#Have not been thinking about it because Im putting off thinking about Vienna | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

waspenned · 3 years ago

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scenes from an italian restaurant • part four • peter parker

you’re not entirely sure if peter got you under that stupid mistletoe on purpose, but you’re certain that you’re going to make his life a living hell over it. • 3k

warnings: swearing, smoking, me being cringe trying to write an argument that isn't ridiculous, unbetaedness

now playing: vienna by billy joel

part one / previous / next

a/n: TOLD U THAT U WOULDNT HAVE TO WAIT TOO LONG LMAOOOO anyway have this im not the most happy w it but im busy asf uni is absolutely beating me up rn I got projects coming out of my ass and I still need to dress cute so ANYWAY u can join my taglist if u want a wee message from me when I upload :) enjoy besties

It’s easier to breathe when you’re out on the back step, the cigarette smouldering away in your hand. This was better, more familiar. You knew Smoking Area Peter better than Holiday Party Peter, Smoking Area Peter was familiar, and didn’t do weird shit like saying you look pretty and smiling cannolis and mistletoe ambushes. You’ve been here for about five minutes now in comfortable, safe silence - just you, Peter, and the softly falling snow forming a white fuzz over the paving stones.

He only moves to tip ash from his cig, and to chew at the inside of his cheeks, his head cocked away from you and watching the embers burn tiny holes in the snow. The city roars on, sirens wailing in the distance, and the subway churning beneath you. Your stomach is twisting in a similar way, kneading and ripping itself to pieces.

Part of you suspects he stood under the ‘mistletoe’ on purpose and is furious about it for some reason, and another, smaller part of you, buried under a pile of loose memories hopes he did. It’s gross, what had you become? You flick ash into the rooster ashtray, imaging that you’re flicking Peter off of you instead, and that when you next look over your shoulder, him and his fake clump of mistletoe and pretty hair will have vanished. It doesn’t work, because the real Peter nudges you with his shoulder, and jostles you back to the unfortunate reality of the situation.

The December air is bitterly cold, and you’re stuffed into your winter coats, noses red and frozen to the touch. Peter brought some stupid scarf - truly, it’s hideous - and it’s wrapped around the two of you, shielding your cheeks from the snow.

He’s still looking at you, you feel the weight of it on your cheek, then your eyes, then your lips. When you glance at him to see what he’s doing, he’s drawn closer to you, the heat of him warming you through the thick puffer coats. You just look in silence, scanning each other’s faces, feeling them out. He’s different this close; there are freckles across his nose and up to his temples, a scar under his lip like it had been split, a slight bump in his nose where it had been broken - he’d told you the story of it a few weeks ago, you think. He’s looking you over with a similar amount of care, and part of you thinks he wouldn’t be too out of place with a cartoonishly large magnifying glass.

Did he get you under the mistletoe on purpose? It’s really bothering you. It tastes sour in your mouth, all vertigoed and spun-up, and you feel like you’ve been betrayed. Why would he do that when he knows you’re so private? It doesn’t make sense, he’s usually so inconsiderate but the whole thing has really rubbed you the wrong way - though you can’t quite put your finger on why. You want to scream. You shouldn’t be doing this couple-y shit with him. He was a coworker, not your boyfriend - barely a friend, at that - and here he was sharing a scarf with you. Like it was nothing to him, even though it was everything to you.

Perhaps you stub your cigarette out too aggressively because he’s looking at you again, watching you smudge the tip on the paving stones and dousing the butt of it in the light smattering of snow that clumps in the weeds. His breath comes out in thick, white puffs as he laughs.

“I think it’s out.”

“Yeah, thanks for the help, dude.” You reply a little too sharply, and he looks almost hurt, jumping back. It’s strange, you’re not sure why you’re pissed at him - he hasn’t done anything wrong from an outside perspective - but you’re angry at him. It feels like he doesn’t get it, like he doesn’t get you, and the idea of him not caring about you feels like the shattering of glass in your chest, reverberating through you. Maybe you can have a little crazy, as a treat; maybe you should lash out at him. You want to.

“You good?” He asks, semi-casually, like this is all just fun and games, and you snap.

“You think I’m pretty? Pretty, Parker? Really?” You’re spitting at him, suddenly, whatever embers of anger that were burning away in your chest being stoked into a fire, going up in an instant and charring your sternum. Peter’s blinking at you, surprised, and watching you unwrap yourself from his scarf.

“What? Where’s this coming from?” He’s all frowns, confused and thrown into the deep end, but you’re already too far in to pump the breaks, mind racing ahead as he fumbles with the now-loose ends of his scarf. “I was just trying to be nice, I’m sorry if-“

“Well, stop trying, cos it’s not gonna get you anywhere.” It’s running away from you now, like a freight train, the anger shooting through your body. Nice, nice, trying to be nice; it’s insane but you hate how comfortable he is, how happy, and now he has the audacity to try and make your life nicer. There’s a sour taste rising on your tongue, frustration that you let him get this close, and that you didn’t push him away earlier. If you’d cut him off sooner, it wouldn’t hurt as much to do it now. “I’m not your friend, dude.”

“You really don’t like me that much?” You can see it in his eyes, how he’s teetering on the verge of heartbreak, and it kills you. You want to shake him, yell, anything to get him to be angry at you, but he keeps quiet. He says your name, softly, like he would scare you away, and the tone of it makes you want to cry. “I really don’t know where this is coming from, I thought you were joking.”

“I can’t stand you.” The buzzing in your head swarms you, thickening the lies that you force through your teeth, viscous and sticking to your skin. “You’re nice, you’re happy - everything’s going just great for you, isn’t it?”

Peter’s frown intensifies, and he’s suddenly up, snow tangled in his hair and eyelashes, cupping his reddened cheeks in its hands. He takes a few steps towards you, and you instinctively shuffle back, slipping a little on the snow. Peter steadies you, and you tear yourself out of his grasp, his touch burning like poison. This is what you wanted, he’s upset now, but he still doesn’t rise to your level; not quite yelling back, because of course he won’t, but it’s certainly the loudest you’ve heard him. You want to keep pushing, make him finally break, so he’ll leave you alone.

“Well, hold on, you don’t know anything about my life, and you refuse to learn!” His words hurt, but his expression hurts more; not anger but something far worse. There’s genuine upset on his face, not far from frustrated tears, and you suddenly feel like you’ve committed some sort of heinous crime. “You can’t just assume shit about me, you barely know me!”

“Yeah, and you don’t know me either, man!”

“Because you won’t let me, you can’t blame me for that!”

“Sorry, I want to keep my life private.” You won’t listen, you won’t, you’ll block your ears up and close your eyes, and maybe then Peter will stop invading your every thought. This is your fault, one hundred per cent, and you know you’re being unreasonable, but you can’t get yourself to stop. You want to hate him more than anything, but it seems he’s refusing to go without a fight; even now he keeps trying to reach out to you, hands twitching at his sides, and you’re pushing him away. “This is a job, not a hang-out spot.”

“I’m sorry, I thought we were friends!”

“Well, we’re not.” Every single word you say, every movement you dare to make, produces some sort of pained reaction from him - an arrow struck into him by your own hands, like you’re some sick, evil Cupid. It’s killing you both, slowly, and you half expect him to start bleeding, staining the snow beneath you red. “We don’t know each other’s numbers, or addresses, or life stories, or secrets, or any of that crap. We’ve never even seen each other outside of the diner; we’re not friends, we work together and that’s it.”

It’s the truth. There are odd things you know, things he’s mentioned that you’ve picked up on - his favourite flavour of ice cream, how he likes his coffee, his major at college - but nothing to build an actual friendship off of. You know nearly nothing about this man, and he knows nearly nothing about you, but Peter is looking at you like you’ve just gutted him.

“There’s no need to yell at me about it.” His voice is small, wavering, nearly cracking, and it eats away at you, sitting in your throat in a knot. You can see his brain whirring away, turning cogs like always, trying to put the pieces together, trying to understand how you feel because of course he is, he’s Peter fucking Parker.

“It’s frustrating, dude, you do all this intimate shit - you call me pretty, and share a scarf with me, and save my life-“

“I’m sorry, what else was I supposed to do?”

“You avoid me for so long, and then all of a sudden you make me a special cannoli like nothing’s happened, and get me under mistletoe, and-“

“I didn’t do it on purpose!”

You hate that. You wanted it to be real, you can admit that now that the possibility of him wanting to kiss you has been robbed from you. If you could go back, you would do it, kiss him over and over and over until he got sick of you, and you can’t stand the fact that it’s taken you this long to accept that you like him like him. So you challenge him, pressing, your veins burning.

“Really, Peter, you just happened to not notice it was there?” That seems to do it, because he’s whirling to you, and there’s a brief flash of something hard and angry in his eyes.

“Yes! Because I wouldn’t kiss you in front of all our coworkers!” You don’t have time to think properly, because there’s the sweet spice of Campari in your blood, and your body is running entirely on instinct, words spitting themselves from you like sparks from a flint before you can process them.

“Oh, but you’d kiss me if we were alone?!”

“I’d want to!”

Even the city seems to fall silent, the whir of traffic falling to a whispered murmur, the snow thickening the footsteps, your breath stolen from you with three little words. He’s closer now than he’s ever been, you think, his features laid out before you like a painting on an easel, but his eyes are frantic, searching yours for something you’re not sure if you want him to find. And your hands are deciding that the only way to get him to stop looking is to grab that ugly scarf, tug him closer.

And you kiss him.

There are a few precious moments, where all you can sense is the feeling of his lips on yours, and then the sound comes back to Manhattan. There’s something powerful and desperate in the way you move against each other, his back falling against the wall and you pin him there, relishing in the small noise that you draw from the back of his throat. God, he’s pretty, how could you possibly have denied it this long? You think you'd be happy never leaving this moment, feeling the drum of his heartbeat, the swell of his breathing.

He kisses you back like he’s drinking you in, hands grabbing and pulling you closer, even though you’re touching every inch of him. There’s his fingers on your hips, then flitting to the back of your head, the other fisted in your coat, getting as much of your body against his that he can manage. He’s sewing himself into you, you think, the way his lips move on yours, like there’s nothing else he could possibly want in the world.

After an eternity, it’s over, the rage sapped from you and replaced by something far worse; the nausea of realising you’re gonna have to deal with consequences. You draw away from each other, slowly, panting with the passion of it, barely able to look each other in the eye. It’s almost grossly cliche, the pressing together of foreheads, the exhale of not-quite-regret but not-quite-pride either, more something akin to relief. When you finally build up the nerve to look at each other, you both cringe, stiff as boards, waiting for the other to say something, anything. A year passes.

“So.” Peter begins.

“So.” You echo, and you realise you can feel the cold again, biting at your cheeks. Then a few more agonising seconds of awkward silence, backlit by the party raging on inside. “Do we, uh, need to like… talk about that?”

“I’d prefer not to.”

“Me neither.”

“But we probably should.”

“We should.”

There’s another beat, accompanied by nervous, shaking laughter from the both of you. Then, Peter says your name, and you take a breath to gather the courage to look at him.

“Listen, I know you don’t want to mix work and your personal life.”

“I don’t.” You’re shaking your head and Peter tries to put his hands on your arms, attempting comfort, before he jerks away, putting distance between the two of you. Already, you miss him.

“I also don’t think it’s the best idea.” He looks oddly vulnerable, you’ve never really talked this intimately before, where there’s no jokes or teasing, just being open with each other. It’s as uncomfortable as you imagined it would be, but there’s no urge to flee. Like you’re safe with him. It’s weird. “I have… reasons to not want to get involved with anyone right now.”

“We have complicated lives, let’s keep it simple and say it was just a kiss. An accident.” It pains you as much to say it as it pains Peter to hear it, though he tries to hide it on his face. It wasn’t just a kiss, it had dredged up feelings from you that you hadn’t felt in years, but how could you possibly go back to work, back to seeing him only a few times a week if it was more than that? Across from you, Peter’s nodding reluctantly.

“It was just a kiss.” There, he’s cemented it now; set in stone for all of eternity, only spoken about between the two of you like some shameful secret. You should be ashamed really, you just lashed out at the guy for having the nerve to enjoy his job instead of joining you in your bitterness parade, only to have him up against the wall not a minute later. He hesitates for a moment, stuffing his hands in his pockets against the chill. “We’re friends, though?”

Weirdly, you don’t have to think before you answer.

“We’re getting there.” The smile that he gives in return is worth all of it, though; you don’t know how you ever thought you’d be fine with never seeing it again - motherfucker smiles like the sun came out for the first time, it was insane. “I don’t want things to be awkward.”

“Then they won’t be. It’ll be just like normal, like nothing happened.” If Peter can say it like it’s a sure thing, then you’re sold on it too - is this what trust is? Holy shit, you’ve been missing out. You realise, with horror, that you’re smiling back at him as he pushes the snow around with the toe of his shoe, drawing patterns. “Believe me, I want to keep this job, it’s way funner than my other one.”

“You have another job?”

“Kinda- see, this is why we need to talk more!”

“Alright, don’t rub it in.” You’re laughing, you just had the most intense kiss of your life and now you’re giggling away like an idiot - what’s next, twirling your hair and kicking your feet at the counter? You’re insufferable.

“How about we ask each other one question? Baby steps.”

“And you won’t lie? Like about your name tag?”

“We have to tell the truth. Promise?”

“Okay, I promise.” It’s good now, you can breathe again, like things are starting to feel back to normal as you lock pinkies and spit into the snow. He’s all excited and giddy, and it’s infecting you, the two of you sharing breathless, shy laughter.

“Me first - who got you this stupid ass scarf?” It really is a hideous thing, a horrid vomit of colours and an awful texture, like it had been washed in needles. Peter chuckles softly, something melting in his expression as he fidgets with the ends of it, fingers raw with the cold. The knit is fraying at the edges, the wool sticking out in odd directions, and there was a faint aroma of old cologne impacted into the fibres, mixing with the melting snowflakes.

“My Uncle Ben.” He says, like it’s a special secret, like it’s some precious pearl he’s presenting to you from an oyster. It makes it feel like you’re opening a Christmas present, as if this reveal of an uncle was the most exciting thing that’s ever happened to you.

“Well, you tell your Uncle Ben that he needs to get you a cuter scarf.” It takes a millisecond, but he laughs, the sound of it warming you through and ringing your bones. It’s softer, but it’s like syrup, like treacle, like Campari at Christmas. You brace, taking a deep breath, and outstretching your arms. “My turn.”

Peter thinks about it for a moment, and the world sludges by as he seemingly runs through a list of questions he wants to ask.

“Why do you keep work separate from the rest of your life?” Goddamn, that’s a doozy; you’d think he’d keep things simple and start out with an easy one, but apparently not. You’re fumbling for an answer almost instantly.

“It’s just- it’s complicated. There was all that shit with the fire, and, uh…” This whole ‘no lying’ thing was the biggest mistake you’ve ever made - bigger than making out with your coworker against the gross wall in the back alley, for sure. You feel like you’re up on your haunches again, fighting the urge to just start running, but you manage to find a happy balance between truth and comfort. “I like my free time being free, that’s all.”

“That’s it?” He’s raising an eyebrow at you, like he doesn’t believe you, and he really shouldn’t; you’ve not entirely given him many reasons to.

“No follow-up questions.” You’re back in this comfort zone again, of snapping at him and making jokes, and it’s a fight to get yourself to tone it down.“You can get one a day, and that’s it.”

“Oh, how generous.” He rolls his eyes, and you’re smiling again, like some silly schoolkid who just got vaguely acknowledged by their crush. It’s disgusting. “You’re mean as hell, sometimes.”

