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t-o-m-hollands · 3 years

Text

And so finally here it is, the fourth and final part of this series.

Warnings: Smoking, drinking and smut. One scene contains memories back to an emotionally abusive relationship (not between main characters). This is set in Nice in the 1950’s, I have never been to the French riviera and I wasn’t alive in the 50’s, so probably a very inaccurate description of the place (also at times simply just made up). Also features a PROFOUND misunderstanding of Nietzsche’s work.

Summary: Can you and Timothée make a life together?

Themes: Artist!Timmy, period piece (1950's).

READ THE PREVIOUS THREE CHAPTERS HERE,

this is the final part of this series.

August, 1953

The days are spent like this, one much like the other, settling into life without either one of you ever really noticing. The future is never mentioned more than a few days ahead and all plans are made for the day only.

But without really meaning to, you both make a home out of villa Marguerite.

Timmy buys a vespa from a man in town. It’s rusty and old but steers easily. His sore feet thanks him for no longer having to walk up and down the long hill each time you’ve forgotten to buy something in the village, instead he now just swings his leg over the saddle and swiftly sets out to buy it for you (“unpitted black olives, please”).

Each night you insist on doing the cooking, telling him you find pleasure in it; and well, who is he to deny you anything that brings you joy? So each night you cook and after the food and the wine shared on the terrace he goes back inside to do the dirty dishes. With shirt sleeves rolled up to the elbows he sets to work, going over each utensil with great care. Louise snickers at him most nights, tells him there’s no need, that it is her job; looks at him with a knowing smirk he can’t quite translate to meaning. Still, he does the washing up. Wants to do it. Loves the domesticity of it, you cooking; feeding the both of you, and him cleaning after; helping out.

One afternoon as the sky above shifts in shades of pink and lilac Timothée and Marco sit by the square, playing chess. Marco is winning, a habit he has when they are playing together. Timothée in turn is trying not to sulk, something he spectacularly fails at, which is entertaining Marco to no end.

It is not the losing that has got him in such a terrible mood.

You have had to go back to London for a few days, (“there are papers that need to be looked over and signed”).

“Honestly” Marco says, as he takes Timothée's queen. “Why don’t you just tell her you are crazy about her?”

“Afraid that ship’s sailed, mate” Timothée mutters, taking one of Marco’s pawns, a small victory indeed when one has just lost his queen. With his head resting on his folded arms on the table he observes the chess board in front of him with vague interest, trying to figure out Marco’s plan of action.

“Why’s that? She has clearly not kicked you out of the house so she must be somewhat fond of your sulking ass?”

Timothée snorts. “Fond? How nice, the word we save for people we can’t force ourselves to love”.

“Then why do you stay there? Leave. Find another woman, let yourself heal.”

Timothée’s head snaps up, and for a second he’s stunned silent. “No” he says eventually, but not after having first considered the idea. “ No, I can’t do that” he says. It is not as if Marco had suggested something impossible, like walking on water or turning water into wine. Timothée could leave. He could go back to your home, pack his bags and take the first train back to Paris. It would not be an equal action to that of the resurrection. Marco moves his queen across the board but Timothée isn’t looking, has his mind somewhere else; far away. For the first time he truly ponders about the option to leave. To start anew; to forget he ever met you.

But he doesn’t want to.

It’s as easy as that. Living with you, sharing space with you; why would he ever leave that? Even if he’ll never get to kiss your soft lips again he’d still stay. As long as he sees you in the morning, unguarded with tousled hair; drinking coffee he’s made you; as long as his days end with a meal shared with you, drinking wine and talking.

Marco waves a hand before him, a sly smile on his face, “your turn, Romeo”.

Timothée rolls his eyes and moves his king out of Marco’s queen’s way.

“And shack mate” Marco says, a broad smile on his face as he knocks Timothée’s king over with his knight. “Next time maybe keep your focus on the game” he adds, winking at him.

“Oh you fucker” Timothée grumbles, taking a swing from his wine glas.

Later that night as he walks home, having drunk much too much to drive, he hears a small, injured whimper. He stands very still for a moment, trying to ignore all other noise, before he hears the sound again. Following the injured mewling he soon discovers the source. It’s a kitten. Looking not older than a few weeks old and tiny enough to fit in the palm of his hand, with fur completely black from head to paw and eyes shining yellow in the night. It looks strangely like a very small panther. It looks slightly worse for wear as well. Skinny and small and with uneven fur. The kitten looks up at him, opens its mouth and lets out the same whimpering sound once again.

Timothée stands up, presses the small animal against his chest to keep it warm, and takes him home. He lets it sleep in his bed and it curls up beside him and the next day he takes it to the vet; who informs him that the creature, all though underfed, is in perfectly good health.

When you come back from London the next day, face more strained than before but seemingly happy to be back, Timothée tells you the story.

“What have you named him?” you ask, scratching the purring kitten behind his ear.

“Well, I thought that maybe you should be with me on the decision” he says, watching you pet his newfound friend.

“Any suggestions?”

“Well,” Timothée begins, suddenly shy. “I was thinking maybe Chopin?”

You smile at him, with genuine fondness in your eyes, and he feels his cheeks heat up. “Chopin it is. It was very good of you to save him, Timothée”.

And something like hope blooms in his chest.

That night as he lays in bed, Chopin sleeping on his chest, he reflects on his conversation with Marco and the words ‘let yourself heal’ comes back to him. The words had startled him, confused him, and maybe even shocked a little. He ponders over the words, the meaning and the implications, and decides that no. He cannot heal.

Because he is not wounded. He had been, after you left Paris that spring, he had been a wounded thing; a child who flew too close to what he wanted, only to find his wings melting and his body falling down into the sea.

But he wasn’t wounded anymore.

Through the other side of the wall he can hear how you walk around your room, going through the nightly routine. He hears the squeaking sound as you lay down on the big iron bed. Chopin purrs on his chest and Timothée closes his eyes, ready for sleep to take him.

There’s no use in thinking ahead, he decides. What will be, will be.

September

Late one night Timothée is playing cards with some new-found friends.

Marco had finally given in and arranged a jazz night to Nathaniel’s and Timothée’s great joy. The Milanese jazz band consists of five free-spirited and unbound vagabonds. When they play the whole village square dances. After their performance Timothée, Nathaniel, Marco and the musicians sit down to play cards. The night passes and the rum flows as easy as the conversation. The room is quickly filled up with cigarette smoke and wild anecdotes of past victories. The musicians, although a cheerful lot, have not got much to bet with, so the stakes are kept low and the spirits high.

So how exactly it came about that Marco lost the old piano in the bistro to Timothée no one can remember the following day, for the details are blurry and stained by drink. Nevertheless, as they wave the five musicians off the following morning, it is clear to them both that Marco owes him a piano.

“Ridiculous” Marco grumbles, his Italian accent clearer when aggravated, as he and Timothée push the piano up to the truck. “You can’t even play the damn thing!”

Timothée snorts, “I can learn!”

“Oh really?” Marco bursts out, sarcasm heavy in his words “like how you’ve ‘learned’ Italian you mean?”

Sweat runs down his back, the afternoon sun is bearing down on them and the heat feels like a physical pressure against his skin. “I speak perfect Italian, thank you very much” he defends himself.

It is Marco’s time to snort, which he does with great satisfaction before announcing “speaking French while putting on an Italian accent is in fact not speaking Italian at all”.

His head is pounding; but he is in a good mood and so he laughs. With much effort and even more grumbling from Marco they manage to load the heavy thing inside the rented truck and after having driven it up the hill they carry it into the villa. Deciding to place the instrument in the drawing room they lean on each other’s shoulder for a bit, trying to catch their breath; laughing.

He offers the older man a beer, but Marco declines; has a business to get back to.

So Timothée steps out into the burning sun on his own, the stone floor of the terrace scorching his bare feet. The world feels peaceful in all its golden glory. He can hear the rhythmic waves of the ocean far below, the radio playing in the kitchen; the seagull’s calling in the sky. He takes a deep breath and tastes the salt of sea water on his tongue.

His oil paints and canvas are still where he left them yesterday, a half-finished attempt of a sunrise pictured on it. On the table stand a vase with bright blue hyacinth and blood red poppies that you must have picked.

For a few minutes he just stands there, soaking in the sun. With unhurried fingers he starts to unbutton his white linen shirt. Removing it he lays it on the sunchair beside him and his trousers soon follow suit. Turning away from the sun he walks down the hot stony steps by the terrace and down to the private beach. It’s a long walk down, but he feels a great need to wash himself clean of the sweat, the dirt, the booze from last night.

With his eyes glued on the steps in front of him he makes his way down, and only as he jumps the last hot stone does he rise his head; and he sees you. You are already out in the water, swimming on the spot, your face turned towards the horizon. He clears his throat, not wanting to pry on you, nor does he want to scare you. He fails, as you turn around, startles, and lets out a sharp gasp.

“Hi,” he says, feeling awkward, shifting from foot to foot, aware that he is only in his underwear. “Didn’t know you were here”.

“’s alright” you say, sinking down into the water slightly.

Knowing not where else to look he looks down at the ground, spotting with surprise a white towel thrown on the sand, next to your dress. It is only then he realizes that you are completely naked.

“Mind if I take a swim as well?” he asks. He’s almost certain that you will ask him yes; tell him to wait until you are done but you just shake your head.

“Hop in” you say “the water’s nice and cool”. And so he asks you to turn around, so that he too can rid himself of his last remaining piece of clothing before walking out on the jetty and jumping down into the deep water.

Swimming out to you he keeps a few meters distance out of respect. The water is still somewhat clear, and he doesn’t want to peep, even by mistake.

And so there, wading in the water, avoiding the others eyes, you both watch as the sea and sky in front of you slowly turn from vibrant blue to lilac as the sun begins its journey down the horizon.

“I, eh, I won a piano” he says eventually, wanting to break the somewhat awkward silence. You turn to him, wading the water, surprise written on your face. “A piano?”

“Yeah, put it in the drawing room, hope that was okay?”

You laugh, the sound clear and bright and something flutters in Timothée’s stomach like the wings of a butterfly. He tells you the story of how he came by it and you laugh some more and he can’t help but smile at the sound, can’t help but stare himself blind at your beautiful face.

You swim on the spot and you talk; about everyday life, how you both think Louise has fallen in love with a baker in the village, about Chopin scratching on the furniture, about the pasta you had for lunch. About life in all its domestic simplicity.

You’re looking at the sun. It is the golden hour and it has painted you golden as well. You seem to shine in the light, laughing at something he’s said as you wade the water in front of you, the water golden as way; a reflection of the sky above. It hits him almost with brutal force, how beautiful you are. He looks at you thinks; Aphrodite, who entered the world fully formed, born out of sea foam, the goddess of love and beauty. You blink up at him, eyelashes fluttering like the wings of a butterfly and his chest feels too tight, as if something inside where his heart should be is taking up too much space

Without either one having realized it you’ve swam closer to each other. You are so close that he could easily reach out and touch you; could easily lean in and taste the saltwater on your lips. You are looking at his mouth and he is wondering if that is what you want him to do but he is not sure and because he is afraid to ruin the tender friendship you have built by blundering in - he doesn’t. And you don’t either.

‘But, we used to be lovers’ he thinks. His body used to know your body like it was a continuation of his own. And perhaps that is why it hurts so bad to be parted from you.

“I should get back” you say in the end, avoiding his eyes. “We haven’t even had dinner yet”.

“Alright” he says “I’ll come join you in a minute”. He turns away from the beach, leaves you to get out of the water and get dressed in privacy.

Later that night there is dinner, and drinks, and your bare feet as you dance in the dining room to a jazzy tune, a glass of sangria in hand as Chopin runs circles around the hem of your dress. Later there is laughter as Timothée tries to teach you poker, something you turn out to be disastrously bad at.

And later somewhere in the village church bells are ringing.

***

One day is much like another. You wake up in the morning and Timothée makes you coffee and you share it on the terrace. Then he paints and you move through the house; going through the things that need to be gone through, doing the tasks of the day. You read your correspondents and write your letters back.

You set out to the market, chat with the vendors. You learn their names and their stories and in turn they share their family recipes for the perfect pasta vongole or ratatouille. You buy your vegetables and bread, your fish and meat, your wine and cheese, excited for the dinner ahead.

Sometimes you go to the tailor and you share a cappuccino in the sun with Claudette, the old woman running it. You chat about clothes, of fashion in the past versus the fashion of now, about the passing of time. She tells you about the war and the occupation. Of the rationing of fabrics and how she has learned how to make each cut of cloth work - wasting nothing.

In her store you pick out a light floral pattern chiffon and Claudette turns it into a beautiful summer dress, so light and different from the heavier material you wore in London.

You buy handmade pottery from the woman in the square. Big pots and jars and urns that she’s crafted with her own hands and with handpainted flowers and patterns on them; made by her sister. You keep olive oil and flour and flowers in them, and place them around the house in their rightful place.

You go to the beach and you collect seashells. Bringing them with you home you tie them up on strings and you hang them by the terrace door and with each dust of wind the gentle noise of the seashells rattling against each other can be heard.

You don’t talk about the future and never plan ahead. You are not together; just two people living in the same house after all.

You watch him, laying on some faded old sheets on the terrace floor, soaking up sun. Timothée approaches sunbathing the way he does everything else in life; with reckless abandon. Despite Louise’s warning words that he’ll burn his pale skin he lays under the scorching sun for hours, wearing nothing on his skin but white bathing shorts. His nose has already turned an angry pinkish colour that will surely change to red soon. Beside him lay an open book, Robert Graves - The Greek Myths. His half-finished landscape painting of today lay abandoned on the table.

In the kitchen you hear the clattering of dishes as Louise does the washing up after lunch. She’s singing along to a tune on the radio and without looking you know that she is dancing.

Walking back into the house, up the steps and into your bedroom, you lay down on the bed. The bedchamber had been your aunt’s at one point and her style still lingers over the room like her old perfume, a bottle of which still lay on the antique vanity. A comforting presence.

Staring up at the white ceiling you’re trying to put a name to the feelings you’ve been having lately.

It feels, you decide, like you’re playing a game with the past and you’re not sure you’re winning. Going back to London had been a mistake. You had walked the same old streets, dined in the same old restaurants and met the same old people as you had when you lived there with Freddie. It had been a mistake to go back, and hear all the tittle-tattle gossip of the divorce, of your absence from the London scene. You had sat there, in the great white dining room of The Luxembourg, you’re back straight and poise perfected, and the gossiping tongues around you had played in your head like an orchestra. You had seen your dinner companions mouths moving, but the words all seemed distorted and slow, coming to you as in a haze. Your face feeling strangely taut, as if you were wearing a mask over your own skin, unable to move the mask's features.

The only success of the journey had been that it made you all the more certain of your decision; to sell the Mayfair flat and rid yourself of the London scene once and for all.

You had visited your parents as well. Had sat through a luncheon with them and calmly listened to their grief and despair over your split from Freddie. Had heard their praises and glorification of your former husband and you had kept quiet all the way through it, poking at your food and feeling rather sick.

In London baron Freddie Fairfax was a constant presence even in his absence.

Your marriage had consisted of days filled with silence. Days spent apart, seeing different people; living different lives. Thought not at all really, since it was all in the same small social circle. Any secret relieved between friends between crystal glasses of wine at lunch would not stay secret for long. By cocktail hour it’d be known by one and all of the tight-knitted, blue-blooded social circle you called friends. Any secret shared to a confidant would reach Freddie’s ears before the sun set, no matter how much time you spent apart; dining and drinking in different restaurants.

The evenings, if shared just the two of you, would either be spent in total silence; during which you would turn on the radio just to fill the space between you. In the night he would touch you, move in and out of you with sharp thrusts as you pretended to be somewhere else, his grunts filling the only sound in the night.

Or, if he was in one of his moods, the evenings would consist of him leaning over your shoulder, wherever you turned. Breathing down your neck. Always ready with a comment, a sly remark on your clothes, your face, your figure; you’re thoughts and opinions. On the things you said, or on your defeated silence. He never asked you any questions about yourself, had no curiosity about who you were or what you thought. The only exception was when he interrogated you about the men you conversed with, or at times about your female friends; how long you’d known them, if they were dating anyone. How attractive he found them.

Your feelings were his to toy with, because in his eyes you were his plaything to do with as he pleased. Because to Freddie love would always go hand in hand with possession and to you love would always mean hunger.

Hunger for something gentler, warmer, and altogether different. Hunger for someone else.

Pictures of dark curls play in your mind. Timothée, his eyes furrowed and a pencil in his mouth, looking at the canvas in front of him with great concentration. Timothée, with blue paint splattered on his pale cheek, the sun shining in through the dirty windows of his artist flat, illuminating him.

Timothée who had slowly helped you put yourself together again when you fled to Paris; thought he’d never asked for glory for his role in the mending of your heart.

Nevertheless, he had. With great care and gentle hands.

Once in Switzerland you had gone with your father to the horologist. Your father was to have his watch repaired. You had watched the horologist with great interest as he sat down by his desk, thick glasses resting on his nose as he opened the back of the clock. The old man had furrowed his grey brows and with great focus and piety set to work with repairing the complicated machinery of the timepiece. Putting it together with the expertise of a mechanic who not only knows how each fragile piece works but why.

That’s how you imagine Timothée loving you; with great precision, knowing just how every piece of you fit.

And so maybe in the end that is what love means to you; not hunger, but being understood.

The windows are all wide opened, but no breeze makes its way inside and the room remains boiling hot under the late summer sun. The warmth feels like a heavy blanket covering you as you lay there in bed, just taking in the sounds of the house. The ticking of the grandfather clock in the hall, the seagulls screeching in the sky, the far-away sound of Louise singing in the kitchen and further away still; the ocean.

The bedchamber remains stuffy and hot.

Sitting up you reach for the cigarette package on your bedside table, discovering that they are Lucky Strikes; instead of your usual Gauloises. Timothée’s cigarettes then. You must have taken them by mistake. Grabbing the package you walk down stairs and out on the terrace again, where Timothée lay where you left him, sprawled out on the floor, the tip of his nose now bright red.

“You’re burning yourself” you tell him, throwing the cigarette package down on the ground beside him. Timothée lifts a hand to shade his eyes, otherwise blinded by the light. He looks at you with a lazy grin, before moving on the sheets to make room for you. Keeping his eyes on you he pats the spot next to him on the floor and so you lay down beside him.

“Think you have my Gauloises” you say, the entire world orange as the sun shines through your closed eyelids. “Must have taken your Lucky Strikes by mistake”.

Timothée hums, before rising and moving into the house. A minute later he is back with your package of cigarettes and an ashtray. Handing you the cigarettes he then helps you light up with his precious silver gift, his dark curly hair falling down his face as he does so. He smells of seawater and turpentine and as you lay down on the ground beside him on the ruffled sheets you feel like you can breath again.

