#ah my favorite american bastard | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

utahbastards · 1 month

Text

❛ 𝒍𝒊𝒗𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒓𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒐𝒇 𝒉𝒊𝒕𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒊𝒕 𝒉𝒖𝒓𝒕𝒔. 𝒈𝒊𝒗𝒆 𝒎𝒆 𝒃𝒂𝒄𝒌 𝒎𝒚 𝒈𝒊𝒓𝒍𝒉𝒐𝒐𝒅, 𝒊𝒕 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒆 𝒇𝒊𝒓𝒔𝒕. ❜

► basics;

Full Name: Maya (means; mother) Cardoso (means; full of thistle).

Pronounced: My-ah Car-dos-oh

Nicknames: My

Age: 23

Birthday: March 30th

Sexual Orientation: Heterosexual

Relationship Status: It's Complicated

Religion: Athiest

Occupation: Student

Nationality: American

Ethnicity: Brazillian/White

► background;

Place of Birth: Logan, Utah

Hometown: Provo, Utah

Education: High School Graduate, Associates @ Salt Lake Community College

► physical;

Faceclaim: Alanis Guillen

Eye Color: Green Hazel

Hair Type/Color: 3A Curly Chestnut Brown

Height: 158cm/5′3ft

Weight: 68kg/150lbs

Tattoos, Birthmarks, Scars, etc:

Maya has somewhat significant scarring along the backs of her upper thighs, on her butt, and lower back caused by the belt. They were fading well before the outbreak with consistent use of scar gel and vitamin E cream. She has a small round scar on the apple of her cheek from her incident with her stepfather before leaving home.

► relatives;

Mother’s Full Name: Lorraine Sampson nee Cardoso nee Williams

Mother’s Status: Unknown - 41

Father’s Full Name: Edward Cardoso

Father’s Status: Unknown - Age 43

Siblings: Elijah Sampson - Age 12, Clara Sampson - Age 10, Ivy Sampson - Age 9, Thomas - Age 5, Abel - Age 3, Mary - Age 3

Sibling Status: Unknown

► relationships;

Baby Daddy:

Liam:

Ruben:

► personality;

Positive Traits: strong-willed, loyal, courageous, resilient,

Negative Traits: vicious, dogmatic, ill-tempered, dishonest, naive,

introvert / extrovert / AMBIVERT RISK- TAKER / cautious organized / DISORGANISED CLOSE-MINDED / open-minded calm / ANXIOUS / restless DISAGREEABLE / agreeable / in-between patient / IMPATIENT OUTSPOKEN / reserved leader / follower / FLEXIBLE EMPATHETIC / un-empathetic optimistic / PESSIMISTIC / realistic traditional / MODERN / in-between HARD-WORKING / lazy

Moral alignment (chaotic good, lawful neutral, etc): Chaotic Neutral

Mental Health & Mood Disorders : BPD, Avoidant Attachment

Triggers: Gets reactive to sudden moves, particularly in the vicinity of her face. Reactive to yelling and confrontation.

► misc;

First Book They Read: Goldilocks & The Three Bears

Favorite Book: The Hunger Games

Playlist: xx

Favorite Film: Scooby Doo, but her step-dad said it was sinful.

Dietary Requirements: Maya is a vegetarian. She hasn't eaten meat, aside from the occasional fish relapse on and off, predominantly triggered by drunk Mcdonalds orders of fillet o fish at 3am. Maya became vegetarian after finally leaving home, though she ate a largely reduced meat diet from the age of 15 after the incident with the calves.

► back story;

𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐘 𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐄:

Maya's parents had fought most of her life, or at least it definitely felt that way. She had once been four years old with her ear to the door and a wobbling bottom lip as she heard the awful things that they screamed at one another. Her father, muffles and shuffles, another woman ... Something about her mom's brother and all the money he'd lost. Gambled? It was hard to hear but she listened like she'd finally decipher the clue they would miss, that she could give them, to make the screaming stop. Her dad left twice that year, the second time it had taken him over a month to come home. When she was seven, it was her mom that left. She'd eaten nothing but pizza for that week until that had run out too and by the time her mom returned, she'd been eating tinned tomato and old croutons.

By eight, she had grown so used to it she didn't budge when the screaming started, no longer listening, or reaching for headphones, just continuing to order her sims around with an unurgent indifference. It was never anything revelatory. He was a bastard, she was a controlling bitch, he sucked all the joy she had ever had, he loves her so much, he hates her so much. Maya's tension had dissolved to indifference, never startled by their antics, not unless she heard furniture moving at least. She paid no mind to his screaming of divorcing, the packing of bags or the slamming of doors. It was nothing she hadn't seen before. But this time, the papers came. If Maya thought they argued a lot before, it was nothing compared to the dog fight their lawyers charged on, throwing them back in the ring at one another for every dollar. But never for Maya.

Had someone asked her, she didn't know which parent she would have chosen. Her mother was pedantic, unyielding, smothering, and vicious. But she made sure the house was clean and her daughter was fed. Edward knew how to play hide and seek and go to the park, but he'd never done his daughter's laundry or taken her to a doctor's appointment. She was a fun little roommate he bumped into or a pet. He could hardly take care of himself and he made sure to make that abundantly clear to the court when custody was finally brought forth. That he was suitable for weekends- actually make that every other weekend. When he made it clear that he wasn't engaging in tug of war with her, Lorraine dropped the rope too, almost irritated by her near full custody without conflict. Now she had a little Edward with her, no matter how far she moved from him.

Moves that he didn't protest as over the next few years, weekends turned to months, turned to holidays, turned to phone calls. By the time her mom married Amos, he was too far to help her, too removed to care. She'd been nine, moving into his house and forced to call him "Father" before she'd hit ten. The first few years hadn't been horrendous, incredibly awkward, but not unbearable. Amos was Mormon, truthfully she hadn't really known what that meant beyond her secondhand exposure to classmates. He believed strange things and did strange things. Every Sunday they sat in church for hours and hours, only three if she was lucky. Her mom dressed differently and told her all the time how happy it made her. He talked about God(s) a lot, and Maya tried to politely smile through it. Church felt like a game of pretend, like they were all doing a bit that just never ended. She couldn't comprehend that level of belief, which sparked conflict with her curious badgering. Especially when she asked why they always had to give so much money, unmoved by the explanation it would ascend her soul. If people thought her relatively pretty mother had married Amos for his money, they were wrong. He owned a little homestead, a couple acres with a shitty house bang smack in the middle, with a few flocks here and there that he'd been gifted by his brother. Most people saw it as a dump, but truthfully his house was the only thing Maya ever liked about the man. Each morning she wandered off, feeding the sheep and the goats before rifling for eggs from the chickens. Even now, she wishes she could go back and lay in the yard again, listening to the sheep and watching up through the branches. But she would never go home.

When she was eleven, her mom had a boy. Something that made Amos incredibly happy. In fact, Maya was certain she hadn't even really seen him smile until then. Elijah was a little thing, that squawked and giggled when she smiled down at him. She liked to play with his tiny fingers and toes. She didn't mind when her mom asked her to feed him, or change his diaper. Sometimes she liked to pretend he was her little baby to care for, cradling in her small arms as she rocked him. She never got the chance to know if she'd feel the same for the others, when her step father shattered any desire she had to know them.

[TW ABUSE, BELTING]

She thought Amos had been kidding when he told her to bend over the couch. She'd been spanked all her life, but only ever by her mother. When they'd gotten home, his knuckles were still white on the wheel, furious that "his daughter" had been caught saying shut up, in church no less. She'd laughed and shaken her head, brows furrowed with worried doubt however as he advanced, throwing her down, belt in hand as he brought it down on the backs of her thighs, three sharp blows that made her bawl so hard she thought she'd be sick. The dynamic shift was immediate. Amos went from a odd, uncomfortable housemate to the Boogey Man. She winced anytime he came near, lit up with angry eyes whenever he spoke to her. Her mother slunk around their animosity and pretended she didn't feel it. Amos was not her family, Lorraine the coward was not her family, so when they welcomed Clara and not even a year later, Ivy, what business of it was hers that two people she hated had a baby just because they shared a roof. There was no smiles, no cuddles, no favours unless forced.

𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐍 𝐘𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐒:

Amos had traded one 5-minute burst of fearful correction, for ever knowing peace again. There was only so many times you could hit someone before being hit just wasn't that frightening anymore. Once Maya realised, there was only so far he could go, there was no power left. So he'd hit her? How was that any different if she got caught drinking green tea versus a cigarette? A few extra lashings, a few more hours she had to pray? There was nothing left to move her. She was no longer content playing with his imaginary friends and became contemptuous every time they had to go to church, making them late and earning welts with their church logo from his belt buckle more than once. When she started laughing between the tears because he was sweating and out of breath, so red-faced and ugly, she really thought he was going to cry.

Maya started stealing at thirteen, but she'd gotten real good by fourteen. If Amos was going to keep pissing their money away into church, while popping another mouth to feed hospital bills to into her mother every couple of years, why should she go without? She stole without hesitation, from people at church-hell from the church, stores, friends, it really didn't matter. It didn't even matter if she wanted it, but she liked the sensation of getting away with it, that was for sure. She loved stealing from her mom, always smiling to herself when the woman drove herself insane looking for something she'd stashed away. That was until she learned how fun it was to slip an item with a sensor into her mom's purse before walking out of target, and just how funny it would be to hear all the whispers through church about the whole "kerfuffle". That month she'd gone without protest, smiling with amusement through every rumour.

[TW ABUSE/ KILLING AN ANIMAL]

At sixteen, money was so tight that the sheep and goats on the farm were now needed for dinner, rather than wool or milk. It had been a talking point for months but no one had pulled the metaphorical or literal trigger. Not until Maya had been outed for being felt up and making out with a boy from church. Amos had yanked her up from the couch, her legs trembling so hard from the belting he had to pull her to her feet over and over. Even her mother had the decency to look down, covering Elijah's ears while he screamed and cried. He'd ordered her outside and before Maya had taken a step she knew why, causing her to break down into pleading sobs. For months, Maya had pleaded the case for the sheep. Amos grabbed his pistol from his truck and began dragging outside again, Maya bawled the whole way. He yelled at her to watch whenever she attempted to look away. He shot the sheep accidentally through the spine rather than the heart, expecting a moment of silent impact but instead, the animal screamed. And kept screaming as Amos began to panic himself sick at the sound, dropping the gun to cover his ears, hoping that it would die any moment. Momentarily, so did Maya, shutting her eyes as her hands did little to muffle the noise. She couldn't take it, grabbing the gun from the ground and shooting again, clearing right through the skull as the animal dropped.

Amos had his new punishment until Maya had robbed him of the satisfaction of that too. By the time he'd needed one of the goats on the table, she did was she was told with unlit eyes and a steady hand and returned inside to her room, quiet and unmoved. She knew that he hated it. Every part. That she could do what he had failed, that he no longer had an escalation to hold over her, that she ate the dinner without tears no matter how many times he baaaaah-ed at her. That any step further he took, Maya would meet him with more resistance. No matter the misery of the act, there was always satisfaction to be found in his frustration.

After the disappointment of the boy from church, Maya used her hidden phone to distract herself. She made fake profile after fake profile, catfishing boys until she worked up the nerve to make a very private but real one for herself. It was there that she met Jack. Jack was twenty and back then, that didn't seem so strange to her. Especially not when he had a car. Truthfully, he had little else going for him. But to Maya? A pizza boy's salary and a car he owned seemed like a fever dream. He drove her around when she snuck out, took her to parties sometimes and best of all; he never mentioned god. She loved him and told herself that often. Loving him was loving everything he did for her, loving him was being as batshit devoted as the world told her to be. Going through his phone, screaming at other girls he talked to, and listening to him tell her how embarrassing and immature it was just for her to scream that if she was so immature maybe he should fuck someone older. They fought often, and they made up often. But she loved him because he'd never raised his hand. She learned to tolerate life for a little while. Even tried not to aggravate her stepfather at every opportunity. In turn, they moved their eyes from her slightly, allowing more time with Jack. And more time with Jack, meant more time in the real world where people had fun.

He broke the peace treaty, was all she could think. She'd thought nothing Amos could do could earn a real response from her anymore, until he'd taken the belt to a six-year-old Elijah. It had only been one strike, dashed out for sneaking candy after he'd been told no three times, but it had been enough to light a fire under her. The moment she heard it crack on the skin, she lunged like a feral animal, trying to pull the belt from his hands so she could wrap it around his neck, as her mother pulled her by her hair, sobbing as she went, in an attempt to get her off. Amos was hitting her but she didn't notice, nor did she notice Elijah running for the kitchen. In that moment she was nails and teeth and everything she'd ever wanted to see happen to her exploded out in an instant, a feral cat mauling him as she wrenched harder and harder for the belt. He brought it down on her face, until she fell to the floor. Her mother fell with her, arms suddenly around Maya, almost like an embrace, almost like a restraint. She didn't remember everything, only that once she'd gone to her room, you could hear a pin drop. All night she'd paced, thinking about how she could walk in when he fell asleep and finish the job until Elijah had tiptoed into her room, asking to sleep in her bed. When morning came, she hadn't been allowed to attend school with her face all bloodied and bruised. She knew what she should've known years ago. How this would end and what choices she had. She should kill him. But Elijah had whispered that he was sorry for his dad, and told her all the nice things he did sometimes in a childish attempt to prove to her that he could be good sometimes. He loved his dad, for better or worse.

𝐀𝐃𝐔𝐋𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐎𝐃:

She had packed her bags that morning after Amos had gone to work. She'd already called Jack to come get her, for once allowed to just pull up outside her house rather than a block and a half away. Her mother had been throwing up in the powder room, racked with the worst morning sickness she'd had from any of her priors. Maya went to leave without a word before hesitating outside of the door. "Don't send him looking for me. I'm taking his shotgun. If he shows up somewhere he shouldn't, I'll use it." She'd warned her quietly, the door had almost come off the hinges with how hard the woman thew it open, it was like her voice split; allowing her to scream about three things at once. She grabbed at Maya's clothes until the girl reached for the shot gun placed by the door frame, sending her reeling back wide eyed. She threatened to call the police and Maya smiled and nodded, saying that she'd call them herself.

Reality was, the few attempts to retrieve her over the months that followed, were pitiful at best. Now seventeen and a half, living with Jack in his parents garage as she finished her final year of high school, she realised just how much freedom people actually possessed. She'd almost spilled the glass, with how much her hands trembled the first time she got water in his kitchen without first being offered. She could study with little interruption, she watched real tv on a real tv instead of what she could download and cram onto her burner phone to watch after lights out, she drank coffee in the mornings and liquor whenever she liked. And she liked often. She stopped eating meat, feeling a thousand pounts lighter when she ate her meals now without hearing lamb screeching and guilt pangs in her gut.

She finished school with some difficulty, finally confronting for the first time what she may want to do with her life. Truthfully, she didn't like the idea of working. She felt like a woman fresh out of prison, the thought of being locked in 9-5 for the next fifty years wasn't the exciting one everyone thought it should be when the gushed over her future. But when the guidance councellor asked her if she'd ever considered working in national parks, something clicked ever so slightly into place. She did enjoy the outdoors, hating the sensation of being couped up for too long, she was good at remembering the trails, good at her animal tracks- it was plausible. It was a start.

She and Jack moved to Saltlake City when she started her associates. He was twenty-two now, and unmotivated himself, but as he reminded her with a smile he could deliver pizzas anywhere in the world. She supposed it was endearing and he did do his best to provide. It was his uncles basement that they crashed in both those years after all. Maya thought that she had began to mellow with age, that the thought of him texting other girls used to send her into a manic rage now barely stirred her because she was maturing but truthfully, Jack's entire presence began to chafe. He was all over her, all the time. Never doing anything except bothering her, honestly the thought of him texting someone else sounded kind of nice. If he was honest, his appeal had been freedom, freedom that she now possessed in her own right. So why did she need him? Even still, she never thought about breaking up with him, not even when she made the baffling decision to insist he stay behind when she transferred for her bachelor, insisting that an hour or so drive wasn't even really long distance. Her scholarship covered accomodation- it was a no brainer right? Practically making money. She loved him, of course. But the thought of being on campus without his arm slung around her and his lips glued to her neck... Absence makes the heart grow fonder, it could only be good for them to have a little space.

He texted her three times an hour, at minimum.

going into meeting baby daddy bc she's finally partying without jack and it sparks joy.

maya steals from frat guys and male teachers bc she hates men high key and thinks it's funny. jack is the exception but he should not be bc jacks a loser.

not hooking up for while bc I have a boyfriend soz :(- oops they hooked up. what a time to choose to not use a condom for the first time rip.

lies to her boyfriend about it. he says he's gonna come visit soon and she's like great!! excellent actually

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐎𝐔𝐓𝐁𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐊:

struggling bc she's a pregnant vegetarian and meat makes her feel sick. she's not morally opposed bc u gotta do what you gotta do but physically she is struggle city.

tries a couple home abortion methods with rubens help to make sure she doesn't mcfucking kill herself in the process, thinks it works but surprise it did not u just made urself bleed that's about it

gotta tell her baby daddy what's been going on

struggles to connect with people due to inherent distrust she has for most people, like she can get along and be like a human, but like once you disagree??? bets are off. likes women more than men, but also kind of hates women bc her mom. only the NB's are safe. but ur on thin ice.

overall, touch starved, angry, wants to drink and smoke but stupid baby inside so she can't. wasn't really interesting in surviving the apocalypse but now has to.

#maya cardoso #bio #maya bio

0 notes

monstermaster13 · 1 year

Text

An American Werewolf In London. Ah yes, THE iconic werewolf transformation scene, no movie or tv show has ever come close to replicating this particular type of transformation and this one is iconic for numerous reasons…for one thing the excellent practical fx by Rick Baker and also you really do feel the pain that David is going through when he transforms, and it's no wonder this was Michael Jackson's favorite horror movie.

DocChester/Justparodiezman.

Darkbulflrog.

The Fly (1986). I've always said 'lovey-dovey is fine and all but…' which is true since when it comes to my transformation things I don't like to spend too much time on the lovey dovey stuff, I don't like to rush my transformations, I like to be as detailed as possible and go through the physical process in a way that goes through all the important details needed and sometimes I like to be a little bit gross, I admit that I can be a pretty sick and twisted bastard when it comes to my transformation interests, and this movie is to blame for it..he starts out looking sexy at first but when he loses parts of his body, good lord…poor Brundlefly. I will never think of flies the same way again, but I will definitely think of this movie and Jeff Goldblum whenever I see a fly. Cronenberg makes body-horror thought-provoking and makes it a journey of discovery about the human condition. Oh Goldblum, never stop being you.

Numerous music videos. Let's see, there's the infamous Fatboy Slim music video Right Here Right Now, there's also the Black Or White video which pretty much made morphing effects mainstream, so mainly videos to choose for that feature people being transformed or morphing effects, i've always had a fascination for becoming other people especially in dreams where I become a number of fictional characters and celebrities I admire. And i've always wanted to try my own hand at it, which I have…but not as well as the people who made these videos have.

Doctor Jekyll and Ms Hyde (1995). I used to be against tg because to me all male to female tgs sounded the same, you know..guy loses private parts, grows breasts, gets addicted to the dirty s-word and becomes a bimbo and all that stuff? But that was until I discoverered this movie and TG fiction on here, I discovered that not all TG stories are the same and a lot of them are interesting/fascinating to read and see. This movie definitely helped influence that, and definitely gave me a sort of simp-like fascination with Ms Sean Young.

Animorphs..especially the way the transformations were written and also the morphs on the cover. I envy whoever got to design the covers for these books, I have tried to do similar morphs myself but mine aren't as good, I remember the one of Ax morphing into a cow as the first cow transformation I ever saw in media and the first animal transformation that is a tg as well, to put it in context Ax morphs into a female cow since he acquired the DNA of a female bovine instead of a bull/steer. You gotta be real careful with your morphs ya know. Also Rachel turning into a monster version of herself was badass.

Big Wolf On Campus. Ah yes, this show. This show along with Buffy is my main influence in general. First of all the werewolf is a hero and not a villain, second…the dialogue in this show is amazing and humorous as well…and it helped shape me into the horror fanatic I am now. I love half-creature transformations where the person remains humanoid but has features like pointed ears, fur/scales on their hands or face and fangs or claw-like fingernails, I seem to have a fascination with claws or claw-like fingernails since I remember at one point trying to grow claws of my own…sadly, my fingernails can't grow long enough for that, shame.

Dungeons and Dragons. I still use the D&D monster manual as reference material when monster-making…and when I depict how werecreatures turn in my work I sometimes go by the same rules as D&D's take on them but add a bit of my own flair to it (my werecreatures aren't fully good or evil, but evil ones can be turned good/corrupted ones can be turned to the side of good again with certain types of spells). I still have a Wererat OC which I created for a campaign.