He’s right, you’ve basically spent the last couple of months working with him teasing him and trying to get him to hate your job as much as you do. Your smile falters, and you try not to hate how good-hearted he is, on top of everything else; you suppose he just highlights your own insecurities

“Ah, you’re just better than me and I’m jealous about it - I’ll stop bullying you, I swear. I’m sorry, dude.” This seems to please him enough, and the vice around you lessens. Eventually, you breathe, and you’re able to coax yourself into saying more, even though it feels like you’re Sisyphus pushing his boulder up the hill, because you owe him that much.

“When the fire happened, all of my coworkers could have been hurt or something, and I guess I’m just trying to protect myself from being upset if they did. It’s… selfish and stupid.”

It’s not the whole story, but it was enough of an answer for Peter, and he seems satisfied. You don’t have to tell him the rest, at least, about you. But you didn’t want to think about that right now, not when you were finally enjoying yourself.

Even though you’re certain you saw your cigarette go out, you still glance at the rooster ashtray, looking for a wisp of smoke - just to make double sure. Peter, thank God, looks you up and down, processing what you said, and then nods.

“It’s not selfish or stupid, I- I get it, I do.”

“Oh, yeah? Why?”

“No follow-up questions.” This Goddamn asshole, this fucking guy; you’ve been thwarted by that classic Parker wit once again. You’d be lying if you weren’t a little impressed.

“You got me, Parker.” He’s doing that smug thing he does again, the same look he gave you when he sussed out your fake smoking breaks. You’re both kicking your shoes against the doorstep, stamping the snow out of the treads in preparation of rejoining the party, having heard Sal calling for the both of you through the door - something about Dirty Dancing. Oh God, not again. Looks like your rooster companion might be gaining some company.

“You’re good at this. You catch your Uncle Ben out like this with that mouth?”

“I’m legally not allowed to answer that.” He has his hand on the door handle, taller than usual on the doorstep, and he’s bathed in the glaring light that overlooks the alleyway. He’s still stupidly pretty. “You should probably go to therapy about the fire, though.”

“Shit’s expensive, dude.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice.”

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sambucksteven · 4 years ago

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Bucky & the Shield

Let’s explore Bucky and understand his obsession with the shield.

Note: I wrote this before ep 5... so I’m not going to change some of the wording even though it’s now canon.

Okay. THERE IS A LOT TO UNPACK so lets start with a quick summary:

As we all know... Bucky has been fighting for a long time as a young soldier in the 40s and as the Winter Soldier for +70 years. Thanks to Steve it finally comes to an end in the Winter Soldier...

Unfortunately, Bucky’s freedom is short-lived and just two years later it takes a sharp turn when he’s framed by Zemo. Now he has to fight again.

*inhales deeply* He gets his arm shot off by Tony... and T’Challa (rip chadwick. we miss you.) takes him in and helps him in Wakanda. Bro chills out in a freezer for a couple months and comes out feeling… “good.” He lives in Wakanda for 2 years.

A month before Thanos showed up with his annoying purple ass, Bucky finally got his mind back (ty shuri and ayo) which we see in ep 4.

Then after the battle with Thanos which to him is just one day, his mf best friend leaves him with a small heads up. Bucky puts on his brave face, that pained smile he always does throughout the mcu, and lets his friend go.

This is where things get thrown off for Bucky...

Steve was the man who saved his life, maybe even more that Wakanda if you think about it.

The guy who believed in all the goodness buried inside Bucky, despite him being a Hydra assassin that murdered Tony’s parents and a sitting US president, is now gone. Steve was all Bucky had left in the world (idk the current status of Rebecca, Bucky’s sister, but we will ignore this for now).

Absolutely NO ONE trusted or believed in Bucky like Steve did. In CW, Bucky says just once:

“I wasn’t in Vienna I don’t do that anymore.”

...and Steve is straight up like: ‘okay bestie! let’s get you outta here!’

Even though there is literally ‘photograph evidence’ of Bucky in Vienna that may prove otherwise. Steve took his word for it without a second thought. Like Steve believed in Bucky so damn much.

And Bucky is consistently like ‘plz stop. im the worst. don’t believe in me’:

Steve: “You pulled me from the river. Why?”

Bucky: “I don’t know.”

Bucky damn well knows why but how can he live up to the idealistic view that Steve holds for him? He’s been the WS longer than he has been Bucky. So he doesn’t really know who he is or this guy Steve thinks he is. He pushes Steve away because he doesn’t want to disappoint him.

Regardless, Bucky strives for it... to be the man Steve believes him to be. Steve is his moral compass. He is/was his guide in re-discovering who he is and once was. Steve was really great at reminding Bucky that he is not the WS and that he was controlled:

Bucky: “I don’t know if I’m worth all this, Steve.”

Steve: “What you did all those years... it wasn’t you. You didn’t have a choice.”

Bucky: “I know... but I did it.”

(This is why I don’t like the therapist because why does he have to make amends when it wasn’t his fault.)

Now that Steve is gone... what does he do now?

He doesn’t know who he is anymore. He’s trying to fit the puzzle piece that is his past trauma into who he is.

Another option is accepting it and become someone new. But that someone new might be different from the person Steve hoped he would be. Regardless of the path, it’s easier said than done. Without Steve, his anchor, he struggles, conflicted between idealism and evolution.

Obviously we go the least painful route, which of course isn’t acceptance. So, he starts to become Steve. Maybe if he does he can become... someone that isn’t... himself. (*ugly cries* Get him a new mf therapist pls). He channels Steve and gets Steve’s haircut from WS, uses his notebook, and listens to his music...

But there is something Zemo said in ep 4 that is important to note:

Zemo: “There has never been another Steve Rogers, has there?.”

I think this is so vital to TFATWS. Not only is it about race and trauma, its also about identity. When you’re thrown into a new chaotic situation, you are forced to make decisions that will change who you are.

Like Sam giving up the shield... He doesn’t want to be Steve so he gives it up while Bucky who was stripped of his identity as the WS wants the shield back so that he can protect Steve’s idealism and the idealistic view Steve had of him. Bucky takes it upon himself to protect the shield because if there is any way for him to show his gratitude for Steve saving his life, its to protect his legacy.

Bucky is guilt-ridden, sad, and trying to move on. However moving forward proves difficult being a man out of time and you know… killing people as an assassin. The one person that believed in him when no one else did is gone. Now he is pushing away Sam... until the shield was given to Walker. He has no ties to anyone or anything which is why I believe he is so reckless.

Now what concerns me is that Bucky is probably going to do whatever it takes to rip it from Walker. He wants to beat Walker’s ass and take the shield.

Bucky is desperate, trying to grasp onto some semblance of himself. He lost Steve, his final attachment to his former self. So, seeing Walker with Sam’s shield and the rise of super soldiers has him acting way out of line. Sam points this out in ep 3 when Bucky wants to break Zemo out of prison.

But that’s how desperate he is. That’s how much the ‘Shield’ means to him. Steve saved his life just as much as Wakanda did, if not more. He wants to protect and preserve Steve’s legacy now. That’s his sole purpose. However, now he faces the consequences of his actions.

But Bucky still will do anything to be someone both Sam and Steve would be proud of. Like even though he shouldn’t have interfered with the Dora as Ayo warned in ep 4, he does because Sam said they should do something:

*John getting ass handed to him*

Sam: “We should do something.”

Bucky: “Looking strong, John.”

Sam in a disappointed tone: “Bucky…”

So Bucky intervenes.

Now that we have episode 5. It just proves my point further — the striving to meet Steve’s idealistic expectations.

Bucky: “So when you retired it. It made me feel like I had nothing left. Made me question everything. You, Steve, me. You know I got his uh… I’ve got his book. And uh… I just figured if it worked for him then it’s work for me.”

Sam: “I understand man. But Steve is gone. And this might be a surprise, but it doesn’t matter what Steve thought. You gotta stop looking to other people to tell you who you are.”

That is what Bucky needs to hear. He needs to accept who he is and stop trying to become what everyone else wants/expects him to be. This allows him to finally break free and finally become a hero in episode 6.

Thanks for reading! As always, would love some feedback!

Back to Masterlist

gif credit: 1 2 3 4

#bucky barnes #sam wilson #tfatws #marvel #captain america #falcon #winter soldier #white wolf #character study #sebastian stan #fatws #james buchanan barnes #mcu #marvel studios #marvel cinematic universe #the falcon and the winter soldier #falcon and the winter soldier #captain america and the winter soldier

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peachiikawa · 4 years ago

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Fly | Route Selected: S. Daichi

a/n: thank you all for being so patient with me. finally, here is the long awaited daichi route. hope you all enjoy!

genre: mafia au

warnings: blood, reader getting hurt, guns, violence

word count: 2.3k

Fly Masterlist

“I choose you”

Your eyes locked with daichi

And daichi stared into yours trying to figure you out

“Are you sure?”

You nodded your head and held your ground

“Im sure”

He felt his eyes soften for a moment at the determination in your eyes before hardening again

“Fine. Everyone else, go home. Youre with me then. Lets go”

Daichi called for a car and drove you home

The silence between the two of you was only filled with the soft sound of a piano playing on the radio

The ride was finally over after about twenty minutes

“I’ll come get you tomorrow morning. Youll be working as an intern now so dress accordingly”

With that he left and you felt like you could breathe again

Just what had you gotten yourself into?

As he said he was at your house in the morning in a car that looked just a tad too expensive

You gulped before taking your first step towards him

“Good morning, Daichi”

He just nodded at you as you got into the car

The drive was once again silent

You looked over at the man behind the wheel and noticed how...formal he looked

Suit, straight back, both hands on the wheel

You felt yourself naturally adjusting yourself to mirror his mannerisms

He stole some glances at you without you noticing and felt his eyes soften upon seeing how nervous you looked

As soon as you stepped into the building you could feel the professional atmosphere

The endless windows and white walls gave off a chilling feeling

You only came back to reality when Daichi gently nudged your back

“I dont have all day. Hurry up and move”

The harshness of his words were the opposite of his touch but they still hurt nonetheless

You nodded your head and kept walking, trying to keep up with his quick stride

You followed him into an office as he took a seat behind the wooden desk

“This will be brief so don’t feel the need to sit”

Your eyes followed his every move as he organized his desk that was already pretty organized with stacks of papers

Daichi went on about your duties here but you honestly werent listening

You were a bit overwhelmed from the unfamiliar building you were in that you forgot about the man in front of you

Up until your eyes landed on the nameplate that sat on his desk

Sawamura Daichi, CEO

Without even knowing it, your eyebrows furrowed in confusion

Just who did you get yourself involved with?

Daichi finally noticed that his conversation with you wasnt going anywhere

“Hey. Are you even listening to me?”

You snapped out of it and shook your head

“Im listening!”

He just sighed and repeated everything he just said again

“Whatever. Just listen because this will be the last time i say this. Youll be working here at Sawamura Inc from now on as an intern. Your fellow interns are Hinata and Kageyama so feel free to ask them questions if you have any. You can leave now. I’ll come get you at the end of the day”

You nodded your head and started your day

Kageyama helped you the most in learning the ropes, you didnt see much of hinata. it was almost as if he was avoiding you

“Ok...so these files go here?”

He nodded his head

“Yeah i think you got it down now. If you need me ill be organizing some things for suga”

The rest of the day went on slowly until finally seven oclock hit

You could hear the faint sound of footsteps approaching you

“Lets go”

Daichi wasted no time in leaving

You quickly put down the rest of the papers you needed to organize and followed him out

The next couple weeks were like clockwork

Almost exactly the same as the day before

And no matter how hard you tried to get to know the man who took you to and from work he wouldnt budge

The only thing you ever got out of him were short replies and head nods

Did he really not like you that much?

But something you noticed every morning and every evening was the light sound of a piano playing from the radio

“Do you like the piano daichi?”

You werent even sure youd get an answer out of him

But he must if he listened to it everyday

You saw his hands lightly grip the steering wheel tighter before loosening, a ghost of a smile appearing on his lips

Your eyes widened when you saw it

In your two weeks together...youd never seen him give a look like this

Like he...enjoyed life

Like he was happy

“Yeah...its okay”

But just as fast as it appeared on his face, it quickly disappeared

Who knew that the stoic man next to you could make expressions like that

Almost made your heart race

“Do you play?”

Silence fell upon the both of you before you heard him let out a sigh

“No”

And now we’re back to stage one when you finally though you were getting more than one word answers

What could you do to make him see you?

This question played in your head as you filed away some papers for Asahi with Hinata

It was the first time youd done something with him but from what youve seen kageyama just calls him an idiot all the time and hits him

Also from what youve heard hinatas been with the sawamuras for a while so maybe he has some insight

“Hey hinata, can i ask you a question?”

He kept quiet so you took that as permission

“Do you know why daichi likes listening to the piano so much?”

That caused him to stop

“If he hasnt told you then dont ask me”

Youd be lying if you said that didnt make you more intrigued so naturally you did some digging

And eventually you stumbled upon an article from no more than five years ago

It told the tale of a young piano prodigy that had chosen to study music at the university of music and performing arts in vienna

And that piano prodigy was the now the distant leader of the Karasuno Mafia

You wonder what happened to him, what the story was behind his change in career path

The next day you decided that if you wanted to learn more about him then asking the questions would help

“Good afternoon daichi!”

You smiled at him as you delivered some paperwork to him

“Morning…”

You set the small stack down on his desk in front of him

“These are the papers for the closing on the Inarizaki deal”

He picked them up and quickly skimmed it

“Okay, thank you. You may go now”

When you didnt move he looked back up

“Do you have something else for me?”

He saw the way you fidgeted with the tips of your fingers and his eyes softened for just a moment

“Would you like to have lunch with me?”

He knew that he should say no

That he shouldnt let you in

“Sure”

How harmful could one lunch possibly be

Little did daichi know he was about to be interrogated

“--no i dont know who my favorite superhero is”

This was probably the tenth question youve asked and he wished you would stop

But he didnt know how to tell you no

Not when you were asking genuine questions

He thought it was kind of nice to be talking to someone normal again

Not someone who was involved with the mafia

But someone who was just...ordinary

“Ok ok..one last question”

He smiled softly

You felt your breath hitch after him showing you that gentle smile

“Go ahead”

The way you talked to him with no filter was refreshing

So he wasnt expecting the next question really at all

“I came across an article the other day about this boy who loved playing the piano,”

Daichis heart almost stopped

“Why did you stop playing daichi?”

‘Because my father made me’

He clenched his fist, crumpling the napkin inside of it

“I just got bored of it”

His reply came out through gritted teeth and you knew he was lying

You gently laid your hand on top of his until you felt it relaxing under you

“Well, no matter the reason, I hope that someday ill be lucky enough to hear you play”

His heart melted

The thought of playing again is something hes always wanted

But his father wouldnt let him

And left a permanent reminder on him about it

“That probably wont ever happen so dont get your hopes up. Let’s get back to the office, lunch is over”

And just like that he was back to being cold towards you just when you thought you were making progress

A couple weeks go by and it seems like daichis pushed you out of his life all over again

So much so that suga was the one giving you assignments from daichi where daichi used to just tell you himself

“Hey, hinata, kageyama and y/n! Daichi wants you guys to go make some copies from the store around the corner. Printer is jammed here and we need to get those documents ASAP”

You all nodded your heads and headed out

You were really too caught up in your own thoughts to be thinking about your surroundings

Had you really crossed a line that day?

You just wanted to figure out the real daichi

Because to you, the real daichi had his walls up 24/7 but behind those walls was a gentle smile and just a guy who wanted nothing more than to just live a normal life

So you didnt notice when hinata and kageyama stopped causing you to run into their backs

“Why did you guys-”

Hinata held a protective arm out in front of you

“What are you doing here, mad dog?”

The boy you assumed was ‘mad dog’ pushed himself off of wall he was leaning against

“Boss wanted me to fetch something”

His eyes locked onto your form

“And im here to collect”

This sent chills down your back

What was he going to do for you?

Who was his boss?

Your mind was running a mile a minute

“y/n you need to run”

Hinata’s voice brought you back to reality

“What?”

