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bestfriendforhire · 1 year

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Children of BFFH, Entry 176

I enjoyed swimming again with my friends. Since coming to Best Friend For Hire, I swam with the quadruplets in their family pools, out in the hidden pond at the center of the labyrinth, and through the air over the backyard as Luce created floating pools of whatever shape she fancied at the time. Swimming through floating pools by this waterfall felt novel, but I was even happier to find yet another comrade here.

Older though he was—well, technically not—Ben hadn’t seen magic before meeting us. Every spell my friends used made him wary, but the wonder in his eyes was quite evident as well. Even the food, to which I was still growing accustomed, shocked and delighted him. Yes, my friends could easily pass as chefs already, despite their age. I was… improving.

I knew I learned things at an accelerated rate compared to my former self, but I felt like such a novice next to my friends during Chef Marco’s lessons. Each of them knew exactly what he meant when he spoke—often in Italian for love of our native tongue or for my benefit—while I still hesitated, always moving a step behind my friends. Momma assured me that I would become more comfortable with cooking, but my foster mother was good at everything.

Becoming a vampire had quickened my mind and body to a degree that still made me marvel at times, but that wasn’t enough to truly give me a knack for everything as Momma seemed to possess. I knew I was improving at pacing myself to appear human, but I couldn’t do half as well as Messy or Crazy. When acting human, those two could laugh and stumble as naturally as any actual human; Auntie Aaliyah insisted that the stumbling was important. I struggled.

Laughing, in example, was a natural response when in a good mood for the former me. Now I had to stop myself the moment I realized I was about to laugh. I needed to slow my smile, consciously open my mouth, and control how the sound formed. If I reacted naturally, my laugh—and sometimes my good humor—would appear and disappear in an instant to any humans around me. These things were tricky, despite how the other kids made them appear.

Though Ben was still far better at appearing human than I am, his continual bewilderment toward the others still gave me a sense of camaraderie with him. His struggles were different, but he struggled too.

“Why are you hiding so close?” he whispered to me.

I motioned for him to be quiet while I created a sound barrier around us as Momma Cosette had shown me. I knew my use of magic was relatively quick by human standards, but forcing the energy around me to obey still took concentration for me where none of my other friends showed any effort when not pushing themselves to learn something new.

“Okay, he won’t hear us now.” I told him, speaking normally.

“Uh… okay. So why are you hiding one tree over from me?” asked Ben, who had been staring at me since his first question.

“Oh, yeah.” I muttered, having forgotten what he asked as my mind had wandered while casting that spell. “Sorry. I get excited to meet others who aren’t quite so good at everything as them.” I replied, motioning around us.

“But you’re one of them!” he insisted, giving me an incredulous look.

“Yes, but no. I only woke up five months ago from a five hundred year nap, so I’m a bit out of sorts and still new to being a vampire.” I explained, looking at him curiously as his face started to move in unexpected ways. As I watched, I wondered if he even knew how he was feeling in this moment. I certainly didn’t.

“You’re an old lady!?” he exclaimed after his face settled on a look of disbelief.

“I’m ten. I fell asleep at ten. I only have ten years of experience, excluding that which was granted to me, and still am acclimating to this world.” I insisted, a little miffed that he had called me an old lady.

Once again, he didn’t really seem to know what to think. “So you’re saying that you’re over five hundred years old, but I have more experience than you?”

I nodded, having just told him that. “Excluding what I was granted, yes.”

“What do you mean by ‘granted’? How can someone grant experience?” he questioned with a frown.

“It’s a vampire thing. We can infuse our blood with a type of magic that can alter those it enters, which is how the vampiric hypnotism thing actually works if you were wondering. In this case, the one trying to share information sort of imprints memory into the blood, and other vampires can instinctually access it. Feels super odd, but I know some really old vampires. One of them gave me some memories to help me adjust to my new century.” I explained, easing around the tree as Aspy got closer to us.

“How old?”

“Over thirteen thousand years. They were born into these little tribes, I guess. I’m supposed to go visit them sometime with Momma and get a history lesson. They have all sorts of stuff that they gathered over the years. The Boss recommended it too, which means it has to be cool.” I told him excitedly. I really was looking forward to checking out the home of the eldest vampires.

“That’s insane. Are there really vampires that old!?” he asked in complete shock.

I motioned for him to back up as I ducked around the tree, not answering. Aspy was really close. As a werewolf, Ben should have better hearing than an average human, but he didn’t seem to be paying much attention. I knew he was in real trouble when Aspy suddenly switched directions, probably due to whatever that spell was he had used.

Right as I thought Ben was going to be tagged, he dodged around the tree and started running to the base, but Aspy used his telekinetic ability to shackle Ben, capturing him easily. Seeing that our conversation was over, I opened a door to the base and stepped through. For a moment, I frowned, realizing that I had forgotten to dismiss my barrier, but I let that go with a shrug. The spell wouldn’t even last an hour with the energy I had stuck into it.

The game continued with more and more people joining Aspy’s team each round, a variation on hide-and-seek that Ben had recommended. I found the whole experience novel, having never played the traditional game either. Even after I was captured by Doc, who had blocked me from entering my door to the base, I had fun, thinking we might have to add this to the things we play at home.

#Children of BFFH #Jovial Times #Children #of #BFFH #Jovial #Times #Fantasy #Fiction #Story

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hortascountrysidenotes · 2 years

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No Change

And so it goes on, France burns, England gets drier and drier and now finally an official drought has been declared - next week therefore in true British fashion it will rain. Leaving cynicism aside, we are forecast some storms and rain from about Tuesday afternoon and on through Wednesday but the satellite picture seems hit and miss and we could be unlucky. We hope not. As we are back in the mid thirties for a run of 5 days, the only difference to the very high temperatures of July is that the nights are a bit cooler and are in fact providing a considerable dew. So much so that we can see green shoots of grass already starting to emerge and our walking boots are pretty wet from the 06.00 starts with the dogs. Watering continues but we are beginning to use all the bathwater each day by baling it into flagons for some lucky recipient in the garden. The hose is used only for the vegetables which are just keeping going.

Sowing more salad seeds is nearly impossible but the landcress has germinated and so have the Winter Density Lettuce - the radicchio has also popped up but the seed tray is in constant shade. The tomatoes however are fantastic, I have never had such a crop. Courgettes hopeless, I think the special Italian variety have not stood the heat and lack of water nearly as well as the good F1 hybrid such as Defender - I have piled water on but they are sick and sad - will not be growing them again despite the success of last year.

The Novice Working Test in sugar beet was cancelled for today which was a relief - it would have been dangerous for man and beast. However the training session on Tuesday night went ahead and we learned a great deal more. Bertha was starting to overboil with all the excitement so at a lesson on Thursday morning we went back to basics which I will continue with until the next big training day on 31 Aug which is walking up in beet again. The Test has been postponed to September 18th which gives us plenty of time to settle her again.

Wildlife struggles, the birds love the bird bath as all the ponds on the common are dry. The swifts slipped away quite early this year - first week of August and they were gone. The third brood of swallows have fledged which is always such a joy - just 3 but that means 8 for the year and one complete failure. Pretty good considering the weather - they have to go quite a long way for water but the reservoir pond on Mark Robersons farm still holds a good level of water and in the evening when we walk the dogs that way we can see the swallows dipping and diving sipping water. My favourite sight though are the moorhens who must be pretty desperate who sit in the bird bath about every hour!! The water is warm but they dont seem to mind.

It will be interesting to see what we have actually lost in the garden. Certainly one birch tree - I have a little baby one in a pot and I would suspect a number of perennials. I am always amazed at how the roses survive and do quite well. The new Amelie Nothombs are a huge success but another interesting observation has been how the new bloom in the morning, looking fresh and beautiful gets burned during the day and by evening the petals are completely crisp and browned. Despite this the plants are throwing out masses of new growth and look incredibly healthy. This is a good rose!!

HORTA

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seihun · 4 years

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can i be your boyfriend? — a bbh social media au

ϟ prev ◂ part 15B ▸ next

ϟ pairings: byun baekhyun + oc:reader

ϟ word count: not too long, hopefully, because this is supposed to be a social media au (2.6k)

ϟ notes: hello! look at me, writing things out on this fake text blog, and updating before midnight. i don’t usually do this, but somethings are better said in incoherent paragraphs than in screenshots, plus it’s hard to convey the in-between steps of a relationship through just texts, so i hope you enjoy this insight into their budding relationship 🤗 more notes at the end!!

MONDAY.

“How exactly is it that you started working at Buzzfeed?” you question, reaching over a pillow to dip your bread in olive oil.

Baekhyun watches with amusement as you whine audibly when some runny oil drips from the bread onto your jeans. The indoor picnic he’d set up is pretty damn great if he does say so himself—blankets, pillows, and enough Italian food to feed a small army; and you, of course.

It’s another one of his many, many dates with you—or at least, he’s pretty certain they’ve been dates. Hearing you confirm that you like him was definitely a confidence booster, and reassuring, to say the least, but if Baekhyun’s being completely honest, he’s not sure where to go from here.

He likes you, he knows that much. He likes you a lot; a lot, a lot—(“You’re halfway in love with her, call it what it is,” Minseok said, before getting his ear pinched by Maize)—and he definitely loves spending time with you, and if you asked him, he’d say you’re dating casually, but would you agree?

It’s not like he would know, this is his first serious sort-of-relationship, after all. Baekhyun was never exactly the most suave kid back in high school; more clumsy and awkward than anything with anyone who wasn’t Kyungsoo. He’s not a complete novice; he’s been on dates, gone out, even had a few one night stands in his freshman year, but nothing close to this—whatever it is he has with you—so sue him for basically winging everything for these past two months.

“Honestly,” he recounts, “I did what you did. I complained publicly about one of their posts, and someone DMed, and eventually offered me a job, and here I am.”

“Wait, that’s not fair!” you whine, “Nobody wanted to pay me for my complaint tweets!”

“Well you should have tagged the VP of the company, not me.”

Baekhyun laughs while you pout, toothy smile diminishes into a closed lip one, as his eyes glaze over and flutter between your eyes and your lips. He finds himself leaning in after you, a nervous kind of excitement taking over him as you grow closer. And it’s just barely after his lips have grazed yours that you’re both interrupted by the buzzing and ringing of a cellphone.

You seem to know that it’s your phone, if the crinkling of your eyebrows and embarrassed exhale are anything to go by. Baekhyun simply chuckles, gently presses his index finger to the tip of your nose, and pulls away with a smile.

He watches you fetch your phone, and reluctantly answer the call—which, appears to be a FaceTime judging by the noise and the distance with which you hold your phone from your face.

“Chanyeol, if you’re trying to let Sehun win best friend of the year, you’re succeeding,” are your first words, and Baekhyun can’t help the audible laughter that leaves his mouth.

It doesn’t go unnoticed by you, or Chanyeol. “Who’s laughing, are you—is it the Buzzfeed boy? Oh, is this is a date? Baekhyun are you listening! Hello! My name’s Chanyeol, and I’m—”

“I’m going to hang up on you, what do you want!” you hiss.

Baekhyun finds himself smiling throughout the rest of your conversation. He likes that you’re comfortable enough to answer Chanyeol in front of him; he thinks that if Maize or Kyungsoo or Minseok called him, he’d pick it up in front of too. He’s not too sure about Junmyeon, though, he’s more likely to embarrass him.

Baekhyun hopes he can stick around long enough to meet the rest of your friends—from what you’ve told him about them, they sound like just the kind of people he likes having around. And after hearing how long you’ve been friends with them, namely Sehun, he finds himself even more understanding of your dynamics.

Not many people get just how deep a friendship can run, so when he tells people he’s known Kyungsoo for as long as Kyungsoo’s been alive, their reactions are surface level at best. But you get it, because Sehun is your Kyungsoo; or, rather, you’re Sehun’s Kyungsoo. Baekhyun shakes his head at the thought—the point is, you’re both similar in that respect, and he likes it. He likes you.

“Anyway,” he tunes back into to hear Chanyeol sighing, “I just wanted to let you know I burned the bear, so our apartment smells like smoke, which makes Sehun and I homeless for the evening, so we’re at your place, please bring dinner.”

“What do you mean you burned it! Chan—”

“You know, as in we lit it on fire. Sehun also wanted to throw it off the roof, but Chungha stopped him, so we just did it our living room, and now she’s being a meanie and saying she can’t help refuge us because she has a ‘group project’ meeting at her place in an hour, which I think is a lie. Baekhyun, if you’re still listening, I want you to know that I’m not a pyromaniac—”

“—Debatable—”

“I’m not. Anyways, bring food when you’re done flirting, Sehun and I are hungry, and Chungs is leaving us foodless, as per usual.”

“Then buy food.”

“Do I look rich to you?”

“Yes, actually—”

“Hyung—oh, hey, is that _____?” Sehun’s voice asks, “Hey, Chanyeol finished the gummy worms, can you—”

“I’m hanging up!”

Baekhyun watches with light in his eyes as you hurriedly end the call, then sheepishly turn back to him. “I am… so sorry they’re like this,” you apologize, putting your phone back face down on the blanket and composing yourself.

Baekhyun shakes his head, “Don’t worry, my friends are much worse.”

“Your friends are smart,” you reason, “And quiet, and don’t break into my apartment at their earliest convenience.”

“Actually, Junmyeon has done that last one,” Baekhyun hums, scooting a bit closer to you, “Except, it wasn’t my apartment, he broke into Minseok’s. Let’s just say it didn’t end well for him.”

Baekhyun thinks the embarrassing anectode was worthwhile to hear you laugh, even if it was at Junmyeon’s expense. It’s fine, what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.

“So, does Chanyeol normally light things on fire or was this a one time thing?”

