#and personally i think by its very nature it couldn't be the found family story people wanted it to be because its impermanent | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

alatismeni-theitsa · 4 months

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It is natural for humans to place importance on our ancestry and ethnic origins, its just human to want to be part of a bigger story. Last summer I visited my great-grandparents homeland and got to see the village they grew up in. Seeing family farm and talking to people who knew our family was incredibly touching and made me feel deeply connected to the country and to our history. I mean, my ancestors lived and toiled on that land for generations, long before the current borders existed. Our time in the US is recent and short in comparison. So I don´t think one can entirely dismiss the importance of heritage and ancestry to the individual.

That post didn't dismiss the importance of heritage at all. It just said that your blood alone won't make you less culture-shocked or better adapted than other people, when you have little to no contact with said culture. No one discouraged ancestors of immigrants against contacting the culture. I'm very happy about your good experience and I find it natural for locals to get excited and happy when finding out a person hails from their area.

There's a variety of reasons some nations care a lot about their grandparents' area/country and others do not. I've found that mostly people from the US feel strongly about the old place of their family. Perhaps it's the feeling people have in newer nations. I guess it was a very big thing "leaving for the US" instead of "leaving for Portugal", "leaving for Germany", "leaving for Egypt," and so USAmerican families hold the old land dearest in their hearts.

In fact, USAmericans seem to have their lineages recorded better than many other countries. (Exempt are the cultures that do ancestor worship or have similar practices) Someone does need to tell me if USAmericans think every person in the "old world" has a written lineage and we are all constantly proud of what our ancestors did, and have a deep connection to how awesome our 3rd great-aunt was.

The truth is, most of us don't give a fuck. And yes, I'm talking about 3rd-4th gen. immigrants (and sometimes those of refugees), too. People migrate through countries and areas all the time, and yet this feeling is not as strong. I will tell my experiences in a while.

But in general, I haven't seen the same strong feelings in European, Middle Eastern, and African friends. (there are always exceptions and this is my personal experience) For example, Greeks (who live in the freaking Balkans, where we know no one is a 100% anything) rarely talk about their ancestry and if they do they just say "hey my grandma was from X place" and the rest of us say "cool" and we continue with our lives.

A few might remember their family history because of a heroic ancestor or because their family had epic drama. Greek refugee families from Minor Asia tend to remember their "lost fatherlands" (dir.trans.) because the trauma of the 1920's is still palpable in the family. But this is a different flavour of longing than what I hear from USAmericans.

"It's just human to want to be part of a bigger story" you said, and I agree, but this idea doesn't seem to have the same impact on many nations.

Enter: me. <3

I've never visited the places/countries my great-grandparents and grandparents came from, and where 3 of my grandparents grew up (when they died they hadn't been to these places for 50 years minimum each). I have a famous Greek uncle, the cousin of my grandpa, whom I never met. I always saw him on TV but our lives never intersected and... well my life went on.

I don't feel a tangible connection to these people and lands. I mean why would I? I'm a complete stranger to them. Part of my line couldn't been in Egypt for 14 generations and I will never know (well unless I take a DNA test) but even if I learn it won't impact my life whatsoever. What am I supposed to do? Go to Egypt and walk through Cairo shouting the surnames my dead family members had? My family could be only in Greece for 50 generations and I still wouldn't care. 😂

On the Greek and foreign places my great-grandparents (and even half my grandparents) are from: I definitely don't consider myself part of those specific cultures and subcultures. Once I had to Google what type of language one country spoke (I knew the language name cause..geography). I couldn't even imagine myself living there without serious social adjustments. It would be nice to visit and learn stuff about the local culture, for sure, but I would feel like a tourist still.

Two weeks ago I saw a woman from the village of my great grandma in the market. We exchanged a few "ah ok you're also from there, cool!" And that was the end of it. What else are we supposed to say? There was no ✨ deeper connection ✨ or something. Why would I care about their opinions on family members from 100 yrs ago - only in case they remembered them - whom I never met and I don't know if they'd like me?

(Funny story, a Greek friend of mine thought her grandma was from Austria and it turns out she was from... Thrace 😂 She just was in Austria for work for a couple of years. This didn't impact her interaction with her grandma at all 😂 I don't know how but it was a very short conversation because we just didn't care much)

Also last year I commissioned a traditional clothing piece in a village very close to my grandpa's village in Greece and not only I didn't know the terminologies for that village but also for my grandpa's village. The complete stranger on the phone had to tell me that stuff and explain to me the importance of each piece and how the villages separated themselves through clothing. (I also accidentally offended him with how I called a thing). Sure I can imagine my grandpa living there, but things have changed there since the 1930s. Houses, markets, roads, these are not the same things he saw when he was there.

My dad just shrugged when he saw how the village (in another country) my other grandpa is from today. I didn't feel a magic spark either tbh. I deeefinitely don't know shit about the place. We have more of a connection with the old refugee families in our area than people from that village.

Blood alone won't familiarise me with these cultures and subcultures. I have to go through the learning process like every other foreigner. A Chinese immigrant (to name a place from far away) living in these cultures for a decade now has a better understanding and connection to them than I do today. It would be nice if someone from these places remembered my family but I don't think they do. It comes off as desperate - in my case - to say "Remember this family who lived here a hundred years ago?" What is the average person supposed to know 😂 I don't even know the old families in my own hometown. I know some surnames, alright, but people personally? naah..

Ofc sometimes people remember their diaspora relatives and they keep in touch, so when you go to that country you have still a "root" there to familiarize you with the current culture.

My family is not the golden standard but I gave examples to demonstrate how people can view ancestry.

I don't disregard the strong feelings about the place of origin. I don't think it's a negative thing to want to find out what happened in your family. But locals can get uneasy when someone from a family that hasn't stepped foot in this land for 3 generations comes around, and think they will fit right in. The locals can tell the cultural difference, even if they remain silent. One example for Greeks is... the Bachelor show - of all places - and for Italy one episode from the series White Lotus presented this situation accurately.

That doesn't mean locals don't feel happiness or affection for that person. I know I'd be happy if, after 3-4 generations I saw my diaspora cousins up close and we talked about Greek stuff. It would just be a cringe if they pretended we didn't have any cultural differences and that Greece is today exactly how their grandparents left it. I guess most people just ask for a reality check + empathy with the locals when someone comes from abroad.

Guys, if you are not from a recently-founded country what are your experiences with this?

#gives me suggestions on how to tag this #answered #ancestry #diaspora

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kscribbs · 7 months

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For the fanfic asks: 😅, 😈, 🤡, 🍦, 💖 and 🤲🏼 (plz 🥹)

TYSM for the Qs, Dani! 🥰

What's a story or scene you've created that you're a smidge embarrassed exists?

Soooo many, omg. I've been writing since I was around twelve/thirteen? And some of those early works -- oof. 😅 Up until a few years ago my first ever fic was still available to read on ff.net. It was... charmingly bad.

The original draft of ML has its moments too, I'll admit. Things that I am SO glad I changed/re-structured.

Has there been a point in a story where you did something just to be playfully mean to your readers?

Mayyybbeeee. >:) I knew what I was doing when I went straight from the scrying cliffhanger into a twelve year time-skip. I was a little worried about it being TOO jarring, in all honesty. Twelve years is a long time, after all. But hopefully that isn't the case!

There are a few scenes coming up in ML that I think may fall into this category, also.

What's a line, scene, or exchange you've written that made you laugh?

(Excerpt from the lil' Christmassy one shot I mentioned a while back. Set several months prior to the events of ML):

What's the sweetest fic you've created so far?

The Forgiven is pretty sweet! But ofc, the themes are somewhat... intense. Same goes for ML. I think the latter takes the cake in terms of sweetness, however. Given the romantic tones, later on. Not to mention all the familial fluff! Something something Winter/Jack/Blaise hug on the steps of Frost Manor... (There is an overabundance of hugs, which makes me, personally, very happy!)

What made you start writing?

Honestly? A desire to escape reality. I know that sounds a bit gloomy, but it's the truth. Whenever life got just a little too stressful/intense my natural inclination was to withdraw to the written word/the multiple fantasy worlds existing inside my head. I found it therapeutic! And continue to do so.

Would you please share a snippet of a wip?

For the longest time I couldn't decide which snip to include. Two stood out to me, and in the end I just said "fuck it, I'll post both", lmao. I dunno when I'm going to be able to get the next chapter of ML up (soon, hopefully, but life happens!) and I've been looking for an opportunity to share some write-y stuff. I think it's safe to say that I've plumbed the depths of that opportunity here -- apologies! 😂

(Lengthy -- and ever-so-slightly spoiler-y -- excerpts from ML under the cut!)

‘Is that really necessary, lady?’

‘Every detail counts, Council Member Cupid. Even that which might seem negligible on the face of it can lead to deeper truths. In any case, when you opened the door, Dr. Miller, there was no one there?’

‘No. No one.’

‘You didn’t even see a silhouette? A retreating shadow?’

‘…I’m sorry, no.’

‘No matter. How heavy would you say the footsteps were?’

Lucy frowned. She’d never thought of that before.

‘Fairly heavy,’ she answered, after several seconds. ‘Heavier than Jack’s, now that I think about it.’

‘Oh, well, thank you,’ Jack said, sounding rather flattered. ‘My secret is jazz-ice-size. Like jazzercise, but on skates. Very trimming.’

Ms Delaney noted this down. (The footsteps thing, not the “jazz-ice-size”). ‘You then stepped out into the corridor, and saw… what, exactly?’

Lucy described the detonator, the explosion, the retreat into what she now knew to be her mindscape. Coming to and finding the tunnel all-but collapsed.

‘Hm. And you were trapped there… how long, would you say? Before your brother — Charlie, is it? Yes, Charlie — came to your aid?’

Lucy’s knee was bouncing anxiously now, her palms clammy inside her gloves. She could feel her heart-rate beginning to climb, as she was plunged back into the darkness and claustrophobia of that night. Into the feeling of complete hopelessness, and the stomach-turning reality that she might die like that — frightened and in pain, struggling for breath. Somehow the memory still had the capacity to wound her, even after all these years, its remnants buried in the folds of her mind like broken glass beneath a shallow layer of earth.

‘F— ahem. Four hours, I think.’

Beside her, Scott released a slow breath. Lucy didn’t dare look at him, or any of the other Council Members. She disliked the sympathy and guilt mentions of the attack tended to garner. People suffered far worse, after all.

‘Give-give or take,’ she added, when the silence stretched on. ‘It’s all a bit of a blur now. Charlie just had this… sense, that something was wrong. And when he tried to call and I didn’t answer, he came looking. Took me to the hospital. I was fine.’

The image of her brother’s panic-stricken face swam, unbidden, to the forefront of her mind. Having managed to dislodge the worst of the wreckage he’d eventually shimmied his way through a narrow ingress to the place where Lucy’d lain — half-conscious and terrified.

‘Shh, it’s all right,’ he’d murmured, pulling her to his chest, one hand questing through her hair for the source of the blood she hadn’t felt trickling down the side of her face. ‘I’ve got you. You’re safe now, Squirt. I won’t let anything happen to you…’

Only then had Lucy allowed herself a moment of frailty, collapsing against him in a fit of muffled sobs. Which had turned to panicked gasps, which had turned to—

She cleared her throat, banishing the memory hastily.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw Jack’s long fingers twitch in her direction, and for the briefest of moments she thought he intended to take her hand beneath the table. …But no. He curled them into a tight fist at his side.

---

The room was dim, the muted glow of early morning falling across the walls like a running watercolour.

‘Look sharp, Frost,' Melusine whispered, dropping a copy of the New York Times onto his lap. ‘The two of you made the front page.’

After some difficulty Jack succeeded in freeing his arm (which was now decidedly numb) from where it had been wedged between Lucy and the sofa cushions, taking enormous care not to jostle her too much. Her hair — still a little curly from the humidity of the tunnel — slipped over her face, the light from Widener's Orb threading through it like pale fingers.

Doing his utmost to appear unmoved as she nestled further into his chest, and not at all like he was turning to slush on the inside, he picked up the newspaper, straightening it with a flourish. Sure enough, there, on the cover, was what looked like a bystander’s photograph of the spectacle in Times Square.

Jack grimaced, his gaze moving from the fifteen-foot wall of ice, to the ten-or-more car pile-up, to the startled faces of his and Lucy’s likenesses, and back again.

He swore under his breath.

‘It’s not the only one, I’m afraid,’ said Melusine, leaning forward to turn the page. ‘There’s a special feature. Look.’

He was greeted by two images: One of the mangled subway car, twisted and smouldering where it lay lengthways across the tracks, and a close-up of he and Lucy running hand-in-hand through the urgent press of commuters/NYPD officers, Lucy shooting a jet of scarlet light (an immobilising jinx, it looked like) over her shoulder.

“Senseless Social Media Stunt or Signs of the Supernatural? You Decide,” the headline read, in large, spidery typography.

“Do sorcerers live among us? How about superheroes? Or, indeed, supervillains? The answer might surprise you!

"Yesterday afternoon Manhattanites bore witness to a rather unusual -- and highly destructive -- chain of events, involving a nameless man (40s?) and woman (30s?), as well as a mysterious cloaked individual, who were captured from multiple angles using what appear to be magical wands/staffs (yes, really!) to wreak havoc in Bryant Park Station on W 42nd. As well as summoning ice and snow from thin air in the middle of Times Square! Elsa who?"

‘Shit,’ Jack said softly, rubbing his chin. ‘That’s… definitely not ideal.’

‘Mm.’

‘...They might’ve at least captured my good side.'

‘Is that really the thing to be focusing on right now, Jack? You don't think there might be more pressing issues at hand?'

#thanks again for the Qs!! ☺️☺️#anyone reading pls feel free to send more in! Although ofc no pressure!#I know it often takes me awhile to answer (I'm sorry!) but they are rather a lot of fun to do :D #(in this case the delay was bc the first snip was much longer and needed significant editing #and then I realised tht it contained a HUGE spoiler and cut it in half lol #so I needn't have poured over it for so long but AH WELL)#writing #ask box games #ML #Miller's Law #tsc #the Santa Clause #Jack Frost #Lucy Miller #adult!Lucy Miller #out of context those excerpts are going to make v little sense but I kind of like that 😂

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tu-sugar-mami · 1 year

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The things that could have been (2.1/3)

You can read part 1 here

You can read part 2.2 here

Roughly 4k words, the whole thing is 8k but Tumblr crashes when I try to post it, so half and half it is.

Warnings: lots of fluff and also angst. This story will not have a happy ending, read at own risk

_________________

After your inevitable arrival to the Beneviento estate the day next of receiving the letter, you were instructed by Angie to wait while she and Don–Don attended some, in Angie's words, 'Very important secret stuff'.

Patience was a virtue only reserved for your craft; time and carefulness were required for precise measurements and strokes carved on the wood in order to make a unique piece. You had to give credit to yourself though, as you waited in the living room for a good part of an hour before the restlessness got the best of you. Being a sweet little curious person by nature, you couldn't help but to wander through the place. Your gaze raked over the many trinkets that littered the shelves; from tiny glass figurines to objects you had never seen before. Lots of them you hadn't really noticed in your first stay, or more like you hadn't paid enough attention to them while your mind was constantly tugged between fearing for your life and having a great time with the host.

Walking around, you noticed pictures scattered around the walls of that first floor. Most of them with the glass looking old and unattended as the dust buried the images. From what you could see, the photographs portrayed a small happy family, but what caught your attention was the fact that the face of one of the two girls that made act of presence in almost every frame was covered by what appeared to be black paint. It was strange, unsettling, almost as if the Lady didn't want the girl's face to be noticed but at the same time couldn't completely bring herself to get rid of the photos altogether.

You hadn't stopped to think that the Lady probably grew up there, and it made you wonder, how was it for her? You knew she had lived for quite a long time by now, but it was hard to remember that she had also been human once. For a second, your mind wandered to images of a little Lady Beneviento running through the gardens with the happiest of smiles and the bubbliest of laughs and your heart skipped a beat at the happy thought.

The rumors back at the village always spoke about the family that used to live in that very same estate many, many –humanly impossible– years ago. At least half of the villagers believed Lady Beneviento to be the oldest daughter of them, but as it always happens, stories tend to change with time, and these days there wasn't a single person alive from that time to properly tell the story.

Your gaze halted its roaming at the sight of a larger frame hanging on the stairs wall. Had that always been there? The reflection of the light against the protective glass blocked part of it from where you stood and so your feet, on their own will, found their way up the stairs in hopes of getting a closer look.

Angie was the one that gave away the muse’s identity. The large portrait perched on the wall was picturing no one other than the Lady Beneviento herself. You had seen how she treated her doll, there was no way she’d let anyone else but herself hold Angie. Since you met the pair, there hadn’t been a single time where they’d been apart from each other, and though at first it did make you feel uncomfortable, you quickly learned to accept it.

The sight was mesmerizing. Whoever the artist was, they had an impeccable stroke. The way they played with the lights made the image appear to be bathed in a warm light, and the Lady’s eyes –so lifelike– reflected it in a way that made your heart skip a few beats. Was this really the person you spent the last month and a half with?