Hinata’s eyes never left the man in front of him

“Kageyama and i will take care of him. You need to get back to the office. Now!”

You sprinted as soon as hinata yelled for you to leave

‘Theyll be alright, right? They handle stuff like this all the time’

But you came to an abrupt halt at the sound of a gun going off

‘Fuck my life’

You turned back around help in any way you could

Only to come upon an unconscious kageyama and bleeding hinata

“You fucking idiot! Whyd you come back?!”

Meanwhile mad dog approached you and placed his hand under your chin

“You just made my job a whole lot easier”

Before you could even scream a piece of cloth was placed over your mouth and your vision went black

“Give your boss a message for me, carrot top. Tell him that if he wants his intern back he has to come get them himself”

Hinata gritted his teeth before passing out himself

Suga found them not too long after that

And after hinata told daichi what had happened...he was livid

He was supposed to protect you

To make sure that you stayed safe

And he was too weak to do it

Too afraid of what his father would have done if he found out that he was fond of a random person they picked up from the streets that had no ties to them

Afraid of what his father would have done to you

He clenched his jaw and let out a grunt as he punched the wall next to him

But fuck that

He knew that in this moment he needed to get you back right now

The thought of you being injured due to his own incompetence scared him more than what his father might ever do to him

So he was off

“When will they wake up?”

“Theyve been out forever”

“Dude its only been like three hours of course theyre still out”

The voices around you became clear as you regained consciousness

“Oh~ looks like theyre finally awake”

“Yeah probably because you wouldnt shut up”

Standing in front of you was a group of men you had only seen in brief pictures from the reports you made for daichi

‘Seijoh’

From what you remember their boss is a major flirt and his right hand man keeps him humble

Mad dog was sitting off in the corner next to a brown haired man who just kept staring at you…’creepy’

You flinched as the one you recognized as their boss reached a hand out towards you

“Aww dont be scared! I promise i wont hurt you”

He bent down to your level with a hand on your shoulder and leaned in to the point that his breath tickled your ear

“Though im not too sure that some of the others here wont. So be good for me, okay y/n?”

You were scared out of your mind

But you were not going to let this guy get into your head

So you did what any reasonable person would do

You pulled your head back and headbutted him in the forehead

He stumbled back a bit

“Stay the fuck away from me”

Oikawa held his head and gave you a nasty glare

“Iwa take care of them”

Everyone filed out till it was just you and the spiky hair man in front of you

“Nothing against you, just doing what the boss said. Plus you could have just laid low but you had to provoke him”

Daichi wasted no time in getting to seijohs building

And as soon as oikawa heard he was in the building he sent for him

“Welcome daichi! What an unexpected surprise!”

Daichi always hated the sound of oikawas jovial voice

How fake it sounded

“Just give me y/n back”

Oikawa just shook his head

“Never were a fan of small talk were you daichi? Okay, since youre just dying to see them ill bring them in now”

Daichi turned around and reeled at what he saw

Bruised and battered as you were set down onto the ground

“You fucking bastard”

Daichi clenched his jaw

He was at a loss of words for the sight in front of him

But he knew he had to get you out of here

So he scooped you up into his arms and headed for the door

But before leaving he stopped and spoke into his earpiece

“Get them”

And with that he left as a war ensued between the two gangs

Beep beep

The sound of your heart monitor brought you back to the land of the living

And next to you was a passed out daichi

You slowly felt around your bed before hitting the call button for your nurse

And as soon as you did daichi jumped up from his seat at the sound of footsteps approaching

You reached out and put your hand on his to get his attention and smiled at him

He sat back down and let the nurses tend to you, his gaze never leaving your body

“You should be able to leave within the next day or two. Rest up mx. l/n”

The nurse then left your room and left the two of you alone

You locked eyes with him before looking down at his hand and seeing how discolored it was

He noticed your eyes widen and tried to hide his hand once he realized what you were looking at

“Daichi! You need to take better care of yourself!”

You sat up from your bed and called a nurse to get a basic first aid kit

“Im fine y/n. You need to rest”

“Like hell youre fine! Daichi your hand is hurt. Please just let me fix it for you”

But before you could apply the bandages you hand your hand in his

“It cant be fixed y/n. This hand doesnt feel anything”

You looked up at him with confused eyes

“Its the reason i dont play anymore. My father crushed it a few years back so i wouldnt even think about playing. Said it was time i stopped playing with useless things”

The grip on your hand tightened a bit before slowly loosening

But you just gently squeezed it

“Well, even if your hand is ‘useless’ id still feel better if youd let me wrap it. Your hand is still a part of you and it can still bring so much joy into your life as well as those around you. You just have to have the courage to seize what you want.”

‘The courage to seize what I want’

Your words played out in his head over and over again

He made a promise to himself that day

That one day, you two would be happily together

No matter how hard this path may be

He was going to seize his happiness

Tag List:

@the-ironic-me @multisun @my-mass-hysteria @sugawsites @youbloodylegendyoudidit @sinthxy @celamoon @tinymouth @fait-de-fleurs @tsukifanbase @69owo @laglyssage @hearteyeskags @ntngann @shnnn @fukuro-dani-ace

#daichi x reader #sawamura x reader #sawamura daichi #sawamura daichi x you #sawamura daichi x reader #daichi hcs #daichi x y/n #haikyuu!!#haikyuu imagines #haikyuu!! x reader #daichi sawamura #daichi sawamura x reader #haikyu x reader #tw blood #tw guns #tw violence

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notafraidofredyellowandblue · 4 years ago

Text

Flake interview 2020-01

Not a new interview, but relatively recent, Flake with "Der Standard" 2020-01 before an appearance of Flake in Vienna (author Stefan Weiss), don't think there's a translation on the website, so here's a shot..:

Rammstein keyboardist Flake: "The reunification was a mess"

Christian "Flake" Lorenz hits the keys not only as a keyboardist, but also as an author. A conversation about controversial views on the GDR, fireworks and climate protection

At Rammstein he is the "keyfucker" - GDR jargon for keyboard players. His real name is Christian Lorenz, but he has been calling himself "Flake", pronounced in German, of course, since his youth. For a quarter of a century, the native of East Berlin has been the alien in the German rock band, the thin freak among the strong musclemen. In the meantime, Flake also hits the keys as an author: In "An was ich mich so erinnern kann" (2015) he wrote down his GDR experiences, followed in 2017 with "Heute hat die Welt Geburtstag", a literary autobiography about Rammstein. On March 26, Flake will come to Vienna's Globe Theater for a reading.

STANDARD: We are currently celebrating 30 years of 'Die Wende' *1). Your joy is limited, as one knows. How do you perceive the anniversary?

Flake: 'Die Wende' and reunification of Germany have to be separated. I experienced the change as a punk at the time. The ossified old concrete headframe of the GDR Politburo was also our enemy. We didn't want this idiotic regime anymore and we fought to loosen it up. When the wall came down, we didn't know what to do with the freedom we suddenly had. But then began an incredibly exciting time in which we tried to develop professionally, politically and musically in every direction.

STANDARD: And then came the reunification.

Flake: A lot went wrong from then on. We were annexed as a useless country, entire biographies were declared worthless, companies were closed so that the western companies could expand. We have been reset to such an extent that resentment and disappointment have built that have persisted until now. By and large, the reunification in this form was a mess.

STANDARD: If you look at Germany's east today, right-wing populism has recently had great political success there. A legacy of reunification?

Flake: Many people are disappointed because certain promises have not been fulfilled. But they already had the political left in their lives, now they are trying it with the right. Personally, I cannot understand how one can vote for the AfD *2). But those who do are doing it in large part in protest against the mainstream parties. It is clear that the AfD cannot meet expectations either. If the AfD were to rule, many people would notice very quickly that it is not getting better, but worse.

STANDARD: You grew up in the East Berlin punk scene. What are the differences between the East and West punks?

Flake: There was a fundamental difference: the Ostpunks didn't need any money because life was absurdly cheap, rent around 25 marks. The koney you made from one concert lasted over a month. So you could make the music you wanted to make and not just the music that sells well. Absurdly enough, it made us very free.

STANDARD: There were also IM Stasi informers among your band colleagues at the time (IM: unofficial employee, note). Aren't you angry with the repressive surveillance state of the GDR?

Flake: I'm not angry with IM informers in the bands. Because their IM status often made it possible for the bands to exist at all. The Stasi didn't lock up its own people. The best example of this is the GDR band 'Die Firma'. It was founded by IM informers. The gag was that 'Die Firma' ('The Company') was actually a synonym for "Stasi". Covered by the Stasi, they then sang anti-subversive texts. Almost brilliant really.

STANDARD: Do you understand when it is said that the GDR was an injustice state and that Stasi repression was a kind of terror?

Flake: I can understand it when people say that who have experienced it and suffered from it. But personally, I can't say that the whole state was bad. I don't want to know how many innocent people have been or are being imprisoned and monitored in the West. I do not find the generalization of the "unjust state" okay.

STANDARD: Would Rammstein have been conceivable in the GDR?

Flake: We wouldn't have founded a band like Rammstein within the GDR because it would have been the wrong answer to this system. We founded Rammstein because we noticed that our punk music wasn't getting anywhere in the West. It took harder stuff.

STANDARD: You have retained a kind of socialism within the band. Nevertheless, Rammstein is a millionaire company. Were there moments when you thought: The money could not only destroy our character but also the band?

Flake: Rammstein is a company where money fluctuates a lot. We have a lot of employees, we buy tons of pyrotechnics, we have a huge stage, costumes, our own electricity network, we shoot extremely complex videos. The money that remains private can actually hardly harm us, because it is so limited. We really have to make sure that the plus-minus calculation works out.

STANDARD: In your book "Heute hat die Welt Geburtstag" you describe the 25 years of Rammstein as a long partnership: It has become calmer in bed, but you understand each other blindly. Is divorce even an option?

Flake: Divorce is definitely not an issue. It's like a very long marriage: You don't even think about divorce anymore.

STANDARD: In the midst of tough muscle men, you were always the figure that breaks everything, especially in the interaction with singer Til Lindemann, who sometimes roasts you on stage like a cockroach. It looks like the traditional comedian constellation white clown and stupid August, Laurel and Hardy with SM components. How important is that to the show?

Flake: We developed that more by accident. We never made it up: you are the strong one, I am the weak one. At our first concerts we always stood around very haphazardly, then we started pushing and provoking each other. When I watch a normal heavy metal band I get bored easily. We always have something going on.

STANDARD: Do you sometimes long for a role change at Rammstein? To be the strong one for once?

Flake: Nah, I have other worries. With those couple of concerts, I can handle my role well enough.

STANDARD: Can you even enjoy appearances or does that only come afterwards? After all, a Rammstein show is precision work.

Falke: What do you mean enjoy? I enjoy when everything runs smooth and everything works like a machine. There are good and bad concerts, at the good ones we take off like an airplane.

STANDARD: Rammstein mixes black romanticism with black humor. You yourself love the blues, which often sails in similar waters. Can you draw joy out of melancholy?

Flake: The blues is the best example of this. Sadness and comfort go hand in hand. All of popular music arose from a problem of the respective author. This is exactly what you want to hear when you are not feeling well yourself. During puberty you normally don't want to hear "Walking on Sunshine" either.

STANDARD: Traditionally, there is also joy in melancholy and morbidity in Vienna. Is that the Eastern European impact?

Flake: Slavic music is very melancholic, on the other hand the Goth culture comes from the west. So I wouldn't really pinpoint that to anything local.

STANDARD: It is said that Rammstein did more to preserve the German language than all the Goethe Institutes put together. Are you proud of that?

Flake: Yeah. But the interesting thing is that we are regarded more highly abroad than in our own country. In Germany there is a lot of ranting: We are dull and foolish about Germany - complete nonsense.

STANDARD: Rammstein has always been compared to the totalitarian parody band Laibach. They recently played in North Korea with the aim of appearing subversive. Is something like that conceivable for Rammstein?

Flake: We'd have to think very carefully about what we want and why we want it. If that were to help someone, okay - but only to be able to say, "We're subversive now," that's not an argument.

STANDARD: For reasons of climate protection, there is an increasing number of missile bans. A topic for Rammstein?

Flake: We played a concert in Chicago once. The local fire protection was so rigorous that we shouldn't even have lit a match. Complete ban on pyro. We went on stage and said: either we are leaving because we are not allowed to make a fire here, or we are playing without. The audience wanted the latter, of course. And it became one of our best shows. You have to weigh it up a bit: should you stop all things like a Rammstein show for climate reasons? But I totally understand that there shouldn't be any more bangs on New Year's Eve. I was in Vienna once at the turn of the year, and there was relatively little banging. I thought that was good. Berlin is one of the most terrifying cities on New Year's Eve. There it's pure aggression.

Notes:

*1) i kept 'Die Wende' as the term for the political transformation in east germany, not sure what the official english phrase is

*2) AfD, short for 'Alternative für Deutschland' or 'Alternative for Germany' is a right-wing populist political party, often characterized as far-right, known for its opposition to the European Union and immigration

#flake interview #rammstein interview #interview 2020 #again with the marriage analogy #😊#rammstein #flake lorenz

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duckiewashere · 4 years ago

Note

I'm interested

So Wanderer Ranboo is more of a backstory headcanon AU thing than anything

A personal hc of mine is that before he stumbled into L’manburg he was just some wandering guy without a stable home and no real need for writing stuff down in the memory books

Just something about Since i Saw Vienna’s lines

“Ill pick up my hiking boots when i am ready and ill put down my roots when im dead”

And also some other ones make me just think about another headcannon of mine that most of Ranboo’s belongings are things that he’s been given from other people (like a suit from tubbo and a warm cloak from techno, the flower he gave to Tommy etc.)

The idea of Ranboo being self conscious about how he doesnt have as much of a connection with l’manburg that his new friends did, him feeling a little off about how he doesnt have much of a presence in l’manburg and later snowchester because most of his personality and things are things he’s picked up from others (him picking up Techno’s speech habbits and so on)

“My boots are from airports.

My backpack’s from friends.

Im not a man of substance and so ill pretend to be,

A wanderer, wondering”

“... Its been sixty weeks since i saw Vienna”

#duck’s funny box #ranboo au #Wanderer!AU

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har-rison-s · 5 years ago

Text

loving you

request: omg nsfw stan x reader where his wife (the reader) has been away on a business trip or something for her job (you can decide) and she comes home to stan and he’s all needy and clingy with her and just wants to make love to her bc he missed her ASKDKEXJ IM SOFT I-

A/N: Shdhfsbdfhdsb hello. We about to do this. I'm soft, too ahsbdfahshdshah. I sure hope it's good what I'll have written. I'm nervous about writing this. This is a first for me in some ways. I'm watching the Corpse Bride while I write. Fitting, I know. But it's one of my favourites and, since it's the 9th of halloween, what better cartoon to watch if I've already watched Coraline twice and the Nightmare Before Christmas? Three more horror cartoons to go! Happy reading!

This gon' be hot and steamy!

warnings: smut :)

IT masterlist

heaven masterlist

main masterlist

gif credit goes to owner, which isn't me!

Stanley had missed her a lot. Y/N's work trip to Europe had dragged much too long for his liking. He was so ready to see her again and wrap her between the white bed sheets, along with his love and his lust and affection.

He had waited for her at the airport and greeted her with flowers, the romantic. She had nothing against it, in fact, Y/N loves cliché things such as flowers and chocolates in heart-shaped boxes and rose petals and candles… She embraced him tightly, and he spun her like a ballerina in his arms. Her face was covered with his tender, quick kisses and she had smiled, blushing as deep a red color as the roses he brought her.

Sitting in their car, Stanley was craving the feeling, the touch of her so bad, he'd gladly let her sit in his lap. But that would be against many rules of driving and steering the wheel. Screw rules, right? No, Y/N wouldn't have allowed it.