Laying there under the sun you smoke and observe him. His hand with their specks of blue paint left from his work this morning, his legs slightly spread, his chest slowly moving up and down with each breath. His eyes are closed, and the ghost of a smile still plays on his lips. He seems at peace.

You wonder how long this fine line you both have been walking is going to last before one of you tumbles. The fine line between lover and ex lover. You wonder what will happen next.

Or perhaps this is the way things will always be. Each day lived out ad infinitum, one much like the other. A foolish thought; a childish one. For sooner or later he will take another lover, find someone new to cherish. Someone in no need of healing. And you think of Lucy, and her laugh as light as the bubbles in champagne, her easy charm and carefree personality.

You’ll wonder if he’ll take someone home with him one day, make her love to her in the room next to yours. Where he’ll learn her body like he once knew yours .

You wonder if you’ll do the same.

***

October

The days are cooler now, still pleasantly warm but not intensely so, and most of the tourists have left the stony shores; leaving the whole village less crowded and easier to move through.

For two weeks Timothée goes back to Paris. He sits in the street and paints the people he sees in their everyday life; reading newspapers on the park benches, friends sipping cappuccinos on rotting chairs outside the café, old women choosing their bread with great care at the boulangerie. He adds no drama or sensationalism to the scenes, but settles for painting the people in all their simplicity and its realism.

He visits his art dealer, who with great astonishment accepts nine landscape paintings and a handful of sketches. “No portraits then, monsieur?”

And Timothée tells him no. He is waiting for the perfect model for the job.

He goes to his artist studio, and is surprised to find that it feels less like home than before. He doesn’t linger for long, and when two weeks are up he books a new compartment on the Blue Train, treating himself with a first class ticket this time.

On his way to the station, his bag slung over his shoulder and a package of new pots of paints tucked in underneath his arm, he walks by a bookshop. Casting an eye at the shop window he stops dead in his tracks. A placard with William’s face stares back at him through the window, his mouth twisted into a wide smile and his hair styled neatly.

Timothée walks into the store and five minutes later he walks out with a freshly printed copy of ‘A siren calls’ in his hands.

He borders the train, lays down in his train compartment and he begins to read. And through the entire journey home he reads.

Villa Marguerite is much the same when he returns from Paris. Chopin greets him as he hears him come in, happily accepting scratches behind his ear as an excuse for his absence. Placing his bag and his paints on the floor, but book still firmly in hand, he walks out on the terrace in search of you, but finds it empty.

Walking upstairs he knocks at your door and upon hearing you call ‘enter’ from the other side he steps inside.

You are laying on your stomach on the bed, wearing your silk canary yellow robe, flipping through a copy of Tatler, the gramophone in the corner playing Chopin. You look up at him, eyebrow raised in silent question.

He clears his throat, unsure how to approach this any other way but straight on. “Have you seen this?” he says, and raises the book for you to see.

“Oh that” you say and sigh. “Yes, he wrote to me informing me of it weeks ago”.

“You knew?” he says, astonished.

“That William’s great piece of literature was going to be about me” you flip a page in your magazine “of course I did.”

Timothée leans against the doorway feeling like the air has been pushed out of him. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

You look up at him again, and again with a surprised expression on your face. “I didn’t know you wanted to know that” and then “is it any good? The Tatler’s reviewer calls him the new Fitzgerald”, you nod down to the magazine in front of you.

Timothée hesitates, unsure how to respond. “It's, well yes I suppose it’s alright. The prose is quite stunning, if not slightly overworked”.

“But?” you say, sensing an objection.

“He’s made a caricature out of you”.

“He’s written me as he saw me, just as you’ve painted me as you saw me. And you’ve both sold your works for money. On this, if perhaps on this only, you are the same”.

Again he is stunned. Then, voice slightly shaking with held back frustration, he says “please tell me I’m closer to the real you then this” and he holds up the book again “this rubbish. He’s made you out as this, this…” he wrecks his head for the right word before finally settles for the obvious one “siren. This woman he can’t help but love but his love for her is standing in the way for the life he wants to live of unbound pleasures. A siren that keeps calling him back from his path on the search for perfect bliss. This siren that drowns him with her love”.

Silence for a heartbeat, then “you were”. He blinks, and you continue “you were closer to, as you refer to it, the real me. But that doesn’t make his interpretation of me any less real. Like I said, I’m sure that is how he sees me”.

“Well he’s dedicated the book to you”

“That’s sweet”

“I’m not sure it’s meant to be. Before it could be up for assumption who the book is abou. Now it’s crystal clear for everyone to see.”

“You don’t think he’s meant that as a compliment?” Standing up you tighten your silk robe around you. “I think so. I think he’ll consider it a great honour to have a book written in your honour, no matter the subject matter”. You walk past him “but never mind, let’s have drinks on the balcony upstairs, I think it’s going to rain tonight”.

“You never talk about Freddie” he states. It is late at night, rain dipping against the ceiling above, and they are sharing a bottle of wine.

“There’s not much to talk about” you say, avoiding his eyes, eyes set on the rainy scenery in front of you.

“He was cruel to you, wasn’t he?”

“There are others who’ve had it worse.”

“Doesn’t make it less cruel” he says. Feelings are fighting with each other in his stomach, like a nest of vipers they twist and turn inside him, fighting for dominance. Feelings of anger, empathy, sadness and love.

He walks over to you, and sits down on the bench beside you, his warm hand cups your cheek and you close your eyes, looking ready to weep.

“I’m so sorry, ma chérie, I really am” he presses a chaste kiss to your forehead, moves his arms so that he holds you to his chest instead. Soon you let yourself cry. He holds you to him, his chin resting on the top of your head and as far beneath you the waves are crashing against the rocks and in the chill evening air he keeps you warm.

He holds you for the longest time and somewhere in the village church bells are ringing.

***

An early morning some days later you walk out on the terrace. It is decidedly cooler outside this morning and the air feels crisp in your lungs and pulling your robe tighter around you you sit down by the laid table.

Timothée sits hunched over a book, a cigarette in hand, a cup of black coffee next to him. Despite the morning chill he’s only wearing his usual paint-stained linen trousers.

“What are you reading?” you ask, pouring yourself coffee into a small, porcelain cup. His eyes are still on the book, brows furrowed, and so you look around, take in the scenery around you; the cerulean blue sky stretching out over a landscape of hills and pastel coloured villas, and further down - the ocean.

“Nietzsche”.

“It’s too early for Nietzsche”

“I never went to sleep” he answers.

You try to keep your eyes on the horizon in front of you, but despite your might they dart back towards the tussle of brown, curly hair on the other side of the table. He’s hunched over his book and it is hard to tell, but you think you can see shadows of blue underneath his eyes. He looks tired.

“And what does Nietzsche have to say?”

“Well” he starts, before going on to read from the page. “Nietzsche claimed that the exemplary human being must craft their own identity through self-realization and do so without relying on anything transcending – such as God or a soul. This way of living should be affirmed even if one were one to adopt, most problematically, a radical vision of eternity, one suggesting the eternal recurrence of all events.”

“What does that mean, the eternal recurrence of all events?”

“That the universe and all existence and energy has been recurring, and will continue to recur, in a self-similar form an infinite number of times across infinite time or space”.

You stay silent, contemplating this momentous new idea.

“You know, scientists say that we are made out of stardust” Timothée says.

You don’t follow his train of thoughts but you go along with it and ask, “how could that be?”

“Well, everything we are and everything in the universe and on earth originated from stardust, and it continually floats through us still. It directly connects us to the universe, rebuilding our bodies over and again over our lifetimes. When stars get to the end of their lives, they swell up and fall together again, throwing off their outer layers. If a star is heavy enough, it will explode in a supernova. The brighter the star; the faster it burns. So you see, most of the material that we're made of comes out of dying stars, or stars that died in explosions. And those stellar explosions continue. And so, we have stardust in us as old as the universe, and then some that landed here maybe only a hundred years ago. And all of that mixes in our bodies.”

You stay silent for a while, him with his eyes stuck on the page in front of him, obstinately avoiding your eyes and you; eyes fixed on him, sipping your coffee.

“I don’t understand what you are trying to tell me, Timothée” you say in the end.

He blinks, eyelashes fluttering over cheekbones delicate like fine china, now tanned after months spent on the riviera. The sun is shining down on the both of you by now, and through tousles of dark curls you can now clearly see the dark shadows underneath his eyes. The wind whistles through the cypress trees.

“Just that there is nothing new under the sun” he says after a long silence. “And I guess that I’m trying to talk to you about destiny; how we are born, and reborn ad infinitum. Again and again and again our dice are cast, casting out our roles in life. We all have our parts to play. Parts that we are destined to play, and they are decided for us. It is beyond our control.”

“And what do we learn from this?”

“Amor fati”

“To love one’s fate?”

“To love one’s fate”.

***

One afternoon Timothée wakes up from a nap on the terrace. He opens his eyes and for a moment he’s blinded by the light, seeing only silhouettes in front of him. Stretching out his arms and legs, his body stiff from laying on the terrace floor, he groans. His limbs feel heavy and numb and his mind is unusually quiet, as it has a habit of being just after he wakes from slumber. Closing his eyes again he lets the bright sunlight turn the world white behind his eyelids.

Above him the seashells you’ve put up tinkle in the soft breeze. From way down below he can hear the ocean, steady today in this fine autumn weather. But he can hear something else as well. The clinking of a piano being played. Standing up, as in a haze, he follows the sound.

Walking into the house, past the tinkling seashells and white curtains, through the kitchen and hall he follows the sound into the drawing room.

You are sitting by the piano, playing Für Elise with unpractised hands. The sun is coming through the large windows, lighting you up, painting a halo atop your head.

“Can I paint you?” he asks, for the first time in months.

Your fingers fumble with the piano chords for a second before carrying on, showing no other signs of having heard him. You continue playing until the piece comes to an end.

Then, in the silence, your soft voice.

“Alright”

***

Someone has dug out an old Fletcher Henderson record and the music is blaring from the gramophone as people dance to the old jazz music, one woman has gotten up on the table and is stamping her bare feet along to the rhythm, twirling her dress and swinging her hips. Others are standing in groups, laughing and chatting; cocktail glasses in hand. Others still are sitting by the table.

You can’t tear your eyes from Timothée as he sits leaned back in his chair, arms draped over the railing and head thrown back in laughter. The afternoon light has turned the entire world golden, but Timothée seems to have been more blessed by the light than anybody else; as if he had been picked out and touched by Midas himself. He seems to shine as he laughs with his new-found friends, cheering them with a glass of cheap wine. They’re discussing new revolutionary ideas and he laughs as they clink their glasses in celebration of their own drunken brilliance. He’s wearing his nice white dress shirt and suspenders. The first couple of buttons are undone at the top, and sunkissed skin peeks through. His hair a mess of sea-salt curls, falling over his face, and pearls of water falling from his skin like little stars; the party having gotten back from a swim just moments before. They are mostly Timothée’s friends, though some are yours. Locals, whom you’ve befriended during your time here; with the added number of guests being a couple of british and dutch backpackers Timothée met up with on the way back to the villa.

You look at him, carefree and golden in the sun, and you know the image of him like this will stay with you forever – that you never will see anyone or anything this beautiful again. You don’t think of rebirth, or of reincarnation - of lives destined to be lived over and over again until the sun finally implodes and swallows you all; thus setting you all free from your destinies. You don’t think destined, star-crossed or fated.

Or of amor fati.

Instead you look at him and you think of immortality. Of gods and heroes of the ancient past and of all the holy creatures legends say has roamed the earth since there was anything to roam. You watch him in the golden afternoon light and you think of Achilles and of Apollo and of the archangel Gabriel.

(And you understand why the ancient Greek believed in heroes and god amongst men. You believe as well.)

On the first day God created light.

And so, the scientists say we are all made of stardust. You watch the golden boy in front of you, seemingly shining in the sun, and you wonder to yourself if perhaps the stardust he was made of ever really settled into human skin.

You have never felt more blue, like a sea creature dragged up to the surface against its will; but he is half boy, half ethereal creature. Something Holy. You can almost see it; heavy white wings sprouting out between his shoulder blades, casting a great shadow beneath him, wherever he goes; a golden halo atop the mess of curls on his head. There, at the table under the golden mimosa tree, he throws his head back in laughter again and the sound rings clear over the music, over the other’s voices.

His eyes meet yours where you stand in the shadow underneath the roof and the laughter seems to die in his mouth.

On the third day God created the seas.

The sun goes over the horizon; the golden hour has passed, and everything is set in shadow. You keep your eyes on each other while the rest of the party roars on around you. Their laughter, the clinking of their glasses and the loud music falling on deaf ears as he keeps his eyes fixed on you.

The sun has set, and the boy in front of you is no longer golden for you are all in shadow now; you are both human again.

Yet you still swear you can see the faint light of a halo atop his head and you can still feel the heavy weight of saltwater inside your lungs, taste it on your lips.

Eyes still fixed on his, you raise your glass to your lips, and you drown the last of your red wine. You can feel a drop slip from the corner of your mouth and make its way down your chin, your throat, your chest; down on your white silk dress. You put the glass down beside you and turn away from his gaze, walking away from him.

On the fourth day God created the moon and the stars.

The deep steps down to the water are wet from the passing tide and you move your feet carefully forward as you make your way down to the water. The sounds of music and laughter are soon replaced by that of waves. Passing by the old wooden jetty you walk down to the small piece of stony beach by the rocks. And there you stand. In front of you, a landscape of water so dark it appears black, and reflected on it from the sky above, the moon and the stars.

You hear the creaking sounds of someone stepping on the jetty.

And on the sixth day god created mankind in his own image.

Timothée stands in front of you, hands in pockets, his shirt undone and suspenders slightly astray; looking at you with such intent that you swear there’s thunder in the air, though the sky remains cloudless. Slowly, as if giving you plenty of time to retreat, he moves closer. Then, with his hands holding on to you, he kisses you. It is saltwater and sweet wine. It is red hot and wet and slow, until both of your breaths come heavy and your hands are fumbling over the other’s clothes. You tumble back against the flattened cliff wall behind you and you’re pulling him closer to you, tugging at his clothes until he’s pressed against you, chest to chest. Your hearts as close to each other as can be.

Your hands fumble with his zipper until it finally comes undone, and lifts up the skirt of your dress, pushing down your underwear until they fall at your feet. Hooking your leg around him you struggle for a second with finding the right position. Then, with a jagged thrust he’s inside you and you suck in a sharp breath. “Careful now” you moan in his ear, your arms around him holding onto him tightly. “It’s been a while”.

The reminder seems to soothe him, and the thrusts become slower, more dragged out but deeper too. His hands become gentler, less rushed, but still firm as he holds on to you; each hand pressing into the smooth flesh of your thighs. Your arms are clinging onto his shoulders, painted red nails digging into his back, your own back arched from pleasure. Moans and whimpers are falling from your lips and into his ear; his hair, still wet from the earlier swim, feels cold against your cheek.

There, in the dark; the night only lit up by moonlight, with waves crashing against the stones beneath your feet, he moves in and out of you and the air itself tastes of seawater.

You lean down and kiss his exposed tanned collarbones peeking through his half-opened white shirt and as you gently bite down he hisses and fumbles with the pace for a second, before regaining his posure; pressing you harder up against the wall again.

“That’s right” you moan, hands clutching onto his shirt and your head thrown back. “Fuck, harder!”

And he does.

And when you come it is white-hot bliss. Like the invisible strings holding together reality are all pulled out and you tumble through existence; unsure of where anything ends or begins.

Except that maybe the answer to both of those things are Timothée’s ragged breaths as he fucks you with feverish pace. Maybe there is where it all ends and begins. He comes in a whimper, your hands in his hair, his face in the crook of your neck.

And there you both stand, holding each other; fighting for air, as the waves crash around your feet.

***

You’re in the market and nothing feels real to you.

It is like you’re watching it all happen on film in front of you, the vendors shouting out prices and shoppers picking out their vegetables. It is like you are watching it all happen very far away.

The sun is high in the sky, and it is unusually warm for a day in late october. Your skin is clammy and your palms feel sweaty; yet you feel strangely cold. And you are trembling, feeling certain that if someone were to prick you with a needle right now – you wouldn’t feel a thing.

You see the people moving, arguing over prices of leek one moment and laughing the next. People carrying wicker baskets filled to the rim with ripe fruit and vegetables. It is like they all move in slow-motion, the sounds they make muffled and far off.

You step away from the crowd but when you turn around you walk straight into Timothée. He stumbles backward a step, unprepared for the collusion. He says something, swears perhaps, but you can’t hear him. There’s a ringing in your ear and the ground feels unsteady underneath your feet, the sun glaring down at you.

Then his hands are cupping your face, and you see him mouthing your name. He looks at you, eyes full of worry. He takes your hand, leads you away from the market and into the ancient church. His hand warm in yours he leads you down the aisle before turning into one of the box pews. You sit down beside him and he takes your hands in his.

“Your hands are cold” he says, before lifting them his his lips to kiss them.

He had been inside you just hours ago. You had cleaned up as best you could, before walking up the stairs again and re-joining the party. You had retired early, claiming a headache, while Timothée stayed out on the terrace with his friends. In the morning you had risen before him, heading down into the market before breakfast.

“Do you think we can ever be happy?” he asks and you want to laugh. Because the question is so precisely what has been on your mind ever since last night.

You think of the ocean; the way it can carry you or drown you depending on its whim. You think of the seawater in your veins, of lungs heaving for air. You think of never ceasing, impossible blue. Of bones engraved with memories from the past. And how all of this is who you are, that it is not a temporary blueness.

“Do you think we can ever be happy?” you ask back.

“I don’t know” he says. The church is cool and drafty, despite the warm weather outside and his hands around yours feels warm and safe. It wakes an unholy sort of wanting inside of you.

“Ask me who I am” he says.

“Who are you?”

“Someone that loves you.” His voice is low. You are not the only two people in church, a few rows ahead there is a woman praying and at the front two priests are conversing with one another. He continues in his soft voice, “I can’t promise you perfect happiness forever, no one can, and frankly; I’m not sure that is what you really want either. It’s perhaps what you think you should want, but that’s not the same as actually wanting it. I think part of you loves your melancholia”.

“Well then, what can you promise me?”

“I promise you that on the days you feel like you’re drowning I will keep us afloat and I’ll hold you until it passes. I’ll keep you warm”.

“And you don’t wish I was more yellow?” you ask, voice sightly trembling.

“You know, I’ve always loved the ocean. I’ve never felt the need to change its hue, despite its darkest blue”.

