense? 😂 locally or within a specific community of people, then i think so??

27. Would you like to be a big celebrity?

nope. i used to dream about what it would be like, but i seriously value my privacy and i would feel like i had none if i was famous

28. What type of music do you like?

pretty much anything and everything—except country 😅😂

29. Have you ever been skinny dipping?

nope...

30. How many pillows do you sleep with?

three

31. What position do you usually sleep in?

this weird twisted position on my side. it usually ends with my shoulders hurting 😅😅

32. How big is your house?

it's decently large, but we just updated our tiny two bedroom, one bathroom house (for five people for 15+ years 😳) to a five bed, two bath with an open living area/dining room/kitchen. we made it big enough to accommodate both sides of my family around the holidays (bc we have a decently large family that's only growing 😂)

33. What do you typically have for breakfast?

cereal or a fruit smoothie with either coffee or black tea (preferably earl grey) assuming i even eat breakfast

34. Have you ever fired a gun?

not yet, but i would eventually like to! thinking about a concealed carry permit as well depending on circumstances

35. Have you ever tried archery?

yess, and i love it!! it always makes me feel like some woodland elf heroine or something 😂

36. Favorite clean word?

like just regular words? pretty much any soft-sounding, flowy word with l’s, like melody or lucent

37. Favorite swear word?

i don't swear so none

38. What’s the longest you’ve ever gone without sleep?

like 36-ish hours

39. Do you have any scars?

yep

40. Have you ever had a secret admirer?

...not that I'm aware of??

41. Are you a good liar?

.....i do my best to be honest, but.....i can be....😅 just don't tell my mom

42. Are you a good judge of character?

i think so? i'm not going to be right 100% obviously, but most of the time i think i am

43. Can you do any other accents other than your own?

yeah, but they're not very good 😂

44. Do you have a strong accent?

depends on where you're from tbh

45. What is your favorite accent?

i reeeaaally like australian accents...

46. What is your personality type?

INFP-T

47. What is your most expensive piece of clothing?

a top and skirt set someone i know bought for a wedding and never wore again. i think she paid $100+ for it?? so i got it for nothing which was amazing

48. Can you curl your tongue?

yep!

49. Are you an innie or an outie?

innie~

50. Left or right handed?

right~

51. Are you scared of spiders?

most of the time no

52. Favorite food?

i'm just gonna go with italian beef with mozzarella bc it always sounds good

53. Favorite foreign food?

ramen, bingsu, turkish delight, gulab jamun, and this one chicken rice dish that i have no idea what it's called but it's a.maz.ing.

54. Are you a clean or messy person?

in general? clean. my room? the best way to describe it is definitely-not-so-organized chaos

55. Most used phrase?

oh my goodness or oh my word

56. Most used word?

like or eyyy

57. How long does it take for you to get ready?

......depends. literally anywhere from 5 to 45+ mins...

58. Do you have much of an ego?

i don't think so

59. Do you suck or bite lollipops?

both

60. Do you talk to yourself?

if i didn't i'd go insane

61. Do you sing to yourself?

^ see above

62. Are you a good singer?

i'm decent if my vocal chords are warmed up enough 😂

63. Biggest Fear?

failing/disappointing others. that and falling from heights

64. Are you a gossip?

no. i do my best not to be, anyway

65. Best dramatic movie you’ve seen?

i literally don't know what's considered dramatic anymore

66. Do you like long or short hair?

for my hair? long

67. Can you name all 50 states of America?

give me a piece of paper and a pen and yeah 😂

68. Favorite school subject?

english and music

69. Extrovert or Introvert?

introvert~

70. Have you ever been scuba diving?

nope

71. What makes you nervous?

being put on the spot

72. Are you scared of the dark?

not really, but it also depends on where i'm at and who's around

73. Do you correct people when they make mistakes?

if it's one of my really close friends I'll jokingly correct their grammar, but that's it

74. Are you ticklish?

.......sometimes.

75. Have you ever started a rumor?

no

76. Have you ever been in a position of authority?

a couple times, yeah

77. Have you ever drank underage?

no

78. Have you ever done drugs?

no

79. Who was your first real crush?

this one kid when i was like four or five. his name is tyler. he actually just got married! random i know

80. How many piercings do you have?

none

81. Can you roll your Rs?”

no 😥

82. How fast can you type?

not terribly

83. How fast can you run?

slower than my 70 lb. dog

84. What color is your hair?

dark brown with some blonde and red hints

85. What color is your eyes?

dark chocolate so brown

86. What are you allergic to?

pollen 😥 i think i also have oral allergy syndrome (but that's purely self-diagnosed 😂), so there's that too

87. Do you keep a journal?

i have the past couple weeks for a class, but otherwise no

88. What do your parents do?

my mom is a nurse and my dad is a letter carrier

89. Do you like your age?

ehh, ish

90. What makes you angry?

things taken out of context of conversations, situations, etc. and twisted to portray something else entirely

91. Do you like your own name?

yes~

92. Have you already thought of baby names, and if so what are they?

yes! these are just some of my favorites

for girls: lacie everest, elizabeth marie, roselyn chae (or chaela rose)

for boys: vincent alexandre, killian gray, quinton james

93. Do you want a boy a girl for a child?

both~!

94. What are you strengths?

um....i'm very musical 😂

95. What are your weaknesses?

i procrastinate too much and i don't really know how to work on a project with a group

96. How did you get your name?

my mom knew someone with the name (but they shortened it). she later found out that my dad's great- or great-great-grandmother had the same name

97. Were your ancestors royalty?

like seeeeeeeeveral hundred years back, but yes

98. Do you have any scars?

some

99. Color of your bedspread?

off-white/cream and a purple-y maroon

100. Color of your room?

off-white/cream

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

not tagging anyone bc this is like super long 😂😂 if you see this and want to fill it out, go ahead! you brave soul  😂

[ofstarsandvibranium]

Meet the Family

Fandom: Star Wars (Modern AU)

Pairing: Hux x Filipina!Reader

As requested by anonymous:  Prim and Proper Hux dealing with a filipino family that asks him too many questions, embarasses their daughter and keeps giving him food even though he is more than full

Key:

M/N = mom’s name

D/N = dad’s name

G/N = grandma’s name

Translations:

lola - grandma

ate - older sister

nay - mom

tay - dad

bastos - rude

Filipina!Reader Inserts Masterlist

Now that your relationship with Hux was getting more serious, he insisted that he’d meet your family, which surprised you, honestly. You didn’t expect him to insist on such a thing. He didn’t seem like a family person due to his dwindling relationship with his own family. However, he knew how much your family meant to you, which is why he pushed to meet your family.

On the drive to your childhood home, you began to warn about your family. You had your parents, your auntie, two cousins, lola, and little brother all in one house. The house was always hustling and bustling and your family could be a bit....overwhelming. 

“Okay, so can you name off my family?” you asked Hux as he drove.

He nodded, “There’s your mother and father, your grandmother, Lola G/N and your Tita Belen. Then there’s your cousins Allison and Vincent. Lastly, your little brother, Mason. Am I right?”

You nodded excitedly, “Yup! Perfect! And don’t forget that when you greet my Lola, to take her hand and tap your forehead to the back of her hand.”

“Right, what does that mean again?”

“It’s called mano and it’s to bless your elders as a sign of respect.”

Hux let out an exhale, “Right. Got it. Bless Lola.”

You smiled proudly at Hux, “I’m really glad you’re so willing to meet my family, ‘Tij. Although, I feel like after meeting them, you might want to break up with me.”

Hux reached over and grabbed your hand, “Never, love. Nothing will push me away from you.” he then brought your hand to his lips, kissing your knuckles, which made you blush. 

Moments later, the car parked along the sidewalk of your old home. You gave one last glance at Hux, “You sure you wanna do this?”

He nodded, “Of course.” he then stepped out and rushed over to your side of the car, helping you out and closing the door behind you. You both walked up to the door, hand in hand, and rung the doorbell. 

You heard excited but muffled chatter behind the door. It swung open and Mason launched himself at you, “Ate!”

You caught him at the last moment, “Woah! Hey, Mason!” 

Still hugging you, your little brother looked up at you, “Why have you been gone for so long?”

You ran your hand through your sibling’s hair, “I’m sorry. I’ve been busy with work and well, him.” you pointed to Hux, who suddenly looked nervous.

Hux cleared his throat, and squat down to Mason’s height, “Hello, Mason. I’m Armitage.”

Your younger brother giggled, “That’s a funny name.”

Hux softly smiled, “It is, isn’t it. If you’d like, you can call me Hux. I’m fine with either.”