The mirror scene from Casper.

Blackbluedawg.

Numerous sites about werecreatures and shapeshifters. I'm not going to say the name of this artist out of respect, but he made me the man I am today thanks to his website and I think of him as a personal hero and influence, let's just say there are numerous sites that serve as my inspiration and his was one of them, cartoons (both multiple-episodes AND one shot episodes/specials), live action tv show tfs, comics, games, you name it. Also learning about werecreature lore in general inspired me to get interested in it. And I can't believe I didn't discover sites like this from the get go. Also that one History Channel documentary about werecreatures/shapeshifters and the were-deer…oh yes.

Wallace and Gromit: Curse Of The Wererabbit. If you haven't seen this movie, you should…it's a loving tribute to classic horror with the signature Aardman charm and it's hilarious.

Goosebumps. A mask that turns you into a monster if you wear it more than once? Sign me up. A werewolf story based on the legend of Native American skinwalkers? Sign me up. What's that? A choose your own adventure scenario except in Goosebumps form and you could possibly end up as a bat-creature or a werewolf or a monster in general? Boy, this series has it all including monsters and transformations galore. Of course if I ended up turning into a Werecreature i'd be a Were-Aykroyd, hey…turning into Dan Aykroyd honestly would be awesome, it's meant to be after all.

Teen Wolf (1985). Definitely this and the cartoon.

Lance/Weremoose. I love his morphs into Disney and other animated characters and in particular his Star Wars morphs. They inspired me and got me into photomanipulations.

Swatcher. As a fellow Grinch fan, I approve of his use of the Jim Carrey Grinch.

Jmmates. A whole channel dedicated to transformations/morphs…sign me up. Heck a few of my ideas for morphs have even been adapted, including a Pennywise and insect morph.

Thriller. We all know this video by heart, MJ is with his girlfriend and their car runs out of gas and so they decided to take a walk through the woods, MJ asks her to be his girlfriend and she says yes, he then warns her that he isn't 'like other boys', she doesn't know what he is talking about and he doubles over in pain, she asks him if he is okay…he jumps up and growls 'GO AWAY!' in a deep monster-like voice as he turns into a werecat. This transformation is no doubt as iconic as AWIL's transformation considering John Landis and Rick Baker BOTH worked on this one.

The Honey Monster. I used to be scared of this guy (same with Carrey's Grinch) but I can now see that this guy has a fanbase that definitely remembers the old commercials of people turning into this creatures's species fondly and some have done their own fanfiction for it, which I am so proud of.

Nibblahfrog. I have a fondness for turning heroes or actors who play heroes into things and that comes from Nibblah's Power Ranger monster transformation concepts and that helped me get into the idea of creating monsters of my own.

Numerous interactive stories.

#Monstermaster13 #tf influences

1 note · View note

michaelsapostle · 5 years

Photo

AHS: 1984 | Xavier Plympton

2K notes · View notes

uzumaki-rebellion · 3 years

Text

“The Interpreter: Part 1 of 2″

youtube

T’Challa x Black OC.

Mature Audience. Smut. 18+. Two Parts.

*Words in Italics represent the Wakandan language.

Summary:

Destiny Keith loves her career as a U.N. interpreter. She specializes in three East African Languages, but Wakandan is her favorite, especially when she gets to work for King T’Chaka Udaku on many important occasions. Destiny adores the popular state leader, but she despises his arrogant and spoiled son, Prince T’Challa Udaku. When the Wakandan King falls ill, Destiny is called upon to assist Prince T’Challa on a speaking tour of the U.S. as he replaces his father to discuss the King’s recent book on Wakanda’s new lead in global politics. Disappointed that she won’t be able to spend more time with the charming King, she accepts the new job reluctantly and discovers that there’s more to the prickly Prince than meets the eye.

“Baby, I’m a hot stepper none better

If you looking for a boss chick then come get her

Make a boy wait if he don’t measure

I’ll make a boy wait if he don’t measure”

Shaybo – “No Pressure”

“Ah, Miss Destiny Keith! I am so pleased to see you again.”

King T’Chaka Udaku held his hands out to Destiny as she greeted him inside the U.N. lobby. She had been waiting forty minutes. It was unusual for him to be late for anything. His Dora, General Okoye Munisi flanked his side with another Dora Milaje lieutenant. Okoye’s eyes were keen and ever watchful. Destiny gave a slight bow to the king, but he waved a hand for her to stop being formal with him. They had worked together for over a year, and she still couldn’t bring herself to be informal with him. The man had charisma and kind eyes that twinkled when he smiled.

“I want to apologize for my tardy arrival…”

Destiny’s eyes slid behind the king, and she observed why he was late.

Prince T’Challa Udaku stepped next to his father with dark surly eyes and a sour demeanor about him. His personal head of security, Ayo, was a Dora that never smiled or gave a flying fuck about what anyone might have thought about her Prince. He could do no wrong.

“Say no more,” Destiny said cutting her eyes at T’Challa.

The Prince rolled his eyes and then rolled his tongue across his top teeth that gleamed with a platinum grill shaped like panther teeth. He was dressed to impress in a tight custom winter green tweed jacket and vest with matching slacks. The soft curls in his small ‘fro were moisturized to the hair Gods. Baby boy was clean. Fine as all get out. But an arrogant xenophobic bastard. She could smell the disdain he had for Americans wafting off his skin. Coming to the U.S. for any reason was a chore for him. His bored eyes didn’t even register her anymore.

“My son had a bit of a rough night last night so he needed more time to prepare for today’s gathering.”

“Right this way, Your Highness,” Destiny said.

She stood a clear two feet away from the King as his security detail kept him surrounded. The general meeting hall was noisy with the surge of delegates and interpreters finding their seats.

“How long will this be father? I would like to go back to the hotel as soon as possible.”

Unlike his father who was fairly fluent, T’Challa rarely spoke English. He once told her it was a gutter language. He also told her that her Wakandan sounded like a whale breeching water before it died. Destiny suspected that he just wasn’t well-versed at it and couldn’t admit a personal flaw.

“Since this is a special session to elect a new President, plan on three hours minimum,” she said sweetly in Wakandan.

He rolled his eyes and still didn’t acknowledge her presence.

Asshole.

Destiny caught his eyes dusting over young, attractive, female U.N. staff scurrying about to escort men and women to their places. T’Challa never missed an opportunity to ogle Sandrine Oscar, a French interpreter for Senegal. Sis was stacked and packing heavy junk in the trunk. The Prince gave lascivious glances her way and Sandrine lobbed the stares right back at him. A hook up was imminent by the way they acted even in the slight passing. So uncouth.

Destiny tugged down on her short beige jacket that matched her pencil skirt. She wore her best four-inch black heels that made her ass toot out. Her neck-length lacefront had nice reddish-brown highlights she thought accentuated the cheekbones in her round face. The climate change made the weather in New York hotter in the fall, and she used more protective styles because she was tired of flat-ironing and styling her hair when her hairdos would fall or go back within minutes. She rotated three good wigs for the U.N.

Staring at the Dora Milaje, she wondered if maybe she should just shave off all her hair and rock a baldie. Glancing at Okoye, she slipped her hand inside her small handbag and pulled out a tiny wrapped bag. She tapped Okoye’s arm and palmed the goods in her hand. Okoye winked at her. The new Fenty lip balm was about to drop later that winter, but Destiny had a hook-up at the company and was able to get the honey roast color Okoye wanted when she last came to New York and Fenty had run out of the product.

The meeting started and T’Challa pulled out his razor-thin cell and scrolled. Destiny cleared her throat at him and the Prince lifted his eyes and glared at her.

“No cell phones, Your Highness,” she scolded.

“I hate the sound of your voice,” he muttered.

Fuck you nigga, I hate your raggedy face, she thought to herself.

T’Challa’s eyes ghosted over hers and Destiny froze thinking she had said the words out loud. The prince returned his focus onto his cell and she reached over and snatched it from his hand.

“With all due respect, I said, no cell phones, Your Highness.”

Her English was blunt. Cold.

T’Challa reached over and slapped her hand, yanking his cell back.

“Don’t ever touch me or my things,” he spat out in perfect English.

Lucky for them they were seated next to one another behind his father and the Doras. She pinched the shit out of his wrist and the horror that came across his face made her almost giggle out loud. He shook his hand vigorously with great theatrics.

“You are lucky we are in public. I would spank your ass if you did this anywhere else,” he hissed under his breath.

“Is that a threat?”

Destiny’s voice didn’t come out the way she intended it to. What was supposed to be boss bitch assertive in the “I-Wish-A-Nigga-Would” vocal motif came out limp and almost… needy.

“A promise. Now stop talking so I don’t have to hear that dreadful American dialect.”

T’Challa turned his head, and Destiny touched the back of her neck. The nape was damp. But another place on her body was too.

The Prince may have hated the English language, but the way he barked it with that Wakandan accent....

Destiny pressed her knees together and faced forward.

###

The vote had come to a close.

King T’Chaka missed locking down the Presidency of the U.N. general assemblies by three votes. He didn’t seem upset about losing to the Slovakian rep, in fact, he was rather pleased at how close the vote had been. Destiny sensed he was making political moves, but keeping his aspirations close to the vest.

T’Challa grumbled the entire time, his hand fidgeting on his thighs as he endured the political maneuvering. This man was supposed to be the heir to the throne of Wakanda? Destiny followed behind the Dora Milaje as they tracked King T’Chaka as he made the rounds pressing the flesh and chatting with other global leaders.

“Miss Keith, how would you like to join us for dinner?” T’Chaka asked.

Destiny glanced at her watch.

“It’s only one, don’t you mean lunch?”

“We can have a light lunch on the plane, but dinner will be in Miami with Ambassador Marignan.”

“Miami?”

“Yes. Please say you will join me as my special guest. I’ll have you back here late tonight with a private car to take you home. I will not be in the States again until next year, and Ambassador Marignan has not been well for some time, but is keen on seeing me before I return to Wakanda.”

“I’ll need to get a change of clothes—”

“No, no, you are lovely as you are. We are leaving now. Please say yes.”

She was due to file reports and debrief a colleague, but they could be put off until the next day. Spending leisure time with a King was more important. She texted her supervisor and gave King T’Chaka a toothy grin.

“I’m ready.”

“Great,” T’Challa grumbled walking past her with his Dora.

They were shuttled off in a private car to a secured runway at JFK International Airport. A private jet awaited them, and Destiny tried to act nonchalant about riding in a luxury plane without squealing and snapping photos for friends on her phone. She snagged a window seat right next to the King and T’Challa sat across the aisle from them. The large plush leather seats warmed up, and a Wakandan flight attendant handed them a fancy mixed drink.

“This is Wakandan punch,” T’Chaka said sipping from his glass.

The pinkish-orange concoction was sweet and spicy, like peppery fruit punch, but the liquor…

“Oh, my!” she gasped clutching onto her chest.

The beverage packed a wallop, and the King chuckled.

“Strong, eh?” he said.

“Very, but it’s delicious.”

She sipped a little more and the warmth that seeped in her throat spread to her chest. It made her tongue loose and relaxed her limbs.

The flight attendant headed to the open door and shut it after the pilot was checked over by the King’s security, and it didn’t take long for them to be up in the air. Destiny enjoyed a lovely chat with the King while T’Challa kept his ears preoccupied with earbuds listening to music and ignoring them.

The three-hour flight had them snacking on tiny fried samosas and grilled veggies with more Wakandan punch. By the time they landed, Destiny was a little tipsy and starving for a full meal. A sleek black limo picked them up and whisked them to Star Island where the average home was over thirty million dollars. They were greeted by staff at a salmon and white villa with an enviable view of Biscayne Bay.

“King T’Chaka Udaku! You old rascal you!”

Samuel Marignan looked pale for his light skin, but he mustered the energy to greet his guests with his much younger Vietnamese and Black French wife. There were several other guests, and the King introduced Destiny to everyone. T’Challa turned on the charm then. It was like night and day from the U.N. general assembly. Wide toothy grin. Bright eyes. Sexy accent speaking French and Italian to some of the guests.

“We are starving,” King T’Chaka said rubbing his stomach.

Destiny washed her hands in a guest bathroom the size of her entire studio apartment in Brooklyn. Fussing with her wig, she refreshed her lipstick and checked her teeth for food particles from her lunch on the jet.

With her heels clacking on the marble floor, she joined the other guests in a grand dining room with high ceilings and medieval-looking furniture that didn’t quite match the Miami style of bright colors. Destiny learned the home was owned by a billionaire who loaned it to Marignan to recuperate.

“Do you ever get tired of translating and want to do something else?”

Marignan’s wife, Seline stared at her with a thoughtful expression after her question.

“Oh no, it’s an honor and I take pride in helping our government keep peace in the world.”

It was a pat answer, but it sounded good. Seline’s eyes twinkled.

“You have lovely hair,” she said.

“Thank you.”

T’Challa snickered as he sat to Seline’s left.

Seline’s eyes darted toward him with annoyance.

“What is so funny?” Seline asked.

Destiny glanced around. The King and the other men at the table were busy talking and ignoring them. She touched a strand of her hair, then fiddled with one of her danglin earrings before eating her food again.

T’Challa leaned in toward Seline.

“That’s a wig.”

He chuckled and gulped down a glass of red wine, his eyes snarky and hateful.

“You are an asshole,” Seline hissed.

Her dark eyes latched onto Destiny’s.

“The color is lovely for your skin tone.”

“Thank you.”

Seline tucked a loose lock of her glossy black hair behind her ear and pulled her cloth napkin from her lap. She wasn’t even done with her stuffed shrimp.

“If you all will excuse me, I have a headache and will take my leave. It was lovely to see you all,” she said.

She glared at T’Challa and sashayed her lithe body down a long hallway.

“She’s right. The color is decent on you,” T’Challa said.

Destiny ignored him and tucked into her fiesta rice as three different languages flew across the large dining table. T’Challa had his nose stuck back in his cell. His father gave him a stern look for being rude.

“Excuse me. I have to take this call,” T’Challa said.

She was glad he left the room and tried to interject herself into the conversation. Yoked into a hearty discussion of climate change mandates and the U.S. government’s refusal to take a hardline stance had her on the defensive, but King T’Chaka smoothed over her need to take up for a country that didn’t believe in following global rules.

After a time, the King looked agitated. His eyes flicked to T’Challa’s empty seat. He placed his hands on the table as if he were about to leave it, but Destiny jumped up for him.

“I’ll get him,” she whispered.

Relief flooded the King’s face.

“Thank you. He spends all his time on his phone when he comes to this country.”

“No problem, King T’Chaka.”

Destiny took off in the direction she saw him go that led to a wrap-around porch. It was too hot outside, so she followed down an indoor hall where it was cooler and more private for a call.

“T’Challa?”

She popped into a vestibule and froze.

The grunts and groans should’ve made her leave, but she was glued to the marble floor.

T’Challa had Seline’s legs thrown over his arms as he fucked her on a low mantle. A fat juicy dick sheathed in a condom dripped with Seline’s juices. He drilled her hard and the married woman bit her own hand to stifle her cries. His long strokes allowed Destiny to see how much he stretched Seline. Each time he pulled all the way out, her opening stayed gaping wide , a big wet hole with swollen pussy lips.

Destiny pivoted back toward where she came from, the shock forcing her to move quickly. She tripped over her own feet and caught her heel in a porch drainage grate on the floor. Yanking it too hard, she broke the heel and one of her favorite earrings fell down the grate, lost to her forever. She began limping back toward the hall that would lead her to the dining room.

“Destiny.”

King T’Chaka looked concerned. She saw the others behind him heading down to the private beach.

“He’s finishing up his call and will be back soon,” she lied.

“Your poor shoe,” T’Chaka said reaching for her hand.

He helped her take it off.

“I wasn’t watching where I stepped. Lost in the view I guess,” she said hoping to distract the King from wandering after his son.

She took the broken heel from the King’s hand.

“I’ll live, Your Highness,” she said clutching it in her hand, “go and enjoy time with your friends,” she encouraged.

The Dora escorted the King to the beach, and she lingered on the porch. In her peripheral, she caught the silhouette of T’Challa slinking up next to her.

“I hope you will be discreet,” he uttered with a soft tone.

Destiny couldn’t even look at him. She allowed her hands to rest on the wooden guardrail of the porch. He did the same and moved closer to her so that his voice was for her ears only. The scent of his cologne drifted under her nose and she glanced at his face. The Prince watched his father slide off his shoes and socks and dip his feet in the water.

“I will pretend I didn’t see you fucking a married woman and potentially causing a global scandal,” she hissed.

“Our relationship is complicated.”

“Open legs, insert dick is not hard to understand.”

He chuckled and his dark dashing eyes ghosted over her face. His lips quirked into a sly grin and Destiny’s face became flushed. He oozed sexual energy, and it startled her. She pushed back on it.

“That was real shitty making fun of my hair.”

“It was a joke. Seline wears a wig too.”

“Why bring it up if another woman is complimenting me?”

“I was bored. Tried to entertain myself.”

That damn voice. That stupid accent. She turned her head to look back at the King.

“Your father would be so ashamed of you if he found out what you do behind his back. And poor Mr. Marignan. The man is recovering from an illness and you disrespect his home like that.”

“Why are your panties in a bunch?”

“I broke my shoe and lost a special earring because of you.”

He snuck a peek at her naked foot and then glanced at her ear. The King waved at her and T’Challa. Destiny waved back, and the Prince sauntered onto the sand. She spent the rest of her time watching the Wakandan men and wondering where Seline was hiding.

###

The King’s publicist called her on a bright Saturday morning when she returned to her shoebox studio after a hearty jog around her neighborhood.

“How ill is he?” Destiny huffed into her cell phone.

“The pollution in this country has upset a serious sinus infection and he will be retiring to his hotel suite for the duration of his stay. Prince T’Challa will replace him on the book tour and the King requests that you accompany his son as his personal assistant and interpreter should the need arise.”

Destiny ran her fingers across her cornrowed hair and thought of the best way to decline. The flight home on the jet with the King had her excited about their upcoming partnership on his book tour. Traveling coast to coast to tout his new four-hundred-page tome on the new Global responsibility of the West had cracked the New York Times best-seller list. She was shocked when she read the foreword to the book and saw that Prince T’Challa had written it while he attended Oxford. It was a brilliant piece of work that allowed her to see the brains behind the arrogant playboy behavior. It was one thing to spend two weeks with the King, but a whole ‘nother kettle of fish to traipse all over the North American tour with his son.

There was a shuffling sound on the other end of the call, and then she heard the nasally and worn out voice of the King.

“My dear Miss Keith, I apologize for the last-minute change in plans. But I need your assistance in this matter. It will just be for the American tour. I will line up someone else for my European leg of the tour, but I know my son will work well with you. Your professionalism, intelligence, and understanding of political public relations is a rare gift. And if I may be frank with you, I would prefer a Black American woman working with him who would know the subtext of this country when it comes to its hidden hand in global affairs.”

“Your Highness—”

“If you have some concerns, let me have Prince T’Challa take you to dinner tonight. You can discuss how you would handle his tour prep—”

“I appreciate your high regard for my abilities—”

“Destiny, I trust no one else but you.”

She paused with fiddling in her hair. The King had never called her by her first name alone before. He sounded desperate.

“One dinner, and if you do not feel that you can handle my son, I will look for someone else or post-pone the tour.”

“No! You can’t do that.”

She plopped down on her couch. King T’Chaka’s book dragged the U.S. and she wanted the nation to hear the wisdom laden in the book. Especially since the tour was booked ahead of the American President’s own book tour that was scheduled that Spring. She wanted the small country of Wakanda to spank the giant American bully with its self-centered ideas of Global change. It would be an honor to see David smack down Goliath in its own territory. Dinner with the Prince would mean high-priced fancy food, and that could make-up for the ruined high heel and lost jewelry. And she could get a full to-go dinner for the next day.

“I’ll do it. Dinner. I’ll see what happens after that.”

“Thank you. I will have my son pick you up at your home.”

She bid the King farewell before his handler took back the phone and requested her location. Showering and unbraiding her hair, she spent the rest of the day putting together an outfit fit for a fancy dinner. She had to downgrade her shoe game with an older pair of sling backs.

When the time came for the Prince to pick her up, Destiny stood in her bathroom mirror and fussed with her hair. The one wig she thought would look best with her dress needed time to hold a curl and it wouldn’t hold with the late notice. Fluffing her natural hair, she liked what she saw. The cornrows taken out made her tresses silky and carefree. She dropped her head down and shook it back making the waves look like sexy bed hair. It fell past her shoulders and she decided to wear it as is. Giving herself a smokey eye and bronze-stained lips, she twirled around in front of the mirror. The low-cut black dress was a Neiman-Marcus knock-off, but it looked fancy boutique.