“You’d be surprised by the amount of things he’s accidentally set on fire since I’ve known him, actually,” you laugh, “But no—well, you know the bear I told you about? The one, um, Jongin gave to me when I saw him on Sunday?”

Baekhyun nods. Of course.

“Well, I also told my idiot friends about it, and that’s what Chanyeol burned,” you tell him. Baekhyun bites his bottom lip, trying not to laugh, but the temptation is written all over his face—or, evidently, so, as you chime in with, “It’s okay, you can laugh.”

Thank god, because Baekhyun wasn’t sure he could keep a straight face (or hide his blatant happiness). He decides right there that he likes Chanyeol. You have good friends.

Admittedly, after hearing you tell him about your history with Jongin as both a friend and a boyfriend, Baekhyun can’t say that he’s exactly fond of the guy. Junmyeon tells him to never judge a book by its cover, but seeing as you gave him the summary, he thinks he can fairly conclude that Jongin isn’t… the best person in the world. And the way he treated you and your friends is enough to make Baekhyun weary about him as a person.

Still, Baekhyun doesn’t judge you for talking to him. He’s not exactly jealous; he’s confident in your feelings for him and his for you, and above all, he trusts that you’re being honest with him. Quite frankly, Baekhyun doesn’t consider your ex boyfriend to be a threat.

Baekhyun knows you clearly just want to be a good friend, or at the very least, a good person to Jongin; and after knowing him for almost a decade—even if things got a bit bumpy—Baekhyun thinks you’re more than justified in that. You clearly see something in Jongin that you think can be helped, and Baekhyun trusts your judgement; you did pick him, too, after all.

Does he like that Jongin gives you gifts, and is very clearly still into you even tho you can’t see it, and don’t want any part in it? No, not exactly. But, on the bright side, Baekhyun’s the one that has your attention, and that counts for more than something.

(Not to mention you have a couple of guys who are both rooting for him and willing to beat up your ex at moments notice, so, he’d say he’s in a pretty good boat).

The only thing Jongin has ever had that Baekhyun wants is the opportunity to call you his. But he thinks he’s getting there. Hopefully. Is it weird to ask the ex of the girl you’re interested in how he got her to be his girlfriend in the first place? Do you even want to be his girlfriend? He hopes so.

He doesn’t know if sharing cheese and crackers and pasta and bread is any indication that you want to be his girlfriend, but he’d like to think it is. Because that’s what the next half hour consists of—you and Baekhyun, sharing food over smiles and stories and endless laughter.

Baekhyun finds himself laughing so hard at a story you tell him about Chanyeol and Chungha pranking Sehun, that he might as well be laughing over you. His hand ends up on your shoulder in his fit of giggles, and yours just barely above his knee. Neither of you comment on it, but you don’t pull away, either.

He’s about to chip in with a story about his childhood self, when he’s interrupted by notification noises again. Baekhyun grins at your exasperated exhale and tightly closed eyes. “It’s fine, they’ll be fine,” you tell him, silencing the ringer, and turning back to him in an attempt to continue your conversation.

Baekhyun’s about to tell you that it’s okay, that you should check your phone in case it’s an emergency or something, but he doesn’t have to; because it starts buzzing again and again and again and eventually is back to ringing.

“Answer it,” Baekhyun smiles, “Seriously, I wouldn’t want you to have to face Sehun’s wrath for ignoring him.”

It’s silent for a minute, while you scroll through your messages, and thumb a response. Baekhyun watches as your expression changes from annoyed, to vaguely amused, to concerned, to borderline unhappy. It makes his own eyebrows draw together when he sees the frown start to form on your lips.

“Everything okay?”

“Uh… I don’t think so,” you sigh, locking the screen and looking up at him, “I think I gotta head home, Sehun might have broken smoke detector and Chanyeol got… something stuck to the ceiling trying to fix it.”

Baekhyun can’t help the laugh that escapes him. You have really good friends.

“Fuck, Baek, I’m so sorry, this is—you did all of this, and my idiot friends—”

Baekhyun takes one of your flailing hands into his, effectively calming your stature and forcing to you make eye contact with him. “Hey, it’s fine, I promise,” he reassures you, “Really, it’s okay. If I got stuck to the ceiling I would hope Kyungsoo would come rescue me, too.”

“You don’t have to say that just because—”

“I’m not just saying anything,” he laughs through his words because the look on your face is nothing short of adorable, “I mean it. I had fun on our—I, I had fun, today. It’s fine, really, I promise.”

And so, you smile, demeanor significantly calmer, “I… should call a car,” you tell him, his eyes traveling down your enveloped hands, which he releases slowly, embarrassed; but then you grin again, tapping away at your phone, “I had fun on our date, too, Baekhyun.”

(So these were dates! Nice, cool, cool, keep it cool. He doesn’t; he grins like a blushing fool).

Baekhyun helps you gather your things, and moves the food around so that neither of you step on it; walks you to the door when your car says it’s arriving shortly. He waits with you on the doorstep, pretending to look out for a white sonata, when he’s really stealing glances at you through your small talk.

“Would you, uh… I mean, you’re probably already going, so,” you cut yourself off with slow exhale, turning your body towards his, “There’s this showcase, presentation type thing, for some students to, uh, present about their research coming up soon. You might already know about it, since Kyungsoo is giving one about his summer internship, I think—and it might be a little boring, and that you’re not a science guy, so it’s okay if you don’t want to—”

Baekhyun cuts you off by calling your name, a wide smile playing on his lips. “I’d love to go,” he tells you, earnestly, “I was going to go, to see Soo anyway, but I wanna support my new favorite biochem student, too.”

“Really?” You reach out and grab his hand, an action that almost seems lost on your in your flurry of excitement or flattery—or both—but, not on Baekhyun, whose palm suddenly feels warm. You must have been able to tell you flustered him, because your eyes widen, looking down at your hands, then promptly pulling them away.

“You, I mean, I want you to come, but only if you want—”

Baekhyun doesn’t know what moves him to take a leap, step a little more into your space, and take both of your hands in his with unwavering intention, but he’s glad for it; because you don’t pull away, and the look you give him kind of makes him never want to look away.

“I want to go,” he says slowly, dipping his head down the slightest, close enough to see the rings of your irises, even in the dim lighting of his porch, “I want to be there for you.”

There’s an almost inaudible “okay,” that leaves your lips, the letters rolling off your tongue with a shy smile that Baekhyun finds himself mimicking. His eyes flutter away, just for a moment, to your hands, then back to your face, before he slowly lets them go, only to rest them against your jaw again.

Baekhyun might be using the “taking things slow” mantra as an excuse for his complete lack of experience on how to navigate a real relationship, but this, right here, he’s sure of. That he likes you, that he wants you, that he—

“Can… can I kiss you?” he asks, just above a whisper.

His eyes are frantic, looking for an answer in yours, but instead he gets them from your lips; a soft, “Yes,” accompanied by a softer nod that Baekhyun would have missed if not for having your head in his hands.

When he leans forward, you meet him halfway, lips pursed together—and Baekhyun thinks that, yeah, if being in a relationship with you meant he got to do this, all day, then he would have to figure out how to be your boyfriend sooner, rather than later.

One kiss turns into two, then three, then four with smiles, and giggles in-between, and the only thing that seems to pull you away from each other is the honking of a car horn. Flustered, Baekhyun lowers his hand, bites on his bottom lip as you fumble to check the license plates on the car to those on your phone.

“I think that’s my car,” you tell him, and maybe it’s wishful thinking, but he swears there’s slightest twinge of disappointment in your voice, too, “I—I had fun, Baek, really. So, thank you, again.”

“Me too,” he says, words on autopilot, brain still stuck in the moment before.

He smiles, daystruck as he walks you to the curb, before you cross the street. He’s about to wish you well again, before you turn to him, and give him the smallest, barely there peck on the lips.

“Goodnight, Baekhyun.”

He doesn’t even know if he responds audibly, he’s processing you in fragments, watching your silhouette as you cross the street, and head into the backseat of the car. He swears he catches the smallest wave from you through the window, but for all he knows that could have been his imagination.

Your goodnight kiss lingers on his lips, on his mind, and it’s only when he’s back inside that he lets himself break out into the foolish grin he’s been hiding all night. He’s going to have to figure out how to do that boyfriend-girlfriend thing. As soon as possible.

ϟ tag list: @artfulbarnes @bat-shark-repellant @baek-byunies @baeklooming-day @bbh-kji @cosmins @coffee-prince-kyungsoo @etsjusoa @exuwu @elyxion1485 @fifiaaaaaa @haechanspudu @honeyboocal @httpschoisan @junkfoodwriting @just-a-sad-writer @j-pping @kkpoptrashhh @littleflowercrown13 @loeytingz @marina-del-rey98 @mangobaek @miraculyfe @mochahyuck @oasissehun @ohwosehun @p-polaroid @peachesyeol @peacherparker @penguinsoo-l @rikachusworld @sakura-uji @shesdreaminginoverdose @sekshi-namjas @smolpeyy @strawberrychannie @takoyakkun @to-all-the-stories-i-love @vaiva @writingindaisies @xiutingmyself @yourexotextplus

ϟ more notes: more smoochies!! they have kissed a few times (maybe once or twice) since their first kiss a few parts ago, but i had no way of showing that to you guys so here you go!! they’re in a weird stage where they kiss each other goodbye and go on dates and like each other but it’s not exactly... dating?

i hope this gives some insight into baekhyun’s thoughts, as well. some things are harder to get across through just texts, but i wanted to show his feelings beyond his overexcited, adorable messages 🥺 he’s still a whole babie, but he has complex thoughts!!

i’ll finish rambling now, but there is an intended part 15C (which I know, sounds like it should just be part 16 at this point, but in a perfect world, I’d have been able to fit everything into one post but i digress). maybe it’ll be part 16 anyway, but it’ll likely include some writing because the xiuchen drama is back!! 🤗

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concentratedbitterness · 3 years

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The Last Job

Houston, Texas: 1975

It’s late, and the halls of the art museum echo with the footsteps of only a few stragglers. Malcolm feels out of place; Houston is a big modern metropolitan city that seems as foreign to him as Hanoi and as bustling as Quantico. It’s enough to make him feel like some kind of Texan caricature in his boots and flannel. At least he’d left his hat in the truck. He wanders for a few moments, past statues that make him blush and paintings that make him decide to look down at the floor instead, until finally he finds the hall marked ‘Italian Renaissance’. The old man leans heavily on his cane, rooted to the spot as though he’s stood there for hours, right in front of a small exhibit of novice artwork recovered from a fifteenth century Florentine art school. Malcolm clears his throat politely to announce his presence, but if the Spaniard notices he does not acknowledge it. Breathing a quiet sigh of resignation, the hunter steps a little closer to have a look at what has transfixed the warlock’s attention.

Most of the pieces are unremarkable to his untrained eye–the usual portraits of rich patrons and saintly figures plucked from some biblical tale or another–but this one; this one is different. The brushwork is refined, appearing far more the work of a master than a student. Simple tempera colors hewn from egg white and crushed pigment, nearly five hundred years old, blend so flawlessly and vibrantly they might dance from the canvas. It is a marvel fit to hang beside the likes of Botticelli or Caravaggio, and yet, he is not struck by the skill of the artist so much as his subject. A young woman stands at a window pulling a comb through a cascade of dark hair; a field of sunflowers across a Tuscan landscape at sunset lay beyond. She looks back over her shoulder at the viewer--or perhaps the artist himself--the expression on her face both penetrating and hauntingly sad.

“I cannot help but wonder,” The Spaniard remarks, as though he has only just now heard Malcolm’s footsteps approach behind him, “–If it is the mark of a true artist to possess such skill that one might capture the truth not of what something is, but of what it truly wishes to be. What do you see when you look at her?”

“You’re talkin’ ‘bout the artwork?” Mal drawls, shooting the old man a sidelong glance. He seldom comes away from a conversation with the warlock having understood more than half of it. “Did I just drive seven hours for an art history lesson, Santiago?”

“I am speaking of the demon.”

That gets his attention. “Demon?”

“Sí. The demon.”

His brow furrows, and for an instant he wonders if Santiago means to imply the painting itself is housing some kind of spirit. “What demon?”

A gnarled hand rises from atop the cane, one digit aimed at the scene on the canvas, seeming to ignore the question. “I had a son of my own once, long ago.” The old man speaks slowly in heavily accented English, “Did you know this?”

Malcolm shakes his head; the distinct impression rising in his gut that he is not going to like where this is going. “No...No, I didn’t know that. What’s this ‘bout a demon, now?”

“I watched him burn, and tasted his ashes on my tongue,” Santiago replies before the full questions can pass from the hunter’s lips.

“Jesus Christ. I’m sorry.” It sounds trite and insufficient, and far too loud in the quiet hall of the museum. Mal wishes he hadn’t said anything.

A huff of laughter wheezes from the old man, but there is no humor in it. “Many centuries have passed. Time dulls the memory and the heartache, but the taste–that I cannot forget.” Steely gray eyes remain focused upon the painting. “Nor have I forgotten the face worn by the one who sealed his fate. Esa zorra es muy hermosa, no? It is only skin-deep, mijo.”

The cryptic old bastard is speaking literally for once, Malcolm realizes. He looks again at the woman in the painting, seeing everything in a new light now that he, too, knows that it is not the face of a woman staring back at him; but a demon. It’s not a coincidence that he’s standing here in front of this particular canvas, having this particular conversation. He feels his stomach twisting into knots before he dares to ask, “You asked me t’ come here ‘bout a job…”

“Sí. I did.”

“You didn’t say anything ‘bout a demon.”

Santiago doesn’t reply.