So Stan settled for his hand on her thigh for the car ride. She told him about her work trip to Europe, told him how romantic it'd be to go to Paris together, walk the streets of Venice, visit Vienna's opera house. Stanley listened and even put her words in the back of his mind as notes for later anniversary, Christmas and birthday gifts.

But Y/N noticed his hand was making bold moves on her thigh. His hold was different from his previous ones, firstly, much more grabbing. She could feel it in only the tip of his fingers, his intentions and thoughts. How the digits were pressing deeper in her skin than usual. He was never bold, he was always gentle and careful, and she loved that about Stanley. This feeling she got from his hand now was exciting her, though.

She glanced over at Stanley when his hand grasped closer to her crotch. She was only wearing a dress and his hand would soon discover her underwear. Due to comfort reasons, Y/N chose to wear her favorite pair on her return day. Soft pink, they were. Hugging her bum and hip area perfectly. That sight Stanley about to behold in a few minutes time.

Stanley left the car with Y/N's bags in his hold in a hurry. And when the door was open and the bags were on the floor, Stanley couldn't hold himself back any longer. Y/N didn't wish he would have for a second.

The couple reached their bedroom in time before all clothes were thrown off and skins marked completely, though the competition was intense. Just as their everlasting feelings for each other.

Y/N hadn't seen such an eager and lustful side of Stanley in their years of marriage. The wedding night was very similar, but not the same in excitement, she must admit. This is more than marital love, this feels more than that.

Stanley's fingers are digging small holes into the inner thighs of his wife and his lips are covering any inch of her they can get to. His pants are already gone, as well as his jacket, and Y/N's still in her dress. They're moving against each other, the movements synchronised by some inner rhythms only love can create. Y/N can already feel the length and width of how eager her husband is and she moans at just the thought of what's to happen.

She's about to have an introduction because Stanley finally reaches beyond the limits of her pink underwear. Y/N sighs, gladness spreading over her face and through the body, and her grasp tightens around Stanley's arms.

“You've… no idea how much I've missed you.” Stanley tells Y/N. His hands spread her legs wider, as well as her labia lips. Stanley's digits are soft against her skin, her very soft, velvety skin.

Y/N moans, loud and whining. Or is it…? Craving. Longing. Hunger, you might as well. Her head presses into the pillow. “Show me.” She pants to Stanley who keeps on his sweet torture on her clit as teasing and enjoyable for both as possible. “Show me now.”

“I wouldn't hold it in for the world, baby-love.” Stanley tells her in response. They both giggle, Stan realises he's made an accidental joke.

Y/N pushes Stanley off her gently, with her little hands, and sits up on her knees on the bed. Stanley's hands reach for her waist while she tries to get her dress off.

The man is in complete awe watching her. His eyes only see her and he thinks he'll see only her for the rest of his life. She's in front of him and shining like an angel. There might as well be a light blasting from behind her.

Her pink underwear is the only garment she wears. Stanley's eyes fall upon her breasts, her stomach, her neck, her arms, her legs… There's so much for him to see, too much almost. God, the things he would do to her now and the following hours and nights and days… He's got too many thoughts and options to choose from.

His wife senses his fastidious expression and grins. She knows all about what's going on his mind. Y/N slides closer to him and starts lifting his shirt off of him. Time seems to have stopped, they're in no rush. Stanley's feelings, of course, stay as intense and blood-rushing as they were the whole car ride, and all the time he waited for her at home.

Y/N puts her arms around Stanley's shoulders and tilts her head slightly. There's a soft smile itching he corners of her lips while she looks at Stanley. She's finally home, and she's so glad to be. Y/N runs her hand slowly through Stanley's curls and touches his scalp on the way. Stanley smiles. He's missed this small gesture from her, he realises.

“Mind if I show you how much I've missed you now?” Stanley questions and his hand takes Y/N's waist in almost a possessive manner. She chuckles and nods, agreeing. “You were asking for it.” He points out.

Y/N pokes his shoulder. “Shut up and make love to me, you fool.” She commands and lets go of him, dropping back down on their bed. She lays there for a second, waiting for Stanley to join her.

“I promise to.” He says, and it's all quick and hurried and lustful and everything both of them want from that second on. Quick and grabby hands, bedsheets ruffling, hair getting in the way, pairs of underwear thrown in the air. All hurried and fast, as if they were losing time. But they had all the time they could wish for, and Stanley was sure to use every second of it.

He smothers her with kisses from her lips down to her knees. Each one makes her shiver, her whimpers like music to the man's ears. His curls tickle her skin and his lips crush against her. Y/N can't wait anymore.

She takes a hold of Stanley's face and brings it back up to face hers, and she gives him a tight kiss. He can feel her impatience and knows it matches his. Stanley grins.

The second he's gone inside of her, they both feel like seven feet in the air. Stanley's head drops in the crook of her neck and he grunts, gripping the sheet under his hand. Y/N's eyes flutter shut. This is what she's been missing, what both of them have.

He's completely absorbed in everything she gives, her love, her body, her sounds, her juices and her lust. Stanley gives his love to her with every thrust of his hips and every kiss to her neck, gives his craving and tries his best to make up for the time lost.

Y/N's hands grip the back of his neck tighter and needier with each of his thrusts, and she tries to meet his hips with her own. They're not far from release, despite the desire to make this last longer.

No words need to be exchanged. Stanley knows Y/N's body as well as she knows his, he can feel that she's about to reach her peak. Stanley makes her look at him, tilting her face and she meets his eyes. Desperation, excitement, lust.

Cloudy eyes meet another pair of the same sort. Y/N nods at Stanley, encouraging him to quicken his pace and meet his release with her. She runs her hand through his hair again and pulls him down to her, their lips meeting in a kiss that make their heads spin.

Grunts and moans and whimpers, ones of success and reaching release, fill the room once the couple comes undone. Almost in sync—Stanley was only a second late.

He moved them both closer to the headboards, where the heavenly bed of pillows lay, and wrapped his arms around his wife. They had to catch their breaths. Y/N had never had love as intense as this made to her before. She found Stanley's hand with her own and interlocked their fingers.

Y/N looks at Stanley from below, her head resting on his bicep, and he smiles down at her. He presses a kiss to her forehead and Y/N giggles, pulling herself closer into her husband's embrace.

“Hope you've got more in ya'.” Stanley says to her and Y/N raises her head in question. Stanley winks.

“You mad man.” She tells him. Stanley laughs.

“A mad man in love.”

Permanent taglist: @gabiatthedisco @v0idbella @inlovewithmiddleagedcelebs @works-of-fanfiction @destiel-stucky4ever-loki-queen @stfxlou @ur-gunna-h8-ths @empressdreams @betweenloveandfire @but-legendsneverdie @deardeacy @thewinchesterchronicles @mavieesttriste16 @mrsmazzello @benhardyseyes @langdonzvoid @intrrverted @the-freak-cassie-131 @sunshine-stan-uris @radiantrichie

Stanley Uris tag-list: @nightbu-g @sadhwstudent @shawni-h @gothackedalready @seasidecrowbar @starred-river @raspberryacid @facelessbish @tozierskaspb @plum-duels @whereyoustand @amira3113

If you want to be added to any of these lists, let me know!

I haven't proofread, so this might be re-written someday.

A/N: the best thing is writing “nack” instead of “neck” multiple times in one request. ahsdbfhs. i love stanley. can i please have one.

#stan uris x reader #adult!stan uris imagine #adult!stanley uris imagine #adult!stan uris x imagine #adult!stanley uris x reader #adult!stanley uris request #stanley uris x reader #adult!stanley uris smut #adult!stan uris smut #adult!stan uris smut imagine #adult!stanley uris smut imagine #har-rison-s writes #har-rison-s writings #har-rison-s work #stanley uris imagine #stanley uris imagines

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shannygoatgruff · 5 years ago

Photo

Stay Safe, Stay Home Writing Challenge - (Call me if you need anything) @waiting4inspiration

Genre: Romance

Pairing: Modern Ivar x OC

Warning: Language, sexual innuendo, insecurity

Rating: M

Chapter 3 || Chapter 5

Chapter 4

The table at Clementin im Glashaus was amazing. The greenhouse windows of the restaurant overlooked the beautiful Palais Coburg Hotel, which used to be a palace belonging to the House of Saxe-Coburg and Gotha. Not to mention, Cash and Ivar had a completely unobstructed view of the sun setting over the city, from the domed glass ceiling of the restaurant. She felt like a princess. Had she known they were coming here, she would have worn something a bit more elegant than the Fashionova dress she was currently wearing.

“Stilles Wasser, mit Eis, bitte?” Mineral water with ice, please. She asked the waiter just before he left the table. She was trying her best to let him be chivalric and order their meals after they had discussed the menu. But he had forgotten about the water. She didn’t like sparking water, let alone it at room temperature. She had to say something. She couldn’t tell if she was being an obnoxious American, or not. Especially since men from Europe were so different from American men. They were slinky and sensitive. They wore skinny pants that showed off their ankles and shorts that came above their knee and kissed each other on the cheek. It was a different dynamic with them. She wasn’t trying to cross any cultural or gender roles by ordering ice water.

Shit, ice. He’d forgotten. That was so important…how could he let that slip? She was American - of course she liked ice. That should have been a given. He had just assumed that she didn’t even drink water. Americans just filled their cups to the brim with ice cubes and poured soda over it. Ivar mentally kicked himself for the oversight. “I have never met an American that spoke German with an Austrian accent.” He remembered that she had minored in German in college and Graduate school, but to hear her speak it, with an Austrian accent was rather impressive. Too bad she hadn’t decided to study Norweigan. “I have also never tried ice in my water," he said trying to make small talk.

“Really?” Cash blushed and tugged on the loose thread at hem of her dress, “It’s good. Cold.”

Why were they having such a hard time talking? They normally would talk for hours on the phone and their text and DM threads went on for days. The two of them never ran out of things to say to one another. She could think of a hundred things she wanted to say to him right now, but he seemed so much quieter in person. She kept waiting for one of his snappy comebacks, or for him to flirt with her like he always did, but he was giving her nothing. Maybe he didn’t like her after all.

“So, have you been here before?” She asked looking around the restaurant. It was easier to look anywhere than at him because all she wanted to do was stare at him. She had never been a fan of the man bun before, but it worked for him. Everything looked good on him. If she didn’t keep diverting her eyes, she would look like a total stalker. “This place is nice.”

Ivar put his napkin in his lap and hoped that the wine wouldn’t take much longer to get to the table. If he didn’t get a drink soon, he was going to clam up completely. He wanted to talk to her. He loved talking to her. He was just so nervous now that she was in front of him and she was so vibrant, pretty…real. “To Vienna or this restaurant?”

“Either,” Cash answered with a shrug.

“I have only been to Austria a few times. Mostly with my brothers.” Brothers. Right. He was going to have to explain Hvitserk… “I have never been here before. My brother, Ubbe, told me this is a good place to take a date.”

Was he blushing? God, he was cute. “Oh, this is our first date?” She licked her lips and smiled.

“Am I not doing something you want?” Fuck. Had been out of the dating game that long? Why didn’t she know this was their first date?

“No. Everything’s perfect. I just didn’t know if we were hanging out as friends, or on a date.” She took a big sip of her water. “We said we wouldn’t talk about our pictures, so there was no pressure, either way.”

“I already told you, I thought you were beautiful before I saw your picture.” Ivar had never been so happy to see a waiter in his life. He graciously accepted the glass of wine and motioned for the waiter to leave the bottle. He waited until Cash had her mixed drink placed before her and when they both had drinks they toasted. “Skol,” he said quickly before looking into the bottom of his glass, as he gulped nervously.

“So…” Her phone rang, causing her to jump. She quickly hit the video button and rolled her eyes. “Hey, Ma.” She smiled when Ivar smiled at her.

“Shay, are you okay? I been waiting for you to call me.” Barbara pursed her lips at her daughter to indicate she was upset. “You tell me you’re going to meet this Ivar-boy and then I don’t hear from you. I don’t know if he chopped you up, or sold you on the black market…”

Cash shook her head and threw her napkin ring at him when he chuckled at the comment. “I’m fine, Ma. In fact, Ivar and I are at dinner, right now.” She panned over for her mother to see Ivar.

She felt all warm inside when Ivar waved at her mother and politely said, “Hello, momma.”

“Well, hey there baby. It's good to finally see you. Were you excited to meet see Shay? She's so pretty, isn't she?" Cash rested her head on hand as she watched Ivar's face light up, as her mother refused to let him get a word in edgewise. As usual, Ivar and her mother sat there talking like two old friends. "And look at you...you're so handsome. I bet you just have all the girls all after you. You better not break my baby's heart. You take care of my girl while she's over there, okay?"

Ivar thought Cash's mom was a hoot. He had always enjoyed hearing about her and talking to her when Cash was in the States. Looking at her face, it was easy to see where Cash got her looks. "Cash is as beautiful as her momma. When I saw her, I just want to keep smiling." He glanced over at Cash and noticed the coy way she looked at him causing him to divert his eyes back to the phone's screen. "I promise, I will take care of her." He handed the phone back to Cash and poured more wine in his glass.

"Make sure to call me later.” Barbara Heath said to her daughter when her face reappeared on the screen. She held the phone close to her mouth and dramatically mouthed the words, He’s cute. “Love you, Shay.”

“Love you, too.” She disconnected the call and looked at Ivar. “Sorry about that. My mom’s a little over-protective.”

“Your momma is sweet. My brothers? They are a pain." He rolled his eyes, "My older brother, Ubbe, sent my brother, Hvitserk, here to be my chaperone.” He shook his head in disbelief. “I have almost 26 years, I do not need a babysitter.”

“Why did he do that?”

The second glass of wine he had just started on was finished in about two gulps. Ivar knew he was drinking too fast, but it made him feel better about talking, but it did nothing to stop his hands from sweating. All he needed to do was deflect the conversation away from his legs, Hvitserk and everything else wrong in the world for tonight. He could worry about the truth tomorrow. “I always wanted to ask. Why does your momma call you Shay?”

“Oh, that. My first name is Cachet.” She made a disgusted face at the sound of her government name. “Most people call me Cash. My parents still call me Shay.”

“Which do you prefer?” Cash shrugged, giving no real thought to question. “What would you like me to call you?”

She lifted her eyes to him with a heavy-lidded stare. “What do you want to call me?” She was hoping it was be something freaky, like Chocolatate, or Sexual Chocolate…what exactly was in this drink, anyway?

“Nydelig.”

"And what does that mean?”

Ivar’s lips turned up into a boyish grin, “Look it up,” he said as the waiter sat their dinner plates in front of them.

It was a beautiful night and the city lights were magical. After dinner, Cash and Ivar stopped for torte at a local bakery and to pick up spirits before Cash decided that she was ready to head back to her hotel. She would see Vienna tomorrow; it was almost 8 pm and she was exhausted. A day of nerves, traveling, and now jetlag meant she was going to sleep good tonight.

Ivar had insisted that he see her back to her hotel safely and who was she to refuse? The walk from the restaurant to her hotel had been a short one and she had invited him in because though she was tired, she wasn't quite ready for their first date to end.

Sitting on the patio of her ground-floor hotel room, she folded her legs on her chair and sipped on a glass of Moscato d’Asti they picked up along their walk. “So, we’ve been talking for months and in all this time, you never said anything.” She twirled the liquid around in her glass. “Why didn’t you ever tell me?” She wanted to bring it up earlier, but before didn't seem like the right time. But now they both seemed a bit more relaxed and the conversation felt more organic. It felt like one of their normal conversations, not like two strangers meeting each other for the first time.

Ivar’s heart stopped in his throat. Did he really think he could avoid the pink elephant in the room? Did he honestly believe he was going to get through tonight without addressing why he lied to her about his legs? Of course, she had noticed his limp and those damn crutches. She knew he had a physical impairment; he wasn't that skilled at deflecting the conversation, she had just been too polite say anything all night.