Her doorbell rang, and she took a deep breath grabbing her small black cocktail purse. She opened the door and Ayo stood at the entrance in a tight burgundy dress and burgundy heels. She stepped past Destiny into her home and looked around before walking out of the studio and posting up near the door.

Prince T’Challa appeared wearing a silver and black suit with an overcoat. He held a large decorated blue box in his hand. His eyes danced up and down her frame and a smile curled his lips. The small gap in his front teeth made him look mischievous.

“You look lovely Miss Keith.”

“Just call me Destiny.”

He nodded then handed the box to her.

“For you.”

She took the box and went to her couch. He followed her after closing the front door.

“Wow,” she gasped.

Inside the box were a pair of Miu Miu black velvet-trimmed crystal embellished six-inch heels.

“This is… my goodness…”

“Hopefully, these will replace the ones I ruined with my little indiscretion.”

He stood before her as she slipped off her old as hell Jimmy Choo pumps and pulled on the chic and budget-busting ultra-designer heels. They fit perfectly.

“My father made me get these for you.”

“Oh,” she mumbled.

She rolled her eyes at him once she knew he was ordered to replace them.

“But these are from me,” he said.

He reached into his suit pocket and pulled out a red satin jewelry box. She opened it carefully and the most exquisite earrings she ever saw in her life sparkled in her hand. Long, jangly, with an opal finish streaked with a luminescent electric blue coloring, Destiny nearly lost her breath looking at them.

T’Challa reached for her left ear and took out the earring there before doing the same to her other ear. He placed her cheap jewelry on the shoe box then took out each earring he brought her and placed them in her ears. His touch made her tingle. The second earring insertion gave him a bit of trouble when her hair became entangled with the backing.

“This is my real hair by the way,” she said with satisfaction.

His breath on her cheek smelled like cinnamon and the fresh cologne he wore made her close her eyes. She felt his thick fingers brush back her hair and stroke her earlobe. When she opened her eyes, his pitch-black orbs hypnotized her.

“How do they look?” she asked.

He simply nodded, then tilted her chin with his warm hand.

“Perfect.”

###

He took delight in watching her slip on the high heels.

The curve of her ankle and the shapely legs attached to them made him stare at her bottom half longer than he intended to.

Prince T’Challa Udaku had come across enough beautiful women in his life to know this woman, Destiny Keith was a stunner. Americans tended to overlook the darker-hued women in their population, but T’Challa recognized her worth the moment he laid eyes on her. He grew suspicious of her motives to be so treacly sweet to his father. Women did that a lot with world dignitaries. Power was the ultimate aphrodisiac. Every time he traveled to America with the King, his father requested Destiny. He was suspicious of her for a long time. In the past, his father had been a scoundrel, but his step-mother Ramonda had set him straight early in their marriage. Destiny had his father acting like a smitten paramour. She wore expensive wigs, but cheap shoes and middle of the road clothing. She had the educational pedigree, but living in New York was expensive and she made concessions to keep up appearances. Beauty was her greatest commodity next to her brain, and the King adored her and that made T’Challa suspicious that he was having an affair. Many world leaders had mistresses tucked away around the globe. Queen Ramonda insisted that T’Challa accompany his father for years as he came of age.

It wasn’t until the trip to Miami that he was able to see her outside of work. Her interest in his father was genuine and pure. It irritated him. Miss Goody Two-Shoes. Even when he sent Ayo to track her and make sure she was on the up and up, the only seedy thing he found out about her was that she loved eating greasy pizza with pineapples.

It embarrassed him when she caught him with Seline. In the middle of spilling a hot load into his lover, he turned his head to the left as he grunted out his orgasm and caught sight of Destiny tumbling out of the vestibule. He had warned Seline that they should’ve waited, but her hand went under the dining table and fondled his dick through his pants while her husband chatted with his father. She made up the ruse about being interested in Destiny’s hair so she could leave the room, giving him time to follow her without raising suspicion.

Destiny pranced around in the new heels and flicked her fingernails against the Wakandan earrings. Her broad smile at receiving the gifts shifted something inside of him. The items were mere trinkets to him, but to her, they were rare luxuries. He took a moment to take in her living space. Humble. Modest furniture. A stationary bike sat near a wide-open window where a cool fall breeze ruffled Destiny’s hair. A small stove and tiny refrigerator showed him how small her kitchen area was. A maple dinette table with two chairs rounded out the couch and low-set mahogany coffee table that looked second hand but durable.

“Shall we leave for dinner?” he suggested feeling like he was invading her simple living arrangement.

She grabbed her small clutch and reached for a light copper jacket that came to her knees. He helped her with it and they were led to an old elevator by Ayo.

His personal driver opened the back door of a private car, and T’Challa assisted her getting inside. He caught a flash of her thighs as she scooted in. Trying to ignore the slight arousal that her naked legs gave him, he followed in after her and Ayo took a position in the front passenger seat.

“Before I forget,” he said pulling out Metropolitan Opera House tickets from his outer coat pocket.

“Aida?” she said with wide eyes.

She fingered the tickets and her eyes grew even wider when she saw the seating. Center Orchestra.

“If dinner goes well, my father thought you deserved a treat. I am told this is a popular opera.”

“I’ve been wanting to see it for years. Could never snag tickets like this. And I don’t like the cheap nose-bleed seats. It’s not worth going if you can’t really see anything.”

“But isn’t it about the music? The voices?”

“I want the whole package. Hear the voices and see the expressions on their faces. The full experience. This is… your father is doing a lot.”

“He is fond of you and your work ethic.”

She seemed giddy in her seat. The driver whisked them along busy New York streets and she remained quiet next to him until she noticed the streets they turned down after a time. They were in Manhattan. The driver pulled them in front of Thirteen, an exclusive restaurant that needed reservations months in advance.

Ayo opened the car door for them, and he escorted her inside the establishment. The Maître D nearly creamed in his pants when he saw T’Challa, gushing all over them and leading their party to private seating in the back. An attendant took their coats and Ayo positioned herself at a smaller table near the kitchen, keeping her eyes on all who moved about.

Candlelight on the table made Destiny’s skin glow, and the earrings he bought her glinted like magical fireflies on her ears. Her real hair was thick and luxurious and he wondered why she covered it up all the time. It softened her face and made her look sensual and relaxed. Not so uptight like she had a stick up her ass.

He ordered them white wine without looking at the cocktail menu, and when she was handed the one night only menu, her lips pursed. There were no prices on the menu.

“What do you have a taste for?” she asked.

“What I will eat is not on the menu.”

Her big expressive eyes latched onto his.

“They fix me whatever I want.”

“Oh… you’re fancy fancy,” she joked.

He reached out and stroked the dangling earring that gleamed in the light. His eyes drifted to her naked throat. He switched over into Wakandan.

“I chose well. Perhaps I should have chosen a necklace to go with them,” he said.

Her eyes darted away from his and re-focused on the menu.

Their drinks arrived with a small plate of grilled finger foods he enjoyed.

“I’ll have the Kobe steak medallions and truffles with the caramelized garlic fritters,” she said to their server.

T’Challa ordered Sea Bass and Lamb chops and it didn’t take long for their four-course meal to begin. Destiny kept patting her stomach every time a new plate was brought to them and he grinned. They discussed his intro to his father’s book, and she had a reporter’s list of questions about his inclusion in the book. He razzle dazzled her and for the first time, he felt a tension loosen between them. Her questions were insightful and pulled a lot of complex answers from him.

“I guess I misjudged you,” she said sipping her second glass of wine.

“And I you,” he said.

“Well, you haven’t always been kind to me, so you never gave me a chance to show you how delightful I can be.”

“I do not come to this country to find delight in its citizens.”

“Your English is impeccable when you speak it. Why do you pretend to be less fluent than you really are?”

“You would be amazed at the things Americans say when they think you cannot understand them.”

“Oh, so a political tactic?”

“Precisely. More wine?”

“Hmmm.”

“Can I tell you something?” he said.

“Sure.”

It had been bugging him the entire meal as she spoke to him in Wakandan. Her glottal stop was atrocious in his language.

“You block the air flow too soon when you say certain words in Wakandan.”

He gave her some examples, and she copied. He squinted when she messed up some words.

“Here, relax,” he said reaching up to her throat and holding her there, “your chords are coming together when they shouldn’t. I don’t know who taught you, but you must change it. I can no longer take the disrespect.”

She giggled instead of being offended and spoke several words with his guidance.

“Ah, Bast has been kind to you… now that is how you speak Wakandan,” he said.

“T’Challa,” she said, and he stared at her suddenly.

“Say that again, just like that,” he encouraged.

“T’Challa.”

Sexy.

Her tongue rolled his name like she was trying to seduce him.

“Very good,” he said switching back to English quickly.

He poured himself another glass of wine from a decanter and asked her questions about her life. She was very forthcoming. Destiny worked hard to help out her elderly parents back in Virginia. Her father had early onset dementia and her mother cared for him while working part-time. The money that she made from her U.N. job went to supplement the fees of hiring a private day nurse to assist her mother in looking after her father. Instead of living in a larger apartment and spoiling herself with material goods, she shared home-healthcare expenses with a brother in Maryland and lived frugally. Wigs instead of expensive weekly hair salon visits. Sensible shoes and the modest wardrobe. The tiny one room space with a shoebox-sized bathroom.

His cell vibrated. Checking it he saw the name and smiled. Sandrine. It was time to line up a late-night hook up.

“Excuse me,” he said standing up, “order some dessert for us, we have time before the opera starts.”

He sauntered over to an empty table across the room near Ayo, but kept his eyes on Destiny. She had a satisfied grin on her face and scrutinized the dessert menu before choosing something that made her clap her hands with delight when the server chatted with her. She was like a kid at Disneyland. Her eyes danced around checking the décor as he spoke to Sandrine softly, apologizing for not being able to spend more time with her at that moment.

A well-dressed Black man with a beautiful date strolled past their table and Destiny looked like she saw a ghost. The man sent his date to another table as he stood near T’Challa’s table speaking to Destiny who appeared to close in on herself. T’Challa hung up the phone and strode back to his table.

“Destiny, is everything okay?”

T’Challa’s eyes became daggers as he watched the man’s smug face.

“Is this your date?” the man asked.

All joy seemed to have disappeared from Destiny’s face.

“I don’t want any dessert now,” she whispered sliding from her seat.

“What is going on here?” Ayo hissed.

She positioned herself in front of T’Challa and glared at the intruder.

“Whoa, hold up, wait a minute, what is all this? I’m just greeting an old friend.”

Destiny closed her eyes, and her body trembled. T’Challa reached for her hand and pulled her in close to his side.

“Who is this man?” he asked.

“My ex-fiance—”

“Destiny…”

The woman who walked into Thirteen with the man wandered over. Destiny’s lips became a thin tight line.

“Your Highness?” Ayo asked.

“Oh my God, you’re Prince T’Challa Udaku!” the strange woman yelped.

The man’s eyes zeroed in on T’Challa then, observing his expensive clothes and the personal security.

“You leveled up, Destiny. Sorry for disturbing your night out.”

The man grabbed for his woman’s hand and left abruptly to their seats. Their server arrived with a gigantic seven-layer chocolate ganache cake.

“We’ll have that to go, please,” T’Challa said, “and please bring us our coats.”

T’Challa gently held Destiny’s elbow and led her to the front of the restaurant.

“I am sorry you are so upset,” he whispered to her.

She nodded her head but couldn’t make eye contact with him. Ayo handed them their coats, and he helped Destiny put on the copper jacket and she followed him out to the car with Ayo leading them.

“I’m sorry I froze up like that. I haven’t seen Derrick in over eight years and it was a shock,” she finally said.

“You were going to marry that man?”

“Yes. Until he got my best friend pregnant and married her instead.”

T’Challa sat back with that information.

“That is horrible,” he offered, “that woman was the friend?”

“Yep. Gina. A traitor whore. She was supposed to be my maid of honor. She hopped on his dick after my bachelorette party and the rest is as they say… history.”

She wept. He handed her a handkerchief he carried in his suit pocket. Wiping her eyes carefully, she tried to smile through her tears.

“Didn’t mean to become a Debbie Downer tonight. I loved the meal and the conversation.”

Her lip trembled, and he threw an arm around her.

“Don’t cry for that rhino turd. He lost a good woman and gained a future headache. I could tell by the way she looked at me that she is only out for a rich man to use. And his suit was cheap as hell. So was her dress.”

“My dress is cheap as hell.”

“But you’re not.”

He took his handkerchief from her fingers and pocketed it. Tilting her chin up to his face, he felt weak seeing pools of water sitting on her lids, threatening to cascade down her cheeks.

“No more crying for trash.”

“He was trash. And his suit was cheap,” she giggled, “a bum,” she ended in Wakandan.

T’Challa sucked on his teeth, “What happened to the perfect Wakandan I just taught you earlier? Eh, eh? That grated my royal ears. I am greatly disappointed that you have not mastered your lessons from me, Destiny.”

She laughed, and the sound of her voice was pleasant.

“Forgive me, Your Highness. I shall do better in the future.”

Her Wakandan was perfect then. It even made Ayo smile in the front seat.

“I wish I was smarter than I was back then. If Derrick were to approach me now, I could smell the dog on him a mile away. I was… I was so young and stupid. He was from a well-connected family. Good-looking… said all the right things to me. I don’t know why I started crying. I hate his guts. I’m just sad for her… me… the me I used to be eight years ago. I was twenty-two. I wish I could go back in time and tell her that it all worked out for her own good.”

“Tell her now,” he said.

“What do you mean?”

“Close your eyes and imagine that you are standing in front of your younger self. Tell her this truth. She will know and you will heal.”

She rolled her eyes and pulled away from his arm.

“That’s silly. It won’t help.”

“Just try it.”

She closed her eyes and her face relaxed. Taking a deep breath, she exhaled.

“Young Destiny, don’t waste another moment crying over that fuck nigga—”

“I do not think that language is necessary—”

“The young me would totally get that,” she said sneaking one eye open.

“Very well.”

“You don’t need him to make you happy. I promise, you grow up to win the international internship to Kenya. You master Wakandan and get an amazing job translating and interpreting for important people at the U.N. You make enough money to help Mommy and Daddy, and you get to hang out with an amazing King, and his so-so son… a real life Prince. You get to be Cinderella for a night, but hopefully you won’t fall inside a rotten pumpkin and some New York street rats. You get to go see Aida, finally, in the front row. With fancy shoes and beautiful earrings. You have a wonderful life baby girl. You really do. I promise….”

She gasped and covered her eyes for a second, before bubbly laughter fell from her lips. She gazed at him with glittery eyes.

“I think that might’ve worked!”

He smiled wide and patted her hand.

“We have arrived, Your Highness,” Ayo said.

They were easing into the private entrance.

“No, let’s go to the front. I would like to escort Miss Keith through the main entrance.”

Ayo glanced back at him with a shocked face. The driver took them around the block and he helped Destiny out of the car, clasping her hand in his.

“Let’s give that ex of yours something to fume about when he sees you in the papers tomorrow.”

###

T’Challa watched her throughout the Aida performance.

Destiny had her back against the seat for the first half of the performance, but after the intermission, she was on the edge of the seat with her elbows on her thighs and her hands cradling her chin. The passion of the music and the performers moved her and tears fell from her eyes. A hand went over her mouth at the dramatic ending as the two lovers were buried alive forver.

He reached out and held her left hand reassuring her that it was just a fictional story. Ayo moved them through the crowd and he held onto her hand as she gushed on about the show.

“To have love like that… oh, I don’t think my heart could take it!”

A few celebrities clogged up the lobby, and paparazzi snapped pictures. Ayo maneuvered them to a side door and called for his driver. Destiny clung to his hand, their fingers threaded together tight. He led her with purposeful strides, throwing up his hand to push away the rich patrons who tried to step to him. Once the paps knew royalty was among the glitterati crowd, they were bumrushed. Ayo took on a defensive stance and Destiny pressed herself into his side trying to hide her face. He leaned over and whispered in her ear.

“Stop hiding. You look beautiful. Remember, your ex-fiance will see this and regret he lost you.”

She shook her head, and he untangled his hand from hers and threw his arm around her waist. The action startled her and her eyes dropped to the ground.

“Prince T’Challa! Prince T’Challa! Over here! Over here!”

Several paps shouted for his attention and he took on the flashy poses he was known for. He stroked his beard and quirked his lips when Destiny raised her eyes and observed all the fuss made over him. Her body relaxed, and he walked with her through the throngs and onto the street.

“I know a place near here. A jazz club. Would you join me for a nightcap?”

“It’s so late.”

“One hour. One drink. One song. Join me.”

His driver scooped them up and dropped them off at a hole in the wall. Destiny knew about the place but had never been there herself. T’Challa insisted that Ayo leave them alone, and they squeezed inside a smokey room with sweltering heat, and hot music.

“Sup, Prince!”

A bartender gave T’Challa dap, and he ordered two Balvenie Doublewoods. He handed Destiny a tumbler, and they walked to the back of the room and found seats near an older couple. After the first drink, Destiny sucked down another with him, and the hour became two as they chatted and laughed.

“What shall I tell my father tomorrow? Will you accompany me on the book tour?” he asked.

Her eyes sparkled and her soft lips parted. The pink tip of her tongue licked a drop of whiskey from her top lip.

“I will do the tour. Even though you don’t really need me.”

“You must help me carry on the façade of being the helpless Prince.”

“You will never be helpless.”

“This is true,” he said chuckling.

He tossed back the last of his whiskey and studied her face.

“Let’s go for a walk. You look like you could use some fresh air.”

“That would be nice.”

He helped her with her jacket and her face took on a curious expression as he led her to the back exit.

“Where are--?”

“Don’t worry. We’re ditching Ayo and my driver.”

“But they have to protect you.”

“We’ll walk to my hotel. It’s not far and then they can take you home.”

“I thought you…”

She stopped talking.

“You thought what?”

“Nothing,” she said with a smile on her face.

Pushing the back exit door open, they bypassed a bouncer, and he held out his arm for her. She linked her arm in his and they strolled away from the jazz club.

“How long have you been seeing Seline?”

He chuckled.

“You will not let me live that down, eh?”

“Hmmph, well you do seem to like women with the letter ‘S’ in their name.”

“What do you mean?”

“Sandrine?”

He smirked.

“I am single, but, you are incorrect. I don’t just like women with an ‘S’ in their name.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“I like the letter ‘D’ too.”

Her eyes fluttered away from his sincere gaze.

“That’s the whiskey talking,” she said.

He stopped walking and pulled her in close.

“I speak for myself,” he said.

He caressed her cheek, and her body became stiff in his arms.

“Prince T’Challa, I don’t think you should do anything that will compromise a good working relationship.”

“We are not working right now.”

Her eyes darted around the alleyway they stood near. He brought his face closer to hers and she stared at his lips.

“Could I kiss you?” he asked.

She squirmed a bit.

“Destiny, may I kiss you?”

She raised her hands up to his chest and pressed them against the center. Her breath was laced with the top shelf whiskey. Her hesitation gave him pause.

“It is okay. You do not want me to—”

Her lips pushed into his so fast that he tumbled back a little. He opened his mouth to taste her tongue, and she gave in to his probing. Slipping his fingers inside her jacket, he pulled her warmth hard against him. The new heels gave her just enough height to not need to be on tiptoes, but he lifted her up anyway and she threw her arms around his neck.

“Will you come back with me to my hotel suite?” he whispered in her ear.

She nipped at his earlobe and snaked her tongue along the shell of his ear.

“Another nightcap?” she said with a breathy moan.

His lips skimmed up her neck, and he suckled the tender skin under her ear.

“I’ll give you the royal treatment,” he huffed feeling his arousal strain against his zipper.

He palmed her ass cheeks and squeezed them. The loose flair at the bottom of her dress allowed him to jiggle the soft mounds of her ass. He wondered how she would feel riding him as he played with ass naked. She pressed into him more and he hissed when she created friction on his dick.

“You have me standing at attention.”

He groaned out loud when she rubbed on his erection. She gripped her bottom lip between her teeth as she fingered the head of his dick. Her other hand dropped, and he heard his zipper go down. She fished inside his briefs until she gripped the girth there.

“You’re even bigger than what I saw,” she quipped.

His head dropped onto her forehead as she beat his meat on the street. Anyone passing by would think they were lovers kissing and cooing. His overcoat and her jacket made things look innocent. She glanced down at what she had in her hand and a throaty growl came out of her mouth. Pre-cum slickened her hand and she tugged harder drawing out grunts from him.

“I have a large bed for this, Destiny,” he panted in her ear.

“Promise me you won’t act weird tomorrow,” she said.

Her eyes became cautious.

“I promise that I will give you what Cinderella should’ve gotten from a real Prince,” he choked out.