“It’s that easy?”

“It’s that easy” he says, and kisses your hands again.

***

On the balcony floor outside your bedroom you both lay that night, spread out on sheets and plush pillows you’ve carried out. You lay there, your head on his stomach, and stare up at the stars. Neither one of you is wearing a thread of clothing, but you are both tangled up in sheets. There’s an empty bottle of wine beside you and in Timothée’s hand his book on Nietzsche’s philosophies.

“So what do you think?” he asks. “Do we have a free will or is it as Nietzsche believes, that the dice have already been cast far before we’re born, leaving us to live out our stories without the ability to ever change the outcome. Leaving us to simply accept our fate; to love our fate”.

“It sounds terribly defeatist to me” you say

“Or brave” Timothée says, “I’m really not so sure which. Perhaps both.”

“So you agree with him? You agree with Nietzsche? We are not ourselves in charge of our lives?”

“No, no not at all” he objects “I don’t believe he’s right. I’ve made my own choices in life. I’ve created my own mistakes and fortunes. And my fate has never been to love you, I’ve done that intentionally.”

You love me on purpose?

Yes I love you on purpose. I chose it, I chose you”

“I chose you too”

*****

Inspirations: Jenny Slate’s tweet about wanting someone to love her on purpose, my own quite frankly disastrous relationships, Johnny Cash saying paradise is “this morning, with her, having coffee”, Anna Karenina, Cat on a Hot Tin Roof (OBSESSED with https://www.ntathome.com/packages/cat-on-a-hot-tin-roof/videos/cat-on-a-hot-tin-roof-full-play version, highly recommend renting it), Greek mythology, The Blue Train adaptation by ITV Poirot (season 10 episode 1, watch it, every episode is individually based on one of her books so no need to see it chronologically) that has been playing on repeat and also the fact that for the last month I’ve been thinking of nothing else than traveling to Italy, France and Greece again.

#timothée chalamet #timothee chalamet #timothee x reader #timothee x y/n #timothee fanfic

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scapegrace74-blog · 3 years

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Ginger Snap

A/N I was driving down the highway today and saw the license plate “I PieGuy”. By the time I got home, this story was half-born in my head. I have no idea where it might go, but it’s taking up valuable shelf space in there, so I’m birthing it onto paper. Modern AU. Silly fluff. Claire POV. First person, which I never write, so watch out for stray pronouns.

The shriek of the fire alarm was the final straw. I’d just stepped out of the kitchen for a minute, but that was all it took for calamity to strike. Opening the oven door in a panic, billows of smoke engulfed me before I slammed it shut again.

“Shit. Shitshitshit. Shit!”

Waving a damp dish towel back and forth like a flag of surrender above my head caused the head-splitting siren to finally desist. I blew a rogue curl off my sweaty brow and gave myself a pep talk.

“Time to woman up,” I sighed before donning the oven gloves and cautiously cracking the door once again. More smoke escaped, smelling of burnt pastry and ruined hopes. Once it cleared I could see the charred carcasses of what were supposed to be vol au vent shells. I carefully extracted them from the oven and dropped the cooking sheet with a clatter onto the quartz countertop.

“Dinner is D.O.A, Doctor Beauchamp. Now what the fuck am I going to do?”

***

Thirty minutes were spent cleaning the evidence of yet another cooking fiasco and ventilating our flat by opening every available window to let in the moist Edinburgh breeze. I now had less than four hours before Frank and three other members of the university faculty would be descending, expecting a home-cooked meal and polite chitchat. I was in no position to offer either.

In a last-ditch effort to salvage the evening, I typed “sophisticated home catering in Edinburgh” and started dialing. The first four numbers yielded either an answering machine or the news (unsurprising) that at least two days’ advanced notice were required to book their services. Nearly resigned to ordering in Italian and facing Frank’s wrath, a woman’s voice with a thick Scottish brogue picked up at the fifth business I called.

“Ye’ve reached Ginger Snap, this is Jenny speaking. How may I help ye t’day?”

I poured out my tale of culinary woe, laying it on a bit thick, but I was truly desperate by this point.

“Aye, we’ve a chef available this afternoon. What sort of menu were ye planning?” she asked.

“Really? Oh my god, you’re a lifesaver!”

I gave Jenny the number of guests and a broad idea of what I’d hoped to serve, although I was in no position to be choosy.

“Never ye fear, Ms. Beauchamp. We’ll pick up the necessary items and our chef will be at yer flat by four. Tha’ should leave jus’ enough time tae have everything ready fer six.”

Thanking her profusely and not even inquiring about the charge, I stood triumphant in the middle of my immaculate yet useless kitchen. Why hadn’t I thought of this sooner?

***

The buzzer rang as I was re-arranging the decorative objects atop our sideboard. I was aiming for the artless sophistication featured in Frank’s favourite design magazines, but instead I lined up each item in order of descending size, or grouped them by historical era. A second buzz had me trotting to the intercom where a male voice crackled.

“This is James Fraser o’ Ginger Snap Catering. Can ye let me in?”

I stuck my head into the hallway to find four organic cotton tote bags bursting with produce at my doorstep. Footsteps pounded down the stairs, where I assumed the chef had retreated to collect more supplies. I brought the first load into the kitchen where I began to unpack foodstuffs the likes of which I’d never seen. Not knowing what else to do to be helpful, I began sorting them; green leafy things here, round crispy things there.

“Hallo?” the same voice called from where I’d left the door ajar. Wiping my hands nervously against my slacks, I went to greet him.

Standing in the doorframe, almost filling it with his immense size, was a young man who seemed more suited to a stag hunt or a rugby pitch than haute cuisine. He had loose tawny curls, two days’ worth of stubble and wore a faded grey henley, dark wash jeans that clung to his muscular legs and utilitarian workman’s boots.

“Claire Beauchamp?” he interrupted my visual inventory.

“Hmm? Oh, yes. Sorry. Pleased to meet you.”

Something funny happened when our hands met in a firm shake. A tachycardic blip, my internal medicine professor would have called it. There was no time to analyze this response, however, as he was already on the move.

“James Fraser, at yer service. I’d normally spend more time getting to know ye and yer style of entertaining, but we’re short on time, so let’s get straight to it, aye?”

I gave the chef a hasty tour of our kitchen, stumbling over the names of various implements and opening the wrong cupboard when looking for my saucepans. I blushed as he raised an expressive eyebrow, but shook it off. I was paying for his cooking proficiency, not his opinion on my lack of domestic competence.

“I ken ye spoke tae Jenny about yer menu, but I took a few liberties at the market, based on what looked freshest. I recommend starting with a simple salad o’ nettle and radish, garnished with a wee round of goat cheese and rye crumbs. Loin o’ lamb with new potatoes and pancetta fer yer main. An’ a simple rhubarb custard fer dessert. There’s none with food allergies, aye?”

“Aye,” I replied, then corrected “umm, no, rather,” at his concerned look. “Are you sure you can manage all that in only,” I glanced at my wristwatch “ninety minutes? It seems like an awful lot of work.”

“Och, tis no’ much. Lamb cooks swiftly, ye ken. Tis why I choose it over pork or poultry.”

My saviour rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, preparing to wash his hands and get down to work. There was probably something else I should be doing elsewhere in the flat to prepare, but I didn’t want to appear completely useless to this unflappable man.

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

He looked dubious and seemed prepared to politely decline, but then his expression shifted.

“Aye. Ye can wash the tatties an’ chop the rhubarb while I dress the lamb, if ye dinna mind,” he suggested.

“Scrubbing in and wielding a knife happen to be two of the only transferrable job skills I bring to cooking,” I joked, taking my turn in front of the massive Belfast sink.

He emitted a low Scottish grunt of amusement before we each settled into companionable silence, focusing on our respective duties. I glanced over at him surreptitiously, envying the ease with which he moved from task to task, lean and nimble hands working alchemy where I only succeeded in producing dross.

“Ye’re a doctor, then?” he asked after my chopped rhubarb had been set on the stovetop to stew and the lamb was marinating in a bath of lemon and fresh herbs.

“Umm, well, I was. My partner and I moved here from Boston, where I trained as a surgeon. I haven’t yet obtained my license to practice here in the UK, so I’m afraid I’m just a culinary liability for the moment.”

It was a current source of strife in my relationship with Frank. He liked the idea of me keeping house, entertaining and eventually settling down to raise a family. I chaffed at this unfamiliar routine. But until I passed my licensing exams, it was rather a moot point.

“I’m sure ye’re far more than that,” he replied solemnly, before breaking into a sneaky grin. “I’ve ne’er seen stalks of rhubarb cut quite sae... uniform. Ye’d have a fine career in quality control, if ye wished.”

I faked throwing a dish towel at him while we both laughed.

“What about you, Mr. Fraser? How did you get into the catering business?” It wasn’t polite conversation. I was really quite curious to know more about him.

“I’ll tell ye, but only if ye call me Jamie.” At my nod, he continued, “twas my Mam. She was always a great cook, but then my Da passed suddenly and she with three bairns under the age of ten tae raise. She needed tae work. We moved tae Edinburgh an’ she laboured day and night tae save enough tae start her own catering business. Since I was a lad, when I wasna in school I was in her kitchen, watching and learning all the while.”

His striking face took on a faraway expression, and I knew he was remembering those days with a mixture of wistfulness and love. I recognized the look from my own reflection, when I thought about my dead parents. Without realizing it, I lay my palm over his forearm where it had stilled above my butcher’s block. His eyes were the same hue as midsummer blueberries, and they regarded me with silent inquiry.

A timer made us both jump, my hand falling to my side. What was I thinking, touching this stranger who I was paying to cook dinner for my boyfriend’s guests? I really needed to find a hobby, so my mind didn’t latch onto any feeble excuse for stimulation.

Brushing my hands against my thighs, I quickly excused myself and left to get properly dressed for dinner. Only thirty minutes remained before Frank and his colleagues were due to arrive.

I spent more time than was strictly necessary away from the kitchen, afraid I’d made things awkward with Jamie. By the time I finally returned, he was plating the lamb and putting the custard in the refrigerator to set. I tried to think of something to say that would re-establish the fluent rapport from earlier on.

“I’ve opened the wine tae let it breathe,” Jamie said without looking at me. I wished there was a similar process for blundering Englishwomen.

“Jamie, I really don’t know how to...”

The sound of the front door opening interrupted me and Frank’s nasal voice rang out from the entryway.

“Claire, we’re here!”

“Fuck!” I exclaimed. Jamie tipped his head sideways in question. “I never had time to explain to my partner that I hired your services. That’s the dean of his faculty out there, and...” I broke off, looking frantically around the room as though a trap door would suddenly materialize. Quick on his feet, Jamie understood the situation immediately. The kitchen windows were still open after my earlier catastrophe. With surprising grace for one so large, he slid through the opening and onto the fire escape.

“Bon appetit, Claire Beauchamp,” the ginger chef wished from outside, a mischievous smirk lighting his whole countenance.

I stood, mouth open in shock, as he gave an abbreviated bow before scampering down the metal ladder just as Frank entered the kitchen behind me.

“This smells delicious, darling. We really are going to make a chef out of you yet.”

#my writing #outlander

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xrosebloomx · 3 years

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[summer bishil, thirty-two, cisfemale ]. who is that on campus? oh, it’s just the new professor [Savana Bisanti ]. [ she/her ] is/are originally from [Chicago, Illinois ] and they’re teaching the [ language - italian, spanish ] classes around here. apparently they’re also a/an [ Moroi ]. they remind me of [ summer night fireworks, diamond jewelry, scented candle roses and stiletto high heels ]

( banner made by Lea )

BASICS

NAME: Savana Bisanti AGE: 32 BIRTHDATE: April 19, 1989 SIGN: Aries SPECIES: Moroi GENDER: Cisfemale ORIENTATION: Bisexual, Bi-romantic PROFESSION: Professor of languages - Spanish, Italian LOCATION: Acadia

PHYSICAL

HAIR: usually straight, other times beach waves. She has long dark brown chestnut color hair, some light highlights, balayage. EYES: dark brown. HEIGHT: 5’3″

MARKINGS: no visible markings on her, other than a few freckles, and flower on her back tattoo x

STATUS

RELATIONSHIP STATUS: Taken - In a relationship with Reuben Garcia (my cries)

FAMILY

SIBLINGS: only child PARENTS: Celeste Bisanti (mother - deceased), Father (unknown)

SKILLS

PHYSICAL PROWESS: Toned and lean, she had good body physique, exercises everyday. The best part of her body that she does like to show off, are her legs, arms and neck. SPOKEN LANGUAGES: Italian, Spanish, and English. HOBBIES: aside from pampering herself, she’s pretty good at sports and games. She can play softball and loves to bowl. cooking and baking, she loves to make different cuisines and try new things. Dancing, she will go to a dance studio and have fun.

TRAITS

POSITIVE: determined, confident, passionate, adventurous, loyal NEGATIVE: blunt, impulsive, self-centered, impolite, perfectionist,

PREFERENCES

COLORS: dark red, maroon, black, dark blue, lavender and white. SMELLS: freshly made food / cooking, oven baked cookies, popcorn. rose pedal scented candles, the smell of ground coffee. DRINKS: tequila, iced teas, wine, strawberry flavored smoothies, and cherry coke. FOOD: breakfast food item, eggs, bacon, pancakes. She loves pizza, pasta, and soups are her comfort foods. plus she love sweets.

OTHER

FUN FACTS: She’s not afraid of the elements that can hinder fire, like she loves water, whether it’s swimming in the pool or ocean. Not too much of a fan of winter, but the autumn is her favorite time of year. Has a collection of handbags, and high heel shoes (think carrie bradshaw from sex and the city items). Very in style and knows how to dress well. Once she sets her mind on something, she goes for it, and is unapologetic for who she is.

CHARACTERS:

THE VAMPIRE DIAIRES : katherine pierce - human version DISNEY FEMALE CHARACTER - Megara (from hercules) UNDERWORLD - Selene FEARS: to have everything she could ever want, and it be stripped away from her. Taken. Leaving her in ruins. She fears strigoi. Losing those she loves. TRIGGERS : none

ABOUT SAVANA tw mentions of death, blood tw Savana was born as an only child to Celeste Bisanti, her father wasn’t in the picture and she couldn’t remember anything about him. Her mother didn’t bother to mention any detail of who he was or if he cared to get to know his family. Her parents were both Moroi, she knew that much. Her mother settled to live in Chicago, Illinois. As a child, she was one to take initiative, she liked to be adventurous. Which often led her to do some daredevil things. She was one to be confident in everything she did. She was in control of herself , no one else. Throughout her childhood, her mother really was the only example she had as a parental figure. The relationship was not the typical mother -daughter love that one would expect. It was more of a business, nothing personal. Savana was taught and raised to be whatever her mother sought her to be. In this case, a treasure, a flower, a prize to be placed at the highest pedestal. Her mother made sure that Savana excelled in all subjects in high school, she made sure her name was known. Celeste taught Savana that you can get anything you wanted, if you set your mind on it. Everything in life was handed, it was about taking without giving in return.

One could say her mother was a bit of a con artist or rather used her charm as a Moroi and made her way up to the finer things in life. Thus providing Savana with a way of living. This didn’t leave room for things such as love, comfort, safety--all things a daughter had in connection with a mother, but unfortunately it only made the hole in heart black. The beautiful girl grew up to be distant, unempathetic, and unapologetic. Turning to the people surrounding her as she aged, to be examples of what one shouldn’t be. Had her play pretend and blend into society, after all that is what her mother wanted. The element of fire within her is what kept her going, not only did she have a passion for adventure, but she was also burning with fire that no one could really put out.

In a way this made her dangerous, because she has a temper that one wouldn’t want to see on a bad day. At the age of twenty, Savana had come to learn that life is what one made of it. She wasn’t really taught how to really defend herself nor fight, plus she didn’t grow up with any protection at all. She protected herself. It wasn’t until a dark stormy night, she had come home to ruins, broken glass, trail of blood. The sounds of someone fighting for their last breath, only to see her mother killed before her very eyes. Strigoi. At the time Savana didn’t know what that was, but she remembered it’s eyes, and as quickly as she saw it, it disappeared. Leaving her with her mother’s remains.

Time had passed, and she found herself traveling the world, learning of different cultures which ultimately sparked teaching. Especially in the languages, she had become a professor. Wanting to learn more about not just herself, but of that creature. Whatever it was, she had come across an old friend that grew up with her (wanted connection), and they told her about Acadia, she then traveled to the academy. Where she has been there for almost three years, learning, teaching and toughing up future Moroi.

PERSONALITY

She has grown up all her life learning how to blend into society, and she never really showed her true self. It was always about the finer things, people always discussed names, titles, and she pretended for most of it all. She has a hard exterior and rarely shows a kind caring personality. Though she does like adding a bit a flare in what she does, because she’s dramatic. However, she won’t tolerate any disrespect, to herself or fellow professors. She is known for making things fun, parties, decorations, events. She’ll be the first to go all out.

FUN FACTS

a bit possessive, and nit picky about small details. If it annoys her, she wants to fix it.

very stealthy, sometimes you won’t notice if she’s there or not. but will like scaring you just to see you freak out.

can often have a temper, but it depends on what is angering her.

great photographic memory

carries several weapons on her, and will act quickly, so don’t give her a reason to remove you.

trains day and night when she’s not focusing on her outfit of the day.

extra, and dramatic af.

loves jewelry, make up, fashion, the works. pretty vain tbh.

her guardian, RIP, she’s a lot to handle, but change her mind, make her care.

she’s all about luxury, and lookin hella good.

CONNECTIONS

friends / buddies - someone who actually tolerates her.

someone who hates her possibly?

someone who just wants to fight her - she may or may not give them that satisfaction

Crush on her - becuz lbr, she’s like, a crush?

Sweet/Innocent - someone that is so nice, that she’s like *moth to a flame* does someone want to perish?

besties - cuz come on, they can shit talk.

also hmu for any more ideas or connections

#tw mentions of death #acadiahqintro #intro #savana intro #blood tw

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iwatobifuturefish · 3 years

Text

Peeled tomatoes and love

Pairing: MC x Choi twins

Read here on AO3

Notes: Heyho and welcome to another tale from the bunker with MC, Saeyoung and Saeran. This is part of my series Tales from the bunker and beyond. Read the other part here. I love cooking tomato risotto, so I was insipred by that to wirite this short story. There is no twincest involved in this story/series!

I hope you enjoy! Please leave a comment if you did, I appreciate the feedback :D

__________________________________________________________

Peeled tomatoes and love

Tales from the bunker and beyond - Part 2

„Honey, I’m home!“ MC shouted while entering the bunker. Two pairs of feet could be heard, shuffling in the direction of the girl.