“I can’t keep doin’ this,” the hunter confesses, reaching for the pack of cigarettes in his back pocket that he’d promised Belle he would throw away the last time she’d caught him slipping out to his truck to sneak one.

“And yet, here you are.” He’s smiling; Malcolm doesn’t need to see his face to know it.

“I already told Marshall; this’s my last one.”

“You said this the last time.”

He taps one out of the pack, eyes moving over the woman in the painting--the demon--as he rolls it between his finger and thumb and places it to his lips. “I mean it this time.”

#[muse tag :: malcolm]#[muse tag :: santiago]#[file :: headcanon]#[file :: drabble]

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rumor-imbris · 3 years

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To keep your mind busy while you're in a train.

Besides Connor (your sweetheart) do you like another assassin?

Any future fic of Mary and Connor?

Which part you find it difficult: the writing of the novel or the research on how it was the New World in the 18th Century?

~From the fatina 😊 ✨

Giulietta, my sweet fairy! Here I am, I'm sooo late, sorry! Connection was really bad on board the train because of the many tunnels, then I was tired to death and fell asleep! UoU zzZ So, thank you so much for your ask. Wow, how many questions! Let's start...

1. Ezio was the one who started it all for me, he was my mentor ^-^ righ before I found my soulmate in the Mowhak Valley (▰˘◡˘▰) So, yes, I can say a very affectioned one is Ezio; like for anyone else, I guess, he enters your heart, makes you a novice and never leaves you. I also had a big crush on him in the beginning, (again like everybody!) but you know I'm very jelous by nature, so it couldn't work between us xD!!! And then you came and he fell for you! Oh, and his sister Claudia! i think she's amazing and I'm one of those poeple who think she deserved a spin-off game! Claudia inspired me a lot to create Mary's path in my AC3 FF novel!

Adewhale is also an assassin I really loved, very well written, tenacious and amazing, very underrated. I really liked that in "Freedom Cry" you're not motivated by money or resources, but in terms of freed slaves; it represents very well Ade's purpose, I think.

And then, of course Grandpa Edward! I'm not a big fan of AC IV Black Flag, but grandpa is grandpa! In my headcanon AU Grandpy Eddy is still alive and so proud of his grandson captain of the Aquila ★~(◡‿◡✿) 2. Mmhh... I have something on my mind. The main story is concluded, but I was thinking of writing some separate episodes, little adventures, maybe one where they sail to England, a new OC and fragments of their life before and after the journey North. We'll see. Some things are well shaped already on my mind, other less, but as always, I think I'll start writing only when I think it's the right moment ᕙ(⇀‸↼‶)ᕗ

3. This is a good and interesting question. As I wrote here many times, writing the whole novel was a super hard thing on its own, it took a lot of motivation. I had to force myself thinking that this was something I wanted to do for myself, no matter the purpose or gaining nothing useful out of all of the work it could have taken, it was all about me and my passion. Also it took almost three years and during that time many things evolved and changed, in between which I had one of the worst moments of my life and the writing process was completely ceased, until things started to align in a more positive way and I felt like going on writing again and concluding the story. It happens, I guess. The most difficult part, however, for me was the naval language. Historical research for a period writing is never easy, I've been there before, for other stuff I wrote in the past, and this time most of that part was in the main game already. The naval technical language though is... tough! Also I had to search terms both in Italian and then in English, as they are very different! It was hard, but I learnt a lot. The world of the ships, vessels, frigates, brigantines and so on is extremely fascinating, but it's a real maze! You could easily end up losing yourself and making mistakes, especially when it comes to describe battles in open sea and list the cannon types, the shots, the directions and all the sailors' terms the case requires! Furthermore, about Mary, I always tried to keep in mind that she is a young lady in the 18th century. A very difficult time for women, mainly ruled by men, when people thought that a girl's only purpose in life (even a wealthy one) was to get married well and give birth. I don't want to spoil too much, but I mentioned an important figure of Feminism and progressive thinking back then, I hope you might want to read until the end to find out who she is!

Sorry for the very long answers, I hope everything is clear and exhaustive! Thanks again for the ask, come visit me again whenever your curiosity wishes to!

#Ask #Friends #ask me anything #favourite assassins #my OC #FanFic Novel #AC3 fanfic

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pamphletstoinspire · 3 years

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Saint Anthony, The Miracle Worker

June 13th - Today is the Feast Day of Saint Anthony of Padua. Ora pro nobis. (Pray for us)

He is one of the most famous saints of the Church, known universally as the super-competent manager of the celestial “Lost and Found” department. (“Tony, Tony, come around; something’s lost and can’t be found” is a prayer whispered by millions.)

For those of us accustomed to this familiar relationship, however, it may come as a shock to learn who Saint Anthony of Padua, O.F.M. actually was. For though he only lived 35 years, Anthony was renowned during his lifetime for his forceful preaching and expert knowledge of scripture – and for his miracles.

So well regarded was he, in fact, that in all of the 2000-year history of the Church, Anthony was to become the second-most-quickly canonized saint, after Peter of Verona. Anthony was canonized by Pope Gregory IX on 30 May 1232, at Spoleto, Italy, less than one year after his death.

Fernando’s Life Plans, Changed

Fernando Martins de Bulhões was born in 1195 to an aristocratic Lisbon family and initially joined the Augustinians at the age of fifteen. He was the guest master for their abbey containing the famous library at Coimbra, when his whole world suddenly changed.

Franciscan friars had settled at a small hermitage nearby; their Order had been founded only eleven years before. News soon arrived that five Franciscans had been beheaded in Morocco; the King ransomed their bodies to be returned and buried as martyrs in the Abbey.

Inspired by their example and strongly attracted to their simple, evangelical lifestyle, Fernando obtained permission to join the new Order, upon his admission adopting the name ‘Anthony.’ He then set out for Morocco; however, he fell seriously ill and on the return voyage his ship was blown off course and landed in Sicily. When he found his way to northern Italy, Anthony was finally assigned to a rural Franciscan hermitage, due to his poor health. There he lived in a cell in a nearby cave, where he spent much time in private prayer and study.

ANTHONY THE HOMILIST: One Sunday in 1222 a number of Dominican friars visited for an ordination and a misunderstanding arose as to who should preach. The Dominicans were renowned for their preaching, but had come unprepared, thinking that a Franciscan would be the homilist. Anthony was entreated him to speak whatever the Holy Spirit should inspire him with; his homily that day created a deep impression and began his career as a speaker. By 1224, St Francis of Assisi, founder of the Order, entrusted Anthony with the theological preparation for his priests.

Anthony focused on the grandeur of Christianity in his homilies and when a few years later he was sent as the envoy from the Franciscans to Pope Gregory IX, the Pope commissioned his collection, Sermons for Feast Days (Sermones in Festivitates). Gregory IX himself described him as the “Ark of the Testament.”

ANTHONY THE MIRACLE WORKER: The stories of Anthony’s 13th century miracles make fascinating reading for today’s Catholic. Despite their obvious folkloric tone, it is the miracles’ utter originality that impresses most. One comes away thinking that such astonishing occurrences can only be fairy tales — or the special kind of reality that seems to envelope the saints. As there are far too many miracles to recount here, we’ll focus on three of the most famous:

THE KNEELING MULE: The teaching of the Real Presence was disparaged in northern Italy during the 1200s, as the gnostic heresy of the Albigensians had spread from France. One day, Anthony was publically challenged. “The heretic stood up and said: ‘I’ll keep my beast of burden locked up for three days and I will starve him. After three days, in the presence of other people, I’ll let him out and I’ll show him some prepared fodder. You, on the other hand will show him what you believe to be the body of Christ. If the starving animal, ignoring the fodder, rushes to adore his God, I will sincerely believe in the faith of the Church.’

“The saint agreed straight away. God’s servant entered a nearby chapel, to perform the rites of the Mass with great devotion. Once finished, he exited where the people were waiting, carrying reverently the body of the Lord. The hungry mule was led out of the stall, and shown appetizing food. The man of God said to the animal with great faith: “In the name of virtue and the Creator, who I, although unworthy, am carrying in my hands, I ask you, o beast, and I order to come closer quickly and with humility and to show just veneration, so that the malevolent heretics will learn from this gesture that every creature is subject to the Lord, as held in the hands with priestly dignity on the altar”.

God’s servant had hardly finished speaking, when the animal, ignoring the fodder, knelt down and lowered his head to the floor, thus genuflecting before the living sacrament of the body of Christ.”

THE LISTENING FISH: The story takes place in Rimini, a port on the Adriatic near Padua. On a Sunday morning, the Saint found the fishermen there not at Mass. He began to preach to them and met only with ridicule. Anthony then stood at the edge of the water, looked in the distance, and proclaimed so that everyone would hear:

“’From the moment in which you proved yourselves to be unworthy of the Word of the Lord, look, I turn to the fish, to further confound your disbelief.’

“And filled with the Lord’s spirit, he began to preach to the fish, elaborating on their gifts given by God: how God had created them, how He was responsible for the purity of the water and how much freedom He had given them, and how they were able to eat without working.

“The fish began to gather together to listen to this speech, lifting their heads above the water and looking at him attentively, with their mouths open. As long as it pleased the Saint to talk to them, they stayed there listening attentively, as if they could reason. Nor did they leave their place, until they had received his blessing.

ANTHONY & THE BABY JESUS: Anthony was welcomed by a local resident in an Italian town where he was to preach. His host gave him a room set apart, so that he could study and contemplate undisturbed. Soon, however, his curiosity about his famous guest overcame him and his host peeped through Anthony’s window. What he saw there has been immortalized in almost every Catholic Church in the world. “A beautiful joyful baby appear in blessed Anthony’s arms. The Saint hugged and kissed him, contemplating the face with unceasing attention. The landlord was awed and enraptured by the child’s beauty, and shocked when, after a long time spent in prayer, the vision disappeared; the Saint called the landlord, and he forbade him from telling anyone what he had seen. After the Saint passed away, the man told the tale crying, swearing on the Bible that he was telling the truth.”

SOMETHING’S LOST AND CAN’T BE FOUND: An incident in the university city of Bologna is the origin of the Saint’s fame as a finder of lost items, people and spiritual goods. Anthony possessed a book of psalms with valuable notes and comments for use in teaching his students. A novice who had decided to leave the Order stole the prized psalter. Anthony prayed his psalter would be found or returned. The thief was moved to restore the book to Anthony and return to the Order. The stolen book is said to be preserved in the Franciscan friary in Bologna.

THE FAME OF ST. ANTHONY SPREAD GLOBALLY with the former Portuguese Empire and with the diaspora of 19th and 20th century Italian emigrants. Stories of the Saint’s interventions are reported, therefore, from the four corners of the earth:

In Siolim, a village in the Indian state of Goa, St. Anthony is always shown holding a serpent on a stick . This is a depiction of the incident which occurred during the construction of the church wherein a snake was disrupting construction work. The people turned to St. Anthony for help, and placed his statue at the construction site. The next morning, the snake was found caught in the cord placed in the statue’s hand.

THE GRAVE OF SAINT ANTHONY OF PADUA: Anthony was proclaimed a Doctor of the Church on 16 January 1946, and his Basilica in Padua contains his mortal remains.

By Fr. Francis Xavier Weninger, 1877

St. Anthony, who derived his surname from the city of Padua, in Italy, because he spent many years there in preaching the Gospel, was a native of Lisbon, in Portugal. He received, in holy baptism, the name of Ferdinand, and was very piously educated by his parents. No sooner had he become acquainted with the dangers of the world, than he, in the fifteenth year of his age, to be safe from temptation, went into the cloister of the regular Canons, which is not far from Lisbon, where he also made his religious vows. As, however, he was disturbed too much there by the visits of his friends, he went, with the permission of his superiors, to Coimbra, into the monastery of the Holy Cross. To this house came, one day, five friars of the Order of St. Francis, who were travelling to Africa to preach the Gospel to the Moors. They suffered martyrdom, however, soon after their arrival there, and their holy bodies were brought back to the monastery of the Holy Cross, at Coimbra, and solemnly interred in the church attached to it. Antony, hearing how fearlessly these martyrs had preached the true faith and had suffered for Christ’s sake, conceived an intense desire to preach the Gospel to the heathen and to give his life for the word of God. Hence, he determined to enter the Order of St. Francis, that he might have an opportunity to gratify the wishes of his heart.

After much hardship, he was at length, when 20 years of age, received into the Order, and after his novitiate, he obtained permission to sail for Africa and preach the Gospel to the Saracens. Scarcely had he arrived there, when God proved him by a severe sickness, which exhausted all his strength, and forced him to return to Spain. The ship, however, in which he embarked for home, encountered contrary winds, and instead of going to Spain, was driven to Sicily. No sooner had he set foot on land, than he heard that St. Francis, the holy founder of his order, had called a general chapter at Assisium. He immediately went thither, in order to receive the blessing of the Saint, which was cheerfully given. When the assemblage dispersed, not one among the superiors was found willing to be burdened with Antony, who was greatly enfeebled by his long illness, and moreover, was thought to be not quite sane. The Father Provincial of the Roman province was at last moved with compassion, and sent him to a house called Mount St. Paul, which was situated in a wilderness. There St. Antony lived a most austere life, performing the most humble labor, and occupying all his other time with prayers and holy meditations.