He took a deep drag of his cigarette and blew the smoke out in the opposite direction. “I was going to tell you, but I did not know what to say. I hate these things.” He took his crutches and roughly pushed them into the corner. “Since I was small, all the surgeries and bone lengthening and leg braces…canes. I did not want you to pity me.” He picked at a rough cuticle on his thumb before putting his cigarette back to his lips.

Cash laughed, “I was talking about the fact that you smoke.”

“Oh, shit.” Ivar laughed in return. He took a sip from his glass of whiskey before sitting it back on the table. “I am Scandinavian. We all smoke.”

Cash nodded, still trying to digest what he said before about his impairment. “Are you in pain?” She asked, hoping she wasn't prying.

Shrugging, Ivar sat back in his seat and looked out at the lanterns that illuminated the small garden. “I hurt, but not really pain.” He licked his lips as he tried to think of how he could make it make sense to her. “When I was born my legs were deformed…one shorter than the other and both twisted. They were fucked. I had surgeries with metal rods to make them straight, and longer, and all that. But, they never really got strong and the pain never really went away. I grew up with it. I live with it.

Sometimes, when the weather is bad – snow, or rain for many days, or when it starts to get cold and wet, I have pain. When I walk too much or go a whole day without taking these damn braces off, I get pain. But the normal hum that always is there? That’s just Elias.”

“I'm sorry, who?”

“The name of the pain. My old friend, Elias.” Ivar chuckled at the memory. It was a code-word he and his mother made up when he was little. It was his way of letting her know that he was in pain, without alerting the rest of the family. He never wanted his brothers to treat him differently because of his impairment, so they came up with a code. If he would tell his mother that Elias visited him at school, she knew that he needed medicine, warm compresses and rest.

“The people in my head have names,” Cash said absently.

“Excuse me?”

She wiggled herself forward in her chair and leaned to rest her elbows on the table. If they were dishing about their crazy, he was in for a treat. “You know on in the movies people have an angel and a devil that sit on their shoulder to tell them what to do?” She waited until he nodded. “I don’t think I have that. I just have these people in my head and they are always having conversations. Jasmine and Jessica. These bitches don’t agree on anything. They’re supposed to be here to help me, you know like my conscious. But I’m usually playing referee between them…like everybody calm the fuck down. They get on my nerves.”

Ivar laughed at her animation. He couldn’t believe that he just told her about his legs and she countered with the fact that she was probably schizophrenic.

Taking another sip of her drink, she studied his face. “Can you walk without that stuff?” She pointed to the crutches.

He shook his head. “I can stand, but not walk. My legs do not hold my full weight. My right leg does not bend. My left does but, I still need to hold onto objects to balance, otherwise, I would fall. The legs do not move together, so I bind them. .” He closed his eyes, “When I do not have the braces – I crawl.”

“We talk about everything, Ivar…”

“I could not just tell you.” He looked her in the eye, holding her gaze for the first time that night. “I could not stand it if you stopped talking to me.”

“Did you think I talked to you all this time because I thought you were going to win a Walk-A-Thon? You didn’t even give me a chance.” She watched as he played with the wrapper on the whiskey bottle.

“I did not want to disappoint you.”

She licked her lips, “I’m not disappointed.” Her words came out in almost a whisper.

Did she move toward him, or did he come toward her? Just like knowing which truly happened between the Big Bang Theory and Evolution - it's all a matter of opinion. Perhaps there was a seismic shift in the tectonic plates that moved their bodies toward each other at the exact moment in time. Whatever happened, the space between them closed and their lips touched.

It was so soft at first, that the feeling of their warm breath on each other’s lips left more of an ache than the flesh that preceded it. But after that brief contact, came a hand. A soft, small hand, with delicate fingers, gently holding the side of his neck and her thumb tracing invisible patterns along his jawline. When her hand made contact with his face, his lips reclaimed hers with just the slightest bit of trepidation, but much more curiosity.

He pulled back for a moment just to look at her face before she gently nipped at his full bottom lip and the next thing he knew she was swallowing his moan. Her mouth was still sweet from the Moscato as Ivar opened his more and allowed his tongue to gently lick her lips. He wasn’t sure when he seized the back of her neck and pulled her toward him. Maybe it was when she looked at him that way, the way he had always wanted a woman to look at him. The way Freydis used to look at him all those years ago. Cash looked at him like she wanted him. No one had looked at him like that in a very long time.

Oh, he was good – how had she ended up on his lap? His lips felt like velvet and his tongue was as smooth as silk. His breath had a pleasant smoked whiskey flavor that reminded her of a bar she went to in college. That’s where she had met Big Dick Darryl. What a fun night that had been.

Ivar had this gentle way of pulling back, like he was about to break contact, only to come at her mouth at a different angle. He wasn’t a sloppy kisser by any means, every placement of his lips was deliberate, tactical, well thought out….sensual. Even the people in her head were in awe of his lip skills.

It took every ounce of restraint he had when Ivar felt Cash’s fingertips touch the base of his throat and gently slide down his chest. More than anything he wanted to be able to pick her up and carry her back into her room, throw her down on the bed and do whatever they do in movies before the camera pans to the vase on the dresser. But, he knew he would never be able to do that. He wasn’t sure what exactly caused it – be it finally meeting her in person, the feeling of her lips on his, a woman touching and wanting him, or knowing that he’d never be able to share in the same stories of freaky sexual exploits like his brothers…but suddenly he had the urge to cry.

Pulling back slowly, Ivar kept his eyes on Cash’s lips noticing how they still glistened from his kiss. He had been so cool, so smooth all this time, with her, from their first online conversation, and now, all he wanted was to be held. “I’m sorry.”

“What’s wrong?” Why were they stopping? This was going extremely well. Were her kissing skills not up to par? No one had ever told her she was a bad kisser before. She’d made it a point not to get anything filled with garlic or onions with dinner so she wouldn’t have stinky breath, just in case he tried to get a good night kiss. Hell, she even had on a really cute matching ‘just in case’ underwear. So far, things were going extremely well, she thought.

Running his thumb across her jawline he tried to restrain himself from kissing her again. “I think I should go back to my hotel. You had a long day and are probably tired.”

“You don’t have to go, yet.” Did she sound too eager? She didn’t want to seem slutty, but they had been talking for six months and it had been a hot minute since she got laid.

Ivar exhaled slowly through his nose, trying his best to calm himself. “I don’t want to spoil our first date.” He kissed her lovingly on the forehead “I think it is best if I go now.” He let her follow him to the door before stopping and turning around to kiss her softly on the lips. “I can see you tomorrow?”

Cash got on her tiptoes to kiss him again, “Yes.”

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elena-mayfair · 6 years ago

Text

Shadow from the past: Chapter 2

Pairing: Dean Winchester x reader, Ethan Hunt x reade, John Wick x reader

Warning: violence, guns, alcohol, swearing

Word count: 5503

Discliamer: I don’t live in New York and never been there so everything is based on my own imagination and sources like movies, tv and games. Forgive me any inconsistencies with a real world. Also I do not own the gifs, credits to the authors. Also also, English is noot my first language so I appologize for any possible mistakes.

Summary: Reader is a hunter with rather complicated past involving John Wick and Ethan Hunt. From author: For those who has been waiting - thank you and sorry it took so long. Recommended playlist: Jazz Noir

Chapter 1

Shadow from the past: Chapter 2

(…)

“You working again?” he asked still completely focused on you. His face tense in the anticipation. And with that question you knew, you were sure that there was no case, no ghost, no hunting and there definitely was a shootout. You knew that he was here, he order you a drink and he is involved in all of this. Past catch up with you, there is no other way than move forward, no hesitation. You knew that to that question there was only one correct answer.

…..

“Yeah, I am” you replied shortly without braking an eye contact with him. You slowly moved your hand to your back focused and calm yet surprised and nervous at the same time. Your senses got heightened, you could feel your every muscle, every nerve tense in anticipation for his next move.

“I thought you were retired” he said taking two small step towards you, his hand slowly moving closer to his side awaiting for your next move.

“Well I thought that to. But here we are” your voice cold and composed. His appearance surly was unexpected and as much as you were sort of happy to see him you had bigger problems on your mind at that moment.

“You look good” he smiled and took another two steps in your direction.

“Cut the crap Ethan” you put your whisky glass on the table right next to you “You shouldn’t be here” you watched his every move, every step, awaiting him to pull out his gun.

“Neither are you” he pointed out with a smirk “thought we had an agreement”

“Well desperate times” you didn’t even blinked, you felt your eyes tearing up a bit from all the smoke floating in the air “I had to rethink our agreement. You know me. I just play the cards that life is dealing me”

“You got dealt a bad hand darling” he was only one step away from you. You could see how perfectly ironed his blue shirt was, he could see your lacy bra strap slipping under your cashmere blouse. You could see tiny traces of sweat on his forehead, he could see your shimmering champagne eye shadow and deep burgundy lipstick on your lips. You could smell Code on him, he could smell Addict on you. You could see in his eyes thousand thoughts running through his mind right now. He was analyzing, considering all the options… what he will do if you draw your gun, what will you do if he pulls out his, where are the nearest exits, on which side you are, are you happy to see him, would you be able to shoot him, would he be able to shoot you…? You were wondering what he could see in your eyes because comparing to him in that moment you had only one thought in your mind “he was here. He probably is still here, somewhere in the shadows….watching me”. “You should stay away” Ethan continued “and you definitely should stay away from this job. Y/N please don’t do this” he said with pleading voice. That was it, you had to check if he was here, if he was watching. Just for a moment, just for a second, you had to check…you looked away….

That second was enough, suddenly Code was not in the air anymore, it was all over you along with Ethan touch. He grabbed your hand on your back and stopped it gently but firmly before you could reach for you gun. Other hand landed on your hip, his face right next to yours, warm cheek pressed against yours. You tried to slip away from his grip which only caused him to press his whole body to yours and grab your hip more tightly.

“Calm down Y/N…calm down” he breathed to your ear when you started to search for a way to get out from his grasp “calm down for fuck sake! I don’t mean to fight you” he uttered loosening his grip to prove his words. You stayed in your place trying to look at him but he only pressed his cheek closer to yours forcing you to stay as you were “don’t…” he warned and you understood…he saw something that you did not…you were in danger “Agent Page on your six” he enlightened you slightly emphasizing on Deans fake last name.

….

”He knows….” you thought to yourself “Did he saw us?” you asked completely relaxing in Ethan’s arms surrendering to him and waiting for his move. It wasn’t the first time and your instinct assured you it will not be the last either.

“He will any moment” his lips slightly touched your ear “when I say, kick me. Hard.” he instructed.

“What? Ethan I don’t want to…”

“Hun, do me a favor and just this one time, don’t argue with me” he cut you off “If you don’t want inconvenient questions from your boyfriend over there do as I say” you could feel his breath on your skin, you could feel his heart bit almost synchronized with yours. He loosen his grip almost completely “You’ve got everything you need to find me” he whispered.

“What makes you think I will search for you?” you smirked and kicked him in the stomach freeing yourself from his grasp.

He stumbled down and felt on one knee grasping for an air. You didn’t mean to kick him that hard but you were pissed, you were furious and your anger took better of you.

“Learn what not interested means you fucking perv!” you said way to loud intended to fake a scene “Be seeing you Ethan…” you added with barely audible voice “Stay away from shadows” you winked and left.

…

You caught Dean in mid-way with his fist clenched and anger in his eyes. “To close….” You thought to yourself approaching him and trying to behave as normal as possible. You placed one hand on his chest and the other on his cheek forcing him to look away from Ethan and focus on you.

“Hey hey…look at me. It’s cool, I’m alright, nothing happened” you tried to call him down.

“This douchebag was all over you…” he said through his teeth completely focused on Ethan.

“It’s nothing, just an asshole who had one too many” you pressed yourself closer to Dean “I’ve handled it. Hun please calm down. We still got work to do and I made one scene already. We don’t need more attention” you added with soothing voice “Besides since you finally here I could use a drink”

Dean finally looked at you relaxing a bit under your touch. He grabbed your waist and pulled you closer to him.

“I’m sorry sweetheart” he kissed your forehead “let’s get you a drink” he took your hand and led you to a bar.

He order two rounds of whisky on rocks. First one you downed immediately and second was served right away. Jameson was good but it was nothing to Glenmorangie 18yo Single Malt that you had before. Bartender served third round and you were glad that Dean didn’t notice his snarky smile when he looked at you.

“You alright sweetheart?” Dean asked seeing you downing third round in 5 minutes.

“I am” you smiled hoping that it looked convincing “it’s just…I got a bit spooked that’s all” you lied. Adrenaline was starting to wear off revealing to your surprise how shattered your nerves were. You were shaking inside and you knew that there is no amount of alcohol that could calm you down at that moment. “Fucking asshole was very persistent” another lie. You could still smell Code all over you crudely interrupting your attempts to focus on Dean.

“You want another one?

“Yeah but let’s have something better” your thoughts went back to an empty booth and whisky glass on the table. You waved your hand nonchalantly at a bartender “Glenmorangie 18yo double, with one ice cube. Twice.” you order.

“Since when we drink fancy stuff?” Dean asked surprised smelling whisky which just got served.

“I just feel like it and bottle looks good” you lied again. Truthfully you wanted to taste it again. You wanted to think about him again. Was he still out there? Was he still watching?

“And it taste good” Dean took a sip “Well that’s a damn good whisky. Have you ever drink it before?

“Of course not! Lucky shoot I guess” you were lying without hesitation.

“Speaking of luck, any of it with search for our witness?” Dean asked turning himself to face dance floor and tables placed close to the walls.

“I haven’t seen her” you followed him and started scouting your surroundings in hope of seeing him. But you knew very well, he was a ghost, he was a Boogeyman and he was hidden in the shadows. If he was even here. “Did Ethan knew about whisky…” you started questioning your own instincts, trying to stay calm and suppress your rising suspicions, suppress your feelings.

“Another dead end” Dean stated “We will have to come back here after they close. Check for anything ghostly. For now we definitely should back to hotel. It’s been a long day”

“Indeed it was…” you agreed and downed what’s left in your glass.

…

“I am so fucked…..”

***

You barely slept that night. Even if you were tired as hell and your body was starting to hurt in all the wrong places your mind was very much awake and alive. Meeting Ethan was something that you did not expected at all and being back in his arms, even just to fake out an assault, brought back all sorts of memories. Vienna, opera, your gold dress, his voice in your ear saying how deadly you look…he’s smile, your kiss….his motorcycle, cold beer on the rooftop…

….

London….your gun in your hands…his blood on your coat….you asking him to leave…he….saying no….

…. Ethan Hunt was your past, past that you never wanted to visit again. He made his choice and you made yours. And you would lie to yourself if you couldn’t admit that it was partially because of him. Seeing that lonely whisky glass on the table did something much worse to you than Ethan could ever do, it immediately changed something in you, like with a flip of a switch. For a moment you stopped thinking about Sam, Bobby, Castiel…you even stopped thinking about Dean. In that moment back in the club they didn’t matter, they were disposable, they were just a temporary background of your current life, of current character that you played, meaningless. All it mattered was lonely whisky glass and that felling…that shadow is no longer just a shadow. Shadow has eyes on you and he is very close.

“Come find me…”

Sam of course didn’t found anything suspicious on the building which at this point was no surprise for you. You needed a plan, you couldn’t have them around here in New York. You had to stay, they had to leave. You needed diversion and you needed it fast. Tomorrow is Monday, and club will be closed, you, Dean and Sam will go scout the place, you will find nothing. But you knew your boys to well, you knew it will not be enough to get them out of New York. It will only get them more interested in this case, they will only dig more…and there is no way you could allow this.