You couldn't help but to stare at the portrait for the longest time, forgetting any concerns and intrusive thoughts, instead letting yourself being consumed by the image in front of you. Taking in every small detail and drowning yourself in the beauty of the woman that had been kind enough to let you into her home, you couldn’t help but to let out a shaky breath of reverence. Even the strange feeling of being observed by the dolls that littered the room seemed to dissipate as in your mind, at that moment, only existed the image of the gorgeous woman.

Little did you know, your actions didn’t go unnoticed. A certain Lady had her many watching eyes on you….

After Lady Beneviento finally returned with Angie skipping in tow behind her, a light blush painted your cheeks. The portrait on the wall looked old, and it was possible that the Lady had different looks nowdays, but still you were sure that her beauty couldn’t wither, no matter how many years passed by.

As days passed by it didn’t take long for you to go back to your previous routine, going every morning to take notes on the new design, spending the day with Lady Beneviento, and returning to your cabin in the afternoon to work on the piece.

If anyone in the village noticed your sudden cheerfulness, certainly they didn’t dare to mention it. You weren’t blind, of course you noticed the puzzled and sometimes dirty looks they sent your way, not to mention the whispers behind your back, but honestly you couldn’t bring yourself to care when every morning you were welcomed at the Beneviento estate by the most heavenly smell of fresh home–cooked meals with the Lady herself expecting you already at the table.

Of course you weren’t complaining. The villagers could keep talking for all you cared, Lady Beneviento was nicer than most of them.

The next week, somewhere around 5 in the afternoon the two of you decided to spend some time in the porch, with your head was resting on her lap and her hand gently combing your hair as you read out loud for her.

You felt relaxed under her soothing touch, but were engrossed in the book enough to not fall asleep. When you felt the Lady’s fingers on your scalp stop, you lightly turned your head towards her, only for her to trace your jaw with her finger in a featherlike touch, and with the softest voice she urged you to call her Donna. You loved how her name sounded, and she loved even more the way you so sweetly said it every time.

When you were sure the Lady wouldn’t be bothered by it, her name became a very constant word in your daily vocabulary. You loved it, and you always uttered with the softest tint you could conjure. It was important and you would treat it as such.

Donna couldn’t think of the last time she enjoyed hearing her name from someone else. For years the only ones that ever called her that were either Karl, Moreau, her nieces and on rare occasions Alcina. Mother Miranda liked to call them by their last names, which Donna supposed it was a subtle way to hold –even more– control over her children, but as far as she knew, the bird woman never bothered with kindness. But with you… with you it felt different. You cared, and it showed. Donna couldn’t get enough of her name rolling on your tongue. You were hesitant at first, but with enough encouragement you became confident, and she felt proud of herself for taking the decision to allow you to use her name.

It was a thunderstorm that brought you to Donna's bedroom in the wee hours of the night.

Having the Lady just at the other side of the hall did very little to calm your hammering heart, and hesitant as you were, the fear you felt over the roaring sound from the skies overcame in its entirety the embarrassment, (not that you weren't used to the savage weather changes back at the village, but the vastness and emptiness of the manor plus the ferocious roar of the agitated waterfall made you skittish) and with a final push you dared to frantically knock on Donna's door.

Of course Donna wouldn't deny you; the rapid beating of her own heart at the thought of you feeling safe enough with her to seek comfort in her company gave away her excitement. As you found shelter in her bed, she could smell the scent of her favorite shampoo radiating from you lying next to her. Since Donna didn't tend to share her bed often, she didn't see the need to acquire anything bigger than a one meant for a single person, and never in her life was she more thankful for that decision when your bodies were mushed together, shoulder to shoulder, and she could feel your warmth against her.

Donna's mind was troubled that moment though, as she couldn't decide if it was correct to hold or not your hand, but as a new round of thunder made you shudder, the need to comfort the whimpering carpenter was too much, too powerful to ignore, and before she knew it, her hand was holding your own protectively.

As for you, you couldn’t remember when was the last time you had such a good rest. That night your dreams had been filled with sweet perfume and softness. What you didn’t expect though, was to wake up to the feeling of warm skin on your cheek and strong arms holding you close. Your lips were barely caressing Donna’s neck, and you would be lying if you said the way your legs were tangled with hers in such compromising position didn’t make the butterflies in your stomach fly in a hurry. You had to fight the urge to burrow further into Donna’s neck out of fear of removing her veil, deciding instead to settle for listening to the steady rhythm of her heart that slowly but surely lulled you to a light slumber once again.

If there was a way to describe heaven, you’d both silently agree that this was it.

Perhaps that’s why, sharing a bed whenever you had to stay the night became something that happened more often than not, regardless of the weather. Both of you tried to convince yourselves that it was for the best, a win–win if you will. Soon enough, without words, the left side of Donna’s bed was claimed as yours. It was so easy to slide into the claws of sleep when you had Donna’s body next to you; You were always too warm, she was always too cold. It was perfectly balanced.

If the Lady was bothered by your snoring, you certainly never noticed, although it was impossible for Donna to not like it. After so long of sleeping in deafening silence, the sound of your soft snoring –so peaceful and tranquil– became a sort of lullaby, never failing in reminding her that, thankfully, she would never be alone again…

A crazy morning it was, when you accidentally saw the Lady’s face for the first time.

It had been a clear day, although rare as it was still the last days of winter, but the sun was shining and the breeze was calm. No wonder it took you both by surprise when, on your way to the greenhouse, a particularly harsh wind blew Donna’s veil off, and you were unprepared for what laid under it. The portrait on the stairs was so wrong…

…it didn’t do her any justice at all.

Just as you had suspected, by the time the painting had been done, Donna had been a tad younger, for you could see her face had some features proper of someone in her early–thirties rather than her mid–twenties as the painting showed. If anything, she was even more gorgeous…

It took you all of your willpower to refrain from kissing her right there and then, but if you couldn’t do that, at least you wouldn’t keep your thoughts about her beauty to yourself. The way her dark eye glistened with unshed tears as you told her with the most delicate voice that she was gorgeous, it had no price.

Donna couldn’t remember when was the last time someone cupped her face so tenderly, and the sweet way you laid a gentle kiss on her forehead didn’t fail in calming her insecurities. Donna had never felt so loved before, even if she knew your love was platonic. Probably.

That very moment you swore yourself to never let a day pass when you didn’t remind her of how truly precious and gorgeous she was.

If anyone saw the things that happened inside the Beneviento estate, they would confidently assume that the couple living there was irrevocably in love with each other. Angie saw it herself, in the way you looked at Donna with lovey–dovey eyes like she was the most beautiful fae even with her messy bed–hair, pillow creases marked on her cheek and half squinted eye as she drank her –quite strong– morning coffee. She noticed how Donna started to hold your hand on your shared afternoons walks, always giving herself the time to gently stroke her thumb over your knuckles as you animatedly talked about whatever thing came to your mind at the moment. She witnessed with her own glass orbs the way your arms always circled Donna's waist as she cooked and laughed at your poor vegetable puns. Even something as simple as Donna locking her pinky finger with yours was enough for you to turn to her and look at her with so much devotion in your eyes.

Of course Angie knew.

As the months passed by, even Alcina knew; Alcina who, with a tint of teasing mirth in her eyes and a smirk on her lips, had made a comment or two about the sudden appearance of new furniture pieces in the manor (knowledge courtesy of the three bugs that regularly visited their aunt) that Donna most definitely didn't need.

Unbeknownst to you, you were the reason Donna and Alcina became closer. Perhaps the older woman finally felt compelled to participate in the sibling dynamic by finding something –or rather, someone– to tease her little sister about, and slowly but surely began to embrace the dollmaker in a way not even the many, many years of forced convivence could. It was hard since Donna was always secluded, and the countess was not a patient woman, but thanks to you Alcina could finally, after so long, accept Donna as part of her family, grow to love her as much the other two baby–men she called brothers (even if she first would be caught dead before admitting it out loud), and respect her for her worth.

Still, could Lady Dimitrescu really blame Donna for her strategy? Commissioning new shelves, coffee tables, doors, benches and such were the only way Donna knew to make sure you kept coming back. Sure, she was quickly running out of space to place all of your work pieces, but it was hard to find a reason for you to stay with her without the excuse of needing new furniture.

Was it selfish? Perhaps, but once Donna sat down in your usual spot on the couch, on one of the rare afternoons you were absent, she thought about it and decided that she didn’t like the solitude anymore, not when all she could think about was to have you there with her, even if just for a moment. Donna found herself sighing quite often, after she realized she was in too deep already.

Perhaps the excuses were necessary, but at least Donna could get away by having you stay longer. It was time to ask you to move in at least for whatever time you needed to finish the pieces, after all, the path to the village was dangerous and it was tiring to travel back and forth every day, but to gather the courage needed to propose you such thing was… nearly impossible for her.

Luckily for Donna, she had Angie to give her some advice.

Following her beloved’s doll instructions, the Lady put the plan in motion by insisting that you stayed the week as to not have the unnecessary trips tire you, even going as far as to have arranged your own workshop in the manor, and who were you to decline such kind offer? Especially when every morning you were woken up by such an angel, and the afternoons were spent with the Lady watching you work.

Oh how you both loved to be around each other. You thanked every god that was willing to listen for having met Donna. Your Donna… the hours of the day were not enough for every plan you had, whether the Lady wanted to show you a secret path to a cave hidden behind the waterfall, or you just wanted to help her polish the wood of her beloved dolls, the day seemed to fizzle away as quickly as the flame of a match.

You still remember fondly that day of the picnic in a nearby clearing.

It was the first day of summer, and the sun was shining, the breeze was soft and it felt like a wonderful day for a picnic.

Laughing and eating was nice, but it was even nicer to enjoy the warm sunrays on your face while lying under the canopy of a big tree. Somehow you had convinced Donna to let her hair down, and she loved how your fingers raked softly through her dark locks.

You’ve always been shy about it, but you had this habit of humming unconsciously when you were content or focused, and being so comfortable with Donna laying on top of you enjoying the softness of her hair made you happy enough to start singing a soft tune.

It caught Donna by surprise, but it was lovely to hear your soft voice lowly singing a tranquil melody, and the soft rumble of your chest against her ear made her almost cry with how lovely it felt. It made her wish that the moment never ended…

You had a nice voice, untrained but beautiful indeed, and Donna thought it was a shame she didn’t get to hear it more often.

Her sight became blurry as she attentively listened to your words and the pretty melody.

“Who are we to say,

Blue skies are made in heaven.”

She sighed contently at feeling of the tranquil rhythm of your breathing and the muffled purr coming from your chest as your voice was accompanied by the sound of rustling leaves and chirping birds.

It was perfect, and not for the first time since she was with you, Donna felt at peace.

“Here in the dark the world is changing,

and a new day’s begun.

When we rule the world”

The feeling of your fingers in her hair plus the soothing tune and the fresh breeze caressing her face were enough to bring Donna to a light slumber, and for the rest of that afternoon you both were happy to just enjoy each other’s company…

Despite the new accommodations in behalf of your semi–permanent stay at the Beneviento estate, neither of you –specially Donna– saw it necessary to change your bed sharing arrangement, and it was not only one, but many nights that you laid in your side of the bed, denied of any ounce of sleep and instead focusing on your sleeping companion. Her long lashes and soft chin made her seem angelical, and your fingers ached, almost burned, to trace the sharp curve of her jaw. It was stupid, you thought, to love someone so desperately and have them so close but unreachable at the same time. It was scary, you realized, to have unwillingly handed your heart out yet again no matter how many times you chastised yourself over breaking your promise. You tried again and again to smother the flame that burned within you until the last spark of love was extinct, but again and again Donna was there to remind you of the chokehold she had on you whether she was aware of it or not.

Donna´s hands were, for some weird reason, always cold, and if she was honest she couldn’t be sure when it became a habit of her to place them flat under your shirt in search of warmth. She couldn’t have possibly known, but your brain always had a hard time concealing the slumber when Donna’s long fingers began to aimlessly trace lines on your bare warm skin. Not that you were complaining, but having her fingers dance like that on your body more often than not left your ears burning with your mind thinking of those same skilled fingers wandering on your body with a different intent.

Your heart ached for Donna, but what was left of your rational mind tugged you the other way. Donna was indeed perfect, and many insecurities managed to arise within you, not to mention the reminder of your promise very present in the back of your mind… although… would it really be that bad if you let yourself love again? Every time you looked at Lady Beneviento, you felt scared of the things you felt, but at the same time you couldn’t help the somersaults you heart made while yelling ‘I want her, I want her!’

You weren’t sure how many days had passed, but by the time you finished the last commission (four fancy bed corner posts that you mentioned wanting as a joke but that suspiciously became Donna’s next request), you finally came to terms with your feelings towards the Lady.

You realized that forcing yourself to deny everything was useless. Opting for passing your sudden cheerfulness whenever you were close to Donna as just being happy to be away from the village became your reliable –although very measly– excuse. Soon enough you learned that it was more than a simple infatuation. You realized, despite of your own fears and insecurities, that you craved more, but at the same time that realization scared you.

Much to your relief, Donna was clueless about the whole tug of war between your brain and heart, and at the moment that was more than enough. Or so you believed.

In reality Donna wasn’t fairing any better.

Her hand intertwined with yours as you both enjoyed the slow sunset exploding in pink and orange hues was an anchor she never knew she needed. The lovely carpenter became an important part of Donna’s daily life, and no matter how hard she tried, she could not imagine her days without the spark of life you brought to hers.

Good god… the level of presence you had in her home left her speechless. Soon enough, you left your personal print on the décor, adding trinkets of your own to Donna’s always growing collection. A warm fluffy blanket (that you insisted on calling Blinky the blankey and the name somehow got stuck with Donna too) found home at the couch in the Lady´s projection room just in case there was an impromptu movie night. Even your clothes were always mixed with Donna’s own in her closet, and she wouldn’t admit it out of embarrassment but she liked to wear one of your sweaters when you were away, your scent lingering on the garment bringing her comfort in her lonely hours.

_______________

(end of part 2.1)

#re8 #donna beneviento #my fic #donna beneviento x reader #donna beneviento angst #lady beneviento x reader #lady beneviento

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scarlet-ancunin · 1 year

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Hello, May I please request.

My first time asking for Dr.Ian Wright, how would they react to Reader being the child of Sam Beckett that they have been working on QL project from the start, and Reader doesn't want what happened to their father happing to Ben. They yell saying " I don't want you guys more so Addison to know the pain that I had to watch my mother or Al go through as a kid."

Thank you

Oooh interesting lets try it.

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You Guys Shouldn't Have To

When Ian and you first started dating it was perfect, but they loved you very much and soon enough you both been together for two years.

During those two years you and Ian shared everything that made you happy, sad, excited everything and anything. Good and bad time basically. However there was one thing you never shared with Ian and that was who your father was. You always said they left you when you was young which was true just not the story you told.

Unfortunately it was on your file but your file was more encrypted than Magic who your father leaped into. Yes, your father was Sam Beckett and you refrained from telling everyone including dr Ian Wright.

Of course your stomach dropped when you found out what happened to Ben and you panicked helping the facility by any means necessary to bring ben back even slipping when you mentioned certain things that no one should know.

"Wiat how do you know that?" Ian asked while looking at you along with Magic, Jenn, and Addison. "Y/n?" you stopped typing and slammed the table making everyone jump slightly

You turned to Ian shouting "because i don't want you guys, especially Addison to go through the pain my mother and Al went through and i had to deal with that pain personally until now okay!?"

Ian's eyes widen slightly and everyone was shocked but ian was more surprised than anyone and a bit hurt by the fact you kept this from them.

"Your the daughter of Sam Beckett?" Magic asked and you looked down nodding slowly "yes magic im his daughter a-and i don't want to talk about anything dealing with my father right now. I just want ben to come home to us...."

Ian just walked away "i got to go check Ziggy...." they said but you called out to them watching them ignore your calls. Addison taps your shoulder. "Give Ian time....maybe talk to them later okay im not mad just surprised we hired the orginal leaper's daughter thank you for helping us.." Magic and Jenn agreed and also told you to give Ian time.

After a couple of minutes you went to find Ian seeing them in one of the computer tower panels checking the data. "Ian please...please look at me" you said going on your knees to look at them.

Ian does sporting a poker face. "Please Ian its not that-" "we told each other everything even the ones i would naturally not share with anyone but you couldn't tell me that... I wouldn't have said anything until you was ready..." you look down. "I just didn't think"

"You right you didn't think What did you assume that i wouldn't love you anymore, that magic would take you off the Quantum Leap project?"

You nod and look down "im sorry love i didn't mean to think that i just....i was scared" you mumble softly and Ian hugs you suddenly and cling to them. "I will always be there for you Y/n don't ever think i won't and we are all family here...we will bring Ben back home."