Mason nodded, “Okay, Hux.” he then took yours and Hux’s hands, “Now c’mon! Everyone’s waiting for you!” Once inside, Mason shut the door and ran off. 

Your cousins, Allison and Vincent, stood up from their place on the couch and went to hug you. 

“Hey! What’s up?!” you exclaimed hugging them. You then gestured to Hux, “This is Armitage. ‘Tij, these are my cousins Allison and Vince.”

Hux politely shook both of their hands, “It’s a pleasure to meet you both.”

Vince snickered, “I didn’t realize you were dating the next King of England, Y/N.”

You glared at your cousin, “Vince, don’t even start.”

Allison rolled her eyes, “He’s just getting started,” she then looked to Hux, “I apologize in advance for the asshole stuff my brother will say throughout the night.”

“Um, thank you?” he responded uncertainty.

She chuckled, “Anyway, everyone else is in the kitchen finishing up with cooking. I need to go set up the table.”

You then nodded to the direction of the kitchen, “Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.”

You and Hux walked the short distance to the kitchen, as soon as you were in sight, there were squeals of excitement. The first one to greet you was your Tita Belen. She hugged you tight rocking you back and forth, “It’s been so long!” She then looked at Hux and hugged him too, startling him a bit, “I’m so happy to meet my future nephew!”

You looked at your tita in shock, “Tita!”

She looked at you as if it was nothing, “What? You said you were serious. Doesn’t that mean you’re getting married soon?”

You groaned, covering your face with your hands, “Tita, please!”

You mom then pushed her sister aside and hugged you tight, “It’s so good to see you, anak.”

You hugged her back, “Hi, nay.” 

Your mom then pulled away and looked up at Hux ‘cause, ya know, she was a small Filipino woman and he offered her a soft smile, “Good evening, Mrs. L/N. I’m Armitage Hux.” 

Your mom nodded, “Nice to meet you, Armitage. And please, call me Auntie M/N.” 

Hux looked at you to ensure it was okay and when he saw you give a slight nod, he looked back to your mom, “Of course, Auntie M/N.”

Up next was your dad, “Armitage, treating my daughter well?”

“Tay!” you exclaimed and he only smirked.

Hux chuckled, to your surprise, “So far, no complaints. i’m sure if she had a problem, she’d have spoken her mind by now.”

Your dad agreed, “Yes, she gets that from her mom. Always has something to say.”

“Alright. That’s enough.” you take Hux’s hand and bring him to the kitchen table where your lola sat waiting for you. You kissed her cheek and then blessed her hand, “Lola, this is my boyfriend, Armitage.”

Your lola gave Hux a smile and lifted her hand to him. He blessed her as well, “It’s lovely to meet you, Lola G/N.”

Her face scrunched up as she smiled, “Hello, Armitage. You are very handsome, like model.”

Hux chuckled, “Thank you, I have done some photoshoots for magazines. Although, I wouldn’t really call it modeling.” your lola continued to listen to Hux talk about himself, occasionally stopping him to ask questions or to clarify something. You were glad they were getting along. 

Your mother tapped you on the shoulder, “Help with the food, anak?” you nodded and grabbed the plates of food she gave you, and went over to the dining table to set up.

“So? Thoughts on him so far?” you asked your mom.

“He’s seems a bit stuck up.” 

You couldn’t help but laugh because 1) your mom really wasn’t afraid to express her thoughts, and 2) yes, Hux can appear and sometimes be stuck up, “Yeah, he’s like that sometimes, mostly in situations where he’s unsure on what to do. His father was very...harsh on him throughout his childhood, still is. But I’m sure he’ll become more comfortable throughout the night, just please, nay, don’t be too hard on him or intimidating.”

She scoffed, “Intimidating? Look at me! I’m a small Filipino woman and he’s a six foot ginger man! All proper and pretentious looking.”

“Nay!” you called out with a laugh.

You then hear movement and see Hux approaching the dining room, with his arm hooked around your lola’s, guiding her to a seat. He pulls out a chair and your lola thanks him as she sits down. 

You go up to him, “How’s it goin’?”

He sighed, “Good so far, I think. Lola G/N is very funny.” he said with a smile.

You nodded, “Yes, she is.” you bent down and hugged the older Filipino woman. She hugged you back, sniffing you and gave a content hum. 

Your dad then called everyone for dinner and within minutes, everyone sat around the dining table, filling up their plates. You took the courtesy of putting food on Hux’s plate while explaining what each dish was. There was bangus, garlic rice, pancit, and adobo. After a prayer of blessing the food and thanks, everyone dug in. 

You watched as Hux ate his food, waiting to see his reaction to every dish. He enjoyed the taste of every one, liking the flavour and savoriness. As you ate, your family, of course, asked Hux a bunch of questions: where does he work, what does he do, what are his hobbies. 

When Hux mentioned that he liked to play piano, Mason’s eyes lit up, “I’m learning to play piano!”

Hux shot him a smile, “Really? Would you like me to teach you a few songs?”

Mason happily nodded, then scooped a forkful of pancit into his mouth. Thankful that everything seemed to be going smoothly, you set your hand on Hux’s knee, staring at him fondly. To which he winked at you and then leaned over, kissing your lips.

“Eeeewww!” Mason exclaimed making everyone, including yourself, chuckle, Your mother hushed him then looked at Hux’s plate.

“Armitage, get more food.” she demanded rather than asked.

He shook his head, “Oh no, Auntie. I’m rather fu-”

“C’mon, Hux, eat more. You look like a stick!” Vince said, earning a pull of the ear by Tita Belen, “Ow! Nay!”

“Bastos! You be polite to him!” You and Allison smirked at each other.

The night ended and you and Hux were saying your good-byes to your family. Each member hugging Hux and thanking him for coming. When it came to Mason, Hux bent down to his level once again, “I’m sorry we didn’t have time for that piano lesson, but next time I come by, we’ll do it. i promise.” he held up his hand for a high five. Mason nodded and high fived Hux.

You kissed your parents one last time and waved good-bye as you walked to Hux’s car, hands filled with two bags of leftovers. You got into his car and sighed, “Well?”

“Your family is amazing. They’re so loving and funny. I wish I was able to experience that in my youth,” he said the last part sadly. 

You grabbed his hand, squeezing it gently, “Hey, we can be your family now.”

“And I’m happy you are.”

[frederickabberline]

Hi! I loved your recap post about your thoughts on the current arc. :) I rambled in the tags about the few things I personally interpreted differently but I had a few questions about some parts of the arc you didn't address if that's okay? What do you make about Tanaka's apparent lack of surprise about the twin in ch130 and what do you consider Lizzie's role to be exactly regarding the blue sect? Lastly if we consider that the guy who killed Agni was Polaris, why do you think he was so strong?

Thank you so much!!! Yes, I saw, and I was going to reblog with your tags to respond because I need discussion on my points so I can refine them, but since you’ve sent me an ask I’ll do it here -

I absolutely agree on the twins looking like Cloudia and that being what Othello is referring to, but I don’t think I mentioned it (because it didn’t feel relevant to the post and it wasn’t something I could back up). As for the lockets, I’m not sure about Gilbert either but I go with that date because it’s so close to Albert’s death. In the case that it was during the 80s, then there’s a couple of other dates that it could line up with, but… We’ll see. As for Emile, I don’t mean to imply that he was definitely a citizen of France. After all, Druitt is French, and by extension, Redmond has French ties, but I wouldn’t consider Redmond himself French, right? I should have been clearer about that.

I’ve also been assuming that Grelle would theoretically recognise UT based on a multitude of factors such as his scythe, height, weight, hair colour and length, extraordinarily pretty face, possibly even his voice after he dropped the act during Campania, and the fact that if she knew somebody matching this general description and skill level who had deserted, it wouldn’t take much to put the pieces together, provided Dispatch isn’t bleeding out like fifty new deserters every year or something. Lastly, they only started this method of blood collection this summer, if you recall that they’re attached to the Phoenix society who had that hospital and all those slaves and ex-patients who were experimented on by Rian and UT, they had access to a lot of people before this point. It was only this summer that they had to drop the hospital, too, since I’ll bet that operation has collapsed following Campania.

Moving on!

To be honest, I’m not sure if I’m really worth asking about these things, because I have a very limited focus and my method of analysis is a) does it relate to something that happened or was mentioned in the anime b) does it relate to a real life event c) can I see a pattern otherwise d) is it to do with William or the other reapers. I’m in the dark as to what’s going to happen with Lizzie, she’s not “my division”, so to speak, and neither is Polaris;;; I know you don’t really jive with the anime as a source material, I checked your blog, but I still reeaaallly want to point you to [my very long post] about the parallels, because it’s where I come from as a theorist even if it’s a weird way to go about it. I respect that others don’t view it the same way, but it’s my grounding, you know?