After passing several years in this manner, he was sent with a few other religious to Forli to be ordained priest. The guardian of the monastery requested the Dominican priests, who had also assembled there, that one of them should make an exhortation or deliver a short sermon. As they all excused themselves from so doing, he said, more in jest than in earnest, that brother Antony should speak to those assembled. Antony obeyed, and delivered so eloquent a sermon that all were astonished at his knowledge and ability, as, until now, they had deemed him one of the least gifted. Not willing that his extraordinary talent should any longer be hidden, St. Francis himself had him ordained priest, and gave him a double employment, namely, to instruct his brethren in theology and also to preach. The duties of both functions were discharged by him, with great credit to himself and an indescribable benefit to others. He converted the most hardened sinners by his sermons, and among others induced twenty-two murderers to do penance and change their wicked course of life. The heretics he convinced so thoroughly of their errors, that they could not withstand him, on account of which he was called the “Hammer of the heretics.”

Many of them he converted to the true faith, among whom was Bonovillus, who had denied the substantial presence of Christ in the Blessed Sacrament. Not able to reply to Antony’s arguments he requested the following miracles. Having starved his ass for three days, he was to bring him food at the same time that Saint Antony should come with the holy Eucharist; and if the beast, before touching his food, should fall down before the Blessed Sacrament, he would believe the Saint’s words. At the appointed time, the Saint arrived with the Blessed Sacrament, accompanied by many Catholics, and addressing the ass, which was held by Bonovillus, he said: “I command thee, in the name of thy Creator and my Saviour, whom I, although an unworthy priest, carry at this moment in my hands, that you come, in all humility, and pay Him due honors.” Bonovillus, at the same time, threw down the animal’s food and called him to come and eat. But without touching the food, the ass fell down on his fore knees, and bent his head. The Catholics rejoiced at this incontestable miracle, but the heretics hid their heads and Bonovillus was converted. At Rimini, the chief seat of the heretics, he ascended the pulpit; but as no heretic would come and listen to him, the Saint went to the sea-shore, where just at that time many of them were standing, and called to the fishes to hear his words, as men would not be instructed. And behold! suddenly a great number of fishes raised their heads out of the water, as if to listen. Speaking for a short time of their Creator, he blessed and dismissed them. This miracle caused the heretics to listen more attentively to St. Antony and to follow his admonitions.

At another time, he made the sign of the cross over a goblet filled with poison, and drank it without being harmed. The cause of his doing this was that some heretics promised to return to the true Church, if he would drink the poison and not die. A perpetual miracle was the fact that, although he preached only in one language, yet all his hearers understood him, no matter what might be their nationality.

Who can count all the miracles God wrought through this Saint, or who can sufficiently praise the wonderful gifts with which he was graced? More than once it happened that at the same time when he was standing in the pulpit to preach, he appeared also in the choir and sang the lesson of the daily office of the Church, which was pointed out to him. He prophesied many future events and knew by divine revelation many secrets of the heart. There lived, in a French city, a writer, who publicly led a most immoral life. St. Antony resided for some time in this city, and as often as he met this man, he bowed very low to him. The writer, on perceiving it, was greatly incensed, as he believed it was done by the holy man only to deride him: hence he reproached him with menacing words. The Saint, however, replied: “Be not surprised that I show such respect to you before others. I have long prayed God for the grace to die a martyr, but it has not been granted me. You, however, will receive this honor, and therefore I evince such particular respect for you.” Although the writer laughed and made a mockery of this prophecy, yet the future showed that the Saint had spoken the truth. After the expiration of some time, this immoral man made a voyage to the Holy Land, in company with the Bishop of the city. On arriving there, he was seized by the Saracens, who demanded of him that he should deny his faith. He, however, remained firm in confessing it, and after having been greatly tormented, he suffered the death of a martyr.

St. Antony was as undaunted and fearless in punishing the wicked, when circumstances required it, as he was famous by the gift of prophecy. At that period Florence was governed by Ezelinus, who, among other cruel deeds, had executed 11,000 men of Padua, part of whom were in his service and part in garrison at Verona, because the inhabitants of Padua had rebelled. Nobody dared to oppose this tyrant in the execution of further barbarities but St. Antony, who had sufficient courage to go to him, and representing most powerfully his inhuman conduct, threatened him with the just wrath of the Almighty and the torments of hell, in case he repented not and abstained from, his tyranny.

During this menace flames of fire darted from the countenance of St. Antony, as Ezelinus afterwards related, which so thoroughly frightened the tyrant, that he fell trembling at the feet of the Saint, and most earnestly promised repentance. As he converted this and many other sinners by admonition, he moved others , in a different way to do penance. Many said that he had suddenly appeared before them at night and exhorted them to repent. “Rise quickly, said he at such times, and confess the sin by which you have offended the majesty of God.”

I should hardly know where to end, were I to relate all that St. Antony did to convert sinners, or how many future events he foretold. I will mention only a few more facts, from which the conclusion may be drawn that, as the holy man appeared in different places at the same time, so also, by the power of God, he was miraculously transported, in one moment, from one place to another. The father of St. Antony resided at Lisbon in Portugal, as treasurer of the royal revenues, the duties of which office he discharged with fidelity and integrity. One day, he was requested by some gentlemen in the king’s service to advance them some money out of the king’s treasury, making a verbal promise to return the same in a short time. The pious treasurer, who neither feared deception nor danger, gave them what they asked, without taking a written receipt. When the time arrived at which he had to deliver his account, he asked the officers for the borrowed money, but they denied having received any. This perfidy grieved the kind man deeply, and he knew not what to do. Seeking refuge in fervent prayers to God, he received help in a miraculous way through his son, who resided at that time in Italy. At the time he was to appear before the royal judge to be sentenced to return the missing money, his holy son suddenly appeared in the room, and addressed the officers in the following manner: “This kind man, my father, has advanced you, upon your request, a sum of money out of the royal treasury, on such a day, at such an hour, in such a place, as is well known to you. I warn you to return it to him and to indemnify him; otherwise, divine vengeance will strike you, and you will be heavily punished.” The guilty men were not less astonished at the presence of the holy man, than at his menaces and the revelation of their wickedness. They immediately testified in writing how much each of them had received, promising at the same time to repay it in a short time. No sooner was this done, than the Saint disappeared from their view.

This pious treasurer was in still greater danger at another time. He was accused of having committed murder, and sentence was to be executed on him and his servant on the following day. Antony was at Padua; but God revealed to him what had taken place at Lisbon. The Saint asked permission of his superior to seek some recreation out of the city. Hardly was he out of the place, when, like Habakuk, he was carried by an angel through the air to Lisbon. He went to the judge and represented his father’s innocence. Finding, however, no willing ear in the judge, he repaired to the grave of the murdered man, commanded him to rise, and leading him to the judge, he requested of him to say if his father was the man, who, with the aid of his servant had assassinated him. The risen man replied distinctly: “No: it was not he.” The Judge requested that St. Antony should demand of him the name of the real murderer: the Saint, however, replied: ” I have not come to bring death to a guilty man, but to rescue the innocent.” Upon this, his father and his servant were released, and Antony was carried back to Padua by the angel.

After this wonder-working servant of God had filled all Italy and France with the fame of his miracles and conversions, God revealed to him his approaching last hour. He repaired to an isolated spot, and having prepared himself for his end, he returned very sick to Padua, received extreme unction, recited the seven Penitential Psalms, and his usual prayer: “O Glorious Lady, &c.” The divine mother appeared to him with the child Jesus, and the Saint conversed with them most lovingly until his pure soul went to the abode of the blessed. This took place in 1231, when he was hardly 36 years of age. They desired to keep his death concealed from the people for some time, but the little children proclaimed it by calling out in the streets: “The Saint is dead.” Thirty-two years later, when his holy remains were raised, his tongue was found entirely incorrupt. St. Bonaventure taking it in his-hand, said: “O blessed tongue, which always praised God and taught others how to praise Him! Now we have evidence how great thy merits were before God!”

The Saint is generally represented with the divine Child, as He appeared to him and embraced him. The lilies are also dedicated to him as an emblem of his unspotted innocence and purity. It is well known that this Saint is invoked when things are lost or have been purloined. Countless occurrences show at this day that the intercession of this Saint is powerful at the throne of the Almighty.

By: Beverly Stevens

#st anthony

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buchimgay · 3 years

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get to know me meme

thank you for the tag @purahs !! tagging @kirkwallgremlin @rosewoodcasket @vakarians-girl @icarlydotcorn

name/nickname: isabella (some people call me bells/bella)

gender: cis woman

star sign: virgo

height: 5′3

time: 9:43 p.m.

birthday: september 16

favorite bands: the 1975, the fratellis, band of horses, the frights, arctic monkeys

favorite solo artist: lady lamb, lorde, hozier, lady gaga

song stuck in my head: the boring cello music that plays in velen in the witcher 3

last movie: the sound of music (rip christopher plummer :(( )

last show: guy’s grocery games (yes this is unironic i’m a guy fieri stan)

when did you create this blog: september 2013, babey

what do I post: on this blog? general gaming posts, films, memes, stuff that fits my ~aesthetic~. my sideblog is mostly dragon age though.

last thing googled: this italian restaurant near me because i wanted to see if i could tell by their menu whether it would be worth ordering for dinner. i decided it did not look that good.

do I get asks: not on this blog but yes on my DA blog and sometimes they’re even nice.

why I chose my url: i actually just changed to this URL recently (it used to be hell5bell5) but i wanted a pun on binch because my other URL has “bitch” in it so i sort of wanted them to match? and i like to cook a lot but i’m also a salty person so i thought abinchofsalt was cute.

following: 239

followers: 619. i have more on my sideblog.

average hours of sleep: probably 6-8?

lucky number: 6

instruments: i’m very novice at bass and guitar (don’t practice mine much anymore) and i could also probably pick up violin again if i really wanted to (but i don’t)

what am I wearing: pajama shirt

dream job: probably being a food writer, or a music journalist, or a film journalist. idk i could write a lot about things i’m passionate about but it wouldn’t pay the bills

dream trip: i want to visit the sonoran desert (or any of the deserts in the american west) so bad :’( i was gonna go to joshua tree last march but coronavirus ruined it for me

last book i read: i got about two chapters into the calling this summer and wanted to die so i haven’t read anything since. honestly i don’t know how i got through a gaider book before at all.

favorite food: it’s a tie between pierogi and hot pot and pho

nationality: american (derogatory)

favorite song: lately “tangles” by lady lamb

top three fictional universes: the elder scrolls, star wars, dragon age

#the more i think about it i think i did do this meme recently but idc it's fun #tag game #me

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angel-tries-to-write · 4 years

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Old Love Doesn’t Rust

Fandom: Assassin’s Creed Rating: Explicit Pairing: Ezio Auditore x fem!reader Word count: 2611 Genre: smut and fluff

Inspired by this. @marshmallow--3 here, as I promised

A/N: Sooo... Well, first of all I have parents who are his age, so it was weird, but I’ve done worse things, so no stress, I’m fine. Second of all, I’m not a fan of age differences, so I made the reader as old as Ezio, I don’t think I’ve ever read anything like that, so it’s a unique and interesting experience. Am I screaming now and am I going to scream for a few days and every time this post will get a note? You can guess.

Also the title is a literal translation of Polish idiom, which I decided suits better than the actual translation, or the actual meaning of this expression.

Constantinople was a beautiful city. Not as much as Florence, but still pretty. Unfortunately, you didn't arrive there for a sightseeing tour, you had to find your husband and help him before that moron would get himself killed. Even as an old man he was still reckless and sometimes straight up stupid. That was why you decided to leave your children with your sister-in-law and sail to Istanbul. You traveled in a simple dress, not your assassin's robes, for safety. Assassins were in trouble way more often than older women, so you decided to stick with your disguise. If you could avoid fighting, you were doing everything to do so.

La Volpe did an amazing job and gave you the exact address of the Turkish Brotherhood headquarters. It allowed you to go there unnoticed, all guards were oblivious to the fact that another Italian master assassin was among them. You were casually walking through the city, pretending you were just a visitor, not bothered by anyone. All that was left was to sneak in to the headquarters, but that never was a problem to you. Once you were inside, all you had to do was to find your man's quarters and wait there.

Unfortunately, not everything went as smoothly as you would like it to. You were noticed by a young assassin novice and vanishing was not an option. Then you had to try to reason her, which you knew could be difficult.

“Who are you? And how did you get here?!” the girl barked. She tried to press her hidden blade to your throat, but you were far more skilled than her and you disarmed her quickly.

“Merhaba (Hello). I am looking for Ezio Auditore” you said in Turkish with a polite smile, returning the weapon. “I do not intend to hurt anyone, I just wish to speak with him.”

“He is in his quarters. He clearly demanded to be interrupted only in emergency” the young assassin explained, taking her weapon with a visible embarrassment. She reminded you a lot of your apprentices in Rome. You missed them sometimes.

“Do not worry. He will understand. Show me the way, please, it will save me a lot of time” you were calm and convincing, many apprentices were telling you that you remined them of their mothers. That was sort of true, since you had given birth to your first child, you've changed. You had became more gentle and careful, but also more ruthless, especially towards the enemies. You would kill every single templar in the whole world, if they ever tried to hurt your children.

The novice was reluctant, but she finally showed you the way. When you opened the door, you saw the love of your life sleeping peacefully. His bare chest was moving in a steady rhythm and you could notice new wounds and bruises marking his skin. You saw the girl biting her lip as she watched the famous Il Mentore. He was old, but still attractive, many times you had heard girls giggling and whispering about him, usually when they thought you were not around. But you were cool with that, sometimes you would even join them for fun. After all, he was a snack.

“Teşekkürler (Thank you). I can do the rest myself” you dismissed the young assassin and closed the door behind you. All that was left was to strip of that dress and sneak into the bed. Luckily, months of having babies helped you two to learn how to move around each other without waking the other one. Soon you were in the bed with your husband and you almost started to cry. You missed him so much it hurt, and though you knew his mission was important, it wasn't helping at all, you just had to see him. Your hand found its way to his body, you just couldn't resist. Ezio stirred, feeling your touch.