“6 AM…”

They couldn’t find out. And it wasn’t about you, it was about them. It was their lives which were at stake here.

“I need a diversion…and I need my stuff”

Not spearing any second more you got up from a bed, dressed yourself quickly in trusty black leggings and black shirt dress, you grabbed your bag, phone and brown jacket and just before you left you scratched few words on the notepad lying on the nightstand.

//***// Couldn’t sleep. Keep thinking about a case. I’ve got a hunch which I want to check. Went to see Commissioner Loeb. I didn’t have a heart to wake you, besides he likes me more ;) Be back soon. Love ya XO

//***//

***

“Where are we going ma’am”

“New York Public Library”

***

You didn’t ask taxi driver to wait for you. You didn’t want any attention or anyone knowing where you were headed. After you retrieved your belongings from a library you headed straight to Queens. You decided to take metro to blend in into the crowd. “Dean would be surprised knowing what can be found in old books” you thought to yourself feeling cold touch of your trusty Glock 26 on your back “he would be surprised by many thing…” you gently touched a key in your pocket like it was some kind of token which you didn’t want to lose. You retrieve memorabilia of a different life from your hidden spot in 1984 ‘Russian Folk Tale’ by Aleksander Afanasyev and with them in your possession again you were headed to retrieve the rest of it, to retrieve all of it. The initial nervousness caused by sudden appearance of Ethan and incident in the club was completely gone. You were calm and focused even if thousand if thoughts were running through your head. You knew exactly what you had to do even if you didn’t know how to do it. “I’ve got it. Everything is cool. I will figure something out. Going to grab my stuff, and force boys to leave the New York. Balls…easier said than done” you were planning in your head “He will show up. If he’s here he will not walk away. I guess….we both agreed on it. Damn it. It was stupid agreement. What Ethan is doing here…god fucking damn it. I need to find out what is going on. And I need to get boys out of New York. I need distraction, I need help”

You were deep in your thoughts letting your inner autopilot lead you right in front of the door to the small apartment. There was no name tag on the door, just a number and one lock. Foolish someone would think, only one door lock, so easy to brake in. But you didn’t worry about at all. For years this apartment was staying hidden, safe and secured. Highly secured.

You entered the key, the lock yield under the pressure. You entered tiny dark space barely able to contain two people at once, you closed door behind you and waited “What the hell?” nothing was happening. You tapped the walls gently at first, and with a lot of force when nothing has change. “What the hell, why it is not working…”

“You planning to stand there for long?” amused voice asked from the darkness “As much as I enjoy watching you all confused I rather would like to have a coffee with you” something clicked and darkness in front of you slowly started moving aside showing brown and beige interiors bathe in the bright noon sun. “Don’t be surprised. It was IMF property once so hacking it is not that hard. For me at least” Ethan was sitting on the couch smiling with irritating grin satisfied that he managed to surprised you, again. “Coffee? You owe me that much for saving your ass and getting my rib broken in the process”

“You shouldn’t be here. I thought we had agreement” you discretely checked safety lock on your gun and you entered a room.

“Well desperate times” Ethan smirked.

“Very funny” you snarked “I could brake more than one rib but you got coffee. Hashtag priorities”

“I do remember how to make you feel good at the morning” he smirked again.

”Is he flirting with me” you wondered “What are you doing here Ethan. Were you following me?”

“Maybe” he handed you a coffee cup. For a moment your fingers touched his hand and you felt like electrocuted. Images flashed in front of your eyes

Vienna, gold dress, his kiss, his jacket on your shoulders, his brown eyes looking at you lovingly….London….rain…blood…gun……

…

Please leave

…

“Y/N you okay?” you felt his hand on your shoulder. You looked at him and it was still there, the look in his eyes, full of care and love, but it wasn’t as pure as it was years ago. You got mesmerized for a moment by the way how he looked at you. There was definitely love and care there, it was undeniable, but it was cover under the mist build of concern, nervousness and fear. In that bright noon light you noticed something else, his eyes, they were hazel, not brown. You looked deep into them “I always thought they were brown”. “Y/N you with me? You look like you saw a ghost” he noticed seeing you frozen in place.

��I’m alright” you slipped away from his hand at took a spot on the couch “Just a headache. Last night was…let’s say interesting. I hadn’t have much sleep”

“Was it because of me?” he gave you a half smile.

“Maybe…but don’t flatter yourself. I simply wasn’t expecting to see you here. Or anywhere else to be true. Frankly I wasn’t expecting to see you ever again” you answered getting back control over your mind.

“Really? I was sure we will see each other again” he replied without hesitation “I could bet on it”

“Oh really?” that irritated you “how long you’ve been tailing me Ethan?”

“Who said I’ve been tailing you” he was sitting on the opposite site of the couch sipping his coffee and grinning widely like he won some kind of bet that you didn’t knew about. Like he was satisfied seeing you playing word chess with him and getting more and more anxious.

“You know I’ve been on the NYPD precinct with Dean”

“Oh that’s agent Page real name. Good to know” he made surprised face.

“You were in the club not by accident. You were following me, you were following me since the moment I arrived to the New York. Question is why. What do you want Ethan” you continued with a cold voice without braking an eye contact.

“Oh isn’t that obvious? I just wanted to see an old friend” he was playing with you.

“And that’s why you decided do brake in to the only highly secured safe house I have in NY after you discovered that I recovered my keys and my gun from a library” you stated.

“Like I said, it was IMF property back in the day. I use it from time to time” he smiled innocently.

“Stop denying Ethan” you put your cup on a table “I saw you on the station, I’ve found a chip that you placed into the Russian Fairytales and I know you were in the club not by accident”

“I’m not denying anything. Well true, I placed a chip in the book but the rest is pure coincidence” he placed his cup on the table and made a small move towards you. Chess game, only with words and small movements. Same as it was in the club. You placed your figures on the board, he was avoiding them, losing only pawns but now it was his turn to move “I honestly thought that you didn’t saw me at the station but I definitely saw you. And I must admit I was very happy to see you” he smiled with eyes.

“Why you were there” you interrupted.

“You know I can’t share the details with you my dear. You made your choice back in London, you knew the rules” he replied with a smooth voice…. you lost a knight.

“Why you placed a chip in the book?” you remained unshaken.

“As far as the government is concern you are rouge agent turned assassin. Trust me it is better for you that I was the one who decided to keep an eye on you not someone else” he lowered a voice and stopped smiling…you lost a bishop.

“Why you followed me to the club?”

“I told you already and you still don’t believe me” he was lying with a wide grin “I was happy to see you, it’s been a long time. And honestly I overheard your conversation with Dean and decided to surprise you there. I got curios that’s all”

“Gotcha.”

“Ethan as you know already I believe in a lot of things” you shifted to face him directly “Ghost, demons, witches, shapeshifters and even freaking Jefferson Starships” you put your one knee on the couch and move slowly in his direction “I believe in magic and fairytales” you got even closer embracing smell of a Code you were able to see glimpse of confusion in his eyes even if half smile was still on his lips “But coincidences….” You were so close that you could feel his slow breath on your face “…are not one of them” he wasn’t fast enough. With one swift move you reached behind his back and grabbed his gun. You pulled away to the opposite site of a couch and pointed gun at him “Don’t you even try. You lost. Checkmate” you smirked.

“Y/N what are you doing? Please lower your gun” he tried to remain compose and pretend that this is all big misunderstandment.

“You couldn’t overheard my conversation with Dean, Ethan. Not without wiretapping the Impala. And that’s something you simply couldn’t do. Dean is obsessed with this car, he love it so much, and he would notice that something is not quite right” you stated “Why are you really here. I shot you once. You know I won’t hesitate so you better start telling the truth” you were looking at him with your eyes cold holding his gun close to your face so he couldn’t grab it and take it away from you. Just like he taught you.

You hurt him, you saw it clearly. His face changed, smile disappeared from his face completely, mood in his eyes changed from loving and carrying to sad and worried. Bringing back London hurt him. Your behavior towards him hurt him. He shifted in place trying to distract you from that fact but you saw it, you saw how angry on himself he was for letting his guard down and letting you play him of like a rookie.

“Speak” you had him on point blank range.

“I can’t let you open that safe” he said firmly anger flashing in his eyes.

“Why are you here Ethan?” you were persistent “how long you’ve been following me?”

He did not reply. He only stared at you the same way as you stared at him only difference is that you had gun on him and knowing your history he wasn’t sure what your next move would be. Frankly you weren’t sure either.

“Ethan we can do this all day if you want” you speak up first.

“I don’t believe that you have time” he smirked “your boyfriend will start getting worried” he pointed out.

“How long….” you didn’t let him throw you off subject

“Lower your gun. We both know that you don’t want to shoot me”

“How much do you know?”

…

“All of it”

…

That worked. You lowered your gun just a bit and looked at him surprised. “What the fuck…what does he mean by all of it”

“I know what you and Winchesters were doing after you killed your carrier in IMF. I know all your allies, enemies, numbers of fake credit cards, weapon of choice, all of yours and theirs fake badges fake ID’s all of it. Please lower your gun, I won’t ask again” he continued with mechanical voice.

You hesitated. It was impossible. How could he know all of it. Was he your Shadow all this time? Is that mean that he was never here?

“Dean Winchester, born in January 24th 1979. Sam Winchester born May 2nd 1983. Parents Marry and John, both dead. Marry in November 2nd 1983, John spring 2006. Both of them born in Lawrence, Kansas, currently staying in not so secret post war bunker in Lebanon, Kansas. Deans car 1967 Chevrolet Impala license plate KAZ 2Y5. You want me to continue?” he didn’t even blinked.

You lowered your gun surprised by all this revelation. You were so wrong, all this time you were thinking that you won. That you put your figures in all the right places and you checkmate him. Yet he just proved you how wrong you were all this time. From the moment you saw him he had you in checkmate. Your moves didn’t matter, you lost before game even started. You secured a safety lock on his gun and placed it on a table. You gave him a side look, hold it for a moment and decided to pull out your own gun from behind your back, secure it and place it right next to his.

“You were keeping taps on me all this years” you stated relaxing a bit and taking a sip of a coffee which at this point got already cold. Anger and weird sense of comfort were mixing inside you ready to burst out in the storm of juicy curses.

“I was. And I must say your resume is impressive. A spy, an IMF agent, an Assassin, a hunter of god knows what just to name a few.” He was smiling slightly again.

“You know me, I like to stay busy” you smirked. You couldn’t deny it that he had a charisma which was hard to resist.

“Heh that is true” he smiled fondly to the memories of you two working together in the past “Anyways, after you left IMF I decided to keep an eye on you, just in case you would decide to come back or someone would decide to make you come back. You and I both know that you cannot just leave and I was honestly worried that someone would want to use that fact and force you to do things and get involved into the matters that I didn’t want you to get involved. I was happy to see that you decided to move along with your life even if it wasn’t that far from what we were doing back in IMF. Let me just say that at first it was hard to believe in the things I saw.”

“I can imagine”

“I remember that you use to joke that you are a witch, especially when I was asking about your intuition and strange decisions which you made sometimes. But after observing for quite some time it all made sense. Even if it was still weird as fuck” You smiled innocently with sorry not sorry look on your face “Believe me I have a lot of question and I hope you will tell me all about it. Things I saw, unbelievable” he made a small pause “Still it was good to see you doing some good work for a change”

“And you let us fake out FBI agents, defraud money, steal, cheat etc?” you raised an eyebrow.

“Better this than killing strangers for money” he said with seriousness painted on his face.

Air got heavy again and tension came back. He knew why you came to this apartment. He knew what you were intending to do. And you knew he will be a stubborn obstacle in your way.

“About that…” you started.

“Y/N whatever you think of doing, don’t. Pack your bags and leave with Winchesters. Go back to saving people and hunting things. Don’t do it. It’s not worth it” he caught you off abruptly “He’s not worth it”

“Ethan…”

“Did you thought this through? But I mean really thought this through. Chew down to the bone. You dip so much as a pinky back into to that pond you may well find something or someone reaches out and drags you back into its depths” his voice was intense, firm, demanding to listen to him. To think.

“You know I cannot just walk away now when I stumble onto it” you said quietly.

“Yes you can!!” he got up from the couch aggressively “and this is exactly what you should do! You got life out there! Friends and family! People who loves you! Who are willing to risk their lives for you!! I know, I checked them all!” he walked to you, placed his hand on the backrest of the couch and lean towards you “You got out once. Don’t make a mistake of coming back” he added quietly.

“It’s too late for that” you stood up intended to gain back some distance.

“No it’s not! You can still walk away”

“And ignore all of it!? Just pretend that it does not exist!? You know me Ethan, you know I can’t”

“Why” he took couple steps in your way.

“You won’t understand. I’m here not by accident. I meant to come here, I meant to step on this case. I cannot leave now. I cannot ignore my instinct” you tried to maneuver your way near to the safe.

“If you do this you will put them all in danger. You will destroy their lives.” he jumped to you and grabbed you by your arms “you will drag them down into the swamp of death and despair and rules which they don’t know” he hold you strongly and looked deep into your eyes “you will sign their death sentence”

“Let go of me Ethan” your voice got dangerously low.

“They don’t mean nothing to you?”

“I said let go of me”

“I can’t let you do this” he said breathlessly.

“What I do is not up to you” you grabbed his forearm quickly with one hand and the other you hit his elbow. He loosen his grab which gave you an opportunity to swiftly swipe his legs. He fell on his back as you jumped over the backrest of the couch and grabbed your gun. You turned on your heel just to see him standing still with a gun pointed at you.

“You should make sure that you took both of my guns” he smirked.

“Don’t worry I won’t make this mistake again” you sneered “Let me through”

“I can’t”

“Tell me why, truly why. What is going on? Am I your assignment? Or maybe he is? ”

“I can’t tell you”

“Oh I forgot, what was the line? I can neither confirm nor deny detail of this operation without the Secretary approval” you kept taunting while moving closer to the safe, your gun pointed at him, his pointed at you.

“Y/N trust me when I say it…if you do this you will regret this. You have no idea what you got yourself into. It is not too late”

“Let me through”

“Shoot me. I dare ya” he taunted for a change.

“Don’t tempt me” You unlocked safety lock.

“I double dare ya”

“You know that from this range it will be fatal” you felt buzzing in your pocket. “Son of a bitch. Great timing”

“You won’t pick up?” he noticed.

“I will call back”

“See I told you that your boyfriend will start worrying about you” phone kept buzzing.

Without lowering your gun you reached out to your pocket, eyes glued to him.

“Not a good timing Dean” you answered.

“Y/N it’s Ellen. I got your message” you heard on the other side of the line „What is going on? Are you okay? Are boys okay?”

“Yes Ellen we are alright. Listen can I call you back? I’m kinda in the middle of something. Not a good timing” you tried to keep your voice as calm as possible still pointing gun at Ethan.

“You said that boys are in danger, you are in trouble and you need distraction. Are those your kind of trouble? I’ve got Ash on standby.”

“Yes, but don’t do anything for now. I’ve got everything under control for now. Maybe it won’t be necessary. Looks like I overreacted. I gotta go now, call you later and most likely we see each other soon. You will get a chance to yell on me face to face. I’ll keep you posted” you hang up without waiting for Ellens goodbyes.

“Good” you heard relief in Ethans voice “You decided to be smart after all” he lowered his gun smiling a relief which quickly changed into the shock.

…

You shoot.

Twice.

You didn’t aim for him. It meant to be distraction. First bullet went right next to his foot, second into the wall. It was enough to throw him off balance. You jumped to him, with two quick moves you threw his gun off his hand and used yours to subdue him. In a matter of seconds he fell on the floor unconscious.

You quickly disarmed all security on the safe, grabbed handful of gold coins, second gun and ammo and you left leaving a note right next to the half drank coffee.

//***// Sorry for the headache…and broken rib. Stop following me. For both our sake.