But I’ll start with Polaris, just to also say I have literally no clue who the other lords are, none whatsoever, not the foggiest. No clue where they came from or why Blavat has them (or rather, they have Blavat,). I’m not sold on them being characters we already know, but that’s only because I really have no idea who they could be. I do think Polaris is the one who killed Agni. Now, if John Brown is supernatural (which, he is, let’s be real) then Polaris can’t be John Brown, as Polaris is receiving blood and is therefore most likely human, unless one of the Vega twins actually has the blood type Polaris is supposed to have, and so the blood collected for him is going to one of them, but that’s just too convoluted at this point.

Polaris…. could be the being who collected RC’s body, which I think is that cloaked figure, but… Well, the supernatural thing comes up again. Because Sebastian killed every human. (…and there’s a part of me without concrete evidence that suspects the figure to be John Brown anyway…)

If he isn’t supernatural, then we have a collection of very strong humans so far as well, and if he’s been brought back to life then he could have been physically enhanced as well. Like Agni is so strong because he was so dedicated to Soma, and perhaps Polaris has a similar thing going on, maybe that’s his whole deal too? I’ve not really thought about it.

I also haven’t really thought about Lizzie, but she’s definitely being used as a pawn by whoever is running the Blue Sect. Probably it’s worth noting that this is the same arc we see Othello, so named because of that game of pieces switching sides. It’s an isolation tactic against OC, and my personal belief is this arc has a good chance of leading to him becoming isolated, confused about his revenge, and stripped of his title as he was near the end of the anime. I don’t know if that will definitely happen at the end of this arc, but I think this arc has a good chance of being at least one of the factors that would lead to this. Lizzie survived the anime, but then again so did Agni, so her becoming mortally wounded isn’t out of the question. Either way, isolation tactic, and her being a good guard is probably a side benefit for the Blue Sect.

Tanaka, however, I can get into! He knows so much! This is where I get anime on you again and point out that he knew the entire time who killed Vincent and didn’t say anything to Ciel because it was against Vincent’s wishes. Further, Tanaka and Ash were on friendly terms, even if it was just a one-off gag. Tea with the enemy. Same thing revealing itself here, Tanaka is very aware of the truth at all times but he keeps it all to himself because he’s got a strict non-interference policy. I think he wants the twins to live truthfully, at that, based on his being so active in wanting OC to slowly and gently heal in the Green Witch arc. He knew OC wasn’t RC, he knew this was the facade falling down, and he wanted it to stay on course. Based on that same non-interference vibe, though, I don’t think he’ll explicitly take RC’s side against OC except in the matter of RC technically being master of the house (and therefore commanding his service). I can’t see him attacking OC, is what I mean. 

Tanaka has seen the deaths of Vincent, Cloudia, and RC, even if RC is technically back, that makes it three generations he’s watched fall. The Phantomhive butler cannot die before their master indeed. This is the point where I point out that Alex B.’s locket puts his death date (1854 April 20) as not only just a couple of years before the Second Opium War, but the same year Japan was forcibly opened to trade with America (that part of the expedition was 13 February 1854 ~ 11 July 1854, with the treaty that opened trade happening on March 31). Tanaka is so related to all of this, he’s inextricably woven into this whole political mess that the twins are inheriting, but he’s so secretive that we only have a sliver of the full story regarding him. In short, it would be more surprising for him to be (openly) surprised, because there’s no way he hasn’t known to some degree what’s been going on, and he’s maybe hoping that what’s happening now will be a solution.

[thenightling]

What is the best vampire movie you have ever seen? I am in desperate need of some good ones to quench my thirst. Lol I apologize for that joke XD

Hehe.  I love the pun.   I like cheesy things.

1.   Dracula (1979 version).   This version of Dracula is one of the few romantic incarnations of Dracula that still seems to enjoy what he is and isn’t suicidal.  I chose to believe he faked his death at the end.   Also the Mina character (renamed Lucy) is delightfully aggressive and Laurence Olivier plays a fantastic Abraham Van Helsing.

2. Bram Stoker’s Dracula.   Though this version is more faithful to The Dracula Tape by Fred Saberhagen than it follows Bram Stoker’s novel it’s the only version to leave Quincey Morris in tact and still the most faithful film adaptation to date despite the added love story between Mina and Dracula. And that odd origin story they gave for Dracula’s vampirism. 

3.   Dark Prince: The True Story of Dracula.  This film can be found on Youtube for free.  It stars Rudolf Martin, who also played Dracula in the Buffy The Vampire Slayer episode Buffy vs. Dracula.  It’s surprisingly respectful to the history while also implying Vlad the Impaler became the famous vampire after death and actually works as a very good prequel to most recent (within the last thirty years) adaptations of Dracula.

4.   Fright Night (original 1985 version).  If you love eighties music, traditional vampires, and loving homages to classic Hammer Horror and Dark Shadows I strongly recommend this movie.   You don’t see too many serious modern vampires able to turn into a bat, wolf, or mist anymore and it’s just a fun movie.  Also Roddy Mcdowell played Peter Vincent (a sweet homage to both Peter Cushing and Vincent Price) masterfully.   You see excellent and well portrayed character growth and I highly recommend it and even it’s 1988 sequel, Fright Night: Part 2.  I miss the traditional vampire powers to summon storms and change form into a bat, wolf, or mist and age and de-age at will and most of those lost powers make an appearance in this movie but not in the 2011 remake which lacks heart and passion on the part of the film makers behind it.  

5.   Lost Boys.   Much like Fright Night this is a fun eighties movie.  Like Fright Night it has an excellent soundtrack and humor with the horror.  The sequel’s not very good but the third one is decent.  Not as good as the first but decent.  

6.    Interview with the vampire.  Despite what Anne Rice hopes I doubt she will ever be able to make a better film adaptation of the original source material than this movie and it’s a shame that a version of The Vampire Lestat was never made by the same people.  If you can find it the San Francisco (NOT the New York) adaptation of the Lestat musical actually works pretty well as a direct sequel.   The San Francisco version of the Lestat musical was never officially released to video but there is a good quality bootleg out there.

7.   Let the Right One In.   An eerie and beautiful platonic love story between a boy and a vampire. The film is adapted from the novel of the same name.  Also it’s far better than it’s awful American remake.

9.   The vampire Lovers.  Despite deviations from the novel and two character name changes this is still a far better adaptation of Carmilla than many other film versions and it does capture the atmosphere and ambiance of the original novel, something few adaptations seem to manage.

10.    Demon Under Glass.  This one is extremely low budget.  It’s so low budget it might as well have been filmed in someone’s basement however it has a very clever premise and a tie-in novel (with twice the plot) by the woman who wrote the script.  It deals with what happens when a kindly doctor is roped into working with the government in regard to studying a captured vampire.  

11.   Scars of Dracula.  This was Christopher Lee’s favorite Hammer Dracula movie to work on and you can tell.

12.   Nightbreed.  Not specifically dealing with vampires the main character does rise from the dead as a vampire who craves blood.   Seek the director’s cut or “Cabal Cut” if possible. It’s based on the novel Cabal by Clive Barker.  And it has a haunting score by Danny Elfman.

13.  Monster Squad.  This is a mulltimonster movie but Dracula is the ring leader and it’s fun.  Another 80s gem.     

Bonus mentions: F. W. Murnau’s Nosferatu.  Though I hate that people now think the word means a bald and bucked toothed vampire when it just means vampire.  Vampire The masquerade helped popularize that idea and this movie popularized the idea of vampires burning in the sun, which didn’t exist until the movie.   However, as terrifying as Count Orlock might be, I like Murnau’s Faust better than his Nosferatu.  His adaptation of Goethe’s Faust is very underated and I highly recommend it even if it’s not a vampire movie.

And of course the 1931 Dracula starring Bela Lugosi and the Spanish film also made at the same time using the same sets.  Who can forget those?  And Dracula’s Daughter.  Son of Dracula.  House of Dracula and House of Frankenstein and Abbott and Costello meet Frankenstein. (those require watching the other Universal Monster movies first). 

The Subspecies movies.    Cult classics and very under-rated.   Radu (named after the real life Dracula’s brother) is not a sexy vampire but an intriguing one. 

The Hunger starring David Bowie, based on the novel by Whitley Streiber.  

Hammer’s Dracula movies:  Dracula (1958) AKA Horror of Dracula. Brides of Dracula.  Dracula: Prince of Darkness.  Dracula has risen from the grave.  Taste the blood of Dracula.  Scars of Dracula.  Dracula 1972 AD.  Satanic Rites of Dracula (AKA Dracula and his vampire Bride).   