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Taglist: @justaproudslytherpuff , @sherazyjade , @the-masked-scorpio , @sugakookieswithacupoftae16 , @happilydangerousworld , @harlekin6 , @supermegapauselouca

#unhinged desire simp #quantum leap #quantum leap 2022 #quantum leap ian wright #ian wright quantum leap #ian wright headcanon #dr ian wright #ian wright #quantum leap ian wright x reader #dr ian wright x reader #ian wright x you #ian wright x reader #join me in mason alexander madness

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cina-full-moon-xanadium · 2 years

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are you guys asking if im gonna rewatch new gen ultra bc. you wanna see my thoughts through a liveblog or something? well to go for it briefly:-

Ginga: Not as huge into this as others but I REALLY liked what it was going for and in retrospect how different it was to other Ultra productions and stands out as very memorable and distinct because of that. Everyone always talks about how this is back when they had no budget but literally I never noticed aside from the re-used Kaiju suits (which is a thing in every New Gen Ultra anyway). And uh that one goofy Dark Zagi sequence in da movie. Otherwise it's very visually stunning between Ginga himself and the consistent nature-based sets. Taro sequence in the last episode is the best thing ever made. Solid series, highly recommend!

Ginga S: Find it a little bit lame because it's very clearly made in response to fan complaints that Ginga wasn't like every other Ultraman (I especially don't like Hikaru becoming a military boy and that defining him in every re-appearance) but there's still a lot to love here and there's definitely some standout episodes like Gan-Q. Would find this one of the hardest Ultra series to recommend of the ones I've seen, but if you're already interested then yeah sure it's pretty harmless

X: BEST BEST BEST BEST SHIT EVER. WATCH THIS FUCKING SHOW. Maybe the funniest thing for me to say when it's not even top 3 for me but god if it doesn't feel like it sometimes, this is basically THE way to do a modern update of Ultraman and keeps a very strong balance between episodic plots, interesting character development & focus and a serialised plot and themes. Cannot recommend enough if you're interested in Ultraman

Orb: My first Ultraman so I've got a bit of a soft spot... like Ginga I'm not as into this as others but it's ultimately a very good show, and quite unique among Ultraman in how it sets up its characters (we basically never see the defence team outside of one representative; the main character is a distanced loner). It also has Juggler in it which, like, yeah; Juggler! Definitely recommend this one

Geed: BEST BEST BEST BEST SHIT EVER. WATCH THIS FUCKING SHOW. If your sensibilities are more attuned to Kamen Rider stories when it comes to Toku then this will be right up your alley as it shares in common a similar backstory for the hero's powers and is in general much more on the superhero side of things than the sci-fi anthology that Ultraman usually is. It's hard to get into exactly why without major spoilers but it's a wonderful series with a very charming cast that you can't take your eyes off. I was very excited for this one when I started Ultraman and I definitely wasn't disappointed. Highly recommend

R/B: Fucking fantastic! This one I feel gets overlooked quite a bit and gets treated as a bit of an oddball, but it's wonderfully weird and has so much going for it. It's a much more comedic take on Ultraman and very meta on the entire idea of what it means to be Ultraman, all wrapped around a very lovely focus of family and an honestly pretty fun plot as well. The first arc's villain is Kuroto Dan if he was toned down to be a lot more bearable and then the second half's can be a bit slow but has a fair bit to say. Just super recommend

Taiga: I unfortunately couldn't get into this one. Definitely a lot I think it wants to say about the nature of aliens integrating with humans and all the dynamics that contains but I just never found any of the characters terribly compelling enough to get into it... I fully admit I might have been giving it a harder time than it deserved though, and @biomic has recently had a LOT of good to say about it in their liveblog and I recommend you go to them if you want to know its strengths. Not one I can recommend personally, but it's one of those shows that seems to either hit hard for you or doesn't; so I can't say to avoid it or anything like that

Z: BEST BEST BEST BEST BEST SHIT IN THE WORLD WATCH THIS FUCKING SHOW GO TO YOUTUBE RIGHT FUCKING NOW!!! My experience with this one might have a bit of bias due to enjoying it along with everyone due to the simulcast but MAN what a fucking good time with all the strengths of X and more. Really went from a show that was pretty fun but due to unfortunate things behind the scenes could have gone so wrong but absolutely kept things steady to be a consistently great show with a lot to say. Can't recommend enough watch this thing right now it's literally officially subbed on youtube for free

Trigger: Did not like this show at all unfortunately, I find this easily the weakest of all the Ultraman shows I've seen and it definitely doesn't seem like there's a lot of people willing to stick up for it. It's one of those shows that's difficult to find anything to enjoy and you're left just scrounging for SOMETHING to like which you'll forget the moment the show is over. Really wants to be Profound and hit in a similar way that the show it's imitating - Tiga - did but can barely even dream of succeeding. Absolutely can't recommend this show for a second

Decker - It's only been three episodes but I'm finding it surprisingly solid stuff, and can certainly recommend you watch along too! Just a decent Ultraman show with a solid cast at this point. It's literally only been three episodes so I can't say anything more but it's hard to see this going terribly wrong and that at minimum it'll be decent. Recommend, it's on youtube officially with subs for free!

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sinful-sketches · 1 year

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Story + explanation/rambling under the cut :]

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"Why don't you visit us anymore?"

Zakai looked up to the voice, eyes settling on the new candidate. He was her brother yet the boy felt like so much more at times. Like her very own son. His pale green eyes inquisitive, hurt swirling in them. Zakai sighed, taking in the way he avoided her gaze and stared at his feet. Soren's hair fashioned just to copy his eldest sister, no doubt a messy to brush considering he didn't have the same father as she did and so his hair style wasn't nearly as "natural".

"Its-" Zakai began.

Soren huffed, annoyed and frustrated, "Complicated. I know! Thats what Val says too."

Zakai couldn't help but think about her stepfather's first born, of what happened when she properly became a Warrior yet before the war she was sent off to fight for Marley. Her eyes showed indifference melting away into bitter resentment back then. Yet even now, everytime she saw her family all she saw was painful indifference. So, she didn't go home and she definitely didn't see Valentina. Hell, when she was asked why, normally by her fellow Warriors, she gave an excuse. Zakai may have claimed responsibility for the drift between the once close sisters but, in reality, Zakai knew as much as the next that it was Valentina's words and actions that couldn't be taken back.

"She's right. It's just... Complicated." Zakai muttered.

It wasn't. Zakai believed that nothing was simpler. If she were a lesser person, Valentina would know that. Valentina would know exactly how it felt. Sometimes, Zakai wanted to tell Valentina in painful detail how it felt, wanted to see how her freckled face contorted into guilt and shame. Yet, Zakai wouldn't.

"... We all miss you." Soren whispered.

Zakai focused on the youngest, the baby of the family really, on his face. How the sadness pulled on his face and shined in his eyes. Zakai frowned, stepping towards him and yanking his arm. She was hugging him, arms wrapped around the taller boy. Soren returned the gesture in kind, brows knitted together with that heartbreaking desperation.

"... Did I do something wrong to make you leave?"

Zakai fekt her heart shatter, pulling away and staring at him. Soren wore his heart on his sleeve and witnessing it hurt. Zakai nearkh broke down just at that question, shock evideng in her eyes.

"No!" She immediately answered before pausing, glancing away, "... No, not at all, Soren. Relationships of every variety are hard and... Sometimes being a Warrior, even just a candidate, got in the way. So, really, its my fault."

Zakai looked to the black haired boy who only nodded before shifting his gaze to the other candidates. He awkwardly smiled, whispering a soft, "My friends are waiting. Gabi wanted to see which one of us were faster."

Zakai only nodded, watching Soren jog towards the group of future Warriors. Zakai let her composure crumble, her features showing just how exhausted the woman was. There were few things she knew after consoling Soren best she could and one was a certainty in her mind.

Valentina and her had to settle their shit.

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Alright! Lil story time over. Which goes over Zakai and Soren's relationship alongside implying a few things about the relationship between Zakai and Valentina. To be clear: they are complex.

Zakai and Valentina have a year and a half between one another. A fact that Zakai used to rub in Valentina's face jokingly. Zakai and Valentina, before Lucien lived with the Eriko-Reitz family, were extremely close. They both shouldered the burden of their family's fiancial situation, often watching over their siblings(Soren and the twins). They still found time to occasionally have fun by themselves. Hell, they insisted on sharing a room. However, they drifted slightly when Lucien began living with them. Lucien and Zakai got close but Valentina didn't trust him. By the time Zakai becomes a Warrior, an idea Lucien left behind when he left to live with the Tyburs, Valentina is bitter and still just a kid. She views Zakai's training and becoming a Warrior as her abandoning the family, pushing everything on her. Valentina becomes cold, indifferent to Zakai. Zakai thinks thats just normal, that cold and indifferent is who Valentina is at her core. Zakai didn't really have the time question Valentina's behavior either way but she knew that seeing how harsh Valentina was hurt. Zakai, after inheriting her titan, was upset. Her mother's words were stuck in her mind and Zakai couldn't help but question Marley despite the undying loyalty she felt for them. Valentina calling her the family outcast, striking Zakai's insecurities about looking so different from even their mother, hit her hard. Zakai goes off to war, coming back briefly before running away to Paradis for unrelated reasons to Valentina. Yet, given the time to obsess over that on Paradis where little mattered and all she had was time on her hands, Zakai decided that Valentina could never take back any of her words or actions. See? Complex and complicated! I love my gals so so much but damn if they don't need to just communicate gdjsnsjs

The composition of this piece is actually something I worked on pretty well. I absolutely adore symbolism and this piece certainly has it. For example, Valentina's outfit doesn't change much because while she does change it also highlights that she still holds the same beliefs she had as a kid. Zakai's, however, changes completely because she did too. War and Paradis changed her. The Aberrant Titan in the middle is meant to highlight what was the final straw for Valentina's and Zakai's relationship to become what it is now. Valentina's armband isn't shown because whereas Zakai devotes herself, Valentina seems to simply go along with what Marley says all to survive

But do let me know what symbolism y'all thought of for some of the colors, designs, etc in the piece!

#my art #fenix art #oc: soren reitz #oc: valentina reitz #oc: zakai eriko #fenix speaks #attack on titan oc #shingeki no kyojin oc #snk oc #aot oc #aot #snk #shingeki no kyojin #attack on titan #oc art #fenix story #oc: the aberrant titan

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thesilkentheater · 2 years

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cosmic gender envy, and trauma

It's been a long time since that summer, but every time the season brings with it bad memories and unwilling flashbacks in the corner of their eye. The festive banners and popsicles in big grocery store boxes make them think there's an eye watching them from beyond the veil, ready to pluck them up and take them on an unforgettable journey.

Though it wasn't all bad. There are good parts that they remember- looking out into a galaxy all around them, no pressure in the slightest, allowed to ramble and talk to this cosmic entity who was very confused by the gender problem they were having, never needing the concept. And, eventually, they came to the conclusion that they didn't really need the concept, either.

But that was the minority.

Three people died that summer. The first was in their third encounter with the strange demi-gods that roam the forest there, long after the group had figured out they were lost and found the route to civilization was becoming stranger and stranger. It would loop in on itself without doing so at all, fireflies painted red leading the way to their demise and safety all at once.

They remember it clear as day. It had been a hungry wolf sort of thing- they all looked sort of like things, or amalgamations of things, but none quite right- the size of a sixteen wheeler, and saliva dripped from its maw as it asked them for an offering to pass. But they had no animals to offer it, and so had resorted to blaming one another.

Someone pushed someone else, who shoved the person to their right, who was promptly gobbled up into the gaping maw as the wolf let them pass.

Maybe it would've been worse, if it was bloody or gruesome. But they think it might have been better, because it wouldn't have seemed so sudden. There would've been a process, a point where you could say he was alive and then he was dead, the time pinpointed on a clock and obvious enough that when it slid down the creature's throat you knew it was just meat. It was an, for all intents and purposed, perfectly intact person that was there one moment and gone the next.

And that alone made it feel so much worse. Like they weren't an indelible mark on this earth, that any one of them could be erased in an instant, forgotten and uncared for and simply no longer existing. Perhaps if they'd thought a little harder about it they'd realize that he had family and friends waiting for him outside this forest, but in the moment, everyone was so stunned and silently passed in such a way that it seemed they were all willing to forget he ever existed.

Of course, that could never be the end, because of course it couldn't. Because the the path had started to dwindle, and eventually the fireflies were the only thing guiding them. And then, it turned out, they were on a beach.

A great mermaid-thing greeted them, taller than a two-story house, and with a gentle smile said, "If you'd like, I will bring you all back now, but there is more to be found here for you. To continue, I will take one of you; but if you'd like to leave, I will assist you."

"Will we be able to leave if we say no?" Asked someone, before anyone could speak.

"Likely not until the end. For few creatures in these woods remember kindness; but I, of the sea, know it well."

"Of course we're going to leave," said someone at the same time one of the girls argued, "We should keep going."

And so the argument began. Shouting and terrible faces and petty drama and everything was all dredged up, and everyone was involved except for them; they sat on the side of a tree, yawning and hugging their knees, and hoped a decision would be reached eventually. Perhaps there was intricacies to the argument, perhaps nonsense and lines of logic that never went anywhere and gratuitous appeals to the natural human desire to live, but at the end of the day they weren't really listening.

Instead, they had been listening to a strange cosmic voice that had entered their ears. "Hello, dear."

And that had been the start of it all, really, hadn't it? Because the star seeing old deity had, eventually, convinced the selkie- and he said it was a selkie, not a mermaid-thing, because of some reason or another- to take a life and have them continue on the path, because if they left right now they would all go mad.

So the second death had to be voluntary, because the selkie was far too kind to take one by force. Everyone looked at each other, except for a girl they think was named Daisy, who walked forward one step and said, "I'll do it."

And the selkie, again unwilling to rip and tear flesh, simply dragged her under the water with tangled piece of kelp and bid them on their way with a fresh set of fireflies and a purpose- that there were only three left to meet on this trail.

The rest of the night is a blur, thankfully. They remember the beings- the owl with one eye slashed, a spider whose massive web had gone stale, and the deer with seven eyes. Sort of, in approximations and vague gestures, anyway, because those things were all red and black and non-euclidean in the same way that the being they worship now is incorporeal.

"Worship" is a strong word. They chat, sometimes, and there's no particular power dynamic because there's no reason for there to be one. If that being had not wanted their company and unfiltered words, he could have killed them on the spot. Easy as that.

It ended up well, they suppose, putting a box away on the shelf. But the eyes they see peering at them from shadows, and the drool they feel drop to the floor despite there being nothing, and the webbing they get caught in without ever being stuck to anything real; that will never leave them.

#writing #short story #creative writing #lgbtq #lgbt pride #nonbinary

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blorbosexterminator · 2 years

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Do you think the new heist with an almost totally new team would have worked? Only Sergio, Tokyo from the old team and Rio, after they rescued him. IDK about Raquel, she also felt out of place for most time. I liked Monica and Denver's arc, but they had nothing to do with the plan.

That is a really interesting question. I think it depends on what our definition of 'worked' here is. As in, the audience would have rejected it immediately, because, I think, it was never truly about the heist itself but the characters to them. Renewing the show only for them not get the characters back would have felt like a betrayel to the whole international audience, who grew attached to the characters and as a result starting seeing them as 'a true found family'. Which, if we're being completely honest, was never truly there in Part 1, sure some members grow close to each other and there were some natural comradeship, but it was only that.

But aside from that, if we're taking away the audience element and seeing 'worked' as worked on its own right, I honestly think it would. If, for example, the showrunners had played it as two-parts anthology where the only stables are the main duo El Professor and Tokyo, I think there is a chance it could have been stronger than what we got.

Like make no mistake, I love our characters. I especially love Denver and Monica and I don't at all dislike the arc we got for them. All things considered and compared to the rest of them (Nairobi and Helsinki, for example) they *at least* had a theme, a clumsy story, yes, but a story that is completely theirs and fits with them. But even in this case, it wasn't necessary, their story in part 1 wasn't unfinished. And like the rest of the banda whom I like a lot, as you say, they had nothing to do with the plan. No one except Sergio and Martín did. And Tokyo for Río's case. Which DID make the show weaker because they spent a lot of time trying to justify it both to themselves and the audience. No ond had much of a personal stake in. This "war" that they fought, they fought for what? Denver said the most truthful thing in the beginning lmfao. What did he have to do with Rio? Why should he put his family at risk for him? What was Helsinki doing there, who was eventually used only as a prob for Martín? What did Nairobi has here, couldn't she get her adrenaline in a less suicidal mannar? None of their skills was even necessary at all for this particular heist, unlike the first one, where each character was tailor-made for their role. (Even Raquel, as you say, has really been out of place a lot. It does make a mucky factor, because they would have to come up with good narrative reasons why Serquel aren't together and all. But it still remains the fact that the writers didn't know what to do with her for most of the time. Something that could be said on more characters as well)

Now, if we do imagine a La Casa de Papel: Part 2 that has the Gold Heist in focus and makes up a completely new cast. (Honestly, there could have been different ways to pick up to the second part (with still having Tokyo, as she's the literal main character lmfao) other than the Rio plot. But even if we do leave the Rio thing as it is.)

Alongside Marseille and Bogota, we get around 4 other new characters for the banda, and the show fully focuses on all of them, we get to see them in flashbacks with Andrés and Martín as they were chosen by the duo for their plan back then, people who personally believed in it, had different, diverse personal connection to the plans or to its makers, people who were in mind for its design and who are just, much better for the roles lmfao. There's really not a lack of very current and relevant effects of the Spanish colonialism/imperialism (or Europe as a whole lmfao, since part 2 flirted with the bank heist being a huge problem for the EU as a whole.)