“(Your/name)?” he whispered still half asleep.

“Si, amore mio (Yes, my love)?” you purred and kissed him. You were so close you couldn't resist. He kissed you back, but then he realized what was going on, apparently waking up properly. He pulled away, breaking the kiss and sat up.

“(Y/n)! What happened, is something wrong?” the man looked at you, demanding explanation.

“Nothing is wrong, mio caro (my dear). I just had to make sure you are not wrong” you answered, sitting up. The covers slid down, exposing your body for him to watch. “I missed you so bad and I knew you can not be left alone for a long time” you touched one of his almost healed wounds. “So I left our children with Claudia and came here. To help you. I did not say anything, because I knew you would try to stop me. And I am not going to. We will finish this mission together.”

“You should not have come. I left you on purpose, we can not risk our children losing both of us” he said, visibly struggling with thinking of the best solution.

“That is why I am here, love. To make sure they will not lose any of us. We are in this together” you touched his cheek and caressed it lovingly. You could see worry in Ezio's amber eyes and you knew he just wanted you to be safe. But you were not a little child, you were able to take care of yourself. He sighed deeply, not really sure what to do, but finally leaned in and kissed you.

“I missed you a lot” you heard him whisper and you knew he had lost this battle. You smirked and kissed him again, this time deeper and more hungrily. You didn't have to wait for his response.

Ezio tackled you to the bed, ending up on top of you. He let his burning desire show up, letting you know how much he wanted you, even though it was pretty obvious, you could feel he was hard and ready. His rough hands roamed your body, still fit and strong, despite your age and pregnancies. Assassins had to stay shaped to be able to fight. You were also blessed with something you used to consider a curse in your early years: you had always looked younger than you really were; when you were in your twenties, you looked like a teenager, but in your early fifties, you looked incredible. No one would tell you were the same age as your husband. Who currently was worshipping that body of yours with the same passion and love he did for the first time many years ago, when both of you were young and never thought that you would end up together forever. You loved that in him, that despite being intimate with so many women in his life, he loved you and treated like you were the only woman in the entire world.

You moaned quietly, when his fingers slid inside you to do some preparation. It was always amazing how he could turn you into hot, panting and squirming mess just with his skilled hands. You couldn't compete with him, however it was fair, because you were better with your mouth. The mighty Il Mentore was completely at your mercy whenever you decided to get down on him. But right at this moment you were at his mercy and while you didn't mind, you were supposed to regret it soon.

Because suddenly the door burst open and you saw a man storming in. He was definitely Turkish and very handsome with his black hair and blue eyes. Your cheeks turned into a bright, lovely shade of pink. Though you were covered by your husband's body and bedsheets, it didn't change the fact that you were lying completely naked in a presence of a stranger. A very attractive stranger.

“The assassins told me someone is here, we-” he stopped, when he realized what he was seeing. His expression went smug in a moment. “I've heard you were a ladies' man, but I never thought you still have it in you” he laughed, looking at the two of you.

“Molto divertente (Very funny). But it is not what you think. This is my wife, (y/n) Auditore” Ezio introduced you proudly. “(Y/n), meet Yusuf Tazim.”

“Nice to meet you” you said, barely keeping a straight face, when your husband's thumb brushed your clit the exact moment you spoke. He was clearly having too much fun and too little shame, fingering you in front of his new friend. “We are busy here, so would you mind...?” you didn't manage to keep your voice steady. Ezio's hands felt just too good, he was teasing you exactly the way he knew you loved it. Perks of being in a long-term relationship, he knew you a bit too well. You shot him a warning glare, he was fifty-three years old and he behaved like a seventeen-year-old.

“Alright, looks like there is no emergency. Have fun” Yusuf laughed again and left, closing the door. You groaned, embarrassed.

“I do not want to see this man anymore” you stated, knowing fully well you won't be able to look him in the eye soon.

“It is him who did not knock, so he should be ashamed” said your lover, kissing your breast. His beard tickled your sensitive skin. “We are married, we can do whatever we want.”

“Fine” you suddenly rolled you two over to be on top of him. “I can do whatever I want, you said it yourself” you smiled smugly at his surprised expression. Ezio chuckled, watching your actions with a burning desire. He closed his eyes feeling your hand touching him just the way he needed it.

“It has been a long time since we were making love” he purred, bucking his hips into your hand.

“We have some free time now, we can make it up” you said and leaned down to kiss the tip of his member. Your husband gasped sharply and leaned into your touches and kisses. He remained silent though, because he knew so well what would happen if he was quiet for long enough. And you did exactly what he needed you to do, soon he was moaning and writhing under you with his member in your mouth. You teased him mercilessly for a while as a payback for the earlier, licking slowly and sucking gently, when you clearly knew he wanted more. But soon your own arousal became unbearable, you needed him so bad that you quickly released his penis from your mouth and slid onto it with no warning. You both moaned at this unexpected sensation. Your inner walls tightened around his marvelous hardness and you let it sink deep into you, watching with lust and satisfaction how good it felt for your man. His rough but skilled fingers caressed your breasts and you shivered, knowing that he thought you were perfect just the way you were. No matter how did your body change by the time and pregnancies, Ezio always loved it.

When you felt ready to start moving, you placed your palms against his strong, muscled chest for support. You noticed that his wounds and bruises were healing slower. An obvious sign he was old. But you loved him even though his once dark brown hair and beard were silvery-grey. You never thought you would ever think this, but grey hair really suited him. He looked like a living legend he was. And you were so proud of him.

You closed your eyes for and tilted your head back. Every move felt better and better. His strong hands gripped your hips, suddenly one of his palms smacked your buttcheek. It was strong enough for you to yelp, but also to know it wasn't just a playful spank. You half-consciously dug your nails into Ezio's chest, hurting him unintentionally. It happened sometimes, that smack was an universal sign for "stop scratching me this hard". You reduced the pressure and strength, to make sure your scratches on his chest will cause a pleasure, not pain. His grip on your hips strengthened to the point it would leave the marks later. Which was exactly the way you liked it. You didn't care about the marks, there was no one you had to hide them from.

Your movements became faster and rougher, sighs and moans of pleasure were escaping your parted lips. Ezio always felt so good and you absolutely loved to have sex with him. And he knew you so well that he could do what you needed, before you even asked for it. This time was no different, he kissed and touched you just the way you wanted him to. Despite you being the top and technically being in control, he used his skilled hands and lips to push you into your orgasm before he reached his. You collapsed onto him, breathing heavily, both of you were tired but happy that you are together and you share this special, intimate moment, especially considering your long separation.

“Who would think, eh?” Ezio asked after some time, when you both calmed down.

“Hmm?” you hummed, looking at him with curiosity, having no idea what he meant.

“That you would be my first woman and my last” he laughed, kissing your forehead.

“I would never. I was sure you would end up with Cristina” you said a little carelessly and your husband tensed when you mentioned his long lost love. None of you could fully forgive yourself for not saving your friend, even though none of you really could. You were too far to come back to Florence at all and Ezio was too late. Just in time for the last goodbye, which wasn't very comforting, even though you didn't have even this opportunity.

“Her father hated me” he said dryly. You've been talking about it, but he was always getting bitter at the slightest mention of Cristina. Every other of his former lovers were only annoying him.

“Well, he had his reasons. Your reputation was not crystal clear” you joked. The assassin relaxed a little.

“Giusto (Right). But sometimes I wonder what would happen if I stayed” he confessed and you sighed, regretting you even said anything.

“Rodrigo would get the Apple of Eden, you would never become Il Mentore or the Assassin at all, then you would not stop Cesare and the Templars would control the whole Italia” you said reasonably. The truth was that he did a lot as the Assassin and without him, the world could look way more different. You were there to remind him about it.

“Do you always have to be right?”

“Of course I do. Besides, sometimes I think you did not mature at all, then someone has to keep you in line.”

“Me? Il Mentore? You are wounding my old heart, woman” he made an offended expression to which you couldn't help but laugh.

“You are not that old. You can still be useful, after all” you brushed his chest with your fingers and kissed him slowly.

“Not now. I am not that restless kid anymore. I need some time before the next round” he caught your hand before you did anything else.

“Don't worry, amore mio (my love). To me you will always be the same ragazzo (boy) I have met years ago” you chuckled. “Even in another fifty years.”

“Ti amo (I love you)” Ezio said and his amber eyes glowed with the feeling. “And I should have taken you with me right away. It will be faster if we do the job together.”

“Indeed. But let us relax a little more.”

“Bene (Good).”

#assassin's creed #ezio auditore x reader #ezio x reader #ezio auditore #my fic

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nomanwalksalone · 4 years

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AGAINST INTELLIGENT DESIGN

by Réginald-Jérôme de Mans

I write these words with apologies to a personal friend, a man who taught me an enormous number of things, who steered me right when I was thinking of all sorts of asking for all sorts of passing trendy details on a pair of custom shoes, and who set me on the path to discovering the best shirtmakers and tailors in the world, unsung though they were at the time.

Some time ago my friend dismissed the words of a prominent Teutonic style author whom I’ll call Vogelkundler, a proponent of supposed English and Italian clothing styles, asserting instead that no one can teach you to be a gentleman or an elegant man, that trying to copy the styles of another culture inevitably fails terribly so that trying to dress like a country squire is as much of a failure in Gotham as on Gothos. “Style,” my friend proclaimed, “is absolutely something one is born with since genuine style is individual and the code is provided to each of us at birth.”

I thought of my friend’s words as I prepare to get rid of the first two shirts pictured here, perhaps by donating them to a costume museum. After all, costume is what my friend had called most of what people who learn how to dress from books like Vogelkundler’s wear, an inauthentic pastiche of others’ ideas of elegance. How much expense could be avoided, he suggests, if we simply expressed our own inner personal style, a style without reflection or conscious thought? This must make him the Zeus of clothing fora founders, for in his universe style springs forth like Pallas Athena, fully developed, from his head. To him, personal elegance appears to be the revelation of a fundamental and completely thought-out truth whose elements were always present.

My 14-year-old shirts are evidence against this concept of intelligent design, my friend’s premise of unchanging and permanent personal style truths. Even if we remain ever true to ourselves, that truth has another dimension – that’s the fourth dimension, time (okay, come at me, physics bros). Our tastes evolve over time. To the extent we feel our style, and our clothes as its expression, are an extension of ourselves, over time as our style changes bit by bit we may favor a piece of clothing for slightly different reasons, combine it with different sorts of outfits, wear it for different purposes, or take what we liked about it and try to reproduce those discrete features in searching for or ordering new items with those attributes.

My friend is correct that even the best written, most informative book on style, like Vogelkundler’s, may not give us style. But what it can do is help us take the first steps. Even if those are initially in the wrong direction, even if they are stumbles off a cliff, they start a process of progress. My friend does not acknowledge that anyone who does not hold himself out to be an expert online is looking for one, looking for an authority to give one some immediate direction. He derides those who are obsessed with clothing enough to look for a resource. However, today, to develop a personal style, we need to have what most others would think an obsession –the will to learn, to try and to refine.

And we learn through our inevitable failure to divine in advance what at some given moment in middle age will pass for perfection. I bought these shirts because I loved their flamboyant turquoises and purples and even more flamboyant patterns (the designer pretentiously called it a “double shadowstripe”). I recognize my tastes sprang from a reaction against the oppressive wretchedness that is real true prep during my adolescence. And in a time before Internet experts and long before meeting my friend, my inspirations were novels and films -- the bold stripes and cuts of 1960s films, my Technicolor dream of a Swinging London at a distance of decades. These shirts with their tight darts, high, shark-fin collars and brazen palette captured all of that for me, my desire to appropriate a little of what I thought was elegant rebellion against convention.

Revelation of true self is not the realization of a beautiful sculpture already imagined within a block of marble. That’s a pleasant lie. As in anything else, there is no intelligent design, no incontrovertible style truths inbuilt into our DNA, only ad hoc reactions to the sartorial chaos around us that can sometimes build on each other to better things. As I prepared to pass these shirts on, I realized that they were an unavoidable stepping stone in my development – that years later I knew more about cloth, construction, and so on, and used all that I’d learned about that and all that I’d learned from owning, enjoying, and feeling gradually more self-conscious in these shirts to have the shirts in the second pictures made. Unlike the shirts in the first picture, they were made to fit me, not bought off the rack at the risk of looking like an extra from the opening credits of Austin Powers: International Man of Mystery. The collars, based on what I had come to love about my older shirts, are a bit flamboyantly higher than normal shirt collars, although a lot more restrained than those I used to wear, and slightly rounded at the points – a preference learned over trial and error. The cuffs are still two-button cuffs, like on those older shirts – back then I’d thought they just seemed more British and bespoke to me, and today I think that they make for a better fit. The stripes are a tad more restrained – even if the colors are almost exactly the same as on my older shirts.

In no way could I have moved directly from nascent style seeker to owner of the more restrained, better made, more sophisticated shirts in my second picture. We gain our personal style as much from what looking back are misadventures as from the lessons we think we learn from others. And things that we bought during our journey that we might not purchase now still serve, even if in different ways, like the denim shirt I wrote about some time back. You are your own sum total, and that includes your regrets.