He gripped her shoulders. She had him swollen and ready to burst.

“T’Challa, take me to your bed…”

In a flash, he tucked his erection behind his zipper once more and clasped her hand. The sound of her heels on the pavement excited him. He wanted her naked and wearing those shoes when he threw her legs over his shoulders.

The hotel loomed in sight. He pulled out his cell and let Ayo know he was safe and sound. In the elevator ride up to his suite, he could barely look at Destiny. His kisses had bruised up the flesh on her lips and he wanted that mouth on his dick sucking him dry. T’Challa did his best not to drag her down the hallway to his room, but her wanton looks and carefree hair drove him mad. He had to admit to himself that he would not have been upset if his father had started an affair with her. He would understand why. The longer he stayed around her, the more attracted he was to her himself.

They crashed into his room pulling off coats, clothes and underwear. When she reached for those heels, he nearly had a fit.

“Keep those on!” he snapped.

Her body was more than what he imagined. She took care of herself. There was an athletic softness to her. Her breasts were perfect summer peaches with dark nipples that sat perky and ready for his mouth. She turned around to look at his king-sized bed and her ass had him stumbling toward her. He reached for the dresser and pulled out a box of condoms from a drawer. She tossed back her hair and stared at his length. He tugged on it for her, allowing his natural lubricant to fall to the floor. Her eyes looked the way they did when she caught him with Seline.

Hungry.

She wanted his dick then like she wanted it at that moment.

“Put this on me,” he said, handing her the protection.

She sauntered over to him and plucked the condom from his hand. He ran his fingers across her hair.

“I will treat you like a princess… my princess.”

She kissed his hand and carefully opened the wrapper.

###

It had to be a dream.

There was no way she was on her knees sucking the dick of Prince T’Challa. She gluck-glucked the hell out of his meat. The man had big wood, and she only had so much mouth to take care of it. When she first wrapped her lips around the thick ebony head, she grew self-conscious. She had made such a big deal about him fucking a married woman, but here she was slobbing down his dick as his PR handler and translator.

Her pussy was so wet by the time they made it to the hotel. Her panties were already soaked when she kissed him in the alley and jerked him off, but to have that fat juicy erection in her mouth was heaven. Her walls throbbed as he spoke to her in Wakandan. He ordered her to watch his face while she sucked, and his eyes became hooded. His balls jumped, and she fondled them as she fucked his dick with her mouth. He pushed in deeper and stretched her throat. She pulled his dick out and spit on it several times and he shouted to her in Wakandan. He was so turned on by her wetting him up that way.

“--being a good little slut with that mouth…”

Her clit jumped at his English.

“Destiny… I didn’t know you were such a nasty little slut with this mouth. You know how to use that tongue… oh fucking Bast!”

He yanked his dick away from her greedy throat and fisted himself.

“Condom! Now!”

She rolled it on him, and he lifted her up to her feet.

“You shall ride my face until I make you cum.”

He licked his fingers until his saliva covered them and snaked them down to her clit where he pinched it, then buried his digits inside her pussy.

“Fucking drenched, Destiny,” he gasped.

Curling his fingers, he tapped along her walls until he found her spot.

“Why is your pussy so loud to my ears? Are you ready for me?”

Her knees buckled, and he caught her, dragging his fingers from her core and licking every drop.

“Sweet pussy. Come my love, let me please you.”

He crawled onto the bed and gestured for her to crawl over his face. She obliged, wiggling her way up his lean muscular body and sitting her fat kitty on that big mouth. Bouncing on his lips, she allowed the intense sensations of his fastidious tongue to eat her like the queen she really was. He spread her inner lips with his fingers sat his mouth over it, milking out every bit of arousal she had in her. His tongue went stiff, and she sat on it begging him to make her cum. She reached the precipice and he held back making her scream in frustration.

Laughing at her anguish, he pushed her onto her back.

“You will cum on my dick,” he commanded.

His lips were twisted in a playful smirk, but his eyes were heated and deadly. He lifted his heavy dick and tapped it on her clit. Her juices coated the condom until it glistened like his lips still dripping with her slick. Sitting up on his knees, he held her ankles and pushed her legs back. His dick was so fat, he didn’t need to guide it with his hand. It parted her folds and arched her back off the bed.

“Oh my Gawd!!” she cried.

She was full of him. Destiny felt the deep pressure, and it made her stomach push up where they could see the movement each time he pushed into her. The back of her scalp dug into the blanket and her neck curved, lifted her head up. She couldn’t take it. It was too much, too fast.

Destiny pushed on his stomach and tried to get him to hold back. He spit on his dick and watched his saliva coat the condom as it dipped back into her, rearranging her guts and knocking the air out of her body.

“Prince T’Challa! Baby… please, stop!”

Her skin was on fire and the nerves tingling in her back and the bottom of her legs had her shaking uncontrollably. He put in work, twisting his hips and holding her legs up to leverage his balance. His beautiful chest muscles dripped with sweat. She gasped and shook her head from side to side and he finally eased up.

“Am I too much for you? Hurting you? Tell me Destiny.”

His voice dripped with seductive tones, and her pussy clenched around the head of his dick. His accent had her toes bunching up in her heels.

“I know this sounds wrong, but it feels too good. My body is not dealing with all that is happening. I’m overstimulated.”

His eyes looked so sad. He lowered her legs back onto the bed and stayed hunched over her.

“Do you need me to pull out?”

“No… just… just don’t move for a little bit. Let me hold you inside.”

“Okay.”

He laid his face against hers, and their lips couldn’t stay apart. He tongued her down and the electrical pulse he ignited there shot down to her clit and she throbbed around his shaft.

“I can feel you squeezing me, Destiny. You are so tight around me… fuck… I don’t think I can be still for much longer.”

He licked all over her chest and sucked her nipples until they were rock hard and pointy like succulent candy treats. He shifted his weight and his dick moved inside of her and she bit into his shoulder.

“Go slow,” she coaxed.

He wiggled his hips before pulling out partially. She exhaled at the feeling down there. Her clit was swollen beyond what it could normally handle. Widening her thighs and legs, T’Challa sank in deeper and hit her bottom. She yelped and clawed his back before her fingernails buried deep into the curls on his scalp. His face pressed into her neck as he pumped in and out, striking that bottom with precision. Her legs trembled and her eyes welled up with grateful tears. Lord, this was what fucking was supposed to be like!

“Destiny… I am trying not to move to fast for you… but… your pussy is too perfect and I can’t control myself,” he stammered.

He jammed his fists into the mattress and pounded the side of her wall. Her eyes rolled back, and she held onto him. Deep shallow pants kept her afloat.

“I’m sorry… I’m sorry… I can’t help myself….” he said.

“Don’t stop! Please! Keep going!”

“You keep squeezing my dick… your pussy is so good… so good….”

“Hitting my spot!”

“That’s your spot?”

“Yes!”

She didn’t know what Daddy long strokes were until he showed her.

“Fuck… fuck… oohhh… T’Challa… right there… right there… I’m cumming! I’m cumming! I keep cumming… shit….!”

She spasmed and lost control of her limbs. They flipped and flopped under him and her release throbbed on and on all over his dick. Whatever gibberish she said to him had him grinning like a trickster until the tremors in her body eased and she was finally able to stay still.

T’Challa stroked her damp hair and kissed her nose.

“That was the most beautiful thing I have ever saw,” he whispered.

“I looked like a wild woman,” she said covering her face.

He pulled her hands away.

“No, you looked like you belong under me all the time.”

She pressed her lips together unsure of what to say.

“I have never seen a woman… lose herself like that. Your eyes… my holy Bast, your eyes were… sacred.”

He slid a finger down her cheek. Her heart rate lowered and her breathing evened out.

“Destiny…”

He pushed her thighs back, and they fell open all loose and limber. Pumping in and out of her folds, T’Challa’s eyes stayed glued to hers.

“I’m so glad I had this night with you…”

His eyes shut, and he pursed his thick lips. Pleasure coursed through him and he laced his fingers with hers. When his eyes opened, Destiny nearly lost her senses again. His entire aura was seductive, hungry… so in tune with her flesh.

“You have my dick so hard… harder than it’s ever been… look how you receive my love, Destiny. Look at what you are doing to me!”

T’Challa threw his head back and roared his orgasm into her ears. His dick jumped inside her pussy. His balls contracted and his length kept throbbing, pushing his cum out. His eyes bore down into her and she caught a glimpse of the divine. It frightened her and she kissed him to block out the intensity. He moaned into her mouth and his muscular frame became rigid in her arms. His ejaculation incapacitated him and he fell on top of her exhausted and totally drained.

After ten minutes passed, she went to his bathroom to relieve herself. She washed her face and hands and wished she had brought a few make-up wipes in her purse. Her skin would be raggedy the next morning. She crept out and watched T’Challa take his turn in the bathroom.

They crawled under the covers and cuddled. His gentle touches on her face and back were matched by the kisses he painted all over her face. He couldn’t stop kissing her. An hour later he fell asleep, and she gathered up her underwear and clothes and quickly dressed. Slipping on her heels, she felt her ears to make sure her earrings were still in place. They were. Purse in hand, she sneaked out of his hotel room. She was halfway down the hallway when she realized she had left her jacket on the floor. It would have to stay. She didn’t have a passkey to get back into the suite. Plus, she didn’t want to wake him up.

Jabbing her index finger on the elevator button, she thought of what she would say to King T’Chaka… and also how she would face T’Challa in the bright reality of daylight.

“Where do you think you are going?”

T’Challa’s voice was loud in the hall. And he was buck naked.

“I’m going home. I have some work to catch up on—”

“Get back in my bed.”

He stood before her adamant that she leave with him.

“T’Challa—”

“Prince T’Challa.”

She cocked her head surprised at the need for formality. Especially with his dick swinging in front of her.

“Prince T’Challa, you should not be running down halls naked, you could be thrown out of this hotel.”

He waved his hand.

“All of the rooms on this floor are taken by me so I can have privacy. No one will see me. Now get back to my room You are not leaving me in the middle of the night.”

“It’s four in the morning—”

T’Challa lifted her up and threw her over his shoulder.

“Don’t ever question me. Our time together is not over.”

He stalked back to his suite with her bouncing on his shoulder. He spanked her ass once, and she didn’t question him again.

“We shall rest and then I will order room service for a full breakfast. You will call my father and tell him we shall travel together as a team.”

His foot kicked his suite door open, and he placed her back on her feet. He reached for her shoulders and slipped her dress down again.

####

Part 2 HERE.

Tag List:

@tchallasbabymama

@soufcakmistress

@nahimjustfeelingit-writes

@momobaby227

@iwrite4poc

@skylahb

@ariesthetouchdeprivedgirl

@sunwray

@lahuttor

@abcdestinyyyy

@thadelightfulone

@purplehairgawdess

@brattyfics

@carolinagirl919

@ljstraightnochaser

@amorestevens

@childishgambinaax

#The Interpreter #T'Challa Fanfiction #T'Challa Fanfic #T'challa x OC #Black Panther Fanfiction #T'Challa #Uzumaki Rebellion

180 notes · View notes

madam-o · 3 years

Text

The Nevers on HBO (small spoilers)

Joss Whedon created "The Nevers" but I'm going to ignore his involvement. Partly because he's a piece of shit, but also because a lot of other people were involved in the making of this show and I'm sure they put their hearts and souls into it. Anyway he only wrote one episode and directed three before dropping out of the show entirely late last year. They're definitely not marketing it with his name attached. The new showrunner is executive producer Philippa Goslett.

Wikipedia calls it an American show but it absolutely doesn't feel like it, probably because it was filmed 100% in England with a UK crew and no American actors (lol ok with one notable exception). The writing doesn't even have that "Americans writing about English people" feel. The writers, producers, and cast are all nicely diverse and predominantly women, which I'm guessing is why it doesn't feel like a Whedon series.

It's kinda steampunky, kinda not. There's definitely some science fiction to it but it mostly stays grounded in a believably historical Victorian London. It's not too Doctor Who or Firefly in tone, is what I mean.

The pilot is surprisingly sober for a story about an outcast populace of "mutants" referred to as the Touched ("The Nevers" is one of those odd titles that isn't ever said in the actual show). It's a mostly chatty hour of our cast coming together to introduce themselves and converse in a chilly manner. Most of these characters are unfriendly, if not downright nasty pieces of work.

The Touched are mostly female and have had odd powers bestowed upon them by...well I won't ruin it, but it's pretty wild and unexpected. Most people consider them cursed and a threat to the status quo. Many of their powers are pretty by the book (invulnerability, super strength, firebending, future sight, etc) while others are more strange. Apparently there are hundreds of them. And since those affected tend not to be male, white, and rich, those who are those three things think it necessary to do something about the Touched.

The cast is a chef's kiss of familiar English TV faces. My favorite grumpy bastard, Pip Torrens (formerly of Preacher and Poldark fame) plays the sinister establishment plotmaster against the Touched, Lord Massen, because of course he does. James Norton does a 180 from his role in Grantchester to play the inevitable posh hedonist who's part of an insidious secret society/pagan sex cult. The one American addition is Denis O'Hare (AHS) hamming it up beautifully as some mad scientist type. I mean there's a LOT of characters and that's barely scratching the surface. I haven't even mention the women yet, who are all perfect.

I watched the pilot twice in a row and yeah...it was really, really good. I definitely think there's some intriguing mysteries in there. It's not silly or insulting of my intelligence. Unlike some shows by Whedon I don't see that "sexy young female character trying to be a kickass feminist icon" thing he does in this. So yay for not pandering to us for once, I guess.

#joss whedon #the nevers #amalia true #penance adair #maladie #the nevers hbo

200 notes · View notes

javier-djarin · 3 years

Text

Son of the Medjai: Chapter 3

Osiris’s Curse: Book 1

The Mummy AU

Ship: Pero Tovar x Aria MacKenzie (OC)

Rating: M

Word Count: 5,022 Words

Warnings: Language, Angst, Mild Violence

Masterlist

Summary: The river boat is attacked, forcing them to leave behind all their supplies. Pero navigates uncharted waters with Aria that seem more difficult to manage than anything he's ever faced.

A/N: This might be my favorite part so far. I am having so much fun writing this fic! I really hope you are all enjoying it as much as I am. Shout out to @rebelscumlena for being my beta! This story would not be what it is without you! Please let me know if you want to be on my taglist and what you think of the fic! Any Spanish Translations will always be found at the bottom of every chapter.

Slowly, Pero drew his revolver and crept through the main cabin door. Someone was on this ship that wasn't supposed to be, and they were headed in the same direction as Aria. The footprints led him down the main corridor towards their cabins. His heart was racing with each careful step, creeping down the hallway to surprise their unwanted guest. He reached the end of the hallway, where the footprints stopped just outside of her door. He contemplated barging in versus knocking. At first he pressed his ear against the door to listen for movement, but instead he heard her mumbling. He decided not to take any chances and barge into the room. Grabbing the doorknob, he used his shoulder to force open the door, startling Aria. She gasped and dropped her brush on the floor, desperately attempting to grab her house robe that was hanging on the hook next to her. “I beg your pardon!” she exclaimed. “Have you ever heard of knocking, Mr. Tovar?”

He frowned when he noticed she was alone in the room. “Who were you just talking to?”

Her eyes widened in horror and her face flushed. “I - were you eavesdropping?”

Pero moved to her closet, ripping the doors open. Empty. He glanced under her bed. Vacant. The curtains near the windows were sheer and showed no sign of disturbance anyway. “Mr. Tovar!” she shouted in a feeble attempt to get his attention.

The bathroom door swung shut, locking her in, as a Bedouin man in flowing black robes leapt from behind it and attacked Pero, knocking the revolver from his hand. He held his arms up to block the blows, but the man took a cheap shot to his stomach, knocking the wind out of him. Pero groaned and rolled to the left for his revolver. Aria had opened the bathroom door, shrieking at the sight. She walked up behind the Bedouin man and kicked him in the back. Pero was impressed as the man fell forward, bouncing off the coffee table in front of him. He aimed his gun at the man, and growled, “Why are you here?”

The man wiped the blood off his face and glared at them. “Why do you keep returning?”

The cabin door behind Aria opened as another Bedouin man reached in, grabbing her around the waist and dragging her out of the room. Pero swore and moved to go after her, but his first adversary leapt forward, grabbed his ankle and pulled him to the ground. Pero fought against his assailant and kicked free, breaking the man’s nose and knocking him unconscious in the process.

He scrambled across the hallway to his cabin and grabbed his loaded arsenal from inside the door. Tossing it across his back, he sprinted after Aria. When he emerged on deck, he noticed the chaos that had consumed everything. A fire had started in the stables as guests and crew members alike abandoned the ship. The Americans were set up comfortably behind a makeshift bunker they’d made out of their poker table and chairs as they whooped and hollered, shooting at the men attacking. “Pinche gringos,” he muttered, shaking his head with a chuckle. Pero searched for Aria, but couldn’t find her. Murphy and Nabil were cowering in the corner near the Americans defenseless. When Murphy caught his eye, he pointed in the direction of the stern. He wasn’t surprised at her brother’s cowardice, considering she had more of a backbone than he did when it came to confrontation. Following Murphy’s directions, Pero sprinted, knocking several attackers into the water on his way to the back of the boat. He heard her screaming and crying for help as the man cornered her against the railing.

“Where’s the key?” her kidnapper asked in a rough voice with a knife at her throat.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she cried, “What key?”

“The key!” he growled.

She had tears in her eyes. “Please, let me go!”

Pero held his finger to his lips to tell her to be quiet, but the man noticed her gaze flash behind him and spun around, holding her in front of him like a human shield. Pero rolled his eyes and aimed his revolver at the man. “Let her go,” he snapped.

The man sneered and pressed the knife a little harder against her neck, allowing a small drop of blood trickle down her throat. “Careful,” he said, “you wouldn’t want me to slit her pretty neck.”

“Do, and I’ll put a bullet between your eyes.” Pero’s grip on his gun tightened as he carefully took aim. Aria didn’t struggle against the man holding her out of fear that his blade would do more damage than it already had.

The man twisted the blade just a little and more blood appeared in a small stream down her neck. Aria’s eyes widened in terror as she pleaded silently to Pero for help. He squeezed the trigger. The gun’s hammer struck the firing pin as the sound echoed across the Nile. She felt the bullet whiz past her ear, striking the man behind her. His grip on her loosened as he fell limply to the ground. It wasn’t until Pero rushed forward to hold her in his arms did she realize what had happened. Panic consumed her as he wiped the blood off her face. She leaned into him, shielding her eyes from the body as he led her away from the scene. They sought shelter for a brief moment under the awning as he inspected the small cut under her chin. It was there, but it wasn’t life threatening. She was gazing into his eyes as he lightly ran his thumb over it, causing bumps to rise on her smooth skin. He could feel himself leaning into her, captivated by her so close to him. Suddenly, an explosion went off, startling them apart. He checked his revolver again, before pressing himself against the wall. Using his free hand, he forced Aria to do the same next to him. “Stay low and behind me,” he said, handing her his arsenal bag.

She grabbed his hand in hers. “Pero,” she whispered, “what if-”

“They won’t. I gave you my word, didn’t I?” He replied, squeezing her hand before leading them through the battle.

He spun to the right and shot at several attackers climbing out of the second story windows to escape the flames. Aria clung to him, ducking whenever she heard shots fired. They were making their way to Murphy and Nabil when another Bedouin man attacked Pero with a knife drawn. Pero pushed Aria out of the way, forcing her into Murphy's custody. His assailant slashed him across his forearm as he blocked him from slitting his throat. He hissed at the piercing pain that was shooting up his arm now. He grabbed the man’s hand and twisted it, forcing it behind his back. He kicked the man away from him as hard as he could before unloading the remaining ammunition in his revolver into him. The fire had grown, now consuming most of the main level cabins as it climbed up the rest of the ship. He strode to Aria with an annoyed grimace on his face. “Tell me you know how to swim,” he sighed.

“What? Well, of course I can, if the situation calls for it,” she said, placing her hands on her hips to make his statement seem even more ridiculous.

Pero grinned and scooped her up in his arms, causing her to drop his bag. “Trust me,” he added, tossing her over the side, “it calls for it.”

She shrieked as she hit the water, the coldness seeping into her robe and nightgown. Pero watched for a split second to see if she came up, laughing when he saw her furiously kicking and gasping for air as she swam away from the boat cursing him. “Bastard!” he heard her swear, “I never in my life met a man so uncouth, uncivilized! Who does he think he is, tossing me overboard like some cheap rag doll?”