We could have even had Rafael starting from season three. Because mind you, Rafael's conception isn't horrible in its own right, it was just badly excuted and unacceptable in the last season. But if he'd been there from the start, and we had a whole first season getting us into his head, fleshing him and his relationship with his father out, and bit by bit we got relevant history through flashbacks until he was fully accepted as a character, then gave him the 'inner spy' arc, it would have been good. We'd have characters who all truly wanted something from the plan.

Obviously, the show pretty much cared for Berlin more than all the other characters. The plan was only truly relevant to him, Martín, and Sergio. And I do think this led to some lack of internal coherence in the second part; the show was dividedly strained between that and making the rest of the banda relevant. There is a lack of, what do you call it....neatness in the second part. It just wasn't focused. It was too many scattered stories and storylines, not all relevant, in one. With a new banda, all neatly and relevantly written for the new heist, it would have been more focused, everyone made part of the whole, there would have been a focused theme that actually felt true, was developed through all the characters. It would have been fresh too—no need to bleed characters dry for more stories when they have already had their stories told. Everything else could have fresh, new, exciting, but still thematically (and better this time) related to the theme of resistance the first part set. As @spiny-norman said, the imperialism theme could have done really well being one of the most important narrative mirrors and cohesion factors to the part 1.

Lastly, I also think it might have more emotional authenticity. The second part was way too sentimental from the start, acting all like the banda had always been one big happy family where that definitely wasn't the terms we left them on at the end of part 1 lmfao. And sentimentality is the lack of emotional authenticity.

#There could have been a character that did Helsinki's role in exposing Martín's shitty treatment of his partners and all but that actually #had a reason to be there from the start #someone from Martín's own history; a man who's been in love with him a friend from back home who'd thought he had more right to be on #Martin's side of the plan than Andrés. who now thinks he has his chance to show it. a grey character who's bringing his own shit to the #table but in a much relevant way lol #there could have been more ethnically diverse characters who each had their own beef with Spain/Europe #the plot point of exposing the papers inside the bank that exposes the EU's current fuckery in other countries could have been an actual #plot point that wasn't forgotton mid season lmfao #bottomline; I think it would have detached the writers from irrelevant part 1 characters/things enough for them to tell a new focused story #but who knows!#lcdp #very interesting question anon. thank you!

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wangyan0508 · 1 month

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Weekly Diary 7

"A Little Mercy" Review Little Mercy is the work of Dennis Lehane, a famous contemporary American writer. This novel brings me a lot of thinking with its unique narrative mode and profound theme discussion. The protagonist of this novel is a policeman named Leo. He is a man filled with a strong sense of justice, always striving to maintain order and protect the innocent. However, beneath his outward facade, Leo is deeply troubled by personal family problems. Leo's father was also a police officer, but a tragic incident occurred during his line of duty. Accidentally, his father shot and killed a child, an event that had a profound impact on both him and Leo. Unable to cope with the guilt and trauma, Leo's father took his own life. This heartbreaking event not only casts a shadow over Leo's perception of the police profession but also leaves him feeling bewildered and lost regarding his own life. The weight of this inherited burden weighs heavily on Leo's shoulders. The memory of his father's actions and the subsequent suicide haunts him, constantly raising questions about the nature of his chosen career. Doubts begin to creep in, forcing him to reassess the very principles and values that once drove him to become a police officer. The novel takes Leo's investigation of a murder as the main line, and through his perspective, reveals various problems in American society, including the gap between the rich and the poor, racial discrimination, and domestic violence. In the process, Leo must face not only the complexity of the case, but also his own internal struggles. While investigating the case, Leo befriends some unusual characters, including a drifter named Bob, who was once a soldier but lost his mind because of the war. There is also a girl named Lori, who is a drug addict, but also has a kind heart. The appearance of these characters makes Leo begin to re-examine his life and values. There is a scene in the novel that impresses me. While investigating the case, Leo finds an abused girl with bruises all over her body. Leo wanted to help her, but he found he couldn't. This scene made me deeply feel the cruelty and helplessness of the society, and also made me cherish everything I have more. In addition to its profound thematic exploration, Little Mercy is also of high literary value. Author Dennis Lehane's words are concise but powerful. He gives readers a deep understanding of the characters and events in the novel through his delicate description and unique narration. In addition, the structure of the novel is also very clever, through the interweaving of multiple clues to make the whole story more rich and layered. Overall, A Little Mercy is a very good novel. It not only shows the problems of American society, but also explores the complexity of human nature. Through the protagonist Leo's experience, we can see the helplessness and struggle of a policeman with a sense of justice in the face of social reality. At the same time, the novel makes us think about how we should hold fast to our convictions and find inner peace and compassion in a world full of injustice and violence. This novel not only has high literary value, but also has strong practical significance, which is worth reading for everyone.

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cloggedarteri · 6 months

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im trying to write a story for a couple of characters of mine and i need help cataloging my ramblings so imma do it here for now one

Start your story with “It was so terribly cold. Snow was falling, and it was almost dark.” (Hans Christian Andersen, “The Little Match Girl”)--this is a prompt i found on reedsy

-the prompt is obviously in the perspective of Gigi…I'm still attached to the idea that these two came to know each other by being lost in a winter storm

here's the question, is gigi human or is she a wolf like her adopted father?…to answer this question we need to think back to other media that has inspired this story (spice and wolf, deemo, the wolf amoung us/fables, the girl from the other side--all stories of supernatural entities interacting and growing relations with humans…its the emotional growth and the familial love that grows between these two beings that always catches my attention)

I feel that the stories tends to be more compelling when theirs a clear difference in perspective. there's going to be an inherent difference between these characters due to age, due to gender, due to experience but I feel like another difference could come from species too…difference in species could call for a difference in response to certain things

it would be best to keep gigi as a human but maybe as time progresses we can show a relation to their growing relationship as father and daughter with external habits (like as time progresses gigi picks up a habit of hakeems, maybe suck her teeth or cricnkle her brows and nose when she's upset. ya know something distinctly hakeem…ill get back to this later) -rethinking of the POV of the story…originally in the POV of Hakeem but when I think about it, I'm not a father. I'm a daughter who has watched their father from afar…i mean, I could definitely have moments when we're looking through Hekeem's eyes but I think I could get somewhere by prioritizing Gigi's perspective

“It was so terribly cold. Snow was falling, and it was almost dark.” -quote speaks of vulnerability, speaks to immense fear of the unknown…but thats such a common fear. to be a afraid of the dark and of the shadows that lie in wait for the next opportunity to scare us

it was terribly cold…sounds like they weren't prepared to counter the weather of this space. is this a potential flaw of their character? do they not focus on their surroundings? was there something that happened that caused their awareness to falter?

snow was falling…no particular interest in the occurrence of falling snow. snow is typically a show of whimsy and beauty but this particular person couldn't care less. could this possibly speak to the age of the character? and if not age, then possibly how they hold themselves? is the childish whimsy of seeing snow something that has long passed for them?…also comes off happenstance, like oh its snowing. that's cool. ill go about my day. it doesn't sound like something to be worried about

-the snow falls softly for a time. but then it gets worse. much worse than gigi would have anticipated so by the point the winds and cold grow harsher gigi is unprepared. and lost.

but why was gigi out in the open in the first place? did she want to see the snow? did she want to rekindle the childish spark of seeing the snow fall? or maybe this was nothing close to an emotional experience but rather due to circumstance? is her exposure to the snow/outdoors involuntary? does gigi have a home? does gigi have a family she can go back to to shield her from the cold?

its of their nature to survive. it is all of our natures to fight and survive…maybe gigi did have a family but they were killed off by wolves…the very same kind that resemble the adoptive father that will eventually take her in and protect her…so already these two have a complicated and strained relationship with one another

it was almost dark…means there's a passage of time. something happened prior to this quote…I'm getting very aot + demon slayer calm before the storm type vibes

beginning: curious child goes somewhere they don't belong/tamper with things they shouldn't, child is unawares and continues on with their day. danger creeps in while child is gone

middle: child returns, unaware of the danger that awaits them. child and danger cross paths and child lays witness to the carnage they left behind. child runs away and danger pursues

end: danger is neutralized by bigger danger. child cannot run so they try to fight. bigger danger is not threatened by child, child is exhausted and heartbroken. bigger threat walks away with child in tow. both lost to the blizzard (both alone in the world they now have each other)---i like this so far

there great charm in keeping hakeem in his wolf form. he has limited speech ability. and he expresses intension through action rather than words b/c i KNOW FOR A FACT HES A SHIT LIAR (you ask the bastard do you love your daughter and he'll say she not my daughter i just look after her BUT THEN THE MOTHERFUCKER DOES EVERY FATHERLY THING IN THE BOOKS)...but not only that IM ASS AT DIALOGUE SO BY KEEPING HAKEEM QUITE THE LESS WORK ILL NEED TO DO

#oc backstory #sad dad #violent daughter #gigi & hakeem #shapeshifter

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sleuthy-scientist · 9 months

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Tara Meets Emily the Great

Chapter six of my fic, The Existential Evolution Established Through The Existence of the Essential Enigma that is Emily Prentiss. Can be read on its own, but the rest can be found here⤵️. Let me know what you think, and who you would like to read about next.

P.S. This chapter got away from me and is very wordy/repetitive, but I think it works😶‍🌫️.

Tara got along quite well with everyone in the BAU, it was obvious, even to outsiders they were all very close. The kind of cohesion born out of deep, cultivated bonds, closer and deeper than those of most actual blood relations. They even kept in touch with those who had been part of the team before she joined.

Yet, there was one they all spoke of more fondly and often than any other. That was only part of the reason why Tara was conflicted to meet Emily Prentiss. First of all, Tara knew from past experiences she had many issues in forming friendships with women. Particularly those who alpha females in law enforcement; some were petty with self-esteem and jealousy issues, while many others were just competitive, and most typically were a combination of both.

From the stories she heard, the woman was larger than life, a legend in the eyes of everyone who worked alongside her. From their recounts, Tara concluded that Emily was an alpha female, an unwavering pillar of strength, who always stood up to bullies, and did the right thing, even when she found herself stuck between a rock and a hard place.

If she thought hard enough about it, it made Tara feel insecure and jealous, of the woman she herself was technically a replacement for. She knew there had been two other agents before her, Dr. Alex Blake and Kate Callahan. Obviously, neither had lasted more than a year or so with the team. It seemed as though nobody could quite fill the shoes Emily had left behind.

A huge part of it, Tara had no doubt, was from the violence and severity of the work the BAU fulfilled. It wasn't for the faint of heart, not everyone was cut from the same cloth or could be meant for this lifestyle, especially when it came to the priorities of family, it could be difficult to find the right balance especially long term.

Tara wondered if her two most recent predecessors felt a disconnect or as if they were a piece trying to fit into the wrong puzzle. From a psychological standpoint, Tara understood the teams' grandiose depiction and attachment of the woman who had faced some of the worst evils beside them over 6 years.

Science says its inherently natural to form unbreakable bonds from traumatic experiences, such as the ones they had all endured together. To idolize a woman, they all felt indebted to, like she saved them each somehow. Not that Tara could personally divulge an option on the subject. But she truly believed by their accounts, that Emily must be quite extraordinary to uphold the reputation she was known for and to be deserving of such loyalty.

But, Tara wondered if each of them held onto hope that Emily would one day decide to return to her rightful place on the team. She couldn't help wondering herself, if the other woman ever considered coming back to a team that obviously missed and adored her, and a job that clearly suited her.

Her current arrival was impending, and Tara knew Emily was only meant to be with them for a short duration, to assist with an International serial killer she had tracked heading to the states. She just hoped their introduction went smoothly, and that the woman, the others held in such high regard, was right about the connection, and could help them catch their unsub.

As it stood, Tara truly had figured most of the stories, especially the ones that seemed like mythical fables told by Penelope Garcia over drinks, were likely embellished somewhat significantly. She heard stories ranging from bombs and bullets, to ball busting bullies, blushing, and Brad.

The more notable feats described, the level of selflessness and loyalty, it wasn't something Tara herself had ever encountered to the described extent. Someone who would sacrifice herself for a stranger, who would fall on her own sword and give up her dreams. A human being capable of such heroic feats under treacherous conditions and less than ideal circumstances. The way she was described Tara wouldn't be surprised to find out she could walk on water, fly, or move things with her mind.

From what Tara heard and truly believed from their stories, was an individual such as the character they outlined. That if someone was that fearless, with such little regard for their own safety, but not reckless with anyone else's life. They would have to have major trust, self worth and esteem issues to be so willing to protect anyone so fiercely.

The psychologist in her found it challenging to be convinced that someone, that altruistic and empathetic truly existed. That kind of pure altruism and authentic decency wasn't congruent with everything she had studied and experienced of present day societal and human behaviour.

As a scientist, she had sought out other sources to feed her curiosity and begin to piece together the enigma that is Emily Prentiss. Yet all the evidence Dr. Tara Lewis found (spare a few reprimands of grievance, obviously written out of petty and spite), painted pretty much the same picture.

There was only one image Tara was left picturing from the somewhat redacted and classified personnel file she sought out, paired with the words of her colleague. The impossible conclusion she came to was Emily Prentiss was a badass boss bitch whose moral compass always pointed true north towards Justice. She couldn't help imagining a 6 foot tall Amazonian Warrior.

Essentially Diana Prince, through and through, a diplomatic woman who spoke close to a dozen languages in a career choice/lifestyle her mother tried to dissuade her from. And From the legends she heard particularly from Morgan and JJ, Emily was a maverick at interrogations, she didn't even require a golden lasso to have their unsubs involuntary spilling their secrets and the truth.

Tara knew despite the extent the stories were exaggerated or not, they did in fact hold some truth and merit, especially to the people who spoke told them. She became even more inclined to believe the others, when at their monthly team dinner at Rossi's mansion, Aaron Hotchner himself shared a few of his own experiences and tidbits about the woman, substantiating their claims.

So it was safe to say, regardless of what she herself chose to believe about the woman, Tara wanted to make a good impression. She wanted to hopefully form a friendship or at the very least a comfortable and respectful work relationship with Emily, regardless of how fleeting it may be.

She knew while the others weren't immature or unprofessional to go as far as sharpening pitchforks or ostracizing her if her and Emily didn't become fast friends, she still wanted to make a good impression. Tara knew this woman had a very influential and permanent place in the hearts of Jennifer Jareau, Penelope Garcia, Spencer Reid, Derek Morgan, David Rossi, and Aaron Hotchner.

She wasn't ignorant to the fact that she herself had not yet fully received that honour. She knew what trust and loyalty meant to these people and how protective they were of each other. Tara couldn't imagine what it would be like if she genuinely didn't like the other woman or vice versa.

She tried not to worry, being assured by JJ and Garcia, that they had no doubt Emily would like her on principle, and she was the most respectful and least judgemental person either of them knew. JJ told her that Emily shared a similar sense of humour, sarcasm, and wit, and if she had to guess, they would be fast friends.

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In the end, Special Agent Tara Lewis walked in the New York Precinct with her head held high, both nervous and excited to finally meet the woman in the flesh. She was ready to sate her curiosity and finally figure out for herself who Emily Prentiss is.

By the end of the case, she realised the Interpol

Chief was everything she predicted, but also not who she fully expected.

She was larger than life, exceedingly imposing, impressive, and memorable. But, it was more than just the way she commanded a room. It was the exploration and depth of character she found in every interaction with the woman.

It was how she owned the fact she wasn't infallible, and took responsibility and action to solve her problems. How she didn't point fingers or cast judgement regardless of who she interacted with.

It was the way she explored and embraced her vulnerabilities, the genuine guilt she obviously felt. To Tara, it made her more real, approachable, likeable and trustworthy as a person.

It was her ability to build rapport and put others at ease. The way she made others feel accepted, special, wanted, seen, needed, and heard. How her presence alone was enough to turn an individual's mood around.

It was obvious Emily was a tactile person, she knew when and how to use a simple touch to ground someone. Her expressions and body language conveyed everything solidifying the meaning and sentiment behind the words she spoke.

After their Mexican family dinner with margaritas and mojitos, Tara noticed everyone felt lighter from her visit. It was like they had all just come back from a rejuvenating holiday. She had a good feeling it wouldn't be the last she saw or heard of Emily Prentiss.

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While Tara had expected Emily to rejoin her old team after she saw the woman in action, she never expected it to be because their leader and his son were targeted and hunted and had to resort to going on the run.

Years later, long Hotch and Jack were safe, Reid was exonerated, and Linda Barnes put in her place, Tara would think back on how right the others were about Emily. How their stories which seemed grandiose and mythical, were in fact true.

Tara now understood it went further than simple respect and admiration. She could finally comprehend why JJ, Reid, Penelope, and David Rossi stood so fiercely behind her. Knowing Emily gave up such a prestigious job and the life she had made for herself in England. A life that had given her peace and balance, one she was sure had helped the woman breathe and heal after faking her death.

Although Tara may not have known Emily from before, even back then, she could see the weight of the world Aaron Hotchner had dropped on her shoulders. How she seamlessly took it on as her own, as if it weighed nothing on her. Tara knew if Emily had said no to his final request that the team wouldn't have survived and flourished as they had.