Innocent Blood.   This one deals with vampire mobsters after a female vampire bungles a feeding and has to team up with a cop. 

For vampire comedies I recommend Love at First Bite, What we do in the Shadows and Dracula: Dead and Loving it.     

TV shows: Castlevania (new animated series),  Dracula: the Series (not the awful NBC series, but the 1990s kid friendly one, it’s weirdly respectful to the novel despite giving Dracula blond hair).  Forever Knight.  And Buffy The Vamprire Slayer.   True Blood’s first few seasons were good but around the Lilith / Billith storyline it went down hill and never recovered.  The “Hep V” storyline was God-awful.     Midnight Texas is pretty good but not strictly vampire related.  And for anime Hellsing and Hellsing: OVA.  

For “So bad it’s good” I recommend Dracula 2 (sequel to Dracula 2000) and Dario Argento’s Dracula or as my friends and I have nicknamed it “Mantis Drac.”  It’s like the Plan 9 from Outer Space of Dracula movies.  And the badly dubbed anime Dracula: Sovereign of the damned (which can be found on Youtube).  It’s meant to be an adaptation of Marvel’s Tomb of Dracula but they couldn’t get the rights to Blade and had to work around him. They also tried to condense years worth of comics into an hour and twenty minute animated movie.      

For comic books I recommend Tomb of Dracula from Marvel.  Morbius The Living Vampire, also from Marvel.  Legion Of Monsters (2010 version).   And Dracula: The Company of Monsters (independent and very good graphic novel series).

For plays I recommend the musical Dracula by composer Frank Wildhorn. It’s pretty much a musical adaptation of the 1992 Bram Stoker’s Dracula movie.

For novels I recommend the sorely under-rated Dracula books by Fred Saberhagen.  There are ten in all and three short stories.  The first book is The Dracula Tape.  The audio books are available on Amazon and Audible (but sadly not the printed versions except used or digital) and the audio books are brilliantly read by Roblin Bloodworth (I kid you not.  That’s really the reader’s name.).  I strongly feel Fred Saberhagen’s Dracula novels deserve more positive attention than what they get.

And of course other books: Dracula, Carmilla, Let the Right One In.  The first three Vampire Chronicles by Anne Rice (and possibly Tale of the Body Thief for comic relief), All the obvious staples.   But also try Quincey Morris: Vampire by P. N. Elrod.   

For short stories try Box Number 50 by Fred Saberhagen which can be found in the Saberhagen vampire Tales and the Dracula in London short story collection edited by P. N. Elrod.

I’ll probably think of some better ones later.  My mood about these things changes on a whim.

[josiebelladonna]

First chapter of Night Owls (excerpt)

A/N: this came out a little more depressing than I had originally intended, so you’ve been warned. I’m probably going to put this on my Wattpad so yeah.

Word count: 2994

Characters: our heroine Nicole Moon, her fiance Vincent West, her sister Abby, their mother Janet and father Frank, Frank’s brother Phil and mother Valentina (also known as Grandma Iverson)

Mentions: Metallica (notably James and Lars) and their albums ...And Justice for All and St. Anger and the song Nothing Else Matters; Megadeth; Soundgarden (notably Chris) and the song Fell on Black Days; Black Sabbath; Heart and the song Crazy On You; and Rihanna

I am most myself when I'm alone or with someone I love. That's what Vincent told me whenever he and I were alone together, and that's what I've realized now that he's gone and left me on this rock all alone.

He was going to be mine forever. I still remember the day we met each other in freshman year of high school: I was the new girl, recently moved to Newport from Sacramento, where my kid sister Abby and I were born and raised, and in the middle of the school year. We moved to be closer to my Grandma Iverson, who had been recently widowed as my Grandpa Lou died of a brain tumor: my dad also picked up a job there on the coast with his brother, my Uncle Phil.

I took the bus to school and I remember taking the seat at the front for the remainder of eighth grade. I spent the summer going to the beach with Abby on the days she didn't play softball, and listening to Rihanna's new album, and reading The Half Blood Prince.

It was on the first day of high school when I boarded the bus and took the front seat behind the bus driver. I sat down next to this tall slender boy with wavy dark brown hair down to his shoulders, a perfectly straight nose, and a handsome heart shaped face: he was striking compared to me, my short stature, and my straight black hair and sharp blue eyes. He smelled clean and soapy, as if he had just stepped out of the shower.

He asked me if I was new to Newport and I told him, “somewhat… we moved here in March.”

He then introduced himself as Vincent West, and I in turn introduced myself to him as Nicole Moon. He wanted to be a marine biologist based here on the Oregon Coast but he had a deep passion for music. His face lit up when he told me he had been playing drums and guitar since he was seven and eight years old respectively, but he wasn't all that much of a singer. I told him I had no idea if I wanted to go into fine art or be a journalist like my mom.

He loved heavy metal whereas I was always more of a pop music lover, but it was within two bus rides when he introduced me to Metallica, Megadeth, Black Sabbath, Led Zeppelin, and Soundgarden; I started to warm up to hard rock when he played Heart's song “Crazy On You” for me. Vincent promised to get me Metallica's album …And Justice for All for my next birthday; I never saw anyone more excited when I told him my birthday was on the twenty sixth of December, the day after Christmas.

I played it on my disc player every day after school, even on the days when my parents got into the most heated arguments I had heard in my life.

By sophomore year, it came to a point in which I would feel the butterflies well up inside of my stomach every time I saw him in the front of the bus.

Prior to then, neither of us wanted a relationship and neither of us believed it was the real thing until my parents divorced in October and I needed to speak to someone about everything that was happening. Abby and I stayed with him and his mom for a whole month to escape the shouting matches which still haunt my nightmares. I brought most of my music and my sketch book to the house; Abby seemed unfazed by the separation, but then on the other hand, most things never bothered her. I stayed in the guest bedroom with my sketch book and a few pencils on my lap and the door closed.

He offered to sleep next to me in the queen sized bed to keep me company as he didn't like how I always shut myself away from everyone. I reluctantly took up the offer; on the first night, he told me I am most myself when I'm alone, or with someone I love, which was why he wanted to lay with me. I slowly knew that he knew about me. It was as if he saw it in me before I was even aware of it.

But it was the feel of his hand on my back and then onto my shoulder that made me wonder if he liked me more than a friend. The next thing I knew, I felt the soft smooth skin on his stomach against my back.

That was only the first night he slept next to me underneath those soft cotton sheets. He did it every night, lightly touching my body and holding me close to him. Vincent confessed to me that he admired how I was always able to pull up the straps on my shoulders and fall asleep in spite of everything happening.

I spent every night with him until Dad told Abby and me to come home, to the other side of town with Uncle Phil and Grandma Iverson. Even after we returned home, Vincent still wanted to be next to me. While we were walking down the school hallway, he loomed next to my ear and whispered that he loved me, a whisper over a crowd of noisy high school students. The two of us nestled next to each other in the front seat on the way home from school.

We had been dating all throughout high school when he showed me that ring.

We planned to tie the knot on the first day of spring, three months after my eighteenth birthday and two months before his nineteenth birthday, and nearly a year after graduation. We picked out “Nothing Else Matters” as our dance song. Abby was going to be my bridesmaid and Mom my matron of honor. Vincent knew the wedding would help my parents reconcile with one another after I told him they took me out to look for dresses before senior year started.

Dad advised me to hold off until the second semester as anything could happen between then and the big day. In retrospect, I'm glad he told me that.

It was like any other day in December. I set aside about an hour to helping out around the house: I folded my laundry and put it into the top dresser drawer. I remember the last thing I looked at before closing the drawer was my black long sleeved blouse with the low neckline, a shirt that, aside from my girly gray Metallica shirt, he absolutely loved. I sighed through my nose and placed my hands on top of the dresser as I thought of the moment he and I would dance together. I stared at the little red rose pendant he had given me as a graduation gift along with my black tie bracelet, laying there all coiled up on the surface of the dresser. I stared at my engagement ring on the third finger on my left hand: a small blood red stone lined with a slender stripe of black set upon a silver ring. I paid no attention to the phone ringing in the kitchen downstairs.

I closed my eyes and focused on the thought of Vincent himself in his tuxedo. Everything on the back of my eyelids went black for a moment until I began to picture the members of Metallica on the back of my eyelids; I could see their blacked out silhouettes when I heard Mom's muted voice floating up to the second level. Their faces and their long beautiful hair were all coming into better detail out of the blackness when I started paying more attention to her voice and why it sounded muffled. She had her hand cupped over her mouth.