“Which ‘honey’?” Saeyoung asked, pecking her right cheek.

“Both of you, silly.” She laughed and shook your head in amusement.

“Where have you been?” Saeran asked, pecking her left cheek now. This had been their greeting ever since the three of them had decided on their relationship arrangements.

“Well, as I told you before I left”, she eyed them mockingly. “I went food shopping. You both seemed really engrossed in your TV show, so I don’t judge.

The twins blushed. They were currently making up for their lost childhood, so they watched every children’s show available. Which meant they could watch all of them because of their hacking skills.

Making their way into the kitchen, MC noticed that both boys were eyeing the shopping bags curiously.

“I’m making risotto today”, she said.

“But that’s really difficult!” Saeran exclaimed. MC knew that the younger twin knew a lot about cooking but sometimes she could still beat him in that field of knowledge.

“What’s risotto?” Saeyoung asked from her other side.

While putting her shopping away MC explained: “It is an Italian dish. The main ingredient is rice, but you need to use a special kind of rice. It is called risotto rice. It helps the dish get its signature consistency.”

Saeyoung listened interested to the explanation. He was still amazed how people could know so much about cooking. He had lived for years on chips and soda and still survived. Now he adored the food that MC and his brother could cook. Nevertheless, both had banned him from the kitchen if he was not supervised by one of them. Saeyoung, still in thoughts, didn’t notice that MC and Saeran had continued their expert-talk about risottos.

“Isn’t there wine in this?” Saeran wanted to know, studying the ingredients.

“There is, but I’m not putting any in there”, MC answered. She knew that the twins didn’t like alcohol in any sort or form because of their past and she respected that.

“But what about the flavour?” Saeran still was worried sometimes that some little thing would make MC leave them.

“Don’t worry, love”, MC said, hooking her arms around his neck. “I have something special planned for you two.” She gave Saeran a kiss.

“Hey! I want kisses, too!”

Saeyoung was suddenly back from his endless journey into the depths of his brain. MC and Saeran called that his “zone-out-moments” where he could ask himself questions from “What is risotto?” to “Can you grow a one-pound heavy rice grain if I water it enough?”.

Laughing, MC gave Saeyoung a kiss as well. She wanted to shoo them out of the kitchen but both boys insisted that they wanted to help. So, she let Saeyoung boil water because he couldn’t burn the bunker down like that and Saeran measured the rice and poured some veggie stock into a measuring cup. MC cut onions and garlic. The twins were observing her from their kitchen stations silently. Firstly, they did not want her to cut herself. Secondly, they did not want her to cry from cutting the onions. That would mean that both of them would be sad because she cried. Even if it was because of onions.

When MC sat aside the cutting board, she went to grab some tomatoes.

“What are you doing?” Saeran asked. He was confused. As far as he knew there were no tomatoes in a risotto.

“I’m going to peel the tomatoes”, MC simply stated.

“Peel tomatoes?!” Saeyoung exclaimed. “What satanic work is that? Who peels a tomato?”

The girl chuckled: “Cooks often do that so you don’t have to chew on the skin of the tomato if the dish is really delicate. It is the case with this risotto. We are making a tomato risotto. I like the consistency better without the skin in it.”

Saeran’s eyes sparkled. MC knew that he had learned something new right now. She felt proud of herself for teaching the twins new facts. They were both geniuses, but the girl always found little bits of information that they didn’t know.

Taking the knife once again she cut the tomatoes crosswise after washing them and then threw them into Saeyoung’s pot of boiling water.

“I thought you wanted to peel them?”, the former secret agent looked confused.

“First you cut the skin like I did before. Then you submerge the tomatoes for a bit in boiling water and after that you quickly cool them down by putting them in cold water. Like that you can easily peel the skin off”, MC explained again.

The twins were amazed. Well, MC never failed to amaze them. Both of their background checks on her hadn’t told them nearly enough about the girl of their hearts.

MC let Saeyoung and Saeran peel the tomatoes after cooling them down. Both went all googly-eyed when the skin really came off easily. After roughly copping the tomatoes, MC declared that it was time to throw everything together.

“If you want to watch your show you can, you know”, she said. “I just have to stir a lot now and that’s it.”

The twins decided it was time to leave her be and went into the living room. Shortly after MC heard them sing along to some random intro. She smiled to herself, liking that both of them were happy now. The girl began to throw together everything into a big pot. Making risotto was somehow calming. Just stirring away and getting hungrier each minute because of the smell.

The cooking process was nearly finished when it happened. The ingredients in the pot bubbled up a bit too much and a drop of the hot liquid went onto MC’s hand.

“Ouch”, she said and quickly put her hand under running cold water.

“What happened?”

“Are you hurt?”

“Do we need to go to the hospital?”

Saeyoung and Saeran had magically appeared in the kitchen after the small accident. The twins had a sixth sense when it came to MC. Always knowing if something had happened to her. Sometimes MC thought that they were still watching her trough security cameras. She was sure that Saeyoung had them hidden in the kitchen cupboards somewhere.

“I’m fine. Just burned myself a little bit.”

“I will continue so stir. Sae, patch MC up in the bathroom”, Saeran said.

“W-wait, no I can still cook!”

“Nonsense. Order understood, captain! Follow me, princess”, Saeyoung offered MC his arm and saluted to his brother.

Once there was some cooling cream and a way too big band-aid on MC’s hand she was allowed to finish off the risotto. But only if the twins could firstly watch her and secondly one of them was allowed to grate the parmesan cheese. After adding some basil and finishing spices MC plated everything up and shooed the twins to the dining table.

Setting the steaming plates in front of them she said: “I present to you: tomato risotto for my two tomato heads.” Saeyoung and Saeran were blushing now. MC knew that they secretly loved being called “tomato heads”. But only if it was her. She gave each of them a kiss.

“You know, the secret ingredient in every dish is love”, MC said and winked at the twins. Both of them blushed again. She just giggled and started eating.

BONUS

“Saeyoung Choi! You are banned from the kitchen for a reason!”

MC looked up from her book when she heard Saeran shout from the kitchen. When she went there, she saw what had happened. It looked like a war zone.

“Oh, honey”, she said. “You can’t make risotto out of PhD Pepper and Honey Buddha Chips.”

#mystic messenger #mc x saeyoung #mc x saeran #mc x choi twins #saeyoung choi #saeran choi #tales from the bunker and beyond #my writing #LilyLester writes #mystic messenger fanfic

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writings-of-a-daphodil · 4 years

Text

Fire Keeper: Chapter 5

Douxie x fem reader

Chapter 1

Masterlist in bio!

Series Summary: You are Jim’s older sister who is taking a break from college and has moved back home to Arcadia. You end up joining Jim and his friends on their adventures. Chapter 5 Summary: After all your recent missions you need a break, but will you get it when Mr. Strickler comes over for dinner.

“Last class of the night,” Jim said as you arrived outside Mr. Strickler’s classroom. You scowled.

“I can’t believe he’s a changeling. He was such a great teacher.”

“Agreed.” The two of you went and sat in the back of the class with Toby and his Nana.

“He wouldn’t do anything would he?” Toby whispered to you.

“No way,” Jim whispered back. “Not with all these people.”

“I see the two best friends are talking. It’s just like normal class,” Strickler joked and you refrained yourself from rolling your eyes. The rest of the room laughed.

You yawned and glanced out the window only to see Bular pacing in the grass outside. “Um, we kinda have a situation,” you whispered without moving your mouth.

“What kind of situation?” Toby whispered back.

“Bular is outside.”

“I’ll handle it, just cover me.” Jim whispered something to Toby while you looked around the room for anything that could be used as a distraction.

With a plan in mind you whispered a spell you had learned earlier that week, “Interminus nocti sluumberso.”

Suddenly Strickler fainted to the ground and as the parents and students were distracted you nodded to Jim and Toby who were able to slip out.

You smiled, satisfied with your proficiency in magic. You let him sleep for a little while longer, only waking him up when Claire’s dad suggested calling an ambulance.

As he got off the floor he seemed shocked and one of the parents suggested he see a doctor. You left soon after to help Toby’s Nana home.

When you got to your own house Toby and Jim were waiting for you.

“How did it go?” You asked, hanging up your purse.

“We managed to lure him away,” Toby said proudly and you patted him and Jim on the back.

“Would you count that as the third mission today?” Jim asked Toby and you sighed.

“Yeah.” He thought for a second. “We could all use a break. Maybe we could go to the movies?”

“That sounds like fun, Tobes.” Jim yawned and you mimicked him.

“You two have fun. I’ll buy myself a normal, human book instead.”

~~~~

“Hi Archie,” you called to the cat that was lounging on a table. You began to browse through the books, this time looking for something just fun to read. You needed to relax, especially after all the missions you had recently gone on, and reading a good, normal book would do it.

You walked over to pet Archie and stroked him as you browsed. It was warm inside the bookstore which was a nice break from the chilly air outside, but you didn’t need a jacket so you took it off. You draped it on the table.

“Hello, Y/n.” Douxie said from behind you and you jumped a little. “Sorry I startled you.”

“It’s fine.” You smiled, though he had just scared you a second ago his presence had already calmed you. “I found another book.”

“Great, let me check that out for you.” He led you to the cash register and the two of you chatted while he rang the book up.

He handed the book to you and you were about to leave when he called out to you, “Um, would you maybe, uh, want to get a coffee sometime. I’d, um, like to get to know you better.”

“Sure,” you replied. You waved goodbye to him and then left.

You felt a little embarrassed, flustered, and confused. You were beginning to like Douxie and he seemed really nice. However, there was something about him that you couldn’t put your finger on, it wasn’t bad, there was just something.

You got into your car and you were about to turn it on when Jim called. “Hel-”

“Y/n Mr. Strickler is coming over for dinner tonight!” Jim exclaimed, not even letting you finish your sentence.

“What, no...” you didn’t know how to respond.

“Mom invited him when he went to the doctors office," Jim explained and you winced, realizing it was you who inadvertently sent Strickler there.

"Oops," you mumbled.

"It's fine," Jim said, "Toby, Aaarrrgghh, Blinky, and NotEnrique are going to brake into his office while we distract him.”

“Okay-” you sighed “-I’ll be home soon.”

~~~~

“I do not approve of this plan. It lacks a certain ‘killing the changling’ component,” Draal said and you almost agreed. You felt betrayed by the fact that Strickler was out for your brother’s blood.

“I would love to, but not until they locate the bridge, okay? And find out what he wants with me.” Jim sighed, taking out his frustration on the batter he was whisking.

“We could rip off his limbs, make him talk, more like scream,” Draal growled. “Now that sounds like a good plan.”

“No, no ripping anything. My mom...ugh! She kinda likes him.” Jim winced and you heard the front door open. “She’s here, I can't have you busting chops unless it’s a last resort, and only if it’s a last resort.”

“How will I know this “last resort?” Draal asked.

“Okay, If everything’s cool I’ll stomp once. If I run into any trouble I’ll stomp twice. Got it?”

“Two times. Then I tear his limbs.” Jim shook his head and the two of you began to walk upstairs.

“Just stay down here. And no Limb tearing,” you said peeking back down the stairs.

You walked into the hallway and heard your mom talking to Mr. Strickler while Jim glared. “We don’t judge here, all kinds are welcome,” your mom said then walked away to put a bottle of wine in the kitchen.

“Mr. and Ms. Lake,” Strickler said, acknowledging you.

“Mr. Strickler,” you said with false politeness.

“Please, my friends call me Walt,” he said calmly.

“What do your enemies call you?” Jim asked, chuckling. Mr. Strickler walked into the dining room, ignoring him, and your mom joined him. You wrinkled your nose at Mr. Strickler and your mom laughing and you instead went to help Jim in the kitchen.

“The teacher is in the hen house, mission is a go,” Jim was saying to Toby.

“Copy that Trollhunter. I’m waiting at the rendezvous point.” He paused. “I said ‘I’m waiting at the rendezvous point.’ NotEnrique!”

He hung up and you looked at Jim, “Let’s get this over with and try not to die.”

“He won't be able to take the two of us,” Jim reassured and you nodded.