Tara could still recall the guilt in Emily's eyes as Reid, JJ and Garcia, all begged her with their puppy dog eyes and pleading facial expressions to stay for them. She had known then, the woman would give in, even if it wasn't necessarily what she wanted, even if it would be the thing that could eventually destroy her.

After the accident, losing Stephen, being abducted, drugged, and psychologically abused, Tara wasn't sure Emily would return to them the same. She wouldn't have faulted the other woman, had she caved and given in to her tormentor's demands.

Yet she hadn't. The doctors weren't sure how it was medically possible that she hadn't given in and instead somehow managed to escape with such potently concerning levels of debilitating drugs coursing through her veins.

Tara came to learn it was by Emily's own sheer force of mental will power and need to protect those she loved. That she would always defy the odds and fight tooth and nail to save others. And that she would keep going, as long as she could and eventually she would find a way to move forward.

Tara saw the way she commanded the team with a more empathetic, open, and understanding approach, that her predessor hadn't possessed. The way she looked after them and could herd them like sheep. The way she protected her team at all costs to herself. The way she always found the strength to survive and always outwitted their adversaries.

She once again saw first hand the lengths Emily would go when Reid was incarcerated and framed. She and the rest of the team had speculated, with varying degrees of belief about the truth of his innocence. Yet, as far as she saw, Emily had never once given up on him. Once again putting everything she had on the line to save one of their own.

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In some ways it was similar to the way she later chose to once again, fall nobly on her own sword. When it came to Linda Barnes, she had been willing to bow out and take responsibility for every mistake, blemish, and complaint filed against the team. Tara knew Emily had never once even considered naming names or pointing fingers and placing blame. She had only been trying to protect them all and do what was necessary to keep the team together.

Linda Barnes on the other hand was a narcissistic tyrant with sociopathic tendencies. She hadn't cared what level she had to stoop to, or who she had to step on to reach another rung on her quest for power.

Tara had always seen Linda Barnes for the villain she was. A bottom feeder who took credit for the good work and heroic feats of others. A self absorbed, entitled woman, who pointed blood stained fingers and placed unfound falsely fabricated claims against those who she saw as the biggest threats.

Tara couldn't blame Emily for trying to contain the hot fiery flames aimed at the team herself, she had only tried to minimize the damage and casualty count. She hadn't wanted her friends, her team's reputations and lives to be burnt to the ground.

And that's what Linda Barnes was, a serial arsonist. She set fires, fueled them even, to cause pure chaos, only so she could pretend to be the hero. The first on scene to extinguish the flames and prevent the perceived damage from spreading further.

She took great pleasure watching those most effected by her efforts suffer, knowing she had all the power and pull to frame her narratives geared towards anyone who could raise her status. She had been ready to fast track and climb to the top, and Emily had been the biggest threat standing in her way to the coveted spot of Director.

Tara knew it would have been a glorious moment to actually behold when Emily Prentiss put her in her place once and for all. Showing the Senator that Linda Barnes was trying to impress, what a blood thirsty shark the woman is, how she tried to hide the shotty work of her past self, the very key envidence that led the BAU to their current unsubs capture. Saving the Senator's daughter in response to their due diligence and brilliance, not Linda Barnes' Leadership, like she tried to paint it.

Tara would have loved to have been a fly on the wall to watch the way that parasite strode up to the Senator with the media standing by and the whole world watching. Like she was a knight on her noble steed, ready to step in to take the credit for solving the case, and be the face of the hero who saved the day.

Tara could distinctly picture the way Emily would have defiantly stood her ground, piercing the heart of the dragon with a single calculated and timed blow meant to defeat her. The indignant fear in Linda Barnes' eyes and the gulp she would have tried to hide. Linda Barnes finally been outed as the fraud she had always been.

Tara didn't even have to imagine the closed door meetings Linda had with her bosses afterwards. She knew the cold blooded snake would have slithered in, trying to play her part with indignation. Using looks of shock and defensive outrage as she tried to plead her case. Her confidentially being stripped of her titles and commendations, any more of her desperate tactics falling on deaf ears.

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Tara saw the outcome of Emily's sacrifices, the things Emily gave up for herself to ensure everyone else's safety and happiness. And now Tara comprehends first-hand just how deep her loyalty and morality ran in her veins.

It made Tara sad knowing a woman like Emily would never receive the recognition or appreciation she more than deserved. That the world would never truly know of her heroic feats and sacrifices.

Once the dust settled, Tara would laugh with the other women as she confessed to them her thoughts about when she first met Emily during one of their many ladies'nights, after they drunkenly regaled the Linda Barnes' extermination.

Tara would admit just how scared shitless she had been to meet the goddess they had all described to her. And then Emily would pat her hand and tell her, she too had been petrified for their introduction, knowing the others were already fond and getting quickly attached to Tara.

Tara was just glad their stories weren't fables and she could finally see for herself Emily was every bit the woman they had all described, and if anything they hadn't fully done her justice in their descriptions.

To Tara Lewis the person, Emily Prentiss was Wonder Woman, without the mysgonistic costume. A global citizen, who universally stood for her commitment to justice, peace and equality. Someone to be admired for her unwavering strength, fairness, empathy, and compassion.

To the psychologist Dr. Tara Lewis, like Princess Diana of Themyscira, Emily embodies the virtues that positive psychologists look for in us all; courage, wisdom, justice, temperance, transcendence, and humanity.

And to Special Agent Tara Lewis, the badass brunette had become a symbol of empowerment. She knew she would willingly follow Emily Prentiss into any battle without question. Knowing under her leadership and work, the world became a little more good, just, and fair everyday.

#criminal minds #emily prentiss #random edits #tara lewis #introduction #empathy #friendship #loyalty

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puff-mmd · 1 year

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ciro and kaisei's parents thoughts

kaisei has a mom, his dad passed away when he was really young. His mom wanted to focus on raising kaisei first, and when he was in probably middle school, he could tell his mom was....lonely. he knew he kept her company, but that wasn't the same.

I feel like he learned things like cooking and taking care of the house from helping her out so much. By the time he was in late middle school, i feel like he would have said something to her like "its okay to take time for yourself, i'm not a kid anymore and i can at least somewhat get by on my own while you do you."

He loves his mom a lot and they have a close enough relationship that he can talk with her like that, and he likely told her about his feelings for guys when he was young and unsure of them. She was very supportive of him, having some idea that he was that way for a long time. No matter what, she'd always love her son anyways.

When he is in high school, she does meet someone and he does have a step-dad by the time the story starts. I feel like she may have dated some guys that weren't all that great (and unfortunately some of them may have seemed good until they learned about kaisei. In which his mom immediately dropped them - if they couldn't accept the most important person in her life, they weren't worth her time.)

Kaisei taking Ciro over to meet his mom would be so sweet too. She would really like him - hard worker, loving, and just happy that her son found someone to settle down with. Kaisei probably never outright told his mom about all the sleeping around he did after high school, but she's not oblivious and knew something was up at least. She trusted Kaisei enough though that if he truly needed help, she was there for him.

(Possibly one or two midnight calls between them after he finds out someone he fell for either didn't want him or was with someone already.)

In terms of looks, she probably has muted pinkish/red hair cut to about shoulder length (and one blue horn in the middle of her forehead) but he definitely got his hair from his dad (short, dark, a little wild). His mom has those same electric blue eyes though.

Ciro's parents are a little more distant. They care about him and support him in the ways they can, but they aren't the type of family to really hang out a lot. When i think of his family, i also can't help now imagining he has a younger sister? Probably quite a bit younger, they aren't very close. Ciro is probably seen as the more "successful" one, actually.

Like, to sum them up - Ciro is 27 at the time of the story and in the entire 27 years he's been alive, the family maybe has gone one, possibly two family trips together.

His dad works for a pretty well-off company, and his mom possibly worked within that company before Ciro was born and that was how they met. Once his mom had him though, she chose to stay home and raise him.

It's so funny though because thinking about what his parents look like, I realized Ciro's natural hair color is dark brown. He just dyes it because he likes his mom's hair color and wanted it for himself 😭

Natural brunette Ciro

He is closer with his mom than his dad btw. Mostly because she is the one that was just, around more y'know? He does get along with his dad, but they don't share a lot of similar interests so if they're left to their own devices, it's.

It's a little awkward lol.

His sister is actually closer with their dad, I think. She wants to go into a field of work similar to her dad, so they have that common ground. She's only 19 or 20 in the story though, so she still lives at home for sure.

As far as them coming out to their parents, like I said - Kaisei probably came to her about it when he was still young. Ciro on the other hand, I don't think he told them until after he was dating Kaisei for a while (mostly because he didn't realize himself that he was gay until he broke up with his ex). Couldn't tell them what he didn't know lol.

But in the same way Yoai seemed to know, I think his parents did too. They didn't treat him differently for it, they probably just, didn't care much. Like not to say oh they didn't care about him anymore, just more of "okay. it's not a big deal, you're still our son, it is what it is. Now how is this fashion business of yours coming along? Making lots of profit from it?" - his dad because he's always interested more in hearing about Ciro's business (like actual business) things

Oh God, I think his dad is an accountant.

Anyways, yes both of their families would definitely come to their wedding.

#oc #ciro #kaisei #rambling #i woke up thinking about a post that said if your characters would have parents try to at least establish who they are a little #so yeah #they were definitely kids and raised by someone so #here are those thoughts

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mortallynervousgardener · 2 years

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"The Silent Patient" by Alex Michaelides

Page Count: 698

Alex Michaelides' "The Silent Patient" is a psychological thriller about the journey a psychotherapist takes to try to understand the mind of a woman who had gone mute after murdering her husband.

Alicia Berenson, a conflicted artist convicted of murdering her husband by shooting him in the face numerous times. She's found somewhere not too far off, standing alone, her wrists sl*t.

Something that I find particularly intriguing about this book is that while our main focus would be wondering about the mystery of why Alicia took her husbands life and showing the book through her eyes, the author pulls us mores into the life of the psychotherapist.

Theo Faber, a psychotherapist who upon learning about Alicia and her case, becomes interested and decides to take on the job of trying to uncover her trauma, uncover why she's decided to take the silent oath. From Theo's perspective we learn about his life. We learn pretty much that the mind of a psychologist is never something that is truly tame and deep down they are always still very troubled.

Its like a puzzle, so to speak. As Theo is learning different things about his life and his wife, so are we. We're slowly putting together the pieces with each chapter.

Theo's trouble being that he seeks comfort from his wife, the kind that she is unable to give. He relies on her heavily, to keep him grounded and calm, much like a drug.

Much like marijuana, which he has an addiction to.

Because he's always away at at work, and because he loves her differently so to speak, it causes her to feel that something is missing. That there is no spark in their marriage anymore, which leads her to have an affair. Which he finds out about during one of his intense highs after a smoke sesh.

Now, reading through this book, it kinda send you on a wildly intense goose chase. Here's why:

As each chapter passes, you'd think that more and more things would start to become clear. But no, they in fact do not. In fact, the lines are blurred entirely and by the end you're really left thinking, "wow wow now it all makes sense"

I was frantically trying to predict the end of the book and all my annotations are like "omg what if this is connected to this this and this-" and blah blah blah and so forth. But I was wrong. I'm glad I didn't read ahead to the end because I was tempted to do so, on multiple occasions, due to my being extremely impatient.

So, rather than doing his job, Theo is out here really trying to be some kind of detective. He's going around to Alicia's friends and family, asking them questions and sleuthing around. NONE of that is part of his job at all and he constantly gets in trouble for these things. On top of that, whenever he tries to vouch for Alicia, to have the people working at the Grove give her a little bit of leeway, she goes and does something totally nuts. Any normal person experiencing Alicia's meltdowns would go, "ok so maybe I should just do my job instead of continuously trying to help someone who obviously is not ready to be helped."

But no. Theo isn't thinking that at all. Instead he is always taking up for her after she abuses a privilege. I couldn't help but to think, why doesn't Theo just give up? Why doesn't he try helping another patient? Well the obvious answer being, if he did.. there wouldn't be a story now would there? No.

The other not so obvious AT ALL answer is that Theo was stalking Alicia. Shocking, right?

Throughout the book, every other few chapters is an entry of Alicia's diary. The entries are very convincing and do their job to deter you and leave you thinking that Alicia really is just some poor little mentally tormented woman. The same goes for the chapters that are from Theo's point of view. The author did a really good job of concealing Theo and Alicia's true nature.

Overall, it is an amazing read. I would highly recommend it because the mind f*ck it gives you is mind-blowing indeed. I would love to read more books like these from this author or from any other author. I'm so glad I read this book and I will probably be thinking about it for the rest of the week.

Book Review: 10/10

#good books #bookblog #bookrecs #bookblr #bookaddict #books #bookworm #book blog #book review #books & libraries #r #h #a #f #v #best #aesthetic blogs #the silent patient #best book ever

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helloalycia · 3 years

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The Wrong Lifetime – One // Wanda Maximoff

story masterlist | main masterlist | wattpad | chapter two

author’s note: here’s the long-awaited first chapter! i do hope you all enjoy!

Also a quick one – Y/B/N = your brother’s name, Y/M/N = your mother’s name and Y/D/N = your dad’s name

"You move anymore and you're gonna hit a waiter."

I gave my brother a disapproving look as he grinned at my dismay. "Easy for you to say. You're wearing a suit and not a dress that's heavier than your body."

He wrapped an arm around my shoulder and squeezed it gently. "Y/N, you complain too much. Look where we are! You need to learn to enjoy yourself."

Taking a look around the room, I saw a hall filled with people I didn't know mingling with one another. Flutes of champagne were on almost every hand and laughter filled the air as everybody enjoyed their evening, soaking in the luxuries of a ball somebody I didn't know was hosting. Orchestral music was drowned out by conversations and servers moved through the hall like mice, scuttling around and constantly topping up champagne. I wasn't a fan, as usual.

"Are you both ready? Your father is bringing the Maximoffs here any second," my mother's voice grabbed my attention. "Y/N, at least try to look happy to be here."

I forced a smile, making her give me a knowing look before looking to my brother and fixing his tie.

"You both know how important this is," she told us for the millionth time, fussing over my brother's appearance. "They're expecting–"

"Well-behaved, respectful individuals," I finished for her. "We know, mum. You've told us only a gazillion times."

She pressed her lips together, hands on her hips as her eyes fell to me, displeased. "If this engagement is to go as planned, I need you on your best behaviour."

"I'm always on my best behaviour," I reassured her. "But okay. I'll lighten up."

"Thank you," she said with a grateful smile, before glancing over her shoulder. "Okay. Here they come. Smiles, please."

My brother looked to me, showing me his teeth. "Is there anything in my teeth?"

I cracked a smile to make myself feel better. "Gums."

He gave me a disappointed look. "You know men don't like women who are smart arses."

I rolled my eyes at his comment, knowing men didn't like women who didn't like men. But, of course, I didn't say that.

All her and my dad had been talking about for the past few weeks was this engagement. My brother, a very successful author, was to be engaged to his publisher's twin sister, some girl called Wanda. The Maximoffs were an esteemed family and their unification with ours was in everyone's best interests, especially my brother's who was one of the most eligible bachelors in the city.

I didn't know much about the Maximoffs, only that their son and my brother's 'boss', if you will, Pietro, ran a successful publishing house. It had been in their family name since their parents emigrated to England from Sokovia when Pietro and Wanda were children. They'd built themselves up from nothing and were now high members of society, the perfect family to be involved with.

Y/B/N was to be engaged to Wanda, their daughter, since she was getting to that age where they wanted to find someone for her. My brother's name was put into the mix when Pietro recommended him and the rest was history.

Tonight was the first unofficial meeting with them and my mother had been nonstop lecturing me on the dos and don't's of how to act, as if I was a child that couldn’t behave. Of course, it was only a mere greeting. The true engagement was to be proposed tomorrow night, but that didn't matter to my fussy mother who was insistent on making a good impression.

I found myself straightening up and pressing my hands down my dress to rid it of creases as my brother adjusted his blazer. The Maximoffs were being led our way by my father, the four of them all with smiles on their lips and flutes of champagne in their hands.

"Dear, I would like to introduce you to Mr and Mrs Maximoff and their lovely children, Pietro and Wanda," my dad introduced, stopping before us, before looking to the Maximoffs. "This is my family. My wife, Y/M/N, and my children, Y/N and Y/B/N."

"Please, call me Oleg and my wife Iryna," the twins' father, Oleg, said with a kind smile. He held out his hand to my mother, adding, "It's a pleasure, Y/M/N."

They shook hands and then looked to my brother and I, exchanging quick greetings with us. As they were saying something to my brother, probably gushing over his writing as everyone did, I took a look at the quiet twins behind them.

I vaguely recognised the guy and his striking silver hair from my brother's work, knowing he was Pietro. But I'd never seen the girl before and knew immediately that if I had, I wouldn't forget her face. She was stunning, it didn't take a genius to see that. But not the stunning that you glanced once at and forgot about. No, she was the stunning that knocked the breath out of you and made you forget what your name was.

"...lovely to meet you again!" my brother was saying all the right things to impress his soon-to-be in-laws, but it went over me as I found myself unable to tear my gaze from this mystery woman.

Further introductions went on in the background, before the green eyes I was so enthralled with were looking my way, making me blink suddenly. I instantly looked away, afraid I'd been caught, and zoned back into the conversation that was taking place.