Why does she sound like that, I wonder? I asked myself.

That was before a strange tugging sensation emerged in the pit of my stomach. I opened my eyes and stared on at the top of the dresser and my engagement ring.

“Nicole!” she shouted upstairs: the sound of her voice cut through me like a knife. Her voice hardly ever sounded like that, too: the only time it did sound like that was during her angry, loud fights with Dad before they filed for divorce.

I lunged for the door. I poked my head out to the hallway. Silence filled my ears. The tugging feeling in my stomach only persisted.

“Nicole!” she called out again, this time with a break in her voice. I swallowed and took a step forward. I took another step, followed by another, and another, and the next thing I knew, I was at the top of the stairs. I stared down into the living room and the entrance of the kitchen; Mom stepped out with tears in her eyes and the black cordless phone in her hand. My eyes widened; the back of my throat felt parched and dry right then.

“What—What happened?” I managed to squeak out. She closed her eyes before pushing a few tendrils of black hair back off from her brow. I heard her sigh through her nose.

“Vincent was found on the floor of his bedroom,” she told me in a low voice. “He wasn't moving or breathing. In fact, Maxine found a piece of paper next to him that read 'ta me i m'aonair.' She figured out it said 'I am alone' in Gaelic.” She sniffled once again.

Everything I knew about the world dissipated into smoke. The love of my life, my rock, my anchor, my dark knight was gone. I would have to undo everything and start from scratch.

I couldn't listen to Metallica or anything hard and rocking for days, at least not until Mrs. West picked out a spot in the cemetary and began selling Vincent's instruments and clothing. Before the ceremony, I played Mad Season's song “All Alone” as I was tying on the pendant and the bracelet, and brushing my hair.

During the eulogy, I said some words but none of them made any sense whatsoever. They all bled together no matter what I said or did. I stared up at the cold gray December sky over the ocean as the pallbearers helped lower his casket into the frigid, dark earth. I zoned out as the polished black headstone erected before the site of the grave and the words

“Vincent Oliver West, May 20, 1989 – December 1, 2006 | Rising star, loving boyfriend and son, lonely soul”

etched on the front emerged out of the gray for all the world to see. I took one look at the stone for the words to engrave themselves into my brain.

The funeral and the memorial both took place two weeks before Christmas and my birthday, so of course afterwards I wasn't in any kind of mood to be celebratory. Every piece of tinsel, every ornament, every Christmas carol, it all reminded me of him. I spent New Year's Eve alone cuddling on the couch in my Megadeth shirt and no pants on under a blanket when I could only think of the kiss Vincent and I planned to share together. The kiss we were supposed to share together.

I had to return my wedding dress to the shop and when the lady at the front desk asked me what for, there was simply no way I could coat the answer in sugar and call it good. I had to keep both of the engagement rings for myself. The feel of the red stone against my fingertips only kissed me with the feeling of cold, the feeling of losing the love of my life. I placed them in a black box in the bottom drawer of my dresser and I decided to not even go anywhere near that drawer ever again. It wasn't like I kept anything in there, either. I knew putting those rings away was the first step to my letting go of the sting of losing Vincent. It came to a point in which I could speak about him to everyone without feeling my throat close up at the very mention of his name.

In fact, around Valentine's Day, Mom and Dad both suggested I attend the little community college there in town in the autumn. I agreed with them, too, as at that point, spring was coming and I decided it would be all for the best if I sprouted along with the green leaves and the rhododendrons against the gray sky. I knew Vincent would want me to pull up the straps on my shoulders and move forth no matter what happened. Abby suggested I enroll as “Nick Moon” because she liked to refer to me as Nick but I talked her out of it because I knew she would confuse me with her new best friend, Nick Kilroy, a short blond boy on the boy's softball team.

I decided to spend that summer trading between staying with Mom, who lived close to the ocean, and Dad, who lived closer to the hills and Grandma Iverson and Uncle Phil. The Wests' little brick house was nestled in the trees, about three blocks from the three story pale brick estate, but I never paid any attention to the house even as we drove by. It was all going well when I knew I would have to face the first of December head on. The day was going to come for me—I knew that if I was to lose Vincent, then there is no stopping of the passing of time, but I need not let the mood of the day and the pervading thought of my dead boyfriend overcome me. It was about to be the holiday season and my nineteenth birthday soon.

It took me hours of contemplation and playing …And Justice for All ad nauseam before I could convince myself that I must not think bad thoughts following Thanksgiving break.

I did what I could to keep my mind off of it once the first of the month arrived and we held a little memorial at the estate in his honor. Abby lit a candle for him; Grandma Iverson, Uncle Phil, and Dad participated in a group prayer; I wore my Metallica shirt, the pendant, and the tie bracelet. The last two songs I played into my ears before I stepped out to the living room were “Fell on Black Days” and “Sweet Amber.” I closed my eyes and pictured Chris crooning into the microphone. Something hot burned on the back of my eyelids all the while. I then clung to every dirty riff, every drain of James' voice, every word, and every cacophonous clang of Lars' snare drum. I recalled playing this song for Abby one day after a long day of playing softball.

“This song sounds like how I feel,” were her exact words. I neatly folded up the ear buds and set them in the dresser drawer.

Mom even came over for the memorial, giving Dad a halfhearted hug in the process: I could cut the tension between her and Uncle Phil with a knife as I watched them do it.

I remained on the edge of the room on the window seat with the song stuck in my head and gazed out at the rain pouring down on the evergreen hedges underneath the windowsill. It was raining. It was raining for Vincent, and it was raining for me. What I still fail to understand is why no one came to console me there on the cold seat. I remembered climbing to my feet and going to my room afterwards, but that was all I could recall from that day. I felt my train of thought unraveling with each passing transient minute; I knew there was something terribly wrong.

Over Christmas break, Dad, Grandma Iverson, and Uncle Phil convinced Abby and me to live with them as I could scarcely pay attention to anything around us on my own. The only other problem was the commute to school: from Mom's house, Abby and I could walk to the middle school and then I would go the further distance to the city college. Now we would have to take the city bus and she would have to walk to school alone. Of course, this didn't sit well with Abby.

“Why can't we just stay with Mom!” I heard her declare from the other room.

“Because you need a better home,” Uncle Phil snapped. “I don't trust your mom. At least, not anymore. So you have to stay with us.”

“But Uncle Phil—”

“No excuses, Abigail. Now get ready for school—the bus comes at five minutes to the hour.”

That also happened to be the first time I heard him call her by her full name, too: before that morning, he had always referred to her as Abby, spunky little Abby in her baseball cap and a twinkle in her eye. There she was on this rainy morning, grumbling to herself on the walk to the bus stop on the corner a block from the Iverson estate: two blocks down the street stood the West house, which, from what I had heard, was now vacant. Mrs. West had moved away somewhere and never said anything to me.

“I don't know, Nicole,” she confessed as we lingered under the glass awning to protect our heads from the incoming drizzle. I shivered under the black peacoat covering my body: I peeked down into the collar of the coat to see my Black Sabbath shirt. I would have to be wearing all of my music shirts as well as my nice blouses in Vincent's honor whenever I went to school. I would have to wear them all with pride.

[iuniverseblog]

Author Vincent di Blasi and “Creating Cassandra”

iUniverse introduces Vincent di Blasi, who tells us about his recently published book, Creating Cassandra.

  Please briefly describe your book . . .

In the process of authoring Creating Cassandra, I found myself writing two love stories, one within the other, about the same man and woman set 800 years apart. The novel begins in the 1990s as the Boston based author is seeking and ultimately finds his model of the Cassandra that he needs for his twelfth-century novella about a man and woman who will share their names and their characteristics in that other age.

His model – and ultimately his muse – as well as the character she inspires, are strong, ambitious women. Both will marry rich and powerful men who will die leaving them and their not necessarily legitimate fortunes vulnerable. And this sets the stage for the drama that follows as each Cassandra calls upon her own century’s version of a knight, mercenary or gangster in order to help her hold on to what otherwise would be lost.

The obsessions that drive the highly superstitious author and his determined Cassandra influence what will come to pass in the novella, just as what the author ascribes to his twelfth-century characters find their way into the lives of their 1990s counterparts as he writes and she reviews what he has written. When the two worlds meet, there are ample warnings of danger but since this is about Cassandra, no warning or prophecy is ever heeded. Neither the author nor Cassandra would ever have anticipated the price they would have to pay for the worlds they fought so hard to create in either century. What they had created would reshape their own lives.

  And can you tell us a little about yourself?