He tossed his arsenal over his shoulder and jumped in after her, followed by Murphy and Nabil. The shore was not a far swim for them, and Pero caught up to Aria in no time. She was huffing and puffing, half tempted to abandon her robe the more she struggled. Soon, their feet hit the river bottom. They stood and Aria immediately adjusted her robe to cover herself. Pero looked down at her with a small grin and shook his head as he situated the pack on his shoulder. “We’ve lost everything,” she cried, “all our food, supplies. My clothes!”

“At least you saved that robe,” he chuckled, “I would hate to have you out here in nothing but that dainty nightdress.”

“Some of us have to maintain a sense of propriety,” she argued, “just because I’ve only got this nightgown left doesn’t mean I’m going to choose to run as naked as a bairn out here in the desert.”

Pero laughed again at the thought and then patted the satchel he carried. “We have enough money from Will to get what we need at the nearest village. You don’t need to worry about running around naked just yet. Though,” he said, helping her out of the river and glancing over her body, “no one is stopping you.”

She huffed, pulled her robe closer to her, and joined a soaked Murphy on the side of the river. “Ah yes,” he whispered to his sister, “absolutely nothing to like there at all.”

She glared and turned to him, cuffing him on the shoulder. Nabil laughed while Murphy feigned an injury and meekly followed behind a fuming Aria. “I think you dislocated it this time, old mum,” he complained.

Aria growled and shook her head. “I’ll rip it out of its socket the next time, if you keep it up.”

Murphy glanced at Nabil and chuckled. “She threatens to do that at least once a week.”

Pero lingered behind them for a moment and glared back at the ship. He watched as the rest of the passengers crossed to the other side of the river, and that’s when he saw Beckett join the Americans. He grinned to himself. Every soul that survived the raid crossed to the East side of the Nile - passengers, crew members, camels, and their horses. Beckett had everything; except he was on the wrong side of the river. He watched as his rival figured out the same thing before their eyes met. Pero gave him a smug smile and waved at him before turning back to join the rest of his party. They would have at least a few hours or so on the Americans if they kept moving to find the closest Bedouin tribe to help them with supplies.

Murphy and Pero had gathered what they could to build them a fire that night, allowing everyone to dry off and rest. As she did her best to stay warm against the cool desert wind, Aria took notice of Pero wrapping his arm with a makeshift bandage. She made an attempt to move towards him and help properly dress it, but stopped as he caught her eye. Anticipating what she was going to do, he instead shook his head and quickly covered the bandaged wound with his sleeve. They would worry about it when they reached civilization.

When he felt that they had rested enough, Pero pushed the group forward. He wanted them to locate the nearest market before Beckett and his crew. Aria was following right behind him with Murphy and Nabil muttering complaints between them. She sighed, rolling her eyes at her brother and ran to walk next to their guide. Before long the outline of a market was on the horizon, and she couldn’t have been more grateful. She was starving and her feet were sore. Holding her robe close to her, she glanced up at Pero from the corner of her eye. She’d caught him gazing at her before he straightened and his eyes darted forward. “Who were those men?” she asked.

He sighed and adjusted the sack on his shoulder. “Members of some tribe or group that protects Aten,” he muttered, “or at least I think that’s their job. I’ve run into them the last two times. They’re Bedouin, I believe.”

“They attacked us in Cairo,” she admitted, “when Murphy first showed me the map he’d stolen from you.”

He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. “Did they get the map?”

She nodded. “This time they were asking about a key.”

Frowning, Pero looked out across the sands. Murphy hadn’t stolen a key from him, unless there was something more to that box than he initially thought.

“Will they be back?”

Pero stopped and looked at her. He could see the fear in her eyes. She was not prepared for this, and he took part of the blame. He should have warned her better about what they were facing. On top of whatever was underneath the sand there, the land was littered with the blood of those the Bedouin deemed as trespassers. “Yes,” he sighed, “they will. But they know me, and they know not to fuck with my group. Honestly, I'm more worried about Beckett than I am the raiders.”

“James?” She asked with a smile. “But I quite enjoyed his company.”

Rolling his eyes, Pero pushed on. He couldn’t understand why her interest in Beckett bothered him so. Regardless of the reason he was choosing to avoid, he didn’t want that man anywhere near him or his party. He knew too much about how he operated, and if there was one thing Pero despised most it was being vulnerable. “Aria,” he huffed as they continued their trek, “be careful with James. He’s a treasure hunter that only takes interest in something or someone if it’s worth anything to him. The second a better price comes along, he will sell you out.”

“Isn’t that how you see…” she paused and glanced at him, feeling the heat rising in her cheeks, “me?”

Pero stiffened. The short answer was yes, but the more time he spent with her - the more he sought opportunities to irritate her - that answer became more complex. It’d been a while since he’d felt any emotion outside the realm of mild annoyance. Taking a deep breath, he decided the best answer to give her was a professional, emotionless answer. “I’m true to my word and loyal enough that I won’t sell you out.”

He saw her deflate a little and turn her gaze away from him. “Oh,” she replied, “right. Of course.”

Her tone was different. Disappointed. He knew immediately that his answer was not the one she wanted. “What I meant was-”

“I appreciate your honesty, Mr. Tovar,” she interrupted.

She moved to join Murphy, who was several paces behind them, when he grabbed her wrist to stop her. “Aria.”

She gazed down at his grasp before looking up at him. “So long as my brother and I make it back home in one piece,” she affirmed, “you will still receive the payment you were promised.”

He dropped her hand and watched her help Murphy off the ground. He’d clearly stumbled in the sand, and now she was helping him dust off. Pero’s chest tightened the longer he gazed at her. He wasn’t used to being in the presence of a woman who’d stirred something in him. She challenged him in a way that he wasn’t sure agitated or thrilled him. She was fiery and way too stubborn for her own good; he liked it. It was fun and she kept him on his toes. He found himself smiling when a large shoulder knocked into him. “Careful there, Tovar,” Nabil said, “the desert is an unforgiving place for those unprepared.”

He huffed and rolled his eyes at the cheesy piece of advice. “I’m fine,” he muttered.

“Tell that to the stupid look you have on your face.” Nabil laughed and began singing another popular Egyptian song that was loud and wildly off key.

By early morning when they reached the small market, Aria had said very little to Pero since their talk about Beckett. When it came time to find supplies, he decided to task her with finding food and bedrolls. He even tried to joke with her about finding clothes for her to wear, but he was met with a cold stare and a feigned smile. He was left to watch Aria’s back as she walked away, ignoring his attempt to call after her. Murphy came up and slapped him on the shoulder with a chuckle. “Not that I want to get involved in this,” he laughed, “but, you really fucked it up back there, mate.”

Pero glared at him. “You heard?”

“We’re four people roaming an empty desert with nothing else around. Of course I heard you.” He watched as Pero internally groaned, staring in the direction Aria disappeared.

“I didn’t mean to offend her,” he added, not really aware that he’d said that out loud.

Murphy and Nabil both laughed, pulling him towards a man selling camels and horses. “Are you having a laugh?” Murphy asked. “You’ve been trying to get her goat since the two of you met.”

He forced the two men to walk in front of him. “Murphy,” he spat, desperate to change the topic, “make yourself useful and secure our transportation.”

Murphy approached the merchant, shaking his head at Pero. He started bargaining with a man for four horses, but the man wanted to sell him all five in the herd. They started arguing, but Pero wasn’t paying any attention. He was staying alert, waiting for Aria to reappear in the market. She’d been gone for a while - too long for his liking. He started in the direction she went, asking if anyone had seen her. Finally, a woman nodded and pointed in the direction of a large tent just down the way from where he was. “Aria!” he called.

He heard some women murmur and giggle from inside the tent. “Aria!”

The tent door ruffled before a short, middle-aged woman flung it open and walked out, leading Aria in her own deep blue dress with a sheer veil covering her in typical Bedouin fashion and a thin golden belt that kept the layers wrapped together. Her hair had been brushed and twisted into a loose braid beneath the sheer fabric. In a word, she was bewitching. She glanced up at him with a smile, completely different from when they first arrived. He returned her smile when she stopped in front of him. “Were you worried I ran off with Mr. Beckett?” she softly asked.

He felt his face flush a little, but he managed to hide the emotions bubbling at the surface. “We’re ready to go,” he replied. Suddenly his mouth had gone dry, and he found himself struggling to take a deep breath.

She grinned and watched him shift nervously in front of her, his eyes suddenly averting from hers. Aria noticed he anxiously tugged at the sleeve over his makeshift bandage that had turned red. Frowning, she reached out to grab his hand. “You’ve bled through your bandage ,” she said, gently lifting his sleeve up.

“It’s nothing to be concerned over,” he replied, trying to pull away from her, but her grip was firm.

She slowly peeled back the dressing and saw a long gash down his forearm. Not having seen much of it from when he initially wrapped it himself, she started to feel guilty knowing he had sustained such an injury from protecting her. It wasn’t deep, luckily. “Let me help,” she suggested, “At least to clean and redress it properly.”

“Librarian, herbalist, and now doctor. Is there anything you can’t do?” he asked with a chuckle, following her back into the tent she’d just exited.

Aria smiled at him again before turning to one of the women and asking for medical supplies. “When you grow up with Murphy as your brother, you tend to acquire a unique set of skills.” Once the supplies were brought to her, she immediately began cleaning it. Pero winced, and she smiled almost bashfully, taking more care as she continued on with her work. He found himself enjoying her smile more than anything and made it his personal mission to find ways to make it appear more often. “For a man as tough as you, this hurts?”

He playfully rolled his eyes. “I’m not immune to pain, Aria,” he grumbled, “Mortal weapons can still kill me.” This drew a laugh out of her; it was the sweetest sound he’d ever heard, and he’d do anything to hear it again.

“Well, fortunately for us,” she added, “this is too far from your heart to kill you.” Aria went to place the bandage around his arm when she noticed the peculiar tattoo she’d seen at the prison. It was the Eye of Horus in the center of a pyramid with a circle that she assumed was the sun protruding from behind it. Pero noticed her gaze and froze as she traced it. “I’ve seen this symbol before.”

He didn’t move away from her, as he typically did when people saw his strange tattoo. He let her examine it, gliding her fingers across it. In a weird way, he enjoyed it. This was a new sensation to him, one that he didn’t want to end. He could feel knots in his stomach churn as his chest tightened, squeezing every last bit of air out of his lungs. “I’ve had this for as long as I can remember,” he softly replied, “I think I got it when I was still in the orphanage in Cairo.”

She looked up at him, sorrow in her gaze. “The orphanage?”

He nodded. “I ran away from one in Barcelona when I was twelve. I stowed away on a ship and ended up here where they tossed me right back into another one in Cairo. I left there when I was fifteen, and then spent the better part of my life job hopping until the War started.”

She glanced down at his tattoo again, lightly rubbing her thumb over it. “It’s a sign of protection,” she continued, “this is the -”

“Eye of Horus,” he said, “The Bedouin have the same tattoo.” Aria froze, staring at him with a mild panic in her eyes. He gave her a reassuring smile. “I’m not working for them. But their leader, Shakir Fahmy, once told me that it was the sign of the Medjai. He tried convincing me that it was my destiny to protect Aten from outsiders; that it is my duty to ensure the safety of the secrets that lie beneath the sand, instead of selling expeditions to the highest bidder.”

“If they have this tattoo, they’re not just any Bedouin tribe,” she replied, “those men after us are sa-en Medjai, Sons of the Medjai. I heard stories that they survived long after the Egyptian Empire fell, but never had I seen evidence of this being true.” She glanced down at his arm again before wrapping the bandage tight around it. “Mr. Tovar -”

“You can call me Pero,” he softly stated, holding her hand once she finished wrapping his injury.

Aria smiled at him again, leaning closer to him. “Pero,” she paused, letting the sweet sensation of his name felt rolling off her tongue sink in, “this must mean you are a Son of the Medjai.”

He chuckled. “What does that mean?”

He watched her light up, suddenly excited to share her knowledge with him. She talked fast and with such passion, he was pulled into this world she’d created and brought to life in front of him. “The Sons of the Medjai, according to records found in the Valley of Kings, were the elite of the Medjai. Not much is known of the Lost Dynasty, but it is said they were founded then. There have been references to them all over Ancient Egypt, and one thing has remained constant: they never leave the city of Thebes. They served no Pharoah, only Osiris himself. Their symbol was this,” she said, pointing to his tattoo, “a gift from their god to protect them while they served. Some records say they were warriors for Osiris against the armies of Set. Many believed that the Sons were sent by Osiris himself, born to the people instead of families.”

“Born to the people?”

She nodded feverently. “Yes. It means they had no family, but instead were raised by their village until they were old enough to take on their sacred duties.”

He coyly smiled at her. “So, what you’re saying is,” he softly said, moving closer to her, “I am a gift from the gods?”

“Don’t flatter yourself, Pero,” she smirked. They were close enough that she could feel his lips lightly brushing against hers, when suddenly there was a commotion outside that forced them to move apart. He watched as her eyes averted from his and a deep burn spread across her face. He grinned and moved past her to see what the ruckus was. Murphy, of course, had dragged their transports through this part of the market, causing several of the merchants to yell at him, cursing him for knocking over a few stands. Pero growled, silently cursing her brother himself for ruining the moment. He stormed out of the tent, Aria following closely behind him, and grabbed the reins from Murphy, who was giving both of them a knowing smirk.

“Did I interrupt something?” Murphy asked, “The looks on your faces say it all.”

Glaring at the man, he turned the horses away from the market and grumbled loud enough for him to hear, “Te dispararía ahora mismo si no tuviera un gran respeto por tu hermana.”

Murphy walked up next to Aria and bumped her shoulder with his. “Do I need to have a chat with him? You know, man-to-man?”

She scoffed and rolled her eyes at her brother. “You really are an idiot, Murph. I was dressing his wound from that ghastly man on the boat.”

He snickered and covered his mouth with his hand to hide it. Nabil was busying himself at a fruit stand, and Pero was now on the opposite side of the small village, waiting. Aria turned to Murphy and crossed her arms, in clear annoyance. “What is it?”

“Oh nothing,” he said, “I just remember you said there was nothing to like there at all.”

Aria sighed. “We have to work together. I might as well make the best of this situation.”

She stormed off to join Pero. She watched him with a small smile while he calmed one of the horses that was spooked by a couple of children who ran by them. Her gaze caught his, and he returned his smile. All at once, he watched as his surroundings turned from the quiet, desert market to a brightly lit, gold-encrusted hallway. There were elaborate hieroglyphics and paintings on the walls with high arches on the left, open to the expanding city below. The sunset painted the sky with purples and oranges as a cool breeze drifted in from the Nile. In front of him was a beautiful, dark-haired woman dressed in silky, white robes with an intricate headpiece that resembled a much smaller version of Isis’s headdress. She looked like a queen. As she walked toward him, he realized the strong resemblance she had with Aria. She was Aria but she wasn’t at the same time. She smiled when she reached him, wrapping her arm around his. He saw her mouth move, but he heard nothing come out. No sound, no words. He tried to listen, but all he heard was a muffled voice in the distance yell “Nefertari!” The woman turned to look in the direction of the voice. She stood on her toes to kiss his cheek before disappearing, taking the rest of this hallucination with her.

Pero reached up to touch his cheek. He felt her lips against his skin. Clearly still lost in his fantasy, he couldn’t hear Aria running forward calling his name until she was in front of him. The worry was written all over her face as she held his face in her hands to force him to look at her. His eyes were still glossy as they looked through her instead of at her. “Pero!” she cried, “What is it?”

He frowned, absorbing what happened. He was back in the small market, Aria was no longer dressed like the Egyptian royalty he’d just held in his arms. Closing his eyes and shaking his head, he let out a deep breath, trying to find the right words. “I-I-,” he was struggling.

“Pero,” she said, rubbing her thumbs over his cheeks, holding his head up.

“I think that blade was laced with something,” he said, “or I need water.”

Much to Aria’s horror, the color didn’t return to his now pale face. She helped him sit down on the low wall he was standing near. She waved for Murphy to grab water. “What’s wrong?”

He grabbed her wrists, gently running his thumbs up and down the insides of them to calm her. “I saw -” he paused. No, it’s best to keep what I saw to myself.

“What?”

“I’m not sure what. I think the desert heat is just getting to me.”

She was not convinced, but decided not to push it.

“The Pharoah returns and now he will die. Ausar and his queen will meet their fates again.”

The ghostly voice Aria had heard not three days ago had returned. She slowly glanced around for the source, not wanting to draw attention to herself. But when she looked back at Pero, she could see on his face that he had heard it too. The two remained holding each other’s gaze, each worried for what they would face the further into the desert they went.

Translations

Pinche gringos - Fucking gringos (white people)

Te dispararía ahora mismo si no tuviera un gran respeto por tu hermana. - I would shoot you right now if I didn't have high respect for your sister.

Taglist

Permanent Taglist

@larakazzer @magneticbucky @wickedfrsgrl @wander-lustbabe @phoenixpascal @frietiemeloen @fioccodineveautunnale @mrscrain-x7 @alldatalost @carringtonhill @enamoured-x @readsalot73 @rosiefridayrogersunday @justpedropascal @phoenixhalliwell @weasleytwins-41 @crystalized-drumming @terrorcakes @itsnottilly @athalien @kirsteng42

Pero Tovar Taglist

@hb8301 @hnt-escape @stevie754

#Sons of the Medjai #Osiris's Curse #Pero x Aria #Pero Tovar #The Great Wall #The Mummy AU #Pero Tovar x Aria MacKenzie #Pero Tovar x OC #SotM

16 notes · View notes

mewtonian-physics · 3 years

Text

my ranking of the alex rider original series (stormbreaker through scorpia rising) from ‘book i least enjoy rereading’ to ‘book i most enjoy rereading’ let’s goooo

spoilers for all 9 books under the cut

9. Ark Angel

...He went to space. He went to space. Also the entire plot could have been avoided if Drevin had actually bothered to provide a photograph of his son. I’m sure he had one. I still like this book but it’s literally so insane that I just don’t know what to do with it.

It is however really funny that Webber just goes and gives a speech insulting this super high-profile ecoterrorist group and acts like it’s no big deal and then they kill him. Shock of shocks.

8. Skeleton Key

Okay, points to this book for terrifying the shit out of me. God damn it does that shark scene scare me. Also, points for making me feel a little bit bad for a man who wants to nuke his own country because he thinks it will fix the place up. I’m still not entirely sure how that’s supposed to work, but that’s probably a good thing. I feel like understanding his thought process would say bad things about me. Still, I actually did feel sorry for him, if only a little. Dude was clearly mentally unstable and I doubt his son’s death helped at all. I also got sad about what happened to Carver and Troy. (Yeah, yeah, I’m a cringe fail American who has the American release. So sue me.) What a nightmare that must’ve been to endure... Otherwise, though, I’m not super into this book. The opening is just kind of meh and the way it leads into the rest of the plot seems a little bit unbelievable. Also, this might be an unpopular opinion, but Sabina annoys me. I would not get along with her at all and I can’t imagine her as a girlfriend. Skeleton Key does, however, absolutely excel at the emotional scenes.

Also, why are all the spy agencies so comfortable with sending in a 14-year-old? Especially when they outright admit that the other attempts have all died horribly? Bureaucracy’s a bitch.

7. Point Blank

Boo, Dr. Grief! Boo! We hate your white supremacy! I’m so glad you got a snowmobile to the face, you deserved it. (Perks of books written by Jewish people--we aren’t afraid to give the neo-Nazis an unpleasant death.) Anyway, this book definitely isn’t bad, but I wouldn’t really say it stands out in the series. It definitely does hammer home the point of just how trapped Alex is, since MI6 isn’t going to just let him go after one mission, and let’s face it, the plot with the clones is creepy as hell, if highly improbable. But I’m largely just here to see the neo-Nazi get snowmobiled. That’s right, I just completely changed the definition of a pre-established word. I’m a rebel.

Also, I hate Fiona Friend so much and overall think she just didn’t need to be in the book, but the line about ‘I’d rather kiss the horse’ made me laugh so hard. Alex, you sass.

6. Snakehead

Okay, let’s talk about how genius the plan in this book is. I love it! I love how Yu wants to kill the people involved in the peace conference without making them into martyrs, so he comes up with this whole elaborate plan to stage a natural disaster. It’s incredible. This dude was thinking so far ahead. And he would’ve gotten away with it, too, if it weren’t for that meddling kid... But anyway, I don’t see a lot of books where the villain really acknowledges that killing their enemies could just cause more problems for them via turning them into martyrs for a cause. Also, the way he’s so polite and soft-spoken while also being a complete monster... This book genuinely gives me chills. Extra bonus points for the part in the hospital, the absolute nightmare of having all your organs slowly removed and sold off and everyone around you is being so nice about it? ‘Oh, don’t worry, Alex, it won’t be so bad. Here, take your medicine. Do you need anything?’ Literally just. What the fuck.