“We’ve got this.”

~~~~

“Yes absolutely. So I said to my co-worker, ‘I brought you a midnight snack.’ Too bad for him he had indigestion for days. Well that’s the problem with eating Italian,” Strickler said, finally finishing his story. You and Jim laughed polightly.

Your mom’s phone began to ring and she stood up. “Oh, I’m sorry, it’s the hospital. I have to take this.”

“Go, go. I’ll try not to bore Jim and Y/n to death,” Mr. Strickler laughed and your face fell into a scowl.

“That’s a funny story you were just talking about,” Jim said.

“Yeah who was it again you were forced to work with?” You asked, trying to bait him.

“The Superintendent's son. He’s a bit bullish,” Strickler said with a meaningful look.

“Bullish, huh, That’s an interesting word. He sounds like a real monster,” Jim said glaring with a smile.

“Yes I know,” Mr. Strickler said, returning the glare.

“You know what?” You inquired, nonchalantly leaning back in your chair.

“I know you know,” Mr. Strickler said.

“How much do you know?” Jim asked, scooting back. He tensed up and you could tell he was getting ready for a fight.

“You didn't know I knew, but now you know, I know.” Mr. Strickler took a bite of food, not breaking eye contact.

“So I guess we all know,” you said, pursing your lips as Jim awkwardly reached for food while trying to keep eye contact.

“Bular called you ‘Young Atlas’ to force this very moment. He told me, ‘if I can't get you to hand over the amulet, I should kill you,” Strickler explained.

“You would kill him in front of our mom?” You asked, scoffing.

“Granted your death might affect our relationship and I don’t know what I would do with you, witch, but I will if I have to,” he snarled.

“Thats funny. I was just thinking the same thing,” Jim snarled in return.

“Oh hoho, and you did not just call me a witch!” You growled standing up.

“I did and I could call you something worse for causing my impromptu nap at back to school night. So, how about you tell me where the bridge is, and I’ll leave your heads attached to your bodies?” Strickler threatened.

“It seems we each have something the other wants,” Jim said and your mom came out of the kitchen and asked if anyone needed anything. The three of you each asked for a knife, for the steak of course.

The four of you continued to eat your dinner and the air was thick with tension.

“I’m stuffed. I can hardly move,” Jim exclaimed, pushing away his plate when he was done, but he kept his knife.

“Jim, your cooking alone should warrant you an A,” Strickler commented and your mom excused herself to go get the pie.

The three of you stood up ready to fight. “Give me the amulet,” Strickler barked.

You opened your mouth to say a spell, but the doorbell dinged, interrupting you.

“Why don’t you get it, witch?” Strickler asked and you glared.

“I will, but only because I know Jim can handle you on his own.” You stormed off to the door, hoping to get it over with.

You opened it an inch and slipped outside into the chilly air, slamming it behind you. Once again you didn't check to see who was at the door and how close they were standing so you practically threw yourself into Douxie’s arms.

He steadied you before speaking, “Do you hug anyone who appears on your porch or just the handsome ones?”

“Haha,” you said. “What are you doing here?”

“You left your jacket at the bookstore.” He held it out to you and you smiled, putting it on. It was very nice of him to come and bring it to you. Especially when you would have seen him tomorrow.

“Thank you, but how’d you know where I live?”

“I had to ask around, it took me awhile,” he said, smiling sheepishly and you nodded.

“Well, it was very kind of you. Um, I guess I’ll see you for coffee then?”

“See you then.”

You opened your mouth to say one last thing, but a crash sounded from behind the door.

“What was that?” Douxie asked, reaching for the door knob.

You stepped in front of him. “Oh, it’s probably just Jim he can be so clumsy. He gets it from me. I can be super clumsy too-” Another thud sounded, cutting off your rambling.

“Mordrax's Miracles, what is going on in there?” Douxie leaned to look through your front window before you could block him.

You turned around to thankfully see Jim and Strickler looking normal and sitting down while your mom said something. You sighed in relief, though Douxie’s odd choice of words left you confused.

“Oh, you’re having dinner.” Douxie seemed satisfied by what he had seen. He turned back to face you.

“Yep, my brother is a fantastic chef. Anyways, thanks for bringing my jacket.”

“Any time.” He turned to walk away, but you heard a loud clattering inside and through instinct opened the door to see the commotion. Douxie stood behind you and your attention turned to Jim who was ‘hugging’ Strickler from behind. They were both kneeling on the ground and you wondered how you would explain that.

“Who is ready for pie? Voila!” Your mom said coming out of the kitchen and breaking the silence. She froze through when she saw Jim and Strickler.

“Um,” Jim said, looking to you for help, but you shook your head slightly.

“Where is that contact lens? Ah here it is,” Strickler said, creating a cover story.

“I didn’t know you wear contacts,” your mom said.

“There’s a lot you don't know about me,” Strickler replied and you rolled your eyes. Jim stood up from searching and you realized the ‘contact lens’ was in fact his amulet. He nodded to you and you gave a small smile.

Your mom stared into Strickler’s eyes for a second longer and you cleared your throat. “Oh, who’s this?” Your mom asked and you realized Douxie was still standing in the doorway behind you.

“Douxie Casperan, Ma’am. I work with Y/n at the cafe.”

“Well, it’s lovely to meet you, why don’t you join us for dessert,” your mom offered.

“Oh I don’t want to intrude.”

“No, it’s fine. The more the merrier.” She walked into the dining room and the rest of you followed.

“Be careful with the pie, Jim did not get his chef skills from Mom,” you whispered to Douxie as he sat down next to you.

“Will do,” he whispered back and you smiled. You did your best to eat the pie, but it was as bad as you expected. The rest of the night was spent chatting and Douxie seemed to get along with Strickler as well as you and Jim did, which only endeared Douxie to you more.

Soon though dinner was finally over. You walked Douxie to the door as Jim prepared the leftovers of the pie to give to Strickler.

“So...” you started, not knowing what else to say.

“You have a lovely family. Your father seems interesting.”

“Oh, he is not my father, he and my mom are...friends. I don’t like him much, he’s kinda two-faced,” you said quickly, wrinkling your nose.

“Sorry,” Douxie said, running his hand through his hair.

“It’s fine,” you said. “Maybe one of these days you can join us for my brother’s cooking, I promise it is much better.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” He said then began walking down the street. He looked back and waved goodbye and you waved back, smiling as you leaned on the doorway.

Strickler came up to you after. “He seems nice.”

“Compared to you everyone is nice,” you snarled before your mom got into earshot. You stepped past him to stand next to your mom and Jim, who was holding a blue Tupperware.

“I insist. take it home,” Jim said shoving the Tupperware at Strickler.

“Oh. The recipe would have sufficed,” Strickler said, pained.

“No we insist,” you replied, stepping back so he couldn't hand the Tupperware over to you.

He smiled, resigned. “Good night, Barbara.” He kissed her hand.

Then he turned back to you. “Goodbye Y/n. See you at school, Young Atlas. It should be interesting, now that we’ve gotten to know each other so well.”

“It will be a shame when I don't have you for a teacher anymore,” Jim said, the hidden threat obvious to everyone but your mom.

You closed the door and turned around. “That went well, right?” Your mom asked.

“I don’t know he seemed kinda two-faced to me,” you said, shrugging.

“Two faced?” Your mom asked. You nodded, but your face turned to shock when Draal appeared behind your mom holding an unconscious Claire. He gestured to Claire and shrugged.

“It sounded like you three got along so well...” she turned her head to look but Jim spoke up.

“Honestly he’s not the guy he says he is.” You tried your best to signal Draal to go back downstairs without being too obvious.

“Honey, I know this might be hard for you...” she started focusing on you and Jim again.

Jim interrupted her, “Mom I don’t want you to see him again.” You flinched and nudged Jim. You didn’t like Strickler either, but telling your mom that would only anger her.

“Yeah? I really expected more from you.” She said and walked into the kitchen, thankfully not noticing Draal who had gone back into the basement.

You turned to Jim and whispered, “I’ll talk to Mom and you go take care of Claire. I hate Strickler just as much as you do, but you hurt her feelings.”

“Okay. I'm sorry.”

“You did a good job tonight Jim.”

“Thanks Y/n.” He went to the basement and you went into the kitchen.

“Hey mom.” You saw her standing and holding her head.

“I don’t know what to do, Y/n.”

“Trust your heart, Mom. I know you will work things out, but it might just take time.” She hugged you then pulled away.

Smiling, she said, “So your friend.”

“What about him?” You asked slowly.

“Well, not many guys go to your house just to return a jacket.”

“Well, Douxie is incredibly chivalrous,” you responded, feeling embarrassed.

“Mhmm,” was all your mom said.

****

Here ya go. I feel like the creators missed an opportunity with back to school night so I decided to include it in this chapter. Anyways, I hope you liked it and are excited for more! Have a fantastic day/night and stay safe!!

P.S. if you want to be on the taglist feel free to ask. I hope it works and please message me if it doesn't.

Chapter 6: https://writings-of-a-daphodil.tumblr.com/post/627768929717288960/fire-keeper-chapter-6

#douxie x reader #douxie #toa imagine #trollhunters imagine #tales of arcadia imagine #wizards imagine #douxie imagine #toa douxie #wizards douxie #tales of arcadia #trollhunters #toa #wizards

95 notes · View notes

wondersofdreaming · 4 years

Text

It was always you

Characters: Chris Evans x female reader

Word count: 2.839

Warnings: Fluff, jealousy, alcohol intake, angst.

Author’s note: Anonymous request:

“Reader befriending Evans at an industry party, forming a friendship then watching him date around while being madly in love with him but being too afraid of ruining their friendship to admit her feelings. One night while hanging at her place reader breaks down in tears after Chris casually talks about why him and his last chick didn’t work out and how he’s ready to give up on love. He’s in shock when reader admits her feelings &then realizes how stupid he’s been not to realize she’s the ONE!💍”

I hope I did your request justice!

I do not own any of the characters in this short story besides the reader, who is a figment of my imagination.

MASTERLIST

Feedback is appreciated.

Day 1:

The party was in full swing when you entered through the front entrance. Famous actors and actresses were dancing the night away. Everyone had a glass of champagne; they were celebrating the ending of another great movie premiere that had blasted the audience away. You walked towards the bar, in need of a drink as fast as possible, if you were ever to survive the night. Your friend had bailed you at the door, having found a hook-up for the night with a tall-dark-and-handsome.

“Whisky, double, no ice.” You told the bartender, who raised his brow but poured the whisky anyways. You downed it like a shot and motioned for him to pour you another.

“You’ll keel over, if you aren’t careful with those.” A deep voice said next to you. You looked over and saw Captain America himself. He was wearing a dark blue suit, his tie already having been loosened, well you had been three hours late to the party because of the traffic, and the fact that your friend couldn’t decide on what to wear took some time as well. He was nursing a bottle of beer, watching you closely as you devoured the second glass of whisky.

“My grandfather was Scottish. He will haunt me for the rest of my life if I pass out from drinking too much whisky.” You laughed.

“Then no complaints here. Which department are you from?” Chris asked as he inched closer. He was intrigued by you. His blue eyes watching you consumed the third glass of whisky. The golden liquid burned through your throat down to your stomach, but it felt good.

“Costumes, I sewed all the extras’ clothes. Nothing important, nothing like your job.” You motioned to the big poster hanging at the back wall, showcasing Chris’ face along with all his castmates.

“I wouldn’t say your job isn’t important. I think it’s even more so than mine. If you didn’t get the extras in the right clothing that fit the period, then the movie wouldn’t be believable. It could quickly make a scene look weird.” Chris chimed in, acknowledging your work.

“True, but anyone could do my job, no one can play Captain America the way you do.” You retorted, inhaling the fourth glass of whisky. Whisky was your liquid luck, just what you needed to talk to the Chris Evans.

You and Chris spent the rest of the evening talking about everything between heaven and earth. By the time it was 3AM you had consumed a whole bottle of whisky, Chris had drunk more than five beers, and who knew how many before you had shown up. You had gotten to know each other, and it felt like you had known him for a lot longer than the four hours you had been at the party.

It was the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

Day 98:

You and Chris had been friends for over three months. You had been texting and calling at least once a week, sometimes more than that. A month into the friendship you had started visiting each other’s houses, watching movies, cooking dinner together, well you were the one cooking, while Chris was opening the wine. You had learned the hard way that Chris wasn’t a gourmet chef in the kitchen after he had served you an inedible dish, you didn’t dare guess what was in that dish, nor did you want to know. From then on it was either takeout or you cooked, you opted for cooking the food yourself.

The evenings would usually start with you cooking something exotic, something that Chris hadn’t tried before. He would keep the wine flowing, while you were finishing the dish. Then you would watch a movie or play either a video game or a board game. Hanging out with Chris was the easiest and most calming time you had ever experienced.

On day 98th of your friendship, something changed. He had cancelled on you an hour before he was supposed to arrive. Something important had come up and he was sorry, but you took a rain check. You opted for some Italian takeout that evening since you were going to eat alone. While waiting at the front door of the restaurant for your food, you heard his voice, Chris’ laughter filled the hall. You moved a few steps to the right and peaked into the restaurant, where he was sitting with a beautiful woman. He leaned over and kissed her.

You felt something stabbing in your heart. Until that moment you hadn’t known that you had been slowly, but steadily, falling in love with Chris Evans. A waiter came with your takeout, you quickly paid and ran all the way home. The takeout having been forgotten. All you wanted was to get the image of Chris kissing that woman out of your head.

Chris called the next day to apologize for bailing on you, but you dismissed it. He asked if you were free that evening, you were but you told him you had a date. His voice was disappointed but understanding as he told you, he would be out of the country for a few months, while promoting a new movie.

You hung up on him after saying goodbye. Your heart slowly breaking, but it was for the better.

Day 134:

It had been over a month since you had cancelled on Chris. He had been texting you almost every day, wanting to see you, but you were avoiding him like the plague. You came up with all kinds of excuses to not see him. It would just break your heart all over again. His relationship with the woman you had seen had ended, at least according to all the gossip magazines. But a week after the supposed breakup, he was seen with another woman.

As you were getting ready to eat your Chinese takeout on the sofa, the doorbell rang. Outside the door was a very drunk Chris, he slurred his excuse as to why he was at your front door. You heard something about his new girlfriend having cheated and now it was over. He started to slump down, you caught him, before he hit the floor, helping him to lie down on the sofa.

Day 135:

“Good morning, sleepy-head.” You told Chris as you entered the living room with two mugs of coffee. He groaned irritated but accepted the coffee, letting out a soft moan as he drank the hot liquid.

“Thanks for letting me crash. I’m really sorry if it was any inconvenience.” He said and leaned back. He closed his eyes. His head was throbbing, everything in his body was hurting. Maybe he had drunk a little bit too much the night before.

“No problem. Are you going to tell me what happened?” You asked. He groaned again, not wanting to tell you the embarrassing story.

“Okay, don’t tell me. Let me get you some aspirin for that headache you’re obviously having.”

“Wait…” He started saying, but you had already left the living room, opening a cabinet in the bathroom where you kept your medicine.

He was still sitting in the same spot, rubbing his temples. He swallowed the pills with a glass of water you’ve poured in the kitchen. He told you everything afterwards, feeling guilty for not wanting to talk about his situation. He told you that the night a month earlier, he had met with his girlfriend, who had broken up with him that same night. She hadn’t liked his travelling lifestyle. Then he had met a new woman at a bar, and they had started dating pretty quickly, but she wasn’t into monogamy. He had ended the relationship the evening before when he found her kissing with another guy at a bar.

“So that’s the story. Two women in under a month.” He sighed and downed the last of the cold coffee.

“You’ll find someone who’ll love you for you, Chris. You just need to open your eyes.” You told him and walked away with the mugs. Secretly hoping he would love you back.

Day 169:

Another month passed. Chris had dated a new woman each week, but you had started your weekly movie nights again. It was better to have him in your life than not at all, even though it hurt you to see him kissing another woman on the covers of every magazine and gossip webpage there exist.

So, you did what every sane person would do. You dated. None of the men you dated were Chris or anywhere like him. They didn’t make you laugh, feel safe, feel giddy nor did you feel anything for them except pity.

You even started pitying yourself for dating these men.

Day 252:

Chris was overseas filming another movie. You were on a skype call with him.

“I think I’ve finally found the one.” He told you. Your heart sank as a gorgeous woman came into the frame and introduced herself as Chris’ new girlfriend. You had to admit, she was very sweet and kind to talk to, she even made you laugh at a few womanly inside jokes.

“She seems amazing, Chris, congrats.” You said as the woman left the room.

“I’d like to introduce the two of you officially, when I get back home.” He said with a big goofy smile. He was head over heels in love, and it just hurt you even more, but you plastered on your biggest sincere smile and carried on.

Day 286:

You got back home from work, tired, exhausted was more the word for how you felt. You had been working almost non-stop for a month, every day of the week to get the costumes for a new movie ready. The grocery bags in your hands were heavy, so when you looked up from your garden gate and saw Chris sitting on your porch swing with his head in his hands, you let out a gasp. He looked up. Your eyes locking, his were red and teary. You dropped the bags and ran to hug him, as he walked towards you with his head down. You slumped to the ground with Chris sobbing in your arms.

“Shh, Chris. It’s okay.” You hushed, trying to comfort him.

An hour later you were sitting in your kitchen. He had a cup of tea with a little whisky in it, while you were cooking dinner. His new girlfriend wasn’t the one either. Some jazz music playing quietly from the radio.

“You know what? I should stop.” He said after downing the tea.

“Stop with what?” You asked, looking up from chopping onions.

“Stop dating. I can’t find the right woman. I’ve looked everywhere. There’s no one out there for me. I’m doomed to die alone.”

“You aren’t going to die alone, Chris.”

“Enough about me, what about you? Why haven’t you found a guy yet?”

“I’m waiting for the right partner.” You whispered; you were feeling a bit cheeky having used one of his lines in Captain America.

“Tell me about him, your right partner.”

You thought about it. Maybe you should just tell him about your feelings, and end up ruining your friendship, but on the other hand, you were tired of hiding your feelings.

“He is tall, has dark hair, blue eyes, preferably a cute dog. He is an outdoor kind of guy, comes from the New England area. He is intelligent and compassionate, he is kind and stubborn, he is funny and determined. He loves movies…” Your voice trailed off as Chris stood from the stool, his thoughts going a million miles an hour. He was slowly realizing what you were saying. You were describing him. He looked at you. Seeing you for the first time. How could he have been so stupid? His dancing partner had been right in front of him the whole time. You listened to him when he had problems. You always had a hug ready for him, when he got home from filming. You always had his favourite beer in the fridge. You knew him in and out.

You were kind to his dog. Dodger would always sleep next to you and completely ignore him when Chris brought the adorable dog with him to visit you. You were a caring woman, who had sown Halloween costumes for his nieces and nephews.

He finally started to understand the weird feeling he had felt when you had told him that you were dating. The feeling of jealousy. The green monster. He wanted to turn back time and ask you out on that very first night you met when you drank an entire bottle of whisky.

“… and he definitely needs to have a respectable job.” You ended your rant. Chris was standing next to you. He caressed your cheek with the tip of his fingers.

“Chris? What are you doing?” You asked, stuttering the words.

“I just had an epiphany.” He whispered. His hands cupped your cheeks, forcing your gaze to look into his blue eyes.

“What kind of epiphany?”

“The kind that kicks you in the gut and tells you that you have been the biggest idiot on the planet.”

“Why is that?”

“I realized that I found my partner a long time ago.”

“Really? Who is she or he?” You teased nervously.

“You. You are my perfect dance partner.”

Without having noticed you had been led away from the kitchen island towards the more open area of the kitchen. You were moving to the music.

“Chris…”

“I’m slow, I know. Give me a chance to make it up to you. Please?”

A single tear escaped your eye. You nodded. He moved closer, his lips mere centimetres away from yours, making you take the choice of kissing him. Your lips crashed together, your arms folding behind his neck, pulling him closer. The world disappeared behind you. Nothing existed but the two of you. You had imagined kissing Chris for months, and your imagination didn’t do the real thing justice. He had soft lips, a strong stubborn tongue that probed around in your mouth, fighting yours for dominance. You kissed for what felt like an eternity, but it was only a short moment as you had to get up for air. He put his forehead to yours, breathing in each other’s breaths. His eyes were closed. A sense of euphoria washed through your body.

“Go on a date with me.” Chris said, his eyes still closed, afraid that you wouldn’t be real if he opened them. “Friday. I’ll pick you up at six. Please?”

“Chris, look at me.” You whispered. He slowly opened his eyes and looked into yours with uncertainty. “Don’t be late.”

Day 327:

You and Chris had been dating for 38 days. He had wooed you for all 38 days. He sent you new flowers once a week, brought takeout from your favourite places when he knew you were working late. He would drive you to work and pick you up again, no matter the hour. He just wanted to be with you, and you wanted to be with him. You had never seen him so happy, and it made you giddy every time because you were the one making him happy.