While I have written since I was in college, up to now it has been solely for my own pleasure while I have earned my living working in other areas; mostly by coordinating educational programs or managing educational publishing sales. This has included years in Latin America and inside NASA. At this point, I am teaching part-time (Citizenship and English) which is giving me time to devote myself to writing.

  Do you have any particular literary influences?

As far as subject matter, I imagine my work is most directly impacted by the writers I admire most (Camus, Steinbeck, Pirandello, Carlos Fuentes), the Magic Realism of  Latin American authors in general, as well as lesser known authors who deal with the lawless and chaotic circumstances created by war or other forms of catastrophe and their aftermath. Examples would include relatively less known but still significant writers like Vittorini who wrote about the challenges of life in the aftermath of the foreign invasions that ravaged Sicily during World War II. But whether it is the result of invasion, plague, or life in the decade-long Mexican Revolution, people left to themselves to create their own social order do so with remarkable success. You can see who people are when they do not have anyone else to turn to for law and order…or food or water. By some estimates, one out of five Mexicans were killed, wounded or abducted between 1910 and 1920. There was often no external social order beyond that of the family, village and what they themselves created. That gives a people time to get to know who they are and writers a time to deal with what matters most. For me, that must include human resiliency.

  As for Creating Cassandra itself, the character of Cassandra has haunted me ever since I was introduced to her in my early teens. Although I have chosen not to place her in the original setting we associate with Homer, and while I have departed from the traditional dark haired description ascribed to her, the reader will find that my Cassandra is the Cassandra, and this is alluded to in the third book of the novel. While she may not always seem conscious of her history, the impact of that history influences everything she does in both the twelfth and twentieth centuries. And as long as writers continue to appreciate what she signifies to humanity and what we can learn from her experiences as both a princess and a slave, I believe she will remain in our consciousness.

  What is the one message you would like to convey to your readers?

There are stories beyond this or that time and place. Perhaps those are among the most important stories that we need to tell.

  Are you working on a sequel to your book?

It would be tempting to work on a sequel. I purposely left some questions unanswered with respect to the twelfth-century novella and the present day story ends just a few years from where it began in the 1990s when a number of possible paths are seen opening to the author and his Cassandra.

  Are there any events, marketing ideas or promotions planned for your book?

This and a book of short stories (To Whom It May Concern) were simultaneously released in November, both by iUniverse. At this point, I am waiting on reviews to see what will be said of my beloved printed children in order to prioritize my time.

  What was your favorite part of your publishing experience, overall and with iUniverse?

This is easy. I thank iUniverse for the opportunity to do what I so want to do. There is great irony today in that while the traditional houses are making it more and more difficult for new authors to publish, those who truly want to write and publish can and will thanks to companies like iUniverse.

  Finally, what advice would you give to aspiring authors?

Read and write and then write and read.

Read seemingly disparate things and celebrate the fact that you may be the only one who read this book, for example, one concerning time or human genetics, and that book by Steinbeck or Morrison, at the same time. Look for the synergies in everything you read. Ideas blossom from the synergetic connections between things that may first appear completely foreign to one another.  And look to your dreams, too. Dreams are bridges to our subconscious and some of the best stories come from deep inside us. There are sources of inspiration everywhere.

And then write before you are sure you know where it will take you. You can write endings, middles or beginnings in any order. I believe the muse favors those who trust her to return and help us put the pieces together. I know she shuns those who will not trust her…or expect her to show up on our own schedules!

  Make sure to check out the iUniverse site for more advice and blogs, as well as iUniverse Facebook and iUniverse Twitter. For a FREE Publishing Guide, click here!

[ivankahasbeentreatedsounfairly]

WASHINGTON — Donald Trump is stuck in his own skull.

He’s unreachable.

“He lives inside his head, where he runs the same continuous loop of conflict with people he turns into enemies for the purposes of his psychodrama,” says Trump biographer Michael D’Antonio.

Because Trump holds Thor’s hammer, with its notably short handle, we must keep trying to figure out his strange, perverse, aggrieved style of reasoning. So we’re stuck in Trump’s head with him.

It’s a very cluttered place to be, a fine-tuned machine spewing a torrent of chaos, cruelty, confusion, farce and transfixing craziness. Of course, this is merely the observation of someone who is “the enemy of the American people,” according to our president.

President Trump likes maps. Once it was John King’s analysis of the CNN electoral map that Trump obsessed over. Now he wants policy papers heavy on maps and graphics and not dense with boring words.

So let’s visualize those phrenology skulls mapping distinct faculties in the brain, the ones that spur chastity, sympathy, philanthropy, philoprogenitiveness, mirthfulness, sincerity, grace, morality, generosity, kindness, benevolence.

Then think of the president’s skull, which is stuffed with other humours: insecurity, insincerity, victimhood, paranoia, mockery, self-delusion, suspicion, calculation, illogic, vindictiveness, risk, bullying, alimentiveness, approbativeness, vitativeness. Gall, divided into three parts.

It seems that at some point Trump decided that he didn’t really trust anyone else. While that was a reasonable strategy for a New York real estate developer who was always trying to rip off so-called partners, it’s obviously a limitation when you’re president.

Like all narcissists, he doesn’t like to be told if he’s screwing up, so he surrounds himself with people who don’t tell him.

The president is still oblivious about the shudder that went through the land, beyond the base that likes seeing the press jackals flayed, during his gobsmacking 77-minute masterpiece of performance art in the White House Thursday.

It was more Norma Desmond than Norman Vincent Peale, the Trump family pastor who wrote “The Power of Positive Thinking” and influenced Donald’s thinking as a child.

If Trump is the swanning, aging diva in the mansion, trapped in a musty miasma, Steve Bannon must be Max, the German director turned butler who massages Norma’s ego. In “Sunset Hair Boulevard,” Bannon is the one who encourages his diva to cling to a delusional world where she is still big and Jeff Zucker and Chuck Schumer are lightweights.

This leaves us in the role of Joe Gillis, who makes one bad choice and ends up floating face down in the swimming pool after Norma loses it and offs him.

The more Trump fixates on an opponent he vanquished months ago and whines about vote tallies and crowd sizes, the more he seems small and insecure.

The more he loudly insists on Putin’s charms, the loonier he sounds.

The more he defends the odd duck Michael Flynn, saying he fired him only because Flynn misled Mike Pence about talking sanctions with the Russian ambassador before Pence went on “Face the Nation,” the more it raises the question: Why didn’t Trump himself tell Pence when the White House counsel told him?

And the more Trump decries America’s lack of innocence in the world relative to Russia and turns journalists into whipping boys and targets of hate, the more he sounds like a thuggy dictator himself.

“When Trump was a kid, he was obsessed with intimidating other boys,” D’Antonio says. “Prior to a ballgame he would ceremoniously eat an orange as if it was an apple, biting into the bitter rind and chewing up the whole thing. The whole idea was to psych out his opponents.”

As presidential historian Michael Beschloss reminded me, the previous gold standard for a president showing contempt for reporters at a news conference was Nixon during Watergate in 1973, when he said just after the Saturday Night Massacre: “Don’t get the impression that you arouse my anger. You see, one can only be angry with those he respects.”

Trump got into another megalomaniacal “Me the People” swivet Friday, tweeting the “FAKE NEWS media” was “the enemy of the American people!” So Trump is even using the rhetoric of Lenin? Putin is lovely and the press is the Evil Empire?

Beschloss riposted with this tweet: “On December 1972 tape, Nixon told Kissinger, ‘The press is the enemy, the establishment is the enemy, the professors are the enemy.’”

By suddenly calling his own scream-of-consciousness press conference, Trump was out to prove that he — not Sean Spicer, Kellyanne Conway or Stephen Miller — is the top salesman in the office. Only he can close the deal.

“It was true Trump,” D’Antonio said. “He thinks confidence is more important than competence and attitude matters more than aptitude. Others may be exhausted by the frenzy. You can see it in their drawn faces and pained expressions. Donald is energized by the fight. It also explains why he expects others to accept a bashing and be fine with him the next day.”

When Trump was corrected on the obvious whopper that his Electoral College vote was the “biggest Electoral College win since Ronald Reagan,” his only defense was, “I was given that information.”

Spin is the bitcoin of Washington. But Trump is in another dimension. He has distorted the truth for so long, he now seems routinely untethered from reality.

As Trump biographer Tim O’Brien puts it, “He’s the emperor of chaos.”