//***//

#dean wnchester x reader #dean winchester imagines #john wick x reader #john wick imagines #john wick #john wick fanfiction #dean winchester #ethan hunt x rader #ethan hunt #supernatural #mission impossible #Supernatural owns me #supernatural fanfiction #crossfiction

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lunasaturnine · 5 years ago

Text

Vienna and cultural trauma

WOW so cool to sign into tumblr and see 99+ notifications, and think “oh a post got some attention,” but it’s actually just general attention!

My astro blog is ready for some action! Or maybe ppl are just bored bc of the quarantine. Either way, it would be cool to write.

I want to write about VIENNA.

I just took a course about somatic healing of trauma and it gave me a good overview of how trauma recovery works. Chapter 1 of trauma recovery is gathering resources. Chapter 2 is dipping or oscillating back into the memory, whether it’s a clear memory or just something held hidden in your body, with your new resources, and allowing circles to complete. Chapter 3 is being bigger bigger brighter in the world !!! (It’s a nice course, it’s on somatopia.com, it costs $40 if you have that to throw around, it’s like 2 hours of videos of a nice man talking in a soothing voice in intelligent language about healing from trauma)

Now I’m thinking about cultural trauma and Vienna. I have long felt that helping to heal the Hitler wound of Vienna is one of my soul’s major dharmic thrusts. So I googled “healing cultural trauma” and most resources out there talk about the trauma of the victim culture. That kind of trauma is totally different, because it recommends amplifying the traditions and greatnesses of the culture, and when you’re a cultural perpetrator of violence, amplifying the greatness of your culture is a trigger because cultural superiority is what lead your culture to be violent. But there are still a lot of resources with a lot of valuable information. I’ve only skimmed a couple things so far and it seems like one thing people emphasize in cultural healing is human connectedness.

The internet is a little hard to navigate on this topic, but I found an NYT editorial called “I loved my grandmother but she was a Nazi.” The author’s sweet grandma was literally a Nazi but she was a nice person who didn’t hate Jews. When the author talked to her about it, she would deflect. “He said a lot of things, I didn’t listen to them all” and “I was caught up in my own life” etc. The author says, that’s bullshit, there’s something she’s avoiding, and I can’t understand what it is or why she’s doing it, and I’m hesitant to say this because it might seem like I’m trying to forgive Naziism but I’m really just trying to understand who I look at when I look at my grandmother. It’s the most direct address of the West’s Nazi wound that I’ve found in my two and a half minutes of searching on google and I think it’s on the nose.

In the readmore are my more concrete thoughts on potential resources for Western/German/Viennese healing, and thoughts about what working through phase 2 would look like for a perpetrator culture.

Resources

On this reddit post:

https://www.reddit.com/r/history/comments/5nfqwp/my_grandmother_grew_up_in_nazi_germany/

there are some resources. First of all, 1. there are people from diverse backgrounds respective to WWII, coming together and talking as equals in the same kind of “room.” The descendants of the persecuted and the persecutors are together and they are not enemies. The knowledge, and SOMATIC FEELING EXPERIENCE, of that, can be a resource. I am typing over this brusquely and that’s Mercury magic for you and you should know that I just burst into sobs. That in just a couple of generations, the grandsons and daughters of enemies can be together and not hate each other and even love each other is an immense resource and can be leaned into at any point. There is a vast well of cultural relief available here. My tears are thankful, grateful tears, tears of relief. I am thinking of the parks in vienna that are holocaust memorial parks. I am thinking of that horrible statue out in front of the Albertina that is a memorial to cultural violence but at the same time, also represents the trapped soul of the Perpetrator culture, since we are all One. In the same way that a piece of music which opens with a terrifying chord represents both the terror experienced by the terrorized, and the menace of the terrorizer, AND THE FEELINGS IN THE terrorizer that caused them to generate this chord... off on a tangent, and I’m not sobbing anymore! That was crazy. I have a tendency to lock my feelings up, but being alone in this house and in this quarantine, I can open up locked wells of feeling like that.

That resource is IMMENSE, and it’s RIGHT in front of our faces all the time. I took a class on 20th century germany in undergrad, and the professor was a young guy with a Nazi grandfather, well I’m not sure if he was a Nazi but he was a German soldier, and he remarked on it. And I think at the time I thought “how lovely” but if you sit with that feeling, it’s deep as hell. And if you sit with it from the perspective of a penitent perpetrator, it’s REALLY FUCKING DEEP.

So that’s available. Im gonna post this real quick as a way of saving the draft but I have more ideas.

Okay. Continuing,

Resource 2 also from reddit post

The top respondent says his German POW uncle had a British GF. That’s similar to the first resource, but more immediate. I’m sure there are lots of stories like that. Intercultural experience that nullifies certain tensions

Resource 3 also from reddit post

The stories of people who did do the right thing... maybe. I dont know. I’ll get off this post soon but it’s interesting. Idk if this counts as a resource, it’s kind of a tangent, but the more I learn about karma and trans-life inheritance of it, the more it seems true that it really is better to die living in line with your beliefs than to live safely. Like the person in Pweuy’s post. That father died but his karma was pristine as far as this was concerned and perpetrator trauma did not cling to him.

ok jesus this is an interesting post... the girl skipping over the river of blood as it trickled out of the asylum... the hitler youth boy befriending a lamb and the nazis slaughtering it in front of him... the russian soldier who guarded the german girl because she reminded him of her daughter...

Okay. Before I go on, I want to clarify that I am not specifically talking about people who held Nazi beliefs in their core. There is a special type of perpetrator injury that is specific to that kind of thing, true villains and terrorists. I’m talking more about “ordinary Germans” who didn’t think very hard and got swept along, moderate supporters to moderate resisters. As a culture, they were moved by the tides into Naziism. They have culpability, but not the exact same kind of culpability as perpetrator people. The culture moved to perpetrate these crimes, and they were a part of that culture. That’s the specific kind of wound I’m interested in healing. There is a poster on that page whose grandma really loved Hitler...

Ok! I spent a lot of my energy in that page, now its 10PM and I still have veggies to prepare. I need energy for this next thing I was going to talk about.

Resource 4 - this one specific coffee shop

I’m putting *s in its name because I like this blog anonymous. P*****n is a coffee shop in Vienna that is the only happy place I went. There were places that were ok... and fine... maybe pleasant... but this place was American levels of happy. Waiters danced around and were actually relaxed and happy. P*****n’s theme is intergenerational communication. It hires grandmothers to work behind the counter, and make pies, and you’re supposed to buy a slice of their pie and talk to them a bit. And then the waiters are young, and they communicate with the Omas. And the Omas are maybe not old enough to have been Nazis but their parents were.

They also include a bit in all their menus about intergenerational dialogue and wondering what more they can do and how they can be more of a space for it.

I had MANY genuinely pleasant little experiences there... and I think that little space that some person with a vision made, is a blossoming flowerpot with lots of healing energy where true dialogue could happen. So that could be a resource too. The happiness of that place. In fact, these conversations could happen there.

But I wouldn’t want to break the space. The course I just took talked about titration, which is just accessing a TINY part of the traumatic memory, so you don’t get overwhelmed. This is a very icy fucked up conversation for a lot of people. My Viennese friend told me to talk more quietly about it than I was. Actually I did talk about it there with some people! The German girl was surprised that I thought Vienna had a wound. So was the Irish girl actually. For other people it’s really evident. My Viennese friend. D**n. Rf: “it’s ALL I feel when I am there.” ME. God that conversation was sooo gentle and sweet and light. The Irish girl was wondering if she should move to Vienna or stay in Barcelona, and the three of us talked about Vienna nd it was SOOOOO LOVELY, holy BALLS.

But even if we don’t hold conversations there exactly, that could be a really good place for conversation to start. I could reach out to the people who run the shop to ask them about it. And then maybe conversations could happen in other places (don’t want to spoil the sweetness of the shop).

Resource 5 - personal as I investigate maybe not really a resource - but yes maybe it is a resource: Grounded, comfortable people who are Viennese, and who understand the goals and also understand the sensitivities of Viennese people more than I do;

Resource 6 - people who are experts at cultural healing in victim cultures

Resource 7 - fostering dialogue between those two parties, also me.

Again I’m really playing fast and loose with the idea of resources. Maybe. We’re starting to move into phase 2, also, because with this dialogue, I want to open up some scripts for how to TITRATE sensitively.

phase 2

For instance, notice that I didn’t say something like “Remembering Vienna’s amazing heritage of incredible music that has the power to redeem and heal equal to and more accessibly than religions.” I think it’s true that Viennese music is a major healing resource (BEETHOVENSCHUBERTMOZARSKLTBSLJRTHBLEWSKJNS:OFDFD), but since it is bound up in Viennese identity, that notion is complex. Also, it’s not only that Viennese identity is nasty because it’s nazi and therefore that gives Schubert etc a dark tint, but also, the grand things that Vienna has contributed to western culture are now a part of Vienna’s current wound of degradation, cheapification, and humiliation by TOURISM. although I will say that I think Resource 8 should be MY OWN deep internalization of the healing power of Viennese music. Posting again to save...

...not only does that music help me be healed, but it also helps me understand healing process in the specific language of the culture i’m interested in

okay. Phase 2.

A picture of what I think sorta needs to happen

I think Omas that say “It was just a lot of talk, we ignored it” and “I was busy in my life”... I think what needs to happen for a perp culture is for them to actually own their part in the villainy, to claim it and stand in it and feel the pain, and say “I’m SORRY, this was HORRIBLE, I AM SORRY.” THIS WILL ALLOW THEM TO BECOME NEW!!!!!!!

That’s a v different healing process from like native american healing etc.

I really think somatic approach is a better road in than cognitive because, god, imagine cognizing all of this HORRIBLE SIN bit by bit knowing your culture perpetrated it and not having anyone to blame it on. Jesus.

How might the process of getting there look?

This is vague especially now that I don’t have that burst of energy. Conversations...

Here’s a question. After resource gathering.

“Knowing that bells rang for Hitler in Vienna, how does it feel to be Viennese?” IN YOUR BODY?

Damn THAT’S GOOD! THAT’S THE FUNDAMENTAL QUESTION. How does it feel to be Viennese? The goal is for it to feel OK.

Um, speaking specifically about Wiener trauma and their welcoming of Hitler, a few years ago, I read this in some guidebook, Vienna’s government acknowledged that they welcomed Hitler and that they were wrong, and investigating that is important for my mission. It’s cool because 1. it’s a Big Ol Step and 2. it lays groundwork for all of this.

Step 3 is really beautiful to think about. In the course I took, it’s where the instructor got out of his soothing calm neutral demeanor and started speaking passionately and bursting with smiles.

In addition to being able to be more firmly grounded in their own individual and cultural identities...

Okay, so, I’m drawn to this because I’m drawn to it, punkt. That’s all. But also, and I think I’m really late on the uptake here, I think I was due in Vienna many years ago, I think that whatever work I do in Vienna is helpful for the echoes of Naziism in today’s world, such as Trumpism (which does not...exactly... have the same kinds of premises but uses a lot of the same kinds of mecahnisms) and actual brazen nationalism, white supremicism, and far right movements. Hitler is a LOUD and REVERBERANT figure in our history for this kind of energy, and if we can do healing surrounding him, re-discovering resilience in the moderates, helping them go through the emotional journey they need to go through, they will be a beautiful resonant horn call from the past, a solid core of NO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! that will strengthen the culture of the entire FUCKING world.

Music will be a part of it.

I have always loved Vienna, and I can’t really analyze it. I love it like a girlfriend. I know she’s problematic. And she can be really really horrible.

The wound is deep. The horribleness, the life negating quality not only of the FUCKING WRETCHED SHOP CLERKS, but also of the WAY -- THINGS -- HAPPEN, of the overall weird ass SPIRIT in Vienna, is... God DAMN WHY do I like that city so much? It’s bizarre. It’s very pervasive. I don’t enjoy experiencing it, I don’t think it’s attractive, I don’t like it. I love Vienna THROUGH that wound. I REALLY LOVE Vienna. That’s one of the clearest things that I know in my heart. I love Vienna... and that’s the whole story. It’s one of the easiest things for me to say.

Lots of people love a city. We do it for reasons. I think our hearts are drawn where they are drawn because we are attracted to healing the specific karmas of places. The karma of my hometown is mainly racial, with native american underneath. The coffee shop that is equivalent to P*****n serves often as a place of racial conversation and healing. It is actually pretty amazing. And once there was a white supremacist with a gun there and he stood up on a table and let people see his gun. He didn’t yell or anything. But that vital thing happened there in that coffee shop.

Excuse me I also love coffee shops and Vienna is the land of coffee shops.

Okay. I love Vienna! I literally love Vienna, with my heart. I love Vienna.

One last thing. I’m saving then editing...

The postscript: A major resource, and it kinda sidesteps some things, is language. It will be much better if German is spoken in these conversations. When I went to Vienna last, I didn’t prepare my German because when I went to Vienna first, everyone spoke English and it was simply easier to speak English all the time, so I figured I wouldn’t try to give the illusion and disappoint. But lo... the native people really, really resent it if you don’t even try to speak German. They actually seem to experience it as an injury. It is wild, if you’re not expecting it.

ALL OVER VIENNA I saw the Graffiti stamp/brand, “Tourism is terrorism.”

When I was in the airport and the cute customs dudes asked me the purpose of my visit, I said “TOURISM” and they laughed. That was fun. But it was a lie. I was a pilgrim. I... know I was a tourist, technically. But I felt such hatred for the tourists standing like apes in front of the Schubert statue in the Stadtpark. Their wretched selfie smiles plastered on top of the emptiness of their experience. My purpose in Vienna had nothing in common with theirs. And I claim that I didn’t do a lot of the tourist things - not many museums or concerts or whatever.

One of my more pleasant memories was going into a used book shop and asking about a book in the window, a German-language edition of the tao te ching from 1923 (a very strange time). I asked in English. The clerk was confused and asked if I spoke German, and I answered in German that I spoke some German, but was learning, and knew the TTC very well, and that it’s simply usually easier to speak in English. I might have used imperfect German, but I felt dignified and natural doing it.

Ok, not only the German language, but the quiet Viennese demeanor of Scorpiness. Scorpscorpscorpscorp. Quiet, observant, emotional, and responsive to gentle tenderness and consideration, and traumatized by brashness.

Both the spoken language, and the language of the demeanor, I think are somatic approaches that sidestep cognitive...things and make the culture feel unconsciously accepted and open.

On my first trip I learned howwwwww AMERICAN I was, and then on my second trip I opened myself up to my inner Wiener and was quiet and scorpy, and I felt warmth emerge from the people and city in response. It felt really right, and it felt like i was honoring...her, and it felt um sort of romantic. ha

#Vienna #Wien

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elusivefop · 6 years ago

Text

SIR PERCY BLAKENEY’S RP PLOTTING CHEAT-SHEET

Want new-and-exciting plots for your character? Long to reach out to more of your followers, but don’t know where to start? Fear not! Fill out this form and give your RP partners both present and future all the of juicy jumping off points they need to help you get your characters acquainted.

Be sure to tag the players whose characters YOU want more cues to interact with, andrepost, don’t reblog! Feel free to add or remove sections as you see fit. Template here.