Also Ash can fucking fight me. You put your own godson in horrible danger on purpose! You killed your best friend! Bastard.

...And just in case the book wasn’t disturbing enough, Yu’s fate at the end lives in my mind rent-free and I think about it on a concerningly regular basis considering that the chances of that happening to me are so low they’re practically in the negatives. Damn you, Horowitz.

I would also be remiss if I did not mention just how much I love the tagline ‘once bitten, twice spy’.

5. Crocodile Tears

Ah yes, the book that kickstarted my drift away from the church... I kid, of course. I drifted away from the church for completely separate reasons. But Desmond McCain is always going to scare the shit out of me. The ability to kill countless innocent people while blissfully quoting Bible verses (that he takes wildly out of context and uses for his own self-serving means) is... well, I could actually say a lot about what that reminds me of, but I’m here to rate books, not religion. Moving on. This book has some really stellar antagonists, and the plot is chilling in a way that feels a lot more realistic than most of the other books. Even if some of it is a bit farfetched (sabotaging a nuclear power plant? Really?), the idea of using disasters for your own profit... well. I’m sure I don’t need to elaborate on why that is so believable. The Poison Dome is also a really cool and chilling scene--even Alex, who has the luck of the devil, can’t get out of that one unscathed. Further scares come in with the fate of Harold Bulman--imagine having your entire existence wiped and your identity changed while you were asleep! The breakdown he has over it is almost enough to make me feel sorry for him, even though he was ready to exploit a teenager and make his life a living hell just to turn a profit. Note the word almost.

Also. The opening makes me cry. Specifically the line talking about how Ravi’s kids would ‘never meet Mickey Mouse’. I lose my goddamn mind every single time I read it. That little personal touch turns the scene from a statistic to a tragedy. Once again: Damn you, Horowitz.

4. Stormbreaker

Yeah, this one gets the special cover shot. And why not? What we are looking at here is the birth of a legend. Move the fuck over, James Bond, Alex Rider is on the scene now. Anyway, yeah, this book is pretty damn spectacular. It has its stumbles, but as the first book in a series, that’s to be expected. Still, it pulls you in from quite literally the first line and keeps you going right up until the end. (If you came here from my post of memes, you know how much the line ‘Killing is for grownups, and you’re still a child’ destroys me.) It has the debut of much-beloved characters such as, of course, Alex--but also Jack Starbright, and of course, the best MI6 agent of them all, which is to say Smithers. Hell, even Yassen Gregorovich, especially once you get through Russian Roulette... Man, that was a rough one.

Seriously, though. This is a really good book. The scene with the Portuguese man-o’-war still gives me the chills to think about. (Have you ever looked up pictures of those things? They’re beautiful, but holy shit will they make you regret being born. Nature is funny like that.)

We also get the introduction of, of course, Alex’s patented sass (his response to Sayle saying he relates to the man-o’-war is HILARIOUS) and we get the inherent humor of Alex screwing up an alias one time and then just going by Alex for the rest of the series so he doesn’t do that again. Really, kid, I know you’re not a trained spy or anything but did you never play pretend growing up? Ever? You can’t pretend your name is Felix for a little while? That sounds like a you problem.

3. Scorpia Rising

I distinctly remember when this book came out, actually. I was on vacation at the time, and I remember my brother annoying the hell out of the poor workers at a bookstore we frequented there to see if/when they were going to get it in. They did, finally, and we bought it immediately, and I was of course absolutely desperate to read it. He got to read it first, though. -_-

This is a great book, an absolute emotional rollercoaster all the way through. The way Blunt tricks Alex back into service by staging a shooting was exactly the kind of cold, brutal behavior I’d expect from him. Seeing Julius come back was shocking, but very exciting, too. And Razim makes an incredibly chilling villain, with his absolute disregard for human life and his desire to measure pain. Also, seeing Smithers’s house was so much fun. Smithers in this book was just really fun in general, but he’s really fun in every book, so... nothing unusual there. But also, I want an unwelcome mat. Please?

2. Eagle Strike

‘But Penny,’ you might ask, ‘why is this book so high on your list? It has so much of Sabina in it, and you said she annoys you.’ That is true. What does not annoy me, however, is basically the entire rest of the book. I love the tense opening, and then reading through Alex’s real-life ‘playthrough’ of Feathered Serpent is still one of my favorite scenes. Cray is absolutely incredible as a villain, with the way that he truly believes in his cause--which is undoubtedly a good one! Yet the extremes to which he will go for that cause, and the fact that he very nearly succeeds, are what elevate him to one of the most dangerous villains in the series. That scene with Charlie Roper and the nickels is something I can never seem to stop thinking about. Actually, I think about it basically whenever I think about large amounts of money paid in small increments...

Also, I really enjoy how he gets into the whole plot in the first place, and I really enjoy Smithers saying ‘ah, fuck it’ and helping him out anyway. Go, Smithers. You once again prove me right in saying that you’re the coolest adult in MI6.

The revelation that Yassen knew Alex’s father is one that absolutely blew my mind first time around. The way his life was threaded into the lives of the Rider family--he worked with John Rider, was saved by him, killed Ian Rider, and then died for refusing to kill Alex Rider--wow. Wow. It gets to me. It really gets to me. This book is a masterpiece. I heard that it’s going to be what the second season of the TV series is based off of, and I’m so hyped for that. We love to see it, we really do.

1. Scorpia

I don’t believe anyone who says this book didn’t get to them at all. I just think they are lying. I don’t think it’s humanly possible to not be affected by this book. God. Just thinking about it reminds me of why I don’t think it’s possible. I mean, come on. We get all this backstory about Alex’s parents, we get tricked along with him into thinking MI6 killed his father, then bam, that was a lie, and Alex may have just fucked himself over big time. Also, that plot is terrifying! (And I bet anti-vaxxers had a field day with it, huh.) Julia Rothman is a really great antagonist, one of the only ones who didn’t go and explain her plan in great detail to Alex--the fact that she didn’t actually being a plot point was something I personally found pretty clever. In general, this book is... I tend to hate when people say they ‘can’t put it down’ because it’s usually an obvious exaggeration, but that really is how I feel reading it.

And again. If that ending didn’t get to you... Well, I just think you are lying.

#alex rider #spoilers

33 notes · View notes

justicepursued · 2 years

Note

♦ 👀

SEND ♦ FOR MY MUSE TO SAY WHAT THEY ASSOCIATE WITH YOURS

California is lovely at night, the glittering string of lights lining the world below not yet enough to choke the sky of all stars. The dusty trail is coastal scrub and steep slopes...in short, the perfect place to piss off of. While Colt’s off doing his business, Angela dabbles in the fast food they brought along for the trek. They will have to trespass more often, she thinks, bloodshot eyes landing on their basket half-finished cheesy fries. There is wisdom in those warm layers of bastardized cheddar product and salted potatoes; a deep knowledge that only the blessedly drunk are privy to. But to truly connect requires commitment, dedication — more fry and plastic yellow substance. She’s caught in the act by her favorite cowboy, a veteran of diner food with several tours of duty under his belt. If Colt sees Angela lick her fingers, she’s sure he won’t tell. That’s their dirty secret; orphans and bastards and other small, starving things don’t care about table manners overmuch. No one can take away the precious intimacy of eating together. And part of dinner — second dinner, really — is talking. Midway through another mouthful of food, Colt pitches a seemingly softball question at her. Of course, with Cassidy it’s rarely simple. ❝ Ah! ❞ she snorts, wiping greasy fingers on dirty jeans, ❝ You ask so much from a drunk woman! ❞ She ought to pop another bundle of cheesy potato in her mouth, but he’s got her booze-soaked mind fixated on something else. A hum, rough in her throat from booze and sand and cigarettes, ❝ The cigars from the corner shops, the entire state of Texas, tiny beard hairs in sink drains... ❞ Angela grabs a pebble, flicks it at his arm. ❝ Revolver handguns, the numbers six and twelve, breakfast in an American diner, tumbleweeds, tattoos...and being a little shit to your elders. ❞ She smirks, ❝ ...Not that I can think of any such person who would encourage your behavior. ❞

#general consultation » asks #the doctor is in » ic #quick-drawn #tw alcohol

2 notes · View notes

khadij-al-kubra · 4 years

Text

Worst Impressions are the First (ch 7)

Main Characters: Logan, Patton, Roman, Virgil (Human AU)

Pairings: Romantic LAMP

Word Count: 5036

AO3

<=PREV

NEXT=>

Author’s (longer than usual but it’s for good reason) Note: *The Apocalypse—2020. Zoom in on a plague rat turned writer. She has survived thesis projects, getting a Master’s degree, burnout, writing and illustrating a children’s book, being a slave for the U.S. census bureau, months of overthinking anxiety spirals, and one or two incidents involving an asshole skunk. But now, battle weary yet unwavering in her love of art and love for her loyal readers, this onesie-clad tea slurping book dragon....has finally arisen from the ashes*

I LIVE BITCHES!!!!!!! And I am SO SORRY for taking so long!!! I’ve been hard at work, been editing like a mad woman, and I even have a beta now! The gorgeous and talented @humbletortoise So I am OFFICIALLY off hiatus!!! *cue confetti canon*

Also, one of the biggest reasons I’ve taken so long to update is because I’ve spent the past month or so essentially retconning the fuck outta this fic. I realized looking back at earlier chapters in this story that, although I was proud of them at the time and greatly appreciate the positive reactions, they were...not my best work. (shitty first drafts if I’m being honest) That’s because, at the time, I was trying to split my attention between writing this fic and working on grad school stuff, which resulted in my writing for this not being as best of quality as it could have been upon first posting. This story deserves my best, and so do all of you. So now I hope to give you that.

I encourage you to go back and re-read the previous chapters up till now (trust me, they’re near unrecognizable to the first drafts, but in the best way). Or if you don’t feel like doing that, you can just continue on from here. totally cool. For the sake of convenience and my own sanity, I’ll attach the AO3 Link to this fic from the start. I may also start just posting chapter updates on tumblr but only have the link to the chapter and add my reader tags. Again, for the sake of my sanity because Tumblr is a bastard when it comes to posting fics. (Also PLEASE let me know if there are any tagging issues if anyone’s on my tags list; yet another reason i’m considering just linking my fics in the future)

Anywho, without further ado, at LOOOOOONG last, here is the next chapter!

Chapter 7 - (POV Roman)

When Roman had offered to walk with Logan to class, it was only partly out of an innate sense of chivalry; a side of himself that he rarely got to show on account of being a socially awkward gay disaster. Though mainly, he saw it as a chance to get to know his second soulmate better.

He certainly hadn’t expected two long minutes of civil but silent walking. Well, as silent as a stroll through their school could be with its usual racket buzzing around them. With a vocabulary as big as the continents of Africa and Eurasia combined, you’d think Logan would be more of a conversationalist. Alas. He merely walked in step with Roman. They glanced over at each other every so often, but Logan stayed tight lipped and seemingly impassive; fiddling with his bumblebee hair pin every now and again. Damn. Looked like he was going to have to make the first move.

Roman was bad at this. How did people usually…Oh yeah, common interest. That’s a thing. He wracked his brain for some sort of ice breaker. One that’d make him look cool and calm or, something, in front of Logan. He was a fairly decent student though not quite mathletes level. He could compliment his outfit maybe? Was that too forward? Too shallow? Maybe he could find common ground? That was as good a place to start as any.

“So! So uhh…What kind of music do you like?” Roman asked. Yeah, that’s good. Everybody likes music.

Logan glanced at him. “Can you be more specific?”

Roman’s brow furrowed. “I mean, like, your favorite genre of music to listen to?”

“Classical,” said Logan in a clipped tone.

“That’s cool. I don’t really listen to classical myself.”

Logan only hummed, his face neutral. Roman was really hoping for more than that. A few awkward seconds passed, then Logan spoke up.

“Are you perhaps a fan of the classic Sherlock Holmes novels?” He inquired.

“Um, I haven’t gotten around to the books yet, actually,” Roman said, scratching his earlobe. “I mean, I’ve heard great things about them. And I’m a big fan of the Robert Downey Jr. movies.”

“Ah. I see.” Logan said, giving him the judgiest side eye.

Come on, Roman thought. Give me something to work with. “Oh! What about theater?”

“What a frustratingly vague inquiry.”

“Well, excuse me for trying to get to know my soulmate a little better.” Ay come jode, work with me here, man!

Logan sighed. “While I understand and appreciate your intention, I believe ‘getting to know someone’ as you put it, requires a certain level of specificity. Anything less indicates a somewhat shallow level of sincere interest, and I greatly despise shallow conversation. That said, if you’re inquiring as to whether or not I enjoy theater, no. I don’t understand the concept of professional make believe, though I appreciate it as an art form. I assume you’re a fan?”

Is he seriously implying I’m shallow? Roman groused, pushing his red frames up the bridge of his nose. Ugh, forget it Roman. He’s throwing you a bone here. Take it.

“Obviously,” said Roman, gesturing dramatically. “I mean I’m no actor—Eesh. No. Yikes—but everything about the artform enthralls me. And I like all kinds of genres and eras of plays, from Shakespear to Ruhl, but musicals are by far my favorite, because like, there’s so much you can do with them design wise. I mean just look at how groundbreaking Hamilton was.”

For a second, Logan’s face actually softened, his eyes lighting up. But just as Roman thought they were finally about to make some progress, his stony companion was back to wearing that platinum puss.

“Ah. How… original.”

Roman blinked. “Are you saying my tastes are basic?”

“Well, yes.”

Augh! Okay. Yep. I don’t like him. Patton was going to be so disappointed, and Roman was too. He’d wanted so badly to get along with all his soulmates, but Logan was a snob! Way less intimidating than Virgil and his ilk, but still a jerk. I wonder if soulmarks can make typos or something? Thank the stars they’d already arrived.

Roman and Logan filed in with the rest of the class for seventh period. Somebody had the liberty of opening a window– the AC was still busted in this classroom– so for once there was actually a decent breeze cutting through the usual mucky Florida humidity. Still smelled like it would probably rain later. Good thing Roman had packed an umbrella just in case, Mom’s orders. His hair looked too good today to be wrecked by frizz.

Roman took a seat at his desk, running distracted fingers over the carved letters in the wood while he mulled over his predicament. Just look at him over there, thought Roman as he glared at Logan, not two rows away from him. Sitting with his hands clasped on the desk all smug—of course he’d be near the front—and with such disturbingly good posture. What is he, a robot? Who is he to call my interests basic, the NERVE! And okay, sure, like Hamilton, sometimes I get over excited and shoot off at the mouth. But great Zeus, does that guy show passion for ANYTHING besides academics? Roman blew a raspberry, plopping his head in his hands.

He always thought soulmates were supposed to get along, even as just friends for life. Balancing each other out, bringing out the best in you and forming a deep connection—that was the whole point. He sighed to himself. Cymbals clashed less than he and Logan did.

He was stirred from his brooding by the bell. Apparently Mr. ‘Call-me-Terrence’ Williams had materialized without him noticing. Okay fine, he should probably pay more attention, but he was having a crisis here.

“Afternoon everyone,” Terrence greeted in that measured, upbeat tone of his.

He draped his navy blue blazer over the back of his desk chair and rolled his shirt sleeves to the elbows. Roman pitied the poor guy; he had to teach sauna of a classroom all day. He could see the glisten of sweat on his teacher's smooth forehead as he wrote things on the board. Yet he still kept a pleasant attitude towards his students.

“Alright class!” Terrence started, “Today we’re covering the next section on the American Revolution. Specifically, the Battle of Yorktown...”

Roman mentally punched the air. My time has come. He opened his textbook to the right page but didn’t bother looking at it. He already knew most everything about Yorktown. Not just because he’d listened to the Hamilton soundtrack fifteen and a half million times, but also because he’d done actual research on the event and time period that the musical took place; There was always the off chance he’d get to stage crew or, heck, even dramaturg the show. He liked to be prepared.

“So the battle of Yorktown took place in 1781, but a great deal of its success was thanks to the French Allies. Many especially aided in fighting the British Troops surrounding New York. Now who can tell me where the French Soldiers first landed?”

Roman half raised his hand. He was pretty sure he knew the answer.

“Logan.” Terrence called.

Roman turned to Logan desk, where his hand was held high and mighty.

“The French Ally ships first landed in Rhode Island, then made their way to Chesapeake Bay,” said Logan, adjusting his glasses. Not even a hint of second guessing in his voice.

“That’s right!”

He almost missed the quick smirk on Logan’s frustratingly pretty face. Look at that smug—thinks he’s so smart...Okay yes, he is smart, but he doesn’t have to be a show off about it. Terrence continued through the passages, calling on a student every now and again to review. Of course, Logan got called on most and he got every answer right. Roman didn’t feel like raising his hand anymore.

“Of course there were many turning points in the revolution, but Hamilton’s return to the field for Yorktown was a key point.” Terrence continued on. “And keep in mind- this was a man who up till now had never been in a position of command before. Not to mention the mental strains he must’ve been under, especially having had to miss the birth of his son Philip, the first of three children he had.”

Wait a sec. “Well, that’s not right.”

Even though he’d muttered, apparently Mr. Terrence still heard him. “Come again, Roman?”

Shoot. “Um, I said,” Stop sounding timid, you know you’re right. “I said that was, um, wrong.”

The whole class turned to him. Oh great, history class has its eyes on me. Roman cleared his throat and tried to look taller.

“What I mean is: Hamilton had eight kids, not three. And on top of that, Phillip was born a few months after they won the Revolution, not during, so Hamilton didn’t miss the birth of his son. I mean sure, it’s a small thing, but the devil’s in the details as they say. Heh.”

Terrence gave the most insultingly bemused look. And Roman definitely heard a few kids snickering behind him. He glanced quickly at the culprits and felt his ears go hot. This is what he got for putting himself in the spotlight.

“Roman, I applaud you for participating in the class discussion,” Their teacher started gently, “but I’m afraid you’re wrong on this one. If you read your textbook close you’d see in the fifth paragraph where it mentions from one of his later letters—“

“Actually Mr. Williams, if I may, Roman is correct.”

Roman saw Logan at his desk, one hand raised while the other adjusted his neck scarf. Was the teacher’s pet actually… backing him up?

“It is a common misconception that Alexander Hamilton only had two children, even more so modernly, what with the musical having only named two of them. However Roman has clearly done his research on the plays historical accuracies, which is more than I can say for some.”

Logan shot a cool but scathing look at their recently snickering classmates and they withered. Roman fought the urge to point and laugh aloud. He did however stick his tongue out real quick. What? He could be shy and petty at the same time.

“My guess,” Logan continued, “is that this textbook edition is also either misprinted or outdated, judging by the publication date in the copyright section.”

Brows furrowed, Terrence looked at the textbook laid open on his desk. He flipped back to the front, before pulling out his cellphone—“I’m the teacher, I’m allowed to do this. You guys aren’t.”—and after what Roman guessed was a quick Google search, their teacher looked up. His eyebrows drawn in a ‘hm, well damn’ expression.

“Looks like you’re right, Roman. And thank you Logan for bringing to my attention about the textbooks. I’ll have to talk to the principal about hopefully getting some updated materials. But we’ll see how that goes,” Terrence, muttered the last part, though Roman was close enough to catch it. Terrence cleared his throat and moved back to the board. “Maybe if we call on assistance from the inside. Much like how the Sons of Liberty sent in Hercules Mulligan to spy on the British...”

“Perhaps if we knew of an immigrant who was unafraid to step in,” Logan said just under his breath.

No one else seemed to notice the reference, but when Roman did, he felt like a mini volcano about to burst rainbow lava. Apparently there was a lot more to his soulmate than first meets the eye; and now that he knew, Roman was determined to see more of it. The rest of class passed quickly and everyone filed out to the halls as the first bell for the last class period of the day rang. Roman made sure to catch up to Logan on the way out and staccato tapped him on the shoulder.

“Hey, Logan?” He said.

When Logan turned, he swore time slowed down for a moment. The brilliant boy’s skirt flared around his waist, and somehow his skin glowed even under the dull, inconsistent school lights. His posture was erect yet natural, he could have been raised among nobility. Amidst the stench and clamor of loud sweaty students, Logan was as poised and striking as the goddess Athena. Oh...

“Yes, Roman?” Logan asked.

Roman gulped. “I uh, just wanted to thank you for backing me up in there.”

“Thanks are unnecessary,” Logan said. “I detest when someone is shamed by other students for speaking up in class, regardless of whether or not they have the correct information.”

“Well regardless, thanks for coming to my aid in the face of academic danger.”

“Dramatic, but my pleas—oof!”

A hurried passerby bumped into Logan from behind, rushing off with a half-assed ‘sorry’. Logan, caught off guard, stumbled right into Roman’s arms. The two looked at each other, cheeks filling with heat. Roman caught a whiff of something faintly floral on Logan, something natural– a lavender and honeysuckle perfume, perhaps. It was heavenly. They were still in the middle of foot traffic though, so he maneuvered them to the side. Which was tricky since Logan was still so close to him and also a good two inches taller with the heels.