[hollywoodjuliorivas]

SundayReview | OP-ED COLUMNIST Trapped in Trump’s Brain Maureen Dowd FEB. 18, 2017 Continue reading the main storyShare This Page Share Tweet Email More Save 45 Photo Donald Trump at a news conference on Thursday. Credit Andrew Harnik/Associated Press WASHINGTON — Donald Trump is stuck in his own skull. He’s unreachable. “He lives inside his head, where he runs the same continuous loop of conflict with people he turns into enemies for the purposes of his psychodrama,” says Trump biographer Michael D’Antonio. Because Trump holds Thor’s hammer, with its notably short handle, we must keep trying to figure out his strange, perverse, aggrieved style of reasoning. So we’re stuck in Trump’s head with him. It’s a very cluttered place to be, a fine-tuned machine spewing a torrent of chaos, cruelty, confusion, farce and transfixing craziness. Of course, this is merely the observation of someone who is “the enemy of the American people,” according to our president. President Trump likes maps. Once it was John King’s analysis of the CNN electoral map that Trump obsessed over. Now he wants policy papers heavy on maps and graphics and not dense with boring words. Continue reading the main story ADVERTISEMENT Continue reading the main story So let’s visualize those phrenology skulls mapping distinct faculties in the brain, the ones that spur chastity, sympathy, philanthropy, philoprogenitiveness, mirthfulness, sincerity, grace, morality, generosity, kindness, benevolence. Then think of the president’s skull, which is stuffed with other humours: insecurity, insincerity, victimhood, paranoia, mockery, self-delusion, suspicion, calculation, illogic, vindictiveness, risk, bullying, alimentiveness, approbativeness, vitativeness. Gall, divided into three parts. It seems that at some point Trump decided that he didn’t really trust anyone else. While that was a reasonable strategy for a New York real estate developer who was always trying to rip off so-called partners, it’s obviously a limitation when you’re president. Like all narcissists, he doesn’t like to be told if he’s screwing up, so he surrounds himself with people who don’t tell him. The president is still oblivious about the shudder that went through the land, beyond the base that likes seeing the press jackals flayed, during his gobsmacking 77-minute masterpiece of performance art in the White House Thursday. It was more Norma Desmond than Norman Vincent Peale, the Trump family pastor who wrote “The Power of Positive Thinking” and influenced Donald’s thinking as a child. If Trump is the swanning, aging diva in the mansion, trapped in a musty miasma, Steve Bannon must be Max, the German director turned butler who massages Norma’s ego. In “Sunset Hair Boulevard,” Bannon is the one who encourages his diva to cling to a delusional world where she is still big and Jeff Zucker and Chuck Schumer are lightweights. Sign Up for the Opinion Today Newsletter Every weekday, get thought-provoking commentary from Op-Ed columnists, the Times editorial board and contributing writers from around the world. Sign Up Receive occasional updates and special offers for The New York Times's products and services. SEE SAMPLE MANAGE EMAIL PREFERENCES PRIVACY POLICY This leaves us in the role of Joe Gillis, who makes one bad choice and ends up floating face down in the swimming pool after Norma loses it and offs him. The more Trump fixates on an opponent he vanquished months ago and whines about vote tallies and crowd sizes, the more he seems small and insecure. ADVERTISEMENT Continue reading the main story The more he loudly insists on Putin’s charms, the loonier he sounds. The more he defends the odd duck Michael Flynn, saying he fired him only because Flynn misled Mike Pence about talking sanctions with the Russian ambassador before Pence went on “Face the Nation,” the more it raises the question: Why didn’t Trump himself tell Pence when the White House counsel told him? And the more Trump decries America’s lack of innocence in the world relative to Russia and turns journalists into whipping boys and targets of hate, the more he sounds like a thuggy dictator himself. “When Trump was a kid, he was obsessed with intimidating other boys,” D’Antonio says. “Prior to a ballgame he would ceremoniously eat an orange as if it was an apple, biting into the bitter rind and chewing up the whole thing. The whole idea was to psych out his opponents.” As presidential historian Michael Beschloss reminded me, the previous gold standard for a president showing contempt for reporters at a news conference was Nixon during Watergate in 1973, when he said just after the Saturday Night Massacre: “Don’t get the impression that you arouse my anger. You see, one can only be angry with those he respects.” Trump got into another megalomaniacal “Me the People” swivet Friday, tweeting the “FAKE NEWS media” was “the enemy of the American people!” So Trump is even using the rhetoric of Lenin? Putin is lovely and the press is the Evil Empire? Beschloss riposted with this tweet: “On December 1972 tape, Nixon told Kissinger, ‘The press is the enemy, the establishment is the enemy, the professors are the enemy.’” By suddenly calling his own scream-of-consciousness press conference, Trump was out to prove that he — not Sean Spicer, Kellyanne Conway or Stephen Miller — is the top salesman in the office. Only he can close the deal. “It was true Trump,” D’Antonio said. “He thinks confidence is more important than competence and attitude matters more than aptitude. Others may be exhausted by the frenzy. You can see it in their drawn faces and pained expressions. Donald is energized by the fight. It also explains why he expects others to accept a bashing and be fine with him the next day.” ADVERTISEMENT Continue reading the main story When Trump was corrected on the obvious whopper that his Electoral College vote was the “biggest Electoral College win since Ronald Reagan,” his only defense was, “I was given that information.” Spin is the bitcoin of Washington. But Trump is in another dimension. He has distorted the truth for so long, he now seems routinely untethered from reality. As Trump biographer Tim O’Brien puts it, “He’s the emperor of chaos.”

[rottenist]

A few things need to be said before I write and post this. First, this is more of a backstory but I’m going to end it in a way that if I choose to start rping, anyone can continue the story with their muse. Also the pic above is Blackfeather in his vampiric form. In the story I’m about to write, he is still in human form. I AM LOOKING FOR AN ARTIST WHO WOULD BE WILLING TO DRAW BLACKFEATHER IN BOTH HUMAN AND VAMPIRE FORM SHOULD I CHOOSE TO MAKE HIM MY MUSE AND START RPING. IF YOU OR SOMEONE YOU KNOW COULD DO THIS FOR ME, MESSAGE ME ASAP. Also this is just a test, please do not reblog this. All I want at this point is some feedback. @alucardvladhellsing I’m tagging you since you liked my one post. Sorry this took so long 😅

Anyway, on with the story!

It was a cool, brisk autumn night. The wind howled and screeched as it whipped across Blackfeather’s face. His silky long blond hair blew viscously in the wind. He stood there, in that dark, dank alley, awaiting his next target to exit the building across the street. It had to be almost 3 in the morning. Why was this man still awake? And why was he here? These were just a couple of things Blackfeather pondered as he waited. He soon became lost, deep in thought. He began to think about many things. Mainly his past…

Twenty years ago, an eight year old Blackfeather stood in the doorway of the kitchen as he watched his dear mother cook. She was about 30 at this time, her porcelain white skin was close to flawless. Her green eyes were soft yet striking at the same time. And her long blond hair, which was almost down to her bum, was braided into a crown making her look ethereal.

“Have patience my dear, they will be done soon” she said, chuckling. She could clearly tell how impatient he was getting.

“I’m trying mother but you know they’re my favorite!” He said as he took a big whiff of the sweets she was making. He stepped into the kitchen and had a seat at the table, continuing to watch his mother cook. Blackfeather loved his mother dearly. His father left when he found out she was pregnant with him, he wanted nothing to do with him. His mother was always making up excuses and defending him. Blackfeather was a bright little boy and could tell she still loved him, that his absence hurt her immensely. His heart went out to her, and he vowed one day he would make something great out of himself so he could take care of his mother and repay her for everything she has done for him.

“So how is school going my love?” she asked, in a way that implied she already knew the answer. She always knew everything, she could read Blackfeather like a book.

“It’s fine mother.” His reply was short, his voice monotonous.

“I know you, my son. I know when something is bothering you. Tell me. Have those Smith boys been giving you trouble again?”

Blackfeather cringed at the name. “Smith”. One of the wealthiest families in the land. Definitely not the nicest people. Mr and Mrs Smith had two twin boys, David and Nicholas, as well as a daughter, Bella. They all attended the same prestigious school. David and Nicholas tormented Blackfeather relentlessly, destroying his books and pushing him around like he was a worthless sack of meat. They teased him about his father, telling him the reason he left was because he hated the thought of raising a worthless son. And all the while, day in and day out, Blackfeather tried his best to ignore them.

“Honey?” His mother’s voice snapped him back to reality.

“Those boys are always giving me trouble. I don’t know why.. I’ve done nothing to them..” His voice trailed off at the end, causing his mother’s heart to ache for him. She hated the thought of him being bullied like that. But in this day and age, a single mother’s word doesn’t mean much. She was extremely lucky to even be able to send Blackfeather off to such a prestigious school. Her parents had left her a small fortune when they died about 11 years ago. A fortune she used to buy a beautiful house in the upper city and send Blackfeather off to one of the best schools in the nation. A fortune that was running thin.