That evening Chris had invited you out to a romantic dinner. At the end of the meal, he ordered you a double whisky, no ice, while he himself went with a dark’n’stormy. The restaurant thinning out as the evening proceeded. Not long after, you were the only two guests left.

“Chris, maybe we should start thinking about going home, so they can close down for the evening.” You said and drank the last of your whisky.

“Sure. I just need to order one more thing.” He said and waved the waiter down. You watched as the waiter came towards you with something under a cloche. The waited lifted it and there was a small square box. You looked confused at Chris. He smiled took the box and opened it. Inside was the most beautiful diamond ring you had ever seen. Chris bent down on one knee in front of you. The waiter slowly backed away, giving you privacy.

“I love you, my sweet angel. You make my day brighter. You make me laugh, even during the inappropriate times. You pull me out of the house, even when I just want to stay tucked away from the outside world. Your smile alone brightens my world. Your laughter brings peace to my mind. I fell in love with you the moment you downed that double whisky when we met. I was just too blind to see it. I love you, and I want to keep exploring our love. It was always you that I was looking for. So, even though we have only been dating for a month, I still want to ask you. Will you marry me?”

You had tears in your eyes. You covered your mouth and nodded.

“Yes! YES! Yes, I’ll marry you.”

#Chris Evans #Oh man #My story #Fanfiction #Fluff #My fic #Chris Evans x reader #Chris Evans x female reader #Request #Anon request #Anonymous request #It was always you #I need a drink #Short Story #chris evans fanfic

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make-me-imagine · 3 years

Note

congrats on 5.5k!! you're insanely talented and I'm so happy you're getting the recognition you deserve 🥺🥺 could i join in the ship requests too?

I'm a rather small sized (like, 154cm & ~40kg kind of small) Asian female from a South East Asia country and i prefer men, especially men who are taller and Age Gaps™ 🥴 I'm not sure how much you know about/believe in astrology but I'm a Libra sun, Taurus rising and Capricorn moon so you can do what you want with that 😂

I'm an INTP/INFP (I've gotten both an equal number of times from sites OTHER than 16 personality, tho I personally vibe with INTP just a teeny smidge more) if you do MBTI ✌🏼 I LOVE to read, especially fanfiction lmao, and i also write! I really love listening to music + watching shows/movies too! My favourite shows are all mystery/crime based LOL and I am working towards becoming a criminal psychologist/forensic pathologist/forensic scientist in future! (heavily inspired by Criminal Minds, Sherlock, Detective Conan and the like so 😂) I have a really vivid and good imagination please i can spend DAYS just daydreaming and imagining scenarios that I never finish writing about & generally this is how all my work is never finished loll

I'm the eldest sibling at home, and my parents haven't always been around so I've been rather used to stepping up and taking care of myself (+ my sibling, like helping them with homework and all). Some people say I'm a natural born leader? idk bc I often step up to be the leader in group work & I'll often be the one to initiate things & all. I'm a rather big procrastinator though LOLL so you'll often catch me rushing my assignments & final projects & rushing my revision for exams + finals like, 2 days before the actual exam 💀 which often leads to me becoming more stressed out & breaking down more often than i actually should so 🥲 I'm trying to quit this bad habit though

I love cuddles and hugs please I will KILL for cuddles and hugs from my back by a tall character pls it just feels so safe and comforting to be spooned too 🥺🥺 sometimes when I'm too absorbed in work or something (which happens too often for it to be healthy) I might just forget to eat/sleep entirely AND also my sleep routine isn't the best. like i will literally fall asleep at 9pm, wake up in the middle of the night on my own at like, 1am, then usually I'll be rushing homework at this time, then maybe sleep again for a short while from 4ish? till when i have to get up for school/work at 5:30/6am 💀 there's been days where i literally looked so sick from the lack of sleep where my tutor once stopped the class to ask me if I was okay and if i was going to faint LMAO 😔 i feel like I'm a night owl??? but then also i have no problem getting up super early in the morning so?? but i really feel most at home and really enjoy the 3am nights 😌

i am also the class clown lol but it's bc i just make sarcastic comments and all and my friends think they're funny???? but also i enjoy making people laugh bc sometimes i find it interesting to try and see what kind of things make my friends laugh so it's lowkey an experiment? or like something i want to achieve? at this point. I'm fluent in English and Chinese/Mandarin and I'm learning Italian so I roughly know some basics, and I really enjoyed History, which I took last year but dropped this year. (I'm taking English Literature with Biology + Chemistry this year and they're all great, except I'm literally dying from the workload aaahhh 💀)

I'm kinda clumsy and Not Good™ at most sports, maybe passably okay for badminton but I'm really not that athletic and really not very keen on exercising either 😔 I'm quite creative and good with public speaking/creative writing/impromptu performance/speech though I'd say! I'm also in my school's drama club 😎 though I'm more of a backstage lights & sounds kind of person. I'm right handed (with a really neat handwriting, as I've been told many, many, many times) and I wear thin frame spectacles which I sometimes will fall asleep in & I'm so clumsy/careless that I'm actually really afraid I'd break them (it's happened before 😭)

I'm a really good planner? like i can do up a great and detailed schedule/plan for revision and all but i will NOT stick to what i plan 😭😭 i love to snack!!!! on chips + gummies especially, and my diet is quite unhealthy lmao i literally don't eat vegetables At All™ & i don't really eat meat that much too?? lmaoo please i can go for days without having a single proper meal & just survive on snacking on potato chips + soft drinks 💀 i am a very picky eater though so really me not finding food i like/am able to stomach is also really kind of my fault 🤡

while i really vibe with and love the dark academia aesthetic, i also do video/MOBA games, like i play games like Mobile Legends & all. I'm someone who knows most, if not all the lastest trends (like tiktok, memes etc) but i won't actively participate in them? i just kind of like to know things, like Knowledge is Power you know (I'm a Slytherin, in case you're wondering, though I've gotten Ravenclaw so often it's a close tie sometimes)

okay i feel like that's enough details about me? feels like I've told you nothing that's useful oh well LOL... I'd really love a ship for Criminal Minds and Marvel? if that's possible please? in case you missed it, i prefer men! (I'm a questioning bi, with a strong preference for men) for the hc prompt "what you do on your first date" or maybe "how you met + first impressions"?

thank you so much for being so kind and willing to do this ship requests thing!! I'm sure you're spending TONS of time and effort on this and aahhh i feel bad for typing so long paragraphs now (as you may have noticed i have a tendency to ramble on if not stopped because i am just really Socially Awkward ™ sometimes 💀 and have really bad (social) anxiety too) and i really think you're super amazing for doing this??? I'm so sorry if this took up too much of your time aaahhhhh thank you so so so much 🥺😭😭 really the biggest of congratulations to you for your 5.5k??? you really do deserve every single follower & i am SO insanely happy for you 🤩❤️

- 🌙🏒 anon

Don’t worry, you definitely provided enough information lmao.

And thank you for your kind words, I appreciate it.

I hope you like the ships I made for you

They are under the cut:

Criminal Minds:

I ship you with Hotch.

You get the age-gap here lol. He would be a bit hesitant due to the age gap at first, but he would get over it because he can not resist. He does not seem like the type of cuddles, and especially does not take part in PDA. But when you are alone he would love holding you and spooning, especially after a long day of work. Aaron would be attracted to your uniqueness as well as your intelligence and aesthetic, finding it to be very “you”.

How you met + his first impressions:

You met when you were transferred to the BAU as the new Forensic Pathologist.

Hotch thought you were very interesting when you first met and was definitely intrigued by you.

He thought you fit in fairly well and would get along with the others (which you do).

He appreciates a sarcastic sense of humor, so he would dig that as well.

Hotch could tell you had a form of anxiety and wold be patient around you when you first met so that you could open up to him at your own pace.

What you do on your first date:

He takes you to a hockey game.

He is not the sportiest person but he has had an interest in hockey for a while, sometimes watching it on tv.

When he learned that you liked it, he decided that this would be the perfect opportunity to invite you on a date as well as to see his first game.

After the game, you walked around town for a bit, getting some late night food and talking or a long time.

This allowed you to open up to him quite a bit and you grew more comfortable around him as well, which he is very happy about.

Best Friend:

Your best friend is JJ. She thinks you are really cool and unique and nice. She has the type of personality that is easy t get along with and open up too, so you bonded with her quicker than the others. I also feel like she is into hockey as well, so she appreciates your love for it as well.

Marvel:

I ship you with Sam.

I think Sam is a good fit for you. He is into sports, and digs your aesthetic. He is easy to get along with and very funny. He thinks your line of work is very interesting and loves to listen to you talk about it. Sam also really enjoys crime shows ans thrillers so he is always excited to meet someone who enjoys them as well.

How you met + his first impressions:

You met through Nat, who you had met through SHIELD years before.

You happened to be at the compound with Nat when Sam was there and she introduced you.

He immediately thought you were pretty and very interesting.

Sam could tell you were shy, but that did not stop him from flirting.

Though he also made some jokes and was easy going as to not scare you off.

He made sure to ask Nat about you once you left and managed to convince her to give him your contact info.

What you did on your first date:

He took you to the movies first, to watch the most recent crime thriller that came out.

After the movie you went to a nearby park and walked around, talking about the movie and other crime/horror related stuff.

You got food at a food truck and sat by the fountain together.

He was appalled when you told him that you didn’t eat that often (if came a part of your relationship later on that he would try to cook you meals that you’d like just so you WOULD EAT).

You ended up spending hours together, and it felt like no time at all.

So you were definitely up for another date with him, which he of course asked you about.

Best-Friend:

Natasha. She was the first one you met, and slowly introduced you to the others. She thought you were really cool when you first met and was surprised at how well you go along. That is sometimes hard for her to do, so once you became friends she never took that for granted. She and Sam would gang up on you when you weren’t eating btw.

xxaaron

#ship #ships #ship request #5.5k ships #anon ship #anon #ask

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the-silentium · 4 years

Text

Let us thank you

Masterlist

Pairing: Eddie Brock x Reader, Venom x Reader

Warning: Extreme fluff, smut

Words: 3850 words

A/N: Gif is not mine, credits to the owner. Thank you for the request! This is my very first smut, hope you guys will like it. Please leave comments!

Requested by: @reddeath1888

#11 & #35

“Don’t you dare throw that snowba-, goddammit!” “You heard me. Take. It. Off.”

A pristine white layer of snow had fallen on the city, making you jump in glee at the sight. You were used to white winters, with the cold wind and snowflakes hitting your red cheeks, the dark evenings by the fireplace enjoying a nice mug of your mum's special hot chocolate and the endless days passed outside, playing in the snow with your neighbors. Winter had always been your favorite season because it was a sign that the Holidays were coming soon, but more than anything, you loved playing in the snow.

Sadly, since you moved from your little hometown in Canada to San Francisco for a job opportunity, the winter you knew changed. The winter after your moving you waited very patiently for the white blanket to fall on the city, only to be disappointed on Christmas when it never happened. Never before did you passed the holiday without the oh so loved frozen water. At this moment, you started doubting your life choice. Could you live in a place where snow is as mythical as Santa?

You had seriously thought about your existential problem for a couple of days and concluded that yes, you would have to live in this city, for your pay was very good, your apartment very comfy and the neighbor a sight for sore eyes. If needed, you could give your parents a visit and enjoy the benefits of your country’s weather.

Now, 4 years later, you didn't regret your choice. In January, soon after your decision of staying in the American city, your neighbor showed up at your door, a sheepish smile on his face. Like everyone else in San Francisco, his apartment was plunged into darkness and all his food needed a certain form of cooking. Sure, he could have ordered some food, but his cell phone was dead. Your hospitable personality made you open the door and invite him inside to share your food. Fortunately for you, you finished cooking your meal just before the electricity stopped flowing through the wires and killed your slow cooker. Sharing a hot stew and a nice sugar pie, you learned a lot about your guest. He was a journalist who moved from New York some years ago to be with his ex-fiancé who broke up with him because he used her access to some legal documents to expose a killer. They both lose their jobs but he managed to clean his name after 6 months.

You found yourself intrigued by him. He looked like the king of guy who you would like to hang around. He seemed sweet, funny, smart and you would dare say trustworthy even if he did stole information to his ex-fiancé. You didn't know if you could have held a grudge at him for that. After all, he tried to expose a sociopath who took advantage of innocents who didn't understand what they were signing for.

When a yawn escaped your mouth, Eddie thanked you for the food and the nice chat. He invited you over a week later when his oven would work and he could attempt to cook something edible for you. You laughed and smiled at him, warmth spreading in your body to the possibilities that having dinner to his place could lead to. You couldn't deny that he was handsome and that you had already imagined how exhaustingly pleasurable a night with him would be.

Now that you looked at him, his lower abdomen hidden from your view but his chiseled chest perfectly on display, his hair still messy from the activities of the night prior and his relaxed expression, you are glad that you chose to stay. You have never been happier than with this man at your side, even in the bad days of your relationship. They were often related to their possessiveness over you, because apparently, you are too naive and kind for your own good.

Oh. Yes. You know about the alien renting your boyfriend's body. You met him one night when Eddie took you out on a date. You were both on his bike, getting back home after a romantic dinner at an Italian restaurant when a drunk driver decided that the red light was a new sign for let's roll even faster and hit Eddie's bike at a crazy speed. Every time the brunette took you on a ride, you always enjoyed having your head on his back, your eyes scanning your side environment and not the front. This time was no exception, causing your heart to stop beating for a second when you saw the car coming at full speed in your exact position. Your muscles reacted quickly, your hands tightening on your boyfriend's jacket and eyes closing tightly in anticipation of the impact.

To your surprise, you didn't die. You expected pain, some broken limbs, a lot of blood… and more pain. But none of that happened. You felt an impact, but it was like you were in a pool of jello. The impact was weakened, everything around you seemed to be undulating and every sound was muffled. Maybe it was your adrenaline kicking in, numbing all your senses. After all, you never felt an adrenaline rush before so you couldn't compare. When your eyes finally opened, you realized that your senses weren't muffled by your fight or flight hormone but by an enormous beast with the most frightening rows of fangs you have ever saw.

You remember the panic that consumed your thoughts and paralyzed your body. Tears were staining your cheek while all you could do was stare at the black creature who got you pressed against its chest with its bulky arms. A whimper escaped your mouth, his pristine eyes meeting your frightened gaze. He seemed to open his mouth to talk, but the second his fangs moved, you tried to push yourself away with all your might. Your greatest feat was that you had managed to keep the content of your bladder in your bladder. It passed really close, but the gates remained closed and your ego was still intact. Closing his mouth and hiding his fangs from your view by doing so, the dark creature you would soon know as Venom took you home. You may have been paralyzed in fear back at the crash scene, now that you were in your apartment it was completely different. You hadn't realized it was your apartment. Just that he took you through a window and let you down. It was then that the real adrenaline kicked in. Your heart quickened its already fast pace, your breathing following the lead. A sudden surge of courage made you feel invincible and, without thinking much about your action, you throw your arm back while curling your hand in a tight fist and put all your strength in the punch directed at the middle of its black chest.

You didn't expect the surface to be so hard, nor did you expect the disturbing crunch of your metacarpal bones breaking. This pain, you felt it very clearly and boy did you regret your move. You had a good boyfriend though, he appeared underneath all the black mass and tended to your physical and mental wounds. He answered every question you had about the alien while getting you to the hospital to get your hand checked up.

Back to the matter at hand, the snow on your window sill was very tempting. So tempting that you couldn't help but to open the window and make a little ball out of the cold flakes. You loved the feeling of the snow melting in your hand, memories playing in the back of your mind. Suddenly, a smile crept on your face, a hilarious plan forming into your mind.

Gathering a bit more of the precious snow, you shaped it in a no too tight ball and hide it behind your back. You didn't want to hurt him with a too-tight ball at close range, but you wanted it to explode all over his chest. As quietly as possible, you made your way back to your sleeping boyfriend. Luckily for you, he wasn't a light sleeper, especially when both symbiote and man joined forces to give you a complete night of sensation and pleasure. The following mornings were generally passed in bed, cuddling with feather-like touches and small kisses.

Climbing in the bed, you straddled his abdomen and peppered his face with kisses while slowly touching his exposed chest. In no time, a black snaky head formed near Eddie's head, a small toothy smile greeting you. His low purr made you giggle before you greeted him with his daily good morning kiss on the head.

You had made it your personal mission to thank the symbiote every day for saving your life. The boys repeated you countless of time that you didn't have to do it, Venom was happy to save you from any danger, but you wouldn't have any of that. It started with baked goods. He always loved your cookies and cakes, so each day there was a tray full for him. You never told them, but you wanted to give the symbiote cookies because he still scared the shit out of you at first. This tactic had as a goal to keep him away from you while maybe gain his good graces. You had them already but all you could see in him was a dangerous predator and every time he was fully out, the hair on your neck would rise. But then you finally saw the soft side of him. It was there for you the whole time, only for you, but you were blinded by the fangs, the wicked talons and the difference of height. He had always been delicate around you, cautious to never cause you any harm or scare you off for good. He could smell your fear whenever he was there, saddening him that he couldn't have his affection returned. Eddie was there to cheer him up and show him to be patient. Your reaction was normal, you just needed time. All his efforts paid off in the end because one day after he had defended you from Eddie's eternal teasing about your 'Canadian spirit' (all that because you can't stop yourself from saying sorry) you had kissed his head as a thank you for helping you. He had blinked at you several time, seemingly processing the interaction and suddenly a loud purr resonated in the room. Your laughter surprised even yourself and you couldn't resist but pet Venom's head like you would do a cat. His eyes closed in bliss and the purring continued for a while. He wasn't as monstrous as you initially thought, so you changed your thank you tactic for kisses on the head. With time, your kisses held a much more different meaning. Venom could feel your affection in them and in your manner of interacting with him, in your little touches, your smiles, and whispers at night. He thought he was glad that he had found his perfect host, but he was really glad that his host had found the perfect partner for both of them.

Venom returned your kiss with a little lick on the cheek of his own, satisfying his craving for your contact. His little head nuzzled your neck, leaving little licks here and there. You returned to your task of waking up your human boyfriend, placing your hand not holding the snowball on his cheeks, the feeling of his subtle facial hair tickling your palm made you smile. How you got such a handsome gal and his symbiote in your life was beyond your understanding. You were so normal, sometimes you couldn't stop yourself but be shy in public when you were with him. You would try to make yourself small, but they wouldn’t have any of that, instead getting you to the front if the attention and showing you off. His wonderful girlfriend, he would always say.

Your gaze meets a sleepy blue one, his lips moving to form a smile while a hand moved to your buttocks. He never told you, but you knew he loved it when you wore his shirts. Every time there was one on the floor, you would pick it up and wear it with nothing else. At first, there weren’t a lot of them, he would usually throw them in the laundry basket but some didn't make it because he got home late at night and was too exhausted to reach the basket. After some time of your form wearing only his shirts around the apartment, you started to find his shirts on the floor more often.

"Good morning gorgeous." His raspy voice reached your core, making you blush lightly. You hide your face in the crook of his neck.

"Good morning handsome." You kissed his throat following by his lips and sit back up on him. The snowball started to melt in your hand so you had to make your move soon. Your radiant smile made him frown in confusion.

"Today is not Christmas, right? I think there's another month before that." His question made you laugh. You shook your head and started to trace forms on his chest.

"You're right." You stopped your tracing and leaning down to his ear. "Last night, something spectacular happened." You whispered.

His hand on your ass tightened in recollection of last night’s activities. Little did he know that you weren't talking about that. He grunts in approval to your statement and shifts a bit beneath you. You straightened once more and smiled sweetly at his naked form.