My friend emphasized the importance of gaining confidence to express our innate sartorial knowledge. In my case, over the last decade and a half, it has been a matter of gaining the confidence to escape other’s notions of propriety – including his. I still favor the features of the suits I used to dream of back at the time I bought those first shirts. Back then it was because they seemed especially Savile Row, especially 1960s like the gaudy films I loved (and I know how embarrassing that is to admit): single-breasted two-button suits, slant pockets and double vents… But in my first custom suit orders I restrained myself from asking for a too-colorful suit lining, having read that flashy linings were a sure sign of a novice, an arriviste (as if I have actually arrived) or a ready-to-wear suit masquerading as bespoke. Recently I had a final fitting on a suit where I finally let myself have a deep violet lining, finally letting myself admire that gorgeous, deep color contrasting against Minnis grey flannel. And today the books of linings my tailors carry are full of violently patterned and colored linings of all sorts, making my indulgent purple now seem positively sober. We do come around to ourselves, even if the world changes.

The world has indeed changed, and to survive we keep reacting and adapting to it, even if we do not change in the same way. I continue to believe that favoring one item in a particular style, one particular idea of elegance like a nice suit, does not dictate conforming to popular ideas of conservative elegance in other areas, evolve though we may: For 25 years ago I’ve been a fan of Faith No More, first sincerely, then sort-of-ironically in that Gen X way, then as a #dadcore lost soul. Yet as I finish this, I’m listening to a recent album of covers of 1960s Italian genre movie themes (in particular that of Danger: Diabolik) performed, with orchestral accompaniment, by their lead singer, Mike Patton, and named after another famous cult movie, Mondo Cane. Far afield from Patton’s early work with FNM, or what I initially liked them for, but anyone who knows me can tell nothing could be more in my wheelhouse than this. It feels right (deep, deep down). It just took a long time to get here.

Perhaps, to my friend, I do not have style. But I am me.

Quality content, like quality clothing, ages well. This article first appeared on the No Man blog in June 2017.

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moncercueils · 4 years

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the neighbors, part i.

December, 1919

Munich, Germany

Feliciano had whittled it himself.

“It’s an advent calendar,” he exclaimed, brandishing it with such a beaming grin that Ludwig couldn’t bring himself to comment on the splinters that needed sanding.

He simply minded his fingers as he took the large calendar from his neighbor’s small, bandaged hands, and resisted a smile at the sore sight of his nimble fingers covered in small plasters, the casualties of novice woodworking.

It resembled a building, Ludwig thought. An apartment building with twenty-five small doors, each lovingly hand-painted a different color.

As rough as the edges of the sawed boards were, and as poorly sanded as it was, it was equally, if not doubly, beautiful in its artistry. It was clear that Feliciano had taken great pains to carefully paint the delicate tendrils of creeping ivy along the wall, as well as the potted plants in the windowsills, individual roof tiles in an ombré of red and terra-cotta, and a festive Christmas bough over the twenty-fifth door.

Feliciano’s gaze met his over the decorative chimney on the roof.

“Do you like it, Ludwig?”

“Yes, Feliciano, of course,” he said after only a moment’s pause, and he didn’t miss the way that Feliciano’s warm brown eyes brightened, crinkling at the corners as his mouth spread into a wide smile.

Ludwig cleared his throat and matched his smile with an apologetic grimace. “But I’m afraid I don’t have anything for you. This is quite the surprise, Feliciano.”

Feliciano waved a bandaged hand in the air. “Don’t worry about it! You are my friend! It’s a tradition here, yes? You open one of the little doors every day!”

“You are right. Though I am afraid I will owe you twenty-five presents now,” Ludwig said, and though he hadn’t laughed, had hardly smiled, since the end of the war, the corners of his mouth twitched when Feliciano’s laughter echoed down the stairwell and bounced off the cramped walls of the corridor.

“—silly, Ludwig, you don’t have to do that,” Feliciano chided.

And although Feliciano had called him Ludwig ever since the day he moved in, when Ludwig had helped him open the door to his apartment, the door with the sticky lock that he had to jam the key into just right, and introduced himself over the rusted threshold, the way that Feliciano called him by his name never failed to make strange heat pool in the pit of his stomach.

Every week, like clockwork, ever since he had moved into the building two months prior, Feliciano found a reason to knock on his door, stare up at him with those fawning honey-brown eyes that made Ludwig’s mouth run dry and his palms damp with sweat, and say hello, Ludwig! in his Italian-singsonged German.

“I just hope you have a place to put it!” he continued, and something over Ludwig's shoulder caught his attention.

He raised himself onto the tips of his polished leather shoes to peer into the living room, where quiet streams of Mahler flooded from the victrola, and his eyes went wide.

“Oh, you are playing music! Beautiful music! I cannot remember the last time I heard such wonderful music, Ludwig!”

“Would you like to come inside?” Ludwig asked, quietly, even as the thrum of his pulse threatened to deafen him. “I can make coffee—”

“Do you have real coffee?”

“I have chicory root from the last rations. I have been saving it—”

“Yes, thank you,” Feliciano said, already past the doorstep. His shoulder grazed Ludwig’s arm as he whistled past, and he headed directly to the victrola. “I owned one of these at home in Ravenna, you know! Oh, but I like this music so much more than the canti tricolore.”

Ludwig set down the advent calendar at his desk in passing, eyeing the line of Feliciano’s back as he skimmed the folio of shellac records in the bookshelf. It was strange to see Feliciano in his apartment so at ease, flipping through records and scanning the books in his shelf.

The studio apartment was small enough for Ludwig to watch Feliciano from the kitchen as he set the ground chicory root to brew over the stovetop. The plaid brown tweed of his matching vest and trousers, stylish in 1916 but now slightly out of fashion, was well-cared for, but frayed with age, and the plain white button-up underneath was just a size too small, nearly imperceptible, save for the way that the cuffs rode up one inch from Feliciano’s slender wrists. His shoes, however, were perfectly polished and had the soft sheen of supple new leather; it made sense for an Italian shoemaker’s shoes to be in the finest condition.

“Ludwig, can I please change the record?” Feliciano asked, turning at an angle that brought his profile into light— a sliver of pale winter sunlight from the window illuminated the the slope of his nose, the delicate curve of his full cheeks and ovular jawline. Loose curls concealed his eyes from view, but Ludwig felt the intensity of his gaze.

“Of course,” he answered, and cleared his throat, surprised by the softness of his own voice. “Please, go ahead.”

Ludwig turned his eyes down to the chicory coffee and readied two white mugs. It wasn’t long before he picked up the sounds of Bizet, so quiet at first, he nearly missed it. He stiffened as he recognized the strains of French composition, wary that the sound would carry through the thin walls, and wondered how he would ask Feliciano to change the record. But as he approached Feliciano, his face was turned up and his expression so serene, Ludwig might have wondered if he had fallen asleep right there in his living room, if his eyes hadn’t opened and become bright at the sight of two steaming mugs of chicory coffee.

“Thank you, Ludwig! Oh, the coffee would be so perfect with the surprise inside the calendar! Open all the doors, Ludwig, won’t you?”

“All of them?”

“Yes! They are so tiny, after all, they can’t hold a lot!”

Ludwig suppressed a smile, and obliged. He brought the calendar to the table and opened the first door, which contained a single walnut, and the second, which held a pile of raisins the height of his thumbnail. By the time he reached the twenty-fifth door, he had amassed a small pile of walnuts, raisins, a dried apricot, and to his surprise, opened the door to find a small rectangle of chocolate. It was the door Feliciano had been waiting for; he clapped his hands in excitement, and his eyes were bright.

“Chocolate, Ludwig! Oh, isn’t it so nice? I love chocolate and I thought it would be so nice for a present, even though I haven't had chocolate in so long, because of the war and now with the rations...I was so lucky to find it in the marketplace and I knew I wanted to share it with you!”

“Thank you, Feliciano,” Ludwig said, touched. “It is very nice, though you shouldn’t have... Please, share it with me. I insist.”

When he divided the bar in two, it was no mistake that Feliciano’s piece was bigger by a third. The way his eyes lit with delight when he nibbled at the corner of his piece made Ludwig’s sliver of chocolate taste all the sweeter.

Feliciano sighed and licked his lips, as if to catch any lingering taste of chocolate. Ludwig watched and couldn’t bring himself to look away from the cupid’s bow of Feliciano’s upper lip. Beneath the table, his hands twitched and tensed on his thighs, impatient to touch, to do something.

Ludwig held the mug of chicory coffee to keep his hands still and listened to Feliciano fill the comfortable silence with easy chatter, talking about nothing and everything, occasionally breaking off into a question that he answered with an easy yes, Feliciano, or no, I’m afraid not.

It was a long while before Ludwig registered the soft scratch of the empty record in between the gaps of his words, and Feliciano seemed to have noticed as well. He watched, remaining seated, as Feliciano danced out of his chair to turn the victrola off with great care, where he paused, lingering with his fingertips on the phonograph table, and then turned with a small, shy smile.

“Ludwig, do you think I can come to listen to music again tomorrow?”

Ludwig met Feliciano’s gaze and his pulse resumed the same loud pounding as before, the same heavy, deafening pounding that took over him each time he heard the familiar, polite rap of Feliciano's knuckles against his door, the same one that took over him when Feliciano called him by his name.

This time, when Ludwig smiled, it met his eyes.

“I would like that very much, Feliciano.”

❧ ❧ ❧

each prompt will be a chapter of an ongoing story. thank you for reading!

ao3

#hetaliaxmasevent #eva writes #hetalia #gerita #aph germany #aph italy

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sjrresearch · 4 years

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What Paints are Good for Historical Miniatures Beginners

(This article is credited to Jason Weiser. Jason is a long-time wargamer with published works in the Journal of the Society of Twentieth Century Wargamers; Miniature Wargames Magazine; and Wargames, Strategy, and Soldier.)

Having been a wargamer for 37 years and a miniatures (tabletop) gamer for 34 of those, I tend to get one question from a lot of novices - “What’s a good paint brand to use?” The truth is, everyone has their favorite brand, and everyone has their likes and dislikes. Some paints are, confessedly, better than others. At least, in my humble opinion, they are. But you are reading this because you did just want my opinion, right?

I am going to stick to paint brands I am familiar with. And the first thing I am going to tell you is the first rule of paint selection I learned and never forgot in 34 years as a miniature wargamer.

USE ACRYLIC PAINT!

Acrylic paints are just better all around. They mix easier, are cheaper overall, and clean up a lot easier than oil-based paint. Your cleaning solvent for acrylic paint is as close as your sink tap! However, don’t get any on the carpet. No paint is coming out of that easily! Also, another tip: Use flat paints. Gloss does not look good on historical figures, or any sort of wargaming figures for that matter.

So, with that, let’s get started.

Vallejo

Vallejo is, to me, the best general-purpose hobby paint line out there. Most of the line comes in 17ml eyedropper bottles and are clearly labeled as to the contents. (Pro tip: Put the Vallejo stock number on the cap, as it’s a good way to know what’s in the paint bottle). The paints themselves are of a good quality, but you have to be careful how much you load your brush as they aren’t pre-thinned. You’ll need a palate to use the paints, but that’s a plus as a bottle can go a long way. Many of their Model Colors and Panzer Aces lines correspond to historical colors, which is also a plus, and many tutorials have the Vallejo Model Colors or Panzer Ace stock numbers as default color listings, so matching colors to the cool tutorial for “How to paint your Bolt Action 28mm Hungarians,” for example, is a snap.

Vallejo is my go-to brand, and I really recommend it for the novice painter. They also come in sets with everything you need for a given subject (in fact, Vallejo even markets specific sets for Flames of War and Team Yankee. A big plus for you guys!). However, be careful of the Model Air and Game Air sets, as they’re meant for airbrushes and do not take well to brush painting. That said, if you have an airbrush, they’re a good solid set of colors to start with.

One of the other things I like about Vallejo is it’s a full-service line. They sell primers, spray paints that match their Model Colors and Game Colors (Fantasy) lines, and just everything you might need. As your painting and techniques improve, they have the product for you. You just cannot go wrong with Vallejo.

Army Painter

Army Painter is another fine beginner-friendly line. I use a lot of their specialty products (their ready mixed tones and washes and their tools), but their paints are awesome.) They offer a good pigment and also come in the eyedropper bottle, like Vallejo. I am a little bummed they don’t have direct matches (or attempts at matches) to historical colors, but I really like their reds. It’s a really vibrant color that stands out on a figure (Pro Tip: Use grey primer instead of black.

It’s a lot easier to paint red, yellow, or even white against, useful for those yellow Spanish or White Austrian Napoleonic uniforms). You also get a little more for your money at 18ml of paint in a bottle. The paint lines also come in beginner-friendly sets and tend to be a bit cheaper than Vallejo. Get the Warpaints Starter Paint Set pictured below:

It comes with your ten basic colors, a brush, some shading which will do wonders for the looks of your models, and a very handy instruction manual. If you’re a novice painter who’s never picked up a brush, this is the set to get.

Reaper:

Reaper is also another line of paints where you “can’t go wrong.” I find their flesh tones very high quality and would recommend them over any paint line outside of Foundry (more on that later). Reaper also has paint sets, and it will take a lot of work to match them to historical colors, but it can be done.

Their eyedropper bottles come in a little smaller than either Army Painter or Vallejo, but the paint is also a bit cheaper in the States as Reaper is an American company (Vallejo’s based in Spain and Army Painter is mostly based in the UK). Reaper has its own beginner sets, and while they’re fantasy-oriented, the paints work as well for virtually anything. It also has its own carrying case.

They’re slightly more expensive than the Starter set Army Painter puts out though, but you do get a lot more for your money with a carrying case, 11 bottles of paint, two brushes, and an instruction guide. You also get an empty paint bottle if you want to preserve mixtures, and a few free fantasy minis (gotta practice your historical schemes somewhere, right?). It also has a very useful instruction manual that will give you some useful tips on how to paint.