“Well,” Roman flashed his pearly whites. “Seems you’ve fallen for me.”

Logan pulled away, but his lips quirked upwards in a teasing smirk. “Oh please, I merely stumbled into you.”

“Ah, but stumbling is the first step towards being swept off your feet.”

“Bold words from an abashedly charming homunculus in such an… eye catching ensemble.”

Did he call me charming!? He composed himself, “Hey, don’t let the sweater vest fool you. I may be short but I’ve got guns.”

“Aaah. But mind over muscle, as they say. Do you find yourself up to the task?”

“Only if it’s you, my brainy blossom.”

Roman’s class was in the other direction, but Logan didn’t need to know that. They walked through the halls, conversing. class was still in the next ten or so minutes, but Roman was having fun. Banter with Logan felt surprisingly easy. Natural like they’d been at it all their lives.

“By the way, was that a ‘Guns n’ Ships’ reference I overheard, pastel poindexter?” Roman asked.

Logan cleared his throat. “It… may have been, yes. I found myself unable to resist toppling the figurative dominos.”

“In other words, you seized the opportunity you saw,” Roman said, matching his own reference to the source’s cadence, which got a chuckle out of Logan.

“Precisely. Under more casual circumstances, I may have even recited Lafayette’s part.”

“You can rap? You can rap Guns n’ Ships? Like, the whole thing, no tongue twists?”

Logan stopped for a moment, turned to Roman. The taller boy cleared his throat, and after a moment wherein he seemed to mentally restrain himself, he simply adjusted his glasses. “I have an appreciation for poetry.”

Roman blinked rapidly. Holy shit, he’s an even bigger nerd than I am. He definitely needed to see that at some point.

They turned a corner, stopping just outside of the science room. Some students were going in to take their seats, and the teacher was already making notes on the board. Logan pulled an AP Physics book from his backpack, but made no move to leave, much to Roman’s delight.

“So then,” Roman leaned against the eggshell wall, “How come you acted so indifferent earlier and called my tastes basic? Oh, and I think I remember you also implied I was shallow?”

Okay, yeah, he was still kind of salty about that. But then he saw the shamed look on the nerd’s face, and Roman wished he could have taken it back. Logan looked at his shoes then back at him.

“To be candid I was… hesitant to show the full extent of my enthusiasm. In case you thought I’d be—I believe ‘being the most’ is the term— it wouldn’t be the first time I’ve caused someone to lose interest in conversing with me due to informational overload. I nearly bored my Aunt Patricia to sleep once talking about a fascinating article on jellyfish. And considering how I blundered our initial meeting—“

“Pfft, ya think?” He mentally slapped himself again when Logan went tight-lipped and turned to go. “No, no, wait. I—I’m sorry. Truly. ...Truth is, I was no gentleman either. I’m not always great at thinking before I speak. It’s why I’m so awkward around people. Takes a while for my true charming nature to shine through.”

“Clearly. Still, you show a level of interpersonal aptitude that I, well, lack.” Logan fiddled with his hair pin again and a stray hair came loose. “Reading people and expressing emotions has never really been—It’s something I struggle with.”

Much as Logan tried to maintain his cool composed posturing, Roman could tell that this was something that really bothered him. He tried so hard to seem put together and confident and serious, but really he was just as awkward and insecure as anyone. Roman smiled softly and stepped closer to Logan, reaching up to tuck the loose ebony strand behind his ear.

“Hey, everyone’s got things about themselves they can work on. Including me,” Roman smiled. “And believe me when I say that I will never judge you for being passionate about something you like. So if you ever want someone to ramble about jellyfish or Sweeney Todd to or—I dunno, calculators or something?—I’m all ears.”

Logan’s cheeks went pink and he gave a hesitant yet sincere smile. “That’s...very kind of you, Roman. And coincidentally, I also greatly enjoy Sweeney Todd. The use of iambic pentameter and alliteration to give a succinct synopsis to the story in just the first sentence alone is pure brilliance.”

“Right!? I mean the man’s a mad genius. I’m dying to design sets for one of his musicals someday. Like last year? I came up with the concept of having the Sweeney Todd sets done in a way that highlights the class differences with the characters.” Roman went into a small three minute ramble regarding the specifics before he cut himself off abruptly. Logan was blinking rapidly, a look of mild shock crossing his feature. Roman nearly started sweating; Had he messed this up again?

“That… that’s ingenious”

Roman’s ears were burning. Ohmygosh!Ohmygosh!Ohmygosh!

“Hey, Logan!” They both startled and turned to an impatient cheerleader with a ginger undercut and they/them pronoun pin shaped like a coffin. “What’re you doing just standing out in the hall, ya dork? Oh, hey Roman.”

“Uh. Hey, October,” Roman said, waving awkwardly to them.

“I told ya, Red, you only get to call me that when we’re working on a show.”

“Wait, October? Red? You two know each other?” Logan asked, brow arching.

“Kind of. They sometimes help out with costumes for the drama club,” said Roman. And they have terrible timing. I mean seriously Tobes, we were having a moment.

“Come on Lo, class is about to start, and you promised to go over my homework with me real quick beforehand. See ya ‘round, Ro.” Toby grabbed Logan’s hand and pulled him into the classroom. “You can fill me in on what you were doing with Red later.”

Logan followed his—apparently—friend into their classroom, but he shot Roman an apologetic look over his shoulder. Roman bounced a bit on the balls of his feet before following halfway into the room. Logan was in his seat with Toby showing him an open notebook. A teacher in a tight grey hair bun was writing on the board. Students at their seats were chatting, and some looked up at the short dork in red who burst in. For once Roman ignored them, his mind set on one last attempt at wooing his green skirted genius while he still had the nerve.

“Hey, Logan,” he said. “I’ve also got some great layout designs for an Into the Woods set. If you’re interested, maybe we can meet up after school and I can show them to you? Maybe we talk a bit more over iced lattes or something?”

“Excuse me, Mr. Prince, seventh period starts in five minutes,” said the teacher. “Unless you’ve suddenly transferred to my class, I suggest you stop distracting my favorite student and get going.”

“I’ll be gone in just a second,” he said. “Well?”

Logan smoothed the silky fabric of his pink scarf and said, “That sounds optimal, Roman. I’ll meet with you. By the first floor water fountain perhaps?”

Roman grinned. “I shall be counting the minutes.”

“Mr. Prince,” said the teacher with a warning glare.

Roman blew a kiss at Logan and then ducked out of the doorway. Was he embarrassed of himself? Oh definitely. Did he regret it? Absolutely not. He felt ten inches tall.

Now to complete the quest of making it to class in time. He slid off a shoulder strap to unzip his classic Mickey backpack, getting out the notebook and the relevant homework. He found them amidst the mess of spiral notebooks, granola bar wrappers, two textbooks and rainbow sticky notes. But something was missing from his folder.

“Where are those– it should be here.” He could’ve sworn he had his stapled the blocking notes in his folder. No, wait, the last place he saw them was— “Ah shoot! I left them in the tech closet again.”

Under normal circumstances, Roman would’ve grabbed them after school, but the auditorium was locked on weekends. He’d have to wait till Monday to get them and that just wouldn't do! he wanted to show Logan his notes today! I’ll bet David Korins never has these kinds of problems. Okay, okay. Still got four minutes. He could rush to the auditorium, grab the notes, and then head straight to class. I should have enough time, right? Right. Besides it was only Spanish Class, he was already pretty fluent after all those summers visiting his grandparent in Nicaragua. He spent most of class time dreaming up blocking notes anyway.

Despite not being totally convinced by his own argument, Roman immediately turned on his heel and started running in the opposite direction. After a teacher told him no running in the halls, Roman power walked through the halls with a skip in his step and a song in his heart, feeling absolutely gay in both senses of the word. Logan had actually called his idea ingenious! And the way those sharp eyes softened just for him- he would squeal if not for the fact that it would draw too many eyes to him. The halls were still filled with a few stragglers rushing to the last class of the day, and he was already trying not to get caught being late for class.

Now he knew how Maria felt in West Side Story. Y’know, before Act 2. Oh sure, they’d gotten off to a shaky start, but as the Bard’s adage on the course of true love said; and Roman felt it in his gut that this was certainly the start of true love. Not just with brilliant Logan but also with soulful Patton as well. He didn’t know how an awkward geek like him ever got so lucky in the soulmate department…Then again, there was still the matter of Virgil. So maybe not so lucky.

Roman touched his arm, remembered flustered yet flattering purple words. I know they both said Virgil is secretly sweet and I can sympathize with the terrors of closet town, but COME ON! Virgil? Really? That gloomy gladiator? There had to be a mistake in that. After all, Patton liked to see the good in everyone. Logan was much more of a skeptic, but he does seem to have a blind spot with sarcasm. Maybe Virgil was messing with them somehow. Even if he’s not a jerk jock, the guy’s still kind of a creepazoid; with his dark eyes and cheeta-esq gait and those probably huge muscles hidden under that bulky jacket and big hands...

His gay disaster train of thought came to a merciful halt as he reached the auditorium. Roman pushed open the doors, took a pause to breathe in the quiet comfort of this chapel of the arts. Okay yeah, chapel was maybe a little kind for the school’s auditorium which doubled as the drama Club’s rehearsal space/prop closet backstage/Mx Joan’s unofficial office because the school didn’t fund the arts programs enough. Even so this space was Roman’s sanctuary. The place where he could help create magic from the shadows, bring stories of those gone and living to life. Here, Roman found something of a community with his fellow backstagers, glee club losers, and budding thespians (the nice ones). So he loved every squeaky stage plank, every duck taped seat cushion and every speck of dust that floated in the spot lit air like fairies.

Mx. Joan wasn’t around for once, thankfully. Probably in the teacher’s lounge or rendezvousing with the school nurse or something. They were pretty chill and Roman knew he was their favorite student, but the choir director/drama club moderator/music teacher (this school really needs to fix its funding habits) wouldn’t have been too keen on Roman being deliberately late for class.

Roman walked down the aisle and to the side room by the stage. It was originally a janitor’s closet, but their club moderator transformed it into a ‘Crew Only’ Storage Unit… Okay it was still a closet, but with less bleach and more coils. This was where they kept important equipment for semester shows, like the lighting and sound boards, along with other supplies. Roman made a quick mental note to get more gaffer tape later, seeing their supply was low.

He looked through the small pile of scribbled and highlighted sheets with the lighting cues for the spring show. I’ve really gotta get a binder for these…Ah-Ha! Here you are! Roman pulled out the stapled sheets titled ‘Into the Woods Dream Set’ and carefully shoved them into his bag. Perfect timing too. He might just be able to make it to class after—

RIIIIIIIIIIING

“GAH!”

What the heck? He could’ve sworn he was alone in there, but that yelp just now said otherwise. Up close, Roman saw that the curtains were rustling, accompanied by sounds of heavy breathing and moaning, yet not a footstep to be seen or heard.

Holy SHIT, this place IS haunted! I KNEW that backdrop fiasco last semester wasn’t caused by cheap slit plywood. My supplies are the best quality allowance money can buy. Great Macbeth’s bloody knife, I TOLD Kai we should've sprung for a ghost light! Remus always teased him for being superstitious but look who’s laughing now.

He dashed back into the crew closet and grabbed the heavy push broom leaning in the corner. Roman Prince was NOT about to be caught unawares and possessed by the ghost of a disgruntled student without a fight. He would defend his domain of imagination!

Roman slowly climbed the stage steps, wielding his broom like a bow staff, turned the curtain corner where the noises were coming from and was about to release a war cry on the—

“Virgil?”

Roman nearly dropped his weapon at the sight of Virgil Alighieri—star athlete, object of his fears and supposed soulmate—curled in on himself trembling and crying.

His jacket was pulled over his head like a hood, yet Roman could see the tear stained face peeking out from underneath. Virgil’s eyes were squeezed tight, making the dark circles he’d never noticed before more prominent. There was no denying the athlete had muscle but he was more lithe—thin enough for Roman to wonder if the guy ate enough. Virgil’s trembling could rival a chihuahua, shaky hands clutching his knees, and he was clearly in the midst of a bad panic attack.

Roman had built Virgil up in his mind as being like some odd combination of Hades and Ares. The strong silent wolf within his pack of jocks, a surging thunderstorm just waiting for the right nerd to come along and piss him off enough to strike down like the bolt of Zeus.

Someone to be afraid of.

But now? Seeing him in this state, all alone and whimpering like a wounded animal...it broke Roman’s heart.

He set the broom down gently and carefully crouched down in front of Virgil. “Virgil,” he said softly. “Virgil, can you hear me?”

Virgil let out a breathy sob but otherwise didn’t seem to register him. Just how long had he been sitting here like this?

Roman was at a loss for what to do. Sure he knew plenty of people with anxiety but never saw someone having an actual panic attack before. He did know that if he didn’t help the other calm down soon, Virgil was liable to pass out. He’d never wanted to hug someone so badly in his life. Roman tentatively reached out a hand but stopped. What if touching him makes it worse? What if I startle him so badly he actually has a heart attack!? Maybe I should get the nurse. But I can’t just leave him like this.

He caught sight of the colorful soulmarks written on Virgil’s arm. Saw his own harsh thoughts: ’Dios mio, he’s staring right at me—like he wants to punch my face!’

Roman took his shame and forged it into steel. I won’t abandon you...my soulmate.

Virgirl’s let out a hiccuped cry, and this gave Roman an idea. Something from back when he was a child. It was probably stupid and a long stretch, but it was all he could think of. He readjusted himself so that he was now sitting right next to Virgil, making sure not to startle him. Roman cleared his throat, then as softly as he could, he began to sing.

“Come stop your crying, it’ll be alright.

Just take my hand, hold it tight.”

Roman one and carefully gentled his hand over Virgil’s. After a moment, he felt a light squeeze, and that encouraged him to keep going.

“I will protect you from all around you.

I will be here, don’t you cry…”

General Tag: @quoth-the-sparrow @altruistic-skittles @em-be-lievable @justisaisfine @broadwaytheanimatedseries @thekeytohappiness-is-you @jynxlovesluck @queer-human-being @phlying-squirrel @ab-artist @grey-lysander @a-valorous-choice @xx-fandom-potato-xx @impatentpending @book-of-charlie @randomslasher @tinkslittlebelle @insanelycoolish @ironwoman359 @icecoldparadise @bluebloodstains @purpleshipper @patchworkofstars @axyzel @hissesssss @beautifully-terribly @pink-and-purple-flowers @thatsanswitch @6tick6tock6 @hanramz-the-fander @azlinne @helplesscreator @thestoryofme13 @bibbidi-bobbity-booyah @accidental-sanders @moonstone-fox @smokeyrutilequartz @madly-handsome @puns-and-patton @notveryglittery @eequalsmcscared @safesandersides @lizziepopanime @anxiously-unsatisfied-world @unikornavenger @humbletortoise @backatthebein @mephonic @paperghastly @ravenclawangst @iamtrashcans @loganberrysanders @ierindoodles @a-new-witch-in-learning @punsterterry @your-average-pangirl @goldteethandacurseforthistown @dragonsight9 @gattonero17

Worst Impressions Tag: @everphantom @wundergirllovesyou @im-awkward-go-away @reinefandoms @shadowenbynerd @always-in-a-fandom @deadinsidebutliving @somehowsnakesblog @halfcrazedandrogynouswizard @selectivereality @occasionally-pauciloquent @donalev @princessbelix @justasadchildwithablog @megkir13 @cats-vetal-miking-vomit @karmels-stuff @daughterofsomnus @soijusthavetoask @to-precious-to-process @kimolothecatt @gabe-killed-me-with-ace-cream @notveryglittery @loving-neko @corracii @nerd-in-space @absolutesandersidestrash @hanramz-the-fander @minamishipsit-secondround @i-read-by-lamp @irrelevantbutsanders @themultishipperchild @anonymous-by-design @analogical-mess @marvelfangeek09 @incoherentfangirl @mirror2thespirit @wherethewaterstarts-andyouend @redundant-statements-for-400 @deathshadowrules @basicmillennial @beach-fan @withspaces @cisnesincorbata @merlybird500 @lovingcreatorstrawberry @dante1138 @k9cat @no-no-no-no-6 @sanderssidesvp @sevencrashing @karmels-stuff @kaioanxiety @reblogged-anything @theotherella @randomsandersides @phantomofthesanderssides @unisaurioamorfo @fabulouswritingfanboyofdeath @sniffingoutmywilltolive @pippippippin @shadowenbynerd @sugarglider-s @angels-and-dreams @larry-angels @hexdream18243 @itsthemoooooooooon @ibasicallyjustreblogeverything @stormblessedcastiel @the-sweet-space-bi @bisexuallyinlove @ijustreallylovesanderssides @everythings-coming-up-aces @loving-neko @theunoriginaldaisy @dreamybluecupcake @selectivereality @soft-transboy @veryvirginvirgil @wowimsogoddamnoriginal @shaeshaetheravenclaw @anxiousangel121 @cataclysm-al @fanartfunart @flufflerekt @floof-13 @mining-pup @ofdismaldays @b0y-guts @a-trans-ghost @romantichopelessly @isaac-or-izzy @quietwords-loudthoughts @im-gonna-yeet-outta-here @bunny222 @xxlithiumangelxx @tinyemogod @edgy-gremlin @coloursintheblur @i-have-n0-idea-what-im-d0ing @damnitvirgil @unicorndragon1-2-3 @littleladynightshade @peanut0303 @seeyoube @why-should-i-tell-youu2 @idiot-anonymous @unicornofdarknessstuff @winterswishing @wundergirllovesyou @surohsopsisofclouds @andreaissy @neon-skates @pumpkindotorgdotuk @llamaly @thetruthaboutthesun @frankiprowsworld @gattonero17 @kittykat3e @i-willgo-on @theiwatobiicepic @emiliopiccolo @im-awkward-go-away @singularthoughtofstatic @notyourperfectmexicandaughter @la-dolce-vita-on-deck @chocomiruk @anianthe @cause-a-gay-has-got-to-slay @lunatatic @incoherant-ramblings @09shell-sea09 @stormblessedcastiel @zaisling @im-a-solanum-lycopersicum @r1ght-as-ra1n @here-is-your-paper-trail-unicorn @a-gay-treee @ambivalentanemone @halfblood-demigods @tssidesfamily @fightmedragonwitch @anteonnix @kai-the-person @annoying-alien @t0astyt0es @astudyinfuckmylife @respectmekaren @winterknight1087 @wewuzraw @annoying-alien @dragonphantom13 @emiliopiccolo @theiwatobiicepic @thefingergunsgirl @bluerosesbleedred

68 notes · View notes

leliana-sings-mozarts-requiem · 3 years

Text

Answer 30 questions and tag 20 mutual

Thanks to @thatmusicgeek22 ❤️

Name/Nickname: I’ve found myself going by Pixel on Tumblr, tho if you look carefully you can find my real name 😉

Gender: Non-binary

Star sign: Virgo

height: like 5’11”?

Birthday: somewhere in the virgo range.

Favorite bands: oof they change so regularly, but I listen to a lot of The Arcadian Wild, Lord Huron, Black Hill & Silent Island, and Kaleo. Most of what I listen to is soundtracks tho.

Favorite Solo Artists: been listening to a lot of Hozier, Ella Fitzgerald, Mark Knopfler, Jacob Collier, and Alexi Murdoch.

Song stuck in my head currently: Dear Fellow Traveler by Sea Wolf.

Last movie I watched: documentary on Jane Elliott’s blue eyes/brown eyes experiment (called “a class divided”)

Last show I watched: heheheh I’ve been watching She-Ra againnnn. Also been watching sense8 which idk where this show has BEEN all my life.

When did I create this blog: ah shit, I think like January 2015?? I was still in high school and had it for most of the time.

What I post about: mostly political shit and dumb memes, occasionally I post about VG things and writing and misc art. Started out as video games and music but I stopped trying to have a set theme years ago. (((Psssst you can follow my music blog @thepixelbard for music stuff if you don’t already)))

Last thing I googled: a map of the world of Earthsea bc 1. I was trying to trace the path of Ged’s travels and 2. Maps are just *sexy* dhdhsjsk

Other blogs: @thepixelbard is my music tumblr! I don’t always post things often but that’s where I focus my music endeavors. Go follow meeee!

Do I get asks: not very often but I love getting them 🥺👉👈

Why I chose my URL: well, my first URL was dumb and had my name in it (bc I was like 16 and stupid) so I changed it to ‘Sibelius-M-D’ for favorite composers of mine and “MD” the title, then to this long monstrosity came about a few years ago for my favorite bastard man Mozart and my best girl Leliana from Dragon Age.