Mun name: skye OOC Contact: IMs or discord (available upon request!)

who the heck is my muse anyway:

sir percival blakeney, bart. is, by all appearnces, a complete and utter nincompoop. one of the wealthiest men in england, he is known for his expensive taste, fine clothes, and inane, foppish ways. he is the life of a party, a friend to the prince regent, and at the top of everyone’s guest list -- but no one in society has ever taken him seriously. and that is precisely by design. beneath the studied, foppish exterior, is a brilliant, serious-minded adventurer and hero. driven by a desire for action, and a sense of duty and honor, percy has a secret life. he is the mysterious figure known only as ‘the scarlet pimpernel.’ together with his loyal band of equally anonymous compatriots, percy works to rescue innocent victims of the reign of terror during the height of the french revolution. percy and his league manage these daring rescues through the use of brilliant ruses including disguises, forgery, smuggling, and - well - being very, very wealthy. violence is not out of the question, but it is a last resort. the scarlet pimpernel is one of the french revolutionary government’s most wanted fugitives and they continuously employ their best agents to try and stop him. so far, none have succeeded...

points of interest:

his identity is completely secret to anyone who isn’t part of his most intimate circles, i.e. the members of the league of the scarlet pimpernel and his wife, marguerite. unless we’ve plotted something else ahead of time, your muse will not know he is anything other than the dandified sir percy at the start of a thread.

whether your are interacting with percy’s foppish persona, or his true self, you will find him a generally good-natured and positive person. he has a jovial sense of humor and can always laugh at the absurdities in the world. he absolutely has a serious side and a streak of intensity that he keeps firmly in check, but he is not the type of person who is prone to despair.

percy is a ‘man of action’ type. he is skilled on horseback, with swords and pistols, as well as talented at boxing. he is intelligent, but not an intellectual and never did particularly well in his lessons at school. he did not have the patience for them. he grew up rather wild, with a mother who died when he was young and a father too distracted by grief to pay much attention to him. as a result, he spent much of his youth as a rich, idle, and aimless young man. it wasn’t until later that he found a means to scratch his itch for adventure - i.e. the work of the league of the scarlet pimpernel. he devotes himself to that work until a combination of several factors (the birth of his children and one-too-many near death experiences) convince him to finally retire to a more domestic life. more or less.

he has a nemesis! well, kind of. armand chauvelin, accredited agent of the french revolutionary government, hates the scarlet pimpernel with every fibre of his being and devotes himself to catching him. he discovers the pimpernel’s true identity, but never seems to be able to capture him once and for all. chauvelin views percy as his nemesis, but for percy it’s more ‘oh look! this funny little fellow! let’s see how i can mess with him this time...’ anyway, it’s a delightfully hilarious dynamic 9 times out of 10.

what they’ve been up to recently:

missions! daring escape plots! rescuing the innocent! basically, going about his business as leader of the league of the scarlet pimpernel. this means near-constant travel back and forth from france, as well as balancing this with the need to maintain his cover as a foppish man-about-town. he’s got a lot on his plate...

depending on the verse, his home life may be very different. if threads are set a bit later in his timeline, he may well be a new father with up to two young children at home. percy grew up lacking a steady father figure, so he is adjusting to the role and learning to be the type of parent he wants to be.

where to find them:

london high society: as noted before, percy is at the tippity top of english society. aside from being one of the richest men in the country, he is close friends with the prince regent (later to become king george iv). people find him fun, but ridiculous, and you will find him whereever there is an exculsive ball or dinner or garden party, etc.

france (particularly paris): his work as the scarlet pimpernel means he spends significant periods of time in france, planning and executing daring rescues with the help of his league. he owns several properites in paris that serve as safe houses. while in france he is often (though not always) in disguise -- your muse might meet a nondescript laborer, musician, or curate, not knowing who it truly is...

other locations: percy owns an estate in richmond outside of london, as well as property in scotland and a townhouse in bath (wassup, jane austen muses!), so he can be found in any of those social circles, as well.

current plans:

save innocent lives, avoid the guillotine, stick it to chauvelin, spend as much time as possible with marguerite and their kids

desired interactions:

the scarlet pimpernel needs you! join the league today! seriously, be in on his secret and join him on adventures and rescues! the league is a group of approximately 19-20 noblemen, but for plotting purposes, anyone can join if they gain percy’s trust. come chat with me on im if you’re interested!

i’m luke skywalker. i’m here to rescue you. what it says on the tin. if your muse or your muse’s family/loved ones are in danger, seek out the scarlet pimpernel to help you out today! just call 1-800-sinkmeh!

party like it’s 1792. fop!percy is a delight to write and i love throwing him into high society situations. parties! balls! whatever! will it lead to other adventures? will your muse figure out who he is? who knows! let’s find out...

somewhere over the rainbow. so um i haven’t actually written out like 99% of my verses, but i am always game for crossovers and aus. i’m currently working on a modern verse, a kingsman au, and several sci-fi fandom verses because i’m me and that’s what i do...

Offered interactions:

pretty much covered by the section above - the league’s rescue services, ridiculous party guest, etc. etc.

one quick note about shipping - it’s unlikely to happen unless you’re writing marguerite. he’s a devoted, one-woman man. now, if there seems like there is/might be chemistry, i’m open to discussing aus and developing a ship that way, but it probably won’t happen too often.

i’m open to most ideas, tbh, barring threads that dive willy-nilly into triggering topics. those are a no-no.

basically just come at me!

current open post/s:

i don’t really have any yet, but when i do they will be tagged ‘open.’ these will be for mutuals only.

anything else?:

feel free to hmu in my ims or on discord if you have ideas, plots, or even just questions about percy!

tagging: anyone who made it to the end of this post lol

tagged by: me

#now you have NO EXCUSE not to write with me ;D #❀ i. ｢ ooc. ｣

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emybain · 6 years ago

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Danna and Celeste fluff, please

these two are literally adorable. I wanted to write more, as usual, but then decided to keep it short and sweet. in all honesty I didn't think people would care much about danna having a wife in that Christmas fic I posted forever ago, but I was wrong lol. I personally love celeste, and I really want marissa to at least hint at Danna getting a girlfriend in the third book bc after everything’s she’s been through, sis deserves one. also, side note, i apologize for my french bc 1) im a little rusty bc i havent taken a class in a while and 2) i tried to give context for when it was being spoken. anyways, hope you enjoy! it’s been fun writing this!

Also, as a note to everyone, if you like this fic PLEASE reblog! likes are nice, but reblogging really helps the work spread! always reblog other people's art/music/writing/etc!!!

summary: Danna is 19 and traveling across the world, learning about different cultures and customs. currently, she is in Lyon, France. her next destination is Paris, where she plans on seeing all the major monuments and artworks. however, a run in (literally) with a stranger may push back her trip to Paris a few days, or maybe even longer...

It was a rainy day in Lyon. Most days were rainy in Lyon.

Danna sighed. When she had first come to Lyon a few days ago, she was excited to see that it was raining. Other parts of France that she had visited so far were sunny, which was nice, but she loved rain.

But it had been raining for three days now, and according to locals, that was normal for October.

Danna pulled her sweater closer to her body, getting a sudden chill. In front of her sat her keyboard and tablet. On the tablet sat an open document with detailed notes and comments. For over a year now, she had been travelling the world, visiting country after country and learning new cultures. She wanted to write a book about becoming an active member in the community and giving a voice to people who didn’t have one. But Danna had a problem: she had no idea how to write a book, or even where to start. No number of how-to-write-for-beginners books had come in handy.

She sipped at her black coffee and tapped her stylus against the table she was sitting at. She was at a coffee shop near her hotel, Le Café, if she remembered correctly. She had been holed up in her hotel room all morning and afternoon, having visited most of the city in the first two days, and finally decided to leave in search of inspiration.

So far she had nothing.

Danna set down her stylus and rubbed her eyes. A notification showed up on the top of her tablet. She clicked on it, not even checking to see what it was for. Her messenger app opened, revealing her chat with Ruby. Danna tried to keep in touch with her friends in Gatlon, but the time differences made things hard. While it was currently just after five in the afternoon in Lyon, France, it was only eleven in the mid morning in Gatlon. It wasn’t as bad as when Danna was in Beijing, though. When she was eating lunch, it was still the previous day in Gatlon. Just to give an example.

She looked at the photo Ruby had sent her. It was of a passed out Oscar on the couch of their apartment. Danna snorted. On closer examination, she saw a plate laying in his lap that was scraped clean. Their cat, Craig, was sprawled out across his chest.

thinking of you! how’s france? also, is it okay if we video chat later? everyone’s coming over for game night and we want you to join in!

Danna mulled over the question. If she chose to play with them, it would be well after midnight. It wouldn’t be the first time Danna had joined in on their game nights, a tradition she had once been a part of before leaving Gatlon.

France is great! I miss you guys so much...thinking about a quick trip home. And that depends...what’s the chosen game?

Ruby responded immediately.

ooh yes PLEASE come home!!! craig misses you the most! and the game is your choice!

Danna chuckled. Craig was a good cat.

Will your fiancé be okay with me choosing?

Oscar was the usual game-chooser for game nights, as he knew some good games. He took it personally when someone else wanted to choose. It had since become a running joke in their friend group.

A large group of girls walked into the shop, chattering and laughing loudly. Danna took one glance at them and resisted the urge to roll her eyes. They were around her age, university students. She was sure they were nice people, but did they have to be so loud? In a coffee shop? Hopefully, they were getting drinks to-go.

he will be if i say he will be.

Danna laughed into her coffee cup, snickering silently. Ruby and Oscar had gotten engaged a few months ago. No one was really surprised; they weren’t even twenty yet, but they were the definition of soulmates, perfect for one another. She sent Ruby a laughing image and closed their conversation.

She sighed again, grateful for the distraction. For a few minutes, she just sat there, staring out the window beside her table. People and cars went by. It would be dark pretty soon. The aroma of pastries surrounded her, and her mouth watered. She checked the time, and decided she deserved a quick snack before heading out for dinner.

Grabbing her wallet and turning off her tablet, Danna stood from her table. Only to stumble back and clumsily fall onto her seat as she was immediately drenched in something wet. And cold. Very. Cold.

“Zut alors!” a voice gasped. Danna sat paralyzed, staring down at the iced coffee that was now all over her shirt she had bought in Vienna. “Je suis désolé! Je ne savais pas que vous-”

“Ne vous inquiétez pas à ce sujet.” Danna winced at her accent. She had learned some French when she was younger, but it wasn’t her strongest language. Thankfully, she could at least understand that the person was apologizing, and she knew enough to be able to tell them it was fine. “J’ai besoin de serv...” Her words died in her mouth as she looked up at the girl who spilled her ice coffee on her. It was one of the girls from the loud group of college students. She looked just as shocked as Danna was.

They blinked at one another, and the girl offered a shaky smile. “Serviettes?” she said softly, and Danna nodded numbly, unable to tell if it was from the cold or something else. The girl left and returned shortly with a handful of napkins.

“Merci.” Danna took a few of the napkins and began wiping at her shirt, but to no avail. Hopefully, it would come out in the laundry. The girl busied herself with cleaning up her drink on the floor, blushing furiously. Danna opened her mouth to say something, but was interrupted by one of the girl’s friends, who hollered at her from across the shop.

“Celeste! Allons-y!” The other girl waved for her friend, Celeste, to go. She and the rest of their group were at the door, waiting for Celeste to join them.

The girl grumbled underneath her breath, too soft for Danna to understand it. “Attends, Annette! Une minute!”

Danna grasped for something to say. After stumbling over a few words, she managed to tell the girl she could go, that Danna could clean the rest. But the girl just smiled and shook her head. Then, she turned her head to the rest of her party of friends and told them to go without her. She would catch up later.

“Est-ce que vous êtes Français?” she asked after her friends left, dropping wet napkins into her spilled cup. Danna shook her head and told her that no, that she was from Gatlon, headquarters for Renegades, and that she spoke English. The girl gasped and looked up at Danna, eyes wide. Danna’s heart lurched. She asked if Danna was a Renegade, and when Danna didn’t answer, she giggled.

“I am joking,” she said with a thick accent, smiling. “That’s not my business.”

“You can speak English?” Danna blinked, surprised. The only English speakers she had come across in France were mainly tourists and shopkeepers who wanted to be able to communicate with their customers.

“Yes. My maman is from Edinburgh, but my papa is from here.” She stood, finished with cleaning her spill. She grabbed Danna’s used napkins and put them in her cup. “I’ll be right back.” She went to a trash can near the order counter, then returned.

“Um...thank you.” Danna swallowed. “I’m Danna, by the way. Danna Bell.” She held out an awkward hand, not really sure why she was introducing herself to a stranger who was going to leave soon anyways.

The girl smiled brightly and accepted her handshake. “Celeste de la Fontaine. It’s a pleasure spilling coffee on you, Danna.”

“Iced coffee, too.” Danna managed to smile in return. “It’s October and freezing outside. Why did you order an iced coffee?”

Celeste giggled, and Danna’s cheeks grew warm. “I don’t like hot coffee. It’s better iced.”

Danna raised an eyebrow. “Oh, you’re one of those people?” she teased. Immediately, she was surprised how easy it came out. She was usually very stiff around strangers.

“You could say I’m rare,” Celeste retorted. She gestured to the seat across from Danna. “May I sit?”

Danna nodded.

“Your friend sounds like a likeable guy,” Celeste said, unable to contain her laughter as she took a bite of her pastry. “But also very stupid.” Danna had just finished telling Celeste a story about how Oscar had pranked Adrian’s dads and the rest of the Council and gotten away with it. The only people who were truly mad about the main lobby floor being covered from wall to wall in balloons were Thunderbird and Tsunami. Adrian’s dads and Blacklight were highly amused, probably because they knew who was behind the prank, and knew that his accomplice was Adrian, who helped by drawing the balloons. It was a better idea than the one Oscar had originally planned, which involved covering all the walls in papers stating a required inspection of all male Renegades concerning...something Danna would rather not repeat. But then Danna, Nova, and Ruby heard of his plans, and they all took turns in lecturing him on the stupidity of his prank, and how he could potentially offend or scar someone.

Danna snorted. “Yeah. Oscar’s a special one. He annoys me seventy-five percent of the time, but I tolerate him the rest of the time.”

They had been sitting in the coffee shop for over an hour, chatting and laughing. Danna had smiled more in an hour than she had in a year. There was something about Celeste that made Danna be so drawn to her. She was intelligent, kind, and was an activist like Danna, although she only had enough time to spread activist information via social media. She was also pretty, with brown eyes and dark hair and olive toned skin. But there was something else that made Danna’s heart flutter.

One of the workers approached their table and kindly told them that the shop would be closing soon. Danna and Celeste collected their things and threw out their trash. When they stepped outside, now night, they were met with a blast of cold air. Celeste grinned and pulled her jacket tighter around her frame.

“I love the cold.” She breathed in deeply. “Gives me an excuse to wear big sweaters.”

They strolled down the sidewalk, neither in a huge hurry. Danna shifted her bag on her back and stuffed her hands in her pockets. “I meant to ask you earlier, but what happened to all of your friends?”

Celeste shook her head, nose scrunched up. “They were going off to some movie that I wasn’t really interested in. Some predictable romantic comedy.”

“So, you just used me to get out of it?” Danna bit her lip, glancing at Celeste, who shot her a full smile, white teeth showing.

“Perhaps.” Maybe it was Danna’s imagination, but she thought she saw Celeste drift closer to her. “Or perhaps I just wanted to stay and talk to you.”

They stopped on a street corner. Danna turned to face Celeste, both of their faces illuminated by the street lamp above them. Celeste’s cheeks were rosy, her eyes bright.

“How long are you in Lyon?” Celeste asked, voice dropping just slightly. Danna knew for a fact that she shifted closer this time. She took note how much shorter Celeste was than her.

Danna toed her boot against the pavement. “I was planning on leaving tomorrow, but I told myself I would stay a little longer if I found something really interesting.”

Celeste nodded slowly. “And?”

Looking down at the ground, then back up at Celeste, suddenly feeling a wave of embarrassment overtake her, Danna said. “I think I can stay for a few more days.”

They exchanged numbers and social medias, Danna promising that they could meet up again before she moved on to Paris.

But something deep inside of Danna told her that she wouldn’t make it to Paris for a while.

#renegades #archenemies #danna bell #asks #my writing #danna has a crushhhh #cuties #dont at me celeste is lana condor okay?#okay #cool #glad we are in agreement

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