"It's great to finally put a name to a face," the girl, Wanda, was saying to my brother with a honey sweet smile and sultry Russian-accented voice, and judging by his expression, he was just as caught up in her beauty as I was. "I look forward to getting to know you more."

"And I you," he returned with his signature grin.

Her eyes fell to mine once again, lips curving into an amused smile. "And of course, Y/B/N's beautiful sister, Y/N. How lucky a man he must be to have a sister as stunning as you."

The others chuckled, clearly taken by Wanda's smooth way with words. In their eyes, it was flattery at its finest. After all, she was to be welcomed into our family and sucking up to the sister was the best way forward. But I guess, I'd like to believe that there was some truth to her words as her entrancing green eyes sparkled with delight.

"You don't need to win over my sister to get on my good side," Y/B/N joked before I could speak, stealing Wanda's attention away momentarily.

She suppressed a laugh, tilting her head as she studied him with an unreadable expression, before looking to me with curious eyes.

"Thank you for your kind words, Wanda," I finally said to her, offering a small smile.

"Anytime," she quipped, biting her lip to contain her smile.

It was oh so wrong of me to even slightly check her out as she did, knowing that it was not only inappropriate since she was to be my brother's bride, but also wrong since she was a girl and I wasn't supposed to do this. A heat crept up neck as I avoided her teasing gaze, wondering if she knew what she was doing or if she was just a naturally flirty person.

"I'm Pietro," her brother spoke, making me look up again. He was directing a charming smile my way as he continued, "It's an honour to finally meet my best author's younger sister."

I put out my hand for him to shake, but he simply grabbed it and pressed a gentle kiss to the top. I flushed at the contact, a nervous smile on my lips.

"Er, it's nice to meet you, too, Pietro," I returned, subtly wiping my hand when he let go of it.

The twins stood side by side, smiling our way, and I realised just why all the chatter in our social circles revolved around them. Charming, distinguished, good-looking – they were the whole package.

Our parents continued to talk, catching up and talking about stuff I didn't care much for. Every now and then, Y/B/N would chime in if a question was directed his way, or Pietro would add his two cents, or Wanda would say something funny, and I would pretend to get along with all of them when I so desperately wished to go home and go to sleep.

Admittedly, my eyes veered over to my soon-to-be sister-in-law every now and then, unable to look away. She was drop dead gorgeous, with bright hazel eyes that looked green like the earth at this moment, and long brown hair that was pulled back out of her face, revealing her charming smile. Sometimes, when she would smile really widely, a dimple would expose itself on her left cheek at the corner of her mouth, and I was sure that nothing else was cuter than that. Y/B/N was one lucky man.

"...would love for you all to come to our home tomorrow evening for dinner," my father was inviting them all over, bringing me back to reality. "It'll be a great way to get to know each other in a more intimate setting. And it'll give the kids a better chance to get to know each other."

Iryna smiled brightly. "We would love to, Y/D/N. Tomorrow evening is great."

"Perfect," my mum said excitedly. "We'll see you all then."

"Do enjoy the rest of your evening," Oleg said, looking to us all, before looking to my brother. "And Y/B/N, it was good to meet you tonight. I look forward to seeing you again tomorrow."

"You, too, sir," Y/B/N said, shaking his hand with a smile. "I'll see you tomorrow."

Oleg and Iryna gave us all a smile before turning to leave. Pietro and Wanda did the same, though when Wanda's eyes flickered to mine, she waved her fingers slowly and with a playful smile on her lips. My mouth opened slightly, unsure what to do or say, but nobody seemed to notice as she turned and left, leaving me standing there with confusion.

"Well, I think that went well," my mum said, and I tore my gaze from Wanda's retreating form. "Couldn't have gone better actually."

"I agree," my dad said, wrapping an arm around my mum's waist with a smile. "Tomorrow night will be splendid." He looked to Y/B/N. "What did you think of Wanda, son?"

Y/B/N looked like he was on top of the world with his love struck smile and relaxed posture. "She's beautiful. And did you hear that accent? Wonderful."

My mother chuckled. "How sweet. You're already smitten."

"What did you think of her, Y/N?" my brother asked, and all eyes fell to me.

I straightened up. "Oh, I– er– she's very nice. A beautiful young woman."

"Right?" he said in agreement. "I feel like she really likes you, too. How cool is that? You guys can become friends and be, like, close sister-in-laws."

I forced a small smile. "Yeah. Something like that."

Of course, for everyone's benefit, getting along with Wanda Maximoff was the best bet. But something about her was different and I was yet to discover what.

—

The following evening was when we saw the Maximoffs next. As invited, they turned up at our front door dressed less glamorously than last night, given the occasion, but appearing just as excited. Our servants were quick to take their jackets and hang them up elsewhere as we exchanged greetings in the hall.

The Maximoff parents were genuinely kind and humbling people to be around, I'd come to learn that when they thanked our servants for their help and asked them how their day was, making friendly chatter. Not many people did that when entering our home – it was certainly refreshing to see. They greeted Y/B/N and I kindly before moving onto our parents.

The Maximoff children were just as kind, though with a hint of mischief in their stride as they moved to greet my brother and I. Pietro approached me first, lips pulling into a smile as he bowed playfully. In the corner of my eye, I could see Wanda and Y/B/N exchanging greetings.

"It's a pleasure to be in your presence yet again, Y/N," Pietro said generously. "You look lovely this evening."

A smile appeared on my lips at his kind eyes. "Thank you, Pietro. You look very handsome this evening also."

"Apparently it's lamb for dinner, is that true?" he asked, taking me by surprise. I wasn't sure if he was serious, but when his sister slapped him on the arm, I figured he was.

"Don't be greedy, Piet," she scolded him like this was a regular thing.

"What? It was a simple question," he said with a shrug, before looking to my brother with a grin. "Ah, Y/B/N Y/L/N, my favourite writer."

As he moved over to greet him, Wanda looked over to me with a knowing smile.

"It's good to see you again," she said softly, maintaining eye contact.

"You, too," I played along with whatever was happening, the usual script at a time like this. "I'm sure tonight will be something special for you and my brother. It's good to have you here."

She tilted her head intimidatingly. "Bol'shoye tebe spasibo."

I raised my eyebrows, intrigued by her ability to change languages so smoothly. Though, it made sense since she was Sokovian, making Russian her first language. Didn't make it any easier to not be attracted to though.

"I'm sorry," I apologised. disguising my attraction with genuine confusion. "What does that mean?"

She smiled, a hint of smugness present as she answered, "Thank you very much. That's what it means."

I pressed my lips together, humming in response. She held my gaze for a second longer than usual and I wanted to look away, but I was drawn in by the beautiful golden flecks swirled into her irises, captivating and chilling all at once. She didn't seem uncomfortable with the eye contact, instead revelling in it with a content smirk when she saw me squirm. I ended up looking away first, unable to hold a pretty girl's gaze for more than a few seconds without panicking.

"I have something to show you!" my brother was saying excitedly to Pietro. "It's in my study, c'mon."

The two of them wandered off before my mum could stop them.

"Don't be too long, boys!" she called after them, before sighing and looking to Wanda and I. "Y/N, dear, why don't you show Wanda around upstairs, maybe? Hopefully the boys should be back after that and we can all eat dinner together."

I swallowed hard, glancing at a still-smirking Wanda, before looking back to my mum. "Erm, are you sure?"

"Yes, yes, go on, it'll give you ladies a chance to get to know each other better!" she insisted, before ushering me away. "Don't take too long though. Dinner will be ready soon."

Licking my lips nervously, I nodded, watching my mum return to the conversation my dad and Wanda's parents were having. They were led into the living room as Wanda and I were left standing in the hall, her waiting for me to say something.

"This way, I guess," I got out awkwardly, purposely avoiding her eyes as I motioned to the grand staircase.

"After you," she said politely, and I said nothing as I took the lead.

I ended up showing her around the upstairs rooms, including the library we had and the many guest rooms. It was a big home with lots to show for it, so the tour wasn't too boring.

Wanda stayed quiet throughout it, sometimes dropping in a comment or question every now and then, but otherwise listening intently as I explained everything as interestingly as I could. When she did speak, she would leave me fumbling for words or forgetting how to speak altogether. I wondered if she was teasing me on purpose, wanting to get a rise out of her soon-to-be sister-in-law, or if she just wasn't aware of what she was doing.

But every time her mischievous gaze fell to me with a matching smile, I knew that she had to be aware of her actions. Nobody was that teasing without wanting to be. So, that led me to my next question. Why?

Eventually, the last room on the tour was my bedroom. I stepped inside first, holding the door open for her as she followed after and looked around with amusement.

"This is your room," she stated, feet taking her further inside as she took in the appearance of my desk, my bed and my wardrobe. "Fascinating."

I was curious to know what she meant by that, but realising that this woman was an enigma in more ways than one, I knew she wouldn't give me a straight answer. So, I said nothing as I followed after her, remaining close as she soaked in my belongings.

Stopping at my desk, her eyes gazed over the papers spilling from closed notebooks, books marked with string and pens littered across the wood. Thankfully, nothing was open and she didn't seem to be the nosy type, so had no intention of going through anything.

"I see you like writing," she noticed, fingers hovering above the notebooks but not quite making a move to touch them. "Runs in the family, doesn't it?"

"I guess," I said, unsure what she wanted to hear.

She looked up at me, smile tugging at her lips. The same damned smile that had been directed at me since she got here.

"Do you write like your brother?"

I tried not to laugh. "More like he writes like me."

She watched me closely, amusement dancing in her eyes. "He's the author in the family."

I mirrored her smile, though mine was fake. "Published author, love. Doesn't make him the only one."

A chuckle flew from her lips as she looked across my messy desk again, clearly not offended by the hint of annoyance in my voice. I shouldn't have been so offended by her words – she didn't know anything about me – but it always ground my gears when people stuck up for Y/B/N like he was God's gift.

"Do you write?" I asked, half interested and half wanting to change the subject. The least I could do was try to get to know her a little better.

"I prefer painting," she answered without mischief. "It's my favourite thing to do."

Her eyes lit up at the mere mention of art, but she did a good job at reigning it in. She was still studying the books on my desk, distracting herself with the spines instead of facing me.

"And what do you like to paint?" I asked, genuinely interested now that I was beginning to see her actually fond of something that didn't involve making me flustered.

She shrugged, but I knew it was a pretence. "Scenery. Landscapes. We have a beautiful garden at home and it's a pleasure to paint." She finally met my eyes again, a smile of adoration on her lips as she continued talking about the garden. "The flowers, the trees, the little pond we have. It's the perfect subject."

The smile that appeared on my lips was automatic as her passion for her hobby was contagious. The way her whole face lit up, eyes bright with excitement and lips unable to do anything but smile, was intoxicating and I tried not to get lost in the moment. It was true though, what people said. Nobody looked more beautiful than when talking about something they loved.

"I’d love to see your work sometime," I told her earnestly.

Playfulness returning, she hummed in agreement. "Only if I can see yours."

I laughed, looking down at my shoes. "Maybe not."

"Well, that's a shame," she said, still playful, though when I looked up, I almost believed her.

She did that thing again, where she stared at me and held my gaze as if reading my innermost private thoughts. Intimidating wasn't the word, yet it was the only one in my mind as I watched her attempt to decipher me. Clearing my throat, I looked away, suddenly aware of how close she was stood.

"So, my brother," I changed the subject yet again, noticing the entertained expression she wore. "You like him?"

"We are to be engaged, are we not?" she asked with a quirked brow, like the answer was obvious.

I hid the smile from my lips. "That's not what I asked, love."

She licked her lips, pursing them as she saw what I was trying to do. My eyes were immediately drawn to her mouth as she did, and I almost forgot to look away until she started speaking again.

"My parents arranged this," she admitted, not losing composure. "Y/B/N is a gentleman and he seems like a kind man."

I noticed how she still avoided answering the question, but decided not to say anything about it. My eyes studied her curiously though, wondering why exactly she'd agreed to the marriage then. Maybe it was a sense of duty, like every woman had nowadays. Eventually my time would come too and maybe I would be stuck in the same position as her.

"I adore his writing though," she added, like she needed to say something genuine to make up for her lack of answer.

"You and every other woman in the city," I mumbled knowingly.

Wanda let out a breathy laugh. "I'm aware of his many admirers, yes, but can you blame them? He has such a fantastic way with words. And don't get me started on that first piece he ever wrote..." Her eyes rolled back with satisfaction. "It's my favourite. I had no idea who he was back then, but the words he wrote were enough to make me fall in love. I guess it's convenient that my new husband is to be your brother, the author."

I crossed my arms as I leaned against the desk, trying not to break out into laughter. Not because of Wanda's words – they were actually quite sweet – but because of the whole situation. It was hilarious to me, since I was the reason Y/B/N got his big break as a writer anyway.

Following in our father's footsteps, Y/B/N wrote manuscript after manuscript with hopes of getting published. But unfortunately, he never got anywhere with it. I was also a writer, having been taught by my father like Y/B/N when I was a young girl, but unlike him, I was told to stop when I got older because it was 'unladylike' and 'not a woman's place'. That didn't stop me however, and I continued to write like no tomorrow.

Y/B/N's big break, and the first manuscript of his that got published by Pietro – ironically the one that Wanda was discussing right now – was written by me. I gave it to my brother, hoping he could get inspiration. He ended up sending that in and getting signed because of my work. And even now, I occasionally helped him work on pieces that otherwise wouldn't see the light of day.

But nobody wanted to hear about the young, unmarried woman who writes about other women like they are God's best creation. So, Y/B/N keeps the fame and credit whilst I write in private, unable to share any of my work with the world unless it's in excerpts of my brother's books with his name on the front cover.

"That first piece was pretty good, wasn't it?" I played along with Wanda's words, a hint of bitterness in my tone of voice.

Wanda studied me up and down, teasing smile tugging at her lips. "Jealousy doesn't look good on you, milaya."

I hummed in acknowledgement, feigning a smile in response, though I wasn't sure what that last word meant. Probably another Russian term she was using to throw me off. Of course she'd assume I was jealous of my brother's recognition. She didn't know the truth and she never could. She was also to marry my brother, the perfect author, soon; my bitter state was merely a jealous sibling and maybe it was easier to let her think that way.

"Dinner should be ready now," I told her, straightening up. "Let's head down."

She followed after me and I said nothing else as I led her back downstairs, trying not to think about how much of an ego-boost this dinner would be for my brother.

There was nothing better than hearing everyone gush over the work your brother took credit for that you actually did, right?

"Ah, ladies, perfect timing!" said my mum when we reached the dining room where everyone was taking their seats. "Please, sit and we can get started. It's a lovely roast from the kitchen tonight."

As I made my way to my usual seat opposite my brother, I saw Pietro fist-pump the air at the mention of the lamb roast, making Wanda roll her eyes and me smile at his action. Y//B/N took his seat and Wanda's parents seemed to take the two chairs beside him already. My parents took to each end of the table, leaving the Maximoff twins no choice but to sit beside me. I sat at the same spot as usual, at the edge of the table so my left-handed self wouldn't bother whoever was sat beside me, and take a lucky guess to who sat on my right.

"Wanda, dear, how was your tour?" my mum asked her as she got comfortable beside me, leg and shoulder almost touching mine and making me both nervous and disgruntled.

With a grin wide enough to impress my mother, she answered, "It was great. You have a beautiful home, Mrs Y/L/N. And Y/N was a lovely host."

At that last comment, I felt her eyes glance towards me and I wondered if she was having fun making me squirm because I knew for sure that I was anything but a lovely host.

"That's reassuring to hear," my mother responded as the food was brought out and placed in the centre of the table. She seemed like she was joking, but I knew she was just glad I'd been on my best behaviour. "And please, call me Y/M/N."

Wanda nodded gratefully as my dad began to cut into the roast. Food was served up and drinks were poured as everybody began to dig in. The Maximoffs sent their compliments to the chef, admired our home and were the perfect guests, just as they were expected to be. My family complimented Wanda and Pietro's manners, talked about how business was going and laughed at every joke Oleg and Iryna uttered, just as they were expected to be. It really was a picture-perfect scene and I resisted the urge to roll my eyes.

Okay, maybe I was acting a little cynical. The Maximoffs weren't that bad, at least not as bad I'd assumed they would be compared to my parents' other friends. They were down-to-Earth and humbled people, a welcoming change from the usual. I just hated forced dinners and being scrutinised under my mother's eyes to behave, hence the clipped attitude.

And just on cue, the topic steered towards something lovely.

"We can't forget to talk about Y/B/N, bestselling author over here!" Oleg beamed, motioning to my brother. "I have to admit, son, I'm amazed at your writing. You clearly have your father's talent."

My brother smiled bashfully as I watched on with narrowed eyes and a tight grip on my fork.

"You flatter me," he said, but Iryna shook her head.

"I have to agree with my husband here, Y/B/N," she said. "Your writing is superb. Pietro, obviously, loves it, and Wanda is a huge fan, too."

At this, my brother glanced towards Wanda with excited eyes and she merely smiled and looked elsewhere, either embarrassed to be mentioned or playing coy. Rolling my eyes came naturally at this point.

"Tell me, how did you think of what to write for that first book?" Iryna asked with intrigue. "It was my favourite one."