MiG/AK:

While both lines are great and have a lot of specialty options, these really aren’t paints for the beginner model painter. Heck, it took yours truly a while to crack the code on both colors. Are they good colors? Yes. They both have the nice eyedropper bottle setup and are just wonderfully pre-thinned paints that brush on or work well in an airbrush. And they both have a ton of specialty colors that match the historical wargamer’s needs (especially 20th-century conflicts). However, they’re not for beginners. But once your skills increase, give them a try. Trust me, you will love the results (Pro Tip: They look especially good with an Army Painter wash).

Foundry

I rather like Foundry, especially their non-Caucasian flesh tones. Often, their other colors are a bit off. The paint is a bit thicker than Vallejo, but if you thin it out just right, you get some really vibrant results. Moreover, I love their “Triad” system, where they sell the same color in three different shades including a base, a shade, and a highlight. While this means they don’t sell singles, or at least I haven’t seen it, it does mean you get a system that works well for a lot of subjects. They even wrote a book about it by Kevin Dallimore (who’s probably one of the best painters out there).

It’s a weighty tome, but it’s worth it, and it has a wealth of historical subjects and details on “how to paint them.” My biggest complaint about Foundry? The bottles. I really do wish they’d go over to the eyedropper model. I don’t love paint pots, though you do get a lot of paint per bottle (20ml). The cap can become hard to close the more you use the paint, which then leads to dried out paint.

Solutions to the problem include either:

Getting a pipette set, empty eyedropper bottles from Reaper or Army Painter, and transferring the paint,

This idea from Dr. Tabletop.com, where with a bit of work, you remove the cap, snap on the spout and voila! Instant eyedropper bottle.

Citadel

Many people swear by Citadel as an option for beginning painters (especially with their new Contrast system.) More often than not, though, Citadel is as hit or miss. Sometimes, like with some of the Contrast colors, you can get a really nice shade and wash pattern (the reds in the system, for example, would do well for British uniforms from the 17-19th Century, for example), but less vibrant colors, such as greens or greys, don’t do as well in the system. And, you have to prime white with Contrast colors, or at least a light grey. This means, if you miss a spot, it’s going to be rather obvious.

That said, there have been good results with some figures (especially science fiction projects, but that shouldn’t differ from Historical miniatures). The main issue is this, Citadel has two major problems. One, it’s expensive, especially the Contrast paints at $7 a bottle for 18ml. And second? The bottle design. In two words? “It stinks.” The bottle is topsy-turvy and top-heavy that spilling is almost a guarantee. Considering what you pay for Citadel paints, this wasn’t a particularly good move on Citadel’s part. I’d recommend either, again, transferring the paint, or getting Dr. Tabletop’s toppers. Either way is going to save you a lot of aggravation and money.

Also, keep in mind, Citadel is made for fantasy and gothic sci-fi, so the names of the colors are lurid, to say the least. That said, they do have beginner-friendly sets:

At 45$, it’s pricy, and there are cheaper, better alternatives for someone just getting into the historical side of the miniatures hobby.

Tamiya

Tamiya is one of the old stalwarts of the model building community and was one of the first Japanese model makers to market kits in the US. They have a really good line of paints in rather large bottles. If you’re not going to go eyedropper, then this is the way you package your paints. Everything just fits together in terms of the bottle, including the price of the 23ml of paint you receive. The paints fill historical needs very well (especially for Cold War and Modern subjects, or WWII Japanese), and they are of good viscosity.

Like Vallejo, they also have a complimentary spray paint line, but you don’t get as much for your money, so unless you need a specific color, it’s not worth the cost. Other than that, I don’t have any complaints about them. I tend not to use them as my go-to, save for certain applications like NATO 3 tone woodland camo for 1980s American and West German Tanks. They play well with other colors as well, but they are bit pricy. I wouldn’t recommend them to someone just starting out in the hobby, but as your first paint line to step up from? You could do a lot worse.

Lifecolor

Lifecolor is an Italian company, and I only have one set of theirs. Their bottles aren’t the greatest, but I am happy with the quality of the paint. The choices of colors abound, but I would recommend Tamiya slightly over Lifecolor, even though I think the latter may have the edge in choices of colors and the breadth of historical subjects is as wide as you can imagine. If you want it, Lifecolor probably makes a set to cover it.

Surprisingly, you get 22ml of paint from their bottle, but the bottle is all plastic. The paint is pre-thinned, but slightly thicker than Ammo or MiG, but I still think it’s not really something I’d recommend to the beginner. That said, they’re a great set of paints if you’re ready to make the leap to the advanced level.

Privateer Press (aka P3)

P3 paints are a solid, workmanlike choice for the beginner. They are bright, vibrant colors, that, while flat, they go on solid and have no real sins to speak of. They come either in sets of six or individually. I have a bunch of them, but to be honest, I don’t use them as much as some of my other color ranges.

Despite their perks, P3 paints do suffer from the same problem as the Foundry paint line, where they have subpar bottles. They have 18ml of paint, which is about average for the industry, and I do like their Pig Iron color for a lot of gun barrels and other metallic items. It’s a solid set of colors for a beginner, but I really think you could probably do better with Army Painter or even Foundry.

A Word About Craft Store Paints

You can find them at Michaels, or Walmart, or just about any other craft or big box store out there. They’re cheap (ranging between $1-$1,50 a bottle, whereas your average hobby bottle ranges around $3), acrylic, and you get a lot of paint (the average craft store paint bottle is 59ml). And, you get a squeeze top, which is darn nice to put paint into the palate with. But, as they say, you get what you pay for.

I have come home with paint I was looking forward to using from Michaels only to find out the paint was separated (pigment and fluid have come apart) or it’s become rock hard. That said, I have wargame buddies who only use craft store paints, including one guy who painted some very nice 28mm German WWII Fallschirmjagers (Paratroopers), and I have to say, I can’t tell it was all craft paint. Just know what you’re buying and don’t buy some glossy glitter bomb paint by accident.

At SJR Research, we specialize in creating compelling narratives and provide research to give your game the kind of details that engage your players and create a resonant world they want to spend time in. If you are interested in learning more about our gaming research services, you can browse SJR Research’s service on our site at SJR Research.

#gaming

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anastpaul · 5 years

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Saint of the Day – 30 June – Blessed Gennaro Maria Sarnelli C.Ss.R. (1702–1743) aged 42 – Redemptorist Priest, Lawyer, Writer, Preacher, Apostle of the Charity, Social Reformer, he also initiated a fervent movement against the spread of prostitution – born on 12 September 1702 in the castle of Duke Zapata, Naples, Italy of a noble family and died on 30 June 1744 in Naples, Italy of natural causes. Patronages – Writers, Italian missionaries.

Sarnelli was one of Saint Alphonsus Maria de’ Liguori’s (1696-1787 Most Zealous Doctor of the Church) earliest companions and was also a prolific writer. He published more than 30 books on a wide range of subjects, including socio-juridical studies, moral issues, mysticism, pedagogy, pastoral practice, Mariology and ascetical theology. His apostolic zeal knew no limits – he preached missions and aided his friend St Alphonsus in his work, he tended to the sick and helped to get girls out of prostitution despite the threats levelled against him.

From his childhood he was noted for being modest as well as for his self-denial and his great diligence in his studies. He was obedient to his parents though when he perceived he was disobedient he begged their pardon and would either kiss their hand or throw himself at their feet. He often visited the church of Saint Francis Xavier as a child. In 1716 he desired to become a Jesuit but his father objected due to his age and directed him to learn law instea, the beatification of Saint John Francis Regis was also an influence in his decision. He did this (learning jurisprudence and earning his doctorate in civil and canon law in 1722) and became quite successful in this field as a professional Lawyer and was enrolled in the Congregation of the Knights of the Legal and Medical Professions that the Pious Workers of Saint Nicholas of Toledo directed. One of the rules of this association – which he observed – was visiting the sick in the Hospital of the Incurables. It was while tending to the ill in the hospital that his call to become a priest blossomed to the point he could not ignore such a call.

In September 1728 he abandoned the bar and decided to become a priest after commencing his ecclesial studies. Cardinal Francesco Pignatelli incardinated him as a cleric to the parish of Santa Anna di Palazzo. His zeal showed itself at once in his labours for children whom he catechised with wonderful success. On 4 June 1729 he became a boarder at the Collegio della Santa Famiglia to continue his studies under more peaceful conditions though left on 8 April 1730 to enter the novitiate of the Congregation of the Apostolic Missions.

He concluded this probation on 28 May 1731] He was ordained to the priesthood on 8 June 1732 and became a member of the Propaganda of Naples which was a congregation of secular priests devoted to apostolic work. He also gave all his wealth to the poor for he had no use for it himself. Cardinal Pignatelli assigned him to serve as the Director of Religious Instruction in the parish of Saints Francis and Matthew in the Spanish quarter. He also visited the old people in the Hospice of Saint Gennaro and those condemned to death who were ill in the hospital at the docks. It was at this time that he developed a friendship with Saint Alphonsus Maria de’ Liguori after the two first met in Chiaiano.

In June 1733 he travelled to Scala to aid a friend at a mission at Ravello and he met up with and became one of the earliest companions to Liguori in founding the Redemptorists which he joined in 1733. The pair worked together and gave missions along the coast of Amalfi from 1735 to April 1736 when Sarnelli’s health started to decline. He had to return to Naples where he spent the next decade in a poor apartment with one religious as a companion. In 1841 he prepared for the canonical visitation of Cardinal Giuseppe Spinelli so planned and participated in missions at Casali. Having become aware of the rampant corruption of girls he decided to direct all his work against prostitution. But doing this work earned him threats from the criminal element that made profit from this. In April 1744 he stopped preaching altogether because his health became so dire.

On the day of his death, the doctor came at around 8:00 am to see him while he later said to the religious next to him: “I feel the chill of death”. The religious rushed to summon the priest who gave him absolution. Sarnelli kissed his clasped Crucifix from time to time.

He died at 10:00am on 30 June 1744. His old friend Liguori was present at his bedside as Sarnelli died and noted a sweet odour that remained in the room even long after Sarnelli was buried, the religious Francesco Tartaglione and the novice Francisco Romito were also present. His brother Domenico was so overcome with emotion he did not want to leave the room where his brother’s remains were. His remains were buried on 2 July 1744 in the parish church of Santa Maria dell’Aiuto in Naples (in the San Nicola chapel) though were later reinterred in the Redemptorist church of Santi Alfonso e Antonio at Tarsia in Naples. His remains were moved again on 25 October 1994 to the Redemptorist church of La Santissima Trinità in Ciorani.

His old friend Liguori was his first biographer and noted the circumstances of Sarnelli’s death in which he was present; Liguori noted that his remains “… exhaled a sweet odour – which remained in the room long after the interment.

Sarnelli’s fame for holiness was a well-known fact during his life but his Beatification cause did not open until 1861 in Naples, formal introduction came in 1874 and he was named as Venerable on 2 December 1906. St Pope John Paul II Beatified him on 12 May 1996.

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Prayer in Honour of Blessed Gennaro Maria Sarnelli

Holy Redeemer, we place ourselves in Your presence confident that You are a loving and merciful God. You walk with us by day and night, as we strive to proclaim Your gospel with compassion, to people who are poor and abandoned. As we reach out to those most in need, we look to Blessed Gennaro Sarnelli as a model and help. His ardent desire was to bring people on the fringes of society and Church to a deeper knowledge and love of You. We pray that his zeal will inspire and motivate us to share Your redemption with those who are marginalised. We especially remember people who make decisions that lead to destructive and addictive behaviours. May our choices be those of Blessed Sarnelli, who continually lived the gospel in spite of adversity and opposition. We ask his help, that our commitment may not shrink for lack of support or favour, for as we become one with those who are outcast, we become one with You. Amen

(Redemptorists UK)

Saint of the Day – 30 June – Blessed Gennaro Maria Sarnelli C.Ss.R. (1702–1743) Saint of the Day - 30 June - Blessed Gennaro Maria Sarnelli C.Ss.R. (1702–1743) aged 42 - Redemptorist Priest, Lawyer, Writer, Preacher, Apostle of the Charity, Social Reformer, he also initiated a fervent movement against the spread of prostitution - born on 12 September 1702 in the castle of Duke Zapata, Naples, Italy of a noble family and died on 30 June 1744 in Naples, Italy of natural causes.