Following: uuuh like 500-something? I used to think it was a lot but yee

Followers: 233 absolutely beautiful bastards ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

Average hours of sleep: oof it’s either like 9 hours or 6, not super healthy

Lucky number: don’t really have one but I’d say 7

Instruments: flute and cello are my primaries, but also trombone, piano, guitar, Irish whistle/low whistle, bodhran, and voice.

What am I wearing: PJs bc I just woke up shsjdjfkd

Dream trip: I wanna go back to scotlanddddd I was studying abroad there when COVID happened so I feel cheated out of my spring in the Highlands. Other than that, probably Norway, Germany, or northern Japan. Anywhere with cool music.

Favorite food: I will LITERALLY eat anything so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Nationality: Tragically American. Sorry to disappoint.

Last book I read. Most recently, I read A Wizard of Earthsea which is unbelievably good, but I’m also reading The House on Mango Street, The Ranger’s Apprentice, and A Court of Roses and Thorns.

Top three fictional universes I’d like to live in: this might be cheating since they’re by the same creator, but Princess Mononoke, Kiki’s Delivery Service, and Howl’s Moving Castle. I’m a simple queer who wants the escapism what can I say

Favorite color: lol well if you’ve seen my blog, various dark shades of blue, but also a nice rich dark green or the color of healthy soil.

Tagging: don’t feel obligated but I’d also love to get to know my mutuals better

@queertrashpotato @ikknowplaces @pastelmercutio @thewholeguacamole @life-not-needed @mahlerlove @declanexgf @spacehamsterthings @great-lake-state-of-mind @butchbatman @heyyitsjayy @plathcamusdostoyevskyjagger @in-the-key-of-f-major @peggyosgood @i-mossy @valeroyeaux @cryptid-god @a-girl-with-dumb-bitch-disease @legendofcutiepies @agenericpianist

#nice #ask posts #I lov these so much

9 notes · View notes

thinking-about-sw33ts · 3 years

Text

тнє ∂єfιиιтισиѕ/тяαиѕℓαтισиѕ αяє αт тнє єи∂ σf тнє fι¢! ιf ι мιѕѕє∂ αиутнιиg, σя мιѕѕρєℓℓє∂ αиутнιиg, ρℓєαѕє тєℓℓ мє, ѕσ тнαт ι ¢αи fιχ ιт!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

⭐️Español⭐️

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Anime:

🌍Hetalia🌏

Supporting Ship(s):

🇺🇸America🇺🇸 X 🇮🇹Romano🇮🇹(South Italy)

Type:

🌸Fluff🌸

AU(Alternative Universe):

🏫High School🏫

Love interest for Reader:

🇪🇸Spain🇪🇸(Antonio F. Carriedo)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

🇪🇸Spain’s P.O.V🇪🇸(Point of View):

“Mon Ami, when are you going to tell (Y/N) about your feelings?~” Francis asked, putting an arm around a certain prussian’s shoulders

“Yup! Better do it before someone sweeps them off their feet, Kesesese!” Gilbert teased, his bird flying around him per usual.

“Don’t worry Amigos! I’ll do it at the end of school!~” I reassured them, blushing lightly, imagining how things might go.

Soon enough we heard the bell ring, signalling that lunch had already started. We started getting up heading over to the cafeteria. “Hey you guys go ahead, I’ll catch up!” I tell them.

Once I deemed them far away enough, I quickly headed over to (Y/N)’s locker, slipping a letter in through the gap.

After doing the task, I head over to where Francis and Gilbert were, sitting next to them on the table.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

✨Time skip after school✨

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

🚻(Y/N)’s P.O.V🚻(Point of View):

I go to my locker, wanting to get out of school already, and head over to a certain cafe I have been wanting to check out.

Once I get to my locker, I open it only for a small piece of paper to fall out. I reach for it, putting it in my pocket. Afraid that Elizabeta might find it, and tease me.

Just the thought of her teasing me, already makes me feel embarrassed! Considering the fact that she knew about my crush on Antonio!

I quickly head out of the school, unfolding the piece of paper before reading it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

‘Hola (Y/N)! I have some superthing important to tell you!~ If you want to know, come meet me at the end of school! I might even make you some delicioso churros! Te veo allí!

-Spain, P.S! Please come alone!’

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

🚻(Y/N)’s P.O.V🚻(Point of View):

‘Seems suspicious!’ I thought to myself, thinking if I should meet him or not.

‘Well he did offer some churros!’ I thought once again, only to mentally slap myself for being a huge glutton. Soon enough I decided to meet him.

Once I get to the exit of the school I see him there playing with his hands clearly nervous. I blushed lightly, realizing he looked handsome under the sunset’s light.

His tan skin going well with the orange rays. His cheeks tainted with a deep blush, his normal smile replaced with a nervous pout.

I walk up to him, desperately trying to keep normal. “So what did you need to tell me, Tonio?” I asked him, using his nickname.

“Ah, Hola (Y/N)!” Antonio welcomed, putting his hand around his neck, scratching it nervously. “Wanna walk with me?” He asked once again.

“Sure.”

Soon enough we were on our way to his house, since he insisted on treating me to some homemade churros. Suddenly he stops walking, which automatically makes me stop as well.

I turned to him confused as to why he had done that, before he grabbed both of my hands holding it gently with his.

“Te quiero, (Y/N)!” Antonio confessed, his tan cheeks tainted once again with a heavy blush. After not receiving an answer, he lets go of my hands.

Clearly dejected. Once I fully registered what had happened, I gathered all the confidence I had, before grasping his face with my hands, planting a soft kiss on his forehead.

“I love you too~” I muttered to him, not used to committing such actions. His face immediately lit up, picking me up, and twirling me around.

“Why are you blushing so much, (Y/N)? All I did was say I love you in español!~” Antonio teased, setting me down, and intertwining his hands with mine.

We quickly went to his house eating homemade churros while watching some spanish (F/M/G)!~

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

✨Bonus✨

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

🇪🇸Spain’s P.O.V🇪🇸(Point of View):

“I can’t believe they said yes Lovi! Can you believe it?! (Y/N)’s so amazing, and beautiful, and nice, and-” Spain boasted, before shortly getting cut off.

“Jeez! Cut me some slack jerk bastard! You already told me this 10 times!” Lovino groaned, clearly sick, and tired of their friend’s antics.

“So did you confess to that American?”

“Chigi! Shut up jerk bastard!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Translation(s):

• Te Quiero: I love you.

• Mon Ami: My friend.

• Amigo(s): My friend(s).

Definition(s):

• (Y/N): Your Name.

• (F/M/G): Favorite Movie Genre.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

6 notes · View notes

theliterarywolf · 4 years

Note

Just saw an add for bad hair and looks like the critics are panning it but that doesn't necessarily mean anything kind of want to see it just to see how wild of a ride it'll be the concept is neat at least

I mean... You’re right in saying that a lot of genuinely enjoyable movies do get panned by critics while those same critics will flock to gush about absolute shit (*insert your favorite joke about Netflix or Rotten Tomatoes here*)

That being said... I dunno, ‘black woman gets her first weave and it turns out to be possessed~ ooh~’ does sound kind of fucking goofy.

Don’t get me wrong, the part in the trailer where she goes to the salon to get the hair put in for the first time did hit home for me. Whenever it’s time to do my hair my mother and I both dread it because not only is my natural hair the perfect combination of Nigerian (from my mother) and Black-American/Native American (from my bastard father) so its thicker than the God damn Schwarzwald but my scalp is horrifically sensitive.

Not that I’ve worn a weave in a long while; usually I opt for braids or some kind of crochet deal

And I do agree with the frustration of black women always being told that they have to wear their hair in a certain way in order to be ‘respected’. However, I’ll also chime in with saying that the polar-opposite of that gets annoying as hell too -- i.e.: being told that not wanting to wear your hair naturally (something that some of us just do not have the time to deal with every morning) is you rejecting your heritage or ‘lining Asian people’s pockets’ (because of how a lot of hair/beauty supply stores are run by Asian families)

I don’t know, it could be a good mo -- Wait a second *looks up more info* This is directed by the same person who brought us Dear White People?! Ah, damn it!

#DWP was fucking annoying #I'm sorry #hopefully this is better though?#Anonymous #replies

16 notes · View notes

new-endings · 4 years

Text

you wear white and i'll wear out the words ‘i love you’

( in which crowley struggles to find the right time and place to propose)

He’d known Aziraphale’s ring size since Rome, though the need for this knowledge wouldn’t arise until millennia later. Far better than tossing apples at him centuries prior, which Crowley was sure wouldn’t have been well-received by the angel.

He had the ring itself since the tradition was popularized and changed the stone, the metal, and the inscriptions at least twice every decade. He’d known Aziraphale’s favorite flavor of cake, the very swoons and swells of romantic melodies that made his angel’s heart sing with joy and float with love. He’d known that Aziraphale had long wanted to travel East since before its industrialization, though London remained his home and heart, and, not long after the entire mess of the Armageddon’t—

Crowley knew, with absolute certainty, that Aziraphale loved him, loved earth, and loved their life together.

And Crowley, with absolute certainty, wanted a life together with Aziraphale.

The thought had been lurking in the darkest crevices of his heart, ashen and burnt, where most secrets seeped in its cracks. Of course he’d known he loved Aziraphale—he’d known his own heart since Rome. But the very possibility of having that love actualized—much less returned—had been such a preposterous, laughable, impossible thought that…

To even wonder, to even wish, would have wrought him nothing but pain.

But that was something that Crowley couldn’t help. When the wretched emotion had made itself known, had seeded and rooted itself deeply within Crowley’s heart, there was no going back. And now, many millennia later, it was no longer just the torturous squeeze of thorns driving deep into Crowley’s chest at the thought of a life with Aziraphale—

It was waking to the sight of his angel (yes, his) in his ridiculous nightgown and equally ridiculous little glasses perched on his adorable nose as he flipped through the pages of a love-worn novel in Crowley’s bed; it was meeting for lunch without his angel ducking at the sight of every American in a gray, luxurious business suit; it was being able to hold his angel’s hand as they strolled through St. James park to feed the ducks, recycling old banters and trying new, honest conversations (“I thought you looked rather ravishing in that fancy little petticoat of yours. Still not a good idea to wear it during a revolution, though.” “Oh, thank you dear. I rather thought you—you—good lord, your hair back then reminded me of two somersaulting weasels.” “You really are a bastard, aren’t you?” “I’ve learned from the very best, I’ll have you know.”); it was kissing him good morning, hello, be right back, and goodnight.

It was a possibility. A very, very real possibility.

Now…now all Crowley had to do was ask.

---

Crowley prided himself in his brilliance. It wasn’t just the Pride either—he knew he had more creativity that likely all the forces of Hell combined—

(still didn’t hold a candle to Aziraphale’s wit when his angel set his mind on something, but that’s a discussion for another time.)

Which was why he had every bit of confidence that when he enacted his master plan, it would surely sweep his angel off his feet.

…Granted, if he had a master plan to begin with.

Because lo and behold, Crowley, who had been squirreling his angel’s preferences and tastes, ring size, suit size, shoe size—never actually thought he’d be able to use this information in the most important way possible. And thus—

He was scrambling.

He threw idea after idea out—We could go to Rome; take him out on our first date again—wait, did he even know that was our first date?, forged bloody mood boards from digital inspiration on social media—Ugh, this all looks terribly tasteless. This looks nice, but I know for a fact that Aziraphale hasn’t gone swimming since the 1800s for some incident or other—and nearly broke down and ran to the bookshop to propose right then and there just to get it over with.

But no.

His angel deserved better than that.

“We could have a picnic…dinner at the Ritz,” Crowley mocked, turning over in despair. “Go—Sata—SOMEONE-DAMNIT. Why didn’t I propose then…It would have been perfect.” He let out another groan. “Right, right, great thinking there, Crowley—just drop the proposal to your best friend after he was cut off and nearly killed by his abusive family and workplace, real romantic.”

He sighed, peeling himself off the ceiling where he’d somehow ended up. It was getting late and damnit, he promised to take Aziraphale to that play tonight, didn’t he?

Crowley, once upright, glared hard at the ring on his desk. It had been taunting him for the past month and he knew the niggling thoughts at the back of his mind, the compulsion to open it up, scrutinize it, to once again deem it worthy enough for his angel, wouldn’t let up until he saw it where it belonged: on his angel’s marriage hand.

Crowley snatched the box and, with some difficulty, pocketed it.

(He was actually surprised these pants came with pockets.)

Fine. If inspiration won’t come to him, then he’ll come to inspiration. Humans always went on and on about knowing when the time was right or what have you. Sure, it might be more…spontaneous than he’d like…

(Crowley liked plans. Plans kept him and his angel alive since the dawn of their arrangement, even when they didn’t always pan out the way he wanted them to)

But, as his angel showed him back at the airbase, sometimes a little spontaneity was just what he needed to get the job done.

He could have proposed at the theater. Hamlet had been Aziraphale’s favorite because Crowley made it into a smashing success just for him. It would have been romantic— a reminder that there wasn’t anything Crowley wouldn’t do to make him happy. But instead, he just watched on with half-amusement, half-embarrassment as his angel cheered and encouraged the actors, rather loudly, from their seats.

(“Angel, darling, love of my life, you’re going to get us kicked out if you keep that up.” “I-I’m the love of your life?” “Obviously, but also, not the point.”)

He could have proposed at their bench at St. James Park: right where they used to meet in secret and business and thinly veiled ventures to simply be in each other’s company—a reminder of how far they’ve come and a promise for what’s to come. But instead, they just fed the ducks, Crowley listening on with not-so-silent affection as Aziraphale berated himself for feeding them bread for years when it turned out it had been bad for them all along.

(“I brought peas this time!” “Angel, I’m sure the ducks would have appreciated any old thing.” “Yes, well, I still want it to be good for them, Crowley.” “All right, fair enough.”)

He could have proposed at the Ritz, gotten them a nice hotel room to ah…freshen up (after making a mess out of each other), enjoyed their meal and basked in the romantic atmosphere— a reminder of the first day of the rest of their lives after freeing one another and paving a road ahead where they could be together, belong together at last. He could have even put the ring in his angel’s dessert—if the ring made it out intact. But instead, Crowley dined and wined with the most perfect being (for him) created in all this universe, and basked in that lovely, perfect moment, all worries, anxieties—and the ring—forgotten.

(“I love you, Crowley.” “I…I…oh—fuck—” “It’s all right, Crowley…” “I just…sometimes…” “It’s okay, love…” “I’ve wanted to hear you for so long—” “You’ll hear me every day, Crowley.” “Angel, I love you, I’ve been in love with you for—forever, it feels like.” “I know, Crowley. I know…and I’m ready to hear it now.”)

He could have proposed in so many different places, so many different times, and in so many different ways—all romantic, all with grand, sweeping gestures, and all matter of symbolism and meaning behind each instance.

And yet, the primordial, primitive, snake-brain of his—decided that now would be the time.

“Ah—ah—angel, angel,” Crowley gasped, writhing against the delicious friction as Aziraphale maddeningly teased his Effort from within the constricting confines of his trousers.

“Yes, dearest?” he smiled, looking quite at home on his knees on the Persian rug of the bookshop’s backroom.

“You right bastard—ah!” Crowley choked off a scream as Aziraphale mouthed his clothed cock, warm, wet heat so close yet so far from where he needed it most. He fruitlessly attempted to shimmy out of his jeans, buck into that lovely, inviting mouth, and give his angel a taste of what happens when you press a demon’s buttons in all the right ways.

“I know virtues aren’t your specialty, Crowley, but you really should have some patience,” his angel tsk’d, eyes gleaming with mischief and Crowley fell impossibly deeper in love with this incorrigible, chaotic ethereal being.

And that. That was exactly what his snake-brain was waiting for. “Oh, fuck angel—marry me—”

Then that heat was gone. It took maybe a second or two for the words that had just tumbled straight out of his mouth to register, but before Crowley could internally agonize in horror at his abso-fucking-lutely shite timing—

“I—I’m sorry, could you repeat that?”

And what was Crowley supposed to do? Back out? Deny he said anything? Nope, not this time, not on his life.

Not anymore.

“Marry me,” he wheezed out, the embarrassment not quite catching up to him as he miracled the box to his hand (and thusly relieving some of that extra pressure in his trousers), and presented it to Aziraphale with all the grace of a boneless octopus.

(wait, octopodes don’t have bones do they?)

Best case scenario, Aziraphale disregarded the fact that Crowley just popped the question right before a well-anticipated blowjob. Worst-case scenario, he would have berated the demon for the abso-fucking-lutely shite timing. But instead, he was met with: "So," Aziraphale started, brows furrowed with confusion from between Crowley's legs. "That bulge in your pants doesn't just mean you're happy to see me?"

“Angel,” Crowley sighed, valiantly attempting to keep calm despite the gnawing anxiety at his chest; great, the gears were still turning in his angel’s pretty little head from the shock. “You know I’m always happy to see you on your knees for me, but I believe I asked you a question.” He waved the box in front of him and then it all clicked into place.

Crowley could tell by the bright sparkle in those sea-storm eyes and the sweet, bashful smile on his lips. “Then shouldn’t you be the one on your knees? Or—one, rather, I think is the human way of doing it now.”

“Oh, right,” Crowley muttered, wobbling as he stood from his favorite couch in all of Aziraphale’s shop. As tradition dictated, Crowley got down on one knee, opened his mouth to say, “Aziraphale, will you—”

And was immediately met with, “Yes!”

Crowley tumbled backwards onto the couch, and armful and lapful of his ecstatic angel, and finally engaged.

“Oh…it’s so lovely, Crowley,” Aziraphale cooed, holding up the ring to the light.

Crowley hummed, lacing their fingers together, and— yes he was right all along, he should have never doubted his tastes to begin with.

The ring was perfect on his angel.

“I love you, Crowley,” Aziraphale murmured, pressing soft kisses to his cheeks, dimples, and chin, and if the rest of their lives could be even just a fraction of how perfect this moment was, Crowley, for the first time in a long time, was looking forward to eternity.

“Even if you did propose right before I was to initiate fellatio,” Aziraphale giggled.

Crowley sighed, feigning annoyance despite the way his heart (not quite-so-ashen, and not-quite-so burnt) thudded painfully with love. “You could not have said that any worse.” He pulled Aziraphale close, smothering the giggles at his expense with a tender, loving kiss. He drew back, smirking at the lovestruck look on his angel’s face, plain as day, unguarded and open for Crowley to see. “Besides, could you have done any better?”

“Well, I certainly could,” he teased.

Crowley raised a brow, a challenging smile on his lips. “Oh really, now? C’mon then, let’s hear it.”

“All right, then!” His angel cleared his throat. “I would have, for one, proposed on October 21st—”

“Day the Earth was created, not bad,” Crowley admitted.

“And on that day, asked you to come away with me to a little trip—”

“Ooh, going on a little trip, are we?” The demon chuckled. “Where to? Tadfield? France? Rome?—”

“The Garden.”

Crowley felt his breath catch in his throat. Aziraphale gave him a small, triumphant smile, and continued. “Of course I still have access to it, dear. I was one of its guardians after all.” His angel admired the ring once more, voice soft as he continued, “I would have brought a picnic of course, and suggested, if you hadn’t already—”

“To have it on the wall,” Crowley whispered. “Where we first met.”

“Where our journey began,” Aziraphale added. “And I would have—I would have let you know that never in my wildest dreams would I have thought, back then, up there on that wall, that I would have found…the person that my heart belongs to.” He looked back at Crowley, eyes wet and smile wobbling on his sweet mouth and Crowley wanted to just take this lovely, lovely being in his arms and never let go. “And that through this long, long journey since Earth began, I’m ever-grateful that all my roads lead back to you.”

“Angel…”

“And then, I would get down on one knee and ask you,” he turned to face Crowley, a tear or two slipping down his cheeks, “Oh? My what’s that in your ear?”

Crowley furrowed his brow. “Wha—oh, no, angel, not one of your—”

“Ooooh, what’s this?” But before Crowley could swap his hand out of his way, something bright, gleaming, and poorly concealed in his angel’s hand caught his eye.

Any and all teasing of his fiancé’s failed sleight of hand fled Crowley’s mouth at the sight of the gold band between his fingers. He must have looked quite the sight, gaping mouth and nothing coming out, but Aziraphale only chuckled.

“You always did go faster than me, Crowley,” he murmured, placing the band right on his demon’s marriage finger, smiling at the perfect fit it made. “But that’s all right.” He pressed a soft, gentle kiss to his fiancé’s lips. “All my roads lead to you, after all.”

#ineffable husbands #ineffable partners #good omens #crowley #aziraphale #crowley x aziraphale

75 notes · View notes