“It doesn’t matter, though, mother. Someday I’m gonna do great things and they WILL respect me.” The determination in his voice was genuine and deep.

“My dear, you do not have to be so great to be respected. Someday there will be people who enter your life and will love and respect you just for being who you are. You are a wonderful boy, my love. Know that I love you will all my heart.” She looked over at him, flashing that warm smile that always made Blackfeather feel better, no matter what the situation.

“I love you too moth-”

Before he could even finish his words, there was a loud banging at the front door. A frightened Blackfeather ran to his mother, clinging to her hip.

“Who is it mother?” He asked in a small, weak voice.

“I don’t know my love, let’s find out. Stay behind me” She walked into the living room, Blackfeather right behind her, and approached the front door. That’s when she heard a familiar voice.

“VICTORIA! VICTORIA WE KNOW YOU’RE IN THERE. DID YOU THINK YOU COULD HIDE FROM US FOREVER? OPEN THE DOOR AND WE MIGHT JUST SPARE YOU.”

Absolute terror filled Victoria’s heart. She knew that was a lie. If she let them in both her and her son would be killed. She could feel the panic filling her heart. She kneeled before Blackfeather.

“Listen to me very carefully. You need to run. Run and hide somewhere not even I will be able to find you. Stay there and don’t come out until you hear me tell you it’s safe. I mean it, no matter what you hear no matter what happens, do not come out.” She tried to contain her fear but knew she was failing.

“Why mother?! Why? Who are those men?! I’m scared, mother..” Tears began rolling down his face.

“Marco!” The sound of his name surprised him. She only called him that when she was upset with him. He looked at her, waiting to hear what she had to say.

“My love I need you to be brave. Please. PLEASE, do this for me. Go hide and do not make a sound. I will come find you when it is safe.” The banging continued, growing louder with each pound. Blackfeather nodded and ran off to go hide. Tears were endlessly streaming down his face. He feared for his mother, for himself.

Victoria remained right there, still on her knees. She knew she was going to die, she just didn’t have the heart to tell that to her son. Tears began filling her eyes. Not because her life was about to end, but because she feared for her son. Where would he go? Who would look after him?

“I love you so much Marco. More than anything in the world. I hope you never forget that…” she whispered to herself.

There was a loud bang as the door flew open. Three men walked in. The lead, a tall brooding intimidating man, walked to Victoria who was still kneeling on the floor. He grabbed a fistful of hair and yanked her up, causing her to whimper in pain. He brought her close and whispered in her ear. His hot breath disgusted her and sent shivers up her spine.

“Why hello there Victoria. It’s been awhile hasn’t it? 8 years in fact. Is this the kind of welcome you give an old friend?” He grinned as he said those words, an evil, hateful grin.

“You were NEVER a friend of mine, Vincent. I’ve always despised you. Figures Damien would send you of all people to find me. He always knew how much you disgusted me.” She let out a cold, monotonous laugh. Of course this is how it would end, at the hands of the one person she hated the most.

Vincent let out a laugh of his own. A sinister laugh that echoed through the entire house. “You haven’t changed a bit. So feisty, always speaking that mind of yours. Are you really in a position to be spewing such hate at me?” He leaned in and licked her neck causing her to wriggle in disgust. “Mmh you taste as beautiful as you look.” He shined that devilish grin again.

Victoria’s fear was replaced with anger. “Get off me you filthy pig!” She tried to break free but he was too strong. She clawed at his arms until he bled but he only held her tighter.

Vincent became annoyed. “Struggle all you want, you won’t be leaving here alive. I just want you to know how much pleasure I’m going to take in ending your precious little life. Any last words?” His words filled Victoria with nothing but hate.

“I’ll see you in hell.” Her words amused Vincent. He let out a dark laugh as he unsheathed a dagger from his belt. He pressed the tip against her neck then slowly slid it across her neck. He wanted her to suffer til her last breath. The life quickly drained from her. He held her there for a bit as he savored the moment. Her warm blood spilled out everywhere, pooling around his feet. When he finished, he shoved her body to the floor and began to walk back towards the door. “C'mon boys, we’re done here.”

It was hours before Blackfeather emerged. He walked downstairs in search of his mother. “Mother!? Mother where are you?!” He called for her again and again with no response. He walked into the living room and what he say changed him forever. His mother’s lifeless corpse lay in the middle of the floor, surrounded by a pool of her own blood. There was a gaping slash across her neck. Her face had turned blue and her eyes had partially rolled back into her head. The image of her will forever be etched into his mind. Tears instantly filled Blackfeather’s eyes. A painful lump formed at the back of his throat as he began weeping uncontrollably. He tried to scream but no sound came out. E slowly walked over to his mother and knelt beside her.

“M-mother… why… WHY…” He could barely talk over his sobs. He grabbed her hand and held it tightly. It was limp and cold to the touch. A mix of emotions filled him. Anger, sorrow, hatred. He was confused. His mother was the sweetest woman alive. Who would do this? Why? There was only one thing he knew for sure: he would find whoever did this and end their life, as heinously as they ended his mother’s.

Years passed. Blackfeather’s life became one filled with hardships. He was just a boy after all. Since he had nowhere to go, he had to learn how to live on the streets, how to steal, how to manipulate. Anything to survive. The only thing that kept him going was the deep desire to avenge his mother, to make her murderer suffer.

He lived on the streets for 10 years, until one day he was approached by a man who made an offer he just couldn’t refuse. Apparently the man had heard about his mother’s brutal murder. He claimed she was a friend of his, and that he had been searching far an wife for him. His offer was this: join his organization of assassins and in exchange he would assist Blackfeather in avenging his mother’s death. Blackfeather didn’t hesitate to accept. Truth is, he knew nothing about his mother’s murderer. He had no clues and no leads. What’s there to lose?

He spent five years of training. They were the hardest five years of his life. He was pushed to his limits, and then pushed even farther. He was beaten and berated. Yet in the end he was thankful. Despite the extreme hardships he endured, he was transformed in one of the deadliest assassins in the entire world. It wasn’t long before everyone knew the name Blackfeather.

Five more years passed. Blackfeather was the best assassin in the entire organization. He had completed countless contracts, and to be honest, he enjoyed what he did. No, he did not enjoy killing innocent people. He enjoyed killing the scum of the earth, those who genuinely deserved it. Each target had committed the most heinous of crimes and had to be stopped, in order to end the suffering of their innocent victims. Or so he was told. Lately Blackfeather had been doubting his master’s motives, doubting himself. But he just pushed those thoughts aside. All he cares about, even after all these years, was finding his mother’s killer and ending his life.

Blackfeather was so lost in thought that he didn’t even notice his target leave the building and start walking in the opposite direction. “Oh bloody hell” he sighed, quite annoyed with himself. If he lost the target, his master would be furious. He quickly followed his target, sticking to the shadows like the stealthy assassin he was. His target, a short stocky middle aged man, turned down a dark, narrow alley. Blackfeather didn’t hesitate to make a move. He swiftly, quietly ran up behind the man and wrapped an arm firmly around his neck. The man didn’t struggle, didn’t panic, he merely let out a small gasp. This confused Blackfeather, but he paid no attention.

“Any last words old man?” He said as he reached for the dagger on his belt, then pressed it against the man’s throat. He waited for a response but got nothing. This also confused Blackfeather. His targets always begged for their lives like the little worms they were. What was wrong with this guy?

The man merely chuckled, confusing Blackfeather even more. “They’re using you, Marco. I know you see it too, I know you’ve been doubting them, doubting yourself. Always watch your back, or one day you’ll find a knife in it.” The sound of his real name shocked Blackfeather. No one knew his real name, not even his master.

“How do you-” before he could finish his sentence, the man grabbed Blackfeather’s wrist and forced the dagger into his own throat. Blood sprayed out everywhere, all over Blackfeather, staining his face and hair. He let the man fall to the ground, he died laughing. This sent shivers up and down Blackfeather’s spine. He just stood there staring at the lifeless corpse in front of him, in complete and utter shock.

“Well well well what do we have here?” A voice echoed from the shadows. Blackfeather quickly spun around. “Who’s there?!” He barked. Silence. “Show yourself at once!” He yelled, anger filling his voice. He was filled with an array of different emotions he didn’t know how to deal with. For the first time in a long time, Blackfeather, the greatest assassin in the world, was scared.

Suddenly a figure emerged from the shadows, a face he never seen before.

“Who are you?”