"You see, it snowed last night and I thought that you would like to feel it." You said, getting on your knees and ready to throw the snowball at him, your hand in the air.

He immediately tried to protect himself with his arms, forming an X between you and him. His eyes were wide open and his voice urgent.

"Don't you dare throw that snowba-, goddammit!"

You couldn't help yourself but throw it at his chest, bypassing his bad protection. In a second, you were on your feet and ran for the kitchen in an attempt to put distance between you and the cursing man. Your laughter led him back to you in seconds, his pissed expression making you double over and clench at your stomach. His strong hands got a hold of your body, carrying you over his shoulder to the bathroom. He put you in the shower, cautious that you won't fall in the tub while Venom started the cold water. Your laughter stopped immediately when the cold water came in contact with your skin and a shriek escaped your lips. You tried to get out the tub but Eddie's strong arms blocked your escape.

"I'm sorry!" You shouted in an attempt to make them stop. Soon after, the water warmed up and Eddie joined you under the shower.

His lips found yours, initiating a well-known choreography. Your hands found their home in his hair while his were busy unbuttoning his navy shirt from your body. When he managed to open the all, he lost no time in getting it off of you, your hands leaving the softness of his hair for a moment. Your lips never let go of his, exploring the well-known territory that was his mouth. His hands got to your rear once more and a subtle tightening of his fingers told you when to jump and wrap your legs around his waist. His firm cock getting in contact with your skin got a low moan from him, the sound muffled by your mouth locked on his. Desperate for air, you pulled away, panting. His mouth shot to your throat, kissing and sucking on all your tender spots he passed so much time mentally mapping.

His thumb found your bundle of nerves, applying a good amount of pressure and being awarded by your moans. He played with you a bit, alternating between your clit and your entrance, working out your patience. He loved to hear you beg for his cock inside you, loved how desperate your kisses become after a bit of teasing. However, he had to be cautious because if he pushed you too far, you knew how to use Venom to your advantage and Eddie would be in the passenger seat while Venom took control of his body. The symbiote wouldn't come out, but everything would be him. He would control his limbs, his voice, he would have the feelings first hand and Eddie would have the remnants. Now, he couldn't have that. Maybe later, but certainly not now.

Impatience flashed in your eyes and Eddie was quick to silence you with a passionate kiss. The head of his cock teased your entrance, a buck of your hips telling him to hurry. His hard shaft slowly got in with ease, you walls deliciously tightening around him as if to welcome him. It was there that he truly felt at home, in you to the tilt, connected to you in the most intimate way and allowed to share every feeling with you without any shame. With each trust your panting accelerated and your moans became louder. Music to his ears, your voice encouraged him to go faster and deeper, reaching spots that he knew would get you to your climax and get him over the edge with you.

His name was your anchor. You moaned it in pleasure, a sweet devotion in his ears. Your fingers tightened in his hairs and he knew you were close. His thrusts became erratic, unable to concentrate on one thing. His thumb returned to your clit, giving you the pressure you needed to reach your orgasm and trigger his own. Both your moans resonated in the bathroom, the sound of the shower faint in the background. Eddie's legs were shaking a bit due to the force of his climax, but he got a good grip on you, Venom helping a lot. Closing the shower, he got you out of the tub and slowly put you on your wobbly feet.

You both dry yourself quickly and made your way back to your shared bedroom. Eddie followed you, his eyes mesmerized by the perfect form of your ass. He got a perfect view of your pussy when you bent down to get another shirt of his that was laying on the floor and put it on. Eddie tried to stop you from doing so but failed when you ducked under his arms. Quickly, you fastened the buttons and smiled, victorious.

"Love, I need this one today. Got an interview at 2." He put his hand in front of him, palm open up as if you were going to give it to him. Fool. Shaking your head, you took a step back with a playful smile.

"No. It was on the floor, I can take it." Was your simple answer. Frowning, Eddie made his way toward you in his naked glory.

"You heard me. Take. It. Off. I need it. It was clean and just fell on the floor." He presented his hand again and you shook your head again.

"And you heard me. No." At that, Eddie jumped forward and grabbed your waist. If you will not give him his shirt, he will take it. Before his hand even started lifting the fabric from your form, you hit him with your secret weapon. "You won't let a pregnant woman all naked in the cold, would you?"

It did the trick, his hands stopped moving immediately and his breath caught in his throat. He blinked, just like Venom when you first kissed his head, and his mouth opened in silent words. His hands let go of the shirt and slowly moved to your stomach. He frowned and his face took a concentrated expression. You knew he and Venom were communicating. You could feel Venom's heat through the fabric of Eddie's shirt, probably searching for proof of your saying. When Eddie's eyes returned to yours, tears were menacing to fall, his hands shaking a bit on your belly, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

"Since when do you know?" His voice is low, almost afraid that you will tell him that it was a joke even with the confirmation that a little being was growing inside your womb. He felt the tiny heartbeat with Venom's sharpened senses.

"Two days ago. I haven't been in my period in a while, so I tried a test." Putting your hand on his, "Congratulations, daddy." The tears accumulating in his eyes finally spilled and fell on your joined hands. Seeing his reaction made you tear up too, his happiness being contagious. His lips meet yours in a quick kiss before his laugh reached your ears.

"I can't wait to see your showing belly in my shirts." He kneeled in front of you, pulled the front of the shirt and got his head in the shirt, his face on your belly with the shirt on the back of his head. Wasting no time, he kissed your skin and whisper sweet words to your unborn child, his facial hair tickling you. From your place, it seemed like you had a bump instead of your boyfriend's head and the shirt was already tight with the extra flesh.

"I think I'll have to change to your sweater, your shirts will become too tight very quickly." You touch his head like you would do your growing belly. You couldn't wait for the child to be born and present him or her their amazing father. Getting out of the piece of clothing, Eddie got up and nodded, beaming.

"Good idea." He hugged you tightly, "You don't know how happy you're making me." His voice was muffled by your hair, but you heard him clearly. You knew he would be happy. You two had already talked about having kids and you remember how Eddie was scared that you wouldn't want to have a child with him. You were quick to correct him, but you knew he didn't completely believe you. Now, it was happening and he was overjoyed. "Thank you."

"It was a team effort." You kissed the side of his head. "Well, more like you made all the effort but now it's my turn for 9 months, so team effort." He laughed at that. "More seriously though, I always wanted a kid with you Ed. So thank you." You tightened your arms a bit around his back and shrieked when he suddenly lifted you and put you on the bed.

His wicked smile told you everything you needed to know. Kissing your lips, Eddie made its way south, kissing an invisible path toward your wetness. You protested a bit but was cut off by Eddie's tongue on your clit.

"Let us thank you properly, love." His low tone made you shiver and suddenly you forgot why you tried to stop him from touching your aching flesh.

Tag List: @slither-in-a-half @a-frozen-bag-of-corn @noshi-chan

#venom (movie)#eddie brock x reader #venom x reader #snowball #showersex #first smut

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dark-and-kinky-hetalia-scenarios · 4 years

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1p Romano/Lovino Vargas

Sfw

You’d meet Romano in Italy on your vacation

He’d be really sweet and flirty towards you

He’d offer to show you around Italy, and how could you refuse?

You quickly learn about his tsundere side, especially when he talks about certain people

He’ll take you to his home and cook incredibly meals for you

As your relationship grows he will teach you to cook traditional italian dishes

He’ll also show you his garden where he primarily grows tomatoes

When he takes you out to have fun with him, you’ll have to stop him from fighting people who hit on you

He’s an excellent dancer though and although he hates when people come near you, he also likes to show you off.

He’ll cuddle with you during siesta

Nsfw

He may be a great lover in bed, but he isn’t very kinky

Getting him to do bdsm related stuff is hard but not impossible

His seize though, oh boy, you’re in for a treat

He is a fan of dirty talk though and loves it of you do it too

Of the things he likes sensation play and body worship is among them

He’s a master at giving oral, and is happy to demonstrate

He’s usually not rough unless he’s feeling angry or possessive

Normally he is very romantic and medium gentle

Has a little bit of a feeding and food kink

#hetalia #hetalia lemon #hetalia headcanons #hetalia scenarios #1p hetalia #aph south italy #aph romano #lovino vargas

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toneelspeelster · 5 years

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food. the druck s3 meta post.

i’ve spent too much time thinking about the implications of food in druck’s s3 (bc it was a very prominent visual) so here are my thoughts on it. druck is very specific in what they show and what they don’t; food is in this season an abundantly amount of times.

food is something nurturing; something that sustains you; something that helps you in your daily life. food is, in this season, shown as a something that mirrors love. it’s included to show when matteo feels good and when he feels awful. it’s about love.

so the first time we hear about food in this season is when hans asks matteo to get something from the store for them all; linn doesn’t know how to make pancakes and jonas says he does. jonas, by all means, knows how to share love. he’s been in a relationship, he had practice. he’s talked to matteo and knows their friendship is very special to him (esp after s2′s breakdown). matteo immediately says no to getting anything for hans; he’s very reluctant to let anyone too close to him. eventually, he does go for the store. matteo wants love, he does. he just doesn’t know how to get it. the next time we see food is when sara’s mum gives him a cake to give sara. he knows what this kind of nurture, kind of love this is, but he’s awkward with it - he puts it on a shelf far away from where sara is. he’s feeling far removed from it and from her. he’s not able to give the love she wants.

but then! matteo gets a taste from the sort of love and nurture he desires from his roommates and from david! linn learns to cook and shares it with him; with david he makes an impossibly distasteful sandwich - it’s something new! it’s a bit awkward! but they made it together. it’s the sort of love he’s been looking for.

he’s been aching for it so much so that when matteo hasn't got anything himself; he starts taking it a little illegally. matteo aches for nurture from someone but he's not getting it and he doesn't know how so he steals it. people notice it though and call him out for it. but matteo keeps receiving inklings from the love he wants; david sends him a message with cheese sandwiches (multiple! good-looking sandwiches!) bc he’s got a lot of love to give matteo. then he starts ghosting him.

matteo however still wants him to know he’s willing to give them a chance, to want to start giving the love he has to someone else; he says to david he wants a cheese sandwich again. then, after finally kissing each other and spending the weekend together, the only shot we get of food is this one; of food eaten - love has been consumed; they started to taste it.

matteo even resorts to making pasta; something he must've grown up with and is a way of showing love to himself - he even offers it to the girls! which is unusual for him, apparently! on thursday, matteo and david share candy - it’s their first date together. like they did on their first hangout at matteo’s: they eat.

david even helps him connect to a roommate by buying him a sausage. then everything goes to shit so matteo can't help but go back to food he knows but doesn't help him a whole lot: cheese sandwiches that look like the ones he made with david. but it’s not toasted, the cheese has barely been touched - it’s not how he remembers it being. he’s aching for the love he’s been given before but can replicate it on his own. he barely eats. he mostly smokes.

deciding to come out is a healing, nurturing process for matteo. he starts out by buying and sharing food with jonas - he’s opening his heart for others to start to know him a little better. he showed someone his love by telling him a very personal thing that was bothering him and gains the support he’s been needing. and in return hannah, hans and amira all offer him food! they offer him their love, bc they know he needs it and he accepts it all!

but the absence of food returns in ep 8; only in a small scene we see matteo carrying something newly bought, contained in a bag. it’s in a scene with his mother, something he’s been worrying about for so long - love and nurture is within his reach but he keeps it contained for that clip. then, after he’s accepted he’s in love, wanted to reconnect and witnessed something horrible happening to his love; matteo once again goes back to his self-loving homemade pasta. he shares it with a lot more people than he’s done before. it’s bc he accepts their love and support (and kindly asks them to back the fuck up lol).

then matteo goes to david’s place; you wouldn’t think food would fit but then there’s tomatoes next to laura on the table! it’s just laying there, not being used. both laura and matteo want to be there for david so very much, want him to know he’s loved, but as for now their love has to wait. and in the next few clips there’s no food to speak of (david’s seemingly not even taken anything with him in the pool scene!) but after david and matteo have reconciled and had their first time together, laura introduces matteo to a new dish he’s unfamiliar with (but likes and eats it in a way that is reminiscent of how he learned to eat things with an italian dad presumably); kind of inferring that matteo and david are entering a new sort of love; where new things get discovered and where a new family is formed.

in the end, it all comes back around to the boy squad though. in the scene where david joins their hangout, a bowl with chips is ready to be eaten. no one’s eating from it but it’s there. matteo prepared some food for his best friends in case they want it; they don’t have to eat it but it’s there! matteo’s sharing love. and it all comes full circle in the crew love clip: matteo both receives and appreciates the food/love he gets from jonas but also shares it once again with carlos.

matteo even starts to sneakily sprinkle his love into other people’s lives: he prepares a sandwich (their food!) for his boyfriend for a moment in his boyfriend’s life he’s so very nervous for. so in the end, love and food have been intertwined in this season through a metaphor of give and take. of willing to share and willing to receive. or, to say it in matteo’s terms of love:

#druck #druck meta #davenzi #matteo x david #matteo florenzi #david schreibner #jonas augustin #carlos schmidt #abdi ates #hanna jung #amira thalia mahmood #hans brecht #laura schreibner #sorry i had FEELINGS ABOUT FOOD lmao #i apologise this is so huge and long lmao #deal with it #and this is all the stuff i actually remember so sorry for things i didn't notice!#mine

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itstheapocalypsebaby · 5 years

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TUA Power HCs Part 1!

Luther

Discovered them at age 3 (He was the first)

He accidentally broke one of their nannies fingers

Had trouble controlling his strength (still does)

For personal training Reginald first made him build up his body

Because just cause he had incredible strength, didnt mean his body could take said strength

He used to accidentally break his arms when he used too much strength

They always healed fast though

As if they never broke to begin with

Baby Luther used to hide the fact that he broke/sprained/bruised his arms, legs, basically any part of his body because he felt like a failure whenever he got hurt

Later in life (maybe at 10?) Reginald discovers that Luther not only is super strong but also had super endurance

(Special Training was not fun that year, Reginald wanted to see how long he could last without food, water, air, shelter, etc.)

After that year, special training was a mix between building up his strength (weight lifting heavier and heavier objects every week) and building up his endurance (running around the room carrying a crap ton of weights, carrying a really really heavy weight and Reginald seeing how long he could carry it before his body gave out)

Diego

They first discovered his ability to breathe underwater first

Diego unlike his sibling absolutely adored bath time as a child

He would stay in the tub for hours if he could

One time his nanny had to leave him in the tub because one of his siblings was having a tantrum

She comes back to a sleeping Diego

Who's asleep in the tub

submerged in water

Was lowkey jealous of his siblings' powers while growing up

Reginald was so disappointed in him for having such a "useless ability"

Poor baby took it into heart :(

Special Training was awful before he found out his secondary power

Reginald wanted to see how long Diego could last underwater (he discovers Diego could last an indefinite amount of time down there)

He stopped liking water after that

He finds out about his secondary power at age 6

He likes to help Grace in cooking and usually cuts up the vegetables for her

He gets really good with the knife

So when Reginald demands he learns to wield a weapon he immediately chooses the knife

At first its was all stabby stabby but then one of his siblings goads him enough to rashly throw the knife at them

His aim is perfect. The knife is sailing through the air, going exactly where he wants it to be, except he wanted it to be in their head and oh god Diego panics, he didnt mean to throw that knife he never meant to hurt his siblings and he loves them and -

The knife is sailing towards his sibling's head and then it suddenly curves

Diego runs up to his sibling and hugs them and apologizes

Diego never wanted to pick up a knife after that

But then through some persuasion (Allison), he forgets the incident and picks it up again

Special training is all about accuracy and precision. All about moving targets, really tiny targets, living targets

Reginald wanted to know how much he could curve, what could he curve and all that jazz

Diego learns Physics because its an absolute must

(He learns how hard he has to throw for it to curve that much, how fast it needs to be to keep in the air even after it curves, how heavy should the knife be if he wants this specific result)

At first its hard and because he can curve anything he likes through pure instinct why does he need to learn Math?

But Reginald wants him to be as accurate as possible

(He motivates Diego by putting Mom and his siblings in situations where one false error could lead to their deaths)

He learns physics quickly

(Five and him bond over physics, Five helps him, He helps Five until Five gets too advanced and well...)

He actually gets super good and can do equations on the fly

People are constantly surprised at the amount of math needed for his powers

Allison

as a kid had absolutely no control on when her powers would activate

it would activate all the time leading to a lot of accidents

one time she snapped at Klaus to stop talking and he couldnt speak until she was able to reverse it

Reginald decided the best way for her to control it was through trigger phrases

she went through a lot of them because it wasnt cool enough for her

there was "listen up", "somebody once told me" (someone always interrupted her, usually Klaus, with the world was gonna roll me so she dropped it after like 3 uses) and a bunch more before settling on the iconic™ "I heard a rumor'

early on she learned that she had to be very precise with the wording or else the rumor wouldnt turn out the way she wanted it to

so special training was mainly focused on her wording, her pronunciation, and her learning other languages

allison is fluent in italian, french, spanish, mandarin, filipino, somali, she also can speak in a bunch of other languages but isnt super fluent

allison was actually pretty ok with special training until she was 10

thats when reggie brought in actual real life people

until that point she had only rumored her siblings (reginald actively encouraged it as long as he wasnt the one who got rumored) and occasionally the businessmen who came over to talk deals and shit

reggie was smart and only brought in people he was sure no one would miss, homeless hobos, drug addicts, people who lived by themselves and didnt have much family or any family at all

at first few meetings, she could stomach the feeling of wrongness

it was still easy for her to reason that what she was doing wasnt really wrong after all the commands she was issuing were really mild (like i heard a rumor you stubbed your toe, i heard a rumor you could play the piano perfectly)

they were just testing the reach of her powers

(could it rewrite your brain? create illusions, hallucinations? make you gain talents you never had? make you feel things?)

(reginald already knew her rumors could affect the memory, no need to test that, same thing with if her rumors could affect herself)

but then the more they pushed the boundaries the darker the rumors, the harder it was to stomach this sense of wrongness that threatened to swallow her whole

(could it override survival instincts? could it fake relationships? could it wreck relationships? can the human mind take multiple rumors at once? how about multiple conflicting rumors? how many rumors does it take to break the mind?)

its a lot easier to deal with special training when you cant remember

(but in her dreams she cant forget, she wakes up screaming, absolutely terrified and cant remember why)

Klaus

at first thought everyone could see the ghosts

actually he thought they werent ghosts cos they didnt appear to him with their death injuries

realized they were dead people when he accidentally walked through them

at first the ghosts were ok (they were mostly the nannies vanya killed so they were nice) they were loud and sobbed really really loud all the time but they didnt actively seek him and so he didnt actively seek them either

he still didn't like his powers even back then when they werent as bad as they are now

since he didnt really have any interest in his powers, reginald forced him to use them more, to explore them

klaus really didn't want to talk to any ghost so Reginald locks klaus into the mausoleum for the first time

this is where everything goes to shit btw

Klaus is absolutely terrified because these ghosts arent like the ghosts in the mansion (the nannies)

these ghost were malicious and horrible and they were dead for so long that they lost any sense of self or humanity in them

this is where klaus develops his fear of the ghost and his powers

this is where klaus loses a grip on his powers and it causes horrible repercussions

he sees the way they died now

and it terrifies him even more

from ages 8 to 11 hes facing the full force of his powers whenever hes trapped in the mausoleum

every session his fear gets worse and worse

the ghosts appearance actually reflects on how he feels about them actually

thats why ben and dave dont look awful