Ah, yes, the first book. Apparently everyone's favourite one.

"Oh, it's best not to bring all that up–"

"I'd actually like to know, too," Wanda cut him off, her curiosity getting the better of her as she leaned forward onto the palm of her hand and watched him under long eyelashes.

I couldn't keep the smile of delight from my face as I too leaned forward curiously, eyeing my brother. "Yes, dear, brother. Please, do tell us of how you came to write such an honest, heartfelt first book."

At this, I felt both my parents send me a warning look as they knew the truth. But neither of the Maximoffs noticed as their attention was solely on my brother.

Luckily for him, he was a great liar and he smiled his charming smile and nodded, looking between the four guests.

"I guess it started after my third failed manuscript," he began, very believably. "I realised that there was something missing from my pages. Something real and genuine. Something that would appeal to my readers and make them question just how much they were appreciating their partner, you know?"

As he rambled off into another literary spout of nonsense, my smile faded and I gritted my teeth, wondering how he'd gotten so good at lying without giving away a sliver of pretence. The Maximoffs were hanging onto his every word, fascinated by the mind of a writer. I tried not to let it get to me as he butchered the meaning behind everything I had written in that first novel. Some things were better left unsaid.

When he finished, questions were fired his way and my parents watched on with pride in their eyes, as he answered them with ease. I chose to stay quiet, as usual, letting him soak in the credit for something he didn't do.

"And what do you think, Y/N?" Wanda's voice included me in the conversation, and everybody's eyes fell to me. I was only looking at her as her lips were pulled into a wide, suggestive smile and she continued, "How is it being the sister of one of today's bestselling authors?"

The usual forced smile that accompanied my lips whenever talking about Y/B/N because present, but my eyes were questioning Wanda's as she was clearly trying to get a rise out of me yet again, especially now that she assumed I was jealous of her husband-to-be's fame. Her stupid beautiful smile and stupid pretty eyes and stupid attractive accent were all taunting me.

"It makes me proud to know that he's come so far from when we were younger," I said, and though I was irritated by the way it had happened, my words weren't entirely false. "He's a talented man and he clearly has a way with words. What more is there to say?"

The elders seemed touched by my words and when I looked over the table to meet my brother's gaze, I saw the gratitude in his expression, hiding behind his smile and reserved for me. I nodded subtly, letting him know I was happy to keep his secret as long as he wished, just like we'd agreed.

Chatter and compliments soon turned to the real reason for our presence – the engagement. I tucked into my dessert as I let them talk about dates for the engagement party, logistics for guests and all the other details I could care less about. Only when my brother mentioned my name did I look up, surprised to see all eyes on me yet again.

"I'm sorry, what was that?" I asked politely, glancing around.

"Y/N, honey, lay off the chocolate cake, will you?" my mum said with a smile that I knew was code for 'put the bloody fork down'.

I forced a smile of my own as I lowered my fork and sat up straight, very ladylike, and looked to my brother.

"I was saying how I'll be sure to pick a beautiful engagement ring for Wanda here," he no-doubt repeated for my sake. "And maybe you could help me choose, to make sure it's something she may like."

A genuine sarcastic smile broke out on my lips, though not because I was interested in ring shopping with my brother. I knew absolutely nothing about dear Wanda or her taste in jewellery, but a woman was to do what she was best at – shopping! So, without sharing my true thoughts on the situation, I nodded respectfully and hummed in agreement.

"Of course," I said what everybody wanted to hear. "I'm sure we can find something to suit Wanda's taste."

Everybody resumed chatter about the wedding as I sighed quietly and got back to my cake. My right hand rested by my side and I jumped, startled when I made contact with Wanda's fingers.

"Sorry," I apologised, moving my hand a little from hers but keeping it there. "Left-handed an' all. I tend to forget."

Green eyes pierced through me with a matching sly smile. "No problem, milaya."

Again with the 'milaya' talk – what did that even mean? I returned the awkward smile as I continued eating, but I didn't fail to notice the way her hand would brush against mine throughout the rest of the meal.

Either by accident or on purpose, I'd never know, but I had my suspicions.

#wanda maximoff au #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda maximoff x you #scarlet witch imagine #scarlet witch #marvel #elizabeth olsen x reader #elizabeth olsen

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lustbile · 3 years

Text

The Journal

TenxReader

Word Count: 7.3k+

Summary/Warnings: Smut with plot, semi public, a lot of biting, mentions of supernatural and just general weirdness, and small amount of blood play

Apart of the Club X series: Masterlist (can be read alone or within the series, but unlike others it might just be the slightest amount confusing)

“So that’s what you’re into now,” your best friend’s voice is bored and distant, her task of wiping down the bar that stretched out in front of her taking a majority of her attention away from the babbling you’ve tried to subject her to since you entered the empty restaurant only about 20 minutes before, “weird demon sex clubs?”

—

“Ah ah, I never said they were demons,” you correct quickly, the thought of defending yourself never crossing your mind as you petulantly slap your hands against the polished wood, “I just said it was…. weird.”

“Weird is an understatement,” she scoffs quietly as she turns to dip her dirtied rag back into the bleach water and ring it out, “I mean look, I’ve always been supportive in the witchy stuff you’ve been into but this…. is a bit much.”

“I don’t see how this is any different than any other thing I’ve read into.”

“Oh you don’t see?” you finally manage to pull her attention towards you as she harshly slaps the rag back onto the wood with a stern glare pulled on her pretty features, “you’re talking about vulnerability and abandoned warehouses and public sex. That last one is definitely new.”

You fully expected this type of response, only hoping she’d be busy enough that you would dodge the motherly scolding she liked to give you when you pitched your schemes to her with your eyes wild and wide, but nevertheless, she was completely right.

It came from an old book, tattered and torn from being flipped through one too many times, that you found at your favorite antique store. The store itself was already notorious with your tight inner circle of friends as the creepy shop that was corrupting your brain, a constant taunt being that the little old woman that ran it was the actual devil and she was just waiting for the right time to jump you and eat you whole, but this did nothing to stop you from visiting at least once a week.

But the book, it was different from any other you had found. It was completely handwritten, including amazingly done sketches in a deep unfading ink, and spoke of outlandish things.

Some were easily brushed off, like a murder that happened in the 50’s that was known to stay in the mouths of the older folks, both to them and the book it was widely believed to be the doing of some long tongued and wild eyed creature, until a local sweet old man admitted on his deathbed that it was instead his one crime of passion.

He had been a young soldier that snuck into his lover’s room one night, and upon learning that she was to marry a nice lawyer the day after he was meant to deploy, his mind went blank and his hands were carving out her heart. He luckily escaped any questioning after being shipped off, and once he returned home he captured the heart of a pretty young girl and lived out a long life sitting on top of a horrid truth.

So yeah, stories of those sorts, having been solved in your lifetime, meant very little to you, but the one you were going on about now, meant the world.

The writing looked like it had been put down by a panicked chicken rather than the woman who’s name was written neatly in the front. It lived in some of the pages towards the back of the small book and spoke of a dark club. Club X.

She went on and on about stumbling across the club purely by accident, and meeting another woman with glittering eyes. Graphic details of being taken in the middle of the dance floor with a million eyes looking but not fully seeing her as she fell apart against a dancing and eager tongue made your heart thump lodged in your throat. But the more and more she visited the club, the more incoherent her words became, but towards the end the writing had become stained and obscured by a deep brown stain, before it stopped altogether.

Thankfully, the details of where the building was was completely visible regardless of being the thoughts of a mad woman, and with a lot of thinking and staring at the town map, you’ve come to believe that you knew exactly where the mysterious club stood.

Only a street down from the restaurant you sit in now.

“Listen, I know it sounds ridiculous, and it probably is, but what’s the problem with just going to check right?” you scramble to pull the delicate book from the bag that sits in the stool beside you as your friend moves closer and closer to where you sit, laying it flat to show her the page you’ve had bookmarked since you read it, “and look at the name she puts, I think it’s the man who ran it and it’s a long shot, but maybe he’s still alive, or if not maybe some family is! Right here, Asm-“

“Don’t say it again,” she’s quick to interrupt, sliding her free hand to hover above the page you’ve glued your eyes to, “I don’t wanna hear any old man names, especially that one it gives me the ick.”

“It’s just a name,” murmur to yourself, but move to put the book away regardless, “but anyways, I have something that most people who were going to the club didn’t, knowledge of what exactly I’m walking into. I can just go and look around, worst things worst its still a freaky sex club and I just go home, but I’m willing to bet this lady was just off the shits and its just an empty building with some funky vintage beer bottles that you can add to your collection.”

You feel like you’ve won an award you weren’t even trying to compete for when she finally breaks out into a soft smile. The huff that leaves her chest is endeared, and you swear your heart began to vibrate when she reached to run a gentle thumb across the swell from your cheekbone.

“Fine, do what you want, but if the bottle isn’t completely intact when you find it I don’t want it.”

“So you’re not coming with me?” your head tilts to the side in confusion as with things of this nature in the past, she’s always followed along to ensure that you didn’t do anything to stupid. You never felt like the company was fully necessary, but it was appreciated regardless.

“Baby, as much as I’ve enjoyed your info dumping you’ve done tonight, the other person that was meant to clean with me had to leave early with a stomach bug so I’m busy pulling a clean up job that’s truly a job for about five people. But you seem to really believe in this little adventure of yours,” she leaves the rag in a damp mass next to the stack of dirty glasses beside you to take your hands in her’s, her slightly wrinkled fingers are still warm and the way they lace with yours makes you feel like nothing in the world could hurt you, “besides, you’re as smart as a whip and I know you have me on speed dial. I trust you.”

——

You no longer love the feeling of being trusted.

When your friend had given you the heartfelt speech only a little over half an hour ago, you felt like you had been put on a nice pedestal before she handed you a cookie with a pat on the head.

Now the “cookie” had turned to rot in your belly and you were faced with your own perfectly dreamed up reality.

It was already late by the time you had walked into the restaurant your friend works at, the sun already setting and the last few customers gathering their things and paying the bills, so once you got her stamp of approval and we’re heading out the door, the only light left was a bright and full moon, and flickering street lights.

You took your time walking in the direction that your book and personal sleuthing had pointed you in, the closer and closer you got to the one warehouse in town that seemed to never be bought back from the city, the knots in your belly pulled tighter and tighter.

But regardless of the almost painful twist in your gut, you surprisingly almost missed the building in its entirety.

It was as if your entire being blocked out the thumping bass that shook the sidewalk and the blinding red light that spilled from beneath the entrance and out the fractured windows. Your brain trying to force itself from entering the building you spent so many weeks trying to locate.

But the way your heart thuds in your chest when you stand in front of the entrance is something you couldn't even pretend you didn’t feel.

Your tongue digs into the side of your jaw, and you're confused at the feeling of warm tears burning at your waterlines. It’s exactly the way the owner of the journal described it in her manic writings, weirdly exact considering the other stories that surrounded it that dated it back far before you were even born.

You want to go in, the shaking steps your legs take is evident to that, but the tense muscles of your shoulders and stomach makes you hesitate and even grumble out into the air.

You almost jump out of your skin when you hear a shuffling to your side, your throat tensing when you look over, and are put slightly at ease when you see two men who you assume are acting as some type of security. You almost expect them to look up and ask you for some type of ID when you’re being very weird and blatant about your presence, but they seem too preoccupied with the dim screens of their phones and the way they lean forward at different times as if they’re waiting for someone.

Your hands are shaking slightly as they scramble down to grab for your bag, desperately looking for something to occupy you to walk by them without being even more weird, and when your fingers wrap around the flaking leather that binds the book, you grab it like a lifeline.

Your fingers flip through the pages with perfect muscle memory as you trip up the few steps that lead to the door, the tabs you carefully placed on the first page mentioning the club not even necessary with the way you could find the page even in your sleep.

You subconsciously hold your breath when you walk past the two men, almost as if the book is instead something wildly illegal and you're trying to sneak past your parents, and your washed with a temporary wave of relief when you pass through the doors without even a glance from the two.

Though the relief is stolen from your bones the second your feet touch the floor of the club.

It’s as if you’ve entered a place you’ve known your whole life, and from the amazing descriptions from the woman in the past, its not a completely surprising feeling.

But another part of you feels like this is the first time you’ve seen human beings in the flesh.

You can't help but to feel like you must look like an absolute nerd as you pull the book up to your face as you start to survey the club, but thankfully the book told at least one truth, and many of the club goers are too busy grouping and grinding against one another to even acknowledge your existence.

More truths come to light as you flick your eyes between the pages and the walls.

The bar is still tucked in the same far corner as she described, the flittering red and blue lights making it feel like a beacon of calm regardless of it being surrounded by drunken forms and its intimidatingly pretty bartender.

The dj is just a stoic and unimpressed looking as the one from so many years ago as he subconsciously bobs to the beat that he creates as he messes with the nobs and switches in front of him. He’s actually so similar, you wonder if you were right and the owner did have family floating around, and maybe the dj is one of them.

You stumble further into the room as you pick out small details she wrote about so lovingly. Your legs carry you to the back of the building as you smile at the sight of the wine stain the writer claimed to have created when her lover shocked her with a playful bite to the neck.

You almost feel like the universe is gifting you everything you could have possibly asked for when you see the loose board that she said a friend of hers would always trip over, and electricity zips up your spine in excitement when you spots the large painting that still hangs over the booth she claimed as her favorite, and she meticulously sketched out next to a paragraph about what she thought the artist was feeling.

All these things though, lead to the things that make your jaw hang slightly open.

The large balcony above you is larger than you ever imagined. The hundreds of bright red carnations she loved to sketch drip from the golden bars like water, and the black velvet curtains that hang over the room it leads to look heavy enough that they suffocate someone if they fell.

She seemed so intensely in love with the place you stand in, and the woman she met there, and those emotions were more than evident from the way the recreated the energy of the club with her words and art. Which only tips you towards the part that caught your attention perhaps the most.

It was exactly where it was meant to be. Just below the balcony that hangs high on the wall, gaping wide and dark like the mouth of a hungry monster coaxing you to enter its throat. The only issue that you can see being the hanging rope that blocks you from entering, but with only shining bright clasps holding it onto hooks on the walls, you don’t think you're above sneaking past it with little guilt.

The hall was the one thing that taunted you the most about the story the woman spun in the little worn book. The empty and dark vass space being something that coaxed her as well, but unfortunately for you, and maybe her as well, the parts of her journal that began the tale of her passing the temping rope, was the exact spot that was stained with bleeding ink and a suspicious brown color.

You survey the space around you, looking for anyone that could possibly be a worker or just a stickler for the rules, but seeing as everyone in your range of vision was attached by the mouth on someone’s neck or sloppy lips, you figured you were in the clear.

You drop the book gently back into your bag before you step slowly forward. Your heart feels like a wild animal trying to break out of the cavity of your chest, and it feels like your intestines have been successfully replaced with writhing worms that are desperately trying to reach your gut. You feel heat traveling up your chest and neck, and as you get within a few feet of what feels like the end of your life, your body begins to shake.

If you had the ability, you would have screamed, and if you had the strength, you would have fought back. But right when you're about to reach the threshold of the hall, and right when you feel like your legs are about to collapse from underneath you, strong fingers clasp over your trembling mouth, and an arm wraps tightly around your waist.

You’re turned faster than you can blink, the sudden motion making your brain swirl in your skull and making you go lightheaded and dizzy. And while keeping their hand clasped tightly over your mouth, the person that cages you in slams your back into the cold wall and knocks the air from your lungs.

The eyes that meet you are cat-like and dancing wildly, the grin the man you're faced with now smiles at you wickedly, and when your hands dart up until your nails dig harshly into the skin of his forearms, his smile only widens.

“Now,” he starts, the remains of a chuckle shaking his chest and his words slightly, “what exactly are you up to?”

You wait for a moment for him to release you from his hold, and when after a minute or so he still hasn’t budged, all you can offer in response is an annoyed arched brow.

“What?” he has the audacity to ask with taunting sincerity, “you thought you were smart enough to go wandering around, so you should be smart enough to figure out a way to talk around my hand right?”

It’s with immense irritation that you realize the two possibilities you’re faced with.

From the book you know about the weird concept of soul mates or whatever they were meant to be. The woman and the mysterious dancing girl she met so many years ago, and similar stories from the friends she met during her many visits to the club who had almost identical tales that she had to recount.

So with that information you know the possibility of this grinning man being your person is high, but your person or not, he was lighting a fire in your chest regardless.

You don’t think or even weigh the negatives before you send him a hard glare, and you show very little hesitation when you push forward to sink your teeth into the first finger you can catch.

His yelp is covered by the blaring music, but you hear it loud and clear before he reaches his free hand up to pinch at the bridge of your nose to pull you off like a rabid kitten.

“You know what I’m up to,” you huff petulantly as you lean back into the wall with your arms folding over your chest, “or at least I’d assume you’d be smart enough to use your context clues right?”

His lip curls when he glances back up to you as he pets at his now bruising finger, but even with the thin veil of irritation on his pretty features, you can tell he enjoys the sarcastic tone you’ve adopted.

“Yeah you’re sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong,” he bites back as he steps closer, crowding your personal space and pushing his chest tightly against yours, “you’re lucky I’m who caught you and not boss man.”