#stgennaromariasarnelli

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yuneu · 5 years

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got tagged by @doomdavs to do this, ty for thinking about me ily 🥺

nickname(s): i don’t have one oop. my step mum used to call me shrimp but it sounds bad in english alqdjfqlfjd

gender: female

height: 150cm. i’m pocket sized

time: 03:35am. sleep is for the weak

where i’m from: europe

hogwarts house: slytherin

favorite show: i don’t watch that many shows tbh but krypton! i also started riverdale and i actually like it so far but i might take that back when i get to the i’m weird. i’m a weirdo speech part so stay tuned for that

favorite animal: ORCAS, deers, bunnies, cats, polar bears, elephants. but would die for any animal

favorite band/artist: i have so many rip taylor swift, ariana grande, camila cabello & a bunch of kpop groups because i’m dark sided. and do berlioz and beethoven count

song stuck in my head: me & my girls by fifth harmony. F

last movie i saw: winter in wartime

last thing i googled: red alice headband

other blogs: not gonna give the @ cause it’s embarrassing but as mentioned before i’m dark sided and have a kpop blog

do i get asks: every 36th of the month

why this url: cause i recently found out that dandelion is pronounced DAYndelion in american english and you know i had to do it to em

number of blankets: one and two in winter but rn i’m sizzling cause it’s hot as shit so none

followers: 137 and i oop

following: 370

average amount of sleep: either none or 14 hours straight. healthy sleep schedule? i don’t know her dot gif

lucky number: no idea. i randomly picked a 6 and a 24 in a card game once as my lucky numbers though so if that counts there ya go

what am i wearing: some sinfully ugly pants with a citrus fruits pattern and a black bra cause i’m frying in that heat

dream job: well DREAM job is doctorate level music teacher, president (press F to pay your respects) or like. whatever filthy rich people do. but realistically i wanna be a french teacher in britain. or french teacher in china

dream trips: thailand. i wanna see ELEPHANTS

favorite food: idk what it’s called in english oof. but another fave is salmon pie. and rhubarb crumble for desserts

instruments i play: used to play harp but rn i’m just chillin, not knowing how to play anything

eye color: green

hair color: dark brown borderline black

aesthetic: god idk you tell me my dude. i’m kinda persephone. goddess of spring but queen of the underworld. i don’t know

languages i speak: i’m fluent in my native language, english, close to being decent enough at mandarin chinese and pretty novice in spanish n italian

most iconic song: like in general or to me personally ljsdjfsj i’d probably say barbie girl by aqua or i will always love you by whitney houston

when i created this account: can’t remember when i created it cause i’d been lurking for a while but i only started being active in early june aksjdjkdl

best memory: one that comes to mind is getting to feed and play with a bunch of different, rare monkeys

best pun: ngl i just forgot every pun i’ve ever heard in my life but the one that popped in my mind is: a spanish magician does a magic trick. he says, “uno, dos,” and disappears without a trace. it SENDS me

random fact: i’ve never watched a movie at a theatre/cinema/whatever the word is

sooooooo tagging @tayloralison and @holygreund if you’d like to do this/haven’t done it yet cause you’re both So Cool. like sunglasses emoji level cool

#aye #tag thangs

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awkward-radar-tech · 5 years

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McTavish in the Kitchen

Summary: After being paired with you in his cooking class so you could get extra help, William finds out that you play Fortnite. When he realizes he learns through his experiences, he invites you over to teach him in exchange for a homemade dinner.

A/N: First fic of the new year!!! 1 wip down 5 more to go. This fic is written more from William’s perspective because I found it hard to write a reader that doesn’t know how to cook since I do. If it flows funky, I’m sorry, my brain is stupid and don’t always notice, or think it is but it actually isn’t.

Prompt, from the lovely uni-anon 🦄: The reader could be at the same cooking class and not be very good at it as well so she gets paired with William. She finds out he’s trying to learn Fornite for his son, which she is an expert at! He asks her to teach him exchanged for a home cooked meal. When there at his place she hears him muttering to himself out of habit like he’s on a cook show and then he gets all embarrassed!

Every Thursday night for the past 3 months, William McTavish has been at the same place, the local community college. He saw a flyer posted around town that they were beginning to hold cooking classes in the culinary institute kitchens for adults who wanted to learn to cook full meals. For only $40 you could attend a month of classes where you would learn to make a different meal each week, and that each month had a different cuisine theme so the dishes weren’t repeated month to month, and it didn’t matter how skilled you were in the kitchen, you just had to bring your own knives.

His skills had improved over the time he took the class, his food finally tasted delicious to go along with the technical excellence that he had before. This lead to him being paired with a truly beginner cook on the first Thursday of his fourth month by the instructors. William felt great pride that the instructors felt he was adept enough to provide extra help to a novice, he just hoped he could actually help her.

When you signed up for cooking classes, there was a questionnaire asking about your skills and experience cooking, and being honest you put that the most you were capable of was warming up premade foods. At the first class you weren’t expecting to be paired with a veteran of the class so he could help you when an instructor couldn’t. You took it in stride and told yourself getting help from 4 people will surely improve your talent in the kitchen.

You walked over to the front, left station and introduced yourself to your partner, “Uhh, hi, I’m (y/n). They told me I am to work with you so you can help me since I really don’t know what I’m doing.”

He looked up from the recipe card and turned to face you, “Hello, (y/n), I’m William. I’m not sure the quality of my teaching skills, but I will do my best.”

You set your stuff down and looked over the recipe while waiting for the instruction to begin. You were happy you chose to start this month with Italian than next month with Mexican, boiling pasta and making a sauce is simple enough. While you were using dried pasta, you were making the sauce and rolls from scratch.

The class still hadn’t begun when William spoke to you again, “I know you said you didn’t really know anything, but you do know how to turn on an oven and a stove, and how to boil water along with pasta, right? I want to know where I need to begin.”

“I know how to turn things on, and how to boil water, but when I make pasta it is either too mushy or uncooked in the center.”

“Alright. Figuring out when pasta is al dente takes a bit of practice.”

“I hope I won’t be too much of a bother to you, William.”

“Don’t worry about it. When I started these classes I could make things well technically, but they tasted bland or out right horrid. I’ve gotten better these past few months.”

Then the instructors were moving to the front of the room to begin the class. William did in fact show you how to test the doneness of your pasta, and you were proud that you were able to chop garlic by yourself after the instructor taught the class. At the end of the class you were surprised at how well your meal tasted, and that you helped make it. After packing away your things you pulled out your keys, putting your pinky through the keyring like normal, and waved goodbye to William.

“Thank you so much for your help, William. Have a good night and see you next week.”

He was ready to respond but then had to take a pause when he saw your keychain, “Uh, yeah, no problem. Good night. See you next week.”

He was pretty sure that you had a Fortnite character on your keychain, but he wasn’t sure and didn’t want to keep you any longer by asking, but he told himself he would ask next week.

The next week when William walked in his usual 30 minutes early to help set up he was surprised to see you already at the station speaking with one of the instructors.

You turned when you heard footsteps and immediately perked up and waved to William, “Hi William! It looks like you have a lot more to help me with this week, we’re making chicken parm. How was your week?”

He couldn’t help but smile a bit at your excitement, “Hello, (y/n). My week was alright, nothing out of the norm happened. How was your’s?”

“It was good. I had my best friend over and made him the recipe from last week. He liked it and was surprised I was learning to cook.”

“That is great. Hey, I have a quick question. Last week when you said goodbye, you had your keys in your hand, and I thought your keychain was familiar. Was that a character from Fortnite?”

“Oh, yeah, it is. Do you play?”

“Kind of. I’m trying to learn so I can play with my son Miles when he is over. He plays it a lot with his stepdad Rick so I figured I could too. I’ve been playing for a couple of weeks off and on, but I can’t seem to get the hang of it, and I don’t want to play with Miles until I’m good at it.”

“That is sweet. I’m practically pro, I can give you some tips on what to do.”

“That sounds great. Thank you.”

“It only seems fair since you are helping me with this.”

The rest of the night went by with each taking turns to explain their specialty, although William struggled to grasp the tips he was getting since he wasn’t in front of the game. By the end of the night he had conceded to his inability to understand the help he was given.

“Hey, (y/n), thank you for all the information tonight. There is just one problem, I can’t remember a thing you said since I wasn’t playing the game at the same time.” He paused for a moment in embarrassment and shyness, “Do you think you could maybe, if you’re comfortable with it, I understand if you say no, could you maybe come over to my apartment to reteach me everything while playing? I’ll make dinner.”

You were shocked by the question and took a moment to process what he said before answering, “Uhh, yeah, I can come over one night to show you what to do. I’m free Tuesday night. What time do you want me to be there?”

“How about 6?” He grabbed your copy of the recipe and a nearby pencil and wrote in the notes section, “Here is my number and address. Text me if something comes up. Also there are guest spots in the back of the building if there is no parking out front.”

“6 works great, William. See you on Tuesday, have a nice weekend.”

“You too.”

William spent the next few days worrying every time his phone vibrated from an incoming text that it was you texting to cancel, and deciding what to cook. You didn’t tell him about any dietary restrictions so he decided a simple steak dinner would suffice. On Monday night after work he went shopping for what he needed.

Roaming through the store he was a bit on auto-pilot and not completely paying attention to what he was doing, so his internal monologue became whispered to himself. “For a nice, juicy steak you want a good ratio of fat to meat. These right here seem perfect.” “A nice garlic butter is a must. I like to make my own but store bought is fine.” “I like to cook fresh broccoli but you can use frozen in the recipe too.” “To add variety to my roast potatoes, I’m grabbing a few purple ones. It will add a little pop of color.” “I would normally make my own salad, dressing, and croutons, but I’m lazy today so a premade bag of greens and store bought croutons and dressing will do just fine.” “And for dessert I think cookies, ice cream, and all the toppings will be great. Nothing too complicated. I’m getting premade dough so I can just pop them right in the oven when we are ready for them and have nice fresh cookies without much effort.”

When he got home he made the marinade for his steaks and set them in the fridge before attempting to understand Fortnite again. After becoming frustrated he switched over to watching Netflix before going to bed.

William got to work early on Tuesday so he could leave with enough time to get a majority of his cooking completed before you arrived. As he was heading to his car his phone began to ring, it was his ex-wife.

He begrudgingly answered it knowing she would only call if she really needed his help, “Hey, what’s up?”

To his surprise she sounded slightly distressed, “Hi William. Are you able to leave work and get Miles? My car broke down and he needs to be picked up from school before 5. Rick is out of town on a business trip or else he would be getting him. He is fine being home alone for a bit so you can just drop him off.”

“It is your lucky day, I’m actually leaving work now since I got in early. I’ll go get him, and I’ll text you when he has been dropped off.”

“Thank you so much William. You’re a lifesaver.”

And with that she hung up. There went his plans of being almost finished cooking by the time you got there, he wasn’t going to be home until 5:45, 5:30 if he was lucky. He was happy to see Miles, though, so it was worth it.

As he sat watching Miles walk up to and unlock the front door, he pulled out his phone to text that Miles was home safe, and a moment after he sent it he got a text back. He was confused for a moment when there was no new message from his ex, until he checked his notifications and saw it was from a new number, you. He was thankful when your message said you would be at his home a bit after six since you worked a bit later than expected, but you were leaving now. He quickly sent a text in response and then text his ex before safely rushing back home.

He had just put the potatoes in the oven after washing and cutting them when you knocked on his door. As he opened the door to greet you, he froze in shock at how you were dressed. Since he only had seen you twice and in casual clothes, he definitely wasn’t expecting you to be in a skirt suit. He had thought that is what you wore to work, since he didn’t know what you did.

William quickly recovered from his shock and properly welcomed you, “Hello, (y/n). Please make yourself comfortable.”

“Thank you. Sorry for being late, a few programs took a bit longer processing than expected.”

“That is alright, I’m further behind in cooking than I wanted to be. I got out of work at an earlier time, but had to go get my son from school and take him home because his mom’s car broke down and her husband is out of town.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at your own response, “Dad to the rescue!”

“Yeah, I guess that is true.”

“So, Chef William, what are we having tonight? And do you need help with any of it.”

“We are having steaks with garlic butter, roasted potatoes, and some perfectly made broccoli. And for dessert, warm cookie sundaes. And no, I got it, you’re here to enjoy food and teach me video games.”

“That sounds delicious. Where is your bathroom? I want to change into some comfy clothes, I can only handle so much time in a suit.”

“It is right over there. And feel free to play any games or watch something while I cook. I’ll be out when possible.”

Soon after you emerged from the bathroom he heard the unmistakable sounds of Fortnite coming from his living room. As he fell into his rhythm while washing, chopping, and then cooking the broccoli, he began his mostly subconscious habit. “Most vegetables actually are amazing side dishes when prepared correctly, especially broccoli. There is no making Brussels sprouts and spinach better for my taste buds, though, and peas must be mixed with other things so I can ignore them.” “My secret weapon in cooking almost anything is garlic. If garlic can’t fix it, nothing can.” “Broccoli has always been one of my favorite vegetables, I feel like a giant eating little tiny trees.” “So now that we have cut up this big broccoli into little broccolis, it is time for the blanching. Remember to have your bowl of ice water ready to stop the cooking.” “After it has had time to cool, remove the broccoli and toss with melted garlic butter, then place on a roasting sheet to roast for a bit in the oven with our beautiful potatoes.” “For this size steak you want to begin cooking them between 15 and 20 minutes before you want to eat so they have time to properly rest.” “Ooh, I just love that sizzle.”

He plated everything once finished and brought it out to his dining table, “Dinner is served mademoiselle.”

You returned to the home screen of the console before heading to the table, “William, this all looks delicious. Thank you so much.”

“It is the least I could do for you helping me.”

“I have just one question.”

A wave of anxiety rushed through his body, what could you be wanting to ask, “And that is?”

“Do you always talk like you’re on a cooking show? I assume you’re too busy helping me in class to do it then, though.”

William blushed in embarrassment, he didn’t think you heard him, “Only when I get in the zone. It happens when shopping for ingredients too. Sorry if it made you uncomfortable, I thought you couldn’t hear over the game.”

He breathed a sigh of relief when you gave him a kind smile, “Don’t be crazy, William. I found it adorable.”

The meal was a mix of comfortable silence and questions about each other. As the night progressed, William thought a great friendship could be blooming, he was glad since he didn’t have many friends.

When it came time to begin his lesson, he did his best to keep in mind that it is all right to not know what to do and not to get as frustrated as he had in the past. The way you taught helped him really understand what to do, and he improved so much that you decided to have him try a round without help. When he helped his squad win, your excitement got the best of you; you leapt toward him and wrapped your arms around his shoulders, pecking his cheek.

“Will! You did it! Ahhh! I’m so proud!”

He froze, you just kissed his cheek and hugged him. Maybe it could be more than a friendship, but he wasn’t going to push it.

When you realized what you did you gasped and stood up, “I’m so sorry William. I don’t know what came over me. I’ll, uhh, go now. See you Thursday.”

His senses quickly returned and he stood up too, “Don’t go (y/n), it is all right,” he leaned down to kiss your cheek, “We still have cookies and ice cream to eat.”

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