and why the rest of the ghost do

klaus loves ben and dave

he's absolutely terrified of the rest of them

he discovers that drugs numb their abilities when one of them gets hurt badly during training and is on really heavy pain medication

maybe it Five who broke 5 ribs when sparring because luther forgot to control his strength

Five couldn't jump at all when he was on those meds and he hated it

but Klaus? the moment he put two and two together he jumped at the opportunity to temporarily get rid of his powers

he would purposely get super banged up during training just to get rid of his powers and it scared the living shit out of his siblings

they ask him to stop and he does, he doesnt like it when he scares his siblings

but the ghosts get too much and klaus is severely tempted to fuck himself up to get that sweet relief that the pain meds provide

he stumbles upon Reggies alcohol cabinet and discovers that while getting drunk doesnt exactly cut off his powers it gives him this buzz that makes it a lot more bearable

he discovers drugs when he sneaks out one night to get more booze

he starts off with weed and gets hooked

the ghosts are always worse after coming down so he scrambles to get high as soon as possible

he doesnt try anything harder until ben dies

after ben dies he spirals

TUA Power HCs Part 2 is coming up in a bit, ask me if you wanna get tagged for it :)

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missdelphinilestrange · 4 years

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1ST RULE — tag some muses you would like to know better.

@crucioslut @tmvoldemort @lokilaufeysonslytherin @thestrongestmagic

2ND RULE — BOLD the statements that are true for your muse.

current muse. Bellatrix Black - Bellatrix Lestrange

fc. For this blog there is no face claim

occupation. Student at Hogwarts, War Lieutenant / Dark Witch, Lieutenant to the Ruler of the Wizardry world, Delphi’s mother

age. 47 years old - Born. 1951 - 1998

Sexuality. Bisexual

APPEARANCE:

i am 5’7 or taller

i wear glasses

i have at least one tattoo - Azkaban tattoo on my neck, and a small rose tattoo on my left shoulder with this saying “i’m as pretty as a rose as long as you can look past the thorns that are my flaws” (not many know about the last tattoo)

i have at least one piercing - both my ears are pierced, along with the top of my left ear

i have blonde hair

i have short hair

my abs are at least somewhat defined - only because I workout a lot

i have or have had braces

PERSONALITY:

i love meeting new people

people tell me that i’m funny - humor is the only way I can really cope with my childhood trauma, so I’m often told I’m funny

helping others with their problems is a big priority for me - usually only with my sisters, or very close family. when Sirius broke out of Azkaban, I gave him a bit of my food that way he would have a bit of energy before going on the run, but I told him to tell no one I helped him

i enjoy physical challenges - it’s something that’s always been enjoyable for me, because going to the gym used to be the only way for me to escape my strict and controlling parents

i enjoy mental challenges - I’ve always been very intelligent above my years, and I set records in Hogwarts for perfect scores in all classes for my OWLs and NEWTs, so even as an adult, it’s fun to get a challenge

i’m playfully rude with people i know well - I’ve always been playfully rude or sarcastic to people I know well, because I can’t do that around my strict parents since they always said “sarcasm isn’t ladylike” or “acting like that won’t get you a husband” and my close friends and family know that I’m unruly and they accept me for that, which is why I act different in public than I do around my close friends and family

i started saying something ironically & now i can’t stop saying it - I always say “just because I kill people doesn’t mean that you can” to my youngest sister whenever she gets mad at someone. Ever since I watched Toy Story 2, whenever someone asks if I’m calling them a liar, I always say “well, if the boot fits” and then they usually punch me

there is something i would change about my personality - I wish I had the ability to stop rolling my eyes at every person I don’t like

ABILITIES:

i can sing well - singing as a child always helped me deal with whatever I was going through, so I started taking singing lessons

i can play an instrument - piano, guitar, flute, and violin

i can do over 30 push–ups without stopping - I often did push-up competitions with my friends and cousins as a child, and from that, I’ve gotten quite strong

i’m a fast runner - I used to run away from my problems as a child: quite literally, because when my parents would scream at me I’d start running away, so I learned to have a lot of stamina from a young age and run really fast

i can draw well - I always liked to draw pictures of my little sisters, and I ended up getting really good at it

i have good memory - I have really good memory, but a terrible attention span

i’m good at doing math in my head

i can hold my breath underwater for over a minute - This is because I used to go underwater while swimming and pull people down by their ankles just to scare the shit out of them because it’s funny. I stopped doing that though when I got kicked in the face

i have beaten at least 2 people in arm wrestling - this is because they’re either weak, or I cheated by kicking their shins which distracted them

i know how to cook at least 3 meals from scratch

i know how to throw a proper punch - I’ve always been very strong, and I learned how to punch by doing boxing with one of my older cousins. many people talked bad about Andromeda after she was removed from the family in the summer before my seventh year at Hogwarts, and since I knew how to punch really well, I ended up sending a lot of kids to the hospital wing that year (probably a few hundred). After Sirius was removed from the family, I got in a lot of fights with my fellow death eaters because they were talking shit about him and it made me mad. Needless to say, people don’t DARE talk bad about anyone in my family anymore.

HOBBIES:

i enjoy playing sports - Quidditch

i’m on a sports team at my school or somewhere else - During Hogwarts, Slytherin Chaser for Quidditch

i’m in an orchestra or choir at my school or somewhere else

i’ve learned a new song in the past week

i work out at least once a week - I started working out as a kid (about 8 years old) because I wanted an excuse to get away from my parents. Then, when I was 10, the reason I worked out was because I was skinny but I didn’t have much muscle. When I was 12, the reason for me working out was because I was insecure about how short and skinny I was, and I wanted to be stronger that way I could beat the shit out of anyone that made fun of me for it.

i go on runs at least once a week - running was the way I got away from my problems as a kid, and I guess it just stuck with me

i have drawn something in the past month - I drew a picture of my little girl, Delphi, playing with the flowers in the garden

i enjoy writing - writing helps me to get rid of all the stress and anxiety that I always try to hide

i do or have done martial arts

EXPERIENCES:

i have had my first kiss - first year, I kissed Rabastan to see if Rodolphus would get jealous. It backfired and Rabastan ended up in the hospital wing. I guess Rodolphus was jealous.

i have had alcohol - when I was in my first year, a seventh year I was friends with sneaked a bottle of whiskey into the dormitory during one of the house parties. I’m just amazed we didn’t get caught

i have scored the winning goal in a sports game - in my second year during quidditch, right before the other team caught the snitch, I scored ten points, and because of that my team still won even thought the other team had the snitch

i have watched an entire season of a tv show in one sitting

i have been to an overnight event - Slumberparty at a friends house

i have been in a taxi

i have been in the hospital or er in the past year - I had to visit someone I beat up that way he wouldn’t press charges. In my defense, before I even hit the guy, he tauntingly said “what are you gonna do, hit me?” so it’s his own fault for being dumb enough to say that

i have beaten a video game in one day

i have been to another country - Germany, France, Italy

i have been to one of my favorite band’s concerts

RELATIONSHIPS:

i am in a relationship - Voldemort and Rodolphus

i have a crush on a celebrity

i have a crush on someone I know

i have been in at least 3 relationships - 100s throughout Hogwarts years

i have never been in a relationship

i have asked someone out or admitted my feelings to them - Admitted feelings for Voldemort

i get crushes easily - especially throughout Hogwarts years

i have had a crush on someone for over a year - Voldemort

i have been in a relationship for over a year - Rodolphus and Voldemort simultaneously

i have had feelings for a friend - many times, especially during Hogwarts years

MY LIFE:

i have at least one person i consider a best friend - Narcissa

i live close to my school - only during Hogwarts years

my parents are still together - for some unknown reason, but yes

i have / had at least one sibling - two: Andromeda and Narcissa

i live in the United States

there is snow right now where I live

i have hung out with a friend in the past month - Narcissa

i have a smartphone

i have at least 15 CDs - Mostly classical music, but a few are American muggle music (but no one knows about the muggle songs, and they never will)

i share my room with someone - only during thunderstorms: sometimes thunderstorms are scary due to childhood trauma, so those nights are usually spent cuddled next to Narcissa for comfort and safety

RANDOM STUFF:

i have break danced

i know a person named Jamie

i have had a teacher with a last name that’s hard to pronounce - as a child, the French piano teacher the Black family hired Jakob Fínêtyeá

i have dyed my hair - multiple times. once because Sirius and Lucius teamed up and put brown hair dye in my shampoo, and followed me around for weeks calling me Andromeda. the second time my hair was dyed was recently when Lucius put purple hair dye in my shampoo and followed me around calling me Nympadora Tonks

i’m listening to one song on repeat right now - “Teenagers” by My Chemical Romance because I’m emo as hell

i have punched someone in the past week - Lucius when he put purple hair dye in my shampoo and followed me around calling me Nympadora Tonks. Narcissa then yelled at me because I broke Lucius’s nose

i know someone that has gone to jail - me, and majority of my family / friends

i have broken a bone - (as an adult, running an errand that required to go to Hogwarts) the reason was because someone was talking behind Sirius’s back saying that he’s a disgrace to the Pureblood name, and I got in a fight with that kid. Sirius saw that both of us were bruised and bloody, but I didn’t tell him why, and I never will

i have eaten a waffle today - yes because I have a terrible sweet tooth

i know what I want to do with my life - as a student: teacher, artist, actress, ministry worker: unspeakable or working with magical objects. as an adult: writer, lieutenant death eater, artist, spell maker, singer, musician (not many people know about any of my jobs other than being a lieutenant death eater)

i know at least 2 languages (fluently) - English, German, French, Italian, Gaelic, Russian, Greek, Latin, Spanish (I come from a very culturally knowledgeable family, and intelligence is very important, henceforth why I know so many languages)

Idea From: @tmvoldemort

#bellatrix black #bellatrix lestrange #bellatrix #harry potter #hp #muse

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findmeintheafterglow · 5 years

Text

A Guide to Every Single Newsie

There are way too many of those punks. If you’re new to all this come learn whom is who

Let’s start with some pictures, they’re blurry because it’s surprisingly hard to get a decent screenshot. There are lots of them but hopefully just seeing their faces a few times will help you. Recognizing them just comes with time trust me, I used to struggle to find Race and now I see a pic of someone's feet and am like “ah yes Finch my boy”. Also, I’m only covering the newsies live cast because that’s what you can legally watch and what most people are familiar with. Also, I didn’t want to do every cast member to ever be on Broadway or tour.

Please note some of the things I’m about to say may not be canon but are part of what I know is widely considered true within the fandom. As far as sexuality I may mention it with some characters/who they’re commonly shipped with just so y’all aren’t lost when you see fics and things.

Jack: You know Jack so I’m not going that deep into his character. He’s 17, full name Francis Sullivan, newsie nickname is Cowboy. He’s the leader of the newsies of Lower Manhattan. A charismatic asshole who really just wants meaningful relationships and happiness for those he loves. Undeniably bisexual. Played by Jeremy Jordan.

Davey: Full name is David Jacobs, newsie nickname is Walking Mouth though he’s only addressed by his nickname in the 1992 movie. The most educated, attended school until he was around 17 ish. He’s a doofy little nerd and also mom friend ultimate, I repeat bc this is a defining trait Mom Friend Ultimate. I’m not sure if this is canon but pretty much everyone recognizes that he and his family are Jewish. Played by Ben Fankhauser.

Les: Sassy angel child. Full name Lesley Jacobs. Albert calls him shortstop a few times but it’s not quite a newsie name tm. 10 years old(almost). Also pretty Jewish. He’s kind of an impressionable little firecracker, he looks up to all the newsies but especially Jack. He just has a lot of energy and wants to hang with the big kids. Sass master in training. Buckets of charm packed into about 4 feet of human. Played by Ethan Steiner.

Crutchie: Crutchie! You know him! You’ve already fallen madly in love with him! Lost use of one of his legs to polio. Last name is Morris for sure and a lot of people say his real name is Charlie. Jack’s closest friend. He’s often painted as a pure sunshine boy, he is a pure sunshine boy. However, he is also tough, streetsmart and ready to fight. Very kindhearted and eternally optimistic. Played by Andrew Keenan-Bolger(you may see it abbreviated as AKB).

Race: This boy has lots of names so strap in. Racetrack Higgins is his name, people mostly call him Race not Racetrack. He is also sometimes called Racer. I don’t think this is canon but as a fandom, I think we’ve determined that he’s aggressively Italian and his real first name is Antonio, you may also see Anthony or Tony. Best friends with Albert. Crutchie is Jack’s best friend but Race is sort of Jack’s second in command. Sprace, him and Spot Conlon, are pretty much the biggest ship in Newsies. He’s a gambler and has an affinity for betting on horse races. He sells by the Sheepshead Racetrack hence his nickname. Very easy to recognize because he always has a cigar. The definition of a disaster gay. He has good intentions most of the time but is also a chaotic piece of shit. Played by Ben Tyler Cook(BTC).

Albert: Albert DaSilva is his name, having fantastic hair is his game. Race’s best friend. Personality is similar to Race but a little less chaotic, like he still does dumb things all the time but isn’t nearly as loud. Prankmaster and Sassmaster ultimate. Lives on the lower east side with his dad and two older brothers but generally that fact is ignored and he’s lumped in as living in the lodgings. His cap is on backwards most of the time which can help you recognize him. Played by Sky Flaherty.

Spot: Spot Conlon, the man, the myth, the legend. Leader of Brooklyn. Comically short but will also soak you without hesitation. Side note bc I didn’t know this for a long time: the newsies call beating someone up “soakin’ ‘em” because you beat them up so bad they’re soaked in blood. Back to Spot, he’s tough as nails but also cares about his boys in Brooklyn a lot. Played by Tommy Bracco.

Elmer: A smart yet small boy. Very good at math and science and somewhat interested in politics. He has 8 older siblings. Polish apparently? I learned this very recently?? A very friendly and sunshiney guy. The newsies make fun of him saying that he’s bad at selling papes. He’s a hardworker. This is definitely not canon but you may see his last name as being Kasprzak. This comes from Evan Kasprzak, the actor who played Elmer in the Papermill and Original Broadway Casts. People like writing about Elmer so they just kinda gave him that last name and it works. Played by Anthony Zas.

Jojo: Jorgelino Josephino De La Guerra where to begin. A good Catholic boy. He was raised by nuns in a cathedral in Harlem. A nice boy, a kind boy. Down for some shenanigans but is generally reasonable and doesn’t want anyone to get hurt. Very ambitious and wants to be a big baller(in KONY he wishes for a solid gold watch I mean). Played by Joshua Burrage.

Buttons: Benjamin Buttons Davenport, what a guy. So I don’t know that he’s actually younger but he definitely reads as a little more youthful. He’s optimistic and easily excitable and overall kinda has this genuine hope and happiness that some of the other guys have lost to the street. He lives with his family and has at least a few siblings but I feel like he has hella. Not gonna be last in line for the tub tonight. Played by Chaz Wolcott.

Romeo: Will flirt with anything that moves. He has very distinctive bright red and blue striped socks if that helps you identify him. Is one of the younger newsies but makes up for it with overconfidence. Very lighthearted, we never see him get too serious. A charmer through and through. Still a very kind and caring guy. Played by Nico DeJesus.

Specs: Specs is a good one. He wears glasses obviously so you can identify him pretty easy. Definitely on the older end of the newsies. There’s no basis for this in canon but I feel like he’s been around longer than Jack. Kind of helps lead and run things with Race and Jack because he’s the most responsible motherfucker in that lodging house. Think kinda like Davy where he’s a bit of a mom but more easygoing, less cautious and more one of the boys. Generally a happy guy and so so sweet. Very forward thinking and genuinely likes selling papes. Played by Jordan Samuels.

Finch: Finch! A personal favorite please show him love. Full name is Patrick Cortes. He has a family(or at least a mom) but ran away when he was little. He carries a slingshot with him a good amount of the time so use that to find him. He’s sarcastic, funny, and always rarin’ to go. Tough but not in an “I’ll fight you” way. He will fight you if needed but it’s more like “Life’s a bitch but look how far I’ve made it”. Kinda like a cool older brother vibe but throw in a good handful of antsy. Played by my main man Iain Young.

Sniper: Mkay it’s time for the tough boi trio, these next three are fighters. Last name is Wah. His dad is named Sam Wah and owns a laundromat above Jacobi’s Deli. You may see him as a girl in fics or hcs because for almost all of the tour he was played by a woman. Boy has aim like no other. He is confirmed to be the quickest and strongest of the newsies. Also sly and cunning. Boy’s like a snake or a fox or whatever simile you prefer but regardless be scared. Has a reputation so people don’t mess with him. Would never hurt another Manhattan boy, he’s scary but he defends his brothers. Played by Daniel Switzer.

Tommy Boy: Don’t know a ton about Tommy Boy but here we go. He’s a man of few words, when he talks his answers are brief and to the point. Not in a mean way though that’s just how he is. Appears to be confrontational as he’s consistently seen stepping to a fight(before the world will know when Jack says “keep your shirt on” and when he scabs he gets in people’s faces). A good dependable guy but kinda mysterious, I would not provoke. Played by Michael Dameski.

Mush: Last name is Myers. First name is possibly Nick? In the real strike, there was a boy named Nick Myers so. He lives in Harlem?? But who cares about canon, ignore that. Mush is a ‘hattan boy. Has a lisp. He considers himself to be the muscle of Manhattan and will throw down for his brothers. When the strikebreakers show up, Jack literally has to hold him back because Mush is just trying to get to those hoes so he can protect the rest of the boys just yellin’ “Nah man I’ll get ‘em”. Very caring and very selfless. Boy’s got muscle but is totally a teddy bear with a heart of gold. I’ve always thought of him as your classic rough and tumble but clean-cut caring all-American boy. Played by Nick Masson.

Henry: Last name is possibly butler after the real life newsboy, Henry Butler but the only confirmed name we have is Henry. Became a newsie at 11 when his dad died and his family lost their deli. Has a mom who he still sees sometimes but doesn’t live with. Boy really likes food. It reminds him of the deli with his dad and also he just really. likes. food. Fairly easygoing, practical, and will call guys out on their bullshit(e.g. whom the fuck cares about being famous). Played by Michael Rios.

Smalls: Smalls! I don’t got much at all but here’s what I know. Very commonly thought about as a girl as Smalls was played by girlsies for all(?) of the Broadway run. Pretty firey or at least high energy. Sometimes headcannoned as being leader of the Bronx because in the normal not filmed staging he’s the one to yell “so’s the Bronx”. Played by Julian DeGuzman.

Mike: Twin brother of Ike. These guys are hard to tell apart because they’re played by actual twins but here are some distinctions. Mike wears a brown cap, a plaid shirt, and green socks. Played by Jacob Guzman.

Ike: Twin brother of Mike. Has a dark grey cap, a striped shirt, pin-striped pants, and brown socks. Both twins seem to be pretty fun-loving. They kinda rough house a lot and are often messing around. Played by David Guzman

Hotshot: A Brooklyn newsie, I don’t really know his deal? A typical production doesn’t have Hotshot in it but he was in the filmed version and was apparently there towards the end of the broadway run. Kind of arrogant and tough. Sometimes seen as Spot’s second. Has literally only ever been played by J.P. Ferreri.

Vince/Myron: Ok so for newsies live they just threw in some extra newsboys for the heck of it and this guy is one of those. I don’t even know his name because the actor who plays him also plays a strikebreaker. On the wiki cast list, it just lists him as playing Vince and Myron with no indication as to who’s the newsie and who’s the strike breaker. Just from the nature of the names I can guess that Vince is the newsie? A big tough Brooklyn boy. Played by Stephen Hernandez.

Willie/Bart: Same deal as Vince/Myron. I’d be willing to guess that Willie is the newsie. Another Brooklyn boy. Played by Andrew Wilson.

Kenny: Also thrown in just for newsies live but I actually know his name. A pretty sunny guy, as far as I can remember he’s always smiling. Not in any of the pictures because he’s not in any of those scenes. It’s the same guy who plays darcy so go to carrying the banner or once and for all and find the guy in the yellow suit. That’s Darcy, Kenny looks just like that but in newsie clothes. Played by Jack Sippel.

Am I about to throw Bill and Darcey in just for kicks? yeah I think I am. Ok so this is a last minute decision and I don’t have pictures for these guys but here we go.

Bill: Not a newsie. Son of William Randolph Hearst, owner of the New York Journal. Full name William Randolph Hearst Jr. Katherine and Darcey’s friend. A sophisticated, classy, educated boy. Not tough in a street way but is kind of cold/reserved or maybe just a bit calculating. You can definitely tell he’s a rich boy by the way he holds himself. Looks like Mush bc they’re played by the same actor. Blue suit. Played by Nick Masson.

Darcey: Not a newsie. Son of Whitelaw Reid, owner of the New York Tribune. Still high class but more excitable and interested in the newsies world. Very kind and always concerned of behalf of others. His sweetness does not equal weakness, when Romeo approaches Kath in Carrying the Banner, he’s ready to handle the situation. Yellow suit. Played by Jack Sippel.

so there we go that is every newsie I could think of and then some. I’m gonna attach the pictures I have of an old wikipedia cast list which is what I use for reference since the one that's on wiki now isn’t great

That’s it! If you actually read all this, God bless you. If I got anything blatantly wrong or if you have any questions please talk to me

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