“Boss man?” you ask, trying not to show you excitement over him spilling the treasured information about the club that you want so desperately.

He doesn’t answer you verbally, and the sly wink he throws at you shocks you more than you would like to admit, but when he tilts his head back quickly you don’t hesitate to follow his line of sight to the edge of the balcony.

If it weren’t for the thin wires of light that create hatching over his eyes and mouth, you probably would have missed the masked figure that leers at you from over the railing. His hands and shoulders are covered by the masses of flowers, and the hollow black where he hides his eyes stares down at you two with a look that you assume is annoyance and possible curiosity.

The moment you two look up, the figure jerks back. Your eyes flick quickly between him and the man in front of you, and from the bratty grin he wears as he looks up, you feel as if the masked man didn’t have any intention at being caught.

You get lost slightly in staring at the man pressed against you, his teeth that look sharper in the red lighting and his eyes twinkle in mischief, and even with the obnoxious start to your interaction, you’d be lying to say you don’t find him beautiful.

It takes you a second to regain your senses, tearing your eyes away from the fascinating side profile of the man, but when you glance back up to the balcony, the mask man has retreated back.

“He doesn’t like much when we take people back there before they’re ready,” he attempts at an explanation as he turns back to you, and seems unfazed when he misses the mark and just confuses you further, “he let the two goons outside have a little exception, but that's because they don’t know how to go easy y‘know.”

“No,” you shake your head at him with a quiet scoff, “I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I think you know more than you think,” his voice drops as he speaks now, and as he speaks he reaches out his hand to hold himself propped against the wall next to your head while his other hand moves to run gently up the side of your neck, “I mean, you know who I am at least right?”

“I have an idea,” you admit with a huff, but you also admit to yourself that this probably means you won't be getting into the hall. You do mentally jot that down as a loss, but decide to take the man pressed against you as a win and you reach to grab at his shirt in retaliation, “but you could at least give me a name to work with.”

“Hm, I didn’t expect you to be one for such formalities,” his head tilts in amusement at his own words, and the action nudges the tip of his nose into yours and makes your heart flutter up into your throat, “but you might as well know the name of the man you’ll be destined to fall in love with.”

You roll your eyes hard enough for them to start to ache, and he quietly laughs and moves to press his nose into the soft flesh of your cheek as he feeds off your annoyance.

“Ten,” he answers quietly, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as he moves to whisper the syllable in your ear, and you never thought that with just one word he’d have a shiver rushing up your spine.

You respond quietly with your name, but the word comes out strained and rushed when he begins to nibble on the lobe of your ear and pushes his knee harshly between your thighs.

Both your hands now hold tightly onto the sides of his shirt, and when his lips move to trail against the side of your neck that isn't enveloped by his hand, you tug roughly at the fabric and your back arches slightly away from the wall.

His tongue is hot when he lays it flat on the center of your throat, and when he swipes it up until it flicks against the end of your chin, you can't help but cringe slightly at the feeling regardless of the way it makes heat pool in between your thighs.

The wicked grin on his face never falters, it only grows wider and more hungry when your eyes meet again, and with his staring so deep that you fear he may be collecting every ounce of your soul, you two have a silent agreement on the unnatural waves of electricity that connect you.

When his lips finally land on yours, it's the roughest and clumsiest kiss you’ve experienced. Both of you fight each other with hungry and eager tongues and the way your teeth gently knock together has your skull rattling in a way that, if you weren’t so hell bent of devouring each other whole, you’d probably have to take a breather.

Your hands reluctantly release the wrinkled fabric of his shirt, and in a desperate attempt to stay occupied, they shoot up the tangle tightly into his hair. You admit, you probably tug harsher on the strands than you probably should, but the groans he pours into your mouth, and the way his hips rock roughly into yours, has you tugging again and again.

He presses you further and further into the wall, and without thinking your hips begin to kick and tilt down until you're grinding harshly and sloppily against his tense thigh.

You let out a quiet whine that's muffled and garbled by his moving at the feeling of him pressing his thumb gently into the dip beneath your jaw, and pressing into your jugular. The sound is followed almost immediately by a small yelp when he latches his teeth to your bottom lip and gives you a stinging bite.

You’re frustrated almost immediately with the lack of friction you can feel from the layers of clothing between you, and now the slight shooting pain from the tensing skin between his teeth, you can feel the impatience in your belly crawling up and invading your chest and throat.

He’s quick to pull away when you retaliate with your own nipping bite to his top lip, your teeth still sinking down when he does and making his sting probably just as much as yours. And when he eyes you as his eyelids droop down into an accusatory squint, you assume he’s not used to getting a taste of his own medicine.

He mutters something to himself about your feistiness, and a sly comment about how he shouldn’t be surprised as he was expecting to get a handful, but he gives you no time to make a snide comment or even question about any of the words, before his fingers are closing firmly but loosely around your neck.

He keeps you rooted in the spot that you stand, the only change in your posture he allows is pulling you slightly away from the wall, just wide enough for him to slink behind you and tug you roughly back into his chest.

“You like poking around into business that isn’t yours?” he asks rhetorically as his free hand reaches around your shoulder to push past the neckline of your shirt, and right as he pressed down the center of your chest and his fingers brush the bottom of your rib cage, his fingers curl and he starts to drag his blunt nails up your sternum as he continues, “need to know and see every single little thing right? So… what’s the harm of being on the other side of it for once?”

“What are you on about?” you as sharply as you try to turn your face towards him the best you can, but his hand tilts under the bottom of your chin until your head is forced to lean on his shoulder and he’s nothing but thrilled at the way it makes you struggle.

“To be seen, or not?” he presses his lips back against the shell of your ear, and the way he whispers roughly makes you shiver again as your thighs press tightly together, “you know what I mean, and you know the answer I want, but its all up to you in the end.”

The electric and slightly humiliating buzz of being seen in a mass of bodies committing the same sins as you was something the woman in the book went on about frequently. She mentioned that there were a few times where she and her lover snuck off to get alone time of course, but the almost blinding pleasure that came from being worshiped by not only one person, but the eyes of an entire room, was addictive. And you wanted just a taste.

You grumble in response, the idea of admitting to the already confident man that you did indeed wanted the same amount of attention as he did made your chest burn even more than it already was, and you’d rather take your chance with his terrifying looking boss than to give him the satisfaction of your verbal confession.

He seems unaffected by your nonverbal confirmation, the way you press into him as his hand wraps around your waist again and creeps down to the button of your shorts, and your own hand grabbing onto the sleeve of his rolled up long sleeve shirt to guide him to undo the clasp or just dip below the waistband, is enough of an answer for him to know.

He chooses to pop the button, and once he has the zipper pulled down enough that he can work with, he begins to shove the worn denim down your hips along with your underwear until they are wrapped around your knees and he can push his fingers roughly between your thighs.

You try to clear the fog that he creates in your mind from his teasing fingers long enough to reach your free hand back to give the same treatment to the dark jeans that wrap tightly around his hips and thighs in a way that had you mentally drooling from the moment you got to get a full look at him, after he ambushed you of course.

You’re not sure how he undid your shorts so quickly without being able to see, but as you fumble and scratch your nails against the sensitive skin of his hip, you give yourself the benefit of the doubt seeing as your trying to work while his middle and ring fingers tease over your entrance and the heel of his hand presses clumsily into your neglected clit.

He, on the other hand, doesn’t give you any benefit of the doubt. He at least has the decency to press his lips across your cheekbone and temple to muffle his quiet laughs, but to make your task even more difficult, his fingers shallowly curl up into you just enough to make you twist and curl.

Once the button of his jeans finally releases, you instinctively let out a huff and sink your shoulders back into his chest as you reach past the fabric to wrap your hand around his stiff length and pull it from the confines until you can press it against his lower belly. And you get just one tally on your side of the boards you’ve created in your mind when his amused laughs devolves into pleased grunts and tilting hips.

“Please,” you start quietly, trying to rock more against the parts of his hand that press against you while running your palm up and down the length of him and smearing him with his own pre come, “I can tell you’re just as impatient as me.”

He swears in your ear, using his hold on you with both hands to shift your hips up and pull you closer before he clears his throat to speak, “well could you imagine, looks like we are a match made in heaven.”

“More like hell,” you retaliate, digging the heel of your own palm into the skin just below the tip of him to egg him on even further, “but either way, that's the point isn't it?”

“I should have expected you to be just a little bit of a smart ass,” he mutters a half hearted complaint, but he only contradicts his own words when he pushes your hips away enough for you to guide him between your thighs and to glide against the arousal that spilled from your body and his hands spread messy along any available inch of skin.

He thrusts smoothly against your back a few times, bringing his arm down to guide him towards your entrance painfully slow, but when you let out a gravely moan of his name, he cant deny himself for any longer, and he’s sinking into you until your eyes start to gently flutter.

Once he’s seated inside you, his hand tenses slightly tighter around your neck, and when you both start pushing towards each other to meet in the middle of your thrusts, his other hand takes the opportunity to map any inch of you he can reach.

He gropes almost painfully at your chest, traveling over your stomach and up your shirt to dig his fingers into your skin until you swear he’s tattooed his finger prints onto you, all while nipping and lapping at the skin of your jaw and neck.

No one immediately in front of you is watching, they’re all in their own worlds of flesh and saliva, but you can still feel eyes of someone on you. His first and foremost as they burn holes into the side of your skull and glance to watch where you push back against him desperately, but there’s another feeling you get of being seen and studied thats so intense that you’re a little shocked when you chance a glance up and see that whoever the masked person was from earlier wasn’t there at all.

So no, you have no idea who, or what is watching you right now, but you can feel the unusual heat it stirs in you as your body flutters around him as he fucks you sloppily. You feel a deeper relation to the woman that owned the book that still rests in the bag that feel unceremoniously from your shoulder when he first put his hands on you, and you hope that maybe you’ll eventually slip into the life of bliss that she meticulously wrote about and possibly learn what happened that demolished the stories that lived in the back of the journal.

You could feel the pleasure crawling up your spine like a monster out creature, your panting breaths tipping the man that works you over off to this even though you’re sure he was already aware before you were, and you think your legs are back to the edge of collapsing when his creeping fingers dance along the expanse of your stomach to find their place back between your thighs.

Your back stiffens at the first touch of his rolling finger on your clit, and your head tilts even farther back onto his shoulder than he already had it. He doesn’t seem interested in coaxing you to your finish slowly, at a pace that would have mercy on your melting mind and shaking form, but he instead abuses your clit until your whimpering out and stumbling and stepping slightly on his toes.

You feel like you’re waiting out the suspense of a horror film that’s score is too obvious to the incoming jump scare. You tilt your neck in a way that seems normal to him, but in reality your trying to feel the many rings that decorate his fingers with the delicate skin of your throat to test if any of them could possibly be sharp enough to cut you and draw blood. You know what blood means to him, and you know it's something he’ll have to do soon if he truly can feel how close you are to the edge.

You feel like you’re floundering a bit, confused from the possible deviation from the story you’ve committed to memory. Was there any chance in this world that this wasn’t your person?

You push this thought away as soon as your panicked mind can construct it though, because there’s no way the spell that it feels has been placed on you would be there if that was the truth, and your body is heated almost like a furnace, but you suddenly love the idea of being burned by him.

You pull in a gasping breath of air that pierces through the music and grunting that rattles in your ears, the taste of your orgasms dancing on the back of your tongue and your back arching so harshly you fear that one of your muscles might seize up and cramp. And right when you feel his hips start to stutter in tandem with yours, and when you’re only seconds from blabbering out mixed syllables that you could only hope would come out as a coherent question, you feel it.

His teeth latch onto you again, his canines not sharp enough to make a clean cut as they dig into the muscle of your shoulder, but his determination is strong enough.

It burns painfully, and makes hot tears well up in your eyes, but almost embarrassingly, is the exact thing that pushes you scrambling over the edge.

You feel like it hurts to breathe, your lungs so focused on letting out puffs of air and broken moans that they can't seem to remember how to bring oxygen in, and your eyes roll for a completely new reason for the man and much more painfully.

It’s when you feel him start to suck the rushing blood from your newly christened wound that you also feel the rumble of his groans against your skin and feel him start to come inside of you. His fist tightens again around your neck as he pushes aftershocks through your nerves with his own orgasm, and with flying hands you grab at both of his wrists, not to ask in any way for him to ease up, but from a sudden wash and need to hold onto him possibly until you die.

He lets you collapse to the floor once he pulls out, but he follows your sinking form and sits alongside you and partially underneath you as you both try to catch your breath.

The club scene in front of you is now blurs of flashing lights and abstract writhing forms, and if it wasn’t for the zaps of energy you feel from every brush of his finger tips, your brain would probably be too muddled to register him fixing both your clothes and his.

You become just slightly more aware when he shifts your body against him enough to grab at the strap of your bag with the heel of his shoe, and you try to sit up faster than necessary and give yourself a small head rush when he pulls it to himself and flips it open.

“You seemed a little weirdly unaffected by the whole,” he flails his hands in front of you for a second as he speaks, and your lagging mind takes a second to catch up with his attempts at implication, “not the fucking part clearly,” he teases, “but the leading up to it. The meeting part and all.”

“I know what this place is,” you admit, and if your legs had gained just a bit more strength you probably would have stood and requested a glass of water just from how gravely your voice had become, “I knew I was probably going to run into you.”

“But you weren’t looking for me,” he tries, and fails, at hiding the slight edge of offense his voice shows, “if you knew I was here why didn’t you look for me?”

“I didn’t worry about it,” you say, warming up a bit again in the fear that it may have come off slightly rude, “or, like, I mean I knew you’d be able to find me easier than I could find you. I was more interested in finding answers.”

“Answers to what? You said you knew this place, or at least what it is?”

“Well I only know the basics,” you shift in his hold, knocking his hands away as they sift through your bag, and grabbing blindly until you can pull out the book, “I found this journal and it-“

“A journal?” he asks in a volume that could have been obnoxiously loud if it weren’t for the thumping bass that shook the floor beneath you, and pulls the small book from your hands.

“It was written by a woman who came here a long time ago,” you explain, deciding to not take offense to his rough and grabbing hands, “I found it and tracked the club down, I needed to see if it was real.”

“Oh it's real alright,” he laughs as he starts to flip through the pages, stopping for a moment to smile at a simple sketch she had done of a cat that she said lived in the back alley, “hey wait I think I know this name, and these people.”

“What are you on about?” you ask with a scoff as you tug the book from his grubby fingers, “you can’t possibly know these people, this was written in like the fifties. Stop pulling my leg.”

“Oh I see,” he smacks your thigh playfully as he leans over your shoulder to glance at the first page that mentioned anything about the date, the ink clear enough to read 1953 in the swirling handwriting, “you think you know everything.”

“I do know everything, fuck you,” you glare playfully at him over your shoulder, “or I would know, if you’d let me go into that weirdo hall.”

“No hall, for now at least,” he sighs, the gears in his head turning as he thinks of the next thing to say, “but you know, time doesn’t exist the same way here, the woman who wrote this probably didn’t know that at the time, so I’m not surprised you don’t either.”

“What do you mean time doesn’t exist?” you look at him as if he’s grown a second head, but do you really have the nerve to question him like that? Considering that entire concept of the club you are very aware of its existence now, a time situation shouldn’t be the most shocking should it?

“Well, it's hard to explai-“

“Then don’t explain it,” you almost jump fully out of his lap at the deep voice that rattles above you, and both him and you look up at the figure that looms over you now.

The man is tall, his black hoodie looking weird in contrast to the clothes of the other club goers, and with a squinting observation and a familiar and annoyed sigh from the man seated behind you, you realize you’re being stared down by the mysterious entity that is the DJ, his hands shoved deep into his hoodie pocket in annoyance.

“Huh?” Ten lets out more in the form of a noise than a word, as his arms wind tightly around your form.

“I said don’t explain shit,” the man begins to tap his foot in irritation as he speaks, and you wonder if he’s aware that he’s in rhythm with the song that surrounds you, “you need to chill out with the loose tongue, its bad enough we have the big mouths outside.”

“I wasn’t gonna go that far,” Ten sounds reminiscent of a scolded toddler, and considering the man is hindering you from getting information that you wanted so badly, you can feel yourself mirroring the pout he wears, “I know what I’m doing alright man? Why are you over here anyways, shouldn’t you be at your little booth minding your business.”

“No one minds their business over at that booth, and you should know that better than anyone pervert,” the words are sharp, but the curl to his lips and the underlying playfulness to his tone tells you the likeliness of them being friends is high, “anyways, I know we don’t follow any regulations or anything here, but I’m still gonna take a fuckin’ break or two.”

“Well breaks over,” Ten reaches out a hand to playfully swat the man away, “I didn’t wait this long for you to just interrupt my bonding time with my person alright?”

“Alright, alright,” he finally starts to shuffle away, throwing one last comment about Ten being bitter his person showed up first over his shoulder with a grin.

“What a loser,” Ten starts, looking at you playfully and rolling his eyes, “too bad he’s like my best friend or whatever.”

“You seem to have a lot of fun around here don’t you?” you take a shot at voicing your observations, your heart fluttering in a completely new way at the warm smile he shoots you.

“Just wait a see, my love. Just wait and see.”

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